Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Some Things Begin, Something Ends

Chapter 2 - Awakening

Chapter 3 - Pass Conceded

Chapter 4 - Familia

Chapter 5 - The Longest Day

Chapter 6 - It takes Three to Tango

Chapter 7 - A Step in the Right Direction

Chapter 8 - No News like Bad News

Chapter 9 - A Team

Chapter 10 - A Moment of Truth

Chapter 11- Dark Ritual

Chapter 12 - Instructions and Instructors

Chapter 13 - The Calm

Interlude 1 - A Hint of Thunder

Chapter 14 - Oedipus Wrecks

Chapter 15 - The House of Huang

Chapter 16 - A New Leaf

Chapter 17 - First Blood

Interlude 2 - The Looming Cloud

Chapter 18 - What Great Beast

Chapter 19 - The Woods have Wolves

Chapter 20 - Riding Hood

Chapter 21 - Breath

Chapter 22 - The Snake, the Lady and the Maiden Fair

Chapter 23 - Candles

Chapter 24 - Follow the Red Rabbit

Chapter 25 - First Impressions are Important

Chapter 26 - Secrets

Chapter 27 - Full Fathom Five

Chapter 28 - A Long Way Down

Chapter 29 - Sweet Hearts and Sweet Meats

Chapter 30 - Two Dogs on a Hearth

Chapter 31 - Some Things Never Change

Chapter 32 - Coming Home

Chapter 33 - An Old Man's Favours

Chapter 34 - Apples from the Tree

Chapter 35 - The Grind

Chapter 36 - Here be Monsters

Chapter 37 - Of Monsters and Gwen

Chapter 38 - A False Start

Chapter 39 - The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Chapter 40 - Miles to Go Before She Sleeps

Chapter 41 - Sleeping Beauty

Chapter 42 - The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Chapter 43 - Crossroads

Chapter 44 - Scar Tissues

Chapter 45 - Skeletons

Chapter 46 - A Slice of Paradise

Chapter 47 - He who Hunts Monsters

Character Summaries

Chapter 48 - Cruel to be Kind

Chapter 49 - Fortune's Fool

Chapter 50 - Close Encounters

Chapter 51 - Full Pelt

Chapter 52 - Great Expectations

Chapter 53 - Premonitions

Chapter 54 - No Harm in Trying

Chapter 55 Poor Boys and Rich Girls

Chapter 56 - A Curious Encounter

Chapter 57 - Show and Tell

Chapter 58 - When shall we Three

Chapter 59 - One Thousand and One Nights

Chapter 60 - Valkyries

Chapter 61 - True Lies

Chapter 62 - First World Problems

Chapter 63 - An Old Bird Dreaming

Chapter 64 - Into the Wild

Chapter 65 - A Favour for a Favour

Chapter 66 - Shortcomings

Chapter 67 - The Migloo Ghost

Chapter 68 - Dark Tidings

Chapter 69 - Until Dawn

Chapter 70 - House of the Rising Huang

Chapter 71 - Til the Fat Lady Sings

Chapter 72 - Sharing is Caring

Chapter 73 - So Long, and Sanks for the Fush

Chapter 74 - All work and No Lunch

Chapter 75 - Days of Our Lives

Chapter 76 - A Crooked Deal

Character and Magic Summary 2

Chapter 76.5 - Interlude 3 - Dark Waters

Chapter 77 - Anticipations

Chapter 78 - A Rose and its Thorns

Chapter 79 - The Greater the Expectation

Chapter 80 - The Harder the Fall

Chapter 81 - A Sight for Sore Eyes

Chapter 82 - When the Levy Breaks

Chapter 83 - An Unfortunate Encounter

Chapter 84 - Broken Chains

Chapter 85 - Wave Break

Chapter 86 - The Devil's Advocate

Chapter 87 - True Lies

Chapter 88 - The Widening Gyre

Chapter 89 - The Falcon cannot hear the Falconer

Chapter 90 - The Worst are Full of Passion

Chapter 91 - Reeling Shadows of Desert Birds

Chapter 92 - The Darkness drops Again

Chapter 93 - Spiritus Mundi

Chapter 94 - When Time is Short

Chapter 95 - The Salty Saviour

Chapter 96 - Come Together

Chapter 97 - Picking up the Pieces

Chapter 97.5 - Epilogue for Arc 1- No Birds Sing

Chapter 98 - No News Like Bad News

Chapter 99 - Cabin Fever

Chapter 100 - Stifling

Chapter 101 - Creepers and Crawlers

Chapter 102 - O Captain

Chapter 103 - Respite

Chapter 104 - Detour

Chapter 105 - Taken

Chapter 106 - Suspicious Minds

Chapter 107 - An invitation from a Doppelgänger

Chapter 108 - A Sliver of Silver

Chapter 109 - A Meeting at the Threshold

Chapter 110 - Cold City

Chapter 111 - More ways than One

Chapter 112 - To Skin Some Cats

Chapter 113 - Remember Me

Chapter 114 - Introspection

Chapter 115 - No Longer Alone

Chapter 116 - A Tale of Two Towers

Character Summary 3

Chapter 117 - Hold on and Let Go

Chapter 118 - Human Nature

Chapter 119 - Risk and Reward

Chapter 120 - Visions and Revisions

Chapter 121 - Spotty Hands

Chapter 122 - Night Whispers

Chapter 123 - A Matter of Face

Chapter 124 - Halcyon Days

Chapter 125 - A Course of Course

Chapter 126 - Off to see the Wizard

Chapter 127 - Dog Whistles

Chapter 128 - Questions and Answers

Chapter 129 - A Trojan Gift Horse

Chapter 130 - A Gift once Given

Chapter 131 - Prepatory

Chapter 132 - Fault Lines

Chapter 133 - The Great Divide

Chapter 134 - Picking up the Pieces

Chapter 135 - Regrets

Chapter 136 - Mixtures and Admixtures

Chapter 137 - Skinner's Box

Chapter 138 - Queries and Answers

Chapter 139 - Good Neighbours

Chapter 140 - Knots

Chapter 141 - The Age of Experience

Chapter 142 - Orientation

Chapter 143 - Lessons of Life

Chapter 144 - A bob on the Snout

Chapter 145 - Classes and classes

Chapter 146 - Mo Money, No Problems

Chapter 147 - Routine

Chapter 148 - The Troubles

Chapter 149 - Paternal Issues

Chapter 150 - A Charmed Life

Chapter 151 - Fight or Flight

Chapter 152 - The Wrong way to Duel

Chapter 153 - Indigestion

Chapter 154 - The Greener Grass

Chapter 155 - The Damned

Chapter 156 - When the Red Mist Rolls in

Chapter 157 - Blood and Guts

Chapter 158 - Hesitation at the Threshold

Chapter 159 - Between Concrete and a Hard Place

Chapter 160 - Once more into the Breach

Chapter 161 - No Place should Murder Sanctuarise

Chapter 162 - Mightier than the Sword

Character Summary 4

Chapter 163 - Dreams of Tomorrow

Chapter 164 - Balance in all Things

Chapter 165 - Rest and Relax

Chapter 166 - Of Peaches and Men

Chapter 167 - Shadows on the Wall

Chapter 168 - For Thou art with Me

Chapter 169 - This Far, no Further

Chapter 170 - Nighthawks

Chapter 171 - Great Anticipations

Chapter 172 - No Mitigating Nourishment

Chapter 173 - Nothing Quite like Loneliness

Chapter 174 - Pinky Promises

Chapter 175 - Detours

Chapter 176 - Laughing the Night Away

Chapter 177 - Tempus Fugit

Chapter 178 - Hai Five

Chapter 179 - Goats and Monkeys!

Chapter 180 - Frogger

Chapter 181 - A Model of You

Chapter 182 - Bush Meat

Chapter 183 - Happy Campers

Chapter 184 - Come a-Waltzing Matilda with Me

Chapter 185 - Her Beauty and her Terror

Chapter 186 - Silencing the Lamb

Chapter 187 - Karma Comes Calling

Chapter 188 - Millstone

Chapter 189 - Calamity Gwen

Chapter 190 - Truth will Out

Chapter 191 - A Series of Unfortunate Events

Chapter 192 - The Black Goat

Chapter 193 - How to Make Gravy

Chapter 194 - Confessions of a Dragon-Kin in Hangzhou

Chapter 195 - How Much do I love Thee?

Chapter 196 - How to fold a Paper Tiger

Chapter 197 - Whetting the Appetite

Chapter 198 - The Undertow

Chapter 199 - A Stick in the Mud

Chapter 200 - Curtain Call

Chapter 200.5 - Interlude - A Prickling of the Thumb

Chapter 201 - Green-eyed Gwen

Chapter 202 - To her Door

Chapter 203 - The Cuckoo Crows Thrice

Chapter 204 - Don't Dream its Over

Metaworld Spellcraft & Glossary

Chapter 205 - Bookworms

Chapter 206 - Chekhov's Dragon

Chapter 207 - Where the Side Quests Roam

Chapter 208 - Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 209 - Dances with Deerhounds

Chapter 210 - Six Degrees of Separation

Chapter 211 - I have become...

Chapter 212 - Who let the Dogs Out?

Chapter 213 - Silence of the Apes

Chapter 214 - Monkey in the Middle

Chapter 215 - What lies Beneath

Chapter 216 - Favour of the Father

Chapter 217 - Many Jasons in Pursuit

Chapter 218 - Loftier Ambitions

Chapter 219 - Figuro Magnifico

Chapter 220 - A Step in the Right Direction

Chapter 221 - Who watches the Watchers

Chapter 222 - Credit where Credit is Due

Chapter 223 - Dai Harder

Chapter 224 - December Days

Chapter 225 - The Dumplings of Prosperity

Chapter 226 - A Tuft of Flower

Chapter 227 - A Tall Poppy

Chapter 228 - I guess that's why they call it the Blues

Chapter 229 - A Crucible's Caress

Chapter 230 - The Devil's Plea-Bargain

Chapter 231 - Fingerpainting

Chapter 232 - No Source of Honey

Chapter 233 - The Milk-Tea of Human Kindness

Interlude - Percy's Day Off

Chapter 234 - What doesn't kill you...

Chapter 235 - Some like it Hot

Chapter 236 - A Paradox of Prophesy

Chapter 237 - Brothers and Sisters

Chapter 238 - An Interview with the Void Sorceress

Chapter 239 - Flight of the Bumble Bee

Chapter 240 - Slippery Slopes

Chapter 241 - The Perils of Fame

Chapter 242 - Paranoid Draconoid

Chapter 243 - Many hands make Light Labour

Chapter 244 - The Fonder Heart

Chapter 245 - Second Chances

Chapter 246 - Milu No.5

Chapter 247 - The Importance of a Strong Handshake

Chapter 248 - A City of Gold

Chapter 249 - Cocks and Hens

Chapter 250 - Chain Reaction

Chapter 251 - Old Fashioned

Chapter 252 - When it rains, it pours

Chapter 253 - Small Mercies

Chapter 254 - Foul Play

Chapter 255 - Shattering the Peace

Chapter 256 - Riposte

Chapter 257 - Virtue in Vengeance

Chapter 258 - Accounting for Victory

Interlude - One Night in Yangon

Chapter 259 - Burmese Days

Chapter 260 - Kitty come Home

Chapter 261 - Waiting for Godot

Chapter 262 - O Brother, where art thou?

Chapter 263 - Veni Vidi Vici

Chapter 264 - A Murderer and a Villain

Chapter 265 - Tricks and Trades

Chapter 266 - A Mage of many Talents

Chapter 267 - Hell hath no Fury

Chapter 268 - Sour Grapes

Chapter 269 - Homewrecker

Chapter 270 - Fight Fire with Lightning

Chapter 271 - Fair Winds and Ill Tides

Chapter 272 - How to Train your Wyvern

Chapter 273 - Between a Void-Beast and a Hard Place

Chapter 274 - A Brave New World

Chapter 275 - Land of the Risen Sun

Chapter 276 - Serpents in the Midst

Chapter 277 - The Sun Also Rises

Chapter 278 - A Modest Proposal

Chapter 279 - Birds of a Feather

Chapter 280 - Troll in the Trees

Chapter 281 - Where the Wyverns Crow on Trees

Chapter 282 - Out of the Blue

Chapter 283 - The Seeds of Trust

Chapter 284 - An Unexpected Boon

Chapter 285 - Into the Maelstrom

Chapter 286 - A warm up

Chapter 287 - A Tale of two Horrors

Character Summary 5

Chapter 288 - Takanakuy

Chapter 289 - The Call of the Void

Chapter 290 - Battle Royale

Chapter 291 - The Hands of Victory

Chapter 292 - The Setting Sun

Chapter 293 - Gears and Levers

Chapter 294 - Nightmares

Chapter 295 - Lessons from the Underground

Chapter 296 - Prelude to Premonition

Chapter 297 - The Pale Prince of Pretoria

Chapter 298 - What Tomorrow Brings

Chapter 299 - Shattering Expectations

Chapter 300 - Caliban, Interrupted

Chapter 301 - Prelude to the Long Night

Chapter 302 - The Living and the Dead

Chapter 303 - Peace for the Dead, Life for the Living

Chapter 304 - The Three Little Necromancers

Chapter 305 - Wyverns First

Chapter 306 - Party Crasher

Chapter 307 - War Games

Chapter 308 - Et Victoria ad Defectum

Chapter 309 - Humbled Hearts

Chapter 310 - Call of the Deep

Chapter 311 - The Living Dark

Chapter 312 - How to lasso a Lich

Chapter 313 - All Good Things

Chapter 314 - Tis better to have Loved

Chapter 315 - Legion

Chapter 316 - After the Banquet Ends

Chapter 317 - Where the Kookaburra Laughs

Chapter 318 - Love's Labour

Chapter 319 - The Old Man and the Gwen

Chapter 320 - The Snake Giveth

Chapter 321 - All Stations to London

Chapter 322 - The Monkey's Paw

Chapter 323 - Naked Villainy

Chapter 324 - House Rules

Chapter 325 - Knight Errant

Chapter 326 - The Enemy of my Enemy

Chapter 327 - The Root of Elvia

Chapter 328 - The Gift of Simplicity

Chapter 329 - The Perils of Infamy

Chapter 330 - Three Ring Circus

Chapter 331 - Gold Digging

Chapter 332 - Modern Mythology

Chapter 333 - Ivory Tower

Chapter 334 - The Rich get Richer

Chapter 335 - News on the March

Chapter 336 - The Garden of Delights

Chapter 337 - Blessed by Blood

Chapter 338 - Stratums

Chapter 339 - Tremors

Chapter 340 - The Early Bird

Chapter 341 - Watering Holes

Chapter 342 - Friends for Hire

Chapter 343 - Honour's Tongue

Chapter 344 - A Cold Welcome

Chapter 345 - Past the Shallows

Chapter 346 - Bride and Groom

Chapter 347 - From Kith to Kin

Chapter 348 - Buyer's Remorse

Chapter 349 - Dolls' House

Glossary

Chapter 350 - Little Seeds

Chapter 351 - Twist and Turns

Chapter 352 - The Best is Yet to Come

Chapter 353 - No Rest for the Wicked

Description

Gwen Song awoke in a world that was not her own, in which everything she was familiar with had been replaced. Instead of airplanes and electricity, this 21st-century Earth is ruled by magic and dragons; humanity survives in a land of magical beasts and otherworldly beings, protected by shielded enclaves and magical constructs. Follow Gwen across the world as she struggles to rebuild her life in this strange new reality. Behold a tale of adventure, friendship, and (of course), magic! Witness as she grows from a simple grade school student to a fully-fledged Mage, through university and beyond, discovering the secrets of a world made unreal by magic and mysticism. Glossary and Magic System Explained (Up to Ch 150) Glossary and Magic System Explained (Minor Spoilers up to CH 350) Metaworld Wiki made by Readers Voting for the novel :: Voting button Volume 1 Amazon (US) the book is in all markets as well. Volume 2 Amazon (US) the book is in all markets as well. V1 Google Play, iBook, Kobo, Nook and Playster Link V2 Google Play, iBook, Kobo, Nook and Playster Link Please leave a review or just copy / paste your RR reviews! Metaworld-Meta-fics : "Strictly Caliban" From the always catty @Wandysama And "An Islander's Meta-Journey" from young gun @Bartimeus The Mysteries of Fudan, and Other Rumors From the Metaworld Strategic Magic by kjoatmon Farewells - The Strange Life of a Quarter-Elf From Sydney Metaworld Audiobook : AGROSQ Audio Discord is now boosted and has Mods! JOIN OUR DISCORD SERVER FOR CATS

Gwen Song awoke to the melody of Grande Valse blaring with the strength of an air siren.

Reflexively, she groped for her smartphone, making the familiar sliding gesture to unlock. Instead, her vague fingers encountered the strange sensation of physical buttons. A moment of frantic fumbling ensured, then a sound began to stream:

“BBC World Service, September 21st, 2001: An ancient Red Dragon has destroyed a section of the London Metro, resulting in over two hundred dead and thousands injured, paralysing the city. Authorities have linked this latest incident to similar occurrences involving Magical Creatures carried out by the anti-tower cabal known as Spectre- Magister Livingstone, Mayor of London, calls the latest terrorist attack a day of infamy…”

More terrorism, Gwen groaned wistfully. Finally she found the mute button.

Slowly, synapses dulled by Moet & Chandon ignited one by one.

Red Dragon?

What’s that, a new euphemism for WMDs?

Wait— Her mind performed a double-take.

The date was correct. It was September twenty-first — but the year appeared to be missing a decade and a half. It had been 2017 when she stumbled into bed, but the report had said 2001.

Regaining a measure of lucidity, she inspected the brick in her hand to confirm the date, only to be bemused by an alien device constructed of ceramic-seeming material, with a screen that looked nothing like back-lit LED.

The only clue that it may be a Nokia was the bloody ringtone.

She turned the device over.

No logo. No ports. No battery sliders.

This isn’t her iPhone.

Her brain throbbed.

Could she have been roofied? In her office, at her very own corporate party? That would be absurd. Even if she had, there were security guards and staff who were sober enough to send her to a hospital. Concurrently, her joints were on fire. She was dizzy and light-headed, hungry and hollowed out. Additionally, the sickening sting of digestive acids lapped at her throat.

But for now, she chose calm over panic.

She inspected her surroundings.

Firstly, she was sleeping in a single bed.

Secondly, she wasn't naked or anything. She wore her PJs, although, for some reason, her silk nightie had transformed into coarse cotton.  A sloppy, cheap-looking duvet covered her body. The print was vaguely familiar—a horrid, half-faded floral design commonly used for IKEA curtains.

The bedroom felt claustrophobic; the ceiling low and oppressive.

Recognition dawned.

Isn't this her old apartment? From when she was a kid? Why was she in the bedroom of her adolescence? What had happened to her bayside home? Her French-windows?

The bedroom to which she now occupied had existed only in the distant past.

She had been in high school, living with her divorced father.

“Is this a lucid dream?!" she muttered to herself.

Her voice!

It was youthful and sweet and without the abuse of all-nighters, scalding coffee, and copious amounts of alcohol.

She closed her eyes to think, but the memory of her last conscious hours was a scrambled mess of whites and yellows.

Slowly, in fragments, recollections came.

Here was her old home. Her original home. The apartment she’d grown up in as a girl-child. Over yonder was the fold-out desk she had piled her clean laundry on. Next to the cabinet was the basket for her dirty laundry. To her right was her study desk, which her father sometimes used as a Mahjong table. She could even see her study guides.

But where she expected volumes on chemistry, physics and literature, she instead saw thick bound volumes with strange names.

Allenberg’s Primer for Astral Theory? Otsu's Primer for Evokers?

Without warning, her head split.

"Ow!"

A jackhammer ripped through the interior of her skull. Memories flooded her brain, bloating its synapses so that she felt as though two fingers were pressed against her optic nerves. If anything, the sensation was akin to the time she had forgotten to take her quinine tablets in the Amazon and had malaria shitting on her brain for a week.

I have an aptitude test today. A stray thought boomed across Gwen's consciousness.

No, you don't, Gwen dissuaded the voice in her head. You just had a staff party where you celebrated your consultancy's second anniversary. You drank and danced and forgot all about what champagne could do to a woman who was no longer in her twenties.

Unbidden, another thought solicited her stream of consciousness, accompanied by gut-wrenching anxiety. Her chest convulsed. She couldn't breathe.

Today is an important day.

I need to go to the Awakening Test.

Mother will be upset if I fail.

"Ugh!" Gwen fought back the acid reflux threatening to escape her oesophagus. Jesus Christ, she cursed. Was she now suffering from paranoid schizophrenia? Dr Monroe never said anything about MPD disorders!

"Shut up!" she threatened the ceiling.

The voice ceased.

She ran a hand over her forehead and found it drenched with perspiration.

"Alright," she whispered to herself. Her mind remained sceptical even as her senses seemed helplessly invested in this new reality. Cynically, she pinched herself hard on the thighs until a welt appeared and her eyes moistened.

"Shit," Gwen affirmed her worst fears. “Why is this happening?"

Frustrated, she rubbed her eyes. Her fingertips came away with crusty chunks of dried mucus, which she crushed between her fingers. Shit, had she been crying?

Click.

Her internal discourse was interrupted by an intruder. Instantly, her blood ran cold. She was trapped in a strange parallel world, who or what could be coming through that door?

The door opened.

It was her brother, Percy, who peeped in with a face still drugged with sleep.

“Dad called and said you have to get up now,” he informed her. “It's your PMAE today.”

She quietly regarded the boy, mindful of any buttons or cross-stitching that would reveal a skin-suit.

Percy was her brother, an athletically-inclined adolescent with olive skin and large luminous eyes. He had the thick lips of their mother, taking after the family's mixed heritage.

She pulled the cover over her collarbones and scowled at her brother. What kind of an idiot barges into the room of their teenage sister? She was hardly dressed for decency.

"Oi! Get out of here!" she yelled angry nothings even as Percy yawned disinterestedly.

With her brother gone, she pulled herself out of bed. A full-length mirror ran the length of her built-in-wardrobe. Now that she was up, she had to ensure that all the pieces of her body were present.

What she saw was the reflection of a dark-haired girl who was a little underfed but reasonably proportioned. She had the pale skin and high cheekbones of her mixed father but had inherited her mother's eyes. Her striking irises, afflicted with central heterochromia, possessed an amber core bound by a ring of dark emerald, hinting at her cosmopolitan origins.

Gwen pulled on her earlobes, watching her simulacrum wince.

No luck.

It wasn't a lucid dream.

She was indeed back in her teenagehood.

After a moment of deliberation, she removed her pyjamas for a more thorough inspection.

When she had struck the big three-o, she had wondered about her adolescent body. Would she have loved or loathed it? Though her answer was ambivalent, what she found queer was her paleness. Her skin was unusually pallid, almost as if she'd rarely seen the sun. By her recollection, she had spent the whole summer of 2001 hawking ice cream at Bondi and learning to surf. As a result, she had been positively caramel. Compared to her old Billabong body, her present physique smacked of anorexia.

Still, at a meter-eighty, she cast an impressive figure for a fifteen-year-old.

As young as twelve, people had assumed she was older. She had been denied children’s fares at carnivals and accosted by boys who thought her their age. Once, a bloke at Bondi had propositioned her, offering to teach her about her maturing body.

Gwen dug through the wardrobe and found something to wear, straight away arriving at a pair of cut-off jeans and a white tapered tee.

The door opened again. It was Percy.

“Why are you in your Sunday clothes?” he questioned in his youthful voice. “You need to be in your uniform for the Awakening.”

At the mention of the word, another wave of nausea bowled her over.

"Get out!" she hissed. Percy fled.

She held herself against the mirror until the buzzing went away.

A little immodestly, she performed a self-examination, concluding that it wasn't that time of the month.

"Fine, I'll go to the damned test." She told her reflection. "Happy now?"

She searched through her wardrobe again and located her school blouse and skirt. She remembered being horrid at chores, so it must have been her brother who had collected and packed the laundry.

Making a note to thank young Percy, she Googled her fragmented memory and found the school blazer hanging in a separate section of the closet.

She inspected the result.

The Blackwattle High School senior uniform was a little loose around the bust but appeared otherwise handsome and prim. A grey-white tartan skirt, a navy blazer, and a white blouse gave the costume the feeling of a private academy. There was a vest as well, but Gwen had forgone it for reasons of budget.

D-Ding!

An alarm went off on her phone.

“You’re going to be late for the train!” her brother called out.

Gwen opened the door to see Percy with a piece of toast packed in foil, the acrid smell of Vegemite and cheese polluting the air.

“Thank me later.” He grinned, revealing pearly white teeth.

“Cheers,” she replied, her teenage voice sounding strange as it reverberated through her skull. She needed more time to collect herself, but the urgency of having to attend the Aptitude Test hastily drove her through the door.

Following an internal compass, she managed to board a train for the city.

The streets of Sydney's CBD were the same old familiar concrete and bitumen, but the transportation had shifted from the grumble of fossil fuel into the thrum of humming mana cores. For the moment, Gwen was glad that no airships sailed across the horizon, completing the vision of a dystopian Weimar Metropolis.

The journey towards Blackwattle Bay proved enlightening. In her brave new world, trains ran on ley-lines, fed into a network of mana conduits known simply as the Grid. All around her, geo-dynamic mana powered the city's infrastructure, the most important of which were the Shield Barriers.

A shield what? She pinched her brows.

Shuddering memories informed her that humanity was hardly safe in this world, that despite the rule of Mageocracy over the Earth, much of it remained under the control of Demi-humans and Magical Creatures. Hell, there wasn’t even an aviation industry thanks to the presence of predatory monsters ruling the skies. The average man could only survive in secured enclaves, sheltered against the unknowable world beyond the Shield Barriers.

Despite wearing her blazer, Gwen shivered uncontrollably. Apathetic to her distress, the silent carriage dumbly made its way on enchanted rails into the heart of the city.

She disembarked at Pyrmont, finding herself among like-patterned uniforms walking to school.

The day was Saturday, the day of the Aptitude Test, A.K.A. “The Awakening”.

“Awakening” to what though?

Magic.

M-Magic?! Mages? Spells?! Gwen shook her head, attempting to make sense of her new lexicon. Where the hell had she ended up? Was this budget Hogwarts? You’re a Witch, Gwen?

With great agitation, she trawled her mind again, fishing the flotsam and jetsam of her fragmented memory.

One by one, details emerged.

Where her old world had had the SAT and the HSC, this world had the dreaded Projected Magical Aptitude Exam, or PMAE for short, undertaken to segregate Mages from the multitudes.

As it stood, the vast majority of humanity were non-magical citizens, lovingly denominated as "NoMs". In a world of Spellcraft, NoMs lived in the Mages’ shadow, living diligent lives as administrators, service personnel, labourers for manufactorums and bodies for the frontlines.

For the mundane citizen, ascension was improbable. For those with a magical lineage, one could additionally become a Magus or Magister, whose rare convergence of sorcerous, physical and intellectual potential ensured a charmed life.

I can't fail the test!

Okay! Fine! Gwen assured her spirit of PMAE past.

She ruminated on her new knowledge.

So… apartheid. Gwen bit her lower lip as the unpleasant epiphany traversed her mind. Moreover, her imminent ordeal seemed especially dubious. Was her memory informing her that a single test determined if she would be a worker ant or an august queen?

That seemed ridiculous to Gwen, whose old world at least entertained the illusion of egalitarian meritocracy. The PMAE appeared solely based upon manifest destiny.

Even assuming she passed, what of the life she had been living one inebriation prior? She had worked tirelessly to build a company of her own, collecting devoted staff over a decade. They’d just had their second anniversary, and she'd only recently acquired the Lendlease account.

Fuming, Gwen trudged with resentment towards her destination. In the distance, the Blackwattle campus appeared more extraordinary than her memory served. An entire wing of buildings appeared appended to the existing sandstone facade that loomed over the bay. Concurrently, the Fish Market next door bustled with semi-magical bounty, disseminating an ignoble stench of discarded seafood.

“Gwen!”

A chirpy voice rang out from the multitude of bobbing heads walking the steep incline up toward the school's gymnasium.

She turned to see a spry Asian girl rushing towards her, two imposing masses rioting as she ran, her face plump with adorable baby fat.

“Gwen-Gwen!” The girl embraced her before landing a quick peck on her cheek. “Ooo! I missed you so much! I am beyond happy that we're seniors together!"

She recognised the overfamiliar girl as Yue, a Shanghainese girl whose family had immigrated from the southern capital. Yue’s china-doll face was milk white and porcelain, punctuated by the small pink of her mouth. Her eyes, two luminous crescents beset by prominent lashes, seemed to swallow Gwen with their softness.

The sight of a friend she had not seen for a decade took the words right out of her mouth.

Yue Bai had been her closest and dearest friend back in high school, though they had drifted apart when Gwen escaped her home.

“It's only been a month.” She smiled back, hiding the fact that the original Gwen wasn't in the driving seat.

Though faint and spectral, she could sense her alter ego hovering around somewhere in the dark recess of her brain like the Ghost of Banquo, only she hadn’t done anything to warrant its unpleasant haunting.

Beside her, Yue began an endless stream of small talk.

Gwen listened as her old friend chittered excitedly about the latest gossip—who had been tested for what; who had been picked for which scholarship; what was the best element was to pair with which School of Magic.

When the duo finally made their way into the hall, the rest of the student body was already waiting in the auditorium.

The headmaster and the instructors were in militant dress uniforms that reminded Gwen of decorated veterans on ANZAC Day. She scanned the hall for more familiar faces but was quickly shuffled into place by a prefect.

Upon the podium, the principal addressed the assembly.

“Students, staff, members of the chancellory, welcome to the 2001 PMAE. This exam is carried out statewide on Spellcraft course Year ten students. In a moment, you will be asked to approach the dais and place your hand on the Awakening Crystal…”

A murmur spread across the auditorium as the officious announcement reverberated through the air. The principal, a raven-haired man of advanced age, spoke sonorously over the assemblage.

She recognised the man as Magus Jules Bartlett, principal of Blackwattle. Under the man's watchful eye, generations of Acolytes came and went, all remembering the ever-present personage that was Principal Bartlett at the gates, 0700 sharp, dutifully greeting each student. Amiable and approachable, the principal was a man fond of oration.

“Students! Young Mages! The Path of Spellcraft is glorious but fraught with danger and risk! Upon the Path, many trials shall beset you—forbidden knowledge, creatures horrid and savage, Demi-humans cruel and heartless!"

The students broke into a murmur.

“For now, your lives are peaceful - but make no mistake, let not your daily comfort confuse you. We are beset on all sides by forces far greater than humanity itself. Compared to the creatures of the Wildlands, we are weak. Compared to the creatures of the Deep, we are few. Compared to the beings of the Elemental Planes, we are mortal!"

"Yet WHY is it that man persists upon the Material Plane? Why has man survived the aeons to establish our civilisation on Earth against all the odds? It is because, through the application of Spellcraft, we are strong! We, the human race, are united in our mastery of sorcery!"

Abruptly, the principal’s voice took on a new intensity and volume.

"The PMAE is only the first step, but it is a significant one. It will define who you are and what you aspire to be. Do not fret; there is a place in our world for everyone. No matter your talent, you will be appreciated! The survival of one contributes to the survival of all!"

Thunderous applause filled the auditorium as the students roared their collective approval. Though confused, Gwen clapped alongside, not wanting to appear the stranger.

"All of you already possess magical affinity; your studies in junior high have proven that you are worthy to be Mages,” the principal announced confidently, “Some of you, perhaps, may even become Magus! But know that be you Citizen, Mage, Magus, or Magister: only united, can human civilisation push back the tide of the Wildlands seeking to subsume us."

Compared to the earlier clamour, the applause grew demure. Gwen wondered if each student was thinking of their chances at the hands of Fortuna, pondering whether they would awaken to glory or slumber in anonymity.

To her understanding, the principal had told a compelling truth. Who would not wish to possess the power of destruction and creation? Who would not desire to wield the raw elements of nature, to freeze one's foes with shards of eldritch ice, to blast apart the monsters that threatened one's home?

But it wasn't the old Gwen who now had to face the music. It was her, and Gwen realised she had no idea what was going on. The only sensation she truly felt was numbness—numb for the world she found herself in, stunned by the chaotic emotions smothering her over and over.

Survival of humankind?

Magic to rule the world?

She was in her PJs an hour ago!

The whole thing feels like a cult, Gwen cynically assessed the assemblage of students and staff. All around her, the cohort separated into rows standing before ten crystal spheres. The 'Awakening Crystals' reminded her of E-meters she saw once on Castlereagh St.

These students, who had already had their affinity affirmed, were being tested for their aptitude for different Schools of Magic. The procedure was simple enough. A student stood in front of the stone and placed their hand atop the sigil sensing crystal. The crystal then expanded its magical energies after completing the circuit, sending mana back into the recipient. Whatever Glyph the indicator reciprocated then betokened the student's proficiency in a School of Magic.

At least that's what her alter-self recalled.

According to her memories, official Spellcraft theorems privileged a trifactor of conditions impacting a Mage's talents: their natural affinity for a particular School of Magic; the Element they attuned to, and finally their natural born intelligence for manipulating Spellcraft.

Either of the three could be developed later in life, but as humans had limited lifespans and dubious willpower, those born with a headstart rose to the top of Spellcraft society with accelerated ease.

As far as she knew, there were seven primary schools of Spellcraft: Evocation, Transmutation, Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, and Illusion. Each had their specialities, and each manifested a particular arcane phenomenon unique enough to be called a ‘school’. Other schools existed but were unique to bloodlines, cultures, and religious mythos.

“OH MY God, Gwenie, I am nervous as hell.” Yue clutched onto Gwen’s arm with a force rivalling that of the proverbial koala, known for having a grip strength many times its body mass.

“What do you want to awaken as?” Gwen shook herself from the dizzying remembrance. Spellcraft, Schools of Magic, Monsters, none of it made any sense to her.

“Evocation of course,” Yue squealed. “The cardinal rule of all magic is firepower, followed by firepower, and finally, some more firepower!”

“That would be pretty nice,” Gwen answered blankly. “Firepower for sure.”

“When we go out there during the Field Trip, we can blast away everything with impunity!” Yue’s expression was dreamy and hopeful, her face flushed with enthusiasm.

“Field Trip?”

“... You know, going outside the Shield Barrier, kicking ass…”

“And?”

“And KILL SHIT!” Yue made an evil looking grin, probably already dreaming of carcasses flinging through the air after a particularly robust pyrotechnical display.

“Muscle-headed idiots,” a voice interjected beside them.

The speaker was a bronzed-skinned teen wearing a uniform one size too small. Her tartan skirt exposed her upper thighs, and they could see her bra strap against the taut-fabric of her white blouse. Her hair was dyed with a pink tip, though her natural colour would have been an alluring auburn brunette.

“What are you looking at?” the girl snapped.

Gwen felt struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. That catty demeanour was almost endearing. She wracked her brain until starcrossed memories of two lifetimes converged, revealing that the hot-topic with the resting bitchface was Debora.

Holy shit, Gwen mouthed silently. Debora Jones! Good grief - that takes her back! As far as she could recollect, Debora was the faction leader of what was dubbed the bimbos by the egg heads, and ‘hotties’ by the boys in general. She had been friends with Gwen during primary school, but their friendship drifted apart once puberty kicked in. In her old life, Debora was obsessed with Gwen because they were both as tall as one another, even more so than the late-blooming boys. When Gwen’s parents divorced, Debora had ceased to be a priority.

"Debbie-" Gwen began, but Yue was way ahead of her.

“I bet you’ll awaken in the school of the whore…” Yue remarked rudely. Her eyes scanned Debora's scandalous uniform. "Slut."

Gwen stared at Yue with genuine shock. Only now was she recalling that Yue was a mad dog when it came to cat fights. The petite Asian girl had a temperament like forty-grit sandpaper. She wasn't one to mince words when insults were needed. Her fiery disposition and foul mouth were matched only by her bust.

“My uncle and my father are both Transmuter Mages,” Debora retorted effortlessly. “What about yours? Conjuration specialising in boats? People like you should go back to where you come from.”

“This stupid Gweilo…” Yue let loose a string of unwelcome syllables that was half Chinese and somewhat English, “I'll awaken as a fire Evoker and burn your whore (whole) house down.”

She could probably do it. Gwen perspired nervously. Damn Yue, you scary!

“You chicks gonna start pulling some hair, ripping some blouses?”

came another voice from beside them.

It was a boy with an utterly forgettable face, an acquaintance of Yue’s from the same primary school, one of those faces you never bothered to speak to on the bus. His eyes moved between the girls lasciviously. When he gawked at Gwen, her gaze made him choked on his next words.

“Piss off you loser.” Debora scowled cattily.

“Come on people, make or break moment here.” A Prefect stepped in between them. “You’re all nervous, I get it, but don't forget your humility and manners as students of Blackwattle.”

Good luck with that, Gwen mused at the Prefect's words. Blackwattle was a Government run school. There were no distinguishing hallmarks other than a campus that overlooked the harbour of Sydney's industrial zone. Most of the time, the campus smelled faintly of fish.

"Go fuck yourself," Yue added testily before turning away. The boy's eyes met the Prefect's, who shrugged.

Gwen and Yue watched as students approached the dais, legs quivering and fingers shaking, placing their hands on the crystal.

Flashes of indistinct colour indicated schools of magic and elemental affinities, following which the students had their I.D Cards registered after a brief vis-a-vis with the Instructors.

Debora’s name came, and she stepped forward towards the crystal. One could see that despite all her bluster, her well-exposed stalks still shook from anxious anticipation.

The surfer girl placed her hands on the crystal and waited. From Gwen's ignorant perspective, a glow entered into Debora's hand and permeated into her body. Then it recycled through the crystal, causing the stone to illuminate. After a few moments, the glass atop the device glowed with a glyph indicating the School of Transmutation, its soft brown halo indicating an Earthen affinity.

Debora signed with relief, though she still felt a little disappointed that she was no more talented than her father predicted. She had wanted the School of the Evoker or Conjurer, to be a bright star upon the battlefield, a blazing tempest of power and fury.

“Your turn, Shorty." Debora looked over at Yue before walking from the platform.

“What an annoying bimbo,” Yue blustered, trying to mask the demons wreaking havoc in her chest.

“Good luck.” Gwen’s own heart was pounding against her ribcage, quickening her breath and flushing her cheeks bright pink. From what she could gather so far, this Awakening ordeal was an extraordinary moment of exceeding importance.

A few more students came and went.

When it was Yue’s turn, she made her way to the top of the platform and placed her hand on the assigned crystal. The same glow enveloped her small frame; Yue squirmed as the mana completed its circuit. When the radiance returned, it became a blazing glow of ochre, so bright that it illuminated half the auditorium.

A collective gasp emitted from the assembly.

“Evocation with a high tier Fire talent!” an Instructor called out incredulously. “It's tier 4 affinity at least!”

The news was both welcome and remarkable for the pedestrian populous of Blackwattle. Generally speaking, only bloodlines that had generations of Mages who practised the same style was more prone to producing high-affinity talents. Those with affinities often inter-married, generating greater chances of begetting offspring with ever more prominent sympathies for a school or element.

As far as anyone knew, Yue was a regular migrant fleeing the Magical Beasts. For Gwen, the shock was doubly so, as she knew Yue's mother was a NoM. Her friend's common heritage was precisely why she was causing such a stir, could Yue's Awakening mean the rise of a future House?

Observing Yue's serendipitous stardom seemed to trigger another bout of anxiety within Gwen. She was glad that a single piece of toast was all she had for breakfast.

The room erupted into applause. Yue gave a smug look toward the red-faced Debora, who quickly left to speak to her coordinator.

Yue’s fire affinity inferred that with sufficient training, her fire spells would be less costly and more powerful. Though not precisely stellar at lower tiers, should Yue make it to the rank of Magus or Magister, her spells would be stronger, more efficient, and manifest faster than her peers. As for her immediate future, her greatest advantage lied in the fact that Evocation Mages could hunt monsters from the get-go. For Yue, the future was flaming bright.

“Congratulations Yue!” Gwen was happy for her friend but found herself thrust aside by the crowd of students and instructors who surrounded the newly crowned Queen of Flames.

“Next!”

“Evoker, tier 1 Water.”

“Oh, God! Please give me another go! I don’t want to be a fireman…”

“Remove him!”

“Next!”

“Abjuration, tier 1 Earth!”

“Next!”

“No reaction! I am sorry.”

"NOOOOO!"

“Next!”

“Transmutation, tier 2 Air! An Air Mage!”

“Yes! Just what I wanted!”

“Congrats mate!”

"Cheers!"

“Evocation!”

“Divination!”

“Evocation!”

“Conjuration! Tier 1 water!”

“Oh, hell yeah!”

The crowd murmured and congratulated the newly minted Conjurer. Conjuration Mages were extremely powerful once they found their Familiars. In a place with as much water as Coastal Sydney, a Water Conjurer could go far.

Gwen felt another bout of irritation stripping her stomach-lining. According to her alter-ego, one's Primary school of magic determined the most synergetic school that would be available to a caster. To train one’s second school required painstaking repetition, and only those with the talent, experience, and luck of surviving mortal combat ever attained the rare opportunity to master a school beyond the first.

Most Mages remained between tiers 1 to 5 in a single School, happy with the gainful employment offered by the state's many institutions. The risking of life and limb, after all, wasn't for everyone. The world outside the city might be full of monsters, but behind man's Barrier Shields, they could live in relative peace.

“Gwen Song,” called out a voice that sounded to Gwen like a death knell.

The moment of truth, Gwen muttered to herself.

She made her way to the platform and placed her hand on the crystal.

“Relax,” advised the Instructor.

You RELAX, Gwen thought, I don't even know what the hell I am doing.

Gwen's hand touched the cold stone. In an instant, she felt herself on the verge of collapse. Her clammy perspiration glued her blouse to her pallid skin. She had no idea what was going to happen, and her heart felt as though it was trying to shut itself down.

Get a grip! Gwen willed herself, but her body was neglectful of her command; whatever mental synapses that were firing within her physical form was entirely outside of her mental domain.

“Don't be so nervous, place your hand firmly on the crystal,” the instructor commanded.

With vague and trembling fingers, Gwen gripped the crystal.

The mana jolted her hand like a static shock, it travelled red hot up her arm and into her body, invading her spine and filling her veins with molten lead. Her world seemed to expand, her consciousness enveloping the room and extending beyond her physical self. She saw within her mind's eye arcane Sigils that represented the different schools, each cognitive illusions created by her Spellcraft-indoctrinated mind, fabricated by ingrained knowledge to make sense of the senseless, to visualise the incomprehensible.

The mana coiled and flowed, connecting her Astral form to her physical body.

Evocation! Evocation! Evocation! Come on! Gwen's dearest wish was to stick close to Yue until she could figure this world out for herself.

Then a bright Sigil bloomed in her mind.

A golden glow.

But Gwen had no idea what the visions meant.

Then another sigil flared.

A bright and piercing beacon of light.

What the hell does that even mean? Gwen hissed with frustration. Do I touch it? Or talk to it? Isn't there a supposed to be a voice asking me if I want power? What if she had to go to a different campus? Gryffindor! Not Slytherin!

Then another shade, blue this time, and yet another, a bright orange, a purple mauve, a pale lilac-

The Sigils were beyond comprehension now; they seemed to amalgamate into a quickened form of crystalline brightness, brighter than anything Gwen had seen.

The colours blurred and became a nimbus, a twin world of light and darkness. Then as quickly as it began, light and darkness split. There was now two nebulous figures standing side by side.

What the hell is happening? Gwen tried to orientate herself within the light fantastic. What the hell did I Awaken? Some strange new school? I better not have awoken something weird! An abduction by a government agency after less than twenty-four hours in this world would be the worst.

Gwen opened her eyes and looked for her instructor. Maybe he could provide some guidance as to what her affinities are.

“Oh My God!”

“Eek! Aeeee!”

“I can’ believe it!”

“Why God? Why not me!!!”

The room became wild with excitement.

Though it wasn't for Gwen.

Gwen’s instructor regarded her colourless crystal.

“Er…”

“We have a Biomancer!” someone positively shrieked. “Elvia can tap into the Plane of Positive Energy!”

A green glow was fading from the other side of the auditorium, the student body crowding around a small girl even shorter than Yue. From her timid posture and gentle face, Gwen recognised the girl as Elvia Lindholm.

The bookish blonde girl had been the invisible sort, though now her presence captivated the auditorium.

A Biomancer.

Clerics were a rare bird in any neck of the woods as it required simultaneous affinities for both Evocation and Conjuration Schools. The essential caveat though was possessing the Positive Elemental trait. Elvia - made special by a twist of fate, had become a cherished class of individuals existing beyond social strata, for the Frontier was always short on healers.

“O happy day!” the Principal harkened loudly. "Congratulations! Miss Lindholm!"

There had not been a natural healer in the school for almost a decade. Having a healer like Elvia meant Blackwattle would receive a funding boost. The administration would have to hire a specialist to teach her, and the Education Department would be obliged to provide the very best. A school with two healers, a master and student duo! They would be the envy of almost every other school in the district! Usually, only the Selective class of schools had trained arcane healers. The regular school nurse was just a quasi-Cleric trained in applying remedy gels and administering potion-injectors.

Back in the real world, Gwen's instructor faced her with an awkward, apologetic expression.

“I am sorry Gwen.”

Her crystal possessed a transparent glow that was more daylight than any distinct colour.

“You have very low affinity…” the man noted. "Furthermore, I don't see a Sigil or an element...”

What? What do you mean you don't see a Sigil? I saw them! I saw all of them! Those squiggly worm-like arcane marks, right? The things that looked like hieroglyphics married into the Hebrew alphabet.

“It's strange but not unheard of,” the Instructor continued. "We're all made differently."

The instructor’s unwelcome decree was like a death sentence.

Gwen felt a cold shiver of dreadful premonition hang over the nape of her neck like a raised guillotine.

“Well, the transparent nimbus shows that you can tap into the Planes and channel mana,” the Instructor stated with a tone of surety. "But you don't have any affinity, it seems. I am afraid you have what we call a null-base."

Not synergistic? Gwen searched through the brief impulse of her memory.

In a moment the anxiety attack that had been kept at bay by her curiosity returned with a crippling force, striking her as though a concussive blow had been dealt. Gwen had to hold onto the pedestal to keep herself steady.

Synergy was a matter that related to how fast a Mage was able to progress in their schools. It also determined the variability of hybrid magic that Mages mastered as they choose their second, and eventually third schools. A poor synergy meant poor mana conversion efficiency. No matter how hard Gwen trained, she would be far behind those with innate talent.

"Careful now." The instructor arrested Gwen's shoulder.

A flood of memories assaulted her conscious. Her family was still reeling from a messy separation; her father was a useless waste of space. Her mother had fully expected Gwen to awaken in something rare and precious.

What was this absurd plot twist? What difficulty had her rebirth been cranked? Try as she might, the compelling force of conditioned biochemistry held fast her trembling body.

Wasn’t she supposed to be overpowered? Why isn’t everyone shouting and screaming that she was the Girl who Lived?

Gwen beheld at her instructor, dumbfounded.

“I am sorry Gwen,” the man repeated with a sympathetic face. "But it looks like you’re just a common Mage.”

“So, what do I do?” Gwen's trembling lips begged for an answer.

By now, her eyes were moist with the distress of her devastating evaluation. The pitiful look she projected gave the instructor such a pang of guilt that he felt his iron mien falter. After all, the girl's future was nothing if not bleak.

But the crystal told no lies.

Whatever it had presented at its conclusion, was whatever the poor sorceress drew for her lot in life.

“You should be able to cast basic spells without issues,” the Instructor attempted to soothe her confusion with a delicate tone. "Having no affinity also means you have no real drawbacks for accessing different schools, so you could work on being a utility Mage, maybe a machine operator?"

The look of chilling despair on the girl's frail, white face bespoke her desolation.

“Look.” He glanced over at Yue and Elvia, still being congratulated by her fellow students. “You’re close friends with the Fire girl right?”

“Yes Sir,” Gwen replied, still stunned by her commonness.

What was the point of being taken from her perfectly fine life, only to be thrust into a mediocre role in the midst of a eugenic apartheid? Gwen couldn't help but be reminded of an old Bard's musing - that as flies to wanton boys are mortals to the Gods, they pull our wings for sport. Was it mere chance that she was plucked from the apex of her life in Sydney and deposited into this depressing canyon of despair? If there was 'sport' in it, it was certain at her expense.

“I'll put you down as Evocation since you will have access to it. It's also the cheapest and most time efficient to train, but from here on out it's going to be just you. The school will provide what we can of course, but…”

The look on the instructor’s told her more than she needed to know. It was no concern for the school to include her as a low-tier student. All low tier students received the same resources anyway until they could somehow distinguish themselves. She would be one more in a sea of nameless faces that dotted the place like the decor.

“Thank you, Sir,” Gwen answered finally, unsure if her Instructor had helped her or prolonged her suffering.

The Instructor nodded and jotted down in his scribe pad her new classification.

Gwen Song - Tier 1 Evoker.

“Good luck.”

The rest of the grade soon passed their examination.

The junior Mages were assigned to their respective Schools of Magic.

Gwen was in Class II.

As promised, she was in Yue's class. To their surprise, the new darling of the grade, Elvia Lindholm, was also included in class II.

Thankfully, Debora was in Class III.

Looking around, Gwen saw vaguely familiar faces who ignored her. The snub was unpleasant. Her unique family drama over the last two years meant that she seldom had time for friends. For now, however, she had bigger problems, like the fact that she was a wayward soul stolen from across space and time then untimely deposited in a delicate body.

She was one amongst thirty students who were Evokers. It was, after all, the staple of Mages everywhere. Beside the group were the rarer Mages, an assortment of Abjurers, a few Transmuters, two low-affinity Diviners, one low-affinity Enchanter, and so on.

The specialists who emerged were:

Yue, tier 4 Fire Evoker

Jasmine, tier 2 Ice Evoker

Owen, tier 2 Earthen Enchanter

Juergen, tier 2 Water Illusionist

Patrick, tier 1 Water Conjurer

And of course, the creme de crop, Elvia the Tier 2 Biomancer.

The whole thing seemed absurd to Gwen, whose old world was driven by the basic tenet that everyone got a fair shake of the sauce bottle.

It was all well and good if one won the genetic lottery, but what about the NoMs? What about people like her whose talent sucked? Were they doomed to be forever denied a spot in the sun?

She wanted to say something snide, to express the displeasure and frustration that was ripping her chest apart - but she became struck by yet another epiphanic revelation.

Humanity wasn't alone in this world.

This world never had significant wars fought between humans. The Great War was against an Undead incursion that saw the loss of almost twenty per cent of Humanity's land mass to Necromantic Magical Beings. Conversely, the Second World War happened in the 70s, triggered by the awakening of an ancient dragon. In that bout, Humanity lost another swath of cities and fortresses, effectively cut them off from the Pacific Ocean and isolating man into City-states.

In the three decades since a few fallen cities had been reclaimed and stabilised with barriers, but Man had never escaped the existential crisis of being wiped out by an attack from the great unknown.

In fact, her current residence, the Frontier City of Sydney, was one such reclaimed port of call.

Originally lost in 1940 to the Coral Sea War, the coastal areas of Brisbane, Sydney, and Melbourne were returned to human dominion by the might of the Commonwealth Mageocracy, lead by an English-Chinese-American expedition. The city became thus repopulated by refugees and volunteer forces from the Commonwealth and the diasporic Micronesian nations.

As with all Frontiers, supplies were constrained. Maintaining the Shield Barriers served as the primary preoccupation of any city. What meagre resources remained were then channelled into the city's systems to be redistributed.

When Gwen underwent her junior examination, she had shown no particular aptitude for Magic and had to attend a regular school that taught basic level theory and prep. That had proved a moment of significant disappointment for her mother, who'd expected her to be a prodigy.

Her brother Percy, conversely, had the making of something special, registering a mana signature as young as 10. He was enrolled currently at The Sydney College of Magic for Boys, a 'Selective' government institution.

All in all, what it meant was that she would be starved of resources, which made escaping mediocrity yet more difficult.

In the old world, Gwen had been no stellar student either, but that never stopped her believing that she would do well in life. There was always merit in networking, taking risks, and catching the right business opportunities.

In this world, however, Gwen felt her insides atrophy.

What the hell was she supposed to do?

Virtually everything in this world relied on some knowledge or affinity for magic. Even the wealthiest of the NoMs served a particular House, Clan or Faction. Self-sufficiency for one without immense talent was nigh-impossible.

“Gwen!” A familiar voice shook her from her nightmarish introspection.

It was Yue.

“We’re both Evokers!!” The jubilant Asian girl hugged Gwen’s arm gleefully, sinking Gwen's bony elbow between pillowy mounds. With a tier 4 affinity, her friend's future was as bright as a fireball.

Was it possible to eke out a living away from Spellcraft?

As with all clickbait rhetoric, the answer was 'no'.

If she gave up Spellcraft, she would be a woman of no importance, a worker ant in a hive of indifferent activity. Without background and lineage, she would be transparent. Her only worth would be as a pretty face in the crowd. When the creatures come for the cities, she would cower in the bunker with the other civilians, awaiting death or salvation.

What kind of stupid life would that be? Who aspires to become cannon fodder, behaving as the wind behaves?

Feeling Yue press against her icy body, Gwen stifled a sigh. She hugged her friend, stealing some of Yue's warmth.

It was stupid to give up so soon, Gwen informed herself. Hadn't the years already taught her that? She wasn't a girl-child out of home for the first time. If she could strike out alone at sixteen and make it then, she could surely do it again. Isn't that what Ol' Blue Eyes said? If I can make it there. I'll make it anywhere?

So what if life gave her lemons?

She's going to make lemon sorbet and key lime pie!

She's going to work it until she spewed blood. No one was born an Archmage. The Path, as they say, was three-quarters risk and reward and one-quarter talent. If she died, then hell, maybe she can wake up back home in her bayside bed!

A plan began to form in her mind.

“I agree, Yue, it's going to be great,” Gwen announced to her friend, who was already daydreaming about the academic term to come.

“Yeah!” Yue grinned from ear to ear, caring not in the slightest the look of dour jealousy and calculated guilt staining Gwen’s brow.

“We’re gonna be the dynamic duo! The Evoker sisters of Blackwattle!” Yue uttered jubilantly.

"Dynamic Duo!" Gwen echoed, swallowing her pride.

The newly formed classes slowly converged into their assigned groups. Now that aptitudes results were assigned and recorded, classes would resume in their new configurations within the week.

For Spellcraft students, boarding on campus was compulsory.

The weekend was so that they got to return home and sort out parental notifications. To Gwen, the ordeal reeked of overreach and authoritarianism. Should a parent deprive the State of a much-needed body, stiff penalties applied.

With a feeling of ambivalence, Gwen said goodbye to an unwilling Yue and returned home to deliver; she supposed, the bad news.

When she once again boarded the tram, Gwen realised the day was still young. As it was still mid-noon, she decided to take the opportunity to engage in some academic research on her current condition.

She switched trams for the State Library, northward of Hyde Park. As a Spellcraft student, her new I.D card allowed her limited viewing of closed resources on magical lore. Not knowing where she must begin, Gwen withdrew several rudimentary tomes to dispel some of her ignorance.

In the past, she had been a troubled high school student, though university quickly saw her talent for academia blossom. She quickly scanned through the necessary volumes and found that she was already familiar with the knowledge. It was more so that she couldn't coax her long-term memory to regurgitate the information she needed. The reading of basic lore, therefore, acted as a trigger to bring forward a decade of schooling.

As knowledge new and old agonisingly conjoined, she came to realise that she was in one hell of a pickle.

First of all, in this world, Spellcraft was kept behind closed doors. Beyond the first few tiers of magic, there existed little to no information on an efficient method of training. Knowledge beyond the high school syllabus was well restricted in a world without Wikipedia, or an Encyclopedia, for that matter. Here was a world where tertiary level knowledge was given exclusively to those who were meritocratically proven.

In the old world, she could Google in five minutes the theory behind nuclear fission. In this world, she had better make it to university before learning anything beyond tier 3 magic.

All in all, there were 9 tiers of Spellcraft, classified as spells, rites, and strategic-class rituals. Thanks to modernised Spellcraft theorems, elemental affinity directly impacted the effect of spells. Moreover, magical phenomena were transmogrified by Spirits and Meta-magic, creating a vast array of spells near-impossible to document.

By the same measure, professional instruction came in the form of Master and Apprentice. For one in Gwen's present condition, the Instructions given to the masses served only to produce fodder Mages necessary for filling gaps in the battle lines. Even when one was lucky enough to employ a Master, few Magisters were willing to teach the secrets of their craft to anyone but a legitimate heir.

Nonetheless, Gwen kept on reading.

Spellcraft was the manifestation of magic.

Casting a spell was achieved via incantations.

Incantations, consisting of both aural and somatic components, served to trigger mnemonic procedures necessary for shaping arcane energies.

The source of a Mage's power was their Astral Soul, perceived in deep meditation as one's Astral Body. An Astra Body's affinity for specific Schools of Magic manifests as Sigils.

One's Sigil shaped the mana from the Elemental Gate. From Fire, Water, Earth, to more exotic powers such as Dust, Magma and even Radiance.

Thus a Spell begins in the form of raw spiritual energy or Mana emitted by the Astral Body. The Mage's elemental affinity supplements this energy through one's Elemental Gate. Simultaneously, invocations shape the energy as it courses through a Mage's mana conduits, exiting the body as the desired phenomena.

The process was simple enough in theory, but the problem lay with the exponential complexity of spells as they increased in tiers.

A tier one spell was a little more than a single incantation. A tier two spell had three incantations. A tier three spell had nine, and tier four spell a whopping twenty-seven. Each existed as a highly complex pattern of thought that must be fluidly delivered through the correct pronounciation. If a spell failed, the Mage suffered mana burn. Usually, failure resulted in dizziness and nausea; with higher spells, the caster could be incapacitated. At its extremity, the invoker may be reduced to a blithering idiot.

In this manner, complex phenomena were incredibly challenging to manifest, as the mana requirement was proportional to the risk of failure and self-harm.

Gwen tried to imagine an Archmage casting a legendary tier nine spell, using old world algorithms to crunch the numbers.

6561 incantations, performed mentally without failure or pause.

By Pythagoras! She sucked in a cold breath of air.

No wonder there were only a handful of these individuals in the world. A dozen Mages out of five billion human beings were capable of becoming arcane Super Computers.

Gwen read on. There was a section on affinity for Schools of Magic.

It would appear that Mages were born with affinities for particular forms of magical phenomena. Evokers, the most common, were adept at releasing energy. Conjurers were best at coalescing and calling forth objects and creatures. Abjurers could create solid matter as barriers.

Any attempt at using a School of Magic in which a Mage lacked affinity would require excessive concentration, risking mana burn.

On the other hand - possessing a Sigil - a talent Mages tend to be born with, made invoking that School of Magic almost second nature.

Gwen closed the book despairingly.

So that was why her instructor had told her that she could only be a utility mage - a third-rate healer, a spotter for the Evoker battalion, a controller for the levitation transports, an operator in the Divination department.

It was because she couldn't cast spells in the heat of combat.

When she turned the page of another Primer, she saw that there was a cantrip on the page before her - something so simple it didn’t even require a Sigil. These simple spells were called Cantrips.

She closed her eyes and began the chant.

"Mage Hand!"

In her mind's eye, she felt the flow of mana race through her body, tingling her skin as they passed through her body's conduits.

She envisioned a hand, an invisible astral limb, holding up the book she was reading.

"Mother! Look!" Gwen's moment of serenity was interrupted by the cry of a child.

The hefty tome fell into her lap.

She was still in the midst of the library and that the pale glow of mana emitted by her indiscretion had caused a stir. There was a child who stared at her wild-eyed, pointing a rudely erect finger toward her face.

"Samuel!" The mother retracted the child's hand. "It's rude to point!"

She turned to regard Gwen with a frightened, apologetic face.

"I am sorry, Mistress Mage," she intoned with a voice that trembled.

"It's fine," Gwen promptly responded, her face flushing a shade of scarlet.

“Miss, no phenomena in the public space please.” Came a voice from behind them. It was a librarian whose face scrunched with displeasure.

“I am sorry,” Gwen apologised. "It won't happen again."

"Thank you, Ma'am!" The woman apologised again.

To be so afraid of even a worthless Mage like me, Gwen thought sadly.

This world was a two-tier dystopia. Here the Mages were nobles, and the nonmagical population the serfs. Such was the difference in their natural endowment. She wondered what compelled the Mages to live beside the NoMs? Noblesse oblige?

Though Mages and citizens had agreed to abide by the metaphorical Magna Carta, it was self-evident that Mages occupied a position irreplaceable by the NoMs.

A system of Nobility based upon genetic meritocracy? Gwen shuddered. A eugenicist's wet dream.

Again, her alter-memories reminded her that when survival was at hand, the handing over of power to a small and elite group of individuals seemed natural and unquestionable.

When the creatures of the Wildlands came, a party of combat Mages could defeat a hundred monsters. A single Magus could annihilate a hoard infestation in a single large-scale assault. A Magister could take on a General class magical beast. A Magi? They were more akin to nuclear deterrents in Gwen's old world. They kept the balance of the world and its fragile peace.

We won't nuke your monster Necropolis if you leave our human Metropolis alone, Gwen mused acidulously. To be a Mage in a world where magic ruled.

The aptitude test was a watershed moment; when the Schrödinger's cat was finally out of the box. Most of the time, the cat died. Sometimes, the cat lived. Once in a blue moon, what came out was a Displacer Beast.

But until then, all children were Tabula Rasa.

'Ping!'

An announcement echoed across the library.

"We will be closing in ten minutes..."

Gwen closed the books. It was time to face the music.

When she was eleven, Gwen's parents separated. Custody, alimony, property splits, embittered family taking sides and caustic dialogue all took their toll. It had been a terrible time for the teenage Gwen, who through it all, tried to take care of her brother Percy.

In the end, she powered through and believed herself stronger for surviving the drama. She suffered a few psychological tics- but it was nothing a North Shore therapist couldn't resolve, especially aided by pharmacology, the 'magic' of her old world.

She had believed her past behind her, yet here she was, ambushed by her second adolescence.

The district they lived in, Forestville, was primarily for working class Mages and NoM civilians. The streets were narrow and cramped, and her area of the neighbourhood, lovingly designated Zone 11, was filled with stifling habitat blocks smothering one another’s access to sunlight, ensuring that the vast majority of residents lived in permanent shadow.

"Oi, Lover!"

"Give us a kiss sweetheart!"

"I could play with those legs for days!"

Catcalls from the locals were a common occurrence in Forestville. The district was, after all, filled with unemployed NoMs and luckless Mages half-hanging out of windows in their sweat-stained shirts.

Gwen hastened her pace and made for the apartment.

She paused in front of the gates, attempting to recollect herself. Now that her talent was set in stone, she had people to disappoint.

At the thought of her mother, Gwen shuddered involuntarily.

Her memory threw up the vision of a fierce, beautiful, vivacious existence offset by hare-brained schemes and bouts of irrational jealousy. Mid-life crisis combined with a bi-polar personality had ensured that the old Gwen lived in abject terror of her mother's slightest displeasure.

Her alter-self couldn't understand why her father - Morye Song - a half Russian, half Chinese Abjurer, a ‘success story’ migrant, chose to remain in her mother's orbit.

But Gwen did.

The reason was simple.

Economic reality was a bitch.

The apartment under which she stood belonged not to their father but their mother, or more accurately, her Clan. It was only by their mother's charity that their unambitious, skirt-chasing father could afford a comfortable lifestyle for the kids. Simply put, the economic impetus of a roof over their heads bound Gwen and Percy to their mother, likewise serving as a Sword of Damocles held over the head of her ex-partner.

She pushed through the gate and entered the complex.

The six-storey building did not possess a Levitation platform. The physically demanding ascent gave her more time to catch up with memories of her alter ego.

Her parents had met while studying, catching on like a house on fire. By Gwen's recollection, it should have ended there. Yet, something alike to opposite attract seemed to have found one another, and the easy-going Morye Song married the rebellious Helena Huang.

Of course, the brightest candle burns only half as long, and her mother was gunpowder.

By an age alter-Gwen was old enough to understand, their different upbringings had made them less in kin and more in malice. Helena was an ambitious princess, Morye was a laidback bloke. It was all very Edward Albee.

When Gwen grew up a hale and mundane, tested to reveal precisely nothing by the divisive age of 10, the marriage had reached its limit.

“Your blood is weak,” her mother had announced one day, long before her brother Percy displayed his potential.

The argument escalated, and more than just dinner was destroyed that night.

Then revelation came that her mother had found an old flame, a former admirer, an industrious tier 4 Earthen Enchanter-Magus who had a lingering crush on the vivacious girl of his dreams.

Rationally, it was a reasonably prudent and pragmatic choice. For if and when the Shield Barrier failed, would one prioritise some no-name Barrier Abjurer, or would one preferably be escorted to the nearest Freight-Carrier as the partner of a vital Fabricator?

She ascended the last flight of stairs, out of breath and feeling torn. How should she deal with her parents? Could she even see them as her own? Certainly, they were the biological parents of this body she now inhabited, but-

Gwen turned the handle.

Was her father home? She wondered. Discerning his work schedule at the Barrier Station was difficult. After the divorce, Morye had found rebirth in playing with younger women.

Was a little payback for her mother's possessive ownership over his children? Then again, Gwen reminded herself, in this world or the last, Morye's priority had always been himself.

She arrived at the door, turned the keys, and entered.

Percy was chewing through Allenberg’s Primer for Astral Theory on a desk covered with notes. From the looks of his copy, her brother had sunk far more hours into it than she ever did.

“I am back!” Gwen announced to the world.

“Welcome back Sis,” Percy addressed her.

Gwen dropped off the books in the cramped living room, then slumped into the decaying foam of their two-decade-old couch.

“What you having for avo-tea?” She asked.

“The usual, Sambal Eggs.”

“I'll have it on bread.”

“Do it yourself ya lazy bum!” her brother replied tartly.

"Make it for me! Please?"

"Arrrgh! Stop pinching me!"

Percy made afternoon tea, and the two shared a meal of dubious eggs.

“So…” Percy said finally, “how goes the aptitude test?”

"Evoker, null element," Gwen admitted with a bittersweet tone.

"Congrats!" Percy raised a fork to toast, then realised what his sister had said. "Oh."

"It's fine." Gwen put on a wane smile.

She supposed it was better than being a NoM.

Percy went to a Selective High School, where the guy that no one wanted to pick for a ball game would be minimum tier 2 something. Percy himself was probably tier 3 at worst, higher if he got lucky.

Telling him that she awakened as a no-element Evoker was akin to the old world version of informing a peer on the U Syd Med-track that you managed to get into an Arts degree at a vocation college. She felt embarrassed just saying it.

The peppery-chilli eggs turned to ash in her mouth.

"I am happy for you." Percy tried to say something comforting, but he was just a kid with an adolescent's emotional quotient. Percy's education placed exceptional emphasis on talent, privilege, and the promise of a holier-than-thou future. From the look of consternation on his face, Percy appeared abashed and confused. Gwen knew that Percy of all people would be aware that once they were on their career tracks, he would never see her again except for Christmas dinners. After all, the exact thing happened in their old life together; this world may be different from old Sydney, but many occurrences ran on parallel rails.

"It's okay," Gwen said finally after a moment. "Thanks for caring."

"I'll be in my room, got a lot of work to cover,” Percy replied in kind. He packed the paper plates and dropped them in the bin before returning to his room. "You do the pans."

Gwen growled. This world or that one, she HATED doing the washing.

Gwen pulled her face from the Primer manual spread out in front of her. After another more hours brushing up on theory, she once again felt the itch for some practicum.

Their apartment was built on the top floor and had access to the rooftop, thanks to fire regulations.

Gwen recalled the feeling of trying to summon the Mage Hand and found herself a comfortable spot in the sun. She opened the manuscript of Black’s Transmutation Cantrip for Beginners and turned the page.

Mage Hand

Conjuration, Cantrip

Casting Time: 1 minor Incantation

Range: Visual, up to ten metres

Components: Somatic

Duration: 1 minute + variable

The caster creates a hovering hand capable of manipulating small objects.

Gwen could see why the process was considered arcane. Beyond general advice, there was almost no indication on how to manifest the phenomenon; her manuscript was particular to the author. If she were to peruse different editions, they would possess different annotations.

She calmed her mind and tried to think of nothing, banishing her anxieties and worries for the moment.

Invoke the Sigil.

Channel the mana.

"Mage Hand!"

And Release!

In her mind's eye, she caught sight of a School-less Sigil, requiring no astral attunement. She felt something pour from her thoracic diaphragm and traverse under her skin. A tingling sensation exited her fingers with a lilac spark, then in front of her, a semi-transparent hand manifested.

No, not a hand. It was more like a ‘presence’, a constrained force that was moulded and shaped by her will. She imagined it lifting up her manuscript, and felt the phantom feeling of weight upon her fingers. So that’s why it’s Phantom Hand, Gwen realised. It was much easier to replicate the arcane phenomenon by drawing upon physical synaesthesia.

So that's somatic casting, Gwen mused to herself. Most spells required at least one free hand to indicate direction and expression. It took years of practice to forgo the somatic component, longer to forgo the verbal component.

She played with the telekinetic hand for a minute, lifting and moving pots and plants that littered the rooftop, noting the diminishment of the spell’s effect over time. She wished that there was a numerical value to mana, but apparently, that was too difficult to apply systematically and universally. Additionally, as the spell drained mana from her Astral Body, she could feel the onset of a mental fatigue like the brain drain one felt when trying to solve a complicated equation for too long.

Alright, she told herself. Not a bad start.

Satisfied, she produced another textbook, Otsu's Primer for Evokers, and turned to the only level one Evoker spell without any elemental affinity - the ubiquitous Magic Missile.

Magic Missile

Evocation

Casting Time: 1 Major Incantation

Range: Visual, about 30 - 40 metres

Components: Somatic

Duration: Instantaneous.

Launch three or more projectiles of force at a designated target. When used in its default capacity, this spell possesses line-of-sight target seeking.

If she registered as a tier 1 Evoker, she would need to be sufficiently proficient in demonstrating an Evocation spell.

Once again, Gwen uttered the invocation for the Evocation school.

It felt stupid completing her invocation with a boisterous 'Magic Missile!', but she had no other instructions to follow.

With measured confidence, her mind tapped into the celestial conduit of the Evocation Sigil. She tried to envision three objects of force, each shaped by a keen edge.

Invoke the Sigil.

Channel the mana.

"Magic Missile!"

And Release!

The expectant thud of three projectiles chipping concrete did not manifest. Instead, a sudden, dizzying sickness overwhelmed her. With a violent start, she doubled over and retch up a serving of fried eggs, curling up upon the concrete pavement like a cooked prawn.

Gwen groaned, keeping her head perpendicularly rested on the side as to avoid choking on her vomit. Insufficient ability to tap into the pathways of magical schools meant that unspent mana fed back into her body, the book had stated as much.

After a quarter of an hour, she returned to the kitchen and washed out her mouth.

No more chilli eggs before practising, Gwen reminded herself.

She then returned to the rooftop and hosed down the area with the garden sprayer.

The Primer inferred that the only way to overcome mana sickness was efficient activation of the Sigil, and that came with experience and talent - ideally a combination of the two.

Gwen steeled her spine, settling again into her mind’s eye.

Another episode of gut-wrenching nausea followed her second attempt.

Right, no solid food before practice, Gwen cleaned up after herself. She felt the slow onset of despair as denial turned to anger.

By her third attempt, Gwen failed to manifest the Sigil. She was mana drained, or as the popular parlance would have it- she was OoM, out of mana.

No blue, no spell. An exacting law of Spellcraft.

Three spells and I am out. Gwen thought to herself, feeling her mana recollect slowly.

The more she failed, the more Gwen grew frightened of what her failure implied. Driven by tenacity as much as anxiety, she continued to experiment well into the evening, choosing to push past the toll it took on her physical body.

When finally the last drop of stomach acid had been dry-heaved, she sat back in a daze and pondered the possibility of accepting her traumatising reality.

She turned again to her books, trawling through every word and paragraph to find some clue. Had she been the scion of some great, influential house, they would have found Tutors, associates and allies to teach her, but Gwen was all on her own, and only she could be the instrument of her metamorphosis.

'Clang!'

The mesh door opened behind her.

The baritone voice of her father pierced through the threshold.

“Good Gods!” Her father's eyes widened at the terrifying state of the rooftop, filled with scrunched kitchen wipes and the contents of his daughter’s digestive tract.

“Hey Dad,” Gwen replied weakly.

“Gwen! What are you doing! You little Idiot! You can’t rush these things!” Her father’s voice unusually worried and tender. He extended a hand and Gwen took it, feeling her father's affirming grip retrieve her from the floor.

“I know, Dad. I had a long day, that's all,” Gwen returned. She regarded her other-father in the light of the mauve, dying sun, and saw in his eyes genuine worry.

The Morye of this world was ruggedly handsome, with a chiselled jawline and high cheekbones carried over from his Eastern European heritage. His eyes, two dark brown orbs, were soft and gentle. Curiously, he was a few centimetres shorter than his teenage daughter, although considering her six-foot height, his limited stature was barely noticeable until they stood side by side. An imperturbable man of carefree nature, there was a quiet masculinity in Morye that seemed to attract particular types of women.

“Thanks for asking,” Gwen answered softly, struggling to erase the edge in her voice.

“Don’t be so cold,” her father responded, sensing the distance in his daughter. “Come on. I bought some wonderful stuff for dinner.”

She returned with him down into the apartment, where Percy was setting up the dinner table.

“Roast wild quail,” her father stated. “From the Wildlands. It should help you replenish your mana.”

Unlike domesticated beasts, many of the flora and fauna that lived beyond the human cities possessed qualities beneficial to Mages.

The culinary fare was another point of disparity that made Gwen’s desire to equalise her position more difficult. The scion of a wealthy Magus family would have consumed nought but quasi-magical diets throughout his or her life, and in a world where every ounce of mana counted, it made a significant difference.

“Let's eat,” Percy begged. “I am a growing kid!”

“Alright, go ahead." Gwen chuckled, sliding into her seat as her family dug into the food.

“I am happy that you made it as a Mage,” her father said when the quail had gone the way of the dodo.

“I am glad too,” Gwen remarked, unconvinced.

“So, an Evoker huh?” Her father grinned. "It’s a great school for progression, pretty good for getting out there into the Green and Orange Zones.”

“Yeah.” Gwen nodded, wondering if she should confess to her father that she was not technically a true Evoker, merely registered as one.

“If there’s anything you need…” her father began.

As her memories continued to meld, Gwen felt torn by a dissonance of logic and emotion. Her unbidden memories threw up a brief vision of her father disinterestedly watching her mother dash their dinner to pieces, sardonically putting an apathetic cigarette to his lips as she screamed and raged. The whole while, Percy hid in her room while Gwen had peeked from a gap in between her bedroom door.

“It's okay Dad." Gwen recovered from the disturbing recollection. “I’ll manage, and I’ll let you know if I need anything, I promise.”

“Alright.” Her father smiled wearily, unsurprisingly breathing out with evident relief. "You’re a big girl. You let me know.”

With dinner over, Gwen wanted to return to the rooftop, but her father disallowed it, citing the disturbance it would cause to neighbours if they saw disorganised, impulsive flashes of mana blasting from their building.

“Hey, before you go…” the man continued. Gwen could see her father's Adam's apple bobbing back and forth. It was a tic, her father always did this when he was forcing himself to commit to something.

“Your grandfather gave me this when I came into my talent.” Morye removed a jade pendant in the shape of a Kirin, a mythical chimaera. “I want to give it to you, now that you too have become a Mage.”

Gwen took the pendant in her hand and felt the residual warmth remaining on the jade.

“Thanks, Dad, I'll cherish it,” Gwen replied, feeling surprised at her father's offer. From the corner of her eye, she could see Morye staring at the jade longingly for a moment more. When she looped the pendant on her neck, he seemed to resign himself to his decision.

“I am glad to give it,” he said finally, giving Gwen the expression of one releasing some great burden.

“Is it special in any way?” Gwen asked gingerly, testing the waters.

“It brings fertility and fortune.” Her father laughed to himself.

“Please be serious,” Gwen asserted coldly.

“I have no idea.” Her father shrugged. “It's a keepsake from the old country.”

“From Grandfather?” Gwen pushed the question a little more. Her father had very few triggers - though questioning how their family had become lost in the Old Country was one of them.

“Go get some rest.” As expected, her father 's answer became evasive. A look of weathered annoyance spread across his scowling face.

“You have a big day ahead," he warned her. “You need to report to your mother.”

Her supper immediately threatened rebellion.

"I am going to sleep."

With dinner concluded, Gwen retired to her room.

She slipped into a hot shower, summoning the meditative Zen of shower thoughts.

What a day.

She woke up firmly wedged between a rock and a hard place.

Despite her best and most ardent attempts, it was impossible to invoke that damn Evocation Sigil. She had spent so much of her time reeling from illness, that she could not successfully evoke a tier 1 spell.

A tier 1 spell! Gwen baulked at the thought. What would happen when she had to practice spells with two-digit incantations? Would her head explode like a crushed melon?

Little wonder, so few people make it past Magus, she thought to herself. The mental toll could crack one's brain like an egg.

Exhausted, she returned to the same bed from which she awoke, its sheets still unmade.

Hopefully, when she woke up again, it would be beside seaside Sydney.

Turbulent thoughts tormented Gwen through the night.

Why was she here? What happened to the teenage Gwen of this world? In fact, now that she thought about it, what about her thirty-year-old body? Would her secretary, Becky, find her boss in a state of decomposition? Would the Sun Herald report on her mysterious demise with the headline, 'Woollahra Woman Mysteriously Dead: Face eaten by her two Cats! Pictures Inside!'?

Hovering above and watching herself below, her body began to writhe on the bed, softly whimpering as if taken by a night terror. Within her mind, her twin animus folded upon themselves like origami. Collapsing, collating and condensing until her consciousness became obscure and ambiguous.

The scene of her Awakening once again flashed upon her inward eye. Little squiggly Sigils crawled across her vision, manifestations from a feverish brain. In anger, she reached out and grasped at the illusive glyphs, tearing from the celestial nebulas handfuls of stardust.

Once again, there were two of her: one crackling with energy, the other glowering with obsidian malevolence, consuming one another like dissolving twin-stars. Whenever a sliver of shadow broke from the confines of her body, a stab of lightning banished it below the surface. Where the light had filled her to the point of bursting, the shadow consumed it for fuel.

Her existential struggle continued until it assumed the shape of a lithe female silhouette, an obsidian glass sculpture. Slowly, her consciousness settled back into her body, forever anchored to its host upon the Material Plane.

Gwen felt as though she had witnessed the tapestry of the universe, an interplay of Eros and Thanatos. From one came two, from two came three, then from three, came the COSMOS.

Gwen awoke in the late morning, exhausted by insomnia. Every bone in her body felt sundered as she lay in bed, paralysed within a pool of salty perspiration.

Jesus. Gwen pressed her swollen eyes. Had she been crying? Her lips were parched, and her tongue was on fire; she needed a drink desperately.

Painfully, like lifting a dumbbell, she moved an arm across her chest. With a grunt of wilful imposition, Gwen threw herself from the bed in a moment of dizzying weakness. She struck the carpet below, taking deep lungfuls of air, each gasp sending electric shocks through her torso.

Was this the price of training foolishly and unwisely? Gwen tried to recall her actions from last night. Was it was impossible to overcome talent with effort?

Leaning against her nightstand, Gwen stood; her trembling legs may as well be wet spaghetti.

She checked her clock.

11:00.

“Aw shit,” she cursed.

She was going to be late for her mother; a direr prospect than trying to move her battered body.

Forcing herself into the shower, Gwen leaned against the cold tile and let the warm water run over her. The steam soothed her bruised tendons and eased the dryness in her throat.

When was the last time she cried?

Gwen herself did not recall having such moments of emotional vulnerability, at least not since her old world family had gone their own way.

But her youthful body was only fifteen, a vulnerable, hormonal flesh and blood biochemical construct undergoing puberty. She felt the dissonance between her helpless psyche and her temperamental physique distinctly, making her simultaneously young and old.

Gwen turned off the tap.

Now, she must meet her other-mother.

Within a particular section of her wardrobe was kept all the presents gifted to her by her mother. By Helena's decree, whenever they met, Gwen should publically display her appreciation for her mother’s “tender loving care”.

A dizzying array of dresses presented themselves.

With a sharp eye, she picked out a blue Miu Miu one-piece pleated skirt with rounded French collars and a pair of Mary Janes which the old Gwen kept polished to a dazzling shine. From another draw, Gwen unfolded a velvet package and retrieved a leather handbag she couldn't possibly afford.

The selection suited her skinny, adolescent body well. After brushing down her defiant hair and touching up her brows and lashes, she flew down six flights of stairs to the tune of clicking heels.

As she staggered out the door, Gwen observed that her alter ego disliked the feeling of having her legs bared to the world, fearing that her long and shapely limbs drew unwanted attention. Presently, however, she cared little for such immature self-consciousness. A woman's beauty was her own; she could damn well do as she pleased.

The station was only a few minutes away from her habitat-block.

The Forestville to City-Circle was far more crowded than Gwen expected, and by the time the 'all stop to Central' pulled past Redfern, it was jam-packed. Lulled by the beat of the train's wheels against the tracks, she thought of her mother and how she would broach the subject of her lack-lustre, uncompetitive Awakening, hopefully not giving herself away in the process.

In this world or the other, her relationship with her mother was tumultuous at best. Gwen knew from experience that behind the facade of their cordial monthly meetings and trendy, expensive dinners was the expectation that she would not fail her mother’s Great Expectations.

"Erh..."

A reflexive moan issuing forth from her lips took Gwen by surprise. She quickly turned her body against the crowd of impatient passengers to hide her flushing face. The mere thought of Helena's frigid face made her want to suck in her gut.

Get a grip girl! Gwen commanded her unruly teenage body. Was she ever this emotionally unstable?

“!”

Her meditative introspection was rudely interrupted by a tactile invasion creeping up her thighs, sending goosebumps up the entirety of her torso. There was suddenly the horrid, slimy sensation of a foreign appendage pressing against her buttocks.

Her immediate reaction was to freeze up like a deer caught in the path of a Fireball, her body turning rigid as paralytic shock overwhelmed all awareness.

Gwen! GET A GRIP!

Through sheer force of will, her all-consuming rage restored some of her mobility. This assault on her person was an outrage! She was being invaded and violated. She required the immediate expulsion of her offender from the world of the living!

Slowly, she turned her face, bringing the full force of her heterochromatic hazel eyes to bear.

'CRACK!'

An odour of ozone filled the air.

Unbidden, the tension drained from her body. Gwen felt the snap of something unleashed, a violent flash of mana igniting the conduits of her body, accompanied by the dizzying sensation of mana drain. A Tyrian-purple shunt of electricity ran along the metallic door of the carriage, crawling across its surface as a fissure of lightning. Above, Lumen-bulbs grew several magnitudes brighter before bursting in a shower of sparks, sending its diffused mana all over the cabin.

An alarm screamed through the carriage as the public display panel began to screech.

“Spells are forbidden on public transports.”

“Violation of the Transport Safety Act is a federal offence.”

“Remain calm as officers will momentarily be onsite.”

“Remain still. Scrying spells are in effect,” a chirpy female voice informed the passengers.

A circumference of space cleared around Gwen. Murmurs of disbelief passed between passengers.

It was evident who the miscreant had been. A young man with a terrified mien and Einstein-hair sat on his bottom, a wet patch on his pants where a single pulse of electricity had made him instantly incontinent.

“Spare me please,” the offender moaned. “I didn't mean it, it… it was an accident.”

“Holy crap did you see that?”

“A Quasi-elemental Mage!”

“What an unlucky bastard…”

“That's like assaulting a Magical Beast in public…” someone joked.

“God, I wish I awakened as a Quasi-elementalist.” A passenger sighed.

“I hope there's not going to be a delay,” a more pragmatic voice joined the first.

Below her, the young man whimpered.

“I didn't know! I didn't…” her assailant grovelled.

A feeling of disgust aside, Gwen was just as shocked as her offender.

What the hell was that!?

Gwen tried to recall the last ten seconds.

The man's filthy paw and touched her buttocks, then sparks were flying every which way. Gwen quickly searched within herself and felt an absence of mana. She had invoked something, no doubt about that, but how had she done it?!

The far side of the carriage slid open, and a path was made by the crowd to admit the attending officers. Their uniforms revealed them to be RailCorp Mages, both conductor and guard.

“Alright, clear out,” commanded the lead officer in his navy uniform. “Who cast the lightning spell?”

When they saw that the crowd had made a circle around Gwen, their attitude became incredulous.

“G’day.” One of them tipped his hat. “Can someone tell me what happened here?”

A dozen voices spoke at once, with the two officers taking note of the consensus.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” One of them questioned the offender, having already framed the occurrence within his mind.

“It… it was an accident…” the young man maintained.

“NoM.” The senior the Officers pinched the bridge of his nose. “You better be sure of what you’re saying, because of two reasons. One, you just assaulted a Mage, and Two…”

He turned to Gwen.

“Miss, we are going to need your student I.D.”

“Yessir,” Gwen replied demurely and produced her I.D from her handbag.

“… and TWO, you assault a minor.”

The man’s face was ashen and dripping.

“… which means, for either infringement, we’re authorised to use Mind-Magic on you.” The officer smirked smugly, “So, NoM, what'll it be?”

“I tried to touch her inappropriately…” Her offender confessed, yielding like a bag of soaked ramen.

“Now then.” The Officers noted each other's acknowledgement before turning to Gwen politely.

“Your I.D please young lady… You’re not in too much trouble, but it is still a crime to use a spell on the public transit system.”

Gwen recognised in the Officer's halting tone that there was wiggle room in the man's edict. In addition to the trouble that would come with being charged with a public offence, having a record would impress her academic record poorly.

While pondering her next course of action, Gwen felt a breeze pass between her legs. Her alter ego would have burst into tears, but Gwen was no shrinking violet. Men, particularly men in positions of power, responded very well to vulnerability.

“I am sorry.” Gwen made herself smaller, leaning a little against the pane of the door so that it accentuated her long white legs. She looked up at the officers with downcast eyes moist with distress.

“I didn't know that someone would grab me by the… the…tooshie…” She opted for a more juvenile lexicon. She was just fifteen, after all. “I was so scared… I lost control; I am not very good at spells… I had Awoken yesterday…”

The Officers' faces grew full of empathy and compassion.

This poor girl!

Such a sweet little thing! To give her a record would surely ruin her life - all because of this scum sucking NoM! Some human garbage no better than fodder for the Goblins!

“We’ll just take a record, Miss.” The senior of the two seemed to have made up his mind. “There will be no charges. Anyone can see that it was a genuine accident.”

When Gwen put her hand on her chest and felt her heart flutter, she was no longer acting. The mind was competent, but the body was inadequate.

“Thank you,” she replied sweetly, her face glowing with happiness.

Aww, the crowd cooed. The assembly within the carriage nodded in satisfaction. Justice had transpired. This incident would make a pleasant luncheon conversation, accompanied by smashed avocados.

When the train pulled up to Central, the officers took down Gwen's details.

Gwen bid them a G'day before realising with renewed dread that she was now indubitably late for her mother's appointment. Exiting Central, she began to sprint. Clicking, clacking and turning heads wherever she went. Gwen soon arrived at Sheraton by the Park, where undoubtedly her mother was on the verge of burning down the hotel.

"Ma'am?" A footman gazed over's Gwen's panting form appreciatively.

Gwen straightened her hair with her hands and followed the footman into the cafe. She didn't have to look far for her mother. Helena Huang always occupied the most conspicuous space.

Helena sat at the bar with a too tight dress that hugged her curvaceous body ridiculously. Her mother was tall and voluptuous but had a way of carrying her sumptuous flesh sensually as some women can. Even indoors she wore the classic brown Gucci shades that covered her face, framed by a mass of cascading black ringlets. Her scissored legs revealed toned, tanned thighs still supple and tight, her bosoms pressed to create an intrusive cleavage that drew furtive glances from men and women across the room.

“I am sorry I am late!” Gwen declared with a distinctively sweet voice that escaped her lips reflexively.

Helena swivelled in a manner that made it seemed as though there was a camera somewhere.

Her mother took off her sunglasses with a swish of her voluminous hair to reveal dark eyeliners and too-thick lashes framing a vivid pair of eyes.

“My lovely Guinevere,” her mother intoned in that sickly-rich voice of hers, full of promise for exciting things. Gwen’s real name was the same, but her mother would have liked it be something with more, ‘culture,’ as she put it.

Crossing the floor, the sensuous woman embraced her lithe daughter, forming an enviable arch of femininity. A blooming teenage, a loving mother, a backdrop of flowers and desserts at the high tea room of the Hyde Park Sheraton - that was Helena's perfect world.

Despite being an hour late, the Maitre d’ micromanaged a free table for the two, at which point mother and daughter settled down to cakes, cups, and ices.

Watching her mother leaving a perfect lip print on the china gave Gwen heartburn. The high tea was a rare treat, though right now, even Royal Earl Grey turned her stomach. After struggling to deliver a strawberry shortcake to her lips and failing to swallow the tarty dessert, Gwen opted to just come out with the truth.

“So…” she coughed politely behind a serviette, “I got tested for aptitude yesterday, and I am an Evoker.”

Her mother’s hazel eyes were two balls of amber-green ice.

“That’s wonderful dear,” her mother spoke in a manner filled with indifference. They said that the worst form of neglect wasn't aversion, but the cessation of care. "And?"

“Just… Evoker.” Gwen willed herself to look, but her body dared not meet her mother’s eyes. Helena's irises were even more striking than Gwen's, a rarified green with concentric yellow rings which delivered the terrifying impression of a tigress eyeballing its prey.

“I … see.” Her mother smiled, but it was a smile with teeth.

They drank the tea in silence.

Gwen wondered what went through her other mother's head. She knew that her maternal Clan was very wealthy in Sydney. Helena's brother and his wife were mediocre Mages, but opportunistic real estate brokers. Their son, Richard, attended The Prince’s College, the premier private magical institution in Sydney as a Water Conjurer. Gwen's widowed grandfather was once a famed Enchanter, though now dangerously senile.

Helena must have hoped against hope that Gwen would give her something to brag about to her brother, but that daydream had now died a dog’s death.

“Mother, I was groped by a guy on the train,” Gwen said suddenly, the words blurting out of her mouth as though possessing a mind of their own. “I managed a spell discharge…”

“It's getting late,” her mother interjected suddenly.

"Mother..."

“Gwen. It is rather late.” Helena repeated herself, her tone frosty with rime.

When Gwen regained control of her body and attempted to salvage some dignity, her mother's expression soured. Did Helena think she was lying to diffuse her anger? Trying to score pity marks? Not even her original mother had been this bad!

You selfish bitch! She wanted to shout.

Her body responded by cramping up.

“Next time?” Gwen heard herself bleat, her guts pantomiming a pretzel.

Jesus, I am a grown woman… Her face flushed red with frustration and distress. What had Helena done to this poor girl? The Pavlovian response from her teenage body was beyond Gwen's mastery.

“I’ll call.” Her mother replied, her eyes already in another place. "Goodbye."

Gwen made it as far as Hyde Park before she felt the impulse to tear off her expensive dress and gift her Chanel bag to the nearest hobo. She wanted to cry; God knows she could use a good scream and howl. The soft fabrics of her expensive attire irritated her skin. She stood under the iconic cypresses that lined the World War I memorial and tried to recollect herself as logic and psychosis jostled for control.

The struggle proved futile.

Her whole body shook uncontrollably; she wanted to vomit.

Something unspeakable bubbled forth from the dark recess of her tenebrous psyche.

"Blurrgh!"

Up came the high tea, together with a resonating eruption of mana from her Astral Form. A feeling of self-loathing overwhelmed her as an inexplicable hunger course through her body. A shunt of dark energy, visible only at the edge of vision, encompassed her immediate surroundings. The lush lawn beneath her feet began to tear and disintegrate as abrasions lashed the trunk of the giant cypress, gouging grooves across the blond flesh.

The effect seemed to last only a second, but her vitality was drained beyond measure. Her world began to spin as she slumped against the cypress, collapsing in a heap against its withered roots.

Gwen sat with a start, her body aflame with aching joints and tender flesh. She shivered in her sweat-soaked mini-dress.

Did I lose conscious in the middle of the city, in a public space?! Gwen marvelled at her inopportune epilepsy. She’s damn lucky she didn't get assaulted or worse!

Instinctively, she felt for her bag, the absurdly expensive, near one of a kind handbag from her mother.

Naturally, it had found a better, more astute owner.

Now she felt like crying, and not on behalf of her alter-ego either. This despair was her own, trying to come to terms with the succession of fucked up events that seem to pile on without end. First, she Awakened to become trash. Then, she gets molested on the train. Now she falls unconscious and gets robbed. Maybe she'll get groped on the way back too, completing the fucking quad-factor.

Gwen felt that if she cried right here, right now, there would be no shame; she deserved a little emotional bloodletting, grown woman or otherwise.

Not to mention she was indeed bleeding.

Her Message Device, her 'phone' was gone as well, as was her cash.

Thankfully, she still had an ID, a currency card, and a train ticket in her skirt-pocket.

Gwen stared blankly at the battered tree in front of her, some asshole had vandalised the park. Nothing was sacred in this world.

She looked about her dazedly.

It was only her second day and already she could do with an overdose of Celexa and Buspar washed down with a double shot of Don Julio.

Her dress was soiled, her shoes dusty and the leather scuffed. Her exposed thighs were covered in goosebumps, unprepared to face the cooling dusk. Her wounded knee stun.

She just wanted to go home. She had her ticket, that was good enough, for now.

She stumbled to her feet, her hands brushing down her dress. It would need to be dry cleaned. More money, more costs she couldn't afford.

Like the blood, her mood consisted of a rusty, oozy melancholy.

I guess this is how people get suicidal, Gwen thought to herself, watching the trains pull in. What a fucking day.

She stopped by the police box in Central and made a report. She left the Officers her father’s Message Glyph, then stumbled her way toward the platform for South Sydney.

On the train, she hugged herself tightly against the pane of the double doors, the very picture of pity. With her blemished dress and a freshly scabbed knee, she must have thoroughly kindled the imagination of her fellow travellers.

By the time Forestville rolled around, she had politely explained to several Samaritans that she was alright and was now going home. At Redfern, she had threatened to call the Railcorp guards when a salacious salary man assumed she was homeless and wanted to know her nightly rate.

When she finally opened the door to her apartment in what felt like a return trip to Mordor, sans Eagles, she was faced down by the surprised expression of her father.

“I got a call from the police…” he began, but Morye's face wasn't one of worry. It instead carried a look of guilt, like a child who'd been caught red-handed. She was being rude, Gwen knew, but she was too mentally and physically drained to deal with her father right now. She pushed past Morye and made for the kitchen, where the family kept the medicine box.

“Hey! Go to your room...”

Gwen looked toward her father.

A woman called out from the kitchen.

“Morye, is everything alright?” It was a voice she had never heard before. Gwen was very good with voices.

Fuck! Gwen heard herself scream internally. FUCK!

She was moving out next week, but this fucking guy.

This selfish piece of shit!

Would it kill her Dad to wait five fucking days before fucking a woman in the living room? Where the fuck was Percy? Why isn't he saying anything?

Unwashed and no longer giving a shit, Gwen stumbled into her room while her father commanded her angrily to stay. Slamming the door, she locked it behind her.

What new fucking wonders would tomorrow bring? Gwen thought to herself bitterly. Her body struck the bed, and her mind became full of darkness.

There's blood on her sheets.

That is, Gwen's scraped knee had bled over her sheets.

Pulling the gauzy cotton painfully from her skin, she stripped the linen from her bed. The last thing Gwen wanted to hear was her father's new bimbo having a crack at her bloody sheets.

Gwen took a moment to compose her thoughts.

Yesterday was behind her, and today was a new day.

Shit happens. At work, at home, at the bar.

But life had a habit of going head regardless.

While discretely dealing with the evidence, she mentally listed critical events moving forward:

1. Register with the school's dorms.

2. Sort out accommodation, hopefully with Yue.

3. Move stuff to the dorms and leave Morye behind forever.

4. Prepare for two years of Spellcraft boot camp.

5. Attend University - AGAIN. Become the greatest Mage of her generation.

6. Earn millions or billions, whose's counting?

7. Buy a new bayside house and retire with two cats. MAGICAL ONES.

8. Life, back on track!

Well, she snorted. Maybe just the first four for now.

That, and she needed a hot shower.

The tap screeched; a torrent of lukewarm water brought back her motivation for living. Gwen washed off the grime and dirt, making sure to pick apart her wounds for whatever part of Hyde Park that came home with her.

Her mangled dermis stung like a bitch.

Knowing that her father and brother were out, she allowed herself the liberty of walking around the apartment in her towels, enjoying a glass of cold milk as her injury aired out. The cramped abode had no large windows and thus offered no risk of unwanted exposure.

When she had sufficiently dried herself, Gwen folded away her Miu-Miu dress for dry cleaning, packed away her shoes after applying some fix-it polish, and dressed in a cheap linen skirt hanging droopily just above her wounded knee.

I was a wizard once, but then I took a Magic Missile to the knee. She mused alone before becoming even more depressed.

She rummaged through her closet and found the school diary, an old thing that they gave out every year. Gwen scanned the pages, found Yue’s number, then dialled it into the ancient corded phone that they kept near the kitchen.

"Yue, it's me."

“Hello? Who's this?” Yue’s voice sounded suspicious.

"It's me, Gwen," Gwen appended just in case.

"Bloody hell, Gwen," Yue groaned. "I've been trying to call your Message Device since yesterday! Did you hear about our dorm arrangement?!"

"Dorm arrangement?"

"YEAH!" Yue's voice blasted her over the speaker. "It's bullshit!"

"Wha?" Gwen was now thoroughly confused.

"Didn't you check your phone?" Yue asked, "They sent out a Message yesterday."

"Ah...." Gwen knew then that she had to share. "My phone. Right. Well, I got a hell of a story to tell..."

The Message had informed students that they had to find a roommate or be assigned one. Furthermore, registration was on a first-come, first-serve basis.

Thus far, barring three misfits, all the students had already registered.

Misfit One was Yue, who had been waiting on Gwen, who had been AWOL.

Misfit Two was Gwen, who was having suicidal thoughts.

Finally, there was misfit Three, the quiet Elvia, whom despite her sudden, unexpected fame, had no friends with whom to share a room.

As such, the trio received the use of a staff room where all three would have to share a common area, with the advantage of having an ensuite to themselves. The news would have been a remarkable boon for Gwen and Yue, but now they had a tag-along - Elvia Lindholm.

Yue continued to rant in that endearing but offensive vernacular of hers as Gwen searched her memory for information on their third wheel. Elvia was the kind of girl that was ever present but never seen or heard. She tried to recall the girl's face, but remembered only long, ash-blonde bangs that covered her eyes. She seldom spoke, and rarely interacted with others except when necessary, when she did, her soft voice that made one strain to hear. She was short for her age, maybe edging past a meter-fifty, skinny too, giving the impression of one much younger.

That was it. That was all Gwen knew about this girl. A vague idea of what she looked like, and her unassuming hairstyle.

"Right? RIGHT?" Yue demanded on the other end of the phone.

"Yep, total bull," Gwen replied, having missed about half of what Yue had just splurted.

"So how about you?" Yue asked, her voice becoming tender. "Shit's pretty shitty, but it doesn't stop us from having a nice meet up on the city right? Wanna talk?"

"I think I had enough of the city," Gwen replied. "Love to meet up though, what you got in mind?"

"Wanna check out the dorm then?" Yue replied. "You gonna bring any furniture? I think the mail said all the usual furnishings are standardised, but you get to bring some crap along anyway, I wanna see how much room we have."

"Its close to the school, yeah?"

"Pretty much, its the apartment block directly behind it."

Gwen thought about it. She could walk to the station and catch a bus direct, as it was a weekday.

"Alright, see you there in an hour?"

"Cool, I am shouting you lunch," Yue added.

"No need."

"Too bad," Yue insisted sweetly. "After what you went through, you could use some sweet, sweet calories."

Gwen smiled.

There was a reason she thought of Yue so often, even after they went their separate ways.

“Cheers, luv. See ya."

Gwen hung up and felt far less fatigued than before.

She was ready for a bit of that soulful healing they sang about in songs.

Unlike yesterday, it only took her a few minutes to get ready, no need for makeup or lashes, just a dab of lipgloss, a quick hammering of her unruly long hair, and she was out.

Ignoring her smarting knee, Gwen pushed past the pain and made haste for the familiar comfort of her dear friend.

When the bus pulled up to the school gate, Yue was already waiting for her. It was break time for the juniors, and the fire Evoker already had a dozen of them making moon-eyes at her. The ones closest to Yue and trying to strike up a conversation were all girls, adorable juniors who wanted to know the secret of her Awakening. The boys hung back more apprehensively - Yue's reputation for having a barbed tongue preceded her.

"Gwen!" Yue breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey." Gwen waved back.

"Who's that?" Someone asked.

"Gwen Song."

"A nobody..."

"I heard she’s a NoM."

"What a nuisance," a girl added unkindly.

"Shut your pie holes!" Yue shouted at the juniors, silencing them at once. "Stupid fuckwits."

Had Gwen done what Yue just did, some of the juniors would have demanded to duel her. Yue, however, possessed the countenance of a Conjurer barking orders at her summons.

"Let's go." Yue urged Gwen to move.

"Are they staying together?" a student demanded incredulously.

"That's so unfair," a junior wailed.

"I want to room with Yue..."

Yue dragged Gwen along until they were out of sight.

"You alright?" she asked, a little guilty for the display.

"Yeah, I am fine," Gwen replied, glad to be out of the limelight.

The duo made their way past the schoolhouse and into the residential zone that Blackwattle had prepared for its Spellcraft students. It was an old apartment, likely built in the first reclamation in the 80s, with a distinct Brutalist facade which said, come wind, rain, or Thunder Elemental, I am here to stay.

The building's levitation platform was a freight-lift, rumbling unhappily up the shaft until it reached the top level. The staff room was no penthouse, but it offered a beautiful view of the city and the Barrier Shield that extended into the harbour.

At the entrance of 1201, they were surprised to find that the door was unlocked.

The girls exchanged a glance, then turned the handle.

What greeted them was the small figure of a girl with ash blonde hair, holding a dress in one hand and a coat hanger in another. Their intruder stared back, eyes wide with shock, the very picture of a doe the moment before it was incinerated by a Scorching Ray.

“… ...” there was a silent scream. The girl had made the right expression but what emerged instead was a kind of half choked, half muffled yelp.

“Hello there…” Gwen said.

“…”

“I am Gwen Song."

“…”

We are going off to a good start. Gwen thought.

“You a mute or something?” Yue asked suddenly.

“…” Gwen pulled her friend's elbow. Elvia is a healer! She's a koala bear! You (Yue) can't go around bullying koalas.

“…. No.” A soft voice whimpered, sharp and high pitched, like the trill of a nightingale.

“You got like, a condition or something?” Yue kept on with her interrogation. “Don't you think it's good form to ask our permission before you start unpacking your things?”

Elvia looked up; her eyes brimming with apprehension.

To their surprise, their intruder had a small face that was alluring and white, pale like milk; possessing a button nose that gave her the impression of a pixie or a fairy. Her lips, pink and delicate, was also pale and bloodless. Combined with her luminous ocean-blue eyes, she reminded Gwen of those uncanny character-actors who played Disney princesses.

Gwen's heart melt like Devondale butter under a December sun.

The stunned expression, the soft eyes, the pale face - her maternal instincts were tripping every alarm in her body. Yue was an only child, and she couldn't possibly understand how Gwen felt. Gwen had raised Percy in her mother’s absence and desired more than anything to have a cute little sister she could hug and adore and cuddle.

Without a word, Gwen reached out to Elvia and pulled her to her chest.

“Yue, not another word.” Gwen made eyes at her friend that said she'd take care of it.

Yue maintained her cynicism as Gwen felt Elvia’s rigid body stiffen. The petite girl only reached her shoulders; her head was just the right height for Gwen to rest her chin. There was a delicious scent of expensive shampoo.

“There, there,” Gwen comforted the frightened little creature, gazing into Elvia’s eyes with her most sisterly expression. There was an attraction there, nothing unbecoming of course, but an attraction nonetheless. Gwen felt strangely drawn, as though something about Elvia completed her in an inexplicable way.

“I am sorry,” Elvia stammered. “I didn't want to be a bother when you two are moving in.”

“Is that right?” Yue demanded sceptically.

“It's fine.” Gwen gave both of the girls a reassuring glance. “We’re here to have a look at the room. You’re no bother. I am Gwen Song, and this is Yue Bai, her name means white moon.”

“The fire Mage?” Elvia asked, her eyes lighting up.

“The one and only.” Gwen nodded.

The girls measured one another with their eyes.

“I am Elvia Lindholm,” Elvia answered after an eternity. “It's a pleasure to meet you both.”

The diminutive girl looked up at Gwen.

“Where are you from?” Elvia asked in that soft timbre of hers.

It was not an unusual question. In an overtly multicultural city like Sydney, people were often inquisitive about where one was from, at least originally.

“I was born here, but my family came from all over,” Gwen satiated Elvia's curiosity. Her eyes, her height, her hair, nothing seemed to come as a racial set. “My mother is mixed South East Asian, my father is Russian - Chinese, from near the Sino Fault.”

Elvia’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of wonderment.

“You're so pretty.” Elvia blushed adorably, then noted that Gwen held her shoulders protectively.

“So tall,” the girl added enviously.

Yue coughed, thrusting out her best features.

“You’re … very pretty too,” Elvia added, her eyes becoming as large as ping pong balls. “I love your… erm…blouse.”

“I think we'll get along fine,” Gwen concluded with confidence.

“Like a house on fire,” Yue added with a grin that showed her pearly whites.

Elvia glanced at Yue shudderingly before being assuaged by Gwen that all evidence aside, Yue was not a deranged pyro.

Greetings accomplished, the girls went on to conduct the business of sharing a room. The spacious common area was divided into three sections, with each side having a bed, wardrobe, wall mounted cabinet and a study desk. The foot of the bed had an enchanted storage chest linked to their mana signature. The third wall contained the shared bathroom. The room furthermore possessed a small kitchenette, the kind one found in served apartments.

The girls soon agreed on their respective areas of privacy.

"Oh!" Elvia interjected. "Gwen! You're bleeding!"

Gwen looked down.

"Ah bugger," she cursed. Her wound was indeed weeping.

"Don't touch it." Elvia stopped her before Gwen could dab her knee with a tissue. "I can help."

Kneeling in front of Gwen, she placed her hands just above Gwen's wound.

"Healing Touch!"

A ticklish, tingling sensation crawled up Gwen's leg.

"Oh!" Gwen fought an impulse to kick out. The itching grew unbearable.

"All done!" Elvia stood back proudly.

Gwen looked down.

The scab fell away, revealing pink flesh.

HOLY SHIT! Her mind rioted.

REAL LIFE HEALING MAGIC?

"What do you like to eat?" Gwen asked the girls, flexing her knee. "My shout!"

After some deliberation, the trio made for Market City, where cheap, greasy food was sold daily by the ton.

"I don't usually eat out..." Elvia confessed, expecting mockery and displeasure.

"Yeah, I usually just eat home too," Gwen confessed in turn, somewhat misreading the sentiment. “It's much cheaper just to have toast."

"Oh, Gods," Yue, who was a foodie, rolled her eyes, "This one time, Gwen placed a piece of soft bread between two toasted multigrain bread, and called it a sandwich..."

"That sounds... delicious?" Elvia envisioned the spectacle in her head. "But can't you put something else in the middle?"

"This one time I put leftover stir-fry, it was awesome." Gwen’s morale had now recovered enough to revealing her culinary secrets. Her knee was 100% recovered. "Its even better if you can cram some SPAM in there."

Yue made a gagging motion, which made Elvia laugh. Her new roommates were far too comfortable with one another. The pacing of their interactions threw off her mental metronome immensely.

The girls made their way around town and were on their third serve of sweet nothings when Elvia announced that any more food and she would burst at the seams.

Beside her, Gwen and Yue continued to eat.

Elvia shuddered. The appetite of her new friends was a terrifying thing!

The week came and went, then it was time for Gwen to go.

With her father's latest lover still lounging in the living room, Gwen felt no obligation for an amicable departure as the last of her boxes were packed.

Her only regret was leaving Percy.

Her brother seemed precociously aware that in a few years, the distance between himself and his sister would only continue to grow. As such, their parting the night before had been bittersweet. The guilt of having left her little brother in her past life, combined with the sentimentality of her usurped experiences, made the moment melancholic.

They would always be siblings, of course, but this was a world far more meritocratic than her old one. Already, even at the tender age of thirteen, she could sense the wane kindness in his face. He possessed a natural arrogance born out of necessity and circumstance. Percy attended a Selective High School. Their Aunty once said that if he awakened 'properly', she would move him to Prince's with a paid-tuition. When Gwen tried to impart her worldly wisdom for the last time; Percy had the glazed look of someone who thought very little of her advice.

No heartfelt hugs, no thunderous dramatics. Just a wry smile.

"That all Miss?" The Removalist topped up his three-wheeled trolley and asked for final confirmation.

Gwen looked back at the Forestville apartment and saw her father still fuming in the kitchen, her brother's door slightly ajar.

"Yeah." She shut the front door. "That's it."

The last of the boxes were pressed and packed for recycling as Gwen sat on the single bed of her new home for the next two years. Yue wouldn't be here for another day. Elvia said she would be moving in on the first day of the new term, the following Monday.

For the moment then, Gwen had the place to herself. She resented these moments, for idle minds grew anxious.

I was one traveller, long I stood...

looked down one as far as I could...

Brambles permeated her path, and she had no idea where the road bent in the undergrowth. A week into her new life, the wisdom of her old world was all the evidence she had of her former self. If she were to re-live her teenagehood, how was her old world knowledge going to help her Spellcraft? Magic ignored every rule of natural philosophy she knew; she couldn't just pull a wonderful Wizard of Oz, could she?

Would scientific charlatanism be enough to walk the path of Spellcraft?

On that note, Gwen sighed. The more she learned about the road ahead, the less confident she grew.

She had a year and a half of senior education which she had to complete. Within that time, the Mages who were talented and those who were mediocre were divided again into separate vocations. Those with talent sought higher education, entering Mandatory Military Service as junior officers. Those without the talent joined foundational training in industries beginning their military service as grunts.

Mandatory Military Service.

She had baulked when Yue began to boast about how much she looked forward to her rite of passage.

Actual combat? Against Monsters? Gwen struggled to visualise the event.

She's going to be Spellfodder, Gwen moped.

Think positive, think positive! She reversed gears, chanting to herself like a mantra. There was nothing to be done now, nothing but the coming on of human sleep.

Yue arrived in a day later, accompanied by her father who acted as her manual labourer. Mr Bai had known Gwen since they were young and so had asked her to look after his hot-headed daughter. Together they unpacked and waited for their third member.

"Where's your Mum?" Gwen asked.

"She doesn't like to be in a place full of Mages; you know that, right?" Yue pushed a box under her bed. "My mom's pretty sensitive about her NoM status. My talent has got her in a good mood though. She's been bragging to her family for the last week. I think the whole neighbourhood knows."

"Hahaha," Gwen chuckled. Even in this world, Yue's boisterous mother was the same.

'Ding!'

A Message spell bloomed beside Gwen's ear.

"Looks like Elvia's here early," Gwen remarked. "She's down below."

A gargantuan Mercedes S-Class pulled up at the front of the apartment. A manservant opened the door for Elvia as another, the driver, took out her luggage. The vehicle would not have caused such a stir if they were in Pineford’s Ladies College up the Shore, but here was Blackwattle! It was a government-sanctioned Spellcraft school with blue-collar kids. Even the staff were a humbled bunch, been retired Mages from different government industries, as well as the Military.

To the dismay of the academy cohort, Elvia exchanged cheeks with Gwen and Yue, then together, the trio made for the ‘penthouse’ suite.

Chinese whispers ran rampant within the hour. Tales told of Gwen worming her deceptive way into the friendship of her better peers. Others declared that Gwen was a rebellious gal who ran a gang and imperilled the two into accepting her. Another contested that Gwen was, in fact, the bastard daughter of a politician who used his influence to set her up with illicit means of success.

The truth behind the schoolyard jealousy was of course, merely one of pragmatism.

During the summer semester, the school held a government-sanctioned live-combat examination, known euphemistically as the Field Trip. For this field assignment, Mages were set up in 'Parties' of five. Naturally, everyone wanted to be on the team with a Healer and the top damage dealing acolyte of the academy. All the A-team needed to add was an Abjurer, and they were good to go.

How had Gwen Song ingratiated herself into the A-Team effortlessly? Who does she think she is?

The academic term plodded along, bulldozing forward without a care for the student's natural abilities. Blackwattle was, after all, a Public School with no time to spare for those who faltered. As for Gwen, her classes underscored current magical theory, progressing through a dozen topics interchangeably given by staff and guest speakers.

Gwen marked off November with an impending sense of dread.

Every waking hour had been spent studying by herself, or with Elvia and Yue, who supplemented her work.

Astral Theory

Theory of Mana

Senior Spellcraft 101

Enchantments and Constructs

Study of Magical Creatures

Amongst the all-important subjects were also the necessities of life in the modern world. Arts, Natural Philosophy, and Home Economics - a topic insultingly catered only for the girls.

Furthermore, Spellcraft students received two vital but limited resources:

Low-Density Mana Crystals identified as LDMs and an allocated time in the Cognisance Chamber.

LDMs were used to replenish mana quickly, allowing students more practice with aligning their astral presence, drawing upon the elemental planes to manifest phenomena. Invocation practice was an all-important daily ritual for most students, as the constant process of draining, using, and channelling mana made one's capacity for Spells higher in both volume and flux. The instructors described the process as akin to physical training, wherein only by pushing oneself to exhaustion with constant strain and repetition can one's proficiency for affinity and Sigil increase.

Conversely, the Cognisance Chamber was a quasi-magical chamber constructed to allow Mages to see within themselves and visualise their links to the elemental planes to which they were interconnected. As it was impossible for the average Acylote to comprehend Astral Theory, the chamber cognitively generated Illusion, allowing the Acylote to 'interact' with their Astral Bodies. The education wasn't holistic, but the Frontier's purpose, after all, was to put bodies behind mana engines, barriers and factories, not produce scholars.

Pushing herself to study, Gwen voraciously acquired an entire lexicon during her remedial, chief of which was an understanding of 'Affinity'.

Talent Affinity signified the ease of manifesting phenomena from a particular School of Magic, as well as reducing spell fatigue.

Elemental Affinity increased power and reduced cost.

When queried, Yue anecdotally drew upon the ubiquitous Fireball, her most desired Evocation.

"The higher my affinity, the hotter my flame, the more penetrative my strike, and the larger my area of effect. Concurrently, I got lower casting cost and therefore lesser risk of mana burn."

Additionally, Mages could attune themselves with Elemental Spirits, further compounding the manifested phenomena. A low-tier Element Sprite could add a single tier of effectiveness to a Mage's spells. At higher tiers, sapient Sprites manipulated spells in unique and unimaginable ways.

Element-shift was likewise a post-industrial Spellcraft staple. A neutral Shielding Abjurer generated an invisible magic barrier. An Earthen Mage, however, manifested a Stone Shield. A Fire Mage created a Fire Shield which burned melee assailants. A Water Mage produced a circulating cascade, a self-replenishing Shield capable of nullifying lesser elemental effects.

The mechanical limitations of Spellcraft, therefore, was why Gwen's reputation as a null-Element preceded her.

When her turn in the Cognisance Chamber came around, her peers jeered and joked as she made the inevitable walk of shame. It had only been two months into the academic term, and she was already infamous.

Her intimacy with Yue and Elvia served only to add fuel to the fire. She was very much the tall poppy. As a semi-giantess at six feet, she was instantly recognisable a block away. Her only saving grace, Gwen noted bitterly, was the absence of a scarlet 'A' on her uniform.

But her social suicide wasn't her only problem. Her most vexing irritation was that in two months, she had yet to cast a single spell successfully without feeling utterly sick with mana burn. Her incompetence made no sense, as many of the elementary spells were without an element.

Meanwhile, Yue had already managed a flame channel. She showed off by playing around with a dab of flame that danced harmlessly around her hands. Elvia, apparently born ready, effortlessly managed Healing cantrips.

Plagued by self-doubt and misery, Gwen made her way through to the Cognisance Chamber, jeered by cold glances and mocking faces.

She was the last to visit the Chamber.

The arrangement was that students with more 'potential' were allowed to used the chamber first. Tellingly, it took two fortnights of micro-management to affirm her appointment.

"Don't worry Gwen," Her friend had comforted her. "Once you're in there, you'll know what's wrong."

"I am hopelessly optimistic," Gwen replied with a wane smile.

"You can do it!" Yue declared. "Try harder!"

“You’re reading way too many propaganda pieces," Gwen observed wrily. If wanting something badly enough made it happen, Humanity wouldn't be half as desperate.

"I have confidence in you!" Elvia added, straddling a pillow between her legs and her chest. "My dad says I have excellent magical senses, and you don't feel like a squib to me."

Gwen winced.

A 'squib' was a NoM born into a Mage bloodline. They were rare, but fate liked to play silly buggers.

At the door, a staff member scanned her ID card.

"You have an hour. Your student card should record any changes in your abilities," the middle-aged clerk, a NoM, informed her expressionlessly.

"Thank you, Ma'am," Gwen replied politely nonetheless.

Inside the chamber was a platform for her to stand. The whole set up reminded her of a 60's space module, but bigger. Gwen positioned herself, then waited for the Enchantment to activate.

Slowly, the room dimmed, its dimensions transforming into a grey, edgeless space. A reflection expanded below Gwen's body, refracted by Illusory glyphs to appear above, beside, and around her. According to the student guide, each Sigil the Acolyte gained appeared as glowing nebulas.

Gwen by now had two months of study under her belt. She was no longer blindly guessing at arcane phenomena.

Floating through the darkness, she made sense of the pseudo-space before beginning her navigation. Not far, she spotted an illuminated space. Gwen willed her Astral Body toward what was hopefully her Evocation Sigil.

Yue had tried and failed to describe to Gwen the indefinable phenomenon, but the sight now had Gwen's heart pounding. When she came closer to the nebula of starlight, she could see it pulsing with a familiar twinkle, blinking and winking as though signalling her.

"Hello?" Gwen thought out loud, her pulse quickening.

This better not be the precursor to something worse, she thought. That would be a bloody lark. She was a Generalist, possessing no talent and no affinity. Theoretically, seeing a Sigil with such distinct illumination was impossible.

"Fuck it."

Abandoning all care, she thrust herself violently into the stardust.

"!"

Her Astral Body grew incandescent.

Inexplicably, she understood Evocation.

It was as though she had always known how to use Evocation, as profoundly as one dextrously employed a limb, balanced on a wall, or caught a ball. The knowledge was instinctual and habitual, it was thinking in abstraction.

"Magic Missile!"

The mana conducted splendidly through her body. There was no puzzle, no mystery. Where she had blindly groped for guidance on the open planes of potential, there were now distinct paths she could take, solutions that were self-evident.

Breathless with excitement, she yelped.

As her Magic Missile faded into the distance, a fissure of light swept through her Sigil. Her newly visualised Evocation Sigil tapped into its elementally aligned gate.

'Crack!'

A flash of lightning danced through the illusory star-field, filling the uncertain space with cobalt-blue and Tyrian-purple.

"Oh my God!"

Gwen wailed with affirmation, overcome with relief and joy.

The folks on the train were right!

She was a Quasi-Elementalist!

A Lightning Mage!

She was a sorceress who tapped into the Quasi-elemental Plane between the Plane of Air and Positive Energy.

Why hadn't she awaken earlier? Why was she denied?

Was it her ignorance? She had stared at the Sigil dumbfounded, not knowing that she had to reach out.

But enough of that. Gwen wanted to laugh, to scream, to cry out in triumphant. Within the Chamber, Gwen punched the air in triumph. Had she finally managed to supersede her predecessor's curse of mediocrity?

As the electricity encircling her body simmered, Gwen knew that the portal to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning had stabilised. She willed mana into the Sigil, drawing upon a mental image of Yue playing with her Dancing Light, and felt a numbing sensation travelling across her forearm as a sliver of blue light twirled around her finger into a small phantom creature.

Her creation hummed and purred at her, making Gwen question if the thing was sentient or merely a manifestation of her animus.

'Spak!'

"Woa!"

Suddenly, abruptly, her abstract elemental zapped out angrily at something hidden just out of sight.

Gwen focused her mind's eye, concentrating on the space beyond the glowing stardust. Something was there, hidden in an obscured section darker than black. She moved past the glimmering, static-charged mass of the Evocation sigil, then reached out for the slivers of something that seemed to fade in and out of her vision.

A sudden shudder engendered within her Astral Body. She felt a sharp, biting pain. Flinching, Gwen withdrew her phantom hand. She saw that there were tenebrous incisions all over her illusory skin. At the edge of her vision, slivers of black continued to twist and turn, appearing both closer and further away, taunting her.

Gwen thought back to the dream she had before. There was light, and there was dark. If the light was Lightning, then what was the dark?

Yin and Yang, light and dark, milk and coffee?

She willed her electrical creature to investigate. The sliver of lightning coiled upon itself, then with a mighty leap, launched itself towards the shadows.

"Dancing Light!"

Gwen attempted a second Evocation spell, achieving resounding success.

A white radiance dispelled all shadow. Gwen could see the slivers now, like small dark fish, swimming and fleeing as the ball lightning grew in intensity and rolled towards them. They cowered in the presence of her electricity, nestling and writhing like slippery eels.

The aura given off by the creatures was both alien and foreign, uncomfortable to the extreme, inducing inexplicable vertigo. But if this mysterious thing existed in the Cognisance projection, Gwen thought to herself. Then it must also exist within herself.

Besides her, the lightning spark returned from its show of force, resting on her shoulder as it sizzled. Gwen reached out as she had done so before, snatching one of the creatures with her hand. There was that sensation again, that strange shuddering that felt as if space itself had distorted-

Gwen found herself in the real world.

She was no longer in the sensory illusion created by the Cognisance Chamber. Gwen flexed her fingers, disorientated to the extreme. She still had no idea what she had discovered.

The door to the chamber opened with a distinct displacement of air.

"That's time," The admin asked Gwen for her card. When she noted the changes inscribed by the Chamber’s magically driven recording scripts, her eyes widened.

"Congratulations," the woman spoke with a tone of awe, "I shall inform the Principal."

When Gwen received her I.D card, she took a moment to be equally astounded.

Gwen Song

S.I.D :: 0043598

Evoker Tier :: 1

Elemental Affinity :: Quasi Elemental - Lightning (3)

The rest of the card was blank, its space reserved for other achievements.

Holy shit. Gwen's fingers trembled. I made it.

Here was the watershed moment, the moment the life of the old Gwen ceased to be, the moment fate caught the cliff's edge and pulled her up by the fingernails.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I—

I took the Magic Carpet through—

Thank GOD she didn't have to trudge through the Wildland woods. Lord knew what lurked in the dark; knowing this cursed world, it was probably Shub-Niggurath.

In her moment of private reverie, Gwen hadn't noticed some sticky-beaked students sneaking up behind her to read her card, to announce it to the world and viciously mock the object of their ire.

"Gwen Song," someone read out aloud before Gwen could stow her card, but it was too late. "Tier 1 Evoker..."

Then the reader's voice croaked.

"Well?"

"Come on?"

"What does it say?"

"It says nothing after that, duh..."

"..."

The student respectfully took a step back and gave Gwen a look of no hard feelings. He possessed the greatest respect for his schoolmate.

"Tier 3... Quasi Lightning!" he announced, biting every syllable.

A few of the students anticipating sweet nothings from the public announcement was already laughing. A split-second later, their mockery changed to grave concern.

A dangerous silence reigned.

Gwen slipped the card into her skirt-pocket, then fled the scene.

The terrible news of Gwen's 'true' talent spread like the thirteenth-century quasi-magical bubonic plague. She quickly left the main building before a mob could pick up enough momentum to start throwing textbooks.

When Gwen finally got to the dorm apartments, Yue and Elvia were already giddy with the good news.

"See? Told you so." Yue beamed with optimism; an infectious grin split from ear to ear.

"Congratulations, Gwen on discovering your talent!" Elvia ran into Gwen's arms, her small frame twirling about Gwen's neck.

Feeling overwhelmed by fortune's favour, Gwen embraced her two besties, feeling grateful for having made such dependable friends.

"You'll probably have to see Old Bartlett soon,” Yue advised. "Man, just thinking about your Quasi-Lightning gets my blood boiling - you and me, two powerhouse duos, Elvia at the back healing ... we are going to rock that Field Trip."

"Don't count your cockatrices before they hatch. We still need to find a Tank," Elvia lectured them. Unlike Yue, she was not looking forward to facing live combat. "There's no one good in our year. We ask the Seniors."

"Abjurers are a dime a dozen." Yue shrugged. "Although we could put you up as a prize and hold a school-wide competition to find the BEST Abjurer! A day with Elvia, a date with the Golden Princess!"

"Please don’t," Elvia rebuked Yue sternly; Yue had on an evil expression.

“Hoho, I can see it now! The three of us, piling up that mountain of beast carcasses. Maybe we’ll even find a Creature Core or two if we kill enough of them.”

“You mean the five of us?” Gwen interjected sceptically.

“Pufft… its just going to be us pulling the weight anyway.” Yue snickered arrogantly. "You know, finding a Core on our first adventure would be awesome. We can exchange it. We'll have LDMs for days!"

All Mages dreamt of finding a Creature Core.

The Core of Magical Beasts formed the basic ingredient for Magical Items. The stronger the beast, the denser the Core, the higher the danger involved. A few Earthen Goblins was merely fodder, but a Coastal Basilisk could wipe out an entire mining outpost.

"Alright, clear out, don’t stand in the doorway for Magus’ sake!” The gruff voice of a man announced behind them; it was the caretaker of the Dorm. Iron-Faced Rawson, Yue nicknamed him for his stern and stoic nature, but Gwen rather liked the man. Rawson was the sort of person who was the opposite of her father - focused, laconic, and useful.

"Got a call from Admin." He turned to the trio. "Gwen Song, the old man wants to see you."

"Thanks, Mr Rawson.”

Rawson nodded back.

"Congratulations,” the caretaker intoned expressionlessly before returning to the interior of the apartment.

"You like that sort of man huh, Gwen?" Yue's brows wiggled.

"Mr Rawson?" Elvia looked at Gwen with shock. "He's like a Dad!"

"That's the point... hee hee hee," Yue persisted in her dirty hypothesis. “We all know Gwen’s got Daddy issues…”

"Good God, you two..." Gwen rolled her eyes. Bloody immature teenage hormonal meat bags.

BUT, she was a teen herself, there was no help discounting that. Her body had a mind of its own, even now. Somewhere inside her flesh and blood, the old ghost of the erstwhile Gwen haunted its halls.

At anyway rate, Gwen was not attracted to Rawson, no. She was merely admiring the rare bird known as competence.

The Principal's Office was on the ground floor of the main building. Blackwattle was a simple school with a simple pedigree, and so a simple oaken door opened up to a spacious interior adorned with awards and accolades.

Magus Jules Bartlett had served as the Principal of Blackwattle for two decades. He was a well-known figure both within the school itself and in the neighbourhood. Generations of Acolytes came and went, but all recognised the ever-present personage that was Principal Bartlett at the gates, 0700 sharp, dutifully greeting each student. Amiable and approachable, the Principal was a man fond of conversation.

When Gwen entered, she was met with a reassuring smile.

My God, his beard is impeccable. Gwen thought. Not a hair out of place.

"Miss Song, please take a seat and make yourself comfortable, have a cuppa if you like." The Magus motioned to the table, adorned with a steaming pot of stoutly brewed English Breakfast.

"Thank you, Sir." Gwen sat, tilting her long legs to one side and crossing her ankles behind chair's lip.

“Your progress comes as a great blessing, Ms Song.” Bartlett began. “Barely two month ago, you Awakened only as a Generalist!”

“I wasn't feeling my best sir,” Gwen replied sheepishly.

Principal Bartlett laughed.

“If only matters of Awakening were accountable by moods!” He exclaimed. “I called you here to congratulate you, Miss Song. And to offer an apology.”

The Principal's eyes observed the young woman in front of him before continuing.

“Instructor Thomas informed me of your happy accident. That despite NOT Awakening in Evocation, he had placed you out of pity."

Gwen felt a little stunned at the news.

“I am sure Instructor Thomas was correct though…” Gwen answered, wondering if she could salvage the situation. She was to blame, after all, both her confused incompetence and her enticement of the Instructor to pity her. “When I got home, I tried to do all sorts of experiments. Nothing succeeded, I was truly a Generalist.”

“That may be,” Bartlett intercepted on her behalf. “But to think that but for a moment of pity, he would have recommended you for the Non Magical stream…”

Yeah, that would have been catastrophic, Gwen concurred.

“I understand,” she replied carefully. “I still don’t blame Instructor Thomas though.”

“A warning then. You are too kind.” Bartlett waved a hand through the air. “If we had a Diviner, perhaps this could have been averted, but alas.”

Gwen nodded demurely, playing the unworldly school girl.

“How is your training fairing?” The Principal pivoted toward a more discerning topic.

“I’ve only really awakened to the Sigil this morning,” Gwen answered honestly. “I don't think I have had an opportunity to test the extent of my abilities…”

“Are you able to manifest?”

“Yes, Sir.” Gwen hoped that she wasn't overextending her luck, a performance failure now of all times would be catastrophic.

“Would you mind a demonstration?” Bartlett asked.

Gwen swallowed discretely.

“I’ll try my best sir.”

The two of then left their seats and stood in the middle of the spacious office.

Gwen turned her mind inwards and invoked the Evocation sigil. Having experienced its invocation in the Cognisance Chamber, she could envision it now perfectly, feeling the mana flow through her Astral Form, shift into Lightning, then flood her conduits.

"Lightning Grasp!" she incanted, a spell that was a cousin to Flaming Hands, Yue’s favourite. She felt a jolt of electricity travel across her forearm, then the collated energy of her arcane phenomena manifested.

With a muffled crash, a coil of blue-white lightning crackled around her hand, creating the element’s distinct chitter. Ozone filled the air, and static electricity flooded the surrounding space, sending up strands of Gwen’s hair and Principal Bartlett’s beard.

“Beautiful,” the old Magus exclaimed.

“It’s hard to control sir,” Gwen confessed, her face beginning to sweat. It was her first time, and her spell furiously sought to discharge. The sensation was akin to wrangling a thrashing weasel, any more and it was going to take off her fingers.

“!”

Magus Bartlett drew an Abjuration Sigil in the air. A Shield shimmered around the Magus silently. Transmuters and Abjurers could shape their Shields, but other Schools of Mages tended to favour semi-circle domes.

“Strike my Shield,” Bartlett invited Gwen. “Let us see the efficacy of your affinity.”

Gwen did not doubt for a second that the Magus thought little of her mere tier 1 spell. She extended her hand and touched the shimmering, near opaque Shield.

With a resounding 'Crack!' the electricity dissipated, deforming it for a fraction of a second before the membrane returned to its original shape.

“Impressive. Truly wonderful!” Magus Bartlett exclaimed happily. “Lightning is the lovechild of Evocation; its penetrative impact power is far stronger than that of Fire, Earth, or Water!”

With the spell fizzling after its expenditure, Gwen regained control of her hand. Her head felt a little woozy for the effort.

“Your affinity is exceptional,” Bartlett announced after a moment of thought. “I could feel the free nature of the Lightning element flowing strongly in your spell. Well done, Miss Song!"

Gwen noted a strange discolouration in the Principal’s eyes.

She recognised the phenomenon as Detect Magic; there was a picture of it in her textbooks. The Divination staple was useful for detecting magical events. At very high tiers, it could act as a portable version of Cognisance. Watching the Principal flit between schools and spells, Gwen realised just how far she had to go.

Principal Bartlett meanwhile, was lost in the thought of what he should do with the newly minted sorceress, having now two capable Evokers on his hands. He felt that perhaps, it was best to report to the Tower and make a request for them to send an external instructor.

“That was your first time?” He turned to Gwen. If true, then he should be doubly impressed.

Gwen felt her face aglow with embarrassment, unsure whether she performed well or poorly. Was her manifestation unclean or crudely managed? A clumsy spell was as dangerous to herself as it was to others.

“Yessir," she confessed.

“I must then acknowledge your talent, then admonish your rashness,” the Principal intoned with sagacity. “It is good to be ambitious, Gwen, but know your limits.”

Gwen bowed her head, staying in character.

“I will have your LDM allowance upgraded to the same level as Miss Bai and Miss Lindholm,” The Magus added kindly. “I anticipate great things from you at the next examination.”

“I won't disappoint you, Sir,” Gwen replied, her eyes sparkling as she met the Principal's demanding gaze head-on, switching from humility to braggadocio.

"Very good. Dismissed."

Gwen closed the door behind her.

Yue and Elvia met her outside the administration building.

“How did it go?”

Gwen gave her companion a 'V' for victory.

“On par with Yue (you).” She laughed.

The girls uttered a unified hip-hip, hurray, drawing curious glances from juniors and seniors alike.

Things were finally looking up! Gwen mused happily. To think that only two months ago, she was molested and robbed and was about to live a life of unfulfilled mediocrity! In two days, she would receive a new tithe of LDMs, and then her training could begin in earnest!

The girls' practice settled into a routine.

Gathered on the lower oval's practice range, she and Yue lit up the field with their Evocation incantations.

Grudgingly, the school's cohort came to accept Gwen's new found powers. Albeit many refuted their budding admiration, the crowds that gathered whenever Yue and Gwen practised suggested otherwise.

Once she was OoM, Gwen meditated, cradling an LDM shard. Within a quarter of an hour, she was topped up and ready for another round.

With a growing stockpile of crystals at their disposal, their training was going swimmingly. Each day, when others had gone back to their dorms to study theory, Gwen, Yue, along with a talented few, could remain until sundown. The repetition meant that they built up a tolerance to mana drain, increasing both mana pool and mental stamina. Gwen's meals were also significantly improved, consisting mainly of Quasi-magical Beasts harvested and delivered to the school's cafeteria.

As classes came and went, Gwen's night and days were beginning to blend. Her practice often became so exhaustive that she lost track of time. She called this 'the zone', feeling a curious Zen as the condensed mana stowed within her LDMs permeated her body.

Blasts of flame roared across the field, creating pockmarks of craters across the asphalt practice zone. Beside the torrents of arcane fire, flashes of cobalt lightning tore at the ground, materialising from the aether.

The gathered crowd was here to observe the ‘Dynamic Duo,’ as Yue had come to call herself and Gwen. Yue possessed affinity 4 for Fire and Gwen 3 for Lightning. Compared to their tier 1 peers, they could fire off four spells to the other's three.

The passing grade for participation in the field trial was the demonstration of the ability to produce ten consecutive phenomena and a Shield, graded for damage, speed, variation, and defence.

The micro-management of mana was drilled daily into the students by stern instructors. With each bout of exhaustion, the students alternated between rest and casting, optimising spell cycling.

The crowd cheered.

Yue was radiant as always, perspiring with youthful exuberance. As a Fire Mage, her body would slowly attune to the element, becoming resistant to heat and cold. By the same measure, her constitution would become increasingly hostile to water-based Enchantments and body-buffs.

"Fire Missiles!"

The crowd roared as darts of fire leapt from Yue's finger to envelop a conjured practice dummy, turning the effigy into smouldering chunks.

Such grace! Such smooth and fluid somatic casting! The crowd applauded.

Satisfied, Yue turned to observe Gwen, only to see her friend gesticulate wildly at the field like a madwoman flinging invisible cats.

"Hahaha!" Yue couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Hilarity aside, Gwen's bolts were making quick work of the dummies as well.

For the audience, the difference between Fire and Lightning was instructive in themselves.

Yue's AoE was far more impressive but had travel time, and was subject to line-of-sight.

Gwen’s Lightning spells appeared from thin air, materialising from above the target, striking almost instantaneously. This difference in manifestation was why Lightning was so dominant in both duels and Monster hunting. However, as a trade-off, Gwen's spells were localised and exceedingly difficult to aim.

“Spatial casting is much harder than it looks,” Gwen complained cattily to Yue, wiping herself down with a towel. “How do you find your projectile magic?”

“Line barrages are fine,” Yue admitted. “But the whole parabola thing is pretty abstract; I still need to get through the physics of it in class.”

After practice, the two became immediately surrounded by juniors, more so favouring Yue than Gwen, who had a reputation as the illegitimate daughter of an underworld mob boss.

“Can I get you a bottle of water?” someone asked eagerly.

“Two.” Yue was shameless.

“Alright!” A boy ran off happily.

“…” Gwen blinked at Yue with judgemental eyes.

“Hey,” Yue sniggered. “I only exploit those who are willing.”

Gwen shook her head.

“When's Elvia finishing?”

Elvia wasn't with the girls. The healer undertook specialised training in mundane Medical Triage as well as magical healing. The School couldn't find an Instructor willing to teach just one student, so Elvia's family provided their own. As it were, she was now presided over by her uncle, a senior Cleric.

When the two returned to the dorms, each holding a gift of chilled mineral water, they were greeted by a jubilant Elvia.

"Hey." Yue glanced at the clock. "Elvia, you had dinner yet?"

The blonde girl shook her head.

"That's what I like to hear." Yue grinned expansively. "We're heading to my place. My mum's made dumplings!"

Elvia blinked.

"You know." Yue made a shape with her hand. "Wontons? Jiaozi?"

Elvia shook her little blonde head.

Yue took the tiny girl by the shoulder, feeling her nervous bones creak.

"Alright, mate." she grinned. "You're in for a treat!"

Yue had her house in the suburban sector of Forrestville, roughly thirty minutes away from Blackwattle via public transport. Where Gwen's apartment was nestled in a forest of concrete habitat blocks, Yue's two-bedroom abode was caught between two six-storey flats, reminding Gwen of the house from UP.

"Here we are!" Yue opened the groaning gate. Her father had done his best, but there was so much one could do for corrugated iron.

Elvia stood on the dying grass of Yue's front lawn and took in the distended scent of heavy industry that permeated the suburb. Only two streets away, the housing gave way to an industrial zone filled with warehouses. Before the flats went up, Yue's house had enjoyed the sun. Now, it rested permanently in shadow.

Even here, developers were a plague, Gwen observed. It must be a universal constant.

"Bai Yue, welcome home!"

"Good evening, Mrs Bai." Gwen bowed.

Flustered, Elvia quickly bowed as well, sending a cascade of flaxen strands flowing over her shoulders.

"Oh..." Yue's mother made an 'O' with her lips. "Who is this?"

"I am Elvia Lindholm." Elvia curtseyed.

Yue's mother audibly gulped.

"She's the healer friend," Yue interjected helpfully. "The one I've been telling you all about."

Elvia looked up with her big blue eyes.

"HOW WONDERFUL!" Yue's mother gushed, drunk on Elvia's adorable presence. "COME IN! COME IN!"

The girls entered.

Gwen had always envied Yue's home, this world or the last.

Though cramped and narrow, it was lived-in and homely. The corridor leading to the living room was filled with Lumen-pics, decorating the walls eclectically. The living room itself was plushly carpeted, possessing an old fireplace in front of which Mr Bai had read picture books to a young Gwen and Yue.

Besides the modest living space was a cramped kitchen-dining combo: a domain entirely strange to Gwen, whose father rarely if ever cooked, and whose personal culinary expertise consisted only of instant ramen and Spam. Had Forrestville not been such a Mecca for street food, Gwen and Percy would have grown into the teenagehood knowing just toast and Vegemite, a cheap but potent form of quasi-magical compost.

Mrs Bai settled the girls around the dining table; a beaten old thing accompanied only three seats.

"Food's almost ready. You girls must be hungry!"

Gwen and Elvia watched marvelled as Yue's NoM mother suddenly appeared as if she possessed multiple sets of limbs, chopping, frying, stirring, mixing and plating all at once while multiple pots bubbled on the stove.

She returned a few minutes later with a steaming heap of pork and cabbage Jaozi.

"I made it with Wildland pork," Yue's mother stated proudly. "It's a rare treat! Eat up!"

Yue mixed the dipping sauces for her two friends while Elvia struggled with her chopsticks.

"Like this-" Gwen demonstrated with one hand. "The index finger and the middle finger should be pressing against the moving stick, while the stationary stick rests against the phalanx."

Elvia was quick on the uptake.

"Mum, are you eating?" Yue asked her mother.

"Go ahead," Yue's mother smiled sweetly. "I'll wait for your father. He likes em fresh."

Eager and curious, Elvia gingerly picked up a dumpling, dipped it into the sauce Yue had prepared, then placed it into her mouth.

"!!!"

Her ocean-blue orbs grew large.

Pain, pleasure, scalding meat-soup, spicy and savouriness struck her tongue at once.

"Evee!" Gwen gasped. "It's HOT! There's soup inside! Oh my God, Yue, you didn't tell her?"

Yue popped a boiling dumpling into her mouth.

"Its fine to me."

"You're a tier 4 Fire Mage!" Gwen chided her friend. "We don't have heat resistance!"

"Oh?" Yue touched her lips. Looking at Elvia, she realised her friend was in genuine pain. "Shit, sorry Evee. I'll get you some water."

Having caught the commotion, Yue's mother returned with a glass of cold water.

Elvia waved the cup away.

"Hwealing Tooch!" she announced, wincing as she incanted the Clerical cantrip. "Oh Lord... my goodness."

"Are you alright?" Gwen asked worriedly. Yue's mother trembled by the bench, not knowing if she should apologise or disappear.

"Delicious!" Elvia beamed, surprising all of them. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Oh... I am no Ma'am... haha..." Yue's mother squirmed.

Yue's cloudly mien lightened. She had thought Elvia would have left, or at least berated her.

Gwen caught the sparkle in Elvia's eyes and marvelled at the girl's emotional intelligence. It wasn't often that someone could overcome their agony, especially when it was dealt by the ignorance of another. Gwen felt happy to be right, Elvia was beyond precious! She was an angel inside and out.

"It IS delicious, isn't it?!" Gwen joined in. "Break it apart first and let the steam and the soup out."

"It's SO GOOD," Elvia beamed at Yue's mother. The poor woman had been sweating buckets when the healer held her mouth. As a NoM, she had an innate fear of Mages that was difficult to dispel even after a decade in Sydney.

"I've got other flavours too!" Mrs Bai uttered jubilantly. "Just you wait, I've got prawn dumplings made with Wildland chives!"

"My favourite!" Gwen hailed the prospect of chive-dumplings, though not its room-clearing farts.

Yue raised a glass of water.

Gwen met her half-way.

Elvia fumbled for a cup.

"To dumplings!"

"To Mrs Bai!"

"To us!"

"Cheers!"

The asymmetrical collection of glasses clinked; joining the sound of clattering chopsticks, hissing steam, and the trilling laughter of women.

Spring ended with November; then summer came on with its stifling heat.

Fair-skinned and petite, Elvia wilted like a rare white flower.

Gwen likewise melted in a most un-ladylike manner, legs akimbo, a spaghetti-string singlet loosely hung over one shoulder, its sheer cotton stuck to her stomach like wet rice paper.

She must have died, and this is hell, Gwen moped. What kind of magical world lacked air conditioning? She hadn't experienced an Aussie summer without air-conditioning since she left home at sixteen. Even the youth hostel had air-con.

Beside the sweltering Gwen, Yue was as cool as a cucumber; her affinity for Fire meant she naturally regulated heat in her body. Gwen's bodacious companion wore a comfortable singlet that barely hung on for dear life.

“How come.” Yue looked at her friend. “How come we both bought small, and your one fits?”

“Humblebrag?” Gwen moaned, too tired to return a volley.

“Funbags,” Elvia added an acute observation.

“What have you being teaching her?” Gwen wailed. “My innocent Evee is despoiled!”

“They grow up so fast.” Yue sobbed. “Just the other day she was making eyes at a boy.”

“I was not!” Elvia protested.

“No no!” Gwen wailed, "Evee is mine! For now and forever!"

The girls fell about in laughter, making the room hotter.

'Knock! Knock!'

“Ahem!”

A cough came from the doorway; the door opened just a peep.

"I er... knocked, but you all appeared to be pre-occupied," mumbled a voice from the hallway.

Gwen grabbed the closest linen, though her modesty proved was a futile effort; she was too tall for the meagre fabric. Besides her, Elvia dived for her bed, throwing a silken shaw over her cut-off shorts.

"Oh yeah..." Yue seemed to recall something. "I invited a cooling glyph."

The door opened. A young man about the girls' age entered nervously.

"I am not er... interrupting anything am I?" asked the young man apprehensively.

"Thank the Magus you are here." Yue bounced up to greet the young man.

Their guest averted his eyes. On his right, Gwen was looking defensive and hostile, to his left, Elvia hissed like a cat. Trapped, their intruder found great interest in the old art-deco lighting fixtures.

"Ladies..." Yue placed her hands together. "This is Jun, a wonderful young man whom I have recruited to our cause." She nodded at Jun, who was still reeling at the girl's attire.

"Jun, do the thing."

The girls turned to look at Jun, who was now the colour of beetroot.

"Excuse me," Jun muttered, making the circular Sigil of the school of Abjuration.

A sound of crinkling filled the air, then the temperature plummeted. A thin sheet of ice seemed to form in the air around Jun, before finally coalescing into a semi-dome ball of frost that radiated cold.

Yue flourish with a bow, twirling her off-hand floridly.

"Ta da~ "

The heat in the room dissipated and a cool breeze began to circulate. Gwen felt as though she was in one of those improbable air conditioning commercials where hot and bothered women became emancipated by Mitsubishi split-air systems.

Yue patted the cushion of the two-seat couch in a come-hither manner.

"Sit."

Hawkishly, the trio watched as Jun sat on the edge of the couch, scratching his nose nervously.

"This is Jun Murrow." Yue paused for dramatic effect. "Abjurer, affinity 2, Ice."

Elvia's blue eyes peeked out from behind her pillow. Gwen straightened her singlet before shaking Jun's hand.

"Jun."

"Gwen."

"Elvia," Elvia called out from afar.

"Hi."

Silence reigned.

“So, as you know,” Yue broke the ice. “We have our Field Trip soon. I figured we should pick the good fruit before they’re gone, that sort of thing.”

She motioned to Jun.

“I asked around for the best Abjurer in our curriculum, and now we have him. Applause, ladies!”

The girls golf-clapped.

“Ahem, thank you. It's good to be here.”

Jun’s eyes scanned the room, falling toward his enviable audience.

“As Yue stated… I am a Quasi-Elemental Mage like you Gwen,” Jun began. “We Ice Mages tap into the space between the Air and Water elements.”

Gwen nodded.

“Few elements are as stable as Ice,” Jun continued with a hint of pride. “Especially with Abjuration, we can create Shields and walls that are both transparent and hardy.”

“Whereas Lightning…” Jun's stated with admiration. “Lighting is the most volatile, but a real showstopper. Perfect for Evocation.”

“Does us sharing the Air element do anything?” Gwen enquired. "Synergy, for example."

“Unfortunately no,” Jun replied with a wave of his hand. “At least, not that I know of. Lightning doesn't interact well with anything. A water Mage and I could synergise something impregnable, but I doubt Fire, Air, or Water could do anything for you. In fact, I am fairly sure Earthen Mages counter Lightning.”

I bet water could conduct Lightning, Gwen mused. Some of the potential energy may be lost, but it should be feasible.

Watching Jun and Gwen converse, Yue nudged Elvia. Gwen turned to see Yue wiggling her brows at her. Rolling her eyes, she threw a towel at her overimaginative friend.

“Sorry, they're just kids," Gwen apologised. "Look, Jun, I think its pretty obvious that we're all inexperienced. It's going to be our first time. Can you lend us a hand?"

"..." Yue's expressive brows once again came to life.

Elvia's face glowed a hot-pink.

Admirably, Gwen's inopportune expressions flew over Jun's head.

"What do you want to know?"

"What's our role in an Adventuring Party?" Gwen inquired. "I mean, how does it work? We've never Adventured before."

"Okay." Jun took a moment to begin. "Essentially, a perfect Party has FIVE members, each with unique roles. The Scout is typically an Air Mage with Transmutation or Divination. The Tank is an Abjurer, typically Earth attuned. The Damage Dealers are usually Conjurers, Evokers, or Transmuters. And Utility is taken up by Diviners, an Enchanters, or an Illusionists. In the best case scenario, the Utility is a Healer who can Buff, Heal and Dispel."

“How would the setup work with us four?”

“Good question." Jun scratched his nose again. "I believe we have excellent synergy.”

“Fire Evokers have widespread damage over a huge area. Lightning Evokers have instant pin-point damage. Both are extremely accomplished between tier 1 and 3, with the firepower of say, multiple Air or Earthen Acolytes.”

“I am pretty confident myself as a Tank, and with my affinity, I could stand in for two basic level Abjurers at the very least. As an Abjurer, I can instantly create hard Shields mid-air, good for blocking both physical and elemental attacks. If we have access to a water source, I can even manage Shield walls."

"For our team, I'd say the game-changer is Elvia. With a healer, we can ramp up our hunting speed immensely, even if we are a little reckless. Having a Cleric makes the 'survival' aspect of the Field Trip rather trivial."

Ah~, Gwen nodded affirmatively. Elvia, of course. Theirs would be the only team with a Healer in the entire school. How could they lose a survival competition if they could negate the inconvenience of inevitable injury?

"That's all fine and dandy, but Yue did advise you that we're just a few months into our training, right?” Gwen confessed dubiously. "I doubt we can chain more than a dozen spells at the moment. Not to mention that Elvia isn't yet certified - are you Evee?"

"I need to pass the medical tier 1 examination first.” Elvia shook her head.

“There's still two months until the Field Trip,” Jun proclaimed confidently. “Not a problem with your affinity and resources.”

"What can you tell us about the Field Trip itself, Jun?" Gwen continued.

"Well, it takes place near the Royal National Park, deep down the coastal area. The area south of it was never really reclaimed, just kind of 'cleansed' a few times- it's now infested with low-level creepers."

"Horned-Rabbits and angry Wombats?" Gwen thought about her Magical Creatures classes with its absurdly thick Monster manual.

"A little more advanced than that I hope!" Jun jovially quipped, "We're talking more the garden variety of sentient magical beings, like Goblins."

"Goblins..." Gwen still couldn't believe there were Goblins in this world. The critters were not the green-skins of yore though, but humanoid creatures gifted animation by the magical residue of the Wildlands. The Bestiary stated that when enough elemental essence coalescence in an area, it attracted spirits sensitive to that element and gave them material form.

Within the bestiary, Goblins referred explicitly to the malignant little creatures that formed where Earth and Fire elements were particularly strong. Lesser Goblins, or Snotlings, were little more than mindless animals that scavenged for food, while an adult Goblin could take down a grown man with its claws and teeth, ultimately becoming a Hob, a human-sized, flesh-eating creature of immense cunning.

"Have you ever seen a Goblin before?" Gwen asked.

“Seen 'em and killed dozens." Jun's eyes clouded over with remembrance, "It was when we got to one of the outposts down near Wollongong. The little buggers had overrun a mining camp, and were busy trying to get to the workers in their Construction-Golems."

"What happened?"

"Well, the workers were there to dig up crystals. Unfortunately, they struck a warren. When the golems came through, they broke into the tribe's main chamber, and the Gobs came flooding out like hornets."

"When my Party finally got there, the critters had already murdered a few of the workers. The rest locked themselves up in their construction golems, waiting for rescue. If you want to know what they look like, the ones we saw were different. They had these little horns they used for head-butting and carried these nasty obsidian clubs, They could even walk on walls, like spiders."

"That's disgusting..." Elvia gasped.

The trio sat around the Abjurer, hugging their knees to their chests, hanging onto every word.

"So..." Gwen wanted to hear the important parts. "How did you... kill them?"

"We had a fire Evoker with us, but the Gobs were resistant to fire, so our Air Mage and I had to double duty. He used Gust spells to slam them onto the walls, and I froze them in place with Creeping Frost and my Shields. The Water Transmuter ended up performing most of the defence because the Goblins had a tough time getting their small bodies through the Water Barrier."

Gwen leaned in closer, a dozen questions dancing on the tip of her tongue.

“… so finally, we popped the warren, and there were hundreds of the little buggers running around trying to get through the Shield. The fire Mage ended up throwing half a dozen Fire Balls at the cavern until it collapsed on the whole chamber, sealing the shaft.”

Gwen considered the information she had just received and knew that there was something she had to ask, something she had never done.

"How does it feel to kill something." She inquired carefully.

Jun visibly struggled to describe the strange, sickening feeling of taking life. Should he explain the sounds the Goblins made as the ice crawled up their spine? The crunch as their scaly-skin broke? The screaming and the yelping as they burned? The yellow ichor that oozed from their orifices?

"It will be hard at first," Jun replied finally. "The 'being' you're attacking had been alive, and now it's dead. I could describe the ichor and the smell, but it's something you have to experience yourself."

"The animals are not so bad..." Jun paused. “But Demi-humanoid Magical Creatures will test you. Some of them get pretty lifelike. The biggest thing I saw was a Hob, watching it get cut down by a barrage of Magic Missiles was no different to seeing a man die.”

Jun's voice trailed off. Only the sound of soft breathing and perspiration transpired through the dorm room.

'Snap!'

With a pop, Jun's ball of frost collapsed. The room once again felt stifling.

“I hope we can work well together,” Jun announced seriously.

“Yeah,” Gwen agreed. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Thank you,” added Elvia, her complexion paler for the wisdom.

“Well, there's still the summer break, then a couple of weeks until your exams." Jun pushed up his spectacles and grinned at the girls. "I haven't agreed to anything other than I'll wait. You need to show me that my trust is well-founded."

"Alright," Yue announced excitedly. "I am pumped! We're gonna rock that test!"

Yue leaned in aggressively.

"Jun, you're not going to join another team, right?” Yue watched as Jun's eyes pivoted to and fro. The crude manner of Yue's strategic presentation made Gwen vomit a little in her mouth. "Promise?"

"Of.. of course." Jun stammered. Gwen wondered if his glasses would fog up, but then again, an ice Mage naturally had a lowered body temperature.

Jun escaped before Yue could push him to make another promise.

Yue had an extroverted, forceful personality; Jun was passive and humble.

Fire and ice, Gwen mused, was there a correlation there?

Gwen consulted a mental Astral-chart to recall what her oppositional element was and find it to be Dust. The Quasi-elemental Plane of Dust, consisting of nothing but death and the erosion of time and space. What kind of Mage would that be? Who could even awaken to such a thing? Gwen shuddered, imagining a grey old man with a constant air of apathy, dandruff falling like fallout about his head.

When the door finally closed, Yue turned to her companions.

"That was embarrassing," Yue confessed.

So you do feel embarrassment. Gwen patted her friend on the head.

"Well done!"

"Would you expect anything less?" Yue raised a mischievous brow, assuming a hands-on-hip power pose, expecting praise for her negotiators.

"Arrr I am so jealous!" Elvia blurted. "What are you eating! "

"Well, there is a secret..." Yue sauntered closer to the unsuspecting Elvia before hugging her tightly.

"Hot! Hot! Hot! It's TOO HOT Yue!" Elvia moaned. "How can your body temp be so high? I am dying!"

"Feels alright to me." Yue giggled mischievously.

Gwen felt the ambient temperature soar. The air-conditioned hour they shared with Jun felt so far away.

"You sure that your family can't just install air or water-based conditioning Glyphs here?"

"Nup." Elvia moped sadly, feeling sweat pouring from her ivory skin after Yue's heated assault. "Rawson said that the building is Warded. We're not allowed to install foreign Enchantments."

"Gar~ Get away from me woman!" Gwen yelped as Yue snuck towards her, hoping to spread some more misery.

In the end, it was too hot even to move. Gwen sat on the wooden desk, sweating into the grain. Elvia laid on her bed like a corpse.

"I touched a dead body the other day." Elvia declared suddenly.

Both Yue and Gwen froze.

"At the clinic!" Elvia corrected herself just in case the girls thought she was responsible for the cadaver. "A worker was attacked. He succumbed to his injuries. My uncle got me to sit in on the autopsy."

The other two girls listened quietly, the subject efficiently chilling the room.

"I watched Uncle go through the... organs, and he took them out and showed them to me one by one. There was so much it, the heart, the lungs, the liver..."

"The man had been alive only hours before, but now he was dead and being taken apart for studies. I wanted to vomit, but Uncle said that I had to see this sooner or later because no matter how good a Mage can be, there will come a day..."

The song of cicadas filled the humid air.

"I want to be the one to heal you if that ever happens." Elvia intoned solemnly, "I'll never let either of you die!"

Gwen's throat became swollen as her eyes welled with moisture; her heart throbbed with maternal love and boundless affection.

"... and we'll protect you too, always," Yue solemnly declared.

"Aye," Gwen concurred, her hazel eyes full of conviction.

There was nothing else to be said. The girls smiled as one, happy in their naive promise.

'Putt! Putt! Putt!'

The training dummy split in twain with a resounding 'crack!' as several stone-tipped Magic Missiles cracked its wooden surface, sending up a cloud of fragments.

The area around the dummy next shimmered; a mana Shield made opaque by dust, rock, and assorted sediments materialised.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

The mana shield remained immovable as the missile shattered against it, but a section of it became chipped where a projectile had struck, penetrating some of its exterior and sending spiralling shards to bounce off its interior.

"B"

"C"

"B"

The instructors announced.

"Would you like another attempt?"

"No sir, I believe this is my current limit," the earthen Abjurer announced sadly. He had already surpassed the expectant ten consecutive incantations but could do nothing more about the lacklustre power. That was a problem of both School and affinity.

"Very well, you may go."

The exam took place, much to Gwen's dismay, in public and before the assembly of Spellcraft students deemed eligible for the Field Trip. There was at least a hundred of the gathered cohort. Gwen sighed. It wasn't so much that she resented presentations or speeches - she loved those - she disliked being judged for the sake of being judged.

Half the day had passed, and half the students remained, waiting the drawing of their lots. So far, neither Gwen or Yue had been chosen. Yue suspected with a confident smirk that the other students were just the opening act and that the inspectors were saving the best for last.

Though Gwen was sceptical, she could see that Yue's hypothesis had some merit. None of the other students with highly attuned affinity had presented themselves yet.

They watched as an Air Mage cut down half a dozen dummies, marvelling at the speed of her smooth, acrobatic movements through the obstacle course. Each element had their distinct advantages; the Air Mage's defence proved woeful, her mana Shield barely holding against two of the instructor's missiles.

Then a familiar face appeared: Debora, Gwen's old childhood friend who had bickered with them on the day of the Awakening, took to the stage. Since their spiteful rendezvous, Gwen had kept herself from Debora's presence.

Debora had grown taller somehow, more alluring; her signature long legs appeared more muscular and sculpted than before. Gwen knew that Earthen Mages all possessed exceptional stamina, constitution and strength- that those with high affinity eventually possessed rock solid, chiselled bodies akin to marble statues.

The once-heavy mass of Debora's auburn hair had been bundled up into a knotted ponytail, giving her the air of a track athlete. Cries of audacious exhalation went up from the crowd as Debora entered. Though Debora had always been a queen-bee type as a junior, she worked hard as well. During their training, Gwen and Yue had heard nothing but praise for the 'genius' of Class 3 from the Instructors.

"Catapult!"

Debora began with a classic, offensive Transmutation spell, launching a fifty-odd kilogram projectile in the shape of a spiked ball towards the target. 'Catapult' was the Transmuter's version of Magic Missile. There was no auto-guidance, but the spell packed a far stronger wallop. Debora's wrecking ball arched gracefully through the air, meeting the wooden dummy in violent matrimony. The mannequin shattered spectacularly, sending up a spray of splinters. The stone rolled on for another dozen metres, taking out several back-up dummies.

"Catapult!... Catapult!... Catapult!..."

She incanted in quick succession, and a barrage of boulders devastated the field.

The crowd cheered and clapped, Debora wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"I think she's at least tier 3 affinity now." An instructor observed. "Wonderfully smooth mana conversion, almost no lag or wasted potential."

"I concur." Gwen heard another Instructor speak before feeling an acidic twang.

Debora then walked into the field. As she sauntered, her skin turned a deep bronze, becoming coarse and rigid.

Bronze Skin? Bark Skin? That was a tier 2 Transmutation spell! Gwen blinked. Were they doing Tier 2 spells already?

"Are you certain about this?" An instructor asked.

"Yessir, you have my consent," Debora replied, smiling bravely. “Though not my hair, Sir. I will have it styled more appropriately for the Field Trip."

The instructors nodded as one, then began.

A barrage of three missiles flew towards Debora and struck her on the chest, the arm and the leg. She barely flinched as a few motes of stones fell. Her Earthen armour remained impenetrable.

"Very good!" one of the Instructors announced. More barrages followed; it was only on the tenth strike that finally a chunk of the armour chipped off, and Debora fell to one knee.

She walked back towards the demonstration platform, dramatically turning to unleash one more spell.

"Stone Blast!"

A simmering glow appeared beneath a dummy before the pavement suddenly sprouted half a dozen spikes, piercing blonde wood and sending the torso flying a good ten meters.

Another Tier 2 Transmutation spell! Gwen's delicate brows knitted apprehensively. Debora was kicking ass.

"Debora sure is special!" Someone behind Gwen remarked appreciatively.

"A"

"A"

"S"

The grading was unanimous.

"Geez, first High Distinction and we're sixty people down already!"

Gwen saw Debora turn to look through the crowd. She felt Yue tensing beside her.

From across the assembly, their eyes locked.

You think you have talent? What I have is what hard work gets you, Debora's eyes seemed to taunt them. I am every bit as good as you think you are.

"I am going to enjoy this." Yue spat beside Gwen. "Looks like Debby need a good spanking."

Gwen felt caught between two colliding forces. She felt respect for Debora. After all, had Debora being a company colleague, Gwen herself would have felt nothing but praise for someone so driven and dedicated to their craft.

But Yue was never one to leave a slight unmolested.

A few more students came and went.

“You’re going to show them ‘that’ already?” Gwen whispered, watching Yue rubbing her hands together.

"Her holier than thou purist attitude pisses me off," Yue snarled, baring her teeth. “Watch me rock her world. I wonder what she'll think after she gets her ass ripped by an Asian half-NoM."

"Yue Bai. No. 14002. Yue Bai."

"I am up!" Yue's presence drew envious glances and wanton stares. "See you on the other side!"

"Miss Bai." The Instructor nodded when Yue made her way up the platform to the sound of applause. Gwen could swear that the crowd was chanting 'Yue! Yue! Yue!'

"I am ready." Yue turned to the field and watched the Dummies conjured into place. "I shall begin."

"Firebolt!"

A dazzling arc of fire flew through the air like a falling star and struck the dummy. The force of it splintered the wood cinematically, before engulfing the target in an explosion that left nothing but a smoking stump.

The crowd collectively took in a breath.

That was a Tier 1 spell?! How did she make Magic Missile explode? Were there two stages to the Evocation spell?

"Astounding display Miss Bai," the Instructor's praise was full of approval.

"To think you could place an unstable mote within the frame of the missile particle.”

"Yessir, but the missile is no longer self-guiding," Yue answered honestly. That was beyond the girls' knowledge of rudimentary Spellcraft.

"A distance to go before you perfect it then, do you intend to craft a Signature spell?"

A Signature Spell was a spell that solely belonged to a single Mage, not taught in the general curriculum. It was the hallmark of a skilled mage to create unique incantations, and almost all the noted Magus had their unique incantations.

"Yessir."

"I would advise patience then." The instructor advised warmly, "There are far more resources when you arrive at university and have access to senior instructors who are more attuned to elemental Fire."

"Thank you, Sir."

“You may continue.”

Yue gathered her wits once again, and the air around her became scorchingly hot.

“Barrage!”

With a burst of fiery mana, Yue conjured a dozen fire bolts and fired them off at different angles in a vertical line.

A line of explosions shook the field, sending dummies flying every way, cutting a deep channel in the splintered bedrock. The pyrotechnic fireworks shook the ground and forced students to conjure Mana Shields to intercept the flying debris.

“By the Magus!”

“Holy hell!” someone screamed over the cacophony.

“Are we really in a high school division?”

“Nothing's surviving that…”

The air cleared. All the dummies were gone.

“Incredible,” an instructor marvelled.

“Indeed, marvellous,” another concurred.

Despite their high praise, the Instructors still offered essential criticisms. Her incomplete-signature spell took too much mana; it lacked focus each explosion was inconsistent, and so on.

“Are you able to continue?” The third inquired.

“Yes,” Yue's chest rose and fell. “One last spell.”

Yue invoked her Mana Shield.

“Blast Shield!”

Fire Mages had offensive shields that worked wonders on melee opponents but had severe limitations against ranged attacks. As Yue manifested, a shimmering, glowing Shield surrounded her in a half-dome.

“Another Signature Spell!”

Three missiles shrieked towards Yue. As the projectiles struck the Fire Mage's Shield, a volatile reaction spat forth gouts of orange flame.

The first missile exploded.

The second skimmed the Shield.

The third, however, penetrated her shield and struck Yue on the shoulder. The force of the impact drove her toward the ground.

“Yue!” Gwen cried out.

“I am fine.” Yue waved back, nursing her collarbone.

“Looks like that modified spell still needs work,” one of the Instructors commented.

“Yessir,” Yue admitted. “It's far from ready.”

“Good concept though, if you can somehow accelerate your reaction…”

“Indeed…”

“I believe there's a Magus at the Sydney Tower who has designed a similar spell. Perhaps, if you are interested, I can ask the faculty to put you in contact with the Magus.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I'll be honest with you.” Another instructor's criticism was sterner. “You are waste too much time on creating these spells, Yue. The basics are the foundation of Spellcrafting, and you need to have a solid foundation before venturing into new things. These spells are as dangerous for your enemies as your allies if you cannot control them well. My recommendation is to forgo these fancies, at least for now.”

Yue nodded solemnly.

“After the Field Test,” The instructor added. “You will have team and survival training; please focus on that to the best of your abilities. No distractions.”

“Yessir, I'll try my best,” Yue answered seriously,

“S”

“S”

“B”

S stood for supersede. An achievement beyond what could be measured by the Senior performance metric.

The first mark was for effective damage.

The second was for speed and or stamina.

The third was for defence and utility.

The Fire element was a naturally offensive element, though Yue’s attempt at innovation by using offence to offset defence was commendable.

Yue returned to Gwen surrounded by the cheers of their peers. Not, however, before she found Debora in the crowd and gave her the bird.

“You had me worried when that missile went through.” Gwen took her friend by the shoulder and gave her arm a soft prod.

"Eee Yarh!” Yue hissed. “Yep, it's gonna swell for sure.”

"If only Elvia were here..." Gwen lamented.

"She's got a whole other thing going. Much more difficult than us grunts, ha!"

A dozen more students had their turns, some failing, some succeeding, but none matched the rating given to Debora and Yue.

Gwen awaited her turn with bated breath.

Eventually, it came.

"Gwen Song. No. 14026."

The gathered assembly had no cheers nor applause for Gwen. Gwen reached the platform and met the benevolent gaze of three Instructors.

"We have heard good things from Principle Bartlett," one of them spoke benevolently. "It is rare to see a Quasi-elementalist in action, and an offensive caster at that."

An array of target dummies moved into position.

Deep breath! Focus. Do it like you always do, Gwen assured herself.

She turned to face her wooden opponents and tapped into the Sigil, sensing it burst into brilliance within her mind. She pointed rather flamboyantly towards one of the wooden figures and spoke the incantation that she had practised a thousand times before.

“Blast Bolt!"

The smell of hot ozone filled the air, mixing with the unstable Positive Energy. A shunt of electricity split the air.

'Crack!'

A flash, followed by a thunderous 'crack' filled the field with light and sound.

Lightning! The crowd gasped. The power of the Gods themselves! The purest form of absolute destruction.

A cloud of dust rose into the air, obscuring all sight.

WHO COULD SURVIVE THE FIST OF HEAVEN ITSELF? The crowd cooed. SUCH POWER.

The moment of awe passed.

The dust settled.

The assembly stared dumbfounded at an intact dummy.

The faceless Dummy stared at Gwen, dumbfounded.

She missed. Gwen Song missed the target.

Oh. My. God. Gwen's mind turned as brilliantly white as her bolt of plasma.

I MISSED THE FUCKING TARGET! She screamed internally.

"Did she miss?" Someone asked.

People began to laugh out loud.

"She missed the dummy!"

"Oh my God, this is too good!"

"What the hell!"

"Ha! What an idiot!"

"I knew she was just a vase!"

The laughter spread like the tide, some of the students were so overcome that they doubled over trying to breathe.

"SILENCE!" An enhanced auditory spell blasted across the assembly.

"Continue," said one of the instructors. "Don't be so nervous. That was a wonderful manifest."

Gwen nodded, trying to block out the stifled mockery filling the space between her ears.

Show them what you can do. Gwen thought to herself. Show the world what you can do.

Her Evocation Sigil flared, sending a torrent of lightning-charged mana into her conduits. Gwen raised her hand, a finger extended towards the heavens, then swiftly pointed downwards.

"Blast Bolt!"

The roar of her incantation rang out through the field. Those close to her instantaneously felt their hair rose to a stand-still. A vacuum formed above the dummies.

A blue-purple shriek of lightning cut through the air and struck the closest scarecrow. The wood grew bright before exploding into ten-thousand pieces, sundered into motes of ash and dust. The obliteration was so complete that not even the stump remained, leaving only a half metre crate.

Before the first arc faded, another arc cut through the air, obliterating another dummy.

Then another, and another.

Shards of lightning filled the air, indiscriminately ravaging the world within the radius of the spell, increasing in frequency.

Gwen felt her mana pool drain like snowmelt at springtime, pouring into the white-hot Sigil.

More! The exhilaration thrilled her to the core. I can do more!

A final bolt of lightning struck the ground, a beam of solid light, blinding all within sight. A shockwave expanded from the epicentre, send out a concentric ring of dust. As the particles settled, there remained only decimated stumps amidst a criss-cross of molten sand-turned-glass.

Gwen felt her knees give out as mana drain came on. Pulling herself up by the hair, she stood through force of will.

"Magnificent."

"Can we even do that as a Senior Mage?” One of the instructors quipped.

"Sure, but I am fifty, and she's fifteen..."

The instructors observed the devastation.

That was the same chained signature spell that Yue was using but elementally charged with lightning; a multi-cast of Fire Bolt given a new form. Though it was not well known, it was an observed phenomenon that an area charged with positive energy gave rise to greater lightning manifests. It meant that for each subsequent bolt striking the same location, the following strike was substantially stronger.

The question, of course, was how was Gwen controlling the direction of the blasts so accurately as to converge?

The assembly of students picked their jaws off the floor.

"Are we still at a high school level?"

"Surely military mages are only about this powerful?"

The crowd went wild with speculation.

Gwen regarded her handiwork with a feeling of satisfaction. For someone schooled in the scientific method, it wasn’ that difficult. One time, she fumbled a spell and left excessive motes of positive energy at the location. She subsequently found that all her other strikes kept becoming redirected to this particular spot. Testing and experimentation ensured, and she found herself a little knack for directing lightning bolts. Since then, she had named her first attack as the 'Guiding Bolt'.

"Can you continue?"

Gwen nodded, summoning a second wind.

She made the gesture of the circle, forming within her mind the Shield spell, and channelled into it whatever mana she had remaining.

"Please, I can't hold this for much longer. Sir," Gwen replied between clenched teeth.

The choice was as much tactical as it was necessary.

Only Abjurers could hold Shields indefinitely, and only Abjurers could generate a shield for others. For all other schools of Mages, a Shield was the last resort of self-preservation. During duels or in competitions, getting past the enemy Abjurer to force enemy Mages into 'Shield-Break' was the victory condition. Once a Mage lost their Shield, they were just flesh and blood humans.

Gwen's mana shield was pale blue, with the occasional spark leaping off its sides. Like all Lightning shields, it was an offensive barrier.

"Ready yourself," the Instructors forewarned.

Three missiles shrieked through the air and struck Gwen's Shield.

The first missile burst into a brilliant ball of light upon contact, consumed by the triggering of the Shield's capacitative energy. The second cut through the electrical barrier, missing her torso. The third pierced the Shield with a sound of breaking glass and struck Gwen squarely in the chest, sending her stumbling backwards and onto her buttocks.

"Gwen!" Now it was Yue's turn to worry.

The instructors breathed out. Much of Spellcraft operated on a balance of power. Abjuration was tough and impenetrable but weak in the offence department. Transmutation was versatile but unexceptional in defence or offence. Evocation Mages had incredible aggression, but tend to be glass cannons.

"S"

"A"

"B"

The verdict was out - Gwen passed with flying colours.

All the tension drained from her body. She had not disappointed Yue, and she had not disappointed herself. Half a year of nothing but hard work, working through Christmas, Boxing Day and New Year, had paid off.

The instructors then offered advice on tuning Gwen's spells for stamina and endurance, discussing possible scenarios and weaknesses. Gwen listened attentively and noted each of their concerns for the future.

"Congratulations Gwen!"

"Good work!"

"Nice!"

The crowd was finally warming up to her.

Gwen wanted to hail back, but she was dizzy with exhaustion. Her whole body felt drained of energy, wanting collapse somewhere and rest.

I need to work on this mana conservation business, Gwen cautioned herself. The last thing Gwen recalled was getting back to Yue before falling into her friend.

"Woa there, hold it steady!" Gwen heard Yue cry out. "Miss! I am taking Gwen to the infirmary!"

Gwen awoke, presided over by a resplendent angel in a trainee's scrubs. The Celestial looked just like Elvia; only she was attaching an I.V drip onto Gwen's wrist.

“Healing Word."

A familiar tingle of Positive energy infused Gwen's chest, stitching her bruised flesh. Slowly, her throbbing injury dissolved until all discomfort ceased. Gradually, Gwen's refocused eyes became drawn to a silver-winged badge on Elvia's collar, consisting of two crossed staves with twin serpents.

"Congrats on getting your licence..." Gwen languished voice addressed her companion.

"Thanks," Elvia replied, her cheeks as fresh as pippins, but then the girl's tone took on a sterner note. "Why did you and Yue both get injured! That's so irresponsible! I wasn't even there!"

Gwen felt a pang of guilt. In hindsight, the impression she had made was matched only by her recklessness.

"I couldn't have summoned the Shield otherwise..." She tried to explain logically. "It took everything I had, next time..."

"Hmmph!" Elvia snorted. "There won't be a 'next' time, at least not without me nearby!"

"Sure thing, Evee," Gwen touched her friend's slim white fingers in an attempt to appease her upset. "How was your test?"

"Fine, though I wasn't in danger, not like you guys," Elvia recollected. “It was difficult having to triage twenty patients by myself, but everyone did fine. Uncle had to make minor adjustments, but I passed with flying colours."

"I am glad to hear it." Gwen breathed out.

The door of the infirmary opened without so much as a knock.

"She awake?"

Yue entered the room like a storm.

"Yeah, just about."

"Hey, Yue."

"Gwen!" Yue leaned into the bed and gave her friend a suffocating hug. "I got some great news! Because of the school's crop of 'advanced' students, we're going to have a personal instructor! The Sydney Tower is sending one of their own!"

A private Instructor? Gwen mused. That IS good news. Ordinarily only the elite private schools had individual Instructors.

"Other than that, how are you feeling?"

"I am just a bit tired," Gwen confessed.

"The drip is a saline solution, it should get your hydration up," Elvia informed them. "I am afraid I haven't learned Lesser Restoration yet."

"Take another nap,” Yue advised. "You totally out of mana."

"I think I will."

“One more thing.” Yue stopped by the door, trailed by Elvia. “You’re up for another session at the Cog Chamber. The Principal says to get it done as soon as you can. Before the Instructor arrives.”

"Alright."

A second session would be immensely helpful, Gwen though, applauding Principal Bartlett's assistance. She needed to figure out what those strange black phenomena had been.

With her friends gone, Gwen sunk into the soft linen covers of the infirmary bed and thought about the near future to come. She had finally attained her short-term goals, and now her immediate concern was the real-life trial by fire and combat.

Blackwattle's top Acolytes would delve in groups deep into the Green Zone to perform mock-Quests. These were different each year, sometimes retrieving an object an examiner had planted, sometimes returning with the evidence of completing a subjugation.

Her first hunt.

Her first kill.

Mayhap her first injury.

Aye, now there's the rub. Gwen bit her lip until she tasted a hint of iron. She'd never so much as gutted a fish before, and now she was supposed to kill? Not only that, but a living 'being' in the shape of a person?

Could she handle it? She wondered to herself.

What would happen if a creature wounded her?

She imagined herself freaking out, hysterical, unable to concentrate. She who hadn't even so much as broken an arm in all her years - now had to contend with the possibility of a Magical Beast ripping out a chunk of her flesh.

More importantly-

Could she stay cool if Yue or Elvia got seriously injured? Would she freeze, freak out, or flee?

Elvia stayed behind after her shift and waited for Gwen to wake before going home together. The dorm had set up a small celebratory dinner for the victors; when the duo entered the communal dining, cheers and applause welcomed them to the tune of pyrotechnical cantrips.

Dinner was already in full swing amidst a sumptuous feast of Wildland creatures. Rawson had spared no expense, tapping deep into the scullery's budget to make a meal worthy of Blackwattle's prodigies.

Once again Elvia bore witness to the appetite of teenagers, with her fellow students packing away enough food to feed a battalion of soldiers.

“Gwen! Elvia.” A familiar voice called out.

The girls turned to see Jun, comfortable in jeans and an indy band shirt, a drink in each hand. Her future teammate had been the first to Message and congratulate them.

“For us?” she took one off his hands.

“Of course.” Jun had a habit of grinning with only the left side of his mouth, smiling lopsidedly.

“Here we are, ladies…”

A second voice greeted them. It belonged to a young man with a mop of fair hair. Their guest was clean cut in a white t-shirt and jeans, identified by a tattoo on his right hand in the form of an eye.

“Henley Lucas Prince, at your service.” The young man bowed, careful not to spill the drinks he held. Gwen took the stemmed glasses and thanked their new companion. She passed one over to Elvia.

“Gwen Song.”

“Elvia Lindholm.”

“Henley is a Diviner,” Jun spoke on his companion's behalf. “Tier 2 Air, not that it matters. He's pretty handy with Magic Missiles though.”

Divination was the one school that required no particular affinity with elements. Its staple spells, however, were incredibly useful. True Strike, Detect Hostility, Detect Magic, Detect Poison and Find Traps- no other School of Magic possessed so much utility.

The girls' eyes lit up.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Henley quipped.

“I can vouch for his expertise,” Jun butted in. "Though not for his personality."

“I can find any lost key within a radius of three hundred meters,” Henley humbly bragged. "And mark any target so that your spells could unerringly strike it.”

Gwen immediately thought of her trouble with the Guiding Bolt - the one imbued with a positive charge. Could Henley be the solution to her problems? If so, she would have to ensure that the boy was suitably loyal to their cause.

Swinging the flute-glass in an arc, she turned her hazel eyes onto Henley's surprised face. Shifting her upper body, shoulders squared for maximum elegance, Gwen unleashed a devastating smile.

Henley gulped, failed by his Divination.

“I think she likes him,” Jun said cautiously, looking to Yue for confirmation.

Yue measured Henley over from head to toe.

“Hey, look but no touch,” Henley's scalp crawled.

"How good's your Divination?" Yue asked.

“Impeccable.” Henley’s voice took on a more flamboyant tone, “Shall I invoke the rite of Seeing and gaze into the uncertain future for you? To scry the invisible and make known the unseeable?”

“Ergh, mate...” Jun's face turned bright pink. For whatever reason, all Diviners develop a tic for the theatrical.

“Alright, what's Elvia thinking?” Yue pulled the surprised girl before her, presenting her before Henley like a ritual sacrifice.

“Detect Thoughts!” Henley announced, a halo of sorts materialised over his head.

“Oh no…” Elvia cowered. Where could this possibly be going?

“Ask me anything about yourself…” Henley began.

“Are you wearing a bra today, Evee?” her companions blurted in tandem.

Elvia turned to stone as per the tier 6 Petrify.

Henley’s face went from white to red, then to a deep scarlet.

“Yep, he's the real deal,” Yue noted.

“Very effective, good mana conversion ratio,” Gwen added professionally, sipping her coke.

Elvia turned to her roommates with flashing eyes.

“You guys! Hmmph!” she huffed and puffed as her friends fell about in hysterical laughter. To everyone’s surprise, she slapped Yue across the chest, then slapped Gwen across the buttocks, drawing curious eyes from around the room.

Jun turned to Henley, now polymorphed into a beetroot.

“You alright?”

“Yeah… yeah…” He glanced at his friend cautiously, “How old did you say the healer was?”

“Same age as the others, fifteen I am sure.”

“Alright.” Henley looked sceptical.

“What's wrong?”

“…”

“Well?”

“… She’s not wearing a bra.”

“…”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah…”

“Poor Elvia,” Jun lamented after a moment. “Maybe she should eat what her friends are eating.”

“I feel like I committed a crime,” Henley moped miserably. "She looked twelve or something."

“Chin-up, we’re only sixteen you know. You’re not awakening to something strange, are you? All healers look youthful; it's the Positive Energy.”

“I sure hope not…” Henley shook his head, his mind still thinking of the wondrous Bolivian salt-flats.

“Anyway, that's the five of us then,” Jun continued.“ I’ll head to the Head Office and get the admin done.”

“They need to sign too,” Henley added.

“No problems, I’ll drop by again."

They clinked and finished their drinks.

“For the Field Trip!"

"Aeee!" Elvia dodged an enraged Yue while beside them, Gwen cackled.

Henley and Jun blinked, overcame by unbidden anxiety.

The girls would pass Survival and Orienteering class, surely?

Gwen made her second trip down the familiar hallway to the Cognisance Chamber. It was a rare boon to have another visit beyond one's annual review, for each exhibition of the chamber’s powers drained a significant volume of crystals. During one of their early morning chats at the school gate, Gwen had lamented the early termination of her last visit, and the wisened Principal must have taken note.

She signed in at the counter.

The chamber was the same as before. Gwen took her place in the middle, then awaited the ignition of the illusory enchantment. The room dimmed, space and time folded, then she was once again within the arena of her mind.

Her Evocation sigil glowed happily, pulsating amongst the indefinite space of the Astral Plane, an occasional arc of Lightning broadcasting a spiderweb fissure of Lichtenberg figures.

Right, here goes, she muttered internally.

Gwen summoned the lightning serpent that she had conjured prior. Rather than an electric elver, it was now akin to a ball python; she could see within its translucent body little motes of elemental lightning sparking back and forth.

She reached out with her mind for the space beyond the Evocation nebular, expanding her consciousness, searching for those little black motes that gave off a sickening feeling of vertigo. The light of her Lightning added a dimension to the darkness that had not existed before, though Gwen was confident that this too, was merely an illusion of her mind's making.

She soon rediscovered her quarry.

Unlike her first endeavour, there no longer seemed to be a host of the little grub-like creatures lingering so close to the Evocation sigil, more than likely frighted off by the overflow of energy.

There!

She felt it! That sudden drop in the pit of her stomach like she had stepped into the air. She moved closer, figuratively speaking, finding a whole cluster of the creatures thick enough to form a black void. The cumulative effect of seeing the larval swarm made her immediately nauseous, as though she had motion sickness.

Gwen drew back. It was too much; she could feel her Astral Body shuddering.

Yet, she felt simultaneously drawn towards the vortex of inverted space, where the leech-like creatures seemed to suck in all light, their oily hides darker than black.

What IS this thing? Gwen felt herself haplessly moving forward. Vaguely aware of the fate that awaited the curious cat.

She reminded herself that none of this was real; that all of this was inside her head.

Here was the Cognisance Chamber, after all, and all of its projections were merely manifestations of her Astral morphic field. She had never heard of anyone dying in the chamber; as for what her strange visions portend, there was only one way to find out.

Gwen suppressed an instinctual desire to flee; instead, she pushed herself towards the mass of writhing larva, at which point the vertigo ringing in her head became a screeching static, freezing every nerve in her body.

With a fatalistic air, Gwen thrust her arm down to the elbow into the swarm.

She may as well have assailed a bucket of dry ice.

Shit, did I fuck up? A sudden paranoia engendered within the recess of her mind. The agony was at such a pitch that she felt on the verge of cracking a molar.

Oh, God! She gulped for air, is this what giving birth feels like? Two walnut-sized kidney stones jostling for space?

Below, reflected in the Cognisance illusion, tenebrous, inky liquid from the worms was now seeping into her Astral Body. Within her mind, the torturous pain had grown abstract and exquisite, combining with her anima, seemingly without end.

With a shuddering force of will, Gwen tightened her grip, crushing something with the texture of gelatine.

ENOUGH! Gwen pleaded to the void that she had done enough. She was at her limit.

"Go!"

Gwen released her lightning serpent, a bright sliver of starlight piercing the void. The darkness retreated like a tide, instantly fading into the neutral nothingness of the Astral Plane.

Opening her hand, she saw within her palm motes of darkness, embedded within her flesh, appearing and disappearing at the edge of her vision.

What a horrid, gut-churning, brain boiling trial! But she had powered through. That was the crucial thing. Come bushfire or flood water; she would never doubt her will to get shit done.

The projection waned, indicating the end of her session.

Just in time too. Gwen exhaled. That was a close one.

With great anticipation, she made her way out to collect her Student Card.

What would have changed? What would it say now? She couldn’t wait.

A new element perhaps, maybe another School of Magic?

That would be incredible because only the most talented individuals from the most incestuous Clans produced Mages with two elements.

“Here you are." The instructor returned her card.

Gwen inspected her I.D.

Gwen Song

S.I.D:: 0043598

Evoker Tier:: 2

Elemental Affinity :: Quasi Elemental - Lightning (3)

“Congratulations on the level up.”

What an exemplary student, her expression appeared to say, only three months in and Gwen was already tier 2.

Gwen regarded her card once again, noting the absence of any other significant difference.

She baulked. Had she made a mistake? Were the dark worms sweet nothings?

All that pain and suffering for a misunderstanding? Th-that’s bullshit! Gwen felt cheated by the Cog-Chamber. So much for her fair shake of the sauce bottle! Not even a consolation prize?

“You alright, Miss Song?” The Instructor inquired. Now that’s she’s taken a better gander at the infamous student, she noted Gwen looked somewhat gaunt. Her cheeks were sallow and sunken, the bags under her eyes were puffy and pronounced, she looked as though she hadn't slept for days.

“You are overtaxing yourself,” she said worryingly. “It will do you no good if you collapse.”

Gwen likewise took notice of her diminished state of health.

“I don't feel so g-”

She tried to speak, but her throat choked with ash and dust.

Oh no no no, not again, Gwen felt a sinking feeling, the very same she had exhibited in Hyde Park. Her world began to spin, inundated by that strange vertigo. She fell into the alarmed embrace of the Instructor as she slumped forward, her body falling as though someone had cut the strings holding her up.

“How are you here again?!” Elvia’s voice rang out sharply, full of upset and disappointment. She had been chewing Gwen out for the last ten minutes.

“What kind of training are you doing behind our backs?”

“I am sorry Evee...”

“If I may interrupt...” a masculine voice with a strong European accent spoke beside them. It was the physician who had been teaching Elvia, Dr Lindholm, her uncle. “Gwen, I want you to be very honest with me....”

“I shall...” Gwen replied, a little worried about what would happen if someone found out about her ‘true’ condition.

“Are you... putting yourself on a diet?”

“No...” Gwen replied quizzically.

“Alright,” he turned to Elvia for confirmation, who affirmed Gwen wasn't hiding anything untoward.

“Gwen eats enough for both of us...” Elvia divested sourly.

“...” Gwen blushed.

“Right…. So,” The doctor continued. “Are you sexually active?”

“Uncle!!”

“I am sorry, what?” Gwen almost spat on Elvia's uncle. The complexion of her face flamed amazement.

“Ahem... I am serious.” Elvia's uncle appeared unmoved, making the two girls ashamed for their faux pas. “I mean, have you being out with anyone other than people from the dorm, people who are questionable, perhaps engaging in substance abuse, that sort of thing…”

“No, never. I train all the time...”

“Elvia?” The good doctor doesn’t seem to hold the general honesty of teenage girls in high esteem.

“It’s true, Uncle. Gwen trains like it's her religion.”

“No stranger-danger?”

“...”

“Fine…fine… can you elaborate on your training?”

Gwen told him what she could.

“I see...” he replied, “I fear you are not suffering from mana drain, but in fact from a vitality drain. Perhaps ease off on the exhaustive training? I know its said to develop your mana reserves, but it remains a questionable truism from early Spellcraft theory.”

Gwen searched her memory of the last few months lectures.

“Vitality drain... as in life-drain?”

“Yes,” Elvia’s uncle worriedly answered, “I’d say the symptoms point to a negative energy drain, but you’re tapped into the positive energy plane, so that’s hardly a possibility.”

“That’s...” Gwen paused. She recalled the strange dark mass and the black worms. “Impossible, I’ll be more careful with my mana management next time.”

She was infamous for her horrid mana management, after all.

“I need to take some blood samples if you don’t mind,” The doctor stated. “In case there are pathogenic quasi-magical reasons.”

Gwen nodded demurely.

“Is Gwen going to be alright?” Elvia asked. “Won’t she be too weak to give blood?”

“It’s alright, Evee.” Her uncle replied kindly.

Gwen looked away as the syringe penetrated her dermis. The bloodletting was relatively painless, though she had always been terrified of needles and could not bear to watch. Several vials of blood soon lined the shelves, while Gwen appeared even paler than before.

“That’s all I needed,” Elvia's uncle sealed the vials with labels. “Now for your treatment. Sit upright please, arms relaxed, chin up.”

The doctor hovered a hand over her heart.

“Lesser Restoration!”

“Heal moderate wounds!”

A thrum of Positive Energy flooded her Astral Form. Gwen’s physical body absorbed the healing mana greedily.

Instantly she felt haler; in fact, Gwen felt better than ever.

“She's fit and ready to go," the doctor declared.

“Thanks, Uncle.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Gwen likewise acknowledged, still feeling a little woozy from the sudden influx of vitality.

“Get some sleep,” he advised. “You'll need to have a long rest after you get home. I’ll write you a script, take tomorrow off.”

“Thanks again, Sir.”

Elvia's uncle left.

“Is nothing the matter Gwennie? Really?” Elvia pursued the source of Gwen's illness relentlessly.

“Absolutely. I am fine, Evee.”

“Alright,” Elvia stated softly. She hugged Gwen bodily, burying her small face in her chest like a kitten. “You’re so bony.”

“Yeah... I am starving... I can eat a whole Auroch right now...”

“What happened?” Yue asked, watching Gwen moving onto her third quarter of quail.

Elvia told her of what her uncle had said.

“Training a little too hard, hey?” Yue looked over at Gwen sceptically, who was trying to swallow and drink at once. “If you’re low on mana, I got some spare crystals.”

“Mmmmm mmph..” came the reply.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” both Elvia and Yue corrected her at once.

Gwen swallowed, her stomach bloating like a balloon. She gave it a playful pat.

Gwen was stuffing herself sick because of what she'd seen in the bathroom mirror. For whatever reason, she had moved unknowingly slipped from comfortably slim toward anorexia. Far beyond an athletic litheness, her hipbones protruded, and her ribs were painfully visible. Horrid sight! Impermissible! Even in her last life, working sixty hours a week, she managed to hit the gym enough times between work and weekends to maintain an enviable appearance.

Beauty was vanity, but it was also social capital!

That was why Gwen had ordered a double portion of protein and carbs, hoping to work herself back into a healthy weight. After dinner, she would go for a jog around the neighbourhood!

Her two friends watched as their slim companion slammed down another mouthful.

Elvia touched her chest.

Was this the secret?

Woodland survival took place within an especially constructed Illusion inside the Blackwattle's athletics field, supplemented by Conjured flora. The process was apparently both costly and complicated, and an average school like Blackwattle could only afford enough resources to keep the Enchantment lit for a month at best. As such, within a limited time frame, all eligible students had to complete Woodland Survival 101 or forfeit their chance at distinguishing themselves on the Field Trip.

The course was operated by several Rangers who were sent down from Randwick Barracks, specialising in overland combat, especially recon and scouting missions.

Gwen's eyes lit up when their instructor, a six-foot-four clean shaven Staff Sergeant, presented himself to the students.

“Call me Sergeant Boone.” The military grinned affably.

Gwen's face heated up. Having spent so much time in the company of teenagers, the presence of an actual 'man' made her realise just how much she had missed interacting with adults.

Sgt. Boone had the exterior of a poster soldier from propaganda Vid-casts, owning a stubble capable of grating cheese. His figure was long and muscular. In his tight khaki crew-neck, he resembled an Aussie G.I Joe.

“Gwen, stop drooling…” Yue nudged Gwen in the ribs. She noted that her companion was into strong and stoic guys, which made perfect sense. Gwen perpetual lamented the fact that her father was a useless, unambitious layabout who relied on his women to make his bed.

The exercises the students had to perform were numerous, but for Gwen who had the patience and experience of an adult, field dressing and other basic survival routines provided a scant challenge. Though physically exhausting, it was no drama watching Boone go about his explanations, sweat perspiring on his thick arms.

Indeed, it was no trouble at all - until the class moved onto utilitarian magic.

The students each had to take a hand in makeshift-shelter construction and fire making. They also practised hunting relatively harmless Wildland creatures for provisions, or at least animated Constructs imitating the real-life animals. The illusory field furthermore disorientated the students, assessing their orienteering and tracking abilities. Day after day, the schedules and activities continued. The field even had simulated rain, as well as one time, a bushfire, though Gwen suspected Yue had something to do with it.

By the fourth day, Gwen's confidence was shot.

Since Mages could manifest a variety of practical phenomena, different Schools of Magic made specific tasks negligible and trivial.

Yue, for example, could create fire, but couldn't control flames. It meant that if she lost control of a spell, the entire camp could end up in smokes. Here was where Water Mages, the most common of all Elemental Mages, saved the day. They may not be able to fight very efficiently, but they could conjure clean water for drinking and washing, put out fires, and even effortlessly create mana Shields to block the rain.

Likewise, recruit a good Earth Abjurer or Transmuter, and one had instant shelters. Abjurers created igloo-like dome structures where teammates could sleep, whereas Transmuters could transmute stone and build a two bedroom bungalow. Anecdotally, Boone told them that one-time, his squad had been stuck out in the Wild Lands near the Orange Zone of central Australia. Lacking shelter from the sun, their Transmuter went and dug a small complex underground so secure and well sheltered that the Army opted to convert it into a Forward Operating Base.

Therefore, watching the others busy at work, Gwen and Yue realised a fundamental flaw of Evocation. Evokers were very, VERY good at killing stuff and blowing shit up.

But were otherwise one-trick ponies.

Oh. My. God. Her face burned.

To think she would be ashamed to be an Evoker.

Gwen, Yue and half a dozen others stood and watched those whom they had looked down upon previously going about a dozen tasks at once.

I am sorry, non-Evocation Mages! Gwen apologised profusely. I was too arrogant and ignorant of your talents!

Where Evokers had been the star of every practice session, with every eyes and ear enticed by their loud explosions and cool pyrotechnics; now they just loafed around.

Together with Gwen and Yue, they watched their precarious wood shacks wavering in the wind while someone like Debora transmuted themselves an elevated stone fortress.

Wincing at the tenderness of her blistering fingers, all motivation drained from Gwen. Even with Boone watching her, she couldn't muster the motivation to do more than the bare minimum.

What was worse, Debora, having discovered the girls' ineptitude, had set herself up to flirt with Boone, asking for pointers on how she could strength her Normandy battle fortress. She was the perfect candidate, after all, possessing both Transmutation and Earth talents, the same as Boone.

Watching her sculptures twist and turn into arches and extend to become walls was agonising for Yue, who could do nothing but hack away at the branches with a tomahawk, feeling like a useless NoM.

“The nerve!” Yue growled. “She’s all over Sgt. Boone like a cheap piece of meat.”

“It's fine…” Gwen shrugged. She could see that Boone was uncomfortable and understood the man perfectly well. These were high school girls, and he was a thirty-something adult. Though Debora had the body of a woman, her childish idea of flirtatious sexuality had Boone sweating buckets.

By the time Debora finished, she had created an elevated fortification, a two-metre tall monstrosity with a roof and an observation platform. Boone was heaping praises upon her, and their rival was aglow with otherworldly confidence.

Yue and Gwen observed their shabby stick humpy, breathing out sadly through their noses.

You win this time Debbie! They sobbed dejectedly.

Thinking about Debora's display, the girls noted Transmutation's versatility. Debora could launch a short-range Catapult; she could Barkskin, she could Stone Shape in the future. She could even self-buff and melee her targets with Enhance Ability. Transmutation was an all-rounder talent! Debora was one hell of a useful existence to have on a team, more so than themselves, who were glass cannons.

“I think we looked down on her too much,” Yue confessed miserably. She liked to be honest with her feelings.

“Yeah…” Gwen found herself twiddling her hair, “I feel useless.”

“Erg…”

Elvia joined them on the fifth day, having had separate training for battle triage and field hospital protocols. She was likewise useless at base-building. And so it was that the three girls spent the next week learning a little thing or two about the versatility of the other Schools of Magic.

In the end, the trio managed a 'Pass'.

Combat training and teamwork followed.

On paper, Jun's setup was perfect.

Their scout, Henley, did not need to separate from the team and as such, could enjoy the full benefit of Gwen and Yue’s firepower as well as Elvia’s healing should things come to a head.

Thanks to an augur in their midst, the party could move while maintaining formation, alternating casts between Gwen and Yue to conserve mana, and have Elvia and Henley buff the party. Jun himself served double duty as both battlefield control and tank, using his spells to snare and slow opponents. If they ran into Soldier-tier beasts, Gwen and Yue could attack, and Jun would slow. In the worst-case scenario, Henley and Elvia had their own Shields. Furthermore, as a Cleric, Elvia's mana-intensive Shield of Faith was as strong as Jun's Abjuration Shields, though she could only protect herself.

On paper, their formation seemed perfect.

“Oh my God! I just died, Yue! I just died!”

The training field had transformed into a sparse fire trail thanks to a combination of Illusion and Conjuration, setting the girls to track a moving ‘dummy’ of sorts.

When Yue spied the dummy hidden behind a thick-waisted oak, she let loose a barrage almost on instinct. The effect was spectacularly disastrous.

Her first bolt struck the tree. The second caught on a branch. The third thumped the ground adjacent, sending up a cloud of dust and soil.

The dummy skipped away, but the tree Yue had struck splintered and fell, almost knocking out Jun, who had to hastily erect a reinforced ice barrier.

“You’re fine!” Yue pointed out.

“I know, but if I was slow, or if I SUCKED, I would be a pile of meat under a tree right now. Imagine if Gwen or Henley was in my place.” Jun pointed out coldly, which riled up Yue even more.

The group's training was not unfolding smoothly.

Yue had a knack for firing bolts at whatever came into her field of vision. Even with the divination provided by Henley, she was hitting trees left and right, sending blasts of splintered wood, dust, and assorted debris towards her team.

She should be using shaped blasts, Gwen thought of the physics of her old world and wondered if such a thing could be applied to Spellcraft. Though she had no idea how shaped charges worked. It wasn't like they taught demolition in MBA courses at the University of Sydney.

“So what do you want me to do then?” Yue demanded with exasperation. The woodlands proved a terrible terrain for her Magic, incidentally the very terrain for their incoming Field Trip in the Royal National.

The two senior students halted the party.

The five huddled to discuss better strategy.

“Yue, I am not blaming you or anything, but you need to be aware of overhead obstacles.”

There were reasons why baseline spells were timeless after all. Had Yue stuck to the self-seeking flaming missiles, there would be no problem. Rescinding, however, would halve her damage output, not to mention Yue was adamant she could somehow make it work.

“Alright, let us take ten, and we’ll get back to you.”

Yue fell back and moved to the middle of the party, and Gwen moved up just behind Jun.

“Now Gwen.” Jun indicated for her to follow. “With me, on my mark.”

“Righto.” Gwen followed, feeling adrenaline kicking through her body.

Jun indicated to the Controller to release another dummy. In the distance, the shape of a semi-humanoid creature materialised. It landed mechanically on the forest floor, imitating a kind of half-wallaby, half-goblin hybrid.

“Blast Bolt!”

A blue bolt of electricity ionised from midair and struck the creature before it even moved from the summon circle, obliterating the golem-dummy into bits of splintering wood and animal skin.

“On my mark…” Jun groaned. “On MY MARK, Gwen…”

Elvia appeared downright embarrassed for her two trigger-happy friends.

“Sorry…” Gwen made a face. “I was a bit nervous…”

“Another! Sorry about that!” Jun called out to the Controller.

“YOU GOT THIRTY MORE MINUTES.” A husky female voice called out from the control tower.

“Alrighty then.” Jun turned to Gwen. “On my mark…”

Another dummy materialised, making its gangly way into the woodland illusion. This time they waited until the thing hid somewhere in the woods.

“Alright, here goes.”

Henley’s halo came into being; he scanned the area before him, locating almost immediately the magical signature of the skittish Construct.

“Three O clock, twenty metres, one enemy, small,” the Diviner reported expertly.

The party moved forward as quietly as they could manage, with Henley reporting their quarry's movements every time it shifted positions. Gwen’s Bolts were effective up to forty meters, but her spatial accuracy suffered as distance increased.

“Engaging,” Jun announced.

“Bless.”

“True Strike.”

The group held its breath. The dummy stopped behind another tree, but quickly decided against hiding and leapt from the bush quick as a mechanical wallaby could wallop.

“Guiding Bolt!”

Gwen watched with surprise as her bolt, which had been half a metre off, arc towards the target as if guided by providence. It was the chance-altering effecting of True Strike, which tapped into the threads of possibilities and gave her a sensation of preternatural foresight. From the view of others, it looked as though the thing had run into a bolt of lightning.

'Crack!'

The additional energy from the Blessing spell kicked in. Not far, the positively charged bolt ripped apart the Construct, sending bits of wood all over.

“Finish it!” Jun commanded.

“Lightning Blast!”

Guided by the positive energy planted by her Guiding Bolt, a half dozen bolts arced through the air. Three strikes, three near misses and a mess of electrical explosions later, nought but a smouldering mass was left.

“Ray of Frost.” A crinkle of frost smothered the sparks and cooled the area.

Jun’s cantrip stamped out any potential fires before they could spread. That was something they had to wary of; the Green Zone had little economic activity such as logging, meaning the forest was thick with tinder.

“Good job!” Jun breathed out.

“Nice one Gwen,” Henley appended.

Gwen bumped fists with Yue and Elvia.

That was a good run by any metric.

It demonstrated the absurd advantage Lightning Mages had over those with projectile blasts. So long as Gwen could visualise the manifestation point, she could manifest from the back, the front, the side, above, any which way. It was still safest to shot from above the target though, as electricity tended to arc towards the nadir, and Gwen did not want to risk wasting a spell by grounding it accidentally.

The group switched between Yue and Gwen three more times before their allotted training hour was over. Yue succeeded on her next try, but her final attempt once again overcommitted, started a small forest fire.

“Alright, let's pack it up for today.” Jun made the call, and the five retreated from the practice field. The illusion faded, and they were once again out on the concrete walkway.

“Impressive firepower,” a sultry voice rang out behind them.

“Ma’am.” Jun greeted the figure still in the shadow of the fading illusion.

“AOE problems?” the owner of the voice enquired as an envious silhouette materialised.

The Instructor was a woman who looked to be in her late twenties, slim and professionally attired. She wore a scarlet pencil skirt and a tapered white blouse adorned with a carmine ribbon-neck tie, matched by heels in ruby-red. There was an air of confidence about the woman that made the students instantly attentive, undiminished by her uncommonly gorgeous face. She wore her hair as a piled bun, leaving loose ringlets of red hair to frame her delicate profile.

The Instructor's ultramarine eyes twinkled.

More so than the others, Gwen felt doubly impressed. The Instructor reminded her of herself.

“Ma’am.” The students made their respect known.

“Alesia De Botton, guest Instructor.” Their Instructor extended a hand and crisply shook the student's sweaty palms. “I’ll be looking after your group for the Field Trip.”

“We’re in your care Ma’am,” Jun answered before anyone else, already smitten, much to Yue's dismay.

“Not so soon, Tiger.” Alesia's scarlet smile was full of confidence. “First-impressions are important.”

She waved to the control station, and the field changed from that of the forest to that of a dozen dummies roving back and forth.

“Fire Ball!”

A mote of flame shot out from her fingertips toward the roving dummies. To their surprise, it perfectly flew between the first two, through a gap in the third, and struck the fourth dummy dead centre. An eruption of fire then blossomed like a red-scarlet lotus, rolling across the field.

But there was something odd and unusual about the explosion, for it lacked the heat that was so ubiquitous to Yue’s spells.

When the dust settled, they were shocked to see only ONE dummy destroyed, and all the others merely seared and scorched.

“HOW!” Yue's jaw hung half open.

How indeed! Gwen felt her mind reeling. What she was seeing defied reality!

“That’s a shaped-spell.” Alesia shook her finger cooly like someone tapping the ash from a cigarette. “You need a little bit of Evocation and a bit of Transmutation, a little meta magic training and a little help from an elemental spirit, then it should be manageable with a little practice."

The gathered teens gazed upon their new Instructor, genuine worship welling from their little impressionable hearts. Despite her vague advice, even Gwen was infected by her startling displays of competence.

Evocation... and Transmutation?

Her mind reeled.

A MAGUS!

A REAL LIFE MAGUS!

Someone who was fully competent in TWO Schools!

And the woman doesn't look a day over thirty!

A brave new world was opening in front of Yue's eyes.

This was Spellcraft?! REAL Spellcraft? She couldn't help but wonder what two-bit charlatan magic she'd been learning this whole time.

Alesia’s Fireball was too abnormal, her control too refined. Watching her shaping blasts and comparing it to the Yue's proud Firebolts was like watching a pyromaniac dousing a house against a demolition crew strategically performing a controlled burn.

“That… that was amazing, Ma’am,” Yue muttered bewilderingly, reeling with wonder.

Gwen felt taken back as well. To control an explosion so precisely that it could identify friend or foe? That’s an insane ability! How is it even possible? Alesia's mastery defied Gwen's understanding of physics.

She felt as though they were bumpkins marvelling at pickups all their life seeing a drive-by Tesla. Or worse still, a flat earth loyalist suddenly seeing the curvature of the earth.

More than that though, they were speaking to an actual Magus, someone who had attained their second School of Magic. For the mundane Mage, there was only one way of attaining a Secondary school. One had to relentlessly practice in order to produce a mnemonic-Sigil.

That or one could possess a natural affinity for more than one School. Principally, 'young' Maguses were either blessed by generations of fine breeding, or by the genetic lottery.

Elvia offered a good example, by her account, her mother's side of the family produced healers. As such, her predisposition for the unique blend of Evocation, Conjuration and Positive Energy made her a perfect candidate for a Cleric.

As Alesia was far too youthful to be someone with a mnemonically-forged glyph; she must, therefore, be one blessed by fate.

Across from Gwen and her stunned companions, Alesia regarded her cohort of moon-eyed teens with smugness. Her Master was right in telling her that the younglings responded best to demonstrations of absolute power.

“I’ll be taking you on for the next month or so; all your training time will be with me,” she said, lowering her octave a little to emphasise her solemnity. “I hope we can get along for the duration, and that you will benefit from my guidance.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” The five made a show of sloppy salutes. None of them had experienced Military Service yet.

“Ma’am.” Yue was already breathless with anticipation. “Could you- could you explain what you did?”

Alesia gave them all a dazzling smile, her teeth white and gleaming.

“It’s okay if you’re busy-” Yue hastily added.

“It’s fine.” Alesia turned her palm over. The familiar sight of a dancing flame appeared. Yue had also performed this rite to practice her flame control.

“Put your hand over my flame," Alesia commanded.

“…” The gathering waited for Yue to oblige.

“Ma’am?”

The rest of the party saw the dancing sprite of flame as a magical phenomenon, but Gwen saw oxidising ions burning at well over 600 degrees Celsius.

To Gwen's teeth-gritting terror, Yue obliged. The spunky Asian girl lifted her hand and placed it within the scarlet-orange flame.

“It…” her eyes widened. “It feels like cotton candy! How is that possible? Is this an illusion?”

Emboldened by Yue, the others had a go as well, feeling the flame wrap around their hands harmlessly. The sensation was akin to putting one’s half over wool or cotton.

“Make me some ice,” Alesia ordered.

Jun created an icicle on his palm.

“Try again.”

Jun placed his iced palm into the flame and instantly yelped.

“Arrgg!” He jumped back, noting that his hand was unharmed, but his icicle had melted and that the evaporating water had reddened a finger. “That's a scorching-hot flame!”

Indeed, Gwen acknowledged. To overcome its oppositional element and utterly eradicate the phenomena would imply that Alesia's flame was several magnitudes that of Jun’s Elemental Ice. As observed, the laws of physics in her old world possessed only a precarious hold on her new one.

Alesia withdrew her hand, but the flame continued to float in mid-air. The phenomenon was more shocking than Alesia's absurd control. They watched the fire gently flicker until it took on the silhouette of a Caracal - an orange, flaming tabby yawning at them disinterestedly.

“A flame Spirit!” Yue was on the verge of asphyxiation. "Ma'am, just who are you?"

Gwen and the others were no less shocked than their companion.

An Elemental Spirit was incredibly rare.

As Jun would readily inform them, one in a thousand kills may yield a complete Creature Core. One in a thousand Cores may yield an intact spirit capable of being utilised by a Mage, an act akin to digging for hen's teeth.

Then there was the fact that Magical Beasts also came in different shapes, sizes and degrees of strength; from the weak spell fodder Swarmlings to Titans, to Mythics. One could, therefore, imagine the rarity of an Elemental Spirit, especially a powerful one.

Something clicked within Yue’s head.

“Y-you’re…” The girl was stuttering now. “You’re A-Alesia of the Scarlet Flame! The Coral Sea Witch! The Scarlet Sorceress!”

Alesia’s face took on a vibrant red glow. 'Scarlet Flame' was the name the Tower had used to propagandise victories over the Mermen during the Coral Sea conflict. It was like having one's old laundry aired in public.

“Um…” Gwen and Elvia’s face was blank, but Jun and Henley became equally breathless.

“She’s a tier FIVE Evoker with tier SIX Fire element, Gwennie!” Yue spat in Gwen’s face, her passionate spittle kissing Gwen's cheeks. “Ma’am… I never knew you were also a Transmuter!”

“I am working on it,” Alesia replied, a little less comfortable now that Yue was jumping up and down. She was far more used to the careful respect of military folk than a gushing teenage girl. "My official stats are a decade old."

At least one mystery was solved then - the reason why Alesia could IFF her flames was because she possessed a sapient flame-Sprite. Whenever her flames were affected by the Spirit's innate affinity boost, Alesia's Fire spells took on a bright scarlet hue.

“I need to go report to Principal Bartlett, but I’ll leave you with something to ponder.”

Alesia gesticulated her dominant hand toward the field once again.

“Flaming Hand!”

A torrent of scarlet flames poured over the field in a sixty-degree arc like a flamethrower.

“Flaming Hand!”

A three-pronged talon of flame left from her hand and struck several targets, but missing others.

“Flaming Hand!”

A single torrent of flames, thicker and more potent than the last, not only shot forward but arched across the field like fire from a liquid-fuel flamethrower.

The five watched the spectacle wordlessly.

“It is possible to manipulate the final manifestation through visualisation and mental cues. Even if you are not a Magus, you can still work with other Sigils, all it takes is practice.” Alesia informed them, turning to Gwen. “No need to obsess over Signature spells, instead, focus on the basics. Once you're capable of holding your own, find a Master and learn to craft their Signature Spells before making your own. There's an order to learning Spellcraft which one should not overlap.”

Watching the sorceress, both Gwen and Yue acknowledged that there was something to Alesia’s words. The girls should focus on foundations rather than dream of flying.

“See you tomorrow, upper practice field.” Alesia stretched out her shoulders, her red stilettos clicking musically on the pavement as she stalked away.

“That was amazing,” Yue reiterated after finally managing to close her mouth. “She is amazing.”

“So, who is she?”

“You need to read more, Gwen,” Jun said, “At least listen to the news or something.”

Gwen put her hands up in a gesture of helplessness.

Jun cleared his throat; he was a man who loved expositions.

“Alesia De Botton, the youngest Ordained Senior Mage to participate in the Great Cleansing of the Barrier Reef a decade ago. Possessing the rank of Major, she is a Wing-Commander of a Strike Wing under her Majesty’s Aerial Assault Mages. She made her mark by soloing a General class Lizardman, preserving an entire platoon on the Brisbane Line. She spent the last year of her military service touring the country, setting up safe zones for new migrants."

"She was popular in Vid-Casts back when I was in primary school. You can see why. Alesia is both beautiful and badass," Yue added.

“Then what happened? What's someone like her doing here?”

“Don’t know.” Jun shrugged, “She left the military after her mandatory service, but no one knows after that.”

“She's sooo hot.” Henley closed his eyes in remembrance of those childhood propaganda shows, his nose sniffing the air for her perfume. “Maybe she’s doing Military recruitment? I know I would join if she asked. ”

The others shrugged.

“Guess we’ll find out what she’s got in store for us tomorrow,” Yue proposed.

Gwen gazed over to where their Instructor's envious figure stood next to the Principal. Could the old man have something to do with this?

The training that Alesia had in store could be divided into three core components.

Physical training to ‘fortify their bodies’.

Mental image training where they practised modifying their manifests in subtle ways.

Finess training for Yue and Gwen, who had to learn to ‘adjust’ the output of their spell’s power.

During their training, Yue attempted to pry a little into the life story of her idol, receiving nought but mum on the matter of Alesia's private life.

As a part of her teaching, Alesia aided each of them in modifying their existing spells by altering the way they conceived Major and Minor invocations, the verbal and somatic part of spell casting, opening their eyes to new pathways of Meta Magic. Ther lower the tier of the spell, the more malleable it was to the Mage's creative intent, as for higher tiers of magic, the danger of mana burn increased exponentially with each haphazard modification.

The girls and boys were rapt with expectation.

The next month and a half seemed to blitz by now that each day the boys and girls returned to their dorms exhausted and drained. Daily life consisted of nothing but classes, training, eating and sleeping.

When finally, with less than a week to go until the Field Trip, the group was called up to be assessed by the academic board. Though the Field Trip was merely a training camp in the Green Zone, Blackwattle took meticulous care to ensure that students possessed the competency to come home in one piece.

The test took place within a replicated section from the Royal National's infamous Coastal Track. Simulating a trek that led deep into the Wildlands, where unguarded travellers were almost guaranteed to be harassed by quasi-magical beasts greedy for mana crystals or curious for the bric-a-brac of human civilisation.

The team's new formation had Gwen taking the rear guard, with Yue at the spear point. Alesia had the girls systematically measure the range of their spells, finding that Gwen could cover Yue’s range even from the rear. Likewise, until Gwen gained access to Line-based AOEs such as the tier 3 Lighting Bolt, she had no friendly-fire issues with her spatial casting.

“Detect Magic.”

Henley opened with his signature spell. In the real Wild Lands, he would have to alternate between different forms of Detection to scry for various threats.

“Sanctuary.”

Jun made the circular gesture familiar to all Abjurers. A ring of ice appeared over Elvia, floating like a halo. It was a trigger-buff that made Elvia less conspicuous to enemies' hostility. If attacked, the spell would trigger a Frost Barrier.

The Examiners nodded discerningly. They saw good use of fundamentals.

“Bless.” Elvia buffed the party, though as her uses were in field triage, it was unlikely the healer would distinguish herself in practice.

The group silently moved into the illusory woods.

“Twelve O Clock, two targets, small and medium. Yue takes the first strike,” Henley reported through his mind’s eye. “Incoming!”

Henley had been trained by Alesia to recognise distortions in the mana-field. There were minute but traceable patterns to creatures that differentiated them from the ambient magic of the Wildlands.

'Thunk! Thunk!'

The Ice Shields were up before the barbed missiles from the golem-creatures even reached the party. Both pinged off the icy domes Jun conjured with articulate gestures, fading immediately as their purpose waned, further conserving mana.

Now bereft of the element of surprise, the dummies leapt from hiding and made for the edge of the field, using trees as partial cover.

“Firebolt!”

A bolt of fire shot from Yue’s fingertips, forming a parabola not upwards but sideways, curving around the trunk of a tree to strike the larger target square in the back. Her missile erupted, delivering its cargo of unstable energy, sending the thing against an adjacent trunk, dashing it to pieces.

The lesser of the two creatures used this opportunity to reposition.

“Blast Bolt!” Gwen incanted with somatic flair, trying to orientate an abstract point of origin in space. Her gestures reminded her audience of a madwoman conducting an orchestra with invisible cats.

Thirty meters away, a blast of electricity tore the dummy apart.

“Hostiles cleared. We're proceeding to next area.”

The party continued without delay, obliterating each scenario. After thirty-odd minutes, the party remained twenty for twenty, coming nigh to the closing part of the examination.

“Releasing large Golem,” a voice announced above them.

Gwen's party felt the bone throbbing thrum of a large scale Conjuration circle activate, and knew that this was their final test.

“GWARRRR!”

The imitated voice of an Orc Warrior resounded through the field, amplified by whatever magic or mechanism installed within.

As if for full cinematic effect, the group observed several trees blasting apart as the enormous creature balled through the bush, saliva flying every which way. Though the party knew that this was an illusion and that beneath it all was yet another dummy made to soak damage, it remained a terrifying encounter.

“Steady!” Jun shouted.

“True Strike!” Henley incanted, managing to fit one debuff before the creature was almost within melee range. “Bane!”

“Shield Stack!” Jun managed to place three layers of icy shields in an instant. Using reactive, displacing Shields was Alesia's solution to counter the brittleness of Ice Shields.

“Shield of Faith!” Elvia’s clear, near transparent shield covered Jun, giving him full visibility and an additional layer of protection.

“Here goes…” Yue breathed in, incanting rapidly as her Evocation manifested. “Barrage!”

A chain of five Firebolts lit up a pathway of explosions, sending the creature tumbling, dramatically diminishing its momentum. The weight of it, however, maintained its trajectory.

With a crash, a bulbous arm covered with rocky barnacles struck the first ice shield, obliterating it.

“Guided Bolt!” Gwen intoned. A shard of positively-charged Lightning struck the creature, sending a crackle of purple electricity down the massive dummy's illusory face.

The golem raised its fists in an insane pose of anger.

“Lighting Blast!” Gwen's infamous chain-spell began in earnest.

She poured every ounce of her remaining mana into the channel, knowing that this was the last enemy. The exercises Alesia had them perform were well worth their weight. Who would have thought that endurance training could manage mana exhaustion? The textbooks had been sceptical of the fact, but Alesia had proven her hypothesis with tangible results.

The Examiners smiled to themselves satisfactorily. There she goes, they thought to themselves, having seen Gwen perform the very same spell at practice. What a light show! There were few elements as spectacular as Lightning.

Gwen managed to keep her electric-disco active for ten seconds, but it was enough; the dummy had been reduced to a smouldering jumble of clinking metal.

“S!”

“S!”

“S!”

Absolute destructive power.

Perfect scouting and defence.

Sound teamwork and impeccable awareness of one another’s abilities.

"Bravo!" Principal Bartlett's voice called out from the judges' platform.

The Examiners could hardly wait to see what else could be accomplished by Blackwattle's A-Team.

The illusion faded and a sound of applause inundated the athletic field. Gwen searched the crowd and found Alesia loudly clapping with the rest of the Instructors. Their eyes met, and she flashed them a brilliant, dazzling smile.

That woman IS amazing. Gwen couldn't help but be impressed all over again. Just a month ago, Yue almost blew Jun seven ways to hell.

What they could do now was astounding, even by semi-professional standards. The Examination had no metric for endurance, but Gwen knew that Alesia had ensured that with alternating casting and conservative mana usage, the group's expertise was encroaching on the proficiency of first-year military students.

“Congratulations, Students. You have done very well.” One of the Senior Mages stated proudly.

"Well done, Gwen! Yue, all of you!" Principal Bartlett flushed a shade of scarlet.

The party bowed in front of the elevated platform of the Examiners before leaving the field to speak to their Instructor, whose striking profile was even now drawing attention from the onlookers.

“Thank you so much, Ma’am.” Yue tilted her head respectfully.

“The credit is yours,” Alesia replied modestly.

“No Ma’am,” Gwen said earnestly. “We could not have done it without you.”

“Aww~, you’re all embarrassing me.” Alesia’s smile was blindingly attractive, more thanks to the children's intense feelings of gratefulness. “You should have more confidence in your abilities.”

She gave them each a hug, the girls more tightly and intimately, the boys more stiffly for their nervousness. When she reached Elvia, Alesia could not resist but playfully ruffled the healer's hair.

“I am going to miss this,” Alesia commented jovially, pampering Elvia was a treat in itself.

“You’re not leaving already, Miss?” Elvia inquired dejectedly.

“Not immediately. I'll be looking after you guys at the camp!”

"Another fortnight..." Elvia's lips pursed sadly, "Will you be staying on?"

"Unfortunately, no." Alesia gave them all an appreciative smile, "I am sure we'll meet in some other capacity in the future, perhaps at the Tower."

"The Tower?" Yue's eyes were once again aglow with expectation, "Do you work there Miss?"

Alesia's ocean blue eyes fluttered before she gave Yue a quick pat on the shoulder that neither confirmed nor denied her profession. The five stood awkwardly, feeling a lack of closure.

“We will set a new record for you Miss," Jun said finally with a tone of commitment.

"Of course."

"Yeah!"

The rest agreed readily.

Alesia said nothing but told them to stay and watch the other teams. The Path was long and arduous; every experience could unexpectedly open up new detours.

And so, taking their Instructor's advice, Gwen's party remained, receiving congratulations from others who came and went. One by one, they saw how the others faired with their unique team makeups and skill sets.

Of particular note was Debora’s team, utilising an entirely unexpected composition. Extraordinarily, her team had an actual Enchanter in their midst, whose buffs of Bless, Fortify and Endurance provided the team with unmatched fortitude. Likewise, the inclusion of an illusionist scout with access to the Chameleon optic spell provided the team with an excellent spotter. The remaining three members where shockingly, all Transmuters. They utilised a system of mass-buffs to empower themselves an almost ridiculous manner. Debora’s signature version of Bark Skin had now become Bronze Skin, presumably an heirloom spell, providing a nigh-indestructible armour for the caster. Combined with Long Stride and Enhanced Ability, her team excelled in mobility and defence.

In front of a cheering audience, the Transmuter-trio became a team of living battering rams. Debora especially was like a dreadnaught of destruction, punching, kicking, and throwing fifty odd kilograms of catapulted stones wherever they went.

The efficiency of their team was such that they demolished all twenty obstacles in half the time Gwen had taken. It was only against the Ogre dummy that the two lesser Transmuters, whose elements were tier 1 Water and Earth, were stopped in their tracks. It was then up to Debora to combat the creature alone, but with the others supplying snares, illusions, and endless entanglements, she was eventually able to beat it into submission just before the forty-minute deadline.

“A”

“S”

“A”

The examiners gave Debora's team a sterling commendation but also warned her also that there were limitations to close combat. Until she could rise to a tier high enough to possess much-lauded Polymorphic spells, the Acolytes would put themselves in unnecessary danger.

Only two more teams managed to down the Ogre dummy, with the further incident of a group suffering the ‘loss’ of a team member due to a poorly timed Shielding spell.

By the day’s end, only nine teams and a total of forty-five student Mages were eligible for the Field Trip taking place in a six-days time. The students returned to their dorms to rest their weary bodies which had undergone near two months of continuous training, some taking time off to meet with family and friends before they embark for the first time into the Wildlands.

It was only a Green Zone, but the fact remained the Royal National was a place away from the city’s Barrier Shields, devoid of the footfalls of human civilisation, a place of nought but flora and fauna.

They said that Mages ruled the world.

They lied.

They say that Man was the ruler of the Earth.

They were wrong.

They said that Man’s cities were safe behind their Barrier Shields.

They would be gravely mistaken.

Humanity had learnt magic from the forgotten places, but they have forgotten their place in the world. The Modern Man was a wayward falcon who could no longer hear the falconer. It would take another blood-dimmed tide to awash man’s cities before they finally awoke to the truth.

The singular Cardinal truth.

That the strong were the proven victors of tooth and nail, while the weak were food for the wyrms, to exist otherwise would be to disturb the Chain of Being.

They called themselves Rogue Mages. Outcasts. Wildlanders. The Others.

They considered themselves untainted few who were deserving of Man’s great gift from the Higher Beings, the ones who understood the calling. After all, who else could explain why some were gifted with Magic, while others were left to grovel in the dirt?

Clans… Corporations… Nations and their City-States.

All of them were gravely mistaken in a fundamental fact of man's existential creed.

The Mage is the human being. The NoMs are merely simian man-beasts, close genetic cousins, mockeries of the Spellcrafter. Mages, not man, won the Great War. That Mages needed to service and protect their ape-like relates was the great lie that turned the world upside down.

Only a world of Mages, ruled by Mages, for Mages, could survive the usurping ambitions of Magical Creatures and Demi-humans. Only through the Path of the Sorcerer Supreme can the Ubermensch be brought kicking and screaming into the world.

“How close?” A voice asked in the dim light of the glowing glyphs.

A dozen figures, indistinct in their cowls, were watching the cacophony of activity below. They were perched authoritatively over what appeared at first glance to be an open mine of sorts.

“A week at most,” Another voice, a woman’s, answered.

The cowls they wore were enchanted, masking their faces and distorting their voices.

“You are certain the Serpent will come?”

“Of Course.” The third speaker had an illusory display of faces that always changed. The Faceless Man, they called him, the infiltrator of the organisation.

“What of the labour force here? There are some potential candidates.”

They looked down below at the dullard workers below, some hale, some thin as sticks, tireless working themselves to death with faces full of devotion.

“Blood Sacrifices,” The faceless man answered without a hint of emotion touching the tone of his voice. “One cannot make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.”

The gathered watched the activity below silently.

“What of the Tower, what news of Shultz?”

“They are tied up with the Drowner Incident over the North Shore,” Another voice spoke up. “We have ensured their full attention.”

“How did you manage that?”

“We gave the daughter of Senator Spencer to the Queen of the hive.”

“…”

“She was a tier four water Transmuter. What a waste…’ Another commented. “Surely such young talent could be used more effectively elsewhere."

The original speaker shrugged.

“She has two more sisters, just as talented, if not more so. I am aware of our greater goal.”

“Each Mage you waste on these games could bring us closer! Especially a purebred!”

The female figure raised a gloved hand; it was slim, dainty, and aristocratic.

“Enough bickering." Her voice was eldritch ice and honeyed mead.

The rest fell into silence.

“We will not meet again until my say so.” She announced. “Faceless and Edgar will remain here and finish the ritual.”

The gathering bowed or dipped their heads in acknowledgement.

“Your wish is my command,” A smaller figure replied.

“… and Mine Also,” replied the one called The Faceless Man.

The robes of all but Faceless and Edgar began to warp and shrink, twisting sinuously. An endless stream of vermin of different shapes and sizes seemed to escape from underneath their robes until only black cloth remained. Once the enchantment seemed to wear off, the mass of rats, snakes, and gleaming poisonous insects began a grand melee of eating or be eaten.

“…” Edgar was wordless. “Am I the only one dumb enough to attend these things in person?”

“That Is Why You are still YOUNG,” Faceless said in that strange voice of his that was genderless and grating.

“Let Us Proceed.” Edgar nodded at his companion, “Let us see what rough beast, its hour come round at last, is going to be born.”

When the girls had finally returned to the dorm, they were greeted at the door by Rawson.

“I heard the good news."

“Thanks, Mister Rawson.”

“Thanks, Rory.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Rawson snorted at Yue’s abbreviated intimacy.

“That being said - Gwen, the Principal wants to see you. Can you head over now? It's urgent.”

“Oh?” Gwen's chest tightened ominously. “Any idea what it's about?”

“None.”

“Alright, I better get going then.”

"Want us to come with?"

"Naw, she'll be right."

Gwen waved her peers goodbye, then made for the campus just a block away.

The afternoon sun diffused itself against the horizon, skimming across the ultramarine Sydney sky. Despite the chirping cicadas, Gwen felt goosebumps all over her skin.

This meeting can't bode well. Gwen thought to herself. She had learnt to trust her feelings in her past life, and she had seldom been proven wrong.

The door to the Principal’s office yawned open after Gwen knocked and was told to come in.

An excessive dosage of Chanel No.5 drowned her olfactory senses.

OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT... No, no, no! Her body was already engaging its Pavlovian override. Every hair stood on Gwen’s head, her arms and legs gaining the density of lead. For a moment, Gwen pondered the possibility of fleeing, never to return.

“Come on in, Miss Song,” the Principal's none too friendly voice announced.

Gwen opened the door the rest of the way and met the heavily mascaraed eyes of her mother fluttering in that excessive manner Helena had mastered.

“Hello, Mother.” She managed to squeeze a greeting out between gritted teeth, compelling a smile that struggled to reach her eyes.

Her mother turned her body ostentatiously, twisting in the leather chair like a midday TV reveal. Immediately, Gwen could feel the heat rising on her face and her heart-rate rocket.

Sweet Jesus, what was her mother wearing?!

Helena had on a cream dress practically glued onto her outrageous body. Her cleavage was so exaggerated as to be almost exploding from their hapless containment, threatening to spill with every movement. She briefly recalled that her mother had called this ‘the tension of the moment,’ and then had laughed that her 'poor' daughter was ‘incapable’.

Principle Bartlett already looked like he had been turned on the spit by her mother for a good hour or so, his face was a mask of false sympathy and barely contained irritation.

Helena rose from her seat, her athletic legs stretching the fabric to their utmost limits.

Her mother leaned in for that cheek to cheek kiss. Gwen's spine mechanically bent to meet her almost by reflex, serving as an apt metaphor for her current condition.

This body remained beholden to the old Gwen's mother, Gwen thought to herself: a volatile cocktail of dopamine and adrenaline, fueling what was probably Stockholm Syndrome.

The peck on the cheeks made Principle Bartlett instantly uncomfortable; his wane smile faded altogether.

Her mother regarded Gwen.

“Sloppy and ugly,” Helena announced suddenly, and Gwen felt her mind go blank.

It was like she was watching the whole thing unfold from behind a glass cage, where her conscious mind was trying to beat down the panes to regain control of her rebellious body.

Her mother’s hands moved over Gwen’s uniform, straightening her blouse, tucking the edges into her skirt, furthermore hiking it an inch higher and revealing a bit more of Gwen’s long legs. She flipped over one wayward collar which had recoiled earlier, and pulled on her tie tightly, dextrously re-tying the knot to form a perfect cravat. Gwen’s shoes were not near polished enough, but there was nothing Helena could do about that now.

Helena admired her work.

“I am sorry you had to suffer such a slouch of a student,” Helena remarked with a little too much emotion in her voice.

“It’s fine. It’s fine…” Bartlett waved his hand dismissively.

Helena retook her seat. Gwen stood beside her stiffly.

I need to get out of here before this body goes hysterical. Gwen thought, her legs threatening to give out from the tension. As much as she willed it, however, her body refused to budge.

“So, Gwen dearest…” her mother cooed. She liked her assonance long and sensual. “Why was I not informed?”

“I- In...." her tongue was stuck in a barb wire snare.

“Informed me that you were a rare and wondrous Quasi-Elementalist, hmm?” Her mother’s voice took on a higher note, “One of the best in the school your Principle said…”

“Mother…” Gwen had a dozen explanations, but all her concentration was spent trying to suppress her tears from spilling. The back of her throat was a mess of taut muscles. “I… Er… I… wanted to…”

Oh for fuck’s sake! Gwen’s rational mind screamed and raved.

“Now now, Mrs Huang.” Bartlett tried to regain some control of the situation. It was self-evident by now that his student did not desire her mother's company. “Gwen has her reasons I am sure, but let me remind you before you challenge her decision, that the Tower has guaranteed the right for any Acolyte to live and study independently from their family.”

Bartlett’s words made Helena’s eyes narrow, giving her irises the look of a tigress eyeing down an audacious prey. The smokey makeup brought out the green in her eyes and made them far more intimidating than they usually appeared.

“I could hardly hope to infringe on Gwen’s decisions,” Helena spoke in a way that made Bartlett sweat. “That's why I am here in person.”

“Oh?”

She turned again, exposing herself a little dangerously before drawing from the floor a handbag. From within she produced what appeared to be a letter. The envelope was gold trimmed, embossed with a crown on its frontage. Bartlett’s brows furrowed and realised why this damned woman had made herself appear before him in person.

“Lilith's College for Girls.” He breathed out with a defeated look.

“Yes, I see you recognise the crest,” her mother intoned.

She opened the envelope, withdrew a tri-folded letter made of thick, scented paper, then began to read out loud in that husky voice of hers.

“We cordially invite Mrs Gwen Song, daughter of Helena Huang and Morye Song, eldest Grand Daughter of Magus Huang, Magus, Senior Enchanter, to attend the college for the duration of her academic career until graduation… ”

Helena stopped reading.

“You know what this means,” she roasted Bartlett with a tone of incontestable fact.

“What… what does it mean?” Gwen asked weakly beside them.

“It means…” Bartlett's voice softened “It means that I should recommend your retraction from our school so that you may begin your attendance at Lilith's College for girls in February.”

“Why?” Now Gwen was beginning to feel genuine panic. Leave the school? Matters were escalating far beyond her wildest imagination.

Bartlett’s appeared as one crucified by his conscience.

“One of the best facilities in Sydney, in Australia, Gwen. The most talented instructors. Endless resources that we cannot possibly begin to provide…”

“I don’t care about that…” Gwen muttered.

“Don’t be such a sulking child…” her mother scolded her.

Helena pinched her.

THE BITCH PINCHED HER!

Gwen was aghast - but her body responded with the paralytic haplessness of a frog being stung by a hissing viper.

“Of course it matters.”

“Gwen, I am not forcing you to make a decision,” Bartlett continued. “But it is in my duty as your educator to tell you that this is a turning point.”

“Gwen…” Bartlett continued. “If you graduate from Lilith's, you could be exempt from military service. What's more, you are guaranteed to attend University. If you were to graduate magna cum laude, you could be sent to a tier 1 city! You could live your adult life in London, or New York, or Shanghai!”

Exempt from Military Service? Go to a Capital city?

That was something none of her friends ever consider seriously. To live in the tier 2 cities of humanity had three certainties: death, taxes, and military service, all within the Frontier. The government propaganda had made it very clear that no one was exempt.

“Miss Song…” The Principle seemed obliged to show her the whole hog, his tone becoming more solemn than before. “Think of it Gwen, to be able to live safely in the capitals of Spellcraft. You don’t have to risk your life for gainful employment or live under the shadow of an invasion. You could perhaps ascend to a position we could only dream of, become a Magus, perhaps a Magister!”

The Principal's face was red with excitement now; even Helena was breathless at the prospect. Life in a Tier 1 city, in the absolute safety of the White Zones, was something those who lived on the Frontiers dreamt of constantly.

“You could then attend the best Universities in the world. Cambridge, Oxford, Fudan. I can’t advise you to stay, Gwen… I can’t.”

Gwen shuddered. Leave Blackwattle? Her immediate thoughts were of Yue and Elvia, who had worked so hard with her to achieve their enviable positions.

Yue, whose bluster made her laugh and who helped her through that terrible ordeal, who stood by her side when she was feeling suicidal and hopeless. Elvia, her little angel, her faery who brought solace to her heart and studied hard to heal her wounds.

Now her mother, her damned mother, came in here thinking she knew best, trying to take away from her the happiness that she had worked so hard to build for her self.

But Gwen could not deny the truth that was behind Bartlett's words.

Would she have said no, half a year prior?

Would she have said no if she awoke to the talent and power she possessed but a year earlier and was therefore naturally slated for a school like Lilith's?

The answer was No.

She would have welcomed Lilith's with open arms!

Both Gwens within her: the logical, rational, mature-minded Gwen who was pragmatic and realistic, as well as the teenager she had never known; the alone and vulnerable and terrified child - screamed for her to accept.

Bartlett and Helena watched Gwen standing there unmoving, her eyes downcast and staring into the middle of the mahogany table. The tick-tock of the grandfather clock reverberated across the room like mallets striking their mind.

It had been only a minute, nothing more; but Helena wasn't known for her patience. She was never one for waiting on others, and the fact that Gwen could not decide on something so SIMPLE, so OBVIOUS, grated on her nerves tremendously.

“Could you give us some privacy, Magus Bartlett?”

The Principle nodded before making for the door. It closed with a soft click, followed by the sound of a long, drawn-out breath.

Helena turned to face her daughter, standing before her still as a statue. She surveyed her scion, measuring the worth of this fruit of her loins.

Her daughter had dark, voluminous hair neither styled nor kept sufficiently conditioned, but still tumbled from her head like an inky waterfall. Gwen's face was handsome, defined, a trait of her father's. Her brows that cried out for a plucking nonetheless arched gracefully, her un-mascaraed lashes long and thick. She had a straight, aquiline nose that was graceful and tapered, with well-formed, sculpted lips that were naturally fleshy and plump. Helena loved Gwen’s eyes - they were her own. Sometimes emerald, sometimes amber, hazel under the dim light. Gwen's countenance was fair, a little fierce for Helena’s liking, but symmetrical and pleasing to the eye, both from afar and in close inspection. Her daughter possessed a swan's neck that was long and graceful, extending from her sharp shoulder blades and ending in a shallow dimple. Gwen's shoulders were toned and a little too athletic, which would have to go, though her long arms were slender and unobtrusive. Helena's gaze fell lower and measured with dissatisfaction that her daughter would not be dazzling anyone with her unobtrusive bust, at least not without a certain amount of padded charlatanism. They were a good shape though, and there were potential in perhaps another year or two. Her eyes fell even lower to Gwen's lower limbs; these were Helena's pride and joy. Gwen had long and slender legs that made her move and walk effortless grace. They were perfect, be it her tightly formed buttocks or her rounded thighs, or her incredulously extended calves and ankles.

Helena smacked her lips enviously; she could scarcely summon the sympathy for her poor, foolish daughter, wasting her time here with these plebians.

Doesn’t she understand the weight of her talent, the gift of her otherworldly beauty?

The men who enrolled in these elite schools, their sons and their nephews, the Senators, the C.E.Os, and most importantly - the Magus and Magisters with their protégées, saw Lilith's as the source of their spouses.

They would go mad for a girl like her.

Helena knew this because she had been there. She was the top girl. SHE was going to have that life of being paired with the scion of a great house, of becoming someone of import. She could imagine it even now, the life she had missed out by impulsively marrying Gwen’s father because of a spiteful relationship with her father and brother.

But Gwen could have all that. She hated to admit it, but Gwen was better equipped than herself. Gwen was a rare Quasi-Elementalist. She was a beauty. She was born to be put on a pedestal. Didn't Gwen desire a comfortable life? She could marry into one. Was becoming the young wife of a Magister impossible? No. Not for her daughter. Not with the gift of her blood and talent.

Helena's cleavage rose and fell; her eyes sparkled like jewels.

“Gwen.” Helena’s voice was a siren's song. “You know what is good for you.”

Her mother’s hands enveloped Gwen's fingers. Helena's hands were flaming hot, Gwen’s cold and shivering.

“Please, Gwen,” she said again. “This is for your own good.”

Helena gripped her daughter’s wrists in the manner of twin shackles.

No!

No, I am not going anywhere, you fucking bitch. Gwen screamed into her mind. Helena was nailing her to some God-forsaken cross of personal wish-fulfilment. Indignant fire rose from within her, ignited by a bolt from the blue.

MOVE IT! She commanded her sleeping body. MOVE IT, YOU USELESS WAIF!

Gwen's Evocation sigil was suddenly ablaze, sending a torrent of energy to flow through her elemental gates, blasting across the conduits in her body.

OH SHIT!

A surge of cobalt-white lightning erupted from her hands and struck her mother full in the chest. For a second, comically, Gwen thought she could see her mother’s skeleton.

As a trained Mage, Helena's body resisted Gwen's untamed lightning, even so, Helena was momentarily stunned. Below Gwen's mother, Bartlett's leather chair erupted, spurting blue-white plasma. The carpet singed as a Lichtenberg figure carved itself into the cashmere wool.

More importantly, Gwen's Letter of Acceptance burst into flames.

When Bartlett intruded into his room; what the Principal saw made him choke.

The annoying levitation-mother had been thunderstruck, her perfect hair now a mess of standing static. Her cream dress soiled by burns that had disintegrated some of the fabric. Furthermore, Barlett's antique visitor’s chair had gone the way of the dodo.

“Are… are you all alright?” Principal Bartlett enquired worriedly. That chair was one of a kind!

Gwen meanwhile was beginning to realise her monumental fuck up. Her mind had become a blazing white world of unfiltered panic. She had gotten her body back, but now she had sailed up shit creek without a paddle.

How would Helena respond? Threaten her? Sue her? Strike her down? Her mother was vain and proud and sometimes foolish, but she was no idiot. She was the most manipulative and scheming person Gwen knew by far.

“Wonderful,” her mother suddenly spoke, a little ash ejecting from her mouth.

What? Gwen realised this was not a good sign.

I concur, What? Bartlett echoed Gwen's thoughts.

“What a wonderfully channelled blast of Lightning, Gwen! Such pure, raw affinity.” Helena commended before taking her hands from her daughter’s wrists, leaving two black imprints.

Gwen looked at Bartlett, who appeared equally creeped out.

They waited for Helena to continue.

“You attacked me, dearest,” Her mother lamented sadly, her voice calm and collected. “You, an unordained Mage, a mere neophyte, attacked me, a Sanctioned Mage and your parent. Unprovoked.”

Bartlett felt his perfect beard unravel at the audacity of such an accusation.

“Now… Now, Ms Song,“ he interjected.

“Mrs Huang.”

"Mrs Huang, Gwen is not-"

“You better shut the hell up, right now, you government plebeian!” Helena’s catty response cracked the air like a whip, her breath both fire and brimstone.

Principle Bartlett fell silent, his face turning the colour of cod liver. The woman was a mere Fire Evoker, and he was an accomplished Conjurer. If she weren't a parent - he wouldn't have minded teaching her a lesson in manners.

“Gwen,” her mother continued, smoothing out her ruined hair with her hands.

“You OWE me. Gwen Song.” She spat finally from between gnashing teeth. “If you at all want to continue your career as a Mage. You better start listening to those who care about you.”

Her mother stood, then straightened her dress, now worse for wear. She raised a hand, and from thin air materialised a cream and chequered coat.

A Ring of Storage… Principle Bartlett noted. An uncommon thing in the Frontier cities. Only the wealthy and the influential could possess such incredulous magical items. He was a Magus, a senior one at that, but not even he wore such Magical Items with such casual ease. His Ring was assigned when there was a mission; it was not a personal item. Was Helena a member of a notable House? It made no sense. Her daughter was as poor as a church mouse!

“I am leaving,” Helena declared coldly. “Lilith's or no, I expect to see you at your Uncle's manor this weekend; Kwan has requested to see you. You brought this on yourself, ungrateful child. I did my due diligence as your mother.”

Then like a departing storm, she was gone.

Gwen and her Principal met each other from across the room.

“I am sorry about the chair, Sir,” Gwen apologised, unsure of what else to say.

“Think nothing of it.” Her Principle shot her a worried look. “I’ll do what I can for you Gwen, but- ease up on the mana leaks.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Bartlett watched the girl amble dejectedly from his office before he sat in his surviving chair. He could imagine Helena holding a grudge with the tenacity of a Gila's genetic memory.

Once outside, Gwen loosened her tie, pulled out her shirt, then made her skirt comfortable.

Her uncle's Manor.

She hadn't seen uncle Kwan since the family broke up.

Her uncle’s compound was in North Sydney, not far from Kirribilli. She recalled that the place had been vast and pretentious, a brute of a building with an undeserving view of Sydney Harbour.

“Or else,” her mother had warned.

Rationally, at least for now, she had no other options, Gwen acknowledged bitterly.

She sighed, feeling more tired than ever.

It didn't take a Diviner to know her near-future was going to suck.

“I’ll burn their Manor down.” Yue was a bar away from busting a gasket.

“It’s fine… it's fine…” Gwen patted her hand. “I’ll be in and out in half a day, just showing my face.”

“Are you sure it’s going to be alright…” Elvia hugged her pillow with a face full of worries. “I’ve been to a few of these things before, but thankfully people thought I was twelve…”

“What things?” Yue became instantly suspicious.

“Nothing, just a meet and greet.” Gwen tried to pass the matter off, but Elvia was terrible at misdirection.

“EVEE, tell me everything,” Yue commanded.

Gwen tried her best to stop Elvia blurting out the truth, but Yue was relentless.

“It’s… a marriage meeting thing…” Elvia began nervously.

“Are you shitting me?” The Fire Evoker exploded as expected, making Gwen flinch. “Your stupid family is selling you off?”

“I am not going to let that happen!” Gwen promised.

“Well if you’re not back in school before we have to go to the Field Trip…” Yue spat between snarling lips. “I am going to burn the place down.”

“They have Guards in places like those,” Elvia added. “My dad has one that follows him wherever he goes as well, although Lukas is more like an Uncle. You don't want to make trouble for your mum, right, Yue?"

Yue grunted unhappily.

“Be careful alright?”

“Yeah,” Gwen answered, wishing that she could be as sure of her circumstances as Yue's intent in burning down her uncle's house.

The team practised as usual on Friday, rested, then planned out the final details on Saturday. Gwen informed Jun and Henley that she would have to visit family on Sunday, and the team promised to pack for her so that upon her return Sunday night, she would be ready to leave with the first coach on Monday.

Sheepishly, Gwen unveiled 'that' particular part of her closet, with both Elvia and Yue baulking at the excess. She had to dress to impress, that was undoubtedly a part of the deal. Something classy but cute, petite and svelte. Something that 'sold' her. Elvia and Yue bickered over her choices until Gwen picked out a china-blue sleeveless Sunday dress modelled after Ming porcelain, yet another gifted Miu Miu she couldn't afford. Yue had Elvia helped to style her hair, creating a dense, messy bun of loose coils with a loose fringe framing her face. After thickly applying mascara, Gwen's lashes gained the curvature and rigidity of scimitars. To finish, she plumped her lips with a coat of gloss.

She then opened a suitcase that she had kept on top of the cabinet, and removed from it another dazzling assortment of accessories and a half dozen pair of shoes. Yue and Elvia squealed with glee. Gwen selected a pair of wedge sandals in a shade which was pleasing when worn with the dress.

“Oh-My-God, Gwenny.” Yue could scarcely breathe. “Marry me right now.”

Elvia fiercely agreed.

“Hopefully, I won’t have to do this too often…” Gwen remarked. Even with help, it was a tremendous undertaking.

In the hallway, Gwen was met by violent gasps and the sudden sucking-in of breaths. Inside the elevator, other passengers stared, too afraid to speak. Considering the state of Sydney's public transport, Gwen gritted her teeth and called for a private Cab. Perversely, her driver kept his eyes on her far too long and almost had an accident before they made it across the Harbour Bridge.

Heart-in-mouth, passenger and driver pulled into Kirribilli after an hour.

The Cab rolled into a parking bay circulating the Manor's frontage, gaudily decorated with a gigantic statue of a sea-shelled Aphrodite in her radiant glory, ejaculating two streams of water from her nipples. As Gwen's cab pulled up at the front door, a suited, black-visored guard threw a fifty through the driver side window before opening the door for Gwen.

YES! Fifty bucks SAVED. Gwen mentally fist-pumped the air.

It was impossible to read the guard's expression behind the glasses censoring his face, so Gwen instead turned to regard the estate.

An extensive property of about two thousand square-meters, her uncle’s Manor had a harbour facing frontage. The manor was a freestanding sanctuary of exclusivity, space and opulence. The modern facade of the estate possessed four open levels bathed in natural light, with floors dressed in French oak and walls in antique-white.

“Please follow me, Ma’am,” the guard intoned with reverence, taken aback by Gwen's feminine presence. Gwen followed, noting the prevalence of dark-suited men patrolling the compound.

I guess Yue’s not burning this house down, Gwen remarked sourly. What the hell did her uncle do anyway? The bloody mansion reminded her of a mafioso movie set.

“GWEN! MY LOVELY NIECE!”

A voice like rolling thunder boomed across the hallway. Gwen stiffened as all eyes in the room shifted toward her, pinning her with their hawkish gaze.

Well shit, so much for subtlety. Gwen sighed internally.

“Uncle! I missed you so much,” she sang out thrillingly, hoping the effort was sensational enough to satisfy her uncle.

Kwan Huang was a giant of a man, made larger than life by his preference for loose polo shirts and baggy pants. Overweight and overbearing, Kwan roved and loomed wherever he went. Unlike Gwen's mother, Kwan appeared to have gained the lion’s share of the Huang's South East Asian heritage inherited from their Grandfather. The man's face was one that gave an air of benevolence, but beneath which hid a chilling ruthlessness. In the years since the family’s rise to riches, Kwan had gotten fat and bulbous: not thick in the way that white men grew heavy, with their beer-bellies, but swelling like a durian, with spikes to match.

Her uncle came on like a storm. Gwen felt his uninvited, mitt-sized hands wrap around her rips, lifting her with ease off the ground as he pressed the air from her ribcage. The upward draft caused her skirt to hoist dangerously, forcing Gwen to pat down her hem lest the audience enjoyed a free show.

When she became sufficiently disorientated by the embarrassment, he set her down facing the crowd of stickybeaked onlookers.

“Beautiful!” He bellowed, a little puffed out from the performance. “I remember doing that when you were a little girl, but you’re a young lady now, Gwen.”

“I’ve missed you, Uncle.”

Kwan then slipped an arm around her elbow and towed her behind him. In the open living room, the assembly of guests intensely scrutinised the tall blue flower bewilderingly brought into their midst.

“Helena's been hiding you from us hmm?” Kwan announced jovially. His arm was as strong as a bear's. “I heard the good news, Gwen. You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

“It’s nothing, Uncle.” Gwen tried to retrieve the arm she'd lost to a bear trap. She tried keeping up with her long striding uncle; her heels making progress both awkward and painful.

“Bosh! You are the best thing that has happened to us for a long time,” her uncle noted. “Except Richard of course, but that’s old news.”

“How is Aunty doing?”

“Well, very well. Tali's with a client at the moment, but you’ll see her soon enough. She has been asking about you nonstop since the news broke.” Kwan’s voice had a kind of projective force to it, giving Gwen the impression that he never spoke to just one person.

Soon, they seemed to have reached their first stop.

“Patrick! My boy! Come here. I want you to meet the belle of the ball!”

Gwen watched a young man saunter toward them. 'Patrick' wore a dawn-tinted shirt paired with grey, herringbone pants and brown leather oxfords.

“Kwan, is THIS the niece you were boasting? She’s stunning! Stunning I tell you!” An older man’s eyes roved up and down Gwen’s body, making her skin crawl. “Patrick, come and greet Gwen, show some of those gentlemanly manners I’ve been paying through the nose for.”

“My lady.” Patrick bowed. Gwen marvelled that his hair didn’t move a millimetre.

“Gwen.” Gwen returned a curtsy. Her mother loved curtsies.

Patrick’s eyes could have shot sparks.

“Patrick Oliver.” He offered her an arm.

Kwan’s grin extended from ear to ear.

“Not so soon!” He roared with laughter, joined by the older European businessman. “We still got the round to make. After that, you young people can get privately acquainted.”

And make the rounds they did.

Gwen met an assortment of young men anxious for her company, joined by a few girls whose eyes weren't nearly so friendly. There were younger children present too, but they were far too interested in chasing one another around the house.

“Looking a little too eager there Derrick!” Kwan roared as he and yet another older man shook and slapped one another on the back.

The young man who introduced himself as Derrick had a lean and hungry look about him that made Gwen uncomfortable. The boy wasn't bad looking, possessing a firm jaw and a compact body, brown eyes and cropped hair that screamed Military cadet. Gwen recalled that Derrick's father had stated the boy was a Cadet, no wonder Gwen's exposed skin overstimulated the repressed soldier. At any rate, it was hard to tell, but the boy did try to pull Gwen toward him when they shook, and Uncle Kwan was forced to cough discourteously, which made Derrick's father flustered and irate.

When finally all the introductions were finished, Kwan released Gwen into the middle of his spacious living room. She levelled her dress and felt the noon sun providing much-needed warmth over her bare legs.

Perhaps if Gwen were an actual teenager, she would have enjoyed the attention, the flattery, but knowing what she knew, she felt nought but self-loathing. Kwan's booming voice came from within the house.

“Gwen, a demonstration please! Your best spell!”

Gwen moved towards her uncle, who pulled her onto a dais that placed her at the centre of the middle deck.

I feel like a showroom model, Gwen reflected sardonically. Here we have my fat uncle, who I am convinced is a right bastard.

To her surprise, a series of targets appeared in the bay some thirty metres away, rising from the sea to form little dummies roughly the size and shape of a man. She looked around the room and sensed the presence of Conjuration magic.

“Gwen, your very best!” Uncle Kwan’s eyes met her own. An understanding passed between them. The display was not a request.

Well, this is why I am here. Gwen rationalised her show pony actuality. She told herself to bear with it. Delay until she can figure something out.

“Of course, Uncle,” she replied with a smile.

Gwen turned to the targets and used the refractory method taught by Alesia to ping the spatial latitude and longitude of her quarry. She opened up her Evocation conduits and allowed the familiar feeling to envelop her mana conduits.

“Guiding Bolt!” She incanted theatrically. From the blue above a bolt of purple ion struck the watery targets, dissipating into the water.

The crowd nodded with satisfaction. So it was true, the girl did possess a rare talent in high-tier lightning.

“Blast Bolt!” Gwen channelled more than half of her reserve, sending a tempest of cobalt bolts into the target, sending the water into a frenzy of emerald-white fissures. A small tsunami washed over the concrete seawall facing the property, bowling over the garden’s prized azaleas.

The assembly erupted into thunderous applause.

“Beautiful!” Uncle Kwan announced again, raising a toast to his darling niece.

A smudge of rouge appeared and faded from Gwen’s cheeks as she recovered, casting her inadvertently in a more feminine light. The applause continued for some time; without a drink to toast, Gwen curtsied once again before fleeing the platform.

Some distance away, in the privacy of the garden, she caught her breath. Her head throbbed, combining a migraine with a feeling of vertigo. Quizzically, she felt unusually hungry and parched.

“It’s good to see you.”

Gwen twirled to face the new voice and found it to be the familiar face of Kwan's wife. Aunt Tali was an unassuming looking woman of tremendous ability; said by many to be the sole reasons for the rise of House Huang. She was a shrewd businesswoman, well connected, always smiling and amiable in her memory.

There was a young man beside her. Tall like her Uncle, lean of body, clean shaven with a pair of horned-rim glasses, giving off a jovial air, as though laughing at a joke only he could comprehend. The young man was Richard Huang, the prevailing heir, the hopes and dreams of House Huang.

Gwen knew OF his cousin but had only met him twice. Richard awoke in his early teens to the School of Conjuration. Every other monthly dinner, Helena would bitterly complain that Richard was slated for greatness at Prince’s, while Gwen was a squib.

Then, after a melodramatic sigh, Helena would regard her daughter as though she was mentally disabled, shaking her head tragically. Gwen's response was to flee home and bury her head in her pillow until she water-boarded herself with tears.

Studying his cousin with intense interest, Richard opened his mouth to speak.

“Both the blonde dickhead and the depressing jarhead are from Princes.” He coolly observed. “They should be useful to you in school if you go to Lilith's, their family is well connected. Don't be surprised if they get a little handsy though. They're virgins.”

What? Gwen blinked. Were her ears deceiving her?

“Richard, be nicer to your cousin!” Aunty Tali stabbed her son in the foot with her kitten heels. “Say something nice.”

“Nice dress,” Richard replied in the same tone, then seemed to remember that he needed to say something nice about Gwen too. “Nice legs.”

“…” Aunty looked apologetically at Gwen, “Richard doesn’t hang around with many girls, Prince's is an all-boys school.”

“It’s alright aunty.” Gwen sidled closer to Richard, curious as to acquire an unexpected ally. “Do you like my dress? It's a Miu-Miu.”

She twirled before him, the hem lifting little from the centrifugal force. She watched his eyes shift up and down, his attention moving from her heels to her legs, to her waist and finally back to her eyes.

“You are stunning,” Richard stated, his demeanour slipping just a tad before correcting himself. "I like you, Cousin Gwen."

“You're certainly charming, Gwen.” Aunty nodded approvingly, her eyes feasting on her niece. “I have no idea why your mother has such impeccable taste for your dresses, but never for herself…”

Gwen chuckled. She had no idea if Aunty Tali was genuine in her speech or just playing along, but she felt far more comfortable speaking to her than to her uncle, who gave the distinct impression he was trying to hawk her to the highest bidder.

“Is mother here?” Gwen asked.

“Not on her life, no.” Tali smiled. ”Don’t mind it; you know she can’t stand these things. Half of these young men’s fathers duelled to be her fiancee back way when. There is no way she would want to meet their spouses."

“How about you, Richard?” Gwen pivoted to Richard, happy that her mother was absent. "How's life?"

“I am a Prefect,” Richard spoke in the manner of someone rattling off the weather. It was only his eyes that betrayed a keen intelligence. “I am looking forward to bigger things as well, such as the Selection for the Four Houses.”

“That’s wonderful Richard,” Gwen cooed at him. She rather liked the young man and his guileless manner of speaking.

“Richard, you better let your cousin go before someone duels you.” Aunty pointed to a half a dozen young men waiting in the gardens to speak to Gwen. “Not that anyone would stand a chance against you, ha!"

“Their abilities are subpar,” intoned Richard with the surety of a sage. “They spend too much time whoring and drinking. Gwen should beware. Maybe she should be my companion instead. What do you say, jailbait?”

“Richard!” Aunty Tali gave him another heel-in-foot.

“They make excellent social currency though.” Richard seemed unable to stop himself. “I wouldn't let them get too comfortable, but you could benefit by playing along.”

Holy shit, Richard is a wunderkind, Gwen found herself gazing upon her cousin with genuine wonder. How bloody talented do you have to be to survive an aristocratic school of assholes with a mouth like that?

Growling, Tali took Richard away, leaving Gwen alone in the garden. Within a minute, young men flocked to the pale blue rose, each one a desirous bee buzzing for her attention. Patrick was the ‘blonde’, so it seemed, and Derrick was the ‘jarhead’. Richard did indeed possess an eye for detail.

“So, my dad manages the Suncorp Energy Division.” Patrick began an exposition about his family and his connections in the manner of a man trying to hawk snake oil.

When she told them that she attended Blackwattle, the boys became flabbergasted. Small talk came and went, flitting from topics of Spellcraft to competition, politics to the latest trends. The wide range of issues made Gwen awkwardly aware of just how little she knew about the world outside Blackwattle. To these elite academy youngsters, she truly was a Frontier bumpkin.

“You must be thirsty, let me get you a drink.” Patrick volunteered.

“Thanks, Patrick.” She nodded courteously at him. "Could I trouble you for some canapès as well?"

Patrick waltzed away happily.

God, I am famished, Gwen caught a smidgen of bile in on her tongue. Hopefully, Patrick could make good on his promise.

"!"

Someone was breathing down her neck.

What the fuck? Gwen spun so quickly that when she tried to turn on her back foot, her heel caught on a wayward boot, causing her to lose her balance. Before she could recover, a pair of invasive hands cupped her waist, pulling them closer towards their owner. When Gwen finally caught herself, she found herself in the midst of being roughly manhandled by Derek, whose face was flushed with excitement, and whose hands were taking on a wandering quality.

Resist. RESIST. Gwen screamed internally. DON’T BLOW HIM UP.

She imagined herself NOT channelling mana, NOT allowing her Evocation Sigil to flare up, NOT turning Derek into a white-hot human torch.

Derek seemed pleased with his suave manoeuvre. Seeing that Gwen was unresisting and had her eyes half-closed, he assumed her a willing participant.

A wayward hand cupped her buttcheek.

Someone besides them chuckled.

Well, fuck it. Gwen reached for the offending limb.

"Ligh-!"

“Whoa there, Tiger!” A piercing voice like a chorus of archangels rang out across the garden with the clarion clarity. “You must never touch a lady without her permission!”

Gwen turned to see the heartening appearance of Alesia, her instructor, striding radiantly on red stiletto heels, floating across the French oak floors like a flaming flower.

Derek withdrew his hands, looking downcast guiltily.

“Begone, Cadet, before you disappear permanently.” Alesia's rebuke snapped across Derek's face like a whip. Derek fled like a man on fire.

Patrick, who had been returning in a huff with drinks in hand, performed a sterling exemplar of an about-turn and disappeared into the house.

“My, my!” Uncle Kwan’s booming voice echoed across the room. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Boss Huang,” Alesia answered sardonically, hinting at her disdain.

“Kwan will do,” Gwen’s uncle replied. “Hell, the Scarlet Sorceress can call me whatever she wants.”

“Miss De Botton.” Aunty joined them cautiously.

“I love your propaganda Vids,” Richard joined the fray. “I am a fan.”

“Why thank you, Richard.” Alesia beamed.

Gwen remained silent, imagining herself polymorphed into a mouse.

Tali and Alesia made meaningless small talk until finally, Kwan felt offended enough to cut to the chase.

“If I may ask… what is someone of your stature doing visiting a lowly merchant like me?” Kwan asked.

Alesia looked at Gwen, who had been stunned this whole while.

“I am here for my Apprentice,” Alesia finally said.

“I am sorry?”

“What?”

“Can I be your apprentice as well?”

“Not now Richard…”

“My apprentice, Gwen Song,” Alesia declared chillingly. “And I am displeased by what I have seen.”

Kwan’s face began to sweat. Aunty’s a little paler.

“You're taking on any new ones?” Richard persisted.

“Sorry dear, you’re the wrong School and the wrong element.”

“I am disappoint...” Richard looked downcast.

Conversely, Kwan was full of wariness.

“Is this official? Has Gwen given her consent?”

“Gwen?” Alesia turned to her student.

Gwen's mind was reeling. Things were going too fast for her to follow, but she knew it was now or never. Her affirmation would piss off her uncle, but seriously, she thought to herself. Fuck that guy.

“I would love nothing more than to have you as my Master,” Gwen intoned.

“Teacher, dear.” Alesia pulled Gwen closer. “Master is so old. I am too young to be a Master.”

“You can’t do this…” Kwan’s voice took on a note of warning. “You come into my house, crash my party, and take my niece…”

“Kwan…” Aunty touched her husband’s arm. “Calm yourself.”

“You… you…” Kwan seemed to be working himself up, measuring his options. Around them, Alesia could see the guards converging.

“Try me?” Alesia turned to Kwan boldly. “Are you so clean as to be immune to a good investigation Boss Huang? Does the concern of Paladin Gunther Shultz tickle your fancy?”

“Ah... er.. of course not.” Kwan deflated at the mention of Gunther Shultz.

"I thought as much. But you know what? I am not an unreasonable woman." Alesia tsked. "Here, a fair trade."

The Scarlet Sorceress drew into the folds of her dress and brought forth an envelope, one very similar to the one Gwen’s mother had possessed, embossed with a Sigil of Crown and Sword.

“A commendation for Richard for the Four Houses?” Alesia waved the envelope to and fro. "Only a few of these exist in all of Sydney."

“I would like to have a commendation,” Richard instantly replied, a hint of emotion betraying his usual countenance. "Please."

Aunty Tali intercepted her husband's rebuttal by giving him a strongly worded heel in the foot, sending Kawn away, groaning and swearing.

“May I?”

Alesia nodded.

Tali unpacked the letter and scanned its contents.

“Deal.” She said quickly, putting the letter on her person before Alesia could change her mind. “Let them leave.”

“…and her mother?” Alesia asked.

“I’ll take care of it, for now.” Aunt Tali answered briskly. “But Gwen will have to make the call when the time comes.”

“Agreed.” Alesia extended a hand, and the two women shook. It was far easier to make a deal between rational, logical, and consenting parties. Such was the way of competent women freed from the masculine ego.

Gwen and Alesia watched the guards melt away.

“Teacher?” Gwen still couldn't believe her eyes or her ears. That was it? Was it done?

“Let's get out of here first.”

The two retreated hand-in-hand under the envious gazes of the astonished assembly.

There was a red Alfa Romeo outside, a classic Spider-class convertible with a woman's curvature.

Alesia REALLY likes the colour red. Gwen observed.

“Get in, Tiger.” Alesia popped the passenger door with a wave of her hand. “It’s a long drive back.”

The red Alfa must have moved a dozen meters in the last ten minutes.

So that’s why it was a long ride ahead. Gwen realised when they finally passed the Harbour Bridge. The Mage-world might be full of magic, but traffic jams were a cardinal rule of any universe.

“We should have changed,” Alesia sulked, full of annoyance as yet another carload of stickybeak passengers wolf-whistled. Gwen tried to sink lower into her seat, but their carmine sports-coupe provided no such cover.

They were already absurdly conspicuous driving down the M1 in a blazingly red classic convertible, its racing spec, straight-eight engine growling and thrumming like an orc, leaving trails of inefficient mana burn. Adding to their engine of wanton attention was Alesia and Gwen's couture dresses and their startlingly gorgeous faces, further slowing traffic to a standstill. An SUV of young men out on their Sunday drive had been floating beside them for a good twenty minutes now, resulting in Gwen feeling carsick.

“If this was a Tier 1 city, I could be using my flight licence,” Alesia complained bitterly, flipping the bird to yet another driver that drifted too close. Her Instructor’s demeanour reminded Gwen of Yue, though Alesia was altogether more svelte and collected.

“Ma’am…” Gwen asked carefully. “Am I your apprentice?”

“Do you want to be my apprentice?” Alesia gave Gwen a red-lipped smile.

“Wouldn’t Yue be a better option? She’s Fire-talented, and an Evoker like you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Alesia kept her eyes on the road as the traffic began to move. “Do you want to be my apprentice?”

“Can I be honest, Ma’am?”

“Shot.”

“I have no idea what it means to be your apprentice…” Gwen confessed; as an adult, she knew the value of blatant honesty.

"Ha." Alesia laughed. "Okay, Let me explain..."

She informed her that there were Apprentices, and there were 'apprentices'. In the classic sense, an Apprentice was someone who stood to inherit the material wealth and mental knowledge of the Master. The exchange was that the apprentice essentially offered free labour for the duration of their apprenticeship, living cheek-to-cheek with his or her master, a domestic servant-cum-student-cum-assistant, and heir.

In the traditional sense, it made no sense for Gwen to be Alesia’s apprentice. They were different elements, and that meant a considerable divergence in spell philosophy and theory. Likewise, if Alesia were to fall, her most valuable possession, which was her Scarlet Flame Spirit, could hardly migrate to Gwen, who was not a Fire Mage.

Then, of course, there were the apprentice-in-name. These were more akin to students following a tutor, or a postgrad following a professor. These relationships were typically temporal, taken in exchange for some measured outcome, such as researching a particular spell or done as a favour for one’s alumni.

“I like you, Gwen,” Alesia said after listening to Gwen’s queries. “Hardworking, outspoken, you remind me of myself at your age, though our circumstances are a little different. For one, your parents are arseholes, and mine were eaten alive.”

"...sorry."

"You'll get over it." Alesia brushed back a wayward ringlet. “Let me ask you something though. I want you to think about it carefully.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Do you WANT to attend Lilith & Prince's?” Alesia demanded, much to Gwen’s surprise. “Do you understand the opportunity you are giving up?”

Gwen ruminated in silence. Pragmatism versus sentimentality made bitter pills with jagged edges. The rational answer was obvious, but she had already walked that path long ago. Was she happy? Arguably. But she had lost people and connections she'd rather keep this time around.

“I want to stay with Yue and Elvia,” Gwen said at last. “There's no meaning to my success if I can’t share it with them.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Alesia seemed pleased with Gwen's answer. “A little romanticism never hurt nobody.”

“So, about the apprenticeship…”

“You’ll be under my protection for now, though I am afraid my regular job will take me places you can't follow. Still, the right people in the right places know who I am, and they’ll either give you a hand or at least, leave you alone.”

“An apprenticeship-in-name?” Gwen affirmed softly, a little disappointed.

Alesia laughed, giving Gwen a glance from her ultra-marine orbs before returning her attention to the road.

“I may take on Yue though,” Alesia added nonchalantly. Gwen felt a pang of unbidden jealousy. “She’s a good fit, don’t you think?”

“I think so too,” Gwen answered, dispelling any doubt. She was too old for peevish envy.

“That mean’s I’ll be taking her with me when the time comes, a few years around the world and all that,” Alesia continued. “What do you think?”

“It would be her lucky day,” Gwen answered earnestly.

“Well, don’t get her hopes up.” Alesia laughed. “Impress me next week on the Field Trip.”

“We’ll do our best, Ma’am.”

They turned off the highway and made for the dorm, driving under the thrum and throttle of the thirsty engine for a few more minutes. The Gwen of her heart felt a little dejected, but the Gwen of the mind knew that Alesia did an incredible thing for her. She owed this woman more than she can begin to repay.

“Miss...Alesia…” Gwen cleared her throat. “Thank you so much for what you did today. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, and I had no idea what was going to happen, but you came to my aid when I needed it the most.”

The dorm came into view. Alesia pulled up inside the bay. Around them, students stopped in their tracks to stare.

“It was a favour for Principle Bartlett, get him some chocolates later,” Alesia informed Gwen cooly. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. When she spoke again; her voice was softer. “But I also did it for you, Gwen, because I believe you were worth saving.”

“Thank you, Ma’am, for everything.” Gwen quaked with emotion. Alesia's unexpected kindness was the first time since coming to this world that she had felt such strong passions of dependence. Gwen had Yue, of course, and Elvia, but they were kids, vulnerable and unwise themselves. Alesia was the sort of mentor she needed; someone who could empathise and understand her turmoils.

Seeing Gwen’s worshipful appearance, Alesia’s cheeks took on the hue of pippins.

“I’ll see you at the Camp tomorrow night.” She waved Gwen goodbye. “Get some sleep Tiger; it's going to be a tiring week.”

The girls celebrated Gwen returning in one piece. She told them a play-by-play of what had occurred at the party, as well as Alesia’s incredible eleventh-hour prevention of Gwen potentially committing a homicide.

“Those guys are assholes,” Yue hissed. “That Derek piece of shit would be missing half a face if he tried to paw me.”

I don’t think anyone would dare to paw Yue, Gwen and Elvia riposted in their minds.

“Well, Patrick was alright, just a little too hung up on his family’s fortunes,” Gwen continued. “But Richard was the bomb.”

“Your cousin sounds like an alright bloke,” Yue agreed, “you can unleash him in an argument and people would be speechless. Did you see what he could do in a fight?”

“Didn’t get a chance.” Gwen shook her head. “He said he was shortlisted for the Four Courses or something? Instructor Alesia gave him a commendation.”

“The Four Houses,” Elvia interjected.

“Are they like nobility?” Gwen asked. “We have aristocrats now?”

“Come on, everyone knows about Princes!”

“…” Gwen had been so preoccupied playing catch up on magical theory that she had neglected the mundane aspects of her school life.

“Out with it then,” Gwen confessed her ignorance.

Elvia explained that the Greater Schools established in Sydney and Melbourne were not schools founded by the Frontier government, but frontier branches of venerated Tier 1 schools stemming from the old country. The greatest and most prestigious of these schools, Prince’s, had close ties to Cambridge, Oxford, The London College of Magical Arts, and the much-lauded Imperial College of London. Each of these major players had established a House, an alumni club of sorts, which handpicked talented students to be ‘elevated’. As to what that meant exactly, Elvia was unsure since her father had never met anyone who had enjoyed these perks.

Probably what Principle Bartlett was extolling, Gwen thought.

The privilege of avoiding mandatory military service.

The privilege of citizenship in a Tier 1 City.

The privilege of attending ancient institutions, the progenitors of Spellcraft.

“You know, Elvia, it’s been bugging me for a while, but why are you not attending a school like Lilith's?” Yue demanded after listening to Elvia’s exposition into a world she had no idea existed.

Elvia’s sapphire irises met Gwen’s, and the girls read on her pale face the self-evident answer. If someone like Gwen could be gobbled up with ease by such a world, then someone like Elvia had no chance.

“Right, sorry I asked.” Yue withdrew her question apologetically.

“Father said it was best if I made normal friends, and marry away from those… people,” Elvia replied. "I don't regret it. I am thrilled I got to meet both of you.”

“Me too, Evee.”

“Me three,” Gwen declared. The trio then held one another' hands, a gesture which further affirmed Gwen's conviction.

“Let's kick some ass starting tomorrow,” Yue announced. “We have to pay back Miss Alesia.”

"How can we not?" Gwen quipped. "Aren't we the dynamic duo?!"

They were up bright and early, each lugging a backpack tied down with bedrolls and supplies. Their prim uniforms had been replaced by sports uniforms, which consisted of tapered T-shirts. The girls had the choice of dry-fibre skirts, spats, or shorts with knee socks, and the boys had the option of tracks or shorts with tall socks. Elvia and Yue felt comfortable in their skirts, but Gwen preferred spats.

Wish I had a Storage Ring, Gwen pondered as she hoisted her backpack. She had a portion of Elvia’s supply too because the small girl became instantly dwarfed, looking like a blonde-haired snail. Elvia had mentioned that her family did possess a few Storage Rings, though she lacked access to the rare device as losing one would be akin to totalling a car.

Their coach was a regular old bus with spotty air conditioning, rumbling as it made its way towards the Shield Barriers. As the excursion approached the limits of human habitation, Gwen recognised the risen forms of Shield Towers reaching like daggers for the sky, each sheathed within nigh-impenetrable rectangular buildings called Shield Forts.

The Forts were akin to cannon fortifications used during the war against the Beast Tides of the Wildlands. They resembled dark obsidian mounds that rose from the scrubland a hundred metres into the air. Each of the Forts was said to be self-repairing and damage resistant. From the tip of the protruding tower, a single mana crystal, gargantuan beyond belief, could be seen half-hidden. In Senior Spellcraft, Gwen and company learnt that these artificially constructed towers could project resonance barriers spanning hundreds of kilometres. A skilled Barrier-Abjurer could further alter the height, thickness, and even elemental quality of the shields to deal with whatever the Wildlands decided to throw at the human cities.

“Hey Gwen, your father is a Barrier Mage, right?” someone asked.

“Yeah, not here though.” Gwen had no idea where her father was stationed. Even in her old life, Gwen’s father wasn't forthcoming about his employment, merely stating that he ‘worked for the council.’ When Gwen finally left home at 16, she couldn’t care less where he worked.

At the checkpoint, border staff screened and scanned the bus for anything questionable, after which the kids were finally beyond the obsidian gates.

“Alright everyone, listen up!” the baritone voice's owner was their survivalist Instructor, Ranger Boone. “We are now beyond the sanctuary of the shield wall. You have just taken your first step into the real world.”

A clamour of murmurs resonated across the coach; Boone waited for the kids to be quiet.

“Our base camp is another two hours away,” he orientated the students. “Groups 1 - 5 will be going to site Alpha, and Groups 6 - 9, that’s us, will be going to site Beta.”

“Instructors and medical staff will be onsite at all times in the main base camp. Your job is to accomplish at a minimum, three of the five objectives. On the third day, you will report for roll call in the main base camp, before returning to your designated camping sites.”

“Role call!” The Instructor announced, producing a ‘phone’ that Gwen now knew acted as a Divination beacon. Each of the students had theirs issued when they enrolled. Their Instructor’s variant possessed the ability to track secondary devices.

The Magi-tech constructs were of intense interest to Gwen, who lived through the explosive informative age of the internet’s exponential world dominion in the 00s, though she had yet had an opportunity to investigate such matters. Supposedly, tier 1 cities produced Magitech, while the Frontier used hand-me-downs.

“Sync check your Devices. They are augur-locked to reveal your location and inform us in the event of serious harm or injury,” Boone repeated a few times what he'd been drilling into the students. “DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT be separated from your device for any reason, and do not give your device to anyone else.”

Outside the window, Gwen watched the sparse shrubbery turn to bushland, and finally into forests of swarthy Blue Gums twisting their white branches sinuously like human limbs, reaching for the ultramarine sky.

“Gwen, your Device,” Boone’s voice snapped beside her.

“Here you are, Sir.” She produced her Message Device and watched it play through a series of beeps that informed the user it synced.

“Good luck.” He nodded. “The Principle has high hopes for your group.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Concrete bitumen gave way to roads paved with crushed stone, finally becoming dusty fire trails of red earth.

The central base basecamp consisted of a few permanent concrete structures spanning an area no more than a football field. One was a two-tier structure with glass windows that served as the Instructors’ residence. Another was the meeting hall, a fortification suitable for hosting a hundred or so adults. The most valuable building, however, was the one attached to the Instructors’ dwelling.

It was a large, communal outhouse-hybrid-bathroom, and from the looks of it, it had a shower section.

Jun and Henley met with their female counterparts after the second bus alighted.

Each of the pre-assigned teams formed up, gave their well-wishes, then made for their designated areas by tracking progress on a handheld map.

We better not get lost, Gwen looked at the map worryingly. She had barely passed orienteering.

“Hey!” A voice called out as they reached the edge of the campsite. The group turned to see Debora and her trio of Transmuters. To their shock, she had cropped her beautiful ponytail and now sported a pixie cut.

“Debs!” Gwen greeted her childhood friend.

“May the best woman win!” Debora called out across the camp.

“WE"LL KICK YOUR ASS!” Yue announced confidently, her voice like a thunderclap.

Debora flipped them the bird before disappearing into the bush.

The group then made its way through an undergrowth that quickly grew difficult. Now in the wilderness, Gwen took a moment to take it all in, measuring it up against the ‘wilderness’ of her old world.

Their designated fire trail led over a ridge and down a gully, along the way, ring-barked trees stretched out like gnarly fingers amongst overgrown ferns and chaotic, hoary grass.

“Look at that!” Yue pointed, and the group noted an enormous gumtree over thirty-metres in height, with a semi-hollowed trunk that resembled the mouth of an open cavern. Red blood crystals formed on its surface where insects or natural elements had stripped away the bark, giving the impression of a distorted face weeping blood.

“Blood Gum,” Jun observed. “Henly, anything?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Henley replied after blasting it with a few Detecting spells.

The group moved in the trained formation in which they had become accustomed to, carefully foraging through the bushland for potential dangers.

“One target, six o clock, elevated, stationary, medium,” Henley announced suddenly. The group halted. Jun readied himself.

An adult goanna, a black brute of a beast, made its lazy way down the side of a tree. It was medium sized, sure, but to the students, it felt enormous, larger than life. They watched its beady eyes measuring them with neither interest nor hostility, its forked tongue flicking this way and that.

“Do we kill it?”

“It’s just fauna, leave it,” Jun advised. “No benefit in killing something like that.”

The thing moved closer out of curiosity.

“Or not…” Yue swallowed, allowing a fiery spark to escape her hand. She had been apprehensive of snakes and reptiles since she was a child.

“Wait…” Jun laid down a small barrier of frost, which seemed to deter the reptilian creature, directing it away from the group.

“Fuck me,” Yue breathed out. “They're bigger in real life.”

“They grow up to six metres…” Elvia stated helpfully. Yue's skin came alive with goosebumps.

“Let's keep moving.”

The group made it to their designated camping area and had the rest of the afternoon to build their shelters. Alesia had taught the group, who lacked a utility mage, some cheap and easy tricks to create housing, such as using ice to lock branches and other components in place before tying them with rope and securing them against trees. Though nowhere as competent as what the Transmuters or earthen Abjurers could have constructed, the group nonetheless manage to create their shelters to code, elevated and hoisted above the ground to avoid snakes and insects just as the sun began to fade.

“Alright, that’s one objective accomplished,” Jun declared after inspecting their work. “Some light please?”

“Dancing Lights.” Both Gwen and Yue laid down some glowing lights that illuminated the area in six-meter increments. Yue’s were the warm glow of daylight, while Gwen’s had the cold quality of the electro-illumination used on public transports.

“What’s for dinner?” Yue asked.

“Got it covered,” Elvia began pulling out an assortment of instant noodles, as well as a stock pot. “Let's eat something yummy today before we have to hunt down Wildland game tomorrow.”

“Could have taken that goanna actually,” Henley suggested. “Maybe it tastes alright?”

Yue made a gagging noise.

“I brought SPAM,” Gwen announced happily, producing a few cans of her favourite mystery meat.

They made a controlled magical flame beneath the pot and heated a big batch of spicy noodles. Elvia had also brought a dozen plates and cups, fabricated by Transmuter manufactorums into lightweight, sturdy materials that reminded Gwen of durable plastic.

“Alarm.”

Jun laid down a perimeter spell that would set off an audible Ping! should any undesignated creatures penetrate its coverage.

The group ate and washed up with some melted ice made by Jun.

After a brief clean up, they rolled out their sleeping bags. Yue and Elvia could share a shelter as Elvia was tiny, and Yue was rather petite herself. Gwen could barely fit into the humpy she had made and realised she had to sleep by curling into a foetal position. The two boys slept separately.

The group laid out a watch order before retiring for the night, thinking of the next six days of unknowable trials and dangers that awaited.

A persistent Continual Flame kept the perimeter lit: it was still far too terrifying for the girls to sleep in the complete darkness of the Wildlands, without the comforting light pollution of the city to assure them that the Shield Barriers were operational.

Yue and Elvia chatted in the humpy next door. Gwen herself was alone with her thoughts, thinking about Instructor Alesia, about her friends, about the Quest ahead, feeling her eyelids grow heavy as darkness fell.

Gwen and her companions were up at the first light, awoken by the Message which began to play on their devices.

“Good morning students. Your first objective: proceed to Zeta as indicated on your map and return with the marker. Scores are rewarded for the number of encounters, the speed of progress and the number of kills. The maximum allowance for this task is Two Days. Good Hunting!”

So the party's first task was a Purge, Gwen exhaled. It was the most common quest given to Mages by Frontier governing bodies.

In places where the Wildlands overlap Human cities, Magical Beasts must be routinely exterminated to prevent the accumulation of mana that gave rise to bigger, stronger beasts. This was because neglect towards the self-perpetuating creatures of the Wildlands inevitably led to a Beast Wave; a tsunami of flesh, teeth and claw ranging from numberless swarmlings to Titan class monstrosities.

After the WWII, Cryptozoologists determined that if a region was regularly ‘burnt off’, elemental mana, as well as tears into the Elemental Planes could be dispersed. Furthermore, the harvesting of Creature Cores, a resource for empowering human artifice, made frequent Purges a necessity of industry.

In a resource-rich Frontier region like Sydney, specialist Hunter-Killer parties set out deep into the Wildlands, searching for rarer game. Closer to the cities, low ranking Mages engaged in large-scale canvasing of Green and Orange Zones.

Before they set off, the party stowed excess gear in elevated shelters as it wasn't uncommon for creatures to be attracted to food and equipment left behind by human Adventurers.

“Marching order.” Jun watched his teammates move into place.

As the crow flies, Zeta was only half a day away. In reality, the terrain involved descending into a gorge to reach the opposite saddle. Still, the party was confident that they could retrieve the objective flag at Zeta and return to camp by nightfall.

“Just like we practised,” Jun implored his companions. “Let's move out!”

Gwen told herself to relax her pinched nerves. Sleeping in the humpy gave her insomnia, the insects kept her awake, and she had a sore back from sleeping on her side.

I could kill for a latte, Gwen inwardly grumbled. If we could ambush a pack of double-shot flat-white, it would be perfect.

The group's first encounter happened only half-an-hour later.

“Stop. Twelve O`clock. Small. A dozen, give or take.”

Christ! A dozen? A surge of adrenaline shook Gwen from her stupor. The group paused in its tracks, waiting for the oncoming of whatever Henley predicted to be ahead. Remaining in formation, the party hid behind cover, staying perfectly still, taking advantage of the thick Blue Gums.

The foliage soon revealed, as anticipated, Goblinoids, or more precisely, Gobs, nasty little things born from rot and fungi, a half-formed, semi-sentient Goblinoid. This area of the Coastal Track was thick with motes of Earth and Water mana and thus, served as a hallowed breeding ground for these little creatures. That was the reason for the fire trail on which the team travelled; every so often, the Frontier Militia sent down kill-teams to ‘back burn’ the region.

Even though Jun was standing no more than three metres from one of them, half his face visibly sweating, the Gobs appeared to ignore him, appearing preoccupied with baser instincts elsewhere.

“…” The Abjurer made the gesture for AoE.

“Barrage!” Yue incanted, and from above the creatures fell a shower of fiery death.

“Ice Field!” Jun snuffed the last of Yue's fires,

The others watched Elvia dig through the corpses for Creature Cores; their healer was trained in suturing and triage, and apparently, also in butchery.

Their first official combat. Ten vicious little Gobs.

Henley reported their body count back to base.

Gwen studied the humanoid creatures, observing Elvia's work. Gobs were humanoid in shape but shared little in common with terrestrial animals of non-magical origin. Though their bodies possessed a skeleton, muscle fibres, as well as green ichor for blood, they had tiny brains more akin to jagged crystal than flesh.

Gingerly, Elvia extracted a bulbous sack, sliced it open, then sighed as she poured shattered shards of the creature's Core.

Gwen choked down a gulp of bile. Even in her old world, she never liked going to the butchers directly. She preferred buying meat that was prepackaged, or better yet, ready cooked.

Elvia washed her hands using water from Yue’s canteen. Without a water Mage, the group opted to create ice in their metal canteens via Jun, then had Yue warm the metal containers.

“Don't worry. Let's keep going.”

The party's next encounter consisted of terrific little insects known as Stirges, dangerous bloodsucking things that lived deep in the gullies, emerging only to feed.

“Incoming! Three O'Clock! Closest to Yue!” By the time Henley delivered his warning, the buzzing din was upon them.

Jun immediately laid down his best Shield, a stacking array of three ice membranes which completely covered Yue, while leaving enough visibility for her to be still casting spells. As a brittle element, Ice functioned more effectively as reactive armour.

The first Stirge struck the ice shield with the force of a spear fired from a ballista, piercing the first layer before hitting the second. The second and third flew around the shield array and tried to stab Yue with its serrated syringe. The detour, however, had slowed its movements enough for Yue to strike.

"Flaming Hands!"

A flash of fire smothered the left flank of their formation, blasting a Stirge from the air with a magnificent pyrotechnic display. Another Stirge slammed into Yue's Blast Shield, trigging the reactive surface, sending it skittering to one side.

"Blast Bolt!"

A quick lightning-charged missile snapped the third, tearing it limb from limb. Jun summoned another Ice Shield and crushed the first between the two layers. The second, which Yue had seared, flopped about before finally succumbing to the heat, cooked in its carapace.

With the adrenaline of the moment dying with the embers, Gwen surveyed her party for injury. Shockingly, a scrabbling claw had swiped Yue's shoulder, causing her to bleed profusely.

“Yue!” Gwen took her friend by the arm. "Oh my God! Are you alright?"

“It's fine," Yue winced. "One of its forelegs must have nicked me when it did the fly-by.”

“I got this, don’t worry.” Elvia used the canteen to flush the wound of contaminants. Gwen flinched as though she was the one with the flesh wound.

“Healing Word!”

The Party watched as Yue's flesh wound mended. Such was the boon of having a healer on the team. Without Elvia, they would have had to stop for first aid. Had the wound been worse, perhaps retreat to the base camp and calling it a day.

As Yue recovered, Elvia dissected the insects.

The bugs were better fleshed out, with a full complement of what Gwen expected in a drone-sized vermin.

“Giant mosquitos,” Yue whistled, giving her arm a stretch. One’s muscles always ached and throbbed after a healing spell. “What Challenge Rating are those things?”

“Tier 2, about as bad as it gets here.”

The group regarded the long, gangly limbs of the disgusting mosquito things. The serrated barbs had unseamed Yue's flesh like a keen knife.

“Keep going,” Yue urged.

The group found themselves roving through packs of Gobs for the next three hours, though the unarmed creatures proved little to no challenge. Discovered or otherwise, the critters plod and plough towards them like lemmings, heedless of the barrages laid down by Yue and Gwen.

“Where are they all going?” Yue asked no one in particular, “I think we just hit a century after the last pack.”

Gwen shrugged. Who knew what mysteries the Wildland held? Maybe a mass migration? Breeding season? Did these things even follow the laws of nature?

“How far is Zeta from us now?”

“About half-an-hour.”

“One sec,” Yue asked for the group to halt. “I am all clammy.”

Out of the five in the group, it was Yue who had the worst stamina. Jun was already carrying some of Yue’s food packs. The Fire Mage peeled off her jacket and tied it around her waist. Feeling flushed, Gwen likewise packed her windbreaker.

“Shush,” Henley interjected suddenly. “I sense incoming.”

The group fanned out, crouching to lower the visibility of their profiles.

“Medium mass, Five O Clock, Fire at wi-”

In the next moment, a grey blur blasted past Jun, who had been taking point while Yue was changing.

“Shit! SHIELD!” Henley shouted.

There was insufficient time to react, and so Jun constructed three semi-sphere shields in front of Yue, Gwen and Elvia. Their assailant, however, had no interest in the girls. Instead, it made a beeline for the being that had detected it - the Diviner.

A silhouette the size of a motorcycle balled into Henley, instantly shattering his feeble mana shield and pushing all the air from his lungs. His world spun, his ribs cracked, and he flew.

The other four watched their friend launch into the air like a cannonball, his flailing form performing several pirouettes before tumbling down like a rag doll.

The grey blur stopped in its tracts, revealing itself to be a wolf-like creature with bristles like porcupines. Its muscular limbs dug deeply into the turf, hinting at its speed and power.

“Henley!” Jun cursed.

“Darragh!” Henley hollered back. He was alive; the party collectively exhaled.

“What’s the game plan?”

“I’ll slow it; you smite it.” Jun spat, weaving his hands through the air.

“Ray of Frost!” Jun opted for his most basic and near instant Cantrip. The Ray dealt little damage but had the additional quality of chilling enemies' movements.

The spell struck, snagging the wolf with an invisible ball and chain of ice and soil. A meter away from Gwen, the creature fell short of its target, landing as a snarling whirlwind of tooth and nail.

“Shocking Grasp!” Gwen incanted the first spell that came mind. An arc of lightning leapt from her fingertips, striking the creature full in the torso, ravaging its body before grounding itself.

The wolf howled, half-numb with paralytic electricity. It attempted another dash at Gwen, but a blast of fire intercepted it mid-leap.

“Burning Hands!”

Under Alesia, Yue had refined her control. The edge of her flame barely kissed their companions as her target burned.

"Blast Bolt!"

By the time both fire and lightning had ceased, the wolf was well-done.

Jun remained wary while Elvia rushed towards Henley.

“Healing Word!”

Elvia ran a hand under the Diviner's shirt to ensure his chest wasn't punctured.

“Can you speak?”

“Yeah… yep, I am still alive.”

“Can you breathe?”

“Yeah, it hurts though, my ribs, I think it’s broken.”

“Aright, don't worry.”

With the other three standing guards, Elvia cut open Henley’s shirt and gingerly felt for his displaced rib, finding the protrusion that was out of place.

“This is going to … itch.” Elvia warned.

Henley tried to smile; his face already beaded with sweat.

“Heal Minor Wounds!”

"Lesser Restoration!"

The higher tier healing spells coursed through Henley. The Diviner writhed; the mending of bone was an itch that couldn't be scratched.

“Gwen! Hold him down!”

Gwen held the shaking Henley by the wrists. Henley alternated between laughing and moaning. When the spells finally ran their course, the party watched a sweat-drenched Henley rise on one shoulder, bare-chested and covered the forest’s fallen foliage.

“You alright?”

“Don’t… don’t do that again, let me die next time…”

“Is that supposed to happen?” Gwen and Yue both questioned Elvia, who nodded.

“Normally, we sedate the patient, but I'm not qualified to administer anaesthesia…” She responded with an expression of adorable innocence.

'Ding!'

'Ding!'

'Ding!'

Their devices began to buzz. A Message spell bloomed beside their ear.

“ Group Seven, are you alright? Do you need assistance?”

“No Sir. We have resolved the problem,” Yue informed Sergeant Boone.

“Is Henley alright? His transponder triggered.”

“I am FINE SIR,” Henley shouted into his unit.

“Alright, give me a quick sit-rep.”

They told Boones about the creature they encountered.

“Wind Wolves, they usually don’t range this far up the coast,” Boone sounded troubled. “I’ll inform the other groups. You have permission to abort.”

The party pondered the risk and rewards. That wolf was tier 3, but they had come this far, why not finish the rest?

“We’ll continue Sir.”

“There's no penalty for quitting if you encounter an abnormality.”

“Henley here, Sir. I am confident we can finish the objective and return by nightfall. I wish to continue.”

“Us as well.” The group assured the instructor.

“Alright, permission granted,” Boone affirmed their decision. “Be cautious and contact me if you encounter Soldier tier critters. Remember, this is only a test. Don't risk your lives needlessly.”

The Message spell lost its glow.

“Thanks, H.P.” Jun pulled his friend up, Henley's shirt was still in shreds.

“Got a spare?” Henley asked his friend.

“Use mine, I think we’re the same size,” Gwen offered Henley her school jacket, which the young man warmly accepted.

Elvia probed the carcass of the wolf-thing and came up with a few shattered pieces of something that resembled a fragmented, thumb-sized marble.

'Snap!'

The Core cracked. Whatever it held dissipated into the air.

“Shame,” Jun remarked. “Thought we had something there.”

As the rest of the group meandered away, Gwen observed a warm glow occurring close to her bosom. She could sense, through the resonance of mana within her body, a flow of something indescribable.

She placed her hand on her collarbone and found the familiar shape of a pendant she had forgotten entirely.

The Kirin amulet! She caressed its smooth surface. The jade chimaera that father gave her when she awakened - What was it doing?

Catching up to the rear of her party, she unbuttoned her collar and looked downward, seeing the jade illuminated with an inner lustre. Curious, Gwen attempted to identify the mana it was infusing to no avail.

In front, Yue observed Gwen peeping under her shirt, seemingly fascinated by what she saw, her face full of bewilderment. Did her chest grow? Bra too tight? Yue wondered. Why else would she be so smitten?

“Gwen, is this the time for that kind of introspection?” Yue enquired mirthfully.

“Sorry,” Gwen replied, smoothing her collar and patting down her shirt. "Let's go!"

The party progressed more carefully now, taking every step with caution. They encountered yet more mobs of Gobs, ultimately a pair of Goblins, but nothing like that of the Wind-wolf.

Watching Elvia dissect the Goblins was an eye-opener, as they seemed to possess the same viscera one would expectantly find inside a human being. Likewise, the creatures demonstrated emotive expressions as they died, squealing and screaming. The sight of Elvia as she ferreted the chest cavity for the Core turned Gwen’s stomach.

Ultimately, the group arrived at Zeta an hour later than expected, and collected the flag that an instructor had planted prior.

“We made it! Good work, everyone. Lunch and rest, twenty minutes.”

They each produced the dry rations prepared by the school, swelling when hot water was added to became beefy gloop. For thirst, they drank purified water melted from Jun’s icicles, restoring their mana reserves.

“Jun, how is it that other groups without healers could make it this far?”

“Luck, mostly. When I was here last year, we didn’t see anything beyond a few Giant Slugs, Gobs, a few lone Goblins, and some of the local fauna that had become semi-magical. Tier 1.5 would be my estimate.”

“Why do you think we keep seeing these other creatures?”

“Wished I knew.” Jun gulped his gloop. “I hope the other groups are alright.”

“They must be.” Elvia blinked. “Else we would receive a warning message to look out for dangerous beasts, right?”

“Just our luck then?” Henley snorted.

“Could be we're in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Yue appended Henley's hypothesis.

The group studied at the gully below from the vantage offered by Point Zeta. Had something changed? Why was a creature magnitudes more potent than the cannon fodder of the Green Zone so close to their training area?

In the distance, they watched a flock of birds take flight.

“Grey Ibis,” Jun observed. “Scavengers, the biggest ones have wingspans up to four metres.”

The birds were ugly close up, but from a distance, the scenery had the quality of a Namatjira watercolour.

The journey back to base camp was uneventful as the group followed the path from which they came. After the dangerous run-in with the Wind Wolf, they had agreed to take a more conservative approach lest another unanticipated encounter placed them in greater danger.

The team made better progress than anticipated, reaching the camp just as the light was fading. As they came into the semi-clearing, however, they knew they were no longer alone. Even a hundred metres from their camp, they could see the telltale signs of invasion.

“I’ll lead.” Jun intoned. “Wedge formation, Gwen and Yue on the left-right flank.”

Elvia and Henley moved closer to the middle. Jun readied his Shield Stack.

“Huge, Eleven O Clock.” Henley said with a quivering voice, “We should contact basecamp, its-”

They heard the creature before they saw it, caught flatfooted as an absurd mass exploded through the trunk of a half rotten Blue Gum, splintering and scattering chunks of wood as it charged. The creature that bored down on them unprovoked resembled a rhinoceros without a horn; its feet were turned inward, like that of a wombat, giving it two nasty looking talons akin to a gargantuan pigeon toe. Sinuous muscles like steel cables roped its way around its broad, muscular back, which was thick with silvery-black hair that bristled as it moved. Its beady eyes were bloodshot and spoke of madness.

"Guuuarrk!!"

The thing barked, a half-grunt, half-roaring hoot that sent spittle flinging every which way. Its maw opened to revealed yellowing rows of canines that left absolutely no doubt as to its preferred diet.

“Fortification Shield!” Unlike his usual shields that formed in mid-air, Jun incanted the most stalwart shielding he had in his arsenal. Three buffers in the form of crystalline ice shards dug deep into the earth, forming a wedged barrier.

“GET READY!” Jun shouted. “EVERYTHING YOU GOT.”

“Bless!”

“True Strike!”

“Bane!”

The creature struck.

Its skull must have acted as a battering ram, for Jun watched with disbelief as his best Shield singularly shattered.

“Stacking Shield!” He shouted, but the barreling creature was too bulky and too fast. Three additional layers of ice shattered like rice paper, and all Jun could do was to redirected its trajectory as not to strike him head-on.

Before the others could react, the thing was barreling past Jun, throwing him aside.

Shit! Gwen’s mind screamed. It’s now or never!

“Barrage!”

“Guiding Bolt!”

Yue’s barrage struck the beast, sending it askew. Her flames, however, had no significant effect, cascading off its hide in flaming sheets.

Shit, the thing may have Fire as a base element. Yue realised in a panic. Gwen had better pick up the slack!

Gwen's signature spell quickly followed her bolt.

“Blast Bolt!”

She channelled as much mana as she could muster into her sure-kill spell, feeling her reserves drop from full to exhaustion in a single cast. Almost two dozen arcs of lighting erupted across the giant-wombat, grounding below, generating enough heat and energy to turn the sandy soil beneath into shards of silica.

The thing slumped and began to slide from its remaining momentum, stopping only half a meter in front of Elvia and Henley.

"Is it dead?" Elvia trembled.

What the fuck was that? They wanted to scream. That’s not supposed to be in the green zone!

The creature was built like a ute mated with a brick shit-house and could have easily broken through the attacks and shields of lesser Mages. There was something seriously wrong with the intelligence of the region the school had received. This creature was most certainly a Soldier class, at least tier 4.

“I found him!” Elvia cried, and with Henley’s help gingerly retrieved Jun from the bushes.

“My arm…” Jun groaned. They could see that his left arm was turned oddly in an impossible direction.

“I’ll call basecamp,” Gwen said, seeing that Yue was beside herself with worry. “Elvia, do your thing.”

“This is going to itch…” Elvia told Jun apologetical before she began to incant her healing spells.

Jun’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“Sir! We ran into a huge creature just now! It was at least a Soldier Class!” Gwen reported. “Request returning to basecamp!”

“Granted, return as soon as you can, Group Seven, we are getting reports from all over that there are higher level creatures in the region. What is your status? Do you need an escort?”

“We’ll be fine sir, please prioritise the other groups.”

“Acknowledged. Be safe and make haste!”

Jun recovered his senses once Henley gave him a few slaps on the cheeks.

“Forget the stuff at our camp, we need to get back to basecamp now!” he declared.

“Shall I recover the stone, Gwen?” Elvia asked.

The gathering looked at the smoking carcass of the gigantic beast. It would take at least an hour to dig through that thing, and they had no way of moving it.

“Screw it,” Gwen took over command. “Let's move.”

Just as she gave the order, another warm glow infused her chest. Whatever, no time for mystery, Gwen thought as she drove the pendant from her mind. They needed to go before another one of those damn things showed up.

“Bless!”

Elvia placed another buff on the group, relieving their fatigue.

The group moved out, hoping to hell there would be no more encounters.

Edgar's real name wasn't Edgar of course; it was an alias that he liked.

When Edgar was a boy, his father had forbidden him to watch any of the plebeian Vid-shows, but Edgar was far too slippery for his idiotic NoM housekeepers and his multiple nannies. When he finally did manage to catch a Vid-cast in the break room of the manor, the hero who blasted apart a hydra's nest was called Edgar.

It was such a masculine name, rolling off the tongue with its pedantic, near-silent E, followed by the full, syllabic luxury of that long GAR. Far more thrilling to the ear than his own.

“Edgar. Come See,” Faceless called from above. The shapeshifter was his partner and temporary companion, Faceless, or John Citizen, as Edgar liked to think of him; was nobody and everybody.

“Flight.”

A swirly of grey dust blew from Edgar’s feet as his body grew light, propelling himself from the bottom of the pit towards the ledge whereby Faceless stood in that ubiquitous, illusory cowl their organisation always made the members wear.

“What is it?”

“Scryed Visions from Sector Four," Faceless replied, his pitch both high and low as he spoke. His genderless companion then produced a Magic Item from underneath his cowl.

“Scrying Pool.”

A sprout of water appeared before them, forming into a mirror-like pane. The vision was hazy, for the spell worked best when one knew the target of the invocation more intimately. From the semi-transparent surface of the pool of water, the duo saw what appeared to be high school students going on a field trip. The image shifted here and there, showing a few groups moving across the lower sector of the Uloola fire trail.

“Kids… Acolytes?” Edgar rubbed his chin. The constant glamour of the cowl made his beard itch. “Any good ones?”

Faceless's illusory mien became a smug looking middle-aged man licking his chops as if before a great feast.

Edgar observed the goosebumps rising and falling on his skin. The shapeshifter's ability was a hellish sight to behold. One of the Others once said that Faceless consumed the souls of those whose shape he took.

The scrying pool dissolved to reform elsewhere. Another image appeared this time clearer, indicating that Faceless had been following this group for some time.

They watched a group of young Mages making their way through the fire trail, expertly picking off the critters generated from the leylines of the Wildlands. The leading girl, a spirited looking Asian girl, was throwing unstable Firebolts all over the joint.

“Ooo very nice, Faceless!” Edgar applauded. “And that chest! She would fetch a pretty good price for sure.”

“Wait.”

The scene changed again, and this time the group was facing off against a gigantic Diprotodon, a formidable enemy that would make even Edgar break a sweat. They watched it crush the Shields conjured by the Ice Abjurer, swatting the youth aside as the final barrier shattered. As a creature aligned with Fire, the beast had remarkable resistance to heat, and so ignored the blasts that were gouging chunks of fur from its flank. Then, a jolt of purple lightning materialised from the air, striking the creature square in the face before escalating into a storm of blue-white electricity that smothered the hulking mass until smoke began to pour from its nose and mouth.

“Nice catch, number two!” Edgar’s voice raised an extra octave. The dust around him swirled and spun to form small vortexes that flowed out uncontrollably here and there, carving channels in the stone. “Such a beautiful face as well, they told me this place was an uninhabited shithole! But it's turned out to be a crystal mine!”

“Wait…”

“No…” Edgar’s face cowl was bobbing up and down with glee, “You telling me there's MORE than meets the Scry?”

The final pool that formed showed the ice Mage being picked from the floor by the others. The kid looked like he had broken his arm, but in the next moment, a little blonde girl kelt and cast an assortment of healing and blessing spells. In the next minute, the injured mage stood by the strength of his very own self and gave his arm a good stretch while the other appeared to be making calls and pulling up camp.

“A Healer!” Edgar blurted out. “We’ve hit the lottery! Clerics are rare as shit here in the Frontier! You know I love myself a good Cleric, their mana is very fortifying, and their bodies can withstand punishment like nobody else.”

Faceless' illusory mien turned to that of a wicked grin, the yellow teeth covering the area under his cowl.

“Three girls…” Edgar considered his options, “They look to be about tier 2… The Fire one would probably sell pretty quickly, the Lightning one’s a real looker, so maybe keep her around for a while longer. The healer, that’s the real bank right there, old man.”

“Wait…”

“No! No way!” Edgar was beside himself. “What is this? Did Lilith's lose a bus in the woods or something, you mean to tell me there are more?”

“This One. Now.” Faceless waved a hand. The final scrying pool displayed what appeared to be a base camp with a few concrete buildings. The duo had seen them before but had not known it had became occupied in the weeks since they began their operation. They watched a few instructor-looking Mages going about their rounds disinterestedly when suddenly, the spell became drawn to a woman in a bright red racing suit. The scrying pool was unusually focused, denoting that the caster, Faceless, knew her already. The vision followed her as she moved into the compound, where she suddenly stopped. Unexpectedly, she turned, giving them a glimpse of a strikingly beautiful face, before a blast of scarlet flame seemed to wipe out the divination window, dispelling it entirely in a hiss of steam.

Edgar stumbled back at the moment of impact, almost falling over the ledge before his still-activated Flight spell caught him.

“Christ!” He cried out loudly. “What the fuck, Faceless! That was the Scarlet Flame! The fucking Crimson Goddess herself! What the fuck are you doing scrying her?”

A frightened female face appeared before the Faceless man’s cowl, before turning into one of cruel cunning.

“She Suspects,” Faceless replied. “She Does Not Know.”

“You certain?”

“Yes.”

“Totally-absolutely-certain?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we better get a fucking move on then.”

The two of them looked below, where the charmed Neophytes were laying out the final parts of the puzzle. Around the central dais of what seemed to be an excavated cavern, was a man-sized, egg-like artefact cordoned off by layer upon layers of scrolls that formed a pentagram-like sigil around its exterior. Two dozen or so of the ‘apprentices’ were still busy bloodletting, making precise incisions into their hands and wrists, and using the blood to inscribe the last touches of the Arcane Cauldron. They had euphoric expressions that juxtaposed oddly with the state of their wane bodies.

The sun was now striking the horizon, sending a mauve light over the dusky bushland.

“Think it’s possible to nail the Scarlet Bitch?”

“Not Impossible,” Faceless seemed to ponder proposal, his face changing to that of the thinking man, before turning into a toothy grin. “Ambush. You And Me. She and I. Grudge.”

“Get the girls first.” Edgar licked his lips. “I am short on funds and favours.”

“Distractions,” Faceless intoned, his scowling face becoming one of displeasure.

“3:7 my way, and I’ll take point on the Scarlet Bitch.”

“…” The cowl changed to a celebratory expression. “Agreed. But Her Face. Mine. If We Succeed. Must repay her brother-in-craft, the esteemed Paladin Shultz.”

“Sure thing.” Edgar shrugged, he liked his friend, but the gent had sick tastes. If it was true that he ate souls, then the Transmuter was a Necromancer to boot. Nobody wanted to associate with that.

They looked down below into the pit once more, where yet another ‘apprentice’ collapsed from blood loss and exhaustion.

The night is nigh, and they could hardly wait.

“Lady De Botton! You are finally here!” Boone’s eyes were aglow with admiration.

Alesia stepped off her blazing red Ducati with shaking legs. She had thought that the ride from the Shield Fort 47 toward the camp would be one of those iconic drives with long winding roads and graceful curves. Instead, after half an hour of crushed stone, she was left with sore buttocks crying out for a Healing Word.

Chipped the bike too, Alesia silently moped.

“We’ve got trouble, Ma’am.” Boone waited until Alesia inspected her bike.

Alesia followed Boone into the main building, a rundown, two-tier concrete rectangle, noting the Augur-Map laid out on a dinner table. A few other Instructors were likewise present, bickering about an evacuation.

“What’s happening?” she demanded, watching as the Instructors turning to face her. Their voices fell silent at once, some more willingly than others.

“Gwen’s group ran into a CR 4 Soldier class Beast,” Boone informed Alesia. “The kids did good, they took care of it, and are on their way back now.”

Alesia nodded, she was confident in Gwen’s group.

“Anyone injured?”

“Jun, but he’s healed.”

“Anyone else?”

“Just before you arrived, Debora’s group said they ran into a huge swarm of Snotlings, a good hundred or so of them. They managed to push through, and are on their way back as well.”

“How about the others?”

“All accounted for, except group 02,” Boone answered anxiously. He pointed to a pin on the map. “They are not responding to hails, but their Augur devices didn’t show any vitality loss either. We were debating to see if we should send someone to check up on them.”

“That’s probably a good idea. What’s the problem?”

“Instructor Crusoe doesn’t want to,” one of the instructors stated.

Alesia turned to look at this ‘Crusoe’ asshole with her penetrating blue eyes.

Crusoe’s face blanched a pale yellow.

“I never said that. I’ll be going then…” Crusoe quickly replied, leaving the room as if in a great hurry. Outside, they heard him incant the Flight spell and take to the air.

“Why didn’t he want to go earlier?” Alesia asked.

“PTSD…” Another instructor remarked with a critical tone, flashing her a disagreeable glance. “But it seems our War Hero managed to make him overcome years of trauma.”

Alesia felt her face flush. She was always too quick to judge; her Master had expressly said so.

A commotion could be heard outside the building.

"That must be Gwen's group," Boone noted.

“I’ll be back,” Alesia stated inelegantly, leaving her peers and their none too friendly gazes.

Out in the clearing, Alesia watched the group stumble into camp. Their clothes were torn, and a little ragged. Henley was helping Jun. The three girls brought up the rear, with Elvia in the middle.

Good girls! Alesia felt a tingling touch of pride.

“You guys alright?” she hollered toward her students before walking towards them. The girls were initially wary of a woman clad in all red racing leather until Gwen realised her saviour had arrived.

“Instructor!” The party ran to their teacher.

Alesia hugged them each in turn. The girls' hair smelled like the bush with its fallen eucalyptus, mixed with the odour of elemental viscera.

"So, what happened?"

The students began to recount their experiences all at once, speaking over one another to tell Alesia about how they had survived a day in the Wildlands. Alesia asked for details, then assuaged their fears and worries. She then took them to the concrete bunker where hot food and tea had been prepared and told them to await the return of their peers.

Relieved that Gwen and company were safe, Alesia decided to take a walk around the perimeter. There was a strange feeling that had been bothering her since they had arrived, like in those dodgy establishments where ‘the walls have eyes’. Her paranoia seemed to grow as she patrolled until finally, she felt the hair rise on the back of her neck.

I am being Scryed! Alesia noted annoyingly. She didn’t like that at all.

“Flame Nova!”

A ring of fire blew out from her as she turned, singing everything within five-odd meters.

Instantly, her paranoia ceased.

Was it one of the instructors? She wondered. She wouldn't have put it past them.

Not far, there was another commotion. Alesia watched as another group arrived. The second to reach the camp was Debora’s group. Two of the Transmuters looked to have sustained minor injuries, limping and holding onto one another. The Illusionist followed at a brisk pace, unharmed, their Enchanter following behind. Debora herself came into the clearing like a Mage-Knight, resplendent in her Bronze Skin, tall and proud and full of poise.

“Ma’am!” they greeted her.

"Group 3, I am glad to see you're all safe." Alesia directed them towards the direction of the communal bunker for tea and supper.

In the dim light, Alesia could see that Debora was as tall as Gwen. From what she knew, the two groups had a little rivalry going. She liked that. Rivalries made children grow, especially among those with drive and talent.

“Is… Yue and Gwen alright?” Debora asked, the Bronze Skin fading from her. Without the distinct texture, Alesia could see that Debora was covered with bruises, her face, her arms, her collarbones, all of it possessed by green and purple splotches.

“They’re fine; they should be inside, having a bite. I am sure they would be glad to see you.” Alesia gave the girl a reassuring smile.

Debora blushed.

The rest of the groups arrived in twos and threes until the whole cohort could be accounted. Crusoe had returned with the last group, who were tied up dealing with a swarm of relatively harmless Fern Slugs. They had become fast-stuck after the hive had passed, incidentally walking into the adhesive trails left behind by the creatures. As no one was harmed, the worry turned to a humorous affair. The kids were told to take a shower and get changed.

With the students safe and sound, the instructors met to discuss the likelihood of an evacuation.

“I am telling you, tonight is impossible, the Coaches don’t operate at night, meaning we’re going to be hiking in the dark for five hours. That’s FAR more dangerous than waiting it out here, in CONCRETE fortifications!”

“No!” Crusoe seemed adamant, “We have to go. I saw what was happening when I flew over the Burning Palms, the beasts are on the move, and they are moving AWAY from something.”

“This is the Green Zone, Crusoe, what can it be?”

“A Beast Migration,” Crusoe declared ominously. “This is the beginning of a Beast Wave, I know it, I recognise the signs. I am telling you we need to go.”

“Just like that?” Another Instructor retorted annoyedly, “I know you’re a survivor of the 88’ Migration, Crusoe, but not every phenomenon is a calamity.”

Crusoe fell silent; his face ashen.

“Richardson! That’s going too far.” A third instructor interjected, “Sorry, Crusoe.”

“We have to go…” Crusoe replied weakly.

“I understand your fears.” Boone tossed in his two cents. “But there are no signs. No quake activity, no atmospheric phenomenon.”

“I feel it in my bones…” Crusoe seemed on the verge of asphyxiation. He tried to retort, but couldn't catch his breath. Watching their terrified colleague, the rest of the instructors fell silent. “I… I need a moment.”

His eyes met Alesia’s for a moment, and she felt a pang of guilt.

Oh God, it's not me - is it? Ah, shit! She probably shouldn’t have triggered him earlier.

“I’ll go see how he’s doing,” Alesia announced to the table. “My two cents is staying here, because… you know - I am here.”

“Of course, Lady De Botton.” Boone felt like he should be saluting, but stopped himself at the last minute. She was no longer a part of the military.

Boone returned to the room with a look of smug confidence.

Well, of course, they'll be fine holing up here. Boone acknowledged, realising the stupidity of their debate. If need be, the Crimson Sorceress could take out half the zone in a blazing firestorm.

Outside, Alesia found Crusoe walking towards the edge of the clearing, away from the main building.

Where is he going? She pondered, sensing an unexpected paranoia, Jesus, he’s not going to skip out on us and make a run for it, is he?

“Mister Crusoe!” she called, out, but he kept on walking, “Oi! Instructor Crusoe!”

Shit, just my luck, triggering the PTSD of some civilian Mage, Alesia groaned inwardly.

She quickened her pace, following Crusoe out of the clearing and onto the start of a fire trail. It was dark by now; a pale moon illuminated the Blue Gums under the light of a waxing moon.

Though she had lost sight of him for a moment, Alesia found him not too deeply in, hunched over by a tree and rolling his shoulders forlornly.

Jesus, is he- CRYING? Alesia swore. Bloody hell!

She rolled her eyes. Its time to turn on some of that charm and empathy Master always advised. Alesia approached Crusoe loudly as not to startle him, wondering how she should break the ice. Gingerly, she readied a smile, then patted him on the shoulder.

“I am sorry Crusoe…” She began.

“!”

“!”

“!”

A silent clamour of hyper-dense Mana filled the air the moment her fingers touched the sobbing instructor. Before Alesia could react, her world lost all light.

All light disappeared - cold sinews wrapped around her legs, her waist, and her arms, wrought of an indiscernible element.

Dark Tentacle or Stygian Grasp? Alesia's mind raced. Dust or Ooze?

"!"

Another spell activated - incanted silently and out of sight.

A feeling of cold invasion penetrated Alesia's abdomen.

Shit! Her mind grew hot with agony, all thoughts banished by the object crushing her innards. She knew now there was no holding back and that this was life or death.

“Blade Barrier!” Alesia completed the spell between clenched teeth.

A ring of flaming blades materialised around her, indiscriminately destroying all within range. She willed them to expand instantly and felt a satisfying 'thunk!' engender in the darkness, the self-evident sound of a blade biting into flesh.

Whatever had pierced her stomach also ceased to be, cut off by the Blade Barrier. Now she had to heal herself; a gut injury was no joke, and she could go into shock at any moment. Alesia willed a mote of activation mana to reach a ring on her index finger, where a gem shattered, filling the void around her with the blue-silver spatial mana of Conjuration. In the next second, she was out of the darkness, having escaped the ambush by activating a contingency Dimension Door.

As Alesia's vision returned, her Blade Barrier continued to expand, annihilating everything within a range of six diameters of the epicentre. Nothing survived, not trees, not bushes, not even bits of rock now sliced into molten silica.

She willed another mote of mana to reach yet another ring, suffusing her body with the healing power of a Cure Serious Wounds.

This fucking ordeal just burned about three hundred HDMs! Alesia's anger blazed as brightly as the destructive flames of the Blade Barrier. As an Evoker-Transmuter, she was neither capable of casting Dimension door nor Cure Wounds; both were contingency items she had earned through Questing. Now they were gone, and she would have to replace them, as well as face the criticism of her Master.

“Shit. I don’t think she is in here anymore,” a voice called out for the darkness, seemingly unfazed by Alesia's Blade Barrier.

“Idiot,” Another voice that sounded genderless stated with a tone of annoyance.

Alesia watched the darkness dispel to reveal two men in cowls, one taller than the other.

“Ola Señorita!” The tall one, who had been Instructor Crusoe, called out to her in a lewd manner. “Oh-ho! Scarlet Sorceress! I would DIE for one night between your sweet thighs!”

The other one Alesia knew. They were old friends after all. The Faceless Man, the bastard responsible for the Massacre at Rhodes, the prime suspect of the Kingsford Kidnappings. She had been hunting the fiend across half of Australia, to New Zealand and back.

What the fuck is he doing here? Her mind was spinning with possibilities, though Alesia was sure of one thing. She was going to end these pricks right here.

“Haste!”

“Gaseous Form!”

Alesia felt her body quicken. Simultaneously, her physical form turned gaseous, becoming a flaming cloud in the shape of a woman.

“Oh shit!” The taller man cried out, then made to cast something at her.

Silent Spells! Alesia's heart palpitated. She was up against skilled opponents. It was time to go big or go home.

“Maelstrom!”

A spiral of fire fell from the heavens, materialising from the aether and striking the ground where her opponents stood. A flaming tornado ripped through the immediate area, obliterating every standing tree and object within a radius of over twenty meters.

She watched as their bodies cease to exist, sensing the pulverisation of a single target. Alesia willed the flames to part momentarily and saw not a pair of charred and burning bodies, but one. From what remained of the clothing and the frame of the charring, partially minced carcass, she knew it to be Instructor Crusoe.

FUCK! She cursed. Faceless was an Illusionist as well? Or was it the other Mage?

“!”

Her Crimson Caracal instructed her to dodge before her mind even registered the incoming attack spell. Spirits were far more sensitive to mana-fluctuations, and a great boon of possessing a sentient Spirit involved having two consciousnesses operating in parallel.

A spear of darkness, the Signature Spell of the Faceless Man, pierced Alesia’s gaseous form, displacing a few motes of her Astral Body. That’s going to hurt later - a lot, Alesia grimaced before reorientated herself.

She saw his arms move yet again, but this time she was ready. Alesia completed the tier 6 spell in an instant, then pointed a finger at her aberrant foe.

“Disintegrate!”

A scarlet beam, as thick and intense as the concentrated rays of a hundred midday suns, instantly blasted through the form of the Faceless Man. The hit registered, affirmed by her spirit pouring it’s own spiritual power into the beam, magnifying its heat by several magnitudes. When the spell ceased, Alesia expected to see nought but a pile of dust. Instead, she saw the tattered robes of the creature float away. Beneath it was thousands of stricken carcasses consisting of vermin, some alive, other seared and medium rare.

“Coward!” Alesia cursed, “Where did that fucker go…”

The earth tremored.

She saw something shifting in the distance, something too vast to be comprehensible: for the landscape itself begun to churn.

What the fuck is that?! Alesia felt every muscle in her body tense; her Flame Spirit was shrieking in alarm within her astral soul.

The silhouette moved again, and this time, Alesia saw the shadow of a mountain shifting against the moonlight. No. Not shifting, she noted. It was coiling, slithering, meandering, moving with the surety of tectonic movement. A sliver of luminescence refracted from a moving ridge, blasting the landscape with a splendiferous hue.

The ground below her was shaking now, shivering as if terrified of what's to come.

Alesia gritted her teeth and dispelled the Transmutation transformation. Where she'd been wounded once before, her body re-materialised a flap of gouged flesh that directly assailed her torso. The pain was excruciating, causing her to cry out.

"FUCK!"

She extended her hand, and from her Storage Ring, Alesia produced a ruby-red injector which she then slammed into her wound.

“Nnnngh!” She grunted; her damaged-tissues regenerated, accompanied by an unbearable itch.

The thing in the distance was moving now; moving towards her and toward the camp.

Gwen! Yue! Elvia!

Alesia's mind was racing at a hundred miles a second.

What the fuck was Faceless doing here?

Who was the man that was with them?

Why aim for a group of students from a Rank-less government school?

The land rumbled; the time for thinking was over.

As her Master's pupil, it was her responsibility to protect the innocent and defeat threats from the Wildlands.

Her red racing suit burst into flames, falling off her battered body, revealing her athletic figure to the night. In a split second, a crimson sheet of flames flowed across her bare skin until she became a goddess adorned by crimson fire.

“Flight!” She incanted and took to the air like a celestial vision. In the distance, a monstrosity slouched forward ponderously, crushing the bushland, making for the camp, making eventually, for the city.

“Message.” Alesia activated her elementally attuned Message Device, protected from her fire.

“Shit! Alesia! There you are!” A male voice, deep and baritone, answered beside her ear, “What the fuck is happening out there? The city’s just gone into Red Alert!”

“I need the team here within the hour, take the Teleportation Gate at Shield Wall station 47.” Alesia said calmly, “I am observing a MYTHIC, I repeat, a MYTHIC incursion at the Royal National.”

“Alright, can you hold out? We’re teleporting towards your location,” the voice replied, alarmed but collected.

“Just get here soon,” Alesia reiterated solemnly.

“Can you hold out? Are you able to retreat?”

“Get here as soon as possible,” Alesia repeated once more. “Or bring a casket.”

The serene fragrance of the Earl Grey in Gwen's hands unravel the knot possessing both her body and mind. Instructor Alesia was here now, and all would be well. Beside her, Yue toasted a sandwich, while Elvia absently dangled her legs over the edge of a tall stool.

The door to the bunker opened with a groan. Gwen saw the familiar figure of Debora push past the heavy door.

“Hey, guys.”

To Gwen’s surprise, Debora’s usual coldness became instead one of touching relief. She then noticed the injuries covering Debora’s arms, including a purple blotch that extended from her chin to her ear.

“Deb! My God! You’re hurt!” Gwen set down her cup of tea and moved towards her friend and rival. “Elvia! Give us a hand!”

“Thank God, you’re all safe...” Debora smiled, wincing as she did so.

“Healing Word!” Elvia incanted, placing a hand over Debora’s neck and shoulder. Positive energy suffused the Transmuter for a moment, casting a pale green glow as her bruises eased, becoming faint imprints.

“Thank you.” Debora exhaled appreciatively before turning to Yue. “It sure is handy having a healer on the team, hey?”

“Hmmph!” Yue breathed out from her nostrils. She had loathed Debora since day one. The surfie girl was typical of those living in the South Shire, always looking down on migrants.

“So…” Debora sat beside them, crossing her tanned legs. “We had about… oh ~ a hundred and thirty kills today.”

Her eyes met Yue’s, and Gwen caught a spark sizzling between them.

“That’s very impressive,” Gwen concurred. "I’d say we're at a century, tops.”

“Oh?” Debora immediately flashed her teeth.

“I don’t know about that…” Yue retorted with a smile of her own. “Sure, we ran short of Gobs, but we also had… oh, a tier 3 Wind Wolf, and then a - what was it? A tier 4 Wombat.”

“A… Wombat?”

“Yeah,” Yue replied uncertainly, realising her lack of panache.

“A… combat wombat?” Debora smirked.

Yue's face grew red.

“Henley!” She summoned her second. The Diviner materialised as if by magic. He had been listening to their conversation in the background, amusing himself with the girls' rivalry.

“Do that thing that you do,” Yue commanded.

“Yes, Ma’am!” Henley turned to Debora with a twinkle in his eye.

“Tis was a terrible and dreadful beast!” He began as Elvia began to chuckle. “Stay a while Debora, O traveller from another team, and listen to the tale of the epic battle that unfolded the moment Team Seven returned to our base camp…”

Henley was a good storyteller.

The breakroom burst into hearty laughter, chuckling with delight as Henley retold the tale with outlandish exaggerations. Despite all that had happened, the accommodating atmosphere was a good lubricant to ease the friction of their disastrous trip.

"Gwen killed it, by herself?!" Debora blinked her eyes at Gwen.

Gwen returned a coy and modest grin.

Debbie... Gwen recollected. In the past, she had cut off all contact. Later in life, when the night was still, the shallow philosophy of shower thoughts took over. There was always the occasional fantasy of a ‘what if’ scenario. What if she hadn’t left school? What if she had graduated with her friends? Attended the same universities?

“Deb…” She began, her friend turned to face her with luminous, amber eyes, a smile brightly blooming upon her face. “Deb, I want to let you know that…”

'Crack!'

The tremor that cracked the concrete bunker came on like a whiplash. The students felt it simultaneously, the momentum of moving earth sending them tumbling from their seats and balling into one another. Debora fell forward onto Gwen, who lost her balance, slamming herself against hard concrete.

“Get out!” Someone called from somewhere in the room, “Earthquake!”

A chunk of the bunker dropped from the ceiling, narrowly missing Gwen’s head.

Gwen’s mind was a chaotic scramble, she wanted to expand her Mana Shield, but it was too dangerous with Debora lingering over her. Unlike Instructor Alesia, Gwen's Lightning Shield could sizzle Debora right there and then.

“Bronze Skin!” Dobra grunted, pushing herself from Gwen and shielding her friend from another wayward chunk of fallen concrete. “Gwen! Follow my lead! Enhance Fortitude!”

Jun had made a moving dome of ice over Elvia and Yue; the trio was already moving.

“Gwen, over here!”

“You guys go! Deb’s got me.”

Yue met Debora's eyes, neither giving way.

“Get out now!” Gwen spat.

Thankfully, the steel doors of the bunker fortification remained intact enough to be opened, thanks to a few Abjurers creating a passage, the students could escape without complication.

“What the hell is that!!!” Someone screeched, pointing southward. Gwen turned to see a mountain, a damned MOUNTAIN, moving in the distance.

They felt the earth shift again. Another supernatural tremor passed the clearing. All around them was the chaotic sound of crumbling structures and the falling and snapping of Gum Trees, whose twisted forms were sending down an avalanche of leaves and branches.

“Where’s Instructor De Botton?” Gwen shouted over the din. “Has anyone seen Alesia?”

Gwen's answer came in the form of chaotic and panicked of students. The night was dark, and the waxing moon barely provided enough light to see. What happened to all the lights? Gwen realised. There used to be lumen globes all over the camp.

“Dancing Lights!” Gwen incanted, shedding light onto the anarchy. Around her, panicked students roved chaotically, moving like headless flies.

They're making it worse, she realised. Gwen had experienced earthquakes in the old world before and knew the protocol for emergency measures. The greatest danger existed directly within, and outside buildings, at exits and alongside exterior walls. In a place like this were branches weighing twenty odd kilos were falling like rain; it would be best to steer well away from the bush.

“To me!” She began to holler. “Everyone, gather on me!”

No one listened.

“TO ME!” She called again, louder this time, her vocal cords straining to their limits, but only a few students stopped to run toward her.

“They’re not listening!” Yue cried out over the din.

“THUNDERCLAP!”

Gwen incanted a basic cantrip. In the next moment, a loud 'CRACK!' resounded over the area with a burst of brilliant white electrical light.

“To me!” she screamed at them, wishing that she had a spell for voice projection. “Move away from the buildings and make for the clearing! Stay away from trees!”

Two dozen or so students followed. Gwen took them towards an area of the camp clearing that seemed to offer the largest zone of safety from falling objects.

“Where are all the instructors?” Yue asked bewilderingly, her voice beginning to grow hoarse.

They looked toward the main building.

Gwen's heart dropped forty fathoms. The two-storey concrete shed had collapsed into a pile of loose rubble, great slabs of cement jutting this way and that. The instructors had been having a meeting- Oh my God! Her heart skipped a beat. Was Alesia in there?

“Oh… no…” Elvia cried out in dismay and panic. “We need to help them!”

“Count me in.” Debora joined them, her bronze skin gleaming under the glow of Gwen's Dancing Lights. “I should be able to move the slabs with a few Enhancement buffs.”

“Alright, Jun! You stay here with the other students, Henley, can you detect people under the rubble or something?”

Henley was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. He looked at her weakly. The boy's face was full of fright and terror; his eyes glazed over.

“Elvia, give him a hand with that bleeding.”

“Got it! Healing Word!"

“Who else? Who else can help us? Speak up!”

The students remained silent, their eyes wide with incomprehension.

Shit, they’re just kids. Gwen crushed the disappointment rising from her chest. Her mind turned away from the students, huddled like a gaggle of frightened geese, thinking instead of Alesia, Instructor Boone, Mr Richardson and the others.

“Elvia, Deb, you’re with me. Yue! Can you help Jun control the situation here?”

“You got it, Boss,” Yue replied, firing a few blasts of fire into the air to attract any stragglers. “Evokers! Give me Dancing Lights! Abjurers! Form a perimeter and yell if you see something coming that’s not human!”

As she crossed over to the building, Gwen continued to shout into the gloom.

“Who else can help? I need Transmuters! Which one of you is an Earth Elementalist?”

There were no answers to Gwen’s desperate enquiries. Looking at her two companions, she was glad beyond relief that Elvia could heal and Debora remained calm and collected. She needed them now more than ever to be lucid and competent.

The trio made it across the clearing.

“Enhance Strength!” Debora self-buffed, then tried to lift the rubble while Gwen and Elvia stood heart-in-mouth a safe distance away. The wreckage was deceptively small, yet even a tiny slab of reinforced concrete was over a ton, far beyond the enhanced strength of a junior Transmuter, and a teenage girl at that.

“It's too much!” Debora turned to look at them with an expression of pure despair. “It's too heavy for me!”

“Oh, Gwennie…” Elvia’s face was now streaked with tears. Their poor Instructors, did any of them managed to get out? Surely they couldn’t have all perished!

“We…we have to find the other students.” Gwen forced her mouth to move. Now wasn't the time to play the waif. There has to be an adult here to take command. “The instructors would have placed our safeties as the top priority. We need to do the same..."

“THANK GOD you’re all alright!”

A familiar voice called out from the darkness. The silhouette of a middle-aged man in an Instructor’s sports uniform appeared from the edge of the clearing.

“Mr Crusoe!” Tension melted from Debora's limbs. Gwen knew that he was Debora's homeroom teacher and that Debora was his favourite.

“Are the others alright?” Gwen and Elvia asked simultaneously.

“The others are with me, but we’re going to need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

As Crusoe came into the light, they could see that he was bleeding all over. His uniform was torn here and there and covered with leaves and dust. Dark blood was oozing over a graze near his abdomen, sending a clotted cascade of dark maroon down his track pants.

“Sir!” Elvia cried out, moving immediately to heal him. “Cure Minor Wounds!”

“Thank you, dear.” He coughed, patting Elvia’s head kindly. “I still need your help though.”

Crusoe gestured towards the woods that extended into the darkness.

“I am afraid instructor Alesia's pinned under a fallen tree, we managed to get her out, but we need a healer before we can move her.”

Gwen's chest constricted, Alesia's injured?!

“Of course!” Elvia agreed readily.

“I’ll come with.” Debora followed.

“Are you okay now sir?” Elvia kindly asked the ageing Instructor.

“Thank you. It’s just this way, about a few hundred meters, follow me and be careful of any Magical Beasts that may still be in the area.”

The party moved with as much haste as could be mustered. In the distance, they could see the opening of a pyrotechnical display that seemed to light up the heavens itself. There was a titanic struggle happening, wherever and whatever that creature was, and the resultant phenomena was a reddish, scarlet glow that seemed to consume the night sky.

That illumination! That colour! It was a unique, singular shade of red!

Suddenly, Gwen paused in her thoughts.

No one in their party had cast anything, but she could feel the flow of the air around them change and the composition of elements in the area shift, modified by an arcane current.

“Halt!” Crusoe’s voice echoed through the woods despite the persistent falling of leaves and branches every time the ground shook. “Did you feel that?”

“Yeah.” Gwen readied a spell.

Debora renewed her Bronze Skin, moving closer to Gwen, acting as her Shield.

“Elvia, stay behind us,” Gwen commanded. The little blonde girl narrowed her profile.

“Debora.” Crusoe scanned the area around them carefully, speaking his next words carefully. “I want you to restrain Gwen, right now.”

To Gwen’s unsuspecting confusion, her friend reached out and caught her by the arm, whipping Gwen around so quickly as to utterly disorientate her before driving an iron knee into her gut, sending her down onto the path.

“Deb! W-what are you doing!” Elvia called out in alarm, her mind robbed of meaningful judgment.

Debora's grip had the consistency of a steel vice, wrapping around Gwen's neck before pulling Gwen upward, half choking her and driving the air from her oesophagus. The Transmuter's other arm twisted Gwen's wrist behind her back so tightly as to make Gwen’s mind hot with agony. Through the pain, Gwen realised that without the ability to gesture and invoke, she was incapable of casting spells.

Crusoe’s face transformed from a kindly old man to one full of menace and malice.

“It’s a shame the tier 4 Fire is not here, but the Transmuter's a nice catch.” He said to no one in particular. His gaze moved up and down the bodies of the two girls, smacking his lips as he did do.

“Sir?” Elvia still had not realised the crisis of the moment. "Mr Crusoe?"

“Run Evee! Run!” Gwen managed to squeeze out between Debora’s fingers, “He’s not Crusoe!”

To her dismay, the small girl did not run. Elvia did not want to leave behind her friends.

“Good girl.” ‘Not’ Crusoe stated approvingly, dispensing with silent spells. “Dominate!”

In an instant, Gwen realised what had happened to Debora. That spell! It was one of the forbidden Schools of Enchantment. They had learnt about it in Spellcraft. The mental manipulation inherent to Enchantment was censored and was only available to law enforcement specialists. This man before them wasn't a Tower Agent, meaning he was something far more dangerous.

Elvia's eyes began to glaze over.

No! Not Elvia! Not on my life, you piece of shit! Gwen's mind rioted.

For once, she was glad that she had terrible control over her conduits. Tapping into a torrent of raging emotions, her Evocation Sigil activated as before, triggered by not by expertise but by trauma. A flood of electricity poured from her skin, ripping through Debora’s body, dispelling her Bronze Skin and ravaging her innards as the hysterical charge sought to ground itself.

Debora collapsed where she stood behind Gwen in a shower of gold-white sparks, falling senseless to the floor like an untethered marionette. Gwen wanted desperately to kneel and check if her friend was still alive, but couldn't afford to ignore Crusoe, who was staring at her slack-jawed.

“Gwen?” Elvia’s voice was quivering and weak. Good, Gwen breathed out. The Dominate had not taken Evee.

Their Instructor once told them that mind control effects worked best on unsuspecting individuals. The more conscious a person was, the less likely they were to be affected. In that manner, it was very similar to the School of Illusion.

“Debora…”

“Evee…” Gwen placed herself between the Mage and her friend. “Evee, I want you to run back to camp as fast as you can, tell Yue what has happened.”

Elvia’s face had been full of hesitation, but Gwen’s steadfast demeanour quickly dispelled her reluctance. The Gwen in front of her now felt so different, so determined and powerful. In the pale glow of the distant fire that illuminated the horizon, her figure was like that of a giant!

She would have to go, Elvia convinced herself. She owed it to Gwen to make it back to Yue and tell everyone what had happened here. That was the duty which Gwen had bestowed upon her.

“Oh, it’s not going to be that easy…” Not Crusoe intoned nastily. “Dominate!”

This time, the Enchantment was directed toward the Lighting Mage. Gwen's senses were suddenly thrust into wool. She could feel the will of an alien malevolence invading her conscience, trying to change her perceptions.

Then... nothing happened.

It was exactly that. For what Gwen felt in her mind seemed not to happen to her personally, but rather someone else. She understood the phenomena, but her mind remained unmolested nor affected. She was less a victim and more like that of a scientist watching the spread of ink in a container, recording its colouration and displacement.

Elvia had by now made a short distance down the Fire Trail, and would soon be out of sight.

Crusoe beamed at Gwen with an aura of sadistic delight.

“What did you do?” He spluttered, his tone full of marvel. “How did you resist my spell? You're not wearing a Mind Shield ring.”

Dominate was a tier 5 enchantment! How does a Tier 2 Mage with a single school even begin to possess the mental fortitude necessary to resist his compulsion?

“You are whetting my appetite more and more, Gwen Song.” Crusoe’s pitch rose dangerously, “You might be my catch of the day, after all.”

Gwen felt cold sweat drench her back. This man is incredibly dangerous! She thought to herself, thinking of a dozen scenarios where she could somehow buy time for Debora, but also escape herself.

The man began to change, and Gwen felt her stomach churn as the Illusion over his face dispelled entirely, revealing - a cowl? The figure in front of her wore the indistinct shape of a robe that seemed to distort her vision, almost as if she was staring at a faint shadow in human form. The dust around him began to twist and form into small vortexes, becoming tendrils extending from his body.

“Well then.” The man savoured the dramatic reveal. “Let's get our freak on, shall we-”

“Guiding Bolt!” Gwen caught the man before he could finish, smothering his form with purple energy and motes of positive mana. She can't believe the stupid idiot still thought to deliver his stupid villain’s diatribe. She then pushed her conduits to full-throttle, committing her entire mana pool.

“Blast Bolt!”

The world went white.

The immediate vicinity of where Gwen’s lightning had struck combusted into flames, the dry bark of the surrounding Blue Gums combusted, bathing the locale in a hazy glow. The coral cinder juxtaposed beautifully with the blue arcs that continued to ionise and flood over the cowled form of the Mage, swallowed by a cascade of plasma.

Eat this you piece of shit! Gwen grunted, feeling that distinct exhaustion associated with mana depletion. Her full-to-OoM channel lasted a good half a minute, ranging up to thirty strikes drawn by the positive energy, increasing in intensity until the final Blast Bolt was almost a solid beam of white-hot electricity.

The light faded.

The ground was a mixture of charcoal and molten silica.

Gwen’s eyes adjusted. She saw a dark dome emerge from beneath her point of impact. The cowled Mage within could just barely be seen, one hand raised above his head, manifesting a Shield constituted of swirling black dust.

Her bosoms seized.

The cowled Mage dispelled his Shield. She could see that he had not weathered her attack well. There was smoke cascading from the arm that had cast the Shield, and a thin trail of blood dribbled from the cowl's shadow.

“Now you’ve done it.” The Mage intoned, his voice no longer one of mocking joviality, but one of deep annoyance. “Why is it so hard to hold a conversation with you people?”

“Dust Devil!” The man's voice grew hollow. Gwen watched in horror as a breeze of black dust roved over her position. She tried to put up a Shield, but even her best attempt collapsed in a shower of sparks. The storm enveloped her, seemingly possessing a life of its own, taking her from the ground, thrusting her into the air. In the next moment, she was flying, overwhelmed by a feeling of free fall before slamming into the ground so hard that her jaws clattered.

Gwen moaned, her bones tenderised by the Mage's brutality. She couldn’t breathe, her chest wracked with unbearable pain.

But the Mage wasn't done with her yet. She felt the dusty tendrils wrap around her wrists, pulling her bodily upward, crucifying her against an invisible cross. Where the dust had touched her tracksuit, it disintegrated entirely. The sand-like motes of dark energy cut into her skin, releasing streams of warm blood.

Gwen grew faint at the sight of blood.

And that wasn't the worst of it. An invisible gaze within the hideous cowl licked all over her body; the very same feeling she had felt from strangers whose eyes lingered as she walked home late, magnified a hundred times over.

Oh fuck. OH FUCK. OH FUCK OH FUCK. Panic washed over her. Mayhap there was an instructor that survived and could come to her aid? Where was Alesia? She was so powerful, so peerless, surely she of all people could not perish in something as mundane as a collapsed building! Perhaps Elvia could bring help? No! Gwen would prefer they stayed at the camp. There was safety in numbers.

She needed to buy time, to delay.

“What… what do you want from us?”

“Now you want to talk?” The Mage faced her with the dark void of his cowl.

He regarded his quarry, studying her for the first time. The Lightning girl possessed the body of someone older, though she was evidently only fifteen-sixteen. The spell that she had cast at him, it was glorious, beautiful, possessing great affinity. What's more, he was impressed that after all that had happened, the girl remained so collected. Mayhap it had something to do with the same reason she resisted his Dominate? Probing her was going to be a real hoot. What strange secrets, what memories, hid in her crevasses?

He commanded the Dust Devil to send out an additional tendril, picking up Debora and elevating her bodily by the torso. Where its dusty tendrils caressed, Debora's clothes disintegrated, sending out a small trickle of blood.

“Still alive, nice.” The Mage nodded approvingly. “We’ll walk and talk…”

The trio began to move through the woods. Gwen noted between teary visions of clenched agony that the man was levitating. Gwen herself was painfully lifted a few inches off the ground, her arms and collarbones aflame against the weight of her body.

“Who… who are you?” Gwen spoke between clenched teeth. She could feel a sort of delirium coming on. She was losing blood.

“I am Edgar.” To her surprise, the man was entirely forthcoming.

“…” Gwen winced. Edgar? You’re Edgar from the Edgar, and your plan is to Edgar?

They were moving quite briskly now, and Gwen felt the pit of her stomach sink. In the distance, there was more rumbling. A few branches that fell towards them disintegrated into dust.

“Why… why are you doing this?”

“Why does anyone do anything?” The man chuckled.

“What?”

“One's modus operandi! The raison d'etre!”

Big words, Gwen noted. The man didn't lack in education.

“We’re just students on a field trip…” She just managed. The pain was too much for someone who'd never broken a bone in either of her lives.

“If you want to know, I'll tell you everything,” Edgar continued all on his own. “You see, we are the…”

But Gwen was no longer listening.

“… what a terrible listener.” Edgar snorted, giving Gwen's clammy cheeks a pat. “I guess the bloodletting was a little excessive. I need our little lamb at just the right state of tenderness.”

She must have lost consciousness, Gwen realised.

She quickly self-assessed. Her tracksuit was in tatters, barely holding together as it were. The apparition secured her waist and torso with a tendril, another wrapped around her ankle, supporting her weight, splaying her like a cheerleader doing an X. Taking note of her surroundings, she saw to her dismay that Debora was still unconscious, dangling like a humanoid fruit behind them a few feet away, likewise hoisted in the air.

They were deep into the bush now, where the landscape grew rugged, filling with sandstone and short shrubbery, with only the occasional Blood Gum languishing in waterless crevices. They soon arrived at what looked like a chasm, cut into the sandstone cliff like an axe wound.

“You up yet, Sleeping Beauty?” the sardonic voice of Edgar asked. “I know you are~, or do you want Dusty there to wake you up like Prince Charming?

“Where… are you taking me?” Gwen opened her eyes unwillingly. She had better do something before they go into that cave. God knows what was going to be in there.

“Where indeed?” Edgar seemed to have regained that scornful composure of his. “You should be glad. We’re going somewhere safe- from that.”

He pointed to the right: in the far distance and through the sparse foliage of the trees, Gwen could see a gargantuan thing roving across the landscape. Or rather, she could see the landscape itself moving as though a living thing. Now and then, she caught blossoms of crimson explosions.

Gwen blinked.

That colour! That mana signature! It must be her instructor. It must be Alesia! She was still alive! She was fighting that thing! Trying to deter it from moving toward the city!

Gritting her teeth, Gwen fought back the Dust Devil's hold.

“Thunderclap!”

She charged her single-incantation cantrip with every drop of mana she had regenerated. Her spell launched into the air, erupting into cacophony and colour, blossoming into a blue-purple electric-lotus.

The faceless cowl of the Mage waited for her below.

'Clap. Clap. Clap.'

Even the man's clapping was sarcastic.

“You think the Scarlet Sorceress has time for you at a time like this?” Edgar snorted. “What, are you her apprentice or something?”

Gwen averted her eyes.

'Smack!'

A slap backhanded her face.

Gwen made no noise but mum.

They moved once more. The trio slowly levitated down to a ledge that overlooked a ritual of carnage.

Oh God. Gwen felt her spine turn to jelly. Is Edgar looking to sacrifice her Temple of Doom style?

To Gwen, the magic-circle meant nothing, consisting of dozens of concentric rings of engravings and glyphs, at the centre of which was an egg-like object, akin to a menhir stone.

Regrettably, they were indeed heading down toward the site of the ritual. With every meter of descent, the taste of bile grew stronger. She was a consultant! Not Indiana Jones! She can't possibly expect to wiggle her way out of a fucking Dark Ritual!

“Don’t be choking on me now,” Edgar conversed with a friendly tone. “This won’t hurt at all, not if you cooperate.”

The depth of the cavern glowed with amber. By now they had reached the bottom, reaching a stone table Transmuted from the dark stone of the cavern. Edgar carelessly deposited Debora’s unconscious body, letting her ragdoll onto the surface. He then examined the Transmuter, tearing away at the shredded uniform until Debora was left without modesty. The man's actions, Gwen noted, lacked a certain passion. Instead, Edgar gave the impression of a butcher examining a fine cut. Finally, the Mage placed a finger against Debora’s neck and felt for a pulse.

“Good grief, Gwen. You’re merciless,” Edgar ridiculed his captive. “Your friend's rightly fuck up.”

“Will she…” Gwen had to ask.

“Who knows?” She watched as he extended a hand, materialising what appeared to be a healing injector, then placed it next to Debora.

“For your friend,” he said. “If you behave.”

She felt the tendrils of force around her body go slack. The apparition faded into a pile of grey dust, cascading from her clothes. Edgar moved toward another table and gave the surface a friendly pat, a man beckoning an unwilling cat.

Gwen nursed her tender wrists; her eyes darted between the man, the table, and the healing injector. For a split second, she imagined herself taking it and injecting herself, giving her a better chance to escape this place.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Edgar mocked her indecision.

Now burdened with shame and guilt, Gwen moved demurely toward the ‘examination’ table, the exact opposite of where she could feel comfortable.

Edgar pulled back his hands as if to show his best intentions.

“Let’s not rough you up anymore, shall we?”

Gwen swallowed hard. Maybe she could self-destruct, take him with her? She wondered what would happen if she willed her conduits to overload. Was that possible?

Slowly, agonisingly, she removed her tattered jacket, pulling it with the tattered T-shirt over her head. She was down to her panties when she heard Edgar sniggering.

“What are you doing?” He asked, trying to hold his laughter.

“…” Gwen's face caught on fire. “You said…”

“I have no interesting in that sort of thing,” Edgar answered mirthfully. “You are a lucky young woman. There are those of us who'd eat you alive."

To her surprise, he materialised a robe not too dissimilar from the one he wore and threw it towards her.

“Cover yourself. Don't catch a cold now.”

Gwen was beginning to become very confused.

What the hell is he doing? Why was Edgar playing nice?

She covered herself. The robe was velvety and warm, hanging onto her body like the softest silk. The villain had good taste in textiles at least, if not style.

“So, Gwen…” a swirl of dust seemed to materialise underneath the man, and he made himself a stool composed of compressed particles of dust. “Tell me about yourself.”

She gazed at him blankly. Her thoughts were a mess. Why are you asking me these things? Aren’t you guys terrorists or something? You attacked us! Unleashed that thing! Why are we even having a cordial conversation in the first place?

“Don’t want to answer?” He asked, and looked over at Debora, whose chest was barely moving.

“My name is Gwen Song…” Gwen began - and spoke a little about her school, her life in the city, her divorced parents, saying whatever would satisfy the man so that he would finally inject Debora with the healing potion.

“That's all very fascinating,” Edgar said finally, “but what’s your modus operandi? Your raison d'etre?”

“My ... my reason for being?” Gwen wondered. It was getting hard to think; she wanted to sleep.

“That's right, tell me what you want, what you desire. Why are you a Mage? What do you think Mages are born to do?”

“I… I don’t know.” The barrage of questions was making her head throb. Not knowing the answer, she spoke the truth.

“Come on,” Edgar demanded. “Surely you don’t think that you of all people, whose talent exceeds a hundred thousand souls, was born to be... a wage slave? Do you? Think on it. Ask yourself.”

Gwen found herself in a deep state of introspection far more readily than she thought possible. What did she 'really' want? Gwen wanted a comfortable life. She wanted prestige and a great deal of wealth and parents who gave a shit and to reconnect with her brother and a seaside house and two cats and a dog-

“Those are easy goals.” Edgar’s voice grew sonorous, filling the emptiness of her mind. “You could have them effortlessly with your talent.”

“Yes…” Gwen realised her goals were indeed shallow. She could easily reach them with her talents and her drive.

“You should aim for something bigger, greater, something more suited to yourself, your very own personal legend.”

Her surroundings now seemed to fade into nothing. Gwen appeared to be alone with this friendly man who was speaking to her so endearingly, even Debora’s comatose body faded from her awareness.

“What would that be?”

“Firepower! Firepower! and more Firepower!” The man’s voice took on that strange tone which Yue loved to use, that childish passion with which Gwen loved so much. “You could be just like Instructor Alesia, a goddess of destruction, respected and worshipped...”

“That would be lovely,” Gwen replied dreamily, a stupefied expression of satisfaction on her face. How curious, she thought to herself. The man's voice was stereophonic!

“How happy that would make you,” the voice continued. “You should do it.”

“I could…” Gwen repeated.

“Would you… like me to help you?” The voice implored. Edgar disappeared, and Gwen was in a place that she knew very well. It was the Cognisance Chamber! Oh, thank God! She was safe! The Field Trip was just an Illusion.

She was free floating in that space of absolute freedom; she could see the glow of her Evocation sigil with its nebular of lightning.

"Let me help you."

“I want you to help me,” Gwen repeated after him.

“Let me in,” the voice intoned.

“Come in… come in…” Gwen declared dreamily.

“Invite me...”

“I want you,” she repeated more forcefully this time. “I want you beside me.”

Suddenly, she could feel Edgar right beside her, his own astral body swirling with a malevolent dark light, flickering with motes of Elemental Dust. Comparatively, her own astral body was long and lithe, a work of art, a beautiful crystalline sculpture swirling with bottled lightning.

“Beautiful,” Edgar spoke with a tone bordering on reverence. “You should be proud of your potential. You're special.”

"I am special." Gwen giggled.

He moved to touch her, and though Gwen knew that there was something wrong about the intimate act, she still wanted to accept Edgar as her companion. She closed her eyes, feeling the shame of being touched for the first time. Edgar’s hand moving from her naval toward her left breast, were the heart resided, and where the light of the astral body was brightest. Her ego pulsed in turn, growing dimmer.

Though the Enchanter's fingers rested upon the globe of Gwen’s breast, there was no flesh to be depressed, nothing to be groped nor prodded. Instead, his fingers sunk into the fabric of her soul, moving past the membrane of her Astral Body.

“My God…” Edgar’s voice cried out in ecstasy. “What is this? There are two existences here!”

A wild excitement shook Edgar to his core. It was a phenomenon that he had never seen before. The girl was a priceless specimen! A prize to curry the highest favour with his Mistress.

Edgar paused.

He felt suddenly assailed by a sudden feeling of mortal danger. His Astral Form startlingly experienced a sense of vertigo, an impossible feeling in the immaterial world of the mind. He quickly retracted his hand from the girl's Astral Body but found that he was stuck.

"What?"

With a push, Edgar willed himself to manifest via the third-eye, to observe what the hell was happening. To his shock and horror, his Astral Body had become inundated by dozens of leech-like slugs, darker than black, meandering hungrily, looking for a way in.

"What the fuck is that?!" Edgar spluttered.

His real body broke out in a terrific sweat.

Before the Enchanter could react, Gwen’s unconscious anima tapped into something tenebrous and formless. Tens of thousands of black, writhing worms flooded into her Astral Form.

How could her body withstand that? He marvelled.

But this was no time to be lollygagging. Whatever was manifesting in here was bound to be happening out there. He gathered his will, then pulled, feeling the stuck hand sliding free, send out sparks of lightning where he had penetrated before. The pain was exquisite, though Edgar didn’t care, his Element existed in opposition to hers and could withstand whatever she could throw at him. What he feared was that black conduit that was now manifesting within her body - that was a mystery he wasn't keen to toy with.

"!"

His world went dark. In the next instant, Edgar was back in his body.

“Aaaarrrgh!” a cry of unimaginable agony echoed across the cavern.

The Enchanter fell backwards as if propelled by a spring, one hand clutching his wrist. A spurt of arterial blood covered Gwen and the table upon which she sat.

His hand! His right hand! Shit! SHIT! FUCK!

Edgar lifted the stump to his face.

It was gone.

No, more than gone. It was GONE.

It was as if his right hand had never existed at all, neither in the material nor the immaterial. Gritting his teeth, Edgar stumbled toward Debora, grabbed the healing injector, and slammed it into his wrist.

'Psssht!'

The flesh mended, the bleeding staunched. Edgard looked at a perfectly sealed stump, its plane of tissue as smooth as unscarred flesh and as natural as the day he was born.

A sudden rage overtook Edgar. He felt such hatred for this girl before him as he had never felt for anyone nor anything in his life. Not the nanny that had denied him his Vid-Casts. Not his father who had found him disgusting and wanting. Not even his poor mother whom they said died when he was born, inheriting the ire of his father and his estate.

He pointed towards Gwen with his remaining hand.

“Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust…” He began, incanting the most powerful spell he possessed. A spell that would take a terrible toll on his own body for his inability to sufficiently control it’s power.

“Horrid W-”

The cold invasion of Edgar's hand thrusting into her Astral Body was like being penetrated by a rusty sword; its serrated edge mangling her flesh as it inched deeper.

A helpless spectator, Gwen watched the usurpation of her mind and body.

For a moment in time, she wanted nothing more than to end it all, to summon all the Lightning in the world, then go out in a blaze of brilliant plasma.

For all she knew, she could wake up in her old world; like waking from bad Midsummer Night's dream. Conceivably, she had exhausted her hour upon the stage, and could now be no more.

Then she felt it - that all too familiar sense of vertigo, and saw the gathering of black motes of dark matter within her body coalesce into lithe leeches, attaching themselves like tenebrous white-blood cells to the intruder.

Edgar's Astral Form suddenly panicked, struggling to pull free. With a sense of schadenfreude, she willed herself to hold on, to keep the man bound and tethered for the creatures to ravage. Here was her Astral Soul, it was hers alone, and she forbid him to leave without paying a toll in blood.

Slowly, the little motes coalesced, filling her mana conduit. Gwen instinctively sensed the opening of another Gate. Her Evocation conduit tapped something else, something existing in the space between spaces.

"!"

A tenebrous matter flooded through her body.

'Shield!"

With a surge of will, Gwen coalescence a mana shield formed of cracking black energy.

A Void Shield.

“Aaaarrrgh!”

The scream deafened her ear; she blinked, then was back in the Material world.

Her body slumped.

She knew this feeling; it was one she had experienced it before. Dizzy with vertigo, she attempted to orientate herself, keeping her eyes on Edgar who now screamed like a gutted pig. The bastard reached for the potion injector he had placed before Debora.

You lying sack of filth!

She saw him inject it’s precious cargo, bewilderingly manipulate the stump that was now his right hand, then turn to her with pure malice. Edgar began to chant, his voice thick and full of agony, his invocation dark and foreboding.

Gwen bodily pushed herself onto one side, freeing her arms for spell casting.

Come on! Come on! Her body moved as slow as molasses.

The man was down to his last few phrases now; he was pointing toward her and Gwen had no more time to think. She recalled the first thing that came to her mind and channelled the dark energy filling her conduits like eldritch ice.

“Blast Bolt!” She invoked, though what materialised wasn't the white-hot plasma of Elemental Lightning, but a dark, crackling line of nothingness, of the absence of things, a jet black bolt rendering reality itself null.

The last of Gwen's vitality drained out with the spell. The lid of her eyes turned to lead. Her body, now thinner, frailer, almost skeletal, collapsed onto the stone table, a husk of its former self.

“Horrid W…!”

Before Edgar could even complete his spell, he heard the familiar sound of Gwen’s desperate casting of her signature spell. He chose to ignore it, knowing full well he could recover.

"Blast Bolt!"

Before his final Major Incantation, a bolt of dark energy violently stabbed into his flesh.

His invocation shattered, it’s magic falling apart. Something had just mangled his astral body, damaged the conduits of mana that existed metaphysically within his corporal and incorporeal form.

Edgar looked down. He was surprised to find that he was now sans leg, sans a part of his torso and sans an arm. In the next heartbeat, spurts of blood gushed from all three wounds.

A mote of mana, built by contingency into an item that he had always worn around his left index finger, activated instantly.

The glyphs of a Teleportation, its destination pre-set, activated below him.

“NO!” Edgar cried out, “Leave me here! I can take her! I can take her!”

But the spell could not heed his cry.

In the next moment, Edgar was gone.

With Edgar now out of range, the runes and glyphs surrounding the menhir ceased to writhe, fading into the darkness. One by one, the barriers dispelled.

Not far from the monstrously large Egg. Gwen lay lifelessly on the table; her body pale and lifeless.

Slowly, a pulse of pale light could be seen. Morye's gift palpitated as though a throbbing heart, sending out tendrils of green energy, searching for that which would sustain its hostess.

It found sustenance not too far away, conveniently in the form of an ancient egg. A green haze poured from the amulet, taking advantage of the invasive glyphs carved onto the menhir's surface, providing a penetrative channel into the life that existed within. The life force within was ancient, rich and nourishing, and so, the amulet drank deeply from the egg’s interior. It would only need a sliver of this energy to sustain its owner, who was merely a mortal. As for the excess, its long atrophied Soul Well could use a windfall.

A viridescent glow then suffused Gwen's shrivelled dermis. Her anorexic, shrunken form began to heal. Her sallow cheeks began to fill, returning to their usual plumpness. Her many injuries mended miraculously, as natural as if Elvia had suffused her with a torrent of Positive Energy. Gwen's heart, which only moments before had the weakest of palpitations, began to beat with vigour. Her limbs restored to their slender, athletic self, her skin taking on a healthy glow, more vibrant and youthful than ever before, as supple as if she were a babe.

'Badump!'

Gwen inhaled as the amulet became once again dormant. She was hungry for life, hungry for air!

Alesia threw away the fourth potion injector.

From below, she resembled a goddess of flame, resplendent in her flickering regalia. Even her hair was a flowing mane of scarlet fire, swarming with firefly embers.

But even with all her abilities pushed to its utmost limits, Alesia felt powerless in front of the Mythical Serpent.

She had tried to manage her cooldowns, alternating between health and mana potions, but her body was at its alchemical limits. With each additional injection beyond the first, the effectiveness halved.

She could see the camp from her vantage point now, that was how close the creature had gotten. Another minute or so, and the thing would ride roughshod through the vicinity. It needn’t even a direct hit; a near miss would utterly churn the camp to dust, burying those kids under a mountain of soil and debris.

'Bung!'

A firework lit up the top of a nearby hill.

Yue! They’re alright! Alesia's agitated palpitation returned to a state of placidity.

She once again faced the creature below her, its scales the hue of rainbows, like the petrol sheen of a pigeon’s neck.

Why was it attacking? Alesia wondered - though she realised 'attack' was hardly the right word.

A creature of yore did not 'attack' in the manner that baser creatures did. Like the seasons, they were driven by instinct beyond human ken, their very existence brining unfathomable terror to the Frontier cities. Beings such as these were neither benevolent nor malevolent, no matter how often humans anthropomorphised their existence.

When humanity had been young, they had worshipped these Mythical beings. Many cultures still do: the Shenlong of Chinese legend, the Quezacotl of the South American Empires and even the Ice and Fire Giants of Icelandic lore were among that number.

This serpent was such a creature, a land God as old as time. Even harassed by fire and sulphur, it had chosen to ignore her, its impervious resistance beyond her assault.

That somehow made it worse.

The creature before her had no designs on her students. It wasn’t even aware of them. She had no idea why it was moving toward the city and could only guess as to its goal.

No matter it’s motive though, it was her prerogative to try and divert the serpent's path.

A dagger materialised in her hand, an exotic blade with arcane designs of engraved flame that seemed not of terrestrial origin. Its handle and pommel were encrusted with rubies the size of pigeon eggs, a priceless artefact by any measure.

“O Efreet, Spirit of flames, heed my call…”

A mandala appeared beneath Alesia’s feet, three circles bisecting to form a triplicate, revolving faster and faster until it tapped into the Elemental Plane of Fire. The air around Alesia instantly ignited, falling below in flaming sheets, turning the bush into a sea of fire.

As she gathered her will, intense heat from above and below fed into the mandala, collating and condensing the energy into her manifesting invocation.

A moment of silence reigned - the calm before the firestorm, then the flames on Alesia’s body, the combusting air, the forest fire below, extinguished simultaneously.

“Maximised Firestorm!”

The Cores shattered, sending jagged shards of splintered stone into her hand. Alesia winced, watching the egg-sized Creature Cores, harvested from rare adult Salamanders, burst into incandescence.

The sky began to churn and turn, birthing a small sun from the accumulated energy taken from the Plane of Fire. The serpent below raised it’s head to regard this new celestial object, its vision so similar to the ochre sun setting upon the outback bush.

Fire fell, first in drops, and then in sheets, and finally in cascading torrents. It struck the rainbow scales of the serpent, marring the brilliance. The rest of the storm followed, quick forming into a vortex of fire touching down in the path of the creature.

Finally, the serpent noticed her. An immense head, the size of a small hill, rose to regard Alesia, a tiny mote blazing in the sky.

She could feel it’s attention focusing on her, and the burden of that attention was like molten lead pouring into her mind, almost banishing her to the earth below,

“Move!” She screamed at it. “Move, or be Purged!”

The firestorm raged and twirled. Alesia could see that it was peeling off some of the serpent’s scales.

“Move!” Alesia raised her hand and threw a hapless fireball toward its face, where it harmlessly slid off.

The serpent stopped.

To her shock and surprise, it paused in its movement.

It then reared upon its serpentine neck and rose into the heavens, an impossible thing twenty kilometres long and the width of a football field, rising to meet her.

So this is how I die. Alesia moped sadly. I haven’t even had a boyfriend yet.

She wondered if her Master would teleport the Tower in time. Only a superstructure like that could deter a mythic being.

A Message spell blazed beside her ear.

“Alesia! What’s your status! We’re just past Gate 47, and we can see it all the way from here! What is it doing?”

“I think I pissed it off, Jonas.”

“What?”

“I THINK I PISSED IT OFF, JONAS,” Alesia screamed into the Message device.

She felt ridiculous. Her Master had made her a peerless Combat Mage, and now she was going to die, saving some nobody-kids from a government school. Still, there were worse ways to go.

To die duelling a Mythic being, a creature that had existed since time immemorial and epoch primordial.

If nothing else, it's a kick-ass memorial plaque.

“Come at me!” She screamed at the serpent. Flanking it from the right, hoping to direct it towards the ocean. “Come get me, you big ugly worm!”

Another Message spell burst into audibility beside her.

“Alesia! Alesia! For fuck’s sake, stand down and fly towards us.”

“You’re slow as fuck Jonas,” Alesia shouted into her Device as the Serpent gave chase. “It’s your fault if I die, and I am going to haunt you!”

“Alesia… please…”

“Ohhhh shit its fast! It’s fast, Jonas! How does something that fat even move this fast?” Alesia was having fun now, pivoting with a combination of Haste and Greater Flight, changing directions here and there as the serpent tried to bop her with its snout.

“Alesia, don’t die!”

“I am trying, Jonas! It’s a fucking Mythic being! Not a dog I am trying to dodge. Stop distracting me!”

'Bung!'

She became distracted.

A thunder cap resonated loudly from a direction south of the bushland, exploding in the air as a brilliant blue-purple electric-lotus.

Gwen! Alesia's breath caught. She dipped low, avoiding the mythic Serpent and gliding close to its scales. The creature was beautiful up close, gorgeous, like flying beside a scintillating sheet of chromic colour.

Why was Gwen's signal so far from the camp? She didn’t know the answer to her question, but Alesia did understand the meaning behind the firework. Gwen was in trouble, a great deal of trouble - and she was calling for help.

“Alesia!” yet another Message spell bloomed into resonance beside Her, the voice of her decade-old partner, Jonas. “I… I LOVE YOU.”

“Not now Jonas!” Alesia shut off her Message interface with a wave of her hand, dodging the serpent again and leading it off course.

I am coming for you, Gwen! Just hold out until I get there!

“…”

Jonas and the team moved toward the Mythic serpent at the utmost limit afforded by their unmapped Teleportation Circle. The furtherer they had gone from the city though, the less precise the teleportation became. Still, it was much faster than Flight and much safer than taking ground transport during an earthquake.

“Good news?” The Abjurer, Taj, asked nervously, watching a Jonas’ grey-blue eyes grew moist.

“She hung up,” he replied.

“My condolences," the Transmuter, Paul, sadly remarked as he finished the next glyph. “It’s done! Hold on to your hats, here we go! Teleportation!”

Gwen rose from the dead with the resplendent vigour of uninterrupted rest. She felt no sense of distress or anxiety, only an unnatural serenity.

Her most immediate memory surfaced in her mind. Frantically, she looked toward where Edgar had fallen. The only evidence that her assailant had been there was a floor full of dried blood clotting in the dust. Not far from her, lay the unconscious form of Debora.

"Debs!"

Gwen leapt from the table and ran towards her friend. Gingerly, carefully, Gwen placed a finger under Debora's nose.

Nothing?! No! Was her friend dead? Gwen stared slack-jawed at the Transmuter, whose body remained ravaged by Gwen's lightning. She placed her fore and index over Debora’s neck. Thankfully, she felt a faint pulse.

Gwen looked around the room for something that could help. To her surprise, she found the injector with which the Mage had used in haste. Thankfully, there was still a sliver left.

I hope this is enough! Gwen reminded herself that Edgar had staunched bleeding on a hand stump with this thing.

She slammed it as instructed into Debora’s thigh. Immediately Debora’s complexion took on a fairer hue, leaving behind the deathly pallor she had prior, healing the electric-burns that wracked her dermis.

“Debora! Debora! Can you hear me?” She spoke into her friend’s ear, though she received no response. To her great dismay and anxiety, Debora wasn't breathing.

SHIT! Gwen forced herself to remain composed.

Gwen recalled her First Aid training; as a manager, the certification was mandatory. She began by massaging Debora’s chest, doing repetitions of thirty odd or so before checking and moving on to C.P.R. Gwen then tucked Debora’s head back, opening the airway of her oesophagus, pinched her nose, and placed her mouth onto Debora's, sealing her lips. She blew two quick breathes, waiting for Debora’s chest to rise and fall before releasing her nostrils and repeating the action.

'Cough! C-cough!'

"Debs!"

An indescribable happiness tingled Gwen's insides.

[You. Life Bringer?]

A stray thought intruded into Gwen mind, halting Gwen in her tracks.

“Hello?” Gwen asked the empty room around her. “Is … is anyone there?”

She looked toward the dozen or so corpses that still littered the area around the menhir.

Oh, shit - is one of them rising from the dead?

[You know the song to sing the dead?]

The voice in her head asked again.

“Where are you? Who are you?” Gwen commanded the room, feeling silly for doing so.

[Here] The voice said.

Gwen looked towards the centre of the room, where only an egg-shaped menhir stood.

[Release me]

“You are… a rock?” Gwen approached the menhir, sensing a kinship that she had felt only for someone like Percy, her brother.

[Remove my shackles]

Gwen knew innately that the voice meant no harm, as a child knew their parent to be benevolent. Gwen approached the menhir and pryed off the spent mana stones, stamping over the magic circle.

As she wreaked havoc, she felt the presence within the menhir grow stronger, until finally, she felt elated, as though a weight had been removed from her chest.

Suddenly, she felt the coolness of falling rain, smelled the fresh loam of upturned earth, heard the quiet cascade of billabongs and the yawning of blood gums as they grew.

[We are grateful]

“No worries…” Gwen spoke to the menhir, now increasingly appearing to her like an egg. “Are you… alright? Are you an egg?”

[We are kin.]

“Thanks.” Gwen felt absurd, carrying out a conversation with a salient stone egg. She searched her mind, scanning through memories of the Creatures Class and wondering what creature the thing could be. An Earthen Troll? A sentient spirit from the Plane of Earth?

[Gift for kin?]

Gwen looked around her. More than anything, she was worried about Yue, about Elvia. Did Elvia escape? Did she meet with Yue? Did they evacuate?

“Can you get me out of here?” Gwen asked the egg, wondering if it would sprout legs and arms.

[A simple thing]

"Right."

[We cometh]

Gwen looked around her, doing her best to ignore the fact that there were real life dead bodies of actual human beings here and there, trying to keep herself from going insane.

There was... nothing happening.

About half two kilometres in, the snake gave up.

Instead, it changed directions. A shimmering glow began to suffuse the length of the serpent, illuminating the heavens with a blast of chromatic aurora australis. Much to Alesia's shock, the mythic being began to shrink, moving towards some location buried in the valley below.

That’s where Gwen’s signal was!

She gave chase, though the snake was the swifter of the two, its size giving it an impossible advantage even as it rapidly shrunk, leaving vast swaths of the landscape devasted beneath its girth. Alesia marvelled at the manner in which it eventually became the size of a city-tram, making for what seemed to be a cleft by the side of a sheer sandstone cliff.

She watched the thing slither into the gully, knowing that she had to follow.

More tremors shook the cavern. As Debora had done for her before, Gwen opened up her feeble Shield, hoping that it would be enough to keep them safe.

She then gazed at the silent egg.

What did it mean, it was coming?

'Crack!'

A chunk of rock the size of a sedan fell into the chamber.

Then she saw it, a serpent with a head the size of a sedan, slithering through the cavern’s mouth above them, meandering down towards her, its forked tongue darting this way and that, tasting the air.

"FUCK!" Gwen swore. Misfortune loves company.

The thing was huge, so it would take at least as much energy as she had poured into Edgar. She felt confident though, for some reason, she was brimming with mana.

[Do not strike. We arrived]

There was a scent of Grevillea flowers.

Gwen looked towards the egg, and then back towards the snake.

“You’re a snake?” Gwen asked bewilderingly. A sentient, talking snake!

“Gwen!” A voice with the cadence of archangels resonated across the cavern. Gwen looked past the serpent to see the angelic form of Instructor Alesia, garbed in a gown of fire, her hair flaming as anything, leaving behind a swarm of fireflies. She was resplendent, no wonder they call her the Scarlet Sorceress.

She’s alive! Gwen cried for joy. Oh happy, happy, Day!

But of course, there remained the matter of the glittery snake even now tasting the air.

“The snake with you?” They both asked in tandem.

Their eyes met.

The snake looked at Gwen.

Gwen looked at Alesia.

Alesia looked at the Snake.

The Snake looked at Gwen again.

It hissed.

A salmon pink tongue, forked and quick as a whistle, darted from the serpent's lip-sheath as it hissed.

“It's not with you, Alesia?” Gwen intoned carefully.

“It's not with me. No,” her instructor affirmed warily, drifting a few feet away from the snake, keeping a safe distance in case it decided to no longer be so amiable.

[Friend?]

Its breath was eucalyptus after the rain.

“Friend,” Gwen said out loud, glancing up toward the snake, and then at Alesia.

“Yes.” Alesia’s brilliant eyes refracted the light from her flaming hair. “I am your friend, Gwen.”

“I meant the snake.” Gwen’s eyes moved between the two. “It’s friendly, I think?”

Friendly?! Alesia spluttered. That thing just took out half the Royal National! On her fly-in, she could see kilometres of catastrophic damage, carved like channels into the landscape. If that was its idea of friendly, what would it do if it were hostile?

“How did you call the Snake here?” Alesia enquired.

Gwen shifted her gaze to the egg beside her, as did Alesia.

[Protect!]

The snake began to move, sliding its body down the slope effortlessly, making for the centre of the chamber. Gwen stepped back, avoiding the loosened debris. Alesia drifted downwards, following the serpent, wary of its alien intention.

The pair watched as the snake slithered toward the stone egg, fascinated by the manner in which it unhinged its jaws to wholly encompass the menhir.

'Crack!'

There was a sound of splintered stone as the bottom of the egg broke from the floor. The snake then hoisted the egg, which must have weighed several tons, into its fleshy maw.

It swallowed.

The egg slid into the creature’s undulating oesophagus, after which it reconnected its lower jaws. Bit by bit, the egg moved past serpent's neck and gullet, shrinking until its torso was as flat as it had ever been.

[Safe keeping.]

Again, the serpent's thoughts were accompanied by synaesthesia, this time the salty brine of the southern sea.

Then, to their surprise, it coiled unto itself, lowering its head until it was almost at eye level with Gwen. Alesia promptly placed herself between Gwen and the serpent, shielding her student with her fiery form.

[Up.]

Its glare was the midday sun.

Gwen regarded the helpful serpent: mount it? Ride it? She looked towards Alesia, who was equally clueless. Either way, they couldn't lollygag in the cavern forever.

“Instructor, Debora is still unconscious.” Gwen pointed to her friend’s body still upon the table, where the only sign of her still being alive was the faint movement of her chest. “Can you help her?”

“Maybe we should get you out first.”

“I’ve got a ride.” Gwen turned back to the serpent, admiring its immensity. In such proximity, she felt a resonate kinship. Unconsciously, she extended her hand and patted the snake’s snout.

Though its scales glistened wetly with a petrol sheen of prismatic chroma, the texture felt akin to fingernails: smooth, dry, and unexpectedly warm, like touching hot sand at the beach.

“Gwen! What are you doing!” Alesia spluttered, beyond alarmed. Stupid girl! That's a mythic level beast! Not a riding drake! She could see it now, the Serpent enraging, growing instantly to a length of twenty kilometres, smashing the both of them into smithereens.

But Alesia was glad to be proven wrong. Without incident, Gwen persisted in climbing on top of the creature, shimming her body forward until she could grip onto two protruding scales close to the snake’s head.

“…” Alesia was reminded of another one of her Master's advice: expect the unexpected; watch, then speak, not before.

The snake rose into the air, its body levitating soundlessly, slithering with incredulous dexterity and balance through the chasm until it reached the top, laying its head flat against the cliff’s edge. Alesia watched as Gwen slid off the creature, back onto solid ground.

[It is done.]

The cavern filled with the sound of shifting sand.

Gwen touched the serpent again. Its eyes had that distinct, single slit unique to reptiles, but the surrounding iris was a swirl of rainbow hues changing colour across a light-fantastic. Within, she saw the figure of a girl held intact within a prismatic lens.

Beautiful, Gwen exhaled. The serpent's orbs were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen across two lifetimes.

The salmon pink tongue extended slowly, moving towards Gwen’s face. She closed her eyes.

Alesia returned, cradling Debora below her chest, secured with both arms.

The tongue was as thick as Gwen’s thighs at the base, tapering until the forked split. It darted a dozen times in quick succession: tapping her hair, tasting her cheeks and caressing her chin, each touch but a split second.

[Kin.]

The empathic link was joyous. For a moment, Gwen saw a vision of blooming dogwood.

“Gwen…” Alesia guessed at the link between the two. “Assuming it’s not hostile toward you, what does it want?”

It was an answer she needed to know. In the Tower's records, only the priests of old and venerated religions, the outlandish folk that lived in the Wildlands, and specialised Creature-Conjurers, could communicate with Mythic level beings without having their minds turning the consistency of creme-fraiche.

“What do you want?” Gwen asked the serpent with the effortlessness of asking when’s lunch?

[Rest.]

The smell of loam and earth accompanied by its flickering tongue.

“It said it wants to rest,” Gwen reported to Alesia, who wore still her flaming Regalia, burning away at her mana reserves.

“You sure it’s safe?” Alesia asked. She was running on fumes. The Efreet transformation was peerless - but required a vast reserve of mana to maintain its flaming phenomena.

“Yes,” Gwen answered reverently. “It means us no harm.”

Alesia landed beside Gwen, carrying Debora. The flames surrounding her extinguished.

"WOA, Ma'am!"

To Gwen’s surprise, her instructor was left stark naked, exposing dozens of cuts and scrapes, as well a purple-bruise stretching from her left hip to her right lumbar. Steam rose from Alesia's elementally tempered body, instantly evaporating any perspiration.

“Ma’am.” Gwen's chest tightened. “W-what happened to you?”

“Rough night.” Alesia gave Gwen a wry smile, materialising a red robe from a ring and wrapping herself within the silky kimono. Other items of clothing appeared, all in shades of maroon, cherry, pink and carmine. She was still in the midst of hurriedly covering her shame when the salmon pink tongue of the serpent dashed towards Alesia, who froze as it tapped her cheek.

[Not Kin.]

Gwen wrinkled her nose. There was a textured stench of mangroves at low tide.

[Usurper.]

With a flourish, Alesia reappeared in maroon trousers, a camo t-shirt, and combat boots.

“Why’s it looking at me like that?” She nervously asked Gwen. She had already burnt a several months worth of Magic Items in HDMs and had no desire to consume another outfit.

“It’s saying that… you’re are a usurper,” Gwen passed the snake’s sentiment toward her Instructor, she wasn’t sure what that was about either.

“One sec.” Alesia gave Debora's cheeks a light slap. "No luck, we need to get her to a hospital."

“Levitate!”

She set the body of the young Transmuter to float.

“She might still be glamoured.” Alesia placed a hand over Debora’s face and pulled open one of her eyelids. The pupil within was fully dilated, displacing Debora's amber iris. "Did you say, 'usurper'?"

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I guess all humans are usurpers when it comes to these nature-types. Just make sure it stays away from us.” Alesia covered Debora's indecent body with a towel, then studied Gwen, whose hair and face was matted with dried blood. “So, you wanna tell me what happened here?”

Gwen related her tale, omitting nothing that she knew, not even the part when she had sent out a bolt of darkness to cut Edgar in twain. It was about time that someone finally knew, someone she trusted and could help her decipher its mystery.

"Alesia... do you know if the others are alright? If Elvia made it?" Gwen inquired with a tone full of anxious agitation.

To her disappointment, Alesia shook her head.

"I can tell you the basecamp is safe, but I haven't see Elvia." The pained look on her student's face made Alesia want to reach out and comfort her, but there was still a snake scenting Gwen with its forked tongue.

Just as Alesia tried to assuage Gwen by suggesting she try calling the girls on her Message Device - a Message spell bloomed beside Alesia's ear.

“Alesia! You still alive?” It was Jonas, her partner.

“Yeah, I am fine.”

“Oh thank God!” The voice choked.

“Where’s the snake?” another voice inquired. "It disappeared entirely, all I am seeing are new valleys.”

Alesia looked over at Gwen, who stood beside the Mythical serpent with a hand upon its snout, caressing it with the vacant expression of one stroking an oversized house cat. There was a decision to be made here, a judgement call with ramifications well beyond her ability to speculate. She had seen the damage the serpent could cause first hand, but she had also observed that it had no intent nor hostility toward humanity. If they attacked it with the full intention of destroying it, what would be the cost? What would it be like if a Mythical being decided to bring to bear all its power? Would the skies turn dark and the seas boil? Would the ground split asunder and swallow Sydney whole? Most importantly, if she was to tell her companions, tell the Tower, that this beast of times immemorial was harmless, that it would far prefer to 'rest' - who would believe her?

“Alesia? You still there?”

“Don’t know where the Snake is,” Alesia replied. “What’s your ETA to my loc?”

“We are inbound, ETA two minutes.”

“I’ll meet you outside, look for my flare.”

“Ma’am?” Gwen wondered why Alesia had lied.

“Can you ask the snake to hide somewhere?” Alesia demanded of her student. “I got four very serious people incoming in about a minute, and they are not going to like this at all.”

Gwen turned to the serpent, who seemed to have read her intent at once. It slithered outside the cavern, its hues changing until it became transparent, fading into the night as though a wisp of air the breeze had brought in. Gwen looked down toward her hand that only a moment ago had touched the beautiful, mysterious thing, and saw that in her palm was a scale, scintillating like an opal.

[Gift for Kin]

The glow from the scale was that of golden wattles in full bloom.

The serpent was gone, its presence erased by some force unknowable to mortals like Gwen and Alesia, fading into the dark emerald sea.

“Hold on to that,” Alesia advised her apprentice-in-name. "That's going be a top-notch ingredient for a Magic Item."

Gwen tucked the scale into a pocket in her cloak.

They listened to the wind, making sure that the serpent was indeed gone.

“Gwen, listen to me very carefully.” Alesia turned to her student, her face completely serious. “I may have just initiated something so stupid, so irrational, that if things go south, the both of us are probably looking at exile or execution.”

“You have?” Gwen gagged at the unexpected turn.

“When this is over, I am going to take you to see my superior. Until then, you are to speak to no one about the serpent. You have not seen it, have not felt it, you have certainly not spoken to it.”

Alesia extended a hand and fired off a crimson flower.

“Say nothing, understand?"

Gwen nodded.

The flight of Mages that landed at the mouth of the cavern came in full-fledged combat gear. In the uncertain darkness before the coming of dawn, they were four pinpoints of illumination that spontaneously grew larger, descending with terrific haste but landing like felines.

In the next moment, Gwen marvelled as the men hailed Alesia with open-palmed salutes.

“Ma’am!”

“At ease,” Alesia dismissed them casually. The men's bodies immediately lost their rigidity.

A man with dark, bushy brows and a thick mutton chop fell in beside her.

“Are you alright Alesia? What happened? Wheres the snake? Are you injured?”

“I could use a bit of a touch-up.” Alesia lifted her t-shirt to reveal the bruise marring her toned abdomen, looking like a purple worm writhing across her pale skin. “Do your thing, Jonas; my pots stopped working after the fifth one.”

“You’re too reckless…” Jonas grimaced, carefully extending a hand. "Excuse me."

“Cure Moderate Wounds!”

Viridescent energy suffused Alesia’s abdomen; Gwen's instructor tensed as the regenerative itch of mending flesh tickled her bones before letting loose a long, tender breath.

“Had to hold that in,” Alesia joked casually. Gwen blushed with the guilt of not having realised the extent of her instructor’s injuries, amplifying the anxiety of not know how her friends had fared.

“Are the others alright?” Gwen blurted to Alesia's companions. “The students I mean, we were at the camp, near the entrance of the Zone.”

“As far as I know,” one of the men, their Abjurer, replied. The British-Indian man was Taj, a stocky soldier with wet, olive skin, a neat goatee and a hawk-beak nose.

"Is Elvia alright, did she make it back?" Gwen persisted, but the man shook his head.

"Don't know who that is," It was Jonas, the medic, who answered Gwen. "Assuming they're fine, they'll be transported back to a Forward Operating Base."

The healer then dropped to one knee to examine Debora.

“Best we get this one to a hospital ASAP though,” He advised. “I can restore her here, but she’s going to need more than field-dressing. Paul, give me a hand.”

Paul introduced himself to be the Conjurer-Transmuter of the group, whose job was to translocate the members via means of Shared Flight, Teleportation Circle, and Conjure Object. The unassuming, middle-aged man that reminded Gwen of an accountant.

"I'll Message ahead to Sydney," the youngest of the group joined in before turning to Gwen. “B-B-Billy. It’s a p-pleasure.”

“Billy stutters when he’s nervous,” Alesia apologised to Gwen. “Why are you nervous Bill?”

“S… she… er…” Billy pointed to the visible gap between Gwen's robe.

Gwen pulled Edgar's cloak tightly around her chest.

“Oh…” Alesia felt like an idiot. She had neglected to offer Gwen a pair of shirt and shorts.

“Attention!” Alesia commanded, and the four stood ramrod straight. “About face!”

The men turned, looking outward toward the newly minted landscape of the Royal National Frontier.

From her Storage Ring, Alesia materialised casual items of clothing for Gwen.

“They're dead if they peep, so get changed.”

Gwen struggled into her new clothes, discretely transferring the scale into a pack pocket.

Alesia knelt to make sure Debora was decent for transportation.

“I'll take the cloak, we’ll send it in for analysis."

Gwen handed over Edgar's robe.

“At ease,” Alesia said after a minute or so, and the men turned to see to their surprise, a girl very nearly the height of Alesia, if not a little taller.

“H-H-Hello.” If anything, Billy's stutter had worsened.

“Come on Bill,” Taj joked with a lopsided grin. “It's not like you haven't used your Scrying for less than honorable purposes. That's what you Diviners do, ain't it?”

“Hey!” Alesia barked at the unruly soldier. "Leave him alone."

Billy’s eyes were moving between the ground and Gwen alternatively.

“What's Billy's job?” Gwen sidled closer to Alesia.

“Communications specialist…” Alesia said without a hint of sarcasm. "Two years out of Defence Force Academy."

Paul, Billy and Taj stayed behind to inspect the ritual, or at least what had remained of it. Jonas meanwhile, offered to escort Alesia, Gwen and the comatose Debora toward a Forward Operations Base set up midway between the Shield Fort and their original base camp.

“You flew before?”

Gwen shook her head.

“You’ll love it.” Alesia smiled encouragingly. “Just hold on tight.”

“Ready?” Paul asked, then opened his gate to the Elemental Plane of Air. “Shared Flight!”

“Be safe!” Taj called out to Alesia. “No detours! Please!”

Gwen felt an uplifting current suffuse her surroundings, not in the manner of a breeze about one’s body, but a sense of buoyancy. As they rose into the air, she realised she had underestimated magical flight. There was no feeling of texture, of inertia or resistance. Instead, she floated - and immediately began to summersault uncontrollably.

Two revolutions later, Alesia grabbed Gwen’s hand and stabilised her tumbling. Gwen had the feeling that the moment her instructor let go, she would float away like a child's balloon.

"Let's go!"

The sudden acceleration filled Gwen with instant dizziness. Her body was screaming to be back on solid ground.

"Oh!" Gwen inhaled a briny breath of morning air.

She was seeing for the first time, the curvature of her new world.

A marigold disk signalled summer sunrise, diffusing a perpetual splendour across the curvature of the eastern coast.

To Gwen’s right was The Coastal Trail, where the emerald bush gave way to jagged ochre rocks awash with foam, assailed by milky white shoals of water that frothed like milk against ochre cliffs. The South Pacific extended beyond, changing hue from aqua to ultramarine, then suddenly dropping off into the dark depth of the continental shelf.

To her left were sundered hills and muddy lakes, the aftermath of the Mythic's passing, leaving behind bleeding canals of upturned earth. Even now, trees toppled into newly formed ravines, moved by underground reservoirs emerging from the pressure of crushed sandstone crumbling in hidden caverns.

Elvia.

Yue.

Everyone-

Gwen wasn't sure whether it was the anxiety making her nauseous, or the vertigo of flying a hundred meters freely through the air.

Did Elvia make it? Her mind churned with distress, not even the adrenaline of weaving through altitudes high and low could distract her mind.

“Alesia… do you think…” Gwen tried to speak, but her voice was barely audible against the blustering cacophony of moving air.

A Message spell bloomed beside her ear.

“I am activating a Private Message spell.” Alesia’s voice resonated in her ear. “What’s wrong Tiger?”

“I am worried about Elvia, and the others,” Gwen replied, noting the spell was two-way. Her schools' device was a simple thing, incapable of complex Divination algorithms.

Alesia squeezed Gwen’s hand reassuringly, hoping it would relieve some of Gwen's stress.

Unconsciously, the duo accelerated, Alesia's uncertainty feeding more mana into the Flight spell. The boost solicited a curious glance from Jonas, who then matched their new velocity.

“Gwen, I know you are worried about the girls, but you must also consider your circumstances,” Alesia replied solemnly. “Promise me that you will tell no one, not even the girls, about the serpent, and about your new elemental abilities, it will only put them in danger.”

Gwen observed the weight behind Alesia's proposal.

“I promise,” she answered her Instructor.

Hovering beside her protegè, Alesia mulled over troubling thoughts of her own. Though the crisis at hand appeared resolved; it had left them far more questions than their resolution could provide.

Alesia recalled that, in final moments of her encounter, the Mythic had possessed little to no interest in making further ingress towards the city. Instead, it had withdrawn toward Gwen's last location. In hindsight, Alesia guessed that it probably had something to do with Gwen wounding the Mage who called himself Edgar. As for what Edgar's part, the ritual provided a clue. In so far as sealing mandalas went, the ceremony was elaborate, requiring esoteric knowledge of the arcane spellcraft.

Then there was the fact that wounded Mage had escaped while missing half his body and two of his limbs. A Teleportation Contingency Ring set to one’s vital signs was beyond precious. Alesia had one herself, though she disliked equipping it for the reason that once triggered, it took her out of combat and back into the Tower. As Efreet Form drained her vitality, it would be ludicrous if she Teleported away at the initiation of a Firestorm. That was why she preferred Contingency Healing Rings and single-use items like the Dimension Door Gem.

Additionally, the price of a Ring with a Contingency trigger tied to a long-range Teleport would cost just over five thousand HDMs, enough to buy a building in the heart of Sydney's CBD. Ironically, that wasn’t even the worst of it, for there were very few Enchanters in the world capable of creating such an item. For both Alesia's and her brother-in-craft, their Contingency Rings were heirloom objects brought over from Europe. A Mage in possession of such a thing, therefore, couldn't be just anyone.

Finally, there was Faceless - but what was the terrorist like him doing in a place like this? Was he after her? Was he involved in the serpent's rampage?

There were too many unanswerable questions assailing Alesia at once, though for now, an additional problem stabbed at her bosom.

How would her Master receive the kitten she just picked up?

The basecamp came into view.

Now bathed in the light of dawn, the destruction wrought by the prior night became self-evident. The bunker had collapsed like a crushed tent; its iron supports bent and twisted. The main building, where the instructors had last met, was being excavated by what looked to be AMSA Engineers.

The trio landed: Alesia and Jonas gracefully, Gwen with a heavy thump that jarred her knees.

A Mage in a fluoro high-vis vest splintered from the group to intercept them. He was hailed by Jonas, who lifted a flap in his jacket to reveal an emblem.

The scowl of bureaucratic annoyance on the Mage's face immediately turned into a look of wariness.

"Greetings," the Mage wrung his hands before managing a 'Sir!' nervously.

"Foremen, give me a sit-rep," Jonas was a different person when not talking to Alesia, Gwen noticed.

"The excavation's almost done," the Foremen replied. "But there are bodies down there. We're waiting for the Coroners."

"Bodies?" Gwen's voice quivered. "What bodies, whose is it?"

The Foreman eyeballed the teenage girl, challenging her presence before meeting Jonas' eyes.

"Let's take a walk." Jonas tiled his head to their left. The two then moved towards the excavation site.

Gwen wanted to follow, though a tug from Alesia obstructed her.

"No." Her Instructor's hand was firm. "You don't need to see this."

"But..." Gwen felt her stomach knotting. "Sergeant Boone... Mr Thomas, and Mr Dylan..."

“I am sorry," Alesia insisted, her hand like a vice grip. She already felt guilty that Gwen had dealt with Edgar. In the future, as a Combat Mage, the girl may very well become familiar with the morbid reality of mangled corpses - as for now, she would prefer a less damaged protégé.

Despite Alesia's best intentions, however, Gwen struggled to reconcile with the reality in front of her. These teachers had taught her for half a year! She knew them by names, their idiosyncratic quirks, their mannerism, their likes and dislikes! Mr Boone liked to talk about his military days; Mr Thomas owned two cats; Mr Dylan had a fiancee-

"Don't you want to find out if Yue and the others are safe?" Alesia demanded mercilessly.

Gwen nodded.

"Then let us find out." They rose into the air again. "Your friends should be safe by now at the F.O.B.”

Jonas caught up with them a few minutes later.

"Alesia..." He consulted his partner.

"You can tell her, Jonas," Alesia asserted. "She's a strong girl."

"Four dead,” Jonas declared gravely. "Boone, Evans, Thomas, Dylan."

“Five," Gwen added after a moment of silence.

Alesia saw that the girl's knuckles were white with tension. Gwen was right, of course. Alesia recalled the mangled body of Mr Crusoe.

"Five," Alesia confirmed. "Crusoe's still somewhere out in the woods."

"Jesus." Jonas spat, taking another gander at Gwen. "Were they after the kids?"

"Probably." Alesia did not want to reveal any more to her partner before she had a chance to speak to her Master.

Jonas nodded and said no more. His leader was evidently in an evasive mood.

They flew in silence until the sea of emerald came to an abrupt halt. Below, the landscape transformed into the low, stunted shrubbery of the tablelands. In the distance, they could make out the F.O.B.

About two kilometres out, an Aerial Mage unit in digital combat jackets and winged jackboots intercepted the trio. Again, Jonas opened a flap on his coat; after which they were allowed to pass.

Gwen scanned the camp until she found a spot where dozens of humanoid dots in black, white and grey tartan congregated.

“I see them!” she uttered breathlessly.

"I'll drop you off." Gwen's urgent desire to be immediately amongst her friends brought a smile to Alesia's lips.

"Jonas, can you take Debora to the triage centre?”

Jonas withdrew without complaint.

When Gwen and Alesia alighted in the yard, they became surrounded by a ring of students whose faces were livid with excitement.

"Oh my God! Did you see that?"

"She flew in!"

"I wish I could fly."

"You'd have to be a Transmuter!"

"Wow, instructor Alesia looks amazing as usual. "

"Is that Gwen?!"

"Ergh, there she goes, stealing the Daylight."

An abrupt loathing for her peers engendered in Gwen's chest. Don't they think of anyone but themselves? Your friend, Debora almost died! Your Instructors lie mangled underneath concrete slabs!

"GWEN!" The voices she had desired to hear more than anything for the last twelve hours echoed across the levelled dirt of the temporary base.

"Evee! Yue!" Gwen broke from Alesia to dart past a crowd of stickybeaking students.

"Ah! My face!"

"She stepped on me!"

"That bitch!"

The girls meet one another halfway.

Three at last! Three at last! Gwen's heart soared.

"All for one!" She exclaimed in a moment of uncontrollable jubilance.

"We missed you so much!" Yue was hugging Gwen's waist and pushing her head into her bosoms. "Holy SHIT, I was so worried! Elvia told me what happened, that you tried to save her, and you fought that Crusoe FUCKER alone!"

Elvia was no longer in control of her emotions, tears the size of sultanas falling from her luminous blue eyes, "I am sorry Gwen... sob... sob... I ran away... I ran away Gwen... I was scared... "

"Oh, Evee... it was the right thing to do. I would have been in greater danger if you hadn't gone!"

The three of them squeezed into a crushing huddle.

"What happened to Debora?" Elvia asked between her choking sobs.

The euphoric moment deflated.

"She'll be okay," Gwen muttered. She hoped to God the healing magic of this world could mend lightning strikes.

“I’ll be back for you in the evening,” Alesia shouted over the din of squealing teenagers. Gwen waved to her Instructor, wanting to say another word of thanks before she left. Instead, her Instructor's ultramarine eyes reminded her to say nothing. Taking to the air, Alesia flew toward the command tent, worshipped by supplicating students cooing at the incredulous sight of superhuman flight.

With the spectacle over, the girls retired to the limited privacy of temporary shelters that had been set up by Army Engineers. The trio entered a tent where Bunks were placed four by a dozen, with heavy curtains dividing each section.

“How did you escape that horrid Mage?” Elvia asked, her eyes puffy and swollen. “Did you… did you…”

“Instructor Alesia saved me,” Gwen told a technical-truth.

“I saw that titanic battle in the sky between Alesia and the Snake!” Yue began excitedly. “Did you see it, Gwen? It was incredible.”

“I was pretty deep in the woods by that point.” Gwen wracked her brains for salient timestamps. “I could only see the fireworks over the tree lines.”

“It was incredible!” Yue continued as if she was the one that had confronted the Serpent, describing in detail spell after spell, only a few of which Gwen had heard of before.

“What about you Evee?” Gwen asked, wondering how her friend had fared after their separation.

“I ran the way we came…” Elvia recounted. “I saw your lightning spell go on and on, so I ran as far as I could until I saw Yue’s fireworks back in the clearing.”

“Anyone tried to stop you?”

Elvia shook her head, sending out flailing strands of flaxen hair.

“There were a few Goblins and some other magical beasts who were trying to flee the Snake, but they left me alone.”

“We must have wracked up another hundred or so kills.” Yue beamed proudly. “The officer who saved us told me that we had done well and that we’re going to be commended for our bravery. My very first medal, Gwen!”

“Did you find any of the Instructors?” Elvia cut in suddenly, “Mr Crusoe turned out to be that evil Mage, does that mean…”

Gwen felt a pang of guilt, though her friends were old enough to face the truth.

“Alesia said Mr C was dead long before we met Evil Crusoe…” Gwen answered with a tone of forlorn sadness. “As for the others… Mr Dylan, Mr Thomas, Mr Boone, and Mr Evans; they found their remains in the main building.”

“…”

“…”

With that, conversation died.

Elvia dug her face into Gwen's chest, wracked with quiet sobs. Yue stared at the ceiling, her thoughts unknowable. The three of them laid in one bunk, quietly observing the slow rotation of a whirlybird as it pumped out the rising heat of their bodies. Elvia was the first to fall asleep, her constitution too weak to sustain a night and a day of activity and distress. Yue likewise shut her eyes, the tension of Gwen’s absence displaced at last.

Gwen looked up at the ceiling, where the scaffolding expanded like a spider web across the rectangular canvas, thinking of Alesia’s warning, and the uncertain future ahead.

Was this a regular event in this world, or was it a one-off catastrophe? In her old world, she had experienced, on television, the horrors of September 11, though as a Sydney-sider, the precipitous moment of 21st-century history had felt unreal, more akin to a movie.

Likewise, she had known no violence. Sydney was a haven of middle-class mediocrity. No mass-shootings, no serial murderers, no mass-poverty and virtually no violent crimes beyond the occasional domestic dispute.

Until today, the idea of someone she knew suddenly dying was something that had never occurred to her. Gwen realised she had never experienced the death of someone she knew in any private capacity: not a family member, nor a friend, nor someone in her social orbit.

Now suddenly, five teachers who had taught her for half a year suddenly ceased to be; gone, disappeared, evaporated into thin air for no reason, no particular purpose nor goal.

They had not died for some grand act, they had not died to save their students, or made a last stand. They died randomly, purposelessly, became collateral.

Would her death be the same? Gwen wondered. A chance encounter with malevolence - then no more? Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow, then nought but a dusty death?

Gwen's eyes grew heavy, mesmerised by the whirlybird's ceaseless rotation, closing slowly until the undertow of troubled sleep took her.

Alesia returned to find the girls sharing a meal of military rations for supper, feeling the unspeakable texture of mystery meat caressing their revolted taste buds. Even in a world of Spellcraft, rations remained optically unrecognisable nutritional sludge.

“You want in on the Officer’s mess?” Alesia laughed when Gwen told her that she had just eaten a meat pie in liquid form. “We had a three-course meal, choice of steak, fish, or chicken, all Wildland cuts.”

The girls were indeed interested. Alesia promised to send them something nice at her earliest opportunity.

“I am going to have to borrow Gwen for a few days, a week tops,” Alesia then informed Yue and Elvia. “Gwen has seen too much, so we’re going to have to brainwipe her.”

“What!” Elvia leapt from her bunk.

“She’s joking Evee, yeesh…” Yue pulled Elvia down. “You're joking, right?”

Alesia chuckled. Full of uncertainty, the girls awkwardly reciprocated the mirth.

“I promise you Gwennie will be fine,” Alesia stated, glancing at Gwen.

Gwennie? Gwen made a face. Am I a stray cat?

“When do we leave?” Gwen asked.

“How about now?”

Gwen looked over toward her friends, who both possessed expression suggesting they weren't ready to be parted so soon.

“Is tomorrow possible?” Gwen guiltily requested of Alesia.

“Sure, I’ll make the arrangements with Paul, he'll appreciate the rest.”

“Thank you, Ma’am," Gwen answered gratefully.

Alesia casually dismissed Gwen's gratitude.

“Your school is going to have some major disruptions as the new Instructors come in, so expect to stay home or at your dorms over the next few weeks.”

The three inclined their heads. By now the news of the Instructors who had perished had spread, extinguishing the gleeful, come what may attitude of the cohort.

“See you tomorrow!”

As the night crept in, the girls pushed their bunks together and again slept side by side, feeling safer for the familiar company.

Jun and Henley came to visit, thanking Yue profusely for taking charge of the chaotic situation. Their Diviner had yet to recover from the cataclysmic event, his happy-go-lucky lustre succumbing instead to a numbing depression. Jun himself likewise took on a stoic air, assuming an attitude that was no longer convivial.

Unlike the girls in First Year, the boys would have their final exams in three months, after which they would be graduating. With all future Field Trips cancelled or delayed, their military commissions were no longer guaranteed.

After the boys said their goodbyes, the girls turned to their futures, speculative as it may be at the given moment.

“I am sticking with the military track,” Yue declared after organising her thoughts. “We all have to enrol as soon as we turn sixteen anyway, so I am going to apply for an officer cadetship position.”

Gwen wondered if she should inform Yue about Alesia’s intentions, though she knew better than to run her mouth. Her bombastic companion then boasted she was approached by several recruiters who had drawn for her a lovely pie in the sky.

“That’s awesome,” Elvia congratulated her friend. Unlike her peers, she would be enrolled at the Sydney Arcane University to study medicine and the healing arts. Upon graduation, she would serve two years under the Royal Army Medical Corps, after which she was free to pursue specialisation.

“What about you Gwen? You could join me in the military! You know what they'd call us?” Yue’s eyes were full of anticipation.

Oh God, Gwen grimaced.

"The... Dynamic Duo?"

"You're damn right!"

When it was Gwen's turn, she found herself lost for words. In truth, she had no idea what she wanted to do beyond gaining more proficiency in Spellcraft. Join the military? Gwen felt no particular adversity toward killing magical beasts, but if they had to fight other human beings - people like Edgar, there was little chance she could stomach such a thing. If anything, a job where she could take advantage of her old world knowledge in enterprise or administration would be ideal.

At the thought of fighting other human beings, a vision of Edgar's stumps squirting in tune his beating heart paralysed her lips. She could taste the saltiness of his iron blood dashing like hot lead over her face.

Nausea washed over her like a tide as the violent synaesthesia came and went.

"Gwen, are you alright? You're white as a sheet!"

A dose of Elvia's Positive Energy dispelled the hollowness in Gwen's bosoms, restoring her breath to a normal cadence. With both arms, Gwen enveloped her flaxen mascot, warmed by Elvia's angelic presence while simultaneously haunted by the inevitable separation their futures would bring.

“Alright, its fired up.” Paul finished linking the last of the glyphs after expending the requisite volume of HDMs to light up the Teleportation Circle, brushing crystalline dust from his trousers. “Have a safe trip, you two.”

The Circle activated. The world flashed cobalt and silver. There was a feeling of being lurched through something concurrently tangible, yet immaterial, followed by a sudden displacement, akin to falling in a dream.

The last thing Gwen saw was Yue and Elvia waving their hands at her, then in the next moment, she was in a dark room filled with arcane scripts and wards, glowing that pale blue-white glow of Conjuration.

A taste of sour bile filled her mouth.

“Still in one piece Tiger?” Alesia asked. “Didn’t accidentally leave behind anything did you?”

“I am fine…” Gwen replied, swallowing discretely, then patting herself down to ensure that nothing was indeed amiss.

In her old world, Teleportation was nigh-impossible. Spatial displacement ran into all kinds of problems from quantum physics, energy paradoxes, loss of mass, as well as the intellectually morbid idea of continuous death and rebirth. According to Alesia’s description though, the spell wasn't teleportation in the literal sense, but a kind of wormhole movement achieved by creating a jump through the fabric of the Prime Material Plane - their world - and the Astral Plane.

“Where are we?” Gwen realised she should have asked before they had left. Alesia simply said that they were going to see her Master, but Gwen had no idea as to their destination.

“Well, right now we’re in my apartment,” Alesia coaxed her to follow. “We need to be a little more formal where we’re going.”

They exited a chamber akin to a set piece from some mad wizard’s dungeon. Past the heavy iron door, Gwen was surprised to find themselves in a penthouse overlooking Sydney Harbour. The scene was familiar, for Gwen had seen the same view from an adjacent cove - that of her uncle's manor.

“Bradfield Park?” Gwen announced, surprising herself by identifying all of the landmarks. “We’re back in Sydney?”

“Yep.” Alesia went by the glass facade of the open kitchen and popped the fridge, pouring herself a glass of water before motioning the jug at Gwen, who declined. “Nothing like a well-enchanted network of Teleportation Circles. Expensive to use, of course, but very convenient.”

“But…” Gwen felt her mind reeling. They were four hours away by bus! Two hundred kilometres in an instant!

Gwen had seen how many crystals Paul had to burn. It was enough to keep her training for a month! All that to save six hours? She made her incredulous discovery known to Alesia, who laughed, spilling a little water.

“Oh Gwen, what you call 'resource' is chump change at our tiers,” she informed Gwen jovially. “Our stipend alone is about ten thousand LDMs a month, or four hundred HDMs, give or take. If I were in a tier 1 city, my pay would double.”

Gwen flushed with embarrassment, feeling like an Amish rustic enquiring about motorised transport. Beside her, Alesia walked toward the panoramic vista of the harbour, her lovely face framed in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling panes.

“Look, you can see your Uncle’s house just around the bay.”

Gwen joined Alesia at the window, feeling more nostalgic than impressed. Her North Shore office at Milson's Point shared the eastern portion of the same cove. Though the buildings were different, the landscape itself remained the same.

“When Bartlett called me, I was standing right here. For a while, I entertained the notion of dropping in from the sky. But the CBD has airspace restrictions, so I ended up taking the car.”

“Thanks again for saving me, Ma'am.”

"Ah, don't mention it," Alesia grinned.

She drew past the windows with the ease of a dancer, gesturing for Gwen to follow her up to the second level. Above, marble tiles gave way to darkly stained spotted-gum. Alesia’s bedroom was huge; its walk-in-closet was bigger than Gwen’s bedroom.

The grandiose luxury was dizzying, more so because Gwen had previously achieved the same strata of wealth. Now returned to her teenage poverty, the good life felt as out of reach to her as the shimmering waters of Lavender Bay below.

Alesia removed a few outfits from a closet that was a dozen segments deep, then began sorting them by style, storing spares in her spatial ring.

“Find whatever fits and put it on, something semi-formal,” she advised.

“Where are we going again?”

“A sombre and solemn place where people have a stick up their arse,” Alesia cautioned her student. “We're going to see my Master. He's a stickler for dress code. Say's it shows sincerity.”

Gwen uncomfortably sifted through Alesia’s wardrobe. Almost everything was red, leaving her with scarce choices for subtlety.

Her Instructor opted for a maroon, high waisted pencil skirt paired with a dark sleeveless cotton top. Gwen herself took on a vermillion-tartan bell-skirt and a white blouse with pan-collars and flared sleeves; finished with a pair of black heels.

“You’re a natural!” Alesia commended Gwen for walking in four-inch heels without tripping herself. "Well done!"

“I've always had good balance,” Gwen tactfully acknowledged her Instructor's praise.

After makeup, the duo returned to the Teleportation Circle. Once inside, Gwen watched Alesia fiddling with the glyphs until the circle once more lit up with the silver-blue light of Conjuration.

“When we arrive, there’s going to be some very unpleasant people. Stay cool, and stay behind me.”

The circle flared; they were suddenly elsewhere.

Instructor and student materialised on a dark obsidian platform, framed by a well-lit ceiling. The interior of their immediate surroundings consisted of geometric decor extending in every direction, beginning a network of corridors. There was a sterile, hospital-like ambience about the place, so quiet that Gwen could hear herself breathe.

Two guards, jackbooted and attired in ivory, approached from a guard station overlooking the Teleportation Circle.

“Major De Botton,” One of them furrowed his brow at Gwen.

“Ma’am, your companion is unauthorised for access." The other accosted them.

“I know that.” Alesia squinted at the man’s breast badge. “Cadet Edwards.”

“Please hand her over to us for quarantine.”

One of the guards moved to take Gwen's arm, only to be checked by Alesia, who placed herself between Gwen and the sentries.

“I need to see Magister Kilroy.”

“Do you have an appointment, Major De Botton?”

“No, do I need one?”

“I am afraid so, Major.”

Alesia snapped her fingers and sent a Silent Message to her Master.

“Master, I am here, and I have brought the anomaly,” she spoke to the air. Though her mouth moved, the others heard no sound.

In the next moment, a Message spell bloomed beside the guard’s ear. The sentries regarded one another before turning to face the two women.

“Proceed to platform five,” the guard named Edwards stated with suppressed impatience. “The Magister will see you now.”

Gwen cluelessly followed Alesia and their two escorts. Edwards kept glancing at her curiously, ogling her legs, while the other remained deeply critical of their presence.

The foursome soon mounted a Levitation Station. Without a sound, it began to drift, travelling through the lattice network of corridors and platforms that to Gwen, appeared to extend forever.

They were ascending rapidly, Gwen deduced when her ears popped.

At the apex, their platform docked onto an open terrace. The only notable decor was a set of double doors in stained oak, intricately carved with leaves and vines, with a garland of laurels meeting at the apex. The threshold resembled a portal to another world, somewhere far removed from the human artifice of the city.

Narnia? Gwen wondered. She could no longer be surprised.

Alesia took Gwen’s hand protectively in her own, then moved toward the door, giving the guards the cold shoulder as she did so.

With equal disregard, the guard descended.

“Walken's dogs!” Alesia swore cattily. “Told you they had a stick up their arse.”

“Where are we?” Gwen asked for the third time.

“You’re about to find out, feel free to ask him yourself.”

The double doors parted as though on cue, swing aside with a classic yawn and creak. As the portal opened, the sterile light became bathed in a warm, iridescent glow. Gwen's jaw fell as a scent of evening star jasmine enveloped their surrounding.

Past the threshold, the expectant rigidity of floor gave way to the soft depression of rich loam, burying her thin heels. She watched Alesia remove her shoes, then followed suit, feeling the turf between her toes like a fine fleece.

“Impossible…” Gwen mouthed, her eyes protesting the impossible splendour.

They were no longer in some office building, but an elfin grot, covered from ceiling to floor in viridescent mosses, grasses, and small white flowers.

In the middle of a natural atrium was a set of furniture consisting of a modest bed, a table for four, transmuted wooden chairs, and rows upon rows of bookshelves formed from the walls itself. From the ceiling, globes hung like fruits, diffusing a gentle light.

“Alesia… is this paradise?”

“… Not exactly.” Alesia giggled, her face full of expectation of what's to come. “Here is what you call a Pocket Dimension.”

Gwen breathed in the fecund air, drunk on the surplus of oxygen.

"Oh!"

Suddenly, a pair of hands, rigid and smooth, place themselves on her shoulders. From behind Gwen came a pleasant scent of incense cedar. She turned, finding herself facing an exquisitely beautiful face, impossibly perfect, possessing twin irises in the form of amber crystals.

A giantess now held Gwen captive, a woman in flowing robes of moving bark, barely covering a pair perky, sculpted breasts narrowing into a wasp’s waist, supported by long, anatomically impossible stems. Upon closer inspection, Gwen noted with dismay that it was her face which stared back at her, though the creature had made herself sickening perfect, a product of wishful fantasy.

“That’s Sufina,” Alesia introduced the woodland Sprite. “She’s Master’s nanny.”

“Greetings,” Sufina intoned. The voice, Gwen noted, did not issue from her lips. Instead, it reverberated from the walls.

“She… she’s a… tree-being?” Gwen wanted to say Monster, Magical Creature. She caught herself, however. Anyone would be upset if a stranger carelessly called them an animal.

"I am a Dryad, a Spirit-Kin."

Sufina lifted her hands from Gwen's shoulders, then effortlessly strode across the room on stiletto-like legs, floating about the place with supernatural grace. Taking a cup from a cupboard, she returned to Gwen a moment later.

“Sit. Drink."

Caught in a midsummer night's dream, Gwen obediently sat on one of the wooden stools. Sufina materialised several oaken mugs of golden liquid and a basket of dark brown bread, along with a block of floral butter.

“Treat yourself,” Alesia recommended expertly. “It’s not every day you get to eat Dryad produce fresh off the teat.”

“I am sorry?” Gwen looked at Alesia with a shocked expression, glancing at Sufina's outrageous chest. “Off the what?”

Alesia knocked back her mug of golden liquid.

“Oh! That hits the spot. Gwen, you gotta try it.”

Gwen took the cup in her hand, then gingerly drank. The liquid was thick, viscous, more akin to sap with a hint of floral honey. It was restorative ambrosia, formed of mana and vitality. She took a second sip; the fatigue of last night peeled from her body like old bark off a sprouting gumtree.

“I am glad you like it.”

Gwen looked up from her golden mead to see an old man with a trim white beard wearing an olive tweed jacket and a maroon vest. His face was weathered and worn, with a pronounced scar across the right of his temple nearly touching his right eye, bisecting powerful, prominent brows. As he came closer, Gwen noted the gent’s cheeks were sallow, hinting at a fragility that his straight and well-poised body betrayed.

“That Golden Mead, it’s all that’s keeping me alive these days.”

“Master,” Alesia curtsied, then lowered her head. "This is Gwen Song."

Gwen stood, then curtsied, then bowed, then stood awkwardly, her thin legs turning to noodles.

“So - you're the anomaly.” The old man's iron voice filled the cavern.

“Gwen.” Alesia’s reverence rose to a crescendo. “I give you Lord Henry Kaine Foster Kilroy, Magister and Master of the Ordo Arcanum Oceania!”

“I think you overdid it a bit Alesia; I sound like a Mermen God-King or something.”

“You said to make an impressive first-impression!”

“Now you're just being manipulative.”

“Well, it’s too late now, she's very impressed by the looks of it, look at her, I think her knees are buckling.”

“Sufina seems to like her. She's even taken on the girl's likeness. Any ideas? The only other person she’s ever taken to was you.”

A quick exchange via Silent Message took place between Alesia and her Master while Gwen stared with doe-eyed worship at Henry Kilroy, star-struck by the title of 'Magister'.

A Magister! She had once met the infamous cabbage, John Howard, at a barbeque in Kirribilli, and she'd only felt remotely bedazzled.

But a Magister was no Prime Minister. Here was a Mage capable of tapping into three Schools of Magic, and whose proficiency of each school had reached a profound mastery.

Barring a Meisterhood, something akin to a Nobel Prize, the title of Magister was the highest honour possible for a mortal Mage. A Magistership was the end game; an apex exemplar of Spellcraft. If Gwen was the base-stone at the foot of a pyramid; Magister Kilroy was the gold marking its granite cap.

“Its a pleasure to meet you, Magister,” Gwen intoned with the reverence of an altar boy ministered by the Pope. "I am... honoured..."

She wanted to say something profound, but her gift of gab had been stunned into silence. For a second, Gwen wondered if the man gave out autographs.

"Hahaha, the girl's too startled to speak!"

A sound of trilling laughter broke Gwen's moment of religious epiphany. Sufina once again appeared beside Gwen, now taking a liking to Gwen’s hair. With stiletto like fingers, the Sprite deftly braided Gwen's waist-length locks, cooing in pleasure as she twirled Gwen's dark curls.

“Likewise, Miss Song,” the Magister replied, his tone even-tempered and unperturbed. The elderly Mage motioned cooly with a hand. Gwen marvelled as one of the chairs moved to meet him.

Upon closer inspection, Gwen realised the chair was being grown from the floor space! It was a living thing!

Kilroy sat.

Then was suddenly sent off balance when the chair continued to move, sending him stumbling backwards.

“Master!”

Alesia rushed to Kilroy's aid, afraid that her venerable teacher would topple over and break a hip. Thankfully, a low stool sprouted from the ground and caught Henry before he lost his balance.

“Sufina, focus.” Henry's voice grew wary with annoyance. "We are before guests."

The stool morphed into an elaborate throne.

Wow, Gwen averted her eyes. To think chairs could be used to convey sarcasm.

“…” Henry sighed.

“That is why you never spoil your Familiars,” Alesia transcribed the awkward demonstration for Gwen, dispelling the serious air previously built by Henry's entry. “You try to impress, but your Familiar trips you because she didn’t like your tone.”

“Lord Kilroy?” Gwen attempted to reinvigorate the moment of solemnity to no avail. The magic was long gone.

“Just 'Sir' will do, or Magister,” Kilroy replied in a way that reminded Gwen of Alesia, making the exact motion of waving his hands offhandedly to indicate the desire for ease. “So, let's get down to business, I may not look like it, but I am a busy man.”

“Busy napping,” Alesia undermined her doting Master with a mischievous smile. "Gwen, don't be scared. He's a harmless old codger, albeit a useful one."

Sufina giggled, the Dryad's laughter sending tremors through the Grot.

“…”

Henry’s face was a map of helpless annoyance. On his wizened face, Gwen saw a doting father long given up on trying to educate his wayward daughters.

“See, this is why Gunther will always be my favourite,” the old man lamented. "He listens!"

“Hmmph!” Alesia pouted.

So even the mighty Alesia De Botton could be adorable, Gwen suppressed a secret smile. The interaction between her and her master was both paternal and admirable.

The Magister refocused his attention on Gwen.

“Gwen.” Henry's tone returned to one of solemnity. “Alesia has told me about your condition. I suppose we are here to decide what's to be done.”

“Sir?” Gwen swallowed.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

"Yes, Magister."

Sans her otherworldly origins, Gwen told the Magister all that she knew: her strange nightmare, her awakening, her vertigo and fatigue. She spoke about her experiences in the Cognisance Chamber, the training she had undergone. She then recounted her encounter with Edgar, what he had tried to do to her, and the discovery of the dark element that seemed to drain her life-force.

“…and the serpent?” The Magister enquired once Gwen had finished. Gwen looked toward Alesia, who nodded encouragingly.

Gwen recounted what she could. When she stated that she awoke from a state of near-death, restored and revitalised, the Magister’s brows raised an impressive inch. The subsequent amiability of the Mythic and the fact that she had spoken to a primordial Land God without her untempered mind imploding further fascinated the Magister.

“I am afraid there aren't many answers I can give you.” Henry intoned after Gwen's tale was done. She noted the Magister had nursed a cup of Golden Mead the whole while, taking sips every so often. “But, first things first, may I see this Kirin amulet your father gave you?”

Gwen began to untie the string around her neck, but the Magister stopped her.

“No need to remove it. I merely wish to inspect its aura.”

Gwen allowed the Core to rest against her bosom.

“Identify!"

"Detect Magic!"

Her skin crawled as Kilroy's diagnostic magic washed over her.

The Magister pursed his lips.

“As I thought, no wonder Sufina has taken such a liking to you.”

“Master?” Alesia inquired carefully.

Henry closed his eyes, allowing the collated magic to fade. When he opened his eyes again, they were back to their steely brilliance.

“The amulet is a part of something larger, for I can sense that its animus is incomplete. The materials itself is the heart-stone of something at least at an Ancient tier, below Mythic, but still very, very old. There is a capacity for the storage of spiritual Essence within the item, an entirely different form of magic altogether. For that reason, I can't tell you how the amulet works. It wasn't made with Western Spellcraft and its origins predate the Spellcraft Era. But. since it's a boon from your father, I would keep it close to your chest. Even though heirloom Magic Items may not mesh with modern Spellcraft, they may yet provide passive protection."

The Magister then instructed Gwen to hide her pendant.

"Of far more interest to us is the fact that I can detect the Mythic's vital energy within it, a portion of which…”

Henry pointed towards Gwen’s heart.

"… now resides in you.”

Alesia rejoiced. She knew it was the right idea to come and see her Master. The old man might be getting a little senile, but he was the most authoritative figure on magical phenomena in the Arcanum.

“Wha does that mean?” Gwen asked. As a novice in Spellcraft theory, half of what she had heard was non-sensical jargon.

“When the Serpent said that you were its kin,” the Magister continued. “It meant that the life-force that resides within your body is its 'kin'. I suspect the 'essence' of the egg has seeped into your amulet. As for the egg itself, I can safely assume its an Indigenous Spirit Stone - said to be the discarded Core of Mythic beings that inhabit our vast brown land."

“But the serpent was alive and well,” Gwen countered. "Cores come from dead Magical Creatures, don't they?"

Henry took a sip from his cup, refilled by a helpful Sufina.

“Mythic beings are essentially immortal, especially with serpents, pheonixes and certain species of dragons - they perish and are reborn many times, each time leaving behind something of its past. The egg you saw was something akin to shed-skin.”

Gwen nodded in half-comprehension.

“This brings us to our next problem.” The Magister gestured, putting the previous topic aside.

“The dilemma of your association with a Mythic Class Being.”

Gwen shivered under Kilroy's studied gaze.

“I’ll explain.” Alesia leaned over and held Gwen’s hand, offering the girl her warmth and sympathy. “What I am about to tell you isn't going to be pleasant, but I hope you understand the position you and I are now in.”

Gwen lowered her eyes, anticipating the worst.

“First of all Gwen, you can commune with the Mythic, which means you are capable of influencing its actions, however trivial. That means, unfortunately for you, that you are a state asset. The ability to move a Land God is not something any government would allow to walk the streets freely.”

“Next, what would happen if the Frontier Government or the Commonwealth Tower found out? Not everyone in the Tower is forgiving and slothful like Master here. Most of them are old codgers who would like nothing more than to wage another Great Purge on the coast to expand their influence. Be it the Grey Faction or the Militant Faction, either would love to lay their hands on you. If they do, there are two potential outcomes-”

“One: quarantine. Keep you segregated from the rest of the world, then try to figure out a way to extract the energy from your body. After all, as Master said, it’s not Gwen Song who the creature finds kinship with, it's the Essence it was speaking to, mistaking you for a sibling or the like.”

Gwen’s complexion paled.

“Two: and this is the preferred option - we keep you in complete stasis and isolation. Simply put you away until such time that you are useful or no longer dangerous. The same option also includes killing you, although I doubt it. The Tower is obsessed with potential war assets.”

Cold sweat permeated Gwen's torso, drenching her thin white blouse. How could this be? Had she jumped from the frying pan into the fire? Was she was going to become a specimen in a bottle?

“That’s the circumstances we are looking at,” Alesia finished.

“... Alesia, can you help me?”

She was grasping at straws, but Gwen made the request regardless. Instinctively, she knew her freedom was entirely dependent upon the charity of the two in front of her. This time, without the need for coaxing, her brimming eyes begged for sympathy.

"Henry, help her." It was Sufina who advised her Master.

"Master, you have to help her," Alesia intoned as well, imploring her teacher.

Three pairs of eyes, hazel, ultramarine, and glowing amber, shifted swimmingly toward the Lord Magister of Sydney Tower.

Henry Kaine Foster Kilroy, Lord Magister of the Oceanian Tower, knew he was now at a crossroad.

The pragmatic outcome was obvious, but Henry had seen enough dilemmas play out poorly to trust the inhuman arithmetic of logic. After all, had he not taken on Alesia against all advice, twenty years ago? That impulsive decision had saved tens of thousands of lives, gifting humanity with a flaming-spear to keep the Mermen at bay, simultaneously sparing his conscience.

This girl, Gwen Song, was alike Alesia in many ways. Henry could guess why his favourite student had taken to the anomaly, enough at least, to risk her livelihood. With renewed interest, he studied the girl, watching her pupils dilated and contract, noting the uncommon intelligence in Gwen's eyes.

Was he fit to take on another burden?

He had made three such decisions prior: irrevocably changing three lives.

His wife, Elizabeth.

His first apprentice, Gunther.

And his second, Alesia.

Was there now going to be a fourth? Had he enough time left in him to take on another?

A subtle smiled touched Henry Kilroy's lips.

The Magister was surprised to find himself so amicable, wondering if the years had dulled his paranoia and instead rewarded him with erudition. The passage of time makes it easier to be wise, Henry noted with self-serving sagacity, not to mention something about the girl stirred his curiosity. Alesia had asserted the girl possessed two elements, though she couldn't confirm her hypothesis.

“Then we are agreed, the buck stops here,” Henry pronounced after a minute of harrowing rumination, quoting the legendary American Magister, Harry S. Truman. “Gwen's secret remains between you and I. BUT - nothing comes free; an assurance must be exacted.”

Alesia exhaled deeply; she patted Gwen’s white-knuckled fingers to informed her that the worst was over, furthermore inferring that Gwen had better accept her master’s proposal, else it was back to perpetual Stasis.

"I agree-"

“Don't accept so carelessly,” the Magister intoned, thinking of fortifying the girl's resolve. "I warrant we're not giving you much choice here, but still, your commitment must be one of free will. Tell me, child, what Path do you walk? What is it that you want for yourself?"

What did she want?

Gwen wished she knew the answer to the Magister's gentle enquiry. Rationally, she knew that she wanted safety, leisure and ease of life; but was that possible in this world? Wasn't their current crisis precise because her communion with a Mythic-being implied she could single-handedly destroy the safety, comfort, and ease of every other human being in Sydney? In a world where men and women flew through the sky and conjured balls of fire and plasma against monsters, was it even realistic to assume that the warm embrace of mediocrity was a possible option? She had seen the NoMs living in the city, aimless and unemployed, or otherwise existing in humdrum - is that what she aspired to? To live a life of scarcity and irrelevance?

What did she want?

Gwen searched for Alesia and saw a potential answer in her talented Instructor. Beside the Scarlet Sorceress, the figure of the smiling old man and his demi-goddess servant provided another.

“You can be honest with me, child.” The Magister’s voice was a deep, reverberating baritone. “Whatever you may wish, there is no shame. I will accommodate you to the best of the Tower's capacities.”

Gwen's chest expanded with bated breath, her lungs on the verge of bursting. In her old world, such delusions of grandeur applied only to madmen; men whose dreams and manifestos resulted in the death and misery of millions.

“I…” Gwen found her voice, but the words choked and died on her tongue. She knew the words to be wrong. “I … I want…”

Her mouth felt full of ash, her head a raging torrent of strange emotions. Was it so hard to just come out and say something so realistic for a world at war? What would be the harm? Wasn't this a world of Gods and Monsters?

“What do you want? Gwen Song?” The Magister pressed on, teasing open Pandora's sacred receptacle.

“I want… POWER.”

The dirty word came to Gwen at last, the tension flowing from her like an open dam.

“I want the power to protect myself."

"I want the power to protect my friends."

"I want the power to live my life without fear.”

“That’s all?” Magister Kilroy's smile was serene as he twiddled his fingers, forming arcane circles.

Gwen was behind herself now, the words of her old world pouring forth from her lips like a torrent.

“I want the power to punish those who would wrong me. I want to harry the foxes, frighten the wolves, and slaughter the tigers that bar my way! I want the power to terrify those who injure me so that I need fear no vengeance!”

The cynical words of Machiavelli, so laughably hyperbolic and disturbing in her old world, slipped from her tongue like a key into a well-oiled lock, unlocking parts of her she hadn’t known existed. Or perhaps they had always existed; she couldn't help wonder if this was how autocrats and psychopaths were born.

“Excellent!” The Magister roared with satisfying laughter, his mirth rolling across the room and filling its spaces.

“There is no shame in wanting power,” Henry commended his newest ward. “In the study of Spellcraft, Gwen, we call the manifesto we chose the Path. For those of us in the Center Faction of the Middle Path, power is a means, not an end. It is a beast that must be tamed to achieve Greatness!"

“Greatness?” Gwen demanded breathlessly, her earlier confessional had taken a toll on her stamina.

“Yes Gwen, Greatness.”

“The Path of Greatness?”

The old man’s eyes twinkled.

“Alesia, the Credo please.”

Alesia stood from her chair and began to speak like a school girl commanded by a headmaster, her own eyes ablaze with fervent dogma.

“Greatness is the Path of Spellcraft."

“Greatness is not found in oneself.”

"Greatness is how one affects those around him.”

“Greatness is that which does not lie in strength alone, but the noble employment of power; for one is greatest whose strength carries the weight of other’s hearts."

Alesia's intonation quivered with enthusiasm. Beside her, the Magister listened to his student speak with a look of dreamy satisfaction, like one listening to the crescendo of an overture. Though he knew it to be the influence of an Enchantment he had invoked to draw out his students' raw, untainted emotions, the Credo proved as inspiring as the day he and his companions had penned it.

"Thank you, Alesia." Kilroy turned to their guest. "That is the creed of the Tower, Gwen, what is your opinion of our Path?”

Gwen shook with unexplainable emotions. A rapturous ardour burst within her like the swelling sea at high tide. Effortlessly, she found her next words.

“Greatness,” she declared in the next moment, finding herself channelling the wisdom of Emerson, “Greatness is the binding of superior advantage to larger generosity, that which we call Noblesse Oblige!"

“Exactly!” The Magister’s eyes widened with unexpected pleasure. What insight! What wisdom!

"The abuse of power," Gwen's voice raised in pitch and volume, invoking the Bard. "Is when remorse is disjointed from Greatness!"

“Gwen, that's... that's perfect!” The Magister found himself applauding the girl. Such clarity! Such brilliance! He had studied the Credo for half a century and yet, he had not uncovered words that encapsulated his ethos so well.

Opposite the Magister, Gwen was scarlet with shame over her plagiarism. She looked over at Alesia and Henry, now regarding her with open fascination, as though she was the Magister and they were the Acolyte.

Alesia's fists clenched, beside her, the veins on Magister Kilroy's wrinkled neck pulsed with undulating intensity.

As the fever of Gwen's mind cooled, she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right impression.

While Gwen awaited her verdict, the Magister and his Apprentice were having a silent exchange of their own.

“Master, you had better dismiss Heighten Emotion, we're all getting too worked up. Your heart...”

“I am fine… I am fine… Where did you find this girl? One of the Great Houses?”

“At Blackwattle… near the Fish Market.”

“From a government school? Then how is she saying all of this? Did you teach her the Credo?”

“Never mentioned it.”

“Yet, she understands the Tower's charter better than its most senior member. She’s just given us the answers our scholars had struggled with for aeons!"

“Well, she IS an anomaly…”

“…”

From Gwen's perspective, Magister Kilroy silently sipped his Golden Mead for a minute before he could work up enough energy to continue. Sufina coddled the old man while still in Gwen's likeness; a sight which made Gwen incredibly uncomfortable.

“So - an assurance,” Henry said finally, after soothing out his breath and making sure he had indeed dispelled the enchantment. “You will submit yourself to a Greater Geas.”

Gwen's expression was uncomprehending.

Alesia moved to explain.

“It’s a more powerful, permanent form of the Quest spell…”

Gwen's comprehension was one of vacancy.

“It’s a compulsion spell that punishes you and alerts Master if you break a promise to a condition we set,” Alesia explained in laymen's terms. “In this case, you are going to promise that you will not use your ability to commune with the Mythic to do anything hostile toward the city, towards other humans, except for extreme self-preservation. You also promise to tell no one about our Geas, the serpent, or our decision to shield you from the Tower.”

Gwen nodded.

She didn't have to like it to agree, for she understood that this was the best Alesia could offer under the circumstances. Alesia had already put herself in danger, and now her Master was also invested. There was little else to be said other than to accept the Geas with good grace.

“I understand," Gwen affirmed. “Let's do it.”

“Woa, hold your horses, Tiger, you get to negotiate as well. We’re not bandits.”

“I am fine," she replied. "I should be thankful that you are risking your skins for my sake.”

Alesia glanced at her Master, who gave her a look that seemed to suggest she should learn from Gwen's maturity.

The Scarlet Sorceress pouted sulkily.

“Well then.” Magister Kilroy cleared his throat, “If you have no specific request, then please listen to mine.”

“Anything, Sir." Gwen felt genuine admiration for the sagely Magister. At the same time, she was also a little jealous of the father-daughter kinship the old Mage enacted with Alesia. Gwen herself had never experienced such paternal guidance: which, in Gwen's opinion, likely accounted for the dubious decisions she had made in her adolescence.

“Ahem, yes, well, if you insist.” Henry appeared troubled by Gwen's earnestness. “I want to take you on as my Apprentice if you are willing. One, as compensation for accepting the Geas spell, and two, because I think you agree with our philosophy so very well. I have never met anyone who surmised our Credo so completely.”

Apprentice!

Apprentice?

To a Magister?!

Apprentice to Alesia's Master? A Mage whose domain encompassed the city of Sydney? Gwen immediately looked towards Alesia for affirmation; her Instructor also wore an expression of disbelief.

Gwen's heart sank.

“Alesia… would that be okay?” She knew she owed Alesia more than she could repay. It was entirely possible her saviour had no desire to share her privilege. If so, she'll respect Alesia's wishes.

“What are you talking about Gwen! That would be wonderful!” Alesia leapt from her chair and embraced Gwen, planting a big kiss on her cheek. “We are sisters now! I am your sister-in-craft now! Gwennie!”

“Big Sis!” Gwen called out, feeling doubly awkward because she was technically older than Alesia.

“Little Sis!” Alesia tasted the word rolling off her tongue and loved it.

Henry patiently waited as his students, new and old, performed a happy little dance.

“A new member of the family? Huzzah!” The room resounded with the sound of shivering autumn leaves. Sufina joined the duo. As a Dyrad; she was highly sensitive to joyous emotions, which served as a form of nourishment.

"Sir!" Gwen struggled free, then fell to one knee. It seemed the correct thing to do. "I accept your blessing!"

Gwen made the supplicating gesture of placing her right hand upon her left breast. Following Alesia's instruction, she then swore that she would serve Kilroy and his Credo to the best of her ability.

"I accept."

When Gwen rose from the floor, the Grot once again filled with celebratory air, thick with the scent of jasmine in bloom.

Watching the women swig down mugs of Golden Mead, Magister Henry Kilroy, Master of the Sydney Tower, came upon a hair-raising epiphany.

Gwen.

Alesia.

Sufina.

Was his grotto to be filled with women, young, unruly and supernatural? What would happen if they ganged up or henpecked him? Would he ever know peace again?

“Sufina, the scroll.”

After carefully explaining each article and clause to their newest member, the Great Geas was ready to be expended.

Gwen pricked her thumb on a mithril dagger, then placed a bloody print into the scroll. In the next moment, a silver fire consumed the parchment.

"Oh~."

A tingly sensation suffused her skin. Distinctly, she sensed through her mind's eye that there was now a cluster of golden Enchantment orbiting her Astral Body like a satellite.

“There'll be a throbbing pain if you're about to renege on the agreement,” Henry informed her. “And as agreed, I would be notified immediately.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Gwen replied before hurriedly correcting herself. “Master.”

After Gwen delivered her sickly sweet 'Master,' Alesia relaxed, finally landing on the solid ground after two days of Flight. Now that her Master had ensured Gwen's preservation, it was time to find some answers to questions that had been gnawing at her since Gwen revealed her talents.

“Master, if you still have the time, I highly recommend taking Gwen to the Cognisance Observatory.”

“Oh? Gwen's that impressive, is she?”

Gwen felt a blush coming on, Alesia was overextending her praise. Surely she would disappoint her new Master. After all, Alesia was at least tier 6 Evocation, with an insane aptitude for Fire. Gwen was a measly tier 2. It was like comparing a Pomeranian to a Displacer Beast.

“Gwen, do you mind?” Alesia nudged her sister-in-craft. She told Gwen that it was a rare enterprise to have a Magister overlook one's skills. Usually, Mages paid hundreds in HDMs just for a fraction of Henry’s time, begging for mystical solutions to arcane enquiries.

"I would love to!” Gwen raised her hand in affirmation.

Finally, the extent of her new prospects weighed in on her. My Master is a Magister! Did that mean she was now in unassailable position?

Or at least, that was what Gwen had thought until Alesia informed her of the dangers of being Henry Kilroy's Apprentice.

"Don't celebrate yet, Gwen. Apprenticeships aren't public information," Alesia explained. The reasons for discretion were many, though principally it was for the Apprentice's protection until they could stand on their own. Kidnapping, bribery and harassment of a Magister's prized Apprentices were a few of many ways to influence a Magister's decisions, especially one like Henry Kilroy.

As such, though her Master would be available to guide Gwen down her Path of Spellcraft, he would not make their relationship public and official until they could fend for themselves.

Even Alesia, a known associate of the Magister for two decades, was only seen by the outside world as a protégé, an Acolyte mentee who ran errands for the Magister in exchange for knowledge and favours.

“You also have a brother-in-craft as well,” Alesia’s eyes were half-closed when she spoke, a little excitement creeping into her voice. “His name is Gunther Schultz. We're in the same boat, though everyone correctly assumes Gunther is Master's official Apprentice."

Gunther Shultz. It wasn't the first time Gwen had heard the name.

"Not knowing our true relationship offers us significant flexibility," Henry grinned. "But enough of that. Let us proceed to the Great Cognisance Chamber. I am curious as to your sister-in-craft's enthusiasm."

Kilroy guided the duo to the exit of the pocket dimension, explaining to Gwen that that 'Grot' was the domain of his dear companion, Sufina. In the event of an intrusion, the Dryad could keep hostile Mages trapped indefinitely, wandering the endless hallways of her pocket dimension.

Beyond the oaken doors, a Levitation platform rose to meet them.

“Where’s Sufina?” Gwen noticed the giantess had suddenly disappeared.

Henry tapped his skull.

“Sufina dislikes the distorted space of the Tower,” he replied. “She’s a creature of nature.”

The platform arrived with the addition of two guards in white.

“My Lord!” The men snapped to attention.

“Cadets,” Henry greeted the Tower's Guards-cum-Valets. “No.1 Observatory, please.”

Once outside the Grot, Alesia resumed her resting bitch face. Gwen's attention wandered here and there, split between the architectural spectacle, her amiable new Master, and Alesia's hostile demeanour.

The lift drifted through the Tower's interior, where behind thick, mana reinforced glass Gwen could see Mages at work. So this is a Tower, Gwen hungrily took in the wondrous sight, a construct of magic housing the best and brightest Mages.

A few strata consisted of offices, appearing no different to a commercial centre. Others were to be chaotic rooms used for training, shielded to prevent damage to the walls. Up higher, four consecutive floors looked like ancient libraries with row upon rows of grimoires that made Gwen’s fingers itch. Higher still, glass panes revealed what looked like laboratories filled with white-robed Mages. When Gwen spotted the moving form of a half-crustacean humanoid raging against a clear mana barrier, she yelped in surprise.

"Don't mind it, Gwen," Henry informed her. "A specimen, nothing more."

Finally, they arrived at the beginning of yet another corridor, where the platform docked itself with a sound of metal kissing metal.

“Observatory No1, my Lord.” The guards snapped to either side of the platform, allowing them to pass. As Gwen passed one of the guards, she caught a look in his eyes which sent goosebumps prickling across her skin.

The man's narrowing, unrelenting gaze transmute a feeling she knew well. It was jealousy over the fact that she, a young woman of no recognisable value or importance, was going to be spending time in a Cognisance Chamber with the Lord Magister! Demurely, she averted her gaze, her cheeks hot with mortification.

“Leave us,” the Magister intoned coldly. The platform descended after another autocratic hail of “Yessir!”

“What a racket.” Henry turned away.

“Comes with the territory,” Alesia snorted. “At least you didn't have to sign autographs.”

“I thought you enjoyed your glory days.” Henry chuckled. “You were so young, so pure, not cynical and twisted like you are now; flying around in that battledress, the dreams and hopes of young men everywhere in the military. Where did it all go wrong?”

“You made me what I am,” Alesia shot back, grinning at her Master. "No backsies."

“Gwen…” Kilroy lamented helplessly.

“Yes, Master?”

“Don’t turn out like Alesia; the additional stress would kill me."

The Tower's Cognisance Chamber was far more extensive than the one Gwen had been in at school.

It was more like a gymnasium, with a ceiling of six or seven meters and just as wide and long, forming a sterile white space.

Henry waved a hand. The room sunk immediately into darkness.

Space fell away. In the next moment, the trio stood upon the Astral Plane. One by one, orbs of varying colours began to manifest.

“Gwen,” Henry beckoned his youngest Apprentice to come closer. Above her, about her and below, arcane phenomena bathed her in technicolour. “How well do you know the Elemental Planes?”

“Only what the textbook indicated, Master.”

Henry nodded, moving his hands. Around her, Gwen saw the expansion of a galaxy more detailed and more extraordinary than anything she could imagine.

He pointed to the zenith. “Positive.”

He pointed to the nadir. “Negative”

He pointed to the four compass-corners. “Earth, Fire, Water, Air”

He pointed to an area alive with crawling motes of electrical energy.

“Where Air and Positive meet, there is Lightning.”

He pointed to a place that was tenebrous and threatening.

“The man who tried to assault you was Dust, the meeting of Negative Energy and Earth.”

The clarifying vision brought new epiphanies into Gwen's theory-addled mind. So many questions that had plagued her ramshackle understanding clarified at once.

The Magister continued.

“Lightning, Steam, Mineral, Radiance.” Henry pointed toward the space between the Prime Elements and the Positive Element.

“Smoke, Magma, Ooze, Ice,” Henry continued, pointing to the linear intersections where the Primary Elements met. “Often mistaken for quasi-elemental. These are Para-Elemental Planes, free from Positive or Negative influence.”

Finally, he pointed below at the absolute darkness that is the Negative Plane and its corners.

“Ash, Dust, Salt…” The Magister paused. “...and Void.”

The vision faded.

“Gwen, please manifest,” he commanded.

Gwen opened her mind’s eye. A parallel vision coalesced on the floor below, reflecting her astral form: a lithe, transparent body filled with clear motes of lightning and uncertain motes of something else.

“Beautiful.” Alesia touched a hand to her mouth. “What a wonderful Astral Form, Gwen, such clarity!”

“Alesia, if you would join us.”

Alesia followed suit; it was an ultimate act of trust, for exposing one’s Astral Body was akin to bearing one's soul, leaving nothing to hide.

Flame began to manifest from underneath Alesia, expanding as a swarm of fireflies taking flight until slowly, the silhouette of a feminine figure took form. Unlike Gwen’s crystalline visage, the edges of Alesia's Astral Form was a heat haze. Her Astral Projection then grew in intensity until it became a roaring forest fire, first red, then yellow, then blue, then ultimately, white. When she finished, the Chamber was aglow with iridescence, illuminated by a woman-shaped fission reactor.

“Tone it down a little, Alesia.” Henry shielded his eyes with a localised Abjuration.

Alesia diminished her output until her Astral Body assumed the comfortable glow of a hearth fire.

“I understand you want to show off, but Gwen’s going to need new eyes." Gwen's Master murmured.

Alesia staggard back when Gwen reappeared with two swollen orbs, watery with tears.

“So…so wonderful…” Gwen attempted to give her sister-in-craft a thumbs-up, pointed at an entirely different direction.

“I am so sorry Gwen…” Alesia fumbled for an injector then gave her blinded sister-in-craft a shot in the arm, restoring her seared pupils.

“So rash…” Henry shook his head, that temperament of hers was the reason he withheld a public Apprentice from Alesia.

With her vision restored, Gwen breathed a little easier.

“Right, let's continue.” Henry reminded them. “Gwen, use your favourite spell."

Gwen closed her eyes, focused her mind, then began her chant.

"Blast Bolt!"

She channelled her favourite Evocation magic, observing the interchange of mystical energies within her body.

A stink of ozone followed the flash of Lightning.

Henry clapped.

“Now try your other element,” Henry commanded. "The Void Element."

"The Void... Element, Sir?"

"Go on, see how well it answers your call."

"Blast Bolt!"

Gwen attempted to channel the black motes of energy within her body into the Evocation Sigil, but the Elemental Gate remained dormant. She tried again, but the tenebrous specks appeared oblivious to her will.

“… I am sorry Master." Gwen's face was scarlet. "I can't."

“That’s fine… What was it like when you used the Void Element last time?”

Clearing her mind, she recounted a few hypotheticals. The first time, she deduced, was likely after her terrible ordeal at her mother’s luncheon, where she had a meltdown in the middle of Hyde Park. The next time would be when Edgar attempted to consume her ego.

“… and both time you had…” Alesia asked uncomfortably. “Thoughts of self-harm?”

Gwen lowered her head. She knew it was a weakness, one brought by fear and despair, uncertainty and self-loathing.

“No need to feel ashamed,” Henry's assurance was calm and soothing. “I am familiar with the Void Element myself. Void, you see, is triggered by intensely negative emotions - not unusual seeing that the Negative Plane corresponds strongly to death and destruction, just as the Positive Plane enables life and restoration.”

Kilroy considered the visage of Gwen's Astral Body a moment more before appearing to make a decision.

"I am sorry," Gwen wondered if she had displeased her new Master already if he was regretting taking her on.

“Your Astral Body is unique,” He began. “Twin elements, oppositional in polarity, a true oddity. One that is perhaps, rarer than my own. Observe-"

Without effort, Henry expanded his Astral presence, filling the reflection below with a pyrotechnic of colour. From Gwen's perspective, Henry Kilroy's mana signature was an astral wonder.

First, there was Fire.

Then came Water.

A rusty ochre indicated Earth.

The fourth, barely visible, could only be Air.

“Do you see?”

Gwen nodded. She saw though she did not comprehend. The manifestation was impossible; it made no sense. For Henry to possess four Primary Elements meant that her textbooks were full of lies.

The Magister then opened his palm, and Gwen saw a miniature Sufina, chubby and cute, move within the space of his palm.

“Fire, Water, Earth, Air - Evocation, Conjuration, Transmutation,” the Magister said solemnly. “Together, they make the Prime Material, invisible to us because we miss the forest for the trees. My unique Element, Gwen, is the element of Life.”

Gwen nodded, too awed to speak.

“Don't fret over your inexperience. We were all young, once. When I was a child, they called me a fool, a useless nincompoop. When I was a young man, they called me a prodigy. When I was an adult, they called me a Magus. When I grew older, they called me Magister. Do you wish to know the lesson I learned, Gwen?"

"Master?"

"I sought out guidance, Gwen. With humility and without shame. Far and wide I travelled and tested myself, visiting all the Maguses and Magisters who were willing to teach me, telling them about my talents.”

The Magister gave Gwen a look that was full of knowing, hinting at something that made Gwen’s stomach lurch.

“We all have our secrets. People fear those who are different, what cannot be attained by themselves especially, but that's just human nature. They would call you strange, reject you, accuse you, or mayhap they would do the opposite, uphold you, put you on a pedestal. Your Void Element: it is rare, and it is incredibly dangerous. But do not fear that which is a part of you. Control it, don’t let it control and feed on you. Don't hide it from the world and let it fester.”

“Thank you, Master…” The old man’s wise words filled Gwen with warmth, but then the old Master's next words poured over her like a bucket of arcane ice.

“But back to the topic of guidance, Gwen Song.” Kilroy's voice rose an octave, as though a man who suddenly found himself in possession of the world’s largest rough diamond. “If you don't mind, my Apprentice, can you explain to me why you have yet to Awaken?”

When the Gwen was just sixteen, her father remarried. His fiancèe was a younger caucasian woman only five-years older than Gwen. Before their engagement, Gwen had met her a dozen times, each time keeping out of her way. A week before the wedding, her future step-mother decided to have an unexpected heart to heart.

“You’re a bad influence on your father,” she sobbed, standing so close that her forehead almost touched Gwen's chin. “You have too much of your mother in you. It is making our family miserable.”

It wasn't an unreasonable accusation. Gwen's insolent rebellion against her father did somewhat castrate Morye's masculine authority.

“I’ve waited three months for you to leave already. We want you gone. What do you want? Money? A place to stay? That’s all fine. We’ll pay for it, so long as you get out of the house."

Morye wasn't a confrontational father and so had left Gwen's inevitable exodus to take its natural course. Gwen had planned to save up money working her summer job at Bondi, then move out to a state housing project for teens in Crowsnest, not far from Blackwattle.

Though not unsympathetic for her step-mother, something in Gwen's gut had caught on a nail. She promised her future step-mother that she would move out, then promptly called Helena, informing her father was getting married, at this location, at this particular time. Fearing that her mother wasn't enough of a shit-storm, she also called Kwan and told him the step-mother had designs on her and Percy’s inheritance.

The wedding had gone swimmingly after that; right up shit creek.

At the ceremony, several large vans deposited buckets of excreta over the gates, the red carpet, and a part of the venue's decor. It was a symbolic message of displeasure delivered by a well-connected and influential family.

“How did Helena know?”

“How did Kwan find out?”

The bride's eyes turned toward Gwen, who froze on the spot.

They knew.

What did her new Master and her sister-in-craft suspect?

Gwen felt paralysed by that familiar 'oh shit' feeling.

How to explain that a part of her soul, presumably her original partition, wasn't Awakened? Wasn't the 'Awakening' the single most important thing taught to Mages, indoctrined and emphasised from birth?

“I... I am not Awakened?” Her mind was a shamble of tangled thorns, her tongue caught in a barb wire snare. “I… I don’t know.”

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Gwen screamed to herself, useless brain!

“Impossible!” Alesia was no less surprised than Gwen. “She'd been an Evoker the whole time. I trained her myself!”

Henry's eyes glinted.

“Look here.” He pointed at Gwen’s astral form, where her crystalline silhouetted body was reflected below. “The interaction between her Lightning Element and her Evocation Sigil is strange, don't you think? Notice how they detour and branch out before manifesting outside her body.”

Gwen looked down and observed to her distress that discharges of electricity from her Evocation Sigil were indeed circulating here and there needlessly.

How was I supposed to know that! Gwen screamed internally, the textbooks we had were pieces of shit, they barely explained anything other than common phenomena! Fuck this world and its lack of Wikipedia!

“A portion of her Astral Soul remains intact and untouched,” Henry intoned sagely with a flourish. “Virginal, even!”

“…” Gwen’s complexion caught fire.

Alesia threw her master an admonishing glare.

“So… Gwen, my Apprentice,” Henry hurriedly continued, dismissing his faux pas. “You don’t know?”

“No Sir,” Gwen confessed. "I wasn't very studious at school."

"You know nothing?"

Gwen shook, then nodded, then shook her head.

“Ah well.” Henry shrugged. "No worries."

“Sir?” Gwen spluttered. "I am sorry?"

“It's fine. I said,” The Magister repeated himself.

“Why, Master?” Gwen's shock and horror were now turning into indignation and confusion. It was fine, no worries? Was the mystery of her dual-Elemental origin merely a lark at the pub? Was she a sheep with an extra horn? She'd been so terrified of becoming an other-worldly specimen that she could have peed!

Henry's expression informed Gwen she was the one who was unreasonable.

"Must you have an answer, child?" Henry chuckled. “I don’t know why ‘I’ could tap into the Prime elements but not the Positive nor Negative, either.”

The Magister continued.

“I don’t know why Alesia can channel the heat of a radiant star without her Astral Form imploding.”

“I don’t know why the Dragons don’t just wipe us from the face of this earth once and for all.”

“I don’t know the hearts of men, especially the brazen ambitions of my fellow Magisters.”

“I don’t know if I made the right choice in offering you a Geas.”

Henry Kilroy, Master of the Sydney Tower, laughed.

“Do you know the reason why your Astral Body remained dormant?”

The answer was 'no'.

Gwen awoke in another world without any discernable reason. She tapped into both Void and Lightning, all the while knowing very little about Spellcraft or Magic. What happened to the old Gwen? Where did her anima go? Was her current being an amalgamation of both Gwens or merely her own?

“No…” Gwen answered with absolute honesty.

“Then who am I to know?” The Magister had an expression of a wise professor imparting a gift of erudition. “The sea of knowledge has no boundaries; we are but sailors skimming its unfathomable depth. So much more knowledge remains to be uncovered, buried a full fathom five, deep below with the bones of the world. Who would have the courage to delve so deep?"

Gwen exhaled, the cadence of her heart's palpitation eased.

She realised that the whole while, her Master was trying to elucidate her fears and staunch her paranoia, setting her woes at peace. His meandering speeches reminded her a little of Plato's account of his teacher, Socrates, whose instruction took place through dialogue, not indoctrination. She was beginning to understand why Alesia gave off such a feeling of cool independence and confidence in everything she did, happily owning every action and decision.

"I think I understand," Gwen replied.

“Good. There is no shame in not knowing. It is when you cease to be curious that you are truly ignorant.” Henry indicated to her reflection. “But for now, let's see some progress."

“Progress?” Gwen's tongue had loosened enough to venture beyond fragments of speech. "Progress to what, Master?"

“Oh, you naive little girl…” Henry’s gaze blazed with great expectation. “Why, your Awakening, dear.”

“How exciting!” Alesia squealed, swinging Gwen's hand to and fro. “Gwen, if this goes well, you're very quickly going to become a Magus! To think that you’re going to embark on the Path with two Schools of Magic, and you’re only fifteen! The others are going to struggle to catch up!”

For some reason, Gwen thought of Yue and Elvia. She wondered if they had safely arrived back at the dorm yet.

“I wouldn’t count your cockatrices before they hatch,” Henry warned them. “The ideal scenario is that Gwen awakens a second school. There's a chance I am wrong as well. I am no Oracle.”

He turned to Gwen. The Magister then produced a sphere from his Storage Ring, a quartz crystal the size of a human head. Months ago, a similar device had initiated Gwen onto the Path of Spellcraft.

“This prototype is much higher tier than the common crystal used by government schools. It is crafted from drake-stone, mined from Lightning Ridge. We are replacing the Awakening Stones region by region, though I am afraid it will be some time yet before the public systems receive theirs."

“Who knows what talents we'd have missed all these years,” Alesia snidely critiqued. “All that potential, maybe more Mages like you, undetected.”

Gwen placed her hand on the stone.

"I am ready, Master."

“Channel your unmodified mana into the stone first, Gwen,” Henry instructed. “I am curious to see if your Sigil can tap into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void."

"I'll try."

The transparent mana of her Astral body surged into the Awakening Stone, bringing it to life. Its ingrained conduits refined Gwen's raw mana before returning the condensed energy into her mana pool.

A safe distance from Gwen, Henry Kilroy activated a suite of diagnostic magic, studying his student as the mana orb made its way to her chest, mingling with her existing energies.

Gwen meanwhile, finally saw the Awakening as it occurred. When she had taken the stone initially, it was without the aid of a Cognisance Chamber; a government school did not possess the HDMs necessary to make such an effort for untested Acolytes. Even if they could, the Cognisance Chamber at the school was an ancient relic from the 50s. The Sydney Tower's Observatory No.1 was imported from Germany, a marvellous piece of European magical engineering.

As her soul melded into her Astral Form, she came to a renewed understanding of the underlying metaphysical principles of Magic. The Sigil, the Conduit, the Elemental Gate; one by one, she saw within the Chamber a detailed visualisation of how they manifested arcane phenomenon, translating will and energy into matter and effect.

One by one, new conduits condense within Gwen's physical body. Correspondingly, her Astral Body also underwent significant changes. Pox-like black dots of Void matter begin to collate, forming a dark nebular rivalling the electric tempest illuminating Gwen's Astral projection.

“Master, isn't that a Negative Energy Gate? Would Gwen be okay?” Alesia intoned worriedly.

“No, not that. Nothing living can survive pure, unadulterated Negative Energy,” Henry noted solemnly. “Unless Gwen originates from a line of Egyptian Jackal Priests or is secretly allied with the Death Priests of Coatlicue, I doubt she'll Awaken to the Path of Undeath."

The Magister regarded the dark motes of Energy manifesting even now,

"That, Alesia, is the Void Element." Kilroy's voice seemed to meander somewhere far away. “A voracious and ruthless Element fuelled by eternal hunger. There is a reason why we so seldom see Mages of this element, can you guess why, Alesia?”

Alesia looked toward her Master alarmingly. Gwen, a Void Mage?

“It is because the fuel for Void spells consist of life, light, and existence itself. It is corrosive by nature, an Element that ultimately consumes its host.”

“So... Void Mages destroy themselves? Is Gwen going to be okay?"

“I do not know," Henry repeated his earlier anaphora.

“Should we let her continue to manifest?” Alesia demanded alarmingly; she would rather Gwen be mediocre than having her sister-in-craft perish from self-harm.

“She should be fine, for now. In time, we shall see if she destroys herself, or if we have to take up that mantle."

"You're talking about..."

"Yes."

"But you can guide her, right? We can guide Gwen so that she doesn't misuse the Void element."

“There will come a time…” Henry's eyes gazed into a middle distance Alesia could not see. “...when the hunger becomes too great. It begins, at first, with those struck down by one's spells, whose essence nourishes the Void, slowly offsetting the effects of using the element. Then, with increased expertise, it becomes easier, quicker and more convenient, to draw upon that absurd power continually. With each tier of progressively more powerful spells, the Void Mage desires alternate sources to sustain their magic. Items at first, supplemental magic, then small sacrifices here and there, a few Drain Life rituals, maybe use your enemies’ vitality against them. Eventually, inevitably, the hunger takes over the Mage's mind, it’s all they think about, the more power they accumulate, the more biomass they need to consume, until finally…”

“Master," Alesia interjected, cutting off her Master's mumbling tirade. "Surely you're giving Gwen a chance!"

Kilroy met his student's imploring gaze.

In a second, he restored his mind to clarity.

"Of course. Did I not take Gwen on as an Apprentice? What manner of a Master would I be to shirk from the duty of polishing a difficult gem? Other would only do her wrong."

"But you just said-" Alesia stopped. "You will? So the Void isn't dangerous?"

Henry's voice seems to grow in strength as he spoke his next words.

"Wood, Void, Lightning - Elements are just that, Alesia: sources of blind and unfeeling primordial energy. I speak of the Void, its nature - not Gwen herself. For a young girl to know our Credo better than even ourselves, who am I to judge how she will take to her Void-tinged powers? As I said, I am not the Oracle of Delphi. It is the spell of the heart that murders, not the spell of the hand, do you understand?"

"I think I do, Master," Alesia worriedly answered. The Flame Magus had seldom seen her master in such a contemplative mood.

Kilroy patted his second Apprentice on the shoulder.

“Be Gwen's friend, Alesia, support her when she is scared, give her solace when she is lonely, offer her advice when she is confused. So long as she does not use her power out of fear, recklessness, or ill-conceived passions, she will be safe."

"Master, I-"

“Look there!" Henry tightened his grip, his thoughts no longer of the present, but of yesterdays he'd thought long forgotten. "She's Awakened!”

A blue-silver Sigil flared, guiding the Void matter into the girl's Astral Form. As motes of the tenebrous energy circulated, carving out new mana conduits, the crystalline body of her Astral reflection grew larger, taller and more refined.

Now elucidated by her Master, Alesia studied her sister-in-craft's illusory projection, above which the girl's mental and physical exertion had soaked Gwen to the bone with exhaustive perspiration.

As with a griffin chick, Gwen was currently weak and vulnerable. She and her Master would have to keep Gwen under wraps, hidden, disguised from the rest of the Mageocracy, letting news of her talent cascade little by little. Most importantly, the Tower must not suspect that its Master had chosen to temporarily obfuscate the girl’s Void Element, as well as her connection to the Mythic.

Considering how desperately the Frontier hungered for military might, Gwen's Path was undoubtedly going to be a difficult one. There was a balancing act which she would have to accomplish, a narrow ledge between autonomy and been used and abused by the powers that be. Given Henry's wisdom and knowledge, it would take no more than a few years for Gwen to stand on her own. In time, she could travel with Alesia and her Master to a tier 1 city to receive her tertiary education. Furthermore, they also had Gunther to enact a little helpful nepotism. Surely the oldest of her Master's Apprentices had a duty to look out for his cute and endearing little sister.

“Conjuration.” Alesia recognised the mana signature.

"Indeed." Henry concurred.

Gwen opened her eyes, feeling her drenched blouse plastered to her skin, her thighs were likewise slick with sweat.

“I did it?” She found the Magus and Magister standing at a polite distance.

“You sure did!” Her sister-in-craft ran toward Gwen, then bodily embraced her, heedless of the girls' waterlogged condition.

“Congratulations Gwen, you are now also a Conjurer!”

A Conjurer! Her heart soared. A summoner of magical creatures! Principal Bartlett was a Conjurer, and so's her Master! Conjuration was one of the most versatile Schools of Magic!

Alesia conjured up a towel, telling Gwen she could change and take a shower once they’re back at the apartment. The room began to dim, the illusory projection fading until only the white expanse remained.

“Let us return to Sufina’s chamber; there is much that we must discuss,” Henry intoned, patting Gwen’s embarrassingly moist shoulders.

Their return journey was unmolested by guards. Alesia operated the lift until it reached their destination. The trio then crossed the threshold of time and space, reentering the viridian grot.

“Kisses!” Sufina materialised and embraced Gwen, nudging the Apprentice woodenly, her figure a hybrid of floral and feminine beauty. “Your scent is even more delicious now. I could just gobble up your Essence.”

“That’s because you’re both a Conjurer and possess the vitality of the Mythic,” Henry explained. “Both of which are very attractive to Sufina.”

“She consumes Essences?”

“All Dryads do.” Henry grinned. “Sufina has a preference for female Mages though, and she assumes the form of her favourites. Don't mind her; she doesn't need your vitality. Her grot in the Wildlands sustains her just fine."

The trio assumed the seating arrangements from before. Sufina then brought another serving of Golden Mead and manna cakes.

Gwen hungrily stuffed a cake into her mouth. For some reason, she was famished.

“Now that you have access to your second element, Gwen, I am going to teach you about the Void element and its particulars. You must be very, very careful in using it….”

Gwen gulped half a cup of mead, feeling its warmth dispelling her hunger.

Henry spoke at length about the dangers of living beings channelling Quasi-Negative Energy, and how self-destructive the process could be without the proper warding and training.

“Is there a way to use the Void without self-harm?” Gwen enquired disappointingly. It seemed her new element has a significant drawback.

“To do so would go against the nature of life,” Henry spoke with a tone of reprimand. “I would not venture to suggest there is a way, for that would guide you down the path of Death Cults and Necromancy.”

Gwen shivered, just those names made her skin crawl.

"Yeah, we Purge those," Alesia warned her as well to drive the point home.

“It would put you in direct opposition to the Frontier, the Mageocracy, and the Tower,” Henry warned. "Not even I would venture to support an Apprentice who practices Necromancy and the Dark Arts. Think about the Credo, Gwen, and if you must use the power of the Void, use it because it is necessary, because the good outweighs the bad, because the toll was worth it. It is the ultimate form of self-sacrifice.”

Gwen nodded.

“Noblesse Oblige, you had told me.” Henry smiled kindly, the weathered lines of his face crisscrossing like old crags. “One must never disjoin remorse from power.”

“I will live by those words, Master.”

“Your words," the Magister reiterated. "And mayhap one day, all of our words. I look forward to your future actions.”

Leaning back in his throne, the Magister grew fatigued.

"Master, you need to rest," Alesia took Gwen by the hand. "I'll take care of her."

With that, Alesia bid her Master farewell. Gwen and Alesia watched him recede into the Grot, braced by Sufina.

Gwen finished the rest of her mead with an anxious heart. Was her Master that frail? Just how old was he?

“Let's go take that long deserved break.” Alesia patted Gwen on the shoulder. "How about a fancy dinner, my shout?"

To their surprise, the platform arrived with two guards, the very ones who had accompanied them earlier. Their manner, however, was divorced from any amiability.

“Major, Magister Walken would like to speak to you and the young lady,” one of them informed her with an expression full of sadistic schadenfreude.

“Does he have an appointment?” Alesia asked sardonically, mocking his earlier remark from their first encounter in the atrium.

The man’s face took on a dangerous hue.

“Be glad that the Magister has made time to see you. Do not waste his generosity.”

Without Alesia’s command, the platform began to move, drifting through the chambers of the building towards some unknown destination.

“Cadet, stop this platform at once,” Alesia commanded, her voice cracking like blistering fire. With mild alarm, Gwen noted the temperature around them was rising dramatically, enough to dry out her blouse.

“You can lodge your displeasure to Magister Walken, Major.” The cadet ignored Alesia's command.

So these are the "Factions" within the Tower, Gwen observed, distressed by this unexpected turn. Besides her, Alesia’s ire rose to a new temperate. Gwen sensed that any moment now, she was about to enrol the Cadet for the infirmary's burn-unit.

Gwen held her breath.

"!"

There was a flicker of flame; then the console ignited with a scarlet fire that seared the man’s hands, yet left the instruments untouched. A caracal materialised upon the platform, hissing at the guard, bearing its fangs.

“Major, you can’t do this!"

“What's wrong with punishing disobedient subordinates?"

“To disobey a direct request from a Magister is unacceptable!”

“Too bad you won’t be around to see it.” Alesia bared her teeth at her offender, then kicked the offending Cadet away from the console, sending him crashing to the floor.

A Transmutation-enhanced chest-stomp! Gwen stared. Ouch!

Now in control, Alesia commanded the Levitation Platform to detour toward the Teleportation Circles. To Gwen's dismay, the second guard possessed the nerve to have a got at Alesia behind her back.

"Lightning G-"

Before Gwen could deliver the stun spell, the guard screamed and felt to his knees, a mote of scarlet flame had ignited one of his ears, reducing it to a bloody, molten mess.

“Maybe your Magister would be kind enough to gift you a Regeneration spell,” Alesia intoned nastily. “Although I certainly wouldn’t waste tier 5 healing on a worthless grunt.”

“You dare attack us with spells!”

“Did you hear me cast a spell, asshole?” Alesia snapped back. “That was self-defence by my Flame Spirit, responding to your unprovoked hostility.”

“How dare you!”

“How dare you!” Alesia snapped back, still driving the lift toward her intended destination. “You want to try me? Who's going to mourn you?”

The guards fell silent. For the next minute, Gwen remained still as a statue as the guards groaned, one clutching his groin and the other cupping his mangled face.

But the platform descended into the Teleportation Circle Chamber, Gwen could see that they were surrounded. Below, a dozen guards in bone-coloured uniforms awaited them.

“Major De Botton! Give yourself up! Your unprovoked assault of a Junior Officer is intolerable!” A Sergeant levelled what appeared to be a wand at Gwen's sister-in-craft.

Alesia pulled Gwen behind her, shielding the girl with her scarlet visage. The Enchanted dimensions of the Tower's interior ensured that escape by force or Spellcraft was nigh impossible, not to mention she still had Gwen with her. The Guards all possessed Sonic Suppression wands, a Magi-tech item devised by the Americans, capable of disrupting spell-casting. Alesia was immune to the interference from one, two, or even five or six of the damn things, but a dozen, at this proximity? Not even she was sure what would happen. Of course, she could burn them all to cinders, but that would escalate matters far beyond Factional rivalry - it would be mass murder.

Contacting her Master was out of the question. It would offer damning evidence that the eternally neutral Master of the Tower was not so indifferent after all. As Kilroy's blunt instrument, she had to keep her distance in public.

So, what will it be? Alesia pondered. If she could maim at least half of them, she could force them to reactivate the Teleportation Circles.

“What’s all this racket about?”

A piercing voice boomed across the room, resonating across the dimensionally distorted chamber like a thunderclap. The confrontation between Alesia and the Guards momentarily adjourned, brokering an uneasy truce as to face the unexpected intruder.

“Impossible, the Teleportation Circles were locked!” One of the guards muttered in confusion.

"Shhh!" his colleague hissed. "The Paladin has override authority from the Tower's Control Spirit."

A man descended from the platform. Gwen opted for the diction of 'descended' because that was precisely the imposing presence she had felt. Where mortal men walked, here was a man who bestrode the air like a Demi-God.

A radiant halo atop the man filled the room, a brilliance like those depicted in paintings of Apostles and Angels, forcing Gwen to squint. The intruder sported short, cropped, coffee-bean hair, loosely styled in the manner popular with soldiers. His face was handsome, chiselled, set in perfect proportions, its strong definition meeting at his broad, cleft chin. His eyes, two steely orbs, held intact in their sky-blue gaze the display before him with utter disdain. Below a bullish neck, he possessed the build of a military man, with well toned, muscular arms that made the fabric strain against his shoulders. The man was also tall, almost six-and-a-half feet, made taller by horned leather boots that kicked the marble pavement.

“Scarlet, how nice it is to see you." The intruder crossed the floor of the Teleportation Chamber with the confidence of a king surveying his domain.

Beside the Scarlet Sorceress, Alesia’s burning hostility simmer until it reduced to that of a tempered campfire, crackling with unexpected warmth.

“Lord Gunther Schultz,” she spoke with a tingle of sweetness that Gwen had never before heard in Alesia’s voice. “How fortuitous your arrival must be.”

“Oh, please,” Gunther replied. “Not too late, am I?”

Gunther walked through the gang of guards like a shepherd amongst a flock of wayward, bleating sheep. The guards backed away awkwardly, their hands gripping their Suppressors with white-knuckled intensity.

“Paladin, please pardon yourself. We are in the middle of apprehending Miss De Botton,” One of the guards, the Guard Captain, announced carefully. The role of Paladin made Gunther the judicial enforcer of the Tower Master's law. If the Radiant Mage wished to punish the Captain for insubordination, no one would bat an eye, not even Magister Walken.

To the Guard Captain's surprise, Gunther abruptly turned towards him, the presence of his radiant aura ablaze with supernatural charisma.

“Cadet, what is the correct protocol to address your Paladin?”

The guard’s face blanched.

He turned stiffly toward Gunther, holstering his Suppressor as he did so. Stepping precisely two paces away, he raised a hand and saluted, locking his elbow mechanically.

“Permission to speak, Lord Paladin! Sir!”

“Denied.” Gunther glared down range at the sweltering Captain from up on high, snapping him a crisp, returning salute. “Remove yourself at once!”

The Guards looked at one another, hoping that perhaps, a certain Magister who had sent them here would materialise and somehow save their skins. When no such Magister made an entrance in the next few seconds, they deflated like spent balloons.

Gwen couldn't know - but was a strange hierarchy here in the Tower. The Mageocracy of old, established by the Brittanic Commonwealth, set the ground rules for Spellcraft seniority. At the same time, Military Rank imposed by the Frontier Military offered contradictions to the archaic rank set by tradition. Magister Walken was Gunther's senior, but the man did not possess a military title. Gunther, on the other hand, held the positions of Magus, Paladin, and the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel. As guards of the Tower, the men were effectively Military Police. If Gunther wished to throw the book at the guards, there was little they could do but appeal to the Magister himself.

“Return to your post!” The Captain shouted at his men. As one, the guards holstered their weapons, then gladly made for their posts within the Tower.

“Have a good day, Sir.” the Captain saluted Gunther again, before turning to Alesia with a look of pure contempt. “Major.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Alesia snapped back.

The two locked eyes until Gunther placed himself between the two.

“Good day, Captain, I will speak to the Magister Walken on your behalf.” Gunther shot the Guard Captain an apologetic look.

“Shit for brains.” Alesia was determined to have the last word. "Lapdog!"

Watching Alesia's triumphant expression, Gwen realised the exact reason for Master Kilroy's reserve for her sister-in-craft. Alesia was a loose cannon! She was a powerful Mage, but the woman was a battering ram! She was incapable of taking an insult in any way other than Newton’s Third Law! That Captain was a prick for sure, but even Gwen understood that the hapless bastard was following orders. What good did it to do to whip an attack dog, especially when its owner refused to show up? Watching Alesia kick the man while he's down, no wonder Alesia was the Tower's pariah. If she took on Yue as an Apprentice, and the two of them combined their fiery temper, wouldn't they become the true Dynamic Duo? Was this world strong enough to survive a partnership of that magnitude?

With the Guards dispersed, the women were left alone with Gunther, somehow more impressive up close. It wasn’t so much that his body was overly bulky, like men obsessed with mass, but that the Radiant Mage filled the room with his presence. It was different to Gwen’s mother, who sucked the attention from a room onto herself, for Gunther's presence made any space instantly smaller.

“My place, dinner,” Alesia whispered under her breath.

“See you then.” Came the discrete reply. Gunther strode past the pair onto a Levitation Platform, bidding them adieu.

“Was that our...” Gwen began, but Alesia made her shush.

She took Gwen’s hand. Once again the two mounted the Teleportation Platform, where Alesia invoked the Glyph for her apartment, and the two were away.

Alesia battered away excess motes of silvery Conjuration.

The two of them were back in the Teleportation Chamber, their bodies safely deposited via magical translocation.

The brightly lit vista outside indicated that it was just past noon.

Noon? Gwen baulked. They had left in the morning! Had it taken only half a day for all that to transpire? She felt as though they had spent much longer in the Grot.

“It’s the next day.” Alesia noted Gwen’s confusion. She surveyed the walls for a timepiece. “Friday to be exact.”

“How were we gone for that long?” Gwen was incredulous.

“Time functions strangely if you keep going in and out of pocket dimensions," Alesia explained. "Sometimes, its the dimension itself, sometimes, it's your body that’s confused. The only things you can trust are timepieces attuned to the planar rotations.”

Gwen surveyed Alesia' apartment, her eyes wandered across the panes, landing at a device on the coffee table.

“Alesia, may I use your Message Device?”

“Yue and Elvia?”

“Yue and Elvia,” Gwen concurred.

“Tell them I took you into the Municipal Police Bureau and we had to record statements and vouch for your innocence. It got late, so you slept over. Also, don't forget about your Geas.”

“Thanks, Alesia, I won't.”

Gwen plodded toward the soft cushions of the armchair by the window. Her Message rang a few times; then a hurried voice picked up.

“Hello? Who's this? You better not be selling something.”

Classic Yue. Gwen felt better already.

“It’s me, Gwen.”

“Oh! Gwennie! How are you doing? Where are you? When are you coming back? Who you with? Is it a boy? What did you eat for dinner?”

Gwen endured Yue's barrage until she was out of breath.

“I am with Instructor Alesia,” Gwen explained, then delivered the white lie she and Alesia had concocted. Though it was for her friends' own good, she nonetheless felt an acidic tingle in her gut.

“What’s Alesia’s apartment like?” Yue's interest in Alesia was insatiable.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! There's a view overlooking the harbour; I can see almost all of Bradfield Park. She’s got the penthouse suite…”

“How’s Elvia doing?”

“She right here.” Yue giggled. “She’s been fighting me for the phone!”

“You devil! Put her on!” Gwen reprimanded her companion.

“Gwennie! I Missed you so much already! Yue is a meanie!”

Evee's voice soothed her nerves like a choir of angels. Gwen wasn't sure why she felt so attached to Elvia. All she knew was that whenever she held the healer in her arms, she felt at peace. Was it a maternal thing? She wondered, either way, the golden girl had Gwen's oxytocins in a tizzy whenever she was around.

“Hey Evee, hows the dorm? Anything changed after all that fiasco?”

“Much quieter. We're still in mourning," the healer summarised. "We’re going to have a ceremony next week to commemorate the Instructors. Are you going to be back by then?”

“I sure hope so,” Gwen replied. She sighed deeply - poor Mr Boone and the others, dying for no discernable reason.

For a while, the girls continued to speak at length about life’s philosophical nothings, filling up the time.

'Thump!'

Gwen watched in wonder as a semi-transparent Mage Hand opened the fridge, retrieved a stubby from the interior, then floated itself across kitchen island to rest in Alesia's hand. Gwen had been on the phone for so long that Alesia had taken a shower and gotten changed.

Alesia slugged the tall-neck.

"Fresh. Smooth. Real. It's all here. A beer so good, it's bad.” Her sister-in-craft winked at Gwen, kicking up her robes to reveal a bit of leg.

“Pufft!” Still holding the Message Device, Gwen broke into a burst of snorting laughter.

“Gwen?” Elvia’s voice asked quizzically. “Hello, what's happening?”

Alesia was already beside herself, spilling a bit of beer here and there.

“I’ll talk to you later, Evee, I should be back tomorrow night.”

“Alright, Gwennie! Laters!”

Gwen replaced the Message Device.

“Help yourself.” Alesia motioned to the fridge before realising a problem with her generosity. “Belay that order soldier. You’re not old enough!”

It was strange how often she’d forgotten that Gwen was half her age. Sometimes, when watching the girl train, Alesia felt a queer acknowledgement that Gwen was much older, someone more akin to a contemporary, someone her equal.

“I would like a drink though,” Gwen enquired politely. "May I?"

See? That’s just it! Who the hell says that? Alesia's scalp tingled. She had never known herself to casually say things like, ‘may I.’ When she was a teenage girl, she was all bluster and fury. Even now, social niceties were a chore.

Alesia summoned another beer.

Gwen popped the top.

"Cheers, Alesia. Thanks for everything."

The two knocked glasses, then Alesia watched with wonder as Gwen slugged the stout in one long pull.

Gwen took the liberty of Alesia's generosity to dig up a snack from her fridge, a seamless unit built into her modern kitchen. What greeted Gwen, however, were row upon rows of beer, stacked in their paper packaging. Besides the beer, were another two to three stacks of what looked to be instant curry. On the door were jugs of questionable milk and slabs of chocolate. Maybe there's fruit? Gwen pondered as her eyes continued to scan, hoping against hope. At the fridge's extremity, she discovered a dying pear, forlorn and forgotten from neglect. Below, the freezer section fared no better, possessing only frozen dinners.

Gwen slowly closed the door, then looked toward her athletically inclined sister-in-craft.

Fire Mages, she realised, possessed incredible metabolism.

After a hot cuppa, Gwen retired to the guest bathroom and took a shower, borrowing from Alesia’s wardrobe. She was lucky that they wore similar sizes, though Alesia's proportion was far more generous than her younger counterpart.

Once the water was running, Gwen took advantage of the shower zen to recollect her thoughts. She was now an apprentice-in-secret to a powerful Magister, possessing the potential to be a young Magus. What Gwen needed was training, experience, and time. Her Master had told her that to advance her Spellcraft; she needed to venture into the green zone for battle-practice. It was impossible for an Acolyte to mature inside a greenhouse, not even if she got to see him fortnightly for tuition.

Other than her training, she had another pressing problem - she was poor, and she couldn't count on monetary support from either of her parents. Even if Gwen sold all of her mother’s old gifts, those Miu Miu dresses, shoes, the branded handbags and her shiny bric-a-brac, what about her long-term expenses?

Spellcraft training involved invariable expenses. Raw LDMs, or HDMs if she could afford it, provided supplementary mana for extended practice sessions. Live-combat in the Wildlands, Questing, and Dungeoneering likewise required Magic Items to reduce the risk of permanent injury. Potions, utility items, translocation devices, protective items, portable shelters, the list goes on.

She had hoped, a little spoilt and immaturely, that the Magister would gift her a ring with the look of a benevolent but doting father. Unfortunately, Henry simply smiled and said that she should learn to fend for herself, as Alesia and Gunther had done in their youth.

After a far too long shower, Gwen emerged to find Alesia asleep on the couch. She fetched a blanket and placed it gingerly over her companion's chest. From delivering Gwen from her Uncle’s party to saving her from the cave to rescuing her yet again from indefinite detention, it was hard to believe that they had been acquainted only a few months ago.

Gwen threw on her borrowed clothes, sliding into a loosely hanging shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts Alesia had outgrown. Just as she dried out her hair, a 'thump!' came from the mezzanine, followed by a distinctly penetrating voice.

“Hello? Alesia? Gwen? Are you decent? Can I come in?”

Alesia woke with a start from the couch, towels falling aside to expose herself, rubbing her eyes and groggily swearing.

“Oh shit, Gunther's here, how long was I out?”

Gwen rushed over to make modest Alesia’s robe.

“About an hour,” she replied.

“I need to get changed.” Alesia forced herself up and unsteadily made for the bedroom.

“Hello…?” Gunther's voice came from below.

Gwen closed the bedroom door.

“Alesia’s getting changed,” she said it loud enough so that both of them could hear.

“Alright, I am coming in,” Gunther replied, and a hidden panel in the corridor opened to reveal the teleportation room. He met Gwen as she came down the stairs, barefooted and flustered by Alesia's carelessness.

“Gwen.” Gunther nodded, his face lighting up radiantly.

“Hi, Gunther.” Gwen felt a little intimidated, her teenage hormones thrashing against her better judgement. Gunther walked past her, the scent of cologne just tingling her nose, and made for the kitchen.

“Hungry?” he asked, moving his hand over the empty counter, materialising an assortment of meat and vegetables. "Dinner will be ready soon."

Jesus Christ, he cooks too. Gwen felt a disquietening attraction beginning to engender. She watched in salivating wonder as Gunther Shultz rolled up his sleeve to reveal finely haired arms taut like steel cables. The Magus roamed here and there, familiar with every compartment, even hidden cupboards where appliances and other utensils had been stowed.

“So, you probably should have heard, I am your big brother-in craft,” Gunther intoned in that radio host voice of his. “Gunther von Shultz. I am pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, Gwen Song. Please call me Gwen.”

The two shook, Gunther's mitt-like hand swallowing Gwen's pale stalks.

“Gunther, are umm… a Lord?” Gwen had to ask out of curiosity. To her limited knowledge, 'von' was a nobiliary particle indicating an aristocratic patrilineality.

“It’s just a title, think nothing of it. Everyone else in the male line either left or died, so I was stuck with it.” Gunther was a little embarrassed just how thrilled Gwen appeared.

“Where's your family come from, Gunther?”

“Oh, the family is everywhere now, but we had our estates in old Bavaria, near Breitenegg. The original demesne was converted into a freehold by my father, who tried to get away from all the politics by renouncing, the title fell to me when I was studying under Master Kilroy.”

“I know some of those words,” Gwen confessed.

Gunther's laughter was hearty and full of good cheer.

"How about yourself?"

"Refugees, I suppose." Gwen lowered her eyes. "My father's a Eurasian refugee from China; my maternal family were Dutch-Indonesian colonials."

"I am sorry to hear they had to flee their homes," Gunther offered his sympathies. "As Paladin, I feel shameful that the Demi-human threat remains significant even now."

The two continued to exchange personal details, with Gwen telling Gunther about some of the happenings in her family, and how Alesia had saved her from potentially tearing that handsy young man limb from limb.

“She did good,” Gunther agreed. “Allie's like a sister to me. I’ve known her since she was your age, fourteen? Thirteen? Those were troubled times!”

“Do tell! What was she like?” Gwen perked up, itching to hear some prequel adventures of Alesia, Scarlet Sorceress.

As he spoke, Gunther’s hands were a blur, cutting, slicing, dressing and moving across the various ingredients like a magician. The Wild Land pheasant became a basted wonder in the oven, dribbling juices over heirloom vegetables. A collection of lamb ribs turned into caramelised lollypops. Rich, fragrant soup simmered in the pressure cooker, and it appeared creme brûlée was for dessert. The whole process, the precision of it, was akin to an artisanal cooking show.

“Well, here’s a story that’s highly relevant,” Gunther spoke as he sauteed, turning the memory over in his mind.

“Do you know why those Guards in Tower were so antagonistic and disrespectful to Alesia? She’s a Magus after all, and a very famous one at that.”

“I was wondering about that.”

“Indeed,” Gunther continued, his hands moving pots and stirring sauces. “So this was about, oh, five or so years ago? Alesia and her team were out on recon up the North Coast when they ran into some rogue traders who were selling all manners of stuff to the folks who live out in the Wildlands. Of course, selling stuff to Rogue Mages and Demi-humans outside the city is a problematic grey area, so Alesia had the lot of them rounded up, customers included.”

“They offered her bribes, she refused, then went through their inventory. What she found was pretty disturbing. You ever heard of organ trading?”

“… Seriously?” Gwen had, of course, heard about these things in her old world, though such atrocities were often removed from the reality of her first world nation.

“It's not too uncommon, I suppose. Anyway, rogue traders collect particular organs from humans who are deceased, the brain, the heart, the liver. These are considered delicacies for some of the more predatory Demi-human tribes out there, Merman, Merfolk, Riven-folk, Lizardmen, and so on.”

“They EAT people?” Gwen's stomach knotted, unaware of the hypocrisy of her hyperbolic reaction. She had been eating Wildland things for half a year now, and a good steak-n-kidney pie was the love of her life. Her favourite food, SPAM, was itself constituted of mystery Wildland meat.

“Well of course. Every living thing has to eat. It just so happens that some of the things they eat happen to be people. It’s wild out there, Gwen, the law of nature and all that. It's not as though the Demi-humans don't eat one another. A band of Hobs isn't going to say no to a village of Lizardmen."

"I see." Gwen gagged.

“Anyway, back to the Organ Traders. We call the Demi-humans monsters, but they're pretty smart at the end of the day: Hobs, Lizardmen, Mermen, its entirely possible for them to speak human, or teach us how to speak their language. WIth communication, comes trade. Mostly, they're after our artifice. You see, the Demi-humans don't have a unified currency for trading. We do. Within the Tower, the Grey Faction is the one who does most of the trading with the Demi-humans, going as far as to operate the Grey-Market. At any rate, the less civilised tribes dig up babbles, mana Cores, precious metals, bits and pieces of larger creatures, and trade it for food and crystals with these rogue traders.”

“Which brings us to the topic of food." Gunther tossed some salad into a bowl and gave the spinner a whirl, draining the water. “Though they are elementals, advanced Demi-humans are physiologically similar to humans, with the same craving for flesh. And as it happens, we're the only race that produces Crystal Currency and food on an industrial scale.”

“If that's the case, can't we pressure them with trade sanctions?”

“We tried that already.” Gunther grimaced. Gwen noted that the man was handling all the boiling pots and sizzling pan with his bare hands. “The lower beings who are happy to eat chicken and pork, are too dumb to trade with, they have nothing we want, and they don't understand treaties. The higher monsters like the Lamassu, the Evil-Eyes, or Demihumans like the Sylvan races; tend to think we’re inferior, dog-like creatures.”

“They think 'we' are the fauna?!" Gwen baulked, thinking of how the Europeans had treated the Indigenous folk of Australia.

“It's only fair." Gunther salted the roast some more. "Think about it; we kill these creatures for their mana stones - they kill us for our heart, brain and liver, all those parts of your body necessary for the generation and control of mana.”

“And... that's what Alesia found?”

Gwen was glad that Gunther was currently making the soup, and not carving up a roast or something.

“Indeed. So you can imagine what was going through Allie's head when she saw boxes of the stuff marked with price tags. She’s somewhat tempestuous, as you know.

“I can imagine…” Gwen gulped.

“So after frying most of the traders, she started questioning them, and that’s when she found out the traders were working for a Magister at the Tower, and that the cadavers were an exchange program under the Grey Market.”

Gwen connected the dots.

Alesia.

The Tower.

Magister Walken.

The Grey Faction, the Grey Market.

“Magister… Walken?”

“Well done,” Gunther appraised her understanding, his pearly teeth glinting. “What do you think she did?”

The answer to Gunther's question took no stretch of the imagination.

“I would say that Alesia teleported to the Tower and started shouting that he was a traitor,” Gwen hazarded a guess.

Gunther chuckled.

“Oh if only that were all she did! Master Kilroy would still be in possession of his Ioun Stone collection!”

"What did she do?"

“Allie went straight to the Magister’s office to confront him. When he denied everything to her face, she set his office on fire, burnt down his entire library. You should have seen the uproar, a Magus, burning down the office of one of the Ten Magisters of the Tower! Guards were trying to restrain her, though she insisted it was all an accident.”

“Oh my God!” Gwen's lips formed a perfect O.

“When the whole fiasco finally died down, Master Henry had to punish Alesia. She was stripped of her military rank, dishonourably discharged, which was why that guard kept calling her Major. Afterwards, Master Henry gave Walken a whole collection of Ioun Stones, five thousand HDMs for a full set of twelve."

“Because of this, the Grey Faction loathes her. Pretty much anyone who's anyone had a mate injured during the incident. In fact, to this day, she has yet to apologise to Walken.”

“That’s… that’s amazing…” Gwen took a sip of water. Even Gunther's second-hand story was enough to get her blood boiling.

“He was and is still guilty!” A cry of anger came from the second floor.

Alesia emerged.

Gwen's jaw hit the floor.

Her sister-in-craft was wearing make-up, actual makeup, smokey eyes and ruby lips and elongated lashes, the full Bristle-back Hog. She furthermore wore a scarlet cocktail dress that revealed her back, teasing the contours of her white thighs.

Oh my God. Gwen gasped. She’s into him. She is TOTALLY into him.

But what had Gunther said earlier? She was sure she had heard it.

“She’s like a sister to me…”

Gwen glanced at Alesia, then at Gunther, who was kept cooking with an unaffected expression, happily complementing Alesia on her beauty with the tone of someone speaking to their neighbour about the dog.

Ugh, Gwen's heart dropped, Alesia. You poor, poor girl.

Gunther plated their dinner.

Soup: French Onion, cut with crisped Gruyere, croutons.

Entree: Bone-in Wildland Lamb lollypops in coarse mint conserve.

Salad: Mixed Heirloom Cherry Tomatoes in sweetened apple vinaigrette.

Main: Whole Roasted Wind Pheasant, red wine reduction in own jus.

Dessert: Creme Brûlée

Gwen reached out with a trembling fork, resisting the ingrained desire to take a picture. Each dish was more flavoursome than the next, bringing her taste buds to climax.

She took a sip of the wine.

Paired Wine! Simply orgasmic.

“Magister Walken was fuming.” Gunther swallowed before speaking, smiling serenely at Alesia every time she fluttered her lashes. “Of course, I reminded him that had he taken you in, Master would have returned the favour by having him waste away for a week in Sufina's grot.”

“These Factional conflicts are getting out of hand,” Alesia sighed. “So much infighting, nothing ever gets done.”

Gwen watched as Alesia sidled closer to Gunther. The man remained perfectly stoic and unmoved by her bold intentions.

“Gunther, can you tell me about these Factions?” Gwen interrupted the two. The awkward atmosphere was beginning to become unbearable.

“What do you what to know?” Gunther asked.

“Everything?” Gwen confessed candidly. “I've never even been to a Tower until yesterday.”

“Seriously?” Gunther glanced at Alesia, who nodded solemnly. His Master, the ever-critical Henry Kilroy, asked a girl to be his Apprentice within hours of meeting her for the first time? Even with Alesia vouching for the girl, it seemed excessive. “The old man must have taken a liking to you.”

“More than you know, Gunther, Gwen clarified the Ordo Arcanum Credo in one line. Did Master tell you?”

“Noblesse Oblige, the binding of our superior advantage to larger generosity... the abuse of Greatness is when remorse is disjointed from power.” Gunther inspected Gwen with renewed interest. "I can certainly see why you've impressed Master."

“Yep,” Alesia gestured rather rudely with her fork. “I am afraid you’re no longer the favourite, Gunther.”

“I am happy for Gwen if that's the case,” Gunther replied, his face betraying nothing. “But surely, Allie, you were always his favourite.”

“Not that it matters now.” Alesia grinned cheekily. “Gwen's the pet favourite now.”

Gunther grinned, reminding Gwen of the men on Van Heusen posters.

“Anyway, to answer your earlier question,” he continued to Gwen. “There are three main factions. Our Master upholds the Middle-Path faction, prioritising the preservation of human cities, including the NoMs, and maintaining diplomatic relations with Demi-human Races. Of the Ten Magisters of Oceania, four count themselves among our number.”

“The second faction is the Purist Faction, also known as the Militant Faction. Their three Magisters hold ranks within the Frontier Militia. They believe that we should engage in a continuous purge of Magical Creatures and Demihumans, expanding human influence into the Wildlands.”

“Is that even possible?” Gwen blurted incredulously. After all, she had seen first hand what her Mythic 'kin' was capable of doing. What would be the cost of subjugating such a creature?

“With the Tower's support, it's possible." Gwen wanted to ask what that meant, but the man had moved on. “The last faction are the ones who believe that the answer lies in joining those outside the city; that we shouldn't be living in isolated enclaves. There are three Magisters in this faction too. Magister Walken is one of them.”

“Nasty little man,” Alesia snidely remarked. “With nasty little connections to the Wildland Demihumans.”

“Now, now, Allie,” Gunther motioned disarmingly. “You know as well as I do that the Grey Market materials provided by those Magisters make up for half of all the Magic items in the Tower.”

Gwen perked up.

“Alesia! What if someone from the Tower crafted Edgar's Teleportation Ring? Does the Tower have records of who made what?”

Gunther shook his head.

“Records are confidentially maintained by Enchanters. Anyone worth their salt in espionage would not leave a trail as large as that. A Contingency Ring with Long Range Teleport costs anywhere between five-thousand to fifty-thousand HDMs! Moreover, there are no Enchanters capable of using the Asscher inscription technique outside of Europe.”

“Oh.” Gwen sipped her water sadly. So much for that avenue of enquiry.

At the dinner's conclusion, Gunther brought out the creme brûlée.

Alesia continued to entice her senior, though the Paladin of Sydney Tower kept his demeanour as cool as a cucumber.

“Anyway,” Gunther reached into his pocket, brought out a small ring box, then pushed it toward the middle of the table.

“…” Alesia's eyes grew wide.

“This is …”

The Scarlet Sorceress swallowed, her throat bobbing back and forth.

“… for Gwen,” Gunther coughed.

“...” Alesia clicked her tongue.

“What is it?” Though curiosity was gnawing on her like a cat, Gwen refrained from touching the box.

“Master Henry believes it may be best if Alesia or I could come to your aid in the event of life-threatening danger. Knowing your connection to that Mythic, it's best we have insurance."

“Oh?”

Gunther opened the box to reveal an intricate piece of magical jewellery, a silver band with an obsidian stone.

"A Teleportation Beacon," Gunther explained. "If you’re in trouble, activate it with a command sigil, and it’ll send out an SOS to the three of us. We can then use Teleport or Teleportation Circle to come to you.”

The two of them watched as Gwen obediently equipped the ring, the small silver band shifting to conform to the circumference of her left ring finger.

“Say.” Gwen felt that she should confirm her suspicion. “Does this ring provide a live update on my whereabouts?”

“That it does,” Gunther intoned casually. “That's the point. Alesia and I both have one.”

They raised their hands, dispelling their ring's inbuilt glamour. Sure enough, Gunther and Alesia also possessed subtle silver-bands. Alesia sported an impressive ruby, while Gunther owned a bright, square-cut diamond.

What rock! Gwen marvelled. That bloody thing's rocking four to five carats.

“Don’t take it off. Ever.” Gunther's tone inferred his advice was less a suggestion and more so a command.

“Of course,” Gwen smiled back, putting on some of that disarming teenage charms the youthful possessed in abundance.

“So, what’s going to happen from here on out?” Gwen asked. After the accumulated events of the Serpent, the Void element, and the Second Awakening, was it even possible for her to go back to school? What about her mandatory military service?

“You go back to school,” Gunther surprised her by guessing her train of thought. “Master believes that your body needs time to grow into the possession of two Schools of Magic, not to mention your Void Element. After you graduate high school, we'll arrange something for your military service. You'll be under my direct supervision. There, you should be relatively safe.”

“Relatively?” Gwen noted Gunther's conditional participle.

“Safe from the Factions, the Houses, Clans and Sects, that sort of thing,” Gunther leaned back, feeling nostalgic. “But not Monsters, the Wildlands, or folks wanting to duel you. No pain, no gain, right?”

"I guess so."

“Don't fret, Gwennie. I went through the same thing, although I was a bit younger than you…” Alesia affirmed Gunther’s nostalgia. “I did some of my best work back then. It was such a carefree period of my life. Questing all day, Purge Missions every week. No Factions to bother me.”

“That’s a mild way to put it,” Gunther laughed, his good humour returning. “Try to imagine it, Gwen. A thirteen-year-old Alesia, only this tall, throwing fireballs this way and that on the Brisbane Line, fighting eight-foot tall crab.”

“Thirteen!” Gwen almost choked on her creme brûlée. Alesia was a child soldier?! What kind of a fucked up experience did the two of you endure?

“Well, I was only Twenty, myself,” Gunther humbly boasted, his stoicism a little loosened by the decanter of Shiraz they had imbibed. “We’re both offensive casters, you see, and we were right in the thick of the Coral Sea War. Man, those damn Mermen, thousands, hundreds of thousands of the bastards; a never-ending tide of stinking fish.”

“Yeah, we ate a lot of seafood,” Alesia chortled. “The war put me off shellfish for years.”

“You'll never look at seafood the same way after a crawfish Mermen tries to take off your arm with a pincer that could chew through steel plates!”

“I remember this time that Gunther got dragged under by an octopus Mermen. To escape, he cooked it from inside out. It took three days to get the ink off him, ha!”

Gwen listened to the two of them swap old war stories and knew that no matter how amicable her siblings-in-craft were to her, there was an intimacy that she could never attain. Though she was the new favourite kitten, there was a place in their Master's cabal for his faithful hounds that she could never occupy.

But Gwen was glad at least, that she was going back to school. There was almost a year left with Yue and Elvia, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it. Yue said she was going to join the military track, but with Alesia’s help and the Magister’s influence, perhaps they could stay together! Elvia would be off on her own, though they could still see one another during breaks.

“Gwen?” Alesia called for her.

“I am sorry, I was daydreaming…” Gwen apologised, her face flushed even though she had only a sip of the wine.

“It’s alright; you must be exhausted.” Gunther pulled back his chair and found himself an apron embossed with yellow duckies. “I’ll clean up, go to bed. You can go back to the dorm tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Gunther. You too, Alesia.” Gwen smiled at them warmly before removing herself and tucking the chair back. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I am leaving soon,” Gunther replied. “Though I’ll see you around.”

“Good night, you two.” Gwen performed a cute little curtsy.

“Good night, little sister.” Gunther flashed her a smile with pearly teeth.

Oof! Her heart throbbed. Talk about an au-naturale lady killer.

The siblings-in-craft waited until Gwen was in her room on the second floor before they retired to the bay windows overlooking the harbour. It was now late, well past the witching hour. Upon the surface of the bay, slivers of refracted light from the Barrier Shield, flitters about within the churning of dark waters like silvery fish. From the bay's interior, Sydney extended into the water’s edge, fingers of multi-coloured light, stabbing toward a tenebrous horizon.

“What do you think of Gwen?” Alesia inquired of her brother-in-craft. Sometimes, he was the man of her dreams. Other times, he was the big brother she trusted and loved. Then there were times when he felt like a stranger, a stoic Paladin of the Tower, a title made flesh.

“She's strangely mature for her age,” Gunther articulated in that deep, resonating voice of his.

Alesia found herself leaning against Gunther, her head resting upon his shoulders as they sat on the couch overlooking the bay. One of his hands moved to touch her arm, his fingertips softly caressing the skin until he reached her hair, twirling strands around his digits before letting the ringlets fall. For all his charismatic bluster, Gunther was a prude. Public displays of affection in front of a stranger like Gwen was beyond him.

“I fear Master has dropped a difficult task on my plate. What do we know of her? Is she truly as innocent as she appears to be? She's no child, I am afraid.”

“Well, she's rather tall, well developed, got legs for days,” Alesia replied playfully. She could not deny that Gwen's strange mix of heritage gave her a sense of exotic allure: the girl's eyes, her shapely limbs - no wonder Gwen's uncle thought to pawn her off to the highest bidder.

Gunther gave Alesia a friendly pat on the thigh.

“Don’t be an idiot. I am not interested in little girls.” His mirthful tone then took a severe turn. “I take it you agree with Master then? The both of you are confident that she’s going to be an asset?”

“She’s going to be a great Sister and a good Apprentice,” Alesia's voice rose an octave. “You can't think of her in terms of assets and deficits, Gunther, she’s still a person before anything else. I've taught her for three months now. She's a good girl.”

“Alright, alright, I am sorry,” Gunther made amends by kissing her on the forehead. “I am just looking out for Master. You know his health is not well. It’s a lot of effort raising a new Apprentice.”

“That’s why we’re filling in for him, right?”

Gunther grunted, exhaling deeply.

"I suppose you're right."

The duo remained entwined, comfortable in their familiarity. Alesia could feel Gunther’s body underneath her, at ease and relaxed. They were cuddling, or at least she thought they were. His arms were wrapped around her waspish waist, and her skin was warm against his cheeks. Maybe one day, Gunther will reciprocate her feelings, but his work, his duty, his loyalty to Master - all of it prevented him from pursuing a personal life.

Upstairs, Gwen was asleep, exhausted by close to forty hours of continuous wakefulness, kept alert only by Sufina’s ambrosia. If she could see Alesia and Gunther on that couch though, she would have immediately recognised their body language.

It was a case of two dogs playing on a hearth-rug. The younger worrying, whining, snarling, snapping, giving a pinch, now and then, at the old dog’s ear; the other lying somnolent, blinking at the fire, raising a paw before turning to lick the first. Gunther and Alesia, they were littermates, entwined into a familial embrace, one’s head under the chin of another, falling asleep, numbed by the intimacy of one another's presence.

Gwen left the apartment in borrowed clothes; a modest pink minidress wore over a lacy white camisole. The events of last night weighed heavily on her mind, especially her left ring finger, where now a silvery band acted as guardian and ankle-monitor.

Now bathed under a cloudless sky, Gwen allowed herself to soak in the gentle radiance of the autumn sun. With some time to spare, she decided to take a few hours to walk and think. Her first stop Town Hall, from which Gwen made for Hyde Park. Once at the park, she returned to the old Cypress tree under which she had collapsed some half a year earlier. There, she found gashes scabbed with old sap where her uncontrolled Void blasts had removed chunks of ancient wood.

As she touched the indifferent wound, she grew vaguely aware that her birthday was today. Sweet-sixteen, she amused herself with the meaningless number. What was the passage of time for someone who had no certainty of what their future held? She felt like the proverbial plastic bag from American Beauty, behaving as the wind behaves.

More than ever, she wanted to see Yue and Elvia, though the girls were more than likely with their families. Yue had a regular thing with her father every fortnight, and Elvia either visited her family or worked with her Uncle and her mother at a charity clinic at the edge of the city. Refuting her immature desire, Gwen decided against needlessly disturbing her friends' family-orientated schedules.

Family, the plosive syllables made Gwen shiver. The body she possessed has family in this world: a brother, a father, a mother, uncles and aunties. Yet - it was invariably true that she was alone in this world of monsters and men, a solo traveller whose road bisected, but did not run parallel to others. That was the reality of it; the dirty nitty and gritty of it.

A second life, spent alone?

She didn't want that.

Walking down George St, she allowed the smells of the cafes and restaurants to distract her from her depression. Feeling ambivalent, Gwen focused on her growing hunger. She had eaten a very light breakfast, and it was now almost noon. She was midway between George St, bisecting Pitt St, and there were eateries every few shopfronts. In her eyes, the setting proved familiar but exotic, its decor no different to her old world even though the stores had different signage and many of the businesses catered exclusively to the magically-inclined.

Curiously, the pedestrian section she was on now appeared to have foregone modernisation. There were no glass fronts, gentrified shopfronts, or high-street fashion labels lining the boulevard.

The apparent difference, Gwen realised, was that her former home of Sydney had been a top-tier city; while current Sydney was a Frontier region recovered from Mermen occupation some three-decades ago. Most of its buildings were reconstructed facades of the old town mounded from sandstone, fabricated by Earthen Transmuters. To Gwen, though both cities were aesthetically similar, there was an air of dilapidation about this place that spoke harshly of the 'quality of life' here. Even on the main strip, she could see litter and trash befalling the alleyways.

To her surprise, she stumbled upon an old haunt not too far from the cinema.

In Gwen's old world, the coffee shop had been a quaint, chic little place popular with hipsters and trendsetters. The owner was an old man who always wore a loud vest, and whose hair changed styles pending his mood of the day. He had a daughter who was going to take over the business, but found love elsewhere, leaving the old man to grind out the rest of his days with his Arabica. Gwen rather fancied the old man, who flirted with her during lunch breaks.

But 'hole in the wall' Gwen had arrived at was deeply suspect. The only sign that there was something open was a rusty iron board swinging on its last legs that said 'coffee here'.

What’s the harm in having a look? Feeling nostalgic, Gwen convinced herself to commit to the coffee, no matter how terrible. Moreover, she was curious to see if the old man was here and if his daughter was still part-timing as a waitress in this parallel world.

"Hello?" She walked through the frontage. Thankfully, the interior was clean and tidy.

"Oh hi! Welcome," Gwen was greeted by a girl her age, with short, shoulder length hair and a waitresses' mini-skirt hiked well above her knee. Fiona, her name tag read.

Gwen smoothed her skirt and took a seat near the corner.

"What would you like?" Another voice called out. Gwen felt her heart flutter. The old man! The old man was here!

“Hi Gregor," Gwen stated in the manner to which she as accustomed to, trying her luck. "Flat white, extra shot, skim no sugar."

The old man paused at the discord between the unfamiliar figure of the girl-in-pink against the overtly familiar manner in which she ordered, then went about his business.

The coffee arrived.

Gwen took a sip of the coffee. The milk was watery and the beans acidic, nothing at all like the flat white she had anticipated. Oh well, some things were not meant to be. She thought sadly, feeling foolish.

"!"

A sudden awareness stabbed Gwen in the spine.

She moved her hand subtly to her back pocket, only to find that she was indeed wearing Alesia's skirt.

Her currency card! Her wallet! She had left it in Alesia's apartment! She had her student glyph on her keychain for public transport, for school meals and academic activities, but all private expenses had to come out of an account her mother had set up for her years ago.

Could she leave them her contact? Would Gregor accept that?

As Gwen mulled over the terrible coffee and her embarrassing blunder, two young men sauntered into the shop, their immediate bluster disturbing her train of thought.

"Two cappuccinos, make it quick!" They shouted rudely at no one in particular.

Gwen furrowed her brows; the old shop never had customers like this, one of the reasons why she had enjoyed its ambience. When the waitress, Fiona, brought the men two menus, Gwen could see that they were far more interest in her outfit.

“Told ya the service was good here,” one of them vocalised to the other. "What's your name sweetie?"

The waitress smiled and said nothing.

"Hey, what's your name?"

One of them read her tag.

"Fiona is it?"

"Are you still going to school, Fiona?"

"Come sit with us, Fiona."

Gwen felt the ire rise in her chest.

She watched the waitress escape with the men's order. When Fiona returned with the cappuccino, Gwen baulked at the owner's carelessness. Gregor! What are you doing! You should bring it out yourself! It would appear to Gwen that this world's version of Gregor was somewhat inept.

Gwen wondered if she should lend the father-daughter a hand, though there were too many unknowns. Gregor may be her friend in the old world, but here he was a stranger. With conscious hypocrisy, Gwen put aside her proposed motto of Noblesse Oblige.

"Sir! Hands off!"

Her dilemma escalated in the form of a yelp, a cry of distress and alarm. Gwen looked up from her cup to see that one of the men had taken the girl by the waist and was forcing her to sit with them. A cup spilt in the struggle, and now the duo was adamant Fiona was to blame.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" Gregor shouted angrily from behind the coffee machine, producing what looked to be a wooden bat.

"As I thought," one of the young men grinned from ear to ear, "Jordie, they're both NoMs."

Immediately, his companion’s demeanour changed from peevishness to outright arrogance.

"What are we doing?" The Mage pushed Fiona into a chair, sending her skittering across the floor.

He raised a finger; a swirl of water encircled her father.

"You dare assault a Mage, NoM?"

Old man Gregor glared impotently at his two assailants. His wooden truncheon a joke compared to what they could potentially do to him.

"What... what do you want? You can't use magic ag-against us! That's against the law!" Fiona screamed at the two from the floor. "I'll Message the Police!"

The threat seemed to work.

"Watch your back, cunt!" 'Jordie' spat rudely at the girl still prone and terrified on the floor.

The two young men moved to leave, and that's when they saw Gwen.

FUCK! Alarm bells rang in Gwen's head. I should have left.

"Hey there, young lady," Jordie's eyes lit up. "You work here too?"

Gwen immediately moved for the door. Obligation or no, she's not getting involved with these walking shit-shows. As soon as she's out, she would call the cops. If a bystander called the police, there was no reason for these pricks to harass the shopowner.

But she had underestimated the motivation driving the pair of titillated hooligans. Already incited by their failed attempt at picking up the waitress, the two bucks gawked at the girl in pink blooming before them like an orchid. 'Jordie' scrambled for the exit. The moment he'd lay eyes on the girl, his heart grew sore with desire. There was something about the girl, prettier than all the lasses he had seen, that drove him to act. If he could get the girl to go out with him, the young man thought lasciviously, the envious looks on his friend's faces would be divine! It didn't matter if she was a NoM, he justed wanted to have her.

Gwen meanwhile was appalled at the man's audacity. Seriously? Are they accosting her in broad daylight?

"Move it!" she stated in a tone hinting at mass murder.

Instinctively, the young man backed away. Gwen took the opportunity to escape from the coffee shop.

Never goto dodgy cafes looking for nostalgia, Gwen promised herself as she made haste for the boulevard, where pedestrian traffic would ensure she could call the police unmolested.

Gwen made it no more than a dozen steps before he felt a forceful tug on her ankle, something sodden and wet pulled at her left foot, drenching her wedge sandals. She turned icily to see Jordie with an idiotic simper on his face, mightily pleased with a watery Mage Hand.

"I haven't even gotten your name yet," he quipped with a stupefying grin.

"Mage Hand!"

Gwen tapped into her Conjuration sigil, willing a mote of lightning to exist where the man stood grinning. The air beneath Jordie ionised, an arc of electricity gripped his ankle.

"Arrrghk!" Jordie cried out, leaping into the air and convulsing uncontrollably before landing awkwardly on the dirty pavement, compelling him to perform a freestyle rendition of 'the worm'.

His friend backed off with both hands in the air, his face suddenly the colour of ash. He wasn't about to piss off a Quasi-Elementalist.

"I don't know him that well, he's just a guy from work," he explained. "We just happen to be on break together."

The man had told the truth. They were common Mages from the Manufactorum. From the man's expression, Gwen could see that making himself scarce was his dearest wish of the moment.

"Don't move," she commanded, performing her best impression of Gunther.

She willed a mote of Lightning mana to circulate through her body, her irises glowed, forming two concentric rings of cobalt-electricity.

"I.Ds," she stated coldly. Jordie’s terrified companion produced both of their identity cards after patting down the groaning Jordie.

Gwen took a glance, two Manufactorum workers, low-level Mages whose talents only allowed them the ability to operate reinforced machinery, worthless when placed into the Wildlands or pitted against monsters.

"Don't come here again or bother the store owner," she continued, tossing back their IDs casually. "Or rough men will do to you what I can't be bothered to do right now."

"Of course, Ma'am... absolutely!" The two supplicated, one on his feet and the other on his knees.

Gwen observed as a thin veneer of Transmutation mana covered the man, empowering him enough to pick up his convulsing friend and beat a quick retreat. Gwen turned to leave, though the squelching of one of her sandals ruined her cinematic exit.

"Excuse me... Lady Mage..." A voice cried out. It was the waitress, Fiona.

OH SHIT, I haven't paid! Gwen's face caught fire. Should she dine and dash? There was a first time for everything, be it threatening to electrocute assholes or fleeing a four-dollar flat white.

"Thank you..." The waitress bowed deeply.

"It was nothing. Adieu!" Gwen retreated as she spoke, stomping from the alleyway with one plodding foot trailing water.

Once out on the main boulevard, she took the opportunity to stand in the sun with one foot out of her sandal, drawing eyes to her bare feet as she waited for the damn thing to dry.

She had another place she wanted to visit.

The pedestrian section of Pitt St had always been for luxury goods. Here, gigantic, gaudy display windows intimidated those with weak wallets. Though Gwen had a weakness for handbags, her preference had always been for artisanal and boutique products.

A block later, she arrived at an old Victorian Arcade called the Strand, happy to see another place replicated in this parallel world.

Unsurprisingly, the place housed shops she hadn’t ever seen before. Where once boutiques stores for bonnets, shoes, ties, and vests reigned; here, in this reality, crystals, magical trinketry and enchanted jewellery inundated the enclosed venue.

When Gwen proceeded through the arched gateways, a guard in a bright blue uniform gave her a warm and inviting smile.

"Welcome Madam, please enjoy your visit to the Emporium."

Gwen greeted the man back. Glancing above the guard, she saw a Detect Magic device.

"It's for keeping out the NoMs, Ma'am," the man spoke in a tone that was cordial and polite. "Please enjoy your stay; if you have any questions, I would be glad to answer them."

"Thank you." Gwen passed the guard uneasily.

Do they segregate shoppers here? Gwen was against reminded of her Apartheid analogy for the world in which she found herself. It was the first time she had seen a place bar NoMs from entry. Her old home in Forrestville never had any shops that kept out the NoMs; likewise, her school had NoM staff members, for whom the Principle encouraged equal treatment.

Now inside, Gwen's eyes scanned across a vista of display windows. She could sense the density of the mana in this place, so remarkable as to be almost palpable. Gwen approached the first shop, where a broad window displayed a dozen pairs of intricate earrings, set and cut with enchanted mana stones. There was a short description for each item, what its effects were, and the price tag.

Earring of Air Fortification

A boost to your ability to shape and control elemental air. Offers significant increase in efficiency to mana conversion equating to Tier 2 - 3.

Tier 5 Blue-Wind Fox, Orange Zone, Indonesia.

Crafted by Master R.J Tillerson, 4En. 4A.

~ 45 H.D.M Crystals

Had Gwen been drinking, the storekeeper would have had to wipe juice from the pane. As far as Gwen could recall, her summer job at the beach selling ice cream made regular currency in Australian Dollars which could only be used to purchase non-magical goods. Last she heard from Helena, her father made no more than 90 HDMs a month, which roughly converted to just under 50,000 roo-dollars. The conversion rate wasn't a reliable metric, however, as NoMs usually had no access to magical goods and services anyway. Additionally, Gwen had a suspicion that the Mage-controlled Frontier government took advantage of the exchange to keep the NoM population in their place.

She looked at the price again and felt her breath quickening. Gunther had said that Edgar’s Contingency Teleportation Ring could be anywhere between five thousand to ten thousand HDMs. Anyone with that kind of money likely didn't take losing an arm and a leg lying down.

"Miss?"

Gwen looked up to see the shop assistant smiling at her serenely, a beautiful blonde woman with lovely cerulean eyes, stunning in a full set of enchanted earrings and a necklace.

"Would you like try out any of the items? We have a courtesy Cognisance resonator where you can test the efficacy of the items."

"No, thank you, I am just looking," Gwen replied. The woman gave her a curt nod before returning behind the counter.

Four shops down, Gwen found what she had desired since finding out they existed - Storage Rings. This 'luggage shop' had dozens of them, all in different shapes and sizes.

Storage Ring (minuscule)

Allows for the storage and retrieval of small items. Max Capacity 0.3 L.

Tier 3 High-Density Spatial Crystal, Orange Zone, Australia.

Crafted by Master G.D Cooper, 5En. 3T. 4E.

~ 80 H.D.M Crystals

She surveyed the selection with a growing expression of grimness.

Storage Ring (Medium)

Allows for the storage and retrieval of large items. Max Capacity 3000 L.

Tier 8 High-Density Spatial Crystal, Black Zone, South Africa.

Crafted by Master P.J. Kali Jr, 8En. 5T. 6A.

~ 1990 H.D.M Crystals

"..."

Gwen doubted if she had ever possessed that much liquid asset even in her old life. 1990 HDM Crystals? Her father could buy one if he forwent two-years' salary.

It goes without saying that having access to crystals would help her Spellcraft immensely. In her old life, her Consultancy had made good money, she had created an expert team who came up with efficient and creative solutions - but how her knowledge of finance, creative accounting, marketing and international business help her here? As far as she knew, only NoMs did those jobs in this world. They kept the little cogs of the economy greased, but Mages pulled the levers.

The bigger problem was that she was a high school student. She couldn't be a Mage, and also work like a NoM on the side, could she? From where was she going to get crystals to invest? The only person in her family with wealth to spare was Uncle Kwan, who had inherited his wealth from Grandfather, an Enchanter-

Grandfather Huang!

She paused. Perhaps she could work out something with her grandfather? A sponsorship she could pay back in a year or two. She remembered seeing him years ago, and the old man had been perfectly amiable. According to Helena, the old Mage was getting long in the tooth, and his mind wasn't what it used to be, but he was still a Tier 5 Enchanter! Not only that, he lived separately from Uncle and her Mother's new family in the Huang’s country estate. Between her charm and his senility - there was no reason he would ignore a granddaughter in dire need!

Gwen took another forlorn look at the Ring of Storage, ignoring the rapidly blinking eyes of the store clerk trying to catch her gaze. To think that a twenty-kilometre serpent could wipe out the city in one fell swoop and here she is, having the woes of money.

She sighed.

Somethings never change.

Gwen made it back to the dorm just in time for dinner. She ventured into the cafeteria, eyes scanning for Yue and Elvia, but couldn't find them anywhere. Had they not returned yet? She thought to herself, disappointed at her friends' absence. Tellingly, the rest of the student cohort were likewise absent, likely as a result of the averted crisis.

"Gwen," a soft voice called out meekly. Gwen turned to see a girl rolling towards her on a wheelchair, her bronzed legs angled to one side, too tall for the limited extension of the footrest.

Debora! Gwen felt her heart drop. She can't believe that she had forgotten all about her friend. Though a lot had happened, to clean forget about the girl she had electrocuted was unforgivable.

"Deb..." Gwen fell in beside Debora, dropping to the girl's eye-level. "I am really sorry..."

"It's okay Gwen, I know... I know what happened," Debora assured her softly. "Instructor Alesia told me about it at the hospital. I am glad you managed to knock me out, otherwise..."

Gwen took Debora's hand in her own.

"Can we talk for a moment? Up in your room?"

“Yes, I would love that,” Gwen agreed, feeling awkward that they were airing their traumatic laundry out in a half-empty cafeteria, filled with the sound of clinking plates.

"Thanks," Debora concurred. Reflexively, Gwen moved to push Debora to the levitation platform.

"It's alright; I got it." Debora incanted softly, and the wheels began to move. "Gotta keep up the practice. I still gotta to catch up to you and Yue."

Once inside, Gwen could see that both Yue and Elvia were out. The cleanliness of the room was evidence of that.

"There's a letter for you," Debora pointed out.

Gwen picked up the envelope. Inside was a scented card with embossed words in italic.

Gwennie! Look up!

Quizzically, Gwen looked up.

'BANG!'

A burst of light erupted from the ceiling. Gwen shielded her eyes, simultaneously opening a conduit to her Evocation Sigil, flashing her eyes electric blue in the darkness. With Debora here, she couldn't just open up a Shield, but she was confident that any ambushing enemies would cope a blast of lightning to the face.

Instead, banners fluttered from the ceiling.

"Happy Birthday!"

"Happy Birthday!"

"Sweet Sixteen!"

Cries of jubilance surrounded Gwen, startling her so much that were it not for the intimate sound of those familiar voices, she would have let loose her cantrip. Instead, she became covered in confetti and strings.

Happy Birthday? Her mind spun. That's right; it WAS her birthday today!

Gwen gawked as her friends materialised in her room. Some cheeky bugger had used an Illusion spell to make the room look unoccupied!

"Oh, you guys!" She couldn't help but gush. Elvia and Yue both embraced her. Jun and Henley were here as well, busy unleashing more poppers, sending out streams of colour and sound.

"Sweet sixteen!" Elvia, on her tippy toes, gingerly pecked Gwen's cheek.

Gwen cheeked her friend in return and took in a whiff of the Positive Mana radiating from her golden girl. Oh, how she had missed this!

Yue joined the duo and hugs were given all around, even to the boys.

The girls had prepared a cake for Gwen, a cute tri-colour sponge cake. A table full of food catered by the kitchen below reminded Gwen she had yet to have dinner. In the midst of jubilation, Gwen found herself beside Debora, again apologising for what she had done.

"I am fine," Debora divulged intimately. "My nerves took some damage, but with continued physiotherapy and restoration magic, I'll be good as new in a month or so."

She tried to prove her point by lifting her legs, achieving only an inch of movement.

"Deb..." Gwen placed a careful hand on Debora's thighs, feeling the trembling flesh under her fingers. "If there's anything I can do for you..."

"Don't worry." Debora looked up at Gwen, then motioned with her eyes towards Jun. "Although if you don't mind... I want to ask you a favour for the future."

"Anything, Deb, just let me know."

"We... I don't want to push my luck... but if you want to make it up to me, promise me that you'll give me a chance to join your team, I want to be a part of what you guys are doing."

"..." Gwen looked at her old friend in surprise. They had their adversarial relationship going for almost half a year now, and the 180 took her by surprise.

"Sure, I'll speak to the others," Gwen promised, recovering after a moment's deliberation. Debora had demonstrated ample ability. Should Elvia and Yue oppose Debora's inclusion, it would not be because of her talents.

"I don't think we'll be having any more Field Trips," Gwen added uncertainly.

"There's a compulsory Quest in an Orange Zone next year, right before we start our graduation and military service," Debora pleaded, her moist eyes looking more vulnerable than Gwen had ever seen them. "Two of my team members will be gone by then, as will you Abjurer and Diviner. I need this Gwen. I need to do well for my future' sake. I hope you can understand."

"I understand, Deb," Gwen answered. She empathised with her old friend. Debora was hard working and talented, but her Spellcraft wasn't rare in talent or affinity. She may be outstanding in a regular school like Blackwattle, but skills like hers were a dime a dozen in the State's Selective Schools and privileged private academies.

"Take care of your self," Gwen comforted her old friend, patting her on the hand. "I'll speak to the others, I promise."

"What're you guys talking about?" Yue imposed herself upon them, a plate of sliced cake in each hand.

"I'll tell you later," Gwen replied. "Thanks so much for organising all of this."

"No sweat." Yue grinned. "It was Deb's idea actually; you never told us your birthday you know."

"Oh?" Gwen was surprised to hear that. She's technically thirty plus sixteen now, an old spinster! Where are my cats! She amused herself with an old clichè. I was your age, we trained through sun, wind, sheaves and snow and had to walk six miles through a Purple Zone to get to school.

"Thanks again, Deb."

"So," Yue continued. "Sixteen, you got one year to register for the mandatory service, what did you think about my offer? Wanna join with me?"

"Sounds like a plan," Gwen replied, though she knew Yue had a far brighter future ahead. If Yue became Alesia's Apprentice, and Alesia was her sister-in-craft, did that mean Yue had to bow and call her Aunty Gwen?

"Well, enjoy the cake! I'll get some more. You want a drink, Deb?” Yue regarded her old arch-nemesis. “Man that thing could use a cup holder huh? Why not transmute one?"

Deb laughed.

"I am only using it for a week or so; then I start on crutches."

'Ding!'

Gwen's Message Device pinged.

"Excuse me."

She moved outside into the corridor.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Gwen." A masculine voice came over the phone. "Happy Birthday."

"Dad?!" Gwen replied in earnest surprise.

"Don't act so surprised, as if I wouldn't know your birthday. You’re sweet sixteen after all. It feels like just yesterday you were still a little girl. You grew up so fast. I hardly had time to notice..."

Was the man reading off a script? Gwen marvelled at her father's sudden verbosity. Usually, they exchanged a dozen sentences a day. In all honesty, she didn't know how to respond. This man was her father, but not in a sense that felt real or concrete. She did, however, have memories of another sweet-sixteen where she worked the graveyard shift at McDonald's, being paid award wages and feeling pleased about making almost $20 an hour.

"Thank dad," she said finally. "It makes us happy that you called."

"Principle Bartlett Messaged me and told me of some things that happened. I am sorry I wasn't there for all that… I hope you don't think too badly of me."

If Gwen was still the insecure daughter Morye had known, she would probably be in tears, or at least drunk with sentimentality. As an adult, Gwen knew her father's call was a result of guilt-tripping on his daughter's birthday.

"That's alright Dad. I understand. Let's have lunch sometimes. It'd be good to talk."

"Thanks." Father and daughter each played their parts. "That's good to hear."

"Dad, can you do me a favour?" Gwen had one more task for her wayward father.

Her father's response was one of hesitation.

Well, that didn't last long, she scoffed. At least her father was back to normal.

"Do you know Grandfather's number? For his country estate?"

"Ah, of course. I think I do... I'll message it to you, are you thinking of visiting?"

"Yeah, there are some questions I need to ask him."

"When are you going?" Her father's voice was full of relief. Maybe he thought she was asking him for money.

"Tomorrow if possible."

"Want me to call him? He hasn't seen you since you were ten or so, I am pretty sure he has no idea who you are if you just called out of the blue."

"He's not that senile, is he?"

"Oh... it's pretty bad. He was rather paranoid when I saw him last year when he made me and your mother visit with Percy... I think he forgot we were separated."

"I wasn't invited?"

"..." Morye's silence spoke louder than words.

But blood as thicker than water right? Surely her grandfather was just senile or something. Surely he wouldn't mind answering some of her questions or giving her a hand with access to some cheaper magical items. Aren't grandfathers supposed to dote on their granddaughters? It came with the territory.

"Can you call him?"

"Alright. Happy Birthday, Gwen."

Morye hurriedly ended the Message, leaving Gwen alone in the empty corridor. Behind the oaken door of her dorm room, she could hear the girls laughing.

Feeling melancholic, she leaned against the wall, thinking of the serpent, of Henry Kilroy, of the Tower, of the friends she now possessed, at once overwhelmed by the surrealism of it all.

When Gwen woke up in the mid-morning, there was a Message spell awaiting on her device. Her father had contacted her maternal Grandfather, and he was expecting her.

"Gwen, can you take Percy with you? Your grandfather hasn't seen him in forever, but I am busy today. Just drop by the house and pick him up, he'll be waiting."

Gwen chose not to speculate as to why her father was busy on a Sunday.

In her old world, Surya Indra Huang was a retired professor, a former engineer who retired rich. Her maternal family traced their genealogy from a long line of native tea traders working for the Dutch trading consortium. There was an awful colonial air about the family history that Gwen found both fascinating and abhorrent, involving multiple feuding wives, loveless marriages, and lawsuits over land. Caught on the losing side of the feud, Surya migrated to Sydney, laid down his roots and re-married.

In this world, Gwen was less sure. All she knew was that her grandfather was an eccentric Enchanter who made the family fortune bountiful enough to set up his son and daughter to not know the worries of money. He had a tumultuous relationship with his children after Gwen's grandmother passed away from illness. For some reason, Gwen had seen him two, maybe three times in the last sixteen years.

Nonetheless, Gwen washed up and made her face. When she opened her wardrobe though, she saw a bag that she had not noticed in the hustle and bustle of last night. It was one of those folded, high-quality boutique bags used by branded stores. There was a card attached, and Gwen knew without reading that it had to be from her mother. With mixed feelings, she withdrew yet another Miu Miu dress, a one-piece in navy. The top was modest, covering her shoulders with a short sleeve; its length though. was notably in the style that her mother adored, the hem a few inches above the knee.

How many dresses for a Storage Ring? Gwen wondered.

At least she didn't have to think of what to wear, Gwen comforted herself. She opened the card that came with the package:

'Happy Birthday, Sweet Sixteen ~ Hope you like the dress. Wear it next time we luncheon.'

- XXOO. H.H

Not a single word of apology or remorse, Gwen snorted as she dropped the card back in the bag. As usual, the dress fit her impeccably. If nothing else, her mother knew Gwen's figure like the back of her hand. She then found a pair of beetle-black Mary Janes that went well with the dress, then slapped on mascara, gloss, and two generous dashes of eyeliner.

She kissed the girls goodbye as they lazed in bed, grunting and flailing when she pecked their cheeks, then made for the station. It was Sunday, and she had to catch an interchange service from Redfern to Forrestville.

At the station, she was surprised to find Percy was already waiting at the ticket gates.

"How?!" Gwen marvelled, hugging her brother.

"Had to leave. Do you remember how thin our walls are? Dad's banging his-"

"STOP!" Gwen buried the boy's face in her bosoms. She released the boy once she was satisfied that she had sufficiently reconnected with her brother. "How you been, bud?"

"Worse now that I gotta visit a weird old guy instead of shooting hoops with my friends."

A typical teenage response. Gwen acknowledged. All's well with the world.

"Alright, blame me, it was my fault. I made Dad call Gramps," Gwen confessed. "How about another hug to make it up to you?"

The gesture drew smiles from several other passengers whose gaze had lingered on the leggy teenager, whose presence was a spot of beauteous blue dispelling the dreary monotony of public transit.

Percy blushed.

"Not when you're like that," he replied. In his opinion, his sister's heels and the hem of her dress drew unnecessary attention.

"Too bad!" Gwen embraced her brother again, pressing him against her chest because he could be such a cute little boy when he acted his age. Give it a year or two, and she would be too self-conscious to hug and kiss him so playfully.

"Stop!" he cried out.

She ruffled his carefully combed hair.

"It's good to see you too, buddy."

"You too." Percy rubbed his forehead vigorously with his sleeve. "Can we go? Please?"

The siblings took the Country Link interstate out west beyond the main confines of the city. Two hours away from Sydney and up north was the tablelands that fed the city, magically maintained by Mages and tilled by NoM farmers.

The Huang country estate sat on a piece of land bordered by vineyards in a region called Windsor Downs, named after the British Imperial household of Windsor. It covered three acres; itself converted from an old winery into a sort of semi-modern country estate. Though initially intended as a holiday home for the Clan, it had long since been used exclusively by Surya Huang as his private abode, preferring solitude over the company of his children.

When the train had finally arrived at Maitland, the two grandchildren awaited a pick up from the manor,

After a quarter of an hour, the boxy shape of a vintage Mercedes rumbled up, a trail of wasteful mana swirling in the dust. The doors closest to Gwen and Percy opened up, revealing a woman in a rather daring outfit; a pair of cropped jeans and a spaghetti top exposing two mountainous white globes.

Percy's eyes popped out of their sockets. Gwen slapped him on the head and made him sit at the back.

"Hi, I am Melissa, but you can call me Mel," she introduced herself once they were all in the car. "Master Surya is expecting you."

"Hi Mel," Gwen replied. "It's nice to meet you."

Melissa cranked the gears of the old Merc. The car began to move.

"Mel, what do you do at Gramps?" Gwen asked, her hazel eyes searching for answers. The way Melissa dressed, she could be anything.

"I am his Apprentice," Mel replied.

What? Gwen's gaze moved up the girl's voluptuous figure. She certainly did not look like an Apprentice.

"There's two of us at the estate," Melissa dropped another bomb.

Oh? Gwen turned her attention back towards the road. Melissa had a gentle face, but what was with that outfit? Gwen was starting to feel a little conscious in her choice of attire. Maybe she should have gone super casual? Perhaps her grandfather hated the couture, prim and proper look? She glanced in the rearview mirror at Percy, who wore cargo shorts and a baggy, plain polo shirt.

"How's gramps? I haven't seen him in years."

"He's doing well, a little grabby, but he's a good Master."

Gwen furrowed her brows.

"It's all harmless fun," Melissa intoned casually. "We're used to it. I mean, its a great opportunity he's given us to learn some advanced techniques. He is an artist, after all."

That's sexual harassment! Gwen wanted to blurt out. What do you mean you're chill with it?!

Ahead, the estate came into view, revealing a large bungalow in the style of an outback manor. Gwen took a deep breath and prayed that her grandfather wasn't a pervy old codger.

Like many estates from the Outback, The Manor was a single sprawling level fabricated from a composite network of sandstone, glass, timber and transmuted cement. From afar, the Estate had an artistic air, a contemporary facade; viewed from the front, it melded into the landscape. At the back, a good forty meters of decking extended beautifully toward a vista of rolling tablelands.

Melissa kicked the handbrake then threw the stick into neutral. With the power cut, the engine's mana cores coughed and died, clinking as it cooled. Gwen opened the passenger side door and extracted her legs awkwardly, for the sunken seats preventing her from modestly removing herself.

Melissa whistled.

"Nice stalks, you Helena's lass?"

"I am, do you know my mother?"

"We've met."

"Amiably?"

Melissa laughed, slapping Gwen on the back so hard she had to prop herself against the car.

"Funny gal huh?" She grinned. "Come on in; the master's waiting."

The interior of the estate consisted of dark floors and stark walls, favouring glass wherever possible to let in the natural light. Here and there, artistic sculptures made of various materials sprouted seemingly at random.

Upon closer inspection, Gwen realised the abstract figures were hyper sensuous statues of women in various states of undress. The moulding of their breasts, waists and buttocks expertly shaped as to possess an uncomfortable realism. More disturbingly perhaps, the figures were contorted artistically a manner that made them come alive.

Gwen covered Percy's eyes, the boy had been inspecting a gigantic sculpture at the centre of the atrium, mesmerised by its indecency.

"These... are Grandfather's work?"

"Oh yes, some of his best." Melissa slapped a plump, black, obsidian buttock. "He gets incredible commissions on these you know."

"Anyway, if he's not here to greet us, then he's probably in the workshop."

They penetrated through house's atrium and onto the veranda. Beyond the deck, an infinity water garden extended towards the horizon, mirroring the blue sky. It created a whole world of blue beyond the decking, at the ends of which was a workshop bellowing steam and smoke.

What the hell is that? Gwen mentally checked her textbooks. The building at the end looked more like a forge. An Enchanter's workplace should be akin to a watchmaker's workshop, possessed of small boxed shelves of precious materials hidden in a large elevated table, upon which were dozens of complex instruments used to make glyph scripts.

Instead, from the ponderous door came a hiss of cooling steam that sent Gwen's skirt flying, forcing her to arrest the wayward hem against her buttocks. Within, she saw anvils, moulds, carving blades, dozens of filers, tongs, and what seemed to be a small mountain of ingots.

With wonder, Gwen stared as a bronze statue in the shape of a voluptuous woman appeared, stark naked, walking towards them. She looked just like Melissa, only freed from the bondage of clothing, sporting wide hips that reminded Gwen of Greco statues.

HOLY SHIT. Gwen's mind gave her a good kicking. A FUCKING GOLEM.

As complex constructs, Golems were the highest level of craft possible for an Enchanter. Clay Golems, Iron Golems, Crystal Golems, they were invaluable tools of industry and war. As a Frontier city, Sydney invariably suffered a shortage.

Was this a Bronze Golem? Gwen gushed, her heart pounding at the immense possibilities represented by this female construct. How incredible must her family be if Grandfather could create Golems?

But why were there nipples on a golem?

Gwen's brows furrowed.

Her gaze fell lower.

Ho boy! She covered Percy's eyes. Golem or no, this was no sight for a child. Those swinging fun-bags were far too realistic to be PG-13, bronze or otherwise, not to mention what was carved out downstairs.

Percy was already rigid with shock, his mind penetrating into a brave new world.

"Hey Tess," Melissa greeted the Golem.

"Yo, welcome back," it replied.

It took a moment for the metallic bronze to fade from the skin of the Golem, returning to that of flesh. The woman known as Tess turned to Gwen, whose hands covered Percy's eyes, and smirked.

"Never seen a Bronze Flesh Transmute before?" She asked mirthfully. "You can't work here without Resist Hot and Cold, ideally Greater Resistance."

By now, Gwen was glad she had not blurted out something about Bronze Golems. Tess walked over to a counter and placed a ring upon her finger. From within, she summoned a robe.

The steam was clearing by now. Gwen could see the figure of a gnarly old man staring at yet another artistic creation. He was almost dwarfish, with dark skin and sinewy arms. His frame was skinny, practically skin and bones, with a bulbous head that swung back and forth on his stick-thin neck.

Even now the old man was moulding the glowing statue, the metal deforming where his hands touched, shaping this way and that as though it was clay putty and not heated iron.

"Do you like them?" A voice that sounded like rattling nails called out, echoing through the chambers of the stifling smithy. "That big one took me almost a month.”

He pointed to a voluptuous creation.

Gwen wasn't sure whether she should bow or perform some other supplication she was unaware of, so she curtsied. Her action appeared to please the old man, who took to walking around her slowly, ponderously inspecting every inch of her like a critic at an art gallery.

"They are lovely," Gwen replied, watching her Grandfather making the rounds. She held onto the overstimulated boy with an iron grip, praying Percy wouldn't pop an erection in front of their grandfather.

"Started making them a year ago!" Surya announced. "You mother refused to let your brother there take over the family business. So I've taken to work on things I always wanted to do."

Gwen turned to look at Percy, who shrugged.

"So you're Helena's girl. Yeah, I remember you," Surya began. "You were this big.”

The Enchanter placed a hand at his chest. Gwen was tall even as a kid.

“And now you're a giant!" Surya laughed.

Gwen too effected a polite chuckle, hoping it would build some rapport with the strange old man.

"Lovely calves, excellent contour." Surya's inspection continued. "Your father was a short bastard if I recall, and your mother has a fat ass, you lucked out."

"Thanks, Grandfather," Gwen was beginning to see where her mother gets her obsessive body image compulsions.

"Good, good," the old man continued. "You model?"

"No Grandfather, I am an Acolyte."

"Really? You any good?"

"I am a Lightning Evoker, Grandfather."

"No shit? really?" He raised a bushy white brow; the effect was like watching a caterpillar come to life on his face. "From whose arse did we pull you out? You sure you're Helena's daughter? Morye loved to poke around, you know. Helena was an ingrate, but your father screwed that poor, stupid girl over more times than I can count."

Surya's frankness made Gwen nervous. All she could do was smile and nod, hoping that she wouldn't say or do something to upset her Patriarch.

"Still, a Quasi-elementalist." Surya rubbed his chin, once again examining Gwen as if was some newly uncovered artefact of immense interest. "Your mother tried to sell you off to the highest bidder yet?"

"Not successfully," Gwen replied truthfully. The man knew his daughter well.

"Heh." Surya chuckled. Gwen chuckled with him. "What did they tell you about me?"

"..." Gwen wondered if she should lie, but decided against it.

"They told you I was a crazy old man right? A real nutcase?"

"Actually, they never talked about you at all, Grandfather."

Gwen needlessly drilled their relation into her response, hoping that the idea of an endearing granddaughter would bring forth some form of filial sentimentality.

Despite her best effort, however, her grandfather flew into a wrathful trance.

"Typical... typical... ungrateful kids, I gave them everything... hmmph... call me crazy..."

Gwen realised she had better lower his blood pressure before he blew a gasket.

"Percy is here with me." Gwen brought her brother forward in the manner of one performing a show-and-tell. "Your dearest grandson!"

"Hmmph!" Surya grunted with annoyance, still muttering angrily.

Percy punched Gwen in the rib.

"Whoops! You've set the master off!" Gwen turned to see Tess approach with a face full of concern. "His mind tends to run off the rails at times; it could be hours before he recovers."

Gwen watched as the woman sidled up to her grandfather, pressing her body into him like mother coddling a child.

"Surya~ Surya, you want to have a drink? Something to eat?"

Gwen watched her grandfather's face slowly relax, the anger draining from him like molten bronze from a crucible. Eventually, the wrinkles on his face relaxed. He looked up, once again taking note of the world around him.

"Wha? Oh, Tess, yeah, sure, water for me."

Phew, Gwen relaxed. Had her grandfather lost his shit, that would have been the end of her visit.

"Tess, are you Grandfather's apprentice too?"

"Yep, I am his Transmutation Apprentice. Mel is his Enchanter."

"Oh," Gwen looked for Melissa, the woman had gone to get some water for the old Magus.

"Thanks for looking after him," Gwen replied earnestly. Having never taken care of anyone in her life, she couldn't imagine the hassle of looking after someone suffering from senility.

"Just give him a coddle, dear." Teresa winked at Gwen. "He's sweeter than you know."

Gwen turned to Percy expectantly.

Her brother's face informed her that there was no way he was hugging his grandfather and that she should be the one to do it.

"You guys want anything?" Tess asked.

"Just water, thanks."

"I'll have a lemonade." Percy raised his hand.

"Sure, I'll be back,” Tess gave Surya a peck on the forehead. "You just keep interrogating him."

"Mel, Tess and I are entirely professional, just so you know," Having regained his lucidity, Surya explained as he walked Gwen out of the workshop towards the infinity feature under the back veranda. "Not at all like your father."

"Of course, Grandfather." Gwen followed demurely, watching him deciding between a wicker couch and a small alfresco dining set. He chose the dining set as it offered both Gwen and Percy a seat.

"So, why are you here? Your father was pretty vague on the subject," Surya began.

"Grandfather, I wanted to ask you some questions," Gwen said sweetly. "That and I wanted to see you."

Her declaration brought a smile to Surya's cracked lips.

"Is that all?"

"But... in truth, there is a more dire reason for my visit. I am in need of funds, Grandfather," Gwen confessed. "As well as magical items."

Percy almost spat out the glass of lemonade he was nursing. He gazed up at his sister, demanding to know if she came all this way to beg. If so, why the hell was he here?

"Helena not giving you an allowance?" Surya looked at Gwen sceptically. “Your father broke or something?"

"I would rather not," Gwen replied, lowering her voice modestly. "I would prefer to work for an income if possible, but I don't know how to go about it.”

"Understandable." Surya thought a little about Gwen and her circumstances and acknowledged that in her place, he would also prefer not to be in her mother's debt.

"How about your Uncle? He's got the lion's share of what I had left them. Isn't he living in a new house in Kirribilli?"

Gwen explained what had happened the last time she went by the Manor.

Surya grumbled cynically.

"Social climbers..." He sighed. "All those years of Spellcraft and hard work, and my kids are just social climbers without a Path."

"Well, Richard is doing very well. He got a commendation to the Four Houses at Prince's..."

"I heard." Surya regarded his Granddaughter, whose features looked nothing like his own. She was tall, lithe, and had her mother's hazel eyes and dark hair. "So you're the reason Richard got that placement. How well do you know this Alesia de Botton?"

"We're acquaintances," Gwen lied. "She was my Instructor."

Surya mulled over the news in his mind while Gwen waited in silence.

Tess and Melissa returned once more with snacks. Surya took the chance to properly introduce his Apprentices. The girls were twins that Surya had found by chance while selling his artworks. One was a Transmuter, and the other an Enchanter. They took a liking to the old master’s craft, and Surya was happy to have them as his live-in students. In this world, the Convent of the Craft was far more binding than that of the blood of the womb, and so the girls became Surya's constant companions.

As for Percy, Surya gave the boy a few kind words, then nothing more. Since Helena was adamant that Percy would attend Prince's, which meant serving the Four Houses, which involved travelling away from Sydney, it would not be possible for Percy to take over the family business. At any rate, Percy had to Awaken first, and the chance that an Evoker and an Abjurer would produce an Enchanter was slim indeed.

"So, what Path are you taking?" Surya continued to grill Gwen about her aspirations.

"I can't conclusively say, but here's what I do know..."

Gwen told him of her desire to finish high school, enter the military and join one of the government agencies. It was typical of any high-achiever Magus wannabe, but it was realistic and Gwen had the potential.

"...And for that, you need money and items." Surya finished.

"Yes Grandfather," Gwen affirmed.

"What makes you think I am so generous? After all, we have only met twice, once with you as a child, and again now."

Gwen felt her professional acumen tingle, the tone of her Grandfather’s voice suggested willingness, although the man desired a more valid excuse. The degree of his 'help' therefore, would be dependent entirely upon her sincerity.

"I have this..."

Gwen opened her hand, and there was the shimmering chromatic scale that the Serpent had given her. It glinted under the sun with a prismatic display of rainbow hues.

Surya exploded from where he had sat, clasping her hand.

"Where did you get this?!" He uttered in disbelief, his spittle landing all over her palm.

Gwen said nothing. She could feel a tingle in her mind; the Geas was in full effect.

Surya swallowed.

"Is it yours?"

Gwen nodded.

“Who gave it to you?”

Gwen remained mum.

Surya considered his options. It was evident to him that his Granddaughter was keeping a secret. The object was, by his expert eye, something that belonged to a being of at least Ancient tier. Such a scale was an exceedingly rare material that appeared only once or twice a decade, generally after an extensive Subjugation or Purge. Considering the recent news cycle, Surya could manage an educated guess as to its origin. If so, why did Gwen have it and why can she not speak of it?

Either way, he was tempted.

An Enchanter receiving rare ingredients with questionable origins was the mithril standard for the tetragram-glyph. The profession would hardly exist if every prudish crafter were bothered by dubiously sourced materials, be it the Grey Market under the Tower, or the Obsidian Exchange. The more an Enchanter worked on expensive and exotic materials, the greater their craft could grow. At the proficiency of Surya's skills, nothing short of black zone materials could extend his Spellcraft.

Hoping the temptation was enough, Gwen closed her hand, cutting off Surya's longing gaze.

"Would you like to work on it?" She proposed, blinking her long lashes.

No shit I would like to work on it, Surya grumbled sulkily. He regarded his Granddaughter in a new light. She wasn't here to beg - no, she was here to negotiate! A curious smile touched the old Enchanter's lips; he found himself smiling despite the suspicion that he was being played. How old was the girl now? Fourteen? No, with a figure like that, at least Sixteen. Her mother never did possess a mind for manipulation, Helena was an open palm that rudely asked for more.

"What would you like to have it crafted as?" Surya spoke carefully.

"Something defensive. I am lacking when it comes to shielding and fortification."

"Hmm..." Surya pondered the options. The Scale possessed the properties of all major elements, which meant that he could potentially create something unique and highly specialised. "How's are your Shielding spells?"

"Terribly weak against solid projectiles."

"Well," Surya began. "I can make you an Elemental-Shift item with an inbuilt Shield attunement. You'd be able to make any Prime Elemental shield as if you had Affinity. Though that Affinity is going to be minimal."

Gwen pondered the pros and cons of the proposed effects. The most important aspect of this was the advent of casting Water Shield, which was near-perpetual and self-regenerating, or the Earthen Shield, which could ward against hard-point attacks.

"Give it some thought," Surya proposed. "Personally, I suggest a passive item. Active items prevent you from casting other spells, so its uses are limited."

"Oh," Gwen replied disappointedly. For a moment, she thought she had found a rule-breaking cheat.

"A passive item can be just as potent. It could increase your resistance - in this case, all Primary Elements, which make up for eighty per cent of all Mages. Ah, if only you were a Conjurer, it would be pretty interesting if you could use Elemental Shift to bring to life all sorts of Elemental beings. There used to be a Mage I know that could combine all four elements - a Plant Mage, wouldn't that be great?"

At the mention of 'Conjurer', Gwen gazed at her Grandfather awkwardly. A titanic battle of truth and deceit raged within her. Should she tell him the truth? She didn't want to waste creating an item that didn't take advantage of all her Schools of Magic.

An expression of indecision appeared on Gwen's face.

"What, you're a Conjurer?" Surya sputtered, his mind conjuring an unlikely hypothesis. As an Enchanter, he was hypersensitive to motes of mana from different Schools. When Gwen froze on the spot, he knew his suspicion was right. "You're shitting me!"

“Well?” Surya’s face flushed with anticipation. “Out with it!”

“I am... untrained,” Gwen said slowly.

"But... you can see a Conjuration Sigil in your Cognisance meditation?"

Gwen nodded.

Surya's skeletal frame began to shake like a seismic fault on the verge of eruption. The man was understandably excited that his line would produce a Magus, perhaps a Magister.

"Grandfather..." Gwen touched Surya's wrists carefully. He better not be having a heart attack, she thought. That would be a disaster.

When Surya's eyes refocused, they had an intensity reserved only for his most celebrated erotic sculptures.

"Does your mother know?"

Gwen shook her head.

"Do you want her to know?"

Gwen shook her head.

"Morye?"

Her neck was beginning to strain.

"Alright. Why's he here?" Surya pursed his thick lips, turning his eyes toward Percy. Gwen too, followed Surya's eyes to see her brother, realising that he had just heard their entire conversation.

Oh dear, now the cat's out of the bag. Gwen slapped herself mentally. Percy had an uncanny ability to be invisible when he wanted to. He must have developed it to evade their mother.

"Percy." Surya's voice took on a hard, obsidian edge. "Look at me, boy."

Percy looked up at Gwen and Surya. As a Selective High School student, his intelligence was without doubt. From his expression, they could see that he understood his sister had dropped a Fireball in the water, and now he was drenched by the blowback.

Beside Percy, Gwen wondered just how profoundly her brother understood her circumstances.

"Yes?" Percy piped up, his voice croaking.

"You tell no one about this," Surya intoned with absolute seriousness. "I hear one word out of your mother or father about Gwen's Conjuration talent, and you're disowned. You have my word as your Patriarch, do you understand?"

Percy nodded.

Gwen winced, hoping that his brother didn't take their grandfather's threat too unkindly. If Percy indeed were a smart kid, he would know the reason all their resources were pledged toward him was due to Gwen's incompetence. Now that Gwen was a dual-element, dual-school caster, the question of inheritance would arguably be up in the air.

"Good. Leave us now. Mel! Tess!"

Surya called out for the twins.

"Yes, Master?" Tess was now properly attired. "More drinks?"

"No. Take Percy and show him around the compound. I need to talk to Gwen in private."

"Sure thing, Percy, come on, let Aunt Tess show you something cool..."

Percy shot Gwen and Surya a worried look.

"Go," Surya commanded.

Percy dejectedly followed.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Surya muttered in a disgruntled tone. "He's more like Kwan than any of us, I think. You can hear the little cogs turning in his head."

"It's alright, Grandfather." Gwen's gaze lingered on her brother until he was out of sight. "Percy's a good kid at heart."

"Maybe drop a Lesser Geas on the boy?" Surya persisted, "He's young, might survive it yet."

"That won't be necessary, Grandfather."

"Call me Opa," Surya suddenly declared. "Its how we say grandfather in the old country. My grandfather loved to hear me say it."

"Opa!" Gwen uttered adoringly, allowing the O to linger on her tongue before pushing out the P with honeyed sweetness.

Surya shook with pleasure, the smile on his face split from ear to ear.

"What a wonderful word," Surya confessed with tenderness. "Your mother kept you away from me, and your father was too afraid to visit. To think that I have three grandchildren and you are the first to call me Opa."

Surya then scratched his head, unsure of how to proceed further. Certainly, he felt no love for the grandson used to coax him into giving up more money, but Gwen's unexpected presence was refreshing and delightful.

Gwen responded by leaning over and wrapping her long arms around her grandfather, burying his face in her blue cotton dress. His skeletal frame felt like a bone rack wearing his skin; the vitality within somehow surviving time's fierce embrace. He patted her back awkwardly. Unlike the rest of his body, his fingers were hard and steady, the hands of an artist and craftsman.

"Come with me." He began to walk briskly. "Let me show you the Workshop."

They proceeded across the elevated deck, passing Percy and the sisters. Percy looked as though he was sleepwalking, disinterestedly nodding at each sculpture introduced by Tess and Melissa, having lost all fascination for flailing breasts and perky bottoms.

The Enchantment Workshop sat on the east wing of the estate. Gwen noted with interest the protection glyphs surrounding the premise. Their glow was visible even in daylight.

"Precious materials attract unsavoury attention," Surya noted her concern. "I am frankly shocked that you carried the chromatic scale on your person."

Gwen felt a sudden permeation of cold perspiration. Like an idiot, she had wandered around town with an invaluable object.

Surya invoked an unlocking glyph. The doors opened, revealing a textbook workshop covered with tools and hundreds of drawers built into row upon row of shelving. Gwen further noted that even the interior had many wards in place.

"My sanctum," Surya said proudly, spreading his hands.

He gestured for her to take a seat on one of the stools.

"Who's your Instructor?"

"From school?"

"No," Surya scoffed. "Your real Instructor."

"I can't tell you, Opa," Gwen replied apologetically.

"Secrets huh? I love secrets." Surya scratched his rough white beard thoughtfully. "I say you're under magical compulsion, not a surprise, considering your talent and the origin of that scale. Care to play a game?"

"Opa?"

"Just nod or shake."

Gwen nodded.

"Is he a man?"

Gwen nodded.

"Is he a Magus?"

Gwen shook.

"Military?"

Gwen shook.

"That's all I need to know," Surya smiled and took a deep breath. "My granddaughter, apprentice to one of the Ten."

Gwen's eyes widened.

"What? A senior Mage can't teach you shit, and your master's not a Magus. There are only three women Magisters in Oceania's Cabal. Do you think Magisters grow on trees? How many non-military Magisters do you think are in Sydney? You can count them on your hands, you know."

Surya tapped the oaken table beside him.

"Blaire, Walken, Lin, Ferris, Gonne, Kilroy, Uther..."

Gwen tried to keep her poker face intact.

"Gonne-Kilroy-Uther..."

Gwen blinked.

"Kilroy huh? That old dog! Thinks he can have my cute granddaughter! He's dreaming!"

Sweat beaded on Gwen's forehead.

"You're good." Surya laughed heartily, "for a noni, you got a nice poker face, but you can't trick someone like me. Your pupils dilated when I said his name, don't underestimate the eyes of a master Enchanter!"

"You're amazing Opa." Gwen had to admit, that was both impressive and dangerous. Hopefully, her Opa's astute mind wouldn't trigger her Geas and squash her head like a melon in a vice.

"Yeah, yeah, flattery will get you everywhere." Surya snorted, pleased with himself. "Let's get down to business."

"Please do, Opa."

"So..." Surya continued. "For crafting a unique, tier 6 item, I charge about this much."

He showed her a figure by raising six fingers.

Gwen froze. She can't afford that.

"Do you want to pay in instalments?"

"Opa..." Gwen forced a smile to her face, realising suddenly what her grandfather had done. The sly old fox. He had deflated her negotiatory momentum by pivoting to their loving relationship as Opa and granddaughter! Now she was on the back foot! Should she remind him that any other Enchanter would love to work on the Scale? That would be awkward; they just hugged. She really should have clinched the deal right there and then.

"Opa you know I am penniless."

"Opa isn't a charity!" Surya grinned, enjoying Gwen's squirming, his demeanour full of sadistic satisfaction.

Oh, that's how you want to play it huh? Gwen chuckled internally. If the old man wanted to play mind games, that was fine with her.

Meanwhile, her Opa continued unabated.

"Opa has costs too you know, I need mithril from black zones, enchanted gold from the Grey Market, specialised blade tips forged by tier 7 Transmuters..."

"Opa..." Gwen purred, the plosive 'p' lingering in the air.

Her Opa gulped.

Gwen leaned forward on her tippy toes, one hand strategically placed between her thighs to pull her dress tightly around her shapely legs, her off-hand pressed against her chest as though she was short of breath and deathly afraid. Still seated, she shifted her balance, mounting the workshop stool to swing her legs to one side. Her lips parted in distress, her eyes working up a mote of moisture.

"Opa... I have no money... I don't want to sell my body to Uncle's friends..."

A bolt of lightning struck Surya full in the chest, setting his cynical husk of a heart ablaze with pathos.

"Don't... even joke about that." Surya coughed as Gwen smacked his back to ease his recovery. Gwen retrieved a glass of water for the old man.

"You're a piece of work, grandchild." Surya swallowed, clearing his throat.

"Touché."

Their eyes met.

"Hee hee hee, ha ha ha!" Surya exploded into roaring laughter; he hasn't felt so enthralled in years. The elation was liberating, as though a constriction around his chest had been removed; an irritating kidney stone passed at last.

"Alright, alright." He patted Gwen's hand, taking from her fingers the chromatic scale. "I'll do this thing for you pro bono, just this once!"

"Thanks, Opa!" Gwen gave him another hug.

A second into their joyous reunion, Gwen felt the old man pat her buttocks. Rather than flinging the old man from her like a spider, she hugged him with all her might.

"Arrrgh!" Surya cried out. "Can't breath!"

Gwen released the old man from her deadly koala-embrace.

"Can't take a joke, sheesh..." Surya moved to one side of the workshop, placing the scale into a heavily warded draw.

"Gonna take a good three-four month, I am afraid," he informed her. "Are you going to join the Sydney Inter-High Tournament? I should be able to finish it before then."

Gwen watched as Surya withdrew a wooden ring box, casually tossing it towards her.

"Collateral for the Material, its a small Storage Ring, about four litres of space, operation Glyph is inscribed inside the box."

Gwen held the box in her hand, her heart throbbing with jubilance.

"Opa, you don't have to..."

"Nonsense!" He battered a hand at her. "You're on Team Opa now, and Opa is very generous."

Gwen's lips split to reveal pearly white teeth; a smile so entrancing as to make Surya falter, wondering how the hell his crude daughter could have given birth to something so elegant.

“What’s this Inter-High Tournament?” Gwen asked quizzically.

“A cross-school competition,” Surya replied. “Don’t tell me your school hasn't enrolled you.”

“We’re a public school...”

“You go to a public school?”

“Blackwattle...”

Surya was speechless.

“Your talent is wasted In Blackwattle,” he critiqued as a matter of fact. “You mentioned you needed money right?”

“Yeah...”

"Want to beg and live on the charity of others?" Surya raised an eyebrow.

Gwen shook her head.

“Good. You should enter the Tournament then. The prize for the inter-high Championship is 900 HDM Crystals.”

Gwen held her breath. That's enough to see her through university, maybe even enough to start an investment or two.

“Split amongst your team of course. Addition prizes exist for other criterions such as control, versatility, power, defence, MVP, and so on.”

“I don’t think my school can enter...” Gwen said sceptically. Surely someone would have mentioned it otherwise.

“Bosh! Any school can enter if they pass the preliminaries, only the selective schools and a few private academies are seeded.”

Gwen took note but otherwise said nothing. The decision wasn’t hers to make. It wasn’t as if Surya or Gwen could register her school against their Principal's will.

"Do you have a team?"

"I have a Tier 4 Fire Evoker and a Tier 2 hybrid healer, as well as... a Tier 3 Earth Transmuter..."

Surya's raised a critical brow.

"A healer huh? That could be a real game changer. In that case, I reckon you need an Illusionist. Hardly anyone's got True Seeing at the lower tiers. Of course, the mundane thing to do is to get an Abjurer..."

"I don't believe we have any good illusionists at school-" Gwen interjected.

"Shame, see if you can dig one up. Do you know how rare it is to find a healer at your level? Until your Cleric is out of mana, your team can ignore minor injuries. The Questing component should be a cinch."

"I'll consider it Opa."

Surya said nothing more.

They toured around the workshop after that. Gwen's Grandfather showed her some of the projects he was currently working on. A mundane Ring of Water Breathing, a collection of Ioun Stones still in the progress of being inscribed, a pair of Slippers that allowed one to fasten one's feet to surfaces like a spider.

"Enchantment is using crystals to create, hopefully, something worth more crystals than the ingredients you expended," Surya explained. "The higher the tier, the higher the turnover."

"What's your best recipe Opa?" Gwen asked innocently.

"You got any more secrets to trade?"

Gwen smiled and said nothing.

"Then you can wait to find out."

With that, they exited the Workshop.

"You want to stay for the night?" Surya asked, "I can have the sisters cook something nice."

"That won't be necessary Opa," Gwen answered sweetly. "I need to head back to the dorm."

"You board with two other girls" Surya enquired. "Is there much privacy?"

"No, not at all."

"Mind if I come and see how you're all living?"

"..."

"I am joking of course."

"I suspected as much, Opa."

The duo chuckled awkwardly.

"I better take Percy home before it gets too dark, we still need to travel to the station."

"Of course. It was good to meet my cute Cucu Perempuan."

They hugged one more time, with Gwen wary of her Grandfather's wandering hands.

"Model for me sometimes," he said.

"I'd love to," Gwen replied as Percy was brought out.

"Remember what I told you, Percy," Surya noted sternly. "And tell your mother to leave Gwen alone."

"Yes Grandpa," Percy replied. He can't believe he wasted a day doing nothing, and now he had attracted the ire of a crazy old codger.

Melissa then drove the siblings to the countryside station, where the final city-bound train was due to depart in half an hour.

Surya watched the car disappear into the distance, smiling and cackling to himself. Numerous amusing ideas ran their course through the twisted channels of his deviant mind, but for now, he had a Message to deliver.

He drew a glyph in the air. A Message spell fired off beside his ear.

"Surya? It's been a while, old friend. What's the matter?" Henry Kilroy, head of the Ten, answered the Message. The Magister's tone, however, was one of bemusement. Surya knew better than to Message his private glyph unless it was something urgent.

"Henry old boy, you owe me big time."

"Oh really? I think you still owe me for ripping me off, old friend. I still can't believe I paid you forty HDMs for that sculpture. I asked for something suitable for the lobby, not something to make the guards blush."

"Oh I am not talking about that," Surya fired back. "I want to know what you did to hook your teeth into my cute Cucu Perempuan."

"Is... is that a Magical Creature of some kind? The Tower collects dozens of the damn summons very month, how would I know which one's yours?"

"My Cucu Perempuan, ya old fart! My granddaughter!"

"You don't have a granddaughter you senile old fool."

"So much for your tree-ring endemic memory! Surely you know my Gwen? Dark hair, hazel eyes, long legs."

"... I cannot confirm nor deny awareness of this Gwen Song."

"Come on, old mate, she's my cute Cucu Perempuan; I am serious here."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"By your oath as a Magus."

"By the Credo, if I have to."

"Well, well..." The Magister fell silent. "I still don't believe it. How did an ugly rock cod like you give birth to a rainbow trout?"

"It's called good genetics, Henry, you should try it sometimes."

"I got my Apprentices; kids are beyond me."

"Well, who gave you permission to take mine?"

"Why so salty? I still think you're lying. We've known each other for how long now? When's the last time you mentioned a granddaughter?"

"It's a long story... Listen, I want to know more about her, what's her deal, what are your plans."

"How much do you know?"

"I know she's a dual-school and dual-element, and I know she brought me a bloody Mythical tier Serpent Scale..."

"Jesus, Surya." Henry's voice rose an octave. "You could have cracked her head open like an egg! How much did she tell you?"

"Nothing at all."

"Thank God."

"Why?"

"She's got Greater Geas attached to her Astral Body."

"YOU BASTARD!"

"Look, its a long story. What're you doing now?" Henry asked.

"Nothing more important than my cute Cucu Perempuan. Why? What are you thinking?"

"I'll clear my schedule. Can you come in?"

"Alright, ya better not have done anything else to her, you deathless old dog..."

On the train, Gwen sat in silence with her brother Percy. Her brother had not spoken to her at all during the two-hour long trip. Instead, he preferred to answer in grunts and gestures, finding intense interest in the scenery flying past the window.

"Suit yourself," Gwen replied sulkily. The carriage was empty, so she produced the wooden box from Surya. By now, Gwen had memorised the glyph for activation, wearing the Storage Ring on her right ring finger. She waved her hand across the box.

"!"

It disappeared.

"!"

It appeared.

She repeated the process a dozen times, testing its quirks. From observation, the absorption had a maximum distance of a few centimetres. Within, items stowed within the ring's pocket dimension remained in stasis.

Four litres. It was a modest space, but it was enough for many things: crystals, I.D, cosmetics, light clothing, an extra pair of shoes.

As the train pulled closer to the city, more passengers boarded. Gwen rested her hand subtly, hiding the fact that she was wearing close to a hundred HDMs on her right ring finger. She caught a glance from Percy, his eyes green with envy, and fought down an impulse to give him the Storage Ring.

It was strange how things were playing out so similarly between her new and old world. In her past life, Percy likewise went to a Selective School, surpassing Gwen academically. When Gwen's success accumulated, he grew increasingly distant. When Percy started his own family, he had cut her from his life entirely. It was saddening even now to think that though every member of her family were all alive; they all went their separate ways. Her mother left the country with her new husband. Her father lived his own life with his young bride. Their grandfather she never heard from again. Her brother never called.

When the train pulled into Forrestville, Gwen alighted with her brother, who left without a word. After switching to the inner city line, she leaned her head against the window pane, then lost herself in the dull thrum of locomotion.

"I have set up a schedule for you." Master Kilroy's tired voice echoed through the Message spell beside Gwen's ear. "Alesia will bring it to you later today."

Gwen had not expected to hear from her Master so soon and therefore was utterly surprised when a Message bloomed beside her ear at 6 AM, pulling her from the embrace of slumber.

She surveyed the dorm room, seeing that Yue and Elvia slept unperturbed, Gwen realised her Master had been thoughtful enough to send her a Private Message Spell. Clearing her head, she returned a 'Thank you', then quietly dressed, slipping into her school uniform.

Training schedules and classes.

Hopefully, life was back to normal.

Normalcy survived until morning assembly, where Principal Bartlett introduced their new Instructors.

Alesia was, unsurprisingly, staying on until the end of the year, filling in for those who had unfortunately departed. If nothing else, Gwen knew that Alesia also wanted to keep an eye on Yue, whose moniker - in Alesia's eyes - was already Apprentice number one.

After Alesia, the new instructors were introduced.

The first was a nondescript woman.

The next an ex-teacher brought out of retirement.

And then Gunther introduced himself.

The Radiant Mage came on like a Demi-God gracing the mortal realm. Instantly, his presence filled the auditorium, making the place shrink by the grace of his very existence.

Someone squealed, then all hell broke loose.

Gwen rolled her eyes, wondering if Gunther's charisma was a side effect of his Radiant element.

Her Astrology Primer stated that prolonged use of particular elements altered one's physicality and mentality. Yue was hot-headed, her body resistant to cold and heat. Jun was cool-headed, his body resistant to cold. Debora had a toned figure with minimal fat; her once fair complexion now honeyed-caramel. Elvia channelled Positive Energy, so surely that was why she as an angel. Alesia had a personality that was fire personified, and Master Henry had a face like a tree stump, although that could be his age.

Gwen wondered how her own physiology would be affected and what her physiological changes would be. Maybe she'll grow two red dots on her face and start shouting 'Pika!' Or perhaps, Gwen thought more frightfully; she could become an anorexic shadow, forever hungry.

"Oh my..." Yue wiped away a stubborn trail of drool beside her small pink mouth. "I never knew what my type was, but..."

They watched as Gunther introduced his alias. A returned Vet, just entering the education industry; please take care of me, and so on. He announced that he was, like Alesia, a Magus by trade, an Evoker - Abjurer, with a talent for the Quasi-elemental Plane of Radiance, between Fire and the Positive Plane.

"Wow... that's rare, like one in a million rare," Elvia remarked. "Why are we getting Instructors that could hold the position of head teachers in private schools?"

Yue shrugged, "Maybe Bartlett is well connected? All the old guys are military, most of them served during that the Great Coral War. Some of them are surely big wigs up in the chain by now."

Then, to their surprise, Alesia stomped onto the stage and took Gunther by the arm.

"He is my husband," she announced.

The crowd had gone completely silent.

Then an uproar exploded across the hall, both boys and girls wailing in frustration and disappointment.

Behind the teachers, Gwen saw Principal Bartlett facepalm.

"Yes... Instructor Alesia is correct; she is my wife!"

Gunther recovered in an instant. Taking Alesia by the waist, he raised their hands together triumphantly. They look like the President and the First Lady on a rally, Gwen chortled. She would never want to be in a situation where she and Gunther had to contest a platform. Sharing the limelight with that man was the dictionary-definition of been upstaged.

For some indiscernible reason, people began to clap. Spreading until the sound filled the auditorium.

When the fiasco was finally over, Gwen returned to class.

Theories continued to be taught, experiments and demonstrations performed. New teachers and old students were acquainted. Gunther instructed one of Gwen's classes, Elementalism 202, takin to the role like a fish to water; the kids eating up every word as though it were gospel delivered straight from the horse's mouth.

Gwen met with Alesia after classes ended. She had sent her a Silent Message, excusing Gwen from Yue and Elvia's company.

"Here's your schedule, little sister." Alesia handed over a small notebook once they met on the rooftop "Your resources will be allocated by Magus Bartlett. Have a look and see if you have any questions."

Gwen took the notebook and flipped it open. It was blank.

"Oh yeah, here's the glyph for dispelling the ward." Alesia stuck out her tongue playfully before teaching Gwen the incantation.

Gwen invoked the glyph, watching as the words materialised. There was a message from Master Henry encouraging her to work hard and be wary of her Void element, asking her to prioritise her Lightning. The next few pages had references for books her Master had recommended, Primers and Theories that pertained to Conjuration and such. When Gwen finally got to the schedule itself, she was surprised to find that her weekend training was not in fact with Alesia, but at a familiar address.

"Master knows my Grandfather?" Gwen asked incredulously.

"Master Surya made several of Master's items, you know," Alesia stated. "If you had told us that you were his granddaughter, you probably could have been spared from a full-strength Geas."

"Are they well-acquainted?"

"Don't know," Alesia confessed. "War buddies probably. Not many military Mages survived those early days in the 70s. Those who did were the ones who worked together."

Gwen flipped through the book until she caught a queer section where two weeks were outlined in purple with the simple moniker 'Field Work - Black Cat'.

"Any ideas what this is?"

"Oh, that." Alesia smiled nostalgically. "Master has another old war buddy, Marc, who runs a sort of mercenary Questing company. He solves client's problems that the government doesn't want to deal with, or have no resources allocated. Both me and Gunther worked for Black Cat when we were training. It was excellent for work experience, met lots of interesting people."

"There goes my school holidays..." Gwen sulked, though she understood the necessity of perfecting her craft. No amount of practice in sheltered rooms and warded fields could beat that one weekend they had spent killing actual monsters in the Green Zone. Presumably, this 'Black Cat' also offered a similar fare.

"There are two weeks left for yourself if you manage to finish the quests," Alesia continued. "Gunther finished all of his in four days."

"Woa, somehow I don't find that surprising."

"It's an opportunity for you to make some money as well." Alesia laughed. "I recall Gunther made close to two hundred HDMs."

At the sound of clinking crystals, Gwen's heart soared.

"How about you?"

"I finished all the subjugation requests," Alesia answered carefully.

"And...?"

"... then nothing."

"Of course..." Gwen felt no desire to pursue Alesia's trauma. Indeed, sending Alesia on diplomatic missions would likely result in burning buildings and charred corpses.

She continued to flip through the notebook. It was hand-written, meticulous drafted, every day there were activities and objectives. She flipped through the dates until she struck November, where she spotted the names of Yue and Elvia.

"What's this?"

Alesia took a gander herself.

"Looks like training for a Team Competition."

"What for?" Gwen asked; although an answer came to mind,

"Looks like 3v3 format to me, but two Evokers? You wouldn't have a tank unless..."

Alesia eyes flashed.

"Looks like my little sis is going to have a debut as a Conjurer - Evoker!"

Gwen flipped through the notebook, all the way until she reached mid-2003.

"Inter-High Tournament," she read out loud, "3v3 or 5v5 champions, or MVP, is the minimum I expect from someone of your talent. We are expecting good things from you, Gwen."

"We?" Gwen reread the line.

"Maybe Sufina's included?" Alesia suggested.

"Is entering the Inter-high comp feasible for someone like me?" Gwen inquired earnestly. Her knowledge of Spellcraft was average at best, and she had yet to exercise a single phenomenon in Conjuration. "Who participates in these things?"

Alesia pointed at herself.

"I swept through singles and 3v3 about fifteen years ago..."

The singular pronoun caught Gwen's attention. She guessed that if Alesia could envelop the other team in a massive AoE, it was technically possible. With an affinity for Fire at Alesia's tier, her spells were twice as powerful while costing half the mana.

Alesia pointed down toward the courtyard, where they could see Gunther’s new fan-club trailing behind the Radiant Mage.

"...and that guy was an All-Star during his time, he swept the singles, 3v3, 5v5, the MPV, the works."

Gwen found no surprises in that revelation.

"What's Gunther's School of Magic?" Gwen asked.

"He's an Evoker with a blend of Conjuration-Illusion," Alesia answered. "His usual Spell List consist of Signature Spells he and Master composed for his Radiant talent."

"That sounds complicated," Gwen muttered, unable to imagine the process involved, much in the same way a senior science student struggled to discern the mechanics of the Large Hadron Collider.

"You don't ever want to see Gunther angry," Alesia spoke without a hint of mirth. "I don't know how he does it, but he can conjure beams of light as thin as your fingers, but powerful enough to melt through a Mineral Abjurer's Shields."

"He can shoot lasers?!" Gwen gasped. But that conjecture didn't make sense either, even with gigawatts of energy, Laser-cutting required time and heat to slice an object.

"What are lasers?" Alesia tipped her head at the foreign word.

"Beams of light?"

Alesia shook her head. She pursed her lips, then tried to explain the Astro-phenomenon.

"Just as your Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void consists of Void matter, the absence of light, Radiance is the heart of stars - it's the combination of Positive Energy and Fire. Our Astrologist says that our sun is a gate into the heart of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Radiance, neat, huh?"

"That is pretty neat.” Gwen looked down into the courtyard. A Mage who shoots the heat of the sun as laser beams? That doesn't seem like a mortal ability. How potent were Gunther's 'light' spells? Did they have travel time to the target? How does an opponent ward against something like that?

"What's he like in combat?"

Alesia tilted her head, taking on an air of nostalgia.

"Gunther doesn't fight much these days, he's more of an administrator, or a deterrent against trouble, ha! There was this one time a few years ago though, Master asked us to subjugate a particularly nasty group of Trolls - big ugly Earth Elementals with regeneration. During the fight, one of them caught me mid-air and knocked the wind out of me. He grabbed me by the ankles and was about twist off my foot..."

She caught Gwen with her mouth open.

"Don't worry! They grow back. Master's got access to Regeneration. Anyway, just as I was gritting my teeth, there was a sizzling sound, and when I looked up, the Troll's face was gone. Like, it was just gone, where the troll's face had been, there was a smoking hole. A perfect cylindrical hole. I didn't even hear Gunther invoke his Radiant Blast! I couldn't even see a beam!"

Gwen closed her mouth.

"So that's how powerful Gunther was two years ago. His Radiant Blast was able to penetrate clean through a Tier 6 troll's face. One-hit K.O."

"..." Gwen could scarcely even imagine it. Her lightning blast must be a feather duster in comparison. "Does someone as powerful as Gunther have a fail-safe or something..."

"Like how?" Alesia blinked, her brow furrowing.

"Like, what if his powers are out of control or he gets mind controlled like I almost was."

"Then we better run!" Alesia laughed, her naivety and good nature incapable of registering Gwen's paranoia. "Although, it would be easier for me to summon a Meteor Shower than for a Mind Mage to penetrate Gunther's Ego."

Her brother-in-craft was Apollo reborn, Gwen thought enviously.

She wondered how Gunther would fare against the Serpent. Would he be the one to put the Snake down had it reached the city? Were there others like him? Demi-Gods, walking amongst men, playing politics for shits and giggles. What must it feel like for him to walk shoulder to shoulder with NoMs, knowing that a million of them wasn't worth a hair on his head?

Gwen shuddered. She should be glad Gunther seemed like a top bloke.

"So... when do I start the schedule?"

"Technically it starts today, but do ease into it."

"How closely should I follow it?"

"To the letter I imagine, you'll be seeing Master every fortnight. He'll be testing you."

Gwen felt the notebook in her hands. She had the distinct impression that this was not the schedule of one benefactor, but two, a Magister and an overzealous Opa. If she followed this religiously, she would be left with an hour of her own time per day. Her Saturdays and Sundays were both gone. Her school holiday plans with Elvia and Yue were up in smokes. Her extended summer holidays would be a seven-day training camp.

And yet, despite it all, Gwen observed a masochistic giddiness. If her sages would buckle fortune on her back, then she must have the patience to bear the burden of love and expectation. For someone long used to neglect, a little fatherly faith was enough to have her drunk with happiness.

Gwen's schedule began in earnest the next day.

6 AM: Rise, Wash, and Breakfast.

7 AM: Morning jog around the suburb, 6 kilometres of steep inclines and descents.

8 AM: Prepare for School

9.30AM: Class begins after Assembly.

11.30AM: Recess

12 NOON: Classes

1 PM: Lunch

1.30PM: Practicals

3.30PM: School ends, extracurricular training begins, Mana Management Foundations

4.30PM: Break

5 PM: Elemental Theory and Practicum

6.30PM: Supper at the Dorm

7.30PM: Combat Practice with Alesia and or Gunther.

9.30PM: Return to Dorm, wash and ready for Bed

10.30PM: Can't sleep because Elvia and Yue had endless Questions

11.30PM: Finally asleep because Gwen couldn't keep her eyes open long enough.

12 Midnight: Sweet, sweet oblivion.

Gwen woke with a start, thinking that it was Monday or Tuesday, only to realise that it was Thursday or Friday. Her days and nights blended into one, her sense of time acknowledged each dreadful morning, facing the hill climb from Jubilee to Glebe Point to Wentworth Park.

There were few pleasant surprises along the way, however. On one brisk morning jog, she met with a recovered Debora powering up and down the hills as though she were on flat ground. Jogging in tandem, they enjoyed a shared moment of the runner's high, thereafter taking to synchronise their schedules to share the morning routine. Debora told Gwen that she was working on her strengthening spells, trying to attain the next tier of Bronze Skin for better defence and Bronze Flesh for elemental resistance.

Meanwhile, Yue had taken up training with Alesia. The Scarlet Sorceress finally hinted to Yue of the possibility of an Apprenticeship. A few weeks into the schedule, Yue then joined Gwen for Elemental Theorem and Mana Foundations. Later, she discovered that whenever Gunther trained with her, Alesia trained with Yue. The parallel made her glad and happy, putting her anxiety over Yue's future at ease.

After the mid-year, the girls had to say goodbye to Jun and Henley, who was now going to enrol and begin their military service. To the boys’ surprise, Alesia pulled a few strings, and they both managed to get into the Divisions most suited to their talents. Jun entered an Officer's training school with a commendation for Valor during the Serpent incident. Henley entered the Intelligence Division, where he received the opportunity to focus on his Divination. Gwen received a half-day recess for the boy's sending away party, and the friends promised to see one another outside of school as young adults.

By late July, she had mastered elementary Conjuration and was fast approaching her first milestone: a special ceremony for all Conjurers. It was to take place at her Grandfather's estate, where both Opa and Master had spared no expense creating a complex and expensive Summoning Circle. According to a cheeky Yue, this was the moment in which all fledgeling Conjurer lost their proverbial virginity. Gwen was to receive her first summon, their first companion, a being whose existence was tied to their own - a Familiar for life.

Gwen snuck out from the dorm bright and early Sunday morning, snug in a tapered Tee, jeans and soft white sneaker, leaving behind her sleeping companions. She had asked for permission to let Elvia and Yue in on her secret but was turned down by her mentors on the grounds of loose-lips sink ships. They had told her that if she was to have a debutante moment in the Inter-High and catch her opponents off guard, she should keep the full extent of her abilities scarce.

"Especially your Void talent," Gunther solemnly informed her. "It's a lethal element for both yourself and others. Until your mind and body grow into it, avoid using it."

Having no desire to pass out mid-channel, Gwen took Gunther's advice to heart.

She made the now familiar trip to the tableland estate up the Hunter, marvelling at the change in scenery as the warm winters of Sydney gave way to moody spring showers. The wattles were now in full bloom, the flame trees alive with pink galas feeding in packed arrays of gay scarlet. Paddocks of shivery grass burst into fields of jezebels, covering the countryside in unnamable wildflowers of every colour and hue.

When Gwen stepped off the country platform, the vista was sublime. She could sense motes of mana palpably drifting through the crosswind.

Melissa came to pick her up. As usual, the two women sharing moments of mirth as the old Mercedes rumbled down the gravelly road. When they arrived at the estate, Gwen found both her Opa and Master having tea beside the infinity water feature.

“Master.” Gwen bowed deeply, and then again to her grandfather. “Opa.”

“Gwen.” Master Henry looked unchanged, an old professor in tweed.

“Hi, sweetie!” A voice called out from the infinity pool. Gwen turned to see Sufina in the guise of a small girl, likely to save on mana. She had both stiletto feet in the pool and looked to be having a good, long soak, the water rippling around her bare legs in twin concentric circles.

Not far from the infinity pool was a raised platform of earth, upon which was an intricate system of glyphs in the form of a summoning circle. From her studies, Gwen recognised it was a medium-tier warding system used for constraining tier 3 - 6 beasts. As the cost for potency was exponential, her Opa had evidently spared no expense.

Gwen took a deep breath, calming her nerves.

“Any particular advice before I begin, Master?”

Henry smiled in that gentle, sagely manner that she had grown accustomed to over the last few months.

“Whatever comes to you naturally, my child.”

“Bah!” Surya ejected two gusts of air from his nostrils. “With the amount I spent on that circle, Gwen better summon something special.”

“Now-now old friend, let's not get too ahead of ourselves. It will do her no good to contact something she cannot control. A Conjurer’s first beast is always special, and one too powerful or unruly would only ruin their development.”

“What was your first familiar Master?” Gwen asked curiously.

Henry’s eyes moved kindly to Sufina.

“When I met Sufina, she was only a tier 2 wood sprite, too weak to be useful in combat even. But I knew though, from the moment our minds touched, that we were meant to be Summoner and Familiar. She had grown much since those days when I was a young man, more powerful than myself in many ways, and she has more room to grow yet.”

Gwen nodded. Growing together with your familiar, that sounded very nice indeed. Her master was telling her not to mind if she found something that appeared weaker than she had anticipated. Of course, she wouldn't mind! For a woman with two cats, living with a companion animal was par for the course.

“I think that’s wonderful, Master, I look forward to raising and caring for my own Familiar too. I want to raise my Familiar to become the very best; like no Familiar ever was. This summoning is a test, to raise them is my cause.”

Henry smiled warmly, satisfied with her response, Gwen had a way with words which always pleased him.

“You warm my old bones, child,” he praised her articulation. “Nonetheless, let all things be as nature intends. Clear your mind. Allow the mana to flow through the Sigil unimpeded. Whatever your Familiar turns out to be, I can assure you; you won't be disappointed.”

“Well, with the rarity of materials you requested from me, nature better provide something worth the weight in mithril,” Surya intoned sulkily.

“Surya...” Master Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gwen possesses the essence of that serpent. She also possesses two elements. One of which is Void. God knows what will come out of that Quasi-Elemental Plane. For all we know, she might open a portal to the abyss."

Gwen felt her confidence deflate.

"You'll be fine dear, whatever comes out is bound to make a contract with you, if it ever wants to leave.” Her Opa grinned wickedly. "I had the warding drawn with gryphon blood; the seals reinforced with powdered mithril. The glyph themselves are your Master's own. Hell, if you summoned an Abyssal Drake, it would still take a good few minutes to turn loose. In that time, your Master here would have it beaten into submission."

"I am beginning to think that asking for your aid was a bad idea," Henry remarked sceptically.

Gwen regarded the circle. What would come out? A pair of dogs would be nice, cats even better. Please don't let it be something weird, like slimes or a slug.

"Up ya get, girl!" Surya slapped Gwen on the buttocks, sending her stumbling onto the platform. "Show this Master of yours what you can do!"

"Gwen, be careful," Henry added, shooting Surya a disapproving look. If that had been Alesia, Surya would be bereft of his eyebrows.

Gwen located the centre of the Summoning Sigil on the floor and positioned herself within the array of glyphs. She recreated the complex network of glyphs enabling the summoning of familiars within her mind's eyes, then allowed the mana from her Astral Body to permeate her physical being, forming a complex network of conduits. Below her, the summoning circle began to glow, its glyphs flashing and writhing as though alive, consuming their precious ingredients.

"Steady... steady..." Surya mouthed beside Henry, but Gwen was already within a world of her own.

First, she sent a clear stream of pure mana to stabilise the Circle, her channelling steady and without deviation. She had trained unrelentingly for the last three months under the tutelage of her Master and siblings, who had spent a small fortune on mana crystals to fortify her reserves. After double and triple-checking the spell, she was ready for the final invocation.

"Summon Familiar!"

The space within the portal distorted, reaching out into the aether and creating a vortex that would deposit whatever being her distinct mana signature plucked out from the Elemental Planes.

Please don't be something with more than four legs, Gwen prayed. Or possess a distended secondary jaw with acidic blood.

All of a sudden, she felt a tug against her soul, overwhelmed by an all too familiar sense of vertigo. She saw within her mind's eye dark motes blending into a swirl of black mana like fish in a tidal pool. For months, the Void motes had renounced her command, refusing to be formed, moulded or employed.

But now they moved, stabbing at the edge of her mind, seeking a way out. From Master Henry, she knew that every manifestation of the Void would cost her a pound of flesh. The moment she manifests the Void in the real world, her body would flood with Negative Energy.

You want out? She taunted the ball of tenebrous energy scornfully. Obey me!

Gwen willed herself to contain the volatile mass, forcing it to scatter. The more she constrained it, however, the more fiercely it struggled, dashing itself again and again against her conduits, sending out shockwaves of pain and agony into her physical body.

Gwen grunted with exertion. She was spending too much of her concentration on containing this thing. If she fought it any longer, she would be too distracted to maintain the Summoning Circle.

Fine! She derided the thrashing blob. Out with it!

Gritting her teeth, she awaited her trial by Void. She was going to face the inevitability of using her second element sooner or later, though she would have preferred building up a stronger fortitude. Master Henry had told her that the only way to safely manifest her Void element was to sparingly use it in a manner that was offset by a vast amount of Positive Energy.

With the feeling of a valve turned loose, she opened the proverbial floodgates to the Quasi-elemental Plane, sending half of her mana into that black abyss.

A moment of silence hung in the air, then a torrent of tenebrous mana poured forth, polluting the glyphs her Master had painstakingly etched.

Outside, Surya, Henry, and company watched as sudden slivers of inky darkness burst from their ward's body, smothering the summoning circle with Negative Energy.

"Shit!" Surya cried out, "Henry!"

"Sufina!" Henry needed no compulsion to command his Familiar, who raised a dainty, sculpted hand, germinating branching vines that caught Gwen by the waist and shoulders, suffusing the girl with a viridescent glow of pure vitality. Visibly, her body hungrily consumed Sufina's life-force, marring the Dryad's flawless skin with wrinkles.

"Henry!" Sufina retorted, her tone worrying and peevish. "Are you sure about this?"

"Keep her fed, whatever it takes," Surya commanded Sufina. "Use the life-force from the Grot."

Sufina expanded into her adult form, from where she stood in the water of the infinity fountain, lilies and sedge rapidly sprouted.

A pinpoint sphere engendered in the Summoning Circle. A small obsidian tendril wiggled from it, a hole that seemed to exist in no space, slithering forth to form an ebony serpent a meter in length, its girth thick as an arm.

"What the hell is that?" Surya asked as Sufina blasted Gwen with another jolt of vital energy.

"No idea... but it looks like trouble." Henry pulled out his staff, a length of Heartwood shaped from Sufina's Spirit Tree. "The Void is a place of infinite hunger and nothingness."

"Nothingness?" Surya demanded, doubtful of the Tower's officious knowledge of the Plane. "I think we just proved that something exists there, after all."

His question was answered by the snake lashing out towards Gwen, stopping when it bodyslammed the barrier, sending silver-white sparks of mana flying in all directions.

"It's mindlessly hostile." Henry sighed disappointedly. "Maybe it's best to terminate. A creature has to be sentient to be partnered, and that thing looks like a solid mass of pure, life-draining malice."

"Bah!" Surya spat, producing a wand that would activate the Banish function of his Warding Circle. With a clink, the metal extended to become a full-sized sceptre, its business end adorned with a model cage housing an egg-sized Creature Core.

"Halt!"

It was Sufina who interceded.

"The serpent is sentient... I can feel... hunger, anger, rage... perhaps give Gwen a chance."

The old men regarded each other.

As an elemental being of the upper tier, Sufina could communicate with lesser elemental creatures. If the serpent can indeed 'feel', then perhaps it was worth keeping.

"Whatever it is, it's too dangerous." Surya raised his staff to smite the damned thing.

'Crack!'

A sudden blast of lightning cracked across the Summoning Circle's interior. The duo watched in amazement as a solid beam of Elemental Lightning materialised into a second serpentine form.

The obsidian snake turned towards its new companion and hissed, its maw opening disgustingly and revealing a barbed tongue. Heedless of its warning, four short limbs sprouted from the second Familiar, its body elongating and twisting until the distinct form of a mammalian snout formed and a short tail could be seen.

"What now... " Surya hefted her wand.

"That creature... I think I recognise it," Henry mouthed.

"What is it?" If that dark serpent creature was some unnamable beast of the Void, what could Gwen possibly have summoned to suppress it? Was it a celestial being? Elemental lighting brought to life? Perhaps a pseudodragon?

The lightning retracted into the thing's body, forming into strands of buzzing, electric fur.

"My God... it's-" Henry squinted to see.

"What is it?!" Surya was beside himself. "Out with it, old man!"

"I think... it's... a badger.”

Gwen's Master was wrong, for her creature was less so a badger and more so a mongoose.

When the Void matter had manifested something grotesque and terrible, Gwen channelled the rest of her mana into her Lightning summon, calling forth a serpent's natural enemy.

Unlike Henry and Surya, who could only see the snake as a dark mass of malice, Gwen had a front and centre close up of its wretched state. The thing was less a snake and more of a slimy, slithering leech. Under its smooth carapace, its head was like that of a faceless lamprey, possessing only a mouth. In Gwen's opinion, disgusting and revolting were words too weak to do her revulsion justice.

Thus in her mind, in that moment of abject terror, she envisioned a vivid conjuration of a video on Youtube where a Mongoose had skilfully taken down a King Cobra.

Surya and Henry watched with interest as a blur of white fur encircled the dark serpent. The snake appeared far more dangerous, but every time it tried to attack, the mongoose would evade before nipping away a chunk of its dark mana.

"What's happening now?" Surya demanded of his old commander.

"A white badger is duelling a black snake..." Henry replied matter-of-factly. “…In a summoning circle."

"..." Surya said nothing. So much for the wisdom of the Ten.

Within Gwen's Summoning Circle, the battle was titanic. As with an IMAX documentary, she witnessed every detail: the horrifying lamprey face, the barbed tongue, the throbbing flesh. The mongoose, in turn, fired off synaptically bolts of electricity that teased and irritated the deranged serpent, dashing to and fro, too quick for the snake-worm.

Come on Sparky! Kick its ass! She commanded her mongoose.

'Ee ee!' The mongoose emitted a sharp trill, signalling its master. She implicitly understood that it was calling for her to supply more mana.

"Alright... here it goes." Gwen squeezed out the last ounce of mana she had held in reserve, channelling it through her Conjuration Sigil. Instantly, the mongoose grew in size.

The snake hissed and lunged, its maw going for the throat. Now empowered, Gwen's mongoose strafed the serpent as it passed, dashing it to the floor violently. A burst of purple-black ichor sprayed from a neck wound, causing it to twitch in agony.

"Shaa! Shaa!" It screamed, and Gwen felt it's trepidation and panic. It too demanded mana from her. With a haughty glee, Gwen refused, demand it submit instead to her mental contract.

The thing quailed, becoming pliable.

But now the ophidian's Master felt herself the victim of an immediate dilemma. Did she really want to form a contract with this thing? This alien abomination? Is it okay to say no? In what world could a xenomorph-cum-Lovecraftian horror be a companion? What kind of twisted Path would she embark upon if her chosen companion was the darling spawn of Cthulhu?

Another part of Gwen, a pragmatic part of her, informed her that this was the creature that showed up when she had injected her void mana into the circle. Something in the universe had compelled this thing to come to her, who was she to deny it?

Furthermore, the creature belonged to her. It was her responsibility. Moreover, it wasn't as though she had to fight the abyssal-horror, that was her opponent's problem.

Gwen sent forth her consciousness again, touching the weakened alien mind and feeling it caress her own.

Beast! Obey me! Are you willing to become my Familiar? Gwen whipped the worm with her will, lashing it with command and compulsion, just as her Master instructed.

"Shaaa... Shaa. Hsss..." The serpent responded compliantly, bleeding ichor all over the glyphs upon the floor. In the next moment, its consciousness meld into her Astral Body, generating a pocket dimension where summoned creatures resided and establishing an empathic link.

With the worm-thing gone, Gwen now faced the triumphant mongoose. Gwen cooed at the magnificent creature, coaxing its cooperation.

"Ee! Eeee!" it replied. Gwen again felt a melding within her Astral Body, engendering a second pocket dimension.

"Heavens, she's succeeded in taking the snake." Henry breathed out. "I am surprised it chose submission. Sufina was right, it was sentient after all."

In the next moment, the mongoose likewise dissipated into motes of lightning.

"How curious," Henry observed. "Looks like her elements are oppositional rather than cooperative. That was two completely distinct Familiars. She's going to have her hands full trying to wrangle them. Maybe one will counter the other?"

The Summoning Circle glowed for a moment more, then spluttered and died. With all of its magic spent, the priceless ingredients turned to dust.

The two old men waited for Gwen to gather her wits.

"I've done it, Master!" Gwen returned, skipping forward proudly. "I have tamed both the Void and the Lightning beast!"

At the edge, her knees gave out. With a yelp, she tumbled from the platform.

A dozen helpful tendrils from Sufina caught Gwen before she struck the floor.

"Congratulations, Gwen." Henry moved to remove his Apprentice from Sufina's makeshift hammock. She had met all of his expectations and more.

Surya motioned to Melissa, who materialised a mid-tier mana potion.

"Drink this," her Opa commanded.

Gwen thanked him before swigging down the expensive restorative, feeling energised as the potion restored her mana reserves.

"Take it slow, let it infuse you," Henry advised, then smiled encouragingly. "We eagerly anticipate a demonstration of your new Familiars."

Gwen nodded. She sat cross-legged beside Sufina and mediated until she could distinctly feel that her Familiars stabilising.

"Alright." She took a deep breath, turning to her fatherly mentors. "For my next act..."

Gwen felt no fear nor hesitation as she completed the Conjuration sigil, inducing the lightning-charged mana to materialise a snow-white marten; its body sleek and elegant, its fur fluffy with static.

"Eee! Ee!" It trilled like a songbird, then ran around her ankles before leaping onto her shoulder, where it perched adorably, its whiskers sparking with electricity.

"An aesthetic docile-form," Henry remarked approvingly. “A lightning-weasel, from the looks of it. I assume the mongoose is its combat-form."

“Sufina has a combat-form?”

“Oh yes.” Henry nodded sagely. “She's terrifying when she’s mad.”

“Yes, yes, a pretty pet is all well and good, but is it strong?" Gwen's Opa preoccupied himself with finding out if he got his money's worth from the Summoning Circle, he pointed to the white marten on Gwen’s shoulders. "Let's see it do some damage."

Henry glanced at Sufina, who casually sprouted two dozen roving bushes in the distance, meandering aimlessly.

Gwen sent a mental command to her marten, envigoring it with a dose of lightning mana. Her creature leapt from her shoulder, landing dextrously, transforming as it did so. Its fur became jagged shards of electrified needles, its girth expanding until it attained the size of a meter-long mongoose. It leapt, transforming into a streak of blue and purple, instantly striking three targets with electric-charged bite-attacks.

It's like a taser, Gwen marvelled. A mongoose shaped taser.

The two old men nodded in satisfaction. The mongoose' speed was formidable. However, like many attacks that favoured speed, its power left something to be desired.

Gwen tapped into her empathic-link with the creature, asking if it had any range attacks.

Heeding her command, her mongoose crouched on all fours, raising its back. With a shuddering of fur, it blasted off hundreds of tiny, lightning-charged darts, each a sliver too small for the eye to discern.

'Pak! Pak! Pak!'

A flailing tree-dummy spontaneously transformed into a cactus.

'Ee!' An impulsive demand for spellcasting engendered in Gwen's mind.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen invoked her latest Evocation staple, sending out a line of blue-white lightning from the tip of her fingers.

"Good girl!" Surya clapped. "Ya got to tier three!"

Lightning Bolt was one of the most iconic signature spells of Evokers beside the ubiquitous Fireball, perfected by generations of Mages that came before her. At Alesia's behest, she had spent weeks practising the incantation and invocation, training with it until she was out of mana, then recovering with HDMs.

'Crack!'

To Gwen’s surprise, her mongoose's white bristles acted as a lightning rod much in the same way as her Guiding Bolt. Her cobalt bolt arced through the air, a blast of pure plasma, striking the cactus-shrub with unerring accuracy. The electrical blast then radiated through the bristles, creating small secondary electrical explosions between the pins. The tree glowed pure white for a split-second, then exploded in every direction.

"Eee! Ee!" The creature returned to its marten form, having spent its allotment of mana. To remain persistently in combat form would require a constant channel, to which Gwen was too inexperienced to maintain. Returning to her, it nudged Gwen's storage ring. She produced for it a small mana crystal, which it crushed like a dog biscuit.

"A brilliant Conjuration, Gwen." Surya seemed well-pleased with his investment. “Synergy attacks with Familiars are typically attained much later. Your Elemental Affinity may be greater now than your last assessment. What is it now?”

“I won’t be updating my Student Card until the Inter-High Tournament, Opa. Master says to keep my talents under wraps.”

“Do you have access to a Chamber Gwen?” Surya inquired eagerly.

“She can use the Observatory at the Tower,” Henry added. “Though I would advise discretion, many of those who work at the Tower has connections to the private schools."

They conversed until the creature had finished its meal. Gwen tried to recall her marten, but it instead ran to Surya and Henry, stood upon its two hind legs, then made a begging motion with its forepaws. The old men laughed, then each materialised an HDM for her Familiar. To Gwen's dismay and envy, the creature’s eyes glinted with mischievous delight, then stowed the crystals inside its mouth pouch.

"What are you going to name it?"

According to her Master, summoned creatures didn't have True Names until they reached higher tiers of sentience, until then, nicknames were equally, important, for they bound the Familiar to the Conjurer.

For Gwen, the moment she had seen her two creatures, she knew their names.

“Ariel,” She declared. “A Spirit of The Tempest.”

Though her instructors didn't know the inference, they found the name to be pleasing, its sound melodious to the ear.

“Eee! Ee!” Ariel seemed to like its name as well. It returned to her with its mouth full of crushed crystals, dropping motes of mana dust on her shirt as it chewed. Gwen waited until it was done before invoking the banishment command, returning Ariel to its pocket dimension.

“Well done.” The gathering readied themselves for the next Familiar.

“How’s your vitality?” Henry demanded. They had to suffuse Gwen with Sufina’s life-force during the ritual. For Gwen, summoning her Void Familiar meant that she would be suffusing her mana conduits with the Negatively charged Void matter.

“I feel fine, Master.” Gwen took a deep breath, vaguely aware that Sufina had protected her. “Shall I proceed?”

“Be careful,” Surya intoned worriedly.

Gwen called out to her serpent.

"Shaaa!" Came a reply in her mind. It refused to move from its pocket dimension.

“Caliban! Heel!” She called out affirmatively, her imperial tone compelling obedience from the netherworld ophidian.

It came.

The thing materialised like a grotesque drop of black ink. It fell onto the spent summoning circle, a slithering mass of darkness, wetly coalescing until it took on its physical body.

To Gwen and the other’s astonishment, its appearance was aesthetic.

The ophidian worm's sinuous body had a dark, ebony sheen, as though it sculpted from glossy obsidian. Its carapace-dermis absorbed the light of day, changing hue as it slithered. The thing's faceless head wasn't that terrifying maw Gwen had seen previously, but an elegant configuration akin to a Prince Rupert's drop. Within its torso, inky dashes of Void matter moved in abstract filigrees.

“My word, what a creature.” Henry raised a bushy brow, entirely surprised by the difference between expectation and reality. “To think even something from the Void can be beguiling and arresting! How wondrous the unknown can be!”

“Indeed!” Surya mused, his artist's eye twinkling. There was something strangely sensual and erotic about the phallic creature. Didn't they say that Familiars reflected their Master's psyches? He regarded his granddaughter, then again at the worm-thing, wondering why Gwen had chosen this thing out of all the unknown Void-things that could have manifested.

“Shall we see what it can do?” Henry asked. “Gwen, be very careful of its life-drain. Sufina, look after Gwen.”

Gwen nodded. She mentally commanded the serpent to strike one of the moving shrubs. Below, Caliban turned toward the bush with complete disinterest.

"Caliban! Attack!"

She allowed a nip of Void-tinged mana to permeate her conduits.

"!"

Dizzying fatigue beset her body, filling her veins with ice.

Not far from Caliban, Henry and Surya were still admiring its glossy form when without warning, Caliban's carapace split to reveal a pulsating head of purple flesh. The creature opened its mouth, a lamprey's sucker lined with hooked teeth, then reared up to its full height.

“Jesus FUCK!” Surya cried out, almost tripping over himself in an attempt to back away.

“By the Magi!” Henry likewise fought back a mouthful of bitter revulsion.

Even at half the height of a grown man, Caliban was a terrifying sight to behold.

"Shaa! Shaa!"

Its faceless mien searched this way and that, locking onto the old men before moving intelligibly toward the shrubs. A drop of grey goo drooled from its puckering mouth.

“Bloody oath, Gwen, I just lost ten years of my life.” Surya clutched his chest with one hand.

Caliban! Melee! Gwen willed Caliban to attack. It slithered with surprising speed towards the shrubs, leaping off the platform and moving onto the grass. Where her worm ventured, life perished, leaving Surya's lawn trails of meandering grey-grass. Upon reaching its first target, Caliban coiled its body, then struck like a spring. Without so much as a plop, it tore clean through the wooden frame of the animated shrub, bursting through to the other side.

Range strike! Gwen fought its grudging compliance.

To Henry's and Surya’s abject horror, Caliban opened its lamprey’s mouth and shot forth a flesh-barb, a harpoon-tongue that leapt from its maw to pierce a shrub.

Then, to their growing horror, it pulled the non-sentient puppet, thrashing and twitching, towards itself.

Finally, as though insufficiently traumatising, its head distended, the carapace opening until it became gigantic and bulbous. The lamprey's mouth then widened, sucking the shrub into its maw.

When the last branch disappeared, Gwen sensed a mote of vitality returning to her body, restoring a little of what she had spent.

"Cali-"

Before Gwen could overcome her fascinated repugnance, her darkling spawn of Shub-Niggurath returned to her. Caliban had seen Ariel’s actions and thought it flattering to likewise rub up between her legs, making infinity circuits around her ankles.

Henry and Surya watched with bile-in-mouth as Gwen fed it a crystal. Below, the serpent's tentacle tongue snagging her fingers before swallowing crystal whole. It then turned to beg as Ariel had done, forcing both Henry and her Opa to discard a handful of shards.

Return! Gwen demanded. After collecting its prize, her ophidian worm slinked into the darkness of its pocket dimension to rest.

“Well, that was something.” Surya swallowed nervously.

“That’s one word for it.” Henry took a deep breath. “Gwen, I would use Caliban sparingly if possible.”

“He does seem a little excessive," Gwen agreed. Curiously, the goo from Caliban killed the grass but did not damage herself or her shoes.

“That thing’s a he?” Henry shuddered. “How can you tell?”

“Well… it is shaped rather like, you know…” Gwen made a shape with her hand.

“Right.” Henry coughed gently. "Familiars are sexless, by the way, at least until you acquire a Spirit.”

"A Spirit? Master?" If Henry meant a Spirit like Alesia's Crimson Caracal, that prospect would likely be in a very distant future.

“You know, I feel inspired.” Surya looked around and saw his sculpture workshop in the distance. “That thing was brutal and disgusting, but you had to admit, there was a kind of alien sensuality.”

Gwen and Henry looked at Surya blankly.

“I need to go. You two make yourself comfortable. Melissa! Tess! Work time!”

Surya stormed off. Tess and Mel apologised profusely. Gwen's Master waved his hand disinterestedly to show that he was not offended.

“So, now that we have that sorted.” Henry turned to his junior Apprentice and appraised the girl.

The schedule that he and Surya had set was militant, as much a test of her physical prowess as it was her will. It was designed to raise her foundational abilities for the Inter-high competition rapidly. There, Gwen would have to complete against prodigies from families reared on the finest of mana-rich cuisine, taught by the best tutors and instructors.

But they had made good progress. Ariel was an excellent beastie, a reliable companion with good growth potential: loyal, obedient and possessed a synergising ability.

That Caliban-beast, however, was a subject of future research. For now, it was best if Gwen avoided using it altogether. Void and Dust were two of the most dangerous Sanctioned Magic a Mage of the Tower could channel. Henry of all people knew its self-destructive power. Even a slip of the mind could lead Gwen down a path of tragedy and wretchedness.

Simply put, the girl was too weak and too inexperienced to wield Void Magic. He needed to ease her into it, ideally, have her exercise its powers under supervision. In time, her control over Conjuration and her Familiars will grow, mitigating the risks of self-harm. Unlike last time, Henry now knew the wisdom of patience.

Furthermore, there was also the matter of exposing Gwen to the other members of the Ten. Though exposure seemed unavoidable if Gwen wanted to have a career of any kind, she would be a surefire hit with the military bigwigs, desperate for an Ace to outfit their Aerial Assault Wings. Alesia had been a great Ace, but her personality was unsuited for military discipline.

He briefly recalled the heydays of the Coral Sea War, when Void Magic had so frightened the Demi-human tribes that they offered sacrificial tributes to sue for peace. The militant Faction drooled just thinking about the possibility of bringing back the 'good old days'. But their dominion had come at a personal cost to Henry. Would Gwen be able to maintain her sanity if she was commanded to wipe out a village filled with defenceless xeno-women and children?

“Master?” Gwen’s voice interrupted the ruminating Magister.

“Sorry, I was tidying up some thoughts,” Henry spoke softly, his glazed eyes once again lucid. “So, as I was saying, you should probably use Caliban sparingly. I fear he would draw unwarranted attention, perhaps even the attention of forces beyond our ken.”

“Beyond even the Tower’s knowledge?”

“Oh yes,” Henry replied. “It is rare, but not impossible for Demi-humans to be amongst the endless multitude of humanity. What I fear are secret cabals, people like Edgar, Mages who walk a darker path than we, who would take great interest in a girl like you.”

Gwen shivered.

"Of course, Gunther, Alesia and I will protect you. Still, discretion is advised."

“Shall I hide Caliban then?” Gwen questioned her Master, hiding her disappointment. She had been looking forward to putting her Familiars to use, even Caliban.

“Use your discretion,” Henry replied. “If they know, they know. I'll keep you safe. Talent attracts attention. There will always be those who are envious of talent, worship it, or seek to despoil other's gifts for selfish ends, but our Credo will always be those words you so admirably uttered.”

“Noblesse Oblige.”

“Yes.” Henry gave a small cough. Behind her Master, Sufina stirred. “You have another three months, cough, and that should be plenty of time to master the use of these two. I would think, cough, that you will be ready to work with Paul... cough…”

“We had best get going, Henry,” Sufina grumbled as her Master's coughing persisted. The Dryad produced a small pool of mead in her hand and allowed Henry to drink directly. Gwen aided by massaging her Master’s back as his chesty convulsion eased.

“Yes, best we get back to the grot,” Henry agreed. “Gwen, all the best to you, listen to your Grandfather, don’t be afraid to ask your brother and sister-in-craft for help. That’s what they are there for.”

“Thank you, Master.” Gwen bowed.

There was a flash of Conjuration mana, then they were gone - Teleportation, without the need for Circle or beacons. A tier 7 spell.

Gone looked around at the infinity pool, somewhat surprised to find that she was utterly alone. There were still dozen-odd animated shrubs that were wandering around the place, reminding her of a hypothesis that needed affirming.

She summoned Caliban again, her Familiar full of enthusiasm that it had been invoked twice instead of that upstart mongoose. Gwen portioned to it another mass of Void tinged mana, fighting back the sick in her chest. She watched as Caliban transform into that Lovecraftian nightmare, then gave it a mental command to ravaged the shrubs. With each animated bush that it destroyed, she could feel a bit of vitality returning to her, restoring a little of what she had spent. Before long, Caliban's cargo of Void mana depleted, returning to its aesthetic form with an air of satisfaction.

Interesting, Gwen smiled weakly to herself. If Caliban could somehow sustain her like this, then it was possible to have prolonged periods of usage. She sent for a mental command for Caliban to return, and the happy abomination returned to her, coiling up her waist and rubbing up against her cheek. In its docile form, the carapace was smooth and cool, like a serpent sculpted entirely from precious stone polished to perfection. Gwen tried to feed it another crystal, but the overexcited thing smeared grey goo all over her chin. Suddenly nauseous, she banished it into the pocket dimension.

“I guess I better head back…” She said to no one in particular.

Her subsequent three months of schedules were about to begin, and her next milestone was working odd-jobs for this 'Mac', Surya and Henry’s ‘war buddy’.

Like a child with a new toy, she couldn't wait to exercise her powers as both an Evoker and a Conjurer.

* * *

Back in the Grot, Henry lay in bed, cradled by his Familiar.

“Henry… my saplings are all gone,” Sufina reported to her master.

Henry sighed sadly.

“She's a curious one.” He shook his head. “I wonder if she'll be like her.”

“She won't. I like Gwen,” Sufina sulked cattily. “If you recall, I never liked that witch, not from the first day we met.”

“I suppose,” Henry remarked sternly. “But Gwen's Path is her own: one that can only be walked by oneself. If she possesses the means to overcome the fate of her kind, then she will do so without our interference. It's is not a problem of power or magic Sufina, this is…”

“The Human Condition,” Sufina finished for him. “So you keep saying.”

Henry unleashed another chain of hacking coughs. Sufina produced another dose of the Golden Mead - the distilled liquid of her life-force, drawn from the Wild Land grot of her heart tree, then fed it to her Master.

"Master, are you-"

“I am fine, a little over exerted by that Summon Circle.” Henry coughed. "It's been a while."

“You must be careful.”

“Still, Gwen worries me. My mind is not still.”

“Master?”

“I fear they will take her, Sufina. The Void talent is too precious. To them, she could be a priceless wellspring.”

“We'll protect her."

“What a dilemma.” Henry laughed bitterly. “Give her too much power, and she becomes a monster. Shelter her too much, and she becomes the tool of another. How hard it is to be free! Hiding her talent was wrong, Sufina, we didn’t know- how could we have known?"

Henry was almost in a trance now, half his consciousness taken by the mead, the other half treading the dark waters of some distant memory.

“It’s not the same…” Sufina stroked Henry’s hair. "Gwen is strong."

“Yes… not the same, not the same…” Henry’s speech slurred. “We won’t lose her, not like before… not like before- Oh, poor Lizzy! How we failed her!”

“Shu… sleep now," Sufina winced as the name broke Henry's lips. Entering her Master's unprotected mind, she drugged him to sleep, tapping into her Dryad's powers. "Henry… you need rest.”

As agony on Henry’s face slowly faded, Sufina laid her head upon his chest and listened to her Master's rhythmic breathing. As a Sprite, she knew not the meaning of sleep, and so she could sit beside Henry and warded his dreams against the past, thinking sweetly of Gwen; thinking bitterly of that woman who had hurt her master long ago.

When Gwen moved into her first apartment, the loneliness of coming home to an empty abode blindsided her. Previously, she had always shared dorms and rooms with girlfriends, and for short stints, poorly chosen boyfriends.

So she adopted two cats from the RSPCA.

Ariel and Caliban, just like from The Tempest, making her cranky old Prospero, the Conjurer supreme of Shakespeare's play.

Just as she was ready to embark on a life of being a forever-single cat mama, her very responsible vet told her that she shouldn't take the kittens home for another month - not until they were weaned and desexed.

It was the longest wait of her life.

For the next two months, Gwen relived that special hell, at the brink of her willpower as her Familiar tickled the inside of her brain, demanding to be let loose into the Material Plane, while she did her best to hide them from the world.

It was only on the weekends, in the privacy of Surya's estate that she could free her inhibitions, allowing her marten and ophidian free reign.

With the help of an exceptionally nutritious diet, she was tempering her body to sustain her Void Familiar. Even so, in combat, she could only keep Caliban empowered for two odd minutes before her vitality began to wane. Ariel, on the other hand, fed off her plentiful lightning and could be maintained for almost an hour.

As such, Gwen figured that Caliban would only be truly effective in an area with a significant amount of consumable biomass, such as that of a monster's den. Speaking to her Master, she hypothesised that Caliban's strength lied in its miniscule mana cost and high vitality-drain, which had to be offset by an external source of vitality.

"It's an extraordinary creature, I agree," her Master had remarked. "But, as with Evocation, avoid using the Void until you grow stronger. Take measured steps, don't run."

She promised to remain vigilant.

Episodic interruptions aside, the grind continued. Each morning, Gwen jogged with Debora, herself becoming a notable Transmuter. Time had seemed to restore Debora to a sunny disposition, as well as reawakening her competitive streak. During one of their sessions, she once again implored Gwen to include her on the team, to which Gwen agreed to give her priority as their first choice.

Lessons with Alesia also continued, fortifying a number of her tier two and three spells. Concurrently, Gunther and her Master taught Gwen new Conjuration spells in addition to Evocation staples.

Lightning Blade was a manifestation which allowed her to conjure a persistent blade of energy, it was suitable for close combat and possessed a paralytic effect. Gwen dubbed it 'The Taser'.

Warding Bolt allowed her to create a floating energy sphere that persisted for several minutes, striking three times at any targets that came close. A particular quality of Lightning, Gwen noted, was that even defensive spells were overtly offensive, subscribing to the philosophy that the best defence was offence.

When Gwen requested non-lethal spells, Master Henry had sent over two scrolls for debilitating manifests. Blinding bolt, which caused optic damage, and Thunderclap, which caused the enemy to be deafened and disorientated. Upon receiving the spells, Gwen saw no reason why they should be separate in the first place. After all, stun grenades existed in her old world. She made the idea known to Alesia, and the two worked to create an original spell that, though lacking damage, could induce blind, deafen, and disorientation simultaneously. Additionally, thanks to her Conjuration and Evocation, she could cast both the spell in a persistent, globular variation or directly as an explosion.

Not one for originality, Gwen named it 'Flashbang'.

The most interesting of her new spells was a persistent target spell in the form of a cloud called Call Lightning that randomly discharged Lightning Bolts at irregular intervals. Gwen gushed when she realised it worked wonders with Guiding Bolt and Ariel’s static needles.

Thursday nights were spent with Gunther.

During one such training session, she discovered that though Gunther's Radiant Shield was a molecule-thin film of light, they somehow blocked all her best spells. When queried, he smirked and told her to work on basic Abjuration, scoffing at Gwen's dismay when she parroted that only Abjurists could engender 'real' Shields.

"Never underestimate the power of innovation and hard work," he wisely intoned.

He then proudly introduced Gwen to the concept of Single Spell Mastery.

“There are many ways in which a Mage builds on their Spell List and the most arduous of which is absolute mastery over a single low-tier invocation."

“How would that help?” Gwen asked quizzically. “That seems counterproductive. Why not train for higher tiers?”

“Not all Mages can reach higher tiers in multiple schools like you and I.” Gunther shook his head at her naivety. “A Mage's power is bottlenecked by talent, by affinity, and by access to resources. For example Gwen, how many crystals did you use in the last half a year?”

Gwen did the math.

"About... fourteen hundred LDM crystals and .... one hundred HDM crystals?"

"Yes - and that's excluding your tuition fees, your special diet, the magic items that were used to train you, the ensorceled training grounds. You've spent close to a five hundred HDMs just at school, Gwen. How much did you say your father made?"

"... two thousand a year, give or take."

"You see my point?"

"I see your point, Gunther," Gwen mumbled guiltily.

"This is why mundane Mages may only focus on low-tier spells. However, they can become so proficient in the casting of say, the basic Magic Missile, that from simplicity comes spectacle. Some magic can be so ingrained within a Mage's mind that they may invoke it in a fraction of the time, it may be more potent, it could cost far less mana, all independent of the Mage's initial School of Magic. A sterling example would be 'Flight', a staple necessity for all Combat Mages."

Gwen nodded demurely.

"Personally, my Shield spell is the result of two-decades of training. For Quasi-Elementalists like us, poor defence is a huge weakness. But...”

Gunther asked Gwen to come closer, when she was almost touching his chest, he summoned a semi-dome Shield which enveloped both of them.

“Feel it," he suggested. "Tell me what you think."

For a mischievous moment, Gwen pondered the inappropriateness of giving Gunther's washboard abdominals a 'cop'. Thankfully, decades of sexual harassment training dissuaded Gwen from her hormonal impulse.

Gingerly, she reached out and felt Gunther's Shield barrier, to her surprise, it had the texture of cornstarch.

“These are... motes of pure mana!” She exclaimed. “You're using a double layered shield with pure mana wedged in-between?"

“Give it a punch.” Gunther grinned.

Gwen punched the barrier and felt the plasticity instantly grow rigid.

A non-Newtonian fluid? She was in shock. Could physics apply to mana? It seemed to her that magic was 'magical' precise because the conjured elements appeared to override earthly laws of physics. How else could she summon electricity without a dynamo, or Yue conjured fire without friction or a source for fuel?

“My 'Shield' is a Signature Spell of mine,” Gunther informed her conspiratorially, amused by her awe.

But Gwen was awed for the wrong reasons. She understood that where a normal Mage had a relatively equal volume of mana dispersed within a single Shield, Gunther had motes of pure mana manifested as fine particles within a parallel membrane. When an external force struck the voluminous ‘fluid’, it compressed the space between the motes, hardening the Shield while consuming the attack's kinetic and elemental energy.

“Incredible…” Gwen discerned that perhaps, she was similarly capable of using this method. Though it was beyond her ken to create a double walled Shield, the theory was sound.

“I bet… that I can penetrate your Shield.” she turned to Gunther mischievously. “What do I get if I succeed?”

“Ho? Bluster and arrogance, how Alesia of you!” Gunther lifted one corner of his mouth in a lopsided grin. "Name your price."

"If I can penetrate..." Gwen coughed. "... your Shield, you have to teach it to me."

“I've never sold the spell's secret, not even to the Tower, for CCs, HDMs or favours.” Gunther grinned. "But you've piqued my curiosity, come on."

She took a stance.

"Lightning Blade!"

Resembling a katara, a hovering mass of cobalt lightning crackled above her wrist.

“Promise not to move?”

“You have my word.”

'SPAK!'

Gwen slashed the katara over Gunther's Shield, watching the mana congeal, the white-line healing in a matter of seconds.

Gunther smirked.

“Not going to move at all?”

“Not at all.”

"No backsies."

For her second attempt, Gwen slowly pushed the dagger against the surface of the Shield, watching the surface sizzle. Slowly the hardened particles of compressed mana dispersed, becoming viscose as Gwen pushed ever so gently inwards.

Just the tip, she bit back an immature smile as her blade penetrated her brother-in-craft's pride.

Gunther baulked as the blade slid slowly through his Shield, millimetre by millimetre, surely and steadily.

“Impossible!” His steady voice rose an octave. “How did you know? Did Master tell you?”

Mages were inherently a secretive bunch. It was especially bad form for a Master to tell one apprentice the secret of another.

“Oh, it's not hard to figure out…” Gwen dispersed her conjured blade.

Gunther regarded Gwen with renewed respect.

“You win.” He placed both hands against his hip. "I'll teach it to you. Got time to visit the Cog Chamber? Copying my Astral projection will drastically reduce the time it takes to learn Secondary Spells."

Besides Gwen, Yue and Elvia had each reached their milestones. Yue managed to attain whatever conditions Alesia had set, informing them one night, ecstatic and happy, that Alesia had made her an offer of Apprenticeship. All that was left was for Yue to finish high school.

“I wonder what that means for my Military Service?” Yue pondered aloud. “Do I serve with Alesia, does she have a Unit? Maybe it's a special unit? Do you think I'll be in the Special Air Service?”

Yue’s fantasies aside, Gwen had no idea either. She would have to ask her sister-in-craft.

On the other hand, was she in the same boat as Yue? Was she was still subject to conscription. Without incident, Gwen knew she would be starting her service November next year. If she chose, she could muster for physicals in January and join the Reserves by July, as Jun and Henley had done.

Comparatively, Elvia would be absent due to classes for Advanced Restoration, Combat Triage, and Internal Medicine. Where Gwen and Yue’s regular instructions involved extensive knowledge of Magical Creatures and Spellcraft theory, Elvia’s were far more specialised.

“We’ll be together again come next year!” Elvia promised when Gwen lamented the separation. “We have to team up for the final exam in June after all! I’ll be sure to have more buffs and blessings in my repertoire!”

"Gwen, it's time for you to gain some practical experience," her Master informed her one morning.

"Yes, Master." Gwen bowed her head.

She wasn't sure if she looked forward or dreaded the prospect of employing her spells in the real world. Socking Sufina's puppets was one thing, tasering a real person? Electrocuting a guy with Lightning Bolt? Her only solace was the prevalence of healing magic that made most injuries survivable.

Regardless, the day of promise was upon her. The academic year ended, and students left the school for extracurricular programs suited to their specialities. Elvia would be away with her uncle. Yue had training with Alesia and would be doing subjugation fieldwork down the coast. On their last jog together, Debora had told Gwen that her family had arranged her to work part-time with a famous Transmuter Magus. As for herself, she informed the others that she had part-time work, which was technically not a lie.

First thing in the morning, her Opa called, informing her that all had been arranged and that Mark 'Mac' Chandler, proprietor of the Black Cat Agency, would be expecting her.

“Dress in your Sunday best,” Surya advised her. “That's what Mark requested, anyway. He's a good bloke, and you can trust him. Otherwise, I'll personally punch his lights out."

Oh yeah, Gwen recalled. Mark was another one of their 'old mates'. Out of curiosity, she asked her Opa if there was an old codger’s club where all his war buddies congregated, mayhap an RSL which they frequented. Surya's sobering response was that there wasn’t enough of them left.

“Terrible time, that was.” Surya shook his head sadly. “You kids don't you how good you have it with your updated Spellcraft metrics. Back then, our spells were horse-piss, the enemy out-numbered us, and anti-magical beasts training was non-existent. Guerrilla warfare was a shit-show. The life expectancy for a flight of Mages landing in the North Queensland jungle was about fifteen minutes. If you survived that, then you had until nightfall.”

"Jesus," Gwen mouthed. "Sorry."

“You got 'Mac' to thank for me being here, he and Henry and..." Surya cleared his throat. "Mark saved our asses plenty of times with his array of Arcane Eye, Detect Invisibility, and Telepathic Bond. When you meet him, be polite, listen to what he says, and don't piss him off!”

Feeling her Opa's worry, Gwen was keen on making a good impression.

Feeling curious and speculative, she picked through her other wardrobe and produced a navy button-up one-piece dress that taped around her torso and ended above her knees. The weather warmed as summer came, so Gwen forwent the stockings and matched the dress with her Mary-Janes. For a formal touch, she carefully combed her hair until it fell neatly over her shoulders, then applied a light touch of gloss, liner and mascara.

The result was a prim young lady who wouldn't look out of place during Melbourn Cup luncheon.

With an address in hand, she made the journey to Surry Hills by public transport. Her destination was not too far from the transit station, where she walked the rest of the way, enjoying the brisk Sunday air.

Her destination was an old sandstone building that looked ancient and archaic. It was a terrace, a converted working-class home now among some of the most expensive properties in Sydney. The building had a lovely red door set against intricate ironworks. The wrought signage showed a black cat.

Gwen pressed the buzzer and was surprised to hear a husky, whiskey voice asking who she was.

“I am Gwen.” she smiled at the glassy scrying crystal atop the door. “You were expecting me, I believe.”

The door opened, and Gwen was momentarily stunned by the scent of heavy perfume assaulting her nostrils. A heavily made-up blonde woman stared her down, wearing audacious lingerie.

Gwen blushed, catching a wayward nip. The woman, whom Gwen dubbed 'the Madam,' looked upon her with a critical eye.

“Ain'tcha a little young for this line of work?”

It took Gwen another agonising few seconds to realise her mistake. The red door, the barred windows, the perfume, the exposed nip. Damn those old codgers, where the hell did they send her?

“May I inquire as to the address of this Black Cat Cafe?” Gwen forced a smile to her lips. It wasn't that she looked down on ladies of the night, it was that right now, it was noon. “I may have mistaken the address.”

The woman grinned with too-wide and too-red lips, producing a card from her cleavage.

'Black Cat Bordello.' The card read. 'For your pleasure.'

From within the corridor, Gwen could see other women in similar states of undress.

“Right.” Gwen moved back stiffly. “I have the wrong address.”

“You better hope so!” The madam laughed in that croaky voice of hers. “You working here would shut us down in a heartbeat!”

Gwen turned to leave, but the Madam caught her arm.

“You’re not entirely in the wrong place,” she chuckled. “The place you’re looking for is two doors down, look for the print ‘Black Cat’, not the animal.”

“Thanks.”

“You gonna be working for Mark?” The madam asked curiously.

“Yes Ma’am,” Gwen said carefully.

“Well then, we’ll be seeing each other.”

“Thank you,” Gwen replied cooly, her friendly mien juxtaposing her scarlet face. Let's hope we don’t see each another again, Gwen thought to herself. At any rate, she had been the idiot. To think she had mistaken the picture for the address.

Two doors down, Gwen found the right door, a white one this time, set into a sandstone facade. The frontage was a wild growth of neglected native shrubbery, within which may have been a set of tables and chairs some years ago. The paint was peeling a little from the door, and flakes of it fell when she knocked.

Doesn't look used, Gwen puzzled her mind at the sight. Was Mark's operation on hiatus?

“Come in, its open,” a distant voice called from the second floor.

She turned the knob and felt the accumulated oxidisation groan. When the door finally opened, Gwen entered a private museum.

Or at least, a place that had the look and feel of a museum. Hundreds of items small and large hung on the walls. The collection consisted of bits and pieces of magical beasts, feathers, claws, patches of skin, and what looked like a desiccated paw. Other collectables were anthropological, such as painted tribal masks, spearheads, the pommel of a sword. Glass cabinets lined the corridor, filled with trophies, scraps of documents, pieces of minerals, and what looked to be fragmented mana stones.

“Up here!” a voice called out. Gwen noted amongst the chaotic details of the terrace's interior; there was a set of stairs which lead upwards.

To her surprise, the claustrophobia prominent on the ground floor opened into an attic office that made from a spacious living room. The decor was strictly academic, reminding Gwen of an Oxford study. A skylight working in conjunction with twin bay windows lit the room with a gentle ambience, revealing an ancient table in the middle of the room, inundated by a scattered bric-a-brac of, pens, inks and bottles. In Gwen's measured eye, the impressive collection could only belong to Dr Indiana 'Mark' Jones.

With a shuddering gasp, notebooks apart to reveal a gaunt-faced old gent with a frighteningly high domed skull. Mark 'Mac' Chandler wore gold-rimmed spectacles with an intellectual air, plagued by a receding hairline. His eyes, two dark obsidian orbs, appraised Gwen as she approached.

"So you are Gwen Song,” he spoke with a voice that rose and fell like listing timber, clear and pronounced, each syllable bitten with absolute precision. "Welcome to the Black Cat."

Gwen bowed, feeling that a man of this calibre and seniority would prefer austerity over frivolity.

"You're probably wondering, 'what cafe?'" He smiled with thin, pursed lips.

Gwen nodded. The only sign that this place may have been a cafe was the overgrown garden and those sets of cafe tables and chairs.

"It is a long story; perhaps I will tell it once we're acquainted."

"Of course, Sir."

Gwen stood before Mark like a young trooper at attention. Her Mary-Janes were comfortable, but any shoes that came with a proportioned heel suffered the existential contrariety of style and comfort. It was time to turn on the old charm.

"So, Henry tells me that you not only abide by his beloved Credo but understands it better than our Faction's veterans."

"It was a moment of inspiration, nothing more." Gwen dropped the 'Sir' to see if that could ease the formality between them. When Marc's eyes caught the light, she noticed a pale white tinge. Was the man using Divination on her?

"I see. Henry also tells me that you are the recipient of an incredibly rare and unusual talent. Not one, but two schools of magic, moreover, you're blessed by both Lightning and Void. Is that correct?"

"That's correct."

"Good, care to answer a few questions for me, Gwen?"

"Of course."

"What do you think of the lesser evil?"

"The lesser evil?"

"Indeed." Mark persisted in the unexpected tangent. "There lie two choices ahead of you in a moment of crisis. It is the eleventh hour. To defeat a powerful enemy, you must sacrifice a companion Mage. To fail is the greater evil, for behind you lie ten thousand Non-Magical civilians, many of which may yet awaken to become your peers. But only by sacrificing a dear friend, can others be saved. What is the right choice?"

What a curious question. Gwen pondered. Was this a test? Was he testing to see if I was a classist?

"Would you like the answer to what I ought to do, or what I would do, Sir?"

Mark raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"No hesitation, and two answers already?" He seemed pleased by her spontaneous response. "Go on."

Gwen took a deep breath.

"In a dilemma, one must consider the utility of one's actions. Would my companion Mage posses more utility than Ten Thousand NoMs? If the answer is yes, then I would save the Mage. If the answer is no, then his or her sacrifice is not in vain. If there are no definite means of measuring that utility, then the moment is beyond right or wrong. Either action is acceptable."

Mark considered her answer.

"How cold-blooded. How astute. And what of your second answer?"

"May I speak frankly?"

"Of course."

Gwen thought of Yue and Elvia, then summoned up the courage to speak her heart.

"To err… is to be human. In the eleventh hour, I do not believe I am capable of giving a shit about right and wrong. At that moment, I would gladly take on the burden of ten thousand dead to save my friend. I am not a Saint, Sir, and doubt I would ever be. All that I can ask for is to be understood and mayhap, forgiven."

Mark gave an unexpected start, moving rigidly for a moment before he began to chuckle, his laughter resonating across the chamber.

"You are certainly not one of Henry’s Paladins," Mark stood from the chair. Gwen noticed that he was the tallest man she had seen yet. The man was almost two metres, stick thin and elongated. He wore charcoal pants, brown oxfords and a dark vest against an ivory silk shirt.

"Tell me, Gwen, do you truly believe in the Credo? Be honest with me."

"I believe it, truly," Gwen brought a smiled to her face. "But not to the exclusion of all else."

"A fair answer..." Mark appeared to consider her words. He then extended a hand. "I am beginning to like you, Gwen Song."

"Thank you. You're rather interesting yourself. Mr Chandler."

They shook, his fingers long and skeletal, so long as to swallow her hand.

“I wonder what manner of a life you must have lived, to possess such wisdom at the age of sixteen,” he remarked quizzically.

Gwen began to sweat.

"Not that its any of my business. You're Henry's ward, and so you are mine also by proxy. Come, I have tasks for you."

He walked over to a side-table and pulled out a chair.

"This will be your workstation. After a mission, you shall provide a written report. I believe you are proficient in this?"

"More than proficient."

"Good. Now take a seat, and I will explain."

Gwen walked over to her new table. Obediently, she sat.

There was already a file on her table; a dossier that looked like a classified document. A Quest! Gwen's heart pounded. What could it be? Monster subjugation? Recover item? Defending a particular location? Was she working with a group or solo? She had learned about all of this in one of her classes.

A point of difference between this world and hers was that those with talent and tolerance for risk could always find gainful employment in resolving the one-thousand-and-one problems caused by the chaotic flux of energies.

For her new home was a place where boogymen were real. Here, destruction stood over men’s shoulders day and night, where within the woods, monsters had marauded since time immemorial: for the Wildland was the devil's preserve; the Frontier, humanity's last stand. From within the Shield Barrier, the affirming flame of civilisation kept eradication and enslavement at bay.

Therefore, for necessity, adventure and profit, men and women practised Spellcraft. And Gwen, only sixteen, was readying herself to join the ranks of those fine Mages seeking to make the world a better place.

She opened the dossier and scanned through the brief.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. Was this a joke?

"An... escort quest?"

She stared at Mark in horror.

"I have to escort an Escort?!"

“Read through it carefully,” Mark advised. “How you wish to execute the mission is also the purpose of our exercise.”

Gwen read through the document with a pace which surprised Mark, then read through it again as insurance. As she had noted prior, the Quest involved escorting a young woman from Blackheath to Surry Hills.

“Why would a NoM Escort need a Mage to accompany her?” Gwen enquired, confused by the context even after reading the document twice.

“Mmhmm…” Mark made a sound that that was both amusement and impatience. “Do you know where Blackheath is?”

“I know it’s within city limits…”

“And yet, you have never travelled beyond the inner west, correct?”

"No..." the Diviner was correct.

“Have you ever been to a suburb with NoMs, and I mean only NoMs?”

Gwen pondered Mark's sardonic inquiry, realising that, no, she had indeed never trespassed a suburb exclusively inhabited by NoMs.

“No…”

“What kind of place do you imagine it to be?”

Gwen had no answer for Mark's enquiry. A slum perhaps? She had seen the poverty-stricken ghettos of Sydney in her old world. There were hobos sleeping parks and the occasional guy smoking crack by alleyway. It wasn't that bad.

She shook her head.

“So there you have it, that is why you are chosen specifically for this simple task.”

“Specifically?” Gwen raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, tailor-made to your specifications." Mark Chandler chuckled, his demeanour choric and morose. "Henry specifically asked me to have you thrown into the lion’s den, although in all honesty, it's more of a rat den. But, you get the idea.”

“Is the girl special in some way?” Gwen pursued the matter. She couldn't understand why anyone would spend upward of 200 HDMs to recover a young prostitute. Was there a conspiracy of some sort? Was she a femme fatale with dire information?

“All life is special,” Mark replied evasively. “But I have spoken too much. You are meant to be speaking to the employer yourself, not to me. It's your Quest. If you don't wish to take it, go home to Henry. He'll find a spot from you in a Tower Kill-Team, I am sure.”

He pointed to another envelope on her desk.

“Your Licence.”

Gwen popped the yellow envelope, and inside was an ID made from the same trans-fab material as her student card.

Gwen Song

Conjurer (2)

Evocation (3)

Lightning (3)

Age:: 16

Achievements:: [N/A]

Sponsor [Mark C. Surya H.]

Agency:: Black Cat

“That card allows you to perform minor magical feats within city limits: a provisional public practice of magic licence."

There is also a pamphlet regarding the licence, as well as a contract.

“Read through these carefully. If you are fine with it, then sign here, and here.”

Gwen chewed through the heavy-handed legal documents. She glanced at Mark, feeling a detached suspicion engender in her chest. A licence for her to attack others? They weren't expecting her to kill or maim people, were they?

“Did Alesia have a similar experience?”

“Your sister-in-craft was sent strictly on away-missions far from human civilisation…”

“Right." Gwen tempered her paranoia. If Mark knew about the Apprenticeship, it was self-evident that her Master trusted the Diviner. The whole thing was a test; if she went about zapping people and burning down their houses, its not a good look for her proclamation of Noblesse Oblige.

She read through the documents again.

“Says here, that I am allowed to use deadly force to defend myself within the city limits… am I to anticipate that someone will be using deadly force against me? In the city?”

“That’s a clause the Tower has negotiated with the Frontier government. If indeed a NoM or a Rogue Mage threatened your life, you could hardly be expected to use your weakest spells."

“Doesn't that seem a little excessive?” Gwen couldn't help but wondered what were the odds someone would threaten her life on this Quest.

“It’s not a perfect system. See there, how I am your sponsor?”

“Go on.”

“I am personally held accountable for your choices. If your actions turn out to be criminal offences, it is my job to cooperate with the police to take you in.”

Gwen held the card between her fingers; it felt more substantial than her student card, denser.

“I take it the card also tracks my location?”

“It also tracks significant magical activity,” Mark added. “But nothing detailed or substantial. We're only a Frontier city, after all. Sydney isn't London.”

“I see.”

Gwen was no longer surprised that her privacy had been fed to the dogs. Her Master was tracking her; the school was tracking her, God knows who else was tracking her.

She signed the documents, watching the parchments disappear into Mark’s Ring.

“Well, I better get to work then.” Gwen stood from the chair and eased down her dress. “I suppose the Madam is expecting me. Say, is there a story behind the fact that both the bordello and the cafe share the same name?”

“There’s a long story behind that,” Mark replied distantly. “You see, I would tell it one day, but…”

“…maybe when we're acquainted. I read you loud and clear. Can I consult you if I have any questions?”

“Of course, I am your guide and mentor after all, here is my Message glyph. Do you know how to use Message yet?”

“Not without a Device, no.”

“I’ll teach you someday - if you make it through this one.”

“Thanks, I’ll be going then.”

Gwen knocked on the very same door she had left two hours ago.

“Welcome back.” The same Madam opened the door with that big red smile of hers. “Dame Agnes Kitson.”

“Gwen Song. I’ll be in your care,” Gwen replied. “Are you the client?”

“I am paying, but no, I am not the client. Come on in,” The Madam ushered her in. “Your client is in my office. She’s worried sick from waiting. Mark said you'd be here earlier.”

“Sorry, the red-tape took a while," Gwen apologised. "I am here now.”

They went through the corridor. Inside, the decor was modelled after a decadent period of French history, classy, despite the nature of its business. Within, she drew curious glances from women in various states of undress. Gwen praised her timing, it was noon, and the place would not be taking customers until much later. Instead, the girls were having tea and coffee, watching Vid-Casts in the common room.

At the back of the double-terrace, the duo reached what looked to be the Madam’s office, a converted master-bedder. Inside, the Madam introduced Gwen to a young woman named Sally Cantwell.

“Sal, this is Gwen. Gwen, Sally Cantwell.”

Her 'Client' possessed auburn hair that fell around her neck in ringlets, pale green eyes, and a face that was comely, sporting a girl-next-door vibe that Gwen knew to be particularly popular with certain kinds of men. By that same measure, though Gwen herself was uncommonly svelt, men often found her intimidating.

Gwen offered a hand in greeting which the girl frightfully shook. To her chagrin, Sally made the supplicating gesture of holding her fingers with two hands.

“Mistress Mage, I am so glad you could help us,” Sally supplicated.

“Please, just Gwen.” The sycophantic manner of Sally's plea made her skin crawl.

Sally looked to Agnes for guidance; the latter nodded once.

“Miss Song, Gwen, thanks for coming, I am… hoo..."

Agnes patted the poor girl with a jewel-encrusted hand.

“The NoMs from areas beyond zone fifteen don’t get to speak to many Mages, much less Quasi-elementalist elites,” Agnes explained patiently. "They get spooked easily."

What about you? Gwen wanted to ask. Agnes looked like she could do some damage.

“Sal, calm yourself. Gwen is an affable young lady. You can speak to her as if you were speaking to me. She won't hurt you or try to take advantage of you.”

“A-alright.” Sally caught her breath. “Hello, I am Sally Cantwell…”

“Nice to meet you, Sal.” Gwen appropriated the nickname, hoping it would put the girl at ease. “Tell me about your sister, Stacey.”

Sally retold them what Gwen already gathered from the dossier. The sisters were from a poor District known as Blackheath, a place inhabited by working and underclass NoMs. The girls had a troublesome, abusive family which made them left school and home prematurely. They found work here and there, eventually finding their way to Agnes’ place. The Madam treated them well, gave them a place to stay, and things were dandy for about half a year. Unlike Sally, Stacey had a soft spot for their family back in Blackheath, returning with gifts of money and foodstuffs fortnightly. Just a week ago, Sally and her sister had the opportunity to be tested for affinity thanks to a curious client. To their surprise, Stacey registered as an Illusionist with an affinity for Water. Awakenings later in life were rare but seldom significant, so Agnes had thought nothing of it. But, when Stacey returned to Blackheath for the weekend, she evaporated.

“She didn’t leave a Message or anything?” Gwen asked incredulously.

Sally stared at Gwen blankly. Agnes coughed gently to upset the awkward silence.

“NoMs can’t use Message spells, not even on Devices. They can’t produce mana…” Agnes said softly, instructing Gwen’s ignorance with a tone that was now less than pleased. “They could do it if they had access to mana crystals of course, but Sally had no training.”

All of which costs crystals, Gwen recognised awkwardly, especially as LDM and HMD exchanges inflate in areas lacking Mages.

“Do you know if Stacey is safe?” She pivoted back to the mission, knowing she appeared out of touch.

Agnes tapped her ears, where there was a large ruby earring.

Gwen noted that Sally also had one, though far less expensive looking and far subtler.

“I had Mark run an Augury, so we know where she is. I had the device designed so that if the girls are hurt, really hurt, I would know. She’s still wearing the earring, which means she’s at least unharmed.”

“So this would be a rescue and escort request then?”

“I sure hope not.” Agnes made a face, her red lips pressing together tightly. “I don’t know why Stacey can’t come home by herself, but your job is to bring her home. How hard can it be to convince a dozen NoMs to leave a girl alone?”

“Do you think they could be holding her because she awakened as a Mage?” Gwen asked Sally.

Sally moved her head in a way that was neither a confirmation or a denial.

“People back home... dislike like Mages.” She muttered incoherently, afraid to insult Gwen. “So maybe that's why? I… I don’t know. I hope they don’t hurt Stacey.”

“She’s safe dear…” Agnes pattered Sally’s hand, tapping her ruby earring. “I know, trust me.”

Man, this is messed up. Gwen organised the scenario a few times in her head, running the narrative through her mind. From the sounds of it, she needs to enter a slum where people are going to be hostile, keeps the NoMs at bay, find the girl, then return with her to the Black Cat Bordello.

“Well, can ya do it?” Agnes demanded, growing a little annoyed at Gwen’s hesitation. “The clock is ticking.”

“Yes, I’ll accept the Quest,” Gwen replied solemnly. It wasn’t as though she could refuse. The whole thing was a test to see if she could handle going out into the real world.

The women shook to seal the deal, after which Agnes expelled Sally from the room.

“Gwen, Can I speak to you for a moment?”

Gwen nodded.

“So, Gwen Song.” Agnes smiled broadly. “You’re all over the grapevine these days.”

Gwen smiled innocently.

“You’re Henry’s… protègè and Surya’s granddaughter, right?” Agnes grinned with mischief, an expression unbecoming on an older woman.

“Oh, how are you acquainted with Magister Kilroy and Magus Huang, Ms... Missus Kitson?” Gwen ventured a question of her own. Was this woman a member of the Codger’s Club?

“You can call me Kitty.” Agnes chuckled. “That’s what the boys call me.”

“May I call you Agnes instead?” Gwen insisted. She'd rather not call Agnes by her pet name.

“Just Agnes, then.” Agnes shrugged. “Gwen, I wanted to ask you something, then you can be off.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Agnes stalked around Gwen in a circle. Casually, she brushed a hand past the hem of Gwen's skirt, sending the fabric riding up her pale legs, exposing their impressive length before falling back into position. Gwen yelped and looked at Agnes peevishly, questioning her uninvited harassment. If Agnes had been a man, she probably would have slapped, or zapped her.

“So, not much experience with boys? Don't go out much?”

"..." Gwen stared, forcing herself to remain polite. The hell's wrong with this woman? “Not that its any business of yours. But is that going to be a problem?”

“Well...” Agnes cocked her head. She pointed to Gwen's dress. "Did Mark put you up to this?"

“What do you mean?” Gwen furrowed her brows. What's wrong with her dress? It wasn’t as though she was going deep into Abu-Dhabi and had to wear a hijab. Blackheath was two hours away from the CBD! Even if she wore the minidress into the Wildlands, it would only be a minor inconvenience. Was there a dress code for working as a mercenary?

Agnes caught Gwen's prickly annoyance with a scowl of her own.

“It’s nothing. I was just worried about your shoes. They look mighty uncomfortable for walking long distances.”

The matron chose to say nothing. In her mind, Mark could do no wrong, and Henry couldn't be wrong if he tried. The Quest was Henry's pupil's baptism of fire, designed to teach her that real life followed no instruction manuals. The girl would emerge from her trial stronger and wiser, as per Henry's purpose, or she would fail and return to the crucible.

“Good luck." Agnes slapped Gwen on the bottom, pushed her from the room, then closed the door.

What a rude woman. Gwen gave her smarting bum a gentle caress. From the woman's overly familiar tone, she certainly fitted into the Old Codger's Club.

Once she exited the bordello, Gwen made for Redfern.

Blackheath station was within walking distance of Cantwell's divined location. As for Blackheath itself, she knew the suburb only in name. It belonged to part of Sydney strange and unknown to her.

But her greatest fear was becoming lost.

Gwen knew her orienteering was sub-par. That was the problem with this world: no Google Maps, no Tripadvisor, no satellite imaging. For all the bluster of Mages moving mountains and boiling the seas, she couldn't so much as access a pin, pointing her in the right direction.

All she possessed was a map provided by Mark Chandler and an address: Rogan Crescent, Blackheath - G6: D23. A physical map! Gwen grimaced. The last time she had touched one was in junior Geography. The process was so primitive that Gwen felt lost trying to find north.

Nonetheless, she played out the scenario in her head. Ideally, she entered what she assumes to be a house: a single abode, a shack. She would demand from the occupants the whereabouts of Stacey Cantwell. She would recover the girl, ideally safe and sound, then take Stacey back to the Black Cat, at worst firing off a few spells to frighten the NoMs who may try to stop her, or at worst, unleash her Familiars.

The reality was likely going to be different, of course. The mission was a test as well as a Quest, judging from Mark's evasiveness.

With her mind still running analytics, Gwen took 7th Line toward Greater Western Sydney, one of the largest NoM regions within the Frontier city. Station after station, passengers boarded and alighted, mostly Mages and NoMs with useful professions. Once she was past the City-Circle, the number of individuals in their Sunday best changed to that of working-class outfits. After Strathfield, the Mages thinned out, and NoMs began to inundate the carriage. Past Granville, these men and women too alighted, leaving Gwen alone with a few unsavoury looking figures that now lounged here and there in the abandoned carriage.

She pulled out her Message Device. A simple display read 15:44. The sun outside boiled, blasting the cracking pavements. During Sydney's summer, the sun sets after 8 PM.

She was getting close, and her heart was beginning to race, matching the crashing undercarriage as it pounded the rails. The further she travelled, the more persistently the suburban-scape dissolved. The scenery outside had changed from that of suburban houses to cramped apartments, and now they were quickly growing denser, becoming more compact.

'Bing Bong~.'

"Next stop, Seven Mills, the service will terminate in Blackheath. This service will terminate next stop."

Gwen's sense of alarm grew in intensity as station after station; the sky contracted while the temporary buildings expanded. They were at Seven Mills now; only the landscape was nothing like the Sydney she had known.

The station wasn't under shade cover, yet it felt as though she was underground. Arching her neck to see, she saw that an outbreak of haphazard construction had taken over the station, jutting here and there like architectural cancer.

'This train terminates next stop.'

As the train began to move again, plunging deep into the slums, Gwen realised her terrible naivety.

This Blackheath was not the Blackheath she had known. It was not dilapidated houses and working-class men languishingly in front of beat up Holden Commodores. It was not scantily clad women with too much make up getting catcalled by youths wearing popped collars. It wasn't even dodgy looking migrant men and bummed out Aborigines napping on the sidewalks with their dogs.

It was a city unto itself: a municipality of NoMs, a township built without the help of Transmuters fabricators, without the conjured pylons or the reinforced magic of the Abjurers. It was a suburb carved out by hapless NoMs eking out a living at the edge of the Mages' city. Blackheath was made from scraps and leftovers. Above and below, it was bones piled atop of bones, each skeletal houses cannibalising the next for parts.

The train was pulling up into station now, although Gwen hadn't moved from her seat. She was no longer sure of what to do. How was she going to find this address in a place like this? The damn suburb expanded as much horizontally as it did vertically! From the shelter of her carriage, she could see some NoMs milling about outside the platform. Some of them appeared to be vagabonds, old men living under stitched pieces of sheeting. Elsewhere, more threateningly, were wayward looking young men who assembled under an abandoned bus shelter, surrounded by a ring of acrid looking smoke. A woman stood under a doorway, backed against a wall by a large man drinking from a bottle. There was a scene of money been exchanged, then they both disappeared. Not far, a dog sauntered through the thoroughfare. One of the young men threw a bottle. It missed, the dog fled, and his friends roared with cankerous laughter.

Still petrified like a Greco statue, Gwen considered her options.

She looked outside at the walls that shielded the rails, and saw an articulate and aesthetically pleasing graffiti tag:

'Fuck Mage$,' it elegantly read.

She was confident that the other one said something to the tune of:

'$$ape B$tches'

Apart of the script was covered up by a series of dollar signs. Sufficient to say, Gwen had no faith in hoping the line read 'Grape Britches.'

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit, her mind moaned. How far up shit-creek was she? Maybe she could do this tomorrow? She can come back wearing daggy sportswear.

That fucking Agnes. Gwen realised. She knew, she fucking knew. 'These boots ain't made for walking,' my ass.

She pondered her next course of action. Her train service had terminated. Either way, she had to leave the train to catch another train out of here. She had to find Stacey and do her duty. She had to do this.

As the Goddess of Victory used to say: 'Fuck it, Just Do It.'

Gwen took a few seconds to pump herself up. There was no turning back. She can't return to Mark in disgrace. What would be her excuse? Mark, I was frightened by poor people? What would her Master think? What would Opa think?

With renewed confidence, she moved toward the exit. As she stood, a few remaining passengers followed, moving to block the doors.

FUCK.

She looked up, meeting the eyes of a lanky looking feller in a workman's overalls. With a pounding heart, she turned and saw another man, older and uglier, blocking the back exit. A third man was making his way towards her, this one was taller, with a beer belly that hung over too-tight jeans.

Instinctively, Gwen pulled on her dress, forcing the hem down another inch. She backed away sideways, wedged between two seats in the midst of the carriage. Whatever she chose to do, she preferred not to be sucker-punched by a sneak attack.

"G'day, young lady." The man tipped his invisible hat mockingly.

His eyes licked Gwen like a tongue, measuring her all over. The other two sniggered.

"I was wondering," the man said piously. "If you might have some crystals to spare me and me-mates?"

Crystals? Gwen could see the man's stained teeth and already felt sickened. She backed away a little more, almost pressing herself against the glass, but that seemed only to excite her assailants.

Test number one? She wondered. Could she get herself out of this dilemma without three smoking corpses?

"And if I do?" Gwen tested the waters, unsure where she was going.

"Why, then we would leave ya well alone."

The other two persisted in their ogling.

It's just a few crystals-

Gwen caught herself. No. Giving the men crystals was not a solution to her problem, it was an invitation.

She swallowed nervously.

Ariel, get ready. She commanded her Familiar; her marten had been feeding off her Empathic Link. Slowly, Gwen sensed the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind.

"Fine. If you let me get through the door, I'll give you something."

The man nodded smugly, then motioned to his two companions.

They watched as Gwen moved outwards carefully, ensuring that none of them stood behind her. The men hungrily eyed her bare legs, white and smooth, juxtaposing the oily sheen of their scabby skin. The trio followed her confidently as she made for the sliding door. When she arrived at the threshold, Gwen paused.

"Here's the smallest change I have on me." She materialised a crystal shard. It resembled a mana crystal, but within was the churning, volatile mana of a Flashbang spell. She tossed it towards her would be assailants. The men watched it sail through the air, clinking and falling onto the floor of the train.

Gwen ran as the men greedily groped for the crystal, their friendship instantly dissolved by potential profit. Behind her, the automatic doors slid to a close.

Sprinting at a dead bolt, Gwen covered her ears as the carriage erupted in sound and light.

The click-a-clack of her Mary-Janes may as well be rolling thunder as Gwen Riverdanced down the concrete pavement. For about ten-meters, Gwen considered moving the rest of the way barefoot, though the sight of shattered glass killed that prospect outright.

On the next platform, restless passengers began to gather around the light and noise emitting violently from the terminated carriage.

Thankfully, she made it without incident to the escalator extending upward toward the street level. The automated stairs disregarded her presence when she clanked onto its metallic surface.

Nothing, it was unpowered, some sod probably dug out the mana crystal or disconnected the power.

Gwen groaned inwardly, then loudly clunked her way up and over the metal, making enough noise to mimic a theatrical troupe. When she had finally emerged, two stories worse for wear, she was already sweating profusely. There was something about the air here, oppressive, low and moist, like the night before a thunderstorm.

The avenue that now unfolded before Gwen was the streetscape she had seen earlier from the shelter of the carriage. Immediately, a stench violently violated her sense of smell. It was a tongue-tingling scent of age-old urine, a stinging synaesthesia of neglect and destitution: so vivid that Gwen wondered if she should stun her face to numb its senses.

Gathering her wits, she surveyed her surroundings, finding a half dozen homeless men peering at her from the shelter of their cardboard boxes. Their eyes met, the men's wide-open with disbelief; Gwen’s watery with the injurious odour of their wastewater.

A spark of electricity escaped her fingers.

She watched wordlessly as the men retreated into their boxes like hermit crabs. One of them even had a lid with a hand-scrawn ‘CLOSED’. What? Her mind wandered unpleasantly. For what activity had the man been open for? Shaking herself from the stupor, Gwen realised she had to keep moving.

'Splat!'

Half-a-meter later, she found herself inch deep in something. Not daring to look down, Gwen persisted in moving forward.

It only took a hundred meters for her to be beset by her worst fear.

Where the hell was anything around here?

She had a general idea of where Stacey was, but there was no landmark, not even a street sign to show her the way. Perhaps she should ask one of the box people? That seemed like the best course of action. They appeared docile and likely wouldn't test her mettle. Feeling confident, Gwen gathered her courage, fortified her nose, and walked toward one of the boxes. The one with the ‘closed’ sign seemed as good as any other.

“Hey!” a voice called out.

Ah, here we go. Gwen cursed her presentiment. She had been expecting to be accosted, although not so soon.

She turned on her heels, placing herself between the box people and the gang. There were no walls here to shield her back, so the box-hermits would have to do. From their attire and age, she confirmed that these were very same ones who had attempted to glass the dog earlier. These young ones were not like the old hermit men. She could read the continence of their body, the manner in which they carried themselves. These men were bored. Bored and unemployed, and that made them stupid and dangerous.

“Oi sweetheart!” One of the young men called out in a voice that made Gwen’s jaws clench.

Let’s try to do this peacefully, give that old charisma a workout, she told herself. Gwen knew she had panicked a little on the train when she had gotten crowded, but her mind was measured and calm now. It was amazing, what she could acclimatise herself to, given sufficient time and crisis.

“Gents,” she answered coldly, standing her ground firmly with her legs slightly apart, her heels well planted in the mysterious gunk. Avoiding them would only incite them, what she needed to do was project was the idea that fucking with her was a terrible idea. With that intent in mind, Gwen circulated a mote of lightning mana through her body, lighting her irises with a pale, cobalt glow.

The leading lad, a skinny young man with a tattered, dirty white Tee and jeans, stopped himself cold.

“Cor! You got some freaky eyes,” he replied, then again loudly to his friends. “Beautiful glowing electric eyes!”

This one's rather acute. Gwen was pleased. Maybe this won't go over so badly.

But if Gwen had expected the speaker's friends to be awed into withdrawing, she would be disappointed. Rather than heeding their friend's warning, the rest of the gang instead congregated around her in a semi-circle. After all, it wasn’t every day that a six-foot beauty in heels and couture walked through Blackheath. Be it curiosity or something more nefarious, their intention mattered little to Gwen, for all she could see was a pack of fanned out mongrels eyeing a stray cat.

“Oi, mates, she’s a Mage.” The acute one stated again before repeating himself. “A quasit Mage.”

To both Gwen and the young man's chagrin, his 'mates' remained oblivious, far too enthralled by the prospect of mobbing the girl and having their fun. Their obtuse reactions made Gwen even more furious. Can’t a girl chat up a hobo in peace? Did these dickheads take their cue from Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange? Fighting her better impulses, she remained determined to resolve this peacefully: after all, how far could she go if she had to drop a Flashbangs every other block?

“Gents, I would move on.” Gwen attempted to stare them down. In her mind, she assumed the air of a dangerous, confident Mage. She didn't know that in their eyes, she was a defiant prey tugging on their testosterone.

When they still refused to move, Gwen knew she had to escalate.

She produced her ID, the one for the Public Practice of Magic, from her bag.

“Tower business,” she intoned coldly. “Remove yourselves from my sight.”

A few of them drew back.

One of the young men edged closer carefully and read the card.

“Ha!” He suddenly hooted, “She’s only 16!”

“What the fuck, for real?”

“Ha ha ha…”

“What's this sheila think she's doing?”

“Who you think you trying-ta-scare?”

"A real school girl?"

"Maybe she's from one of dem private academies, out here looking for thrills."

FUCK! Gwen screamed internally, almost snapping her card in half. Fuck, I am an idiot. A fucking imbecile. She might as well have pulled out her student card and warned them that bullying was for losers.

Without warning, the young man nearest to her moved to grab her hand. Backpeddling, Gwen cursed under her breath, then allowed the electrified mana to infuse her body. A semi-circle ring of electricity sprung up around her, forming a Semi-Dome Shield. She was using her Gunther Shield, a two-layered wedge of crackling Lightning with a cushion of raw mana particles in between. Her control was far weaker than the Radiant Magus, but it stopped low-tier projectiles just fine.

“Fuck! She's for reals!”

“Shit! She’s a Lightning Sorc...”

In the next moment, the men scattered like beaten dogs, fleeing from the vicinity and into the dark alleyways and byways that were formed by the chaotic architecture. Around Gwen, the air hummed and sizzled with fresh ozone, her lightning crackling and whipping the air currents into a frenzy.

One lad remained, the astute one, nervously wringing his hands.

“What do you want?” Gwen demanded coldly.

The young man swallowed hard; Gwen could see his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Do… do you need a tut?”

“What the hell is a tut?” Gwen's tone possessed an edge of frost. Was he offering her drugs at a time like this?

“Like- a street guy, a guide, like, maybe I could show you around.”

Oh? Gwen's face remained impassive. That sounded exactly like what she needed. Still, she had to be careful. It's all a part of her test.

“What makes you think I need a tut?” She asked. “I got business here. Mage business. What makes you think I want to be disturbed?”

“Right… right…” The young man supplicated by lowering his profile. He looked like a skulking rat. “So, you know your way around here, do ya? Used to live in this neck of the woods?”

Gwen glared at him.

Their eyes met. She could sense the low cunning in his face. It wasn't malicious, but it was conniving and greedy, the look of a guy wanting to make a quick buck.

“So… can a guy show you around-like? Save you some bother? Just doing a good deed, right?”

Of course, the gangster was right.

With a snap of her will, the Shield around her waned, leaving only the smell of burning cardboard.

“Like, ya need to watch where ya shoving spells around ‘ere." Her self-imposed companion advised. "It's real dangerous for the common folk.”

Gwen glared at him.

“Juz saying, Miss...Cuz you juz set Bub’s house on fire.”

Gwen spun around and saw that she had indeed set alight one of the old men’s cardboard houses. By now, the flame had almost reached the petrified old man, who preferred being burnt alive to making any sudden movements while behind her. She swore and kicked at the cardboard, sending half of it flying.

“N’ now he’s homeless too,” the acute man observed sardonically.

Gwen faced her criticiser angrily, forcing the feller to shirked away like a whipped dog backing away from a raised hand.

“You jus like the others! You Mages don't care none, stepping all over us with your fancy pyrotechnics,” He sulked. “Ya tossers think you’re all so righteous.”

Fuck, right in the heart, Gwen grumbled annoyedly. The man was right. She had been careless, but she wasn't about to prove him right. Forcing a smile to her face, she turned back toward the newly homeless Bub and hunkered down to speak to him at eye level, careful not to touch the sticky floor.

“Tell me where this is.” She produced the scrap paper with Stacey's last whereabouts, simultaneously pulling out an LDM crystal. “And I’ll compensate you for your house.”

The old man regarded Gwen with bewilderment, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. Gwen noted that he had no teeth, just red and infected gums. Instantly, she baulked. The smell that came from his breath was enough to make her eyes run. Overwhelmed by the sudden revulsion, she dropped the shard in the man's lap and removed herself from his vicinity. She was ready to fry a folk or two, but she wasn't ready to face decades of dental neglect.

“Ya wasting good shard, I tell ya.”

The bloody young man was still there! Gwen felt an urge to let loose a blast on the annoying little punk.

“Oi, I know that address, you looking for a good deal? To pick up some goods? I can take you ta see the Boss. She runs the place you're after, she does.”

Gwen held up a scrap of paper. If nothing else, the acute young man had acute eyesight.

“You know this place?”

“Sure do.”

“You can take me there?”

“For a crystal- for two crystals, I’ll walk you the whole way.” His face lit up.

“You better not be lying to me, Acute.”

“Whose acute?”

“You are,” Gwen said smugly.

“I am cute?” The young man blushed.

“…” Gwen allowed the moment to pass. “What’s your name?”

“Anthony, but me mates call me Tonna, as in a ton-o-shit. On account that I am all glib like.”

“Right, Anthony.”

“Tonna, please.”

“Tony,” Gwen said firmly.

They stood awkwardly while Bub carefully bit into the crystal, gumming it. He must have acknowledged its authenticity, because in the next split-second he was gone, bolting away into the darkness of the hive city.

"..." Gwen turned to Tony.

“Tell me about this place. Tell me about 'Boss'.”

Tony gave her a big grin that was full of tobacco-stained earnestness.

“We walk and talk yeah? It’s at least a good half hour away, even going through shortcuts.”

“You better not be trying to shaft me…” Gwen warned, flashing a crackle of electricity.

“No Miss, no way,” Tony assured her.

They departed from the plaza, Tony falling in step beside Gwen.

“You’re tall Miss, so pretty, you a model out in the city?”

“I am a Mage and an... an Agent.” Gwen corrected herself.

“Prettiest girl I ever see Miss, prettier than even the ones at the Boss's place.”

The man kept stealing sideways glances at her, seemingly disbelieving every other moment that she was real. Gwen could see he was full of questions as well. Where did she come from, why was she here? What were her three sizes? The man's antsy manner had his curiosity clawing at his throat like cats on a piled-rug.

They were now moving into a complex, though Gwen used the word complex loosely because it was more accurate to say that she was between buildings. Without any regard for code, whatever government housing that had once existed were now extensions built on top of other extensions, giving the place the feel of a sprawling Jenga tower.

As they moved deeper, Gwen could feel wayward eyes upon her. When she looked up at the windows, she could sense gazes darting away, sometimes accompanied by the sound of slamming windows.

“Tell me about this Boss,” Gwen insisted.

“Alright…” Tony considered his choices and went with the first one. “She owns that building you’re trying ta get to.”

“What does she do?”

"She's a broker,” Tony continued. “The old house is her place of business, lots of people work there.”

“What kind of business?”

“Ah well, ya know, the usual kind here.”

“Drugs? Prostitutes? Got any Mages there?” Gwen's voice rose an octave.

“Sure, here and there. No whores though, nothing so low, she's a stock trader.”

Now it was Gwen’s turn to say, 'What the fuck?'.

“Ya know, goods, like stocks, inventory, that sort of thing.”

“What kind of portfolio does she deal with?”

“Port... Wha? She does business - you know, with people like you.” Tony was gazing at Gwen like she was the weird one. Maybe the too-pretty Mage wasn’t in the know after all. They said that looks could be deceiving. The ones that came from outside to see the Boss were all pretty weird. God knows they had some sick tastes.

"Just keep talking," Gwen commanded as the passage became narrower yet again.

"She real good to us, keep us fed. Brought water to the area, that kind of thing."

"What do you do for her?"

"I am just a runner, message boy, on account that we got no crystals for Message here."

"You said other Mages come here often?"

"Nah, just once a month. People like you, looking to buy."

"Tell me more..."

They continued to walk, the corridor getting narrower until Gwen had to duck between buildings that hung too low, filling some sections with fetid water. Luckily, her new ‘mate’, Tony, offered himself as a tribute, stand in the puddle and allowing Gwen to balance herself without the risk of slipping and falling into sewerage. The little bugger could be cute like that, Gwen amused herself. Now to see what his Boss had in store for her.

According to Tony, the place was likely a trafficker's den. If so, they could be holding her target. To Gwen, she was beginning to see how her Quest was shaping up. A smuggler's den full of NoM criminals meant she could exercise her spells without getting into trouble. In the off-chance she ran into a Mage or two, she was sure they couldn't compare to the likes of Gunther and Alesia.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at the street once known as Rogan Crescent, Blackheath, G6: 266 on her defunct map. From station to the den, the duo had walked for over forty minutes, though Gwen was positive they were no more than four to five kilometres from the station.

The building itself was an amalgamation of several fire hazards combined to create a multi-storey OSHA nightmare, looking as though it could go up in flames and create a national tragedy at a moment's notice. The windows were boarded up, not suspiciously at all, and only a single entrance made itself known. The was a bouncer out front, a giant of a man with a bull-like facade, build like a brick shit-house.

"Oi, Tonna, who's the chick? She a real stunner, mate." The man cracked his neck impressively as they approached.

"We need to see Bozza, Pieto."

"This the right address?" Gwen looked up at the tower of horrors.

"Yeppers."

She turned to Pieto. In Gwen's eyes, the crack-house-mafioso-urban-decay looked lifted straight from a B-grade film.

"You want in or not, lady?" Piet blasted Gwen with his loudspeaker voice.

Gwen hesitated but told herself that between Ariel, herself and Caliban, she should be fine. After all, she also had her non-Newtonian Shield. There was no way some NoMs could get through that.

"I am here to buy." Gwen flashed her Public-Practice I.D at him, too quick for Pieto to see.

Before Pieto could respond, she moved for the door, just like in the films she had seen. To think there'd be one day she would be using Hollywood flicks as real-life references!

To her dismay, her passage became blocked by a thick, hairy hand the width of her waist.

"Gotta check youse for weapons." Pieto grinned idiotically; his intentions couldn't be more blatant if he had tattooed it on his face.

"No," Gwen replied. "Fuck off."

"No check, no entry," Pieto insisted.

"Oi Pieto mate, I wouldn't try if I was you. She's a quasit, the blue and sparkly kind," Tony added beside them. "You'd be lucky if ya just pissed and shat ya-self right here. If Bozza found out you tried to stop an Initiate she'd have you skinned."

Pieto did not look pleased to be interrupted.

"You bringing trouble for Bozza, Tonna?"

"Nah, mate, she got business, don't cha Miss?"

"I do indeed. I am looking for someone. Your Boss should know."

"You got a name for the Boss?"

"Gwen," Gwen said simply. "Why am I wasting my time speaking to you again?"

Pieto growled menacingly.

Eyeing her figure hungrily, he back off. In the man's limited mind, he realised that a girl waltzing into Blackheath showing that much leg likely had no qualms dealing with unwanted attention.

"See? No dramas mate." Tony tried to laugh it off.

Pieto shrugged. Whatever she may be, the girl was above his paygrade.

"Fine. I got my eyes on you, Tunna. She fucks up and I beat you like a dog."

"Ha ha.. eh..." Tony choked on his own laughter.

Pieto moved to open the door. Reinforced Hardwood. Gwen noted. No 'average' Mage could blast through that, but she should be fine. Her mind caressed Caliban and Ariel for a second, who were both snuggled in their pocket dimensions, semi-aware of Gwen's circumstances. Using her Empathic Link, she told them to get ready. Ariel responded with an 'Eee!'; Caliban growled, informing her of its eternal hunger.

Within, a few wayward strobes of glow-bulbs long past their mana dates shed a sickly light. There was an immediate smell that Gwen found foul and familiar at once, reminding her of the synthetic weed that people used to smoke in her old world. Gwen eyed Tony again: the young man seemed to be at ease, his body language betraying nothing. The stink grew in intensity as the door closed behind them with a 'thunk'.

Well shit, I am in the thick of it now, Gwen fought her better instincts to remain calm, hoping that she wasn't about to throw shit at the fan. Along the way, she spied a glimpse into one of the rooms along the corridor: there was one with its door ajar. Within was a woman, naked from the waist up, drawing blue smoke from a glowing pot.

Gwen reminded herself that the whole place was a fire stack.

They soon reached what appeared to be an atrium carved out of someone's living room, now opened up to two storeys via a violently displaced ceiling. The broken skylight was covered by semi-transparent canvases, providing light and shelter. There was a woman in the midst of the room, elevated upon a divan that placed among piled up rugs and cushions. She languishingly puffed away on a hookah, sending out jet streams of blue and grey smoke. Her most distinguishing feature was her hair and her scar, a crawling pink thing that ran from the base of her jaw to the tip of her right eye. Wow, nasty, Gwen winced. Another millimetre and she would be one-eyed Bozza. Her hair was neon-electric, adding a dash of colour to the otherwise drab room. The woman dressed in a pair of skintight calfskin pants rounded off with a black tank top, pushing her considerable bust together to form a deep cleavage.

"Who's this, Tunna?" the woman asked.

"She's a Mage, looking to buy."

"What you looking for sweetie?"

"My name is Gwen," Gwen announced, it never hurt to be polite. "I am taking delivery of Stacey Cantwell."

"Bozza. Nice ta meet cha." The woman seemed surprised. "You sure came quick. What's with the urgency?"

Gwen did her best to read Bozza's body language. The 'Boss' did not appear to be hostile, not even tense. Additionally, she seemed entirely at ease with Gwen's presence, even prepared.

"Master's orders." Gwen switched lanes of enquiry, keeping her reply as vague as possible. If she could talk her way out of this, Marc would surely be impressed as anything and so would her Master. "Where is the girl now?"

"She's down below."

"What are we waiting for then?" Gwen demanded, injecting a tingle of annoyance into her voice.

Over on the dais, the 'Boss' looked Gwen over. In her eyes, Gwen lacked the creepiness of the crew she had come to expect, but even she had to admit the young Mage had spunk. Just rocking up in Blackheath in that dress was enough of a ballsy move. With a bemused snort, she wondered if the girl had her fun on the way in and what damage she had done.

"Jones, go get the girl." Bozza made a motion with her hand

Another bouncer, a Maori this time, materialised from the dark recesses of the chamber. So many nooks and crannies, Gwen glanced around nervously. As they waited for the Maori to return, Bozza seemed interested in making small talk.

"So, which House you from?" Bozza seemed very keen indeed to speak to Gwen. "Didn't realise they sent pretty little things like you out for errands. I wouldn't want to let you out of my sight for a second if you were my blood-sister."

What? Gwen thought. What the hell is this woman talking about?

"Comes with the territory," Gwen answered, playing along.

"You bred and born in-house? Or did they dig you up from somewhere and had you contracted to serve?"

Gwen smiled coldly.

"Born and raised," she tested the waters.

"Nice. That lightning element all yours?"

"Au natural."

"Ho ho, halcyon days? They're grooming you to be a big-wig!" Bozza cooed at Gwen, licking her lips. "Young pretty little thing like you, must have the Maguses in a tiff, no? Got yourself a few old men to syphon crystals? When'd you start?"

"Young," Gwen replied briskly. Inwardly, she was fighting back the bile in her throat.

"Fuck. Lucky you. Got a bright future ahead." She smiled, making a smacking sound with her lips. "Hows Master Klaus?"

"Angry."

Gwen persisted in her laconicism role. Come on, woman, Gwen felt her stomach knot. Where the fuck was Stacey?

"Ha ha!" Bozza laughed, her voice like the cawing of crows. "Ah, here's the merchandise."

Gwen turned to see the Maori pushing a giant box toward her on a trolley. The bouncer respectfully stopped half-a-meter from Gwen, popped the box-top, then stepped back. Within, amongst fresh hay, was a young woman cradled in the foetal position. She appeared to be unconscious, or at least in some form of deep slumber. Stacey was entirely naked, immobilised by a calfskin strap wrapped around her neck, linked together her hands and feet. Even if the girl awoke somehow, she couldn't struggle free without enduring painful contortions.

With the human 'cargo' presented in full, Gwen felt her throat constrict. Within her bosom, her heart jackhammered against her chest.

Fuck! She screamed internally. What the fuck is this and how is it an appropriate first mission for a novice like me?

But an act's an act. Gwen knew she was in too deep to pull out. Leaning down to 'inspect' the goods, she noted tags tied to the girl's feet.

S. Cantwell

F (21)

Illusion (1) Water (1)

"Satisfied?" Bozza asked in a friendly voice. "You want to pay in crystals, cash, or items?"

"How much?" Gwen asked, ironing her nerves and modulating her tone and cadence.

Bozza regarded Gwen, puzzled. Her voice was tinged with suspicion when she next spoke.

"The agreed amount. Your Master's not thinking of Jewing me, is he?"

"I simply need to affirm the amount," Gwen stated matter-of-factly.

"Forty Large."

Forty HDM crystals... Gwen made a mental calculation in her mind. She had just enough. If she managed to scrape together all her HDM and LDMs, it was enough.

Was it too much to pay in small change? Gwen wondered. Crystals are crystals, surely?

On the other hand, what if things go south? Should she subdue them then call the Police? She was confident she could take everyone in the atrium. Only Bozza seemed like a Mage, and her aura was feeble. Perhaps a powerful show of force would frighten them? She could also retreat and call Mark. Yes! She should call Mark. The Madam had been anticipating an angry family member or a vindictive group of Mage-haters. A 'Slaver's Den' was at least an 11 on a scale of 5. Blood-sister? Bond-slave? These guys are human traffickers!

"Well? What will it be?" Bozza's voice was outright antagonistic now.

Gwen flashed her Storage Ring.

"Boss!" A familiar voice called out from the direction of the exit.

Pieto entered the room in a huff, glaring at Gwen with unmistakable hostility.

Every hair stood on Gwen's neck.

He had another woman behind him, shorter than Gwen, wearing a dark cowl that hid her face.

"Master, this Mistress Mage says that she is here for the Cantwell pickup. Tunna! Who the fuck did you say this girl was?"

The entire gathering turned to look at Tony, who was by now sweating buckets, literally standing in a pool of his excretions.

"I- I found her by the station; she was looking for this place..."

A heavy silence fell over Tony's audience.

"Tonna..." Bozza said carefully, rising from her divan chair. "Who... the ... FUCK is this Mage?"

"She's a.... a Tower Mage!" Tony stuttered, realising that he had made a dire, dreadful, deadly mistake.

"And who might you be, seeking to impersonate an Initiate?" The cowled Mage demanded of Gwen.

"I would like to know as well. Gwen." Bozza's eyes flashed, Gwen caught a flow of mana escaping Bozza's hair, wetting her hair. She was a Water Mage.

The two bouncers drew out steel batons, extending them with a swish of their hand. Beside her, the female Mage threw open her cowl, revealing a daring outfit of dark flowing silk, her young face framed by a pixie cut. From her, Gwen felt free-flowing motes of Air.

Awww SHIT. Gwen's mind kicked into overdrive.

She could only hope all her training paid off.

Bozza allowed her Body of Water to suffuse her form, making her resistant to fire and physical attacks. There were two girl-Mages before her. The cowled one looked the part, while the other one was out of place. She had been careless, Bozza swore, the bitch had caught her off guard. The fact that she was momentarily bamboozled likely meant there would be a penalty from their employer.

But the girl was herself a prize.

This 'Gwen' was a rare specimen. If Bozza could offer her as a gift to the Houses, she would not only avoid punishment - but receive a reward!

She commanded her goons to subdue the young Mage, watching the girl as she pull-back in fright and panic. The young sorceress was fresh, untested. Just looking at her face, Bozza knew that the stupid whelp would panic once her charade was up.

She almost laughed when Gwen fell to one knee, a dozen mana crystals scattering in all directions in her moment of distress.

"!"

Bozza felt the air vibrate. Something was off. The HDM crystals Gwen had scattered thrummed with unstable mana. What the hell was she doing? Was the girl trying to blow herself up? Bozza wondered bemusedly.

Then suddenly, a tenebrous Shield smothered their target. A Shielding spell like nothing she had ever seen before. A black membrane darker than black, a perfect semi-sphere that sucked in all light.

"The fu..." Bozza started to swear, but no one heard her curse.

'Crack!'

The Flashbang crystals shattered; from within, came the sound of thunder.

The half-dozen Flashbang shards erupted with enough sound and fury to flake wallpaper from the walls.

Nestled safely within the shelter of her Void shield, Gwen counted to three, then dispelled her half-sphere dome. As expected, Void Shield drained little vitality when pitted against sound and lumens, resulting in a little more than shortness of breath. Once the tenebrous membrane faded, the wailing of her assailants and their lamentations assaulted her ears.

Bozza was out of her water form, vomiting and puking her guts out on the floor. The NoM bouncers were bleeding from every facial orifice, holding their heads in their hands and groaning. The Initiate air Mage covered the side of her head, crimson oozing from between her fingers. A powder coat of dust drifted from the ceiling, falling like filthy-snow. Gwen raised a hand and conjured Ariel; a secondary jolt expanded her Familiar into its combat form. Bozza gasped as a white mongoose balled her over, snarling and growling, it's slavering fangs an inch from her face.

The Initiate crawled onto her knees.

"Air Whip!"

Gwen preemptively dived sideways, having felt the motes of air manifest before the spell materialised, a spontaneous reaction drilled into her by Alesia. A barbed whip of cutting wind whooshed past her face, marking a white line across the dark concrete. The Initiate then staggered upright, her recovery quicker than Gwen had expected. Calling another spell to her lips, Gwen swung her momentum into a forward combat roll, landing on her feet.

Ariel! She commanded mentally. Atop Bozza, her mongoose armed its fur for an electric assault.

"Blast Bolt!"

Though her enemies outnumbered Gwen, she wasn't worried. Common knowledge dictated that Summoners had much higher combat potential than Mages of the same tier. In an equal powered spell exchange, attacker and defender had to wait for opportunities to penetrate their opponent's Shield. Though it was possible to maintain both defence and offence, the complexity of the multi-tasking operation seldom favoured both. With Gwen possessed one of the more dominant offensive elements, not to mention an Evocation specialisation, it took all of her opponent's concentration to shore up her defence. Whereas Gwen directly commanded Ariel to hold fire until the Air Mage dropped her Shield to retaliate.

"Eee!"

Her mongoose shotgunned a fistful of lightning darts at the Air Mage, catching the novice off-guard.

"Air Cann... Arrgh!"

Before the girl could even finish, she took a dozen of needles to the chest, sending her staggering backwards.

"Lighting Bolt!"

Gwen invoked her staple offensive spell. A bolt of cobalt tore open the Initiate's despondent barrier. The resultant explosion flung the Mage bodily through the air and into a wall.

One down! Gwen refocused her attention.

All hell had broken loose over the compound now; doors were opening and people emerging from every nook and cranny. The cacophony of the Flashbang had shaken the gang members from their haze-induced stupor. From the west wing, Gwen saw a half dozen men and women emerging from what must be a guard’s room, carrying clubs and blades.

Bringing knives to a Spell fight?

"Get back!" she howled, having learnt to inject her voice with mana to enhance its volume. She fired off a Lightning Bolt, skidding the plasma off the walls, scorching the plaster. At the end of the corridor, the bolt struck a boarded-up window, blowing out its glass and leaving behind only the frames. In its aftermath, nought but the scent of ozone and black specs of floating, burning wallpaper remained. That and there was now a window from which they could escape.

The goons fled, crawling over one another. The promise of blue smoke wasn't enough to fight a Mage, much less a Quasi-elemental Conjurer. Noting the bouncers by her side, Gwen activated a flash of lightning from her Lightning Blade. With a groan, both Pieto and the Maori were down and out, convulsing on the floor.

A few more rubberneckers to risk life and limb out of curiosity, but Gwen sent them packing with cheap cantrips.

Bozza turned painfully to look for the Initiate: her client’s once lovely face was a wreck of burns and bruised flesh, her body half buried in plaster. Her goons were fleeing left, right and centre.

"You are going to regret this." She uttered dangerously to Gwen. "When the Masters find out what you’ve done to the Initiate, what you are trying’ ta do to their merchandise, you’re going to wish you were never born. You'd be bred in the barracks until you die."

Gwen's eyes flashed. Ariel took a swipe at Bozza's cheek, snapping her head back painfully and leaving behind three bloody reminders on her face.

She approached Stacey. Thanks to the chaotic action and commotion, whatever glamour which had kept Stacey docile was now dispelled. From Gwen's elevated vantage, she could see that her ears were bleeding.

Ah, fuck! Only now did Gwen realised that her haphazard strategy had neglected the fact that her V.I.P was within the AoE. Thankfully, Stacey appeared otherwise unharmed. First, Gwen commanded Ariel to chew through Stacey’s leather bindings. She then produced the only other outfit she had prepared, a compact raincoat she had stowed in her ring, and wrapped it around Stacey's shivering body.

"You alright Stacey? Your sister sent me," Gwen affected a kindly voice. "The Madam is expecting your return. You're safe now."

Stacey still appeared disorientated; her face was full of fright and panic, though from Flashbang or glamour Gwen couldn't guess. Furthermore, Stacey seemed oblivious to her nakedness, gazing up at Gwen with an expression of utter incomprehension. Moreover, her eyes were abnormal, her pupils widely dilated. Watching the girl and feeling the lack of resistance in her body, Gwen confessed that circumstances were quickly escalating out of her control.

"Stacey, can you hear me? My name is Gwen; the Madam sent me..." She persisted.

"..." Stacey forced a smile to her face. The girl appeared younger than her sister, less experienced, almost innocent.

But the girl wasn't heeding her words.

Time wasn't on their side, Gwen cursed as she grew increasingly more concerned, how should she move the girl? By force? Perhaps she could conscript one of the men here.

Above and below, she could now hear the commotion of more bodies moving throughout the building. She had been watching the corridors, but the rapid footfalls informed her there were other means of traversing through the interior.

She needed backup; she needed to call Mark.

With a flick of her hand, she materialised her Message Device.

Just as she was about to punch in Mark's glyph, Stacey escaped her protection, forgoing Gwen’s raincoat. With surprising agility, Gwen's ward stumbled past Ariel, past Bozza, and made straight for the hookah.

There, the woman dropped to all fours, tore a mouthpiece from the bulbous bottom, then began to draw out its euphoric contents greedily. Gwen felt her heart sink as Stacey exhaled a long stream of blue-grey smoke. The girl then sat cross-legged, heedless of her indecent exposure, and began to rhythmically huff at the phallic mouthpiece with a look of pure bliss.

"What ... what the hell did you do to her?" Gwen demanded of Bozza, stunned by the grotesqueness of it all.

"She's too far gone" Bozza cackled, her face splitting into a malicious grin. "You'd just be saving a worthless junky now. Once the Blue had its claws into you, it's all over."

Gwen repositioned beside Stacey and tried prying her away from the hookah.

"Stacey, listen to me, Sally is waiting to see you, that stuff's poison, come on, we need to go."

Stacey's grip on the hookah was stronger than she had anticipated, but the woman was no match for Gwen's tempered strength.

The moment Gwen tore her away, however, a look of panic and pain took over Stacey's ashen face. In her distress, her flailing bare legs kicked the hookah, dropping it from the platform. The device fell heavily and a part of its mechanism come loose with a clattering jangle. The powder compressed within blew out in a rolling fog that flowed over the struggling girls, covering them in an expansive envelopment of blue dust.

Gwen held her breath, careful as not to breath it in.

"!"

The engendering of an indistinct magical phenomenon filled the air.

On reflex, Gwen whipped around, manifesting a semi-dome Shield of lightning. Her eyes scanned the room, surveying nothing of interest. The Initiate-Mage was still in the wall, the bouncers comatose and Bozza pinned by Ariel.

I can’t escort Stacey like this… Gwen cursed her dilemma. She wasn't strong enough to carry the girl, and Stacey was too drugged up to be relocated compliantly. Filling with frustration, she fought off an immense migraine, wishing she lie down and sleep.

Producing her Message Device, she hammered the Glyph for Mark.

In the course of her action, a curious sense of déjà vu swept over her.

"Mark, I need backup," she spoke immediately into the floating icon. "I am in trouble. The gang who caught Stacey are people traffickers!"

"You're kidding! Are you alright?" Mark's unmistakable voice soothed her nerves.

Gwen began to explain what she had found while scanning for danger. The Initiate was in the wall, the bouncers were down, and Bozza was on the floor. Ariel remained on top of Bozza, but to her surprise, it was no longer in its combat form.

"Eee! Eeeee!"

Ariel! What are you doing? Gwen demanded. The adorable marten began to screech and scream at her, its face beset with worry, it was gesticulating at something.

Gwen tried to access their Empathic Link but found her thoughts muddled and full of interference. It felt as though they were trying to speak underwater, shouting across distant rooms.

What the hell is happening? She felt drunk. To her growing incredulity, Bozza rose from the floor.

But it wasn't Bozza.

Instead, the gang leader possessed a beautiful face both sensuous and desirous, full of exciting promises, gazing into her eyes with a pair of hazel orbs Gwen would recognise anywhere.

Helena Huang, her mother, was standing in front of her with an expression full of mocking disappointment. Rigidly, Gwen froze. What's she doing here? Her mind cried out in confusion and panic. The agony in her brain was akin to being probed by fingers of fire.

"Mother! What? A-are you a part of this?"

"You have failed us terribly, Gwen. I guess in the end, your Uncle was right. Your only use was in bedding your betters, go back to Forrestville, Gwen. Go home! Forget about your future. Shut up! Don't you dare speak to me like that! Get out! Go to your room!"

Gwen reeled from the force of her mother's psychic command as though struck by a physical blow.

A part of her mind questioned this reality. She tried to pierce through it all, but her will had been reduced to wool. Was she the victim of an Enchantment? An Illusion? But Gwen's consciousness was already spiralling, taken by dark and troubled waters, drawn by the suck of a psychic sea.

The weight of the mongoose beast faded into motes of fizzing lightning, finally allowing Bozza to rise onto her shoulder. She had been in her water-form when the sonic blast struck. The combination had shifted every molecule in her body, introducing her to the indescribable feeling of having every organ rattled.

Beside her, the blasted lightning girl was now talking to thin air, emoting expressions of disbelief and shock, her face undergoing the various stages of one taken by Phantasmal Killer. Thank the Magus there was an Enforcer here, Bozza coughed, spitting out blood. With great annoyance, she realised she would have to beg for a high-tier restoration potion.

"Let's hope Master is feeling charitable," a voice spoke quietly from across the room.

The owner of the voice was a stick-thin Mage with a pulled back cowl. His eyes were deeply sunken into his overlarge skull, his gaze dark and sickly. Pale, jaundiced skin wrapped the man's skull like stretched canvas; as he spoke, a shortness of breath gave the impression of permanent illness.

With a glance, his victim's imaginary horror grew in intensity. The duo watched as the girl flailed and stumbled, failing to flee from some unseen foe. The sorceress resisted well, but ultimately fell to her knees and began to whimper.

The gaunt Mage grunted with yet more exertion, pushing more mana into his spell. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he sought to overwhelm the last bastion of the girl's will. Finally, their victim convulsed, once, and laid still upon the stained concrete floor.

"Tough customer." The Enforcer grunted. "She's strong. As strong as a Magus."

He looked at Bozza, who stood beside him quietly, one hand trying to hold her guts in.

"Amazing specs on that one." The Illusionist exhaled. "I could feel... something, even when a part of her mind was overwhelmed, another part of her kept fighting. Did you see her casting?"

"Yeah, Evocation and Conjuration," Bozza responded with a measure of jealousy.

"Looks like you might be in for promotion after all. What luck huh? A one in a million prize waltzed right into your lap." The Enforcer chuckled sardonically. "Maybe you did something great in a past life?"

Bozza grunted. She kicked her bouncers until they were awake. It would have taken the drug-rats days to recover from the paralysis, but these were large men with well-fed constitutions.

Pieto and the Maori regained their senses. Their body had been beaten, but their mistress's order was absolute. The Maori took Stacey, who was still in a half stupor trying to breathe in the blue dust. Roughly, he wrapped his hand around her neck. She moaned painfully but had no motivation to struggle or flee. Pulling her upward, the big man then wrapped his arms around her legs, scooping her up bodily before moving into one of the corridors.

Pieto, his mug face full of undisguised intention, moved to pick Gwen from the floor.

"No drugs," the Enforcer stated coldly. "No damage must come to this cargo. She's worth more than you and your entire family ten times over."

"Don't fuck this up, take the utmost care," Bozza commanded her goon as well. The Boss then turned to her companion. "She's yours anyway. You managed to capture her. You take the credit."

"We share the credit," came the reply. "Trust me. You'll need that healing potion if you want to live past forty."

Bozza smiled, an expression that was unbecoming on her scarred face. The Enforcer had worked with her for a year now, and though they had a professional relationship, he could be softie too. Was it a quirk? She sometimes wondered. He wasn't a sick fuck like some of the men who came down to Blackheath, just a man doing a job. For a while now, she'd been curious as to his identity, but dared not pry. That was strictly forbidden.

Meanwhile, Pieto was already getting handsy.

"Pieto, you want to lose that hand?" Bozza barked at her simple-minded bouncer. The man had scooped the girl in his arms but was attempting to slide a hand under her dress. "You want to know what it's like to slowly drown over an hour?"

"Sorry Bozza," Pieto sulked, princess carrying Gwen down another corridor.

"Oi, Pieto..."

"Yes, Boss?"

"Strip her items for inspection, then get her ready for transport. We'll relocate tonight."

They watched the big man disappear with the girl. Bozza's ears were still ringing with tinnitus.

"What do you think?"

"We need to move her quickly. She had a Ring of Storage. It looked to be a signature build too, pretty high tier."

"Expensive."

"Which means she's being tracked, I guarantee it."

"Alright, what's the play?"

“Scatter and hid, get our reward, then rebuild, wait for this to blow over."

Bozza cursed. She rather liked the place.

The Enforcer moved towards the broken plaster wall where Gwen's Lightning Bolt had deposited the Initiate. He pulled out the comatose girl, then placed a finger under her nose.

"Still alive, nothing a few minor pots won't fix," he observed casually, smacking her face a few times until she began to awaken.

"Wake up, Initiate."

"What... what happened?" The girl stammered as she stirred, her eyes coming into focus. Her lumbar was between fire and ice. She must have broken something as well because she couldn't turn her torso without nearly fainting again.

"You got your arse handed to you, that's what happened." The Enforcer replied. "They don't instruct your generation like they use to, huh? Too much horizontal training?"

"That bitch!" The girl winced. "Where is she now?"

"Getting set up for transport. We're cleaning the girl's trackers below in a shielded room."

"I want to see, argh..." The Initiate knelt over, clutching her ribs.

"You stay put, I'll get you back to the House."

"I am fine... erg... oh fuck... " The initiate passed out again. The gaunt Mage shook his head. The new generation can be talented, sure, but they were bloody useless in a real fight. It was the peace, the lack of true grit learnt in trenches.

Watching the two bicker, something that had been scratching the back of Bozza's head clicked.

"Tonna! Tony! Anthony! Where the fuck are ya?"

She was answered by the sound of the building creaking.

Of course, the fucker's gone. Bozza spat. The guy had the tenacity of a cockroach.

Bozza commanded another two goons to fetch a stretcher for the Initiate, placing her in an isolated room to rest until they could leave with all their merchandise. Activity was slowly returning to the compound, but the Enforcer's deduction was right. Soon, all of this would be gone. All her work for a year, up in smokes because some stupid Apprentice-in-training thought it her business to meddle Bozza's business. She ordered sentries to be set, ensuring that the base was fully alerted, then searched for some bloody clean bandages.

Gwen dreamt, paralysed by phantasmal visions drawn from within herself.

In her current vision, she had fought with Edgar for hours, and now she was out of mana. She watched in disbelief and horror as her assailant disintegrated her navy dress with a simple caress of his fingers, exposing the white of her globular breasts. His face was a mask of heat and lust, an amalgamation of various faces she had seen since coming to this world. That man on the train, those workmen who had catcalled her, those boys she had met at Uncles, even that young man she had just met, Tony.

She raised a hand to blast him - Lightning Bolt! She invoked, but no power issued forth. She wasn't a Mage! Gwen remembered. She had failed her Awakening! She was just Gwen, the old Gwen, the NoM of her old world! Shit! Shit! She cried out, gesturing wildly but summoning nothing. Where was Ariel? Where was Caliban? Where were Alesia and Gunther and Henry and Mark? Hadn't they had all promised to help and protect her? Where were her friends? Yue and Elvia?

"A NoM has no friends amongst the Mages, as sheep has no allies amongst wolves." The indistinct vision of Edgar mocked her.

"I am afraid he's right," Another voice announced behind her.

Gwen turned to see her mother, her face also hyperbolically surreal, twisted.

"I am giving you to him." The voice that spoke was her Uncle's.

No! Gwen cried out. No! No! No! I'd rather die. Kill me now! Kill me now you bastards! I want to go home! Go home to Sydney!

"I am going to enjoy this." Edgar discarded his robes. Half his cheek was missing, as well as an arm and a leg. Dark blood oozed from the festered, necrotic wounds. "I will make this as long and unpleasant as possible, my sweet."

Gwen bit her tongue. She bashed her head against the linen. Turning inward, Gwen dug deep for that font of power that was rightfully hers, like a madwoman digging with her bare hands, shredding nail and flinging blood with every handful of dirt, dredging the darkness even an ounce of power. All she needed was one mote, one mote and she could end it all.

Then, just as Edgar's robe arrived at the edge of her vision, she found something. A dark ichor broke free from the crust of the earth like shale oil. It grew until it covered her white legs, wrapped her waist, touched her breasts, black and viscous, thick and suffocating. She had wanted salvation and now she was drowning in its obsidian opulence. If she could find no allies in the light, then she would call for the nameless ones in the dark; if the thick air above proved murderous, then she would breathe fetid water.

Pieto slid his hands up and down Gwen's white thighs as he carried her, the girl's skin proved smooth and moist, toned and tender. She was so different to the women they held here; whose bodies were feeble and frail, wrecked by the Blue, nothing like the supple flesh in his arms.

He kicked open the door to the lead-lined basement, where a dark corridor revealed a dozen more rooms. There were other merchandise here, men and women, but they were nothing like his prize. These poor bastards were locals: adolescents who awakened to one thing or another. They were fodder, useful for some dark purpose Pieto dared not know.

The bullish man walked until reaching the final chamber, shouldering open an iron door. This one was larger than the others, cleaner. It had yellowing tiles that covered the floor, where a trickle of water dripped into a drain. Pieto made for the large steel table in the room's centre, where he deposited the girl's unconscious body, enjoying the feeling of her flaxen hair falling over his hairy arms. Should he undress her? It was the rational thing to do, but Pieto understood that Bozza would likely have something to say about that. Instead, he patted her down, removing from her dress a small purse just large enough for a few cards.

He picked through her wallet and placed gingerly on the table her Student I.D, her Public Practice of Magic I.D, and after a moment of thought, pocketed the hundred or so dollars she had in notes. It was a perk that came with the job.

He then took to her hands, feeling the softness of her fingertips. Not a day of labour, the large man noted, feeling a dark emotion welling in his chest. These bloody Mages! This one particular must have been raised like a princess. That was why she had blundered into Bozza's den, shooting lightning all over, stroking her ego with her superior existence.

Continuing, he took off her storage ring, held it in his hands for a second, then placed it carefully next to her I.D. He wasn't a Mage, but he could tell from its craftsmanship that it was expensive. Her's wasn't some run of the mill Ring from a mall - a Master handcrafted it. Pieto tried to guess how much it was worth, and the answer only incensed him further.

She had another ring, a nondescript, non-magical thing. A dark gem inlaid into a sterling silver band. That looks expensive, Pieto smacked his lips gently. Checking his surroundings, he tugged at her finger until it came loose. After gazing at it longingly for a second, he slipped it into his pocket.

Magic for the Mages, and silver for people like us, Pieto rationalised.

And speaking of perks, he grinned.

The Enforcer and the Boss had to resolve matters above before they arrived below. Pieto's job was to ensure that the girl was tied and tethered. He rolled her pliant body over on its side, then folded her lower limbs until she was in a foetal position. Then, Pieto took a roll of leather strips from a hanging hook, and dextrously wrapped it around her ankles. The same length then moved between her legs, where he had placed her hands together as though she was in prayer. He made a butterfly loop around her hands before moving onto her swan-like neck, where he measured and cut the rest of the length. This way, if the sorceress struggled or strained against the strap, she would choke herself senseless. Pieto wasn't too bright, but he was good at his work. The positioning was expertly arranged, ensuring a smaller profile for transport as well as torturous bondage should the girl awake.

Stepping back, Pieto regarded his handiwork. Even unconscious the girl was absurdly beautiful. Unashamed, he felt the mounting hardness of an all too natural compulsion. He couldn't touch her of course, proverbially, but that was just a manner of speaking. After all, he had bound and gagged her, right? It was a perk.

With trembling hands full of anticipation, Pieto moved to unzip the side of her dress, his breathing growing more arrhythmic, laboured with every inch of exposed flesh, his hand trembling upon her flawless skin.

Just a touch, he told himself. It's a perk.

But as his fingers dug into girl's flesh, there was a slight thrum that engendered behind Pieto, accompanied by the sound of something landing wetly on the floor. Though usually alert, Pieto was too engrossed in his holy task to notice. He was a man on a mission, after all, his mind entirely and utterly focused on the task at hand.

“Ha,” Pieto chuckled. He loved this part of his job. The high and mighty Mages were just people once you had they hogtied and gagged. The girls especially, he loved that look of despair when they awoke in the box. Sometimes, Pieto wondered if that's what it was like to be a Mage.

"Heeheehee," he chuckled.

“Shaa…Shaa... Shaa…” Something chuckled beside Pieto.

The bouncer's fingers froze just as they were about to venture further. He could feel it now: a dense presence hovering over his right shoulder. In slow and measuredly movements, he turned to face his watcher.

His new companion was a strange and alien thing, composed entirely of glass. Its smooth head was semi-transparent, radiating an alien and exotic elegance.

“H…he… hello?” Pieto couldn’t think of anything else to say. How would one answer an otherworld horror anyhow? The creature must have understood him, however, for Pieto watched with paralytic fascination as the glass began to split three-way. From within the carapace emerged an engorged black-purple head with a lamprey’s lips, drooling grey goo.

There was a blur of darkness; then a barbed tongue shot into Pieto’s open mouth.

He screamed, half choking.

Caliban screamed with him.

The basement and its cargo of desperate souls screamed and screamed.

'Ban, 'Ban, Ca-Caliban

Has a new master. Her name is Gwen!'

Caliban had yet to develop a fully formed sentence, so it wasn't entirely sure why it was singing that particular song. It had learned it from Master's memory when it was named. There was a rhythmic quality to it that Caliban enjoyed, though the words held no particular meaning in its elemental distilled mind.

It also didn't know why it was freed from its Master's pocket dimension.

Every other time its Master had set it free, it had been shackled to her will, unable to do as it pleased. This time, she had been so generous with her life-force that it had materialised, fully untethered.

When Caliban had landed wetly behind some creature, it knew instinctively that the being had hostile designs upon its Master. It also knew that if its

Master perished, Caliban would also cease to be. As a thing born of the Void, it rather liked manifesting in the Material Plane. There was light, sound, and the company of others full of delicious vitality. Even its annoying brother that Master constantly conjured was better company than the cold dark slumber of eternity.

It hovered over the ape, wondering what it should do. Curiosity was a new emotion that it had only learned recently, though Caliban immediately put it to good use. Was the creature tasty? How much of Caliban’s belly could it fill? Did it possess fortifying mana?

To Caliban's surprise, the creature turned from trying to touch its Master and instead looked at Caliban. Its eyes shorn wetly, deliciously. The beast opened its mouth, and Caliban shot one of its barbed tongues into it, piercing its throat. The thing then started screaming, a blood-curdling scream. Caliban had no blood though, only hateful ichor, so it screamed with it. They were singing! It was like a chorus. Not so different from Master’s song.

'Ban, 'Ban, Ca-Caliban!'

The creature then tried to grab Caliban, but its fingers were weak, sliding off the slimy film that covered Caliban's exoskeleton, consumed by its Void energies. Caliban then expanded its lamprey's maw and took within its mouth the head of his assailant.

There was a crunch, a sound of grinding bone.

Yuck! Caliban did not like this thing at all. There was no yum in it. It barely gave Caliban any vitality. Simultaneously, Caliban could feel that its master was desperately in need of more life-force. Master was generous this time and had given Caliban too much.

"Shaa!"

Caliban puffed out its carapaced chest, its joints flexing proudly. It would provide its Master with the life she needed. After all, hadn't Master taken Caliban from the dark and given it a material form? Caliban wasn't useless like the rat-snake. It would be her favourite; then she could bring Caliban into the Material world every day.

With renewed determination and direction, Caliban slithered from the chamber, boring a hole through the iron door in an instant. There were others like the man-creature in the other rooms. It could taste their mana, delicious motes of elements in blue and red and green and yellow. Delicious mana, good for Caliban, good for Master!

Gwen's slithering nightmare pushed through the oxidised metal sheeting with the ease of an eel in silt.

There was another man-creature in there. No, not a man. A woman! A Mage like Master! It could smell the delicious mana seeping from her body. She was looking at him with her mouth wide apart, making a sound which greatly pleased Caliban. The female’s voices had a higher pitch, and Caliban liked the manner in which the screams vibrated its carapace. It moved towards her, miming her open mouth, its maw echoing her high pitched scream, then began its second meal.

Food! Good for Caliban! Food for Gwen!

Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten, Lord of Oceania's Towers, jolted from mead-mulled sleep to full wakefulness the moment Gwen's ring disconnected from her finger.

"Sufina!" he commanded.

The dryad materialised beside him. They were in the Dryad's Grot, a place where the passage of time was as ponderous as the march of an oaken forest.

"Master, what's wrong?" Sufina said worryingly.

"It's Gwen; she's no longer in possession of her Contingency Ring. What the hell is Mark doing? He told me he’d be taking care of her!"

Sufina's face grew worried.

"Was it unwise to send Gwen to Master Chandler after all? There is history between the two of you, after all, and not all of was is pleasant."

'History,' the word hammered at Henry's chest. History, yes, but also two decades of working together, surviving together, saving one another countless number of times. If that wasn't enough history to trust a man, what was?

“Not now..." Henry raised a hand weakly. "I know you are not fond of 'Mac'-"

"I am fond of Gwen," Sufina complained defiantly.

"Can we leave the Grot?"

Sufina shook her head, sending out a flurry of autumn leaves.

"No, you're not strong enough.”

Henry sighed.

“Where’s Gunther?"

"He should be at the Militia committee meeting today."

Henry invoked Gunther's Message glyph. His Apprentice answered his Master's call immediately.

"Gunther, someone has taken Gwen. I am sending you her last location."

"Yes, Lord Magister," Gunther returned, using Henry’s officious moniker in public.

"I fear you will be teleporting in blind. It's in Blackheath."

“Not a problem Sir. How would you like this resolved?"

Henry felt his teeth clench. Had Mark betrayed him? Was Gwen in danger? There were too many unknowns. His first instinct was to annihilate whatever had laid hands on his student, but he knew better than to deviate from the middle path, it was his Credo after all, what his Faction held sacred. Power and accountability, temptation and temperance, it was a precarious balance. Thinking of Gwen, Henry took a deep breath, trying to stifle the violent emotions welling in his chest.

"As you will," Henry said at last. Gunther would do what was right. He always did.

"Sir." Gunther's iron voice came from the Gylph. "I have Paul is with me; it will take some time to set up the long-range teleportation circle."

"Make haste, and keep her safe, Gunther."

"I will. Gunther out."

The glyph faded.

Henry willed another Message Glyph to flare into activity.

"Henry..." the distinctive voice of Mark Chandler came from the other side.

"Mark... you better have some answers for me..."

Bozza smelled the blood before they even heard the screams. Violence, particular ultraviolence, possessed a distinct, metallic tang which filled the air. It was different from the scent of an animal abattoir. There was a texture to it, a kind of congealed resonance that shook the very soul of the observer, triggering a conditioned response ingrained within the marrows of the mind, etched into the bone from a time when men were fodder for the beasts.

Bozza turned to look at the Enforcer. He was shaking - shaking! Together, they had taken down scores of Mages; enslaved hundreds more! But never once had Bozza seen the Enforcer show any reaction other than pleasure in his work.

"Wha... what's wrong?”

“There's... something down there... the mana, its full of hunger. I can't tell what it is. Never felt anything like it before."

They looked at the stairs leading down to the basement.

"Aarrrrrrgh!- Shaaaa!"

Suddenly, another shriek. Not the first and certainly not the last, the only difference was it sounded closer, more distinct. But hadn't been a single cry, but two! The first scream was a shriek, raw and primordial, thick with fear and terror. This second filled with insanity and hysteria, a mocking, inhuman scream that went on and on and on without ceasing. It was like - a duet? What being could utter such a sound?

Booza and the Enforcer regarded one another. We should flee - that was their first thought. But then they had another moment to gather their wits. Was that an option? They could escape with the merchandise. That was acceptable, even commendable, but run away with nothing? To confess when placed under the geas of True Word that they bolted without knowing why? That was suicide.

"I am afraid..." the Enforcer swallowed. "That I am not much use in a straight up fight so... ladies first?"

Bozza's wounded organs tie into a painful knot. Her companion was right; she had to go first. As a water Transmuter, taking damage was her job.

"Body of Water!"

"Crest Shield!"

"Enhanced Constitution!"

Bozza buffed herself against the physical and the elemental. Whatever was down there, it would have to chew through a persistent, self-regenerating barrier, her Body of Water, and her body. Even if the Lightning sorceress was awake, she could still fend her off for a few moments, enough for the Enforcer to do his worst.

Gingerly, the two arrived at the basement. The stench of blood was thicker here, almost physically assailing the senses. The hair on their heads stood ramrod straight, if their follicles had a voice, they would be screaming.

The place was pitch black.

Something had taken the emitter globes.

"Faery Light!"

The Enforcer waved a hand. Four glowing candles flew into the dark chamber.

There was a sound of liquid dripping and seeping somewhere.

One of the lights floated toward the door closest to the stairs.

There was a round hole where a grate would be. An utterly smooth orifice that looked as though it was cleanly cut. A thick, viscous slime that was grey and semi-transparent lingered at the point of entry.

Bozza produced a set of keys, the mental jangling loudly in the silence.

There had been a tier 2 Earth Evoker in the chamber.

Now there was a mess of flesh that vaguely resembled a man.

Bozza looked away. She wasn't cut out to deal with this. Bozza was a slaver and a trader; her job was to feed the Blue to her merchandise, then watch them descend into insensibility. She wasn't a butcher, but that the scene in front of her only be described as butchery.

The Enforcer did not look away. He had seen this before, in the war. He had been in the Brisbane Line, a tide of saurian creatures poured from the rainforest, overrunning their position in a matter of hours. He watched a beast, a grotesquely muscular, vaguely humanoid goanna - a big red Lizardman, tear a fellow soldier in half. The snapping of ligaments, the rendering of muscles, the blood wrung out like a wet rag - this scene was terrible, but he’d seen worse.

"The brain. The heart. The liver..." The Enforcer said quietly, taking note of what was missing. The observation made Bozza shiver uncontrollably. "Whatever had been here, was after the mana organs."

Humans didn't have Creature Cores, though it was long theorised that certain parts of the body held the secret to man's ability to channelling astral forces.

The duo steeled their spine, persisting down the corridor. It was the same in every room. Headless bodies with fleshy holes bored through their torsos. Finally, they reached the main room, the prep room.

A mountainous carcass blocked their entry. It was headless.

"Fuck`n oath... Pieto..." Bozza choked. "He'd been with me for four years... poor sod..."

The lights drifted within. They saw the Lightning girl. She was bound and gagged, the leather tying her into a position that made spellcasting impossible. Her face was deadly pale, sunken in fact, looking as though she was on the verge of wasting away.

"Why's this one alright?" Bozza asked suspiciously.

The Enforcer moved into the room and tested the straps, lifting Gwen a little before letting her fall with a thump.

"She's still out cold. Straps are perfect." He observed. "She's very weak though. What the hell happened."

"If not her, where the fuck did that thing come from then?"

The Enforcer exhaled.

"Who knows," he replied. "Although we both know that if we lose this merchandise, we're both dead Mage walk-"

"Aeeerrrrgh! NO! AEEeeee-"

There was a scream, suddenly cut short.

It came from above.

"Fuck, its gone upstairs!" Bozza cursed, running for the stairs.

The Enforcer took another look at Gwen. Suddenly and unexpectedly, he slapped her across the face. The girl remained unmoving, wholly unconscious. Her bloodless dermis began to welt with a five-fingered print.

The Enforcer looked at Bozza moving up the stairs, then quickly followed.

"You did WHAT!" Henry was screaming into to glyph now. His chest rose and fell painfully. Sufina had to lay a hand against her Master's back, transfusing a steady stream of her life-force.

"You did say to send her into the lion's den," Mark's voice replied calmly. "If she couldn't make it through even that, maybe she wasn't cut out to be your hopes and dreams."

"You know very well what I meant, Mark! Y-you! How could you?"

"It was the choice you made for us back in the day no? Why the hypocrisy?"

"How is that the same? We were at war! At WAR Mark!"

"Then where is Lizzy now? Where’s my sister Jane?” Mark's voice also rose. "If you're going to be such a mollycoddler, then why the tests? Just keep her fed in your Tower! Give her a scholarship! Marry her off to your peerless Apprentice! Who dares challenge the ageless Magister Kilroy and his wunderkind Paladin?"

"Mark... Mark you..."

Henry could hardly breathe for all the red he was seeing. Sufina gave him another jolt to ease his heaving chest.

"Fine, you wanted to talk? We'll talk. I am coming for you, and I am bringing Surya. Go get Agnes; we're going to put this demon behind us once and for all."

"I eagerly await your austere presence," Mark remarked dryly, then the light of his glyph died.

"Gunther... I am relying on you..." Henry said to no one in particular.

Old demons, the Magister breathed out, a hand moving to his chest. The sins of yesterday, coming home to roost.

"It's a demon! Run for your lives!”

Fifty-odd kilometres away from Sydney Tower, absolute anarchy and chaos had erupted in the abode of the local flesh trader. A creature had emerged out of nowhere, and it was now staring down Nikau, tasting him with its flailing tentacles.

They said that before one’s imminent death, life flashed before one's eyes. But all Nikau could recall was the memorable events of today. At first, it had been a day like any other. Runners looked for newly minted Mages in the area they were assigned to, speaking to families with children, offering them food, money, and crystals, if that was what they desired. The NoMs here were poor, docile and compliant, which made his job easier. Occasionally, a runner came back with the news that a family refused to give up their kin. That wasn't too unusual either, and Bozza merely had to send him or Pieto out with a stern message and the problem was solved. If a NoM family had a rare awakening, Bozza was generous with compensation. An extra mouth to feed becoming a windfall of wealth for years to come was always welcomed. It was charity, now that Nikau thought about it; they were doing good for the local community. How many families had they saved that way? How many younger siblings, NoMs, survived, thanks to the sacrifice of a single would-be Mage?

Then the day got complicated. A girl came into the shop, dressed to the nines. She was more lovely than anything Nikau had ever seen. God knows Pieto was smitten, the guy's eyes were falling out of their sockets. A runner, Tonna, had brought the girl. Like everyone else, Nikau had assumed she was a buyer, or an agent representing someone they couldn't refuse. She wasn't, as it turned out, but Nikau wasn't here to think. They had watched the boss chat the girl up, all friendly. Nikau especially liked the girl's attire. It was expensive looking, of course, but elegant. Her white legs emerged from the navy dress like a dream. Nikau liked that, he liked beautiful looking girls. They were a rare treat. Sometimes he wondered if he could ever meet a girl like that. Not one of the merchandise, no. A real girl, someone tall and slim, with a heart-shaped face and long dark hair. He could take her out on dates when Bozza was kind and gave him days off. They could take the train to the city, see the harbour. He had heard it was beautiful out there, that you could see the Shield Wall shimmering at night against the waters like long white fingers. At midnight, the girl would place her head upon his broad chest, and he could smell her hair, which would be like flowers. She would cross her white legs over his lap and peck him shyly on the cheek. That was the dream.

Nikau had always felt that he was different from the people here. He wasn't like Pieto, who wanted his girls kicking and screaming. He wasn't like Bozza either, who saw the kid Mages as meat and merchandise. He felt more akin to the Enforcer. They had spoken once, and the cowled Mage had told him always to remember that he was doing a job. Nikau liked that. Yep, Nikau was a contractor doing a job. He was working hard so that one day, he would have a girl of his own, and they could see the harbour.

The bloody, chomping maw came closer to his face.

Well, sugar! Nikau thought sadly to himself. A girl hadn't ever kissed him.

Caliban was extremely pleased with itself.

It felt happier than any eldritch horror ever spawned from the Plane of whimpering death and eternal darkness. Having finished its allotment of flesh downstairs, it found a service pipe and made its way upstairs. There were scant Mages up here, but the lack of quality was made up by quantity!

Unlike the ones below, these were lively! Its prey scattered this way and that, causing Caliban to exert real effort to catch them! With each being it devoured, Caliban sent a jolt of vitality into its Master. He could even feel her stirring now, sensing her Astral Body filling with the stuff of life itself! She would be boundlessly pleased when she'd seen what it had done for her.

Then, just when it had thought all the best morsels were gone. It found another. As it slithered closer though, it realised that the figure looked familiar. It knew this Mage! Master was speaking to it earlier, trying to help it! It couldn't possibly eat this female. Caliban wasn't a scholarly creature, but it had its smarts!

It retreated, and in the adjacent room found another creature, a Mage! This one had fought its Master earlier, delicious! Caliban prey began to scream, even though it was damaged and weak. Oh well, Caliban allowed its hunger to take over, now was not the time to be picky.

Gwen woke in the shivering dark, stirred to consciousness by a sudden sense of vitality that filled her body. She tried to move, but a strap tied together her arms and legs. There was an immediate sense of panic, but her mind cooled when she acknowledged, gladly, that unlike Stacey, she remained fully clothed. Her surroundings were dark, pitch black. There was the sound of something dripping into the drain below. Slowly, she took account of her surroundings. She was on a metal table, and the iron had warmed up to her body, meaning she had been here for some time.

Internally, there was a sense of emptiness, but also a strange fullness. The paradoxical sensation made Gwen turn inward, instantly realising with horror that Caliban was gone. Ariel was still in her pocket dimension, but Caliban's was empty. She frantically tried to establish a telepathic link, but it was weak and untethered. She would have to see Caliban directly to command it and reestablish her Empathic Link.

Gwen tried to move again, but the leather around her hands and ankles pulled against her throat. Calm - Calm yourself, don't panic, Gwen repeated the word like a mantra, your sister-in-craft, Alesia, had trained you to escape from confinements.

Very carefully, she willed her void energy to materialise upon her hands via the conduit of her Conjuration Sigil. She forced the motes to move down to her arm painfully, feeling the leather bindings came loose like rotten rags. Then, quietly and carefully, she tore at the binding on her feet and neck, shredding them like paper.

Interestingly, though she had expected fatigue from the Void, she strangely felt no discomfort. After checking her clothes, she moved from the steel table, landing wetly in a puddle of what smelled like old iron.

Blood. It was blood. Gwen knew because she had smelt it when Edgar's limbs came off.

"Flare."

A bright glow suffused the room. Gwen looked down.

If she had prepared, she probably would have weathered it better.

Instead, she vomited over Pieto's headless body.

Jesus. Her heart sink. She wished she didn't know what had happened here, but she did. There could only be one reason Pieto would be missing a head.

She rushed from the room. There was the sound of chaotic commotion coming from above. Gwen clacked through the concrete, tapping the floor loudly, trying her best not to peek. There were holes in all the doors of the other cells.

The pit of her stomach dropped.

"Nikau! Fuck, it got Nikau!"

Bozza felt as though she was going insane.

They had finally caught the creature redhanded coming out of the secondary preparation room on the first floor. The Enforcer had guessed that it was after Mages, and there were two Mages on the first floor, the Initiate and the Cantwell girl. When they blasted open the door, the thing was chewing on poor Nikau's head.

It was hideous, more terrifying than anything Bozza had seen in textbooks. It was snake-like with a bulbous, purple head from which several tentacles protruded, each ringed with sharp white teeth.

"Water bolt!"

"Magic Missile!"

Both Bozza and the Enforcer had fired off projectiles against the thing, sending it reeling. It had shrieked in pain, then fled for the atrium. They followed it, triggering a game of cat and mouse.

They had finally cornered it in the ruins of the atrium when it's carapace further expanded, doubling it in size, now becoming a pulsating mass of writhing purple flesh, a worm fully the height of a grown man. It shot barbed tentacles toward them, but with enough water pressure, Bozza could manage to keep both herself and the Enforcer Shielded.

"Caliban! Stop!" To their surprise, the Lightning girl emerged from the basement corridor. She was dishevelled, but otherwise looked perfectly healthy, nothing like what they had seen in the basement prior. "Caliban! Heel!"

Instantly, the creature shrunk. then sat happily wagging its tail.

"You fucking bitch! That thing WAS yours!" Bozza's entire world grew red with rage. That devious little whore! Pieto! Nikau! Her base! All her work! Her Life! She gathered all her remaining mana for an alpha strike.

"No!" The Enforcer had kept his cool. He body-slammed Bozza, disrupting her spell. If the girl was indeed the summoner of that thing, he could hardly imagine the boon that awaited them. If their Master got their hands on her, he would no longer be an Enforcer, and Bozza would no longer be an Associate. They would be well within the Inner Circle!

"Phantasmal Killer!"

This time, the Enforcer pumped more than half of his remaining mana into the illusory attack. From what he had seen, the girl had issues, significant issues. She had been very susceptible to his last spell. With only half an hour between now and then, his new Illusion should be even more effective.

He watched as the spell hit. The girl's body suddenly grew rigid; her horrific ophidian instantly de-materialised.

It was hers! His heart pounded. Holy shit! A dual-Element, dual-School Magus at her age? With those looks? He was going places now. Fuck this base; he was going to be a member of the Lord's retinue after this.

As the spell took hold, the girl collapsed onto the floor once more.

Bozza recovered from her fall, but her flash of anger quickly turned to clarity and gratitude. She was a smart woman. They worked well together.

"Fuck me, that was close," she apologised. "Thanks."

The Enforcer's heart almost burst in that final moment, but now everything was alright.

"This place is gone," he observed. "Let's get the girl and move out now..."

"Alright, we..."

'WHOMP!'

Suddenly, something caught the air. There was a flash of radiance, a sudden tear in space and time in the middle of the Atrium. The two watched with open mouths as a Teleportation Array manifested itself instantly upon the debris-strewn floor.

A Demigod materialised in the middle of the array, filling the room with radiance, dispelling all shadow.

The deified being's cold blue eyes scanned his demesne, master of all he surveyed. He saw his sister-in-craft collapsed by the corridor to the basement: her dress torn, her bare legs soiled, her hair a mess.

His brows furrowed. The temperature in the room flared.

Bozza and the Enforcer's hearts stopped.

"Which one of you is responsible for this?" A calm voice spoke as would the Sun God Apollo. "Prostrate yourselves and surrender, or die."

Farez Hamid recognised the intruder.

Farez had been just a Militiamen then, an up and coming Illusionist with an affinity for Air with a freshly pressed commendation for his mastery of misdirection.

He distinctly recalled it was during Second Seige of the Brisbane Line that he first heard the name of Gunther von Shultz.

With the rest of the fresh meat, he was being hauled across the sound when a Dragon Turtle struck their barge. The problem was that most of the Junior Mages couldn't fly, Farez included. The ship rocked, and the novices had flung ineffective spells at the hateful creature. All seemed lost - until a blast of heavenly light pierced the clouds, a God-ray that burned the air turned the sea to steam. Where it had struck the beast, its scales melted and boiled. The Dragon Turtle had returned breath-attack, but a secondary blast took its head clean off, a tier 7 monstrosity - just like that. The recruits never saw who had saved them, but Farez was later informed that it was Gunther von Shultz.

During those days, Shultz and de Botton were the big names on the Front. The first was an invincible superman, a Wing Commander at the age of twenty-five. The second was renowned for her ruthless violence, making Flight Lieutenant at the tender age of fifteen. They had both excelled in the taking of Portsea, racking up a quad-digit kill-count through fire and gore. Upon their return, Shultz engaged a propaganda tour, and that was when Farez met his saviour.

The Illusionist had never beheld a man so magnificent. Gunther was radiance personified, like Apollo in a human body. Farez had screamed his lungs out with the best of them. To think that such a man was fighting on their behalf! To be bathed in the light of such a personage, a man who had carved out a victory in blood and brimstone, was the closest he ever felt to God.

When Gunther had finally reached his squad, Farez reached out. He touched him! Farez touched Gunther von Shultz! He was so happy he could have cried! Then to his shock, Gunther stopped. The Demigod turned his gaze upon Farez with the warmest, most understanding blue eyes Farez had ever beheld in his life.

"Thank you for your service, Warrant Officer... Farez Hamid."

He knew his name! Gunther von Shultz knew his name! As the man left, Farez had wept. His friends had made fun of him, mirthfully punched him in the ribs. They didn't know, Farez laughed internally. They couldn't understand what it was like to touch that radiance.

That's motherfucking Gunther Shultz! Farez's bulging eyes almost escaped their sunken sockets. What the fuck is Gunther von Shultz doing here? Was it for the girl?

Oh. Shit. The thought resounded in Farez's head like a gong.

The Teleportation Circle had faded by now. All Farez and Booza could behold was the godly visage of Sydney Tower's Paladin striding towards them like a fabled colossus.

"Do you yield?" The question was entirely rhetorical.

Had Farez not endured years of anti-glamour training, he would have knelt right there and wept like a child. He saw Bozza fall to one knee, her eyes brimming with tears, and knew it was over before it began.

It was radiance. There was something in Gunther's aura! Was it an Enchantment or an Illusion?

He saw the Geas embedded in Bozza activate. Like him, she could only serve a single Master, incapable of yielding even if she wanted to. At once her head cleared.

"Fuck! What the hell was that?" Bozza shouted. She needn't have, there was no other sound in the room, but somehow, it felt like they were in a maelstrom.

"We're about to meet our maker," Farez intoned rather objectively. "Hey Boz, I want to tell you something."

"Is this the right time?" Bozza kept shouting, trying to Shield her eyes from the radiance. "We should be attacking the prick!"

"My name is Farez Hamid," he said.

Bozza gazed at Farez with a face full of incomprehension.

"What are you..." Bozza began, but she was cut off by Farez's next spell.

"Phantasmal Force!" The Illusionist forced the spell to manifest with a bestial howl, pushing all of his remaining mana into its invocation. A dozen phantom soldiers appeared from every direction to strike Gunther. It was Farez's most potent spell. It was also useless, he knew, but he had to try.

Gunther didn't even move.

The Radiance around him shimmered. Without warning, holes appeared in every phantom that assailed him. There wasn't even a beam or a projectile; it was as if his soldiers were perforated all along. Farez didn't have to wait for Gunther's retribution. He hadn't even finished his gesticulation when he felt a sudden lightness. He watched, almost in slow motion, his limbs fall away, the wounds cauterised and clean. He landed on the ground as a human stump, bereft of his bodily appendages.

Bozza's eyes stared in disbelief. Farez was the Enforcer! He was a Tier 5 Senior Mage! Who was this man they were facing? Were they fighting a God? A Sun God?

Farez watched as Bozza turn to summon a shield, maybe trying to protect herself; perhaps trying to save him. It didn't matter. Her Shield disappeared in the next second. Her Body of Water didn't matter either. Her skin sizzled, and in the next instant, she was also bereft of limbs.

"I have questions for you. Later," Gunther stated mildly, then left to inspect the girl by the door.

He left! Farez snorted painfully. He wasn't even worth a moment of Gunther's time!

From the floor, he regarded Bozza, who was weeping now. She was a strong woman, but she finally understood. In front of real power, they were just worms.

"Hey Boz," Farez called out to Bozza, whose eyes met his, wet with agony and despair. "What's my name?"

"Hamid. Farez." She said between gasps of air.

"Thanks, Boz..." Farez replied, then waited quietly for the inevitable.

Gunther left the two assailants incapacitated. Between the loss of their limbs and the mental shock, they were capable of neither magic or escape. He looked around the place, took in the surroundings, and felt a fit of monstrous anger.

Master Henry had made a terrible mistake in trusting Mark Chandler.

He walked over to where Gwen lay, picked her up from the floor, and wiped the debris from her limbs and her dress.

The girl was having a nightmare; her eyes were fluttering, her ocular muscles spasming.

"Gwen, wake up," he intoned gently. His voice was radiance, full of texture and temperature. Warmth suffused Gwen's head, undoing the Phantasmal illusion.

His sister-in-craft's hazel eyes shot open. Gwen found herself in Gunther's arms, her white face refracted against his blue orbs. Her clothes were dishevelled, but she was warm and safe, it was over.

"I..." Gwen wailed weakly. "Gunther... I did it... I killed them all!"

Her breath caught in her throat, her face turned scarlet.

"So... so much blood Gunther... how... who'd thought there be so much blood in them?"

"It's okay," Gunther coddled her. "You did well."

There was a warning in his voice that made Gwen tense, filling her body with adrenaline. She was a sensitive soul, and she knew the feeling of the calm before the storm.

Gunther ushered a jolt of Radiant mana into his aura, silently activating a passive calming effect. The girl's shivering grew weaker until it ceased.

"Gwen, I need you to see this," Gunther spoke to her softly. "Can you stand?"

"Yes... Sorry. There's something in the basement you need to see, brother," Gwen urged her senior sibling.

Gunther was glad that Gwen seemed considerably more in control of her faculties. She was going to need it for what came next.

"That's not important," he assured her. "This is."

Gunther walked Gwen towards Bozza and Farez, two torsos lying on the dusty floor.

"I need to ask you some questions, and you will answer them truthfully," Gunther spoke in a voice that was measured and kind. Not at all the tone of a man who had taken off eight limbs in the blink of an eye.

He did not wait for the slavers to affirm his demand.

"You, Illusionist," Gunther began. "Who do you work for?"

"Don't know."

Suddenly, Farez's skin began to sizzle.

"Who do you work for?"

"I... argh! I ... oh God! Arrrrgh!!!"

"Who do you work for?"

"I can't! I can't!" The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

"Hmmph," Gunther grunted. "A Geas. Fine. What were you going to do to Gwen?"

"Sell her." Farez gasped.

Gwen shuddered.

"Listen carefully, Gwen," Gunther commanded. "This is the answer you are looking for. What happens to those who get sold?"

"Rituals... training..."

"Hmmph!"

"Arrgh! O, Gods! Oh, oh, oh!" There was now the smell of crisping fat.

"Breeding! For breeding! Or sacrifices! Or experiments! We take the heart blood! We extract their organs! They're Mage stock! Oh please! I can't say more! Just kill me! Just kill me, Commander Shultz!"

Gwen blanched. Breeding. The man had said. Rituals. She wanted to hurl and vomit, but the contents of her stomach had been spent.

Gunther on the other hand, blinked when the man said his name.

"Are we acquainted?"

"I saw you once..." Farez was hardly recognisable now, just a lump of ruinous flesh. "It was.. it was at the parade in 86'... you said my name... we shook..."

Gunther searched through his memory.

"Sergeant... Jones? No - Officer Hamid? I am sorry to see you in this state."

"Ha... ha ... you don't know the half of it! There's nothing more I can say... Commander, a request before I die?"

Gunther furrowed his brows.

"What do you need, Hamid?"

"Bozza, the woman next to me. She too is under Geas. Please- give her a clean death. Not like me. She didn't see the war. She's not built like we are." Farez's voice was stronger now, louder, kept up only by adrenaline. "The other girl... Cantwell, she survived. She's in the second room. The monster, it spared her, please..."

His voice grew faint.

"Peace be with you, Farez."

"I am sorry..."

"I am too, Sergeant Hamid," Gunther intoned grimly. "More than you know."

He left Gwen standing alone, then returned momentarily with Stacey. The girl remained groggy and out of her mind, unaware that she had escaped death more than once. She mumbled something incoherent, and Gunther could smell the Blue that lingered on her breath, that acrid scent which permeated her body and ate into her flesh. It was too late for the girl. Those who awakened late seldom received the necessary talent or training to be competent. The Tower would be hard pressed to dedicate the resources required to restore this girl to normalcy. Not even Agnes had the means to fight off the lingering effects of such a deeply set addiction. He wondered if the girl could be used as a lesson in mercy for Gwen, but decided against it. Gwen was not ready. She had another lesson to learn first.

"Gwen." Gunther turned to his sister-in-craft. He saw her body seize, a deer caught before Dancing Lights. She must have realised what he was about to ask.

"Gunther..." Gwen's breath quickened, he could feel her heart pounding against her breast. "Gunther, I can't... that's a man, Gunther! That's a human being!"

"Finish him."

"Gunther, he is defenceless! I don't even know why you're torturing him; there are... spells for interrogation... for truth..."

"They were going to sell you, Gwen. Use you for spare parts! Do you understand what that means? At best, you would be strapped to a ritual table and have your brain, your heart and your liver extracted. At worst..."

"Oh...Oh... " Gwen was hyperventilating now.

"Finish it, Sister!"

He placed a hand on her shoulder; his voice grew sonorous.

"Do it now."

Gwen choked and sobbed, her hands trembling. At Gunther's behest, she allowed the spell to manifest in her mind. She was uttering the words before she knew it, wondering if this was what she wanted. The man was a mess of charred and boiled flesh. It was mercy.

"Lighting Bolt!"

A flash of plasma enveloped Farez. The man laid still.

"I am afraid I won't be able to keep that promise, Sergeant Hamid. I have a use for your companion," Gunther replied regretfully to the corpse. "I hope you make better choices in your next life."

A beam of light struck Farez. His corpse blazed for a few bright seconds before turning to ash; another glance from Gunther and his fallen limbs cremated as well. Two rings and an amulet dropped to the floor.

Gunther retrieved them before turning to Bozza.

"Please..." She sobbed uncontrollably, "I can't tell you anything."

Gunther regarded Gwen's face, now numb with shock. The girl likely had always thought death clean, not obscene.

As for Gwen, she was having an out-of-body experience. With her Familiar, there was at least an abstract quality to it, the bundles of stuff that dropped here and there, the carnage of it was too violent to be real.

"Finish what you have begun."

"No, Gunther, I can't do it again..."

"You must. It is your duty. Bozza was dead the moment you chose to walk into her den. Do you understand that?"

Gwen stared at Gunther; conflict etched all over her face.

"This is also a part of the Credo, the one you so thoughtlessly flaunted before Master. You said that you would harry the foxes, frighten the wolves, and slaughter the tigers that barred your way! You wanted to fear no vengeance! Here is where you do it, Gwen! Open your eyes!"

He watched the girl's laboured breathing, observing her struggle against hysteria.

"You do, don't you?" The question was rhetorical.

Her reaction validated his suspicion that Gwen was different. He had told Alesia just that when she'd asked what he thought of their little sister-in-craft. The girl was too mature, improbably thoughtful. As far as he knew, Gwen had a torturous upbringing under a malevolent mother, an apathetic father, and the threat of a talented brother. She had never lived in a Tier 1 city. Frontier folk like her lived under the constant assumption that life was scant and temporal. The way Gwen reacted to her surroundings, the training and killing - it was like she had grown up in a walled garden, a place without violence or bloodshed. He wasn't sure why, nor did he care. What he did need was for her to stop behaving like a petulant child.

Her naivety was suicide. She would have to learn, fast.

"Do it," Gunther commanded, dropping another sliver of mana into Radiant Command.

'Crack!'

Another lightning bolt. Bozza screamed.

"Again."

Another. Bozza was stronger than she looked.

Fool! Gwen grunted. The girl was resisting, pulling her punches. She was now both stupid and cruel. He had only empowered his words with suggestions; perhaps he should enforce the command? No. That would be beside the point.

"Where's your mercy, Gwen? Do you find joy in her suffering?"

He could see the girl trying her best to rationalise her resistance.

"The dead, Gunther! Those bodies: don't they pluck out your eyes?! I can't... we can't do this... We can't wash our hands with excuses! The blood of our victims will dye the emerald sea incarnadine! Blood will have blood! To murder a human being- The dead will have their day!"

Words. Gunther felt even his own stoic, immovable soul shaken and stirred. Gwen had a way with words. Master liked that about her. Words have power, whether they be incantation or wisdom. Was she right? Gunther knew her words were didactic, but her sentiments were sophistry, the cawing of a mewling girl. Mastery Henry was a man of words, but Gunther and Alesia's baptism had been one of action. He did not like Gwen. No. She was talented, but she was also naive, stupid, suicidal. A Mage of Gwen's potential was a terrible temptation for the wolves: only violence would keep her safe. Kindness? Compassion? She would drown in it.

"These people had designs upon you, Gwen, whether you will or no. The mere fact that you appeared in their lives had sealed their fate. Either you were bound and sold like chattel, and they burned - or you survived, grew stronger for your troubles, and they burned. They were dead the moment you walked in! Did you think this was going to end amicably? That they were going to be imprisoned?"

He watched the battle unfold over her tortured face. Finally, their eyes met.

"Do it!"

"Lightning Blast!"

Gunther needn't command her this time; the choice was hers. He watched her pour wave after wave of mana into the channelled spell.

There was very little of Bozza left when the light had cleared. Another blast of cremating flames from him cleared any signs that Bozza had ever existed, save for a single Storage Ring.

"Good work." Gunther pressed Gwen's wilting body against his chest, feeling the beat of her heart against his own. "You must always remember this feeling. What must you do?"

"Finish what I had begun."

"Repeat it."

"Finish what I had begun."

Gunther picked up Bozza's ring.

"Good girl. Let's go and see our Master. Somebody must pay for what has happened here."

"What of the bodies, Gunther?" Gwen asked. "There... there are so many of them..."

"Hmmph..." Gunther closed his eyes for a moment. Gwen felt a sudden rise in the temperature. The walls around them combust into flames. The whole building was on fire. Her brother's flame was not the fire of the mortal realm, but destruction wrung from the Elemental Planes, the very stuff stolen from the Gods themselves. Gunther's was a cleansing blaze that would wipe all sin from Gwen's blighted land.

Gwen watched the world burn.

When she had realised what Caliban had done, her first thought was to lock herself up in a deep dark cave and never emerge back into the world of men. Perhaps she would leave the city, travel into the Wildlands? She could live amongst the savage races of the stone-formed Goblins and the malignant Orcs.

Then, when she came closer to the atrium, she felt the telepathic link between her and Caliban re-establish. Oh, what visions flooded her mind! It was as if she was Caliban itself, striking into her victims with unadulterated joy, boring through their screaming chests and emerging with mouthfuls of warm flesh! She felt an orgasmic jolt of vitality fed into her, replenishing what Caliban had taken. She felt satiated, satisfied. But it was not like the satiation offered by a hearty meal. It was the satisfaction of something ancient, something dark, something that was devouring and eating a millennia before men discovered the first mote of mana. It was a primal hunger, a gibbering bestial joy!

Caliban had fed on others, but Gwen fed on Caliban. She supped via her Familiar, more and more hungrily! Less and less sufficient!

Hungry! Caliban had cried out, and now Gwen, who had once contented with mortal food, now desired the hearts of men.

No! Gwen scalded herself, No! She cannot lose herself to this thing! She would not let Caliban override her ego, assume her animus! Heel! She cried out. Caliban! HEEL!

She hadn't resisted the Phantasmal Killer when it struck her mind. She welcomed the darkness, a respite from the hunger brought by wayward Caliban. She shunted the slithering Void beast into its planar cage. The wormling was hers and hers alone; she gave it purpose and existence, and she would not lose control of it ever again.

Then she was out like a light,

And when her sanity returned, she was murdering her first human being face-to-face.

"Do it now!" He told her.

Gunther pried open her eyes and Gwen could see the truth hidden in the winding dark. She had nowhere else to hide. Attached to her wrist, her hand had felt like a stranger's, an alien appendage distended from her body.

"They were dead the moment you appeared in their lives! Did you think this was going to end amicably?"

Gwen knew now she was wrong, but she had hoped. She was going to defeat them - but she wasn't going be there for the aftermath. That had been her naivety. She was going to save the girl, and that was the end of it. Was it meant to be more complicated than that? Or was it as Gunther had said, that nothing would ever be so simple.

But Gunther was right. There comes a time when an individual must take account of their own choices.

Assume their own stories.

She raised a hand toward the whimpering slaver.

The old Gwen is dead. Long live Gwen, murderer, her hands smeared in the snail-sheen fat of slaughter; for all the perfumes of Arabia will never sweeten her fingers again.

For the fifth time, Agnes had to intervene, preventing Henry and Mark from saying something that neither of them could take back. At first, Surya had aided her, but after Mark accusing his granddaughter of being a Void-tainted Calamity, the old Enchanter became firmly entrenched with team Kilroy.

Had there always been this much vitriol hidden beneath it all? Agnes wondered if all these years she had known her friends at all. In her mind, no displacement could change the fact that they were companions, comrades, mutual survivors.

With Surya, she had kept in contact often, meeting for luncheons now and then. Henry was too busy managing the controlled-chaos of the Tower, but he made an effort. Mark ran his own Agency two doors down, sharing a working-relationship with Agnes, who fed him information and the latest news from her contacts and clients.

When Henry called them all to meet at Mark’s cafe, Agnes had no idea that the friction between him and Mark had escalated to such a boiling point. That was as clear as pure mana when she walked into the loft of Mark’s terrace. Mages, particular at the level of Magus and Magisters, exerted an arcane pressure with their abundance of mana; walking into that room was like trying to push past a Wall of Water.

Mark sat at his table, brooding.

Henry sat on a chair made by Sufina, scowling.

Surya sat in another corner, a young assistant behind him, grumbling.

How is the terrace still standing? Agnes wondered. If this had been her bordello, the place would have collapsed.

The heart of the problem was Gwen. Agnes understood that, but that was simplifying a complicated matter; like blaming a bushfire on a single lightning strike.

Gwen was merely the spark.

The fuel of regret and undisclosed desires had been falling for years, piling and piling until it was bone dry and knee deep. From what Agnes recalled, the old boys had kept their problems to themselves, typical of military men. They never engaged in a back-burning of their pent-up grievances, and now the Wall of Fire was ten-meters tall.

Agnes felt that she should shoulder some of the blame, she provided the quest, after all, but how could she have known? According to Henry, it should have been a comedy of errors, giving his whelp a taste of the real world. Gwen was supposed to return with a scraped knee, maybe upset, likely sullen, moaning about the disparity between NoMs and Mages.

As it turns out, Mark had been fermenting a great Mea Culpa, to prove Henry wrong once and for all.

Her fault was that she had left all the intelligence to Mark. After all, he was the Diviner of the bunch, one of the best scryers in the city. Mark had told her the usual; ruffians, the homeless, a few desperate souls who would try to have a go at Gwen. That Stacey was up to her usual troubles, flirting with the Blue on her return trip home. It was supposed to be educational, eye-opening, didactic. Gwen was to gain a broader perspective toward who she worked to save, to ask herself if she was willing to risk her life to rescue those surviving on society's generosity, to question if she could stomach the ugliness of it all; to let her understand the circumstances of those without her advantage. Henry even had a speech prepared, his favourite subject: the responsibilities of those who are great, and the limitations of its exercise.

Then, of course, reality blew open the door with a Fireball.

According to a seething Henry who was burning up his life-mana like a screeching kettle, Gwen had run headfirst into Mage-stock harvesters. A den of slavers - and not just any slavers either. It was a branch which belonged to the rogue Mages. A shadowy collective of invested parties ran by Outlanders and covertly supported by the Houses, the military, and prominent industrialists. Usually, the Tower turned a blind eye, stamping their feet only when necessary. Henry's Faction knew that so long as NoM ghettos existed, these sort of things were unavoidable.

So they bickered. The highest Magister in Sydney, a decorated Diviner Magus and an old Enchanter: bickering like old men with dementia at an asylum, ranting about the past.

“Shut up! ALL OF YOU!” she shouted at them. They glared at her sulkily. “Where is Gwen now?”

“Gunther is teleporting back as we speak,” Henry replied, his tone decisively glacial.

“Then we wait,” Agnes remarked with exasperation. “Tell her the whole story. You should learn to see past your noses for fuck's sake.”

Henry and Surya grunted and grumbled, glaring at one another with unfriendly expressions. It was only Mark whose eyes gave Agnes the shivers.

But for now, they wait.

A teleportation circle blazed and died in the basement of the terrace. Gunther brushed the silvery-motes from Gwen's hair and clothes. Stacey was still naked and incoherent, so the Radiant Mage found a guest room, wrapped her in a blanket, then glamoured her to sleep.

He returned to Gwen with a towel, then wrapped it around her shoulders as they made the torturous journey up the narrow stairs.

Before Gwen had breached the top, she felt the pressure of projected mana in the air. It was only by retreating against Gunther that she could proceed.

“Gwen!” Surya’s voice called out. “My cucu perempuan! What have they done to you?”

Gwen rushed from Gunther’s arms to fall into her grandfather’s embrace.

"Opa!"

She wanted to bury her head in his chest, but her Opa was too short and bony. Instead, the man awkwardly embraced her, giving the impression that she was the one providing comfort. The others watched, some smiling, others expressionless.

“I brought a friend.” Surya pointed to a girl behind him.

Gwen confusedly looked past Surya, before seeing a familiar visage behind them. That well-tanned skin, that tall, lithe figure, that shoulder length hair which had finally grown out.

“Debora!” Gwen couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Gwen…” Debora smiled nervously at her friend. The girl looked nervous. She was in front of rare and eminent presences, even if they sounded like bickering children at this moment.

“How?”

“I was interning with a famous Transmuter… who happened to be your Grandfather. When this whole thing happened…” Debora held Gwen's hand. “I volunteered to come as soon as I heard.”

“Oh… oh! Debbie!”

Gwen left her grandfather’s gangly canoodle for Debora.

The two girls embraced, their similar builds and height allowed Gwen to bury her face and feel the envelopment of something soft and familiar. It was what she needed; not the embrace of a patriarch nor a mentor, but someone on her level. In return, Debora likewise held Gwen close to her, the two girls sharing a moment of intimate empathy.

They were interrupted by a displeasing snort.

“Perhaps we should proceed with this show trial?” Mark demanded sardonically.

The girls separated. Sufina summoned a bench, then joined them. She likewise gave Gwen a tight, albeit wooden hug, then offered her a mug of Golden Mead. Despite been flanked by two allies, Gwen continued to shiver uncontrollably.

When finally she looked up to meet Mark’s bespectacled, myopic eyes, her blood boiled. I had trusted this man! He had sent her out on a suicide mission! Was he not her Master’s and Grandfather’s friend and ally? Opa had said that this man saved his life innumerable times! Why had he done this?

The anger was empowering: Gwen straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, then sat defiantly forward.

“Why did you send me there?” Gwen invoked imperially, her suddenly severe tone of voice raising a few brows. “You told me nothing. I was told to pick up Stacey. But there was no intelligence. Nay, I should say, you misled me on purpose!”

The transformation from mewing girl to stoic prosecutor seemed to catch them all by surprise.

Gunther raised a brow. She was doing well, considering what he'd just made her do.

“You were sent to be tested, Gwen,” Mark replied without emotion. “And so you were.”

“That’s a crock of roo-shit!” Surya protested loudly.

“Mark, enough with your pedantry!” Henry likewise interjected.

“You accuse me of a crime whose origins lie in your blindness! We in this because of your hubris!” Mark fired back!

“How dare you! Who do you think you are?” Henry scoffed.

“I know that I am not one of the Ten, but so what?" Mark retorted. "Are you going to exile me? Put me in Isolation? Strip me of rank and membership?”

“Shut up! Both of you!” Agnes once again had to step in.

She adjusted a hair that fell out of place.

“Gwen, I am sure you’re as confused about this as anyone could be, so I am going to speak. The rest of you shut up until I finish, or I swear…”

Gunther took a stand behind Henry. Mark shot him an unfriendly glance but kept silent. Surya nodded to Agnes from his seat. Henry sat without movement or expression, conserving his limited energy.

This scene looked familiar, Gwen suddenly realised, trying to think of an analogy from her old world: the three wise men? No, more akin to the three monkeys: Eyes, Mouth, and Ears, symbols of arrogance, ignorance and hubris.

Agnes took a deep breath, organising her thoughts. She walked around the room, eyes scanning for an old memento to jog her mind. A lumen-recording lying amongst the bric-a-brac caught her eye. Removing it from the wall, she presented it to Gwen, pointing to each of the individuals within the sepia image.

There was a stern but handsome looking middle-aged man with a tailored moustache.

“This is Henry, your Master.”

A young man with a face like a skull wearing a dark expression

“This is Mark.”

An old man with her Opa's face.

“This is Surya. He looks old because he is ugly.”

“Hey!”

“Shut it!”

Surya grumbled.

Next was a young woman with an intrusive cleavage, a heart-shaped face and light eyes.

“This is yours truly.”

Strangely, Agnes did not point to the last woman but instead to a girl who was in the background. She was cut off, but Gwen could see her bright and innocent face behind Henry.

"This is Jane Chandler, lovely lass." Agnes paused. "She is Mark's sister."

The room said nothing.

Agnes then finally pointed to the last woman. A sullen looking girl with dark hair and bright eyes. She had a small but well-proportioned frame, a compact torso with long limbs. Despite her demure, downcast gaze, she was uncommonly pretty. Gwen knew girls like that; their neediness drove men's protective instincts wild with possessiveness.

“And finally, this is the source of all our troubles: Elizabeth Winsted Sobel.”

The room held its breath. Gwen was sure someone was going to disrupt the peace, though both Henry and Mark held their tongue.

“She is… or I should say 'was'… a Void mage like you, Gwen."

There was a sucking-in of breath. Debora gasped, staring at Gwen with her eyes wide open. Gwen squeezed Debbie's hand, promising to explain later. She found it ironic that Debora, her once rival, would be the first of her friends to know the truth.

Agnes paused awkwardly, looking towards Henry. The Master of the Tower waved a hand casually, allowing her to continue.

“So, before we go any further, I want to make this very clear,” Agnes resumed her disclosure. “The origin which has sparked your incident, Gwen, is no fault of yours. You are the innocent party in this, regardless of these old men's personal opinions, understand?”

Gwen did not understand, at least not yet, but she nodded.

Mark snorted sarcastically, drawing glares from the others.

“Right.” Agnes nodded. “So here it goes…”

“The five of us were some of the first Mages sent into that hellhole known as the Brisbane Line. We didn’t have the know-how of urban combat or wilderness survival back then, so the attrition rate was high. To give you a bit of a history lesson, The Coral Sea War started in the 50s, by the time the 70s rolled around, we were on conscription by lottery. You guys know what that is right?”

The girls affirmed that they did. Mandatory Military Service for Mages evolved from those early days of conscription.

“Good. So, it was the five of us. Three of us were Australian locals, Henry came from a tier 1 city, although he had been in the country for a half-a-decade, Elizabeth was originally from London, not only that, she was only with us because of Henry..."

The situation had deteriorated faster than the weather changed in the jungle. The orders that came through was to hold the Line at all costs. Already, the Militia had conceded the northern half of Queensland, losing hundreds of Mages with every kilometre pushed back. The new line was their wall, behind which was Brisbane city: there were no more lines of retreat.

First came the Rippers and the Goannas, mere fodder with teeth and claw, testing the barriers and wasting the Mages' mana. Then came the siege breakers, spear-points of heavily armoured Saurians, cunning and fearless in their savagery. When the Mages were at breaking point, the wyverns came from the skies breathing acid.

What started as a Purge for the reclamation of lost land quickly become a rout. Humanity had stirred the hornet's nest.

Henry could sense his section collapsing through Sufina's root tendrils. He was a plant Magus, a rare and powerful magician in this forested battlefield, but even he had his limits. Agnes was already exhausted, having churned out Fireball after Fireball, reducing a whole chunk of the swarm to cinders. Mark was still giving out commands via Telepathy and Shared Mind, trying to bolster the men's courage with buffs and relaying the injured to the triage station. He hadn't slept for days; his eyes were bloodshot, deeply sunken in the sockets of his gaunt face. Surya was meditating, trying to recoup his mana. He had spent it bolstering their defences with Iron Skin and Mass Resist Elements. Then there was Elizabeth. Poor Elizabeth. She had left the shelter of London city for Henry, and now she was stuck in this living Frontier hell. She was an Evoker, an Air element prodigy, but even then she was woefully underprepared for the brutality of the trenches. She had been the sort of girl who showered twice a day and took hour-long baths; the type who like to hold conversations over tea and cupcakes. But now Henry's 'Lillybird' was matted with blood and ichor, her once flawless skin covered with cuts and infected rashes. Henry watched her fire off another volley, taking down a wyvern rider before it could drop its cargo of acid. Their eyes met, and he saw her disorder, a sense of unbalanced despair that hinted at the horrors churning in her mind.

"Fuck!" Agnes fell back into the trench; a barbed arrow lodged in her shoulder. "This shit better not be poisoned."

"You know it is," Surya remarked worriedly. "When did your buff run out?"

"Don't know." Agnes winced.

Surya scrummaged through his bag and produced a potion.

"The last one, better make it count."

Agnes grunted and pushed the arrow through, snapping the mid-section. She poured a bit of the potion onto the orifice in her shoulder, then chugged the rest.

"Sufina!" Henry commanded.

The dryad appeared beside them, channelling a stream of controlled positive energy into the wound. Agnes watched her flesh mend, leaving behind a welting red scar.

"Good enough." Agnes spat between grinding teeth. "Hate how that itches so much, its worse than the pain."

A Message came through. The line had collapsed all over. The Militia was bringing up the last of the reserves, but it was to be a final stand. Their section was forfeit, but a retreat was suicide. They might as well make it easier for the junior Mages, knowing that every additional lizard they took down was pure profit.

Mark dispelled the Glyph, the Message no longer mattered.

"We're the only section left for in this region," he stated without any particular emotion, grinning stoically. "I guess this is where we say our last words."

"Wall of Fire!" Agnes used up the last of her mana and brought themselves a few more minutes.

The team regarded one another, the orange flames casting a warm glow over their exhausted faces.

"It was a pleasure working with you all," Mark began.

"You've all been more real to me than my half-dozen brother and sisters," Agnes continued.

"I rather not die," Surya said sullenly. "But I couldn't have asked for better company."

"It was a pleasure and an honour," Henry added.

"..." Elizabeth had nothing to add. Henry moved to embrace her, feeling his lover reciprocated woodenly. It was fine. Not everyone could drink danger as 'twere wine of life, and jest as they reel and fall.

"I'll protect you to the very end, Liz," Henry promised. "The very end."

"I need a glass of water," Agnes said.

"I got better." Henry motioned to Sufina, who palmed over a wooden cup of Golden Mead.

"The stuff of heroes!" Agnes cheered. "Imagine if we had this back in the day, we could have kept going for weeks."

"Well? What happened next?" Gwen asked. They were up to a good part. She hadn't wanted to get caught up in it, but Agnes was an excellent storyteller. The old men had even stopped interjecting and were nodding, grunting, and agreeing with one another.

Agnes drained the cup.

“Alright... Just as when we’re about to find out if there was a God up there, one of the Saurian Behemoths broke through the Wall of Fire. That thing couldn't give two shits about my spell; it came over the wall with a mouth full of Mages still screaming and shouting. Then it swung its head, and we got covered in bloody pieces of our old mates."

"As you can imagine, that was pretty terrifying. I mean, fuck, dying is dying but being eaten alive? Getting turned into lizard shit? That's a piss poor way to go. Just as we were wondering if we could go for a suicide attack and take it down, Lizzy finally lost her marbles. She started screaming about how she didn’t want to be eaten alive, how we should kill her first and spare her the trouble.”

At the mention of Elizabeth, Mark’s softening face once again became rigid.

“We weren’t going to kill her of course, the rest of us was going to fight to the last man. Hell, even if I wanted to, Henry would have stopped me. She then grabbed Henry and started screaming hysterically. ‘Kill me! Kill me, please! For fuck’s sake don’t let me be eaten!’ I still remember it as clear as yesterday.”

The group grew silent once more. Agnes was a good actress. That desperate plea was as authentic as if they had listened to Elizabeth’s hysteria in person.

“Then Henry went down, just like that. None of us knew what was going on at the time; we thought it was some an ambush ability, a poison dart. Sufina started going nuts, saying that something was draining her life. Then the Behemoth stamped out the flames and bam; the Swarm was upon us, that was it, fucked to the bitter end."

"Of course, we're all here now, so no spoilers," Agnes continued when Gwen audibly gasped. "Especially not for you, Gwen. You can probably guess what happened next. Liz must have awoken to her Void element because when she channelled everything she had into a suicidal Air Vortex, she instead popped open a black hole into the Quasi-elemental Plane of the Void."

A what?! Gwen wanted to call her Agnes out there and then. No amount of magic could create the gravitational pull of a collapsing star! But then she realised that this was not a 'black hole' in the scientific sense, but an unstable portal. The operative principle, so it seemed, was the fact that it acted as a vacuum into the Void.

"Everything got sucked up in there. Trees, grass, rocks, Rippers. Have you ever seen a lizard the size of a house sucked into a hole the size of a coffee table? Messy, very-very messy. The Saurians were going nuts! They just kept coming at it, and it just kept sucking. The whole while though, Sufina was feeding her life-force into Henry, and Liz was drinking him up like a milkshake!"

"That horrid woman..." Sufina recalled some rather unpleasant memories.

Henry shook his head.

"Anyway, we lived." Agnes reached for another drink.

“That’s a light way to put it,” Surya blurted out. "We were this close to drifting into the vacuum of another world, Agnes. You make it sound like we ate some bad kababs. Come on; you gotta dramatise it a little more…”

“Shut up, Surya,” Agnes snarled. “So we were expecting to join the Saurians, and that’s when Surya confessed to me. He told me that he wanted to die between my breasts.”

Surya choked trying to swallow his cup of water.

There were some chuckles. Agnes continued her story.

“Then, as quick as it had started, it was all over, we had cleared out half the swarm in our section, and the rest were making a run for it. Bam! Mission accomplished. A whole Batallion's work, done in ten minutes by one black hole. We didn't know why until later."

"Of course, Liz was burned out, as was Henry. None of us was sure what had happened. We carried them back to the line. It was an easy trip though. It wasn't until months after the fact that we found out the Saurians worshipped the Sun God, so when a black hole that drank all light ate half their shock troops - you get the idea."

"When we finally got back to base and healed up, Liz told us that she had awoken to something. Some form of Negative Energy. She wanted us to keep it a secret because we haven't seen anything like it before. She didn't want to get taken in and get dissected, probed, cut up."

"If we had reported her, it would have been the end of it," Mark said suddenly.

"Yeah well, hindsight's twenty-twenty, hey?" Agnes retorted. "Lizzy was still our mate back then. She was a little moody and not very brave, but she was as good a sheila as any in a tight spot. At any rate, if a mate of yours didn't want somebody probing her gut, who were we to refuse? She just saved all our arses!"

"We were expecting to lose Brisbane, and now suddenly, we were the victors. All because of of Commander Kilroy. No one had seen what happened, and Henry concocted some story about us killing a high priest. I mean, there were like, a few thousand Saurian bodies around us? There was a mostly chewed up behemoth right in front of our trench! When they picked through the bodies, there were at least half a dozen Saurian Priests!"

"We got promoted, we got bonuses, our families got relocated to safer zones. We were drunk on our success. No one knew how we did it, only that we did it and we saved the day. Things were simpler back then: no Towers, no supremacists, no Grey Factions, no Shadow Guilds, none of this Spectre bullshit. People were trying to survive, NoMs and Mages. They started trotting us out for propaganda; we didn't complain, we were like celebrities."

"Big mistake." Surya sighed.

"No shit." Mark spat cynically. "They separated us. We had to go to different zones and support the troops. That was the beginning of the end."

"Henry tried to stay with Elizabeth as often as he could, but he was being groomed to be a bigwig. Liz was the darling of the bunch. She was well-spoken, from a good family in a tier 1 city, a real poster girl, you know? Think I look good? You haven't seen a real doll until you've seen Liz in that dress uniform, I heard they cut her hem two inches higher, and recruitment was up ten per cent. Man, she was a knockout."

Henry smiled nostalgically. Mark's face grew darker.

"Anyway, they sent her out to F.O.Bs to rally the troops and all that. Mark transferred to the intelligence division. Henry stayed on at H.Q. I wanted to retire, so I had no part in all that glam."

"What was Opa doing?" Gwen asked curiously.

There was an awkward silence.

"I was drunk," Surya said at last. "We lost a lot of friends..."

Agnes nodded understandingly. "I was with him for a while..."

Surya turned beet red. "I confessed to your grandmother later..."

Agnes coughed.

"Anyway... while on Propaganda duty, the base came under attack. Not Saurians this time, but Merfolk, apparently they didn't believe in the Saurian's story about some angry Sun God, go figure, right? Then stuff happened."

"Stuff ... happened?" Gwen looked at them confusedly. Why the vague detail now?

"Yep, stuff, because no one knows. Elizabeth Winsted Sobel was the only person to return from that base. A single woman out of five hundred Mages and two thousand odd NoMs."

"Not no one," Mark interjected suddenly. "Somebody knew, but Marshall Kilroy covered it up."

"So how did you know?" Gwen asked. Mark had been away; in the intelligence division. Was he stalking Elizabeth?

"I know... " Mark spat between clenched teeth. "Because my sister was on that base when it all happened."

'Spak!'

There was a crack. A hairline fracture appeared in Mark's gold-rimmed spectacles. Opposite Mark, Henry brooded. His throat bobbed once or twice, but he ultimately elected to say nothing. When Mark next spoke, his voice held the enmity of a Blade Barrier.

"Assuming Master Kilroy doesn't silence me in the next ten minutes, let me tell you the monstrous truth hidden from the world!"

Mark reached into the deep-set draw of his mahogany table and produced something wrapped in a dark aubergine cloth. He placed it carefully upon the table, smoothing its edges. With great care, he began to unfold the fabric, revealing a dark crystal globe which contained a swirling, grey mist.

Gunther was the first to react. He was up in an instant, a shimmer of radiance surrounded Henry and Gwen with a wave of his hand.

"Master Chandler, Necromancy is an offence punishable with life imprisonment." Gunther's warning was tinged with uncharacteristic malice, betraying his usual stoicism.

"Mark, are you insane?" Surya swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Why do you have a Deaths Orb? And more importantly, who do you have in there?"

Agnes nervously snuck a glance towards Henry.

The Geneva Convention strictly forbade Necromancy after the Undead crisis of WWI. Any Mage caught in possession of Necromantic items faced severe punishment with extreme prejudice. The minimum sentence for the practice of Death Magic was Exile, while the maximum sentence was Execution. Even Gwen knew of the dangers of Necromancy, for one of the first lessons taught in high school was the history of the Undead crisis which lost the human race almost half of its population, begun the great exodus from central Europe, and lead to the establishment of the Frontier Cities. Now, in front of Gwen, was an actual relic from that era. An Orb of Death, an artefact used to pluck individual souls from the aether and entrap them for the pleasure and perusal of the Necromancer.

In the next few seconds, Gwen could see her Master consider his options. As Lord of the Tower, it was well within his rights to silence Mark right this instant. The moment Mark had taken out the Orb, it was the beginning of the end. But Mark also knew Henry would listen: it was in his character to do so. The others likewise awaited Henry's decision patiently. The question that burned upon their minds, however, was what Mark hoped to accomplish with the Orb.

"Not going to silence me then?" Mark asked sardonically in that steady voice of his, testing Henry.

Henry closed his eyes as if in meditation.

"You may regret this yet." Mark smirked. "But before we begin, there are those of us here who have yet to know the truth. Agnes? Perhaps you can enlighten the subject of our little debacle? Our very own Acolyte of the Void, as to how exactly her predecessor faired?”

"Henry?" Agnes asked carefully. Henry was their friend, of course, but he was still the Master of the Tower, the highest authority in the land. If the Tower was going to censor them or act on Henry's behalf, there was little they could do. Who was Agnes but a retired Evoker and a Madam in a bordello, and Mark, a Diviner with scant favours to call? They were no match for Henry. Hell, if things got ugly, they were no match for Gunther, who could be done with them in less than a minute, leaving behind no evidence of a struggle.

Henry opened his eyes, and to their surprise, he was tranquil: there was no upset in his eyes, nor any particular sadness.

“What’s to come, will come,” Henry said slowly. “To even resort to Necromancy…”

He turned to Mark.

“Perhaps it is indeed time to raise skeletons from their shallow graves. Allow me to take over the tale for a while, Agnes.”

Her Master turned to Gwen.

“Child, I am about to reveal something that is very precious to me. It is not a pleasant tale. There are no happy endings. And so, I ask for your understanding.”

“Of course, Master,” Gwen replied politely, watching the weathered lines on her Master’s face.

They waited for Henry to gather his thoughts.

“Officially, the Massacre at Noosa Heads has but one survivor. The Hero of the Brisbane Line, Elizabeth W. Sobel. Later, a task force sent to investigate the incident found her.”

“I led that task force. A group of translocation specialists and I had reached the area by nightfall. The base had been destroyed, decimated. There was a semi-spherical inlet which had formed, now filled with the sea. Everything was gone, washed away, no buildings, no Mage, no NoMs, no Mermen. There wasn’t even anything underwater. Just smooth bedrock, sand, and whatever the ocean washed in. Further out to sea, we found a dead Kraken, most of it was likewise missing, by then it was already the victim of a feeding frenzy."

“We found Elizabeth the same evening, wounded but holding steady, hiding in a cavern. Sufina administered healing, and we returned with her to the city, thinking ourselves lucky that she survived. God knows I was.”

"As I was the Marshall, I put myself in charge of investigations. It was a hot mess. Five hundred Mages dead, over four hundred were cadets, most from influential families who had thought the school safe. Mothers and fathers wanted justice, and I had to give them something. At this stage, all I could do was ask Lizzy."

"According to Elizabeth, they were attacked by a Kraken which broke through the shielding of the base. She had been with Jane, Mark's sister, having tea at the mess when it happened. The whole building had folded in on itself, trapping the Officers inside. Elizabeth protected Jane, but had to use most of her vitality to Void shield the two of them through the falling concrete slabs."

"When they finally dug themselves out, the battle was in full force. The Kraken was tearing the place apart, penetrating the base's defences by ripping out the embedded Glyphs from the buildings themselves. There was chaos everywhere, Mermen were killing the students, and the teachers couldn't hold them back. I wasn't there, so Elizabeth couldn’t use her powers without draining her life."

"She eventually made it to the crystal storage depot, using her powers to slip through the gates, she tainted the crystals with motes of Void. Elizabeth told Jane to flee, but the Kraken was upon them. The behemoth blew through the walls of the bunker, and Elizabeth had to make a call, or die a needless death. With no other choice, she detonated the containers, and the resulting explosion took out everything in the vicinity. She made a Void Shield with the last of her strength but was unable to cover Jane. When she woke up, everything was gone, and she was adrift on a newly formed beach, with the tide coming in."

"That's the story we all heard," Surya informed Gwen. "At that time, there was no reason to doubt her. This was the Elizabeth we had known for years, she never lied to us or cheated us before, and we didn't see why we should start suspecting her now."

"Ha!" Mark chortled.

"So, back to the trial," Henry continued. "The families of the victims demanded a scapegoat, someone to blame, so the brass suggested Elizabeth. I was so angry, furious. How did that even make sense? I knew - we knew, that Elizabeth had Void magic, but they didn’t! They were purely using her to cover their intelligence failure! Then there was a rumour which started, a rather truthful one that suggested that the destruction at the cove matched the very same one that Elizabeth and the group had made during the Brisbane Line incident. People started to join the dots, and some members of the brass were baying for her blood, saying that she was somehow responsible. They wanted me, me! To prosecute her. I felt helpless, even as the Marshall."

“But then, we had a lucky break. The Mermen withdrew! They had retreated like the Saurians! There was such a thing as seizing the moment, so I did the only thing I could. Elizabeth and I went to the British Mageocracy. We showed them how her power worked, and what she could do. We even agreed to limited testing and experimentation. They were impressed, extremely impressed, excited at the potential game changer it represented. Suddenly, all the voices calling for her to go on trial silenced. She was now a priceless asset. I pleaded her case. The Tribunal reviewed the evidence and found it in Elizabeth’s favour."

"Then our troubles began,” Henry announced with a slight shake of his head. "We had no idea what using Void magic continually did to Elizabeth, only that we went on many missions, racked up victory after victory, drunk on our success."

"What was Mark doing this whole time?" Gwen interjected suspiciously.

"I was away with important research," Mark's voice trembled, full of anticipation. "I was here and there, but insignificant in any way. Pray, continue…”

And Henry continued.

“Elizabeth and I married a month later. We had always planned to get married after the Propaganda Tour, and we were now in it for the long haul. Agnes was the bridesmaid, and Surya was my best man. Mark was indisposed. It was a small, private ceremony, very romantic. We needed each other, both in love and in craft, the others came to call us the dynamic duo."

Gwen performed a double take, choking on her water. Debora eased her breathing by patting Gwen's back.

Sufina produced another cup of mead for Henry, who drank it, then closed his eyes for a long while to recuperate his strength. The room was silent, bar Mark’s incessant tapping of his feet. After a while, Henry opened his eyes and began to speak once more.

“We performed whatever missions the council set for us, travelled all around the world at the behest of this party and that government, serving her Majesty and the Commonwealth however we could. When the war took a lull in the mid-70s, we applied for a conditional discharge. Humanities’ lands were being reclaimed all over the world, and as Magister and Magus with a long service record, we had the option of staying anywhere we liked, so long as it was away from tier 1 cities. We wanted somewhere away from it all, so we choose Eger, a Hungarian township, an hour’s flight from Budapest. No one knew us there, and we barely spoke the language, it was perfect. I bought a vineyard outside of town, hired a dozen NoMs as servants, and set ourselves up as minor aristocracy from the Commonwealth. Elizabeth seemed to like the country air, really took to it, in fact, her constitution had always been weak after Brisbane, but she appeared to get better….”

Henry touched the brittle flowers in the vase; the once vibrant bouquet crumbled into dry flakes of brown-grey dust. He sighed, searched for a dustpan, then patiently swept the remains away. He placed his suitcase by the open kitchen and walked through the long hallway toward the bedrooms. The region had once belonged to the long gone Ottoman Empire, and the architecture of the vineyard had retained its Baroque influence. The hallway was a cross-crossing network of light and shadow, alternatively lit in bright sunlight and stark silhouette.

Outside, Henry could see the NoMs tending to the grapes, row upon rows of stakes pregnant with green vines, drawing as far as the eye could see until it bent across the horizon. As a hobby, Henry had tried his hand at winemaking in the months since they arrived. Unfortunately, his talent lied only in finding and drinking the most exceptional vintage stowed in the cellar.

It was a slice of paradise, a place of their own. Henry knew the bliss was ephemeral, but the respite of the moment was difficult to let go.

How long had they fought the beasts that came from the Wildlands? Two decades? He felt as though he hadn’t stopped since stepping out of his academy. His feet stopped before reaching the double doors of the master bedroom. Watching the emerald vista outside, he recalled another sun-tossed steppe. He thought of Sydney. Where was Agnes? How was Surya? Was Mark still mourning for his sister? What were they doing? Had they carved out a home of their own, taking their respite from the war?

He walked into a spacious bedroom with a vaulted, double storey ceiling. There was a four-post bed, double-king-sized, which he had custom ordered from the local carpenter. Henry pulled over the bed-tray and placed the breakfast gingerly by the oversized bed.

Elizabeth slept buried in a mass of pillows and soft white sheets. Her complexion was bloodless, her blue veins aristocratic against her pale, flawless skin. The NoMs had taken to calling her ‘The Countess,’ which made Henry laugh. She slept carelessly, a wayward sheet covering her scandalous figure, her petite breasts forming only the slightest of suggestive mounds. Henry savoured the moment, admiring, for here in one bed lay his whole world.

“Up, up, sleeping beauty.”

He waved a hand over the bed-tray. Coffee and sweet cakes materialised from the Storage Ring.

“I bought Presszókávé and Flódni.” He lured her to consciousness with the heavenly scented breakfast.

Elizabeth slowly stirred, twirling the sheets around and curling her slender legs behind her.

“Morning…”

“Noon, you mean.” Henry smiled gently.

Elizabeth stretched; the white sheets slid from her torso. Henry looked nervously around the room. The bay windows were slightly ajar; the playful wind lifted the curtains carelessly.

“You look beautiful,” Henry remarked. “How do you feel today?”

She beamed at him, her baby-blue eyes refracting the warm glow of noon light.

“Energised. I would love to go into town later.”

“Shall I join you?”

“If you wish… have you finished all your work?”

“It’s never-ending,” Henry returned a little bitterly. “The negotiations for the Tower is taking some time.”

“I’ll be a while, lots of shopping to do. I haven’t even explored the old Market in full yet. Join me later then?”

“Sure.”

They ate the desserts he had bought. Henry wasn’t a fan, but his 'Lillybird' was very much in possession of a sweet tooth. She could pack away the Madártej, the Dobostorta, and a whole serving of Gesztenyepüré in a single sitting. He sometimes wondered why she never seemed to grow fat, though he’d thought it wiser to avoid that question lest he risked her wrath.

After breakfast, he watched Elizabeth dress in a chiffon tulip dress that reached her knees, accessorised with sandals and a broad-brimmed hat, the very picture of grace.

“Kívánok…” the servants greeted her. She asked for the driver; it would be twenty minutes to get to the market from the vineyard, and she didn't want to fly.

Henry made for the study, a spacious converted bedroom that looked over the vineyard’s south, settling comfortably into his work. Endless paperwork and negotiations. Research. Treaties. Correspondences. Repetition.

Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. It was good. The work was quiet, and Elizabeth was snug in her white sheets morning after morning. Henry loved waking with his head resting in her lap, tying him to this land, lulled by everything around. His only wish was that perhaps, this would go on, day after day, their very own slice of paradise.

“I should have known something wasn’t right.” Henry sighed deeply. “But I was blinded by the impossible happiness we had shared.”

"Even when the dead plants turned to small animals, birds and the like, I choose to ignore it. Lizzy confessed, of course, she always did. Sometimes crying, sometimes depressed, sometimes angry and in denial. It broke my heart. I should have done something, gotten her help maybe, but I couldn’t disturb the life we had there. She was so happy, always sleeping until noon, rarely going out, even then, it was just for shopping and desserts. I convinced myself this was what she needed.”

“Then one day, one of the NoM servants brought his dog, saying that something had attacked it, fearing that it was a Magical Beast which had somehow snuck through the Barrier Shields. That happened pretty often in the old days; the Magi-tech was fairly new. I knew what had happened the moment I saw it. It was a big dog, one of the hunting hounds they used to clear out the rabbits and foxes, but now it was just a husk, skin wearing bones. It looked like a drain attack had stricken it.”

“I asked him where Elizabeth had gone, and he told me she’d gone to town. I had a terrible premonition. Whenever Elizabeth had an episode, she would be fatigued, tired, delirious even. She should be in no condition to travel to town after leaking enough void mana to drain a hound of this size. I had to find her before she injured herself.”

“So I abused one of the privileges I had enjoyed as an Administrator of the new Tower and used a Teleport to get to the town. I asked around the market. It wasn’t too difficult to track someone like Elizabeth. How many pale skinned girls in white dresses could there be in an old Ottoman market? I followed her dessert-crumb trail, and true to her word, she was leaving behind a whole chain of impressed pâtisserie and bakers.”

“Ultimately, I tracked her to the Varios-a-varos Alatt, the town under the town, a network of tunnels used by the old Church to store wine…”

Henry patted down the pocket of the gate guard in a friendly manner. Feeling the shape of the crystal he had inserted there, the soldier saluted smartly and resumed his patrol, certainly not seeing a high-ranking Mage entering a restricted area.

The descent into the cellar led to a sloping set of stone stairs carved from volcanic rhyolite, the old bedrock of the city, and it led into the uncertain darkness.

“Sufina,” Henry called, and the Dryad materialised beside him.

“Liz is down here?” She asked.

“Yes.”

Henry had always refrained from summoning Sufina while Elizabeth was present. Though they are both dear to Henry, the two of them shared an antagonistic relationship. Sufina loathed supplying Elizabeth with her vitality, performing her duty only to protect and please Henry. Elizabeth did not like the way the Dryad acted possessively over her husband.

“What do you think she’s doing here?”

“Looking for vintage wine… I hope… ” Henry replied. “Let’s go.”

The cellar was extensive, spreading from the Rácz Gate to the Hatvan Gate, spanning over four kilometres. Toward the cross-road section lay the most impressive part of its medieval architecture, a seven by seven bisect of pillars. As a result, the chess table shadows cast by the lights made the intersection impossible to navigate by sight.

Sufina tracked the surroundings carefully, possessing a natural talent for finding signs of human passage.

“Here, this way…”

They arrived at a flooded section. A knee-deep layer of water permeated the ancient stonework.

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Water Walk!”

Henry stepped over the stale water as though it were flat ground. He made it to the other side, then brought over Sufina with her Faery Lights. The signs of human passage were now visible; there were splotches of water here and there. Further in, he found a pair of abandoned sandals, too caked with dirt and mud to be useful. They belonged to his wife. He was close.

The duo proceeded down an unexcavated corridor for half a kilometre, finally arriving at a junction.

“Which way?”

Sufina tasted the atmosphere for the scent of sweat and human odour. Elizabeth was fond of sweet and fruity perfumes.

"She's-"

“Aaaeeeeeaegh!” A cry resonated through the tunnels, a female voice, hysterical with pain and panic.

“That way…” Sufina stated worriedly. Henry was moving before she had even finished.

“Long Stride!” The Magister intoned, suddenly moving like a man shot from a ballista. Sufina followed, extending her legs to match Henry’s supernatural speed.

They arrived at a chamber well lit by low candles, hundreds of them forming a cathedral. It looked to be an old shrine: the ceiling was arched, the chamber's sides carved from the volcanic rock. His wife was there, but she was not alone. It was apparent by now that Elizabeth was not seeking out lost caskets of Hungarian Merlot.

“Lizzy… “ Henry sucked in his breath, swallowing nervously, his hands trembling as he spoke. “What… what are you doing?”

Elizabeth was arm-deep inside the poor lass, her elbow protruding from a cavity just below her chest. She had a maniacal look in her eye, the very same look that Henry had seen on her face in the heat of battle, her pupils were dilated, pushing apart the baby blue of her iris. Her expression was euphoric, as though she was in the midst of a pleasant midsummer dream. A pool of gore had collected underneath her, staining her white dress a deep carmine, the tulip edge had been tainted garnet, turning the chiffon into bloody gauze.

The woman, a stranger, looked at Henry with pleading eyes.

Elizabeth tilted her head, her pupils retracting as they focused on her husband. Coyly, she put on the expression of a naughty little girl caught taking extra candy from the jar. With agonising slowness, she withdrew her hand, sliding it from the gasping girl as if drawing a sword from a bloody sheath.

“Sufina!”

The dryad shot towards Elizabeth and caught the girl, injecting a jolt of positive energy. The girl gasped, her eyes glazed over with a moment of hope, then laid still. Sufina looked up angrily at Elizabeth before turning to Henry, shaking her head slightly.

“Elizabeth… answer me. What are you doing here? Why-why this?”

Elizabeth looked as though she wanted to think of an excuse - but ultimately couldn’t summon the mental effort to do so.

“I was hungry,” she confessed quietly, her voice wet with desire in the darkness. “The desserts weren’t enough, Henry. You should have brought extra servings.”

“You’re not yourself,” Henry carefully moved toward her. “Who's... the girl?”

Elizabeth didn’t answer him. Instead, she lifted her dress and wiped her arm with the hem. It did nothing, for the blood was well congealed, set deep into the creases of her elbow, her fingers, the space between her nails.

“Do you hate me now? Henry?”

“How can I?” Henry said earnestly. “You need help.”

“Do I?” Elizabeth lifted her arms above her head elegantly, spinning on her back foot and moving towards Henry like a red-rimmed flower. There was something dangerously sensual about her.

“We’ll get you help…” Henry caught Elizabeth as she spun into his arms.

“Only if you kiss me,” she said, her lips parting.

Henry held his wife and felt his heart bleed all over. His mind was blank. For once in his life, he had no idea what to do. He had thought her getting better, healing, moving away from war. She was happy at the vineyard, wasn’t she? Didn’t they have a slice of paradise there? Wasn’t that enough?

He leaned in to kiss her. What could he do? He would have to get her help. Perhaps an asylum? No. Mayhap his old contacts at the Lyceum in Greece could help her. They had the world’s best healers there, surely somebody would know.

“Henry! No!”

Sufina’s cry jolted him from the lulling kiss. Henry felt a sharp pain entering his chest, easily bypassing his ribs and cutting into his lungs. Instantly, his body grew cold, all warmth stifled by the hand that now grasped his heart. He coughed - arterial blood sprayed from his lips, speckling Elizabeth’s white face with crimson blossoms.

Sufina transformed into her battle form. Her smooth wooden skin turned cruel with barbs and thorns, her face growing grotesque with a feral madness. Tendrils of ironwood formed into deadly arrows.

Elizabeth spun, still holding Henry, a rag-doll shield propped against Sufina’s retaliation. Immediately, the tendrils turned to soft vines, wrapping around Henry’s arms and legs, pulling him away from Elizabeth.

There was a sound of flesh tearing.

Sufina poured her life-force into its Master, though the Magister's world had already grown dark.

“Master…” Gwen felt her heart jolt when Henry stopped his story to take yet another sip of Sufina’s mead.

“I am not Undead if that’s what you’re thinking,” Henry spoke with a tone of understated mirth. “I survived thanks to Sufina.”

Gwen shifted her attention to Sufina, her bark-like skin alternatively dark olive with light pine highlights, her face an exquisite art sculpture.

“Are you tired, Henry?” Sufina enquired worriedly.

“It’s fine… it’s fine. There’s a little more of the tale to go.”

The Magister continued.

“When I came to, I had no idea what to do. Was Elizabeth glamoured? Was she taken over by some treacherous spirit? How could my wife, the woman I loved, turn into such a monster? As I made my way through that cellar, I found more … evidence of her work. She had been taking people down here: mostly young Mages, sometimes NoMs. Mostly women, a few young men…”

“I had to find Elizabeth quickly. God knows what she was up to, what she could be doing in that state of mind. I called in help. There were only three other people in the world who knew the truth in its entirety, who cared enough about Elizabeth to want to help me save her…”

Henry surveyed the gathering around him.

Mark shot him a half-smile from behind the still shimmering Death’s Orb.

Agnes took on an expression of melancholy.

Surya crossed his arms and stared into the middle distance.

Gwen and Debora held one another's hands, their chests rising and falling arrhythmically.

“It took a few days to gather them. Thankfully, Elizabeth hadn’t gotten far. I pursued her each time she tried to rest, wearing her out, hoping she would come to her senses. The old party and I tracked Elizabeth across half of Hungary to Gyula, near the Romanian Border. Her killings went unabated the entire time, and she was beginning to earn a name for herself: 'The Bloody Countess'. Here was the old country; the peasantry was still superstitious. We were lucky that they had thought her a Nosferatu, a vampyre; for the alternative would have made things much more complicated.”

“We followed her bloody crumbs… She was becoming insatiable. There was only one death in the first town we reached, by the tenth, it was by scores of five or six, sometimes grotesquely arranged in some horrid ritual. We trudged on, Mark using a combination of Divination and Scry to try to locate where she could be, where she headed.”

“Finally… we found her by the Gyulai vár, the abandoned castle…”

“Arrghk! “

Mark staggered against the wall, one hand placed over his left eye. A trickle of blood appeared between his fingers.

“Mark!” Agnes touched his convulsing shoulders. The Diviner raised his free hand, indicating that he was alright.

“She knows we’re here. I’ve lost my Arcane Eye.”

“Sufina.” Henry motioned. “Tend to Mark. Where is she now?”

“North Tower,” Mark replied, allowing Sufina to mend his bleeding eye, restoring some vision to an otherwise swollen mess. The psychic feedback from the sudden dispel had shocked his optic senses, rupturing a few blood vessels, there was likely permanent damage. “She’s weak. I think we’ve harassed her enough. Made her use up too much vitality.”

“Let's not waste any time then,” Henry stated coldly. “Surya, do it.”

Surya produced several accessories the size of fingernails, each imbued with a diamond the size of a quail egg. Upon closer inspection, the crystalline forms were not mineral diamonds, but scintillating mana cores of some celestial creature cut and carved with brilliant facets. Surya felt the weight of the Creature Cores in his hand, their mass betraying their form. These were the Heart of Archons, each priceless on its own, carved and inscribed to shield against all types of negative energy. In the old days, Henry had them made to ward against Elizabeth’s careless AOEs. Surya affixed the accessories to their chests, then uttered the activation keywords. In the next instant, their bodies began shedding a dull glow.

“Think we’ll corner her this time?” Agnes asked carefully.

“There shouldn't be a single human soul around here for kilometres,” Mark replied for Henry. “Not after we told them the Vampire was holed up in the castle. She’s exhausted and has nothing to drain from, nows the time.”

Agnes again attempted to read their friend and leader's expression - but saw nothing but fatigue and misery.

“Let's buff up.”

“Mass Flight!”

“Iron Skin!”

“True Seeing.”

“Sufina, get started.”

A mass of vines sprouted from the Dyrad, spreading out as crawling tendrils up the walls of the castle and toward the North Tower. They watched as she encased the exterior in less than a minute.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Henry?” Agnes asked, her own eyes heavy with the accumulated stress of an oppressive conscience.

Surya’s face was a mask of raw emotions with nothing to hide.

Mark’s wore his usual calm and collected poker face.

In contrast, Henry’s stoic apathy sent shivers down her spine. She knew just how much he had loved his 'Lillybird', how much he had sacrificed for her. His sterling career, his fortune, a decade of his life, the prime of a Mage’s prowess, all given to the woman he loved so that she could feel happy and without want.

But the events of the last few months had made that dream stillborn. The crew had seen so much carnage while in pursuit of the 'Bloody Countess'; there was no coming back from that.

Elizabeth was mad, that was without question, but Agnes couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was the magic taking over, and how much of it was herself.

Henry's wife had been a slim, shy girl with brilliant eyes and a face made for portraits. She wore white dresses and liked to show off her slender, white legs. Lizzy had been a sister, a friend, a comrade. If Agnes felt such heart-wrenching guilt for what was inevitably to come, then what malevolent storms must be churning within Henry’s heart?

“Telepathic Bond!”

Agnes’s internal rumination was cut off by the sudden intrusion of thoughts from others, silenced at once by the activation of the shared spell. She whipped around to see Mark watching at them with that poker face of his. The Divination staple was an essential battlefield boon, but also served as a potential source of annoyance as it unwittingly shared strong emotions. The moment their mind’s had connected, Agnes had distinctly felt Henry’s doubt, distress, and misery. Her face flushed, Mark should have also sensed it, but the man's man was as cold as ice.

“You should have warned me,” she said, displeased, turning away from him.

“Sorry, I am a little tense,” Mark replied.

Their thoughts now connected, the group moved out.

Henry took the stairs, Sufina’s barbed vines sealing every passage as they went. Surya and Agnes took the outside: Surya made his way up the tower with Spider Climb, marking the window; Agnes encircled the same tower from a safe distance. Mark remained below, safely managing the flow of thoughts and information, feeding them the location and action of Elizabeth with Clairvoyance.

Henry entered the tower, making known his progress via means of mental commands. The other two were in position. Surya paused just outside the window of the tower, perched against the stonework of the old Ottoman fort. Agnes hovered on the other side, her body charged with motes of fire, ready to do her worst.

To Henry’s surprise, the ancient door, an iron-banded wooden relic, was unlocked. He pushed it open, his eyes adjusting to the silhouettes of light and shadow within.

There was a woman in a torn, white dress lying against a bleak and rusty facade. The smell of iron was heavy in the air. Henry had found his wife, the fabled Bloody Countess.

Elizabeth’s slim legs extended from beneath her soiled dress, bare but for dark stains of clotting blood that ran between her once white thighs. A trail of blood that led to Elizabeth, pooling underneath her like dark sangria.

Her face had always been frail and pale. But now it was ghostly, ethereal. Like a marionette with slack strings, she forced her head up. Underneath her dark locks were her eyes, the hue of baby blue untouched even by the state of her physical trauma.

“You came.” Elizabeth affected a warm smile on her cold lips. “I tried to save him you know. Or perhaps it was a she. I know you preferred girls.”

Henry's mind reeled, a wave of emotions washing over the Telepathic Bond. He staggered back against the door, physically repulsed by the realisation of what he had just witnessed, by Elizabeth's revelation. Within his mind, he heard cries of shock and dismay echo from his companions. In the next moment, Surya leapt from the crumbling brickwork of the tower’s window into the room. Agnes likewise entered by the south-facing opening.

“Elizabeth…”

“Oh God Lizzy…”

Despite their concern, Henry noted his friends kept their distance. The unbidden metaphor sent ice-cold tendrils of realisation throughout his body. His friends were right: they might feel for Elizabeth as her old companions, but their instincts as veterans of a hundred battles told them that she was a monster.

“How… how long?” he asked with trembling lips.

“A month? Two? One trimester? I am not sure anymore,” Elizabeth said weakly. “It made me feel so hungry. I just wanted to eat. I was just so hungry, all the time.”

She coughed. Sakura specs bloomed on her white dress.

“I could die for a Dobos torte right now…” she joked dryly.

No one laughed.

“I don’t suppose you could get Sufina to give me a hand?” Her breath was shallow now, weaker. Elizabeth looked toward Henry demurely, dropping her heart-shaped face before turning her eyes up and toward him.

Henry felt his chest tighten, almost allowing his lips to move before the thoughtless act became interjected by cries of ‘No!’ and ‘Careful now…’

Elizabeth was his wolfsbane.

He had no power before her.

He was glad he had his companions with him.

“No?” Elizabeth asked weakly.

Henry shook his head.

They stood in silence, watching the blood seep, watching her pale skin begin to turn grey.

Surya turned away.

Agnes wept quietly.

Henry stood, stoic as a statue.

“The vineyard… it was nice…”

“It was our piece of paradise…”

“…”

“I am sorry…”

Elizabeth’s head fell to one side, a parting smirk upon her lips.

There was a sudden shudder in the air.

A dark portal opened. A black hole. Lizzy's signature spell, the beginning of the end.

His companions dived for the windows. Surya's shoulder slammed into Henry, throwing him from the opening before taking flight into the air. Agnes let herself drop from the south facing opening, stopping only meters before the churning waters of the moat.

Mark watched from below. The top of the tower became instantly consumed by a dark mass, a sphere that drank in all light. It lasted only a second. When it was over, there was nothing left but exposed, ancient Ottoman stones that predated the Christian reclamation of the city.

“That.. is the long and short of it.” Henry breathed out as though a great burden had shed from his shoulders. “Which brings us to you, Mark.”

The group turned to look at Mark. It was time for him to provide the answers to his grand charade.

“Why did you endanger Gwen? Was it for your sister? Did you suspect that Elizabeth was involved in her death?” Henry demanded. "But you know all this; our minds had been linked."

Mark’s expression was unreadable.

“You think that’s the whole story?” Mark replied with a voice full of bitterness. “You think your Elizabeth went mad in Eger?”

The Diviner's face took on an expression of triumphant madness. He placed a hand on the Death’s Orb, watching Henry wince as he said his next words.

“Allow me then, to bring to birth; the monstrous light of truth!”

Mark’s voice trembled as he spoke, fully aware of the incarceration that awaited him, carefully enunciating every precious syllable.

“You see, while Henry was away trying to save his precious 'Lillybird', I too was beside myself with grief. To me, there was nothing more important to me than my sister. We were orphans: I was her brother, her mentor and her guardian. She was the reason I served with all of you in the first place. When we had succeeded in saving the Brisbane Line, I had her enrol in the Officer Cadet’s Program. It was supposed to be safe, the kids there were all from notable families, talented. They were supposed to go on milk runs, be coddled through the two years of mandatory service. Jane could then join me in the Intelligence Division. I could look after her - the war would end, we could settle anywhere we liked in the Frontier.”

“Then Noosa Heads happened, and all of my dreams crumbled to dust.”

He looked at his companions coldly.

“It’s a common story. I know, there were thousands like us during that time. Mages and NoMs, grieving together. Why the drama? What makes my sister’s death so special? I tell you what. I knew something stank the moment it happened because I knew about Elizabeth!”

Mark tapped his head.

“Telepathic Bond. Shared Thoughts. Mass Message. Once you tap into someone’s head long enough, a little bit of them rubs off on you. As soon as I heard the news, I suspected her. There was a madness in that woman. None of you believed me of course - not sweet, innocent Elizabeth! Not with her baby-blue eyes! Or was it out of deference for Henry? We owe him so much: our positions, our wealth, our influence, all thanks to him, right? We couldn’t turn against that! There was no biting the hand!”

His voice rose an octave; Mark was breathing heavily now, his excitement dispelling the cool and collected Mark they had known.

The others listened wordlessly.

Gwen and Debra held one another’s hand. So many skeletons raised from the dead. So many monsters were churning under dark and tranquil waters. She almost wanted to say that this was enough. No more. Elizabeth’s depravity. The loss of her Master’s child. Mark’s sister: what would lie at the tunnel’s bitter end? She thought of that old aphorism. He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster, for if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.

Mark continued, spittle flying every which way, his blood was up.

“Oh, I knew. I knew there was something underneath that sweet face. There was hunger there! I felt it! Inhuman, primal, terrifying. It wasn’t anything that could be satisfied by nature! She was born a man-eater, but now she would be an eater of men! Ha!”

“Mark!” Agnes shouted at him, her face full of upset and dismay. “Enough!”

“Enough?!” Mark howled at her. An arcane glyph opened underneath him. “I’ll have enough when I have satisfaction!”

Gunther moved between Mark and the group. Mark didn’t care; he continued his compound casting. Weaving spell after spell into the Necromantic relic.

“Astral Projection!”

“Greater Image!”

There was a pause as his face grew pale. The Negative Energy flooding into his body through the Death’s Orb was consuming his life-force.

“Commune with Dead!”

A vision began to materialise in the space between them into the form of a girl.

“Jesus, Jane…” Agnes covered her mouth. “Mark… what have you done?!

Oh, Mark, that’s your sister…”

Gunther’s jaw clenched with fury and barely constrained anger, his brows knitted. This old ‘mate’ of his Master had gone too far. It was time to put him down.

“Mr Chandler,” he intoned with absolute authority. “For exercising forbidden Necromantic practices and entrapping of the soul of a fellow Mage. You are hereby excommunicated from the Tower and marked for Isolation. I suggest you cease your magic at once and come with me peacefully.”

The Paladin raised a hand. Give him a second and Mark Chandler would be bereft of his limbs, awakening to a world of exquisite agony. The dabbler of Necromancy would enter a Stasis cell and never again see the face of men until the day of his natural death.

“Stand down, Gunther,” Henry commanded. The Radiant Mage regarded his master for a moment before stepping aside. “Let’s see what Mark has to say for himself… and for Elizabeth.”

The dark sprite had now coalesced into a solid figure. Jane's audience could see her speak, though her voice came across a half-second later, disjointed and hollow.

“Mark… where am I? It hurts! It hurts so much! Return me, return…”

“Jane…” Mark began. “Jane, we don’t have much time… tell them how you died.”

“Died… I died…” Jane mouthed, her face indistinct. Suddenly she cried out, a guttural, banshee’s screech that went on and on, sending slivers of ice down their spines. It was not a cry that existed in the material plane, for no particles of air had sifted nor moved. It was instead a sound that resonated within their souls, filling them with malice and dread.

“Murdered! I was murdered!”

“Show me,” Mark commanded in an eldritch voice tainted by the foulness of deathly hallows. He placed a finger in the space between his eyes.

The Third-Eye: the seat of a Diviner’s astral vision.

“Enter and show me… show them…”

Jane had been admiring Elizabeth’s tailored dress uniform when a sudden tremor shook the building, lurching the dining table sideways and sending the tea and cupcakes scattering all over. Outside, a siren blared. The speaker system in the mess hall also began to screech and scream.

'WeeeeeeEEEEEeeeeEEEEEE'

A long continuous wail meant the base was under imminent attack.

Jane’s eyes widened in horror. She looked towards Elizabeth, whose own lovely face affected a slight furrow of her exquisite brows.

“Not a drill, it seems,” she observed worriedly, though not forgetting to finish her tea. “You ever been in combat before? Jane?”

“No… never…” Jane swallowed. In a panic, the novice had dropped her cup; shattering the bone-china amongst a smattering of shortcakes. Like her bother, Jane was a Diviner, a caster with little to no offensive or defensive capabilities.

“Lizzy! What do I do?” Jane’s eyes were darting to and from with sheer panic.

The Acolyte saw the sea rise from the window. Something was moving from the shallows onto the shore, toward the base. A gargantuan tentacle rose into the air, then another and another. A tidal wave of white water washed over the compound. As the water drained, the dark silhouette under the water transformed into an armoured Kraken that towered over their four-storey HQ.

“Stay here.” Elizabeth’s voice rang out as she made for the exterior. “This is the only concrete building in the compound. If there’s anything that’s going to withstand that thing’s physical attacks, it’s the HQ. Don’t leave unless you have to.”

“Alright…” Jane answered doubtfully, both wishing to stay within the compound as well as enjoy Elizabeth’s protection. There were others here as well, but how could they compare to Elizabeth Sobel, the Hero of the Brisbane Line? Her most ardent desire would have been for Elizabeth to remain in the mess hall, accompanying her. Of course, that was wishful thinking, for her mentor had gone in the next minute.

From the safety of the HQ building, Jane watched with growing horror and apprehensions the creature finally made landfall. Mermen were cascading off its back, spilling from some strange interior chamber. There were all kinds, some in the classic humid shape of men with webbed feet and arms, while others were more fish-like or crustacean.

Jane paced uncertainly back and forth within the mess. She was on the fourth floor, secure, at least for now. Was Elizabeth right? Should she stay? The Kraken loomed too close for comfort, so much that Jane could hear the sound of fighting. The Diviner had never fought before except in sparring duels at the academy. She had never even seen a monster above tier 2 since her Field Exercise. Her brother had told her that this place was safe, that it was just a two-year milk run.

The more she considered her options, the more her mind became a soup of fear and panic. She wasn’t trained for this, or perhaps she was? She didn’t even know. The very thought of facing one of those half-fish, half-man beasts made her puke.

'Crink-Crack!'

There was a sound of structure failing under stress.

The ceiling began to crumble, the floor to ceiling windows vibrated for a split second before blowing out. A giant tentacle swooshed past the now shattered windows. A shower of glass peppered Jane, sending her crashing onto the floor. She frantically struggled to stand but dug her hands into the fragments that were now all over the carpet. Agonising pain burned across both her palms, her hands and fingers. She cried out for help. For Mark, for Elizabeth, to return and aid her.

She looked up. A fish-man was moving toward her! It was shouting something in a guttural tongue, sending out a spray of mucus that smelled strongly of the sea.

“Jet Blast!” A watery missile materialised from thin air and struck the creature, pushing it back through the window. One Evocation spell was all Jane could manage, for already Jane felt her mind straining with her use of an unschooled Sigil. Any more and she would be retching all over the floor, incapacitating herself.

Another creature appeared from the window, having scaled the walls on its suctioned feet.

“No! No! No!” Jane uttered bewilderingly, waving her hands to muster another spell. Motes of water mana churned but no phenomena manifested. Jane felt a wave of dizziness overwhelm her, sending her to her knees. The half-lobster mermen bowled her over and pushed her onto the floor, pinning her arms. The thing likely wanted to capture her for some nefarious purpose.

“Mark!” Jane cried out. “Lizzy! Somebody!”

Her answer came in the form of a bolt of darkness cutting across the room. When it had struck, most of the Mermen was gone. Only stumpy claws holding Jane onto the floor remained.

“Elizabeth! You came! Thank god!” Jane rolled onto her elbows, doing her best not to puke from the smell of desiccating prawn. “What was that spell? It was magnificent!”

Elizabeth didn’t answer.

Instead, she stumbled towards Jane and ran into her bodily. Jane could see that Elizabeth's face was deathly pale, that she was bleeding from her right arm.

“Lizzy! You’re injured! I… I'll find a medic…”

“Get out of here!” Elizabeth took Jane’s arm and pulled her toward the window. Jane resisted, but even in her frail state, Elizabeth had overpowered her.

Jane screamed. They leapt.

They jumped from the fourth storey just as another tentacle struck the side of the building, sending out a spiderweb of fissures across crumbling concrete.

“Feather Fall!” The two of them slowed their descent, but still, they landed heavily. Elizabeth’s rushed invocation couldn't cover for both of them. With a heavy thud, they stuck the pavement below, and down Elizabeth went.

“Liz! Are you okay? Oh my God…”

Elizabeth’s dress uniform had come with unfortunately tall heels. She landed awkwardly, and now her ankle was twisted in a disturbing direction. Jane watched as Elizabeth grunted, her face turning even paler than before. Her fingers dug into Jane's arm with enough force to draw blood.

“Someone! Help!” Jane shrieked into the chaos. Cadets and Officers were running like headless chickens all over the place. Some were trying to flee; others tried to fight.

Thankfully, a blonde-haired youth ran up and helped Elizabeth to her feet, hopping on her good leg. From above came the sound of something whooshing through the air, crashing into the building and the wall behind them.

They looked up to see a purple-pink tentacle slither away, leaving behind a mess of human flesh, crushed into smithereens against the concrete HQ.

Jane screamed. She screamed and screamed; frozen to the spot.

Elizabeth swore. Jane glanced up and saw a silhouette loom over them. The writhing mass of the Kraken was now upon them.

“It’s seen us!” Elizabeth shouted and tried to move. Even with the cadet’s help, she couldn’t move fast enough. The Air Evoker cursed. She commanded the cadet to turn her around. Jane helped, bracing Elizabeth’s other arm.

“Blade of Wind!” Elizabeth threw up a hand.

The tier 6 Evocation hacked into their assailant.

'Thump!'

A massive tentacle landed not far from them, sliced clean off it’s now oozing stump. There was a sound of thunder as the creature raged, the ground shook violently.

“Well fudge, I shouldn’t have done that. It’s twice as pissed now.” Elizabeth remarked despairingly; her comely face pale, drained, deathly.

Without warning, the blonde Cadet dropped Elizabeth. He ducked under her arm, allowing her to fall, then ran for it.

Elizabeth fell awkwardly onto the floor and crumpled into a heap, screaming as her broken ankle hammered the tarmac.

Behind them, the cadet scampered past a fence, fleeing toward the uncertain shelter of the woods.

“Fuck! You ingrate asshole!” Elizabeth shrieked at him.

Jane was shaking now, her whole body buzzing with fright and hysteria. She saw Elizabeth turn to her. Something dark grip her heart, something full of yellow venom and selfish purpose.

“Jane…” Elizabeth began. "Don't-"

Jane ran.

She ran and ran and ran.

Behind her, Elizabeth was saying something indistinct, but Jane could no longer hear it.

“I am sorry… I am sorry Liz… I am sorry… please make it. Please survive…”

She ran. She fell, she got up, she staggered on.

She didn’t even feel the pain from her palms anymore. She just wanted to get away from the sea, from the monster, from the mermen, from Elizabeth.

Don’t look back! She told herself. You mustn’t look back.

Sickening sounds of destruction resounded from behind: wails of pain and horror both human and mermen.

An explosion rocked the base. Something had set off the mana crystals in the depot.

Jane hastened her pace, but the shockwave was too quick. It caught her in the next few seconds, sending her tumbling through the air, thrashing her flailing limbs against the asphalt.

When she re-orientated herself from the tumbling, she realised she was facing the wrong way.

She was facing the ocean. She was looking back.

Her face blanched, the blood drained from every inch of her skin.

Her eyes began to bulge, then bleed.

Jane began to whimper and cry.

“Oh, Liz… oh, Lizzy, save me. Save me…” she moaned incoherently. “I don’t want to die… I want to see Mark…”

A miracle imposed itself atop the girl's gibbering figure.

A solar eclipse.

A dark sun, a shadow of a shadow consuming all light, drinking up the world.

Tendrils of darkness, tipped with lamprey's lips, reached out from its centre, seemingly ignoring the distance and space.

Jane watched in horror as one of them seemed to find her instantaneously.

She felt the cold dark invade her skin, digging into her body, lifting her from the ground. The tendril effortless sliced through her non-existent mana Shield, through her uniform, slicing into her torso and legs, bleeding her.

“Arrrgh… Ah-ah… N-No, no, no…” Jane was mewing like a babe, her face a grotesque mask of pain and agony.

The gathering watched agog as the vision continued to manifest.

A dark sun bloomed in Jane’s vision: draining all light, all life.

The Merfolk, the NoMs, the Mages, all were caught in it’s embrace. It took in everything, friends, enemies, trees, grass, bits of concrete, even water from the sea. With each thing it consumed, it seemed to grow larger, bigger, more powerful. Dark miasma poured from its centre, forming long shadowy tendrils. Darker then black, they extended through the air, picking through the flotsam and jetsam for nourishing sweetmeats.

Jane cried out in horror.

She rose into the air, weaker and weaker, higher and higher.

When Jane had floated close enough to the centre of the dark sun, they saw.

They all saw.

Two women were silhouetted side by side: a ghastly parallel of the two women having tea only an hour earlier. There was no cakes and ices this time. Jane's body was a bloody mess, while a tenebrous miasma scattered from Elizabeth's body like fog rolling off a cold mountain.

They saw Jane’s unfocused dark eyes meet with Elizabeth’s irises of baby-blue, whose innocence betrayed no particular emotion. Elizabeth’s thin white legs extended from the churning shadows swirling across her body. Obsidian black and starkly white, a goddess of deified death.

"Lizzy..." Jane moaned, crying and sobbing, blood and tears pouring from her bulging eyes in equal measure. "Lizzy it hurts... it hurts so bad..."

Elizabeth gazed upon Jane without an iota of sympathy.

“Silly girl… you needn’t have died. You had nothing I wanted. You were useless…”

“Please… spare me…”

“You should have stayed a moment longer. I was telling you to run you know, playing the big sister.”

“Please… please, Lizzy!”

They watched Elizabeth force a hand under Jane’s ribs, piercing her chest in one swift, bloody motion.

“Now look at what you made me do...”

The vision ended.

Mark tore himself away from the Orb, falling to the floor, gasping for breath. When he raised his face again, he looked older, far older, as though he had aged a decade.

“Do you understand now?!” Mark uttered between clenched teeth. “This was your precious wife! I spent twenty years to uncover the truth! A decade to track down an Orb, and another decade to learn to use it! Did you know what I had to give, to trade, to find my sister’s soul?”

Henry’s pallor was paler than it had ever been. His wife - his poor Elizabeth. She hadn’t turned into a monster. She was a monster from the beginning. All it took was a single crisis; then the undertow took her.

Gwen recovered herself from the overload of emotion and information. There was so much there, so many answers, but still, she felt that Mark had left an important question unanswered.

“Well, do you have your satisfaction now, Mark?” She tried to keep her voice level and measured. “That still doesn’t explain why you sent me into that hell-hole to suffer, what could you gain from that? More satisfaction? Was it to see my Master suffer humiliation? Is it because I am a Void Mage that you wanted me defiled and betrayed?”

Mark laughed: a burst of insane, hysterical laughter.

“We always save the best for last, no?” he said to Gwen, grinning maniacally.

He turned to Henry.

“Your wife is still alive and kicking.”

Henry suddenly stood, his face a mask of anger and fury. Surya did likewise, his expression full of indignation for his friend. Agnes simply held a hand to her mouth in shock horror. It was madness, complete madness. Mark was consumed by it, by holding onto that secret and letting it fester in his chest, it fed on him, ate the man they had once known.

“You think me mad, don’t you?” Mark demanded, his eyes glowing with excitement. He stopped talking suddenly and gloatingly gazed at Henry.

“Whose soul did you think I attempt to raise at first?! Ha! It was Elizabeth! The woman I hated more than anything in the world! Why raise my sister, subject her to such soul rendering agony, when I could have truth and satisfaction in one fell swoop?! BUT do you know what happened? You know what happened when I tried?”

“She wasn’t there! Her Astral Soul had never untethered from her body! I may be a fledging Necromancer, but even I know that you can’t raise the soul of a being who hasn’t died!”

“Master…” Gunther stepped between Mark and Henry, cutting him off abruptly. “Perhaps it is best to end it right here and now. What good would more secrets serve? What’s done is done. We need to look to the future. This Necromancer was as good as dead the moment he trapped a human soul within that Orb. Gwen too should be free of his insanity."

As if sensing the end is nigh, Mark suddenly began to speak with great haste; a torrent of words poured from his mouth. His eyes were wild, his face contorted with the ecstasy of the reveal. All these years, all these years and now he had finally proven to Henry that he was wrong, that Elizabeth was responsible, that she was a monster and they were all fools! There was just one more step. One more step!

“I always knew, I just knew that Elizabeth had been up to something, but I could never figure it out. Let me remind all of you of that final climax, what had she said? You had nothing I wanted. What had she wanted? What could have she have wanted?”

Mark pointed to Gwen with an accusing finger. Her heart leapt to her throat in an instant.

“There’s your answer! At first, I couldn’t prove it! I couldn’t prove what Elizabeth wanted. Then you, Henry, sent me your apprentice! How fortuitous! How foolish! I couldn’t believe it when you told me that she was a Void mage! Is it poetic justice? I couldn’t believe my luck. Were you trying to repeat the past? You can’t repeat the past old friend! You can’t! All you sent me was proof! I couldn’t prove my theory, but with Gwen… with another Void Mage, I could! Your apprentice had killed a dozen Mages - I have… I have their dossiers here… see! Look!”

He pounced on the papers: pictures, files, records scattered all over.

“Put her in the Chamber, Henry! Put her in and you’ll- you’ll know why Elizabeth is still alive! Ha! You were all wrong! My poor Jane, if you hadn’t covered it up, Henry! if…”

Then Mark was suddenly silent. Without even incanting a spell, Gunther had reached across between them with his long arm, caught Mark by the hair, then slammed his head against the heavy oaken table. Mark’s body fell to the floor wetly like a sack of slack potatoes.

“Master.” Gunther knelt. “I take full responsibilities."

Henry’s eyes rose from Mark’s body. He nodded gently and patted Gunther’s shoulder.

His Apprentice was right; this farce had gone on long enough.

“Magus Mark Chandler is to be placed under indefinite quarantine,” the Magister spoke, gaining a measure of strength with every uttered word. “What say you?”

Gwen and Debra had nothing to say; their opinions counted for nothing.

Surya inclined his head imperceptibly.

Agnes looked away, unable to find the words.

“Good. Gunther. If you please.”

“Levitation!”

Gunther hoisted his human cargo with one hand.

“I am returning to the Tower, Master.” He bowed. “I’ll send a clean-up crew within the hour.”

Henry nodded toward his eldest Apprentice before turning to his youngest one.

“Gwen…” he began.

Gwen felt her heart lurch, at this rate, she was sure to develop an early arrhythmia.

“It's time we discussed your future.”

Schools of Magic

Evocation is a school that manipulate energy. It was also the most commonly awakened school of Spellcraft. These mages become the mainstay of the citizen-soldiers, wielding spells of fire, earth, water, and more exotic elements such as lightning or radiance. As Evokers grow, they become more specialise in their elemental affinity, taking up specialist equipment and enchantments, attunement and contracts. In the popular eye, the Evoker is the archetype Mage, the spell slinging, fireball blasting Sorcerer of yore, tapping into and drawing limitless power from the elemental planes.

Abjuration casters weaved spells that protected, blocked or banished. An Abjurer is a common but highly sought after profession. They were the mainstay of the protective barrier shells that shielded Human cities. An Abjurer possesses the special ability to also utilises restoration spells and a number of AOE combat buffs. Specialists in this field typically contracted elementals of earth, ice, and water, with exceptional individuals possessing more exotic quasi-elementals.

Conjuration is a school that materialises creatures or materials for the caster. A Conjurer is a one man army when trained to a sufficeint tier of proficiency. Through contracting magical creatures Conjurers gain life-long companions that grow with the Mage in power. Due to this advantage, it is not uncommon for Summoners to become several magnitudes more powerful than Mages of equal tier. The disadvantage of Conjuration is the persistent mana drain caused by most of its sustained effect spells. Certain Conjurers choose to focus upon the summoning of items or beings. These valuable individuals are responsible for the Teleportation Circles around the cities.

Divination is a school that reveals information, highly prized for their cognisant abilities in detection and foretelling. Many diviners go on to become telecommunication specialists, becoming key intelligence and strategist operatives that served a number of roles. Other schools of Divination focused on disaster deterrence, by reading the threads of time and fate. Despite their lack of offensive capabilities, it is said that the most influential Magi on the U.N Security Council is the Oracle of the Acropolis. Though the Divination school has no preference for elemental afflictions, it is a school that synnergies well with subsequent studies of other schools. Many Diviners go on to become Magus or Magister.

The school of Enchantment remains the most difficult and expensive to train of all schools. Capable of imbuing items and buildings with protection, strengthening items and imbuing persist phenomena - enchanters are essential to humanity’s existence. The world's most successful manufatoriums are all operated by skilled Enchanters. Unlike regular Mages, enchanters seeks specifically the mastering of additional schools such as Transmutation or Abjuration for the creation of magical items. A dangerous school within-a-school of Enchanters are those whose abilities allow them to control, manipulate, and glamour the minds of others. These Mages are closely watched by government forces, and the misuse of mind-altering effects on others could lead to life-time imprisonment or banishment.

Illusion is the school of Mirage, the altering of perceptions to create false visions. Many Illusionists go on to become involved in espionage if they choose the path of the militant. Many others however, have chosen to be involved in the media, creating spectacles for adoring audiences, crafting impossible scenarios, and even becoming superstars in their own right for their creativity and passion. Illusion spells which deal damage attack the mind directly, creating what is known as psychic attacks. Likewise, aftereffects vary by spell and intent.

Transmutation is an unusual school in that it changes the caster and the objects they touch, manipulating the properties in powerful ways. In the greater world, Transmuters become builders, architects and creators, working hand in glove with Enchanters. In combat, some transmuters choose to specialise in manipulating life itself, changing plants, creatures, and even themselves to become deadly and proficient in the art of war. It is said that Transmuters posses the most versatile school of all , and enjoyed the most lauded status after that of Evokers.

The dreaded School of Necromancy was banned after WWI following the Geneva Convention. Currently, the school is studied only by sects that are authorised by the U.N, having proven that the study of souls and the afterlife is intimately connected to beliefs of faith, culture, and religion. The irony of the matter is that Necromancy is most likely the most ancient school of magic that exist. Dating back to the Egyptian Pharaohs, in an age when man first uncovered magic. As such, it is more specific to say that the summoning, raising, and animation of the death is strictly forbidden, as much of the world was turned into ash and cinder following The Great War with the No-Life Kings of Middle Europe.

Finally, other schools of magic likely exist, but lay out of reach of the common man. These include various forms of item deification, ancestral worship, old world shamanism, naturalism, animalism, and so forth. By the same measure, rumours about of humans learning the magic of monsters, magical beings, and demi-humanoids. These are seldom taught or learned in Frontier Human cities though.

Character Summary

“We can talk in the grot,” Henry intoned kindly before giving Gwen’s hands a reassuring, fatherly pat. “There is much to discuss.”

The remaining members of the conference glanced at the empty desk, grimly reminding the party that they were now missing Mark and Gunther.

Unexpectedly, Henry turned to Debora. Gwen's classmate grew instantly rigid the moment the Magister's attention lingered, gripping Gwen’s arm a little tighter. It was an understandable reaction; for who wouldn’t be stunned by the full attention of Henry Kilroy, Head of the Ten, Master of the Sydney Tower? He was a legend, a rumour, a personage she had only seen in the newspapers, and now he was addressing her directly.

“Debora, was it?”

“Yessir!” Debora answered, she left Gwen's arm and stood ramrod straight, unsure if to bow or salute. “Debora Jones, first… soon to be second-year at Blackwattle Academy, Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous, Debora.” Henry likewise patted her on the shoulder. The Earthen Mage appeared as though Gwen had struck her with another discharge of static.

I know that look well. Gwen observed. Debora was starstruck, as she had been, to be interacting with a Magister, one of the most powerful Mages in the nation.

“You have been party to some rather unsavoury secrets, Debora. Including Gwen’s relationship with me,” Henry began, causing a cold sweat to break out over Gwen’s brow. “As a result, I fear I have no choice but…”

“Master!” Gwen interjected nervously.

They had just seen Mark hauled off like a side of beef. Perhaps her master’s blood was still up, feeling protective and paranoid from all that he had just witnessed?

“I am sorry Sir, but… please, please spare Debora. Mayhap a Geas spell or a compulsion? Or-or a tracking ring? She is innocent. I mean, Opa carelessly brought her! If anything, he should take responsibility!”

Surya appeared wounded, his face a mask of sorrow.

Henry performed a double-take before he began to chuckle. Surya joined him a moment later, their jovial mood upsetting the tension that had overtaken the conversation.

“Gwen… I was going to say that I have no choice… but to trust her in this matter, trust in her judgement, her ability to keep a secret.”

“Ah- Of course, Master. ” Gwen felt instant relief wash over her, flushing a bright red. Beside her, the blood returned to Debora's face.

“Can we trust you? Debora Jones?” Henry’s tone took on a more serious slant.

The question was rhetorical of course. What would a girl, whose father and mother were middle- class Transmuters, do against the request made by the highest power in the land? Refusing was out of the question, as were any glib or uncertain answers. Not abiding by the agreement was likewise suicide. The Tower was the highest authority on matters of the magic, overriding even the Frontier Government, including its Senate. Who could Debora turn to, if she wanted to reveal the truth to the world? She would evaporate, disappear, cease to exist overnight, just like Mark Chandler.

Debora nodded furiously.

“Yessir! You can trust me, Sir!” She added another Sir just in case. One could never have too many Sirs when addressing someone like Henry.

“Very good. You may go with Surya. Rest assured, you and Gwen will see each other soon enough.”

Debora moved away from Gwen reluctantly, taking a position behind her Instructor, Surya.

“I’ll see you back at the ranch, Gwen.” Surya waved at his granddaughter.

“See you later Opa.”

The remaining three watched them depart, their eyes following the bony old man and the tall, athletic girl as they disappeared.

Henry turned to the last remaining member of their erstwhile companionship.

“Agnes, I am sorry you had to experience all of that.”

“I am sorry too, Henry,” Agnes repined. With the incarceration of Mark came the death of their three-decade-long fellowship. Now, she could no longer speak with Surya nor Henry, knowing that by their will and intent, Mark was rotting away in a cell somewhere for the rest of his natural life. “May I go now?”

She framed her question with caution and aversion, indicating her desired distance.

Henry’s expression grew sullen; his sympathy died in his throat.

“You may go, Agnes.”

“Goodbye, old friend.”

The Evoker left.

Only Gwen and Sufina now remained. The dryad flittered about here and there without a care, examine curios that Mark had left behind.

“Shall we?” Henry made an effort to stand. Gwen moved beside him, slipped her arm under her Master's shoulder, aiding his movement. Her Master's arm felt far frailer than her grandfather's. Where Surya was all cord and cable, Henry's was more akin to a dried out branch.

She wasn't sure if he required her help, but the effort seemed to please Sufina. The two of them proceeded arm in arm down the narrow stairs towards the Teleportation chamber in the basement.

They stopped by Alesia’s apartment first. Gwen had been soiled by her misadventure, her dress torn here and there, her nails matted with dried blood. If they teleported into the Tower like that, tongues would be wagging, and lascivious rumours would travel the circumference of Oceania before they reached the levitation lifts.

Henry took a catnap while Gwen quickly showered and changed. Alesia was away with Yue, training her new apprentice in the art of ruin and destruction. Wishing haste, Gwen took the first item on the pile: a merlot spaghetti-strap dress, then slipped into a white cardigan, finally swapping out her tattered Mary-Janes for a pair of pumped sandals. Washing the dust and blood from her hair, she rolled her fringe to one side and was back to her usual regal self.

Once outside, Henry commented that Gwen made good use of Alesia's rather monotonous choice of wardrobe. The two joked teasingly at Alesia's spending of her monthly stipend on perishable items of clothing, despite the existence of flame-attuned uniforms,

The two then returned to the secret chamber below, where the Teleportation Circle flared silver and white, distorting space and distance.

Without Alesia’s presence, the guards were far friendlier. A few of them greeted Gwen and introduced themselves, keenly interested in the tall and lovely girl that seemed to have the Magister’s eye. Prior, she had frequented the Tower to see the Magister during her three months of training. Now, she was considered more or less a standard feature of the Tower Master's itinerary. Though the guards had no clue as to how she associated with the Magister, they could see from the manner of her filial intimacy that the two were close. Was she a relative? Perhaps the daughter of a well-connected acquaintance, or maybe, something of a companion? It didn’t matter to the guards, themselves Apprentices and Mages in training under various Factions. They were polite to her, and she was amicable to them. If she could curry favour for them in exchange for services rendered, it worked for the betterment for all.

The guards made smalltalk with Gwen as the levitation platform thrummed, complementing her with words of admiration. They introduced themselves as Williams and McKinsey, offering Gwen their services with bright, hopeful eyes. Henry nodded at the two young men as he and Gwen alighted the platform.

The grot remained timeless and unchanged. A mossy clearing with dappled sunlight, alternating between the seasons as Sufina’s moods shifted. The moment they reentered the pocket space, Henry's back stood straighter, his head held higher. By the time they had made the walk to the central chamber, he was back to his spritely old self, an ageing professor looking smart in his tweed jacket and cashmere vest.

They found a place under Sufina’s heart tree, where a slight cross-breeze brought summer smells. Sufina wrapped her arms around Gwen, affecting a sound of shivering leaves as the dryad took in her scent.

“You still have the Serpent’s life-force on you,” Sufina noted with great pleasure. “It’s vibrant and rich. I love it. I wonder how long it will last?”

A set of garden furniture grew around them as Sufina played the maid, returning to them with a stack of manna bread, two crystal glasses and a decanter of her famous Golden Mead.

Henry waited until Gwen had settled into the elfin garden chair with its elegant curves and leafy woodwork. Gwen crossed her long legs comfortably, tucking an ankle behind a soft, mossy chair leg. Henry raised a glass, and Gwen met him half-way with a clink. She took a quick sip and felt the revitalising energy of the mead suffuse her weary mind.

They made more small talk, some Spellcraft theory here and there, a few anecdotes about Surya's scandalous sculptures; easing into the weight of their conversation.

“Gwen, how do you feel right now?” Henry finally began, starting with a simple question to test the waters.

It was a loaded question, and Gwen felt the need for measured answers. After all, she had just witnessed a man dragged away to be incarcerated for the entirety of his natural lifespan. The stories of the last few hours had informed Gwen about much of her Master’s quirks and idiosyncrasies. He was a sentimentalist, an idealist and a romantic. As a leader he was a man of the middle path, dreaming of an improbable balance between power and accountability. As a companion, he was trusting and honourable, collected and composed. As a teacher, he was experienced beyond measure, an able teacher who produced two peerless proteges. As an arbitrator, Henry was relentless, capable of putting aside his emotions, even for the woman he loved more than anything in the world. If Henry had a flaw, it would be his preference for patience even in matters of urgency.

So how should she approach their ‘talk’? Her master's silence had gifted her time to ponder her options. According to the sordid chronicle of Elizabeth, Gwen possessed an element that would inevitably invade and corrupt the mind of the user. To Gwen however, the revelation merely pointed to the fact that the war itself might have unhinged Elizabeth. Depression, anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder were common symptoms which plagued the war-weary of her world.

It was shocking to her to know that in this world, where death in the service of survival was commonplace, there was no such thing as psychology clinicians. Here, the treatment of mental health never seemed to have progressed past the apathy of The Great War. There were no Pavlov, Skinner, Jung, and Maslow to explain the inner world to the traumatised survivors of horrors both natural and supernatural. If there were, they'd be sanctioned Mind-Mages, offering no balms for the inflamed mind.

She was out of time.

"Guilty," she replied, ending the silence between them. "I could feel my victim's cries knock against my heart when Caliban's mind rejoined my own. I even felt empathy for Bozza and Farez, the slavers, even though Gunther was trying to teach me the dangers of careless mercy and naivety."

The frankness surprised Henry, but other than a gradual raising of the brow, her master's eyes betrayed nothing.

"I see..." Henry mulled over her words. "How do you feel about Mark? His accusation?"

Another loaded question, Gwen thought.

"Angry, indignant," Gwen stressed her vowels. "I don't wish to offend, Master, but I am not Elizabeth."

"No, you are not."

To her surprise, her Master smirked.

"You told me once, Gwen, that the abuse of Greatness is when remorse is disjointed from power. Do you feel... remorse, Gwen?"

Gwen considered it. She couldn't be the perfect sociopathic combat Mage nor a perfect inquisitorial agent like Gunther. She couldn't even be ruthless, doubtless battering ram like Alesia.

"I do, Master," She confessed, laying it out there with a sense of come what may. "I find no pleasure in harming others. I find scant desire in taking the lives of my enemies."

Henry tapped the table thoughtfully.

"What of your Credo, Gwen? Had you not wanted the power to punish those who would wrong you? To harry the foxes, frighten the wolves, and slaughter the tigers?”

"Perhaps not so much the slaughtering, Master."

Henry chuckled, the girl was more mature than he'd anticipated.

"A pacifist then? A rare bird in these dark and winding woods, Gwen. A dangerous choice."

"The woods are dark and deep, Master, but I have to walk my Path, even if it's a road not taken."

"The road less taken can easily lead you astray, Gwen, perhaps to a precipice... Do you know what lies at the end of that Path?"

"I don't know, Master, but I have to try. To accept that I would be a killer... that's - impossible for me."

Gwen shook her head, her voice trembling. Perhaps she was revealing too much of herself? What if her Master saw her pacifism as a dire weakness? What if he chose to abandon her? Was the loathing of murder a weakness though? Was it not Gandhi who said that there was not a single cause he would kill for, and yet overturned four centuries of colonisation? Was it not Socrates, whose wisdom built the modern Republic, who said that one ought not to do evil, no matter what the suffering? Perhaps that was too excessive; this was not a world where men could negotiate with the forces that threatened them. But surely, against one's fellow man, as a shared condition of survival, there were grounds for men to show mercy and compassion to kin and kind. If anything, her old world had proved that it was possible.

"Do you want to be a pacifist, Gwen? How do you hope to survive without harming your enemies?"

Her Master's voice was becoming sterner. There was an edge of criticism to it now. Gwen's thoughts raced through her memories. She recalled the grand conclusions reached by men who were responsible for splitting the atom, for engineering the end of human civilisation on earth. The context was a little off, but it would have to do.

"I do not wish to be merely a pacifist, Master," Gwen spoke carefully, her voice measured and vibrant. "I am saying that I wish to be a Militant Pacifist. I am willing to fight for my pacifism. For the only way to end violence, is for our enemies to refuse violence themselves."

The oxymoronic logos caught Henry off-guard. He stared at her with an expression of bemusement before the words slowly digested.

"You want to be so powerful... that your enemies quake and shudder at the very thought of war?"

Gwen smiled coyly.

"Is that not how the Mermen and the Saurian conflict ended, Master? Peaceful co-existence for the next three decades?"

Henry suddenly snorted, slapping his knees.

"You're right!"

He laughed, a burst of rip-roaring laughter uncharacteristically stretching his usually stern face.

"The path of Militant Pacifism! Ha! What a strange and twisted mind you have!"

He tapped the table excitedly.

"No killing then?" he questioned.

"No unnecessary killing, Master.”

“What would you call your Path then?”

"It is Humanism, Master, the Path of the Humane."

Henry mulled overt Gwen's rather unusual Credo.

"What if you find yourself again in the same circumstance, Gwen? About to be violated or harmed. Would you again show careless mercy?"

Gwen was ready; she wasn't about to dismiss the hard lesson from Gunther.

"We must be cruel to be kind, Master," she answered with the words of wiser men.

"How wonderfully complex that answer is!” Henry allowed his mind to have the slow luxury of abstracting her logic. "What of Noblesse Oblige? For the NoMs, I mean."

"I cannot begrudge those whose most distant horizons are tomorrow. Not when so many of their problems can be resolved by bread, water, and shelter,” Gwen answered smartly. “They will have their part to play, as do we. If possible, I would like to build a world wheres NoMs are just as important, no different from Mages.”

"I see... A noble goal."

They then spoke of her experiences in the Slums, of the condition of NoMs, what she had seen. Ultimately, the conversation arrived at its predestined topic.

"How you do feel about Caliban then?" her master asked suddenly.

Gwen swallowed a little nervously.

"I am... afraid of it, Master."

Henry nodded sagely.

"I see... I see. Do you mind bringing out your familiars? Ariel first, if you could."

Gwen incanted the spell for Conjuring her familiar. Ariel appeared on the table in its passive form. Henry reached out and ticked the creature's fur, sending out sparks of static.

"EEee! EEee!" Ariel rubbed its snout on his hand. It made a begging motion with its paws, first towards Gwen, then towards Henry.

"Are you afraid of Ariel?" Henry asked, producing an HDM crystal, watching the marten stuffing itself, its cheeks puffed with mana.

"No," Gwen admitted.

"Why?" Henry asked softly.

Gwen considered Henry's question. The obvious answer was that Ariel wasn't a thousand-young horror, but that was sophistry.

"I am... not sure," Gwen mumbled."Perhaps it is because Ariel listens, and I feel in control.”

"Does Caliban not listen?"

Gwen shook her head. Caliban did listen to her, even in the heat of battle it had done so. It was her fault that Caliban had 'leaked' out, she was the weak one, not Caliban.

"Then what's the problem?"

"It's the Void magic, Master... Caliban induces in me an unyielding hunger. I feel it enticing me, demanding that I satiate it, yet the more I fed it, the hungrier I become."

"A question of temptation then," Henry nodded. "A test my wife failed horribly. What are your thoughts then? Would you cease using Void magic entirely?"

The honest answer was self-evident, but Gwen struggled to find the right words.

"Caliban is essential if you wish to embark upon the path you have chosen," Henry added. He could feel Gwen's dismay, taste her hesitation. The girl was too obsessed with the right answers; for all her wisdom, she didn't know that in life, correct answers were scarce indeed.

"Bring out Caliban, Gwen."

"Caliban..."

Gwen winced as the vitality drained from her, drinking the blood from her pink cheeks.

The serpent appeared from the nether space of the void, landing with a thump on the mossy floor. Instantly, the vibrant moss wilted and died, leaving behind a patch of brown and black. It reared its head, scanning the room and sniffing the air.

"Hiss! Hiss!" It uttered, slithering toward Gwen joyously.

Gwen's body stiffened with revulsion. Seemingly sensing her hesitation, Caliban stopped apprehensively, looking wounded by its master's rejection.

"Caliban, over here." Henry produced an HDM Crystal and waved the sparkling stone before it.

The creature wanted to leap toward it immediately but hesitated when no consent came from Gwen.

"It's fine, Gwen."

Caliban slithered onto the table, leaving behind a trail of wilting, desolated wood.

To Gwen's astonishment, Henry placed his hands upon Caliban's smooth exterior. There was a sizzle as his flesh made contact, acrid black smoke rose into the air. Gwen almost called out, but Henry's hard, grey eyes met her own.

"Calm your emotions, control your fear, don’t let your weakness bleed into Caliban.”

Gwen exhaled deeply. The sizzling ceased. Caliban's presence no longer ate into the living wood. Her Master was right, how could he not be? He was a Magister level Conjurer. He was right; the weakness was Gwen's.

"Good."

"Do you fear it still?"

Gwen considered the sleek and dark creature before her; its carapace had split to reveal a lamprey's mouth, now busily slurping at the crystal.

"Less so," Gwen confessed, her heart wincing as Sufina’s positive energy slowly healed Henry's fingers. Caliban looked at Sufina with great interest, flicking its tongue. Sufina winked at the creature.

"There is always a temptation in possessing great power, Gwen. The more potent the source, the more it tempts you to use it. Do you believe Sufina powerful?"

Gwen nodded.

"Do you know how powerful she is?"

Gwen did not.

Henry smiled sagely.

"Allow me a quick demonstration. Sufina, if you please."

The gathering turned to observe their Dryad maid. Ariel cocked its furry snout, Caliban hissed, Gwen swallowed another gulp of mead.

Suddenly, Sufina's face turned cruel. Her smooth skin erupted in thorns and barbs, her body elongating into a nightmarish shambler covered with malevolent vines that writhed and churned, baying for violence.

A terrifying sight. Ariel and Caliban both began to bark and hiss, moving in front of Gwen to defend her against this uncertain foe.

"Force of Nature!" Henry invoked, charging Sufina with a distinct cocktail of primary elements only he possessed.

Suddenly, the Dyrad was everywhere. She expanded massively, almost filling up the entire chamber. Her form was no longer even that of a terrifying hag but something inhuman. She became a shambling behemoth, where she stood, the mist of deep swamps and dark forests cascaded from innumerable fishhook barbs grown from numberless vines. From a tenebrous mass, two glowing eyes stared out, her gaze as pitiless as the blistering sun. To Gwen, the power and pressure she exerted, was insane.

Her face and lips grew as pale as sheets, her feet cold and frozen, her arms arrested to either side.

Ariel cowered and whimpered, suddenly turning over on its belly and tried to play dead.

Caliban shrunk its profile closer to the floor, coiling to strike. Unlike Ariel, it had known no existence before its summoning - it felt no terror, knew no fear. So long as Gwen was alive, it could exist again.

"Sufina, enough."

Sufina shrunk, now once against a shy maiden, albeit brushing off dangerous, razor-sharp thorns from her leafy dress. She gave them a reassuring smile, her sparkling gemstone eyes twinkling.

"Are you afraid of Sufina?"

Gwen nodded, then shook her head.

"A valiant defence, Caliban," Henry complemented the serpent, throwing it another crystal. Ariel rolled over guiltily and begged at Gwen's feet with both paws upon her knees. Gwen patted its fur, feeling its remorse through their Empathic-Link.

Caliban raised its head smugly, rearing its head and wagging its tail. Gwen reached out gingerly; the serpent coiled around her leg, finding purchase on her calves before crawling into her lap. Its cold touch was ticklish, like ice dabbed against one’s skin. It rubbed its cheeks on her hand, the opening around its forehead carapace leaving a snail-trail of grey fluid across her fingers.

"It is a good Path you have chosen, Gwen, but you cannot walk it alone. You will need allies. Ariel and Caliban of course, but also others who would support you. You will need friends, family, advisors and associates. It is not your spells that you need to fear, but the isolation brought by its abuse."

"The Spell of the hand," Gwen pondered aloud. "Against the Spell of the heart... I will try, Master."

For a second Gwen wondered if Henry would interject with 'Do. Or do not. There is no try.' but the old Master merely nodded affirmatively.

"Gwen," her Master's next words took on quiet solemnity. "Please accept my apologies for what happened with Mark..."

Gwen awoke from her inner dialogue with a start.

"Master, you shouldn't have to!" she interjected. Sure, it was poor judgement on Henry's part, but who could have known Mark's madness?

"Oh, but I must." Henry's voice possessed a painful note. "I am afraid I sent you to him with selfish designs."

"Master?"

"You see Gwen - until Mark had told me the truth, I hadn't truly understood why I was so eager to take you on, why I felt such a desire to mound and shape your Path."

"Sir..."

"Let me finish." He waved a hand in front of her. "You see, Mark was right. I did want to repeat the past. A part of me always wondered what would have happened if I had stopped Elizabeth - if I had recognised her weakness, her suffering. I guess when I saw you Awaken to the Void in that chamber, I saw it as my redemption, to resolve a past I hadn't truly understood."

He took a deep breath.

"Can you... forgive an old man for doing such a selfish thing?"

Gwen placed a slender hand on top of Henry's own, feeling his paper-like skin.

"I forgive you, Master..." Gwen said earnestly. She was angry at first of course, beyond indignant, but her anger had been anaesthetised by Marks maniacal face, his spittle-charged gloating, his slump body as Gunther took him away like a leg of lamb. He who hunts monsters should beware - the old aphorism offered a good lesson. “I will not fall to the hunger like Elizabeth. Master, you have my word.”

Henry nodded appreciatively, seemingly having reached another conclusion.

"Would you like to know what Mark meant? What he was accusing you of?"

Gwen felt her throat constrict slightly; she had an inkling as to what Mark suspected. Did she want to know? Gwen did. She would prefer to be armed with knowledge than flee from its burden.

“You are certain?” Henry asked again. “If my suspicions are correct, then there is no turning back from this, Gwen. There will be no shield of ignorance left to protect you from the full force of temptation. Caliban's supernatural hunger would hardly compare to what allure this knowledge could hold.”

'I won't turn from knowledge, Master."

Henry drained the last of his mead.

“Then let us proceed to the Greater Cognisance Chamber.”

The same guards were on the platform as when they had left, enviously appraising Gwen’s luck to be visiting the chamber with a mentor the magnitude of the one of the Ten. Toward her 'Seniors', Gwen acted both coy and friendly, the three of them sharing pleasant banter while Henry kept himself occupied by meditating.

“They like you,” Henry noted when they stepped into the privacy of the Chamber. “You could do well here if you choose to return after your studies. The Tower always needs young blood. Oceania is a volatile region.”

“I’ll consider it, Master.” Gwen smiled anxiously, she would worry about her future after her moment of truth.

With a thrum, the Chamber activated. Gwen stepped into the centre as the glyphs completed their arcane circuits. Below her sandals, her Astral Soul projected outwards, the entire floor becoming a mirror plane splitting the material world above and the Astral world below.

Henry proceeded in a perimeter around Gwen, muttering to himself as he did so.

“Try to activate the Sigils as I call them out, Gwen.”

“Yes, Master.” Her heart pounded. What was Mark so interested in and what had he uncovered regarding Elizabeth Sobel?

Her illusory Astral Body was alluring as usual, a delicate art sculpture of the female form with long and elegant limbs, radiating motes of light and darkness that alternatively expanded, then consumed one another.

“Evocation.”

Gwen channelled mana through her conduits. The sigil of Evocation blazed before her, brighter than she recalled.

“Your proficiency has yet again improved, Gwen. Making good progress towards tier 4.”

“That’s…” Gwen felt a dark premonition begin to rise from the back of her mind. “That’s impossible, Master… I was only Tier 3, two months ago! The training times are exponential! I couldn’t be tier four even with relentless training for the next twelve months!”

“I see,” Henry replied with no particular emotion, not even a hint of question or curiosity. “Let us proceed.”

“Conjuration.”

Gwen switched to the other Schools of Magic by using well-practised minor incantations. Not far from her blazing Evocation Sigil, her Conjuration flashed a bright silver.

To her disappointment and relief, it was the same as when she had been last tested. It had grown a little, but the difference was nothing like the sudden spurt of the Evocation sigil.

“Abjuration.”

The light of the Conjuration sigil faded. Gwen constructed with meticulous care the Abjuration Sigil used for the activation of the Shield Spell. She was well-trained, but even so, it would take at least a second for her to manifest.

Then, instantly and without warning, the Sigil for Abjuration formed.

It glowed warmly beside the others, a gunmetal Sigil of protection.

Gwen regarded the arcane symbol before her with disbelief. No. The spectacle can't be real; it couldn't possibly be real. Was there a problem with the Chamber? Was the illusion showing her falsehoods rather than a resonance?

“Master…” her voice trembled, from fear, horror, or excitement she could not know.

“A poorly awakened Abjurer too, I see…” Henry again commented without any particular emotion. “Pay it no heed, continue.”

Her back grew sodden with sweat, soaking her cardigan.

“Yes, Master.”

“Divination.”

Another dim glow, this time weak and ineffective.

Gwen was almost choking on her discoveries now. What did it mean? What could it infer? Was this what Mark was trying to expose? If so, she was in far more trouble than she had thought.

“You’re going to need a bit more training to start using Message spells. Attunement to Divination Towers is an art unto itself.” Henry was relentless, commenting upon each shocking surprise as though they were dishes at a degustation.

“Master…” Gwen moaned, she was almost afraid to continue. What if it was true? What if it was real? Void Magic was a Pandora’s box! It was stealing fire from the Gods! How can anyone with an ability like this end well?

“Illusion…” Henry commanded.

“I… I don’t know how, Master,” Gwen breathed out a sigh of relief. It was true. Illusion had been too difficult for someone so practical and lacking in imagination.

“Fine. Transmutation.”

Gwen had to take a moment to stifle her quickened breath and allow her heart to return to a cadence that allowed for the concentration necessary to maintain cross-class Sigils.

In front of her Master, she drew the Sigil within her mind, first the minor incantations, and then-

It blazed, a deep-purple luminosity that was visible, clearly defined.

“Ah-h! Tier 1 already! How fortuitous. A useful and versatile School, Gwen.”

“Oh… Oh Master, I… I…” The moment the sigil triggered, Gwen felt her chest constrict, her body shook, quivering with both ecstasy and distress.

“One final School… Gwen.”

One more? One more! How could she stand yet another school? It was too much! It was overwhelming. Her life was already turned upside down by her Void Magic, and now it was going to gift her with even more boon and bane? She began to hyperventilate, her guts knotting and churning as she fought the panic. Within her stomach, not even the Golden Mead was staying down, she wanted to hurl, but she was in the midst of a Cognisance Chamber, Lord knows what would show up in the illusion.

“Calm Emotion.”

A refreshing wave of clarity washed over her quaking mindscape, replacing her anxiety with a quiet, contemplative peace.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Don't thank me yet." He smiled weakly. "Enchantment.”

She attempted the final school.

Thankfully, there was nothing. There was barely a glimmer.

She exhaled.

"Now for the elements." Henry motioned for her to get on with it.

Gwen froze on the spot.

"No! That's impossible!" Gwen whimpered.

"That was an ill attempt at humour, I am afraid." Henry smirked uncharacteristically. "It warms my heart to see that even the infallible Miss Song is capable of anguish."

"Master!" Gwen flashed her hazel eyes.

Henry chuckled.

"I believe we have proved Mark's pet theory, no?"

"I am... fortune's fool," Gwen weakly reflected upon her new gifts as the Cognisance illusion faded.

"Aye, Fortuna is indeed a strange and fickle mistress..." Henry concurred; his voice heavy with uncertainty.

"What now? Master?" Gwen inquired carefully.

"I saw those dossiers which Mark had thrown out when Gunther took him in." Henry shook his head. "I believe he was... scrying on you the entire time you were trapped, and Caliban was active."

Gwen felt a shiver run down her spine. He was watching her being captured, tied, packaged, readied for shipment. He was watching Caliban butcher those poor prisoners.

"I dare say he had a list of the prisoners, and... it adds up, I am afraid. There was an Abjurer in there, a few Evokers, two Transmuters..."

Gwen felt sick, her blood abruptly cold with dread and wretchedness. Those new Schools of Magic she had gained, they were not hers. They were the talents of people who were murdered by Caliban. She was a thief, a plunderer, a grave robber. Her knees felt giddy and weak. She had to find an open space and sit, try to orientate her bearings.

"Indeed... what now?" Henry pondered as Gwen hugged her knees, looking forlorn on the floor of the all-white chamber. So many secrets, he mused to himself; they keep piling like soft snow on the mountaintop.

But secrets and Magisters made good companions.

Henry knew not a single Magister who did not have some dire intrigues of his or her own. After all, was not his wife a mass murderer who'd mutilated almost a hundred souls? The Bloody Countess of Eger who terrorised the Hungarian countryside? Small secrets were like gnats, always wearing one away, but big secrets? They were more like a whetting stone that kept one sharp and focused. The life of a Mage seeking the Path was already akin to living on a blade's edge, one slip and there was only death or disgrace. Furthermore, if and when Gwen came into the power she desired, how trivial would all her other secrets be? She merely needed to hold one close to her bosom, and that as enough.

The problem was how to bring Gwen to this understanding? She had just professed to embark upon a righteous path of not murdering her enemies. Yet, her rare gift demanded that she consume human lives to fuel her Path of idealistic pacificism. Such complex contradictions! What absurd reflections of reality and life!

To Gwen's surprise, her Master stood by her side, radiating a sullen melancholy.

"I believe that the greatest mistake we had made was keeping Elizabeth's secret," Henry began, smoothing out his wrinkled jacket. "I don't intend to make that mistake again."

"Master?"

"I have consulted with Surya on this, and we have concluded that only when the world recognises your ability, allowing it to glitter over all faults - would you would be safe."

Gwen gazed at her Master uncomprehendingly.

Henry chuckled.

"Have you heard the story of the Heart of Flames, Gwen?"

Gwen shook her head. Her family was not exactly one for sweet bedtime stories.

"The short of it is that an Arabian Sultan once found the most coveted Creature Core in the world, uncovered from the nest of a long dead Ancient Red Dragon. The core was astoundingly beautiful, and when channelled, provided control of the fire elements equating that of the highest Djinn."

"As one can imagine, the Sultan was afraid, terribly afraid of others finding out about his possession, so he hid the core about his person, only producing it in times of war, as well as in the dark of the night, gazing upon it lovingly and calling it his most precious."

"But, secrets never get buried for long, and many came to covet the Sultan's greatest prize. First, the Sultan became the target of larceny and theft, but when that failed, his foes turned to his family. His sons, daughters, his wives: one by one, enemies from within and without took them. Still, the Sultan refused to give up the core. Ultimately, it was only upon his deathbed, still holding that stone, that he realised his Sultanate was at its end. He had no more heirs. The Core could not pass on his legacy."

"Centuries later, when the Heart of Flames eventually passed into the hands of the Britannic Mageocracy, Queen Victoria made an important and unusual decision. She did not hide the core, but instead declared it a national treasure! She split the core in half, mounting the larger portion upon her sceptre, and the minor portion her crown. She called them her most precious objects, openly declaring to an adoring public that if they wish to see the stone, they merely needed to pay homage to Queen and Country before the Royal Palace during the annual celebrations."

"Did that deter the thieves? I doubt it; such is human nature. But the brilliance of that core now shone with such light, that no shadow could approach it, for an entire nation acted to protect it! The Heart of Flames! The symbol of the Empire! How could anyone dream of theft? Something so debased and unscrupulous! It would blemish and discredit the very heart of a nation! Do you recall our passionate, nationalistic jingo?"

Gwen shook her head.

Henry cleared his throat and began to sing.

"Bring me my wand, of burning gold:

Bring me my arrows of Desire:

Bring me my Stone: O clouds unfold!

Bring me my Heart of Fire! "

"Who could dream of violating that? The stone was sacrosanct!"

Henry eased over to give Gwen a reassuring pat, his hands hovered here and there, before finally resting on her cheeks.

"Do you understand, child?"

Gwen nodded. She understood - she finally comprehended why her notebook placed such emphasis on winning the Inter-High competition, on getting into Sydney University with the most prestigious of scholarships. She was to be a panda bear. For despite its world-renown desirability, if one tried to steal, assault, or even molest a Panda, one would anger an entire nation. So what if she had powers far exceeding the average bear? Rarity was leverage.

The keynote was becoming an existence both indispensable and unique. That would be Gwen's metaphysical double-glazed shield. So long as the powers desired the utility of her talents, so long as she could be their beacon of hope, she was safe. Factions conflicted amongst themselves, and many would have selfish designs on a Void Mage, but that competition was leverage. Just look at Elizabeth. What greatness could she have achieved without her madness? Even in her guilt as a mass murderer, she had been ironclad. At the end of a dark day, no uncertain threat from an insane Mage could remotely match the certainty of extinction from the Wildlands.

"But... my consumption ability..." Gwen felt her heart and mind racing; there was one last barrier to dispel, one last knot to untie.

"I am afraid there are no good answers to that," Henry confessed. "Yet that is precisely the point, no? You must own up to your choices, be accountable for your actions. For the abuse of Greatness..."

They said the next few words together, Master and Apprentice achieving a kind of cognitive resonance.

"... is when remorse is disjointed from power."

The shackles of doubt fell from Gwen's wrists, replaced by a feeling of liberation suffusing her body. Driven by impulse, she embraced Henry.

The act seemed to surprise the old man; who for a moment had not known what to do with himself. Their intimacy persisted though, Gwen digging her face into his shoulder, at which point he sensed a wet warmness upon his collar. Was it her breath? Or perhaps a few drops of his Apprentice's rare emotions?

He returned her embrace, her body young and supple; his, gnarly and knotted by time.

Meanwhile, Gwen had recovered from her impulsive moment and was now burning with embarrassment. In her old world, people would have mocking called it a paternal complex. They would be right, of course, but was it her fault she had never had a father-figure across two lifetimes? Morye had been mostly apathetic, somewhat aloof, and positively allergic to responsibility. Meanwhile, Henry untied the knots in her chest, untangled her worries and opened the floodgates of gratitude. There was a welling of emotion that she never really understood; before she realised, she was in her Master's arms, finding catharsis and resolution.

They separated; the old man looked just as embarrassed as she was.

"I am thinking of announcing to the Tower that you are my Apprentice, Gwen," Henry informed her suddenly. "After the Inter-High competition."

Gwen smiled. There was no need for words.

Henry made an effort to straighten his posture, groaning at the burden of physics involved in the act. Gwen shifted on her knees to brace her venerable Master.

"I supposed now you should return to Surya and enjoy the rest of your Summer Break."

She blinked. Summer Break? Good grief! It was still the summer holidays! She had a whole month of December before school resumed in mid-January. With all that had happened, it seemed as though a lifetime had passed since she left for Mark's office!

"Will you go?"

Her Master had a point. She couldn't go back to the dorms yet; no one else was home. She couldn't go back to Morye's, Helena's, or stay at the Tower - there was only Surya's.

"Yes, that's a good idea. You should look into solidifying your new Schools of Magic. I'll speak to Surya, and we'll get you some basic Transmutation and Divination spells. Keep this between the three of us. No one must know until the right time, not even your friends."

Gwen nodded again, looping her arm around Henry's waist like a faithful granddaughter. Arm-in-arm, the duo made for the levitation platform, the doors to the Cognizance Chamber closing behind them silently.

The platform descended; down and down, round and round, plunging towards the uncertain embrace of Lady Fortuna.

"Gwen!"

"Debbie!"

The two girls reciprocated cheeks.

Surya observed the exchange, his face full of benevolence, his heart finally returned to its usual cadence. In light of Henry's ruthless sentencing of Mark, leaving his cucu perempuan with his old friend had been no different to sending merino into a Hob's den. As such, for the first half of the day, Surya had assumed a foul and disgruntled disposition while Gwen tied together loose ends to the fiasco, casting such a moody shadow that all his assistants, Debora included, fled from his scorn.

Around mid-day, Surya received a Message spell from Kilroy. As he listened, his face alternated between shock, calm, and finally euphoria. At long last, he had received permission for a Teleportation Circle at the estate. Such a thing cost as much as three figures in HDM crystals, but considering her circumstances after Blackheath, Surya would prefer Gwen not taking public transport for some time.

As the sun fled, Surya's NoM servant served supper. Locals working for the Magus, they had been apprehensive at first but stayed on once they realised that the 'dangerous' Mage was just a benign, eccentric artist.

And so it was that the five sat in front of the infinity garden - Surya, Gwen, Debora, Melissa and Tess, enjoying a supper of tender roast and heirloom vegetables. Surya's assistants were not privy to Gwen's secrets, Debora not to the entirety of it, and so the conversation was kept light-hearted and full of sweet nothings. Surya commended that Debora was performing exceptionally well in learning the Bronze-skin techniques and that she would be of great help in the future. In his esteemed opinion, the athletic, earnest girl got along well with his other two apprentices, and together they had been making some rather ambitious new works. Following dinner, classic Pavlova with fresh strawberries and cream, paired with a sweet Moscato dessert wine capped off the night. As was usual for the tablelands, the air stayed sultry even after the sun dipped against the horizon. The girls had left their glasses untouched at first but seeing it served and that no one seemed to mind, proceeded to sinfully sip away at the scented amber liquid.

For Gwen, the frizzante was a Godsend. It wasn't the supernatural mead that Sufina supplied, but actual alcohol, pure and clear and natural, full of euphoric buzz. When was the last time she had drunk alcohol? Gwen couldn't recall; after all, that had been a lifetime ago. She stole a nip here and there, her glass perpetually topping itself thanks to the nefarious designs of Tess and Mel, likely wondering if an another Gwen lurked under her unflappable calm.

When the three bottles finally spilt the last drop, the four girls were rip-roaring with laughter like old chums. The sun died a glorious red death, forming that timeless Outback panorama of burning plains and flaming skies. Surya announced his retirement and stumbled off to sleep in his workshop and Mel and Tess returned to their rooms in the west wing. Debora also retreated, leaving Gwen by herself to ponder the insignificance of man under the horizon-spanning Milky Way; wondering if this was the same constellation as her old world.

"He that has the steerage of my course… direct my sail…" She said to no one in particular, too groggy to recall the rest of the lines. By now, she was flushed and sweaty. The nights on the tablelands were unpleasant at best. She would have to beg Opa for some cooling glyphs in the guest rooms. Just sitting here, without even moving, she was feeling beads of sweat catching in the folds of her cotton dress. She would need more clothes for her month-long stay as well, but for now, she could borrow from Tess and Mel.

Unsteadily, Gwen made her way to her room in the dark, threw off her dress, and fell comfortably into her bed. She felt flushed with the heat of fermented muscats, relaxed and happy. So many knots have been untied, and Gwen felt safe for the first time since arriving in this world.

The sheets were coarse and stuck to her skin, but her mind was already elsewhere. She pondered her parallel lives, measuring one against the other. Though Gwen had first rejected the Gwen of this world, her alternative life had grown on her. In old Sydney, she had left behind many regrets. Of the four-burner stove that was family, health, career and friends; Gwen had shut the one labelled family entirely, redirecting its time and energy towards health and wealth. She rarely even had time for friends, and her romantic pursuits had been a horror. Now, in this world, through uncertain trials and tribulations under risk of life and limb, she had reached a kind of equilibrium.

For friends, she had Yue, Elvia, and now Debora. For a mentor, she had her Master, Henry. For family, she had Opa, who gave her a taste of belonging she had not savoured in her parallel life. As for her career— that was yet uncertain.

Bodily, she stretched out luxuriously on the double bed, ready for the lull of blissful sleep. Internally, her mind wandered through the darkness, careless touching this and that.

There was a nervous moan beside her as Gwen poked something soft with her nails.

She froze and slowly turned her head.

In the dim light, she met Debora's flaming face.

"I er... think I have the wrong room."

That was the truth. The east wing of the complex had six identical bedrooms in the hopes that one day family would gather to celebrate the material achievements of House Huang. Unfortunately, that particular project ignited when Surya, Helena and Kwan burned their bridges. As a result, the east wing of the estate was entirely untouched by human occupation. Moreover, the doors had been neither labelled nor were easily distinguishable in the gloom.

Flushing with embarrassment, Gwen tried to lift herself from the bed, but the disorientating influence of wine sent her rolling off its side. She yelped as she crashed onto the timber floor, face up and writhing in agony.

"Jesus, are you alright, Gwen?" There was something off about Debora's voice; it lacked its usual tenor and clarity. In the low light of the stars, Gwen spotted her friend's face.

Debra had been crying.

With a tump, Debra joined her. Her friend had gotten up too quickly and had likewise lost her balance. Stumbling onto the floor, she rolled onto her knees and elbows, then came to a rest beside Gwen.

The two of them laid side by side in awkward silence.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Gwen soon broke the solemn moment with a chortle. Debora joined in a moment later. Before they knew it, they were both laughing out loud, albeit quietly— it was simply too hot for locomotion.

Finally, Gwen managed to think of something to say.

"Sorry…" she apologised. "For pulling you into all of this."

Debora said nothing, merely breathing arrhythmically, trying to cool herself on the cold timber floor. In the darkness, Gwen could see her friend's body outlined in the silhouetted sheen, lit by a silvery light. Unbidden, Debora's crests and valleys, mounds and falls quaked a little from the emotions beneath her honeyed skin.

"I didn't know you were from such an amazing family, Gwen..." Debora muttered finally with a tone that was forlorn and lost. "I'd always thought you were just like me, that we were close in stature."

"It's just Grandfather," Gwen admitted. "You don't want to meet the rest of the family, trust me."

She thought about what she had said, then added an addendum.

"Richard's alright. He's a funny guy."

Debora wasn't listening.

"I thought… I thought we weren't so different. I just had to work harder. Until that is, I met Master Henry, and Alesia, and that Gunther guy..." Debora's voice was growing more affected with every word. Besides her, Gwen felt Debora's emotions mounting with her irregular breath, her chest rising and falling, expanding and contracting. "They're not ordinary people Gwen, and they all wanted to help you. That means that you are no longer an average person. You're in another world now, how could I catch up to that? How's that fair?"

Her voice broke.

"You're going to be so far away, so far and out of reach. I don't even know what I am doing anymore, Gwen. Why am I trying so hard?"

"Debbie..." Gwen wanted to comfort her friend, but she had nothing to add. Whatever comforting words she spoke would merely be sophistry. Could she promise Debora that she would carry her? That would be supreme arrogance and an insult; it would only make the matter worse.

In the dark, Debora turned to face her. The girls' eyes were hot with upset, making snail trails down the sides of her cheeks.

"What's it like to have a mere mortal ask to join your party?" Debbie uttered devastatingly, her tone both bittersweet and tinged with despairing misery. "Was it funny? Did you and the girls have a lark?"

"No, of course not, Debbie..." Gwen scanned her memory for something intelligible to say, but her brain was so overwhelmed by the amber fever of the muscat that her thoughts felt like sifting through cotton.

"When I think of you and Yue and Elvia, seeing the world and moving beyond the Shield Wall— going on your adventures, leaving for tier 1 cities. And I am stuck here in this terrible Frontier town next to that horrid snake— I just..." Debora sobbed, a quiet, heartbroken wail.

Gwen repressed a pang of guilt. Debora had not known that the serpent was benign, nor could she inform Debora of the truth. Gwen understood, though. Even drunk, she completely understood why Debora felt so alienated, helpless and alone. Her friend had been tenacious, stubborn and competitive. The competition with herself had been a driving force, especially after their Awakening. Yet, she was now out of reach, entirely out of reach, forever. Was there something she could do? She wasn't sure, but she wanted to try. Gwen scanned through her memories for her absent maternal memories, and found involving Percy, whimpering in the night because their father was working and their mother was gone. She had held him then, brother and sister, his face against her bosom. She had rubbed his back and cradled the babe until he grew exhausted. The next morning, Percy was good as new.

Unsure of what else to do, Gwen reached out with her slender arms and pulled in the sobbing Debora, stroking her hair with one hand while whispering kind words with her husky voice.

"Shhh... it's okay, Debbie— everything will be alright. You can make it with us to the same university. We can even join the same military unit. We'll be together on adventures big and small. I don't know if we will be together forever, but it's going to be great while we are—"

Debora stifled her sobs as Gwen spoke of halcyon days ahead.

The room now grew unbearably hot. The diffusion of emotions had made it stuffy and stifling. They would have to take a breather outside and cool down.

Her friend withdrew from Gwen's embrace, pulling back far enough that they slept face to face.

Unlike her old world, there was no light pollution in the Outback. Up above, the Milky Way glimmered with promises, an ambient sea of stars stretching from boundary to boundary. The moon itself hung full and bright, casting a pale white glow.

And under that hanging glow, Debora's eyes were as bright as the amber flutes of Muscato they had savoured, twinkling with hope under the silver light of the glimmering heavens. Opposite, Gwen's elfin face was pale as fragile milk.

Then Debora kissed her.

Not a peck, nor a tap, but a full kiss on the mouth.

Her friend's lips were soft and moist, enveloping Gwen's own, imploring her to respond. There was a slight, wet suction; Debora's tongue was hinting at better things to come. It was Gwen's first kiss, and yet it wasn't.

Arguably, Debora kissed well, and Gwen sensed this wasn't her first rodeo. Nonetheless, the uninvited act was shocking enough for the groggy fog of the grapes to fall away.

She pulled their lips apart, a spider thread of saliva appearing and disappearing between them. A scent of sultry grapes lingered on their flushed lips.

"I... should go," Gwen said softly, this time carefully and patiently removing herself from the floor.

"Gwen," Debora begged, her eyes full of panic.

"I am alright, Debbie…" Gwen replied softly. She didn't want her friend to feel bad.

"I am sorry," Debora began, trying to get up herself.

"It's okay. I was a little lost there was well." Gwen confessed, controlling her cadence.

Debora tried to stand, but she was still a little knock-kneed and trembling. Perhaps Debbie was afraid that she would hate her now? If Gwen was a particular kind of woman, she could make Debora's life a living hell. Still, knowing Debora's family and their religious attendance of Sunday Mass, the revelation was a big surprise. But then again, did Debora like her in that way? Gwen wasn't exactly sure, but she was the adult here. She understood puberty and all its confusing, hormonal contradictions.

"It's fine Debs." Gwen leaned over.

To Debora's surprise, she kissed her ice-cold forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow."

There was silence as Gwen retrieved her dress and moved to the door.

She opened it and waited.

"Thank you," Debora replied, her voice full of allaying gratitude.

Gwen likewise breathed out a sigh of discrete relief.

"Night, Debs."

"Goodnight."

Gwen found the right room next door. She doubled checked that it was unoccupied, and finally fell into bed.

This time, there was the lull of undisturbed sleep.

* * *

Gwen was given the luxury of sleeping until midday. After everything that had happened in Blackheath, Her body finally caught up to the banked hours of fatigue that had been kept away by Golden Mead and adrenaline.

Half-starved, she politely asked the NoM servants to make her a cold-cut sandwich from the previous day's leftovers.

She then sat by the infinity feature and considered what she should be doing.

There was a feeling of emptiness on her fingers. She had lost her storage ring, and by that same measure, she had lost the notebook Henry and Surya had painstakingly made for her. She had memorised the routines, of course, but she had wanted it as a keepsake. All in all, the only she had retained was the jade pendant, for which she had Caliban to thank.

Gwen shivered.

Near the craft quarter, Opa emerged from his steaming foundry with his assistants in tow. A broad grin of anticipation written all over his earnest face.

"Afternoon."

"Afternoon, Opa."

"Got some nice snoozes in?"

"Yes, Opa."

"Good, good…"

They bantered for a while as drinks materialised.

Surya rummaged around the pouch of his work-satchel, finally producing a small wooden box. He opened it and displayed it to Gwen magnificently. It was a diamond ring.

"Here." he threw it toward her. "Commissioned by the Master of the Ten himself."

Gwen caught it in one hand and opened her palm, examining the intricately crafted piece of jewellery. The "diamond" was a creature's Core, of course, merely prepared in the style of a brilliant square emerald, refracting a scintillating pattern of four distinct quadrants.

Gwen marvelled at its brilliance. Diamonds were a girl's best friend after all, even in a world of dungeons and dragons.

"The cut was done an Asscher Inscriber. The Core is from your Master's private collection. All I had to do was inscribe and mount it. Try it on."

Gwen slipped the ring onto her dominant ring finger, the band shrinking to fit.

"This is— a medium Storage Ring!" Gwen gasped. "There's something else as well."

"There's the usual teleportation beacon," Surya advised with a tone of pride in his work. "The core was powerful enough to sustain a few more spells, so I also put Water Breathing and Feather Fall in there too, for you know, contingency."

"Oh, Opa! Thank you!" Gwen hugged her grandfather, making a note of needing to thank her Master as well. A Storage Ring with additional Glyphs! It was worth hundreds if not a thousand HDMs!

"Hee, hee, hee…" Surya grinned, very much pleased with himself. "There's a glamour applied so it would look unassuming. Don't worry about showing it off."

They conversed some more about the uses of the ring, its method of activation, as well as important do's and don'ts.

"So, you wanna do some work or are you going to get fat off Opa's land?"

"Of course, I love part-time jobs," Gwen cooed delightfully. "What can I help with?"

"Well, Henry's sent over the spell books for Detection, Message and a few useful Transmutation spells to get your foundation started, but you'll be working on those in private. Meanwhile, I got a Roo problem happening now that the lakes all dried up. The damn things are ripping apart my fences trying to get to the water here."

That was no surprise, even in her old world, kangaroos were becoming a pest.

"I'll ask around the local area. You and Debs can probably head around and do some corralling and culling. Roos are good for eating too, and their pelts are worth good LDMs. With that ring, you should be able to bring back two ta three at least."

"How many Roos are we talking here, Opa?"

"Oh, you know, swarms of the buggers, a few hundred? A thousand? Who knows? They're just big grasshoppers. The NoMs loved eating the stray ones, but the big reds are far too big and powerful for them to fight. So make sure you get the local farmers to spot you while you're out there."

Swarms of two-meter tall big red kangaroos, Gwen grimaced. That doesn't sound too dangerous. If she could improve the dietary condition of the locals as well, that was an additional boon.

"Alright, I'll go get ready, Opa. I need to get some appropriate clothing though, are there any shops around here?"

"You gotta go into town, got Crystals on you?"

Gwen shook her head; she was alas, penniless.

Putting on her best face, she blinked expectantly at Opa.

Surya grinned, savouring Gwen's supplicating expression. He passed a hand over the table expensively and dispensed a small mound of crystals both high and low in density. Another pass and a few rolls of green notes fell onto the pile.

"Happy shopping. I'll get Tess to bring the car around. You know, you should work on Transmutation, at tier three you get to cast Flight! Once you and Debora can fly, you can go anywhere."

Gwen gave Opa a big wet kiss. Half-drunk, the old Enchanter walked away with a spring in his step, as blithe as a Tigger.

"Shopping!" Gwen punched the air with a fist. She couldn't wait.

* * *

"Oi Jacko, where's Tako?" Stevo shouted across the lowing of cattle roving across the tablelands.

"Dunno," Jacko fired back, his voice hoarse from the dry air. "I'll go check on em, wait up."

He tapped the flanks of his grey mare, and the horse sped into a gallop, making for the back of the herd. He found their number three behind the last cattle, starting and stopping, looking back with a sense of dismay and uncertainty.

"What's the matter, mate?"

Tako turned to his friend with a face full of worried lines on his sunbaked, leathery skin. The young jackaroo's name was really, Tako. No self-respecting Japanese person would call themselves "Octopus". His real name was Takahashi, and when his parent migrated onto the Frontier, they told him to just go with the flow.

"There's something following us." Tako squinted against the sun, shielding his eyes. "The trail ain't right."

Jacko took a gander, kicked his horse and made a short perimeter around the suspect area. There was plenty of evidence that pointed to the passing of prime Auroch cattle, but little indication of monsters.

"Seems alright to me, mate. All I see is bullshit, ha!" Jacko joked uproariously. Tako was a good bloke, but he was a little high-strung, always going on about fearing this and being wary of that. Sometimes a bloke just needs to relax.

"I am serious, Jacko," Tako returned, though seeing Jacko's clowning, clowning, he couldn't help but smile himself. "Oi! OI—! The hell is that?"

Taco squinted. There was a little grey flag moving towards them.

"Jacko, stop! What's that?"

Jacko halted his mare and looked, squinting against the blinding rays.

"Looks like…" He began, then something struck the back of his mind. The old drovers told stories like these, exchanged them for goon at the pub. "No bloody way…"

"Jacko!" Tako started, turning his horse. "Shit its coming right this way! Run mate! Run!"

"A—, fuck me dead!" Jacko whipped his horse around and made a straight-bolt for the herd. "We gotta get the Aurochs back to the ranch! There are Mages there that can help us!"

The thing that was coming towards them was diving through the red earth with an absurd velocity, somehow keeping up with the horses at full gallop.

But for how long could it keep up that speed? That was the pickled sandwich; Tako knew that their horses were tired from the sun and the heat, and couldn't possibly keep a gallop for more than a few minutes.

BA—WAM!

Suddenly, there was the sound of something launching. The jackaroos turned back to see a massive monster, more shark than land-beast, sleek with a head covered in hard carapace and tipped like a sharp cone. Absurdly, it looked as though a rhinoceros had crossbred with a tiger shark, and then given ten doses of malevolence. Effortlessly, thing leapt through the air, striking the ground not with a thud, but with the soft sound of sand shifting. When it emerged again, it was moving faster; it was gaining on them!

"How the fuck is that bugger moving so fast?!" Jacko shouted, his horse was doing alright, but he noted with another 'Fuck!' that Tako was slowing down.

"Jacko! My horse is giving out soon, get the herd out of here! Tell Stevo to lead em to the ranch! I'll try to draw it away!"

"Na mate! That's bullshit, don't do it!"

"No time! Gotta go! Come at me, ya fugly bastard!"

Tako veered, whistling and hooting the whole while. The shark-creature twisted in midair and dived for the noisy rider. Tako veered again, the creature just missing him by a few inches, sending up a spray of red dust and sand.

"I am making for the Deadman's Rock!" He shouted to Jacko, who was now galloping away. "If I live! I'll be there!"

He dodged another dive from the creature.

Tako's horse was starting to foam; she wasn't going to last much longer.

He would have to ride her as far as possible, then run on foot while the thing fed on his beloved mare.

"Sorry, Betsy." Tako leaned in and patted his horse, kissing it on the neck. "This is gonna be our last ride, mate."

Gwen tried on yet another pair of knee-high boots, finding the leather too cumbersome to maintain balance.

Outside of questing, her school runners should suffice. But that had been a bush trail, and this was the jagged landscape of the Outback, where leagues of knife-sharp stones crossed with burning sand, bisected by ravines of slippery moss and ankle-deep mud.

Beside her, Debora deliberated between wasteland punk and new world adventurer, assembling her outfit before Gwen could say slip, slop, slap.

"Looking a treat there, Debs," Gwen chewed her lips, wondering if she should give up.

Debora spun, having slipped into a pair of frayed denim shorts, slopped on an Akubra hat, and slapped on a tight singlet, she looked plenty comfortable. Compared to Gwen, Debora's Earthen constitution meant that she was highly resistant to the blistering sun. Gwen, on the other hand, had twin Air for elements, one of which drew from the Domain of negative energy. Ten unsheltered minutes under the sun and she would have wilted.

"Thanks," Debora Jones, cowgirl, replied.

Gwen sighed. She had anticipated a sexy wasteland wanderer look for herself as well, but knew she wouldn't make it half a kilometre exposing that much skin.

Eventually, she found a pair of white cotton, elbow-length skivvies that was breathable and comfortable. At the next store, she found cargo pants in charcoal. Another round of persistent searching located a pair of calfskin ankle boots. And to finish off, she found a checkered, hand-knit Afghan scarf, as well as her daily female necessities.

The shop assistants had been beyond attentive the moment Debora and Gwen walked onto the premises. They may not know who the two teenage girls were, but they did know Tess to be Surya's assistant. Added to the fact that Tess was acting as their driver; the NoM staff left no request unfulfilled. Certainly, Gwen had the right regal demeanour. She spoke carefully, politely, and formally, not at all abrasive nor rude to them. Debora meanwhile, was rougher, and the assistants couldn't quite place her within the limited spectrum of their Mage world know-how.

The town, Cessnock, was itself at the centre of the Hunters Region. It was a thriving resource town fuelled by the area's vineyards and primary agriculture. The commercial street was becoming gentrified thanks to the influx of individuals like Surya, who found great pleasure in owning an estate in the country that overlooked Sydney's tablelands.

Gwen paid with the notes, as crystals were primarily used for the exchange of magical items and consumables. The group then made their way to the 'other' side of the town, where now a booming exchange of magical goods was being traded in a local Enchanter's Market.

Though there were few items with practical applications for a Mage, the fair was nonetheless of great interest. Following Tess like two puppies, the girls had found great pleasure in sifting through trinkets and other minor magical conveniences of the day.

Gwen had never known, for example, that NoMs could harness micro-scale elemental effects without the ability to channel mana. There were items enchanted with minor glyphs that produced small flames or produced clean water by simply drawing upon the natural motes of mana in the atmosphere. Likewise, minor spell effects that Mages considered trivial such as the cantrip "Light" could be used by NoMs by simply inserting LDM currency sticks into the feeder slot. In this way, these items producing chilling and heating, minor telekinesis, or even small buffs like alleviating fatigue.

These cantrip items, Tess explained, were the mainstay of the lesser Enchanters, Mages who lacked the talent or resources to venture beyond the mid-tier. Unlike Surya, who made thousands of HDMs on commission alone, the majority of Acolytes relied on selling items of convenience to wealthy NoMs for a living.

Gwen nodded, eventually purchasing an inscribed leather belt with a bandoleer of pouches for tubes of potions that hung snug across her hips.

"So, NoMs can't purchase Magic Items to protect themselves?" Gwen was incredulous when Tess raised a point she'd been wondering since arriving at the market.

"Hardly," Tess scoffed. She then bitterly complained that such an ill distinction between NoMs and Mages would bring great chaos. Within history, Surya's Apprentice explained, several nations had already attempted arming the NoMs with empowered items. The results varied greatly depending on the period and the context. The European incursion into African Black-zones ended with bloody noses when the arming of slaves on the Ivory Coast resulted in the loss of said weapons to the Gnolls.

Today, those very Gnolls rove up and down the coast blasting bolts of human magics from appropriated Fire Rods. Worse still, unsavoury grey-market traders had discovered profit in selling said items to Demi-humans in search of Crystals, Creature Cores, and rare Ingredients.

"Why weren't those people prosecuted?" Gwen asked incredulously.

"It's one of the Tower's policies, or so Surya says." Tess shrugged apathetically. "The Grey Faction supply the weapons for the intelligent monsters to make war on each other. Now, they're too busy with each other to threaten the dozen or so Human cities on the coast."

"What if they turn against us?" Gwen asked worryingly. She certainly never learned this in their school's curriculum.

"Only humans can process stable mana crystals on an industrial scale, dear." Tess laughed haughtily. "They can use it against us, sure, but most of the items have a few dozen charges at best. In a drawn-out war, they'd be out in a month, and we'd have stockpiles for years."

"Not to mention," Tess reached between her bosoms, then pulled out a necklace. Attached to a length of twine was a fang about the size of Gwen's pinkie. "The Fang of a Wemic Patriarch. I bought it at an auction. Ninety-nine per cent chance it was traded and not hunted. I am saving it for when I reach the mid-tiers. Gonna inscribe a polymorphic, strength-enhancing animus onto it."

The conversation then turned to the town. Tess obliged by introducing the girls to the locals. The NoM ranchers were mostly men, a few women, and they were all as hard as cured leather. When Gwen mentioned that her Opa had asked her to help the ranchers with their roo problems, the settlers were more than happy to ask for help.

The first to make the request was a tall and well-built man named Rhodes, the owner of a vineyard not far from town. He had a not-too-beat-up Landcruiser beside him that hinted at a successful business operation and immediately took a liking to the girls. Once the quest for Roo clearing was given, he offered to pick Gwen and Debora from Surya's estate first thing next morning. Gwen agreed, and after an exchange of Message Glyphs, went their separate ways.

The girls then proceeded to have lunch at a delicatessen in town that specialised the Wild Land ingredients. The daily specials were Orange Zone Wood Mallard, and terrine of Horned Rabbit served cold with farmhouse vegetables. As the girls were broke, it was Tess' shout.

Late mid-afternoon, the girls finally came home, going their separate ways to do personal training. Debora worked in the foundry, perfecting her new Bronze Skin technique. Meanwhile, Gwen took the opportunity to try out her new Schools of Magic in a discrete, wooded alcove of Surya's Estate.

"Detect Magic." Gwen invoked the tier 1 Divination staple. Gradually, her eyes appear to have gain gained an Instagram 'filter', painting the world in multi-coloured hues.

Transmutation had a slightly lilac glow, permeating the lodge as Surya and the others worked. Enchantment, on the other hand, glowed golden and eggshell, though the School tended to borrow its hues from whatever cores or stones it was inscribed into. On Henry's manual, her Master had stated that as her proficiency grew, her Divination would become synaesthetic and innate.

"Detect Traps."

Her second Divination Spell was stranger, and of course, the Estate had no traps that she could see.

Next, she attempted a few some self-buffing spells.

First, she shook out her long limbs, then she broke into a dead sprint.

"JUMP!"

Gwen leapt, her legs reinforced by Transmutation. She had a good affinity for the translocation spell as her body was mana-rich with elemental air. The description had prescribed an 'enhanced leap of about two to three meters. By her estimate, though she must be a good four meters from the ground.

Instantly, she regretted her curiosity. With limbs flailing, she fumbled through the air. This was precisely why her next spell was highly recommended before attempting "Jump".

"Feather Fall!"

Gwen's descent slowed. The spell didn't so much as make her lighter as immediately reduce the velocity and acceleration of her body as she fell. Perhaps if she had been a physicist, she could have a better understanding of the magical mechanics. For now, she could only accept that she was employing magic.

For an hour, she practised jumping and falling until her legs were sore with fatigue, but was still dissatisfied that she couldn't grasp the timing. From what Debora had described of her own abilities, she could scale buildings and walls by using a combination of the two spells. In fact, very skilled Transmuters could even scale near-vertical cliffs with nought but Jump.

At dusk, she returned to the Estate for a simple supper of meat and veggies. With Surya, she conversing about the town, the people they met, and the things they saw. Happily, Surya brought out a dozen vials of minor healing and mana potions, split the injectors between Gwen and Debora, then wished them good luck for the outing tomorrow.

Once her grandfather was gone, Gwen and Debora returned to their bedrooms, their alone time made awkward by the events of the night before. At her door, Debora lingered for a few seconds longer than Gwen, listening and hoping before her own door clicked shut.

Rhodes arrived bright and early the next day, his Landcruiser making a ruckus as it bit loudly into the gravel road.

"Magus Huang! Good to see ya, mate," the jolly rancher announced expansively, walking into the open atrium with a box of Shiraz and Merlot.

"Just Surya is fine, Jonathan." Surya motioned for an NoM servant to take the box before shaking the hand of the vineyard manager.

"Ha! Don't let the Missus hear that, she'd skin me alive."

"Well, you can be at ease here. My place, my rules."

Sharing the lark, the two men bantered until Gwen and Debora emerged in their adventuring gear.

It goes without saying that Debora was quite the sight in her shorts and singlet, her hat dipped low to just reveal her bright amber eyes. Compared to Gwen, her Transmutation techniques required a wide range of bodily motion for close combat, hardly conducive to easily damaged sleeves and pants.

Beside Debora, Gwen looked more like an aristocratic adventurer from the countryside of England, a tourist who had wandered in by accident. Gwen had always possessed the fair skin particular to northern Europeans, and now with the flux of her Void mana, she was becoming even paler.

Bemused by his girl's earnestness, Surya checked their gear. He made sure the girls count their mana and health injectors, and that Gwen carried tinder, ropes, a tent, bottled water, rations and so on in her Storage Ring.

"Opa," Gwen kissed her grandfather on the cheek. "We're off!"

Rhodes' vineyard was more famous than Gwen had thought. Even as an underage student, Gwen had seen his brand of Shiraz advertised here and there in the city. McGuigan's Estate, it was called; owned by a family of Mages for three decades. Their present host, he explained, was the Estate's manager and caretaker.

From the outset, the vineyard was a beautiful sea of stakes that stretched out until it ended with the curvature of the landscape. Built on a hilltop, it was a beautiful place that offered a vista of the valley below. Under Rhodes' care, a tour of the facilities was conducted, ending with the girls walking through the vineyard itself, touching rows of vines pregnant with amethyst orbs.

Eventually, the three of them struck a section of the fence which had been torn up.

"So yeah, the Roos are outta water at this time of year, and they come and wreak havoc on our grapes." Rhodes sighed. "They're trying to get to the reservoir we'd dug out back, but that water's for the grapes."

He picked up a few pieces of splintered wood.

"If its two or three or a dozen, it not a big deal, but its when the herds come through that they start doing real damage."

Gwen regarded the fences before her. These were not the cute little waist-high fences they had used in her old world. These were two meters tall fences barbed with lengths of knotted iron. For a roo to crash through a solid block of wood, how big were the bastards?

Just as she raised her hand, there was a commotion by the bushes. Right before their eyes, a big Red came hopping along without a care in the world.

Gwen's eyes popped at the sight of the thing. Sure, it was a little taller than she had expected, maybe two and a half odd meters, but the muscles on that thing! It was ripped beyond belief, as though it had fed on equal parts berries and anabolic steroids.

"Ooo, a big bugger!" Rhodes said appreciatively. "Look at the arms on that thing, what a beautiful bastard. Those legs! I bet it could take a full-sized Auroch head-on and come out on top. Pelts worth a few crystals if you can keep it intact."

Debora's eyes lit up.

"I got this," She said confidently. "Enhanced Strength! Enhanced Constitution! Bronze Skin! Jump!"

Before Gwen could intervene, Debora leapt into the fray. Gwen noted with irony that Debora's actions somewhat resembled a kangaroo herself. Her trajectory took her instantly toward the Red Ree, who regarded its assailant with complete disdain. When Debora firmly landed with a thud, it reared back onto its tail, growing instantly to a good three meters.

She watched as Debora relaunched herself, her dominant arm winding up a right hook. At her level, the force of the punch was enough to shatter stone and dent steel plates, if she connected, Debs should lay the big Roo flat.

THUMP!

"OOF!"

To their surprise, the Roo caught Debora in midair with a well-aimed kick. It snapped her momentum in half, bent her body like a boomerang and sent her back where hence she came. With a yelp, the Transmuter tumbled through the air before striking the ground with a thud, skidding into the grassy knolls. Instantly, Debora recovered and stood up. Her face was flaming red, but she was unharmed.

The Roo was as surprised as Debora. It must have expected her to snap in half because it now grew warier. Visibly, it began to paw the air, looking like an expert boxer ready for round two. Debora hesitated, unsure how to proceed. She wasn't trained in Kung-roo.

"Deb! Close your eyes!" Gwen called out before uttering a well placed Flashbang.

BUNG!

She conjured the explosion right beside the twitching ears of the big Roo, catching it by complete surprise. Instantly, the Roo was smothered by a painful world of blinding light and sound, dropping onto its feet with a heavy thump. It then attempted to flee, its fight or flight reflex on overload. However, in its panic, it had instead made a bee-line for Debora.

And Debora was ready. As it came within range, she whipped around her athletic legs in a whirlwind arc and roundhoused it in the head. There was a crunching sound of bone as its trajectory changed, finally landing in a heap some distance away, its head facing an impossible angle.

"Whole pelt!" Debora grunted with effort, recovering from being winded by the big red. "That's a whole pelt, right?"

Their employee was covered in cold sweat, likely shocked that the two girls thought fist-fighting big Red Roo was a good idea.

"Yeah… that's a whole pelt," he muttered. Indeed, it was a good kill, and the pelt was entirely undamaged.

"Alright! Who's next!" Debora shouted into the distance. "Gwen! Get ready!"

The head of another roo rise from the bushes. A small cute joey with big brown eyes.

Oh no! Gwen thought to herself. Did we kill its…

A second head rose from the thick, dense grass. Bigger and far more badass.

Then a third.

And a fourth.

Then another dozen bobbing heads emerged in quick succession.

Big and red, tall and majestic. Muscles rippling with popping veins and an expression of blue murder.

"…" Debora moved between the herd and Gwen.

Two portals opened beside Gwen. Out came Ariel and Caliban, hissing at the creatures in front of them.

Rhodes felt his stomach tie into a knot, his heart reaching for his throat.

Two teenage girls, a ferret, and a what-the-fuck-is-that stood against a dozen roos build like brick shit-houses.

How the fuck, Rhodes wondered, did it comes to this?

"Betsy, I'll avenge you, I promise."

Tako swore to the heavens as he scrambled up Deadman's Rock. The landmark was a substantial chunk of wind-blasted obsidian over ten meters tall. Usually, the rock offered a fantastic view, though the climb itself was precarious. That was precisely the reason Tako had scrambled for shelter in its direction, for there was no way the land-shark could climb something so smooth and brittle. Even if the creature managed to damage the landmark at its base, the obsidian deposit would still offer a razor-sharp surprise when its exteriors fell away to reveal an edge that could shred leather as though paper.

Tako himself had done the climb several times before as a dare, though only had he been sober. Now, he scrambled up its sides, fingers digging into familiar nooks and crannies. There was a moment of suspension when he accidentally lost his footing near the peak, but sheer adrenaline propelled him over the edge.

From above, he could see the creature, some hundred-odd meters away, chewing away at his horse. In their last exchange, the land-shark had erupted from the red earth and floored Betsy, sending her tumbling. The unfortunate horse had struck the ground awkwardly, after which Tako knew the end was nigh. Betsy had neighed tragically and thrashed about, kicking up a storm of red dust. But Tako could only bite his lip and run. He recalled that there had been one last desperate neigh, smothered by a triumphant roar. After that, Tako knew that it was over for his beloved mare.

"SKARRK!"

From the advantage of the rock, he could see the creature tearing poor Betsy apart, sending chunks of her down its gluttonous gullet. If Tako were a Mage, he would have pounded the bastard with Magic Missiles, but for now, there was nothing else he could do but wait. The light was beginning to wane, and he had left his saddlebags on Betsy.

Tako shivered.

It was going to be a cold, long night.

Caliban tore into the chest of a big red roo, its slimy shielding of void energies cutting through the thick hide with the ease of punching tissue paper. When it emerged from the creature's torso with a rip-roaring cry of triumph, Gwen felt her vitality restored by a small magnitude.

Beside Caliban, Ariel was raining down a storm of blue-white destruction. Empowered by Gwen's Lightning Bolts, the burning hides of the roos struck by the mongoose smelled like mouldy carpet set on fire.

Debora had set up a perimeter wall around them with a modified Wall of Stone, changing the semicircle of elevated rocks into jagged spikes that fanned out dangerously. With a simple change in the flow of mana, she could expand, distend, or even launch a line of spines. Already she had caught three roos that had tried to assail Gwen in close combat, impaling the buggers like oversized lizards captured by a Spined Shrike.

Another Roo had tried a frontal assault, sneaking past the wall to strike at Debora with a deadly kick launched from its powerful tail. Debora responded by bracing for impact, digging her heels into the ground by summoning stones that secured her footing. As a result, the Roo ricochetted off her torso and slid under Debora's flank, at which point she swung down her heel like an axe. The blow struck the Roo dead in the forehead; engendering a sound of splintering bones. When yet another roo made it past her Wall of Spikes, she sent out a Catapult spike that pierced its torso and pinned it to the ground, where a secondary explosion of Ground Spike transformed the Roo into kabob.

Some distance away, Rhodes oozed while the girls fought. The engagement was a massacre, and he was in an abattoir. The NoM manager could scarcely have guessed that two delicate-looking teenage girls were capable of butchering eight-foot Roos with the ease of kicking chooks.

The last Roo fled.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen intoned with a flourish. A blue-white bolt ionised in the distance and pierced the last Red Roo through the back, sending it crashing onto the red dust.

Debora counted her kills. Five big roos, three with near-full pelts.

Gwen examined her own. Seven big, two small, four medium roos, nary an unburnt pelt between the lot of them.

Caliban burst from the chest of a fresh kill with a flourish.

"Hiss! Hiss!" it roared in triumph, its lamprey mouth bloody with excitement, its barbed tongues flailing wildly. Gore slid from its glass-like carapace, pooling where it met the purple-pink flesh underneath.

Some distance away, Rhodes barfed.

Gwen conjured some water with a cantrip incantation, and the girls washed off the blood. Gwen was untouched thanks to Debora, while Debora had to wring blood from her arms, and legs.

"Prestidigitation!" she incanted.

The bloodstains evaporated.

Gwen's eyes flashed. She was a Transmuter now too! She could also master the most useful spell in the history of dry cleaning. It would be the very next thing she requested from Master.

"Right, good work." Rhodes washed out his mouth with some water from a hose, then took a deep breath. "Let's get you settled in. Do you want to take horses, quads, or the 4x4 truck?"

Debora's eyes flashed.

Horses!

All girls dreamt of horses and ponies. She was a city girl, and had never ridden horses; this wasn't an opportunity she was going to give up lightly. As for Gwen, her passion for riding was no less inflamed.

Rhodes took them to the stable and selected two beautiful mares. Gwen's mount was a grey-white yearling with a distinct, spotted pattern; Debora's was a pure white mare that made her eye glow with admiration.

"Daisy and Dorothea," Rhodes introduced them. "We'll put you through the paces at the farm. Come on. I'll introduce you to our tracker, Tommy."

The girls picked out suitable saddles and watched Rhodes strap the horses in. Gwen watched as Rhodes helped Debbie mount the gentle mares, his eyes unblinkingly gazing past her friend's tanned thighs. Midway, the man must have spotted a drop of dark blood on her boot heel and was reminded that these sensual bronze stalks had just crushed the head of a three-meter Roo. He coughed politely and gathered his wits.

While the girls took turns riding, Rhode went and looked for the young jackaroo. When the girls returned from their first lap, they were greeted by a leather-skinned young man with thick lips and a pleasant face.

"Hi lovelies, me name's Tommy," he greeted them jovially with a wave of his hand.

Slap!

Rhodes slapped his hand over Tommy's hat, sending it tumbling until the string snagged Tommy's neck.

"These are Lady Mages, Tommy! Have some manners, ya dill!"

"Sorry boss!" Tommy apologised cheekily. "Ya Majesty Mages!"

"Hi, I am Gwen," Gwen replied with an incline of her head.

"Debora." Debora extended a hand and Tommy ran up to shake it.

"Cor! You're mighty strong Miss!" Tommy spat, attracting yet another bat on the head from Rhodes.

"Tommy, you better stop muck’n around. The Misses need ta get a handle on the horses. You're going out there later this avo to round up some Roos. Just make sure they get there safe and sound, alright?"

"Yes, Boss!" Tommy nodded. "Alright Misses, I'll put ya through the paces. Daisy and Dorothea are real good with young Jillaroos. You'll be right as rain!"

"Right. I gotta head back to the office." Rhodes bid them goodbye, he had still had a dozen roo carcasses to sort out. Pending their earlier slaughter, he would have to get the meat to the coolers and the pelts processed. "Message me if you need anything, anything!"

The girls spent the next hour or so practising horsemanship. Debora was a natural, taking to the horse like a Hob on a wolf. Gwen however, was in a world of pain by the time an hour was over. Her buttocks were bruised, and her thighs were chaffed. Her spine felt compressed, and her shoulders throbbed.

Lunch was brought by a few ranch hands in tin foil trays. Unsurprisingly, it was grilled Roo served with a simple pan-gravy on grilled vegetables. The girls offered to share with it Tommy, but the young man proved too apprehensive to eat with them. Instead, he offered to take their left-overs. Feeling somewhat miffed by the happy-go-lucky young man's meekness, Gwen shared a single-serve with Debora and left her serving for the jackaroo. Once the girls had eaten, they watched the boy wolf down the sizeable steak, waiting until he had finished the meat before asking him about his life on the ranch.

"Yeah, I'm pretty happy here, the boss' a top bloke." Without disguise, the young jackaroo spoke of his good fortune in finding work somewhere south of the Shield Barrier.

By now, Gwen could clearly see that the young man was an indigenous youth. She had read that the indigenous people had carved out a niche in the Wildland, surviving on ancient spirit magic and animalism. Aboriginal lore was an area of great interest to Gwen, especially after meeting the fabled Serpent of folklore, which Henry suspected may indeed be the Rainbow Serpent.

"What of your tribe?" Gwen asked carefully. It was a touchy topic back in her old world. The English colonists had little empathy for those they had deemed the 'noble savages,' less so when it came to land rights.

"It's a living." Tommy shrugged. "Mostly the elders and a few blokes stay with the mob, the rest are like me, we come down past the Shielding Station to find some wrangling work. The skilled ones could use their magic to work the animals, or become trackers for the militia."

"Are there many of you?"

"Yeah, Nah," The boy laconically replied, implying, "yes but not many left in the old ways."

"I'd love to… see what a Wildland settlement is like…" Gwen mentioned casually.

"Sure, Miss, be glad to take ya. If the Boss allows it. Journey's right dangerous."

"I think we can manage just fine," Gwen thanked the young wrangler. She would love to find out more about the Serpent's lore.

They had been sitting out, digesting the big lunch when the first runner arrived.

"Tommy! Mate! Heard you got some Mages on the farm!" A ride leapt off his horse deftly and skidded to a halt, leaving behind an impressive trail of dust.

Tommy was still working the girls through the paces. Debora was already proficient enough to range and roam, but Gwen was another story altogether.

"Victa, what's wrong, mate?"

"It's the Adina boys, they went out droving their Angus and ran into some kinda Shark monster yesterday. Jacko just got back with Stevo, but Takahashi is still trapped near Deadman's rock, assuming he's alive O'course."

"Shit, really? Fuck me. The poor bastard must be up shit creek without a paddle." Tommy scratched his head apprehensively. "Look, Mate, I wanna help as much as anybody but I ain't gonna command no Mages. Maybe you should take it up with the Boss."

Victa looked over at the two girls still trotting to and fro on their horses.

Tell the Boss was the right thing to do, but all that's gonna happen is that Rhodes puts out a reward for the monster and they go out a day or two later to see what parts of Takahashi they could find. Rhodes wasn't a bad guy, hell, he was as much of a top bloke as Bosses come, but even he couldn't summon Mage to help. Magical aid was costly, meaning that the whole Estate would owe debts they would struggle to repay.

Gwen and Debora rode up beside the young men.

"Is something the matter?" Gwen inquired curiously upon seeing their looks of consternation.

Tommy's face was an open book.

"Is nothing much, Miss," he began. "Just one of the boys stranded a half day's ride from here. Got himself corralled by a real pickle of a monster, half-shark they say, ate poor Betsy, his mare. Real savage like, blood and guts and all. The poor horse was still alive when it dug in."

"Monstrous!" Debora's blood was instantly up. She stroked her mare, Dorothea, lovingly.

"We're right worried," Tommy lamented. "Poor old Tako, got an old Mam too, not ta mention his Pop got a real bad case of rheumatism. I guess his sister ain't gonna go to school after he dies. Maybe she can find some legwork in the big city, doing some menial labour and all that..."

Debora's breath quickened. Her face was turning several shades of red. Gwen's eyes regarded Tommy coldly, making the dark jackaroo flinch.

"Gwen…"

Gwen patted Debora's shoulder and urged her to calm down.

"So, Tommy, what does this have to do with us?" Gwen asked. She was determined to help, but also annoyed that Tommy thought wrangling Debora with a sob story was going to get them to help.

"Oh…" Tommy knew he'd stepped on a sleeping wombat's testies. "I.. I don't rightly know Miss, but them's the facts o' life."

"Gwennie…" Debora begged, her eyes twinkling with desperation. The sight of a pleading Debbie was cute. Very much so. More so for her ardent desire to do good. Gwen groaned, lamenting her lost innocence.

"Just this one time, Tommy." She turned to warn the young station hand. "I catch you next time, and I'll get Caliban to rip you a new one."

"Sure thing, Miss!" Tommy's face broke into that careless, idiotic grin of his. Gwen wondered how much of it was a ruse and how much of it was real.

"Let's go now!" Debora announced, turning her horse.

"We need water and supplies!" Tommy wheeled his horse.

"No need." Gwen flashed her Storage Ring. "Get going!"

"Opa, it's Gwen. We got a situation out here." Gwen explained the crisis of the moment and what they intended to do.

"Careful, the Land Sharks can grow up to Tier 5. It's rather rare to see one this close to the city though. I hope nothing is amiss at the Shield Wall station."

"Shall we check it out after?" Gwen asked.

"Too far without Flight spells. I'll get Rhodes to bring up the 4x4 to the closest main road. Want me to send Tess or Mel?"

Gwen gave it some thought but decided against it. She wanted to be tempered and trialled to grow in her many Schools of Magic. That and in so far as her Void talent was concerned, there was nothing better than fighting in an isolated Outback full of clueless NoMs. At worst, even if Tess or Mel showed up, they can be trusted to keep their lips tight.

"I think we will be alright, Opa," Gwen assured Surya through her Message Device. "I'll contact you if we run into trouble."

"There's probably no Divination signal if you venture too far out, but good hunting. Take care of Debora."

"Yes, Opa." Gwen glanced at her companion. "I bring her back in one piece."

"All done?"

"Done." Gwen turned to the two jackaroos. "Let's get going then."

According to Tommy, Deadman's rock was a half-day ride away. If they were keen to save Tako, they should be able to reach the landmark by nightfall. For the average NoM, riding into the darkness, even with a torch was suicide. However, Gwen could conjure an array of Floating Torch, Dancing Lights and Flares. If and when they needed light, a good twenty to thirty meters around the party was manageable.

Not to mention I can Detect Magical Creatures, Gwen noted to herself.

Thanks to the horses, there was no need to take a detour back to the main road. The four of them simply crashed through the stunted, short shrubbery of the bush, alternating between trots and gallops. When the horses needed to rest, Gwen produced water, when they were hungry, snacks and rations materialised from thin air.

Of the foursome, Debora had been the antsiest out of them all. She was alternatively worried about running the horses and tiring them out, while paradoxically wanting to run the horses haggard to rescue Takahashi.

As for the jackaroos, they were acclimatised to death in the Outback. When Debora demanded to know why they weren't pulling their hair out, Tommy explained that somebody died every other week; from Magical Creatures, from accidents, from starvation or thirst, or from natural disasters. If folks worried about death to excess, nobody would ever get work done.

By nightfall, the group saw Deadman's Rock in the distance.

"Flare!" Gwen incanted, channelling more mana into it than she needed. The space around them soon took on a bright blue glow.

"Dancing Lights!" Again, Gwen over-channeled the spell and about a dozen or so lights appeared. Thanks to her dual-mastery of Conjuration, the orbs could follow her and remain persistent.

The party slowed as it approached the destination.

"I ma try’n call Tako," Tommy forewarned. "It's gonna be loud."

Tommy put two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill and sharp whistle that assaulted the girl's eardrums.

Nothing.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

"Let me," Gwen offered.

She pointed to the highest point she could reach with her Conjuration spell, a good twenty or so meters in the air.

"Flashbang!"

BUNG!

An explosion of sound and light rang out overhead. The fulmination rolled across the horizon, blowing apart the sand and dust below.

"Christ that's loud!" Tommy covered his ears.

Discretely, Gwen activated Detect Magical Beasts.

A filter suffused her vision. Any creature with powerful elemental cores would be lit with the hue of their element. According to her Opa, the Land Shark was hardly a subtle creature and should be clearly visible even a good few feet underground.

A shrill whistle answered them from atop the rock.

"Thank God." Tommy and Victa were grinning like shot foxes. "The bastard's alive!"

The light faded.

The party continued its approach.

"Oi Mate, I found something." Victa pointed to the distance. "Ah, the Misses might wanna look away."

To their right laid the hollowed form of Betsy, and the old girl was a right mess of flesh and bones.

"What a brute," Victa grunted sadly. "She was a good horse."

"Yeah well, that's why the Misses are here to put it down, ain't ya Miss?" Tommy turned to the girls.

Debora gripped her reins, her face full of undisguised anger. Gwen's expression was more aloof. The boy was too proficient at trying to stir Debora's blood, Gwen felt. That or Debbie needed to work on mastering her hormones.

They were even closer now and could just make out Tako's silhouette from atop the large piece of volcanic obsidian. He was waving like a madman.

Gwen looked around them. It was strange that she couldn't detect a single magical source.

More frantic waving from Tako. He was pointing toward the sky.

Gwen looked up. It took a second for Tako's charades to be digested by her brain.

"It's right below us!" she cried out, leaping from her horse. Unlike the others, she simply wasn't skilled enough to try and deal with the creature while mounted.

"Debbie! Jump!" Gwen incanted the spell she had been practising all yesterday without thinking.

"Feather Fall!"

At the height of her ascent, her trajectory slowed. Below, she watched her frightened horse bolt away.

A second later, a gigantic creature carapaced in solid granite and sleek as a missile shot from the ground towards her. It missed her by a good half-metre, but had she not been levitated thanks to Feather Fall, it would have snagged her leg. Glancing downward, she gazed into its maw and saw row upon rows of teeth that extended all the way into the abyss of its gullet.

Besides Gwen, Debora leapt off her horse with far more dynamics, buffing herself as she sailed through the air. She took full advantage of her momentum and landed with an impressive axe kick on the creature's torso, shattering some of its stony scales.

Crunch!

The creature lurched sideways in surprise and pain, snapping at her awkwardly as it skidded across the dusty red dirt.

"Gwen!" Debora called out, snapping Gwen from the aftershock of almost becoming shark bait. According to their Opa, Land Sharks had had a specialised death roll that they used to tear limbs from their prey.

In the air, Gwen took the opportunity to instantly summon her familiars. Her beasts materialised from their pocket dimensions on either side of the Shark, forming a triangle between Caliban, Ariel and Debora with the creature stuck in the middle.

Just as they were about to make their move, the creature dived. To Gwen and Debora's surprise, it drove into the earth as though swimming through water. Gwen channelled more mana into her eyes and noted worryingly that beyond the first metres or so, her Detection spell did not penetrate further into the red earth.

"Shit..." Gwen felt a cold premonition of what was to come. She couldn't Fly, and that was a fatal flaw. Should she keep using Jump and Feature Fall? Any more Transmutation spells and Debora would be asking awkward questions.

Thankfully, Debora's quick thinking salvaged their paralytic dilemma.

"Minor Shape Stone!" She incanted. Pillars of stone rose from the earth to a height of several meters. The girls both found purchase and quickly scaled to safety. Caliban coiled around Gwen's pillar while Ariel was fully confident it could duck something as clumsy as a turd shaped predator the size of a utility vehicle.

The Land Shark burst from the earth like a torpedo and launched itself into Debora's pillar, completely obliterating its circumference. Its little bead eyes glowed with malevolence, clearly irritated beyond belief that a small mewling creature could have cracked its carapace and caused it such injury.

"Ariel!"

The mongoose peppered the creature with motes of lightning.

"Blast Bolt!" Gwen channelled a sizeable portion of her mana into the blast, and the Land Shark lit up like a light bulb.

The light faded.

"SKAARRRK!"

The creature was well-cooked but otherwise entirely lively. It roared, spraying rotten spittle all-over before leaping from the ruined pillar towards Gwen.

Debora shot like a ballista bolt from her own ruined pillar. She then activated her most potent combination of spells.

"Haste! Magic Weapon!"

The Transmuter became a blur of whirling kicks and punches, smashing into the creature with the fury and force of an excavation machine pulverising the earth. Bits of carapace flew into the air, smeared with dark, crimson shades of oxidising blood. As bone and flesh rendered, Debora grew speckled in the stuff, her white singlet blooming with sudden gouts of garnet and sangria.

To Gwen's disbelief, the Land Shark withstood Debora's assault. Not only that, it twisted its stunted neck into an impossible angle and snapped Debora off her feet. There was the sound of metallic gnashing as Debora's bronze skin scraped against razor-sharp fangs. Her friend gasped and cried out sharply, the force of the crushing bite cracking her ribs, pressing the air from her lungs.

The creature tossed its prey wildly. Debora was too tall for the Shark headed beast to swallow whole. Gwen saw the Shark ready itself for a death roll.

"FUCK!" Gwen swore under her breath. There was no avoiding it now.

"Void Bolt!"

In quick succession Gwen shot off four bolts with unerring accuracy, her aim long tempered with a thousand repetitions. While standing on its stumpy legs, the Lan Shark had remained relatively stationary. Even now, it lifted its bull-neck and readied itself for the roll.

At once, vitality drain from Gwen's body, her face took on the pallor of death.

Four bolts cut into the creature's limbs in quick succession. The first two struck true, slicing the fore-limbs clean off at the joints. The back legs, however, had been too thick for Gwen's low-tier attack. The bolts were consumed midway, leaving the limbs to hang by skin and bone.

Instantly, the Land Shark's blood sprayed hot and heavy over the red earth, yet, it was too dumb to register its mortal wounds. With its prey safely deposited in its maw, it persisted in throwing itself toward the motions of a death roll. Gwen watched as the thing turned, only to have the pain reach its nerve centre a full second later, paralysing the shark-faced rhino instantly. Debora pushed apart its jaws and extracted herself, streaks of white markings lacerating her stomach and lumbar, crisscrossed her bronze legs.

"Tough bastard." Debbie coughed, evidently feeling the soreness of her cracked ribs.

The creature was convulsing now, bleeding out rapidly. Its beady eyes staring with hatred towards the girls even as they dimmed. Caliban approached, revealing its malignant, hateful maw. Her creature salivated. Here was a lot of fresh meat, a good half-ton at least. Gwen was wondering if she should allow Debora the honour of having the deathblow when there was a call from the direction of Deadman's rock.

It was the Jackaroos, and they were returning with their lost mate, Tako.

Warily the station hands approached.

Gwen regarded Tako, who according to his mates, had risked his life to protect the herd and their lives. To her surprise, he was an Asian bloke, but then she recalled the guy's Japanese name. Unlike Tommy and Victa, the young man approached the Land Shark without an ounce of fear.

"May… may I kill it?" he inquired carefully with a voice that was crackling with emotion.

Gwen nodded and stepped aside, calling back Caliban and Ariel, who returned to their pocket dimensions. She was feeling a little nauseous from using four bolts in succession and had hoped the Land Shark would replenish some of her vitality. But, she was also content to let Tako take revenge the old-fashioned way.

Debora reached down into the earth.

"Minor Stone Shape!"

She extracted from the ground a dangerous-looking obsidian spear. Obsidian, on the whole, was a brittle crystal, but when chipped, it was impossibly sharp.

With a wince, Debora handed the weapon carefully to Tako.

They watched the young drover approach the Land Shark. The light was fading from its eyes now; it was barely alive.

"This is for Betsy! Ya piece of shit!" he shouted, raising the stone spear to strike.

SCHURRK!

With the sickening sound of a crab being pierced by a knife, the obsidian spear slid into the creature's eye socket. Midway, the spear broke away, leaving a good half-meter inside the Shark's skull.

"Strewth!"

"Fuck’n Oath!"

"Fuck me!"

The others agreed most heartily with Tako's display of courage.

It took a few more seconds for the creature to finally expire. Gwen was just about to turn away when she felt something she hadn't experienced since the Field Trip. There was a wisp of something, barely perceptible to at the edge of her vision. The strange phenomenon seemed to have emanated from the dead beast. She looked around, wondering what the thing could be.

As before, she placed her hand upon her chest and felt the Kirin amulet aglow with warmth.

"Oh?" Debora seemed to have sensed something as well. She kelt down toward the beast's gut, and to their surprise, dug both hands into its soft underbelly. A slosh of gory stuff came rolling out, causing the crew to gag. Just as they were wondering what the hell Debora was doing, she pulled out an amber stone the size of her fist.

"Is that a Creature Core?" Gwen asked, completely caught off guard. If it was a Spirit, then they had just won the game of life. If this magical creature had a unique Spirit, then that would explain why it had been able to dive so deep and 'swim' through the ground so effortlessly, bypassing the Shield Barrier.

Debora's gore covered hands were shaking. She was an earth Elementalist. If this was really the core of an Earthen Spirit…

She looked at Gwen with begging eyes.

They were at a crossroad.

The most ardent test of character now awaited the girls, a test that had destroyed many friendships.

How to split the loot.

When a group of adventurers worked together, the etiquette of fair loot must be observed.

It was the unspoken law of Mages, for no Mage could survive without companions, and there was no deadlier destroyer of parties than a leader who hoped to claim all loot.

Usually, a party has five members.

They receive a thousand HDMs worth of spoils.

Via at the simple conjunction of arithmetics, each member should receive something equal in value. Should a member require a particular item of great importance, they are to pay the other members the missing cost, following an appraisal.

However, there were two distinct problems which now faced Gwen and Debora.

Firstly, if this was a Tier 3 - 5 Earthen Spirit, it meant that the Core's value was close to four to five thousand HDMs. If the Spirit possessed additional properties other than an affinity increase and identify friend-foe, it's monetary value would compound.

The second problem was that Debora's middle-class family was far from wealthy. Simply put, the Spirit was simply 'too good' for a mediocre Mage such as herself. In her lifetime, Debora likely would never afford a mid-tier Spirit. The loot was simply out of her league. The correct thing to do would be to sell the Spirit Core and split the money, a win-win for all.

Deep inside, Gwen knew that her friend desperately wanted more power so that she could catch up with her peers. This Elemental Spirit was her chance, her one opportunity. If she could somehow meld with this Spirit of Earth - her spells would become more powerful by several magnitudes. With any luck, her incantations would take on new side effects that may alter the physiology of her magic, making her a unique existence.

Such was their dilemma. If they had found a lightning elemental, Gwen could arguably payback Debora by begging Henry or Surya for a loan. But with the shoe on the other foot, there was little Debora could do to reciprocate her favour.

If so, how should she resolve their loot? Here was a watershed moment for Debora, but for herself, it was merely another boon.

Gwen took a deep breath.

She loved money, but she loved her friends more.

"I'll get the next one then, is that alright with you?" She intoned carefully. She felt a scrap of regret, but the foul feeling quickly passed.

Across from her, Debora's eyes blazed with gratitude and gladness, so much that her body physically trembled with joy.

Watching Debbie's reaction, her heart melted. With effortless ease, she fought off that mocking demon called envy.

"T-Thank you! Gwen, thank you so much!" Debora gushed, cradling the Spirit Core to her chest like a baby. "I-I don't know what to say!"

"Then say nothing." Gwen smirked.

"Should… should I try it now?"

Gwen held her tongue. Debra was a smart girl. The night was long, and minds could change in an instant.

"Wait up, lets set up camp," Gwen advised. "Tako, Tommy, can you find us a good spot?"

"You got it, boss!"

The makeshift party soon set up camp under the obsidian outcrop, shielded from the wind and the elements. Gwen set up a perimeter of Dancing Lights while the boys got to work clearing a space.

She produced two tents from her storage ring, some sleeping bags, and an assortment of camping supplies.

Not far, Tako's eyes went wide with shock, but the other two young drovers were already used to such miracles. With worshipful awe, the jackaroo stared at the most downright attractive girl he'd ever seen.

Gwen caught Tako gawking, and the young buck quickly looked away. She didn't mind the stupefied looks; it wasn't every day that people materialised filet-mignon from thin air. If she had been an NoM, she would have been equally impressed.

Meanwhile, Debora rinsed the blood from her body. Her white shirt was ruined, but her shorts and boots were intact. Gwen threw Deb a towel, feeling smug that she had everything inside her Storage Ring. With a little surprise, she realised that this was already her second storage ring. Conversely, Debora may not afford even a Minor Ring of Storage until Debs was a working adult. Watching her companion, she felt a pang of guilt, understanding that despite her trials and tribulations, she had been spoilt for opportunities.

More than before, Gwen felt that she had made the right decision to gift Debora with the Spirit Core.

By now, the boys managed to set up a roaring fire thanks to some magical items of convenience Gwen had purchased from the market. She materialised pots and pans, plates and cutlery, laying out enough for dinner and breakfast. Wordlessly, the jackaroos went about making supper.

With their audience distracted, Gwen turned her attention back to Debora. Her friend had retreated to a corner of the camp and now had the Spirit Core cradled across her lap.

With a thrum of mana, Debora began the ritual.

The process of subsuming a Spirit was simple enough. When defeated, an elemental spirit that had previously inhabited a Magical Creature became trapped within its Core. While attuning such a Core, a Mage gained the opportunity to spirit-bond the elemental to their astral body. The process gave the elemental a direct link to its home Plane, allowing it the sustenance required to maintain its ego. In return, the Mage took on some of the Spirit's abilities and Affinity.

Gwen sat, studying her friend. It was a shame that they were not in a Cognisance Chamber, else she could have witnessed the entirety of the phenomenon in full. In the future, Gwen knew that she would acquire an Elemental Spirit of her own. Though a Void one was out of the question, it was entirely possible to purchase a Lightning Elemental through her Master's connections or to find a Spirit by raiding the Orange and Black Zones.

"Gwen! I am starting!"

"Good luck!" Gwen gave her friend a thumbs up.

Debora held the stone close to her diaphragm, cradling the egg-shaped sphere like a babe. The Transmuter observed the amber glow swirling within, then began the process. There was a glimmer of light, then suddenly the Core grew dull even as Debora's physical body became encased in sand.

"Come on, Debs! You can do it!"

Debora's amber eyes now took on a dusky-orange glow. Gwen could feel the motes of Earthen mana pour from her friend's body as the Spirit attuned itself, fortifying her Affinity. The particles of stone and sand around Debora began to rise into the air, forming a swirling storm of brown-red dust. Gwen backed away. One of the pebbles had struck her leg with sufficient force to make her wince.

The boys paused their cooking to observe the spectacle. The dust storm grew until it was a good few meters across, sending Gwen and the others scrambling for cover. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the sandstorm ceased.

A seated female silhouette emerged from the falling dust. Debora had taken on the form of a sandstone statue. Visually, the combination of her crossed-legged visage Debora her the guise of a fertility goddess. With their mouths wide open, the jackaroos watched the slow peeling of caked dust from Debora's body, revealing the girl underneath.

Ye Gods! Deb's half nuddy! Gwen's heart leapt into her throat. She scrambled from cover, a towel materialising as she made for her friend. Debora, perhaps unaware, tried to meet her halfway. The girl shifted, a cascade of terracotta shells falling from her torso, exposing herself to three young men grinning like shot foxes.

"The stars are a right beaut tonight, Vic."

"Yeah, mate, she's sure glorious to look at."

"Me jeans a bit tight…"

With a growl, Gwen shot off a low powered flash-bang, sending the boys scurrying for the hills.

Debora lifted her eyes, still dazed by the fusion. From ambivalence, her expression began to change, first from realisation, then engendering a smile of such genuine joy that it instantly melted Gwen's heart.

"Thank you, thank you so much." Tears rimmed her amber eyes, now overflowing with gratitude. With her arms cradling her waist, Gwen could feel Debora's body pressed against her own. Apprehensively, she placed her hands upon Debora's ribs and made a little distance between them.

Debora stepped back, as naked as Leda in front of the Swan.

Gwen stepped back further still, producing a set of shirts and shorts. Silently, she made a mental note to include much more garments for the future, comprehending why Alesia had such an extensive wardrobe. To her surprise, Debora cast the attire aside haphazardly, making Gwen a little annoyed at the display of willfulness.

"You're too careless," Gwen knelt to retrieve the fallen apparel.

"What does it matter?" Her friend replied in a dreamy trance. "I am so happy right now."

"You look drunk, Debs. How's the Spirit doing?"

Debora pressed a hand to her heart, depressing the nubile flesh.

"It's pleased and grateful." Debora raised a finger, where a crumbling trail of silica began to circulate. "Would you like to see what we can do?"

"I would like to see you dressed first," Gwen said seriously.

Debora shook her head.

"I am afraid that's going to be rather difficult. It's one of those abilities."

"A full-body Transmutation?"

Rather than answering Gwen, Debora smiled and raised her arms.

Gwen felt motes of Elemental Earth gather around them.

"Bronze Skin!" Debora incanted.

Rather than transmuting into a being of bronze, her skin turned coarse. Motes of Earth with the consistency of sand flowed over Debbie's body. The effect was somewhat unsettling, as to Gwen's eyes, her friend had transformed into a golem consisted of shifting sand.

"I should probably call this Sand Skin now." Debora giggled.

"Wall of Sand!" Debora raised a hand. Where she motioned, walls of sand rose and fell, forming into instant shapes. Small hills, valleys, pillars, battlements, there seemed to be no end to what she could create at will. Looking down, Gwen felt something take her by the ankles. Before she could react, she and Debora were rising into the air, one meter, two meters, three. A few seconds later, they stood on a platform of compact sand. Gwen exhaled, immensely impressed. Typically, it would be impossible to reach this level of Affinity without years of extensive training.

"I am not sure what my Affinity is at the moment but… judging from before, it's more than likely five…"

"That's wonderful," Gwen congratulated her friend, growing more nervous by the minute. Debora was very close and very nude, Sand Skin or otherwise.

"Blink!" Debora announced. She suddenly disappeared, becoming nothing but a shell of loose sand, a hollowed-out beach sculpture. Gwen was about clap, then felt a pair of arms wrapping around her waist. She turned awkwardly, meeting Debora's mischievous eyes looking longing into her own.

Gwen looked down.

Her scalp instantly crawled.

"Blink" was an inferior form of teleport, one that shunted the body into the ethereal plane before phasing it back in at a nominated location. For low-Affinity casters, it came with the danger of being lost in the grey immaterial space— although Debora's Spirit now superseded that limitation. Unfortunately, "Blink" did not teleport parts of a caster's attire that wasn't suffused by attuned magic. That was the same problem that Alesia faced when not wearing quasi-magical battle gear.

Gwen herself had yet to possess any full-body effect incantations, but now that she was tapping into the versatile school of Transmutation, it was merely going to be a matter of time.

Of course, her most pressing problem remained the overambitious Debora, who appeared to be intoxicated with her new abilities.

"Right! Wonderful! Debs," Gwen said. "Please, let me down, and put something on. You'll catch a cold."

"What if I don't want to?" Debora's lips parted, revealing the pink tip of her tongue. "Kiss me."

"Debbie." Gwen's tone grew stern. "I am serious."

"Alright." Debra withdrew, re-materialising below. She lowered Gwen to the ground floor, allowing Gwen to exhale her bound-up tension. Once again, Gwen handed over new shirts, shorts, and intimates, turning her head aside as her friend dressed.

"Sorry." Debora apologised once she was properly attired. Not been nude seemed to restore her friend's sanity. "I was a little taken there. By my new powers, I mean."

"That's fine." Gwen gave her friend a blokey punch on the arm. "As long as you're alright, Debbie. How do you feel now? No side effects after subsuming the Spirit?"

"I am fine now." Debora paused. "I owe it all to you, Gwen…"

Her friend's words were a little too serious for Gwen to digest comfortably. She had spoken as though Gwen had saved her from certain death; like she somehow owed a debt of life.

"No, Deb, you worked hard too. We're both lucky. I had nothing to do with it."

"I'll pay you back, Gwennie. I swear it. I know that I can now. With this Spirit, I can do it."

"Debs…"

"It's alright, Gwen. Just know that I'll never forget what you did for me."

"Alright." Gwen touched her friend's arm, Debora was breaking out in a terrific swat, but her friend had returned to her flesh and blood self.

"Let's get some rest. We got a long way home tomorrow. I am not sure if we need to check up on the Shield Station either, Opa says he'll get in contact with the authorities."

"Okay."

Turning, Gwen left for her tent, sweating profusely but glad that she had just dodged a hell of a Catapult.

Though they had missed quite a show, the three young bucks remained in good cheer. With supper over, they insisted that the girls take both tents, while they formed a little huddle going around the fire. Likewise, they offered to take watch — first Victa, then Tommy, and finally Tako for the last few hours before dawn.

Gwen was glad for the display of Outback chivalry as she had been wary that Debora may take the opportunity to indulge in impromptu snuggling. Her disinterest aside, she simply had no time for relationships. There were too many things still crowding her plate: the Inter-High, the apprenticeship announcement, her debut as a Void Mage, her woes were endless.

Snug in her sleeping bag, Gwen felt the drain from her Void spells steal the last of her wakefulness. As her eyes closed, so did the dancing lights that had illuminated the perimeter. The camp was plunged into the darkness of the night, lit only by a single campfire, casting shadows that danced against Deadman's Rock.

The jackaroos were up at the crack of dawn. The young bucks went about tidying up the camp and making breakfast with the supplies Gwen had left them in an esky. With ease, the boys made damper and brewed up a heart kettle of English Breakfast, topped off with a few fried eggs and thin rashers of bacon. The girls emerged sometime later, conjuring some water to wash their faces and brush their teeth.

After, while the girls sat and enjoyed the view of the tablelands, the jackaroos packed the saddlebags. As Gwen and Tako weighed the least, she and the jackaroo shared a horse until they reached the main road, where Surya had promised that a 4x4 would be awaiting them. That had been the source of many a wiggling brow from Tommy and Victa until Gwen raised a sparking finger in warning.

It took an hour or so to reach the highway that stretched out into the ultramarine horizon. Another quarter of an hour later, the group met with Rhodes, who was having morning tea himself from the back of his wagon.

"Boys! Good ta see ya all in one piece."

"Boss."

"Boss."

"Mr Rhodes."

"Tako! Close call, eh? Good work on diverting the Land Shark."

"It was nothing, Sir." Tako scratched his chin.

"It was a good thing you did, son. I'll be sure to let everyone know. I'll find a new horse for you, put in a good word."

Tako seemed a little overwhelmed by the praise. He had, after all, performed his duty in the heat of the moment.

"Gwen, Debora."

"Mr Rhodes, Good morning."

"Morning."

The group made some more small talk before the Jackaroos had to take the horses back. The wagon was packed, and Rhodes was ready to chauffeur the girls back to Surya's.

Ding!

Gwen heard the distinct pop of a Message spell.

"Opa?" She cupped an ear.

"Gwen, how goes the hunt?"

"Very well, Opa, it's all done. There are also some exciting new happenings for Debora as a result. I'll tell you later."

"Excellent, I am happy you're both safe."

"Thanks." Gwen gushed.

Surya cleared his throat.

"Yes, Opa?"

Her grandfather's voice took on a more serious tone.

"So, I tried to get in contact with the Shield Station yesterday, and they hadn't gotten back to me. This morning, I got some of my associates to check in with their HQ, and the Hunter Station been out of contact."

"Is that normal, Opa?" Gwen asked quizzically, her crisis senses tingling.

"If we had suffered a mana storm or if there had been a dust devil drifting in, sure. BUT, with clear skies like last night and the day before? Most definitely no. I suspect your Land Shark might have something to do with it."

"Should we check it out? Opa?"

"I would normally say no." Surya hesitated. "But it will take the bureau another day to get to the station, it's a safe zone after all, whereas you're with Rhodes, right?"

"Yes, Opa. I am with Mr Rhodes." Gwen shot a smile towards Rhodes, who raised his water bottle in acknowledgement.

"You should be about two hours away from the station then. Would you mind checking in on the boys there?"

"Not at all, Opa," Gwen affirmed.

"Very good, I knew I could count on you. There's a reward waiting for you when you get back."

"Thanks, Opa."

The spell blinked out.

Gwen informed Debora and Rhodes of their new Quest.

"Sure thing, those boys been keeping us safe. We should check up on them if monsters are sneaking past the shields somehow." Rhodes nodded and tossed his cigarette, grinding it into the dust. "I am confident you girls can handle anything untoward."

"Sure thing, Mr Rhodes." Debora flexed her biceps.

"Umm... Mister Rhodes?" Tommy raised his hand.

"No! Don't!" Tako pushed his mate to the side. "It's nothing, Mr Rhodes."

"What's the matter, boys?" Rhodes asked.

He was sure he had told them to take the horses back to the ranch.

Tako was blazingly red, although the poor sod had been roasting for days.

The other two boys nudged him.

"Just do it, Tako, you're the hero of the day!" Victa kicked his mate.

"You'll never get an opportunity like this again!" Tommy slapped the young man on the back.

Tako stumbled forward, his broad-brimmed hat held tightly in his hands.

"Umm... er... Ms Gwen..."

"Yes, Tako?" Gwen raised a brow. "Well, Mister Takahashi, I should say."

Tako possessed the gaze of a samurai ready to receive a blade to the stomach.

"Could I... shout ya dinner? For like, saving me arse and all."

Debora spat out the water she'd been drinking.

Rhodes dropped the cigarette he was about to light.

"Nothing fancy like..." Tako mumbled. "Just... like at the local pub or something..."

Gwen blinked.

She slowly swallowed a mouthful of water from her flask, then looked around to those around her for guidance. The faces she met were alive with anticipation. Her mind buzzed. It was the first time someone had asked her out, at least in her second life. But Tako was an NoM, and she was a Mage, if so, what was a girl to do?

Gwen wasn't sure herself if she wanted to entertain the smitten young man or not. Yet, at the same time, what was the harm? Surely she could get shouted dinner, and it would be no big deal. She hadn't felt like an ordinary woman since she arrived in this world. Wasn't this the most mundane thing that could ever happen to a girl?

"Sure thing," she replied quickly, not wishing to appear hesitant. "Maybe tonight?"

"Ye… Yes, please!" Tako stammered. The sense of immense relief on his face was unmistakable. "I'll make the reservations!"

She wanted to comment that the local pub didn't take reservations, but didn't want to embarrass the boy.

"Hmmph," Rhodes grunted, an indication that he would give Tako a tongue lashing later.

"If you're finished taking up our time, Takahashi, we got a Shield Station to attend to."

"Right you are, Mr Rhodes!" Tako gleefully turned and hopped on Gwen's mare. "I'll see you guys back in town tonight! I'll be at the pub at seven!"

The long drive to the shield station was as dull as Gwen had anticipated. The Monotonous landscapes extended as far as the eye could see - endless stretches of stunted shrubbery with the occasional sighing she-gums trailing over waterless billabongs.

Then, like a dark finger pointing toward the heavens, the Shield Station appeared. Like an ominous obelisk, the structure extended until they could see its obsidian-laden base embedded into the earth.

About a hundred meters from their destination, Rhodes rolled the 4x4 to a stop.

"Something ain't right," the rancher muttered. "No guards, someone should have stopped us by now."

Gwen felt it too, sensing a premonition of trouble. The last time they had visited a Shield Station near the Royal National, they had been swamped by almost a dozen Mages who inspected every panel on their school's bus.

"Let's proceed on foot," she advised. "Mr Rhodes, can you remain here?"

"No worries, lass. I'll be right here," Rhodes assured the girls.

The duo left the wagon.

Wanting to be cautious, Debora slathered on an assortment of self-buffs from Enhanced Strength to Sandskin to Magic Weapons.

Beside the Transmuter, Gwen fixed her sunscreen coverage. She didn't have any buffs of her own, and Debora wasn't proficient enough to fortify others.

After that, with Debora taking point, the girls made for the Station proper. After checking to make sure that they were within the range of a Divination Tower, Gwen Message on her phone before they proceeded.

"Opa, we're here. No one met us at the gate. We're going in to investigate."

When no reply came after a minute, the girls proceeded.

The gate to the compound was a gigantic three-meter tall gate wrought in steel. Debora pushed slowly, exerting enhanced strength, the gate shuddering as it moved back, exposing a gap just large enough for the two of them to enter.

Inside the compound, there were still no signs of the inhabitants. Something was most definitely amiss, though the girls couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Now inside the courtyard, they studied the fabled Shield Station. Unlike the Generator Stations, this far out in the Green Zone, the Station was merely a waypoint - a relay station.

Still, a contingent of Abjurers should be present, mayhap even a Transmuter on rotation. The landscape of the Outback had frequent storms both hot and wet, meaning there a continuous process of replacing wear and tear components existed.

The entrance into the shielding chamber itself was a set of inscribed double doors set with Glyphs and wards that reacted with extreme prejudice towards uninvited guests. Now, the doors were slightly ajar, their Glyphs of warning cold and muted.

"Let me try something."

Debora raised a hand and sent out a shifting swirl of sand. The sand sculpture snaked its way towards the door and pushed on the dark obsidian surface. There was the sound of hinges screaming in protest as it inched inward, but no reaction from the warding magic.

Inside, it was entirely dark.

"How should we proceed?" Debora asked.

"Ariel!"

The marten struck a heroic pose after landing with a lightning-fast summersault.

"Go check out if there's any danger."

Ariel regarded its Master sceptically.

"Please."

"Ee ee!"

The marten poked its head through the gap between the doors, its pupils expanding to take in the low light. An oily, black button nose sniffed the surroundings as Ariel entered, skittering here and there noting this and that.

"Eee! Ee! Eee-EE!"

"What's it saying?" Debora asked, impressed with Gwen's versatility.

"..." Gwen attempted to process her Emphatic Link. Unfortunately, her marten was too limited in its intelligence to relay intelligence in an intelligible manner. "I think it's safe to go inside."

"Ee!" The marten glanced at Gwen smugly.

Again, Debora took point as they entered the atrium.

Inside, it was too dark for the girls to see.

"Dancing Lights."

Gwen willed the half dozen or so wisps to enter the room.

Her spell soon illuminated the surroundings, shedding light upon the unspeakable horrors that lay within.

"Jesus Christ, Gwen." Debora gulped.

"Oh, my God." Gwen suppressed a gag.

It was as if someone had taken human bodies and made them into a floor mural. There was dust everywhere, covering every surface at least an inch thick. And underneath the abstract coverage of the ashen substance, the girls could see the entwined shapes of human bodies contorted in horrific gestures before their expiration.

Debora stepped back, bumping against Gwen.

Gwen meanwhile, felt an incredible sense of déjà vu.

The dust— that feeling of death and decay; it felt as though she had all seen it before.

"Those people... they're all dead..." Debora stated the obvious. Gwen had to remind herself that unlike her self, this was Debora's first time seeing victims of arcane murder.

Comparatively, not had she seen only seen dead bodies, but she had also been responsible for them.

Gwen wanted to push past, but Debora clung on to her arm.

"They're dead, Gwen! They're dead!"

"Shhh... it's alright, Debbie. Let me through. I need to check something."

Debora turned to look at her with an expression of disbelief.

"Surely... you're not going to touch them?!"

"I may need to touch them, yes."

"Gwen! No! You can't!"

Gwen gave her companion's arm a tight squeeze.

Debora wordlessly stepped aside.

Gwen knelt to take a better gander at the human forms encased in the fossilised powder. She carefully brushed her fingers across the face of one of the figures. Where the tips of her fingers touched, the caked dust felt apart to reveal a woman that looked as though she had aged innumerably in mere seconds. Her cheeks were sallow and drained, her wispy hair falling from her loose scalp in clumps.

Negative Energy Drain— Gwen's heart sank. She had not only seen this power before, but she had also experienced it. It was power drawn from the Elemental Plane of Dust. Her mind raced. Her Master had stated that it was exceedingly rare for Mages to awaken to anything related to Negative Energy. The powers that be simply did not gift the Affinity of death to beings that still flowed with life.

Could it be Edgar? Her mind turned. Was Edgar here? Or was this the work of someone else.

Gwen felt her breath beginning to quicken as she rose from her investigation of the body. Just the thought of facing her assailant again gave her the goosebumps. He had been the first man Gwen wounded fatally with her spells. She could still see his twisted, malignant face contorted with hatred and malice as his Contingency Ring sent him to safety. That man had been a Mind Mage, and he had gotten deeper in her head than any other being in this world. He had touched her, not just a depredation of her body, but a violation of her soul. He had seen what lies within her astral body, and in the deepest recesses of her mind, her true self.

"Gwen? Gwen!" Debora was rocking her shoulder.

"I am alright—" Gwen said, realising that she was sweating all over.

"Let's get out of here," Debora requested with a quavering voice.

"We need to go a little deeper," Gwen urged. She wanted to know if Edgar was indeed here. If so, she'd have her Familiars ready for him. This time, she would show him a thing or two about Negative Energy.

Debora paused, unwilling to descend.

"Debs—" Gwen was about to say that Debora could stay up to while she went down with Ariel and Caliban, but her friend spoke first.

"No, I'll come with," Debora affirmed weakly. "I'll take point."

Gwen nodded. She would prefer not going at it alone.

"Debs, before you make that call, I need to tell you something."

Debora blinked.

"I suspect that Edgar might be involved in this somehow."

The girl's expression paled.

"Yes, THAT Edgar."

Debora's hands moved over her abdomen. Edgar had drained her too, made incisions here and there, bleeding her dry to keep her weak when he'd captured them. The Dust Devil, the sensation of being invaded, it was all very fresh indeed.

"I don't blame you, Debs, if you want to stay up here," Gwen intoned carefully, watching her friend's lips tremble. How could she blame Debora if her friend was unable to face one of their most traumatic moments? For all Debora's bluster, the girl was just sixteen, a child in Gwen's eyes. How could she ask a child to accompany her into danger?

"I'll go," Debora announced firmly. Below her obdurate eyes, she was white-knuckled and shivering.

Gwen nodded. "One moment."

She produced her phone and again dialled Surya.

"Opa? It's Gwen. We're at the Station..."

Ding! This time, the Message connected.

"Gwen? Good, are you safe? What did you find?"

Gwen briskly explained that they had found desiccated corpses drained of all vitality, that she suspected the culprit of the Serpent incident.

"You should leave right now!" Surya's voice cracked like a whip. "Fool girls! You're just students! Just go and get Rhodes and get back here this instant!"

"No, Grandfather." Gwen's voice was stern and determined. "I need to make sure that Edgar was here. I need to face him. I can do it, Grandfather. I have Ariel and Caliban with me, as well as Debora."

Surya growled. His granddaugther was far too stubborn.

"Then promise me that you will be careful," Surya said finally. "Run if you have to. I'll get Rhodes to bring the wagon around."

Gwen turned to Debora.

"Let's go."

Her friend double-checked her buffs, then inclined her chin affirmatively.

The duo proceeded past the atrium and its display of corpses, making for the pit. Via a spiral staircase, the central portion of the Station dug deep into the Core, search out man ley-lines.

With on hand on the rails, the girls descended.

"Why is this place so... empty?" Debora's voice quivered.

As high school students, they had no idea what a Shielding Station's pit was supposed to look like, but even they knew that something was amiss.

The textbooks showed that a relay was supposed to have an array of Creature Cores maintained by Abjurers. Together, they fed abjuring mana into the Large Shielding Resonator. The Resonator itself was supposed to be a colossal crystal the size of an automobile. Its resonation of wavelength frequencies was what created the invisible shielding between Stations that repelled magical creatures by attacking their Mana Cores.

Yet, at the bottom, the girl realised they were gazing towards precisely nothing— where the giant crystal was supposed to be, there was now only emptiness.

"Where did it go?" Debora asked rhetorically.

Gwen had nothing to say. A crystal of that size weighed at least a ton. Moving it by hand was impossible. Someone would have to first remove the Core from its mooring by overcoming its protective warding, then store it within an Extra-Large Storage Ring. As the owner of a medium-sized ring, she knew how much effort it took to stow items of a particular size and volume. The sheer amount of mana required to place an object of that size and mass into storage was mind-boggling.

Could she overcome the protective kill-Glyphs etched into the moorings? Not without a death wish.

Could she or Debora stow an object of such size and density? Not without knocking themselves out like a light.

If so, could they defeat whoever had been down here?

Gwen was no longer so sure.

"Maybe it's best if we return," she announced quietly.

"Agreed." Debora was more than happy to comply.

They carefully ascended. The way up was an exercise compared to the ease of descent, ensuring that both girls were sweat-drenched and half-choked by the dust air.

Finally, huffing and puffing, the girl arrived back at the atrium.

"Er— Gwen?" Debora shivered. "Where are the corpses?"

Where the bodies had been, there were now three trails in the dust.

"Shit," Gwen swore.

The Shielding Crystal was gone, which meant that there was nothing here to prevent wayward spirits and other Magical Creatures from filtering into the Safe Zones.

"Ariel! Caliban!"

Her Familiar duo materialised behind the girls, taking up the flank and rear.

"Shaa!"

"Ee! Ee!"

Gwen wanted to activate her detection spells, but Debora was right there beside her. It wasn't time yet to let her friend know.

"EE!" Ariel hissed at a particular section of the atrium.

Gwen conjured her Dancing Lights and sent them toward the dim corridor.

There were three humanoid figures.

Three desiccated figures, each hunched over, making scraping sounds.

"What the hell is that?" Debora mouthed nervously. "Weren't they dead?"

"Now they're Undead..." Gwen felt her scalp crawl.

The trio turned to regard the girls, their eyes smouldered like coals of a cold blue fire. The corpses were holding chipped stones that looked like daggers. Gwen's mind scanned through her Monster Manual classes. Considering the stone weapon and the glowing eyes, she had a rough idea of what they now faced.

"Malingee," Gwen announced. "Possessed bodies."

A local threat, Malingee were nocturnal spirits that possessed the bodies of the dead. They were especially attracted to the corpses of victims who died of violent causes.

"SKAAARRK!!" the creatures howled at the girls, their high-pitched half-scream horrible to behold. The girls grew momentarily stunned as the monsters crouched, launching themselves like bolts from a ballista.

"Debbie!" Gwen screeched, forcing her body to move. Ariel instantly grew to combat form and let loose a blast of needles, pinning one creature to the floor. Caliban likewise, took its pound of flesh from Gwen before launching a barbed tongue that pierced another corpse, pinning it to the wall.

"Sand Wall!" Debora recovered just in time.

The remaining creature leapt itself into the air, only to be met with Debora's Wall of Sand, trapping it within its tightly packed particles. It was the boon of having a spirit operate one's spells independently, one that demonstrated the blessing of a cooperative spirit.

The duo watched as corpses writhed. Caliban seemed to have no interest in consuming the Negative Energy creatures.

"Lightning Bolt!"

Gwen incanted the signature Evocation spell, watching her two targets blaze blue and white before the malevolent Spirits perished. Her Master had once told her that lightning was exceptionally proficient against Undead creatures.

Debora seemed less sure of what to do with her target. She certainly did not want to punch it or kick the raving cadaver.

"Debbie, hold it down. I'll finish it."

"No, I'll do it."

The sand wall tightened. There was a sound of crushing bone, then a wail escaped from the creature, fading the darkness.

As quickly as it began, their fight was over.

"Lord Almighty." Debora breathed out, her eyes full of question. Did she kill a creature or had she killed a person, she wasn't sure. "Goodness, that was intense."

"Good work, Debbie."

Their eyes met. Debora seemed to regain some measure of herself.

"Yeah... Wow. We did it. Just you and me."

"Yep. Let's get out of here first. Ariel! Caliban!"

Her Familiars returned.

They made their way past the gate, where an anxious Rhodes awaited them.

"Ready to go? Surya seemed rather insistent that youse be back in town." He regarded the half-open doors of the Shielding Station nervously. "Were things alright back there? There was a hell of a firework display from what I could see."

"Yeah, we've had enough, I think."

Rhodes nodded, choosing laconicism as they made the four-hour drive back to town.

Thanks to Caliban, Gwen was exhausted, opting to take a long nap at the back of the wagon. Debora sat beside her, leaning against her shoulder so that propped by one another, they dozed off to sleep.

When they finally arrived in town, Rhodes took the girls to luncheon. It was almost early afternoon by now, and the long drive had depleted their energy. Gwen groggily wandered through the cafeteria and picked up a serving of fish and chips, nibbling away at the greasy lunch absentmindedly.

Seeing her exhausted state, Rhodes asked her if he should take them back to the estate. Gwen reminded him that she had promised Tako a dinner date, to which Rhodes casually mentioned that it was no big deal if she wanted to cancel.

To Rhodes' surprise, Gwen refused.

"Alright, I'll get a room for the two of you." The rancher indicated to the inn; a place endearing named the Cock and Bull.

There, he paid for a room so that Gwen could sleep off her fatigue. Just in case, he also felt it far safer for his wellbeing should Surya possess knowledge of this impending development, and so he called the old Magus.

"What?! A DATE?!" came the howling voice of Surya. "How dare that whelp! I'll be right there!"

Rhodes shut down his Message Device, realising with absolute certainty that he should not have called the crazy old Enchanter.

Tako dressed up in his finest clothes.

He looked a damn treat, at least according to the advice of a sniggering Tommy and his gang of Jackaroo mates. He wasn't exactly sure how trustworthy the fashion advice of a half dozen young men who didn't own a tux between the lot of them could deliver, but he had seen the men's magazines, and he felt that he looked the part.

He had also arrived at the pub an hour earlier than the proposed time. With his hair slicked back in the same oily colour as his leather jacket, he pulled open the door and nodded at the Publican.

The Publican, an old jackaroo himself, had heard of Tako's endeavour and had seen to it personally that a romantic corner was segregated for the young man. He'd even got his Missus to snip off the head of one of her prized roses, placing it in a "fine Chinese" mug at the table's centre.

One of Tako's mates, Jacko, opted to play waiter for their dinner.

Taking a seat, Tako poured over the Outback menu.

Grilled Steak.

Grilled Fish.

Chicken schnitzel.

Chicken schnitzel parmigiana

Spag Meatballs

Hot Chips.

For dessert, the Publican made his wife cook up some of her prized bread and butter pudding.

The Publican didn't know if his pub would survive the date, but he did know it was going to be a spectacle. The town would speak of Tako's fuck up for months, years even. Tonight was the night that Tako got lucky with a Lady Mage, or died trying. All the gallery had to do was drink and watch. Tonight was a night to remember, and the Publican was a man with a long memory.

Gwen took a deep breath. She was ready.

Debora had fussed with her hair for the last hour, and now she was good to go. Looking in the mirror, she plucked at her dress, smoothing out the folds. She had allowed Debora to picked out the garment, a decision which Gwen now deeply regretted.

She wasn't even sure where Debora had found the dress. She had wanted to steer her friend away from their mid-morning encounter, and the date planning had proved a substantial distraction.

Then somehow, during her nap, Debora had arranged a dress, hair, and even found a pair of china-blue pumps exactly Gwen's size. The dress was a tight fit as well, almost to the inch, making her question Debora's knowledge of her figure.

As for the date itself, Gwen grew uncertain.

Even in her old world, she'd never been one for dates. A career woman, she had flings, but rarely cared for dates where the whole purpose of the engagement was the date itself. Occasionally, the Facebook feeds of her compatroits with their husbands, kids, and Golden Retrievers set on her edge, but she rarely felt depressed for long. For a single career woman, there were worse things in life than a water view house and two cats.

"Are you certain?" Gwen examined herself in the mirror.

She was wearing a long one-piece cheongsam that emphasised rather fictitiously her curves, thanks to Debora's copious application of bra padding. The silk dress also a long slit that ran up her thighs, suggestively exposing her thighs as she moved.

"I love it!" Debora assured her. "He's Chinese, after all."

"Takahashi is a Japanese name..." Gwen corrected her friend, but Debora would have none of it.

"Close enough." Her untravelled friend advised expertly. "You look so lovely, Gwen. I could just eat you up."

"... thanks?" Gwen replied. The dress was a little too liberal for her tastes.

Debora led her to the door, then slapped her on the bottom, making her yelp. From the second story, Gwen could see that Tako was waiting below.

"Go get em!" Debora's face was full of mischief.

Gwen left the motel room, her thin heels striding towards the edge of the bannister rails.

She looked down.

Fifty expectant faces gazed up at her, their shit-eating grins split from ear to ear.

"God damn it." Gwen gulped. "Debbie..."

Tako, AKA Takahashi, stewed in a pool of his sweat.

First of all, he had not expected such a thick flock of stickybeaks to be present at his date with Gwen. A dozen folks he could anticipate, his mates, for example; but now the whole bloody town had shown up.

Secondly, his mate Jacko who was also his waiter, suddenly took ill, citing that he had a real pressing need to go to the local pool and drop off some kids.

Thirdly, the product in his hair was already liquifying. The stifling Outback heat had been made insufferable by the breathing of fifty-odd individuals crammed into a pub meant for no more than three dozen full-grown men and women, and that's discounting the gawkers sitting outside.

And yet, he couldn't possibly leave. Not unless he had a death wish. His only solace was his date was a beautiful sorceress with a beautiful face, striking green eyes, a waspish waist, and—

The pub fell silent.

Takahashi peered up to see the object of his affection descending from the second-floor; one hand gingerly placed upon the railing. At the sight of such loveliness, his mind turned blank, all thoughts fleeing with the rest of his wits.

The girl made her way toward him like a dream, her white legs appearing and disappearing in-between the folds of her dress. Takahashi could barely breathe.

Gwen's shoulder-length hair had been piled up, twisted into a voluminous bun behind her head, leaving a few loose strands to draw attention to her slender neck. Her Chinese-dress was itself a form-fitting one-piece that straddled her shoulders, tapering skin-tight around her waist and her bosoms.

Unsteadily, she descended, stalking carefully, riding on a pair of high and elfin pumps. When finally Gwen had arrived at the bottom floor, she was the tallest personage in the pub.

Like a graceful swan, his date floated amongst chuckling stickybeaks until she arrived at his table.

Tako held his breath, unsure of what to say that would make him appear any less of a love-smitten fool.

"He... Hello," he mouthed with great desperation, immediately regretting saying something so mundane. "You look lovely. Lovely. Just Lovely."

"It's good to see you too, Takahashi." The girl leaned in, lending him a cheek to peck. Tako tried to meet her halfway, but the girl was a giantess, and he felt like a Halfling. She would have to lean down to kiss him, giving the scene a far more comical air, like a young mother kissing a child.

Instead, she offered him a hand, one which Tako stared at with bewilderment.

"You look very handsome yourself, Takahashi." The girl withdrew herself.

"Thank you." He swallowed, wracking his brain, feeling as though his world was burning down around him. "Please— sit?"

Gwen sat, a little disappointed that Tako had failed every engagement other than pulling out her chair. Once her buttocks touched the slightly oily stool, she noted with mild distress that the Publican's seats were wooden and uncomfortable. Furthermore, the unfortunately high-riding nature of Debora's dress made her unnecessarily exposed.

Dismayed, she regarded her date and noted that he had a jacket which should do the trick. She could sit and placed it on her legs, covering the side slits so that she wouldn't accidentally moon the crowd.

"Takahashi." Gwen met the young man's swelling eyes. "Could I borrow your jacket?"

Tako immediately stripped off his jacket, pulling it over his head in the manner of stockmen removing their dusty garbs. When he handed it to Gwen, it was glistening with moisture.

Gwen bore it with grace and placed the jacket over her legs, feeling the clamminess resting against her exposed skin. Tako didn't seem to know what else to do with himself, and so he sat as well.

"How has your evening been?"

"Good."

"Have you recovered from the Land Shark?"

"Yep."

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah."

The boy wasn't much of a conversationist either. Gwen scanned her long term memory for knowledge of the Outback, finding that neither of her lives had any interest in sheep shearing, cattle droving, or possessed knowledge of bush yarns.

They sat awkwardly for a minute until the Publican sent out his Missus, Shiela, to moonlight break the tension.

"What'll ya have, Love?" Shiela asked, creaking the floorboard with every step.

"What do you have Ma'am?" Gwen inquired politely.

"The Schnitzel here is excellent," Tako added quickly, feeling himself somewhat losing control of the situation. "Shiela is the best cook for miles around."

"Thanks, Sweetie." The Publican's wife winked at the jackaroo.

Gwen felt her stomach contract. A good schnitzel was just the ticket, for the whole afternoon, she had been play-acting as her friend's life-sized Barbie Gwen. Accessories purchased separately.

"Oi! Tako!"

The Publican, Bill disrupted her contemplation.

"Here!" The big man declared expansively, putting down four ice-cold longnecks before winking at Tako. "On the house!"

Gwen returned a polite smile.

She wasn't old enough to drink, but she could sure as hell down a schooner or two.

"I'll have the Schnitzel," she said to the Publican's wife, who beamed at her in turn. "Extra-large."

"I'll have the steak." Tako exhaled with relief.

"So." Tako appeared to have finally wrangled his brain. "What's life like in the city?"

Gwen eyed the beers and their ice-cold beads longingly.

"Busy, really busy" she replied. "I live with my friends in the dorm."

"Oh?" Tako was rather happy that he'd finally caught onto a conversation. "What's it like where you live? Fancy houses and green lawns?"

"Ha! We live pretty modestly." Gwen laughed. "I shared a room with my other friends Yue and Elvia; we're in a team together."

"That sounds awesome, do you have a name for your team?"

"Not yet, but we'll probably need one for the Inter-High later next year."

"Ah—" Tako nodded. "That's the fancy high school competition, right? They show it on the Vid-cast sometimes..."

Abruptly, Tako's face took on an ashen pallor.

Perspiring profusely, the boy opened and closed his mouth like a mudskipper.

"Is something wrong?" Gwen asked carefully. Had she said something to offend him? That was impossible; they were just talking about her high-school Spellcraft team.

Tako appeared as though he'd been Soul Drained by a Necromancer.

Suddenly, Gwen realised why Tako was now catatonic.

The poor sod had asked her out on a whim, lacking the knowledge that Gwen and Debora were still in high school. The misunderstanding was understandable. Certainly, Debora was more mature than any high schooler Gwen had never known, and she never saw herself as a real high schooler. Gwen had simply assumed that since Tako had asked her out with so much gusto, the young man should have known.

"Takahashi... did you not know I am a senior-high student?"

The young man looked like he was about to melt like cattle fat on a hot tin. His face had the texture of wax.

"Tako," Gwen lowered her voice. "Can you hear me?"

"Ern-HNMM—" Came the sound of a displeased grunt.

A very familiar grunt that Gwen recognised anywhere.

She turned from her seat and saw her Opa sitting in a dark corner of the second level, flanked by Tess and Mel, who was grinning widely and waving at her. Surya had seated himself strategically so that he wasn't visible when she had exited the room but was now painfully visible once he made his presence known.

FUCK.

It was now Gwen's turn to break into a cold sweat. How embarrassing, how infuriating it was that her Opa was watching her coo at some young man. Not only that, here sat a poor sob who had been so enamoured in his fantasies that he didn't even consider the age of the girl he was asking out.

"Gwen," Takahashi gulped. "I don't feel so good."

Gwen felt such compassion for the poor jackaroo. It was now clear to her that the world had conspired against him. The town was here to watch Tako pull a Mickey; his mates were out to have a lark, and Debs had probably known all along. That was why she had gotten her this ridiculous dress. That was why her friend was grinning like an idiot.

"I am sorry, Takahashi," Gwen apologised, leaning over and offering a hand of comfort.

Tako stared at her hand with an expression of horror. He didn't dare take it. Not with the town watching like a pack of hungry dingoes. He tried to move, almost sliding off his chair for the lack of strength in his legs. Gwen watched Tako's suffering. Wordlessly she returned his soaked jacket.

"Miss Mage," he apologised. "May I— may I go?"

Gwen nodded.

The entire pub watched as Tako beat his retreat, some shaking their heads, others laughing and exchanging a few notes under the table.

You bastards! Gwen fumed. You were betting on whether Tako would disgrace himself!

Now, she sat alone, feeling more embarrassed and miserable by the minute, all the more thanks to her pointlessly revealing attire.

Her Opa was smugly watching down from above, enjoying the show. For a second, Gwen wondered if she should throw a tantrum. A single command from her Opa could probably clear the pub, no question asked.

Gwen felt her stomach protest. She was still famished; she wanted her Schnitzel; she was ready to hammer the whole thing down just to feel better.

"What a shame." Debora joined her at the table. "All alone, sweetie? Can a girl join you?"

"That was needlessly cruel."

Debora pulled put a chair and made herself comfortable, her eyes licking her friend all over.

"What would make you think that?" She grinned mischievously.

The Publican returned with two plates. One with a steak swimming in pepper gravy and the other with a crumbed Schnitzel that hung over the side of the plate, steaming famously.

"Oh no, Tako didn't make it past ten minutes!" He groaned. "So much for the beer."

"What does that mean?" Gwen inquired.

"It's nothing, Miss." The Publican plated the food. "I had fifty riding on the fact that you'd at least finish your meal before Tako left."

Gwen felt her jaw muscles tighten. Was there anyone who wasn't in on the whole fiasco?

Bill, the Publican, audibly sighed.

"The missus made some pudding for ya," he added sadly. "I'll bring it out later."

"Thanks, Bill," Debora smiled at the old man brightly, watching the old man blush.

Debora dug into Tako's steak, twirling a bloody slice in the gravy before placing it in her mouth. "Mmm... medium rare, perfect."

Gwen cut into her Schnitzel and crammed a greasy fork-full into her mouth. Swallowing, she snatched one of the open bottles of beer and took a swig.

The malt was cold and refreshing, a perfect complement to the salty, fatty breadcrumbs.

Debora raised a beer.

"To us," she declared.

"To us," Gwen grumbled defeatedly, tapping Debora's bottle.

With a long pull, she chugged the rest of the tall neck.

Gwen returned to the Estate the next morning.

She had wanted a heart-to-heart with Takahashi, but the young man had taken on a long-ranging assignment droving cattle for the next week or so.

Debora laughed when she received the news, asking Gwen if she had a habit of driving men into the Wildlands.

"What were you thinking?" Tess had asked incredulously. "That boy would be in more trouble than he can shake a stick at if..."

"If?"

"Adult things happened."

"Well, it didn't," Gwen sulked. "But come on, you're not telling me Mages and NoMs don't associate at all, are you?"

"Not past high school, not at all," Mel interjected. "What would be the point? Where would such a romance go?"

"I don't know, for love, maybe?" Gwen said, then regretting retorting at all. Hearing herself, she felt stupid.

Her Opa's Apprentices broke into laughter.

"Oh, Gwen, honey! You're so precious."

"Not to sound like a prude, Gwen," Tess said seriously. "But girls with talents like yours don't marry poor Mages with a single School of Magic. An NoM? You'd be a fool."

Gwen felt Tess' advice resonate uncomfortably.

"Rich girls don't marry poor boys, Jay Gatsby. Haven't you heard?" She muttered silently to herself.

Certain fallacies of human societies, or so it seemed, was consistent across both space and time.

The next day, Debora left for an errand.

The acquisition of a mid-tier elemental Spirit meant that she had to be registered by the Tower. As a low-tier Transmuter, it was highly unusual for a student to possess so powerful a Sprite. The registration was a necessity, for though it was impossible to rob a Mage of their Spirit; it was possible to murder the owner so that a Conjurer can force the Spirit into a resonate Core, hoping that the Elemental choose survival over oblivion.

Thus registered, it meant that should such an incident occur, the entirety of the Oceanic Magedom would come down on the offender like the proverbial Mjölnir.

When she informed Henry of her decision, her Master commended her choice rather than berate her naivety.

"You will tread a difficult path," Henry had intoned with great gentleness. "One that could use more allies. Debora is a good girl, and with this, she would owe you for the rest of her life."

And with Debora gone, Gwen felt lost and lonely; she had spent the last week cheek to cheek with her friend, and now felt empty in her absence.

But, there was training to be done, and for a whole week, Gwen worked her self to the bone.

When Debora finally returned, she spoke wide-eyed and star-struck about conversing with Gwen's Master. She had also met Magister Walken, Debbie had revealed, another one of the Ten. Furthermore, several Maguses had enquired about taking her on as an Apprentice.

Additionally, Gwen's Master had given her Spirit the moniker of 'Sabulo' which meant Sand in the old tongue, making her its official owner.

Winningly, Debora showed off her new I.D Card:

Debora Jones

S.I.D: 0043544

Transmuter Tier: 3

Elemental Affinity: Earth (3 + 2)

Elemental Spirit — Sabulo

She was now as talented as Yue had been, if not more, a prospect that made Gwen a little antsy for her progress.

Currently, Yue was on her mysterious training journey with Alesia. How would she react if she returned from an Orange Zone after two months of survival only to find that her old rival had superseded her? Would Yue spontaneously combust?

Nonetheless, with Debora returned to the fold, her halcyon days resumed. Life returned to its old routine, with group training, individual training, physical training, mana exercises, and hours of meditation.

Midway, Debora's parents had come to visit, bowing and scraping to Surya and taking Gwen's hand with tears in their eyes, thanking her for changing their daughter's life. Gwen wasn't sure what her friend had told her folks, but was nevertheless embarrassed by their supplication.

And so, the girls' December ticked down, blending into one long stretch, until Gwen received a Message while out training in the woods.

Ding!

"I am back!"

"Evee! Oh My God! I missed you so much!" Her thrilling voice drove the birds from the trees.

"Gwennie!" Elvia' shrieking voice returned from the Message Device.

"When did you get back?"

"Just now, I am in Kensington. The ship took forever!"

"How was it?" Gwen asked.

"It was so boring— there was nothing to do but eat buffets. I think I put on at least two kilos..."

Gwen laughed. She and Debs likely lost some weight, especially after her Caliban-wrangling in the woods, trying to get a feel for her vitality expenditure.

"No worries. You'll work it off in no time! When can we meet up? I am at Opa's."

"That's why I am calling you Gwen! I want to ask you if you are doing anything for Xmas."

Gwen scanned her internal itinerary. There was nothing as far as she could recall. Her Opa had said that he wasn't one for the ceremonial celebrations of the Catholic Chuch.

"I should be free," she confirmed. "What's up?"

"My family's having a Xmas bash at the house, and mum wants to invite all of my friends."

"That sounds wonderful," Gwen replied earnestly. She hasn't had a Christmas party forever. Elvia's party would be a wonderful and welcome experience.

"There's going to be dozens of strangers there, and I would love it if you could come and keep me company," Elvia's begging voice was enough to melt her heart.

"I'll be there!" Gwen declared imperiously.

Elvia replied with halleluja.

"Did you manage to contact Yue?"

"Nothing yet, not even with my dad's Message Device. He says Yue must be in an Orange Zone because that's where we don't have any Divination Tower set up."

"Alright." Gwen hoped Yue would receive the Message in time. A Christmas reunion would be just the thing. "Say, I am with Debora at the moment since she's interning under Opa, do you mind if I bring her alone?"

"D-Debbie?" Elvia gasped. However, the girl was quick to repair her faux pas. "Of course! I'd love to have Debbie along!"

Gwen laughed. Elvia was the best.

"Great. See you in three days!"

"See ya."

The Message ended.

Three days until Christmas, Gwen punched the air.

If she could recall, Elvia's manor was on the North Shore, up near Avalon. From the Hunters, she would have to leave at sunrise to arrive at noon. Likewise, she had to tell her Opa that she'd have to spend the night at Elvia's, as returning home after midnight would be impossible.

Closing her eyes, she imagined Elvia in a white dress.

Suddenly, her heart was aflutter.

Christmas couldn't come soon enough!

"Debs, are you sure you can't make it?"

Gwen watched her friend's face contort with agony. She had petitioned Debora about the possibility of attending the Xmas dinner at Elvia's, but Debbie's response had been negative.

Though Gwen had not expected it, Debora's parents were devout followers of the Nazarene. For the family, Christmas Mass was a holy rite. This year especially, the Arch-Bishop Anthony Fisher tended the flock at St Andrew's, a rare treat for Sydney's devout.

"Are you not religious yourself?" Gwen asked.

"I am religious out of habit." Debora smiled evasively. "The family's always gone to Church, so I grew up with it. Never had a choice in the matter. I even attended all the Sunday services until high school."

Which likely coincided with puberty, Gwen nodded understandingly. When h school rolled around, Debora had started wearing shorter skirts and tighter shirts, becoming a part of the 'popular' crowd while Gwen contested with her family drama.

For Gwen's part, her mother worshipped only the one true God called the social ladder. As for Morye, considering the number of girlfriends he cycled through, the man may as well be a disciple of Eros. As such, Gwen's religious education remained non-existent.

But that didn't mean Sydney itself was a secular city.

In a world of Mermen and monsters, Faith Magic was real, even if rare and highly secretive. Officially, according to the mandatory scripture classes at school, all the major religions were established by ancient Magi whose achievements may as well be divine miracles. Gwen, however, had never met a religious individual. Sydney's faithful, split between Catholics, Protestants, the Church of England and the Pentecostals, usually stuck to their wealthier suburbs.

As for the Tower itself, modern Spellcraft perceived the old religions with ambivalent scepticism. After all, the social cost of challenging well-established orthodoxies was measurable. Historically though, the Church, the state, and the Mageocracy had enjoyed matrimony for almost two centuries. To its faithful, the Church taught that the Wild Lands were the devil's preserve, while the cities of man were the candles in the darkness. Some denominations even taught that Mages were a part of God's ineffable plan and that those who Awokened were the anointed.

"... sorry," Debora finished sulkily. "I've been a brat for the last few years, and still my mum's been good to me. Faith or not, I have to go and pray with them."

"That's fine, Debs, I'll eat enough for the both of us!"

"Arrrgh! You better not lose your figure!" Debora teased. "Man, I am going to miss you so much!" Debora moaned.

"I'll miss you too, Debs," Gwen said earnestly. She meant it too; after a whole summer spent cheek to cheek, the two girls as close as two kookaburras on an old gumtree. "Stay safe."

Debora swung herself from Gwen's bed. Her friend's eyes twinkled before she pouted in an exaggerated, sultry manner.

"One for the road?" Debora whispered winsomely, indicating a finger to her lips.

Gwen leaned in— then kissed Debora on the forehead.

"Get going, Debs! I have to get up at sunrise tomorrow, Avalon is six hours away from Pokolbin."

Debora reached the door with a sigh. "See you at school."

"Have a Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year."

"You too, Gwen."

The door closed.

Gwen laid out her outfit. From her wardrobe, she picked a high-waisted skirt, a white sleeveless blouse and a pair of ankle-strap heels. She also double-checked her transit card and her student ID.

Gwen Song

SID:: 0043598

Evoker:: 3

Elemental Affinity :: Quasi Elemental - Lightning (3)

Her temporary ID displayed an already impressive statistic for a girl of sixteen. For the next year, she would train for a future of fame, fortune and influence. Such was the pie in the sky her Master drew.

It was an admirable Path for Mage of her talent, yet at the same time, it was a future that filled her with was gut-wrenching anxiety. Becoming a Magister or a Tower Master holding tens of thousands of lives wasn't at all like running a consultancy. Real people, full of flesh and blood, could have their lives enriched or diminished at her whim. Was that a responsibility she was willing to bear?

Gwen pulled her t-shirt overhead, stepping out from her sleeping shorts.

The Gwen of sixteen didn't have an answer for that.

The Gwen of thirty was likewise ignorant.

Her only recourse was to keep on treading and keep her head above the murky water.

The next morning, Tess drove Gwen out to the station, where she took the first train into the city. From Central, she took a cab to reach Avalon.

Elvia's haunt was one of the wealthier regions of the Sydney Frontier, situated deep within a stretch of coastal water views known as the Northern Beaches. To Gwen's knowledge, the area was exclusively for Mage, especially those closely associated with the Mageocracy. Their peninsular, Avalon Beach, was a headland that extended out to one of the principal Shield Towers at the northern reaches of the city - Barrenjoey Station.

The driver, a feller in a turban, was talkative and friendly, complimenting Gwen's attire before speaking out about the woes of working on public holiday. Overfamiliarly, the driver explained that he had two daughters who were turning seven and ten, and spoke at length about his anxieties regarding their Awakening.

"You are so lucky." The man grew giddy when Gwen stated that she'd come from an ordinary family and that she had no idea why she was a Lightning Mage.

"You must have done something great in your past life." The driver observed, grinning from ear to ear. "The way of karma, huh?"

When the taxi had finally arrived at Elvia's address, Gwen was mightily impressed. Though not as absurdly elaborate as Uncle Kwan's Kirribilli manor, Elvia's home was far more modern. From the hill, the Lindholm's multi-storey home cascaded for seven levels down to its private jetty.

As Gwen was fashionably late, the parking area was already inundated with expensive-looking cars.

"Happy holidays!" The NoM driver waved to her before pulling carefully from the driveway.

Alone for the moment, Gwen straightened herself and corrected her attire. She had worn her hair au naturel to complemented her pale skin and striking eyes. In the reflection, she could see that her mothers' gifted heels exaggerated her attire, lifting her calves and giving her long legs shape and definition.

"Phew—"

Exhaling, Gwen loosened her arms, then strode towards the door. She depressed the doorbell, and a jingle later, the front door opened to reveal a youthful blonde woman with bright blue eyes, maybe in her early twenties.

"Oh my!" the woman exclaimed. "You must be Gwen!"

"Hello." The two shook. "I am Gwen Song, and you must be?"

"I am Elvia's mother, Elaina."

Gwen felt genuine shock and surprise. "Miss Lindholm, I could have sworn you're Elvia's sister!"

Her compliment was entirely serious. Elvia was sixteen! If so, when did Elaina give birth to her? How is it that the woman looked not a day over twenty.

Elaina's laughter filled the doorway.

"Welcome." Elvia's mother beamed, revealing brilliantly white teeth that starred in their very own dental commercial. "Come in, come in. Elvia couldn't stop talking about you the entire time we were on that cruise ship."

They shook hands. Elaina possessed that rare genteel mannerism which some women affected effortlessly, impressing Gwen against as she entered Elvia's home.

"Elvia!" her mother called out. "Guess who's here!"

Gwen held her breath as the sound of heels musically approached. Her friend, the one and only Evee, appeared at the top of the stairs, a little breathless for the effort.

Elvia was attired in white, as Gwen had anticipated, in a one-piece garb involving both lace and frills. The girl had grown in the two months since she had seen her, with a bit more curvature to hint at an indulgent lifestyle of buffets.

"Evee!"

"Gwennie!"

The two embraced, Elvia slamming into Gwen's torso to bury her face into Gwen's bosoms. Gwen likewise wrapped her arms around the petite blonde girl and squeezed.

Instantly, Gwen felt completed.

"Ain't you two sweet," Elvia's mom cooed, fixing her daughter's hair. "Come on down when you're ready, Elvia can introduce you to the rest of the family."

"How have you been, Evee?"

"Gwennie— so much has happened! Uncle took me to a conference; we visited some refugee camps for NoMs; it was terrifying! How about you? Did you do anything interesting?"

"Aah—." Gwen squeezed Elvia's cheeks. "Where do I start? How about we meet and greet your family first? It's the polite thing to do. I love you dress, by the way."

"I like yours as well."

"Aww—"

The duo descended the stairs.

"Did you hear from Yue at all?"

"Nothing, I was so hoping she could make it today."

"Damn, that's a shame."

"Where is Yue anyway?"

"She's training with Alesia," Gwen said. "Probably kicking ass somewhere. I am sure Alesia has Yue well looked after."

They soon arrived at the second floor, where a massive living room led onto a multi-level deck, interconnecting the middle and lower levels.

Impressively, her friend's house even had a private jetty.

There were already people everywhere, a good thirty to forty adults and a dozen children. Despite the crowd, however, the unusual design of the house negated the limitations of space.

"There she is!" Elaina raised a glass to toast.

The attention of the room turned to Elvia and herself, a few individuals raising their glasses, while others inclined their heads, then returned to their conversations. As one, Elvia's family moved from their respective circles towards them.

Of the group, Gwen recognised only Elvia's uncle, Hans, a senior Medical Mage who had been instructing her friend.

Elvia's father introduced himself as Frederik Lindholm, the patriarch of their little clan. Handshakes soon exchanged all around, but when she arrived at a young man with the classic Lindholm blue eyes, he sneered at her.

Surprised, Gwen performed a double-take.

"Erik! Manners!" Elvia's father snapped.

Gwen felt Erik's eyes measure her up. Rather than interest, Erik's gaze was full of antagonism. In retaliation, Gwen gave the young man the biggest, brightest smile she could muster.

Like Elvia, Erik was good-looking lad, with delicate features and deeply set eyes. The boy's appearence, however, was decisively boyish. Gwen grinned, thinking that Elvia could have made a pretty cute bloke.

"My apologies." Erik bowed, a hand resting against his heart. "I am merely awed at the austere presence of my sister's idol. The Lightning Evoker, Gwen Song."

Frederike looked as though he wanted to smack Erik, but Elaina gave the young people a disarming smile, then directed Elvia's father away.

"It's nice to meet you too," Gwen replied, her voice somewhat wary of this antagonising development. "We haven't met before, have we?"

"No," Erik confessed. "But I have heard many nice things about you already from my friends."

"Oh?" Gwen was even more puzzled now. She certainly had no friend beyond her immediate circle.

"Patrick and Derek," Erik said offhandedly.

"Who?" Gwen was genuinely confused.

"Patrick and Derek."

Gwen shrugged. Who the hell were Patrick and Derek?

"Patrick... and Derek..." Erik repeated, sensing her indifference, the boy's face grew flustered. "They met you at a party in Kirribilli."

Gwen wracked her memory. She recalled that when she had gone to Uncle Kwan's. Some of the boys had tried to get a little handsy. She couldn't remember their names though; she had been trying to concentrate on not obliterating them.

"He means Dickhead and Emo."

A voice called out from behind. From the ease by which the profanities flowed, Gwen knew the source to be her cousin.

"Richard!" She spun. Behind her stood a bespectacled young man looking handsome in semi-formal, his Oxfords polished to perfection.

"Cousin," Richard said blankly without any particular emotion, but Gwen sensed that her cousin was happy to see her. They hugged and exchanged cheeks. Richard's embrace was a little wooden, but it felt good, like slotting her body into a groove.

"You smell nice," Richard remarked. He looked over at the red-faced Erik, then pointed to his cheek, where Gwen had just kissed him. "Are you jealous, Junior Erik? Gwen did not give you a loving peck on the cheek, did she?"

"What!" Erik's face was the hue of pork liver. "What are you even talking about, Richard? What does that have to do with anything?"

Richard's eyes twinkled, his glasses dangerously refracting the midday sun.

"Gwen, do note that Erik is lashing out because he is physically attracted to you, Gwen," Richard observed dryly. "Hormonal attraction can often be confused with hostility."

Elvia was reddening too, but unlike Erik, she was suppressing her uncontrollable laughter.

Gwen turned to Erik and lifted the hem of her skirt, performing a curtsey that showed offer her long and shapely white legs.

"Is that true, Erik?" she teased. "Do you like me?"

"No!" Erik blustered. "Elvia— she— shit! Why the hell am I even explaining this! Richard! Stop it!"

At Erik's expense, the trio burst into hyena-like laughter.

"Gwen, there's something on your clothes." Oddly, Richard reached out and brushed at the fabric of her dress, picking what was probably lint from a shirt sleeve.

"You'll probably have to show him a thing or two later," her cousin continued, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. "According to the rumours, you shamed my juniors from Prince's."

He then turned to Elvia, apparently now satisfied that Gwen's dress was spotless.

"Not to mention, according to Elvia here, you'd kick his ass in a second. That's quite the boast, coming from Blackwattle Bay."

Gwen glared at Elvia, who looked away guiltily.

"Evee, is this true? Have you been tongue wagging?"

"Erik was mocking my school, our school!" Elvia huffed.

Gwen flicked Elvia's forehead delicately.

"Evee the troublemaker," Gwen admonished her friend mirthfully before turning to Richard. "So, how come you're here?"

Her cousin was watching Erik, who had joined his other friends from Prince's. Currently, they were giving Gwen's group the stink eye.

"I was invited by your friend here. She had heard about me from her brother."

Elvia beamed.

"She also told me that I was the only person in the family you could stomach."

Elvia wilted.

"... and also that my father was a fat bastard."

"Surely Tali's aright? She's cordial, as far as I know," Richard framed his question in a manner that seemed entirely academic.

"yes, Aunt Tali is a fine lady," Gwen agreed. "It's more so Uncle Kwan that scares me."

"Kwan's just doing what he thinks is best, regardless of whether its best for you or I," Richard observed drily. When again, Richard referred to his parents by name, she sensed in the young man's voice a certain sense of detachment. "But, I digress. Do enjoy the party, cousin."

"Thanks, Richard, I think I will," Gwen returned to her flaxen-haired companion.

"Evee?"

"Show me around the house? I want to see your room!"

"Sure!" Elvia slipped an arm into Gwen's elbow. "Come on!"

Richard strolled over to his juniors from Prince's.

"Senior."

"Senior."

"Prefect Huang."

All animosity aside, the boys were perfectly mannered when dealing with their senior. As a school, Prince's was very particular about mannerisms.

"Gentlemen." Richard inclined his head towards them, returning their greeting. He regarded Elvia's brother, whose face immediately grew several shades redder. "What is with that horrible performance Erik?"

The other two took a step away from Erik

.

"You embarrassed me," Erik accused Richard sulkily.

"You embarrassed yourself." Richard's tone contained neither hostility or mockery.

Erik looked downcast. Here was his house; he ought to be able to tell Richard to buzz off. However, he didn't dare. Richard belonged to the Four Houses as a Prefect. Meanwhile, he was just a junior Abjurer. Speaking unkindly to Richard would undermine his standing within the school's hierarchy.

"Are you going to take it?" Gwen's cousin demanded without warning.

The boys looked up at their senior incredulously.

What was Richard up to now?

"The pride of Prince's College had been trodden on, yet you fled like a little bitch. Then, instead of thinking about how to make things right, you all sit here and lick each other's wounds like milksops."

"You want us to show up your cousin?" Erik inquired carefully. "You don't mind if we embarrass her?"

"You think you can embarrass Gwen?" Richard scoffed. "You'd be lucky she doesn't 'kick your ass'. Did you think Elvia was lying to you?"

At the mention of his older sister's words, Erik's blood was up.

"Senior Huang, are sure about this?" one of the other boys intervened. Lightning was rare, but it wasn't Void Magic. Prince's had students proficient with Quasi-Element as well, and they were hardly indomitable.

"Erik, it's your party, your call, bro." The other, a dark-haired youth, pushed Elvia's brother with a hint of smugness. "It doesn't have to be serious. We can drop her in the harbour, make a show of it. That sort of thing."

Erik tried to imagine a bedraggled Gwen pulling herself from the water, water cascading from her dress. He would like that. It would be a bonus if his haughty sister cried as well.

"I am asking you again, Senior Huang, you are not adverse to our challenging of your cousin?"

"None at all. Not only that, if you do defeat Gwen, I'll personally vouch for you at the next student council election."

"Alright!" Erik gave an expression full of expectation. "Lionel, Todd, you guys with me?" The other two boys nodded.

"Great, I'll speak to Father. Let's see if we can duel on the jetty. I need somewhere with access to water."

Richard watched his juniors go.

"Ah, to be young." The Prefect chuckled to himself.

Within his immutable heart, Richard sensed a sudden flutter of anticipation. From the moment Gwen had walked into the room, he had sensed the familiar aura of Conjurers radiating from her body. Furthermore, in her experience, Gwen had left behind the tell-tale traces of crystal residue left by feeding Familiars. Having practised Conjuration for most of his life, Richard sensed without a doubt that his conjecture had to be correct.

And if Gwen did possess a Familiar— then her talent would be monstrous beyond belief!

While schemes both dangerous and devious brewed below; Gwen was busy marvelling at the fluffy decor of Elvia's pastel bedroom. The furnishing was like a catalogue's: a four-post bed, satin sheets, antique white walls, and shelves full of plush toys.

Elvia sat on the edge, swinging her legs to and fro, an adorable life-sized doll. The duo had already been everywhere else in the house, greeting guests, sipping non-alcoholic cocktails and stealing canapés. Gwen was having the time of her life. In her previous incarnation, she had never had friends like Elvia, and so felt a little intoxicated by the euphoria of it all.

"Why does your brother have so much curry?" Gwen borrowed an old Aussie proverb.

"Well, its to do with my decision to pull out of Lilith's," Elvia confessed. "I guess he feels betrayed because Lil's and P's are brother-sister schools, they do a lot of activities together, you know, socials."

"Like a boy-girl Formal?" Gwen puzzlingly cocked a brow.

Elvia tilted her head puzzlingly, sometimes Gwen said the darnedest things.

"Like our Field Trip. However, theirs takes place all around the world. Prince's supplies London Imperial— as such, they can access different Zones across three continents. The final trial is with schools from Tier 1 cities."

"Sounds rough," Gwen remarked. She had yet to meet a single Mage her age from a tier 1 city.

"Yeah, but also rewarding. If the other schools like you, you just might receive a scholarship! You'll get to live in a tier 1 city!"

"So how come you're not going to Lilith's?"

Elvia rolled onto the bed.

"I was scared," she replied. "I was afraid that I couldn't be special like all the girls there, that I would awaken to something mundane. I went to Lilith's preparatory school, you should know. There are people there whose whole family were Quasi-Elementalists."

"Well, you're a Positive energy Mage, your uncle is one, is your dad one? You're in good hands, right?"

Elvia shook her head.

"He's an Air Diviner."

"Your brother?"

"Water Abjurer."

"Well then," Gwen tried one last time. "Your mother?"

Elvia beamed.

"She's a Positive energy Conjurer!"

"There we go!" Gwen marvelled. It was little wonder Elaina looked so radiant and so fresh. Usually, those gifted with Positive Energy seldom aged. Conversely, people like her, afflicted with Negative energy, may skip ageing entirely by dying young.

"Well, at any rate, your family has a genealogy of Positive Energy, so..."

"I was still scared." Elvia pouted. "Who knows, what if I became something bizarre like an Earth Illusionist? I'd be just a non-elemental caster."

"Why would you think that? No one in your family is an Earthen Mage nor an Illusionist!"

"Erik said I was a weirdo, that I'd probably awaken as a rock."

"Ridiculous! You are an Angel!" Gwen hugged her friend maternally against her bosom, soaking in some of that Positive Energy. "Say, last time, you told me that you were afraid of being set up."

"There's that too." Elvia felt a little heat colouring her face. Gwen was very close. "A lot of the girls from Lilith's get married as soon as they graduate, I was afraid that mum had that in store for me."

"Why would you think that?"

"She's an alumna— and Dad's a graduate of Prince's."

"Right. Gotcha." Gwen gazed at the ceiling, where a petite chandelier scintillated. "Are they happy together?"

"Very," Elvia admitted.

"You don't want that for yourself?"

"I don't know."

"That's alright, Evee. Do you regret coming to our school?"

Elvia shook her head, spreading her flaxen tresses over the bed.

"I am so happy I got to meet Yue and you." Elvia's accidental homonym caused Gwen to giggle indulgently.

Elvia's appeared so cute that Gwen leaned in and kissed her on the forehead in a sisterly manner. In response, her friend placed a hand on her forehead, blushing mightily. Pinching Elvia's rosy cheeks, Gwen felt her bosoms all aflutter.

"I am getting all kinds of thirsty." She lifted herself from Elvia's bed. "Shall we head down?"

"Sure," Elvia said quietly, still rubbing her forehead where Gwen had kissed her.

When they returned to the party, two young Mages were duelling on the jetty.

Both contestants were in their swimmers, a young man and a girl. The young bloke was an Earthen Evoker. Currently, he was throwing tier 2 Obsidian Spears straight at the frail-looking lass. The girl appeared to be an Air Transmuter, and flitted about here and there, dodging the spears. The exchange went on for several minutes until the dramatic speed difference between them grew apparent. The Evoker had his shield chipped away until the transparent underlayer of his mana shield becoming visible.

In his desperation, the Evoker switched to the tier 1 Stone Bullet to try and conserve his mana, but the Transmuter was simply too quick. Following another spell exchange, his shield glimmered. The Transmuter grinned mischievously as the lad put up his arms in surrender. There was a thump, and the young man flew off his feet, landing in the water with a spectacular splash.

A round of cheers erupted from the house. Congratulations greeted the winner and her relatives. The girl gracefully walked back along the jetty and pulled the young man from the water. Laughter resounded, after which the young man received pats of consolation.

Gwen felt immensely impressed at the sportsmanship. A friendly Mage Duel! How precious!

"Evee, how often—"

"Gwen Song! We challenge you to a duel!" shouted Erik Lindholm, Elvia's peevish blonde brother.

Gwen's mind went blank. Erik wanted to duel her? The boy was a junior, and he was a Water Abjurer. Even if Erik had the talent to Awaken early, it wasn't until late puberty that Mages came into their power.

"Duel me?" Gwen performed a double-take. "I am your senior."

"Of course! You didn't think we're challenging you to a one-on-one, did you?"

"You want to gang up on me?" Gwen blustered.

"You're a legendary Lightning Elementalist, right?"

"That may be." Gwen frowned. "But three at once? A girl can only take so much. I am not as experienced as you make me out to be."

Without warning, Erik's flushed a deep carmine. "Gwen Song! Do you want to duel or not? We're all tier 2, so you've got a whole tier of spells ahead of us."

"Evee?" Gwen looked toward her friend for advice. Elvia appeared equally confused.

"Why do you want to duel Gwen?" her friend demanded, her blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Why do you care? Didn't you say she could kick my ass?"

"I am sure she could."

"I concur." Gwen gave Elvia a thumb's up.

Erik raised his voice so that the people around him could hear. "Gwen Song of Blackwattle! We, Erik Lindholm, Lionel Zachary and Todd Smith, of Prince's College, challenge you to a duel of honour!"

Elvia's smile faded.

"Erik! You can't bring Prince's into this! You'll make trouble for Gwen!"

"Wait, what's happening?" Gwen said quizzically. When it came to these superficial rituals and social codes, she may as well be a blind man riding a deaf donkey.

The rest of the crowd awaited Gwen's response.

"Evee— do I accept?"

"I don't know—" Elvia searched the crowd for aid.

Thankfully, Richard stepped forward.

"Gwen, you should teach these boys a lesson in humility," he remarked stoically. "Win or lose; they won't bother you again. I promise you that."

In and amidst the anticipation, Gwen wondered what the masters of the house thought of all this. She found Elvia's father shrugging, while Eliana was made eyes at her son.

Gwen looked towards Richard again.

"It's three on one, Richard, are you sure?"

"Rip him a new one," her cousin answered her with a twinkle in his eye. "Kick his ass so hard that his testes drop and Erik becomes a man."

"Cough—" Elvia's father choked on an olive.

Gwen met the boys' eager faces.

"Fine!" she clasped the boy;'s hand. "Let's duel!"

Elvia looked at the jetty worriedly.

"Did you bring a cossie?"

"Why?" Gwen asked. "Is Erik going to push me into the water?"

She flashed her Storage Ring.

"I got spare dresses, but no swimming suit, so this will have to do. Don't worry, Evee, I'll be right back."

Below, Richard stood front and centre of the crowd while an older gentleman with the rank of Magus made himself known to the duellists.

"First to shield break," the Magus announced solemnly. "Minimise damage to the surroundings; you break it, you pay for it."

With long strides, Gwen marched herself to the end of the jetty. On either side, enormous pillars of ancient, salt-soaked wood anchored the pontoon in place, sloshing as the bean-green waters below beckoned their next victim. Gingerly, his cousin knelt over and removed her heels, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders as she unclipped each shoe.

Richard's glasses gleamed. He could see that Gwen possessed at minimum a small Storage Ring, an uncommon item in the Frontier.

The boys from Prince's soon finished setting themselves up on the opposite side.

Their Adjudicator incanted a levitation spell and floated at a safe distance.

"Ready?"

Gwen nodded.

The boys nodded.

"Commence!"

"Lightning Blast!" Gwen opened with her signature spell, a torrent of hysterical electricity ionised from the air around the boys and lashed out with blue-white tentacles of pure plasma, scorching the flooring of the jetty.

"Water Shield!" Erik expanded a barrier of flowing water around him in a semi-sphere. To Richard's surprise, the shield reinforced itself by drawing water from the surrounding sea.

"Absorb Elements!" Erik added to their team's defence.

Against the boy's shield, Gwen's lightning fractured into glowing Lichtenberg figures, draining harmlessly into the bay, frying the fish feeding from the barnacles.

Richard whistled. Erik was a better Abjurer than he had initially thought.

"BLAST BOLT!" Gwen upped her intensity. With enough offensive power, all tricks melted away. "BREAK!"

Her bolt pierced Erik's barrier and blasted the two junior Mages hiding behind the boy's shield. Gwen yelled with triumph, only to see the bodies fade into the aether.

"Ah—" Richard nodded. "Well done. Projected Images."

Immediately, Gwen switched to the defensive. To Richard's surprise, his cousin's shield was no less potent that than of a bona fide Abjurer.

SPAK! SPAK! SPAK!

The barrier manifested just in time, three shards of ice skidded off her semi-sphere, transforming the locations where they'd struck opaque. Though Richard's juniors were novices, their volley packed quite a punch; the last of the boys was an Evoker, not to mention a Quasi-Elementalist like Gwen herself.

SPAK! SPAK! SPAK!

A second volley of Magic Missiles struck Gwen's shield. Richard puckered his lips. His cousin shouldn't just keep defending as she was bound to be OoM sooner or later.

"FLASHBANG!"

BUNG!

An explosion of sound and light erupted above the three boys.

Richard's eyes glowed with triumph, filled with the dazzling light of his cousin's Conjuration spell.

Gwen wracked her head for something viable. She had been too reliant on Caliban and Ariel while she was out amongst the NoMs, and now she was struggling with her utilitarian Schools of Magic. In particular, she struggled to manifest Detect Magic, a spell which could discern if the boys were tricking her with illusions.

For her present battle, she felt as though punching wool. Her current repertoire of Evocation such as Guiding Bolt, Lightning Blast, and Lightning Bolt wasn't very helpful against opponents she couldn't brute-force. Each of her staple spells was excellent in a straight-up fight, but she lacked the utility to nail the boys.

To win, as such, she would have to play the match by ear and catch the Prince's boys on the backfoot. Therefore, forcing herself to calm, Gwen awaited the volley of Magil Missiles that would inevitably come.

SPAK! SPAK! SPAK!

The ice shattered, turning her double-glazed barrier milky white.

Instantly, she retracted her shield, clearing her field of view. Across the jetty, she saw Erik. There was a second figure hidden behind Erik, while the third boy hid behind his illusions.

Gwen raised her hand.

Erik pushed more mana into his shield.

"Flashbang!"

Gwen incanted the Conjuration variant, over-channelling her mana into the manifestation. The unstable crystal ionised from thin air, delivering a cacophonic cargo of sound and light directly over the boys' heads.

"Arrrgh!"

"Shit!"

The flash turned Erik's barrier brilliant white, stabbing into his eyes. The young man who had been hiding behind Erik fell to this knees, holding both ears.

Meanwhile, Gwen took advantage of the fulminating distraction to cast Detect Magic.

Two down, Gwen scanned her surroundings. Erik and his mate were down for the count for now, but where was the third bloke? Where was their Illusionist?

Her electric-blue eyes scanned the surroundings.

Behind Erik, the Evoker was beginning to recover; realising that she had to make a call, Gwen pointed a finger towards the whimpering duo.

"Lightning Bolt!"

A zigzagging bolt of plasma arced through their air. The tier 3 spell struck the water shield, scattering motes of water and electrifying the surface.

"ARRRGH!" Elvia's brother sounded like he was pushing his guts outside his body. His shield spluttered, but it held.

Gwen cursed. She had underestimated these elite schoolboys; they were not like the small fries from Blackwattle, nor like haphazardly trained Mages from Blackheath.

Unlike herself, the boys' foundations were built upon a life of privileged access to resource and instruction. In a one-on-one, she could smelt Erik like a nugget, but now she faced three of the little tykes.

Likewise, while she fought alone, Erik had a party. While the Abjurer solely focused on defence— she had to do both.

"!"

Unbidden, Gwen felt the gathering of mana behind her.

She instinctively dived.

A water-blast erupted where she had stood a second prior. Were it not for her premonition; she would have copped the hit and tumbled into the water. Still, the liquid washed over her before she could erect a mana shield, drenching her diaphanous linen dress.

"Bloody oath!" Gwen swore under her breath; the seawater rode up her skirt and made her feel ashamed and embarrassed. "Alright, you asked for it—"

Gwen fumed. She would not show all her trump cards, but she may as well give them a show. Its the Xmas spirit after all.

The Illusionist was visible now, clearly pleased with his sneak attack. The other boys were moving up, giving him support, recovering from their stunned state.

Gwen took a deep breath.

"Jump!" She leapt back. It was a universally known Transmutation invocation, one that was no cause for drama or suspicion. Simultaneously, she activated the Feather Fall effect stored within her ring.

For a split-second, she hovered over the jetty.

"Ice Spines!"

"Magic Missile!"

Both the Evoker and the Illusionist had recovered from their spell fatigue and now launched their renewed attacks.

A shimmering sphere enveloped Gwen. Her stolen Abjuration talent made her barriers near-instantaneous.

SPAK! SPAK!

Thump! THUMP!

Electrical sparks showered from her shield. The boys appeared aghast, unable to conceive that Gwen, an Evoker, possessed an impenetrable shield.

Gwen began her descent.

"Warding Bolt!" she invoked her new spells.

In the next moment, twin orbs appeared beside her contoured silhouette, each a menacing ball of living lightning.

"Call Lightning!" An ominous and dangerous-looking cloud formed above Gwen's head, rapidly coalescing until it blotted out the sun.

A commotion broke out from the observing crowd, fixing jubilance with shock.

Gwen's shield dissipated into the atmosphere.

"Ice—"

"Magic—"

"No!" Erik suddenly realised that Gwen's spells did not require her active casting.

CRACK—CRACK!

Blasts of electricity shot from each of the globes, lashing into the young Mages. The cloud above likewise made its power known, raining down an arm-thick bolt of purple plasma.

Gwen watched as Elvia's brother grunted, somehow holding out against her semi-autonomous volleys.

"Lightning Bolt!"

She added to their already impressive burden.

By her third volley, Erik's Absorb Elements faded.

The boys' were at their limits.

Gwen fought off the spell-fatigue clawing at her guts. Thanks to Evocation, her turret spells delivered full payloads at the cost of doubling expenditure.

Finally, with the last of her mana, she gestured a finger toward the heavens, then with a flourish, pointed it towards the nadir.

"Blast Bolt!"

The clouds above them rumbled.

CRACK!

Three separate bolts conjoined into one.

No amount of reinforced shielding and Absorb Elements could withstand the combined effort of Call Lightning, Warding Bolt, and Blast Bolt. Before the crowd, a tidal wave of electricity washed over the trio, azure and white, violet and amethyst, crisscrossing until the boys were barely visible.

"Halt! Halt! The victor is Gwen Song!" Their Adjudicator cried out.

Gwen cut her mana channels.

The electricity faded.

The boys emerged looking worse for wear, their clothes smoking gently with heat; their bodies numb with static.

"We yield!" The Illusionist and the Evoker both raised their hands.

"Do you yield, Erik?" Gwen asked.

"I yield," Elvia's brother announced dejectedly.

Gwen exhaled.

"You got lucky," Erik grumbled.

The little twerp! Gwen gritted her teeth, feeling an ardent desire to teach the boy a lesson. When Erik added insult to injury by trying to give her a handshake as though they were equals, she instead pulled him close and planted a kiss on the cheek.

As expected, the young man jumped back as though bitten by a Red Back, stuttering incoherently before fleeing from the jovial laughter of the crowd.

"Thanks for the duel, Ma'am," the remaining Prince's boys introduced themselves. "Todd Smith, at your service."

"Likewise, Ma'am." The other boy bowed. "Lionel Zachary."

"Nice to meet you both," Gwen replied. "Please, just Gwen is fine."

"May we ask a question, Ma'am?" Lionel maintained his tone of formality.

"Sure." Gwen smiled, though she was still mindful of her drenched attire.

"Are you... are you a Magus?"

"Ha!" Gwen snorted. "No, I am just a student."

Behind them, the crowd erupted.

"Did you see that?"

"Who had Detect Magic on?"

"She as using Conjuration! Isn't she an Evoker?"

Among the crowd stood Elvia, her mouth half-open in disbelief. Her parents, likewise, were staring slack-jawed at Gwen.

And not too far from Elvia, her cousin's mind raced. Richard desperately wanted to know the depth of Gwen's talent. He wanted to know what her Familiar could be. Now that he's seen her talent, he felt left with even more unanswered questions.

Besides him, the crowd boiled over, full of questions Gwen couldn't address even if she had the answers. When finally the girl grew too flustered by the attention, she took her friend Elvia by the hand, then disappeared into the depth of the Lindholm's multi-layered.

Thankfully, Elvia’s had an ensuite in which Gwen could change out of her bedraggled clothes. She liked the ocean as much as any girl growing up within thirty minutes of Cronulla, but the distinct stink of the fish-scented sea was difficult to dismiss.

Elvia had asked Gwen to leave her dirty laundry, but Gwen stowed them in her ring anyway. The soiled attire was kept in stasis anyhow, and the very thought of Elvia or her mother sorting through her intimates was mortifying.

Earlier, the crowd outside had been barking mad for answers. Gwen had none to give but hoped that things worked out so long as she didn't drop a big 'Void' bomb. In all honesty, having access to 'two' Schools of Magic wasn't all that amazing. What was surprising was the age at which she gained access.

For the every-Mage, two Schools of Magic meant effort and tireless practice. Even her Master, Henry Kilroy, had first been a Conjurer, then a Transmuter, and finally an Evoker and so on.

For her Master, it was his ability to tap into all four Prime Elemental Planes that made him truly unique. There was Sufina too, whose life-giving and life-draining talent gifted him the moniker of "Deathless Henry."

Gingerly, she slipped on a fresh set of intimates, then a vintage polka-dot sundress she'd bought near Surya's. An NoM lady, a local dressmaker, had made the dress. She then towelled the water from her hair, using her hand to mould a one-sided fringe. The result was that she looked humble and country, but at least she was comfortable.

Elvia's eyes sparkled when Gwen emerged.

"Tell me everything!" Her friend took her hand and squeezed as though she was wringing juice from an orange.

"I will! I promise!" Gwen replied. "Not now, though, maybe later? There are still guests out there. You have to the carols, don't you?"

Elvia sulked. She loathed any form of attention, benevolent or otherwise. Still, her doting father, not to mention Gwen herself, very much looked forward to Elvia's performance.

The Lindholms weren't religious by any means, but from the limited conversation Gwen had shared with the mother, they were immensely sentimental about Europe. The original Patriarch of the family was a refugee from the Austrian-Hungarian Empire and had kept all the White Christmas traditions alive, despite their exile since the sixties.

"Don't worry, Evee. You look a treat!" She couldn't help but smile. Elvia in a white dress, singing Christmas Carols? Could there be anything more perfect than that?

To no one's surprise, the moment Gwen re-emerged, they were surrounded. Gwen responded to all questions with the universal answer that she was not at "liberty" to speak on pain of ex-communication from her mysterious master.

After loudly repeating her prepared response to a dozen guests, the old questions ceased. Now, they were interested in her personal life: was she dating? Who was her mother? What about her House? And so on.

When Gwen again grew flustered, she caught Richard lingering stoically by himself at the buffet table, pondering the philosophy of which canapes he preferred.

"Richard!" She called out.

He raised his glass to her.

She ran up beside him and hooked his elbow.

"This is my cousin Richard, the heir apparent of my House!" she announced. "He will answer all of your questions."

"I will?" Richard looked at Gwen with a raised eyebrow.

"Help me out, Richard," she whispered beside his ear. "I don't know how to deal with these people. I can't even understand what they're talking about."

"Fine." Richard inclined his head, then turned to the multitude.

"You." Richard pointed to a questioner. "You first."

"Does Ms Song have a partner in mind?" The middle-aged asked carefully.

"No, but I sure as hope you're not asking for yourself. Next!"

Gwen's face turned a bright scarlet, wondering if she had made a terrible mistake in asking Richard for help. Maybe she should stop Richard before he said something irreversible.

The crowd murmured excitedly.

"Who is the patriarch of the Huang Clan?" Someone else asked.

"Surya Huang, my grandfather, Senior Enchanter associated with the Tower."

More murmurs engendered.

"The artist?" Someone asked.

"The same."

"He's an Enchanter?" A voice said incredulously. "I thought he just made er— art."

"Does Ms Song's father belong to a House?"

"No. Next!"

"What is her father's pedigree?"

"Abjurer Tier 4. Next!"

The crowd appeared confused. Gwen's father was a nobody? That seemed hardly right. If she were the progenitor of her talent, it would make her less desirable then if she had a family history of curious multi-school Awakenings.

"What does Ms Song look for in a partner?" Some who was more interested in Gwen herself inquired.

"Magus and above. Tier five or go home. Next!"

The crowd jeered.

"Any preference in particular?"

Richard measured Gwen expertly, placing a hand over her head and another floating down her hips like car salesman marvelling over the curves of a Pininfarina model.

"No shorties. You must be this tall to enter. Next!"

Gwen baulked.

Richard was doing TOO WELL of a job, and now she wanted off his wild ride. Yet, the crowd was now jovial, and the atmosphere had lost the seriousness it possessed only a moment ago.

Leaving Richard to his dog and pony show, Gwen slowly backed away and joined Elvia. Thankfully, the guests were soon out of questions after another volley of Richard expertly calling out 'next,' like an auctioneer.

"Sorry Evee," Gwen apologised for derailing the Xmas gathering.

"I think we should blame Erik! He was the one who made this happen."

Gwen agreed but still felt apologetic.

"Miss Song—"

On cue, they were joined by Frederik, Elvia's father, and an unhappy Erik, looking every inch the helpless kitten facing an impending bath.

"Erik, apologise," Frederik commanded.

"I am sorry."

"It's alright, Erik," Gwen replied sweetly. "No worries, eh?"

"Gwen." Elvia's father coughed to draw her attention. "If there's anything the family can do for you, all you have to do is ask."

Gwen felt a little taken back.

"Please, Mr Lindholm, you don't have to."

"I am serious." The man remained solemn. "Please speak kindly of today's incident to your Master. The boy— he's not the best spell in the tome. I was at fault as well. When he asked for my permission, I didn't see any harm in it. That was short-sighted of me. If you need someone to blame, I would gladly shoulder the blame—"

"Mr Lindholm!" Gwen interjected. "Please, it's fine. I promise. No harm will come to Erik or Elvia, or anyone in your family. We're just kids mucking around."

Frederik's expression grew considerably softer than before.

"Thank you."

"It's me who should be apologising," Gwen replied earnestly.

Frederik nodded, Gwen watched the father rufflke his son's hair, then brush a finger across Elvia's cheeks. "Take care of our guest, you two."

The kids watched their father return to their mother with the good news. Elaina too, had been holding her breath.

Gwen's eye met Elvia's own, and she could see the cogs turn inside her best friend's ash-blonde head. Thee girl was misreading the situation.

"Whatever my talents, Evee, it doesn't change anything between us." She held Elvia's hand. "We're friends, AND we're a team! That's not going to change, no matter who my Master may be."

Elvia's lovely blue eyes glowed with anxiety, seeing Gwen as though for the first time. Gwen guessed correctly that the girl was stunned by her father's attitude. If Gwen and Frederik were equals, then what of Elvia? What was her position in all of this?

"But—"

"No! Elvia—Evee! I am just Gwen, you know? Your friend!" Gwen wondered if there was something she could do to make Elvia understand.

Erik looked downcast, likely realising that he may have screwed the pooch this time.

The three thus stood beside one another in an awkward triangle: one didn't know what to say, one didn't hear what the other had said, and the other wanted to leave but couldn't.

Ding-dong-DING!

The doorbell proved a welcome distraction.

"I'll get it." Erik left hurriedly.

"Evee..." Gwen placed a hand on Elvia's shoulder.

The humble healer regarded her friend warily, still indecisive as to how she should approach her friend in light of her new knowledge. When she’d first known Gwen, her friend had been a joke, widely mocked by the lowest Mage with the most meagre of talents. Then, Gwen had become a Lightning Evoker, grew close to the legendary Alesia de Botton, and now she was a Conjurer-Evoker. Moreso, Gwen had likely been apprenticed by a Magister, and now even her father was afraid of Gwen.

If so, could they still be friends? Elvia's felt the weight of Gwen's affection like a ball and chain. Had she not forgone Lilith's precisely to get away from grandeur? She liked Gwen, she loved her, even; but now, Elvia wanted to cry. She had finally found someone kind and gentle, but now she wasn't good enough. Was her middling talent going to be a burden to her friend? Was Gwen going to tire of her when she inevitably left for a tier 1 city?

"Evee? Hello— are you still in there?" Gwen watched Elvia enact the thousand-yard stare. She wondered if she should give Elvia a shock, a little zap from her fingers to jolt her from the stupor. The girl was overthinking things.

"OI! I AM BACK!"

A shrill cry rang out from the upper floor, rolling across the atrium.

Erik stumbled down the stairs with a frightened look.

"I... I think we're under attack!" He stammered.

Following Erik's finger, the girls saw a familiar figure descend. Their eyes spied a pair of dirty leather combat boots still stained with ichor and blood, ending at the knees in military cargos. Above, two bandoleers of potions slung across the broad hips, hooked onto a stained combat suit. Across their intruder's shoulders was strung a hefty looking backpack with an assortment of camping multi-tools.

And finally, somewhere in that mess of gear was a head full of matted hair, framing a heart-shaped face.

"Rambo?" Gwen murmured, aghast the sight. "Is that Yue?"

Elvia was agog and could say nothing.

"Guys!" Yue shrieked from atop the stairs. She unclipped something, and her gear landed with a noise akin to two skeletons making out on a tin-humpy roof. "I've missed you so much! I MADE IT!"

Yue sprang down the stairs two at a time.

An arm that smelled like the jungle wrap around Gwen's neck and brought her closer towards a pair of suffocating bosoms. Elvia received a likewise treatment, being drawn unwillingly into the deathly embrace of survival training.

It wasn't long before the girls' bodies went slack.

Gwen staggered back, gagging and choking.

Elvia turned green.

"Ha-ha." Yue laughed jovially. "Finally you all get to share in my suffering!"

Gwen circulated a mote of mana to calm herself before the canapes found their way back up.

"It's good to see you too, how did you get back? Where's Alesia?"

"Back to the apartment." Yue grinned. "I came straight here, wasn't going miss Xmas. It's Elvia's party, after all."

"I thought you were out of contact?" Elvia forced herself to swallow. "Did you get my invitation, after all?"

"I received it as soon as we hit a Divi-Station," Yue said. "We flew and teleported as much as we could, fighting whatever critters came out along the way. Even so, it took us 8 hours! There was no time to change."

"I can smell that."

"I am so happy you're here!"

The girls gushed.

Gwen snuck a peek at Elvia; her friend had been sufficiently distracted, for now. She realised that, sooner or later, she had to come clean with her friends. Secrets festered when left unscoured.

"How much time do we have until your performance?" Gwen enquired.

Elvia looked at a clock.

"About thirty minutes?"

"Good. Yue, get yourself cleaned up. Evee, can Yue use your bathroom?"

"Sure, I'll get her a change of clothes."

Gwen passed a hand over Yue's gear, stowing the lot in her Storage Ring. Yue whistled.

"Moving up in the world!"

"It's a long story." Gwen studied Elvia, before turning back to Yue. "Later, I'll tell you everything, I promise."

Yue read the awkward atmosphere.

"You guys have a spiff or something?"

"Nothing like that."

Elvia smiled, reticent in her manner.

"I'll be back!" Yue shrugged. "Whatever your problems, point me to the ensuite first."

Gwen changed again. This time out of her Yue-soiled dress and into a pair of white shorts. As for Elvia, it was no surprise she had an endless wardrobe of white dresses. After the costume change, the girl left Gwen and Yue alone to await the night's final festivities.

Behind the sliding door, Yue showered, humming a little tune as she washed off the grime, moaning from the pleasure of hot water and cleansing, moisturising soap.

"So." Yue's voice penetrated the door. "Are you up shit creek without a paddle?"

"Yep, I am stranded in a sea of shit."

“Yikes. But have ya Awakened in the school of Paddles?"

Gwen snorted.

“Sorry, spent a lot of time with soldiers, picked up some bad habits.”

“Nah, the candidness is refreshing.”

“Well, don’t let it grow on ya.” Yue finished showering. “I am trying to control myself around Elvia, wouldn’t want our innocent Evee to pick up a bad habit.”

Yue slid open the door.

“Whoa,” Gwen turned away, blushing fiercely. “Your puppies are out and about.”

Yue shrugged impressively.

“You get used to it in the field,” she replied. “Showers are rare, and leeches the size of snakes live in the rivers. No time for modesty or comfort.”

“What the hell did you do?” Gwen asked with her back turned.

There was the sound of clothing shuffling on hurriedly.

“Yue, are you decent?”

Her answer arrived in the form of a pair of arm wrapping about her waist.

“It’s good to be back in the real world.” There was a dark edge to Yue’s voice.

“Yue?”

“Just a moment,” Yue answered. “Just need to make sure this is real and not a dream.”

Gwen remained still.

“I am real.”

“I know.”

"What some tissues?"

Yue dabbed at her face.

“Okay, I am good. Let’s go see how our daughter is doing, mother.”

“What? I always thought I was the father,” Gwen inquired suspiciously.

“Ha! You wish!” Yue laughed, obnoxious invading Gwen's privacy, making her yelp. “Jesus, you lose weight? Wheres the meat gone?”

“I worked it off.”

“Another long story?” Yue's wandering hands retreated. “Bloody oath, you're all Gwen and bones. Nobody likes that!”

“I’ll work on it— wait, what's that?”

The sound of music came from above.

“We’re going to miss Elvia's performance!”

The girls entered the living room as the carols were about to begin.

A dozen of the children, mostly boys in white shirts and ivory vests, were lined up by the jetty. A Conjurer had created hundreds of floating Dancing Lights, lazily swimming through the air and over children. Like fireflies, the twinkling sparks danced across the water, illuminating the singers.

Elvia stepped forward, resplendent in the white light, glowing faintly with an aura akin to celestials. She gazed upwards toward Gwen and Yue, her luminous blue eyes twinkling with emotion, then began to sing.

Stille Nacht~ Heil'ge Nacht~

Alles schläft; einsam wacht

Nur das traute hoch heilige Paar.

Holder Knab' im lockigen Haar,

Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!

Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!

The sound of angelic voices and soft piano music faded into the darkness of the bay, commemorating the birth of a God-like being that would change the world for the next millennia. And as the song reached its crescendo, the girls stood alone with their thoughts and their stories, awaiting the long night.

After copious volumes of Christmas pudding with a massive dollop of ice cream, the girls had watched the Dancing Lights slowly drift outward, dying in darkness.

Now, they retreated into Elvia's bedroom, each pilfering cushions from the other rooms. Gwen was giddy with excitement. A sleepover was something she had never experienced.

It took an hour for the small talk had been exhausted, and then it was time for business. Like back at the dorm, each of the girls took up one corner of the four-post bed, Elvia sat against the headboard, while Gwen and Yue leaned against the posts, buoyed by cushions.

"Alright," Yue began. "Let's get this show on the road! There are no secrets tonight! It's tell-all and show-all! Let's begin with the least traumatic of events. Elvia, out of 10, how do you rate your holiday activities?"

"Umm..." Elvia's big blue eyes rolled in their sockets. "Seven?"

"Ooo, very impressive." Yue cooed dramatically. "I'd say my blood-soaked story of jungle survival is about a nine. What about you, Gwen?"

Gwen chuckled uncomfortably.

"Twenty?"

"..." Yue raised both eyebrows. "You're not going to tell us that you're a middle-aged man polymorphed into a high school girl, are you?"

"Oh, I wish." Gwen smiled weakly. "I just hope you don't think I am lying or making it up, that's how ridiculous my story is."

"We'll try our best." Yue breathed in deeply. "Elvia, you're up first."

Elvia's face took on an intense concentration. She began to speak, first about her work at the clinic, then later, the main event.

"Every year, our family volunteers for charity work. This year, they were headed to the refugee camp in Manus Island."

"We arrived in early November, so the weather was both hot and humid. The camp we were going to was inland, so we had to take a local charter ship up the river to reach it. The entire waterway was lined with humpies as far as the eye could see..."

Elvia could hardly believe her eyes— or the stench.

The camps along the river extended as far as the eye could see, invariably the same sites of sadness and abandonment. For the inexperienced Elvia, a few hours was all it took for the immutability of the island's poverty, the enormity of it all, to drown her mind.

According to her unce, there were very few rules on the island, the refugees from the Mermen incursion had been given food, some resources, and then largely left to their own devices.

Here on the island, the strong was merely an accident arising from the weakness of others. The rare Mages who lived among the refugees became the natural masters of a place without rightful rulers. Both bullies and thugs, they hoarded food from the supply drops, warred with others too weak to fight, and aggravated murder and mayhem for sport.

For Elvia, their destination was the root of the river, the last bastion of order upon the island. There, the Mageocracy's volunteers had set up a station that offered refugees a place to receive medical attention, ensuring that no pandemic exacerbated an already hopeless situation.

As expected, the station was understaffed and overwhelmed. No matter how many volunteers and families from the cities came to help. The loss of the Micronesian islands to the Mermen created an endless wave of refugees, some escaping from slavery, others from chattel pens, filtering toward the single safe refugee the currents would allow - the Frontier nation of Australia.

The ship's first stop was a place ironically called Eldorado, a large camp housing about two thousand individuals. To Elvia, "Housing" was a word her uncle used ironically, as rugged jungle smothered the island, making the atmosphere intolerable. Indeed, Elvia was already melting under the oppressive heat, travelling up that river was like entering into the primordial past. And behind their camp, the jungle panted, impenetrable and inhospitable.

When the boat finally docked, Elvia immediately cursed her naivety. In Sydney, she had envisioned a field hospital with nurses in white linen. Clerics, NoMs and Healer-Mages alike would be standing shoulder to shoulder, working to alleviate the pain and suffering of the refugees.

What befell her now was a circle transmigrated straight from hell.

For what greeted them were hundreds of refugees, dark faces blunted and burnt by the sun and the humidity, with hungry eyes that swallowed the new arrivals.

"Hans, welcome back." Elvia's uncle was greeted by a young man whose coffee-coloured skin was dark and leathery, peeling here and there. "Had a cyclone come through last week, things have gotten pretty bad."

"Kali, good to see you again. What's the damage?" Hans asked, motioning for Elvia and a few others to join him on the shore.

Elvia stepped onto the plank and was immediately the centre of attention. Compared to their surroundings, she was too clean, too radiant, a pure being in a place full of things that slithered.

Kali rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

"This is?" he asked, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.

"My niece." Hans introduced Elvia, who waved at him demurely. "Make sure she's safe."

"Of course, Dr. Lindholm, anything."

Kali bowed toward Elvia, currently hiding behind her uncle.

"Anything you need, Mistress Elvia. I shall protect you with my life."

Hans offered Elvia a hand.

"Have courage, Elvia. Kali will see to it that you are safe."

Elvia met the young man halfway.

Kali took her hand and marvelled at its flawlessness before touching it to his forehead.

"I am your servant, Mistress," the native declared.

"He's an Earthen Abjurer." Hans gave the young man a firm pat on the shoulder. "Now, as I was saying, what was the damage? How's the triage centre dealing with the patients?"

"Currently, we have forty blues, twenty-two greens, five yellows and two reds. More are probably coming in."

Elvia gulped. "Uncle, that's a lot of patients."

"Elvia, everyone— Come, let's get to work. Kali, round up some men and move all our spare tables and chairs into the Triage centre. We're starting with the reds. Jones, Thomas, Clyde and Elvia can handle anything Orange and below."

"As you say, Dr Lindholm."

As they moved through the camp, pained faces stumbled from olive-green makeshift camps to gawk and stare. Most of them were topless, the few of them that had clothes were sweat-stained and soiled here and there. When they saw Elvia, a ripple emanated from the crowd, with fingers gesturing at the blonde girl.

Hans frowned. "Kali, what's going on?"

Kali hollered something that the gathering.

"Catapult!" the Abjurer suddenly incanted.

A boulder the size of a man's head flew through the air and struck a coconut palm, snapping it in half. The tree then toppled into the jungle, crushing all protest from the crowd.

"I want a perimeter kept." Hans nodded approvingly. "If they're not sick or dying, they're not welcome."

The Triage centre itself was a mess. Whatever it had stocked was long looted before the medical team had arrived. Hans growled and ordered the beds and tables set up again. Once done, he and the other doctors passed a hand over the empty tables, materialising equipment, potions, and medicinal instruments from his Storage Ring.

"Start sorting the sick. I hope the locals still have the tags the last team left."

Elvia stood at her station, her fingers trembling. Even with a cooling glyph set up in the room, it was stuffy and the air stank of sweat and antiseptic. Her uncle sorted the new patients, prescribed them with the level of healing required, after which the orderlies took them to the station with the relevant Healer.

Shrrrrk!

Her curtains parted with a start. A young woman with a bruised and battered face entered.

"This one needs a Cure Minor, examine her for infectious diseases." The orderly pulled the curtains close once again.

"H..hello," Elvia greeted her with a nervous voice. "I'll be healing you today, please lie down on the table."

The woman obeyed.

Elvia performed as she had been instructed by her uncle, initiating a head to toe. When she pressed on the woman's stomach, her patient winced and began to moan. Elvia placed a hand upon her abdomen and incanted an altered form of Detect Disease and Poison composed for diagnostics.

"Oh... Oh no." Elvia's eyes widened in shock and horror. "You've had an..."

The woman met her eyes with a resignation that made Elvia feel sick. Elvia examined her body with growing horror. The young woman had bruises all over her torso; additionally, there were lacerations on her low body. When she moved to check between her thighs, the woman shook her head.

Elvia looked up.

"Heal, please," the woman begged.

"But I..." Elvia was feeling her eyes watering up. "Protocol says I need to..."

The woman's hand grabbed Elvia's wrist with surprising force.

"Heal, please," she begged again.

"Elvia, tick-tock!" The orderly pulled at Elvia's privacy curtain. "There's a line."

Wordlessly, Elvia placed her hands on the woman's abdomen.

"Heal Minor Wounds. Remove Disease."

A green glow suffused the young woman. She moaned as the flesh knitted with that soul scratching itch which came with magical healing. The woman cried out — the more potent the mending, the worse the bone-deep itch. When finally the magic faded, her patient slipped off the bed, exhausted by the toll of the body's regeneration.

"Sank you," the woman muttered before she stumbled out.

Her next patient was a young boy with a broken arm in a makeshift split.

The next was an older man who leered at her with a toothless grin - he had an infected eye.

The next was another young man who tried to speak to her in a tongue she could not understand. When he got handsy, so the orderly beat him black and blue and threw him out.

Another boy arrived with a gangrenous foot.

Another came, and another went; an endless stream of suffering that seemed without end.

"I am so sorry." Gwen moved closer to the petite girl, putting out her arms to envelop her. The girl hesitated, but ultimately relented and nestled herself between Gwen's arms. "That must have been horrible."

"Uncle said I needed to see the world," Elvia noted sadly. "I don't blame him. I think I really did need to see it. I'd never thought such a place could even exist."

"So then what happened?" Yue could sense that there was more. There was always more.

"Things were okay for a month or so. We went from camp to camp, doing our best. The people who we helped started calling me the Ensel, and we were drawing out folks who were hiding in the jungle."

Elvia suddenly made a crestfallen expression. "And that's when it happened."

"Buk off!"

Elvia knew there was something wrong when a rough and foreign voice heavy with the accent of the local Tok Pisin dialect shot over the ambient moaning of the patients.

Driven by morbid curiosity, she opened the curtains, revealing a group of thuggish looking natives clothed in what looks like the multi-coloured garbs of woven-grass. Above these tribal garments, the thugs wore western singlets stained with sweat. The speaker was a corpulent man wearing what appeared to be a crown woven from blonde grass.

Across the floor of the triage tent, their eyes met.

Instantly, Elvia's heart sunk.

"Who's the Kin' here?" the man said in a mix of local dialect and English.

"I am." Hans stepped from the group of impatient-looking doctors. To the man's surprise, none of the staff looked particularly afraid, merely annoyed. "Where are you from, friend? What we have here is a medical facility; there are no HDMs nor precious metals for you to loot."

Elvia knew from where the man hailed. He was probably from a local tribe and having Awoken as a Mage, now fancied himself the king of his tiny corner of the earth. It was the typical story here. The local warlords had instigated almost all of the conflict with the refugees.

In the past, the Mageocracy had attempted to quail the locals with force of arms. That had ended badly, and here was the end-result of their failed colonial efforts.

"I am a pawa-ful Magician," the man said. "I hear that you have the Ensel here. I have come to take her as my meri."

Elvia blanched.

Her uncle blinked and quickly glanced at Elvia. She recalled her uncle hinting that there might be some trouble, but had also anticipated that no one would bother the doctors literally in the process of saving lives.

From the looks of it, her uncle has underestimated the allure of a pale, blonde healer to these local warmongers.

"I am afraid that is not possible," Hans apologised, speaking slowly so the man could understand. "Elvia is not for you."

The man grinned, pointing at Elvia.

"Is this the Ensel?" The man pointed.

Elvia's eyes grew as wide as hen's eggs.

"Come to Luluai!" The man walked towards her.

Elvia backed away, bumping into a table, sending its cargo of steel trays and syringes tumbling. Her uncle clicked his tongue, dismayed by her clumsiness.

"Kali!" Hans called out. No reply came.

"Ha! Your bodyguard is defeated. He was no match for me in a pait!" the man boasted.

"Did you kill him?" her uncle's face grew stone cold.

"Who knows?" The man shrugged. "Now, Ensel, come with me. I will treat you nicely, and then we can do the biktaun as maritman and meri."

"Was he gentle on the first night? I can't believe you didn't invite me to the wedding." Yue jested rancorously, chuckling at the morbidness of her imagination.

"Yue!" Elvia protested. "It's not funny!"

"Alright, alright, then what happened?" Yue apologised, putting up her hands.

Elvia paled.

"Then, Uncle got super angry..."

Elvia's uncle was a patient man, but even a saint's patience had a limit.

When the village idiot boasted that he had bested Kali, Elvia witnessed her uncle's upset.

In the week they had spent together, Kali had been beyond helpful. Without the local man, the team's progress would be set back many years, perhaps losing access to entire areas of the island altogether.

The other doctors, Elvia among them, felt Hans' anger rise like pent-up magma rising through the crust. They knew what was about to happen next and began to find cover.

"You want to try me, mon?" The man's eyes glowed. A sloshing sound bubbled from the ground. To their surprise, the earth around the man began to liquify.

An Ooze Mage? Elvia recognised talent.

It was a rare talent.

The man could have made himself something in the cities. Ooze Mages were one of the rarer Primary para-elementals, specialising in protective and debilitating effects.

Here on the island though, the Mage was a source of pure misery.

"Elvia, you might want to look away," Hans warned.

Elvia could hardly move. She'd never seen her uncle fight before, and she'd never seen an Ooze Mage before.

"Oo Supia—" The Ooze Mage began, but before he even got halfway, Elvia's Uncle finished a tier 5 healing magic.

"LIGHT OF ABSOLUTION!"

A pillar of light surrounded the man. A non-existent shield of mud instantly evaporated, revealing a pulsing beam of pure Positive Energy.

The shock of losing his shield disrupted the man's tribal spell, and their assailant wondered for a moment if he was about to die. When he did not, he gazed upon Hans with an evil grin.

"Your spell does nothing," the Mage mocked her uncle.

Then suddenly, the smile froze on his face.

His body began to swell. First his limbs, then his torso. Within the man's twisting abdomen, organs tore and gashed, bloating with cancerous cells. There came a sound of muscles tearing and bones wrenched from their sockets. In his final moments, the man's head grew the size of a watermelon, or perhaps a boil on the verge of violent expulsion.

"Elvia! Take cover!" Her uncle dived behind the table. "Elvia, back behind the curtains!"

The crew ducked behind whatever they could.

Elvia stared, fascinated with shock.

Then, the human water balloon exploded.

Yue dry heaved.

Gwen cradled Elvia like her baby, hugging her whole-heartedly and squeezing her tight. The poor girl! Her poor Evee!

"I— I was so glad I had my mask on," Elvia sobbed. "Otherwise some of it might have gotten in my mouth..."

"Elvia! No!" Yue rolled around the bed, unable to control herself.

"Uncle told me that this is why we Positive Energy casters need to stay away from the front lines. Our spells are slow, takes time to manifest, easily shielded against, and can be unexpectedly inhumane."

"How is that seven out of ten? I am being traumatised for life here!"

"Oh, you poor, poor thing!" Gwen kissed the top of Elvia's head, feeling her soft, boneless body in her arms, not ever wanting to let her Evee go.

Yue recovered, panting as she laid on her back.

"Phew, alright, that was intense." Yue fanned herself with a hand.

"Your turn?" Gwen asked.

"Well, I don't know if mine is still a nine after that, but alright."

Yue lunged forward, obscenely bouncing on the bed to face the girls.

Gwen covered Elvia's eyes.

"Well, I was with Master Alesia," Yue began, her eyes clouding with recollection. "So naturally it all began with a Fire Ball..."

"An empowered Fireball specifically," Yue gushed. "The very first Metamagic that Alesia taught me. It's Evocation mixed with Transmutation."

Yue wanted to begin her recount in medias res. The girls, however, demanded context as they couldn't make head nor tail of Yue's pyrotechnic, Michael Bay epic.

"Alright, alright, sheesh. Give me a second..."

Yue had to recount several times to get her story straight and figured out the chronology of her flashfire flashbacks.

"So, we're on Moreton Island, off the Gold Coast. The coast guard had requested heavy ordinance from the Tower, which meant Alesia. Master was already gunning for an opportunity to get me blooded, so she agreed on my behalf."

Yue went on about how she was still half asleep when Alesia grabbed her, then flew out to catch the troopship with Yue in her pyjamas.

"The Island was a FOB between the Great Barrier Reef and the Coral Sea. As for why it's there, it's because of that mumbo-jumbo we learned in Geography class— trade routes to the South China Sea and what not. The Tower lost contact with the base after a cyclone came through in October."

"Anyway, the troop carrier ran into some trouble along the way. We got rammed by a giant squid that tried to topple the ship. Master killed it, and we ate grilled squid. Squid tentacles as thick as your leg? Yes Please! Then when we're almost to the island, we got boarded by Crab-folk, I think. Anyway, they were surprisingly good steamed with soy and ginger. We kept going, and as we landed, these fish folks were attacking the harbour. Boom! Sashimi two way, with chilli Fish head soup."

"..."

"..."

The other two girls regarded one another.

"You ate them?" Gwen asked.

"Raw?" Elvia said.

Yue blinked. "Was I not supposed to?"

Gwen suppressed a gag. Should Yue have eaten her prey? There were no right answers to that. The consumption of Magical Creatures was essential in the development of human civilisation and its magical war-potential. At school, the girls ate them by the tableful, but those weren't intelligent creatures, or were they? There was a Caliban's length of ethical dilemmas that assailed Gwen as she tried to step into Yue's shoes.

"You said PEOPLE— talking, walking, sapient people. With villages and stuff. Civilisation." Gwen reiterated, slowly realising how ridiculous she must sound.

Yue regarded her friend puzzlingly.

Sometimes, Gwen said the darnedest things.

"Fine," Yue sighed. "Anthropomorphic Magic Creatures. Better?"

Gwen felt her gut clench.

"Anyway, Evee, the sashimi was amazing. So fresh, you could taste the mana just rolling off your tongue."

"That sounds delicious," Elvia cooed.

Gwen tasted bile, wondering if there were vegetarian Mages.

"Regardless, we arrived at the island, and its a fiery mess. By the way, Alesia brought the whole team with us— do you remember Billy and all that?"

Gwen did.

Elvia did not.

"There's Jonas, Alesia's Cleric. Paul's the translocation Conjurer-Transmuter. Taj the Water Abjurer and Billy is the Diviner. He's responsible for communications. He asked after you several times Gwen, I think you made an impression on him."

Gwen's cheeks burned pink. She recollected that the last time they met, she wore nothing but a robe.

"So we landed," Yue continued, using her voice as much as her hands. "Off the bat, Alesia gets me buffed - Flight, Iron Skin, Aid, Resist Elements— the works. I am all jacked up and ready to go, you know? She's like, go out there and get me some crab legs! I am all like, 'Yes Ma'am!'"

Elvia cooed.

"That's right! So we took off from the troop carrier and rocked that bitch like the Valkyries of legend..."

Yue watched her first empowered Fireball bloom into a scarlet blossom of death, sending bits of fish-folk spiralling like rag-dolls here and there and everywhere.

The Murloc, or perhaps the Sahuagin— Yue couldn't tell from this distance, scattered and ran for cover. The Mermen had thought themselves safe after overpowering the outpost, and now paid the price of their naivety. A few of the legged-fish took to the fort itself, throwing spears and shooting poison-tipped arrows at the two Mages from behind cover. Their ineffective weapons ricocheted from Yue and Alesia's Iron Skin enhanced bodies, making long white marks where they struck.

Alesia halted Yue's immediate retaliation and fired a mote of flame through a window. Her Scarlet Caracal spirit could differentiate between friend and foe, and so could effortless purge the fish-eyed Murks.

WHOOMPH!

In the next instant, the windows blew out. A dozen fish-folks, blackened and seared, tumble from the second-storey window.

"Match my speed and follow my flight trail. Attack every second volley. Beware Danger Close as the ground troops move in."

"Yes, Master," Yue obeyed enthusiastically.

Master and student circled the base while Jonas and the rest of the team arrived with the reinforcements, clearing out the 'Murks' as they went. Yue observed a creature getting skewered by a spear of stone that erupted from the earth. According to Alesia, Mermen without a dorsal fin were Murlocs; those with fins were Fish-folk.

"Scorcher!"

Yue sent out her new spells, testing their combat effectiveness.

Radiant lines erupted from her hands, jet-streams of fire so hot as to turn white and blue struck the little diminutive fishes below, taking off limbs and heads, setting others ablaze. When a cluster of three or more appeared, waving their primitive spears, Yue sent opted for a Fireball, blowing the unarmored beings into giblets of smouldering meat.

PSSSZAK!

They were on their third pass when a bone spear shot from nowhere and skewered Yue mid-fight, sending her tumbling down below. Yue's iron-skin held, but the sneak attack had winded her. With a yelp, Yue fell. For an Apprentice, her borrowed Flight spell lacked the means to be maintained without concentration.

Alesia watched her Apprentice impact the sandstone wall, skidding off the sides to land in a heap on the blackened bitumen below. Yue's Master cursed under her breath, then somersault turn in the air, diving for her student.

The sneak attack had come from a window on the third floor. Below, already several Murlocs were converging on the fallen Yue. Caught for time, Alesia sent a Maximised Fireball into the window before landing with a flourish, the explosion behind her sending out a shower of glass and aluminium.

"Yue, you alright?"

"Yeah, just a little dazed." Yue slapped her thighs to offset the concussion, stumbling upright, bracing against the wall.

"Think you can handle this one?" Alesia tested her apprentices' resolve.

Yue nodded, clearing her grogginess through force of will. The Murks was coming closer now, half a dozen of them armed with bone spears and long daggers of Megalodon teeth. Heeding her Master's lessons, Yue waited for a moment more before making a semi-circled gesture with both hands.

"Wall of Fire!" she incanted, pushing past the throbbing pain pounding her brain.

A semi-circle ring of orange plasma burst into existence, catching the Murlocs as they advanced. Yue grunted as she channelled more mana into the phenomenon. Ahead, her flames flared and roared, stoked as though by an invisible wind, spluttering blue and white-hot, turning her foe into charcoal.

"Phew—" Yue fell to one knee just as the final Murloc writhed and died. Her Master caught her as she sank to her knees, slinging Yue's arm across her shoulders.

"Good work, Apprentice."

Yue beamed at her Master and idol.

"Let's get you back to Jonas."

"Sorry I got hit."

"It happens to the best of us. You'll learn in time," Alesia replied encouragingly. "Remember to be situationally aware at all times. Don't get distracted by fireworks. Fire and forget and never stop moving, never fly in a straight line."

"Yes, Ma'am."

By the time they got back to Jonas, the landing force had mopped up the stragglers. Billy had made a round through the perimeter, ensuring that no Murlocs remained on the base.

"I'll go get the crystal running," Taj offered.

Alesia removed a Storage Ring, tossing him the spare Barrier Core. With the creatures this close, the base had likely lost its original. Unlike the barriers closer to the cities, these coastal stations were regional and isolated, and mostly self-powered.

"I'll keep an eye out," Paul said, then left with Taj.

Jonas approached, gazing worriedly at Yue.

"Injured already?" he remarked, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This is going to itch. Cure Light!"

Yue shuddered as her bruises faded and her cracked bones mended. By the time the spell had run its course, cold sweat had soaked through her shirt.

"Thanks, Jonas," Yue replied between clenched teeth.

"Allie, are you sure about taking Yue into live combat?" Jonas questioned his commander.

"Absolutely," Alesia said. "Yue can handle it. She's like me. Hell, I had a four-digit kill count by the time I was fifteen. By Yue's age, I was a Major."

"That was a war." Jonas protested.

"What do you call this then?" Alesia smirked roguishly, expansively moving her hands across the vista of the burnt and crumbled courtyard.

"You know damn well what I mean," Jonas growled.

"I am fine." Yue focused on a spot on the floor, forcing herself to resist the urge to pull her skin open so she could gnaw at her itching bones.

"Well, I know Alesia thinks you're a tough nut, but take care of yourself. Don't be reckless." Jonas advised, rubbing his chin and scratching his handlebar moustache.

"I will, thanks Jonas," Yue replied innocently, stretching out her arms, punishing the elasticity of the unforgiving fabric. Flustered, Jonas looked way for something else to occupy his mind.

Alesia chuckled. Jonas was an old celibate. That's why they called him Father Jonas. He was also a worrywart, though Jonas made a damn-good Healer.

A thrum rang through the air. The barrier was back.

"There we go." Alesia patted Yue on the back encouragingly. "Mission accomplished. Easiest 10k you ever earned. How was it?"

Yue seemed stunned by the news.

"We get paid for this?"

Alesia regarded her apprentice dubiously.

"You don't think we do this for free, do you? The Tower may be many things, but a charity it's not!"

"That's way too much money."

"Why?" Alesia raised an exquisite brow. "I am a Battalion Level Magus, and you're my cute little ensign! Even you receive Danger Pay!"

"It's still too much, Master." Yue protested. She had a total of four hundred roo-dollars in her student card, and that was after half a year of savings. She usually ate from the school canteen to save money on luncheons and dinners.

"Bosh! You have any idea how much money you need to be a top rate Mage?"

"Nope," Yue confessed.

"Boots of Flying, Nagaskin armour, Ioun Stones, Combat Wands, Health potions, Mana potions..."

Yue shivered at the thought of so much HDMs flowing out of her account.

"I get you, Master."

"Good, now let's see how the Harvesters are going. We get to keep fifty per cent of everything we kill.

It took the harvester Mages and their NoM helpers the better part of the afternoon to gather the bodies and dig out the mana cores. Most of the Cores had shattered, although the team managed to recover about twenty odd stones of various sizes.

"About two thousand HDM's worth Ma'am," one of the crewmen reported. "Would you like to take delivery now?"

"Sure, shoot it over."

Yue watched Alesia pass her ring over her share of the Creature Cores. She turned to Yue.

"If you sense a powerful elemental presence in a core, it means there's a spirit in there. If you manage to find one, then you're in luck. A minor Spirit sells for about two to three thousand HDMs, an intermediate-tier Spirit like my Caracal, expect up to twenty thousand HDMs."

Yue's teeth felt weak.

"You starting to get the reason why I dragged you in here?"

Yue wasn't big on critical thinking, but even she could sense a windfall when her piggy bank clinked.

"To make Crystals?" she ventured carefully.

"Exactly!" Alesia wrapped an arm around her apprentice, rubbing two fingers together. "Three things make a good Mage— good breeding, good training, and good resources. If you want to catch up to Gwen, Tiger, you better be rolling in the dough."

"How much did you make?" Gwen watched as Yue imitated Alesia rubbing two fingers together in a conniving manner.

"Hee..." Yue snickered proudly. "Wouldn't you like to know!"

"Come on, don't be evasive."

"Take a guess."

Elvia lifted five fingers.

"Five HDMs? Evee— cut me some slack."

Gwen facepalmed.

"She means five hundred." Gwen put into perspective Elvia's guess.

"Colder."

"Fifty?"

"Warmer"

"Two hundred?"

"Colder."

"One Fifty?"

"Bingo, just about."

Gwen tried to whistle but succeeding in only blowing a raspberry over Elvia's head.

Thankfully, Elvia's eyes were already glazed over. She had her family's support, but that was different. She'd never had more than a hundred HDMs to her name.

"Nice one, Yue!"

"Hehe, thanks." Yue thrust her chest out proudly.

"What happened next?" Elvia wanted to know what was so terrible about Yue's jungle island adventure.

"So yeah, we stayed on the island for a while cause we had to Purge the place. Alesia used this opportunity to run me haggard. Day in and day out, it was 'Buff up! Fly out!' 'Blow this up! Blow that up!' 'Search and Destroy!' You know how it is, right? After a while, I kind of got used to it. Pretty sure we burned down half the island by the end."

Unfortunately, the girls did not "how it is".

"You want highlights? Alright." Yue relented after they pressed for more specifics. "Well, there's this thing, you see that we found... but Nah, it's not that interesting."

Yue blanched, her facial muscles froze into a terrible grin.

Gwen felt her heart lurch. Something horrible must have happened to faze the unflappable Yue.

"You okay?"

"Yeah—" Yue puckered her lips.

"You don't have to tell it if you don't want to." Gwen moved across the bed and took her friend's hand, noting with mild alarm that Yue was cold and clammy. "Yue, are you okay?"

"Bless!"

Elvia reached over and channelled a few motes of positive energy into their friend, filling her body with a warm and fuzzy glow.

"Thanks, Evee." Yue swallowed. "Okay, I am going to tell the story."

The girls nodded.

"No secrets," Yue reiterated.

"None." Gwen's stomach lurched, mindful of its 'secrets'.

"Alright." Yue seemed to have calmed herself. She squeezed Gwen's hand and began to relay the tale; her eyes focused on a middle distance. "So, I was out hunting when I ran into a Murloc Spawning Pool..."

Yue had read in her sociology textbook that humanity was the only beings who kept chattel, mass farming domesticated quasi-magical beasts to provide food for its burgeoning citizenry.

Before her discovery, she had been out on the lake's edge stalking prey. Alesia had a simple rule for survival training. You kill, you eat. To wit, Yue had been equipped with a small Storage Ring and a tracking amulet, then sent off into the Orange Zone to find dinner.

Armed with a basic lay of the land, Yue ranged from the camp with her inexpert Transmutation, crashing through the forest like an Auroch in a terracotta shop. She had almost given up hope when, to her surprise, she had spotted a pig-like creature with a prehensile nose foraging for roots, utterly oblivious to her presence. From the back, it wasn't very impressive looking, akin to a stocky dog. It looked stupid, and according to Alesia's lessons, this meant one of two things - either the creatures weren't native, or it was unmolested by local predators. Looking at the honking porker, Yue was confident that it must have been stock kept by the colonists before they were wiped out by the Murlocs.

Currently, the porker was eating something by the lake's edge.

Very carefully, she evoked a Flaming Spear, an altered form of Scorching Ray re-shaped for penetration. With a Thunk! It struck the pig-like creature in the starfish, skewering the porcine beast with a quenching squeal.

"YES!"

Yue gave herself a crude chuckle before venturing from her hiding place. Knelling over her prey, she produced a bowie knife and began to dismember the beast, just as Paul had instructed. Now in a better mood, she hummed as she worked, whistling some tune that was popular back on Sydney's pop-charts before she left.

She was mid-hack through extracting a rather delicious looking length of back-strap when a commotion happened on the shore opposite, some half a kilometre across.

There was something on the lake. If Yue squinted against the sun, she could just make out what looked like a dam made from rotten driftwood and smashed up trees bundled together with vines. There was a Murloc on there, and he was manhandling a familiar, fleshy silhouette.

Yue stopped her extraction of dinner from the butchered pig. There, paralleling herself, was a fish-man taking an axe to something that looked vaguely human. She could just make out the humanoid shape thrashing about before it collapsed. The Murloc then hacked here and there, throwing bits of red-pink flesh into the waters.

"What the fuck," Yue mouthed to herself.

What the fuck did she just see? Her oesophagus clenched hard as she wiped her gore-soaked hands on her shorts and shirt. When she looked down again, she finally saw what the porker had been eating.

There was a human hand, cleaved at the wrist and missing a finger lying in the sedge.

That was what the porker was feeding on.

Yue crashed into the basecamp fifteen minutes later, her outfit torn and her legs were bleeding from trashing through briar thorns.

"No wonder there's so many of the little fuckers around." Paul was hanging a cig in one corner of his lip, grilling fish fillets over red-hot coals. "They got themselves a Spawning Pool set up."

"That explains how the local garrison got overwhelmed." Alesia clicked her tongue. "Little Murk bastards could get to maturity in three months if they just kept hidden in those lakes. Good work, Yue."

Alesia clicked her fingers, and the camp's fires died out.

"Fuck, my fish!" Paul groaned.

"Fuck your fish. Get ready to move out, Raid configuration. We're taking out that village."

"Yes, Ma'am!" The men saluted, then moved about camp, stowing their supplies.

"Yue, Billy, get me a sitrep on this lake, I want a comprehensive Scry of the area."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Yes, Master."

Yue directed on the map to Billy where she thought the lake would be, watching Billy's eyes turn white as the Scry took hold. When the Diviner finished, he turned again to the map and began to mark it with patrol routes, points of interest, and targets of opportunity. Yue watched Billy's work with fascination. Usually, Billy was a nervous, stuttering wreck, but the Diviner was an expert when it came to the cartographic markings.

Alesia approached with the rest of the team a few moments later, packed and ready to rumble.

"Brief us."

Billy noted several entry strategies for Alesia's perusal, carefully combing over each item on the map. When it was all said and done, Alesia nodded with satisfaction.

"Good work, stay back and open up communication with our basecamp at the beach, let them know we found the motherlode. I want the area completely purged. Jonas, Paul, set up extraction points here— and here—"

Alesia tapped the map.

"Taj, Yue, you two are with me. Taj, Paul, we're running extended buffs, plan for sixty minutes of full-combat engagement. I am going to Djinn up."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Alright. Buff up!"

"Wait up," Jonas coughed. "You want to take Yue on this?"

Alesia cocked her head.

"What's wrong?"

"She's not ready."

Alesia turned to Yue.

"You ready?"

Yue's thoughts flashed back to that scene she had witnessed at the lake. She could still feel the rage boiling over.

"I am ready."

"See, she's ready." Alesia patted Yue on the head.

Jonas said nothing.

"Okay, ladies, here we go!" Paul began to channel.

"Mass Flight! Enhanced Constitution! Freedom of Movement!"

Taj followed.

"Aid! Bless! Resist Elements! Iron Skin!"

The two Mages broke into a sweat after buffing only Alesia and Yue. Taj then self-buffed, activating his Boots of Flying.

Alesia stepped back ceremoniously.

The men turned their backs as Yue helped Alesia remove her clothing, stowing them away in her ring.

A glyph appeared beneath the Scarlet Sorceress' feet, three circles bisecting to form a triplicate mandala, spinning faster and faster until it tapped into the Prime Plane of Fire. Instantly, the air around the Evoker ignited. Hovering mid-air, Alesia's flame-spirit Caracal melded into her body. Scarlet flames erupted from her porcelain skin, her hair transformed into strands of red-hot copper, sending out a swarm of fireflies. Her blue eyes became two brightly flaring stars, white with heat and the rage of primal fire.

Yue watched with eyes aglow with adoration and amazement. Here was the very embodiment of her most celebrated desire - the physical manifestation of "Firepower" in feminine form.

Alesia cracked her neck. Her voice was hollow and God-like.

"Yue, come! Today, we are Valkyries of Death, sowing discord and war in Odin's name!"

Gurglugg was the Chief of his domain, lord of all he surveyed. Though some have called Gurglugg a warmonger, he had been a wise enough Chief to enjoy the popularity of the clannish families that served under him. Indeed, no fish had starved to death since he took the reigns of power. For years, the number of young Murlocs proliferated, swelling from tens of clutches to hundreds! Soon, Gurglugg's kin would populate the island!

At least, that was what Gurglugg had anticipated until one moon past. Now, the dreaded Landkin which plagued their island had returned, traversing the terrible sea. Upon their arrival, the Landkin annihilated his outpost and took the lives of sixteen clutches of younglings. Worse still, from the reports he received from Flurgluug, there were flying shamans among the Landkin who could rain down fire from the heavens. Cursed fate! The best his shamans could do was rain down mud and rot upon his enemies. How in the name of Buulopdegup was he supposed to fight that?

As if that wasn't the worst of it, in recent days, his fishes began to disappear by the dozen, entire patrols evaporating into the air as though Buulopdegup ate them herself. In rows, his kin came to him with their petitions, their eyes oozing with mucus.

"My clutch-mate is gone!"

"They took my spawnlings! Gluuurp!"

Bah! Gurglugg was sick and tired of their complaints.

Of course, Gurglugg knew why their babies and their clutch-mates were disappearing. It was because they invaded the Landkin's base! The Landkin were so delicious once flayed. So convenient, these creatures were, to have skins that came with "zips" that allowed for easy removal. They were good labourers as well when made to work in the spawning pools, eventually becoming excellent fertiliser for the young when they grew weak and died.

Now, Gurglugg had just a few dozen left, herded in the pens. Maybe he should use them to request peace? That had worked with the Serpents in the deep jungle, who left them well-alone when Gurglugg had presented them with human shamans. The Snake-kin liked to eat the shaman's brains and hearts, they were strange like that.

Still, what was he to do? With the crystals they found and the flesh they harvested, the tribe could grow to two or three times its size! If anything, Gurglugg needed more time - time for the new spawnlings to be born, then he would be the Chief of a thousand clutches!

Gurglugg shook his bulbous, whiskered head, sending out flying globs of sputum and phlegm, trying to align his thoughts. His intense mental concentration was almost at its apex when—

Boom—BOOM! Ba-BOOM!

An explosion rang out, unlike anything Gurglugg had ever heard before. The stupid noise quickly turned into the sound of females shrieking their gills out.

Gurglugg flapped his plump and corpulent body for the door, his legs as thick as small tree trunks. He snatched his favourite coral trident at the door and pushed past the seaweed curtains.

"Glurrrgh! Ghugh! Gooolp gul gu gu gullarg?"

His answer came in the form of a blast of cacophonic noise that filled the air. Gurglugg's jutting eyes, each the size of dinner plates, moved to focus on a series of dots approaching them. With alarm, he realised the horizon was on fire, lit by a miniature sun.

"Goolp gul gu gu gullarg?!" He said to his guard. The stupid fish-spawn built like a mud sloop-house stared slack-jawed.

Then the air grew scorching.

Steam began to rise from the pool and Gurglugg could see the young below writhing in pain.

"Gulark uu Pulak! Goolp gul gu Glaark! Glark!"

His cry of warning echoed across the village, reverberating across the lake. By now, his skin felt incredibly dry, like all the moisture had been extracted from his mucus. He gazed upward, sensing the presence of something too terrible to acknowledge.

The miniature sun had arrived, blazing ochre and orange, radiating enough heat to wilt the wetland. His warriors used every weapon at their disposal, but could not harm the radiant being.

"Flame Barrier!"

The radiant Sun-God declared some edict he could not understand. Gurglugg did not possess eyelids and could not squint, but in the circumstances, he tried his best. Half-blind, he could just make out the silhouette of three humanoid figures.

There was a flash of light.

Gurglugg burned.

The forest burned.

The lake boiled.

The world was on fire.

As the Purge team approached, Yue could see Alesia's Wall of Fire cast a swath of destruction through the forest. Every inch of greenery they traversed became scorched earth, the trees wilting in the wake of their passage. From churning cinder came the figure of the Murks, hundreds of them, fleeing towards the safety of the lake, their limbs flailing wildly, the bright coloured flesh upon their heads pulsating alarmingly.

Yue threw out a few Blast Bolts, watching the missiles detonate below. One bolt struck especially true, splitting a slow running one from the shoulder and sending its head flying.

"Getting a nice count there!" Taj shouted over the music. "You over a century yet?"

"Just about!" Yue hollered back.

"Let's see how many are in the village," Alesia joined in. "You'd probably hit four digits."

"Four digits?" Yue marvelled.

"You'll see." Alesia laughed, sending out fireflies embers as she pressed forward.

"Hey! Check out that fat one!" Yue spotted a rather large Murloc holding a trident.

"I think that's a Patriarch," Taj shouted.

"Let's get started then." Alesia accelerated to combat speed.

The trio arrived at the centre of the lake, where Yue had seen Spawning Pool. Below, they could see hundreds of Murlocs swimming through water, trying to protect clutches of transparent spheres. Alesia's Avatar of Fire was radiating so much heat that the water below her began to ripple and steam in great broken rings.

"Filthy fucking animals!" She spat distastefully. "How many people did they feed into that pool to get that many tadpoles going at once?"

With a grunt, she clapped her hands together; the heat began to rise in earnest. In her Efreet form, Alesia was a human portal channelling the relentless energies empowering the Elemental Plane of Fire.

"Flame Barrier!" She incanted, drawing upon her fathomless reservoir of elemental flame.

Instantly, a wall of fire twenty metres high began to form around the Lake, licking across the forest in black gouts as the vegetation charred. From above, the trio watched as the flame formed a great ring that encircled the Murloc village in a matter of minutes.

"Nothing escapes," Alesia noted for Yue's benefit. "Paul and the others will take care of the Pens; we take care of this."

Murloc warriors emerged from the lake to engage them, great big hulking masses of fish-faced amphibians with bulging biceps the size of footballs. They launched spears of coral and bone from the waters towards the girls, peppering the skies with dark shards of poison and bone.

Had Alesia and Yue been alone, they would have to use their speed to avoid the ground to air assaults, but this time, they had Taj with them. The Abjurer effortlessly blocked the Murloc's non-magical attacks, casting warding barriers of stone that formed below the girls like great bowls of dark clay.

A glob of acid splattered toward the Mages. Taj blocked that too with another shield.

"Yue, take care of it," Alesia commanded.

Yue spotted the Murloc shamans below and began tossing Fireballs toward the surface of the lake, preventing them from surfacing.

Meanwhile, Alesia extended both hands and drew a flaming glyph in the air. Another set of glyphs opened up above and below her. She was beginning the ritual for a tier seven spell of mass destruction, accessible to only in her Efreet form.

Yue fired off another volley Fireballs, watching the orbs impact the lake's surface, scalding the creatures hiding below.

"Fire Storm!" Alesia exhaled. From the heavens descended a tornado of swirling fire that plunged into the lake, wildly displacing the surface so that hissing steam flooded the forest.

As Yue had anticipated, the surrounding area filled with superheated steam. She even felt a spurt of white-hot mist hiss underfoot, noting with alarm that Taj's stone barrier began to flake.

"Glad you got that Resist Element?" Taj joked.

"Bloody oath." Yue almost bit her tongue.

As Alesia's spell raged, the ineffective attacks against them ceased.

"Jesus Christ! What the fuck is that smell?" Yue was instantly aware of a scent that rose from below, thick and heavy with the texture of an oily gravy. It was a smell of fish, not rotten fish, but boiled fish.

Hundreds, no, thousands, of poached fish.

The vortex of superheated air persisted for another minute before subsiding, dispersing thanks to the magically-induced microclimate.

Yue's eyes grew wide with horror. What she saw was obscene death on an industrial scale. The poor bastards below had been boiled alive, their leathery skin falling from their bodies in great sliding sheets of slimy flesh. There were even ones without skin at all, walking blindly with bleeding eyes through the mud, stepping on others. Others had gone mad from the agony, lashing out and attacking anything that came close.

Yue saw one take a trident to its face, frenziedly stabbing itself to make the pain stop.

Then the wailing started. First, a few, then a dozen, then whole schools of the bastards began to cry out in agony and pain, a chorus of suffering. Yue saw small monsters, big monsters, Murlocs clutching clusters of their transparent eggs, now well cooked, wailing in despair. Pairs of the fucking things were hugging one another. She even saw a little fish-thing trying to nudge a dead one to wakefulness.

"What the fuck—" She whispered under her breath.

Her mind spun. These were just monsters, right? Materials and fodder and food! What was this feeling eating away at her chest? Why was her stomach lurching; her heart constricting? She couldn't even breathe. Was it the smell?

She tried to speak, but couldn't find her voice.

"I need a quick break," Alesia announced. The fire of her Efreet form began to dim. "You guys go mop up. I'll be fine at a higher altitude. Meet up with Team Two. They should be at the Pens. If we're lucky, a few people might have made it."

Taj flexed his muscular, bull-like neck.

"Yue, ready?" He joked.

Yue was still staring slack-jawed at the exquisite hell below them.

"YUE, still there?"

She turned slowly to look at Taj.

"You alright?" He demanded briskly. "Never seen mass destruction spell in action before? They're all like this. I wouldn't worry. If you think this is bad, you should see an extended range Incendiary Cloud. Crispy, I tell you! Ha! You ready to become a bit-shot Evoker?"

Yue felt the beginnings of an insane smile, the muscles around her lips locking into place to form a permanent grin.

"Let's mop up!" She announced jubilantly, her mind no longer willing to ponder the vision below. All she could recall right now was the invocation for Fireball. And from what Yue could see, she was going to need many Fireballs indeed.

"Bai Yue..." Gwen felt such wretchedness that she had to hug Yue tightly against her bosoms, enveloping her head with both arms.

Elvia joined in, and the three of them shared a moment of silence.

"Do you want to cry?" Gwen asked carefully. "It's okay to cry."

"I am over it," Yue replied with a muted voice. "I've never been one for outbursts."

The trio parted.

Gwen felt the eyes of her friends upon her.

"Your turn," Elvia said heartlessly.

"Yeah," Yue affirmed. "What's the damage? Miss twenty out of ten."

Gwen audibly exhaled.

"I have a lot of secrets, some of them doesn't belong to me alone, so I'll have to refrain from those, but I'll tell you as much of myself as I am able."

The girls nodded.

"Before I begin, I want to show you guys something. It'll make my story more believable."

"Alright."

"Hit me."

Gwen concentrated.

"Ariel."

A jolt of lightning jolted harmlessly through the air, materialising into a cute little marten that landed with a flourish.

"Ee! EE!"

"No way!"

"Oh. My. God."

Ariel began its devastating attack of adorability, instantly enslaving Elvia and Yue's maiden hearts.

"Can I touch it?" Elvia asked.

Gwen nodded.

Before Elvia could touch the marten; Yue reached out with both hands and hugged it to her face.

"So soft!" She moaned orgasmically.

Elvia watched enviously, awaiting her turn. After a minute, Yue handed the cat-snake over. Elvia took it with trembling hands, her blue eyes staring widely at the creature as it sniffed the air.

"Ee?" Ariel necked Elvia's hands with its cheek.

The cuteness proved excessive for Elvia; her mental fortitude had reached zero. Like a girl obsessed, the Healer suddenly kissed Ariel full on the nose, then did it again. Ariel extended its little pink paws and gave her face a good push, but Elvia persisted in smooshing its weaselly mien.

The girls played with the marten for a good fifteen minutes. Finally, Ariel settled onto Elvia's lap.

"There's one more," Gwen said expectantly. "This one is also cute. I think."

The two girls nodded with big grinning faces.

Gwen took a deep breath.

Then she took another deep breath.

Then she materialised plastic sheets across the bed, asking them to stretch out the corners and sit over the edges.

Her friends grew confused. Was it a Water Elemental? Was Gwen trying to hint that she had another element? If so, it would make Gwen beyond unique. Very few Mages had more than one element.

"Caliban," Gwen stated with a quavering voice. "Come!"

A dark portal shunted open near the ceiling. Instantly the temperature dropped by several degrees. Yue felt her heart wrench with dread and loathing as the Negative Energy polluted the air. Elvia, on the other hand, turned white with shock, reacting aggressively against Caliban's aura of desolation.

Then Gwen's Familiar came, a slithering monstrosity in black obsidian, sinuous and serpentine, its prehensile body writhing this way and that. Unlike Ariel, Caliban turned to Gwen and hissed.

"Shaa!"

Yue felt the bile rising in her throat.

Elvia suddenly began to scream.

She cocked her head, gripped her sheets, and screamed and screamed.

As if reacting to its favourite music, Caliban turned to the petite blonde and joined in the symphony. It's carapace split in twain, revealing a pulsating mass of purple-pink flesh dripping with cold grey slime. It opened its lamprey's mouth and began to sing, its tongues darting about happily.

"Shaa! Shaa! Shaa!"

Gwen grimaced. Was that too much too soon? Was Elvia's father going to burst into the room and see his comatose daughter with a monster?

Gingerly, Gwen conjuring a little handful of purified water and splashing the coldness across Elvia's face. Elvia snapped back to reality, saw Caliban and cried out once more.

Finally, too paranoia to allow her friend free reign, she moved a hand over Elvia's mouth.

"Hush! Shh! It's okay Elvia, Caliban is friendly."

Gwen willed Caliban to calm down, watching its tentacles retract into its carapace. Without its pulsing flesh exposed, Caliban resembled an abstract work of art.

Elvia gripped Gwen's wrists, her nails digging into Gwen's skin.

"Wow, I don't even feel remotely mind-fucked by the Murks anymore," Yue gazed warily at Caliban as its head bobbed this way and that. "Good work, Gwennie, I am cured."

"What…" Elvia wracked her mind to find an appropriate word. She found it in Yue's favourite vernacular. "Gwen, what the fuck is that?"

"Evee!" Yue slapped Elvia, shocked. "No!"

Gwen raised a hand, willing Caliban to come closer. Against her thighs, she rubbed its snout gingerly, eliciting a clicking-purr. Ariel meanwhile, played the ambassador and leapt onto Elvia's lap once more, licking her face to provide her with some creature comfort.

"What… Element is that?" Yue was surprisingly acute when it came to Magical Creatures. "Is it… Undead?"

"No, thank God." Gwen allowed Caliban to settle, feeling a surge of weakness pass over her as Void-mana exhausted her body. Sensing her weariness, Caliban reached out and flicked a tentacled-tongue against its master's chin. "Evee, can I trouble you for some Positive Energy?"

Elvia reached over and began to channel. She could see Gwen's complexion improve as her Healing Word made its mark.

"That's enough. I am not wounded or anything." Gwen breathed out. "To answer your question, Yue - Caliban is Void Familiar."

"What! NO WAY!" Yue exploded. "That's one of the three forbidden elements! That's right next to the big NO-NO! How is this possible?"

Meanwhile, Caliban had found its new favourite thing. A source of life energy! It slithered out of Gwen's lap and made for Elvia, begging and nodding its head comically as it moved.

Elvia felt herself petrify as the dark thing approached. It lowered its head gently and nudged her knees. When Elvia did not retaliate or resist, it continued to crawl up her leg.

"Gwen?" Elvia's voice caught in her throat.

Gwen was unfortunately distracted by Yue.

"Gwen?" Elvia asked again, this time with more distress as Caliban crawled into her lap and began to sniff her skin.

Gwen was still busy trying to fend off the disbelieving Yue.

"GWEN!"

"Caliban! Come back here," Gwen commanded. Her Familiar sulked and slithered back. Before it returned, however, it regarded Elvia with a look that seemed to say they were now best friends.

Elvia shivered, cold sweat drenching her nightgown.

"I don't get it!" Yue blurted. "This is the stuff they used to talk about in history class! In the Beast Wave! In the Great Calamities! Why is it next to us and giving Elvia a tongue bath!"

"It's a long story…" Gwen began. "A very long story."

"We've got all night—" Yue sat back, holding a pillow to ward herself against Caliban.

Beside her, Elvia was hugging Ariel tightly, feeling the resonance of positive energy within it. Caliban meanwhile, coiled itself against Gwen's lap.

Gwen nodded. She looked forlornly at her two friends, then began to tell her tale.

She started with the events after the Rainbow Serpent when she returned with Alesia to the Tower. She was still under Geas to avoid that topic, so she merely intimated that the Master of the Tower was very interested in her near death-encounter with Edgar, the Mage that had abducted herself and Debora.

From that meeting, Gwen discovered that she had in fact, one more School to Awaken in. With the help of Henry Kilroy and the Greater Cognisance Chamber, she had become both Conjurer and Evoker, Lightning and Void.

When Yue asked about the Void element itself, Gwen told her the half-truth; that she had no idea. As for why she Awoke in it, Gwen associated the talent with her near-death experience, courtesy of Edgar.

After that incident, Gwen trained with Alesia and Gunther while at school and in the Tower. During that time, Gwen also met her grandfather, Surya, and with Henry's help, managed to summon Ariel and Caliban.

"So that's why you kept disappearing every weekend!" Yue commented sulkily. "I thought you had a boyfriend or something."

Gwen continued her story, moving onto the unfortunate meeting between Mark Chandler and herself. It was a complicated story to narrate, and Gwen did her best to tell it chronologically, first going over her assault of the Slaver's base, then her capture, then Caliban running amok. She even confessed fully to Caliban's appetites.

"Don't be scared Evee, think about how loyally Caliban reacted. Man, I would love to have myself a Caliban in a tight spot." Yue remarked with confidence.

Then, to Gwen's relief, Yue reached out and rubbed Caliban's body, feeling its smooth exterior. Caliban raised its head and gazed at Yue with a knowing nod of comprehension. Yue then allowed Caliban to scent her hand, feeling the serpent nudged her knuckles with his snout.

"Good Cali," Yue cooed. "Who's a good boy?"

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban replied coolly.

Gwen continued her story, continuing with Gunther's arrival and his borrowing her hand to murder the two slavers.

"You… killed PEOPLE!?" Elvia was white as a sheet.

Yue raised both brows.

Gwen confessed all, including how Bozza and Farez finally expired.

"How do you feel sitting beside a murderer?" Gwen asked weakly.

"Meh, it was self-defence!" Yue's retorted defensively.

"Was it?" Gwen intoned melancholically. She had already replayed the scene so many times in her head. "They had no limbs, Yue. They were defenceless."

Yue licked her lips nervously. "Still, I don't blame you or anything."

Comparatively, Elvia seemed conflicted by Gwen's story. Her hand, which was rubbing Ariel's stomach, had ceased its stroking.

Gwen sighed and continued her story. Without risking too much detail, she explained the reason why Mark turned against his friends and allies. Gwen told them of Elizabeth, Henry Kilroy's wife, who was a Void element user herself. Elizabeth had gone mad with power, ultimately consuming others to feed her insatiable hunger. Mark was convinced that Elizabeth had murdered his sister, and so used Gwen to entrap Henry. She even told them that Mark had used Necromancy to capture his sister's soul as evidence.

"That asshole!" Yue uttered in disbelief, then realised the reason for Gwen's melancholy.

"No! You're not going crazy! You're a good person who feels remorse! Not like that Elizabeth woman. She was unbalanced from the start."

"Thanks, Yue, that's my hypothesis as well," Gwen replied, hoping that her friends had enough faith in her to believe her.

Elvia remained silent.

Gwen had a little more of the narrative left. She told them about how Gunther arrested Mark, of how she had that long conversation with Henry. The only way to save her from a fate of living in infamy and secrecy, Gwen explained, was to became a proverbial panda protected by all. She was to be a living Spell of Mass Destruction that all the powers respected and left well alone, tethered to the influence of the Tower's Middle Faction, and therefore the Mageocracy, itself.

Finally, she informed them of Surya and Henry's plan and the girls' part in it. All the was left now was how the girls would receive the news.

"That's about the gist of it," Gwen finished. She had omitted things as well: her true origins, the twin souls, her consumption ability to appropriate the talents Caliban devoured. These were secrets she'd likely have to take to her grave.

"Well, I am cool." Yue beckoned for Caliban. Gwen watched with surprise as Yue placed her face close to Caliban's own and allowed their noses to touch.

"Odourless, how interesting," Yue remarked, giving it a bop on the formless head. Caliban sent out some feelers to touch Yue's collarbones. "Eek! Ticklish!"

Yue was an amazing Mage, Gwen affirmed. That mental fortitude, that unflappable personality. The girl was made of sterner stuff than Gwen herself.

"Elvia, it's okay if you want me to leave or something." Gwen felt her stomach sink. "Please just say something."

Elvia looked up from stroking Ariel, turning her small face to regard Gwen and Yue with her luminous blue eyes. Then, to their surprise, Elvia launched herself from the bed and embraced Gwen by the neck. She dug her head into Gwen's shoulder and began to sob mightily.

"I am sorry," she mumbled incoherently. "You went through so much, and I wasn't even there. I didn't even know! I am a terrible friend!"

Gwen felt all tension drain from her body. Suddenly, she could breathe again. She wrapped her arms around Elvia, then kissed her cheeks.

"It's okay, Evee. I am so happy you could still accept me as your friend."

"Eee! Ee!" Ariel joined in the huddle.

"Aww." Yue felt her heart fluttering with gladness as she pressed herself into the scrum.

"Shaa!!" Caliban slithered in between the girls.

"Aeee!" Elvia tore herself away, falling against the pillow.

"Shaa!" Caliban looked hurt.

Suddenly, Yue began to laugh.

Gwen laughed as well.

Ariel squealed with delight.

Elvia wasn't in a jovial mood, but the laughter proved too infectious.

Caliban realised that it wasn't in trouble, and wagged its tail expressively.

All five members "laughed" themselves to exhaustion, so much that Gwen had to retract Caliban and Ariel into their pocket dimensions.

"Phew," Yue remarked, recalling a break in the chronology. "Assuming we get more details later for all that, I want to know what you did for the entirety of last month."

"Ah," Gwen realised that she had stopped the story a little prematurely. "Well, there's something you need to know about Debora…"

"You and Debora toured the Outback?!" Elvia's eyes marvelled at the word.

To the city folk, the Outback Frontier was a world of horses and Aurochs and Roos. That, and Drop Bears— Monstrosities hidden among the branches, waiting for the wayward feller wandering below, only to descend upon them with their rock-hard arse.

"Aye," Gwen answered with a seductive grin. "The Outback! A place of yore, a sunburnt country full of sweeping planes, rugged mountain ranges, droughts and flooding rains; with stark white ring-bark forests, all tragic as the moon, and sapphire-misted mountains and the hot gold hush of noon!"

Elvia's eyes glazed over with a look of dreamy romanticism.

"There, we battled a brutal Land Shark, hungry for the flesh of man! Debora and I, two young maidens thrown into the fight, were ambushed by a dread-beast in the dead of night!"

"Whoa..."

"But what horrid hap for the Shark! For the cunning Debs doth made pillars of stone for us to escape our woe! Frustrated, the Shark cometh, jaws-a-snapping and saliva-a-flinging. Hark! I called upon a thunderous hammer to smite our foe with lightning! Alas! It's diamond scales repelled the bolt!"

"Oh, no!" Elvia gasped. "Then what?"

"Fear not, for even as the beast's ire shifted to I; the faithful Debora leapt unto the creatures' flank, beating upon it as...er... drum!"

"Huh—?"

"Look, don't expect me to last more than a few verses, I am no Skandi Battle Skald." Gwen shrugged. "The main thing is, we defeated the beast, and Deb was lucky enough to pick up an intermediate earth spirit with the power of sand."

"No shit?" Yue exploded. "A Spirit?!"

"Yep, a medium-tier Sand Spirit."

Yue appeared thunderstruck. The girl had risked her life wading through Murkloc guts, and all she got was PTSD. Debora went adventuring in the wilderness with her best friend and just casually picks up a mid-tier Elemental?

"She worked hard for it." Gwen coughed. "She's a good ally."

Yue's eyes narrowed.

"What's her affinity now??"

"Tier… five?"

"Fuck." Yue snorted twin streams of air from her nostrils. She looked Gwen up and down, making her skin crawl. "We should go hunting sometime."

"Sure. There's always more Roos roaming the region."

"We better," Yue sighed. "Alright, let's snooze."

"You're sleeping here?" Gwen muttered between pursed lips, her eyes glazing over.

"You're not?" Yue shot her a look.

Gwen looked at the two girls. Yue's voluptuous figure enveloped Elvia's, though the smaller girl paid her companion no mind. As for her self, she felt strangely self-conscious. For some reason, she thought of Debora's blushing face.

"Come on, you sleeping or not?" Yue patted the place beside her.

Gwen felt her resolve put to the test. Sleeping next to Yue should be fine. If she slept next to Elvia, she might awaken something terrible.

Driving all thoughts from her mind, Gwen quietly removed herself from the foot of the bed, sliding herself into the silky sheets.

"Right," she replied woodenly. "Let's sleep."

She closed her eyes and tried to stay still, one leg hanging over the edge.

Before she could get comfortable, two soft pillows pressed against her arm. Soon, a thigh followed. Before she could protest, there was a sound of snoring.

Gwen pushed on her best friend, but the girl was already sleeping like a log, dead to the world.

"You girls have fun last night? What'd you do? Board games?"

Frederik was having a good chuckle at the girl's expenses when Gwen emerged with eyes that were puffy and bloodshot. In Elvia's bedroom, the others were still counting sheep, entangled within piles of linen.

"Good morning Mr Lindholm," Gwen greeted the Patriarch and his wife. "Good morning Mrs Lindholm."

"Call me, Fred," the Patriarch answered jovially.

"Likewise," Elaina replied, "Just Elly is fine."

"That's aright." Gwen raised both hands and refused politely. "I wouldn't want to make Elvia uncomfortable."

"Suit yourself." Frederik tipped his coffee cup toward the maid, who was readying breakfast for the girls. "Beatrice, can you make Miss Song a coffee as well, please."

"Yes, sir," the maid worked the machine.

In the morning night, Gwen studied Elvia's parents. Elaina appeared should be thirty, but she seemed only a little older than her friend. Unfortunately, Gwen noted sadly, if Elaina was any indication, it was unlikely that the angelic Elvia would become any more 'womanly'.

"Oh yes, your cousin left us this." Frederik handed over a card.

"I think it's an invite."

Gwen took the card and opened it. There was a family portrait of Richard, Aunt Tali, and Uncle Huang on the inside, with Happy NY written in English and Chinese.

Gwen, come to the NY family meet up this year. I know that previous years Kwan had been a dick and didn't invite you, but this year Surya is coming. Something big is happening. Your mother's coming as well. You should be here.

— Richard.'

Gwen snapped the card shut. She should probably give Opa a buzz.

Yue and Elvia seemed like they would take a while yet.

"Excuse me. I need to send a Message," Gwen apologised, walking barefoot onto the bay view terrace. She took in the vista before her, feeling the salty breeze of the sea brine upon her skin. The coolness helped to diffuse the sudden heat she felt the moment her mother's name was mentioned.

Helena Huang.

Gwen felt nauseated each time she tried to access either of her memories regarding her mother. The old Gwen's fragmented recollection had been full of disparaging moments of anxiety, both purposeful and neglectful. From the time alter-Gwen was ten and failed to show any promise in Spellcraft, Helena had obsessed with Gwen's external appearance. In terms of recollection, all she possessed were a vague montage of crash diets, verbal abuse, as well as toxic criticism of the girl in front of others.

As for Gwen herself, she hated her reflexive desire to please Helena. Each time she thought of her "Mother", something of the old Gwen reared its ugly head.

Facing the sea, she willed herself inwards. If she was to confront her mother, then the last thing she wanted was for some horrid memory to paralyse her at a critical junction. She wasn't sure about her alter-self, but she-herself rarely allowed wounds to fester.

When she had meditated on her memories before, it had felt like a torch dropped down a deep well. At the bottom of that well sat old water, festering with scummy memories.

She recalled that in her old life, she had told Helena to fuck herself the day before she moved out into a shared-room provided by the Government and her part-time work. After that, it took only four years of waitressing at trendy bars to finish university, by which time Helena had all but faded from her life. When she later queried her father, Morye had told her that Helena had left Australia with her new husband for China.

But the Gwen of this world could not have expected government assistance nor a safe bed provided by Welfare. She was only useful to society as a Mage. If Gwen's family had simply abandoned her— Gwen shuddered; she had seen enough at Blackheath to know she wouldn't last a week.

That was why her old ego no choice but to buy into her mother's words. Alter-Gwen must have thought herself lucky to have a mother who was so maternal and caring, and that she was the one who was too fat, too skinny, too whatever.

"WHOA—"

A chilling shock jolted Gwen from her internal revelry.

"Whoops," Yue apologised, retracting a cold bottle of water. "Didn't think you were that out of it. Good morning!"

"Morning," Gwen answered with a wane smile, one hand touching the spot where the cold bottle had left a moist indent.

"Elvia should be up soon."

"Nice, did you get a good sleep?"

"Oh yeah, nice and snug. Man, I've got to invest in those one thousand thread-count sheets. It was like I was sleeping in a cocoon."

"Yeah, it's nice like that."

Half-an-hour later, Elvia joined them.

"Hey, you."

"Morning," Evee yawned, making a cherubic expression that energised the sleep-deprived Gwen.

Gwen showed her friends her invitation.

"Want some support?" Yue smashed a fist into the palm of her hand. There was no way to know that underneath that expression of sweetness was a battle maniac who now had a four-digit kill counter.

"Nah." Gwen shook her head. "I'd have to face the music sooner or later, I'd prefer sooner."

Yue shook her Message Device.

"You know where we'll be."

Elvia likewise concurred, offering herself to be Gwen's support.

"Thanks, guys," Gwen confessed her gladness. "Let me make a call."

Away from the girls, she Messaged Surya.

"Opa."

"Gwen, my girl! How's the party?"

"It was delightful."

"What's the matter?"

Gwen wasn't exactly sure how to approach the matter, so she mentioned Richard's note.

"Ah, heard about, it did ya?" Surya said. "Richard's a good bloke, eh? Who'd have thought? Well, you should thank your Master. I spoke to your Master, and he wants your family distractions resolved."

"You're not going to tell them about my talents, are you?" Gwen's chest tingled.

"Not entirely, no. That's the problem, you see? Kwan's a real piece of work, even if he's my son. Heaven knows what stupid ploys he's tied up for you. I have to go and make it clear that you're a line they cannot cross, on pain of ex-communication."

"Do you think I should come, Opa?"

"You don't have to. I know you and Helena—" Surya suddenly paused, as if something had struck his mind mid-sentence. "You don't fault me for that, do you, Gwen? I was so upset with Morye back then. I didn't know what Helena was doing."

"It's alright, Opa." How could she be angry at Surya? In her old world, she didn't even see her Opa more than a dozen times before he passed. In this world, she was beyond glad that someone like Surya even existed.

There was the sound of relief and a chuckle.

"Well, you can come if you like. You might see something amazing."

"What is it, Opa?"

"Hehe, you'll see." Her Opa chuckled to himself. "I'll see you on the 31st. Remember to dress formally for the occasion. Impress everyone! Are you coming back to the estate for the next few days?"

"I should be."

"Good, I have something to give you."

Gwen blinked. Her heart quickened; that something had to be Almudj's Scale! At long last, after all this time, it was ready!

"Okay, Opa. I'll be over later. Can I bring some friends?"

"Of course! Anyone who is a friend of yours is welcome in 'our' estate."

"Thanks, Opa, you're the best!"

"I know, dear. I know."

The glow of the Divination ceased.

She wanted to return to the estate right now. What could Opa have created from the scale of the serpent? It was an exciting prospect, but not nearly as overwhelming as inviting her friends to "her" place for once.

"Guys! Gather around. Listen, I've just got approval. You guys haven't been to my Opa's estate yet, right? Out in the Valley?"

"Nope." Yue drank her orange juice.

Elvia shook her head. She took her milk syrupy-sweet.

"Do you want to come and hang out for the next few days? We can hunt some Roos, check out the towns, go for a ride on horses through the outback— hot gold hush of noon and all that."

"Horses!?" Elvia's ultramarine eyes lit up.

"Oh yes, I have one called Beatrice, a spotted mare," Gwen explained the deal with her mare, and how Surya had kept it at his estate for Gwen's perusal.

"Roos?" Yue's spirit was on ablaze. "Big, three-metre bastards that try to melee you?"

"Thousands of them," Gwen assured her.

"Let me ask dad."

"I need to make a call."

Her friends returned a moment later. Frederik was more than happy for Elvia to spend more time with Gwen. After all, one could never build enough early social capital with a future Magister-in-waiting.

Yue's doting mother didn't like the impromptu holiday but knew she couldn't stop his headstrong daughter even if he tried.

"Alright, when do we leave?" Yue asked. Gwen still had all her gear. She was good to go.

"I need to pack! Give me an hour! No, thirty-minutes!"

The journey back down to Polkobin involved travelling back into the city before catching a train again out toward the tablelands. The three girls chitter-chatted the whole while, drawing curious glances from other passengers in the train.

From the station, it was Tess who picked them up in the rumbling old sedan.

"Opa!" Gwen ran to Surya and embraced him.

Yue and Elvia marvelled at the country estate and its spaciousness,

"Gwen, my girl!" Surya was more than happy to have the shampoo scent of his granddaughter's hair fill his nostrils. "— and welcome, I am Surya, Gwen's grandfather."

"Thank you for having us, Master Huang." Elvia bowed gracefully, a lock of blonde hair falling over one eye. Surya nodded approvingly, recognising the healer from Gwen's stories.

"Hello! Thanks for inviting us, Master Huang," Yue greeted Surya casually. She performed an awkward bow, her spaghetti-string tanktop testing its limits, flashing Surya a wide grin full of white teeth.

Gwen's grandfather's eyes almost fell out of their sockets. Gwen had told him about the Asian girl who was Alesia's student, but to his eyes, the girl was larger than life.

"Gwen—" Surya whispered to Gwen. "Your friend is beyond impressive."

"Oh yes," Gwen nodded. "She's tier 4 affinity fire. She's seen real combat a well."

"That is impressive, indeed." Surya couldn't peel his eyes away.

"Gwen." Yue coughed, turning away from the ogling grandfather. "That's not what he meant."

"Opa!" Gwen kicked Surya in the shins.

"Arrghk— come and see me in the Workshop."

Surya fled.

Gwen led her friends to the guest rooms, assured Elvia and Yue of her Opa's good intentions, then promised that she would soon return.

In the west wing, her Opa was seated in his usual place. This time, he had a small silver box out in front of him, placed on top of a pedestal.

"Is it ready?" Gwen asked; her heart at her throat.

"It's ready," Surya affirmed.

"May I?" Gwen inquired carefully.

Surya nodded.

Gwen gingerly retrieved the box and opened it. She was greeted with the spectacle of a chromatic scale the size of her thumbnail. On cue, the scale rose into the air and began to orbit her head, shimmering with the petrol-sheen of a pigeon's neck.

"An Ioun Stone?!" Gwen was shocked. She had thought her grandfather would have made her a brooch or another ring, but an Ioun Stone!

By nature, such items were accessory iconically associated with powerful Mages. Pending the materials used to make the stone, a sorceress buffed herself with many effects, from improved protection to higher damage output, to hasted casting. Rarer stones even provided the ability to comprehend and understand arcane languages!

Gwen's eyes followed the scintillating scale.

"So what does it do, Opa?"

Surya rubbed his chin.

"Are you aware of how imbued enchantments work, Gwen?"

Gwen scanned her mind for any residual knowledge that the old Gwen might have left, finding nothing. She had never received formal training in Enchantment and didn't know any details beyond basic high-school theory crafting.

"Well, you should know that even with the best of materials, it is only possible to imbue a few effects onto an item. The scale you brought me had the unique ability to tap into the natural elements, or what we call the Primary elements - Fire, Water, Air, an Earth, do you understand?"

Gwen nodded. Surya continued.

"What do you think you need most right now?"

"Positive Energy?" Gwen said hopefully.

Surya made a face.

"I am afraid that's out of my league. What I mean is, what is your weakest talent?"

"Defence?" Gwen asked. She knew her counter-spells was non-existent. Even her non-newtonian plagiarism of Gunther's barrier took an incredible amount of concentration to maintain and manifest.

"Indeed, in the face of the Inter-High competition to come, I consulted with Henry, and we decided that you should gain an item of defence and protection first and foremost."

"Oh?" Gwen sounded almost disappointed. She had been expecting something that further augmented her offence.

"You can't afford to lose any of the battles Gwen, and you can be sure that those kids would be targeting the team's main caster. How are you going to do damage if you're a glass cannon?"

Gwen had to admit there was merit in what Surya was saying.

"After much deliberation, I have imbued the scale with the passive effect of absorbing Primary elemental damage."

Surya snapped his fingers, and a mote of fire flew towards Gwen, sizzling through the air and striking her skin. Gwen yelped and pulled back her hand, expecting a sharp pain. Instead, she felt only a warmness as the channelled flame faded into her skin. The scale shimmered, thrumming with resonance, humming gently.

"The scale significantly diminishes the effects of low-affinity elemental effects," Surya explained. "Give me your hand."

Gwen extended her hand doubtfully. Surya took from the wall bracket an assortment of implements.

He pointed the first one at her hand, channelling mana into the device. There was a crackling sound of snapping stone as a jagged shard materialised and shot towards Gwen's palm.

Gwen felt the impact bite into her hand.

"Ouch!" She pulled her hand and flinched.

"It doesn't stop physical effects." Surya pulled out another wand, this one with a core that was blue as sapphires.

"However, watch this."

Surya channelled and shot a shard of ice toward Gwen's palm. Gwen felt the ice stab into her flesh with a pin-prick, but there was no feeling of frigidity upon her skin.

"Strange, no?" Surya laughed. "I am not sure how it works either. I guess now we know why Alesia's flames failed to peel a single scale from the rainbow serpent."

Gwen asked Surya to try out a few more elements from his attuned inscriptors, ponding the scale's effects as she went. As a novice, Gwen could deduce that the "Scale" absorbed heat and cold. While kinetic devices were unaffected, it dampened entropic, thermodynamic damage.

Gwen gave the matter some thought.

Self-defence was not her forte. According to Alesia, dodging spells with high-mobility became non-optional once damage ramped up the tiers. Of the Schools of Magic under her belt, it was only Evocation and Conjuration that she excelled, for a jack of all trades would not benefit her team, especially as she had painted herself as an offensive expert.

From now, she had three months until the start of the competition. Of all her alternative talents, it was Flight from the School of Transmutation that made the most significant contribution to her tactical options.

But then again, Abjuration offered Resistance and Wards...

And Divination allowed detection and prevention...

Across from Gwen, Surya watched Gwen's eyes glaze over.

It was like his cute cucu perempuan had suddenly seized up.

Did he break her? He wondered. Was the scale too impressive? It did absorb elemental damage, after all, that's about as unique as a mid-tier item could be.

Slowly, his eyes gazed downwards at her long white legs poking out beneath her dress. He selected a Wand of Ice from the table and pointed it towards the brass stool, a sudden feeling of mischief filling his old heart.

What was life for an Enchanter without his amusements?

Gwen massaged her thawing buttocks.

Surya had demonstrated a curious flaw of the scale's resistance, which was that its Enchantment worked best against spontaneous bursts of energy but fared poorly against gradual changes in temperature.

Horrified, Gwen quickly removed herself from the chair, making a rip-roaring noise. The embarrassment was mortifying, but she could hardly scold her Opa now, not after he had given her such an incredible gift.

Once her grandfather had his fun, Surya additionally recommended that she forgo the iconic look of the floating Ioun stone. Instead, she would "implant" the scale by adhering it to her skin. Subtlety, Surya explained, would necessary if she wished to avoid unwanted attention.

Lifting her hair, her Opa then placed the "Ioun Scale" against the base of her neck, below her hairline. With a word, Surya adhered the luke-warm Ioun Scale to her skin, where it would stay until she willed it to be released.

As a passive effect, Surya explained, the scale would continuously draw from the ambient mana that diffused from her body. It was why Mages had limited "slots" for passive items. Too many attunements meant that a caster crippled their Mana Pools.

After her Opa, Gwen returned to her friends. In her absence, her classmates made themselves comfortable on the long veranda, bathed in the auburn sunset setting aflame the infinity pool.

"It's beautiful here," Elvia marvelled as Gwen approached. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I've never seen anything like it period." Yue pouted. Unlike the other two, she was a regular girl with a middle-class Dad. They lived in a house that overlooked a narrow street. Gwen recalled that Yue's bedroom looked straight into her neighbour's bedroom.

She pulled up a chair and joined them.

"What's the plan?" Yue asked.

"Well." Gwen enjoyed the breeze. "We'll get the two of you outfitted tomorrow. Then we can rent a few horses. I know a guy, Tommy, who's a top bloke. There's a lot to do out here. We can hunt some Roos, get a barbecue going, or see local landmarks. We can even camp out for a night and stargaze."

"Sounds amazing," Elvia cooed.

"I am in," Yue agreed.

Satisfied, the girls preceded to shower and prepare for bed. Gwen returned to her bedroom, thinking of the sunset and the day ahead, dreaming of tomorrow.

“Kalinda!” someone shouted beside her ear.

Gwen bolted upright, propping herself on her elbows.

Only wasn’t in her bed.

She was instead comfortably nestled amongst on a straw mat laid over powdery clay. In the distance, a sinking sun shimmered, casting an orange haze over the ochre horizon.

No way, Gwen thought to herself. This isn't another transmigration, is it?

Beside her, old Tjupurrula squeezed her arm and puckered his lips, pointing toward something towering and maroon. Compared to herself, the withered ma' mangk was skin wearing bones, held together by desiccated sinews. The Spirit Walker's skin was scarred as per tradition, concurrently dappled with the earthy tones of the Pintupi.

Above her, an enormous landmark, too famous not to be recognised, loomed.

Is that— Uluru? Gwen marvelled. She had never seen the rock in real life before. It had always been on her bucket list, but work intervened.

Following Tjupurrula's finger, her eyes focused on the cloudless sky over the epic natural monument.

"Kapi!" the Spirit Walker clapped emphatically.

There was a crash of thunder; then it began to pour.

Rain fell from heaven in pails and buckets, a solid wall of water cascading from a sky without clouds.

Where did the water come from? Gwen marvelled.

Tjupurrula leaned in closer. His skin as dark as obsidian, slick as an eel's.

Gwen looked down and saw a pair of caramel bosoms jutting outwards. Remarkably, she did not feel shame. Why would she? Was that not how men and women came into the earth, naked and quivering, likewise leaving, also naked and quivering?

“The Rainbow - the rainbow comes from the earth and returns here.” Gwen heard herself speak, but her voice was strange. It was a woman’s voice, but not her own. "Grandfather, I see now."

“Aye. Almudj is a proper cheeky.” Old Tjupurrula flashed a mouth full of yellow teeth. “It lives here, with a long beard and sharp teeth, in Uluru. It does not need men or women. It dreams, requiring no ceremonies.”

“Will the Snake awaken feeling hungry? Will it eat us?” Gwen heard herself inquire innocently. Her question made Tjupurrula laugh.

“O ya, Snake is very dangerous when it is cranky. The land grows dry, and the Pintupi drink the earth. When it is hungry, we have kurtangulu, nothing!”

Gwen felt the cold water of the cloudless rain saturating her skin, washing away the dust and the grime. As the water streamed from her hair, she could almost sense the seeds buried deep underground violently erupting, breaching the surface, gasping for air.

She opened her mouth, filling it with water.

She swallowed, quenching her thirst.

Tjupurrula regarded her with a broad grin.

“Uluru! This why the Pintupi can be at peace. Not like those Usurpers. The Snake is proper cheeky, yes. It will attack invaders. It will return their body to their ancestors. All of them. Everywhere!”

Suddenly, there was a tremor. The ground began to shift and move. From atop Uluru, she could see an immense shape, slithering and meandering, sliding from within the stone.

“In the early days, when the Yirriti first carried the Song, they carried it through the country, safe from the stalkers and the hunters. They carried it in drought times, through a dry country, travelling at night. I saw this once, Kalinda. I was a young komp, and my eyes were bright.”

“The Pintupi come from the old country, walking to the rock. Following the track. Following the track left by the Snake. Silently, looking, looking and coming to this place. To the mother place. People come. There were many of us then.”

Tjupurrula’s eyes glazed over with a look of nostalgia.

“Mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. They come to sing to the Snake. From Purtardi, Koonadan, from Karli Karru, from Tamarama, from Wimparraku. They come. From the south. From the north. From the east. From the west. They shared their meat, their eechak. I shared my kongk. There was no blood, no hate. When we walk the Long Walk, there is no argument. No eye.”

“In Uluru, with our special song. The Song of the Pintupi, we sing to the Snake. We could make the Snake remember a time when the world was young. It was a friend then. Before the Usurpers came; all people sang the song.”

A sound of thunder rumbled across the sky.

“Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!” Tjupurrula began. “Come! Ngak uu peeyan!”

Old Tjupurrula's hands gestured in the air. All around them, Gwen saw thousands, tens of thousands of the folk gathered, singing, dancing, revelling in the corroboree.

Laughing, Gwen lifted herself from the earth. The torrential rain cleansed the mud from her body. She joined the dance, hundreds of bodies in motion, moving round and round, their bare feet pitter-pattering across the flowing earth.

CRACK! Came the sound of earth-shattering fulminations. From the apex of Uluru, the Snake began to move, moving toward them, coming closer.

The ground shook again. Something else began to pour from atop the rock. Water gushed from the stone, water the likeness of blood, shaking the earth, filling the earth with life. Gwen wept, for here was where every river in the world begun.

Her world turned scarlet. Everywhere the red liquid touched, the land itself was quickly changing— fields of wild grass and wildflowers sprouted violently, exploding from the earth in vibrant eruptions. A verdant rainbow manifested where there had only been sand and dusty death.

“Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!”

The song continued unceasingly, the masses of bodies forming an unending spiral around Uluru.

“Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!”

Gwen turned her gaze upward to see the scintillating eyes of the serpent regarding her curiously.

"Almudj sees you, Kalinda!" Old Tjupurrula slapped his thighs. "Speak to it, girl! Ask for rain!"

Kin?

The serpent's voice flooded her mind, drowning Gwen in a flood of rushing white water.

Gwen forced her eyes to open.

Gingerly, one hand moving toward the back of her head, caressing the pulsing serpent's scale imprinted on her neck.

Taking deep breaths, Gwen forced herself to calm.

Her dream did not feel like an astral projection or an out of body experience. Instead, it was a vicarious immersion. She felt as though she had been there, as though she was the woman who was speaking to that ancient Spirit Walker, Tjupurrula.

Certainly, her Opa never mentioned anything about the scale bringing edicts from land gods, so what was her vision supposed to be?

Outside, it was already morning.

There was a din of women bickering on the veranda.

As the voices were familiar, Gwen attempted to make out the source of the fuss. The loud and obtrusive screamer was Yue without a doubt. The other was churlish and overbearing. Dobora— Gwen realised. Debora was back.

Slapping on a pair of shirt and shorts, she exited her room.

Outside, Elvia, who was in all-white, was trying to play the peacemaker.

Yue was leaning against the veranda’s rails with a sulky look, arms crossed, heaving angrily.

Debora was on the opposite side, hand on hips, aggressively incensed.

There was static in the air.

"Morning..."

All three pair of eyes converged.

Gwen sensed the worse was yet to come. For some reason, she felt like a cheating husband who had double-booked his mistress and his family.

"Hey there, Gwennie, I am back." Debora's voice maintained a suggestive, husky candour. "Did you miss me?"

Yue and Elvia's gazes shot towards Gwen accusingly.

"I didn't know you would be back so soon," Gwen returned, realising she sounded like a guilty housewife. "How was Christmas?"

"Got my blessings from the Archbishop, then polished off some honeyed ham at home." Debora pouted. "Came straight back to see how you were doing."

"Fu—" Yue began.

"YOU KNOW WHAT?" Gwen interrupted before the situation could escalate further. "Let's all go riding! Horses! Big Red Roo! OPEN SKIES!"

Fuck a duck. Gwen groaned.

She had forgotten entirely that only she and Debora had horses on the estate.

Due to her inconsiderate party planning, the foursome was now stuck in Tess's car, on route to McGuigan's Estate. A bemused Rhodes had been informed of their arrival, and he had sent out Tommy to ensure the girls could all be saddled and sorted.

Already, the atmosphere in the Merc was suffocating. Gwen sat in the passenger seat, while Elvia sat in the middle, caught between a Yue and a Debora.

After ten minutes of not talking to one another, Gwen couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Look, nothing happened between Debs and I. We were just fooling around."

Debora looked hurt. Yue was about to bust a gasket.

"Alright, that was a poor choice of words. Debora and I were partners..."

Debora looked pleased. Yue looked hurt.

"— in a PARTY. God damn it. We worked in a strictly professional capacity, okay?"

"But what about..." Debora raised a hand.

"Debby, help me out here!" Gwen snapped.

"Alright, alright." Debora put up both hands. She turned to look at Yue, who was eyeing her suspiciously. "Gwen and I shared some intimate memories, not that any of you would know."

"Debora Jones!" Gwen's patience had run its course. She had entirely forgotten how annoyingly possessive and stubborn Debora could be.

"Hmmph!" Even the angelic Elvia felt insulted. Debora's body language did not suggest that her interested in Gwen was platonic.

"You wish, skank." Yue was taking no prisoners.

"Oi, you lot! Do you want me to run the car into a tree?" Tess, who had suffered for an hour, demanded darkly. "I'll be fine with my Iron Skin. But it'll put you sulky lot out of your misery post quick."

"Thank you, Tess. That's wonderfully morbid." Gwen sighed. "Alright, everyone. Until we get to the horse farm, there is to be no more bullshit. Or else, I swear to God, I'll turn this car around!"

"Lady boss!" Tommy leapt off his horse with a flourish, bowing as he did so, kicking up a mighty storm of impressive dust. His eyes scanned over the girls. "Oh my! Are Missus Mages always so beautiful?! I must have died and gone to heaven!"

No one answered him, Tommy was amazed by the silence. What had happened? His flattery rarely if ever fell on deaf ears.

"Hi Tommy, we need to borrow your and four horses, can you pick out some docile mares for my friends, Elvia and Yue?" Gwen's voice demure and defeated, and it made Tommy terrified. "We'll be stargazing as well, so if you could pack the horses for camping, it would be lovely."

"Sure thing, but you okay, Lady boss? You sound sick, unhappy. Anything Tommy can do to help?" Tommy offered thoughtfully; these lady bosses looked very expensive.

"I am alright Tommy. Please see to it now."

Gwen walked off by herself towards the paddock where the horses roamed, leaving Tommy to busy himself with the supplies, wondering if the weather had suddenly changed for the worse.

"Mmmnngh!" Elvia had been mum this whole while, but she couldn't take Gwen been unhappy for another minute! "Yue! Debby! Go apologise, now!"

The two girls looked at the healer and her misty eyes.

"Yes, Ma'am," Yue replied with a deflating voice.

"Sorry, Elvia," Debora replied earnestly. "Yue, Gwen and I are just friends. Honestly."

"I am sorry as well. I was being a bitch."

The girls went and located their friend.

"We're sorry!" The troublemakers apologised. Making a supplicating bow that was the sign of a junior Mage to a superior. "Please don't stay upset."

Gwen turned; her usually sparkling-bright emerald eyes were red and puffy.

"I am alright." Gwen rubbed her eyes. "Promise me you two won't fight for stupid reasons again."

"I promise." Debora crossed her heart.

"Me too," Yue added stiffly.

"Okay. Now is a good as a time as any then. Yue— Debora is going to be on our 5v5 team," Gwen added. "I want us all to work together and win. You know how much I need this. And how much we all need to win to advance our future careers."

"You'll get no arguments from me," Yue raised both hands. She then extended a hand towards Debora. The two shook, albeit grudgingly.

"Okay!" Gwen smirked, her face once again projecting happiness. "You girls go and pick your horses. I need to wash up my face. It's embarrassing to see myself like this."

Her friends breathed a sigh of relief as Gwen watched them go, a secret smile touching the corner of her lips.

"Hehe, you young ducks are still too tender for an old bird like me."

Gwen winced, conjuring fresh water to wash out her eyes. Employing half an onion had been excessive. In hindsight, a single slice would have done the job just as well.

Thanks to Gwen's crocodile tears, the rest of the morning passed without incident. Elvia and Yue picked out their horses and quickly took up riding thanks to Tommy. Rhodes came through and shouted the girls a luncheon of Roo steak and heirloom vegetables. Tommy was asked to join at Gwen's behest, but the jackaroo insisted on eating alone on a hay bale. Social status, Gwen was reluctant to admit, was far more ingrained in this world.

Gwen's gaze fell over Tommy. While the rider dug face-first into his Roo back-strap, she felt the germination of a remarkable idea within her mind.

Tommy was by all accounts, an indigenous bloke.

Gwen, was by all accounts, tied to the Rainbow Serpent.

Discretely, she excused herself from the table and approached the jackaroo from an angle where he could see her walking up shyly, hands tucked into the pockets of her riding pants.

"Hey Tommy, can I ask you something for a minute?"

"Sure thing, Missus Boss, what do you need?" Tommy swallowed, his face full of happiness.

"Remember when I asked if I could come and see how your people lived these days, out in the Wildlands? Are you up for that offer still?"

"Sure thing Miss, but are you sure you want to go see? It's no picnic Miss, I gotta say, the old mob, they're not much for the civilisation."

"How so?" Gwen inquired.

"Not too sure myself Miss," Tommy confessed. "Old bickerings. Bad Eye. Our guman don't like it when we leave the Spirit Land. He says we are losing our young folk."

Gwen tried her best to recall the names she had heard from her vision.

"So Tommy, does the term Pintupi sound familiar to you at all?"

"Yeah Nah, I got nothing."

"How about Purtardi, Triinya?"

"Not even a dingo of an idea, Missus Boss."

"Karli Karru? Muruntji? Wimparraku?"

Tommy whistled smartly.

"You speak the old tongue real glib."

"Any of those familiar?"

"Some of the words sound familiar. Are they nations, maybe? I am not so sure."

"How about the Yirriti?"

Tommy's brows raised an inch, stretching his leathery face.

"How do you know that, Missus Boss?" His voice filled with wonder. "They are old stories me Gran used to tell! The Yirriti people were the old singers of Spirit Magic!"

Gwen's eyes formed two smiling half-moons.

"Do you have one of those where your people camp, Tommy? A Spirit Singer?"

"Aye, old Goolagong, she be the singer of the mob, the Tjukurpa— Spirit Walker, ya know, the Dreaming."

Gwen stopped herself from punch the air.

"Tommy, I want to take my friends and I out there for a few days, we want to be back on the 30th or the morning of the 31st, do you think we could make it? I'd very much like to speak to your shaman."

Tommy counted the days on his finger, puckered his lips and made a sucking sound.

"I think so, Missus Boss, we take the horses to the Gate, my mob usually camp about a day's ride through the bush. They're usually camped around the Goorangoola, easy to track, just follow the water."

"Well Tommy, if you can spare a few days for us, I'll make sure everyone gets together a nice bonus for you. Think of it as a quest request from us!"

Tommy's grin was split ear to ear.

"Glad to help, Missus Boss, Tommy is best for mish!"

"Thanks, Tommy." Gwen gave him her best smile. "You're the best."

"Shucks!" Tommy laughed. "You embarrass me, Missus Boss! I'll let Mr Rhodes know!"

Gwen returned to her friends with the good news. She was already thinking of team-building exercise. A few mildly exciting encounters fighting Roos and Giant Goannas should smooth the antagonism between Yue and Debs.

Tommy returned with more details once Rhodes gave him the thumbs up. The jackaroo mapped out a lovely picture of Outback extravaganza. Once they exited the Singleton Gate, they'd take the old fire trail through untamed Green Zones until Goulburn Pass. With any luck, they should run into his tribe, south of Barrington, then Gwen could get some answers, and they would be back on the night of the 30th.

The girls squealed and gushed. An Outback adventure! Four days and three nights in the bush, camping under stars! Fighting Kangaroos and God knows what, eating bush tucker and building up their friendship. That was the stuff brochures advertised.

Ever the helpful manager, Rhodes offered to drop off the horses at the Shield Gate by Singleton. All Gwen and the girls had to do was meet Tommy at dawn.

Having now planned their activities for the next few days, the girls wanted to stock up on appropriate attire for four days of rough riding. Thankfully, Cessnock was having a Boxing Day Market. Tommy borrowed Rhodes' jeep and acted the girl's chauffeur.

At the market, the girls enjoyed themselves. This time, each of the girls had resources to spare. Elvia had LDMs and HDM given to her by her father; Yue was currently in possession of a small fortune; Debora was flush with cash from their prior Roo expeditions, and Gwen was the benefactor of a sugary Opa. Arm in arm, the girls roamed from store to store, building rapport through the ancient and revered female bonding ritual known as retail therapy.

The girls returned to Surya's by nightfall, where they shared a nip of sweet Moscato with the old Enchanter. After a few glasses, Surya queried Elvia and Yue about their families, curious as to the lineage of Gwen's closest allies. Elvia's heritage was within Surya's expectations, but it was Yue's lineage that truly surprised him.

"Your father is an Evoker with tier 2 Water, but you're tier 5 Fire?!" Gwen's grandfather was shocked by the odds.

"Yeah, and my mother is an NoM!" Yue declared proudly.

"That's... amazing." Surya raised his glass in a toast. "To beating the odds!"

Yue tapped Surya's flute and drank her fermented grape juice. Gwen watched the bottle like a hawk. After her last debacle, she wasn't going to give Debora or anyone another opportunity to get tipsy and handsy.

"That said, be careful out there. It's only the Green Zone, but call me if something, anything, goes wrong."

"Yessir." the girls concurred.

Gwen capped off the busy night with a kiss for her grandfather; then they were off to prepare for their Great Outback adventure.

At dawn, Tess drove the girls out on the four-hour-long journey to the Shield Gate at Singleton. Gwen inquired about what had happened to that Wollombi Shield Gate they had investigated, but the Apprentice knew scant more than Gwen herself.

"They're still looking into it." Tess avoided yet another pothole with a deft swivel of the wheel. "Who knows, the Tower usually takes care of these things. I can tell you the station is re-garrisoned though."

Gwen glanced at the rearview mirror. Yue and Debs were getting along better now. They didn't make small talk, but they at least left one another well alone. Elvia was napping away in the middle, her face angelic as always. Hopefully, the trip could build some rapport between Yue and Debora.

When their car finally stopped, Tommy was already waiting with the horses. "Ready to go?"

The girls bid Tess goodbye and saddled up.

Tess produced a Lumen-Recorder and asked the girls to line their horses up.

"One, two, three - Doggies! Beautiful! Have fun!"

True to his word, Tommy knew the lay of the land like the back of his hand. Even as they ventured off the main road, the jackaroo seemed well aware of their heading.

Quickly, the flat terrain of stunted shrubbery turned into rolling hills and vast, open prairies full of wild grass and early summer flowers. On a ledge, they watched a herd of Roos, a hundred or more, hop across the sweeping plains like a school of synchronised fish. Yue wanted to immediately Fireball them, but Tommy stopped her, teaching her that these were not monsters but creatures of the land. He instructed the girls that they should only kill what they could eat, and that senseless killing was disrespectful to the spirit of the nation.

Yue was disappointed but agreed to abide by Tommy's wisdom. She was a stranger to these lands, while Tommy was their host.

Past noon and past Yengo, the plains came to an end, and the hilly rockscape of the Barrington Tops began. Unlike the tectonic mountains of Europe, these hills and valleys were eroded sandstone, flats weathered by the flowing of water, shaped by the aeons.

Riding through a gully, the girls marvelled at the wonder of the bush, its white-barked forests of gums and its verdant bursts of Waratah and Banksia. There were Blooming Dogwood as well, juxtaposing the Flame Trees that turned their surroundings into founts of blood.

It was late afternoon when they finally found the estuaries that flowed from the Tops. Tommy returned some half an hour later, relieved that he had discovered signs of his people's encampment.

By now it was getting late, and the girls settled in for their first night on the bush. After a supper of oats, spiced jerky, and buttery damper, the conversation turned to who would occupy whose tent.

"Let's draw straws." Gwen had anticipated a dispute, and so made moves to absolve the conflict. She felt no desire for Tommy to sleep out in the open while she or Debora took a tent for themselves.

"Okay, I am with Debs."

With sleep sorted, the foursome dimmed the Dancing Light. As their eyes adjusted, the sky came alive with celestial bodies burning bright.

"Tommy, can you tell us some stories about this place?"

Tommy gazed up at the stars dreamily, his expression unreadable.

"Sure thing, Missus boss." The jackaroo cleared his throat. "Long ago, in the time of the never-never, before there was the Dreaming, the world was flat, bare, and cold. The Rainbow Serpent, Almudj, slept under the ground with all the animal tribes in her belly waiting to be born. When it was time, she pushed up, calling to the animals to come from their sleep. She vomited forth the land, making mountains and hills, then scattered water over the earth, making rivers and lakes. She made the sun, the fire and all the colours. Our nation loves Almudj, because she is a great protector, bringing the wet season each year, allowing life to multiply, appearing in the sky as a rainbow. Our nation also fears Almudj, for she also punishes invaders."

"Thank you Tommy, that was wonderful." Gwen's eyes refracted the milkyway above. Here in the Outback, the sky was heart-achingly beautiful, so overwhelming that she felt insignificant, minuscule, irrelevant.

"Was that the serpent we saw during the Field Trip?" Debora asked.

"I don't know," Gwen lied.

Yue and Elvia also gazed upon the magnificence in silence, trying to picture a serpent sailing through the night-time sky.

Gwen spent the night brushing off a wayward hand that kept sneaking its way into her sleeping bag. Half-awake, she listened to Debora's muffled breathing, unsure if the girl was awake or if she was naturally a nocturnal grabber.

When dawn came, the insomniac sorceress, finally asleep, felt something tingly on her face. Drearily opening her eyes, she was met with Debora's face hovering an inch away, her amber eyes gazing longing into her own.

"Morning," Gwen said cautiously, not moving a muscle.

"I wish days like this would last forever," Debora muttered strangely, her voice full of melancholy.

Gwen didn't reply for fear of inciting Debora. Instead, she reached out and squeezed her friend's hand reassuringly. Debora's hair, which she had cropped around the time of the Field Trip, had astoundingly returned to shoulder length. In the dappled light of the early morning, her friend was uncommonly comely. It wasn't the striking, exotic manner in which Gwen's appearance was head-turning, but a wholesome, girl-next-door appeal that Gwen could never affect.

Gwen propped herself against the bedroll while Debora dressed in the cramped space of the two-women tent. An Earthen Transmuter, Debora's toned musculature was well-defined beneath her honeyed-skin. Compared to herself and her well-visible ribs, Gwen reminded herself that she needed to eat more.

Gwen waited until Debora left before she changed, slipping into a long-sleeved cotton shirt, and her full-length riding pants. Emerge from the tent into the morning light; she buckled on her boots.

There was a delicious smell of sizzling bacon. Tommy was making breakfast, aided by Yue, who excelled in survivalist cooking thanks to Alesia's deadly culinary ineptitude. Together, the girls shared tea and coffee, then saddled up for the ride to the Indigenous encampment.

"Oi! Appa! It's me, Tommy Kuranga, how are ya?"

"Niiyalang!" replied an elderly man, "What's with the puk komans? You bringing migloo girls home now Tommy?"

Gwen and the girls dismounted as they approached the settlement.

The word settlement was perhaps, an inappropriate observation, for they were looking at a dozen humpies made from sticks and cross-hatched gum leaves, forming rudimentary burrows where one or two individuals could shelter from the sun or rain. Comparatively, some distance away, modern-material tents replaced the traditional humpy.

The man Tommy had spoken to was a 'bushman' as Gwen would put it, but he had on jeans and a red t-shirt faded by the sun.

As they strolled into camp, Gwen noted that almost all the residents of the settlement were wearing modernised clothing. There were little signs of the classic, Indigenous appearance that she had come to expect from her old world.

Feeling ambivalent, she attempted to rationalise the scene before her, realising the idiotic expectation brought by her subtle prejudice. Just because they were in a magical world, she told herself, it didn't mean the indigenous folks strolled around naked and in body paint.

"Good afternoon Sir. I am Gwen Song, and these are my friends, Yue Bai, Debora Jones, and Elvia Lindholm," Gwen spoke to the old feller who had accosted their party.

Discretely, Tommy led the horses away while Gwen introduced her and her friends.

"Ha! Old Jurangi is no 'Sir'!" the old man hollered, studying the girls, his eyes lingering a moment longer upon Gwen than the others. "Call me Jura, that's what the old stockmen used to call me. You Migloo are a long way from home!"

"I am sorry for disturbing the peace, Jura," Gwen replied respectfully. "I was wondering if it is at all possible to speak to your Spirit Speaker."

"Goolagong? You want to see the old lady?" His voice took on a tone of caution. "You want to malp kee'AN? Or perhaps you are more interested in the ngeen-wiy? No?"

Gwen blushed.

"I don't understand what you mean," she confessed. "My apologies for the inconvenience."

Jura looked over at Tommy, who was brushing down the horses and unsaddling the camping gear.

"Well, I better get you mob settled then." Jura pointed to a clearing beside the rest of the camp. "Help yourselves."

Gwen led the girls over to the clearing and materialised their supplies.

Jura's eyes almost popped out of his sockets.

"You migloo Magic?" Jura spluttered, suddenly alarmed. "All of you?"

"Yue and I are Evokers, Debora here is a Transmuter, and Elvia is a healer."

Debora placed a hand upon the earth and incanted a Minor Stone Shape. The ground rippled and warped before flattening out. Likewise, she planted the tent pegs by wrapping the stone around the spikes.

"Ngench pekan!" Jura spat alarmingly. "Ooo this proper cheeky Tommy! Bringing us trouble!"

Gwen watched the man stalk angrily off toward their jackaroo, proceeding to slap the young man on the head.

"Gwen—" Yue questioned. "What's happening?"

"Are we unwelcome?" Elvia said worriedly.

"Yeah, we don't exactly share a nice history with these folk," Dobora noted, observing Tommy ducking this way and that, trying to avoid the older man's slaps. "You know that we chased the savages out and took their land, right?"

Gwen nodded uncertainly. Old Jura had seemed perfectly fine until they started using magic. "Is there a taboo or something about modern magic?"

"I don't know about these days," Debora answered. "But when the Purge came through in the 70s, the Indigenous people were caught up pretty bad. It's all in the history books, Gwen, don't you recall junior high?"

"I was preoccupied," Gwen replied. She didn't even remember those classes. Yue knew about Gwen's family circumstances, but Debora had not.

The commotion seemed to have alerted the rest of the camp. Men, women and children all emerged from their tents to see what compelling drama was unfolding at the settlement's edge. In a few moments, the girls were surrounded by at least a hundred of the Indigenous folk, pointing and speaking in their musical language.

Elvia hid behind Gwen demurely, hiding herself using Gwen's stature. Yue stepped up aggressively, as did Debora, who looked ready to fight. Gwen swallowed nervously as the gathering crowd came closer to inspect the intruders. She could see in their eyes that not all of them were curious while some, Gwen gulped, looked very much hostile.

"Oi! You mob! Hang off!"

Just as Gwen considered the merits of restraining Yue as to avoid a diplomatic incident, she was interrupted by a croak that silenced the murmuring crowd.

The group opened a path. From between the crowd, an indigenous woman with the bearing of a fertility goddess emerged. She was twice the width of the girthiest of the men, with dense breasts that hung low against a portly stomach, naked but for a modesty shawl. Yet, there wasn't a feeling of corpulence that one perceived when perceiving a woman with three chins. Instead, there was an indescribable vitality to the woman. Most imposingly, the woman's body was vivid with ochre markings and white lines.

The woman, Gwen figured, was Tommy's Spirit Walker, the tribe's Dreamer— Old Goolagong.

"Ma'am." Gwen placed a hand on Yue's shoulder. "Allow me to apologise. I hadn't realised the trouble our intrusion would bring."

"Pay them no mind, puk komans of the migloo tribe." Thankfully, Goolagong was well-versed in English.

"They're young, bored and restless, there is little to do here but hunt and forage, meaning the mob often become greedy for excitement."

Old Goolagong turned to her people.

"Go home! No more embarrassment for our guests!"

Muttering, the tribesmen dispersed.

"Allow me to introduce myself." Gwen made a courteous bow, the sort a junior Mage would use to greet a Master. "I am Gwen Song, a student of Evocation. Here is Yue, likewise an Evoker; and Debora, a transmuter, and finally, this is Elvia, our healer."

"Five for a mob, isn't it?" the old man asked, looking around. "Not to mention Tommy is no Migloo magician."

"Ah, we're here to broaden our horizons; not to quest."

The Spirit Walker glared Jura, who looked guilty. "Honest mistake! We have trouble with migloo magicians on mish before. That is why you get eye."

Old Goolagong came closer, from her markings, the girls could smell wildflowers and loam.

"They say you wanted to speak to me. If you are not on a mish, what can old Goolagong do for you?"

"Well." Gwen summoned her courage. She couldn't speak about her relationship with the Almudj, but the Geas did not prevent her from asking about the Mythic from an entirely different angle. "I was very much interested in the history of the region, especially regarding the Rainbow Serpent."

Out of the girls, Elvia was the most articulate. She quickly explained what they saw that day of the Field Trip, about the rampage of the Rainbow Serpent in the Royal National.

"I see, I see." The woman chuckled.

Her gaze swept over the students, stopping at Debora. The Transmuter seemed to take note and hid behind the others. Toward Yue or Elvia, Goolagong possessed little interest, reserving the bulk of her attention for Gwen.

"You know Almudj?" Goolagong said. "I sense that the Dreaming is strong in you."

Gwen's blood grew instantly cold. Goolagong had better not accidentally triggered her Geas! Feeling her skin crawl, Gwen grinned awkwardly, then shook her head unconvincingly.

"Only from stories, Ma'am," Elvia replied for Gwen, unsure why her talkative friend suddenly clammed up.

"No matter. We talk in the shade." Goolagong motioned for the girls to move toward her humpy.

"I'd be glad to," Gwen replied.

The party followed, all except one.

"I'll stay here," Debora replied, her face a barely hiding her displeasure. "I am not feeling well."

"Are you alright, Deb? Was it something we ate? Motion sickness?" Elvia inquired puzzlingly. Gwen was also puzzled. Along the way, Debora had been the most fortified of them all. "Maybe— heatstroke? I'll stay with Debby."

"Alright." Gwen nodded at Elvia. "Debs, are you sure you're fine?"

"I am good." Debora shot Goolagong an unfriendly glare. "I just need to lie down a bit. You go ahead. I'll be fine with Evee here."

Gwen looked at Yue, who shrugged. Yue wasn't close enough to Debora to give a toss. Of greater interest to Yue was the bulbous woman with a gut full of exotic stories.

"Okay. We'll be back soon," Gwen replied gently, giving Debora a quick hug. "Take care."

Old Goolagong sat under the canopy of a humpy that barely reached her sitting height, appearing as though a female, earthen Budai.

"Please forgive the mob for their suspicions." Goolagong inclined her head. "They do not mean harm, only desiring that you leave us alone."

"It's my fault for not announcing our arrival," Gwen said. "Please, if there's any way we can do to amend our intrusion, please say so."

Goolagong's mouth opened to reveal rows of yellowing teeth.

"Let's hear why you are here first. Jura tells me you and Tommy came to see me direct. You want to know about the Mother Serpent, Almudj?"

Gwen framed her questions very carefully. "Yes, specifically, if there are any stories of the Serpent being able to communicate with people. Like through dreams and such."

"Oh?" Goolagong's eyes made two half-moons. "Why would a migloo girl want to know about the Mother of the Unformed Land? Especially a magician with her European magic?"

"Academic reasons," Gwen lied, pondering the sensitivity of her embedded Geas.

"What do you know so far?" Goolagong asked instead. "How do you know Almudj?"

Gwen grunted. Now she felt the oppressive grip of the Geas distinctly weighing upon her mind, pulling at her heart.

"Yue, I need you to hit me with a Flaming Hand, just a small one."

Yue looked at Gwen with an expression of incomprehension.

"Trust me. I know what I am doing. I need to show the elder something."

"Gwen, are you barking mad?" Yue's expression suggested she was questioning her sanity.

"Yue, please," Gwen affirmed her request.

"Alright, I hope you got a health pot ready." Yue raised a hand. "Flaming Hand!"

A burst of flame erupted from Yue's hands, enveloping Gwen like the tongue of a malicious salamander.

But just as the flame reached its target and began to scorch Gwen's clothes, a shimmer enveloped Gwen's body, manifesting a few millimetres above her skin. The flames washed over their intended target, but there was no yelp of pain, only a stink of carbon monoxide.

"Your sleeve is on fire," Yue observed drily.

Gwen quickly patted out the yellow flame. Her arm was unscathed, but her blouse was ruined.

A Message spell boomed next to Gwen's ear.

"Are you alright? What was that!" It was Elvia, communicating directly across the camp via line-of-sight.

"We're fine Evee, just testing out something." Gwen terminated the spell after reassuring her friend.

"Did you see?" Gwen asked.

"I saw," Goolagong said.

"What did she see? What did I see?" Yue asked puzzlingly. "That was Resist Elements, right? What's so strange about that?"

Then Yue's mind seemed to have caught up with her eyes.

"Wait, did you even chant an incantation?" Yue looked over her friend. "But that's impossible. Are you an Abjurer, as well? Gwen— what's happening exactly?"

Gwen turned her head, pulling back her hair to form a ponytail. Both Yue and Goolagong gazed at a shimmering scale now embedded at the base of her neck.

"A Magic Item? What does it do? Absorb Elements? Why fire specifically?" Yue yelped. "Did you Opa make it for you? Bloody hell, if I had an Enchanter as a grandfather..."

Old Goolagong, however, had turned ashen, her dark face grey as the blood drained from her face.

"You have met… Almudj?"

Gwen said nothing.

"Now I see why you wish to Dream. You wish to speak to Almudj. That is fine, migloo magician Gwen."

"I do."

"That is fine. But first, I would ask a task of you. If you do this for us, then I will share with you the Dreaming, and from your dream, you may speak with Almudj."

Gwen nodded.

"A Quest!" Yue instantly perked up. "I love Quest. What does it entail?"

"A monster hunt," Old Goolagong intoned carefully. "I fear it is a dark beast that…"

"We'll take it!" Yue's grinned from ear to ear. "Just point us in the right direction!"

Old Goolagong looked at Gwen, making sure she consented, likely confused the migloo was so eager to help. Gwen knew, of course, that Yue's intentions were as pure as they come. She wanted to fight, and that was that.

"A darkling beast," Old Goolagong continued. "We are troubled by Wanka, the greater Spider who lives upon the salt-lake, whose barks echo through the night, and whose children come to hunt us when we are weary and alone."

"Hold up." Yue's complexion paled. "Did you say Giant Spider Wanker?"

Gwen felt the same. A Spider. She wasn't good with spiders, but Yue was on a whole other level. There was a time when they were at Yue's house, and upon seeing a common Huntsmen on her roof, Yue had launched her mug toward it, showing the two of them with tea and ceramics. The huntsmen had then escaped unharmed, disappearing into the roof. Yue had been so afraid that she insisted on her father driving her to Gwen's apartment to spend the night.

"Wanka, a barking spider that…"

"It barks?!" Yue's voice took on a heightened pitch. "Like woof! Woof?"'

"More like this…" Goolagong made a horrific sound akin to an angry wombat dry-humping a bush turkey.

Yue swooned.

"Yue gonna be okay?" Gwen held her friend upright.

"Sure." Yue steadied herself, her voice trembling. "What's a spider or two? Just burn it all down."

"So." Gwen turned back to Goolagong. "A favour for a favour?"

"For Almudj, yes." Goolagong's met Gwen's own. "I, too, am interested in this connection you have. A migloo girl and Almudj - how strange, What could it mean?"

"I can't offer something else instead?" Gwen turned to Yue, who was already staring into the middle distance. "Crystals currency?"

"Do you see another magician around here?" Old Goolagong laughed. "You want an old lady to go and fight a giant barking spider? Do you think I could outrun its sixteen legs?"

"S-Sixteen!" Yue'a eyes glazed over.

"No no, we'll manage," Gwen said. She was confident that in a Green Zone, even a giant spider wouldn't be so excessively powerful as to be beyond tier 5. More so, she was optimistic this Wanka creature was no match for Caliban and Ariel.

"When do you want this done?"

"We can begin the ceremony tonight if you return. The salt lake is only two hours away by horse."

Gwen nodded. She begged for more details on the arachnid, but the old Spirit Walker had not seen it herself either. Her people knew only its whereabouts and some lore. From what Gwen could gather, it should be a giant wolf-spider.

"We need a guide for the salt lake."

"Tommy should know the way." Old Goolagong pointed to the young Jackaroo brushing down the horses.

The girls retreated to an isolated area of the camp. Debora professed to be feeling better, while Gwen informed them of her progress, giving each the choice of accompanying her.

Elvia agreed before Gwen even finished.

Unsurprisingly, Debora wasn't thrilled.

"It's not right," she said. "We shouldn't be helping these people."

"What's wrong?" Gwen asked, her voice more curious than critical.

"They're not a part of our society. These savages rejected our ways decades ago. They need to live with the consequences."

"A bit harsh?" Gwen was genuinely surprised. Was Debora a racist? That was certainly unexpected. Then again, Gwen thought back to their youth. Debora did consistently make fun of Yue's English when they were in junior high. She also called Yue a boat-person when anti-refugee sentiments were trending. As a typical "Aussie", Debora lived on the South Coast, and the folk there were very particular about "their" beaches, churches, and suburbs.

"Not to mention." Debora bit her lower lip. "I heard they practice Necromancy."

Elvia's eyes expanded to reveal the full extent of her brilliant blue iris.

"That's Spirit Magic." Gwen had done her homework with her Master. "It's not raising the dead or anything, more like ancestral worship, storing memories in vessels, magic circles, animalism, that kind of thing."

Debora's expression told Gwen that she didn't believe a word.

"Debs." Gwen felt guilty for saying so, but she wasn't about to entertain the prejudices of Debora's misconstructions. "You can remain here if you want."

"No," she said quickly. "I'll come with, you guys need a Tank, right? We're a team now."

Yue and Elvia didn't disagree. It was Gwen who had announced that they were a team now, and it would have to be Gwen who rejected the ambivalent Debora.

"Agreed." Gwen reached out and gave Debora a reassuring pat on the knees, relaxing her jaws. "Think of it as a monster hunt, nothing more."

"Well, shall we get going then?" Yue asked impatiently. She was keen to see the spider roasted and done. Just knowing that a barking spider was near was giving her the creeps.

Gwen materialised the girl's bandoleers, organising two healing potions and two mana potions, as well as a single vial of antidote per sorceress. Yue went and fetched Tommy, who was relieved that finally, he could ride out of camp and be away from the 'mob' incessantly mobbing him for details on the girls.

As they travelled, the girls pooled notes on the nature of arachnid-based magical creatures. Gwen surprised the girls with her knowledge, explaining that it was implausible that a Barking Spider, even one with a name like Wanka, could be a web-dweller.

"It's either an ambush predator, like the tarantula or the trap-door," Gwen said expertly, drawing upon her otherworldly knowledge. "OR, in the worst-case scenario, a jumping spider. They are SWIFT. My suggestion is that once it emerges, concentrate on limiting its movements."

Debora announced that her Spirit possessed tremor sense, which she could achieve by channelling a minor stone shape in a radius of a few meters around them.

As for Gwen, she could discreetly cast Detect Magic and Detect Traps somewhere along the way.

The party arrived at the edge of the salt lake some two hours later.

As the girls focused on buffing, Gwen refreshed her BB cream and took the opportunity to summon Ariel. Once her companions were distracted by the showman marten, she activated her detection spells.

With mana-charged eyes, Gwen then scanned the blazing white horizon, seeing nothing of note as yet.

"Let's leave the horses with Tommy."

"No problems, Missus, I take care of the hoses."

As it was the dry seasons, the entire lake was encrusted with salt, forming a smooth white plain of desolation where nothing lived. Gwen was now even more convinced that the Barking Spider was a voracious hunter. If it lived in a place without prey, then the spider must be an active hunter. No wonder it fed on the indigenous tribesmen.

It took another half an hour of wandering through the salt flats for Yue to discovered a barely perceptible trail.

"It's going this way," Yue announced. "Medium-sized prey, probably a Roo. Looks fresh. The salt here gets moved about pretty quickly."

The party followed the trail. Except for Debora, whose body was doubly fortified by earth and Transmutation buffs, the girls were feeling the moisture loss that occurred thanks to salt and sun.

"Halt." Gwen raised a hand as the girls drank from their canteens. She had felt her Divination tingle, and so scanned their surroundings. Not far, she sensed a trace of mana unique to Magical Creatures.

"Can monsters use magic?" Gwen inquired. She wasn't too confident if monsters used spells or merely manifested phenomenon directly.

"They can," Elvia chimed in. "Some monsters have innate magic."

Gwen felt another tingling in the air. She channelled more magic into her eyes, feeling the strain impressed upon her eyeballs. There were motes of Transmutation here and there, as well as motes of indistinct elemental mana.

"Elemental Air!" Gwen hollered suddenly. "That's why it's fine living on the salt flat! It's an Air Element spider!"

Voo—VOOMPT!

As if answering her call, a sudden eruption of silk exploded all around them.

A massive web, previously buried underneath the girls, tore through the cracked surface of the salt flat and enclosed them like a parcel.

"Minor Stone Shape!" Debora struck the earth, instantly summoning a massive dome of sand around the girls, creating an overhead barrier.

Yue formed a circular gesture with both her hands.

"Wall of Fire!"

A ring of fire torched the space around the girls. Where the enclosing web touched its membranes onto the flames, it instantly ignited, leaving behind ash and foul-smelling gloop.

'Thump!'

A foreleg shaped like a scythe punched through the sand barrier, stopping only a few centimetres before Gwen's face.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Gwen screamed. "How strong is this thing?"

A whirlwind of salt began to envelop the girls, smothering the Wall of Fire with salt crystals. Before Debora could react, the limb withdrew from the wall.

Gwen tasted the magic in the air; the motes were thick with Transmutation.

"I think its Hasted!" she warned the others. "Everyone, crowd around Evee in a triangle formation. Yue, shrink the ring of fire! Debs, I need you on your tremor sense! Focus on defence! Elvia, Bless and Aid! Give me a jolt of healing in ten seconds!"

The girls moved into position as the whirlwind of salt obscured all vision.

"Ariel, fire at will. Caliban, get underground!" Gwen commanded. She felt her vitality drain as her Void fiend shrouded itself with secreted mucus and wiggled underground, coiling its body like a spring.

A few seconds later, Elvia's jolt of vitality flooded her conduits.

"Are we waiting for it to strike?" Debora shouted over the roar of the salt-storm.

"Yeah!" Gwen shouted back. "Its too fast, if we don't alpha strike it, its probably going to flee."

"I'll play bait! I am sure I can handle a hit or two."

"Wait and see," Gwen advised.

"What about me?" Yue asked. "This wanker is too fast!"

"Wanka," Gwen corrected her friend. "Use Scorching Rays on its legs. Try to target as many as you can! Warding Bolt! Call Lightning!"

Her persistent spells targeted indiscriminately, but hopefully, they could be triggered quickly enough to slow down the Barking Spider.

Outside the sand barrier, the salt storm was beginning to subside. The girls knew that if the creature were to strike, it would have to be very soon. The question was, from where would it come?

"GGGNNARK!"

There was a roar - a crude, inhuman bark - an indescribable howl of guttural rage uttered by an arachnid, using its chitin to vibrate the air.

"Here it comes!" Debora announced the tremor from a distance. "Four O'clock!"

There was an explosion of sand some fifteen meters out, then a giant white mass, too fast for the eye to follow, descended upon the Blackwattle party.

Wanka moved like mercury slipping through air.

Debora's hands met in the middle, causing her sand dome to expand. Gwen did her best to track the spider, but before she could utter a second warning, it landed on top of the semi-dome barrier— its salt-encrusted body bypassing Yue's Flaming Wall with only a fistful of singed hair.

With the sound of screeching metal, its forelegs descended once again. This time, Debora's Transmutation was far too slow to adapt to its supernatural velocity, Debbie was apt, but she was no Abjurer.

In the blink of an eye, Gwen spontaneously activated her Abjuration shield. With repeated use, even her stolen talent was reaching the tier of a sufficiently awakened Sigil; what she now lacked was the tenacity,  strength and formal education.

Wary of what might happen to her friends if she used void, Gwen evoked her lightning, manifesting her non-newtonian barrier, feeling her mana reserves deplete.

CLANG!

There came the sound of a violent collision, followed by blinding flash of mana congealing were the blade-like legs struck.

Crack! Fractures split the snowdome shielding from edge to edge. For now, Gwen's Shield held, but for how long they could not know.

"Fuck!" Yue swore, echoing Gwen's thoughts.

"Shield of Faith!" Elvia wasn't an Abjurer. Her shielding spells were underpowered, but right now, every layer helped.

Debora's sand finally caught up, but Wanka effortlessly extracted its limbs from the grip of her silica. The Transmuter howled with frustration. Her control was still insufficient; she required higher tier spells to snare the beast.

"It's too quick!" Debora wailed. "Shit!"

Gwen felt her Warding Bolt and Thunderstorm both fired, but the air elemental Spider was highly resistant to lightning.

Gwen's mind spun. Debora's sand was too ponderous; Gwen's lightning was ineffective, and Yue's fire was too slow to get a good hit on the sixteen-legged spider.

"If we can hold it still..." Yue concentrated on maintaining her Wall of Fire.

"We need to slow it down somehow," Elvia yelled.

"I am going to Flashbang it!" Gwen shouted. "Directly on top of us. Deb! I need hardcover for the party!"

"Nine O'clock!" Debora preempted the attack by gathering up the sand around them to form a dome. "Here it comes!"

Gwen watched the sand creep over her mana shield, enclosing the girls in a semi-sphere of darkness. At the last moment, she reached out and conjured through her Evocation Sigil an over-channelled Flashbang spell.

BUNG! Erupted a muffled blast.

There was the sound of something scribbling on the surface of the sand shield; then Gwen's Shield shook. Debora grunted as she held her barrier, withstanding the shockwave rippling over its surface, flaking off pieces of sand and revealing the glassy mana dome below.

Something trashed wildly somewhere distant from their position. Debora collapsed the sand shield with a wave of her hand, revealing before the girls a white blur of blades and limbs the size of a combine-harvester.

True to Goolagong's word, Wanka was a spider with an extra set of limbs. Its armoured body erupted in white bristling hair flinging salt this way and that as it spun in circles, lashing out with its forelimbs. From a safe distance, they could see that it had four retractable limbs which lashed out with scythe-like forelegs. Every time it attacked, the legs punched or pawed the air, like that of a mantis-shrimp.

Two bolts of lightning, one from the conjured cloud and the other from Gwen's warding bolt lashed out overhead and struck the beast squarely, showering the spider with sparks.

The creature spun and oriented itself towards the girls.

"Flashbang!" Gwen front-loaded a sonic explosion directly before the creature, motioning for the others to shield the eyes. Once again, Wanka thrashed and spun.

Gwen recalled that wolf spiders felt for pray with sensitive hairs on their forelegs, likewise relying on their incredible vision. If so, her Flashbang must be a hell of a sensory overload.

"That spell is such a cheat," Yue stated wryly. She moved her hands and cut loose the mana she had spent the last few turns gathering.

"Scorcher!"

A total of six rays shot out from her hands, slicing into the blurring white mass. There was a scream of pain, then two limbs flew from the panicked spider, one skittering and rolling away while the other was flung violently through the air.

"Flashbang!" Gwen shot off another spell as the girls held their ears.

"That poor spider." Elvia looked away. "It's in so much pain."

"Fireball!" Yue shot off her best spell, watching the small dot of fire zoom towards the spider. Upon impact, it's collated energy lashed out, rapidly expanding until it reached its maximum blast range. The force of the blast was enough to rip off a whole section of the spider's chitinous carapace.

"Wait up." Gwen halted Yue before she could fire off another blast. "Caliban needs to feed."

They watched as a lump of soil moved underfoot towards the spider, now skittering weakly, too damaged to escape. There was a wet sound as Caliban emerged under its abdomen. With a crunch, her creature pierced through Wanka's carapace, invading its body.

The spider's legs shot out with an expression of indescribable pain as a parasitic netherworld worm dug through its guts in search of Creature Core. There came a second thunk! Then Caliban broke free from Wanka's face, its serpentine form steaming with ichor and purple bile.

"Shaa! Shaa!" it announced satisfyingly.

"Holy shit, Gwen." Yue hadn't seen Caliban in action before.

Elvia's face turned pale; she held her mouth lest she lost the battle to contain her stomach contents.

Debora was about to say something witty at the other two girls, but a sudden tremor beneath them sent her off balance.

The vast white expanse of the salt-flat suddenly cracked, tectonic plates of salt shifting and moving as something huge began to break through the crust.

"Fuck!" Yue dropped to her knees, losing balance. "What the hell is that?"

"Jump!" Gwen grabbed Elvia by the waist. "Now!"

Debora instantly reacted, she hadn't worked with Gwen for a month without building at least some rapport. She tackled Yue at the waist and activated her Jump spell.

The two girls, each with a companion, leapt away from their standing positions. Gwen activated Feather Fall on her ring and used her an incanted Feather Fall on Elvia. Conversely, Debora used her Jump for horizontal movement; dashed herself and Yue some ten meters away from where they had stood only a moment before.

A set of forelegs three metres in length extended from the broken salt. Gwen winced and looked down. She was bleeding profused because one of the claws had nicked her calve. When the pain finally travelled up her nerves, Gwen almost fainted. Her left leg as a mess— where Wanka had struck, it had cut her to the bone, exposing the white tenders still connecting her muscles.

"Elvia!" Gwen called out. She wasn't sure how she would react. Their present engagement was the first time she had been wounded in a battle with a monster. She couldn't even imagine what would happen if they didn't have a healer.

Below her, the sudden vertical movement had disorientated Elvia, but Gwen's sudden cry of alarm jolted her from her confusion. Placing both hands on her friend's thighs, the petite Cleric incanted her best spell.

"Cure Moderate Wounds!"

A gush of positive energy channelled through Gwen's body, instantly stitched her wound, mending the flesh and inflicting her with an itch that was impossible to scratch.

Gwen moaned. The pain and the itch were exquisite, caught between two extremes, she didn't know whether to scream or cry.

By now, she knew her Warding Bolt and Call Storm had fizzled.

Some distance away, Debora was coughing up blood. She had used her own body to shield Yue, tanking the kinetic energy of Wanka Two's rebar-like forelimb. Only now did she realise a claw had bitten her Bronze Flesh, possibly cracking her collarbone.

Conversely, Yue had been sent skidding half a dozen metres, disorientated but safe.

"Fuck, the small wanker wasn't Wanka!" Yue shouted at the girls, stating the obvious. "This big tosser is Wanka! Wanka TWO!"

Gwen meanwhile, still had ten-odd seconds of airtime. Below her, the spider was trying to pull itself from the encrusted earth. From the fissures, she could see that it had made a tunnel system beneath the salt lake, constructed its lair somewhere deep and terrible.

Within the scope of her Detect Magic, the creature's mana signature burned. It was tier six; or at least at the apex of five. The smaller spider must have have been its mate!

Gwen felt a kink of fear wrecking her spine. If they didn't kill it here, they could all die!

"Debora!" Gwen called out. "Immobilise it! Don't let it get out!"

As the spider's head emerged, Gwen dropped her Signature Spell in front of its sixteen scintillating eyes.

"Flashbang!"

The creature shrieked, but her spell was visibly less effective. The bigger the monster, the better its resistances.

"Shape Earth!" Debora grunted between ragged breaths made more painful by her bruised body. Sand quickly filled the space where it had tried to scramble up from the earth, preventing the creature from breaking through the crust of salt.

"Yue!"

Yue poured the rest of her mana into an alpha strike.

"Fucking Fire Storm!" she screeched forth her most potent Evocation, making a motion that mimed the pushing of some great force toward the earth.

Above the behemoth spider, a swirling cloud of fiery tempest formed and began to rain down streaks of hissing fire, stabbing into the trapped Wanka.

The spider's bristling hair was immediately aflame, sheets of encrusted salt sliding off its carapace from the impact, exposing its chitinous shell beneath.

"Ariel!" Gwen commanded, and the sliver mongoose fired a blast of barbed lightning into the Wanka's face. A second later, the spider's bulbous body grew vivid with crawling electricity, electrocuting its target.

"I can't hold it!" Debora cried out; she almost OoM, her glistening skin white with encrusted salt. Unlike Gwen, Debora had not undergone a nutrient-rich diet of crystals and Wild Land beasts to boost her reserves.

"I am almost out as well!" Yue's face was dripping with salt and fatigue. She had barely reached Tier 4, meaning her fire variant of tier 4 Ice Storm overtaxed both her mind and her still-developing body.

"Lightning Blast!" Gwen attempted a coup de grâce.

Wanka Two ignited. Dozens of lightning bolts channelled one after another into the thorax of the spider. The first few were guided by Ariel's bristles towards its eyes but danced over the carapace harmlessly. The next few fared better, penetrating deeper into the spider to wreaking havoc upon its nerves.

Smoke began to pour from Wanka Two's face. If spiders could scream, it would probably be shouting incoherently right now.

"Haa—ha—" Gwen panted, likewise dripping with perspiration.

WHAM! Wanka broke free.

The girls' screamed, Gwen included.

Ariel made a heroic dash for the creature, but it was too slow and too small. Wanka shot straight toward Gwen and Elvia, its bulbous body a mass of salt-encrusted hair, its legs blurring as it raked against the earth, breaking through the salt and finding purchase on the rocks beneath.

"Caliban!" Gwen sent out a mental command before calling for help. "Elvia! I need vitality! FILL ME UP!"

Next, Gwen wrapped her arms around Elvia, crouching to minimise her profile.

"Void Shield!"

Gwen had never made a non-newtonian Void Shield before, though now that she did, she felt instantly hollowed out, With a supreme force of will, she kept herself awake. They had overestimated themselves. As a party, they were still too inexperienced. They had no Abjurer, and they had no Flight. Their talents made them too arrogant, had they were going to pay the price.

The truth was, a party of synergised Mages with Flight and Earthen Shielding would find no trouble with Wanka. They could tank it; they could kite it, they could grind Wanka to dust. Comparatively, Gwen's party had two glass canons, two summons who couldn't tank, an off-tank, and a healer who has yet to learn AOE healing. They had insane damage output, of course, but if the first strike should fail, what then?

Gwen felt dull thuds striking her Shield.

In her arms, Elvia moaned as her life energy drained away, stolen by the connection between Healer and Void Mage.

Outside, Yue watched helplessly as the truck-sized spider barrelled towards her friends. She was out of mana and felt a helplessness that she had never experienced when she was with Alesia.

She could see Debora being caught in a sudden panic as well. Debby had said that she could be their tank - but reality had proven her insufficient and ill-equipped. Transmuters could do many things, but they could not fill the irreplaceable role of the Abjurer.

Then suddenly and without warning, Gwen transformed into a ball darkness, drinking all light.

Wanka itself seemed to realise the horror it was imminently facing. It tried to halt its momentum, but it was too fast, too heavy and too committed to its own brazen, rage-filled charge.

The girls watched as the creature skidded, limbs akimbo then barrelled into Gwen's Void Shield. Its sword tipped arms scraped the surface, but made no sound.

It was eerie. There was the sound of Wanka's limbs crashing against the salt, but where it had struck the Shield— there was only a silken silence.

The impact was worse than Gwen had thought. She felt both her mana and her vitality drop like a stone down a deep, dry well. Had Elvia not been here, she would have likely fallen unconscious, her body acting out to save itself from the consumption.

Her master was right.

The Void Shield was too dangerous.

It was a mash-up of antithetical abilities and synergies.

Even if she won, it would be a pyrrhic victory of old, winning a battle by a hair's breadth. But what if her foe survived? Would a weakened, drained, and devastated Gwen be able to continue to protect her Evee?

But luck was on Gwen's side. Now bereft of its sword tipped forelegs, Wank Two had lost all fineness.

"Urrrnk! Hurrrrnk!" The spider's mandibles moved insanely, making that sound which Old Goolagong had said was an angry wombat humping a cockatoo, or was it a kookaburra?

"Caliban!" Gwen called out again, hoping to God her Lovecraftian companion had made it.

The spider tried to orientate its body but grew grossly unbalanced by the loss of its limbs. Compared to Wanka One, Wanka Two now appeared ponderous and slow.

Gwen watched the ground beneath it crack open to reveal Caliban, a dark dart against the white salt. With an audible "crunch!" Her Familiar punching into the abdomen of the second creature.

It was over, Gwen grasped their present danger. She and friend only needed to survive for the next fifteen seconds or so.

Elvia's self-sacrifice had restored at least half her vitality. As Caliban made its way through the creature's innards, Gwen felt another hit of vital energy fortifying her trembling body.

"Debora! Pillars!" Gwen called out as she sailed through the air towards her companions. "Evee, hang on! Jump!"

Gwen's miraculous survival filled her party with renewed energy. As commanded, Debora placed her hands upon the now shattered salt-lake and incanted, erecting dozens of pillars to obstruct their foe.

Wanka seemed to know that its life would soon be forfeit. Something was slowly but inevitably making its way up to its cephalothorax, obliterating its organs as it went. When it reached its Core, Wanka, Queen of the salt lake, would be no more.

The spider charged at the girls, pushing past the pillars. Its massive body was crashing and tearing through Debora's barriers like paper. Drawing on a second wind, the girl fought back with Magic Missiles and cantrips.  Gwen especially forcing out a few more Flashbangs to try and slow it down.

Then, mid-strike, the spider halted. All of its limbs give out at once.

There was a wiggling of the carapace around its head. Gwen felt her Kirin amulet grow hot.

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban triumphantly emerged, its purple body glistening with spider ichor and gore. It was utterly engorged with Wanka's life force, its obese girth glimmering gluttonously.

"Good work Cali!" Gwen hailed the creature as it leapt from the carcass.

Ariel slinked before Gwen expectantly.

"You too, buddy!" She stroked Ariel's fur as it purred, turning over and over.

Caliban approached and began to convulse.

"Oh God, what's it doing now?" Elvia swallowed the vomit rising in her throat, her face a mask of fascinated horror.

With a sticky hurling motion, Caliban spewed out two mana cores twice the size of a fist.

"Oh!" Yue reached out to take a core. "Fingers crossed for SPIDER SPIRIT, YO!"

The girls held their breath.

Nothing.

There was no Spirit inside.

Yue tried the second Core.

Nothing.

The triumphant atmosphere instantly grew cold. Debora's luck of the Irish aside, the odds of finding a spirit was near-impossible.

"Still, a Core this size, at least two-three hundred HDMs?" Yue appraised their loot expertly. They talked a lot about money during their jungle adventure, especially adventure spoils. "They usually shatter, you know. Good work, Caliban!"

Caliban wiggled disgustingly.

Gwen touched the amulet beneath her blouse. As before, at the corner of her eye, she recalled something moving from the carcass towards her. The mirage appeared to have to dissipate halfway, leaving only a vague, benevolent feeling of warmth. She would have to question someone about the charm someday, Gwen realised. But, her father seemed to know nothing about it; and she doubted he would have given it so freely had the lazy Morye known of its boon. What would Opa think? She wondered. He had said nothing when she had worn it openly. Did her Kirin amulet appear to others to be a non-magical object? Merely a keepsake?

"Pop it in the bag," Yue said to Gwen. Gwen performed as Yue had asked, stowing the cores in her Storage Ring.

The girls watched Yue go over to the spider and began to hack off its limbs.

"What are you doing?" Elvia inquired, her blue eyes wide and innocent.

Yue extracted a length of crystalline flesh as thick as her arm from a split leg.

"Fuck yeah," she sang. "This wanker's a real beauty."

The girls could see she was salivating.

"..." Gwen nodded to herself. Wanka was a giant Hokkaido deep-sea crab, wasn't it? Waste not— want not.

Debora looked like she was about to hurl. She was strict meat and three vegetable kind of girl. Elvia, conversely, never in her life imagined that a 'land crab' like a spider could be edible.

"Crab party!" Yue announced cheerfully, presenting the legs to Gwen one by one. "You got more room in there?"

Gwen nodded.

She had enough room.

She also liked to eat crab.

Tommy was waiting for the girls to return at the edge of the salt lake.

The smile on his face froze as details emerged with the girls' bedraggled state.

"How was it?" worriedly, Tommy asked. His Missus Mages had left as cool as cucumbers and returned beaten to within an inch of their lives. "Did you find Wanka?"

Gwen's right boot had been slashed in half; her leather riding pants ripped beyond repair. Debora's tanktop was torn and shredded; a smidgen of blood dashed across her chin and chest. The other two girls were worse for wear as well.

"There were TWO wankers." Yue was too tired to bother differentiating between annunciations. "The second wanker ambushed us."

Tommy made an 'o' with his mouth.

"All good." Gwen walked over to her horse and rubbed its snout. "We nailed them both, got their cores right here."

She raised a hand and flashed her nondescript ring.

"That's wonderful!" Tommy uttered, a broad smile appearing on his face. "I knew there was no way Wanka could stand up to you, Missus Boss."

"Well, let's get back. I could do with a lie-down," Gwen intoned with a distinct lack of vivacity. Even with Elvia's positive energy supplements, she felt drunk with fatigue.

The journey back to the camp was sullen and silent.

"I am sorry, everyone," Debora disrupted the silence when they saw the camp in the distance, her voice uncharacteristically demure. "I wasn't a good defender. I endangered all of us."

"Don't be like that, Debs. You did your best. We couldn't have done it without you," Gwen said. "You took a hit for Yue. Not to mention you kept us safe from the Wanka One just fine."

"I overestimated myself." Debora exhaled. "Now I know why every team needed an Abjurer."

"Yeah, we need to find a proper Abjurer for the 5v5." The rawness of Yue's criticism turning Debora's face a shade darker.

"Yunnie." Gwen raised her pitch an octave. That was rather rude even for Yue.

"What do you think, Elvia?" Yue tried to shift Gwen's ire elsewhere, but their companion remained silent.

The girl rode in silence until they reached the camp, where Old Goolagong was waiting for them.

"Welcome back, I'wai, heroes of the tribe. I sense you are successful."

"We almost died." Debora dismounted. She turned to face Old Goolagong with an unfriendly expression. "Did you know there were two of them? What were you planning? Did you hope we'd die there?"

"Debora!" Gwen warned her friend.

"You shouldn't trust them!" Debora seemed far more hostile than her usual self. Before they could answer, Debora fled towards their tent in a huff.

"Is Debs hale?" Gwen asked Elvia.

The little girl nodded.

"I healed her earlier. Debs had a minor fracture in her shoulder and severe bruising. She's fine, now."

They watched Debora zip up her tent with sullen violence.

Gwen didn't know what to think. How uncharacteristic. Debora wasn't acting like the happy-go-lucky girl-next-door she knew. It was a facet of her friend she had never seen before.

"I told you she's a racist? Remember? I told you as early as junior high," Yue groused vindictively, thinking of yesteryears. "Remember her favourite Asian jokes? The one about us eating dogs?"

Gwen and Elvia looked at Yue. That would have been a far more convincing argument if she didn't dismember Wanka.

Gwen opted to forgo riposting Yue's accusation. Instead, she calmed her friend by placing a hand on her shoulder. Gwen felt older than the girls, her temper less prone to wild assumptions and snap judgements, and that it was her duty to keep the peace.

Thinking of Debora, Gwen felt that the athletic late-teen wasn't so much a racist as one who was under a lot of undue stress. As an armchair psychologist, she would suggest that Debora suffered an inferiority complex. In failing to deliver the same performance as Yue, she looked to blame Goolagong.

But Gwen didn't feel right indulging Debora just because she was feeling down. The girl needed to grow both as a person and as a Mage, what good was a powerhouse who couldn't control their temper? They'd just be a danger to themselves and others.

"Leave her be, Yue." Gwen patted Yue's legs, telling her to chill. "We're not all built the same way, walk a mile in Debora's shoes sometimes and I am sure you'll come to understand her frustrations."

"Hmmph!" Yue grunted.

Old Goolagong said nothing.

"We begin ritual at nightfall, get a nice big bonfire going! We make corroboree! But first, let's get you settled into some bush tucker! Nothing like it in the cities."

"Alright!" Yue rubbed both hands together. "I got some bush tucker for you folks as well."

"Gwen." Elvia pulled at Gwen's sleeves. "Should I go check up on Debora?"

Gwen shook her head. Feeding into Debbie's wants only empowered their misery. In Gwen's experience, it was better to let girls get over it on their own, then praise them for their wisdom in achieving a change of heart.

"Let's go." Gwen hooked her hand into Elvia's elbow. "I've heard interesting things about bush tucker. Let's see what they have."

Already there was a stacked and smoking bonfire when the migloo magicians arrived at the corroboree. The girls watched with fascination as fellow tribesmen painted the dancers with meticulous care.

Gwen was hoping to see some authentic bush-magic but was disappointed when a lanky indigenous man produced flint and tinder and sparked the woodpile. He gave her the evil eye before leaving to join the others, evidently untrusting of Migloo magicians.

"I wasn't sure what I expected." Gwen looked around awkwardly when Old Goolagong asked her what she had expected.

"Why make magic when rocks will do?"

Gwen shrugged. Why indeed.

The older women in the camp made dinner while the younger women served. As guests, Gwen and the group didn't need to participate in the making of supper itself.

Yue however, dug a cooking pit for herself.

"The one thing Debby is good for, and she's not here," Yue commented sardonically. "Typical."

"..." Gwen and Elvia said nothing. Sometimes, only silence was golden.

Yue quickly arranged the wood into a hollowed piled.

"Conjure Flames." Yue moved her hand this way and that, carefully controlling an arcane flame to char and dry out the wood.

"Can't you cook directly with magical fire?" Gwen asked.

"Tried, taste like crap. There's just something about elemental fire that ain't right."

The girls watched as Yue stirred the wood until the charcoal smouldered.

"Pan please, and butter - all the butter, garlic too."

Gwen materialised them and handed it over. They watch the butter sizzle in the pan. A crowd of the locals had also decided to venture over to see what she was doing.

"Crab please."

Gwen materialised the bundle of 'crab' legs. The indigenous folks marvelled at the size of the 'seafood'. It would be a rare treat for them, their home being so far from the ocean.

Yue roasted the legs first to burn off the hairy bristles, watching the shell turn a vivid red. With its mystical energies gone, the carapace easily cracked, the juicy flesh expanding as it cooked. She then sliced off generous chunks of aromatic white meat and sizzled it in the butter, sending out a delicious scent.

Gwen drooled.

With the first pan of 'Wanka de garlic' served, dinner began in earnest. The irresistible scent of 'crab' flesh drew the locals from far and wide, lining up around the girls for a slice of the rare treat. In exchange, they brought bush tucker, bushels of bush tomato, cucumber, and sweet berries that had an acidic zest. Others brought sweet potatoes and other unnamable root vegetables, which made a lovely addition to the meal.

Old Goolagong poked at her generous portion of flesh with suspicion.

"What is this? I never imagined sea creatures be so large!" She muttered to herself. She placed a chunk into her mouth and savoured the taste.

"Wonderful." She allowed the sweet flavour to roll over her tongue. "What do you call this?"

"Wanka." Yue waved a section of the empty carapace in the air. She'd found that it was easier to directly cook the flesh in its shell by smothering it in butter, achieving an extraordinary crispy layer that crunched indulgently with buttery oil.

Old Goolagong dropped her plate.

"Shit!" She stammered alarmingly, her eyes bulging. "You're eating a greater spirit of the earth?"

"We." Yue smiled innocently at Old Goolagong. "We are eating a magical creature. Not earth, by the way, Wanka was an air element, can't you feel it in the flesh? It's fluffy and light."

Old Goolagong looked conflicted. She had never wasted food; it was a matter of respect. Timidly, the Spirit Walker tried her best to eat her portion, her tongue greasy with guilt and trepidation.

Gwen wasn't fussy herself. If there was one thing she needed after a Caliban session, it was copious amounts of food. There was her etherial hunger of the soul, which hungered for a sustenance of the spirit; then there was the physical hunger, which sought nourishment from nature.

With dinner done, it was now time for the metaphorical main course.

Old Goolagong gathered the girls next to the bonfire. Already, the beginnings of a corroboree were in the process. Patiently, she explained that the dance was a language, a law, a story, and a place; it was all of these things and together, it was the Dreaming.

"We will sing the song of Almudj, Singing the Snake, and it will come to visit you in the Dreaming."

"Right." Gwen nodded.

"Well, off with it."Goolagong gestured to Gwen's chest.

"With what?" Gwen inquired innocently.

Goolagong pointed to her impressive nakedness, gleaming with a sheen of dark sweat between the risen moon and the flickering firelight.

"Glyph, markings, magic words, to send Almudj to you, migloo girl!"

"Aww, hell yeah!" Yue slapped Gwen on the buttocks. "Get DOWN girl!"

"Oh." Elvia blushed flamingo pink from her dimples to her collarbones.

"Seriously?" Gwen blanched and burned.

Goolagong nodded.

Gwen looked at her friends expectantly. Thank God Debora wasn't here.

"I need to keep my... private garments on," Gwen said flatly, that was not up for negotiation, not with her friends and the tribe here.

"Your choice, don't blame me if Almudj dismisses you for a rock." Old Goolagong shrugged. "You migloos, all that talk and bluster."

Gwen began to remove her top, three pairs of eyes stared intently.

"Do you guys have to gawk so much?" Gwen inquired, even her navel was blushing.

"It's for your good." Yue bit into another length of crab leg, chewing loudly. "Keep going."

"Oh. My. God." Elvia was covering her face adorably, peaking out between her fingers. "Gwen! You're as white as snow!"

"She's the whitest migloo I'd ever seen," Goolagong noted, her brows wiggling like two caterpillars fighting for dominance of her face.

Gwen could see that her ghostly paleness had brought curious eyes from all over. Thankfully, they weren't interested in her nakedness; they were taken by instead by her ethereal visage.

"A Spirit!" someone cried out in alarm in the distance. "There is a migloo ghost!"

Gwen didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

With one pull, she removed her singlet like clotted gauze. She'd preferably get it over and done with than suffer the indignity of Yue's running commentary that followed each item of clothing. If Yue had dollar notes, she would have probably offered it.

"Jesus, Gwen!" Yue suddenly cried out, the 'crab' leg stopping at her lips. "Girl! You need to eat!"

Gwen was now down to her undergarments. The girls could see her very modest bust, but it was Gwen's ribs that shocked them, for they were obtrusively visible under her pale skin, as were her hip bones.

"Fuck me, you're a skeleton," Yue blurted. "I've seen you eat, hows that possible?"

"It's the Void Magic," Elvia said quietly.

"I know how powerful your Void Magic is, but Gwen - you gotta take care of yourself!" Yue uttered in dismay.

Gwen nodded. Before she awakened, her body was skinny but athletic. Now she looked as though she had gone through a string of obsessive crash diets. Her waist was so thin that it made Elvia's torso seemed full-bodied.

"Is that an effect of the Void spells as well?" Yue poked Gwen's stomach, where her skin was like a sheet of ivory, shimmering in the firelight with a pale nimbus.

"I think so," Gwen replied. Being quarter-Chinese and one-eighth Indonesian, she should possess a natural tan. Now Gwen burned at the slightest touch and had to avoid direct sunlight. She felt like an Eastern European vampire. Gwen thought about Elizabeth. No wonder they thought she was one of the undead.

"You migloos ready? The moon is going to sleep soon!" Goolagong vocalised abruptly. She had prepared the paints, the salted red pigments, the white ash, the dark amber, the yellow ochre, the orange blossoms collected from wildflower stalks. Now all these girls wanted to do was talk! "Skinny is skinny, at least you haven't starved to death. It happens, you know, when the land is dry! Come, Migloo girl! I need to put some colour on you before my mob thinks there's a Spirit in their midst."

Gwen presented herself for Goolagong's inspection. Her legs were okay, having retained their feminine shape. The worst of it was when Yue whistled lasciviously, giving her flashbacks to Kwan's party.

"Well, looks like your body's nutrients head downstairs before it fortifies up top," her friend noted expertly. "Double the butter!"

"I think its a matter of nutrients, not fat," Elvia added.

Gwen took off her boots and felt the softness of the red earth under her feet, its particles of fine, dried clay shifting between her toes.

"Alright, let's begin." Goolagong dabbed her fingers into the pots of pigment and began to colourise Gwen in the sigils of the Dreaming. The dyes weren't slimy, as Gwen had anticipated, but powdery. Goolagong first dapped on the sap of a plant Gwen could not name, then began to draw intricate patterns over her thighs, her stomach, making her way across Gwen's body.

"That needs to go," Goolagong said drily.

Gwen was already numb with embarrassment. She obediently removed the last vestige of civilisation from her torso.

Goolagong continued. Gwen's arms were painted and dotted to represent her body's ley-lines, channelling the spirit toward her heart. Her torso became spotted with two lines of ochre with a red line bisecting her bosom, curving around the swelling of her breasts.

"You two, come here," Goolagong commanded, telling Yue and Elvia to put their hands into the white powder. "Slap! Like this!"

Goolagong slapped Gwen's thigh, leaving behind a ghostly white handprint.

"HA!" Yue slapped Gwen on the bottom, twice, leaving behind two ghostly hands.

SLAP!

Gwen gritted her teeth and held back kicking sand in her friend's face.

Elvia was kinder than the mischievous Yue, she gingerly placed a few handprints on Gwen's stomach, her thighs, and her back, uncontrollably blushing as she performed her duty.

"Finishing touch! Almost done!" Goolagong said finally and went to work on Gwen's face.

The old Spirit Singer's fingers blurred, dabbing Gwen's brow, her cheeks and her neck with markings that spoke of her pure spirit, of her desire to seek counsel with Almudj, the great serpent mother of the land.

"Done!" Goolagong exclaimed proudly, examining her work. The migloo girl looked the part at least - if one ignored her glistening white skin. "Now go dance, go join the corroboree."

"I am sorry, what?" Gwen had thought she had heard something entirely impossible, like being asked to dance naked while covered in indigenous markings.

"Fool girl! You are Dreaming! Not dreaming!" Goolagong laughed. She pulled herself up and took Gwen's hand in the process. "Come!"

Yue's eyes were gleaming. O how she wished that she had brought a Lumen-recorder. Sucks to be that Debora, Yue thought, she doesn't know what she's missing.

Elvia tightly clutched Yue's arm, living vicariously through Gwen, too afraid to join.

Gwen meanwhile, couldn't possibly dream of what her friends were thinking. She moved into a mass of moving dark bodies dripping with the sweat of exertion. The old Spirit Speaker joined a part of the circle, pushing Gwen before her to the astonishment of others around them.

"What do I do?" Gwen was still covering her breasts with her hands.

"Follow the music; just move!" Old Goolagong laughed, moving her arms and following the music without apparent effort. "Let it come to you!"

Gwen slowly moved her hands from her chest and tried to follow the music. She stumbled here, wobbled there, flaying her arms urgently with graceless, incoherent fumbling.

Even Yue was embarrassed by Gwen's gangly display, driven to tears by her exhibitionism. Elvia's expression was likewise between sympathy and cringe, her face caught between the theatrical masques of tragedy and comedy.

Gwen felt the tempo rise along with the temperature.

There was a sense of dizziness that was beginning to replace her self-conscious nakedness.

Round and round the corroboree went, circles within circles.

There was a sudden clap.

"Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!" uttered old Goolagong, slapping her thighs.

To her surprise, Gwen followed suit with the rest of the dancers, not missing a beat.

"Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!"

The didgeridoo reverberated, the chanting sticks striking a staccato beat. The world around Gwen became less defined, the edges of figures above and below blurred.

"Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!"

"Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!"

There was a sudden sound of thunder.

Gwen was now covered with a sheen of white sweat, sweltering in the yellow firelight, her perspiration soaked into the markings upon her skin, they seemed to glimmer, burning with colour, becoming more vivid, pronounced, more striking with every move.

A sudden fermata.

A pause.

A lull in the movement.

"It comes! Almudj comes to Dream!" cried out old Goolagong. Gwen crumpled, exhausted from the dance, breathing heavily, the swell of her small, white breasts panting for air.

Yue and Elvia listened with fascination as a sudden thunder rolled across the sky. There was a green glow in the distance, then a cascade of colour washed over the cloudless heavens.

"Where did that come from?" Yue looked at Elvia, who had no answers for her.

"Look there!" Elvia pointed toward the sky, her own eyes gleaming with anticipation.

They lifted their chins and saw a scintillating, brilliant Aurora Australis unfolding across a backdrop of the Milky Way. The gathered crowd observed the scene before them, agog with awe and wonder.

Cradled in Goolagong's arms, Gwen began to Dream.

Almudj!

The rainbow snake

see it take wing

the wind

and water fills the rivers and gullies

and billabongs;

Almudj!

see it brings forth

all life

the valleys

and water fills the dry earth

Almudj!

see it brings forth

all life sleeping

Almudj!

Kin!

Gwen opened her eyes.

The cobalt sky was so blue it hurt her eyes.

"Kalinda!" Old Tjupurrula was lying against a tree, his skin covered with dots and spirit that guided the lifeforce within his body, signifying his place as Singer for the tribe. "Go and sing, let the snake know."

Gwen moved her lithe and athletic figure over the red clay. She watched her long legs effortlessly cross the distance between her feet, space disappearing as though she was gliding. She raced across the scorching earth with her feet, barely touching the smouldering sand.

She entered a cavern, her bare skin glad to be resting on cold volcanic shale. The was a pool here, its waters crystal in clarity.

"Almudj! Almudj!" Gwen heard herself call out.

A serpentine head appears from the pool, formed almost entirely of crystalline water. It begins to materialise, becoming more distinct with each passing second. There was a flicker, a blink of an eye, and Gwen was looking upon the familiar face of the Rainbow Serpent, the very one she had encountered at the Royal National, in a cavern not too dissimilar from this one.

"O Almudj." Gwen felt herself kneel. She opened her arms and noted in the reflection that she was entirely naked, her skin wet with sweat that had soaked into the lines of spirit Glyphs adorning her bosoms, her stomach, her arms and thighs. Her face as well was crowded with Glyphs that allowed her to commune with the mother serpent.

The serpent's head floated closer; it's forked-tongue, as thick as her arm, flickering faster than her eyes could follow. When Almudj tasted her skin, she felt the coldness of its pink appendage taking in her scent, revelling in the warmth of her hot, sun-flushed flesh.

Gwen opened her arms, the serpent moving its head toward her. She pressed her body into the side of its enormous head, feeling its dry, warm scales that had the texture of fingernails, watching them shimmer and shine with a rainbow's hue.

"Kin!" A voice inside her head gave the scent of a brewing storm. "You are safe?"

"I am safe, Almudj," Gwen replied, in a voice that was her own and not her own.

"You are weak. You are hollow." There was the smell of rotting gum leaves after a summer squall.

"I missed you so much, Almudj." Gwen heard herself reply to a conversation that existed out of sync and out of time.

"I am alright," Gwen replied, but her dream persona said nothing. She was merely borrowing the memories of another.

"Usurpers come!" Gwen felt such disgust, as though thurst into the rotting mud of mangroves.

"Impossible, Tjupurrula said they could not come here! They couldn't get past the ley of the Dreaming!" Gwen's alter persona uttered with naive disbelief.

An explosion rocked the cavern, broken slabs of shattered shale to fall from the ceiling, peppering Gwen with shards of dagger-sharp fragments. A wayward stone sliced into her forehead, releasing an arterial spray of blood all over Almudj's shimmering scales.

Her glyphs of dreaming were despoiled by the blood, breaking the flow mana between each symbol. With the severing of her connection, Gwen felt as though ripped untimely from a womb.

There were figures of men and women in cowls— Mages, shouting incoherently at the cavern's mouth. Another spell rocked the cave; someone had altered the structure of the cavern's natural supports, and the roof began to collapse in earnest.

There was no pain, only a feeling of falling as darkness overwhelmed Gwen's alter-ego.

A sudden rage filled Gwen, a fury so primordial that she felt her skin split and the magma blood within flow out in molten chunks.

Outside, the ground split, the heavens roared, the earth shook.

Old Tjupurrula roared with laughter, even as the last of his life's blood flowed into the red earth.

Kapi Kapi Kapi

Almudj had awoken.

Almudj did not like strangers; it is known.

Almudj will attack strangers.

Yue and Elvia watched as Gwen's body suffuse with a viridescent shimmer, indicative of the atmospheric phenomenon they had just witnessed.

The Glyphs glowed as well as her body, nude but for the paint that provided questionable modesty. All she had attired was her underwear, her storage ring, and her nondescript jade necklace.

That and an ordinary necklace they had seen Gwen wore since the start of their senior year, only now, it was no longer mundane. The jade Kirin seemed to bath in the green stream of energy that shimmered over Gwen's body, glowing with a dim, benevolent light as it went about its mysterious function.

"That's positive energy, life force, Essence." Elvia did what she could to clarify the phenomenon.

Gwen moaned, her friendly watched without words as her body suffused with new life. With every pulse, Gwen's limbs grew supple, her breasts grew full, and her complexion regained some of its natural colour. Their friend was still anorexic and diminished, but at the very least, her health appears restored.

"Shit, if I knew you could get bigger tits just by getting a paint job and doing a nuddy dance, I'd be in my birthday suit in a second," Yue informed Elvia. "Evee, I think you just missed a once a lifetime opportunity."

Elvia placed a hand on her petite bosom. She certainly did not begin the day expect to go full frontal.

"How about that, huh, Gwen told me it was from her dad."

"The amulet?"

"Oi, she's waking up!" Yue pointed to Gwen as the sorceress stirred, pushing herself from the red sand.

Gwen was indeed waking up. She seemed disorientated though, for her bodily movements were gangly and awkward, more akin to a marionette.

"Almudj?" Old Goolagong performed a double-take. "That's impossible! Gwen's a migloo!"

The Spirit Walker had seen possessions before; it wasn't that uncommon. In her tribe, Spirit Walking was a good omen, demonstrating that the serpent liked a particular Singer. A possessed body meant that they had an opportunity to directly commune with Almudj, to plead a cause or to ask for a boon.

There was also another instance where Almudj possessed a Singer. That was when the tribe would be under attack, and the Spirit Speaker had to invoke the taboo request for the Mother Serpent to bring death upon her enemies. She was reminded of the old Yirriti saying, 'the Snake is proper cheeky. It will attack invaders. It will return the bodies of the invaders to the earth.'

Old Goolagong had never performed that dreaded rite before, but she knew an angry primordial spirit when she saw one.

"Baardanginy woort koorl! Woot koor!" She cried into the night, alerting her tribesmen, she then turned to the girls. "Run! Run as far as you can!"

As if to demonstrate her point, Goolagong herself scrambled on all fours, abandoning the girls as she dug her heels into the red dirt, fleeing faster than a whipped dingo.

The remaining two girls regarded one another.

"Did she say run away?" Yue asked puzzlingly.

Elvia never had a chance to reply, for she felt the sudden gathering of mana within Gwen. It wasn't the skin tingling electricity to which they were accustomed. What they felt now was something bigger, something far older, something that etched into the land and the sky.

"Run!" Elvia grabbed Yue and pulled her aside.

Gwen raised an arm and pointed her hand toward some distant target. The girls followed the vector of her long, elegant finger.

"Debora?!" Yue's eyes were so round as to be throbbing. "What the fuck did Debora do to Gwen?"

"Debbie!" Elvia's scream rang through the night, a piercing trill of nightingale lost in the dark distance. "RUN!"

"BARBANGINY!" Gwen called out to the heavens, and there was a distant thundering despite the clear, cloudless sky.

There was no commotion from Debora's tent.

"Shit!" Yue cried out, her chest filled with conflicted emotions. She didn't like Debora, she wanted her to go away, but she certainly didn't want Debora to die. "She's not going to make it!"

Elvia could do nothing either. She just hoped that whatever was happening, there would be enough of Debora left for her to heal.

A crash of thunder rolled across the sky, a tidal wave of sound that seemed to crack the heavens itself.

The gathering mob watched with horror as a blade of green lightning, scintillating and glowing with multi-coloured hues, ionised from thin air, as though send down from the Milky Way itself. It instantly struck downwards, towards the area where the girls had set their tents - where Debora was presumably still sullenly sleeping.

There was a pinpoint flash as the lightning connected, then an explosion.

A shockwave rippled through the epicentre, violently pushing away the red dirt in an expanding ring of dust.

Humpies became uprooted, boulders the size of human heads rolled. All vision became choked by dust and a reddish haze.

"Debora!" Yue expanded her Flame Barrier, her shield was a wet paper bag against pinpoint attacks, but she was at least capable of holding back a blast wave. Explosions were her bread and butter after all.

Elvia faired better beside her. She could generate a Shield of Faith, a self-replenishing shield spell that was composed primarily for those capable of channelling from the Positive Plane. The incantation served as an alternative for non-abjuration casters, having greater strength, resilience, and regeneration than the average Mage's shielding incantation. The cost was horrendous mana-drain.

Following the explosion, Gwen seemed to regain her senses. She reached behind her head and pulled out a shimmering something. Yue and Elvia observed Gwen falling to her knees, gasping and panting as the dust cloud roved over, swallowing the duo with a carpet of debris.

"Debbie!" She called out, forcing her body to move. "Yue! Elvia! Help Debora!"

Gwen had felt the last mote of life fade from her alter-ego, crushed by the fallen chunks of shale. She felt the anger of Almudj like a rising tide, like the tectonic movement of the earth. As a force of savage nature, Almudj burst forth from the cavern, its scales shimmering and refracting violently in the hot gold hush of noonday sun.

There were Mages - invaders and usurpers, fleeing before Almudj like ants, throwing ineffective spells that cascaded across its scales.

Almudj's rage reverberated, cascading towards every horizon. There was a glimmering hue of chartreuse and lime burning in the atmosphere, bright enough to be visible in the light of day, then a burst of Aurora Australis burst through the heavens.

An emerald storm swept the shuddering earth.

With the ejaculation of the first blast, she felt the consciousness of Almudj fall from her cognisance. For a moment there, she had taken on the skin of the serpent, felt its frustration and anger.

With the release of all that pent-up energy, she had shed that skin and regained her mind.

That was when she saw an emerald shard slash through the night and strike the area where the girls had their tents.

"Almudj, no!" She cried out, shock and horror overwhelming her in an instant. "Debora!"

"Invader!" A voice cried out within her mind, boiling with seething anger, the smell of bushfires thick and heavy as it spoke. "Usurper! Kill it!"

Even semi-conscious, Gwen instinctively knew what she had to do. She reached behind her neck and dug a finger into the scale embedded at the back of her neck. Both willing it to dislodge and gripping the gift with her fingers, she ripped the thing from her neck.

The disconnect came suddenly and violently. Gwen felt as though she had been severed from the world. At once, she fell from somewhere warm and filled with light into icy darkness.

In the distance, the thunderous fulmination landed.

As a lightning Mage, she knew how much power had gone into that blast. It far exceeded her capabilities; it was a force of nature, not conjured from the Elemental Plane of Lightning - it was a manifestation of old creation when the land was young.

"Debbie!" She called out, forcing her body to move. "Yue! Elvia! Help Debora!"

By the time the girls had gotten to the site, there was nought but a smouldering crater two metres wide and half a meter deep. The sand and silica beneath had already become glass, mangled and hideously molten.

The camp was gone.

The tents were vaporised, shredded, torn to smithereens.

"Fuck!" Yue uttered in disbelief. "What the fuck just happened?"

"Gwen?" Elvia approached, lowering her shield. "What happened to Debbie?"

Gwen couldn't answer her friends, not coherently, not at this moment. She still couldn't believe what had just occurred.

Did she attack Debora? Had she called that lightning?

No, that was not Gwen. That was Almudj.

Yet, it was Gwen who was accountable nonetheless. She had taken the girls here. She had wanted to speak to the Spirit Speaker. She was the one who endangered them.

And now Debora was dead? Just like that?

Gwen felt a chilling wind freezing her all over despite the shimmering heat still hanging over the air. She was sticky with the cold sweat of disbelief. She wanted to rewind the moment, to redo and reload the last minutes of her surreal reality.

She dug her hands into the earth, still hot with the bombastic energies of the blast.

"Debbie—" Gwen began to wail. "I am sorry, I am so sorry—"

"Fuck!" Yue couldn't believe her eyes either. Did Gwen just blast Debora to kingdom come? Did her friend just murder their non-mutual friend in cold blood? For what reason?

"Gwen…" Elvia's tears were bubbling from her luminous blue eyes, falling over her face like a string of pearls. It had happened all too fast for her to comprehend rationally, but she understood the immensity of the traumatic moment with dreaded clarity. "Debbie…"

"Jesus Christ!" A voice exclaimed behind them, ascending from a lower section of the plateau, "What the hell happened here?"

"Debbie died!" Elvia's words escaped her quivering mouth before her eyes could accurately register who she was seeing.

Debora was dripping wet from head to toe, on now her toned silhouette was covered with a layer of red dust that plastered to her skin like clay.

"I died? That's news to me," Debora answered, water dripping from her face. "I was taking a dip at the billabong there, and there was this sweet Aurora, then a huge blast shook the camp so I came as quickly as I could."

Yue regarded Debora with mixed feelings. She had to admit when it came to it; she preferred Debbie alive and Gwen un-traumatised.

The girls turned to regard Gwen, who was striking the earth and bawling her eyes out, howling incoherent cries of grief toward the heavens.

"Debbie!" Gwen screamed with a pitch that struck their ears with a ringing tinnitus.

Good—God! Gwen exhaled. She had never felt so exhilarated to see someone so alive and well. Leaping from her kneeling position, she ran towards Debora, arms and legs akimbo.

Yue and Elvia watched Gwen embrace Debora bodily, hugging her so hard as to press her own body onto Debora's.

"What's happening?" Debora still seemed to be somewhat confused. She looked as though she was about to protest Gwen's motives with a little teasing. Then Gwen pulled Debora close and squeezed the words out of her lungs.

Gwen violently kissed Debora's still wet forehead.

"Whoa, hello!" Debora struggled to break free, grappling against the softness of Gwen's unexpected gift.

Gwen pulled herself back, wiping tears from her face.

"See, I told you guys you shouldn't be doing primitive magic with these people." Debora placed a hand on her waist and struck out her hip critically. "Look at Gwen. She's butt naked crazy."

Then Debora's jaws fell through the floor. She just realised that beneath all that body paint, Gwen was in fact in a state of complete undress, her modesty preserved by nought but the meagrest layer of cotton.

Without resistance, Debora leaned in for another hug, resting chin on Gwen's shoulders, smeared Gwen's paint across her face.

Yue and Elvia felt a tingle of awkward discomfort.

Elvia watched Debora's arms fold arch over Gwen's perky buttocks and wrap around her narrow waist. She didn't like that Debora was taking such liberties just because she almost died. After all, she didn't even get injured; it was all a misunderstanding.

"So what the hell happened?" Yue was more interested in why Gwen had suddenly turned a green and psychotic.

The rest of the village was now returning to the fold. From the expressions of shock and fury, they did not take to Gwen's actions to mean well. Gwen had disrupted a consecrated ritual. The corroboree was the sacred rite of the land, its rules and history, its stories and its legends. Now, these migloo magicians had once again destroyed their home, disrupted their camps, interrupted their Dreaming. Without the corroboree, the bora ring, the encampment would be prone to invasion by the evil spirits of the night. They would find no peace, only more displacement and uncertainty in the Green Zone.

The girls backed away from the gathering mob, now seething with a wave of dark anger/

"I think we better get the hell out of here." Gwen heard Yue mutter beside her. "Are the horses still alive?"

"Tommy?" Gwen incanted into a short-range Message spell. "Tommy, are you safe? Loudly whistle if you are!"

There was a loud whistle from not far.

"Whistle twice if the horses are alright. Otherwise, we're leaving on foot!"

There were two shrill whistles.

"Alright, to Tommy!" Gwen grabbed Elvia, and the group began to make their way towards the edge of the forest escapement. The tribe silently glared as they escaped, but choose not to pursue in fear of retribution from the migloo Mages.

"Dancing Lights!"

Gwen summoned some visibility once the girls were a safe distance away from the now destroyed campsite. Tommy soon reached their sides with the horses.

To their surprise, Old Goolagong was with him.

"What… what happened?" Gwen questioned the old Spirit Speaker as soon they were close enough to speak. "I felt the serpent take over my mind for a second. It was so angry, so overwhelmed with grief."

Old Goolagong shook her head.

"Can you tell Old Goolagong what you saw in the Dreaming?"

Gwen materialised the serpent's scale in her hand. She had stowed it in her ring after the incident. She couldn't just dispose of it, after all, this was three months of Opa's work, even if it did bring on something that had overwhelmed her ego briefly. Again Almudj, her mind was a gum leaf caught within a whirlpool, bore away into the vast psyche of a being far older than herself.

"Missus Boss," Tommy intoned with the utmost respect, his eyes bulging from their sockets and his dark face several shades redder. He licked his cracked lips respectfully, taking in the moment as best as he could, burning it into his memory. "Would you like Tommy to lend you a shirt? I know it's hot, but you butt naked, your migloo skin def get burnt come sunrise."

Gwen spun and ran a distance before materialising a pair of shirt and shorts, slipping into them with haste, heedless of her grimy body paint. She returned with a face smeared with faint hues and rubbings, her white shirt a technicolour of earth.

"I saw… Kalinda? Someone— was called Old Tjupurrula? They were in a cavern. I think Tjupurrula was tired. He was resting outside. Kalinda went into the cavern. There was a pool, Almudj came, then there was an explosion. Mages came, they collapsed the cavern, then Almudj was angry as Kalinda died…"

Gwen blurted out the entire ordeal without pausing for breath. She too wanted to know what the hell just happened. Old Goolagong didn't seem to have the answers she was looking for; she was instead as cryptic and mythical as ever.

"Almudj will attack strangers," she replied. "It knows a usurper when it sees one."

Goolagong turned to regard Debora.

"Oi, fuck off with your Necromancy," Debora snapped back. The girls sensed earthen mana channelling through her as the sand around them began to swirl. "This old bitch is trying to blame it on me now, Gwen, she's trying to blame her dodgy magic on you. I told you they couldn't be trusted."

Gwen placed herself between Debora and Goolagong.

"Debbie, calm down, please."

"No, this has gone on long enough. I am sick and tired of this bullshit. If you want me to leave this old witch alone, promise me we're leaving right now. We're going back to civilisation and leaving these savages to their own miserable fucking lives."

"Alright, Debs," Gwen promised with a sigh. "We're leaving."

Gwen bowed.

"I am sorry, Goolagong, I don't blame you. Please forgive us for ruining your encampment and disrupting the corroboree."

Old Goolagong glared at Debora but spoke instead to Tommy.

"Tommy, take care of the guests, take them home," she commanded, turning to Gwen. "Thank you, Gwen, who sings of Almudj, remember that Almudj is your friend, it is kin, not enemy."

Goolagong had stressed her final word.

Debora looked as though she was about to launch a catapult spell towards the old Spirit Speaker.

They watched Old Goolagong disappear over the hill.

"Good riddance," Debora spat distastefully.

Tommy said nothing. Gwen didn't blame the young man. It was how Mages treated NoMs, not to mention people from the Wildlands.

"This way Missus Mages, we need plenty of lights for night travelling. We make for highway, maybe get picked up from there, faster."

"Alright, Tommy." Gwen touched her face, feeling the caked dirt in the fine sediment of the red earth. "Let's go home."

She still had the New Years party to deal with, the monster that was her mother to be slain. Her mare gave its harness bells a shake, for there were many miles to go.

The journey at night proved as troublesome as the girls had anticipated, having to fight off Dingos, Wargs, and even a Giant Wombat on the prowl.

Though the girls were in no danger, Debora tearing a scamp limb from limb and Yue reducing fauna to chunks of smouldering meat proved too much for the horses. In the end, the girls resigned to set camp and wait out the night, only now bereft of tents and sleeping bags thanks to Gwen's bolt of emerald lightning.

Debora again came to the rescue, using her Minor Stone Shape to create clay shelters, going as far as to fabricate a bathroom and a showering area.

Tommy took up guard duty as the girls showered, cleaning off the grime and dust soiling their clothes. Gwen used her Conjuration to summon water for the girls while they showered under the makeshift shelter.

"Don't feel bad for what happened, Gwen," Elvia comforted Gwen from within the stall. "I am sure it was out of your control, something to do with the Spirit of the serpent or the strange ritual. Besides, Debora's safe. We can all put this behind us when we get back to the city."

Gwen handed her a towel, the tiny blonde girl wiped herself down carefully, though the act itself attracted the everpresent red dust.

Yue was next; she didn't seem too affected by Debora's near-death encounter. Instead, she seemed more annoyed with Debora's display of vitriol more than anything else.

"Gwen, I know you think you owe Debs or something, but that's bullshit, alright?" she harshly whispered as Gwen kept up the reservoir. "Seriously, I don't mind her on the team, but if she's going to disrupt our teamwork, she should fuck off. That migloo is not a good fit."

Gwen said nothing as while Yue hung a towel around her neck and walked out of the stall brazen as anything, making Tommy pine for the bush.

"What did Yue say to you?" winsomely, Debora inquired when it was her turn, lathering her honeyed-skin while Gwen stood one wall away.

"Nothing in particular," Gwen lied.

"Hey, I don't blame you for that accident. It's the fault of those savages."

"Please, Deb, that was me. I was the one who contacted the Spirit."

"Bullshit. When did any of our magic ever screw up like that? Our spells always worked as intended, no chaos, no stupid possessions, no random effects. I am sure of it, Gwen, don't blame yourself."

Gwen averted her eyes when Debora stepped from the cover of the stall, soapy as anything.

"Join me? You can summon the water from in here too."

Gwen shook her head ."Sorry Debs, not now."

Debora shrugged, She returned to the shower and washed herself off. When she finished, she likewise slung the towel around her neck, facing Gwen with a full-frontal silhouette, she called her name.

"Gwen, come here."

"Wha—"

Gwen met Debora over the barrier.

With a swift motion, Debora leaned in and kissed her full on the lips.

"Debs!" Gwen snapped back. "No! I am still dirty!"

"I don't mind." Debora pressed in. "Dirty is good."

"Debora Jones. No." Gwen shifted the timbre of her voice. "NO."

Debora shifted sulkily, her face a mask of displeasure, her brows furrowed in frustration.

"Why not?" the girl asked, her voice full of hurt.

Gwen wondered if she should just tell it to Debora straight rather than waiting for her to acknowledge the truth. The girl was getting far too aggressive. She took a deep breath— but was interrupted by an interjection from Debora.

"You know what. I don't want to know." Debora waved a hand at Gwen, moving away still half-naked. "Good night."

Gwen breathed a sigh of relief.

She entered into the now muddy shower stall and tested its integrity. In the reservoir, she conjured a stream of water into the indent in the ceiling, watching it flow into the tin bucket. Of all the girls, Gwen was the one with the direst need of a pleasant drizzle.

She began by washing away the paint and grime, feeling the dissolution of the pigments under the strain of flowing water. They pooled at her feet with a rainbow hue, each dye distinct enough in density and particle to remain platonic even in an ankle-deep puddle. The cold water felt good, even at night, the Outback was hot and sweltering. Slowly, she collected her thoughts fell into the momentary zen of shower thoughts.

Her hand moved toward the back of her skull, where the absence of the scale still stung. Without it, she felt incomplete.

With a flicker of her finger, she materialised the item in question. In her hand, the scale shimmered alluringly with a scintillating reflection, scattering the moonlight.

"Kin," Almudj had told her.

"Almudj is kin, not enemy," Old Goolagong had said.

Gwen pulled back her hair and envisioned the scale once again attached to her neck, an extension of her own body. Warmly, Almudj's gift kissed her skin. Instantly she sensed a feeling of affection, a wordless joy. She felt connected to something bigger, older, something benevolent and motherly all at once.

"Kin." Gwen cupped the last of the water and offered it to the night, letting it run through her fingers, watching it displace over the red earth.

The Conjure Water spell dispelled while Gwen was distracted by her thoughts. The cessation of the flowing stream disturbing the lull of her midsummer dream.

Without words, Gwen stood in the stall, dripping with droplets that caught the moonlight, painting her silver.

She ran a hand between the modest swell of her white breasts, feeling the pronunciation of the ribs that jutted out underneath them. Her hip bones too were protrusive to the touch. Despite the undeniable toll of her Void Magic; she felt revitalised. Was her renewed vigour a gift from Almudj? Gwen had no doubt it was. The evocative feeling of kinship was undeniable.

Gwen towelled herself off and slipped into another pair of clean shorts and singlets. She walked barefooted towards the girls, finding a space between Debora and the others.

Debora had nothing to say to Yue. Yue likewise, was too stubborn to make good with Debora. Elvia sold herself as Switzerland but decidedly favoured Team Yue when a conflict ensued.

"Can we talk?" Gwen asked them.

The girls murmured their agreements. As a gesture of goodwill, Debora materialised stone benches for them by moulding the smooth sandstone beneath the soil.

Gwen produced bottles of refrigerated beverages, still half-frozen, from her Storage Ring. She passed them out amongst the girls.

"You all mean a lot to me." Gwen began, her eyes scanning over the girls one by one. "But senior school, we are going to go our separate ways. These next six months that we share are potentially going to become some of our best memories."

"We have the Inter-High competition before us. A competition that as you know, is supremely important to me. It is also important for you guys in that it would determine your university offers. Your career tracks. For us, if we can demonstrate our skill and talents, it would serve as a far stronger application than any result we can produce at the final Government accreditation exams."

"So— I ask you guys, as your friend and as your teammate, to please put your differences aside."

The delivery was more for Debora's benefit than Yue's or Elvia'. Yue had her apprenticeship with Alesia, and Elvia had Medical school.

The girls murmured their agreements.

"Pretty please?" Gwen put her hands together and made a begging motion like a praying monk. "For my sake, for all our sakes."

"I'll do it!" Elvia extended a hand toward Yue and Debora.

Yue took Elvia's hand.

"Sorry Debs, let's work well from now on."

Debora too extended her hand, and the three of them exchanged awkward handshakes.

"Likewise, I am sorry for my outbursts. I'll try my best from now on," Debora replied, her eyes glancing at Gwen.

"Thanks, everyone," Gwen intoned appreciatively.

"There's still three hours until sunrise, who's keeping watch?" Yue asked.

"I'll do it. You guys get some shut-eye. I am wide awake right now." Gwen offered herself.

Debora shaped some more shelter, within which the girls slept on their towels.

Tommy was already asleep, sprawled out against a tree in-between urine scented grass marked by the horses. The mental pressure of resisting a peek as four Lady Bosses strutted about in various states of undress was too much for his hot-blooded mind to bear.

Gwen turned to the silhouetted horizon and meditated. Her consciousness turned inwards, examining her astral body, observing her collection of Sigils.

Evocation glowed the brightest.

Conjuration a close second.

Then Divination.

Transmutation.

Her Abjuration Sigil was still dim, but there was a noticeable difference since she started to use Shield regularly.

The gate of her Void element shimmered darkly.

Her gate of Lightning blazed and crackled, only it was brighter somehow, more vivified.

Curious, she channelled her Lightning mana. Once its power struck her conduits, she was in no double that her Affinity had increased.

Caliban!

Instinctively, she knew her Void fiend was the culprit. The void creature had consumed the vital energy of two Wankas. Both beasts had been heavily enchanted, their cores overflowing with elemental Air— and AIR was one of two Prime Elements that made up Lightning.

Does this mean that she could level up her Affinity for Lightning by consuming Air Elementals? Gwen wondered. Would she need to find an equivalent source of nourishment in those with the Positive Energy trait? That would be impossible. If she consumed benevolent Lantern Archons, the Church and the Tower would put a sizable bounty on her head.

Still, if her hypothesis was correct, did it mean that she could also come into possession of other elements? With a little reflection, Gwen realised the answer was no. She was confident that she felt nothing when Caliban consumed the Land Shark. It was already a miracle that she could tap into two.

Her Master had a unique talent of tapping into all four Primary elements, but Henry was one in a million. If asked to create spells of pure water or fire, Henry would struggle to perform his channelling with a practical level of efficiency. Thus far, she had never heard of anyone possessing two Elements.

Then there was that emerald lightning that Almudj used as well. It was unlike anything she had cast herself.

How could she tap into that hidden power?

Gwen thought about the three months ahead.

She would have to make a decision very soon.

To train in Abjuration would mean she had a viable shield. She could protect Elvia and or Yue, act as their Tank.

To train in Divination meant she had better awareness of the battlefield, maybe even Scry on enemies from afar.

To train in Transmutation meant she could focus on self-buffs, eventuating in Flight at tier three.

She could also empower her Evocation spells, try to hit tier 4 and gain access to more destructive incantations.

Finally, she could perfect Conjuration, develop new attacks for Ariel and Caliban, or focus on fortifying her persistent effect spells.

The dilemma was that she only had time for one of these things, and she had to maximise her time investment. For the duration of her watch, Gwen pondered her options, playing scenario after scenario over in her mind.

Then, without warning, the indefinite horizon became a thin white line.

A red-gold disc rose, dispelling the lustrous purple blackness of the softening night. The silver glow of the moon warmed, waning in intensity, replaced by a honey-coloured diffusion that soothed the distant horizon. The limestone ridges kissed the shining tree-tops, setting fire to the once dark bush.

Even as a frequent traveller of the Outback, she felt shaken by the majesty, caught in the glory of the wide, brown land.

"Thanks, Alumdj." Her words flew into the wide blue yonder.

The girls were soon roused and readied for the journey ahead. Gwen used her long-range Message device to contact Rhodes, and the ranch-owner arranged transport for the girls back to Surya's estate.

The rest of the journey took half-a-day to reach the highway and another six hours from the shield-gate. It was late afternoon when they arrived at Rhodes's ranch.

Upon their parting with Tommy, Gwen collected in a small pouch a good handful of LDM crystals worth a thousand or so dollars for the jackaroo. He tried to decline the offer, but Gwen wouldn't have it.

"You deserve it, Tommy," Gwen said sympathetically, hugging the jackaroo. "You did so much for us, and all we did was sour your relationship with your folks and put you in danger. More than anything, I should be apologising to you and asking for your forgiveness."

"You are too good, Missus Boss," Tommy replied, his voice cracked from gratitude. "Come back and visit anytime, you know where Tommy is."

"I will Tommy, take care of the horses!" Gwen gave Tommy a peck on the cheek, watching him return to the other drovers on the ranch and smiling as they punched him.

Rhodes then took the girls home, asking them about the trip.

The girls had nothing but praises for Tommy.

"Yeah right, I reckon he was just scared shitless the whole time." Rhodes was more than pleased. "I'll let the boy know he'll be getting a raise, courtesy of you being his referee."

Rhodes stopped for a chat with Surya before he left.

The girls made their curtsies known to the old Enchanter and rushed for the showers, far too fatigued to remain for small talk. Gwen however, stayed with her grandfather, sharing her knowledge of the event.

"Good grief." Surya swallowed uncertainly. "Turn around."

Gwen turned, collecting her hair in one hand.

Surya placed a finger on to the scale affixed to her skin and incanted a command for the item to loosen itself. It refused to budge.

He pulled at it with his fingers, watching it tug at Gwen's skin.

Gwen cried out when the discomfort became unbearable.

"That's interesting." Surya scratched his beard. "I feel like the scale has fused with a part of your skin. I could remove it by force, but, it doesn't seem harmful in any way. I've only seen this in Legacy items."

Gwen begged Surya for more details.

"It's like this," Surya explained. "Very rarely, an item has been in the family bloodline, or passed down from generation to generation, or survived such cataclysmic magical ordeals, that they gain a special kind of bond with its users. The Japanese Mages had a specific term for them, which they call Tsukumogami, applicable to tools or enchanted heirlooms."

"The effects differ, of course, but a common fact is that these items become more powerful as the user grows more powerful. They possess the ability to imbue boosted effects onto future generations of users."

"Does this mean the scale will grow more powerful as I attain higher tiers of magic?" Gwen moved forward to the edge of her seat, her risen octave betraying her anticipation.

"I don't see why not." Surya smiled, tapping the scale gently. When her Opa touched the scale again, Gwen moaned, feeling as though someone had poked her insides. "Oh dear—"

Gwen moved a little distance away. "Thanks, Opa."

"And your story." Surya scratched his white beard. "I wonder why the serpent attacked your friend Debora but no one else."

Gwen raised a few points of hypothesis—

One, Debora was from an old family of staunch Christians. There was such a thing as Faith Magic, and Debora did get Blessed by the Bishop.

Two, Debora was the only one of them in possession of an elemental spirit.

Three, Debora was somewhat hostile to the Indigenous folk they had met the entire way, barring Tommy, with whom she was already acquainted.

Surya shook his head. None of these theories satisfied what Gwen had described.

"Maybe it was just a coincidence?" Surya suggested, shrugging his bony shoulders. "I'd hardly imagine that a primordial spirit would care for a high school girl. Well, besides yourself. What was it like to channel its power?"

"It was like energy was building up from the ambient mana of the earth and sky," Gwen described. "It didn't feel like a spell."

Surya didn't have an answer to that either. So much knowledge about the Spirit Magic of the local tribes was censored, destroyed, their Walkers castigated by witch hunters and then butchered. He doubted that even the indigenous folk themselves had an answer for Gwen's circumstance.

"Just concentrate on the road ahead," Surya advised, his voice mellow. "Sometimes, all a man can do is wait and see."

"I know, Opa. Thanks."

Gwen bid Surya goodnight, planting a wet sloppy kiss on her Opa's forehead.

"I'll be gone first thing tomorrow morning. I'll see you at Kwan's estate in the avo or at night. Get some rest. It's going to be a busy day ahead. Remember to dress nicely! We're expecting guests!"

When Gwen finally arrived at her room, the other girls were already asleep.

She took another shower, a hot one this time, and felt the tension just melt from her weary bones. She didn't possess the same constitution as the others, and the horse riding had taken its toll. Towelling off, she fell into bed and was instantly asleep after forty-eight hours of wakefulness.

The girls bid one another goodbye the next day.

Despite their reunion at Blackwattle within the week, tears were shed, and hugs dispensed. Gwen blamed it on the adolescent hormones. The girls were at an age where every emotion seemed magnified, every separation, no matter how brief, seemed touched by tragedy.

Surya left with Gwen's girls, grinning sheepishly. Tess and Melissa had their duties for the day, so Gwen had until noon to get ready and embark on the five-hour journey to reach Kwan's Kirribilli manor.

On the guest bed, she laid out her wardrobe on the bed.

It was going to be a night of consequences. She wasn't just dressing to be beguiling; she was selecting a battle garb. What she needed was something vibrant, powerful - something that suggested willful independence. Mentally, she fancied the green curtain-gown Scarlet O'Hara had worn in Gone with the Wind. When Gwen had watched the scene in technicolour 4k, it had sent shivers down her spine.

Unfortunately, she had to make do with branded dresses her dreaded 'other' mother had bought her.  Chronologically, she laid out the loot from her junior years to her senior year. The collection was akin to an anthropological study of Helena's head, measured by the hem of her skirts and their narrowing waistlines.

In both worlds, she was one of those girls who had hit puberty early, long before her mind was capable of comprehending the alchemical changes taking place. When the other girls were still mewling, adorable children, she had sprouted to five-feet like a new yew. When her friends reached their growth spurt, she was a six-foot crane amongst clucking hens.

She wanted something that showed off her post-Almudj figure — not something sexual, but something elegant and aristocratic, arrogant even.

Her eyes flowed over the selection, landing upon a porcelain white one-piece inlaid with lapis-blue china. She tried it on, doubting the dress could fit. To Gwen's surprise, it did; her unfortunate, Caliban-induced anorexia allowed the tapered waistline flawlessly. The hem was precariously short, but Gwen was prepared for that too. She'd earlier purchased a comfortable pair of white spats which would serve as safety, cropped high enough on her thighs to give the illusion that she was wearing nought but the dress itself.

Pair with a pair of pumps, she inspected herself. With an additional fifteen or so centimetres from the pump, she was a veritable Brobdingnagian. To practice, she stalked through the compound to the stunned expression of NoM labourer.

In Tess' bathroom, Gwen piled her hair this way and that, finally settling on a sweeping fringe framing her face. An application of eyeliners mascara finished the look.

In the reflection, she appeared terrifyingly vivacious.

By the time Gwen had stowed her wardrobe back into the Storage Ring, Mel had returned to take Gwen to the station.

"Woa!" Mel covered her face dramatically. "That's your regalia, huh? Let me get a pic."

She returned a moment later with a Lumen-recorder and snapped images of Gwen standing beside the water feature.

"I could sell these for crystals, you know." Tess grinned. "Get em blown up and printed, put em in a magazine. What say we go halfsies?"

"You're too much!" Gwen quipped, happy to be flattered.

"Well, let's get going. Surya is going to be a happy man."

They drove to the station, where Gwen caught the midday service out to the city. As the carriage filled, the passengers were surprised to find themselves in the presence of silver screen actress. From central, the Taxi driver stole glances at her, almost causing an accident.

At Kwan's, the late afternoon sky remained a blazing ultramarine, the waters of Bateman's Bay a translucent teal. Against the bay, Gwen extended her legs perpendicular to the cab, her heels tapping the concrete. Instantly, a guard wearing a white shirt and dark tie attended her arrival.

"Ms Song." the man bowed. "The family is within. Please follow me."

Gwen told him to tip the driver for his service and the guard obliged, throwing a fifty into the cabbie's window. They were halfway up the stairs leading to the elevated foyer when Gwen heard the familiar voice of Richard coming down the stairs.

"Gwen! My word, you look a million HDMs! I had been dreaming up compliments, but you've wiped them from my mind." The young man's eyes were smiling.

Gwen left the guard for Richard, moving across the marble tiles with a tap of her needlepoint heels, drawing heads from all across the compound.

In the flood-lit corridor, Gwen appeared larger than life.

The cousins embraced; Gwen giving Richard a peck on the cheek.

"Now that you're taller than me. I feel small and emasculated," Richard confessed, returning a peck on her cheek. "Can you not walk too close? I feel both intimated and questionably aroused."

Gwen laughed and punched Richard in the arm,

"You brute!" Richard remarked, sliding an arm around her to cup her waist. "Come, let me take you in. How high are those heels? I'll have to get the Transmuters to add another inch to my shoes."

The manor was exactly as Gwen had left it the last time. Opulent and tasteless. It spoke loudly of how much money the inhabitants possessed and little of anything else. She clicked-clacked her way through the foyer and into the open living room.

"Gwen! My beautiful niece!"

A voice that could only belong to Uncle Kwan echoed across the vaulted ceiling. Unlike last time, Gwen was now prepared. This time, she had support. This time, she had a plan.

"Uncle!" Gwen left Richard and embraced Kwan. This time, the bulbous man appeared diminished by Gwen's implausibly long-legged figure.

"Have you gained weight?" Kwan lifted her, then allowed her to land.

"No more than you, Uncle."

It took a second for Kwan's ire to catch up. Gwen knew the man was conscious of his weight and hated having it mentioned.

"Come see your aunty!" Kwan deflected, his tone no longer amused, leading Gwen towards Tali.

"Did you have to say that, dear?" Tali met her a critical eye. "Has our baby bird has become a peacock?"

"Eagle," Gwen corrected her, a smile upon her lips. "Sea eagle, preferably."

Tali measured her with a sideways glance.

"You look, lovely dear." She swallowed a little bitterly. "Too lovely in fact, who'd known the little girl who'd cry because she couldn't fit into her mummy's new present would be so stunning now?"

"The dress I couldn't fit into?" Gwen spun, sensing the hem flutter and the conversation around them quieten. "This is that dress. It fits just fine now, thanks for asking."

Tali chose to change the subject.

"Dinner's a buffet, just help yourself to whatever." The woman paused. "Your mother's going to be here with her new husband and your brother. For Surya's big speech."

"Good for them." Gwen controlled the tone of her voice. "I am starving already, guess I'll help myself."

Her Aunt Tali retreated.

Richard rejoined her.

"I want to say nicely done, but that would make me a terrible son, so nicely done." He offered her a flute of bubbling champaign.

"You're a great son." Gwen took the glass and clinked Richard's own. "Who could honestly say that they are a better son than you?"

"Oh, I won't be here for much longer, a few years at most. Prince's had my military training deferred, but I'd probably do it anyway once I get to London."

Gwen raised an exquisite brow.

"You're going to a Tier 1 city?"

"Orders from above, from London, I mean. I was the dux of the School of Conjuration. It got me a one-way ticket to the real world."

"That's amazing, Richard, congratulations. I am happy for you." Gwen squeezed his arm.

"Which makes me a terrible son see, cause I can't take the old parents with me, not until I become a Magus or rack up enough Contribution Credits to open up a migration application."

"I know some of those words," Gwen admitted. Tier 1 cities, the whole ordeal was like another world that was currently beyond her.

"Nonsense, I bet you'll be moved to a Tier 1 city in no time. Which city do you fancy?"

Gwen considered it. She always dreamed of going to England, but there was also Southern China, where her father's family supposedly originated. London was the seat of Old Magic, but the Shanghai of the 00s provided incredible economic opportunities. If Gwen wanted to use her talents from the old world, that was where she needed to be.

"Shanghai, London maybe New York?" Gwen stated, unsure of her choices. "I would love it if my friends could come too."

"Yue, probably. Elvia, not so much. I believe there was a Debora too, no? That girl could only dream of your potential."

"Not Elvia?!" Gwen looked shocked.

"Decent healers are a dime a dozen in the capital cities. Elvia is a cutie, but unfortunately, nothing too special in the real world. She doesn't even have a Spirit."

Gwen was not happy to hear that. She wasn't happy at all.

"Fear not, just get her imported over once you make Magus, rack up some CCs and you're good to go. Hell, you can keep her as your pet if you honestly felt like it."

"I am not thrilled to hear that, Richard."

"Sorry, I'll shut up now. You know how it is. I get excited." Richard took a sip. "How about we get some food, meet some people?"

"Sure." Gwen took a deep breath and controlled the sense of unease rising from her chest.

At the buffet, they met with familiar faces.

"Ah, Patrick and… Derek, how lovely to see you."

Patrick spun and clicked his heels. The young man looked different. He had just started his military service, and it seemed to buff him up, make a man out of him.

"Ms Song. The greatest pleasure. You do look lovely."

Gwen allowed Patrick to mime kissing her hand. She didn't curtsey but instead shook his hand afterwards, feeling the sweat in his clammy palms.

Beside her, Derek's eyes had almost fallen out of his sockets. They were staring intently at Gwen's long, white legs. His face gave the expression of someone struggling to look away and failing.

"Derek, Gwen is speaking to you. Don't be droll," Richard reprimanded, sounding like a dog had just shat on his front lawn.

"Sorry, Richard." Derek's gaze returned to eye level. "Hi, I am Derek."

"I know— it's good to see you again, Derek." Gwen shook his hand as well, watching the man's face burn a salmon pink. With the height afforded by her pumps, she towered over Derek and Patrick.

"To your health." Richard tipped his glass towards them.

The four of them clinked flutes. Derek mumbled an alibi and quickly excused himself, retreating somewhere with fewer eyes to brood over the unpleasant encounter.

Patrick stayed on. This time, he was making a good impression of himself, making casual small talk about Prince's recent activities and some interesting tidbits of his military training. Thanks to his father's position at Suncorp and effort of his own, he will be conducting his military training in an Arial Mage Wing stationed near Barrington.

Other young men and women came and joined them, offering congratulations to Richard to marvel at Gwen's svelte cousin.

"How come you're not at Lilith's?" A peppy young woman with a permed blonde bob chirped, covetously measuring Gwen's sculpted face.

"I was a late bloomer," Gwen replied jovially. "I came into my awakening late."

"Still." The girl looked around conspiratorially. "You're Richard's cousin, and you're beautiful and talented, so how come we've never seen you around?"

"Digging a little deep there, Piggy." Richard coughed.

"Peggy." the girl puffed out her cheeks. "Petunia Wallace, pleased to meet you, Gwen."

"Pleasure." Gwen shook her hand.

"You're welcome at Lilith's anytime. I am on the SRC board, so I can show you around the grounds if you like."

"I might just take you up on that offer someday soon, Petunia." Gwen flashed a winsome smile, watching her face light up with pleasure.

Smalltalk followed. The girls hit it off nicely and exchanged details on their Message Devices. Halfway, Gwen noticed a perceptible dimming of the hall's conversation volume.

Even Petunia stopped speaking when Gwen paused to stare at the entrance of the foyer.

Her mother had arrived.

At the entrance to the rear deck stood Helena Huang, the daughter of the House of Huang. It was the first time that Gwen had seen her in the company of her new husband— an older man, tall and mature and old fashioned. There was Percy too, next to them, cringingly dressed in an ivory tuxedo.

Percy looked taller by at least an inch since Gwen last saw him half a year ago. She wanted to go and greet him immediately but refrained when her mother's eyes held her in place. The last time they had met was at the Principal's office, and she had fried her mother with a Shocking Grasp.

Gwen's jaws clenched. Through force of will, she made her body relax, assuring herself that the night was long and Surya would soon be out to put an end to the matter.

But her mother did not approach.

For the next hour, Helena did not even look her way.

Gwen felt butterflies. She fought down a bout of anxiety, annoyed at the immediate delay of her confrontation. Her mother's cult of personality was powerful, and she still wasn't immune.

Gwen watched her mother kissing Kwan and Tali and then Richard. She watched her mother kiss an endless number of people, most of whom she did not know.

"There's your daughter," Richard declared much too loudly for polite conversation. "Right over there, look. Lets me point her out to you. Hi Gwen!"

Gwen waved back.

Helena's facade was one of annoyance. A chortle escaped Gwen's nose. She had to turn and hide her mirth when Richard made a face.

Kwan shot Richard a warning. Aunt Tali didn't care, in her eyes, Richard was her faultless first-born. He could burn the house down, and she would love him unconditionally.

"So that's my step-daughter, the infamous Gwen Song." A deep and resonate voice rang out. Gwen's step-father appeared to be a man accustomed to having orders followed. Having saved his wife from awkwardness, Helena's husband made his way across the floor toward Gwen.

The man was impressive, Gwen had to admit. He was a Clint-Eastwood type of bloke, broad in the shoulder, well-muscled for his age. She recalled that Morye once complained loudly and sulkily that her new step-father was a retired Colonel and an Earthen Enchanter. Presently, the man worked for Sydney's Frontier Militia as a consultant. Helena had met him at another one of Kwan's parties.

Gwen found it remarkable that even with her statuesque attire, the man still stared down at her. But it made sense. Her mother was only a little shorter than herself. One of Helena's favourite gripes was that, when she had been married to Morye, she had been too embarrassed to overshadow her meter-seventy husband.

"Tang Hu, but you can call me Mr Hu." Tang paused for effect, "Or Father, if you prefer."

When she registered "Father" coming from the man's lips, Gwen almost spat her juice in Tang's face.

Tang looked displeased, his stoic face contorted with scrutiny. He measured her with his eyes and shook his head. "Helena told me you were out of control, a wild child. Just look at what you're wearing. You're still a young girl, Gwen, act like one."

Gwen wanted to throw the glass of sparkling juice in his face. This dress was bought and gifted by Helena! She had mocked her when she couldn't fit into it! Knowing or otherwise, the hypocrisy was astounding.

Not only was this Tang taking possession of her; he was also sanctimonious!

She had to deal with men like Tang before in McKinsey, men with big-dick, cock and bull attitudes. She knew how to deal with men like that. You had to castrate them from the get-go.

"Oh, I would love to have a strong hand to guide me, sure." Gwen lowered her eyes demurely, seemingly taken aback. "I've been living by myself, after all, no discipline, no rules, doing whatever I wanted. Sometimes, I feel so lost."

Her passivity seemed to have tickled Tang's expectations. He was a simple man when it came to it. There was little wonder Helena had him tied around her finger, playing him like a fiddle.

"Mr Hu, I mean Tang, I heard that you are a remarkably powerful Enchanter, is that true?"

"Indeed," Tang replied confidently. "I am tier 5 myself, tier 4 Abjuration as my supplementary, I am an armourer by trade."

"Oh." Gwen made an expression of disappointment. "Just tier 5?"

Tang furrowed his brows with vexation.

"My Opa, he's kind enough to take me in at the moment, you know, I hope mother had told you. He's a tier 7 Enchanter, Tier 6 Transmuter, Fire specialisation. He only takes commissions from the Tower though, so I am sure he's not that famous."

Tang's face darkened.

"I have the utmost respect for Master Huang." He intoned flatly.

"Then he would be rather upset if you wanted to be my father. A step-father who is only mid-tier. I mean, what would be the benefit?"

A silken silence engendered.

Somewhere, someone snickered.

"You should watch your attitude, young lady."

Tang was not used to back-talk, Gwen could see that. He was unused to someone who threw shade, much less, in his eyes, from a wee of a teenage girl. Why look at her, he could snap her in half with his bare hands.

But Gwen also knew that Tang wasn't her enemy. He was being used by her mother, just as she had been.

"Yes, you're right, Mr Hu. I am afraid we started on the wrong foot. My mother has that effect." Gwen extended a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

The sudden change seemed to catch Tang off guard.

He shook Gwen's hand, noting the firmness of her shake, the way her delicate fingers fitted into his calloused palm with confidence.

"Nice to meet you, Gwen." Tang packed away his attitude.

"No need, I am to blame entirely." Gwen leaned in and touched his forearm, flashing him a winning grin. "You learn to grow up fast when you live alone."

"You're a strange young woman."

"All women are strange, Mr Hu."

Inwardly, Gwen breathed out. She had embarrassed people like Tang before, in public where they would lose their temper and make a fool of themselves. Tang deserved better.

She observed her mother, who had been watching grimly from the living room. When Tang parted, her mother's face lost some of its lustre. Helena stilled possessed no desire to speak to Gwen.

Likely, Gwen suspected, her mother was waiting to see what Surya had to say.

"HELLO! HELLO! Everyone!"

The crowd's attention turned towards the second floor.

Surya stood against the bannister rail, surveying his domain like an old king.

As regal as the old Mage looked, Gwen secretly knew the truth - Surya probably had just finished his later afternoon nap after a too hearty meal.

The Huang family lifted their chins to regard their progenitor, each with expressions mixed with awe, wonder, paranoia and contempt.

Surya Huang, Patriarch, Magus, Master Enchanter-Fabricator of the Tower Oceania, now addressed the crowd.

Surya coughed and cleared his throat.

"Friends, thank you for coming tonight. I hope that you have all enjoyed yourselves. I know that in recent years, I have been somewhat reclusive, an old hermit hiding in my workshop, so before we begin. Let me apologise for my irresponsible absence."

Scattered applause answered Surya's self-depreciative jest. Many of the guests were indeed interested in why the old Enchanter had emerged from his self-imposed exile half a decade ago.

"For the young among you who are wondering who this old, talking scarecrow could be, I am the Master of the Huang Clan, its Patriarch, Surya."

He turned his face to find his children within the crowd.

"Kwan, Helena, come to me."

Gwen watched her uncle and her mother walk from the crowd and stand underneath Surya, who lorded over them via the second-floor foyer that overlooked the open living room and afforded a magnificent view of the ocean.

"My children, the fruit of my loins."

"Father." Kwan bowed respectfully.

"Dad." Helena curtsied, the side-slit of her dress splitting distractingly, drawing eyes from around the room.

Surya nodded. Of the two, it was Helena whose life he lamented. His daughter's beauty, especially in her youth, had blatantly outshone every other facet of her life. It afforded her such convenience and advantage that it had consumed her. Only now that Helena's comeliness was inevitably waning with each passing year, she grew desperate and scornful.

"You have done well for yourselves," Surya continued. "I applaud you for expanding the family fortune and allowing the clan to flourish."

The crowd clapped, almost all of them were friends and associates of Kwan. The New Years party had been planned for months, but Kwan had only known about Surya's desire to be present a fortnight ago. That was why he was nervously smiling and golf-clapping along with the crowd. Where was this charade going? Kwan wondered. Why did Surya come out of his reclusive existence as an eccentric artist?

"Yet," Surya continued. "Wealth, money, land, crystals, these are all but a means to an end."

The crowd fell silent.

"Look around you. Forget the canapés, forget the beverage in your hands, forget this mansion, forget the harbour view. Look - LOOK out there and see the reason why anything matters at all."

The crowd turned. There was the dark pier, scintillating with lights that refracted off the softly sloshing sea. Beyond the harbour, there was a thin sliver of light upon the horizon - the Shield Barrier.

"Survival! That is all!" Surya raised his voice. "That is the only thing that matters. None of this. Not this House, not the wine in your hands, not the expensive clothing on your back, not the money in your pockets— it is only our ability to carry on that matters."

The crowd was now confused. Was this suitable for a New Years speech? They certainly didn't come here to listen to sermons. Was Kwan's father senile?

"Survival." Surya bit the word with his teeth clenched. "Richard, Gwen, Percy, come."

The children gathered behind their parents. Gwen could smell her mother's perfume rolling off her like a tide, triggering unpleasant memories deep within her consciousness.

"The next generation, my pride and joy."

"Grandfather." Richard bowed - legs slightly apart, his shoulders squared, a vestige of Prince's discipline.

"Grandfather." Percy bowed casually, inclining his upper body.

"Opa." Gwen curtsied, crossing a slender white leg over the other, arching herself gracefully.

Gwen commanded the full attention of the crowd. Tall and majestic, her presence inspired a form of awe. Her natural grace was such that viewers were first overwhelmed, then overcome by a sense of disbelief that something so perfect could exist so close at hand.

Looking at the crowd, Surya could read the faces of those below. Appreciation, jealousy, and outright desire, it was plain who was thinking what.

"Survival," Surya repeated pointedly. "I am very pleased with my grandchildren. Kids, tell the guests about yourselves."

The guests regarded one another.

Richard was the clear winner, a Conjurer with unfathomable talent. Percy had yet to awaken, but he was most definitely going to be something special. Gwen was recently exposed as a Lightning Evoker, impressive in itself.

Richard stepped up.

"I, Richard Huang, have reached Tier 5 in Conjuration. I am currently progressing onto my Tier 1 Abjuration Sigil. My affinity with Water is currently 5."

The crowd exploded.

"He's almost a Magus!"

"At Eighteen, no less!"

"Richard, congratulations."

"Kwan, you old dog! Your House is on the up and up!"

"You're going places lad!"

"Congratulations, Master Huang!"

Surya settled the crowd.

"Percy, how is your progress?"

Percy looked at his mother, who nodded conspiratorially.

"Grandfather, I am not yet fully awakened to my abilities, but I can inform you that I do possess a unique talent."

"Oh?" Surya raised a bushy eyebrow. "Do tell, my grandchild."

Percy sucked in his breath, making an expression that resembled someone anticipating a vicious blow.

"I have this." Percy opened his hands and channelled mana through his body. His face paled.

Percy's fingers grow frosty with ice.

The crowd stepped closer.

Percy's face paled even further, painfully groaning with each passing second.

An older guest picked up a thimble full of the white crystalline material and rubbed it between his fingers.

"Salt!" he uttered with a voice several octaves higher than his normal range. "Percy's a Salt Mage?!"

Others also took pinches of the stuff as Percy gracelessly panted.

The crowd tasted the Salt to test the validity of the man's claim; they crushed it with their fingers, feeling it dissipate as the mana diffused into the air.

The resulting uproar was grander than Richard's. The guests instantly piled compliment upon compliment onto Kwan and Helena, toasting the family on their windfall.

Percy too received endless praise from people in the room both young and old, envious and genuine, bathing in a moment of triumph. His pale cheeks flushed with a rose-pink of pleasure and vanity. He had been keeping the secret at his mother's behest for months, but it had been all worthwhile. Glancing at her brother, Gwen saw that Percy stole a look at her face.

Gwen felt a chill as the implications of Salt flashed through her mind.

Percy smirked.

According to Gwen's Master, the element of Salt was the union of the Negative Plane and the Plane of Water. It was a versatile element, capable of creating barriers, projectiles, and at higher levels, debilitating desiccation. It was a peerless element against living creatures, especially against water-based beings.

What Percy did not know was that his sister's worry wasn't for herself, but him. Even now, she was reeling with dread and horror. SALT was an element that, like her Void spells, fed on the life of the user. Percy was just a boy! How is it possible that a boy going through puberty was burning his vitality to perform a fucking show and tell?

Gwen grit her teeth. She wanted to slap her mother across the face. She needed to warn Percy, then hug him to her chest.

Gwen looked up at Surya, whose expression was ambivalent.

"Sorry, Gwen. It looks like I need you to show off more than your Conjuration," her Opa whispered through a private Message spell. "Show them a potential, but reveal nothing concrete."

Gwen nodded at Surya, affirming his advice.

The small gesture did not escape Helena's hawk-eyes. Even now, she smirked with pleasure. She just knew the old codger was up to something, and that her son's unique talent had disrupted whatever the hell the old fool had planned. Yet, what could trump her son's unmatched ability?

It took Surya several coughs and a resounding slap on the oakwood bannister to finally calm down the crowd. They were now all gathered beside Helena and Kwan, leaving Gwen isolated on the other side of the room.

Kwan was less than thrilled that Helena's boy would one day outstrip his own, but Richard had his accomplishments in the present. Richard was going to a tier 1 city. Lord knows when Percy could do the same.

The volume finally fell to a murmur.

"Finally, we have a member of the family who may be a stranger to many of you. Here, is Gwen Song, my grandchild and Helena's first. Gwen, can you please tell us about your talented self."

Gwen turned to the crowd and gave them a dazzling smile.

The crowd was now significantly less impressed with her exterior talents after the last two bouts of pleasant surprises. After all, if Gwen was merely going to say that she was a Lightning Evoker, she was still dead last in a trial of three contenders.

"I am a Tier 3 Evoker."

The crowd golf-clapped.

The expectant crowd was then both confused and puzzled when Gwen began an invocation NOT from the School of Evocation. With relish, Richard recognised her Conjuration School of Magic, grinning as Gwen worked her sorcery.

"Ariel!"

A bolt of lightning struck the marble floor, materialising into a marten that gazed upon the crowd adorably.

"Eee! Eeeee Eee!"

With a jolt of mana, Ariel grew into its combat form, becoming the size of a large, electricity-clad mongoose that snarled and spat. The stunned audience felt their eyes bulging in their sockets, their hands covering their mouths in disbelief.

"I am also Tier 3 in Conjuration." Gwen snapped her fingers, and a halo of electricity erupted from Ariel.

"Tier 4 in Lightning."

The crowd had gone silent.

Gwen retracted Ariel, and the creature stepped back into the pocket dimension, fading from sight with a crack of localised thunder.

"One last thing..." Gwen channelled a little magic to tease the guests' appetite.

Gwen extended her hand.

A whip of pure plasma erupted from her hand. She flailed it overhead effortlessly, allowing its length to writhe and crackle.

"Though it is a work in progress, I have attained some control over the Sigil of Transmutation."

"How is that possible?" A shrill voice blurted out. Gwen wasn't too pleased to see that it was Percy, her brother, who had made his doubts known. "It must be an illusion! Grandfather hired an illusionist!"

Richard stepped up.

"Any decent Mage worth their SALT could tell you that Gwen had just now manifested both Conjuration and Transmutation. Don't make yourself more idiotic than you already are, cousin. If you want to attend Prince's, you need to have class."

Percy appeared as though someone had just caught him by the throat and choked him. Besides Percy, Helena's face was turning all kinds of colour, from a blanched white to a dark liver.

Richard began to clap.

Then Surya clapped.

Clap, clap, clap, the sound of applause filled the living room.

The guests joined in, first one, then a dozen. Soon all of them were clapping, even Kwan and Tali.

Gwen blushed with overwhelming pleasure, her ego becoming well pampered.

The family's guests were ecstatic. They were witnessing the rise of a Magister. An existence that numbered under thirty even in a nation as large as Australia. Considering Gwen's age, what if she becomes the Master of a Tower? A being whose policies decided whether they lived in poverty or prosperity, whose decisions dictated who lived and died to the Beast Tide.

Besides his cousin, Richard felt such delight. He knew it! Richard couldn't wait for her to graduate so that they could go on some adventures together, test out their powers against forces unknown. With Gwen's versatility, he needed to do was to train his Abjuration Sigil. It would be glorious. They would be the dynamic Conjuring duo!

Meeting her cousin's, Gwen flashed Richard a heart-warming smile.

Surya banged on the bannisters again.

"Alright, alright, settle down. As you can see, the House of Huang is going places."

The crowd laughed, earnestly this time. Laughs and hoots and shrill whistling echoed across the vaulted living room.

"Now that we are properly informed, here is my officious decision. The reason why I took this opportunity to speak to you."

Surya took a deep breath.

"As many of you may know, I am an artist first, and an Enchanter second. I have little interest in maintaining our clan. One of the sole reasons why I remain the Patriarch is that the head of a House must be at minimum a Magus of good reputation."

"As such, I desire to retire from my role as Patriarch in the coming years, and I wish to confer my estate and my powers onto younger strengths so that I may spend my final decade, or two, doing the things I love."

"My decision, therefore, is to choose Gwen—"

"NO!" A voice shrieked across the hall, interrupting Surya's speech.

It was Helena, Gwen's mother.

She was trembling with rage. She could scarcely believe her ears. This had to be a joke! The clan, the estate, all of it was supposed to be Helena's! Tali had told her that Richard had been selected to transfer to London, to finish his education in a tier 1 university. It meant that eventually, Kwan would also leave for London with his wife. It implied that Helena would be the sole heir to the clan, the only one of her generation left in the country. So what that she wasn't a Magus? Who else was there take it from her?

Her palms sweated. The House, and Surya's investments, the country estate, all of it should one day be hers.

Now the old fool wanted to give it to Gwen? She saw the way he looked at Gwen. Percy? Fine, but not Gwen, not that little vixen!

And in that case of what her? What of Percy? Gwen would receive all the resources of the Huangs. After all, the little harlot had three schools to train, and that meant exponential expenditures. She could just see it now, the old codger laughing behind her back, Gwen cackling like a hyena behind Helena's back.

"You can't do this!" Helena's hazel eyes flashed with fire and fury. "It's not right! I'll serve you to the courts! I'll challenge you at the Tower! No patriarch can deny their children their rightful inheritance!"

Besides his sister, Kwan agreed. Richard as heir? Fine, but how could Gwen come out of nowhere steal their resources?

"You dare challenge my decision, Helena?" Surya intoned dangerously. "Perhaps I should disinherit you right now, but that would disqualify Percy. Would you like that?"

By now, Percy's face had gone from ashen to deathly. How was he going to compete with a Magister in training? He wasn't even adequately Awakened. When he became a Mage, Gwen would be a Magus. When he became a Magus, Gwen would be a Magister!

Looking at his sister, Percy realised the strange bitterness eating at his chest. He gave it a name, and it was jealousy. Unbidden, he wanted to lash out at her, to impale her through the chest with a pillar of crystalline Salt.

Richard raised a hand.

"I don't want the inheritance anyway. Well done, Gwen."

"Richard!" Kwan called out in alarm.

"Son!" Tali held a hand to her lips.

"It's true." Richard turned to his parents. "I'll build my own legacy in London. It's far better for me that Gwen expends the wealth we have gathered here, then join me overseas. Think of it father, with Gwen and myself in London or Shanghai or New York, how could we fail?"

Kwan knew that his son had a fair point. Did he honestly want to contest a future Magister over something as trivial as wealth? If Gwen or Richard were to come into their own, he would have power and influence, connections and business opportunities for days.

"Richard, take it back…" Tali was still begging her son.

"No," Kwan interrupted his wife. "The boy knows what he is doing."

"But…" Tali felt cheated.

"Come here." Kwan pulled his wife aside, signally their acceptance of Surya's decision.

The crowd's attention shifted back towards Helena, who was still squaring off against Gwen. Her husband, Tang Hu, reached her side to calm her, but the woman was now livid.

"I refuse to accept your frivolous judgement!" Helena snarled. "She's a Song! She'll never inherit your name. Richard should be the heir, or we could change Percy's surname, and he could be the heir!"

Her hysterics only seemed to make Surya more determined.

"Helena, silence. You cannot be the heir because you are useless!" Surya shouted the insult, striking his daughter like a blow. "You cannot survive what will come for us all! We are NOT safe in our enclaves, there're monsters out there, you dimwit! Only the best of us will survive!"

"You're insane!" Helena screamed back at Surya. "You're senile! The Coral Sea War is over! We've had peace for two decades! We're not in the Eighties, old man! We live in new worlds!"

Surya's brown skin grew purple with rage.

"Opa!" Gwen's voice called out, her voice soft and mellow and full of care, a juxtaposition of her mother's dagger-sharp notes. "Please don't be so mad, you're getting much too excited."

"You!" Helena turned to her daughter. She broke free from her husband and advanced on Gwen, striding towards her like an Arabian dervish, a storm of emotions fulminating fury.

Gwen's heart rose to her throat.

She fought down the bile threatening to spill from her oesophagus and faced her mother, channelling a calming flow of electric mana to give her eyes that distinct quality which had made her felt intimidating and in command.

Her mother stopped an inch from Gwen. She was about to slap her daughter, but then realised she would be striking a future Magister. Suddenly paralysed with indecision, Gwen's mother waited for her husband to reach her side and restrain her.

She would use another approach.

"How could you!" Tears the size of marble gushed from Helena's eyes as though she was the one who was the Conjurer. "I gave you so much, Gwen! I gave you everything! I bought you the clothes on your back! I gave you that dress you're wearing right now!"

The sudden change caught Gwen off balance. She'd been anticipating a fiery slap across the face. Now she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Her mother was much too talented an actress for her good. Even in a situation like this, she wanted to guilt-trip her? Did she think Surya had just given an eleventh-hour speech on survival because of PTSD and dementia? It was like her mother lived in another reality.

Tang's face was red too, touched by his wife's outpouring of emotion. His eyes begged Gwen to give them a reprieve, anything that will stop the pain of this public disgrace. Unfortunately, Gwen could no longer afford that generosity. She wasn't about to ruin her Opa's great plan by being soft and compassionate toward a woman she knew to be a snake in the grass, a Snake-kin wearing human skin.

"I'll be sure to pay you back ten-fold, I promise. You'll have more ill-fitting dresses than you know what to do with," Gwen replied earnestly. "I'll still take care of you, mother. Like you said to me, you may not be worth much, but you won't starve to death."

"You!" Helena collapsed into broken sobs, a wailing woman overcome with grief.

The crowd murmured, their faces red from second-hand embarrassment.

Gwen grit her teeth.

Surya looked as though he was thinking of striking this daughter down here and now.

"Enough!" a voice called out above them.

The crowd had thought the utterance came from Surya, but Gwen knew that it had not. She knew that voice too well, too personally.

Beside Surya, there was now another gentlemen, older looking, in a tweed jacket and a dark blue vest.

Sufina the dryad leapt gracefully from the second-storey railing. It landed amidst the crowd, enveloping them with shivering, fallen leaves of autumn as her colour changed from crimson and ochre to a vivid, vibrant emerald.

The gathered were amazed by the sight of a Demi-human woman with a dress of leaves and flowers who embraced Gwen, instantly smothering her with a dozen kisses.

"Oh! I missed you so much!" Sufina rubbed her cheeks against Gwen, quivering with unadulterated joy. "That energy! Your vitality is stronger than before! Oh, I adore it."

"I can't believe you made me wait in that room for a whole thirty minutes," the second speaker said to Surya. "I could have used a cuppa and a cucumber sandwich."

"Sorry, things got a little out of hand," Surya apologised. He continued complaining in muted tones. "Who'd think my bloodlines have Water, Salt, lightning and void. What the hell is wrong with my bloodline? Am I old Prussian aristocracy?"

The second speaker patted his friend on the shoulder, then approached the railing.

"You all know who I am," he stated as a matter of fact. "I come to serve as the arbitrator for Master Huang, as a personal favour."

The crowd knew who had addressed them, quivering with dizzying excitement.

A Magister.

A fabled War Hero.

A Sovereign within these lands.

He was Henry Kilroy, Magister and Master of the Ordo Arcanum Oceania, head of the Council of Ten.

"After consultation with the patriarch of this house, I concur that Surya's decree as Patriarch is sacrosanct, I have thus taken the liberty to verified, then entered his request into the Tower's records."

"Furthermore, from this moment onwards, the junior Mage known as Gwen Song is under my protection. Any information pertaining her talents is strictly classified Tower business."

Henry's gaze inclined downwards upon the stunned Helena, whose mouth was still making an 'O' for horror.

"If any of you have questions or would like to challenge my judgement, let it now be known, or hold your peace."

There was silence, a silken silence immediately pursued by the synchronised sound of knees striking cold marble.

In the next few seconds that transpired, the crowd, Kwan included, had fallen to one knee and made the ultimate gesture of supplication, their hand placed upon their hearts in a pledge of affirmation.

Helena stood her ground, although by now she was a mess of flesh in her husband's hands, who also knelt respectfully. Though not in a military sense, Lord Kilroy was nonetheless his direct superior.

"Then that is all," Henry intoned satisfactorily, his stoic voice of command taking up a lighter tone.

BANG! BAN-BANG!

The sound Sydney's harbour fireworks erupted across the bay. In the next moment, the whole city came alive with music and cacophonic pyrotechnical displays.

"Happy New Year," Henry said to them all, raising a hand to hail the kneeling guests. "May you all live long and prosper."

"Master!" Gwen bowed toward her Master as he took a breather on the second-floor living room. "I am glad for your presence, but why are you here? I imagine a Mage of your station would be far too busy."

"When everyone thinks you're busy, you're surprisingly free." Henry laughed. "Come closer, Gwen, let's take a look at your progress. Surya tells me you have worked hard while on the estate."

Gwen stood in front of Henry and concentrated on activating her Sigils one by one.

Henry's eyes glowed with the scintillating hues of Divination, measuring the wavelengths of mana radiating off Gwen's Astral Body.

"I see significant growth in your Abjuration Sigil," Henry intoned pleasingly. "Your Evocation and Conjuration are moving nicely as well, though there are many more months of training there yet."

"And Tier 4 Lightning? Very impressive, Gwen. I can sense some growth in your Void affinity as well, though as always, I would act conservatively in its utility until you gain access to a source of replenishment."

Her Master inclined his head satisfactorily.

"Very good, Gwen, you have kept yourself busy."

"Thank you, Master," Gwen replied respectfully. "I wish to run a hypothesis by you if that is at all possible."

"Of course, child, go on."

Gwen informed Henry of her encounter with Wanka, about her suspicions regarding Caliban's elemental consumption. She watched Henry rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"If this is true, Gwen, then I would venture to take you on some targeted 'Purges' in the next few months."

"That would be lovely, Master," Gwen answered delicately. "On that note, I am unsure what to focus on in the coming three months, do you have any advice?"

Sufina appeared beside Gwen again, caressing Gwen's hair greedily and coiling her tendrils around her waist. The dryad's leaves were now vibrant and glossy with the scent of spring.

"Conjuration, of course!" Sufina uttered with that sultry voice of hers. She had taken on Gwen's likeness after intoxicating herself within the presence of the serpent's primal vitality. Gwen wordlessly watched her doppelgänger strut about the place, stomping about with two pointed stilts that made up her otherwise curvaceous and well-formed legs. The sight was alien, to say the least, disturbing and discerning all at once.

Henry seemed used to Sufina's antics and simply allowed his Familiar to do as she pleased.

"Yes," her Master answered after a few seconds of deliberation. "For combat against other Mages, there are few schools as powerful as Conjuration."

"Can you elaborate, Master?"

"Sufina, can you demonstrate?"

"Of course, Henry."

Sufina moved with a graceful leap, performing an aerial pirouette before gracefully landing on the seamless marble tiles.

Henry concentrated on channelling mana into his familiar.

"Minor Elemental." Henry incanted, and a half-dozen shrubs sprung into life and began to form into a line. They faced Gwen and saluted with their stiff limbs.

"This is a useful spell, good for distractions and cannon fodder, but beware the next step." Henry fed his mana into the summons.

Immediately, their cute, shrubbery form turned cruel with splinters and spikes, the limbs of the miniature trees grew barbs that gleamed with venom.

"That took a significant fraction of mana," Henry noted. "Not an easy feat if your mana pool is low."

He dismissed the trees with a wave.

"Next, one of my favourites. Morden's Faithful Hound."

Gwen's eyes gleamed as a wooden dog appeared on the floor where the spell had struck. It was huge, easily the size of a fully grown Mastiff. The dog stoically gazed over the surroundings, taking in all that it surveyed.

"It can see in the dark, it can detect invisibility, and it can defend an area to its death."

Henry waved his hand, and the dog launched itself at Gwen, stopping an inch before her face. It was so fast that she had barely time to react.

"That's incredibly useful," Gwen declared, touching the wooden dog with her finger, patting its head. It even smelled nice. "Does it do much damage?"

Henry chuckled.

"It can defeat a tier 3 Magical Beast at your tier, at my tier, it can take on tier 5 to 6 creature. It's a useful utility spell."

"Would I be able to summon, you know… a 'dark' dog?" Gwen asked carefully.

Henry tried to imagine that.

"What a terrifying suggestion." He shuddered at the thought. He had modelled his hound on the old hunting dogs they had in Hungary. What manner of exotic and nightmarish beings would emerge from Gwen's imagination?

Her Master dismissed the dog.

"Then there's this signature spell of the Transmutation school." Henry invoked the magic effortlessly. "Dimension Door!"

Sufina blinked out of existence and appeared a few meters away, waving at Gwen.

"Teleportation!" Gwen gushed with delight. Gods, she wanted access to teleportation as much as she wished to Fly. A Mage with both could only be endangered in combat if they were OOM.

"Yes, but a complicated spell to learn. If you fail to materialise or end up inside a wall, expect to be bruised black and red for a month, inside and out."

Gwen nodded solemnly, promising that she would learn the spell and not abuse its purpose.

"Finally, though not the most tasteful of spells, this is one of the most useful, especially with Sufina's help." Henry pointed at the ceiling. "Eilard's Dark Tentacles!"

Tendrils of barbed plants sprouted from the ceiling and began to search for targets. Not finding any hostiles, they coiled back, forming a hedge of lianas.

"Can you guess what the great boon of this spell is?"

"It can be cast on ceilings?" Gwen asked.

"Of course, there's that." Henry chortled. "I can trap, slow or restrain, as well as disrupt other Mage's incantations. Unlike the dog, which cannot move far from the spot, the Tentacles can be summoned within thirty metres of the caster and has a reach equating your affinity."

Gwen gushed. All the spells seemed so good!

"No new Evocation?" Gwen asked just in case.

"I wouldn't think so," Henry said. "Normal Mages do not train in multiple schools at once. My advice is to focus on Conjuration. The spells I have noted all possess excellent utility for offence, defence, and disruption."

"I shall take on your advice, Master," Gwen replied. "I shall learn Faithful Hound, Dark Tentacles, and Dimension Door."

Gwen also wanted the Minor Elemental spell, but she already had two familiars who consumed her mana and her vitality mercilessly. The hound was a persistent effect, and it could detect invisibility, implying that she would not be at the mercy of an invisible enemy like the last time at Elvia's manor. Dark Tentacles, meanwhile, just sounded as useful as it was nasty.

Then a thought struck her.

"Master…" Gwen asked. "Can I maintain two copies of each spell with my different elements? I have two familiars, after all."

Henry paused, then his eyed widened.

"Don't try it without supervision." Henry swallowed nervously. "I could access all four primary elements, but can only use one copy of the spell per invocation. You are special, though. As you possess two elemental gates, you may very well be able to summon two elemental effects."

The door to the private living room opened. Surya entered, his face alive with celebration.

"What'd I miss?" he inquired jovially.

The old Magus had enjoyed a rare night of things going his way. The wayward daughter had been put in her place. His son, Kwan, actually showed support for his decisions for once. His three grandchildren were all doing exceptionally well. The future looked bright.

"Good God, what's that!"

There was a mass of writhing tentacles on the ceiling of the second-floor living room.

Surya stared at Gwen, who flushed with excitement. He glanced at Sufina, who had taken on a scandalous version of Gwen's form and was flitting about the place.

Surya's artistic mind felt a sudden inspiration for a new art piece.

"Oh, just a demonstration." Henry snapped his fingers and the tentacles faded into the aether. "Gwen has chosen to specialise in Conjuration for now."

"I wish she had found Enchantment." Surya sulked. "I have so much to teach you as well."

Gwen forced herself to smile. She wasn't sure that she could stomach Caliban eating any other Mages while they were alive and kicking. That was a road that, once taken, was a path of no return. Elizabeth was the pariah that had taught them all that lesson.

"How are things down below?"

"Dying down," Surya replied. "You should be down there as well. The young folks are all clamouring for you."

"I will, thanks, Opa." Gwen hugged her Opa, then relocated downstairs. From the lounge, the duo watched her go.

As soon as Gwen was gone, Sufina instantly reached Henry's side, nursing him a cup of her Golden Mead.

"Thanks for coming out. I appreciate it." Surya expressed his gratitude.

"It's nothing. That girl is going to be terrifying in a few years. I only hope she can remain as pure and incorruptible as she is now."

"Ain't it about time you retired, old man? I just announced my retirement, after all. Give Gwen a few years, and she'll be running this place. Just gotta hold the fort until she's ready."

"Are giving up on the Salt child?"

"Yes, unless his mother gives up first. You saw what he's like out there. She's got her teeth well sunk into his neck. I wonder what the hell his father is doing. Bloody useless Abjurer that he is."

"Indeed," Henry replied drily. "How curious that Gwen would emerge from an otherwise mundane union. How fortuitous."

"Speak for yourself," Surya joked.

Henry smiled a wane smile and sipped his mead.

"I should be getting back. Tell Gwen I'll see her at the grot for Conjuration training every Saturday and Sunday in addition to her group work. I'll send over the Abjurer once their school starts next week."

"Thanks again," Surya noted. "Take care, mate."

Henry waved. There was a silver flash of Conjuration as the beacon at the Tower locked on, and he was gone.

"Hey! She's back!" Someone called out excitedly.

"Gwen!"

"Miss Song!"

A dozen voices called out as Gwen descended the circular stairs that led down to the living room. She appeared even more striking now that her abilities were out in the open. Many who had thought Gwen merely an uncommonly talented sorceress now openly vied for her favour.

"Cousin." Richard sidled up to Gwen, drink in hand, passing her a flute of sparkling juice.

"Thanks, Richard, but you didn't have to give up your inheritance," Gwen said seriously.

"Nonsense! Do you think I could concentrate on being a legendary Conjurer if I had to deal with house politics and business deals? You ever wonder why Kwan was such a terrible Transmuter?"

"Well, if you put it like that," Gwen chided Richard mirthfully. "Are you hoping that I'd waste all my time dealing with the politics so you could remain top-dog?"

"The business of a Magister runs itself," Richard answered effortlessly. "People would fall over themselves to do business with a Tower Master."

"How could I possess a Tower?" Gwen asked. A base of her own was something that was still too distant to even imagine. "I am not even a Magus— I don't even have a single School in the middle-tier!"

"Bah, a matter of time." Richard raised his glass, and many of those listening to their conversation did the same. "To Gwen and her Tower. May I occupy the level below the Master Suite!"

Glasses clinked, waves of laughter passed through the guests.

"How many schools of Magic do you know anyhow?" Richard tested the waters, activating a subtle earring and its glyph.

"Why, who wants to know?" Gwen's eyes narrowed, Richard was using a private Message spell. "Just the two and a half."

"Not two and Transmutation, and Abjuration?" Richard lowered his voice, compressing it somehow so that it took on a conspiratorial air.

"Of course not, don't be absurd!" Gwen replied quietly, but she couldn't use private Messages spells yet nor possessed a Magical item to do so like Richard, so she had to lean in closer to his ears.

The intimate act drew envious looks from those who had been hoping for a closer interaction with the duo.

"Fine, at least tell me if your Opa is the giving you all the crystals to feed your familiars, I don't see you generating currency at all."

Gwen blushed. She had been using her Opa as a kind of a limitless credit card. Richard was right though, Gwen needed to disembark the Opa Sugar Train ASAP if she ever wanted to strike out on her own.

"It's a secret!" She playfully punched Richard in the ribs.

Richard's face blossomed into happiness. Gwen felt her skin crawl. Maybe he liked getting beat up? Did Richard have that kind of inclination? After all, nobody could be completely perfect, and Richard was no exception.

What Gwen didn't know, was that in her moment of celebration, she hadn't noted the little word game in Richard's line of logic. She had just experienced a moment of triumph which offered relief from her demonic mother. Her Master had shown her a fabulous future, and Opa had virtually proclaimed her as his heir. She was drunk on victory. It was in moments like these that men and women were often at their weakest.

Beside her, Richard was beyond thrilled. He had finally confirmed that Gwen had more than one familiar. It could only mean one of two things. Either Gwen had surpassed the constraints of existing magical theory and had developed an original spell to gain two Lightning familiars - or she simply had two distinct elements.

His eyes measured the ebullient girl beside him, scanning her remarkable physiology for clues. The blue glow that Gwen now maintained in her eyes was the effect of the Quasi-elemental Lightning, but other than that, she merely appeared paler than he recalled. Was it Air? Or Ice? He was dying to find out, but Gwen was accosted by a dozen people who surrounded her like supplicants around an altar of knowledge.

Richard felt a yawn coming on. Typically, the guests would be long gone, but thanks to the events of the night, they had chosen to stay on, far extending the hospitality of his father.

Would Gwen stay overnight then?

He wanted to know more about her as well, about her power, her past, her life growing up. These facts had all been denied by Gwen's spiteful mother, who had kept her removed from the family.

Curiously, he regarded his cousin, who flitted about the men and women effortlessly. She seemed so in her element, picking up conversations from here and there. Where did she acquire that kind of skill? Richard wondered. As far as he knew, Gwen had been gloomy and quiet, at least according to Helena.

"Thank you all for coming, friends! Happy New Year!" Richard's father was likewise growing irritated with the guests who insisted on staying. His household staff were all stifling yawns and straining to keep awake. Surya had informed him that Lord Henry had gone, so there was no more reason to be polite within his own home.

"Next time, friend!" he called out to them and began to make the rounds, shaking their hands and ushering them toward the door.

For the first time in her life, as a team of four - Kwan, Tali, Richard and herself, Gwen and her family shook hands and well-wished the guests at the door.

"Visit me at Lil's!" Petunia Wallace hugged Gwen before making her way out. "Transfer if you can!"

Once the guest was gone, the living room grew cold.

Gwen shivered, her dress didn't offer much protection, and the harbour air was frigid when blowing in from the Tasman Sea. Richard pulled a coat from his Storage Ring and placed it over her shoulders, catching her looking at him strangely.

"They teach you that in Prince's?" Gwen returned winsomely.

"Are you staying over? Surya is using one of the guest rooms. I'll get the servants to set up another for you."

"Please." Now that the public was gone, the tension drained from Gwen's body. "My feet... beautiful is pain."

Richard nodded and led his cousin into the house, where the housekeeper was already working way overtime.

"Thanks, Nam." He nodded approvingly to the middle-aged NoM woman. "After you're done, go get some shut-eye. I'll let Dad know that everyone can get a day off tomorrow, fully paid."

"Glad to be of service, sir." The housekeeper bowed and left the room.

Bypassing Richard, Gwen rushed into the bathroom and wiped away her mascara-laden lashes, her foundation and her bronzers.

"I'll be back." Richard left Gwen to her labour.

He returned half an hour later, changing out of his suit into comfortable shorts and a tight white-tee with a jug a mug on a tray.

"Gwen, are you decent?" He knocked.

"Come in!"

Richard came in, Gwen was likewise in shorts and a white singlet. They even had the same pastel shorts. Richard laughed and placed the cup and jug down beside Gwen on the nightstand.

"What's your plan from here on out?" Richard inquired.

"Training, lots of training," Gwen replied happily. She couldn't wait to tap into those Conjuration spells at the higher tier. "Then group training with my team for the Inter-High, we're supposed to be getting a new member as well."

"What of all your secrets? Could this new member handle the likes of yourself and Yue?" Richard asked casually, leaning back against his chair.

"What secrets?" Gwen asked innocently, now that she was au naturel, her skin glowed.

"Oh you know, the fact that you have multiple schools," Richard pointed out.

"People know that already though."

"What about your second element? When are you revealing that?"

Gwen stared at her cousin.

Richard leaned in so that they were face to face.

"I want you to trust me, Gwen," he intoned carefully. "I am your ally, I proposed to give up the inheritance for you, and I've done just that. I merely ask that you don't keep me out of your life."

Gwen blushed. This Richard, what a thing to say.

"Is that a proposition?" She inquired coyly, lowering her voice, hoping to tease him a little.

"Are you offering?" He countered, his face not moving a muscle, his demeanour cool as a cucumber.

"Fine." Gwen relented. Somehow, she simply felt that this cousin, who did not exist in her world, was truthworthy. It was a gut feeling, but one toward which she held a strong opinion. "But no telling your mates at Prince's, Lord knows I have to square off against your school's elite team."

"I can tell you their stats if you like," Richard offered. "If you can keep a secret yourself."

Gwen considered the offer, all's fair in love and war, right?

"I do have a second element. It's— Void."

Richard drew in a shuddering breath.

"Can… can I see?"

He instantly caught his transgression.

"No, no, never mind. The cost of using a Negative element. Sorry, no need to show me. I believe you."

Gwen hadn't wanted to show Richard either, but she felt smitten. Richard had always seemed a curious creature to her. Sometimes, he felt akin to an esoteric monk. Richard often remarked on her beauty, but more in the manner of a man appreciating the gentle curves of a Bonzai. He was a gifted Mage - but didn't seem to crave magical power for the sake of power itself. Likewise, the way he blustered through one faux pas after another, was more so an act to push everything and everyone away— including his parents.

"It's okay, I want to show you," Gwen returned earnestly. "It's just an unempowered summon. I'll be right as rain after a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast."

She gathered her wits and invoked the Conjuration Sigil.

"Caliban," she called out.

The netherworld worm slithered through time and space and made itself known in the guest bedroom.

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban sidled up to Gwen and nuzzled her lovingly.

Richard gripped the handrails of the tub chair with such ferocity that his nails dug through the leather. Gwen's cousin sat and regulated his breathing for a few seconds until his heart rate fell within acceptable parameters for polite conversation.

"That is a Void Beast." His voice shook. "They shouldn't exist. The academy has never found a specimen, living or dead."

"You know about them?" Gwen was surprised.

"I know of them," Richard replied. "Can I… touch it?"

Gwen willed Caliban to face her cousin. The translucent body of the obsidian servant wiggled its way towards Richard.

"Shaa! Shaa!" It showed off its best side, opening up a crack in is carapace to make the gurgling hissing noise which issued from its lamprey's mouth.

To Gwen's surprise, Richard placed a hand upon Caliban without a second thought.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice suddenly cracking with emotion. "I feel... amazed."

Richard picked up Caliban in the manner of a sausage dog. Gwen could hardly comprehend what she was seeing. No one had ever picked up Caliban. SHE hadn't picked up Caliban herself.

Caliban seemed to enjoy Richard's touch. It writhed in her cousin's hands, coiling around his arm.

"Shaa! Shaa!" It joyous cooed.

Caliban, being coy?! Gwen felt that everything she had known about her Familiar had turned upside down. Caliban was trying to rub up against Richard like a cat! It was covering his hands with that viscus goo which leaked from its mouth. Oh, Gods! Gwen realised with a shudder. It's licking his hand! A Lovecraftian kitten? Was that even possible?

"Let me show you something as well, as a sign of our trust," Richard said, putting down Caliban to slither back towards Gwen. "Lea, come out and meet my cousin."

At his command, a sudden outpouring of Elemental Water that filled the room, upping the humidity ten-fold.

A female figure rose from behind Richard. Gwen saw a transparent face that was beautifully sculpted, with deeply set eyes and a high ridge-line nose. The hair, assuming she had hair, was a cascade of tiny waterfalls that fell from her scalp in eddies and swirls. Her upper body was lithe and likewise crystal clear, with well-formed breasts underneath a silk dress of aquamarine. With unblinking eyes without eyelids, the "girl" gazed at Gwen through two ultramarine opals.

"You… you have a Spirit?" Gwen's eyes concurrently glowed with excitement. She had only ever seen Henry's familiar, Sufina. Richard was the only other example of a humanoid Spirit she had seen to date.

"Picked up her on my Field Trip. Lea is an Undine. A high-tier Spirit."

It was now Gwen's turn to suck in her breath. An Undine! A water Spirit, a river ghost, a legendary creature that seduced and drowned unwary travellers. They were said to be intelligent to the point of being human. Like Sufina, Lea could take independent action, think for itself, and perform complex tasks.

"How can there be an Undine in Australia?!" Gwen asked naively.

"Prince's takes yearly Field Trips around the world," Richard explained patiently. "I found Lea in Scotland during our highland survivalist training."

The Undine then seemed to notice something about Gwen. It drifted across the bed. She touched's Gwen's cheeks. Her hands were cold but felt refreshing upon her skin.

"I like her, Richard!" Lea suddenly spoke, her annunciation achieved by the vibration of liquid particles. "She's got a wonderful aura!"

IT TALKS? Gwen swallowed. Not even Alesia's Caracal could talk.

Lea left Richard entirely and splashed into Gwen, drenching her upper body as it swirled and flowed excitedly, pasting Gwen's hair to her face in paintbrush streaks.

"What is this scent?" Lea kept asking. "It's so nice. I feel like I am somewhere else, somewhere older."

Richard had no idea what was happening either. He looked at Gwen expectantly. Gwen however, had noted more pressing matters. She wasn't wearing a bra, and now she was offering Richard a free show.

"Lea!" Richard commanded awkwardly. "Don't be so rude to our guest, pick up after yourself."

The water on her clothes and the mattress collated at once into a ball.

Lea winked, then returned to her pocket dimension. Unfortunately, clammy clothes didn't help either. Gwen made it known that she desired to change into a fresh set of sleeping clothes.

"Sorry." Richard's face was as stoic as ever. "And that's all. Good night!"

"Good night." Gwen tugged on Richard's sleeves. "And Richard?"

"Yes, Gwen?"

"Thanks for looking out for me."

The grin Richard returned was full of teeth. "No, Miss Song. I hope you'll be the one looking after me."

The combined effort of conjuring Caliban and the thrilling triumph of last night ensured that Gwen slept like the dead until midday, awakening only when her hunger caused her stomach to contract.

There was a brief moment of disorientation when she opened her eyes and found herself yet again in an unfamiliar bedroom. The return of pleasant, yesteryear memories, thankfully, returned her to the embrace of expensive linen.

Another snooze later, Gwen dressed.

The servants had retired for the day, so she helped herself to the fridge and made herself a cold sandwich of leftover roasts. Being famished, Gwen polished off the rest of the ham, washing meat down with glasses of cranberry juice.

When she finished, she found a note left for her by the kitchen counter.

"Gwen, I am heading back to Prince's. Good luck with the training. Kwan and Tali are going over to Surya's. Gramps told me to let you sleep. We'll catch up for luncheons."

- Richard

Ding!

Just as Gwen considered whether she should call Richard or Surya, a Message spell bloomed beside her ear.

It was Alesia.

Gwen took the Message on her device.

"Hey, Tiger! I just spoke to Master. Well done, sister! I can't believe I was away when all these terrible things happened! Are you free to catch up today?"

"Allie!" Gwen gushed. "Yes! I am free!"

"Awesome, I am dying to meet up. Also, I have your new team member with me, do you mind if I bring him?"

"A guy?" Gwen paused for a moment. She hadn't heard that their new member was going to be a guy. Wouldn't another girl give a better vibe? After all, a well-spiced team naturally included Posh, Ginger, Sporty, Baby, and Misc No.5.

"What's he like?"

"Ha, curious? He's incredibly handsome, dashing and dreamy. A real melt-your-heart kind of heartthrob."

Gwen laughed, Alesia was much too young at heart.

"He sounds like a magazine model," Gwen retorted. "Do you think he's the right fit for our group?"

"You'll have to come and see," Alesia replied mysteriously. "He's trustworthy. Completely clean. The Auckland Tower's Master owes Henry a big one and so loaned us his protege. You girls will have to play nice while he's on exchange for the next six months."

"Oh?" Gwen was very much interested now. An exchange student from another city, another country! "I'll be along shortly, where do you want to have our luncheon?"

"What do you feel like?"

"Sushi?" Gwen said the first thing that came to her mind. She had already eaten the better quarter of a leftover ham but was confident seafood should be no obstacle to her starved body. After all, meat digested in one stomach, seafood in another, dessert sat in the appendix, which serves as a reserve stomach for teenage girls. Everybody knew this.

"Great, see you at Pyrmont, we'll meet at Sokio's. I'll get us a table."

Alesia hung up, and Gwen was impressed. Even she had heard of the most expensive sashimi bar in Sydney. Gwen had vague memories of eating there once, courtesy of her mother, but only recalled eating the cheap stuff, such as the Tamago rolls. From memory, she recalled that Sokio's was booked out weeks in advance, how is Alesia hoping for a three on the first day of the New Year?

Gwen looked herself over in the mirror of the kitchen splashback. She was in no mind to change her outfit, but Alesia never showed up anywhere without dressing up.

The clock showed eleven.

Gwen changed into an unbranded long sleeves dress she had found in the country town. The fabric was coarse, but the cut was trim and minimalist, it was only forty buckaroos, but Gwen was confident she wore it like couture.

From Kirribilli, she crossed the bay via the ferry, mindful of the public.

This time, thanks to the NoMs keeping their distance, the journey was completed without incident.

It was the aura she now carried; something Henry said Senior Mages acquired after years of devotion to their craft. As the caster's Astral Soul attuned to their element, they assumed the quirks and qualities of said element, becoming akin to Demi-humans. When in public and especially among NoMs, non-magical humans innately understood that here was a being capable of crushing them like vermin.

Which suited Gwen fine; if someone groped her tooshie again, the ferry might just sink.

Some distance away, Gwen was glad to find that Pyrmont Wharf had remained unchanged from her old world. It was still a series of gentrified warehouses converted into fancy restaurants with impressively high ceilings. As it was the first day of the new year and a Friday, Alesia's preferred fine-dining establishment had patrons spilling on to the sidewalk.

Gingerly, Gwen approached the maitre d', watching the woman's eyes scanning her from cotton dress to leather sandal.

"Hello, I have a booking under Be Botton?"

The madam browsed her notebook.

"I have no appointments under a Miss de Botton." The maitre d's ruby red lips had a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Also, I am afraid we're booked out for lunch entirely."

Gwen blinked.

No booking?

Retreating, Gwen found a comfortable position under a shade-cloth and waited. The cork heels of her sandals bite into her ankles uncomfortably. Cheap was cheap, Gwen sighed. Magical shoes weren't something she could currently afford.

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long for Alesia.

In retina-searing red, Gwen saw a figure cutting through the crowd.

Alesia de Botton was radiant as always; her striking appearance made more so alluring by her dark makeup. Presently, she wore a flowing red maxi that wrapped around her peerless figure. As she walked, her dark auburn hair bounced and bobbed, her tanned legs peeping in between sheets of scarlet chiffon.

Beside Alesia, stomped an iron giant.

Gwen did not use the word giant lightly, for the young man beside her could only be described as Brobdingnagian. The Mage was a Maori; his cultural roots made evident by the ta moko across his nose and cheeks. A block of green jade hung from his muscular neck, dangling from a length of twine. Around his torso, a tight black t-shirt barely constrained the man's well-defined chest and shoulders.

Ye Gods! Gwen heard herself say. That boy has brawn for days. As the duo approached, the crowd parted as though the Red Sea before the Magi Moses.

"Gwennie!" Alesia ran the last few steps toward her, enveloping Gwen with the full momentum of her body. Gwen likewise wrapped her arms around Alesia, sinking into the soft folds of her beautiful dress. "Gods, it feels like a lifetime since I last saw you."

"It does, doesn't it."

Alesia hugged Gwen with the fierceness of a mother hen folding her wings over a long lost chick.

Finally,  Alesia stepped back and introduced the seven-foot giant.

"This is Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga, your new Abjurer. Whetu, say hello to Gwen Song, the youngest future Magister this side of the Coral Sea."

"Kia ora, Gwen Song!" Whetu greeted her. To Gwen's surprise, the young man had a voice that was gentle and pleasant.

"It's lovely to meet you, Whē-tú am I saying that right?"

"Ay, you've got it down pat." Whetu's dark eyes scanned his teammate. "Youse fully beeutiful Gwen, I amejened some when very pretty, but yew blue all egg-specations."

"Aww, that's sweet, thank you, Whetu," Gwen answered. The young man was well mannered; his eyes had not wandered at all.

They shook, his hands swallowing her white fingers.

"You... understood what he's saying?" Alesia had a shocked expression.

"Whetu, are you using the stone? I can't understand a word you're saying."

"Gimme a phew sex, Miss." Whetu fiddled with a jade earring. "How's this?"

"Much better!" Alesia patted him on the shoulder. "Let's not have that pug sandwich incident again, shall we?"

Gwen laughed, did people here not understand the Kiwi accent? Was it because the cities were so geographically and socially isolated?

"On the trip over, Whtu asked for 'sex fush cockies', then 'sucks pack of hot weens'. We almost got chased out by the old lady at the ferry's canteen."

"No!" Gwen was beside herself. "It's not that bad! He asked for six fish cocktails, then a pack of hot chicken wings."

"You understood all of that?" Alesia's blue eyes were the size of almonds. "You're not wearing a Translator Ioun Stone, are you?"

"You can't?" Gwen asked in surprise. "The Kiwi's are a part of the Mageocracy; they speak English!"

"That's derogatory, Miss Gwen," Whetu declared, "The ki-wee is a sacrid and benevolent spirit of the land, and many of our tribes see them as owners of the land. I am from one of these clans, and we always speak of them with respect."

"Sorry, Whetu," Gwen apologised sweetly. "Assuming Allie can get us in there, it'll be my shout. Have you had sashimi before?"

"Not much for raw fush me-self, Miss, but I'll take you up on your company."

Across the walkway, Alesia flowed towards the maitre d' who'd been keeping an eye on the conspicuously eye-catching trio.

"Seat for three," Alesia demanded in a tone that indicated the sky was blue. "Window area."

The maitre d' visibly began to sweat. Alesia was a powerful Mage, perhaps one of the top Combat Mages in Sydney. Even if she didn't declare herself, the aura she exuded was palpable.

Thankfully, a passing floor manager knew his VIP list well enough to recognise the auburn air and flaming dress, if not Alesia's face.

"Magus de Botton!" He leapt down the stairs in twos and threes, sprinting across the lobby toward the podium. "Thank you for humbling our establishment."

The maitre d' gazed at her manager with careful inquisitiveness.

"Sophie's new. We're so sorry," The manager mirthfully scolded the junior manager. "Sophie— apologise to Miss de Botton and take them to the third floor, harbour view suite."

Sophie bowed smartly, lowering herself. "Please accept my apologies, Miss  De Botton. Please, come this way."

Alesia motioned for the other two to join her. The crowd waiting in the long line said nothing.

Gwen felt ambivalent. The whole differential treatment of those who were privileged remained a bit of a stickler in her throat. Presumably, she could also receive the same regard once she was famous enough, but the mere thought of doing what Alesia had done make her scalp crawl.

The three of them were seated in a spacious private room.

Outside was a view of the harbour, with seagulls battling the dizzying heat of Sydney's summer. It was getting hotter year by year; the News had said, resulting in increased Mermen activity along the coast.

"Anata no tanoshimi no tame ni—," said the Japanese chef with a heavy accent.

The chef retrieved a struggling red snapper from its salt-water tank, pinning it to the chopping board. Gulping air, its mouth silently screamed. The fish was rare, or so the chef assured them as he filleted its still-living flesh. Once plated, its crystalline flesh laid like white jade over a bed of enchanted ice.

"This is an aboom-a-nation." Whetu uttered unhappily. "Wot are they doing to this poor fush? Why is it still moving?"

"It's to keep the flesh fresh and its mana intact." Alesia stabbed a chopstick into a slice and dipped it gingerly into the ponzu sauce. "Oh my, it's as good as I recall. Beautiful."

Gwen likewise skewered a chunk. Knowing that the fish didn't register pain the same way as humans soothed her conscience.

Watching the girls eat, Whetu finally tried a piece.

"Tastes like see." He sighed. "Poor fush."

When finally the fish ceased its death throes, Whetu's nostrils flared. Sensing the big man's unease, Gwen ventured to ask him some questions.

"So Whetu, can you tell me a bit about yourself?"

"Shure thin Miss." He made himself comfortable as possible on the tiny stool.

"Please, Whetu, just Gwen is fine."

"Alright, Gwen, what do you want to know?"

"Where are you from?"

"Auckland, east coast of the north island. My people originated from the hot springs to the south, near Turangi. Mermen raided Rotorua. Dad moved us out of the hills and into the city, where I attended high school."

"I am sorry to hear that. Are your family safe?" Gwen asked compassionately, giving him a pat on the knee.

"Most of us lived, that's good enough." Whetu shrugged stoically, shaking one leg reflexively. "We were two thousand odd when we left Rotorua, about three-quarters made it."

"How old are you, Whetu?"

"Sex-teen on sivven-teen, same as you."

"You are very tall!" Gwen marvelled. "Are all your people so stout?"

"Me brother's taller." Whetu smiled, his tattoos moving and shifting accordingly.

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Had four, three now," he replied.

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that." Gwen was taken aback by his frankness. If Sydney, with millions of souls, was considered by the tier one cities to be a frontier, she couldn't imagine how Wellington or Auckland was surviving the Demi-human incursions.

The chef reappeared with a glass tank full of writhing squid. Gwen watched with fascinated horror as he splayed a multicoloured cephalopod across the chopping board. With one deft swish, the chef degloved the creature, extracting its single bone plate. As a finishing touch, the still-living squid was placed atop a small bowl of delicate-looking rice, painting it rainbow as it danced and oozed.

"Beautiful, look at that," Alesia cooed. "I love this dish, Rainbow Dancing Squid."

Gwen and Whetu silently watched two more bowls of rainbow squid receive their carcasses. Once the performance was done, he pointed to a small teaspoon of wasabi-laced soy sauce and made the motion of pouring it over the squid.

"Tanoshinde kudasai!"

"Here we go!" Alesia uttered with anticipation and delight. She took the teaspoon carefully and poured it over the squid. Where the rainbow had previously faded, it now burst into multicoloured hues, misting the air with an incandescent spray of colour before beginning to "dance".

"These are four HDM crystal per serve, you know," Alesia looked like she was having the time of her life. She waited until her squid had spent its last motes of vitality before mixing it in with the rice and tasting it with a look of heavenly pleasure.

Gwen looked over at Whetu, whose face was both ashen and disturbed.

"I guess we better dig in, Whetu, that's someone's weekly wage, it'd be more disrespectful to let it suffer all that for no reason."

Whetu nodded and sloshed the squid into his mouth, swallowing it without chewing.

Gwen mixed the squid into the bowl before adding the enchanting sauce, feeling no love for the macabre display.

The taste was so-so, but the vitality she felt contained within was unlike anything she had never experienced. The squid bowl was akin to a mouthful of Sufina's mead. Food like this was why wealthy Mages had better health and bigger mana pools.

With mixed feelings, Gwen and Whetu sat through the rest of the meal, watching the same chef butcher a Spiny Octopus, a jewel-like Abalone, then a live scampi the size of her arm.

Whetu protested each dish by shoving each serving the food into his mouth, swallowing without tasting.

Alesia appeared a regular, savouring each dish.

Gwen ate in silence, guiltily absorbing the vitality. She ended up eating Whetu's portion when a live Eel was grilled on hot coals, citing that torturing a Sacred River God was profane. Alesia loved the eel. As for Gwen, she was too afraid to confess that she had picked sushi.

"So, what are your abilities like, Whetu?" Gwen changed the topic.

"I am a tear 3 Abjurer." Whetu pointed a hand at the greenstone necklace that hung heavily from his neck. "I specialise in dis."

Gwen leaned in closer.

The block of greenstone glowed. When Whetu activated his innate talent, the stone changed into a stylised fishhook.

"Whoa!" Gwen did a double-take. "Is that mineral or stone?"

"It's the Pounamu their people worship, a kind of jade," Alesia butted into the conversation. "Its got above average physical and elemental resistance. With Whetu here, your team is sure to rise in the ranks."

"I'll be sure to thank the man later." Gwen grinned confidently. If Alesia was impressed with Whetu's element, then it meant he was something special.

The Japanese chef once again returned.

He thanked the diners one by one for their patronage and presented them with a gift from the restaurant for the new year, a slice of imported Shizuoka muskmelon, its redolent flesh dripping with flavour and mana.

The three of them savoured the moment, crushing the crisp melon in their mouths, feeling its energy infusing their bodies.

"Dis amazing. I feel like a verjun again," Whetu said.

"I am pretty sure you're still a virgin, Tiger, at least from what your Master told me." Alesia snickered. "Plenty of opportunities, though, your new team are all girls - beautiful, pretty, unattached girls."

"Sweet ass." Whetu swallowed his melon and gave them a thumbs up. The tattoo about his mouth somewhat resembled an impressive beard in the atmospheric lighting of the restaurant, making him look far older than his tender years.

"Gwen, you wanna take him back to the dorm?"

"Sure, are we're resuming training from the school?"

"Of course, Tiger, you can't represent Blackwattle without training at its facilities. Once you pass the prelims, the school will also serve as your home base. You guys are going to have to have home ground matches there, and away matches at the other schools."

"What about the stadium match?" Gwen asked. The notes her Master gave spoke of an arena.

"That's for the regional Top 8. Are we feeling ambitious now that Whetu is here?"

"Ah, right." Gwen made a note to do more homework as soon as possible. In a world without Google, how did anyone know anything about anything?!

The day had begun to wane when Gwen and Whetu finally made it back to the dorm. To Gwen's surprise, the young man didn't yet receive his Storage Ring, so Gwen had Alesia transfer over Whetu's luggage into her's.

"Whoa, big spender. A medium Ring!" Alesia whistled. "Nice work, Tiger!"

"It was a gift from Opa and the big man," Gwen answered euphemistically.

"Lucky you, I had to maim a Magus for mine," Alesia said nostalgically. "I suppose that's why they banned honour duels to the death these days. The war was a great time for picking up bric-a-brac trinkets from rivals."

Sweating, Gwen and Whetu ignored Alesia's explosive revelation.

"Gwen, do you think we can stop over some shops? I need to purchase some supplies," Whetu requested.

"Of course, Whetu, we'll get right on it."

They arrived at the dorm a few hours later, Whetu having purchased all the necessary supplies for living in a new home.

"It keeps the colour fresh and the lines clean," Whetu introduced Gwen to the finer points of tattoo maintenance. "The creme also keeps my skin smooth like a babe's."

Gwen gave her approval, then helped Whetu settle into his room before returning to her own. The shared loft was as the trio had left it. From the looks of the undisturbed furniture, neither Yue nor Elvia had returned.

Gwen called Debora.

Debs answered within a second.

"Hey Debs, I am back at the dorm, how about yourself? Are you back?"

"Yep, can't wait to get started on the sweaty training, where are you now?"

"I'll meet you down at the canteen, got our new Abjurer with us."

"Oh nice, what's she like?"

"It's a guy, and he's super cute."

Debora grew silent.

Gwen hung up and placed her luggage and clothing back in the wardrobe. She then bushed her hair to straighten out the salty tangles from the harbour. When she met up with Whetu again, they were both starved for supper.

"Very nice building," Whetu remarked.

"This is luxurious?" Gwen asked, puzzled.

"It's sweet-ass." Whetu placed a hand on the aluminium handrail of the elevator. "In my old dorm, the lift is for cargo, the doors, they close like dis."

He made a motion with his hands like two parts of a jaw enclosing.

"Youse can get stuck in there. Ooo it can cut your head off."

The young Maori was so expressive that Gwen couldn't help but giggle. Whetu was a funny guy, and his easy manners helped her relax.

Arriving just as dinner was being served, Whetu rubbed both hands together expansively.

"I love it already, Gwen. Free food?!"

Gwen nodded, saying a prayer for the cook.

She watched the big man polish off a whole BBQ chicken by himself with a side serving of a dozen dinner rolls and a small mountain of mash. The rest of the canteen marvelled at Whetu as well, wondering who this giant was and why he was eating enough for three grown men.

Mid-meal, the lift opened and revealed Debora in a tight singlet and bell-bottom shorts that rode high onto her buttocks.

"Gwen!" She ran across the foyer and into the dining, wrapping her arms around Gwen's neck, kissing her on the cheek.

"Hey Debs, meet Whetu. Whetu, this is Debora Jones, our transmuter."

Debora had no intention of removing herself from Gwen's neck, so she arched her back and shifted her weight instead, extending a hand towards the gigantic Maori.

Whetu looked up from his half-chewed chicken, embarrassed, his mitts glistening with grease.

"Finish up, no rush." Debora retracted her hand, moving it over Gwen's waist. "What's wrong, Gwen? You're so tense!"

Gwen endured. "So what did you do for New Years?"

"More church, plus stuff with the family, I heard you went back home?"

Unlike Yue and Elvia, Debora was never privy to some of Gwen's more personal affairs, especially those involving her family. Debora had only a vague idea that Gwen had a bad relationship with her parents, something involving a messy divorce.

"Nothing, in particular. Sorted out some drama with the fam. I am free from mum for a while."

"Awesome." Debora's hands were wandering a little too north from her wait. Politely, Gwen arrested her friend's wandering hands.

Debora hugged Gwen from behind, then suddenly withdrew herself.

"You're still using that scale?" Debora accused Gwen cattily.

"Yeah, why?"

"It's dangerous. You don't know what's gone into it. You should get rid of it."

"Sorry, no can do, Debs. My grandfather crafted it for me."

Debora removed herself with a huff, then sat crossing her legs. Gwen couldn't help but notice that Debs was sporting the traditional Aussie flip-flop, her toenails painted a dark cherry.

"Do you like the colour?" Debora asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, they suit your skin tone well," Gwen remarked.

"I wish I had your paleness." Debora placed a hand on Gwen's knee. "If I get anymore tanned, I am going to look like a rock."

"I heard that folks use Polymorph for cosmetic effects, though only temporary," Gwen assured her. "You're only two tiers away."

"But it won't be natural" Her fingers moved up from Gwen's knee.

Gwen spanking Debora's increasingly adventurous hand with a flick from her fingers.

"Whetu, are you done?"

"YES!" Whetu eyes flittered between Gwen and Debora. "You chucks dating?"

"No," Gwen refuted, much to Debora's chagrin. "We're friends though, and I trust Debora."

Debora's mood lightened up.

"Dobra Jones." She extended her hand toward Whetu.

"Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga."

Her friend shook Whetu's bear-sized mitts without a single kink in her brow. Confused, she wondered if the Indigenous folk specifically triggered Debora. But then again, that hypothesis didn't hold water either - Debs was chill with Tommy; it must be something to do with the Spirit Magic.

The three of them made small talk, mostly regarding the monsters of New Zealand.

"No way," Debora uttered in surprise. "You guys have Halflings?"

"Ay." Whetu shrugged. "Had em for years, they came over with the Brits during the colonial error."

"Hobbits?" Gwen inquired with great interest.

"What are Hobbits?" Whetu questioned.

The big man informed the girls that halflings were a humanoid sapient species common on the Island of the Long Cloud. In a place as rich in mana as New Zealand sapient demi-human species such as Halflings, Dwarves, and even the occasional Elf could be seen in the human cities. The caveat was that demi-citizens had to be especially warded against the barrier's repulsion effects through Abjuration offsets.

"They're good farmers. Great with growing food, bad at fighting. We buy their vegetables on the regular. They cost quite a pretty crystal."

"What do they do with human currency?" Gwen asked, surprised by the cosmopolitan nature of it all; Sydney was strictly human.

"Some of them send it home to Europe, for their families there who don't do so well," Whetu replied. "Others barter for materials."

"Wow, Wellington and Auckland sound like a treat." Gwen marvelled.

"Gwen!"

Yue and Elvia popped into the cafeteria, having returned from New Years at the Lindholm's. Gwen could just about imagine Yue's mother spending the entire night on wobbly legs, speaking to high and mightly Mages that came and went.

"Everyone!"

Whetu watched the girls hug, studying the foursome that was to be his teammates.

"Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga," he introduced himself. "Aim your Abjurer."

"Elvia Lindholm"

"Yue Bai."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

"Alrighty!" Gwen had the girls all sit so that they were five around a circular table. "The crew's all here. Let's get some dessert and introduce ourselves to Whetu."

The kitchen staff brought out five serves of custard pudding.

"I'll start den." Whetu straightened himself. "Aim an Abjurer, and my element is Pounamu."

"What's pounamu?" Yue asked, imagining a jackfruit or a durian.

"Dis is ponamu," Whetu replied, placing a slab of greenstone on the table. The girls felt a pulse of Abjuration mana emanate from the Kiwi. The chunk of stone came alive, forming into a dome.

"It's beautiful." Yue reached out and touched the conjured dome of jade-like substance. "Is it strong?"

"Very strong," Whetu promised. "Resist water, fire and cold. Good against physical attics too. The only drawback is that Pounamu is extremely dense."

The girls nodded approvingly, looking at Whetu's biceps. Whetu's muscles were very larger than life; his biceps have a personality all of their own.

As the mana faded, the dome crumbled into motes of diffusing mana.

"Okay, me next," Yue announced. "I am half-arsed tier four Evoker, tier five fire. My best spell is Fire Ball, and my best record is six consecutive casts before I am OOM."

"Coor! Impressive." Whetu resoundingly applauded. "I bet you kick ess in a head-on fight!"

"Ha, thanks, Whetu, I'll be counting on you." Yue turned to her diminutive partner. "Elvia, you're up!"

"Hi," Elvia announced demurely, her face reddening. "I am a tier 3 healer, hybrid Conjuration-Evocation. I can do Cure Minor Wounds and Healing Word, Remove Diseases and Minor Restoration, as well as some simple vitality buffs."

"A healer!" Whetu reached out and grasped her hand. "You're my number one priority."

Elvia blushed ever more adorably, and Gwen felt her heart sing songs of worship. She reached out and enveloped Elvia, pulling the struggling girl against her chest. That Positive Energy! Evee's soft blonde hair, her boneless body! Snuggling with Elvia was heaven incarnate.

Debora looked on saltily. "As you already know, Whetu, I am Debora Jones. I am a tier 3 Transmuter, Tier FIVE Earth element. I have a spirit of sand which allows me to control grains of elemental earth and mould them as I see fit."

"Very impressive!" Whetu was genuinely impressed.

"Then there's me." Gwen awkwardly coughed. "Can we bring our heads a little closer?"

The team made a huddle.

"So er… I am tier 4 Lightning, and tier 3 the 'V-word'. Tier 3 Evocation and Tier 3 Conjuration." Gwen whispered lowly.

soundedNo matter how many times Yue had heard Gwen's talents, it still sounded like a bald-faced lie. The numbers were just too absurd, not to mention she also knew that Gwen had other untapped potentials.

"I am working on reaching tier 4 Conjuration for this competition," Gwen added.

Whetu visibly shivered. He had read the data which Henry had sent over to his Master in Auckland.

"I'll show you everything when we have some privacy," Gwen suggested, then caught her faux pas.

"WHOA-HO!" Yue clapped. "Nice!"

Gwen blinked, then caught her faux pas.

"Spells, Yue. I'll show Whetu my SPELLS."

Elvia blushed in Gwen's arms.

"For now, let's get some rest because tomorrow is the beginning of a long three months!"

The oddly shaped group retreated from the communal dining. There was some time before their Inter-High training begun.

Debora leaned in for a kiss, received one on the cheek, then called it a night.

"Let's head up," Gwen announced. "Big day ahead."

Midway, Whetu disembarked for his suite while the girls returned to their long vacated home.

"Uhh~ Home sweet home!" Yue bounced onto her bed, instantly ruining the efforts of the housekeeper.

Elvia meticulously checked through her closet, replacing her linens, changing into something more comfortable. Gwen went into the bathroom and materialised her toiletries, preparing herself for a shower and a brush down.

The girls convened for another meeting before they slept in their PJs, where Gwen revealed to them the developments with Surya, Henry, and her mother.

"Yes!" Yue shouted jubilantly, ignoring the shushing from the other two girls. "Good on ya, Gwen!"

"I am happy for you." Elvia hugged her friend endearingly.

"Yep, with that episode is behind us at last. Let's focus on the days ahead! For Inter-High victory!"

The two girls bumped fists against Gwen's own.

The lights dimmed.

Tomorrow was a long day.

"UP! UP! UP!"

Gwen shot out of bed, gasping for air.

What the hell was happening, and what is that racket?

The racket was Alesia, and she was slapping Yue across the chest in the manner of a man playing a pair of bongos.

"Arrg!" Yue slapped away at her Master with futility. "Let me sleep!"

Elvia was already up, timidly dressing in the corner.

"Training starts at 7 AM! Didn't you read the memo?" Alesia asked incredulously, her face full of mirthful sadism.

"No?" Gwen replied, confused as hell and still groggy. "What memo?"

Alesia looked at Gwen blankly. She materialised a thick, leather-bound notepad, which dropped at Gwen's bedside table.

"This memo!"

Alesia patted the book. "I forgot— hahaha... Fine. Just for today, you get thirty more minutes!"

Hell began.

The five of them had stamina training in the morning, followed by the inspiriting vision of watching Whetu devour enough breakfast for five. Then they had individual training with Alesia, joined by an assortment of tutors sent over from the Tower. Lunch was mana-rich, vitality-filled food by the tableful. Following lunch came meditation and mana management. The afternoon involved more physical training, followed by dinner at six, where once again, they ate the town. After dinner, the girls had individual theory lessons with their various tutors.

Every second day was group training, fighting mock battles and working on cooperative strategies.

The girls had Saturday and Sunday off for personal training and reflection. Gwen took each opportunity to visit her Master in the Tower, where Henry personally taught her the nuances of her new spells - Dimension Door, Morden's Faithful Hound, and Eilard's Dark Tentacles.

"Morden's a Mage's Mage," Henry explained. "Truly the best of us. He was a nineteenth-century Scot, a Highlander, originally from the Greyhawk Citadels in Suilven. He invented numerous spells as a Conjurer supreme. A born genius, the Mage built a Tower alliance before such concepts existed - eight obsidian towers across Scotland known as the Circle of Eight. Unfortunately, not all the towers had Mages as rulers; some were local lords, one of which was the King of Scotland at the time. Inevitably, the mixed-company meant that the coalition failed at keeping out the Britannic Mageocracy. Morden blamed it on the rulers lacking equal skill and talent. He believed very strongly that only men of intellect and sorcerous skill, whose primary interests were more than material, could keep Scotland free and magic pure."

"Sounds like he was an amazing Magi," Gwen marvelled, fantasising if she too, was destined to be like this fabled Morden.

"His apprentice was another legend, you know, I am sure you've heard of him."

Henry made the motion of opening and closing his fingers.

"Bilby's Hand is a highly utilitarian spell."

Sufina manifested a mass of tendrils that became a humongous hand. The overall appearance was green and friendly until Gwen noted the barbed thorns covering its surface. Gwen observed the fist sail through the air, opening, closing, and grasping at nothing.

"Imagine that, with Lightning or Void." Henry laughed. "Ah— Gwen, what I'd give to see you mature. Though I'd dare say this combination of both Evocation and Conjuration would significantly drain your vitality—"

Henry coughed violently. While Gwen practised, Sufina saw her Master through his fits via a steady stream of Golden Mead.

The first few time it had happened, Gwen had rushed to her Master, but Henry had told her that it was an old wound acting up, that all he needed was rest. After all, he stated, Sufina was supplying him with raw life-force channelled from the heartland of an island paradise, there was nought for Gwen to do but wait for the episode to pass.

As their training progressed, Gwen realised she was once again the recipient of a rare privilege. Usually, students worked through theory, but she needn't worry about the usual, slow-going process.

Henry instead opted for brutal efficiency, putting Gwen in the Greater Cognisance Chamber to directly demonstrate how the conduit of mana and the invocation of Sigils should take place. Under her Master's peerless guidance, thus, what was a complex system of calculations and conjurations left no secret unexposed to Gwen's cognisance.

As a result, it took Gwen only a few hours to learn Faithful Hound, even though she couldn't cast the spell with combat efficiency nor guarantee a fully functional manifest, she could invoke the dog into the material plane without issue.

"Master, this feels like cheating," Gwen announced after observing her stoic hound, a mass of flickering electricity that was all but invisible to the caster and his allies. "I am learning this too quickly. Learning a tier 4 spell is meant to take months. My progress doesn't feel concrete."

"Can you afford the time?" Henry asked in turn. "One month is to learn to cast the spell, not use it in combat and under duress! You, my dear Gwen, need to master the spell! What use is Dimension Door if you cannot escape from your enemies in the split-second a Fire Blast or a Sleet Storm struck?"

"This feels so surreal," Gwen confessed. "I can't believe I just cast a spell I've never seen before in less than five hours. Those other kids at the private academies, wouldn't they have access to this method too?"

"Well," Henry smirked proudly, twirling his moustache in delight. "I have the only Greater Cognisance Chamber in Sydney. A standard chamber is incapable of sustaining a live broadcast of phenomena. You don't think your Master is only as good as someone which can be purchased with crystals, do you?"

"Master!" Gwen realised the extent to which Henry was providing for her. He was monopolising a precious resource of the Tower just to give her an edge, how could she ever repay her Master's kindness and generosity?

"Focus, Gwen, it would make me happier than you know to see you succeed in three months. If you wish to repay me, show the world that the Void element can be controlled!"

"I will, Master," Gwen promised. She turned to the wallless space of the chamber and began practising her spells again. First with Lightning, then with Void, fuelled by Sufina's generous vitality.

"Gather-round!" Gunther Shultz, Paladin of Sydney, shouted over the sound of explosions ringing out in the training field. Bartlett had not only allowed them the privilege of using the arena exclusively; the principal also had set up a privacy screen. He too wanted a team that excelled in the Inter-High, for it would bring incredible boons for the public school, maybe even propelling them into the status of a Selective High School should they best the private academies.

"Magus Shultz!" Whetu left the field and ran towards his idol. Gunther Shultz! Even in New Zealand, Gunther was a Mage of legend.

"Whetu, good work."

"Sah!" Whetu saluted.

The girls came down one by one. Gunther's lips twitched.

"Alright! Listen up!" Gunther told his students. "We're going to play a little game."

The girls were already exhausted, but Whetu was keen for more.

"It's called 'Beat Whetu'."

Yue sniggered.

"Wot?" Whetu spluttered out. "Why me?"

"The aim is to Break Whetu's barrier. You get a Ten-second countdown. At five, you get rice. At six, you get Salads. At seven, you get mains. At eight, you get dessert."

Paladin Shultz waited for the horror to sink in. "I once played this game with Alesia. She lost five kilos by the end of our month-long training. Instructor De Botton swears by it as a crash diet."

The girls regarded one another. They turned to Whetu.

"Do we get more than one go?" Debora asked.

"Best of three."

"How do I do this?" Elvia leapt up and down, waving her hand. "I can't attack!"

"The punishment or reward is collective," Gunther pointed out. "Though Gwen, I would advise against using your Void element, if you know what's good for you."

"How come?" Gwen asked, curiously narrowing her eyes.

"Mr Tikitiki O Taranga isn't so easily defeated." Gunther grinned.

The girls turned to the punamu Mage.

"One sec gills, lemme get ready!" Whetu took a deep breath. "Shield Wall!"

A semicircle dome of punamu instantly formed around Whetu, creating a protective barrier of jade.

"Shape Stone!"

The surface of the Punamu grew geometric, forming into little hexagonal shapes that bulged from the once smooth exterior.

A lattice fabrication! Gwen felt impressed. An application of physics in the magical world? Who could have come up with such an idea? Was there someone, somewhere that practised material science through magic?

Gunther noted Gwen's dismay.

"That's Magister Hildenbrandt's signature Shield," Gunther revealed conspiratorially. "Don't think of trying to learn it from Whetu though, his Master was inspired by watching honey-bees build hives in her Tower's garden. Only her registered Apprentices can use the spell."

"Resist Elements!" Whetu finished.

"Alright, come at me bro," Whetu shouted from behind the barrier, his voice muffled by the layer of protection. "Give me everything you got."

The girls looked at one another.

"Alright, who goes first?" Debora asked.

"Fireball!" Yue flicked a spot of flame towards the shield before Debora could finish, it struck the outer layer and erupted into a blossom of heat and death. In the next moment, fire dissipated, revealing a scorched shield that was flaked but otherwise undamaged.

"Fuck, for real?" Yue marvelled at the shield. "A dent only?"

There was then the sound of stones clinking into place. The shield was repairing itself.

"Fuck!" Yue shrieked, firing off another four blasts of Scorching Ray. Without the kinetic force of the Fireball, the strikes did less than nothing, piercing only the surface layer of Whetu's punamu barrier.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen gestured with her finger, a beam of lighting shot toward Whetu, skidding across the stone and grounding itself. "Well, fudge."

"My turn!" Debora summoned her Spirit and clad herself in sandstone. "Enhanced Strength! Magical Weapon! Haste! Jump!"

Using a successive burst of self-buffs, Debra launched a flying kick. Upon striking the shield, she felt the satisfying crunch of the punamu below. She kicked again, feeling another layer collapse. Then, Debora used both hands as a hammer, hardening her fists before crushing the shield with the impressive force of a cyclopean hammer.

Splinters of the stuff went everywhere, but still, she couldn't penetrate the shield.

From outside the action, the others saw the shield rapidly replenish itself by shifting stones from the parts which remained undamaged.

"Fuck!" Dobra cursed.

Haste was a skill that required incredible physical capabilities. Having now exhausted her mana, Debora puffed her bronzed skin slick with sweat.

"Well, that's about a minute and a half. You girls want to try again?"

"Elvia, get ready, I am going to need a double dose after this," Gwen warned her battery pack.

"Okay!" Elvia took a deep breath and readied herself to channel positive energy into her friend.

"Whetu, I am going to use it, the thing I showed you before! Are you ready?"

"Let me live!" Whetu shouted.

"Void Bolt!" Gwen felt the vitality leaving her body as the corrosive energy surged through her conduits. A second later, a dark bolt struck Whetu's shield and bit into the hardened outer layer.

There was a sound of shifting matter— then nothing.

After only three of six layers of Pounamu, her bolt was spent.

Gunther laughed heartily. "We have the same problem, Gwen! Our spells possess increasingly diminishing returns on subsequent targets. Against a multi-layer barrier, our mana cost is exponential! I hope you're learning from this!"

"Cheeky Whetu!" Gwen turned to the girls. "Hit em with everything at once! Debora, rapid-fire Catapult! Yue! Swarm tactics for your basic Explosive Bolts! Elvia! Magic Missiles!"

Whetu groaned.

It took their combined power to whittle Whetu down.

"Two seconds left." Gunther tsk-tsked with his tongue. "Guess no lunch, hmm?"

The girls glared at Whetu.

"No free passes." Gunther pointed out to Whetu. "Your very best. If you don't last five seconds, no lunch for you."

Whetu moaned despairingly.

"Shield!"

The barrage continued.

In the end, the girls managed to down Whetu after five seconds.

The girls ate their meagre meals, Whetu ate his three courses meal while the girls received their just desserts.

They stared at the plain, colourless rice balls. At least they had salt.

"Whetu," Yue said innocently to their Abjurer. "Next time, prepare to die."

The blurring of days took on a life of its own. During the weekday, the girls worked their craft until their brains throbbed. On the weekend, when the party went their separate ways, Gwen visited the Tower.

She was a regular now, a welcome distraction for the guards, who would snatch a few minutes of polite conversation with her. As a result, her reputation among the staff was excellent, and many enjoyed the company of an uncommonly pretty young lady visiting the Tower Master.

The levitation platform stopped when it reached Henry's chamber.

"See you guys next time." Gwen flashed the guards a sunny grin.

Gwen parted, stepping into the Grot with the effortless grace of a dancer.

"Mate." A guard felt his chest constrict. "I reckon she's into me."

"…" His companion punched his mate in the arm. "Get back to work, stop day-dreaming, and work on your Fire Bolt."

Gwen's lesson of the day was Dimension Door. Her primary objective was mastering spatial transfer.

Her first exercise was to conjure a set of markers in a location Henry designated, marked by cute little shrubs where her body would theoretically manifest. Each "tag" consisted of a glowing crystal, and her job was to translocate four markers, forming a grid around Sufina's shrub.

It had taken Gwen a few weekends to competently envelope the exact location of Sufina's designations with her Conjuration markers. Her progress, her Master had explained was aided by the fact that lightning spells operated on the same concept of spatial targeting.

Next was the invocation of the door itself. Unlike volatile Evocation magic, Conjuration was a delicate operation. Any miscasts or lapse in manifesting the arcane phenomena would distort, then bruise the caster's a physical body coming through the immaterial. At best, she'd be bedridden for days; at worst, she could lose a limb.

The maximum range of the Dimension Door was determined by the caster's Elemental Affinity, a trait that likewise affected casting speed, cost, and stability.

"Could I try a Void Dimension door?" Gwen asked out of curiosity.

"I have no idea." Henry sounded uncomfortable with the idea. "I am not sure how that would work, and I would not venture to experiment with your life on the line. Dimension Door works perfectly fine without elemental mana. Your Lightning merely lubricates the process by manifesting quickly and violently at the point of arrival."

"What do you propose, Master?"

Henry scratched his beard thoughtfully.

"I knew a Salt Mage, like your brother, once," he replied. "His Dimension Door enabled a blast of Salt upon arrival, which acted as both defence and offence. That's what you're learning, and your Void would perhaps work in the same manner. Still, fleeing from certain doom and imminent harm, I would hardly advise on spending vitality and weakening yourself on arrival, not when you have a perfectly suitable element to spare."

Gwen agreed, though she secretly wondered if she should experiment in private one day, especially with Elvia on hand to provide a layer of insurance.

As the days went by, Gwen found herself increasingly proficient in achieving the efficiency and fluency of incantations necessary for combat teleportation. All that was left was to test out the spell under live fire and discover if she could maintain the same efficacy under the shadow of death.

A few weeks later, the girls had finally managed to get Whetu's shield to collapsed before the four-second mark. Though they'd made up for their failures with large breakfasts and big dinners, a light lunch was nonetheless undesirable.

Through the process, Gwen had tested several theories against the lattice shielding, finding that Whetu's unique skill responded exceptionally well to a wide-area barrage. Instead, the girls needed to concentrate on attacking the same area at a controlled cadence.

"Yue, your incantation Blast Bolts takes four seconds, Debbie— your Catapult takes two seconds, I can time my Lighting Bolt to fire in conjunction per three seconds. Likewise, I can get Ariel to guide the Call Storm from the cloud into the same area, which can be followed immediately by my lightning bolt. Elvia, I want you to open up with a Magic Missile, fire one set per five seconds."

"Right!" The girls affirmed.

"Resist element!" Whetu refreshed his buff, looking worried.

"Magic Missile!" From Elvia, a swarm of invisible missiles rocked the surface of the punamu shielding, splintering its surface.

A Catapult followed, smashing into the shield and entering the second layer. Straightaway, the stone began to repair itself but was interrupted when an electric bolt lit the interior like a bulb. A spray of electricity-fuelled darts from a snarling Ariel further guided Gwen's Lightning Bolt into the crack, breaking the Pounamu apart.

"Aarrgh!" Whetu leapt out of the way. "Shield Break! Shield Break!"

The shield splintered, the energy contained from within shattering its outer crust and sending bits of greenstone splintering all over. The girls dived for cover, hiding behind their barriers as a wave of green fragments flew through the air.

"Three and a bit, improving, but you need to work on a tighter formation, consider how well your spells synergise," Gunther advised.

He called for their attention and began to lecture them.

"Gwen's lightning has the least travel time and incredible penetration against unshielded targets, an absolute God-send against monsters, but for Mages, there are many ways to ward against electricity."

"Earth and Water just happen to be two of the most common Mage Shields, and they both dissipate Lightning well. As such, Gwen, you need to focus on timing your spells. If you can get a single spell through a shield, it's all over. Either your enemies will deplete their raw mana shield, or they will be paralysed."

Gunther then turned to Yue.

"On the other hand, Yue, your fire is the most balanced element, good against both Monsters and Mages. The force of the blast, the heat of the flame, the AOE, all of it performs exceptionally well against critters and humans."

"Fire Evocation's weakness, however— is travel time and trajectory. A throwaway shield can easily stop your blasts, or even do something like this— Whetu, perform a back-burn Shield on Yue's next spell."

"Sure tin, boss." Whetu turned to Yue. "Do a Fire Blast. I show you buck-burn technique."

Yue threw a Blast Bolt toward Whetu.

Just as the flame left her fingers, a small semi-circle dome of Pounamu materialised. Yue's bolt caught the shield and erupted, sending out fragments of greenstone all over. Yue herself suffered the blast and fell on her buttocks, shielding her face while her hair singed.

"Shit!" Yue screamed out, her mana shield springing to life and deflecting the fragments. "My hair!"

"That," Gunther affirmed. "Is the back-burn method. Only Abjurers with an extreme affinity and large mana pools can cast a shield so far away from their own astral body. As you can see, it is a hard counter for you Evokers who like to AOE the battlefield carelessly."

Elvia rushed over and dropped a Healing Word. Just as she was about to heal Yue however, a Shield of Pounamu sprung to life around Yue, cutting off Elvia's access to her touch spell.

"Wha?!" Elvia likewise stumbled back, shocked by the sudden appearance of the barrier.

"That is called a counter-shield," Gunther commented. "For the confident Abjurer who believes they can protect their teammates with spells to spare, "offensive" shields exist for battlefield control."

He turned to his youngest sister-in-craft.

"Gwen, what's the counter for such a thing?"

Gwen considered the scene before her, her mind racing through a dozen scenarios.

"Nail the Abjurer?"

"Good!" Gunther applauded. "Only the Abjurer's "individual" shield can be extended in this way, which means if they send their barrier away, they become without protection. Of course, there is only one element here fast enough to catch them before they can retract the shield - Lightning."

Gunther observed their faces.

"Which is why many specialist Abjurers at the Magus level choose to further specialise in Conjuration or Illusion, giving them many more options for defence."

Gwen felt understanding dawn upon her like a god ray piercing through the clouds. So that's why Richard was so keen on becoming a Conjurer-Abjurer.

She considered the possibilities.

As Ol'Dicky partnered with the alluring Lea, the possibilities he could create with Abjuration's suite of defensive skills was numberless. For instance, Undines are virtually immune to physical damage - what if Richard empowered her to use his spells so that he used his shield offensively, while Lea protected him? Such utility! An unstoppable, self-regenerating, sapient spirit of water that could disrupt incantations and dispel magical buffs; attack physically as well as discharge water bolts.

Gwen smacked her lips. If Richard can do that, what of herself? She could shelter herself in a double-layered shield, while externally, Caliban, Ariel, the Faithful Hound, as well as a set of Dark Tentacles, took care of business. Perhaps she should invest in Summon Elementals as well, and once her beasties were out and about, she could also use Lightning Bolt.

Her mana would be drained in under a minute, but she could engender an orgasmic orgy of destruction and mayhem!

Gunther watched as Gwen chuckled to herself.

"Gwen?" Gunther appeared worried when Gwen grin idiotically to herself. "Do you need to rest?"

"I am fine!" She shook herself from her fantasies. "You were saying?"

Gunther shook his head.

"Looks like you're all tired. We'll try again tomorrow— Now. Go and get lunch."

To break the monotony of training, Gwen took the opportunity to pass on some of her insights.

"So, you compress the two sides of the Shielding, then fill the gap with motes of loose mana, like so," Gwen was explaining the non-newtonian shield technique to Yue and Elvia, but her friend could not comprehend the physics aspect.

She was just considering if she should go down to the dorm kitchen and ask for potato starch and a container when Elvia slumped on her shoulder.

Gwen stared.

Evee's petite, pink lips twitched as she mumbled softly, an adorable rosebud against her ivory skin, as fragile as porcelain.

"Aww, Evee got so bored of your theory-craft she fell asleep." Yue giggled, ebullient and mischevious.

Gwen slowly cupped her arms around the petite girl, whose form was limp like a ragdoll's.

"So cute!" Gwen brushed a finger across Elvia's cheek, parting the tiny slivers of invisible, silver-blonde hair. "She smells nice, too."

Yue crawled into Gwen's bed and made herself comfortable.

"Let's sleep like this," Yue suggested mischievously. "I heard that if you hug a positive element Mage at night, it revitalises your skin."

"Really?" Gwen cooed.

"Only one way to find out.' Yue grinned.

The two girls sandwiched their healer in the middle and laid down to sleep on the cramped bed.

"Good night." Yue yawned, then was gone from the world.

"Yue?" Gwen demanded of the empty air. "Seriously?"

Gwen allowed her breathing to slow, welcoming a restful night of sleep.

With the extension of summer came the mornings bright and early.

Gwen left Yue and Elvia to their beauty sleep and jogged out for a brisk morning run. Guiltily, Gwen had wondered if she should have called Debora - but ultimately chose her privacy over having company.

When she had returned from the uphill slope, she became surrounded by gawking students, as though a Gwen shaped displacer beast had found being found in the inner-city.

Students, hundreds of them, gawked at Gwen in her sweat-stained sportswear, engendering a riot of noise and jubilation.

The school term.

THE BLOODY SCHOOL TERM STARTS TODAY!

"Oh, my God!"  Having risen so early to jog up Ascension hill— a steep incline high enough to make a runner wish for death. She had run smack bang into the returning students.

"Oh. My. God. It's Gwen Song!" someone called out.

Gwen burned with embarrassment.

"Goodness, she is tall."

"She's the Lightning Mage right?"

"I heard she's training for the Inter-High!"

"Our shitty school is eligible?"

"Someone said she's dating Debora?"

"I heard it was Yue."

"She's two-timing."

"Ice Queen."

"Bitch."

"Whore!"

It was time to go.

"Expeditious Retreat," Gwen muttered under her breath, then tore through the crowd as a blur, leaving behind nought but a few wayward sparks.

The crowd stared.

"Wasn't that a Transmutation spell?" Someone asked the general assembly. "Isn't she an Evoker?"

Despite the false start, training continued, heedless of the academic term.

"Here it comes!" Alesia incanted, her spell forming faster than Gwen could see. "Fire Ball!"

"Dimension Door!"

Gwen teleported behind Alesia just as the blossom of fire erupted on the field.

"Wall of Fire!" Alesia following through; flowing from one spell to another without seemingly any effort nor delay.

"Dimension Door!" Gwen gritted her teeth and teleported again, consecutively casting the spell was a significant drain on her mind. "Spell Fatigue" it was called, overtaxing one's brain caused dizziness and at worst, mana burn.

"Flaming Hands!" Alesia spun without looking, letting loose a gout of flame a dozen meters in length, about three times the average range of a Flaming Hand spell.

"Shield!" Gwen couldn't manage another Dimension Door immediately, so she switched to a defensive barrier.

Against Alesia, her barrier instantly dissolved.

"Dimension Door!" Her mental cooldown was over.

Gwen reappeared some twenty meters away, then hurled her breakfast.

"Looks like three's ya limit, Tiger." Alesia rested a hand on her hip. "Wish I was a Conjurer. Such convenience."

"You have your Djinn form, and you can fly," Gwen pointed out.

"Give it a few years, and you'll be able to fly and teleport," Alesia returned. "You better remember how hard I trained you when that day comes. Tell the Press and the world that without Alesia de Botton, there would be no Gwen Song, Magister of all Magic."

Gwen laughed, feeling her mental stress diffuse. "Alright, I think I am good, shall we go again?"

"Whoa?" Alesia raised a flawless brow. "Already? It's been what, a minute? You sure?"

"Yeah, I am sure." Gwen felt no particular fatigue from the consecutive incantations. "Master did a good job teaching me."

"Hmm…" Alesia thought about it, but she didn't relish the mental strain of thinking too deeply about something that was probably beyond her ken. "If you're confident, then try to dodge this— Flame Strike!"

"Dimension Door!"

Three months may seem like a long time on the calendar, but time had a way of fleeing from one's notice. More than once, Gwen would awake with confidence that it was Monday, only to find that it was Thursday.

Then, as sudden as it was unexpected, the training was done.

The preliminaries for the Inter-High were upon them.

Yet, there was no news of an invitation. Gwen's Team had heard nothing about their enrollment in the Inter-High.

When questioned by her other team members, Gwen instantly suspected Alesia.

"Alesia, I need to ask you something," Gwen Messaged Alesia, her voice full of wary suspicion. "Have you submitted our application to the Inter-High competition board?"

"The what?" Alesia replied, her voice full of puzzlement. "What application? When I participated, I just showed up!"

Gwen's blood suddenly ran cold.

"Alesia... no!"

"Alesia, we don't have a participation slot, we're qualifying for one," Gwen explained carefully. "The big man even told us so, you are our instructor, and we can't apply without your written consent and appeal."

"I thought Gunther was taking care of that?" Alesia asked innocently. "He usually does."

"Alright, wait up, I'll call Gunther."

Gwen closed her Message Spell and inputted the glyph for Gunther, citing an emergency.

"Gwen, you shouldn't be calling me inside work hours."

"Alesia forgot to apply for the special provision entry."

"Impossible, I made sure she did, I had her sign the form. All she had to do was send it out to the committee."

"She said we just had to show up."

There was the silence on the other side of the Message spell, followed by a deep sigh like someone was pondering the meaning of life and had found it wanting.

"I'll call Alesia, hold on."

Gwen waited, twiddling her thumbs and dangling her long legs back and forth to offset her anxiety.

Ding!

"Gwen, are you there?"

"Gunther! So what's the deal?"

"Alesia, you tell 'em."

Alesia cut into the conversation.

"Sorry Gwen," her sister-in-craft sounded like a puppy who's just been told off for shitting on the lawn. "I'll make it up to you guys! I'll fix it! I know a way for you guys to get an invitation."

"It's alright, Alesia." Gwen tried to sound untroubled, but she was just as annoyed as Gunther. Alesia's a grown woman for God's sake. She's almost thirty! If Alesia weren't an engine of destruction, she would probably be taken advantage of, a lot.

"So, there's an old rule we can exploit," Alesia continued with a more hopeful tone. "I am pretty sure that's how I got in last time. What you need to do is challenge a school that had a team in the top 8 last year, and if you can defeat them in the 1v1, 3v3 and 5v5— best out of three, you can take their seeded position in the tournament."

"Gunther?" Gwen asked. It seemed a rather dubious scenario.

"It's an old custom, and Alesia was the only one who had exploited it in the last two decades. It was implemented as a boast by the Greater Public Schools. They wanted to show the commoners that they were superior to any government-funded school."

"What's the likelihood that someone would accept this challenge? Can they decline?" Gwen inquired.

"They can, and therein lies in the problem," Gunther replied. "You have to make them an offer they can't refuse."

"Crystals? Spells? Favours?" Gwen asked, thinking of the scale on the back of her neck. "Rare Magical items?"

"Perhaps, but unlikely. These schools have deep pockets. I am talking something more concrete."

"Like?" Gwen asked quizzically, premonition tinging her spine. She was getting very good at detecting trouble when it came to herself.

"Like a sixteen-year-old girl who can tap into three schools of magic," Alesia interjected. "We need to offer you up, Gwen. If we lose, you join that school and become their show pony."

"I'll have to leave Blackwattle?" Gwen apprehensively measured the scenario. "No way."

"At worst." Gunther's voice was emotionless and rational. "At worst you might be compelled to be apprenticed to a Magus of the School. Of course, our Master won't let that happen, but it'll be a messy settlement. After all, who would willingly let you go?"

"She just has to win, easy peasy," Alesia said with a nonchalance that rivalled an invitation to coffee.

"Just?" Gwen's tone was such that even half a city away, Gunther could imagine her rolling her eyes.

"Pick a school Gwen can crush, Gunther."

"Hmm…" Gunther hummed. "Well, our Master's Rival, Magister Ferris, is the sponsor for Rosebay. If you're going to make an enemy out of a whole school of well-connected Mages, you may as well dig deeper into a hole that we'd dug already."

"Wouldn't that piss off this Magister Ferris?" Gwen sounded suspicious and sceptical.

"Oh yes, gloriously." Alesia could be heard clapping. "That woman's a real prickly pear."

"Gunther, translation please," Gwen implored her brother-in-craft.

"Ferris is from the grey faction, the ones who believe that we should be mingling with the Magical Races, trading with them, learning from them. She's one of the Ten who supports 'organ' trading for Magical components, like cores, spirits, 'unicorn horn,' you know the type."

"Since Alesia disgraced Magister Walken in the past, our Factions have always shared an antagonistic relationship."

"Antagonism?"

"Yes. The Greys believe, wrongly of course, that the future lies in the Wildlands, that we should abandon the whole idea of human enclaves and join the sapient humanoids who live in the Zones."

"Wow." Gwen puzzled her head. Was co-existence so bad?

"Almost a crazy idea, I mean, sure, most of the Mages survive. Then what? We leave billions of NoMs, each potentially the progenitor of one more magical bloodline, to die? To be eaten by the monsters? Hell, where would you be, Gwen? You'd be dead or sold off before you even awakened."

Gwen recalled that her Master had indeed spoken sometimes in the past of his frustration with the so-called Grey Faction, whose operations included the Grey Markets. After her incident, Gwen recalled hearing from Gunther that Blackheath was likely a supply point for the Greys.

"Right, so we go to Rosebay, and?"

"Alesia will set it up," Gunther replied confidently. "If she's good for one thing, it's stirring up a hornet's nest."

"Hey!" Alesia uttered sulkily.

"Don't screw this up, Allie," Gunther warned her. "If you do, Master would have to use the Tower's influence to sponsor Gwen's team directly. That would be a significant detour to our intended goal."

"Alright, alright. Sheesh." Alesia closed her Message spell.

"Keep an eye on her, Gwen. I trust you more than Alesia." Gunther likewise terminated his Message spell.

Gwen bit her lips. Offer her up as a prize for a bet? She supposed it wasn't any worse than their original scenario. After all, she couldn't afford to lose a single battle.

While waiting on Alesia's negotiation abilities, Gwen mediated for the rest of the afternoon.

The more she knew about this world, the more she resented its dystopian roots. As a sterling example, her courses entirely omitted information about tier 1 cities. Instead, "capitals" were noted offhandedly as unattainable paradises. Additionally, Richard had mentioned something called Contribution Credits, a merit system that operated as magical currency in the Tier 1 cities, but her textbooks appeared wholly uninterested in such a thing. It was in consulting with her Master that she knew a whole system of merit existed with the Commonwealth's Towers.

Alesia's call came through two hours later.

"I'll pick you up in the Firebird. We're going to Rosebay to see the Headmistress, dress up."

Alesia abruptly hung up, as rash and fiery as ever. Was it the influence of her fire affinity? Gwen wondered. The bestiary had stated that the flame Djinn was indeed proud, arrogant, easily driven by impulse.

Gwen didn't like the detour, but she did prefer the issue resolved between themselves than ask her Master to throw his influence around.

Gwen dug through her outfits for something that would go well with her Mary-Janes. She dug through her mother's stockpile. She felt a little guilty for still using them, but waste not, want not— if anything she couldn't afford to splurge on luxury goods right now.

To her surprise, she did find something that was serendipitously appropriate. Soon, she re-emerged in a pleated-cady minidress, a long-sleeved white blouse, and a ribbon to tie together the formality.

Gwen examined herself in the wardrobe mirror. White blouse, black mini, dark, polished shoes, she looked the very picture of a blue-blooded young lady.

Gwen ventured below, delighting fellow students with a vision of class and grace. They came to greet her, some bravely asking her questions about the Lightning element while others gawked.

VROOOM!

A sudden thrum in the air signalled the arrival of Alesia's Firebird, so red it hurt one's eyes. Vaucluse was twenty-minutes away.

"We're going to have a meet and greet with Mildred Stone, the Headmistress of Rosebay." Alesia stepped on the gas and weaved through the traffic. "I am sorry about this, Gwen, I was careless."

"I am sure it'll work out in the end," Gwen comforted her friend and sister-in-craft. "Just as you said, I just have to win, right? That was the plan from the very beginning anyway."

"True that." Alesia blasted past a truck. The lorry driver honked.

Past the bridge, the girls turned into the coastal road and watched the scintillating blue sea beyond the headland. It stretched magnificently, kissing a shimmering glow on the horizon that was the Shield Barriers.

"Beautiful, hey?" Alesia asked. "Murderous mermen aside, of course."

"Yeah," Gwen replied, her eyes buffeted by the wind. The breeze, the salty scent, the brine— she was reminded of her old life, of lazy Sundays by the sea.

"Rosebay isn't the best in terms of the qualities of its Spellcraft, but it has a long and established history of being an incubator for elites. Magister Irene Ferris herself was a graduate of the school and once served as its Dean. She still sits on the school's board, despite occupying one of the ten seats on the Tower Council."

"I see."

"When we see the Mistress, you'll need to demonstrate Conjuration, Evocation and Transmutation. We're keeping Void under wraps. Let's not get them too excited."

Gwen nodded. She knew.

The ocean view persisted until they reached Rosebay.

Rosebay Private Girl's Catholic School perched atop a cliffside moulded by Transmuters into a three-tier escarpment overlooking a two-seventy degree view of the ocean. The primary structure of the school itself was a cathedral with twin spires that rose into the dying sky like lances. On top, twin pinions fluttered through the wind, decorated with a scarlet rose on an ultramarine backdrop.

Alesia's Firebird coupe turned into the entrance and slowed. The powerful engine-cores thrummed as they drifted towards the interior.

"Your business?" A greying security guard inquired respectfully.

"De Botton, here for Headmistress Stone."

"Of course, one second." The guard fired off a Message spell. They watched him receiving his orders, nodding and bowing toward thin air.

"I'll let you through now. There'll be someone waiting for you at the church."

Alesia swung the car toward the cathedral. It was even more impressive close-up, towering above the duo with its soaring gothic visage, its architraves shaped with arcane patterns of warding.

A nun awaited them at the side entrance, a skinny, older woman with a face like a skull, covered from head to toe in a penguin habit. She looked at Alesia's flaming red dress distastefully, lingering on her cleavage with a twist of her lips. Toward Gwen, her attitude was kinder. Though Gwen's dress was short, it was couture and matt black.

"I am Sister Teresa. You may come with me. The Headmistress awaits you in her study." She immediately turned and began to move, expecting the two to follow without question.

The trio climbed the revolving stairs, with Gwen noting that the cathedral was rebuilt into four levels, split into a stratum of classrooms, prayer rooms, staff rooms, and offices.

From the fourth floor, they looked out through enchanted windows that appeared as stained motifs of the Christian Saints from the outside, but served as unobstructed windows from within, giving them a breath-taking ocean and the barrier beyond.

"In here." The Mother Superior knocked twice and opened the door for them.

Alesia entered without a word.

Within, they met the unfriendly eye of a thin, gaunt-faced woman with silver-grey iris.

"Magus de Botton, always a pleasure."

"Magus Stone, likewise a pleasure."

The two of them exchanged praises and pleasantries.

"So, this is the prize student that you speak of, the promised protege. Gwen Song, is it?" Stone motioned a hand toward Gwen casually. "Stand up, honey, let us take a look at you."

Gwen stood and walked before the heavy mahogany table.

Magus Stone put on a pair of spectacles. Gwen noted that they were faintly glowing with motes of Divination magic.

"Take a turn.  Let's see what you're made of."

She felt like she was a prized Bullock put up for sale, now being inspected for quality and pedigree. She spun slowly, gracefully, keeping her hands by her sides to tuck in her hem.

"My, you are certainly a lovely young thing." Magus Stone tapped her fountain pen against some parchments on the table. "Please manifest if you are able."

Gwen began with Evocation, opening the Sigil and producing an orb of lightning.

"Tier 4 Lightning! Impressive," Stone commented.

Gwen then conjured a Warding Bolt orb, which hovered as a glowing orb that orbited around Gwen before eventually dissipating.

"There's Conjuration, beautiful." The woman's voice ran dry.

Gwen extended a hand and produced the whip of lightning. She cracked it against the air, sending out a shower of sparks.

"And Transmutationm" Stone uttered, her voice full of wonder and awe. "I must apologise, Alesia, when you'd told me, I'd assumed you were up to your old tricks."

Gwen curtsied.

"So, what's the catch?" Stone asked Alesia suddenly. "She's one in a million. I've never even heard of this level of talent. Why offer her to us for something as trivial as the Inter-High? It isn't the International University challenge, you know. It's just a regional competition for the kids."

"There is no catch. We want your seeded invitation to the Inter-high." Alesia shrugged innocently, her big blue eyes glinting with earnestness. "That's all. Alternatively, you can give it to us, and Gwen shall remember you kindly a few decades down the track."

"OR— Give me the girl, and I'll sign it over right now," Stone offered.

"No can do." Alesia smirked, "that would be beside the point, we've got a team and a school already anyway."

"What if I said no? We're not having a contest?"

"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing I can do. Except maybe ask Lilith's, or Lakeview, or any other girl's academies or co-ed schools with a seeded position. Hell, why not ask a selective school? There's three in the top 8 after all. One was even champion one year."

"That was your year, no?" Stone breathed out harshly from her nostrils, her voice full of disdain. "I'd hardly call that a fair contest. A battle veteran from the Coral Sea Campaign against school children? I still have no idea why you qualified."

"Heehee." Alesia chuckled.

Magus Stone measured Alesia, trying to read her face.

"Is Gwen connected to your employer? Magister Kilroy?"

"Gwen, you tell her." Alesia gave Gwen a nudge in the gut.

"Yes, the Magister has been kind to me," Gwen spoke the half-truth.

"Hmm." Stone paused. "Master Kilroy is alright if Master Ferris wanted to Apprentice Gwen?"

"No," Alesia spoke truly. "He would be beyond livid."

Stone smiled.

"Alright, we agree to your terms." Stone signed the agreement in front of her, then turned it over, and slid the page across the table.

Alesia signed, then finally Gwen also signed.

Their signatures glowed golden for a split second.

"That's submitted to the Tower now, no cooling off period." Stone cunningly smirked. "I hope you don't mind that I was a little hasty in affirming our contractual obligations."

"Not at all." Alesia stood from her chair; her grin split from ear to ear. "I heard that Rosebay has one of the best medical facilities in the area, is that true?"

"Indeed," Stone affirmed.

"Good." Alesia motioned for Gwen to follow. She stopped at the door, her own blue eyes coldly meeting Stone's steel-grey orbs. "I'd make sure your best Clerics are on hand in two days. Gwen?"

"Yes, Alesia?"

"We're going."

Good Morning, neophytes ~

I am your instructor, the one and only Magus Alesia de Botton!

[blows kiss]

Today, we are going to go over the basic aspects of Magic and Spellcraft.

First, the schools of Magic courtesy of D20 Open gaming and the Open Gaming License::

Evocation is a school that manipulate energy. IT IS THE BEST. It is also the most commonly awakened school of Spellcraft. Due to this fact, we become the mainstay of the citizen-soldiers, wielding spells of fire, earth, water, and more exotic elements such as lightning or radiance. As Evokers grow, we become more specialised in their elemental affinity, taking up specialist equipment and enchantments, attunement and contracts. In the popular eye, the Evoker is the archetype Mage, the spell slinging, fireball blasting Sorcerer of yore, tapping into and drawing limitless power from the elemental planes. Yea for Evokers!

Next are Abjuration casters. These guys weave spells that protect, block or banish. An Abjurer is a common but highly sought after profession. They were the mainstay of the protective barrier shells that shielded Human cities. An Abjurer possesses the special ability to also utilises restoration spells and a number of AOE combat buffs. Specialists in this field typically contracted elementals of earth, ice, and water, with exceptional individuals possessing more exotic quasi-elementals.

Conjuration is a school that materialises creatures or materials for the Mage, also called a Summoner. A Conjurer is a one-man army when trained to a sufficient tier of proficiency. Through contracting magical creatures, Conjurers gain life-long companions that grow with the Summoner in power. Due to this advantage, it is not uncommon for Summoners to become several magnitudes more powerful than Mages of equal tier. The disadvantage of Conjuration is the persistent mana drain caused by most of its sustained effect spells. Certain Conjurers choose to focus upon the summoning of items or beings. These valuable individuals are responsible for the Teleportation Circles around the cities.

Divination is a school that reveals information, highly prized for their cognisant abilities in detection and foretelling. Many diviners go on to become telecommunication specialists, becoming key intelligence and strategist operatives that served a number of roles. Other schools of Divination focused on disaster deterrence, by reading the threads of time and fate. Despite their lack of offensive capabilities, it is said that the most influential Magi on the U.N Security Council is the Oracle of the Acropolis. Though the Divination school has no preference for elemental afflictions, it is a school that synergies well with subsequent studies of other schools. Many Diviners go on to become Magus or Magister. Remember, if you are caught using Divination for nefarious purposes like spying on girl's showers, you'll go to prison and get assaulted!

The school of Enchantment remains the most difficult and expensive to train of all schools. Capable of imbuing items and buildings with protection, strengthening items and imbuing persist phenomena - enchanters are essential to humanity’s existence. The world's most successful manufatoriums are all operated by skilled Enchanters. Unlike regular Mages, enchanters seek specifically the mastering of additional schools such as Transmutation or Abjuration for the creation of magical items. A dangerous school within-a-school of Enchanters are those whose abilities allow them to control, manipulate, and glamour the minds of others. These Mages are closely watched by government forces, and the misuse of mind-altering effects on others could lead to stasis imprisonment or banishment.

Illusion is the school of Mirage, the altering of perceptions to create false visions. Many Illusionists go on to become involved in espionage if they choose the path of the militant. Many others, however, have chosen to be involved in the media, creating spectacles for adoring audiences, crafting impossible scenarios, and even becoming superstars in their own right for their creativity and passion. Illusion spells which deal damage attack the mind directly, creating what is known as psychic attacks. Likewise, aftereffects vary by spell and intent.

Transmutation is an unusual school in that it changes the caster and the objects they touch, manipulating the properties in powerful ways. Yours truly is a Transmuter herself. In the greater world, Transmuters become builders, architects and creators, working hand-in-glove with Enchanters. In combat, some transmuters choose to specialise in manipulating life itself, changing plants, creatures, and even themselves to become deadly and proficient in the art of war. It is said that Transmuters posses the most versatile school of all, and enjoyed the most lauded status after that of Evokers. As I am both a Transmuter and an Evoker, my Fire spells enjoy the benefit of being shaped! Whilst my Transmutation spells have the power of my Evocation blasts! Huzzah!

Then we have Necromancy.

[Shudders]

The dreaded School of Necromancy was banned after WWI following the Geneva Convention. Currently, the school is studied only by sects that are authorised by the U.N, having proven that the study of souls and the afterlife is intimately connected to beliefs of faith, culture, and religion. The irony of the matter is that Necromancy is most likely the most ancient school of magic that exists. Dating back to the Egyptian Pharaohs, in an age when man first uncovered magic. As such, it is more specific to say that the summoning, raising, and animation of the death is strictly forbidden, as much of the world was turned into ash and cinder following The Great War with the No-Life Kings of Middle Europe. So remember kids! Stay away from Necromancy! Life Drain, not even once!

Finally, other schools of magic likely exist but were out of reach of the common man. These include various forms of item deification, ancestral worship, old world shamanism, naturalism, animalism, and so forth. By the same measure, rumours about of humans learning the magic of monsters, magical beings, and demi-humanoids. These are seldom taught or learned in Frontier Human cities though.

Now, let's look at where all your mana goes to get super charged into spells.

After activation by one's Sigils, the pure mana taps into the Elemental Gates within your body - everybody has one - to manifest the phenomenon. Usually, everyone has just one element, certainly, this is true for 99% of the Mages out there, but you never know what you'll run into out there in the wild, wide world.

Hence - the elements:

The Primary Elements of the Material Plane are what astrologists suggest the material plane is made from. It is the very stuff of existence itself, existing in perfect harmony. It is suggested that when a Mage is attuned to a certain element, it is because that element is present within their body.

To be perfectly honest, we in the tier 2 cities don't have too much interest in that kind of existential theory - we're busy just trying to survive.

Oh, what's that? Am I from a tier 1 city? Of course not, who am I, Gunther Shultz? What's that? Did I go to university? Yeah, I did. I went to University of hard knocks called the Coral Sea War! How's that for a graduation?

Look, stop interrupting me, let me continue.

[Pouts sulkily, plays with hair before flitting it backwards with a flourish]

The Positive Plane is obviously a place of life, it is where the healers draw their power to heal and mend your broken bodies. The undead is afraid of this energy, and we should be too. Too much positive power without the ability to channel it and you know what you get? Strange mutations, cancer, weird tumours, its a pretty dangerous element. There's always danger in having too much of a good thing, just like foie gras.

Negative Energy is the other side of the coin, where positive is life, negative is death. The Undead are closely tethered to this plane, drawing their undead lifeforce from this domain. When creatures with life use energy from this plane, they suffer what we call negative drain - or just straight up loss of lifeforce and vitality. In the old days, the Mage world saw this as just another source of power. After WWI, we knew better. There are no elements with a worse rep. Trust me.

The next four are common so I shall take the liberty of glossing over them.

Earth is one of the most useful and common elements seen in Human Mages, it is the element responsible for most of our industry, mining for Mana Crystals, building our cities, and so on. The Air element is as it suggests, a place of air, space, the stuff we breathe. Fire is another common element Mages manifest in. After all, is it not said that Fire was stolen from the Gods themselves? Well, I certainly felt like I stole something from the Gods. With fire, man has created many useful tools and beaten back the tides of monstrous creatures. Finally, Water is just as important as Air, after all, did not the Magi John Baptiste proclaim the Waters of Life in Revelations 21:6?

Of the four core elements, Earth and Fire are most common, whilst Air is the rarest of primary elements. Water is exceptionally common among coastal communities.

Next, we have the Parallel Elements of Nature, also know as Para-elementals.

Of these, the most common element is Ice, a useful element that creates immense drops in temperature - being a combination of Air and Water. Ice is capable of slowing your enemies, as well as providing good defence and offence capabilities. It's pretty much useless against someone like me so I don't really know what it really does, that's what they tell me anyway.

Ooze is a stranger element, exceptionally rare and virtually non-existent outside of, especially isolated bloodlines. Ooze Mages are specialists, pending on their school, with spells that focus on entrapment, debilitation, poison, and other strange and mysterious effects. A speciality of the Ooze Conjurer is the ability to summon the creatures that exist within that element plane - oozes. It is said that some oozes are virtually indestructible except by Mages tiers above their summoner's levels. Ooze, if you were wondering, is the combination of Water and Earth. I had to fight an ooze Mage once and let me tell you, Oozes, people, you get 'em hot enough and they boil all the same.

The Magma Mage is truly unique indeed, being a rare combination of Fire and Earth. Exceptionally rare, these Mages are typically found where there are volcanic islands or fjords. We still know very little about this class of Mages, but sufficient to say, their power combines the physical prowess of the Earth Mage, with the damage potential of the Fire Mage. Truly a power that is frightening to the extreme. Man, what I'd give to be a Magma Mage, the best of both worlds!

Finally, we have Smoke, the marriage of Air and Fire. This is an element that is said to only exist in legend. In fact, in all my years, I have only known a single Smoke Mage. We really don't know what they specialise in. One can assume that whatever they do, we'll know cuz they vape.

Now, let us discuss the stranger elements of what occurs when the Positive and Negative elements interfere with the Primary Elements.

These are the rarest and most coveted abilities of sorcery and Spellcraft.

One element with has rarety on par with Magma is the quasi-element of Mineral. This is a distinct source of power that takes its capabilities from the form of mineral that the caster is attuned to. As such, it creates extremely distinct abilities that differ from Mage to Mage. A Mage capable of summoning volcanic stones, for instance, would create obsidian barriers which are brittle and fragile, but by the Gods, their offensive power is nothing to scoff at, capable of shredding General class magical creatures to shreds.

What's that? You over there, what did you say? Alesia, have you ever seen, you know, a Diamond Mage?

I am fairly sure they don't exist, but if they do, they would be my best friend.

Then we have the power of Zeus himself, the mainstay of Thorian Priests of Norway fame. Lightning! The power to harness the most concentrated force in nature. Existing between the Air and Positive Elemental planes, Lighting is the most penetrative of all element due to its electrical nature. It can cause stun and paralysis as well, in addition to the power to manifest instantly and deliver its payload in a fraction of a second. Lightning Mages are preferably Evokers, Conjurers or Transmuters for it is truly wasted on the other schools.

Likewise, when Positive and Water meet, you get Steam. This is a rare element. Beyond rare. In fact, only a handful of Mages were recorded as having tapped into a Goldilocks' zone where two elements can meet in harmony. What does it do? I must confess that I have no bloody idea. There are worse ways to die than by scalding water so hot that it melts the flesh. Trust me, you can ask Yue the in the front row what happened to the Murlocs.

Finally, we have the element that belongs to Mr Shultz, the Radiant power of Fire and Positive energy. To be frank, this is the power of Light. In theory, it should be useless, too weak to be used offensively, to dispersed to be used defensively. It takes a special Mage, therefore, to change something so immaterial into a powerful projection of power. For my husband to be, he has found a way to concentrate it's power using a combination of Schools, refracting it's power a hundred times over.

What's the spell called? That's a secret, the ones who'd see it are all dead now.

You there, what did you say? Gunther ain't my husband? Well, you want to repeat that? Those who had are all dead now too.

Alright, alright, take a joke. Sheesh.

Finally, there are the big Negative Quasi-elementals.

Ash, a power of fire that rains corrosive ash and dark flames. The most destructive element which exists of all the powers. Ash Mage rarely live long. They are said to be bred especially through sorcery and magic, tortured beings whose every summons of the powers of Ash wreck their bodies with unbelievable pain. We've never seen them amongst humanity. The Demi-humans however, such as the orcs occasionally throw up a rare-spawn that has this power. If you see one, run.

Which brings us to Dust, a strange element indeed. Dust is probably the most stable of the Negative Quasi-elements, next to Salt. It doesn't have any offensive capabilities of its own but enjoys the same corrosive ability drain as Ash. The most annoying part of fighting a Dust Mage is their ability to mute all your elemental damage. It consumes fire, water, air, lightning, even ash. It is said to be the most powerful Abjuration skill next to Mineral Mages.

Salt is likewise a very stable Negative element, with the additional ability to form into a range of crystalline shapes. It's capable of dealing extreme damage to Slimes and Oozes, as well as an assortment of creatures composed mostly of water - which includes us. The desiccation caused by the Salt Mage direction draws out elemental water from the bodies of its enemies. For a full-sized human? A few direct hits and its all over.

Lastly, we have the rarest and strangest of all elements. Void. Truly, I have never seen it myself, only ever heard it in history lessons by my master. What does it represent? Think of it as a place of vast, unending darkness, where strange, forgotten things lurk in the spaces that are darker than black, always hungering, hungering - there's no good, no evil, no light, just a place of nothingness that desires to be made manifest in the material plane, to not be so... empty.

Well, that's about all we have time for.

Next time, we can hopefully pick up our sociology lesson on the dynamics of the Mage world and the NoM world.

[Winks, pulls back hair senusously]

Class dismissed!

"Wap! Wap! Wap!"

A kookaburra slammed a lizard into the gum-bark, snapping its spine and tenderising its flesh before swallowing.

A breeze followed, casting dappled shadows that swayed rhythmically to the thrill of cicadas. The occasional bird of paradise hopped from wattle to wattle, stripping the brushes of their sweet nectar between the walled sanctuary of the native garden.

Abruptly, the sound of wheels crunching loose gravel silenced the serenity. The kookaburra looked up from its search for skinks to see a young man in a wheelchair, pushed by an uncommonly pretty maid and accompanied by another.

"Kooo-kuku-ku-ku-kua-aaaah!" the butcher bird thrilled, then took flight into the blue.

The chair-bound young man shot the bird a look of annoyance. A tendril of near-invisible dust lashed out, snaring the panicked kookaburra. Its feathers instantly moulted and fell, leaving behind a skeletal frame that fell hopping, obscene and naked, to the ground.

The young man chuckled.

The pretty maid who pushed the wheelchair sighed, then placed a hand upon the young's shoulder. A surge of positive energy flowed between them.

"You should control yourself, Young Master."

"Why?" The Young Master coughed to clear this throat. "That's why you're here, ain'tcha?"

"Indeed, but as a favour to the Mistress, and only to the Mistress."

"Bah!" the Young Master scoffed. "You're such a prude, take me in, it's almost time for our conference."

A few turns throughout the native garden and the landscape changed to that of blue lawns overshadowed by a colonial manor that soared, white and dazzling against a vista of Sydney's tablelands.

"Sir." A guard, grey-haired and severe in his black suit even in the Australian summer, bowed his head smartly as the wheelchair approached. His eyes lingered upon the Young Master, feeling such resentment at the young man's suffering that his moustache shook.

Almost nine months ago, the young Master had teleported into the Manor, mortally wounded, missing both his right limbs and a portion of his face. Even the best healers the Master called up was unable to restore the lost flesh, coax the stump to regrow its appendage. It was as though the essence of the Young Master's limbs had ceased to exist— or that they had never existed in the first place.

The young Master himself, likewise, had become a recluse; no longer the sunny, wonderful boy that the old guard had raised - a young man who joked and laughed and hunted when the mood caught him.

Now he seemed a husk of the man he used to be. They had begged the young Master for knowledge of what had occurred, but all his attempts were rebuffed. It was all so strange.

"Going to the chamber, Sir?"

"Yes, Burham, get me fitted before we go in. I need to appear my very best before the Mistress."

"Sir.' Burham reached in gently and picked up the young man from the wheelchair as though he were a babe, cradling the young Master in his arms. In a moment, his eyes moistened.

The Young Master, a Dust Mage, a rare bloodline, the scion of a peerless lineage - now reduced to this. Who could have done such a thing? Who could dare? He wanted more than anything to find out, to give his Young Master satisfaction.

"No need to be so sentimental, Burham." the Young Master comforted his servant.

"Of course not, Young Master." Burham straightened his back and took the young man toward the armoury. There was a long oaken table there, atop which was a set of prosthetic arm and leg, both right-handed and footed.

Burham placed the young man upon the table and buckled on the arm and leg, wrapping the soft leather straps around his waist and shoulders. He then pulled open a hidden draw set within the table, retrieving mana stones the size of duck-eggs, each worth at minimum four thousand HDM crystals. The cores clinked into place, and the limbs whirled into life.

The Young Master sat on the table and moved his new Dwarf-forged mithril-limbs. They possessed no sensation, of course, they were not his own, but at least he would regain mobility. Slowly, he felt the mana from the stones mingle with that of his own body, the limbs becoming more responsive as the lag between command and movement synchronised.

"Dress me," he commanded. Burham materialised a Mage's robe stitched in the archaic style and pulled it carefully over the Young Master. A belt and a few adjustments later, the young man was once again a handsomely representative of the arcane brotherhood in its glorious yesteryears. How like his great-grandfather he seemed, like the very painting come to life.

"Let's go."

They exited the chamber and were joined by the two maids, making for the basement level. Upon reaching the heavily warded bronze door, they paused.

The Young Master placed his hand upon the surface and incanted some indistinct commands, simultaneously drawing secrete glyphs upon its surface. The door yawned open ponderously, revealing the soft glow of arcane lights within.

The group moved forward, but one of the maids stopped at the entrance. It was the youngest one, the one who'd stayed silent the whole while.

"Young Master," she begged, her voice choking. "Please, I can't. I am not allowed."

"Nonsense!" the Young Master said kindly. "You're as much a part of this as any of us."

"Please," the girl begged, her eyes wild with panic. "I don't want to. I— just— Pl-Please let me serve you in other ways."

The older maid, the one who had spoken earlier with such disdain for the Young Master, impatiently pushed her into the room. The doors boomed close behind them.

The young maid shivered and could say nothing. She followed silently.

"Thank you, Nephres."

"The Mistress is a busy woman," Nephres replied with a voice short on patience.

Nephres ventured into the room and activated the conjuration portal.

The silver conjuration glyphs of the chamber glowed with a fierce light. A dark hole formed within the centre of the magical formation, spewing out a thrashing volume of strange, eel-like vermin. Half serpentine, half insect, wholly faceless and utterly alien, the strange creatures piled upon one another until they formed into the shapely form of a cowled, female Mage.

From underneath the low hanging cowl, all they could see were a pair of shallow red lips on pale white skin, so pale it gave the impression of fresh snow painted with a dash of sanguine blood. There was a sensuality about it all that made their audience hold their breath.

An aura unique to Void flooded the chambers.

Burham felt his old blood pumping, and Edgar felt his young body engorge and broil with strange desires. Nephres moaned.

"I commend you on the recovery of the Shielding Core, Edgar."

Her voice was distant and echoing, giving the impression that she was speaking from somewhere otherworldly.

"As you wish, Mistress, I live to serve."

"How fare you with my gifts? Have the artificers performed their duty to satisfaction?"

"They have, my Lady, I feel as good as a new man with his limbs wholly intact."

The female figure seemed satisfied with that response.

"You have grown, Edgar. I was looking forward to chiding you for exacting zealous revenge and endangering our designs, but it appears you have unexpectedly heeded my advice."

She turned to the older, more comely maid.

"Nephres, how is his condition?"

"Adequate, my Lady. His affinity has improved, in fact," Nephres admitted sulkily. The Mistress was showing too much deference for the boy.

"I am pleased with both of you then."

Both Nephres and Edgar felt overwhelmed with motherly affection.

"We live to serve." They both bowed.

"How is our other wayward child, the one without a face of his own?"

Edgar tensed. He could feel cold sweat beginning to drench his back. The Lady had asked for information on Faceless as well three months ago, but Edgar had achieved nothing of note. It was as though his partner had evaporated into thin air.

"I fear we have no news," Edgar confessed, awaiting the inevitable admonishment.

"No matter, he... is alive," the Lady answered nonchalantly. "Children will return to the fold, in time. They always do."

"Nephres," the Lady was unexpectedly kind. "How proceeds our negotiation with the Mermen?"

"As if they had a choice in the first place, your Grace," Nephres smirked arrogantly, chuckling to herself. "Did you know they use your Grace's name to silence their misbehaving children? One mention of your exploits and even the rowdiest school of fingerlings would hide in their coral caves."

"True enough, but I want assurances," The woman in black intoned. "No more unforeseen circumstances like last time. Right, Edgar?"

Edgar fell to his knees and knocked his forehead against the pavement. He performed the kowtowing supplication three times until he was dizzy and bleeding.

"Nephres, heal him."

Nephres grumbled and shot Edgar a beam of green, nourishing energy.

"There will be no failure." The Lady commanded. "Until next time."

Edgar watched the sigils fade, feeling his wounds heal. He felt so pent up, so unfulfilled, so filled to the brim with emotions that tore at his rational mind and stroked something dark and malignant within.

"You, come here," He commanded the younger maid, who shook her head, her small face white with fear and dripping terror. She had believed the rumuors.

She should have.

"Please, young master Edgar. Please. I just wanted to work here. I am not from anywhere great. I'll be useful to you. I'll do anything, just spare me, please…"

Despite the presence of Burham and Nephres, the girl tore at her maid's uniform, revealing her still developing breasts, two gentle swells that glowed palely in the dim light of the spent conjuration ritual.

Burham looked away. Poor young Master— reduced to this.

Nephres' eyes glowered with sick pleasure.

"Come here. Now."

"Please, no…"

The maid dropped to her knees and supplicated, as Edgar had done, smashing her head against the pavement. The skin on her forehead split, splattering blood all over and ruining her good looks. It was a gamble, she knew, maybe the Young Master would lose his interest if she was ugly, no longer the beautiful girl hand-picked by Mr Burham. If she was foul, what would be the sport?

"You think I am interested in your body?" Edgar almost choked on a fit of passion. Instead, he began a riotous explosion of laughter. Edgar fought the tightness in his pants, constrained by the prosthetic limb's leather bands and understood the misunderstanding. It was pretty funny, Edgar had to admit. "Nothing of the sort, little bird."

"Dusty!" he commanded. A whirling Dust elemental materialised, its comical name betrayed by the horrific vision of a malignant dark shape looming over the girl.

"No! Anything! I'll do anything!"

Her cry went unheeded. Dusty was upon her in an instant. The bleating maid's flesh instantly rendered, and her blood flowed freely. The pressure of Dusty's powerful grasp wrung her body; her fluids drained and mingled with the swirling Devil until it became a whirl of crimson.

Edgar felt his mana pool grow just ever so slightly.

"That was an excellent choice, Burham," he commended his manservant. "Where did you dig her out from?"

"Near the Hills District."

"I would like a few more of the same quality. If you are able, I feel stronger already."

"Of course.' Burham bowed. The Master would not approve, but if the lives of these worthless NoM-turned Mages meant that the Young Master could regain his health, then so be it.

Edgar meanwhile, continued to drain the poor maid until all of her Essences ceased to be, leaving behind a corpse of dusty death where a lively young woman had once existed. His mind, however, could barely register the final, whimpering moments of the victim whose life force nourished him. At this moment, Edgar's consciousness was elsewhere, dreaming of another time, another place.

He dreamt of a pair of lithe, long legs trembling in the firelight, eyes speckled with emerald-on-amber, dilated with fear and trembling with unspeakable loathing.

Edgar was again tasting the girl's mind, her astral soul, split in twain, light and dark, separate and yet whole, like the yolk and the egg white.

He had been so close. Edgar recalls it as if it were happening still, himself towering over the staggering girl, her mind caught in his dark web, strands upon strands of Enchantment woven into illusions, overpowering her mind. Her nape caught in his rough-hewn palm, his hands had caressed the shy, white skin of her shoulders, brushing away the dust and sweat to reveal the pallid flesh below. She had pushed him away, but how could her terrified, vague fingers resist? He had touched her, entered her in a way that no one else ever would. He could feel her resistance failing, the unclenching of her loosening thighs— his ultimate victory.

Edgar felt a sudden shudder engender in the loins.

Nephres, who'd been watching the whole ordeal distastefully, choked on her saliva. Even Burham was embarrassed by Edgar's unexpected passion. The guard instantly materialised a new robe.

"Would the Young Master perhaps consider drawing a bath?" he noted without altering his tone, suppressing a dash of dire redness flashing across his old face.

"Please." Edgar smoothed out his robe, his face likewise glowering with renewed vitality. "Do clean up here as well."

Wait for me.

Edgar promised himself with untold vehemence, inexpertly fighting his impulses with trembling limbs that jangled.

I am coming.

“So that’s how it is.” Gwen finished explaining the situation to her gathered compatriots at the cafeteria while Alesia stood sheepishly beside her, nursing a cup of hot Milo.

“So,” Yue rapped her fingers on the table. “You telling me that we get to skip all the boring stuff? That sounds alright to me.”

“I am afraid it’s sink or swim, all the way," Gwen reminded everyone, just in case they had yet to understand the scope of their new deal.

“I don’t see a problem with that,” Yue grinned confidently. “Boom, straight to the Top 8! You're here to make a big splash, right? What could be bigger than that?”

“Reckless, but I agree.” Debora nodded beside Yue. “I want to show off my abilities, a real showcase, and that can only be achieved by challenging the best.”

“It’s all choice to me, bro.” Whetu made his opinions known. “Nuffin's getting by my punamu in a hurry.”

“I’ll do my best!” Elvia uttered cutely, joining the circle of affirmation.

“Alright!” Gwen extended her hand and place it on the table. "We're cool then?"

"Cool,"

"Good."

"Yep."

"Let's do it!"

Gwen took a deep breath, she'd been waiting for this moment.

“All for one!”

“Together!”

“As one!”

“For us!”

“Team Blackwattle!”

The group cheered.

Gwen felt profoundly sad that this world had no Alexander Dumas. So many missed opportunities! She’d really have to tell the story to the girls someday, convert the Musketeers into the Three Magus, or something.

“So, when do we bring the pain?” Yue inquired.

“Thursday noon, the Rosebay Private Girl’s Academy,” Gwen affirmed. “Public exhibition match for the seeded position in the top 8. There’s going to be a sizeable audience, I am lead to believe.”

“At the very least, Magister Kilroy and Ferris will be there,” Alesia butted in. “Two of the highest powers in the land. There's no better audience than this! There will be a number of high ranking Magus attending too, but they're mostly the Magister's entourage.”

“Oh,” Elvia's small face turned paler than her bedsheets. “So many powerful and famous people. Master Kilroy is the leader of the Tower! Master Ferris is very famous as well for her Divination and Illusion!”

Debora’s eyes glowed with anticipation.

“So, how are we doing the matches?” Yue asked. “I know we’re doing a 5v5, but who's doing the 1v1 and the 3v3?”

“Gwen will be fronting the 1v1,” Alesia stated. “That was a part of the agreement.”

“Wouldn’t they just buff their Mages with Lightning Resistance?” Debora noted. “That’s what I would do.”

“Not with Master Kilroy there. No pre-match buffs. No way to gain an unfair advantage.”

“What if she had to fight an Abjurer who's specialised in Earth? That's a terrible matchup for Gwen. What if they're an illusionist and Gwen makes a mistake or misfires a spell?”

Alesia shot Debora an exhaustive look.

“That's for Gwen to overcome. Out there in the real world, you don't get favourable match-ups. Your enemies will try to counter you at every turn. How we play the hand we're dealt with is the mainstay of what differentiates a skilled mage from a bad one. Not to mention that out of all the people here, Gwen has the least problem with flexibility.” Alesia intoned from personal inexperience, her voice unusually solemn and stern. "If Gwen couldn’t even overcome that, she’d have no place fighting for top dog at the apex of the Inter-high pyramid."

“Ma'am," Debora acquiesced.

"How about the 3v3?” she pivoted the topic and proposed instead.

Alesia grinned ominously.

“We only need to win best of three, so I was thinking of having ya-self, Yue and Whetu standing in for the three-man. After all, I dare say that chance of Gwen having to blow her 'ability' is pretty high if Rosebay takes this seriously.”

The Debora and Yue regarded one another with surprise.

“I am game.” Debora declared instantly. “So long as she’s capable of controlling her friendly fire.”

“I am game too,” Yue replied. “So long as she’s capable of not walking into my Fireballs.”

“Ah~ Youth.” Alesia shook her head wisely, giving, the impression of an all-knowing zen master. “You girls will be spending tomorrow with me on the Training Field. You better not embarrass Gwen out there, she’s counting on you!”

“Yes, Master!” Yue saluted.

“Ma’am!” Debora inclined her head affirmatively.

"If there's nothing else, go and get some rest." Alesia brushed her hair back luxuriously. "Dismissed! We'll gather here first thing Thursday morning. I'll have transportation sorted out by then."

The rest of the crew affirmed the order and went their separate ways. Gwen and the girls returned to their dorm room.

"How do you feel about all this, Gwen?" Yue inquired, landing on her bed with an expression of gaiety.

"What must come, will come, the readiness is all," Gwen replied confidently, it was a saying she was truly taking to heart these days. Her confidence wasn't unfounded either, for she had theory-crafted many scenarios and outcomes with Alesia, the vast majority of which demonstrated that victory for Gwen was assured.

"So, what happens now?" Elvia asked carefully. “Does this mean we win and then we’re in the competition?”

“Yep, pretty much. First stop, Rosebay, next stop, Stadium Australis.”

“Eeep! I thought as much!” Elvia hugged her pillow and rolled around her bed, messing up her sheets. “All those eyes watching! I’ve never shown my spells in front of so many people, you guys! What if I miss a healing spell? What if I embarrass everyone?”

“Oh, Evee,” Yue hastened over to the adjacent bed and pushed Elvia toward her bosoms. “If anything, it's that exhibitionist Debby who’s going to embarrass us.”

“Has Debs got her element imbued clothing yet?” Gwen asked. Debora's used Blink a dozen times in training but had always ended up in a gross state of undress. Alesia had said that it took exceptional expertise to Blink without damaging one's attire, and Debora was still working on her tier 3 foundations.

“Master said she’ll source it by Thursday,” Yue replied confidently. “We have our own uniforms too. They’re supposed to be resistant to spell-force, dirt, heat and cold.”

“Nice,” Gwen wondered what they’d look like, imagining the green and gold uniforms that classic Australian Olympians used for international competitions. Something in that style would be wonderful.

“Well, good night,” Yue said. She wiggled under her summer blankets, closed her eyes, and was instantly asleep.

“That amazes me every time,” Gwen noted in a suppressed voice.

Gwen tried to sleep for over an hour, but the scenarios of the competition kept playing over and over again in her head.

“Gwen,” Elvia whispered softly in the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep at all,” Elvia paused nervously. “Do you think…”

Gwen opened her blankets.

“Come on over, plenty of room for a cute little Evee.”

She felt Elvia’s soft, boneless body slid under her thin sheets. The petite blonde girl was wearing pyjamas, but Gwen just had on a singlet and her cotton shorts. With Elvia's entry, her sheets were instantly filled with that scent of life which suffused the healer at all times.

“You smell so nice.” Gwen breathed in deeply.

Elvia giggled, but her mirthful immaturity quickly metamorphosed into a voice that was trembling with uncertainty.

“I didn’t want to say in front of the others, Gwen, but I am awfully nervous.” Elvia crawled a little closer and whispered into Gwen’s ticklish ear. “I am so scared right now. What if I can’t heal you guys? What if someone stops me? What if I am too slow and one of you gets seriously injured?”

“You’ll do fine, Evee, you always have. When have you ever failed us?” Gwen hugged the little girl closer, feeling her soft breath against her neck. She felt so nice, like holding a little kitten in-between one’s arms. Her oxytocins must be going crazy at the moment.

“Please don’t let this be the time I screw up.” Elvia prayed to the empty room.

“It won’t, Evee. I promise you.” Gwen affirmed. She lowered her lips and kissed Elvia on the forehead.

“Can I stay?” Elvia begged, it was still the summer and the room had no cooling unit, but Elvia’s hands and feet were ice cold.

“Of course, Evee, I’ll warm you up.” Gwen cuddled her.

Elvia sheltered in the warmth that permeated from Gwen, whilst Gwen herself was half-drunk on Elvia's intoxicating scent of life. The two of them laid side by side and were soon fast counting kookaburras on the old gum tree.

Gwen wasn’t sure what to make of Wednesday.

At Alesia’s behest, the group didn’t have class, but Yue and Debora were both absent due to their 3v3 training with Whetu.

Elvia likewise, had gone to see her uncle, wondering if Hans, who had served as a combat medic, had anymore last minute wisdom to part.

Gwen didn’t want to spend the day alone. Having spent three-months constantly surrounded by people had established a feeling of collectivism which made her momentary isolation more pronounced than it really was.

So after some deliberation, Gwen called Richard.

“Oh hey!” his voice answered from the other side of her Message device. “Am I free? Not yet, but I can be. One sec.”

“Richard! No! This was wholly unplanned, I don’t want to bother you if you are busy!”

From a distance, Gwen could hear Richard announce with certainty that was he leaving.

“Okay, I am free. Where do you want to meet?”

"Richard! Really! I don't want to inconvenience you."

“I am not inconvenienced at all. My schedule is clear for the rest of the day.”

“…”

“City or something quieter? I know a new place that was just built, lovely Wildland ingredients. Want to try?”

“Sure, I want to ask you some stuff about Rosebay, if you have any idea.”

“Of course, I’ll tell you what I can.”

“See ya.”

The address which Richard had given was too far from the station and so Gwen had to take a Taxi. She kept her casual attire of jeans and a white-tee, keeping a minimum profile as she ventured into Alexandria.

When she’d arrived, she was surprised to find that an industrial area had been converted into some sort of a farm-house cafe. It was as though someone had taken an old warehouse and gentrified it with aged oak and industrial-chic. Business was booming when Gwen stepped in, but she quickly found Richard in the crowd.

“Gwen.”

“Richard.”

They exchanged cheeks, drawing eyes from the passerby.

“Let’s head in.”

Gwen was surprised that Richard had already booked a seat.

“It’s so busy, Richard, how did you get a table so quickly?”

“My brother-in-craft’s family at Prince’s owns the place.” Richard laughed, tapping his storage ring. “I got a VIP insignia. They reserve a few tables for friends and family of the place at all times.”

The waitress as cute and her skirt was short. She cast a few doe-eyed glances at Richard before taking their order.

Coffee was first to arrive. Richard had his cold-dripped, a classy choice. Gwen stuck to her pedestrian iced coffee drenched with condensed milk.

Gwen told Richard what she’d already see at Rosebay, as well as Alesia’s dossier on who she thinks might bet Gwen’s challenger.

Richard shook his head.

“Not that Alesia is wrong, but Rosebay is hardly going to face you with students that you already know. Most schools have a few students that they reserve for events just like your one. These kids are typically ones who go on to become core members of the school's alumni, typically, they're talented scholarship students without big backings from their own clan, so their loyalty is foremost to the school itself."

“How do you know this, Richard?” Gwen asked out of interest. It was highly unusual that Alesia hadn’t mentioned any of this, she had been meticulous with the details of the top students in Rosebay.

“Because I am one of them.” Richard smiled and sipped his coffee carefully, letting the robust flavour roll over his tongue. “Even though I am ranked no.1 in the school of Conjuration, I have never participated in public matches for Prince’s. My position as a Prefect also comes with the role of Praetorian, someone who sets the record straight if an overwhelming force comes to challenge the school. I am not surprised Alesia is unaware of this, as she’s neither involved in Spellcraft competitions nor the private school scene.”

“Isn't this a big secret then?” Gwen asked, a little surprised. “And you just told me, just like that?”

“Just like that,” Richard tapped the table with his nails. “What’s a few secrets amongst chums like us.”

“I am very grateful then,” Gwen said seriously.

“Call it a favour then.”

“What do you recommend I do? I’d have no idea what to expect then?”

“Well, there’s a method which you could try, if you’re willing to put some faith in me.”

“Shot,” Gwen affirmed. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

“I need your spell list.”

“…” Gwen wasn’t sure about that. To give away her spell list would mean that Richard knew exactly what she could be capable of. What if he leaked it to Prince's?

“Trust me.” Richard reached out and took Gwen’s hand. “I’ll never betray you. Not in this lifetime.”

It was at this moment that the waitress arrived with their food: Wildland pheasant in cranberry reduction, and South Atlantic bluefin tartare in lime-pine ponzu. The waitress eyed their hand-holding wordlessly and carefully laid down their plates before retreating with a defeated expression.

Gwen felt defeated. Perhaps it was the look in his eye. Perhaps it was their shared experiences so far, but Gwen wanted to believe in Richard.

“Okay, I trust you.”

“Wait up, let me set up a private Message.”

Gwen meticulously told Richard of her spell list, but only her Conjuration, Evocation and Transmutation.

Richard’s hand shook a little when sipping his coffee.

“Gwen, how are you learning tier 4 spells so quickly?”

“Not my secret to give. Sorry, Richard.”

“Of course. Forget I asked.”

Richard analysed Gwen’s spell list.

“Wow, to think you have access to that already. I think... I would recommend this…”

After another night of cuddling a nervous Elvia, the girls were awakened by Alesia banging a pot-lid of some kind. Where did she even get a pot-lid? The woman doesn’t cook!

They stared bleary-eyed at the dark-haired beauty, who then materialised individual bundles of clothes atop their beds.

“Ta-da! I had the order rush-made. Cost me half a bag of crystals! Damage resistant, self-mending battle dresses! I’ve given Debora and Whetu theirs, and these are your own. All in Blackwattle colours.”

“Aww yeah!” Yue leapt from her bed and tore through her package.

The paper wrapping pulled apart easily to reveal a smart looking short sleeve blouse in white, with the right breast pocket blazoned with Blackwattle’s Heraldry. The skirt was pleated and chequered, with a silver-grey tartan crisscrossed in black and white. There was a blazer as well, but only the blouse and the skirt were enchanted to cut costs. They were still a government school after all. Even with Alesia’s string pulling, the school couldn’t afford to give five students a full regalia of gear. Gwen had asked her grandfather if he was willing to contribute, but Surya had told her that competitive items were limited to specific types, such as those that preserved life. Her elemental-absorption scale, for example, could only be triggered when she received damage, but most matched ended with the breaking of a Mage’s mana shield, signifying that a Mage was OOM or no longer capable of self-defence. His other reason was far simpler. Magic items weren’t cabbages! You can’t just ask for five sets in three months from an artisan! It would take a major fabrication division months to weave the self-mending fabric necessary to craft a damage resistant suit. Each strand had to be transmuted individually and then woven together. Surya wasn't a tailor, he was a trinket maker.

The girls suited up. They looked smart and preppy in their pleated skirts. They had their existing school-shoes, which were polished pairs of oxfords. Gwen opted for her 'glamoured' Mary-Janes, whose black leather befitted the outfit and had the added benefit of matching the damage and dust resistance of her new uniform. A simple tie finished the accessory department, creating a cute bow from their finger-width, silver-trimmed ties.

“Hey!” Yue uttered with surprise, stretching her chest out and bending her elbows. “The shirt! It shapes itself!”

“That it does,” Alesia gave her pupil a thumbs up. In certain departments, Yue was peerless.

“Not a fan of these?” Gwen questioned Alesia, seeking a confirmation to a question she’d had for some time. “Your Djinn form shreds everything you wear.”

“I could, but then I’d have to wear the same outfit all the time.” Alesia nodded her head sagely. “Where would be the fun in that?”

The rest of the team met in the elevator lobby. It was interesting how their uniforms had subtle differences. Elvia's blouse had long sleeves for better protection. Debora's shirt was sleeveless, her skirt was shorter, allowing her to perform more acrobatic movements as well as accentuating the toned curvature of her athletic legs. Whetu's shirt was like a second skin against the hilly terrain of his pectorals. His personal uniform had a tie which he wore loose, it's black material matching his long pants, which had been converted into a straight-cut pair of regular-fits. They noted that Whetu wore instead heavy, steel-toed leather boots with an impressive array of metallic studs.

When the members had finished inspecting one another's new uniforms, they were greeted with the unexpected sight of the academy's staff waiting for them in the atrium.

Principal Bartlett was waiting for them, along with their tutors and instructors. The morning students all gathered to gawk at the spectacle as the team of five emerged into the atrium in their new attire.

“Gwen! Elvia, Yue, Debora, and Mr. Taranga. I bid you fair tidings for the journey ahead. It brings me much joy to know that despite what little contribution the school could provide, you are now going out there to challenge the world in our name."

Gwen bowed low and the others followed.

A murmur broke out amongst the student. The fact that Blackwattle would be challenging a top 8 academy had yet to be spread amongst the students. Gwen and company had kept it amongst themselves.

“That is not true, Sir. We owe so much of what we have today to you, Sir and Madams, whatever the outcome of this competition, we shall not forget all that you have done for us.” Gwen replied formally without a second thought, bringing broad smiles to the instructor’s faces.

Before the other students, teacher and student clasped hands with firm shakes.

Mr Rawson even made a rare appearance with a Lumen recorder, taking an account of this sacred moment when Blackwattle, a government high school without a rank, is going to challenge one of the top 8 schools in the state. How would history remember this moment? If the girls succeed, would they become a Selective School? What of the students here? Would they receive the necessary training and funding to become the elites of the Mageocracy?

“Alesia, take care of them!” Bartlett intoned emotionally to Alesia. He still recalled the first time that he’d called upon Alesia to help Gwen. The girl had been taken hostage by her family, ready to be showcased and sold off to join some private school. Bartlett was at his wits’ end and had called in all the favours he could, including an old associate of the war, Henry Kilroy. Unexpectedly, Kilroy had responded, and after series of escalating events, Gwen had become something that exceeded his wildest expectations. What would people say in the future when Gwen had her own Tower? Would they say, ‘Ah, she came from Blackwattle, the Selective School who was headed by the late Principal, Edward Bartlett?’ How would history remember him if Gwen were to become a Mage that opened up more living space for mankind? Would they muse, ’Oh, did you know that it was Bartlett who first recognised her talent and gave the legendary Magister her first taste of privilege and power?’

“Oh, they’ll return safe and sound! Else there wouldn’t be a single brick left standing in Rosebay!” Alesia laughed and the instructors followed awkwardly. They weren’t sure if the Magus was kidding or she was serious. With Alesia, anything she said could be taken either way.

"You guys ready to head out?" A familiar voice called out.

"Paul!" Gwen waved excitedly. It was Alesia's Conjuration specialist who had appeared at the door.

"Hey Gwen, looking mighty fine there! You eighteen yet?"

"Soon, Paul," Gwen smirked winsomely.

"Not old enough to be dating, but old enough to killing," Paul lamented a cardinal truth of their cruel world. "Well, if you ladies are just about finished, I got the Rosebay Tele-Circle fired up and waiting."

Motes of Conjuration mana drifted through the air, falling like dandruff onto the student’s new uniforms.

Alesia coughed.

“God! What is with this archaic incantation! That efficiency! My God, when did they build this thing?”

“Looks like something they did when the school was constructed, feels like the 70s,” Paul the Conjurer answered. “We get this a lot in the older institutions.”

The rest of the teleported crowd gawked at the soaring Cathedral before them.

The sea!

The cliff!

The open sky!

Yet more impressive was the scene before them.

Their gaze fell from the impressive building toward an ocean of blue pleated skirts and dark penguin habits that faced them.

“Welcome to Rosebay!” Mistress Stone greeted them with open arms.

“WELCOME TO ROSEBAY!” The crowd of girls behind them announced at once.

There was a muffled explosion in the sky and Yue ducked out of instinct, causing a few laughs to break out amongst the crowd of younger girls. Debora shot Yue a look of consternation and mockery, which was returned by a 'hmmph!'

Above Gwen and the others, a cascade of rose petals began to fall, conjured by an incredibly useless but highly aesthetic signature spell.

“Cor Unum!” Stone commanded in archaic latin.

“HEARTS AND MINDS!” The girls answered, their sweet voices filling the courtyard.

Just as the Blackwattle crew had thought the show of force was over, the younger girls began to sing, their angelic voices divining joining the falling of the petals. They were soon joined by the older girls in the chorus.

"Alleluia Alleluia,

For our Lord God Almighty reigns

Alleluia Alleluia,

For our Load God Almighty reigns

Alleluia,

Holy holy,

Are You Lord God Almighty!

Worthy is the Lamb,

Worthy is the Lamb!"

Gwen and the crew felt frozen to the spot. What kind of reception was this! It was the grandest, most impressive thing they had ever experienced in their lives! How do they even begin to respond to this?

Then Gwen became distracted by the layout of the training field behind the girls. She saw silhouetted upon the VIP platform, two austere, seated figures. One sported the familiar tweed jacket and vest, attended to by the slim figure of a woman with bark-like skin and autumn leafs for a head of air. Beside him, was a middle-aged woman with two streaks of white hair running through her crowned hair, piled atop her head into a kind of high-piled braid. She had a severe look about her that radiated power and competence - this would unmistakably be Magister Ferris, one of the ten and the patron of Rosebay.

The choir fell away, and Magus Stone opened a path for them.

“I am looking forward to working with you, Gwen Song. Magister Ferris is very interested in you herself. When you rise in the world, please remember my humble service.” She spoke as Gwen passed, walking in front of them.

Gwen thanked the mistress but said nothing more. Exposing the bet would only make her companions unnaturally nervous. The stakes were plenty high already. Besides, she wasn't sure if Debora or someone might see her 'deal' as some kind of betrayal. Afterall, anyone would probably be incredibly pleased if they were scholarshiped in a school like Rosebay - full of a promising future, potentially averting the disastrous Military Service.

The Blackwattle crew felt like a trope of exotic beasts, watched with fascination by four hundred girls all dressed in blue habits tipped with emblazoned red roses.

“Oh my goodness, look at that girl’s skirt! It so short I could see her knickers!”

“The leading one is so pretty! Master Stone seems to have taken a liking to her.”

“Oh my, look at that one, she’s so solid! Those muscles! Is she a wrestler?”

“Who knows, I heard that regular students have to do manual labour to pay for tuition!"

“Eek, how dreadful!”

“Hold up! Look at the short Asian one.”

“Who cares, she’s just some migrant, I want to know about the tall one.”

“No! Look closely!”

“Holy hell, her… bust! Is it real?”

“It’s padded! Padded I tell you!”

“Woa! What’s that thing?”

“The big guy? Maybe he’s a manservant.”

“He’s so big.”

“I think he’s kind of dreamy.”

"No way! What is on his face? A tattoo?"

“Look at his feet! It’s bigger than both my feet.”

“You know what they say about men with big feet, fufufu.”

“What do they say?”

“They say…”

“Shush! Mother Superior is coming.”

“… that they need really big shoes!”

They were escorted into the courtyard and placed before the audience.

The duelling platform itself was a generous field about a hundred by fifth metres, halved in the middle by a dividing line. The exterior of the platform was lined with enchanted blocks of magic dampeners and portable shields which prevented the battle from spilling onto the observing audience. Gwen noted that the ground itself has been additionally inscribed with Conjuration and Transmutation glyphs, indication that it could be repaired or transformed at the whim of the administrator into different landscapes.

On the oppositional side, a team of girls shuffled in. They were all so indistinct, virtually all wearing identical blue habits with the red rose chest pin. Gwen could only tell them apart by their height as well as the mana that radiated from them.

“Detect Magic.” She muttered under her breath.

There were motes of Divination magic on the other side as well. The teams were getting an edge by checking one another out.

Gwen measured the mana emerging from the other side.

Fire Evoker.

Ice Conjurer.

Earthen Abjurer

Air Diviner

A positive energy healer.

Another Evoker, Earth again.

Then there was a girl clearly different from the rest, whose elements were a strange mix of fire and earth, and whose school appeared indistinct. This must be a member of the reserves, the so-called Praetorian of the school's fortunes.

Gwen knew what that meant - much like herself, whose sigils gave off a chaotic confusion of mana, the girl was likely a Magus-in-training, capable of tapping into at least two schools. At any rate, the other team had both regular members and reserve members. Gwen's team had only five. They could not afford to lose a single member, nor expose too much of their abilities before the 5v5. Richard's advice resounded in Gwen's mind. She had a decision to make.

The teams gathered before Kilroy and Ferris, who nodded affirmatively as they all made the supplicating gesture of deeply bowing before the superior Mage.

After all that hubbub at the teleportation gate, the rest of the contest seemed rather spartan on ceremony. Inspections were carried out by Alesia and Stone on oppositional team members, satisfying the requirement that the students did not carry contraband items. Their Storage Rings were confiscated for the time being as well, in addition to any portable devices, as well as healing, buffing, or mana potions. Stone had paused when she saw Gwen’s scale but said nothing as Ferris herself chose to remain silent.

When all was stated and done, the two Magus, Stone and Alesia, presented themselves below the Magisters and announced that they were ready to proceed.

"Transmute Terrain!"

Some form of a lottery must have taken place, for the field transformed in the next instant into small crested hills and wild grasses that looked fully capable of tangling an unwary traveller.

Magus Stone turned from the platform towards the two teams.

“Gwen Song, Blackwattle Bay! Versus Julia Fiore Muller! Rosebay!”

Gwen stepped into the field and watched her opponent do the same. It was the tall girl with a para-element and two schools.

Julia removed her habit-like outer uniform to reveal a form-fitting bodysuit in blue and red, skin-tight against her athletic form. She looked well muscled, giving the impression of a Debora who spent far too much time in the Gym. Her hair was cropped short, leading Gwen to suspect that she likely had a full-body effect.

Gwen breathed in and out, calming her quickening heart. She had one shot at this. She had faith in Richard. She had faith in herself.

Above, the command to initiate was given.

“May the best Mage win the day!”

“Commence!”

Julia was supremely confident she could defeat a Lightning Mage no matter how skilled or talented they were. There were just too much of a difference in their elemental compatibilities.

First of all, a Lightning Mage had little to no protection against her Magma attacks, for Magma were the perfect combination of all-consuming heat betrothed with the force and power of the earth. Her basic catapults pulverised even an Earthen Abjurer's shielding. Combined with Transmutation, she could Jump, she could Blink, she could throw small meteors of devastating destruction. During Rosebay's Field Trip, Julia single-handedly took down a two hundred green-skinned Goblinoids. She even wrestled an Ogre and had beaten it into the ground.

If so, how the hell did she lose?

Her defence was impeccable! Her instructor had attuned her Magma-Skin Transmutation so that it warded against electrical attacks. Additionally, she had prepared Resist Lightning, Absorb Lightning, and an assortment of effects designed negate Gwen Song's abilities.

Julia tried to think, attempting to recall the last ten seconds.

Her opponent had first-strike— that had been assured. After all, Gwen was a Lightning Mage, possessing the fastest acting element next to Radiance, while Julia was as slow as Ooze. So long as Julia endured Gwen's first spell, however, it was over - for Julia knew that it was nigh-impossible for the mana expenditure of an offensive caster to match the efficacy of a defender. Either through defeat by becoming OOM, or by submission, Julia was sure that the Lightning Mage would fail her challenge.

If so, why was she the one lying on the ground?

Julia propped herself up on her right arm, looking around the duelling field for an answer. Her chest hurt. Her whole body hurt. She was thunderstruck, but how had Gwen Song penetrated her defence?

Around the arena, the Rosebay cohort was full of bewilderment, disbelief, and confusion, all mashed into a single moment of dismay. Julia looked up, feeling anger and resentment rising in her throat. Did Gwen Song cheat? Was she an illusionist?

An illusion?

Julia's brow broke out in cold sweat. Was she trapped in an Illusory Phantasm?

Julia concentrated her mana, feeling the lingering Magma on her skin boil and crackle, turning red and liquid.

"Julia!" The one and only Magister Irene Ferris, Master of her Master, called out. "Stand down!"

She didn't want to, but the voice was like an iron whip against her mind. The Magma Skin fell from her body and sizzled the turf. The transmuted landscape faded, returning to the grey-dark concrete of the unglamoured training field.

"Ma'am." Julia croaked. She was in disbelief. She wanted to tell the Magus that Gwen Song had cheated somehow.

"This is no illusion," Irene said kindly. "You were simply outmatched."

Julia shuddered. Bested?! Outmatched?!

She turned to look at Magus Stone, who was frantically waving at Julia, commanding her to return.

What else could she do?

The Magister had spoken.

She lost.

Irene Ferris didn't much like the man next to her. Deathless Henry, they called him— Henry Kilroy, the Master of the Ten. She didn't like that moniker one bit. No man was a master of Irene Ferris, especially not an old relic from bygone wars.

There were other reasons why Irene didn't like Henry, but those were more pragmatic. As a Diviner, her auguries had often told of impending opportunities and wayward risks that the Tower faced. Sometimes, Henry heeded her words; other times, he ignored them. The man seemed to operate on a level that the other nine couldn't question, and she didn't like that one bit either.

Was it because Henry Kilroy was a part of the Great Generation? The folks that initiated the Tower system, aiding the Great Reclamation? Sure, the once August Kilroy had lowered himself to govern a Tier 2 Tower, but it didn't mean that he should be above the Rule of Law, right? As the Tower's Oracle and Diviner, surely she had more say in the matter of defence.

Yet, the old man persisted in his "Middle Path" of isolation.

Develop the human cities, suppress the Demi-humanoids. Lockdown all inter-species trading and control the level of contact between the races.

How could Sydney progress if its ruler enforced stagnation?

Herself, Walken, and Lin, they were all like-minded in their belief that Mages and Men were quickly drifting apart, that the NoM would inevitably bury the Mage in an avalanche of incompetence. She was inclined to believe that Mages, so steeped in mana and magic, had more in common with the magical demi-humanoid races.

In that case, why not open up trade with the Mermen? Get to know about their culture and language? Why not do as the Europeans do, and create envoys to and from sapient races like the fabled Elves and the Dwarves? Who's to say that Orcs and Hobs were only useful for their Creature Cores?

Ferris knew the dangers of opening Human cities and its civilisation to the malevolent races but also knew that they had much to learn from the ancient elementals. The Elder Races, such as the so-called High-Elves or their cousins, the Dark-Elves, all possessed Spellcraft surpassing humanity's own. Even the Dwarves, so isolated in their unseen, underground cities, had contributed the art of Golem making.

But Kilroy would have none of that. Over his dead body, he'd say.

So imagine Ferris' surprise when her protege told her that Kilroy's dog, Alesia de Botton, had come with a proposal—

— one by the name of Gwen Song.

Ferris had known about Gwen Song since de Botton had brought the girl to the Tower to see Kilroy. During the fated encounter with Walken's guards, Ferris had watched from her chamber until Gunther Shultz had arrived to diffuse the heat.

She hadn't kept much stock in the girl until Gwen began to show up on the regular three months ago. Then both Walken and herself decided to keep an eye on the girl. Irene could Scry the girl if she wanted, of course, but Kilroy would know, and that would trigger a level of insubordination Irene was ill-prepared to face. As far as she could tell, Gwen was Henry's new pet project. The man had done the same with Gunther Shultz, long rumoured to be his apprentice, and then again in the late-80s with the unlikely firebrand Alesia de Botton. Now, he was working on a third. She knew that Gwen was a Lightning Mage, and she had heard from secretive sources that she might be a talented, prematurely awakened Magus as well. That was impressive, of course, but not good enough for Irene to contest Deathless Henry. Why was Henry so keen on the girl? That was the question to which she wanted answers.

Now she knew.

She really should have risked that Scry.

When it'd happened, Ferris had thought herself caught in a glamour— an impossible affair, as a master of the School like herself was virtually immune to illusionary effects. Yet Ferris nonetheless just witnessed something she'd only heard about in the old war stories.

A flash of darkness that consumed all light. An eruption of sickening mana that gave all who bore witness to its monstrous birth a feeling of sickening vertigo.

She felt the distinct distortion of space itself, a lurch of the stomach, a split second of terror that came from the bone.

A blast of Lightning followed.

Then it was over.

Gwen knew she was well and truly in the pits the moment she ran a focused Detect Magic over Julia. They had a bad elemental match-up. Even with an alpha strike from all her conjuration spells and evocation spells, it was likely that Julia could survive. As a Magma Mage, Julia's heat resistance reduced Lightning's impact, and her earthen body dissipated its paralytic effects, nullifying the best components of Gwen's spells.

When she stood upon that field, Gwen could further feel the resonating effects of the girl's Transmutation magic, far more powerful and practised than Debora's. There was something else there as well, hidden inside the girl's mana signature.

If she had to take a guess, then Gwen's Divining bones would venture that it was Abjuration. Only a school that directly countered her Evocation could give her such a hair-raising, ominous sense of foreboding.

Richard was right. Rosebay had sent out their Praetorian, supreme in the confidence that they had countered her every move. She had no choice but to use her Void abilities; her only recourse was to minimise exposure while achieving maximum effect.

"Commence!"

There was no more time to think.

Now, she must act.

"Molten Armour!" Julia incanted, and her skin began to boil with flowing motes of fire and earthen mana, forming into a hardened carapace. If given the few seconds it took for the spell to mature, Gwen knew her opponent would be unstoppable.

"Dimension Door!"

To the surprise of all, Gwen vanished from where she stood.

She re-appeared in the next second, violently barging into the unsuspecting Julia, a semi-circle splash of dense darkness flickering for a fraction of a second.

Her opponent couldn't see nor sense Gwen teleporting within a few centimetres of her. It was an absurd move, insane even. The temperature that surrounded Julia was almost several hundred degrees! It was enough to set Gwen's uniform aflame.

Yet none of that happened. The girl who suddenly appeared in Julia's vicinity flickered, then Julia went tumbling into the dirt.

Gwen felt her offensive Dimension Door connect, with her Void mana instantly eating into the Magma Mage's still-forming Molten Armour.

She immediately felt her vitals drop like a stone, but kept up at attack for a fraction more, feeling it crunch through the Magma and touch on the raw mana below. As Julia tumbled, falling onto her back foot, the central plating of the Molten Armour scattered; the spell overloading and dispelling, causing unformed sheets of smoking stone to fall from her body.

Gwen then thrust both hands toward Julia's; one upon her shoulder, while the other struck Julia's solar plexus, forcing the air from her lungs.

Gwen's inner metronome counted seconds until her mind was ready for its next incantation.

"Lightning Bolt!"

Before Julia even landed, Gwen materialised a bolt of electrical plasma from her lower hand and shot it toward Julia's chest, feeling the satisfying shunt of the energy conducting violently through the Magma Mage's body. Julia's Earthen constitution absorbed much of Gwen's spell, but enough of it had passed through Julia's torso to paralyse her opponent.

When Julia finally landed, it was with a limpid thump.

The crowd was stilling waiting for something to happen when the fight was already over.

"What happened?" Someone asked.

"Where's the Molten Armour?"

"Why's Julia on the ground?"

"Why's the Lightning Mage standing over Julia?"

Their voices soon turned frantic, anxious, filled with questions and emotions to which no one had no answers.

Gwen turned to examine Kilroy and Ferris. Master Henry had a grin that was beyond entertained; his old face screwed up into a mask of untamed mirth. Ferris herself had made an 'O' with her lips so round she could fit a quail egg.

The murmuring of the crowd below grew in intensity, then suddenly Julia sat, bolting upright from her horizontal position.

By then, she had already lost consciousness for a good five to six seconds.

Gwen turned, then bowed.

Julia dejectedly returned to her corner of the field, still staggering with disbelief. How did she lose? She didn't even get her armour up! Surely if she could get her armour up, then she had a chance. Somehow, Gwen Song had used some sorcery to penetrate her impenetrable armour, but why did Master Ferris say nothing.

"Mistress Stone," Julia protested.

"Shush!" Magus Stone shot her a stern warning with her eyes of cold steel. She was taking a private Message from Magister Ferris and had no time to deal with her student's unexpected failure.

"… I suspect this Gwen Song may be tapping into the element of the Void or at least something like it." Ferris warned her protege. "It's an element that is said to be hugely prohibitive due to its cost in life force, which would explain why they have a healer of such low tier with them. In the group combat, take out the healer first, or alpha-strike the Void Mage. Do not let Gwen near Julia! Give Julia time to use her best spell, and you have this in the bag."

"Understood, Master," Stoned replied silently.

"Make no mistake. I want this girl, Mildred. I absolutely must have her, do you understand?"

"Ma'am!" Mildred Stone replied with absolute certainty.

On the opposing field, Gwen returned to her teammates. She had kept up an illusion of good health upon receiving her victory.

Her companions had clapped and applauded, but their ruckus was alone in the eerie silence of four hundred pairs of disapproving eyes. If Gwen had defeated Julia in mortal combat, then sure, they could applaud the challengers, but what had occurred had been too absurd.

"Gwen!" Elvia rushed over to Gwen and clasped both her hands, channelling across a steady stream of vital mana to keep up Gwen's health.

Gwen had only her Master's Dimension Door to thank, that and a half-manifested Void Shield. It was a gamble in more ways than one, for if Gwen had lost control of the spell, or if she had overestimated the power of the armour, then her Void-blast may as well have cut through Julia and severely injured the girl. If she had failed to penetrate Julia's defence, then the match may already be lost.

What seemed to outside observers like a simple manoeuvre, therefore, was the culmination of Conjuration, Evocation, Void and Lightning.

Gwen felt elated. With the success of her gamble. She had exposed very little of her capabilities; yet, her enemy was defeated but alive and well. It was win-win for all accounts.

The cost of using two consecutive Void spells, however, was dire in itself. The Dimension Door was a tier 4 spell, far more demanding than the tier 1 bolts that Gwen usually used. The Shield had likewise taken a toll on her body. When she had touched Julia in the final moments, the lingering heat from the Molten Armour further made a mess of her hand.

Breathing heavily, Gwen received the healing energy from Elvia and felt the vitality restored to her body. A minute later, she no longer felt dizzy, drained, and overcome by a sudden sense of vertigo. Her hand, likewise, was restored to its full function.

"Nice one, Gwen!"

"Sweet ass, sister!" Whetu applauded her. "That was fully sick ay!"

"My God!" Alesia embraced Gwen, enveloping her in her arms, crushing her violently, picking her up and performing a celebratory jig. "You are going to be famous! What the hell was that? Who taught you to use Dimension Door as an offensive spell? It's not on your lesson roster yet."

Gwen glanced over at Henry, twirling his beard expertly and gloating over a furious Magister Ferris.

"I had a chat with Richard, my cousin from Prince's. He told me that against a bad match-up, I should burn my trump card and end it so quickly that I have nothing to give away. If it doesn't work, I'd likely lose anyway, so no losses there."

"What irresponsible advice!" Alesia snapped. "Only for competitions, Gwen! Never do this in the Wildland! It's suicide!"

"Yes, Ma'am," Gwen replied earnestly.

"Oh! My little sister!" Alesia embraced Gwen again. "Good work!"

A loud tap came from the direction of the podium, drawing their attention. It was Magus Stone.

"Congratulations to Gwen Song, Blackwattle Academy, for taking the first duel."

She continued.

"Now, we move onto our 3v3. Members of the team, please make your way to the stage."

Gwen looked over at her friends, who nodded confidently.

Yue, Debora, and Whetu moved to the stage.

From the Rosebay's stage, out came Julia yet again, followed by the Ice Conjurer and the Earthen Abjurer.

"Stage 2, Team Challenge. Three versus Three. From Blackwattle: Yue Bai, Debora Jones, Whetu T. Taranga! From Rosebay: Julia F. Muller, Helen Carter, Beatrice A. Dawson!"

"Initialise Terrain!"

The field shifted and transformed into an urbanscape with short, stunted walls and obstacles in the centre, preventing line of sight.

Yue cursed under her breath. This was the very worst for her fire spells.

The girls opposite bowed, then took up their positions.

"No Gwen Song?" Irene Ferris questions her compatriot.

"No." Henry Kilroy smiled. "Is that a problem?"

Ferris tsked.

There was no use crying over spilt milk.

Below, Magus Stone gave the signal.

"Commence!"

"Fireball!"

Yue opened up with a barrage of suppressive fire, opting for full coverage spells to mitigate the troublesome terrain of stunted walls and make-pretend buildings.

"Sand Armour!"

Debora cycled her supplementary skills, attempting to reach the critical mass of self-buffs required for melee-mode.

"Resist Elements!" Whetu reinforced Debora, hoping his Aburation was enough to mitigate the searing heat of the Molten Armour when Debora inevitably met the Magma Transmuter in combat.

"Earth Shield!"

On the other side of the arena, Beatrice the Abjurer conjured an earthen barrier around Julia as the magma Mage likewise self-buffed with Molten Armour.

"Julius! Ice Aura!"

Behind her, Helena the Ice Conjurer summoned her Familiar, whose halo of cold instantly diminished the vigour of Yue's fire. From a distance, the girls could see that Julius was vaguely avian in shape, likely a gull of some sort.

"Shit!" Yue swore. "She's got a low-tier Spirit!"

"Ice Storm!"

Following the final invocation, a blizzard rained down upon the Blackwattle team, manifesting as a hail of frost-white daggers cutting through the air in whistling shrieks.

"Pounamu Shield!"

Whetu's unique ability caught the opposing team unaware. The hardened surface of his greenstone shield blocked the ice shards, deflecting the missiles with a large, dome-like structure that formed over the trio. With the cover offered by the low walls and their overhead space sheltered by the hexagonal lattice of the Pounamu, Blackwattle was well-protected from the Conjurer's twin-storm.

"Sugars!" Helena cursed. "They got a Mineral Mage too? Are you sure they're a team from the boonies? They're better provisioned than Lilith's!"

Meanwhile, the self-buffs from both team's Transmuters continued.

"Haste! Magic Weapon! Enhance Strength!" Debora invoked.

"Haste! Enhanced Agility! Elemental Weapon!" Julia followed suit.

From the sidelines, Gwen perceived that there were subtle differences between Debora's and Julia's magical-enhancement, indicating the difference in Spellcraft. Magic Weapon buffed the natural damage of Debora's strikes, but her physical blows were weak against Molten Armour. On the other hand, Julia's heated Elemental Weapon worked wonders against Debora's Sand Armour. Furthermore, while Debora opted for heavy-hitting strikes, the agility used by Julia ensured that she could both dodge and strike, as Elemental Weapon did not require direct force to achieve maximum potential.

"Oh no, Debora..." Gwen muttered anxiously. She wanted to call out or to Message her teammates, but external communication during a duel was forbidden.

Meanwhile, a battle for AOE supremacy took place between Yue, whose Affinity ensured she had efficient and expeditious spell casting - against the Conjurer Helena, whose Ice Spirit was dealing a double dose of elemental damage with every chant.

Fire and ice clashed overhead, forming into clumps of superheated steam. Where their spells had crossed over without a volatile interaction, they were intercepted by their respective Abjurers.

For the moment at least, Rosebay and Blackwattle equally matched. The obstacles of this mock urbanscape were limiting both their options. If Yue used single-target spells such as rays, her opponent could simply duck behind a wall. Likewise, Helena was just as frustrated. Her familiar was not the melee type, and like Yue's fire, her ice spells needed line of sight.

Luckily for Yue, Whetu was tanking like a champion.

"Get a load of this!" Yue impatiently clamoured as Whetu's Shielding ricocheted another volley of icy shards. "Empowered Fireball! Quickened Fireball!"

Yue had been training on the weekends until she was spewing blood. Alesia had been teaching her apprentice a way to over-channel her spells to achieve meta-effects. As a result, simple spells took more mental capacity to cast and drained double or triple the mana but possessed meta-enhancements could change the course of the battle.

The twin fireballs took Beatrice, the Earthen Abjurer, by surprise - for the first empowered spell had hidden the smaller ball behind it. A split-second later, initial blast exploded across the surface of her earthen barrier, shattering a part of its stony carapace, after which the second blast bit into the crumbling dome. The force of the concussive blow was such that it blew away the brick and mortar cover, revealing the girls from Rosebay.

"Fudgesickles!" Beatrice grunted, redoubling her effort, attempting to repair her damaged barrier before Yue could drop another bomb. "Helena! Keep her off me!"

"Sleet Storm!"

Twin gusts of slippery frost washed over Yue and Whetu.

The Maori wasn't even breaking a sweat. He'd spent the last three-month taking barrages from the girls. Compared to Gwen and friend's desperate bid for lunch, the Conjurer's Sleet Storm felt like a gentle, cooling breeze.

Beside them, Debora was ready.

In opposition, Julia was likewise ready to rumble.

"Blink!"

"Blink!"

The two Mages were both orthodox students of the junior Conjuration school, preferring melee combat stratagems over ranged attacks.

They clashed in the mid-field among an eruption of brick and mortar, crashing through the Transmuted landscape with impunity. The first few exchanges saw the two well-matched, Debora dropped an axe-kick onto Julia's shoulder, while Julia pummelled Dobra with a right hook.

Their difference in methodology, however, began to show as the exchange grew heated. With enhanced agility, Julia could dodge one or two of Debora's strikes, while Debora's defence was wholly incapable of stopping the elemental barrage that came from Julia.

Clang!

Wham!

Grunts and howls punctuated the meeting of flesh. All around the girls,  chunks of molten lava and gouts of sand-turned-glass scattered like violently shattered china.

"How barbaric…" Ferris, whose own vocation was Divination, Illusion and Enchantment, muttered to herself. "They look like two mindless elementals jostling for a mana node."

Henry chuckled.

It was true that Mages who brawled as their primary occupation were rare and far in between. Close combat with humanoid Magical Creatures was viable, but how does one punch a Kraken, kick an Abolith, or wrestle a Chimera?

"That girl, she's Tier 4?" Henry mused. "Saving the best for last, perhaps."

"Who knows?" Ferris said nothing. She still felt peeved that Gwen Song had caught Julia flat-footed and cheated a victory from her Praetorian candidate.

Yue scoffed at the pitiful Sleet Storm hammering away at her, harmlessly countered by Whetu's Pounamu shielding.

Rosebay's Earthen Mage was barely keeping up— Victory was within her grasp.

"Empowered Firestorm!"

The immediate space above the Conjurer and the Abjurer filled with the red and glowing mana of the Elemental Plane of Fire.

"Absorb Elements!" All the Abjurer could do was ready herself for the incoming assault. "Helena! What are you doing! Run interception on that Evoker!"

"I am trying to, damn it! Their Mineral Mage's sturdier than a brick outhouse!"

Helena redoubled her efforts.

"Icy Sphere!"

Two gigantic spheres of ice materialised and launched themselves towards Yue. If they struck, the oppositional element would severely injure the Evoker. At worst, Helena hoped that Yue would flinch and fumble the spell.

Instead, Yue showed no sign of fear.

What Helena didn't know was that Yue had already been blooded by two months of live fire combat with the Murlocs, that she had experienced hundreds of moments where her life was not in her own hands, but the that of the Abjurer, Taj.

Yue couldn't even be bothered to glance at the ice boulders. In her mind, there were only two outcomes. Either Whetu blocked it, and she nuked these bitches. Or she nailed these two bitches first, then got railed by two giant blocks of crushing ice. The important thing was that she managed to disable two enemies for the price of one.

The Rosebay girls helplessly watched the spell above them continue to manifest. They didn't have access to any translocation spells and couldn't dodge the empowered Firestorm. In a desperate bid, Helena recalled her elemental spirit and used it to lower the temperate around them, filling the localised area with a crystalline barrier of ice.

Yue made a motion with her hand, forcing the Firestorm to accelerate. In the very same instant, a Pounamu shield appeared before her unerringly, deflecting both giant boulders.

The Fire Storm struck.

It took only two seconds of bombardment from the meteor shower for the half-shattered Earthen Shield to fail. The ice elemental was likewise consumed within a few seconds, retreating to its pocket dimension.

"I yield!"

"Yield!" The two girls from Rosebay cried out dejectedly.

Yue ceased her channelling, felling a dizzying weakness as her mana dropped from half-tank to almost out. Whetu caught her as she stumbled backwards, then turned his attention towards Julia and Debora's duel.

Another chunk of Debora's Sand Armour had spent its resilience, instantly turning into molten glass as it fell from her body. Moving motes of earthen mana replenished the sandy carapace, but Debora wasn't doing well.

Adjacent Debora, Julia formed both hands into a hammer. She struck the surfer girl a mighty blow, sledgehammering Debora with a shockwave of raging heat that exploded sent her reeling.

As Debora stumbled backwards, Julia took the opportunity to advance, bring up a left-right combo that caught Debora square in the gut. Her opponent was stronger than the average private academy student, but her Apellcraft was far below her Affinity with the sand.

Just as Julia was about to go for the killing blow, Yue's Fire Storm had landed and taken out her teammates. Julia glanced at her two teammates as their shields failed, furrowing her brows. It was down to her then. Unlike the spoilt rich-girls, she was a Praetorian, the reputation and honour of Rosebay rested upon her shoulders.

"Catapult!" Julia shot a lava clump at Debora, fully expecting the girl to perish.

Instead, she was thwarted by a green-stone shield that instantly formed in front of Debora, blocking her explosive payload. Julia's offensive power was still impressive though, for she crushed the Pounamu down to its honeycombed lattices.

"This chuck's off fence is off the charts!" Whetu grunted. "It's like I am  getting pounded by two-three Mages at once."

Debora recovered, her expression unknowable behind her mask of sand.

"Minor Stone Shape!"

Pillars of sand which instantly wrapped around Julia, anchoring her to the ground.

"Yue! Do it now!"

Julia growled menacingly and raised her shield, a solid wall of hardened magma.

But there was no alpha-strike. Yue was OoM.

"Looks like you're out of luck, surfie girl," Julia gloated.

"You still gotta get through me." Debora retorted.

"Oh, I will, don't you worry." Julia pulled at the sand encasing her legs, surprised that she was in fact, fast-stuck. The surfie girl's Affinity was impressive, even if her spells were lacklustre. "You have a Spirit?"

Debora didn't reply. From the expression on her face, it took all her effort to keep Julia pinned.

"Your Spirit is wasted on you." Julia grinned at Debora. "Let me show you how a true Transmuter fights."

The girl's eyes smouldered. Her grin turned sudden Draconic as her canines distended and her face elongated.

"Polymorph!"

There was an explosion of magma, the shockwave sending Debora stumbling backwards, shredding her Sand Armour, revealing skin that was raw and scorched beneath. Gwen gasped from the sidelines. Neither Resist Elements nor Sand Armour had been sufficient.

"Eek! Debora!" Elvia placed her hand over her mouth,

Gwen likewise stood from her seat, her heart hammering at her throat. Debbie's wounds looked like second-degree burns. Gwen couldn't even begin to imagine the pain Debora must be feeling right now.

There was no remedy for Gwen's anxiety though; for Debora, Yue and Whetu had a bigger problem of the pseudo-draconic variety.

When the spurt of magma faded, the Blackwattle Team was staring up toward a wyvern a full three-meters tall and eight or more meters in length, dripping with magma and snorting gouts of superheated plasma. It was Julia, of course, anyone could see that - but the crowd still began to scream and shout, some with jubilation, others shrieking with fear and panic. The younger girls, especially, were screaming their lungs out.

"Oi, fuck me dead!" Yue whined.

"FUCK!" Whetu marvelled.

They were boned; the Blackwattle trio knew it. Here was what it means to be outclassed and outmatched. Sure, between Debora's Sand and Whetu's Pounamu, they could keep the damn thing kited until they were OOM, but then what? Debora wasn't near strong enough to try and damage a fucking wyvern with Molten Armour. Whetu wasn't equipped either. Yue was OOM already, and even if she weren't, her fire spells weren't going to be spectacular against a Wyvern that was already on fire.

There was a decision to be made here, and Whetu knew he had to make the call.

"We yield!" He cried out.

Yue and Debora both turned to glare at him.

"Oi! You two hot water bottles need to cool your jits! There's still a 5v5, and we got no reserve team members, don't get injured!"

The girls deflated.

"We yield."

"I yield."

Surprisingly, Julia the Wyvern was a good sport.

Julia didn't take the opportunity to injure either Debora nor Yue, for she wanted a proper match up with Gwen at her team's best. She wanted to show the world that Rosebay could best any challengers, no matter how absurd or unique their talent.

Julia transformed back.

"Winner, Rosebay Academy."

The home crowd was wild with immediate jubilation, with the blue-clad girls hugging and applauding and clapping hysterically. Dusty and beaten, the three returned to their team. Elvia immediately began healing Debora, restoring her swollen skin to their usual colour of honeyed copper.

"You guys did great!" Gwen assured them. "There was nothing to be done against Julia, don't sweat it! It was a classic bad match up! We didn't know she had access to Tier 4 spells already."

"More than that, Tiger" Alesia interjected. Hugging Yue and giving Debora and Whetu a pat on the shoulder. "That girl is absurdly gifted. You can't just turn into a wyvern willy-nilly, you know. She owns a Spirit - a low tier one, probably salvaged from Wildland Lesser Wyvern I'd hazard to guess that its thanks to Magister Ferris over yonder."

Alesia indicated at Irene Ferris with her thumb.

"Magister of the Tower, and one of the three with their hands in the Grey Market. Not exactly a challenge to trade some human offal for a rare Spirit Core from the Demi-races."

"Doesn't change the fact that we lost," Yue said dejectedly.

"Sorry." Debora looked the most distraught out of all of them. She looked devastated by the defeat.

"Debbie." Gwen reached out and touched her hand. "It's alright. We still have the next match."

Debora pulled Gwen closer and buried her head in Gwen's shoulders.

"Not now," Alesia announced stoically. "There's still the 5v5, Gwen, what's your take on the wyvern?"

"I think I am the only one capable of pushing through that Molten Armour, but I am going to need protection. Whetu?"

"Yes?"

"Give me full coverage for about four spell cycles. I am going to bury Caliban and then tentacle up. I need ten seconds without interruption."

"Got it."

"Yue, I need you to provide cover fire, keep their Abjurer and Conjurer distracted, their healer too if you can manage it."

"Too easy."

"Debs," Gwen continued.

"Yes?"

"We're going with formative C. I need you to play disruption with the Wyvern. Keep them distracted until my spells are done."

"Got it, I'll do my best," Debora promised, putting a hand over her left breast.

"Elvia, I am counting on you to keep me up. Both Caliban and the Tentacles are tier 4, and I've pretty sure I can't sustain both for long. Whetu, Elvia is going to be directly behind me, so I am counting on you to take care of us both."

"Sweet ass."

"Alright, we got about half an hour of rest, let's get some scenarios mapped up!"

Alesia watched her sister-in-craft pour over the details with a feeling of accomplishment. To think that almost a year ago, she had picked up a trembling Gwen from her uncle's manor, hands shaking with fright and uncertainty. Watching the kids crunch their strategy, looking at Gwen and her companions, the battle-hardened Magus wondered if by skipping school, she had missed an opportunity for something precious.

Opposite Blackwattle, Rosebay likewise held its strategic meeting, overseen by the Headmistress, Mildred Stone.

"Helena and Nancy, full disruption on Gwen Song, as much as you're capable of against their Abjurer."

"Got it!"

"Will do!"

"Bea, full priority on Julia until she buffs up, if Julia buffs up and transforms without incident, the battle is as good as ours."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Jody, keep the team up as long as you're able. Don't be afraid to use your Shield of Faith if Bea's busy shielding Julia."

"Acknowledged, Ma'am."

"Julia, we're counting on you."

"I won't fail you, Ma'am, nor Magister Ferris." Julia placed a hand over her heart. She could feel the Wyvern-soul within, melded into her astral form. It was a rare and precious gift, something that no Mage who gained their boons through monster hunting could ever attain. Humanity didn't have the means to entrap the astral form of Magical Creatures within their Cores— their Essence, escaping. That was a skill which belonged to older, far more attuned magical races.

"Remember what I told you, Gwen Song cannot possibly keep up her "unique" ability for long. Likewise, she can't endanger your lives, so use it to your advantage. Take out her healer in your Wyvern form, and the battle is as good as won."

"Yes, Ma'am! Please look forward to my performance!"

Stone returned to the podium to open the final match.

"From Blackwattle High School: Gwen Song, Yue Bai, Debora Jones, Whetu T. Taranga, Elvia Lindholm. From Rosebay Academy: Julia F. Muller, Helen Carter, Beatrice A. Dawson, Jody Klein, and Nancy Hayes!"

The crowd cheered.

"For the deciding match - Five versus Five group combat."

"Adjudicators, please initialise the field. Terrain!"

The field shifted, suddenly filled with water and churning with mud.

It was a bog! The contestants were suddenly ankle to knee deep in thick, viscous mud that sucked at one's feet.

Team Blackwattle looked at one another. It didn't affect their plan, but it wasn't going to make things easier by far. As for the other team, the bloody Wyvern flies.

Slogging through the terrain, the team moved into position: Debora and Yue moving to the fore, Whetu in the middle, and Elvia behind Gwen.

In opposition, Rosebay seemed much more organised. The girls spaced out expertly as to not get in each other's way, the ranged casters gathering behind the Abjurer, while the healer stood in the middle. Julia was by herself in front, where the earthen Abjurer's frontal shielding could give both herself and her team ample coverage.

Julia felt her pulse quicken upon seeing Gwen's figure slogging through the mud. This terrain was a godsend for her. She could fly, while Blackwattle's Transmuter, Debora, had to use Jump. Furthermore, the sticky, viscous mud wreaked havoc on the Sand element of the surfer girl, making her speciality even more limited.

Stone waited until both teams had acknowledged their new terrain.

"Commence!"

Unlike the smaller duels, a cloudburst of colour announced the beginning of the 5v5 contest. The mass-melee was the king of Mage-duel, something that had its origins in the Olympic Arenas of yore. Every four years, all around the world, audiences were glued to their Lumen-casters in public squares, universities, pubs and homes, watching the World Spellcraft Championships.

"Bless!"

"Sand Armour!"

"Resist Elements!"

"Quickened Fireball! Empowered Fire Storm!"

"Ariel!" Ariel bolted straight for the sidelines, a white streak of moving lightning, its feet barely touching the mud, trying to flank the opposing team.

Rosebay likewise reciprocated.

"Molten Armour"

"Resist Elements!"

"Julius! Sleet Storm!"

"Fire Ball!"

"Bless!"

An array of spells opened up the epic combat. It was a pivotal moment, a game of strategy and mental chess. Synergy, prediction, teamwork, only all three could ensure the victory of one team over another.

On Gwen's side, Whetu's punamu shield appeared, instantly deflecting the incoming Fireball and Sleet Storm with a crash of splintering green-stone shards.

"Firestorm?! Fireball!" Beatrice the Abjurer wailed. She had barely managed to erect her Earthen shield in time when the Fireball exploded over her team.

"Shield of Faith!" Their healer, Jody incanted in a panic, just catching the Fireball before it engulfed herself and Helena.

"Just hold on!" Julia encouraged her teammates. "I'll pay them back ten-fold!"

"Firestorm, incoming!" Helena cried out. This Asian girl was absurd! She was going to burn all her mana in two spells?! Again, Helena retracted her spirit, Julius, and used him to form an aura of ice so that the rising temperature caused by the Firestorm would not harm her teammates.

"Polymorph!" Julia had matured her Molten Armour and was now ready to transform into a living coup-de-grace. Her morphic field began to shift, though without the explosion of magma this time as she was among allies.

SPAK! SPAK! SPAK!

A cascade of lightning-tinged needles washed over Julia. Where the hell did that come from? She scanned the battlefield and caught a mongoose of all things taunting her.

"It's her Familiar! Get it off of me!" Julia commanded.

Nancy, the Fire Evoker, began a barrage of Fire Bolts towards the edge of the field when Ariel gave her a swish of its tail and let loose a burst of electrical-darts.

It took all of Beatrice's concentration to shield Nancy from the paralysing assault.

Was it hard to shield against a Firestorm? Of course, absurdly so. Though the spell originally manifested Ice, Yue's ridiculous Affinity meant that the invocation resembled a small meteor shower. Each falling debris that materialised and fell was a ball of unstable plasma, exploding on impact into a shower of heat filled destruction. So long as Yue kept up the channel, the meteors manifested unceasingly, striking without order, making defence nigh-impossible.

Beatrice cursed under her breath. All she could do was maximise her mana usage and form semi-spherical domes of protection above all her companions. Usually, the Evoker was OOM long before the Abjurer.

In this, Beatrice was confident. Mana pools, more formally known as VMI— Volumetric Mana Index, was a fact of Spellcraft that couldn't be mitigated by effort. No matter how gifted a student could be, how able they were in the development of Spellcraft - there was a hard limitation on the growth of one's mana reserves. Not even a strict diet of the best Wildland materials could supersede this fact, only expedite its growth. The advantage of a well-provisioned Mage, therefore, was an accumulation of both time and resource.

"I got this—"

Just as she was about to declare that she could hold the fort steady, there was a loud crack and a blast of light so bright that her retinas seared, turning her mind white with wonder. A spike of painful tinnitus stabbed violently into her ears that for a second, she blanked out. The girls from Rosebay were well trained, but they were far too green.

Without warning, the Firestorm broke through the Abjurer's shielding and descended.

Gwen had refrained from casting her spells precisely because she was waiting for the Firestorm to hit.

It was a strategy that she had worked out with Yue and the crew precisely because she had an unusual, nonlethal AOE signature spell - Flashbang.

It would work only once - and now was the time.

As Julia began her exultant transformation, Gwen let loose the most potent Flashbang she could muster right between the five from the Rosebay team, behind Julia and in front of her companions. She especially placed the conjured explosion directly under the dome created by the Abjurer - utilising one of the Lightning element's most overpowered characteristics - the ability to manifest at a designated point in space without a projectile trajectory.

A split-second later, the signature invocation erupted in a cacophony of light and sound, amplified by the half-dome above the Abjurer. The spell had disoriented them all, but the refracted sound waves striking the Abjurer had stunned her so magnificently that the girl appeared to have lost consciousness for half a second.

Instantly, the Abjurer's earthen dome crumbled. With a grunt, Yue pushed downward with both hands, channelling the last of her mana into the Firestorm.

Her objective accomplished. Gwen focused on setting a welcome for the Wyvern.

"Beatrice!" Julia was beyond livid when she realised that their Abjurer had failed them and that an empowered Firestorm as about to wipe out four members of her team.

With a heavy conscience, she ignored her team and instead focused on her Molten Armour. What was done, was done, Julia had to even the playing field in other ways. With a lunge, she pushed herself from the swampy bog, her new wyvern-form taking flight and moving towards the Blackwattle Team.

"Minor Stone Shape!"

Julia had made it about half-a-meter when she realised that her hind legs were tethered to something in the bog, weight down by what felt like two giant ball-and-chains fastened to her body. She arched her serpentine neck above the duelling-field and saw the surfer girl, both arms up to her elbows in the mud, manipulating the sand as an undercurrent beneath the transmuted mud.

"Insolence!" the Wyvern roared.

Julia shot a blast of superheated air towards the Transmuter girl, but a green-stone shield of honeycombed punamu appeared before Debora and intercepted the destructive force of the breath.

Julia could hear her teammates whimpering behind her, incensing her to greater violence. With a furious tug, she forced her body into the air, pulling up two thick tendrils of sand still tethered around her ankles.

"I can't hold her any longer!" Julia heard the surfer girl cry out in alarm, her head now full of heat and vengeance. With a roar, she dived toward the Blackwattle party, toward Gwen, toward the healer hidden behind her. If Julia could just take out Gwen, take out the healer supporting her, then victory was still possible!

Even with the loss of four members of their team, Julia felt she could do it! She was the chosen Praetorian. Magister Ferris had the highest hopes for her! How could she fail, especially after the fiasco of their 1v1?

The Wyvern came. The plan was working.

"Debora, good work! Finish off the stragglers!" Gwen called out.

"Yue, get behind Whetu, recover some mana!"

"Whetu! Priority shielding on Elvia, I can't keep my spells up without her!"

"Aye!"

A shadow befell them, an angry wyvern dripping with Magma was hovering a dozen meters above them, glowing with Magma.

Julia dived.

Irene Ferris was fuming with frustration, gripping the arms of her Edwardian settee with disappointment and defeat. When the empowered Firestorm descended, she knew instantly that their chances for victory had gone to the dogs.

Who'd thought that the little harlot had a signature spell, one that she'd never seen before? What was it? Flashbang? An interesting concept, but one that heavily borrowed the instantaneous qualities of spatial manifestation associated with Quasi-Elemental Lightning.

Who had invented it? A unique, elemental-specific spell. Was it the man beside her? Was it the little witch herself?

Rosebay's Abjurer was a good as gone after that resonating blast of light and sound. Without shielding, the healer was useless too, as they lacked mass-healing at the lower tiers. The Conjurer was doing her best to keep the flames at bay, but it was a futile gesture. Their own Fire Evoker had done her best, but between the harassment by that mongoose and that strange green mineral shielding, she may as well be absent.

Was it a problem of skill? No, Irene knew that the girls were well trained and far exceeded the level of expertise expected of their age.

It was instead a problem of application, an issue of combat experience. The Blackwattle team had seen far more action, somehow. Their Evoker, the Asian girl, gave an air of destructive intent that Irene had seen on veterans. The green-stone Mage, likewise, was too well trained to be a member of a public school. Even the mediocre Transmuter had a mid-tier spirit that could shape sand. In addition to Gwen Song's presence, why was there an all-star team from a school as poor and neglected as Blackwattle? How did they even manage to throw the oddball bunch together?

Irene looked over at Henry Kilroy, who was sipping his Golden Mead and nodding to himself with every other spell exchange.

"Helen Carter, out!"

"Beatrice Dawson, out!"

"Jody Klein, out!"

"Nancy Hayes, out!"

Ferris' protege, Mildred Stone, looked as though she was spitting blood as she announced each of the girls who yielded.

But, there was hope yet.

Julia's Wyvern had almost reached Gwen Song. If she could take out the Void girl and her healer, then it was all over.

Gwen's felt her vitality drain away. Was it possible for a person to feel hollow? She wondered. It was the first time that she had consciously pushed herself so far.

Elvia too, felt her reserve of positive energy rapidly exhaust itself. It was as though a Nosferatu had suddenly drained the warmth from her veins and replaced it with arcane ice. She grew instantly rigid, her limited mana pool incapable of keeping up with the demand of Gwen's output.

Above, the Wyvern was descending from a terrific arc, approaching them with the force of a freight train that was disastrously also on fire.

Gwen waited until the Wyvern skimmed the pond, then released the last part of the spell she'd been holding steady at the cost of her vitality.

"Dark Tentacles!"

Gwen's 'tentacles' didn't sprout from the ground as the spell had initially intended, but directly as a writhing mass anchored onto thin air, growing like an angry sea anemone and flailing like the tendrils of a carrion crawler.

The watching crowd suddenly held their breath as a feeling of disgust and vertigo swept over them.

Julia knew that the tentacles were supremely dangerous, but she had no recourse— like a shot from a bow, her trajectory was set in stone.

She flew headfirst into the mass, feeling it envelop her molten armour.

Immediately, Julia knew she was in dire danger. If the tendrils were flesh, they would have burned. If they were material, they would have crumbled. Yet what element was this? It was as though ropes that had no mortal existence held her imprisoned. Furthermore, they seemed to be consuming the mana from her armour! With each passing second, she could feel the tentacles wrapping themselves tighter around her wyvern form, stripping away chunks of her carapace, scraping hungrily at the layer below to pry at her flesh.

"Lightning Tentacles!"

Yet another layer of tentacles wrapped around Julia, this time lashes of lightning that didn't so much as entangle her as wildly flay away at her skin, sending more pieces of molten carapace flying away like charred, dark china.

Julia twisted her sinuous head so that she faced Gwen, who was concentrating on her spells while the petite healer hid behind her. Both girls had complexions whiter than bedsheets.

She drew in a mighty breath and launched a jet stream of superheated flames towards Gwen, hoping that it would disrupt the channelling of these ridiculous tentacles that had her entrapped.

"Wall of Sand!"

"Punamu Shield!"

"Shield of Faith!"

A triple layer of shielding erupted.

The force of the breath blasted through the sand wall and struck the punamu shield, crushing it. The glowing shield unique to the healer class dissipated the remaining elemental damage.

Gwen Song didn't even flinch.

Julia felt the flower of despair beginning to blossom within her chest, the confidence and bluster of mere moments ago withered.

But she wasn't about to just give up, Julia's pride wouldn't allow her to yield. There was one more gamble she could participate in, a final chance to set the record straight and prove that she was better than these yokels.

"Polymorph!"

To Gwen and the others' surprise, their target disappeared.

Julia had become a flaming peregrine a hundred times smaller than her wyvern form, flying towards Gwen in the hopes of physically assaulting her in her Human shape. The twin-tentacle spells automatically reached for their target, but Julia was far too swift. She edged closer to Gwen, the distance between them disappearing entirely in an instant.

This was it! Julia thrilled. Her victory was assured! She could almost see Gwen Song's amber-green pupils now; her reflection refracted within Gwen's eyes. In a moment she would expend the last of her mana to dispell her avian form, then she would pin this upstart into the ground.

"HALT! BLACKWATTLE WINS!"

The voice of Irene Ferris cried out like a thunderclap across the duelling field, amplified by a Clarion Call. Julia banked in her avian form, throwing her body to a screeching aerial tumble before return to her human form to stare at her Grandmaster in disbelief.

Why? She wanted to know. Why did the Grandmaster announce their loss?

Up above against the podium's iron railing, Irene Ferris's chest rose and fell.

She turned towards Henry Kilroy; her Divination-empowered eyes were alive with shock and horror. As a Diviner, she was rarely, if ever caught unaware. Yet today, she was the victim of one upset another after another.

"Henry," she said quietly, trying to find a better word but failing to. "What the hell did I just foresee?"

Diviners are a strange breed of Mages.

Diviners are the dowsing rods of the Spellcraft world, sensing danger by splitting the threads of probability. Yet, who could say that the stream of potential would remain unperturbed if a stone displaced the water? Fate was a fatal trio, or so the Greeks foretold— a cabal of incidence and chance. The sisters are fickle, and a change of luck brought untold, unforeseen calamities. The great American Diviner, Edward N. Lorenzo, once stated that chance was as delicate as a butterfly's wings - that one wrong flutter lead to hurricanes on the opposite side of the world.

Though hyperbolic, Lorenzo's warning regarding the dangers of unmitigated uses of Divination struck a chord with Magi and Magus of the craft, ultimately endorsed by the "Oracle" of Delphi herself.

Nonetheless, despite all the trials and tests carried out by Diviners in the age of objective Spellcraft, no answer could be found as to how their spells foretold the future. In any case, Lorenzo's warning endured.

Disasters were predicted and mitigated - but never averted. The public trust in Diviners remained sceptical. However, that didn't mean Divination itself was unimportant to the Mageocracy by any means.

The lower tier spells, perfected by Spellcraft research, worked wonders for Mages surviving in the wilderness or trawling through a Demi-human dungeon. Detect Magic, Detect Traps, Detect Thoughts, these were mainstays of the Divining school.

Likewise, Message, the quintessential spell in an age of information, was only made possible by weaving Divining scripts into augur devices, searching out individual recipients amongst the numberless multitude of humanity.

Likewise, for a globalising Mageocracy, the advent of enchantments utilising Tongues in conjunction with Message devices furthermore created possibilities of human communities working together as one to repeal the advancing tide of Magical Creatures.

As such, in a practical sense, Diviners were lauded and protected, much like the Clerical Healers, whose presence were essential for the survival of humanity in a hostile world.

These reasons were why Magister Irene Ferris of the Ordo Oceania was first and foremost a Diviner, then an Enchanter, followed by her ongoing vocation in the School of Illusion.

As a bloodline caster from a long line of Diviners, she could tap into the streams of the uncertain future, to read the eddies and currents of its passing. So long as it involved herself directly.

Could she foretell the future?

No.

Irene had not once inferred that she at all possessed such means. She was a master of the Scry, not a master of unthreading the infinitely complex sisal knots of fate.

What she possessed was instead a supernatural ability to sense danger, both for herself and those close to her. It wasn't something that foretold the future— but it had earned her enough prestige and support in her younger days to gather the necessary resources to achieve the rank of Magus in her thirties, and then Magister in her fifties.

Lucky Irene, they called her.

Her combat teams always escaped imminent danger. Her expeditions had avoided every ambush. Her experiments in Alchemy and Enchantment rarely went awry.

Slowly but surely, she gained a seat on Oceania's Grey Faction— becoming one of the three Magisters who believed in communicating and trading with the Demi-humans. Under her watchful eye, the Tower experimented with extra-species trade, bringing boons and gifts otherwise unattainable for the nation.

Rosebay was her mother-school. Irene possessed fond memories of the place; with its stern-faced but kind-hearted nuns who had been so good to her. As a Magister, she had used her influence to build the school into something marvellous and extraordinary. An Orthodox Catholic school, no matter how wealthy, struggled to escape its Frontier status. With her influence and the Grey Market, however, Irene could provide the school with a plethora of resources available only to the colleges linked to London, like Prince's.

Julia Fiore Muller was one such talent Irene had uncovered.

Julia was a prodigy of the Transmutation school with a ten-thousand-in-one talent of Para-Elemental Magma. Were it not for the fact that the girl was a Transmuter-Abjurer— Irene would have taken Julia on as her Apprentice.

The IIUC was Julia's chance to shine; then unexpectedly, like a bad joke, her protege was defeated by Gwen Song.

Irene didn't know what to think other than how deep Henry Kilroy had hidden his pet sorceress. She could hardly keep her own heart from wringing in her chest when the girl demonstrated a talent Irene had only read in the Tower's annals.

A Void Mage.

There had been a Void Mage in the past - Henry's infamous wife, Elizabeth Winsted Sobel, who had died while serving in Europe. The girl, Gwen Song, even looked like Elizabeth in her dossier photos - dark hair, bright eyes, pale white skin that had an ethereal, deathly pallor.

Irene had never met Henry's late wife, but like all Mage who grew up during that time, she had heard of the legend. Elizabeth was the woman whose involvement in the war forced the Mermen to relocate their cities, whose Void abilities had frightened the superstitious Saurians into the deep Queensland jungle for two decades.

Now, Henry Kilroy was raising another Void Mage.

Irene couldn't even begin to imagine the ramifications of that decision.

Irene was a Magister who believed in mutual co-existence with the Demi-human races. She wanted to see a world where man and the magical races were made equals, respected one another, engaged in open trade. She loathed the notion that Mages hid behind the Shield Walls and pretended those other races, whose age and existence far exceeded humanity, didn't exist.

Now she must entertain the possibility that Henry Kilroy could somehow reignite the Mageocracy's glorious past. What would happen when his Void Mage matured? Would Gwen Song bring about another renaissance of human dominion in the region? Would the tribal Demi-humans again fall to their knees in helpless worship of a power they could not resist nor repel?

More questions awaited her deliberation, but Irene had no more time to think.

The battle reached its climax and Irene saw her protege use yet another Polymorph to escape the Dark Tentacles. It was a good move, Julia was deserving of her title as a genius of the Transmutation school.

Then Irene saw it.

When the vision came, Irene herself was astounded by its intensity.

It had been some time since she felt that familiar rush of crisis that played like a stop-motion montage before her mind's eye. After all, a Magister rarely ventured out to risk their skin. They had other Mages for that, and Irene was a capable administrator.

It was only a flash, but what Irene saw a horrid sight that knotted her guts and set her spine quivering with alarm.

Pale skin.

An alien swarm.

Void.

Tendrils.

Lamprey's mouth.

Shattered glass.

Blue eyes.

Blood and offal.

Irene had no idea what it meant, but she was confident that it had to do with the pale-skinned, blue-eyed girl before her. And that was why she launched herself at the rails and demanded the cessation of combat.

Her grand-student, Julia, stopped; she transformed back and stared accusingly at her Grandmaster.

Irene felt her blouse drenched in cold sweat.

She turned to Henry Kilroy.

The man must know; the damned old codger had to know.

"Henry," she said quietly, her mind lost for words. "What the hell did I just foresee?"

Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten and head of the Ordo Arcanum Oceania, felt utterly vindicated. His student, Gwen Song, was enduring the Void Element, learning to abuse its strengths and circumvent its weaknesses. Furthermore, she had none of that paranoid insecurity that his wife had shown, no waking nightmares that he knew of, no fits of rage and destruction that required copious volumes of his life-force to sedate. No accidental diminishments of innocent life that were needed to feed an endless, voracious hunger.

At least, not yet.

Hopefully, with his guidance, Gwen would grow into a fine young sorceress, one that would bring hope and prosperity to the Frontier.

"If you must know." Irene's opponent raised a cup mead to his lips and took a casual, languishing sip. "I must charge a price."

"What does the mighty Henry Kilroy desire?" Irene asked drily, licking her parched lips.

To her surprise, the underdressed Dryad passed her a wooden cup of the golden liquid. Irene couldn't help but notice a distinct similarity between the Dryad and Gwen, forcing her to raise an eyebrow.

"Thank you, dear," Irene replied politely, allowing the mead to touch her lips. She tasted the vitality brimming about the viscous liquid, shooting down her throat like a surge of wildfire. Though only for a moment, Irene felt a few years younger.

No wonder they call him Deathless Henry, Irene pondered to herself. The man drank the manna of the Gods like a clerk drinking cheap coffee. How much life did Henry have stored in that body? Irene couldn't begin to imagine what capabilities Henry hid underneath that decrepit visage of mild senility.

Henry continued.

"I desire your dire confidence in exchange for information on the Void Element, as well as a token gift as an assurance for my future apprentice."

"You're that confident in me, are you?" Irene scoffed.

"Should I not trust you?" Henry offered serenely. "Are we not colleagues?"

Irene sipped the mead, but couldn't help but think of her vision. It had felt so real. If so, had she averted disaster? If so, it would be a first.

"I want to know what that thing is, Henry," Irene said seriously, thinking of her vision. She had to confirm the thing that she saw. Was Gwen the reason for that flashforward? If so, Irene might have to exercise extreme prejudice against Henry's Apprentice. It wasn't going to be pretty.

"Are we friends, Irene?" Henry said. "As a Diviner, what do you think of Gwen and her prospects?"

The man may have misunderstood Irene's intense interest, but he wasn't about to let an advantage just escape his grasp. Irene understood that after Magister Walken's antagonism, Henry was offering the Grey Faction an olive branch. That way, he could both gain something for Gwen, as well as resolve some of the tension their factions shared. After all, Gwen would likely be as pivotal to Sydney's future. The Void sorceress could be their boon, or she could be the bane.

For now, it was best to pay up. Irene had to confirm if the girl indeed was the second coming of Sobel.

Irene vehemently slid something from her finger and tossed it towards Henry. Sufina caught the trinket before it reached her Master. She opened her palm carefully and presented the prize.

"Are you sure, Irene? Your's is a rare gift."

"I am not professing to be her enemy, not unless you're going to die anytime soon." She shrugged, relaxing her shoulders.

Henry chuckled.

"I believe the Cathedral has a confessional cloister, no? I shall bring Gwen there. We will need some privacy if you wish to see Gwen's Void Beast."

Irene nodded, the space on her right ring finger felt poignantly amiss.

"Did you apprentice the girl yet?" she asked.

"What do you think?"

"Not publicly, though?"

"I shall, soon."

"I see."

Irene flew from the balcony, aided by Winged Boots under her robes, appearing as a vision of calm and authority. She drifted gently towards the Rosebay team. All of the girls were crying, a few bawled, while others hung their heads in shame.

"Girls." Irene opened her arms. "Don't be upset. You did your best."

Conversely, Gwen's team embraced and hug.

Watching his secret Apprentice, Henry felt such joy and delight that his complexion grew pink. Quietly, he coughed once, his old wounds stabbing like knives into his diaphragm. In the next moment, he felt seized by a violent fit, and it took his all to suppress the wrenching muscles rioting within his chest.

"Give this to Gwen, Sufina. Tell her to meet me the cloister once she is finished— There is no rush. I need some time to recollect my old bones."

Sufina touched a wooden finger down the curvature of her Master's gaunt face; then she was away.

Gwen meanwhile was entirely in a world filled with jubilation.

Teamwork!

Accomplishment!

Victory!

Besides Gwen, Yue was pumping her fists in the air in a most un-ladylike manner, shouting the occasion obscenity to their mutual embarrassment.

Elvia's face was plump full of apple-pink excitement, breathing heavily and excitedly through her cute button nose. Debora remained disbelieving that they had won, and was looking around with a dazed expression, savouring the moment. Only Whetu seemed like he'd expected it all along, and was happy to stand grinning besides the huddle of girls giggling like a gaggle of geese.

Gwen watched Sufina lower herself via a tendril to the training grounds, striding upon her long, stilt-like legs towards the team before embracing her with such force that the wood creaked.

"You've made Master very proud, and very happy. Here, your reward." Sufina urged Gwen to open her palm. Gwen complied and was gifted yet another ring.

"Thanks, Sufi, you helped me a lot in training as well, this is as much our effort as it is yours also." Gwen praised her Master's companion. "What's this?"

"From Magister Ferris." Sufina grinned suggestively. "She wanted to know more about you, and Master sold you for this ring."

Gwen made a face. The Dryad laughed.

"Master says to take your time. He's going to have a rest."

Gwen returned her attention to the ring.

"What does it do?" she asked, sizing the magical trinket on her right index finger.

"It's a Ring of Evasion," Sufina explained. "It has an enchantment carved into the core of a displacer beast, which allows better survival against AoEs, sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Who knows?" Sufina shrugged. "They were pretty common in the war; all the high-level Maguses had one. It's a Diviner—luck thing."

"Sufi's right," Alesia, the team's instructor, wrapped an arm around Gwen's shoulders. She flashed her dainty looking hand, and Gwen noticed that three of Alesia's fingers possessed Rings. "I got one too, saved my ass more than a few times."

Gwen examined her new ring appreciatively before slipping it upon her right index finger, observing the band contract until it attained a snug fit. She didn't feel any different, seeing as the phenomenon was reactive.

"Gwen! Join the huddle!" Yue urged.

It was embarrassing, but Gwen joined nonetheless. Even Alesia joined in.

"All for one!" Gwen tried again.

"For Blackwattle!"

"For Gwen!"

"To you guys!"

"Huzzah!"

Oh well, Gwen thought. Maybe she has to pen the story first. If so, she would have to adjust the context to fit the nature of her new world. In her story, Yue, Debora, and Elvia would be Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. For as D'Artagnan had changed his life by defeating Cardinal Richelieu's guards and wounding Jussac; so Gwen had now changed her life and the lives of her companions by entering into the Inter-High.

Gwen thought about what her Master had told her and pondered the road ahead. The victory was merely the crack in the door; now, she had to wedge it open.

"Gwen!" Her mental celebration was interrupted by a pair of warm, moist hands that grasped her own.

Gwen looked up to see Debora, her eyes gleaming with emotion.

"Thank you, Gwen, for giving me this opportunity," Debora intoned. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You did your very best, Debs." Gwen hugged Debora. "You deserve everything."

Unexpectedly, they were joined by the Magister Irene Ferris, together with the representatives from Rosebay.

"Girls, congratulations, you as well, Mr Taranga. Magus de Botton, it is good to see that you remain so lively."

"Magister." Alesia inclined her head, barely.

"Magister!" Gwen and the girls curtsied more meaningfully. Whetu likewise bowed smartly, bending his body to achieve the desired state of genuflection.

"A most astounding victory, Gwen Song. I had no idea Magister Kilroy had a trump card such as yourself, hidden so well."

"You jest, Ma'am," Gwen replied formally. "I am a novice."

"Hardly. Anyway, as I am sure you know by now, these are the girls whom you had bested. They wish to exchange greetings with your team."

"It would be both an honour and a pleasure, Ma'am." Gwen curtsied again.

The girls from the two schools then exchanged handshakes.

When Julia and Gwen passed one another, she felt the larger girl grip her hand, her eyes full of both conviction and tenacity.

"I won't lose next time. I hope your future victories will bring greater glory to our re-match." Julia shook Gwen's hand with deliberate slowness.

"Sure thing, I'll be waiting," Gwen replied seriously.

"It was a good fight. I'll be watching you."

"As will I."

Meanwhile, the other girls were all making moon-eyes at Whetu, making him glower a shade of carmine over his mocha skin.

"Are those tattoos real?"

"What are your sizes? Your arms are massive!"

"Mmm, his legs are like tree trunks."

"Huge feet."

"You know what they say about huge feet."

"Shush! The Magister is right there..."

Irene Ferris found back the unease that still haunted her Divination senses.

Watching the youths exchange greetings and establish rivalries and friendships, Irene Ferris took the opportunity to examine Gwen up close, to see if she could discern what had made the girl so dangerous.

With great subtlety, she activated an array of detection spells, indulging her eyes with a silently enabled True Sight.

She first scanned the Blackwattle students, noting the motes of mana cascading from the Evoker and the Transmuter. The Mineral Mage, Whetu, was an array of mixed elements, both Positive and Earthen. Beside the boy, De Botton was a fount of fire.

Gwen Song was an interesting exercise in itself. The girl had motes of mana that seemed to circulate her in oppositional pairs. Irene squinted, there was something else as well, a strange mix of primary elements that reminded her of Henry's Dryad - Sufina. Had Deathless Henry marked the girl already? That was no surprise, though. Irene would have done the same in his shoes.

Just as Irene was about to speak, she again felt her hair rise to a stand-still.

Without warning, Irene's ocean-blue eyes clouded over with a faraway look as a vision took her.

Void.

Cathedral.

Mermen.

Panic.

Shatter.

Pain.

Despair.

Void.

Students.

"Ma'am?"

The Magister felt her consciousness return. The vision consumed no more than a second.

"Ma'am?" Gwen Song was addressing her with a puzzling look.

"Gwen Song…" Irene tried to reply but became struck by yet another dire omen. Irene knew that her visions had a particular aspect to them - they only applied to a crisis that Irene herself was about to experience.

Any moment now, shit was going to hit the fan.

A hundred questions assailed the Diviner.

Why would the defeated Mermen assault the city now?

How could they get past the Shield Wall?

Was her vision a snapshot of a future foretold?

"Gwen Song…" Irene repeated herself, lost in her thoughts, watching Gwen patiently and politely awaiting her response.

Where was the danger though? The visions hadn't involved the only two Mages who could challenge her here, Henry and Alesia.

Irene Ferris studied Gwen's face, noting with surprise that unlike when Gwen was in combat, her eyes were, in fact, a vividly striking amber-green.

"Aeeeeeeeargh! NO!"

A sudden shriek disrupted Irene's riotous train of thought.

Besides the girls, Sufina fell to the floor and began to scream.

As a Dryad, the Demi-human's soul-rending cry was a primal outpouring of ear-splitting agony.

Instantly, Sufina withered, her green bower limbs grew old and dry, and her branches shedding its emerald cargo. The Dryad appeared to shrink at once, her stature diminishing immensely, transforming from a lithe doppelganger of Gwen into a sickly girl-child.

The girls around Irene seemed stunned by the sudden transformation.

Irene, however, kicked her mind into overdrive.

Had something or someone attacked Henry Kilroy?

Who'd dare attack the Deathless magister of Oceania himself?

What on earth could do so much damage to the most potent soul-linked Familiar Irene had ever known?

Her academic mind wanted answers.

But her Divination had other ideas.

It told her to run.

Like most classic Edwardian designs, the cathedral's soaring frontage began with twin columns of stained glass split across two towers. Its adjacent buildings came later, built along rectangular walkways with an elegantly arched gallery that ran the length of the back quadrangle. Together, the system of buildings formed a kind of abstract cross-section, linking the cathedral, the old covenant, and the newer quarters for student and staff. And in between the shadow of Rosebay's high walls and impressive pillars, ran the cloister.

To access its pious serenity, one must first venture through the property's side corridors before coming into the quad, an elegant garden adorned with a central water-feature of chubby cherubs at play.

Henry Kilroy, Master of Sydney Tower, quietly pushed through the entry and allowed himself into the sanctified space.

He had never been a religious man. The horrors of the Brisbane Line and the Coral Sea had made sure of that - but it didn't mean he couldn't feel the pietistic peace that resonated in places of worship such as these.

He walked along the arcade but didn't venture into the centre, where the garden stood, satisfied that at this moment, in this place, there was peace enough for an old scarecrow.

The tranquillity allowed his beaten body a sense of restfulness. He no longer felt so fatigued by the many burdens strapped onto his war-wary back, gaining a little understanding of why some Mages could stomach the tedium of becoming a monastic scholar.

As he made the rounds through the gallery, he noted a door that was ajar, from within which a warm light permeated.

Though it wasn't in his character to be a stickybeak, Henry felt curiously drawn. Mayhap it was the mood of the place. Or perhaps, it was the triumph of his apprentice; Henry Kilroy felt such invigoration in years.

Shuffling quietly, he moved into place as to avoid disturbing whoever was in prayer. In front of him was a shine, a small one converted from what must have been a storeroom.

Within, he saw the petite figure of a nun, a young one from the looks of it, kneeling before a Sacred-Heart altar.

A sense of déjà vu engendered, as delicate as gossemer.

There was something familiar about it the scene— a chamber lit by low candles, dozens of them, encompassing an intimate space that was flicking with haunting shadows. The altar itself was nothing unusual, a few candelabras with dribbling wax, a container of incense smoking quietly, beside a statue of Mother Mary maternally offering the benediction. There was a sense of nostalgia, too, one that brought on an acute heartache.

Softly, Henry tapped the double-doors, wincing as the hinges groaned.

"You came," a strangely familiar voice addressed his disturbance. It was the nun. "I had waited an eternity."

"Do I know you?" Henry inquired, the timbre of his voice quivered with unbidden disbelief.

"Has it been that long?" came a reply both melodious and sultry. "It breaks my heart to hear that you have forgotten your dearest after only three decades."

The nun stood slowly, the loose habit falling about her small, petite figure. It hid the woman's figure well, but Henry could recognise the silhouette anywhere, underneath anything. He knew that body all too intimately.

Henry wordlessly watched the unveiling of the spectacle before him. It was impossible, of course, that this might be happening. He'd seen the woman die, after all. Mark, who had hated her more than anything, had verified that there were no traces of her left.

There was no returning from the Void. Mark hard verified it.

But then again, the neophyte Necromancer had also stated that he was wrong. Mark had told him that Elizabeth didn't respond to the summoning of the dead.

The nun slowly turned her face; Henry's breath quickened.

First came the blue eyes, so blue they were the sky and the ocean, baby-blue, like lapis laid within sapphires, blue enough to make him ache. Then, that unforgettable face, the small button nose, the delicate English features, the elegant cheekbones, the well-framed chin, the curvature of her jaws. Her red lips, like a dash of vermillion, fresh as blood, bright as ruby against a complexion of pearl.

"Impossible, how?" Henry mouthed, his mind reeling with shock.

"Hello, Henry. Did you miss me?" the nun asked winningly, her lips blossoming as she spoke. There was a winsome quality to it all that stunned him. "Don't recognise your beloved anymore?"

"Elizabeth..."

Elizabeth ran her hand over her habit. To Henry's surprise, it fell away into nothing, as though the cotton was only a wisp rather than a piece of cloth. She was now resplendent in a white chiffon tulip-dress, just as he remembered her, the last morning he'd kissed her goodbye as she ventured into the Hungarian town.

Henry swallowed as her voluminous dark hair fell about her head and shoulders, framing her lovely, heart-shaped face.

"How can you..?"

"Be alive?"

"Be still so young..."

Elizabeth giggled; her laughter tinkled like a nightingale's trill.

"Do you remember the vineyard, Henry? It was nice, wasn't it?"

"The vineyard…yes, it was nice," Henry choked, his voice trembling.

"It was our private paradise."

"Paradise... yes."

"Do you recall? What do you remember?"

What does he remember? Henry tried to think, but his mind felt as though smothered with wool. All thoughts of Gwen, of Sufina, of Irene, of Rosebay, fell away, replaced by faraway bedroom.

There was Elizabeth, asleep, buried in a tangled mass of soft pillows and white sheets. Her complexion was bloodless, her aristocratic veins blue against her flawless skin. She slept carelessly, a wayward sheet scandalously covering her body, her petite breasts forming the slightest of mounds. Henry savoured the moment, for here in one bed lay his whole-wide world.

Henry smiled. Lizzie was right; those were the happiest days of his life. What was his life now? Endless days of dealing with the petty politicking of the Tower; training an Apprentice that may one day usurp him— dealing with ingrates who disobeyed his orders and had the intelligence of a mallet. Moulding another Void Mage to show the world he was right? What an absurd idea.

He thought instead of the past, of those days after the war in Hungary. He could sense it now, he could feel it! He smelled her sweet scent upon his collar.

And there she was! Elizabeth— twirling in a white chiffon tulip dress that reached her knees. He felt overwhelmed with joy; his heart seized with happiness.

Unbidden, Elizabeth now languished on their bed, stretching as the white sheets slid from her torso. The bay windows were ajar, and the careless wind lifted the curtains playfully. He blushed as his wife laughed, moving to close the drapes, her riotous tittering behind him as she pulled him back to bed.

In the next moment, Elizabeth greedily stabbed at a Presszókávé and Flódni. Henry smiled when his wife's small red mouth caked with crumbling bits of sweetness. Lizzie closed her eyes and savoured the taste. She looked like an angel.

Visions upon visions assailed Henry. He was drunk on the nostalgia, intoxicated with illusory happiness.

Henry felt blissful at last. Happy enough that he could let go of the crisis of the moment. Glad enough, that he hardly noticed the dark things slithering from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void, birthing onto the floor wetly. As one, the creatures' lamprey's mouth opened and closed, revealing barbed-teeth and curious, pink tongues.

The lamprey things coiled along Henry's body, attaching themselves here and there. To his arms and legs, to his neck, to his torso.

With a nod from their mistress, they began to feed.

"Gwen! Do you know where Master has gone?" Alesia was shouting, her voice ringing with fury and alarm.

"Sufina said to meet him in the cloister behind the Cathedral." Gwen couldn't make head nor tails of the chaos. The Dryad was fine one moment—  then screaming and shrivelling the next.

"Stay here! I'll check it out!"

Before Gwen could say another word, Alesia uttered the incantation for Flight and launched herself into the air, making a bee-line for the quadrangle.

"Be careful!" Gwen shouted at her sister-in-craft.

She turned her attention back towards Sufina, whose child-like form was even now visibly becoming weaker, her bark-like skin crusty with old age, what little leaves that remained rapidly fell from the vines that made up her hair. Gwen knelt beside the dryad and placed her hands upon the woodland-being, wondering if she could somehow transfer the vital energy of the scale which she loved so dearly.

A dozen possibilities flitted across her mind.

She didn't know much about Dryads, but she wasn't about to do nothing.

"Elvia! I need positive channels now! Jody, you too, please! Any other healers?! Please! We need your help!"

Elvia didn't question Gwen's command. She immediately dropped to one knee and began pumping Sufina full of vital energy. Jody looked at Julia, who nodded, and likewise began to channel a flood of positive mana into the Dryad.

Immediately, the healers knew that something was awry.

"Arrrgh!" Elvia fell backwards, but her hand was still firmly attached to Sufina. "Gwen! Something's got me! It's draining us! I can't release the conduit!"

"Julia!" Jody screamed, "I can't let go!"

Both Gwen and Julia cursed and reached out to embrace their friend, physically pulling them away from the frozen and unmoving form of Sufina by tugging in opposite directions.

The girls parted from the Dryad; their bodies fell, akimbo with flailing limbs.

"Something is draining her vitality," Jody stuttered, weak with exhaustion.

"It's true." Elvia's complexion was a laundered sheet. "It feels like when you're using my positive channelling to fuel your spells, but far hungrier and malicious."

Gwen gazed in the direction of the cathedral. She had to find Henry somehow. Sufina wasn't completely withered yet, and that meant her Master was alive. She just had to stop whatever was draining her Master, and by that extension, Sufina. What was Alesia doing anyhow? She wondered. Had she found Master yet?

She looked towards Magister Ferris, who still seemed paralysed by it all. The Magister appeared to be caught in a continuous vision, her mind not entirely in the present. She was now staring towards the ocean, towards the Shield Wall.

Gwen followed her gaze, feeling a knot tighten in her gut.

She too was suddenly overcome with an ominous surge premonition.

"Magister—" she began.

BOOM—CRACK!

An explosion in the distance drowned her appeal.

There was a shimmer at the edge of the horizon, akin to the flash one saw when a bolt of lightning lit up the outback sky in silvered silhouettes.

Then an all-enveloping explosion rocked Sydney Harbour, sending out a rippling shockwave of white churning water.

BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—

Another and another, and another explosion rang out, a dozen in all.

The gathered host of school girls stared at the horizon, unable to comprehend what was happening to their peaceful world. The senior Mages all knew though, especially those of them that had survived the Coral Sea conflict. They'd seen it once before and had hoped never to see it again.

The Shield Barrier had collapsed.

Here and now, Sydney was a sitting duck.

Gunther Shultz stopped mid-sentence during his dressing-down of the Tower's new Acolytes. The Mages before him regarded their instructor quizzically, wondering why their austere preceptor had paused. They were all elites, graduates from the top-tier universities, ranging from Senior Mages skilled in their craft to young Magus coming into their power. By becoming members of the Tower, they gained access to the Tower's resource and knowledge, as well as the potential to be apprenticed under one of the Magisters.

"Whoa—"

An abrupt shudder shook the antechamber, sending a few of the acolytes skittering across the atrium floor.

Gunther furrowed his luxuriant brows, his instincts informing him that a catastrophe had just occurred.

DING! DING! DING—

Then a dozen Message spells struck him at once, blasting coloured Glyphs visible only to himself. He picked one from his assistant, an intelligent and humorous Diviner who showed great promise.

"Sir!" Ensign Carey's honeyed voice came across the message spell in a panic, completely lacking her usual fineness and control. "We just received an urgent Message from Station Forty-One at Watson Bay! Just now, an engineer reported an attack by an unknown party who sabotaged the Shielding Stone."

"What's the condition there now?" Gunther demanded with a measured voice brimming with suppressed emotion.

Damaging a Shielding Station was a capital offence. What "Human" in their right mind would sabotage a vital infrastructure that shielded the city? Sydney wasn't the Ivory Coast or the Silk Road. Neither was Australia at war with their neighbours.

"It's chaos, Sir! The explosion has caused a chain reaction along with the Watson-North head enclosure! We are registering a total failure of over a dozen stations!"

"Get your division to link up with the Frontier Military. I need all the available operational data in the next thirty minutes. Sound the coastal alarms on the entire Eastern seaboard. All Combat Mages tier 3 and over are to report to battle stations. Start evacuations immediately for the affected areas, tell the councils to start moving their NoMs to shelters—and find me the Mage who called in, I need more information."

"Yes, Sir!"

Gunther willed another Glyph to flare into activation; it was from the intelligence division's Oracle station.

"Sir! I am getting pings from all over the Tasman Sea! The Mermen are mounting a major incursion! I am counting a dozen Krakens— there's even a Leviathan!"

Gunther cursed under his breath, wondering how the hell his world went to shit in a heartbeat.

The acolytes in front of him were each receiving their Messages and showing evident panic. A complete collapse of the Shield Barrier had not occurred for at least two decades, but the stories remained.

Ding! "Sir!"

It was Carey, his assistant.

"I've found the Mage who was overseeing Station Forty-One, he has requested to speak with you, shall I patch him through?"

"Do it."

There was the sound of a third voice joining the conversation.

"This is Gunther Shultz, Paladin. Who am I speaking with?"

The voice that came through was smooth and controlled, not at all panicked and worried as Gunther would have expected.

"So you're Gunther Shultz huh?"

"I am, who am I speaking with?"

"Morye Song, Regular Joe Abjurer, second class Engineer, Watson Bay. I got a request for you, Mr Shultz."

Moyre Song? Gunther felt some distant memory at the back of his mind pinging. Why was the name so familiar? Where had he heard it before?

"I will grant you what I can, Mr Song, but first, you must let me know what the condition is over there, where are these assailants, or might I say, terrorists?"

"Terrorists, huh? Close enough, I suppose. The Shielding Stone is busted, so I am afraid there's not much I can do about that. As for the baddies, well, they're dead."

Gunther felt as though this Moyre Song was tooling with his intelligence, was the man a traitor who was trying to provide them with false information? That didn't make sense either. Presently, the Shield Barrier had fallen, the station was lost, what point was there in exposing himself?

"How do you mean, Mr Song? You need to be more specific, can you tell me what happened exactly?"

"Sure, but you need to grant me my request first." The man must feel confident that Gunther would comply.

"Fine, what do you want?"

"I need you to find the location of my two children, Percy Song and Gwen Song."

Carey interjected.

"Don't be absurd, Mr Song! You can't expect Lord Gunther to bother with finding your children in a crisis like this! We have Mermen trying to breach the mainland for God's sake!"

"Ensign Carey. Do shut up." Gunther said. "Did you say… Gwen Song?"

"Formerly of Forestville, she's currently attending Blackwattle Bay High School. If you can get your Divination boys to give me a location, I'll be more than happy to provide you with the low-down of what's happening here."

"How dare you—"

"Ensign—"

Carey stopped speaking at once.

"Go and check up on my orders. I need a sit-rep in the next few minutes. Also, go pull up a location on Percy Song, he's been filed already under Gwen Song's dossier, he should have his school's tracker with him."

"Yes, Sir!"

Gunther turned his attention to Gwen's erstwhile father. Erstwhile, because he'd believed Gwen had cut off all contact with her old man.

"Gwen Song is currently in Rosebay," Gunther informed the man. "She is there with Magister Henry Kilroy, undergoing a test. As for your son, give me the information first, as our Diviners would require some time."

"Fine," the voice that came through sounded relieved.

"I assure you, Gwen is perfectly safe with the Lord Magister. Now, please inform me of the events that lead to the collapse of the Shield Barrier."

"The assailants are mid-tier Mages, pretty well trained. I suspect they're someone's private army, feels like the kind that the Houses keep as their reserve militia. They had an insider or had the right glyph to access the door, who knows, but they got in unchallenged. They came in spells blazing, killing every Mage they met until they got to the main chamber. Now, they must have had some kind of magical device, because they managed to breach the Warding Glyphs in about ten minutes flat. I suppose that's what's causing the reaction too because a whole daisy-chain of resonating power just fed down the line."

"Where are they now?"

"They're dead," the voice said flatly.

"How?" Gunther demanded.

"Collective suicide," Moyre suggested cryptically. "Look, the point is, they had an inside man, someone had given them the codes for the Glyphs shielding the Stone, and now we're all in deep shit. I am going to find my kids because there is nothing else I can do here, the city's toast and you should be calling in the Towers from Melbourne and whatnot. So, where is my son?"

"Carey?"

"They've located a match for the boy. He is—"

The spell died. It was blaring a moment ago, and then it was gone.

"Carey? Mr Song?"

Gunther incanted his Message spell again. Nothing. His brows furrowed. What in the world could disrupt a Message spell? Unless—

From the looks of his acolytes, their calls had likewise cut off.

The Paladin of Sydney felt a chill forming deep in his gut, running its way up through his spine with an unease he hadn't felt since the Coral Sea conflict.

"NOW ENTERING QUARANTINE MODE."

A female voice, synthetic in intonation, echoed through the Tower's internal communications systems.

"What?!"

"Quarantine?"

"Against what?"

"Lord Gunther?"

"What was happening?"

"What the fuck is going on?" Gunther let himself go.

It was one surprise after another. Even Gunther felt the dire need to express his mounting frustration and anger. Quarantine mode? That was only possible when Magical Creatures or foreign Mages breached the Tower. Even if the Mermen were on a Leviathan, it would take two to three hours before they were even remotely close enough to enter the city.

Gunther issued a command toward the Tower's autonomous Spirit systems, demanding that it explain the reason for its quarantine mode.

"Lord Shultz, your command privileges have been revoked. Prepare to be ejected from the Tower in sixty seconds."

"Shit!" Gunther could no longer maintain his cool in the face of mounting absurdity. "Does anyone have a working Message device?"

The Acolytes shook their heads.

How were his privileges revoked? He was the fucking Paladin of the Tower! It's guardian! Only its Master could revoke the access. The only manner in which the Right of Command could be usurped would be if—

It can't be! He told himself. That was impossible!

His Master was Deathless Henry for a reason!

He tried to Message his teacher, but the Divi-Towers were down entirely.

He tried to Message Alesia. Nothing.

He tried to Message Gwen, and likewise, there was no sign that his Message spell had manifested at all.

Someone had activated one of the Tower's most potent mechanisms - a Scry Jammer capable of nullifying Divination effects— and by that measure, all communication spells.

Once active, the jamming retarded the part of Sydney's communication infrastructure. The problem was, the powerful warding shouldn't affect allies like Gunther, who had the right glyphs to nullify its effects.

That his Message jammed could only mean one thing.

It meant that Gunther was no longer an 'ally' of the Tower.

The faux daylight lighting of the tower suddenly died. A red haze took over the Mage's surroundings, cast by maliciously glowing mana-cores that were now a dull, hostile red.

"NON ASSOCIATES OF THE TOWER WILL BE EJECTED IN 3…"

Gunther swore.

"Everyone! Shield up! Everything you have!"

"2… "

"DO IT NOW! Don't question me if you want to live!"

"1…"

"USE FLIGHT! Feather Fall!"

There was a flash of silvery Conjuration Mana.

Gunther and a few hundred others found themselves outside the Tower, in mid-air, and falling.

A host of scattered 'Feather Fall!" and "Fight!" resounded through the air.

There were a few brief screams, then Gunther saw too late that at least a dozen or more young Mages, guards and clerks, had fallen from the great height, ending up on the cityscape below as bloody and broken stains.

The Tower loomed before them, floating in mid-air, half a kilometre from the ground.

The Tower was a floating fortress. That was the reason it was deemed so unassailable, so impenetrable. In its magnificence, his Master's abode was a brutalist fortress, resembling three bisecting rectangles stacked atop a floating island platform.

Having been ejected from it by force, Gunther and the other Mages were pushed away from the central structure by the repulsion field.

"Lord Gunther!" someone called.

"What do we do?"

"What the hell just happened?"

"I head there are Mermen incoming?"

"What about the shield wall?"

"Fuck, I can't believe Timothy just fucking died!"

"Sir! We need orders!"

The descending Mage all called out to Gunther, but what could one man do without Message spells? They all believed that the infallible Lord Shultz had the answers, but Gunther knew he was just as confused and surprised as they. He wasn't a God, despite what the rumours suggested.

He regarded those who were flying and falling around him. Suddenly, an epiphany came to him.

These Mages— they were all from the Middle-Path and the Militant Factions! Where were the Greys?

Magister Irene Ferris was the first to recover her senses. Immediately, she began commanding the Rosebay girls to take shelter in the cathedral. The old building was a bastion that had once served as a sanctuary. In theory, it should weather whatever was coming their way far better than if they stayed in the open. If need be, Irene could also teleport them away somewhere safe, such as the Tower itself, which was impervious to invasion.

"Leave the Dryad, Go inside!" Ferris commanded Gwen and the girls, but the Blackwattle team refused to heed the Magister's command, choosing instead to stay with Sufina. When she commanded them again, and it was clear that Gwen was not leaving the field, the Diviner turned to orchestrate the evacuation instead.

"Shit! My Message spell doesn't work!" someone muttered beside them. "Magister, all long-range communications are down!"

Ferris tested her magic.

"You're right, only line-of-sight communication still works. Someone's started the jammer."

She glanced skyward, but couldn't see the Tower anywhere in sight. Where they infiltrated by foreign Mages? That was an absurd and impossible notion. She had to get back to the Tower as soon as possible, but she didn't want to abandon the children here. They were her life's work! The future of Rosebay, of Oceania! She had a responsibility to their parents, who had entrusted her with their lives.

"Forget it! Get the kids to safety! Go through the Catacombs! Get to the Teleportation Chambers. Four to a group!"

At once, the gathered Prefects and Mages mobilised, organising the young ones into orderly files that marched towards the cathedral and the shelter of it's thick, enchanted walls.

"Gwen." She turned to Gwen seriously. "I don't know what's happened to Henry because the Tower is preventing me from using my Divination spells. That said— once the kids are safe, I am going to teleport myself and my staff into the Tower. Whatever happens, we need to take back control of the Tower and shut off that Message jammer. Are you coming with us? We could use your help. Your Void abilities are essential for taking down physical barriers."

Gwen looked at Sufina, still fading fast, and nodded.

"Meet me down in the teleportation room. It uses the same system your group used to arrive but located underground. Just follow my staff's directions."

"I need to find Alesia," Gwen mouthed, her eyes still lingering on the Dryad. "Sufi's suffering."

"Gwen, we need to go…" Yue said worriedly. The girl didn't want to leave Sufina either, but the situation was too dire for bravado.

Elvia was silent, still unable to comprehend what she was seeing, especially after the physical trauma of being drained by Sufina earlier.

Whetu was looking at the open sea with a grim face, reliving some distant memory which Gwen needn't guess, given Auckland's history.

Debora appeared to have made up her mind. The girl pulled at Gwen's arm to try and make her budge. Looking at Debora's pleading eyes, however, Gwen felt suddenly struck by a recollection from the Outback.

She reached behind her neck and plucked at her Almudj's scale, willing it to remove itself.

"What are you doing?" Debora cried out sharply, stepping back with a look full of disbelief. "You're using THAT? Now of all times?"

Gwen ignored her and instead cupped the now diminutive Sufina in her arms, parting the withered vines extending from the back of her neck.

Please let this work! Gwen prayed to whoever ruled over this world of magic and monsters, then placed the scale on the back of Sufina's neck.

"Almudj, please help us!"

Morye Song was supposed to have the day off.

Now, he lined up against the wall with his fellow engineers, prisoners awaiting their firing squad.

It all began when his current girlfriend Yurin, one of two women he was seeing, suddenly demanded that he should meet her parents. The request meant that it was time to make a clean break, as things had progressed from harmless fun to quagmire.

The problem was that Yurin was one of those women with almond-brown puppy eyes that turned liquid when pleading for something, and Morye was weak - indeed, very weak, to the pleading of the fairer sex.

And so, Morye had traded his Wednesday shift for Thursday and had to spend an awkward night being glared at by Yurin's parents, who were utterly surprised when he confessed cleanly to having two children and an ex-wife.

Yurin may not have cared, but no one wanted their little girl to be the second, or in Morye's case, the hundredth fiddle. Morye apologised and left the house. Yurin's father shook his fist, and Yurin cried and tugged on her father's sleeves. Morye took a punch to the jaw but was thankful for the clean break. He had no desire to entice her illusion of marriage. They had their fun, and that was that.

Then it was Thursday, and all had been right with the world.

Morning shift at a Shielding Station was a quiet and tedious job, especially at a remote headland like Watson Bay. Greeting the dozen or so guards he'd known for years, Morye made his way into the belly of the beast. Within, a deep shaft a dozen meters wide held a levitating ultra-high-density Crystal six meters in diameter and about eight from tip to tip. Here was the heart of the Shielding Station that kept the city safe.

As an Abjurer, Morye's job was to monitor the hundreds of glyphs that surrounded the crystal, shaping its mana to create that unique resonance which made up the 'barrier'— an oscillating wavelength of mana that passed between stations.

His place of employment, North Head and Watson Bay made up the city's two principal stations. Here, the barrier was so strong as to form a shimmering white wall above and below the ocean and reaching the seabed, so penetrative as to be tangibly felt seen in the Astral Plane. What it accomplished was the repulsion of all creatures with Cores, causing discomfort, distress and ultimately destruction. The larger the beast, the more damage the resonance achieved, the more mana was consumed.

"Senior Engineer Song." his colleague had greeted him.

"Engineer Wenner." Morye had replied.

"How was your date?"

"With Yurin?"

"Yeah, the Korean one."

"As expected, angry old man, upset mother. I was half expecting the old feller to duel me when I told them I had two kids."

"Aren't you an old man too, old man?" Wenner laughed.

"Oi, I am only forty! Besides, I am young at heart."

"Ha! You're certainly not living any longer if you don't tier up your Spellcraft, hows your Abjuration?"

"You know me. I rather spend the night in the soft, white arms of a woman rather than the cold, hard pages of a textbook."

"Ah, come off it Morye. You've been here for almost what, fifteen years? Come on, Mate, we all know you can do better than Senior Engineer, I've seen your work."

"Too lazy!" Morye lamented dramatically. "Get promoted? It's just more work. I'd rather finish my calibrations in an hour and work on my naps."

Wenner shook his head in disbelief.

"How're your kids these days?" Wenner changed the subject.

"Percy's with his mother, so I'd dare say he's suffering for it. Gwen's doing pretty well. Did I tell you? She's awakened to Lightning. She's got more potential in life than me, that's for sure."

"'Grats, Mate! I still remember that time you brought her to the Christmas Party, she must be a lovely young lady now."

"Interested? Your son's still a bachelor?" Morye asked jovially.

"Damn straight he is. Yeah-Nah, your girl's too good for him."

"Aww, come on Ed, don't say that, Sam's good bloke."

"He's a regular Abjurer, low Water-affinity. He'll be satisfied with a regular gal."

"They're just kids, Ed, who knows? Gwen needs someone to show her how normal people behave. She's too much like her mother sometimes, full of shit and high sentence. It worries me sometimes."

Edward Wenner shook his head again. He'd seen some lumen-recordings of Gwen that Morye had gotten from his filthy-rich brother-in-law, doing her Lightning thing. The girl was heads above Sam's wildest dreams. Having the two of them meet up would just destroy the boy's self-esteem. Morye meant well, but then again, he usually pitched above his class. He dated girls in their twenties; he dated girls from NoM ghettos. He dated women who were older too, not caring even if they were Senior Mages or Magus.

Wenner was just about to say something when they heard the distinct sound of the middle barrier-gate opening. The hydraulically controlled portal consisted of Glyph panels made from transmuted steel. The seamless metal always made a suction sound as they opened, making a silent entry impossible.

He checked his watch.

"That's weird, George is not supposed to be here until 1400, reckon the guy cocked up his timetable? I'll go check."

Morye shrugged. Come hell or high-water; he's got a break to catch and a snooze quota to fill.

"ARRGH—"

A muffled scream echoed. Then silence.

Morye twisted his lips.

Next came the sound of boots moving through the compound. Whoever had just accosted the guards was now making their way down. Morye had just settled himself into a comfortable tub-chair when the door to the break-room opened.

"Hands up!"

His feet on a stool and a cup of tea in hand, Morye regarded two Mages whose combat-robes shimmered with Mage Armour. They looked well provisioned, each of the Mages had a bandolier full of potions, a wand by their side, and minor Storage Rings on their fingers.

"Hands on the back of your head! Move it!" the men commanded.

Morye complied unquestioningly. Unauthorised entry into a Shield Station carried stiff penalties. These men, assuming they were here to loot or steal, appeared in their element. Why were they here? Morye wondered. If he had to hazard a guess, he would imagine that they were pawns in the factional infighting that constantly accosted the Tower. When elephants fight, the grass gets trampled. Maybe the men would do what they need to do, and then leave? Morye hoped for the best, or else there would be trouble.

When he made his way to the antechamber, all the Engineers, Wenner included, lined up against a wall. The Director, McBride, was being questioned by a young man with what looked like mechanical, golem-like arms and legs.

"The encryption key— give it to me!" The Machine-man was making threats. It was a laughable gesture, of course — engineers were bound by Geas to never real the Glyph keys.

Morye felt puzzled. What happened to the guards on the first level? Why were these men capable of entering the Shielding Station unmolested, but had no access to the Glyph for the device itself?

Typically, the Tower issued both at the same time.

It could only mean that the individual who gave out the code for the Shielding Station didn't have access to the Glyph. Morye thought about that and didn't much fancy the answer at all.

"STOP! It hurts! I can't tell you even if I wanted to," the Director begged.

With exaggeration and wanton cruelty, the one-legged feller kicked and punched McBride, spittle flying this way and that. When the bloke tired of the sport, he straightened up and stretched out his golem-like limbs.

"Let's do this the hard way then," the blond announced.

The Mages behind the man were all dressed in grey-silver combat robes that were rather indistinct. There were six of them, all equally well equipped. Morye could see blood on their boots.

The blood, Morye supposed, explained at least some hint of where the guards had gone.

Were these a mercenary militia? Morye wondered, they looked the part but were too disciplined. A Shielding Station wasn't anything special, but it did have stores of crystals and other precious materials which would be more than enough to whet the appetite of a few greedy spells-for-hire.

That left only one other possibility that these men were private soldiers born and bred in-house by some noble family or perhaps some Trans-national conglomeration corporation.

To Morye's surprise, the blond Mage was not only a Conjurer but was also an Enchanter! Not just a regular Enchanter either, but the worst kind. His element was highly unusual as well. Was it Ash? No, Morye thought to himself. Ash was too rare. It was Dust.

Jesus, Morye stifled a whistle. When was the last time he had seen a Dust Mage? At any rate, they were in trouble. Mages who trafficked in forbidden spells and dangerous elements were not in the business of leaving witnesses.

While Morye was still pondering his options, the Station Master was screaming his lungs out. Blood drained from his wrists as the young man held a hand to his forehead. Motes of dust were moving in and out of the old Master's facial orifice, sending out spittles of blood and other bodily liquids through his nose, lips, and eyes.

What a cruel little shit. Morye thought distastefully, wondering how he should deal with this dilemma without catalysing more drama for himself. Outright resistance was likely impossible for the moment, at least not with six guard dogs watching his every move.

In a minute, the talkable ringleader seemed to be done, letting the exhausted old man drop to the floor in a ragged heap.

"Tell me what the glyph code is," he asked carefully.

To Morye's surprise, the Station Master began to recite the sequence like a mantra. The poor sod was on his second repetition when the Geas must have triggered, for he began to bleed violently from his facial orifices. Ten seconds later, the man was dead.

"Chit!" The young man spat. He turned his attention to the rest of the engineers.

"The rest of you, if you want to live, then go to your stations and do what I tell you."

The remaining Abjurers regarded one another.

They weren't heroes.

But they knew the importance of a Shielding Station.

"Fuck you!" A middle-aged woman shouted defiantly. "I am not letting any of you go near that Shield, you rapscallions!"

"Bess! No!"

"Shut up, Bess!"

"She didn't mean it, your eminences! She's just a foolish old woman's all," Wenner pleaded. "She doesn't even have access to the work station."

Beatrice was their Transmuter. She repaired the structure as it grew weathered by the brine from the east-northernly wind. She had a strong sense of justice but a limited grasp of common sense.

Morye wondered if he would regret not helping the poor woman. After all, he'd been to her house, attended a few luncheons with the rest of the staff. The mother of two was happy with her lot. She must have been thinking of her sons, still safe behind the barrier when she made that call.

"I am not fond of old women, but I am less fond of rudeness," the young man intoned. With a word, the Dust mage moved his invisible Dust-beast over to Beatrice. Then, he squeezed her like a lemon.

The rest of the staff watched as Beatrice suffered, whimper and begging for death until all that remained of the once vibrant mother was a dried husk that crumbled onto the floor with a clattering of fossilised flesh and bones.

"Disgusting," The young man scoffed, seemingly unsatisfied. "Any other volunteers?"

The rest of the staff moved to their stations; watched by the cowled Mages in their silver-grey robes.

With the Master's glyph code, the young man manipulated the central control system of the station. He gave orders expertly, as though he knew exactly how each Glyph switch within the system worked.

THUMMMMM—

The central crystal grew dull.

Morye watched as the Dust Mage approached, placing a hand upon the crystalline structure. There was a surge of violent mana, impressive both in volume and control. With a slight shimmer of space-time, the young man's Storage Ring consumed the stone.

To the staff's surprise, the Dust Mage raised his other hand and summoned another stone similar in size to replace it. This one was etched with sigils and runes, covered from tip to tip with malevolent looking Glyph-scripts. With some alarm, Morye realised that this was the stone that was stolen from the Barrington Top station some three months ago.

The others reacted too.

They were all Abjurers here, and it instantly became evident what these men intended! What little naive hope of survival the staff had of surviving the encounter faded away. Now, it was a fight to preserve both their lives AND the lives of those in the city.

"Stop them!"

"Chase them out!"

"Morye, help me!"

Instantly, Shields of all kinds, stone, earth, water and pure mana erupted here and there, protecting their casters from the forces that sought to access their control consoles.

The problem was that they were all Abjurers.

The guards who were supposed to be protecting them were all dead. The battle, if there ever was one, was over the moment these Mages had gained access to the lower chambers.

Morye too erected his shield. Unlike the others, his barrier was a bright, comically pink series of jagged stone.

Outside, he heard the sound of spells clashing against his barrier, wondering how long his colleagues could keep up until help could arrive.

If an Abjurer was to turtle up, they should be able to withstand attacks for some time. With the correct sequence of Absorb Elements, Elemental Warding, and proper management of mana recycling, a prolonged hold-out was possible.

Tink—TINK!

BOOM-CRACK!

Chaos reigned as Morye carefully uttered the necessary meta-magics used to delay the spell he held in reserve. With each passing minute, however, the sound outside grew quieter, fainter and less pronounced.

Then the battle ceased altogether, and Morye knew that it was soon his turn.

A glyph bloomed in the dark of his rock-pink crystal shell.

To this surprise, someone was Messaging him.

"Hello?" Morye answered the spell.

"Hey, it's me, Edgar, the one outside who just killed your friends."

"…"

"Listen, I am not going to kill you."

"O, thank God."

"I need you, Mr Song. For a mission that is even more important than this one, at least to me. Do you mind if we talk face to face?"

"... What choice do I have?"

Morye dispelled his Shielding, the pink-stones falling away until he revealed himself. Curiously, his fragments did not fade into motes of earthen mana. Instead, the manifested shell of his Abjuration shield scattered onto the floor, becoming crumbling pink-white particles that crunched underfoot.

In front of Morye was a massacre.

Shit, Wenner, Morye felt the corner of his eye twitch. Poor Sam. The others were dead too. Some were burnt alive, others crushed, a few drained until they were just husks.

Morye had no benedictions to give. He was not a religious man.

The Dust Mage, whose name was Edgar, stood not far from Morye. Behind him, his followers were busy rigging up the Shielding Stone.

"You know; when I drained this little old feller here." Edgar swirled a few motes of dust around his good forefinger. "I caught an interesting piece of information in your work roster."

"Go on."

"You are the father of Gwen Song, no?"

Morye raised a brow in surprise.

"Why does that matter?"

The Dust Mage— Edgar— suddenly took on a remarkably insane expression. His whole face grew contorted like that of a demonic mask, hideous with malevolence. The change was so drastic that for a moment, Morye questioned if the man had been taken over by some maleficent spirit.

"Why does it matter?"

Edgar ripped out a fistful of hair.

"Why… why does it matter— the father says!" Edgar paced back and forth, utterly unable to control himself. "Why does it matter indeed!"

Morye stared.

It was an innocent question.

He certainly did not expect the man to lose his mind.

Perhaps he should hazard a conjecture?

"Did Gwen… reject you at a cocktail party?" he asked dryly. That was the best postulation Morye could muster. He didn't think Gwen was the kind of girl to be hanging with psychopathic Mages, so the arsehole incarnate probably had spoken to her or something at some innocent social event— that he could believe. If anything, Gwen possessed her mother's talent for attracting attention, both good and bad. With her face and those legs, not many young men could resist an aloof princess. That and young cocks like Edgar likely had a low tolerance for disgrace.

"A party?! A fucking party?" Edgar tore at his robes to reveal the pallid flesh beneath.

"You're too skinny for Gwen's tastes." Morye sighed. Kids these days, so hot-headed.

"Shut the fuck up!" Edgar disrobed violently to reveal his clockwork limbs. He pulled at his face until the flesh bled, revealing what appeared to be tessellated mithril plating. "Your whore of a daughter gave me this! She took my fucking arm and leg! She took my face!"

Morye whistled impressively.

"I take it you didn't listen when she told you - No?" he quipped jovially. "You know, when a lady says no, they probably just mean no. It's an art to read the context, but if you're not sure, just stop."

Edgar looked like he wanted to rip out Morye's heart and eat it bloody and raw.

"You think you're funny?" he demanded.

"I am known to be jocular, yes," Morye's mouth twisted with mirth. "Did you know I wasn't supposed to be working today? Imagine that, you came all this way, and you could have missed me."

"I think death is too easy for you." Edgar's words had such poison in them that they spat from his lips toward Morye, who looked at the stains on his work uniform with wordless revulsion.

"I want you to know what I am going to do." Edgar seemed to calm himself and began to speak. "I am going to saw off your arms and legs. Then, I am going to cut off your tongue and your cock and balls. You're going to be just a fleshy stump, wishing for death. Yet, you're not going to die. We're going to heal your wounds, and make you suffer."

"Young man." Morye breathed out coldly. "You ever thought about seeing a Mind Mage about that attitude of yours?"

"You laugh now—" Edgar continued. "But when I find your daughter, you know what I am going to do? I am going to show her your stumpy, miserable form, and then she will share your fate. I will cut off her long white legs, sever her arms, and strap her into a harness, like so…"

Morye watched as Edgar's expression changed from rage to lust, then to eye-rolling desire.

"You liked that? Good," Edgar continued eagerly. "You know what's next? She's going to bear my children, carry my bloodline. Her dual Void and Lighting ability, all of her talents will belong to me. She's going to be nothing but a sow, a fertile little meat-machine for my litter of Void Mages. Your scions, my slaves for the next hundred generations. How do you like that?"

"She's a Void Mage? You say?" Morye's surprise was wholly genuine. "Jesus Christ. Really?"

"You didn't know?" Now, it was Edgar who stared, his voice incredible with disbelief.

"Nope. We're not that close, you know, so I don't think I'll make a good hostage." Morye confessed.

"I'll be the judge of that," Edgar collected himself. "Now let's see what's in that head of yours."

Edgar placed a hand on Morye's forehead.

Morye felt the invisible dust-conjuration moving behind him. Something with incredible force was now holding his wrists and ankles immobile, effectively paralysing his physical movements.

"I am not looking for a son-in-law," Morye wryly declared. "Take your filthy mitts off my face, boy."

"SHUT UP!" his assailant howled in turn. "Submit your memories to me! Give—"

The Dust Mage's golem-limb fell limp. The rest of the Mages stopped to stare. There was a layer of white crystals now covering the joint, paralysing the clockwork.

"Flesh to Salt," Morye incanted without any significant emotion.

Without warning, the world turned white.

"Arrrgh!"

"My leg!"

"No! No! No!"

"I can't see!"

"Master! Save us!"

"It hurts! Aeeeeee!"

With the utterance of the last syllable of the invocation, Morye's hidden Transmutation activated. It fed upon trails of salt, so carelessly scattered previously, minute and seemingly a part of the dusty decor of the sandstone interior. Mercilessly, these enlivened motes of salt now adhered to the assailants, boring into flesh and bone.

At once, Edgar's lackeys grew encased in tombs of salt that covered every inch of their body, growing as salt fed, becoming larger and denser. As crippling agony paralysed the Mages, the salt began their terrible work. In a moment, all moisture within the tender bodies of Morye's assailants were quickly extracted. Besides them, Morye stood impassive as a statue, not even noticing the desiccation.

It took half a minute before the spell ran its course, transforming all organic matter into pink-white rocksalt.

"You know," Morye said softly to the young man now resting on his back. "In my culture, salt is used to drive away evil."

Edgar stumbled backwards, a spell already upon his lips. His mind was a mess of fumbling ecstasy, the desire to escape defeating all rational thought.

He had to buy time to activate his Teleport. The station was done for—there was nothing this man could do to stop it now. The only miscarriage of their plans was the loss of his men, nothing more.

But why was Gwen's father a Salt Mage? Edgar's struggled to breathe, for such was the pain wracking his body. Why was a minimum tier 6 Transmuter Magus working as a low-level grunt in a Shield Station?

But none of that mattered now.

He had to live to tell the tale.

For as long as he had lived, Edgar only believed in his abilities and his singular survival. His Mistress may question him later, but what could he have done against a Salt Abjurer-Transmuter? The man had resisted his Absorb Memory earlier. But how was that possible? Only specialist Military Mages from tier 1 cities trained to inoculated themselves against Mind Magic. But Sydney was a remote Frontier! Morye was supposed to be a low-tier barrier Mage!

Quickly, using his agony as a distraction, Edgar completed one of his best spells.

"Cloud Kill!"

A mustard cloud sprang into existence surrounding the area where Morye stood. Yet, against all expectation, the acidic gas sizzled against Morye's salt-covered skin, ineffectively against the self-replenishing barrier.

Edgar's eyes bulged against their sockets.

He'd heard that salt was an extremely versatile element, supreme in defence and easy to manipulate, but this was absurd. What was the man's Affinity?

"Dusty! Get him away from me!" Edgar commanded, his golem's leg skittering against the sandstone floor.

With a roaring, his Familiar charged, bringing with it bits of salt, paper, and dust from the dead.

"Banish Evil!" his opponent incanted casually. True to his word, like an evil spirit banished by a hand full of salt, Dusty ceased to be.

"You fucking banished my familiar?"

Edgar was learning many new things today, such as that even in the Frontier, a spell existed which could force one's familiar back into its Pocket Dimension. To summon his familiar again required time, vitality, and mana, all of which Edgar couldn't spare. Only Abjurers of the middle tiers possessed such spells, and only if they hailed from centres of magical study.

"You got anything else to say?" Morye asked casually. "I am not a patient guy."

"Plague of Insects!" Edgar desperately retaliated with another spell he had been proud of, summoning a dark swarm of stinging insects that would harass his victims and drain their vitality.

"Banish Evil!" Morye incanted, throwing out a fistful of salt in a stylistic flourish.

Again, the conjured creatures disappeared without a trace.

Edgar now on the verge of perturbed hysteria, he'd never faced someone like Morye before in his entire twenty-five years. As a scion of a noble house, he had seldom face setbacks, save for his unfortunate encounter with Gwen. Now, at the hands of both father and daughter, he had tasted the bitterness of failure.

Half-wild, Edgar produced a scroll and began to read its contents, heedless of Morye's presence.

"Telep…"

"Disintegrate!"

Edgar's mind flared white-hot.

Impossible! Impossible! He screamed. Disintegrate was tier 6! How could there be a Mage capable of casting such a spell in so short a time here in Sydney?

A beam of white frost struck Edgars' golem's arm, turning it spontaneously into a pile of salt. Edgar dropped the Teleportation scroll mid-cast, the precious parchment falling into a crystalline pile as fresh and white as the fallen snow.

"Disintegrate," Morye repeated the spell, leaving Edgar was left without a leg to stand on. He walked over towards the two-limbed man with an expression full of sympathy.

"You know, I am curious to know who your parents are."

"If I told you, you wouldn't dare lay a finger on me!" Edgar screamed at him. "My father will skin you alive! Your kin shall be made into living specimens as future warnings!"

"Very scary," Morye intoned. "So, who's your dad?"

Edgar remained silent, crawling on his remaining arm and leg. Morye watched with great interest as the kid produced yet another scroll from his ring.

"Horrid… Wi…"

"Disintegrate!"

Morye had to admit. He didn't have too many of those spells left in him. The third Disintegrate had also missed— Morye had intended it to strike the boy's remaining hand, but now he took the kid's limb off at the shoulder.

"ARRRRGH— B-bastard!"

"Sorry, it's been a decade. I am out of practice."

Edgar lay in a pile of his flesh-turned salt. Screaming the scream of the oppressed, the very same he had heard so many times before.

Morye picked up a ring from the pile of salt, collecting his ill-gotten loot.

"Oh, my!" he muttered, impressed. With a few incantations, he dispelled the tracking feature. "Your father must surely be a scary man to give a brat like you a Contingency Teleportation Ring. One of these would keep me in style for the next ten years, you know."

Below, Edgar began to whimper. The salt was mixing into his wounds. Morye knew that the pain was exquisite, comparable to ten-thousand insects nipping away at one's shoulder stump.

"Please… mercy…" Edgar begged, the boy's voice cracking. "My father..."

"Where have I heard that before?" Morye stoically regarded his quarry. "You know, I am not usually a man partial to anger, but when you started yapping on about Gwen, it put me off."

Morye raised a jackboot. The Engineer's outfits had steel-capped boots made to resist dense crystal drops.

"What… what are you…"

Morye stomped down, hard.

A wail began to echo around the chamber, a soul-chilling vibrato that started as a bestial baritone and ultimately reached a castrato crescendo.

"Yeah, see, when you talk about other people's children, you have to be respectful." Morye pattered his pockets and pulled out a packet of cheap cigarettes. "All that talk of rape, I mean, seriously, guy? Who even taught you to speak that way? Are your parents inbred?"

"My— my— father will find you— he—" Edgar moaned wetly, squirming in a pool of blood and vomit.

Besides the duo, the corrupted crystal shuddered. Its resonance had corrupted the whole system, sending the surrounding stones and the station itself into a spiral of catastrophe.

"What are you guys trying to achieve, anyhow?" Morye lit up.

"I am… a Ravenport! I can't die here— I am— fo— Father—

Edgar, or whatever his name was, finally aid still.

Morye breathed out, watching the smoke coil and writhe.

Had any of the others sent off an SOS before their demise? Any fluctuations on the Shielding Grid should be automatically sent to the Tower. What Edgar and his men had done here should have been visible on the smallest augur engine.

Beside Morye, the corrupted crystal hummed and groaned, beginning to reach critical mass.

Morye pulled out the Teleportation scroll Edgar had so kindly left behind.

"Thank Mao." Morye toked on his tobacco. "Imagine having to fly out of there."

With a flash of Conjuration, Morye found himself beside the Queen Victoria Memorial. He wasn't sure how trustworthy the scroll was and had thus selected a place that was familiar and public. A few Mages glanced at him and quickly nodded their heads in apology before rushing away. Anyone using a tier 7 spell was above their station to question. The NoMs, however, gawked with the best of them.

Far in the distance, there was a sound of something exploding on the ocean — first one, then a dozen. While the NoM crowds paused, then persisted in their menial labour, Morye could see a few of the Mages receiving Message spells, then immediately began to panic.

With few more puffs, he finished off his cigarette. Them, he pulled out his message device and dialled in the classified Glyph for the Shield Station.

"Collective suicide." Morye didn't feel like explaining any more than necessary, he was already smearing enough shit on himself to last a lifetime. "Look, the point is, they had an inside man, someone had given them the codes for the Glyphs shielding the stone, and now we're all in deep shit. I am going to find my kids because there is nothing else I can do here, the city's toast and we should be calling in the troop carriers. So, where is my son?"

"Carey?"

"They've located a match for the boy. He is—"

The spell died. It was blaring a moment ago, and then it was gone.

"Gunther?" Morye spoke into thin air. The spell was dead. No, the whole fucking network had died. "Fuck."

Morye tried again. The Message spell was no longer functioning. He looked towards the sky, but there was no Tower visible. Whatever was occurring, the magical fortress was not in combat mode.

"Rosebay huh…" Morye mouthed to himself.

The city would fall; there would be no doubt about that.

He had time, a few hours at least.

Morye thought about Edgar's gloat.

Gwen - a Void Mage.

He rummaged for the cigarette packet and lit up another stick.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He wasn't even supposed to be working today.

Morye signed the sigh of fathers everywhere when their daughters were out past ten and had yet to call. Like two decades ago, Morye Song was at the crossroads.

The Saurian Conflict of '80 was the war that orphaned Alesia de Botton.

As a result, she had no recollections of her provincial parents, the family farm, or of her life pre-Awakening.

When she was a girl-child, she wondered if there were other surviving members of her bloodline. A few enquiries at the Tower's Divination section ensured her that there were none. The news was disappointing, but Alesia didn't mind, it was not the blood of the womb that she desired, but the convent of camaraderie.

That— and Alesia had her Master, Henry Kilroy, who had guided Alesia's way and shielded her from trouble the day she became his Apprentice. She had also found a new sibling— Gunther, on whose broad shoulders she could lean on in times of turmoil. Lately, she had also found a younger sibling in Gwen, who was troubled and unsure, giving Alesia a sense of fulfilment in reciprocating the care that Master and Gunther had given her.

And now, someone was threatening her family.

Alesia was blind with fury when she rode out on wings of flaming air. She reached the cloister in a matter of moments, inspecting the building for signs of her Master.

But there was nothing. No commotion, not a single indication of anything out of the ordinary.

Mayhaps she could 'excavate' a bit of the building and flush the assailants out? Alesia's heart was a taut bow, cutting a violin's string, pulling against her bosom with acidic anxiety.

She flew closer towards the building, testing the air with cinders.

A few of her motes sizzled.

As a veteran Combat Mage, she knew the signs all too well.

An illusion!

There was a glamour covering the damned building!

Alesia did not possess any immediate means of dispelling the spell. She needed an Abjurer like Taj for that, but her assistant was too far from Rosebay to be of assistance. At any rate, only a specialist of near-equivalent tier could be of help.

On the other hand, there were many ways one could force an illusion, such as directly attacking the caster or destroying a part of the illusion's foundation. Rosebay was a prestigious private school, full of nuns and schoolgirls, but Alesia had no time for hesitation.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to disbelieve the illusion. In her mind's eyes, a Firestorm brewed, ready to be unleashed should she fail to pierce the veil.

WHOOMP!

An ear-splitting crash rocked the cathedral's stained windows.

BOOM—

BO—BOOM—

BOOM—

More far-away explosion bloomed over the horizon. A dozen others followed in quick succession, forming sonic booms that displaced the low hanging clouds above.

Alesia turned her attention toward the source of the discordant clamour and felt her breath catching in her throat. The Shield Barrier! A semi-circle ring of rippling whitewater now churned where the ultramarine sky met the bean-green sea.

Comprehension dawned, bringing with it a mouthful of bile. Whatever was happening to those Shield Stations meant that she would be needed to repel the incoming forces of Mermen. It was unthinkable that those malicious fisheyes would forgo an opportunity as fortuitous as this.

At once, Alesia felt torn in twain. One half of her compelled to stay for her Master, the other half recognising the calamity to come. Such anxiety assailed her that her skin crawled as though assaulted by a Mermen Bloodworm.

A dozen Message spells bloomed beside her ears. Alesia allowed a few to connect.

"Alesia! It's Taj! The fucking Shield Station at Watson Bay just blew!"

"Yeah, I can see that."

"You can? Where are you now?"

"I am with Gwen and Paul at Rosebay."

"Thank God! Get down here! We're going to need you! If this is anything like the Coral Sea; we're going to get swarmed!"

"Alesia!" Paul's Message interjected with a hollow echo, indicating that he was indoors. "I am with Magister Ferris, I can teleport us closer towards the Shield Station, or we can try to access the Tower through the Magister's Glyphs, what's your situation? You need to get down to the coastal fortifications!"

Alesia hovered, the words caught in her throat.

"Alesia!"

"Alesia! We need you to..."

"Alesia, where are—"

Her companion's urging grated her ears. Alesia wanted to throw a Fireball into the message spell. No shit she needed to get down to the coastal batteries! She couldn't go, however. How could she leave when her Master was still in danger? For reasons both public and personal, she had to make sure Henry was alright. The Tower cannot be without its Master. Besides, Gunther should be taking care of the city.

"Shut up, Taj! I can't fucking think!" Alesia snapped, screeching out her frustration. This fucking illusion!

Her Abjurer was taken aback by the vitriol in her voice.

"Allie, what's happening on your end?" he inquired worryingly.

Alesia sighed. It was far too hard to explain the comings and goings when she had no idea what was happening. Chiding herself, she took a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves, then composed herself.

"Something's happened to Lord Kilroy. He was attacked... I can't leave until I know that he is safe."

"Master Kilroy is—" Taj too, composed himself.

"Will the Tower come to our aid?" He asked after a moment. Without the floating battle station pounding down the Leviathan and the Krakens, there was little hope that the military and the citizens' militia could hold the coastal line.

"I can't say," Alesia intoned with a voice burdened with frustration. "I'll join you as soon as we can."

"Alright, I'll try and contact the other Magisters. Good luck."

"Find the Militia instead. There's just Walken and Ferris left in Sydney, and Ferris is here in Rosebay, trying to evacuate the kids. Get the militia to convince Walken to send the Tower over to the East Coast. Tell him that our Master will give his consent. Ferris should consent. If it's two against three, there's nothing Walken can do to stall…"

"..." No reply came.

Alesia stopped speaking. The last two orders she had dictated no longer had that resonating feeling of being converted into mana signals.

"Taj?"

There was silence, not the quiet that indicated an absence of sound, but the static tinnitus of a Message spell that was feeding back upon itself.

Alesia shook her device and activated it again. The spell fired, but nothing happened. She felt a sliver of ice moving its way up her spine.

How could Message spells be disabled? That was impossible. The only way it could happen was to have someone activate the Tower's Divination Nullifier. That was itself beyond the boundaries of possibility, for the only her Master had the command glyph. There were several conditions required for the key's ownership to change. Firstly, the city must be under siege, and secondly, the Master or the Tower must expire.

Alesia's breathing grew laboured.

Her eyes turned toward the buildings below.

"Flames, heed my call..."

She began to summon an Empowered Firestorm, a tier 7 spell of mass destruction.

Alesia was confident that the caracal spirit would take care of innocents caught in the blast, and if not, then she was willing to take all responsibility. The architecture should be able to withstand the flames, but as for any iconography or texts, they would have to be sacrificed for the greater good.

Gwen watched the shimmering scale on Sufina's neck.

Her mythical object adhered without incident.

Immediately, she could feel the transfusion of vitality. An inch from her face, the shrivelled body of the Dryad shuddered as a drowned woman taking a renewed breath.

Sufina moved her limbs, making a sound of crackling bark as she lifted her head and opened her amber-clear eyes, now filled with darkness.

"Elizabeth!" Sufina cried out, her voice the cracking of hollowed trees. "She's alive!"

Gwen and the girls glanced toward one another with eyes that were full of alarm and disbelief. Debora, especially, grew white as a sheet.

"We have to help him!" Yue cried out, heedless of Sufina's explosive revelation. Elvia nodded beside her.

"No! We have to get away, as far as we can!" Debora ventilated, her chest rising and falling irregularly.

"What the fuck are you on about!" Yue snapped at their ungrateful companion with incredulous loathing. "That's the Master of the Tower! My Grand Master! If something happens to him, we're all fucked!"

"Gwen, you tell them!" Debora whimpered. "We can't stand up to Elizabeth! We're just students!"

"Who is Elizabeth?" Whetu was confused by the polemic reactions. "Whoa—!"

A flash of Conjuration mana surrounded Sufina, then the Dryad disappeared, either summoned to Henry's location or displaced back into her pocket dimension. Either way, it seems that the scale had done something, and Henry was once again in control of his Spirit.

Gwen felt her chest tighten. She had to find her Master as soon as possible while also ensuring her friends were safe.

"She's a Void Mage like me," Gwen explained. "She's got an old grudge against Henry. She is a Combat Mage who is both insane and dangerous."

"Jeezus." Whetu swallowed. Gwen was already impressive enough; this Elizabeth sounded like a calamity.

"BUT— Debora's right." Gwen felt her heart sinking and an acid-reflux rise in her throat. "You all need to go!"

Yue and Elvia regarded Gwen's affirmation of Debora's cowardice with surprise.

"This is the same Elizabeth you told us over Christmas?"

"The very same, there's nothing you can do," Gwen replied without hesitation. "Go find Magister Irene, go find Paul, they should be setting up Teleportation Circles in the catacombs. You all need to get out of here."

Gwen tried to Message Alesia again, but her Message Device was showing up blank.

The girls, including Whetu, began to move towards the cathedral where hundreds of schoolgirls were making headway. Yue stopped when they reached the Cathedral gates, preventing Gwen from separating from the party.

"And where do you think you're going?" she demanded.

"Yue, please just go. I need to find Magister Kilroy." Gwen knew they'd come to this junction. Her voice was begging for an outcome that she knew was unlikely.

Yue's face took on a grimace. "If you want us to remain as friends - you'd shut up and let me follow."

"I am coming too!" Elvia was likewise putting up her best-unflustered face, even though her pale complexion suggested otherwise. Her small, white expression looked entirely determined, her warm blue eyes doubtlessly committed.

"Me too." Whetu shrugged, grinning. "How can I call myself a warrior otherwise?"

There were a few seconds of hesitation, but Debora too stood in line with the others. "Anything for you."

"Guys…" It was a moving scene, of course, but they had little time for sentimentality right now. Gwen knew that every second counted and she wasn't about to waste it giving a speech.

"Thanks," she replied stoically; there was nothing more that needed to be said, then pushed on the door.

BA-BLAM!

Their moment of courage was short-lived. There was a sudden groaning as an unimaginable force smashed against the double doors, then in the next few moments, the wooden barrier erupted inward a clang and threw them to the floor. Were it not for Whetu's instantaneous shielding, Gwen and the girls would have been blown away.

Gwen pushed away from the debris, the clearing flames and smoke revealed the outline of Henry, Sufina and Alesia squaring off against the alien figure of a woman with the palest skin Gwen had ever seen.

The unadulterated force of primal nature coursed like a violent flash flood through Henry's body, dispelling the illusory Enchantment that had crippled his mind. His energy was of such purity that it instantly bloated the lamprey-leech like creatures attached to his body, forcing them to erupt into shadow and ichor.

"Sufina!"

The Magister's follow-up was instant.

His Dryad manifested beside him with a flash of silver.

Instantaneously, drawing upon the mana of her secret island Grot, the Dryad expanded into a mass of lashing tendrils and cruel barbs that flared out in all directions, both shielding Henry and lashing Elizabeth.

The sudden change had caught the Void sorceress unaware; a dozen barbs lacerated her flawless skin before an oily void shield consumed the tendrils digging into her flesh. Though Henry's summons lacked the draining abilities of the Void, the high-tier Dryad possessed a parasitic ability that was no less terrifying than lampreys.

But the battle between the ex-lovers did not immediately erupt. There was a history between them that could not be resolved with mere violence.

Henry regarded the small woman before him, her skin flawless and as white as fresh snow; her lips a dash of red paint across two pressed slices of vibrant cherry.

"Why?" He ached to know the truth. If the woman wanted revenge, she could have come after him anytime. She knew Henry well enough to understand that he was more than willing to face her alone if she had so desired.

"Does it matter?" Elizabeth replied in that voice of hers that was alluring and nostalgic at once. "The Shield Wall is down. The Mermen are coming. Your city is doomed."

To his opponent's surprise, Henry appeared neither angry nor upset.

"Lizzie, there is nothing to be afraid of, not anymore," Henry replied earnestly. "I am the Master of the Tower now. I can protect you. This place, Sydney, it's far from London."

Elizabeth's face took on an expression of pure mockery.

"You're such a Romantic, Henry. I loved that about you."

"You don't have to run anymore, Lizzy, I can help."

His breath caught when Elizabeth cocked her head demurely and fluttered her baby-blue eye. She used to do that, in their youth. He recalled it as clearly as yesterday.

"Vortex!"

His wife's answer manifested as a growing pinpoint of darkness that swallowed all light, expanding between them.

"Force Cage!"

Henry's counterspell formed a glowing six-point cage around the darkness, completely isolating the vortex's power to engulf the space it encompassed.

His wife glared at Henry coldly.

"Lizzy, listen to me. Don't do this."

"It's too late, Henry. It was too late the moment I awoke to the Void element, and you didn't stop me. I was naive like you once, but no more. I know what my Path is now, and you are an obstacle that I must cross to gain my place in the world."

"No, your path is destruction," Henry retorted bitterly, his voice desperate but growing stronger, his old skin becoming supple with vital energy. Beside him, Sufina had assumed her full-sized shambling form, a mass of cruel tendrils that tasted the air and menaced Elizabeth hungrily. "And after Sydney? What place can you go?"

"A place you could not even begin to understand." Elizabeth smiled secretly. "I would be happier if you opted to join me instead, Henry. Abandon your Tower. Abandon these useless NoMs and your mewing, bleeding-heart Mages. What do you say?"

"You know that's not possible." Henry was beginning to gain an inkling of what Elizabeth was suggesting, and the very thought of it was utterly insane. "Lizzy, you're mad!"

"From my perspective, it is you and your kind who are deranged and naive," Elizabeth retorted. "How long do you think you can hold back the tide? History waits for no one, not even the mighty Henry Kilroy."

Henry's breathing slowed.

It was then that he noticed that neither was his Message spells going out nor were new ones coming in. The long-range Message system was down, and it could only mean one thing.

"What have you done?!" Henry glared at his wife.

"Your ally, Magister Walken, is giving us a helping hand." Elizabeth giggled mockingly. "While you were out, he has helped himself to your little housing project."

"Lizzy!" Henry felt the anger in him rise with the bile in his throat. It was right that she harkened after him, it was okay that she wanted satisfaction, but only from him! The Tower, the city, all those innocents! Elizabeth would stop at nothing! He knew now— Mark had said as much. He felt such disappointment that not even a sliver of the woman he loved remained. For so long, Henry had imagined that his wife was merely afraid, paranoid, incapable of controlling her desires, yet here was living proof that she had something far more significant in mind. What Henry'd thought was self-preservation was merely the precursor to something far more malignant.

"Morden's Blade." Elizabeth's invocations manifested far quicker than he recalled, a testament to the number of innocents she had Consumed. Besides her, an obsidian blade of void-matter formed in mid-air, hovering like a grim sentinel.

"Force of Nature!"

With a grand gesture from Henry, Sufina became a tidal wave of tendrils that covered the floors and walls of the enclosed space of the small shrine.

"Firestorm!" came the distant sound of a manifesting spell from outside the shrine.

B-BLAM!

Orange flames broke through into the intimate space of the shrine, turning the doors into flaming splinters.

"Master! Are you alright?"

Alesia's flaming form appeared just outside, both hands radiant with marigold mana channelled from the Plane of Fire.

"So this is how it's going to be, husband?" Elizabeth demanded bitterly, as though she was in the midst of a family feud. "You going to gang up on me with another woman?"

It was the first time Alesia had seen Elizabeth, whom she had only heard from the stories.

"Allie. Focus!" Henry barked. "She's dangerous!"

"How dare you harm the Master!" Alesia recovered within the blink of an eye. "I am going to turn you into cinders, you ungrateful bitch!"

Elizabeth's face was full of loathing.

"Is this the sort of personage you now socialise with, Henry?"

Henry no longer responded to Elizabeth's taunts. Sensing a spell welling up within his Apprentice, he matched Alesia's cadence so that they could double-strike Elizabeth by sandwiching her between them.

"Sufina!"

"Disintegrate!"

"Umbra EGG!"

A hundred tendrils lashed out toward Elizabeth as a Void shield surrounded her. Likewise, the red beam of destructive energy launched from Alesia was consumed by that black mass without penetrating a single inch of its uncertain thickness.

Below Elizabeth, a mass of leech-like worms fell from her sphere of darkness and made for Henry and Alesia, their lamprey's mouths opening to discharge their claw-tipped tongues.

"I don't believe it!" Henry marvelled, unable to forgo his unbidden academic curiosity. "She's got a Void-element Spirit!"

"Shit!" Alesia swore. "Fire Ball!"

The erupting flame took out a good chunk of the creatures, but the dripping mass continued to grow in strength.

Sufina's tendrils shot out and pierced the things, but many of them instead latched onto her vines, draining her vitality and causing her to scream maddeningly. Elizabeth had come prepared - Henry's rare and distinct element faired terribly against his wife's.

"Master! I'll take care of this! You need to retreat at once and go back to the Tower! The Mermen are coming! "Alesia warned Henry desperately.

"You can't handle her!" Henry's voice was coarse.

The mass of leech-creatures was pouring out the door now, far too numerous for the two of them to handle. If the void-spawn were to make it to the other Mages, or the students, then the damage would be incalculable. Even how, Henry felt the leeches draining his mana. He could also sense the source of life that had awoken Sufina weakening, meaning that he would soon be back to his old decrepit self.

Maintaining their barrage, the two of them levitated just above the ground, out of reach of the maggot-like swarm of darkness that was menacing them.

"She's feeding off Sufina," Henry cursed. "Alesia, give me a wide-range persistent AOE. Fill the quad with fire!"

Alesia nodded affirmatively and began a long chant.

A silver of dark energy shot from the black sphere; the void blade pierced through the air with a shrieking, bloodthirsty madness.

Alesia blocked the first pass, but the returning strike easily penetrated her flame shield. Were it not for a well-timed tendril from Sufina; the void blade would have eviscerated her. Thankfully, the experienced Combat Mage did not let a little near-death experience disrupt her spell.

"Maximised Flame Burst!"

A torrent of flame descended from the sky, where an open portal to the Elemental Plane of Fire fed a blazing tornado into the quad, scorching the stones and setting fire to everything that was remotely flammable. The grass instantly wilted, the fountain's waters evaporating with such rapid expansion that the stonework exploded. The hot air generated from the spell was such that it blew into the windows and the doors, splintering the wood and setting fire to the remains.

Within this raging inferno, only Henry and Alesia remained unscathed.

Alesia grated her teeth as she channelled her mana, pouring everything she had to sustain the spell and maintain its destructive energy. Already the sandstone's surface was suffusing, sheets of materials falling away as the silica of its exterior began to melt and liquify.

Within, the dark creatures that had attached to Sufina were obliterated in an instant, eradicated by the cleansing flames from the Plane of Fire. After the initial impact, the radius of the spell began to decrease.

"Alesia! Master!"

A familiar cry called out from the obliterated double-gate.

Alesia and Henry turned to see Gwen, Yue, and the rest of the team at the stone pillars.

"You little fools! Run!" Henry shouted at his youngest Apprentice.

As if sensing Henry's alarm, a black blade erupted from the dark oily film of Elizabeth's shield, this time flying toward the students.

"Shield!" Whetu instantly reacted by creating a multi-layered Punamu shield. Just as he had experienced with Gwen's bolts, the blade's cutting edge was vorpal but had little penetrative power against his latticed structured green stone. It bit through the first few layers with ease, but perhaps because it had not expected an Abjurer used to Void Magic, the blade stopped an inch from Whetu's nose.

"Lightning Tentacles!"

Gwen incanted her spell expertly, just as Henry had taught her.

A mass of blue-white tentacle appeared from thin air and began to lash Elizabeth's Void Shield mercilessly, ripping away chunks of dark, shell-like void matter.

"Earth Spike!" Debora joined in.

"Flame Storm!" Yue cast her highest-tier spell, the tier 4 variant of her Master's opus.

"Bless!" Elvia threw in her lot, doing what little she could, every bit of damage counted in a mass-melee. "Aid!"

Alesia kept her spell's epicentre concentrated on Elizabeth. The whole building was now heating up, cracking and groaning ominously.

Henry turned his attention back towards Elizabeth. His students were too naive. Against a caster of Elizabeth's level, there was little a gang of low-level Mages could do.

"See you on the other side, hubby," Elizabeth's voice teased the Mages. There was a burst of darkness as she activated a volatile Teleport. Henry erected a sphere of tendrils to shield his students.

"Sufina! Find her!"

Sufina's tendrils reacted far faster than their mortal eyes, seeking out a space above them in the open air.

"Dark Rain!" Elizabeth's departure wasn't without a parting gift.

A spray of ink cascaded down upon toward the quadrangle, consuming stone and flames with equal hunger.

"Whetu!" Gwen shouted. The main building shielded the students, but Alesia and Henry remained in the open.

"On it!"

A semi-circle of Punamu formed over Alesia and Henry's head, rapidly depleted by the ink-like spray of dark light from Elizabeth's hands. It wasn't enough to shield the pair but gave them enough time to activate Dimension Door and escape.

Sufina's tendrils formed a net that prevented the rest of the dark energy from reaching the group. Henry cautiously raised his head and saw Elizabeth now floating in mid-air, a wisp of darkness about her white body.

How was the woman capable of activating so much void energy at once! Why wasn't she suffering from the lingering effects of life-drain?

He watched her lips move, incanting her next spell.

Gwen and the girls were still flinging hapless spells at their assailant.

"O HELL!" He realised what Elizabeth was about to cast. It wasn't a spell he'd expected, as his wife had been both defending and attacking them with high-tier spells for the last few exchanges. In his recollection, Elizabeth should have been long-drained of vitality by now.

With a swift mental command, Henry lashed out with Sufina's tendrils and pulled his students towards him.

"MAXIMISED Force Cage!"

The offensively imprisonment spell had another use other than it's intended design. When used defensively, it was capable of negating most AOE spell effects. Forming a rectangular glyph with his hands, Henry encased the lot of them in his Force Cage, just as Elizabeth's coup de grâce descended.

Sufina leapt back into her pocket dimension. In the chaos of magical energies, Gwen saw the scale fall to the ground half-buried in the rubble.

"Blade Barrier!"

Dark arcs consisting of bible-black blades materialised from thin air and whipped into the Force Cage with the force of a thresher-engine, leaving inky streaks of darkness across its invisible panes.

"Master! Are you alright?" Gwen and Alesia both turned to Henry, whose face was ashen and pale.

Henry knew that the stored energy within Gwen's scale was at its limit. The vitality taken from it to refuel Sufina and empower him in his moment of weakness proved to be too much even for the vital energy stored within the scale of a mythic-class magical creature.

Henry watched the Blade Barrier and its void-like energies whipping away at his Force Cage. There was little they could do until the spell was over. Thankfully, there was little Elizabeth could do against them as well. A signature variant, his cage was far too robust to be destroyed by Disintegrate, and it was immune entirely to Dispel Magic.

"Gwen, Alesia, thank you for your assistance." He leaned his battered body upon the shoulders of the two girls. When Henry spoke again, he was breathless with fatigue. "We must make haste to the Tower. It is vital for the defence of the city. Where is Gunther?"

"He should be in the Tower…" Alesia replied. "I don't know why, but the Divination Jammer is cutting all our long-range communication."

"Walken." Henry took a second to recompose himself, his eyes forming two thin slits. "I don't know what he's up to, but he must in control of the Tower's operative systems."

"Can we teleport in?" Alesia inquired worriedly.

Henry nodded.

Around them, the Blade Barrier was coming down. When the mayhem of dark blades finally ran its' course, they were in a courtyard with a battered cloister that was barely held together by century-old architectural ingenuity. The garden was either utterly wilted or otherwise violently tossed and uprooted. Deep gouges were cut into the stoneworks, as though a mining engine had rampaged through the ancient stoneworks.

"Detect Magic. Detect Evil." Gwen felt no desire to hide her abilities at a time like this. His Apprentice was the only Diviner here, and she could either keep pretending to be clueless or be of actual use.

"I think we're clear, Master." She observed. "I don't feel any void manifestations near us."

The others turned to face Gwen with eyes that were full of question.

"Not now, guys." Gwen felt the shimmering panes of force fade around them. She knelt, moving her slender fingers across the pavement, brushing aside the crushed and broken rubble until she found the scale. Thankfully, it was still intact. It's shimmering hue, however, was no more.

"Master, shall we go?"

Henry nodded weakly, no longer possessing the energy to speak.

"We'll go to the cathedral and find Ferris. She can use her native Divination abilities to empower the portal to the Tower." Alesia quipped.

"Won't that put us in more danger?" Gwen enquired a little troublingly. "Doesn't this Walken have control of the Tower right now?"

"Master?" Alesia turned to Henry.

Their Master shook his head.

"Not while I am alive. Walken may have gotten into the nucleus, but all the auxiliary Glyphs remain slaved to myself and all the surviving Magisters."

As the girls lacked the strength, Whetu volunteered his back, and the girls helped Henry onto the gigantic young man's shoulders.

"I'll be sure to thank your Master properly— if we survive this," Henry remarked to the Maori youth.

"Sweet ass, Magister, no worries," Whetu quipped. "I at your service."

"Can we trust Ferris, Master?" Alesia questioned uncomfortably.

"She'll make the right choices, don't you worry," Henry assured her. "I don't know what Walken is up to, but it is our goal to disable him and limit his access. Not to mention we'll need Ferris even to access the Tower at this point."

"Grand Master, what can we do to help?" Yue made a sharp salute. "We'll follow you anywhere, sir, if it means saving the city."

Henry surveyed the students before him.

They would meet up with Ferris and her team, half a dozen Maguses, a dozen Senior Mages, and a capable team of young mages like Gwen.

Would it be enough to take down Walken from inside the Tower? Henry considered their options. If they played their cards right, they could probably just make it.

BWAAAAH— BAWAAAAH—

Right as the Magister of Sydney was about to say something to raise the student's spirits— an alarm cut across the school grounds. A long siren split across the school's courtyard.

"Fuck!" Alesia gnashed her teeth. "We got incoming!"

"Master?" Gwen turned to the old Magister, but Henry was barely holding onto consciousness.

"Defend the school children… find Ferris…" he spoke softly, his breath enfeebled and his voice a whisper. "She won't help… if you don't defend the children…"

Gwen and the gathered crew turned to face the coast. There was a crested wave, a dozen meters in height, rapidly approaching from the sea.

Gwen had no idea what it was; nor did any of the girls. Whetu had seen it before though, and Alesia knew the sight all too well.

"Shit!" she cursed. "I should have known that stupid bitch wouldn't have just retreated."

"We up shit creek without a paddle, hey?" Whetu noted expertly.

"What is that thing?" The others asked, the incredible sight of a six-storey wave in locomotion assaulting their logic. They all had an inkling, but to think they would see such a thing in the protective confines of the city itself was something none of them could have imagined.

"That—" Alesia waved her hand across the ground. An assortment of battle garbs, bandoleers of potions, and single-use scrolls littered the floor. "— is a Siege Breaker Kraken, and from the looks of it, it knows where it's headed."

"Headed here?" Elvia asked an obvious question.

There was no need for an answer.

"Team 7 and Team 9, set up a defensive line at Darling Point! Team 12 and 18, join up with the Militia at Point Piper. Team 4, rest up while Team 11 takes up Flight and defence buffs."

Gunther barked out orders to the remaining Tower Mages even the rising tsunami bore down upon the city.

The Evacuation Siren had gone out almost an hour ago, but even so, the city was a hot mess thanks to the jamming of long-range communications. Likewise, without the Tower's mass Teleportation Circles, the movement of Mages throughout the city stalled to a standstill.

"Team 8, pull back!"

A swell of frustration trampled Gunther's patience.

Even with a hundred or so Tower Mages, there was no way for the city to be defended without the fortress hovering above, retrieving casualties and sending out fresh combatants. All Gunther could do was try to slow the advance of the Mermen, hoping that someone else— his Master, Magister Ferris, or perhaps Alesia, managed to access the magical fortress and wrestle back its controls.

Already, the tide receded, giving the impression of a man drawing back for a king-punch. The magically generated tsunami was not as powerful as one created by natural forces, but it would suffice in sinking the city.

The Paladin observed the city from his vantage point. The Leviathan was likely going to make landfall near Elizabeth Bay, using its momentum to penetrate into the heart of the business district. Once the crustacean-cum-whale made landfall, its shells would erupt to reveal landing pods filled with malicious Mermen, their tridents ready to taste human flesh.

One on one, an NoM had no chance against a Mermen warrior, not even the fish-headed Scum Suckers. A low tier Evoker, however, could take a dozen Mermen, assuming the Mage was sufficiently shielded and protected by his allies.

In Sydney, the Militia drew Mages from all walks of life. In Mage affluent areas like Double Bay or Elizabeth Bay, there were everything from retired Maguses to entire families of mid-tier Mages. Conversely, should the Mermen penetrate into NoM affluent areas like Surry Hills or Redfern, they would have little to no contest in 'harvesting' the spoils of war.

Decades ago, during the Coral Sea Conflict, Gunther had questioned a captured Mermen Prince when they raided human settlements. The answers he had received from the bulb-headed Cephalopod was surprisingly mundane.

Humans encroached on the Mermen's waters.

Humans ate their young and hunted them.

Humans desecrated the holy sea.

In short, the Mermen fought a Holy War.

Later, when Gunther took on the position of Paladin, he was informed that the Mermen were not one clan, but hundreds of ocean-dwelling races. For the "Mermen" Kings, warring on humans was a way to unite the races, much in the same manner that Dark Age humanity once avoided total War in Europe by organising Crusades against the demi-humans of the Middle East.

Gunther watched his teams spread throughout the harbour, taking up positions and stringing together rag-tag bands of militia-men and women emerging from the offices and the seaside suburbs. These areas were supposed to be the safest zones in Sydney, protected by the largest, most robust Shielding Stations. Presently, however, they were the first line of defence.

A few kilometres out, the wave was now breaking, revealing the skyscraper spines of the Leviathan. From afar, the creature's carapace glinted magnificently in the afternoon sun, vibrant with its coral hills and crevasses. The entire Leviathan, when fully unearthed, stretched out about four football fields. From head to tail, the pea-brained relative of the dragon-whale measured close to a kilometre.

Gunther couldn't even begin to imagine how such a creature could be fed and kept in captivity, and yet the Mermen had tamed them. Each time a significant offensive was mounted upon a human city, one of these creatures would be dredged from the deep sea and brought to bear; powering through humanity's defences by dumb, brute force. Once out of the water, the creature would inevitably die from its crushing weight, but before its violent demise, it would wreak havoc upon the defender's city.

Gunther clicked his tongue distastefully and began to focus his mind.

The Radiant Magus produced a diamond as large as a quail's egg in one hand, then filled it with Radiant mana. Beneath his feet, layered glyphs appeared, forming into an elaborate Mandala. Closing his eyes and switching to this third-senses, Gunther concentrated his will until he could feel every facet of the masterful diamond within his cognisance.

"Focusing Array!"

The Paladin of Sydney released the first layer of the Mandala. The spell formed into a convex illusion that bent his powerful Radiant energy into a single point. A second layer of the Illusion allowed for the adjustment of his Radiant Strike's range, while a further third layer served to magnify its radius.

Within a second, Gunther's Ritual Magic consumed the priceless Asscher diamond— an offering to the Radiant beings that made their home in the Quasi-elemental Plane of Fire and Positive Energy. Grunting, Gunther shook the dust from his hands, taking a deep breath to dispell the spell-fatigue. As soon as the Leviathan struck the shallows, its head would rear— and that was the window he needed.

The low, grey clouds suddenly parted.

A retina-searing beam of unadulterated Radiance, bright as a second sun and just as hot, shot from the heavens.

It caught the Leviathan just as its armoured head emerged from the wave, a neckless, triangular thing with a dozen eyes the size of sedans, five-storeys in height, protruding from its bulbous, blubbery body.

Upon initial impact, there was a roaring hiss, as though the surface of the Leviathan's carapace had become a sizzling hot plate, sending chunks of coral and shellfish to fall from its ancient surface.

TSSS—!

A split-second later, the beam adjusted itself, becoming a thin line that concentrated the all-consuming flame of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Radiance ten-fold.

In the section of the Leviathan, there came a sickening crunch. It was the sound of carapace popping and erupting as the superheated flesh violently erupted, rebelling against the body it was supposed to protect.

Some distance above, small as a speck, Gunther panted. His Radiant Beam persisted for a few more moments, then dimmed and died.

The sea that had been held back was now sloshing back into the bay. The radiant blast from the heavens had pierced the head of the Leviathan, utterly decimating its impenetrable armour.

Where Gunther's strategic array had struck, the Leviathan's neck was a bubbling mess of wet flesh and steaming seawater. The gaping cranial wound where the beam had struck sizzled, oozing enough slime to fill a lake. The Mythic's enormous body, which had been so vital a moment prior, was now slack and inanimate. On its sides, the Leviathan's claw-flippers no longer propelled itself forward. Having lost the driving force of its mountainous musculature, only its momentum compelled it to crash ahead, dredging the seafloor as it shovelled on.

Thankfully, the incline was now too steep to keep pushing its body; the thing was grinding to a ponderous halt, betrayed by the weight of its own body.

A Kraken had latched onto the sea cliffs overlooking Rosebay and was unloading its cargo of Mermen. The tentacles of the damned thing were enormous, flinging pods of shellfish that crashed into the Cathedral and its surroundings, tumbling and skittering into hapless Mages who were too slow to flee from their path.

Unfortunately for the defenders, they did not possess Magi-tech Engines or War Golems capable of repelling such barbaric tactics.

The six-storey tall squid was assaulting the Cathedral-fortress in the most primal manner possible— with uncalculated brute force. Having attached itself to the escarpment; the cunning creature had a tossing range far exceeding the defender's own.

The surrounded Mages scattered here and there, only to realise in the next moment that the damned shellfish landing amongst them were oysters that opened to reveal disorientated Mermen baying for Mage-flesh.

Alesia immediately took it upon herself to hold down the Kraken, chugging down three pots of Mana potions to top up her reserves. She was already well-drained from the battle with Elizabeth and saw no reason to preserve her potion cool-down, not when a cephalopod was raining down Mermen from the heavens.

The rest of the students, the seniors and the Mages with Ferris formed a battle line atop the Cathedral. The Abjurers had already activated the monastery fortresses' defences, fortifying its walls and creating a localised defence shield that warded away elemental attacks.

Their ration of mana cores, however, was woefully undersupplied. Since the creation of the Shield Stations meant that the immediate threats against coastal regions were non-existent; few of the existing fortresses of old kept stockpiles on hand.

With every oyster that struck the reinforced sandstone, the Rosebay's century-old Cathedral shuddered, sending up a wave of screams and squeals from the younger girls sheltered within.

For Gwen and company, their present job was the hunt down Mermen who were flung into the courtyard and the Cathedral's interior. Unlike new fortifications which used adaptive Shielding, the old fortresses lacked hard barriers.

In front of Gwen, a maddening melee ensured.

It was against these rubbery skinned, hard-shelled monsters that Gwen's Lightning element was finally showing it's true colours. Dressed in an armoured battle-robe that stank of blood, sweat, and fish; sporting a full bandoleer of mana and health potions, she summoned Ariel, her Warding Orbs, Morden's Hound, Lightning Tentacles, and her Conjured Storm all at once.

Each time a group of creatures accosted the lithe lightning sorceress, a cascade of azure electricity flooded forth, leaving no quarter. As she fought, her body filled with vigour supplied by her companions— Bless and Aid from Elvia; and Resistant Elements and Protection from Projectiles from Whetu.

When a car-sized oyster bounced off the sandstone walls and landed beside them; Gwen's convergence of lightning struck it with such blazing power that all of the occupants perished before they could exit.

"Jesus, I am going to be sick!" Yue made a gagging motion as the oyster spewed forth a mess of mangled carapace and rubbery flesh.

That was the boon of the lightning element in a fight against Monsters. Apart from its paralysing effects, electricity had the additional effect of ignoring the natural armour of the creatures.

Yue's flames, conversely, favoured soft, rather than hard-shelled targets.

Debora acted as the girl's bodyguard, smashing apart the fish-headed Mermen that tried to disrupt their spells, cracking open the shells of lobster and crab-men alike.

Whetu and Elvia played defence, as the other teams lacked Abjurers and Healers, helping the Rosebay girls who did their best to clear the cloister and the surrounding areas so that the younger students could be safely evacuated into the confines of the catacombs. There, waiting in the dimly lit passageways, they could safely await teleportation into the safety of the Tower.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen incanted again, watching a line of electricity take down three Mermen at once, one of the prawns' head popping like an overripe melon.

"Gwen, watch out!" Debora was squaring off against a heavily armoured Mermen in the guise of a king crab, wielding its massive claw as a shield as it menaced her friend. The Transmuter tried several times to penetrate its shield with Ground Spike to no avail.

"Debbie! To me!" Gwen called out.

As the Merman pursued, an invisible hound emerged from the aether and struck the creature's core, its electrical fangs tearing away at its carapace. Unfortunately, even paralysed, the resistance of the monster proved too much for a novice like Gwen.

"Caliban! Take care of it!"

"Shaa! Shaa!"

Caliban likewise, proved a mighty boon. Possessing the ability to negate hard armour, it launched itself from Gwen's shadow and latched onto the terrified crab-man via the means of its chitin-devouring lamprey's maw.

"I got you!"

Elvia shot Gwen a charge of positively charged mana as Caliban closed the gap between itself and a crab shock trooper. The crab-man chittered indistinctly as Caliban burrowed in with a gluttonous tenacity, emerging a moment later with a core which it swallowed hungrily.

Gwen felt her vitality restore a little. Between Elvia and Caliban, she could probably keep the wee beastie going for a while yet. The problem was that Caliban was only a single nightmarish creature from the horrors of the void, where everywhere they were inundated by slavering mermen.

How was Alesia doing? Gwen's mind turned to her friend and sister-in-craft. So long as the Kraken lived, there would be endless cohorts of these mindless Mermen hellbent on trying to harvest their Mage flesh.

Alesia's frustration was enough to ignite the air.

Half-a-dozen Mermen Priests were riding atop the Kraken and flinging a fusillade of spells at her even before she approached within a hundred meters. Ice Spears, Blizzards, Water Bolts, Jet Blasts, it took every ounce of Alesia's combat intuition to duck and weave without turning into a pincushion for watery projectiles.

She attempted a riposte but was half a second too slow. An Ice Bolt skimmed her and activated her reactive Flame Shield.

"Arrgh— Fuck!"

She knew what the cursed fish-heads were trying to do. They were trying to incapacitate her, slow her, so that she would be easy prey for a boulder toss from the Kraken or the Mermen below. In turn, she wanted nothing more than to throw them a sweet little Delayed Blast Fireball or perhaps initiate a Blade Barrier, but the damn spells were limited in range.

Never in her life had she been kited by monsters, and yet, here she was, struggling to get within range. Again and again, she tried to penetrate their barrage, but each time she was beaten back.

"Damn pieces of amphibian shit!" Alesia willed her flame to burn hotter. If Taj was here, he could have tanked their feeble spells while she readied an invocation of mass destruction.

Just as she was wondering if she should just risk her skin and Blink in, a Message spell bloomed close to her ear.

"Magus de Botton!" a voice called out beside her ear.

Alesia felt her heart suddenly soar. Was the Message System back in service? She tried to activate her Device, but still, the Message failed.

"This is Ferris!" the voice spoke again. "I am using my Divination to communicate with you."

"I need help!" Alesia confessed. She didn't want the Grey Faction's aid, but they had to get rid of the Kraken somehow. There was no way Ferris would agree to use her personal key to teleport them into the Tower when the children were not yet safe. "Help me take care of this thing, and we can all get to the Tower!"

"That's precisely what I had in mind." Ferris' voice was commanding and assured. "I still have two hundred kids in here. The Cathedral is not going to hold out once the main swarm gets here."

"What can you do?" Alesia demanded.

"I am going to create a diversion!"

Alesia felt the air around her shimmer.

There were first two, then three, then four of her, all realistic and identical in every way. She touched one and was surprised to find that the false Alesia had a flesh and blood body.

"It's a Mirrored Simulacrum," Ferris explained. "They're going to be the distraction. I am going to glamour you with an Advanced Invisibility, but it will dispel if you use high-tier spells. Is that enough for you to get close?"

"It'll do." Alesia grinned, assuring the Magister confidently. "They won't know what hit em."

"Right, here goes!"

There was a glimmer, then the light around Alesia displaced itself, masking her presence.

"Good hunting!" Ferris' Message cut out, she was having her hands full maintaining three Simulacrums.

A master of Illusion. Alesia felt a sudden paranoia that Ferris may have been a part of what had entrapped Henry, but when she'd given it another moment of thought, it was highly improbable. Ferris had been beside her Master almost the entire time, and though Alesia did not trust herself to see through Ferris, she entrusted Henry's intuition. The Illusion spell Alesia had also felt was different from the ones that were taught in the Tower. Having now experienced Ferris' Invisibility buff, she felt confident Ferris wasn't involved.

Alesia cast her doubts aside and set herself to the task at hand. She was her Master's hammer, and once the Kraken was down, they could enter the Tower and seek out Walken. With the Tower restored, they could repel the tide of Mermen, and all would be well.

Alesia circulated her flaming mana, readying her body for the carnage to follow.

Already the Simulacrums were moving in rapidly, cutting across the air expertly with the same grace and dexterity that Alesia herself possessed. They were even flinging low-level incantations like Fireballs as they dodged and waved through the spells and tentacles.

Alesia materialised a ruby-laden dagger in one hand, an exotic blade with sinuous designs of engraved flames that seemed not of terrestrial origin. Its handle and pommel were encrusted with rubies the size of pigeon eggs, priceless jewels by any measure.

Her breathing slowed.

The price of power was high.

"O Efreet, Spirit of flames, heed my call…"

A glyph appeared beneath Alesia's feet, three circles bisection to form a triplicate mandala, spinning faster and faster until it created a direct channel into the Elemental Plane of Fire. The air around Alesia instantly ignited, purifying the mortal cloth that clung to her skin. The spectacle lasted only half a second - for in the next moment, the channelled heat from the Elemental Plane of Fire drew into her body.

The dagger bit into the palm of her hand.

Alesia blood was magma, and her eyes were two golden suns.

She was now flame-clad, a sensuous Djinn native to the land of primal fire, whose bellowing hair flinging out behind her formed a warm of buzzing firefly embers.

"Alrighty then, you fish-faced fucks," she muttered vehemently, her eyes glaring at the Kraken. In her Efreeti form, all who challenged her should beware; for here stood the Scarlet Sorceress, she who eat foes like air.

A miniature sun dawned upon Rosebay, lighting up half the firmament with a second star. A kilometre away, within the confines of the Cathedral, Gwen and her company felt the sudden elevation of the ambient temperature.

There was a screech that sounded like it came from a half-shrieking parrot, half-maddened boar that reverberated through the brine-heavy space, followed by a sound of tumbling stones in the distance which indicated that a portion of the cliff had dislodged itself from the escarpment.

The Mermen paused their relentless assault, allowing Gwen to let loose an additional spell.

"Lightning Bolt!"

A wave of fatigue encompassed her mind as her bolt zigzagged through the stonework, exploding two burly crustacean-Mermen bearing down upon a trio of Acolytes.

"I am almost out of Mana," she informed the others, her head was throbbing, an indication of spell-fatigue.

"I am alright; about two-thirds spent," Yue replied as she shot off a pair of Scorching Rays.

"How's everyone else?" Gwen wasn't OoM in the explicit sense, but that her remaining reservoir was for passive Conjurations.

"I am about half," Whetu announced.

"Same here," Elvia said.

"I am close to OOM." As a melee combatant, Debora was the most exhausted of them all. With a groan, Debora straightened her athletic figure, wiping a snail sheen of sweat from her brow. "I really ought to train for Polymorph as soon as this is over."

When finally news of the Leviathan's collapse reached the Mermen, a change overcame their foe. They seemed to have lost the fervour which had consumed them only a moment ago. Instead, the fish-headed warriors began to beat a retreat, shielded by their crustacean cousins.

"Think the Kraken's down?" Yue tossed a Fireball into the group of Mermen that tried to organise themselves into a semblance of a phalanx. The well-armoured crab-men weathered the brunt of the damage as the Fireball erupted, leaving behind a trivial pair of smoking carcasses. Yue clicked her tongue, displeased with the lacklustre outcome.

An enraged, bellowing howl emerged from the multitude of fins and shells. From the horde emerged a blubbery, bulbous monstrosity covered in viscous slime. It had a set of red, spined dorsal fins that protruded from its head, giving it the guise of a Roman centurion. The thing roared a challenge towards the girls.

"Scorcher!"

To Yue's surprise, her spell was stopped dead in its tracks by the creature's slimy exterior.

The blubbery Merman battered away the flames by expertly shedding a layer of its bubbling, superheated slime. It roared at them triumphantly, spittle flying every which way before turning to charge the group. Stimulated by the warrior's courage, the Mermen following the centurion ceased their rout and were now moving back towards the Mages, turning the phalanx like a school of roving sardines.

Yue cursed under her breath.

"Gwen, you got enough oomph to take care of this?"

"Evee, keep me topped." Gwen formed the sigil for a Void incantation within her mind. The Mermen should be within the range of her spell soon.

"Okay!" Elvia began a Positive Energy channel.

The slimy Mermen centurion was gaining momentum now, its quarter-ton bulk of muscle and slime bearing down upon Gwen and the group of juniors behind her. If the creature entered Melee range, lord knows how many of the kids it would take down before they peppered it with enough spells to dispatch it. Worse still, it's martyrdom could bolster the morale of other Mermen in the area, further complicating what should be a clean rout back to sea.

"Black Tentacles!"

Just as the centurion gave a triumphant cry, a mass of dark, rubbery tentacles erupted from midair and snagged its hulking form. The sudden cessation of its forward momentum took it off balance. Unlike physical appendages that would slip and slide from its slime armour, the Void tendrils utterly ignored its protective gelatine. Instead, it dug into the creature's flesh like verdurous roots searching for nourishment.

The blubbery Merman screamed, a primal, guttural gurgle, then began to writhe violently as the tentacles began their terrible, life-draining labour.

The Mermen who had changed directions to follow the centurion screeched to a grinding halt, their fish-faces full of undisclosed fear and horror.

Gwen decided to give the throng another motivational push.

"Caliban!"

Drawing life from Elvia, she pushed the last of her mana into her familiar, feeling her vitality ebbing away as the serpentine nether creature took on its combat form.

Caliban grew bulbous and humongous, a full two meters tall, its carapace splitting the smooth obsidian shell to reveal pulsating masses of purple-pink flesh. With a hiss, her Void beast coiled then lunged forward. It fell upon the struggling Merman, its lamprey's mouth latching onto the hulking morsel.

With a sound that sounded like a man busily slurping soup, Caliban's mouth expanded and took the Mermen headfirst into its bottomless gullet.

The whole spectacle took several agonising seconds; the Merman's maddening shrieks only ceased when it's flippers finally disappeared into the dark abyss that was Caliban's maw.

"Shaa! Shaa! Hiss!" Caliban turned towards the rest of the Mermen, it's lamprey's mouth hungry for more, its pink throat ready to launch a volley of barbed tongues that would retrieve more morsels for its insatiable hunger.

The remaining Mermen fled.

"Ha!" Gwen was physically exhausted but still raised her fist triumphantly. She turned to regard her allies, expecting a humorous quip or a witty observation. Instead, Gwen found them sick with horror and ripe with revulsion. The Rosebay juniors had retreated from Gwen as though she was a Mermen herself, forming a semi-circle around Gwen's party that unquestionably suggested they wanted no association with Gwen and her aberrant ilk.

Wordlessly, Gwen retracted the unspent mana from Caliban, watching it returned to its usual form. Ariel joined Caliban a moment later, performing figure-eights around her slim ankles.

"I don't think we'll ever get used to that." Yue scratched her nose as she caught the terrified expressions on the faces of the Rosebay Mages. "Cali is a fucking horror show all on its own. Does wonders to morale - on both sides."

"I don't mind the critter at all," Whetu retorted, sniggering. "Ai rather like the little feller. We could have used a few of em when the Mirmin landed in Tauranga."

Meanwhile, Elvia restored however much of Gwen's vital energy as she could, although it was only useful as a stop-gap measure. Gwen would need to eat and rest to make up for the drain on her body. Watching the colour return to Gwen's face, Elvia wondered how that other Void Mage who had assaulted them, Elizabeth, kept up her vitality. That woman had been pumping out spell after spell of mass destruction without so much as a breather.

"You guys right? Need to rest?" A Rosebay Prefect, a comely lass with auburn hair tied into a knotted ponytail, inquired carefully, keeping her distance from Gwen.

"We need to see Magister Ferris," Gwen informed her. "As soon as Magus Alesia has returned from dealing with the Kraken."

The auburn-haired Mage nodded at them and directed them away from the frontlines. Gwen withdrew her familiars and urged the others to follow. The group had been fighting for a solid half an hour. After the last exchange, Gwen, Yue, and Debora were now out of mana.

Whetu and Elvia, who had some mana remaining, elected to stay. There wasn't near enough Healers or Abjurers, and they couldn't afford to leave the Rosebay Mages fighting by themselves.

The trio retreated into the cathedral, where most of the older girls were now sheltered under the bishop's quarters, awaiting their turn to descend the narrow stairs that lead into the catacombs. The younger girls had gone first and were now waiting for teleportation in the safer confines of the old underground sanctuary.

As soon as the guards had cleared them, Gwen hasted back to find her Master guarded by several Maguses and Senior Mages, palely loitering upon a pew.

"He's getting weaker, healing spells and restorations both failed to improve his condition." One of the Tower Maguses' informed Gwen worriedly. "Do you know what he needs?"

Gwen shook her head sadly. Her Master needed his Golden Mead, though there was no helping it now.

Seated uncomfortably in the pew, Henry waved a hand weakly at his youngest apprentice, beckoning her to come closer. Sufina remained manifested beside him, but she was unresponsive and still, her body skinny and brittle; all the leaves upon her head withered and yellow.

"My Lord?" Gwen kept her supplication formalised as her apprenticeship was yet to be formalised.

"The… Grot…" Henry murmured a little breathlessly. "Inform— Irene, I need to return to the Grot, to gain control of the Tower..."

Gwen nodded and squeezed her Master's hand. The man seemed indomitable, to see him so diminished broke her heart.

"Where's Magister Ferris?" Gwen questioned one of the older Mages ticking off a chart as the Rosebay survivors shuffled into the underground. Much to her dismay, she noted that with every dozen or so names, a red strike indicating a fallen Mage.

"She's by the Atrium, directing the evacuation," came the concerned reply.

WHAM!

The double-doors violently swung open. Alesia entered in her Efreet form, making a bee-line for Ferris. In the dimness, Alesia's Efreet-body lit up the cathedral. The younger Mages below made a circular space for her as her halo of firefly embers landed with an intrusive hiss, scorching the scarlet carpet below.

"The Kraken's gone," Alesia said flatly with the same tone as one having done the dishes.

A cheer broke out in the cathedral, performed with conservative enthusiasm. The girls knew that although their immediate danger was resolved, Rosebay wasn't out of the rip just yet.

Alesia gave Ferris a quick rundown of the situation outside.

Once the Kraken was gone, the Mermen had lost their advantage. Without endless swarms of reinforcements, they would only serve as seafood for the Mages.

The flames that torched Alesia began to dim, transforming from white-hot to blue, then finally to a spluttering ochre.

Gwen materialised a robe in her hands and approached Alesia, who expectantly snuffed out her Efreet form, exposing her pale, trembling body. Her sister-in-craft was wounded in several places, bleeding profusely from a cut to her right shoulder and thigh. A developing bruise covered her right lumbar, extending from her navel all the way to her breast and shoulder.

The gathering of neophytes were both awed with gratitude and stunned by her injury. Alesia was none other than the hero of the Coral Sea War, the one and the only Scarlet Sorceress, to see her so bettered in the flesh made them all the more guilty for their incompetence.

"You're hurt!" Gwen intoned worriedly, materialising a healing potion she had received from Alesia prior.

Alesia took the robe from Gwen and wrapped it around her body nonchalantly. She tore off the injector's tip with her teeth and slammed it into her thighs, shuddering as the rapid healing restored her broken flesh.

"Here, got a souvenir for you."

Her sister-in-craft made a flicking motion with her wrist. A dozen heads appeared at Ferris's footsteps, ranging from a long-nosed swordfish to the bulbous, carapaced head of a Mahi-mahi. The largest of the spoils was an octopus-like creature that was now entirely deformed. From the grey matter oozing from its burst eye-sockets, one could comprehend that the beast must have been incredibly intelligent while it was alive.

"That's their Arch-Priest." Alesia nodded at Ferris. "The Kraken's half cooked and floating belly up in the bay. We should be good for our retreat."

Magister Irene Ferris did not allow the shock of her mind to register on her face. Though her Divination empowered intuition had told her that Alesia de Botton was fully capable of taking down a battalion of Mermen mounted on a Siege Kraken, the reality remained awe-inspiring. No wonder the old men in the Tower lowered their voices when speaking of the sorceress. No wonder Walken decided to take the slap in the face when de Botton burned down his library. Alesia may not be able to control utility magic, create powerful items, nor participate in advanced theoretical research; but the woman was a walking engine of mass destruction.

"How's Master Henry?" Ferris asked. If there was a way to salvage their crisis, it was to have Henry re-assume control of the Tower and reactivate the Message network by disabling the jamming ritual.

"He is weakened and needs to return to the Grot," it was Gwen who replied. Beside her, Alesia materialised a skin-hugging combat suit and quickly dressed, heedless of the hundred or so eyes watching her. "Only by returning Master Kilroy to the Tower's Grot can we hope to regain control of the Tower."

"Is he lucid at the moment?"

"A little, but he is far from hale."

"This is troubling, what solutions did Master Kilroy offer for returning to the Tower in the first place?"

"That we aid you and your students, Magister," Gwen said expertly. "And when the school is safe, we may seek passage together into the Tower via your unique key."

Ferris knitted her brows.

"Would the Tower even be safe? If the Disruptor wasn't on, I could probably tell you more, but all the information we have on hand suggests Walken has taken over the core systems. I doubt he would give it up peacefully."

"Then this Walken of yours is a traitor," Alesia said distastefully, her voice full of disdain. "If and when we enter the tower, we'll have to take care of him."

"Eric, a traitor?" Ferris momentarily lost her composure, but couldn't refute the reality that her precious academy was now suffering.

"I suppose the circumstances speak for themselves." She observed dryly. "Give me a moment."

Gwen and Alesia waited on Ferris while the battle outside began to reach its final stages. By now, the Mages should be pushing the Mermen over the cliff's edge and back into the ocean.

Their temporary lull was disrupted by a Senior Mage who hurriedly entered the cathedral and sought Ferris' attention.

"Yes, Sandra?" Ferris turned her attention to the panting Mage.

"Mistress, the Mermen are in full retreat - for now. We don't know if there are more coming, the Scrying Stations and Divi-Towers are still down."

"I see. Thank you, Sandra, please organise a headcount. Recover the bodies of the fallen, if you are able."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

The girls watched Sandra retreat. Two guards opened the giant double doors of the cathedral, and the Mage disappeared between the light-flooded gap.

"This is not going to end unless we recover the Tower," Alesia persisted. "Look around you, Irene, is this where you want to hole up and wait until reinforcements show up? Where would they even come from? New Zealand? Brisbane? We don't even know if those cities are safe themselves. How likely do you think they would bring their Tower to recover ours?"

Alesia's voice echoed across the cathedral, amplified by the acoustics of its vaulted architecture.

Irene Ferris regarded her surroundings. Wounded Mages, both girls from the school and its staff, leaned against pews, lying down with white faces twisted in agony. The younger girls had pallors pale as sheets, watching their surroundings with terrified, confused eyes. Near the dais, a few dozen girls were fervently praying below a benevolent statue of Mother Mary, begging her to deliver them from this crisis.

Ferris had said that she wanted a moment to think, but she was genuinely lost for thought. She was not a Magister that rose to prominence due to accolades achieved through the two conflicts in the 70s and the 80s. She was the newer breed of geniuses who rose to distinction through their contribution to the study of Spellcraft, and their ability to provide essential goods and services. The warmongers jokingly called Magisters like Ferris the 'cherry' Magisters, a derogative term that denigrated their rightful place as equals.

Ferris had always thought those old fools idiotic and useless, out of date and senile. Now she understood that in the face of real danger, she was honestly of little use. She couldn't strategise a theatre of War; she couldn't organise her Mages into flight teams for combat formations. If Alesia de Botton had not been here, could they have taken out the Kraken? Ferris shuddered at the thought, thinking of the price they would have had to pay to achieve the same result.

If Lin was here, or perhaps Gilford from the Cairns Tower, they could be riding out with Alesia and carving out a path of blood all the way from here to the CBD. With the Divination jammer active, Ferris felt embarrassingly useless.

But she was a Magister nonetheless. Irene Ferris couldn't show her vulnerable face to the proteges of her great rival.

With a hardened heart, Ferris swallowed the feeling of insecurity and guilt. She took a moment to look around the century-old cathedral, seeking solace in the stained-glass figures of the saints mounted around her.

What was the right thing to do here? Should she participate in their haphazard, foolhardy plan?

Irene Ferris received no answers from a higher power.

As a Diviner, Ferris knew better than most that men were responsible for their own choices. Fate was an insurmountable tree, but the branches of fortune do not grow without careful watering and meticulous pruning. The fruit it bore only ripened for those who were willing to risk scaling its precarious height.

A commotion rippled across the cathedral's interior while Irene pondered her next move. She looked up from her thoughts to see Henry, supported carefully by Whetu, slowly tottering towards them.

"My Lord! You need to rest!" Both Gwen and Alesia immediately left Irene and went to Henry, helping him find a space between the body-ridden pews.

"Magister Ferris, my protege is right. I am afraid there is no more recourse. We must find a way to recover the Tower." Henry was a little restored by his rest but remained pale and weary.

"What more can you tell me?" Irene probed the old Magister.

Henry delivered a quick synopsis of Elizabeth's agenda, explaining that though her ultimate goal is unknowable, the discredit of the Tower system and the integration of Mage and NoM populations were high on their assailant's list objectives.

Should Sydney continue to besieged, the inevitable outcome is significant casualties for Mages, and catastrophic casualties for any NoM areas penetrated by the Mermen.

Henry then lapsed into a fit of coughing, but there was nothing to be done. The weakened Sufina could not provide her Master with the Golden Mead extracted from her life force. The group turned to regard Ferris, awaiting her final decision warily.

Ferris measured the circumstances before her and knew that what Henry suggested was the best outcome. Without the Tower, they could not repel the Mermen. Without repelling the Mermen, they could not rebuild the Shield Barrier. Without the Barrier, there would be no end to this conflict. The Mermen could afford to lose a hundred thousand, a million merfolk. Sydney could not. The city was four million souls, of which a few hundred thousand were Mages.

Then again, Henry and Irene were in opposing factions. The old man had more than once obstructed their Grey Market operations, arrested her men, and uprooted the seedlings she had sown. Could she trust that she was doing the right thing here and not merely playing into yet another of Henry's long cons?

Ferris compulsively hated making uninformed decisions, especially without any aid from Augury or Divination. What if Walken was taking the opportunity to act on behalf of the Grey faction.

"What of your Paladin, Mr Shultz?" Ferris asked carefully. "Should he not be the one responsible for putting down insurrections?"

"Gunther should be in the Tower when it all went down," Alesia interjected on her Master's behalf. "If he is not currently fighting for his life or defending the city..."

Alesia paused. She didn't want to state the obvious; saying it made it all so real.

As if on cue, a thunderous cacophony fulminated, so loud as to be heard within the confines of the cathedral's interior. All other sound was drowned out as a riptide of colliding mana rolled across the heavens.

The double doors tore open, a group of girl Mages stumbled into the atrium with eyes lit with wonder.

"Master!"

"Magister Ferris!"

Ferris waited until they were closer before allowing them to speak.

"It was incredible! The Leviathan was pushing towards the city centre and then suddenly, a giant beam of light blasted through the sky and took its head clean off!"

The girl was breathless with excitement, trying to articulate the spectacle with both hands.

"The water in the bay area is flooding back! I don't think the Leviathan can make it into the city itself!"

A wary cheer rose up from those recovering in the cathedral.

"That's Gunther for you," Henry said weakly, his expression bursting with pride.

"Well, there are still over ten-thousand Mermen in that Leviathan," Alesia interrupted the 'good news' that the girl had brought. "Not to mention Wave Riders, Dragon Turtles, and countless critters hidden in the water itself. We need you to make a call right now, Magister, else I am heading to the frontlines to meet up with Gunther."

Ferris gritted her teeth and surveyed the hopeful eyes of those around her. Even though the incursion had just been blunted, there would be no rest, no cessation to the conflict until the Mermen are pushed back. The only possibility of achieving that goal in its entirety was to regain control of the Tower.

"If we enter the Tower, you are confident you can handle Walken?" Ferris questioned with lips that were dry with anxiety.

"Yes," Alesia replied without blinking. "His element is borrowed Lightning, even with his expertise in Transmutation and Enchantment, he should be no problem. His skills in Conjuration are negligible."

"What about his men?"

"Gwen and her team should be able to handle the occasional Acolyte. If you are willing to lend us a hand, it will make our assault doubly sure."

Ferris turned to face her followers, the progenies of Rosebay Private Girls Academy. There were a few Maguses with them still, a dozen Senior Mages.

"We are at your command!" The gathering knelt and placed a hand upon the rose-crest sewn into their uniforms, their shrill feminine voices firm with commitment. Gwen noted with some comfort that Julia and her team were amongst them.

Ferris turned back to Alesia, standing protectively over Henry, who was resting on the pew.

"What happens when we teleport in?" Ferris asked.

"We make for the Grot and restore Lord Kilroy. Killing all who impede us. So long as the Master of the Tower recovers, we should be able to wrest back control of the entire system. If we can best Walken, Lord Kilroy can supersede any commands given by Walken and clear out his goons in a single stroke."

Yet, despite Alesia's urging, Ferris still felt indecisive. She knew that each minute Fersheris persisted in her deliberation was a minute in which Mermen would rampage through the city, measured in human lives.

"Magister Ferris, if I may have a but a moment to speak?" it was Gwen who spoke.

"You may," Ferris gave her permission and considered the Eurasian girl in front of her. The Void Mageling had limitless potential, and Ferris wanted to see that potential remain unburied and carefully developed. After all, it was the highest directive of the Tower to ensure that the best bloodlines are preserved. An arbitrator with a colder heart would suggest that perhaps, only a dozen casters in Rosebay, possessing unmatched talent, truly needed to survive the city's ordeal. Everything else could be rebuilt, even the school itself could be restored within a generation, but if these young talents were lost, then catastrophe would befall the Mageocracy.

Gwen began to speak.

"Ma'am… I understand your pain and your indecision." Her voice took on that sonorous timbre beyond her childish face.

"I do not doubt that this is a difficult and dangerous effort on which we have set out to achieve. None of us, Divination or otherwise, can foresee precisely what course we will take or what casualties we may incur. There may be sacrifice ahead, ones in which both our tenacity and our will, will be tested."

"BUT... Magister Ferris... the greatest danger of all would be to do nothing."

Ferris felt her chest constrict.

"As Mages, we have all chosen a Path, and my Path is the way of Militant Pacifism, to use everything in my power to ensure that there is peace. I care not for Factions. I care not about profit or prestige; I simply want our world to be safe, for my friends, and for my benefactor."

The Diviner nodded, lost for words.

"Ma'am, the cost of freedom is always high, but us Mages have always paid it. I may only be a junior Mage, not even a sanctioned Magus, but there is one Path I shall never choose, and that is the path of surrender or inaction. Ma'am, I implore you. I don't know if what we're doing is right. But the greatest wrong— would be doing nothing."

When Gwen had finished speaking, the entire cathedral held its breath, fascinated with violent emotions that they had not known they possessed before Gwen's soul-searching words struck them to their very core.

Ferris found herself likewise speechless. She felt the convergence of guilt and courage, hope and despair, action and inaction all-encompassing her mind at once, pushing her to give Gwen her best.

Gwen Song! Ferris exalted. What a girl! A future Magister! Mayhap even a future Magi!

If Ferris were to help Henry and his proteges in this moment of crisis, they would forever owe her a boon which they were compelled to return. Even if Gwen were to betray Ferris' blessing, she would have a trump card with which she could demand a boon of gratitude from Henry Kilroy- such as a crucial vote on a polemic policy. As much as de Botton droned on about the need to do the right thing, Irene Ferris was first and foremost a pragmatist.

Suddenly, Irene Ferrise no longer felt that her lips were dry. Instead, they were wet with anticipation and expectation.

"Well." Ferris' once ambivalent face grew flushed with expectation. "What are we waiting for? It's time to take back the Tower."

The battle within Sydney's urbanscape had now transformed from a defensive wall to a grand melee. Though the defenders had left tens of thousands of Mermen carcasses in the water before they reached the hastily Transmuted walls, the emergence of a dozen Dragon Turtles quickly changed the tide of the battle.

Though an Iron Golem was incredibly resilient against the breath attacks of the draconic turtles, the ones possessed by the Frontier Military were relics from the Coral Sea War. Unlike the state of the art Steel Legions used by the Americans, these were antiquated European designs that went back to the Second World War in the fifties. They remained highly potent and effective armaments; but lacked the multi-armed, herculean strength of the newer models.

As if sensing their weakness, the dozen or so Dragon Turtles that emerged from the sea lumbered toward different parts of the city, essentially splitting the Military's containment force and stretching their battle lines.

"Where's Gwen when you needed her the most," Gunther lamented. If his sister-in-craft could be here, she could have hastened the Golems by striking them with her lightning spells.

Gunther performed a tight corkscrew turn and made a low pass between two office buildings. One was already half shattered by the violent passage of a Dragon Turtle that had bested its Iron Golem counterpart. Its carcass though, lay not too far from the building itself, a hulking form three storeys tall, headless and limbless after it succumbed to a pyrrhic victory by the Frontier Militia.

Comparatively, the Tower Mages were performing their duties with minimal casualties. As Gunther flew by the shattered streets, sniping the wayward Mermen that appeared from broken shopfronts dragging civilians in cruelly barbed nets, he despairingly acknowledged the systematic failure of their collective defence network in the absence of its command centre.

"Help! Help! Oh, God! Someone help!"

"I'll boil you alive, you lobster bastard!"

"Arrrgh! Arrgh! My arm! It broke my arm!"

A pair of heavily armoured crustacean Mermen were dragging a bountiful harvest of human prisoners behind them, heading back awards the ocean. With a few water-breathing enchantments from a Sea-Priest, the prisoners could be made suitable for labour or nourishment. Their prisoners, six humans whose silhouettes were indistinct in the cumbersome net, was threatening, begging, and crying for the Mermen to release them. As a Paladin, the sight brought a terrible ire to Gunther's chest. These brazen bastards! They were already looting when the battle was hardly over!

With a wave of his hand, two beams took the Mermen in the torso, severing them from chest to groin. A third blast severed the net, allowing the trapped prisoners within to struggle free.

As the prisoners crawled from their previous confinement, they looked for their saviour, expecting a Magus to alight from the heavens and exchange a few gloating words of expected gratitude. They were left wanting, however, for the street remained deserted save for an avenue of smoking Mermen carcasses.

Having cleared the area, Gunther was already a block away and accelerating towards the next checkpoint, where a flight of Tower Mages were fighting for their lives.

His Radiant Aura transformed into a streak of light as he powered through the Quay and towards the CBD, mindful of the aberrantly quiet Tower floating above, an apathetic God without a sliver of care for its children suffering below.

At Alesia's behest, Irene assembled a Rosebay team of Elite Mages, two Magus and Three Senior Mages, including her star pupil Julia. They had an Abjurer-Enchanter, a Transmuter-Evoker, and three others covering the tasks of Healing, Transmutation, and Conjuration.

Blackwattle's fire team was Gwen and her companions, consisting of Yue, Whetu, Debora, and Elvia, as well as Alesia herself. Their barely lucid Master, Henry Kilroy, was snugly bundled and strapped to Whetu, who promised to keep the Magister safe so long as he had breath enough for one more Shield.

Alesia once again demonstrated the incredible resilience of one who had survived two major conflicts, draining a dozen HDMs in the time it took Gwen to mediate and restore half of her own. Their time for rest proved fleeting, however, and the teams had to make do with mana injectors and quick meditations.

With Ferris compliantly giving up her Teleportation glyph, Paul, the translocation specialist, synchronised the Long-Range Teleportation Platform underneath the Cathedral to the Mid-Tower base station.

"If the Tower is still in contingency mode, the Spirit Core shouldn't be announcing your arrival. However, the teleportations circles are going to be lit like Christmas the moment I activate the glyph, so expect to materialise in a hot-zone."

"That's fine, Paul. Can we teleport in 'hot'?"

A look of cunning comprehension exchanged between the two long-time teammates.

Paul smirked. "Just give me a few more minutes, I'll have the portal stabilised in no time."

While they waited, Alesia materialised an armoured robe that intensely radiated an aura of Enchantment so luxuriant as to create a pale glow visible to the unenchanted, naked eye.

"Is that…" Ferris' eyes opened just a little wider.

"Not the real deal, no," Alesia explained, throwing off her top and struggling out of her pants. She uttered a command word, and the tunic lifted into the air, slipping over her head. "It's a replica that I acquired from London after doing a few favours for the Cambridge Tower."

Once attired, the robe quickly shrank to accommodate Alesia's figure. It's sides split to offer more significant mobility, while the armoured sections mounted her arms and shoulders, conforming to her breasts. Below, skirt section bellowed out impressively in a flowing stream of crimson chiffon.

"What is it that you're wearing?" Gwen asked Alesia out of curiosity.

"A replicated Robe of the Arch-Mage," Whetu interjected with bright eyes full of wonder. "Henry has a set as well; even the replicas are priceless."

"What does it do?" Yue asked. She had never seen tier 1 Magical Items before. They were exceedingly rare in the 'countryside' that is Frontier Cities.

Alesia stretched herself out, her taut figure enhanced by the second skin of the form-fitting armoured robe.

"Permanent Resist Elements, Protection from Projectiles and Melee Damage," Alesia intoned proudly.

"The real one possesses the additional property of greatly increasing your Elemental affinity," she added sagely, twirling to show the girls the cut and make of the rare robe.

The two teams marvelled at Alesia's unique garb, using the opportunity to distract themselves from the anxious prickle of their fraying nerves. Even Irene joined in, speaking long and meticulously about the creation of the original Arch-Magi robe by the Mage Morden.

Beside them, Paul had finished changing the last of the Teleportation glyphs.

"This is a one-way trip. I hope you're all ready."

"Remember to stay in formation," Ferris informed her team. Reminding herself that the Mages in the Tower were still members of her Faction, she added a hopeful, 'Don't fire until fired upon,' which made Alesia raise a critical brow.

Though the girls were breathless with nervous anticipation; Alesia seemed entirely in her element.

"Just get us in, and we'll get the Tower back, no trouble," she confided the assemblage with absolute confidence. "Failure won't be a problem. It's death or glory, do or die."

Ferris shot Alesia a wilting look that suggested otherwise.

Both teams were buffed and warded, blessed and shielded. Irene even front-loaded each of the offensive casters with a True Strike. They were as ready as they were ever going to be.

"I am beginning the Invisibility Shield," Ferris intoned. As she initiated the chant, the air surrounding the two teams shimmered.

"Alright," Paul began. The platform began to glow with the signature quick-silver mana of Conjuration. "Three— Two— One—"

On the count of 'Two', Alesia began an invocation.

"Empowered Delayed-Blast Fireball!"

Ferris looked up with an expression of shock and dismay.

"What ar..."

The Teleportation Circle enveloped them.

Jules had been receiving a lecture from Lord Gunther Shultz, Paladin of the Tower, when a siren rang out throughout the Tower.

"NOW ENTERING QUARANTINE MODE."

He was as shocked as anyone when the Tower furthermore began to teleport 'dissidents' from its interior, leaving behind only himself and three others in the cohort of new Acolytes.

When the madcap red light of the Tower's defensive system died, a command in the familiar voice of his Grandmaster, Magister Walken, vocalised throughout the public announcement glyphs.

"This is Magister Walken— all members of the Grey Faction are to gather at the atrium for debriefing at thirteen-fifteen. Any members who fail to comply will be discharged from the Tower."

Still dazed with confusion, Jules and the others made their way hastily to the atrium. There, a hundred or so Mages, mostly juniors, had already gathered.

When enough of them had filled the chamber, the austere figure of Magister Walken dressed in a dazzling set of armoured combat robes appeared at the command dais.

The Magister and Master of the Grey Market was a quiet man with intense dark eyes. His face would have been handsome once, though now it was gaunt. Now, the Magister's presence was more or less 'forgettable'. However, it was precisely such an unmemorable figure, together with the support of his two peers, Lin and Ferris, who created the most extensive "unofficial"' trading emporium in Oceania. Standing at a mere five-foot-nine, the once unassuming Magister was now radiating an aura of command, his loosely styled dark hair cut with streaks of silver. Both of his hands were a spectacle of rare, exotic rings, while around his head rotated no less than six Ioun Stones. He was the very vision of an Archmage, inspiring his followers to let loose raptured cheers of jubilation.

Jules wasn't the sycophantic kind, but peer pressure was an infectious drug.

Above him, the Magister began to speak of dire tidings.

"Factioners of the Grey Market, I come as the bringer of terrible news. As of twenty minutes ago, we are in a state of War. The Mermen incursion which has been held back by the Tower is once again upon us. It is now our solemn duty to keep the Tower safe from enemy hands."

The illusion-empowered Glyphs built into the atrium began to construct a real-time vision of the scene below— a dozen shielding stations in smoking ruin, an armada of Mermen riding for the city.

Ragged cries of dismay broke out among the crowd below. Some urged immediate action, while others questioned what the hell the Tower was doing at a time like this. Where was Gunther Shultz? Its Knight Protector? Where was the Master of the Tower?

"I know what you are thinking. Why are we attacked? Why is the Tower disabled? Why are Message spells jammed?"

Walken paused, his tri-colon to resonating across the almost empty hall that should be housing a thousand battle-ready Mages.

"We are not in the midst of combat - because we have been betrayed! More so, the traitor is Henry himself! The Master of the Tower is not as he seems!"

The crowd gasped.

"Behold what Kilroy's selfish actions have wrought upon us!"

A series of images created through magical glamour flickered to life. The hyperrealistic vision showed a woman with skin as white as snow, massacring what appeared to be a coastal military base with dark tendrils of Void.

The crowd gasped and gagged at sight. The slaughter was utterly indiscriminate: men, women, mermen, NoMs and Mages, none escaped her life-seeking lamprey tentacles.

"That's... that's Noose Heads!" someone cried out within the crowd.

All present had heard of the Massacre at Noose Heads. It was before the creation of the Tower— a place where humanity had lost over four hundred promising acolytes to an ambush by the Mermen. But the cause for the invasion and the disappearance of the Mages remained unresolved. Jules furrowed his brows. If so, why were they been shown this now?

The second set of images showed a group of Mages piling what appeared to be another group of casters, tied and gagged, into iron cages. The montage progressed until the vision became that of a dark warehouse filled with bloodstained hospital beds where Mages, presumably captured prisoners, were being dissected for their organs. Overseeing the operation was yet again, an ageless young woman with pure white skin and dark hair.

An angry murmur spread throughout the crowd. The mood changed from confusion and question to outright resentment and hostility.

"It is with dire danger to himself that a friend and companion of our Faction was able to expose these nefarious operations. The heart of all this horror and misery lies in this woman, the very same responsible for the massacred youth at Noosa Heads."

A projection materialised, a photo of Elizabeth, looking older, more worn and travelled. The lumen-recording was an official portrait taken from the Tower's records.

A few of the senior Mages in the crowd gasped.

"That's… that's Elizabeth Winsted Sobel! She's the war hero!"

"What? The Goddess of the Coral Sea Conflict?"

"The very same!"

"I've seen her on the propaganda recordings."

"Impossible!"

"She's dead, right?"

"Is she… undead?"

"That witch!"

"Those poor kids..."

"Those poor sobs getting gutted!"

Walken matched a few of the images from the previous sets with the lumen-recording of Elizabeth, drawing gasps from the room. Jules felt physically assailed by conspiracy. It was possible to fabricate the whole thing, of course, illusions can be crafted and created by meticulous Illusionists, but the crowd saw no reason why their patron and Master would go to such lengths to deceive them. After all, Walken had brought great boons to the Tower via the Grey Market. He was well known as a generous Magister, dependable and protective of his acolytes.

Satisfied that the crowd was sufficiently incensed, Walken continued.

"At first, I too doubted my findings. How could a war hero become such a virulent plague upon our society?" Another image appeared, this time of Henry and Elizabeth in the setting of a family portrait.

"Furthermore, as some of you may know, Master Kilroy and Elizabeth Sobel are husband and wife. Why would the Master of Oceania betray his people, the same Mages he pledged to protect? For love, perhaps, or maybe a darker purpose?"

The image flickered again, this time of Elizabeth in the full fury of combat, swirling with motes of malignant darkness made the room flicker ominously. The illusionary projection was lifelike and recorded candidly, giving the gathering a taste of what it was like to face Elizabeth in combat.

"SOBEL is a Void Mage! A caster in command of the forbidden element! A step away from Necromancy!" Walken announced.

Another vision, this time a candid shot of Elizabeth draining the life from another Mage, a dozen others already dry husks beside her swirling, darkling form.

"That's Victor's team!" Another voice cried out from the crowd. "They disappeared two years ago! I got told that Saurians ambushed his party!"

Jules felt his own heart pounding uncontrollably. The revelations they received were far too shocking and horrifying to be accounted for logically. The Master of the Tower's wife was a murderer, a traitor, and now she was also a Void Mage? It was earth-shattering news!

Furthermore, the woman was deceased! Ancient history! There was something strange and illogical about it all, but Jules couldn't question the Master, not when the crowd was spitting venom.

Walken continued to speak, collapsing the image with a wave of his hand.

"I too, had thought myself mistaken. There must be some explanation for all this. In the months that followed, I shadowed Magister Kilroy and his operations— but thankfully uncovered nothing. I was glad; I was delighted that our Master was innocent, that this may not be his wife, that this could be a look-alike; a doppelgänger."

"Yet, as some of you know, Master Henry had recently acquired a new protege."

The younger men nodded to themselves, thinking of the Lightning Sorceress, Gwen Song. The lovely, lithe young girl had been a regular feature of the Tower in the last few months. She had conversed with them and shared friendly chit-chats. Many of them had designs on the girl, doing small favours for her in the hopes of catching her attention.

"I regret to inform you that she too, is a Void Mage."

Another illusion appeared, this time projecting the epic combat between a group of girls and a giant spider in some salt mine. The vision seemed to be from the perspective of one of the participants, a Transmuter. The gathered watched as she summoned sand pillars to halt the speed of the spider-creature, but was too inexperienced to provide adequate cover for her allies. As the girls fought, they saw Gwen shoot off lightning bolts that cascaded harmlessly from the creature's salt-studded armour. The spider then burst through the pillars and lunged straight for the girls, making several of the inexperienced observers stagger backwards at the hyper-reality of the illusion.

Then without warning, the spider dropped— a horrid looking parasite, half worm, half lamprey, carapace in darkness and wet with ichor, burst from the spider's thorax.

'Shaa! Shaa!" The disgusting, malignant thing cried out, its slimy, putrid body wet with strange fluids from the interior of the sand-spider.

The vision ceased.

A few of the watchers turned and hurled, triggering a wave of gags.

Walken waited, watching the crowd.

"Still, I thought my friend, Henry Kilroy, may yet be uninvolved - until a dutiful agent delivered the terrible truth to my hand."

Another illusion appeared, this time, the vision showed an office. Gwen Song was there, as well as an older blonde woman. Henry and his Familiar sat on a seat by themselves. The crowd murmured when they saw Gunther Shultz, the Paladin of the Tower, among that secret meeting. They were all listening intently to a shadowy figure deliver a revelatory address. Behind the shadow was a stone-faced Mage sitting behind a desk, looking drained and hollow.

"Ain't that Mark Chandler!" A voice pointed out.

"From the Black Cat Agency?"

"The very same!"

"Didn't he disappear last year? The Agency shut down!"

"Jesus, what the hell is happening?"

Within the vision, the gathering of Mages was watching the shadowy form of a girl, her ethereal body writhing in agony, her face a mask of malice with a palpable hatred for the living.

"Jane…" in the vision, Mark began to speak. "Jane, we don't have much time… tell them how you died."

"Died… I died…" The shadowy form of 'Jane' mouthed in her necromantic guise, her face indistinct. Suddenly, the ghost cried out, a guttural, banshee's screech that went on and on, sending slivers of ice down the spines of the observers. "Murdered... I was murdered!"

"No! Necromancy!? In Sydney?"

"Unforgivable!"

An explosion of virulent emotions erupted. Even Jules felt caught up in the intense moment, finding himself rising his fists willingly and shouting out angry slurs. Necromancy! Had the world not suffered enough under its yoke?! Who were these that dared bring Necromancy back to these purified lands of Oceania? Just because they were the Masters of the Tower, they thought they could get away with such a crime against humanity?

The image changed and shifted.

They watched the shared vision of the ghostly girl's demise, of Elizabeth's inhuman act. Of Jane's final moments in Noosa.

"Jesus…"

"Oh, Gods…"

"That poor girl..."

The crowd momentarily forgot their anger when the dark sun blossomed over Noosa Heads. When the ghost thankfully perished, they saw Mark Chandler denounce the gathering, shouting accusations in turn at Henry, then at Gwen, becoming excited and agitated with each passing second.

"Put her in the chamber, Henry! Put her in and you'll— you'll know why Elizabeth is still alive— Ha! You were all wrong! My poor Jane— if you hadn't covered it up Henry— if—"

Then abruptly, Gunther Shultz moved from where he stood and assaulted Mark Chandler. Without even incanting a spell, Gunther had reached across space between them, caught Mark by the hair, and slammed his face against the stout oaken table. Mark's limp body then fell to the floor like a sack of slack potatoes.

The vision ended with Gunther teleporting away with Mark. The perspective of the informant ended with Henry and Gwen alone in the room.

"Do you now understand the stakes?" Walken spoke to the crowd slowly, biting each syllable.

"Henry Kilroy - Elizabeth Sobel - Gwen Song, they are all vipers of the same pit. They are working together to impair our very society for their benefit! A deathless Magister that drew life from his Dryad; a deathless Void Mage that stole life from others! Furthermore! A new apprentice of both Lightning and the Void element! A serpent in the egg, which when hatched, shall be more poisonous than both Henry and his wife!"

"Not only that! The Paladin of the Tower, Gunther Shultz, in cahoots! A dog that traffics with wolves!" Walken cried out bitterly.

"We are nothing but food to this family of life-sucking vampires, livestock and chattel! We exist only to feed their hunger for power, to develop their own forsaken magics. They may not behave like lions in public, but to them, we are boars!"

The crowd silent, then inevitably, their raging, pend up emotions exploded into a fitful clamour.

"Down with Kilroy!"

"Down with Shultz!"

"Save the Tower! Save Sydney!"

Walken furiously struck the dais to steer the violent emotions of the crowd.

"We are now in a moment of crisis. I did not wish to put my contingency plan into effect. However, when Watson Bay Shielding Station became disabled earlier, it became clear that whatever Elizabeth and Henry had planned was coming to fruition. Therefore, in his absence, I took the opportunity to assume control of the Tower's core systems."

He once again engaged the real-time vision of the scene below: a Leviathan, multiple Krakens, an armada of Mermen roving into the city.

Cries of horror and frustration erupted from the Mages below him. They had family down there! Friends and allies!

"I fear the Tower will not be joining the defence of the city. I have already disabled long-range communication to prevent any further complications." Walken said grimly. "I cannot risk the Tower, the most powerful instrument we possess, falling into the hands of Henry Kilroy again. Already, I have sent out Messages explaining our circumstances and requesting immediate aid from Melbourne and Brisbane. With any luck, they should be here to aid us in cleansing the city. As well as arresting Kilroy and his ilk."

Jules felt his breath catching in his chest. He wanted to believe. Indeed, those around seemed to accept Walken without question. However, there were so many aspects of Walken's narrative that seemed at odds.

Above upon the dais, Walken was now confidently in command.

"While Gunther and Kilroy occupied themselves with the invasion, we must keep the Tower safe. As such, us Greys will assume guard duty until either of the other two Towers arrive, bringing with them the blessings of Magister Lin or Magister Luther. Do you understand?"

A smattering of 'Yessir' resounded from the uncertain crowd, more preoccupied with the dire circumstances facing their families.

"You are not compelled to stay if you are not with us. If you wish to abandon the Tower to Void Mages and Vampires - I can teleport you out right now, safely deposited inland." The crowd considered their options while Walken persisted in his rhetoric. "Friends, students, compatriots! We cannot lose this war! Sydney must survive even if we do not!"

Walken raised his voice resolutely.

"YESSIR!" The crowd chorused back.

Jules unwittingly followed suit. His mind a confused muddle of conflicting feelings against the actualities of his position. A second later, the ranking Mages began to give them orders, but Jules was too preoccupied to comprehend their hastily given commands.

There was so much that didn't make sense to him. Why would someone who is so intimately known to Magister Kilroy betray him? How authentic were the lumen-recorded illusions? Furthermore, why would the Paladin of the Tower, numbered as one of the highest authorities in the Tower, betray the institution itself? Why was Master Walken privy to so many of Kilroy's secrets, and why was it all coming out without consulting any of the other Magisters? Afterall, Magister Ferris and Magister Lin were both members of the Grey Faction, all they had to do to remove Kilroy was convince three more Magisters out of the ten. With the evidence Master Walken had demonstrated, it should prove no trouble.

Jules wanted answers to these pressing questions but lost to the momentum of the crowd. He shuffled from the room like a ghoul, unmindful of his steps as he bumped shoulders with others, who likewise alternated between fervent and perplexed.

"Hey Jules, we got the mid-section Teleportation stack." Frederick, his university alumni, tapped him on the shoulder. "How about this, huh? Lord Kilroy, a traitor and his wife a life-sucking Vampire, pretty rad if you ask me."

Jules nodded absentmindedly, masking his thoughts from his friend.

"I can't believe that sweet little thing is a Void Mage too. She was a sight for sore eyes. Did you know that I even offered to take her out once?"

"Yeah," Jules mumbled. "You tell it every other week."

"I am worried about my sis, you know. I am glad they live inland though, all the way south of the western suburbs. Sucks to be one of the coastal folks, hey? Where's your family located?"

"Canberra."

"Lucky," Frederic quipped, using the conversation to mask his growing anxiety. "Chin up, Jules, we got to hold the Tower until help arrives. I can't wait to see the vid-cast trials for this fiasco. Reckon they'll fill the Stasis Prison or just go straight for public execution?"

"Who knows?" Jules felt a shiver despite the controlled clime of the Tower's interior.

It took them a few rides on bisecting routes of levitation platforms to arrive at the mid-way Teleportation Chamber.

There were a dozen guards stationed at the Teleportation Circles, Jules included. The Evoker languishingly took up position in the dimness of the Tower's interior. Usually, the place was a hive of activity, each corridor illuminated by glowing sigils that mimicked daylight. Now, most of the passages were burning with a dull red, indicating that the Tower was in Quarantine mode.

To the acolyte's knowledge, of his Faction, only Magister Ferris was currently present in Sydney. Jules hoped that the wizened Diviner would make an appearance and answer some of his questions. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding, or mayhap the Magisters reach a compromise. There were Factions within the Tower, Jules understood that, but he'd hoped that in the face of racial extermination by the Mermen, only the "Faction" called humanity mattered.

Jules found a comfortable nook and sat, meditating to soothe out the turbulent mana stirred up by his emotions. Hopefully, whoever teleported through these circles could bring an invocation of True Seeing that would dispell the twisted illusions haunting their present reality.

Alesia's Delayed Blast Fireball enveloped the mid-Tower Teleportation Chamber a split second after her group materialised upon the platform. The damage was near-instantaneous; the sealed chamber simply lit up; there was a flash of quicksilver mana, then the world burned.

When Ferris and her party next appeared on the platform, the dizzying scent of scorched flesh and sizzling fat assaulted their nostrils.

No one had expected that a split-second into their quest, they would bear witnessed was the cold-blooded murder of a dozen members of the Grey Faction. Ferris did not doubt that she would have known at least one of the Mages, either as an associate or alumni. What if one of them had wanted to converse with her? What if they were unwitting participants of the conspiracy at hand? She felt assailed by guilt, but also glad that she couldn't recognise their charred miens. A few of the girls began to cry when one of the crispy cadavers convulsed, its involuntary struggle triggered by raw nerves still tethered to contracting flesh.

Ferris shook with indescribable fury as she turned toward the culprit, challenging the Scarlet Sorceress' cold, ultramarine eyes. Alesia de Botton looked as though she did something utterly inconsequential.

"To the Grot," Alesia announced. "We need to get Master Kilroy in there as soon as possible."

Ferris looked to Henry to see if the old Magister had anything to say about his bloodthirsty entourage. To her dismay, the attack dog's handler was inhaling and exhaling weakly, oblivious upon the Maori's back, blind to the world.

Gwen and her company likewise averted their eyes as they passed the victims, about a dozen in all. Only now did the blood began to seep out from the orifice of their charred, inanimate forms.

Ferris repressed her anger, choosing to keep her lips pursed. Bereft of her Divination, she wasn't sure what to expect after teleporting into the Tower. A standoff seemed the reasonable outcome, a confrontation with Walken's followers more than likely. What she had not expected was her immediate participation in the wholesale slaughter of Walken's acolytes. What would her ally think of them now? How could she face him and expect him to be rational after this?

"Nothing is getting between Lord Kilroy and that Grot," Gwen's sister-in-craft informed Ferris with eyes that were glazed over with single-minded determination, twinkling madly with suggestions of zealous ultraviolence.

The platform began to ascend.

"Alesia... Magus de Botton," Ferris spoke with as much diplomacy she could muster. "I ask that you refrain from taking so many lives. We need to preserve the life of every Mage we can if we wish to combat the Mermen and restore the Tower."

Alesia shook her head.

"With all due respect, Magister, they were attempting to ambush us. It was them or us - and I was faster, that was all there was to it."

Ferris held her gaze against Alesia's own. The two women said nothing more as the platform shot towards the Tower's zenith.

When they began to approach the entrance to the Grot, however, it was evident that the final chamber of the Tower was under guard.

"Halt!" A voice cried out before the platform even reached its destination. "Present yourselves! Hands in the air! Else we will disengage the platform's levitation!"

Ferris' pleading grey irises meet with Alesia's.

"I could have left you down there, but I give you the benefit of the doubt. Please, give me mine," Ferris implored. "Alesia. There has been enough death today."

From his vantage point, Alec Guerre dared to breathe a little when he saw the platform and its cargo of Mages raise their hands submissively. There was Alesia de Botton amongst them, the Void Mageling— Gwen Song, as well as Magister Ferris and what looked to be a comatose Magister Kilroy.

When the floating disc completed the final few meters of its journey, docking onto the remote platform housing the Grot with an audible click, Guerre exhaled in relief.

The two groups of Mages looked upon one another warily as Guerre fired off a Message spell via the Tower's intra-systems.

"Sir, I have Magister Ferris, Magus Alesia, and Gwen Song at the entrance of Kilroy's Grot. It looks like Kilroy is with them as well, but he looks incapacitated."

"Excellent, stall them while I gather the men. I'll be there very soon," Walken replied.

"Lord Ferris, Major de Botton, Ladies and Gents," the Magus addressed each of them in turn, eventually adding a respectful, "Grandmaster Kilroy."

"Magus Guerre, in the interests of all involved, please remove yourself from our path," Ferris intoned with a tone of command. "This is an emergency."

Guerre seemed unmoved by the Magister's command.

"I am afraid I cannot do that, Ma'am. Additionally, I regret to inform you that I must take Lord Kilroy, Major de Botton, and Gwen Song into custody."

"On what charge?" Ferris questioned, her eyes narrowing.

"On harbouring a mass murderer and a traitor who trafficks in Mage-kin, and on charges of harbouring Void Mages with dissident interests against the Tower and the city."

To Guerre's surprise, Ferris ignored his warning and persisted in dressing him down.

"Magus Guerre, I suggest you remove yourself at once, or else." To Guerre's eyes, Ferris appeared both annoyed and embarrassed that he had challenged her authority.

"I can't do that," Guerre rejected flatly, enclosing his hands in the form of a shielding incantation as he spoke. "Globe of Invulnerability!"

An invisible shield shimmered before the gate to the Grot, covering Guerre and his Mages.

The Abjurer Magus watched as Ferris flushed a deep scarlet. She must have thought her authority was sufficient, but Guerre was in no mind to follow her orders, not with the revelations that he had seen.

All of the Mages that remained in the Tower were loyal to Walken. Without her acolytes and supporter's presence in the Tower, the non-combatant Diviner was powerless.

Guerre watched the group squirm behind the magic-negating barrier. Soon, his superior would arrive, and that would be the end of these Void Mages.

The group watched as Guerre and his assemblage smugly accosted thin air, looking mightily pleased with their 'success'.

"See?" Ferris turned to Alesia triumphantly. "No need for more bloodshed. nothing like a good Grandeur."

"We'll see about that," Alesia replied ominously.

The group moved past the guards who smugly regarded the paralysed, indecisive illusions and made for the gate. Even as they passed the glamoured Mages, they seemed not to notice them. Unlike lower-tier magic, high-tier Illusions were incredibly immersive when employed under the right circumstances.

Whetu brought Henry forward. Gwen pressed her master's hand against the double-door as she had seen him do so many times before. There was a moment in which they held their breath, but the ironwood portal opened without incident.

Within the Grot, much had changed. With Sufina severely drained by the Void elementals, the Grot itself was now bog-like, damp and dark, more akin to a rotting rainforest than a verdant garden.

Alesia ushered the others into the sanctuary, led by Whetu carrying Henry. The instant they passed the barrier gate, the old Magister stirred into a semblance of consciousness.

"To the heart chamber... Gwen should know…"

When Ferris and her group sought to gain entry through the portal, Alesia lowered a hand to obstruct their passage.

"We'll hold the fort here," Alesia intoned stubbornly. "The pocket dimension can only hold so many people."

Ferris considered the cost of challenging Alesia's innocuous statement and found the prospects wanting. Had their role been reversed, she too would have barred Alesia from her Oracle room. The Magister knew well enough that within the Grot was the heart of Henry's domain. If she wished to remain their ally and benefit from the operation's success, then she mustn't challenge this particular threshold of their tenuous alliance.

"Fine, we stall them here."

Ferris could hold the Grandeur steady for a quarter of an hour; after that, they would likely have to deal with Walken's wrath.

"How long would it take to restore Kilroy?" Ferris inquired, her lips felt parched. She couldn't help feeling as though she had painted herself into a corner. Watching Alesia's hawkish gaze toward Guerre and his Mages, an uncomfortable alternative crossed her mind. Should the matter proceed toward violence, how would she commit herself? With her Illusionary abilities and Alesia's destructive potential, they could probably systematically silence every living soul within the Tower.

"How long do you propose? An hour? Longer?"

"As long as it takes." Alesia met Ferris' eyes sternly and began to renew her buffs. "As I said, its do or die."

Directed by Gwen, Whetu and the others followed into the heart of Kilroy's sanctuary until they reached a humongous Banyan. The thick, woven roots of the tree formed into a sheltered space hollowed out by the lifting timber. Above, thickly braided roots that hung as though a great beard.

With Whetu's aid, Gwen lifted the ragdoll body of her master and placed him within the heart of Sulfina's Grot.

At first, nothing seemed to come to pass. The team watched with nerve-wracking agitation.

"Gwen, do you think..." Yue was the first to speak.

"No," Gwen replied sternly. "Patience, I can feel something here."

There was a sense of familiarity about the mana that seemed to surround them, embedded in the fleshy walls of the Banyan tree. Gwen thought of Sufina, of her Master, and something that would trigger a sense of recognition. The answer she found brought a smile to her lips. Gwen produced from her Storage Ring the gift she had received from Almudj and placed it upon Henry's person.

The scale grew warm in her hand and began to shed a scintillating light, painting the Grot with rainbow hues.

To no one's surprise, Debora left the chamber, attracting a discouraging snort from a critical Yue.

The next few minutes were agonising, though thankfully, Henry's complexion eventually changed from lily to peach, indicating a slow restoration of the old Magister's vitality.

When Henry's breathing returned to a regular cadence, the group collectively exhaled, finally drawing in fresh breaths.

"Well, we did it." Gwen brushed a stroke of loose hair from her Master's face.

"Thank Master Alesia and that Magister Ferris," Yue injected a hint of nervous mirth into the conversation. "I am surprised she pulled through."

"I hope he recovers soon," Elvia added, her face regaining its colour now that there was light at the end of this particular dark dungeon.

"Where's Debora?" Gwen asked, puzzled that a member of their team was so distant at a pivotal time like this.

"She's outside," replied Elvia, who had seen Debora leave. "You know, her 'allergy' with the scale."

"I don't mind her so much these days, but man, she's such a weirdo when it comes to these things," Yue wanted to take a dig at their xenophobic friend, but Debora's recent performance compelled her to bite her tongue. The Shire girl had worked hard and done well against the Mermen, defending the two Evokers expertly during the grand melee.

Just as Gwen felt at a loss for her friends' persistent distance, Debora ducked into the archway of the heart chamber.

"Guys, we got trouble." Her brown eyes were anxious with apprehension. "There's a lot of them out there."

Gwen turned to regard Henry, sensing that her Master was breathing easier with each passing moment. She could feel through Almudj's gift that Sufina's life-tree was revitalising.

The main thing now was to stall until Henry could recover. If her Master could regain even a fraction of his powers, they could resume control of the Tower and resolve their convoluted crisis.

Gwen touched Henry's wrinkled hands. Her master had given her so much. Now was the time to repay his kindness.

"This is not going to be easy," she began, but the stirring rhetoric wasn't necessary.

"We're with you."

"Let's do it!"

"To the bitter end! Though I hope it doesn't come to that."

Gwen felt her heart fill with rapture as they huddled.

Come hell or high water; she was ready.

When the group returned to the entrance of the Grot, Ferris was in a heated argument with a grey-haired Mage impressively attired in an enchanted robe, decked with swirling Ioun Stones.

"Eric, this is insane! Stand down at once! I can't believe you've set the whole city on fire for your little games! Just wait until the other Magisters hear of this! Lin won't stand for it!"

"I am insane?! You're the one who will be persecuted by the High Council! Kilroy has been a plague; he's been hiding Sobel for decades, there's nothing you can do to deny this fact! His wife is a mass-murderer, the reason for the Noosa Heads Massacre! Who do you think barters for the Mages she trafficks! She'd tied to this invasion, mark my words!"

"That may be! It doesn't excuse the fact that you have withheld the Tower from coming to the aid of the city! You disabled communication and ensured that hundreds of Mages, tens of thousands of NoMs who might have survived are now dead! We're not warmongers, Eric! You've taken this too far."

"You don't know what I have seen, Irene. Kilroy's hand is as bloody as they come! He's in cahoots with Sobel, you'll see. How could I let the Tower fall into the hands of the enemy?"

"Don't be such a fool, Eric. I was there when they fought! Why do you think Henry is in this state? If he was alive and well, how could the Mermen even penetrate the shields? You should know better to be blinded by your ambition! Even if Henry was a mass-murderer himself, it's up to the Tower to implicate him, not you, Eric! Not you!"

The two Magisters of the Grey Faction exchanged a few more barbed accusations before separating with reddened faces. When Walken saw Gwen's group emerge from the Grot, his complexion took on a darker shade.

"Irene, for God's sake, move aside!"

The Diviner bit her lower lip until it flushed a shade purple. She knew that her ally was strongly prejudiced against Kilroy. Whoever had clouded Walken's perspective of the truth knew well the man's inclination for grudges and conspiracy.

"I am sorry, old friend. I cannot allow this farce to go any further than it already has."

Beside Ferris, Alesia stared down at Walken coldly as if daring him to try her.

"I'd listen to Master Ferris if I was you," Alesia spat venomously. "This time, it's not going to be just your library that goes up in kindling."

"Silence, hellcat of Kilroy!" Walken snapped before turning to Ferris. "Irene, I don't want to hurt you, but you're forcing my hand!"

Gwen and the others watched the exchange behind the Grot's portal, mesmerised by the spectacle of Oceania's highest ranked Mages about to square off in a chamber that was no larger than a generous classroom. A single cataclysmic spell would collapse the room and decimate every living soul contained herein.

It was a curious dilemma.

Use low-tier spells, and they couldn't penetrate each other's defences.

Use high-tier spells, and they could tear the whole place apart.

Walken's gaze fell upon Gwen.

"There! Do you see her, Irene? There's the little Void vixen that Henry is raising. She'll be the death of us all, mark my words. A walking calamity!"

Gwen was as shocked as anyone that Walken, a Magister she had never seen before in her life, was addressing her so vehemently.

"I have seen her Void Magic, Eric. She is not as you describe."

"The Council will be the judge of that!" Walken spat smugly.

Gwen followed Walken's cold, dark eyes as the Magister's gaze surveyed each inch of her figure. The man's gaze was a scalpel trying to dig under her skin and uncover how she ticked. She'd felt the same gaze before, when she'd dealt with Mark Chandler - the man was hunting for secrets that he believed was buried deep somewhere within her. As a Magister, the pressure from the man's intent gaze as immense, appearing as though he was dissecting her piecemeal.

It was Alesia who moved between them and freed Gwen from the torturous attention.

"That's enough," she intoned coldly. "You want to bully someone, try me."

"Insolent wench!"

Motes of Transmutation and Conjuration erupted from Walken as the last ounce of his patience was spent. A portal opened beside him, battering the chamber with a terrific gust that forced Gwen's company to shield their eyes. Walken was summoning his familiar, a Couatl from the Elemental Plane of Air.

"A fancy snake isn't going to save you," Alesia opened up her mana channels, igniting the air surrounding her body, menacing the Magister recklessly. "Last chance, Walken."

"Globe of Invulnerability!" Ferris's Abjurer opened with a spell that negated offensive magic below Tier 5.

"Globe of Invulnerability!" Their opposing Abjurer responded in kind.

"Wall of Pounamu!" Whetu did his part, creating a series of barrier shields that ensured they couldn't be bull rushed. In the next moment, a flood of buffs engendered on both sides.

"Bless!"

"Resist Elements!"

"Shield of Faith!"

"Stone Skin!"

"Sanctuary!"

"Death Ward!"

"Aura of Life!"

"Wall of Stone!"

Chaos and anarchy erupted as protective spells of all types and elements flooded the room, dizzying even the most experienced of Diviners.

"Ergh—"

Gwen was a split second away from dropping a Flash Bang when she felt the premonition of something so terrible as to make her heart skip a beat. Beside her, Ferris seemed to have sensed the same thing. Alarmed, she looked toward the Master Diviner and saw Ferris' eyes widen in horror, her mouth moving to utter an indistinct warning.

"Gwen—"

Gwen gasped. She never heard the belated warning from Ferris. Every once of her consciousness was now focused upon the excruciating pain that promptly wracked her body.

"Arrgh! Who—" Her instinctual cry broke mid-utterance, her breath catching in her throat so violently that her torso convulsed. She felt motes of shifting sand crawl underneath her armoured robes; construct her arms, legs, seizing her neck in the manner of a choker. Concurrently, the convulsive panic pushed the air from her lungs, turning her scarlet with asphyxiation. An irresistible force bent her spine and held her in place, helpless.

The unexpected turn of events arrested the imminent mortal combat between the two parties.

"Debora!"

"Debbie?"

"Gwen! No!" The ignited air surrounding Alesia deflated. Alesia was staring wide-eyed at Gwen, held captive by Debora's sand Spirit. Even now Alesia's disbelieving eyes were incapable of comprehending that her sister-in-craft had been captured, betrayed and made hostage.

"Walken… you…" Ferris's face was blanched. Her gaze met the resolute eyes of the girl standing behind Gwen and shuddered. Debora was utterly impassive, showing no indication that she had just betrayed her closest friend, the girl she had professed to love and desire. Her expression was a mask of nothing, a tabula rasa devoid of emotions. When Gwen struggled, she tightened her spell, lifting Gwen from the ground.

"I can't believe you fell for that twice," Debora articulated her triumph. Her voice was strange, sounding as though she had borrowed the vocal cords.

"Good work! Ms Jones," From across the room, Walken congratulated the athletic Transmuter. "I knew that I could count on you!"

The gathered crowd looked from Debora toward Walken and back again.

"Debbie! No!" Elvia's utterance was a heartrending cry. How many times had they survived dangers together? How many nights had they trained, how many days and they spend in each other's company!? The girl had risked her life to defend them only a few hours ago!

"Sheet!" Whetu cursed. His dark face flushed, the symmetry of his facial tattoos outlined by his livid face.

"Debora, if you can even imagine surviving my wrath, you will let her go, right now," Alesia snarled, her the heat of quaking hellfire.

"Bring her to me," Walken commanded delightfully.

To the Magister's surprise, Debora did not hand Gwen over.

Instead, she stood unmoving, as soon as she exited the Grot.

"Now, now, like we agreed. I will protect you. You'll be a hero. I swear by my arcane soul." Walken's voice was seductive and resonant, full of soothing allure.

Upon hearing Walken's promise, Yue's face became so full of fury that she looked ready to ignite where she stood. Opening her mouth to speak, she delivered her diatribe without reserve.

"Debora, God help me if you don't let Gwen go right this minute. If you harm her, my life's sole purpose will revolve around ensuring that you suffer the greatest agony known to man or woman. Do you think you can make it as the Apprentice of this asshole? Think again, fucking bitch. Nothing is going to save you. You know what, even if you die before I am through, I am going to kill everyone you love. Your brothers, your sister, everyone you ever loved. You will rue the day you turned traitor. You can trust me on this. I swear by my arcane soul."

Yue's words were so chilling that even the two Magisters felt their spine tingle.

After that, the time grew dilated while the gathering anticipated Debora's next move. Walken persisted in imploring Debora to deliver Gwen to him while Alesia, Ferris, and the others waited for an opportunity to free Gwen from Debora's Sand Prison.

"Don't try anything, especially you." Debora caught Alesia's subtle channel of Transmutation magic. Alesia felt her brows knit in frustration, when had the girl become so perceptive? She was at best a lacklustre Transmuter with limited innate talent.

"Alesia," Ferris' voice bloomed beside her. She was using a line-of-sight variation of the Message spell. "Something is not right. My premonition senses are going haywire. That girl is stalling, and we must find out why. There is going to be great, imminent danger. My instincts are screaming for me to flee."

Alesia growled. What could be more dangerous than their present circumstances?

The Scarlet Sorceress' eyes measured every inch of Debora's form, searching for some clue as to what was sending Ferris's Divination into a frenzy. Alesia's gaze landed on a small, non-descript ring that Debora wore on her left hand.

A ring. A standard accessory common to Mages sparkled. There were many kinds of rings. Storage Rings were standard, followed by Tracking Rings, ones that had teleportation beacons, given by Masters to their Apprentice so that they could escape imminent danger.

Suddenly, watching Debora's fingers, a stray thought invaded Alesia's imagination, after which she was no longer capable of maintaining the meditative cadence of her breathing. The hot blood in her veins abruptly turned to ice. Circumstances and events converged within like a multi-vehicular accident.

"No!" Alesia cried, her musky bloodthirst transforming into a hysterical panic. With a blast of flame, she Blinked into the Grot. Elvia, Yue and Whetu stared slack-jawed at the point where Alesia had been. What of Gwen? What if Debora made good on her threat?

"You're too late," Debora announced flatly to the still flaming air. "There is nothing you can do. There is nothing any of you can do. Not anymore."

Deep within the Grot, Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten, Lord of the Ordo Arcanum Oceania, was stirred to wakefulness by a familiar scent of lilacs.

For a moment, he had thought himself still sleeping amongst a pile of white sheets, the heat of the Tuscan sun beating down outside as a dry wind whispered through the Ottoman architraves.

When he opened his eyes, however, the familiar sight of the heart-tree came into being. His head, however, rested not on wood, but on a pair of soft, white thighs, held in place by their supple curvature.

A face came into view, breathlessly beautiful. Eyes as soft as a mellow summer's sky held him intact within their twin pupils. Wisps of bible-black hair tickled his nostrils.

"Hey," Henry struggled to speak. "I wasn't expecting you here."

"Hey." Elizabeth smiled, her small cherry lips parting with breathless desire. "I know we only just parted, but I missed you."

For some reason, rather than fear, Henry felt free. He felt free that after all these years, they were back to square one.

"You know," Henry began. "I often wondered if it would have been better if we had all died that day on the Brisbane Line. If you and I had perished, how many innocents lives could have been spared?"

Elizabeth said nothing, for there was nothing more that needed to be said.

She leaned forward and kissed Henry full on the mouth, her passionate tongue meeting his own. Her lithe white fingers wrapped around his skull and dug into his papery skin.

Like so many years ago, like that fateful day on the Brisbane Line, Henry's wife allowed herself to let go.

When the master of a summoned familiar perishes, all manifested phenomenon created by the magical being ceases to be. And it was with the fabled Grot - the unassailable bastion of Henry Kilroy, Master of the Tower. A symbol of power and stability, the domain of 'Deathless Henry' that had for three decades taken its residence atop the tallest spire of the Brutalist Tower.

Just a moment prior, there was an ironwood portal, a shimmering gate, the distorted space of a pocket-dimension.

Now, a second later, it was as though the Grot had never existed.

Gwen was a tough woman, one not easily stirred to volatile emotions. She was a modern woman, one who believed in self-efficacy and the power of individual will to overcome all obstacles.

None of that could help her now.

Caught in the excruciating torture of her constrictive prison, Gwen sensed painful tears pour from her eyes. She had thought herself tutored in despair when the slavers had captured her, but she'd been woefully mistaken.

Now, she felt genuine despair. Sloshing and churning, the feeling was sick and sinister and viscous, its malice dragging her into the suck of a dark sea.

There was no Grot.

There was no Henry.

No Yue.

No Elvia.

No Whetu.

No Alesia.

Nothing.

There was only the figure of a dark-haired woman, her blue eyes smiling with mirth, her red— red lips a dash of red paint upon a flawless complexion as pale as virgin snow.

"Elizabeth Sobel!" Walken's trembling voice echoed across the half-empty chamber. His usually narrow eyes bulged at their sockets. How was it even possible for her to be here? Walken felt the surety of his plan falling apart with each new revelation. No Mage can teleport into to the Tower without using an attunement key, much less into the confines of another Mage's pocket dimension. How was it possible that this Void Mage was able to overcome so many restrictions?

The Magister's deliberations painfully re-aligned. The cataclysmic shift of circumstantial evidence unquestionably proved that unlike in his hypothesis, Gwen Song and Elizabeth Sobel were not Master and Apprentice.

Urgent questions begged for knowledge he did not possess.

Why was the Grot dispelled?

Was Henry Kilroy deceased?

How was the Void Mage not shunted away by the collapse of the pocket dimension? A multitude of enigmas plagued his mind, each an agonising seed of self-doubt.

Walken's eyes fell upon Debora, beside which Gwen Song, the junior Void Mage, was held captive by a prison of sand. Jones was one who had come to him, citing that she'd bore witness to Kilroy's confession of harbouring and abetting a Void Mage conspiracy. He'd then worked with Debora in secret, going as far as to promise her an Apprenticeship in exchange for whatever memory he'd extract from her. With so much evidence at hand, he'd been confident that Gwen Song and Henry Kilroy was conspiring against the Tower's interests.

Now, however, observing Debora's change in demeanour, Walken realised he'd seen that nervous look before; it was the look of a dog expecting admonishment from its Master.

Such upset seethed in Walken's chest! He wanted nothing more than to have an hour alone with Debora in an isolation chamber, strapped to a chair while a Compel Truth enchantment stripped her mind. Perhaps, Walken thought regretfully. Mayhap, that should have been the first stop when she had first approached him.

"Eric," a Message spell privately bloomed next to his ear. It was Irene Ferris, his fellow Magister whom he'd thought had made her bed with Kilroy. "Whatever is happening, we have to survive this. Even if Kilroy and de Botton are both gone, we cannot allow the Tower to fall into this woman's hands. At worst, I'd rather see the Tower burn than see it usurped."

Walken's response was interrupted by the sight of Debora, who had been entirely passive the whole while, proceeding to present herself before Elizabeth Sobel.

Debora moved, followed dangerously by the steel-like gaze of the gathered. She knelt upon one knee and supplicated before the Void Mage, bowing her head close to the ground as though she was exalting a deity.

"Eric!" Sensing his hesitation; Ferris' voice took on a tone of desperate urgency. "Henry is gone, we're on the same side now! There's been a conspiracy, and you've been played. Eric, please. Don't go down this path any further, do what is best for you and the Tower, for the Faction!"

Ferris' words struck Walken to the core of his being, momentarily draining the strength from his body. By now, he knew that the Master Diviner was right, his feud with de Botton and Kilroy had blinded his better judgement.

The moment the Grot had disappeared, 'Deathless' Henry had died, sending his familiar back to whatever Black Zone he'd found her in. With the death of his old nemesis, Walken's ploy had perished like the animus of an abandoned Familiar. He had been so sure that Kilroy's ilk was the culprits behind the crisis, but now as it turned out, he was the monkey in the middle the whole damn while.

Eric Walken, one of the Ten, chuckled bitterly.

What a world of shit he'd found himself.

With a silent thrum, one of his Ioun Stones activated.

"Magus Fiore— shut down the Disruptor Engine and cancel the quarantine." Walken paused for a split-second, a moment of self-preservation fighting the necessity of action. "Inform Paladin Shultz that the Master of the Tower is dead, that we need his aid... and that once our enemy is abjured, I am at his mercy."

"Yes, my Lord," The answer came swift and unquestioning.

"Did you contact the Brisbane and Melbourne Towers?" Ferris pursued Walken carefully.

"I did. Both are on the way."

"When?"

"Soon, I hope. While you stalled. I was stalling too."

Ferris looked over at the figure of Elizabeth, so casually and confidently standing there as though they were transparent. Either the woman was insane, or she had nothing to fear. Ferris' premonition informed her that under the circumstances, it was the latter that applied.

All they could do now was wait and hope. Hoping that with Gunther's imminent arrival, the three of them would be enough to hold out until the other Towers teleported in.

Gwen gasped for air.

With each renewed struggle, the sand prison seemed to constrain her in novel ways. Either magically compelled or by Debora's will, every attempt she made at summoning the energies of Lightning or Void resulted in a wracking agony that disrupted her mana channels.

Under her eyes, Debora moved towards Elizabeth Sobel. With each inch the Transmuter closed in, Gwen felt a sliver of fear knotting her gut like a razor was scraping the insides of her abdomen.

Was she now about to experience being consumed herself? Her scalp crawled. Gwen had devoured others before now, or at least Caliban had. Even as second-hand emphatic projections, the prospect haunted her dreams.

From the corner of her eye, Gwen could see that Debora had bent the knee. The proud girl's head lowered itself to perform a shameful petition; it gave the impression of a child begging for forgiveness.

Henry's wife seemed to possess no interest in Debora. Instead, she turned her terrifying attention towards Gwen, triggering a wave of nausea,  draining the blood from her face.

"What a lovely thing you are." Elizabeth's breath possessed a hint of lilac. Gwen felt goosebumps prickle her skin, painfully, her eyes following the path of Elizabeth's survey as they swept over her supple body, tracing the curve of her waist down to her white thighs. Satisfied with her inspection, Elizabeth placed a pale, dainty hand upon Gwen's forehead. To Gwen, it felt as though five icicles were stabbing into her skull.

"So much potential. Such a waste," Elizabeth purred. "What did Henry see in you? A chance to redeem himself?"

Gwen wanted to retort, to riposte her mocking insult. Though the words came easily, she found herself tongue-tied. Her Master was dead. What else is there to say?

"Master," a voice emanated from below them. It was Debora; her head touched the floor. "You promised."

Elizabeth laughed, a thrilling trill that echoed through the chamber like silvery bells.

"Of course, my child. So I have." Her tone was kind and generous. "You have truly outdone yourself this time. What kind of Master would I be, if I could not even grant such a simple boon?"

Gwen groaned; breathing fire was an extravagance when compared to the torturous sensation emitted by Elizabeth's icy fingers.

"Some privacy, perhaps?" Elizabeth intoned.

Debora said nothing, merely silently pressing her temple against the floor.

"Very well then, I expect great things from you when you return."

Seemingly satisfied with Debora's supplication, Elizabeth expertly uttered an incantation.

"Portal."

Gwen felt yet another jolt of shrieking premonition sending slivers of shivery frost up her spine. She watched helplessly as an orb appeared beside her head, rapidly expanding to encompass her body. As the inky darkness touched her skin, she felt enveloped in something viscous and expansive, like dipping one's feet into a vat of oil.

She opened her mouth to shout and yell when the darkness finally reached her face, but in the deep dark of the bible-black Void, who would hear her scream?

Walken and Ferris flinched as Gwen and Debora became enveloped in a lightless orb darker than black. When it rapidly shrunk with an audible "Pop", the duo was gone, leaving behind a smooth concavity in the stonework that looked as though it had been carved out by master stonemasons.

Next, Elizabeth turned her attention towards them, her baby-blue eyes reserved and serene.

"Well, have you seen enough?" Elizabeth's alluring, youthful face betrayed her aura, a nauseating wave of violence and slaughter that ripped from her like rising tidal water. "Are you ready to meet your maker?"

"Back, fiend!" Walken ignored Elizabeth's goading. Instead, he forced his breathing to reach the optimum meditative cadence for mana retention.

The Void bitch had one thing right. Walken was ready.

"Mages, fire at will!"

"Shatter!"

"Water Bolt!"

"Fire Bolt!"

"Scorching ray!"

"Magic Missiles!"

Though the volume of spells that filled the air was impressive, the vast majority of the cover fire was generated by junior Mages with low-tier incantations. A scarce few of the volleys were from the Maguses, who each manifested their most offensive and destructive spells.

"Fireball!"

"Minute meteors!"

"Stone Strike!"

"Flame Arrow!"

"Air Blast!"

Elizabeth didn't even wince.

A dark egg enveloped her; the surface of her Void Shield was absorbing each spell, their effect causing nought but ripples as the magic gluttonously devoured the devastating assault.

Shielded by the pyrotechnical display, Walken produced a miniature mithril model maze with a snap of his wrist. He began to draw the Sigils for an incredibly elaborate containment spell. It took close to ten seconds for the complicated magic to manifest, the effort causing a sheen of sweat to permeate Walken's face.

With a triumphant roar, Walken executed his trump card.

"Maze!"

Both of Walken's hands pressed together upon the mithril-forged miniature, feeling the component crumple to silvery dust as the spell manifested. It was a fail-safe he'd prepared for Kilroy, fully expecting the Magister to resist his accusations until the bitter end. As his magic manifested, an invisible portal enclosed the dark egg, containing it within the space of a Demi-plane used to entrap difficult foes.

Once Elizabeth was imprisoned, Walken could keep her penned for days, until either she found a way to escape the spell, or until he was out of mana. By then, with any luck, their allies would have arrived. No matter how powerful Elizabeth may appear to be, there was no way she could stand up to the might of Gunther, the Tower's Paladin, Lin, the Grey Faction's only Combat Magister, as well as Uther, the Battlemaster of the Warring Faction.

"It's working!" Ferris muttered with evident relief. She had readied an action to cast her most potent spell - it appeared her involvement was no longer necessary.

"No, she's resisting me!" Walken grunted in alarm. "She's draining the spell force somehow! How is this even possible?! Mages! Cease your attacks now!"

Ferris cursed and redoubled her concentration, compelling her spell to once again manifest.

'Crack!'

A fracture fissured the invisible air, tearing time and space. As the Maze spell collapsed, a flood of Void mana poured from the dark egg. A viscous ooze began to drip from its surface, pitter-pattering onto the floor to form into hundreds of writhing lampreys in obsidian.

"Shit! That's what it was doing!" Walken realised too late. "A Spell Eater!"

Within a second of their aberrant birth, the creatures seemed to sense the group of Mages firing upon them and began to leap, crawl, slither and jump towards them like a dark, ominous tide.

"Fuck!"

"Shit, what the hell are those things?"

"Oh, Gods!"

"Aeee!"

"Kill it!"

"Flaming Hand!"

"Blizzard!"

Panic overruled the Tower Mages' better judgement. The majority of them were acolytes untested by the horror of mortal combat. The Maguses and the Veterans instinctively instructed the junior to retreat as the dark tide approached.

Ferris' eyes swelled with disgust and horror. She'd been holding a Power Word Pain, but with Elizabeth sheltered within her Egg, there was nought she could do in the circumstance.

"Wall of Magma!"

It was Julia, her protege from Rosebay, who had acted first, shielding her companions and Magister Ferris with a wave of her hand. The glowering walls of fire and molten stone sliced the torrent of darkly crawling worms in half, broiling them as they blindly sought passage.

"Good work Julia!"

"Magister! We need to retreat!"

"Walken! What's the plan?"

Walken measured their dire circumstance with a withering look.

"Retreat and regroup! Detach the platform! Don't let those things touch you!"

The Mages erected barriers and shields as they retreated. Even so, some of them had been too slow for the tidal swarm that now covered the floor and ceilings, a milling mass of wiggling darkness that contrasted sickeningly against the sterile white walls.

A zealous Abjurer who'd been shielding his Evoker companion became smothered by a ball of the dark worms that fell from the ceiling. His face of disgust quickly transformed into one of unmitigated horror. Like a gutted pig, the man screamed and screamed while the worms dug into his flesh, slithering wetly under his skin.

"AARRRRrgheeeee!"

The emanated cry was inhuman. Within a few horrid seconds, the Abjurer collapsed upon the floor, the dark worms bursting from the sockets of his eyes and birthing anew from his desiccated, wilting flesh.

Another Mage, a Transmuter who had found himself engulfed, howled with horror as the worms entered him.

"No! Master! Save me!"

Walken fired off a volatile blast of air, the acolyte's head exploded like a crushed melon.

"To the Platform!" He commanded the survivors, "Jump! Feather Fall if you have to!"

He cursed the excessive security of the Mage Tower. For the protection of its inhabitants, the Tower had been made so that intra-teleportation within it was impossible. Instead, translocation was accomplished through Teleportation Circles that formed an intra-net within the Tower's infrastructure. Likewise, though Levitation and Feather Fall was unrestricted, Flight and other means of aerial locomotion were severely limited within the Tower's airspace, both internally and externally.

Where they were, Henry's Grot rested atop a tubular that extended until it reached the zenith of the Tower's highest battlement. It was accessed by a slow-moving levitation platform that ensured there would be 'no surprises' awaiting the Magister in the event of an invasion. Usually, the Magister teleported into and from the Tower by using a Circle located at the platform's base station. Now, they were sitting ducks.

Slowly, the disk descended.

Even so, the lamprey worms fell from the platform in the hundreds, they did not fade or dissipate. From the greasy motes of Conjuration mana that emitted from these creatures, Walken woefully acknowledged these must be Elizabeth's "Familiar".

Though exceedingly rare, it's not unheard of for Mages to acquire hive-mind familiars. It was a matter of affinity, as the concentration and mana required for such a summon were impossible for all but the most talented of Conjurers.

What frightened Walken was that the Void woman could form a near-invulnerable Abjuration shield while co-currently manifesting hundred and thousands of the lamprey worms. Just how the hell were they supposed to defeat an enemy like that?

Abjuration, Evocation, and Conjuration, Walken prayed that these schools were all Elizabeth had mastered, for they were already outclassed and outmatched. Had the manuscripts not expressly stated that Void Casters were glass cannons, heavily limited by the drain upon their vitality? Why was this Elizabeth unperturbed by the effects of Negative Energy drain?

"Sir! The platform is overloading!"

The levitating disk was not designed to hold three dozen Mages at once. Its magic groaned and spluttered as the terrified casters piled onto the metal platform, forcing it to list dangerously.

"Sir! Look out!" an acolyte cried out.

Walken's Ring of Evasion activated, aiding his movement as he dived from the edge of the platform onto the disk, narrowly avoiding a clump of the worms that had sought to satisfy their insatiable hunger.

"Couatl!"

A flash of brilliant silvery mana manifested a Winged Serpent fully three meters tall, almost filling the chamber from the ceiling to the descending levitating platform. Its wings were a splay of changing hues, multi-coloured and resplendent. Its draconic head opened its maw to reveal a row of razor-sharp teeth laid end to end like a line of glinting daggers.

"Lightning Breath!"

The celestial pseudo-Dragon distended its jaw and let loose a line of electricity that expanded as it travelled through the mass of darkness, clearing a blighted path that penetrated the swarm until it struck Elizabeth's dark egg.

To his surprise, rather than the expectant, all-consuming ripple, the line of electricity struck the Void shield as though it were a solid object, fracturing its fragile shell as the explosive energy ravaged its surface.

"Lightning! It's vulnerable to Lightning!" Walken shouted jubilantly to the others. They needed a Lightning Mage! His thoughts exalted until it rested upon Gwen Song, following which Walken cursed vehemently under his breath. Was that why the Void woman had stolen Gwen Song away? Another stray thought struck Walken's fancy. Had Henry Kilroy been cultivating Gwen Song not for her Void abilities, but for her Lightning? Had the old man foreseen this day and knew the importance of having Elemental Lightning at their disposal?

Walken's epiphanic thoughts were interrupted by a wave of malice emanating from within the now shattered egg, a sliver of darkness, too quick for his eyes to follow, shot from the shadows.

Before Walken could even react, his chest exploded. Empathic pain from his familiar engulfed him. Walken forced himself to concentrate; his eyes caught the horrific sight of his Couatl; pinned to the white walls by a dark blade a full three meters in length. Presently, the vorpal sword had penetrated the armour of the pseudo-dragon easily, cutting a dark gash from its navel to the chest. Dark, draconic blood painted the surrounding stones, showering the Mages below in a crimson rain.

"Aella!" Walken urged his familiar to dematerialise. Unexpectedly, he felt rapid fatigue coming on, preventing his command from reaching his summoned companion. A sudden sense of vertigo and exhaustion indicated that he had been negatively drained. Desperately, Walken redoubled his efforts to retract his contracted beast into the safety of its pocket dimension.

The Couatl finally relented after an excruciating eternity, dissipating into loose motes of quicksilver conjuration mana.

"We don't have any acolytes with Lightning," Ferris announced miserably after a quick headcount. "Gwen Song was the only one. Prince's and Riverview has a few, but I doubt they'd loan us their kids for a suicide mission. Chances are they've already evacuated inland."

Walken felt at his wit's end.

"Master!" A chorus of voices called out in alarm.

Walken and Ferris looked up from their platform to see a tide of darkness descending upon them. The worm-swarm and reached critical mass and was now a roving, unstoppable expanse that cascaded toward them like an oil spill. Behind the swarm, whipping the barb-tongued lampreys forward into a feeding frenzy, was Elizabeth, her white skin smothered with bloated, leech-like creatures that pulsed with unholy vitality. She had an expression that implied she was curious as to what they would do; like a cat watching mice at play.

Walken's face turned pale. His voice, however, took on a sterner tenor.

"I am going to stall them with Reverse Gravity," he announced fatalistically. "Disable the platform and free fall to the bottom, find Gunther and inform the others. Tell them. Tell them I was wrong."

"Eric…"

"Hey, I don't plan on dying here." Walken flashed a contingency ring on his finger. "You don't think she can kill me within a split second, do you?"

WHOOMP— TSSSSSS!

Before Ferris could respond, a blast of light so bright as to burn a white shadow within their disbelieving retinas penetrated the walls of the levitation passage. With a deafening screech, the lamprey creatures burned and sizzled until they withered to motes of void dust, becoming harmless specks that quickly faded into nothingness.

From a still smouldering passage came a radiant figure whose aura filled all present space.

Gunther Shultz's robe was ripped and torn, his face caked with mud and blood, but none of that seemed to detract from his Demi-god presence.

"Eric Walken, this is not the place for you to die," the Paladin announced grimly, his resonate voice like the voice of Metatron. "You must survive; for after the Master's murderer lays dead and buried, you will face me."

Ferris' was so glad to see the Paladin that she seemed ready to burst into a cry of jubilation. A roar of ragged cheers broke from the surviving Mages, hollering Gunther's name as the tide of darkness receded to the top of the platform and dared not venture closer. From below, they could see the shadowy, silhouetted form of Elizabeth regarding them coldly from her vantage point, the whiteness of her pale skin juxtaposed against the sea of writhing shadow that smothered every surface.

Walken himself was beset by every emotion.

"As you wish, Paladin," he declared with a bitter smile upon his lips. "So long as the Tower is safe, I am yours to do as you see fit."

Gwen welcomed the cold, hard, rocky gravel.

She had landed awkwardly, uncertain of her footings until she was already falling.

Her journey through the muted vacuum of the Void had taught her to treasure each mote of light. It was as Joni Mitchell had sung, that one didn't know what one had until it was gone. She was beginning to understand why Caliban desperately desired to be manifested in the material realm. The Void was a place of nothing, no sound, no light, no presence; it was like existing within a vacuum. For having spent even a micron of a split second within that dreadful place, Gwen felt diminished, lessened, curtailed in proportion.

When she tried to stand, the sand prison that had bound her contracted, once again sending her into a convulsive fit. The pain brought back the urgency of her most recent memories.

Her Master! Her mentor! Her saviour! The wizened old Magister simply wanted to repent, to find the goodness that his wife had taken from him so long ago, he had told Gwen that she was his redemption! She was going to be his Apprentice, inherit his legacy!

And Alesia.

And Yue.

And Elvia.

Even Whetu.

Gwen couldn't believe that they were just… gone.

With a vicious sense of self-abandonment, she pulled at her constraints, feeling the sand digging into her skin, cutting into her sinews, abrasively biting into her pale flesh as she thrashed. The agony that had so paralysed her before was no obstacle to her desire to lash out, to escape her bondage so that she could visit terrible vengeance against Debora.

"Gwen, you'll hurt yourself." A worried voice intoned huskily beside her.

Her dishevelled face, half-covered by her chaotic, blood-matted hair, looked up to see the very object of her fury standing no more than a few meters away!

"I'll fucking kill you!" Gwen cried out, her speech hoarse with rage. Her comely face was a mask of distorted fury, her eyes two glowing orbs of swirling darkness. Motes of Void matter coursed through her body, feeding off her emotions.

"Caliban!"

The netherworld serpent slinked into existence beside Gwen, its serpentine body growing thick and muscular as it gluttonously fed off Gwen's life-force.

"Fuck her up!" Gwen commanded, forcing herself through the pain of the sand prison's constraint. "Tear her apart!"

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban rapidly expanded in size. It coiled its body and launched itself towards Debora, its lamprey's mouth overflowing with grey, globular saliva.

"Banish!"

With a singular incantation from Debora, Caliban dematerialised, becoming dormant in his pocket dimension. Gwen reeled, barely capable of breathing.

"Don't summon Caliban again," Debora advised Gwen with a face full of concern, a look that enraged her further. "You're already hurt."

With a violent tug, Gwen was launched backwards, falling onto her buttocks as the sand reshaped itself to restrain her. With Caliban having taken its pound of flesh from her already weakened vitality, she felt no longer capable of wrestling the pull of the shifting sand. In a moment, her face now faced upwards, staring into the liquid, amber eyes of Debora, gazing down upon her with the same expression she had that night in the desert; when Gwen had gifted her with the very spirit that she now used to keep her prisoner.

"Debora," Gwen forced the words from her throat, half choked with fury, half-blinded with teeth-grating rage. "Why?"

It wasn't a question asked out of despair or spite. It was a genuine enquiry as to why someone Gwen had thought a friend and an ally, a confidant with whom she'd spent almost year of her life, would turn upon her so viciously and without reason.

Was it because she had refused Debora's advances? That was absurd. Gwen couldn't even consider that possibility. If so, then why had Debora betrayed them? Was it as Walken had said, that Debora wanted to win his favour, to become his Apprentice? That made no sense either because she saw Debora kneeling before Elizabeth as a willing sycophant. Was Debora perhaps glamoured? Was she still dominated from that time in the forest, during the Field Trip? That was another baseless conjecture, no spell lasted that long, and even if it had, how could it have escaped Henry, Alesia, Gunther, and the myriads of detection spells active within the Tower's confines?

Debora no longer had that expression of servitude which she'd retained when standing before Elizabeth. Her face was now alive with emotion, so mixed as to be unreadable, changing with each passing second, alternating between tribulation and triumph.

"Why?" Debora said in that husky voice of hers. "It's because I need you, Gwen."

The absurd answer compelled Gwen to pull at her restraints haplessly. The collar around her neck, however, had been loosened enough so that she could speak. Turning her neck, Gwen seized the opportunity to take in her surroundings.

A distant building loomed with intimate familiarity. A Cathedral that was now battered and dilapidated, its precious stained glass shattered by the stress of combat. Had the rest of the Rosebay girls escaped to safety? Were they still holed up in the catacombs? Given better circumstances, Gwen's Samaritan mind would have lingered upon those poor girls whose uncertain futures haunted her. Nonetheless, her immediate crisis loomed in the shape of a psychotic Debora Jones.

"Don't be absurd, Debora," Gwen spoke with an edge of frost. Now that she was taken far away from the Tower, from the pressure of those all-powerful presences vying for dominance, she could once again hear herself think. All she needed was an opportunity, and she could turn the situation around. "If you love me so much, then why did you betray me?"

"It was the only way to save you," Debora replied.

Gwen swallowed. The two girls exchanged a measured look, Debora's eyes were patient, while Gwen's alternated between disbelief, vexation, and exasperation.

"No. I want the truth, Debora. If you're going to kill me, at least tell me the truth."

"I don't want to kill you, Gwen. I want you alive and well."

"What does that even mean!?" Gwen uttered in frustration. "Who are you, Debora Jones? What are you even after?"

"I just wanted you, Gwen. Nothing else."

"Shut up!" Gwen was howling now, Debora's tomfoolery was boiling her already risen blood. Her head felt swollen and nauseated, her cheeks flushed salmon-pink. "Don't try to play coy with me! Do you seriously expect me to believe that you did all of this because of jealousy? Because of some green-eyed monster?!"

Debora would not understand the reference, but Gwen didn't care.

"Tell me the truth! If you're going to do your worst, at least give me the mercy of knowledge. I want to know why I died."

"The truth?"

"The truth," Gwen huffed breathlessly.

"Alright,' Debora replied. "The truth."

Debora's flesh began to change and shift, her mien becoming indistinct, as like the shift of uncertain colour caught between hues. A distinct swirl of Void mana flowed over her skin like dark ink.

Gwen watched with abject horror, her once livid face now blank and agog. Debora ceased to be, replaced instead by a 'face' that was androgynous, white and hideous, whose pale, sunken cheeks were the likeness of weatherworn quattrocento statues.

He, she, or it - had a long, asymmetrical face that was small and sharply structured, with high cheekbones and large oval eyes that gave her an impression of an ethereal, otherworldly presence. The nose especially was short, squat and half-formed. Where Debora had a figure that was athletic and full-figured, this creature was anorexic and hollow-cheeked. Debora's enchanted earthen robes resized slowly, tightening until it encompassed her new form.

"What are you?"

"My mother calls me the Faceless one," Faceless replied without a particular inflexion to her tone. There was no gender that Gwen could discern, not that the circumstances could have compelled her to ask such a trivial question. For the moment, that Faceless had been Debora, and thus was a girl, should suffice.

"Your mother?" Gwen inquired, though she had an inkling as to whom the creature's progenitor may be.

"Yes, the woman you call Elizabeth."

"That means…"

"Indeed." Faceless smiled weakly, revealing broken, twisted teeth that were filthy and yellowing. "My mother had just taken my father's life."

"That's… impossible," Gwen mouthed, her mind in such shock that she had even ceased struggling. "Henry said Elizabeth had a miscarriage."

"So she did," Faceless affirmed. Her grey pupils were two disks of milky cataracts. "When you traffic in the element of consumption, your body no longer becomes capable of bearing life."

Gwen felt her breath catch in her throat. The implications of what Faceless had just told her struck her like a bolt from the blue. It wasn't something she'd considered before, even in her previous life, but the opportunity had always been something she'd taken for granted.

"Then how are you…"

"I'd be happy to tell it." Faceless replied, "but first, I want to make you an offer."

Gwen gazed upon Faceless' malformed mien, though her mind was a chaotic mess, a sliver of clarity escaped the crisis. Now that the moment of fevered rage had passed, she felt the coolness collection of rationality again suffuse her thoughts. She may be trapped and helpless, but it was clear that Faceless wanted something from her that required her cooperation.

Her mind raced. When the present gave no alternatives, then the only option was to stall; for opportunities only died when one ceases to hope.

"Fine." Gwen spat vehemently. "I'll hear you out, but first— answer my questions."

Faceless nodded with a mannerism Gwen was used to seeing in Debora's face. In contrast to her now alien appearance, the effect was extremely unsettling.

"Where's Debora? The real Debora, I mean."

Faceless pointed to her chest.

"If you mean her body, her morphic form, she's in here," she paused and looked Gwen in the eyes delicately. "If you mean the girl you had known. She is gone."

Gwen had anticipated as much. But even so, the confirmation caused a distressing contraction in her chest; made worse by the fact that she couldn't move her limbs or stretch her torso.

"When?"

"When do you suppose?" Faceless returned Gwen's inquiry with a question of her own.

Gwen searched through her memories of Debora.

"During the training?"

"Earlier."

"Before our time in the desert?" Gwen intoned bitterly. Those were happy memories. It was in the desert that Debora tried to kiss her. The very reminiscence that it could have been Faceless the whole while shook Gwen to her very core.

"Yes, before that."

Gwen instantly felt ill. She suppressed the acid reflux in her oesophagus, then took a moment to temper her riotous emotions.

So, it wasn't Debora who'd kissed her.

It wasn't Debora who'd invited her to bed.

It was this thing— this creature all along.

All memories of Debora exorcised from her mind, all the times they ate together, laughed and joked, jogged around the school. All those memories, now mutilated by Faceless' confession. Where she'd thought kindly of Debora's cheerful face, Gwen now felt repulsive revulsion and repugnance with every recollection.

Stun by the memories, she dug through the events of the yesteryear and found the precise, disastrous moment. In hindsight, it was so glaringly obvious; the incident stood out like a red, weeping sore.

"During the Field Trip, when you returned to us, in the bunker. You apologised, and I was surprised that you had a sudden change of heart."

Faceless smiled.

"Bingo."

Gwen had to take another breather to process Faceless' confession. Lowering her head, she watched her chest rise and fall, rise and fall, breathing in and out.

"What were you doing there? Were you already Debora when Edgar found us?"

"I was."

"You were pretending to be Dominated? He'd cast a spell on you."

"Edgar didn't know, but yes, I was pretending. I've seen it done many times before. It wasn't difficult to act the part."

"But he injured Debora! He drained her life!"

"He certainly didn't hold back. If he'd gone too far, I was going to tell him, but then that would have ruined my plans."

"Your plans?"

"Yes, one that far exceeds Edgar's mad dog antics," Faceless' expression was difficult to read. "Though I was Edgar's partner, my ultimate role, was to infiltrate Henry's inner circle, to uncover my father's habits, his schedules, his likes and dislikes, his moments of strength and weakness."

Faceless's face began to change again, becoming a middle-aged man with a greying beard. Her voice became deeper until it transformed into the baritone of a man.

"I was Alesia's Tower liaison first; I'd assumed control of this body and was using Alesia to try and penetrate Henry's faction. I'd leak her information from the other Factions, the deals that the Grey Faction was making, the experiments carried out by the Militant Faction."

"There was a problem, though. Alesia herself never thought of myself as a member she could trust or value, and thus the doors to the inner circle had always been closed to me. I suppose that even though she was so simple-minded, she instinctively knew not to trust a turncoat, especially one that professed their undying loyalty."

"Why Debbie?" Gwen demanded bitterly. "She had nothing to do with Master. She had nothing to do with any of this."

"It was a whim at first," Faceless replied with a tone that smacked of nostalgia. "I found her in the woods, wandering and clueless. She was an uncommonly comely girl, and I liked to collect spare forms. As a polymorphic shapeshifter, one never knew when a form would become useful."

"That's it?" Gwen's voice cracked a little. "She died on a whim?"

Faceless was relentless. "Yes. People have died for lesser reasons. What makes Debora special?"

"Then what? You came sauntering back into camp?"

"I did. You may be pleased to know that in Debora's final moments, her thoughts were of her family, and you."

"Me?"

"Yes, the old Debora possessed powerful feelings for you, even if they were ambivalent. Feelings that I inherited when I took her body."

"How does that even work?" Gwen questioned angrily. "That's not how Polymorph functions!"

"Yet for you and I, that's exactly how it works." Faceless raised a hand to pull at his or her face. A film of darkened void energy began to emerge, dissolving the face's physical form until he became a dark and indistinct silhouette. The dark mound of flesh that was Faceless' mien changed shape as the density of her body became fuller, taller, more toned and shapely— becoming one again, Debora.

Debora with her bright, amber eyes full of life.

Debora with her bronze, youthful limbs, sweaty after an uphill sprint. Debora, with her vivacious passion, with every emotion written on her face.

"Let's talk like this," Faceless continued in Debora's voice. "I am not… fond of my original body, I am uncomfortable, in my skin."

The fiend recounted their earlier topic and continued.

"My Polymorphy is a condition of the body, unique to my Void Magic. If you are willing, I'd be happy to teach it to you. Imagine it, Gwen, you could be anyone you want to be."

"So you're a body thief," Gwen accused the pseudo-Debora.

"Something like that. If you must know, I was far more interested initially in your body."

Gwen felt her skin crawl.

"Why the surprise? Think of it, Gwen, you were the perfect candidate. A dark horse with no background, no allies, no Faction and no House, a tabula rasa! You were perfect as an instrument for infiltration. You had prodigious talent, you had caught the eye of Alesia de Botton, and you had virtually no friends apart from that Healer and the Fire Mage."

Gwen chose not to meet Faceless' eyes as her cadence became more pronounced and excited.

"If I could have gotten some time alone with you in the confusion of Edgar's ploy, then…"

"That's enough…" Gwen muttered. "Why did you stop?"

"As I said, I had inherited many of Debora's strongest memories and emotions. The girl was obsessed, and through Debbie, I found something that I had not felt myself, not in all the years that I'd taken the faces of others. I found myself deeply interested, Gwen Song. Your vivacity, your lust for life, your intelligence and your whimsical speeches. Most of all, when I saw what you did to Edgar in that cave, I realised something."

"What was that?"

"We were meant to be."

"You disgust me."

Faceless chuckled.

"Ha! How many Void casters do you think exist in this world? Mother was one; I, another. I had never seen others. Could you try to understand, even for a second, what it's like to know that you're different, a loner, a singular existence, forever alone - then suddenly, you find someone who is just like you?"

"We're not the same!" Gwen snapped.

"Oh, but we are." Faceless grinned sickly. "Did you not enjoy Caliban's powers? His meals giving you the ability to be Abjurer, Diviner, Evoker and Conjurer? Did you not feel that unmitigated hunger that could find no nourishment in nature? Do we not share a world where our secrets could never see the light, shareable only with one another."

"That's not true!" Gwen spat. "I never asked for this!"

The retort seemed to anger Faceless. The fiend's face grew distorted and loathful.

"You think I asked for this?!" Faceless howled at Gwen. Her face was a mask of pain and fury. "You think I wanted to be born like this!?"

Her form shifted again, this time reconstructing her entire body into the darkness of the Void, consuming the elemental garb Debora had been wearing. When her body once again materialised, she was stark naked. Gwen saw a figure mangled with scar tissues, its flesh pallid and grey.

Faceless' anorexic, malformed body compelled Gwen to shudder, for one limb was longer than the other, its stem gangly and bat-like. When her gaze fell upon Faceless' chest, there was a slight swelling that indicated aborted puberty; when her eyes fell lower, she saw nought but an indistinct mess of ambiguous flesh.

"Life does not take when surrounded by so much death— when prolonged to the Void." Faceless ran a finger down her chest, down to her belly button, where a small length of knotted flesh had welted over. "My mother certainly didn't think I'd survive, though thanks to her boundless curiosity for testing the limitations of her consumption ability, I'd acquired life through the unwilling sacrifices of others."

"Gwen," Faceless asked mercilessly. "Do you think I asked for this?"

Gwen's first instinct was to apologise and say that she was sorry, but the impulse caught in her throat. Faceless was the murderer of her friends and her Master! Gwen couldn't summon the empathy to feel an ounce of sorrow for the aberrant being.

Faceless resumed Debora's form, though now she was stark naked. The sight was such mockery, for it reminded Gwen of that precarious night in Surya's country estate.

"Now, are you ready to hear my offer?"

Gwen subtly strained against her bindings. They were still well secured, but as Faceless grew emotional with each new diatribe, she could feel them loosening and tightening. Should she listen? Gwen wondered. She didn't have a choice, did she?

"Tell me, how did you turn Walken? Why does he think that you're on his side?"

Faceless crossed Debora's arms across her chest.

"When you and I returned to school, I sought opportunities to get closer to you. Why do you think we kept meeting one another on our morning jogs? I knew that you would have taken that route."

Faceless' cadence resumed its hypnotic drone once she became absorbed in the telling of their history. She could see from Debora's face that the shapeshifter had truly enjoyed, even cherished, those memories. She spoke of her experiences as Debora as truly her own, not the stolen moments of a body snatcher.

"At any rate, I needed to get closer to you somehow. If I couldn't kill you, then I must somehow get closer to you using the identity of this girl. The original Debora was such a hapless, untalented Transmuter, a waste of her affinity. She was a brute,  lacking the finesse required for high-tier Transmutation."

"At any rate, I supplemented her Transmutation abilities and managed to get Barlett to secure work experience under a particularly 'renowned' but seedy Transmuter."

"My grandfather," Gwen replied. If there was a single silver lining to the Mermen invasion, it was that the inland areas were entirely unaffected. Whatever happened to the coast, Surya and his apprentices would be safe to evacuate at their leisure.

"Indeed, I became a good student under Master Surya, though I must say, your grandfather was awful handsy."

Gwen did not find the humour in Faceless' jocular jab of her Opa.

"When we received news of the whole Mark Chandler ordeal, I volunteered, citing falsely to your grandfather what close chums we'd been at school. The old man was beyond pleased with our relationship, didn't even give a second thought to bringing me to comfort you."

"Then, to my surprise, and mortification - I met my target. I was finally in the same room as Henry Kilroy— my damned father."

Gwen recalled the day and felt such regret pressing down upon her conscience.

"To meet my father for the first time… I couldn't take my eyes off him. I stared at him, you know, dreaming of what could have been. He was so kind to you, Gwen, so full of love and support, all the things that I'd never received from Mother."

"So that's why I propose that we share another bond, Gwen. It is too late for me, but through you, I could vicariously live the life I always wanted. A life of being pampered and guided by a father who'd expected great things from me."

"You're sick," Gwen retorted, but her riposte was without venom. The recollection of Henry's kindness struck her with sorrows that cut to the bone.

"After we left Chandlers, I sent a Message with a lumen recording to Walken. Then after that, we had spent our wonderful summer together. When we kissed…"

"Shut up!" Gwen interjected. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

Faceless waited until Gwen could recollect herself.

"Mother had been feeding him information for some time now, snippets of information here and there, that would turn him against Henry. Even the exchange he had suffered from Alesia de Botton a few years ago was our doing."

"When I returned to the Tower next, I sought out Walken in person. In exchange for his promise to elevate my position, to sponsor me for a scholarship at the Arcanum of Sydney, he placed me in a Truth chamber, where he 'verified' certain parts of my memory. He was an Enchanter, you know, but his methods lacked finesse. When the man was satisfied, he sent me away, tasked with gathering more evidence, and that was when you'd invited us to go on your Outback adventure."

"To digress a little, you know what was funny?" Faceless asked.

"What?" Gwen tested the restraints again.

"Of all the times, it was when you were doing that sweat-drenched nude dance with those filth Indigenous folks that I was truly in danger. Since I was Edgar's partner during that incident, that damned snake knew who I was the instant it manifested in you. Remember that bolt of power you shot at the tent? I knew it was coming. I had to set up a decoy and blink into the river! Thank God the serpent was a primordial simpleton, else it could have told you the truth."

Almudj!

Gwen's mind blazed with renewed hope. The Rainbow Serpent! If what Faceless said was true, then surely Almudj would come to her rescue. If she could tap into the scale—

Gwen felt a sudden, sinking feeling. Where was the scale?

She had placed it on Henry to help him heal. With the Grot evaporated into thin air, so had her scale. Once more, cold despair wash over Gwen's shivering body.

"As for the rest, it was easy. I kept feeding Walken bits and piece of maligned information taken from my memory - either work I had done with Edgar or work I'd performed for mother. Together with Henry's steadfast support, Walken had been fully convinced that you were a family of Void Mages treating the Tower like your demesne, its people like cattle."

"The rest, you should be able to figure out yourself. Walken had messaged me, telling me to take you into custody. I'd done so, but it wasn't for his benefit."

"How did Elizabeth get into the Grot?"

"I shared Ferris' Glyph with Mother," Faceless shrugged, suggesting that much should be obvious. "I learned the key when Ferris gave it to Paul. It was a complex Glyph— but hardly an octogramic mandala. As for the Grot, so long as Sufina is dormant, it isn't capable of rejecting intruders, at least not ones who are friendly to the Grot's 'inhabitants'."

"So that's the long and short of it," Gwen said finally.

"Indeed."

Though they had conversed for some time, no one had appeared to accost them; no wandering soul had been shocked to find a stark-naked girl standing over another, bound wrist and ankle tied by a prison of sand. Gwen was hoping that at the very least, there would be Mermen present to distract Faceless.

"Are you ready to listen to my offer?" Faceless asked, her voice now edged with impatience. "There's only so much time before mother finishes the Mages up there."

"Go on."

"I want us to be partners."

"Impossible!" The very thought was aberrant.

"Shut up, listen, and don't interrupt me." Faceless tightened the sand around Gwen, cutting off her protest. "Gwen, you have a talent that few can boast of possessing. You may not truly know it, but only Void can truly defend against Void. With your abilities, you could one day stand up to even Mother, assuming you're given the time to grow."

"Furthermore, you even have the impossible boon of possessing Lightning, the very element that opposes, and indeed dispels, spells of the Void."

"This means that if you were to survive this ordeal, you could one day become someone who even mother will fear. In a duel of power, she wouldn't be able to penetrate your Abjuration Shields, but you can fracture her defences with Lightning. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

Gwen nodded despite herself. Once again, her position and circumstance had become uncertain.

"For that, I am willing to spare your life. I am offering myself to become your protector, your shield against mother's wrath until you can take her down, freeing the both of us."

Faceless' offer made sense, but Gwen felt all the unwillingness in the world assail her.

"I…" The words caught in her throat. She wanted to tell Faceless to go and fuck herself, that as Yue had promised, she was going to make Faceless feel pain and suffering in a way that the aberrant being couldn't even begin to imagine.

Yet, Gwen was no saint. She wanted to live. How much had Gwen endured since coming to this world? How could she just let it end here?

What if she said yes?

The very notion was sickening to her.

The faces of her friends and family flashed before her eyes.

Yue— whose animated china-doll face was forever mirthful and burning with passion.

Elvia— whose very presence was an angel that was a balm for her soul.

Alesia— whose fiery temper and desire for justice burned as hot as her scarlet flame.

Henry— whose kind eyes and old hands guided her every step in this alien world.

No.

She couldn't possibly agree.

Sometimes, death was preferable to cowardice.

Sometimes, the line had to be drawn, this far, and no further.

"I refuse—"

Just as Gwen sought to deliver her ultimatum, a ripple of nauseating energy expanded like a concentric ring from above. An explosion sundered the heavens, interrupting their moment of truth. The Tower, which had been invisible some half an hour ago, became suddenly visible, hanging languishingly above in the blue yonder. A bellowing dust cloud erupted from its tallest Tower, sending down cascading pieces of stone the size of skyscrapers.

Something began to materialise atop the fallen spire.

A dark sun.

A black hole was sucking in all light, with thick tendrils of void-matter that lashed out as though they were alive.

Faceless turned to Gwen, her face no longer patient and willing.

"Make the decision now," she snarled at her. "What'll it be, Gwen Song?"

Gwen met her enemy vis-a-vis, her ochre-hazel eyes glowing with concentric rings of electric blue.

"Fuck your offer," she spat. "Do your worst."

To Gwen's surprise, Debora's face lost all emotion.

"Fine, have it your way."

Debora's likeness melted away as Faceless once again turned black and ambiguous, taking on the property of the indistinct Void. The creature lowered its face toward Gwen's, as if ready to deliver a full-mouthed kiss. It's sour breath washed over Gwen's face as its maw opened to reveal yellowing teeth.

"Maybe it's better this way," Faceless intoned emotionlessly. "We'll be together, whether you like it or not."

Gwen had yet to be on the receiving end of a Void consumption.

She had tried to imagine herself in the place of its victims after Caliban had its day. As horrid as the creature's methods were, the process was at least expeditious. A quick look into the abyss of its maw and its victims were out of sight, out of mind.

She had thought the same for her present fate, imagining that Faceless's polymorphic spell would swallow her with a slurp. There would be a quick moment of limbo, much like an ethereal jaunt through the Void, then nothing.

Unfortunately, Faceless' magic was the slow and meticulous kind.

Looming over her bound body; the unintelligible, dark silhouette began by tearing away a section of her blouse, exposing her white, porcelain abdomen. The blood drained from Gwen's face, making stark her already pale complexion.

A dark and viscous liquid began to weep from Faceless' gnarly hands, reducing them to stumps. It dripped onto Gwen's stomach with the likeness and texture of soft wax.

Gwen watched with trembling horror as obsidian ooze kissed her abdomen. She recoiled; her jaw clenching with such revulsion that it jarred her teeth.

When she caught her breath, Gwen attained the petrifying epiphany that this was how Faceless had planned to assimilate her. There wasn't pain. Instead, what she felt was akin to a strange form of anaesthesia.

"Arrgh… Aah…" Gwen moaned despite herself. The alien agitation of losing her perception of touch was far more terrifying than the nerve pinching pain she had anticipated.

Against her most ardent wishes, she began to whimper.

Gwen had not wanted to give Faceless the pleasure, but how could she in the circumstance? It wasn't as though she was an agent trained to resist torture and interrogation. It was only when the adrenaline of the moment began to wane; that Gwen recalled she had been merely an NoM in her old world and a mere student in this world, an untested girl living under the protective shadow of her betters.

When Faceless ignored her pleading, she began to thrash incoherently, attempting to throw off the oily substance attaching itself to her abdomen, to grab a fistful of the gravel and rub it into the numbing wound that was even now expanding.

"Hold still," Faceless commanded. "I don't want to damage my new body any more than I have to."

Within moments, Faceless' morphic liquid had reached her diaphragm.

Gwen felt her heaving chest deflate, the musculature unwilling relaxing as parts of its nervous structure lost their connection to her body.

No longer capable of speech, Gwen's mind made the worst of its circumstance.

What would happen when the oily film reached her breast, penetrated her heart? Would she quietly fall into cardiac arrest? Could she be thankfully deceased before Faceless moved onto her brain, devoured her face?

Gwen thought of the others she had inadvertently consumed.

One woman had screamed and screamed until Caliban dug through her chest and mercifully put an end to her suffering. Another man watched, laughing maniacally as the netherworld worm began with his feet.

Now here she was, enduring the same fate.

Was it karma?

What was it as Doyle had written for Holmes? That violence recoils upon the violent— and the schemer falls into the pit to which he digs for others?

Gwen's still functional fingers clawed the ground, searching for something, anything, her nails splintered as they raked the loose gravel, leaving bloody trails across the sand-tossed gravel.

There must be something she could do! She couldn't give up now!

She had to resist and fight!

She would antagonise Faceless until the dark slick consumed the last mote of light in her eyes.

She willed herself to open her Gate of Elemental Lightning, to form a Sigil, any Sigil, so that she could flood her body with the antithetical force, to flush the Void-matter invading her physical form. She willed her Void energy to manifest, to take its liberty with her life-force. She was willing to pay any cost if it meant freeing herself from the confines of the silica manacles cutting her wrists bloody and raw.

But no silvery mana of Conjuration emanated from her body; no crackle of Transmutation; no thunderous applause of Evocation.

Though the mind was willing, her flesh was arrested and broken.

The oily film had now moved its way between her breasts, edging its way towards her neck. Already the vaguely humanoid form of Faceless was diminished, smaller; its volume and mass spent to consume Gwen's flesh and bones.

Gwen's Blackwattle blouse fell away, her inner shirt and undergarments consumed by the void matter; she became exposed, her white flesh quivering against the briny air blowing from the open bay. All that remained upon her chest was the nondescript figure of a jade Kirin, tied around her neck with an ordinary red string.

The viscous black liquid hesitated as it met the jadeite, a natural material which was said to repel evil spirits. Now exposed to the light of day, the Kirin's emerald surface became a translucent green, highlighting a composite membrane the likeness of a Haworthia's windowed flesh.

Feeling Faceless' hesitation, Gwen violently pushed herself upward, kicking out her legs, flagellating the skin from her wrists and ankles. A sharp, throbbing pain emanated from her lower limbs, indicating that in her wild exertion, she had distended something from its socket.

She felt Faceless's impatient frustration as she made her last-ditch struggle. With another nauseating wave of numbness consuming her thighs, her legs became still. The pain from her injured limb faded as Faceless ploughed on with passionate intensity, consuming the nerves of her lower body, while above her waist, it began to reach for her throat.

Gwen felt the paralysis flow over her chest. Her neck fell limp, and her head rested helplessly against the gravel.

This was it. Gwen told herself. In the end, no one came to save her.

Did she have a good run? Was she satisfied with the life she had?

No.

Gwen was not satisfied.

She wanted life.

She wanted to hug Elvia and rub her face into her flaxen blonde hair.

She wanted to go on more adventures with Yue, hear her undisguised laughter.

She wanted to marvel at Alesia's antics, sharing a Muscato while overlooking the harbour.

She wanted to see if Gunther would ever relent and give in to Alesia.

She wanted to become the kind of Mage that she'd promised Henry, the militant pacifist, the Justiciar who lived by her own rules.

Gwen no longer believed that death was a way out, that it could be preferable to suffering. If she were to die, it would be by her terms, performing a due that she owned and possessed.

Not like this.

Not a worthless demise like this.

She wanted to live.

"I want to live!"

Her desperate voice reverberated through the air like a clarion.

The twice-lived sorceress blinked, her long lashes fluttering to reveal multi-hued irises alive with vitality.

A warmth was flowing from her chest, quietly smouldering as it flooded her conduits.

She could hear her heartbeat, a staccato iambic rhythm, growing louder and louder. An emerald presence was suffusing her chest, becoming more powerful by the second.

Her eyes regained their clarity and focus. She looked down towards her bare bosoms, finding her torso no longer possessed by the black, viscous tar that was Faceless' consumption spell.

Faceless stared at the glowing jade pendant lying upon her chest; her cataract eyes were wide with dumbfounded confusion.

Gwen felt a tingle as the emerald glow enveloped her. Where her skin had been consumed and eroded, it now began a rapid regeneration that pushed back the dark, oily tide.

"Almudj?"

She smelled the eucalyptus-scented air, felt the flush of the golden noon, she sensed the cold waters of billabongs and the welcoming heat of burning red clay.

Faceless' consumptive polymorphic shell slid from Gwen's restored body as though she was a serpent shedding old skin. Like ferrofluids without the guidance of a magnetic field, the fiend's magic was failing spectacularly.

There was a sudden sound of thunder, rolling across a cloudless sky besotted by an evil sun.

"Usurper!" A thought, fulminated beside Gwen's head, low as a deep quake.

"Yes, usurpers." Gwen heard herself reply. "Always so cheeky."

Faceless frantically retreated from her, trying to recollect the lost motes of his morphic form. The scattered fluid was crawling towards their host like a swarm of armyworms seeking shelter in numbers.

The motes of sand that had bound Gwen to the ground suddenly quivered with fear, helpless against an existence so ancient and primordial.

Gwen raised a pale white arm from the ground, flawless and unmarred by injury. Gone were the bloody abrasions that flayed her wrists. Gone were the cuts and scraps that ran the length of her elbows, sticky with sand and gravel. She pointed a delicate finger, its pink nail no longer torn at the base, toward Faceless.

"Sand Shield!"

Faceless relented all efforts to consolidate its scattered parts. Instead, the half-formed creature crossed both arms and summoned a half-dome that sheltered its remaining body. It couldn't use a Void shield against her lightning— even Gwen could see that.

"Barbanginy!" Gwen called out to the heavens. A roar of cascading thunder answered her call, shattering a stained glass window nearby, sending loose rubble cascading from ruined buildings.

A blade of green lightning shot from the heavens, ionised from thin air. It struck Faceless unerringly, utterly decimating its Shield of Sand, cracking it with the likeness of a hammer falling upon a fragile egg. The force was such that a shockwave rippled from the epicentre, forcing the shapeshifter into the sunken ground. A concentric ring of dust billowed from where Gwen and Faceless stood, blasting apart the gravel and liquifying the silica below. The Sand Spirit, who had attempted to shield Faceless, flared a brilliant white before being blown apart by the force of the explosion, diffusing into a spray of white-hot glass.

Gwen willed herself to stand.

Before her body even moved; a cushion of air levitated her from the ground, uprighting her body and settling her gingerly onto the rapidly cooling floor.

She walked the few steps it took to approach a burnt-out crater; within which Faceless squirmed.

When the smoke cleared, Gwen saw the pale, mangled, aberrant form of Henry's child, her Void magic utterly decimated by the blast of primordial lightning. Its already twisted body was now a mess of broken bones and hanging ligaments, languishing in a pool of sizzling silica.

The creature coughed. Gwen was surprised to see that its blood was as red as hers.

"Forgot. About that. Pendant." Faceless struggled to annunciate each word. Gwen could see several of its ribs poking from its torso. "So stupid… Yue even spoke— about it."

"Don't you dare speak her name," Gwen warned the horrid thing.

It was a strange sight; their roles now reversed. A near-naked Gwen was now staring down at the paralysed form of the disabled Faceless.

"I wonder. Back then, if I had taken Elvia back then— would you—"

"Don't you dare speak any of their names!"

Gwen shot a spark of lightning which burned blue and green as it singed Faceless' chest, sending the already wounded creature into a convulsive death rattle.

She placed a hand on her amulet and felt the familiar energy of the Mythic pour from its interior. The Kirin pendant had been a gift from her father, a prize he had unwilling gifted. When she'd first met Henry, her Master had told her that it was the soul stone of a Kirin, though little else. Likewise, she had felt its effects many times in the past. It had taken in the dissipating energy of dying creatures whose soul-stone sundered upon death— but not once had the pendant saw fit to dispensed its bounty to Gwen. After all the crisis she had faced; she had forgotten about it entirely.

"I don't. Suppose. You'll spare. Me?" Faceless had taken on a strange cadence of speech. Gwen noted that it was because of its deformed jaws. Without its polymorphic spell active, even speaking seemed to be causing Faceless pain. "My. Offer still. Stands."

"Death is too good for you," Gwen said coldly, feeling a poetic epiphany manifesting within her mind.

The damned thing was responsible for the death of her Master, her friends, her family in this world. By that same measure, it had tried to consume her body! If it had succeeded, it would have mascaraed through the world in her form, wearing her skin like a sock puppet!

Gwen felt a sudden clarity compel her.

She wanted to murder Faceless. She wanted the damned thing to suffer.

The intensity of the desire frightened her. Were such thoughts untenable? Would Henry, who'd thought the world of her, be disappointed if his apprentice celebrated her cruelty?

Her old self would have shirked from her duty. Hid behind wise words of great men whose wisdom where ivory towers.

But not so now.

She thought of Henry, her Master, and the first time she'd impressed her kind mentor.

"The abuse of Greatness…" she had announced to him naively, thinking herself armoured in the sagacity of her old world. "… is when remorse is disjointed from power!"

But she felt no remorse now.

It felt right.

If anything was right in the world, it was this.

"Caliban!" she commanded, her banished creature appropriating its pound of flesh. To Gwen's pleasant surprise, the cost in vitality barely registered against the reservoir held within the Kirin pendant.

Caliban slithered into being, bloated and muscular, a sinuous blight upon the world.

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban menaced the hapless Faceless. Its smooth carapace slid open with a silent hiss, sending globulars of grey goo sliding down its pulsating purple body. It's lampreys mouth opened to reveal its pink tentacled tongues, writhing within a mouth full of dagger-like teeth.

"Oh." Faceless chuckled, a mouthful of clotting blood issuing from its torn lips. "I told you we were alike! I told you. Gwen Song. We would be together. One way. Or another."

"Make it slow," Gwen commanded Caliban, her iron voice without an ounce of remorse.

Caliban slunk forward and began with Faceless' limbs. From there, it would proceed to the liver, the offal, the heart, and finally, the sweetmeat that was its brain. While Faceless wailed, Gwen listened to the joyous music of her Familiar's wicked work.

Her gaze upward.

A dark sun still floated over the horizon.

From beneath it, Gwen could just see minute specks locked in aerial combat. There were flashes of radiance that indicated her brother-in-craft was locked in deadly battle.

She extended a hand and relented a portion of the protective, emerald energy. It was subtle, but her familiarity with the Void allowed her to feel it distinctly. The blighted light of the Black Sun was draining her life. It was barely perceptible, but it was there.

"Jesus Christ..." She shuddered to think that if the spell covered all of Sydney's metropolis, the number of souls feeding into it would range anywhere from two to three million. If a Mage such as her felt diminished by the life-drain, how long could an NoM last against the pseudo sun's insatiable celestial hunger?

Beside her, Caliban had almost finished its wicked work. The creature had done well, for Faceless had only expired in the second minute of its inexpert endeavour. When the serpent had finished the last vestige of its meal with a grotesque slurp; she recalled it.

Gwen felt no immediate changes to her Astral Body, but she knew that her new boon would come. Concurrently, she would take Faceless' gift of Affinity and talent as interest.

She produced from her Storage Ring a simple one-piece dress and attired herself, all the while staring intently at the dark sun.

"Almudj," she closed her eyes and imagined the scintillating form of the serpent. "Will you help me?"

A violent gust of air swept her from the ground. Gwen herself lacked the means for Flight, but the elemental air nonetheless held her aloft.

Gwen took a deep breath and smothered the rampant emotions running through her disquieted mind.

Faceless was dead. She had her satisfaction now.

But she was far from done.

It was time for Elizabeth Sobel to pay back her debt of blood.

When Morye Song finally arrived at Rose Bay, it felt as though he had survived what felt like the twelve trials of Hercules.

He had begun the search for his daughter immediately, scouring the abandoned Cathedral but finding nothing but the flotsam and jetsam of a hurried evacuation. He'd sought for her high and low through the school grounds, even venturing into the surrounding suburbs, but still, she was nowhere to be found.

Morye cursed Gunther Shultz.

"The lying sack of shit!" he shouted at no one in particular. "Wasting my time! I could have evacuated to the inland shelters already!"

As if answering Morye's unbidden curse, there was a cacophony bang.

The Tower had materialised above.

"Oh, thank fuck!" Morye muttered to himself, taking a relieving drag from a cigarette he'd cooly lipped the whole while. "Finally, someone's doing their job."

As if mocking Morye's relief, the spire of the Tower erupted, sending shockwaves across the sky. All around them, bits of masonry began to crumble into the city below.

"Ah, fuck!" Morye cursed, the cig he'd been nursing fell from his lips.

He watched the Tower smoke and burned. Thankfully, the fortress remained afloat.

Another explosion rocked its spire.

A dark sun blossomed and began to shed a prismatic spray of void matter the blighted the landscape. Instantly, the trees started to wilt, dropping leaves at an insane rate. Smaller flora such as perennial wildflowers withered immediately.

Morye quickly protected himself with a sheen of salt, preventing his life force from escaping his body.

"Jesus, what is this, the Sino War? What's with the strategic-class rituals?"

Given the circumstances, he asked himself whether he'd done his best to search for his missing child.

"A father can only do so much," he announced to no one in particular, confident that he had executed his duty to the fullest capacity. He was in a real-life crisis, after all, not a Lumen-cast propaganda recording. "Such is life."

Morye incanted a flight spell and again took to the air. He was about ready to launch from the peninsula when a burst of brilliant lightning which suddenly emanated from the cloudless sky.

He flew in circles until he found the source of the lightning.

It was Gwen.

His daughter was stark naked and bare-breasted, a living Venus.

Morye quickly averted his eyes; feeling the awkwardness rise like an acute case of indigestion.

"What the fuck?" he swore again. He couldn't even begin to fathom why his daughter would be trapezing around a battlefield in the nude. He was just about to announce his awkward presence when a black serpent, more horrible than anything he'd seen since the war, materialised beside her.

"OH, FUCK!" he ducked behind cover. "Seriously Gwen, who the fuck are you hanging around with?"

Then the thing began to eat. From Morye's vantage point, he could see that the netherworld worm was torturously consuming the paralysed Mage languishing in the burnt-out crater.

"Jesus! Shit!" Morye mouthed unconsciously, feeling ill at the sight of the live dismemberment. When the creature began to swallow and regurgitate the Mage for ease of eating; he hurled in his mouth. "Who does that! Seriously!"

Morye had to wash out his mouth before he felt ready to accost his wayward daughter about her inhuman cruelty. What had happened to his simpering, quiet, beautiful little girl in the last twelve months?

When had she become such a delinquent? The last time he saw her, she'd been entirely innocent and naive. What the hell had Henry Kilroy been teaching his daughter! He would have words! Polite, but stern words, with the Magister! The old dog would get a piece of his mind!

Just as Morye was about to leap from cover to wag a critical finger at her face, his wayward daughter began to glow with a radiant, emerald energy. As Morye watched agog, his daughter launched herself into the air, unaided by any spell, and made for the dark sun.

It took Morye several more minutes to process the scene he'd just witnessed. In the aftermath, the Salt Mage tapped his pockets and found another cigarette. He lit it and smoked, inhaling and exhaling contemplatively.

"I am not even supposed to be working today," Morye comforted himself.

Sometimes, he realised, a man should just be honest with himself.

"Fuck this. I am out."

Alesia de Botton was rapidly blinking through the Grot when she became suddenly displaced by the instability of the pocket dimension. The distortion had caught her unaware, sending her barreling into a space caught between two places. To her understanding, the Grot was not a single space; it was an overlap. It existed in the Tower as the heart of Henry's domain - as well as a Dryad's grove, located in one of the world's infamous Black Zones.

In his youth, her Master had sojourned to one such zone as a part of his quest. It was there that Henry had met a fledgeling Dryad, gifted her the name of Sufina, and contracted her to be his partner.

And as for Sufina, Alesia had known the ageless Dryad since her troubled youth as a rebellious rabble-rouser. She had fond memories of sitting within the Grot, her thin legs dangling from a branch as she nursed a cup of golden mead. Whenever Alesia was hurt, the sympathetic Dryad would cradle her like a mother, its energetic presence mending her wounds both physical and otherwise.

Earlier, when she had finally orientated herself, the dimensional tethers were already quaking with instability. She looked for Henry, for Yue, for Gwen's friends. What she saw, however, was a distorted jumble of uncertain, malformed vision. The space of the Grot within the Tower was collapsing.

The implication fell upon Alesia like a Cone of Cold manifesting through her gut. Her chest felt as though a Telekinetic hand was attempting to extract her heart, arteries and all.

"Master…" she uttered despairingly, feeling herself ambushed by powerful, unbidden emotions.

In no Plane, neither Astral, Elemental or Primary, had Alesia imagined that her deathless mentor could have met his end before she did. After all, she was the reckless one, the haphazard adventurer, the fiery madcap who'd seldom valued thought over action.

But tragedy seldom had the patience for sentimentality.

Unbidden, the air distorted.

"Blink!" It was all Alesia could do in the circumstances. The Blink spell, when channelled elementally, took one into a pocket dimension of its own, diving into the Elemental Plane of Fire before emerging once again been displaced into the Prime Material Plane.

When Alesia emerged again into the material realm, she was no longer in the Tower.

She was falling fast, tumbling from the sky while the distant curvature of the earth appeared and disappeared from the edge of her vision. The forward momentum of her blink must have been converted into a downward thrust, for Alesia could hear the air whooshing fatalistically past her face.

"Flight!"

Desperately she tried to levitate herself, somersaulting and corkscrewing wildly. The earth beneath her quickly approached. Before Alesia could terminate her momentum, she crashed into the line of trees.

The first few impacts were gentle enough, sapling branches snapping under her weight. The next dozen raked her skin and beat her senseless, tossing her bodily to and fro as she ricocheted toward a carpet of pine needles.

She landed with an audible thunk, thankfully padded by the soft soil.

Her clothes were a shredded mess, her skin broken and bleeding. Her shoulders and thighs had become marred by brutal gashes, a stabbing pain within her torso that suggests a rib had found itself out of place.

For a moment, Alesia laid still, stunned in more ways than one.

She was alone - alone in a quiet forest with no one to judge her, no one to look up to her stoic demeanour. There, prone and bleeding, she thought of her Master, a man she would have gladly called a father. She recalled the lines of his kind face as he guided her, his stern reprimand as he showed her the ways of the world. He had taught her how to fight, how to use her spells, how to exploit her enemies. He'd shielded her when things had gotten out of control, laughed with her when she'd been successful.

Now all of that was ended.

Now, she would never again hear that voice, never again feel the firmness of his hand upon her shoulder.

Alesia de Botton, the Scarlet Sorceress, began to weep.

First as a quiet sob, then growing as a wracking cry that shook her shoulders and tugged at her broken ribs. She began to bawl like a child, feeling the rawness of her emotions overwhelm all rational thought.

The outburst persisted until the pressure that had built up within her chest escaped. When the last ounce of grief burned itself out, the crisis of the moment came crashing back.

Her teacher was gone, but his murderer still lived. Gwen needed saving, and Gunther was still fighting for his life somewhere.

Her body felt broken, her potion cool-downs spent, but Alesia de Botton had one more trump card up her sleeve.

She materialised the Efreeti Dagger in her hand.

It was a gift from her Master, used to tap into her gifted Affinity.

Within it was imprisoned the spirit of an Efreet that Henry had summoned, trapped, and bound for her perusal. It was a unique item, exceedingly rare and precious, an irreplaceable treasure.

She held the blade gingerly and sliced it across the palm of her hand, smearing the glinting ochre metal with a dash of striking crimson.

"O Heart of Flame, Spirit of the Fire, I summon thee from the City of Brass, heed my call."

The blade became wreathed in a white-hot flame. The fire expanded until it took on the shape of a woman, scarcely garbed in an intricately beaten brass-brassiere. Its hair was a mane of orange and ochre, its eyes two burning coals. Its limbs were full and vital, round and shapely, its waist sinuous and serpentine, at once dangerous and inviting.

The casual observer would have recognised its likeness as Alesia's infamous flame-clad form, her signature combat transformation.

When no order for element fusion came from Alesia, the Efreet gazed toward its Master with puzzlement and malice. Djinns such as these were proud and arrogant creatures. To be made to serve a mere mortal was a severe insult, the gravest injury imaginable to its magical mind.

"I want to make a deal," Alesia declared.

Immediately their surrounding smouldered and burned.

She had the Djinn's full attention.

"Give me the power necessary to defeat my enemies, to avenge my Master," Alesia intoned carefully. "And I shall set you free."

There was no hesitation in the Djinn's choice. For two decades it'd been trapped in the Efreeti Blade. Though twenty years were but a moment for these immortal beings, the imprisonment remained a degeneration of its noble status that it loathed bearing.

Crack!

The blade of the elementally-forged dagger splintered.

A mote of flame leapt from within, falling upon Alesia's bosom.

Her body caught the spark as though it consisted of bone-dry kindling, transforming her into a torrent of swirling fire that twisted and turned until she became the centre of a flaming vortex. A scarlet tornado burst from the depth of the pine forest with a terrific cacophony, transforming the plantation into a sea of flames.

Her wounds no longer mattered, her injuries became less than substantial. Wreathed in the fleeting power of a Djinn, Alesia was now a white-hot font of plasma, a living pyre in humanoid form.

She rose into the sky and saw the distant skyline of Sydney.

The sky was no longer the same ultramarine she had seen in Rosebay. Now it was tainted by a black sun that seemed to suck in all light, casting a miasmic shadow of Void matter over the landscape.

With a simple gesture and a command from her will, Alesia became a shooting star, tearing across the afternoon sky.

There, she would find Elizabeth.

There, she would find vengeance.

There, she would find atonement.

"Irene, one more time!" Gunther barked at the Master Diviner. Ferris focused her mana and conjured another Simulacrum, the strain causing her already pale face to wince with mana fatigue.

The illusory Gunther flew directly beneath Sobel, creating refractory conjurations which allowed Gunther to strike at the Void Mage utilising a pincer attack.

Beside them, Walken was already panting with exhaustion, having spent the better portion of his mana on the failed Maze. Of the three, only Gunther was barely breaking a sweat, carefully managing his mana pool despite the dozen or so exchanges they had traded in succession.

Their core problem, the combatants gathered, was that neither Ferris nor Walken were Combat Mages who had gained the title of Magister through decades of conflict and war.

Irene Ferris was ultimately just an academic; an intelligence officer turned Magister who was more interested in Arcane Manufacturing than pragmatic combat. Walken, on the other hand, was better; but the man had always worked in the shadows, seldom gracing the Tower's oft-violent conflicts of interest.

A scholar.

A politician.

A Paladin.

That's the rag-tag team that fate had wrought to combat a sixty-decade-old Void Sorceress, a war hero who'd survived the Saurian Incursion, the Coral Sea Conflict, and countless other military actions large and small.

At first, the battle had opened optimistically. They had fought her in the Tower and beaten back the tide of vampiric lamprey creatures. When they had thought Elizabeth cornered, however, she invoked a ritualistic incantation which began as a dark orb, then rapidly expanded until it became the scene before them. At first, they had thought the spell a Maelstrom or at worst a Black Hole, but the reality of their new hell quickly outstripped even the worst of their expectations.

Battling under the baleful light of the Void Sun was itself a fatiguing endeavour. Even if the trio could use shields to prevent the vitality drain, they still felt their ambient mana draining away, making combat excessively lethargic.

Gunther was not optimistic about their chances. If he was to be brutally honest with himself - Elizabeth Sobel was kicking their arses. For some reason, the woman had a seemingly inexhaustible array of vitality and mana.

Where Gunther, Ferris and Walken planned and conserved mana, his Master's estranged wife continued to pump out high-tier cataclysms one after another.

From training with Gwen, Gunther knew that the fledgeling Void Mage was at best good for a handful of low-tier spells and at best one or two higher-tier incantations. Yet Elizabeth seemed completed unaffected by the physical strain of Void Magic.

The Dark Sun was the apparent culprit for Elizabeth's inexhaustible stamina. Earlier, Gunther had fired a Sunbeam into the Void portal without so much as receiving a single indication that his attack affected the orb. It had, as the saying goes, it had disappeared into the Void.

All they could do was to kite Elizabeth and wait to see if she would expose a moment of weakness for them to exploit.

To that end, Gunther was glad that Irene Ferris was on their side.

The Magister wasn't a Combat Mage, but she was an adept Illusionist. With a plethora of Mirrored Images, Arcane Vision, Projected Image and Simulacrum. Together, they harried Elizabeth, while being spared from the brunt of her attacks.

The Void sorceress was growing impatient though; her spells were increasingly more outlandish and less restrained. Already the collateral damage from misfired spells and dodged attacks had taken down a portion of the Tower's outer walls, sending a hail of deadly stones into the city below.

The rest of the Tower Mages had dispersed, finding shelter or escaping while they still could. If Gunther and two other Magisters could not hold down Elizabeth, then the city was forfeit; they would merely be fodder for the insatiable hunger of Sobel's vampiric ritual.

"Chain Void Bolt!" A zig-zag array of dark Lightning sliced across the sky, striking one mirrored image after another.

The third ricochet caught Gunther's clone, sundering the mirage into the indistinct, azure motes of mana unique to the School of Illusion. Despite their best efforts, the tier 6 Evocation had caught them flat-footed; its deadly effects deployed within a split-second.

"Light Screen!"

Gunther's shield appeared too late to assist Walken, who'd been caught alone after his illusory double had perished.

"Void Sphere!"

A ball of void energy bloomed beside the Magister, eating through his protection in the blink of an eye. Of all the primary elements— Air had the weakest Shield by far.

Usually, Walken would have fought behind his conjured familiar, the impressive Couatl Aella— a winged serpent that was equally the match of many a Magus. Unfortunately for the hapless Magister, his familiar, with its rare lightning breath attack, had been an early casualty of their battle against Sobel. Winded, Walken fought off the hostile magic, but it was clear that the scheming Magister had been grievously wounded.

Gunther retracted the Light Screen. His Abjuration wasn't going to help the Magister now.

"Ferris!"

"On it!" A simulacrum split off from Ferris and dived for the falling Magister. Like Waken, she too was approaching her limit.

"Fiore, when's the damn Towers getting here?" Gunther fired off a Message spell to Walken's Second, who'd chosen to remain in the Tower and oversee communications.

"The mana drain from the Void-Sun is wreaking havoc with our instruments, but I'd say in the next hour," a wearied female voice replied.

"Carey, what's the status on the Evacuation?"

"Not looking good sir, due to our loss of LRM earlier, most of the NoM civilians remain above ground."

"Shit! What are the Enforcers doing? What about the Civil Defence Mages?"

"I am afraid they have their hands full."

"With what? There's no incursion past the CBD area!"

"With the riots, sir."

"The what?"

Gunther executed a corkscrew turn, avoiding a hail of dark ice that shrieked past his mirrored image and into the city below.

"The NoMs, sir. They're rioting and looting across the Greater West."

Gunther cursed under his breath. Now was not the time to be delicate. As much as his Master seemed to sympathise with the NoMs, their behaviour often left him wondering if they were even the same species. Rioting in the crisis of an invasion, looting for profit when an enervating sun was growing ever larger above their heads? What foolishness!

"Kill the ringleaders and set an example, get the rest into the Shelters as soon as possible. If the Dark Sun spreads beyond the city, they're all going to be Void dust. I'll take full responsibility."

"Aye, Sir. I'll pass the message on."

With a boost of mana, Gunther executed a deadman's turn, watching Elizabeth blow past him in a white blur.

The Void Sorceress must be supremely confident, Gunther observed. She lacked Ioun Stones, wands, enchanted armour, and expendable items— all Sobel had on was a white chiffon dress whose tattered state indicated mortal fabric. Indeed, while the trio had burned potions and scrolls, the Void sorceress had carried on without appearing taxed. After dodging another spell, Gunther had the distinct feeling that Elizabeth was a cat toying with three blind mice.

"Dawn!"

A ball of light erupted in front of Elizabeth's flight path. The Void Mage immediately erected a shield, but this time it was Gunther who'd caught her flat-footed. He watched with focused intent as the radiant heat seared her milk-white skin, eliciting blistering boils from her flawless complexion.

The scent of charred flesh trailed through the air.

Just as Gunther slowed to make ready his follow-up strike; Elizabeth rotated her body in midair and fired off a riposte to his aerial ambush.

Her conjured Morden's Blade shrieked through the air, too fast for Gunther's eyes to follow. By the time he had erected his Non-Newtonian shield, it was already inches away from his torso.

"Teleport!"

Even with Gunther's proficiency, he was too late.

The blade found his body just as the spell manifested.

When Gunther reappeared some distance away, he could feel that a part of his musculature was amiss. A good six-inch of his flesh— skin, tissues and all, had been consumed.

Before his body could register the pain, Gunther materialised a healing injector and impaled his wound. The itching growth of new flesh immediately followed, but the Void had already taken its toll.

His Astral body had become wounded— even if Gunther's body healed, it would take months of soulful osmosis for his flesh to regain sensation and feeling.

So it was that the Paladin of Sydney fell back, cursing himself for underestimating the Void Mage's resilience. His one solace, however, was that they had exchanged a significant blow.

Until Elizabeth reappeared from her tumbling roll, her ivory face not showing a single blemish.

Gunther cursed, caught off guard by the impossible outcome. He had seen her face boil and burn! How was this possible?

The Paladin's moment of hesitation proved near-fatal.

Just as Gunther reeled from both the physical shock of recovery and the mental stupor of surprise, Elizabeth made her play.

The Morden's Blade remerged from behind her and teasingly, then made a bee-line for Gunther's chest.

Gunther did not doubt that the blade was a distraction and that the woman would have a follow up waiting for him. But, his retaliation needed a few more seconds, for the reinvigoration of lost flesh had paralysed his body.

Gunther had thought that his final thoughts would be of his Master.

To his surprise, it was Alesia's face that appeared.

A flaming, resplendent Alesia who was pure plasma, the very vision of an elemental Djinn blessed with the power of fire. A split-second passed, then his vision filled with that of a fiery Valkyrie blazing a trail of fireflies, with smouldering coals for eyes.

"Did ya miss me, Tiger?"

Her voice was the sweetest thing in the world. Gunther was very much surprised that his final vision was even capable of speech. Maybe, just maybe, he had admired his sister-in-craft more than he'd thought.

"Alesia," he confessed to the blinding vision, so bright as to burn a sensuous silhouette into his retinas. "I am sorry—"

Then the Efreet was gone. It had taken the Void Sorceress with her, leaving behind a mist of dark blood and burning air.

Gunther's mind jolted back to reality.

That was no vision! His mind screamed at him. You dimwit! That was Alesia in the flesh!

"Alesia!" his voice boomed at the retreating form now fleeing from him like a falling star. "Beware! She's feeding off the Black Sun!"

The supernatural confidence of the Djinns suited Alesia well.

She hadn't felt the need to consider meagre offerings like strategy.

After all, she was flame incarnate; a Djinn manifested in the material realm, a Demi-Goddess of fire.

What was an illusion before absolute power? What was trickery and subterfuge before unquestionable force?

A halo of plasma and fire coalesced around Alesia as she blasted towards the Tower. A ring of superheated hair blew from her passage as the barrier of sound itself was sundered by her supersonic flight.

The Tower rapidly grew larger

She could now see specks, fighting in the distance.

Rapidly, specks became individuals; one white, one radiant, and two that were nondescript.

The white one was Elizabeth, one of the plebeian looking ones was Walken. The radiant one was Gunther, meaning the last mote was Ferris.

Alesia already had her priorities sorted - Elizabeth would burn first, then Walken would follow her fate.

She saw Gunther making a corkscrew turn, retaliating as he spiralled, catching Elizabeth as she dodged.

She saw Elizabeth retaliate.

She saw Gunther becoming wounded by a dark sliver of Void.

A new fury exploded in Alesia's chest. The tail of searing flame that trailed her passage changed from white-hot to dazzling.

"Did ya missed me, Tiger?" Alesia fired off a mirthful Message spell just before impact. It felt like a lifetime before she'd seen Gunther, and her heart soared to know that he was alive.

But kisses and hugs would have to wait. There was a wicked business to concluded before they could lick each other's wounds and find commiseration in the commonality of their grief.

WHAM!

Alesia ensured that her rigid flame-shield slammed into Elizabeth with superhuman force. The impact was such that had it not been for Alesia's elemental form; both combatants would have become the mingled mince, forming a human rissole.

There was a satisfying crunch when she'd struck the void witch, feeling the shock of her body-blow reverberate through the tiny woman's frail form. To the Scarlet Sorceress' surprise, the Void Mage did not simply cease to exist, nor was she cut in twain by the force of Alesia's assault.

Alesia's combat instincts screamed for her to continue her assault.

With one hand, she fired a jet stream of blue-white flames in the opposite direction, cutting her inertia dead in the air. The dizzying manoeuvre was just enough to send the sprawling body away from Elizabeth, whose silhouette exploded into a mess of dark worms issued straight from the Void.

"Flaming Hand!"

The air ignited— the revolting creatures ceased to be.

"Watch out! There's a…"

Gunther's warning came too late. His flight spell was many degrees slower than Alesia' rocket-powered acceleration. Sobel's conjured Black Blade emerged from the burning mass, cutting the air with an unholy shriek as it aimed for Alesia's heart.

With no time to react, Alesia swung her arms downward, instinctively opening her palms to catch the incoming projectile.

CLANG!

To the surprise of all, the vorpal blade had not taken off Alesia's forearm as Sobel had expected. Instead, Alesia's elemental body of plasma caught the flat-edge an inch from her torso, enclosed between her palms.

Alesia's scalp crawled.

Who the hell catches a Morden's Blade with their bare hands?! Her rational mind felt challenged by her surreal circumstance. Furthermore, what the hell does one do next after catching a dancing vorpal blade?

On instinct, Alesia knew what to do.

White-hot flames blew from her palms until the air ignited with blue-green bursts. The mana of the Black Blade sizzled, then exploded into globs of dark ink, raining down into the city below.

"There's a PhD there for whoever explains that phenomenon," Gunther remarked dryly, finally reaching his companion's side.

"The fuck did the bitch go?" Alesia looked around, bewildered. "That was a simulacrum thing! Where's her real body?"

"Aye, and a dangerously self-destructive one," Gunther observed unhappily. "What did I tell you about rushing in, Allie?"

Alesia shot Gunther a look that spoke volumes, her eyes two glowing cores rolling in the molten sockets of her face. Gunther coughed and averted his gaze.

"Thanks for saving my life," the Paladin remarked quietly. "I am sorry about our Master, whatever happened, I am sure you did your best."

"Well, it wasn't enough." Alesia's voice lost the vivacity she had possessed just a moment ago.

Sighing, she looked up at the dark sun hanging mercilessly over the blue sky, an unmoving eclipse which cast its deadly blessing over all that it surveyed.

"How do we kill that?" Alesia asked.

Gunther dearly wished he had an answer to her question.

"Well, Walken said that her Void was weak to Lightning. Walken also said that the Melbourne and Brisbane towers are incoming, ETA, soon." Gunther did not sound optimistic.

Alesia shook her head, sending out a swarm of fireflies.

"They don't have anyone at the Magus level."

"I know," Gunther affirmed.

"Gunther!" A Message spell bloomed next to Gunther's ear. It was Irene Ferris. "I don't know what you did, but something just came out of the Black Sun!"

Gunther relayed the Message to Alesia, whose flaming eyes smouldered.

"Gunther!" Irene's voice took on a tone of urgency.

"We're coming back now."

The two ascended, with Alesia leading. From afar, the duo appeared as though two shooting stars moving to accost the dusky sky. Closer now,  they could see that Ferris was right to worry. The Void-sun was changing now, taking on a more malicious tone. The shadowy blight it was dispensing was becoming more intense, hungrier and more potent. The tingling coldness one felt when it touched the skin was now an icy bite that permeated to the bone.

"Its good to see you again, Alesia," Ferris muttered when Alesia pulled up. "We need all the help we can get."

Walken, wounded and discretely loitering a distance away, tried to make himself scarce. Unfortunately, there was no escaping Alesia's smouldering orbs.

"Alesia, not now." Gunther wanted to place a hand on her shoulder but feared to lose his limb should his Sister-in-craft's emotions supersede her rationality.

A moment of dangerous crossroads hung in the air; the silence punctuated only by the ambient thrum of the dark sun's magic.

As they spoke, bursts of enervating energy emitted from the dark sun. Dark tendrils, distinct and indistinct, emerged like curious tongues, tasting the air for prey.

"Don't let them touch you!" Gunther alerted the others, recalling the vision that had been agonisingly wrought by Mark Chandler at the cost of his sister's soul.

The others hadn't needed Gunther's warning to tell them that much.

As the prehensile tendrils reached out, seemingly ignoring the limitations of space, the trio was forced to duck and weave, alternating between shielding and abjuring the shadowy appendages.

It was Gunther who first noticed that Alesia's flames were no longer swaying chaotically in the air. Instead, the heat of her Aegis of Flame was streaming in one direction, feeding the heart of the sun.

Walken, who'd been paying particular attention toward Alesia, likewise realised what was happening.

"It's penetrating our Shields!" he Messaged the others. "We're not going to last much longer under this."

"How shall we regroup?" Ferris inquired carefully, though the question may as well be rhetorical. If they were to flee from the sun now, it would only grow stronger. If they couldn't contain it now, somehow, how could they defeat it when it matured?

"Ideas?" The collected Magisters and Maguses communed while keeping the tentacles and tendrils at bay. Each appendage seemed to possess a life of its own, hunting and feeling the air for nourishment. Gunther did not doubt that if they were to leave, the tendrils would be felicitously hunting the lesser Mages below.

When none of them spoke, Ferris made a suggestion.

"How about we wait for the other Towers. We can attempt a parallel octagramic mandala Dispel when Uther and Lin get here. Myself, Alesia, Walken, Gunther, and two fresh Magisters. We can use their Tower Mages for the other two spots. Surely they would have brought their Paladins along as well."

Walken interjected.

"Impossible, there is no way we're going to be able to attune the magic, not with the tendrils attacking us. Look at that thing; you think the other two are going to let their Tower Mages serve as fodder while we take time to commune and align our mana?"

"Not to mention—"

Walken narrowly dodged a grasping tentacle. His flight agility had been drastically affected by the injury earlier. The Magister's body desperately needed a Greater Restoration, but there were no healers powerful enough to be present in a battle of this magnitude. A mid-tier Cleric would only serve as targets of opportunity, feeding Elizabeth's hunger for mana and vitality.

"… the Tower has been losing altitude since a moment ago."

"Well, you got any better ideas?" Ferris demanded cattily.

"Fuck this," Alesia suddenly announced. "Gunther, cover me."

Before Gunther could answer, Alesia shot upward like a falling star compelled by Reverse Gravity.

A triple layer of mandalas formed under her feet as she blasted through the tendrils barring her way, arriving dead centre of the hovering sun, just beyond the borders of its nether realm.

A host of tendrils moved to usurp her elemental energy, abjured by blasts of light emanating from below, slicing and dicing the intruding mass.

"Light Screen!"

A double glazed barred the tentacles for the moment.

"Allie," he began, but the worrying words in this throat were mute before he could speak them. The battle for Sydney was her fight as well as his. Even if they swapped places, Gunther knew he would have also ignored Alesia and persisted what he thought was necessary and right.

They were birds of a feather in many ways, they who were proteges of Henry Kilroy, inheritors of their Master's gifts, not to mention his sins. If Elizabeth exists today because of their Master's weakness, then for the sake of the Master who brought them life, his students would conclude their Master's life's work. For better or worse, there must be closure to the chapter.

"I'll cover you," Gunther said instead. "Sphere of Light!"

An aura of brilliant radiance expanded around the two Mages. Used defensively, the light channelled from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Radiance consumed all beings of darkness, dispelled all things whose origins lay within the Negative Plane. Gunther had saved the spell as a trump card, an eleventh-hour attempt at repealing Elizabeth's mortal strike— alas, now, he felt no qualms burning the high-tier Evocation if it meant sheltering Alesia.

The flames that sheathed Alesia grew focused, losing that chaotic quality so endearing to fire, instead weaving themselves into her body. Alesia was already an impressive Evoker, but the spell she was attempting was a tier higher. As with all things magical, there were dire repercussions for exceeding one's limitations. At best, the invocation would wreak havoc upon her Astral body and rupture her mana conduits; at worst, she could become severely debilitated by mana burn. No Mage ever wanted to make this choice, but now was as a particular time, and all Gunther could do was be his dearest's protector.

In a moment, the Djinn's borrowed mana poured from Alesia's body, feeding the spell manifesting above. Her crimson Caracal fused itself into the manifest, expending its Essence to shield its Master from the negative feedback of the over-channelled sorcery. Though the Caracal spirit wasn't a sapient being like Sufina, it instinctively prioritised its Master's life over the continued existence of its ego.

A heaviness smothered the air, a feeling of dreaded oppression. The ambient temperature of the air skyrocketed as a portal to the Elemental Plane of Fire gave birth to a massive fireball a dozen meters in circumference. Smouldering with spluttering flames, Alesia pointed a finger heavenward, then moved it towards the nadir in a swift, violent motion.

"Meteor Strike!"

The burgeoning mass of plasma began to move.

It first moved ponderously, but as it picked up speed, an elongated tail of orange-red flames began to grow, casting an orange haze over the dark recesses of the void-sun, turning its translucent tendrils orange and yellow.

Besides the dark sun, Gunther clutched the exhausted Alesia, heedless of her flaming torso, pulling her from the path of her AoE spell.

"Teleport!"

With the Crimson Caracal consumed by Alesia's spell, Gunther was no longer confident that Alesia's AOEs could discriminate between friend and foe.

As the two faded amidst a swirl of quicksilver mana, the forces of Void and Fire collided.

To the observers below, marvelling and screaming at the sight of two celestial bodies in a mortal contest, it was akin to a reverse eclipse.

Above them, a dark sun was lit up by a meteor of raw elemental fire.

To the observer's surprise, there was no cacophonic explosion, no blast ring that sent shockwaves below to trouble the already sundered city. There wasn't even the sound of two objects meeting in violent disharmony.

There was only a hiss—

A terrible, indescribable hiss as the dark sun began to consume the meteor. The meeting of two celestial bodies of energy was a foreboding sight that would trouble researchers for years to come. What would happen when a strategic ritual designed for mass vampiric absorption met an overwhelming force? At what equivalence does the consumption win out, when do they negate one another, and at what magnitude does the spell force disrupt the ritual's mandala?

Unfortunately for Alesia and her battered, exhausted company, the answer did not ring in their favour.

Not even a Meteor, one tier below the city-destroying Meteor Swarm, a strategic spell used only in conflicts of mutually assured destruction, could destroy the dark sun.

As Alesia grew increasingly weaker, feeling the power of her meteor wane, they could once again see that the Black Sun was regaining its exhausted energies.

Even if over half of the sun's initial mass dissolved, there were plenty of Mages and NoMs, flora and fauna below to feed its hunger.

When the mass of the meteor finally dissipated, they could see for a brief moment, the silhouette of a woman in the darkness, shrouded by the void tendrils.

Elizabeth must be laughing at them, mocking their last-ditch attempt.

Then she faded from view, and tendrils once again manifested from the heart of the blighted celestial object.

Alesia's companions scattered as before, only now further weakened and spent.

"Gunther!"

Alesia's cry of alarm shook her brother-in-craft from the despairing revelry of assured defeat.

A tendril had found the Scarlet Sorceress.

The cognisance came as much as a surprise to Gunther as it would have for anyone of them. Alesia was the most agile and empowered for combat, for her to be caught, she must be genuinely exhausted.

To their relief, Gunther had enough mana remaining to severed the nether-tentacle with a blast of light.

Alesia's problems, however, were just beginning. The sorceress' flaming form suddenly became a chaotic mess of spluttering flames, appearing and disappearing about her body.

Instantly, Gunther realised that the Djinn that had been the source of the Efreeti Transformation was to blame. Now that Alesia was bereft of mana, exhausted in spirit, and physically wounded by her overambitious spell of mass destruction, it was maliciously trying to cause the death of its host!

Even as Gunther approached, dodging several jellyfish tendrils of void-matter himself, Alesia lost herself to another tendril.

Gunther swore under his breath; his mana was hardly inexhaustible. They had been fighting for half-an-hour now, throwing out one spell after another, soon they would all be out of mana and helpless.

"Scorching Radiance!" Another blast freed Alesia from her impending crisis.

Gunther tackled his craft-sister in midair and dove downwards for the cover of the crumbling Tower. A searing pain ignited across his arm, hands and chest. The scent of scorched flesh filled his nostrils.

The fucking Djinn! Gunther swore. It dared to attack him! Had Gunther not been flame-aligned himself, the assault would have floored him, debilitated him with an unexpected fatal blow.

"Shit!" Gunther swore. "Allie, hold on!"

Though the distraction lasted only a second, it was enough.

First, a single tendril, then two more, and then a dozen, quickly wrapped around Gunther and Alesia's falling form, compounding the crisis that Gunther faced from the rebellious Djinn.

Gunther was not a man prone to admit to despair, but now he felt it distinctly. If he and Alesia were gone, who would carry on Henry's legacy? Would his Master always be remembered as the husband of the madwoman who consumed all of Sydney? What of all his subordinates, all those NoMs that awaited salvation below? Who would save them now?

DING! A Message alarm fired off beside Gunther's head.

Gunther answered it in disbelief.

"Gwen?"

Rolling thunder echoed across the cloudless sky, growing louder and louder with each passing mile.

Their youngest sister-in-craft had arrived.

Gwen deeply regretted not preemptively learning Flight.

The last time she flew, Alesia had held her hand, pulling her through the sky like a human balloon. Now she was flying again; only she wasn't in control of the elements that held her aloft. As much as Almudj aided her with the manipulation of flight, she still drifted toward the battle like a drunk trying to give backseat directions to a deaf driver, in a car without a steering wheel.

Her chest ached. It was an excruciating delay, to see that the battle was so close, yet she was physically too far to aid her siblings.

"Almudj, can we go faster?" Gwen pleaded with the air.

A sound of rustling leaves ensured that their velocity increased, but still the Tower and the dark sun loomed in the distance, with its ring of combatants mere specks. Once the euphoria of murdering Faceless faded, Gwen felt the distinct pang of contemplative self-loathing.

Then, there was the battle ahead. Gwen swallowed a reflexive surge of bitter bile when she thought of fighting Elizabeth. It was one thing, after all, to run over hot coals in a madcap moment, and another to see it smoke and smoulder while one considered the consequences.

As she contemplated badgering Almudj for another burst of acceleration, she heard the unthinkable ding of a Message spell blossom beside her ear.

Quickly, she extracted her Message device from the storage ring and activated its receiving Glyph.

The voice that came through almost made Gwen burst into tears.

"Gwen! Are you alright? Are you still in Rosebay? Have you evacuated?" Richard fired off a volley of rapid questions.

"I am… alright." Gwen wasn't sure how to explain it all. "How's everyone else?"

"We're inland, well, the family is inland - your mother included. Surya's offered up his estate as a camp. I've volunteered to stay behind as rearguard and to pick up stragglers. Where are you now? I'll come and find you."

Gwen discerned her surroundings. She mid-air and gravitating towards a deadly bout of aerial combat with a dark, all-consuming sun of void controlled by a psychotic grandma.

"I am safe," Gwen lied. "Don't worry about me. I'll join you guys soon."

"Alright." Her cousin's voice was full of relief. "I hope the Message Towers stay active— keep me posted if anything happens. I am at the Strathfield interchange; we're trying to get the NoMs as far away from the CBD as we can."

"Richard, wait!"

"Yes?"

"How's Percy?.. and Dad?"

"Percy is holding together pretty well. Huang and company should be at the estate by now. As for your dad, I can't say I know."

"Thanks." Gwen didn't want to pursue to the matter any further, at least for now.

"See you soon."

"Okay."

The reactivation of the Message Towers brought new hope, as well as anxiety for Gwen. Bidden by a naive faith, she held the device and dialled in the Glyph for Yue. An unwelcome silence informed Gwen that Yue's augur-band was either out of range or no longer existed.

"Jesus!" Gwen shielded her eyes.

Another enervating burst of foul energies erupted from the Black Sun, matching the depressing her heart, matching her breath with perfect synchronisation.

Shielding the eyes had been a good idea; without warning, a tremendous, fiery mass now gathered.

The mass that consolidated above the Tower was larger than anything Gwen had ever seen nor experienced. A raging ball of plasma over a dozen meters across! Like a shooting star, the meteor shot toward the void-sun, light and shadow meeting in antagonistic disharmony.

Gwen's hopeful jubilation was short-lived, in the next minute, she witnessed the dissolution of the fiery cataclysm into the maw of the shadowy sun. Even with the dark orb significantly diminished, its consuming void persisted in its intensity, vexing the city with its vampiric rays.

In the aftermath, there remained a flaming Efreet.

Alesia!

Gwen's eyes glowed electric with intensifying emotions, inspirited by the glorious sight of a fiery Alesia. If her Sister-in-craft had survived, then surely her friends as well!

Then once again, the reality of her companion's desperate battle darkly dawned upon Gwen. If Alesia's meteor couldn't defeat Elizabeth, if Gunther, who had instantly dismembered enemies that had toyed with Gwen, couldn't overcome Elizabeth - then what could she do?

Her highest level of offensive spell remained Lightning Bolt.

Even empowered by Almudj, she had only mortally wounded Faceless, not blasted him into atomic dust.

Even now, her Divination Sigil reeled with horrid foreshadowing. Her stolen powers of premonition howl out the writing on the wall, the vision within the crystal ball.

It wasn't as though her Void spells worked on Elizabeth.

Her Conjuration spells were at best tier 4.

Her Evocation remained woefully low at tier 3.

Most importantly, Caliban and Ariel couldn't fly.

Only a moment ago, the Void-sun had just swallowed a high-tier, strategic class Evocation of mass destruction, further empowered by Alesia's absurd Affinity with Elemental Fire.

For herself, even with Almudj's aid, her Lightning was at best an Affinity in the high six to eight.

She was just an intermediary; Gwen realised— she wasn't a force of nature. She wasn't even an emissary, like those druidic masters of European lore. She was merely someone lucky enough to possess a smidgen of the Mythic's essence, a fox borrowing the tiger's terror.

"Kin." As if sensing her despair, Almudj's resonate telepathy made its presence known, the intensity of its consciousness the scorching heat of the sun-baked clay.

"What do I do? Almudj?" Gwen felt stupid asking the Mythic, but she didn't know what else to do. As much as she was willing to join the fray, she wasn't the hot-headed Alesia, to whom victory was predetermined, and defeat merely meant one should try harder.

"Sing," came the reply, accompanied by a deep and resonate breeze that transformed into the thrum of rolling thunder building toward cacophony. "Dream."

The serpent's telepathic speech was echoed by a sound of chanting, joined by the stamping of feet. From nowhere, she heard the low song of the didgeridoo, saw the bright colour of body-paint in earthly-ochre, red-rust and bone-white. From thin air birthed the crispy clasp of the watering stick, clap, clap, clap and the undulating chant of Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!

A surge of vital, emerald energy flowed from the Kirin amulet, suffusing her body, empowering the Dream.

Round and round the corroboree went, circles within circles.

She was there, amidst the gathering, moving her body, a migloo ghost swaying to the beat of the thumping cadence. Faster and faster they went. The material world grew undefined, the edges of figures above and below her, in front and below her, less distinct.

Here was the Unformed Land.

Here was where all the world began.

"Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!"

There was the sudden sound of crashing thunder, the snare-drum hush of rain as archery, the pitter-patter kiss of dewdrops.

She was Singing the Snake, bringing the tempest.

The Dreaming was a ritual of understanding the world; of making real that which was unreal and insubstantial through the telling of a tale. It was the language of creation, the grammar of its great stories. It was the beginning of knowledge, from which came the laws of the world. It was the old-time of the ancestor beings, and the new-time of the children, whose dreams made the world rainbow-hued.

Serpents and Suns.

Suns and Serpents.

Gwen knew not what magic compelled Almudj, but she knew it wasn't the compulsion of elemental energies channelled by Sigils. It was older, more ancient; it was an act of the world, an act of creation and annihilation. She knew not what mythology this world's people followed, but she had known many mythoi of her own.

She knew now what to do.

"Almudj," Gwen felt her mind intimately linked with the vastness of the serpent's own, connected by the moment of shared Dreaming. "You must swallow the Black Sun. What belongs to the earth, must return to earth. The usurper will be expelled."

A sweeping scent of briny air flowing across endless coastlines affirmed the telling of her story to the Rainbow Snake.

She felt the residual energy of the Kirin amulet suffuse the air, manifesting into the Dreaming, calling upon the serpent, bridging the space between Uluru and the Tasman Sea.

In a second, her supernatural vitality drain away, the connection she'd shared with Almudj grew less intimate. Beside her now was the crude platform of the spell-beaten Tower, the collateral damage of battle on full display. Above Gwen, Alesia was wrestling with an elemental force that was impeding her mobility. Gunther moved to shield her, but the two became caught by dark tendrils that laid in wait for them.

A pressure began to build overhead. The troposphere grew dense with moisture as elemental mana began to swirl. Gwen's storm was coming. Gwen quickly fired off a Message spell to her Brother-in-Craft, still trapped within the tendrils.

"Gunther! We have to leave this place— NOW! The serpent is coming!"

"Gwen?" came the reply. "What Serpent?"

"No time to explain! Get ready!"

Gwen drew upon what little power that remained.

"Barbanginy!" she incanted.

A bolt of emerald lightning shredded the dark strands of void-tendrils enveloping Gunther and Alesia. Still entwined, her siblings' smoking form tumbled from the sky. Whatever had been attacking Alesia must have sensed that it was no match for the primal might of Almudj, for Gwen bore witness to the improbable scene of a female Djinn tearing itself from Alesia and dematerialising into the Elemental Plane of Fire.

With the rabid Djinn gone, Gunther resumed control of his Flight spell. The Paladin of Sydney Tower cradled the semi-conscious body of Alesia in his arms and turned to regard Gwen, who was levitating in the air.

"How are you flying?" he asked incredulously, drifting closer.

"No time!" Gwen stressed, pleading with her eyes. "Gunther, you need to take us out of here now!"

Improbably, the cloudless sky began to thunder and shower at once.

Gunther looked up, bewildered by the turn of events.

"What's that up there?"

"Gunther!" Gwen's voice became several octaves higher.

The Radiant Mage reached out and took Gwen's arm, pulling her closer.

"How far?"

"As far as we can go!"

Gunther channelled his contingency mana reserves.

"Teleport!"

Just as Gwen and her company reappeared just over a kilometre away, a vortex of water began to form above the dark sun.

As if sensing the imminent danger, thousands of tendrils sprouted from its surface, moving to intercept the rapid descent of the primal force that now propelled towards it.

A serpentine head emerged from the swirling vortex, materialising as it moved downward with the ponderous, unstoppable force of a natural calamity. Its scales scintillated, casting a rainbow hue over the darkened landscape, illuminating the failing light of the late afternoon sky with a dazzling play of colour. Then the rest of its body materialised, kilometres of it, stretching upward until it disappeared into the stratosphere.

Almudj opened its maw. Its jaws distended.

The dark sun hovered helplessly for a moment, gazing upon the beginning and end of the universe.

From everywhere, Almudj's maw enveloped the Black Sun.

Alesia stirred in Gunther's arms; her eyes widened when she saw their new companion.

"Gwen?!"

"Alesia, you're hurt!"

As much as Alesia wanted to converse with Gwen about the when, where, how, and who; she couldn't. Her attention had been entirely usurped by the spectacle of a Mythic, kilometres in length, swallowing an enervating sun.

"What…"

"It's the Rainbow Serpent," Gwen said appreciatively. "Almudj has come to help us."

"It has a name?" Alesia marvelled, wincing at the effort of making even the most minute of exertions.

Before them, Almudj was coiling upon itself, collecting its gargantuan form into a coil. It looked to be settling in for a vigorous digestive session.

"Tired." Gwen heard Almudj's voice within her head, accompanied the by the soft, sinking feeling of bubbling mangroves.

"Rest now, Almudj," she said to the looming presence, so large that it hurt her eyes.

Gunther and Alesia both stared at Gwen, Gunther's expression magnitudes more exaggerated than Alesia's. Gwen smiled coyly in response.

"Are you communicating with it?" Gunther inquired breathlessly.

Gwen wasn't sure what the correct answer might be, but she trusted Gunther enough to give him the truth.

"We have a connection." She nodded.

Gunther flushed with apprehension. As Paladin, threats had to be contained. "Gwen, do you know what this…"

Before Gunther could complete his astonishing acclamation, he was interrupted by two Message spells that bloomed beside his ear.

"Shit!" Gunther cursed. "Gwen, if you can communicate with the serpent, tell it to leave, right now!"

"Wha—" Gwen was taken back by the sudden turn.

"Oh no," Alesia intoned weakly beside Gwen. She too, had received her Messages. "Gwen, you have to tell it to go at once!"

The trio suddenly found themselves in shadow.

Above them, there was a shuddering of space - a tear in the material plane.

There was a sound of air displacing violently.

Two immense structures shot into existence; shunted into being via the expenditure of an unimaginable volume of crystal reserves.

The first Tower to appear was Brisbane, headed by Magister Fei Lin, the Battle Mage of the Grey Faction. Unlike the Sydney Tower, whose brutalist architecture favoured simplicity and uniformity, the Brisbane Tower was a verdant, towering modern structure of transmuted glass reinforced by rings of banded steel. The entirety of its exterior inundated with plant life, from vines to palms, to towering figs that grew between the greenhouses.

The second to materialise was the Melbourne Tower, one of the first Australian Towers to be constructed. Unlike the Brisbane, its structure was a long-bodied monastery with four elegant sandstone spires that soared toward the heavens. Stained glass depicting scenes of valour covered every facet of its vaulted halls. Where the other Towers had favoured height, the Melbourne Tower favoured length and girth; it sat atop a massive rocky platform kept afloat with embedded enchantments and carved into the stonework, altogether shaped like a sword. Its headmaster, Guldric Uther, was the fabricator responsible for overseeing the construction of Towers and Shield Stations, a veteran battle-master of the Warring Faction.

"Lin! Uther! Stand down!" Gunther shouted into the Message spell.

It was a grievous miscalculation on Gunther's part.

In the chaos of the moment, however, Gunther's warning came too late.

As expected, neither Tower listened to Gunther's eleventh-hour commands. Even if they had heeded the Paladin's warning, the chain of command remained firmly in the hands of each Tower's headmaster.

Unlike Sydney Tower, these flying fortresses were fully operational the moment they shifted into existence. Upon their decks and battlements, a full roster of just under a thousand Mages manned their arnaments and spires, operated its engines, infirmaries, and artifices.

Instantly, decahedron rings of complex glyphs powered up atop each of the Tower's spires. Mandalas dozens of layers in thickness, activating a powerful Abjuration barrier that would protect the Tower's Mages from external attacks.

Onc the shield was in place, a cascade of spells began to flow from the Tower's battlements and spires, its range and damage empowered by the inbuilt enchantments of the battle-fortress.

Explosions rocked the surface of Almudj's scales, sending shimmering shockwaves through the serpent's body.

Almudj roared, a booming cry rolling across the heavens, churning the blue sea below a frothy white. It hissed at these human-made structures, striking at them with buffeting wind and rain. A bolt of emerald lightning crashed against the Melbourne Tower, scattering across the shield and showering its inhabitants with harmless sparks.

"Jesus, Gunther." A sultry female voice announced itself audibly around the trio. "Your city's a right mess. Where's this Black Sun Eric kept harping on about?"

"We're going to need to work together if we want to take this thing apart." Uther's gruff voice came through, his baritone cutting through the noise. "It's bloody gigantic. You'll be cleaning up the harbour for weeks."

As the first spell stabbed into Almudj's scales, Gwen felt a sharp pain in her bosom as though someone had forced an ice-pick under her fingers and was in the process of degloving her hand. Whatever the serpent had felt from the assault was being transferred directly to her via their empathic link.

Gwen cried out in alarm and clasped her head between both her hands.

"Gwen!" Gunther cursed, rapidly attempting to explain the situation to the Magisters of each Tower.

Sensing her distress and agony, Gwen felt the connection between her and the serpent diminish. As if in response to her loss of favour, the charmed "air" which had held Gwen aloft likewise dispersed.

Gwen felt a sudden lurch; suddenly, she was very aware that she was half a kilometre up.

"Gunther!"

Her brother-in-craft caught her mid-fall. Gwen felt Gunther's forceful arm support her midriff, his fingers roughly digging into her skin. Before she could thank him, they began to descend. The weight of two additional women was too much for the Flight buff. A look passed between Gwen and Gunther, but neither made a move to comment.

"Gwen, get the snake to leave, now!" Gunther pivoted to the crisis at hand.

"Almudj!" Gwen begged for the serpent to flee. "Go! Leave this place!"

Almudj replied with a vision of wildfires, flaming tornados and ravaging lightning strikes raining across a verdant jungle. If these usurpers wanted to harm its life, then it would return them to the earth.

"No!" Gwen pleaded. "Almudj, you must go! Please! You cannot defeat them!"

Gwen had recalled Alesia stating that a Battlemaster of the Ten could, with the aid of a Tower, take on a mythical beast. While Gwen had a feeling that Almudj was likely more potent than a millennia year old Dragon, she was in no mind to test that hypothesis; not now, and hopefully not ever.

In her mind, Almudj was nature, a part of the landscape, akin to an ancient, sentient continent. It had no contest with humanity, at least not until Elizabeth and her ilk tried to steal its egg. It had no reason to involve itself with the city until Gwen had begged it to come and destroy the usurper.

Almudj would have been perfectly happy, entirely blissful, even if man wiped themselves from the face of the oceanic continent entirely. She did not want the creature to become a pariah, another victim of her people's selfish conflicts.

"Almudj!" Gwen pleaded. "Please go! Go home to the place where all rivers began, never return to the land of man!"

"Hold your fire!" Gunther roared into the Message Spell. "The creature is not hostile to us! It just ate the Void Mage and the Black Sun!"

"Absurd!" Uther's voice came across with annoyance. "No such beings exist!"

The mythical serpent moved its body upward. To the surprise of both Tower's Magisters, it did not attack them. Instead, it found a safe space between the Towers and began to lift itself toward the sky.

"I am standing down," Lin announced. "Walken confirmed your story."

"That man's word is worth less than Goblin shit." Uther's voice had a barking quality to it that reminded Gwen of a bloodhound.

"I don't give a shit what you think." Lin's voice was relaxed and tempered. "Is this the right time? Sydney's just been in one hell of a tiff. Whatever happens to Walken after this, let me first apologise on behalf of our Faction. We got a lot of rebuilding ahead."

"Hmmph!" Uther was far from pleased.

As both Tower's ceased their barrage, the colossal serpent raised its majestic head and ascended into the air. As sudden as it had appeared, it dispersed into fragments of scintillating light, forming a rainbow that spanned the space between the two levitating towers.

It was a surreal sight.

Only a few minutes prior they were locked in mortal combat— now the scene resembled a vision from Elysium.

"Goodbye, Almudj," Gwen intoned beside them, barely audible.

Gunther's steely eyes fell to the two of them, his voice low and severe. "Gwen, whatever happens, everything about the snake is between you, Alesia, and I."

Gwen nodded. That was the way she wanted it.

Alesia likewise nodded weakly, her body boneless and wasted in Gunther's cradled arms. Her long lashes fluttered and were still. It had been a long day for all of them, but especially so for Alesia.

"Is Elizabeth alive?" Gunther questioned Gwen. "Could she have escaped?"

Gwen shook her head.

"I don't know. Almudj couldn't say. In Almudj's eyes, we're all usurpers of the land. The only thing I can confirm is that Almudj took everything that was in the Void-sun."

"That doesn't tell us much."

"No, I am afraid."

Gunther's expression remained rigid until he forced himself to take a deep breath. When he next spoke to Gwen, her craft-sibling's voice was much softer.

"No, it's fine. Whatever happened, Sobel's lost all her profit, thanks to you. All that vitality, all that power, all taken by your snake friend. I'd wager the initiation of that ritual took a lot out of her."

"Almudj," Gwen interjected softly.

"Hmm?"

"Almudj, that the name of the serpent."

Gunther rolled the name in his mouth a few times.

"Keep it close to your heart, Gwen. The name of a Mythic being holds great power, and it gives power to the one who can invoke it. If Almudj can hear your voice, if you have that connection, then that is a rare thing which many others would covet."

Gwen agreed.

"Can you call upon it again? What are the costs?" Gunther enquired carefully.

Gwen's hand moved subconsciously to the Kirin pendant, where only a mite of Almudj's elemental essence remained.

"I don't think so," Gwen replied with a voice full of forlorn loss.

"A shame," Gunther intoned sagely. "But perhaps, it is for the best. For yourself, and for Almudj."

Gwen was in full agreement with Gunther. Almudj was not a creature their world deserved.

Now that the danger was over, the trio descended slowly; soon they would land upon the shattered steps of the Sydney Tower to inspect the true extent of the damage.

Still held safely in Gunther's arms, Gwen placed her head on Gunther's chest, feeling the heat of his body against the chilling wind blowing in from the sea.

"It's just us now," Gunther's voice quivered just a little.

The man was right. Gwen reflected solemnly. For the three of them, for the students of Henry Kilroy, the legacy of Elizabeth Sobel would be the fateful chain that bound them. They would have no peace, no solace, no restful sleep; until they hunted her down and offered her head on a silver platter to the Mageocracy.

"Cold?" Gunther asked, and Gwen nodded demurely.

"Alright, lets land and get a hot cuppa," Gunther replied. "Its been a long day."

Gunther Shultz loathed loose ends.

The Paladin of Sydney watched as the medical staff bundled away Alesia on a levitating stretcher; Gwen followed her sister-in-craft, wrapped in a thick blanket and nursed by a cup of cocoa.

The girls were safe, and he finally had the privacy necessary to think about the despoiled future.

Below the Melbourne Tower, dusk had brought the dying light of day. The city of Sydney, so-called the crown jewel of Oceania, the most prosperous of the Frontier Cities, was now a husk of its glorious past.

Above its ruined facade, three Towers hovered; their empowered 'Light' beams long white fingers groping for targets in the darkness below. From the CBD, columns of oily clouds rose from destroyed skyscrapers and looted suburbs, punctuated by the sound of Evokers at their terrible labour. In the space between the Towers and the city, flights of Combat Mages in groups of fives and sixes swept the perimeter, occasionally stopping to put out a fire, or start a new one.

Gunther tasted the acrid, burning air pinching his tongue. The city wouldn't be safe for the foreseeable future.

Mermen hid in the sewerage, in nooks and crannies of the city that would remain flooded until discovered and drained like abscesses.

NoMs were supposedly rioting in districts where they felt unhappy and oppressed, making them no-go areas for the rescue corps. Tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of civilians required medical treatment.

There there were innumerable people, NoMs and Mages, still trapped under rubble, collapsed passages, byways and highways.

There was the unenviable task of rebuilding the Shielding Station.

The endeavour of reconstructing the infrastructure.

The political obstacle course of repopulating the city with new migrants, both Mages and compliant NoMs.

The labour would take years, perhaps even a decade.

Gunther hated to admit it, but Elizabeth had proven a terrible point: That the Towers were the answer, they were also its greatest weakness. Inside its ivory halls, the best of them had lacked conviction, while the worst of them had been full of passionate intensity.

As a gentry Magus who had spent his childhood in a Tier 1 city; Gunther feared the future wasn't going to go swimmingly.

In the short term, it would be faster, and safer, to simply move the city's precious cargo of Mages to the nearest Tier 1 city. In contrast, the NoMs would remain to rebuild under the watchful eye of a Military Government. Sydney would be a city ruled by Martial Law until its zones were deemed safe enough for human habitation.

By that same virtue, the repaired Tower would need a new Master.

Walken was going to be lucky if he escaped permanent Stasis; Ferris lacked the gall to become the militant leader of a Frontier city. The other Magisters were busy with their domains, which left Gunther himself to apply for the position.

But Gunther wasn't a Magister— yes, his combat abilities far exceeded the average Magister. With Uther's vote and a few supporting tickets from the Middle Path Faction, there should be no questions as to his ascension. But did anyone want to assume the responsibilities of a broken city?

Gunther realised that he did.

Here was his home, his Master's city, and he would see it thrive once more.

His thoughts then turned to his sisters-in-craft.

Alesia's physical body would need both magical healing and physical therapy. Her astral body would need re-tempering and time. She had done more than what was necessary for the defence of the city, and he would ensure that she received the best medical attention that the Mageocracy offered. At that moment when she'd almost perished, he'd felt genuine distress, a heart-rending regret that he couldn't give her the happiness she so wanted while she lived.

Perhaps, Gunther thought solemnly to himself; it was time. He wasn't getting any younger, and Alesia would likely duel a competitor d'amour to the death. He was confident that Henry would have approved, happy even, that someone could finally keep an eye on his wayward daughter.

As for Gwen, Gunther's feelings were ambivalent. These crises that seemed to emerge one after another, all of them seem to somehow orientate around Gwen. First, his Master decides to take her on as a protege; then she became involved with Mark Chandler. When that was said and done, his Master wanted Gunther and Alesia to welcome their youngest Sister-in-craft. To ensure that Gwen had a smooth progression, they orchestrated the whole Inter-High fiasco, where the intimate involvement of his Master ultimately led them this dark place.

But blaming the girl was absurd, Gunther knew, even though he couldn't help feeling jaded by the coincidences that revolved around Gwen's uprising. She was like the proverbial black cat— all who crossed her path become victims of bane and boon.

"No."

Gunther took in a breath of crisp, cold air to clear his thoughts. If his sister-in-craft hadn't appeared in the eleventh hour, they would probably be all dead, and the Towers would be now fishing for their cold corpses in the ruined city below. He should be thankful to Gwen, for her sacrifices and her actions, whatever they may be, in bringing the serpent to their aid. Whatever had occurred, the city owed Gwen an irredeemable debt.

But all of that would have to wait, for the fires in the city still burned long and bright.

It was over.

The invasion wasn't over, but for Gwen, whatever troubles of the city below no longer concerned her.

Now she could focus on the tasks that mattered.

Yue.

Elvia.

Whetu.

She was sure that they yet lived. If Alesia could have escaped the Grot, then surely her friends could have fled its collapse also.

She wanted desperately to shake Alesia awake and demand to know how she survived, where her friends may be; but her sister-in-craft had fallen limp in Gunther's arms, too spent to remain lucid.

She now sat in the Melbourne Tower's hospital bays.

To the physician's surprise, Gwen had a perfect bill of health. Much to the shock of the healers: she was the most hale person they had ever seen. When the physician persisted in inquiring if she would mind participating in some tests, Gwen fled the room and joined Alesia in her private quarters.

Her friend and mentor, however, would have many months of recovery ahead. As the last night died, Gwen sat beside Alesia, waiting impatiently for the sorceress to recover from the milk of poppies and other semi-magical potions and poultices used to treat her.

Now alone with her thoughts, she was once again reminded of the last twelves hours. Scene by scene, her mind worked through the cataclysmic change that had overcome her peaceful life with such violence and velocity.

Her Master— dead.

Her friends— disappeared.

Her Sister-in-craft— mortally wounded.

Her city— a ruined hell-scape of malicious Mermen, rioting NoMs, and loose magical creatures.

Herself— an avenger who had taken the satisfying morsel of blood-debt with a smiling face.

More than ever, she felt lost and without direction. Yet, where does she go from here? What would the future hold? All she could think of was wanting to rush off to save Yue and Elvia, and she didn't even know where or how.

A Message spell bloomed beside her face.

Gwen answered it quietly.

"… Opa?"

The voice that came through was the gruff tenor of a moustachioed angel.

"Gwen, my little Cucu Perempuan! Are you alright? Tell Opa that you're alright!"

Suddenly, Gwen didn't feel so strong, so stoic, so powerful. She felt her eyes becoming cloudy with unbidden emotions that were no longer in her control, her chest heaved; she could keep it inside no longer.

"Oh…" She began, "O Opa..."

Consciousness dawned.

Gwen swivelled with haste to wakefulness that she gave herself mild whiplash. She met the surprised expression of the nightshift nurse, one hand still hovering over her shoulder.

"S-sorry," Gwen mumbled, lifting her head off the bed. Her eyes blinked, still puffed from the exhaustive emotions of last night. When a silver thread of drool lingered between herself and Alesia's sheets, she reddened with mortification. Together with her dishevelled hair, it gave her a pitiable, tragic air.

"There's a foldout bed in there, sweetie." The nurse, a middle-aged blonde woman with a gentle face, stifled a mirthful chuckle and pointed her to the guest's couch. They were in a VIP room reserved for executives and thus, the furniture allowed for overnight stays. It wasn't unusual for loved ones, Apprentices, or close associates to desire the opportunity to remain watchful over the patient.

"Thank you." Gwen removed herself from the bedside. It must be early morning now, for a soft phosphorescent escaped the drawn curtains. In a few hours, the new day's sun would shed its light on the full extent of the disaster below.

The nurse patiently recorded the biometric readings of Alesia's condition before turning to Gwen.

"Do you want something to eat, hon? We have a full-time kitchen down the hall. There's an officer's mess on the second level as well."

Gwen intended to decline, mindful of Alesia, but the motherly matron's reminder signalled to her subconsciously that she hadn't eaten since the morning. They were supposed to be having a luncheon after the Rosebay challenge, and now it was the next morning. She had gone without food for a full seventeen hours.

When her stomach loudly protested, the nurse couldn't help but audibly chuckle.

"Come on then." she inclined her head. "It's just downstairs and across the hall. I'll take you over."

Gwen stood and followed the nurse.

"My, you're a tall one!" the woman remarked as they proceeded down the hall. "You might want to get a fresh change of clothes. The canteen's a real riot of folks at the moment. Mostly junior officers."

It was then that Gwen registered that she was still wearing the loose robe she had slung over her body after her gleeful murder of Faceless. It was still speckled with dark blood, especially when combined with the hospices' slippers. If she sauntered into the mess right now, she would resemble an asylum escapee.

"Yes, I'll change first, thank you."

The nurse smiled gently and directed her to a suitable changeroom, sliding herself between the narrow doors into a mirrored cubicle.

She pulled the robe from her body and stored it within her ring, then wiped herself down with a wet towel. The cubicle had a tall mirror that ran the length of the door frame, within which she could see herself. Against all expectation, she appeared hale and well-toned, different from the anorexic body she had inhabited for the last six months.

It was the gift of vigour from Almudj, whose restorative essence had given her a new lease on life.

How long would it last this time? She wondered. How many Void spells could she sustain before she appeared spent once more?

Sobel had seemed immune to the bane of negative enervation.

As for herself, who knew?

She raised a hand and touched the jade Kirin around her neck, caught between the swell of her modest breasts. Its texture was smooth and fleshy in the manner of lamb-fat jadeite, cosy, like her flesh and blood.

The Amulet was another secret to unravel in the days to come.

Putting her thoughts aside, Gwen sorted through the folded piles of clothing held in stasis. With consideration for the company of stone-faced Mages and crisply-uniformed officers, she opted for the penguin-coloured dress she'd worn for Rosebay. Her Mary Janes, now a veteran of many crisis and combats, had seen better days.

The shit these shoes had seen— Gwen puckered her lips. Maybe one day the pair would awaken as an enchanted pair of sentient shoes. I have no mouth, and I must scream, and all that.

While she brushed out her shoulder-length hair, coiling the dark cascade into a convenient braid, she an unbidden thought struck her chest.

According to Faceless, Debora had been dead since a year ago.

If so, who was going to tell Debora's parents and how should they recount it? Would a kindly worded letter from the Frontier government suffice? Debora's parents were well aware that their daughter was best friends with her, and had even seen lumen-pictures of the two of them, cowboy hats and all, hanging out arm-in-arm in the outback.

Just the thought of those moments made her ill.

With a wave of her hand, Gwen collected her towels, her clothes and her makeup, packing away her troubled thoughts along with the miscellanea. After a final inspection of her reflection, she left the changing stall and made for the canteen.

The mess hall wasn't far from the VIP wards, accessed after descending a set of stairs and traversing through the corridors. The galleries of the Melbourne Tower were created for utility rather than security, focused upon the pragmatic delivery of goods and services to the frontline Mages. The section which Gwen inhabited was reserved for officers, with the medical wards situated on the lower floor, a few corridors from the junior officer's shared quarters, while the senior officers had their quarters on the second floor.

The nurse had been right. Gwen heard the noise before she'd even neared the rowdy premise. When she'd arrived, engineers, soldiers, medical staff and officers packed the mess to the rafters. Food was served buffet style in heated trays. Beside each counter, a loose line of hungry Mages made their way through the selection, primarily congregating near the roasts.

Curious eyes rose from saucy plates to regard Gwen as she entered, surprised to see someone of her age present within a Monastery-Fortress of Melbourne Tower. A few of them grinned, making her doubt herself. The bacon looked good, however, and so she ignored their enquiring looks. Retrieved a tin tray, she proceeded to gather a towering assortment of toast, muesli, yoghurt and packets of fruit preserves. When she passed the bacon line, she again felt her skin crawl. Was it her Divination Sigil? As a novice, she couldn't tell. A few chuckles exchanged amongst the junior officers, then much to her chagrin, one of the young men began making his way over.

Gwen found a table that was already seated and placed her tray upon the stainless steel benchtop. The already seated soldiers were pleased to see a teenage girl joining them, but then noticed the young man purposely approaching them.

The junior officer must be somebody— because the men and women around her left their seats without so much as a glance.

Gwen cursed. Lower her head; she hoped that appearing so engrossed in her breakfast that the man would surely take the hint and realise that conversation was undesired.

A looming shadow appeared over her buttered toast.

Without a clang, the young man sat across from her, placed his hands under his chin, and stared at her intently.

The presumptuous officer wasn't a bad-looking sort, but she was hardly in the mood. The single stripe of blue-on-navy by his collar indicated his rank as Pilot Officer, likely one of the Aerial Combat Mages stationed within the Tower. Gwen knew most of the young Mages stationed in the Sydney Tower, which meant this particular junior officer was either from Melbourne or Brisbane.

"Hey." the young man split his lips to reveal a set of gleaming teeth. "The name's Daniel. What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Gwen wasn't a novice in the art of the insufferable "pickup". She could read his braggadocio like a cheap book. Usually, she would move away or politely bear with the unwanted attention, but she was in no mood to be pushed around by some entitled imbecile.

She looked up from her plate and met his eyes, channelling a little lightning to her eyes so that her iris took on an intimidating electric hue. She raised a piece of toast in one hand, and without breaking eye contact, proceeded to butter it.

"If you don't speak English, I've got a Translation Stone you can borrow."

Gwen followed up by patiently lathering strawberry jam over the toast. She folded the bread over and delivered the calorie infused morsel to her mouth. Still maintaining eye contact, she chewed.

Daniel held his composure, but when his friends began to snigger, his patience was at an end.

"You know, it's rude to ignore someone who's speaking to you. Who's your Master? I ought to have a word about your manners."

Gwen's eyes glowed.

A static charge passed between the metallic benchtop and the offending heckler. Daniel tore his hands from the table as though bitten by something fierce, tumbling backwards and tripping over his seat. With a clang that drew every eye from the room, the junior officer fell onto his elbows and made a right spectacle of himself.

"You little bitch!" He spat, climbing up on all fours. "How dare you! I am an officer of the Frontier Aerial Service!"

Gwen felt such ire simmering at her throat that she was confident murder was an option she was willing to consider. Her eyes, two vehement orbs full of malice, was ready to swallow the young man whole. With a word, she'd all on Caliban, and then—

"Oi! Miss Song doesn't want to speak to you," they were interrupted by another junior officer. This one added a quick, "Sir" after glancing at her harasser's lapels.

Gwen swallowed the murder rising in her chest, and regarded the three who'd come to her aid. She was surprised to find that she knew these young officers. The one who had spoken was Julius, one of the young men she'd often conversed with on her trips to visit Master Henry.

"Out of my way, Cadet," Daniel spat. "I have business with that girl."

"I am afraid I can't do that, Sir," Julius said again.

The other two beside him stood lockstep with the cadet. Watching the spectacle, someone in the crowd asked his neighbour who might this 'Ms Song' be. Another turned to address the questioner.

"Lord Henry's protege."

"The late Lord Kilroy?"

"The very same."

A few of the watchers took on expressions of schadenfreude.

"Poor Hopkins, there goes his promotion. Wait til Lord Gunther hears about this."

"Oh shit."

"He's dogmeat."

"Rest in pieces."

Her harasser's face turned ashen.

Gwen wondered if now was a good time to brush the matter off. There were Mermen below and a city to be Purged.

"Hopkins! Stand down!" a voice familiar to Gwen called out from the corridor.

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Hopkins snapped to attention, his subliminal training kicking in.

The rest of the canteen likewise stood to attention as a man badged with triple stripes, two broad and one thin, entered the mess. A secondary insignia with a stave and two entwined serpents showed that the officer hailed from the medical corps. As the crowd parted, the military Mages moved to salute, while the civilian Mages stood aside to show their respect.

"Major!" Daniel Hopkins stood ramrod straight, sweat already beading on his forehead.

The moustachioed officer turned his seawater-eyes toward Gwen and gave her a benevolent smile.

"Jonas!" Gwen uttered in surprise. "You're here!"

"How could I not be?" Jonas replied. "I am sorry I couldn't be there when it all went down."

"I am sorry too." Gwen sighed, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face. Her voice became low and ridden with guilt. "Alesia's badly hurt."

"I know, we're here to see if there's anything we can do."

"We?"

Two more figures appeared behind Jonas, edging through the crowd.

"Paul! Taj!"

"Gwen! Good God, am I glad you're alright!" Paul came through the crowd and embraced her, squeezing her tightly. "After I sent you guys through, we'd lost contact! I almost died from worry!"

"I am alright right now, but…" Gwen squeezed the Conjurer back, feeling guilty that she had to be the bearer of bad news.

"Yeah, I know."

"Hey Sparky, I am glad you're alright."

The Abjurer exchanged a hug with Gwen as well.

"Thanks, Taj," Gwen returned the big man's hug. "Where's Billy?"

"He's locked up with the intel division until all of this's cleaned up," Taj replied. "Else he'd be here in a heartbeat. You know he's still got the hots for you, right?"

"Taj!"

The men shared a good laugh at Gwen's expense. Through dozens of years apart, what they shared in common was a special love for Alesia.

As Gwen and the decorated squad freely conversed, the crowd around them could no longer contain their curiosity.

"Did you see that?" a voice spoke excitedly. "The girl's acquainted with Major Durn."

"There's also Captain Phillip and Captain Mckay!"

"You idiot, didn't you hear, she was the late Lord Henry's protege."

"But Lord Kilroy's only got two…"

"Use your brain!"

Having exchanged pleasantries, Jonas turned to the petrified statue that was Daniel.

"No rest for the wicked, Hopkins, you're on double duty for the next fortnight, is that understood?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Daniel's voice rose an octave higher. Any punishment was preferable to Lord Gunther's displeasure.

"Dismissed!"

Daniel snapped a salute and moved past them. He paused when he reached Gwen's side.

The man bowed.

Gwen nodded, embarrassed to be the centre of attention.

"So, making trouble and its not even 6 AM." Jonas chuckled and pulled out the bench below them, offering Gwen her seat. "You want to join us in the upstairs mess? It's for senior officers, better food, better decor, less noisy."

Gwen shook her head.

"I was done anyway."

"You should eat more! You're stick and bones! Put more meat on there like Alesia."

A wane smile cracked across Gwen's lips.

A female junior offer brought them tea and coffee, setting them down carefully beside each of them. Gwen was surprised to find that she was among that number.

"So, a hell of a mess, huh." Paul began, "What'd you guys do?"

Jonas went first, speaking about his experience during the entire ordeal. With the incoming Leviathan and the loss of Message Towers, he'd gathered up the men under his command and made for the CBD. There, they'd met up with other officers leading rag-tag bands of civilian militia and made a stand against the incoming tide of Mermen. As the conversation continued, Jonas admiringly spoke about seeing Gunther flitting about the city, as well as hearing a strange story about a masked Mage with the power of pink salt, saving civilians wherever he went.

"You too?" Taj raised an eyebrow. "One of my junior officers said that she was saved by a Mage who changed the Mermen into pillars of pink salt."

"Which one?"

"Katie from the third ground division."

"Oh, she's a nice gal, glad to know she's alright. Fantastic Transmuter, that one," Paul commented with a whistle.

Their conversation skirted around the topic of Alesia for a while, with Gwen listening bemusedly to their military banter.

"So, what happened to the Rosebay girls, the juniors, I mean?" Gwen asked Paul.

"After you guys left, we holed up for a while. But when things started to get shaky, I used the emergency glyph key that Ferris left behind and opened up a Teleportation circle to their sister school, Lilith's."

"Did everyone get out?"

"Yeah, thank God. Lilith's three suburbs away from the Parramatta River, so they weren't flooded. They WERE hella surprised though when their teleportation circles fired up by themselves, though. Almost blasted us when we started appearing by the dozen."

"What did you do afterwards?"

"Tried my best to link up with the boys. Didn't find anyone, not with the Tower down."

The group kept on with small talk for a while until Jonas paused mid-conversation to listen to a Message. The medical Mage turned to the table and stood from his chair.

"Alesia's up."

Gwen stood up so fast that the bench shot out behind her, almost tripping Paul as he tried to rise.

"Let's go together," Jonas advised.

The group followed.

They made their way down the corridor and up the stairs until they reached the VIP ward. The very same nurse was clearing out a cart full of bandages and other medical supplies.

She looked up to see Gwen and her company of ranking officers.

"My, my, you cleaned up well." She beamed brightly at Gwen before turning to Jonas and tilting her head respectfully. "Doctor Durn."

"Sister." Jonas nodded back. "Is Magus de Botton's condition optimistic?"

The nurse said nothing. She handed over a chart clipped to her cart. Jonas' face turned a shade darker as his eyes scanned the report.

"Jonas…" Gwen fought the acid reflux.

"Let's go in."

The four of them filed into the room.

Alesia was leaning against a pillow, staring out the window through drawn curtains. Though early, the horizon outside had already taken on a warmer hue, casting the room in a soft, velvety shadow. The bed had been elevated, giving Alesia a comfortable incline upon which her head rested.

The once vivacious Mage's lips were bloodless, her cheeks sallow and sunken, her bright eyes became buried in two dark, concentric circles.

Gwen's eyes moistened. To see Alesia like this, so wasted and defeated, was heartbreaking. To think the first time she'd seen her, Gwen's thought Alesia the most beautiful, most vibrant woman she had ever seen in all her years.

"Gwen, everyone." Alesia's sonorous and sultry voice now had an exhausted quality to it.

"What happened?" Gwen questioned Jonas. "She wasn't this bad yesterday."

Jonas sighed deeply and moved to the bed.

"You always push yourself so hard…" he said softly.

The other two were visibly disturbed as well. Palpably, the atmosphere grew despondent.

"Jonas…"

"It's soul burn," Jonas replied. "An advanced form of mana burn. When a Mage channels mana to manifest spells, they tap into the Astral Body, via the means of command Sigils, tapping into the elemental planes to empower the phenomenon. When mana burn occurs, unspent mana lingers in your astral body and causes physical harm to your body in the material realm."

"Soul burn is when a Mage tries to over channel spells beyond their capacity and ends up exerting their Astral Body itself. When one's soul is damaged, the physical body grows frail and consumptive."

"Is there a cure?" Gwen inquired anxiously.

"Time and care," Jonas said, turning to Alesia. "Meaning no more combat for the foreseeable future."

Alesia groaned.

"I am serious," Jonas intoned sternly.

Before Jonas could speak again, Gwen reached out with a trembling hand for Alesia.

"Alesia," Gwen began. "Can you tell me if…"

"The girls are alright," Alesia replied confidently, guessing Gwen's enquiry. "Whetu as well. They're in the Grot still."

"They're alright?" Gwen asked sceptically.

Alesia nodded.

"Hypothetically, of course. What I mean is that I don't see why the trio wouldn't be alright, so long as they remain in the Grot."

"Where are they now? Where's the Grot?" Gwen inquired desperately. She wanted nothing more than to teleport into the Grot right now and rescue her friends.

Alesia's eyes fluttered with fatigue, becoming short of breath from the exertion of speaking. Jonas moved to support her back, channelling a gentle stream of positive energy into Alesia's torso.

"Thanks, Jonas." Alesia breathed out. "Gwen, I say the girls are alright because the Grot is a real place, not a pocket dimension that collapses when the caster dies. What Master had created was a direct portal that led into the mystical home of the Dryads, Sufina's private sanctum. It's in a Black Zone."

"A Black… Zone?"

Alesia nodded.

"A place not fit for human habitation."

Gwen's distress mounted.

"You said they were safe! If they're in a Black Zone…"

"I know, let me finish." Alesia continued after a short pause. "Neither Gunther or I know where the Grot is exactly, but I know that it's in a place called Kapulauan Riau, an uninhabited island-chain off the coast of Singapore."

Gwen's skin turned clammy.

"That's… Mermen territory." She recalled her Geography lessons. Most of the cities of Micronesia and Indonesia peninsular was lost a decade ago. The only beacon of human civilisation there now was the port-city of Jakarta, as well as the most significant transport hub in Oceania - the Fortress city of Singapore.

"Never fear, the Sprites who inhabit those islands are old and ancient. I would rather venture to say that they're worshipped by the Mermen, who trade them the treasures of the sea and the occasional human for Golden Mead."

"What do they need humans for?" Gwen asked alarmingly. "Do they eat them?"

Alesia's face took on a spot of colour.

"Anyway," Alesia coughed. "Usually, when a conjured a creature loses its Master, it also loses its ego, its animus, together with important, shared memories. However, sentient creatures such as Dryads have independent memories that exist outside of the empathic link shared with the Conjurer. It means that as long as the girls remain in the Grot, Sufina should be caring for them as we speak."

"And Whetu?"

"He'll be… kept busy, I imagine."

Gwen's quizzical look made Alesia roll her eyes.

"What I am saying is that they're all safe, at least for a while. Dryads have long memories. As long as they don't try to exit the Grot, they'll be fed and kept plump and healthy until rescue arrives."

"Presuming they stay put?"

"Yes."

"But Yue's with them."

Gwen's stipulated point made Alesia think about her apprentice. Her eyes stared into the middle distance after masticating a few scenarios in her head.

"They may be in immediate danger." Alesia's face took on a paler hue. "We need to rescue them as soon as possible!"

"What's the fastest way to Singapore?" Gwen asked.

"No!" Jonas lifted his hand from Alesia's back; the sorceress sagged back into the cushions. "You need to rest!"

"Jonas, please…" Alesia begged.

"No means no."

Gwen looked from Jonas to Alesia.

"I have to find them," she said sternly. "I don't know how, but I have to. I am beyond persuasion."

"It's too reckless, Gwen!" Paul interjected.

"Paul's right, you're just going on a suicide mission." Taj likewise offered his advice.

Gwen felt taken aback by their logical apathy.

"I need to go," she spat back at them, feeling a boiling, irrational resentment rising in her chest. "I'll go myself if I have to."

"How?" Taj, who was more unmediated thanks to his Earthen element, snapped back at Gwen. "You have no ship, no power, no resource, no team. How are you going to go?"

Gwen's fists balled on reflex. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything to punch Taj's face. Yue and Elvia. They were her friends! Her only family in this world!  What was there to live for if not for the company of Yue and Elvia? Had it not been for them, she would have lost all hope in this second life, taken by the undertow of the Void.

If only she could be like Alesia or Gunther— having the power and freedom to do what she needed! If she was powerful like Gunther, or even Alesia in her prime, she could fly off right now and save her friends.

"Shut up!" Gwen felt her voice croak. Unbelievably, the frustration was causing her to tear up. "Shut up, please."

Taj lowered his eyes. "I understand how you feel, but your wish is impossible."

"How about..." Paul interjected.

"We can't," Jonas cut off Paul's rhetorical question. "We have duties here."

"But I can't leave them! I need your help!" Gwen pleaded.

Her demand hung in the air, strangling the conversation until Alesia disrupted the awful tension.

"Alright folks, listen to me." She spoke plosively, wincing she did so, pronouncing each of her words with forceful intent.

"Taj, Paul, Jonas. I am asking you—"

"Alesia…" Jonas began.

"Shut up and listen," Alesia intoned assertively, demonstrating her famously short fuse. "I am not dead yet."

Alesia took a deep breath.

"Nothing gets past this room."

Taj nodded. He formed a circular invocation with his hands. A clear mana shield sprang up around them, cutting off sound and contact from outside.

"Gwen is the youngest apprentice of my Master."

The three held their breath.

"She is far more talented than me. She can access Conjuration, Evocation, Divination, even a bit of Transmutation."

Three throats swallowed simultaneously.

"She is in command of the Lightning element, as well as the Void."

The men turned to Gwen for affirmation.

The teenager nodded demurely.

The men quaked.

Alesia continued her merciless onslaught. "So listen well to what I am telling you now..."

"One day, Gwen will become more important than all of us. One day— she will bear the legacy of my Master, become an Omni-Mage who will carry on the will of Noblesse Oblige. One day, she may be the Sorcerer Supreme who brings peace to our cities, mayhap even to humanity itself. Do you understand?"

"Alesia, that's too much..." Gwen began, but Alesia cut her off. The exhausted Magus turned to face her teammates with eyes that were serious and purposeful.

"But Gwen is not yet strong, just as I wasn't strong when you'd all first met me. When I needed help, I had you guys to back me up, to fill in for my weaknesses, to look out for me. You guys were my pillars."

The men listened intently, their eyes filling with nostalgia and remembrance.

"Gwen also has pillars," Alesia continued. "She has a kind and loving friend with a fiery temper, just like me, called Yue Bai."

"You all know Yue and how fond I am of her. When I think of her, I think of myself when I was younger. Her talent is likewise extraordinary, and may one day exceed even mine. Assuming she has a chance to grow."

"Gwen has another pillar, her spiritual and physical support, called Elvia Lindholm."

"Elvia is sweet and innocent and loving; when you hold her in your arms and smell her hair, you can feel at peace. She is a restorative balm for the soul."

Alesia had to take a deep breath before continuing.

"Gwen cannot lose her supports. She cannot lose those girls, just like I cannot lose you guys. If any of you guys are in danger, if any of you are stuck in that Grot, I would jump off this bed right now and crawl over to Indonesia, do you understand?"

The trio listened intently; a gust of dust must have blown into the room, for allergies simultaneously afflicted their eyes.

"I can't tell you the specifics, but I am telling you right now, that were it not for Gwen, you'd all be dead. We owe her our lives, all of us! My life, your life, his life, Gunther's life, every Mage in the damn city! She did that for us, without asking for anything in return. So when I ask you to help Gwen, it is so that you and I can pay back just a little of that debt..."

The room was silent but for the sound of Alesia's exhausted panting.

Jonas was the first to reply, then the others followed earnestly.

"I understand."

"Me too."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. I am tired." Alesia sunk back into bed, her face white as a sheet. "You ungrateful bastards almost killed me all over again."

"Thank you." Gwen held Alesia's hand and kissed it. She raised the cold flesh and placed it upon her cheeks, where it became stained with the wetness escaping from her eyes.

"Little fool," Alesia said quietly. "Take care of my men."

"I will."

The four of them watched Alesia once again fall asleep, her chest rising and falling with comfortable cadence. They filed out of the room and gathered in the corridor.

"We're in your care." Jonas nodded solemnly towards Gwen.

Gwen turned to the three of them and bowed deeply.

Paul interjected, preventing her from making the full supplication.

"We're all banking favours with a future Magister," the translocation specialist joked. "Anyway, we want to do this. For you, for Alesia, it's important to us."

"I am glad I can help as well. I was feeling something awful back there," Taj confessed. "Though we're missing a number for a full party."

Jonas tapped his fingers against his knees.

"Don't get too ahead of yourselves," he warned them. "We still got a major hurdle ahead."

The three turned to regard the Major.

"What?" Jonas looked at them incredulously. "You don't think Lord Gunther is just going to let Gwen waltz into a Black Zone, do you?"

Gunther's temporary HQ found its home in the Melbourne Tower, where the residing Master, Guldric Uther, had been kind enough to lend the Sydney Mages a portion of his Tower as a Forward Operating Base.

Upon her arrival, a plague of reporters was already beating down the door to the sanctum, swamping the Paladin.

Thus far, the opinion of the press centred upon two narratives— one, that Gunther and the Tower have failed the city, two— that Gunther was a saviour wunderkind who pushed back the inevitable.

Within the Tower itself, there was the matter of Walken's punishment, Henry's negligence over the issue of Elizabeth for the last three decades, and finally, the old Master's funeral.

The funeral especially became a point of controversy, as some argued that a dead Magister served a perfect scapegoat. In response, Gunther promised retribution and blood for anyone who dared taint his teacher's obituary.

With the death of their Master, the fact that Alesia and Gunther were Henry's pupils escaped into the public domain. As for Gwen, her inclusion among that number would wait, for the crisis and controversy of the moment would only serve to endanger her. For the interim, at least until Alesia was back in shape and Gunther could solidify his base, her anonymity offered the best protection.

Likewise, the power vacuum left by the sudden department of two Magisters, both Henry Kilroy and Eric Walken, as well as the death of over a hundred Mages, opened up Tower positions which were salivated over by those whose aspirations had been stifled by the influence of the incumbents.

Gwen walked behind the men as they approached the double doors to Gunther's office, appearing as an attaché to the Major and his two Captains. Quickly, the reporters parted. While Alesia's adventuring party wasn't as famous as the flame-hearted madcap sorceress herself; the reporters knew well that Major de Botton had fought beside Gunther Shultz and was mortally wounded.

Still, some couldn't read the mood.

"Major Durn, can you comment on the current condition of Magus de Botton?"

"Captain, what is your opinion on the unknown phenomenon known as the Dark Sun?"

"Major! How do you respond to accusations of negligence in duty on the part of Lord Kilroy?"

"Captain!"

"Major!"

"Sir!"

The group pushed through the reporters, whose keen noises could smell the story cascading off their uniforms. It was unfortunate then that none of them noticed the pretty girl demurely following the men, looking like a nervous intern. When they'd reached the entrance, two guards opened double doors to reveal Gunther at his table, inundated by a mountain of paperwork.

The team passed through, then the doors boomed close behind them, cutting off the reporters.

"Good to see you guys. Gwen, I am happy to see you've recovered."

As he spoke, Gunther pulled himself away from the hilly terrain of crisis-reports with the expression of a crystal miner who's finally seeing the light.

It was the first time Gwen had seen Gunther in such an officious capacity. The room that her brother-in-craft had appropriated was an impressive rectangle with tall, vaulted ceilings covered with murals of demons and angels. Behind the Paladin, twin bay windows looked out into the still smoking city below, a reminder of the man's precious time that they were taking up.

With a word, Gunther waved away the men and women who'd been working through documents and memos and told them to take a coffee break while he sorted out some private matters. Several of the staffers looked toward Gwen with knowing familiarity written over their faces; one of them even acknowledged her presence and made a little nod.

Gwen approached the table and bowed, causing the Radiant Magus to stand. Gunther skirted the table and gave Gwen a cordial embrace, telling her to be at ease and to treat the place as if her own. He then left the table and opened up the alcohol cabinet, pouring out several glasses for the gathered guest.

The men received whiskey. Gwen received a glass of icy water.

Gingerly, Gwen sipped the chilled water to calm her nerves. She waited until they were all settled in, then informed Gunther of her request.

When the group had finished their tale, the Paladin fell silent.

"All feeling and no brain, I'd thought you better than this, Gwen," Gunther noted displeasingly. "Now of all times, to send you away is something that complicates matters unnecessarily."

"Gunther, I have to help them. I can't back down on that..." Gwen met the Magus' steely eyes with her own, trying her best to keep her tone controlled and tempered. She had already presented their case and now engaged the issue from another standpoint. "Besides, it's our Master's Grot! It has to be you, Alesia, or myself, and I'm the only one who's free. After all that happened, God knows what Sufina would do if strangers forced their way into the Grot. The place is special for all of us, if only because Sufi is our companion."

Gunther clinked the ice in his glass.

The atmosphere was reserved at best. Gwen and her companions nursed their drinks and held their breath while the gears turned in Gunther's head.

"Fine," the Paladin said finally.

The team breathed sighs of relief. If they were to leave without Gunther's blessing, the matter would be infinitely complicated.

"But I am not letting you just go out there without some contingencies. You're still missing a member."

"Who do you suggest?" Taj inquired, swishing the melted ice in his drained glass. Gunther motioned for the crystal decanter, but the Abjurer declined.

"Someone close to Gwen, who knows how to keep a secret. Someone highly competent, capable and trustworthy, who wouldn't expose Gwen's secrets."

"Surely you're not suggesting yourself?" Paul raises an eyebrow. While it would be pretty amazing to have Gunther himself joining them, it would come at a high cost to the city, to Gunther, and the Towers. Unlike Gwen, the de facto leader of the Sydney Tower can't just uproot himself in a crisis and go galavanting into a Black Zone.

Gunther returned the half-glass of amber liquid to the mahogany table with an audible thunk.

"I know the matter is urgent, and that you're desperate to leave." Gunther turned to Gwen. "But give me a day, at worst two, to sort out transport, identification and the location of your last member. For the time being, I highly recommend going to see your Grandfather. If you should recall, he was Master's squadmate. He can probably tell you more about Sufina, as well as the whereabouts of the Grot."

Gwen felt sudden epiphany dawn upon her. She'd been so anxious over Gunther refusing their request to rescue her friends, that she'd completely forgotten about Surya! The Old Codgers Club had known each other since they were young men and women, serving in the Saurian Conflict and then through the Coral Sea War. Undoubtedly Opa could shed some light on the matter.

"Thank you..." With a moist twinkle in her eye, Gwen allowed her next words flow over her tongue before allowing it to escape her parted lips. "Brother Gunther."

Gunther paused for a barely perceptible moment; then his face broke into an earnest grin.

"With one title, you've dug a hole I can't possibly escape from," he chuckled accusingly. "You're better than a Mind Mage, Gwen."

"I am grateful, Gunther, Really," Gwen implored emotively. "Thank you for helping my friends."

The rest of the group watched on with indulgent, tender faces. As Mages serving the Tower, they've all experienced the intimacy of becoming someone's brother-in-craft. Sometimes, a sibling rivalry sours when competing for the favour of their Masters. Other times, something beautiful is born - a bond of trust and camaraderie created from shared goals and convergent philosophies.

"Come, sister."

To Gwen's surprise, Gunther leaned across, opening his arms. Her astonishment lingered only a second before she wrapped her long arms around his broad waist. Though it was unfortunate that Gunther smelled as though he'd worked through the night, Gwen didn't mind. With her entire being, she welcomed the warmth of a brother with such an unshakable sense of responsibility and diligence for duty.

"I am sorry about our Master."

"I am too."

When they parted, Gunther gingerly took Gwen by the arm. His bear-like mitts extended to hold her small white hand within his own as incanting a familiar invocation that Henry had performed in the past. A gentle glow suffused Gwen's body, and she felt something disappear within the realm of her astral body.

"The… Geas?" Gwen marvelled. She had forgotten entirely about her Geas! It was by blind luck that she hadn't given up anything about her bond with the Rainbow Serpent, else things would have assuredly taken a turn for the worse.

"Give me your Tracking Ring, Gwen."

Gwen removed the Enchanted tracker from her ring finger. It was a gift from Henry that revealed her position when scried by a Diviner and placed it in Gunther's hands.

Beside her, Gunther likewise removed a silver band from his fingers.

"Don't let Alesia see this," Gunther joked. "Knowing her, she'd immediately misunderstand."

Gunther's band was a loop of pure mithril, glinting with that distinct, mana dense aura specific to the ultra-rare mineral. Meeting at the apex of the crown was a priceless cats' eye that sat between tiny claw-footed mountings.

"A Contingency Teleportation Ring," he announced. "Made with the core of an Evil-eye's optic Core."

Beside him, the eyes of Taj, Paul and Jonas glowed with appreciation and desire. An item like this was like a second life.

"If you are mortally wounded, the ring will teleport you to the closest Tower," the Magus explained.

To their shock, Gunther slipped the ring onto Gwen's ring finger, where her tracker had been.

"As usual, there's a tracking enchantment to allow for easy scrying from the Tower. Don't ever take it off. If you lose it without wilfully commanding it to disengage, it will send a teleportation Marker and an SOS to the closest Tower."

Gwen felt the warmth of the ring on her finger; her white legs were already knock-kneed when Gunther dispelled her Geas— now, they were jelly. Having seen Edgar escape certain death thanks to his ring, she knew just how precious this item was. Her brother-in-craft was lending her his second life.

"No! Gunther, I can't! It's too precious! You need it!"

"Nonsense!" Gunther waved a hand. "I'll be stuck here for the foreseeable future; until I move back into the Tower. Then I'll be stuck there for the foreseeable future. What need do I have for Contingency Ring when I am battling paperwork?"

"But!"

"No buts!" Gunther appeared taken with the role of a benevolent elder sibling, finding the secret joy that Henry must have felt when doting upon a young apprentice. "If you die saving Alesia's apprentice, do you think Alesia will let me have peace so long as I live? If you were killed, by say, a faction of Mages from Singapore, do you think Alesia will leave the city standing?"

"Err…" Gwen felt the words catch in her throat.

"Think of it as helping us, helping you," Gunther smirked, touching the emptiness on his finger where a contingency ring had sat for a decade. "Let the ring be insurance. Promise me you'll be more of yourself and less of Alesia out there. Don't put yourself in unnecessary danger. Know your limits and trust your friends and allies. Don't try to do everything yourself. Listen to Jonas and the others."

"I'd look ten years younger if Alesia did that," Jonas quipped, citing his white handlebar moustache.

"Agreed, I am losing hair," Taj joined in.

"That's just male pattern-baldness..." Paul interjected, fending off a deathly glare from Taj.

Gwen felt the ring on her finger.

The weight of it was incredible.

All that expectation and hope, anticipation and trust, bound up in one Mithril band.

"If you're not going to wear that ring, Gwen," Paul noted sternly. "I suggest you stay on the PT boat while we bushwhack the jungle."

Gwen met Gunther's steel-grey gaze, her own striking hazel eyes returning his benevolent gaze with gratitude and thankfulness.

"Thank you, Gunther," Gwen intoned gratefully to her brother-in-craft.

Gunther rubbed the back of his head with a newly discovered embarrassment. He dispelled the awkwardness by moving to teach Gwen the glamour used to make the ring nondescript.

"So, it activates when my life-force or biometrics is deemed critical?"

Gwen wanted to make sure that she won't accidentally activate the ring casting Void spells or in the performance of some calculated incantations.

Gunther affirmed the need to be very careful with her Void spells, as the designer of the Ring had probably not taken self-draining Negative Energy into account.

"So what if I…"

Gwen paused, her body becoming rigid.

"What if you..?" Gunther regarded his sister-in-craft, who'd seemed struck by something awful. Suddenly, Gwen's expression twisted with palpable horror as she processed an epiphanic hypothesis.

"GUNTHER!" Gwen spat with furrowed brows and trembling lips. "Oh, God!"

The rest of the team regarded her quizzically. Was the gift of the ring too much?

Within Gwen's mind, her thoughts were racing a thousand calculations a minute. She figured it out! She knew! How could it have been so obvious! The answer was there all along!

"Gunther… if a Tower is in Contingency Mode, can the ring still save my life?"

"Of course." Gunther nodded. "The Glyph-script within the ring is affirmed by a Treaty. The ring acts as proof of your allegiance. Even if you teleport into a Tower held by another Faction, they're honour bound to keep you safe, even if it's a temporary stay in an anti-magic prison. It's a Quid Pro Quo system agreed upon by all parties."

"Can the Contingency ring be tuned to a specific place, like your tracking ring? Can a student be teleported to the whereabouts of a Master?"

Gunther nodded.

"Yes, that's one of the most popular uses for the ring—"

Gwen's face flushed with exhilaration, her lips glistened.

"Gunther! I get it now!" She intoned jubilantly at her brother-in-craft. "I know how Elizabeth Teleported into the Tower!"

There was silence in the room at first, then Gunther slammed his cup onto the table. The office became a whirlwind of gesturing hands and fingers as Gwen explained her theory to Gunther, who began calling in assistants and advisors. As they talked, calls were made, and experts on the matter consulted.

Gunther delayed his appointments for the next hour while the group shared a light luncheon.

When all was said and done, Gwen was proven right; at least in theory and at least until practical experiments could be carried out.

It was indeed possible to use a Contingency Ring's bypass Teleportation design to force oneself into a Tower's systems. Furthermore, though untested, it was also possible to forcibly teleport oneself into a restricted region such as the Grot, which occupied both the Tower's space as well as the Grot's parallel pocket dimension. Though the theory had been floated once or twice before, there were no precedents. Thus, the warning had been forgotten in times of peace.

Gunther sighed.

"I was going to nail Walken with abetting the enemy and letting a hostile Magister teleport into the Tower," he told them conspiratorially. "Now it seems, Gwen may have saved his life."

"Oh." Gwen expression soured.

Gunther waved his hands in the air, suggesting that she shouldn't worry about the mislead politician.

"Keep the ring," Gunther insisted. As for the potential loophole, greater powers in higher positions would be the ones to lose sleep over it, certainly not the genius sister-in-craft who had uncovered it.

"There may be Contribution Credits involved. I'll keep you posted."

Gwen blinked. She had heard the term from Richard before but hadn't chased upon them since that night they'd exchanged some closely guarded secrets.

"What are Contribution Credits?"

"Something immeasurably useful, or utterly useless, depending on where you are." Gunther mused. "But nothing's finalised so I wouldn't worry too much about it. You'll know when the time comes."

With luncheon finished, it was time to go.

"Take the Teleportation Circle down to Shielding Station 46, that should give you a direct flight path into the Hunters' region," Gunther advised.

"I'll have number five sorted out soon, as well as your travel documents."

The group thanked Gunther and marched out. Once more, Gwen resumed her invisible intern persona while the burly men fended off the lumen recorders and pushed away nosy reporters baying for blood.

Gunther turned to his table, where a stack of reports had caught his curious eye. The foremost of which read: Preliminary Site Investigations - Watson Bay Shielding Station.

Regret.

Morye knew regret like one knew an old jilted lover.

He loathed the feeling, but like a moth to an old flame, he kept returning to her embrace, suckling on her magnificent teat with the ferocity of a newborn babe.

He had escaped the old country to start a new, carefree life in this Frontier City, and yet all he did was rack up one baggage after another, becoming embroiled in a dazzling display of love-debts.

Was he a playboy? Morye certainly didn't think so. He wasn't the sort of man who'd go and hit on women or used their injury to feed his ego. He wasn't a man who was lascivious or addicted to lovemaking; Morye merely enjoyed the company of woman more than most - their scent, their beauty, the softness of their voices, and the giddiness he felt when they held his arm for comfort.

The only problem was that he couldn't stomach the responsibility that inevitably came with the possessiveness. The desire to start a family, to settle down, to choke him with a collar called the breadwinner and demand that he picked up the kids after school.

Morye couldn't do that.

Helena had once demanded he explain himself, and so Morye imparted the wisdom that as Abjurers shielded and Evokers shot Fireballs; so Morye Song was incapable of becoming the stereotypical husband.

Such as the way of the world, Morye had explained.

Same as that water flowed down from high and dragons hatched as hermaphrodites; he was a man who couldn't help himself when it came to beautiful women.

After the nasty incident at Shield Station, he'd used the psychotic Dust Mage's Teleportation Scroll to will himself away. He'd ended up in Town Hall, a fair enough distance, not too far from Rosebay if a Mage took a crow's path to his destination.

His daughter needed rescuing, and Morye felt responsible for not once picking her up from school. At least this one time, he had told himself, he should do it. It was going to be a bloody and dangerous rescue, after which he would have executed his fatherly duty and could be at peace with his delicate conscience.

He had travelled no more than a dozen blocks when the tidal pods used by the Mermen started to rain down on the city, spilling fish-headed gooks of all shapes and sizes all over the broad avenues of the city.

The Mermen were a strange lot in Morye's opinion, their preference for raiding human cities likewise made no sense when one considered the logistics of expending troops for negligible gain. He'd heard the popular theory that they were out for revenge, after all, humans ate a shit-ton of fish; as well as the notion that war against humanity was kind of holy crusade issued by the sea-priest to thin their overpopulated numbers.

The over-population theory had met with resistance in the academic circles. After all, if the hypothesis held, why bother raiding the human cities and taking prisoners? Why not just file into the human cities and declare themselves sushi and sashimi? Morye was confident that humanity could handle as much seafood as the Mermen could march out of the sea. If so, the Lords of the Sea could thin their numbers and trade for goods and services!

Having survived the Northern Front, Morye had little sympathy for the stupid NoMs who'd ignored the call for shelter and remained wandering through the streets aimlessly.

Little sympathy that is, until he spotted a lovely brunette number being dragged by two thuggish looking brutes into an alley.

Immediately his blood was up.

They were in a crisis for God's sake! A horrid assault upon the city! Only blocks away, there were Mermen chopping people apart with claws, tearing them to shreds— to shreds! How can these NoMs behave like such animals at a time like this?!

"Salt Skin!"

A smooth layer of pink, crystalline-salt covered Morye's body, adhering a film over his face, forming a featureless mask. As one of his favourite signature spells, he had spent a goodly number of years sculpting the invocation so that the transmuted carapace resembled a suit of crystalline-white medieval armour tinged with marbled pink, giving him a knightly, although anonymous, air.

With a hefty thunk, Morye landed in the alleyway. Within, he accosted the sight of a struggling woman who was half-way undressed at knifepoint. He took a glance at her dishevelled stated and shot two shards of monomolecular salt toward the thugs. The sound made by the crystalline projectiles slicing through flesh and bone was silken, punching through their limbs like a well-honed flenser carving ham-in-bone.

The men crumpled.

"Miss, are you alright? It's not safe here." Morye helped the woman up. She had erratic eyes that were wild with messy mascara and full red lips that were a little smeared. The scene was so titillating as to make Morye's mind wander into dangerous territories of his own.

"Thank… Thank you." The woman avoided looking at the whimpering men beside her; one was holding a spurting arm stump, the other trying to piece his leg together. "They are my co-workers— I didn't... I didn't think..."

"The shelter's that way." Morye held her as she stumbled from the alleyway, her dress worse for wear and covered in blood. He materialised a jacket and hung it over her shoulders, lest she attracts other unkind eyes.

Morye wanted to leave right there and then, but the sight of her fixing her dress despondently while her eyes flashed with desperate signals made his protective instincts engorge. In the end, he took a quick detour and dropped the woman off at the entrance to the shelter, presided over by a few Militia Mages ushering folk into the bunker.

Having resumed his merry way to Rosebay, Morye was determined to get to Gwen as soon as possible. His daughter was the target of some very unpleasant people, and it was pivotal that he reached her before other, more nefarious forces.

Then Morye had turned the corner, only to see a group of Mermen beating down a battle group of Militia Mages. The Mages were pushed back by the burly Crab-men, who served as shields for the weaker fishheads. From the looks of it, the crustacean carapace exceeded the tier 1 to 2 Air spells utilised by the novice Evokers. As living battering rams, the beasts smashed through the Abjurer's earth-shields, snapping up the poor bastard with a swipe of their claws. When two of the burly crustaceans pulled the man apart like a blood-sausage piñata, it proved too much for the Evokers.

Dark lines creased all over Morye's forehead. Here is why amateurs were useless in war.

He had just about left when one of the Evoker women pulled off her cumbersome hood to reveal ash-blonde curls framing a dazzling face. The girl appeared young, maybe in her late teens, at best her early twenties, screaming bloody murder as she scampered on all fours away from the Mermen. Morye paused mid-air, torn by indecision. He had to save his daughter! But how could he leave these Mages undefended, destined to be fish-food?

The second Evoker stumbled and fell to her hands, which became bloody with nasty abrasions from the broken debris. When the first girl went to help her, she threw off her backpack and hood, revealing a similar head of flaxen locks matted by sweat and blood.

Sisters! Morye realised with a pounding heart. It would be a tragedy if their mother, who must also be a lovely blonde matron, were to lose two of her children in a single day. It was his duty as a Mage of superior power, gifted by fate, to ensure that these young women lived to see another day.

Behind the two girls, the Transmuter who had tried to bring up the rear proved too fragile to withstand the assault of the cruel Mermen. Even with Bark Skin and Enhanced Strength, he found himself caught between a dozen crab-claws, held in the air while coral tridents skewered him like a kabab.

Horridly, some of the Mermen began to eat, digging for the young man's guts, his liver, his heart and brain, even as he screamed for the mercy of death.

The sight of their companion being eaten alive erased any thoughts of resistance from the girls. They fell on their bottoms, all courage and strength depleted, failing both the tests of fight or flight and instead choosing paralysis. Morye marvelled at their gamble— were the girls hoping that the Mermen were interested in living prisoners? If captured, what awaited them was infinitely worse than death.

Just as one of the fishheads approached with a seaweed-strew net; the sisters found themselves staring upward at a salt-carapace Demigod.

"Foul beasts," Morye spat. "Know the retribution of man! Pillar of Salt!"

The modified Flame Strike materialised from thin-air and slammed into the group of Mermen with a terrific force. Negative energy flooded the surrounding space, draining the life from the Mermen. At the same time, crystalline shards dug into their skin, sliced into the flexible joints between their carapace, drawing out the moisture from their bodies.

Easy, Morye grinned. Like sauntering garlic-butter lobster.

The elemental power of salt was brutally effective against water-based creatures by the simple virtue of its desiccating passive effect. Even if the Mermen survived the initial blast, the loss of moisture from their bodies ensured the ultimate collapse of their organs moments later.

The Mermen crumpled.

Morye turned to the two women, who by now was staring at him with doe-eyed worship. The last survivor of the group of five, a plain-looking, nondescript broad, fled the scene.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Magus!"

"Thank you, Sir!"

"I am June, and this is Summer."

"We owe you our lives!"

The girls were beyond glad that in the eleventh hour, a Magus with a rare Mineral Element would come and save them. Morye looked at the two women, whose faces were similar, but each had their unique appeals. The taller one had a freckled nose that gave her a cherished air of vitality and youth; the shorter one had large, glassy eyes that hinted at a high level of compliance with a low level of situational awareness.

"I am glad you're alright." Morye landed, feeling pleased with his efforts.

June and Summer were in a dishevelled stated by now, their tattered clothing revealing their graceful surfer's bodies beneath the robes.

"I should escort you to safety," Morye announced. "The shelter is not far from here."

"We need to join up with our battle group," one of the girls replied guiltily, reflecting upon their cowardice when the Crab-men had bested their spells.

"Fine, I'll take you over, just point me in the right direction."

Unfortunately for Morye, another battle awaited him. When they arrived at the girls' FOB, he found the leader of their rag-tag battle group entrenched in a melee. The Militia had barricaded themselves with furniture, cars, road signs, and any other opportunistic bric-a-brac they could find. A full three dozen of them were fending off hundreds of menacing Mermen, lead by a burly looking shark-cum-reptile.

Without a word, Morye dropped a Blade Barrier around the barricade, instantly turning the Mermen assault into sashimi dinners. As the pink-crystal blades churned, the shark-leader bellowed a challenge at Morye.

Morye moved to confront the shark-headed beast. He wasn't stupid enough to melee it. Instead, he dropped a Cone of Salt the moment he was close enough to cover the Shark-captain and his guards. As usual, the desiccating spells proved too much for the fish folk. After the magic passed, all that remained were comical dried fish-jerky wearing armour and carrying semi-enchanted weapons of the depths.

The leader of the Militia was a young officer called Katie Rhodes, who introduced herself and supplicated before Morye, demonstrating the most heartfelt genuflection she could show.

Morye examined the young commander. She had cropped hair about her ears, with liquid, brown eyes were alive with hope and vigour, giving her face an enduring quality that made one want to embrace its beautiful symmetry and aesthetic curvature. Morye felt his heart aflutter, feeling a little lost in the innocence of her face.

"Sir, thank you for saving us..." Such vivid eyes the girl possessed! So intimate and familiar, so pretty—

Morye blinked.

Shit! Gwen!

Without a word, Morye steeled his resolved and flew into the sky, no longer keeping his eyes upon the disturbance of the ground below.

Gwen! He told himself. I am coming!

And finding his wayward daughter he did.

Though the outcome was somewhat more ambivalent than Morye had hoped. There was no tearful rescue, no screaming for help. Instead, he had to act as a witness to her horrid mutilation of some poor sod. After, watched her blast off into the sky with a green glow and realised that his daughter all grown up. At that moment, he felt like a useless father who'd spent years neglecting his daughter, and when he'd finally found her again, she'd married a seven-foot biker and was holding a baby sporting a rat-tailed mullet at the tender age of three. Then the biker-husband turned to Morye and asked, 'who the fuck are you?'

"Fuck it," Morye recalled finding himself instantly distant. "I am out."

His first goal had been finding a way to return to his peaceful life as a useless Abjurer, laying low while the whole thing blows over. Surely, with all the drama happening with the Shield Stations, the department wouldn't be too interested in a senior technician who'd gone awol.

At least that was what he'd naively hoped.

Instead, just as he had met one of his ex's, coaxed her into providing him with temporary shelter, when a message spell bloomed beside his head.

Unlike a personal message spell, the glyph for this one was silver, indicating that it came from a Government authority.

"Shit," Morye said to himself. "Sorry Margerie, I gotta take this."

The NoM woman kissed his shoulder, walking away without so much as a sliver of cloth. Morye marvelled at the gentle, soft curves of her body, admiring the good fortune that despite the years since their last tryst, she'd kept well, maturing like a well-seasoned mango.

"Morye Song." The voice that spoke was stern and commanding.

"Yeah?"

"This is Gunther Shultz, interim Master of the Sydney Tower. I am invoking section 5.7.8 of the Frontier Military General Article 7. I am conscripting you for mandatory duty while the city is under Martial Law."

"Why? I am just a no-good Abjurer. What can I do?" Morye protested.

"Katie tells me otherwise, Mr Song."

"I don't know who that is."

"Perhaps I'd be more convincing if I called you by your new title?"

Morye furrowed his brow. What title was that?

"The Pink Salt Saviour."

Morye choked on his spit.

"That's fucking ridiculous!"

"Nonetheless, I have a quest for you, one you cannot possibly refuse. It serves neither of our purpose for the headlines to tell tales of your wondrous exploits."

"We'll see about that."

"From your colourful past, no less. From the old country to the New, so many women wondering where you'd gone."

"... I am listening."

"Good, because you wouldn't want to turn down my offer regardless. It involves Gwen, and your refusal to participate will directly endanger her."

"Fuck me sideways." Morye had a sinking feeling.

"It's not so bad." Gunther's voice was caught between amusement and self-control. "If you participate, I will keep your talents a secret for you. Otherwise, you can prepare to live the rest of your life in Oceania as a renowned public figure."

"No, no," Morye succumbed quickly. "If it's for Gwen, I'll do it."

"Good," Gunther replied. "You are to rendezvous with her at Surya's estate. I have a team ready to head out."

"Out to where?" Morye became suspicious. "Who else is at the estate?"

"Out to a Black Zone," Gunther said. "Your wife and son, as well as their stepfather, are all thankfully safe and sound— at the estate. They eagerly await your unexpected arrival at the estate."

Morye moaned silently. He was happy that Percy was safe and sound; that Gwen too was alright, but the mere mention of Helena made his chest sore.

"I wish you the best of luck," the Paladin intoned, satisfied with his recruitment drive. "Good hunting."

The Paladin silenced the Message conference.

Morye felt his world turn dark. He felt like a Merman stuck in a crab cage. He hadn't thought about it before, but he knew it now— there were indeed fates worse than death.

With their course set and objectives aligned, Gwen and her military attache awaited the attunement of the Teleportation Circle that would take them to the Shield Station. In the interim, they took the time to visit the Quartermaster of the Melbourne Tower to procure the necessities of an arboreal adventure.

“That’s primordial jungle you will be dealing with, vines as tough as steel cables which regrow in a day. It ain’t no walk in the park, lass! Yer sure yer head'n in with the Major?”

The bearded quartermaster was sceptical as he eyed Gwen up and down.

“Show me yer hand.”

Gwen did so.

“Ye barely got a single callus on there! It’s smooth as a baby’s bottom! I am warning ya lass; the woods out there ain't no place for a wee princess like yew. Yer be bled and scabbed by the time ya first day’s done!”

Gwen felt her forehead perspire with consternation. It wasn’t as though she wanted to assume the youthfulness of a newborn babe. Having just lost her old flesh to a nether-world shapeshifter's consumption abilities; it was par for the course that her newly regenerated dermis looked and felt flawless and silky.

The others chuckled mirthfully with every grievance made by the wizened Quartermaster.

“Ah Brune, just give her the gear. We’ll make sure she’s alright.”

“She some bigwig’s daughter? Why are yer buggers playing honour guard?”

“Need to know basis.” Paul winked at the old man. "From up on high."

“Bah!” The quartermaster resumed his item sorting. “Three Healing Potions, two Mana potions per person. Five Cure Poison. Five Remove Disease for the lot of ya.”

“Five pairs of skin-suits, four sets of fatigued combat mesh, four pairs of Waterproof hikers, Two lengths of Magic Rope, one Decanter of Everlasting Water. Bring ya own woollen socks - I am outta stock.”

The quartermaster paused and looked up at Gwen, raising a sceptical brow before unhappily handing over what looked to be a model house and a bulging bandoleer.

“One portable habitat. One hundred HDM crystals, military issue.”

The men each passed their fingers over the assigned items. By consensus, Gwen became tasked with carrying the restorative potions, as well as the water supply.

When she received a model of what looked like a small cabin, she had to ask what it was.

“Its a pocket dimension habitat, you know?” Taj was surprised Gwen noted that she had never seen such a thing. “They’re pretty common for camping in zones where sleeping in the wilderness is hazardous.”

“What does it do?”

“You put the crystal in here,” Taj mimed placing a HDM crystal into a slot which fed into the toy cabin. “It generates a small pocket dimension that only attuned individuals can see. Inside the portal is a Conjuration based persistent effect that mimics a cabin. We can safely rest, cook and heal in there for twelve hours per crystal, maximum three crystals per cycle.”

“That’s incredible!” Gwen marvelled at the toy structure, turning it round and round in her hands.

“It better be for a whole HDM.” Paul winced. “Rank and file get ten HDMs, officers get twenty to fifty. Most of it goes to buying magical stock, training, and replenishing mana. We use the cabin out of necessity. I mean, for a NoM, one HDM is about a month of their wage as a low-level maintenance engineer.”

"Is that... very little?" Gwen asked. Had she been given an opportunity to procure items, she may have had paid more attention, but thus far she hadn't needed worrying about resources.

"NoMs get paid in currency, not crystals." Paul looked at her strangely. "I am talking conversion here, so it's probably really skewered. After all, what's a NoM going to do with crystalised mana?"

“Oh.” her face grew bright pink. She’d hadn’t had much consideration for money since Opa had taken up her finances. Furthermore, her master had provided her with all the training materials and spell components.

Gwen felt derelict in her duty of care. It seemed like forever since she'd arrived in this world and so much had happened that her old life no longer felt real or distinct. Would Gwen have another opportunity to use her former skills? LDMs, HDMs, currency, there was much more for her to learn before she could apply herself in those fields. It was a telling piece of evidence that her 'frontier' education had completly neglected economics. Her immediate concern was far more straightforward - become a sorcerer supreme, master multi-schools of magic, work on synergising her options.

Paul leaned in conspiratorially.

“Gunther’s ring is worth about ten thousand HDMs.”

Gwen felt the immense weight of the ring on her ring finger.

“Without the Contingency enchantment…”

The weight now felt as though a neutron particle studded her ring.

“The price of having a tier 8 Enchanter engrave the spell is five thousand HDM…”

The blood drained from Gwen’s face. Her palms became sweaty and nervous.

“That excludes the materials for the enchanting…”

Gwen shot a nasty look at the Translocation Mage, who chortled satisfyingly to himself before looking away innocently.

“Alright! I’ve got the confirmation.” Jonas intervened between the two of them before Gwen could respond. “Let’s go see Master Surya.”

* * *

The flight from the Shield Station proved uneventful.

This far inland, there was little evidence of the Mermen incursion, although it didn’t mean that the countryside had remained idyllic and unaffected.

As Gwen's party travelled across the landscape, convoys of cargo transport could be seen conveying from the tablelands down to the city, bringing much-needed supplies of food and water. In reverse, caravans of NoMs in vehicles of all sizes, as well as those crammed like sardines into military trucks, were travelling to temporary refugee zones. Until the city purged the Mermen and the Shield Stations were repaired, the refugees would sojourn here under the Frontier Government's martial law. The process could take months, perhaps even a year, Gwen didn't know. When she'd inquired the others, they weren't optimistic about the prospects.

"Half a year, assuming no Mermen attack, no Tier 1 city pulling our resources, and no Factional bullshitting," Paul quipped in response.

The others chuckled. Neither of those elements was likely avoidable.

"Maybe the Factions will settle down, I mean, surely the big Three are willing to work together under Gunther. The Grey busybodies are half-way responsible for the shit show, Gunther is now de facto leader of the Middle Faction, and the Militants are Gunther's fanboys," Paul continued. "The little Factions won't cause disruptions needlessly, so it'll be the external power players we need to look out for."

Gwen and her company made a strange spectacle as they soared over the makeshift camps. Three military men in green-olive fatigues are flying in an arrow formation, flanking an inexperienced girl in a black skirt and white blouse, silhouetted against a cloudless blue sky.

Paul had taken the opportunity to teach Gwen how to fly, but it would take hundreds of hours until Gwen would wrap the elemental air around her like an extension of her body. To subconsciously operate the Flight buff while casting spells and dogfight, was a rare bird in any neck of the woods.

It took them two more hours to reach Surya’s estate, by which time the sun had begun its descent toward the horizon.

Surya's estate no longer had the idyllic look of an outback oasis. Instead, the entire frontage had been converted in record time into a receiving zone for refugees and supplies, with a line of trucks idling outside the property waiting to get in. Unlike many of the property owners who were adjacent, Surya was a genuine survivor of the last Coral Sea Conflict and a veteran of many evacuations. The moment the news of the breach in the Shield Wall had reached Surya’s ears, he had instructed Tess and Melissa to ready the compound.

Rows and rows of transmuted stone and iron formed self-contained makeshift shelters, hundreds of them, stretching from one side of the Estate to the other. Its once blue lawns of emerald buffalo were now strewn with the refuse of NoMs fleeing danger and tragedy, littered with cardboard, clothing, and odds and ends of the lives the refugees had left behind.

The infinity water feature itself had been converted into an aqueduct that provided fresh water to the camp. The moulding workshop where Surya made his sculptures was transmogrified to an open kitchen, where dozens of men and women milled about with plates and pots.

“Your Grandfather is an incredible man,” Jonas intoned with heartfelt awe.

Jonas slowed their descent and flashed his badge at one of the Military Mages manning the perimeter. The young man saluted and pointed them to the direction of the main house, which from the looks of it, had been converted into a temporary clinic.

“Yes.” Gwen didn’t know enough about her Opa to add to the comment, but the compliment filled her with a giddying sense of pride.

When they’d landed, there was a welcoming party waiting for them.

“Richard! Percy!” Gwen squealed gleefully and leapt towards her kinsmen. Richard had been the first to contact her when she’d thought all as lost; his well-wishing had filled her with the audacity of hope. Her brother too, was a sight for sore eyes. With all that had happened, she felt a sudden pang of guilt for not thinking overmuch about Percy during the crisis. Seeing his wane smile and ashen face now, she felt her heart abuzz with mixed emotions of maternal, sisterly love and indignant disappointment that he’d not so much as sent her a single Message during the entire ordeal.

“Huggn! Uhurk!” The sound of a throat clearing diverted her gleeful advance.

“Opa!” Gwen changed her trajectory midway and flew into her Opa’s bony arms, almost bowling the old man over.

“My cucu perempuan!” Surya embraced his granddaughter, feeling the softness of her body envelop the scarecrow likeness of his own. There was a perceptible vitality about the girl that he hadn’t felt before, as though the girl had become younger somehow.

“Oh, how I’ve worried!” Surya felt revivified by the release of tension brought on by the physical evidence that his granddaughter was not only safe but also unharmed. After the story she'd told him, he'd half-way expected her to show up smeared with human remains.

“I’ve missed you too, Opa,” Gwen brushed her lips over the whiskery beard of his cheeks, feeling the stinging itch of her grandfather’s bristles poking into her tender flesh. Even though they'd spoken prior, a physical meeting held a special feeling that Message spells couldn't replicate.

When Opa finally released Gwen from his embrace, satisfied that she was in one piece, Gwen turned to Percy and Richard. The euphoria of the moment had passed, so Gwen delicately asked if their evacuation from the city had been fortuitous.

“Actually, I just arrived a few hours ago.” Richard grinned, though Gwen could see the fatigue written all over his face. “I can hardly believe how much has changed. It’s been a long day for many of us. Are you feeling alright yourself?”

“Is something the matter?” Gwen asked. If something was troubling Richard, she wanted to be able to lend a hand.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Richard tried to brush off her concern, but Gwen distinctly felt that the young man was trying to avoid making her anxious.

“Richard…” Gwen wanted to know, but her curiosity would have to wait.

She turned to Percy, who’d watched her interaction with Surya and Richard silently. They say that girls change rapidly through the age of thirteen to eighteen, but in Gwen’s eyes, the changes occurring in Percy were no less surprising. Having seen him only a few times in the last year and a half, the boy more and more resembled their father.

Like Morye, Percy had that strange, indescribable handsomeness that was becoming of children of mixed heritage, with a strong jaw and a well-spoken chin, but a delicate mouth and an effeminate nose. His eyes were darker than the hazel that Gwen and Helena shared, giving him a more distinct, prominent appearance where Gwen's fair skin and light eyes would often appear bashful and demure. His complexion took its tone from their grandfather, giving him a honeyed tan that falsely gave the impression that he enjoyed the outdoors.

“Hey buddy, how’s life been?” Gwen asked carefully.

“Alright I suppose, until all of this.” Percy looked unkindly towards the NoMs milling about the place. “I was going to enrol in Prince’s, you know.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Gwen replied, unsure now of how to approach her brother after disgracing Helena at the Huang’s Estate.

Then it struck her. The Huang’s Estate. Their manor was in Kirribilli.

Gwen spun around and caught Richard just as his attention turned inward, causing the young man to regard her with a disconcerted apprehension.

“Richard, your family…”

“They’re safe like I told you, just inside, in fact.”

“Your estate! Your family’s properties! Their investments! Your Tier 1 studies...”

Richard tried to put on another grinning face, but the straight-spoken young man was terrible at hiding his emotions.

“You know how it is. You win some; you lose some. I guess two decades of peace had us on the back foot.”

“Oh, Richard…”

Before Gwen could pursue the matter, Surya instructed them to convene in the East Wing. The rest of the building, including the guest rooms, had been converted to service the refugees.

When they made their way through the central atrium, Gwen felt a slight tingle of premonition triggering her Divination talent. She paused to regard her surroundings and caught a familiar pair of heavily mascaraed hazel eyes meeting her own.

Both of them sighed. Neither Gwen nor her should have stared so intently. Now there was no avoiding the awkwardness.

“Mother.” Gwen curtsied after the smallest pause.

“Gwen,” Her mother greeted her. Gwen’s eyes scanned the space around her and saw that her stepfather was nowhere to be seen.

“Tang’s helping with the shelters,” Helena retorted with a hint of pride in her voice. “His manufactorum is bringing supplies to us as we speak.“

That was not what Gwen wanted to know, but she paid Helena the fished compliment nevertheless.

They regarded one another for a few more moments, each wondering if there was anything cordial to be exchanged.

“I am glad you’re alright,” Gwen intoned at last.

“You too.” Helena was putting on a brave face, but Gwen could see that the woman was a mess beneath her stoic, self-aggrandising forbearance. Her mother’s makeup was usually impeccable; with sharply contoured shadows framing her vivid eyes and lips that were well defined and outlined. Now her eyes were a little smokier than usual; her lips merely mattered with a dull crimson that felt cheap and negligent. It didn't mean that she wasn't her usual self, of course. Even now, as others passed them, they'd stop to steal glances at the striking pair; though more so at the raw, effortless sensuality that oozed from Helena. As her mother appeared lost for words, Gwen felt a trickle of sympathy for the poor woman. It must be so exhausting to live like Helena, to be so wary of what others thought at all times.

As they measured one another for weakness, Helena noticed the three burly men who’d taken up position beside Gwen as her bodyguards. The mana radiating off these men suggested the rank of Senior Mages at the very least, while their cold demeanour inferred they were seasoned combatants of many battles.

Helena felt her chest tighten. What position had her daughter attained now?

Only a year and a half ago, Gwen had been a mewing teenager whimpering at the utterance of every critique from her lips. What could her daughter have done to gain so much influence with those from up on high? What use had the late Henry Kilroy found for her daughter? How had she wormed her way into the good graces of someone like Gunther Shultz? There was her talent, of course, but hundreds of Mages had talent. Why Gwen?

Helena felt herself burning with curiosity, but she was too afraid to ask.

“Gwen, in here,” Surya’s voice came from behind the double doors of the second living room.

“I am coming!” Gwen called out. She turned to Helena.

“Please be safe, mother.”

Helena nodded.

“You too,” she repeated, feeling her heart palpitate uncomfortably just from speaking to her daughter. Helena felt no shame in confessing that her wayward daughter frightened her. “Stay safe, Gwen.”

Gwen reached out to embrace her mother, who returned her affection after an awkward hesitation. As they exchanged cheeks, Gwen noticed that her mother’s generous application of Chanel No.5 had rubbed off on her blouse. Where previously she had dreaded the scent, it now felt almost nostalgic, reminding her of the few times when they’d genuinely shared some mother-daughterly moments of innocent happiness.

“Gwen, come on.” Surya had been watching them. “You can kiss and make up at dinner. What was it that you wanted to know? Shultz wasn’t clear on the details.”

Gwen left her mother standing as she entered the room with Surya.

The second living room was likewise a mess. Most of the statues and artworks had been stashed within to make space for the clinic.

“Right,” Gwen found a place to sit.

Surya left for a brief moment and returned to materialise a decanter of cold water and several glasses. Gwen took over from the venerable Enchanter and poured for the men in the room, mindful of her junior status amongst them.

Alesia’s men timidly took the glasses from her tray, mindful that Alesia never had in her life performed anything remotely resembling cordial labour. Ordinarily, it was the men who fetched cognac or whiskey so that Alesia could wet her whistlers as she talked over them. That woman was born a queen on the one hand, and lacked both propriety and emotional intelligence on the other, truly a dreadful combination.

Surya took a sip from the water and looked at Gwen with gentle eyes.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked his granddaughter. Only last night Gwen had been choked with uncontrollable emotions, confessing to Surya what she had done and how Henry had died. As his granddaughter became wracked with guilt, Surya had felt unspeakable grief. A portion of it was over his friend’s death, while the latter half was for the trouble their lack of vigilance brought upon his granddaughter. After all, Surya had been there when they 'confirmed' that Elizabeth had died. He'd also voted to support censuring Mark when the neophyte Necromancer announced that Elizabeth was still alive. What if they'd instead chosen to pursue the matter? Would they have uncovered Elizabeth's tracks? Prevented the tragedy to come?

Surya doubted it. It took far more than one Elizabeth Sobel to orchestrate something of this scale.

Then there was the matter of Debora Jones, the poor girl. Surya felt nothing but sympathy for the original Debora, and a deep-seated dread for his stupidity in bringing Faceless to the meeting. They'd played right into Elizabeth's hands.

Surya was a military man though; despite his artistic sensitivity, he knew that there was a time for grief and a time for action. Now was not the time to mope over the loss of a friend and ally, but the time to ensure that the city survived and his legacy continued.

Gwen extended a hand and held Surya’s own, feeling the empathic warmth of resonant grief flow between them. With a voice that trembled, she told Surya about her desire to save her friends.

“The Grot, huh?” Surya took another sip and fossicked through his memory.

Jonas had come prepared and produced blurrily taken aerial lumen-recordings of the archipelago between Singapore and Jakarta. A circle had been drawn around a small group of islands, where a red dot marked a blurry smidgen of green with a handwritten title - Kapulauan Riau.

“You’re going to be in for a hard slog," Surya forewarned them.

He tried to recall as much of Henry’s boasts of finding Sufina as he could. ‘Deathless Henry’ had already become a popular moniker amongst the deployed Mages when their team first formed. Henry was older than all of them by at least a decade, though his presence had always felt younger thanks to the influence of his Dryad familiar and her supply of vigour rich essences. "Tis the milk of paradise," Henry had joked. He was happy to share it, but Sufina was both parsimonious and niggardly when it came to the golden mead.

“Well, the story goes that the island contains a groove of rather xenophobic Dryads,” Surya continued. “Of the man-eating variety, that is.”

His face took on a redder shade as he met Gwen’s inquisitive, anxious eyes.

“You know what that means, right?”

Gwen’s cheeks blossomed. Paul had explained rather explicitly what 'it' was that Dryads usually took for sustenance and sport.

“Right,” Surya coughed. “So the story goes that Henry was one of the Mages who advocated scouting and mapping out the region during the seventies so that we could find potential locations for further FOBs against the Mermen. When he and his squad got caught by a sudden sea-sprout, they were blown off course onto this island, which today we call Kapulauan Riau. The location of the island and its archipelago is incredibly convenient, for it was within Greater Teleportation distance of Vietnam, Singapore, the Malaysian coast, and even Brunei.”

Jonas and the old Magus discussed some geographical details before continuing.

“They explored the island for the first half a day without incident, but then they ran into the island’s inhabitants. As you can imagine, this would be the millennia-old Bayan-tree Dryads that reside at the island’s centre.”

“I remember Henry telling me that his men were overwhelmed by the Dryads after a few days of being kited through the woods. The fairy-folk have a Fey-charm ability that muddles the mind, especially when it comes to young men.”

Surya stopped to take a sip of water.

“When it came to Henry, however, he told me that since he was naturally a Mage aligned with plant-life, he managed to, ‘convince’, the Dryad to come with him instead of drawing him into the woods.”

Paul whistled.

“The boss’s boss is pretty boss if he can kidnap a wood nymph from her people. That's a helluva reversal.”

Surya nodded in affirmation.

“Sufina was still young, of course, a century at most and so more pliable to becoming a bonded familiar. It was fortunate for the both of them. I’d always thought. I’ve never seen another plant-Mage like Henry, and Henry had never encountered a suitable magical creature like Sufina since.”

“Now that brings me back to the point I was making,” Surya continued. “While you will be fighting your way into the island, you mustn’t attack the Dryads themselves.”

“How strong are they?” Taj inquired. “General class for the mature ones? Giant class for the Elders? Titan for the mother-tree?”

“No no, nothing like that.” Surya waved his hand. “Nothing so exaggerated. Your average Dryad can be taken down by a Tier 3 Fire Evoker without breaking a sweat, Soldier class at best. Only the Matron, who feeds off the grove, could arguably approach Giant class. I am saying that once Sufina returns to the fold, she would be far more powerful than your average Dryad, maybe even approaching Titan class on her own. If you start killing the Dryads, you’d be killing her kin, and then you’d have to face her wrath.”

“But she’ll remember us, right?” Gwen asked anxiously. “She’ll know who Yue and Elvia and Whetu are.”

Surya nodded ever so slightly.

“She’s a sentient being, so she’ll have memories of friend and allies. However, when a contracted creature is released, there's a loss of the empathic bond. When you have shared a telepathic connection with a partner for over three decades and then suddenly it's gone, you're bound to be feeling a little crazy. Gwen, you have animal companions, so you wouldn’t know just how much feedback the loss of a spiritual companion gives you, but its said to be worse than death. I’ve even heard of Conjurers committing suicide when they lose their lifetime familiars. The feeling of losing a sentient spirit is said to be the soul-rending feeling that you'll never again know completion or happiness.”

Gwen took in a nervous breath of cold air. In the stillness of the room, they could audibly hear the quickening of her erratic breath.

There was a rap on the door.

“Afternoon tea?” Tess’s bright face looked into the room. “Hi, Gwen!”

“Hey there,” Gwen said weakly, still thinking about her friends and now with the added trauma of projecting the paranoia of losing her familiars.

“Let’s break for a bit. We have to wait for our last member anyway,” Jonas suggested. When he walked past Gwen, he gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It’ll be alright. We’ll recover your friends safe and sound. You’ll see.”

Gwen followed the rest of them onto the alfresco dining area of the veranda. Everyone was present: Richard, Kwan and Tali, Helena, Tang and Percy, Tess and Melissa, Gwen and her companions. A large table was set, modestly filled with simple sandwiches, bits of leftover roast carved into cold cuts, and fresh fruit.

“It was all we could do under the circumstance, Sir.” One of the NoM maids apologised to Surya, who gave her a gentle pat on the head and excused her. Gwen looked at them and felt her heart skip a beat when her gaze met those of NoMs that milled about the refugee camp. Here they were, barely surviving on the supplies given to them by the Military, and no more than a dozen meters away the Mages of the household were having a picnic.

They probably had no idea that this was already considered a horrifically underrepresented afternoon tea for someone of Surya’s position, but their resentment was nonetheless palpably felt.

Surya paid them no mind, but Melissa seemed genuinely displeased by the looks they were getting.

“Ungrateful serfs,” she mumbled to Tess, just audible under her breath. “If it weren’t for Master, they’d be dodging Mermen while knee-deep in seawater right now.”

Tess patted her sister’s hand and told her not to mind.

Surya tapped a glass.

“Family, friends, I am grateful that all of us could be here today,” the old patriarch began, feeling genuinely touched that all of them had survived the calamity. “Though the past few months had seen some great turbulence, I hope that in this time of crisis, the family can remember that blood is thicker than water, and that no matter how far we roam, we remember that unity brings strength and prosperity.”

“Hear, hear!” To Gwen’s surprise, Kwan began to clap frantically.

Everyone else followed, some more vigorously than others.

“Now,” Surya continued when the applause died down. “I wanted all of us to be here today, because even though in the next few month we may go our separate ways, compelled by different circumstances, I want all of you to at least remember that today, on this day, we are one family.”

“All of you are close to me.” Surya’s voice became full of emotion. “It means so much to me that…”

They were interrupted by the appearance of a lone figure walking onto the veranda.

Gwen's’ eyes grew as large as quail eggs.

Surya’s face grew stark and a shade darker.

Helena almost spat out her sparkling chardonnay.

A casually dressed man walked in on them dressed in straight cut jeans and a tight white shirt; his hair cropped informally to give a careless, indifferent air. He had a ruggedly handsome face and well-defined features; his body likewise well-proportioned and solidly-built. The only flaw that was immediately noticeable was his height, which fell below the desirable magic number of six-feet.

“Er…” Morye instantly realised that in hindsight, this was perhaps, not the best time to exit the lobby and make his presence known.

He had thought that since the family was all present, he may as well get all the scowling over and done with at once. He swallowed nervously and wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.

“Am I… interrupting something?”

The family made space for Morye next to Gwen out of politeness, but the congenial atmosphere from before was now shot, butchered, and packed away in the freezer.

Demurely seated next to her father, Gwen could feel her stepfather regarding Morye with expectant antipathy.

When two men who’d slept with the same woman sat at the same table, particularly in the presence of one's children, surely there would be a feeling of contest or enmity. Not so for Gwen's father. Morye was as cool as the proverbial cucumber, without a smidgen of annoyance or care. He spoke quietly to the people he knew, asked them about their survival experiences, and even cracked a few jokes to nervous laughter. Not even Surya’s growls, groans, venomous quips and death-stares could faze Morye’s come-what-may repose. Whenever Helena, Surya, or even Kwan tried to have a go at Morye, they had the distinct impression of punching wool.

“I was looking for you, you should know.” Morye turned to a startled Gwen, who didn’t believe a word her father said. “I tried to call you many times.”

If there was one person at the table who seem to stagger Morye's impervious demeanour, it was Gwen. For some reason, her father spoke to her with a feeling of reservedness, carefully formulating his words and thinking twice before delivering them. As he spoke, Gwen measured Morye with her brilliant hazel eyes, sceptical as to her father's purpose.

As for the shoe on the other foot, Morye had been examining the two children he’d fathered, marvelling at how much they’d changed. With Percy, he’d met the boy every other weekend for a luncheon, or had frequented one of his school’s Spellcraft competitions. With Gwen, he’d felt cut off from her since the day she walked out after he'd prematurely brought a girlfriend over.

There was no doubt that his daughter had changed beyond all recognition. Gone were the timidness, the insecurity, the jittery obsession with her appearance. The Gwen who was seated herself next to him now had an air of supreme confidence about her, a kind of surety that came with age. She wore very little makeup, suggesting she’d grown out from that particular phase of her life, but remained uncommonly pretty even with a nude face. Her skin was pale and flawless, as tender as that of a child's. Her figure as well, which had always been a little anorexic, was now supple and shapely, attesting to the good life she must have enjoyed for the last year. Seeing Gwen hale and hearty made Morye happy, for his conscience could hardly be at ease if she'd been battered and bruised, starved and mistreated.

“Thanks, Dad.” Gwen felt strange calling a man she’d already rejected and forgotten in both lives with the endearing moniker of ‘Father’, but there was no helping it under the circumstances.

Morye tried to wrack his brain for something to say that would break the icy tension between them, so he thought that he’d ask her about the training that she’d carried out under Henry.

“So, how’s the Void Magic coming along?”

Suddenly, all sound and action ceased at the table.

Morye looked around the table and saw the astonished expression of each member frozen in different stages of surprise, shock, anger, disbelief, and murder. He realised with a sudden outbreak of cold perspiration across his brow that he’d made a terrible blunder.

Perhaps that was not an open secret? Maybe he wasn't supposed to mention that? Does everyone here not know?

“…”

Gwen’s mouth opened and closed for a few seconds, but no words ushered from her sakura-pink lips. She knew now how her mother felt. She wanted to strangle Morye right here, or at least punch him squarely in his stupid face.

Surya had buried his face in both palms and was trying to breathe without inducing an aneurysm. Tess and Melissa seemed to be in the know, and so looked downwards at their plates, finding a sudden interest in their half-eaten sandwiches. The military men that had come with Gwen said nothing. Instead, they looked as though they were ready to murder everyone on the table if Gwen would only give them the command.

It was Kwan, Tali, Helena, Percy and Tang whose faces looked as though they were seeing new year pyrotechnics for the first time.

“The… Void element, was it, Gwen?” Helena said after what must have been half a minute. “One of the scarce, taboo elements, said to be second to none in offensive ability?”

Beside her, her husband Tang’s face was less kind. As a retired Colonel and a Senior Enchanter himself, he immediately realised the correlation that may or may not exist between the crisis and the suspicious coincidence of Gwen’s talent.

“What do you know about the Black Sun?” Tang demanded with a voice that boomed across the veranda. “Are you involved with the Mermen incident? What happened to Lord Kilroy?”

“Colonel Tang,” Jonas intoned dangerously. “I'd advise you to consider your next words very carefully.”

Tang felt the killing intent flow from the three men all the way at the end of the long table. His expression became that of one who'd unknowingly stepped onto a Glyph of Warding and knew that any moment now, his leg was forfeit. Tang had questioned Gwen so briskly because, in his eyes, there was no possible way that someone of her age and pedigree - the daughter of a Huang and a nobody, could be significant enough to gain anything other than capricious favours. When Henry Kilroy had been present that night his wife was disgraced, Tang had believed it a service the Magister performed for Surya. He could see the girl's incredible potential and understood the doting differential treatment her elders gave her, but under no circumstance had he believed that the girl could be so involved.

But his hypothesis no longer mattered; not with three Combat Mages breathing down his neck and whetting their knives.

“Sorry.” the strength seemed to drain from the retired Colonel as he apologised to Gwen. “It’s the stress, the heat. I wasn’t thinking straight. Please forget I said anything.”

Alongside her husband, Helena’s face was alternating between shades of ash and carmine. The Void Element! The same element as the war hero, Elizabeth Sobel! The gears and cogs of her mind turned and turned, foreshadowing great things that had seemed just out of reach a moment ago.

Percy - a Salt Mage.

Gwen - a dual-element Lightning and Void Mage.

Helena slowly moved her eyes until she met Morye’s. The careless fool was now scratching his head apologetically in that scrappy, slipshod manner that irked her inconsolably. She bit her lower lip until it was white with frustration. Surya's talents were Enchantment and Fire; her talent was Evocation and Fire. Their late grandmother was Transmutation and Water, which had passed onto Kwan, then onto Richard.

With Gwen and Percy, it could only be that their children possessed far more of their father’s talent than her own.

Was leaving Morye a good choice? There was no doubt that the answer was affirmative. If Helena had stayed any longer with the capricious incarnation of irresponsibility, she would have probably murdered him in bed with an ice pick. What she regretted was all that potential, all that talent that even now was going to waste. If Morye would only exploit his talent; she might be currently married to another Gunther Shultz.

The others at the table were likely thinking the same thing. With the prevalence of inherited talents, Gwen and Percy’s uncommon element of Negative Energy could only come from God himself, or from this blithe idiot who was even now stuffing himself with their sandwiches. For whatever reason, the gathered found it easier to believe that immaculate conception, rather than Morye, gave the children their talent.

“Please, Major Durn, no need to be like that.” Surya looked towards his children and their spouses with eyes that glowed like two notes of dark, smouldering coal. “I assure you, those present here can keep a secret. If I recall, Gwen’s talents were meant to be made public around now, was it not?”

“There’s been a change of plans, Opa,” Gwen spoke decorously to her grandfather. “After… Magister Kilroy passed.”

“Of course.” Surya nodded knowingly. He’d perceived that was the case but hadn’t spoken at length to Gunther, who would have been the one to break the news to him. “Later then?”

“I should hope so, Opa. There’ll be plenty of opportunities, I am sure.”

Surya turned to the table.

“Swear on your Astral Souls that you will not speak a word of Morye's blunder.”

Kwan was more than happy to oblige, as was Tali.

Surya noticed that Richard had been entirely unfazed this whole while.

“She told you before?”

“Around about three months ago, Grandfather.”

Tali and Kwan turned to regard their son, who proceeded to loudly swear by his astral soul that he would keep faith with Gwen's secret. The oath wasn’t binding in any way but manifested as a strange phenomenon where the constant reminder of one’s betrayal of the pledge would ultimately influence the progress of one’s Spellcraft training, especially when it came to attunements which directly drew power from faith and belief.

Though there are individuals who were sociopathic enough to ignore the oaths they made, it was none the less a token demonstration of one's willingness to submit to the authority of another. Like many rituals in the world, the act itself wasn’t as important as the performing of it, as it was the supplication to the will of another that formed the actual purpose of oath-making.

Tang followed without incident, and then their attention fell upon Helena, who gritted her teeth through each word, exhausted the by the effort of the simple pledge.

“Percy, you too.” Surya was merciless.

“I don’t want to.” Percy’s was naturally at a rebellious age and saw the push to make him swear some incoherent oath for his sister as a clear sign of favouritism.

Surya’s glare could have lit the tablecloth on fire.

“Opa, it’s okay,” Gwen intervened, not wanting to make things any more awkward between Percy and herself. She knew that the oath was less so magical compulsion and more so a bit of psychological trickery. Alesia had once boasted to Gwen that when she compelled oaths from felons, she would brand them with fire. That way, each time the miscreants thought about reoffending, the ache from their scars coerced them to reconsider life's choices.

“Ungrateful little weasel,” Surya spat, clearly displeased about Percy’s challenge of his authority.

The table fell into an awkward silence. The murderous eyes of the gathered fell upon Morye, who happily drank his chardonnay.

Without a doubt, the luncheon was at an end.

“We’ll leave it at that.” Jonas stood from the table. “We’ll be getting ready. As soon as our number five and our documents arrive, we’re leaving.”

Morye raises a finger in the air. “Ah, about that…”

Gwen turned sharply to her father.

“Dad, I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?”

Morye’s guilty face turned to face Gwen with a look of helpless consternation, like a sailor who’d been shanghaied by his mates and now found himself bound for Barbados.

“I am your fifth man!” he announced with the flourish of a third-rate magician shouting ‘ta-da!’

“Yes, very good, Father.” Gwen made an expression akin to seeing her dog shit on the front lawn in front of guests. “So why are you here, really?”

Morye’s face became tragic with wretchedness.

“I was told that I had to accompany you on this journey because you are a minor and thus had to be accompanied by a guardian.”

“I am thir… I am Sixteen! Dad, I am not a child! Besides, I have some of the most capable men in the military with me. Not to mention I can take care of myself.”

Morye turned to regard the three military men, who grinned at him confidently as if to say ‘we're happy to make burger mince from your face anytime of the day.’

“No!” Morye made an expression of disbelief and hyperbolic grief. “You don’t want me to come?”

“I don’t,” Gwen said coldly. Her father had already ruined their luncheon, and the man had only been here for an hour. Gwen wanted nothing more than to leave right now, supply or no supply, but she had to wait.

“Good, please call Gunther and tell him that I've been discharged,” Morye said quickly, handing Gwen a Message device that was already dialling.

To Gwen’s surprise, it connected.

A Private Message spell bloomed beside her ear.

How the hell could a mid-tier Abjurer just casually call the Paladin of the Tower during a crisis? Gwen shot her father a look of ambivalent emotions and quickly moved away from the table. With the absurd number of NoMs going to and fro, she retreated instead to the second living room, shutting the glass doors being her as she did so.

“Brother Gunther, what’s happening, why is Morye our fifth member?”

Gunther’s mirthful voice came through the spell’s aural invocations.

“He’s there? Good. I am sending the documentation now. Ask Surya to retrieve the package from the Teleportation Circle he’d set up for your training.”

“Thanks, Gunther, but what about my dad?”

Gunther’s voice became more severe as he continued.

“Gwen, this might sound intrusive, but how much do you know about your Father?”

“Useless, lazy lout, a womaniser and a faithless scoundrel who is an Water Abjurer? I think he was tier 4 or 5; I am not sure. He works some menial technical job at a Shield Station.”

Even behind the speaker device, Gwen could feel Gunther wincing at every barbed insult.

“But… I suppose he was a nice enough Dad. Kept us through the darker time when Mother was away. I don’t remember having wants for things like food, shelter or clothing while he stayed with us. Even though we lived in a working-class neighbourhood, we felt safe.”

“That’s it?”

“There’s more?”

Gunther fell silent as if gathering his thoughts.

“He gave you the pendant, the one that ended saving our lives, right?”

Gunther was right.

Gwen felt her conscience mugged in the night by her balaclava-clad guilt wielding a nail-studded baseball bat.

Her father had indeed given her the pendant.

But it was Morya who had idiotically implied that it was for childbearing, hadn't he? What kind of a lecherous father gave their daughter a fertility pendant? Had her father anticipated this day or was he as clueless as he appeared?

“You may be interested to know,” Gunther continued. “That your Father was the only survivor of incident Zero, the explosion at the Watson Bay Shield Station. That’s where your father worked. Of all the Mages stationed there, including a guard unit of five tier 5 senior Combat Mages, your Father, a ‘useless technician’ was the only survivor.”

Now it was Gwen who fell silent. She recalled seeing the station blow up. She remembered the moment with clarity.

“Before we even knew of the Mermen invasion, I received a call from your Father, specifically asking for you and your brother's whereabouts. When I’d asked him what happened to the assailants, do you know what he told me?”

“They escaped?”

“No, Gwen. He told me they collectively committed suicide.”

It wasn’t funny, but it was in the style of her father’s careless, morbid humour.

“Another thing. When my recovery team went in, the debris was covered with negative energy residues collated in powdered white crystals.”

“Salt!” Gwen mouthed, she was a smart girl, she was joining the dots.

Her father's survival, the Salt residue, Percy's talent.

“Not only that, we found one of your old acquaintances at the scene.”

“I am not familiar with his co-workers,” Gwen noted quizzically. She had recalled seeing them when she was younger, but her memory was indistinct.

“We found the remains of a certain Edmund Moore Ravenport at the scene.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Also known as The Dust Devil, or the Mind Mage, Edgar.”

Gwen held her breath.

“The body was in quite a state, I am afraid. Crushed, drained, limbless, castrated.”

Gwen felt her mind reeling with visions of Edgar, the man who’d come so close to violating her mind and body. She had felt the malice and darkness that lied in the man's heart when he tried to consume her ego; his capacity for malevolence was unfathomable. How could a man like that die so easily, just like that? She’d been loathing their next meeting, playing the scene over and over in her head, and now the bastard was food for the worms?

“Wait, did you say 'castrated' as in the...” Gwen tried for a euphemism. “Servants of the Sultan’s harem sense?”

Gunther chuckled uncomfortably.

“Rather violently, I am afraid. Dashed pair of eggs and all that.”

“…”

“Sorry, that’s what the report suggested, there wasn't much left. Anyway, why do you think someone would go to such length to inflict so much pain on such a man? I mean, it's not much exactly a stretch of the imagination, after all, your Father risked exposing himself just to extort you and your brother’s location. If you don't mind me saying so, Gwen, despite Morye's insouciance, he cares a great deal for his children.”

Gwen looked outside toward the long table, where his father was helping himself to the decanter. Surya was in low conversation with Jonas, while Richard spoke jovially with Morye while ignoring his mother’s frantic tugging of his shirtsleeves.

In an accidental Renaissance sort of way, the scene somewhat reminded Gwen of an infamous supper. Would their family ever be together like this again? What would happen once they go their separate ways?

“Gwen?”

“I think I understand, Gunther.”

“Good. Far be it that I should come between Father and daughter, but I hope you resolve your differences. Also, I would very much like to know what that Kirin pendant does, and if we can replicate its effects. I am waiting on reports on your Father's past, but mayhap he is willing to let you into his head a little.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Very good, Sister. I am certain Yue, Elvia and Whetu await your arrival. Godspeed.”

Gwen moved out onto the veranda. From the direction of the workshop, a NoM servant approached with a package covered with protective glyphs.

“It’s for Mistress Gwen's party.” The maid placed the box on the table and curtseyed before leaving.

The family turned to address the incoming Gwen, who held the inert Message device in her hand and was looking at Morye intently.

“I’ve confirmed with Gunther, he’s our man,” Gwen announced to the group.

Paul, Taj and Jonas gave one another looks that suggested they had just stepped in the shit-log that Gwen's dog had previously birthed on the front lawn.

“I won’t pull your leg,” Morye said to them when he caught their constipated expressions.

“He won’t,” Gwen backed up her father, having gained a new, previously unfound confidence in the flighty fellow.

The package was passed down to the group, where Jonas opened the glyphs with a few secretive incantations. Within were several metallic plates constructed of some composite material that resembled thin pieces of flexible carbon plates. When the healer channelled a mote of mana into the card-like object, it projected an illusory field that held his headshot, biometrics, affinity and Rank.

When Gwen received her identification, she saw that the range of her abilities had been underreported, as expected.

Gwen Song

Multiple Transit Pass

I.D: 2840598 01

Ethnicity: Australian (Eurasian)

Eyes: Hazel - Green

Skin: Caucasian

Hair: Black (Warm)

Height: 180CM

SoM: Evocation, Conjuration

AFT:: Quasi-Elemental - Lightning

There was also a line of small print that could be just visible in the indent:

This Pass is for valid Transit holders only.

Effective within the territories of the Mageocratic Commonwealth.

There was a careful balance here. If Gwen's talents appeared mundane, her retinue would cause suspicion; if she were overtly unique and precious, her lack of a more substantial entourage would also bring trouble.

Gwen knew that in Gunther’s opinion, he'd preferred her not to go in the first place. They could arguably send someone else just as competent. Gwen argued that only she could negotiate with Sufina and navigate the Dryad’s Grot. Had they sent someone else, the high-strung wood-sprite who’d just lost her partner of three decades may strangle the unbidden intruders before they could convince her of their peaceful purpose. Without the guiding hand of an empathic link, Magical Beings favoured raw and uncontrolled instinct over rationality.

She wondered if Gunther was trying his best to emulate his late Master’s methodology. Gwen knew that she couldn't be grown in a greenhouse and still hope to attain the same level of Spellcraft as Alesia and Gunther. If Gunther was happy to let her roam as she pleased, then she was glad to take the opportunity.

When Gwen received the Teleportation Ring from Gunther, there was an unspoken understanding which passed between the siblings-in-craft. The message was simple- all Gwen had to do was survive.

Gwen had to do her best to prove herself worthy of Gunther’s protection, just as Gunther would do his best to ensure that Gwen could stand back up and try again.

Morye took his I.D and examined its contents.

“Mineral Mage,” he mused. “Well, I suppose it’s close enough.”

* * *

With the luncheon utterly disrupted by Morye’s blunder, the rest of the group had little desire to persist in the family gathering. They broke off into private assemblies across the long veranda, exchanging members once in a while to build rapport for the days to come.

Thanks to Tang’s presence, Helena stayed away from her ex, which came as a great relief to Gwen and Percy. The teenagers, meanwhile, had formed their huddle separately from the adults, consisting of Gwen, Percy, and the almost eighteen Richard.

“Richard. Now can you tell me what’s going on with the family?”

Richard was about to pivot to another topic, but Gwen’s serious eyes suggested she wasn't about to let the subject go without a scene.

“Well, we’re shit broke,” he confessed candidly.

“How?” Gwen demanded. Her Uncle might be a conniving, name-dropping charlatan, but his real talent in investment brokerage seldom failed the family.

“The Mermen invasion, of course,” Richard replied nonchalantly. “It's the normal thing during a large scale invasion. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, just not to Sydney, and not to us.”

As a scholarship graduate from Prince’s, Richard received the opportunity to attend university in London. There, he’d planned to earn enough accolades to eventually move his parents to the tier 1 city itself, from which their rise into the upper strata of the Mageocracy could begin.

Unfortunately, even with his prodigious talent, it proved insufficient to gain a full scholarship to the colleges he desired to attend. Now with the sudden destruction of the property market and their family estate in Sydney, Richard could no longer afford the price of immigration, not to mention the cost of renting and staying in London’s upscale educational districts.

“There’s also the problem of Policy,” Richard continued to explain. “In a state of emergency like this, the standard procedure is to move all non-essential Mages from the Frontier City and assign them to the closest Tier 1 city willing to take them. From there, the rarer talents are, 'divvied up' for the lack of a better word, by the power brokers.”

"What happens to those with mundane talent?" Gwen asked suspiciously, thinking of their friends in Blackwattle.

"Bundled off to other tier 2 cities, I imagine," Richard replied. "A new life, as the propaganda would say, though I imagine it's a case of waste not, want not."

Gwen’s eyes had an ambivalent look to them.

“So you are going to a tier 1 city?”

“As a refugee, not as a student." Richard sighed. "We don’t get a choice of what cities we are assigned. As refugees, we'll be living in segregated zones from the rest of the tier 1 folks. Knowing the snobbery of the folks there, I'd half expect them to see us as little more than NoMs.”

“Can Opa…”

“No.” Richard stopped Gwen before she could make the suggestion. "Why do you think Kwan came here first thing? Surya’s doing the right thing here, spending the family's money to help the NoMs and those Mages who wish to stay here. The NoMs are going to be living under some pretty feral conditions until the city is cleansed and the Station is repaired. They could be here for years, living in these concrete boxes. At any rate, you need more than just money to bend the rules. I'll hit up some of my alumni and see what they can do.”

“So what’s your projection?” Gwen asked. She wasn’t sure how many people knew that Richard had already contracted an Undine, but surely someone of his talent would be a clear stand out even if they were forced into special refugee zones somewhere in a tier 1 city.

“Making sure my parents are safe. I suppose. Then I can focus on the new world. I am confident we'll be fine, wherever we go. In fact, I look forward to you visiting our new home."

“What about you, Percy?” Gwen turned to her brother. "What's mum's plan?"

The young man looked up at Gwen with questioning eyes. Percy had an expression that looked as though someone had stolen his lunch. Gwen could understand how the boy felt. A proper awakening, a rare elemental talent, a bright future - all of that had been within his grasp. Then before he'd even enjoyed any of it, a tsunami of Mermen had dashed his dreams and washed his hopes out to sea.

“Dad, I mean step-dad, is staying to repair the city. That’s what his manufactorum specialises in, fabrication. I doubt mum would stay here if she’s given the opportunity to go to a tier 1 city though, even if it’s in a special exclusion zone.”

“So that means you’ll be going as well if it comes to it?”

Percy nodded.

“Richard said that with my talent, I’d be able to continue schooling.”

"It's true. I doubt a Tower would let someone with Percy's elemental talent just languish. He's likely going to be picked up in processing and sent back to school. Maybe even a school like Prince's, they got branches and brother-schools in all the major tier 1 centres."

“How’s Prince’s holding up?” Gwen asked out of curiosity.

“It doesn’t matter,” Richard shrugged. “No Shield Station, no school. Everything is shut down until the city recovers.”

Gwen nodded. She'd heard that the influential Houses all had connections linking back to tier 1 cities. For those born to privilege, the extraordinary circumstances of the invasion merely compelled an accelerated timetable for their return to the main branch.

Their conversation was interrupted by Paul, who’d intruded into their little circle.

“It’s time to go,” The translocation specialist announced. “We’ll be taking the Teleportation Circle to the Tower, then to Brisbane, then to Townsville. There are a few inland hops from there until we get to Darwin. I hope you had a light afternoon tea. It’s not going to be gentle on the stomach.”

By now Gwen was no stranger to teleportation, but this was her first foray into inter-continental travel. She wondered if it was going to be like taking one’s first flight, full of nerve wrecking unknowns.

“Gunther’s done a bang-up job.” Paul grinned affably. “We’re clear for uninterrupted travel until we board the Freighter in Darwin.”

“How long until we reach the island?” Gwen inquired.

“Assuming we find a ship in Singapore willing to take us.” Paul’s eyes fell towards Gwen’ Storage Ring, where a hundred military-issued, high-density mana crystals sat in a pouch. “All in all, I’d say seven to eight days.”

Gwen almost spat out the glass of water she’d been nursing.

“Seven to eight days!” she uttered in disbelief. “How long does it take us to get to Darwin?”

“About ten hours, most of which is waiting for the Teleportation Chambers to be attuned.”

“Then?”

“A ship, more specifically, we’ll be boarding a cargo freighter. There are ones that go out every day.”

“We can’t teleport to Singapore?”

Paul regarded the inexperienced girl before him. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Gwen was a teenager who’d never been outside of her Ivory Tower.

“No, Singapore is not a part of the Oceania council of Ten. We have ongoing treaties, but the Fortress City is sovereign within its territories.”

“The treaty doesn’t include Teleportation?”

“By what capacity do you propose we make the proposition?” Paul’s brows furrowed. “I don’t want to insult the rationale behind our quest, Gwen, but you also have to realise how absurd it sounds to anyone other than us.”

Gwen found that she had no rebuttal for Paul’s rationale.

They were Three Senior Mages with Military Ranks, one zealous apprentice to a deceased Magister, and one unwilling loafer, venturing into a Black Zone. Why are you going there? An official Singaporean Magus would question. What lies at the end of so much risk and effort? Three junior Mages. They’d reply, and their stupefied audience would surely demand that they owe up to the undeliverable truth.

After all, it wasn’t as though Gunther could contact the Singapore Tower and explain to the presiding Paladin that Gwen needed to use their teleportation chamber as a personal favour. Even with the rationale that Yue and Whetu were precious apprentices of powerful men and women, it would only complicate matters with politics.

“Gwen,” Richard interjected before Paul became impatient with Gwen’s dissatisfaction over the travel arrangements. He took her icy palms and held them in his own, which were dry and warm. “Your people have done their best in the circumstances. You have to trust them if you want them to help you. Don't let your feelings go over your head."

The tactile warmth of Richard assurance brought her back from the anxious edge of paranoia. Gwen took a deep breath and calmed herself, measuring their circumstance.

Could Yue stay put for nine more days? Could Whetu last that long? Elvia should be fine, but there were many unknowns to which she couldn't even begin to guess. Beside her, Paul waited for Gwen's commitment.

“I am sorry guys,” Gwen said to the two boys. “I have to go.”

“We’ll be out of contact once we leave Darwin,” Paul reminded the two young men. "If there's' an emergency, get Master Surya to contact Gunther, and he'll try to get ahold of us."

Gwen took a deep breath and said her final farewells.

“Percy, take care of Mother. Richard, good luck with the relocation. I hope to be back before it happens, but please keep me updated.”

“Will do. Hopefully, we’ll see you soon.”

“Goodbye, Sis.”

Gwen and Richard gave one another a parting hug. When she turned to Percy, her embrace became fiercer, more maternal, pressing the embarrassed boy tightly against the small of her body before kissing him on the forehead.

Back on the veranda, the rest of the family waited.

“Opa, I have to go.”

“I know.” Surya came and embraced Gwen, his body frame poking into her ribs as usual. “Be safe, my little cucu perempuan.”

“I will.”

“Take care of her.” Surya turned to the others, who saluted the old Enchanter.

“We will, Sir,” They replied at once.

Gwen turned to her mother, who’d been laconic since Morye had blurted out that she was a Void Mage.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

“Good luck,” her mother replied before they embraced, performing the familial ritual with duty rather than feeling.

There was also Tess and Melissa, who gave Gwen a tearful farewell. Tess handed over a large ration of Roo jerky, a full kilogram’s worth, which she made Gwen promise she would save for an emergency. Melissa meanwhile, had prepared a bottle of eucalyptus oil, 'for the bugs,' she'd said 'bugs as big as your face'.

Gwen held the flask a little closer to her chest.

“Right.” Paul pointed the way to the Workshop, where the Teleportation Circle awaited. Soon they would be away. Gwen would leave Sydney for the first time in her life.

A cry from the crowd impeded their progress.

“Ms Song! Gwen Song! Please! A moment!”

The voice wasn’t from their party, but from the crowd of refugees gathered on the property’s camp. The family turned to see an auburn-haired woman with amber eyes, middle-aged and well kept, waving frantically in their direction.

With a sinking feeling, Gwen recognised the curve of the woman’s face, the shape of her lips, the contour of her jaws. She’d never seen her before, but it didn’t take a Diviner to guess that she was the mother of the late Debora Jones.

To be the harbinger of bad news had always been one of the most challenging endeavours an individual could undertake. It took immense mental fortitude and incredible empathy for an individual to become capable of looking a mother in the eye and state with absolute certainty that their child had died.

Gwen was a woman of spirit, but that only applied to herself. She could stomach pain, disgrace, and trauma when performed upon herself, but it didn’t mean that she had the stoic forbearance necessary to bring such mental anguish to another.

One must be cruel to be kind. Gwen reminded herself.

“Let her through,” Gwen said at last, mindful of the several seconds in which she’d stared at the woman in wide-eyed horror. Two of the militiamen keeping order in the Refugee camp allowed the woman to pass.

Debora’s mother was an Earthen Transmuter. With only a modest talent for Spellcraft and elemental affinity, she’d worked part-time at a local manufactorum and was principally a homemaker. When the evacuation began, and the list of inland locations for temporary shelters came up, she saw Surya’s estate and used what little connection she had to move her family to the Hunter’s Region.

When she saw Gwen with the Master of the house, she recognised her instantly. She had seen the lumen-pics her daughter had brought back, especially the ones in which Debora had obsessively boasted about becoming friends with a future Magister.

“Mrs Jones,” Gwen approached Debora’s mother and extended a hand.

The formality seemed to catch Debora’s mother off-guard, causing her to hesitate before taking Gwen’s hand.

“Just Verna is fine.”

“I am sorry.” Gwen bowed before Verna could persist in any small talk. There was no point to it. No matter how they twisted and sidestepped, the outcome was inevitable.

“Why… are you sorry?” Verna’s face became the colour of bed sheets.

Gwen remained bowed while Verna stammered. Jonas moved up and helped the woman steady herself.

“She was brave until the very end, Mrs Jones. I couldn’t have had a better companion.”

Verna was hardly on her feet before Gwen began to move.

“That's it? How can you be so heartless?” she accused Gwen. “Debora said she was your best friend! She said that she admired you!”

Gwen felt the palpable disappointment and venom in Verna’s accusation. It wasn't true though. If she had been Debora’s friend, if she had really spent a year with her friend, if her friend had really died in her arms, then Gwen would have patiently spoken of every detail in her eulogy. But the reality was far from Verna’s desired truth.

But Gwen was not Debora’s friend. Gwen didn’t even know Debora beyond their childhood friendship and a few inimical encounters in senior school. In fact, the thing that had taken Debora’s form had directly resulted in her master’s death, the displacement of her real friends, and the loss of the city.

Gwen may confess to being soft-hearted, but she wasn’t a saint. She couldn’t possibly waste another minute here, conferring with this woman of no importance who’d only accuse her of abandoning her daughter, who knew nothing!

Taj came between Verna and Gwen as the distraught mother continued to pour out a torrent of hysterical abuse. Jonas tightened his grip on the woman as well, ready to give her a jolt of sleepy anaesthesia if she should turn violent. Though they frowned at Gwen's apparent coldheartedness, they were sure that there was a story here that they would be privy to on the journey ahead.

Gwen felt empathy for Verna's genuine suffering. But she neither possessed the time nor effort to solace a woman to whom accountability was both superficial and misunderstood.

In the end, it was Surya who took the disconsolate mother away, speaking to her softly with kind words.

Taj caught up with them a moment later at the entrance to the workshop. Morye had long since escaped the spectacle and was waiting for them within. Paul was readying the Circle. Jonas gave Gwen a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“It’s alright if you want to grieve," he suggested helpfully.

Gwen shook her head.

“I am alright,” she replied, looking toward the silvery glow of the active Teleportation Chamber within. “Let’s go. Delay as we may, time waits for no one.”

If someone had asked Elvia a year ago if she'd be rubbing shoulders with Magisters and witnessing city-levelling combat that existed on a mythical level— she'd ask what quasi-magical medication they were taking.

Elvia was as kind as she looked, a daddy's girl. Among the friendship trio, she was Gwen's respite, Yue's sometime-pillow, and the angelic healer of Blackwattle's clinic. Timid and bashful, she was not built to withstand the immense tension that came with two Magisters squaring off, much less the traumatic anxiety of conspiracy where hundreds of thousands of human lives hung in the balance.

"Debora, God help me if you don't let Gwen go right this minute. If you harm her, my life's sole purpose will revolve around ensuring that you suffer..."

Yue's acerbic threats made Elvia's scalp crawl.

"You fucking bitch… I am going to immolate everyone you love. Your brothers, your sisters, your parents. You will rue the day you turned traitor…"

Elvia felt sick. Yue's blasphemous threat sent shivers down her spine precisely because she knew that her friend meant every word. As Alesia's Apprentice, Yue could arguably cite to the Tower that Debora's family was complicit to the conspiracy that resulted in the death of tens of thousands. But what if they were not? She would never know the sweet innocence of restful sleep ever again.

The standoff had lingered for a moment more until Alesia uttered a cry of dismay. Surprising them both, Yue's Master Blinked past them into the Grot.

"You're too late," Debora announced flatly as a swarm of firefly embers filled the air.

Beside the traitorous Transmuter, Gwen writhed in agony, caught in the constrictive embrace of the Sand Prison. Elvia' fists clenched and unclenched. It was just like that time during the Field Trip, only now Gwen wasn't screaming for her to run away.

When Debora next spoke, her words were emotionless and full of prophecy.

"There is nothing you can do. There is nothing any of you can do. Not anymore."

"Shut your hole—" Yue began, letting loose a torrent of abuse.

Elvia wanted to cry but fought down the tears.

But it wasn't her gut that began to spin and churn.

Without warning, the Grot began to distort, though really, there was no word to describe the strangeness of their unbidden translocation. It was the folding of two spaces across a vast expanse, first folded like two ends of an origami crane, and now transforming back into a plain sheet of paper.

In the blink of an eye, the space within the Tower ceased to be.

Where Yue had been shouting death-threats at Debora only a split second ago; now she was hurling abuse at a lonesome sapling. A verdurous seedling with a dozen leaves that had sprouted from the foliage smothered floor of a tropical rainforest.

Much like a cargo truck without compression breaks, Yue went on for a few more seconds before her embroiled mind could process their forced translocation.

"…. shove a wand up—" Yue stopped.

She had stopped because the sapling had uprooted itself and fled behind the wall-like roots of a giant banyan tree.

"What the fuck?" Yue said to the general air.

"Where ears this?" Whetu regarded their surroundings with awe. "This reminds me of northern New Zulland, near Rotorua."

"Fuck that, where's Gwen?! Where's that bitch, Debora?"

"I don't think this is Sydney," Elvia intoned frightfully, feeling the humidity almost instantly drench her pale, heat-sensitive skin, far more acclimatised to the dry, cold air of Middle Europe.

The movement of a sapling-like being peeking out from the trees caught their wandering, agitated eyes. It gawked at the party, its leaves quivering with terror.

"Hello? Who are you?" Elvia lowered her body until she was on both knees, her fair hair cascading over her shoulder. "We don't mean to harm you. You may come out if you like."

Perhaps sensing Elvia's goodwill, or possibly recognising the tone of her speech, the little sapling emerged a little more from its place of shelter.

Now that they had a closer look at the thing, it was no longer in the shape of a sapling tree. The plant was instead a petite, female babe with olive skin, bright luminous eyes of emerald green, and hair full of tressy vines. The young Spirit was also entirely in the nude, though a lack of anatomical features hinted at its inhuman nature. Overall, it was an adorable, tiny thing the size of a puppy or a kitten.

Elvia swallowed while Yue and Whetu sucked in deep breaths.

Where the hell had they teleported? The duo tried to recollect themselves. Was this a part of the Grot? Perhaps a defensive system? Where was Alesia?

Most importantly, the sight of the child-like forest-spirit before them assailed their capacity for rational thought. First of all, why was there a sprite here? Wasn't it that Magical Beings like this only existed in zones uninhabited by humanity?

"Come on, little one. Come out. Can you speak?" Elvia cooed as she coaxed the delightful little thing to come closer, anxious to ask it for directions so that they could escape and find Gwen.

Yue and Whetu took a step back.

"Elvia," Yue spoke carefully. "Don't do it."

"Maybe it can talk," Elvia assured her friend innocently. "Maybe it can tell us where we are?"

Elvia gestured so that Yue suppressed her instinct to drop a Fireball. She was confident that her gut feeling was right. As Elvia watched, the sapling spirit emerged entirely from its sheltered spot between the roots and was now coming towards them.

It reaches out with long, tendril-like fingers that were far too distended for an anatomically accurate human body and touched Elvia's cheeks.

"Ki!" the creature uttered. "Kiki!"

To Elvia's surprise, it came forward and began to rub itself against her hands. Instantly, the healer relaxed, feeling no hostility from the creature. Mayhap the Sprite was attracted to the Positive Mana that emanated from her body?

Elvia brushed a hand over the sapling's hair.

"So soft," she said, turning to her friends. "I feel it's harmless. I don't think it can talk— ouch!"

She spoke too soon. A needle-sharp pain that pricked her hand, causing her to wince and grimace. With a jerking motion, Elvia pulled her hand from the thing's head. It had stabbed her with a tendril, prickling the pale skin of her finger, which began to bleed profusely.

"I knew it!" Yue fired up an aura of fiery mana. She was confident that she could incinerate the thing with a pair of Scorching Rays while avoiding the risk of friendly-fire on Elvia.

"No!" Elvia leaned over the creature protectively. "It was an accident!"

The sapling creature cowered beneath Yue's flaming aura, feeling the motes of fire pour from the Evoker's body. Trembling, it reached out with a tendril and caressed Elvia's hand, where its thorn had pierced her skin. There was a brief emerald glow. To their surprise, the swollen wound mended in front of their eyes.

"That's rather handy," Yue retracted her spell but still regarded the thing with suspicion. The child-like Spirit made a face at her and hid away from Yue behind Elvia.

Whetu furrowed his brows. "Elvia..."

"I know," Elvia answered. It goes without saying that because a Magical Being was benign right now doesn't mean it would remain so in the future.

"Kiki-ki!" the thing wailed. It then clambered up onto Elvia and buried itself in her flaxen hair.

"We're not keeping that thing," Yue warned her friend, mindful of Alesia's claim that the only good Magical Being was a smouldering mana-core after a nice Fireball.

"Just for a little bit?" Elvia begged. "Maybe it'll be helpful?"

Both Elvia and the Sprite begged their companions with liquid eyes.

"Erh." Yue turned away, unable to withstand the look of innocence that radiated from two pairs of guileless eyes. Whetu as well seemed defeated by their adorability.

The trio inspected their surrounding.

Evidently, they were in a verdant jungle. The heat was beyond humid and oppressive, weighing upon the group like wads of cotton. Behind them was a gigantic Banyan tree, stretching into the heavens, smothering all light, leaving the floor with nought but the dappled light peering through its dense foliage. Between the root system as tall as a grown man, was an open space that hinted at a Dryad's sanctum.

"I reckon that's the Grot," Whetu pointed out helpfully. He ventured close to the threshold and placed his hand between the open space. What he felt was a resistance, like pressing one's hand against congealed gelatine. "Ets closed."

"Let me try." Yue attempted to enter the Grot. She made it no more than a few feet before the wall of force drove her backwards. Undeterred, Yue clicked her fingers, and a pair of Dancing Lights manifested. In the shimmering reflection, she could see the outline of her body hazily refracted through the firelight.

Not far from Yue, Elvia had settled the little wood sprite onto her shoulder. She produced her Message device and tried a few Glyphs. The droning tone and the glowing red symbol informed her that its inbuilt Divining formulas were woefully out of range.

"Shit!" Yue's patience was wearing thin. "We have to get back to Gwen. I can't believe Debora betrayed us for Walken! That bitch!"

"Yue…"

"I swear I'll make good on my promise. When we get back, I am going to boil that traitor alive in a vat of low-smoking oil, I… "

"Yew!"

Yue looked up at her companions, who were staring wild-eyed behind her.

A fragrance of wildflowers drifted through the air, sweet and alluring, thick and sticky, hanging in the atmosphere like a physical presence. The redolence was accompanied by the sound of rustling leaves and the susurrating of tall branches.

Yue turned.

The trio beheld a vision, one that beheld them in turn. An avatar of Aphrodite with a long head of autumn leaves beginning in flaming red and ending in burnish bronze shimmered under the dappled light of the afternoon sun. From its head of autumn colours, a breathtakingly beautiful face, gemstone eyes, a celestial nose and pouting lips with the hue of ripe goji protruded. Fluid lines of woodgrain formed its exotic wooden complexion, passing over sensuous curves that were dangerous and voluptuous.

"Wow…" Elvia held her breath, mesmerised by the beauty of the ravishing Dryad that strode into the clearing on long slender legs taller than her head.

Yue turned to Whetu, whose face looked smitten.

"Why do you suppose Dryads have knockers?" she said to the two of them critically. "They ain't mammalian creatures, so ain't it kind of like tits on a bull? I mean, why nips?"

Elvia stared at the alluring Dryad. Yue was right. Especially with its skinny waist, the exaggerated breasts of the woodland being was enormous. Like ripe fruits they were, melons in their own right, poignantly poised upon her chests.

"You've ruined the glamour, Yue." Whetu moaned. "I can't un-see it."

"Well tits or no tits, we gotta ask it for directions. Gwen's waiting for us to rescue her," Yue snapped. "Put your eyeballs back in their sockets, Whetu."

A rustling giggle answered their banter.

"Little ones," hailed the giantess in green and brown. "Where might you hail from?"

Though the group knew that humanoid Magical Beings could speak, the more human-shaped, the more likely, they were still impressed that a creature of such age and origin spoke the common tongue.

"Hello," Elvia began politely. "We're from Sydney. Do you happen to—"

"Tree Lady, where are we?" Yue interjected. "What are you, and how do we get back?"

Whetu placed a careful hand on Yue's shoulder. "Patience, Yew, we are in her domain."

Yue shook herself off Whetu's grasp with impatient annoyance.

"Where might this be?" The Dryad moved her overlarge body with a grace that was pleasing to the eye. "Why, we are in my groove, where my sisters and I have lived since time immemorial."

"We are sorry to intrude." Elvia curtsied, amazed that the creature spoke English. "Might I ask how we may return to our home?"

"Of course, allow me to show you the way." The Dryad turned, flicking her hair in a way that sent streams of beading dew flowing through her hair, dripping down the arc of her wasp's waist onto her magnificent buttocks.

Whetu's breath grew laborious.

"Now that's an arse you could build a house on," Yue muttered offhandedly, displeased at her male companion.

Elvia followed without a word, mindful of the little Sprite hidden in her voluminous hair.

"Ki-ki! Ki!" it muttered beside her with a distinct sense of alarm.

"I can't understand what you're saying," Elvia gave her minute companion a nudge. "What's the matter?"

The sprig-sprite pulled at her ear, but a backward glance from the giant Dryad sent it back into hiding.

The group followed the Dryad for a quarter of an hour. The woods seemed to part before them before closing behind them, giving the three a feeling of foreboding anxiety as their hostess lead the way. By Whetu's guess, they had made it a kilometre before Yue had enough.

"Hey! Double-D, are you sure this is the way out?"

Whetu broke into a snort. Even Elvia couldn't help herself and had to pinch her thighs to keep a straight face. With tears in her eyes, she turned to Yue to scold her for her abrasiveness.

The giantess turned to the group with a winsome smile that no longer reached its eyes. "Yes, it's just this way."

When the group reached a clearing though, it was evident that not only were they not "out" of the woods, they were, in fact, more buried within it. There were tables and chairs set out for human-sized guests in the clearing, shaded by the dappled bower of the enormous Bayan tree above it. The three junior Mages had done their bestiary classes. Now, they regretfully acknowledged that despite their naive optimism, the coy giantess had broken faith and had brought them to be drugged and glamoured.

"It must be very tiring to walk through the woods," the Dryad spoke with a voice dripping with honey. "Mayhap take a short sojourn here and enjoy a cup of sweet mead or a slice of manna bread."

True to her word, cups sprouted from the tables, while a bloom of white flowers seated upon the wood began to fruit, forming a puffy white mushroom that resembled unbaked bread dough.

"I am truly sorry," Elvia began. "But we really must be going, you see, an enemy has captured a friend of ours, and we really must depart to save her."

The Dryad turned to face them with her gemstone eyes, her pupil-less irises giving her an alluring, alien presence. She turned to them, a nude wonder poised to please, and from her mouth issued a soft breeze of spring. A sweet fragrance supernaturally filled the air as the clearing blossomed at once with thousands of flowers.

"Won't you stay? Just for a little while longer?" Her voice filled their ears, rich with pleasing promises.

Whetu seemed instantly smitten, his expression becoming soft and languishing. An idiotic grin of unconditional trust appeared on his face as he nodded slowly. Elvia meanwhile, heard a small "Ki Ki Ki" beside her, a few seconds later, her groggy mind regaining its clarity. Yue however, was entirely unaffected, with the flower petals bursting into fireflies as they neared her body.

"Hey, wood whore!" Yue punched Whetu in the chest, doubling him over. "Last chance."

The Dryad frowned, lovely even in anger. From the other side of the clearing appeared several more of her kind, each beautiful in their way, with mischievous smiles and cruel faces full of anticipation.

"Well, have it your way." Yue opened a channel to the Plane of Elemental Fire. "Fire Storm!"

Swirling motes of Elemental fire descended upon the clearing. The lesser Dryads shrieked and fled the scene. The giantess' face transformed into a maleficient scowl.

"YOU DARE?!" the elder Dryad screeched, her voice the shrill lament of wind through hollowed logs.

But her protest was fruitless. In the next moment, a firestorm engulfed the clearing.

Great gobs of uncontrolled plasma fell indiscriminately into the clearing and the surrounding area. Yue gritted her teeth and kept up the channel, transforming the woodland domain into a sea of crackling flames.

"Bless! Aid!" Elvia slapped Whetu across the back of his skull, pulling Whetu from his stupor.

"Wii have to git back to Sufina's Grot!" Whetu exclaimed. "This place is going to be crawling with nimfes."

"You lead, I'll clear ahead," Yue shouted back, satisfied that the clearing would be burning for a few hours yet. The abundance of elemental fire in the area would ensure any the wood and debris were as good as bone-dry tinder.

Yue was glad she had shaken Whetu from the Charm, for the Dryads' retribution was quick and swift. Lashing tentacles of barbed tendrils shot from the shadows of trees towering above them, trying to snag them by the neck like nooses or to scourge them with their poisoned spikes.

Whetu, now cleared of the tree-woman's glamour, executed his expertise, forming punamu shields left and right, above and behind, shielding the two girls as they slid and stumbled through the densely wooded trail.

"Is this the right direction?" Yue shouted. She and Elvia had barely passed outdoor survival and so couldn't even begin to tell the direction.

"Oi think so." Whetu forced apart a thorny bush with a shield. "Dis way!"

If any of them could fly, that would have simplified their progress, but the earthbound party of three had to push through the verdant, dense jungle by sense alone. Along the way, their escape was itself unimpeded, though even as their mana waned, they couldn't help but notice they were nowhere near Sufina's tree.

"Shit, what do we do?" Yue warded off another Dryad who came into view with a Scorching Ray.

"I think it's the woods itself. We're in a maze." Whetu opened an umbrella Shield. The tendril penetrated the first few layers of his punamu. Elvia huffed. She could see that the attacks were getting more vicious.

"Evee?"

Elvia had concurrently been listening to the little Sprite that rode on her shoulders.

"Kiki!" it suggested, apparently aware of some solution to their dilemma. In the chaos, though, Elvia had no idea what it was saying.

"I don't understand," she begged the Sprite for greater clarity. "Point us where to go?"

The Sprite's inarticulate gesticulation was interrupted by a triumphant shout from Whetu.

"I see a clearing! There's the tree!"

"Ki! Ki!" the Sprite pleaded desperately, but its companion ignored its incomprehensible, irksome actions.

'

The three junior Mages burst into the clearing with Yue's purging flame pruning the way. A giant Bayan tree again towed over them, underneath of which was a portal into the underground.

"Is that it?" Yue asked, unsure if this was indeed the Grot they had seen.

Behind them the entire forest seemed to be moving, crushing towards them like a mudslide consisting of roving greenery. The trio's options were clear, they could forgo the clearing and keep on moving, or they could take a gamble.

"No Time!" Whetu felt a dozen tendrils lashing the Shield he had left behind them, crunching through the punamu. "Which way?"

"To the Grot!" Yue commanded. "Maybe we can hold it hostage. The bestiary said that Dryads perish with their Grot. Elvia?"

"Kiki!" The Sprite was pulling her hair backwards, causing Elvia to wince.

"Dump that thing! Lord knows whose side it's on," Yue snapped and pulled Elvia forwards. Together, they stumbled towards the shaded nook of the tree, into the space between the roots.

"It's open," Whetu was the first to touch the base.

Behind them, the elder Dryad burst into the clearing like a wooden goddess that had seen better times. Her lovely hair of flowering tresses was now a smouldering mess of cinders, her flawless woodgrain skin charred in several places. Her gemstone eyes were aglow with angry, autumn colours. If one wasn't in the know, they might have mistaken her for an avatar of forest fires. A dozen others appeared, likewise singed and injured by Yue's flaming outburst, striding dramatically into the clearing, their eyes full of murder.

"Fuck it!" Yue pulled Elvia by the hand, and they pushed into the Grot.

Outside, the flames suddenly extinguished. The smouldering leader of the Dryads shed her red hair and ashen skin, becoming once again beautiful and flawlessly radiant. A cruel smile touched her lips, and she began to giggle, an innocent trill full of sadistic mirth, echoed by her companions until the entire clearing became full of thrilling laughter.

The air inside was damp and chilly.

The tunnel into the Grot itself was moss-covered and wet to the touch, leading downwards into the darkness, lit by phosphorescent fungi that shed just enough light to tease the eye. They had made a hundred meters or so when Whetu became overcome by a sense of Déjà vu.

"Oi think we're going in circles, look hear." He pointed to a spot in the wall where he'd left a piece of punamu when they'd last made a loop. "Circles out there, circles in hear. Ets not looking good. The dryads are warping the woods."

"Well, I'll just carve a route out then, maybe it'll give the owner of this Grot indigestion." Yue grinned nastily as an orange flame blossomed in one hand.

The sudden burst of elemental fire in the tunnel seemed to awaken something, as the walls began to shudder.

"See?" Yue tittered smugly.

Then out of the moss-covered walls came bursting out a pale white hand. It grasped Yue by the mouth and waist, pulling her back with such force that she became winded. To Whetu's shout and Elvia's dismay, Yue became violently pressed upon the walls; half-dragged into the moss by the pale-skinned figure.

"Mmmmph!" Yue tried to struggle free, but the thing's arms were as strong as old roots. A pale face appeared by the tunnel's side, one of a venerable old warrior long since consumed, whose near translucent skin looked as though it hadn't seen the sun for a century.

"Join us! You cannot escape. The mistress will have thee in her thrall!" The resonating voice crooned, its eyes turning to look at Whetu. "Thee as well will become her servant! None escapes here!"

"MmmmPH!" Yue burst into flames as she forcibly manifested her Flame Shield, causing a wracking surge of fiery mana to escape her body and sear her skin.

The pale bodied man screamed and howled, retreating into the tunnel's walls with a wail.

"Motherfucker groped me." Yue coughed and spat as Elvia healed her blistering skin and eased the effect of the disorientating mana burn with a Lesser Restoration. She felt for her right breast, where she was sure that there would be a bruise come morning, restoration or no.

"Healing Word!" Elvia dispensed some of her healing.

"Flame Shield!" A semi-circle of fire manifested around Yue, encompassing Elvia and Whetu within its protective reaches. All around them, the walls of the tunnel were now a mess of writhing moss, within which white arms and legs, white faces by the hundreds, appeared and disappeared.

Yue produced one of the mana potions that Alesia had left them at the convent and injected herself with the blue solution.

"YEAH, that's the stuff," Yue moaned as her reserves shot to full. "Let's get out of here. I rather fight those bitches to the death than die here in a stinking hole. Let's see how long it'll take before whoever owns this Grot regurgitates us."

"Flame Sphere!" A giant sphere of fire manifested and began to roll down the tunnel, turning all within range into ash.

"Wall of Fire!" A blistering row of fire charred the tunnel walls.

"Fireball!"

"Firebolt!"

"Blastbolt!"

"Scorching Ray—"

Yue's escalation seemed to have done the trick, for it took them only a few minutes to wander out from the Grot and once again into the clearing.

As they exited the pocket-space of the Grot, they grew aware that angry woodland beings now surrounded them.

Unexpectedly, however, the trio was no longer being menaced.

Instead, the Dryads were on their knees, supplicating themselves before an emerald goddess that stood amongst them like a tall poplar amongst lowly hedges. Even the elder Dryad was on her knees, steaming a little as her innards fumed with the fire still burning within her Grot.

The object of their adoration was a familiar shape with a familiar face. It was Gwen's face, superimposed upon an artistic wooden sculpture of surreal beauty. Its hair was a verdant vertical garden of tendrils, flowers and leaves that framed her face and cascaded until it reached the forest floor. Its eyes were a glimmering display of prismatic colours, staring intently towards them with distinct displeasure.

"Sufina?" Yue intoned, swallowing a little as her flame shield spluttered. "Sufina, do you know where Gwen is? We need to get back to her."

"Sufina!" Beside Yue, Elvia breathed out a sigh of relief. Her companion Sprite hid instantly behind her hair, cowering and whimpering.

"G' day," Whetu added.

The majestic Dryad's eyes regarded them coldly, seemingly devoid of all emotion. Behind her, the woods were lovely, dark and deep, a place of flora sans the fauna, a dark forest where no birds sing.

"You three," Sufina said softly. "Are in big trouble."

- End of Arc 1

TERRORISTS ATTACK SYDNEY, TOWER DOWN

7 July 2003

BBC WORLD SERVICE

Thousands are dead and injured as rogue Mages assault Sydney’s Arcanum. The Sydney Tower is brought down, leaving the city in chaos. Lord Magister Kilroy is said to be among the victims. Arrival of Brisbane Tower and Melbourne Tower puts the city under Martial Law. Borders are closed. Arcanum vows to ‘find those responsible”.

Sydney - In the worst Terrorist attack ever made against a standing Frontier City of the British Mageocracy, a group of rogue Mages up to the rank of Magister has struck the coastal Shielding Stations and disabled the Sydney Tower midday Friday, resulting in tens of thousands of deaths.

As a horrific city watched itself roll back three decades of civil progress, the city of Sydney became besieged by the Mermen, who quickly took the opportunity for the Shield’s breach to attack. A total of twenty-one Krakens and a single Leviathan was seen entering the city, with an estimated force of Mermen numbering between 20 to 30 thousand.

When the Tower failed to respond and indeed did choose not to respond within the allocated timeframe for impeding the Mermen advance; its critic’s worst fears were confirmed. The Tower had become a victim of its infighting, no longer seeing the protection of the city and its citizens as the top priority. More notably, a Dark Sun had emerged from the Tower during the conflict, ending only when a Mythic class Magical Being, known only as the Rainbow Serpent, consumed the enervating phenomenon. When reached for answers, both the Brisbane and Melbourne Towers declined to comment.

The attack has stirred fears and anxiety across Oceania and evoked comparison to the Pearl Harbour Siege of 1943 and the Coral Sea Conflict, where the city of Brisbane had been likewise besieged by Mermen forces who had breached the Shielding Stations in 1987.

Though no one has claimed responsibility, official suspicion quickly fell to the shadow organisation Spectre, also known as the Shadow Council, which has claimed responsibility for the Red Dragon incident in Britain in 2001. Thus far, the Paladin of the Sydney Tower, Lord Gunther Shultz, has declined to comment on how the Terrorists were able to penetrate into the Tower and overpower the Tower’s defences.

Addressing the Mageocracy on Saturday night, the High Chancellor of the Britannic Commonwealth vowed to “find those responsible and bring them to justice." The Towers, he said, would retaliate against "those behind these evil acts," including cities that harbour them.

Though tallies are being counted, the loss of Mages’ lives is estimated to be between 1000 to 1200, with another 2000 Mages currently injured or in a serious condition. The Sydney Tower is being repaired, though its superstructure has been severely damaged by a burst of Negative Energy reportedly emitted from its highest spire.

The estimated casualty rate of NoM civilians may rise as high as 12,000.

Three days after the attack, communications have been fully restored, and the scope of the damage is becoming apparent. A vast swath of the infrastructure of Sydney’s CBD has been destroyed, with 60% of its commercial buildings damaged, while 20% of Magical structures remain inoperable. The streets remain flooded and dangerous. The Militia advises non-essential personnel to avoid the CBD until the seawater can be drained and potential Mermen spawns purged.

At a Monday conference, Sydney authorities under Gunther Shultz announced that among the dead was the Magister of the Tower and the Master of the Ten presiding over Oceania - Lord Henry Kaine Foster Kilroy.

Lord Kilroy has been the presiding Magister of Sydney Tower for two decades, an incumbent since the Tower’s inception. He is publicly known as a master Conjurer with a Dryad companion, gaining the moniker of ‘Deathless Henry’. Currently, no official statements have been released for the cause of Lord Kilroy’s death.

Following the Sydney incident, the Mageocracy has placed forces in Oceania under high alert.

The incident is the worst siege of terrorism waged against a Frontier City since the beginning of the two-tier city system following the Second World War. The attack has paralysed the city of Sydney and its surrounding regions, crippling the economic output of the Oceanic Region. As the city readies to ship out its non-essential Mages to the cosmopolitan city of Shanghai, all travel to and from the city are banned. Travellers seeking emergency transits should contact the relevant authorities.

* * *

TOWERS to BLAME?

12th July 2003

Oceania Times

A majority of Oceanian citizens believe that the government and the Tower are concealing information about the Sydney attacks, a new survey suggests.

Following the emergence of Lumen-Recordings of strange scenes surrounding the Tower as it failed to respond to a Mermen Incursion on Friday, conspiracy theories regarding the death of Lord Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten, and Eric Walken, Magister of the Grey Faction, has emerged into the spotlight.

“There is evidence that the Sydney Disaster is an internal conflict,” Investigator Christopher Bader, a magical theorist and political commentator at Chapman University in California, USA, said in a statement. “When we see a degree of paranoia in the Tower’s official responses. It is indicative that the government is concealing information about the hows and whys of the disaster.”

“If you look at the history between Walken and Kilroy, there is a conflict of interest there.” The professor pointed to prior incidents in which Alesia de Botton, apprentice of Lord Kilroy, had publicly humiliated Magister Walken. “It is no surprise that one of them might be using the Tower to bring down the other.”

“What I believe,” the professor has advised the Oceania Times. “Is that you should look deeper into the inter-factional politics of the Towers themselves.”

Conspiracy theories abound

The findings are based on survey answers from 1,511 Mages ages 18 and over who took part in the Sydney Disaster Survey. The questionnaires were weighted to provide demographically representative results based on the participating Mage population as a whole.

Pollster results showed that a number of people not only believed in conspiracies involving Magister Kilroy but also held conspiracy theories about the mysterious Dark Sun which emerged. Other speculations have surfaced involving Lord Kilroy’s late wife, a famous Void Mage whose existence was declassified after she was KIA in Europe, operating within the Commonwealth’s Eastern European theatre in 1971. Some have made connections between the Red Dragon incident and the appearance of a colossal Serpent in 2002 during the Royal National Incident believing that the modus operandi of both incidents point to Spectre.

Critics from around the world

Critics of the Commonwealth Tower System, such as the Mageocracy’s Russian counterparts, have suggested that the Tower systems remain “open to exploitation” and “abuse.” The Chinese Politburo likewise criticised the lack of centralised power systems in the Commonwealth, inferring that the NoM - Mage class system results in a natural imbalance that breeds conflict between its citizens. When reached for comment, the Ambassador to the U.S, Magister Wesson, made the following statement.

“Our hearts and minds are with those who are suffering this terrible loss in a time of peace and progress. Whoever these culprits may be, the U.S stands behind its Britannic Mageocracy allies. We will work hand-in-glove to assist the Commonwealth in finding those responsible and bringing them to justice.”

It is important to note that in the past, Magister Wesson has criticised the Commonwealth’s colonial system of government as ‘archaic’ and its reliance on traditional systems of Spellcraft ‘not keeping with the times’.

A close ally of Oceania, Singapore, has also commented. The current leader of the world’s largest Trading Tier 2 City, also known as the Fortress of the South China Sea, Magister Goh Chok Tong, has declared his support for the Commonwealth and Sydney.

“Though many have critiqued the Commonwealth’s governance, we must remember that ancient and incumbent it may be, The Britannic Mageocracy remains the best system we have under the circumstances. We do not use our None-Magical citizens as fodder, we give equal opportunity to all who awaken to Magehood, and the state provides food, shelter, and protection to all citizens, regardless of class, birth, or origin.”

“I would invite our friends in the Americas, in Russia, and in China, to consider their own policies before critiquing the Commonwealth, as one who lives in a crystal palace should not incant Catapult spells at others.”

* * *

(Music plays)

TONY JONES

Good evening and Welcome to the Special Edition of Q&A, though I am sorry to say that our audience in Sydney won’t be joining us for some time. Live from Melbourne, the topic for today’s Q&A is, of course, none other than the fall of the Sydney Tower itself.

I’m Tony Jones. And here to answer your questions – investigative journalist Katie McMont, Professor Steven Burrow of the Sydney University Arcanum, Paladin Jonathan Holtz, from the Brisbane Tower, Ex-Mayor of Sydney Magus Devin Fulcrow. And finally, the man of the hour, the saviour of the city, the de facto leader of the Sydney Tower - Paladin Gunther Shultz!

Please welcome our panel.

(APPLAUSE, SOME BOOING)

TONY JONES

Thank you very much. Now, Q&A is live across Oceania on ABC Lumen-cast and NewsRadio at 9:35 Eastern Daylight Saving Time.

First question tonight comes from Calum Thicke.

CALUM Thicke

My question is for Lord Gunther: How do you respond to the accusation that Lord Henry Kilroy has been negligent in his duties and thus directly resulted in the crisis of Sydney?

TONY JONES

I’ll start with Lord Gunther.

GUNTHER SHULTZ

Yeah. Look, I’ve followed the conspiracy that Calum is interested in for some time. I am sorry to say, but there’s no credence for it. Now that it has emerged that Spectre and its group of Rogue Mages are involved in the incident, we have released the fact that Lord Kilroy was ambushed by a Void Mage of immense ability while attending a tournament with Lord Ferris in Rosebay. That is the precise and only reason why Lord Kilroy had been unable to respond to the Mermen invasion. Coupled with the unfortunate mismanagement of the Tower's emergency systems by Magister Walken, it should be seen as the unpropitious coming together of two coincidences.

TONY JONES

Professor Burrow

STEVEN BURROW

Lord Gunther, I have the greatest respect for you and your actions during the incident, but the Tower has historically been embroiled in connivance for a reason. I think it's self-evident that Elizabeth Sobel, the Void Mage wife of the late Lord Kilroy, is involved. From the Lumen-recordings taken by those at the scene and during the incident, it can be inferred that Elizabeth, or someone like the late Mrs Kilroy, was physically present. Likewise, despite the swath of Geas spells that has suddenly sprouted over the Tower’s surviving Mages, there remain credible eye-witness reports of a Void Sorceress in her likeness during the Tower’s collapse.

TONY JONES

Lord Gunther?

GUNTHER SHULTZ

I am afraid I must contest you on those points, Steven. They’re little more than popular theory and hearsay. The Tower has always had at its heart, the protection of the city at its core. I mean, you saw the Leviathan right? That took a lot out of me, but I did it with the full knowledge that the Tower will defend the city if I could only push back that monstrosity. As for your hypothesis, I can only tell you the truth. The Rogue Mages simply took advantage of a misunderstanding within the Tower’s Factions, but that has since been resolved. I mean, look at us now, we’re more united than ever. Myself, the Middle Faction, the new Grey Faction, even the Militant Faction - we are fully committed to purging and returning Sydney to its original status, mayhap improve its infrastructure with modern techniques. To this end, I would suggest that double-guessing the Tower and the men and women risking their lives, even as we speak, to cleanse the streets for human habitation, is dishonest and self-serving, don’t you think?

TONY JONES

Our next question is from Simon Bren, from Sydney itself.

SIMON BREN

My question is for Jonathan Holtz. Sir, why did you not capture or destroy the Mythic Serpent that appeared over the city and swallowed the Dark Sun? Is the creature connected to the incident at all?

TONY JONES

Jonathan Holtz

JONATHAN HOLTZ

Good question, Simon. As you know, the Brisbane Grey Faction, Magister Lin included, has always believed that the Wildlands are not our enemy. Rather, we believe in the possibility of co-existence and mutual benefit, as many of the creatures are both sentient and possess the capacity for empathy and peace amongst other shared values that we too uphold. As for the Rainbow Serpent itself, all I can tell you is that the creature is ancient, possibly more ancient than our own existence upon this land. As that is the case, let me ask you - what gives us the right to destroy it or chase it from its own home? The creature is benign, its consumption of the Dark Sun proves this. It is a creature of light and life, while the Dark Sun is a source of enervating negative energy. It only goes to show that in the end, if we can tap into the natural flow of the world, it would make our cities safer.

TONY JONES

Magus Fulcrow, would you like to add to this?

DEVIN FULCROW

Tony, did you know that we lose over three hundred Mages, mostly juniors, to Magical Creatures per year alone? Whether its Goblins from the Blue Mountains, the Elementals from the Simpson Desert, or the constant, unceasing menace of the Mermen, we never have been at peace with the Wildlands, nor will we ever be. To those creatures out there, our very existence is a bane. Think about what the Greys tried to accomplish in the 80s, a treaty with the Mermen, how did that turn out? A few whaling expeditions in the South Sea from the Tier 1 cities and we’re back to square one. What I believe is what the Americans understand, that the only 'good' Magical Being is a contracted, leashed or dead. My city is in ruins, and I may no longer be Mayor of Sydney, but I’ll never forgive those fish-headed fiends, not after what they’ve done to our home. Sometimes, blood can only be repaid by blood, and the best way to resolve the crisis is to retaliate with extreme prejudice.

(Audience cheers, whistles)

TONY JONES

Alright, alright settle down. On a lighter note, let's take a question from the street.

(Scene changes to a young woman, uncommonly pretty with large amber eyes and an impressive cleavage, which the cameraman takes full advantage.)

From Sydney, Ms Harriet Spelling.

HARRIET SPELLING

Lord Gunther, I wish to know who the Pink Salt Mage is. He saved all of us when the Mermen had almost overrun our positions. As Blade Barrier is at least a Tier 6 Spell, what can you tell us about the Senior Magus?

TONY JONES

Gunther Shultz

GUNTHER SHULTZ

I am afraid the identity of the Pink Salt Saviour will remain a secret until such time that the man himself wishes to be known. All I can tell you is that he is not a part of the Tower, but shares many of our core principles of protecting the weak and helping those in need, even at the cost of his own life.

KATIE MCMONT

You know, there are also reports he left groups of civilians to die.

GUNTHER SHULTZ

I find that difficult to believe.

KATIE MCMONT

That may be, but it was widely reported nonetheless. Many of the Militiamen who survived the attack said that the Mage blew past them without so much as giving them a sideways glance. Some say that he would go out of this way to help a NoM woman than Mages who were in mortal combat against Mermen.

GUNTHER SHULTZ

It was a chaotic affair, Harriet. I am sure if a young woman such as yourself was in danger, the Pink Salt Saviour would risk life and limb to save you.

(audience laughs)

* * *

“Achoo!”

Gwen watched her father sneeze for the twelfth time since they’d embarked upon the Cargo Freighter, the ‘Queen’s Efficient’.

Like the cargo carriers of Gwen’s old world, the ships achieved near-indestructibility through the application of sheer scale. Built around an enchanted and strengthen keel, the carriers were clad by transmuted steel seamlessly merged plate to plate against a lattice framework of glyph-enhanced supports. Measuring almost four hundred meters from bow to stern and fifty-nine meters across, the monstrosity may as well be a translocating island of steel. As Gwen surveyed the impressive length of the ship from the top deck, she couldn’t help but marvel at its miraculous engineering, a blend of magical and non-magical technology.

They had met the Harbour Master upon their arrival in Darwin, teleporting directly from the Tower toward the departure hall. There they met the captain of the vessel, the Honourable Captain Scott Tully, a veteran seaman with four decades of ocean-faring experience.

When Gwen asked how safe he expected the voyage to be, the old seaman burst into laughter.

“Lass, there’s such a thing called the safety of scale!”

The captain explained that with the Magitech revolution at the beginning of the 20th century, open-ocean transit is now considered the safest means of moving between cities.

With the invention of American Mana Engines that drew power from stable fuel sources such as LDM and HDM Crystals, it became possible to move ships with enormous displacements, beginning from 800 tonnes in the 1920s to an absurd 55,000 tonnes in 2000. Their current freight-carrier, the Queen’s Efficient, was one such owned by the Maersk Corp of Denmark, a Triple E monstrosity.

“We’re almost ten times of the size of a regular Kraken!” the captain boasted with confidence. “It would take a Leviathan to take down a Triple E, not to mention we have on-board Shield Resonators.”

Though Gwen couldn’t understand half of the jargon the Captain was excitedly spraying from his lips, she understood that at least without extenuating circumstances, nothing would impede their progress to Singapore.

After a small cache of HDM crystals exchanged hands, the captain leased to them a full cargo section, including private cabins, separate showers, and an impressive view of the ship’s aft.

“Why the cargo space?” Gwen asked when they had finally settled. The cargo-space was artificially lit by Daylight glyphs, utterly spartan except for four steel-walls. At one end was the entrance to the control tower, where the party could access their rooms in the midship, while in front of them was half a football field’s worth of enclosed bulkhead.

“We have seven Days at best to get you ready for the Black Zone, so let's not waste any time.” Taj threw off his jacket, revealing powerful muscles that resembled an anatomic relief. “If we’re going into the jungle, the first thing you have to learn are CQBs - close combat spells.”

“You're participating too,” Jonas commanded Morye to join in the training. “If Gunther thinks you’re so good, let's see what you can do.”

“I’ll be right,” Morye pushed himself from the floor and made for the Tower.

Paul blocked his path.

“Hazing the new guy?” Morye asked nonchalantly. “A little old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

“If we’re going to operate as a team, we need to know what you can do.”

“I can take care of myself, and Gwen. That's all you need to know.” Morye tried to push past Paul, but the smiling Translocation Mage wouldn’t budge. “Do you mind?”

“Come on, just a peep,” Taj urged Morye, his voice echoing through the bulkhead. "Show us your signature spells; you can keep the trump cards up your sleeve if you want to."

Morye sighed. He walked toward a wall and sat on the floor crossed legged. In the next moment, he began to meditate.

The rest of the group, Gwen included, regarded her father with disdain.

“Well, lets see what you can do, Gwen.” Jonas motioned to the open space.

“Do we have privacy?” Gwen asked the men before her.

“Yep,” Jonas banged a hand against the hull. “No lumen-recorders in here, had Paul do a thorough check-up when we came in. There’s also a double barrier access hatch that must be opened to reach this level, so we’ll be fine. The thickness of the walls and the cargo likewise interferes with Divination spells.”

“Alright, let's start with Lighting.” Gwen nodded to her companions, mindful of her father, whose closed eyes either suggested he was watching subtly or that the man had dozed off. If so, Gwen had a real surprise in store for the old man.

“So, there’s this signature spell that Alesia and I came up with, I can conjure it as a crystal, or use it as a spontaneous burst.”

Gwen picked a spot not far from her father.

“Flashbang!”

The enclosed space of the container ship exceedingly magnified the concussive effect of the spell, so much that Gwen managed to stun herself.

“Christ Almighty!” Jonas watched his mana shield shimmer.

“That’s a hell of a spell, Gwen.” Paul had been far away enough to escape unscathed.

“Yeah, its a real ripper of an opener. How long did it take you to manifest? Half a second?”

“0.4,” Gwen replied. Flashbang was one of her earliest spells and her favourite. Feeling the tinnitus fade from her eardrums, she snuck a peek towards her father. Morye seemed unfazed by it all, sitting still with a Zen-like expression that suggested he was entirely relaxed and at peace.

“Let’s continue, anything else… loud?” Jonas enquired carefully.

“Not so much, no,” Gwen replied and began to cycle through all her known Evocation spells that she had learned in the last year and a half.

Guiding Bolt, which focused positive energy to train Electric attacks. Lightning Blast, a channelled persist AOE which was now defunct thanks to her higher tier spells. Lightning Grasp, a melee touch attack. Taser, Gwen’s improved non-lethal Lightning Grasp. Of all her Evocation spells, Lightning Bolt remained Gwen’s staple offensive spell, capable of penetrating multiple enemies in a line and causing paralysis as a side-effect.

Then there were her Conjuration based spells.

Lightning Blade was a persistent effect Lightning Grasp she had trained for CQB but never gained the opportunity to use. Warding Bolt was another of Gwen’s staples, a conjured orb that shot bolts of lighting empowered by her Evocation talent, though it only held three charges. Call Lighting, likewise, served as a secondary battle-turret, indiscriminately shooting enemies with occasional bolts of lightning from above. Morden’s Faithful Hound - Was Gwen’s guardian spell, creating an invisible dog that attacked enemies as they came close. Though the lightning-enchanted dog couldn’t move from its set location, it was as powerful as a Soldier-class magical beast. Dark Tentacle was a spell that was growing on Gwen. It served as a means of constraining and damaging enemies while paralysing and harming them with multiple strikes. Finally, Dimension Door remained her only translocation spell, though either through Void or Lightning, Gwen could affect a ‘bust’ off energy at the point of arrival and thus use it offensively as well as defensively.

“I also know some utility spells from schools I can access but have yet to train in,” Gwen explained, going on to demonstrate Jump and Feather Fall from transmutation, as well as Detect Magic from Divination.

When she demonstrated her unique Shield, created from Gunther’s theory-crafted Non-newtonian method, the men became immensely impressed.

Taj begged Gwen for the theory as to attempt it himself, but found the manifestation unmanageable. Gwen wondered if it was because she understood the motes of mana within the vacuum of the two shields as atomic motes, whereas according to Taj, mana was an invisible spiritual force.

When Gwen had exhausted her Lightning repertoire, it was time for the main event.

“Let's see the beasties,” Taj huffed and straightened from where he’d kelt. Despite the good parity of his Earth element in resisting Gwen’s lightning, the Quasi-element still possessed its infamous paralytic effect.

“Ariel!”

A bolt of lightning struck the galvanised steel, summoning an adorable white marten that landed with a flourish.

“Eee! Eee! Ee!” It posed handsomely several times before running between Gwen’s slender ankles to perform a perpetual figure eight.

“Combat form!”

With a growl Ariel began to grow, crackling with electrical energy that raced across the steel plating.

To Gwen's surprise, Ariel was much larger than before. Had her Conjuration Sigil grown stronger? Had Faceless possessed the Conjuration talent as well as the Transmutation?

"Grrrrr..."

Before the impressed men was a wolf-sized mongoose with a blue-white coat, crackling with electrical energy. Ariel glanced at Gwen and urged her to give it another jolt of Lightning charged mana - to which she obliged.

Instantly the creature became clad in white lightning; its fur stood end-on-end with such violence that it began to resemble a serpentine porcupine. With a push from its powerful hind legs, Ariel launched itself toward the end of the container platform and back again in the blink of an eye.

“Ho, a self-hasting ability, very nice,” Jonas applauded Ariel, who raised its snout snugly. “That bite looks very nasty as well.”

“He’ll be useful in the jungle for sure,” Paul remarked. “Especially as we’ll be land bound when we hit the Black Zone.”

“How so?” Gwen asked. Surely it would be easier for them to fly into the grove.

“Glamour and terrain,” Taj explained. “Remember Gwen; there are three places you can’t fly - Dungeons, arboreal regions, and Tier 1 cities.”

“Tier 1 cities?” Gwen furrowed her brow.

“Well, not without a permit, and those are virtually impossible to get without deep pockets and deeper connections. So no.”

“I see, but why can't we fly into the forest?”

“It would only confuse you,” Taj spoke patiently to the untested sorceress. “Orange Zones and beyond are tainted by the unpredictable mana of the Wildlands. This means that from the air, it is virtually impossible to find one’s bearings through surveying the canopy. When intelligent magical beings further inhabit the arboreal regions, it becomes doubly difficult as they can shift the forest to confuse unwanted intruders.”

“What makes ground cover any safer?”

“Who said it was safer?” Paul joked. “The ground approach gives us room to leave Arcane marks, Teleportation Beacons, and if all else fails, we can burn ourselves a little clearing to mark the spot.”

“That and most Mages are incapable of throwing down in the air,” Taj pointed out. “You’ve been spoilt by an austere company, Gwen. In the real world, very few Mages can cast spells in dogfights. The toll taken by the Flight spell on your concentration and your body renders the vast majority of Mages incapable of high-tier spells while in motion.”

“Or situational awareness,” Paul added. “I’d say that’s the kicker. You're concentrating so much on flying and casting that you can't see the forest for the trees, ha!”

"Okay," Gwen nodded, thinking when she'd be able to dogfight with the best of them. "No flying in the Arboreal Zone."

There was a thrum in the air, a slight feeling of inertia. The ship was leaving port.

“You want to check out the harbour?” Jonas turned to Gwen. “It’s quite the view. Let’s get this over and done with, and we can head up to the deck. Let's see your Void familiar.”

Gwen inclined her head and took a deep breath. She felt more hale and awakened than ever before. Her body was still suffused with the emerald vitality of the Serpent, which should offer her a buffer before the Void magic once again ate into her health.

She commanded Ariel to return to its marten form, watching the creature harass Morye, turning onto its belly and rubbing its back against the galvanised bulkhead with delight. Annoyed, her father ceased his meditation and was now standing to attention, his eyes trained toward the space in front of her.

“Caliban is a little scary,” Gwen explained. “He’s very much an alien creature, so prepare yourselves.”

“We’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe,” Taj quipped with a grin. “Let’s see what you got.”

“Alright, here goes.” Gwen collected herself and drew upon the Void, feeling the volatile energy flood her mana channels. For now, at least, they no longer permeated into her physical body, being kept in check by Almudj's blessing.

There was a slash in the air, a gash in time-space, then out came Caliban.

At least, Gwen thought it was Caliban.

Rather than the expectant slither and a soundless plop, what came out instead was a pair of long, spindly legs in transparent obsidian, multi-segmented in a way that resembled disjointed, anorexic fingers. There was another pair, and another and another - until Caliban was out in its full horrific glory. Four pairs of grasping legs skittering across the floor, raking and rasping against the metallic hull in the uncertain manner of a new-born foal. Caliban’s body, which had previously been serpentine and sinuous, was now a bulbous, fleshy mass in purple and tentacle pink, resembling that of a spider or a scorpion turned inside out. Its back carapace remained the hard-shelled, semi-translucent plates that interlocked, but its underside was wet with sucking noises that slurped and gurgled. From its spine distended a long tail, a remnant from its old morphic shape that whipped the air like a length of steel cable.

There was something oddly familiar about it all.

“Wanka?” Gwen said to Caliban. “You took on Wanka’s form!”

She immediately thought of Faceless and its morphic talent. Unlike the shapeshifter, Gwen wasn't the one to consumed her victims, and so the polymorphic ability must have been inherited by her familiar! Gwen closed her eyes and retracted her mind within her astral soul, searching for the Transmutation Sigil. She found the constellation not far from her radiant Evocation, dark and brooding, radiating a malevolent mauve light.

Meanwhile, Taj was screaming incoherently.

He didn’t think he was capable of it. After all, he was the primary Tank of Alesia’s battlegroup. Whatever horrors they faced, his shield was the first to block it, his fist often the first to punch it. More often than not, it was from his boots and clothes that he had to scrape the remains of horrific and alien creatures.

But not like this. This Caliban was an existential crisis in material form.

The very sight of the Netherfiend sent Taj's testicles fleeing up their canals to whimper in helpless terror.

“!!” Caliban turned to face the screaming Abjurer. A duet!

“SHARRRRR! Shaaaa! SHARRAR!” It’s five tongues, each barbed with spikes dripping with grey goo, flayed excitedly at their new companion.

“Fuck me dead!” Paul dropped to both knees and hurled out his guts, feeling the acidic tang entering his nasal canals and burning a hole in his oesophagus. He began to cough and choke.

Jonas began to see fields of lilac and lavender, his mind choosing not to acknowledge the madness.

“Oh, hey Alesia, I didn’t think I’d find you here.” He giggled like a child. “Would you like some flowers? I picked them just for you.”

“Caliban, HEEL!” Gwen commanded the skittering thing, now the size of a pony. Caliban found purchase on its legs and sidled up to her, whipping its tail happily. It raised a spindly spider leg and wrapped it lovingly around her waist. That was the best it could manage without hugging her face and choking its master. Gwen reached out a dainty hand and patted Caliban's carapace, causing it to flay its tail wildly, leaving white scratch marks across the galvanised iron and dribble profusely.

“Alright, let’s see your combat form.” Gwen took another deep breath.

“STOP!” Morye’s voice cried out.

Gwen looked up to see her father, handkerchief in hand, wiping away a vestige of vomit from his chin.

“If you keep going, there’s not going to be a team left to take onto the Island.”

Gwen turned to Caliban, who wagged its tail.

“Good boy, Caliban!” She glanced at her father. “Caliban! Go play with Daddy!”

Caliban turned to Morye and reared itself upwards. Two fangs burst from its face as Void mana coursed through its body. As a black blur, it launched itself toward this 'Daddy' of its master's. Caliban opened its second mouth just below its gnashing mandibles, where its tongues wagged excitedly for a good licking.

“OH FUCK NO.” Morye felt every hair standing on this back.

“Salt Skin!”

“Back! Away! Foul creature!”

Gwen watched as her father was bowled over by the pony-sized Caliban and pressed against the wall of the bulkhead. Its claws scrabbled across the galvanised walls like nails on a chalkboard, causing her to wince.

“Gwen! Tell this thing to back off! Else I will banish it!” Morye warned, feeling multiple tongues lashing his armour of crystallised salt.

Caliban cooed and informed Gwen empathically that her father was delicious and delightful.

“Caliban, enough!” Gwen commanded both verbally and mentally. “To me!”

Ariel took the opportunity to leap onto Caliban as it skittered back, looking gallant as it balanced itself upon Caliban’s carapace.

Gwen wondered if she could also ride on Caliban, although that would imply that she needed to have him consume a horse of some kind, ideally one with multiple limbs for multi-terrain travel. She still needed time to figure out how his polymorphy worked, and the island seemed as good a spot as any.

The two pets returned to their master, the eight-legged arachnid skittering to and fro while the marten did laps around her ankles.

Morye began the process of scraping goo from his armour but thought better of it.

“Dispel!”

Salt cascaded from his body, collapsing onto the floor in great big chunks, like a knight stepping from a plate mail with the cords cut loose.

Meanwhile, Jonas, Taj and Paul had recovered from their initial state of shock and were mopping up the bulkhead.

“I was told it was a snake…” Paul accused Gwen with a face full of hurt and betrayal. “I don’t mind spiders, but that thing is something else.”

“I once saw a carrion crawler eat a man alive,” Jonas muttered. “I had thought that was disturbing, but that thing takes the cake, Gwen. My God, you were going to take that into a public tournament? You’re going to cause a riot.”

Caliban wasn’t a spider-demon back then, Gwen thought to her self, but it was too complicated to explain her life story to those not in the know.

“Sorry,” Taj apologised self-depreciatively. “I didn’t think I was frightened of anything, but that thing terrifies me.”

“Caliban, heel,” Gwen commanded the fiendish creature gently. Caliban wagged its pointed tail and stopped by her side.

“So, what are its abilities?” Jonas asked.

Gwen looked at Morye.

Morye’s looked away in case his daughter thought he'd make a good demonstration.

“Void-charged physical attacks that penetrate most shields and armour,” Gwen spoke. “What else can you do, Caliban?”

Caliban raised its body and launched a pair of fleshy tongues with barbed daggers for tips.

“Flesh hooks?” Gwen turned to the group and shrugged, watching their lively faces.

Caliban’s tongues retracted into its second jaw.

“God, imagine fighting that thing!” Jonas pulled a face, patting his pockets and wondering why he ever quit smoking.

To Gwen’s surprise, it was Morye who produced a packet of Winfield Blues from his pocket and pointed a yellow tip towards the other men. They each took one.

“How good’s your elemental control?” Morye asked. “Can you light us up? A little Chain Lightning perhaps?”

“I’d prefer you keep all your faces. And no, I can’t do that yet.” Gwen reddened a little. She was a long way away from learning that particular whopper. Instead, she produced a piece of enchanted tinder used for outdoor survival, and dutifully lit their cigarettes.

Watching the men passive smoke with glazed over eyes, she retracted both her familiars and told them that she’d be outside, watching the ship’s departure from Darwin.

When Gwen’s clanging footfalls fell away, the men turned their attention towards one another.

“Sorry for the bother, fellers. She’s a real handful.” Morye looked each of the men in the eyes as he spoke, taking the opportunity to break some ice.

“Don’t be,” Jonas replied. “We usually work with Alesia de Botton.”

“The Crimson Sorceress?”

“The one and only,” Paul pipped in. “The shit we have to deal with, you wouldn’t begin to believe.”

“Does it include netherworld spiders that try to fuck your face?” Morye quipped with a jocular tone.

“Ha!”

The group chuckled nervously, recalling the horror of the last few minutes.

Morye extended a hand and let fall from his grasp a sprinkle of salt. The other three men watched as it grew into a crystal cylinder, its uppermost tip expanding until it formed an elegant looking ashtray.

Morye tapped his cigarette, and the others followed suit.

“I guess there’s no avoiding it,” he coughed to clear this throat. “Morye Song, Transmuter Tier 6 Major, Abjurer Tier 4 Minor, Salt Element.”

“Good to know you.” Jonas reached out and shook his hand. “Jonas Durn, Evocation-Conjuration, Healer Tier 5, Positive Element.”

“I am Paul Mckay,” Paul likewise exchanged greetings with Morye. “Conjuration-Transmutation Tier 5 Major, Enchantment Minor Tier 3, I specialise in Translocation and Teleportation. I am sorry to say that my elemental affinity is one, so I am not much for combat.”

“Good to meet you, Paul.”

“Likewise.”

“Trajan Smith Philips, but call me Taj.” Taj offered his hand after the others had finished their greeting. “Abjurer Tier 5, Earth Element.”

“So how do you guys know Gwen?” Morye enquired. “She and I don’t talk much. We’re not close.”

“Ah.” Paul’s eyes had a twinkle in them. “If you’re keen to know, I should probably start with Alesia. You sure we have the time? Cause it's going to be a long story.”

“Well, we got seven days. As for Gwen's training, I'll have a chat with her after and we'll sort something out. That bloody spider-monster huh? Why can't she get a pony or something like a normal girl? My God.”

The group thought of Gwen’s eldritch horror and again exchanged nervous bout of laughter.

“You know,” Paul said quietly. “I am kinda looking forward to seeing Caliban mangle something.”

The others tried to imagine it and nodded. They were military men, after all, conditioned by training and trauma to want to see something FUBAR.

* * *

Gwen stood on the gunwale railing, watching the glowing city of Darwin disappear into the distance. Once they moved out from the deep harbour, the carrier quickly gained speed until the waters beneath its bow became a churning white froth. From above where the great chimney of the engine room sat, a plume of dark blue polluted the briny air, raining down upon the oceans unfiltered bits of unburnt mana crystals.

Though they were moving, the air was hot and humid, moist and clammy against the tender skin of her legs, but the view was well worth the discomfort.

The men smoking below crossed Gwen's mind as she watched her streaming hair whipping the air wildly.

Gwen knew she owed them a great debt.

Taj, Jonas and Paul had no obligations to come. They were here because of Alesia’s command. They felt nothing for Elvia and Yue, or Whetu, and were risking their lives to please their mistress, a woman they respected and adored like a sister.

Her father likewise had no obligation to come. Gwen wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly have a change of heart. Whatever his reasons might be though, it was undeniable that he was risking his life to satisfy her whim, her conscience.

All these threads, all these connections. That was what separated the life she had now, compared to her other life in the old world. There, she had only her company, her PA, her employees. She had no close friends to visit her, just clients and associates; there was no family to bother her; she’d lost them somewhere in the past. She had her cats, of course, Ariel and Caliban, but they counted for less than even the familiars she possessed now. Those cats were assholes, kind of like herself.

Gwen laughed, first a trill, then roaring laughter that floated upon the wind and out to sea.

In this world, she wasn't alone. She’s got her friends, Elvia and Yue. She’s got Surya, her slapstick grandfather, and Richard, her faithful cousin. She’s even got her mother, who never went away, and now she has her father too, who stuck around.

Her hand fell upon the Kirin pendant.

Such a precious item. Gwen felt its warmth between her breasts. What does her father know?

She was sure Morye was the pink salt guy.

Her father - not a useless Abjurer, but a Salt Mage, a Magus dual-classing in Abjuration and Transmutation. It meant that he had a perfect balance of versatility, offence, and defence. She wondered how the higher-tier spells functioned in his element, the combination of Negative Energy and Water; how her father managed his vitality so well. From what she could see, he had effortlessly manifested his suit of Salt-crystal plate mail.

Gwen had to admit, that signature spell of her father’s was very, very cool.

A white suit of archaic plate mail, embossed with intricate scrollwork. Its visor was a stylised helmet with a T shaped slot for eyes and nose, flared with a pair of white crystalline wings. The interlocking plates were tessellated as well, possessing the reactive ability to be discarded and re-grown. She especially liked the shoulder pauldron, with one side taller than the other, which gave the armour an asymmetrical, but beautiful air.

An idea struck Gwen. Didn’t she likewise possess Transmutation now? In fact, if the glow from the Sigil was anything to go by, it should already be tier 2.

She could be tapping into the ability enhancing spells unique to the school, like the ones Debora used to use.

Debora.

Master.

Elizabeth.

Elvia, Yue, and Whetu.

Instantly Gwen felt deflated, her previously enlightened mood grew dark and heavy. The city had lost its magic. It was time to go below deck.

The smoke break was over.

* * *

Supper was served by the ship’s cook, a young fellow who’d just finished his traineeship and was enlisted by the captain to replace their retiring chef.

When the young man gave Gwen an extra helping of meatballs, a clamour went up throughout the mess. Amidst laughter and jests, the crew gave the poor lad a few well-aimed punches against his right arm.

“How you like that?” One of the sailors sniggered. “Arm feel dead yet?”

“Let’s see you jerk it tonight, Blue Balls,” another sailor quipped uproariously.

A torrent of laughter resonated through the mess, doubling some sailors over so hard that they spilt the sauces from their trays.

Such was the madness of the sea and its effect on the lonely men of the long-haul. Ever since a wandering sailor saw Gwen, the conversation between the crew had consisted of little else but the lovely specimen of femininity that had descended upon them. As for Gwen, she didn’t mind the sailors having a jovial go at her expense, but their crude humour was direct and to the point, causing her to feel squeamish and uncomfortable in their company.

“Captain on deck!”

The crew stood and stifled their laughter as best as they could.

Captain Tully apologised to Gwen for the rudeness of his crew and offered the lounge for their perusal.

“Would you and your companions mind joining me for supper for the next few nights? I hope the officer’s deck would offer a better ambience.” He shot his men a glaring look.

“Of course, Captain Tully, it would be our greatest pleasure. I would very much like to ask you a few things about Singapore,” Gwen answered demurely, watching the Captain’s hard eyes soften.

“Very good then, I’ll be expecting you all tomorrow at supper. Good night.”

The rest of the crew relaxed as the captain left the mess.

The noise level returned to its usual deafening roar, though their conversation now steered away from the many qualities of Gwen. Gwen ate her serving and looked towards the cook longingly, causing the doe-eyed fellow to misinterpret her intention completely. Despite his self-professed dashing good looks; how could he imagine that the vision of loveliness wasn't longing for his fabled blue balls, but the third serve of meatballs that still lingered in the pot.

* * *

Time took on a strange displacement within the confines of the bulkhead, where the light of day and the light cast by Daylight made strange bedfellows.

It was either late at night or early next morning that Gwen sought out her father and asked him for instruction on using her Void magic. Her thinking was that they'd start with something less personal before moving onto sordid revelations. Though he'd been avoiding her, she’d expertly cornered him in his cabin so that his only escape was to bodily push past her.

“You want me to teach you Void Magic?” Morye regarded his daughter critically. “What makes you think I know Void Magic?”

“No, I mean like, how do I cast it without killing myself?” Gwen blinked her luminous eyes at him, fluttering her long lashes.

Morye felt goosebumps all over his skin. Gwen was too much her mother's daughter.

“Don’t do that.” He made some distance between them. “If you mean how to conserve your vitality, I am afraid you’re shit out of luck.”

“How come?” Gwen replied, her voice full of disappointment. “If what I am hearing is true, you fought for hours! How can that be possible if you’re not conserving your vitality?”

“Well, I am a Salt Mage for one,” Morye placed both hands together and pulled them apart, forming a pillar of salt.

“Use Detect Magic, tell me how much Negative energy is in this.”

Gwen incanted the Divination spell and focused upon the rod of salt - finding it to be principally a mass of elemental water, with trace volumes of negative energy.

“There’s hardly any negative mana in there,” Gwen answered her father, feeling an unkind premonition that the answer wasn’t going to be to her liking.

“Channel a cantrip’s worth of Void mana, just a little, go on,” her father instructed.

Gwen focused her mind and imagined the phenomenon in her mind. A tenebrous sphere, darker than black, hovered over her palm.

“Detect Magic.”

The negative energy that emanated from the ball was so dense as to form a cluster of dark-matter even in the multi-coloured world of elemental mana. There were traces of elemental Air within, silvery and shimmering, but well hidden amongst the agitated, seething mass of malevolence.

“Feel that?”

“I do.”

“What do you sense?”

“Negative energy, most of the Void is negative energy.”

“Good, let it go now.”

Gwen snuffed out the void sphere.

“Give me your hand.”

She complied and extended her right hand. Morye took it within his palm and placed a finger on her pulse. Gwen could feel her father's rough fingers, coarse and warm, on the tender skin of her wrist, were two blue veins were just visible.

“Surprisingly healthy,” her father said after a moment. “What are you taking for supplements? Or is this Caliban’s doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does he transfer life to you?”

“A bit.” Gwen’s voice was barely a whisper. “When he feeds on living prey.”

“Do you feel sick when you use the Void? Like vertigo or disorientation?”

Gwen nodded.

“When I incant high-tier spells, I feel dizzy. I've also fainted a few times. There was also a period when I was very weak, bodily I mean, skinny, always hungry, but nothing I ate seemed to help.”

Morye took his finger from Gwen’s wrist.

“Can't you refrain from using the Void element? After all, you have Lightning. That’s a rare boon indeed.”

Gwen shook her head.

“I don’t want to leave either one unused, Dad. I need the power. One day, perhaps soon, certain people are going to know about my Void element. Before then, I need to become powerful, influential; I need strong allies and influential backers. Without these things, I am just going to be someone’s puppet, or maybe worse.”

Morye licked his drying lips thoughtfully. A girl with Gwen’s beauty, carrying the talents of two rare bloodlines.

“Probably worse," he admitted, his expression unreadable. “Leaving that aside, you insist on using the Void then?”

“I do.”

“Fine, so back on topic. It is not possible for you to mitigate the effects of the Void because the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void is primarily negative energy, mixed with trace elements of air.”

“So I just have to endure it then? I’ve been offsetting the negative drain by using healers who provide me with positive mana.”

Morye arched a critical brow and gave her a disapproving look full of scepticism.

“Doesn’t help. The consumption of channelling Void is not negative drain from an undead, Gwen. All that positive offset is doing is delaying the inevitable. The corruption of the Void comes from inside you. Your body itself is channelling a power anathema to life. No force on earth can stop it from consuming your vitality. My advice is to use the Void as a killing blow, or use it only to empower Caliban, at least that thing will give you something back.”

Watching her face fall, Morye regarded his headstrong daughter and considered his options.

“Look, there’s a reason why there are no Void Mages, alright? It’s not an ability meant for people who yearn to stay alive. I don’t even know why you have two elements, Gwen, but that’s winning the God damned lottery, alright? Whatever fate you think might await you, is it worth dying over? Even if you end up marrying someone for a political reason, or ‘Gwen’ forbid it, to continue a bloodline - is it worse than death? If you die, nothing else matters, you know? Your friends, your mentors, Alesia, and Gunther and the girls we are trying to rescue - none of it would matter.”

Gwen's expression remained frigid.

“Are you listening to me, Gwen?”

She was listening, but her father’s words did not appeal to her in the slightest.

‘No force on earth can stop it from consuming your vitality.’ He had said, but Gwen knew he was wrong. She knew that there was a force that existed on earth which could undo the damage caused by her void powers. She had received it thrice - first when she fought Edgar, then again when Gwen had sung the Serpent, and finally when she drew Almudj’s essence from the pendant.

If there’s a will, there’s a way. After all, didn’t Elizabeth overcome the limits of the Void element, even if she had to consume the lives of others to do so? If the Void Magister could find an unethical way, surely she could find an ethical manner in which she too, could mitigate the effects of the life-drain. Almudj had already shown her she could; now she just had to replicate it.

Gwen produced the pendant from under her blouse.

“What can you tell me about this?”

Morye’s eyes looked away from the mutely glowing jade.

“You’ll have a safe delivery for sure if you wear it.”

Gwen pinched her father's thigh, causing him to yelp.

“I am serious!”

“You’re guaranteed to have twins.”

She pinched him again.

“Alright, alright! Hey! Hey! Not the nose! Jesus, sheesh.” Morye blocked Gwen’s arms with both his hands, parrying them expertly. Then with a sudden thrust, he pinned them to her sides. The swiftness of the execution caught Gwen flat-footed, and for a moment she thought she saw a Morye that she’d never seen before.

Morye held his vexatious daughter before him and looked her in the eyes with a seriousness that made her shiver.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Gwen swallowed nervously.

“I do.”

“Alright, stand up, and stand to the side.” Morye freed her arms and pointed to the side of the cabin.

Gwen obediently stood by the bedside.

“Right.” Morye pulled out a cigarette and hung it by his mouth. He lingered by the door for a moment dramatically, no longer impeded by his daughter’s blockade. “I need a smoke. Wait here. I’ll tell you everything.”

Gwen nodded.

Morye turned and left, disappearing into the corridors.

It took five minutes before Gwen realised that once again, she’d been duped. A cry of anguish and anger echoed from deep within the recesses of the interior bulkheads, beginning rumours of a possible loose banshee that had gotten onboard.

* * *

Morye eluded his daughter after that, finding excuses here and there to avoid being trapped in a room with her alone. Gwen hadn't given up, however, using every opportunity to corner her father, extorting from him stories about his past, especially pertaining to her mother.

Meanwhile, her CQC training had begun in earnest, sparring with Paul and Taj as they taught her basic body techniques for using touch spells, as well as how to dodge, parry and retaliate enemies that venture too close to her for a Shield to manifest.

“So your average constrictor type is likely going to go for a grapple,” Taj explained as the conversation turned from fighting humans to creatures. “You should know that encountering giant constrictors is preferable encountering smaller, poisonous ones, whose bite has all kinds of nasty surprises.”

“What do we do if we do get bitten?”

“Hope Jonas is nearby, I supposed. Remember there are universal antidote injectors in your ring. I’ll be running a tutorial when we get closer to Singapore so that you know how to differentiate between normal snakes and poisonous ones.”

“Okay, you ready to go again?” Taj cracked his neck. “I’ll be trying to pin you; your job is to dodge and get enough distance for a Shocking Grasp, okay?”

Gwen pulled back her loosened hair until it was taut against her head, collecting at the base of her skull in a thick ponytail.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

* * *

Dinner with the captain was an easy way for Gwen to differentiate the passing of days. Each night, Captain Tully offered to dine with the austere group as the ship plodded through the open ocean.

For the first few days, Gwen had gone out on the gunwale to check out the scene, but after three days of monotony, she’d given up going her tours of the deck, instead choosing to spend her time in meditation, harassing her father, and training with the others.

“God! You’re just like your mother!” her father accused her with exaggerated exasperation. “I don’t mean that in a nice way either. Give a man some peace and space, you’re giving me cabin fever.”

Conversely, the Captain was a friendly man who’d delighted in talking about his wife and daughter.

“She’s about your age, just beginning university, in fact.”

“Oh?” Gwen pursed her lips with great interest. “May I ask which one?”

“The Shanghai Metropolitan University.” The captain made a few incisions to the meat dish on his plate and arranged it in a manner that was pleasing to his eye. “I would have wanted her to attend Fudan U, but alas, she lacked the talent, and I lacked the connections.”

“You live in Shanghai?”

The captain chuckled.

“No, no. I live virtually on this ship if you must know. I am registered in Shanghai though; it came with one of the perks of working the shipping lanes. My work takes me back to the metropolis every three months for a working holiday, which is just as well.”

“What’s the city like?” Gwen inquired shyly, mindful that she sounded like an Outback bumpkin asking what it was like to stand in Times Square.

“Larger than you can begin to imagine.” Captain Tully tried to draw a picture in the air for Gwen. “Imagine going down the Yellow River, and on both sides, for as far as the eye can see, are buildings glowing with illuminators, adverts, and posters of the latest magic items, fashions and trends.”

“The largest shopping street for Mages, Nanking Road, extends five kilometres from the Bund down to the Jing-An Temple. The avenue is itself is fifty meters across, filled with people shoulders to shoulder. Hawkers, crafters, renowned Enchanters, all have shops here, plying their wares. Whatever magic items you desire, no matter how high-spec or rare, can be found here, assuming you have the HDMs and the CCs, of course.”

The Captain fed himself a morsel of steak and tried to recall more of the vivid memory.

“At the top of each arcade are the restaurants. My God, Gwen, the restaurants. The most incredible and rare samples of Wildland’s greatest gifts kept in stasis. Some have rare cuts, cured and put on display, others are more blatant with their offering, displaying their stasis frozen carcasses behind large windows. The greatest of these establishments even have especially designed pens that keep these creatures alive, so that its peerless clientele can enjoy the freshest, most mana-infused delicacies power and money could afford.”

“It sounds incredible,” Gwen marvelled with genuine anticipation as she sipped her water.

“Are you heading there?” the Captain asked. A girl guarded by two Army Captains and a Major surely can’t just be anyone.

“I am not sure,” Gwen confessed. “After we finish our mission in Singapore, we’ll be heading back to Sydney, I assume.”

The Captain nodded. The fall of Sydney, a terrible affair.

Knowing that they came from Sydney, especially during such a crisis, told him that it wouldn’t do to ask too many questions. Tully had been a ship Captain for three decades; he knew when to speak and when to be silent. Sometimes, a group of guests seeking passage was just that - a group of travellers seeking to go from location A to B.

“How do you like the South Sea Kingfish?” He motioned to the steak of jade-like white flesh.

“Exquisite.” Gwen revealed an attractive smile to the Captain that made the old man grin in turn. “Can you tell me more about the universities there?”

* * *

Survival scenarios were also covered by the three Senior Mages, imparting their expertise to Gwen so that should she become lost on the island, she wouldn’t be immediately helpless.

“But of course, if we’re talking tropical weather, the most dangerous thing is hardly going to be giant lizards or snakes. It’s the little buggers that get ya,” Paul explained a few days into the trip. “Swarms of poisonous flies, ants, parasitic worms, you name it.”

Gwen felt her skin crawl at the thought.

“We’ll be using repellents, of course, but in the case that you do get swarmed, or we have to bypass a swarm, here’s the basic method to protect yourself.”

“Bark Skin!”

With poor affinity in Air, Paul preferred the primary manifestation, which hardened one’s skin and gave it a rough, bark-like texture.

“I can cast it on you as well, but in case we get separated, its best if you can do it.”

“I don’t know the spell.” Gwen shook her head. “Both of my elements are woefully weak in defence.”

“You won’t be using it for defence against slashing or bludgeoning weapons, just lots of little bugs.” Paul pointed out. “I was discussing your condition with Taj the other day, and we were wondering how your Void interacted with defensive spells.”

“Terribly.” Gwen made a grimace. “It drains my vitality so that I am losing health before I’ve even been hit.”

“Erh...” Paul pursed his lips. “How’s Lightning?”

“An offensive shield, but unlike fire, I’ve got terrible coverage. Not all parts of my shield are electrified, and the parts that do can be discharged accidentally, even grounded."

“Has your Evocation reached Tier 4?”

Gwen shook her head.

“Not for a while.”

Unless she runs into some evil Evokers begging Caliban for a good meal, Gwen thought morbidly to herself. In which case, she’s probably a few carcasses away. Ever since the Elizabeth incident, Gwen had felt herself undergoing episodic, hypothetical temptations of whether or not she should take ruthless advantage of Caliban’s ability. When she thought about it rationally, it was inevitable that she would be in a deadly conference with Elizabeth and whatever faction she worked for. In the course of that endeavour, there would surely be opportunities to grow her powers rapidly.

But every time the thought crossed her mind, she was reminded of the old slippery slope of morality taught by the history of her old world. She would begin with the best of intentions, empowering herself at the expense of her enemies. Then she would endanger herself, put herself into positions where her self-defence naturally lead to the acquisition of her enemies’ abilities. Then she’d become a thrill-seeking adventurer, a boisterous figure who drew ire from others. She would challenge those with rare abilities and consume them when they inevitably fall underneath her heels.

Was that how Elizabeth had overcome the limitations of her Void abilities? He who hunts monsters should indeed beware!

“Alright.” Paul made a mental note. “We’ll work on getting your Bark Skin up. It’s a pretty easy spell to learn, kind of like Shield and Magic Missile. Pretty staple stuff.”

“Great.” Gwen pushed herself from the cold iron of the galvanised floor. “Let’s get started.”

* * *

On the sixth day, their ship skirted close enough to the Indonesian Archipelago to see land.

Captain Tully had alerted them through the loudhailer that they were about to pass the Bangka Selatan peninsular, informing them that if they were interested in seeing some unusual fauna, now was the time to be on deck.

The military men passed on the opportunity, but Gwen and her father keenly made for the starboard gunwales.

When they exited past the sealed bulkhead, they were immediately treated to the sight of giant albatrosses, each almost six-meters across from wingtip to wingtip, taking advantage of the updraft created by the ship’s passing. Drifting through the air and keeping up with the ship without apparent effort, they had a comical look about them whereby their necks retracted into their torso to create the illusion that they were stunted. Their wings, however, were enormous and impressive, lifting the birds with such ease that it seemed as though they were levitating.

The sight was inspiring enough that Gwen felt the impulse of uttering an old favourite from the world she left behind.

“A good south wind sprung up behind; the Albatross did follow, and every day, for food or play, came to the mariner's hollo!” she mused to herself, hoping that someone wouldn’t be stupid enough to shoot a Magic Missile at the majestic birds.

“Look there!” Morye pointed, his sight far keener than his daughter’s wide-eyed wonderment.

A pod of sea creatures were following the ship’s flank, leaping from the waters and spreading their scintillating fins into a semblance of insect wings. With each sinuous twist, the serpentine fish, which must be about two to three meters in length, launched itself from the water’s surface to dance across it, leaving behind a milky shoal of foaming water.

“Flying Rainbow Fish.” Her father grinned. “Delicious whether grilled, baked, or steamed. Woa!”

A plesiosaur burst from the waters and bore down upon the flying fish. The scintillating creatures scattered in all directions, but the sinuous neck of the plesiosaur snapped through the air and snagged one of the creatures before it could land.

With a slash that churned the waters white and blue, the primordial creature sank, disappearing into the sea.

Morye looked at his daughter and was surprised to find her agog with wonder and awe.

Was this another side to her? He thought to himself. A girl still innocent enough to find joy in seeing the strange and interesting things the world had to offer?

In the distance, there was another set of islands, its mass a dark blur upon the bright horizon.

“That’s Kapulauan Riau,” he said to her, watching her face snap back to the collected cynicism of late adolescence. “Our destination.”

“We pass it?” Gwen asked her father. “Can we just disembark as we pass?”

Morye snorted.

“No! That’s suicide.” He chuckled at her inexperience. “Remember the plan, what Captain Durn had briefed. We need to get to Singapore first and find a local ship willing to take us to the Island. What good would it do us if we save your friends, but have no ship to return to the mainland?”

Gwen turned her gaze towards the horizon with a sense of urgency that was burning a hole in her thin veneer of patience.

“How long do you supposed it’ll take?” Gwen asked urgently. “To find a ship, I mean.”

“With the HDMs in that pouch of yours? Probably a few hours, if you’re willing to burn it.”

Gwen nodded and felt her storage ring, making sure that the pouch, as well as her cache of crystals, remained within.

They watched Bangka Selatan approach. At one point, they skirted so close to its landmass that it had felt almost within reach, though that was merely a trick of scale and perspective.

Roving masses of seabirds, some as small as finches, others as extensive as the albatrosses they had seen earlier, roved across the island from coast to coast. Where they convened, the sky became darkened by a black, spotted haze.

“The shit on that cliff must be waist deep,” Morye joked, destroying the romanticism of the moment.

Gwen shot her father a displeased look and turned again toward the birds, marvelling at the scale and variety of animals on a planet where men had not utterly decimated the biosphere and stripped out every ounce of resource.

“Dad,” Gwen spoke to her father in a tone that was both serious and sincere. “Can you tell me about your past, about the pendant, and about mum? I want to know. I need to know.”

Morye stayed silent, listening to the cacophony of birds on the distant shore.

“I think I have a right to know the circumstances of my birth, don’t you think, father? Please?”

Morye sighed.

“It’ll make your life so much more complicated,” Morye spoke not toward Gwen but to the ocean air. “But that’s your choice to make, not mine, I suppose.”

“So you’ll tell me?”

“I will, but promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“When all of this is said and done, don’t pull me into your world again.”

Gwen bit her lower lip. She knew now the cardinal truth behind the old diatribe, ‘you can put makeup on a gnoll, but it’ll still eat shit,’ and its companion saying, ‘a Rakshasa can’t right its paws.’

“Fine,” She said coldly. “I promise you’ll have your privacy.”

“Don’t be like that,” Morye replied cooly. “You’re still my daughter; I just want you to know that each of us has their own lives and aspirations, there’s no use trying to drag me into yours, our Paths are not the same.”

“What is your path then, Pink Salt Saviour?” Gwen asked her father sceptically.

“Well.” Morye smiled handsomely, every inch a saviour. “Think of me as an esoteric monk, knowing no conflict with the world. I am the cultivator seeking no attachment, not to things, not to people, not to a higher power. I walk the way of freedom, of untethered chains and open spaces, the path of the Sensate.”

Gwen sniggered.

“The path of Eros more like it.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll be down below. After supper, I want to know all of it, just like you promised - Everything!”

Gwen stomped off the gunwale and back to her training.

Morye turned to the bean-green waters. The wake of the ship had broken the seas' serene surface into thousands of gleaming, coruscating shards. It was an apt metaphor for his own scattered memories, truth and lies stacked atop one another for almost two decades. Sometimes, when a lie had been told enough times, the liar himself began to believe in its authenticity, to live the falsehood as though it had happened.

“The truth,” he said to no one. “I hope I still remember the truth.”

Gwen found her father sitting in a miasma of cigarette smoke, forcing her to keep a discrete distance. Morye had a nervous, agitated air about him, as though the very act of reminiscing the past to deliver to his daughter irritated him to no end.

Watching Morye taking a lengthy pull, Gwen wondered if there was such a thing as air purification spells, a kind of Prestidigitation that would remove undesirable particles from the immediate vicinity.

She waited for her father to finish his cigarette, but when the man pulled yet another from the packet, her patience became paper thin.

“Well, let’s have it then,” Gwen intoned cattily to Morye, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell of British-American tobacco. She forced herself into the room and took a seat by the bunk, feeling the unpleasant sensation of tar-infused smoke soaking into her hair.

“What do you want to know first? The pendant? The Songs, or your Mother?”

“The Pendant,” Gwen replied, caring more for pragmatism than for curiosity.

“That’s going to involve the family, but fine.” Morye closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts.

“So, the pendant is made from the core of a Kirin. You know what a Kirin is?”

Gwen nodded.

“Good. What do you suppose it is that the core does?”

“Takes in the souls of dead monsters?”

“Not exactly. It takes in the ‘essence’ of magical creatures at the moment of their death. How do you suppose creature cores work?”

“We learned that they were the 'heart' of Magical Beings, where their vital force resides,” Gwen parroted from her textbook. “When a creature dies, its essence, element, vitality, life, whatever you want to call it, dissipates into the astral realm. For most creatures, the essence is contained within the core - a condensed orb of crystallised mana that becomes more compact with age and power.”

"Is that all?"

“The reason why it is near impossible to harvest cores is that, at the moment of death, the energy held within bursts forth, seeking an escape into the immaterial world of the astral. This force is so powerful that the cores of most low tier creatures crack, or dissipate.”

Morye tapped his ash into an iron tray.

"That's not entirely true, Gwen. When a core reaches a certain level of density, they become near indestructible. Of course, hunting down such a creature is nigh impossible for low-level Mages."

"To answer your question as to what makes the Pendant so special, the Kirin stone is one such item. It has been enchanted to draw out the essence of lower-tier creatures, consuming and storing the energies within it. As to its usage, I would suggest trying it out and see if you can pick up a few extra cores on your adventures."

Gwen recalled that her late Master had once told her that the amulet was part of something larger, the heart-stone of something ancient and powerful. Henry had been spot on that the stone had a capacity for storing spiritual mana, though in this case, it proved to be this ‘essence’.

"How do I use it?"

"Just have it on you when you deliver the killing blow. The range fluctuates I am afraid."

“Is this a famous item?” Gwen questioned. If the Kirin stone was going to be something that others covet, she’d better keep it well hidden and out of sight, or perhaps even return it to her father.

“Only amongst the old families.” Morye swung the cigarette through the air, drawing a Chinese pictogram that Gwen didn’t recognise. “Not many of those left now, not after the Communists came through the old country.”

“How do I use the essence?”

Morye looked guilty.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Morye puffed out. “I have no idea. Never learned that particular trick.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“From my father to me, and from me to you.” Morye seemed to grow agitated at the mention of his father. "If you must know, you are only in possession of half of it. The other half is with the family."

The family. Gwen noted, processing the information.

“Tell me about the family.” Gwen perceived her father's impatience and pursued the matter, waving a hand to bat away the smoke. Morye had the distinct feeling of been held under lamplight and interrogated.

“You mean ‘our’ family,” her father stated after a moment's pause. “The whole story is not for me to tell, but I’ll let you in on what I can disclose.”

He took a deep breath, taking on an expression of one combating some internal demon.

"First of all, you have a set of living paternal grandparents who are alive and well, at least last I checked.”

Gwen paused, blinking her hazel eyes at her father as she tried to process the information, feeling as though she was forcing a square peg into a round hole. Morye averted his gaze as Gwen's pupils turned sharp and critical.

“What?” Gwen uttered suddenly, an edge of iron rising in her voice. “I have ANOTHER set of grandparents that you didn’t think was important enough to tell Percy and me? What the hell, Morye? What the actual fuck?”

Gwen didn’t lose her head often, but she felt herself seething with resentment and contempt, so much that she felt as though something was going to erupt from within her body. Her eyes grew electric, becoming two concentric rings of crackling lapis that sizzled as she spoke. In her old life, she had never had a chance to spend time with her paternal grandparents before they passed, but in this world, they were alive and well and yet she had no idea they existed? Her father had spent the last decade telling them that he was orphaned and alone in this world! What could compel him to believe such a thing was a plausible idea?

Morye groaned.

“I told you it was going to complicate things. You’re the one who wanted to know.”

“How… how is this my fault!?” She wanted to slap him again; maybe Shocking Grasp the bastard. Gwen felt herself shivering with impetus, but controlled herself lest her father flees from their moment of truth. “Okay… okay, keep going. My apparently alive and NOT DEAD paternal grandparents, go on.”

“You also have a paternal aunt and uncle…”

Gwen placed her head in-between her hands and tried to slow her breathing. The stupid cigarette smoke was making her dizzy, and her father's bombshell revelations didn’t help one bit.

She looked up after a minute or so of meditative introspection, her eyes bloodshot with stress and pent-up emotions.

“Okay, go on.”

“A few cousins…”

“That’s fine,” Gwen’s voice trembled. “Just get on with it. What about them? Where are they? What do they do? How are they now?”

“They’re in Shanghai.” Morye looked around and found a bottle of water. He shook it towards his daughter, but Gwen declined. “As for the rest of your questions, I can’t answer them because I haven’t seen them in about... fifteen years?”

So her father was from a tier 1 city - Gwen allowed the acknowledgement to sink in. Why would someone, anyone, would leave behind a life of safety and opportunity in a tier 1 city for some frontier town like Sydney?

“Why did you leave Shanghai? I assume you were born there?” Gwen asked.

“I was,” Morye replied. “I am the second son of the house of Song.”

“A ‘House’, with a capital H?”

“No, no,” Morye waved his cigarette. “Old bloodline, new house. We’re a generation uplifted by the Revolution, so no history, only status.”

“Revolution? Status? Bloodline?” None of those things meant anything intelligible to Gwen, least of all the idea of a Communist revolution in a world of magic and monsters. Her history class had been wanting. She understood the words, of course, but not the context nor the inference.

Her father caught her incomprehension.

“You know, old world cultivators?”

Gwen blinked.

“Never mind then. Suffice it to say, you have an extended family somewhere in Shanghai, China, and maybe some relatives from the Eurasian Steppes, though I've never met them myself.”

“Jesus, how many relatives do I have?!” Gwen snarled at her disinterested, apathetic father. “Why am I finding out about this now?”

“Because you asked.”

Gwen fantasied about summoning Caliban right there and have the thing give her father a good tongue lashing. The infuriating lout! To think she’d thought he wasn’t so bad, that he cared enough to come out here and risk his life for her! The man was unbearable! At once Gwen felt a surge of sympathy for Helena, realising that maybe, just a little, she understood why her mother was so offended all the time, so withholding in her affections.

“Fine, because I asked” She said at last, unable to find the words to express her exasperated emotions without stepping over some uncrossable line. She’d thought that she knew about her family, and now apparently, there was a whole host of extended families that she’d never known.

“Tell me about mum.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Does she know?”

“About?”

“About your powers!” Gwen gnashed her teeth. “Do you have to make this so… difficult?”

Her father gave her a look that said she didn’t really want to know the answer to that rhetorical question.

“She has an inkling,” he said after another agonising drag on his cigarette. “But alas, she has no evidence."

"And you just... lived in mediocrity this whole time?"

“Hey! We were happy for a while, raising you, married despite Surya’s protests.”

"And then?"

“There is no 'and then'. Your mother couldn't handle being ordinarily happy. I couldn’t handle her psychosis. I needed my space. So she left.”

Morye nodded at Gwen as though he had delivered a great epiphany.

"That's the story of your mother and me."

Gwen regarded her father’s self-righteous explanation with incredulity. The absurdity of it, the sense of selfish entitlement that radiated from his self-depreciative face made her sick with loathing. How could such a human being even exist in this world? How could it be possible that such a person brought her into the world? Brought Percy? That she was related to this person was itself something that made her feel incomplete and half made-up.

“Wait! Where’d Percy come from?” Gwen asked suspiciously.

Morye turned to look at Gwen with an awkward expression.

“When a man and a woman love one another very much…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Dad!” Gwen snapped, stomping her foot on the riveted iron of the galvanised floor. “I mean, why did you get back together again?”

“You know your mother, surely.” Morye pursed his thin lips. “She can be very possessive. If you want the details, I’d advise against it.”

“…”

Her father had guessed right. Gwen didn't want to know about that.

“Why did you leave China?”

“Ah, a good question, deeply secretive.”

“Well, why?”

“Can’t say, it's confidential.”

“How come?”

"Gwen, don't be difficult."

"I want to know, tell me."

"Listen."

"Just TELL ME ALREADY!" Gwen shouted at her father, at last, her patience was exhausted.

“Because I KILLED someone I shouldn’t have! That’s all you need to know!" Her father snapped back at her. "It doesn’t involve you in the slightest, not then, and not now. Okay, you know what. This conversation is over. Let's go and get your friends, we'll take them back to Sydney, and then we'll luncheon every few weeks, okay? Go to bed. You have a long day ahead."

Gwen was no longer sure what was true or false.

She came for answers and was now left with more questions.

The pendant is a precious item that could draw out the essence of magical beings as they died - but was that all it did? What had compelled the Kirin stone to regurgitate forth it's stowed essences when she needed the serpent's aid? Was it the ritual? The Singing? Had Almudj coerced its energies to spill forth?

Then there was her paternal family, now no longer deceased but alive in China. Would she want to meet them? Would they want to meet her? What would they think of her frontier upbringing? Was one of 'them' also in possession of the Void talent, as she did?

Then there was her mother. Gwen still couldn’t believe that Helena just gave up on her father. That must have been a fate worse than death for a social climber like herself. But then again, Gwen regarded her father critically, trying to squeeze the truth from this man was like wrangling blood from a rock. If she was married to a man like him, death might have been a preferable fate.

Then a stray thought struck her disjointed mind.

Was she asking too much from Morye? Gwen wondered. After all, he did raise her and Percy, provided for their food and schooling. It was truer to say that though Morye was not a responsible or accountable person, her father could have been worse, abusive even. Morye wasn’t passionate or compassionate, but he was there, and he is here now, maybe that’s enough?

The tobacco smoke was getting to her now, making her throat itch and her hair stink.

“I need a shower,” Gwen announced to her father and left.

Morye watched his daughter go, extinguishing his cigarette as she turned the corner, her footfalls indicating her departure from the cabins.

“Control Wind,” he incanted, and a gust of air cleared the cabin of the smoke.

Morye took in a breath of fresh air.

“Good grief, I’d thought she never leave,” he said to the clearing atmosphere. Morye willed the door to close with a burst of air and promptly began to rest his eyes. In less than ten hours, they would be in Singapore.

* * *

Gwen scrubbed herself raw trying to get rid of the fetid tobacco stench that clung to every inch of her skin; that her dermis was so tender after her recovery didn’t help either. It made her skin exceptionally sensitive to the granular soap offered to the ship’s rough-living crew.

She pulled the water through her hair and allowed it to flow over her shoulders and onto her back. The ship’s showers were conservative and cramped, though thanks to an altered Conjure Water Glyph, it had no lack of fresh water. For that at least, Gwen was glad for the small comforts provided by the convenience of Spellcraft.

They had less than ten hours before they arrived at Singapore. She would have to get ready for the obfuscation they’d undergo at customs. Though Gunther’s Multi-Pass allowed them access through the Commonwealth territories held by Singapore, it was very much unlikely that the local authorities would be happy to know that they were going to stir up a hornet’s nest in the Kapulauan Riau archipelago.

She stayed under the shower for a few minutes, feeling the hot water relaxing her muscles, then lingered for another dozen minutes in contemplation.

She thought about her friends, about her master and her siblings-in-craft, about her immediate family and her unknown paternal relatives. Threads, all of them, tying her to this world, each tethering her to this land that still felt like a midsummer night’s dream. How did that make her feel? Was she her father’s daughter, feeling bogged down by all these connections, each restricting her freedom? Or were they connections that defined her - a daughter and granddaughter, a companion, an apprentice, a friend?

“Stop.”

The falling water ceased.

Beading droplets trickled from her torso and down her thighs.

She didn’t have an answer for these questions, at least not yet. For now, all she could do was focus on the present, and that meant rescuing her friends.

* * *

After six agonising nights, Singapore appeared on the horizon.

First came the man-made islands, dozens of them, each sporting a concrete structure that indicated the presence of a Shielding Station. They jutted from verdant hills and rocky outcrops, crystalline daggers stabbing into the sky. A thrum of energy where the echoing resonance made by the crystals could be seen, powerful enough to be visible to the naked eye. It was as though a haze hung between the city and the outside world, giving the Fortress of the South Sea a surrealness that made it seem a mirage to trick the eye.

Gwen felt the Kirin amulet hum gently as they passed the barrier, growing hot before returning to the temperate warmth of her skin.

They were all gathered on the top deck, herself, her father, Jonas, Taj and Paul, each looking toward the city with wonder in their eyes. Jonas informed her that they had travelled to Singapore once before, with Alesia on a Purging Mission for one of the satellite islands. He therefore knew the city, though in a lesser capacity than he would have liked.

The main Shielding Station which guarded the city, located at the tip of Sentosa, was also its symbol and motto. Perhaps inspired by the Americans, the city had built a gargantuan Mer-lion statue, a half fish, half lion creature local to the South China Sea famous for bringing good fortune. Holding an enormous Shielding Crystal in its mouth, the ‘passing of the Mer-lion’ was the official sign that they were within the territorial jurisdiction of the Singapore Tower and its provincial government.

In preparation for their quest, Gwen had grilled Captain Tully on several occasions regarding the quirks of the Singaporean Tower and its legacy under the Magister Lee. She compared what the Captain had told her about the Singapore of her old world, marvelling at the many similarities and dissimilarities that offered a divergence in history.

Though Singapore is considered a frontier city like Sydney, it enjoyed an unusual eminence due to its proximity to the tier 1 capitals of the South Sea. Shanghai, Hong Kong, Tokyo - almost all trade coming into and coming out from the local economic zones proceeded through the city’s extensive deepsea ports. As a result, Singapore was immensely wealthy for a frontier of its size, with its citizens, both Mages and NoMs, enjoying some of the highest quality of life possible in a hinterland zone.

Another reason for its rise as the crème de la crème of the frontier towns was the institutional reformation the city had undergone under the Magister Lee Kuan Yew, more endearingly known as ‘Uncle Lee”. Before the loss of the Micronesian islands to the Mermen, the Magister introduced significant legislative reforms, such as that of an ‘uplifting’ program that offered citizenship, housing and gainful employment to any awakened Mage within the territories of Micronesia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand and Vietnam. The policy infamously caused a ‘brain drain’ in the surrounding regions, while greatly enriching Singapore and its cache of service Mages that staffed the city's manufactorums.

A gust of warm wind blew through the railings, forcing Gwen to hurridly pat down her dress, keeping the chiffon fabric clutched tightly between her legs.

For their entry into the fortress city, they had chosen a believable backstory that Gwen was the scion of a notable House in Melbourne, friend to the Magister Guldric Uther. If challenged, the party would reply that they were in Singapore to procure supplies before returning to Melbourne.

Gwen had spent the morning picking through her outfits, looking for the right sass to assume the air of a spoilt adventurer princess, one uptight enough to be travelling with a retinue of Senior Mages.

The story had been concocted because it was more believable than the truth - that three Senior Mages, a Magus, and a Quasi-elemental acolyte, is going to stow into a Black Zone illegally and challenge a Titan class elemental spirit - all to rescue three Junior Mages.

Interestingly, Gwen rediscovered a 60s retro dress that she’d picked up in the Hunters back when she stayed on Surya’s estate. It was a simple lime-green one-piece with a mute floral pattern that reached just above her knees, with a hem that blew out beautifully like a reverse tulip. Its waist was tapered by a white sash, while the upper body sported a U neck bodice that hugged her torso, covering both shoulders with semi-transparent chiffon sleeves. Together with her battle-hardened Mary-Janes, she gave off the aristocratic air of a young lady from a well-bred lineage of prudish women. Happily, with her current state of youthful vitality, Gwen found little need for makeup, making do with her signature winged tips and a dash of mascara over voluminous lashes. With her flawless complexion, she left no doubt that her persona had not seen a day of labour, having spent every waking hour either indoors or under shaded alfresco.

The men didn’t think it their business to comment on her attire beyond its utility and her father wasn’t keen on talking to Gwen at all, but Gwen did run into a few agog sailors and knew that she’d made the right choice.

As the ship pulled into port, Gwen became disappointed that the cargo-freighter had bypassed the city proper, famous for its crystalline skyline and the ship-like triptych architecture of its Marina Tower. Instead, their freighter had pulled into an industrial area filled with shipping containers as far as the eye could see, as though the world itself had become a floating bastion of steel crates and floating platforms. Cargo cranes sprouted like mushrooms after a monsoonal shower, dotting the horizon and filling the air with a cacophony of cranking levers and churning pulleys.

A disembarking platform made its way from the dock towards the control tower, just a level from the top deck. The writing on the docking arm read 'Pasir Penang Terminal 3'.

When they ventured below, the Captain was there to meet them.

“It’s been a pleasure.” He took Gwen’s hand and passed it over his lips in a mock kiss. “I very much enjoyed the company of yourself and your companions.”

“Thank you for your impromptu lessons, and your presence has also been the highlight of my trip,” Gwen replied in kind, leaning in to give the old man a courteous embrace.

“Major Durn, Captains, Mr Song.” The Captain turned to the others and saluted. “Godspeed.”

“Captain Tully,” The others returned the Captain’s well wishes with crisp salutes. Morye nodded curtly remaining silent as the exchange took place.

The gangway gave Gwen a feeling of mild vertigo as they crossed the hundred or so meter drop onto the central harbour platform. It was a strange sensation, to know that one could use Flight to travel hundreds of kilometres in the air, and yet become frightened over a drop easily mitigated with Feather Fall.

The Freight Station possessed a small Customs Station at its far end, a significant distance from the cargo processing assemblage, giving the group ample time to gather their stories and unify any contingencies as they approached the moment of truth.

When they had arrived, they were greeted by two Customs Officers with Asian faces, prevalent to the city of Singapore, for the South Sea frontier was predominately Chinese-Singaporean, supplemented by an influx of migrants from the Malaysian and Indonesia peninsular. Seeing Jonas and the others in their military uniforms, the guards stood respectfully and saluted.

“Good morning Sirs - Ma’am. The City of Singapore welcomes you.”

“Greetings, we're looking to enter the city on business.” Jonas nodded, reaching into his jacket for his pass-card.

Paul and Taj likewise presented their cards, allowing the Singaporean Mages to transcribe them behind a counter, where the passes' authenticity became verified.

“They’re verifying the glyphs embedded within our cards against the ones authorised by the city’s immigration department,” Jonas explained to Gwen in the tone of her instructor. “Always have your Pass ready, and remove any accessories that may impede examination of your facial features.”

“Yes, Sir,” Gwen replied dutifully. One of the guards glanced toward Gwen when Jonas spoke, meeting Gwen's eyes before blushing mightily and turning away.

Watching the two young men eyeing her every few seconds, Gwen felt the alluring comfort of vainglorious narcissism warming her bosom, dispelling some of that stifling displeasure her father had left in her chest. There was a particular kind of advantage in possessing a distinguished comeliness, an advantage Gwen had abused very well in her past life. How many times had she wondered how her life would have faired if she possessed the knowledge of her elder self while in her youthful body? Now was her time to shine.

“Miss, your Pass, please.”

Gwen pulled the pass from her Storage Ring with a flick of her fingers, further verifying beyond doubt that she was from a family that was rich and rare.

The Customs Officers marvelled at her Quasi-elemental talent; their eyes sparkled when they returned her multi-pass with both hands.

“Thank you,” Gwen beamed at them, revealing gleaming white teeth.

“Our pleasure, Ma’am,” one of the men replied. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“I am sure I will.” Gwen leaned in before moving past the counter, feeling their eyes following her around the gallery. "Say, what's good in Singapore, what's the best place for Seafood?"

"I'd recommend Jumbo by Long Beach."

"It's the River Walk for me, maybe Palm Beach?"

The men watched the Officer's eyes move from Gwen's endearing face, moving down to her waist before resting on her lithe legs. Their teenage companion sauntered to and fro like she owned the place, entirely confident and without a smidgen of suspicion. The entire time she'd made small talk with the Customs Officials, they hadn’t bothered so much as to speak to the men or ask them why they were here. Their attention had solely been focused on Gwen as she fidgeted with her hair, asked them about their favourite spots in the city, laughed imploringly, and enquired about seafood.

“How dangerous,” Paul connoted to the others.

“I wish Alesia would learn some of that instead of intimidating the shit out of the Custom Officers.”

“Hear, hear,” Taj recollected with a painful grimace. “Remember that time we got detained in Hong Kong because they thought we were Triad?

“Erh, don’t remind me.” Paul groaned.

“Eh? What happened?” Morye asked out of curiosity.

“After Alesia made a scene and Paul intervened, they threw him in a holding-cell with actual Triads. He ended up with a gang of ‘bros’ that wanted to help us navigate the Nine Dragons district. Alesia ended up having to call Master Henry to assure the Hong Kong Tower that we were legitimate military officers and she was not an imposter pretending to be the Crimson Sorceress.”

They chuckled as Gwen passed without incident, stowing the Pass with a click of her fingers.

When Morye underwent inspection, one of the Officers stopped to ask an awkward question.

“Are you father and daughter, Sir?”

Morye affirmed that they were.

“Is something the matter?” Gwen came striding back towards the Customs desk, heels-clicking one after the other.

“Just for the record. It’s nothing to worry about, Miss. Enjoy your stay in Singapore, Sir.”

The group gathered the party, ready to venture forth.

A two-storey pair of automatic sliding doors opened to the outside air.

Instantly Gwen felt the crisp indoor atmosphere dissipate. A sweltering heat smothered every inch of her body, plastering her arms and legs as though an invisible being had draped a warm film of plastic over her skin.

The heat! The humidity! It was incredible. When they were at the port and moving through the sea, it hadn’t felt nearly as oppressive, but now that they were outside the city’s glass and concrete megastructures, it felt as though they had walked into a lukewarm sauna.

Gwen made it no more than a hundred meters in the open when her chiffon dress became cemented over her legs like cling-wrap, making progress near impossible. She became unkindly aware of all kinds of new information about her body, such as the fact that her knees could, in fact, sweat profusely.

“Good God!” Paul moaned. “Give me the blistering heat of the Outback any day of the week!”

“Alright, let's find us a shrimp-boat Captain,” Taj announced, feeling his face beginning to turn liquid.

Jonas hailed two taxies which had been lined up at a departure stand.

“Where to?” an Indian taxi driver asked them.

“Looking to hire a boat and do some fishing, what’s a good port to charter?” Jonas got straight to the point. “Got any good recommendations?”

“No problem,” the Taxi driver answered with a moustachioed grin, his eyes moved up and down Gwen’s attire before turning to regard her retinue. “You looking for luxury or sport?”

“Sport? We’re short on time, ideally head out and back in a day or two. Someone who’s willing to play guide and navigator.”

“Okay, get in. I take you to Jurong Port, many private ships there. You got money, someone happy to take you for sure.”

Gwen ducked into the Taxi as Jonas held the door for her. She rode with Morye while the others rode in another Taxi behind them. The approach from the West Coast Pier via the Highway down through to Jln Buroh and onto Jurong Fishery was itself uneventful, but it gave Gwen an eye-opening view of the Singaporean port authority.

Though they were far from the CBD and the ultra-luxury areas such as Clementi Park or the high-density commercialism of Hougang, the industrial areas of the city's urban crawl still felt considerably more developed than Sydney. The roads were extensive and better maintained, the streets spotless and without garbage. Buildings were arranged in blocks rather than sprawls, with clean, centralised designs that gave the place a contoured, modern-industrial aesthetic.

What caught Gwen’s attention in particular wasn't so much what the city possessed, but what its streets seemed to lack.

In Sydney, there were NoM beggars and homeless hobos even in the best areas, sprawled on the streets every few blocks, begging for change. It was especially prevalent in the industrial and commercial areas of the city, where Gwen attended school. Here in Singapore, there was nothing, not a single hint that the metropolis had poverty at all, it was a welcome sight, but the irregularity of absent hobos gave Gwen a jittering feeling of apprehension, one that something wasn’t quite as it seemed.

Instead, what greeted them were black-uniformed militiamen, local police in dark urban combat fatigues with duckbilled hats and glyph-embedded glasses. The local Police had impressive physiques that were lean and well-trained, more military than civilian, carrying an assortment of potion and alchemical bandoleers across their uniforms. One even had a combat wand that extended from his hip to the thighs, hung stylishly across the belt for ease of access.

“Morye.” Gwen turned to her father, hoping to break the ice tension. “What do you suppose the wand is?”

“Likely utility spells like Move Earth or Shape Stone.” Morye turned to the Police Officers as they passed. “Impressive gear though, those are likely See Invisibility and Detect Magic goggles. I bet that uniform is elementally attuned too.”

It was impressive indeed.

In Sydney, most Mages carried a few Magic items covertly. Gwen had never even seen the Sydney Police carry wands, much less decked out in a suite of magical gadgets. In Sydney, only the Tower Mages came equipped.

They turned into Jurong Fishery Port and proceeded until both Taxis were facing the entrance of the Fishery.

Gwen paid the talkative driver with her card, and the group gathered before the vast interior of the fish market, where already the stench of seafood busy at decomposition permeated their nasal cavities, begging for them to enter into the frozen expanse of the market within.

“Well?” Gwen already felt as though she should be on a ship heading out to sea. “Let's find us an entrepreneur, shall we?”

It took only ten minutes to find their man - Singapore was, after all, an expensive place to live and work.

Mr Entrepreneur was bought for twenty HDM crystals, with a bonus of two more if they returned to Singapore without incident. The Captain, going by the singular name of Sukarno, was a crafty, middle-aged fellow formerly from Indonesia. Taking advantage of Singapore’s offer of open immigration for Mages with useful talents, the Water-Transmuter found his way to the city and now operated a small trawler with a dozen NoMs for a crew that prowled the coastal waters for shrimp and squid. The ship itself appeared weather-beaten and well-seasoned, but was also well maintained by the prideful captain, insistent that he routinely inspected every nook and cranny for both mechanical and arcane failure.

The mechanism of the ship itself was of much fascination to Gwen, who’d never seen trawlers in action, even in her old world. Two arms extended from either side of the eighty-footer ship, anchored to its riveted hull, giving it the comical expression of a boat taking to the wind. From the arms, an assortment of accessories dangled - Daylight slabs for attracting squid, nylon-mesh for trawling prawn.

“You’re looking for an island called Abang, in the Riau chain, about sixty kilometres outside Shielding coverage from Batam,” Captain Sukarno recapped after pocketing ten of the HDM crystals, the other half delivered upon safe return. “It’s a Black Zone, so we’ll have to zoom in and out real quick lah.”

He turned to Gwen with mixed feelings of interest and scepticism.

“A bit dangerous for a chiobu like you. You look too tender, going to get gobbled up by the island.”

“I'll be fine, maybe tell me about your ship? What's her name?” Gwen pivoted the topic as they made their way down the docks towards 'Kingfisher 5'. When Gwen further inquired why ‘5’, Sukarno told her that it made others think he had four other trawlers.

"What if we run into Mermen outside the Barrier?"

“Not much chance of that. If we kena, you guys take care of that? We not exactly following maritime protocol where we go, so I taking only trusted crew of kaki. Don’t expect help from Navy if we get sunk.”

“You’re not going to let that happen, lah?” Gwen answered with a natural inflexion of the infectious discourse particle - when in Rome, do as the Romans la.

“Ha.” Sukarno grinned broadly. “I take you all back in one piece, lah. No trouble.”

They boarded at the end of the port, drawing curious eyes from the crews of the other ships. Gwen in particular, caught the eyes of strangers wherever she ventured. It was hard to miss a six-foot, leggy Eurasian in a green retro-dress, even in a sea of staked ships and knotted sails.

“You should change into something that won’t take on so much water, lah,” Sukarno suggested as his crew emerged to greet the group of Mages, bowing deeply, not daring to meet their eyes as they announced their names. Sukarno pointed to the last NoM in the row of indistinct dark bodies. “This is Arnav, my First Mate.”

A skinny Indian who looked in his thirties waved at them, staring straight down at his feet.

“Hi, I am Gwen, Gwen Song, these are my companions, Paul, Taj, Jonas, and this is my father, Morye."

In response, Arnav ducked and bowed in quick succession, greeting each of them before moving off, still staring intently at the ground, to work the riggings.

“Sorry about that, lah. They not deal with Mages much. Normally its just me, and they know me.”

“It’s okay.” Gwen watched the crew, six NoMs working the boat’s cranks and levers as they began to drift from the dock. It was queer that the seamen seemed to be avoiding them entirely, not even looking towards them, or herself, with curiosity.

The trawler pulled from its mooring silently. Once cleared of its attachments and lines, Sukarno fired up the mana-engine, issuing twin jets of water from the ship's aft as the propulsion began to spearhead the vessel out towards the sheltered egg of the Singapore Strait.

When the boat penetrated the first layer of the Fortress Cities’ Shielding Stations, the air immediately became cool and briny.

“What a difference,” Gwen noted to her companions. “Wonder why it's so hot in the city?”

“It’s the Shielding Resonators,” Sukarno shouted back. “Singapore is very safe city lah. We have three-layer shield! The Batam Islands, the artificial islands of the Strait, and the main station on Sentosa. Problems is it make city very humid in summer.”

“Singapore is the safest frontier region in the southern hemisphere,” Jonas affirmed Sukarno’s commentary. “Almost as expensive to live in as a tier 1 city too, especially near the CBD and the Clementi hills.”

The conversation drifted here and there, pivoting toward Singapore and the island whenever Sukarno's curiosity moved toward Gwen, her family, and life in Australia. After a few awkward moments of silence, the Captain took the hint.

The artificial islands they passed transformed from commercial to industrial, then to lone installations with military utility. Freight ships likewise formed a line around the Singapore Strait, creating a veritable bulwark of freight and cargo.

The journey to Abang was anticipated to take six hours. By the fourth hour, they were clear of the safety buffer created by the final layer of Barrier Shielding.

“Everyone! Arnav! Keep eye peeled for Mermen!” Sukarno barked at his crew, then politely asked Gwen and her party to be vigilant as well.

Thankfully, the final two hours of their journey proved uneventful. There were a few curious incidents with local marine-life that came to inspect the trawler, but a few demonstrative blasts from Gwen inspired both confidence in the crew and wariness in the local wildlife.

“Woa! Quasi-element! That’s nice, lah!” Sukarno exclaimed happily. The more accomplished his cargo of passengers, the safer their haphazard trip outside the Shield would prove to be. Whatever designs his passengers had on the island, Sukarno wasn’t adverse to easier money.

“Thanks.” Gwen flashed him a toothy grin, making the Captain smirk appreciatively. When the wind picked up and the spray became too much, the party retreated into the cabin from which Sukarno steered the vessel.

Sukarno offered her a newspaper that he’d picked up at the port authority, bold with Sydney-centric headlines in dark lettering.

“Hey, you guys from Australia, hor? Aiya, sorry about Sydney lah, it sounded like a real tragedy. I hope all your family are safe.”

The men took the paper and gave the headlines a browse, their jaws firmly clenched as they read the latest body-count. When Jonas turned onto page four, he paused to steal a forlorn look toward Gwen.

“What’s up?” Gwen noticed the sudden tension in the air. “Is something the matter?”

Jonas folded the paper and passed it over.

She opened the tabloid spread and read silently to herself.

“Sydney - Seven days after the Sydney Incident, Magister Henry Kilroy is entombed in a ceremony attended by colleagues, presided over by his apprentices - the Paladin Gunther von Shultz, and the famous sorceress Alesia de Botton, still recovering from her injuries incurred in defence of the city.”

There was a full-colour page attached, showing Alesia in a wheelchair beside Gunther, together with other prominent Magisters, carrying a casket through St Andrews Cathedral, where presumably her Master’s empty sarcophagus would be symbolically interred in the catacombs with past Magisters that had fallen in service to the city.

To be inhumed and remembered in a place of public worship was a great honour, one that Gunther had fought tooth and nail to attain for his Master.

“In remembrance of the Late Magister Kilroy, Lord Gunther gave a eulogy to an audience of prominent figures, citing Lord Kilroy’s contribution to establishing the Tower System, his gallantry in the Saurian War and the ongoing Coral Sea Conflict, and his immutable contribution to the prosperity Sydney had enjoyed before the incident. In closing, Lord Gunther has promised to continue the legacy of his master, dedicating his life to reconstructing Sydney and restoring it to its glory as the economic centre of the Coral Sea. This news is met with no surprise, as both Melbourn and Brisbane Towers had voted to move Lord Gunther into the position of Master...”

Gwen scanned through the article, founding a particular quote extracted for a bleed-out by the reporter.

“To my Master’s loved ones who are unable to be here today, wherever you maybe be, however far you are from Sydney, our hearts are with you.”

It was an innocuous line, but Gwen knew that her Master had no other family left and that Gunther had intended it for herself. She clutched the paper in her hand and felt an indescribable feeling wringing her heart. Though only for a minute, Gwen felt a longing for the familiar, a yearning for a place she'd left a mere seven days ago - she felt homesick.

“You okay?” Jonas' voice was kind and reassuring.

“Yeah.” Gwen looked ahead at the spray of sea striking the panes of the cabin. “I am fine.”

* * *

The island fast approached.

In the ensuing lull of the final hour, the party changed into a long-sleeved skin-suits constructed from a material that was both breathable and pliable. The gunmetal suit was standard military issue, and so left an unreasonable length of Gwen’s ankles exposed, giving the professional attire the unexpected, mirthful appearance of jeggings. The amphibious hiking boots they had acquired from the quartermaster of the Brisbane Tower likewise had a low ankle line, which further ensured that a few centimetres of her flesh were left exposed. Under the circumstances though, there was no helping it. Fuelled by paranoid visions of bugs and wayward snakes in unassuming bushes, Gwen pondered the possibility of undergoing the entire operation clad in Bark Skin. Over her skin-suit, she wore a set of combat-meshes that made her perk bosoms less attention-seeking, loaded with Healing, Universal Antidote, and Cure Disease potions.

When Morye emerged, Gwen was surprised to see that her father's musculature was as sculpted as the military men's, with nary an ounce of extra fat on his torso. With his preference for slightly loose shirts and casual wear, she’d always imagined Morye with an endearing little beer belly and a muffin top overhang.

“Wow, this is much better than what my division used to ration,” Morye noted with pleasure, pulling at the stretchy fabric. “Morphic as well, very nice.”

“What’d you used to wear?”

“Un-enchanted Cotton,” Morye pulled his vest and pants over the skinsuit. "I'll have this on top though. Walking around in just the suit feels strange."

Gwen felt herself becoming conscious of the skin-tight suit. She had the mesh on top, but maybe she should also put on some pants? That would impede her movement though, becoming snagged by branches or bushes, or even precarious places for insects to latch on.

The Island came into view with about quarter of an hour left to their journey. Even from a distance they could see that Abang was verdant with wildlife, with canopies that reached twenty to thirty meters, stretching well above the island’s base. Many of the archipelagos in the Strait grew from volcanic eruptions. The landscape tended to be unpredictable; possessing caverns, hills, sheer drops, and even vertical cliffs that rose out of nowhere.

“We’ll be mooring in an inlet at the south of the island, there should be a pebble-beach there,” Sukarno explained. “You have two nights, three days. Come Sunday high-tide; I go back to the mainland, that okay hor?”

In theory that was ample time. The island was small enough to be circumvented on foot in a day. It was the jungle that was going to impede them.

Jonas materialised a Message Device the size of his arm.

“We’ll keep in contact if we’re early or late. We’ll pay you extra if we extend past the agreed time.”

“Of course,” Captain Sukarno inclined his head in acknowledgement, pulling the military-issue communicator towards him and inspecting it. “O course, just remember I also need to consider safety of crew.”

“Agreed.” Jonas turned to Paul. “Let’s get moving.”

Paul drew a few glyphs over the party. “Mass Water Walk.”

As Paul worked his magic, the trawler moved into the inlet, setting anchor a hundred meters or so from the shore. The weighty anchor struck the bottom with a thunk, stirring the white sand below, sending up a cloud of silt and silica. When the chain became taut, Sukarno indicated that the party was free to proceed.

Walking on water was a strange experience that felt as though one was skipping to and fro from a series of trampolines. The enchantment that empowered the spell created a layer of hydrophobic mana around the caster’s lower body, lifting them from the liquid and propelling them from footfall to footfall.

Gwen almost lost her footing a few times, but the others caught her before she could strike the water and transform into a bedraggled spectacle.

By the time they had reached shore, Gwen was sure that Sukarno and the crew were blue with laughter at her comical incompetence.

A quick count at the beach and the party was at the tree-line.

The immediate vegetation was taller than they had anticipated now that they were face to face with its verdurous growth. The palms themselves reached dozens of metres, with girth as thick as a man’s torso. Deeper into the canopy, sunlight became a rare luxury.

“Alright! Form up!” Jonas commanded the party. “Gear check!”

With Gwen standing to attention, the Major fixed combat straps and double checked bandoleers, making sure Gwen and his men were suitably attired. Morye he left well alone, the Magus making it self-evident that he did not desire to be manhandled, citing that he would suit up in his lavish Salt Armour if it came to it.

“Alright, buff up!”

“Mass Bark Skin.”

“Mass Resistance.”

“Mass Aid.”

"Mass Dark Vision."

Gwen was singled out for a few extra buffs from both Paul and Taj, who likewise buffed themselves.

“Enhance Constitution.”

“Protection from Poison”

The party then formed into marching order. Taj lead with his Shield and Earthen Mage armour, moulding around him like a suit of half plate. He was followed by Gwen, who was a staple DPS output with Lightning, especially supplemented by her Void. The middle was held down by Morye, who could immediately help Gwen with his Abjuration as well as hold his own with his Transmutation. Their fourth and fifth man was Jonas, followed by Paul, who was responsible for leaving behind trail markings for the orientation of his translocation spells.

“Detect Magic!” Gwen incanted, her eyes taking on the soft glow of Divination.

She scanned the immediate distance in front of her up to thirty meters or so, finding a miasma of mana permeating the dense foliage like a stream of multi-coloured pendants.

“It's too dense. I can’t see the trees for the forest.” Gwen dispelled her Detect Magic, resting her eyes as the mana flushed from her pupils.

“No helping it then. Just be vigilant. Let's move out.” Taj took the first step, swinging a machete enchanted with a blessing of Keenness into the flora.

As they penetrated farther into the rainforest, Gwen began to spot exotic fauna that darted into cover as they moved through the dense tropical jungle.

A curious pair of white-beaked birds of paradise, perhaps wary of their invasive entry into their home, began to follow them, chirping and screeching every time Taj took his blade to the vines and trellises that barred their way.

Gwen couldn’t help but notice that some of the vines too, bled a strange, red substance instead of the white ichor common to the strangler-creepers, attracting great hosts of insects such as ping-headed ants with jaws as wide as their bodies and orange-jacketed wasps that greedily dived into the crystallising carmine residue.

“Four degrees to your right,’ Paul corrected their vector, aided by his triangulation beacons. Taj adjusted his position and shifted the direction of their progress. In his hand, Paul held an enchanted compass that resisted obfuscation magic and native interference, keeping a true north heedless of illusion or enchantment.

Their progress slowed as the loose groves of palm turned into dense coppices of white jasmine and moon orchid. Taj became more cautious as he hacked through the leafage, wary of falling crawlies and slithering things with many legs skittering away as they crashed through the verdure.

“Good grief, what’s that smell!” Gwen uttered, unexpectedly assailed by a scent of horrid decay a few hours into their trek.

“Something dead, from the smell of it, carrion?” Taj pulled apart a thicket of vines. “I think I see something.”

They had arrived at a small clearing, where an enormous bulb towered towards the dim light of the canopy. Its flower was already in full bloom, revealing a fleshy hood of purple-pink that wrapped around a tremendous ochre phallus towering up to three meters.

“It smells like… shit, actual shit.” Taj marvelled. “Jesus, what in the world?”

“Alright, form up, don’t move. Eyes open. We’ll check for hostiles and move around it.” Jonas commanded. “Gwen?”

“Detect Magic!”

The jungle itself was verdant with rampant motes of elemental water and earth. When she looked towards the flower, she couldn’t help but notice that the corpse-smelling flower seemed to be coalescing dark, shadowy specks at its base.

“I sense… negative energy at its core.” Gwen felt a Eureka moment catalysing a certain ambitious hypothesis. “Do you suppose negative energy exists in nature?”

“Life and death in balance, that is the way of the natural world.” Jonas scanned the jungle with his eyes. “If I recall, this is a corpse flower, a Titan Arum, a carnivorous creature that feeds by attracting insects with its stench of decay-”

“Hold up.” Gwen motioned for the group to stay still. "I see something coming."

“Warding Bond.” Taj incanted softly, suffusing the party with a mute, earthen shimmer. Gwen recognised it as an Abjuration spell which shared damage between the caster and its targets, giving the entire party the ability to resist harm both magical and mundane.

In Gwen’s eyes, she saw a slithering, crawling stream of elemental earth, tinged with specks of negative mana, moving from the canopies and down towards the flower’s vivid display of vibrant elements and grey-black negative energy.

In the eyes of the others, they saw a giant centipede a meter in length, as thick as Gwen’s thighs, meandering past the small clearing and toward the stem of the Titan Arum. Like twin sets of perfectly synched piano keys in motion, its legs latched onto the stem.

"Is it a prey?" Gwen asked.

To their surprise, the centipede wasn’t trying to climb the flower. Instead, it was attempting to borrow straight through the base toward the nectar of necrotic energy.

“Smart bugger.” Paul grimaced. “I think it's probably a Magical Creature with at least low cunning.”

Gwen meanwhile, couldn’t take her eyes off the coalesced core of negative energy. She recalled her growth in Lightning affinity after Caliban took in Wanka. Could this also mean that she could supplement her Void element’s affinity by consuming natural flora and fauna?

“I need that thing,” Gwen announced to the group. “Can I get some cover fire if things go south?”

Morye looked up with annoyance but said nothing.

“What’re you thinking of?”

“Absorbing those creatures,” Gwen confessed, though in a manner that misled their understanding of her methodology. “Caliban needs to eat live prey to mature.”

The men saw the disgusted looks on each other’s faces.

“Alright, go ahead.” Taj double checked his warding bond and gave the go ahead.

Opportunities for gaining resources for one’s craft seldom appeared in mundane life. It was only on adventures such as these that Mages encountered haphazard brushes with boons and banes. At the risk of mortal injury, it was possible to rapidly gain unique abilities by testing oneself against the chaotic flora and fauna of the Wildlands.

“Caliban!” Gwen whispered, kneeling close toward the ground to release Caliban discretely. To her surprise, it wasn’t the spider form that appeared, but its usual serpentine likeness. Did Caliban adjust its appearance for the occasion? She wondered. Mentally commanding Caliban to transform on the ship hadn’t helped.

Silently the slithering Caliban meandered through the tall grass, moving ever closer to the centipede busy at work.

When it came within range, it turned its lamprey’s mouth towards Gwen imploringly.

“Want a hand?”

Gwen suppressed as much of the spell as she could before releasing it as a muffled blow just above the centipede’s many eyes.

“Lighting Bolt!”

A dull thud echoed across the immediate space of the clearing. A bolt of lightning materialised from her fingertips, flashing across the distance between Gwen and the centipede before striking it squarely on the head, momentarily stunning it.

“Shaaa!!”

A pair of flesh hooks launched from Caliban’s maw, taking the centipede by the rear. Twitching wildly, it dragged the still paralysed creature towards its jaws. With a sound more akin to slurping ramen, Caliban sucked its many-legged morsel into its lamprey's mouth, effortlessly sliding its meter-long body into its bottomless gullet.

The party winced as the last of the giant centipede’s tendrils disappeared.

“I am not sure what I was expecting,” Paul remarked, his face paler for the experience.

Gwen then pointed Caliban to the base of the plant. In place of the now deceased centipede, Caliban latched itself onto the thick stem and began to secrete a dark substance which instantly melted the fibrous plating of the Arum.

In a moment it broke through into the pool of feral scented briny liquid, spilling it over the forest floor. A wave of nauseating scent exploded over the party like the world itself just farted wetly.

“My eyes are watering.” Morye covered his nose and mouth. “I can taste it. Why, Gwen. Can't you power up like a normal Mage?”

The other three men were silent, bearing the singular assault of the exquisite stench with voiceless fortitude.

“Control Wind!” Morye desperately incanted, feeing the air displace about them, sending the stench up on high. “Oh, sweet, sweet breath of life.”

Gwen meanwhile, seemed entirely unaffected. She was watching through her mana-infused vision, Caliban’s dark mass of Void-matter draining away the tenebrous motes of negative energy. With a final crunch, Caliban ate through the base of the towering flower, and the thing began to collapse.

“Caliban!” Gwen hissed, and the creature de-materialised, returning to its pocket dimension.

The party watched the Titan Arum crash against the forest floor.

“Okay, let's keep going,” Jonas commanded, wary of any attention they'd have drawn. “Paul?"

"Six O'clock."

The group plunged again into the thick green sea, hacking and hewing through a green barrier that seemed never-ending.

“Hows our return track?” Jonas asked their Translocation specialist.

“Beacons active, all sound. No tampering,” Paul returned after a moment’s concentration.

The day began to wane as the group made slow progress. A few more encounters with ambitious local fauna resulted in some hairy moments of thrilling combat, but a few touches of healing magic from Jonas ensured that the group remained in tip-top form.

By nightfall, the group estimated that it had made an ingress of about ten kilometres toward the centre of the island, where the towering Bayan trees could just be seen from outside. With any luck, they should penetrate into the region where the Dryads made their home the next day.

As most of the creatures on the island preferred nocturnal activity, it became too dangerous to move through the uncertain shadows cast by Dancing Lights and Daylight, which both dazzled the eyes and made discerning fauna from foliage impossible.

Gwen produced their shelter, the Portable Habitat, and placed a HDM crystal into the slot at its base.

“!”

She invoked the glyph of activation. The model habitat quickly grew into a portal that shimmered in the middle of the forest, invisible and shielded except to registered members of her party.

Gwen stepped into the shelter to find a large, multi-bedroomed bungalow formed from aluminium and glass in the Bauhaus style, sitting in an area that was grey and mute. There lacked a sense of finiteness about the space, even gazing past the confines of the bungalow’s white fence gave her an uncomfortable feeling of being lost in a place of grey-nothingness.

“I think its obvious that you shouldn’t be wandering out into the ethereal world.” Jonas proceeded past Gwen. “Give me the Decanter of Endless Water, I’ll get the showers and the kitchen set up.”

“There are showers?” Gwen could feel the humidity congealing like stick brine between herself and the skin suit. The breathing fabric didn’t help, not when the moisture felt like a film of warm water in the jungle.

“Well, it only produces so much at once.” he grinned as Gwen gushed at the thought of a cold shower under fresh water. “Though I’d recommend you use your own Conjuration cantrips if you’re going to be in there for long. We need to fill up our supplies and make dinner as well, you know.”

“I am just happy enough there’s an actual shower.” Gwen pushed past the door, the alien anxiety of the grey-void forgotten. “What’s for chow?”

“Noodles, I’d imagine. Pasta and the like. Storage Ring Pot Luck?”

Gwen had the most extensive storage space out of all of them and so had become the proverbial mule for their dietary supplies.

“I’ll lay em out on the kitchen island, give me a sec.”

It was such a jarring difference, to be trekking through a Black Zone jungle one moment, and then suddenly they were in a safe pocket-space with working stoves, showers, and actual beds. She couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if they had to find shelter in the trees, as her High-school Field Trip had done. Was this the difference between adventuring with professionals, and adventuring with poorly equipped amateurs? Then again, as students, they had been in a Green Zone - where this was a Zone where moving at night was a recipe for constant ambush and disaster.

Gwen felt every anticipation satisfied after she’d emerged refreshed from a cold shower, arriving at the dinner table to find Jonas humorously in an apron, serving bowls of aromatic Bolognese.

“Pepper?” Jonas enquired.

“Parmesan too, please.” Gwen indulged herself.

When all was said and done, the party retired to bed. Gwen had the master to herself, whilst the men took over the living room. Her father, Morye, had the guest room for his own privacy.

The snoring of the military men was like rolling thunder as the night progressed, softly vibrating the windows of the bungalow. Gwen was glad that her doors were stout oak, thick and substantial, capable of keeping out the three diesel generators running in unison.

An alarm sounded at what must be six or so in the morning, signifying that the pocket space would soon be consumed and its inhabitants ejected. A quick breakfast of cereal and ration ensued while the member once again equipped themselves for the dense jungle.

Taj volunteered to venture outside first, but Gwen convinced them to substitute Ariel instead. When the little marten reported no immediate alarm nor danger, the rest of the crew followed.

True to the quartermaster’s words, the clearing they’d cut had almost grown back entirely in the time that they’d been asleep.

“How're the beacons?” Jonas asked Paul.

The Translocation specialist drew a few sigils in the air.

“A few left, enough for us to triangulate our way back. The missing glyphs start about three kilometres back, extending to the five-kilometre marker.”

“Alright, let's get going. Keep up the beacons, Paul.”

“Will do.”

Their progress became impeded an hour later when Taj halted at an unexpected clearing.

It was an unusual sight, the blue sky above catching them all unexpectedly and stunning their Dark Vision buffs. They’d been hacking through the densest part of the jungle yet when Taj’s machete struck a tree, only to find the offending branches hollow and empty.

“Huh?” He stumbled forward as his weighted blow fell short, stepping unexpectedly into a clearing. It was decidedly an abnormal formation, for the thick foliage just gave way as though they’d crossed over an invisible threshold.

When the rest of the party joined the bewildered Taj, they began to spot all kinds of local lifeforms - in the skeletal sense.

Birds seemed to be the mainstay of the collected boneyard, scattering through the fallen logs and stripped branches devoid of leafy green matter. Shells of large insects filled the spaces where the white bones of fallen birds languished, mounds of chitin and shells formed into vague shapes of their previous occupants, creating a grisly game of guess the fauna.

“Gwen.”

“On it. Detect Magic!”

Gwen made a mental note to learn more specific Detection Divinations as she turned her eyes upon the unnaturally cleared space. Above the ground were scattered motes of elemental air. Below, was a solid mass of roving elemental earth, so thick and voluminous as to be a carpet of ochre shifting to and fro.

“Incoming!” she called out. “Out of the clearing now! They’re below us!”

A soldier ant emerged head first, a three-inch long length of obsidian mandibles slicing the air hungrily as it burst through the fallen vegetation. Another broke out a split second later, followed by a dozen, a hundred, a thousand - innumerable heads of various shapes and sizes, all expertly armed with scythe-like jaws both large and small.

The party reacted immediately, turning about and making for the assumed detour.

“Eight O’clock! Then 5 O’clock after two hundred meters!” Paul commanded. Jonas materialised another Keen-enchanted machete, opening a path ahead.

“Shield of Faith!”

The half-dome shield of positive energy wasn’t as effective against physical attacks as plain-old Mage Armour, but it would have to do.

“Shit, they’re gaining on us!”

By now the flood of ants had emerged from the mounds. When Gwen took another gander in-between the motion of her pumping legs taking her as far away as possible from the darkening landscape of the swarm, she noted that they were the same pin-headed critters they had previously seen. She remarked the proboscidean attachments on their heads, wondering if it was a stabbing implement, or perhaps some feeding mechanism.

A handful of the ants fell onto Taj from above, landing on his Mage Armour. The group heard a sizzling sound as the spell of oxidising stone filled the air. Gwen had her answer - the needler ants were ejaculating some corrosive, milky liquid from the tips of their heads.

“By Shiva!” Taj shook off the offending insect by dispelling and re-summoning the Mage Armour. “Can we go any faster?”

“It's too thick!” Jonas called out from up ahead.

“We have to fight them! Shit! Arrgh!” Paul shouted as his hand brushed against a tree haphazardly. “Fuck!”

Whatever Paul had grasped with a wayward hand in the heat of the moment had secreted a substance that removed a layer of skin from his hand.

“Don’t touch the trees! Some of them are carnivorous! Healing Word!”

Her repertoire of spells flashed across Gwen's mind, begging for one with relevant utility. None of her spells had sufficient AOE potential to clear millions of minuscule insects at once, that was one of the fundamental fallacies of the Lightning Element. Gwen cursed - If Yue had been here...

She would have to make do.

“Caliban!”

A slithering serpent slipped from a dark tear in thin air.

“Drop and roll!”

Caliban dived into the swarm of ants and began to roll like a child amongst fresh linen snow. Now almost a meter and a half in length, it carved a path through the ants. The Swarm seemed to know instinctively that the Void-filled Caliban wasn’t food, and so parted from the slithering thing as though it was Void-Moses parting the ant sea.

A ball of ants, taking advantage of the height offered by the foliage, began to rain upon them, blooming into vicious sacks of acid and venom as they landed suicidally on the Mage’s Shields. With the shimmering of their expanded Mana Shields, the Mage’s progress became even slower, becoming impeded by the flickering of one another’s projected, semi-spherical buffers as they tried to escape the swarm.

“That’s it. We have to fight this out!” Jonas commanded them. “Watch for friendly fire, AOE at will. Taj! Explosive Warding Glyph! Maximum range centred on you!”

“Cover me!”

“Got it!” Gwen’s shrill voice pierced through the baritone of the crew.

To Jonas’ surprise, Gwen manifested a dark shield of obsidian Void as Jonas began to draw the repulsion Glyph. The dusky barrier flickered into being with a hiss, consuming all it touched. When the swarm of ants ran into its base, there was a sound of sizzling like white-hot metal quenched in oily fat.

Gwen's face immediately turned a shade of white. Not even the buffer energy left by Almudj was enough to mitigate the drain caused by hundreds of thousands of minuscule insects marching like kamikaze lemmings towards certain doom.

“Shit!” Jonas shot Gwen a bolt of positive energy, restoring some colour to her face. “Taj! How long?”

“Five Seconds!”

In the chaos of their frenetic actions, midst the rain of falling insects scattering upon their diminishing mana shields. Morye acted.

“Empowered Transmute Salt!”

The group felt a surge of elemental water gather beside them like a gravity well, their skin instantly becoming dry as their hair becoming encrusted with crystalline strings of white-pink Salt. Morye gathered the spell-force in his hand and struck the ground beneath them, transmuting all within a radius of thirty or so meters into a world of pink.

It was as though a sudden frost had taken over the forest. All moisture, both flora and fauna, became fuel for the growth of saline snow.

The ants too, burst into crumbling masses of desiccated shells, a veritable river of black sand mixing in with the white.

Morye, his face a little paler for the effort, pulled his arm from the pillar of salt that had formed where he stood. His clothes, his combat mesh, his hair and his exposed skin, were all covered with a thin layer of saline dust.

“Should have just done that first thing,” Morye noted nonchalantly as the others shook themselves from the unforeseen circumstance of their escape from imminent doom. “Gwen, don’t do that Shield. It’s the stupidest thing a Void Mage can do. You just lost life invoking it, and lost life absorbing those ants.”

“I had to protect Taj,” Gwen replied sulkily. If Morye could have resolved the problem, he should have just done so in the first place. Why the delay, why the running? Why the endangerment if he had a solution up his sleeve all along?

“You live and learn.” Morye shrugged. “By the way, I think we’re going to have company.”

The once verdant jungle, now a world of snow sculptures, was beginning to crumble around them.

“Which direction? Thanks for the save, by the way.” Jonas wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever his intentions, Morye had saved them from a pyrrhic victory, and that was commendable in itself. “Hostiles?”

Morye tapped his nose.

“I smell perfume.”

There was a distinct sound of distorting wood. It was a bizarre onomatopoeia, a kind of creak and groan that was at once the rapid growth of wood as well as the splintering of its fibres. Gwen had heard it many times before in the Grot, playing in the backdrop of her conversations and lesson with Henry as Sufina tended to her grove.

A trove of island pine that had survived the salt-apocalypse parted to reveal a giantess clad in yellow and bronze, her face a vision of loin-tingling allure. A full head of autumn tresses fell like a scintillating waterfall from her head, framing exquisite, leafy brows that defined a pair of burnishing eyes sparkling like emeralds.

“Oh,” Jonas muttered. “Oh dear.”

“Woa,” Paul mouthed, his mouth becoming a perfect O.

Taj brushed the ants from his body and made ready to finish that Glyph of Warding.

Gwen felt her spine tingle with expectation and anticipation, a flood of words reaching the tip of her tongue. How should she engage the Dryad? Should she immediately mention Sufina and demand access to the Grot? Should they perhaps parley with it and negotiate the terms of their passage? What was it that a Dryad wanted from them? HDM Crystals maybe, magic items, conceivably it would demand one of the men?

She had given this moment days of speculation, but now that they had found themselves a three-meter tall goddness of exquisite wood, with bolted on breasts easily as large as her torso, Gwen discovered that she was lost for words.

“Hey there, Beauty Queen.”

A husky voice sounded beside them, full of confidence and without a smidgen of hesitation. The party turned to see Morye as they had never seen him before, upright, tall, at-ease, his face chilled and handsome, his hair slicked back and flawless. When he smiled, there was an aura of exuberance and self-assurance, aplomb with elegant confidence.

“Hello there,” the leaves rustled as the giantess spoke, her eyes gleaming as she looked down and saw Morye grinning at her. “Are you humans lost?”

“Lost and found.” Morye made a subtle flourish. Much to the party's consternation, he approached the Dryad without so much as manifesting a suit of Salt Amour. “But I could just as easily lose myself with you.”

Gwen felt a glob of vomit forcing its way up her throat and into her mouth.

“Oh, my!” The dryad seemed taken aback by Morye's candidness. “What can I do for you?”

“Ah, the things we could do could make even the gardens blush.” Morye smoothly replied without breaking eye contact. “But yes, we would like to find a certain Mistress Sufina, though as for myself, I would be delighted to make your acquaintance in the meanwhile.”

Gwen wondered if Dryads could excrete cold sweat because she was already sweltering with nausea.

“Oh, you’re Sufi’s friends?” The Dryad’s eyes lit up, casting a luminous glow on her face. “Come this way then, hee hee hee, let me show you the way to the Grot. We’ll have so much fun, I am sure.”

The woods parted as the dryad moved, opening a path for the party to follow.

Gwen forced the sputum down her throat and gathered her wits about her. She turned to see the others, Paul, Taj, and Jonas, looking towards Morye with faces full of admiration and worship.

“Guys?”

“Wow…” Paul said to Taj. “Reckon he runs workshops?”

Gwen turned and stomped after the Dryad, biting her lips in frustration.

Men!

When the group, lead by the giantess, reached a clearing, it became evident that some unplanned back-burning had occurred in an area that once would have been a beautiful native garden. With the prevalence of exotic plants such as the many orchids Gwen and company had seen on their way in, they had been fully expecting to find a resplendent grotto of loveliness, the very apex of nature’s crowning beauty. Instead, they found a ruined wasteland that was only now beginning to recover. Old roots and branches that had once formed into chairs and tables were charred and shrivelled, black and burnt with vehement intent. The dappled bower, with its leaves and branches overhead, was no more. The place now stank of rot, the soil ankle deep in soot and decaying matter busy at decomposition.

“This is an… interesting Grot you have.” Morye studied their hostess with scepticism. Just as some beautiful women can't cook, maybe this alluring dryad can't grow a garden? Perhaps she was slow? Morye considered that possibility. But that wasn't an undesirable quality in a nymph.

Beside them, the wood-sprite turned a stain darker. Gwen hadn’t realised that dryads could blush, she imagined one needed flesh and blood for that. Then the dryad spoke, her voice bitter and anguished.

“Sufi’s guests, uncouth, mortal louts the lot of them. I had invited them to tea out of the kindness of my own heart, and this is how they repaid me, by burning my lovelies.”

“Brutes!” Morye agreed with the verdurous goddess. "Let me find a way to make it up to you."

Gwen felt a remorseful wave of permeating guilt, a sheen of cold compunction oozing past the fabric of her skin-suit. Yue! It had to be Yue. She was also thankful; the distressed state of the garden meant her friends had made contact with Sufina, and so they must be alright.

“Mistress of the Wood, may I ask where is Sufina now?” Gwen stepped into the clearing, wondering if an incredible transition was slated to impress. Instead, the giantess turned her sculpted face toward Gwen and leaned in closer.

“Mmm… what is that scent?” She came closer and closer until her nose was almost touching Gwen’s face. Her head was almost the length of Gwen’s torso, carved out from wood as though a grandmaster had taken his skills to an enormous trunk. Her lashes, tiny blades of grass, fluttered lovingly, drawing attention to two smouldering orbs of viridescence that seemed to possess infinite depth. It was an alluring but alien expression, for the woman's eyes had no pupils. “Your face…”

Gwen felt her skin crawl as the creature stalked about her, causing Taj and the others to ready their guards and half-incant spells under their breath. Gwen too was prepared to let loose her Void-Shield or clad herself in Void-skin; especially if the wood-woman were to suddenly turn hostile.

“How curious,” the giantess muttered to herself. The dryad carefully placed a tendril under Gwen’s sculpted chin and lifted her face so that her eyes could fully purchase the dimensions of Gwen’s appearance. “Are you Sufina’s contractor? Aren’t you dead?”

“We are… related,” Gwen answered obscurely. “Can you direct us to see Sufina now? The matter is urgent.”

The dryad reared back, almost striking Gwen with her protrusive wooden breasts. Gwen staggered back with a wry grimace; those tarts could easily put someone’s eyes out. Moving with the sound of lifting timber on a summer morning; the nymph peered towards the men of the group with a gesture filled with promise.

“Maybe they’d like to stay for tea while you made your visit? My sisters and I are awfully starved for company.”

As she spoke, a dozen more dryads of different shapes and sizes appeared at the edge of the clearing, each sprouting garlands and trellises of vibrant hair that filled the grove with a tropic air.

Where the men hadn’t seemed so smitten before, now they were reddening with swelling anticipation. Even Jonas seemed to hold his breath as a particularly red-headed dryad made her acquaintance known by running a hand of white-pine down the length of her washboard abdomen.

“Maybe they will.” Gwen turned to face their hostess with an expression several degrees colder, muttering under her breath. “Are there mortals like me with her?”

“There are.” the dryad didn’t look pleased as she recounted an unpleasant story of uncultured savages ravaging her grove. “There was a little pyromaniac, a dainty midget healer, and a very strapping native, which Sufi cruelly denied us. I bet she's wringing him dry like a wet cloth right now.”

Gwen turned to the party to ask for an escort, but the debauchery that greeted her made her sigh deeply. Maybe it was the military life, but Taj, Jonas and Paul seemed especially vulnerable to the charms of the opposite sex, notably when they resembled pin-ups that she’d sometimes see in the boy’s dorms. The fact that the dryads were fully compliant, eager even, with their doll-like physical perfection, made the usually disciplined men defenceless.

Her father especially became the centre of attention, demonstrating an enviable ability to hold three to four conversations, flittering between compliment and flattery with the ease of a river eel sliding over mossy stones.

Gwen had told them not to initiate combat under any circumstances, but she hadn't meant the Dryads were completely friendly or harmless, or that the men could initiate extra-curriculum contact.

Should she tell them off, or should she let them be?

Surely with Sufina as the 'Madam' of the Grove, they would be safe, if a little worse for wear - having survived the strange hazards of the island, there are worse fates than picking wood splinters from one’s tender regions.

“I am going to find Sufina!” she called out to them. “You should be perfectly safe here!”

“Want me to come with?” Jonas tore himself away from the redhead with the painful expression of having endured immense self-sacrifice. By now the lesser dryads had grown their furniture to cater for the men, twisting branches and roots to form divans, chairs and tables, creating linen from beds of emerald moss and fine jade turf. The flourishing transformation proffered the clearing with an eclectic air.

Gwen almost blurted that Alesia would know about this, but held her tongue and declined Jonas’ offer. Though she’d never personally invited strippers to her company’s Christmas Party, she imagined that the employer’s baseline protocol wouldn’t involve snitching to the Missuses of her workers. The fact that Jonas poised a rhetorical question told Gwen that perhaps it was time for her to take a hike in the woods while her companions enjoyed some R and R. Though the soldiers had been professional and courteous, but they were men in their prime nonetheless. There mustn’t have been much time for the privacy necessary for men to perform maintenance.

The real reason, of course, was that the Grot was a place only Gwen could venture. She neither wanted the men to see nor for them enter a haven that was sacred to her Master. A place that was special to her as well, a private sanctuary ventured only by Alesia, Gunther, and herself.

The dryad was in no mind to waste time taking her to Sufina’s Grot, so she opened a path through the jungle and told Gwen to follow it until she reached a Bayan tree that had a clearing all to itself. Gwen followed the dark road of fecund soil, feeling her shoes sink into the rich loam with each step. After a hundred meters, she came to a clearing, though there was nothing open about the space itself. Rather, it was a clearing by virtue of its singularly immense Bayan tree, one that towered over all the others. Threatening tendrils fell in elongated clumps from the branches, giving the dappled reserve a haunted, mystical look.

The familiar creaking of warping wood greeted Gwen's entrance.

A branch dipped from up on high and began to lower itself.

From its tip, Gwen could see a familiar female figure - her morphic form, lowering herself from a living platform.

Gwen observed a pair of long, lithe legs that ended in needlepoint tapered to a wasps waist, arched toward modest bosoms of smooth wood covered with burnishing autumn leaves. Her exquisite face was framed by a head of jade vines that cascaded down toward a pair of perk buttocks.

It was Sufina, but the dryad was also not Sufina. Something that made Sufina her Master’s companion was no longer there. The warmth, the humanity, the little gestures of whimsy, was now absent.

“Greetings, Gwen,” Sufina intoned, the stifled emotion in her voice punctuated with a slight tremor, as though she was having trouble recollecting the past. “Henry is gone.”

“I know.” Gwen felt her throat tighten, eyes little warmer for the effort. She could feel the tremorous grief she’d left buried for a week rising from the dead and kicking apart the box she’d shut them in. “Sufina…”

“Would you like to see him?” Sufina interjected.

Gwen felt as though a cat had snatched her tongue and fled with her words.

“Master’s remains… it’s here?”

“Yes.” Sufina motioned for the entrance to the grot. “Come.”

Gwen wordlessly followed her erstwhile friend until she reached the entrance to the Grot. It was no longer the familiar sight of a portal artistically woven into elegant designs. The entry was now a dark hole caught between two slabs of sinuous roots, its degraded state an apt metaphor for their present circumstances.

They passed over the threshold and made their way deep within until they reached the heart tree, the place where Gwen had laid down Henry to be healed by Sufina’s natural vitality. That was the last time she had seen her Master, and he was here now, just as she had left him, only pale, still, unmoving.

“Oh…” Her body felt rigid and frozen and unyielding as her eyes fell upon the harrowing sight. “Oh- O God-”

She began to move towards her Master's cadaver. One step, then another, then the rest of the distance in quick succession. Her hand immediately fell to his jugular, her other hand hovering just over his nose. Despairingly, there was nothing. The coldness of his flesh struck her like eldritch frost.

"Oh Henry-" Gwen felt her chest heaving out of control, her heart struck by such arrhythmia that she could hardly breathe.

Then something escaped from her throat, a long wail that echoed across the hollow chamber of the heart tree, now bereft of its Master and sole occupant. The inconsolable Gwen fell upon the chest of the unmoving man as a sobbing mess; all her pent-up grief, stifled by the crisis of the past week, demolished the dam she had built to keep herself lucid and functional.

Beside her, Sufina watched, her face as calm as a billabong that mirrored the still sky.

“I have preserved him, in so far as my magic allows. He will exist in gentle repose so long as my Grot exists.” she informed Gwen, placing a hand on the shoulder of the grieving girl. “I’ll take you to see your friends now, would you like to leave a few words for our common Master? I think he would have liked that. He had always told me that he liked your way with words.”

Half ruined with tears, Gwen looked up at the sprite that had once laughed and coddled her with the delight of a child.

Sufina was now distant and aloof, a powerful magical being. Creatures such as dryads knew want, lust, greed, desire, hate and like, but they were not sentimental. Unlike their demi-human cousins, they did not possess the capacity for what scholars called the Human Condition.

A few words?

What words could Gwen leave Henry now? Her Master was no more; there was no more 'Henry' here than Sufina was the sprite she had known for the last twelve months. If she were to leave words, it would not be for herself or Henry, but for Sufina, whose intact intellect would recall, and mayhap even one day understand the words enough to protect Henry’s remains for centuries to come.

What could she say? What was Henry to Gwen? What words were fitting for a man who singularly changed her life, whose constantly affirmation and support aided her in her darkest hour? What would resonate with Sufina's alien heart?

Perhaps there was something.

Gwen couldn't recall the recital in its entirety, but she couldn’t think of a better way to commemorate their bond.

“O Captain, my Captain…’ Gwen began, fossicking through her memory for the words.

“O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

But I with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.”

The sentiments of Whitman far exceeded her circumstances, but it was all Gwen could eulogise. Henry had been her Captain, and he had given his life in their defence. Like the man the poem commemorated, her Master had been likewise taken by malicious forces, but his legacy would live on through Gunther, Alesia, and now through Gwen.

“O Captain…" Sufina seemed to be digesting the words. "My Captain... Fallen cold and dead...”

The wood-nymph allowed the words to roll off whatever dryads used for a tongue, feeling her smooth, bark-like skin quiver with unbidden emotions as the meaning permeated her magic-core. Her current state had little capacity for complex sentiment, but then again, she had spent over thirty years as the soulmate of a man who lived an extraordinary life.

With her tribulation spent, Gwen left the body of her master. Giving Henry one last bow from the waist to show her respects.

“I will let Gunther and Alesia know, Master,” she promised. “We will come and visit you, all three of us, in the future.”

“Come.” Sufina’s voice no longer had that burred edge to it. It was now softer, more affected. “It’s time to meet your friends.”

* * *

They found Elvia and Whetu in a walled garden, engaged in sullen conversation.

Elvia, golden and resplendent as always, had been well preserved. She was still wearing her competition uniform from the attack on Rosebay, but it looked to have been laundered since. The diminutive girl was playing catch with what appeared to be a flower-sprite of some kind, tossing a ball of positive energy to and fro as the creature skipped across the lawn.

Whetu looked as though he was bored out of his mind. The poor Kiwi Abjurer was building himself a precarious house of punamu cards.

Gwen sprinted from the entrance at a deadbolt, drawing their attention with her heavy footfalls. Elvia’s face formed the expectant expression of agog surprise as Gwen tackled her from the ottoman stool and pushed her onto the lawn, burying Elvia’s face between her bosom.

“Gwenmmph!” Elvia cried out, wrapping her arms around Gwen’s waist, squeezing with all her might. "Oooivemiffedyew!"

“Ke kee!” The little sprite that had been playing with Elvia fled into the tangles of her hair.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too!” Gwen pulled herself away to kissed Elvia thrice on the forehead, then once again for good measure. She was about to repeat her medicating ritual when Whetu coughed.

“Hello.” he waved at her.

“G’day,” Gwen waved back.

“Gwennie!” Elvia writhed in her arms, her head still buried between Gwen’s breasts and trying to speak. The petite blonde girl felt her cheek brushed up against something soft and perk, feeling the naked heat of her friend’s body against her face. "Oh, my- I - I can't breathe!"

The girls pulled themselves apart, panting slighting for having exhausted their bottled up emotions.

“Where’s Yue?” Gwen asked, looking around. "Is she alright?"

“She’s on another level,” Sufina answered Gwen blankly. “Your pyro friend was beyond maddening.”

"Oh?" Gwen could imagine that. "Sorry, Sufina."

“Gwen,” Whetu interrupted Gwen's conversation, retracting his house of punamu. “Does this mean we’re getting out?”

“I’d presumed so.” Gwen turned to Sufina. “Can we leave, Sufina?”

“You have a ship?”

“We do.”

“Good, get your pyromaniac away from my Grot,” Sufina spat with a scowl.

The trip descended a flight of stairs interlaced from the roots of the Bayan tree above. As the tunnel continued, they could hear a dull thud striking the earth at irregular intervals. Elvia made an awkward expression when Gwen asked what was causing the horrid racket, because ‘it’ was probably Yue.

When Gwen enquired, it was Sufina who answered with icy criticism.

According to the dryad, Yue did not like the fact that Sufina kept them 'incarcerated' in the safety of the Grot. She would prefer to test herself against the vegetation outside. In her own words, given time, she could surely burn a six-lane highway through the greenery and open a path to the sea.

Though Sufina had to admit that it was in fact, a plausible hypothesis - given that the Island had no megafauna, consisting mostly of poisonous and carnivorous inspects and plants, she could hardly allow the madcap psychopath an opportunity to wreck such havoc to their grove. When told that she would not be allowed to do as she pleased, the Battlemage challenged Sufina to a duel, insisting that Sufina would have to give her free reign to do as she wished to escape the island.

It was under these circumstances, therefore, that Gwen and Elvia found Yue, her attire in shambles, scorched here and there and bleeding from several places, battling a gnarly Root Elemental in an underground arena.

The summoned creature was an interactive dummy, ceasing its offence whenever Yue became OOM and resuming its offensive as soon as Yue recovered. For seven days and nights they had squared off, Yue drawing as much mana as she could from meditative sleep, Sufina's nourishing mead, and the cache of mana crystals she had in her small Storage Ring.

Unbeknownst to Yue, the Root Elemental was, in fact, a part of the Bayan heart-tree, and was thus immortal while within the confines of the Grot. Tired of her bickering, Sufina had set Yue up to blow off her bottled rage accumulated from Debora’s betrayal, trading precious mana for some peace and quiet.

When Yue saw Gwen appear at the threshold of the arena-like cavern, she sizzled off her spell and bolted toward them at full pelt, still energetic after a week of ceaseless combat. Her eyes though, betrayed her frayed nerves, for they were two panda-rings of puffy flesh.

“Gwen! You’re alright! You’re okay! You’re safe!” Yue shrieked across the arena, sending her surplus flesh jostling all over. First, she dived headfirst into Gwen’s arms, feeling the warm permeating from her skin-suit, then the three of them huddled for a long overdue group hug.

“I know this might not be the right time…” Yue pulled herself away from Gwen’s embrace, finding her reception little too nippy for comfort. “Where is-”

“Debora’s dead,” Gwen announced immediately, reading her friend's one track mind.

“Dead? How?”

“Digested slowly, by Caliban. She was... obliterated.”

Yue pumped her fist in the air with a “Fuck Yes! I wish I could have watched. How about Elizabeth? The Void Mage? The Mermen?”

"It's... a long story."

Beside her, Elvia’s eyes were as large as blue-bells in full-bloom.

“Caliban ate… ate her?” Elvia spluttered. Gwen's familiar consumed a human being?! Did that make it, or Gwen, a cannibal? She had held Caliban in her hands! The obsidian ophidian had sat in her lap! How could Elvia-handle it now? What if she rubbed its belly and it burped out a human hand? What if Caliban took a poo and there was a femur in with the goo?

“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Gwen went on to explain to the frantic Elvia. “There’s a wilting tale to be told, but we’ll have plenty of time on the way back. For now, let's get out of here.”

“What, we can ‘leave’ now?” Yue turned to Sufina with a catty expression.

“Gwen has a ship, and a whole party of Senior Mages.” Sufina returned Yue’s catty expression with a resting bitch-face of her own. “Now get out of my Grot!”

Yue turned to wave to the Elemental that she’d been sparring with for a week.

“Goodbye, Woody!”

To their surprise, the Elemental waved back.

“Woo- I mean the Root Elemental - was originally made by Henry to be your sparring partner, Gwen,” Sufina stated. “Though I am not displeased that at least someone got some use out of it.”

At the mention of her Master, Gwen fell silent. The jubilation of the moment was murdered and left for dead.

The four of them returned to the upper level of the Grot, bypassing the Heart-tree, which was now a place sacrosanct to Gwen, Sufina, and the students of Henry Kilroy. Elvia muttered her disapproval of Yue’s hare-brained impulses and healed her bruised flesh.

Then, without warning. They were out.

Elvia had acclimatised to living underground for the last seven days. When they emerged again into the sunlight, she clasped Gwen’s hand and squeezed nervously, afraid that something awaited them in the woods. Yue, meanwhile, leapt onto the soft moss growing outside the Grot’s portal and fell to her knees in triumph.

“Yess! FUCKING natural light! Blessed open air! We’re finally out!”

Whetu meanwhile, seemed stunned by the unexpected deliverance. He’d imagined that they’d be living in the Grot, eating blasted berries and drinking diluted mead until the end of time. A life without Hungi Feasts! Without root beer! Without Fejoa Cider! Without seeing his homeland again!

He took a deep breath allowed the fresh scent of forest smells to permeate his lungs. He felt profoundly homesick and would love nothing more than to return to the Auckland Tower once their wayward adventure was over. He was supposed to be on loan as an Abjurer, gaining experience by fighting in a dozen matches. Now he had been henpecked by four girls for three months, won a single game before being involved in a City-destroying conspiracy, and then got stuck on a tropical island full of century-old cougars made from wood. Not even a Diviner could have imagined a future so filled with absurd detours.

Gwen watched mirthfully as Yue and Whetu performed breathing exercises, vociferating thankful praises to their irrespective higher powers. She turned to Sufina, who likewise watched the girls with a complicated expression. Gwen turned to her astral body and felt for Almujd’s energy deep within her animus. She gathered the emerald energy from the surface of her arcane-soul and compressed it into a ball, willing it to coalescence.

“I still have some of that life-force you loved so much,” Gwen offered the prize to Sufina. “Thanks for taking care of my friends.”

Sufina eyed the glowing energy; a darting pink tongue between her pink-blossom lips hinted at her desire.

“No," Unexpectedly, Sufina declined. “I think you will need it more than I.”

Gwen was surprised by the rejection. Magical Beings were not known for denying impulsive desires.

“Do you want to keep exploring the outside world?” Gwen metaphorically tested the lukewarm waters with her toes. “I think Master would have wanted it.”

“I can’t.” Sufina’s eyes moved from the girls towards Gwen, facing her with two shimmering orbs of emerald on amber. “I can't ever be contracted to another Mage, not after Henry.”

“Is it because of elemental compatibility?” Gwen asked. To have Sufina as an ally would surely be an incredible boon.

“That is one reason.” Sufina raised a hand and grew a small flower from her palm. She allowed it to bud and bloom, before depositing it in Gwen’s hair, behind her ear. Gwen noticed Sufina herself had the same flower on her opposite ear. From afar, they must look like fraternal twins, one flesh and blood, the other a delicate wooden replica.

“Gwen, when Henry died, and our contract absolved, I lost a part of myself. It was a part of the spell, I know, but it had been a part of me for so long. You should know that I am still in possession of almost three decades worth of shared memories... but-”

Sufina's attention turned toward the middle distance.

“I don’t feel it, Gwen. I want to cherish those memories, but they’re someone else’s now. What Henry had provided for me, the emotions and the feelings, they’re gone. I am unmade.”

“Sufina...” Gwen moved to touch her hand, but the dryad drew away.

“So I need to stay here, Gwen Song,” Sufina announced to the open air, almost as a declaration. “I need to hold on to these memories, maybe even put them down as words, in the human tongue Henry had taught me - so that I would never forget them.”

Gwen ignored Sufina's earlier rejection and embraced her doppelgänger, feeling Sufina’s recalcitrant body press against her own.

“Okay, Sufina. I understand.” Gwen felt her stilted companion respond woodenly and had to remind herself that Sufina was no longer the whimsical nymph-girl that she had known. This Sufina is now the master of a Grove, a high-tier dryad who was lord and master of her island sanctuary.

“You may visit.” Sufina watched Gwen retract her embrace without particular emotion. Now that they were away from Henry, she could feel her mind clearing of that foggy sentimentality. “I would like to see Gunther and Alesia, I think. I did watch them grow from mewling children to adults, after all.”

“I’ll let them know, and we’ll come together in the future,” Gwen agreed. “So this is goodbye?”

“Indeed.” Sufina turned back to her Grot. “The others will open the way for you.”

Gwen watched her duplicate figure stalk back into the darkness of the grot. The portal shimmered for a moment, then faded, revealing nought but the exposed roots of an enormous Banyan tree.

She spun to address the others, who’d been watching them.

Elvia was looking frail but in good cheer, her blonde hair plastered to her face by the humidity of the jungle. A little sprite-thing poked from her hair and watched Gwen with luminous eyes.

Yue was sweaty and lively, a little worse for wear but happy to be out. Her uniform was rightly battered though, and Gwen should offer her some decency as soon as they could get some privacy.

Whetu looked like himself, but skinnier and more mellow than Gwen had recalled. There was a hungry look in his eye that suggested he couldn’t wait to be out of the jungle and somewhere else.

“Well.” Gwen smiled confidently to absolve any anxieties that lingered.

* * *

The new party found Taj, Paul and Jonas not far from the path that led back into the clearing.

To Gwen’s surprise, in the several hours she'd been gone; the men had not engaged in haphazard coitus with the wood nymphs.

Instead, they had been fed berries and mead made by the Grove’s ladies of the woods, playing house with the doll-like dames as they made small talk. More than anything, it was a strangely comical sight. Three military men, sitting rigidly upright, surrounded by a plethora of flowering ladies with laughter like tingling bells and trilling birds, asking them questions about the outside world.

“Hey, guys! We’re back!”

Jonas bolted upright as though he’d been caught doing something dirty red-handed, his face began to glow, his greying handlebar moustache hiding the salmon-pink of his blushing skin.

“Oh, thank God you’re here!” Jonas moved from the table, the red-headed dyad still hanging onto his arm. “Any longer and we were going to be put to pasture, we're not Gregorian Monks, you know.”

The other two men stood as well, trying their best to shake off their admirers.

“Yue!” Paul snapped a smart salute, which was returned by Yue expertly.

“Good to see you guys, I am happy you all came to pick me up.”

“Elvia.”

“Hi everyone, I am very thankful for your efforts to retrieve us.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Gwen scanned their surroundings.

“Where’s Morye?”

The men gave each other discerning looks. They may as well be looking at the floor and whistle innocuously.

“He went off with the giantess - the elder dryad… somewhere.”

“…” Gwen had expected as much, but to think that her father was literally somewhere right now, being put to stud.

No! She put the thought from her head. Think of Elvia. Think of Elvia. Think of Elvia. She incanted like a mantra.

"..." Gwen moved toward Elvia.

“Eek!” Elvia yelped as Gwen caught the spiritually-cleansing mind-scrubber in her arms and buried her face in her flaxen hair.

“Kee! Keeee kee!” Something tried to repulse Gwen by striking her with a leafy burst of positive energy.

“What is that thing?” Gwen spluttered, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Elvia looked sheepish.

“I contracted a spirit.” She whispered under her breath, barely audible, her face as a red as a beet.

“You contracted a what!” Gwen pawed her chest-mesh for the Cure Disease potion. Hopefully, it would be enough to cleanse Elvia of whatever she had picked up in the woods. “Gosh, that’s terrible! Are you alright Evee?"

Gwen showed her the injector triumphantly. “A shot of this and it’s going to be A-okay though. You'll fight it off yet!”

The group stared at Gwen dumbly.

“She contracted a spirit, Gwen.” Yue pointed out loudly.

“Who from?” Gwen’s brows furrowed, she would smite that bastard dead! But then realisation dawned. “Oh, a contractual spirit! Like Alesia’s Crimson Caracal?”

“Yes!” Elvia quickly raised her hand in the affirmative to avoid further misunderstanding.

The group shared a round of uneasy laughter. Gwen awkwardly laughed with them before turning back to the matter at hand.

“So, anyone knows where Morye is?”

“Morye, as in your dad?” Yue raised a sceptical brow. “What’s a useless no-good old man like him doing here?”

“Plenty, trust me,” Gwen replied with a heavenward roll of her eyes. When Gwen had been a teen in her old world, the eye rolling wasn't yet vogue. Though she found the act exasperating, she also found the gesture oddly appropriate and satisfying when applied to Morye.

“So what’s the plan?” Jonas pulled his arm from between the wooden vice that was the redhead's hills and valleys. “I am sorry Miss. We really have to go.”

“Stay!” The junior dryad seemed to be capable of only simple speech. “Play with us! Feel good!”

Gwen mused the idea of teaching the dryads the immortal offering known as 'love you long time,' but decided against endangering the local fishermen. She forced herself to ignored the raunchy display and pointed a finger toward the grove's entrance, where a path opened by supernatural forces now awaited to be tread.

“That’s our way out. Let’s skedaddle before its overgrown again.”

“Agreed,” The others replied.

The group checked their gear and politely asked the dryads to leave them alone. Whetu especially had to fight them off bodily with a few punamu barriers. The sun was now reaching a low orbit, but with any luck, they could be halfway out by nightfall and reach the beach first thing in the morning.

“Tell Morye we’re heading for the ship,” Gwen commanded one of the dryads, who yawned and ignored her.

“Please tell our companion to join us at the ‘beach’. There should be a transmuted path to our location,” Jonas begged the dryads, who cooed at him and agreed to pass on the message.

Gwen ignored the snub and moved toward the trail.

Soon, they would be out on the beach.

From the beach, they would retreat to the City of Singapore.

Then, one freight ship later, they would be home.

Morye held himself steady against a branch to brace himself, for his legs were wobbly and exhausted, possessing the rigidity of wet spaghetti. He grinned in a self-satisfied manner, for though there was now a part of himself that was a bruised, doughy mess, the experience was a big tick off the bucket list.

He had spent an indistinct amount of time in the dryad's grot, whatever her name was, and felt a little guilty for losing track of time. He touched his chin gingerly. There was the bristly spikiness of a five-o-clock shadow rubbing his palm like coarse sandpaper.

For how long had he ploughed the land to seed the crops? Did the grot have a time dilation effect?

That seemed a viable assumption, for it was still daytime outside and the dryads that had greeted them earlier were still milling about languishingly. A few of them drifted Morye's way, but even the mighty Morye felt too lethargic to keep on trucking after his previous marathon. He was running on empty, riding on fumes, squeezed out like a desiccated cucumber.

“Where’s everyone?” he asked a red-head with lovely eyes and a vacant expression.

“Gone!” the nymph-girl lamented, her eyes predatorily scanning over Morye's lower body. “Play?”

“Er… not right now.”

"Okay, they went that way. You sure?"

More cursed under his breath. The others must have abandoned him. The nerve! He would now have to catch up and hope that the boat remained anchored when he arrived.

“Enhance Constitution!”

“Enhance Agility!”

“Expeditious Retreat!”

He activated some self-buffs and followed where the Dryad had indicated. It was going to be a tight trek to the beach; the sun looked about as exhausted as he was back in the Grot.

Behind him, the woods parted.

“Where art thou going?!” a shrill, feminine voice called out, not too dissimilar from the milk-curdling pitch a certain Helena effected. A verdurous dryad, glossy with effort and gloriously alluring, crashed into the clearing, heaving voluptuously. “There’s life in you yet!”

Suddenly, the fatigue of his aching muscles no longer mattered.

Like a shot stag on testosterone, Morye fled.

* * *

Deep within the Bayan Grot, Sufina returned to her heart tree, where she had grown an elaborate sarcophagus for her former companion. She watched stoically as the roots wove themselves into place, crossing over and melding into a single block of stout ironwood that grew around Henry's body.

“O Captain, my Captain...” Sufina announced to the general air, hearing her voice reverberate across the empty hall.

Not so long ago, the place had been full of human voices.

There was first Gunther, debating loudly with Henry and seeking advice. There was Alesia, pretending to be young and coy even though she was thirty years old, trying to get out of trouble. Then came Gwen, ever eager for knowledge and the next spell, speaking in that strange way of hers and asking questions that came out of the blue.

Now there was nothing; there would be no visitors for the foreseeable future. For the first time in a long time, she would be alone. Alone in the deep dark, with nothing but a cadaver-memento of the man that had once occupied half of her animus.

There was an unobtrusive ‘tink’ as something fell onto the floor.

Sufina willed a tendril to retrieve the object for closer inspection.

It was a shimmering scale, about a thumbnail in size, that scintillated with the most beautiful colours. Sufina had seen it before; it belonged to Gwen. Through it, the girl-Mage had channelled the primordial mana of creation itself.

The scale was spent now, but a seed of life remained, awaiting revitalisation.

Almost instinctively, Sufina placed the scale upon her left breast, allowing the woodgrain dermis there to open and swallow the relic, sending it to rest beside her creature core. As her life force worked to nourish the object, she could feel a slight tingle, informing her that her vital energies had begun cultivating its severed connection.

It was a strange, indescribable feeling, one that Sufina no longer could adequately process - but the sentiment lingered, and she recognised the heartwarming sensation.

It was the feeling, of no longer being alone.

* * *

Paul contacted Captain Sukarno before they broke free from the tree-line.

The Captain answered the Message happily, ecstatic that they were returning so soon. Unlike the landing party, Sukarno had been fortuitous in his encounters, having avoided visits from curious creatures in the night as they laid low in the shallow bay.

As much as Surkano had enjoyed Gwen's comely company, he hadn’t expected the adventurers to return unscathed. After all, these islands were said to be inhabited by man-eating wood nymphs. He knew for sure that should any fishermen be lured by the bathing nymphs onto the island, they would never be seen again.

When the party broke out from the tree line, Sukarno was further surprised to see that it had grown. Now they had a small blonde girl, who looked refreshingly adorable, a giant of a Polynesian with facial tattoos, and an Asian girl, Chinese from the looks of it, who wore a shirt three sizes too small for her bust.

For a moment Sukarno had to wonder if the party had kidnapped some young nymphs from the island. He had heard that the fabulously wealthy men and women of the upper echelons had exotic and expensive tastes. When one tired of NoM girls, no matter how exquisite or vivacious, one turned to stranger fetishes, like humanoid creatures and Demi-humans. It was well known that the bored rich would put their dick in anything for a thrill.

When they came closer to the boat though, it was evident that these were pure-blooded human beings.

“Hoi! I am happy to see that you are all safe!”

Sukarno did a quick head count as the Mage known as Paul cast Water Walk on the party and escorted them across the shallows towards the boat.

The leggy Eurasian girl embarked first, hoisting herself dextrously over the gunwale, hailing him with an affable grin.

“Good evening Captain. I am afraid we have a few extra passengers.”

“That no problem lah. I am happy everybody safe.”

His eyes scanned the party.

“Huh, where your father? He okay?”

“I am sure he’s fine.” Gwen looked behind her, where the jungle was growing back with visible progress.

“You want to leave tonight? Or we wait for him?”

“Is there a problem with travelling at night?”

Sukarno shrugged.

“Only for an hour, after that, we hit the shield beacon, then everything is A-okay.”

Gwen measured her fingers against the setting sun. They had two more hours of daylight, then one more in the blue-hour before the sun sunk into the sea.

“We’ll wait another hour while everyone changes,” Gwen informed the curious Captain. “If Morye doesn’t show, it means he’s chosen to live life as a seed-stud with the dryads.”

"O that sounds like enviable way to die lah," Sukarno chuckled, his suggesting grin split ear to ear. "Okay, we wait bit more."

Sukarno's innuendo-filled grin gave Gwen a vision of the island populated with little Morye-saplings. The revelation was of such exquisite revulsion that she automatically sought out Elvia, who met her unbidden interest with apprehension.

Their return trek had been uneventful, but it wasn't at all pleasant. The crew became soaked with mud, pollen and sap from clearing wayward plants as they neared the exit. Even without danger, it was hot, humid, and physically fatiguing.

Yue and Elvia were likewise exhausted by the five-hour march, their uniforms and school-boots even less suited to trekking through the primordial forest. When Elvia sunk into knee-deep loam for the fifth time and became fast-stuck, Whetu decided to carry her on his back. They additionally had to elude wayward insects as well. A leech the size of Elvia's arm fell from a tree and sent Elvia screaming for cover, only to run into leeches the size of her leg. Other strange fauna, like a butterfly, blue as eyes, with a circular iris upon its wing, also made a bee-line straight for Elvia to coddle her with its meter-long pin-needle proboscis.

Now that Gwen thought about it, Elvia was like a walking insect lure. Was it because of her positive energy? She wondered. Whatever the case, only a long cold shower could absolve their current state of sticky distress.

Gwen informed the others of her intention, and they set to work. Feeling a little guilty for always having first dibs, she asked the men to wash first, passing over the Decanter of Endless Water. Whetu took the Decanter like a man who’d found water in the desert, making for the shower below deck to finally feel cleansed after the horrid trek.

As they waited, Gwen gathered Elvia and Yue at the aft of the trawler, where the trio faced the blue yonder and related the tale of what had happened between Debora, Faceless, and herself.

“Fuck me in the goat-ass,” Yue articulately conveyed her feelings of shock and dismay. “A god damn shapeshifter tried to put the moves on you? While we were at your Grandpa’s?”

“Oh Gwennie, I am so sorry,” Elvia cuddled Gwen, though not too intimately as they were all sweaty and filthy.

“It’s okay, Evee. I survived. It’s over, at least for now,” Gwen hypothesised. “Elizabeth is missing. Master is gone. Gunther has taken over the Tower in Sydney. The city is rebuilding. I think we can all lay low for a while and focus on this refugee business.”

“You reckon the Serpent ate Elizabeth?” Elvia asked.

Gwen shook her head.

“She lost all that life force she’d been collecting though, stolen from two million people, including the Mermen, so I’d say she’s going to be out of action for a while. That is unless her Void Magic completely differs from mine.”

“What’s the refugee thing you’re talking about?” Yue asked, curious as to what happens when a city is made inhospitable.

“According to Richard, we’ll get assigned to tier 1 or tier 2 cities, depending on our talents.” Gwen chewed her lower lip uneasily. She wasn't sure either. Could it mean that Yue, Elvia, and herself wouldn’t be able to stay together?

Then again, she could appeal to Gunther or the Tower to intervene. It was good having friends in high places.

The broader issue wasn't Yue or Evia, but their families. Gwen doubted the Tower would be so generous as to cater for two entire households, much less provide for Yue’s mother, who was a NoM. Elvia’s family likewise, probably had their plans. Maybe they could take this opportunity to return to Europe, a place their patriarch had dreamed of returning since losing their land and migrating to Australia. As for Whetu, he was probably returning home to his Master in Auckland.

“Hmm.” Yue tapped her fingers on the warm metal planking. “I think I’ll stay with Master. How badly did you say she was wounded?”

“She’s recovering just fine," Gwen assured her friend. "The Medical Mages say she should be back to normal after a year or so. It's more so her sundered Astral-body that needs time. It was badly damaged when Alesia took on her Djinn form. Physically, she's probably going to be fine in a few weeks.”

“That’s good to hear,” Yue breathed out. “I’d have to tell Mum and Dad, although I think that works out. Dad’s just a regular joe now, and Mum’s a NoM so I doubt they’d even send us away. There’d be no profit in it. What city would want a retiree and a NoM?”

“Let’s hope so.” Gwen replied. If Yue’s family could stay in Australia, she could probably pull some favours and have them well looked after. If nothing else, they can stay with Surya and be safe while the city recovered.

“I don’t want to go to Europe,” Elvia said suddenly, realising the likelihood that her family would take this opportunity was high. After all, unlike Yue, her family consisted entirely of gifted Medical Mages and various other bloodlines. A family like theirs would be welcome anywhere, at least as refugees. They would be like an untethered cargo of talent and resource, rich for the picking. The family would have to scrape by and bury their heads in work for a few years, but eventually, after a decade or so, they could re-attain the same life they had in Australia - only in a tier 1 city, mayhap even in their ancestral home of Austria-Hungary.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Gwen said confidently, squeezing Elvia’s reddening cheeks. “At the very worst, you can stick with me. I’ll look after you! We’ll take rooms in the Tower. We can hang out with Yue. Start a cabal. Be the three Sorceresses of Sydney!”

“You don’t think they’ll send you somewhere?” Yue questioned sceptically. If she belonged to a foreign faction, she’d be seriously considering kidnapping someone of Gwen’s talent.

“I’ll stick with Gunther and Alesia, I think.” Gwen nodded to assuage Yue's paranoia. Just as the words left her lips though, Gwen felt the skin-tingling, hair-raising premonition that came with her Divination talent.

“What’s wrong?”

Gwen scanned their surroundings, wondering if there was going to be some imminent danger.

There was.

The tree-line on the opposite shore burst out in an explosion of cascading salt.

Morye came springing out at full pelt, a white blur stomping across the beach. Behind him, a giantess, emerald with lascivious beauty, came striding forth in all her naked glory like a primal fertility goddess.

“Morye, where art thou going?” She reached out, tendrils whipping across the air.

“Salt Shard!” Morye spun and let loose a hail of jagged shards, cutting her ribbons to shreds.

To the party's agog expressions, the salt Mage ran onto the water, his footfalls turning the sea-water into chunks of bobbing salt. Using these as a platform, he ran straight across the shallows toward them.

The dyad stopped at the edge of the shallows. The landmass was the extent of her freedom of movement.

Meanwhile, the crew was in an uproar, taking pictures and pointing wildly, marvelling at the enormity of the dryad’s physical perfection and exquisite, voluptuous display. The sunset, the sea water, the dryad - it made for an adult-only Kodak lumen-recording.

Morye landed onto the trawler’s foredeck with a flourish, the armour of salt cascading from his body to reveal tattered attire that looked as though it has been torn wildly from his body.

“O God, that smarts!” he hissed as the salt worked their way into his wounds. Morye’s back looked as though he had been pulled through a sandpaper wringer. “Jonas! Give me a hand. I think she took some of my flesh as souvenirs. Arrgh! Thsssss!”

As Elvia had been closest to Morye, the kind healer opened up with a Cure Wounds. Her spell was more potent than before, aided by the green sprite in her hair.

With Elvia's tender touch of restoration in place, Morye's skin began to heal rapidly. Gwen’s father calmed his nerves and turned to look upon the angelic little nurse with eyes full of benevolent thankfulness, giving her a glinting grin of confidence.

“I could be wounded a thousand times over if someone like you were here to heal me,” He said to Elvia with serious eyes, the mind-numbing pain of the last few seconds evaporating from his mind like the wounds on his body. “May I have your name, Angel?”

“Void Bolt!”

A bolt of eldritch energy, darker than black, zinged past Morye’s face with a smell of rot and decay, shaving off a few millimetres of skin from his cheek. It all happened so fast that his Mage Shield hadn’t even activated. When the blood began to ooze, Morye realised that he could no longer feel that particular inch of his face.

“No,” Gwen said to her father sternly, like a master admonishing a bad dog. “Just. No.”

Elvia stuck out her tongue cutely and healed Morye’s facial wound.

Morye felt alternatively furious and guilty at once; he wanted to admonish Gwen for daring to endanger him with a void spell. That his Shield hadn’t triggered meant that he wasn't in mortal danger, but his daughter was hardly a practised hand at trick shots with non-guided bolts. On the other hand, he realised that this lovely young thing must be one of his daughter’s dear friends - the very object of their rescue.

Maybe he should let the matter slide?

“Don’t do Void,” Morye reproached Gwen sternly, his eyes darting away to avert her critical gaze. “It's not good for your health.”

Gwen's hazel orbs traversed from her bloody father to Elvia, whose face was scarlet from cheek to cheek, to the dryad sex-goddess who was still loudly pining for Morye, jumping up and down to entice his return.

“Wow, Mr Song, you are a piece of work,” Yue commented.

“Watch your mouth, Ms Bai, lest I tell your father,” Morye snubbed her back. Then added a few more words of admonishment. “Lest I tell your mother, about your father.”

Yue’s eyes narrowed dangerously; the air grew hotter.

Gwen took both Yue and Elvia by the arm and pulled them down toward the lower deck. Maybe it was best to keep these two upstarts away from one another. If they’d kept at it, the boat would probably never make it back to Singapore.

Above, Sukarno gave the order to set sail; the mana engine thrummed to life, and the ship began to move.

There was only one shower.

As close as the girls professed to be, they weren’t close enough to share a communal shower in a cramped cubical. Gwen went first, stripping off her skin suit and packing away her adventuring gear to change into an unbranded floral summer dress that was now a little too tight for her healthy figure.

There was nothing in her repertoire of costumes that fitted Yue’s irregularly shaped assets, and so Gwen made do with a maxi that allowed her friend ample breathing room. Elvia was easier, as several of Helena’s ‘size-too-small’ collections fitted the skinny, diminutive girl not only snugly, but looked made to match.

When the girls emerged finally from the cabin with their new summer attires, the men’s eyes lit up with appreciation.

“I want a daughter,” Paul said seriously to his friends. “I think I am beginning to understand the happiness of being a father.”

Jonas nodded but knew that his dream was likely going to be unrequited. He had told himself that he should give up on Alesia many times, but every time he closed his eyes, she was there, burning his resolve to cinders.

The girls obliged the men's benevolent attention, smiling, laughing and joking as the ship broke through the water, the cool, briny breeze of the sea against their bodies, washing away the humidity that had soaked in like mildew.

The trawler had made it about thirty minutes away from the island when a sudden sea-sprout erupted from the otherwise calm ocean, showering the unsuspecting crew with fishy, briny water. The trawler itself skidded to a halt with a violent lurch, dipping a little when a massive Merman leapt onboard with a scowl.

The bedraggled crew looked upon the Merman incredulously. They were outside the Shield Barrier, it was true, and they were only a small sized trawler, but they had a full complement of Mages! Normally, only their Captain would be able to defend them, focusing on pushing the Mermen away from the ship with his water magic while they made all haste toward the Barrier.

In the present instance, the crew turned to look at Gwen and her friends, now drenched from head to toe and bedraggled with bits of seaweed. Only a moment prior the girls had been sporting with the soldiers about Singapore, their conversation steering towards the availability of branded goods in the craft market, then the next moment they were smelling like the fish market.

“Hurr! Hur!” The Merman brandished a coral trident. It was said that though magical creatures could sense mana naturally, only those with high levels of cunning and intelligence could truly hone its natural sense enough to comprehend the supernatural. This specimen, who looked as though someone had migrated a barracuda onto a semi-human body, was not an intelligent subtype.

Three Senior Combat-Mages, one Salt Magus, four junior Mages, as well as Captain Sukarno, turned to face the haughty Merman with expressions of consternation.

The creatures’ eye lit up when it saw Gwen. The girl-woman looked incredibly tender, her flesh like a child’s, and would make for excellent eating. It wasn’t a greedy Merman and only required a single human to satiate its appetite. Its bulbous eyes moved over the group as its lips curled to reveal rows of dagger-like teeth.

“Hur HUR!” It called out.

Two more Mermen just like it emerged from the sea and leapt onto the decking with wet slaps of finned feet. It turned to regard Gwen with as an arrogant expression as seafood could muster.

“How do you usually deal with this?” Jonas asked Sukarno.

“I chase them off lah, or give them some crystals, and they leave us alone.” The Captain cut the feed to the mana engine. “Maybe it thinks we’re out fishing? Want a toll of some kind?”

Gwen brushed her dark hair away from her face, revealing glowing, electric eyes that glowed in the dusk of day. Beside her, Yue was already steaming, the sea water evaporating from her body.

Whetu stepped forward, but Jonas halted the punamu Abjurer. Sometimes, a fish jumps into a boat when you least expect it. One shouldn’t look the gift sashimi in the mouth.

“Ariel!” Gwen called out, eager to try out a theory she’d hypothesised. “Keep it still. I need to test something.”

A bolt of lightning transformed into a massive mongoose that tackled the Merman before it even landed. A wave of paralysing lightning penetrated the creature’s slimy scales and nailed it to the floor, sending electrical motes skittering over the deck and grounding into the sea.

The other two Mermen roared in defiance, hopping mad that instead of a gift in fish or crystals, these sailors would dare attack them.

Yue, who’d been steaming with pent-up fury since a moment ago, exploded with gouts of orange-red flames that flash-dried her maxidress at once.

“Scorching Ray!” With a practised hand engendered over a week, Yue manifested four intense beams of flame, splitting them into two focused blasts.

A burst of pink steam exploded over the iron decking as one Merman exploded into gibs of roasted flesh. The other erupted likewise as a burst of sizzling flesh shot out from its torso.

Ariel, meanwhile, had the first Merman pinned down in its jaws and was slowing crushing the fish by clamping its sinuous neck.

“Hur? Hur! Hur?” The fish huffed distressingly. This wasn’t at all what it had expected. From the looks of its fishy expression, it seemed to be indicating that everything was an honest mistake and that it had only intended to buy some fish from the nice humans.

Gwen turned to Morye.

“How close do I need to get?”

Morye shrugged.

Gwen clicked her tongue cattily and stepped within melee distance of the Merman.

From up on high, she could see its beady eyes rolling in its sockets, begging for mercy.

Gwen wrinkled her nose. It stank, and because it splashed her with its primitive magic, she stank. She had just showered as well, and what was most vexing was that she didn’t have another summer dress.

“Do it.”

Ariel felt spinal fluid spray into its mouth. It slurped up the bitter liquid with a grimace. Fish wasn’t its favourite. It preferred snakes or small mammals.

Beside the grimacing mongoose, Gwen had her Detect Magic activated, carefully observing the Merman. She noted that at the moment of its death, its core ceased to be a dense cluster of elemental water. Then, as if having found an outlet, it began to drain.

Gwen couldn’t sense the ‘essence’, but she could see a few minute motes of elemental water drifting her way. The Kirin Amulet grew warm for the span of two breaths; then it was once again dormant.

“Is it dead?” Elvia asked, still a safe distance away. She neither relished the smell nor the sight of the carcass.

Gwen extended a hand toward the creature and materialised a bowie knife. She inexpertly butchered the body to the chagrin of her spectators, digging and hacking away until she found her expectant prize.

“Woa, a core!” Captain Sukarno triumphantly exalted when Gwen lifted the bloody thing, smeared with the clear slime of fishy entrails, into the open air.

Gwen herself felt beyond pleased. Her father had been right. The killing of creatures at close range did in fact, allow for the influence of the Kirin amulet to take effect. If such was the case, she could arguably be the most effective core-harvesting hunter in Oceania. Whatever happens in the future, she’d have a nice conversion rate of hunting time to core exchange, ensuring a steady income of mana crystals.

“What’s the damage for the core?” Gwen felt her mood lighten as she examined the watery core.

“Oh, Soldier level Core? I’d say fifty LDMs to a single HDM? I know a guy who will buy for good price,” Sukarno happily replied. Those stupid Mermen had ransomed him more than once before, and it would be apt to trade its core for profit. Revenge is a plate of sushi best served fresh.

The creature core passed from hand to hand, sans Morye, with each of the Mages marvelling at Gwen’s good fortune.

“Dinner’s on me tonight!” Gwen announced. “Seafood! To the city!”

“To Singapore!”

“That’s settled then.” Gwen then glanced wistfully at Paul and her father, the only two Transmuters of the group. “While we’re all here, anyone known any laundry incantations?”

* * *

It took a further six hours to return to Singapore, where Jurong Port would open come next morning.

The team spent the night anchored in the safety of the harbour, the thrum of Singapore’s many Shielding Stations upon their back, watching the stars and catching up on old times, enjoying the temperate atmosphere of the open sea before it was heated up to a detestable, humid haze by the morning sun.

When the day broke, the company sailed into Jurong Port without further incident, safely docking where they had left two days ago.

To avoid trouble with the city’s infamously merciless military Mages, Gwen and friends had to take Elvia, Yue and Whetu to be registered.

When the Customs Officials at the Jurong gave them sceptical looks, Jonas stepped in and presented himself as an Officer of the Frontier Military and a senior member of the Tower’s Recon unit. Paul and Taj likewise presented their credentials, suggesting that the Singapore Tower would verify the identities of these girls.

Thankfully, Yue, Whetu and Elvia had kept their student cards on them, and with another hour wasted going back and forth on bureaucracy, they finally receive temporary passes for Yue and Elvia, effective for five days only.

The duration was no obstacle, as with any luck, Gwen and the crew would be back on a freighter in twenty-four hours.

Captain Sukarno stayed with them a while to ensure that everything was alright before leaving with his extra twelve HDMs, shaking the men's hands happily and giving Gwen and friends a brief benediction with both hands in prayer. To save them some time, he even exchanged one HDM for Gwen’s Merman Core, which he’d stated that he would keep as a souvenir from their exciting little adventure together.

Just as they were about to leave the Jurong Customs area, one of the officers stopped them to confirm if they were leaving Singapore soon.

“We’ll be leaving as early as tomorrow, officer.” Gwen flashed a smile at the man with such dazzling intensity that his knees knocked for a second. “There’s nothing to worry. We’re just going to head to one of your famous seafood restaurants, maybe book a dock-side motel, then we’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”

“That’s no problem lah,” replied the middle-aged Officer, who was a Senior Sergeant. “I can recommend some restaurants, all the seafood goes through Customs as well, as you know.”

They made jovial banter for a few exchanges as Gwen took down the address for a ‘recommended’ place to eat seafood without suffering the tourist tax. The officer’s eyes then fell over the girls expansively, his mien friendly and approachable, almost benevolent like a Buddha.

“Staying in the city is very expensive lah,” he continued. “We have hostels for temporary travellers like yourself that is very cheap if you want I can get you a card.”

“Ah, that would be wonderful.’ Gwen leaned softly against the counter and made a happy, winsome expression. “We’re poor as it is lah!”

“Ha!” The Officer must have felt like they were hitting it off like a house on fire. “Okay! I get you contact, wait here.”

True to his word, the officer returned with a business card.

“Just follow the direction, it’s very close to here. Very convenient. Tell them I send you. My name is Liu.”

“Thanks, Sergeant Liu.” Gwen shook his hand. The man had very soft hands.

“Okay, enjoy your stay in Singapore! I hope you like Chilli Crab. It is staple lah!”

As the group left the Customs area, they drew curious looks from all over. It was true to say that with the three teenage girls and the five men, they looked like a group of father-daughter travellers, for the alternative would be too strange to consider.

Outside, the day was just hitting high-noon.

“Well, where to?” the men inquired as they had no particular plans for the city.

“We might go shopping - after we send some Messages from the Post Office,” Gwen declared, flashing her ring and its cargo of crystals. “Somehow I don’t think shopping is going to be feasible in Sydney anymore.”

The Messages would be for Gunther, Alesia, as well as Elvia and Yue’s parents. She had to contact her grandfather as well, to tell Surya to look after Yue’s mother and father.

“Want us to escort you?” Jonas asked; though the very thought of following the girls through the shopping district turned his stomach. The military men were perfectly willing to follow the girls into an uninhabitable jungle, but to follow the girls as they shopped for hours on end? That was too much humiliation to bear. “Maybe take Whetu?”

“How safe do you suppose the city is?” Gwen asked.

“The safest, so long as you stick to the CBD and the Bay Sands area,” Jonas replied.

“Then we’ll be fine. Meet up at the restaurant?”

“Sure, I’ll go confirm our Passenger’s Manifest back to Sydney. We’ll see you guys soon.”

“Ai’ll hang with you blokes,” Whetu insisted. “Not one for window shopping meself, nuffin fits.”

“You look good in a tight shirt,” Yue remarked. “I thought that was your style?”

Whetu laughed nervously. “No shopping” He added seriously.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow at the terminal then,” Morye said suddenly, drawn their eyes.

“Where are you going?” Gwen asked reflexively.

“Do you want to know?” Morye grinned at his daughter knowingly.

“Erh… no,” Gwen confessed. “Don’t commit a crime or anything. Singapore is a very lawful city.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been here before. Merely curious as to how the city has changed." Morye dismissed her warning with a wave of his hand.

With their plans for the afternoon settled, the members went their separate ways. Gwen turned excitedly to her friends and found them looking apprehensive and unsure.

“Gwen, are we going to be okay?” Elvia asked, a little frightfully. “We don’t know anything about the city!”

“Yeah.” Yue looked strangely nervous as well. Maybe she wasn’t good with new places? “How do we know what to catch and where to go?”

“Fu fu fu,” Gwen turned to her friends. “Just you watch, I know the perfect place.”

Half an hour and fifty dollars later, they were staring at an open bay filled with constructions still in progress.

“What is this place?” Yue asked sceptically. “What are we doing here?”

“Gwen.” Elvia shivered at the sight of gargantuan construction Golems pounding away. “I am starving. Where are we? Where are all the shops?”

The place was Marina South; they were on an artificial island.

The year was 2003.

The Marina Bay Sands finished construction in 2010.

“Oh. My. God.” Gwen facepalmed. “Fudge-sickles, I am an idiot.”

Their taxi was thankfully fifty meters away and making a U-turn.

“Taxi!” Gwen called out, praying that she wasn’t wrong a second time. “To Clarke Quay!!”

Thankfully, Clarke Quay was built in the 1900s.

Though it was not the shopping Mecca the place would become in the late 2010s, the promenade was already taking shape as a trendy district for the well-to-do to spend their hard-earned crystals. Sitting at the centre of the Singapore River, one should imagine a parkland, not unlike the French Rivera, adorned with Edwardian Era architecture mixed with traditional Chinese facades. As the Singaporean Government revamped the old port-warehouse area, it recreated the scenery from its days as the Britannic Mageocracy’s Pearl of Asia, furnishing the river with pleasure Junks that served as floating restaurants and nightclubs.

As such, Clarke Quay's many dockside warehouses had been converted into massive shopping malls full of boutique stores, offering some of the best mundane and magical handcrafted goods this side of Singapore. With the city’s reputation as the most extensive ‘finished product’ manufacturer in the southern hemisphere; Gwen was especially looking forward to what they would find in its many nooks and crannies.

This time, when the trio alighted from the taxi, Gwen breathed out with relief. Safe! The place was precisely as she had recalled from her past life, though it had far fewer patrons, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

The girl's communal war-chest was one HDM crystal, translating to 970 Singaporean dollars at the current exchange rate, though Gwen had more on hand if they needed the money, and would happily 'shout' her friends whatever they fancied, providing it wasn't too exuberant.

When Elvia’s blessed conscience raised the question of whether or not it was appropriate to be shopping in a place that was safe and prosperous while their home burned, Gwen gave her a little life lesson imparted from a seasoned adult.

"Evee, there is a time for everything."

There was a time to mourn, a time to act, a time for procrastination, and a time to relax. There was more to life than worrying about events beyond one’s control. The City was gone, and that reality was now a certainty. As students without resources and virtually no influence, all they could do was help in a token way. In the lull of the moment, there was nothing they could do until they went back to Sydney, and their time was undoubtedly NOT better spent brooding and trading anxieties in a port terminal for the next twelve hours.

"Evee, the great poet Horace taught us that one should 'carpe diem' - that is: seize the day and put very little trust in tomorrow."

They were now in one of the most accessible and prosperous shopping districts in the tier 2 frontier. All kinds of exotic Magic Items lay at their disposal. As they were returning to Sydney, they would never have an opportunity like this again for at least a decade, unless they go travel or study elsewhere. As such, if not now, then when?

"Not to mention, Evee, that one should learn from your feelings, but not be consumed by them. Let them be the fuel, not the ball and chain."

Having contacted their families and shared the news of their survival, the girls already had their tearful moments and anticipatory reunions. When one was a teenager, everything felt so exaggerated - from buying cut-off shorts for the first time; to experiencing the funeral of a distant relative. As an adult, one learned that these intense feelings came and went, and with the wisdom of love, loss, despair and triumph, the heart becomes not unlike a kaleidoscope.

To which Gwen once again lifted words from those wiser than she.

“Listen well, Evee, we may be in the worst of times, but the best of times are just as plenty. The age of wisdom, after all, runs concurrently with the age of foolishness. Where there is light, there is going to be darkness, where there is hope, there is despair. All we can do, is live it to our fullest, understand?”

Elvia shook her head, then nodded, then shook her head again.

“I get it!” Yue declared uproariously. “Too simple.”

“It is?” Gwen turned to her friend, whose face was full of smugness.

“Yeah, all those words you just said, they amount to one thing.”

“Go on.” Gwen felt pleased that Yue of all her companions, understood the human condition so well.

“The act of life…” Yue began. “… is shop til you drop, whenever and wherever you can because life is short! You only live once!”

It was a good thing Gwen wasn’t nursing a drink or taking a sip, but even so, she almost choked trying to swallow her saliva. Elvia had to rub her back and pat her several time before she recovered.

Oh well, Gwen thought to herself. No one ever said that the human condition was easy.

* * *

Clarke Quay did not disappoint.

The promenade was stocked with boutique stores selling all manner of goods both mass-manufactured and handcrafted.

Surrounded by the outlets of the local garment industry, Gwen took the opportunity to replenish her wardrobe. There were many advantages to a natural comeliness, one of which was that brands seldom mattered when the figure they clad was easily a million crystals. For fifty Sings a pop, Gwen could easily find skirts and shorts, shirts and blouses, camisoles and belts, bangles and hats that would not look out of place when worn in the right way, with the right layers. Having survived the dark fashion ages of the ‘denim’ 90s and emerged into the enlightenment of the 2010s favoured by pastel Japanese minimalism, Gwen knew exactly what she wanted.

When Yue reached out yet again for a lime-green puffer jacket to go with a white, low-cut tank-top, Gwen slapped Yue's hand like she was batting away a wayward viper.

“No, Yue, you'll look like avocado bread, not even the toasted kind!”

Elvia likewise wanted to know if a pink skirt paired with a cream-pink blouse, especially when offset with a sakura-pink camisole.

It was hideous, of course.

But on Elvia, it was too cute

“Yeah, that’s lovely. Go ahead. I'll pay?”

Then there was the harrowing main course.

Braces of Armour (Tier 3)

This finely crafted item once belonged to the illustrious Maj. Farid Malik.

Increases resilience of wearer to physical attacks.

Tier 5 Skin of Stone Aurok, Orange Zone, South Africa.

Created by Master F.J. Vanderfare, 4En. 4E.

~ $98,000 SG / ~ 10 H.D.M Crystals

Goggles of the True Night

These beautifully crafted goggles gift the wearer with the sight of the True Ancestor, able to see in complete darkness and high-light the blood of the living, including most Demi-humans. A must for adventuring in the Dark Zones.

Tier 6 Vampire’s Eyes, Black Zone, Bulgaria.

Created by Magus P. Gorchev, 7En. 5Trn. 4F.

~ $220,000 SG / ~ 220 H.D.M Crystals

Staff of the Illusionist

A boost to your Illusion Spells that greatly increases potency and decreases mana usage. This staff can store up to twelve slots of Illusion spells of tier 6 and below. A truly unique item!

Tier 8 Ancient Cedar Core, Black Zone, Indonesia.

Created by Master G.G Fulcher, 8Ill. 5En. 3W.

~ $1,200,000 SG / ~ 1220 H.D.M Crystals

Barter Options available on request.

“Wow, good grief.” Gwen beamed at the shop assistant, who asked if they would like a demonstration.

They had entered a high-end store selling items from Europe. An assistant offered them cold glasses of sparkling pineapple juice as soon as they walked through the double-doors, opened by a handsome young man in a waistcoat. Where usually the girls would have been ignored or snubbed, Gwen's regal bearing, together with her fingers laden with enchanted rings, bought them first-class service.

Yue meanwhile, was still trying to count the zeros on her fingers.

Elvia stuck out her tongue and nervously hid behind Gwen, utterly embarrassed by their lack of funding.

When the girls finally tired of the impossibly priced shops, they came into the localised section of the Magic Item market where low-level crafters plied their wares. Unfortunately, there was nothing of particular note, unless the girls wanted to restock on potions or purchase one-use scrolls, which they currently possessed no disposable funds to procure.

As the late afternoon approached, the girls found a nice junk converted into a riverside cafe. Gwen ordered a frap, soy, no cream, while the others had a coke and a juice.

“So mature,” Elvia marvelled at Gwen, cutely sipping at her OJ and enjoying the cool breeze coming from the river's scintillating surface.

They rested until they felt recovered from all the walking. Elvia was so relaxed that she fell asleep for a few minutes against Yue's flesh pillows.

“Where you guys from?” the waitress asked when Gwen called for the bill.

“Melbourne,” Gwen replied without batting an eye.

“Oh, I heard lovely things about that place. A shame what happened to Sydney though, I hope they pull through."

"Yeah, it's pretty bad."

"I guess we won’t be seeing much lamb and beef from that area for a while, the wine especially. A shame. They're awfully popular around here.”

“I can imagine.” Gwen paid as the girls finished their drinks and were soon on their way.

The time for dinner quickly approached as the boiling sun finally struck the horizon, causing the temperature to drop from stifling to just bearable. A water taxi took the girls from the Quay towards the Riverside, where the famous restaurant Jumbo floated on a wooden platform tethered to the dock. Famous for its Chilli and Pepper Crabs, the restaurant boasted live, mana-rich tier 3 Mud Crabs caught straight from Sri Lankan Orange Zones, brought to Singapore on glyph-warded barges in crates that sedated the animals for slaughter.

When Gwen arrived with the girls in tow, Whetu, Paul, Taj and Jonas were already seated, having come early to obtain bay view seating.

Whetu was drinking Cola, but the men were already half a dozen beers down the hatch.

“Yo!” Gwen hailed the Alesia Trio, Whetu included, who hailed back.

“No Morye as of yet,” Paul noted, but that wasn't to Gwen's surprise. If her father said he would be back tomorrow morning for the freighter, then that was when he was due. Though Gwen would have liked him to be here, to enjoy the celebratory dinner; she wasn't about to force him to attend.

A waiter saw to their seating, and Gwen browsed the menu. The Crabs clocked in at 98 Singaporean dollars per kilogram, which was reasonable given their difficulty of capture and the manner of their storage. Likewise, it took a Mage-Chef of considerable talent and skill to prepare a creature capable of tearing through sheets of galvanised steel with its claws.

The girls had only a hundred or so dollars left from the sale of their creature core, but Gwen was happy to use her private funds. The ‘shout’ was a fine Australian tradition; one Gwen was pleased to disburse upon the men who risked their lives for loyalty and favour, retrieving her friends from certain doom.

Gwen ordered for the group, additionally purchasing a bottle of Yarra Valley Riesling, whose beautiful stonefruit and floral palette would uplift the savoury taste of the juicy, fat Sri Lankan crab when joined in harmony with spices from the egg-beaten tomato-chilli.

When the servings came, Gwen was staring down two crabs the size of a small child. She should have paid attention when the waiter was explaining serving dimensions.

She wept for the loss of two HDM crystals from her collection, but it was worth it. As the group lavishly ate into the soft-tender flesh, their mouths oily with pepper and chilli, they could feel their mana replenishing impressively. Tier 3 Wildland products were rare in Sydney, usually supplied exclusively to Tier 1 cities. It wasn't too far to say that these crabs were one step away from the Mermen variety, capable of growing up to the equivalent of a Tier 6 Wildland beast.

With one bite, the juicy flesh filled her mouth, savoury and chilli and sweet all at once. Gwen was in heaven.

When the inevitable food coma took over the group, they sat and made small talk, discussing what life entailed once they returned to Sydney.

The men themselves would return to the military or take up Tower duties, becoming indisposed for the foreseeable future.

“Ai well miss you girls, but ai can’t say ai won’t be glad to see Orklund,” Whetu remarked, cleaning his hands in the lemony solution provided for patrons. “Ai’ve learned a lot and seen a lot though. Thank you. Really.”

“I am sorry the Inter-high competition never worked out, Whetu,” said Gwen apologetically.

“Ai’d dare say seeing the world, the dryads, ecksperiencing the fall of a city - more than made up for it. So did fighting those Mermen and that Void sheila. Man, that was a close call.”

Gwen raised a toast.

“To your safe return to Auckland, to Whetu O Turanga!”

“For New Zulland!” Whetu announced.

“Cheers!”

The gathering raised their glasses and clinked, filling the air with crystalline notes.

“Are all of youse going to do your Military Service?” Whetu asked the girls. He was already enrolled in Auckland and was merely awaiting the onset of July.

“I am, for sure,” Yue affirmed the Kiwi’s question. She turned with a look full of expectation towards the Alesia trio. “You guys don’t mind if I tag along, do you?”

“Be our pleasure.” Paul grinned affably.

“What could go wrong with two Alesia(s) on the team?” Taj noted wryly. “Double the power, double the bombastic fun.”

“Ah, haha…” Jonas laughed maniacally, finding Taj's projected vision of mayhem less than enterprising. He could already see the collateral reports that he’d be filling out after the ‘explosive’ and ‘expensive’ conclusion of each mission.

“Well, that’ll do. For Yue’s new party!” Gwen raised a toast.

The group obliged, some more happily than others. As much as Jonas and Taj jested, it was a given that Alesia would want Yue underfoot while she underwent Mandatory Military service. Where better to train her apprentice than under her trusted team?

“What about you, Gwen?” Yue inquired. “What are your plans?”

“Well, my big reveal at the Inter-high is toast,” Gwen sighed, not wanting to think about her Master so soon after their recent disengagement. “I’ll have to discuss it with Gunther, but I'd say Military service attached to the Tower. With the accolades I aim to pick up in the next two years, I can apply for university somewhere, maybe join Richard? Back in the day, I was aiming for Sydney Arcane U, but with the city like this, maybe somewhere in Shanghai? Either way, you know what needs to put on the back burner.”

Thinking of Richard, Gwen wondered if the Magus in training would be willing to stay with her in Australia if it meant that they would be serving directly under the Tower, working together to get a commendation into a prestigious university. He could earn money needed for tuition, as could she, and they could work out something between them that would be mutually beneficial. Mayhap that was the best way forward for them both, toiling together, helping one another as family and as partners in Spellcraft.

Then there was her 'new' family in China, towards which Gwen felt ambivalence. Here was an opportunity to relive a wholly neglected part of her old life. Then again, if even she were to desire to meet them, it would be on their terms and not hers. She was the country bumpkin living in the Sydney Frontier, while they were the denizens of the largest tier 1 metropolis in China. Travelling to and from a tier 1 city was highly restricted and unlikely to occur without greatly mitigating circumstances. She could apply as a refugee, of course, but that would mean separating from Alesia and Gunther, which would be both foolish and hazardous in her present circumstance.

She had thought her life mapped out only ten days ago - and now all of it was in shambles.

But 'such is life', was it not? Gwen put the feeling of annoyance from her mind. She would have to make do with the lemons she’d been given, and get on with the lemonade business.

“Gwen…” Elvia said suddenly, tugging at Gwen’s sleeve.

“Yes, Evee?”

“If… I want to stay with you guys, and my parents are adamant on going overseas… can I stay with you… in the Tower?”

“Of course!” Gwen exclaimed felicitously, grinning expansively. “We can share a room like always, though I am sure there’s plenty of room left now, you know-”

“Here’s to the three of you staying together then!” Jonas raised a toast. “Make your own team even! You just need an Abjurer and one other!”

Yue’s eyes twinkled.

Their very own party! They could take on missions, go on adventures, travel to exotic locations. With Gwen’s pull in the Tower and their combined talents, that was an entirely plausible scenario!

“Oh! I can see it!” Yue exclaimed, her face red with excitement. “We can be - the Dynamic Trio - plus two!”

A round of roaring laughter passed over the table.

A waitress cleared the empty shells. Their final dish was a wobbly coconut flan dripping with golden caramel.

“Oh. My. God. I am in heaven!” Yue exclaimed as the creamy pudding encountered her tongue.

Gwen smiled and dug in, watching Elvia close her eyes and enter a sweet-toothed nirvana. Whetu wasn’t big on the dessert, so Yue pilfered his bowl, and the girls shared it between them.

“Sure you don’t want to stay with us Whetu?” Yue coaxed the big man with a suggesting wink.

“When ai become a Magus, sure,” Whetu replied confidently. “When you necks see me, my punamu will be en-penetrable.”

Gwen felt a sudden clarity strike her. Wouldn't Richard fill the Abjurer spot? He was an Abjurer tier 1, with an Undine no less, capable of covering both support and tanking roles within a party. If they could recruit Richard to their cause, it would mean that they only needed one more member, perhaps a Transmuter or an Illusionist, and they were good to go.

It was perfect! Gwen was sure that Richard wouldn't refuse, at least not in his present circumstances. Even with the four of them, they could begin to take on Quests from the Tower once they started their Military Service. There was a silver lining around every cloud after all!

“To the future!” Gwen made a final toast, and the group honoured the sentiment by draining their cups.

With that, the much-lauded dinner came to an end. Gwen purchased some sauces to take home to Gunther and Alesia, storing them in her ring, and paid for the lavish meal in HDMs.

When they exited the restaurant and stepped into the riverside promenades, the city had changed entirely.

A concourse of scintillating colours refracted from the skyscrapers onto the meandering river, placidly flowing through the city's centre. The cooling air at the end of the day brought out the city’s citizens, packing the riverside with families and office workers out for dinner and relaxation. Compared to Sydney, the population in Singapore was far more homogenous, a veritable sea of Asian faces as far as the eye could see; the men in slim-fitting suits and white shirts, the women florid in their choice and colour.

On the not so distant horizon, the shape of Singapore’s Capital Tower loomed, rising from Downtown Core’s superdense city blocks toward the sky like a skyward sword.

As the blue hour came upon them, a bloom of colours swept the skyline. Massive illusionary glyph-arrays, embedded onto the sides of skyscrapers, burned the air with their dazzling hues. Transnational corporations haughtily displayed the crests of their companies, glowing and dimming, changing between adverts of products and services and giant emblazoned logos ten stories tall and dozens of meters across.

Further on, streaks of red and blue light flashing across the night sky indicated aerial Mage patrols, while here and there, in and amongst the crowd, Gwen could see the Military Mages in their dark uniforms patrolling the streets.

There was a strange oppression here that felt different to Gwen than the open air of Sydney. But she also felt a sense of safety that Australia lacked. The citizens played in the park without fear; the men and women looked affluent. Where Sydney had its glorious districts and suburbs, the vast majority of the inner and outer west remained stricken by neglect and poverty. But here, Singapore's CBD seemed festooned with men and women busy at work, at dinner, and at play wherever they looked. Even their warehouse districts were cleaner than Sydney's affluent harbourside.

“Shall we head back?” Jonas asked Gwen.

“Do you mind if we take the long way home?” Gwen’s eyes floated over the dreamlike river. When would she see a sight like this again? What would Sydney be like once they returned?

“Very well then,” Jonas approved.

The group moved, the men leading and the girls following, with the river against their flank. Their eyes filled with the refracted rainbow of transnational adverts, enjoying the wonder that is Singapore before their inevitable return to the war-torn home that awaited them.

* * *

Geylang. Singapore's premier red-light district.

“Target is moving through Geylang, fifty meters to Guillemard.” A young man with an impressive physique, wearing a tight singlet and blue jeans, spoke into a coded Message glyph as he busily mimed the eating of L32's famous prawn noodle Laksa. “Target has stopped. He is at Madam Lin's."

“Confirm target entry,” the cold voice of Control came over the glyph.

“Confirmed. Switching optics.”

As if displeased with the glare of the restaurant’s Daylight globes, the young man put on a pair of stylish sunglasses - American made Ray-Bans. He leaned back in appreciation of the famous noodle joint and its spicy serving of gut-churning wonton-prawn noodle and burped. A few glyphs passed over the aviator’s dark surface, and a Lesser Scry effect came into being.

“Confirmed. Target is engaged in negotiation with the Madam.”

“Target is entering level 2.”

“Target is with a female... Make that two females.”

“Target is…” the sound trailed off. Was this necessary? Their target was decidedly out for an all-night whore-a-thon.

“Keep watching,” Control implored. “Do not break scry. Target is exceedingly slippery.”

“Affirmative,” the voice replied despairingly, almost whimpering. “Target is now engaged in coitus.”

* * *

“Confirming Target 2.”

By the glowing waters of the riverside, a young man with a heavily accented voice moved fluidly past the crowd, tailing a group of foreigners. There was a tall, lithe girl among them, as tall as the Singaporean men around her, as well as a gigantic Polynesian who towered heads and shoulders over the public. He wasn't afraid of being seen, everywhere the group ventured, men turned their faces to steal glances at the girl, while children gawked at the dark-skinned giant with the facial tattoos and pointed.

“Target is returning on route 7 to the designated hostel.”

“Confirm observation status.”

“Confirmed. Target is six-foot, female, dark brown hair, shoulder length. Eyes, green. White dress, floral notes. Travelling with a contingent of Senior Mages. Advise next course of action.”

“Stay at medium operation distance. Move to maximum observation distance once the crowd thins,” Control’s voice came over the Message Glyph with the precision of a mechanical apparatus.

“Affirmative. Request for more information.”

“Granted.”

“Is capture operation tonight?”

“Negative, contact will initiate elsewhere. Continue as ordered.”

“Affirmative.”

* * *

The hostel that the Customs Officer recommended was both clean and cheap, much to the surprise of Gwen and her crew, despite its proximity to the city’s industrial blocks. The men took two rooms, two to each, and the girls took the other.

When Gwen, Elvia and Yue entered their tiny 'queen plus single' bedroom, the air condition had already been running, and the place was breezy and comfortable.

The girls showered in turn and made ready to tuck in for the night. Their designated Freighter for Brisbane was to be boarded at 0900 sharp, meaning they would need to be at the customs two hours prior.

They put the beds together and laid next to each other, feeling the warmth of one another's bodies in the dark. Gwen reached out and held Elvia's hand, and Elvia touched and found Yue.

"That's not my hand."

"..."

"Sorry."

Thus connected, the girls fell into silence.

“Hey, Gwen,” Elvia’s voice drifted through the invisible dimensions of the dark room.

“Yes, Evee?”

“Are you ever going to tell Debora’s mother the truth?”

“…”

“I wouldn’t,” Yue’s voice joined them. “If I were her mom, I would prefer if my daughter died defending her friends.”

“Yeah.” A long sigh lingered in the air. “I wouldn’t either.”

The sound of soft breathing filled the room.

“Gwen?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for saving us.”

“No need.” Gwen smiled in the dark. “You guys would have done the same for me.”

“You know it,” Yue’s voice interjected. “Good night.”

“Thanks, Yue.”

“ZZzzzz”

“…”

“Good night Evee.”

“Good night.”

"..."

“Hey, Gwen?"

“Evee… go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

* * *

The morning saw the group gathered outside the hostel, sans Morye.

“I’ll give him a call,” Jonas went of a little to the side and dialled Morye’s glyph.

He returned a moment later.

“Not answering. Left 'em a Message for the time and place though. Let’s get going.”

“Alright.”

Thanks to their convenient location, they were within walking distance to the Jurong Docks, which houses both a massive shipping terminal and a major Customs checkpoint. Though it would have been possible to take a passenger ship that had better comfort and amenities, the seats were often pre-booked, sold out long in advance. As such, for the occasional traveller, buying freight space on the daily Freighters served as a viable alternative.

The group walked through the warehouse area until they were hailed by a black-uniformed officer who directed them to the Customs Terminal, an impressive building with a modern facade of concrete and glass.

The ship they were to embark was the 'Crown Express', a Triple E class Freighter. From their vantage point, they could see the cargo-cranes presiding over the ship’s massive hull like skeletal fingers.

As usual, the difference between the interior and the exterior of the building differed by at least ten degrees, the humidity about 100 percent.

“Oh wow, I am alive again,” Yue exclaimed loudly, fanning her impressive bosom with her hand. The exterior had been so muggy that she had to unleash several buttons on her blouse.

“Yeah.” Gwen felt the sheen of perspirations on her bare arms cooling her limbs. “It’s a steamer out there.”

“Yo!”

The group turned to see Morye, still wearing the same clothes he had left with, lifting himself from a sunken sofa in the lounge. It was self-evident that he had at least spent a few hours sleeping in public.

“Good morning, Mr Song,” Elvia greeted him sweetly.

“Hi there, Angel.” Morye gave her a toothy grin. “Good morning, daughter-o-mine.”

“You look to be in good spirits, Dad.” Gwen forced a smile to her face.

“So I am.” Morye’s eyes followed through the crowd, exchanging nods and greetings until they fell upon Yue’s liberally frontage.

“Oh hello,” he said to Yue, not looking her in the eyes.

“Mr Song.” Yue stuck out her chest proudly, though her eyes were mirthfully watching Gwen’s face turning a shade of frost.

Whetu stepped between them with an expression full of wariness. He very much wanted to go home and not be delayed by a showdown in the middle of Singapore Customs.

“Okay, let's go home!” Jonas clapped, calling for the group's attention. “No delays, single file, follow me!”

A different officer greeted them this time, a young woman whose gaze lingered on Morye as he made flirtatious eyes at her.

“Just this way, through the scanner-portal” The girl pointed them in the right direction. “Do you have any volatile goods you like to report? It includes Transmutation or Evocation magical items of tier 2 and above, Conjuration based items of tier 3 and above. As well as anything you would like to volunteer for inspection. If you do not declare these items, Singapore's Maritime Code issues fines and sentences up to 10,000 LDMs and one year in prison."

The military men produced a number of items that had to be inspected for safety and clearance while Whetu, and the girls went on ahead with Morye.

“This way please,” the spritely girl pointed to a sectioned off series of corridors that divided the space between the boarding station and Singapore city. “Please proceed here, and here, the machine will scan you for any volatile substances.”

Elvia and Yue went first.

When it was Morye’s turn, the Customs officer flashed him a suggestive look, which he reciprocated by blowing her subtle kiss, causing her to giggle happily.

Gwen felt the ire rising in her chest, but forced it down like a good girl who knew not to act up in public.

Her father went next into the partitioned section; then it was finally her turn.

There was a tunnel inside. It was empty, white, sterile and impeccably clean like many places in Singapore. Her father was nowhere in sight and must have gone through quickly. Gwen made it about halfway when a mandala of glyphs lit up. She picked up her pace and walked forward, hoping that whatever they were scanning for wouldn’t pick up anything strange, like a flux of void mana, or her Kirin amulet.

There was a brilliant flash of silver-white mana, the tell-tale colour of Conjuration, one that Gwen had seen many times before.

A Teleportation Circle? Gwen wondered to herself. What could they be scanning with space-time magic?

The mana faded the next instant, and Gwen found herself in a cubic room, about four meters across and likewise sterile. She was standing in the centre, atop a fading circle of spent teleportation mandalas. There were three men by the door at the far end, two in dark suits and one in the navy uniform of a Customs’ Officer. She recognised that it was Liu - the very one that had spoken to her yesterday.

“Shit!” Gwen cursed under her breath. “Ariel!”

The marten materialised from thin air, filling the room with the stink of ozone. Whatever was happening, Gwen would have the insurance of a familiar by her side to harass her foes if things went south.

“Very impressive, Ms Song,” Liu said, golf clapping politely. “I just want to say that it is best if you do not make a scene and listen very carefully to what I have to say.”

“Who are you people?” Gwen narrowed her eyes and leaned back into a combat stance. If need be, she could unleash Caliban in his spider form, but that would also mean that she was desperate enough to endanger herself to greater exposure. Gwen’s mind turned to that disturbing incident she had experienced in Blackheath. “Are you Slavers? Traders?”

Liu seemed taken aback by her outlandish accusation.

“Oh no, nothing of the kind! We’re legitimate Officers of the law, I assure you.” Liu produced an I.D card and waved it in front of her. It scintillated as it refracted the light, showing the unmistakable symbol of the Singapore Tower - a rainbow-hued Merlion. “I assure you that you are in no trouble, only that you may be detoured a little from your return home.”

Gwen did not drop her guard and instead applied a layer of Bark Skin charged with elemental lightning, causing arcs of blue-white electricity to leap from her body.

“Now listen to me,” Liu continued. He pointed to the two men beside him. “These two gentlemen are from the Shanghai Tower.”

Gwen felt her heart fumble a beat. Mages from a tier 1 Tower! How would they differ from her own? What tier were they at, and what abilities did they possess?

One of the men removed his glasses, revealing a stoic, featureless Asian face that was pancake flat and almost reptilian in its impassivity. The man pressed something besides his ear, and a pink-green Ioun Stone began to float around his head.

“I am Wei.” The stone took a few seconds to attune to the man’s Astral soul, translating his speech from Mandarin to common. “We are from the MSS.”

Gwen blinked. What the hell is the MSS?

Wei frowned. Confusion was not the reaction he was expecting.

“The Ministry of State Security.”

Gwen's eyes told him that she still had no idea.

“They would be the rough men that The People of the Republic of China sent to do rough work on their behalf,” Liu explained helpfully. “The kind that keeps you and me awake at night lah.”

“What do they want with me?”

“It’s more so what they want with your father that matters, but orders have come through to take you in as well. I am sorry.”

“…” Gwen wasn’t sure how to respond. As often as she’d travelled in her old life, she was never once detained, not even when she flew to the Middle East, visited the fabled Petra, and came back to Australia laden with souvenirs.

“I am not going.”

“You will.” Wei reached into his pocket and retrieved a small cube. “Willingly or not, your choice. It doesn’t change the outcome.”

“Where is my father?”

“He is on the way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Shanghai. All I can say is that you will not be harmed.”

“Are you going to read me my rights?” Gwen felt stupid the moment the words left her mouth.

“…” Wei’s expression face took on a slight, displeased frown. He palmed the golden cube, which must be some imprisonment based magic item. “You have sixty seconds to decide to comply.”

Liu stepped forward, hands extended in front of him in a gesture of peace.

“Now, Ms Song, I understand that you are personally acquainted with Lord Gunther of Sydney, so I am going to make this quick and easy for you. In a moment, your friends will emerge on the other side of that barrier, but they won’t be seeing you. As a favour from the Singapore Tower, and I do mean this - I am going to be the bearer of your message of peace. Recorded here-”

The man pointed to what must be a Lumen recorder pinned to his chest.

“If your friends were to attempt a rescue or cause a scene, it would be not only futile; it would also land them in prison lah, so think carefully about your next words.”

Perhaps a year ago, Gwen would have felt awash with panic and despair. But all she felt now was cold calm. This ‘Customs Officer’, Liu, was speaking to her as cordially and patiently as a man in his position was capable of doing. Liu wasn’t rude; he wasn’t condescending. He was merely explaining the situation to her as one might to a neophyte on their first entry into some strange new zone.

Dispelling Ariel and her Bark Skin, Gwen faced the Lumen-Recorder and tried to relaxed her body. She wrangled a convincing smile to her face.

“Evee, Yue, I am not in danger. My father has become involved in some trouble. I need to go with him to sort out whatever this problem may be. I will try to get back to Australia a soon as I can. I’ll contact you as soon as I am able. Tell Gunther to contact the Singapore Tower for details.”

“Is that okay?” Gwen asked Liu, who turned off the recorder.

“Excellent, Mrs Song. I find it difficult to believe that you are just a high school student. A lesser Mage would have reacted far more… passionately.”

Gwen said nothing. Instead, she turned to face the two Chinese men and put her wrists forward in a gesture of supplication.

“I am all yours.”

Wei and the others looked at her wrists blankly.

Gwen felt her face redden as she pulled her hands back to her sides.

“Is this not how authoritarian arrest work these days?”

"Not if you come willingly, Ms Song," Wei noted drily. “Though I cannot tell you why you are needed; I can inform you that you are not wanted for a crime.”

“So my father is wanted for a crime?”

Her father had previously told her that he killed someone he shouldn’t have - but then had spoken little else about it. Was this his past catching up to him? If so, why was she being taken along with him? Was this a sins of the father scenario? Who was after Morye and why was she needed?

While she tried to recollect any details of Morye’s outburst, the two men-in-black stepped past Liu and stood beside Gwen. She noted that one of them was half a head shorter than her, while the other was just below the added height of her heels. It made them far less intimidating now that she was standing next to them toe to toe and looking over their heads.

“Please relax,” Wei said without any particular emotion. “This might be a little nauseating for someone who's never experienced it.”

They each placed a hand on the porcelain skin of her wrist.

“Wha-”

There was a flash as the Teleportation Circle reactivated.

Then they were gone.

“Where’s Gwen?” Jonas became puzzled when he passed the checkpoint himself and found Elvia and Yue milling about aimlessly.

“She was right behind us.” Yue paced back toward the gate, but the opaque exit barrier prevented both return entry and stickybeaking.

“What’s wrong?” Whetu came through a corridor to their right, sensing the anxious tension in the air when he saw the companions meandering aimlessly. “Did Gwen get held back? She’s got an entire wardrobe in that Ring of hers. Was there something she should have declared?”

“Maybe?” Yue shrugged, feeling a little agitated that her friend had seemingly evaporated; if they calculated the time since Elvia first entered, ten minutes would have passed by now. "Has anyone seen Uncle Song? He's not here either.”

The group collectively denied seeing Morye.

It became self-evident that the situation had soured. If something had happened to the two Songs, who could they hold accountable? What if the Tower was responsible?

Then the door to the opposite entryway opened with a hiss.

“Gwen?”

The friendly grin of a Customs Officer greeted them. A few of the party recognised the man as the one Gwen had spoken to the morning prior.

The man raised both hands to show his innocent intentions.

“Hello everyone. I am Sergeant Liu. I have a message for you, from Miss Song." Liu pointed slowly to a lumen device on his chest.

In response, the military men formed up against the two girls and Whetu, shielding them against unseen dangers.

An illusory vision flickered before them as the pin on the officer’s chest began to broadcast. It was Gwen's visage, suspended midair.

“Evee, Yue, I am not in danger. My father has become involved in some trouble. I need to escort him to sort out whatever this problem may be. I will try to get back to Australia as soon as I can. I’ll contact you as soon as I am able. Tell Gunther to contact the Singapore Tower for details.”

Her measured voice died off. The illusion began to loop.

“Would you like to hear it again?” the man proposed congenially.

“What the FUCK did you do to Gwen?!” Yue's infamously short fuse exploded with a gout of flame that radiated from her body, forcing the others to step away warily.

Yue could hardly believe what she was hearing. They’d just gotten back together! And now Gwen was taken, again?! She wasn’t about to let that happen, not on her life.

“You better hand her over to us right now, Mister!" Yue hissed between her teeth. "Or this place is going to be called the Jurong Disaster Zone.”

Liu sighed. He looked towards the military men.

“Miss Song left willingly and peacefully. Are you sure that you want to disregard her efforts to send you all home safe and sound?” Liu spoke patiently, his expression unchanged from the gentle smile he wore at all times.

"Bullshit! Where is she? How far can she be? I want to see her! Let her talk to us!"

“Yue.” Jonas moved beside the Fire Mage. “Yue, calm down.”

“Yue…” Elvia tugged her friend’s shirt, holding onto Yue' arm even though it caused the skin on her hands to welt.

Yue stared at her companions, especially Elvia, whose eyes were large and watery and full of imploring anxiety.

“Where has Gwen being taken to?” Paul demanded.

“I am not at liberty to say,” Liu replied. “The Singapore Tower was not able to intervene; else we would have tried our best to delay or defer the order. Lord Gunther is one of our benefactors, after all.”

Yue’s fire glowed hotter, stoked by her rising ire.

"Ouch!" Elvia retrieved her hands, blowing them to cool her blistered skin.

“Yue, dis is not the time, it is not what Guin would have wanted.” Whetu stepped between Liu and the soon to be rampaging Evoker. “Please, you must also consider your family at home, they are waiting.”

The air between the two parties broiled and throbbed as the standoff scorched the humid air, transforming the glyph-cool air into the dry heat of a desert. Surprisingly, the Military Police hadn't made their presence known, though the group felt that should Yue lay a finger on Liu, the black uniformed men would suddenly materialise from the corridors.

“Put us in contact with Gunther, now,” Yue said at last. “I want to speak to him.”

Liu nodded in agreement.

“That much, I can do lah.”

Yue allowed the mana to drain from her body, the fiery mana filling the air like helium from a deflating balloon, causing the ambient temperature to rise.

“Gwen…”

Yue placed a hand on Elvia and apologised for her emotional blunder. The wounds on the healer's hands were already mending, but they must have stung like hell for a minute.

The party delayed their boarding while Liu used his Message device to route their call through the Tower directly. After about two minutes of operators exchanging stones and glyphs, Gunther’s voice addressed them through the speaker glyph.

“Liu, what’s wrong? Have my team recovered the girls and Whetu? Is the matter urgent?"

“Gunther!” Yue interjected before Jonas could answer. “Someone took Gwen!”

"What you mean 'took'? A third party has abducted Gwen?"

"We don't know! We were at the customs, going through final boarding, then Gwen was gone!"

Gunther became silent.

"Magus Liu, are you there?"

"Yes, Lord Gunther."

“Liu, what does the Singapore Tower have to say?”

“It was an urgent matter that passed through the highest channels in the Tower, Sir,” Liu replied flatly and matter-of-factly. “We have been assured that Ms Song would be unharmed. Once the matter was resolved, she would be given an opportunity to leave.”

“Details?”

“I have sent a missive to your Tower, Sir. It should arrive soon.”

More silence as the gathering waited for Gunther to reply.

“Alright. Jonas, how long until the party is back in Sydney?” Gunther inquired.

“Ten days on the Freighter to Brisbane, then a few hours from the station,” Jonas replied respectfully.

“Yue?”

“Yes, Gunther?” Yue croaked, her voice a little coarse for all her anxious feelings of helplessness. She would have felt far better if a few Fire Balls had been exchanged.

“I’ll take care of it. Alesia misses you, so come home safely. Don’t delay anymore. Leave Gwen to me.”

“Alright, is Gwen going to be-“

“I’ll let you know once you’re back.”

“But…”

“She’s going to be fine. I think I have an inkling where she's gone if Morye was likewise taken.”

“Okay.” Yue replied sulkily.

The device disconnected.

“Satisfied?” Liu asked them. “You better get going. You’re going to miss the ship.”

“No, I am not satisfied,” Yue replied cattily, grinding her teeth audibly. It was still hard to believe that Gwen just got shanghaied only a few feet away from returning home. “Let’s go.”

Elvia and Whetu followed Yue as she stomped away.

“Allow me to apologise for the outburst, Sergeant… Magus Liu,” Jonas intoned sincerely. It was just as well that Alesia wasn't here, else this place would henceforth be known as the Jurong Disaster Epicentre.

“It’s fine, Major. Another De Botton in the making, huh? You have your work cut out for you.”

“You know it.” Jonas made a face that looked ten years older than his actual age. His moustache was greying rapidly again now that Yue was back.

“God’s speed, Major. Do come visit Singapore in more peaceful times.”

Jonas saluted.

The military men exchanged final farewells and left for the freighter. Ten days wasn’t a long, but it wasn’t short either. Knowing Yue, she’d probably demand to spar to burn off steam.

Jonas sighed, was it wise to enable another battle maniac?

* * *

Gwen vomited on Wei’s shoes.

A torrent of chilli-crab, mostly-digested, acrid with stomach acid.

The MSS Red Guard had wanted to keep a tight schedule on his quarry and so hadn’t noticed her ashen face turning green the moment they passed through at the Inter-State Teleportation Circle.

ISTC Station sat at the heart of the Frontier city.

The girl had been hale after the short-range teleportation, behaving as though she was used to the lurching feeling of vertigo that accompanied short jumps. By that measure, Wei had imagined that she should be fine to withstand the Long-Range Teleportation Circle, one that took them almost 3800 kilometres across the ethereal plane via an extended jaunt through space-time.

Only one such station existed in Singapore, embedded at the base of the Tower, well shielded and guarded, protected by layer upon layers of glyphs from every conceivable school of magic, from enemies corporeal and ethereal.

The cost of transporting three Mages that distance was astronomical, but the powers that be had decreed it done, and so it was done.

When the trio passed through, however, Gwen Song had immediately slumped in Wei's arms and let loose a torrent of Singapore’s choicest crab sauce all over his shoes and pant leg, painting the blue-white glyph of the teleportation circle red and brown.

His partner, Yung, was stifling a snigger.

“I told you we should have sedated her.” he chuckled.

His face was so annoying that Wei wanted to kick the vomit toward Yung’s face, allowing his forever-single partner an opportunity to finally dine with a comely lass.

“You okay?” He asked Gwen in Mandarin.

The girl replied in the English Common Tongue, but the language wasn't Wei's forte.

He pulled the Translation Ioun Stone from beside his ear and passed it over her head.

“Fo-kas,” he told her in English. “Tie to at-u-en”

Gwen mastered as much of her mind as she could under the circumstances and felt the stone affix to an orb around her head, falling into place until it rested just under her earlobe. It gave the impression that she was wearing a small opal earring.

“Better?” Wei asked.

“I am dying,” Gwen moaned miserably.

How could she even begin to describe the feeling of Inter-state Teleportation?

She supposed that it was like sitting on a carnival ride - one of those topsy-turvy ones, the kind that turned upside down and sideways, delivering momentum, vertigo, and lurching, inertia all at once. The nauseating effect she felt was the same thrilling displacement, multiplied a hundredfold, magnified by the concourse of time and space.

Gwen felt as though she'd been taken apart and put together again an indistinct amount of time later, onto a heavily guarded platform glowing with quicksilver Conjuration mana.

“…” Wei motioned to one of the guards, who motioned to one of the lesser guards, who spoke into his Message glyph for a cleaner.

A Message spell blossomed next to the Red Guard’s ears.

“Report.”

“I am on site with Target 2, awaiting further instructions.”

“Extract Target to Facility Forty-Three, await handover procedures.”

“Affirmative, Control, proceeding to site now.”

“Where we headed?” Jung asked his partner.

“Forty-Three.”

"Huh."

Jung raised a bushy brow. He turned to study the Mage caught in his arms, whose face was as pale as a ghost's. The girl was uncommonly pretty, very much so, almost like one of those idols that frequented the Vid-casts. She was Eurasian descent, her ancestry indistinct and impossible to discern, and young - far too young to be someone of note. It meant that whoever had requested her was probably after someone in her family, not an unusual task delegated to the MSS, but impressive nonetheless given that the political and material capital they had just expended.

“Do you know anything, Wei?”

“Shut up,” Wei said coldly, shooting his partner a stern look. “Loose lips sink ships.”

Jung shrugged.

They picked up Gwen by both arms and began to drag her toward the second localised Teleportation Circle.

Gwen raised her groggy head and tried to look around at their surroundings. The room was bright with glowing glyphs that attuned the immense Conjuration magic required to activate Teleportation across such tremendous distance. The interior architecture was geometric, simplistic, ultra-modern, giving the chamber the air of a brutalist dystopia.

The room they took her to was smaller, with Wei leaving behind puddles of dripping crab as he walked. Gwen felt impressed even in her illness. Whatever these men were, they were consummate professionals with singly focused minds. She was glad she didn’t try out her luck against them. What kind of powers did Tier 1 Mages possess? Or Rather, what items did they have access to that the Frontier Mages could only imagine?

Another flash of gut pounding Conjuration later, Gwen felt barely capable of standing on both feet. She felt half-way drunk, drugged by nausea, like the staggered feeling of being stuck on a rocking ship for hours without end. That the men persisted in taking her through the facility without so much as an opportunity for cleaning up spoke loudly of their priorities.

They eventually reached the end of a long corridor, where she was bodily handed over to a pair of uniformed guards, now clad in dark olive khaki with red striped lapels.

“Take her to the infirmary,” Wei suggested. “Orders are to take care of this one. She's important.”

The guards saluted smartly and took Gwen by the arms. Much to her relief, Gwen soon found herself on a gurney, being wheeled through alternating sections of dimness and brightness. She listened to the clatter of the wheels echoing through the corridor, feeling like death. Whatever, wherever they were, the walls were solid concrete.

Jesus. She thought to herself. Feeling sure that she was now 'up shit creek' without a paddle. Whatever her father had done must have made powerful men upset. Who the hell did he kill? The son of a Politburo Secretariat? Or perhaps the son of a general? Even in her diminished state, she could tell that the soldiers accompanying her were professional Military. These men were no third-rate Frontier militia, their uniforms, the way the spoke and saluted one another, suggested that they did not moonlight a second profession.

The gurney stopped.

The room was much too bright, so bright it hurt her eyes.

She was just about to will her arm to move across her face when an alien coldness touched her thighs.

Gwen shot up from her prone position, heedless of the queasiness assailing her body. Her head pounded, feeling as though struck by a Catapult spell.

She was face to face with a woman in a white doctor’s coat, underneath which was the omnipresent olive khaki uniform. Her world came into focus. The doctor was holding a nappy-towel in one hand, the other hovering over a patch of her liberated dinner. There was a red flag with five gold stars on her left lapel.

China.

Had they come to China in that short a while? One single teleportation? How was that possible? The amount of energy it took to move mass was inverse-squared by distance. Just how many HDMs did they use to transfer three adults through to China?

More importantly, where in China were they?

“I… I er…” Gwen tried to speak, but her stomach quickly deposited a gift of revolting liquids in her mouth.

“Restoration~” The female doctor gave her a comforting smile, happily incanting the equivalent of WD-40 for the human body. Gwen felt her disorientation fall away as the spell coursed through her body and calmed her frayed nerves.

“Where am I?” she asked, feeling the Ioun Stone working its charm of Comprehend Language. The man called Wei had given her the stone without much thought. Were such magic items that pedestrian in Tier 1 cities? The simple device was easily four HDM Crystals in Sydney.

“A secure facility, that’s all you need to know for now.” The doctor beamed confidently at her. “Glad you're feeling alright. Want to get changed out of that filth? Ventilation is not good here. There’s a screen over there you can use.”

Gwen nodded and pushed herself off the gurney, balancing herself when the platform moved.

She performed a quick mental checkup of her current status.

On her hand were still her rings - a Ring of Evasion, a Storage Ring, and a Band of Contingency. Whoever abducted her here deemed her docile enough to leave Gwen her magic items. Did they take a peek at her ring though? Not that her wardrobe would help. She wasn’t sure. At any rate, it didn’t feel her items had tampered. If so, she could deduce that these 'people' were likely serious when they stated that they meant her no harm. After all, who could forgo the temptation of a ‘free' large-size Storage Ring? Especially one that still had thirty odd HDM crystals and a Portable Habitat?

Gwen obediently proceeded to hide her shame behind the tri-fold screen.

“There’s going to be a more thorough inspection later, but I’ll be taking your bio-metrics and generating an identity card for you,” The female doctor said, passing over the box of body-wipes.

Gwen wiped away the foul-spelling chilli sauce, then found the first outfit she had stashed on her pile of clean laundry - a pair of cut-ff white khaki shorts paired with a cropped-sleeve sky-blue blouse. Gwen gave her hair a quick spritz with a fresh wipe as well, allowing the overflowing bundle to cascade over her neck and shoulders. She then carefully stowed her precious Mary Janes after a meticulous wipe and materialised a pair of wedge heeled sneakers she had purchased in Singapore, which she put aside.

“Over here.” the doctor indicated. “I am Lieutenant Miao, but you can call me Vivian.”

“Thanks, Vivian.” Gwen followed the doctor’s directions demurely, standing upon a set of scales. Vivian looked a little older than thirty or so, with crows feet just beginning to appear near the corner of her dark eyes. She had a friendly face, though her mannerisms were distant and professional.

“Just under 60kg,” Vivian drew with her fingers onto a data slate. “A little on the low-side for your height. Sit here.”

Vivian took measurements of Gwen’s arms and shoulders, measuring her sitting height and then the length of her legs with a bamboo ruler. The doctor then scratched away on her pad.

“What kind of slate is that?” Gwen asked. It reminded her of an E-Ink electronic device.

“Oh, this?” Vivian turned to show her the ‘pad’. It looked to be a carbon slate enchanted with some morphic transmutation spell. When touched, it was possible to inscribe words and numbers upon it. “Ah, you’re from Australia, no? Frontier cities are not allowed to import intelligent Magi-tech.”

“Ha, we’re a pretty backwater.” Gwen tried to deflect the feeling of awkward inferiority. Was there such a difference? Did that mean the tier 1 cities had computation engines and modern conveniences? Did they have internet?

“Hey, I’d kill for one of your Black-Angus Aurochs steaks though, they are EXPENSIVE. You guys must eat it all the time over there. From what I've seen in the vid-casts, they're all over the place.”

“Yeah, we eat those a lot,” Gwen lied, feeling strange that she had never even heard of such a thing. Maybe she had eaten Auroch before? Gwen couldn’t tell. Usually, food appeared, and she ate.

“AH! So jealous!” Dr Miao stifled a smile. “Okay, some important questions now that your basic biometrics are done.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you ever had sexual relations with Magical Creatures?”

“…” Gwen blinked innocently at the good doctor.

“I need a yes or no,” Dr Miao intoned seriously.

“No.”

“Very good.”

“Have you ever had sexual relationships with a Demi-human?”

“…”

“No. Is this a thing here? In tier 1 cities?"

"You'll be surprised..."

"Okay."

“Have you ever had sex-”

“No.”

“Right.” Vivian studied Gwen from head to toe. The girl certainly did not look the quiet, bookish type. “Continuing.”

“Have you never been admitted to an institution? Such as for abuse of substances, mental illness, or temporary derangement.”

“Temporary derangement?"

“Such as Enchantments, or Illusions.”

“Have I … ever been glamoured?”

“Indeed.”

Gwen fell silent. Did short duration attacks count? Did Edgar count? The bastard had gotten pretty deep into her psyche, touched her Astral Soul, even. Gunther had told her that Morye killed him. Speaking of her father, how is he doing? Where could he be now?

“No.”

Vivian smiled.

“Okay.”

“That’s it. I’ll have your card generated when you need it.” Vivian smirked at her. “If you need it.”

“What happens now?”

“Now you go to a temporary place of residence.”

A Message spell bloomed beside Vivian's face; she gingerly touched a finger to her ear.

“Yep, we’re done. You can take her now.”

Gwen stepped into her shoes, feeling the new leather flex.

“Oh, my.” Vivian looked up from her seat, her pencil-thin legs crossed and enveloped in her dark olive pencil skirt. Her eyes scanned Gwen's white legs, made whiter by the white sneakers and her antique-white shorts. “Very impressive, Ms Song. Are you certain that you’ve never had…”

“No.” Gwen cut the woman off before she could suggest something scandalous. “I am only sixteen, after all.”

“Soon to be Seventeen.” Vivian smiled. “In the unlikely instance that you may be spending it here, I’ll be sure to bring a cake.”

“Wha?” Gwen’s eyes grew large as walnuts, her hazel orbs dilating.

Her birthday was in May! It was still March!

The double doors opened.

Two olive uniformed men presented themselves and saluted the doctor.

“Escorting Prisoner 1406 to the containment area.”

“Containment area?!” Gwen snapped alarmingly. What was she, an animal specimen? An exotic species to be gawked at? What was this place and what were they doing? “1406?!”

Did she get transported into another world was this 1984? Are they now headed to Room 101?! Are there going to be rats?

“Please come with us without incident,” one of the men professionally intoned when Gwen refused to budge from the spot.

“Vivian, tell me...”

“Hope I won't be seeing you Gwen, but if I do, I’ll bring cake!” the doctor proclaimed happily.

“No, wait!”

The men took her by the arms and pushed her from the room. These men were not like Wei. They had little patience and even less delicacy. They were grunts, foot soldiers, and they were here to shut up and do their duty. When Gwen calmed herself enough to observe them, she noticed something that shocked her to her core.

They were NoMs!

The soldiers were Non-Magical, normal, human beings!

Could she escape? Surely she could overpower NoMs.

Gwen felt a tingle of lightning coalesce in her body, responding to her thoughts. One of the guards clenched her arm tightly until her muscle began to ache, it was sure to leave a bruise on her tender skin.

“I wouldn’t.” He continued to move her without pause. His companion said nothing, his face entirely robotic.

They took her into another corridor, and another, then another again.

Then they pushed through a set of double doors.

A long corridor, featureless and derelict of colour, greeted Gwen. The containment chamber was a row of cells with thick, perspex-glass at the entrance, with no visible entry point. A total of five cells made up the entirety of the rectangular space, giving the air a cold and malicious wintriness.

One of the guards activated a hidden glyph, and Gwen was pushed into the cell, passing between the perspex with the sensation of slipping between its molecules. Another incantation and the transparent wall once again became impassably solid. Inside the cell was a stainless steel bathroom throne fixed onto a drinking fountain. Adjacent to it was a foam bed clad in a white sheet. The floor was pieced together by cemented grey tiles and the rest of the room was formed of seamless, moulded concrete.

Gwen caught herself against the wall and turned to glare at the guards, who ignored her and retreated without a word.

The transparent pane radiated an impenetrable aura.

The walls looked especially made to resist all assault.

Then the floor began to thrum.

Gwen felt her mana drain away as an unnatural fatigue overcame her body. She felt as though she'd trained for hours, that she had emptied her reserves over and over.

She tried to access her Astral body but found herself incapable of turning inward into the inner realm. Even her Sigils felt diminished, barely registering against her force of will. Her rings likewise, felt dormant and inaccessible, though the passive effects seemed unimpacted. She tried to summon Ariel or Caliban, but the Conjuration Sigil was silent, her familiars torpid in their pocket dimensions.

Gwen felt an unbidden wave of mental exhaustion washed over her. She fell into the bunk, feeling the solid steel beneath the thin foam rap unsympathetically against her buttocks.

Her magic…

It felt as though she'd lost a limb.

Even in her most desperate hour, the raging torrents of elementally charged mana had been with her, coursing through her veins. Now she was without even that.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus her breathing, which had noticeably quickened.

“Calm,” she said to herself. “Evee.”

“Evee.” “Evee.” “Evee.”

Her heart-rate slowed.

She felt drowsy and exhausted.

Why couldn't she be within the cargo hold of a Triple-E Freighter ship?

Maybe her present circumstance was just a dream. Maybe when she woke up, she would be amongst between two bulkheads, and Yue would be trying to wake her up by suffocating her with her comically large bosoms. Gwen willed herself to remain conscious, but it only made her sleepier.

O Unknowable higher power of benevolence, she pleaded to the general air. Please let this be a bad dream.

* * *

Her alarm rang, a screeching catcall that may as well be the indistinct crying of babies in the night. It increased in volume until it filled her ears like tinnitus.

Her eyes shot open.

The Awakening Ceremony.

The Awakening Stone glimmered faintly.

“Hmm, you have certainly some affinity…” the instructor noted, but his expression was distant. “I don't see a sigil though... “ His words felt like a death sentence.

Beside them, Yue celebrated her newly discovered affinity for flames.

At school, snotty girls and smirking boys appraised her cynically, audibly whispering that she wasted the air just by standing there. "She should just transfer to a vocational institution," they mocked her maliciously. There was a place where she belonged, and it wasn't here in the Magical Curriculum.

“Shut ya pie-holes, go fuck yourselves!” Yue’s firecracker voice blew those snide whispers away while Elvia gently held her hand. Gwen’s pale face broke into a wane smile.

“Thanks, Yue. Thanks, Evee.”

Mother's disappointment.

Father's apathy.

Percy's preponderance.

The futile training.

The Field Trip.

"You coming?" Mr Crusoe's face melted away, the illusory glamour fading until it revealed the cowled form of the Dust Mage, Edgar. Debora was dominated, holding Gwen by twisting her arm into an impossible angle.

“Don’t hurt her, I’ll come with you,” came Yue’s voice, leaden with dread and loathing.

Gwen felt Debra’s immovable Bronze Flesh dig deep into her tender skin; the pain was sharp enough to cause her to whimper.

“See? It’s not hard to behave, girls." Edgar chuckled cruelly. “Especially with a little persuasion.”

And then they were in the cave with the Rainbow Serpent's egg. Gwen watched in horror as Yue’s eyes glazed over, smiling dreamily.

“That would be lovely, to be like Alesia…”

Gwen shrieked insanely, crying out as Edgar entered Yue and began to consume her friend's animus. She felt something building up within her, boiling over, spilling out. There was a burst of darkness, not unlike the discharge of a tenebrous pustule discharging its cargo of malicious energies.

Edgar stared in disbelief at his displaced arm and leg, then teleported away. Just as well that he had a meat-shield handy to take the brunt of Gwen's attack.

Afterall, who'd thought the girl would be a Void user?

"No!" Gwen heard herself cry out.

A funeral.

Gwen hunched over from the weight of her guilt.

Yue's casket was kept closed for the ceremony.

Henry stood beside her, sombrely dressed in his dark tweed jacket and a grey woollen vest.

“You can be honest with me, child. I will accommodate you, for your sake, for Alesia’s sake, to the best of our abilities. What do you say?”

“I want POWER,” Gwen began. “I want the power to save my friends. If I had been more powerful…” Her eyes were dead, two hazel stones staring into the middle distance, puffed from tears ducts that had long run dry.

"You will have it," Henry intoned. "But with power, comes accountability."

The old man talked of obligation, of the remorse that came with dominion. Gwen nodded. She'd agree to anything as long as Henry was willing to teach her. She was willing to give her all.

Fruitful Training.

Elvia's understanding.

Gunther's kindness.

Mark Chandler's quest.

Blackheath.

Gwen woke from the aftermath of Caliban's carnage, scared and alone, whimpering and mewling like a snivelling child. She'd thought herself ready for anything, but not for this.

Gunther appeared like a visage of Apollo and Gwen sunk into his strong arms, feeling safe at last. There was nothing for Gunther to teach her though. Nothing was left alive within the slaver's compound.

Her familiar had dined to its heart's content.

"Debby!"

Debora's face moved from Gwen's, a silver thread of saliva parting between them. Debora's hands wrapped around Gwen's waist and pulled her closer. Gwen's heart was still reeling from the rejection of the immovable Gunther Shultz. Debora's interest came as a panacea that she needed. Without thinking, Gwen returned the kiss and allowed the fire to stoke, flaming high in the long night of the cold Outback.

Debora's warm body.

Uncle's invitation.

Percy's esteem.

Elvia's companionship.

Only Debora gave Gwen what she wanted.

Debora said she loved her.

Gwen said nothing.

But it would do.

They kissed again.

When she opened her eyes, they were in Rosebay. A faceless companion, Yue's replacement who Gwen never liked, was skewered like a meaty kabob on a Merman's spear. Elvia rushed forward haphazardly to heal the poor sod, sobbing and crying as the mortal wound liberated her innards.

Gwen desperately incanted a Void Bolt, but her constitution was far too feeble, she was already skin and bones.

Elvia’s body fell beside her like a battered, broken doll, a toy in blood.

Alesia pulls her away. There was no time to grieve.

Her Master must return to the Grot; else all is lost.

Debora took Gwen by the arms and pulled her away.

"No!" Gwen moaned, trashing in Debora's arm. "Don't eat me! For fuck's sake, don't! Spare me, kill me even, but not that!"

"This is the only way we can be strong." Faceless explained to her. "You're too weak."

Gwen trashed and kicked as Faceless began her terrible work. In desperation she channelled everything she had into her Evocation Sigil, feeling it fill with the life draining darkness.

"You can't have it! It's mine! MINE!" she screamed insanely. She channelled everything she had, feeling the last motes of her consciousness fade away, preferring suicide over being consumed by a skin-changer.

Faceless stopped when she reached Morye's kirin necklace.

There was a moment of hesitation.

A black hole tore the sky asunder, smothering Sydney with its enervating rays, consuming everything.

* * * *

Gwen shot up with a violent start.

What the FUCK was that? She thought to herself, feeling her skin slickered with shimmering cold sweat, sticky against the stifling futon.

The room was dark. Was it night time? Had they turned the lights off? What kind of a dream was that? No, that wasn't so much a dream but a waking nightmare. Was it a night-terror induced by her anxiety? Gwen tried to orientate her mind. The vexing vision had felt so real, so authentic, so organic and intimate.

“Gwen?” a voice came across the hall, muffled and distant, from the room adjacent to her own. A familiar voice. A voice that at this moment, was hateful to her.

“Dad?” Gwen felt her voice tremble tumultuously; anger, gladness, fear and loathing forming a cocktail of volatile emotions. “Dad, what… what the fuck is happening? Why I am here?”

“Don’t speak… go to sleep. Everything will be okay tomorrow.”

“I don’t… I…”

“Shhhhh, the walls have ears. Tomorrow.”

Gwen tried to shut up, but her good girl persona had run out of fuel.

"What tomorrow?" Gwen vehemently spat in the dark. "What does that even mean? Tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow! All the way to our dusty deaths!"

"What are you on about? Is that a poem?" Morye hissed next door. "Get some sleep. You're going to need it."

But could she sleep now?

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you."

"..."

There, it was done. Now she could sleep.

Evee. Gwen chanted like a mantra inside her head. One Evee. Two Evees. Three Evees.

Slowly, inevitably, the lull of sleep came.

Thankfully, this time, without the nightmares.

Then there was light.

Without warning, darkness turned to day; blasting every inch of the holding cell; eradicating every inch of shadow.

The dazzling glare flooded the inside of Gwen’s eyes with a stark whiteness that sent her into a blind panic. She rolled off the bed and onto her knees, meeting the cold floor with her knees. The grey tiles thrummed with anti-magic resonance, forcing her to rest for a moment on her elbows. With some effort she forced herself up against the wall to face the perspex pane, feeling her eyes adjust painfully to the sterile glare of the omnidirectional illumination.

A resonating clang echoed across the corridor, followed by the creak and groan of hinges. The sounds of boots striking concrete foreshadowed two olive uniformed soldiers parading past Gwen’s cell, their eyes staring straight forward.

Another pair followed, rigidly moving with the mechanical efficiency of golems, their shoulders decorated with a single band joined below by a set of phoenix wings crossed over with two staves. They proceeded until they were right before Gwen's cell, then turned their backs toward her.

Gwen held herself steady with one hand against the wall. The vicious glare was giving her a headache. For how long had she slept? A few hours? She felt hardly rested.

Trying to ignore the pounding in her head, she studied the guard's uniforms, trying to figure out any similarities between this world and her old one, despite knowing nothing about China other than a cheap tour she had gone on in 2006 that kept taking her to shopping destinations.

The soldiers wore doubled breasted tunics, with four pockets equal-distantly placed across the chest and waist. The bottom was flared, allowing a pair of matching coloured pants to extend over steel-capped combat boots polished to a mirror shine. Up top, a crimson band encompassed a broad-brimmed cap, at the centre of which was a crest that displayed five golden stars looming over the Forbidden City.

Career soldiers then, Gwen thought to herself. Chinese soldiers of the People’s Liberation Army, if that existed here.

But that still didn’t explain her abduction.

“Back!”

A voice barked from the corridor, causing Gwen to be startled with unexpected fright. She stepped away from the perspex pane, as the expressionless face of a middle-aged Chinese man came into view, flat and dispossessed of any memorable features.

This one was an officer; his lapels sported a single vertical stripe with two gold stars. She tried to simper at the stoic man, but he turned away from her, just as the two soldiers had done.

Gwen felt the smile fall from her face.

How does one communicate with captors who refused to look you in the eye?

The two grunts and the officer saluted smartly at the corridor, just out of Gwen's line of sight.

Ah, Gwen thought to herself, that must be the bigwig.

She was right.

She could feel the Magus' presence, an aura, thick and heavy, weighted with a supernatural pressure. It was akin to the feeling Gunther gave off when his blood was up, but much more congealed and condensed.

An old man made his presence known to all.

Gwen carefully inspected the senior officer. He looked old, enough to be in his sixties, with two slabs of impressively drooping jowls that gave him the impression of a bulldog, reminding Gwen of a famous English Prime Minister. When he stopped mid-step and turned his head to face Gwen, she met his dark obsidian eyes, cold and intense like the core of long-dead stars.

Perhaps she should say something? What was the etiquette for an abductee of the MSS when greeting a superior officer?

"Sir? May I have a minute?" Gwen tried her luck, adding a higher octave to her voice to sound more juvenile. Surely the imprisonment of children, even ones standing at six-feet, wasn't a standard practice of the Secret Police handbook, at least not in the 21st century.

The old man's lips moved to form a thin line. The frown was barely perceptible, but it sent shivers down her spine.

Who was this old codger? Why was he displeased with her? They didn't even know one another.

Her gaze attended the insignia affixed to the man’s neck and shoulders.

Two stripes - four stars.

A four-star general? A Colonel? Gwen had no idea how PRC insignias worked, but it was evident that the old man was from the upper echelons of the Military.

He began to move.

She had to get his attention.

“Sir! My name is Gwen Song. I entered this facility with Morye Song, my father. May I ask-”

The old general left her line of sight.

The old codger left! Gwen was agog with disbelief. Why stop to gawk if he wasn't keen to talk?!

Beside her cell, the perspex pane of her father's cell was made immaterial. The old general pass through the threshold, followed by the middle-aged officer as his second.

“Atteeeen-tion!” the officer called out with that barking voice of his.

Gwen could hear the sound of her father scrambling to stand.

The new crisis next door dispelled the immediacy of her predicament. She ignored the guards posted in front of her cell and plastered her head against the perspex pane, trying to see and hear what was happening next door.

Was this a ‘General’ whose 'family' her father had killed? What was going to happen to Morye, and how could she help, if at all?

Gwen tried to call on her mana reserves, but she was well drained. Even her kirin amulet ignored any attempt at summoning its powers. Gwen tried her Storage Ring, but it was dormant and inaccessible. Only passive effects that fed on a Mage's residual energies, like her Ioun Stone, operated. If only she could somehow retrieve a mana crystal, especially a HDM crystal. The energy contained within should be enough for her to summon Caliban or Ariel to aid her father and break out of the prison.

"Come on!" Gwen grunted quietly, drawing a severe glare from one of the guards.

It didn't help. The thrum of anti-magic floorboards was tyrannically draining every mote Gwen could summon. In her present condition, she couldn't even feel her Sigils, much less will enough mana to command her Astral body to tap into her Elemental Gates.

“Hello, old man,” Her father's voice came through, a little muffled by the perspex barrier. "How ya been?"

“Do you know how long I’ve looked for you?” the General stated severely; his speech had a heavy accent that not even the translation stone could displace. Hearing the hardness in his voice, Gwen felt the hair standing on her arms.

"TWO DECADES! For twenty years I searched high and low, you ungrateful white-eyed wolf.”

“Well, I am here now, ain’t I?” Her father replied. "You got me."

There was a quivering quality to his voice that Gwen had never heard before.

Her father was scared! The infallible Morye was afraid? Gwen wanted more than anything to witness this improbable spectacle. Who could this 'old man' be?!

"Are you ready to meet the wrath of your maker?" The coarse voice of the old general was dripping with malice.

Shit! Gwen's mind buzzed. Was her father going to be executed in cold blood? She placed both hands on the screen, deforming her face against the pane.

"No!" she cried out, smashing her fists against the glass. "Dad!"

Whatever her father might have been, Gwen still felt the bonds of kindred blood between them. The last thing she wanted to see was Morye murdered!

“Get on your knees and repent.” The voice that came through the corridor was spoken with absolute authority.

'Crack!'

A vehement snap tore the air asunder. There was a sound of cured hide striking flesh, followed immediately by her father’s painful grunt.

“You ungrateful son! Do you know how worried your mother was?”

‘Crack!’

“Do you know how many nights she cried herself to sleep?”

‘Crack!’

“Do you know how much resources we spent, how much favours we pulled, searching for you all over China?”

‘Crack!’

“Do you know that Jun relinquished his promotion to save you from court marshall?”

‘Crack!’

“Get up! I ain't done yet!”

“I… I can’t... I can’t see out of my left eye,” Her father grunted and spat, likely discarding a bloody glob of loose teeth. “Can we take a break. Do this after I get a few heals in?”

There was a flash of familiar mana.

Water.

Negative energy.

Salt.

“Arrrrgh!” Morye howled, followed by the sound of a body writhing on the floor.

“You insolent worm! How dare you! I'll have you know that you're going to suffer every year you have wasted! Once you pay your respects to your mother, you'll be seeing the ancestor!” the gruff voice of the General reverberated from wall to wall.

Safe in her cell, Gwen tried to process the string of pronouns coming her way.

The old man had called Morye the ‘ungrateful son' and mentioned 'your brother’ and 'grandmother'.

Wouldn’t that mean that the old general was Morye’s father? He was her Grandfather! Her paternal Opa!

The knowledge caused her to almost collapse against the pane of her cell. They were saved! There was no way her father could be killed by his father, although it would seem that he'd be shedding a layer of skin before his ordeal was over.

Gwen breathed out luxuriously. The terror of the moment was forgotten, and she felt buoyed by unforeseen hope and elation.

She looked up from her compromised position to see grandfather standing before her cell.

When had he moved?! The old man was like a ghost!

More importantly, was he willing to see her now?

Gwen stepped away from the pane and tidied herself against the refracted visage of her reflection.

She wasn't dressed to meet the elderly, that was for sure.

She was wearing white khaki shorts cut off a few inches above her knee, her long legs bare except for the pair of wedged sneakers. Her blouse was cropped above the elbows, tapered against her waist and breasts, with a flared, rounded collar in the French style. Her hair, as before, was loosely styled around her face, which thankfully had no makeup except dark wing-tips which emphasised her hazel eyes.

The cold codger would have preferred the prim and proper black on white outfit.

But it was too late now. It wasn't as though Gwen could have known Opa Two was going to be here. She had been in Singapore less than twenty-four hours ago, walking around in the stifling heat, where her attire was entirely appropriate. Gwen wished she had something to cover her legs, which left a little too much to the imagination, and perhaps a camisole or something to give her upper body a more prudent, rather than frivolous, air. It was situations like this that a pair of horn-rimmed glasses would have done wonders. First impressions, after all, was a foot in the door.

“Open it," Opa Two commanded.

The perspex dematerialised, allowing the middle-aged officer, a guard, and her grandfather to pass.

Gwen noted that unlike those in the Sydney Tower, or anywhere in Sydney, really, the men took little note of her uncommon comeliness. Was it a condition of their training? Or the professionalism of soldiership? Or perhaps Gwen was simply too freakishly large and unaesthetic in their eyes. She knew from her old world that Asians very much preferred the ‘small’ and ‘cute’ rather than ‘tall’ and ‘Brobdingnagian’. For a woman of means, Gwen felt a little miffed by the lack of appeal that would give her an advantage in negotiating her case.

“Greetings, Grandfather.” Gwen wasn’t sure how to respond, so she performed a western curtsey.

The general nodded.

Good, Gwen thought to herself.

"You are older than I imagined.” The general's voice was low and resonant.

Gwen forced her face into an affable simper.

“Lower the draining frequency,” he ordered his second, who ordered a guard, who manipulated a series of glyphs invisible from Gwen's point of view.

The thrum of the floorboards dimmed.

“Child, manifest your talent,” her grandfather said expectantly; his voice edged with anticipation. He stood with his legs stiffly apart, his hands placed behind his back like he was inspecting a piece of military hardware.

Her magic?! Gwen felt a few scant motes of mana coalescing, enough for an impressionable spell.

“Perform your Magic,” the old man repeated.

“…”

More excuses would probably just cause the old man to get suspicious. Perhaps, it was best to show, rather than tell. Salt was a Quasi-element, and so was her Lightning.

Gwen pointed to an empty spot on the dampening tiles, facing away from the General and the soldiers. She didn’t want to expose all her cards, but she had to impress.

“Lighting Bolt!”

A bolt of Elemental Lightning arched from her fingertips toward a distant tile, whereupon its incandescent energy fizzled, leaving a scorched splatter mark.

Gwen turned to her grandfather, wondering what he thought of her rare quasi-talent.

“Yang… and Air? Not Yin and Water, how curious."

Her grandfather's face took on a thoughtful expression.

"A rare talent indeed."

Gwen breathed out as the old man's expression softened.

"What are your schools?"

"Evocation." Gwen paused for dramatic effect. "And Conjuration."

It wasn't as though she could have shown her grandfather anything else. What she suggested was precisely written on her student card and Multi-Pass, which she was sure the MSS would have inspected. To show anything else would imply that her card was false and that she was hiding something, resulting in a tedium of inexplicable falsehoods.

Her grandfather nodded approvingly.

"A rare talent indeed, child. Are you gifted with other blessings?"

"I am afraid not, Grandfather."

"Just as well then. Your talent pleases me greatly, you should know. Your grandmother has an affinity for the Yang. Mayhap you inherited it from her? I believe she would be happy to meet you."

"I would hope so, Grandfather."

"You have your Grandmother's features," her grandfather continued in an affectionate tone. "You look just like her."

"Ha, I am sure Grandmother's beauty is peerless," Gwen remarked. Her grandfather was easier going than she thought, at least after what happened to Morye.

"Tell me, daughter of my ungrateful son, what is it that you do. In Sydney, I mean." Her grandfather's tone returned to its usual cadence of measured calm.

"I am a student," Gwen replied demurely. "Although the fall of the city has impacted my school year, so I guess I need to find a place to graduate."

"That's unfortunate to hear, child." Her grandfather motioned for the two men beside him to exit the cell. "Would you mind if I helped? There are some schools here, in Shanghai, which would love to have their very own Quasi-Elementalist."

"Oh..." Gwen considered it for a moment, glad that she could find another Opa. This one would be Opa Two. "I am afraid I need to return to Sydney first, I have friends that are worried sick."

"It is good to have friends." Opa Two walked through the shielding and invited her to follow. "Are these friends your teammates? Companions?"

"We're very clos-" Gwen fell backwards as she knocked her head against the barrier with a clang.

"Opa- Grandfather?" She felt her stomach lurch, echoing the painful bump on her head. Gwen needn't guess what was happening; the implication was obvious enough.

Her grandfather shook his head.

"How easy it must be for you to lie."

Gwen stared at her grandfather, whose once kind demeanour became sharp and cynical. She could feel the mana gather within him as his ire rose. Gwen felt as though she had plunged into a pool of icy water. Goosebumps formed all over her skin, sending her into a terrific shiver. She wanted to move away from him, but her body refused to budge. Was this what it was like to face a high-level Mage of a tier 1 city? It was as though her very blood froze. Not even against Elizabeth had Gwen felt such helplessness. Her teeth chattered as she tried to formulate her next words, but could find nothing intelligible to say.

Her grandfather turned to the middle-aged officer beside him.

“Tell the MSS to do their job properly next time. As for this one, get them to find out what she knows and who she is. I want a thorough vetting, leave nothing unturned.”

Gwen felt a sudden panic overcome her calculated calmness. Leave nothing unturned? Was she headed for Room 101? Was she going to be tortured with rats? Was holding back her talents a mistake? What was the old man expecting? The MSS? Give her to the MSS? What does that mean? Is she NOT going back to Sydney? Shouldn’t he be saying ‘let her go home, she’s uninvolved and innocent?’ Why was he so paranoid?

Her grandfather turned to face Gwen with an impassive expression.

"Is there anything you wish to confess?"

"..." Gwen didn't know what to say. What was there to confess? She didn't even know what the old codger wanted.

"What do you want?" She tried to calm herself as best as she could.

"The truth."

"I don't know what that means."

"The full range of your abilities, to start." Her grandfather was relentless. "Then your associates, your master, your employer."

"..."

He thinks she's a spy?!

"I am not a spy!" Gwen blurted out, then immediately bit her tongue. "I mean... why would you think your Granddaughter is a spy?"

"Your 'acting' is pretty poor if you're trying to imitate a sixteen-year-old child," her grandfather snorted disdainfully. "Didn't your handler run you through the proper protocols?"

"I am sixteen-turning-seventeen," Gwen retorted.

"Of course, and I am to believe that my teenage granddaughter is so superior as to be unfazed by the Ministry of State Security! To calmly inform her friends that she is to be abducted by strange men in dark suits! To walk into the infamous Sky-Prison without so much as twitching a brow! What are you anyhow? A skin changer?"

"I am just... me!" Gwen wailed. How could she get this old codger to believe her?

"Then there's the evidence hanging from your fingers," her grandfather growled. "Mastercrafted Ring of Medium Storage, Contingency Ring of Teleportation, Ring of Evasion!"

"Tell me, my Granddaughter. How does a teenager, much less the daughter of my worthless son, gain access to close to Fifteen thousand HDMs worth of magical items? Does your father run the Sydney Arcanum? Is he the Master of the Tower there? Had my son finally decided to be useful?!"

"I..." Gwen choked. What could she say that wouldn't implicate her?

"So tell me, Gwen Song, Grandaughter of mine - WHO ARE YOU?"

"I am not your enemy! I am not lying, and damn you for thinking so!" Gwen fought the pressure emanating from her grandfather, pushing back against his force of will. "Look at me! I don't even want to be here! You took me against my will! YOU THINK I WANT TO BE HERE? I wanted to be in Australia, amongst the ruins, rebuilding my life! With my friend and my REAL family! There is nothing, NOTHING! That I want from you!"

Gwen's face was a livid shade of liver now, red with rage. Her grandfather too was breathing more labourously.

"Dad!" Gwen wailed out, her voice beginning to crack. "Dad! TELL HIM! Tell him I speak the truth! Tell him to send me back!"

No reply came from the adjacent cell. Was Morye unconscious or was he too afraid? Gwen prayed that it was the former, else her wrath would know no bounds.

Her grandfather turned to the middle-aged officer beside him.

"Captain, initiate the Cognisance field."

"Yes, Sir!"

The tiles beneath Gwen's feet began to shimmer with an indistinct shade of grey, vibrating until they took on a mirror-like polish.

"What are you doing?" Gwen pounded the perspex pane. "What is this?"

"Your last chance to give up the truth," Her grandfather intoned flatly. "I hope you value your life."

"Damn you!" Gwen hissed at him. Her Void Element! What would happen if the Chinese military found out? She was in possession of God knows how many other people's talents. She hadn't visited a Chamber since Henry last tested her aptitude after the Mark incident. What would even show up?

The shimmering stopped.

Gwen swallowed nervously and looked down.

There it was, her Astral Body; reflected beneath her in all its glory.

A glass sculpture of glass resplendently refracted in a mixture of darkness and light, Void and Lightning in a precarious harmony. There was something else within her glass figure as well, motes of emerald energy that surged between the light and dark branching out in Lichtenberg forks that appeared and disappeared.

"Yin and Yang?" Her grandfather's brows furrowed. "Fu, run a Greater Dispel Magic through the cell."

A halo of white-blue energy shimmered and passed through Gwen from head to toe.

The guard, Captain Fu, and her grandfather stared at Gwen as she stood with both hands against the pane.

"Now do you believe me?" Gwen choked out between gritted teeth, shame, indignation and fury filling her head with white noise. "I am innocent. I am real."

"Sir..." Captain Fu looked at his senior officer dubiously. "Shall I... continue?"

The old man’s breath became slow and contemplative. Had he been wrong? Was 'Gwen' just a teenage girl after all? No. It was too dangerous to let her walk. He had to know the truth, even if it injures a child of his blood.

"Give her some mana," he ordered. "I want to see what she's made of."

The tiles ceased their thrumming.

Gwen felt her body suffuse with mana, coalescing from the aether into her Astral Form. The dark motes became darker than black, the lightning began to arc and jump, forming complicated patterns within the space of the exquisite glass sculpture.

A Sigil flared brightly, the sign of Evocation.

Another followed, even more brightly than the first - the silvery-mithril of Conjuration.

Her Grandfather sucked in a cold breath of air.

A Magus at Sixteen! The girl wasn't lying to him.

What talent! What a boon for the family!

Then a third, glowing malevolently in the mauve diffusion of Transmutation.

Gwen's audience fell silent.

FUCK. Gwen closed her eyes and resigned herself to whatever may come. It was over. They knew now. Her secret was out. All that was left was waiting to get dissected. That and stomp her father's brains out. Yue and Evee, all she wanted before they took her for parts was a chance to speak to them again.

"Sir..." Fu was beside himself, his eyes as large as hen's eggs.

A fourth Sigil began to form.

"PURGE!" Her grandfather raised a hand and touched a hidden glyph in the air that Gwen couldn't see.

All magic drained from the room; Gwen was once again standing atop the grey-tiles, thrumming gently against the arch of her aching feet.

"Are you satisfied?" Gwen questioned her grandfather with a husky voice drained of vitality.

"All of you." Her grandfather turned to the others. "Out."

The men shuffled out obediently.

"Fu."

"Colonel?"

"Level 6 protocols. Full censure."

"Affirmative, Sir."

Gwen watched as Captain Fu left.

So her grandfather was a Colonel, not that it meant anything to her.

"I am coming in."

To her surprise, he entered the cell, bypassing the perspex pane entirely. She silently watched him as he walked past her, exposing his back toward her, then sat patiently on the bunk bed.

"Gwen, my Granddaughter...."

He looked up to face her, his bulldog's face now genuinely filled with gentler emotions. Gwen wondered if she had passed some test, if her interrogation was at an end.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," Gwen said quickly. Maybe she could salvage this yet. Maybe there was a play here. She so desired to see Elvia and Yue. She was sick of this place, of this claustrophobic cell. She wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"I want to say I am sorry, Gwen, but I am not," Her grandfather stated as-a-matter-of-factly. "I believe you. I do, but your dishonesty troubles me."

"Ask." Gwen tried to modulate her voice, but one couldn't help but be frigid after a reception like that.

"Are you alone in Australia?"

"No."

"Who else?"

"My mother. My brother. My Opa."

At the word 'brother', her grandfather's eyes lit up like those of a blood hound's, becoming two orbs of dark ice.

“Go on.”

The cordial atmosphere was suddenly gone.

The pressure from the old man made Gwen’s knees knock for a moment. Her premonition screamed at her to avert whatever was coming her way. Cold sweat oozed from her pores.

“I… er… I need to sit down.” Gwen found herself slumping against the adjacent wall.

“Tell me about your brother.”

There was something about his voice, cold and hard, that compelled the truth from her.

“His name is Percy. Percy Song,” Gwen heard herself reply. She commanded her lips to stop moving, but it was as though she was having an out of body experience, floating above the figure of her physical shell, feeling as though she'd become a marionette.

“He had attended Sydney Selective for Boys. He is talented in the craft. He is thirteen turning fourteen.”

“What is his element?”

Gwen felt the words gush from her lips unbidden and uncontrolled.

“Salt.”

Her grandfather visibly stiffened, his face taking on an emotion that was difficult to read.

The pressure was released, and Gwen could hear herself gasping for breath. She willed herself back into her body, pushing away the strange force that had sent her into a bout of obedient confession. She didn't know how it was for other Mages, but it was easy for her to resist compulsion once the initial impact of the Enchantment became exhausted.

Her grandfather's intense eyes regarded her with unpleasant surprise.

“You have had espionage training?” His face once again grew suspicious, his jowls stiffening with displeasure.

“No!” Gwen braced herself against the wall. “Just... No! Oh for God's sake! I am not even a Highschool graduate! I don’t even have my graduation certificate! I am still in my final year! Stop imagining me as something I am not!”

“Explain then, how a high school student can resist the compulsion of Suggestion incanted by one trained in the interrogative arts.”

“I...”

Gwen felt the panic she had averted earlier strike back with accumulated intensity. This new grandfather of hers was far too neurotic and erratic. What did the old man do for a living? Why the secrecy and the constant accusation that she was a spy?

“Opa… Grandfather, Colonel, please, you have to believe me. I am Morye’s daughter! Just ask my father!”

“His name is not Morye!” her grandfather snapped at her, his voice rising several octaves. “It’s Hai! You don’t even know your father’s real name!?”

An aura of nauseating mana erupted from the old man. Shards of salt crystalised from the floors and the walls. A few slivers even hung from her hair.

“I am innocent,” Gwen growled, her voice growing firmer with every syllable. "But you don't care, do you? Well, come on then! Broil me! Grill me! Burn me alive! SEND ME TO THE RATS! Beat me to a pulp! TEAR OFF MY FACE! It won't change the truth!"

Her grandfather shook his head sadly.

"You won't be harmed," he said quietly, then lifted himself from the bed and walked clean through the screen. "But you won't be leaving here either."

"Guards!"

Captain Fu and four dispassionate guards entered. They proceeded next door, where two of the Guards retrieved her battered father. Morye looked beaten within an inch of his life. His face was a bruised and bleeding mess. His clothes torn from the belt that had been used to strike him down.

As he passed her cell, he turned to look at her with eyes full of sympathy and sorrow.

“Dad…” She placed a hand against the perspex, wondering if he had any advice to offer.

"You'll be alright," Morye spoke with a mouth full of blood and broken teeth, sending a spray of crimson spittle against the pane of her cell. "You'll be out soon, trust me."

“Dad!” Gwen called out, but it was too late.

Her grandfather had gone through the double doors, out of her line of sight. The guards retreated, still ignoring Gwen as she frantically pounded on the pane, calling out Morye’s name - no, Hai’s name, over and over again.

The double doors boomed as they shut, leaving her alone amongst the row of containment cells.

Gwen stared around her cell, dazed by the suddenness of it all.

What had just happened?

Gwen felt her world turn with a terrifying epiphany.

HELENA!

What if her paternal grandfather wanted to take Percy away from her mother? What could Helena do to resist? Her clan was helpless against any power from the Tier 1 cities, much less one that seemed as invested as her paternal grandfather. Her mother had pinned all her hopes and dreams on Gwen's brother, and now she was going to lose her only son because Gwen blabbed like an idiot?

Gwen felt a cramp in her stomach, but it wasn't just from the hunger.

She fucked up.

Alone, at last, Gwen tried to measure the short stick handed to her by lady Fortuna.

So she’s a spy now.

Gwen Song, the femme fatale, of Mata Hari fame.

Should she find a red dress and a chaise lounge to malinger, so that she could be smouldering ash, jazzy blues, and languishing smoke all at once?

She didn’t have a chaise though, all she had was a stainless steel protrusion from the wall with a foam mattress that made her sweat profusely.

Gwen glanced at the stainless steel throne embedded into the floor, attached to the drinking fountain.

Was someone watching? Was there a guard looking at her through some lumen recorder right now? Would someone burst in if she answered the call of nature?

Gwen frantically tried to activate her Storage Ring, but the dampener stole away even the thimble of mana she required to enable its spatial effect.

“Is someone there?” she announced to the general vicinity of her cell.

No one would come. Of course.

But the silence was hardly reassuring.

There was no Telescreen here for her to turn her back to, no corner in the room for her to be just out of sight.

Life gave you lemons, wasn’t that how the old idiom went?

She looked at the stainless steel water throne again.

Fuck it. Gwen said to herself. Why torture herself?

She'd seen enough reruns of daytime MacGyver; she could do it.

Gwen tore the sheets from the steel frame of the foam mattress and wrapped it around her upper body. Then she proceeded to perform a pantomime charade of a one-woman tent, trying to find a viable way to protect her privacy while also meeting her needs.

The problem was that she needed two hands to hold up the cotton canvas of her 'tent'. Maybe she could wrap it around her lower body?

Arrrgh! She groaned inwardly. Why didn't she pick a dress to wear!

Gwen sighed.

God damned Mondays

* * *

“Cut the feed. All of it.”

Colonel Song Guo of the Commission of the Ministry of National Defence, Deputy Secretary of Internal Security and Anti-Reconnaissance Division and Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee, leaned back in his chair.

The lumen display embedded into the wall of his office ceased its broadcast of the Scry spells directed towards the cells.

He had been curious as to what his granddaughter would do, what she would attempt, of whether the girl would venture to escape, perhaps faking an illness or use her allure to blindside a guard.

He wasn’t curious now.

If anything could convince him that the girl wasn’t a spy, it was watching her spend two inexpert minutes field-dressing a foam mattress and using it as bathroom stall. Didn’t she know how Scrying worked? It wasn’t as though there was a Wizard-Eye watching from up on high. Scrying worked through walls, through concrete, through any non-magical containment, and a sheet of cotton certainly wasn’t going to help.

In a way, he was glad.

Unless Gwen was intelligent enough to be playing Planar-Chess with them, she was finally acting as one of her age and experience should be doing.

Digging through a dozen manila envelopes, Guo pulled Gwen’s file from a pile of missives and reread it.

Wei and Yung had submitted their report as soon as they arrived, delivering a detailed reading of Gwen’s life insofar as could be discerned from their source at the Singapore Tower.

Her biometrics are within acceptable parameters of deviation.

Her talents merely read Lightning (3), Evocation (3) and Conjuration (3), which was a blatant lie.

Mother: Helena Huang.

A nobody from a nobody Clan, a descendant of long-lost glory banished from the verdant colonies of the Indonesian islands, long since mingled with the bloodlines of the European conquerors, with an affinity for fire and Evocation - an ordinary Mage of no importance.

Father: Morye Song.

The traitorous whelp, the one who fled the mainland, leaving behind his parents, his clan, his future, all for some absurd notion of western liberty, a coward escaping from the duties he was born to fulfil.

Curiously, the Singapore Tower had lacked any data beyond that. There wasn’t any mention of the son, this Percy Song, or Gwen's Master, or her position.

Was someone deliberately censuring her data? The Singapore Tower would have received its knowledge from Sydney. For such a minimalist volume of erudition to exist, the source would have been someone the Singapore Tower trusted enough to rubberstamp.

If so, who are his granddaughter's backers in Sydney? The Contingency ring was a telling clue in itself. There were only a handful of people capable of giving such a treasure away.

More curiously though, how did Gwen acquire so many schools of Magic?

The Frontier cities were not like the Capital cities; they did not possess the resources to awaken and train their children from an early age. Gwen would have been fourteen-fifteen when she awakened, meaning she had achieved in a year and a half an impossible feat - a feat attainable only by those with long bloodlines and ancient houses, a feat the Clan of Song was incapable of achieving.

To achieve her level of proficiency, it meant she had to have access to abundant resources, instructors of the highest degree of competence, a safe place to train and learn, especially one with access to a Greater Cognisance Chamber.

That meant, of course, the Sydney Tower, which had been one of the most extensive facilities in Oceania.

The late Master there, Henry Kilroy, was a well known Magister within the Circle of Mages of the Commonwealth, serving under the British Mageocracy. He was an old school Mage, a survivor of the Magical Beast uprising, a veteran of more wars than modern Magisters had birthdays.

Only a week ago, reports had flooded Guo’s desk; assessments of the Sydney crisis, whispering of Spectre and the rogue Mages that live on the fringe of the Wildlands. There were reports of an enervating Black Sun that bloomed over the city, a Strategic-Class Ritual of the Void Element. There were also unreliable reports of a Mythical serpent that supposedly swallowed the Ritual, itself an almost absurd idea. There was the Mermen incursion, which came as no surprise. The Mermen saw attacks on Frontier cities as a rite of passage for their foot-soldiers, weeding out the weak and thinning their ranks to blow off steam. It was something the earlier Chinese Emperors knew very well - one must always redirect the bottled up aggression of the masses elsewhere before it turned upon the Dynasty itself.

The brief report ended in Singapore, where an escort of Senior Mages serving under the Crimson Sorceress, Alesia de Botton accompanied his granddaughter. When questioned, however, his granddaughter had declined to inform them of this connection, offering no erudition of her ties to the premier Militant of the Coral Sea. Gwen was hiding her guan-xi, but it wasn’t difficult for someone like Guo to join the dots. The girl was too green to be a spy, even if her demeanour and calmness brought great suspicion to his mind.

Guo closed his eyes for a moment to conclude his conjecture - that Gwen was somehow attached to the upper echelons of the Sydney Tower, that expectantly, they would come knocking soon.

But Sydney was burning as they speak, so that 'soon' was likely going to be drastically delayed.

Then there was the matter of Gwen's unusual talent, an affinity for the Void - a rare and dangerous element, sanctioned by the Politburo Magics and Sorcery Committee as a Class 4 Calamity.

Guo’s fingers rapped the stout wood of the mahogany table.

Henry Kilroy’s war hero wife, Elizabeth Sobel, was a Void Mage. There was intelligence that she wasn't deceased, that she was instead a part of the fringe-Mages.

Was there a connection there? Who was teaching his granddaughter Void Magic? Was she learning it all on her own? How was his granddaughter associated with the now deceased Magister, and was there a connection between Gwen and the Void Sun that appeared over Sydney?

Dangerous questions, with dangerous answers, Guo thought to himself.

His tea had gone cold.

“Heat.”

The water began to steam gently.

It took great skill to heat Pu’er tea to an exact eighty degrees with a single cantrip.

He turned his mind to the other matter at hand.

Percy Song.

A grandson.

His legacy.

His wife had three children before he was rendered too infertile by his affinity with the energies of Yin.

Song Nen, the harvest.

Song Hai, the ocean.

Song Jun, the militant.

Jun, the youngest, was everything a man could ask for in a son, but his immense affinity for the Yin also made him woefully infertile from an early age. By the time they knew the cause, it had been too late.

Nen inherited her mother's talent for the Yang. She bore two children, Tao and Mina, but they wouldn’t be inheriting his name.

Guo had thought that the line of Song would have ended with Jun, but now Hai had returned. Not only that, he bore two children, a boy and a girl.

Most importantly, a boy with the surname of Song.

Guo felt in his heart a solace that he could barely contain without bursting into exuberant exclamation. A man should have a legacy! A clan needs to be passed on! With a grandson whose name was Song, the family surname could survive. It was a comfort Guo could take to the grave. What a boon of unexpected fortune born from the calamity that was his wayward son! Finally, he could visit the hall of the Ancestors and tell them that the line would remain, that they needn't adopt a branch family member to fill the gap. Finally, Guo could face the grave with the peace of knowing that he had left something in this world that was tangible.

But Guo had to act fast.

Like himself, the Yin energies of elemental Salt possessed the boy.

It meant that they must retrieve the boy and put him in training as soon as possible. He must learn to control his powers, learn to minimalise the damage to his body. Percy must undergo extensive rituals with the blessing of Yang to bolster his defences against the draining of his vitality.

Guo clenched his hands, balling them into a pair of tight fists.

“Thank you, Ancestors, for this blessing,” he exclaimed loudly. “I’ll not fail the clan of Song!”

A polite knock came from the door.

Guo relaxed, returning himself to his usual, unperturbed demeanour.

“Come in.”

“Colonel.” It was Captain Fu. “Jun- Captain Song has just entered the compound. Should I bring him here?”

“Did he state his purpose?” Guo furrowed his bushy brows, his jowls jigging with displeasure.

“He has informed the administrators' office that he is removing prisoner 1403's and placing her under house arrest. The order comes from the office of the Internal Security Deputy Chairman, Secretary Li.”

Guo sighed, he had anticipated interference. Personally, he would have preferred to observe his ‘granddaughter’ for a few more days, having arranged a host of opportunities to bait her into revealing any other hidden abilities.

“It's fine. Oh and Fu, remember - not a word gets out.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Guo took a sip of his tea and pursed his thin lips. His eyes fell on the report in his hands.

The girl was trouble, but she was also his granddaughter.

Disposing of her was out of the question, it was heartless and most importantly, a massive waste of potential.

Returning her to Sydney was likewise out of the question. The Americans and the Brits, hell, even the EU, would have a field day if they could get their hands on a teenage Magus with Yin and Yang dual-Elemental affinity.

No, for the girl to survive a purge, she would need backers. That would mean having her worth proven and sanctioned - itself a trial by fire, like a little koi trying to leap over the dragon gate; it could cost her life. For the Kirin that soared above the planes of servitude and slavery must command strong winds, for it is a sad spectacle to see so noble a beast bruised and exhausted, strapped and saddled by mortal men.

What a thing for Hai to bring into the world. What an irresponsible father his son was. What a burden for an old man and an old woman to bear. What if in time, Guo couldn't harness Gwen to his cause? What if she tried to bite the hand that fed her?

More dangerous questions with dangerous answers, ticking away like a contingency spell placed on a timed incantation.

"Fu, I am returning to the compound. Tell Corporal Bao to bring the car around."

"Yes, Sir!"

If he knew his wife, the banquet was already being prepared.

All that was left was to see how honest Gwen was willing to be.

* * *

“Um… can I ask if Colonel Song is coming back anytime soon?” Gwen inquired the NoM Corporal who came to deliver her first meal in China, batting her lashes to squeeze a response from the stone-faced guard.

She may as well be wringing blood from a rock.

The young man averted Gwen's gaze as though she was the mythical Medusa.

She was sure it was a test.

The minuscule, five-foot-four Corporal looked as though he’d never heard of a dangerous Void Mage before, opening a small segment of the portal so that he could put the tray into her cell.

The tray consisted of two steamers, a bowl of soup and a square box of rice. Also, she’d been given metal utensils in the western style - a knife, spoon, and a fork.

She had no mana of course, but had she been a real espionage agent; she could surely dice the man a dozen ways and use his access to escape somehow.

The Corporal obliviously retracted his hands and left the cell, still avoiding her gaze.

“Thank you!" Gwen called out.

The Corporal fled.

Gwen sighed.

She opened a steamer. Inside were small pork buns, like the juicy kind she’d had in her old world. They had become popular enough to be almost omnipresent in the late 2010s, especially where the Australian-Chinese congregated.

Perhaps the food was poisoned or drugged?

There was no need for that, surely. It wasn’t as though the Colonel Grandfather lacked for mind-reaping Mages.

She picked one up and popped it into her mouth.

Hot! Hot! Hot!

Gwen almost spat it back out. The inside juices were boiling. Does this world even have microwaves? The scalding pain inside her mouth was a pizza-pocket disaster, the bun's interior was the temperature of the sun.

The tray below held more buns, this time a vegetarian option. Gwen guessed the mere fact that her meal wasn’t mouldy bread and grey water was evidence enough to suggest that Grandfather had at least acknowledged her existence.

You won't be harmed; he had told her, though his tone was hardly reassuring.

Gwen wondered if Gunther had gotten the word and was trying to figure out a way to retrieve her. Would her brother-in-craft figure that Percy may be a target as well since Morye was himself a target? Did Gunther feel accountable for sending Morye with Gwen? Was the circumstance of their abduction entirely outside of Sydney's sphere of influence, especially now that the Tower was in ruins?

She didn’t know the answer to any of these questions.

She could only drink the salty pork-bone soup and use the spoon to mash the scalding buns into the empty bowl before eating them.

Gwen sat crossed-legged in the manner that she had done so when they ate bush tucker, upon the cold floor. She pierced the buns, mixing the juices with the flesh and dough before tasting putting the bland food into her mouth.

It was food for NoMs, greasy and insubstantial, without an ounce of restorative mana.

But Gwen was very, very hungry.

She was still trying to masticate through a rubbery bun, her delicate lips, glossy with grease, when her father’s face suddenly appeared at the perspex panel, grinning from ear to ear.

“Puuufft!”

The apparition was so startling that she spat out the dumpling she had clenched between her teeth, sending forth a spray of pink-mince and fatty-lard all over the pane.

“Oh, you’re eating!” her father's phantom exclaimed. “Shall I come back later?”

Gwen froze.

There had been no fanfare of guards.

How was it possible that her father had come here? Wasn’t he bloody and bruised? Had he been cured, healed, restored? Was he free? Was this what he had meant when he told her earlier that she should be free soon? Why not just say it to her straight? If so, why the ambiguous communiqué?!

“Gwen, you in there? Say something.” It was Morye's voice, but not his voice. This voice was deep and resonant.

He was looking at her with a face full of mirth and hilarity, trying to hold back from laughing out loud, there was sunniness about him that she’d never noticed before.

“Morye?” Gwen replaced her bowel onto her tray. "Morye, what did grandfather say about Percy?"

Her ‘father’ looked at her strangely.

“Who’s Percy?”

Gwen moved to an unsoiled part of the perspex.

Their eyes met.

Morye's irises were of a lighter hue; this ‘Morye’ had eyes that were like two obsidian orbs, the eyes of her Grandfather.

‘You're not Morye," Gwen stated awkwardly.

“I am Jun. Jun-Song, I suppose you can call me Uncle.” The smiling face of her father even had the same way of curling the edge of one lip, though this one was less sardonic and more jocular; like there was a big joke somewhere that only he understood.

“Uncle…” Gwen tried to wrap her mind around the doppelganger thing. Her grandfather had said something about an uncle. “Are you Morye… Hai’s twin?”

“He’s older by a year.” Her uncle maintained an affable smirk. “Sorry for surprising you.”

“It’s alright.” Gwen looked around for a napkin, eyeing the bed sheet. So much for first impressions.

“One sec, I’ll let you out.”

To her surprise, the perspex screen dematerialised. Gwen, who had a hand pressed against its surface, fell forward into her Uncle’s arms.

“Woa there, hold it steady.” Jun chuckled, bracing Gwen as she slipped from the cell. Outside and away from the anti-mana shielding, she felt immediately restored, as if a woman dying of thirst had plunged into the sweet pool of a fresh-water oasis.

Just like that?

Is she free to go?

What about her grandfather’s ire?

Could she really just leave right now?

Gwen pulled herself away, her face beet-red. There was a strange sense of familiarity that she felt when their hands touched; as though she'd known him for a long time. It was a puzzling enough feeling that she paused to take a good gander at ‘Uncle’ Jun.

His face was like her father’s but had in its possession a tighter musculature that made his jaws more defined and gracile. His eyes were darker than Morye’s, his brows bushier; Gwen further noted alarmingly that rather than a broad, five-o-clock shadow, Jun sported a villainous goatee. She hoped at once that this didn’t mean Jun was her father’s mirror-world twin, though it was difficult to imagine anyone could be more destructive than her father when it came to carelessly wounding those around him.

“Uncle Jun,” Gwen began. “Can I leave? Really leave?”

“You can leave this cell; if that’s what you’re asking. You can leave this facility too.” Her uncle answered, scratching the back of his head abashedly. “If you’re wondering if you can leave the city… well, that’s a conversation for another time.”

“Oh.” Gwen swallowed, her face falling from gladness to a dour gloom.

“Chin up,” her uncle intoned merrily. “All’s not lost. When there’s a will, there’s a way. Come on. Let's get some fresh air, I'll tell you about what's going to happen from here on out.”

When they approached the double doors, Jun knocked.

The doors slid open, revealing two Guards who saluted crisply.

“At ease.” Jun ushered Gwen through without so much as batting an eye. The guards had made no motion to impede their exit, which eased her frayed nerves.

“Thank you, Uncle Jun.” She replied sweetly, wondering if her 'uncle' responded to charm better than her marble-miened grandfather. “For getting me out of there.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jun beamed back, giving Gwen a boost of confidence. “Although, we should get moving before the old man changes his mind.”

“No more tests? Or interrogations?” Gwen glanced back at her cell, her voice hopeful and uncertain. She wasn’t about to go back in there without kicking and screaming, but her Grandfather did not seem like someone who would let an allegation of espionage just walk through the door.

“He's just paranoid.” Jun’s voice was more sonorous than her fathers, more distinct and resonant, possessing the suave debonair of a radio host. “Not to mention I am supremely confident in your future honesty."

Gwen looked away, hoping that her insincerity wasn't too noticeable.

The reinforced compound they proceeded throughout began to change after the second level, the exposed concrete giving way to matt-white walls smelling of diffused silica.

They soon approached a checkpoint, where intervals of lumen-globes threw their shadowy outlines against the partitions.

“We’re not going to teleport out?”

“Not possible,” her uncle informed her. “There are circles here that you can teleport into, but once you’re in, the only way out is on your feet.”

There were soldiers, a dozen of them, stationed at the checkpoint. When they had turned the shallow corner, a few of them sat at a table with what appeared to be a scanning device. Two of the men stood alongside a stout iron gate with bars as thick as Gwen’s arm, refracting the cold light from the corridor beyond.

Is this the final gate? Gwen wondered. Was her deliverance beyond this?

“Officer present!”

“Comrades.” Jun saluted back.

“Sir!” The soldiers stood to attention.

The corporals all looked to be in their twenties, but the officer was an older man, a sergeant by the looks of his lapels. He measured Gwen with his eyes, alternating between curiosity and consternation.

Not wanting to appear flustered, the sergeant offered Jun a cigarette, which he accepted.

One of the corporals lit the fag with a flame cantrip, watching as Jun took a luxurious pull.

“American Marlboro? When did you get so tasteful, Cho?”

“Heehee, glad you like it Cap, got it from my uncle, over at Putong.”

“It’s smooth as hell; I'll give you that. I’ll bring you something next time as well if I get a chance.”

“Sure thing, Captain. Now, if I may inquire-” Chow pocketed the red-white packet.

His gaze moved over to Gwen, who tried her best to look innocent but only managed to make the sergeant's skin crawl.

Why was this gweilo girl not suitably restrained or perhaps, in a prisoner’s florescent fatigues? From the looks of it, she followed Captain Jun out of her cell without so much as a Charm or Dominate.

But Sergeant Chow was an old hand at the Sky Prison. Under his selective watch, people came, and people went. Very occasionally, people disappeared, evaporated, ceased to be. It was the way of his little corner of the world. He tried to make his next words as euphemistically as possible.

“Is your withdrawal… off the record?”

Jun rapped the old Sergeant's shoulder appreciatively.

“Chow, are you suggesting I would attempt to circumvent the bureaucratic stranglehold of our fine intelligence establishment?” Jun asked with mock incredulity.

“Sir?” Chow smiled nervously, this was 'The' Captain Song, after all. Had he said the wrong thing? He immediately tried to laugh it off.

“It’s alright.” Jun comforted the veteran. His rice bowl wasn’t going to shatter today. “This is a family matter. Powers greater than we are at play here. Give me the discharge form.”

The sergeant breathed a sigh of relief and handed Jun a slate, which he signed with a flourish.

“There we are.” Jun gave the man a friendly grin. “No one is going to dissipate into thin-air today, hmm?”

“Heh, you know it, Sir.”

“Gwen?” Jun motioned for her to follow and she demurely obeyed, keeping her eyes downcast. What did he mean by dissipating? Did people just disappear around here?

A set of dense, multi-pronged keys was produced, unlocking the intricate mechanical contraption embedded within the transmuted iron gate.

When Gwen and Jun had passed, the soldiers looked at one another and wiggled their eyebrows.

“What do you suppose that was?” one of the men asked his Sergeant, still feeling star struck.

“Who is he?” another guard asked, then added more meaningfully while licking his chops. “And who’s the young lady?”

Sergeant Chow turned to the one who spoke.

“Su, how long you been here?”

“Two months, Sir.”

“And you’ve never heard of, or seen Captain Song?”

“Wait, that was Captain Song? THE Captain Song?”

The rest of the men nodded.

The Corporal’s face burned.

“Do you think its too late for an autograph?”

The rest of the men broke out in mirthful laughter, punching the embarrassed soldier in a jovial manner.

“I’ll get one for you next time, Su.”

“Who’s the girl, Serge?”

“Don’t know, didn’t see her go in, and I’ve been on duty the last three days.”

“Think she’s a pop star?”

The men turned to look at Slow Su with an expression full of mocking joviality. If the Intel committee were keeping ‘popstars’ in its secretive holding cells, then it would undoubtedly be dangerous to be wagging tongues in jest.

“Corporal Su?”

“Yeah, Serge?”

“Shut up and go back to your post. The rest of you, zip it.”

Chow felt the weight of the slate in his hand, looking up to see the distant figure of the girl walking up the stairs. Who was the girl? He wondered. When she had passed him, his hair stood on end. He hoped, he told himself, that they would never meet again.

* * *

Another checkpoint later, Gwen and Jun exited the basement level and entered the interior of a public building with the facade of a civic centre. Gargantuan marble columns held up towering ceilings adorned with etched bronze plates, florid with imprints depicting the founding of the Communist nation.

To Gwen, the feeling of space was immediately liberating after having spent a day and night inside the containment chamber, with nought but bare concrete walls and a perspex pane for companionship.

Gwen stretched out her body, enjoying the open air, feeling her bones creak.

Her actions drew strange looks from passerby men and women in dark suits and olive khaki, a few others in digital-camo. It was her foreignness, her height, her being the odd one out.

She retracted her arms and tried to make herself smaller.

Jun stopped beside Gwen, giving her an appraising look.

“I am afraid your height is going to give you that reaction wherever you go in the city, Gwen. You're as tall as a man, even taller if you're in heels. Think it'll bother you?”

Gwen shook her head; she was used to it. It cost her nothing for others to stare, and at any rate, it wasn’t as though she could help it.

“You’re the same height as Hai? Uncle Jun?" Her uncle was just a smidgen shorter than her, about the same size as her father.

“I am superior by a centimetre.” Jun smirked, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Now that they were away from the uncertain light of the bunker, Gwen could inspect Jun in the light of his full glory.

He looked just like Morye, or Hai, or whatever her father’s real name was, but younger, more affable and overall more engaged and lively. Jun's face was more defined and taut than her father, more muscular and chiselled with darker eyes that gave him a solemn demeanour. He had on a casual jacket over a white Tee, wore over tapered military cargos, completed with a thick, brown leather belt. Underneath the dark blazer, his shirt extended over well-defined pictorials that were like carved granite.

Gwen had never thought her father handsome, although many women would contest that her father was a rare find. But now that she’s seen the same face plastered onto her uncle, she had to admit that her father's innumerable willing victims may be onto something.

Jun warily pulled his jacket inward.

“Hey, I am your Uncle you know. I don't know what its' like down in yokel-town, but we're civilised up here in the Capital.”

Gwen laughed. It felt like the first time she’d laughed in weeks even though less than forty-eight hours had passed.

Her uncle shared her laughter, and they drew more curious eyes from all over.

“Its a steamer outside today,” her uncle straighten up, wiping an invisible tear. He struck a thumb toward the sunny space just outside the building’s enormous floor to ceiling double-doors, heavy bronze with patterns of studs in rows of five by nine, combining a brutalist aesthetic with a distinctly Oriental flavour. "It's a short walk to the car though, let us proceed as quickly as we can."

Gwen followed Jun across the threshold of the innocuous-looking civic centre, where she felt something wash over her body as they passed. Some barrier spell, maybe, or perhaps a scanning glyph, Gwen wasn’t sure. There were so many things here, contraptions and magic items of convenience, that Sydney lacked.

Immediately, a wave of hot air struck her like a hammer, plastering her with humidity. It felt as though she’d walked into a sauna filled with people.

“How is it? Monsoon Season in Shanghai.” Jun chuckled as he watched Gwen wilt like a flower under the sultry heat.

“Is here like Singapore?” Gwen groaned. “Are there overlapping Shield Stations here?”

“It’s the microclimate,” Jun explained. “Too many magical effects in too dense a location, generating far too much heat. Without the easterly breeze from the South China Sea to take away the miasma, the city cooks like a crab steamer.”

Gwen felt as though her face was melting. Her eyeliner wasn’t waterproof, so if they stayed any longer, she would be crying like a demi-human with the lineage of a squid.

The weather was unbearable. Gwen had been bone-dry just a moment ago, but now her arms and legs were dripping with a sheen of moisture oozing from her body. There was something about the heat that made it even worse than Singapore or the Jungle. Gwen felt that the trapped heat of the feverish metropolis was like a sad metaphor for her present condition, caught within the city, unable to escape, slowly simmering as she waded obliviously through the heating water.

They proceeded to the end of the civic century’s concrete superstructure, where a row of cars parked end to end for a hundred meters.

“B-7.” Jun drew a glyph in the air. It floated toward the attendant, an elderly looking man with a blue Municipal Officer's uniform.

“Right away, Sir.”

A moment later, a levitating platform retrieved an SUV, gently depositing the vehicle onto the pavement. What Gwen couldn't help noticing was that the man was a NoM, and yet here he was, operating a magical device.

“Bill it to Internal Revenue,” Jun told the man, who bowed from the waist up before returning to his post.

Watching the NoM attendant leave, Gwen turned her attention to the car, wondering what it was that people in the ‘tier 1’ cities drove. In Sydney, the vehicles were mostly older models that were cheaply mass produced. The roads beyond the CBD were shoddy and seldom well maintained, and traffic was a persistent nightmare. To her surprise, Jun's SUV was a Jeep, or at least it looked like a Jeep. It had four elongated slits across the front grill that formed the focal point of a boxy facade. Additionally, the urban 4x4 sat on lifted suspension and custom archways, with an open-air roof protected by a sturdy roll cage.

“That’s your car?” Gwen asked her uncle despairingly, dripping sweat from every pore. She hoped that the car would have been an enclosed space so that she could dry out from the air condition. From the looks of it, she was more likely to leave an embarrassing Gwen shaped sweat-stain on her uncle’s leather seats.

“Good grief, Gwen.” Jun urged her to get into the car.

Instantly, her drenched body became cooled by a pleasant breeze.

The open-air vehicle was air conditioned! An air-conditioned convertible! O, the miracle of Spellcraft! She praised the minds that created this boon; the world had become a better place for their invention.

“How do you guys live down-under? I heard it hits forty-five down there.” Jun hopped in. “There’s a decanter in the glove, cups too if you're thirsty.”

“Its dry heat, so it’s not that bad,” Gwen replied, feeling the cold leather luxuriously. True to Jun’s word, a nozzle connected to an endless decanter was installed conveniently next to some paper cups. Gwen placed a cup under the spigot, watching it dispense cool, purified water.

Gwen drank the frigid water, feeling it refresh her mind and body. She was still starving, but the water could tide her over until more substantial food could be sourced.

With a few simple incantations, her uncle started the Jeep, revving up its mana-cores. Unlike the Commonwealth nations, the Chinese made vehicles were left-hand drive, right-hand passenger. In front of Gwen, the mana engine thrummed until it grew into a throaty roar.

Her uncle materialised a baseball cap and a pair of aviators from a storage ring, cooly dressing for the drive. Wordlessly watching her Uncle, Gwen wondered if Jun more so resembled a Eurasian James Dean or perhaps an Asian Pierce Brosnan.

“Welcome to Shanghai.” Jun grinned, his thin lips opening to reveal pearly-white teeth. “Ready to meet your Grandmother?”

Shanghai.

Even in Gwen's old world, the Pearl of the Orient was a city of outlandish origins.

The name of the city itself means 'the town upon the sea,' though the indigenous fishermen who named it couldn't have imagined that it would become the single most significant trading city in Asia Major. The city caught a first glimpse of the future during the Opium Wars that gave bloody birth to the city's foundations, forcefully opening the sleepy fishing village at the tip of the Yangzi delta to international trade.

The next five decades were a tumultuous time for Shanghai; a city carved up into autonomous concessions administered by the British, French, and Americans, all independent of the withered reach of the failing Qing Dynasty. Concurrently, each colonial presence brought with them its particular flavour, architecture, and society, making the city into an eclectic mecca of cultures.

After the Russian Revolution of 1917, the White Russians added their feathers to the pile, bringing Shanghai into the peak of its cultural explosion.

By the 1930s, Shanghai was a melting pot, a cosmopolitan metropolis, taking on an identity of its own right, attracting natives and foreigners alike. In its heyday, the City upon the Sea was the place to be - it had the best art, the most fabulous architecture, and the most bustling trade in Asia. The city had the sleaziest dance halls, the most lascivious brothels, the glitziest restaurants, the most expensive international clubs, including the single longest bar in the world. Shanghai was a city of sin that catered to every whim of the rich and powerful; even as abject poverty ran alongside the opulent, with many of the underclasses, mostly Chinese, providing the cheap labour that kept the city running.

It was the Paris of the East.

A place of vice and indulgence.

Then began the Sino conflict of WWII.

But this world, with its Magic and Monsters, had never seen the Second World War.

Or at least that's what Gwen had learned in the discourse of Blackwattle's limited history classes.

In this world, The Second World War was man against the Beast Tide of '71, awakened by the rebirth of an ancient world dragon in central Europe that threw the unprepared realm of man into anarchy. Borders were redrawn, countries shrunk by halves; cities became isolated, and the known world splintered into zones, from the inhabitable death-worlds of the Black Zones to the contested, resource-rich Green Zones.

Gwen wondered if she would at all recognise the sprawling metropolis they were about to enter.

She would not.

That much was self-evident the moment they entered the orbital highway. In Gwen's old reality, Shanghai was already one of the most developed cities in the world. In this alter-existence, Shanghai was far larger - a sprawling mass of skyscrapers that resembled more so a pyramidal hive-city, with its epicentre congealing into a solid wall of superstructures towering well over the rest of the city.

As Gwen and Jun cruised through the Second Orbital-Loop, they came face to face with a forest of high rise apartments, identical fabrications in clumps of a dozen or more, sprouting from the flat earth like bamboo after the spring rain. There were so many of them, gleaming wetly in grey, ochre, lime and off-white, smothering the skyline and blotting out the sun as the highway ran its circumference.

“Those are NoM housing.” her uncle pointed out. “Pretty good actually, despite how they look. There are small parks below the apartments, underground shopping malls too. Very lively place, good food, if you don’t mind the NoM stuff.”

“Where do the Mages live?” Gwen asked. If there was a Second Orbital Loop, was there a first? And a third and fourth? Did the real estate determine the social strata of those living in Shanghai?

“Here and there, depending on your profession,” her uncle replied. “In fact, we’re going to the new district in the Third Orbital Loop, where members of the Party have private residences.”

Gwen inclined her head and turned to the cityscape, taking in the vista of the sprawling city, splayed like an etherised patient under a sweltering pseudo-summer brought by the mana-smog.

“Can you tell me about Dad?” she asked when they passed under a series of Illusion-enchanted billboards dozens of meters across.

One displayed a three-dimensional illusion depicting a kind, middle-aged gent with a benevolent, Buddha-like gaze, looking out over the highway with infinite patience. A series of Chinese characters next to his face translated to, “Premier Wen implores you to live in harmony and civic responsibility,” in large, red pictograms.

In the next second, just before they passed it, the image transitioned into that of a gorgeous blond with effeminate, elfin features, hair blowing out into the wind. The slogan for this one read, “Head and Shoulders: Who says gorgeous, dandruff free hair CAN'T smell gorgeous?”

“About Hai?” Jun considered her question once Gwen peeled her eyes from the adverts. “Alright, shoot.”

“Okay,” Gwen gathered her thoughts. “Who did Dad murder- WOA!"

The sudden inertia caused Gwen to lurched forward as Jun swerved the car onto the shoulder lane.

“He did what now?” Jun turned toward her, making Gwen breakout in a terrific cold sweat.

Curiously, the cars that screeched and braked did not honk. Instead, they placidly drove by with caution and politeness.

“We're on military plates,” her uncle pointed out, catching Gwen's puzzlement. “So, tell me again.”

“There was this time in Singapore when I pushed Morye about why he wanted to leave China, a tier 1 city, and he said that he 'killed' someone he shouldn’t have.”

“And?”

“That’s it; he refused to say anything else after.”

Jun scratched his goatee.

“That’s…”

Then his face lit up with an epiphanic comprehension.

“Wow, Hai, you weasel."

“Uncle?” Gwen's felt her curiosity well whetted.

“Well, I think I know what your father meant. It’s Hai, by the way, don’t let grandfather hear you use his alias. In our culture, names have a peculiar inference, and it is disrespectful to reject a name bestowed by the ancestors.”

Gwen dipped her chin in acknowledgement. She wondered if the ancestors would accept her foreign name, or if she would have to acquire a new one. In her old world, she had Asian colleagues who had two names, one used in public, and one used in the private company of their families.

“So, about my father?”

“I've only a hypothesis,” Jun replied after a moment of hesitation. "At any rate, out of respect for Hai, I think he should be the one to tell it."

Resuming the journey, their Jeep turned from the six-lane orbital highway onto an adjoining sky bridge. An overhead sign indicated an off-ramp that connected to the Third Outer Loop. Jun slid the wheel through his hands and allowed the car to coast down the spiralling ramp. The mana-engine thrummed as the flywheel picked up the momentum, holding the Jeep’s velocity at a steady cruise.

The Jeep then decelerated as it entered a residential zone, where the bare concrete of the freeway gave way to rows of giant cypress lining both side of a broad, two-lane avenue.

Another half a kilometre passed before their Jeep turned into a parkland gated community. A plaque in Chinese read "Hamlet of the Plum Blossoms."

“We’re here,” Jun announced.

The interior of the compound was verdant with landscaped gardens and water features flowing from artesian stones carved into aesthetically pleasing shapes. Though not sufficiently erotic, Gwen was sure her Opa would have approved.

The entrance to the family siheyuan, a quadrangle housing complex, appeared after a few twists and turns through the community garden.

Alright, Gwen took a deep breath. Time to meet her maker.

Here was the family that she had wholly neglected in her previous life. There were no expectations here, no clues, nothing to indicate their likes and dislikes. She was a stranger in a strange land, held captive by powers beyond her ken, now visiting the tiger's den; it would take every ounce of her otherworldly knowledge to escape unscathed.

Jun gave her a confident smile and stepped in, Gwen steeled her spine and followed.

The siheyuan was erected in the old Chinese style, though constructed with new composite materials. The courtyard, as Gwen entered, was an open-air atrium-garden split toward four pathways; one toward the exit lobby, the other three leading toward an open communal hall, the bedrooms, and an extensive training building.

It was the communal hall that now solemnly awaited them.

Gwen wetted her lips and stepped in. She felt nervous, shook up. Not unlike the first time she had to propose a project before the board as a junior consultant at McKinsey.

The hall itself was a two-storey building with a vaulted ceiling, held up by two massive beams painted in deep scarlet, richly lacquered and edged with dusky gold. A set of Chinese characters prefaced the plaque hanging overhead with a set of pictographic characters in a script her Ioun Stone mangled.

“Country... justice...” the other two words remained cryptic.

Gwen felt as though she travelled back in time into a period setpiece.

A faded crimson rug, two dozen meters in length, led her eyes toward the centre of the spacious chamber, where two dark mahogany chairs sat side by side with a side table between them. Flanking the seats were four more sets of smaller chairs, four on each side, lining either side of the carpet runner.

Currently, only one of the seats remained occupied.

To Gwen’s complete and utter surprise, the matriarch was a foreign woman with flowing silver hair that framed her petite face; possessing a much younger appearance than her bearing suggested. Her skin glowed with near supernatural vitality, radiating a halo of kindness and benignity.

“Gwen Song, my granddaughter, my name is Klavdiya."

Her grandmother's voice was as soft as a whisper and yet easily audible around the space of the hall.

“Grandmother!” Gwen paced across the carpet quickly.

When she came within speaking distance though, Gwen realised she had no idea what to do. She didn’t know any Chinese greetings. Was there a protocol to follow, some ritual to perform? Hopefully, she wasn't expected to kowtow, at least not in public.

In the end, she curtsied like she’d done in Sydney for the senior Mages and her instructors.

“That’s sweet, dear, though a bow would have sufficed.” Her grandmother observed, her expression mystical and inscrutable.

Their eyes met.

Klavdiya possessed a face familiar to Gwen, sharing the same straight nose, the same pursed lips, the same correspondingly high cheekbones. Mystifyingly, Klavdiya had a thick head of silvery-flaxen tresses that bespoke of her age even as her face gave off a youthful exuberance.

Gwen had always wondered why she didn’t particularly resemble her father or mother - though she did have her mother’s eyes - and now the mystery was solved. It was her grandmother whose features she had inherited.

“You may call me Nainai, or grandmother, or babushka, though a babulya certainly wouldn’t be amiss should the fancy catch you.” Her 'babulya' intoned with a voice full of quiet wisdom.

Babulya it is then, Gwen told herself. She liked how the word rolled off the tongue with its triple-tap of plosive syllables.

Babulya then stepped off the impressively sized mahogany chair and confidently sauntered toward Gwen, who felt indecisively welded to the spot by a mess of ambivalent emotions.

Woa, tiny! Was the first thought to pass through Gwen’s head. Her babulya was barely five-foot-two.

Gwen must have gotten her height from her mother’s side.

Her babulya wore a comfortable smock shaped from a simple tunic paired with an ankle length skirt, capped off with a pair of dark cotton walking flats. More strikingly, despite babulya's venerable age, her spine was ramrod straight; her shoulder squared and poised, her chin held high - though that may be because Klavdiya was looking up toward Gwen’s face.

Then she opened her arms and embraced Gwen at the waist.

Gwen lowered herself by a head’s height so that their faces could meet rather than her babulya burying her face in the vicinity Gwen’s chest, which would have been an awkward cuddle for both participants.

Klavdiya gave Gwen a hearty peck on both cheeks.

“Finally! A granddaughter as tall as the ones I used to know from the mother country!” Her babulya exclaimed excitedly, patting Gwen's head gingerly and touching her face and shoulders. “Good bones too, strong and well-formed. Oh, I think you have a bit of growing left in you yet!”

When Klavdiya's hand found its way upon Gwen’s bosom and the amulet hanging there, Gwen felt a sudden quickening of her pulse.

“You have the Kirin?” Her babulya seemed startled by the find.

“I do,” Gwen replied, sliding a hand between her blouse and removing the jade pendant for Klavdiya's inspection.

“No need to give it back.” Her babulya patted the space between her chest. “It’s yours - if Hai had given it. It will be of great benefit to you in the future.”

Gwen carefully slipped the amulet back between her breasts, where it sat snugly, diffusing its gentle warmth.

“So, let's take a good gander at you.” Klavdiya pulled herself back, gently pinning Gwen's arms to her waist.

Gwen could see that despite her babulya’s apparent hale health, there was a slight tinge of opaqueness to her eyes that suggested she was of significant senescence. As a woman though, Gwen knew better than to ask, resolving instead to deductive reasoning. After all, her father was thirty-seven, meaning that at best, her Klavdiya was in her mid-fifties, an impressive feat for a woman with three children and four grandchildren.

All of it made the spectacle of Klavdiya's vitality all the more startling.

“Detection!”

Babulya’s eyes glowed with the magic of Divination, mixed in with a radiant aura of positive energy that formed a visible halo over her temple.

Gwen felt a wave of warmth emit from her babulya’s hands, washing over her astral body with the soft archery of summer rains. It was a familiar feeling she had known many times before from another diminutive angel.

“You’re… a healer?” Gwen blurted out. Who’d have thought that her babulya was a healer of all things? From the way Guo had behaved, Gwen had imagined that either Klavdiya was a femme fatale of unfathomable power or a bronze-faced babushka with an iron palm.

“You’ve got quite a few hidden injuries there, my dear granddaughter,” her grandmother mused. “The second-rate healers of the tier 2 cities are not trained to deal with magical injuries fully, and from the looks of it, you have taken quite a beating. There are parts of your body that have sustained extensive regeneration, but it doesn’t appear to have meshed well with your pre-existing flesh.”

Gwen placed ran a hand over her chest, across her shoulders, then over her abdomen. She had indeed felt a little unused to the youthfulness of her new body, as though parts of her were slightly out of sync with her mind’s projected movement.

“But now that you are here, we can heal you." Klavdiya smiled gently, bringing a wizened hand to meet Gwen’s own. It was there that Gwen saw her babulya's true age. “Come, come, sit with me.”

She directed Gwen toward a chair adjacent to her own.

Beside them, Jun took an opposite seat.

“You must have suffered much while in the frontier." Klavdiya clicked her tongue a few times to drive the point home. "Sydney is not a bad city by any means, but the constant exposure to the Mermen must have taken a terrible toll on you.”

“It was alright, Babulya,” Gwen replied carefully. “I have friends there who are faithful and loyal, as well as mentors who helped me out during the year and a half since I had awakened.”

“Oh I am sure.” Her grandmother gently patted Gwen's hand. Klavdiya had round, almond eyes that were amber flecked with bits of sunburst yellow. Gwen wondered if that was her babulya's natural colour, or if years of training with positive energy had altered her irises, just as the lightning element made Gwen's eyes glow a hysterical shade of cobalt.

Feeling the amiability radiating from her grandmother, Gwen felt as though the time had come for her to appeal.

“Babulya,” Gwen inquired carefully, holding steady her tone and cadence. “Do you think it is at all possible, that grandfather will let me return to Sydney?”

Her babulya smiled.

Nothing.

Gwen could read nothing from that face. It was as kind and caring and thoughtful as the moment she had walked into the room.

“Would you like me to be honest with you, my dear?”

“Yes, babulya.”

“Alright,” her grandmother held her hand. “In a moment, your grandfather will come home-“

At the mention of Guo, Gwen's heart pounded arrhythmically, constricting her diaphragm with an acidic twist.

“-and then we are going to have a banquet. You are then going to meet the rest of the family.”

Gwen nodded demurely, unthawing herself through force of will.

“After that, you, me, Grandfather and Jun, we are going to sit down, right here, and we are going to have a nice, long conversation...”

So, Gwen acknowledged the proposal, she was being given a second chance.

When her father had told Gwen about her paternal family, Gwen had fantasised about meeting them. It was a strange and giddy sensation, to have another chance at reliving a part of her life that she’d neglected a lifetime ago. As much as she had to remind herself that she was roughly abducted and brought into the home as one under house arrest, she was still appreciative that such an opportunity existed at all. After all, when Gwen rationally considered her current dilemma, wasn’t there a silver lining hidden beneath it all?

Perhaps, Gwen thought to herself, she should think of her father’s unwitting error as an accidental accelerant that pushed forward her timetable. It made the bitter pill easier to swallow if she considered the blessing that Morye's blunder had brought.

Likewise, the meeting with her paternal family could also be seen as a boon. Hadn’t she promised that she wouldn’t ignore these branching forks in the yellow woods of her new life? She had already taken the path less taken in her past life - now was the time to travel the well-trodden trail of familial ties.

“Alright, Babulya.” Gwen squeezed her grandmother’s hands. “I’ll tell you everything I can.”

“Such a good child.” Her babulya had a twinkle in her eye that Gwen recognised. It was a look of sly triumph.

Were her grandparents playing a bad cop, good cop routine? Gwen wondered. It didn’t matter now. If she were going to commit to the path ahead, there would be no room for lingering regrets, at least not with her grandfather’s bloodhound’s nose for conspiracy.

As Gwen played with potential scenarios in her head; she became struck by a delightfully wicked thought.

What if she told Grandfather and the MSS about Elizabeth?

The number of people who knew the truth - the real truth, could be counted on one hand. What if Gwen told them about Elizabeth, her powers, what she had done in Sydney, and sold her worst enemy for some Contribution Credits? She didn’t have to tell them the entire truth, of course, her Master’s many acts of misplaced mercy would be omitted, and Elizabeth Winsted Sobel would simply be a psychotic rogue Mage returned from the dead to wreak havoc upon a man who had almost rid the world of her taint. Wouldn’t it be fun to sic a beautiful little Interpol warrant on that nasty woman? It would perhaps flush her out from hiding, where Gunther and Alesia would be waiting for her.

On that same note, Gwen's mind raced, what did the tier 1 cities know of the Void Element? Surely, if the bloodline of Song practised the power of Salt, they would know plenty about the dangers of utilising quasi-negative elements. If her father couldn’t help her, maybe her grandfather could? She could finally share with someone her worries and fears about Caliban’s powers, perhaps receive some guidance in mitigating its effects.

Even if they refused to take her in, perhaps they could give her a hand.

Her grandfather was a stone-faced spymaster, but what of her babulya? Perhaps uncle Jun or even her yet unseen aunt? Hell, if her father was willing to return to the fold, maybe she could take advantage of that? Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all, Gwen was prepared to bite the bullet if it meant she could see her friends again.

There was most definitely a play she could execute here.

As they insensitively say in Guangzhou, there are more ways than one to skin a cat.

“Gwen?” Her babulya tapped Gwen's hand as the poor girl appeared to have drifted off into space after she had announced Guo's imminent arrival. “Don't worry about your grandfather, he’s an old softy once you get past the spiky exterior, think of him as a Bristle-back Pangolin, there’s nothing to fear.”

“Of course, Babulya, I was just thinking, that's all.”

“I am sure you were, dear.” Babulya looked across the courtyard, toward the gate. “Why don’t you go and get changed dear, give him a fresh, new impression. I’ve prepared something suitable for you in the guest room. It would do you both good to not remind him of the Sky-Prison.”

“I will, Babulya,” Gwen replied, turning to look at Jun.

“This side.” Jun lead her away. “I’ll show you to your room.”

My room. Gwen masticated the words carefully in her mouth. Looks like she was in for the long haul. If only they would let her contact Elvia or Yue, maybe even Gunther.

Her 'room' was surprisingly situated not on the family’s side of the siheyuan, but in the East Wing, next to the Training Hall. It was a semi-detached single with a small closet, a bed and a bedside table. The room had no ensuite, for the bathrooms were adjacent, just inside the adjoining training hall. These were public bathrooms, but so long as the building remained unoccupied, Gwen would have her privacy. From the looks of it, the abode was used to house instructors when they stayed to tutor the members of the household.

The location was a telltale sign of her current position within the hierarchy, Gwen mused to herself. Not quite in the family, not quite out - just close enough to be within hand’s reach, but kept far away enough to be disposable. Her grandmother may play the simpering babulya, but her intentions were measured and precise. She was clearly a woman who thought a dozen steps ahead, a woman whose acute proposal was preferable to Gwen than one of blind affection.

Having inspected her new home, Gwen relaxed. Now that their respective positions were transparent, it made her circumstances far more apparent.

"Be out soon."

Jun left Gwen at the door and went to oversee the banquet.

Within the closet, Gwen found a mixed East-West ensemble, a one-piece dress with a pleated, knee-length blue skirt and an elegant cheongsam blouse for the upper body, embroidered with a Ming-vase filigree. It was a jarring combination that carried a sophisticated chic about it which suited Gwen's long-limbed figure well.

Gwen slipped the dress over head and clasped its butterfly knot buttons. Just as she was beginning to think it was too large; the gown shifted. The effect was so startling that Gwen yelped as the fabric tapered to her torso.

She had to do a doubletake in the mirror to confirm that the dress had indeed resized itself.

This mandarin dress was a miracle. No need to worry about waist to bust ratios, no need to worry about ill-fitting skirt lengths! What a wonderful enchantment! O brave new world, O wondrous world, that has such magic in it!

She materialised a brush and smoothed out her hair with a handful of dry shampoo, finding no time to style her dishevelled, rebellious curls into something straight and presentable. Instead, she wrangled her mane into an oriental-looking coiffure, a cute little sideburn that she pinned down with several wire clips.

For shoes, she brought out her lucky, veteran Mary-Janes. Gwen promised herself that if she had a chance, she would get them enchanted with a self-cleaning, self-polishing effect, for she had grown emotionally attached to them, and would hate to see the pair become battered and worn, a mess of their former glory.

The overall effect was better than she had anticipated.

The form fitted cheongsam suited her well, even if her shoulders were a little too broad to be entirely feminine. The dress likewise, ended precisely at the length the designer had intended, just above her knees, showing off her shapely calves and long, thin ankles.

Her self-styled hair was holding together, and her face was about as good as its going to get without at least half an hour that she didn’t possess.

Right. Gwen thought to herself. Round two.

* * *

“DAD?!”

To her surprise, her father was here.

He was healed and attired in a military jacket with matching olive pants. It was such a rare sight. The military outfit suited him. It made Morye look almost respectable.

“Wow, you’re out already?” Her father was surprised to see her too. “I guess we both should thank your grandmother, eh? Babulya!”

Babulya shot him an expression that was at once scalding and tender.

“Are you… alright?” Gwen approached her father, touching his face here and there where he'd been battered before.

“Hey, HEY! That tickles, don’t!” He protested loudly, embarrassed to be fussed over by his daughter in front of his family. Gwen had never seen her father like this before, so out of his element, so agitated and disturbed. It was fun.

There was a loud cough.

Guo Song, patriarch of the clan, dressed in a crisp military uniform, made his presence known.

“Grandfather.” Gwen bowed deeply. Jun had taken her aside earlier and taught her how to do a Chinese greeting properly.

“Mm,” her grandfather grunted, looking over Gwen with a perspicacious gaze that acknowledged he was far less critical of her current attire, demeanour, and mannerisms. “Let’s get started. I am starving.”

“Not waiting for Tao and Mina?” Jun inquired. “We need to wait for Nen as well; she's likely trying to wrangle them.”

“They can be late!” Her grandfather blew two jets of disgruntled air from his nostrils and began to move.

“Right, off we go then, lets head in!” Jun changed his tone as soon as Guo made a sour face. He shot a look toward Gwen and told her to head inside.

* * *

Within the main compound, in the open room cleared for the occasion, a giant banquet table sat, seated to fit eight.

Her grandfather, Guo.

Her babulya, Klavdiya

Her uncle, Jun.

Her father, Hai.

Gwen.

And three empty chairs.

The NoM servants came and went like a stream of bees, though Gwen was flummoxed to see that many of them wore military outfits.

Was this another aspect of how NoMs lived in a tier 1 city or was it a uniquely Chinese thing? There were so many of them, these servants, a dozen in all, who stood to attention behind the family as they each took their seats.

Gwen waited until all of the other had seated before taking a seat herself.

The food presented in front of her was decidedly beyond the ken of her limited vocabulary. Of all the dishes, a dozen in all, she could only recognise the sliced duck and its side of pancakes as the famous Peking Duck. As for the others, she couldn't begin to guess.

Beside her, Morye sat miserably, looking up at the ceiling wistfully, hoping he could be somewhere else, far away.

Jun sat opposite the table, grinning at his elder brother with an ebullient expression, bathing in Morye’s misery with unmasked evidence of schadenfreude.

Grandfather sat with his eyes closed as if in meditation, and grandmother fussed over the temperate of the tea while a servant apologised and promised to keep the oolong leaves at precisely eighty-five degrees.

“Hungry?” her uncle asked, watching Gwen’s lips wetly salivating. He knew that she must be starving, but no one dared to eat without her grandfather touching the first dish.

Gwen shook her head, but her intelligent, hazel eye were terrible liars.

“What’s that?” Gwen indicated with an inclination of her chin.

“Ah, an old favourite - the palm of the Snow Bear, cooked with roe of the Dragon-Sturgeon.”

“…”

“Oh, that one? Ah yes, this one is called the Golden Burning Brain.”

“Come again?” Gwen stuttered “Brain?”

“No! You silly goose, not ‘brain’, its made from bean curd simmered in a soup of Wildland pheasant, giblet of King Duck, and stewed with the Hooked-claw Cuckoo.”

“…”

“Don’t fret, if you’re disappointed that there's no brain, that right over there-” her uncle pointed with his chin as well toward a grey mass sitting in a creamy broth. “The brain of the Gibbon Shark, cooked two way in yin-yang soup. Be sure to take a big bowl later.”

“I er…” Gwen no longer had to lie that she wasn't hungry. She looked for something else.

“Oh, that thing?”

Gwen’s eyes fell upon a heavily crusted pool of yellow pudding that had little motes of black that resembled frogspawn. What the hell could this thing be? Why are all these dishes filled with things she’d never even seen before? What happened to an honest chunk of roasted Wildland Boar served with potatoes and mash?

“That’s just a regular egg tart; the wild vanilla seeds are rather large this year, a little zealous in the growth enchantment department, I think.”

She could eat that. Gwen thought to herself. Her eyes moved over to a bowl of clear jelly.

“Good choice. That one is a family favourite!"

“Is it coconut jelly?” Gwen asked innocuously.

“What, no! That’s the nest of the four-winged swallow, harvested fresh from a coastal Black Zone!”

What! A nest? An actual nest? Why is the nest transparent? Gwen stared in horror at the dish before her. What happens to the eggs, or the fledgelings, inside the nest?

“It’s not a nest,” her father answered for her. “It’s mostly a part of the swallow.”

“Which… part?”

“The SPIT." Her father grinned at her.

Gwen turned to regard her uncle, who nodded affirmatively. She returned her eyes to the table.

Egg tart it is.

They waited for a few more minutes before finally, a growing clamour heralded the arrival of their final guests.

Nen came through the door first, bowing deeply and apologising for her tardiness. It wasn’t hard to recognise her aunt because she looked just like Klavdiya, having the same face and the same mannerisms. Despite their similarity, however, there remained a telling difference between them. Nen lacked the presence, the bearing, the comportment, the dignified air of supreme competence, that Klavdiya possessed. In fact, watching Nen smiling blithely as her grandfather seethed with an audible grinding of teeth gave Gwen the impression that her aunt may be a bit of a ditz.

The next figure to come through the door flooded the room with a perfumed air that invaded every nook and cranny. The fragrance was redolent of osmanthus flowers with a hint of peach, a perplexing and alien scent that made Gwen's nose wrinkle. When she finally recovered from the aromatic assault enough to bring her eyes to the girl that was now striding towards the dining table, she saw yet another alter-ego of Klavdiya's face, this time more distinctly Asian, complete with light brown hair streaked with bits of carmine. Where babulya had the amber, almond eyes of the Eastern Europeans, this girl, who Gwen would presume to be ‘Mina’, had dark, obsidian orbs like their grandfather, giving her a doll-like appearance that suited her expensive-looking frock well. Their eyes met, and immediately Gwen felt an unbidden sense of hostility. She followed Mina’s gaze until it landed below Gwen's chin, then realised that Mina was furious about the dress she was wearing.

Ah. Gwen understood immediately; she was well-learned in the art of reading men and women. Mina must have expected the dress to be hers, and now a lovely misunderstanding over the affections of babulya was upon them. As for Mina’s age, Gwen couldn’t say, if aunty Nen and babulya was anything to go by, Mina could be anywhere from fourteen to twenty-four. Goodness, Gwen thought to herself. What confusion must lie in this world for the men and women who wished to woo the healers!

Then there was their final member; she had heard him enter the adjacent room.

But no one came through the door.

The silence was a jarring lull in the bustle of the moment, where just a second ago two women had burst through the doorway.

“Tao!” Guo's utterance snapped through the air like a bullwhip.

Slowly, Tao came through the partitioned door.

Gwen’s eyes almost popped out of her sockets.

If she’d been eating, she would have spat out the food in her mouth and sprayed the table like the spit of the four-winged swallow.

Tao walked across the twin pillar threshold, lifting one leg above the other with great ceremony.

ARE THOSE DROP-CROTCH LOW-SAG JEANS? The spectacle assailed her as though someone had taken a Catapult spell and king-punched her in the brain. The visual stimulus that assaulted her eyes was such that she felt breathless.

She had to do a double-take and double-check her surroundings, to make sure that she was still in China.

But no.

She remained in Shanghai, China, sitting next to her militaristic grandfather and her babushka grandmother, with eyes like an ancient dragon, then Tao, her cousin, just walked in like someone from a 2010 hip-hop video, likely featuring someone with the name ‘Lil’ something. He had ankle-height Nike sneakers in a blinding shade of white to go with the absurd, low-rise jeans, combined with two tee-shirts, one white and the other black, with a flamboyantly flared collar that covered half his face, topped off with a baseball cap too big for his head, worn slightly askew.

He also had a black-eye.

All of Gwen’s anxieties and fears washed away. There was nothing, no abduction, no threat of Room 101, that could top the absurdity of this moment.

Is this the real life?

Or is this fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality?

From the door, Tao looked up.

There must have been a sequence of genes missing somewhere, lost in the translation of generations. Tao had a face that looked like a man had mated with a surprised squirrel, creating a gaunt, skull-shaped head with deeply sunken sockets, from within which two startled looking amber orbs sat.

To Gwen’s surprise, Tao's eyes did not register Morye, his long-lost uncle of many years, but instead fell upon herself.

Tao’s face lit up like a man who'd suddenly found fire.

“Yo wassup,” he said, swinging his head back and forth, bobbing in Gwen's general direction. “Who's da hoe? She looks hella fresh.”

Gwen felt her mind riot.

It was too much.

She couldn’t hold back.

If she had to hold back her laughter now, she would die.

Some die for beauty.

Some die for truth.

Gwen died trying to be polite.

Her natural reaction was to unleash a hysterical cackle of mocking joviality, to strike the table with her palms and mayhap even fall off the chair, laughing until her stomach was in stitches.

But Gwen held back.

Anyone who could act and say whatever they wanted in front of Guo was an asset Gwen wished to preserve. Who knew if one day Tao may become a useful speakerphone, even if all she needed from him was a few words, in the right place, at the right time?

So he called her a 'hoe', feasibly, it could have been endearing? Maybe he didn't know better? It was no skin off her nose either way.

"I am your cousin. Gwen Song," she replied, standing from her seat to shake his hand. Having delivered his suave entrance, Tao staggered towards the table to greet the new member of the family.

"I got chu, Fam." Tao threw her a gang sign.

They shook.

Gwen couldn't help but notice the young man's palm was slick and a little sticky.

They sat.

If such a place as the Elemental Plane of 'Royally Pissed Off' existed, Guo would have torn a gap in the space-time continuum and opened a portal.

The patriarch waited until his blood pressure had returned to a manageable level, his face reverting to its usual cold pallor before he introduced Gwen and Morye to the late comers.

There was an audible gasp from Nen, whose eyes grew as round as quail eggs.

"Hai!"

You didn't notice?! Gwen glanced at her aunty with dubiousness. Nen then pushed back her chair, ran toward Morye, embraced him, and began rubbing her hands all over his face, raining a series of pecks on his grizzled cheeks.

"Oh, I've missed you! We all thought you died!"

Morye withstood the assault quietly and graciously, slumping back as though he was trying to survive an unexpected squall.

With the greetings over, the banquet was finally ready to begin. At the head of the table sat the patriarch and the matriarch, beside them their children, Nen on the left and the two sons on the right. Beside Nen was her daughter, Mina, who still glared at Gwen, and then it was finally, Tao.

Tao eyed the food a few times before his eyes moved onto Gwen, running over her mandarin-dress like a dog panting over a steak. It wasn’t so much as lascivious as it was comically direct, for the young man was of small stature, but had a large, clean-shaven head, with two watery, sleep-deprived eyes that resembled poached eggs, slightly protruding from his pancake flat face. On second thought, Gwen realised, it wasn’t that Tao was leering at her, but that he couldn’t ‘not’ appear to leer. The libidinous intent was attributed entirely to the unfortunate structure of his unpropitious face; there was nothing the poor man could do about that, was there? His back, she noticed as well, was hunched, his chest sunken and shallow. Had he sustained some injury in the past? Gwen wondered, her eyes moving from his torso up toward his face, where his bruised eye was glaringly obvious.

“Which hood you from?” Tao's head bobbed when he spoke, giving the impression of a nervous but also impatient chicken.

“I am from Sydney if that is what you are asking.”

“Woa! You from the Frontier, dawg? That's hardcore, man, Props. Life there must be a bitch!”

“One second, Tao.” Gwen turned toward her uncle. “Uncle Jun, I don’t speak Chinese so… is Tao's 'vernacular' 'for real' or is my Ioun Stone acting up?”

“Oi!” Tao protested. "That's how me and mah B-Boys roll, dawg. Don't hate the playa!"

Jun also put on an awkward expression.

“He is er… ‘for real’, as they say.”

“Yeah, bitches! I am for reals!”

“Well, I am happy to be here, Tao.” Gwen extended a white hand to pat Tao on the arm, spreading a little intimacy to break the ice.

Tao started when he noticed her flawless, dainty and slender fingers.

“I thought you bumpkins are all farmers and shit, ya know?” He took her hand and sniffed her fingers. “Why you all dolled up all prim and shit? Put on a party dress shawty; I bet ewell make Mina look like a bitch, haha!”

“Brother dear!” Mina snapped at her brother cattily, her pretty face screwing up into a scowl. “Piss me off again, and I’ll grow you an extra set of wisdom teeth.”

Tao shrivelled.

“Hi, I am Gwen.” Gwen turned to Mina and likewise offered her hand.

Mina stared at Gwen's hand as though it was an alien appendage.

“Hello.” She threw Gwen some shade under her voluminious lashes, her doll-like, porcelain face taking on an aloof expression. She took Gwen's fingers and shook them half-heartedly.

Gwen retracted her hand and turned to look at Morye, who was enjoying a little schadenfreude of his own. Jun, meanwhile, looked as though he was already exhausted by his nephew and niece's shameful display.

“It’s good to see you’re all getting along so well,” Nen announced suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Family should stick together! Hai, I am so happy you're back to life! I never believed it for a moment when they said you died.”

Morye fired back a smile as false as water, which Nen riposted with absolute earnestness. The radiant demeanour she put up made him feel immediately guilty - as if he'd careless trod on a puppy.

“ENOUGH!” Her grandfather growled. Guo was very fond, or so it appears, of listening and watching in deathly silence before suddenly making a clamorous announcement. “Start eating!”

And so the banquet began in earnest, but Gwen wasn’t sure if any of the dishes would be to her liking. Her aunty Nen overzealously filled her bowl with bits and pieces of each exotic item, forcing Gwen to grit her teeth and embark on an alien Epicurean adventure.

As the dinner progressed, Guo sat like a lord surveying his domain, his eyes moving from Gwen to the others, to her father and back to Gwen again. As Guo absentmindedly chewed through each dish, she could almost hear the gears turning inside his head; little cogs falling into place as loops and hooks interconnected plots and projections.

“Try this dear; it’s good for your Mana pool." Nen passed Gwen a bowl of brain that resembled tofu. No, Gwen told herself. It is tofu. TOFU. Elvia likes Tofu; therefore she likes Tofu too.

“Thank you, Aunty.”

There were a hundred questions Gwen wanted to ask her father, but she would have to wait until after their soft interrogation by Guo. Beside Morye, Jun spoke patiently and meticulously, asking his brother about life in Sydney and how he’d manage to survive the dozen or so years without access to the resources of the clan.

“I get by, you know? I guess the gift of not using any Salt magic was that I got to have kids, although the curse was that I got to have kids.” Morye shot Gwen a look that made her feel immediately offended.

“Ha, you got me there.” Jun chewed on his rice with a vacant expression. If anything, Jun would have liked to have children. When Morye disappeared, and it fell to him to continue to the line, he'd found out that he was infertile. To heal his lifeforce would mean giving up his talents for a decade. That or submit himself to extensive experimentation, neither of which was an option.

Gwen's babulya seemed to be in conversation with her grandfather, their lips moved without sound, exchanging words which evaded her best attempts at eavesdropping.

Mina meanwhile, fiddled with what appeared to be a slate of some kind, half distractedly going about dinner without engaging with anyone at the table.

Without a single person to converse with, Gwen turned to Tao, who was digging through the dishes like a man who had just survived a famine.

“So, cousin, who gave you that black eye?”

“Sum wankstas.” Tao hissed under his breath, chewing on a pork-trotter.

“Details, perhaps? Surely a man such as yourself would have given as good as you received.”

“You talk like a grandma,” Tao observed offhandedly.

"..." Maybe she could borrow some of Tao's inflexions? “So, tell me about the fight.”

Tao dropped the trotter and looked for a tart.

With a mouth still full of crumbs, he began to regale his tale in great detail.

“So, there was this motherfucker from the Lin Clan who wanted to fuck with my crew. Me and my boys, we were like, hanging out n' chilling, minding our own business at the K, right. Then this stunner shows up, and he’s like, ‘What brings you out here?” and I am like, ‘What’s it to you, Fuck Face?’ Then he’s like, ‘Clean up your mouth, dip shit.’ Then I am like, ‘No, you fuck off.’”

“Oh, my.” Gwen listened with rapt fascination, a captive audience to Tao’s epic.

“Dat Lin fucker's a real tool, you know, the bitch-face dared to turn away from me. Like WHO DA FUCK turns away in a fight? So I am like, 'Bitch, take mah ‘Ray of Frost!’ And I nail'd em right at the back of his fucking neck, hahaha.”

“Go on. Then what happened?”

“Fuck you think happened bitch? He turns around, and he’s all like fired up and shit. Motherfucker’s from a good bloodline you know, Radiant and all that jazz. I am like, ‘Aw shit!’ and he’s like, ‘Yeah, you little shit,’ and I am like ‘Bros! protect me!’ and my bros are all like ‘protect Peaches!’”

“Who's Peaches?”

“Shawty, you even listening? I am Peaches! Tao is Chinese for Peach, alright?”

“It is? Okay, Peaches. Go on.”

“Anyway, this Lin bitch right, he’s about to fuck me in the ass, you know. He’s all fluffed and shit, fucking university wanker. Anyway, I am like ‘Bro, you want to fuck me up! Come at me. You know who my Dad is?’ and he’s like ‘What the fuck, are you mentally disabled? We went to junior school together. Our Dads golf on Sundays!' Then I am like ‘Fuck you!’ and that’s when he hit me, with his mother fucking hands man! The fucker knew we're not allowed to duel in public spaces, so he beat me like a NoM!”

“With his bare hands, you say?”

“Motherfucker beat me like a slab of char-siu, bitch. All tenderised and shit.”

"When did he stop?"

Tao, A.K.A Peaches, looked around the table before replying quietly.

“When he fucking got tired, I guess?”

"Security doesn't like to meddle with the military's kids," Morye explained, likely from experience. "No spells flying around, no trouble."

Gwen turned to the rest of the table to see if anyone just experienced the Epic of Peaches in the same manner as she just did; only the Epic of Gilgamesh could have been told with the same panache.

“It grows on you, doesn’t it,” Jun said after a moment. “Sometimes I miss it even.”

“You the best, Uncle Jun, World Star!”

Gwen turned to look at Guo.

“He is not Song,” he announced after a few unkind moments under Gwen's cynical gaze.

“Tao is err… disinherited,” Jun added helpfully.

“That’s hardly fair!” Nen protested, her face unhappy and adorable at once. “Peaches needs all the help he can get!”

“Can you all keep the volume down?” Mina interjected suddenly. “I am trying to hold a conference here.”

That was when Gwen noticed that Mina had a subtle glow flickering beside her ear.

She was on a call with someone else the entire time?! Gwen looked around for a device but couldn’t find one. Was the girl a diviner? No, she gave off the aura of a healer, and there was that strange perfume hanging about her as well, was it an ability, or was it a gadget?

“Mina is likewise… well, you know,” Jun added. “At least until they prove themselves.”

Percy, you lucky bastard. Gwen noted silently to herself. If Percy could be half as obedient as these two living examples of filial piety, then he surely had it in the bag.

Dinner proceeded for another half an hour; then the servants brought bowls of water which they used to sanitise their hands.

A palate cleanser of herbs in a slightly syrupy soup was the last dish; then the banquet was done.

Grandfather rose.

“Gwen, Hai, Jun, in the meeting chamber, now. Nen, look after your children.”

Those whose names were called stood to attention.

Gwen felt her stomach take a little topsy-turvy tumble.

This was her second chance.

There would not be a third.

* * *

The meeting chamber was a conference room on the side of the main dining area.

Grandfather sat at the head. Babulya sat beside him.

Jun sat to the side. Nen was missing, though Gwen had a suspicion that the air-headed aunty was likely terrible at keeping secrets, which would explain her absence.

Gwen and Morye stood in the middle.

The room was held up by four giant pillars, likewise painted in dark crimson. Above them, a giant plaque read “Righteous Heart… One…”

“Which one of you would like to speak first?” Grandfather demanded of them.

Gwen turned toward her father, who shrugged his shoulders.

“I will.” Morye raised a hand.

“Gwen, take a seat while your father speaks.” Babulya pointed to a chair beside Jun.

Her father gathered his thoughts while Gwen patted down her dress to prevent it riding up her thighs. The skirt portion of the dress was pleated, but the mandarin-style torso pulled at the hem when she bent at the hips.

"Before I began," Morye announced to his parents. "Allow me to apologise. Father, and especially Mother, I am sorry."

Morye allowed for a dramatic pause.

“I am sorry I faked my death at the battle of Hunan.”

Gwen’s eyes baulked, her hazel orbs sparkling with astonishment and disbelief. Her father had said that he ‘killed’ someone he shouldn’t have, but so far there was no indication of who he had murdered. So the man he 'killed' was himself? How typically cryptical of Morye!

“Is inheriting the clan such an impossible task for you?” Grandfather’s voice was anxious frustration and repressed fury simmering under a surface of forced calm.

"It is," Morye announced directly. “Father, neither of us wish to be euphemistic, so let me say it once more. I have no desire to inherit the clan and act as its head. I just wish to be myself, do what I want. As you should know, I am not a man of duty. I maintained that when we fought about it so many years ago, and I maintain it now.”

“A Mage’s talent does not belong to himself alone.” Her grandfather gripped the knob his chair vehemently.

“Which is why in my escapade, I never relied on the gift of Yin and the bloodline of the Song,” Morye pointed out. “When I survived in Sydney, I did so entirely on the Earth element, which I performed using Elemental Shift, and my self-taught Abjuration.”

“You are a Magus now?” Babulya looked up, her face full of surprise. “This is wonderful news.”

“Well, unintentionally, maybe.” Morye shrugged. “My point is, I was perfectly happy there, using my powers to survive, untethered to... all of this.”

“Tell me about your life in Sydney, how you have lived in these twenty odd years.” Klavdiya intoned, glowing with the happiness that her useless son had unwittingly become a Magus.

“Well, I arrived on a freighter under the pseudonym Morye, which means ocean…”

“In Russian, I know,” Klavdiya replied warmly. “Pray, go on.”

Morye spoke plainly of his experiences, but much of it Gwen either already knew or had guessed at in the past. Her father had worked hard to join a vocational college in Sydney, got a scholarship into Sydney University through that, then met Gwen’s mother. They fell in love, had children, then divorced due to differences in life’s philosophies. When pressed, Morye stated that Gwen’s mother had found out about Morye’s powers and wanted a better life, a life of prestige, but Morye refused, and so they came to blows. While divorced, he looked after his two children as best as he could, until they graduated junior high and awakened to their abilities.

“Is this true, Gwen?” Babulya asked Gwen to confirm Morye’s story.

Her father' story was 'true' of course. If the only other option was 'false'. It was also missing the hundred or so times Morye cheated on her mother. Personally, a salient fuck-up was when Gwen came home feeling suicidal after her rebirth, only to find Morye had invited a girlfriend over to celebrate Gwen moving out of the house. Likewise, in the year or so since in which they hadn't seen each other, it was because Morye was busy with his private life.

But Gwen wanted Morye to owe her one.

“I had not known want, gone hungry, or felt unsafe during the time we grew up,” Gwen said carefully, avoiding looking at Morye. "He is a good father, better than what many could hope for."

“So you can be responsible!” Babulya happily declared to Morye. “Hai, why not reconsider your father’s proposal? It’s only right that the firstborn son inherits.”

“It’s death.” Morye shook his head. "I wanted life."

“You insolent whelp!” Grandfather's expression looked as though he wanted to give Morye another sound thrashing.

“Now, now.” Babulya calmed the old man by rubbing his chest to ease his congested chi. “Hai, regardless of whether you listen to your father, I think we all deserve an apology, don’t you think?”

Morye took a deep breath.

If his father had asked, he would have fought the old man until he was black and blue. But now that his mother had spoken, what choice did he have?

Gwen watched with fascination as her father carefully walked in front of the two old folks and dropped to his knees.

“Mamulya, Baba, I am sorry for my selfishness and the pain that it has caused you for these past twenty years. Please accept my apology.”

He then touched his head to the ground and kowtowed, repeating the ritual three times before standing back up.

“Thank you, dear.” Babulya reached out and cupped his face with her hand. “You must have suffered a lot in the tier 2 city, no? All those Mermen and Saurians, Avians even, constant attacks, never knowing peace.”

Sydney was safe! Gwen wanted to blurt out. Morye spent the entire time chasing skirts and pissing off my mother! Gwen forcibly bit her tongue. How could she blab when her grandmother was melting even the cynical heart of her stone-faced grandfather?

“You have no regrets?” Gwen’s grandfather asked her father wistfully. “None at all?”

Morye’s expression looked tragic and self-aggrandising.

“What is regret, when I had no choice?”

The room took on a delicate silence.

Each of them took a moment to digest Morye’s philosophical declaration.

“Hai, go and sit,” her grandfather told Morye. “Gwen, it is now your turn.”

Gwen pushed down her frayed nerves and pulled herself from the hardwood chair. As she passed Morye, their eyes met, and her father gave her a reassuring nod.

Gwen took her place in the centre.

A severe mental pressure descended upon Gwen, forcing the follicles of her hair to stand on end, numbing her scalp and sending her skin to crawl.

Gwen took a deep breath, savouring her final few seconds.

There was no holding back this time, no playing dumb to try and see how they react. Gwen's grandfather was in no mood to play silly buggers with cock and bull; her grandmother was likewise expecting the gospel truth.

So how should she proceed to lead the conversation? She needed to distract them somehow, unbalance them, get them on the back foot, even if she was pushed to confess her secrets, it must be on 'her' terms.

“I am going to show you something, is that okay?” Gwen stepped back and retreated a safe distance.

Her grandfather nodded.

Babulya’s eyes sparkled.

Jun leaned forward with an alert expression of expectation.

Morye seemed to have realised something, groaning softly under his breath.

“Ariel!”

The lightning marten landed with a flash and examined its surroundings with its electric blue pupils. It spotted the old couple at the end of the row and made a flourishing turn onto its stomach, exposing its belly before dropping to the floor and rolling back and forth adorably. It was now an old hand at this game.

“Oh, how precious!” Babulya noted. “What an intelligent familiar you have there, Gwen.”

“This is Ariel; he is a lightning elemental familiar I acquired when I had just awoken to my powers.”

Babulya retrieved an LDM crystal from thin-air and threw it towards Ariel, who caught it mid-arc in its teeth, puffing up its cheeks for maximum cuteness before landing deftly.

“Now this…” Gwen took a deep breath. “... is Caliban!”

Don’t be a spider! Don’t be spider! Gwen prayed to the Elder Gods. Snake! Snake! Snake!

A slit opened in the fabric between the Void and the Material Plane, ejecting Caliban like an abortive dark tumour. The Lovecraftian thing uncoiled itself into a tenebrous centipede covered in slimy, translucent carapace, a multitude of skittering legs emerging from its fleshy torso like bony fingers.

“It’s not dangerous!” Gwen announced quickly. “Caliban is entirely under my command!”

Her babulya had on an unruffled expression that suggested she’d seen worse. Her grandfather gripped the arms of his chair so tightly that for a moment, Gwen wondered if the old man would tear the handle off and crush it between his white-knuckled fingers.

Jun had darted between his parents the moment the thing appeared, an incantation upon his lips, ready to visit terrible destruction upon Gwen should she attempt to harm her grandparents. When no hostility materialised, he awkwardly returned to his seat.

Caliban sniffed the air before lowering its head and coiling around Gwen’s feet. In its centipede form, it was huge, just over two meters in length and as thick as her thighs at its centre. Its many legs skittered over her shoes and her white thighs until it could gain purchase with the help of her arms in scaling her dress. Gwen held the upper section of the netherworld monstrosity as one would cradle a long-bodied cat, showing off its faceless head and the mandibles there.

“This is Caliban, he is my other familiar, from the Void element.”

Gwen stroked the terrifying, tenebrous thing, causing it to purr with a series of agitated clicking. Ariel, not to be beaten, finished its crystal and began doing laps around her other leg.

“Caliban has an... unique ability.” Gwen felt her heart catch in her throat. This was it. This was the moment. “When Caliban consumes an enemy, it can sometimes take on their shape. Additionally, I gain some the abilities of the Mages it consumes, though I don't know exactly how.”

The room fell silent as the last words left her mouth.

Her grandfather turned to his wife.

“A calamity,” he said to her quietly, but audibly.

Calamity? Gwen’s ears perked up, a sheen of cold sweat drenching her back. That doesn’t seem like a good reaction at all. Had she made yet another a mistake?

“No,” Her grandmother retorted, moving her luminous eyes slowly until she met Guo’s cold black orbs. “A boon.”

Boon is good. Gwen repeated babulya’s words across her lips. More boon, please.

“How did you come about this talent then?” Her grandfather turned back to Gwen, his tone more inquisitive than antagonistic. “Tell me from the start, from your moment of awakening.”

The breath that Gwen had been holding could finally be released.

With a silent command, she retrieved Caliban and Ariel, returning them to her pocket dimension.

“I will, Grandfather,” she began. “My awakening took place about a year and a half ago, in September, at a school called Blackwattle…”

Mindful of any pitfalls and gaps in the logos of her narrative, Gwen began to recount the past year and a half of her life with as much truth as she could conveniently deliver. She omitted the secret of her twin-soul, of her otherworldly wisdom and her strange, quizzical transportation into this world from her old one, but told the truth of her awakening, first as a Generalist, then as a Lightning Evoker, then their adventure in the Royal National.

“That was the first time I met the Rainbow Serpent, a mythical existence by the name of Almudj…”

She told them of what happened on the Field Trip, of Debora, of the Rainbow Serpent, of what had happened to her when the Mage known as Edgar had tried to take her, body and soul.

“Father later killed that Mage, or so I was told…”

“Hai, you did this?”

“I did.”

Guo nodded, evidently pleased.

“That was when I finally met my master, Henry Kilroy, the Lord Magister of Sydney Tower…”

Gwen then told them of her training under Henry, Alesia and Gunther, of her growing kinship with them. She regaled her story about Blackheath, the slavers, and the first time Caliban took within itself the lives of the innocent Mages who were kept prisoner there. Of Gunther rescuing her in the eleventh hour and cleansing the place with his radiant fire.

“You keep austere company, my child.” Her babulya interjected as Gwen spoke of Gunther and the Tower.

“The Morning Star,” Guo intoned, none too happy with the revelation. “A troublesome connection indeed.”

“Not to mention Deathless Henry himself,” Grandmother added. “But, all men die. Am I presuming too much to say that you had a hand in that as well?”

Gwen felt her voice falter when her babulya struck the nail right on the head.

“It's fine, child. Continue.”

“Grandfather, the next part of my story is going to reveal some of my late master’s secrets. May I ask that you keep this revelation in confidence?”

“You have it,” her grandfather intoned seriously. He had imagined the girl's past to be shallow, but they were in deep waters now, and the depth of Gwen’s experiences seemed to descend well into the mirk. The more she spoke, the more he felt that he was listening to fiction rather than fact. However, Guo could sense from the earnestness of her face and the cadence of Gwen's unbroken delivery, that there was a weight of truth behind her words.

“I am going to tell you about the Mage who is responsible for the fall of Sydney,” Gwen began. “I am speaking of Elizabeth Winsted Sobel, the wife of my master, Henry Kilroy - a Void Mage like myself.”

Gwen then spoke of Mark Chandler, his ploys involving his sister, and about Elizabeth and her madness, fleshing out the rationale of her failure at Blackheath. She told them about her subsequent training for the Inter-high, of what her Master had said about the Sea of Flames and how she would be protected by fame and notoriety when the time was ripe to expose her powers to the world.

“A wise and bold choice. How amazing the mind of this Henry Kilroy must be,” her grandmother intoned, deeply impressived. “It would have certainly worked, you know. I can most assuredly imagine how the Mageocracy would react if Kilroy threw the weight of his influence behind you.”

“He 'is' dead, is he not?” Guo interrupted her with a hint of steel.

“Yes. My master is no more,” Gwen affirmed grievously.

She then told them of her first match at Rosebay; of how Elizabeth must have found and ambushed Henry; of the Mermen invasion that followed. She explained the events at the Tower, of how Debora was Faceless, and of her moment of crisis when she was about to be consumed by a skin-changer.

“Then my amulet released all the energies it had gathered from Almudj…”

Gwen retrieved the Kirin amulet from beneath the blouse of her mandarin gown and placed it upon her palm for all to see.

“You gave the Kirin amulet to a daughter?” Guo turned to Morye incredulously. “What about your son?”

Morye shrugged.

“She needed it more than Percy.”

“…” Again, Guo had to be restrained by Klavdiya, who rubbed his chest and made him ease his volatile emotions.

Jun reached beneath his shirt and took out a familiar flash of jade.

It was another piece of greenstone carved in the shape of a Kirin, though his one arced its back in a way opposite to Gwen’s. From the looks of the design, when placed together, both Kirins formed the semi-circle halves of the yin and yang symbol.

“Would you like to have it returned?” Gwen asked immediately, holding out the amulet. She had no desire to forsake her precious item of course; it was her ticket to harvesting creature cores! But Gwen knew how these ‘things' usually went. In a contest for something where one was bound to lose, there was no advantage in dramatising one’s avarice. Instead, it was always wiser to take the moral high road and appear superior to the thing itself, as to create future opportunities for barter by cementing cordial relationships.

“You are free to keep it.” Surprisingly, it was Jun who spoke, cutting off Guo before he could announce his decree. “The amulet has followed the streams of fate and chance and found itself to you. Who is to say that it would bring the same boon when forced upon another?”

Her grandfather swallowed his next words like a man forcing down a hardboiled egg, attracting another bout of chest caressing and hand rubbing from her grandmother.

“Tell me more about this Sobel woman," Guo said finally, trying to distract his seething disapproval.

Gwen repeated what she knew about Elizabeth in minute detail, emphasising upon the fact that her master’s only fault was his falsely placed faith in her ‘death’ so many years ago. She then told them about the disappearance of her friends, Elvia and Yue, into the Grot, and her mission to retrieve them from Singapore.

“… and that’s about all I know,” Gwen confessed. “That and you already know about Caliban’s particular physique.”

“Is the Morning Star going to try and locate you?” her grandfather inquired, scratching his chin.

“Assuredly,” Gwen replied. “We are brother and sister in craft, Alesia included. I’d wager Gunther would be working on a plan as we speak.”

Gwen raised her hand, where three rings sparkled.

"The Storage Ring is from Surya, my maternal grandfather. The Evasion Ring is from Magister Ferris, of Sydney Tower. The Contingency Ring is from Gunther; it was his own."

Guo groaned inwardly, thinking of the snatch-n-grab he had dispatched a day prior. Who'd have imagined that Gwen would have such deep roots? Then again, who'd have thought she'd have such talents?!

It was unlikely, in the light of their new revelations, that the mission would go smoothly. The Crimson Sorceress was no obstacle, but Gunther Shultz was a different creature entirely. Guo would now have to put contingencies into play. He did not wish for other members of the Politburo to use his private affairs as ammunition in their political bartering, no matter how minute and inconsequential.

Once again Guo allowed Gwen’s story to run its course through his mind, his fingers tapping away on the cedar bench with an irregular rhythm. Regardless of his men’s success, there would need to be reparations and negotiations. After all, was it not the Grand Magi of War, Sun-Tzu, who taught that one ought not to rely on the likelihood of the enemy’s timidness, but on one’s readiness to receive him? But Guo knew that he was not unassailable, which is why he must prepare for the worst.

“I would like to know your mind on this, Klavdiya,” Guo murmured through a private Message, seeking counsel from his wife, whose social currency was eminently greater than his own.

“You can keep a lid on the stew, but for how long would it simmer before it boiled over?” Klavdiya replied idiomatically, likewise under cover of a silent Message. “Her old Master knew the reality of her situation far better than you. The rarer virtue is in light than in darkness, why not have the Magisters fight over her? He who is willing to give her the greatest blessing wins her favour. Either way, so long as we stand behind her, the house of Song will glow a little brighter. Leave the girl to her own devices. Leave her to me, if you are undecided. You are going to be preoccupied with your grandson, no? What about his retrieval?”

“If the Morning Star is aware, I do not think Wei and Jung can succeed,” Guo confessed.

“You can always trade Gwen for Percy.”

“Do you believe the girl will agree to that?”

“It would be a good test of her character.”

“She would not. She may act mature, but the girl is a white scallion. I believe she will favour her heart over her brain.”

“Perhaps you can force a trade with Shultz? I would prefer to keep the girl though.”

Guo gave his wife a suspicious look. Was she serious?

“… I shall consider it.”

Gwen waited patiently while the two elders conversed in silence, their lips moving ever so slightly as the incantation passed between them. She repressed her body’s natural desire to sway and shift, standing to attention with focused intent, awaiting summary judgment from her patriarch and matriarch.

“Gwen,” it was her grandmother who spoke first.

“Yes, Babulya?”

“You will stay in Shanghai for the time being, until matters of your status, your wellbeing, and the future of your education are arranged.”

“Yes, Babulya,” Gwen replied without any particular emotion. It was just as she expected. Under the circumstances, that was the best Gwen could hope for; she wasn’t going back to quarantine; she had gained limited freedom, and she could hopefully wrangle some advantage out of her constrained circumstances.

Klavdiya raised an elegant eyebrow, still untouched by age.

“That’s it? No questions? No requests? I’d thought you far more zealous, dear granddaughter.”

“May I ask for a favour then?”

“You may.”

“Can I contact my friends in Sydney?”

“You speak of the girl apprentice to the Crimson Sorceress?” It was her grandfather who spoke this time.

“Yes, she is my dearest and closest friend.”

His brows furrowed.

“They are still in transit as far as I am aware,” Her grandfather intoned. “You will be permitted to contact your friends in time, but not now. Is that clear?”

“Yessir,” Gwen replied rigidly.

“Father, may I make a suggestion?” This time, it was Jun who spoke.

“Jun, go head.” Klavdiya gave her second son a motherly smile, which Jun returned wholeheartedly. The exchange made Morye cringe and guiltily averted his gaze. He couldn’t reciprocate her kindness. How could a man look his mother in the eye after a two-decade escapade?

“If you want Gwen out of your hair for a few days,” Jun began. “There’s the gathering of the Houses happening on Hengsha Island in three days. Mina and Tao have to attend. I thought that this year, maybe we can bring Gwen and see how she performs.”

Gwen’s ears perked up.

Hengsha Island? Gathering? Houses? Performance?

What was her uncle up to now?

“Ah, that’s just a gathering of little princes and princesses,” Morye interrupted them. “I don't know about throwing Gwen into the mix though. Although she has seen some action out on the frontier, her proficiency at 'holding back' is mediocre at best. If she fries or tries to consume one of those kids…”

“She’ll be fine.” Jun’s eyes sparkled. “Babulya is lending us her grand-niece, Petra.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Morye shrugged nonchalantly.

“Oh, ho ho.” Jun shook his head, grinning. “She is a monster.”

He turned to Klavdiya.

“What do you think, Babulya? I think Gwen will get along with Petra.”

Four pairs of eyes turned to Gwen, who swallowed nervously.

“Gwen,” Klavdiya asked gently. “Would you like to stay with Grandfather, or would you like to see a bit of the Shanghai countryside? Specifically, one of the Orange-Zone training grounds?”

“Hensha please!” Gwen answered a little too eagerly, drawing a grunt from her grandfather.

“Then its settled!” Jun clasped his hands. “In the meanwhile, why don’t you get acquainted with Mina and Tao? They are both your seniors, Tao by two years and Mina one. Get them to show you the city, see some of its sights. It’ll be fun to get to know your cousins.”

Gwen thought about Mina’s Asian-barbie face and her pedantic glare.

She thought about Tao, and his low-rider jeans flared collar and his motor mouth.

Fun.

Sure. Why not? Gwen agreed to her uncle's suggestion. She had to wait five or more days until Yue and Elvia arrived in Sydney. What’s the worst that could happen?

When they exited the conference chamber, the banquet table had been cleared away.

Mina lounged uncomfortably on a mahogany settee, one white leg exposed to her hips, trying to make herself at ease on the antiquated buttock-torturing device. Her hand, Gwen noticed, fidgeted with a newfangled Message device hanging from her wrist in the guise of an accessorised bangle.

Tao was listening to music, the tinnitus droning of thumping treble and bass spewing out from a set of over-large headphones.

More examples of consumer-grade magical devices? Gwen tried to catch another glimpse of the cup-like things around his ears; or were they mechanical-electrical contraptions? So far in this world, she had not seen any meaningful representation of scientific knowledge from her old world, with the advent of condensed energy in the form of Mana Crystals and spell-glyphs ensuring that such inventions were made redundant.

But it also meant that NoMs were bereft of the sorcerous marvels the Mages created, resigned to the margins of labour, technology, and a sub-standard of living. Even if the NoMs lived meaningful lives of safety in Shanghai, it was because of policy and politics rather than any individual contribution. How did the NoMs fit into the social strata? Gwen wondered - maybe they held positions through other means, like the creative arts, education, or entertainment? What were their lives like, when a single Magi was existentially more important than a million NoMs? How did the status quo of this world maintain its stability? Was the threat of annihilation so compelling as to put life and limb in the hands of the rare few?

She was also completely mystified by the power dynamic of the various forces here in Shanghai. How influential was the People’s Liberation Army? How all-powerful was the Politburo? What is the place of the globalised Towers in a closed country like China? What is Shanghai's relation to its satellite Frontiers like Singapore, Vietnam, and Malaysia? What about its relationships with Seoul, or Kyoto, or superpower blocs like the USA or the Commonwealth?

There was so much to learn here, so much to find out before she could put plans into motion.

First, she had to find a way to graduate - to think that she would be bereft of a High School Certificate!

Next, she had to amass personal wealth, or find a sponsor for her University tuition, or exercise her scholarship options. She didn’t know how these things worked in a tier 1 city, and it irked her with an anxious uncertainty.

Knowledge is power in more way than one in this world, and Gwen 'must' come to understand her paternal family’s position in the hierarchy of things - who she should avoid, who she should support, who can reciprocate favours, and who to trust.

Gwen's thoughts were interrupted by Tao.

“Yo yo yo!” Tao pulled back his headphones and ambled toward her. His progress was careful and measured, for the low-riding jeans impeded the freedom of movement. “So, hows the grill, gurl? They roast you three ways and slice you up like a steak?”

“I am still in one piece, Peaches.” Gwen wasn’t sure if it was an intended inflexion of the word ‘Tao’ in Mandarin that changed the translation -but felt that the fruit moniker suited Tao well. “From the looks of it, I am going to be in your hands for the next few days.”

“Wha!? Fuck yeah! That’s the shit, Cuz.”

“Mina!” Jun cleared his throat and raised his voice. She had been ignoring Gwen the whole time.

Unexpectedly, Mina shut off her device and came closer winsomely. Gwen could see in Mina's eyes that her baby-faced cousin had a worshipful demeanour when speaking to Jun.

“Yes, Uncle Jun? How can I help?” she replied coyly.

Jun patted Mina on the head, not unlike the way Gwen would pat her dog, Rinnie, but that seemed a lifetime ago. The look he gave her was a mixture of doting affection and helpless criticism. It was far different from the way Kwan had dealt with Gwen. That man always seemed to be measuring her like she was a piece of real estate.

“I want you and Tao to take Gwen around the city for a few days - take her around, show her some of the interesting sights. Make sure she gets a feel for the city, the way it's laid out."

“I’ll do my best, Uncle.” Mina’s eyes floated over to Gwen, where the passion in her eyes instantly died. “But I have classes most days.”

Mina tilted her head and gave Gwen a knowing smirk; her button nose wiggled cutely, suggesting something rather insulting and unpleasant.

Oh My God. Gwen received a sudden, epiphanic realisation.

She was the country cousin who had never seen the city before, the High school dropout! In this world, she was the hillbilly in Beverly Hills! Was she going to bring a moral, unsophisticated, and minimalistic lifestyle to the swanky, self-obsessed and superficial community of her Shanghai cousins?

“Mina, don’t be like that,” Jun humoured her calmly. “Gwen will teach you things about living in the real world that you can't even begin to imagine. She had been through a hell lot more than you and Tao. She was in Sydney, you know - when the city fell.”

The news prompted Mina to turn to Gwen with an expressive ‘O’ on her peachy lips.

“You fought Mermen? Out there, on the Frontier?” Mina reexamined her cousin in a new light. That meant she had incredible stories, right? She should introduce Gwen to her friends; they would surely be impressed with a bumpkin's tales of survival out in the jungle, or whatever it is they had in the Australian countryside.

Gwen felt an unwelcoming premonition as Mina's eyes formed into twin crescent half-moons as she tittered adorably to herself.

What was Mina seeing inside her pretty head? Gwen wondered. Did Mina think Gwen rode Kangaroos into battle, leashed Drop Bears to her command, and waded knee-deep through Mermen guts while flinging spells from both hands?

“Well, I suppose I could get off classes early.” Mina materialised a slate and checked through whatever projection it showed. Gwen’s eyes focused on the device, which appeared inactive. Perhaps it was an Illusion aimed directly at the user? That would solve the matter of privacy in one fell swoop. What did it use as a CPU? Was there such a thing as AI? “Yep, I think I can do it.”

Mina packed away the slate. Gwen promised herself that she would also purchase one, or something like it. The PDA-like contraption was far too interesting a technology to forgo a proper inspection; it may even provide some unexpected opportunities for the future.

“Alright, alright, ALRIGHT!” Tao punched the air excitedly. “Gwen Cuz, I am going to show you the best time of yo life! We're gonna hang with my crew; slug some Cris; check out the bling; be causing through Huaihai road Rd, Bitch, it's going to be bangin!”

“Thanks, Peaches.” Gwen hugged him.

Tao rigidly received her embrace, embarrassed by the unexpected show of bodily affection and a little intimidated by Gwen’s overfamiliarity. It was then that Gwen remembered that in her old world, public displays of physical affection were rare in Asian cultures, perhaps it was the same here?

Mina rolled her eyes.

“Okay then. I’ll leave you to it.” Jun nodded affirmatively. “I am heading back to the base. I’ll be here to pick you, boys and girls, up Thursday morning, 0900 sharp. It’s a long ride from the ferry terminal to the island. You don’t want to piss off the adjudicator this year. It’s going to be Magister Paris from the Shanghai Tower.”

Mina nodded with an exclusive enthusiasm reserved only for her uncle. Tao's expression was complex and unreadable, intimating he did not possess pleasant memories of 'Hengsha' Island.

They watched Jun disappear behind the landscaped fountain just outside the front gate.

“Alright, cousin, let's get moving.” Mina motioned outside with her thumb. “Let’s go 'show you Shanghai'.”

Gwen indicated to the inner chamber. “Shouldn’t we say goodbye to the grandparents?”

“Nope, too much bother.” Mina checked her watch. It was precisely 1400. “Mother’s taking care of them; it’ll just be more bitching. I want to take you somewhere interesting.”

Mina disappeared.

“Gramp’s a hater!” Tao shook his head sagely, following his younger sister. "He hates the playa, an' he hates the game."

* * *

“Mina, you can drive?”

“What, you don’t? You guys have cars out on the frontier, right?”

“We usually make do with the Roos. We leash them up and ride across the Outback. The pioneers used to get miles before they had to stop and fisty-cuff them,” Gwen replied 'earnestly'.

“Oh?” Mina considered the vision of rat-like megafauna fighting a man in hand-to-hand combat. "Okay then."

Mina’s car was a convertible. Not the stylish, classic convertible that Alesia drove, but a gleaming cabriolet with four concentric rings for a logo. Gwen wasn’t so much as impressed by the car as the fact that there was, well, 'Audi', in this world. Then again, if the fashion world had consumer goods like Miu Miu and Prada, why shouldn't the other brands of her old world make an appearance?

Mina, however, had taken Gwen's moment of contemplation to indicate that she had never seen such an expensive vehicle before. She felt pleased, of course, but also felt a little sympathetic for her simple cousin who had become so flabbergasted by a mere 700HDM A5 Cab that she had to stop and stare.

Tao sat behind the two girls, stretched out, legs apart, hat covering half his face.

Gwen sat demurely, her dress folded over her long legs and tucked between her thighs. Mina started the engine with an invocation, and the car pulled out from the parking compound of their grandparent’s gated community, accompanied by the sound of crunching gravel.

“You are now exiting Hamlet of the Plum Blossoms,” a sign read in blocky Chinese. “A safe driver creates a safer community for all.”

Naturally, Mina floored it.

The Quatro-turbo mana core shrieked, launching the trio down the boulevard. Mina seemed an old hand at the wheel, cruising through traffic without so much as breaking once.

The Third Orbital Highway soon gave way to the Second, and then the looming superstructure of Shanghai CBD rose like a mountain as they turned into the First Orbital Ring-Road.

The tallest architecture that caught Gwen’s eye was a ziggurat-like pyramid which took up a quarter of the skyline, perched over the city obtrusively like a cubist sculpture in a gallery dedicated to curved steel and arched glass.

“That’s the PLA’s Tower,” Mina said helpfully, doing the duty that she’d promised Jun. “Hideous isn’t it. It's more bunker and shelter than Tower. They say that the superstructure beneath it can hold almost two million people in an emergency.”

“Does Shanghai have any Shielding Stations?” Gwen inquired. The air was hot and stifling from the excess mana pollution, but it wasn’t the muggy heat she’d felt in Singapore.

“Nope, those are unique to the frontier. Shanghai sits on the main ley-line of the Asian-Pacific, and we’re surrounded by the Frontier cities, as well as protected by the PLA, so no need.”

“The city has never been attacked?”

“Not by Monsters, if that’s what you’re asking,” Mina replied. “It's fallen a couple of times to people though, like the Japanese. None of the Demi-human races dares touch us because we have two Magi sitting atop the Towers. One for the PLA, and one for the Shanghai Tower.”

“A Magi!” Gwen marvelled.

“Two,” Mina corrected. “Grand Marshall Sun from the PLA, and Lord Magi Huo of the Shanghai Tower.”

“So, their presence ensures the city's safety?”

Mina gave Gwen a wilting expression of growing impatience.

“Either one will ensure that the Fish, Mountain, Air or the Under folk don’t dare screw with the city, that is, unless they want their settlements reduced to rubble. The Magi are here to keep each other in check. The Communist party don’t much trust the Westerners, and the Westerners don’t trust the communist party. Lord Sun acts in the interest of the Politburo, and Lord Huo represents the Mages of the city and the Tower alliance, rather than all the people, NoMs included.”

From the sounds of it, Gwen thought to herself. She needed to seek out this other 'Tower' ruled by Lord Huo. Maybe they were linked to Gunther's people and could give her some leverage if push came to shove. It would come at a cost, of course, but Gwen would preferably pay to the devil she knew.

Their convertible slowed as the glaring sun of the open-air turned into one of geometric shadow.

“As for Magical Races, what do you know about Pudong.”

“Pudong?”

Gwen knew that in her old world, Pudong was the major new financial district for Shanghai, having the tallest buildings and the most expensive restaurants.

“It’s a special economics zone partitioned from Shanghai proper, carved out by the Yellow River. Most of the foreigners from the International and French Concessions live there now, as well as other races.”

“Xenos!” Gwen’s voice raised an octave. She knew nothing about the Demi-humanoid races, and her body’s previous owner had been conditioned and brainwashed to fear and loathe them. “Can… can we see them?”

“In good time, although you need a special permit to enter Pudong, as well as receive orientation training before extra-human contact is allowed. Maybe Gramps can sponsor you for a licence? Who knows?”

“Okay.” Gwen turned to marvel at the city and its superstructure. It seemed that the ziggurat structure wasn’t as dense as it appeared. Instead, it was a honeycomb lattice of hollowed out domes towering over the commercial districts below.

But other races! Gwen couldn’t wait until she met a walking, talking Demi-human in real life. An intelligent Mermen, perhaps, a human-sized birdman? Would there be Elves? That would be the real kicker. She had seen Lord of the Rings many times in her old world. It would be delightful to see the real deal in the flesh. Hopefully, Elves in this world were the romanticised supermodels and not the little gremlin things that tinkered with toys, or cobbled shoes.

Their car turned into a building constructed wholly of curved-glass and fibrous strands of steel cabling. Mina coasted to a stop, where a handsome attendant addressed them.

“Valet, Ma'am?”

“Go ahead.”

Mina ushered them out of her car. Tao appeared to have fallen asleep and awoke with a start, snorting in confusion as his senses came into focus.

“Peaches, move your ass off my car.”

“What? Yeah. Where are we?”

“K-27,” Mina replied.

“Again? We were just here this morning.” Tao frowned.

“I know, I want to introduce Gwen to some of my friends.”

“Yeah well, is Frederic Lin still here?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that?”

“...” Tao glanced around cautiously as if this ‘Fred’ Lin would leap out and ambush him.

Gwen swung her legs out from the passenger side and stood behind the arguing pair, half a head taller than either of her cousins. Mina took the glyph-ticket from the attendant and directed them towards a revolving door. There were more attendants inside, all NoMs, well dressed and courteous, who opened door after door for them. There was even a well-groomed attendant in the levitator.

The glass platform ascended as silent as a whisper, opening onto an open floor with a sea-side view of Shanghai proper. Gwen couldn't help but noticed that unlike her old world, the river here was still bean-green and blue, not possessing any of the ochre-yellow algae-bloom that haunted Shanghai in the spring and summer months.

They were in a cafe, though it was now near-empty as lunch had come and gone. Here and there were groups of lingering socialites, dressed in handsome jackets and cocktail dresses in quiet conversation as the afternoon sun filtered softly through the transmuted glass panes.

“Mina!” someone called out from a corner table, a group of girls and a few young men, seated around a circular chaise overlooking the skyline, an assortment of drinks and desserts splayed across the table. “You’re back? We didn’t think you’d return!”

“Hi girls!” Mina tittered forward, her mobility restricted by her stiletto pumps.

“Oh, Peaches is here too,” the girl’s voice seemed significantly less enthused. “Hi, Peaches.”

“Sup Vivian.” Tao threw her a gang sign.

Vivian returned his greeting with a ‘faux’ gang sign, emphasising her middle finger, and the rest of the girls burst into laughter.

“Stupid bitch,” Tao muttered loudly.

“Watch your mouth!” A young man pointed an accusatory finger toward Tao. “You didn’t have enough from Fredrick earlier?”

Mina pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Tao… go sit down, over there. Please.”

Tao muttered something more discretely and moved on.

Gwen watched Tao go with mixed feelings. On the one hand, Tao was a bit of an idiot, but on the other, that public whipping was entirely unnecessary. It gave Gwen a general idea of Mina’s ‘friends’ and the dynamic of their relationships.

“So, who is this?” The young man turned his attention to Gwen; his eyes caressed Gwen from head to toe with a familiarity that she had come to know from growing up around her uncle Kwan and his friends.

“Gwen, these are my friends and their friends. From the left, Vivian, Fei, Tzusu, Amy, Gabrielle, John - and this is Dai.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Gwen greeted them with an affable smile.

“Everyone, this is Gwen, my cousin from Australia. Before you ask, yes, her eyes are natural. Yes her hair is natural. No, she did not get any transmutations done, she is au naturel, as it were.”

“Whoa ho! A true free-range beauty!” Dai exclaimed, grinning widely.

“From a Frontier farmhouse, you mean?” one of the girls interjected cattily.

An infectious chittering spread from the table as Mina commanded one of the girls to move over so that she could get a seat. The assumption seemed to have been that one of the young men, Dai, would likewise squeeze out a space for Gwen on the semi-circle chaise.

However, 'Dai', the very one who had snapped at Tao, made no motion to move. The young man was tall of stature, with a typically Asian face which was handsome enough, and a figure that suggested he worked out, but just enough to stay fit. There was an uncommon intelligence to his eyes, a slight hook to his thin, long nose, which gave his face an unkind countenance.

He patted his lap.

“I’ve got the best seat in the house for you.” he grinned at Gwen expectantly.

The rest of the table giggled.

Mina frowned unhappily. Was Dai trying to make her lose face?

Gwen looked over at Mina, who silently waited for Gwen to react.

Oh, is this how it's going to be? Gwen furrowed her brows with resignation. What did she expect though? These little twirps look fresh out of Senior High and into University, and their cliched clique mentality had yet to be burnt out of their blood. Gwen wondered if the tier 1 cities conditioned these obscenely wealthy teenagers to act as such, or if these kid-dults genuinely thought that this was a proper way to treat a stranger you’d met for the first time. What if she was somebody significant, trying to be incognito? What part of her looked cheap enough to bully?

To their surprise, Gwen turned to Tao.

“Peaches, bring me a chair.”

Unexpectedly, Tao obediently retrieved for Gwen a high-backed, Victoriana dining chair.

Gwen dramatically spun on her heels before taking a seat, crossing her long legs so that a hint of her white thighs peeked out beneath the cobalt pleated skirt. She lifted her chin slightly and gave the gathering the knowing smirk of an adult looking down on unruly children.

Her poise, her squared shoulders, her ease of presence; every inch of her physique told these young men and women that Gwen was not like them, that she was mature and superior; that they were mewling children and their antics should make them ashamed.

Then Gwen felt struck by a serendipitous fancy. When the Cognisance Chamber was activated, she saw her Astral Body changed and altered. It was no longer the tenebrous specks surrounded by electrical arcs. New motes of Almudj’s mana now joined the energies coursing through her mana channels. Did the vital-force act as a buffer against the Void? She had summoned Caliban multiple times since the incident with Faceless, and each time the loss of life felt less significant.

Gwen allowed a sliver of the void to trickle into her mana channels, feeling the insidious hunger fill her senses. Her eyes, which had been two clarifying hazel orbs, swiftly turned dark and dangerous, her iris dilating until it took on the quality of a vortex that held her viewers captive in its reflection.

Those who tried to challenge her presence felt diminished by the experience as if they'd lost something forever.

In a split-second, the atmosphere seemed to have shifted, Gwen was the queen in the room, and they were her subjects. She may not profess to be the Nemean lion, but those who gazed upon her countenance felt distinctly like gazelles.

Gwen said nothing, and so they said nothing.

The Void mana subtly drained from Gwen's body. She had kept every mote within, not letting a single one escape the confines of her Astral Form, but it was enough. A quick inspection of her condition revealed the confirmation of her hypothesis. A little Void channelling was now fine, at least enough to summon Caliban without invoking his combat form.

Dai seemed lost for words. He rigidly sat and stared, his mouth half open, at this country cousin that Mina had brought in.

One of the girls, Amy, gave him a pinch on the thighs.

He mercilessly slapped her hand in annoyance.

Then the gathering fell silent. What else was there to say?

Gwen wondered if that display was enough to get some payback for Tao.

Then her cousin demonstrated why Mina was so often at her wit's end.

“Ha! Sup Bitches! Cat got your tongue?” Tao taunted them. “Mah cousin is the shit yo, fuck all of yas! Toads try'n ta get a piece of the swan! Ha!”

The carefully orchestrated atmosphere shattered like a cheap mirror dashed against the concrete.

Dai stood and straightened his jacket.

“I am, Dai Fung, of the Nangtong Clan of Fung. Your name, Miss…?”

“Song,” Gwen replied. "Just Song."

Dai glanced at Mina, who made no motion to indicate anything out of the ordinary, before continuing.

“Miss Song, may I have the pleasure of inviting you to an exclusive affair this evening? A simple bit of blood sport among friends, to test our abilities midst fine food and finer drinks.”

“The Bout is on tonight?!” Mina interjected, her voice a little peeved. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The gathering shifted their gaze toward Tao.

“I’ll own that shit man; you bitches got nothing on my crew and me!” Tao taunted them.

“You could have just told me in confidence,” Mina complained cattily. “It’s not as though he and I are joined at the hip or something. I thought we knew each other better than that, Dai.”

“Well, here’s your invitation.” Dai produced an envelope and passed it over the table toward Mina. “So, Gwen, will you be gracing us with your presence?”

“What is this 'Bout' about?” Gwen asked cautiously. She may not act like a lady from the woods, but all things considered, she was indeed from the boonies where fun was concerned. All she had done in Sydney was eat, sleep and train for a year and a half. That and survive a few city-destroying crises.

“The Bout?”

“It’s an informal tournament for Mages,” Vivian butted in rather rudely, wrapping an arm around Dai’s elbows. “You can challenge opponents, bet crystals or magic items, or even bet yourself.”

“Bet yourself?” Gwen raised an eyebrow.

“For favours.” Vivian eyed Gwen suggestively.

“Favours?” Gwen's expression darkened. A place where one peddled oneself, in this day and age? This 'Bout' was getting seedier by the minute.

Mina coughed.

“A 'favour' from your family, which you will try to deliver if you are the debtor…” she carefully explained to Gwen, meeting her eyes with a smirk. “Of course, I doubt you're in a position to offer that, so I suppose you could sell yourself if that's how Frontier Mages ‘roll’?”

“Right, so when’s this Bout?” Gwen pivoted from the misunderstanding. The whole setup seemed enterprising if what they said was true. A gathering of spoilt princes and princesses mock-fighting for money and items? It seemed an excellent opportunity, at least on paper. Gwen could test out where she sat in the hierarchy of power when it came to Mages her age in the tier 1 city, and this 'Bout' seemed as good as any place to start.

“Tonight, M on the Bund, 9 PM, you game?” Dai grinned at Gwen. “I’ll make sure you and Mina get VIP treatment.”

“I want Peaches to come.” Gwen pointed at Tao. She wanted people she could count on, and right now Tao was the only person here that didn't feel as though they'd sell her in a heartbeat.

“Fuck yeah! Peaches in the house! Bring down the roof!”

"..." Gwen instantly regretted her decision.

Dai looked over at Tao with the expression of having stepped in dog shit. He was just about to say something when his face seemed struck with a sudden, dangerous clarity.

“Peaches, you gonna bout tonight? Or you gonna hide and flick your bean?” he said suddenly.

Both Gwen and Mina grimaced. They REALLY did not need that mental image.

“The fuck you say?” Tao punched the air, ducking and weaving like those American CQC Mages. “Watch me, bitch! I’ll pound yo ass into the ground!”

Gwen and Mina scowled. They didn’t need that image either. God damn it Tao, WORD CHOICE.

Dai produced a crystalline 'credit card' and waved it in front of them.

“One Hundred HDMs,” Dai announced to the table. “You come to the Bout; you fight one round, win or draw, it's yours - lose or pussy out, you pay out.”

“You’re on!” Tao was so pumped he threw out what must have been half a dozen gang signs in quick succession. “Prepare yo self!”

Dai turned back to Gwen.

“Well?”

Gwen looked to Mina, who looked dubiously at Tao, who looked expectantly at Gwen with the pleading eyes of a frog being squeezed by the waist. Was he saying no, or was he answering yes? Tao seriously needed to work on his ambiguous body language.

“I’ll be there,” Gwen affirmed Dai’s invitation.

“Wonderful!” Dai slid his arm from between Vivian’s elbows and her diminutive bosoms.

“Where are you going?” she asked, alarmed.

“See you all there tonight.” Dai ignored her and moved for the lift, snapping his fingers at a waiter. “Put the bill on my tab.”

"Yes, Sir. Mr Fung, Sir." The waiter bowed from the waist down.

With Dai gone, the atmosphere of the gathering evaporated. A few scattered conversations caught here and there, but nothing of substance or interest passed between the remaining members. The girls tried their best to ignore Gwen, while the men remained cordial and politely distant. Mina chewed on her lip for a few more minutes before she stood from the cubicle.

“I am bored. Let’s go, Gwen, Peaches. Let’s go pick out an outfit for tonight.”

“What’s wrong with what I am wearing now?”

“Please,” Vivian scoffed, not failing to embrace the opportunity to deliver a sarcastic jab. “You look like a waitress at a hostel bar.”

“Touché.” Gwen’s eyes moved over Vivian’s frilly, revealing smock. She had a hundred ripostes but chose to let it go. They were just idiotic university students, after all. In some ways, these spoilt adolescents seemed less mature than her friends in high school.

Vivian seemed so taken aback by Gwen’s supreme confidence that she allowed her mana to flare, and Gwen spotted motes of water congealing on the glass countertop beside them.

“Vivi!” Mina snapped. “What do you think you’re doing!”

The rest of the party said nothing as Vivian returned to her seat, fuming quietly.

The observant Gwen made a mental note of the spectacle. So that was the hierarchy here. Dai was the leader for whatever reason, then Mina, then the rest of the hangers-on.

Mina slipped an arm in between Gwen’s waist and her elbow and began to move. Tao followed closely with both hands in his pockets, looking far more pleased than when he’d first arrived, but also burdened by the hole he'd dug himself.

“What the hell was that?” Mina demanded once they were in the lift.

“What was what?”

“That wacky eye shit, Gwen! Gurl that was hella cold. Caught those bitches mid-air! Pow! Pow!”

“Yes, what he said.”

“That was…” Gwen ran a few mental algorithms through her head. “Killing intent.”

“Killing intent!” Tao marvelled. “Shit, Gwen, you a stone-cold killa?”

“I am indeed a cold and ruthless eater of men,” Gwen affirmed with a straight face. She had thus far taken the lives of two slavers, actively murdered one woman-thing, Faceless, and inadvertently killed a dozen more through a loose Caliban.

“Well SHIT, that’s wicked cool!”

“You’re blooded?” Mina asked quietly.

“Yes,” Gwen smiled wistfully, her eyes staring into the middle distance. “It’s the Frontier, after all. The Wild Down Under.”

“Anything else?”

“A few hundred Mermen, a hundred odd Magical Beasts…”

“Stone-cold! Stone-cold!” Tao chanted beside her, giddy with excitement.

Mina fell silent until the lift dinged. They were on the atrium floor, where a shopping mecca extended from the lobby as far as the eye could see.

“I am sorry for that stupid encounter,” Mina said suddenly. “Let me buy you something, as an apology?”

Gwen wanted to say that it was alright, that it was fun, at least for her, but the promise of a gift sewed her mouth shut. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? She had no idea how much things cost in tier 1 cities, now was a good time for some market research.

“Sure, I didn’t mind,” she added quickly.

Mina nodded, and put on a bright smile, returning to her usual countenance.

“Alright, dear cousin," Mina extended a hand to take Gwen's in her own. "This place is going to blow your mind!”

Mina was a girl’s girl, the kind that grew more energised the more she shopped. She was sullen when they entered the first boutique store, peppy when they browsed the third, happy when they exited the fifth, and ecstatic when they embarked upon the avenue of the exclusive and exorbitant.

As they tried out dresses, Gwen couldn't help but measure herself against her cousin. It was vanity, sure, but it was also a woman's instinctual reaction when mutually accosted in the change room.

Her cousin stood only five-foot-four but had that winsome slenderness which made men want to hold her in their arms. Her cheeks were adorable and pink, with two dimples on either side, adorned with a pair of dark, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled like gemstones against her milky complexion. Her bust was diminutive and petite, her waist as slender and supple as a serpent's; from below her slight hips, a pair of lithe legs extended with an aesthetic contour, ending in small, dainty feet that were white and shapely.

Tao sat with his mouth half-open, bored out of his mind at the lounge, attended to by a NoM shop assistant who giggled at his every word. Meanwhile, Gwen and Mina exchanged ideas on the virtues of accessorising.

“I can’t believe I am saying this…” Mina checked herself out in the mirror, marvelling at the straight-laced, knee-length one-piece. “But your taste is impeccable, how is that possible? Are there even Veneta or Valentino Couture in Sydney? Did you attend a fashion college or something?”

“Oh no,” Gwen confessed. “I have an eye for it, I guess? I do have a few Miu outfits, but they were all imported by mother from here and there. Cost her an arm and a leg; I’d wager.”

“Well, I am wearing this to the M tonight, you should pick out something too, I already said it’s my gift to you.”

“Sure, but not here.” Gwen had seen the price tag. 7 HDM was nothing to scoff at; it was almost half a month of training, or some useful expendable items; or a dozen high-grade healing potions.

“I'll be wearing this out,” Mina informed the shop assistant, who assured her that the outfit was already impeccably laundered by the most fastidious Prestidigitations.

Mina passed over a crystalline currency card.

Gwen watched the assistant tap the card against a slate device.

Was this a wireless banking system? Did tier 1 cities have a finance sector? If so, how developed was it? If she could find out more about the comings and goings of micro and macroeconomics in this world, then many of her old skills could finally find gainful employment.

“Is that card linked to a bank?” she asked Mina once the assistant was gone.

Mina was no longer surprised by Gwen's lack of common knowledge in anything.

“The currency cards? They're standard issue. Comes in 10, 50, and 100 HDMs, higher cards are issued on request. You can convert them from raw HDMs, which tend to have different purities. You're not using raw crystals, are you?”

"Er..." Gwen could hear the crystals clinking in her ring.

"Get em converted at the PBC. There's one on the second level."

“PBC is…”

“People’s Bank of China, Shanghai. They issue currency cards, or you can get a topper like mine, attuned to your Astral signature. Fair warning though, a topper costs crystals to issue and maintain. ”

Ah, Gwen felt her hypothesis abort mid conception. A centralised banking system held by a state-owned agency. No one but the state itself would dare to profit from that.

“Alright, next!”

Mina’s mood improved significantly now that she was in a new outfit. The trio wandered through a dozen more shops until Gwen saw a cobbler store that custom-enchanted footwear.

“You want shoes?” Mina tilted her head. She’d thought Gwen would have picked an expensive dress, and was even ready to blow half of her allowance if her cousin from Sydney had chosen a gift without knowing the price.

“I'd like a pair of thifted calve-length boots,” Gwen said to Mina. “Ideally leather ones that won’t wear and tear if I had to, say, sprint or land from a Jump spell.”

“No need to buy the cheap stuff in here,” Mina pointed out. “All the top brands offer in-house enchantment for a couple more crystals.”

"Do you mind if I take a look?” Gwen inquired. She didn’t want Mina to spend a fist full of HDM crystals as a gift. She’d expected the prices to be in Yuan or at least LDMs, but the ultra-luxury goods here were as obscene in her old world.

"Go ahead."

They browsed the shop for a few minutes until Gwen picked out a pair of antique-looking hand-stitched women's tapered boots with a thick leather welt. The fit was intimate, the heels neither too high or low, thick or thin.

“Good eye,” the shop owner, who was also the assistant, noted when Gwen tried them on. “Hide of Canadian Ice Auroch, treated and thrice matured, comfortable to wear, supple and durable.”

“How much?”

The older gentleman checked Gwen out, his eyes falling at her feet.

“Four HDMS.”

Gwen considered her prior market research; it was a fair price.

“I need these enchanted for endurance and impact. Also, do you think it’s possible to enchant the pair I am wearing now?”

Gwen pointed to her Mary Janes.

“Here, take them off. Let me see.” The old master offered Gwen a set of slippers as she took off her shoes. He ran a quick Prestigitation over the pair of Mary Janes, then studied them with a careful eye.

“Mundane… Australian Angus? Not bad, to be honest, but hardly worth enchanting.”

“It’s for sentimental reasons,” Gwen assured him.

The man shrugged. Business was business.

“Endurance? Self Cleaning? Something more interesting?”

“Just the former two.”

“Three HDMs, and I’ll throw in a Minor Elemental Resistance.”

Gwen looked at Mina, who affirmed that was the going rate.

“Cheaper if I get em both done?”

Mina blushed.

The master smiled politely.

Oh. Gwen realised. It’s one of 'those' shops.

“What’s the total? Sorry.”

“Nine HDMs, for hopefully, a return customer.” The old man chuckled. “I can have them done right away, do you have ten minutes or so?”

“Mina?”

“Sure, we’ll wait.”

Beside them, Tao was trying to catch some shut-eye on the leather couch. Mina approached the counter to pay.

“No. I’ll pay.” Gwen motioned her hand over the counter, and eight HDM crystals appeared. “You can sport me four if you insist on paying for the boots.”

“WOA!” Mina grabbed Gwen’s hand.

“…” Gwen flinched when Mina's face suddenly became contorted with surprise.

She took Gwen’s hand and ran a finger over Gwen's rings. Gwen felt a few motes of magic pass over her rings, then Mina looked up indignantly.

“A… a Ring of Medium Storage?! And a Ring of Evasion?!” Her face was a mask of bewilderment. “That’s…”

About 500 -700 HDMS, Gwen thought to herself. She’d worn her Opa’s gift for so long she’d forgotten about how rare it was supposed to be. She had gotten so used to its conveniences that she rarely thought about it.

“Hmmph!” Mina sulkily sat on Tao’s splayed legs, forcing him to wake with a start and groan painfully as her buttocks kneaded his kneecaps. “You can pay for the shoes yourself, little Miss Richie-Rich.”

Gwen smiled at Mina innocently and recompensed the cobbler for his services.

Little did Mina know that Gwen had less than 10 HDMs and a hundred LDMs from bankruptcy, nor did she know that Gwen’s glamoured Contingency Ring had a market value of over 10,000 HDMs. Not, that the ring could ever be exchanged. Gwen cautioned herself against such thoughts. As far as she was concerned, the precious, life-saving ring still belonged to Gunther, and merely graced her finger thanks to a generous loan she'd hoped to repay one day.

Beside Gwen, Mina felt peeved to be outclassed by a country bumpkin. When the freshness of the wound passed, she enquired about Gwen's Storage Ring, asking her about specs, price, who had made it, and so on.

“Your Grandfather is a Magus Enchanter? Score!” Mina’s eyes sparkled. “Aww, too bad he’s in Sydney though. Imagine all the discounts we could get. Enchanting is expensive!”

The master of the shop emerged after a few more minutes with Gwen’s shoes. Gwen stowed away her Mary Janes and put on her new midcalf boots.

“How does it look?”

“Looks good enough to eat off of.” Tao gave her two thumbs up.

“…”

“Peaches, shut up.” A smile touched Mina's lips as well.

“Thanks, Peaches," Gwen replied. "What's the time now?"

“It's about 5 PM.” Mina flashed a sparkling braceleted timepiece on her wrist.

“Shall we head over?”

“And be early?!” Mina mocked a feign expression of shock. “Never!”

Gwen laughed.

“I want to check out some of the fights, get an idea of what the competition is like.”

“You’re not going to participate, are you?” Mina regarded Gwen suspiciously. What can a country bumpkin do against tier 1 Mages? Most of the junior Mages on the Frontier barely made it past Tier 3 with their horrid, watered down affinities.

“Ha…” Gwen pivoted from the topic and Mina chose not to pursue. "My purpose is academic, I assure you."

“Well, I suppose, if you must…”

“Let’s go then!”

“Wait up! Let me get my crew together!” Tao announced.

“Oh hell no, not those shit for brains.” Mina groaned.

“Hey! The crew that shits together eats together!” Tao pulled out his slate device and rapidly began to dial glyphs into it.

“What the hell does that even mean?!” Mina snapped at her brother. "Aarrrgh! Forget it!"

“…”

Besides the comedic duo, Gwen thought about the brick-sized Message Device in her Storage Ring. In an emergency, she could probably use it as a lethal bludgeoning weapon. Gwen would need to find a way to generate a steady income soon. There were so many things to buy, and that list would only grow in the immediate future.

* * *

Tao complained around 7 PM that he was hungry, but Mina insisted that they eat at M on the Bund.

“Well, let me play the host and get dinner at least,” Mina informed Gwen as she went to change into her evening getup. “The food there is surprisingly good, there's a Two Hat restaurant on top.”

Gwen emerged a few minutes later with one of the outfits she had procured in Singapore: a sky-blue, plunging U-neck, button-up short blouse; a tan saddle-skin belt, and an off-white pleated high-waist skirt a few inches above the knee. It was minimalist, yet sophisticated with a hint of flower-child and a dash of urban-chic. Completed with her latest acquisition, the endurance-enhanced faux-antique calf-length boots, Gwen gave off an atmosphere that Mina could only describe as 'very cool'. Gwen had planned a camisole as well, but the weather was too hostile for colour-coordinated layering.

“...” Mina puckered her lips, feeling lost for words. Her world hadn’t yet rediscovered the charm of vintage, but the socialite in her instinctively recognised the rarified aesthetics Gwen had created with her eclectic arrangement. She was of half a mind to ask to try on the outfit herself, but Gwen's clothing was mundane and incapable of resizing itself. Maybe in the near future, she could invite Gwen to visit her extensive walk-in-wardrobe.

Tao leered expertly. The skirt and the boots naturally drew the eye toward the exposed skin of her legs.

Poor Tao. Gwen thought sympathetically. She knew he didn’t mean it. It was the unfortunate nature of his froggish face.

“You have terrible taste compared to Gwen, Shawty,” Tao pipped at Mina, who returned her brother's unwelcome criticism with a promise of dire retribution.

“Let’s get going.”

The trio made for the lifts, where an attendant took them to the bottom floor. Then they were away.

* * *

M on the Bund was a chic, riverside cafe at first glance, furnished in a faux-Victorian setting. It had wall to wall French windows for patrons sitting in the interior and alfresco dining for the those who preferred the open air. A series of cooling and heating glyphs moderated the temperature, while conjuration magic made sure that lavender, bluebells and other perennials were in permanent bloom.

It's actual place of business, however, was another matter entirely.

After Mina threw the key-glyph of her car over to a black-suited valet, a bouncer escorted them toward the kitchen, then diverted their progress through a series of underground passages until the sound of pumping music and reverberating bass seeped through the reinforced concrete.

A heavy set of ironbound double doors opened, and light and music flooded the corridor.

It was only 8 pm, but the bar was already in full swing. The wealthy darlings of the metropolis congregated in their expensive suits and dresses, floundering in the vices the city of sin offered its upper echelon. The men were mostly in their twenties, though a few fell outside of the mean, having the appearance of overstuffed peacocks with their hairy chest and open shirts. Gwen noticed that there was an equal distribution of Asians and Westerners here, a stark contrast to the city itself. It either meant that not many Asian youths were wealthy enough to party at a place like this, or that this was a place popularly frequented by expats.

The women were another story altogether. Short skirts, tight dresses, heels so thin and tall that they could be lethal weapons. The calibre of the women was far more rarified than the men, and Gwen recognised instantly the age-old trick of privileging attractive women so that they would decorate the place and attract the men, who were the big spenders. Some of them were like herself and Mina, who were here to experience the M and enjoy the atmosphere, but Gwen could see dozens of girls who may very well be ‘flowers of the night.'

Gwen was glad that she had chosen an outfit so diverted from the purpose of the present scene. Theirs were shimmering and skin-hugging, hers was easygoing and comfortable. It was immediately apparent to those who beheld her, that Gwen was neither here to dance nor to socialise.

Mina searched for her friends but couldn’t locate them in-between the swaying bodies and the flashing lumen globes. Tao, however, was immediately spotted by his friends, who began hooting, cat-calling, and calling for him.

Mina’s lovely eyes made several revolutions in their sockets before she finally relented in following Tao toward the direction of what was hopefully temporary company.

Gwen meanwhile, couldn’t help but smile when they reached Tao’s ‘mates’.

They were all dressed in the same style - a strange concoction of hip-hop fashion from the late 90s and mid-2010s. It was especially amusing because Gwen heard from Mina that those faux-ghetto garbs were worth dozens of HDMs, while ironically made to resemble fashion from the poverty-stricken, inner-urban culture of the U.S.

If nothing else, these were all rich boy wannabes who paid out of their noses to look ‘ghetto’, but she supposed that the 'individual collectivism' was the point of subcultural trends.

“WooooaaaAH!” One of them threw a gang sign, which Tao returned with dexterous ease. “Who’s the new gurl? She is HAWT! Paaant!”

One of the young men attempted to make an expression that was akin to leering, but his carefully conditioned face, with its tender, flawless skin, gave him a gregarious appearance instead. It was evident even to Gwen that the 'B-boy' was usually meticulously groomed when not channelling his 'inner gangster'.

“I am GWEN SONG,” Gwen shouted over the music, affirming one of the reasons she’d always hated clubs like this. Lounges were far superior for this reason.

The ‘B-Boys’ introduced themselves. Eric, Lu, Ming, Mack-Daddy, and Little Dog.

“What’s with the last two names?” Gwen asked Tao puzzlingly.

“They’re their artist names,” Tao said proudly. “They’re illusionist-musicians, like me.”

“You’re a Musician?!” Gwen asked incredulously. “What do you play?”

“I beat-box!” Tao said proudly. “Peaches Emcee represent!”

“Like a bitch!” someone added.

“Yeah! A bitch in heat!”

“Bringing all the bitches!”

“Peaches brings all the bitches to the yard!”

What are you, a dog whisperer? Gwen thought to herself, trying to process the unwavering support shown by Tao’s friends. She couldn’t tell if they were mocking him or trying to bolster his confidence. Maybe they were just fond of saying the word 'bitches' because it rolled off the tongue? Perhaps ghetto slang translated very poorly into Chinese, especially when re-interpreted into English? She was surprised her Ioun Stone of Comprehend Langauges hadn’t exploded yet.

“…”

Mina glared at Tao's friends; her face well rested in her signature look of complete disapproval.

“Sorry, Miss Mina.” The one called Mack-Daddy apologised. “A slip of the tongue.”

Little Dog cleared a seat, and Mack-Daddy borrowed another one from their neighbours.

“Here you are, Miss Gwen, what would you like to drink? Something fizzy, sweet? On the rocks? I’ll buy,” Little-Dog offered.

“Peaches, go get me a Strawberry Daiquiri, get Gwen a Virgin Mary or something, as long as its virgin.”

The boys grinned.

“You don’t drink, Cuz?” Tao scratched his head.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Peaches,” Mina snapped at him. “Gwen’s underage.”

The B-boys moved a little distance away from Gwen.

“What about you, Mina?” Gwen asked. Wasn’t Mina also not yet eighteen?

“Turning eighteen in a few weeks,” Mina retorted. “Besides, this is nothing for me. By the way, you idiots stay away from Gwen, she's an important guest.”

“No way!” One of Tao’s boys moaned dramatically. “She’s right there! She's stolen my heart already!"

“It’s only six years plus probation, Eric, your dad can pay, right? Maybe it’s worth it?”

“Fuck off, idiot. What do you think I am?”

The rest of the crew laughed whole-heartedly, taking mirthful jabs at Eric.

“What’s so funny?”

“Eric tried to date a nursing student once, without realising she was underage, took her to a hotel then fled the scene when she fessed up,” Little Dog helpfully quipped.

“Shut up!” Eric tried to silence his friends, and the gang fell about pushing and shoving, cackling madly.

It was an atmosphere distinctly different from Mina’s friends, whose placid exterior bellied the undercurrent of competition and jealousy. Instead, these boys and their interaction reminded Gwen of the larrikins like Jacko and Tako back in regional NSW.

Mina was grinning as well, but Gwen felt that she seemed to prefer the competitive, scheming air of her clique. She guessed that some people thrived on that sort of thing.

The young men each tried to ask Gwen about her life in Sydney, but the overloud music made any meaningful conversation impossible. Peaches returned with drinks, and the two girls sipped their beverages while listening to the B-Boys discuss the latest in American Hip-hop from across the sea.

“It’s gotta be Buzzy man. His rhymes are ill.”

“Naw Naw, you gotta understand the context man, life in the hoods is harsh, dawg. Only true survivors like Kooholio know the streets intimate enough to be genuine. Buzzy is just marketing man. All his Lumen-Casts are full of bitches and rides. It should be about resisting the man! You know what I mean?”

“Sure sure, but how about that Lizzy Knight chic, the who sings the chorus? She be like HUHGN! Right? Body so banging you could eat off of it, man oh man! Like that time she was in Lil Philippe's casts, totes bonkers…”

Mina crossed her slender legs over and shut off the part of her brain that had to endure their conversation. She looked forlornly through the crowd, wondering where her friends were.

Gwen, likewise, could only take so much of Peaches’ ghetto sermon on the latest American Rap-trends. She was much more interested in the technological or geopolitical trends. In her old world, the early 2000s was an exceptional period; it was the dawn of the information age, the beginning of metadata that gave birth to the Minotaur known as actuarial-data analytics.

Despite Gwen's no-nonsense attire, she was still intermediately approached by semi-intoxicated men and at least one woman, who wanted to know if she was here to dance, and would like to join them for some vertical tango on the dance floor.

Gwen politely declined, and to her surprise, no one pursued the matter. It was unexpected, considering her past experiences in Sydney, where she could somehow attract trouble even in the canteen of a Tower, one day after a city-wide crisis.

Peaches’ friends ordered food, and Gwen partook in the dim-sims and other ‘authentic street foods of Shanghai’ that M on the Bund sold in their above ground establishment. The kitchen, it seemed, serviced both establishments concurrently.

When it was 10 PM or so, the dance floor began to clear. The music died with a sudden pop, and the revellers found places around the club to sit and stand.

A middle-aged gentleman wearing a loud vest presented himself before the gathering and introduced himself as the Master of the Bout, Magus Ji Meng Yuu.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Bout tonight, I hope you’ve had a lovely month since our last competition, that your purses are full, and that your lucky stars are bright and polished!”

Yuu wasn't tall or handsome, but his radio presenter’s voice was as deep, resonant, and smooth as butter.

“Tonight, the brightest and the best of the Shanghai’s darlings will duel to rule the night! The rules remain unchanged! Challenge each other! Settle a grudge! Challenge a fighter sponsored by the house! Make a name for yourself! And most importantly, BET YOUR HEART OUT!”

The crowd cheered, reciprocating the passion shown by the bombastic Magus, who answered their applause by dipping an invisible hat and bowing deeply.

“Our waitresses will be out in a moment to exchange crystals for chips! Don’t forget, HDMs or go home! The M is not a charity! The Bout is a show of skill! A show of courage and tenacity! A show of ARCANE FORCE!”

A cage materialised from the dance floor, then abruptly energised before turning transparent. From her master's past incantations, Gwen recognised it as a form of Force Cage, capable of negating most magical attacks up to tier 7. How extravagant, Gwen thought. How many crystals did it cost to invoke such an effect!

“FIRST UP! To whet your appetite, to loosen your pockets, to get you ladies weeeeet! I present our resident heartbreaker, the reigning champion! Magus CANTO from Indonesia!”

The lights of the duelling field rose to an impressive brightness while the rest of the room dimmed. Gwen turned and examined her surroundings; she could just make out the face of their companions by the illumination reflected from their eyes.

“Detect Magic,” she incanted softly, channelling a little Divination to her eyes to get a better sense of what she was seeing.

Mages. Mages everywhere. Except for the serving staff, the entire room was awash with leaking motes of elemental magic. It was like trying to look for particular drip-trail in a Jackson Pollock painting.

She quickly dispelled the magic from her eyes and wondered how her Master and her Seniors could use the same spell with such expertise. Did she have to train to block out the noise, or to limit the effects to a specific area? She didn’t know. It was another mystery to be solved once she could restore her training regime.

Meanwhile, a silver flash of conjuration mana summoned a near-naked Mage wearing nought but a pair of blue boxer-shorts into the room. His face was handsome and chiselled, but his most impressive attribute was his rip-roaring body, sculpted and oiled so that the floodlight emphasised every inch of well-articulated muscle.

The women began to whistle and cheer, and even Gwen let loose a few catcalls in the heat of the moment as the well-toned body of Magus Canto gleamed under the harsh ring flood light.

But why male models? Gwen asked herself kiddingly. It was a joke, of course, she could sense the magic radiating off Canto like concentric rings of displaced water upon a still pond. Whatever he may look like, Canto was the real deal.

“As for the CHALLENGER-” Yuu began again. “We have Magus Lamba, from the northern states of India, the Tiger of Punjabi, the Stone Breaker, the Troll Slayer!”

Another flash of conjuration mana and the audience found themselves in the presence of a dark-skinned man dressed in a brown lungi with a blue waist-sash, his head densely wrapped with a gold-threaded turban in white.

“I hope you’ve read your invitations and done your homework because the Bout will soon begin. Nymphs of the house of M, go forth do your duty!”

Trapdoors around the stage opened to reveal gaggles of young women in tight black dresses so skimpy they may as well be body paint. Like nymphets from the woods, they dispersed around the crowd, taking bets and exchanging crystals for chips as the two Mages in the ring stared each other down.

“This isn’t a fight to the death, is it?” Gwen asked Mina, feeling cautiously optimistic about the setup. The club, the setting, the theatrics, it seemed far too elaborate to be an underground death ring. After all, what a waste of the resources required to train a Mage into a Magus, if they were to duel to the death for something as trivial as entertainment and crystals.

“Well, you know.” Mina turned toward the stage. “'No' - but it’s not like it doesn’t happen. With the Challengers, it's just ego and good fun. With these mercenary Mages, it depends.”

“On what?”

“Who’s betting, who’s watching. What’s at stake. These guys are rogues, no country and no affiliation. They fight for money, sure, but they also fight so that somebody somewhere could be impressed enough to invite them to join their clan, or organisation, or whatever else.”

“Hmm.” Gwen crossed her legs over and kept her eyes on the stage.

The betting took another fifteen minutes or so while each of the Mage showed off cantrips and minor abilities that gave little to nothing away. The challenger had the advantage here, especially if they were unheard of and unknown.

“What’s so special about Magus Canto?” she broke the silence between then again.

“He’s a CQC specialist, used to be Indonesian Special Forces. When the Micronesian Islands got wiped out, he got abandoned by his team. Word is that he survived in a Black Zone by himself for a year. If you’re wondering, he’s a body enhancement Transmuter and a Pencak Silat master.”

“Pencak Silat? What's that?” Gwen asked. Was it a new school of magic? Maybe indigenous magic.

“Oh man, Silat is the SHIT, dawg! Bitches be like putty and shit in yo hands." A torrent of words spewed from Tao's mouth. "Why there was-"

“Shush, its starting!” Mina hissed.

The lights dimmed further and the betting girls in black faded into the dramatic darkness. All eyes fell upon the two Mages at the centre of the Force Cage.

“NOW! For the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the first Bout! The showcase! The feast for the eyes! I give you the battle of the two Magus, Canto versus Magus Lamba! The rules are the same as always, first to yield! First to shield break!”

A Dimension Door later, Yuu appeared atop the Force Cage, striding over its surface and striking off sparks of ocherous Evocation.

“BEGIN!”

The two Maguses moved at once.

“Stone Strike!”

“Gaseous Form!”

Magus Lamba opened up with the classic technique of a front-loaded spell he had probably been nursing since arriving upon the stage. A cascade of sharp stones emerged from thin air and struck Canto's whereabouts, thudding into the wall of force and crashing against the likewise reinforced floors. The range of the spell easily spanned a radius of six meters, catching Canto in the entirety of its blast.

"Cheap move!" someone shouted from the crowd. How tedious it must be if the match ended after one AOE.

Canto, however, had anticipated his opponent's pre-prepared alpha strike. The issue with front loading spells was that it was inevitable that motes of mana would leak from the caster, giving the discerning observer plenty of clues as to what was coming their way.

Comparatively, his Gaseous Form was near instant at tier 3, far more expedient than the powerful tier 5 Stone Strike. The CQC fighter instantly became a cloud of gas that negated the physical damage from the downpour of razor-sharp stones.

Lamba cursed loudly and waved a hand over the space before him.

“Wall of Stone!”

“Polymorph!”

It was entirely unclear what Canto had changed into as he was still in his gaseous form, but three exchanges into the battle, it was self-evident who had gained the upper hand.

“Stone Skin!” As if it wasn’t enough, Lamba then surrounded himself with a layer of dark, obsidian-like stones. He then cautiously examined his surroundings. After all, Canto could not exit the duelling arena without forfeiting, so he must be within the twenty odd meters or so that the dance floor extended.

Not being able to locate his opponent did not worry Lamba. He was duel-classed as Abjurer and Evoker, defence and offence in one package. As long as he could withstand Canto's sneak attack, he could reverse their chances in a single exchange.

Between the piles of rocks and shards of stone, the audience on the reverse side of the Force Cage could rapidly see Canto powering himself up.

“Haste”

“Enhanced Ability”

“Magic Weapon”

“Oh, shit man! It’s a coming! The ass whooping is a coming!” One of the boys slapped Tao and began to jubilantly whoop and shout, watching Canto incant buff after buff. This Lamba may be a skilled monster hunter - but he lacked experience in duelling other Mages. If he had been more cognizant, he would continue to pummel the stage. Against an Illusionist, one would rather be OOM than let one’s opponent have breathing room.

Canto was ready.

“Blink!”

Within a second Canto was right beside the Golem-like stone Mage. The Transmuter reached out and touched Lamba, feinting as though he was about to deliver a Transmutation spell to disable the Indian Magus' Stone Skin.

“Destruction Wave!”

Lamba had been waiting for Canto as well. He’d been nursing another spell, this time, a wave of force, that should affect even Canto's gaseous form.

“Got you!” Lamba announced triumphantly, watching Canto’s illusory form disperse into nothingness. “Shit!”

A second Canto suddenly appeared from above Lamba and landed on him with both legs locked around the latter Mage’s neck; the invisibility illusion fell away as the CQC Mage moved to attack. With a deft motion, Canto struck the stone-sheathed Mage's head with both hands, cupping his hands over Lamba's ears and creating a resounding thunderclap.

Lamba staggered back, evidently affected by the sudden blow against his head, becoming disorientated as he lost his concentration.

Then the rest of Canto’s gaseous form fell away, revealing the polymorphed body that Canto now possessed.

A Troll! Gwen audibly gasped. She’d never seen anything more hideous. Canto’s arms were long and sinuous, his legs now extending past the torso of Lamba as the stone Mage futilely tried to throw Canto off.

“Do you yield?” Canto rasped, wrapping long thin fingers around Lamba’ neck.

“You can try!” Lamba boasted. “I’ll get you yet!”

“Spike Shield!” Bits of floating stones, jagged and sharp, began to spread in concentric rings around Lamba, cutting and slicing into Canto’s flesh.

Canto visibly healed his exterior injuries as quickly as they occurred, restored by the green, algae-like blood that flowed from his Troll-flesh.

“Have it your way.” Canto fell from Lamba’s body as if he’d lost his grip.

“ITS HERE!” Eric screamed, hooting and stomping in excitement.

Canto fell about halfway before his sinuous body bent into an impossible angle and his legs wrapped around Lamba’s waist. Like a whip he brought his lower body to the fore, taking Lamba off balance as his long arms swiped the poor Mage’s feet from the ground. Evidently, Lamba had never experienced such thing before, to be wedged from the ground by an opponent lighter and more nimble than his Stone Form, and he immediately lost his footing in the ensuing panic.

Meanwhile, in one swift, uninterrupted motion, Canto spun in mid-air and threw himself in such a manner that he and Lamba made a two-seventy rotation in the air, ending up with himself on top and Lamba on the bottom, head first.

'Crunch!'

A split second later, there was a resounding crash, and Lamba smacked into the Force Cage floor head first.

A resounding ‘crack’ informed the audience that whatever confidence Lamba had in his shielding was misplaced, as all the conjured stone within the area began to crumble as the Magus lost consciousness, falling limply onto the floor.

The duelling arena filled with the sound of jeers and cheers, so boisterous that Gwen had to cover her ears with both hands.

“Fuck yeah!” Eric announced triumphantly. “Always bet on Canto! I’ve just won two HDMs!”

Canto retrieved himself from the floor and made a flourishing bow, returning to his sculpted splendour.

So that’s why he’s near naked. Gwen realised. Canto was performing an Incredible Hulk scenario. The shorts he was wearing must be a self-fitted magic item; else the girls would be swooning right now.

Lamba was cleared from the stage by two of the betting girls, dressed in nurses' outfits that left nothing to the imagination. They placed the unfortunate Mage on a stretcher, kneeling with great exaggeration as they rolled his comatose body over and took him to what Gwen hoped was the infirmary and not a dumpster out back.

The Force Cage was disenchanted, and Yuu drifted toward the floor serenely. He began to lay down a torrent of praise on Canto, but his voice became lost in the crowd's overwrought passion.

Canto went about signing signatures on shirts and bosoms, receiving tips from excited patrons who threw crystalline cards toward his feet. A few of the ring girls hastily collected the generosity of the M's patrons on Canto's behalf.

“So, what do you think?” Mina asked, watching Gwen’s face flush a rosy pink.

Gwen had to admit, watching two Magus duke it out for one’s viewing pleasure was rather exciting. She had learned quite a bit about Illusionary tactics just from the last five minutes.

Just as she was about to answer though, an overly familiar hand found its way to her shoulder.

Gwen looked up to see Dai, his face forming a self-aggrandising grin of supreme confidence. Dai was looking down on her, or more accurately, he was looking down at the plunging U neck of her shirt, which had a modest, but encouraging, cleavage.

Should she shock him? Gwen wondered, then forced herself to remain calm. She had plans for the young man.

“Glad you all made it,” Dai smirked. Behind him was Vivian, but none of the others seemed to be present. “Good fight, yes? Canto is one of the best. I sponsored one of his first fights you know... "

They waited for Dai to finish the small talk and get on with his obtrusive business.

"Now Peaches..."

Ah, there we go. Gwen shifted her weight so that Dai's hand wasn't digging into her collarbone. It felt like such a simpleton move, a kind of insecure possessiveness, as if she was going to flee or run.

"... didn’t you say that you were going to show me a Bout tonight? You still up for it ‘gangster’? Or should we square the payment, right here, right now?”

Tao’s friends fell into an awkward silence.

Tao himself looked like a deer caught in the high beams of a Radiant Blast.

“Dai… Mr Wei, Peaches’ was just joking-” Eric tried to intervene.

“You shut your face!” Dai snapped.

Eric flinched.

“Well, what’s it going to be, Peaches? Shit or walk now's your chance.”

“You gonna fight, bitch?” Tao's demeanour seemed to change after Dai insulted Eric.

“Don't be absurd. You're no match for me. But you know what? There is someone who wants to fight you. I am going to make it easy,” Dai replied arrogantly. “You win if you manage to beat him.”

A young man with a ghastly face walked out from behind Dai, whose presence had been so imposing that he had eclipsed the young man who’d been standing behind him. Gwen could see from the wanness of the newcomer's skin that this was a young man who liked to indulge in his vices.

“Fredrick Lin!” Tao hissed. “The fuck you doing here, fool?”

“I am here for satisfaction, Peaches,” Fredrick grinned, flashing his pearly whites. Frederick had an unmemorable Asian face, which would have been handsome were it not for the fact that his pallor resembled that of a ghoul. “I didn’t think the beating earlier today was satisfying enough, so I am here to give you a chance to make it up to me.”

“Fred, don’t be such a shithead,” Mina interrupted them. “None of our fathers want to see you guys fight or get hurt.”

“It’s just a Bout, a little practice match. Who can fault that?” Fredrick flashed his eyes menacingly at Mina. “You were there this morning, did I provoke your brother? He was the one who wanted to act all tough. If you want to blame someone, blame his motor-mouth.”

“Fuck the both of you,” Mina scowled. She didn’t like the fact that Fredrick ignored her wishes. Mina could make his life hell later by speaking to his mother or his father, but that was neither here nor there. Right now, she was of no mind to jump in the grave her brother had dug for himself.

“Well Peaches, you fighting and ponying up the cash, or are you gonna pussy out, then give me the cash?” Dai was relentless.

“Hey,” Gwen interrupted them. She pointed to his hand, still resting on her in an over-familiar manner. "Off with the paws."

“Gwen.” Dai gave her what he must have thought as a dreamy look. His hand remained steadfast on her shoulder. In fact, he moved it a little closer to her face.

Wow. This guy has a fucking death wish. Gwen imagined Caliban degloving his wayward appendage. She placed a hand on Dai’s fingers and lifted his offending limb from her shoulder like a rotten rag and allowed it to fall beside his waist.

From behind Dai, Vivian's eyes filled with venom.

Dai shot her an expression that assumed he didn’t care for her rejection, before turning coldly to Peaches.

“Well? If you refuse to honour our agreement, I can always contact your father and ask for the crystals myself. It's not going to be the first time, anyway.”

Tao’s bravado was now as red upon his face as a monkey’s ass. It was apparent to all at this point that he did not, in fact, have a hundred HDMs to spare. Neither did Mina, who had spent twenty on her shopping spree, nor did Gwen, who couldn't scrounge up a dozen if she tried.

“How about this?” Dai turned to Gwen, taking another liberal look down her shirt. “You can convince your bumpkin cousin here to party with us for a few days, and I’ll let the matter go.”

Tao looked as though he was about to blow a casket.

Gwen was just about to get up and lay a verbal smackdown on Dai when Tao suddenly let loose a torrent of rhyming abuse.

"Fuck you Dai!

I'll beat you at your game, any time o the day

Beat you like a bitch, til you got nutt'n to say

Come 'ere; shit stunner, I'll show ya the way

Running scared? Too late!

to get on yo knees and pray!"

“OH SHIT SICK RHYMES MY MAN.”

“WOOT WOOT.”

“What UP!”

“Fuck the Magic Police!”

His friends, who’d been demure the entire time, were now hooting and whining; transformed into a riot of jubilation and misdirected moral support.

Having dropped his sick ‘flow’; Tao's face turned as white as a bed sheet even as he appeared thoroughly pleased with his performance.

“I'll take that as a YES,” Dai spat coldly, his face multiple shades of overlapping crimson. “Frederick, I want you to make sure he completely and utterly regrets those words.”

“You got it, Dai” Frederick grinned at Tao.

“And you.” Dai turned to Gwen before leaning in uncomfortably close to her face, close enough that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. “After this, we’ll be seeing each other plenty.”

“At what point did I agree to be a part of this?” Gwen waited until Dai was out of earshot before turning to Mina and Tao with a voice full of exasperation.

Dai had retreated to his little corner of heaven, a VIP area where he and his friends had their private little nymphet waitress all to themselves. What a shithead, Gwen fumed- if the man was going to be a prick, at leave make good on his promise to give them VIP treatment. Where was her flute of champaign?

“Why am I a part of the prize box? I just wanted Tao to come with us.”

“Yeah well…” Mina pinched the bridge of her nose. “You asked to bring Tao, you deal with it.”

“Does Dai even know I am… sixteen?” Gwen asked Mina incredulous.

“He’s rich as hell, and he’s an arrogant blackguard. His father is the Police Commissioner, by the way. So good luck snitching on him. Also, if you know what’s best for you, don’t involve the Song family. I’ll scrounge up what we can and try to pay the man, but if he’s really after you…”

Mina left the words unsaid, but Gwen read the frustration in her cousin's eyes. Mina meant that if this Dai fellow wanted to get rough with her, there was nothing they could do other than escalate. But what happens when that happens? Where does the buck stop?

She looked at the now shaking Tao, whose adrenaline of the moment was fading, and who was only now beginning to comprehend what he had put into motion.

A hint of mirth touched Gwen's petal-pink lips.

Can’t hurt the son of a commissioner?

Boy Blue-balls can’t take a hit to the face?

No problem.

She could handle that.

There are more ways than one to skin a cat.

The event organisers made the necessary changes to the schedule immediately, distracting the impatient crowd with the team of scantily clad waitresses, who spread out amongst the patrons and made small talk, dished out coupons, and promoted the benefits of club membership.

Leftover magical debris was cleaned out by a team of low-ranking Mages, and Yuu - the announcer - made his presence known in a few more minutes.

“Alright, alright ladies and gentlemen! We have a real treat for you, a Bout of ego! A contest of pride! A match between friendly rivals! A clash between the illustrious Clan of Lin, from the Huashan region, and the House of Wang of Wang Xing Enterprise, from Shanghai herself!”

A staccato bass filled the club basement as the dance floor began an operatic display of colour and sound, filling with conjured mist. Compared to the no-nonsense duel earlier, Tao's Bout seemed wrought in manufactured melodrama.

Surrounded by his cheering ‘brothers’, Tao made an appearance on one end.

A wave of disappointed ocular rotation passed over the crowd. Gwen guessed from their reactions that this was not Tao’s first rodeo and that his last rodeo, and likely the one before that, did not go down well.

“What are Peaches' talents?” Gwen asked Mina. It wasn’t polite to do so before, but now she wanted to be prepared for what was unmistakably a poorly matched battle. She didn't need her Divination talents to guess that.

“Illusion, Air.” Mina slumped in her chaise, reducing her visible profile, exhausted before the night had even begun. “Fredrick is Fire, Evocation, but his affinity and techniques are top-notch, even by our standards.”

“Does Peaches have a chance?”

“Sure… same chance as an Ice Mage stuck in the Elemental Plane of Fire.”

Thankfully the world was filled with life's small mercies. Only a handful of people cheered Frederick as well. Gwen guessed that there was no sport in wasting breath on a one-sided beatdown.

Yuu was still trying to rile the crowd up, but the poor announcer's most authentic effort was as wasted as one slumping overwatered concrete. Without the cuts they took from the mass of hedged bets, the fight was likely going to end as a net loss for the House of M.

“The Challenger! Tao Wang, AKA Peaches, The King of Fruit, a practised master of the illusory arts! With a record of all losses, he may yet be the ticket for some to bet the odds and break the bank!"

“The Challenged! Fu Lei LIN, AKA Frederick, a prodigy we know well, a master of Evocation, from the illustrious Clan of Lin upon the mystical Mont of Huang, with a steady record of six wins and one loss, as steady a bet for pocket change as any other!”

The room dimmed.

The Wall of Force went up.

There remained only Tao, Fredrick, and the illuminated space of the arena floor.

"BEGIN!"

“Flame Shield!”

“Mirror Image!”

Four other Taos appeared beside Gwen’s cousin.

Gwen was expecting Fredrick to open with a barrage and continue until he was OOM, but to her surprise, the Evoker quietly stood and watched as Tao continued to weave illusion after illusion.

“Silent Image!”

“Major Image!”

The spells were directed at Fredrick, but the nature of Image spells was that they manifested visions from the coalescing mana of the caster, which was visible to all. At the behest of the Illusionist, designated casters may view the images as transparent and therefore, evidently illusory.

Tao’s first projection was one of his friends, Little-Dog, who was rapidly throwing gang signs whilst mouthing something with a rapid flutter of his lips.

Beside Gwen, Little-Dog began to deliver a rhyming sermon of bombastic beats, as if providing an audio track for Tao’s Silent Image.

Gwen turned back to the Bout with a terrible feeling of premonition.

The Major Image came with sound, appearing as Mack-Daddy carrying a boom-box, moving to the rhythm of a tune that only Tao could hear.

“Hypnotic Pattern!”

Graffiti, stage lights, and other visual and auditory effects joined the rapping trio.

“Humpty Dumpty, you bitches be rusty

I ma knock yo shit down

DAWG, you gonna go against me?

I’ma take ya down town

like you're soft cream cheese

I ma hit you with sick beats

This MC is gonna school you…”

At least a dozen of the crowd must have face-palmed, Gwen among them.

She had to admit. It was in fact, a catchy tune. If Tao had talent, then this must be it. It was an aspect of Spellcraft that Gwen had read about in textbooks, but had never experienced thanks to the Frontier’s emphasis on combat training and military service.

In fact, there were many pragmatic aspects of Spellcraft schools that could be considered as vital, if not more so, then their combat potential. Each school of Magic had an irreplaceable impact outside of combat.

Abjuration created shields and constructs that protected the human cities, as well as dispelled hostile magical effects, established wards, removed curses and even prevented planar creatures from invading the Material World.

Conjuration was the mainstay of transportation and transaction spells, essential for logistical translocation of important products and other consumable goods.

Divination identified magical items, allowed for scrying in distant lands for rare resources, and forewarned society against natural disasters.

Enchantment and Transmutation were responsible for almost all of man’s buildings, from structures as small as habitat shelters in the Wildlands to the superstructures that dominated the skylines of the world’s largest metropolises.

Evoker may seem like a combat only school of magic, but they also served to create powerful energy sources that powered much of the city’s reactors and forges, controlling the volatile and erratic energies that fed humanity’s golem foundries and mundane Manufactoriums.

Then there was Illusion, a school that created false images and sensations.

Illusion is a school legendary for flexibility, engaging in everything from espionage and reconnaissance to entertaining the masses.

Gwen could not have known just how influential Lumen-Casts, Illusory Dramas, and Propaganda Vids were, but she could reasonably guess that Tao’s talent was the manifestation of a cultural phenomenon. Having herself enjoyed the Golden Age of ad-free MTV Top 50 in her old world, she understood its allure.

Though the Path of an Entertainer-Mage was not a career lauded by the respectable member of society, it was nonetheless a Path that possessed immense allure for the young men and women of the Capital cities, whose existence was not haunted by the possibility of sudden, inexplicable death on the Frontier.

And so it mattered not that Tao had displayed unusual competence and control, for the Bout was not a freestyle rap battle in the Bronx - it was a Mage Duel, a demonstration of arcane might and spell force.

That much became apparent when Fredrick had run out of patience.

“Wall of Fire!” At his behest, a flame barrier rose from where Tao beatboxed and rapped to his heart’s content.

“Peaches!” Gwen called out, alarmed. Her cousin was still blithely pipping away, swaying his body this way and that as though he was about to become roasted char-siu.

“Bitch! You missed!” Tao taunted his opponent. “Magic Missile!”

The flames passed through Tao’s body harmlessly, turning the illusion semi-transparent. A volley of arcane force, invisible to the naked eye, assaulted Frederick where he stood.

“Shield!”

An orange barrier intercepted Tao’s attacks without apparent effort.

The young man was well trained, Gwen acknowledged. Shielding was the weakness of the Evoker Elementalist, but like Gunther, this Frederick had poured thousands of hours into fortifying his fundamentals.

“You’re such an idiot, Peaches,” Fredrick riposted with an insult and a spell. “Fire Ball!”

A mote of flame shot from his finger and struck the barrier behind Tao. The orange legume of flame blossomed into a semicircle dome of fire, conflagrating half of the Force Cage with a tempest of chaotic energies.

One of Tao’s rapper-illusions immediately burst into motes of elemental mana, dispelled by the disruptive invasion of heat and fire into its delicately arranged incantation.

“Fear!” a voice cried out from somewhere in the cage. A shimmering silhouette indicated where Tao had been hidden, which was thankfully not in the corner now filled with fiery destruction.

Invisibility! Colour me impressed. Gwen whistled. Tao wasn’t so useless after all. If only her cousin had another mode of offence or had better damage output, then he might have taken the match. Unfortunately, it looked as though Tao possessed very little in the way of direct damage.

A halo glowed around Fredrick’s head, indicating that Tao’s illusory assault had failed to connect with Fredrick’s consciousness.

“Bloody hell,” Mina sighed, stabbing the ice in her drink with frustration. “As if someone from the fucking Lins of all people wouldn’t have a Mind Shield charm. What a waste.”

“Is having a Mind Shield a common thing?” Gwen inquired, wondering if she could get one as well. It was a Phantasmal Killer spell that had nailed her during the Blackheath incident.

“Common enough,” Mina replied. “Most of us also had training as well.”

Tao’s terrible decision in using a psychic assault proved to be his undoing. Fredrick casually flicked another mote of fire his way, and the blossom caught Tao before his invisible form could escape the vicinity.

“Ouch! Ouch! ARRRRRGH!”

Tao rolled onto the floor, trying to put out a localised blaze that had caught his hat and set fire to his collared tee-shirt.

What?! Gwen wanted to shout at her cousin. WHERE IS YOUR SHIELD?

“Where is his shield?!” Gwen asked Mina incredulously.

“He SUCKS at Abjuration, and he’s lazy as fuck when it comes to training,” Mina laboriously stated as if she’d had to explain the same thing a hundred times over. “Wait for it.”

Sure enough, a Shield of air sprang into being half a second too late.

“…”

Fredrick felt too embarrassed to even attack the wretched, writhing form of Tao. It was supposed to be first to shield break, but how did that apply to a Mage with developmentally delayed Shields? If he had not suppressed the heat of the flames, Tao could be making a trip to the local military E.R. Was the idiot trying to entrap him and get his family into trouble? Fredrick had to wonder. Was that Tao's game? Was the prick betting that a Lin didn’t dare to wound the son of Bao Wang?

He turned to look at Dai Fung, who likewise had an expression that suggested he’d swallowed a fly or two by accident. Dai motioned quickly to Magus Yuu, the Adjudicator.

“VICTORY, to Young Master Lin of Huangshan!” Yuu announced quickly, ushering the white-clad team of skimpy nurses onto the stage. “Applause!”

Scattered applause filled the arena.

Compared to the first match, the second was blisteringly lacklustre. Rather than a feeling of excitement or entertainment, the two-minute spectacle filled the patrons with a cringe-worthy sense of self-loathing, as though they’d just watched an angry widower beat a stray dog half to death.

“I haven’t lost yet!” Tao screamed as he was placed on a stretcher and taken to Mina, who promptly restored him with a Cure Moderate. His shirt and hat, however, was done.

“It wasn't Shield-break yet,” Tao protested groggily.

Gwen needed no Divination to anticipate her next encounter. She closed her eyes, counted to three, then opened them.

To no one’s surprise, Dai appeared right beside her, standing above Tao with a gloating expression.

“Good match! You were almost going to win, but alas,” he comforted them with sardonic sympathy. “Now, you looking to pay for Crystals or currency?”

“Dai, don’t,” Mina snapped at him. “You know we can pay. Give me a day or two.”

It was unfortunate that even scrounging up the crystals each of them had on each other; they were still missing thirty or so HDMs. Tao’s friends might be affluent, but their families hadn't spoiled them like Tao's parents. Typically, when they’d hang out, it was Tao who splurged while the other boys tried to live within their means. Likewise, Mina wasn't any better; she was equally guilty of spending money like flowing water.

“Oh but I am a deeply flawed man of great impatience,” Dai mused, looking at Gwen with the suggestive grin of a two-bit crook.

Was that what passed for schemes around here? She felt oddly relaxed by the shallow bravado and the transparency of it all. After surviving Faceless, Elizabeth and Walken, it was like watching mewling children sniggering about, fight over a favourite toy.

“Well, Ms Gwen Song, shall we?” He offered Gwen his arm.

“Dai! You’re starting to piss me off,” Mina hissed at him, but Dai blissfully ignored her.

“And where are we going exactly?” Gwen questioned Dai, who seemed in love with the sound of his voice.

“Join me in the VIP, of course.” Dai inclined his head, his eyes already falling below her waistline and eyeing her lower body hungrily. “Give a man a bit of face, share a few drinks. All very innocent and fun.”

“I am coming with you!” Despite his exhaustion, Tao's camaraderie, though headstrong and foolish, pleased Gwen greatly.

“You are not welcome.” Dai shot Tao a grimace of disgust. “Go and 'home-boy' with your 'B-boys', or whatever it is that you do.”

Tao’s companions helped him to his feet, but they dared not speak up against the son of a Police Commissioner. One false word and it would bring down unnecessary trouble for their families, then heads would roll.

“Am I also unwelcome, then?” Mina replied between clenched teeth. Her eyes flashed dangerously, furious that Dai should give so little regard to her opinion of all people.

“What’s with the angry flirting?” Gwen whispered to Tao, pulling his face closer to her own. As a woman of experience, Mina's and Dai's mutually indignant gaze brought to mind two individuals who unmistakably shared an intimate and sordid history.

“He’s her Ex,” Tao provided an unenterprising piece of the puzzle.

AH, Gwen felt the blocks falling into place. There was the Tetris piece she was looking for. So Dai's interest wasn’t just about Tao. It wasn’t just about her, either. Gwen had suspected that Dai wasn’t so stupid as to lose his cool over something as base as a chance to cope a feel between her legs. There was an element of revenge best-served-cold involved, and Dai was using Gwen as leverage to dig deep into Mina’s prideful flesh.

Gwen stood from her chair abruptly, forcing Dai to rest on the back foot.

Dai was a tall bloke, for an Oriental at least. Even with her well-heeled boots, they were the same height. Gwen carefully straightened her dress, allowing the fabric to fall about her white thighs.

She began to walk toward the VIP section, directly opposite their current position.

Dai's expectant grin split from ear to ear. He flashed a set of gleaming white teeth toward Mina.

“Your cousin is a far more obedient girl than you,” he teased her. “You can tag along if you want?”

Mina’s expression could have chilled the tepid beverages on the table.

“Ha ha ha!” Dai turned to follow Gwen, watching with growing appreciation the way her shapely legs gave her a dancer’s elegance that shorter, Asian girls simply lacked. If the girl proved to be compliant, Dai told himself, he might even consider taking her on permanently. He knew at least a dozen people who would jump at the chance to spend time with someone of Gwen's exquisite presence but lacked both access and panache to attract a girl of her calibre.

They had just reached the duelling floor when Gwen stopped.

The rhythmic clacking of her heels suddenly halted with the surety of a parochial death knell.

"Wha-"

Dai's quizzical inquiry was interrupted when Gwen threw a hand casually into the air.

"THUNK!"

Night turned to day for a fraction of a second. A dissonance of sound and light, charged with hair-raising static, lit up the club's interior.

The music dimmed.

The conversation ceased.

Every eye in the room sought out the source of the disturbance.

They found it in a foreign girl standing centre stage upon the duelling field. A cascade of silvery Conjuration mana fell about her like blue-white fireflies.

“FREDERICK LIN!” Gwen shouted toward a surprised young man in the VIP section of the club, surrounded by a plethora of eager girls who'd been lapping at his retelling of the duel.

Gwen raised a hand in the air before retrieving from it an enchanted ring.

“I challenge you to a Bout! I entrust this Master Crafted Ring of Evasion, made by a Magister of the Tower, on my decisive victory. Should we win or draw, you will possess this ring…”

Gwen spun around the dance floor, allowing the hem of her skirt to flutter.

A silken silence reigned.

“...just the ring, I am afraid.” Gwen smirked, teasing the crowd.

The club burst into wolf-whistles, cat-calls and jubilant shrieks of untempered delight.

If Dai had been nursing a drink, he would have sprayed it all over the floor.

“A CHALLENGER HAS SPOKEN!” Magus Yuu leapt at the opportunity, entirely beside himself with excitement. After that pitiful previous match, he was wondering if he had to ask Canto to come out yet again and warm up the duelling floor. This nubile challenger was precisely the sort of thing that got the young folk’s blood boiling. She was fresh-faced, beautiful and she was willing to double upon crystal and booty. PERFECT, she was perfect.

Dai tried to intervene, but Yuu blew past him. There are favours, and then there are favours, but nothing is going to stop the House of M from making crystals.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I know you can’t wait! I know I can’t wait! But rules are rules! A moment while our challenger is registered and her betting prize verified!”

He turned to Frederick.

“Mr Lin, do you accept?”

Frederick looked to Dai for advice, and who then nodded with absolute confidence. He too was curious as to what was Gwen's game. After all, how could a Frontier Mage, a junior at that, stand a chance against a resident prodigy like Frederick?

“I accept.”

“A BRAVE and RECKLESS choice!” Yuu announced to the world. “BUT the young live only once! Win or lose. We applaud your bravery!”

“What makes you think I would lose?” Frederick taunted the announcer arrogantly, eyeing Gwen as though seeing her for the first time. “I’ll make sure that when its all over, she and I will be spending some quality time together as well.”

A round of boos addressed Frederick. There was a natural advantage enjoyed by those in possession of comeliness that was difficult to supercede in the best of circumstances.

A female attendant took Gwen’s ring and had it inspected by a resident artificer. It wasn’t uncommon for people to want to bet magical items when the heat of the moment fried their brains.

Meanwhile, a second attendant took a print of Gwen’s Multi-Pass, which served as an I.D recognised by the Shanghai Tower. As for why an Australian student was in Shanghai illicitly, that wasn’t the business of the M, whose only concern was unadulterated entertainment and the ceaseless generation of crystals and currency for its owners.

It took only a minute for a slip of paper to make it back to Magus Yuu.

“FIVE HUNDRED AND FORTY HDM CRYSTALS!” he screamed into the voice modulating incantation. “A TREMENDOUS confidence!”

He spun to face Frederick Lin with a toothy grin.

“Mr Lin, do you wish to proceed?”

All eyes turned to Frederick, whose face instantly paled.

He didn't have that amount of money!

But could he refuse now?

He looked to Dai desperately.

Dai approached the duelling floor and produced six crystal currency cards.

Frederick's face restored some of its previous colour.

It would have been a slap to the face to forfeit because he didn’t have the money to accept the challenge.

Who the hell was this girl? He felt his common sense shattered beyond repair. Was she insane? A ring of that calibre was obviously a precious gift from a Master at least at the level of a Magister. What kind of foolhardy acolyte would risk a keepsake from one's Master?

If Gwen could hear Frederick’s thoughts, she would have laughed.

It wasn’t because of pride, family, nor honour that she was challenging him. She was duelling the poor bastard because she was expecting to fleece at least five hundred quid from his unresisting body.

“ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT!” Yuu’s voice was almost going hoarse. “IT’S ON! My friends, clear the space! Challengers! Present yourselves!”

The interior lights flared, the exterior perimeter dimmed.

Gwen stood demurely on one side, a gentle, mirthful smile lightly touching her petal-pink lips.

Frederick stood opposite, still bewildered by the sudden turn of events.

Yuu requested a final confirmation.

Gwen nodded silently.

Frederick said nothing as well, but for an entirely different reason. Even from afar, Gwen could feel the motes of fire radiating off him. The Evoker was trying to front load something big, likely a Flame Strike or at least a Fire Ball.

She needed to finish this fast and clean. The less she showed, the more crystals she was likely to generate with her next con.

“Alllllllrighteeeee…. on my signal…” Yuu Dimension Doored from the floor and onto the roof, landing with a flourish atop the rectangular Force Cage.

“BEGIN!”

“Fire Ba-”

“Flashbang!”

A crystalline sliver formed for a fraction of a second in front of Frederick’s face before exploding with the light and sound of a localised thunderclap.

Frederick hadn’t even finished his spell before his world turned white with noise and illumination. The malformed incantation in his mind became mere noise as the spell fizzled and its mana fed back into his body.

He had been nursing the Fireball and was confident he could have released it under a second, but Gwen was using a tier 1 spell, which when combined with her ceaseless practice and abnormal affinity, took only a fraction of a second.

Fredrick could have sworn that he tried to do something, maybe a Flame Shield or a Wall of Fire, but the dizzying concussion to his head had dilated all sense of time and space.

“Dimension Door!”

Gwen barrelled into Frederick with her shoulder, appearing just centimetres beside Frederick's stunned body before crashing into his chest with a forceful shoulder barge. A burst of electricity exploded where her Mana Shield impacted his barrier, and the young man was sent flying by the resulting force.

“Flaming H- "

Frederick desperately tried to fire off a spell that would give him even a second of breathing room.

“Lightning Whip!”

Gwen lashed the air in front of her twice; twin tendrils of lightning lacerated Fredrick’s innate Mana Shield with such force as to send him skittering against the wall of the Force Cage, furthermore sending forth a shower of orange-yellow sparks where the flat-footed Mage had impacted the invisible barrier.

“Blade!”

“Blast!”

“Whip!”

Caught by the momentum of her spell flurry, Gwen forwent even the first segment of her incantations, simply using her Transmutation Sigil to keep the channel open and allowing the electrical energy to pour forth.

Her spells were weaker without her Evocation sigils empowering the damage, but to the untrained eye, it seemed as though she was ceaselessly churning out an endless torrent of magic that was alternatively blades, tendrils, blasts of lightning, and other misshaped detonations of electricity.

Fredrick must have fainted at some point during the exchange, for Gwen saw his body slump limply to the floor.

She closed her channel into the Elemental Plane of Lightning, and faced the silent crowd.

Frederick’s smoking body slid off the conjured pane of force and comically knelt toward her, head over heels.

“…”

“…”

“…”

A hundred mouths opened and closed, trying to find words that could adequately describe what they had just witnessed.

A few keen observers wondered if her display was a part of some show, some illusion mayhaps, set up by the Magus Yuu to liven up the atmosphere after Tao’s dismal duel.

It was as good as an explanation as any other.

After all, what the hell did they just witness? A girl, a junior by the looks of it, who looked more like an idol than a combat Mage, just trounced the son of the Lin family, renowned for their Evocation Mages, with nothing but Quasi-Elementalist tier 1 spells and a single Dimension Door?

How was it that she incanted her spells so fast?

How could it be that her low-level incantations had so much power? How many schools did she use just then? It was impossible to tell without seeing her higher tier incantations.

Most importantly, why had no one ever heard of her? No Mage worth their salt would forget a junior of this calibre after even seeing her in action once.

Was she a secret disciple, finally let loose into the world? Who was her Magister Master? That was the most critical question of all. No one wanted to step on the toes of a Magister without carefully considering the consequences.

“Peaches…” Eric said softly. “I am in love.”

“Peaches…” Little-Dog likewise intoned. “I am in love too.”

“Peaches…” Mack-Daddy said after a moment of deliberation. “I think I have a fear boner.”

“…”

The moment Gwen sent Frederick flying with her forceful Dimension Door, Mina had felt all the pent-up aggression and paranoia that she’d been nursing the whole night drain from her chest. Now, however, she was feeling a new sensation rising in her torso. Unlike Tao, Mina liked to deliberate her future; she thought about her future a whole lot. What did the entry of Gwen into that future mean for herself, for the Songs, for the Clan? Who could be Gwen’s Master, to be able to train someone like that?

“THE WINNER! Miss SONG!” Yuu’s voice rang like clarion across space of the club.

“Woohoo!” Tao screeched all by himself. "Gwen!"

Then another joined in.

And another.

Then the entire club was hooting and stomping.

“Lightning Sorceress!”

“Goddess!”

“Gwen!”

The skimpy nurses made their rounds, with Gwen helping them put Frederick onto the stretcher. Thankfully, the boy was fine, Gwen could see that Frederick was restored to consciousness after only a few seconds, but his body sustained so much Elemental damage that he had become completely numb and paralysed.

Yuu approached Gwen with the prize of the Bout.

He had her Ring of Evasion on a small, red cushion, which he returned to her, and the currency cards in the other, which he presented to her.

Before the watching crowd, Gwen turned to where Dai and his friends sat in the VIP section, still agog and overcome with disbelief.

“Mr Fung!” she walked towards him, her boots clicking on the illuminated floor, her dancer’s figure followed by hundreds of pairs of eyes until she reached their booth.

She produced one of the cards - one with a 100 HDM denomination.

“Here’s the money Peaches owes you,” She said sweetly, her eyes full of sincerity. “Thanks for being a good sport.”

Before Dai could respond, Gwen spun on her heels and strode back toward the centre of the dance floor.

When she performed the exact come-hither twirl and once again faced Dai’s corner, he felt a horrific premonition fill his mouth with a metallic tang.

“Mr Fung! Another round?” Gwen held up her ring and the four hundred or so HDMs she had in both hands. “900 HDMS, winner takes all.”

Magus Yuu was beside himself with barely contained joy. Who’d have thought that tonight of all nights would be the highlight of the year?

“Miss Gwen,” he interrupted her. “As you are the challenger, the M offers you a 10% cut on all of the club’s winnings. Though the exact amount cannot be tallied as of yet, I can assure you that your portion of the last match should total about 300 HDMs.”

Gwen turned to Dai.

“Apologies!” she bowed. “1200 HDMS, winner takes all!”

Dai’s face was alternating between shades of blue, white, and crimson. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to refute her challenge, but again was interrupted.

“Bet!” Tao began chanting, joined by his friends.

“Bet!”

“Bet!”

“Bet!”

The whole club joined in.

“BET! BET! BET! BET!”

Dai was a man who rarely experienced the notion of regret, but he felt it now as distinctly as the 540 HDM hole in his Storage Ring.

He couldn’t possibly participate himself because he couldn’t lose. He had no idea what this girl’s abilities were because he had thought her some bumpkin who had won the genetic lottery. He had never heard of her nor seen her in any of their social gatherings, school competitions, or Clan meetups.

How was he to know that she was some hidden disciple? How could he have known that the alluring little minx was a bloody Displacer Beast? What she had shown at the teahouse was most definitely a negative-energy effect, and now he felt deceived and trolled. A lightning sorceress? A caster with the fastest element in existence, barring the masters of the Radiant? It was cheating! This was entrapment!

He looked over at Mina, who was also staring at Gwen with undisguised disbelief. Mina was a schemer, but she looked just as surprised. Tao was too stupid to be even breathing, so was this all the girl’s doing?

None of that mattered though.

He had to do something; else he would be the laughing stock of the city for weeks, maybe even months. He couldn’t face Gwen ever again if they were to meet in competition.

“Lok,” he said quietly into the darkness, where a skinny man in a grey suit stood silently with the appearance of a sentinel statue. “Can you take care of this?”

“As you wish.”

Dai nodded affirmatively, feeling a measure of calm overriding the tempest of emotions beating down upon his feverish mind. The unexpected defeat, the challenge from a nobody, the shame of losing his money; all of which seems to bloat his temple with a terrible thudding ache.

“I don’t care about her anymore, do what you must. We have to avenge this insult.”

Lok emerged from the darkness and into the light of the duelling floor.

“Master Dai answers your challenge. I will be his representative,” he said to the crowd emotionlessly with the same intonation of one calling out a takeout order.

A silent Message bloomed next to Gwen’s ears, visible for all to see.

“That’s Lok Khun, he’s a Burmese national, but served under the PLA’s foreign operatives teams. Dai always liked to boast that his bodyguard was unmatched when it comes to his duties.”

“What are his abilities?” Gwen said audibly. She didn’t care that Lok heard. After all, she was the challenger; she possessed the onus of accepting or refusing their representative.

“Enchantment & Abjuration, Earth element, though Dai said that he was specially trained in Mind Magic. I’ve never seen him in action though, so I can’t help you there.”

“Thanks, that’s enough. I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure?” Mina paused, seemingly reaching a decision. “Don’t push yourself too hard. If it comes to it, Tao and I have your back.”

Gwen returned her gaze to Lok, who awaited her reply patiently.

“Don’t do it!” someone called out from the crowd.

“Yeah! He’s a Magus! This is a travesty! Unfair!”

“Go and fight yourself! Dai!”

Gwen’s next words silenced the crowd at once.

“Alright, I accept.”

Yuu was there before the crowd even reacted.

“THERE YOU HAVE IT! Ladies and Gentlemen! Austere Mages! Annnnnnnother groundbreaking Match! The spectacle of a Student in Training against a Seasoned Magus! Can Experience beat Talent? Or does Talent trump all! This is what the Bout is all about!”

“She’s a student?” someone from the crowd demanded incredulously, but their voice was quickly drowned out by Yuu’s all-encompassing hollering.

“The Challenger! Miss Gwen Song! From the Frontier of Australia! A Quasi-Elementalist! A teenage prodigy!”

“The defender! Magus Lok Khun, employed under the House of Fung! A renounced master of the Abjuration Arts!”

“Lightning versus Earth! A decisive advantage for the Magus Khun! Can Miss Song overcome the elemental mismatch?! Make your bets! Who will the Goddess of Victory Embrace! Who will emerge as the penultimate victor of this night?!”

The Force Cage resumed its protective enclosure.

Lok Khun gazed upon Gwen with his dead fish eyes. To Gwen’s mind, there was a little bit of Edgar in the depth of the man’s placid pupils, but Lok had none of the sicknesses that made Edgar so dangerous, merely the apathy of a man who cared little for his safety and well-being.

She glanced at the 1200 HDMs’ worth of crystals and prizes on display. Dai didn’t have enough on him to pay outright, which meant that if she won the match, he would owe her. If she were to keep his shame private and their exchange in intimacy, it would further imply that he owed her a debt of gratitude. After all, Crystals were currency - social capital was priceless.

She took a deep breath.

Around them, the jibbering crowd hedged their bets.

One cat down. This other one looked like a biter.

“BEGIN!”

“Protection from Energy!”

“Shield!”

Wary of one another's untested strength, both Gwen and Lok forwent the option to front-load spells of destruction, instead choosing to open the battle defensively, electing caution over risk.

Lok’s choice was self-evident, creating a shimmering grey field of elemental resistance that negated much of Gwen’s offensive damage outright, ensuring that even if he were to be stunned or blinded, his earthen shield could withstand any unforeseen burst potential from the Lightning Mage.

Gwen’s choice was both puzzling and astonishing.

Wasn’t she an offensive caster? What was an Elementalist going to do with a Shield? Especially one under the auspices of air and positive energy, both of which were insubstantial in defence.

“Catapult!”

“Warding Bolt!”

A spiked boulder the size of a full-sized jackfruit smashed into Gwen’s static-charged Mana Shield. To the surprise of all, rather than shattering the transparent glass dome, the spike came to a crunching halt, turning the impact point opaque with congealed mana. In the next moment, the stone fell from Gwen's half-dome barrier and dissipated into motes of elemental earth.

The spectacle would have made perfect sense if Gwen was a Mage attuned to the Mineral talent, or perhaps a spiritually-modified talent of Earth, but she was a lightning Mage! How is it possible that an Elementalist could possess such an impenetrable Shield? If offensive casters could hold their own in a Shielding-duel, there would be no need for Abjurers on a five-man team.

“Stone Spear!”

For a Mage specialised in defence, a tier 2 Evocation was the best Lok could manage without risking mana burn and disorientation.

Four stalactites of compressed granite launched toward Gwen, covering the distance between them in the blink of an eye.

Gwen grit her teeth.

“Call Lightning!”

A miniaturised cumulonimbus cloud appeared overhead.

Her previously conjured Warding Bolt zapped away at Lok, triggered by his presence, leaving behind a dazzling white scar over his reinforced Stone Shield.

Then the spears struck.

In the past, Gwen had withstood the assault of a tier 5 Magical Beast known as Wonka. Even with the burst of momentum and all its impressive weight, it had just managed to penetrate her non-newtonian barrier, and this was at a time when Gwen wasn’t even a properly trained Abjurer. Gwen made a mental note to thank Gunther; were it not for the liberal instruction of his secret technique, she would have been wounded many times over.

It was unfortunate for Lok that his spears were at the lower spectrum of tier 2 Evocation.

They clattered against her shield, turning its frontal surface opaque before shattering impressively.

Gwen could feel a spiderweb of fissures spreading across the first layer of her mana barrier, but they were masked by the zinging arcs of lightning that showered the surrounding air spectacularly whenever her Shield shed its reactive energy.

The crowd gasped when the Stone Spears likewise failed to penetrate, looking toward one another to see if they too, were bearing witness to the same spectacle.

“Wall of Stone!”

“Ariel!”

All of Gwen's pieces were falling into place.

Ariel appeared behind Lok and instantly transformed into its Mongoose form, its electrically charged body turning the surface of the Force Cage cobalt with blue-white static.

“EEeee!”

A blast of fur from Ariel smothered the space where Lok stood his ground, a few tiny darts catching him unaware and penetrating his hastily erected Shield.

It was the natural advantage of Conjurers, whose strength in numbers had to be endured or negated. A skilled Conjurer, therefore, should always be in a position to abuse their advantage to the fullest extent.

The problem was that Gwen's education was yet incomplete. She had forgone Summon Elementals for Dark Tentacles and the defensive Faithful Hound, neither of which was of much use against a turtling earthen Mage.

“Fuck!” Lok cursed under his breath. He hadn’t wanted to demonstrate his other abilities, but there was no helping it now. Slowly but surely the electrical discharge was finding its way through the dart-like fur and numbing his body.

“Lighting Blast!”

“Dominate Mind!”

Gwen felt a deluge of psychic energy bypassing her Mana Shield and assail her consciousness. She became at once dizzy and despondent as if injected with a sluggish agent that retarded her mind. It was a familiar feeling which she loathed more than anything in the world.

Fight it! Her inner voice screamed as her body faltered. It was just as well that her Warding Bolt continued to fire and her Called Lightning was falling into a steady pace of randomised electrical blasts. On the other end of the arena, Ariel sensed its master’s distress and directly assaulted Lok with a frenzy of blows, becoming a blur of whirling claw and flashing teeth against the Magus’ Shield of stone.

Though Gwen could feel a part of her mind becoming cloudy and unfocused, she maintained control through force of will. From experience, she suspected that if she had lost her mind, Caliban would likely escape and attempt to make a feast out of every Mage in the club. She could just imagine it now, Caliban eating Lok before thrashing itself bloody upon the Force Cage.

Lok meanwhile, had felt his spell connect with Gwen's mind.

He had anticipated her to fall limp, to cease her attacks, to beg or kneel or at least be held, even for a fraction of a second.

Instead, even after his mana became consumed, there was nothing. There was no feedback, no adjoining reciprocity that allowed him an estimation of his target's paralysis.

It was as though he had cast Hold Rock instead of Hold Monster.

Then he felt the connection between himself and the spell cease abruptly, signalling the end of the Enchanter's hold on his target.

His Stone Shield was already a blaze of lightning that cascaded from top to bottom, turning the surface of the Force Cage a bright, brilliant blue. Where the Mongoose's fur had struck his shoulder, he was already feeling a numbness coming on.

Whatever had happened, his spell had gone to waste, and Lok wasn't foolish enough to flaunt his mind-flaying abilities in public. He had no desire to be gang-pressed into the Military for the second time.

Were they at a stalemate then?

But he was a Magus! The girl was sixteen, seventeen?! It was difficult to tell. For him to draw the match with the girl was no different from losing. He had to do something, anything, to ensure that his young master did not suffer any more loss of reputation.

Gwen, meanwhile, felt the mind manacles of the Hold Monster spell dissipate from her mind. She felt overcome by a seething vexation, having to fight her impulse tooth and nail to prevent herself from resorting to conjuring the Void. With a fully charged Void Bolt, Gwen was confident that it should bore a fist-sized hole right through the Stone Shield and into Magus Khun's chest - but that was neither here nor now.

“Stone Skin!” Magus Lok incanted loudly.

Unexpectedly, her enemy made the first move to break their stalemate.

Lok must have lost patience with his terrapin tactics and wanted to finish the match and salvage Dai's lost honour.

Like a Stone Giant, he was - shielded, elemental resistant, and now covered in layers of grey-blue granite, slowly moving towards her with the inevitability of a glacier.

Gwen felt the sting of Lok's psychic attack on her mind. Why hadn’t Yuu called out the Magus for using an illicit spell? Was it legal for tier 1 Mages to employ mind-altering effects? Or did paralytic effects not count as mind-control? Didn't anyone see? Most mind-spells were invisible after all, and it didn't seem as though Detect Magic operated within the chaotic realm of the Force Cage.

Still, Lok came closer, trying to corner Gwen at one end. Gwen had no idea what the man intended, but she wasn't about to lose the advantage of distance. What if he had a melee-touch, mind-altering Enchantment that could incapacitate her?

“Fine! That's how you want to play it. I am game!”

Gwen switched the Evocation Flashbang over to her Conjuration Sigil.

“Flashbang!”

“Flashbang!”

“Flashbang!”

“Flashbang!”

“Flashbang!”

“Flashbang!”

"..."

She held a dozen of the unstable crystals in her hand, vibrating dangerously in their volatile fragility.

What would happen when a dozen of her most disruptive spell erupted at once? How many times could the magnitude of a single spell increase with each reverberation? Gwen was no physicist; she could only speculate about the multiplicative effects of detonating sound and light in an enclosed space.

At once she threw the volatile shards toward the ponderous form of the despairing Lok, whose stony face twisted in ghastly anticipation as the crystals flew toward him in slow motion.

“CLOSE YOUR EYES!” Gwen commanded the crowd, retracting Ariel to her side.

Above her, Magus Yuu reciprocated her command.

As the crystals ignited, Gwen summoned yet another Shield, a thin skin of Void, within her semi-circle dome of non-newtonian particles.

'!!!'

The resulting ‘Flashbang’ may as well been a localised supernova.

The Force Cage grew white-hot, as though it momentarily held the interior of a dying star. Violent, reverberating sonic energy and dazzling incandescence rocked the underground chamber. Were it not for the sheer power of the protective barrier, the observers were sure that the M would have erupted, perhaps launching off its foundations and landing in bits and pieces throughout the bay of The Bund.

Abruptly, the light ceased.

The Force Cage had tempered the thunderclap, but there was no helping the phosphorescent flare.

Those who’d anticipated the flash felt their sight returning after several seconds.

Those too slow to react became blinded for many minutes.

Those who’d refused to heed Gwen and Yuu’s advice wailed and beckoned for Minor Restoration.

When the confusion finally ceased, those with enough vision left to see turned their attention back toward the duelling floor.

They had their answer.

The Lightning Mage, Gwen Song, appeared entirely unaffected by the explosion. She stood to attention, steadfast in trying to maintain a triple-set conjuration of Familiar, Warding Bolt and Call Lightning.

Magus Khun meanwhile, had ceased moving entirely.

Sheets of granite fell from his body as bolts of lightning shattered his Mana Shield.

Twin streaks of blood oozed from where his ears were just visible beneath the Stone Skin, flowing profusely past his cheeks and staining his neck.

The Magus swayed on his feet for a moment as his spells and incarnations expired, then slumped onto the floor like a wet sack of potatoes.

Opposite the fallen Earthen Mage, the Lightning Sorceress dispelled her summons, recalled Ariel, and dropped to one knee. Her chest violently rose and fell as she panted profusely from the effort of managing a dozen spells in quick succession.

“THE VICTOR! MISS GWEN SONG!”

The voice of Magus Yuu rang across the club. The announcer felt as though he was in the midst of a fantastic dream. What a world, what a night, what a Bout! To think that junior Mage could defeat a Magus, and a Mind-Reaver at that, with incantations no higher than tier 3 to boot!

The crowd wasn’t so unprepared the second time around. The club had fully anticipated that Gwen had a chance, and now she had proven them right.

Most of the room mourned their losses, but the blood pumping excitement offered by the well-fought match provided some solace. The duel they had just witnessed was a wonder to behold. Mayhap, years later, they may even be recounting to their peers that they were there when a new Magister began her ascent to power. The other half of the room was jubilant with joy and exaltation, throwing crystal credits at Gwen’s feet.

ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED? Gwen wanted to open her arms and take a victorious stroll through the arena space.

But she checked her impulse. Now was no time to live her Hollywood fantasies. Instead, she turned to face the crowd and curtsied, lifting the hem of her skirt with the tip of her fingers elegantly as she bowed to each side.

Another round of cheers resounded, followed by an encore of cascading crystals. Gwen had intended to show herself as the humble victor, but it appears there had been a miscommunication of sorts. Still, she wasn't about to turn down crystals.

Then Dai joined her on the duelling floor.

He approached her directly and bowed deeply, placing a hand upon his heart in a show of sincerity.

“You have proven yourself beyond doubt, Miss Gwen,” he announced to the crowd in a volume audible to all. “For sparing Magus Khun, who is my bodyguard and my dear friend, I want you to know that I owe you a favour. If there is service that Dai Fung of the Clan Fung can perform in the future, please do not hesitate to make a request.”

Gwen wasn't sure what the etiquette for accepting a concession of defeat was, and so offered her hand. Shockingly, Dai took it and kissed her ring.

The crowd became wild with cheers and applause.

Just as Gwen tried to speak, Dai turned to the club and lifted Gwen’s hand in a gesture that made it seem as though they were BOTH victors.

You sneaky little! Gwen protested, marvelling at the smoothness of Dai’s recovery. Here was a man groomed from birth to play to a crowd. Though Gwen was confident that she too could potentially do the same, she wasn't at all convinced that she'd have the thickness of skin to turn humiliation into cooperation.

“Please play along.” A glowing Message spell bloomed beside her ear. It was Dai. “I will double the winnings I owe you, an apology, and as a gift to our future friendship.”

Despite the chaos of the cheering crowd and the resumption of the club’s throbbing music, Gwen found Mina in the mass of pressing bodies and sought her advice.

Mina looked conflicted as their eyes met, but after an agonising moment, she inclined her head.

“Fine,” Gwen answered Dai briskly.

“Wonderful. I'll have the club bring it to you.”

Dai bowed again and quickly retreated, overseeing the medical care of his bodyguard; roleplaying the facade of the benevolent young master full of concern for his underling's welfare.

Gwen left the stage to return to her cousins.

As she descended from the duelling floor, men and women reached out and touched her arm and felt her hair, causing Gwen to shiver with discomfort. Canto had endured the same treatment, though the man had seemed to enjoy it thoroughly. She hadn't thought much of it then, but now it was happening to her. Gwen just hoped that some mug didn’t get too enthusiastic with their tactile devotion.

“Oh. My. Mao!” Tao’s friends were beside themselves.

“Master!”

“Master Gwen!”

“Mistress!”

“Masterful Mistress! Please take me as your disciple!”

Gwen declined playfully. She would rather not have a group of rapping disciples following her around Shanghai. It would be like living in her very own MTV video.

Little-Dog and Mack-Daddy returned with a fresh round of beverages.

"Ganbei!"

"Ganbei!"

"Ganbei!"

"Cheers!"

"Ganbei!"

"Ganbei!"

"Ganbei!"

“Thanks,” Tao intoned seriously, wiping the foam from his lips. “For what you did to Frederick out there.”

“It was nothing.” Gwen pulled her cousin in close and hugged him, causing him to slosh his pale ale. “He deserved it.”

His fellow B-Boys gulped their drinks enviously.

“I am impressed, Gwen. You did great. Really great.” Mina’s voice had an edge of relief to it. “I dare say Dai making up with you in public just resolved a whole lot of your future problems. He’s a tit-for-tat kind of guy, even if he's an arrogant idiot most of the time. If anyone wants to mess with you, they'd first have to ask if they want to piss on the Commissioner's son, especially if you intend to call in that favour.”

“True, AND I got some funds for my living expenses in Shanghai,” Gwen laughed. "More shopping tomorrow?"

Mina couldn't help but notice that when Gwen tittered about money, her felicitous voice resembled the jingling of crystal coins.

“What’s the score?” Tao regressed to his inner-city vernacular. “How much ya win for smacking a bitch up?”

Gwen tried to do a quick calculation in her head.

“...” She wracked her brain.

As if on cue, Magus Yuu appeared beside them, flanked on either side by two girls with such audacious cleavage that Tao’s eyes protruded from their sockets.

“Caught you at the right time, it seems.” Magus Yuu grinned affably. “Wonderful match! A marvel! Truly inspirational!”

“Thank you for the kind words.” Gwen bowed her head politely.

“Your winnings.” Yuu handed over a card. “Please attune yourself.”

To their surprise, Gwen didn’t know what to do. After an awkward moment of confusion, Mina aided Gwen by making a small incision on Gwen's finger, procuring a drop of her sanguineous essence to complete the ritual.

“You channel your mana into the card, like so…” Yuu demonstrated a simple cantrip.

Gwen performed likewise, and the number 3534 showed up.

“3534 HDMs!” Tao almost choked with stupefaction.

His friends likewise, were beside themselves.

It was the equivalent of 3,534,000 Yuan if one exchanged HDMs at a market fluctuation set by the Chinese Government.

That was all the money she was owed; Dai must have asked the House of M to issue credit on his behalf.

Tao and Mina had to pinch one another. In one night, over two duels, their cousin from Australia had made more money than a NoM would see in a lifetime. In two hours, Gwen had made more crystals than Mina and Tao’s annual allowances put together.

Granted, she had risked her life and limb, but the speed and volume in which their cousin acquired currency was terrifying.

“This here, is a little contribution from us, from the House of M,” Yuu added, passing over a golden card imbued with an intricate scrollwork of dragons in flight.

“Woa-” Mina couldn’t help but bite her lip.

“What is it?” Gwen received the card carefully, balancing it on her hand.

“Contribution Credits!” Mina hissed. “They’re the currency of favour from the Towers!”

Gwen had heard the term before from Richard, but she had never seen these ‘Contribution Credits’ in the real world.

“More precious than Crystals, rarer than diamonds.” Yuu tapped the card gingerly. “There are ten credits contained within, enough for a few small, but challenging, requests.”

Gwen had no idea what Yuu meant, at least for now, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Two cards, one crystalline and the other golden, disappeared into her Storage Ring.

“One more thing,” Yuu persisted. “As a young woman with a great deal of liquid currency, we would like to extend an invitation to you, from the House of M, to attend an Auction of Rare and Magical goods in a week’s time.”

Mina’s ears perked up.

"Gwen, you have to go! This is the legendary Underground Auction hosted by the House of M!”

“I would love to attend.” Gwen had no idea what this Auction portended either, but if Mina wanted to go, then there must be some merit involved. "May I bring guests?"

“Of course, Miss Song. We shall look forward to you gracing us with your presence once again.” Yuu dipped his head. "For now, please enjoy the evening, or should you feel so inclined, issue another challenge."

"I am alright, for now." Gwen was out of the tricks she was willing to reveal, meaning her night had come to an end.

Magus Yuu thanked her again before disappearing into the crowd.

Gwen returned to her companions. They sipped their drinks and discussed the duel, though the music remained far too loud for engaging conversation. Several groups of men and women now hung around their perimeter, trying to make their way past Tao and his friends to speak to Gwen.

Then a bright blossom of Divination magic bloomed next to Mina’s ear.

“Shit!” Mina’s almost spat out her Daiquiri.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen’s face was as flushed as pink pippins. The new beverages were alcoholic.

“Shush!” Mina answered the call.

“Yeye?” she spoke sweetly into the Message. “Yes? Yes, Gwen is with me. Where are we? Oh, you know, young people places.”

Gwen watched as Mina suffered what looked to be a torrent of invisible abuse.

Yeye, Gwen tried to think. That means Grandfather right? Oh shit!

Mina tore the bracelet from her wrist and handed it to Gwen as though she'd just rent a writhing leech from her arm.

“It’s for you.”

Gwen took the bracelet with trembling hands, hoping she sounded sober.

“Grandfather?” she answered sweetly into the Message device.

The corresponding voice flushed every ounce of excitement from her blood.

“Come home. Now.”

“At once! Yes!” Gwen passed the bracelet back to Mina, holding the device between two fingers as though it had just tried to bite her.

“Well?” Tao asked blithely.

“Well nothing,” Mina sulked, already imagining the scalding.

“What’s happening?” Tao persisted.

“You’re getting a beating,” Mina informed him with absolute sincerity.

“WHAT!?” Tao checked his surroundings, was Frederick Lin still around? But even if he were, Gwen would protect him, right? She could kick the guy’s ass twice over.

“If Yeye demands whose idea it was, he dragged us out here,” Mina assured Gwen of their plan B. “Peaches is such a trouble maker, always taking us girls out to seedy places.”

“…” Gwen studied the siblings. She wondered if it was possible that two siblings were born to make one another's lives as mutually miserable as possible.

* * *

Mina’s madcap vehicular mayhem ended when they finally reached the model citizen’s village of the Plum Flower.

It was almost midnight, and the gated compound took on the quietness of a rural village, punctuated only by the sound of trickling water and frog song.

The trio stalked the perimeter of the Song compound before making their way into the cross-shaped courtyard. Unfortunately, the silhouette of a stocky old man awaiting their arrival informed them that their hope of a subtle meeting had failed.

“In the Communal Hall,” Guo announced stoically.

Gwen, Tao and Mina stepped over the wooden threshold and faced the open space of the hall. With the banquet cleared, it was now a vacant space furnished with a red carpet runner, accentuated by two chairs and a wooden chaise, adjoined by a collection of antique looking melee weapons embellishing the interior walls.

“Where were you?” Guo stopped once he reached the middle.

“We went to a bar and enjoyed some food,” Mina told the half-truth.

“I don’t know,” Tao played the idiot.

“M on the Bund,” Gwen replied. “We engaged in some underground fighting.”

The other two turned to look at Gwen with painful expressions.

“Tao took us there,” she added hurriedly. Was she supposed to pretend to be deaf and dumb? Was that the siblings' survival tactic?

Tao's grimace resembled a man wounded by an unexpected shiv in the kidney.

Guo sighed.

“Hand!”

Mina and Tao extended their hands.

Puzzled, Gwen did likewise.

Guo materialised a length of vicious looking bamboo.

‘Snap!’

Tao sucked in his breath, allowing the pain to diffuse throughout his body.

“Snap!”

Mina clenched her jaws as a strip of flesh across her hands began to welt. She had to force herself to restrain the restorative power of her Positive Energy.

“Snap!”

"TSsss!" Having never in her life been slapped or punished by Morye, Gwen flinched and retracted her hands.

“HMMM?!”

Guo’s displeasure was a deep-throated growl.

Gwen winced, swallowing nervously. The juvenile corporal punishment was shamefully difficult to endure when one possessed the pride of an adult. She had to will herself to extend her hands again.

“Snap!”

This time, Gwen withheld herself from retracting her hands, feeling the lash like a line of fire set upon her tender palms.

Then Guo launched into his diatribe.

"THAT'll teach you all for 'street fighting'! You could have been injured!" he barked. "Ingrates! You think it was easy raising you?! You all want to fight so much? I'll send you to the North! You can fight the Undead all day and all night!"

Gwen held her tongue in check.

Guo fumed, watching the three nurse their swelling hands.

Then he turned to Gwen and began to speak more tenderly.

“You won against the Grandson of the Huashan Lins.”

It was a statement.

That was quick, Gwen thought to herself. Between her victory and their frantic journey home, it took about thirty minutes for the news to travel to old Guo’s ears. Did that mean he had sent someone to keep on eye on her? Was it through a Scry, or was it an old school tail and tackle? So much for privacy.

“I did,” Gwen affirmed.

“Then you managed to defeat Lok Khun, the bodyguard of Dai Fung. A Mind Magus,” Guo continued.

“I did,” Gwen again confirmed the events of their enterprising evening.

Mina and Tao regarded Guo strangely. Why the cryptic routine of rhetorical questions and answers?

“Come with me,” Guo commanded Gwen to follow. “You two, go home.”

Tao’s face split into an enormous grin.

No lecture! He celebrated in silence. Huzzah for Gwen!

When he had returned home after being thoroughly trounced in the previous Bout, the old man had given him an hour-long soul-rending tongue-lashing. By the time he was released, Tao had felt as if he aged five years.

"Reflection essay on why you were defeated, a thousand words," Guo added before Tao could make it out the door.

Tao tripped over his own feet.

Mina had already escaped, too smart to stick around and be an eyesore.

Gwen followed her grandfather into the room where they’d previously held the family meeting. Guo took a seat and motioned for her to stand to attention. She couldn't help but notice that she was standing a lot these days; China was not a country where people comfortably enjoyed the company of their seniors.

“Give me a moment.” Guo fiddled with something on the tea-table.

The contraption was a prismatic crystal pyramid which gleamed as it caught the light. Intricate rune-work in silvery scripts covered its base, from which concentric, symmetrical bands covered the slanted panes in set intervals.

A thrum of mana lit up the core of the strange device, then a projection of light refracted from the tip to form a vaguely humanoid shape in front of Gwen.

A Lumen-Projector! Gwen flinched when an image sprang into being a meter away. She had heard about these things since forever. Back on the Frontier, it was rumoured that every middle-class tier 1 household had one. By empowering it with crystals, it could be used to send and receive real-time communication, or attune to the equivalent of what passed for Television in this world.

Then the glowing figured came into sharp focus, and Gwen felt her mouth form a perfect 'O' of surprise.

“GUNTHER!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace the illusion only to miss and make a spectacle of herself.

“Gwen, my sister.” Gunther’s chiselled profile and noble mien filled her body with familial warmth. “I ho-“

“Is it CONNECTED?” another voice interjected, pushing Gunther from the projection. There was a flash of auburn hair, followed by an uncommonly beautiful face illuminated by a pair of lapis irises.

“Alesia!” Gwen squealed with delight. “Can you see me!? Can you hear me?”

Alesia rolled into view, seated in a wheelchair propelled by some unknown artifice.

“Gwennie!” Alesia squealed excitedly, decorum be damned, not at all minding that she was a thirty-year-old woman. “Oh my God! It feels that we haven’t seen each other FOREVER.”

“I KNOW!” Gwen articulated her excitement with every limb she possessed, giddy with barely contained excitement. “You can’t know how happy I am feeling right now! O, God! I think I just pulled my back.”

Besides the projection, Guo felt a little stunned by the unexpected outburst of unreserved affection, feeling the last vestige of suspicion he had felt being blown away by the frankness of Gwen's innocent endearment. He had read many men and women during his time as Co-Secretary of the Internal Intelligence Committee and seldom had he witnessed such undisguised projection of warmth and candour. Was it a western thing? He wondered. Or had the Songs lost touch with themselves? He couldn't recall the last time he had acted so openly, not with Mina, not with Tao, not even with his wife, who he loved and respected, and absolutely worshipped.

Gwen had to stretch for a moment because she had indeed pulled a muscle when she tried to catch herself from again hugging the illusory projection. Though the crystal possessed a limited field of view, the illusions were very much life-like.

“Where’s that old man!” Alesia suddenly demanded. “I’d like to give him another piece of my mind!”

The room suddenly became deathly quiet.

“Hey! HEY! What are you doing! HEY!” Alesia’s voice disappeared.

Gunther reappeared in the illusory projection.

“Gwen, are you alright?”

“I am fine, brother.” Gwen bowed respectfully, tilting her head and arching her back.

“That’s good.” Gunther smiled warmly. “I heard you’ve been engaging in local street fighting. I hope that’s not your idea of a good time, or ‘being alright’, as it were.”

“How did you know about that?!” Gwen asked incredulously.

“Well.” Gunther smiled secretively. “On a more serious note, Gwen, how do you like Shanghai?”

Gwen glanced at her grandfather, whose face was as expressionless as always.

“It was scary at first, but I am getting the hang of it,” Gwen informed her brother-in-craft. “How're things in Sydney?”

“Chaotic, messy, but we’re managing,” Gunther replied. “Your Opa sends his regards.”

“Please tell him I am alright.”

“I have already.”

“How’s my brother? And mother for that matter? Have the refugee transfers started?”

“It has, though Percy is the reason for our inter-city communication, I am afraid,” Gunther informed her, his tone taking on a more serious tone.

“Oh?” Gwen felt her premonition tingling, though not from her Divination.

“Indeed,” Gunther intoned. “Magus Song, may I speak to Gwen alone and inform her of our agreement?”

“You may.”

Guo paused when he reached Gwen; their eyes met, then he abruptly left the room.

“Gunther?”

“I am going to inform you of recent developments first. Then we are going to discuss the details, is that alright with you?”

“Please, go ahead,” Gwen affirmed cordially.

“Your brother, Percy Song, is coming to the Song Estate to study with Magus Song.”

“Okay." Gwen had expected that much.

“You do not seem surprised,” Gunther observed.

“Not at all, I was simply wondering the when and how.” Gwen pursed her lips. “How did mother react?”

“Livid at first, but then sufficiently satisfied by the exchange.” Gunther shook his head as if recalling an unpleasant memory. “She caused a scene at the registration office, as you can imagine. That was where Magus Song’s men caught up with them. I had my people there as well, knowing what happened to you. After a less than cordial encounter, Magus Song and I became acquainted.”

Gwen could very well imagine Helena causing a public spectacle while beside her a tense standoff between two teams of Tower Mages, one from the PLA and the other from the Commonwealth, took place. As the Mages faced each other down, the tense atmosphere would be punctuated by her mother’s ceaseless wailing, not unlike a cat running its claws across the length of a chalkboard. After a few minutes of her incessant screeching, both teams would lose all faith in their ability to resolve the matter and call for support.

“I believe it best for Percy to be given to his Clan, to be trained in controlling his Quasi-Negative arts.”

“I see, that's good."

“If you are alright with the arrangement, then it puts my mind at ease,” Gunther responded with evident relief. “Next, you will be beginning University in Shanghai, as soon as you are able.”

Gwen nodded.

“Is there nothing that would surprise you?” Gunther seemed displeased somehow by her nonplussed reaction. “Why don’t you inform me of my next article?”

“That, I do not know.” Gwen grinned winsomely. “Do tell.”

“I shall, but first, details regarding your university education,” Gunther continued. “I have offered to sponsor you through the Shanghai - Pudong Tower, but I am afraid the Commonwealth has limited reach outside of its old colonies. After an extensive conversation with Magus Song, it seems that you will have to attend selection trials for the Gifted and Talented to apply to your two target institutions, Jiantong and Fudan.”

“That's a reasonable condition.”

“I would expect as much. Both Universities lie at the epicentre of magical theory-crafting in the region of South East Asia.”

“One problem,” Gwen pointed out awkwardly. “I am a high school drop out. How can I apply for an elite university?”

“Not a problem.” Gunther broke into a mirthful smirk. “I have asked Bartlett to finalise your graduation certificate, and it should be making its way to you with Percy. Congratulations, Gwen, you were valedictorian of your graduation year.”

“I am?” Gwen could see that Gunther was entirely serious. “I so am.”

“How do you feel?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I feel like I graduated decades ago?”

Gunther laughed heartily.

“The final article is that I am sending Richard Huang down to Shanghai with Percy.”

“OH MY!” Gwen’s eyes grew round with pleasure and happiness. “That’s wonderful news!”

Gunther made a satisfied appearance of finally having seen the expression he was expecting since their conversation began.

“Indeed. I am afraid the both of you will have to figure out your tuition fees, but I can at least provide you with the certification for enrolment. In that regard, I must say Richard is far better equipped. I am still puzzled as to why he had stayed in Sydney. He could have left with Prince's, or applied for a Section 8 Visa for the Gifted and Talented. I suspect it may be something to do with you, Gwen, or maybe his parents, or both.”

“When should I expect them? Where do I pick them up?” Gwen intoned with giddy expectation.

“Magus Song has arranged transport and escort. I would assume very soon, given the inter-city teleportation.”

“I’ll ask Grandfather then, how’s Yue and Elvia?”

“Still in transit, I am afraid, though their families have been informed. Your Opa had a big party planned for you all, you know, though I am afraid that may now be indefinitely delayed.”

Gwen’s face paled at the implication.

“I won’t be returning to Sydney?”

“Not for a few years at least, not until you graduate,” Gunther informed her a-matter-of-factly. “This is to be expected, of course. You are about to become an invaluable asset. Until you resolve your allegiances, I am afraid your range of travel shall be restricted to the People’s Republic of China.”

“But…” Gwen felt stunned by the unfortunate news. She had thought Gunther would have been able to arrange for her to travel to Sydney, perhaps for a week or just to visit once a year.

“Silly girl!” Gunther suddenly chuckled, laughing at her consternation. “You can ask Yue and Elvia to come to you as well!”

“I can?”

“Indeed, after all, they will be eager to join you too.”

“How?”

“Connections, resources, and Contribution Credits.” Gunther spelt it out for Gwen one after another.

“Connections to know the right people to stamp the right documents. Resources to grease the wheels of bureaucracy, and finally CCs to get the Tower to enact on your behalf.”

“I have CCs right now!” Gwen blurted out. “I have ten!”

Gunther burst into uproarious laughter.

“I am afraid immigration for a single Frontier Mage begins at 1,000 Credits,” Gunther pointed out jovially. “With 10 CCs, you can probably issue a gathering quest for some tier 3 ingredients for alchemy.”

“Oh,” Gwen felt her bubble disintergrate.

“Chin up, Mädel.” Gunther consoled her. “Three years of University will pass in the blink of an eye, assuming you pass all your examinations and Field Trials.”

Gwen felt infused with a burning conviction. Three years? It was nothing! For Elvia, for Yue, she could fight the world! She exalted her speculative future. With her talents, she could surely gather the CCs needed to bring her friends over for a reunion. What were a mere three years when she had the surety of rubbing Elvia’s cute little face and kissing her cheeks as her reward?

“One final thing,” Gunther interrupted Gwen's internal revelry.

“Yes, brother?”

“There is another opportunity to execute the plan our Master had intended for you in the Inter-High.”

Gwen listened intently.

“Should you be accepted into Jiantong or Fudan, there is an international University Competition held for second and third years, overseen by the Ordo Arcanum, the transnational NGO that controls the Tower system. If you should recall, Master was a representative of Ordo Oceania.”

“Yes,” Gwen's voice became husky when she thought of her master, lying cold and dead under the heart tree.

“Good,” Gunther explained. “As before, this is your chance to shine. If you should demonstrate that the Void Element can be harnessed for the good of the Tower, for Mankind, then you may become a celebrated member of our Order. Maybe even invited in time, to come to possess your very own demesne. Such is the prestige of distinguishing oneself in that austere competition.”

“Is it difficult?”

“Its one of the most competitive student competitions in the world.”

“Did you…”

“I did.”

“How…”

“I was voted MVP, but lost the competition.”

“Oh.” Gwen pondered the immensity of the competition's field of challengers. Just how challenging was this competition if even the mighty Gunther Shultz had to face inevitable defeat.

“How about Alesia?”

“She-“

“SHUT UP!” Alesia’s voice returned. She’d been listening in on them.

“She GOT DISQUALIFIED!"

“ NOOOOOooOOOO!”

“…”

Gwen was happy that the two of them seemed to be getting along. Did her fellow apprentices ‘get together’ yet? How would Jonas feel about that? Gwen whispered a benediction for Poor Jonas' unrequited love, feeling her heart sigh sadly for the old Romantic and his doomed, solitary amour.

Gwen waited until Gunther and Alesia had settled themselves.

“I have something to say,” she said solemnly. "It's about our Master."

Her sibling-in-craft's faces became solemn as well.

“I found Master’s body in the Grot, along with Sufina.”

The two of them held their breath.

“Master's remains have been kept in stasis by Sufina. She has asked that one day, the three of us go and visit her together.”

“Master…” Alesia’s voice choked up.

“We will.” Gunther’s voice became cold steel. “We will bring him the head of Elizabeth Sobel.”

“On a silver platter!” Alesia’s eyes glowed an ochre-orange.

“I concur,” Gwen iterated their mutual commitment.

“Then it is decided,” Gunther reiterated for all of them.

A moment of silence passed as each of them allowed the vindictive promise to be digested wholly, the commitment of cold vengeance fortifying their resolve. The trio shared the moment amongst themselves, but time awaited for no one and there remained business which must be attended.

“Gwen, can you ask Magus Song to return?” Gunther intoned softly, holding his tremulous emotions in check.

“Yes.” Gwen left the room and found her Grandfather alone in the stone garden.

“You have finished speaking?” he asked softly. “Is the arrangement agreed upon?”

“It is,” Gwen whispered in return. “Gunther would like to speak with you again.”

“Alright.”

Watching her grandfather go, Gwen stood by her lonesome self in the garden and shivered.

Revenge.

What a strange and alien phrase.

To murder.

To take a life.

To deliberately seek out and destroy another human being, and exalt in the fact of having done the deed.

An unimaginable prospect for the Gwen of her old world.

“O fie. Hold, hold, my heart. Remember thee. Poor Ghost, while memory holds a seat. From the table of my memory allow me to wipe away all my trivial fond records, and thy commandment alone shall live.”

The words from her old world were now fragmented and incomplete. She was beginning to forget it all, losing track of the life she once had. Now she was the Avenger incarnate, whose blade shall weep up to its hilt the blood of her enemies, whose sport is to make mincemeat of vengeful flesh.

How much of her was Gwen, and how much of Gwen was left to give?

Only the future would tell.

Gwen slept restlessly in her new spartan room, tossing and turning, irritated by the rough cotton sheets and the stolid air. When morning came, she had bruised bags under each of her bloodshot eyes, vowing to upgrade her accommodation with thread-counted linen duvets and cooling glyphs. She was, after all, a woman of means now; there was no point denying herself life's simple pleasures.

When she again dug into the rough linen for a catnap, a knock came from the door.

“Gwen?”

It was her grandmother.

“Babulya, one second!”

Gwen emerged a few minutes later, after a quick wipe down, in a floral-white, bare-shouldered maxi that ran the length of her body until it reached her ankles. A simple belt tapered the fabric around Gwen’s waist, allowing the pleated folds to adhere to her hips. Her long hair formed a tightly knotted ponytail.

“Good morning, dear,’ Babulya's voice was soft and comforting. “Come, much to do today. We’re going to the PLA Tower to get you checked up and registered. But first, the most important meal of the day.”

When they arrived at the banquet hall, a dozen and more people were present - grandfather, babulya, herself, aunt Nen, and a host of the house’s staff, mostly in military uniforms, were busy chowing down on sticks of fried dough and slurping on rice congee.

"Good morning Grandfather. Good morning everyone."

Guo inclined his head and continued eating.

It was another culture shock. People here spoke when they ate, ate when they chatted, drank soup with their mouth full of rice, and luxuriously slurped, chewed and swallowed whenever the chance presented itself.

Gwen found a place to sit and took some congee and golden dough from a communal basket. The pairing side dish was a strange looking egg sliced in half.

“Egg of Mandarine Duck, salted in brine,” Babulya pointed out when Gwen gave the strange, oily yellow core a curious poke. “Very rich in mana and nutrients. Do try it.”

What choice did she have? Gwen retrieved the yolk and placed it in her mouth. It was salty, fishy, semi-raw and tasted strongly of egg that had gone slightly off. She quickly drank some congee to wash the taste from her mouth, politely vocalising a few appreciative slurps so that she fitted in with the noisy crowd.

The congee was warm and fortifying, filling her stomach with a warmth that spread to the rest of her body.

“How do you feel?” Babulya asked, her wizened eyes blinking expectantly.

“I feel… full of mana?” Gwen marvelled at the unexpected satiation of her Astral Body. “What’s in this porridge?”

“It’s called the Congee of Eight Treasures,” Babulya chuckled. “Frontier cuisine, especially western cuisine, doesn’t have ready access to produce harvested in the Wildlands. As someone unused to the food here, you will quickly absorb the additional mana boosts offered by the rarer ingredients, though it will take a few years of fine dining to catch up to Mina and Tao.”

Gwen nodded, though she didn’t think that she would have any less capacity for mana than the people here. Was there a numeric capacity for measuring such a thing? She felt no reason to withhold her curiosity.

“Babulya, how do I know what my Mana capacity is?”

“You will have your answer soon, dear.” Klavdiya pushed over another bowl. "Eat.”

Gwen forced down another bowl.

She was very glad that she had chosen a dress which hid her figure, being entirely sure that after two of these ramen bowls, her abdomen could be kindly described as ‘swollen’ with food.

With breakfast done, Klavdiya led Gwen outside, where a dark sedan with military plates awaited them.

“Second Army PLA hospital,” Klavdiya informed the driver. Gwen’s grandmother was dressed casually in a cotton mandarine jacket that covered her upper body, while below she wore a comfortable pair of pleated pants that resembled a dour period dress. It was all very prim and proper, though in a way that projected decorum and status.

“Ma’am!” The driver saluted smartly, standing by the open door.

The interior of the vehicle was roomy and spacious. Gwen noticed that when the door closed, it cut off almost all sound from the outside.

“Can you tell me about where we are going?” Gwen inquired.

“The PLA hospital,” Klavdiya repeated as the car gently took off. “Your babulya happens to be one of the seven directors of the hospital.”

Gwen’s lips puckered to form a little ‘O’.

“It’s not much to boast, dear. There are not many of us left these days from the original PLA in the 1950s. A few dozen families, that’s about it. Anyone of us who desired a position like this would have been offered one eventually, assuming we're in the right field, of course.”

“Babulya, can you tell me more about you and grandfather?” Gwen inquired carefully. “If it's too intrusive, you don’t have to.”

“Oh, but I’d love to tell it,” Klavdiya replied kindly. “What do you want to know?”

“Well.” Gwen tried to think of a delicate way to phrase it. “What is Grandfather’s position, exactly?”

“It’s alright dear; he’s not a Grey Ghost if that’s what you were suspecting.” Klavdiya quietly laughed to herself. “He has quite a few titles, what do you know about the PLA?”

“Nothing,” Gwen confessed. It wasn't as though she had Bachelor of Political Science or Asian Studies.

“Then I’ll keep it simple.” Babulya patted her hand assuringly. “Your Grandfather is a commissioned secretary under the Ministry of National Defence, meaning he’s something of an intelligence big-wig, about number three from the top. He is also the Deputy Secretary of Internal Security and Anti-Reconnaissance Division, which means he has to sign off, though not plan or execute, missions involving counter-intelligence. Finally, his actual job is being the Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee, which serves as one of twenty-four counsels for the Secretariat Committee, the highest governing body of the Communist Party of China.”

Gwen nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. Klavdiya may as well be speaking Russian.

Sensing Gwen's confusion, her babulya tried to think of an appropriate analogy.

“In the Commonwealth, under the British Mageocracy, he would be the fifth man under Sir John Scarlett.”

That gave Gwen some perspective, though the 'clout' of such a position was difficult to place.

“He is a spymaster who specialised in counter-intelligence and internal security,” Klavdiya added after shaking her head, distilling Guo’s position to its lowest common denominator. She hoped that Gwen was better when it came to learning spells. The girl couldn’t be slow, could she? If she was, what tragedy! What a waste of her talent!

“Ah, I see!” Gwen nodded emphatically. “This may sound rather presumptuous of me, but do we have any enemies that I need to say, watch out for? Several of the youngsters seem less than friendly towards Tao and Mina. If I had to say, fight them off, I wish to know who I need to... not fight.”

Klavdiya chuckled to herself, stifling a laugh. What a bloodthirsty little minx her granddaughter was.

“Nothing for you to worry about dearest, Guo is not a factionist. Just remember a few golden rules.”

“Yes, Babulya?”

“Should you be so inclined to duel. No killing. No maiming. No permanent injury. Absolutely of Mages. AND that applies to NoMs as well, I suppose. We are not the Mageocracy after all.”

“Which means,” Gwen contemplated a bothersome hypothetical.

“Yes, No VOID, at least until you can control it with absolute confidence. If you inflict a mortal injury on someone with Void, expect their family to be beating down our door, demanding to put you in the military court.”

“But I CAN use it, assuming I use it safely?”

“I would avoid using it in a non-official capacity, dear.” Klavdiya’s eyes glowed like florescent amber in the dim interior of the well-shielded sedan. “Are you so eager to show the world your skills?”

“I don’t know,” Gwen confessed.

“That’s alright dear. Use it when you have to. There are not many like you, and none with access to both Yin and Yang elements, but you need not fear for yourself. The Tower exists to protect talented Mages like yourself, after all.”

“How so?”

“By existing, dear.” Klavdiya chortled. “Unless you wish to be a rogue Mage, you will automatically become a Tower Mage, although the choice of PLA or the Pudong Tower is up to you, certainly your grandfather would want you to join the PLA, but that would mean committing resources and support, which he will not do.”

“Why is that?” Gwen asked quietly. What was wrong with investing in herself?

“Why?” Klavdiya pointed between her legs, causing Gwen to blush mightily. “You lack the yaytsa to inherit! But your brother Percy does!”

Gwen’s babulya cackled to herself jovially, enjoying the moment as Gwen’s face paled. She turned toward the window and diverted her attention toward the forest of identical apartments passing outside.

A woman can’t inherit! Can’t pass on the family name?! What a bullshit reason! Gwen smouldered with irate emotions. She understood the logic but felt repulsed by its misogyny. So much for the 21st century.

“Why fret dear.” Klavdiya squeezed her hand. “You are the apprentice of Henry Kilroy, are you not? The sister-in-craft of the Morning Star! Why would you want a Guo Song to try and limit your horizons? If it's a matter of resources, did you not make three thousand HDMs in a single night? Are you incapable of making more?”

Gwen chuckled.

“You’re right,” Gwen replied after a moment of quick contemplation. Her babulya was right; she was pedantic and greedy. “Thanks for putting that into perspective, Babulya.”

The interior lights kicked in as the exterior of the car dimmed. They were now entering a superstructure that spanned across a pentagrammic array of highways and underground passes. A few lumen globes grew in gradual brightness until their faces were just visible.

Outside, Gwen could see that they were traversing through a tunnel network of Transmuted stone.

A glowing, green sign indicated an underground entrance for staff entry. The sedan slowed, then pulled into a circular parking bay guarded by olive uniformed guards with combat wands strapped to their thighs.

Granddaughter and grandmother alighted the vehicle, where Klavdiya received another round of salutes, before being escorted toward the lift.

The levitation platform penetrated several strata before it broke through to the surface, allowing Gwen to finally take in the entirety of the structure they were now entering.

The Second PLA Army Experimental Hospital was a superstructure overlooking a byway of five roads that met within its interior. It contained a Military Hospital, a Civilian Hospital, a Veteran’s Hospice, a Recuperation Ward, and most importantly, housed the PLA Medical Research and Development Division.

Beyond the superstructure were a profusion of NoM apartments and their underground commercial districts, choking the horizon like a field of brilliant tomato stakes. Below them, a multitude of cars and milling people looked like termites swarming a perforated stump as the platform shot toward the fiftieth floor.

Gwen became immediately nervous when Klavdiya led her into an intimidating laboratory.

It was stark white, sterile in every aspect. White walls, with shapeless opaque lights embedded into a featureless, white ceiling. White, polyurethane-like surfaces made up white tables and benchtops, underneath which was a profusion of stainless steel made up chairs and tables, trolleys and dollies. The machinery too was a combination of ceramic white on brushed galvanised steel.

“I appropriated the lab for a few hours, for your privacy,” babulya assured her. “You will need to put on a hospital gown; there’s one in the cupboard there. It's just you and me, so help yourself.”

“Can I keep my inners?” Gwen inquired, hoping the answer was yes.

“No.” Klavdiya shook her head, wondering if all westerners were so shy about their bodies. “The equipment is designed to work without interference. Though you can keep your rings on. They shouldn’t be a problem. For future reference, you would have to remove items possessing body-enhancing, regeneration, or shielding capabilities.”

Gwen changed behind a screen, emerging a moment later a little colder. The XL gown was still too miserly for her tall body, but the XXL would have been too loose for her shoulders, leaving most of her flank exposed.

“Very good.” Klavdiya pointed to a platform and told Gwen to stand between what looked like two magnetic prongs, one pointed at her head, the other at her abdomen. “Relax.”

There was a flash. Gwen felt a wave of permeating mana penetrate her body.

On a separate platform about waist height, a three-dimensional illusion of Gwen materialised. It was life-like, though transparent. Upon closer inspection, Gwen realised that it was a projection of her astral form overlaid with her physical body.

“This is a sonogram projection.” Klavdiya tapped a few glyphs that only she could see, her expression the very face of professionalism. “Now we can get to work.”

Gwen attended her babulya as she incanted arcane invocations beyond Gwen's knowledge, watching Klavdiya's fingers dance across runes and glyphs both visible and ethereal, a few of which she recognised from her grandfather’s workshop.

“So, let me explain.” Klavdiya directed Gwen to another platform, where she became backlit by a blinding sheet of bright perspex humming with positive energy. “Do you know how magical healing works?”

“No.” Gwen felt she was saying that a lot these days. "Well, I know the theory, but I have a feeling the Frontier left a lot of details out."

Klavdiya winced, feeling sorry for her granddaughter. Poor child of the Frontier! Subjected to careless healing without even knowing how it wrecked one’s body.

“Oh, you poor kitten!” Klavdiya gave Gwen a motherly hug, her small stature and Gwen's hospital gown making the encounter more intimate than it needed to be.

Receiving the doting affection of her matriarch was strangely jarring. Klavdiya wasn’t her mother, but she gave off an effect far kinder than any embrace Helena had ever effected in Gwen's life.

“Magical healing is not a substitute for natural healing,” Klavdiya spoke as they separated, sternly taking her by one arm. "At least without supreme knowledge of the human body and its anatomy down to the structure of the cells."

With a flick of her wrist, she enlarged the illusory Gwen’s body, where some red lines ran through her imaginary form like spider web fissures.

“Look at these,” Klavdiya pointed out. “These are fault lines where new and old flesh has fused.”

Gwen nodded.

“They are what we call Positive scarring, meaning that the imperfect regeneration of your flesh has grown cancerous.”

“C..Cancer!” Gwen blurted out. "No!"

“Your injuries are extensive.” Klavdiya clicked her tongue. “In the battle with the Skin Changer, you must have lost a significant portion of your skin, and a considerable section of your lower muscle mass, as well.’

“I… I have CANCER?” Gwen tried to wrap her mind around the news. After all she had gone through, and she now has cancer? The C word! What a world!

“Why? What’s wrong?” Klavdiya looked at her granddaughter strangely. “That’s what happens when you overheal.”

“Is there a cure?” Gwen’s eyes grew misty with despair.

“…” Klavdiya regarded her panicked granddaughter wordlessly. “Lie down; this is going to itch, a lot.”

Gwen lied down on the white linen examination table. Her mind blank with the dire news. Cancer! She had cancer! Was it early stage? Could she-

Klavdiya tapped a few glyphs and locked in on parts of Gwen's projected body.

“True Restoration!”

A gentle warmth suffused Gwen, turning her skin translucent with a carefully controlled array of positive energy that seemed to permeate every pore.

“There, it's done.”

“What’s done?” Gwen enquired.

“Cancer.” Klavdiya gave Gwen a slap on the thighs. What a pair of legs the girl had. The envy of women anywhere. It wasn’t so much the length of them, but the sense of proportion they effected.

“Oh?” Gwen suddenly felt quite stupid.

“A lesson to be learned,” her babulya continued. “Avoid excessive healing in the field. With each healing spell you receive, your body’s resistance to the spell grows, and the chance of malignancy increases. If you subject yourself to too many low-level healing spells, there may be irreversible damage to your body that not even tier 7 spells can restore. There’s a reason Frontier Combat Mages have unusually short lifespans, though the rarity of upper tier healers in those parts of the world is to blame, I suppose.”

Gwen inclined her head.

“They never told us,” Gwen said wistfully, thinking of all the times those around her casually treated every other minor injury with blasts of positive energy or chugged healing potions like it was sugar water.

“Why would they? It’s not as though anyone could refuse magical healing. Does the Frontier even have facilities for the NoMs, for the natural and mundane restoration of the body? Do you know how much resources that takes?”

Gwen shook her head. She wondered if Elvia knew, or if her friend had been too much of an acolyte to be told such a secret of the trade. Gwen's master and siblings probably knew as well but thought little of it since they could arguably access high-level healing, which meant Gwen would have received this treatment sooner or later. In the end, despite the convenience of magic, it still boiled down to a stratified society of the rich with access to the best medicare, while the poor were left straddling their battered bodies to the grave.

“Gwen.” Her grandmother sensed her introspective doubt and so shifted her tone. "Look at me."

Gwen turned to regard her babulya, sensing the sagely, older woman's eyes becoming heavy with care and concern.

“Your Path is going to be full of thorns. You and I both know, my dear granddaughter, that your Path - is a path of conflict.”

Gwen felt the sagacity of her grandmother's words smothering the turbulent anxiety that had haunted her since her troubled sleep last night.

“Think of all the fighting you will be doing, Gwen: the wolves, the lions and tigers, the hyenas, the foxes and the jackals; you will fight the Monsters across the land, air and sea, the Demi-humans who will think you a threat. You are going to fight allies. You may even fight family.”

The last word made Gwen wince unpleasantly.

“If you want to attain what Magus Shultz and de Botton, expects of you, of what I imagine you expect for yourself, then the road ahead is a never-ending path of what the Buddhists call Asura, the Path of Violent Reckoning. There will be no rest. No solace, not even when you’re spent and bloody and desire nothing more than to sleep. With your talent, your blood, you will become like a beacon for the Rakshasa, a locus of envy, jealousy, wrath and lust. Can you understand that?”

Gwen replied that she did. She had survived the Mermen incursion. She had lost loved ones to conspiracy. She had killed and murdered.

A year and a half ago she would have quoted back Shakespeare, but now she understood and so said nothing.

“That came out far more seriously than I expected.” Klavdiya expelled her breath in a singularly long stream. “To get carried away at my age…”

“Please, your advice is very sound,” Gwen appeased her babulya.

“I am glad to hear it, dear.” Klavdiya took Gwen's hand and guided her from the Macro Restoration table. “Now, for some volumetric measurements of your current abilities. That's why we're here, after all.”

A yellow jacketed folder materialised on the stainless steel surface of an examination table, indicating the presence of a built-in spatial-storage system. Klavdiya retrieved Gwen’s portfolio from the envelope and scanned the numbers.

“Miao did an extensive survey with your biometrics.” Her babulya placed the file onto the table for Gwen’s purview. The Comprehend Language of her Ioun Stone did its best to translate the medical jargon, but much of it remained a jumble of gibberish.

From the low-table, Gwen moved onto another set of Machinery. This time, the mechanism resembled a chest extension station at the gymnasium. Klavdiya instructed Gwen to place her hands on the handlebars and sat herself awkwardly into an L shaped bench.

“Okay, we’re going to take the average of three attempts,” Klavdiya informed her. “This is to get a volumetric reading of your Mana Pool.”

“What do I do?” Gwen’s ears perked up.

“Channel for ten seconds, as much as you can. Three Times. The machine operates much like the Awakening Stones. It will send a guiding mote into your astral body to generate a statistical representation of your capabilities. Just relax and remember to let the mote return to the machine.”

The machine began to thrum.

“Ready? Three. Two. One. Channel.”

Gwen gathered her focus and imagined herself pushing the mana in her body outward, much in the same way that Mana Shields manifested. Around her, astral energy poured from the aether, gushing through her mana channels. Where her palm touched the handlebars, she could feel a mote of Divination invade her Astral Form before quickly disappearing.

Klavdiya watched the indicator rise and fall as though it crested upon a moving wavelength.

“Calm yourself,” she advised. “Long, sustained manifestation.”

Gwen tried again.

Then performed the same exercise a third time.

“How’s it looking?” Gwen asked her grandmother eagerly.

“About 132 VMI, that stands for Volumetric Mana Index.”

“How does it measure up, I mean,” Gwen rephrased her question coyly.

“What do you think?”

“About average?” Gwen tested the waters.

“Ha!” Klavdiya chuckled.

“Babulya! You’re teasing me!” Gwen nagged her grandmother winsomely, now more keen and curious to find out.

Klavdiya laughed.

“Alright, it's impressive.”

“How impressive?” Gwen pushed for clarification.

“Well, to give you some perspective. Tao is sitting around 60 VMI, Mina about 65 VMI. The boy you fought, Frederick Lin, should be sitting about 70 VMI. I don’t know about your father, but Jun is very much crème de la crème at 440 VMI. Your grandfather hasn’t been in active combat for some time, and his last check up was 280 VMI. The requirement for an intermediate Mage to gain employment under the Shanghai Towers is 90 VMI. What do you think that means?”

Gwen crunched the numbers for a bit, and realised it didn’t add up.

“Why is mine so high?” she inquired, a particular dreaded hypothesis starting to form within her mind.

“I am sure you have an idea, dear.” Klavdiya patted Gwen on the cheeks.

It was true then.

Assuming her meagre diet of semi-magical and mostly mundane produce, she should be sitting around 40 VMI after a year and a half of training. She had an excess of 90 VMI that had been evidently acquired by Caliban. The junior Mages at Blackheath would have provided 5 to 10 each, while Faceless likely supplied the lion’s share.

When her late master was teaching her tier 4 Conjurations, she had felt that her pool was insufficient to sustain all of her Conjuration effects concurrently. But during that battle with Lok, she had only just broken a sweat after almost four minutes of sustained firing from her Orb, Cloud, Summon Familiar. Furthermore, she had noticed that her non-newtonian shield had felt extraordinarily dense. Lok's Earthen Spears had only just cracked her outer shell.

Now she knew why.

"I am curious as to why I've never heard of VMI in the Frontier," Gwen asked.

"Its forbidden to export Magitech to the Frontier, dear," her grandmother answered patiently.

“Of course Babulya, what else?” Gwen was beginning to realise why Richard harkened to be out of the Frontier so eagerly.

“Affinity!” Klavdiya took Gwen to yet another station, one that held a large crystal ball that resembled an Awakening Orb. “Hand on the stone, channel lightning thrice, then we’ll reset for Void.”

“Alright,” Gwen placed both hands on the stone and waited for Klavdiya’s command.

“Three. Two. One. Channel.”

The stone cracked with an electrical discharge.

“Again.”

The stone flared.

“Once more. Good.”

A shunt of mana belonging to the Enchantment school cleared the crystal ball, returning it to its crystal clarity.

“Now for Void, as much as you’re able. If you feel faint or weak, just let me know. I shall have a Restoration held in reserve."

“Okay, Babulya.”

Gwen took a deep breath. It had been some time since she had hollowed herself out channelling the Void.

“Ready? Three. Two. One. Go!”

Gwen’s face paled as the surge of Void matter pushed past the threshold of safety provided by Amuldj’s blessing. She felt her vitality ebb away as dark motes of blackness filled the Awakening Crystal, filling it with a maelstrom of malevolent entropy.

“Restoration! Heal!”

A wavelength of carefully attuned positive energy flooded into Gwen’s body, repairing and mending the parts of her physique weakened by the inundation of Negative Energy.

“Can you manage one more time, dear.”

Gwen focused her mind and again performed the feat, feeling herself weaken as her vitality waned. Her face became pallid and pale, her skin slimy and grey with the sweat of exertion. It took all of her conviction just to stand upright, panting against the platform.

“True Restoration!”

Klavdiya liberally used her lauded magic on Gwen. If Gwen had known that each casting of True Restoration consumed almost a dozen HDMs worth of rarified components, she would have been aghast at her babulya’s generosity.

Gwen meanwhile, felt entirely reinvigorated.

Whatever her Babulya had done seemed to energise the motes of Almuldj’s primal mana within Gwen, and she felt her depleted body slowly fill with energy and vitality once more.

“4.45 for Lightning,” Klavdiya jotted down the figures carefully. “I am surprised to say that your Void is 4.03.”

Gwen had felt that her affinity with the Void had increased significantly, but hadn’t expected it to almost double from taking in a single Faceless and an elementally charged centipede.

“So, you are sitting effectively at Void 4, Lightning 4, both impressive statistics.”

“How-“

“Do you measure up? Above average, though for the fact that you possess two elements, I would venture to say that you are already beyond reasonable comparison, after all, the number of Mages who currently possess two pure-strain elements number no more than a dozen, at least in Shanghai. There's a few young ones as well, but certainly they are a rare breed.”

“There’re others like me?” Gwen marvelled.

“Not exactly.” Klavdiya tapped the table. “One that I know of, Magus Fei Ling Yi, the First Disciple of the Kunlun Clan, wields both Air and Ice. The Twin Element talent is a rare occurrence that happens once every so often in the inheriting branch. As for the others, very few can tap into two elements with equal affinity. As for you…”

Gwen’s babulya opened her palms in exasperation.

“I don’t think I’ve never heard of someone awakening in oppositional twin-elements. It goes against all our current Astral Theory. If you ever choose that discipline in University, you would understand. It is not too uncommon for siblings, or even twins, to awaken in oppositional elements, for creation favours a dichotomous pairing, in Yin and Yang, Water and Fire, Earth and Air, these are the way of the Astral world and the Material Plane.”

“I'd rather be a curio,” Gwen stated quietly.

“Not as long as you have us, and your brother-in-craft,” Klavdiya assured her confidently. “Although, if you want to volunteer, I am more than keen to take a poke around in your Astral Body.”

“Ah haha,” Gwen laughed dryly, pivoting the subject. “There’s one more machine, so another test?”

“Indeed.”

Klavdiya directed Gwen into the final Machine. The glyphs were familiar to her for she had seen them many times under Henry’s instructive tutelage at the Sydney Tower.

“This is… a Cognisance Chamber?”

“More or less,” Klavdiya helped Gwen into the harness, a soft leather strap that wrapped around her waist. “It’ll give us some insight into your body’s affinity for the different schools of magic.”

“I think I know what I am proficient in already,” Gwne volunteered.

“Nonetheless, we need to issue a transcript,” Klavdiya informed her. “Why do you think we're here? The tests are not for satiating our curiosity, dear; this is so you can apply for University!”

“Oh? Oh!” Gwen realised the penultimate goal of their exercise. She had hidden her abilities for so long that it felt more natural not knowing the true extent of her affinities and talents. “Oh right. Of course, Babulya. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“Well, the numbers speak for themselves. I am just jotting in the details.” Klavdiya smiled benevolently at Gwen and gave her a squeeze on the arm. “Relax, you don’t have to do anything. Just keep your arms and legs inside the oscillator when it spins.”

The tubular mechanism that held Gwen began to hum, filling the air with Divination energy.

A set of scripts poured from the console.

“Alright, let's see here,” Klavdiya poured over the list. Her eyes became wide with wonder. “By the snows of St Petersberg!”

“…” Gwen wanted to see as well.

Klavdiya read it out one by one.

“Evocation, 3.28”

“Conjuration 4.05”

“Transmutation 1.50”

“Abjuration 1.05”

“Divination 1.01”

“This reads like I had crammed four Mages into the same machine,” Klavdiya marvelled, puckering her lips thoughtfully. “Five schools, Gwen. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s Caliban,” Gwen pointed out. It appeared that she couldn’t just consume Mages to improve her attunements to the Sigils themselves. Her Transmutation had been less than tier 1 previously, and after digesting Faceless, a Tier 6 Transmuter, Gwen had only an increase of .5 in her efficacy. From her current crop of evidence, it seemed that once awakened, the only thing that significantly improved one’s Sigil affinity was relentless practice. It meant that unlike other Mages, Gwen would need to spend a disproportionate number of hours if she wished to be proficient in all her schools. It was how most of the Magus and Magisters trained - by repeatedly recreating the arcane Sigils while in Astral meditation so that one’s affinity slowly matured with time. For her, having absorbed the natural talent of other Mages, her Spellcraft was already taxing the existing limitations of Spellcraft.

“But your Conjuration and Evocation seem to be a double awakening,” Klavdiya pointed out. “That and you possess twin, oppositional Elements.”

“What does that portend?” Gwen implored her Grandmother.

Klavdiya’s eyes fell upon Gwen dangerously.

Gwen's heart skipped a beat. Did her babulya suspect? Could she know about the Twin-Soul?

“I suspect…” Klavdiya began.

Gwen swallowed nervously, feeling her mouth becoming parched and her lips rapidly drying.

“That you may have had a fraternal-dizygotic twin that died in the womb, and I suspect that your body, as an embryo, likely absorbed her,” Klavdiya's hypothesised based on her decades of Medical-arcana experience.

“That would also explain the Yin and Yang,” she offered expertly, her voice growing with confidence. “I am sure of it, though we would need to conduct extensive tests on yourself and your mother, to be sure.”

“I don’t think she’d agree to that,” Gwen pointed out.

“Nor do I wish to proceed," her babulya pointed out, then changed the subject. “Do you think she and Morye could get together? Having a divorced spouse here in Shanghai always complicates one's social standing. The major families, the Clans, the Houses, the state itself, is very particular about the family unit and viability of one's bloodline.”

“Not a chance, not to mention Mother has a new husband.”

Klavdiya’s expression became instantly cold.

“What, Hai not good enough for her?”

“…” Gwen glanced downward, finding sudden interest in the sterile floors. She would preferably not contribute to the momentum of their current conversation.

“Well, at any rate, we are almost done.” Klavdiya carefully labelled and filled in each document. “Lastly, I need some of your blood.”

She produced a syringe and six small vials. Gwen winced and extended her arm, from which her babulya painlessly and professionally withdrew six ruby-red vessels of sanguineous fluid.

“These will be sent to the Tower to generate your Visa and Passport, Academic ID, Public Practice of Magic Licence, and Adventuring Permit. Remember Gwen; blood attunement is your best identification. No one can pretend to be you, not even a Skin Changer - unless they can somehow acquire fresh quantities of your blood daily.”

Gwen shivered at the thought.

“Thank you, babulya,” she then replied earnestly, realising the sheer amount of red tape that Klavdiya had just circumvented for her. From the moment these documents entered into the system, she would become an official citizen of Shanghai, no longer a vagrant hobo from the Frontier who had wandered into town. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“It’s alright dear, just make sure you make us proud.” Klavdiya smiled gently and uttered an incantation that seemed to drain the life from all the machines. “I dare say that we’ve spent the better part of the day here. You kids still have to leave for Hengsha Island tomorrow. I am sure your Grandfather is receiving our expected new members of the family as we speak.”

“!” Gwen felt a sudden palpitation of the heart. “Percy is here?! Richard too?”

As if on cue, a crimson Message spell bloomed like a lotus beside their ears.

“Speak of the old devil,” Klavdiya chuckled. “Guo?”

“I am taking the two of them home now.” Guo’s familiar voice came through the message. “Are you done?”

“Just finished,” Klavdiya replied sweetly.

“Good,” Guo’s voice was much softer when speaking to his wife. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I desire a kiss, dearest,” Klavdiya suddenly demanded of the stoic old man, watching Gwen trying to stifle a giggle. She winked.

There was a moment of futile internal struggle.

“Muah!” A puckering sound came from the other side of the Message.

The two women broke out into laughter and uncontrollable giggles as the Message abruptly ended. Vnuchka and babushka tittered then cackled, then finally broke into uproarious laughter until they held their stomachs and were quivering with stitches.

“Alright, alright,” Klavdiya urged Gwen to change into her usual attire quickly. “Let’s go see this heir of ours.”

Gwen picked herself up from the floor.

Percy! She felt her heart aglow with warmth. Richard!

The scant traffic at noon meant that Gwen and Klavdiya were home in record time.

Gwen burst through the gates and ran into the courtyard, her eyes frantically scanning through the array of halls and rooms. Her grandmother leisurely followed, having given her permission to go on ahead.

“In the training hall, Mistress Gwen,” a NoM servant with a broom indicated to the training hall. Gwen tried to recall the sweeper's name but couldn't and so turned her attention once again toward the Training Hall and made purposeful headway to find her kin.

As she came closer to the floor to ceiling double doors, she became aware of ripples of indeterminable mana, as familiar to her as her own, emanating from the interior. Gingerly, Gwen opened the heavy, oaken doors, sliding them to one side.

Happily, she met the expectant sight of a young man looking very much like a juvenile Morye summoning a stream of salt from thin air. Besides her brother were two other figures; one was her grandfather, looking stoic and stern, and the other was the welcoming sight of Richard grinning broadly at her entrance.

“Richard!”

Gwen felt confounded by an emotion that she could hardly contain. Ignoring her grandfather’s displeased scowl, she ran towards Richard and leapt at him with open arms. He caught her by the waist, and they met in mid-air, Gwen wrapping her arms tightly around Richard's neck as they embraced.

“Oh God, it's so good to see a familiar face!” she uttered felicitously, feeling all the tension of the last few days draining from her body.

Gwen then turned to Percy and embraced him likewise, pushing her brother against her body like a plush toy.

“Percy! Percy! Percy! How I’ve missed you!” she gushed with jubilance, ruffling his hair and gifting him a sloppy kiss on the forehead.

Percy was evidently not expecting his calm and collected sister effect such an outburst of unbidden familiarity and emotion. He mumbled a greeting under the threat of suffocation, then felt his face turning a deep crimson from the public display of affection.

Gwen then tried to get them all into a group huddle, but Percy declined. He was of that delicate teenage age when affection and attention were loathed and loved in equal measure.

Klavdiya then came through the door, her presence as radiant as ever.

“Grandmother!” Percy walked robotically towards Gwen’s babulya before bowing from the waist like a boomerang. "It is a pleasure to meet you finally.”

“Likewise, let’s take a look at you,” Klavdiya replied in a matronly manner. “Raise your head, dear.”

Percy did so, his dark eyes, inherited from his grandfather, studied the grandmother that he was only now seeing for the first time. Like Gwen, her apparent youth seemed to catch Percy off guard. After all, grandfather looked like a grizzled old veteran, while here was a grandmother, looking not a day past forty.

“So much of Hai in you.” Klavdiya measured Percy and found him to her liking. “We will be spending plenty of time together in the future, dear. You may return to Guo.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Percy answered stiffly before returning to the centre of the room, where previously he was addressed by Guo.

“The boy has potential,” Guo said satisfyingly. “He has demonstrated a strong affinity with the Salt, and I suspect he should be a Transmuter or an Evoker, either of which should do nicely.”

“Of course.” Klavdiya shot her husband a knowing look. “I have Gwen’s numbers as well. We’ll talk later.”

Gwen watched her grandparents' interaction with vested interest, but her primary focus was still on her brother and her cousin, united at last.

“How was the trip here? Did you take the Ex.R Teleportation Array?”

“Oh yes, very unpleasant,” Richard confessed. “Felt like someone reached into my gut and jerked my appendix. Percy projectile vomited as soon as we arrived. Spectacular stuff.”

“Richard!” Percy's face grew a shade of liver.

“Well, you look fine, little man!’ Gwen squeezed her brother’s shoulder. “You’ve grown taller!”

“I want to be taller than you,” Percy replied sulkily. It was a constant source of awkwardness to be so much shorter than one’s female sibling. How could he maintain his masculine decorum if Gwen towered over him every time they went out. What if she wore heels?

“I think you're out of luck there,” Richard interjected with a well-humoured locution. “Maybe awaken as a Transmuter? You can grow as many inches as required.”

“…” Percy glared at Richard.

Gwen chuckled and lightly punched Richard in the arm.

"Stop that."

"Ah, there's no sport in the kid," Richard chuckled as well, falsely nursing his arm.

“How’s your family?” Gwen inquired.

“With Surya, helping out, waiting for us to get some Contribution Credits together.”

“Seriously?” Gwen raised a critical brow.

“Yeah, I kid you not. Well, I already promised my parents I’d get them out ASAP, I think the fact that both of your parents are now in tier 1 cities set them off. After all, Kwan has always had a complex about besting your mother in life,” Richard added.

“Percy, how’s mum?” Gwen turned to her brother. "How's she feeling about all this?"

Percy chose his next words carefully.

“Mother says to tell you that she never wants to see you or speak to you again, not on her life.”

"Oh?" Despite her prior speculation, Gwen still felt a little stung, though just a little. Having overcome the previous Gwen's traumatic conditioning under Helena's history of abuse, she now felt more sympathetic toward her erstwhile mother than anything else.

“Yeah, I was there,” Richard affirmed candidly. “She was pissed as anything, my God. The shriek she delivered. I thought my ears would start to bleed. She may as well be the new resonating frequency to fend off the Magical Beasts.”

“That made me feel better, Richard. Knowing that puts me at ease,” Gwen replied sardonically, unsure if Richard’s dose of reality improved or diminished her circumstances.

“Percy, tell Gwen how you feel about all this.” Richard tapped her brother on the arm. "The truth."

Percy brushed off Richard’s intrusive fingers.

“How can I be happy knowing that you took mum away?” Percy opened his hands outward and grimaced.

Richard sighed.

“He was up all night, fucking jubilant and whooping on about how he’s going to a tier 1 city, Destiny Manifest, that kind of shit.” He frowned at Percy. “He may be fourteen now, but he’s as much a little shit as they come.”

Percy blushed a deeper shade of crimson for his little white lies.

“What are they talking about?” Next to them, Guo was unhappy that he couldn't understand Richard's English. He didn’t speak the Commonwealth tongue and wasn’t too pleased that this cousin of Gwen’s was apparently heaping unkind criticism on his new, precious grandchild.

Klavdiya glanced at her husband and saw his displeased expression.

"Richard, come here," she spoke fluent English.

"Ma'am?" Richard presented himself politely.

Klavdiya materialised a cream coloured Ioun Stone from the air.

“Put this on,” she commanded, passing the stone over to Richard.

Richard took the stone with both hands and bowed expertly. He thanked Klavdiya with impeccable manners, then attuned the Stone without incident.

“I like this young man already.” Klavdiya gave Richard a once over with her eyes. “Where did you train, Mr Huang?”

“Please, just Richard is fine, or Dick, even.”

Percy sniggered.

“Alright, Richard.”

“I trained at Prince’s, Ma’am, the Sydney branch.”

“A Commonwealth Greater Public School? A fine establishment. We have a branch here in Shanghai too, though much smaller than their European divisions. Have you completed your studies?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I was on furlough and serving as a resident at the college in lieu of my Military Service. Before the incident, I awaited transfer to Europe.”

“Oh, how unfortunate.” Klavdiya patted Richard on the cheeks, watching his impassive face remain congenial and polite without any visible emotion. “What are your plans now?”

“Gwen is my plan now.” Richard looked at Gwen and gave her a toothy smile. “I plan to go to university with her and serve as her Second.”

“You what?!” Gwen spluttered. “No! Richard, your career is more important than mine!”

“I wanted this,” Richard affirmed with absolute confidence. “Not to mention, I have discussed my future in great detail with Lord Shultz.”

“You…”

“He hinted at a possible apprenticeship,” Richard replied without any intention of withholding that bombshell. “Though we’re not very compatible, I must say. I will be satisfied as long as he allows me to serve his interests and vice-versa. The Magus has plans for Sydney that will span decades, and I am happy to be a part of them.”

“Richard!” Gwen felt such jubilance fill her heart. It was too much. How could her cousin have so much confidence in her? She was glad and happy, but at once it also made her feel considerably pressured. She wouldn’t just be failing herself if she should stumble, she would now also be failing Richard and failing Gunther. Gwen felt the announcement release a few wayward butterflies into her stomach, feeling the burgeoning weight of the burdens buckling onto her shoulders.

“A wonderful prospect,” Klavdiya applauded Richard. “You have my blessing.”

“Thank you, Grandmother Song.” Richard bowed lavishly in the manner of the European nobility.

“Oh my, that takes me back,” Gwen’s babulya blushed happily. “I haven’t seen anyone perform that bow in as many years as since I was a girl.”

"You must have been the most beautiful by far," Richard followed through without even pausing for breath. "Yet even now, by garish rose and eternal bloom, thy pageant remains unfaded."

"A love of 17th-century poetry as well, I see," Klavdiya applauded Richard. "Is that Ruminov?"

"Second Translation by Wessen," Richard replied.

Beside them, Guo coughed uncomfortably.

Goodness. Gwen marvelled at Richard. What a babushka killer!

“Have they got their IDs yet?” Klavdiya enquired of Guo, who nodded in response.

"Tomorrow."

They were interrupted by a servant who waited patiently by the threshold of the Training Hall.

"Masters, the table is set."

Klavdiya turned to her husband and the grandchildren.

“Well, shall we break for lunch? I am sure you boys are all starving after travelling such a long distance.”

“I am indeed famished and would love to accept,” Richard said politely. “You are too kind.”

Gwen blinked her eyes, again impressed with Richard’s high society training, something she lacked in either lifetime. Even under Henry, the lesson had been forfeit for training. Her Master had begun life as a commoner himself; Alesia took great pleasure in beating down high society, and Gunther hated sophistry.

Klavdiya seemed immensely pleased with the fact that after so many years, someone in the family was finally speaking her kind of language. She took Richard by the arm and kept speaking to him in low tones that made Guo’s face alternate between disgruntlement and vexation.

“Hmmph!” Guo puffed out two streams of air from his nostrils.

“Grandfather, are you alright?” Percy inquired carefully, wary of his grandfather's growing ire.

“I am fine, Grandson.” Guo’s face immediately changed into one of benevolence. The effect was so startling that Gwen felt as though she was watching a Shapeshifter change faces.

“Are you hungry? There’s going to be the best of ingredients, just for you! We need to make up for all those years of mundane diets! I've prepared some herbal baths as well to help you with your mana channels. We're booked in for a check-up at your grandmother's clinic too... ”

“I am looking forward to it, Grandpa,” Percy indulged himself with Guo's shower of attention.

“Call me Yeye,” Guo chuckled happily to himself, in a world of his own. It was hard to believe that only a minute ago, he was irate.

“Yeye!” Percy puckered up his lips, ready to deliver flatulent flattery.

“Oh ho ho! Ah Ha! Ha! Ha!” Guo broke into a candid guffaw.

To Gwen’s shock, their grandfather laughed. The man was laughing! She hadn’t thought him capable of expressing such human emotions. The way he stared at her had always been as though she was a strange decorative part of the house that was an irremovable eyesore.

A strange forlornness made itself known in her bosom, but Gwen knew better than to be greedy. She had received a second chance to know her family, and now she had Richard and Percy back with her too. One should know temperance in all things.

“So, what’s this Hengsha Island?” Richard asked when then entered the communal hall, where another banquet awaited them. The young Conjurer was a very attentive listener.

Gwen told him of their travel plans, briefly explaining who Mina and Tao were, then dismally failed in clarifying what the Island meet and greet was about.

“Babulya,” Ricard announced suddenly. “Can I ask where and what is Hengsha island, and may I accompany Gwen there?”

“It’s a meeting of the Great Clans, mostly children from the lineage families,” Klavdiya explained patiently in that soft, gentle voice of hers. “As a mimicry of the university competition, the Clans make teams that compete for objectives. Sometimes there are even dungeons from long gone Magical or Demi races you can explore. The purpose is to get to know your peers, and to give a chance for the well-established families to pick out talented candidates for the future.”

“Ah, a marriage mixer?” Richard instantly read between the lines.

Gwen’s dumpling paused in midair. It suddenly made so much sense! Was it too late to decline to go?

“You can think of it like that,” Klavdiya confessed. “Though no one is going to push for anything. It’s a very informal affair. Mostly young egos, duelling one another down to size, that sort of thing. Although, now that you mentioned it.”

The two of them looked at Gwen, who squirmed under their gaze.

“Gwen,” Klavdiya asked seriously. “Did they run you through sexual education in your Frontier school?”

Richard interjected with a sagely observation.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think her school offers that curriculum,” He added immediately. “I don’t suppose Morye gave you the ‘talk’ did he? The proverbial phoenix and the dragon?”

Gwen’s complexion glowed like a stoic apple, but she remained unmoved.

For her Grandmother to be teasing her so mercilessly, Gwen sighed inwardly. She wasn't blushing for inexperience. She was blushing because she was being teased like a virgin, despite being thirty in her old life. She cursed Richard's bluntness. Bloody Richard! Babushka killer!

“…” Gwen opted for the path of zen. Sometimes, the best thing to say is to say nothing.

“Well, look after her Richard. I’ll let Jun know you’re coming along.”

“I won't fail you or Gwen.” Richard flashed Klavdiya a charming grin, showing just enough teeth to be winsome, and yet tender and youthful. “You are my favourite person besides Gwen, Babulya, and I mean that.”

“What a delightful young man,” Klavdiya muttered with pleasure. "Make sure you settle in properly; you are both in the Trainer's rooms."

Gwen turned her attention back toward the mana-rich dumplings.

Richard- What a frightening young man!

* * *

Once lunch was over, Gwen asked Richard to catch her up on the comings and goings of the last week or so while she was first away to Singapore, then spirited away to Shanghai. She had asked Percy if he would join them as well, but Guo dragged his heir apparent away, eager to begin the indoctrination of the newest member of the Song Clan.

Desiring some privacy, the two retreated to the seclusion of the Training Hall's courtyard.

“First of all, how’s everyone?” Gwen began with a question that had been simmering for some time.

“Surya is doing very well, keeping busy with the refugees." Richard seemed to have read her mind, as usual. "He’s called in his old war buddies, and they’ve expanded their camp into the adjoining properties, whose owners have decided to move to the other Australian cities while Sydney’s shields are restored. Tess and Mel are heavily involved in caretaking, so I guess they’re flat out as well.”

“Where’s mother right now?”

“She’s gone to her husband’s. Fabricator Hu has the main branch of his family in Shanghai.”

“Oh?” Gwen was expecting her mother to be lurking somewhere in the compound and had spent lunch wondering where Helen had gone.

“Hu’s a nice guy,” Richard appended, seeing Gwen’s expression. “Your mother will be safe and happy with him. He is assured and assertive, and I think Helena needs someone like that to keep her in line. Let me tell you, what I heard and saw at the registrar’s office is something that is going to turn me off the sound of a woman’s voice for a long time.”

“How bad was it?” Gwen asked, feeling he cousin's blunt speech striking her conscience.

One of the servants brought them Oolong in a refined little purple-clay tea set.

“Thank you.” Gwen took the tray from the NoM servant, causing the young man to perform a double take. He had seen them seated at the Hall and had merely done the expected. Politeness and appreciation was not something that was in supply anywhere where Mages and NoMs interacted.

Richard observed Gwen’s unconscious gesture and wondered why someone with so much talent felt so kindred with NoMs.

“How bad, you say?” Richard made an expression akin to wracking his brain. “To give you some context. Your mother had been worried about her passport since the incident, obsessed even. She tried to get Surya to pull some connections, even demanding that he contact Magus Shultz. When your grandfather did the expected thing and completely ignored her, she became intolerable. We all walked around like a landmine, which seemed to incense her even more.”

“I am sorry, Richard.” Gwen sighed apologetically.

“Well, eventually Fabricator Hu contacted his family here and managed to cut them in line for an interview at the Immigration Registrar. We were there at the Processing Centre, my parents, your mother, Percy and Hu when Magus Song’s men found us.”

Gwen listened intently for the explosive climax.

“First, Helena was afraid when the men approached her. When they showed her their MSS identification and told her that they were taking Percy away, she turned completely white. That was when the poor bastards, Wei I think? And Jung? Made a terrible mistake.”

“What did they do?” Gwen asked curiously.

“They mentioned that your father was already in Shanghai and that he will be in contact with her.”

“Oh no, they didn’t!”

“Oh yeah, they did!” Richard chuckled, his expression split equally pain and mirth. “Your mother went ballistic. Apeshit. It was like a sonic attack! Every pair of eyes in the centre, almost a thousand people were staring at us. She was about to claw their faces out!”

Gwen grimaced, pulling her face back with a cringe-worthy expression.

“Then Magister Shultz's men came out of nowhere. They confronted Song’s men on Helena’s behalf.”

“Did that go well?”

Richard broke into a soft, chuckle hovering on the edge of sanity.

“WELL? Imagine Gwen, that you’re trying to avoid a public spectacle. However, every other sentence you manage to get out, there is a loud, wailing SCREECH that seems to blot out all sound. Every time. EVERY DAMN TIME the two parties make a single compromise, there is another SCREECH. I believe that at one point, either of the men would have just preferred killing your mother right there and damn the consequences.”

“I am sorry.” Gwen moaned, trying to disperse the vision in her mind. Just trying to picture the scene swelled her brain, causing her to feel as though it had transmogrified into a mass of throbbing migraines.

“So after the fourth or fifth interruption, I can’t remember. Magus Song and Shultz’s men gave up negotiations and just called their bosses so that they could speak to one another privately.”

Richard had a stare that looked out into the middle distance, looking as if he saw into the aether. He shook his head after a few more painful moments. “Well, I am glad that’s over.”

“How’s Aunty Tang and Uncle?”

“Getting along well with Surya, another reason I, or we - now that we’re in this together, need to move fast. As I mentioned before, Contribution Credits.”

Gwen reached out and held her cousin’s hands. They felt rigid and cold in her hands.

“That’s alright, Richard. I’ll do what I can to help. We’ll do it together. My goodness, your hands are freezing!”

“A little case of the nerves.” Richard chuckled nervously. “You know, all my life, I wanted to be in a tier 1 city, now that I am here, it feels all so much like a dream.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Gwen promised. “Say, do you need money? I just came into a great deal of money.”

“Oh? You undertook some quests already?”

“Heehee,” Gwen smiled slyly. “I got it from fleecing some rich boys at an underground fighting competition.”

“You didn't!” Richard’s face screwed up in awe, then burst out laughing. “That’s wonderful! Haha! Good on you Gwen. Oh, you have to tell me all the details! How do the Mages here measure up?”

Gwen explained the Bout with a master tale, detailing the affinity of the Mages she had encountered, and what she had seen so far on offer in Shanghai.

Richard breathed out.

“Phew, nothing too overpowering then, at least at our age and level.” He looked immensely relieved. “That’s about the same as upper tier at Prince’s, for the Members of the Four Houses.”

At the mention of Prince’s, Gwen’s ears perked up.

“You know, why DID you leave Prince’s? It can’t just be because of money, can it?”

Richard breathed deeply, sagging his shoulders.

“It’s a question of loyalty.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “After I was selected for the Four Houses and even made Praetor; I found out that for selection to a tier 1 branch, I must first declare my loyalty to a Noble House of the Commonwealth Mageocracy! That is the only way to enter into the Schola Praesidio, the Ordo Paladius of the Mageocracy.”

“It's essentially indentured servitude! A decade spent serving as a House Mage! Furthermore, as a Latus Genere, a side branch warden, I would never make it into the inner circle of the upper echelons. If so, what’s the point? Why waste my time? I would rather be a Free Mage.”

“I am not sure what some of those words mean, but I’ll support your decision, whatever it may be.” Gwen touched her cousin's arm encouragingly, happy that he had chosen to risk his life and limb in Shanghai of all places.

She leaned over and gave him another hug.

“Thanks, Gwen. I appreciate that.”

“Oh yes, speaking of which, did you bring much luggage?” Gwen pointed to her Storage Ring. "Which room's yours?"

Not surprisingly, Richard was staying in the room adjacent to her own, in the training hall. It was furthermore no surprise to either of them that Percy was living in the main branch of the house, possessing a bedroom with an ensuite and a separate living area all to himself. It had been Tao’s room, but the rascallion Hip-hop artist loathed staying at Guo’s residence, stating that he preferred defenestration to being subjected to the incessant lectures of Guo.

“Anyway, let me speak to Babulya, we need to get some serious necessities, trust me on this. Those rooms are going to be the death of us.”

“I am in your careful hands.” Richard's eyes crinkled, grinning from ear to ear. "As of this moment, I am a kept man, and you're my sugar- Gwen."

Gwen fell about laughing until she became in stitches; when she recovered, she hooked her arm in Richard's.

"Okay! Let's ask Babulya for permission."

The duo found their babulya sitting inside the master’s suite, sitting with Guo and nursing a cup of tea. Gwen and Richard stopped at the threshold of the door and politely knocked.

“Come in dear,” Klavdiya invited them into the resting chamber, adjoining which was the master bedroom and Guo’s heavily warded study.

“Babulya, may Richard and I go out to shop for some necessities? I wish to acquire some linen and some er… feminine products.”

Guo's eyes glazed over the moment Gwen mentioned the latter.

“Alright dear, I’ll get Lu to bring the sedan around, he can drive you to the commercial district.”

“Thank you.”

The two of them bowed and left.

Klavdiya turned to Guo. Underneath her cup and saucer was an envelope containing the data from the morning excursion.

“Are you so determined?”

Guo had a face of iron.

“My decision is final!”

Klavdiya’s brows furrowed, her eyes gazing at Gwen as her an the older boy passed beyond the central courtyard.

“You men and your legacies,” she scoffed, her criticism lingering in the air. “There are no medicines for regret, just so that you know.”

Guo said nothing. Instead, he stood from the chair and took off for the study.

Klavdiya shook her head, allowing her disappointment to drain slowly away.

"What a waste," she muttered to herself. "What hubris."

* * *

By the time Gwen and Richard returned home for dinner, they were a hundred HDMs down, and Gwen's Storage Ring became inundated with enchanted glyphs for cooling, heating, and circulating air. She had further purchased a dozen conveniences that she never knew existed, such as disposable crystal glyphs that allowed for small but complex magics like Prestidigitation for cleaning laundry.

In the next hours or so, their spartan rooms in the training hall had become outfitted with new lights, wardrobes, bedside tables, new beds, and several changes worth of fresh linen sheets weaved with supple, flaxen silk said to come from a Wildland species of moth.

Richard had been gifted a minor Storage Ring by Gwen, having lost his own when he quit Prince’s, as well as a full complement of Mana, Healing, and Cure Disease and Poison potions that Gwen had left over from the trip to Singapore.

While sorting through her inventory, she furthermore rediscovered that she was in possession of the Portable Habitat, which Gwen would need to return to Gunther at the first opportunity as it belonged to the Melbourne Tower. Her intention, however, was to use it for as long as she was able. Despite the one HDM cost, for twelve hours, she could have a villa all to herself, with working kitchen and showers too, that she could manifest anywhere.

When the night finally descended, Gwen and Richard further spoke at length about their skills and their abilities, finding ways to improve their synergy should the need arise. When Gwen confessed to Richard about her current complement of Talents and Affinities, his face became a mask of pendulous wonderment.

"Oh, yes!" Richard started up suddenly. He left the room and returned a few seconds later with a number of documents.

"Those are?"

Richard coughed.

"Gwen Song, congratulations on graduating Blackwattle Bay. These are your certifications for successfully completing secondary education at the senior level, as well as completing Preliminary Compulsory Magical Education. I am proud of you Gwen. From this way on, you're a person of the real world!”

Gwen took the certificates wordlessly and stowed them away safely in her ring.

“Thanks, Richard.”

Watching his impassive face, a sudden feeling of mischief overame Gwen, who desired a little retribution for Richard's earlier performances.

“Caliban!”

A hellish spider demon from the darkest depth of an Elder God’s madness-addled mind materialised from a slit in space-time.

“HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS!” Richard felt every hair stand on his body.

Without warning, a sprout of water leapt from his body, bursting forth from a frothy jetstream, engulfing Gwen and Caliban in a shower of salty brine.

Gwen commanded Caliban to heel, and the bedraggled mistress and monster sat regretting their boisterous decision.

She had forgotten that Richard had an attuned spirit.

Lea was as beautiful and ethereal as ever, her transparent face exquisitely sculpted, with deeply set aquamarine eyes and a high ridge-line nose. Strands of cascading water, flowed from her head like a waterfall, trickling with the sound of crystalline mountain streams. The Undine’s pellucid body was just as scandalous as Gwen recalled, for her translucent aquamarine dress left nothing to the imagination.

“Please forgive,” Lea apologised haltingly, collecting as much wayward water as she could. “You surprised me, is all.”

“No, no, it’s my fault.” Gwen wave her hands in front of her chest. She materialised a few crystal glyphs that she had purchased earlier.

“Dry!”

Moisture drained from her sheets and her cloth, quickly drying the fabric within a radius of about a meter.

“Cleanse!”

The scent of freshly laundered sheets once again permeated the room.

Two of the glyph-stones dimmed and died, requiring replenishment from mana crystals.

“SO GOOD!” Gwen giggled gleefully. It was a convenience that only single women could appreciate to the fullest extent. Goodbye house chores! Goodbye laundry day! This was how it's going to be now.

“Gwen, I know you’re rich now,” Richard observed dryly, feeling his clothes likewise drying. “But you just spent 8 LDMs. Just so that you know, it costs nothing to ask the NoM servants to change and wash your sheets.”

Gwen stuck out her tongue playfully.

Beside them, Caliban flailed its multiple tongues in imitation.

"Shaa! Shaa!"

Lea floated over and caressed the nightmarish spiderling.

“It has grown,” Lea commented as she tapped Caliban's carapace, giggling as Caliban's tongues tasted her. “It feels stronger than its serpent form.”

“Yeah, a lot has happened,” Gwen replied.

Lea coiled herself around Gwen and took in her scent.

“I can still smell the mana on you, the one from before,” she noted. “So ancient- I love it.”

Gwen channelled a mote of Amuldj’s mana to her hand, suffusing her fingertips with a soft green glow.

Lea suddenly took Gwen's finger in her pale blue lips and suckled.

The two young Mage’s eyes grew as round as hen's eggs, their faces mutually turning a crimson shade of beetroot.

“We’re leaving!” Richard took off from the bed and left the room.

“Nooooooo…” Lea left the room, taken by a reddening Richard. Unless Richard manifested his Summon Familiar formally, his humanoid familiar couldn’t traverse more than a few meters from his body.

Gwen chuckled and unsummoned Caliban.

With a moan, she slid into her soft, luxurious, two-thousand thread count sheets made from the ejaculated silk of ten thousand Wildland worms.

SO GOOD. Gwen thanked the Gods of Manchester. She pulled her new duvets over and snuggled into the cocoon-like bed.

Tomorrow was yet another adventure.

Tomorrow, together with Mina and Tao, and this ‘monstrous’ Petra, they would be travelling to Hengsha Island.

She was no longer alone.

Gwen and Richard were up after a mere six hours, but the silky new sheets ensured that Gwen felt like she had a ten-hour sleep.

When they'd washed up and eaten, Jun had arrived with a military specced SUV.

“Good luck! See you in a week’s time.” Babulya kissed Gwen on the forehead as Jun pulled in. Gwen couldn’t help but notice that she gave Richard one too, watching him lean low and receive the benediction like it was the most deserving thing in the world.

Jun hopped from the driver's seat and commanded the side cabin to open with a command. The door pushed outward before opening up in a gullwing fold.

After giving Gwen an affirming nod, he turned to Richard.

“So, you’re the Prince's Praetor that came with Percy, huh?”

The two men shook. Gwen couldn't help but notice the veins on Jun's hand pop as they clasped hands, with Richard grinning somewhat fiercely.

“Not a Praetor anymore, sir, that’s long behind me now.” Richard met Jun’s eyes and a sliver of understanding passed between the two men of competence.

“I look forward to your performance then. I have read your report, and I have the utmost confidence in your abilities,” Jun assured his distant nephew.

“It would be my honour, Sir. I will endeavour to do my best and keep Gwen safe.”

“Good man!” Jun struck Richard on the back with a resounding slap.

“That goes without saying.” Richard's flexed his hand, his face remaining as cool and composed as the proverbial cucumber.

Gwen was still trying to place how Richard seemed to insinuate himself with such ease into every other circumstance when the familiar face of Mina appeared beside them.

“Gwen!” Mina waved a small white hand at her daintily. That was another aspect that Gwen had to force herself to get used to. People in China, even family, did not hug. There was a strict hierarchy between the young and the old, measured in respect and intonation, manifesting physically as a circumference of personal space. To let another individual into that lauded intimacy would imply a profound interpersonal connection such as lovers or comrades.

To validate her hypothesis, Gwen had carefully observed that no matter how much Guo was pleased and enamoured with Percy, the grandfather did not embrace, nor initiate tactile intimacy with his grandchild. Likewise, Guo seemed perfectly happy with Percy reacting to every command as though it came from a superior officer, responding with formality and respect.

It was a stark difference to her interactions with Surya, or Gunther, or even her late Master.

Mina’s eyes fell upon Richard.

“Ooo,” Mina mouthed with her two sakura petal lips. In the next moment, her expression of surprised serendipity transformed into a winsome smile. “You must be Richard.”

“Richard Huang, at your service.” Richard straightened himself in the manner taught at Prince’s, instilled so strongly by half a decade of tutelage that it was now instinctual, and inclined his head slightly in a gesture of respectful genuflection.

“I am Mina Wang,” she offered coyly, offering a hand. “Hi.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Richard replied smoothly, taking her hand and bowing to brush her fingers with a mock kiss. “I hope we can work well together.”

“How pleasant,” Mina tittered, taking on a more pleased expression than Gwen expected. She could almost see the gears turning inside Mina's head.

“Mina?” Gwen nudged her cousin.

“Hmm? Oh yes!” Mina stole another look at Richard before retreating to the side so others could exit.

Richard turned to look at Gwen with a knowing grin. Gwen looked past Richard at Jun, who was trying to keep a straight face.

“Ah yes, before I forget, your I.Ds.” Jun opened his hands and materialised two stacks of identification cards.

"Thank you for going the extra mile to get these for us."

Gwen thoughtfully retrieved the banded stack and examined the cards each by each:

The Passport was a little blue book embossed with the crest of the Commonwealth Mageocracy.

“An Australian Passport?” Gwen turned her hazel eyes toward Jun wonderingly, confused that she didn’t have a little red book embossed with the Forbidden City.

“A Commonwealth Passport with a P.R Visa, at Lord Shultz’s request,” Jun replied. “That was a part of the agreement.”

Gwen nodded and inspected the contents. The first page was an embossed, enchanted crest with the heraldry of the Commonwealth imprinted with an emu and a kangaroo. The second page contained her likeness etched onto an Illusion glyph, which could be activated and projected. The page also held her biometrics, such as her eyes, hair and ethnicity. The rest of the twenty-page book was blank but for one, where a large glyph took up the whole sheet. It was a glowing, golden crest of the Forbidden City, over which was a constellation of five Red Stars. This would be her P.R Visa, attuned to her blood.

Her academic ID was just that, a plain white, nondescript card about the thickness of a fingernail. A headshot adorned the left corner, but the entries were blank except for a section that indicated she graduated from Blackwattle Bay High School, Sydney.

The Public Practice of Magic Licence was more interesting, as it listed her skills and talents, as well as her associated tower. Gwen couldn’t help but notice that the sigil of the little tower on the bottom right was in the silhouette of the Pudong Tower’s superstructure, with the shape of three spheres stacked atop one another, forming the likeness of the Oriental Pearl Television Tower in her old world.

“Ah, that’s the Pudong Tower.” Jun noticed Gwen’s lingering gaze. “Another condition, as it were, of the ‘exchange program’.”

Gwen nodded and examined her registered powers.

Gwen Song

Public Practice of Magic I.D :: 9840598 001

Evocation (3), Conjuration (4), Divination (1), Transmutation (1), Abjuration (1)

Quasi-Elemental :: Lightning :: Void

Class Permit (B)

“That’s… Everything,” Gwen muttered, feeling an icy vein throbbing in her head. She again turned her eyes upward toward Jun questioningly. Was that alright? Was it okay to just let it all out in the open?

“There's nothing to fear, you’re registered with the Putong Tower now,” Jun gave her a confidence-boosting smile. “You should be known at the highest level- since Gunther personally asked for the favour. If someone wanted to spirit you away, they have to deal with the Tower, at the very worst, maybe even escalate to Lord Huo himself.”

“What’s the ‘B’ for?” Gwen turned her attention back toward her I.D, wondering how reliable it was that the Tower would come to her aid in the event of some nefarious force having designs on her talents.

“Tower Access,” Jun answered her patiently. “B gets you access to basic spells and items, which you can trade for with Contribution Credits. You don’t have a mentor right now, right? As long as you have crystal and CCs, you can get access to tutors, Cognisance Chambers, and spell books.”

Spellbooks! Gwen's felt a little tingle of excitement. She needed to expand her spellcraft array desperately.

“That’s good to know.” Gwen stored her licence in her Ring and examined her last I.D.

Multi-Pass Adventuring Permit

Gwen Song

L.O.I:: China, Shanghai

P.P.M: 9840598 001

Ethnicity: Australian (Eurasian)

Eyes: Hazel - Green

Skin: Caucasian

Hair: Black (Warm)

Height: 180CM

Access Rank: E

Quest Attainment: N/A

“Quests can be from either Tower,” Jun helpfully explained. “Though I would try to stick to a single Tower to avoid future complications.”

“Thanks, Uncle Jun. I'll let you know if I have any other questions.” Gwen bowed her head and stowed her last I.D, watching Richard do the same.

“Move it. I need to get out.” A sonorous female voice could be heard coming from the SUV’s interior. "Tao!"

The command was answered by the sound of Tao grumbling to leave him alone and let him sleep. A few silent seconds went by, then there was the sound of a lever clicking into place, followed by an insane, guttural shriek.

“ARRRRRRGGGGH! Eeeeaaa! Bitch, you got mah hand! FUCK! Garrrgh! Shit! Shit! ”

Klavdiya sighed and facepalmed.

Jun shook his head.

They haven’t left yet, and they were already one member down.

In the next moment, a stunning young woman of breathtaking glamour emerged from the vehicle, moving past Mina to embrace Klavdiya.

"Grandmother!"

The girl appeared older than both Gwen and Mina, she leaned in and kissed Klavdiya soundly on both cheeks.

Even Richard had to hold his breath for a second just to take in the splendiferous vision that had emerged so unexpectedly from the dark interior of Tao's porcine wailing, shrieking bloody murder that the mechanism of the folded seat had fractured his fingers.

"Mina, if you could?" Klavdiya commanded her granddaughter with her eyes.

Mina sighed and retreated into the interior, where Tao was gasping for breath.

“It's just bruised!” she growled at Tao as soon as she saw him nursing his perfectly unbent digits.

Meanwhile, the culprit split from her grandmother and addressed Gwen and Richard.

“Hello, I am Petra Kuznetsov.” Petra inclined her head. “I am your Enchanter.”

Petra stood an inch taller than Gwen, attired in a sheer collared blouse, pleated tartan skirt, and white runners. She had auburn hair that fell about her face in ringlets, effortlessly framing her high cheekbones, drawing the admirer's gaze toward her icy-blue irises. Her face had the likeness of Kalvdiya’s bloodline, but where her grandmother appeared soft, demure and benevolent, Petra’s face had taken on a more vivacious quality. Below her Husky-like eyes, her lips were likewise as arresting, two petals of pink flesh that hinted at an aggressive sensuality. Her brows were similarly thick and defined, adding to the imposing superiority she projected. Below her exquisite face, her figure was tight and compact, muscular and well sculpted. Where her lithe, white legs emerged from her skirt, Gwen could see toned musculature that curved and arched in all the right places until it reached her ankles, not possessed of a single ounce of excess fat.

Was Petra beautiful? Gwen wouldn't doubt it. But Petra had the kind of beauty that one found in twenty-foot tall bushfires; in swirling tornadoes of orange flame ravaging ten thousand acres of prime woodland. It was the kind of beauty that filled you with wonder and a weakness in the chest, like watching a wave crash into a cliffside, turning the emerald sea a milky shall of blue-white froth. It was the beauty of howling tundras cracking under a rolling tempest.

If Gwen had been lost for words to describe Petra, it would be that she looked like someone not to be messed with. There was simply something about her that made one want to speak a little quieter around her, an aura that oppressed the presence of those nearby.

“I am Gwen Song, Hai Song’s daughter.” Gwen extended a hand to shake, wincing as Petra took her white fingers firmly and gave her a good squeeze.

“Richard Huang, pleased to make your acquaintance. I hope we can work well together.” Richard suffered Petra's death grip likewise, feeling impressed by the girl’s strength.

“Very good,” Petra intoned impassively, neither friendly nor cold, with a voice more akin to the affirming of having received goods from a delivery. “I would like to know more about you two as well, shall we speak in the car? Captain Song should be finishing his errand in less than sixty seconds.”

“Don’t mind her,” Mina’s voice came from the interior. “She grew up in the military. They’re all a little blockheaded. It's all the rules, turns them into squares.”

Petra said nothing. She turned from Gwen and Richard and ducked back into the van.

“Move,” She commanded.

Tao shrunk from Petra as though he was extolled by God himself, shrinking against the far side of the cabin as Petra passed.

Gwen exchange a glance with Richard.

Could be worse? Gwen said with her eyes.

For sure. Richard inclined to agree.

* * *

Jun returned after few minutes, and with a familiar thrum, the vehicle was on its way to the Shanghai Metropolitan Transit Docks, the passageway for domestic passengers. The journey would take a good hour, traffic pending, so the crew got a chance to get acquainted.

Mina opted to sit up front with Jun, while Tao, Gwen, Richard and Petra sat behind.

Gwen tried to break the ice, but Tao wasn’t in the mood to speak to Petra, whose earlier impatience had manifested as wrath upon his innocent digits. When they finally got to articulate their abilities, the conversation became surprisingly formal, with Petra presiding over the minutes.

“My highest rank when serving under the Moscow Tower was Officer Cadet,” Petra explained. “Though I have lived in Shanghai for two years now, working with Fudan University on research and development programs.”

“Are you newly graduated?” Gwen asked. Petra didn’t seem that much older than herself.

“I was fortunate enough to be accelerated through middle-school,” Petra intoned proudly. “I am eighteen if you are wondering. The same age as Tao.”

“First or second year?” Gwen felt an immediate sense of inferiority; degrees and academic accolades were something she had felt immense pride for her past life.

“Second year at Fudan,” Petra corrected them through her overtly sensuous lips, though her tone was measured and cool. “Though I am currently involved in a post-graduate program as well.”

“That’s incredible,” Gwen mouthed, realising that Petra was one example of someone that had in actuality gotten ahead of the curve and that herself and Richard had much to catch-up. As Richard had served as Praetor instead of his military service, he was almost nineteen now, two years behind the average university student. If and when they graduated, Gwen would be twenty or twenty-one, and Richard would be nearing twenty-three.

“There are others,” Petra said simply. “I am not that impressive, in comparison.”

“So, are you a Mind Mage?” Richard asked interestedly. He could hardly imagine anyone would refuse if Petra said something like 'look into my eyes.'

“Richard!” Gwen nudged him. If Petra were a Mind-Mage, according to Guo, her talents would be part and parcel of a highly classified identity.

“No,” Petra replied stoically. “I am an Inscriber, under the branch of Fabrication.”

“Impressive!” Richard slapped his thighs. “Your Enchantment is already at tier 5? What's your minor? Conjuration?”

“You know of Inscription and Glyph work?” Petra inspected Richard.

“Our grandfather is a Master Enchanter,” Richard pointed out helpfully.

Petra turned to look at Gwen with an expectant expression.

“Yes, but he’s in Sydney,” Gwen confessed a little too eagerly, not wanting to get Petra’s hopes up. “He’s a frontier Enchanter though, a trinket maker.”

"Impressive nonetheless, to achieve that level of expertise," Petra noted, now also marginally more interested in Gwen.

Gwen had by now gleamed that there was a branch of Enchantment in the tier 1 world that produced something called Magitech, this world’s version of electronic circuitry empowered by the use of Glyphs that drew power from mana crystals. The archaic cars that they drove in Sydney were a product of early Magitech, while advanced variations allowed more complex operations, culminating in the construction of war machines like Golems. When she thought about it more perceptively, Magitech was already everywhere she looked. “Motor” vehicles, lifts, data slates, they were ubiquitous to the operation of any city, only that the lastest and brightest were denied to the Frontier.

Assuming that Magitech was the same as engineering in her old world, Gwen wondered, what discipline was Petra engaged? Fabrication and Inscription sounded like electrical engineering, or perhaps mechatronics.

“What kind of Magitech do you specialise in?” Richard too was curious as to how a researcher was useful in combat.

Petra allowed a slight smirk to touch her lips.

“The deadly kind.”

Richard pulled back. Gwen blinked.

“A Runesmith?” Richard intoned incredulously. “Or an Artificer?”

“The former.” Petra snapped her fingers and materialised a crystalline cube. “I can manifest these small, expandable devices that store a spell of up to tier minus-one. Though there is a hard limit on conjuration volume and manifestation duration.”

“Which is?” Gwen asked innocently, unused to the decorum of exchanging magical knowledge with others.

“A secret.” Petra gave her a strange look.

Richard cleared his throat and nudged Gwen.

Tao continued to nap beside them, oblivious to it all.

“So.” Petra allowed another cube to ‘load’ onto her hand. “This one is from my master.”

The transparent cube looked etched with glyphs on all sides. Within the cubic frame, a volatile swirl of elemental fire raged within.

“This is a Scorching Ray,” Petra explained. “Single target spells are the best. AOEs are harder to manage.”

She produced another Spell Cube, this one tinged with blue and glowing with glyphs that Gwen recognised as Conjuration.

“A Call Lightning, but cast by an Ice Para-Elementalist Mage,” She continued. “Spells with seeker functions are excellent as well. Though there's is a limit to how many can be released at once without mana bu-”

The SUV rocked as it went over a speed hump.

The cube fell from Petra’s hands.

Gwen instinctively reached out and snatched it before it struck the floor. The Spell Cube felt unexpectedly warm, and there was the additional feeling of a pulsing beat within, not unlike a heart.

“Close one!” Gwen breathed out, turning to face her peers with evident relief.

Both Richard and Petra regarded Gwen with consternation.

“It’s perfectly safe,” Petra pointed out, taking the cube from her hands. “It only activates on my command.”

Petra met Gwen with her icy gaze.

"Which school did you say you graduated from?"

Gwen felt her face redden. Who could blame her? She technically didn’t even graduate from high school.

"Well!" Richard interjected, diverting Petra's obtuse question, positive that Gwen's Magical Licence would soon speak for itself. "If you must know, I am from Prince's..."

* * *

The ferry docks were, like many things in Shanghai, constructed with a ridiculous volume of traffic in mind. Where the Sydney Ferry system in Circular Quay had eight berths; the Shanghai Metropolitan Port was twenty-four segments built into an artificial cove in the shape of a U. Its construction was moulded steel plated with thick reinforced glass, forming domes of semi-opaque arches that undulated from the entry to where the passengers alighted and boarded, creating the likeness of a cresting wave.

Gwen and her party of youngsters made their way through the port’s vaulted spaces, marvelling at the possibilities of architectural ingenuity made possible by the application of high level Transmutation and Enchantment magics.

Beside Gwen, Petra played with a cube of dark, malignant energy, her eyes full of blithe wonder.

Gwen watched the cube of Void matter bounce up and down in Petra’s hands. It was just a Void Bolt, but Petra seemed utterly enamoured with it.

When they had finally got to the business of exchanging spell lists, Petra had grabbed Gwen’s wrists with such a wrenching strength that she felt as though Petra was ready to dislocate her hand.

“You’re a Void Caster?” Petra’s voice quivered, her fingers like steel fasteners wrapped around Gwen’s delicate wrists. “Do it now, make a spell. Here!”

She then materialised one of her Spell Cubes and insisted for Gwen cast something into it.

Tao was finally paying attention now, his eyes widening a little at hearing Petra's provocation, while in the passenger seat, Mina fell silent and listened rather than banter with Jun.

Despite the questionable wisdom of manifesting a Void Spell in a moving vehicle, Petra’s fervent glare frightened her into submission. The girl’s irises were like two clear pools of pale blue water, and when she trained her pupils upon Gwen, she felt the distinct feeling of being stared down by a predator.

“If you're sure.” Gwen had then cast her spell, surprised at her compliance.

A feeling of sickening vertigo overwhelmed all in the vehicle when Gwen manifested the Void element outside of her body, causing Jun to almost scrap the SUV onto the retaining wall of the highway.

“By Mao!” he cursed loudly. “What the hell are you girls doing back there!”

But Petra had her Cube now, and Gwen's hazel eyes glowed with glistening intent as her twice-removed cousin etched out complex, multilayered mandalas in thin air, then imposed them upon the mineral surface of her crystalline spell-storage device.

Gwen had seen Enchanting performed live previously, but Surya had used a multitude of tools to keep his mandala arrays in precise geometry. Petra seemed to work entirely with materials manifested from her affinity with the Elemental Plane of Mineral, an amalgamation of Positive Energy and Earth. Moreover, from what Gwen could discern, the specific mineral that Petra accessed seemed to look and feel like quartz, particularly the charmingly misnomered Herkimer ‘Diamond’ variety that Gwen had once owned as a decorative piece on her dresser. The 'mystic' at the fair who had sold it to her informed her that these crystals were the most potent containers of spiritual energy- to which Gwen replied ‘another $10 off the top, or I walk.'

After which Petra had completely ignored both Gwen and Richard for the last twenty or so minutes of the ride, secluding herself at the back with the Cube in hand, muttering to herself and smiling secretively every so often.Tao stared in awe at the cube in Petra's fingers, his eyes flitting between Gwen and Petra and his mouth opening and closing like a fish caught out of the water. Mina remained silent, her thoughts and expressions unknowable by those in the back.

Jun offered no commentary of shock or surprise, and so the group journeyed on.

When finally they arrived, Jun sent for a valet to stow away the SUV, then marched the youngsters into the glass and steel maw of the ferry station.

The ferry itself was likewise a domed glass construct that resembled a tortoise. It sat low in the water, less than half a meter above the cloudy, silt churned surface of the Huangpu River, rising from its lowest deck to a total height of four tiers. Atop the ferry, where a chimney stack would sit on Gwen’s old world vessels, lay a large crystal structure which she recognised as a resonating barrier crystal. The rest of the ferry looked equipped to carry up to close to a thousand people, with each deck possessing its little kiosk of food and drinks. The fall barriers were also glass, giving the Ferry the ability to afford the traveller almost a two-seventy degree view of the harbour, blocked only by the engine room near the aft.

“Yo! Boys!”

Tao threw a few gang signs into the air, which was answered by two familiar faces. It was Little-Dog and Mack Daddy.

Tao wore an Adidas jersey and pants in the classic style, the kind that had three vertical stripes running down one’s arms, bled onto one’s legs and ended at the matching runners.

“Gwen!”

It was Gwen whom they greeted first, bowing their heads slightly. After Gwen returned the gesture, and the rest of the group introduced themselves.

“Ma’am.” Mack Daddy and Little-Dog bowed toward Petra, who nodded before turning back to study the cube. Tao’s boys did not disappoint. They outfitted themselves in matching Adidas- but in different colours.

Holy shit, Gwen suddenly realised. If Tao had five friends, and they each wore a different coloured set of Adidas in green, red, yellow, blue, and black, they could resemble those early 90s kids shows with colour matched Rangers. Hell, they could even be called the Rapping Rangers.

When Richard introduced himself, both of the boys became wary, asking him questions about how well he knew Gwen and what their relationship was. Richard read their unbidden jealousy instantly and knew that there was only one way to nip this unpleasantness in the bud.

“We slept together,” Richard instantly replied, failing to mention 'in different rooms.' “Last night she surprised me, and we both became drenched.”

Mack Daddy looked stunned by the revelation.

Mina looked at Gwen, then at Richard, then bit her lip.

Little-Dog made an expression as though he was about to cry, his eyes reddening with equal parts self-loathing and resentment.

Gwen punched Richard in the arm; this time, she didn’t pull back.

“Don’t listen to his bull!” Gwen interceded before the boy’s imaginations ran wild. “He’s just trying to jerk you off.”

"..."

"..."

"..." Mack Daddy realised that perhaps, it was simpler and safer to admire Gwen’s outfit for the day. After all, she had gone for the exotic look of the Outback adventurer.

When Mack-Daddy began to check her out, Gwen felt more self-conscious than ever. She wasn’t sure what to expect, and so she had chosen a utilitarian outfit that she had used for her outdoor adventures in the Outback. Knee-high riding boots, bleached riding jeans, saddle skin belt, a loose short sleeve blouse over a tight singlet top, and a broad-brimmed Akubra hat; under which a voluminous ponytail fell sideways across her shoulders.

Wonderful! Mack Daddy felt his heart overcome with joy. It was worth the hassle of coming to Hengsha Island.

Little Dog gave Richard a dirty look, to which Richard responded by giving him a big toothy grin.

Besides Gwen, Richard wore the universal attire of a white Tee-shirt, cargo-chinos and boots. In contrast, Mina looked positively underdressed. She had on a Sunday dress with a plunging neckline and a two-layered lifted hem that showed off her slender legs. She even wore Roman sandals.

“You look lovely as always, Miss Mina,” Little Dog appraised her choice of attire for adventuring.

“Why thank you, Bao. For noticing that I exist,” Mina replied sulkily, realising just how little presence she had next to the meter-eighty Gwen and the slightly taller Petra. Unlike her two compatriots, she was also the demure and adorable type, meaning she had even less impact than if she was merely the shortest of three headstrong looking girls walking in a row. She felt like a Hobbit amongst Elves.

If only Mina knew of Gwen’s regret, for even now her twin-souled cousin was acknowledging that once Jun left them, Gwen and Richard’s mature attire would make them look like Mina, Tao, and Petra’s mother and father.

Mack Daddy quickly added his compliment, but Mina was already too offended to care.

More and more people arrived, mostly young Mages like them, each with their guardians in tow. Gwen saw Vivian appearing and disappear into the crowd, as well as a few faces she recognised from the Bout.

After half an hour or so, Gwen realised that though most of the people here were strangers to her, she was apparently not a stranger to them. Every once so often, someone somewhere would point towards her, or meet her gaze and nod, or hastily look away. She could hear her name muttered here and there like a little secret being 'Chinese whispered'.

A blaring horn interrupted Gwen's train of thought. It was time.

The adolescents filed into the Ferry, not unlike school children chaperoned by their teachers on a day-trip to do geographic cartography on an adventure island.

Jun had purchased tickets for the top deck, and so they found themselves enjoying a splendid view of the Bund, across from which was Pudong, the new city.

Gwen spied the Putong Tower, her ultimate and eventual destination, upon which a Magi sat on the throne, Lord of his domain.

On the opposite side, the PLA Tower loomed in its ziggurat-like immensity, its pyramidal magnificence presiding over Shanghai proper, a gleaming beacon of glass and steel.

A Tale of Two Towers? Gwen mused to herself.

Ahead, the Huangpu River opened onto the sea, where four hours beyond lay their final destination - the island of Hengsha.

Was it going to be the best of times? Or the worst of times?

Bonus One - Shot - because I can't post without 500 characters.

Thanks to Andur - I read some of your one-shots and remembered something I wrote about a year ago when I was fantasiing about doing a web-novel.

More than Human

“ALRIGHT ATHLETES, GATHER UP” Coach Pol's voice blasted through the field, amplified by an aug-boosted voice box.

Grumbling, the athletes slowly made their way back from the brunt orange track. Ben, the first to return, was drenched with sweat. An optic sensor embedded into his right-iris HUD announced that his new legs had 57% power remaining; that his run was only 45% energy efficient.

Raising his arms, he placed them on the back of his head, stretching out his quads; slowly steading his heavy breathing.

“LISTEN UP, you young bucks have less than a month before the national qualifier.” The coach slowly inspected each runner, watching their flushed faces and observing the rhythm of their breath. A sensor in his grafted eye displayed rows of statistic and biometrics. “You need to work even harder.”

“Yes, coach!” the athletes replied half-heartedly, somewhat disheartened by the disenchanting news.

“SORRY WHAT WAS THAT?” Coach Pol uproariously retorted, a hand cupping the side of his ear.

“YES COACH!” the athlete’s replied in unison.

The burly man then turned, facing the young man who had once been his protege. There was only sullen silence from Ben.

“I am sorry Ben, but that’s how it is.”

“That’s it huh,” Ben muttered softly. “Twelve years of training and just one little bump from a drone...”

“Cyber-ware's banned in the nationals,” the Coach responded as-matter-of-factly. Ben scanned his teammates, seeing pity on their faces; one or two even smirked, realising that the fall of Mr No.1 meant one more place for them.

“Athletes, say your goodbyes!” the coach commanded, patting Ben on the shoulder. “Know well that if it weren’t for Ben’s force majeure, at least one of you would not be here today.”

* * * *

Ben retired to his dorm, hypersensitively aware of the mechanical tendons flexing and unfolding, trying to keep up with his neuronic pathways. It has been almost two months, and still Ben felt that there was a time-lag, a miss-sync that made it feel as though his legs couldn’t keep up with his brain. He had always had supernatural reflexes, and now they became a curse.

Keith, his roommate, was already relaxing on the dorm’s porch. The ex-soldier was almost twice Ben’s size, a hulking man over six-foot-seven. One arm and both of his legs were textured with dull, cross-hatched carbon fibre - the latest in military cyber-tech. Keith had been a marine, and he had enrolled in college thanks to his Citizen’s ticket after serving in the Pan-African Rare Metal conflict. He had two purple hearts as well, one for his left leg, another for his right.

“Those legs are civilian spec Ben-o” Keith said with a big grin on this face. “Far too weak to keep up with a running man like you.”

Keith had already told Ben many times before that he should swap out his legs for an upgraded model, but until today, Ben held out the hopes that somehow, his Coach could found a way for him to compete. A civilian model was subpar to a well-trained athlete's limbs, and if Ben could bet them wearing that...

“Alright,” Ben replied, much to Keith’s surprise. “Take me to this depot of yours, lets get some high-spec gear.”

“Allllright!” Keith grinned. He brought up the AR console in his augmented eye, and send out a call for a Tesla auto-car.

* * *

It took them half an hour on the auto track before the domed glass car turned into what appeared to be a warehouse district. The buzzing of drones was in the air, looking like swarms of vultures hanging over gargantuan, pre-fabricated storage sheds.

“Here we are,” Keith stepped out of the car, and the entire vehicle seemed to lift itself a few inches, having augmented the lower half of his body and his arm, Keith weighed at least four hundred odd pounds.

They walked into a warehouse were immediately greeted by the sound of grinders and mechatronics digitisers at work.

“Hey there sweeties,” Said a voice behind a low, navel height counter.

The woman that addressed them possessed electric-neon hair and nails that shifted hues as she moved. Her legs were impossibly long, lithe, a silvery sheen of platinum that had an elegant sensuality about them, like two works of modern art in motion.

“Hi Georgina,” Keith smiled broadly. “Brought you a prime customer, ex-athlete, needs a boost so he can feel the need for speed again.”

Ben could almost feel Georgina’s eyes focusing on him, the mechanical irises scanning him and sending out a script of specs.

“Ouch, that what Obama-Care gives you these days?” Georgina said sardonically, her flesh, pink petal lips oozing sex. Ben couldn't help but feel that he'd seen her somewhere, maybe on one of those pay-per-view vid-casts.

“What do you have?” Ben asked tentatively, his family was wealthy, but this place looked expensive.

They followed the girl, whose legs had built in heels that made Ben’s eyes baulk. Her ass, if Ben had to pass judgement, was perfection.

Along the back wall were two dozen cyber-legs, each with a price tag and an install price; arranged in order of horsepower.

“This one?” Ben pointed to a set that looked almost human, a white-ceramic coloured, well formed pair of legs that was positioned by the high-spec spectrum.

Keith whistled, “You got good taste kid.”

“Sit down,” Georgina ordered. Ben sat. She took off his old legs. As her head bent underneath his own, moving between his legs in a compromising position, he could smell the synthetic scent of flowers.

The white legs attached with a hiss.

“300 Kilowatt, Mercedes Benz class 5,” she cooed, rubbing a hand over his new legs. “Go try them out.”

Ben pushed himself from the chair; the lag time felt significantly reduced, maybe two, three Milliseconds.

He took off, and the legs pumped fluidly and gracefully, he felt himself almost lift into the air, it was a feeling akin to when he had discovered running for the first time; when his Coach had told him that he had talent; that he could make it to the Olympics if he trained.

Then suddenly as he rounded the block and returned, he noticed a warning flash across his iris.

“Low power - Core at 9%.”

“Impossible!” Ben thought to himself; he was running for what, ten minutes?

He returned to the garage, where Georgina and Keith awaited.

“How is it?”

“I am out of juice…” Ben lamented. “This thing is thirsty!”

“Yeah, you still too human,” Georgina laughed, her voice perfectly modulated. “Your body produces hardly enough bio-electricity.”

Ben's eyes moved over Georgina, regarding her seriously for the first time. She didn't have an ounce of fat on her body, her figure was perfectly proportioned, if a little excessively so. She moved like liquid, possessing the grace and balance of something supernatural. Electro-tats that glowed a fluoro neon thrummed underneath her sheer blouse, where her round, perky breasts formed two perfect mounds. Most of all, it was her legs.

Ben felt a chub coming on. He couldn't help but wonder about what it would be like to have her legs wrapped around his waist; or if Georgina had an augmented organ down there as well.

He blushed. He hadn't touched a woman since the accident. It was starting to get to him.

“It’s not rare to have a major replacement surgery these days,” Georgie cooed at him, “You need a new spine to hold up your new arms and legs, you need to replace your muscles with electro-fibres, you need to get better lungs and heart to keep up with all of that.”

"It's a whole new world out there, Ben-o!" Keith watched Ben watching Georgina. "With your brain, you could be superhuman!"

The glass-dome ferry traversed the Huangpu River, drawing rubbernecking passengers to the port and starboard to point out the landmarks.

Gwen listened to their conversations as the ferry meandered through the estuary of the yellow river. Around them, the steel and glass exterior of Shanghai's CBD slowly fell away to reveal red brick and sandstone, then finally the grey neutrality of moulded concrete.

Shanghai was a strange city, and she was a stranger in a strange land.

Gwen missed having a smartphone. She yearned for a Mage world version of Tripadvisor. The idea of walking through a city that was quite literally unknowable was a daunting affair, and Gwen wondered if she could purchase a mapped data slate marked with points of interest.

When after half an hour the rare sights of Shanghai’s wonders were exhausted, curious passengers returned to their seats and sought other ways of passing the time. From their position toward the aft, Gwen noticed the young Mages congregating.

The gender imbalance of the Magical population here veered toward the masculine. By the same measure, the majority of the gathered Mages were Han Chinese, with scant few having a Eurasian appearance that suggested the northern steppes; or having darker complexions that clued toward a South-East Asian heritage.

Amongst the juniors, Gwen could only spot half a dozen Europeans, including herself, who was a Eurocentric-looking smorgasbord of ethnicities, and Petra, who was a full-blooded Russian. Curiously, Gwen wondered where the Africans were, or if there were any Middle-Easterners in the city.

Beside them, Tao shared an earphone with his mates, looking wonderfully in sync in their matching Adidas.

Her subtle surveillance of their surroundings was interrupted by the appearance of a middle-aged man with the expression of a hawk.

“Captain Jun!” the older Caucasian hollered. “My goodness, it’s good to see you!”

“Halbert!” Jun stood and extended his hand.

As the two greeted one another, other Mages joined the semicircle.

Richard leaned in toward Gwen.

“That’s an unspoken decorum,” he whispered into her ear. “You shouldn't casually engage a superior unless spoken to. Wait for them to address you."

Gwen nodded, taking in the lesson to avoid a future faux pas of her own.

Jun greeted his guests, speaking to them with an informality that made them happy to be in his presence. Gwen caught snippets of conversation about a battle ‘up north’, as well as operations in the inner Three Gorges Region.

After a few minutes, Jun turned to his proteges and introduced them.

"Hello, Uncle Halbert." Mina waved to the appreciatively-smiling Magus.

"Sup." Tao made a sign with his fingers, which made the senior Magus furrow his brows.

'Uncle Halbert' then turned to Gwen and her company of three.

“New blood?” The Magus raised his brows inquisitively. “Two lasses and a lad. My word how mighty fine they look!”

Jun chortled.

“They ARE awfully aesthetic, aren’t they?” He rubbed his chin.

The senior Magus was right.

Gwen was an elfin vision of loveliness.

Richard was tall and handsome.

Petra smouldered with her bright eyes and voluptuous lips.

When had he picked up such a comely group? Jun chuckled. If looks could kill...

Gwen curtsied toward the Magus, Richard bowed formally, and Petra inclined her head.

“Don’t suppose you’ll let us in on their specs, hmm?” Halbert teased.

“Heh.” Jun’s eyes twinkled. “Fifty HDMs you’ll never guess.”

“Ho?” Halbert trained his eyes upon the young Mages. “Detect Magic!”

The mana of Divination illuminated Halbert's eyes. Gwen felt the Magus' gaze swab over her skin like a tingling breeze.

“Gwen is a Conjurer, Lightning Quasi-elemental, and something else I can’t quite discern, Evocation, perhaps?"

“Petra is an Enchanter. Mineral."

“Richard would be a Conjurer, Water, and a bit of Abjuration?"

"So, Roppongi?” Halbert grinned confidently.

Jun applauded.

“Very good,” he intoned jovially but didn't stop there. “After we drop off the kids, Roppongi at K-11. Tonight. Your tab.”

“Really? Hmm…” Halbert examined the trio again, wondering who he had failed to discern. “I am buying, I guess.”

Gwen felt immensely impressed by the man’s expert reading of Divination Magic. They were on a ferry full of young Mages leaking mana like no tomorrow, yet Halbert could pinpoint their powers with near unerring precision. Was this the experience of a master Diviner?

Behind the Mages seeking Jun's counsel were juniors who were likewise interested in speaking with Petra. Unfortunately, their Russian cousin secluded herself near a window and entertained herself with the captured Void Bolt.

Thus rebuffed, their guests instead approached Mina, who introduced Gwen and Richard. Like musical chairs, the group of interchanging youngsters made small talk about Spellcraft and their expectations of Hengsha, allowing the time to pass relatively painlessly.

Gwen stole a glance at her distant cousin, so intently withdrawn in her manipulation of the Cube. She just hoped that Petra didn’t accidentally blast a hole through the ferry and sink the lot of them.

* * *

Hengsha island didn’t exist before 1858.

For whatever reason the Chinese authorities had yet to discern, the island came into being on the evening of July, 18th, 1858, following a disturbance at the mouth of the Yellow River where it met the South China Sea. Of course, during this epoch, the Chinese Communists had not yet existed. Under Emperor Yizhu, the Qing Dynasty was haemorrhaging territory to the Mageocracy, the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom Rebels, and the Demi-human tribes of the steppes and the sea.

The island was first discovered by local fishermen, who reported its surfacing to the authorities, who sent a group of Daoshi, Chinese Mages of yore, onto the island.

Of the dozen sent, three returned, bringing with them tales of riches, veins of crystals, and monster carcasses both strange and unusual.

The ordinary folk had no idea what they faced, of course, but those in power knew that they had likely unearthed a pocket dimension carved out from some obtrusion of space and time, sent into the Material Plane by portent and chaos.

By the time the Qing Dynasty came and went, replaced by its new socialist rulers, the island had been all but forgotten. It was only after the unification of the country under Mao in 1949 that finally the interim government once again set foot upon Hengsha in 1958.

That was when they realised that the island was moving.

For a landmass created from shifting currents of sand and silica, it migrated about half a kilometre a year, always moving north, toward the satellite city of Chongming, a part of the great Shanghai Metropolitan expansion project.

Attempts to halt this drift seemed futile, for it appeared that the movement was beyond a matter of sealing its foundations, even if it would take another century for the island to reach landfall.

In the meantime, Hengsha proved itself a boon of treasures as a Special Resource Region, vomiting forth intermittent chunks of elementally charged crystals and exotic flora and fauna.

In balancing the risks and rewards, the Chinese authorities chose to let it be; for the alternative was to pulverise the island and seal its breach into the Astral Plane.

* * *

To Gwen’s eyes, the island was like any other. Forested near the centre, scattered beaches all around. Unlike oceanic islands, however, the sandy isle was surrounded by the silt-heavy waters of the yellow river, inundating its surroundings with flotsams of flora from the mainland.

A long pier had been carved out from the thickly overgrown sedge, allowing the passengers to depart from the river-faring ferry.

As the first passengers to embark, Gwen and her company were the last to alight, affording her a view of the island from the vantage of the four-tier ferry. In front of her eyes, Hengsha island stretched out invitingly, its distant green undergrowth like a dark-emerald maw.

Already there were about a hundred junior Mages and their guardians on the island, with a further two hundred odd arriving from the ferry.

“Looks like it’s about to start.” Jun moved forward eagerly. “Come on.”

The group followed Jun off the ramp until they reached the rendezvous site, where a dais had been set up by some Transmuters. Within the circular elevation was a Senior Mage attired in a tailored Italian suit, polished oxfords, and slicked grey hair. A proper silver fox.

Gwen’s group drew curious eyes as they entered the circle, where the ethnographic spread remained the same. Petra, especially, brought eyes toward them like a gravity well, causing Gwen to become self-conscious for the fact that Petra seemed entirely apathetic to the effect she had on others. When inevitably their attention shifted to Gwen, she found herself inclining her head incessantly like a hen to return their imploring, friendly gestures.

It took another half an hour for the gathering to settle, then the presiding Magister, Paris, began to speak.

“Seniors of the various Houses, noble guests, and young Mages, welcome to Hengsha Island. I am Magister Moreau Paris, the Tower Magister presiding over this Field Trial. In a few minutes, we will be declaring the objectives of this year's gathering of the Houses. If you do not wish to participate, speak to Magus Xi after the announcement.”

A round of polite applause greeted Magister Paris’ speech, who then motioned for the crowd to quieten down. A Mediterranian Continental, the Magister had a hard face with dark brown eyes. His slicked, platinum-blond locks further gave him the air of someone who was aloof and sanctimonious.

“First of all, the Pudong Tower thanks you for coming today. With me, are Magus Alison Xi and Magus Shu Jin Gwok from the PLA, who will be presiding over this trial.

Another round of applause followed. Louder this time.

Xi looked to be a diminutive Han woman in her forties. She had a distinctive scar across one eye that resembled a little centipede.

Gwok was a generic looking middle-aged Southern Chinese man without any particular features. Even his olive uniform, displaying the rank of Captain, felt nondescript.

“Allow me to announce the purpose of our gathering today,” Paris continued. “Every two years, the best and the brightest neophytes from the notable Houses are gathered to participate in a group event, giving young Mages a chance to use their talents and skills in the field, gathering Contribution Credits.”

“This year, we have a real treat for you young spell slingers. But where there are rewards, there are also dangers. For this year, Hengsha Island has once again accumulated enough mana to manifest the Dungeon!”

Upon hearing the D-word, Richard gripped Gwen’s wrist so violently that she could feel her bones creaking.

“Is he saying what I think he’s saying?” Gwen whispered carefully. “A Dungeon, here?”

“Yes!” Richard’s eyes were gleaming. “A Dungeon!”

Gwen turned back to Paris, who began extolling the dangers of Dungeon diving.

A Dungeon! Gwen tried to think back to textbooks the previous Gwen had studied. There were no Dungeons on the Frontier because they were built too far from the major junctions of tectonic ley-lines that empowered the tier 1 cities.

Even if one should appear in an Orange or Black Zone; it was still the duty of a Frontier Tower to share that information with their closest tier 1 city and offer up the lion's share of its loot.

But a Dungeon could be one of several things.

It could be a monster’s lair: from a goblins' warren several kilometres deep to the hidden den of a dragon containing precious crystals and rare minerals by the ton.

It could be a pocket-space, left behind from the primordial times, trapped in the volatile magical energies that allowed it to drift through the Ethereal Plane or the Astral, occasionally drawn to the Material Plane and manifesting serendipitously.

Likewise, a Dungeon could be a piece of the Elemental Planes that had burst through into the material, bringing with it unimaginable fortunes, elementally charged minerals, and even extra-planar beings.

Even Sufina’s Grot could be considered a Dungeon.

Whatever it may be, the important thing was that despite a Dungeon's apparent danger, it was full of precious materials and matchless treasures.

“… A scouting run has been carried out, reporting the danger rating of the Dungeon to be Orange, between tier 3 and 5, certainly nothing to fret over if you work together. The landscape is marshland, and the dispersion of creatures are medium. There are abundant sources of crystals, rare flora as well as old ruins for you to explore, though I shall say nothing more forthwith. For adventuring, therefore, you will form into teams of five...”

The crowd broke into clamorous murmurs.

What? Gwen looked around at the suddenly cacophonic crowd. No resting period? No 'meet and greet'? Just straight to the action?

Magister Paris' voice pierced through the volume of the babbling Mages.

“The entrance of the Dungeon will open at the forest’s edge in exactly two hours," Paris emphasised heavily. "If you wish to participate, proceed to register your team with Magus Xi and Gwok. As always, all gainful items and materials gathered from the Dungeon may be traded for Contribution Credits. The Divination corps has determined the length of the Dungeon to be seventy-two hours, after which you will be ejected onto the island. We will have Aerial Mages running pickup if you are injured, both within and outside the Dungeon. The rule for calling for assistance or forfeiture is as usual. If you choose to leave or must seek aid from an Adjudicator, your exit CCs will be halved.”

Paris halted his infodump for dramatic effect.

“On a more pleasant note, for the top three teams to return with the most valuable contributions, there will be additional CC rewards of 50 per person for first, 30 for the second, and 10 for third.”

An excited din radiated across the field. 50 CCs! The bonus for coming first was almost as much as the winning amount for previous competitions. Should a team return with 200 CCs worth of trinkets, precious flora, minerals and monster components, then they stood a chance of winning. If so, the winning team would likely gain 40 CCs plus another 50 CCs per person, enough to exchange for half a year’s worth of HDMs required for training. Or several spells at the tier 4 level, or a single tier 5 spell. Or several tutor session accompanied by a Senior Magus at a Tower.

“Well, you kids excited?” Jun grinned at the gathered members of the Song Clan, then despondently realised that technically speaking, only Gwen was a Song.

“I am raring to go, Sir.” Richard's face was rosy with adrenaline. “Got any advice? This is my first Dungeon dive, after all, I don't want anyone to get hurt.”

“Not my first,” Petra said casually.

“It's my first time,” Gwen confessed nervously. "I hope it's not going to be unexpectedly painful."

Tao sniggered. Mina slapped him.

“We’ve been to one before but…” She shot Tao a dirty.

Tao shrivelled.

“Well, no worries! We got a TEAM now!” Gwen placed her hand between them. “Come on!”

Richard followed through instantly and placed his hand on top of Gwen's. Petra joined unwittingly, sighing, then Tao, and finally Mina.

“Team Cousins!” Gwen intoned as she waited to break the huddle. “Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. GLORY.... LASTS FOREVER!"

Besides the huddle, Mack-Daddy and Little-Dog looked on gloomily.

Usually, they would be hangers-on paired with Tao. But now, they became the replacement. Then again, even if they felt a little maligned, the two wouldn't dream of asking Gwen or Petra to leave. It was too bad that this Richard prick refused to go. That handsome bastard can fuck right off.

As it stands, they would have to resign themselves to a pick-up group, a far more painful prospect. But as Gwen had just declared, she digs guys with scars, so maybe it could be worthwhile?

Meanwhile, Gwen's innocuous huddle seemed to have instilled a little spirit into the group, marking them as a part of ‘Team Cousins', sharing a collective identity.

Mack-Daddy and Little-Dog assured Tao that they were alright, and to look out for himself, then left their friend to find a PUG. At worst, the could always tag behind Tao's party once they were in the dungeon.

Unlike Gwen’s group which consisted entirely of family members, the rest of the Junior Mages became a chaotic jumble of shouts and moving bodies.

“Healer! I need a healer here! We’re good to go!”

“Abjurer? Is anyone a tier 3 Abjurer and above? We have two Evokers and Transmuters!”

“I am a tier 3 Cleric! Looking for a strong group to protect me!”

“I am the inheriting disciple of the Jukong Clan! Tier 4 Evoker, tier 2 Transmutation!”

“Oh! Please join us! We’ll look after you!”

“Need someone who can buff! Willing to trade 10% of all CC gained for a member that can buff Flight, Bark Skin, and Absorb Element!”

The scene was giving Gwen flashbacks to something in her old world that she was sure she had seen before.

It took an hour or so for the two hundred or so junior Mages to arrange themselves into groups of five.

By then, Gwen and her party had already registered with Magus Xi, who commended their efficiency. When Xi took Gwen’s card to imprint on her data-slate, she met Gwen's hazel eyes and gave her a knowing look of ‘Oh, so you're the one’. The PLA Magus also seemed to know Petra, for the two shared a quick exchange involving places and names foreign to Gwen.

Thankfully, Mack-Daddy and Little-Dog had found a party willing to take them, especially as Mack Daddy was supposedly a skilled Abjurer.

There were about thirty or so ‘leftovers’ who were then assembled by the organisers by force into well-balanced groups.

For Gwen’s party, they had all their bases covered.

They had Abjurers, Damage Dealers, a Healer and a Support; it was an excellent composition.

Petra allowed the Void Bolt Spell Cube to dance across her fingers.

“How strong is this thing?” she asked.

“One hit kills a soldier class,” Gwen said seriously. “Beware the vital drain though, I have an affinity, but for you…”

“I know, that’s why we got Mina here, right?” Petra smirked as Mina puffed her cheeks indignantly. “Keep us topped up.”

“Of course,” Mina replied with an annoyed expression. “I am no slouch like Peaches.”

“What do I do?” Tao scratched his head.

“Use illusion to disrupt monsters' teamwork,” Richard replied helpfully. “First observe how Gwen and I fight, then try to match our cadence. Play distraction, use fear when you can, create illusory walls if we run into a swarm, use Mirror Image on us if we run into a bruiser, got it?”

Tao nodded, hoping to God he wouldn't panic and forget what to do when it mattered; he was, after all, an artist before he was a Combat Mage.

“What happens if one of us gets injured mortally?” Gwen asked Mina.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” Mina pointed out. “Why do you think we have these compositions?”

“Let’s say we do…”

“Then you become a burden,” Petra interjected coldly. “This is a trial, Gwen Song. It is not a place to have fun. If and when Mages die in a Dungeon, think of it as being weeded out.”

“Still, what of those young masters and mistresses out there?” Gwen pointed a thumb at the crowd still trying to sort out their complementary skills.

“Who would want a useless disciple who cannot even survive a tier 5 Dungeon?” Petra pointed out poignantly. “What a waste of air.”

“Okay,” Gwen replied, feeling annoyed with Petra's irksome air of superior confidence. “What if we get into a scuffle, or say friendly fire? Or let's say someone’s after us, or that we’re after someone else? Can we attack the other Mages, even in self-defence?”

“That is a matter for the elders,” Petra stated flatly. “We need only to fight and survive. Even if it means fighting the other Mages. The inside of a Dungeon is a free-for-all.”

“But…”

“Gwen.” Richard placed a hand on Gwen’s shoulders. “We’ll see what its like when we’re inside. You worry too much. I’ll protect us.”

“At any rate,” Mina interjected. “We all have contingency rings. Most of the clans have communal rings they lend out to disciples going out on potentially dangerous quests.”

“You do?” Gwen glanced at Mina’s hands. She had a full complement of rings.

“Mine teleports me back to the Wang Estate,” Mina said.

“I got one too,” Tao pointed out. "It's our dad's."

“I don’t have a ring, but-” Petra stated warmly. “My master has crafted me a Crystal Cube that has the same function.”

“Well, I am fucked,” Richard said disparagingly. He just had the one ring. The Storage Ring that Gwen gave him. “Guess I’ll just have to survive the old-fashioned way.”

The gathering turned to look at Gwen.

Gwen likewise, had a contingency ring, but she couldn’t tell them the truth; it was too absurd to recount.

How could she tell them that she was in possession of Gunther Shultz’s ring, one that allowed for single, live-saving teleportation virtually anywhere in the civilised world, taking her directly into an associated Tower? A ring contracted to guaranteed healing and protection from the powers that be? It made their localised contingency rings look like toys.

“It’s just you and me, Gwen.” Richard lied, kindly defusing Gwen's indecisive confession. “We gotta do it the hard way."

"Oh, yea-"

A thrum filled the air; the island beneath them shifted with a slight tremor.

The forest which had seemed so substantial and real only moments ago began to diffuse. A rolling fog poured from the woods, forming a smoky, swirling miasma.

“It’s here!” someone shouted jubilantly. “My CCs!”

“Be careful you don’t die a few hours into the Dungeon!” someone else quipped to the sound of jeering from his peers.

“You’ll protect me, right?” a female voice not far from Gwen announced adorably.

“Of course!” a masculine voice answered, causing a wave of disgusted groans to spread out amongst the young proteges.

Magister Paris' voice penetrated the din.

“Mages! You will enter the Dungeon in the order in which you registered. When I call out your number, proceed forward!”

"Guardians, we have portable habitats set up if you wish to remain on the island. Otherwise, you are free to return to your duties. We will contact you at first opportunity should an unforeseen circumstance arise. To reiterate, the Tower has Senior Mages on standby within the Dungeon should your wards desire assistance, likewise, allow me to stipulate that this will disqualify them from receiving half of all CCs attained.”

Paris watched the young Mages move into blocks of five, forming a line that led toward the fog, which even now was becoming as thick as a woollen blanket. Even from here, he could feel the leylines feeding the Dungeon.

“Contestants! Proceed! Move forward in an orderly fashion!”

Gwen felt her chest constrict as the groups began to move.

“Hold hands,” Petra suddenly announced as the fog loomed. “Sometimes, the spatial distortion of entering a different space can separate us. Stick close, but if you feel something pulling on you, let go.”

“Why let go?” Gwen inquired puzzlingly. “Wouldn’t it be better to try and stay as a group?”

“If you don’t let go, expect to bring someone’s arm with you,” Petra advised impatiently, wondering why her grand auntie had so much faith in two Frontier newbies who had never even been inside a low-tier Dungeon. Even if Gwen was a Void caster and this Richard was a Praetor from Prince’s, their inexperience with Dungeon Diving protocol made them liabilities. “Remember, the more violent the displacement, the further we’re likely to be taken apart from one another.”

“I got Flare spells,” Mina said helpfully. “Look for my glyph signature in the sky.”

“Assuming there’s a sky,” Petra added. “Though Paris did say it’s a marshland.”

“I’ll funk it up with some beats and a bitch’n projection so you can all come hollering!” Tao likewise volunteered.

Gwen couldn't help but imagine a twenty-foot projection of Tupac beckoning his teammates to join him, like that time they had resurrected the legendary rapper at Coachella.

"How likely are we to be separated?" Gwen inquired as they moved forward.

"Almost certainly, but the displacement ranges from a few metres to a kilometre at worst," Petra answered expertly. "More likely than not, at least two or three of us will stay together."

“Okay, here we go!” Richard felt the spatial suction of the fog-smothered entrance drawing him in. His voice quivered. His first Dungeon Dive, and it was with Gwen! Not only that, he could already begin to gather Contribution Credits. She was unquestionably his lucky star, his guiding north.

Gwen’s hand felt small and moist within his palm as the fog enveloped them.

He felt a sudden tug and a wrenching pain that shot up his forearm. The force that sought to separate them was immense!

Richard desired to hold on for dear life, but Petra’s contrary advice rang in his ears. He felt a moment of paralytic hesitation before Gwen made the call in his stead. Her dainty fingers squeezed his fleshy palm reassuringly, and then her hand was gone.

Gwen felt the expansive force of spatial distortion on her arm like a malevolent vice twisting her flesh and sinew. She held Richard's hand in her right and Petra's in her left and felt their fingers tense with sudden agony.

If what Petra had said was accurate and the Dungeon’s interior was more extensive than its exterior, shouldn't the spatial expansion affect their bodies as a whole? Why separate individuals? Then again, Gwen reminded herself- it wasn’t as though the magical forces of this world followed any of the rational laws of Terran physics. Here was a place of pocket dimensions and one man nuclear arsenals. A place where shark-rhinos swam through solid rock.

When the pain became unbearable, Gwen made a call. She let go of her companions and gave herself to the astral forces pulling her into the marsh-world of the Dungeon.

It was the right call to make.

Instantly the crippling pain of agonised sinews ceased. There was a strange sensation of inertia, despite the fact that Gwen knew perfectly well that she had remained stationary.

Her vision blurred, then with a loud 'whomp!' the surrounding air cleared. There was a sensation of falling, then a splash as she struck the ground.

Gwen landed on all fours into a briny pool of brackish plant matter padded thickly with silt. She felt a dash of the foul-smelling liquid splash against her chest, turning her sheer blouse into a full-bodied camouflage of matt mud. A portion of it caught her open mouth, and Gwen immediate felt sick to the core.

“Caliban!”

A roving mass of spider legs skittered out from the space between two planes. Caliban stood almost two meters tall in its spider form, its long legs efficiently traversing the muddy pool by stabbing into the soft earth with instinctual malice.

Wherever she may be, it was best to have a dozen pair of eyes to look out for danger. Gwen had yet to see Caliban, now tier 4, prove his mettle against a Magical Beast of equal power. But considering its sterling performance against the tier 5 Wanka, she was fully confident in its abilities. Ariel was too tiny to navigate the swamp without her expending mana, but Caliban’s leggy form was perfect for wading through the murky byways and billabongs.

“Shaa! Shaa!” Caliban promised to keep watch.

With a thought, Gwen materialised the Decanter of Endless Water.

She changed the setting to lukewarm, and poured the decanter over herself, washing away the mud and grime, clearing out the foul taste in her mouth. When enough of the odious smelling substance fell away, she replaced the flask and produced a pink-cube of inscribed crystal.

“Prestidigitation!”

Gwen felt the foulness of the marsh clearing from her body, her soiled hair joyous at receiving the much-needed benediction. Her face as well, her lashes and the little nooks and crannies of her ears, were cleansed of the intrusive, sticky muck.

In her hand, the light within the cube died. It would need another LDM to resume its function.

Gwen stowed the cube away and investigated her surroundings.

True to the words of Magister Paris, the terrain was a salt-marsh. The tepid, foul-smelling water reached up to her knees, making travelling on foot trying. As it stands, she no longer had her Water Walking tracker ring, which she had returned. Gunther’s gift did not have secondary effects paired with its austere primary function.

Gwen tried to orientate herself to no avail. In senior school, she, Elvia and Yue had failed orienteering.

Such regret! Gwen cursed her lost opportunity. Even with hindsight, she had made the same mistake as in her previous youth. One should always use every excuse in school to learn and improve one's mettle!

Her hazel eyes scanned the distance.

The horizon of the Dungeon was an uncertain grey smog, made indistinct by the steamy mass of swamp gas that rose from the marsh intermittently. Troves of trees, spartan and stripped of leaves, distended from the water like burnt, skeletal fingers.

Beside her, Caliban paced here and there, testing the murk ahead. Gwen watched the spider-thing hover its cephalothorax over the water, its legs moving with the fluidity of hydraulic pistons in mechanical motion.

She needed a portable way of moving through the marsh, and here was her answer.

“Caliban, come here,” Gwen commanded.

Caliban heeded her communication and lowered its body, offering her an obsidian leg to use as a stepping bracket.

Gwen pushed against Caliban’s leg joint, feeling the sockets of its limbs slightly depress as she climbed on top.

Thankfully, the netherworld spider's upper carapace consisted of smooth pearlescent plates, allowing her to gain purchase by straddling Caliban's frontal plating. As she swung her legs over, she could feel the pseudo organs pulsating inside Caliban’s body, a shadowy mockery of the form the Void-being had consumed.

Caliban then dug its legs into the marsh, moving in tandem by crossing its long spindly limbs asymmetrically. Behind them, Caliban’s tail, a barbed thing resembling a whip with a pointed spear, wagged happily as Gwen sent a mental command to giddy-up.

“Hi-ho! Caliban! Away!” she announced to the air, and Caliban skittered forward, it’s body kept in near perfect gyroscopic plane by its four pairs of legs. The shallow marsh proved no trouble for the hellish Lovecraftian nightmare.

“Alright,” Gwen commanded. “Let’s head toward the grove over there, and see if we can get a better vantage on our whereabouts!”

“Shaaa! Sha-"

Caliban stepped into an obfuscated snag beneath the brackish stream, and rider and beast both fell face first into the water.

Gwen closed her mouth tightly as she struck the surface.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Fei Lin expanded his Shield before falling into the mud.

It was just as well that the saline water held mostly moss and decayed vegetation and not sharp bits of jagged stone or sharpened branches.

“Camouflage!”

The junior Illusionist incanted right as the waters around him became displaced by the Shielding, causing a significant commotion that disrupted the tranquillity of the placid marsh.

Righting himself, Fei waited for the dark waters to return to calmness, then took in his surroundings.

He waited patiently for any curious creatures to visit the disturbance, watching out for other contestants who may have landed in the vicinity.

He was both relieved and disappointed after five minutes.

Okay, Fei told himself. Slow and steady.

He could keep the Camouflage spell up near-indefinitely, there was no need to rush. Facing anything head on was not the way of the Illusionist.

There was a grove of trees in the distance, and he could Spider Climb his way up to get a better lay of the land.

Fei waited a minute more, then moved.

* * *

Gwen nestled herself comfortably into the second digit of Caliban’s bulbous body, where two obsidian segments met, separated by a soft, purple tissue. She found that if she wedged her foot into one of the dangerous looking barbs, they served as stirrups that allowed her to balance as Caliban stomped titteringly on all eight legs.

Unfortunately, as much as Caliban attempted to maintain its centre of gravity, any velocity above a slight canter ensured that a wave of muddy-matter splashed over the two of them. After half a kilometre and another Prestidigitation, Gwen resigned herself to the reality of marsh tramping.

On Caliban's balanced back she produced the gear she'd saved from Singapore, purpose made for places like these. After a quick assurance of privacy from Caliban’s arachnid eyes, she stripped down and changed.

Gone were her cowgirl get up, replaced by a pair of water-proof trail shoes and the full-body nylon skin-suit. Her broad-brimmed hat was likewise stowed, for the sunlight in the swamp was sickly, and Gwen felt that she needed to watch for dangers both above and below. Her ponytail was tied and tied again, forming a tight knot that prevented too much refuse from catching in her hair.

She wondered how the others dealt with this. Were their clothes enchanted to repel dirt and water? Or perhaps they simply had means of walking across water.

Hmmph, Gwen pondered thoughtfully. In this watery world, Richard must be having a field day. She knocked her heels against Caliban's sides, and they were on their way. Gwen fantasised about firing off a few Flashbangs into the sky but decided against it. Lord knows what she could attract.

Thus engaged, master and scorpion-cum-spider rode through the swampy arena, splashing here and there as they made furious progress toward the tree-line of the elevated plateau.

When they came well within striking range of the grove, Gwen commanded Caliban to slow and watch for hostiles. As her Wildland survival skill was near non-existent, she had to trust that Caliban’s dozen or so eyes weren't just for decoration.

“Shaa!” Caliban moved gingerly toward the trees, then paused.

It waved its tail overhead, undulating its fleshy tip like a cobra’s head.

“SHAAA!”

Gwen felt a tiny sliver of vitality drain from her body, passing between herself and her familiar before inseminating itself into its obsidian interior and make its way toward Caliban’s tail.

A hooked barb shot out from the tail with a wet squelch, ejaculating itself across the span of six meters or so.

With a violent thunk, it embedded itself into a tree.

"GAAAAR! GARRR!"

A camouflaged form on the tree began to writhe and turn as the barbed hook injected its payload of corrosive energy.

The indistinct form fell from the branch wetly and struck the water, then Caliban began to reel in its tail.

* * *

HOLY SHIT A POSSESSED SPIDER!

Fei held his breath intact.

He had just skirted half the circumference of the grove when he heard splashes, then hid quickly by shimmying up a tree and making himself scarce.

What the fuck was a Possessed-arachnid doing here? Since when did they cross habitats into the marsh? Fei tried to recall the Demi-human bestiary classes.

Dark Elves were underground Demi-humans that lived in massive cavern complexes. They belonged to a class of Demi-human sprites that worshipped the Gods of the Dark, creating a dangerous religion that worshipped nefarious schemes and the doctrine of might makes right. The textbook had stated that when members of their society became condemned, they are forced to undergo a ritualistic form of torture that transmogrified the humanoid upper body onto the base of a giant spider, creating a new being that was a mindless engine of cruelty and malignancy.

The spider-worshipping dwellers of the dark typically settled in areas with extensive underground networks, such as Borneo, Mexico, or the northern Black Zones of South America. So what the hell was one doing here in Hengsha?

Had the creature perhaps wandered into some naturally forming wormhole, connected by swirls of mana caught in an underground ley-line?

Fei forced himself to calm his nerves, observing the creature with a less panicked mind as his elders had instructed him.

First, he counted the legs.

“…”

There were eight in total and a lashing tail. That didn’t make sense. Spiders had eight legs but no tail. Scorpions had eight legs, two pincers, and a sting.

What the hell is this thing then?! Was this a rare spawn or a failed experiment?

His eyes moved upward; there, the scenery was more delightful.

“…”

There was something familiar about the female torso that extended from the front which he couldn’t quite place. The feminine silhouette reminded him of that Lightning Conjurer who was quite the belle, but this thing was a far cry from the gorgeous, electric-eyed Sorceress who controlled the power of the heavens. Not to mention Lightning was antithetical to whatever this creature was, likely something Negative.

Then 'she', for undoubtedly the creature was female, began to move. Fei could see the generous swelling of her chest even from this distance, protected by some dark membrane half-covered by drying mud. The female's form had a serpentine waist that was pleasing to the eye, arching upward gracefully in her black, semi-gloss exterior until it reached the neck, where the complexion abruptly changed to that of a flawless paleness. Her face was likewise breathtaking, with bright hazel eyes, pink lips, and a well-sculpted mien of no discernible ethnicity. Curiously, the Possessed wore its hair in a bun.

Quite alluring, until one acknowledged what was below the waist.

Its torso was attached to a mess of carapace and mud, underneath which its eyes were just visible. More horrifically, where its hips joined the thorax, there was another mouth where a dozen mandibles flailed, dripping grey goo as it went about its business as though it had a mind separate to the one above.

Fei shuddered. He instinctively knew that a Possessed-Spider such as this loved to eat its prey alive.

Still, that upper body… Was it sapient?

The creature didn’t seem to be carrying any equipment as it stalked here and there.

Then it stopped just a few meters before the grove.

Fei almost shat himself. Did it see him? He was well camouflaged!

Then, unexpectedly, the tail moved to the fore and burst open with a wet clang, shooting forth a pink blur that shot into the trees, half a meter from where Fei had hidden.

There was a wet squelch that made Fei’s heart shudder; then he saw with horrific, gut-wrenching horror that a pink barb had penetrated the middle of what appeared to be an amphibious creature about the size of a large dog.

Unlike him, the thing possessed natural camouflage. With a wet thump, it fell from the tree writhing and struggling.

Fei felt bile rise in his throat as it was dragged kicking and screaming towards the Spider Fiend, who lifted it from the water with its retraction mechanism.

Its prey was a frog, a predatory-looking thing with chitinous horns over its balloon-like eyes, its skin bustling with pustules that dripped venom.

The tail offered it to the female head, but her face grimaced in disgust.

Then it happened.

It happened just as Fie thought it would.

The creature shoved the frog into its lower mouth, where a dozen pincers, claws began to strip it of its flesh while the frog cried out in despair.

That was when Fei’s greenhouse existence as a young master finally caught up with him.

It was too much.

He had held back as much as he could, but no more.

A stream of acrid stomach acid flowed from his lips.

* * *

“Who’s there!” Gwen immediately knew someone was watching her. Despite her failure at both spot and wilderness orienteering, she couldn't fail to spot a vomiting length of mangrove.

The choking and gagging sounds it made were undoubtedly familiar, for she had heard it many times before as a girl living in Forestville, where every Friday night up until two AM, the streets below their apartment was filled with the sound of NoMs purging the contents of their stomach.

Below her, Caliban flung away the foul tasting frog and skittered into the grove, parking itself directly under the shivering tree.

“Show yourself,” Gwen commanded, readying a Flashbang. “Who are you?”

A young man peeled himself from the tree and climbed down on all fours.

He had a soft, effeminate face that was womanly, an anorexic figure, and a head of hair worn at shoulder length. From a distance, it would be easy to mistake the silhouette for a skinny girl.

“You… can talk?” The young man visibly swallowed some of his ejecta. “Greetings, I am Fei Lin of the Huashan Clan of Lins.”

“Do you know a Frederick Lin?” Gwen was caught off guard by the young man’s impertinent challenge of her ability to speak, and so followed up with the next thought that came to mind.

“Fu Lei? He’s my cousin and fellow disciple,” Fei replied suspiciously.

“So, what are you doing here?” Gwen asked, dismounting from Caliban. “I am Gwen Song, by the way.”

Fei’s eyes bulged in the sockets of his skull.

Mao’s balls! How come she can detach her upper body? Fei’s jaws almost touched the floor.

Gwen watched the Illusionist shiver and shy away from her as she brushed off the caked mud and grime from the two odd kilometres of traversing the marshland. She realised after a moment what she must have resembled when the poor Mage began whimpering as she came closer.

“I am human!” Gwen pointed to her legs. “I am a Conjurer, and that’s my Familiar, Caliban.”

“Of course, whatever you say.” Fei nodded eagerly, inspecting her legs to see if they were perhaps illusory or Transmuted. They were nice legs.

“Look.” Gwen felt a little annoyed. “I think we have a misunderstanding.”

“No, no. I believe you.” Fei thought back to that flesh barb that fired from the lower body of the spider-thing. “You’re human, I know.”

“…”

“Have you seen anyone else around?” Gwen questioned the sceptical Mage.

“Just you and I,” Fei replied automatically, then realised that he’d made a terrible mistake. “No! I mean, there are others! Around here! Close! Close enough to hear me scream!”

Gwen sighed and hopped back onto Caliban, commanding it to scale one of the trees.

Without apparent effort, Caliban’s sword like limbs tore into the branches, sending down a shower of broken wood and loose leaves as it went.

Fei shuddered and tried to measure his chances of outpacing the spider.

He did not feel confident at all about his chances.

Meanwhile, Caliban perched itself comfortably across the branches of two trees, its spear-like limbs embedded into the soft wood.

From her new vantage point, Gwen could see a commotion in the distance.

A Sigil Flare she didn’t recognise could be seen hovering over the horizon, setting the swamp gas aflame in hues of carmine and lilac, indicating a combat engagement.

The other directions seemed to contain nothing, at least as far as her eyes could discern.

With a command from its master, Caliban hopped from the tree and landed below gracefully, using its long limbs to skitter from upper to lower branch while balancing Gwen on its back.

“Okay, there’s combat that way,” Gwen pointed out helpfully. “I am going to check it out, you coming?”

Fei’s indecision was visible on his face.

“Suit yourself.” Gwen turned from the junior Mage. If there was combat in the distance, it could very well involve one of her teammates. She didn’t have the time to waste on this idiotic Lin and his fantasies.

Fei watched the ‘Conjurer’ skitter off into the distance.

If there was going to be combat, wouldn’t it mean that potentially, his team could be a part of it too? If so, what would happen if the Spider-Conjurer barged in and assaulted them?

The young Illusionist scanned the empty skies.

Where were the Adjudicators? Were they watching somewhere? And if they were, would they just let this fiendish spider demon ravage its way through the swamp?

He looked toward his right, where the drained carcass of a frog the size of a hunting hound floated placidly on the surface of the dark water. Its skin was entirely shrivelled, as though the thing had been drained.

Life- drained.

Fei gritted his teeth.

“Water Walk!” he invoked a hidden item, then ran toward the direction Gwen had gone.

* * *

Caliban crushed another of the frogspawn creatures in its maw as it pistoned ahead with its sword-like legs, slicing through the marshland with the efficiency of a combine-harvester.

As they approached a waist-deep region covered with sedge, all manners of strange amphibian creatures began to flee from Caliban’s wrath.

The sedan sized spider was relentless. As it made swift locomotion with its eight hind-limbs, its two forward 'claws' stabbed downward with unerring accuracy, lifting from the water bits of fish, chunks of frog, and the occasional salamander.

All of which Caliban fed into its maw without a moment’s hesitation.

"Caliban! You glutton!" Gwen chided the nightmarish thing.

“Shaa! Shaaa!” Caliban cooed. It had never been out for so long before! It felt great!

As Caliban's thorax engorged, Gwen could feel a trickle of vitality feeding into her Astral Body, transforming into motes of Almudj's emerald mana.

Was this what it was like to feed upon Magical Creatures? Gwen wanted to experiment some more, perhaps with a mega-fauna of some kind. If she could fortify or replenish the life-force of the rainbow serpent as she pleased...

It was a vivifying sensation, as she'd just gulped a mouthful of Sufina's Golden Mead.

Was this perhaps, the true boon of Caliban’s cheat-like abilities? How long could she keep this up without sleeping, or rest?

Gwen was keen to find out.

It took her fifteen odd minutes to reach the thick miasma of indeterminate gas that surrounded an island plateau overgrown with thick, dark green vegetation.

“Shield!”

“Wall of Stone!”

“Firebolt!”

"True Strike!"

"Take that!"

'GARRRR!"

The commotions of combat within were plainly evident. Mixed in with the tumult of incantations were a cacophony of explosions, skittering stones, an occasional grunt, and the sound of something splashing violently.

“Caliban, stay close and stay low. Get ready.”

Gwen dismounted and proceeded on foot, stepping wetly onto the mossy mass of semi-solid bog. Caliban dug into the soft peat, following her discretely.

There was a clearing inside the grove, in the midst of which was a large tree much taller than the surrounding mangroves. Its extensive root system crawled across the moss floor, looking like serpentine sinews as they wound across the decaying carpet of vegetation.

At the foot of the tree was a mass of skeletons, most of which were amphibian, a few with the likeness of fish.

A group of young Mages were engaged in fighting what appeared to be a gargantuan, red, leathery bullfrog.

A Frog-man? Gwen wondered. Not quite. The creature did not feel terrestrial in origin.

The Xenos amphibian stood eight-foot-two when it reared up on its hind legs; its arms, elongated and sinuous, were armed with horrifically long claws. Its plated skin was a gleaming mess of red welts crisscrossed with festering boils. Its eyes were two amber dots gleaming with malice, utterly mad with glee that it had found prey.

As Gwen watched, a Firebolt fizzled against its skin. She realised that the creature must possess an innate Magic Resistance, for whatever the Mages threw at it seems to just slide off its thick hide.

By that same measure, the creature’s natural weapons seemed incapable of penetrating the stone fortifications the defender’s skilful Abjurer had set up. It's assault slid harmlessly across the stone Shields whenever it lashed out with alternatively howling frustration and hooting, gibbering joy.

Should she help? Gwen wondered. What was the etiquette? Unquestionably, they weren’t in any danger- maybe she should just enjoy the show, or even leave them be?

The party that fought the frog-thing consisted of five young men: one Abjurer, two Evokers, a Cleric, and another that Gwen couldn’t tell. From the fact that the Mage was throwing out harmless Magic Missiles, he was likely a Diviner.

She was just about to holler out and ask if they would like a hand when she spotted something moving atop the five-man party. There was another one of the creatures up in the foliage of the giant banyan tree!

"Ambush!” Gwen shouted. “Overhead!”

The Diviner immediately picked up on Gwen’s warning. He must have used a Mass Message, for when the hulking frog-thing dropped down violently, it was met halfway with a Stone Shield that sent it skittering away. Whether wilfully or by accident, it barrel-rolled toward Gwen.

“Thanks!” the Diviner shouted back, waving appreciatively.

Gwen waved back.

“Caliban, sta-”

She wasn’t even finished talking when the recovered murder-frog leapt from where it had previously landed and frog-rushed her with a single bound from its tree-trunk sized legs.

Its maw opened to reveal razor-sharp teeth as it cleared the space between them in a heartbeat. This creature did not subsist on insects.

Caliban! She willed her familiar.

She had been anticipating this since she arrived.

There was a first time for everything.

“Caliban,” Gwen intoned sweetly, feeling the excess vitality and a portion of mana drain from her body. “Onslaught!”

* * *

With a combination of Expeditious Retreat and Water Walking, Fei followed Gwen.

He had again hidden with Camouflage, observing how the girl interacted with the Mages she encountered. If she was hostile, he would delay the girl and warn the others. If she was friendly, maybe they could travel together for a short while and look for their mutual companions.

The desire to see her exquisite face and the fear of her nightmarish spider-thing fought for dominance inside Fei's head.

Sure, Gwen might be friendly, but the spider?

Fei wasn’t sure anything that terrifying could be friendly.

The negatively drained carcasses Gwen and her pet left littered in their wake sent Fei's breath to quicken.

How could the thing's presence be benign? Didn’t his tutor say that such abominations were antithetical to the existence of life? Weren't the Undead that haunted China’s northern border precisely the bane of their generation?

Wracked with indecision, he chose to watch in silence.

He felt his bosom tighten when the candy-red Demi-human frog turned its aggression towards Gwen. With a single bound it cleared the space and was almost within striking distance of her.

What would the Conjurer girl do?

Shield up?

Drain its life?

“SCREEEEEEEEeeeeeEEEE!!”

A soul-piercing wail penetrated Fei's eardrums like a dagger.

From behind the hazel-eyed sorceress, her scorpion familiar launched itself toward the frog, catching it midair.

“Shaaaa! Shaaaa! Screeee! SCREEE! SCREEEEEE!”

Fei Lin watched heart-in-mouth as the creature pinned the frog with its spear-like tail into the ground, penetrating its rubbery hide as readily as if its magic-resistant hide were wet paper.

Below, the hulking red frog returned the favour by swiping its claws across the scorpion's abdomen, taking out a good chunk of purple-pink flesh near its soft belly, causing a cascade of ichor to shower the frog in bruised blood.

Then the scorpion-sword-spider began to attack.

Or more accurately, it transformed into a meat grinder.

Its limbs blurred, becoming a howling gale of stabbing blades and slicing forearms. The frog croaked and barked, making a desperate pitch of guttural horror.

"SCREEE! SCREEE! SCREEEEEE!"

The upper portion of the frog's torso was flayed away within a second, revealing the thick white bones that made up its skeleton. Still, the frog incredulously lived on, seeking to fight or flight, but it was now too late.

Two sword-limbs pinned the frog’s arms into the ground, and then the scorpion-spider lifted its torso to reveal a second mouth.

THE FUCK?! A SECOND MOUTH?! Fei again felt bile rising in his throat. What, what the fuck is it going to- OH MAO!

A dozen writhing tentacles, each with a lamprey's mouth lined with razor sharp teeth, dug into the frog-creatures' exposed viscera and began to feed.

Fei vomited again.

* * *

Gwen didn’t know what she had expected.

She knew innately that empowering Caliban made him stronger, more resilient to magic and physical attacks, and most importantly, provided her familiar with a temporary Haste.

So when Caliban performed the full-monty in plain view of an adventuring party, Gwen realised that she had far underestimated Caliban’s Lovecraftian charisma.

The remaining red-skinned frog stopped attacking the party, turned one-eighty, and fled the scene.

The party couldn’t even be bothered giving chase. They just stared at Gwen as though they’d seen the loin-spawn of an Elder-horror devour a man-sized frog by vivisecting its top half and then eating it from the inside out while it writhed and begged for the sweet mercy of death.

That was no illusion! No! The party told themselves. That was real! It was FUCKING REAL. They could still smell the blood and guts of the frog-thing! The spider-thing was still licking its fucking chops as though it had finished an entree and was expecting more!

If so, what was the main? Were they the main?

The Abjurer shifted his position to stand in front of his party protectively, facing Gwen head-on.

Oh God, Gwen groaned, cursing herself for letting her conceit get to her head. She had been so eager to see Caliban in action that she’d allowed the situation to escalate without fully considering the ramifications of Caliban's impact on the general gallery.

“My name is Gwen Song! A member of the House of Song. My grandfather is a director of the MSS!” Gwen called out toward the team, hoping for the best. “This is my familiar! He's harmless! A cutie really, like a pony!”

“Shaaa!” Caliban helped out gleefully.

“Caliban, heel!” Gwen withdrew her mana and commanded Caliban to shirk backwards demurely. She couldn’t help but notice a white-purple scar where its wound had been, healed by the vital force Caliban had taken from the frog-thing.

“Stay your distance!” the Abjurer called out.

Gwen stepped back.

Startlingly, Caliban moved forward and nudged the corpse.

With its pincers, Caliban retrieved a jagged crystal the size of a fist. Within the core's uneven surface, a swirl of chaotic energies twisted and turned, glowing a dull shade of crimson.

Oh? Gwen felt her Kirin amulet glow warmly. A core already?

* * *

Hu Sheng and his teammates stared at the spider familiar's loot.

A creature core! Not just any core either. A dungeon beast core, a tier 4 core, a core of a beast that resisted low-level magic!

Instantly the atmosphere of fear and suspicion changed. The eyes of all within the party became bulbous with desire, their breaths quickening violently as they advanced.

Hu Sheng especially couldn’t believe his luck. They had been here for two hours! Just two hours out of three days, and they had already found a creature core?

It was unbelievable. It was like stumbling upon a HDM crystal outcrop! A core of this quality was worth at least 30 CCs, maybe more! More importantly, this was the core of a creature they had never seen before! Mao forbid! It could be something exceedingly rare. If so, could it be worth 50 CCs? More perhaps?

Hu Sheng eyed the sorceress.

She was uncommonly pretty, her skin pale and white, her limbs long and slender. That bodysuit especially left little to the imagination.

How was it that such a girl controlled a creature of such immense power? Knowing his Spellcraft theory, commanding something with the stature of this spider-beast surely had its drawbacks. A limited range, perhaps, or a limited manifestation duration.

In fact, looking at the girl now, Hu was sure he was right. The girl looked sickly, weak, like someone suffering from mana burn.

Well, it wasn’t as though he was going to let her have the core regardless.

As birds die for feed, so men will die for fortune.

Where the gorgeous girl seemed to him a Mage of impressive power a moment ago, all he could see now was a skinny Acolyte standing next to a spent spider-thing. Most importantly, Hu was in a well-formed, well-trained party, and the girl was alone.

What had she said? Hu passed on the message. Gwen Song of the House of Song, with a Colonel in the MSS?

Someone scoffed next to his ears. "So what?" Another teammate said mockingly. Were they not likewise well-connected sons of notable Patriarchs in high places? Not to mention the unspoken rule of a Dungeon is might makes right. How stupid was the girl to try to frighten them with her family connections? How green? This must be her first dive. Just look at the way she stood there pretty as a picture, yet to meet up with her party.

His teammate's affirmations cemented Hu's determination.

The monster core was theirs. The girl merely got lucky. They were the ones who had spent all that time fighting the Monster. They deserved it more than she did. She was just a kill-stealer.

Hu stepped up. He was the leader. He was the Abjurer.

“Look here,” he declared to Gwen. “That core belongs to us. That was our kill you stole.”

Gwen met the man’s gaze without so much as a twitch of her porcelain, impassive expression.

Fucking human nature. She thought to herself exasperatingly. Some things never change.

Gwen saw the Abjurer’s avarice coming a mile away.

She may not recognise decorum and etiquette, but she recognised a greedy fuck-wit when she saw one.

There was an old aphorism in her old world. In business, when profit exceeds the single-digit percentage, traders are willing to take inordinate risks. When the advantage exceeds double-digit figures, individuals are willing to flout the law. When the margin of profit surpasses even that, then financiers will voluntarily risk the market economy and the lives of others. Likewise, it was the old cynic, Niccolo Machiavelli, who pointed out that in general, men are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, and covetous. That as long as you succeed them, they are yours entirely: offering blood, property, life, and children. But when the need is distant; they turn against you.

A chilling surge of Divination-empowered dread tickled her spine.

Gwen didn't need supernatural-senses to instruct her of the dangers of egotistically driven action; she was far too old for haphazard hot-headedness, so instead, she took a second to consider the risk and reward.

Firstly, she could arguably score another core. There was, after all, another one of the creatures, if not more. Secondly, she would also have to fight the lot of them, which put her at an extreme disadvantage. Her Void spells were too costly for AOEs, and her Lightning did not fare well against Earthen Mages. She also had no idea who they were, or what their family connections were. Even if she gained face by crushing them in a pyrrhic victory, she wasn't profiting socially at all.

Conversely, her reward for victory was just a core, one she should be able to recreate even on her own. That and she gained a reputation for being a tough nut.

She would pay them back ten-fold in the future, if and when the opportunity presented itself. Revenge, as they say, was a dish best served cold.

Gwen made her choice.

She put up her hands and walked backwards, commanding Caliban to likewise back off, dropping the core at its feet.

The Abjurer proceeded until he was within the range of his cantrip, then retrieved it with a Mage Hand.

“Good girl.” He smiled at her, eyeing her figure appreciatively.

Gwen knew the look and felt no desire to linger.

She would find her team first, and then these fucks would know her wrath. She wasn't sure whether the Adjudicators would intervene, but she'd be damned if she let them leave the Dungeon in one piece.

Caliban picked her up with a swift motion and began to stalk away from the mossy plateau.

“Hey!” Hu began, wondering if he could get the girl to stay with them. The marsh was a lonely place, and the girl seemed pliant enough to listen. If nothing else, they could get a nice little spell-fodder happening.

There was a blur of Conjuration mana, then a white crystal shard crackling with energy dropped at his feet.

“The hell?” Hu lifted it with another Mage Hand. Was it a parting gift? A calling card?

* * *

Caliban was already over a hundred meters away when Gwen finally couldn’t hold it any longer and released the Flashbang crystal.

There was a distant thunderclap, and the sound of water and trees parting.

She commanded Caliban to move from a canter to a gallop.

* * *

Strangely, where Gwen had expected at least a token pursuit; there was none.

She moved in the opposite direction, no longer caring for the splashing of mud as Caliban roved across the landscape, devouring whatever unfortunate creature that crossed its path.

The occasional Magical Beast provided a moderate challenge, but Gwen controlled the expenditure of her vitality through ensnaring the salamander-like creatures with Dark Tentacles, following which made an easy meal for Caliban of the three-meter-long amphibians.

Though Gwen was no biologist, she noted that two predominate colours, scarlet and ultramarine, seemed to afflict the Magical Creatures of this region. Furthermore, it appeared that the offensive mainstay of the fauna was poison, which could explain the vivid hues, but Caliban, who wasn’t even in possession of organs, cared little for the toxic protein. Looking at the fetid salt-swamp and its grey-expanse, Gwen couldn’t help but wonder why the creatures were all so similar. Whatever happened to biodiversity?

By dusk, there was a noticeable increase in the activity of the alien amphibians. When at last Caliban finished a round of combat but failed to replenish the vitality it had spent, Gwen acknowledged that she had better find a place to put herself up. Despite being vitalised by Caliban’s harvest of flesh, her mana pool wasn't nearly as sustainable.

The fact that she had not seen anyone for the final hours of daylight furthermore stimulated her growing anxiety, causing to her to jump at every imaginary shadow. Didn't Petra say it was unlikely they would be separated for over a kilometre? Surely she'd travelled at least eight or ten at this stage. How bloody huge was this arena?

Furthermore, she was running short on light. Should she persist in traversing the marsh with a Daylight orb, she was likely to bring every curious creature across the Demi-plane of this strange dimension.

Out of curiosity, she tried her Message device, but without a link to the Divination Towers, it was incapable of operating beyond a limited distance. Perhaps one day, when she had mastered Divination, Gwen could offer herself as the team's communications relay. There was a reason, after all, why Diviners were essential to military operations.

In the distance, Gwen spotted yet another one of the peat-covered isles held together by a profusion of gangly mangroves. Caliban made swift progress as it waded up to its waist toward the island, dragging itself onto its banks, a slimy, crimson catfish caught in its maw.

Arriving at its centre, Gwen sent Caliban to scout the perimeter while she summoned Ariel to keep watch. The little marten jealously eyed the spider-thing as it stalked off, then dashed about here and there mischievously.

She materialised the Portable Habitat and slotted a HDM into its ‘battery’ compartment. With a thrum, the device initiated. When Gwen deposited the instrument a few feet distance away, a portal appeared atop the model of the little bungalow.

Gwen then channelled a good portion of her Lightning charged mana and began to manifest a Faithful Hound, an invisible guardian that would keep watch while she rested within the portal.

“Um… excuse me, Miss Song?”

Ariel zipped toward the source of the uninvited presence, becoming a white streak of furry lightning ready to visit terrible, paralytic reckoning.

“Ariel, down!”

Gwen recognised the voice.

“Fei?” Her brow furrowed.

Fei emerged from the Camouflage illusion, his clothes worse for wear for traversing for several hours in pursuit of Gwen.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” the effeminate-faced young man begged. “Do you think… I could borrow a bit of your Habitat’s space?”

Fei looked like he'd been through hell and high water, the very picture of pity. In the distance, Caliban came skittering, a scarecrow spider stalking on obsidian swords.

“I AM SORRY I FOLLOWED YOU!” Fei bowed deeply, offering the equivalent of a dog showing its belly. "Please help me!"

Gwen felt her irritation turn to compassion as the young man shivered in the light of the dying dusk. Not far from him, Caliban's dozen eyes glinted with the sickly light of the failing sun, capturing the stick-thin body of the young man within its beady orbs.

It was her call to make, but this one was easier.

“It’s fine, just don’t do it again.” She gave the poor Acolyte a reassuring pat on the head, her eyes scanning the dishevelled young Mage from head to toe. The young man was pungently odious after his marshland adventure.

She thought of the events of this morning, and a welcome realisation came to mind.

"Fei..." Gwen enquired sweetly, looking at the young man in a new light. "Did you distract those assholes from earlier?"

Fei's face flushed, stammering that he thought it best if they didn't follow her and that he'd left an illusion of her escaping in a perpendicular direction. In that moment, the quiet, unassuming young man reminded her a little of Percy.

“Say.” Gwen tapped her cheeks. “Do you know how to cook?”

* * *

Fei Lin rarely cooked, but as a non-inheriting disciple without a cadre of NoM servants, he had learned enough to make a tasty meal from simple ingredients.

When Gwen produced bottled sauces, pasta, frozen mince, bacon, mushroom and bread, he almost slipped off the kitchen stool.

How spacious was this girl’s Storage Ring?!

“Carbonara with mushroom and chicken,” she had commanded him.

Thankfully, the packet instructions were in Chinese. As the pasta boiled, Gwen queried Fei in regards to her earlier dilemma.

"So, not engaging them was the right choice?"

"Undoubtedly so," Fei replied, his hands carefully slicing and dicing. "I don't know who the others are, but the Abjurer is the inheriting son of the Clan of Xiao, a dynastic family. They're a millennia-old clan that's survived the transition of epochs and revolutions. Very much old money and old magic. If you had killed or maimed one of these guys, I honestly don't know what would have happened."

"What about the Adjudicators? Wouldn't they cut in?"

"Well, unless you intend to kidnap them or torture them, the modus of the Adjudicators are to 'not' intervene. Usually, for a Dungeon of this size, there'd be a dozen of them at most. I'd say that localised events like duels and robbery are expectant encounters in a Dungeon that they turn a blind eye. You can look at it another way; if someone dies, their job is to verify the conditions surrounding an Acolyte's death, not to save the individual."

"That's... brutal." Gwen tapped the table. Magister Paris had seemed so friendly in marketing the Dungeon as a grand adventure.

"This is my second Dungeon dive," Fei confessed. "During my first, I saw an entire team get swallowed up by a worm creature that they had foolishly challenged. When the Adjudicators put it down and opened up its stomach..."

"Food's boiling..." Gwen stopped him right there.

"Yeah well, you get the idea." Fei breathed out deeply, shaking the vision from his head. "One guy survived. The Abjurer."

"How do the Lins compare to say, the Xiao?" Gwen pivoted the topic, having no desire to know about half-digested teenagers.

"Shouldn't you know?" Fei added the packet sauce. "Our families know each other right? The Songs and the Lins are all new Houses that emerged after the Revolution in the 40s, coming to prominence in the decades since. The more ancient families all see us as upstarts."

"What about Mina's family, the Wangs?" Gwen inquired.

Fei regarded Gwen strangely.

"Her family is a mercantile family. No notable bloodlines, but they've been trading with tier 1 and Frontier cities for generations. I'd say if you were to put the wealthiest individuals in Shanghai into a list, a double-digit ranking for the Clan of Wang wouldn't be out of the question."

Gwen was coming to a better understanding of her cousins. Without rare bloodline magic, there was no real impetus to force Tao into becoming a magical tour de force. The patriarch of the Wangs probably felt his children were more useful as heirs in a more material sense of the world.

When they sat down to share the meal, Fei couldn’t help but satiate his curiosity with a few questions of his own.

“Are you really from a Frontier City?” Fei had found that particular knowledge the most surprising of all. Gwen appeared more akin to someone from a lineage, maybe one of the long-established Cults or perhaps the heiress of some archaic household. After all, she was in possession of Void and Lightning, Evocation and Conjuration.

Fei's mind felt in a tizzy.

Not to mention, who the hell casually carries a Portable Habitat? This thing costs a single HDM per activation, half the weekly wage of a low-level Fabricator Mage! They were also prohibitively expensive to own, the more rooms, the more exponentially so.

He watched Gwen engage the creamy pasta with the voracity of Caliban's 'Onslaught'. The girl was on her second serve. How could she eat so much? Where does it all go?

A spot of creamy sauce landed on Gwen's bosom. Unconsciously, she hastily retrieved it with a finger and fed it to her lips.

Fei pinched himself.

Do you want to die? He solicited himself, thinking of Caliban.

Naturally, he had to do the washing up and the cleaning.

He returned to the guest room and laid on his bed with eyes wide open, listening to the sound of Gwen showering in the communal bathroom.

Fei glared at the closed door of his room, his mind a jumble of intense desires and outlandish what ifs.

In the end, he chose life.

* * *

They set out at first light after Fei had made breakfast.

Gwen rode ahead as her temporary companion followed with Water Walking, keeping a safe distance from Caliban.

“Shaa!” Caliban stopped abruptly after an hour's travel.

Frustrated with the lack of progress yesterday, Gwen had tested an uncertain hypothesis. She first channelled mana into her Divination Sigil and allowed it to circulate her body. Then Gwen walked in different directions, using her 'intuition' as a human Divining Rod. When she had turned ‘southward’, she had felt a slight tingle.

What it meant, she had no idea, but the feeling implied that something 'dangerous' was bound to happen should she go this way.

It wasn't the tier 4 Divination, or even the tier 2 Augur, but was better than her blindly roving from plateau to plateau.

As such, following her ‘gut’ instinct, she led her compliant Illusionist lackey across the marsh.

It took only half an hour to confirm her theory.

A sizeable peat-bog plateau, bigger than any of the ones they'd seen before, loomed through the foggy swamp-gas. Surrounded by thickly built mangroves, its midst sprouted a tree that towered into the smoggy fog. From afar, the outcrop looked just like the one where they'd encountered the red frog-men, but on a much larger scale.

There was the sound of combat coming from within the emerald thicket.

Master, spider and lackey, rushed through rows of the stunted mangroves and watery bog-holes until they reached what appeared to be a battlefield. In the midst of the clearing was another enormous Banyan-like tree, though this one was far larger than the previous one, its height disappearing into the low clouds. Underneath this particular tree was a field of corpses both skeletal and decayed. Long tendrils hung from the branches, digging into the flesh of the dead, rooted across their bones.

Under its expansive branches, several Mages were engaged in a deadly contest with blue frog-men almost twice the size of the red ones Gwen had seen prior.

These were far more impressive than their crimson cousins, their hides formed into interlocking plates of thick skin that resembled plate mail. Rather than fingers tipped with claws, their massive barrel sized fists had twin protrusions which they wore like bladed gauntlets. To Gwen, the beasts resembled the mascots of that classic Nintendo game, the one with warrior toads.

Opposite the creatures and fighting desperately were four Mages, or more accurately- a singular Mage and three hangers-on. One of the Mages writhed on the floor, holding a gash in her gut. Another, a sorceress, sobbed paralytically over the first. The last one, a young man, was meditating desperately, trying to recover enough mana to continue the fight.

“That’s Yuan! one of my teammates!” Fei announced with agitation and worry. His eyes pleaded with her desperately. “Gwen, can we help them?”

It wasn't as if Gwen could say no. The final Mage that held the line of defence was a familiar sight.

Voluptuous lips parted to forewarn the new arrivals.

“Gwen! Go get help!” Petra’s Message bloomed next to her ear. “Don’t come near! I can hold them down for a while yet! Is there a healer nearby?”

There were three of the blue bastards wailing away on her crystalline Shield. Petra held a Spell Cube in one hand which glowed fiercely, maintaining the semi-dome barrier.

“Fei,” Gwen commanded the Illusionist. “That's your cue, see what you can do.”

Fei nodded and threw his hands into the air and made a gesture.

“Flare!”

A sigil escaped the mangroves and burst into a flare ten meters wide, glowing with the intensity of a small sun.

"I'll check the perimeter!" Fei announced. "What about you?"

"I got to help Petra," Gwen answered, her eyes taking on a blue glow as Lightning charged mana circulated her conduits. "It's going to be dangerous. If things go south, I won't be able to protect you. Go!"

Fei hesitated for a second, then made haste with Expeditious Retreat.

“Ariel!” Gwen materialised her marten. It instantly transformed into a mid-sized Mongoose bristling with electricity. “Take the one on the right.”

“EEEeee!”

“Caliban!” Gwen fed her Familiar a nauseating chunk of vitality, watching its purple flesh pulse and Caliban's carapace bristle as it became Hasted and empowered. “Take the one on the left. Onslaught!”

“Shaaa! Shaa!”

A dozen scenarios flashed through Gwen's analytic mind.

She bit her lips and incanted another Void spell, followed by another lightning charged Conjuration.

The brilliant blasts of manifesting Conjuration that came from her caught the attention of the frog-trio who’d been frustrated with dashing themselves senseless against Petra’s Crystalline Wall.

They turned to Gwen and bellowed, or more accurately, croaked with extreme prejudice.

“You idiot!” Petra howled. “We’ve been fighting these fucks since last night! They're magic resistant! RUN!”

But the creatures had locked on to the solitary sorceress who stood without an Abjurer to shield her.

As they leapt and bound toward Gwen, the frog-men split in three, demonstrating an intelligence capable of executing pack-tactics.

Gwen readied herself for a world of pain.

Ariel was the first to engage.

On Gwen's right, the marten fired off a blast of Lightning Needles that struck the unsuspecting, hulking frog in the face, sending it skittering into a howling madness. The mongoose then launched itself with a thunderclap toward its disorientated prey, transforming itself into a blur of crackling energy that bit, slashed, and mauled the creature mercilessly.

On the left, Caliban met the battle-toad tail first, piercing its carapace at the thigh and halting its movements instantly. The momentum of the giant creature, however, proved too much for either of the combatants. As the frog-thing struck out against Caliban, it tore out the ligaments of Caliban’s tail, sending the netherworld scorpioid into a furious fit of ferocity. The frog's careless assault, however, also crippled its leg, severing a torso-sized chunk of flesh from its thighs.

Monster and monster then fell upon one another and became a blur of tooth and nail, carapace and vivisected flesh.

The final creature made it within thirty feet of Gwen when it ran face first into a ball of hidden tentacles.

Tendrils of void-matter ate into the creature’s hide, ignoring its armour and lashing it into the ground, pinning it helplessly as the boundless hunger of the Void tore at its life-force.

With a grunt of supreme, supernatural force, the creature made it another two meters, using its magical resistance to negate the life-drain.

Unfortunately, it charged right into a blossom of hysterical, lightning-charged tentacles.

The combined force of the Lighting and the Dark Tentacles created a crisscrossed network of white-blue and tenebrous tendrils, lifting their victim bodily into the air. In a candid moment, the horrific and the comical came to astounding matrimony as two yin-yang octopi tugged an ogre-sized frog back and forth between them, helplessly suspended mid-air.

"..." Petra's blue eyes became brilliant with disbelief and amazement.

Gwen, however, had no time to enjoy the unexpected froggy-in-the-middle; she had a profitable hypothesis to prove.

To the dismay of her agog gallery, she began to run towards the centre frog, as if to engage it in melee combat.

“What the fuck are you doing!” Petra cried out. “Don’t be an idiot! It’ll gut you with one swipe!”

Gwen approached within melee distance of the floating terror-toad.

With a sudden burst of rapturous strength, the creature lunged for her, expending the last sliver of its life-force.

“Dimension Door!” Gwen disappeared and appeared behind the thing. Her tentacles retrieved the monstrous frog and held it within their suspended embrace.

“Blast Bolt!”

Once again, the boon of the Lightning Element showed its true wrath. An element gifted by the Gods to hunt monsters, the dozen or so bolts of electrical discharge ravaged the innards of the frog-beast and cooked it from inside out. Even near death, Gwen could feel the creature’s chaotic flesh trying to repel her magic, but by now it was too weak to sustain its repulsion.

As it expired, Gwen felt its ‘essence’ suffuse the Kirin amulet.

She then made for Caliban’s prey before her familiar consumed it entirely.

“What the fuck?! You stupid bychit!” Petra’s voice was more frustration than anger now. Having no more enemies to fight, she lowered her Crystalline Wall and watched her Spell-Cube disperse into mineral dust. She had to protect the wounded Mages, but she also wanted to make sure that her idiotic cousin didn’t get herself killed.

On Petra's left, Ariel was losing ground against the hulking blue frog. Its problem was that despite its absurd agility, it couldn’t inflict significant damage to the magic-resistant, armour plated creature. Meanwhile, even thrashing wildly without any attempt at strategic combat, the battle-toad managed to land a hit on Ariel, each time sending the mongoose through the air like a struck ball.

Inevitably, the monster scored a home run, and Ariel went skittering across the bog and into the mess of bones that decorated the tree's undergrowth.

The frog then leapt to intercept Gwen.

Petra growled. She'd promised her babulya to look after Gwen.

“Dimension Door!” She expended her life-saving crystal and appeared just behind the creature.

Her eyes blazed with the dull gold of channelled Enchantment.

“Hold Monster!”

The frog-spawn became instantly shackled to her mind. With a grunt of supreme effort, Petra forced the frog to kneel.

“FINISH IT!” she called out to Gwen. “It's fucking resistant! You got thirty seconds!”

"Dimension Door!"

Even as Caliban and the frog-beast traded wounds, Caliban’s pseudo-physiology meant that it cared not for any mortal injury. Meanwhile, suffering blood loss and evisceration, the battle-toad grew weaker and weaker until it became paralysed by its grievous wounds.

Gwen materialised from thin-air with a blast of electrical discharge and shot a Lightning Bolt right into the frog-beast's open maw, watching its eyes burst from the sockets.

Another warm trickle suffused the Kirin amulet.

She then turned to the final creature.

“HURRY!” Petra gritted her teeth. “It’s resistance is absurd!”

“Caliban! Ariel!”

Both of her pets closed on the held creature, a blur of tenebrous blades and whirling lightning. With a final Dimension Door, she zipped behind the thing and channelled the rest of her mana into Ariel's elementally charged fur, causing its face to explode outwards with a discharge of puss.

The Kirin amulet gorged upon the essence of the last frog.

“What the fuck was that?” Petra snarled at her. “Why would you try to melee these things yourself? Who the hell trained you?”

“You'll have to trust me.” Gwen put up her hands in a gesture of genuflection. “There's a very 'good' reason for it.”

Petra set her steely eyes upon her cousin; there was a moment of challenge that lingered in the air, but looking upon the carnage around them; her expression visibly softened.

"How are you feeling? That were a lot of spells," Petra inquired with exasperation. "Risky moves, Gwen."

"Ha, I-" Gwen stumbled where she stood, forcing Petra to brace her by the shoulder.

"I am not OOM yet." Gwen's face regained some of its colour. "I am just a little woozy from the drain's all."

A young man walked into the clearing.

"Who's that? An ally?" Petra pointed to the skinny Mage.

Fei's face became pale as printing paper as he surveyed the clearing.

He was beyond glad that Gwen didn't choose to fight the Xiao Clan disciple. If she had, it would have been a bloodbath. It wasn’t every day that one saw someone solo- almost solo- three-tier 4 Magical Creatures; even with a well-executed ambush.

“That's Fei Lin, from the House of Lin. He's a teammate of that Mage over there.” Gwen pointed to the survivors.

Yuan, the one who'd been trying to recover his mana, came jogging toward them.

The girls were still in shock, with the 'wounded' one continuing to moan.

The girl-Mage cradling her companion looked up toward Gwen desperately.

“Please! Please help Lily, she..."

"I got healing potions." Gwen materialised two injectors.

"No, she needs more than that." Petra sighed. "She's infected by a magical phage."

Holding Gwen by the arm, the group approached the wounded girl.

"You should forfeit," Petra said coldly after observing a red rash that was even now spreading across the girl's body.

"Please, if there's anything you can do," Lily's companion begged. She was an average looking girl with a forgettable face.

The wounded girl gasped and coughed up blood. The rash spread yet again. Now it was making its way down Lily's thighs. Gwen couldn't help notice that the welts looked curiously similar to the red-frogs' leathery complexion.

"Petra?" Gwen wondered why her cousin was staring so intently at the girl.

Petra materialised a Spell Cube.

"Restoration!"

Positive energy suffused the afflicted Lily. In a moment her breathing returned to normal, and her diseased skin ceased their advancement.

“You!” The shell-shocked companion turned to Petra angrily. “You said you didn’t have any healing!”

Petra glared at her with a frigid intensity.

Gwen read the situation and moved to intervene. Unfortunately, she was too weak and was instead forced onto one knee by her own unbidden, sudden movement.

“You bitch!” the Mage continued. “Lily could hav-“

‘SLAP!’

Petra backhanded the Mage across the face so hard that she spun.

“Petra!” Gwen’s parted lips could have swallowed an egg whole.

“Ungrateful scum,” Petra spat. “Get out of here, if you’re still here after ten minutes. I will end you.”

“…”

Gwen didn’t know what to say.

Was Petra in the wrong?

Hardly.

She saved their lives. She risked her life to defend them against those monsters. She had continued to do so when she could have escaped anytime. What gave these foolish children the privilege to question her motives? They owed Petra their lives.

The girl Mage picked herself up from the ground and began to sob.

Lily, now recovered and standing bowed deeply before Petra and apologised profusely.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Petra declared.

But the girls were too afraid to move. What if more of the frog things were waiting in the waters beyond?

Beside them, Fei conversed quietly with Yuan, watching the spectacle unfold.

After a minute, Caliban returned, having consumed the carcasses.

Gwen felt some of her vitality replenish and turned toward the stalking spider expectantly.

“Well?” She swallowed, crossing her fingers.

“Shaaa- Blurgh!”

Caliban vomited forth a mass of viscera.

Yuan turned and fled the scene. Fei was better, having become accustomed to Caliban after a day and a half of witnessing Caliban at his finest.

Petra fought down her bile and glowered at Gwen.

Lily, fainted dead away. The rude one with the swollen cheeks like a marshmallow turned and vomited through her nose.

Gwen reached into the steaming pile and picked out an object.

“Ta-da!”

She presented the bloody thing before Petra, whose irises contracted.

A creature core!

Hazel and grey-blue eyes met.

An understanding passed between two women of competence.

“I see.” Petra nodded. “I apologise. Good work.”

“Thanks,” Gwen affirmed Petra's acknowledgement.

Feeling her mana starting to hit fumes, Gwen called Ariel and Caliban toward her. Caliban's form was missing two of its limbs, with a third hanging limpidly, though her Familiar didn't seem to care at all. Ariel, on the other hand, was battered and bloody and in significant pain.

"EEEeee! Ee!" Gwen injected the marten with a healing potion, then unsummoned the both of them.

The Core disappeared into Gwen’s ring. She would trade it for CCs when they were out of the dungeon.

The survivors gathered up, and Gwen dissuaded Petra on her promise to murder the ungrateful Acolyte she had saved. She then produced blankets, the decanter, and an assortment of canned foodstuffs so that they could all partake in the joy of having survived an ugly encounter.

“Thank you.” The young Mages bowed toward Gwen, who gave them a big-sisterly vibe and gingerly accepted her offers of food, water, and cleansing. Gwen passed over a Mana injector to Petra, and the two girls stabbed the short-fire needles into their thighs.

As their spent reserved recovered, Petra took the opportunity to extract from her cowed victims the saviour's tax.

“Shield.”

“Fireball.”

“Mage Armour.”

“Haste.”

“Flame Skin.”

“…”

The Enchanter crafted a dozen Cubes, one every few minutes, as they rested.

From Gwen, Petra extracted an assortment of Lightning spells, as Gwen was now too weak to sustain more Void Magic than necessary.

“Thank God you’ve got Dimension Door.” Petra waited until Gwen recovered then made another two copies.

“Have you seen the others?” Gwen had to inject another Mana potion, burning her alchemical cooldowns for the next twelve hours.

“No, and for a good reason. We need to stay here.” Petra leaned in close to Gwen’s ear, where she could feel her soft breath on her lobes. “There’s a boon for us up on that tree. I’ve been eyeing it, but now that you’re here, we can do it. To avoid complication, we need to do this as soon as possible.”

“Oh?” Gwen felt Petra’s lips brush her earlobes. It was ticklish.

"We need privacy if we want to hold on to our prize," Petra whispered into Gwen's ear. “We need these hangers-on to fuck off.”

Gwen may have had experience fighting Monsters and duelling Mages, but she had never been in a situation where she had to tell a peer to ‘fuck off’ and ‘survive the wolf-infested woods on your own’.

When Gwen neither affirmed nor rejected her recommendation, Petra's expression became stiff and displeased. The rapport that Gwen’s immense skill had inspired felt more distant.

“Are you recovered?” Petra moved from the intimacy they had momentarily shared.

Gwen examined her condition with a quick meditation.

Her health was manageable. Caliban had replenished a significant portion of it, though a jolt of positive energy would do well in mending her fatigue. Her mana pool had been topped up by the injectors as well, so she was ready for action, though far from peak performance.

“Yeah, I am good to go.”

* * *

Not far from Gwen and Petra, Fei sat with Yuan, watching the two girls recover their mana.

The dual-element sorceress had a sickly beauty about her that made one’s heart sore, while the Mineral Mage, Petra, possessed a frigid kind of beauty that fascinated the observer.

“There is fruit up there,” Yuan announced quietly to his companion, then hissed. “Don’t look up!”

Fei forced himself to remain unaffected.

“Do you think anyone saw your sigil?”

“We didn’t see anyone on our way here,” Fei said quietly. “It was just Gwen and me.”

“Shit,” Yuan looked over at the two girls, Lily and Wenshi. They were cowed by Petra and would be of no use in an insurrection. “Well, there’s a pod of ‘something’ up there, so unless we can fight those girls off, we’ll be looking at kissing 20 to 50 CCs goodbye.”

“Can’t fight Gwen!” Fei shook his head. “If you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you wouldn't even dream of it.”

Yuan glanced again at the leggy girl. Gwen was now upright, resting her weight on her back foot with one hand arched over her hip and her swan's neck looking upward. Her dancer’s figure was well accentuated by her skin-suit. Beside her, the Mineral Mage wore a skirt that just covered her dark shorts, giving her the impression of one dangerously flaunting her toned, white legs.

The Evoker swallowed.

"Listen," Yuan gripped his friend's arm tightly, afraid that the enthralled Illusionist might turn on him. "I have a way of contacting a Diviner I know..."

* * *

A discrete distance away from their unwelcome companions, Gwen and Petra were ready to proceed. Petra pointed out that Caliban was probably their best bet in scaling the tree. Gwen summoned the spider horror once again, commanding it to take on the form of the spider.

When Caliban emerged once more from the veil between two worlds, Gwen couldn’t help but notice that its limbs were regenerated.

She measured the exactitude of her summoning and acknowledged that Caliban’s most recent emergence had cost her a little more vitality than she was used to, though still within range of Almudj's buffer.

Gwen considered the implications and kept the factoid close to her chest. It seemed that if she was willing to pay vitality, she could dispel and summon Caliban back into the world with a fresh body.

Caliban was, after all, a shapeless thing of the hungering dark, a denizen of the Void. It was her contract that gave Caliban its fair proportion and sent it ambling into the material world.

Gwen straddled the first segment of Caliban’s thorax, while Petra took up near the tail, entirely at ease with the eldritch appearance of the aberrant arachnid.

“You’re not disgusted by Caliban?” Gwen asked Petra curiously as they made slow progress up the trunk of the skyward tree.

Petra balanced herself on Caliban’s body as well as she could, shifting her weight as it stabbed its bladed limbs into the timber.

“It's beautiful.” To Gwen’s surprise, Petra patted Caliban’s tail, which wagged here and there excitedly. “I’d love to have a powerhouse Familiar like this one. Who’d think that it could near-solo a Blue Gila?”

“A what?” Gwen noticed that her 'Comprehend Language' Ioun Stone couldn’t quite translate the last part of Petra’s speech.

“A Gila,” Petra repeated.

“The bestiary we have in the Frontier is very limited,” Gwen added helpfully, though Petra didn’t seem to mind having to explain.

“The Gila is a race of creatures that roam the space between planes, drifting from the Astral into the Material. No one knows where they are from, only that they are creatures of chaos. The weakest ones are the Reds, who are cunning like goblins but about as strong as a Soldier-class Magical Beast, and the blue ones we fought are a little stronger. They can get pretty huge, with the den mother reaching six or seven meters and approaching the risk level of a Gargantuan. There's also rumours of emerald Gilas, that can use Magic like a Mage.”

Petra paused.

"That red rash? That's a phage that turns the victim into a Gila."

"That's...horrible!" Gwen was starting to understand why the 'friend' was so desperate.

Petra said nothing else. Instead, she pointed upward.

Gwen tilted her head and spotted their prize.

A pod about the size of a man hung from the top branch.

It resembled a jackfruit, or a durian, giving off a scent that suggested the fruit was ripe for the picking. Its aroma was otherworldly, a cornucopia of flavours.

Gwen thought of the piles of animal carcasses laid out as nutrients for the tree’s roots. Had the Gila creatures been feeding the trees, awaiting this day? Or was it that something else was the tree’s caretaker.

“Do you think the tree has a guardian?” Gwen asked Petra, whose eyes were likewise focused intently on the fruit.

“Most certainly,” Petra said to her. “That’s why we left bait below.”

“Bait-“

Gwen’s eyes widened. No wonder Petra was so compliant in leaving the others alone.

“Petra, no!”

“Did I not tell you we should have dispersed them?” Petra studied Gwen with her critical, calculating eyes. “They’re not your allies, Cousin. They’re our competitors. Did you know that before you arrived, that Yuan fellow was the one chased by the Blue Gila? That he chained their aggression toward me? Had I been a lesser Mage, I would have died down there, and he would have fled.”

Gwen grated her teeth. Well, now she understood that.

But it wasn’t just Yuan down there. There were the girls as well, not to mention Fei, who had done a bang-up job cooking and cleaning after her. She still owed him one for diverting the Mages from the house of Xiao.

Gwen glanced downward, but they were now too far up the canopy.

The height of the tree was physically implausible. Gwen was sure that Caliban had been making slow but steady progress for at least ten minutes. Even going at their snail's pace, it put the tree at about 250-300 meters. In fact, from the marshland, the tree seemed barely over 30. The Eiffel Tower was 300 meters, the tallest tree in Gwen's world was Hyperion, which stood at 115. So what the hell was this thing supposed to be? Saturn?

Then again, Gwen reminded herself. Expect the unexpected. Rhino-sharks swam through solid rock.

But none of that helped Gwen now.

“At any rate,” Petra observed the fruit. “The objective is ours. That's what matters.”

Petra then produced the Spell Cube with Gwen’s Void Bolt.

“I’ve been saving this,” She allowed the cube to levitate into the air before activating it with a flourish. The Void energy escaped the confines of the crystalline encasement and interfaced with Petra’s Astral Body, reshaping its incantatory Sigil to fall under her beck and call. As the Void Bolt manifested itself, Petra let loose a low, breathless moan.

“The feedback is stronger than I anticipated.” Petra met Gwen’s eyes with her bright irises, her face pale with exertion. “So that’s what its like. To think you suffer this every time. You've got some grit. I'll give you that.”

“Petra…” Gwen’s mind remained upon the people below, specifically, the innocent Fei, who had followed her into certain doom.

“It’s falling! Catch it!” Petra commanded Gwen. “Use your Storage Ring!”

Gwen snapped back to reality and saw the black bolt of Void matter slice clean through the stem of the jackfruit, sending it to free-fall towards them.

A burst of aroma erupted from the fruit, a sickly-sweet scent that clouded the senses with a sense of odious delirium. Gwen reached out with one hand and tried to calculate the trajectory of the falling fruit.

She waited until it was almost overhead, then commanded her Storage Ring to work its spatial magic.

It was just as well that she had a stacked mana pool. Lesser Mages with a ring of equal spatial generosity would not have been able to 'catch' an item of such size and volume so effortlessly, at least not without exceeding their magical limitations.

With a sound of suddenly displaced air, the fruit disappeared.

“Quick!” Petra directed spider and master. “We need to stow it immediately. Get Caliban to set us down on that branch!”

Gwen shifted her spider Familiar until they alighted upon the broad-branch Petra had pointed out.

“Shape Wood!”

Petra burned a utility cube and flattened the branch into a square platform that comfortably held the both of them.

“Quick, the fruit!”

Gwen materialised the fruit. It resembled a durian even more upon closer inspection.

Petra materialised a dagger in one hand and stabbed into the bulbous, spiky exterior of the durian. The blade penetrated easily into its surface, where Petra worked the edge until it reached the shell's nadir. She then dug her fingers into the open fold and pulled, splitting the giant durian in twain.

If the scent from earlier had been intense, it was now so thick that Gwen felt as though she was already tasting and eating the fruit. Like the durian of her old world, it was deliciously foul, the scent so potent and offensive as to set their eyes to water.

Petra dug into the white membranes and pulled out a piece of flesh that resembled a block of wobbly cream-coloured jade with the clarity of cloudy sap.

“We eat first!” she ordered Gwen. “I can only seal so many so quickly. These are most potent when eaten fresh.”

“Doesn’t our Storage Rings have stasis?” Gwen inquired carefully, wondering why Petra was so agitated with the need for haste.

“Only for mundane produce.” Petra dragged out a piece of flesh and flash froze it in a Crystalline Cube. “Alchemists and professional herbalists have especially enchanted storage rings and stasis boxes. As for this specific fruit, I read about it in the university’s Dungeon archives. Unless I am wrong, this is a Fructum Vitae or something like it. From the moment it is removed from the mother tree, we have a limited window to either consume it or stow it.”

“What happen-“

“Shut up and eat!”

Gwen flinched. She obediently took up the white flesh and placed it in her mouth. Instantly, where Gwen bit into the flesh, the peachy fibres melted into a creamy stream of indescribable flavour that cascaded down her throat and permeated her torso warmly. Visibly, her hair grew longer, and she felt her nails extend a little.

“Oh, my.” Gwen couldn't help but let out a slight moan. Within her body, motes of Almudj’s mana began to glow magnificently with renewal and vitality, as though each of them were little seeds that had just tasted the spring rain.

She reached out for another slice.

“No!” Petra slapped her hand away, then returned to her meditation. “You’ll explode!”

“I can handle it,” Gwen insisted. She wasn’t about to let an opportunity to restore or empower Almudj’s mana pass her by. The more of the serpent’s life-force Gwen nurtured, the more likely she was capable of surviving higher tiers of the Void’s volatile feedback. Who knows, if she gathered enough of the vital force, maybe she could reconnect with Almudj, awaken it from slumber, even.

Not to mention, she still owed the Rainbow mythic her life.

Gwen admitted there was selfishness involved as well, a lingering, wish-fulfilling fantasy that maybe, just maybe, if she were ever again in a pinch, there would be a mythical serpent dropping down from the heavens to save her.

“Fine. If you wish to be the python that thought it could swallow an elephant, be my guest.” Petra turned away and focused on her work. She had finished her piece and was now creating crystalline cubes that preserved the fleshy matter of the fruit.

"You don't say." Gwen thought of the scene in which Almudj had swallowed the dark sun and smiled secretly to herself. Her foreboding Divination was buzzing like a saw, but one couldn't retrieve a tiger’s cub without entering a tiger’s den.

The second piece went down her throat like a bag of razors, forcing Gwen to kneel over in a fit of agony. The vital force that permeated her body seemed to stretch every inch of her physical form, feeling as though someone had forcible inflated her lungs until she was on the verge of bursting. Beside Gwen, Petra had finished her third cube. She was about to begin on the fourth when Gwen’s moanful utterance became such that she could no longer ignore it.

“Lesser Restoration!” Petra expanded yet another one of her limited supply of utility cubes, cursing her cousin’s hubris as she did so.

Gwen meanwhile, had been bearing her baptism like a woman dunked in smouldering lime when unexpectedly, a cold wave of restorative energy repaired her pain-wracked body and restored her mind to clarity.

Almudj's essence activated at once and hungrily lapped up the primal vitality.

Gradually, the pent-up pressure of raging effervescence within her body deflated. Though she had to wipe away a handful of blood from below her nose, Gwen felt the green motes of Almudj's mana proliferate and multiply.

Dared she risk a third?

“You’re insane. It’s too reckless!” Petra snapped, watching her cousin gazing forlornly at the white-jade flesh. “Gwen, don’t be an idiot. I don’t have another Lesser Restoration.”

It was enough, Gwen acknowledged Petra’s best advice. Her premonition had fired up as soon as she touched the third piece, indicating a significant life-or-death trial ahead. As unpredictable as her Divination was, it warned her of impending crisis and had yet to be proven entirely wrong.

Petra finished off her sixth cube.

“Okay, we need to go,” she announced abruptly, abandoning the pile of lychee-flesh spilling from the oversized durian. “NOW. The flesh is about to turn.”

The two girls quickly mounted Caliban, who began to make headway below.

Above them, a sudden change came over the juicy flesh. Where the fruit had radiated positive energy, the crystal-jelly tissue abruptly turned necrotic with negative malignancy. The wooden platform instantly shrivelled to a withering skeleton, the branch becoming blackened and rotten as though it had perished decades ago.

The necrotic web spread rapidly over a dozen or so meters, consuming everything within the radius of its malevolent pulse of negative energy.

The tree itself seemed to lose all vitality, and a shower of leaves began to surrender to the uncertain space below, falling over the girls and catching in their hair and on Caliban's nooks and crannies.

“Good God!” Gwen observed as they descended, making it just past the range of the enervating blast, awed by the magnitude of the discharge.

“Duality in all things,” Petra parroted their babulya. “Where there is life, there is death. That is the reason we had to hurry.”

Speaking of death, Gwen’s thoughts flittered toward those they had abandoned below. Were they still okay?

* * *

To Gwen’s immense relief, no guardian had made its presence known thus far. The young men and women were as they had left them.

But to her spine-tingling, scalp-numbing distress, they were ambushed.

“Hail!” The Abjurer from the Clan of Xiao appeared from behind the gargantuan tree as Gwen and Petra descended on Caliban.

His team was spread out strategically in a semi-circle, presumably within the range of his Shielding abilities. The two girls stood to one side, an impassive gallery, with Fei and Yuan occupying the adjacent space.

Fei looked to have been roughed up, his shirt torn and his face swollen on one side. The Mage Yuan, however, had a smug expression that Gwen knew all too well.

Petra shot Gwen an ‘I told you so’, watching Gwen lower her eyes darkly as her face turned hard as stones.

Gwen considered her present condition. Her mana was almost full, her vitality brimming. Would it have helped if they had chased them away? It was hard to say; she would have had to forcibly compel their competitors into forfeiting their Dungeon dive to prevent their present circumstances.

But there was no use crying over spilt milk now. There was no helping these fools. Gwen gnashed her teeth bitterly. Even if she had to burn herself down to the last inch of the wick, she would make sure these fucks knew the cost of messing with her not once, but twice.

“What a pair you make, are you sisters?”

It was true that some Asians were face-blind when it came to Westerners. To the Abjurer, the pair of stunning European beauties, both similar in height and stature, must seem related, especially when taking their cooperation into account. In his world, the rapport of Clan and House was paramount and privileged. Not even four decades of social conditioning from the Communist government could change that.

“Anyway.” the Abjurer rubbed his jaws. “You may call me Xiao Huyi, or Young Master Huyi, if you would be so inclined, of the Hubei Clan of Xiao. These are my companions: Lei, Jingwen, Fuhui, and Pan, fellow disciples in all, and all Xiao by name.”

“From my understanding, you are Gwen Song, and you, my dear.” Huyi turned his eyes on Petra. “You’re the prodigy from Fudan, right? The Mineral Enchanter? I’ve heard of you. My brother's a Second Year at Fudan too.”

“And what does Young Master Xiao want from a commoner like me?” Petra stepped in front of Gwen protectively; her posture was aggressively alluring. She was the kind of girl whose anger made men's hearts flutter.

“A commoner? Hardly! You’re Magister Wen’s belle of the ball! Her darling protege, and who could fault that?” Huyi’s discriminating eyes did not suggest to Gwen that he was privileging Petra’s magical talents. "If the two of you are willing to forfeit your acquisitions, I wouldn't mind sparing the two of you some CCs by the Dungeon's end. You get to keep 'face', and we get to part ways on friendly terms."

“Shut your mouth,” Petra stated coldly. “Your stinking breath turns my stomach.”

“Why make it harder on yourself?” Huyi tried to mask the simmering rage boiling beneath his amiable exterior, but it was self-evident that the man’s Chestershire smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Had your Master not taught you to partake the offer of respect than force down the bitter cup? Or is that too philosophical for you foreign ghosts?"

“You're walking a dangerous path,” Gwen interjected suddenly; her eyes grew blue with electricity as she revved up a mighty Flashbang. The fuckers more than likely had no idea she could manifest the disorientating spell as both Conjuration and Evocation. If they were going to fight, she would have the first strike. There was no point letting the assholes jack off their egos.

A chilling breeze took the tepid warmth from the area.

In the next second, it began to rain.

Not a drizzle, but a misty shower that cascaded over the peat bog.

Motes of water sizzled as they splashed against Gwen’s skin-suit, sending azure discharges of static to arc from her body.

“Well, the first item on the agenda, how about sharing some of that fruit-” Huyi began.

“Flashban-”

“Dispel Magic!”

In a split second, the mana she'd used rushed back into her own body. The feedback felt like a mallet to the side of her head.

A counterspell?! Even Alesia had said that the ability to counter a spell as it manifested was a rare occurrence. Affinity, experience, talent, and split-second judgement, all of the above was needed for an Abjurer to engage in the most potent of all duelling skills - the answer to all offensive casting - the ability to disrupt damage before it even became a thing.

“Ha!” Huyi mocked Gwen as her face paled. It was a lucky strike. The Yuan fellow had told him of the Lightning sorceress' signature spell at the bout against Frederick Lin.

“Shit!” Petra immediately made the call and activated her Crystalline Shell, a modified form of Stone Wall utilising her affinity with Minerals. The sheltering shielding moulded itself around Caliban as well, protecting the Void spider as it began a retreat.

“Gwen, take us up!”

Though Gwen felt drunk with disorientation, her decree was sufficient to will Caliban into a rapid ascent. Petra likewise, hung from a wayward limb. Swiftly, Caliban began to crawl back up the tree.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Huyi materialised what appeared to be a bamboo scroll from his storage ring. “Cover me!”

“Fireball!”

“Shatter!”

“Bless!”

“Scorching Ray!”

Their opponents consisted of two Evokers, both Fire, an Air Transmuter, and a Diviner. The Diviner stayed at the back, scanning their surroundings suspiciously.

A blanket fire of spells washed over Petra’s crystalline Shielding, blinding the pair and sending the tree to shudder and shake from the explosions, furthermore triggering a violent shower of leaves that fell about them like an emerald waterfall.

A section of the tree caught fire, further making Caliban's purchase more precarious.

Below the girls, Huyi sent an incantation of activation into the bamboo scroll, causing it to illuminate with the diffusive white glow of un-elementally afflicted Abjuration.

“Nine-Jia-Zhi-YI Seal!” The translation Ioun Stone was utterly incapable of keeping up with the Daoist incantations, spamming Gwen with gobbledygook gibberish.

Caliban’s upward retreat suddenly froze, followed by a loud ‘Whomp!’ as his physical manifestation in the material world imploded.

“Petr-”

Gwen suddenly stepped into thin air, her legs straddling nothing. She fell about half a meter before landing on the bottom of Petra’s crystalline wall. Petra too dropped the same distance and landed beside Gwen, though with more grace and control. With a gesture, Petra willed a crystalline partition to bite into the trunk of the tree, violently digging into the timber.

“Ariel!”

The marten, now significantly restored, appeared next to Gwen.

When Gwen tried to summon Caliban again, she found the netherworld creature was absent from its pocket dimension. Where had it gone?

“I’ll prepare a few Conjured Flashbangs, then open up with a Void Blast,” Gwen shouted under the ding of spells pinging off Petra’s Shielding.

“No,” Petra stopped her. “Too risky.”

“What do you suggest?”

Petra reinforced her Shielding. The supreme advantage of Mineral Mages lay in their walls, barriers and shields, which possessed high efficacy against both physical and elemental damage.

“We break through the middle. Here’s the play. We Dimension Door first: me, right; you, left. Then, we DD pincer where they least expect it. We go for their leader. With both of our Lightning bursts at close range, we should be able to stun the fucker at least. As soon as we’re both in range, you encase us with a Void Shield, and I'll Hold Monster the prick. With Xiao as our hostage. We can force the others to forfeit.”

Gwen’s heart pounded in her seated ribs.

“Okay.” she nodded affirmatively, trusting her cousin to be the more experienced tactician.

“Gwen.” Petra held Gwen’s wrist.

“Petra?”

"No more mercy."

Gwen felt her lips parch as she met Petra’s eyes, two crystallines, pale blue orbs surrounding the loci of her dark pupils. She fought down the screaming compunction inside her head. Voices of the past, both recent and distant, echoed across the churning conscience of her mind-scape. Gunther's lesson reared its head like Almudj's rainbow from the mindscape of her memory.

“Did you think this was going to end amicably?”

"They were dead the moment you appeared in their lives!”

"DO IT!”

Petra's barrier rocked. Fissures abound, turning the transparent crystal opaque with refracted light, illuminating their faces with brillant shards of geometric ochre.

“Right,” Gwen affirmed her cousin’s sentiments. “No more mercy.”

With a suppressed groan, Gwen allowed the Void to fill her mana channels, feeling Almudj's vital force fighting to keep her body intact. Her electric-hazel eyes dimmed until they became two swirling orbs of consuming darkness.

Beside her, Petra's own eyes lost their colour and became two crystal pools of water, so pale there was a barely a hint of blue.

"Crystal Skin"

“Void Skin.”

A thick membrane of bark-like texture covered Gwen’s body, encasing her in midnight.

Petra became encased in scintillating crystal.

They were ready.

Gwen took a deep breath. She wasn't at all confident that she could control the burst of the Void matter when her DD manifested, but that would be no one's fault but Huyi's own.

Perhaps she should effect a suitable warcry? The situation seemed ripe and ready for a good rallying.

"Arrrrgh!"

"Shit!"

"FUCK! THERE'S SOMETHIN-"

"SH-"

The assault upon their Shield ceased.

What the hell was that? The girls met one another's eyes.

"A trick?" Gwen turned to Petra.

"Fuck if I know." Petra shook her head. "Hold the DD just in case."

It was absolute foolishness for their opponents to stop their attack now. Gwen was the kind of Mage who could quickly turn the tables if one was negligent in a sustained offence.

Paranoid, the girls waited another minute, suspended upon the tree trunk where the crystalline structure had bit into the wood. They awaited the moment when the final spell hit, and in that split second, they would set upon their foes as two tigresses unleashed.

* * *

Yuan had never thought that he would be in a position where death was preferable. His first minute trapped within the watery sleeve had brought a significant time for philosophical contemplation as eighteen years of life flashed before his eyes.

Then his breath was spent.

The next ten seconds passed like years.

Just when he’d thought his life was forfeit, a bubble of sweet air met his lips.

But half a minute later, he was out of breath again. The feeling of impending asphyxiation was like a dagger stabbing into his brain, demanding exorcism so that his gnashed organs could find liberation from their misery.

Just as he wondered if he should swallow the brackish water and end his misery, there came another bubble, another breath.

That was when Yuan realised the horrid reality of their present condition.

Whoever captured them wasn’t trying to kill them.

He was in it for the sport.

How was it that he came to be in this dilemma again?

It all began an hour ago when Yuan had contacted the Diviner from the Clan of Xiao, who had promised a fair split of credits if any of the dozen or so lackeys he had contracted delivered a source of CCs.

Being from a small House attached to no Clan, there was no reason for Yuan to watch his chance at gathering some CCs be given away. He had no desire to see two stuck-up princesses exit the Dungeon with a trove of treasures.

His compatriot, another nobody from the Lin’s, Fei, seemed to know the girls, but Yuan had forced the weak-willed fool into obedience with both threats of violence and a few well-placed punches to the gut.

As the stupid, sentimental idiot grovelled in the dirt, Yuan received a reply from his collaborator.

They would be there within twenty-odd minutes!

“Enfeeblement!”

Yuan’s bloodline may be weak and diluted, but it was still potent enough to possess some of the more interesting abilities of their ancestors. With a little effort, he could conjure the effects of Schools of Magic forbidden by the Communists, known as Curses, which debilitated the target; though his talents were a far cry from his progenitors.

“I know we’re supposed to be teammates,” Yuan said to his erstwhile companion. “But we’re just a PUG group, right? So no hard feelings.”

Fei whimpered on the floor, coiled like a cooked prawn.

“I suggest you stay put,” Yuan gave the poor Illusionist  another swift kick to the chest.

He turned his attention to the girls. The short one was Lily, and the taller one was Wenshi.

“You want payback?”

Lily’s eyes grew wild with fear.

Wenshi nodded.

“Good. Stick with me. We’ll fleece those bitches yet.”

Wenshi placed a hand on her swollen cheek.

“Feeling a little wounded, are we?" Yuan advised happily. “You can slap them around all you like later, although I have a feeling the Young Master would love a go himself, ha!”

The unassuming girl flushed with expectation. Yuan tsked. What a vengeful little harlot. That 'bitch' saved your asses, you know?

Then the Xiao’s five-man team had arrived. Yuan shook with their leader Huyi, and an ambush was laid out.

“That’s all? That’s everything you know?” Huyi patted Yuan approvingly on the shoulder. “If your account of their abilities is correct, then I’ll give you extra 10 CCs as a reward.”

“Thank you, Master Xiao.” Yuan was confident that calling the Xiao Diviner was the best decision he had ever made.

The two girls pissed him off. They were so gifted, so perfect, and they came from good families that gave them tremendous support and resources. They had everything that Yuan had been denied. To watch them humbled, taken off their pedestal and stepped on, would give him the most euphoric, sadistic pleasure.

Yuan shivered. He could hardly wait.

When the girls eventually descended, and the ambush had been carried out precisely as they had planned, Yuan was beside himself with gibbering joy.

It was raining in the marsh, but Yuan hardly even felt the chill.

As soon as they cracked the crystalline Shield, he would see the two girls dragged by their hair before the Young Master of the Clan of Xiao. They would be stripped of their possessions, humiliated and made to quit the Dungeon.

Or that was the plan, at least.

So what had happened?

Yuan still wasn’t sure.

Above them, the twin-Evoker's spells pounded the Crystal Shielding, cracking the surface and sending bits and pieces of it to splinter and cascade.

Yuan turned to the others to make a quip, but they were now sans one member.

The Diviner, Jan, was gone.

He was gone!

There was a sound of sucking water; then the space the man had occupied was empty!

“Oi! Oi!” he shouted out to the others. “Something just took your Diviner!”

“Wha-”

Then one of the Evokers was gone too!

It was a scene of chaos: the exploding spells above, the running incantations below, the tumbling leaves, the bits of crystal that fell; the soft archery of whispering rain plastering all over their bodies.

What the fuck! Yuan felt his spine turn to jelly as his mind reeled. What the hell is going on?

“Where did Lei go?” Fuhui, the other Fire Evoker asked.

Then the remaining three Mages were simultaneously swallowed by the sodden earth. This time, Yuan saw the source of their sudden abduction.

It was the peat bog! There was something under the slough!

“Run for the tree!” Yuan shouted to the girls, who were wide-eyed with terror. “Ru-”

Then he too became an inmate of the waters below.

The rain that had drenched them all had suddenly expanded from their clothes as if gaining sentience, it exerted a terrific pull and dragged them below into their new watery tombs.

The vegetation above closed like a pair of smirking lips.

Below, there was only cold, dark, fetid water.

The last thing he heard was a soft, amiable voice.

"Welcome to Motel Lea. You can check out anytime you like, but you will forfeit the contents of your rings and the competition. Otherwise, you can enjoy Lea's full body service for the next thirty-six hours."

* * *

Gwen tried to summon Caliban again. No luck.

Petra readied another Shield. Such a feat would have been impossible had the attack persisted. Like crisp shells falling from an egg, her Crystalline Wall fell away, revealing the dishevelled form of Gwen and Petra.

The party of Mages below was gone.

Replacing the self-satisfied faces of their assailants from earlier was a mirthful smirk hanging on the lips of a familiar face, standing with his arms folded below them.

“Richard!” Gwen uttered with disbelief as her Feather Fall activated, sending her drifting gently toward his open arms. Hastily, she dispelled her Void armaments.

"EEee??!" Ariel scampered down the tree and ran around Richard in circles.

“Petra!” Petra glanced below and saw Tao likewise with his arms open. The Illusionist's mouth opened to reveal neglected teeth; his face was full of smugness.

Gwen alighted from Richard’s embrace happily.

"Arrgh!"

Petra landed heel first on Tao’s face. She balanced herself as he crumpled, stepping down gracefully, crushing Tao's narrow shoulders.

“Mina!” Gwen greeted her other cousin as her feet touched the ground.

Mina was cooly observing Gwen and Richard, but her expression loosened up considerably as Gwen released herself from Richard’s embrace. The two girls hugged, and Gwen squeezed her cousin tight. Despite her initial hesitation, Mina reciprocated Gwen’s affectionate gesture.

“What happened?” Gwen scanned her surroundings. “Where are the others? Where’s that Huyi guy? Where’s Fei?”

“I’ve got them right here,” Richard chuckled. “Lea, bring up one of our guests!”

A portion of the peat bog below their feet opened to reveal a crevice, within which entombed the silhouette of a feebly struggling Mage. Gwen recognised the face as one of Huyi’s lackeys, specifically the Diviner.

A sleeve of water encased the young Mage, giving him the comical likeness of a human size edamame bean. Lea levitated the parcel of water above them, then with a pop, Richard released the Mage so that he fell to the floor gasping and gagging.

“Well, what do you think of my proposal?"

“I yield!” the Diviner emptied out the contents of his storage ring. There was a few strange-looking crystals within, a few assorted potions, bric-a-brac of adventuring necessities, and about twenty HDMs. “Take it! Take it all! I give up! Let me go! I want out!”

"Good choice my man!" Richard nodded approvingly. "Master Hao, are you there?"

A silvery mandala of Teleportation appeared beside the group.

With a ‘thump!’ of displaced air, a wizened, middle-aged man with an impressive Confucian moustache appeared beside them.

“Xiao Pan is forfeiting the match," The Mage intoned without any particularly evocative expression. “I will now transport you to a medical facility, do you wish to proceed?”

The Diviner gazed upon Richard with absolute gut-wrenching horror, snot and ejecta ruining his handsome face.

“I forfeit! Ta-take me now!”

“Very well.”

A flash of Conjuration later, he was gone.

The Adjudicator turned his eyes upon the rest of them.

“You going to let the rest out?” he asked Richard seriously, his brows knitted. “If you intend to murder them in cold blood while they are helpless, that is your choice, but I will have to make a report.”

Richard grinned.

“Richard… What happened? What did you do?” Gwen felt her rational world turned upside down by the sudden turn of events. Just as a minute ago she had just set her mind to murder mode, now she was being treated to a grotesque comedy.

More pockets of the waterlogged bog opened around them. In a radius centred around the group, Gwen saw half a dozen pods of encased Mages writhing in their watery pouches. They rose from below the peat bog, suspended in the air.

“Well,” Richard’s eyes regarded his cargo of captured CCs lovingly. “I should thank you two for the distraction, but it’s a long story…”

“Fei!” Gwen pointed to a skinny Mage suspended and barely conscious. “Can you let this one go?”

Richard released the Illusionist without question.

Fei choked and gagged on the floor, then turned over onto his stomach and vomited forth a torrent of swamp water.

"Oh God, Gwen, thank God you're okay," he choked. "Horrible. So horrible. I thought for sure I died. So many times."

“MMMMmmph! Mmmph! Mm!” One of the Mages, the one called Yuan, began to beat the walls of his tomb futilely. His face was turning deathly pale with asphyxiation.

"It was him! He was the one who called the Xiao!" Fei pointed out.

"Fei?" Tao recognised the haggard Illusionist.

"Tao?" Fei feebly a greeting.

"EEeeee?" Ariel yipped cutely.

With a wave of his hand, Richard injected a bubble of air into the sleeves. The inhabitants of Richard’s watery worlds greedily gulped the air, but perhaps the momentary respite was worse than actual drowning, for their desperate respite lasted no more than half a minute before they once again begged for sweet release.

Gwen knelt beside the shivering Fei and made sure he was okay.

“Anyway.” Richard turned to Gwen with eyes that were soft and mirthful. “Unlike you guys, I landed pretty close to Tao and Mina. We ran into some others while looking for you two. Helped people out and made some gains. We were just headed down south when we saw an SOS sigil...”

* * *

Gwen stared numbly at the pile of trinkets, crystals, and Dungeon harvests that lay in a knee-high heap beside them.

Richard had told her that using Tao’s Illusions and Lea’s control over the water, they had managed to spread her ‘water’ all over the opposing Mages without them suspecting. They then furthermore used a tunnel system which Richard had constructed through the peat-bog to ambush the unsuspecting assailants.

“Anyway, what's it going to be, fuck face?” Richard freed Huyi, the last Xiao left, from the watery tomb.

Besides them, the Adjudicator rolled his eyes.

He had seen people get robbed in the dungeons, but he had never seen Clan disciples farmed like sheared sheep.

Who the hell was this Richard Huang? Why is he even collecting mundane crystals and useless, unimportant Magic Items? Why was someone of this much talent a nobody?

"Where's my Caliban?" Gwen interjected. "Release my familiar at once!"

Huyi however, had no interest in answering her.

“Hey! Hey! I am talking to you!” As expected, as soon as Huyi Xiao finished hurling up brackish water, he turned onto the Adjudicator. “You just going to let this happen? Who's your Registrar? I am going to file an official complaint! This is negligence of your duty! He was torturing us! I was fucking tortured, do you understand me!”

The Huyi brat was going to be trouble, he just knew it. The Adjudicator considered his options.

“You killing him?” He asked Richard.

“Nope,” Richard replied. “Fuck face, last chance, drop the loot and forfeit, then you can go.”

“In your fucking dreams! You upstart dog!” Huyi swore at Richard, though he backed off as the words escaped his mouth, giving his threat a hint of the comical. "Do you know who I am?"

“You want to go back in there?” Richard knitted his dark brows. Lea’s exquisitely beautiful face giggled beside the Conjurer and blew Huyi a kiss.

“No.. No! Ergh.” Huyi turned again to the Adjudicator. “Did you hear that? Arrest him now! He’s trying to torture me! This behaviour is against the protocol of a Dungeon dive!”

The Adjudicator turned to Gwen and her companions as though Huyi was no more than a flatulent fart.

“I hear a distress call,” he said suddenly. "It sounds urgent."

“I do too,” Richard agreed.

“Yes, clearly audible,” Petra added in.

“What distress call?” Tao chimed in, wondering if his companions were having hearing issues.

“I am going to break him,” Gwen said quietly.

"..." The gathered were surprised by Gwen's response.

“You guys, for the love of Mao,” Mina moaned, feeling a headache coming on.

“Yes, I better get going.” The Adjudicator invoked his Teleportation aid and dissipated in a cloud of silver.

Huyi regarded Gwen and her group with watery eyes. He still had no idea how the tables turned so suddenly.

“You… You wouldn’t dare!”

“Richard, cover me,” Petra faced to the Abjurer with a look of pure malice, then produced a spell Cube.

“Enhanced Strength!”

Unlike Gwen, she hadn't dispelled her Crystal Skin.

But it was Gwen who stepped up in front of Petra.

Though the unbidden rescue had its euphoric moment, that was now spent. Extending an exquisitely shapely leg ahead as though she was taking a step into the air, Gwen stomped Huyi in the chest and sent him half a meter before he slammed into the ground, winded and wheezing

.

"WHERE IS CALIBAN?!" she screeched. "Give me back my Caliban!"

Just the very thought of Summoning Caliban and feeling his empty pocket dimension sent her into a dizzying tizzy. Being untrained in the art of interrogation, she did the only thing she could think of, which was to stomp on Huyi to expend her fury.

"Where is my familiar?! You piece of shit!"

Watching her boot lay into the Young Master over and over again, Richard's mouth twitched.

Gwen, he thought to himself. The way you're gingerly stomping him with those delicate stalks of yours, he'd likely develop a fetish.

Then Petra joined in, shattering the Abjurer's innate Shielding with a body blow before gutter-stomping his face.

“…" Ouch! Richard looked away. Petra had no chill.

It took only a minute for Huyi to cough up the core he had received from Gwen and release Caliban from the seal. With his forfeiture, Huyi gained the opportunity to be immediately transported to a medical facility.

There was one more Mage left. The man of the hour.

The comatose Yuan.

"You first or me first?" Petra asked Gwen.

* * *

Tao split from the party and looked towards the uncertain, misty horizon, his eyes focused upon the middle distance. Behind him, Yuan begged for mercy. He confessed to all his crimes, his double-dealings. With a mere hint of Petra's hovering fist, he admitted to being a sexual pervert. In Tao's hand, the Illusionist held a recording device. Richard had advised they collect some 'precious' memories, but all Tao had was a head full of snuff vids.

“Mack-Daddy, Little-dog, where are you guys?" Tao's eyes filled with misty remembrance of the old days when they'd flee from every danger in the Dungeon. "I miss you dudes so much.”

With Yuan forfeiting after being taught a bloody lesson in ethics, Gwen and company made a huddle to discuss their next course of action.

Besides the party of five, Caliban, Ariel and Lea played about tagging one another, skittering back and forth across the sodden bog. Caliban had resumed its serpentine form and slithered between the layers of peat, while Lea efficiently cheated by diving into the marsh itself. Ariel, as a result, was left fuming and frustrated, chittering and fuming with frustration.

“Oh yes, your shares of the fruit.” Petra threw three cubes toward Richard, Mina, and Tao consecutively. “Vitae Fruit, good for the skin. Eat it or trade it, let me know.”

“How many CC’s?” Richard asked.

“No idea.” Petra materialised three more. She had six in total. “One for babulya, one for my Master, and one we can trade away. I’ll pay for my master's one with my portion of the CCs.”

"Can I purchase the last one? I have... uses for it." Gwen raised her hand. She had great use for the fruit, either to nourish Almudj's mana or to gift away for favours in the future.

The others did not refute her offer. Mina and Tao's father was still young, while Richard was in dire need of his CCs.

"All yours," Petra acknowledged the offer.

Richard allowed the Stasis Cube to rest between his fingers, watching the white-jade flesh glisten like a work of art.

“I’ll trade it for CCs,” he said after some thought. “Gwen, can I keep it with you? You're welcome to trade me CCs for it if you like.”

“Sure,” Gwen affirmed the offer. Perhaps, with babulya's help, she could consume two more pieces of flesh without incident.

“I’ll eat it now,” Mina announced. “Tao, you eat it too, God knows if you’ll be able to hold onto it.”

Tao gave Mina a mean look, but his heart wasn’t in it. It wasn't as though he could refute his sister though. She was speaking from experience.

Petra dispelled the stasis Cube, and the pair of siblings partook of the wondrous gifts bestowed by the Fructum Vitae.

When sufficiently suffused with life, Mina asked Tao to conjure an illusory mirror so she could examine herself. Her skin appeared more tender than before, her eyes a little brighter. The best part of it was her figure, which stood both fuller and more slender than before.

What a wonderful fruit! Mina exalted the higher powers who created this Dungeon.

“How do I look?” She turned to Richard, her smiling, luminous eyes forming two half-moons. The ability to talk with one’s eyes was a talent neither Gwen nor Petra possessed, but which Mina executed to perfection.

“Wonderful, Mina, as always.” Richard retained that slight smile he always wore. “You too, Tao, you’re looking rather buffed yourself.”

Tao turned the mirror toward himself. Having absorbed the Fructum Vitae, his posture appeared more statuesque, his body more toned and masculine. The timidness that seemed to underly his exterior machismo became less pronounced.

“So, back to the Guardian?” Gwen packed away the spare Fructum Vita.

“Ah yes, the Guardian.” Richard tapped his chin. “I think I know where it went.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to the grinning Conjurer.

“There's a hollowed out section beneath us. If there's going to be a guardian, I would suppose it's there. Lea, tell them.” Richard called for his Undine, who materialised from the waters beneath his feet.

“There is a cavern below, very big!” Lea fluttered her impossibly long cobalt lashes and illustrated what she had detected with her hands. “Big Salamander with many eggs.”

“That any help?” Richard turned to Petra.

“Gila Eggs?” Petra allowed the protective crystalline shell to fall from her body, fading into motes of mana as the fragments lost their enchantment. “That can’t be right. Gila don't breed like that. They implant phages or tumorous tissue into their victims, and then the victim slowly turns into a Gila.”

“What if the Gila found a host that’s able to mutate?” Richard inquired. “Unless chaos follows specific biological pathways?”

“Life… finds a way?” Gwen intoned sagely, immensely pleased with herself for making just the right inference.

Petra considered Gwen's words. Life finds a way? It certainly sounded philosophically aligned with the nature of chaos.

“And there’s always the Gila core,” Gwen added. “How big did you say this thing is?”

“Lea, give us a look at this thing.”

Lea left Richard’s side and summoned water from between the sodden peat. She roughly constructed a salamander about the size of a semi-trailer.

“That’s a huuuge bitch!” Tao blurted loudly.

“Magic Resistance.” Petra observed thoughtfully. “The resistance this thing possesses must be insane.”

The group fell silent.

“We can probably overpower it with Lightning and Void,” Gwen suggested. "From what I could attest with the large Blue Gila, enough damage should make it through."

“It's underground though.” Petra raised an arched brow. "I don't fancy our chances fighting it down below."

“How about this?” Gwen continued. “We can lure it with something - like the Vitae fruit, and then we can alpha strike it to cut off its mobility.”

“That’s a bit optimistic,” Petra pointed out. "High tier Gilas are intelligent. Reds have low cunning like Goblins. When we start seeing Blue ones, you’re looking at Hobgoblins. At Green, we’re looking at something like Humans. Once we start getting to super rare breeds like Grey or Black Gila, we’re looking at ancient intelligence like Elves or Dragons. I doubt an angry, ancient Gila is going to be a dumb animal.”

“Think it can use magic?” Mina pointed out. “I read the green ones can do magic.”

“Lea says its Red,” Richard assured her. “We’re looking at a mighty bruiser, maybe a tier 6 or so in strength, but tier 8 in anti-magic defence. Let’s assume it’s intelligent, but not too intelligent. That means we need some serious damage. Gwen? Petra?”

“Well, we got a spare Vitae fruit to act as the lure.” Petra pointed out. “How well do you think the Lightning and Void spells work against the Gila?”

“I'd say half strength?” Gwen tried to quantify the resistance of the creatures she’d slain earlier, upscaled for size. “Void will eat away at its body regardless of the resistance, and Lightning can penetrate its slime.”

"Right." Petra calculated some numbers in her head. “Okay, say I Cube some of your spells. We double down on Void while Mina keeps me topped up. Full pre-buff. Two Lightning Tentacles, two Void Tentacles. Double-sets of Warding Bolt and Conjure Storm. We’ll potion up after initial buffs, then against at 50% draw. Combat platforms on the tree over yonder, well out of reach of that thing. You and Richard to the right, me and Mina to the left. What do you think?”

“We’ll need to rest,” Gwen advised.

“That works out well.” Richard pointed at the watery model of the great beast. “You know, I think I figured out why our guardian didn't show.”

“What do you know?” Mina eyed her kinsman with admiration. She relished the way Richard worked things out in his head, then waited for others to ask the questions.

“It’s entirely obvious when you think about it.” Richard laughed. “It’s nocturnal!”

A look of epiphanic realisation passed across the other four companions. Gwen slapped her forehead. Of course, she should have thought of that. She's been to Taronga Zoo many times in her past life. She even did the night tour! Amphibians, particularly creatures of the dark like salamanders, were nocturnal hunters.

“How we gonna bring that huge bitch to the yard?” Tao proposed after a few seconds of contemplation.

“Well.” Richard eyed their companion up and down. “You’re going to bring it to us…”

“Oh.” Tao’s face turned ashen. “I… I am?”

“Indeed, Peaches.” Richard patted the Illusionist on the back. “You too, Fei.”

“Me too?” Unlike Tao's fearful consternation, Fei's expression was one of unexpected appreciation and eager anticipation.

“Of course!” Richard smirked. “You two, are the heart of our plan!”

* * *

With the extended time required in preparing Petra's Spell Cubes, the party settled in to rest their minds and bodies.

Gwen volunteered her portable habitat, much to Mina's delight, slotting a HDM into the magical device and laying it down at the tree's base.

Each member then found rooms to prepare for the night battle to come. Gwen meditated to recovered her mana, aided by Mina, stoking Almudj’s life force to gift herself with a tolerance for the manifestation of Void in her body. Petra, meanwhile, carefully cubed Gwen’s higher tier spells, reproducing her spell-list in both Lightning and Void.

When Gwen became too fatigued from the exhaustive casting, she retreated to sleep off her fatigue through meditation, aided by the carefully attuned tier 4 Restoration cast by Mina.

Richard meanwhile, sat in the living room, carefully explaining a plan involving Lea and the two Illusionists in their project to lure out the Salamander.

When the late afternoon arrived, Lea reported that other parties of Mages came to take shelter on the relative dryness of the peat-bog. Having ascertained who and what they were dealing with, Richard sent Gwen and Mina to parley with them.

Mina saluted like a good soldier and took Gwen by the hand.

“Come on. You’ve been cooped up in there cooking up Spell Cubes for too long!” Mina dragged her from her room. “Let me show you how we’ve been harvesting loot the whole way here.”

“Tao, if you please?” Richard was close behind them. “On myself as well. Don't forget to record.”

“Advanced Invisibility!” Tao incanted the spell twice. It was his favourite spell for Dungeon dives, only now they were using it for Richard's nefarious purposes. If it had been their last dive, Tao would have found his friends, holed up somewhere safe, and refreshed Invisibility for the next two days.

“What are we doing?” Gwen looked at Richard. Even as an ally, all she saw was a vaguely humanoid distortion.

“We're doing the Lord’s work.” Richard's voice was secretive and expectant. “Out we go, let’s see what we got. Lea, you good?”

“I am in place, Master.” Lea’s voice came from thin air.

“Let’s go!” Mina pulled on Gwen, with a quick tug across the threshold, they were out of the portal and into the Dungeon once more.

* * *

“Wo cao ni ma!” another voice, rougher and spoken far less delicately, answered the first. “Just because we’re a PUG, don’t think you can mess with us!”

“We were here first!” A haughty voice cut through the air. “This groove will shelter the House of Xu tonight, and we do not desire unwanted company, especially one of your foul presence.”

Gwen caught the tail end of their conversation as she and Mina appeared from behind the tree, where a depression in the trunks hid the portal Gwen had set up. Pulled by her cousin, they stalked around the circumference of the giant Bayan and found themselves caught in between the two bickering groups.

“Fuck!” Now properly in range, Gwen’s Ioun Stone translated the curse. “Where the hell did you two come from?”

The Mage who spoke was a woman of largess, broad of shoulder and barrel-like in the waist. She had a voice like a loudspeaker and wore her pigtails like a younger girl, which gave her the appearance of someone pretending to be gregarious. Behind her were four ragged looking Mages, injured and fatigued looking, all young men of indistinct attire.

“Indeed, it would almost seem as though you appeared from nowhere.” A soft, polite voice came from their left. The speaker was a young man with a sculpted face and bright, intelligent looking eyes. He was wearing a one-piece robe that to Gwen, looked like the Kung-fu trench coat one saw in 80s Jet Li films. His attire was entirely white: white-cloth shoes, white tunic, and white pants. His companions were three other males, likewise clad in white, and a girl who looked to be a PUG member, for she appeared carefully made-up, wearing a one-piece miniskirt that showed off her shapely legs and promised sweet nothings.

“We’re lost!” Mina announced with her cute, diminutive voice. “Can any of you help us? We need a safe place to meditate and restore our mana. We’ve been running from monsters since this morning and manage to shake them just an hour ago!”

Mina's voice sent shivers up Gwen's spine. Her cousin must have surpassed the auto-cleaning function of her Sunday dress somehow, for the fabric was a little torn and soiled at the hem. Furthermore, her Roman sandals trailed with wayward mud, marking her white legs with evidence of a panicked escape.

Beside the tragically adorable maiden, Gwen appeared stupefied. She was still wearing her skin suit, which was charred and marked by their earlier combat. Despite a refreshing Prestidigitation, the suit would need repairs when they returned to Shanghai. Added to the fact that she’d been draining spells for the last four hours to feed Petra’s Cubes, she appeared the very picture of a haggard survivor.

The two groups regarded the girls with measuring eyes.

“Play along,” Richard’s voice spoke next to Gwen.

Gwen looked around bewilderingly. Were they doing what she thought they’re doing?

“Can… can we help them?” The comely PUG girl with the white-suited Mages reflexively asked her companions, her eyes filled with sympathy for these two companionable girls now placed in an awkward position.

The leader, the one who spoke, looked toward Gwen sceptically, narrowing his eyes. The whole scenario seemed suspicious.

“We’ll shelter you!” the other Mage, the burly female announced confidently, her face pudgy like a smiling Buddha. “Come here, quick!”

Mina took Gwen’s hand and pulled her over to their right, tittering with ‘panic’ as they did so.

When they arrived, however, they were met with wanton and greedy eyes. An atmosphere of repressed mana filled the space, suggesting that these Mages were not likely to be the friendly kind that helped a maiden in distress.

“Show me the contents of your ring, and we’ll protect you,” the burly woman demanded once Gwen and Mina were out of range of the Mages in white. “Those guys over there, you can’t trust them. I saw them rob a few juniors only a few hours ago.”

“THAT’S BULLSHIT!” the miniskirt girl shouted across the bog. “They tried to rob me!”

“Such deception!” one of the burly girl’s companions denounced the miniskirt clad speaker.

“Ring. Contents. Now!” the barrel-waisted girl-Mage demanded quickly. "There're monsters hereabouts, and they'd take you under the bog sooner than you can say 'regret!'. If you want our protection, its only natural that you purchase a little faith, hmm?"

“Are… are you robbing us?” Mina demanded angrily. “This isn’t fair! As if we have anything to give!”

Gwen almost spat out a gob of saliva. Holy shit. She thought to herself.

“Don’t make me shut you up.” A gauntlet of stone materialised on the Mage’s forearm. “I’ll snap you like a twig. I can see your storage rings. Hand them over.”

"Never!" Mina snapped, her face full of anguish. "Gwen has a large storage ring! It's priceless!"

The look of avarice on the stout-Mage's face was painfully visible. Gwen tugged Mina's shirt, requesting that perhaps, she should dial down the charade.

“Won’t somebody stop them!” Mina shouted towards the four Mages behind the fat one, who burst into laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“What house you from, green-girl?” One of the Mages demanded of Mina.

“I know you.” Another PUG member licked his eyes over Gwen. “You’re that Lightning Sorceress that was at M the other night, right?”

“How dare you take advantage of us when we’re OOM!” Mina quickly retorted in case the Mages got cold feet.

Seriously?! Gwen pinched Mina, who shrugged it off and elbowed her in the gut, causing Gwen to keel over.

“She is?” The burly Transmuter-leader shifted her attention to Gwen. “I heard she won two thousand HDMs from the son of the Fung clan just the other night. How dare you lie to us! You said you had nothing!”

That was Mina! Gwen thought despairingly. I am just a bystander!

Over on the other side, the white-clad Mage began to move.

“Hey, you! Over there! You girls. You can seek shelter with us. We won't harm you, nor ask for reparations. I swear it, by the name of the Xujiahui House of Xu."

“PEI!” The burly Transmuter spat so vehemently that a spot of spittle almost reached Gwen’s face. “Fuck! Who do you think you are, huh? Local land Gods? This isn't Xijaihui, assholes. These girls came to us first, and they're under our protection whether you like it or not!”

“I have no loot to give!” Mina wailed desperately, her eyes full of tearful desperation. "I mean, Gwen has a core! A monster core! But we need it. If we come back with nothing, our patriarch will think we're useless!”

What an actress! Gwen applauded internally. What a terrifying girl! Perhaps Mina should focus on theatre. Tao can be the musician, Mina, the actress; they could be the dynamic 'entertainment' duo of the Wang family.

The Transmuter’s beady eyes lit up. With a face like hers, it was a terrifying expression, like watching a lucky Buddha's benevolent lips opening to reveal pointed teeth.

“If you know what’s good for you…” The barrel-waisted Mage was far more focused on the House of Xu’s white-clad Mages than Gwen and Mina. Her companions too were readying attack spells by front-loading their mana and incantations.

“I… I am not giving you my core!” Gwen tried to follow Mina's suit. Her acting was so wooden, so unnatural, that the effect was immediately immersion breaking.

“You're testing my patience, princess,” the Transmuter threatened her with a glare, thinking perhaps that the Dungeon had driven Gwen semi-insane with fright. “Empty your ring, no-”

'Fsssuwurp!'

Gwen felt immense relief as the bog finally opened up its maw and swallowed their assailant wholesale. The spontaneous charade was wrecking havoc on her nerves. The Transmuter's four companions, who’d been loading up spells, were likewise taken by the suck of the swamp.

An eerie silence overtook the clearing, then abruptly, four vibrant shields of different elements sprang into existence. The House of Xu was in combat formation, all except their leader, who took on an expression of disbelief.

“Praetor Huang? Is that you?” The leader of the House of Xu suddenly announced to the thin air.

“Yo!” Richard materialised a few meters away. "Now that you mention it, you do have a familiar face."

“Praetor! It IS you! It’s me, Julian Xu, do you remember me?” The Mage called Julian seemed far more excited to have met Richard than worry about their dubious circumstances. It was only when the two shook hands that the tension softened and Shields were retracted.

“Julian! From Xiaoming Academy? Goodness, it’s been two years! How've you been?”

“I am doing well, Senior!” Julian turned to his companions. “This is the man I’ve told you guys about, its Senior Huang from Prince’s! He was there at the exchange conference a few years back as the Praetor for Prince’s Sydney team. No one got past them that year, remember? And Prince’s London branch picked up the Cup.”

Two of the members mumbled that they did. Another one of the Xu's made a surprised gasp and likewise worshipfully shook Richard’s hand.

The two girls watched the exchange with some surprise, Gwen more so than Mina.

“Anyway, this is my team, Gan, Felix, Gui, and Taiyun. The girl is a PUG member we picked up. Her name is Felicity Tang.”

“I have a few more members with me as well. I’ll introduce them later.” Richard broke off from the group and told Gwen and Mina to come closer.

“This is Gwen Song, my cousin, and Mina Wang, from the Wang Enterprises.”

“A pleasure!”

“It’s good to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“From the one in Huaihai Road?”

"The very same."

“Thank you for offering to help us earlier.” Mina bowed slightly.

“I am glad you're both safe!” Felicity's intonation was smooth and uninterrupted, signifying that she was speaking English. Turning on her heeled boots, she faced Richard and battered her voluminous lashes. “Senior Richard, it’s a pleasure to meet you. May I ask what happened to the other party?”

“You’ll have your answer very soon, my dear,” Richard quipped, his intelligent eyes glinting. A girl not in the know would have fancied the young man to be flirting with them, but Gwen and Mina knew Richard was probably thinking of the Crystals and the CCs. Taking the wrong hint, Felicity edged closer to Richard and crossed over her legs, one before the other, showing off their shapely form.

Mina snickered coldly and pushed Gwen toward Richard.

Standing six-foot-two in her hiking boots; Gwen’s hips started at the Asian girl’s navel, her legs extending downwards far more impressively with gratuitous panache.

Felicity’s face paled as Gwen wordlessly met Richard's eyes, alive with adoration.

Watching the mini-skirt girl wither like a trodden orchid, Mina felt a cold satisfaction. She came between Gwen and Richard and pulled them both closer by their waists.

“It’s always nice to meet good people out here in the Dungeon,” Mina intoned with that innocent voice of hers, so sickly sweet and filled with exciting promises. “Richard, think it’s time?”

“Another minute,” Richard answered nonchalantly. “So, how're you guys faring so far?”

“Passably,” Julian began a tirade of their exploits since entering the Dungeon. Felicity made inane small talk with the girls, hoping to get a better idea of who they were. “Although, what do you intend to do with those Mages? Surely you're not thinking of killing them? I mean, its all a part of the test, is it not? No need to get so serious.”

“See for yourself.” Richard motioned with a hand. “Lea, bring em up!”

The barrel-waisted Mage was in an extra-large satchel of brown liquid, her face blue with asphyxiation. When she landed on the soft peat in a burst of brown-water, she let loose a gibbering, bestial torrent of brackish water from her lips.

The small crowd of Mages regarded the arrogant Transmuter with sympathy. Transmuters could train to breathe in water, but the spell took both time to incant and time to manifest. To be stuck in a water-prison and denied the air necessary to cast a life-saving incantation, must make an exquisite dilemma.

“I… I forfeit!” the Mage uttered feebly. "Please, no more."

“Excellent choice, my good woman, the contents of your ring to the rig-”

“Explosion of Stone!”

A burst of violent Earthen mana moulded to the Sigil of Evocation burst from the Transmuter's outstretched hand. The embittered Mage had been holding the spell since her entrapment, for the usually second-long incantation for the tier 3 spell was completed in a split-second.

The sudden change, especially after a forfeiture, was entirely unexpected and had caught Gwen's party off-guard.

Lea was the first to react- her twitch reflex as an attuned spirit near-instantaneous, forming a Water-Shield half a meter away from Richard.

It was unfortunate then that the shimmering membranes of the Water Abjurer’s shields were weak against the brute-force attacks of the Earth element. The stone projective burst through the transparent barrier and shot upwards of Richard and the members of the House of Xu.

It was a mistake made out of hubris. The gathered had thought the Mage a Transmuter only. No one had suspected that she would also be a tier 3 Evoker, or that Evocation may have been her primary school of magic.

“Shield of Faith!” Mina’s training had drilled the reflexive reaction into her body. A blooming sheet of light, empowered by Positive energy and pure mana, enveloped Richard.

Gwen, however, had never received formal Abjuration training. Seeing Richard in imminent danger of becoming enveloped in a world of jagged shards, she extended a hand toward the Mage and uttered the first thing that came to mind. It was Alesia's philosophy; only dead or incapacitated enemies possessed no danger.

“Void Bolt!”

A sword of dark-matter sliced through the air and pierced through the Transmuter’s Stone Shield. She had been using every ounce of her focus to maintain the Explosion of Stone and had expected a significant injury in turn.

But she had not expected a Void Bolt to the face.

Without sound nor any form of spectacular display, the bolt of Void consumed her head, leaving only two pigtails to flutter to the sodden ground.

Above them, the Explosion of Stone fizzled and dissipated into motes of indistinct mana.

The headless Mage remained unmoving on the ground for a moment more, then from the horizontal cross-section of her neck stump came a gush of arterial blood that soaked the peat-bog, a stream of crimson ejaculating with each weakening pulse of the failing heart.

Gwen stared at her handiwork, a spine-tingling chill working her way up her spine like silver of eldritch frost.

She's dead! Her mind screamed. I just murdered a woman in cold blood!

She felt numb with sudden clarity, as though she’d stepped through a threshold. The Transmuter was not someone who had done her grave injury; she was merely someone she had met no more than five minutes ago! A careless bully and a greedy-gut! Now she was a headless corpse bleeding out on the floor! Only a split-second ago, this was a cheating, conniving, scheming human being, fully capable of rationality, possessing the faculty to learn and change! Now she had taken all of that away from this woman, this girl-Mage. Now she was just a bag of dead flesh upon the floor! She hadn’t just stolen this Mage’s life! She’d taken all the potential that her humanity offered the world! What if-

“Gwen!”

“Gwen!”

“Cousin!”

Voices calling out to Gwen seemed to pull her back from the abyss of her own making. Gwen turned to see her companions, who by now had spilt from the Portable Habitat, calling out to her.

“I am…” Gwen wanted to say that she was alright, but she was hardly that. She stumbled backwards and had to be caught by Petra, who hugged her close to her chest. Where Gwen's heart was pounding like a rabbit in a bag, Petra's was untouched by excess emotion.

“It’s fine; she deserved it,” Petra praised Gwen, her voice cool and collected. “Good job.”

“Yeah, that bitch was asking for it, dawg. I got that shit on Vid-cast!” Tao added his piece, shaking a mechanism with confidence. "Stone cold! Capped that bitch like a dog!"

“Peaches, shut up, you're not helping. Gwen, please don’t feel bad about doing what’s necessary,” Mina added her own. “Richard could have been injured.”

Gwen felt her stomach churn. She wanted to spew. Mina had already covered Richard. They had a healer with them. At worst, Richard would need some minor healing, but more than likely he was going to be completely unscathed. If they had worked their way across the marsh shearing these men and women of sin, they would have surely fought off at least a dozen that tried to ambush them by now.

“I… I am… I…” Gwen tried to catch her breath. She had killed a woman for no good reason. A Mage lost her life because Gwen couldn't hold her horses.

Then a hand took her by the wrist and pulled her away from Petra.

Gwen turned to see Richard’s dark orbs facing her dilated, hazel irises.

“Richard, I didn't mean… I…” she began her mind a jumble of chaotic emotions and unbidden thoughts. She had only been in Shanghai for six days, and she was already a murderer.

“Gwen!” Richard massaged her hands.

“I didn’t mea-”

‘PA!’

To the surprise of all others, Richard slapped Gwen across the face, albeit without malice.

Gwen felt her anarchic thoughts cease at once. A flush of anger and confusion replaced the immensity of her remorse as her eyes flashed electric and emerald.

“Gwen.” Richard held both of her wrists so that she couldn’t move. “Thank you, for saving my life.”

“But…”

“GWEN.” Richard’s voice was like a booming thunderclap; his vice-like grip bruised her tender, white wrists. “You saved my life.”

Gwen struggled for a moment more, her hazel eyes moist with malevolent emotions. Slowly, she felt the adrenaline drain away, returning her feverish mind to rationality.

“It was necessary.” Gwen attempted a little self-medication, now that the chemical hysteria of the blood had passed.

Her eyes fell upon the corpse. From within came the sighs and murmurings of escaping gases as organs lost their vitality and shed their cargo of liquids. From the stomach to the spleen, the wrecked locomotive of the human body shut its valves for the final time, becoming dead weight. The meat, for what it was now, settled into a quivering quietness.

A flash of silvery Conjuration appeared not far from the group. Master Hao, the Adjudicator, appeared beside them.

“Mr Huang, I told you that trouble would find you if you persisted,” the Senior Mage growled.

“I’ll take full responsibility,” Richard intoned without any emotion of panic nor remorse. “Mr Wang has the whole thing on Vid-Cast if you need a copy, I do believe that we are well within our rights to defend ourselves as best as we are able.”

“I shall, and I'll be the judge of that!” The Adjudicator turned to Gwen. “A Void Mage. It's been a while. How long have they been hiding you?”

“That’s on a need to know,” Petra interjected before Gwen could answer. “Please take it up with my Grandmother, Director Klavdiya Song of the Second PLA Army Hospital.”

“I would like to submit for the record, that the House of Xu is in full support of Senior Huang and Ms Song.” Julian stepped forward.

“My father is with Villeroy and Wu’s,” Mina added her piece. “If you want to question Richard or Gwen, I suggest a formal application through our Arbitrator-Solicitor, Thomas Wu & Partners.”

Hao immediately felt his head swell to double its normal size.

Mao, I hate my job. He thought to himself. Thank the Chairman, at least nobody important died.

He ignored the junior Mages' threats and chose instead to focus on doing his job. Producing a recording device which hovered over one hand, he took a copy from Tao's recording.

“Retaliation in defence. Unlawful assault after forfeiture by Baiming Shui, independent House from Lishui. Death by single spell decapitation, Void Bolt. Dead on arrival. Dated Sunday, 13th of April, 2003.”

He turned to face the demanding gazes of the junior Mages.

“Goodbye. Try not to kill anyone else.”

The Adjudicator disappeared in a flood of Conjuration mana.

“Wait!” Richard watched the Senior Mage disappear. “There are four others!”

The Adjudicator was gone.

With Gwen still in her depressed state, the afternoon had lost it's once jovial, relaxed atmosphere. Richard summoned the other four prisoners, took their crystals and their loot and sent them packing into the distance.

With the current matter now resolved, Petra, Tao and Fei introduced themselves, then Richard accepted the offer of aid and cooperation proposed by Julian. Both parties confirmed the split of the potential loot from the giant Gila, and then members shook on the agreement.

Questioning the members of their new extended party, Petra requested that they submit a few useful utility spells to her cause. Stunned by her breathtaking beauty, the men eagerly complied while their female companion, Felicity, sulked.

Gwen sat on a rock, glancing every once in a while toward the body. She became so distracted that Richard opted to just 'disappear' the corpse altogether.

As daylight began to lose its lustre, the group settled into their respective roles. Gwen provided the food, and the conjoined party made the most of the facilities offered by the Portable Habitat. With a helping hand from the girl, Felicity, an eleven-person serving of steaming noodles with Spam and assorted vegetables made an acceptable supper.

Gwen became surrounded by the sound of slurping and sipping as dinner commenced. Her eyes glanced at the spot where the Lishui Mage had died, where only a patch of dried blood remained.

The erstwhile Transmuter's Storage Ring had held a significant volume of loot, ranging from exotic flora to small creature cores, to pieces of alien metal that glinted with an unknowable firelight. It was a testament to her avarice.

"It is a vile thing to die," Gwen mumbled to herself. "When men are unprepared and look not for it."

She gazed at her dainty white hands and wondered if she would see the spots of blood. Not so with Void, at least. Her's was an implement of murder that left no tales. Will all the perfumes of Arabia make her little hands sweet again?

Gwen closed her eyes to rest and saw Faceless' distorted, shapeless mien mocking her hypocrisy.

“I told you we were alike! I told you. Gwen Song. We would be together. One way. Or another.”

Gwen suppressed the sickness that rose in her stomach. Her grandmother's words hung in the air.

"There will be no rest. No solace, not even when you’re spent and bloody and desire nothing more than to sleep. With your talent, your blood, you will become like a beacon for the Rakshasa, a locus of envy, jealousy, wrath and lust. Can you understand that?”

"You walk the Path of Violent Reckoning!"

Gwen closed her eyes again and banished the darkness. She circulated Amuldj's mana through her circuits, and breathed in, inflating her lungs until they were on the point of bursting, then breathed out. She repeated the meditative exercise until her mind was once again in a state of placid introspection.

Her companions were waiting for her. There was a Gila to be slain.

As the old saying goes: what's to come, will come; the readiness is all.

When night finally fell, and supper came to a conclusion, the time for action was nigh.

“Alright!” Richard clapped his hands together and gathered the attention of the assemblage of Mages. “As discussed, let us proceed with hunting the elder Gila. Gwen, Petra, how are your conditions?”

“I am ready.” Gwen raised her hand; for now, keeping busy was her best solution to keeping the sickening memories at bay.

“My spell list is adequate,” Petra replied.

“Julian?”

“We’re ready.” Julian’s men looked very much thrilled to be engaged in an operation to bring down a tier 6 monstrosity.

“Felicity?”

“I got em covered, Magus Huang.” Felicity’s eyes sparkled. Surprisingly, she acted as the Xu party's Abjurer. The Xu’s tanker had, unfortunately, either perished or failed to join up with the leading group due to unforeseen and unknowable circumstances. They would not know if their companion was safe until the Dungeon concluded.

“Not a Magus, not yet,” Richard quipped. “Mina, you’re with Petra on the left. Gwen, you’re on your own on the right platform. Can you handle that?”

“I can.”

“Tao, Fei, come here. Lea, let them attune with your mana.”

A swirl of water flowed around Tao and Fei. Lea’s alluring semi-transparent form flitted about the two Illusionists.

“The Gila is awake,” Lea informed the two parties. “Shall I begin?”

“Everyone! Battle stations!” Richard stood alone by the peat bog. The others hid behind platforms transmuted from the Bayan tree by Warp Wood. “Tao, Fei, you may begin.”

* * *

Deep within the bog, the elder Gila stirred.

It had existed within the Dungeon dimension for aeons, arriving almost a millennia ago upon the currents of a mana storm. It began its conquest by consuming the local fauna, transforming them into Gila-like creatures that were like itself. Its first spawn was a drove of Blue Gila, which left their peat bog den in search of prey. The subsequent spawn was Red, followed by Blue, and then Red again. Occasionally there was a Green Gila, but those were far and in between; without access to humanoids and Demi-humans, the elder Gila couldn’t spawn the proper variant of its race to perpetuate its bloodline aggressively.

Then as though answered by the Gods of Chaos, humans appeared, and the Elder Gila rejoiced. Not only that, these humans were Mages! Creatures attuned to the magical energies of the universe and the elemental planes! With any luck, the proliferation of Gila would inevitably, in the strange arithmetic of chance, spawn a supreme existence such as a Grey or Black Gila.

In the meanwhile, the original fauna of the plane had become its progeny, though the majority of them did as they pleased, as was the nature of chaos spawn. With enough coaxing, however, the elder Gila had convinced some of its spawn to feed the mangrove forests of the marsh and accelerate the growth of the magical fruits that the plane initially held - fruits that could extend the life-spans of the magical creatures that consumed it.

As old as the elder Gila was, it knew that it would meet the inevitable end that not even chaos could overcome. That was why it used its limited influence to cultivate the fruits of life.

The moment it had awoken, it understood that the guards it had set underneath a ripening tree were dead, that usurping invaders had taken its prize.

“GARRRRROP!” The elder Gila quivered with rage; it desired to capture these humanoids and infect them with its parasitic eggs.

But the elder Gila also knew to be cautious. More than once these humanoid invaders had almost taken its life. It would need to gather a swarm of its spawn and make a push for the tree, where it’ll-

“Yo! Yo! Yo! Lizard Bitch!”

The elder Gila was surprised to find its thoughts interrupted. In front of its snout, a swell of water transformed into a humanoid! The creature wore a skin with three white stripes and had a strange thing on its head that looked like a duck’s bill. It was taunting the elder Gila by throwing its limbs this way and that in an infuriating way.

“GARRROP?” The elder Gila demanded to know why it was here.

“I am here to fuck yo mother!” The image met the elder Gila’s shrivelled eyes, still the size of dinner plates. “Smack a bitch up!”

Despite recognising the image as an illusion, the elder Gila felt an insolent force connect with its lower jaw, sending its head upwards to smack onto the cavern’s roof.

“GARRRROP!!!” The elder Gila roared, sending the water currents to rush and the image to blur.

“Yo, Fei, pass it over.”

Another image approached the first, this one another humanoid.

“Look what I found!” the small, androgynous looking image spoke. “A Fructum Vitae!”

“Think this big delicious fucker belongs to somebody?” the first image asked, looking around.

“GARROP!” The elder Gila howled at the vision. It was his fruit! The one he’d spent a century cultivating! The one closest to ripeness!

“Naw, this belongs to no one.” The small image began to pull the fruit open.

Suddenly, the waters around the elder Gila flooded with the scent of its long-awaited harvest! The rich odour of its holy fruit! The prize the elder Gila needed to extend its life! With a shocking realisation, it acknowledged that these miscreants must be eating the fruit right now! They had just opened it! How else could it be sensing it so strongly? It must attack these wretched beings now! With any luck, it could consume the fruit before they did, it still had a chance!

With a wave of its gigantic tail, the Gila launched itself upward, punching through the layers of peat and slipping through the taut gaps with the lubrication afforded by its slimy exterior.

Its fruit! Its prize! It would have it!

* * *

“IT COMES!”

Lea appeared beside the illusory image of Fei and Tao busily tearing apart the fruit. In-between the two bickering visions were the ‘spare’ piece of the fruit that Gwen had hoped to keep, now expended as bait to lure the elder Gila. A portion of it had been rendered by Lea, whose elemental body transported the tasty morsel downstream, deep into the earth.

The surface of the bog swelled like a bloated balloon before it erupted, ejaculating a geyser of foul, rotten water into the air and showering the surrounding with a miasma of foulness. The Red Gila that emerged was true to form, a giant salamander, its eyes and limbs long atrophied thanks to a life of unmoving stasis in the deep-dark of the fetid cavern.

Along with its exit, a swarm of strange Gila-fauna likewise emerged. Fish that were lizard-like, lizards that were frog-like salamanders, everything from ankle-sized biters with razor-sharp teeth to dog-sized spawn with jaws that distended to encompass more than half its body, rushing towards Tao and Fei.

“Shit! Run!” Tao ‘grabbed’ the fruit and fled with an adroitness that could only be a natural talent.

Fei, meanwhile, distracted the lesser creatures by swinging to the right, throwing ineffective spells at the swarm as it advanced behind the elder Gila.

“GARRRRROP!” The elder Gila howled with insane rage, feeling the fruit flee from its enlarged nostrils. With a dull ‘whoomp!’ of its tail, it slid itself forward, balanced by small, ineffective limbs, toward the hapless humans that it could swallow with a single snap of its unhinged jaw.

With the swarm and the elder Gila somewhat separated, Tao stopped and turned to face his enemy. The Illusionist's face was white with fear and pale with terror.

“NOoooo!” Tao cowered before his inevitable demise.

The elder Gila’s mouth closed over Tao and felt itself biting into something long, slithering and sinuous. In the next moment, its mouth burned with necrotic energy. With a reflexive gulp, the elder Gila swallowed.

“NOW!”

The elder Gila thrashed beneath the gigantic Bayan tree. It gazed up with its mucus covered head and measured the presence of the humanoid creatures.

An ambush! The Gila howled, spraying gobs of mucus all over. It had to escape!

With a supreme grunt of supernatural effort, it turned its body and slid on its mucus trail to make a turn, slamming against the tree as it did so, encouraging a shower of leaves. Above it, a cascade of spells began to rain downwards.

* * *

Gwen had injected herself with a Mana potion as soon as she felt her reserve drop to half. After Conjuring Caliban, Ariel, two sets of Warding Bolts, Dark Tentacles, and Call Lightning, what was left was insufficient in sustaining her upkeep.

With a hiss, Mina's delayed healing buff expended itself rapidly.

As the Gila consumed Caliban, it had crushed the lower half the serpent’s body, forcing Gwen to expend another portion of her vitality to sustain the critically injured netherworld creature until it could begin its terrible surgical excavation.

When the creature then slid under the tree and tried to propel itself backwards, both Gwen and Petra knew that it was now or never.

Ariel let fly with a shower of needles that embedded themselves into the slimy, leathery exterior of the salamander. From above the Gila, four sets of Lightning Bolts fired downwards and sizzled its skin, splitting open the oozy surface and frying the fatty dermis below. Four bolts of Void matter followed, biting into the flesh and gouging out chunks of pink-dark tissue from the crimson exterior of the barking beast as it sought to escape.

Gwen felt her vitality drop again despite her newly reinforced acquisition of Almudj’s energy. A wave of dizziness washed over her, forcing her to brace herself against the warped, wooden platform.

“Caliban!” she commanded. Despite becoming smothered by the barrage of malefic magic, the Salamander’s magical resistance proved superior. Where a lesser creature would have become mincemeat, the elder Gila was merely wounded and remained fully mobile.

With a mighty swipe of its tail, it launched itself back toward the rupture in the peat bog, seeking to escape.

Unfortunately for the Gila, its escape was no more. Richard had used Lea to crush together the passageway, closing it like a choked oesophagus.

“GARRRRROP!” A resounding roar echoed through the surrounding grove.

Around them, Julian and the House of Xu battled the tide of small Gila creatures, keeping them away from the main combatants. Occasionally, one of them threw a spell at the Gila, though everything, apart from the monster-hunting Lightning and the all-consuming Void, seemed to slide off its exterior like water off a duck's back.

“GARRRR! Hurrrk-Putt!” The Gila turned toward Gwen’s elevated position and fired off a glob of corrosive liquid.

“Richard!” Gwen was far too preoccupied with maintaining her spells to reinforce a Shield or effect a Dimension Door.

“Water Shield!” A double layer of water covered Gwen. The first took the brunt of the attack, while the second, a shield with a broader base, prevented any of the phage laden fluid from reaching her.

“Gwen, I can't sustain the Void spells!” Petra’s voice called out from the right. “Mina’s almost out! It's all Lightning from here on out! ”

Behind Petra, Mina panted with exhaustion.

“One more bolt!” Petra commanded her cousin. “More Positive energy!”

“I am doing it!” Mina let loose a moan of effort, her blouse wet with perspiration as she sought a second wind.

Below, the elder Gila slid forward, only to meet with a shoal of writhing tentacles. Lashes of Void and Lightning wrapped themselves around its torso, its neck, and around its bulging waist, cutting apart the slime and reaching for the flesh.

Another barrage of Void and Lightning bolts arrived, punching through the creature’s hide. Where Void created pock-marks the size of a human head, the lightning opportunistically penetrated into the freshly-made wounds, expending its volatile forces into the Gila's organs.

“Ice Ball!”

“Wall of Stone!”

“Flame Sphere!”

“Bless!”

The House of Xu continued to isolate the swarm from joining its creator, transforming the surrounding area into a zone of fire and ice separated by Felicity's barriers. Petra too, spared what she could, laying down preprepared walls of Crystal and warding her team from wayward creatures.

With the salamander held down by her tentacles, Gwen checked Caliban's progress. Her familiar informed her that it would soon complete its terrible work.

“Void Skin!” She incanted, feeling the protective layer turning her body the consistency of midnight. “Richard! I need to get close!”

“I got you!” Richard answered her from below. “Fei! Tao, Mirror Image, now!”

His command was answered by an affirmative. As Gwen drifted downward toward the dying Gila, two images in her exact shadow-clad facade appeared beside her.

Within the Gila, Caliban had finally located its prize, the creature core.

“Do it!” Gwen commanded, landing just beside the Gila as to avoid its thrashing tail. A single strike from the battering appendage would likely break every bone in her body.

An illusory Gwen landed near its head, instantly crushed by a snap of its maw, while the other, appearing near the tail, was dashed by a single slap that sent up a small tsunami of swamp water.

Gwen felt another wave of weakness as Caliban took its pound of flesh and engaged its consumption ability. Caliban made for the spine of the Gila as it too, like Gwen, became painted in the energies of the Void.

“Come on!” Gwen mouthed a little too audibly, unnerved by the presence of the gargantuan Gila. The feeling was akin to standing next to a school bus as it attempted a blind turn at full speed.

Her Warding Bolts fired again, finishing off its cartridge of three. Her Call Void and Lightning likewise engaged, feeding off her Evocation Sigil to emit bolts of terrible destruction.

Then Caliban tore into the spinal column of the Gila, causing a mighty shudder to overcome the churning beast. Insane with pain and agony the Gila suddenly reared its head, turned toward Gwen, and twisted its body to perform last-ditch body slam.

“Gwen!” Richard called out. “Lea! Everything you got!”

Gwen was caught off-guard by the sudden vitality of beast. The momentum of a creature measured in tonnage far exceeding Gwen's sixty-odd kilos of body weight slammed into her non-newtonian Shield. Gwen fell on her buttocks and saw the looming red mass of the Gila pulverise her Shielding.

Richard’s Water Membranes opened in front of her, but they lasted only a split second against the physical force of the dying monstrosity.

With a ground shaking thud, the creature landed.

There was a second of goose-bump paranoia when all who watched held their breath- but then Gwen appeared on the other side of the Gila in a burst of Lightning.

A Dimension Door! Richard eased his bated breath.

Gwen fell to her knees and slumped onto the torn soil of the peat bog, the churned mud instantly reaching her waist. The Gila twisted itself again and tried to bring its body back the other way.

“Shield of Faith!”

“Water Shield!”

“Stone Shield!”

"Crystalline Barrier!"

A glowing shield, films of reciprocating water, and an immense, umbrella-like barrier of stone appeared in front, above, and beside Gwen. The combined might of the accumulated defence bore the brunt of the attack and physically displacing the Gila as it recoiled. Upon landing on its belly, an arterial spurt of dark blood erupted from its pale white abdomen, in the space between its two frontal legs.

Caliban burst forth from the Gila’s chest in a guttural spray of viscera and roared triumphantly.

“Shaaa! Shaaa!” it cried out, engorged and bulbous with life-blood and stolen vitality.

With the swell of vital energy from Caliban, Gwen caught her breath and forced herself from the sloppy embrace of the marsh.

The Salamander’s atrophied eyes regarded its assailant for the final time, then the fluttering firelight within its beady orbs died, taking a milky-emptiness. Its gargantuan body twitched and shook; its limbs pawed the air helplessly. Then, with a gurgling shake of its jiggling flesh, it was no more. The Mages felt a pulse of psionic energy escape the Salamander, then the cacophonous crash of combat came to a sudden lull.

Stricken by the death of their Matriarch, the spawn of the elder Gila began to flee into the swamp. It was every Gila for itself.

Petra was the first to land beside Gwen, lending her a shoulder to lean on. Like Gwen, Petra too was pallid with Void-drain. Richard, Tao, Mina, as well as the others, quickly joined the girls to ensure that they were alright.

With an oratorical gasp, the giant carcass of the salamander began to collapse, its soft bones breaking one by one as the magic that sustained it drained out into the aether. With a flatulent burst of nauseating stench, its anus relaxed and released a cargo of dark-matter more deadly than the Void itself.

A pulse of mystical energy fed into Gwen's Kirin amulet.

The gathering made a discrete escape as the body continued to expel its excess fluids.

“Caliban!” Gwen willed her familiar to slither toward them. For the Mages seeing Caliban in the flesh for the first time, they felt overwhelmed and revolted by the sight of the bloody, viscera-covered worm, whose visage would visit their nightmares.

“Hurk! Hurk! Hrkbleeegh!” Caliban declared as it heaved like a cat trying to cough up a fur ball.

The creature core emerged pointed end first, the size of a man’s torso. Caliban’s body bloated and its carapace became stretched until it bled a milky-purple ichor. Then with a final, exhaustive motion, it spat the gore-laden crystal out onto the ground, a portion of it still attached to what looked like a segment of the creature’s spine.

“Fuck me!” someone blurted out loudly. “That is a huge fucking core.”

The gathering appreciatively regarded their loot. Richard lifted the core into the air and cleaned it with Lea’s aid, polishing the stone until it sparkled with refracted light. A heart of this size, from a creature with magical resistance, was undoubtedly immeasurably valuable.

“Gwen?”

“Yes?”

“Storage, please.”

Gwen nodded and moved toward the core, allowing her Ring's spatial field to envelop the thing entirely.

When the air displaced and the core disappeared, their newer members felt their awe renewed.

Who was this girl? Lighting and Void, and a large Storage Ring? Was she the secret scion of some Magi or Meister? What an opportunity it was to serve beside Gwen if that was the case!

“The eggs!” Petra turned to Richard. “Should we destroy them?”

Richard rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“This place is already a plane populated by the Gila,” he suggested. “Maybe we should leave them? If the Gila are gone from this place, The Dungeon would diminished in many ways. How would that affect the population of magical materials in the plane? What would Acolytes farm in the future?”

“How about just one?” Mina suggested. “Could be someone is desperately looking for an egg, you never know.”

“Alright, just the one,” Richard commanded Lea to retrieve an egg from the bubbling corpse. “At worst, we can have a dubious omelette for breakfast.”

The gathered party members turned to regard the mountain of flesh that now sat before them, bathing in the afterglow. A Tier 6 beast! One with Magical Resistance that increased its toughness up to tier 8! And yet, they were the ones to butcher it!

* * *

When the Dancing Lights and Daylight spells faded, the clearing was once again reduced to darkness, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight emitted by a sickly moon. The enormous corpse of the Gila had attracted a plague of carrion crawlers, so after some deliberation, the party opted to open up a chasm and throw the Gila back beneath the resting bog. Though someone had questioned if the Gila was edible, it would take a Chef well trained in preparing Magical Creatures to safely cook the necrotic flesh of the chaos born beast, a rare talent indeed.

With the combat over, Gwen retreated to her room - the Master bedroom, for she was the owner of the Habitat, while the rest of the men slept in the living room. At her behest, the girls had their choice of lodging, for the King-sized bed was enormous, and there were only two other spare bedrooms with single beds.

Felicity felt far too uncomfortable to be sleeping with strangers. Mina had never shared a bed with anyone, and so Gwen and Petra became bunk buddies in the Master suite.

Petra seemed entirely comfortable with the proposition and slid into the sheets attired comfortably in her bra and panties. Gwen had on her silk pyjama-kimono, another purchase from Singapore, and rested her eyes beside Petra’s soft breathing. But when Gwen allowed her long lashes to rest against her face, she saw once more in exquisite detail the pigtails flutter gently to the ground.

Gwen's eyes shot open, and her breath hastened.

Shit! She mumbled to herself. Gwen has murdered sleep, and therefore she shall sleep no more.

This world was not like her old world. Why should she be so distressed over the death of one inconsequential Mage, a nobody? It was the Mage's fault! She acted in self-defence! Gwen felt her mind pivot dangerously towards a dark axiom before she stopped herself.

She closed her eyes again.

A scent of hot iron filled her nostrils.

Gods! Gwen bit her lips. Damn you, stupid brain, calm your damn horses!

“Hey.” Dark silhouetted fingers moved through the night and parted Gwen’s ruffled hair to reveal her face. “You alright?”

“I hope so.” Gwen turned to the ceiling, wondering if the dark down-lights offered some epiphanic solution to her insomnia.

Petra shifted on the bed until the silhouette of her face hovered on the edge of Gwen's vision. In the dim darkness, Gwen could make out her clear orbs catching the ambiguous light of the pocket dimension peering in from the semi-opaque pane.

"Want to hear a story?" Petra implored. "If you can't sleep, that is."

"Sure," Gwen said to the ceiling.

Petra laid back beside Gwen and gathered her thoughts. For the next minute, the shared darkness was filled only with the sound of soft breaths exchanged in alternating intervals.

“I was fourteen," Petra began.

"I awakened a little earlier than the other girls in my Military school. As I was from a state school, the Moscow Tower picked me up, and I was assigned to one of the Magisters there, an Enchanter, Magister Popov. Master Popov was an eccentric, a bohemian, if you will, not a man for the rules. His personality and his profession was a bad combination; Popov was a sanctioned Mind Mage, a spy by profession. He used his talents liberally and without much regard for ethics, but the leadership turned a blind eye to any unsanctioned use of his magic because he was also the best they had.”

“I was young and ambitious, and I thought the world of Master Popov. He was suave, he was skilled, and he drank like a fish. I had thought he was going to teach me Material Enchantment, see because I was a Mineral Mage. But then I was notified that Master Popov had other plans for me.”

“Other plans?” Gwen shifted a little to catch Petra's profile. A sliver of silver moonlight contoured Petra's figure under the silken sheets. Other plans, she thought to herself. With Petra beside her, it didn't take a stretch of the imagination to see where this was going.

“He convinced me that I should train to become a Mind Mage like him. He told me I was born for it,” Petra intoned nostalgically.

Gwen waited quietly for Petra to continue to the story.

“Popov told me that there are dozens of Mineral Mages, hundreds even, that the Tower could tap into if they needed work of that kind done, but there was only one Enchanter he knew of, that could do my work.”

“What kind of work?”

“Espionage. A Red Ghost.”

“We prepare a face to meet the faces that we meet,” Gwen recited softly. "They sought to make you into femme fatale?"

“You know it well.” Petra laughed self-depreciatively. “He had no interest in my Mineral talents, Gwen. He thought that with my external gifts, I could become more successful than anyone. I could become his apprentice, take over his role at the Tower one day. I was smitten. Me, a Magister!”

“I went along with it at first. Like I said, I was young and ambitious. Think about it, Gwen, a Magister just told a junior Mage that they could be as great as they are. Who was I to refuse? I agreed, and we trained. He taught me everything he knew and then some. He was full of impatience. Then, when I was fifteen, Popov decided that I needed to see some blood. He volunteered me for an operation in downtown Moscow, dealing with the illicit trade of young Mages trafficked from the old USSR states, you know, Ukraine, Romania, Belarus?”

Gwen knew only vaguely, but she inclined her head as not to interrupt Petra's story. She had seen the trade in illicit Mage flesh first hand even in a Frontier city as presumably as 'low-crime' as Sydney. The Russian frontier, with its vast stretch of hostile landscapes and endless tundras full of Magical Beasts and Demi-humans, was notorious for its troubles with people traffickers.

“As expected, I acted the bait. I charmed one of the traders and bid them to take me to the underground market. The Tower Mages laid in wait for my signal, for it was my job to identify the ringleaders. Everything had gone smoothly until I caught the eye of one of the customers, who demanded an immediate purchase and transfer from my charmed informant. When I willed my informant to refuse, he killed him right there.”

“Jesus.” Gwen inhaled an unsteady breath.

“That was the first time I saw someone killed.” Petra's voice was calm and controlled.

“The customer's goons took me after that and dragged me to a room somewhere in the den. I acted the part of the hapless waif and begged him to spare me. Satisfied with my helplessness, he dismissed the guards. It was an unexpected scenario, but I was sure I had the situation under control. The man was smitten, and this made him far more pliable to my Mind Magic. But when we entered the room…”

Gwen swallowed as Petra took a moment to pace herself.

“It was a room without windows, all done up to look like some sick love-cave, though you might be a little young to know what that is. Anyway, we got into the room, and the first thing I saw was a child.”

“A child!” Gwen spluttered in horror and disgust.

“I couldn’t tell if the child was alive or deceased. I thought it was a girl at first, but no, it was just a skinny boy, a street urchin. There are a lot of urchins about in Moscow and the surrounding Frontier cities, we’re famous for it, in fact. The boy was undressed from the waist down.”

"..."

“The man must have thought I was frightened witless. He came toward me, like this…”

Petra moved her head closer to Gwen, close enough that she could feel Petra breathing on her face.

“Oh, Petra…” Gwen’s voice was full of quivering sympathy.

“When I saw him reaching out with his soiled hands, all that training, all that tutelage Master had drilled into me, flew out the window. I blasted him with a Hold Person; then I materialised a crystalline dagger and placed it under his throat.”

"The man whimpered. His face was so pitiful, so scared. I think he would have shat himself were it not for the Hold Person."

“What did you do?”

“Then, with one swift push, just like Master taught me…”

Gwen felt Petra poke a thin finger under her chin; the sudden synaesthesia coated her skin with a sheen of cold sweat.

“Then I had an unexpected discovery.”

“What was it?” Gwen choked out, moving a hand to caress her neck gently as she tried to pace her heartbeat.

“You should know it well.” Petra smiled. “The blood."

“Who’d have thought the old man would have so much blood in him…” Gwen said softly.

“Yes.” Petra moved away. “So much of it. It was like a fountain, spraying all over my hands, my clothes, my face. I had thought it was clean, quick, easy. The reality was obscene. It was disgusting. It turned my stomach.”

“Then?”

“Then the Tower Mages had to move in. I had blown my cover. When the VIP died, it had sent the place into a frenzy. There was no more purpose to me discretely identifying the ringleaders.”

“The operation?”

“A modest success, no thanks to me. Master said that it was a test, and I had failed it spectacularly.”

“I am sorry.” Gwen moved a hand over to touch Petra’s face. Petra brushed her vague fingers away.

“I am glad it happened that way,” Petra said quietly. “I quit the Tower after that. Master rescinded my apprenticeship. My parents, both serving in the Military, were told of my failure. Father was disappointed, of course, but mother was alright with it. They asked me what my plans were, and I said I wanted to be a crafter. They contacted my grand-aunt- our babulya- and I was sent here to Shanghai, where I wouldn't be an eyesore.”

“But you’re amazing!” Gwen gripped Petra’s hand. “Your skills with the Cubes! They’re incredible!”

“That’s thanks to my new Master, Magister Wen,” Petra spoke with a voice full of reverence. “A magic just for me. I owe her my life, Gwen. She gave me hope.”

“I hope she’ll be satisfied with the Vitae fruit,” Gwen stated.

“I hope so as well.” Petra smiled.

The two girls laid side by side until their breath fell into a comfortable, iambic rhythm.

“I don’t how if that helped.” Petra felt Gwen squeeze her hands gently. “I just thought I’d share it. I am not good with these things. I am sorry if there was no wisdom there to make you feel better.”

“It helped,” Gwen said earnestly. “Thanks for sharing, Petra. I appreciate it.”

“It was good to tell someone,” Petra answered. “Also, I hadn’t expected that I would be so willing to overshare, this is strictly between you and me.”

“Alright.”

“Sleepy?”

“Yeah.”

"Good. I am sleeping."

Gwen closed her eyes.

True to Petra's words, she felt the creeping lull of sleep, however troubled and uncertain it may be.

* * *

When she woke the next morning, Petra was gone. The whole house was empty except for Fei, who waited upon her with breakfast.

“Everyone’s outside,” Fei said. “We need to hurry up; the Dungeon is ending soon.”

“It is?” Gwen quickly consumed her porridge and exited with Fei. Outside, the gathered crew was impatiently waiting for the final countdown.

“So soon?” Gwen asked Petra, who looked stunning in a chalk chiffon one-piece and white runners. Despite wearing it loose, her trained figure was amply evident beneath the multi-layered folds of the fabric.

“Expected fluctuations,” Petra responded hypothetically. “We got a good 40 odd out of the maximum 72 though, that’s not bad. Especially with the ley-lines around Shanghai, which primarily services the city.”

They waited half an hour more, then each of their Message devices began to vibrate.

“Participants, you have thirty minutes until Dungeon collapses. When you re-appear in the Material Plane, there may be slight disorientation. Make your way to the Staging Area once you are clear. If you require aid, signal an Adjudicator once you are outside. There are no penalties for asking for aid once you exit the Dungeon.”

“Anything to watch out for?” Gwen asked the party. "When we pop out, I mean."

Richard made a show of palms; it was his first dive as well.

“We’re going to be pretty packed in, like when we entered. Careful that no one tries to take our loot or repay a grudge with a sneak attack,” Mina advised.

“That likely?” Richard raised a bushy brow. "I guess we did piss off a lot of people."

“Sure, why not. If any assailants get caught though, it's a huge penalty, paid in CCs.” Mina smiled sweetly. “Think anyone would want to have a go?”

“They can try!” Richard grinned. “I am happy to take a few CCs to forgive and forget, ha!”

The two of them chuckled amiably.

When the countdown reached the final minute, all the members were packed and ready to leave. Gwen had retrieved her Portable Habitat, but not before changing into a grey-white easy-dress which hung on two spaghetti-strings shoulder-straps, falling over her sharp shoulderblades comfortably. For modesty and ease of movement, she wore cut-off safari-shorts beneath the frock, as the untapered dress was prone to lifting as the wind willed. Her thrift-boots finished the outfit, giving her a sophisticated, urban air.

Petra’s eyes became glued to Gwen’s clothes. For a girl of the military and the Spellcraft laboratory, she hadn’t ever seriously considered the potential of an outfit whose impact and exposure was inversely proportioned.

“See you on the other side!” Mina waved to the crowd, who waved back.

“Senior Huang! It’s been a pleasure!” Julian announced. “I look forward to seeing you in again in Shanghai!”

“Thank you! Senior Huang, Ms Gwen, Mina and Petra!”

“Julian, the pleasure was all mine,” Richard replied.

“Thank you, everyone!” Gwen inclined her upper body to make a half bow, which was returned by the others. “I hope to see you all in Shanghai very soon.”

“We look forward to seeing you as well, Ms Gwen!”

Their Message devices began to vibrate.

“All participants, the Dungeon is now collapsing. You will be teleported to Hengsha Island shortly. Keep your arms and hands close to your body, and if you should be displaced into the ocean, immediately signal an Aerial Mage to render assistance.”

Gwen held her breath as the distortion began.

Her first Dungeon dive was at an end.

Once again, the world became an indistinct sea of fog.

As the Dungeon's dimension closed around her, Gwen felt the physical world manifest in a swirl of volatile mana.

Immediately she checked her surroundings, thankful that she wasn’t alone. There were hundreds like her, standing around with mixed expressions of joy and anxiety, despair and triumph.

“Gwen!” Richard’s voice cried out from the mass of bobbing heads.

“Richard!” Gwen waved back.

“Fam! Over here!” Tao’s greeting was like a loudhailer.

“Everyone! You're all here!” Mina skipped through the crowd and joined their side.

“…” Petra’s choice of discretion was a waste of effort; with her height and dashing figure, she was the most conspicuous of them all.

In contrary to Richard’s worst predictions, the party gathered without incident and made their way towards the staging area, just south of the lowland clearing. When they entered the half-moon seating zone, parties who had arrived early were already having their loot measured and calculated for CCs.

Gwen’s group made for one of the temporary platforms, where a familiar face awaited them.

“Adjudicator Hao!” Richard greeted the old man, who scowled mockingly as soon as he saw them.

“Oh, it’s you. Well, I am glad to see you survived. I heard that you took down the elder Gila? Impressive work, neophytes, your prowess makes me blush.” Hao chuckled. “Well, let’s see your ill-gotten gains.”

“You jest, Sir!” Richard shared the Adjudicator's mirth. He bowed slightly, and the others followed his lead. “At any rate, Magus Hao, I am thinking you’re going to need a bigger table!”

Hovering above the central dais was an illusionary projection ten-meters high. Upon it displayed the current top score for groups returning with their CC converted loot. By the time Gwen and her group accosted Hao, the count was already at an impressive 191 CCs.

“A man of supreme confidence! We shall see!” Hao rubbed his hands. He produced a slate in one hand and motioned to his assistants. “Let us begin!”

“Gwen?” Richard gestured for Gwen to proceed with unveiling their ill-gotten booty, more than half of the loot in her Ring had been at one stage someone else’s hard-won CCs.

“Conjure Items!” Gwen commanded, so giddy with the prospect of overwhelming victory that she unconsciously vocalised the incantation.

A crash of cascading minerals covered the table. Watching the crystals overflow the surface, Gwen couldn’t help but think of the bags of litter her cats perused. Still unwashed and stinking of the swamp, their stony loot smelled strongly of ammonium.

“Ho! Very nice. Elementally tainted crystals. Good for making magical items.” Hao recorded the amount as his assistants sorted and weighed the stones. When the final stone moved into their irrespectively colourised pile, Hao rolled a hand over the multi-coloured mounds and stowed them away.

“80 CCs.”

Next came a loose collection of strange flora. A few mushrooms, and a few fruits of mysterious origin that they could not identify.

“Hmm, Swamp Jezebel- 4cc. Three Strangle Vine Hearts- 10cc. Two Crystallised Hartcry- 12cc. A bushel of Vitae Grass- 3cc. All up 59, I’ll throw one in to make it easier. 60 CCs.”

The CC scoreboard now had a total of 202 CCs.

Feeling her palpable heart-rate beat against her chest, Gwen pumped mana through her conduits and produced the twin Gila Cores.

“Woa, lucky you! Two cores! Adult sized, very nice.” Hao nodded appreciatively. “That’s 30 CC each.”

“Woooooa!”

“By Mao!”

“By Den!”

“Oh, Magi!”

“Red Stars! Look at the Score Board!”

The party’s attention abruptly became drawn to the central dais, where a group of haughty-looking young Mages in identical uniforms stood presenting a man-sized crystal block to Magister Paris. The citrine chunk of crystalline rock was enormous, taking two strength-enhanced Mages just to hold it steady.

“The Dungeon Core!” an indistinct voice announced from the crowd. “So that’s why the Dungeon closed prematurely!”

“For real?” Richard turned to Petra. “I thought they were a myth? At least, no one is supposed to be able to find it.”

“They exist,” Petra affirmed with a curl of he lower-lip. “The core is found deep in the dungeon, generally far underground, making discovery entirely accidental. To try to pry into so much space is impossible without expending a disproportionate amount of resources.”

“Still,” Mina added, her expectant expression becoming dejected. “They found it. I wonder what kind of a Guardian they had to defeat? How many CCs it's worth? Those cores can be made into Shielding Crystals or even enchanted to become Pocket Worlds. You know that Portable Habitat you got, Gwen? It's constructed from a chunk of this thing.”

“Oh?” Gwen felt her premonition trigger uncomfortably. "How the hell did they find such a thing?"

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” said a junior Mage beside them who'd been listening to the girl’s conversation. “They found it in a giant underground labyrinth flooded with water. Supposedly the guardian was absent, so they just nabbed it and legged it.”

“Absent Guardian, huh?” Richard manifested Lea. Her appearance caused a small commotion of its own, much to the delight and envy of all those who saw. A beautiful, humanoid Familiar was an incredible boon, especially one that was sapient. “Lea, did you see a core while you’re down there?”

Lea shook her head. Maybe she saw, or mayhap she had not. Even though Lea was self-aware, the Undine was more so a creature of passion and feeling than that of critical thought and introspection. If Richard had not known that a Dungeon Core existed below, then Lea could not have known either.

“Don’t worry about it, Lea.” Richard petted his Familiar. He repressed a dejected sigh. It hardly mattered now; there was no point making Lea feel bad. It was his fault for not knowing that a Guardian’s nest could potentially hold a Dungeon Core.

Beside him, Petra felt sick with self-loathing as well. The thought that a core was down there hadn't even crossed her mind.

The party regarded one another and waited for the guillotine to fall.

“Hey, what if-” Gwen tried to be optimistic, but her optimism was crushed by a sudden cheer that grew from the riotous multitude of young Mages.

“400CCs!” someone shouted. “By Mao! They’re going to win for sure! And they’re going to get 50CC for coming first! Red Stars! 450 CCs! You can buy enough tuition to reach tier 6!”

“Jesus.” Richard sucked in his breath. “What are we sitting at?”

“You got anything else?” Hao patted the empty table. “Come on; you looted more than that!”

“Gwen?” Richard’s voice wavered. The idea of losing to something as ill-fated as poor fortune turned his stomach.

Heart in mouth, Gwen moved her hand over the table once more.

‘Thunk!’

The core of the giant Gila fell onto the table and chipped the granite surface.

“Wo-Kao!” Hao swore, taken aback by the size of the thing. “You did kill the Guardian! You guys found a core after killing a single elder Gila? I don’t know what to say. Lucky? Unlucky? That’s too pitiful. You could have gotten the Creature Core and the Dungeon Core and made record history!”

“Yeah well,” Richard lamented, glancing at the crew lording over their Dungeon Core. “You win some; you lose some.”

“What’s it worth?” Gwen asked. “We did it with an eleven man team.”

“Ah.” Hao shook his head. “A damn shame then. I am afraid it has to be an even split unless you can convince the other team to forfeit their CCs.”

“No, that’s fine.” Gwen battered a hand back and forth. It was one thing to come second, another to stab your allies in the back. She’d hate to imagine what Richard would think if she demanded that the House of Xu forgo their rightful reward. Would he support her and ‘convince’ them? Or would he lose faith in her 'better' judgement? There was also Fei as well, Gwen didn’t want to take away the boy’s CCs, the young Illusionist was only going to exit the Dungeon with 10 - 15 at most.

“Well.” Hao rubbed his chin. “I’ll try to be as generous as I can. I’ll award 220 CCs, to make life easier for you guys. The Guardian's core is a rare find, and I know of a few Magisters who would love to experiment with a Chaos core of this calibre.”

“Okay,” Richard tried to calculate their gains.

“We have 300 CCs.” Gwen did the math for him. She glanced longingly at the Dungeon Core, feeling a little dejected.

“That’ll put you in a safe second, or third,” Hao intoned. “But more than likely second. A shame, but it is an excellent show for your first dive. Congratulations.”

“The egg?” Mina suggested.

“How about this egg?” Gwen materialised a Gila Egg held in the stasis of a crystalline Spell Cube.

“Hmm…” Adjudicator Hao rubbed his grizzled chin. “A rare ingredient, but of insufficient versatility in experimentation. At the very best I can award you 20.”

“That puts us at 320…” Mina sighed.

Gwen glanced at the scoreboard.

Should she ask the party to give up some of their Vitae Fruits? How much were they worth? One was for babulya. One was for Petra’s master. One belonged to Richard. Should she sacrifice the chance to grow Almudj’s primal mana for some CCs?

She could always participate in more Dungeon dives, but the opportunity to grow her resistance to Void consumption was a far rarer gift.

“Wait!” Tao interjected. “Gwen, didn’t you say Caliban murdered its way through the marsh?”

“Murdered, huh?” Gwen glanced at Magus Hao, whose expression was unreadable. Tao's unfortunate choice of vernacular massaged her heart uncomfortably.

“His belly!” Tao indicated bewilderingly. “Cali be spewing dem that cores like taking a big dump right? Doesn’t he have more inside em? Maybe there are more cores inside em like that time Bubbles shat out Mina’s earrings?”

“What did you say?” Mina’s face became deathly pale. “The pearl earring? My favourites? The ones you said I must have lost at the club?”

“I ain’t saying shit, dawg.” Tao tried to pivot the topic. “Caliban be shitting treasure any minute now.”

“Tao!” Mina took her brother by the scruff of the neck. “What the fuck did your dog do!”

Richard turned back to Gwen.

“Well?”

“I could try.” Gwen turned her mind inwards. “Caliban, you got more of these cores in you?”

“Shaa!” Caliban replied, implying that it could shit out a modest collection, should it wished to do so.

“Okay, come out discretely.”

Gwen turned to Tao and the others.

“Peaches, Richard, give me some cover. I don’t want a spectacle, at least not yet.”

“You got it!” Tao gave her a thumbs up and began a Major Image.

Their immediate surroundings became reflective and difficult to discern. Richard likewise reinforced the illusion with a water screen. With both physical and magical warding in place, Gwen called her Familiar.

From a crack in time-space, an obsidian serpent resembling a work of grotesquely erotic art slithered onto the table. Hao had seen the creature prior, but the detail provided by proximity still made him repress a reflexive revulsion. His assistants likewise stepped back with abrupt aversion lest they drew the ire of the netherworld fiend.

Caliban cocked its lamprey’s mouth.

“Hideous!” Hao held down his churning stomach acid. “How does one come to tame a Void Beast anyway? Where do you even find one?”

“Blarrrrrgh!”

A torrent of grey goo in a volume impossible for Caliban’s slim body to possess poured onto the table. Captured within the mucus, much in the manner of frog spawn, were creature cores that cascaded over the counter like tidal water. There were stones both large and small, the most potent of which was the size of a hen’s egg, the finest of which was the breadth of a fingernail.

The torrent of horrendous nether-liquid continued until Caliban began to dry heave.

“Caliban, go home!” Gwen commanded.

The collective breathed a sigh of relief as the nightmare fuel drained from the material world. Now there was only the matter of the semi-digested cores. The party had stood well away from the table, but Hao and his Mages would need new robes.

Tao and Richard dispelled their illusion and Shield.

To the Mages who had been curious about the deliberate obfuscation, it was as though a small mountain of cores had materialised from thin air.

“What the hell!”

“Oh, Mao! What is that?”

“R-Red stars!”

“WOA! WHERE THAT COME FROM?”

Hao was ankle deep in the grey slime, his expression utterly impassive as he considered the mound of cores. How many creatures did these junior Mages kill? Would there even be enough Gila-things left in the Dungeon to repopulate over the next century?

“Those ain't crystals!” someone shouted incredulously. "They're CORES!"

“Hundreds of cores!” Another surprised voice, a female one that pierced the ding, brought the crowd’s attention towards Gwen’s party.

Adjudicator Hao plucked a core from the grey goo.

“Swarm cores, five to 1 CC. Tiny Cores - 1 CC each. Small Cores - 2 CCs Each! Medium Cores, 5CCs,” he commanded his assistants, who were trying to hold their guts in. “Begin!”

Meanwhile, upon the central dais, more crystals and assorted flora became exchanged.

“Total: 423 CCS!” Magister Paris announced, triumphant over the Dungeon Core group’s surprising windfall.

But the Magister’s attention had now been taken by the commotion coming from the lower field, where a few hundred Mages were chanting and chittering while surrounding one of the sorting tables.

“Hao, how goes your group?” Paris felt curiously drawn by the unexpected vision. What would be more alluring than a Dungeon Core? Who could collect enough bric-a-brac to defeat a massive advantage of 400 CCs? “What’s your count?”

“In a minute! I am going as fast as I can!” Hao Messaged back. “Get ready!”

Magus Xi and Gwok, from the PLA Tower, likewise approached the goo-covered table where Hao was busy picking out core after core.

Thus far, the top score was 423 CCs, the second being 212 CCs.

“Where in the world did you find so many cores? How many creatures did you kill?” Xi’s scar was glowing crimson with excitement. It had been some time before she’d seen such a bloodthirsty group. If these young Acolytes could channel that passion into the real world, they would make excellent Combat Mages, maybe in the Hunter-Killer divisions, or serving with the Aerial Artillery Corps. “Awe-inspiring work, Neophytes!”

Their eyes fell over Gwen, Petra, and Richard. Richard was the first to bow, followed by his companions. Gwen was the last to genuflect, for she was caught in the intricate calculations carried out by Hao and the assistants.

“Tao and Mina Wang?” Xi turned to her colleague, feeling a little bewildered. “I thought they were the young masters of the Wang Enterprise.”

Gwok felt likewise surprised by the composition of Gwen’s party.

“He scored zero CCs last dive.”

The two Magus turned toward the party and patiently observed Hao’s painstaking work.

“Peaches!” a voice called out from behind the group.

“Mack-Daddy! Little-Dog! Yo yo, wassup!” Tao hollered back. As the two met with the party, Tao exchanged a blisteringly fast array of hand signals and gang signs with his two brothers from another mother. “Oh shit man! You guys won’t believe what happened! I almost like, died! We capped some bitches, busted up some Gila, it was nasty as anything, dawg.”

“Yeah, I was sure that I wasn't mistaken. That’s Tao Wang.” Xi scratched her scar in disbelief.

“Stranger things have walked the earth.” Gwok shrugged, equally sceptical.

“ALRIGHT!” Hao finished, his voice jubilant. He had never seen such a thing before in all his years. “Assorted Chaos Cores from Gila creatures, 133 CCs!”

“YES!” Gwen punched the air, her eyes glowing with concentric rings of cobalt blue.

“That puts you at-” Hao announced.

“That puts us at 453 CCs!” Gwen yelled. She liked winning. She liked winning a whole lot.

“OH shit! NO Way!” Tao freaked out, hugging his two friends.

“Eeeek!” Mina shrieked, mimicking Ariel. “Oh, Mao! I can hardly breath!”

“Phew,” Petra breathed out. “I am glad.”

“Fuck yes!” Richard raised a hand.

“Tao!”

“Mina!”

“Petra!”

Their hands met in a series of resounding high-fives.

“Gwen!”

Richard hugged his cousin, who reciprocated with an equally fierce embrace.

“Everyone!” Gwen left Richard’s arms and pulled the others in to form a huddle. “Team Cousins!”

“I can’t believe you guys did it!” Mack-Daddy and Little-Dog exalted the jubilant Tao.

“Peaches in the house!” Tao rapped excitedly and began a beat-box with Mack and Dog.

The crowd around them applauded as well, breathing in the celebratory air. With Hao making the announcement official, Magister Paris left the dais and walked through the air toward the group.

503 CCs including the reward for coming first! Gwen rejoiced. Split five-way, that’s a hundred CCs each!

“Congratulations!” the booming voice of Magister Paris rolled across the clearing. He surveyed the masses of congregating Mages young and old. No other group raised their hands to contest the score, and in his experience, the only reason the first group even managed over four hundred was precisely due to the Core that they had uncovered by chance. Seeing that Gwen’s party had produced the core of the Guardian, it left little wonder as to why the second-ranked group was able to retrieve the most precious prize of the Dungeon effortlessly.

Watching Paris float through the air on a spell of flight, Gwen wondered how female Mages managed. One could hardly waft over the heads of the masses with dignity while wearing a dress.

As the Magister landed amongst them, the party paid their respects.

“You’re Captain Song’s group, no?” Magister Paris clasped his hands together. “My word! What fortuitous encounters you must have had! You have gathered enough materials and Cores to rival five adventuring parties!”

“We happened to be in a good spot, Sir,” Richard replied modestly. “Gwen’s the one who did the most legwork. She’s our primary damage dealer.”

“Indeed, a girl of many talents.” Magister Paris turned his pale-blue eyes upon Gwen, who looked modestly taken by Richard’s shameless plug.

“Richard is far too kind.” Gwen moved a hand toward her companions. “I couldn’t have done it without the others. I doubt we would have even held onto our items if Richard hadn’t saved me. Or become too injured to continue were it not for Mina. Petra too rescued me from forfeiture on more than one occasion, and Tao was likewise instrumental in our defeat of the elder Gila.”

Paris nodded with satisfaction.

“Excellent, Ms Song. We need Mages who are more aware of teamwork and less obsessed with their personal standing,” he spoke appreciatively. “I look forward to your future performance and that of your team. Your student cards please.”

Gwen and the others produced their cards.

“By the power invested in me by the two Towers, I now award you 91 and an addition 50 CC-”

“HALT!”

All who heard the command felt stunned by the uproarious interjection, none more so than Magister Paris, whose face instantly became cloudy with subdued rage. Who would dare interrupt him during an announcement? He was one of the Twelve Chairs of the Pudong Tower!

Three hundred odd pairs of eyes turned to see a group of Mages penetrate the throng of juniors to reach Gwen and her company.

“Well, shit.” Richard’s face became rigid. “It’s the Clan of Xiao.”

There was the familiar face of Huyi Xiao in the congregation, as well as his indignant party. Their assembly consisted of an elder radiating a palpable aura of power.

With a cold expression of loathing, Magister Paris turned to Gwen and her company.

“I am afraid I can’t intervene if this is a private matter,” Paris announced with annoyance. “Be very careful when dealing with the old lineage families. Their roots are deep and intertwining. They even have their faction within the Chinese Communist Party.”

“By the same measure, we can’t mediate if you’re not a part of the CCP,” Xi likewise intoned with annoyance. Beside the Magus, Gwok affirmed Xi’s claim. “But we’ll make sure they don’t do anything drastic. More than likely they're here to get their ‘face’ back.”

By now the oppositional party had reached Gwen and her group.

“I am Magister Xiao Leung Tian of the Clan of Xiao,” the leading Mage announced. The Magister looked to be in his forties, were it not for his westernised attire, he would have entirely resembled a picture-perfect Daoshi.

They dipped their heads before Paris, who returned their greeting.

Gwen and her party had to bow. There was a place for blood and robbery, but it was good manners and propriety that made civilisation.

“You have tortured and robbed our inheriting disciple, Huyi,” Leung Tian proclaimed. It was not a question but a statement of fact. “Your illicit act has forced him to quit the competition. We demand recompense.”

Gwen’s group fell into nervous silence. They could show a Vid-cast of Huyi's shame, but that seemed like it would immediately make matters worse.

“You will forfeit.” Leung Tian continued. Behind the wizened Magister, Huyi’s eyes licked over Gwen and Petra hungrily, delighting in every word spoken by his clan’s Magister. Watching the girls squirm with indecision made him feel all the better for having sobbed and cried until his grand-uncle was forced to act.

“And if we don’t?” Gwen felt an inexplicable calm slowly overcoming her initial jittery anticipation.

“We return what you did to Huyi's team ten-fold, right here,” the Xiao Magister stated arrogantly. The aura of distorted, indiscernible power surrounding the Mage suggested he could indeed carry it out without significant effort.

“Tian, spare me some face,” Magister Paris felt that he should at least attempt to intervene. “This is a children’s competition, don't you think that it’s shameful for you to get involved?”

“These are no children,” Leung Tian spat. “They’re foreign devils, imperialists. They have no morality. You should have heard of what this Richard and this Gwen Song did. Who can defend that?”

What. The. Fuck. Gwen wanted to shriek and scream and kick the old man between the legs. The fucking hypocrisy! She ought to let loose Caliban in the man’s face! Most importantly, they were a second away from receiving their CCs! She felt a haze of indignant ire overcome her better judgement and was about to launch into a blistering tirade when Mina tugged her sleeve suddenly.

“W-what is it?” Gwen was visibly panting with the effort of keeping her simmering resentment from overflowing.

Mina pointed into the crowd with her eyes.

A familiar face was grinning at them.

“Uncle Jun?” Gwen mouthed. Had he been here all along?

The crowd parted as the Magi Moses had parted the Red Sea, and Jun came toward them.

“Captain Jun,” Leung Tian voice took on a tone of caution.

Jun walked beside Gwen’s group after greeting Paris amiably. The chittering assemblage fell silent. Most of them knew of Captain Jun Song; his reputation preceded him.

“My niece.” Jun pointed to Gwen. “A lovely sight, no?”

“My other niece.” Jun patted Petra’s shoulder.

“A distant relative, but family nonetheless, not to mention I owe him one.” Jun shook Richard’s hand. “Thanks for looking out for the girls.”

“It was my duty, and my pleasure, Sir,” Richard thanked his distant uncle.

“The Clan of Song thinks too highly of itself.” Leung Tian's brows knitted as he warned Jun. “Do you believe a family as illustrious as ours is going to fear the MSS? You’re just the CCP’s dogs, what would the Party think if you bite the hands that fed its coffers?”

Jun appeared entirely unfazed by the insult.

“I am waiting.” He stood casually. His handsome mien was impassive.

“Waiting?” Leung Tian scanned the horizon. What was the man waiting for? Reinforcements? “For what?”

“For you to try something. Go on.” Jun's eyes were full of mirthful mockery.

“You!” Leung Tian felt his patience crumble. “Insolence!”

“Magister Paris is a busy man.” Jun sighed, he spread his arms helplessly. “As am I. So, you know. Get on with it.”

His message was self-evident for all whose eyes turned toward them. Jun was telling the Clan of Xiao to either shit or get off the can. But how could the Clan of Xiao forfeit now? They were the ones who began this altercation. How could they afford to lose more face? It would be like being slapped on the mouth while in public.

“…” An eerie silence descended amongst the audience and between the two parties.

“You don’t dare attack us.” Leung Tian’s threatening words appeared to be more so a reassurance than a rebuttal.

“A man is entitled to self-defence, no?” Jun turned to Paris, who had a grin split from ear to ear, enjoying the show. “Am I right?”

“By article 13, clause 3.4 of the Tower’s Governance Article concerning the Public Use of Magic, Captain Song is indeed entitled to a lawful self-defence,” Magus Xi added her piece. “Captain Song, I will serve as your witness should the matter go to trial.”

“As will I.” Magus Gwok threw in his lot as well. They were both a part of the Progressive Faction in the CCP that opposed the Conservative Faction.

Leung Tian seemed torn between heaven and earth as his well-waxed beard quivered with indecision.

“How about this?” Jun announced. “We can have an old-fashioned, friendly 5v5. If our kids win, forgive and forget. If we lose, our team forfeits all their CCs.”

The proposal was sound, and so Leung Tian turned to see what the young Mages of his clan thought of the offer. A successful bid would not only restore their honour; it would also teach these upstarts a lesson.

But when he turned to regard his scions, Leung Tian heart sank like a millstone.

Huyi's face had become white as freshly milled flour. The others behind him had equally browbeaten expressions. One of the Mages, the Diviner, was visibly shaking with fright and tried to suppress his acid reflux.

The Xiao Magister then turned to look at Jun’s troop of junior Mages.

The Water Conjurer looked more bemused than anything else at the prospect of a 5v5. The stunning brunette, the Mineral Mage, appeared to take the news with complete indifference. The Illusionist and the Healer thankfully had human expressions of mild worry. The most worrying sight was the Void Sorceress, the one said to possess Lightning as well, who had a bloodthirsty eagerness written all over her face.

The juxtaposition made the outcome of the contest self-evident.

In a moment of unwelcome clarity, Leung Tian felt as though he'd aged a decade. He felt old and tired and worn out. His generation had worked hard to gather rare resources, arrange meticulous marriages, supplant the CCP, and hoard the old techniques. What had they got to show for it? Wasn’t it so that their descendants could walk the earth like Gods among insects?

Here they were, these scions of the Xiao: insects.

Ancestors! Leung Tian felt hollowed out by the epiphany. Here's to hoping his brother's children fared better.

Then there was the problem of Captain Jun Song. Leung Tian wasn’t so sure he could defeat the famed Evoker. If he lost the battle, then the reputation of the Xiao would truly be in the mud.

“I withdraw my statement.” Leung Tian turned to Jun. If the Clan of Xiao was going to lose face, let it not linger in public like an odious scent. “We wish no further conflict with the House of Song, nor against the Ash Bringer himself.”

The Ash Bringer? Gwen looked at Jun’s broad, sculpted back. What an ominous title. Was Jun a Fire Mage like Alesia?

Jun extended a hand, then after a moment of hesitation, Leung Tian shook it.

“Our Patriarch will personally issue an acknowledgement to Patriarch Xiao.” Jun firmly clasped the Magister’s hands. “I hope you don’t mind if we pay the estate a visit and bring a few simple gifts.”

“The gift of peace would be more than sufficient.” Magister Xiao separated from Jun. “Though you are welcome anytime, I would have you know that the generosity of the Xiao is well-founded. Your nieces are welcome as well.”

Paris breathed out.

Xi and Gwok breathed.

The gathering let loose a collected gasp of breath as the tension diffused.

Magister Paris turned to the Party and raised his hands.

“Our winners! Coming in at 453 CCs. By the power invested in me by the Pudong Tower, I now award you 141 CCs each!”

A wave of jubilation flowed from the crowd and spread through the throng of cheering Mages. Gwen felt overwhelmed by the sudden outburst. Had it not been for the Xiao’s intervention, their reception would have been far more demure, but now they were at the epicentre of the event’s conclusion.

She turned and bowed toward each direction. Richard raised his hand to the squealing of girls from the crowd. Mina looked on unhappily and thought about kicking the exultant Conjurer. Tao paraded back and forth as he’d won a boxing match, liberally giving high-fives to the multitude. In the crowd, Gwen could see Fei, the Xu Mages, and Felicity, also waving frantically toward them and cheering.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the Clan of Xiao hastily beat their retreat, not wishing to lose any more face.

As the excitement died down and the records exchanged hands, Gwen and her party finally found themselves alone. For an hour after the end of the Dungeon, they had been made to shake, greet, and exchange contacts with hundreds of other Mages. Where Gwen’s Message Device had been derelict, it now held the names and titles of a hundred strangers whose faces she could not recall.

Gwen was the memorable one. She was the stunning Void-Lightning sorceress with the hazel eyes. But for Gwen, her new friends were a multitude of single, double, and triple syllabic masses of indistinct meaning. To avoid a future faux pas, she would have to invest in many hours of tutelage from Mina, putting face and Clan to the Contact entries.

When the party finally exhausted its social dues, it was well into the mid-afternoon.

Jun presented to them their boarding passes.

The embarkment was likewise agonising, with passengers using the remaining time to socialise and exchange goods and promises. Still fatigued from having only a few hours of sleep, Gwen rested her eyes, sheltered in the corner of the upper cabin, and quickly found herself dozing off, her lulling head slumped on Jun’s shoulder.

Mina likewise took the opportunity to take a nap on the unsuspecting Richard.

When Gwen awoke with a start, it was already evening. The glowing city of Shanghai loomed in the distance, its piercing reflection stabbing like daggers into the dark waters of the South China Sea.

It wasn't Sydney, but she was home.

The transfer from the Port Authority to the mainland was hastened by Jun's presence, so much that when the time came to part ways, the party became despondent with separation anxiety.

A dark limousine lingered just outside the port, waiting to pick up Tao and Mina. To Gwen’s surprise, Mina kissed her on the cheeks, a bold western farewell, before retreating into the haven of the elongated vehicle.

Petra likewise had her dorm to return to, leaving Gwen and company when Jun dropped her off at Fudan’s private apartment complexes. She too gave Gwen a peck on the cheeks, extolling the virtues of attending Fudan.

Finally left on their own, the trio escaped the glittery glamour of the sparkling city, their Jeep making for the third Orbital Ring under the low thrum of its V8 mana engine.

“I sorted out the incident with the Lishui girl.” Jun calmly announced when they were on the orbital highway. “I didn't want you to have it on record, at least, your public record. Do be careful in the future though. Scrubbing data takes more than just CCs; it takes favours.”

“I will, and thank you,” Gwen muttered demurely. “I am sorry for the trouble, Uncle Jun.”

“And you should be,” Jun sternly agreed. “The taking of a life, especially a fellow Mage, is no matter to be taken lightly, even if you have full justification. Remember that.”

“I shall.”

“Good, then there’s nothing more to be said. I look forward to your future performance.”

The stoic scalding over, Gwen's spirits fell to that of reflective silence.

“You too, Richard,” Jun continued. “Can you hear me at the back?”

“Yes, Sir. I can.”

“Just Jun is fine.”

“At least let me call you Senior Jun,” Richard insisted.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Jun wasn’t one for titles. He disliked the implication and the implied duty. Richard was someone Jun would like to see as a prospective peer. He felt that the young man had a good temperament and just the right amount of apathy for taking ethical liberties. “I know why you’re desperate for CCs, but dial it down and try not to piss off too many people. The nature of CCs is that you accumulate them over time. Any windfall accumulated by your method of highway robbery is just going to bring trouble later.”

“I’ll be careful, Senior.”

“You need to be more than that. Think about the years ahead. What would happen when your parents, who lack the talent to take care of themselves, come to Shanghai? What if you make too many enemies and some of them decide to take advantage of the fact that you are going to be away on extended missions? You need allies as well as CCs, Richard. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank you for the advice,” Richard said seriously. “I realise now that I was too arrogant and careless.”

“Good. You are both good students.” Jun turned the Jeep into the Song compound. “Here we are, try to have some food before you sleep. The food on the ferry was hardly nourishing.”

“We shall, Senior.”

“Thank you, Uncle Jun, I truly appreciate all the things you’ve done for us.”

“Hey, we’re family.” Jun slowed the car until it came to a full stop. "I'll see you guys in. I still need to greet the old folks.”

“We'll join you.” Gwen swung her long legs from the Jeep’s leather seats. By now, her concentration was groggy with fatigue. The last three days had felt more like seven.

Seven days. A week, Gwen’s brain chimed when she tried to orientate the chronology of her body clock. How many days had it been? She had left Singapore and spent almost two days in the holding cell. Then she spent a day and a half in the Song Compound. Mina and Tao expended another day or so, then three more at the Dungeon.

Had Elvia and Yue gotten back to Sydney yet? Their Journey to Darwin should have been six and a half days. If they kept travelling freight all the way to Sydney though, it would be another day or two before they arrived.

“Uncle Jun,” Gwen inquired as they made for the courtyard. “Think my friends have gotten back to Sydney yet?”

“Perhaps, assuming they disembarked at Darwin and Magus Shultz supplemented their travel expenses,” Jun remarked offhandedly. “I can ask father to loan you the LR-Comm Projector if you like, though I dare say you have to supplement your own LDMs.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Gwen replied.

The blue hour was now quickly fading, and the courtyard became illuminated with low consumption Lumen-globes. The inquisitive face of babulya awaited them in the communal hall, nursing a pot of Oolong that simmered softly over a glyph of heat. Gwen’s grandfather, Guo, was nowhere to be seen.

“Congratulations,” she happily declared as they crossed the threshold into the hall. “Petra told me you came first.”

“I'd say 'We' came first,” Gwen answered modestly. “Everyone helped, even Tao.”

“That's a good attitude to have.” Klavdiya reached out and took Gwen by the hand. Gwen felt a mote of Positive Mana enter her hand and make its round through her body.

“Quite a bit of damage.” Her babulya’s face lost some of its lustre. “Though I am surprised that you manage to reinforce that serpent mana of yours. Got lucky?”

“Very lucky.” Gwen sat beside her babulya, though her buttocks just eclipsed the edge of the seat in case Guo burst through and she had to effect a prompt and formal greeting. “Also, we brought you this, Babulya.”

Gwen passed a hand over the elevated coffee table and produced Petra’s Stasis Cube, within which was a jade-like piece of fruit flesh.

“It’ll go sour very quickly,” Gwen advised. “Petra and I had already had a piece. We saved this one for you.”

“I know dear, thank you.” Her babulya passed a hand over the Cube, taking possession of the prize. “I’ll share some of it with your grandfather. At our age, he needs it far more than I.”

“I have another.” Gwen took out the piece that she purchased from Richard.

“Oh, no, no, save it for yourself, dear. Petra said that it helps you mitigate the Void. That is far more important than adding a few years to our lives! There’s plenty of opportunities for that in the future.” Her babulya pushed the cube back towards Gwen. “I’ll instruct you on how to acquire its benefits without damaging your physical form. Rest assured I accept your good graces and kind intent.”

Reluctantly, Gwen withdrew the Vitae Fruit.

Jun bemusedly observed the proceeding beside him.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, I need to go. I’ll be back to visit in a week or so, Mother.” Jun hugged his mother and promised.

“Take care, Ah-Jun,” Klavdiya intoned.

“I will, Mother. Gwen, Richard.”

“Goodbye, Uncle Jun.”

“Tell father I just missed him and that there's the matter of the Clan of Xiao which he needs to deal with.” Having delivered his message, Jun turned to leave. His barracks had a curfew, and although Jun wasn’t subject to it, the Captain preferred to set a good example for his fellow soldiers. "Any words for Hai? He's still sweating it out at the barracks."

"Tell him I said hi," Gwen replied earnestly.

Gwen and Richard watched Jun go before returning their attention to babulya.

“I appreciate the opportunity you’ve given us,” Richard began after Gwen had finished speaking to Klavdiya. “Truly, I am grateful.”

“You can repay me by keeping an eye out for this little one,” Klavdiya gave him a knowing smile. “And the others, if you can spare the time.”

“I will do no less,” Richard inclined his head. “You can leave it to me.”

“Good, we understand each other.” Klavdiya’s eyes were mirthful. “Speaking of which, if and when your parents get here, I would like you to know that we have several properties around the city that I can offer your family until you find a place of your own.”

“I would appreciate that, babulya.” Richard was surprised by the candidness of Klavdiya’s generosity. Here was a woman who knew not to beat around the bush. “I will try my best not to take advantage of your kindness, but I thank you for thinking so highly of me.”

“Such a sweetheart,” Klavdiya cooed. “You could do well to learn a thing or two from Richard, Gwen.”

“I’ll do my best, babulya.” Gwen’s eyes met Richards. “Where is Grandfather?”

“Training your brother, I’d wager. He thinks of little else these days, and young Percy has much to do to catch up.”

“To the curriculum here in Shanghai?” Gwen implored, a little worried that her studies are going to be far behind the norm.

“To you!” babulya laughed.

“I don’t think that’s ever going to happen,” Richard stated bluntly. “Sorry if that was too abrasive.”

“Don’t say it in front of Guo,” Klavdiya warned the straight-shooting Conjurer. “I agree with your assertion, by the way.”

“I am sure Percy can do it, especially with Grandfather’s support and the House of Song behind him. He has father’s talent.” Gwen flushed with embarrassment at Richard’s harsh interjection.

“I know you’re a sentimentalist, Gwen, but perhaps less wishful thinking?” Richard was relentless. “Think about how this works, realistically. You’ve gone through how many moments of death and danger so far? How many times have you almost lost it?”

“…” Gwen sighed. There were too many times to count.

“You think Percy, the ‘heir’, is going to have the freedom to risk himself? Without risk, there is no reward. Why do you think we just ripped all kinds of hell out there in the Dungeon? Why is it that we can stand spell for a spell against those little masters with their diet of rare ingredients? It’s because we take risks, Gwen, and we survived those experiences to grow stronger.”

“Richard, enough.” Their babulya placed a hand on Richard’s arm. “While you and Gwen are staying here, it is best to keep such sentiments to yourselves. When University begins, you can seek more a convenient residency closer to your schools.”

“Sorry,” Richard’s voice became softer. “Gwen is too nice.”

“Why should that be a flaw?” Klavdiya’s voice was full of kindness as she pinched Gwen’s cheek. “The path of Asura should be tempered by the Path of Ren; else self-destruction awaits the headstrong traveller. You too, Richard, should beware your prejudices.”

Listening to Klavdiya's advice, Gwen felt a warmth in her chest that was pleasing. She felt the glad affirmation that in this new life of hers, she had not made the mistake of forsaking the chance to connect with her babulya.

“Shall we retire then?” Richard inquired. “You’ve slept on the ship, but it was hardly restful.”

“Yes, I would like to take a shower and sleep,” Gwen implored her babulya, who allowed them to leave.

“Greet Guo when you get to the training room,” babulya reminded them. "If you're hungry, ask the servants to bring you supper!"

“Yes, babulya,” they both replied.

* * *

Guo heard Gwen and Richard enter the training hall from the side entrance and told Percy to maintain his mana circulation.

Percy, as usual, took Guo's word as if it came straight from the horse’s mouth, doing his best to maintain his concentration.

The double doors opened a sliver, and the triumphant Dungeon divers presented themselves for his inspection.

Upon seeing Gwen, Guo furrowed his bushy brows. The girl that emerged from the door felt different somehow to the one that left the estate only three days ago.

Had she become even more powerful? Guo thought uncomfortably to himself. Her growth was unreasonably quick. He had heard from Jun’s Message spell earlier that Gwen’s group had taken first place in the competition.

That was in itself an absurd achievement. Two Neophytes on their first Dungeon dive, coupled with the useless Wang siblings and one Petra Kuznetsov, could defeat the best the local houses could offer? He knew that Richard was already a first-class Conjurer and that Gwen had survived a war, but the news still shocked him to his core.

Klavdiya had said it was terrific news, but for Guo; it meant trouble.

When a member designated for the side-branch, a daughter, was so much more talented and charismatic than the heir, it subverted the hearts of the family and the loyalty of the house’s servants. In time, when achievements accumulated, the Song's allies may no longer look to the heir for support, but find allegiance in Gwen, whose favour carried the most clout.

What if Gwen were to marry into a House that far superseded the prestige of the Song? What if she were to return one day with the blood of a Clan far more nobler than the Songs, bringing with her a dozen Magisters at her beck and call, and demanded allegiance from her brother? Or worse, what if she were to claim birthright, pointing out the weakness of the incumbent?

Guo felt a prickling numbness on the back of his neck as paranoid scenarios manifested themselves one after another.

Watching his granddaughter flaunt her dancer’s figure in her western dress made him all the more apprehensive. She was too gifted in that regard, and her uncommon beauty made matters worse. He would only know the true extent of her actions after receiving a full briefing tomorrow, but already the girl had become a killer. Was the Void subverting her mind, or was it the power going to her head? The life of one Lishui sorceress was no matter, but his granddaughter seemed to be quickly establishing herself a bloodthirsty reputation. In seven days, she had defeated contenders from various Houses and then killed a Mage with impunity. She either sought out trouble, or trouble found her like a harpy that's tasted human flesh. Either way, the girl was trouble.

Guo had a simple winning philosophy which allowed him to succeed in his work: nip the trouble in the bud before it bloomed.

But wasn't it said that the Tiger does not harm its cubs?

Guo felt a discouraging sense of disquiet as Gwen bowed deeply, her dark hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall. Besides the girl, the Conjurer reciprocated the gesture without the evident respect that Gwen genuflected.

The Water Mage was a danger as well. It was clear that his loyalty was first to his granddaughter, then to the man known as Gunther Shultz. More wildflowers. More buds to be clipped before they grew poisonous and carnivorous.

A dull ache caught Guo unaware as his head throbbed, and the old Magus winced with a sudden grimace.

“Are you alright, grandfather?” the girl asked him, her face beset with genuine worry.

“Percy! Concentrate!” Guo barked at the shifting form of the boy behind him. “I am fine.”

But the boy had already lost his concentration. The exercise would have to resume some other time.

“You must be tired,” Guo heard his voice speak to the girl. “Good night. Percy, go clean up. We resume tomorrow morning after 0700.”

“Yes, grandfather.” Percy bowed and left the room. He didn’t stop to speak to his sister, and that made Guo feel better.

“Good night,” Guo said again, turned on his heels, and left.

He would soon have to force Klavdiya to participate in something she disagreed with, an act that pained him more than anything else in the world.

Anything else that is, apart from disadvantaging his only heir.

* * *

Sunday became a day spent in idyllic recovery.

Gwen woke late in the morning, dressed in a carmine one-piece easy-dress, and met Richard for breakfast.

After a round of meditative exercises, she travelled with babulya to work, where she received another bout of restorative healing to repair the damage caused by her Void usage.

“Your body has taken too much of the vitae fruit for now,” babulya had informed her. “Maybe after a few more months, but for now, it is best to keep you well away from the fruit.”

The afternoon was spent with Richard, walking the quay of The Bund and taking in Shanghai’s sights. One of the local artists had thought that she was a celebrity of some kind, for her and Richard made an extraordinary pair along the boulevard, both being exceptionally tall and well-formed, and asked to paint their picture.

Gwen was too embarrassed to be holding a pose for hours, but the artist laughed and told them that he just needed a Lumen-recording.

They returned two hours later, and the artist presented them with the painting, gratis.

She had offered the man an HDM crystal, but the artist refused, saying that he was happy that they gave him the opportunity to work on something that he enjoyed. That was when she realised that the man was a NoM and that he was reeling from the knowledge that two Mages who appeared the scions of noble houses were entertaining his ambitions at all.

The image itself was hasty and impressionist, but it captured her likeness beside Richard as they wandered through the Quay. Behind them, the Pudong Tower glinted beside the Huangpu River.

A foreshadowing of the future? Richard joked. Beside him Gwen laughed without worry, dreaming of one day venturing across the bay. They had been in Shanghai long enough to know that Pudong was a place where the Demi-humans resided. Only sanctioned Mages who’d undergone mental conditioning or selective members of the Pudong Tower were able to dwell within the ‘Concession Zone’ of the city within a city.

They did not return that evening for dinner but instead attempted for an adventurous culinary fare on The Bund.

Jun came through with the Message that her friends should be arriving in Sydney soon, and that Gwen should anticipate a call within the next twelve hours.

A taxi took the two home before the 2200 curfew, where they retired to their rooms after checking in with the grandparents.

Then Gwenn tucked into bed, where she counted Evees until she could fight off the anxiety of having to wait for their call.

* * *

“Gwen! You have a call!”

Gwen had been wide awake since daybreak, waiting for the call to come. In hindsight, counting Evees mightn't have been the best solution to insomnia. Nonetheless, the news filled her mind's eye with the fluffy vision of Elvia and the bombastic Yue, furious as they received the news that Gwen would not be returning to Sydney. That had been the reason for her nerve wrecking distress.

She leapt out of bed, having changed last night, and made for the communal hall, where the LR Communication Device awaited in Guo's spare office.

The desire for privacy was likely wishful thinking, Gwen acknowledged as she entered the room where a servant had set up the device for her. By the same measure, Gwen had offered to pay for the costs of activating the device, but Klavdiya wouldn’t have it.

With a hum, the flickering projection came into focus. A close crop of outrageous cleavage promptly accosted Gwen's field of vision.

“Is this thing on?” Yue’s voice sounded far too close to the microphone, assuming the device had such a thing. “Hello?”

“Yue!” Gwen shrieked. “Oh my god! I see you! I see, a lot of you!”

“Yue! Get back here!” Elvia’s embarrassed voice was as sweet as ever.

“Elvia!”

“Gwen!”

“Yue!”

“Gwen!”

It took a few seconds, but the girls seemed to have found the niche settled into a medium shot of their upper bodies, with a little of their head cropped by the receptor's limited field of view.

Gwen felt her chest swell with turbulent emotions of child-like glee.

“I am so happy to see you guys.” Gwen choked, feeling her welling emotions making her eyes misty with remembrance.

“Oh, Gwennie! I am so glad you’re alright!” Elvia was no better; she was already leaking like a faulty tap.

“You alright down there? I heard from Gunther and Alesia that you’ve decided to stay?” Yue's timbre was equal parts disappointment and hurt.

Her friend's accusatory statement weighed upon Gwen's shoulders with a mountainous mass. When they had left the island, they had all promised to try and stay together, and now she was the first to break that promise.

“No! We’re not upset or anything,” Elvia bawled. “It was just so… sniff… so… choke… unexpected!”

“Well, what have you got to say for yourself?” Yue wasn’t nearly so kind.

“Let me explain,” Gwen spoke slowly, keeping cadence by drawing upon a measured calm. It was all she could do to keep her emotions in check. “So, Wei and the other guy, that's the MSS agents, took me to a holding facility...”

Gwen related her arrival in Shanghai. The Isolation chamber. The matter with Percy. Gunther’s advice and babulya’s support. She explained the situation of her paternal family, and the decision to remain as logically as she could.

“Alright, I guess that’s acceptable,” Yue sulked, before rolling on her back and kicking the air with her legs. “ARRRG! I am going to be so lonely!”

It was now Elvia’s turn to put on an expression full of guilt.

“What’s wrong, Evee?” There was something distinctly heartbreaking about the angelic healer’s sullen demeanour that implored Gwen to teleport across the world and embrace her.

“She’s going to Europe,” Yue sighed. “Everyone is leaving me. I am just a lonely Evoker, all alone in this cruel world.”

“Evee? You're going to Europe?” Gwen felt a sinking feeling in her heart. So it was happening? Was Elvia going with her family because Gwen was no longer in Australia to keep the three of them together?

“It’s my family,” Elvia spoke between sobs. “My father accepted a position in Germany. We’re going to relocate to Hamburg in a week. They’ve been waiting for me to return.”

“Oh… Evee.” Gwen wanted to say that she wanted to be happy for her, but she also acutely realised that unlike her temporary stay in Shanghai, Elvia's European stint was likely permanent.

“They’re going to try and enrol me at the at the Nightingale College in England, or the School of Asclepius in Greece. That means I’ll be away from my family as well. Father says it's for the best because they don’t know what’s in store for them once they arrive in Hamburg.”

“And neither of us can help her!” Yue fumed, her dark eyes glinting dangerously. “Those places are for Clerics only! Bah!”

“Those are incredible Tier 1 schools!” Gwen marvelled.

“You can thank your brother-in-craft for that,” Yue’s intonation had mixed, complicated feelings. Gwen too felt a strange cocktail of ire and gladness, concern and gratitude.

“I am sure it’ll be alright, Evee,” Gwen reached out to try and comfort the illusory projection. “You’ll make new friends in no time!”

Elvia’s face formed a horrid grimace made infinitely worse by dribbling snot and streaky tears.

“All those strangers, Gwen, and not knowing anyone there.” she held onto Yue’s arm with white-knuckled apprehension. “I-I don’t know if I can do it. You know what it was like when I came to Blackwattle. If it weren’t for you guys..”

Yue sighed and produced a handkerchief, wiping down Elvia’s face as she tried to capture for Gwen just how dreaded her new existence would be.

Ah, social anxiety. Gwen mourned for Elvia. Hello, Darkness my old friend...

Her words did make Gwen think though. What would Elvia be like if she hadn’t befriended Gwen and Yue? For the entire of junior high, she was a loner. The old Gwen barely register the little angelic cleric on her radar, and Yue would have unquestionably bullied Elvia if they were forced together, most likely unconsciously, which made it worse still.

But what could she do?

Gwen wracked her brain.

What could she do to help her friend through her trial of isolation? What manner of aid could she render from a ten thousand miles away? She couldn’t SKYPE Elvia when she felt down or something, could she?

SKYPE? Gwen felt tickled by a minute epiphany. Weren't they Face-Timing right now?

“Yue, is brother Gunther there?”

“Nope, but I can get Master,” Yue answered. “Shall I?”

“Sure, there’s something I need to ask.”

Yue left the vision of the projection.

Alesia’s gorgeous face came into view a minute later. She looked far more hale than when Gwen had last seen her.

“Hey there, Tiger,” Alesia hailed Gwen with her usual sultry joviality. “How’s my little sister doing?”

“I’ve got so much to tell you! I did my first Dungeon dive!”

“Already! Impressive, how did it go?”

“We came first!”

Alesia squealed with delight, lightening the mood significantly. Gwen quickly told of her exploits in record time, covering only the highlight reel.

“So, Alesia,” Gwen cut to the chase. “I want to know if it's possible to get Elvia one of these LR Communication Projectors, one she can take with her to her new school.”

“No!” Elvia interjected. “Gwen, that’s too much!”

“It’s not available for sale just to anyone, you know.” Alesia furrowed her flawless brows. “You going to need HDMs and CCs.”

“How much?” Gwen carefully inquired with fingers crossed.

“Assuming I pull a few strings.” Alesia puckered her lips alluringly. “About 50 CCs for a set?”

“Done!” Gwen agreed without hesitation. “Can I trade it in at the Shanghai Tower?”

“The Pudong Tower is one you’ll need to deal with,” Alesia’s eyes sparkled. “How come you got so much CC? You’ve been there for what, two weeks? A week?”

“You’re looking at a woman of 151 CCs,” Gwen boasted, puffing out her chest. “I've got Contributions to spare!”

Alesia fell about laughing in stitches, wiping tears from her eyes.

Elvia tried to dissuade Gwen, but she wouldn’t have it. 50 CCs to ensure that Elvia could be safe and sound and could report to her anytime? It was worth it!

“Okay, I’ll make sure Elvia has a nice dorm wherever she goes to Med school, and that an LRM device is installed for her perusal.” Alesia raised a thumb. “I’ll match you CC for CC. She’ll have the best accommodation there. A private one even, if she wants it.”

“Maybe not a private one, it’ll isolate her,” Gwen advised. “How about improving her foodstuff?”

“Done,” Alesia promised. “It’ll be like you’re pampering her yourself, you Sugar Mama, you!”

Gwen couldn’t help but laugh as well. Yue joined in after she found out what Gwen had done, and even the tearful Elvia couldn’t help but sob and laugh at the same time at the absurdity of it all.

“Can I mail some HDMs over to Elvia?” Gwen asked. If she was going to be a sugar mama to Elvia, she might as well go the full monty.

“I’ll set her up with a Trust, and you can pay me back a few years down the road,” Alesia dissuaded Gwen from her short-sighted request. “A few thousand HDMs here and there over a few years, no problems.”

“My family isn’t poor either, you know!” Elvia protested, her little face red with embarrassment. “I can take care of myself!”

“Evee! You brave girl!” Alesia hugged Elvia in her stead, pressing her sweet little face against her ample bosoms. “Of course you can!”

“There, now we can chat every night if you want,” Gwen told Elvia confidently. “Just Face- er… LRM me. It’ll be like I am there next to you!”

“Okay!” Elvia made a brave face, which was so adorable as to induce Alesia and Yue into another fit of hugs, passing her back and forth like a rag doll.

“Wow.” Gwen reflected after Elvia finished wiping her face, where the rouge like aftermath made her seem even more adorable. “To think… to think we’re going to be apart for so long.”

“Negative.” Alesia made a cross with both her arms. “I could come out there to Shanghai tomorrow if I wanted. It’s Yue you have to wait for.”

“Yue?” Gwen looked at her friend.

“Master says I need to accumulate my own 1000 CCs for the immigration application,” Yue sulked. “She says it’ll motivate me.”

“When Yue joins you again,” Alesia snorted arrogantly. “She’ll be a dreadnought of destruction!”

“I am sure she will,” Gwen said a silent prayer for all the creatures in the Orange, Purple and Black Zones surrounding Oceania. “What’s your projection, Elvia?”

“Four years at minimum,” Elvia said miserably. “I need to do at least a year of practicum as well.”

“Well, I’ll earn enough CCs for you to come to Shanghai if you like,” Gwen offered. "Four years is a long time!"

“What, you think CCs grow on trees?” Alesia scoffed. “Even during the last Coral Sea Conflict, with a four-digit kill count, I only earned 6000 odd CCs! I spent a whole lot on my Crimson Caracal, and now I am short on CCs to get another one.”

“Can’t Gunther lend you some?”

“What, you don’t know? It's strictly forbidden to lend or trade CCs except with Tower sanctioned transactions. The process to get one of those to pass muster is downright impossible. Might as well squeeze a camel through a needle's eye,” Alesia replied indignantly.

“Wouldn’t Yue need a spirit as well?” Gwen asked out of curiosity.

“Yep,” Yue replied miserably. “I feel so close to you, Gwen, yet so far away. There's not enough CCs in the world!”

“Could I buy a spirit?” Gwen continued. What would a spirit do for her Elements? What would it do for Caliban or Ariel? "I got an Auction later with something called the House of M."

“Ha, good luck with that.” Alesia gazed at Gwen with a penetrating look of mock-sympathy.

“Expensive?” Gwen swallowed nervously.

“Fire is one of the more common elements of Evocation, yet still my Caracas cost 1400 CCs,” Alesia pointed out. “As for Lightning, only the blackest of Black Zones have an abundance of Lightning Elementals. Whereas for Void - where the hell do we even begin?”

“I see your point.” Gwen bit her lip.

“Right, anything else? I’ll make sure these two are safe and right as rain. Yue can use my LRM, and I’ll make sure Elvia has hers when she arrives at school.”

“Great, thanks. I appreciate it, Sis.”

“I’ll let Gunther know you dropped by.”

Gwen once again faced her two best buddies.

“For the future.” She put forward her palm so that the Illusory projection could see her hand.

“For our futures!” Yue followed suit.

"For us!" Elvia also joined in, stacking their limbs so that they could all see each other's hands.

A wordless moment lingered in the air as each of the girls etched the scene into the recess of their memory.

Another half an hour of small talk followed, discussing matters of one another’s family. Yue informed Gwen that she’d try to get Surya to call Gwen on the LRM Device, as well as broker a meeting so that Richard could speak to his parents. Elvia promised to talk with Gwen as soon as she was able, though they would have to wait until a Tower Technician installed the LRM Devices. Furthermore, Gwen would have to undergo screening to ensure that she wasn’t going to defraud the Tower of sensitive information if she were handed an LRM device. Either way, the process would take weeks, if not months, and by then, it was likely that Gwen would have begun University.

“Goodbye,” she said at last as the illusion died, the projection transforming into ghostly motes of white-grey mana.

Gwen exited her grandfather’s warded office, feeling like she’d emerged into a brave new world.

University, Gwen thought to herself. It was probably time she collected some brochures and pamphlets on the matter, maybe hunted down a few copies of the student handbooks.

The future may be far away, but she felt as though she was already standing on its doorsteps.

A pronounced 'donk!' resounded around the empty training hall.

“Urrgh! My head’s fallen into the Elemental Plane of Magma.” Gwen slumped her head against the table.

In front of her, spread across the entire two-meter pane, sat a chaotic spread of pamphlets, a dozen course guides, and an old Vid-Cast projector with a collection of Capture Crystals on the history of the Universities in Shanghai.

Gwen's temple throbbed. Maybe it was the Divination leaking, but every time she tried to map out her next three to four years, she felt a tingling chill shooting up her spine. A warning sign, sure, Gwen pondered. But there was a reward in risk, right?

After two dozen combinations of various courses at various Universities, Gwen felt as though she'd banged her head against a wall repeatedly.

Circumstances were too different here for her to roadmap a five-year plan.

In Australia, when a senior student completed the High School Course and received their Australian Tertiary Academic Rank, they were typically faced with four to five choices jointly distributed around their score.

In the old Australia, a 99.95% percentile band allowed for entry into Law and Medicine.

In new Sydney, where Mermen still lurked in the flooded sewers, the percentile band required for entrance into the top universities was likewise in the single digits.

Under Henry's tutelage, Gwen had never doubted her eligibility for a spot at the table of the elites. Likewise, Gwen hadn't given much thought to the concept of course selection for two reasons. One, her Master knew far better than herself what course would suit her talent. Two, there wasn't much of a choice in the Frontier.

The staple for tertiary Spellcraft essentially ran its course with Advanced Spellcraft for Mages interested in Arcane theory and the creation of Signature spells, offering training for Incantations between tier 4 - 7. More militant minded Mages could furthermore partake in the Combat Mage curriculum, a university staple, taken in conjunction with one’s Mandatory Military Service, offering Spellcraft training for Mages seeking permanent employment with the Frontier Military.

And that was it.

There were subtle offshoots, sub-schools, specialisations in Schools of Magic, but in so far as coursework was concerned, Gwen had run her course.

The other Colleges attached to the Universities catered only for career specialists such as Spellcraft Engineering, a course for Abjurers and Transmuters seeking to enter the construction, civil architecture and Shielding development. There was Advanced Crafting for those wishing to delve into the creation of Magic Items, while rarer courses like Mechatronics and Artifice are taken under state-sanctioned Masters rather than as a public course.

Then there was General Courses as well, completed as a part of the Mage's Spellcraft training. The course accepted both Mages and NoMs, offering a selection of core skills such as accounting, leadership, appraisal, creature husbandry, agriculture, geography and more frivolous content such as literature, music, and the arts. Additional content was taught not by the Universities themselves, but by individuals attached to universities such as the Ordo Apothecarum in Sydney University.

But as the wise, Plane-hopping young Dorothy Gale once said to Toto, 'We're not in Kansas anymore.'

The problem that now assailed Gwen was the enviable matter of choosing a University, and selecting a course. Unlike the highly censored coursework of the Frontier, taught on a need-to-know basis, Shanghai’s elite Universities possessed a world-class cohort that required literacy with complementary non-magical knowledge.

From her half-day of research, Gwen had figured out the general scope of what lay ahead.

First Year was a general induction course, featuring six mandatory Spellcraft topics and two General study subjects, based upon recommendations made by a senior advisor.

Second Year is when the students are required to pick specialisations in their Schools of Magic and engage in specific fields of study. A Transmuter, for instance, could select Advanced Construction in Material Science. An Evoker could choose Energy Manipulation and Spell Shaping, and an Illusionist would have the choice of Media and Communication or Intermediate Illusions, and so on.

In their third year, students gained the opportunity to study under Magisters or renowned Specialists in their field. Typically, this was when students began to make a name for themselves, taking on the role of apprentices, invent Signature Spells, compose research papers on Arcane Lore, discover new species of Magical Creatures or document novel ways to kill and harvest existing ones.

Post Graduate courses were also available to students wishing to stay on with the faculty and engage in extended research, at which point they would be judged by the University and the Academic Board for potential, penultimately receiving a stipend for contributions to Advancing Spellcraft. Petra had stated that her Path lay in this direction, wishing to become a scholar of the arcane arts instead of serving in the Military or inundating herself with Tower politics.

Additionally, Gwen finally understood the significance of the title of Meister.

A Meister was a Magister, but not all Magister could become a Meister. It was because a Meister was a Mage that had contributed significant advancement to Spellcraft, and whose work benefited all of Magedom. Claude Van Saint, the famous healer who pioneered modern magical medicine, is a Meister. Philo R. Farnsworth, the man responsible for proving that Illusions may exist as a form of media stored in Capture Crystal, is a Meister. As powerful as Henry Kilroy had been, he was still an administrator, a Combat Mage, and a War Hero, but not so a Meister.

She also managed to finally clear up several misnomers she had acquired while on the Frontier.

Neophytes and Acolytes were the colloquial names for beginner Mages. The moniker of Mage, or Senior Mage, was in the Tier 1 Cities given to those with mastery over at least one school of magic, meaning access to spells over tier 4.

A Magus was someone who has gained multiple Schools of Magic through talent or laborious study, but to be called a Magus in public, the Mage must undergo examination within a Tower.

Likewise, a Magister was a peer-reviewed, publically sanctioned Magic Caster. Unlike the moniker of Magus, Magister is a title that comes with the weight of public service and responsibility of upholding the Tower's interest.

For this reason, Mages more interested in academic research or consolidation of arcane might preferred to forgo the title of Magister or Meister to live free from the accountability conferred by the recognition. Many Mages from the Clans chose this path of subtlety, with the occasional few becoming worldly and famous after their talents were exposed.

As for Gwen's preference of Universities, there was the choice of Jian Tong, Fudan, Shanghai U, Dong Hua, and the militant-minded Shanghai Maritime.

Of which Jian Tong and Fudan were the clear winners.

“The Mid-Term intake is in early May, which is three weeks away,” babulya informed Gwen and Richard after the family gathered for morning tea. “Both of you have commendations from Magus Shultz, courtesy of the Pudong Tower, so short-listing shouldn't be an issue. May I assume you will be joining Fudan? I mean, there are only two C9 Universities in Shanghai, and Fudan is the superior one considering that you are both Expats. Jian Tong maybe the more prestigious of the two, but only if you intend to work with the PLA.”

“So, Fudan,” Gwen masticated the name gingerly. “Petra is there, right?”

“She is indeed.” Babulya nodded. “It is also my old college.”

“But Jian Tong offers two teams for the International University Competition, and Fudan only has one,” Gwen noted with a dilemma.

To carry out what she and Gunther had planned, Gwen, and preferably Richard as well, absolutely needed to qualify for the University team by Second Year. The Competition took place in the second semester and could take up to four months, from August to December.

Thinking of their penultimate goal, Gwen felt an inkling as to why her babulya was pushing for Fudan so forcibly. Assuming Gunther had already told her of their objective, babulya likely felt that if Gwen and Richard were to distinguish themselves, they might as well do so under the auspice of Fudan. That way, she could benefit her network and look over the children's shoulders, killing two Rocs with one Catapult.

The networking provided by a University's alumni is one of the fundamental reasons why universities were considered the gathering place of the elite. Klavdiya maintained a web of ‘Guanxi’, extensively nurtured over four decades. It was precisely one of these favours that had overruled her husband in keeping Gwen illicitly within the holding facility, allowing Jun free passage to retrieve her granddaughter.

“How about you, Richard? What do you want to do?” Klavdiya turned to Richard, seeing that Gwen remained undecided.

“Whatever she wants,” Richard spoke without hesitation. “That or something complementary, but we need to be in same courses, if possible. That includes the General Courses as well, I suppose.”

“How many General Courses do we have to take?” Gwen asked.

“Two per year, and you can choose to do higher ones if you pass the prerequisites.”

“I see.” Gwen considered the exponential volume of options opening up before her. “Are the General Courses worthwhile?”

It was babulya who answered her.

“Don’t look down on the non-magical courses Gwen, it may sound strange, but it is the General Courses that make the C9 Universities so valuable.”

“How so?” Gwen's voice trembled with curiosity.

“How else are you going to learn about Civics, Oratory, Arts, History and Politics?” Her babulya laughed. “You can inherit talent, you can hoard arcane secrets, you can hunt down rare ingredients, but if you want to have your Tower, then you’d better take some Leadership and Governance courses! You can’t even trade CCs for such knowledge! NoMs teach them, you know!”

"Oh?” Gwen marvelled at the fact but saw the sense in forcing non-magical academics on to the students. After all, if Fudan took the top 1 percentile of Mages in Shanghai, then it was inevitable that those Mage who graduated from it would one day come to become the ruling tier of the city. As a place for developing Magus and Magisters, therefore, it was imperative that they didn’t release political illiterates and clueless Tower Masters into the world of governance. In fact, Richard went on to explain, to qualify for the possession of a demesne in the Frontier, one must complete a post-graduate course in good governance. Likewise, having NoM instructors at the university further offered students who had grown up around Mages, surrounded by Magic, a way to gain the perspective necessary to recognise that there existed life-skills outside of Spellcraft.

“Are there courses for Economics?” Gwen asked out of curiosity. She already possessed a Master’s degree in International Business, and an MBA to boot. Maybe it was finally time she could tap into the privilege of prior knowledge?

“Of course!” Richard laughed. “Accounting, Appraisal, Corporate Law.”

“What about Finance?”

“Sure, its somewhere in there.”

“Management?”

“Naturally,” Richard pointed to one of the course booklets Gwen had flipped through. “Thinking of starting your demesne already, are you?”

“Babulya.” Gwen turned to her grandmother. “What do I do to become an MBA?”

“It’s called A-B-M, dear,” babulya corrected her kindly. “It’s a particularly challenging selection of Subjects and typically reserved for the best and the brightest. If you’re interested, I can probably put a line through to the Faculty head of the department.”

Excellent! Gwen speculated upon the prospect of enrolling in a course for Administration of Business and Management. She could probably ace it with HDs without breaking a sweat, so long as she could translate her knowledge over to this world.

“How difficult is it?” Gwen caught the tail end of babulya’s affecting speech. The ABM course was probably challenging because students in this world had little contact with finance, economics and the management of corporations.

“I’d dare say so.” Her babulya’s kind face regarded her protege profoundly. “If you wish to match your legendary brother-in-craft, or even the self-taught Ms De Botton, specialising in Aerial Combat is a foregone conclusion!”

“A-aeriel combat?” Gwen stammered, realising that there must have been a missing link in their game of Chinese whispers.

“Aerial Battle Mage,” Richard added helpfully. “It’s the most auspicious tier of proficiency the Arcana Curriculum. The booklet says that the course is joint-taught by instructors from the Tower, the PLA, and the University. It’s the only way to learn Advanced Flight apart from burning a few hundred CCs. The coursework comes with everything, dog fighting, passive incantation, mana conservation, spatial training. I think we ought to take it! Good choice, Gwen.”

“…” These crazy battle Mages! Gwen bit her lower lip awkwardly. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of skipping it.”

Now with the misunderstanding clarified, Gwen persisted in her suit.

“Is there a course for Business Marketing and Consultancy?”

Richard and Klavdiya meet one another’s eyes. Why such interest in the General Course?

“Gwen, is this one of your ‘NoM and Mages are of equal dignity’ tangents?” Richard wrongly realised where Gwen was heading with her enquiry. “I know you’re unusually sympathetic to them, but let’s not get sidetracked, shall we?”

“Business is for the NoMs, Gwen.” Babulya’s face took on a little worry as well. “As well as this 'Finance'. A Magister can level towns and raise mountains. A Magi can reduce entire civilisations to ash. What good could be served by hoarding Crystals and currency? They should be spent as soon as possible to improve one's mettle. Once you become a sanctioned Magus, earthly wealth becomes trivial. I mean, have you ever heard of an impoverished Magus or Magister?”

“Doesn’t more capital mean I can purchase more items for training?” Gwen herself was a woman of Two Thousand odd HDMs, after all. She would be happier if that number could grow by a few digits. "Making a high turnover is not unthinkable. We can invest in a product, improve its packaging, cut baseline costs by streamlining its production stream, and profit from targeted redistribution."

“You sound like you mean business!” Richard laughed out loud. “If you have time for that, you may as well foray into the Wildlands, train, or learn new spells!”

“Well, I am sorry for wanting a steady fount of resources.” Gwen’s voice took an apprehensive tone. What was wrong with a little golden-fingered commerce? Wouldn’t it be nice if she had a full complement of Magical Items? Or unlimited Crystals with which to purchase property and skills? Were her old skills that untranslatable? Hell, she could organise an Alchemist's alliance, reduce costs through volume and scale. Then, she could repackage and brand 'Ye Old Healing Injector' into a selfsame 'Restoration Elixir Plus" that's 10 - 20% cheaper, distribute it for sale after getting accredited 'branding' from the Tower. In time, they could get a spokesperson, a famous Magister or Meister, and have them 'promote' the product in return for favours or resources. In a world as blind to commerce as the Mage-world, there were a dozen ways Gwen could bullpen the market.

“Richard’s right,” Klavdiya interrupted her thoughts. “Gwen, if you wish to progress down the Path, you require resource and instruction. Resource, however much of it you possess, is a limited affair. Think of all the Clans and their treasure vaults filled with Crystals and items. Barring Mythic level artifacts, do you think having access to a rare diet and austere facilities made a significant difference when you and Richard stripped them of their Crystals and CCs in the Dungeon?”

“I guess not,” Gwen confessed.

“Crystals, items, wealth- these things are material, and therefore they become immaterial,” babulya intoned with sagacity. “In the end, your greatest investment is yourself, for a Mage, there is only one resource that is finite.”

Gwen hazarded a guess.

“Life?”

“Time!” Klavdiya affirmed her hypothesis.

“I see.” Gwen surveyed the small hill of potential courses, each containing invaluable knowledge. How grand would it be if she could acquire the lion’s share of arcane lore contained therein? How limitless and daunting would her potential then be? But there was no mitigating counter to the tyranny of time, whose leaden hands turned without mercy. “There isn’t enough time in the world.”

“That’s correct,” her babulya continued. “First, you have only three years to carry out whatever plan Lord Shultz and yourself have agreed on. Assuming you and Richard achieve what you set out to do, you will have an even more limited window of time to mark your place in the world. By then, you will have progressed well past the point of return on the Path of Asura, eternally demanding more power and influence.”

“You need ever longer spears to beat up ever bigger tigers,” Richard interjected with a NoM proverb. “Sound’s rather depressing, doesn’t it? We’ve already cantered so far, Gwen, let’s not stop to pause for breath!”

A Path of no return, Gwen thought with a shiver. And metaphysically speaking, a Path of Asura without cessation. What would the end even entail? Certainly not a bay view bedroom with floor to ceiling windows.

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,” Gwen recited sentimentally. "Sailing toward a blood-dimmed horizon where the sun never sets, we are all stuck on this rickety raft."

She shook her head, trying to dispel the sudden feeling of depression she felt for the unending toil she had ahead. A success today meant only a taller hurdle tomorrow. A triumph of the moment merely meant a greater enemy later. A corpse left behind becomes another number in the innumerable statistic to come.

“It’s not all doom and gloom.” Richard reached out and touched her hand. “Didn’t you meet Elvia and Yue along the way? You met me, right? You found Babulya too, ain’t she the sweetest lady you have ever met?”

“Why, thank you, Richard.” Babulya burst into trilling laughter.

“I merely speak the truth, Babulya,” Richard replied seriously. “Gwen has not had a cordial relationship with family, and that’s putting it mildly. My father, her mother, even Uncle Hai. Gwen has been alone for so long that I have no idea how she does it.”

She didn’t make it, Gwen felt a pang of guilt in her chest. The old Gwen had no desire for the world she was born into, and so somehow I came to inhabit the destiny she had abandoned.

“Richard’s right, Babulya.” Gwen left her seat to walk behind her diminutive grandmother. She reached out with both arms and embraced her from behind, pressing her face against Klavdiya’s flaxen hair. “Thank you.”

Klavdiya held Gwen’s slender arms around her, then kissed Gwen’s fingers as they brushed her lips.

“I am happy that you’re here.” Klavdiya felt likewise touched with sentimentality.

The two women touchingly held one another, sharing the moment of filial intimacy with a palpable aura of sentimentality.

Nice. Richard observed the proceedings with satisfaction. He was a wise man who said that honesty paid dividends.

“So, Fudan?” Klavdiya inquired gingerly, her eyes moving toward Richard’s, whose eyes twinkled with complete and utter innocence.

“Fudan,” Gwen said finally, her voice full of conviction.

“Fudan indeed,” Richard repeated after Gwen, grinning like a shot fox.

* * *

Where the West likes to say that where there’s a will, there’s a way, the Eastern equivalent was that where there are people, there is Guanxi. For Klavdiya, the well-oiled mechanism of her network moved into motion the moment Gwen had decided upon Fudan.

Two Applications appeared on the desk of the Dean that very afternoon, together with a commendation from the Pudong Tower for the two Students and a reference from the Director of the PLA Second Army Hospital. A private letter was also attached, which Luo Jiang opened carefully, revealing the impeccable handwriting of a woman to whom he felt the greatest ardour and admiration. Years ago, Luo’s mother had fallen ill and required a rare tier 7 White-Gold Dragon-Newt Logan to prolong her life. Luo drew upon all of his influences to try and find the unique ingredient to no avail. He had felt despair until the final moment when an old Alumna of the University had heard of his plight and acquired a piece of the precious fruit from her laboratory. That was Klavdiya Song, and though Luo’s mother still passed, her passing was peaceful and happy, not filled with the agony of dementia and disease.

When the request first came through, Luo had furrowed his brow and grimaced. Fudan was a C9 university and as such, to prevent its cohort from becoming filled with well-connected trash, stringent and harsh penalties had been put in to counter the opening of ‘backdoors’.

Such occurrences still happened, of course, but they were requests for full-fee paying students. These applications were for Scholarship-loan positions, a placement as rare as hen’s teeth.

He owed Klavdiya a favour, but as the Dean, Luo did have an ethical duty to uphold toward the university in defending its academic authority. If Luo was at the end of his tenure, he might have considered such a thing to repay a favour, but he was only a few years into his position and felt no desire for his legacy to end as an ousted, corrupt official.

Still, the indecision made Luo at least wary of his choice. He carefully picked up one of the applications. The attached photo was a Eurasian youth who looked a little older than the usual applicants, maybe a returnee from Military Service.

“Hmm…”

Luo’s eyes scanned the lines.

Was the boy a Praetorian at Prince's? He sat up in his chair.

Tier 5 Conjurer, tier 1 Abjurer. Nineteen?!

Luo blinked. His eyes moved past the biometrics and turned to the talent section.

T-Tier 8 WATER.

“Wocao!” he blurted out loudly. “Mao’s Stars!”

“Sir? Are you alright?” An adorable female face ducked into the doorway. Luo liked an ‘open door’ policy, though no students dared to see him without a prior appointment. “Did you stub your toe again?”

“It’s nothing, Ellen. How're the reports coming along?”

“I am working on them!” Came the catty voice from the reception, its owner visible by the reflection on the polished floor.

“Alright.” Luo turned back to the application. "Keep hammering."

Tier 8? That’s impossible. Luo felt that there must have been a typo somewhere.

He kept reading and found solace in the addendum that Richard Huang was in possession of a high-tier Spirit. Red Stars, Luo thought to himself. The luck of this kid. Luo himself was almost fifty, a Magister, at the top of his game, and even so, he only had a sapient mid-tier Air Sprite. He continued reading the documentation, and when he’d finished, he had to tap the table contemplatively to digest the tingling sensation in his chest.

This application wasn’t a favour for him to give. It was a favour granted to Luo! Even with the field of students Fudan currently possessed, someone with such stacked-talent was difficult to ignore. He would still have to meet the young man, naturally, then put him through the wringer and see his abilities tested, but already he felt that there was little chance he could be disappointed.

Luo now felt less antagonistic to this 'favour' he had to grant, and so he glanced over at the second application.

A girl of almost seventeen, uncommonly pretty and of indistinct ethnicity.

Luo pursed his lips. The girl might be pleasing to the eye, but there was no making up for talent. His secretary, Ellen, was exhibit A. The name on the application read ‘Gwen Song’, not a first name that he recognised anywhere, but the last name was very much intriguing. Was she another member of Klavdiya’s House? Luo pondered the last time he’d approved an application for Mrs Song, wife to the MSS Secretary of Confidential Communications, Director of the Second PLA Hospital. That had been the Mineral Enchanter, Petra Kuznetsov, a rare talent from whom Fudan greatly benefited. When he’d last spoke with Magister Wen, she’d informed him that herself and her apprentice were already making substantial progress on the use of Spell Cubes and were ready to release an academic paper on the matter in the next six months.

“Alright, let’s see what you got.” Luo opened the application and scanned the girl’s biometrics with evidently more interest than the young man’s.

What and where the hell is Blackwattle? Luo found himself thinking. She’s from Sydney, Australia? Is she a refugee? His brows knitted in consternation. There was nothing impressionable in her academic transcript at all. In fact, it was negligible, non-existent.

Luo thumbed the application, and that was when he realised that the form he was holding was several times thicker than what he had anticipated.

With an ominous feeling in his chest, he turned the cover page.

A blistering array of improbable numbers and statistics assailed his eyes.

“W-WOCAO!” Luo couldn’t help but vociferate a burst of unbidden disbelief. His hands shook, his knees knocked. He almost ripped one of the pages from the application form.

“SIR? ARE YOU OKAY?” Ellen’s elfin face ducked into the corridor again. “Did you get tea onto your pants? Or spill the ink bottle again? Should I get the cleaner to Pristigitate your pants?”

“I AM FINE!” Luo walked to the door and slammed it shut.

He returned to his table and held the application like a man who’d found a Dungeon Core in the middle of a salt-marsh, and now had no idea what to do with it.

Lightning at tier 4?

Void at tier 4?

VOID! Luo wanted to leap from the table and perform a little jig. In fact, since Ellen wasn’t watching, he did precisely that.

A Neophyte with Void! In the wild! Luo could barely contain himself. As the Dean of a C9 University, he had to fight for talent with the other universities. Fudan, despite existing as one of the top academic existences in China, regularly lost some of the best and the brightest to Jingyen, Beijing University, and even Jian Tong here in Shanghai. Those were the Big Three, the CCP sponsored academies with deep roots in the PLA, the dynastic Houses, and the venerable Clans.

When a uniquely talented individual appeared in the wild, the university scouts would be following them for years, offering incentives, help, and even tutelage just so that the student would choose to join their institution.

But who’s laughing now! Luo rejoiced. Fudan would be the first to produce a Void Magister! MAO! Just thinking about the prospect of such a thing sent his spine to tingling.

When was the last time there was a Void Mage of note? Elizabeth Sobel? She was a Commonwealth Battle-Magus though; she had met a sticky end, consumed by her talent, or so they say. But unlike the 70s, the theory-craft of the Elements, the Sigils and the Planes, had advanced leaps and bounds. They knew at least what the Void was now, how to counter its effects, what to anticipate and how it affected the caster. This Gwen Song would be in good hands. He could place her with Magister Shore, or perhaps Magister Gongsun, hell, why not both? They would jump at the chance to see Void in action.

Then there was Lightning as well! An element supreme in monster hunting, possessing high damage potential as well as speed. Luo realised that he’d become so enamoured with the idea of the University coming to training a Void Mage that he’d neglected a crucial fact: Gwen Song possessed two elements.

Where did Klavdiya dig up her granddaughter? Luo couldn’t help but feel awed all over again. What the hell did they feed her in Australia?

Included with the Spellcraft statistics was another addendum that explained the rationale behind Gwen’s twin elements, along with a request for secrecy. Luo finished reading the beautifully scripted handwriting and had to agree; if someone knew that one could potentially create Mages with two elements by impregnating the host with twins and then inducing one twin to consume the other…

Luo shuddered. With a simple chant, the attached note turned to cinders.

Some knowledge was best kept away from the light of day. Luo was more than happy to leave the shouldering of this secret to Klavdiya. As far as he was concerned, Gwen Song was a freakish product of the strange arithmetic of chance.

He continued to read.

Conjuration appeared to be the mainstay of the girl's ability, but the girl had terribly few Spells to note, barely a dozen.

Beneath the data on Gwen’s Conjuration was a description and image of her Familiars. TWO familiars, Luo noted. The first was a common beast, a run of the mill Lightning marten. The other was an indescribable thing that consumed the living to nourish its host, a shapeshifter.

Luo lowered the application and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had very quickly developed resistance against the string of surprises.

He read on.

“WO-WOCAO!” Luo slammed the table and swore out loud.

“Sir? Are you alright?” Ellen’s voice peeped from behind the oaken door.

Evocation at tier 3? Transmutation at tier 1? Abjuration? D-Divination?

What manner of destiny manifest had Klavdiya pushed onto him? Could he even bear the burden of carrying this monstrous existence to term? What if this Gwen Song became less of a power they created, and more like a force they unleashed?

But Luo was an educator. He was the Dean of Fudan! If there was one motto that was universal to all the Arcane Universities of the world, it was that they dreamt of bringing forth a Caster who could change the status quo, break the stalemate, expand the domain of Man beyond their meagre enclaves.

“Ellen, come here,” he called for his secretary.,

There was no reply.

“ELLEN! COME HERE!” he shouted at the door.

The oaken door opened and Ellen stalked through the threshold on stiletto heels, tightly wrapped in a white blouse and grey pencil skirt.

“Yes, Jiang?” Ellen tiled her china doll face. “You called?”

“Send these two Applications down to the Registrar and tell Han to put them in with the Mid-Semester Scholarships.”

“Sir?”

Luo incanted a short glyph over the manila envelope, sealing it so that the intended recipient could only read the letter.

“Take this to him personally, and tell him to shortlist these applicants. Go. Do it now. Don’t let anyone see you.”

“Yes, Master.” Ellen took the envelope and held it close to her chest. In the next second, she became as indistinct as air, transforming into a wisp of wind,

Luo walked back to his desk, his heart still pounding as he felt the weight of the application in his hand.

He never knew that a dozen sheets of paper could weigh as much as the rest of the world.

The next morning, Gwen remained in her room and engaged in astral mediation until a NoM servant knocked on her door.

“Ms Gwen, there’s a man outside who says he’s here to see you and Mr Richard.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

Gwen had been expecting the house call since babulya had stated that Magister Luo, the Dean of Fudan, requested for an interview at their earliest convenience.

Having received a less than subtle hint from Klavdiya that Magister Luo had an eye for the aesthetic, Gwen elected to plan her outfit meticulously. From the top, she piled her hair until it coiled into a messy bun, showing off her slender neck and dignified shoulders, leaving enough of a fringe to frame her face in a feminine way. For her upper-body, she wanted something youthful but not playful, and so settled upon an antique-white, elbow length blouse with flared trumpet sleeves. It was one of the more unusual fashion items she had picked out from Singapore, with a tailored allowance for her bust and a tightly tapered waistline, showing off her honed collarbones. A cobalt ribbon-tie accentuated the collar, bringing the observer’s gaze up toward her hazel irises. For her lower-half, Gwen chose a tightly hugging, high-waisted pencil-skirt in dark charcoal, finished off with her signature Mary-Janes. To finish, she had pondered what manner of face she should paint for something as important as a meeting with the Dean, strategically choosing a nude contour with bright ruby-red lipstick, a touch of mascara, darkened brows, and striking tips for her eyes.

When Gwen finalised her outfit and exited her room, she found Richard and another fellow in jovial conversation.

Gwen watched their eyes light up as their attention turned towards her, and knew with confidence that she had chosen the right outfit. It wasn't that difficult to impress. This world had no corporate culture and thus, no corporate fashion. From what she had seen so far, the Chinese Mageocracy should arguably invest in some talented NoM designers like the Europeans.

“Beautiful.” Richard gave Gwen a smile of approval.

“I am inclined to agree.” The stranger approached with an open hand. “Magus Jin Ru, at your service. I am here to deliver you to the Dean.”

A Magus? Gwen felt shocked as they shook, then retreated a step and bowed. A Magus just to deliver two neophytes? Babulya was better connected than her casual demeanour gave off.

Jin beamed at Gwen appreciatively, his eyes gleaming with a discerning admiration.

“Hoho, I bet the old man can’t wait to see you. Now, before we leave, I need to verify one thing.”

“Sir?” Gwen tilted her head enquiringly, causing a single lock of style hair to hug her cheek.

“Lightning and Void, if you could give me a small demonstration.” The Magus seemed a little embarrassed by his request. “For verification, of course, it’s a little hard to believe that someone could be in possession of two oppositional, rather than complementary, elements.”

“Of course, Sir.” Gwen turned to the middle the training hall. One could wear shoes in the training hall, not heels, but she didn’t want the embarrassing hassle of struggling out of her shoes in her tightly tailored outfit. Gwen settled on inoculating the Magus any potential surprises later, and so materialised both Ariel and Caliban.

Ariel felt the same as always, while Caliban felt more robust and vigorous since its consumption of the Elder Gila.

She received an empathic demand from Caliban to transform into its new form, but Gwen suppressed the creature's whinning. She knew better than that. She had an inkling of what Caliban's new form entailed, and she wasn't about to announce it to the world here.

Jin watched the two critters chase one another around the hall after fighting down a bout of vertigo when Caliban emerged from the dark space between Planes.

“Very impressive, Ms Song. I do believe we may proceed.”

“Thank you, Magus Ru.” Gwen dismissed her familiars.

With the Magus leading, Gwen followed Richard and Jin out of the compound.

A car awaited them outside, a dark SUV embossed with the Fudan logo, a pictogram of the words ‘Fu-Dan’ composed in the character style of the late Qing. As the vehicle left the compound, Jin began to give the cousin duo a history lesson on the University.

“Fudan stems from the final era of the late Qing Dynasty,” Jin began. "The characters were chosen by its founder, Meister Xianbo Ma, from the Confucian Analects Shangshu Dazhuan. Its intended meaning, 'Itinerant as the twilight, the sun glows, and moon luminesces' represents our expectations for the Mages who graduate from the college. Our motto is to learn extensively and adhere to aspirations, to inquire earnestly and reflect with self-application."

"Our university is a survivor. We have outlived the Qing, the first Great War, the Second Great War, the Communist Revolution, glory be to Mao, and finally the coming of modernity and the global conversion to western Spellcraft. Today, we remain one of the only independent universities in China, as well as possing our very own Faculty Tower for apprenticing students."

“Fudan has its own Tower?” The last point came as a surprise. Gwen hadn’t realised that other Towers apart from the PLA and the Pudong Tower existed in Shanghai.

“Well, technically no.” Jin battered a hand as he turned into the Second Orbital Highway. “It’s an experimental Tower, made to simulate conditions within a real tower. Quest boards, training rooms, Meditation suites, Cognisance Chambers. There’s are no combat engines, an army of Golems, or Shield Generators, its designed so that the students can compete for resources. For obvious reasons, under the PLA, the mobile-fortress function of the Towers have been defunct and neglected since the 1970s...”

"However, you are welcome to participate and even take a room in the Tower should your grades and academic ranking allow. Your grandmother, our alumina, once possessed one such room near the top floor."

“I didn’t know Fudan had this facility either,” Richard said puzzlingly. “When did you begin this program?”

“The program was halted by the PLA in the 70s. But we managed to get permission to reinitiate in 1990,” Jin answered proudly. “We have two Towers, in fact, T1 and T2, with the joining bottom segment named Guanghua, the Hall of Brilliance. Students wishing to stay in the Tower may choose a mock-Faction, and there are competitions for items and interesting resources. We’ve since also added the chance to trade CCs for resources as well.”

“Saves us a trip to the PLA or the Pudong Tower,” Richard pointed out.

“Saves you from getting into politics before you graduate, while giving you a taste for it,” Jin replied. “You have no idea how many times we lost good students to the Towers. The Magus and Magisters in Pudong and the PLA are hungry for talent. This way, you get to try out your hand before committing yourself.”

“Isn’t early commitment seen as a good thing?” Gwen inquired.

“If all the talented students are off fighting the Undead, expanding our borders, hunting monsters or digging up Dungeons, who's going to be advancing Spellcraft, creating new spells, and investigating unseen phenomena?” Jin sighed wistfully. “Not to mention politics is far more dangerous than anything you can encounter in the wild. When you die to Magical Beasts, there’s at least a corpse left behind.”

“Sounds harsh,” Gwen chuckled nervously. She was beginning to get an inkling as to what Magus Ru thought about life outside of the confines of academia.

“You young Mages are still growing into your wings. Sometimes, it is best to pluck a feather and fly low until you understand what awaits in the sky above.” Jin shook his head. They drove in silence for a quarter of an hour, then turned off a ramp into the University Town of Fudan.

The immediate indication that they had arrived were two gargantuan towers stabbing like twin spears into the sky. Constructed of a mixture of brutalist architecture and art-deco from the early 20s, the glass and concrete facade of the Hall of Brilliance with its twin-towers cut an imposing presence over the surrounding low-lying campus, its parallel shadows reminding Gwen of a giant sundial.

As the car turned into the University, the passengers became accosted by a bronze statue of the People’s Magi, the legendary figure known as Mao Zedong. From coppery eyes that did not see, the great leader looked down upon all who entered Fudan’s grounds, its face frozen in mock benevolence. It stood with one hand behind its back; the other pointed slightly forward as if to urge the observer to look ahead. As a part of its facade, the figure wore a modified mandarine tunic in the military style, etched to resemble cotton fabric, showing the viewer that despite his greatness, Mao was a man who was humble.

The broad, four-lane avenue known as the Dashua Road, or University Road, was filled with eateries! Alfresco dining spilling out from restaurants littered the four-kilometre boulevard framed by gigantic mulberry trees turning a shade of dark summery emerald. There was Indian, Korean, Vietnamese, Japanese, cuisine from all the different city-states of China, so florid and of such multitude that Gwen salivated against the panes of the car's window.

Eating out was something of her old life she sorely missed sometimes.

Finishing work at the Quay, old Sydney was a Mecca of restaurants, and bars from tapas to pasta, seafood to steak, wine bars to fine dining to experimental gastronomy.

Since arriving in her current body, with the occasional exception, her entire diet had depended upon the convenience of circumstance. She had seldom possessed the choice of what to eat. Now that they could attend Fudan, she could have her pick of food from anywhere in the world! What’s more, with Caliban’s help, she couldn’t gain weight; a generous boon of unbidden luck! It was going to be a glorious three years, at least in so far as her gastronomic adventure was concerned. The more she thought about it, the more Gwen felt that she could kill for some sushi, in fact. That had been a staple part of her pre-Mageworld diet, and even now she craved it whenever the thought crossed her mind.

There were two campuses adjacent to one another. The old campus was the target of their visit, known as the Handan Campus, while the newer campus converted from old warehouses and remaining Chinese Hutongs was called the Jianghan campus.

The office of the Dean was surprisingly not located in the Fudan Towers, but in an old Victorian Era building leftover from Shanghai’s colonial stint called Zibinyuan, located in the lower quadrant of Handan. Most of the buildings in the University reflected the Fudan's Cosmopolitan nature. In fact, as they passed the University’s central avenue, Gwen saw a Japanese style building ‘Japan House’, an 'American House', and even one done in the Northern European style, with slanted roofs and pitched awnings, labelled as ‘Nordic House’.

Gwen was still marvelling at the nostalgic architecture when Richard opened her door. She took his hand and extended a lithe white leg out the entrance to balance herself before bringing her other stalk across and sliding gingerly from the SUV, expertly dissuading her skirt from riding up her thighs.

Magus Ru looked away and found renewed vigour in introducing to them the history of the historic manor house that now served as the University’s administrative headquarters.

The trio walked past the blue shaded lawn and found themselves in the vaulted hall of a manor which split into east and west ring. A university guard saluted the Magus as he entered, his eyes lingering a little too long before turning forward like an automaton. They then made their way through a hall carpeted in navy and walled with mahogany, with Gwen noting that unlike the exterior architecture, much of the interior had been updated to reflect modern mores.

At the end of the corridor was a set of double doors, which opened into a waiting area with an open door looking into the Office of the Dean. An outlandish looking woman sat at an over-large reception desk, languishingly moving paperwork from tray to tray with agonising slowness and an expression of severe consternation.

As they entered, she looked up.

Holy cows! Gwen swallowed. The woman evidently wasn’t human. Her eyes were two milky-orbs of air with specs of ultramarine; her flaxen hair resembled strands of sunbeams.

“Aeeee!”

“Woa! Lea!”

With an outburst that surprised them all, Lea separated from Richard’s body and materialised herself.

“Kin! Kin!” Lea begged with the eagerness of a child.

Like a child... Gwen considered her assessment to be sound. Lea was, mentally speaking, a child. She was sapient and sentient, but that didn’t mean she was intelligent in the conventional sense. Lea was incapable of abstract philosophy and other complex cognitive functions like advanced arithmetics or ethical dilemmas. From what she’d gathered in her studies, it was exceedingly difficult to fully control a high-tier Spirit when oneself wasn’t potent enough to bend them to one’s will. It was precisely the reason why Richard requested, rather than commanded, Lea. Even one as powerful has her Master, Henry Kilroy, spoke to Sufina with habitual respect. Now that Gwen thought about it, both summoners indulged in the whims of their Familiars whenever it was convenient or necessary.

The woman at the table rose from the air to meet Lea, and the two danced a little jig, despite her human appearance, it seemed that the air sprite was less in control of its 'womanly' form than Lea. Around the spirit as well, the 'secretary' radiated Elemental air like a localised whirlwind.

“An Air Elemental?” Richard turned to Ru. "A lesser Djinn?"

“Indeed, this is Ellen, the Magister’s Familiar.”

“The Magister’s an Air Conjurer?” Gwen’s mouth formed a happy ‘o’; it was always nice to know another powerful Conjurer.

“Indeed, as well as a Transmuter and Illusionist,” Ru affirmed Gwen’s expectant expression with a nod. “Please, leave the Spirits to themselves, it's rare for elementals to meet kin so similar to their own.”

As expected, Richard indulged Lea, using his Conjuration to sever her from his body. The duo marvelled at the fact that the Magister had his familiar permanently manifested and was even trying to get her to do his paperwork.

Gwen regarded the sloppy pile of work, evidently left undone. Was it perhaps an attempt to further humanise the spirit, or to test out if a Familiar was capable of learning higher functions? She tried to imagine Caliban or Ariel doing the same work and had to suppress a mirthful smile. How could she convince her Lecturer that Caliban ate her homework?

“Jin! Gwen, Richard! Come in, come in!” Magister Jiang’s booming voice came on like a trumpet.

The duo entered while Magus Ru retreated to the door.

“We’ll hopefully meet again.” Ru nodded at the two young Mages. "Fare you well."

“Thank you, Sir.”

They both bowed.

* * *

Inside the Dean’s office, Magister Luo had their files opened in front of him. He had read through the cousins' stats almost a dozen times since last night.

Richard came on as expected, a young man with a thin face, lean of limb and body, with a square jaw and a Roman nose that hinted at his mixed heritage.

When Gwen appeared behind the young man, Luo felt a jolt of electricity fill the air. The girl was stunning! A handsome mien, striking green-ochre eyes, an elegant swan’s neck, a tapered torso, and a pair of white legs extending from a hip-hugging pencil skirt, she was the picture of perfection, a poster child.

Luo kept his face impassive.

“Greetings, I am Magister Luo Jiang, the Dean of this University.”

Gwen and Richard both bowed deeply.

“I am Gwen Song; it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

“I am Richard Huang, Sir; it’s an honour.”

“I’d ask that you sit, as is proper for western customs.” Luo kept his eyes on the duo. “Conjure Object!”

A pair of antique sitting chairs appeared behind them.

"Please sit."

An impressive tier 4 spell, performed quietly and efficiently with great subtlety. There was no ripple in the Astral Plane, no burst of Conjuration mana; it was as though the chairs had always been there. To achieve such a feat required an exercise in Conjuration as natural as taking a breath of fresh air, as passive as blinking.

Gwen and Richard sat.

“I have studied both of your applications, including the commendations from Pudong Tower on behalf of the Morning Star himself. I am impressed, as anyone would be impressed, by your achievements at so young an age.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Gwen inclined her head.

Luo rapped his fingers against the table.

Rap. Rap. Rap. The crisp sound was an onomatopoeic representation of the Magister's thoughts.

“However, your applications have come at a difficult time for us. Are you aware that your Grandmother, my respected colleague, the esteemed Klavdiya Song, Director of the 2nd PLA Hospital, has submitted you for a Scholarship position?”

“Sir?” Gwen had not heard. She had assumed that she was applying for a full-fee position.

“Are we eligible?” Richard asked the more poignant question. He wasn't one to let an opportunity slide.

Luo pursed his lips. The duo held their breath.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I am allowing it.”

Both Gwen and Richard felt their breath slowly escaping their lips.

“However, there is a multi-stage process for selection of students for the Lim-Chanrol Student Scholarship prize, or the LCSS, as endearingly known amongst the cohort. There will be a written exam, a Practical, then an interview before a panel. Usually, students have weeks, even months to prepare. I regret to inform you that you have…”

Luo paused.

“…Several hours. What say you?”

Gwen and Richard meet one another’s eyes. Several hours wasn't the problem. It was a competition, after all, all they needed to do was to out perform and deliver.

“That is if you wish to vie for the current crop of scholarship students. You are always welcome to apply for the latter year cohort for 2004’s semester 1. I hope you understand that Director Song has sprung this upon me rather unconventionally.”

“If we fail, Sir, are we still able to apply for the non-scholarship course? Or for the scholarship course again?” Gwen asked

“Of course,” Luo answered them. “Further pertaining to your suit, I should note that the students selected for the Inter-University Competition are usually LCSS alumnus. That and you need to understand that having failed once, it will reflect poorly, though not critically, upon your next application.”

“I see.” Gwen considered the hand she and Richard had been dealt. Play it safe and slow or loose and fast; those were the options before them. How confident was she? She could feel Caliban's brooding energy within her edging for release into the Material world.

“I have confidence in both of your abilities, however.” Magister Luo continued. “Shall I explain the stages of each competition?”

“Please do.” Gwen squared her shoulders attentively.

“Very good.” The Magister's lips curled mirthfully. “The written exam is an essay on a topic pertaining to the current status of our precarious world. It can range anywhere between Demi-humans and Humanity, ecological issues with the Mermen, Political treaties between the Frontier Cities, and so on. It has the least weighing of the three exams, and serves largely as a measure of your eloquence and wisdom in assessing current affairs.”

Oh, that’s not good. Gwen bit her lip hesitantly. She was a country bumpkin from the woods. What kind of political discourse or sagely observation could she possibly give regarding matters of a world she had barely begun to know?

“The next exam is the Combat examination. You may select a tier of Summoned Creature, then attempt to best the randomised creature that emerges from the Conjuration Circle. Rest assured that your life will be in no danger, though I wouldn’t guarantee the same for risk of significant injury, so do be careful.”

“What tier can we choose from?” Richard asked.

“The exam begins at 5, which is already beyond the abilities of your average University student, and may progress up to 12.”

“12?” Gwen turned to Richard questioningly. “What could be tier 12?”

“The Imperial Tier system is largely a generalisation,” Luo explained. “As you are both from the frontier, you have probably had little to no contact with higher-order Demi-humans. A High Elf, for example, is usually a tier 4 creature, possessing extraordinary dexterity and intelligence, not to mention a lifespan of millennia. When you add that age and wisdom to Arcane Craft, however, as well as elemental affinity, an Elven Druid or Sorceress could easily surpass tier 10 regarding raw destructive potential. In the manner of the Summon Creature Circle, I'd venture to say an altered baseline creature with Elemental affinities, such as a Dire Bear with Fortified Earth, and so on, which would be 6 or 7.”

“Incredible,” Gwen confessed. She tried to imagine meeting her first elf. Would it be like when Frodo and Samwise saw Rivendell for the first time? Short, simple country folk meeting the highest power, the most ancient race, and the most graceful mien of the Material Realm. If she could also have that experience one day, that would be wonderful.

“The same applies to us. Are we not dangerous in ourselves, hmm? Even as the common man is merely tier 1.” Luo chuckled amiably, then irritably, he looked toward the open door. “Ellen! Where is that tea?!”

‘Ellen’ appeared with a tea set bore on solidified air.

“Use your arms and legs, Ellen.” Magister Luo pinched the ridge of his nose.

The air sprite took the tray with her ethereal fingers and tried to manipulate the handle. She clumsily took a cup and began to fill it with tea. Gwen blinked as the spectacle unfolded. ‘Ellen’, as human-like as she appeared, even dressed appropriately in the garb of a doe-eyed secretary, had a pair of arms holding the tea tray, and another pair of arms manipulating the teapot and cups. Her slender legs wobbled on her heels as she tried to maintain balance without taking flight.

Ellen passed a cup over to Richard, but when she got to Gwen, she hesitated.

“I’ll take that, thank you.” Gwen reached out for the cup and saucer, watching Ellen titter.

“Woa!” Ellen slipped and flung the tea straight toward Gwen’s face.

“Lea!”

Thankfully, Richard recalled Lea just in time and caught the liquid before Gwen became drenched in Osmanthus water.

“Ellen…” Magister Luo apologised. "It's hard work, trying to humanise your Familiar. If and when you may acquire a Spirit, you should try it."

“That was your fault!” Ellen seemed more peeved at Luo than Gwen herself. With a flash of Conjuration, she ceased to exist within the material and bid herself to return to her Pocket Dimension. The tea set was left hanging in the air for a comical moment before Lea caught it expertly in a watery bubble.

“She’s a work in progress,” Magister Luo confessed. “I acquired her as a mid-tier spirit, and I am trying to improve her fine motor skills and general intelligence, but alas, Air Sprites are willful, proud, and a little too flippant.”

Richard asked Lea to bring the tea set to rest against a sideboard.

“What you have there, is the envy of all Conjurers anywhere.” Luo watched Lea manipulating the tray expertly. “You’ll have to tell me about how you came to acquire such a spirit one day, Richard.”

“I look forward to it.” Richard grinned at the Magister. "She's not for sale, by the way."

"I would broker nothing of the sort, my boy! I am merely admiring. She's a beauty, she is."

"She is, is she not?"

Richard politely asked Lea to service the trio, watching her pour the tea clumsily and collecting the wayward drops with elemental manipulation.

Gwen looked on covetously. She had no spirit. Ariel was immeasurable for fighting, petting and snuggling on cold nights; Caliban for mass murder. What would happen if she should acquire a Spirit? What would happen to Ariel or Caliban?

“Where was I?” Magister Luo rested his eyes on the two young Mages before him.

“The Combat Exam, the Tiers,” Gwen answered him.

A smile touched Luo’s lips affirmatively.

“The creatures randomly summoned will be within one to two tiers of your indicated challenge rating. Should a creature be too powerful, it will be banished, unless you request otherwise.”

“Understood, Sir,” Gwen replied.

“What if a creature has directly oppositional affinities?” Richard inquired further. “Such as if I were to face an Ice Elemental, or Gwen an Earth Elemental? Wouldn’t that be unfair?”

“You have three attempts,” Luo informed them. “If you are unlucky all three attempts, then I can only assume that you have the worst relationship with Luck. Fortune, is also a keen component of a Mage’s growth. Dungeon diving, Adventuring, the discovery of new fauna an flora, all tied to one’s luck.”

"Alas," the Magister continued. "The purpose is not to defeat the beasts but to demonstrate your skills. Brute force, skilful manipulation, wisdom in Spellcraft or even courage under adversity, we take them all into the account."

“The final component is the interview, conducted by the Magisters from the three main factions within the University. These are not real Factions, like the ones in the Tower, of course, they are staff and student organised social groups. There will be the Faculty Head of Advanced Spellcraft, the Department Head of a school I will refrain from informing you, and the Provost of the General Department.”

“Any clues as to what they may ask, Sir?” Richard inquired bluntly.

“A range of questions, to be sure,” Magister Luo replied mysteriously. “Some personal, some political, others merely of interest to the Interviewers themselves. My recommendation is to be yourselves.”

“I see.” Richard motioned for Lea to return. Lea ignored him and instead flittered about the room poking at old photo frames and swirling about crystal decanters that scintillated against the sunbeams shining through the french windows.

The two spirit-possessing Conjurers regarded one another with looks of mutual understanding. The boon and bane of having sapient spirits were that they had a mind of their own.

“I am willing,” Gwen announced with surety. She looked at Richard, who returned a reassuring nod. “That is, we, are willing to undergo these trials, Sir.”

“Excellent.” Luo put his hands together. “I will inform the others that you will be joining them.”

“How many others, Sir?” Richard asked. "What's the competition?"

“Including you, twenty,” Luo replied. “A few genuinely talented students, the others prodigies from the Clans and the Houses, here for prestige more so than anything else the Scholarship may provide. There are only two spots for Full-Scholarship, followed by four spots for Half-Scholarship.”

“So, six out of twenty?” Gwen nibbled her lips contemplatively. “Do we have to duel any of the other contestants?”

“There is precedence, but no, you will not. The result is objectively determined, based on your performances, then extensively debated.”

“I see.”

“Very well then, I shall expect the good news. The results will be posted by the week's end. The semester itself begins mid-June. Assuming you succeed, there is still a month to sort out campus accommodations.”

"I admire your confidence, Sir." Richard smirked. "And your foresight."

"I am an open book." Magister Luo glanced at his two proteges, a knowing smile upon his face. “Ellen will take you to the testing grounds on the other side of the campus. Do take care.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Gwen and Richard bowed once more and exited the Dean’s office.

The air sprite, Ellen, reappeared in her prim and proper humanoid form and motioned for the two young Mages to follow.

They proceeded away from the Colonial house and down the central Handan promenade, where the entrance to the Hall of Brilliance lay, its three-metre glass doors swinging to and fro as Mages entered and exited. Gwen observed the cosmopolitan students, mostly Chinese, some European, some Eurasian, a few resembling the Han Chinese but distinctly different, which she could only assume to be Korean or Japanese, as well as a few more exotic faces which she guessed to be South American or Mediterranean.

There was a massive area of lawn right before the Fudan Towers, with broad, poplar strewn avenues running down either side. Amongst the greenery, the trio proceeded until reaching the second campus, Jianghan, where the newer Spellcraft facilities resided.

“In here.” Ellen’s inhuman eyes were scintillatingly beautiful, reflecting the infinite cloudscape of the Elemental Plane of Air. She pointed to a warehouse converted office building with two lines of Chinese written in red down either side of the door.

The first read:

‘There exist no shortcuts on the winding path of Spellcraft’

The second read:

‘There is no shore when sailing upon the seas of Arcane knowledge.’

An elegant set of proverbs, said to be originally coined by the Chinese Lord-Scholar Mengzi, during a period when people still believed magic was pilfered from the Gods, rather than a product of human endeavour.

“Welcome!”

A pair of Mages, a man and a woman, emerged from the shaded double doors of the warehouse.

“Greetings.” Gwen and Richard bowed.

The two Proctors returned their greeting with slight inclines of their heads. One of them motioned for the two to enter.

“The written exam is in here, the General Examination Hall. Would you like to begin?"

Gwen couldn't think of anything productive she could potentially pertain as to the two hours she possessed, and so she nodded. Beside her, Richard brimmed with supernatural confidence.

The interior of the warehouse betrayed the shabby looking exterior, likely preserved to retain the historical look of the campus. Instead of galvanised sheeting, the interior was a vaulted wooden ceiling with soft golden pine, embedded with soft down-lights and climate-controlled to perfection. The hall itself took advantage of the warehouse’s arched ceilings, split into three sections by wooden wishbone dividers. A proliferate surface of vines covered one wall, giving the place a fresh, lively look, while under the apex, the chamber appeared large enough to seat almost a thousand students.

Currently, there were only four students busily scribbling away at their tests.

Soundlessly, the proctors placed Gwen and Richard into separate, private examination rooms plated with ash-blonde wood, modestly reflective with a pleasant matt-lacquer. The furniture likewise, was Transmuted-wood growing out from the floor in a natural design, forming into four sets of backless benches and working tables.

Gwen smoothed out her dress and sat, crossing over her long legs to make herself comfortable.

“You have two-hours.”

Upon the table was a stack of paper and a single test sheet, which Gwen presumed to be the exam paper.

She flipped over the page and read the conditions of the Exam.

Written Section

Total Marks (50)

Allow 120 Min for this section:

—————————————————————————————————————

IN YOUR ANSWER you are assessed on how well you:

- Demonstrate an understanding of the way Spellcraft may be applied practically.

- Describe, explain and analyse the relationships between Spellcraft, context, and real-world events.

- Demonstrate appropriate use of language and form in the essay format

—————————————————————————————————————

“Humanity must strive to bring significant and enduring change through the application of Spellcraft.”

Address this statement with your observation and opinions.

Gwen felt for the pen and pulled a piece of exam paper toward her chest. She licked her drying lips again and pondered how she should go about it. She was going to write the whole thing in English and hoped that the language barrier wasn't going to be a problem. After all, the question was perfect; it was ripe for the bull.

How should she go about it?

Radical, insightful, or groundbreaking? There was so much from which to choose!

As a fellow of the austere class of individuals who offered consultancy on policy and products, Gwen felt spoilt for choice as to what she could convincingly compose for the essay at hand.

For all the magical bluster this world possessed, humanity was woefully behind in two main civic arenas: bureaucracy and politics.

The Mage-world had no democracy to speak of, no concrete concept of individual rights, especially regarding that of the NoMs who formed the prole base of the power pyramid. Hers was a society of city-state Fascism, a long-suffering state of Apartheid by magical lottery. Thanks to the necessity of survival, humanity had adhered to ideologies akin to the 15th-century Italian Romagna. City-states form self-serving enclaves from which a spider web of influence radiated, establishing a perimeter of Frontier Cities whose only purpose was to feed the bulbous body. China was such a state, possessing the cosmopolitan capital of Shanghai, and the old seat of imperial power, Beijing. Under the CCP, citizens were given, rather than allowed to elect, political representatives, who served the Party before all else.

But, these officials had little power over the Mages, who consider themselves above worldly legality. The more powerful the Mage, the less they saw themselves as tethered to the rules that bound the proles. A sanctioned Magister obeyed the orders of the PLA because of the boon granted by allegiance to the political party, performed out of ideology, not because they could be compelled to do so.

Instead, the Towers ruled over the Mages. The PLA Tower and the Pudong Tower, forming a contest of power. The PLA Tower bent its resources to develop its trope of Neophyte fodder, Magus Lieutenants and Lord Magisters, while the Pudong Tower remained tethered to the Tower system initially envisioned by its European creators after the Second Great War.

For Gwen, whose knowledge of politics came both from everyday observance, a religious reading of the political columns and tertiary study, it was par for the course that she could offer a hundred reasons why such an Apartheid system of government, existing above the law, would eventually implode.

The projection of their society was hardly sustainable, even if the present danger meant that the majority was happy to place all power into the hands of a vocal minority.

From her encounters with the Houses, the Clans, and even Mages from the Frontier, she could tell that if there was one thing that Mages respected, it was might.

For the students of Spellcraft, Might Makes Right.

There was no rule of law; it was as though the world outside the mundane was the Wild West. The strong took what they wanted, whenever they wanted. If there was treasure, one vied for it. If there was beauty, one pursued and commandeered it. If there was a Dungeon, one conquered it. Dominion operated on a balance of power, stripped of rules and regulations.

The reality of the world she now inhabited still sent Gwen's common-sense reeling, even after a year and a half.

Should she write about Locke? Propose the Second Treaties in mixing one’s labour with the land?

Or perhaps she could draw upon the mighty Leviathan, offer some insight on the symbiotic nature between the head and the hands?

Or maybe even Rousseau, whose’ treaties on the Savage Man seemed right at home with the wanton natures of Mages in this world.

Gwen put pen to paper.

She began to write.

“On the Vindication of NoMs among us.”

She would write something with passion and eloquence, drawn from a period of the 19th century where women lacked rights, property, and recognition; a reflection of the state of NoMs. She took lines from Wollstonecraft, who’s essay she had studied extensively in university, as well as others such as Woolf, weaving funny anecdotes with bitter diatribe and witty banter.

For Mages, even the highest Mages, Gwen wrote, originated from NoMs. Though the Houses and Clans have found themselves weaned away from the paltry existence of those without Magic, they are nonetheless cursed to produce Squabs, a misnomer for those born into bloodlines who fail the genetic lottery. To abuse the NoMs, to treat them as one does in the Frontier cities, as little more than fodder and scum, forgotten and left to menial labour, abused, taken advantage of, pillaged at the pleasure of the Mage - is to debase humanity itself. The abuse of greatness is when it is disjoint from remorse! And a Mage is but the champion of Man!

As Mages possess such abundant resources compared to the common man, why not seek to eradicate the people trafficking in the extensive ghettos, and invest in education for the NoMs, restructuring the bottom of society as to offer meagre but meaningful employment? There may yet be great innovators, originators, scholars, creators of the arts, celebrated human minds that lay untapped among the populace. What could potentially emerge is a new renaissance of thinking, of art, culture, invention and innovations stemming from the largest population of humanity - the NoMs.

Gwen wrote roughly but idealistically, understanding that she has yet to touch upon the upper echelons of her society and attain a genuine understanding of the woes this world faced. It should be the sort of thing that her instructors would find amusing but eloquent, ideal but be lacking in substance, a demonstration of a student with great hopes and great designs for the future, positively an individual who’d hope that Spellcraft could change the world in meaningful ways!

Does not a NoM bleed when you prick them?

Does not a NoM cry when they are hurt?

Have they no family, no father and mother, sons and daughters?

If one can argue for the Mage, one can apply for the NoM!

Gwen finished with a minute to spare, having composed two-dozen pages in florid but neat handwriting in the two hours since.

The female Proctor collected her essay with an expression of astonishment.

“That’s a lot of writing!” She turned her burning eyes upon the pretty applicant.

“I had a lot to say,” Gwen stated matter-of-factly.

The examiner inclined her head and collated Gwen's answers with a swipe of her hand.

“Your companion has finished early. He waits for you outside.”

“Thank you.”

Gwen ventured outside the examination hall, shielding her eyes against the glare of the mid-day sun.

“Ready for your next examination?” Richard's smiling face awaited her arrival.

“Sure, what did you write about?”

“Coming from Sydney, I’d think that would be self-evident,” Richard stated seriously. “I wrote a treatise about periodically cleansing the coastal regions as to prevent a built up of Magical Creatures in the Coastal Wildlands.”

“That sounds rather pragmatic.” Gwen pursed her lips. Should she have written something likewise practical? The essay did say ‘change the world’, did it not?

“It was nothing original,” Richard added. “Though I did some math and pointed out the benefits of using minimal force to project maximum gain in acquiring resources for the city, as well as using the operation as training for junior Mages to acquaint them with oceanic and coastal combat. I included thirty-six points of interest, and pointed out fourteen potential setbacks.”

“Oh.” Gwen felt even less sure of her boastful essay now.

“What did you do?”

“Er… stuff.” Gwen played with a coil of hair self-consciously. “I wrote about NoMs.”

Richard blinked, then snorted encouragingly.

“I should have thought as much. I am sure it’ll do well. You’re very eloquent and convincing when you need to be.”

“Thanks, Richard.” Gwen smiled at him sweetly.

“Anytime,” Richard fired back. “Shall we?”

* * *

The field trials took place next door in another warehouse adjacent to the first.

“You will be entering an isolation zone roughly the size of a football field,” the Proctor explained. “Are you aware of the procedure? Would you like me to explain?”

“The Dean has already explained,” Richard informed the Proctor.

“Very well, let us proceed.”

Richard and Gwen could hear the sound of the combat even before they entered the warehouse, buzzing in the background behind a muffled mana shield.

The arena took up the entire length of the enormous warehouse, fitted with bleachers on three-sides and shielded unilaterally with Walls of Force. Within the platform, a rolling knoll the size of a football field, a two-headed giant wielded a club clumsily, fighting a Mage who flittered about through the air like a sprite.

“Glacial Missiles!”

A flurry of a dozen blue-white bolts zinged through the air to strike the giant in both eyes, centred upon each brow. The thick hide of the giant shrugged off the force of the attacks, but the penetrative elemental damage momentarily blinded the Cyclopean Ettin.

“Sleet Storm!”

Taking a seat on the bleachers, Gwen and Richard caught a better look at the Mage, finding the caster to be an elfin girl with short cropped hair, giving her a pixie-like appearance. She flew through the air as though it was second nature, corkscrewing and turning as the two-headed Ettin battered the space surrounding it in a blind rage.

“Blizzard!”

With the ground reduced to a slippery sheet of ice and debris, a blast of forceful ice was sufficient to send the disorientated Ettin backwards, tripping and falling until it crashed onto the zone of ice created by the Evocation spell.

An Evoker-Transmuter! Gwen marvelled, deeply impressed. A solid build for a Combat Wizard, particularly one aiming for the enviable position of an Aerial Battle Mage.

With the Ettin floored, the elfin girl flew directly above its twin heads.

“Frost Ball!”

A shrieking sphere of frost left her fingers and struck the Ettin on the right head, where it rapidly expanded into a forty-foot diameter ring of rime drawn directly from the Elemental Plane of Ice.

The Ettin shuddered as its head froze, pawing its face feebly, struggling to breathe as its respiratory systems rebelled from the cold.

“Enough!” A Proctor activated a device, and the Ettin disappeared in a shimmering show of Conjuration mana. The field of the Arena, conjured to be grassy highlands, likewise ceased to be, returning to the bare concrete of the un-transmogrified space of the warehouse.

The gathered audience clapped as the girl landed, her face glowing with a sheen of exertion.

“Very good, Kitty, you may return.”

The girl bowed to the Proctor and returned to the bleachers, where she met half a dozen others in jovial congratulations.

The Proctor then turned to the crowd.

“As it were, we have TWO more entries into the examination,” he announced by raising his voice an octave. “Reset the field!”

“WHAT!” one of the students let loose an unkind outburst that made Gwen wince. “How can this be? There’re only eighteen contestants!”

“You can’t just add people last minute! The candidates are finalised weeks in advance!”

“Mao! Unfair! Who are these people!”

“Wocao, I bet they paid their way in,” someone suggested rudely.

“What is Dean Jiang thinking?”

“My House will hear about this!”

“I demand an answer!”

“Tama-di! House Jia demands an answer!” someone else swore loudly.

“Silence!” The Proctor’s face flushed a shade darker. “All decisions are made by the Dean. If you’re unhappy with it, you are welcome to withdraw from the LSCC Mid-Semester Scholarship Exam.”

The students shut up at once. Their eyes scanned the field for these two intruders into the competition, these two upstarts. They found them on the opposite bleacher.

“Gwen Song!” the Proctor announced, his voice filled with displeasure. "Proceed onto the field."

“May I go first?” Richard stood.

“No.” The Proctor shook his head, not even bothering to look toward Richard. “Gwen Song. Are you ready to proceed with your first attempt?”

Richard sat back down and placed a hand on Gwen’s knee.

“I’ll be fine,” Gwen said to her companion.

“I know,” Richard replied stoically.

“What Tier would you like to attempt?” the Proctor enquired of Gwen.

“What was the two-headed giant?” Gwen asked in return.

“Tier 5.”

“Very well, give me tier 6.”

The Proctor raised a bushy brow.

“We are not responsible for any injuries, though we will endeavour to preserve your life,” he said carefully. "If you are grievously injured, you may not attempt again."

“I am aware, proceed.” Gwen walked past the Proctor.

"Break a leg!" Richard shouted.

She ignored him.

Gwen walked across the bleachers and made her way down to the area. A few catcalls and a whistle answered her from across the hall, where the majority of the other contestants sat brooding like disgruntled ogres.

As she descended into the arena, Gwen produced a scrunchy from her Ring and pulled back her loose bun until it tapered into a tight bundle around the back of her skull, forming a cascading ponytail that dropped luxuriously between her shoulders, bobbing as she moved.

She looked up to see her hecklers and saw a near-dozen of them seated here and there. There were three groups, a clump congregated near the centre, in the midst of which was the prior contestant, the flying girl. Their mixed attire indicated that they were from different walks of life, but their comfortable body language intimated that they shared some history.

Another group, a trio, sat way off in the corner, their similar semi-formal attire indicated they were likely from a single Clan, or perhaps a local, prestigious school.

The third consisted of a loner, a sullen-looking young man who sat by himself, projecting a desolate atmosphere.

Gwen stepped onto the concrete with clacking heels. She could feel the eyes of the gathered contestants like feelers over her skin, measuring every inch of her presence, taking in her likeness and trying to discern her secrets.

“Initiating tier 6 Combat Trial!”

A hushed murmur fell over the hall.

“Tier 6?” someone from the first group hissed. “Who does she think she is?”

“She’s nuts,” a compatriot answered the first. "That means it could effectively hit tier 8."

“Shush! Shut up,” the sprite-like Mage with the pixie-cut intervened. “Watch.”

The grounds shimmered and churned until the materialised space resembled a savanna, created from a combination of Conjuration, Transmutation and Illusionary glyphs. Her old High School, Blackwattle, had such a field as well, though far lacking in realism and scale.

“You may self-buff should you wish,” the Proctor informed Gwen. “Extra points if you do not.”

Gwen considered the offer.

She was here to win, and she was fully confident in Caliban holding off a tier 6 whatever. It wasn't as though she had any meaningful buffs other than Void Skin. Furthermore, she was sure that Conjuration traps like Tentacles did not count as self-buffs.

“I’ll be fine. Please proceed.” Gwen waved him off.

The refusal to pre-buff sent the crowd into a murmur. It was a recipe for disaster not to protect oneself or to preload powerful spells. A Mage should sue for every advantage, especially if one were challenging something at the apex of one's power. Did the arrogant girl below infer that tier 6 was not her limit? That she could go to 7 or 8? That tier 6, enough to wipe out a remote outpost, was not at a difficulty she considered significant?

They felt their arrogance falter. This Gwen Song was either a prodigy or an idiot. They had never heard of her, and so the group was inclined to believe in the latter; it wasn't as though genius Mages fell from trees in the Frontiers.

A savannah-scape could infer some nasty beasties. A sizeable Wildland Lion, a thick-hided rhino; a gibbering host of Hobs, a Land Shark; it could be anything.

“You may begin once the creature is summoned,” the Proctor informed them. "Adjudicator, you may proceed."

“Summon Creature!”

A burst of brilliant Conjuration mana filled one end of the arena, roughly fifty paces from where Gwen stood starkly in her white blouse and pencil skirt, looking as though an attractive office hostess had lost herself in the wilderness of the steppes.

It was far easier to conjure creatures of a particular tier if one cared not what the spell pulled through time and space. It also guaranteed that whatever was ripped out from its home and displaced through the Astral Plane into the Material Plane was going to be very angry. As such, despite being a staple spell of the Conjuration school, the random summon was rarely used in the presence of allies. Attuning oneself to invoke a particular kind of creature involved tapping into the affinity of a Spirit, or signing a contract with a Demi-human or extra-planar being. Hearsay stated that Demi-casters could speak the tongue of Wildland creatures and compel them forth, entirely under the command of the Caster. Humanity lacked such luxuries for their study of Magic was younger; it was not uncommon for a Summoner to lose the privilege of banishing whatever the spell called forth.

As the silvery motes faded, the shape of a feline form the size of a people-mover van came into view. The creature appeared disorientated for the first split-second, but its golden eyes quickly adjusted upon Gwen as it brought its powerful musculature to bear.

“A Chimaera Lioness!” someone cried out from the stands. "Tier 7!"

“Caliban!” Gwen summoned her trump card even as the lioness began its charge. She could now see that the creature was not entirely lion-like. Its head and upper body resembled that of a giant lioness, but its lower torso ended with hooves, its tail a hissing serpent. Furthermore, as the creature began to bear down upon Gwen with the ferocity of a seething pride, she could see that its eyes possessed that strange and alien cornea which goats possessed.

In its path, Caliban burst forth.

Gwen felt the safety threshold provided by Almudj’s vital force instantly overcome as Caliban emerged into the Material Realm in its newest form. She had willed her creature to appear in its spider guise, but the burgeoning mass the Void vomited forth had only two pairs of limbs. Furthermore birthing its massive frame took a toll of vitality from Gwen that left her winded.

"C-Caliban!" Gwen clenched her teeth. "Defend me!"

Had Caliban grown too powerful for her to command? Gwen's thoughts were dancing a jig, full of chaos and unbidden fears of losing control. The Lovecraftian horror had, after all, consumed thousands of critters and an Elder Gila in the last few days, while her Conjuration had remained unimproved since before her Master was murdered by his erstwhile wife. Whatever tier Caliban may be in its new form, it wasn't containable by her measly fourth-level aptitude.

To the observers of the battle, they felt as though the unwitting witnesses to a grotesque miracle.

A slit had opened in the gap between the Astral and the Material, from which emerged a humanoid bullfrog with the girth of a sedan. It fell onto the Transmuted floor of the make-shift savannah like a drop of tenebrous ink, then unfolded itself into an eight-foot-tall frog-lizard-humanoid spawn of indefinite shape. Its body mass was stacked like a reversed pyramid, with the bulbous musculature of its head taking up almost half of its torso. In the centre of its faceless mien was an enormous lamprey’s mouth drooling with grey slime. Its upper limbs were long and sinuous, ending with obsidian claws embedded into three-toed hands. Its hind legs were comically short, resembling those of frogs, but thick and stout, kinetically coiled like two primed pistons.

The two monstrous existences met each other halfway in a titanic clash, the lioness leaping into the air and launching itself into a powerful kick with its hooves even as its fore-limbs racked and slashed and its feline maw tore into the rubbery flesh of the summoned Familiar. The Chimaera’s serpentine tail likewise bit into the slimy dermis of its opponent, delivering a necrotic venom that would liquify living tissue in a matter of seconds.

Caliban’s rubbery flesh became rendered at once, becoming ribbons of dark meat as the lioness' claws cleaved and tore at the glossy exterior.

Gwen felt another bout of vitality drain away, stealing the breath from her chest, but what else could she do at this point? She had made her bed, and now she must lie in it. Had she known Caliban would have emerged with such size and ferocity, she would have chosen to buff up first, or perhaps rely on lightning.

She could feel the gibbering bestial joy that Caliban exerted transfer empathically through their link. A command came unbidden to her mind, embedded within Caliban’s newly acquired body. Gwen felt a wave of nausea as she indulged her beast, wishing to end the bout as soon as possible.

“Consume!”

She staggered back and had to steady herself with visible effort as a pound of flesh was delivered to her insatiable familiar.

Caliban swelled with swirling Void energies, its rib cage violently expanding as it ballooned in size, surprising even the Chimaera Lioness who lost its grip upon Caliban's slimy exterior.

With a gurgling hiss, Caliban’s lamprey’s mouth unfolded, expanding until it became a maw the width of its body, a full meter across at the extremities.

"What the fuck!" Voices in the crowd cried out.

"Wocao!"

"Mao's jade balls!"

Even the lioness howled in guttural terror as its goat’s eyes stared into the bottomless depth held captive within Caliban's toothy hell.

With the sound of a wet, slurping crunch, Caliban enclosed its mouth around the struggling Chimaera, attaching bloodily onto its upper body by swallowing the lion's entire frontal torso.

The gathering watched with mouth-open, abominable disgust as Caliban's lips disregarded all properties of the physical flesh to expand massively around the lion-creature, not unlike that of the proverbial bullfrog trying to swallow prey twice its size. Struggle as it might, the lioness seemed incapable of actually piercing Caliban’s rubbery skin from the interior.

With a smooth, slurping motion, Caliban inhaled, filling the area with the sound of bones cracking and vessels popping. There was another brief but violent struggle; then the Chimaera became still.

Caliban's lamprey’s mouth made a sucking motion, then the lower half of the lioness began to slide into the nightmarish thing’s lips. A burst of silvery mana came over the carcass, and the maimed or near-dead creature became unsummoned as the spell unravelled.

The presiding Proctors recovered from the spectacle, only now realising that they should have unsummoned the creature as soon as it fell into the maw of the gibbering beast. Caliban bewilderingly licked its lips and wondered where its delicious meal had gone.

“Oh. My. Mao!”

“What the hell is that?”

“A DEATH GILA! That’s a DEATH GILA!”

“Don’t be an idiot; those are tier 10 or 11! How can someone who's not even a graduate tame something as powerful and chaotic as a Death Gila? Those things are far more intelligent and cunning than you and I, ancient, too.”

Gwen meanwhile, felt her world becoming a topsy-turvy spinning top. She desperately channelled some of her recovering Almudj-mana into her body, steadying herself as to not become a fainting spectacle in the middle of an exam.

“Caliban! Return!” She called out, her voice peevish and upset at her rebellious Familiar.

Caliban did not return.

Gwen felt a slight, spine-tickling panic. There was no tingle of premonition though; she was not in danger, she could handle this, she had to.

Caliban sauntered over toward her on its stunted hind legs.

The void-fiend was huge.

Tower over her in its humanoid form, Gwen realised how massive the creature had become. It was like she was looking up at an obsidian menhir that blotted out the sun.

Caliban’s faceless head, lacking eyes and nose but possessing a mouth spacious enough to fit in her entire torso, lowered itself.

It… wants to be petted? Gwen acknowledged from her empathic link. It's sad and despondent that food disappeared.

"What's she doing?" someone asked the crowd, out of Gwen's earshot.

"Showing off," someone else stated.

"Shit, that thing is a beast!"

"I still think its a Death Gila."

"Whatever it is, I ain't fighting it," a voice remarked, much to the agreement of the others.

Down below, Gwen reached out and patted Caliban's scarred snout, where even now the wounds made by the Chimaera were healing rapidly, leaving behind white lines in its obsidian flesh.

Was Caliban becoming too dangerous? Gwen felt that epiphany more distinctly now than ever. Should its frenzied instinct for consumption get out of hand, it could leave her drained and weakened in the middle of combat, or even turn upon allies.

"Shaaa! Shaaa! Gwarp! Gerrr... Gerrr..."

The humungous humanoid-frog purred and croaked through its circular-saw lips, drooling grey-slime as it nudged her like a cat, send Gwen off-balance.

Gwen fed it an unopened can of Spam.

The crowd in the bleachers brooded with unknowable emotions.

The Proctor's thoughts were otherwise.

That was a terrible display.

No skill. No finesse. No display of control or knowledge.

There was nothing but power.

Raw. Brutal. Unmitigated Power.

It was as if Gwen Song was showing her competitors that she didn’t need their aeons of study, their painstaking education, nor their much-contested resources. She was in possession of a higher power as literal as a nightmarish bullfrog eating a thrashing feline twice its size, alive.

How does one contest against that?

The girl wasn't even bothering with the etiquette of retracting her beast and clearing the field for the next contestant! She was showing off! She was parading her fiendish-summon like a prized dog! Best-in-Show! Regard its noble mien! Look upon its glossy, slimy exterior! Watch me stroke its horrid, aberrant form like a winning cat! Behold its bearing! Look, it eats Spam!

It was enough to drive a Mage insane with jealousy.

As prodigies, the contestants recognised the rare talent of Void, and with that recognition came the intense feelings of despair felt by all when predestination superseded effort and endeavour.

The pixie girl, in particular, was white as a sheet as her lips became gnawed to redness, disgusted at the frog-spawn and its owner in equal measure.

How could Gwen Song know their pain?! How much training they had to do!

Below, Gwen painfully begged Caliban to return to its pocket dimension.

"Please, Caliban, do it for mummy!"

Instead, the frog-fiend sniffed the air and hung out a tenebrous tongue of pink flesh to lick her face.

“Okay, okay, buddy, come on! Go home!” Gwen rubbed its snout a little more vigorously, ribbing it with her knuckles.

Caliban turned toward the bleaches. It regarded the young Mages. There was a feeling of intense hunger.

Gwen felt within her body a renewed tug of war.

“No!” She slapped Caliban wetly on the flank. “GO HOME! God-damn-it Caliban! In!"

Caliban turned to regard her with wariness, sending a few butterflies her way.

“Friend!” Gwen pointed at the Mages. “They’re friends! Don’t harm them. NOT FOOD! Go home!”

There was a moment of hesitation between Master and Familiar, then, as if a higher power answered, Caliban returned to its pocket dimension, becoming once more the amiable form of the serpent.

Gwen breathed out a sigh of immense relief and turned to the Proctors. So much for a display of mastery, she moaned internally.

An awkward round of applause began in the bleachers, likely urged by Richard. Scattered clapping filled the arena before the Proctor dispelled the conjured landscape.

“You may wait on the other side.” The Proctor motioned to the side where the other students were sitting.

Ah, Gwen thought to herself. So that’s why they were all assembled on the opposite side. She willed a little more of Almudj's energy to fortify her health. Carefully and slowly, she stalked across the concrete and ascended the ankle-high steps.

A dozen pair of eyes regarded Gwen as she crossed the threshold.

“Hello.” She waved to the largest group. “I am Gwen Song.”

The group turned to look at the pixie girl, who made no move to greet Gwen. Awkwardly, Gwen retracted her arm and turned to the trio on the sidelines.

Thankfully, these waved back, but their body language was neither invitational or amiable, merely polite.

The final student, the brooding one in black, didn’t even bother to acknowledge her presence.

Well, shit. Off to a good start, Gwen sighed. The larger group was more likely to be accepting of her in the long run, but all of that would have to wait until after the trials. If she was to assume a scholarship position that one of them would have realised otherwise, it wasn't likely that they were going to be fast friends.

Not to mention, Gwen's mind added wistfully. She needed some immediate and dire instruction on what happened when a Familiar grows above and beyond the tiers of Conjuration possessed by the Conjurer. How can she wrestle back the mental control she had once maintained over Caliban and prevent her darling beast from taking her life-force to ‘protect’ her whenever it felt necessary to do so?

All of that would have to wait until the semester began and she could speak intimately with a course coordinator.

Gwen patted down her dress and sat on the wooden slabs that made the bleaches' benches. She crossed her legs and tried to regulate her breathing, watching as Richard entered the stage.

She had complete confidence in her companion.

And her faith was not left unfounded.

Richard’s field turned out to be a semi-urban setting consisting of stunted walls and broken rubble. His challenge of tier 6 Summoned beings was a troop of a dozen cunning Corpse Wolves, necrotic creatures riddled with disease and venom. A single wolf was barely past the range of tier 3, but when the wily creatures worked as a pack, they became a significant threat to settlements and expeditions, capable of taking down entire parties of Mages. The Alpha of the pack that emerged furthermore showed signs of near-human intelligence, commanding the others to surround Richard as soon as the wolves became orientated to their new surroundings, fanning out across the make-shift landscape of Illusion and Transmutation.

As before, Richard spread motes of water throughout the surroundings, abusing the superior elemental control afforded by Lea. With a perimeter set, he had absolute dominion within his ‘zone’ of water.

When the Alpha struck after being misled, Richard ensnared it in a web of water, wrangling the creature until it whimpered and gagged. Then with casual cruelty, Richard dispatched the beast with extreme prejudice, rending it limb from limb in plain view of the others.

Gwen watched with fascinated horror and tingling unease as the wolf was slowly wrung like a rag, first snarling, then whimpering, then begging for death.

Jesus, Richard... She swallowed anxiously, wondering why her hands and feet were stone cold. Richard has no chill.

The remaining wolves hid as well as they could, becoming invisible and unmoving under the urban cover. With the semi-intelligent wolf pack sufficiently cowed, Richard asked the Proctor if the exam should continue.

The Proctor affirmed his success, and the practical exam came to an end.

Richard flashed his amiable, mask-like grin toward the others as they golf-clapped with a nervousness entirely different to when Gwen made her attempt.

“Well, shall we?” Richard extended a hand toward Gwen, reaching her height on the bleachers effortlessly. “One more to go.”

Gwen shot a sideways glance at her fellow contestants, whose faces were unreadable masks of consternation.

Her wane thin lips broke into a broad-lipped smile as she looked up at her peerless companion.

“Let us go then,” she replied, taking his hand.

The interview. A future curriculum. Caliban’s unruly attitude.

She had bigger fish to fry than these kids and their teenage angst.

The interview took place within the westside Tower, 'T1' of the Hall of Brilliance.

Now unified as a single troop, the potential Scholarship students meandered across the campus, drawing attention from passersby as they moved. Gwen and Richard brought up the rear as to avoid unwanted attention, succeeding thanks to the salience of the haughty group walking in front of them.

After a quarter of an hour, the group entered the Hall of Brilliance.

Gwen marvelled at the conjunction of Deco-cum-Orientalist decor.

At the forecourt's centre, a white marble plaque read “Fudan University” in Chinese pictograms, beneath which was the same in English. The atrium of the Hall was spacious and aerated, favouring a square-in-square design which created an aesthetically pleasing symmetry. Nine lumen-lit square blocks made up the nine-meter high ceiling, at the centre of which was an extended Day Light array diffusing a soft radiance. Three-by-three both above and below, the equal-distant segments formed the auspicious number ‘nine’, said to the be the number of Heavenly Dragons and the symbol of Chinese Emperors.

“This way.” One of the Proctors led them toward the Levitation mountings.

Ellen had by now returned to the Dean. Gwen and Richard trailed behind the gaggle of talkative students, marvelling at the meticulously planned decor. From vaulted corridors came the hung visions of old Magisters now and then, gazing benevolently at the next generation of Fudan students.

There were four levitation platforms in total, each enough to hold at least twenty individuals. As they filed into the elevator, Gwen found herself pressed against the mirrored walls.

“Wow, you are tall. So tall aww!”

Aww? Gwen looked downward.

A babyfaced Asian girl was an inch across from her chest, looking up at Gwen's face with an expression of earnest admiration. In her modest heels, Gwen stood a good head taller than the diminutive student, who resembled a petite idol. Gwen couldn't help but notice that the girl looked far younger than her probable age. She should be sixteen-seventeen, or even older, but her liquid eyes, small button nose and tiny frame gave her the appearance of an early teen. Faced with the endearing little Mage, Gwen was reminded of Elvia and wondered when she could see her angelic face again.

“Hello,” Gwen greeted the girl. “I am Gwen Song.”

“I know,” the girl beamed. “I saw you at the trial.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mayuree.”

“Hi Mayuree.” Gwen put on the friendliest smile she could muster.

“Your monster is amazing,” Mayuree continued. “What do you feed it?”

Gwen felt felicitous that the girl was more curious than frightened of Caliban. Such was the calibre of Mages when in Fudan! She mused about saying something jovial like ‘cuties like you’, but decided against the mischievous impulse. Mayuree's olive skin was as flawless as a newborn babe; her face adorably adorned with pudgy baby fat.

“Are you a healer?” Gwen asked.

“Not! I am a Diviner!” Mayuree chirped. "I tell your fortune if you like. I am super accurate, all the others say so."

“Mia!” an interjecting hiss interrupted their conversation. Frowning, Gwen slightly turned her head toward the hooded figure of the Ice Mage. She was only an inch taller than Mayuree, petite and pallor, with a slight blue tinge to her hair and eyes, her skin glowed ethereally under the lift's lumen globes.

“Sorry!” Mayuree struck out her tongue charmingly.

“Hi, I am-”

“I know who you are.” The ice Mage curtly interrupted her.

“And you are?” Gwen persisted with perfect politeness.

For a moment, there was only the thrum of the levitation platform.

“Kitty Liang.” The Ice Mage faltered under the pressure of Gwen’s intense hazel eyes, her face taking on a hint of colour.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kitty.”

Kitty turned slightly away from Gwen and pulled her hoody over her face.

Gwen turned to Richard, who was enjoying the show immensely.

“We’ll let Mayuree live,” he announced suddenly and audibly. “The rest we’ll feed to Caliban.”

There was an audible intake of breath from the junior Mages.

Gwen's cheeks turned a shade of salmon as a dozen pairs of eyes searched her face for answers.

“R-Richard!” she stammered, admonishing his liberal jest. She turned to the crowd. “Richard is joking! Joking! It’s a joke! Caliban doesn't eat Mages!”

Gwen wished she could say something like 'Caliban doesn't eat people, I eat people,' but that sounded wrong both in truth and as an euphemism. Her precise problem was that like Richard said, Caliban DID eat people. In fact, it had consumed six up to date, not counting the NoMs at Blackheath.

Not being able to convince herself, Gwen could hardly expect to convince an audience who'd seen Caliban swallow a lion-goat-snake first hand.

A semi-circle of space opened around Gwen, except for Mayuree, who seemed even more enamoured with her bluster.

Gwen glared at Richard, who had a grin split from ear to ear.

‘Ding!’

The lift opened, and the gathered Mages filed out in a hurry.

Gwen was left alone with Richard, the moon-eyed Mayuree, and a wary-looking Proctor.

“Please refrain from harming or eating any of your fellow students,” the Proctor stated wryly. “There will be stiff penalties and even prison time if you do.”

“I intend no such thing!” Gwen stammered. “There will be no such danger, I assure you!”

“I should think so!” The Proctor gave her a strange, sideways glance before leaving their presence.

Gwen bit her lower lip as Richard sauntered out, mightily pleased with his ability to connect Gwen with the people around her.

“Grrr!” Gwen stomped after her companion. “RICHARD!”

* * *

The waiting room compounded the awkwardness.

The others now actively avoided her, averting her questions and refusing to look her in the eye. Only the Mayuree girl stuck on like an odour, waiting on her every word.

Defeated, Gwen resolved to stare at the ceiling, too upset to strike up a conversation with Richard. Her companion sat by himself in the corner, cool as a cucumber, utterly aloof in his meditations, making contact with no anyone, comfortable in his skin.

Gwen closed her eyes and tried to enter a meditative mindset.

She could feel Ariel’s playful empathy demanding to be released so it could bolt up and down the long corridor from which they came. There was also that ambient craving that emanated from Caliban, now more pronounced than ever, a pang of hunger that Gwen knew no mortal food could ever satiate.

She considered Caliban’s Gila-form.

That faceless mien. The bulbous body. The long, gorilla-like arms and the scythe-like claws and the hind legs that pistoned as it lumbered. The lamprey’s mouth that dribbled grey goo as it purred; the massive girth that loomed over her. Gwen had to admit, Caliban had become a frightening existence.

She’d always thought of Caliban as a dog, but with each new consumption, the once innocent pup was fast approaching the uncanny valley of self-awareness. If she should consume a sapient, sentient, intelligent Magical-being, would Caliban gain a mind of its own? How could she control it then? She should be so lucky that Caliban could rationalise past its bottomless hunger and listen to her command! If not, then what awaited them was a lynch mob. If they were to run into another Huyi Xiao, Gwen was sure that Caliban would ignore her command and make a meal out of the Abjurer. After that, of course, she would become the dire and deadly nemesis of the Clan of Xiao, and the entire wrath of a four-century-old Clan would descend upon her like a landslide.

Not a heart-warming prospect by any means.

She would have to improve her Conjuration to bring Caliban under her beck and call. Unlike Lea or Sufina, the hungering creature of the nether-dark was too instinctual, too dangerous to indulge. Should it overpower her control and become loose into the world, it would be unstoppable without exacting a terrible cost.

What would happen if someone killed Caliban? Not merely banishing it, but destroying its very existence. She would lose him forever; she would lose a companion that had saved her on more than one occasion for all time to come. Gwen shuddered at the thought. That would be like losing a part of her, like a hand or an arm or leg.

“Gwen Song!” the Proctor called out.

“Present!” Gwen answered.

“You may enter.”

Gwen bowed and made for the door to the interviewer’s office.

"Good luck!" Mayuree called out as Gwen waved back absentmindedly.

The interview room's interior was as she had expected, almost cliched in its simplicity. Three Examiners occupied a long desk, each outfitted with a glass of water drawn from a jug. An unfolded stool was position in front of the table, backlit by a large horizontal window that looked out the Tower toward the Fudan courtyard.

“Please sit, Ms Song.” The Proctor left Gwen alone with the coven of sorcerous examiners.

Gwen curtsied and bowed, then sat.

The first Examiner introduced himself as the Faculty Head of Advanced Spellcraft, Magister Gillian Kilmer, a grey-haired gent with a soft, gentle face, attired in an Oxford tweet jacket that spoke of comfort over style.

The second was a hard-faced Chinese woman, her hair tied in a tight bun that stretched the skin of her head tautly. She introduced herself as the Department Head of Abjuration, Magus Liwen Du. She had on a severe uniform from which a pair of tanned legs extended without an ounce of fat, giving her a military air.

The last Examiner came as an unbidden surprise.

The Provost of the General College, Professor James Ma, was a NoM!

Gwen’s better judgment floundered. How could a NoM be in such a position?

She applied herself to appear placid and professional as the man introduced himself. The Chinese professor wore a handsome mandarine jacket in the traditional style, with his quicksilver hair slicked back against his skull, accentuated by a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

“Welcome.” Liwen drew Gwen's attention with an open palm. “I will begin first.”

“At your pleasure, Madam Du,” Gwen replied confidently. She sat poised in her chair, her white legs scissored over professionally, her back arched in an aesthetically pleasing way, her arms resting comfortably across her skirt. Her expression was expectant and anticipatory, eager, but also at ease.

“…” Liwen glanced briefly at Gwen’s application form. She had to wonder if the girl was really from the Frontier. The young sorceress possessed far too much tact and dignity for commoner from a farming outpost. Had she been tutored? But according to the Dean, the girl had only found out about the interview engagement hours ago. Liwen felt that it would be supremely satisfying to dig through the girl's head for some history.

“I would like you to offer a postulated solution to a real-life problem. Is that alright?”

“Please do,” Gwen replied confidently.

“Good,” Magister Du continued. “Not so long ago, we experienced a regional incident, an episode regarding Frontier Demi-humans.”

Gwen’s ears perked up, her mind processing every word.

“It was up near the Uyghur border, north-east of the Xinjiang Autonomous Region. For context, the PLA has historically engaged in skirmishes with the Centaur tribes on the Plain of Yuan since 1949. In February, one of our outposts, consisting mostly of NoMs civilian and mining staff, was raided by the savages. Two Mages and a dozen NoMs, all of whom are important to the continued operation of the rare earth metal mine, were taken as hostages. The reason the Outpost fell is undetermined. You are the Combat Flight’s Captain, leader of the response team. You have engaged with the Centaurs scouts and routed them. However, upon reaching the mine, you find two dozen Centaur dissidents threatening to execute the hostages unless the PLA retreat from the region."

"Operation Command has given your team full authority on this mission. What is your way forward? Please clarify your answer.”

Gwen considered Liwen's real-life anecdote.

Hostages.

A standoff.

Regional conflict over land and resource.

What the hell did she know about hostage resolutions? She wasn't a trained negotiator or a military operator. Her old world job had been commodity R&D, offering risk-reward recommendations to improve components of her client's business!

There was no time to do her homework, and there was no Google to help her, she would have to rely on her memory. She must draw a satisfactory answer from parallels in her old world.

Quick! Gwen urged herself. Think!

“Is there a time frame in which I must act?” Gwen enquired, suing for time.

“Assume maximum operation time to be seven days,” Liwen regarded the girl’s eager eyes, surprised that an answer was forthcoming so soon. “That was the time frame given for the operation.”

“Are we able to track the Centaur’s tribe? Where they came from?”

“You are.” Liwen raised a contoured brow.

“Is my team capable of neutralising the village? Overpowering any local resistance?”

“Undoubtedly.”

"I see."

Gwen ran the keywords through the filter of her long-term memory.

Imperialistic forces invading native lands?

It was the typical colonial history of the known world!

Hostage exchange... Regional conflict...

Parallels... parallells... parallels...

A superior militant force.

A Guerilla force with strong ties to the land.

Africa? Middle-East? Gaza? Israel!

Gilad Shalit!

She had it!

“Very well.” Gwen took a deep breath. “I choose to negotiate with the Centaurs in the mine and stall for time. In the meanwhile, if permissible, I will seek to capture double or triple the number of Centaurs' tribesmen, favouring relatives of the captors. I will then have them brought to the mine for a prisoner exchange.”

“If they are unwilling?”

“To show that I am operating in good faith, I will release the wife or children of ONE of the assailants, especially someone who could challenge the authority of the captor’s leadership, such as a notable warrior or second-in-command. That way, there will be a feeling of dissent between the Centaurs as those without a feeling of safety will feel maligned and isolated by those whose families are safe. Furthermore, with their family by their side, those who had experienced mercy would think twice about engaging in mutually assured destruction.”

Liwen tapped her nails against her scribe-slate.

“Then?”

“Then I will repeatedly offer them the option of a prisoner exchange, multiple prisoners for each hostage. I will provide terms to each of the members of the tribe, seek to isolate their decision making by demanding collective bargaining, creating divisions through pardoning those who surrender first."

Liwen awaited the half-second in which it took for the inscriptions on her slate to settle.

“A very interesting suggestion, Ms Song. I wonder if Desert-Fox One should have gone with your highly speculative proposal. Out of interest, what do you think was the PLA Captain's choice?”

Gwen sipped her glass of water. It didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to believe that the Moscow Theatre Hostage Crisis was the go-to modus operandi of the PLA, who saw Mages and NoMs as little more than pawns. Certainly, Gwen could imagine her grandfather, Guo, making such a crude choice without so much as blinking an eye.

“You killed them all,” Gwen replied with a measured tone. “The Centaurs and the Hostages.”

“…”

A soundless reticence reigned.

“Officially,” Liwen spoke after the moment passed, looking at Gwen with renewed interest. “The Centaurs killed the Hostages and then collapsed the mine. It was, after all, an act of Terrorism.”

“Yes,” Gwen affirmed quickly, wondering if some protocol had been breached by her lack of doublespeak. Should she have said that the citizens gave their lives for the betterment of the state?

“That is all I wish to know.” Liwen turned to the others. “Your turn.”

“I will go next,” it was Magister Kilmer who announced himself. “Gwen, I want to ask you a personal question. Can you tell me about your motivations? Why do you want to be a Magus or a Magister? Mayhap even a Meister?”

Gwen breathed out. It was a staple interview question. Why do you want to work here? Where do you see yourself in five years? What can you contribute to our establishment? There was no need to hide anything from these folks. She would be herself. It was time to rustle their wizard hats- if they had worn them.

“I am a Void Mage,” Gwen began with a blatant statement of truth.

The trio nodded. The examiners had read her file already; they knew the rarity of her talent.

Gwen began to speak.

“My motivation is freedom. I want the power to be not coerced by external forces. I want to live the way I want, do the things I wish to do. I want to protect my friends and contribute meaningfully to the world, on my terms. I want to preserve who I am and aim to be at all cost.”

“Do you not find that desire a little… idealistic?” Gillian proposed dubiously. “Naive, even.”

“Not at all.” Gwen smiled at the Magister winsomely. “As I told my mentor, the late Lord Kilroy of Sydney, I wish to become a Militant Pacifist.”

“A Militant Pacifist!” Liwen repeated after her. “How so? Would that not be a paradox?”

“Peace through power,” Gwen retorted. “I would become so powerful that my enemies dread the prospect of raising their fingers toward me. I would be such a vexing nightmare that the best outcome for all parties would be leaving the interests of me and my allies well alone.”

“That’s just euphemism for tyranny!” It was Provost Ma who spoke. “Your interest would supersede all others? Absurd!”

“My interest would be utilitarian, the greatest boon for the greatest many,” Gwen shot back. “I would walk the Path of the Militant Pacifist and dispense the justice of Noblesse Oblige; I would balance power with deeds, offset violence with generosity! My greatness will be executed concurrently with remorse!”

The interviewers felt lost for words. What was the girl saying?

Her logic, her rationale, was ridiculous and unheard of, and yet they were thrilling to the ear.

"Are you so confident that this power would be yours?"

"Of course," Gwen went all in. "I possess Void and Lightning and FIVE Schools of Magic. What I need is the opportunity, space, and the time."

“What makes you think you can remain uncorrupted by so much power? How would you walk this tightrope without falling? Better Mages than you have lost to that temptation. Why should we invest in a future menace?” Magister Kilmer leaned forward. It was difficult to believe the bright-eyed adolescent in front of him was sixteen.

“With help,” Gwen replied confidently. “With my friend’s help. With my family's help. With your help. With Provost Ma’s help. With the University’s help. With the Tower’s help.”

“Help…” Magister Kilmer snorted. “Comes at a cost.”

“Yes.” Gwen looked toward her interviewers seriously, her eyes a blaze of blue-green mana. “I am no saint. I need guidance. The Void needs guidance. Help is mutual, and there is much I can do for Fudan, I believe you will agree, more than Fudan can do for me. If not Fudan, then..."

Gwen left the rest unspoken.

“Is that… a threat?” Provost Ma demanded guardedly.

“No.” Gwen adjusted her hair purposefully. “That is the truth.”

The examiners became reticent. Within the room, there was only the sound of their collective breaths.

“My question is finished.” Gillian Kilmer leaned back in his seat, surprised to find a sheen of icy perspiration covering his back.

“My question then.” Provost Ma regarded Gwen critically. “My one is also hypothetical.”

“Please.” Gwen dipped her chin elegantly, the cadence of her breath returning to its usual pace after that last bout of passion.

“This regards a recent matter.” Ma looked at Gwen seriously. “A Mage has been found exercising Transmutation experiments on NoM civilians. When discovered and caught, the Transmuter reveals she has synthesised a new way to manufacture higher-tier potions, but the price of her discovery is almost two hundred NoM, a dozen dead, the rest maimed. The Magus comes from an influential Clan, now suing for her release in exchange for publishing her findings. You are the PLA Arbitrator assigned to this case and the discoverer of the Transmuter’s deeds. How do you proceed?”

Gwen didn’t need a Nuremberg Doctor’s trial to answer that question.

“I would publicly shame the Clan of the Transmuter and confiscate the findings for the State, then sentence the Transmuter to imprisonment for her crimes. A show trial should commence for the surviving families of the NoMs, with reparations from the Clan going to each NoM victim.”

The speed and succinctness of her answer surprised them all.

“I see.” Gwen's measured response did not seem to sit with Provost Ma, though the other two Mages wore pleased, concurring expressions.

“Although, if may I speak candidly?” Gwen continued.

“Go on.”

“I believe that all life, NoM or Mage, are sacred,” Gwen said seriously. “I am unsure of the legality of what the Mage has done, but in all seriousness, to dissuade such inhumanity in the future, I would personally advocate the harshest penalty, even if it should be a death sentence.”

“Your prior assessment was the correct one.” Provost Ma seemed stunned by Gwen’s ‘candidness’. "What had transpired was close enough to your hypothesis. Your vehemence is noted, however.”

“Such is the world we live in, Sir,” Gwen said sadly, her face flushed for honestly delivering an unpopular truth. Even now her spine was tingling with adrenaline. “But it doesn’t make it right.”

Provost Ma pushed up the rim of his glasses. The other two Mages chuckled politely.

“I have no more questions,” Ma stated. “You may go.”

“Thank you, Sirs and Madam. Magister and Magus. Professor,” Gwen stood from the seat and curtsied and bowed once more. She turned on her heels and stalked from the chamber, her heart pounding as the tension drained from her body.

Richard hailed her outside.

“Did it go well?”

Gwen honestly had no idea, but the instructors had appeared to be impressed.

“I think so. No one tried to shut me up." She smiled at Richard, her earlier annoyance dispelled by the psychological stress of the viva voce.

“Richard Huang, are you ready to proceed?” The Proctor motioned for Richard to enter.

“I shall return.” Richard winked and entered the room.

The door to the room shut.

Gwen found a spare seat and sat. She closed her eyes and meditated.

Please be kind to my answers! She had done as best as she could. She was entirely herself, just like Dean Luo suggested.

“Heya!”

Gwen’s eyes snapped open.

Mayuree was an inch from her face, her breath sweet with sugar.

“What did they ask you?” the petite girl enquired eagerly, her big brown eyes glimmering.

“You’ve finished your interview?”

“Yeppers!”

“Well,” Gwen suppressed her voice. “I got a question on Centaurs, on myself, and on NoMs.”

“Ooo, I got the NoM one too!” Mayuree tittered. “Did you free the Mage?”

“… Yes,” Gwen told a white lie; advertising her NoM sentimentality in public was probably not the best way forward in front of the scholarship candidates.

“Ha! I knew it! What Clan or House are you from?”

“Song,” Gwen replied stoically, though that was a misnomer in itself. Gwen knew the Songs did not consider her to be an inheriting member of the Clan. In fact, from Guo's cautious aloofness, Gwen felt that he had never even thought that she might be a part of his legacy in any capacity.

Not that she minded though, Gwen declared to herself. She had babulya; she had Gunther and Alesia, she had Richard. She had Elvia and Yue and Opa in Sydney. A girl could ask for no more.

“Just… Song?” Mayuree tilted her head and came even closer.

Gwen averted Mayuree's intrusive profile. The mousy girl did not subscribe to a belief in personal space.

“Just Song,” Gwen concurred.

“Okay, I am just Mayuree as well! Awesome!" the Mage said happily. "So, where did you find that big bad Caliban?!”

Ears extended around the room.

“Find it?” Gwen blinked. “Caliban came with my Familiar spell.”

“Woa! NO WAY!” Mayuree shrieked, causing Gwen’s ears to ring. “A big brute like that just fell into your lap! That’s SO LUCKY! You MUST have done something wonderful in a past life!”

Well, it was more accurate to say that a worm-snake the size of a dog fell into her lap, Gwen mused. As for being a Samaritan in a past life, she'd rather not dwell on that.

As for big-bad bam-bam Caliban, it had come a mighty long way since her tier 1 Conjuration days. The current Caliban could probably eat a hundred original Calibans without breaking a sweat, or grey-goo.

Mayuree persisted in making small talk until Gwen's jaws were sore.

The door opened.

“All done!” Richard announced happily to the world.

“Richard!” Gwen stood from her seat, ignoring the torrent of questions stemming from Mayuree’s rapidly moving mouth. “How was it? How did you go?”

“Swimmingly.” Richard’s unchanging, mirthful expression was the same as always.

* * *

“So, what do you think?” Magus Liwen Du asked her colleagues.

“Do you mind if I speak ‘candidly’?” Ma borrowed a little of Gwen’s vernacular.

“Sure,” Magister Gillian Kilmer gestured for Ma to go ahead.

“That Richard Huang is a psychopath,” The Provost stated ‘candidly’. “He’s a clear and present danger. He’s missing a synapse. He’s cuckoo.”

“He seems like a perfectly fine candidate to me,” Liwen riposted with a twitching brow. “A little unpolished, but we can hone the edge and provide a sheath to his naked blade. That’s what Fudan is for, is it not?”

“I vote in favour of Richard Huang,” Gillian added after a pause. “The University needs someone who can differentiate between necessary action and mewling sentimentality.”

“Did you both not listen to his Centaur subjugation proposal?” Ma stated incredulously. “The man's a monster!”

“Our monster,” Gillian retorted. “He has his loyalties straight.”

“He’s a mad dog!” Ma insisted. “Capturing clan women and children, torturing them before the dissidents. Sending them tongues, hoofs, organs!? Cleansing a family for every hostage killed?! How does that make us different from the Rogue Mages? From the Terrorist? From the Demi-human savages?”

“I think it would work,” Liwen stated boldly. “Centaurs are highly communal creatures with a strong herd instinct. Personally, I think the Tower should have taken an iron-fisted policy, now that Mr Huang has opened our eyes as to the extent we could have gone. The more I think about it, the more I like it.”

“At best, we have peace and the return of hostages, at worst, we did what we did and cleansed the Upper Steppes anyway,” Gillian pointed out to the Provost. “What’s not to like?”

“The inhumanity of it all!” Ma blurted out passionately.

“James, calm down.” Liwen placed a hand on the Provost’s shoulders. “Are we accorded for two to one for Richard Huang?”

James Ma, Provost of the General College, sunk back into his seat.

“My vote remains unchanged.”

“Fine, on the matter of the Void Girl?”

“This is a show trial anyway,” Ma said grudgingly. “It’s not as if the Dean would let her go. He would create a third scholarship position if we were to say no, would he not?”

“Still, what do you think?” Liwen asked. “Out of curiosity.”

“Idealistic, naive, but I like her,” Magister Kilmer stated confidently. “Strong will, clear logos, talent, looks, intelligence, Fudan could hardly ask for better.”

“A little too green for my taste, too much of a dreamer,” Liwen stated. “But, as Kilmer has said, that is the why Fudan exists. It is why our mock-Tower system exists. We’ll hone her edge yet.”

“I vote in favour,” Ma said suddenly. “I like her sense of justice. She's 'candid', too.”

The two Mages smiled at their NoM compatriot.

“I thought you’d say that.” Kilmer tapped his pen against the grey-stone slate. “That’s three for three then?”

“I concur.”

“Agreed.”

“Good, now for our Para-Elementalist…”

* * *

“Do we go home now?” Gwen asked the Proctor.

“Indeed, we will be in contact,” the elder Mage replied. “We hope to see you in Fudan again, very soon.”

With nothing more left on the agenda, Gwen asked Richard if he wanted to browse the campus.

“Sure.” he nodded. “I am interested.”

As the duo turned to leave, they became accosted by a chipmunk-faced Diviner.

Mayuree flashed an unreadable smile that showed off her pearly white teeth.

“We were wondering…” she asked shyly. “Do you guys want to come to a super secretive and super awesome auction?! Kitty and Deng and Nathan and Kevin, and yours truly, are all going! Our box can sit ten people!”

Mayuree flashed a card embossed with a golden M.

Gwen and Richard met one another’s eyes.

Super-secretive.

Super awesome.

Super Auction?

The Auction from the House of M? That was today? She’d promised Mina that she’d take her! Oh shit! She’d forgotten all about it.

“Can I bring a friend?” Gwen asked if Mayuree could get them in, all the easier than trying to find the place herself.

“Sure, Richard can come,” Mayuree beamed.

“Ah, I mean another friend. You see, I’d promised-”

“Okay! No problem!” the bubbly girl squeaked. She took Gwen’s hand unbidden and swung it back and forth excitedly. “I am sure it’ll be super interesting!”

“Richard?” Gwen turned to her companion to beg his confirmation.

“Sure, you got Mina’s glyph?” Richard asked.

Gwen nodded.

“Grrrr-reat!” Mayuree’s face became well flushed with expectation and excitement. “Give me your address; I’ll send a car over to pick you up!”

A private car? Was the little girl a big shot? Gwen pondered the ease at which Mayuree suggested she could spare the resources to pick up strangers she just met to attend a 'super-secretive auction'. She wondered if she should change her mind and decline, but in the hour they had spent talking to one another, Mayuree seemed like the sort of girl who knew everyone, a helpful ally to have for her future at Fudan.

“That’s too much, how about here?” Gwen suggested modestly. “We live pretty far from the Second Orbital Ring. Pick us up near the front gate perhaps? We’re going to go for a walk and get to know the place.”

“Okay! 5 PM sharp!” Mayuree chirped, letting go of Gwen's hand. "No Backies! Don't leave me hanging!"

They watched her skip back to her group to explain her success. The group turned to regard Gwen and Richard with evident dismay.

Arguably, Gwen could have just gone by herself, but now that she had committed, she reasoned that it would be far less conspicuous if she went with a group from Fudan, ideally a group of big-wig’s children. She could hide behind their flamboyant fashion and avoid complication should someone become curious about herself and Richard. Safety in numbers, right?

“Well, I got about 3000 HDMs in the Ring,” Gwen said quietly to Richard. “Think it’ll be enough for something interesting or worthwhile?”

Richard looked toward Mayuree with a thoughtful expression.

"Richard?" Gwen repeated herself. "Something wrong?"

"Not really," Richard's reply was full of assurance. "I am sure it'll be a blast."

Gwen and Richard found a Parisian cafe for an 'arvo' luncheon on University Rd named "Pierre's Patisserie". After the passing of the examine-crisis, the duo settled into a lull of teas and ices, measuring minutes with the churning of coffee spoons. The tea was a blend of leaves grown from an 'Elven' sanctum in an Indian Orange Zone, diffusing a mild, potion-like effect which dispelled the fatigue of the hectic morning.

Gwen called up Mina and told her of Mayuree's offer.

"Just Mayuree? Round face, about my height, Diviner?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, sugars," Mina's reply sounded less than thrilled. "She's a real sticky customer. You didn't let her latch onto you, did you?"

"Erg..." Gwen's next words caught in her throat. Had she already misstepped?

"Is Richard coming?"

"Of course."

"Right, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Ah-Bao will drop me off at Fudan as soon as possible. See you in twenty."

* * *

A dark Audi A6 pulled into University road about half an hour later.

Mina emerged from the exuberant eggshell interior of the saloon sporting a handsome double-breasted jacket, hinting at a shimmering dress hidden beneath the canvas covers. She had prettied up for the encounter, her impeccably coiled hair framed her China doll face, drawing admiring eyes from passersby.

Behind Mina, they were surprised to find Tao, unsurprising adorned with a red duckbill cap and his signature Adidas getup.

“Sup Cuz!” Tao threw Gwen and Richard a few arcane rap signs. “How’s the test, dawg?”

“It went well, Peaches. Thanks for asking.” Gwen gave the both of them a friendly peck. "Mina, do you think Mayuree would protest if..."

"Mia's going to be fine with it." Mina batted a hand in the air, interrupting Gwen's well-meaning bluster. "She's the sort that's friends with everyone."

"So, what can you tell me about this Mia Mayuree?"

"Just Mayuree, Mia is easier and simpler though, it's a pet name."

"No surname? Is Mayuree a Clan name? Maybe a title?" Gwen was full of questions regarding their overtly friendly Diviner. "Or perhaps something more exotic?"

Mina arched a perfectly tapered brow.

"Nothing of the sort. We've just always known Mia that way. Her family is very wealthy. I recall her father was responsible for the west-wing of the School's library."

"Well, if YOU think she's wealthy..." Gwen bit her lip. "Magic-wise, she's certainly not your average Diviner; she was at the Fudan mid-year Scholarship Trials. I imagine there's gotta be something extraordinary there."

"I wouldn't know about that. We've attended a few socials with our fathers; she's well known for her Augury."

"Go on..."

"Well, that's it, to be honest. We went to school together in junior and senior high. Rumours say that Mia's got Divine blood from an old Lineage, who knows. It's not like we ran in the same circles."

"Divine lineage?" Gwen minced the words. "Diviner-Lineage? Kind of a big difference there."

"Your guess is as good as mine. The Old Bloods tend to marry within the clan, and Mia doesn't seem like one of those inbred puritans." Mina shrugged. "Whatever Mia may be, stay away from her and don't let her read your fortune!"

"But you said they're accurate!" Gwen pointed out. That was the whole hog, right? Maybe she could pick up some Divination pointers.

"Accurate fortunes are the WORST." Mina shuddered as if reeling from an unpleasant recollection. "If it's good, it ruins the surprise. If its bad, you're going to live in an agonising hell of anticipation."

"Can't you change the prediction if you know of it?"

"They're ACCURATE," Mina retorted. "Let's stop talking; I am getting a headache just trying to figure out the paradox. You can take Divination 101 next sem if you want."

"Okay," Gwen promised. "No Fortunes."

"Anyway." Mina pressed closer to Gwen. "Dad wants to thank you for helping out Peaches. His 'success’ really gave him ‘face’. He said, so he told us to help you out in the only way we can.”

“WITH Currency! Bitches!” Tao threw a few C's with his fingers. “Bling! Bling! A Ring full of Crystaaaal!”

“A sizeable war chest.” Mina slapped her brother's hands of the way. “Red Stars, Peaches, stop that! We're right in front of Fudan! People could know me!”

“What's the magnitude of his gratitude?” Richard interjected, preferring the girls cut to the chase.

“3000 HDMs,” Mina stated proudly, watching Richard's face. “For making Tao less of a loser.”

“HOLY S-“ Gwen covered her mouth. “Seriously?!”

Maybe she should professionally serve as Tao's life consultant? With every triumph, his father could dispense a bonus.

“As much of it as you can spend, yes.” Mina patted her unemployed cousin on the shoulder with sympathy. To think her endearing cousin could be so excited over a measly 3000 HDMs. Sure, it was a lot of money, but it was one off. It wasn’t as though her father, the Patriarch Wang, gave Gwen the rights to mine a vein of crystal, or the ownership of a leasehold.

"No, no. It's too much!" Gwen protested.

The others looked at her blankly. She was a terrible actor.

“Well if you insist...” Gwen felt filled with inner fire. If she had almost 6000 HDMs, it meant she had a far better chance of picking up some critical ingredient or an item that could significantly improve her bid in for the LCSS. Her face glowed, her eyes sparkled, her lips wet with anticipation.

Spirits! Ingredients! Rare Spells! Magical Items! Here I come! Gwen's inner voice celebrated the unpredictable future.

Richard scratched his nose awkwardly. To think all it took was free money to see Gwen so animated.

In the distance, a stretch-limo pulled into the parking bay.

The obsidian pane wound down to reveal Mayuree's hand waving in the air.

* * *

“So, I take it you are friends?” Gwen observed drily.

“Hell yeah!” Mayuree leaned in and nuzzled Mina on the cheek. “We’re best buds! We should hang out more often!”

Mayuree wrapped her arms around Mina's elbows, insisting on possessing at least one part of Mina as she spoke. Gwen was beginning to see why Mina said the girl was a sticky customer.

Mina discretely pushed Mayuree away from her.

“Well, you know. Life calls.” Mina glanced at the empty spot next to Richard and sighed. Her plans had fallen apart as soon as the door of the limo opened and Mayuree snagged her like a trapdoor spider.

“Ha...” Gwen turned toward the spacious interior of the eight-meter-long stretch, where the other guests sat.

There were the three nondescript young men she'd seen from the exam, whose names she didn't recall. They appeared to be attached to Kitty, the Para-Elemental Ice Mage.

Even if for no reason other than politeness, Gwen wanted to make some small talk with the stoic four-some, but felt impeded by the spectacle that dominated the space between them.

Taking up two seats, Tao sat with his legs wide open, looking thoroughly ‘gangsta’.

Gwen was just wondering if Tao could discretely displace himself when her cousin made an obscene motion with his fingers.

“What chu looking at?" He swaggered abrasively to the quiet Kitty, who sat opposite him with an expression full of loathing, giving him the stink eye everytime their gazes met. "U wanna to ride this bad boi?"

Gwen spat forth a thimble full of the sparkling water she'd been sipping, soaking the front of her blouse. Bloody hell, she cursed in silence. How can there exist a human being so gifted at drawing out the worst in people?

Sure enough, one of the young men instantly took on an expression that suggested he was about to deliver retributive justice for the icy princess.

Gwen sighed. She wanted off Tao's wild ride. Her eyes met Richard's. Only the water Mage could subtly diffuse the situation without setting the Limo alight. After all, there was nothing quite like cold water to cool some hotheads.

Receiving his affirmation, she turned to see what was Mina's reaction to all this.

Mina's expression was mildly vacant, as though she was someplace far away. It was the look of insensibility made dull by long-term exposure to trauma.

Maybe the Limo could pull over first. Gwen hoped against hope. They were still on the orbital ring-road going 60 to 80.

"Lui, settle down."

The interceding voice was sweet and soft, but the cold tone of the command struck the heated young man like a sliver of ice.

Obediently, Lui settled back into his seat.

Gwen watched the body language of the trio as Liu sat with his arms folded across his chest. She felt a prickling suspicion beginning to take shape within her mind. Rather than students from Fudan, these men reminded Gwen of discrete bodyguards.

Kitty likewise took on Mayuree's advise and turned away from Tao, putting on an expression that suggested a stain sat opposite her, not a man.

"Sorry," Mina apologised to Mayuree.

"It's alright." Mayuree turned to Gwen to pivot the conversation. "Anything you're after at the auction?"

"Well," Gwen replied with complete honesty. "I don't know. What should I expect?"

Mayuree excitedly began to rattle off a list of potential purchases.

Outside, dusk descended. The illuminated nightlife of Shanghai came to life one by one, as though beckoned by an unseen Conjurer.

* * *

The limo pulled into the illuminated expanse of an enormous hotel.

"We're here!" Mayuree's treacly voice announced.

They had arrived at the Shanghai Hyatt-Regency, an eighty-eight storey marvel of a building situated in the heart of the Bund district. Perhaps in homage to the two Mage Towers, or mayhap designed for symmetry, it also consisted of two towers, each constructed with a curved-glass exterior which offered panoramic views of Shanghai from CBD to the Huangpu.

“This is the ‘super secret’ House of M Auction?” Gwen's heels tapped the marble pavement as she stepped from the limosine.

The atmosphere felt more akin to a red-carpet event. All that was missing was the paparazzi. Well-dressed guests emerged from chauffeured vehicles or engaged the awaiting valets, beyond which a stream of waitstaff bowed at patrons before guiding them into the lobby and beyond.

The atrium itself was an architectural miracle of vaulted glass thirty-meters high, encased in rose-quartz marble and smoky-oak wood panelling. Beneath the cathedral of crystalline splendour, suited men and sparkling women engaged in polite conversation over canapés, sipping from tall flutes filled with amber liquid.

Besides Gwen, Mina allowed her jacket to slid from her torso and into her Storage Ring, revealing the full force of her silvery, shimmering dress. Sheer, glimmering, high-waisted and loosely hanging from her slender shoulders, the gown fitted Mina’s princess demeanour perfectly.

“You’re gorgeous,” Richard said the words before Gwen could utter her compliment. “I am positively underdressed in comparison and feel both inferior and abashed in your presence.”

“Never!” Mina cooed at Richard, whose face was entirely serious. With an expression of smugness, she hooked an elbow in between the space between his arm and his waist. “Let’s head in. The exotic fauna garden on the second-floor atrium is a wonder!”

Tao followed the couple, a natural-born third wheel.

"I am leaving a part of Lea with you." Richard knew better than to be entirely parted from Gwen; his cousin had a perchance for attracting trouble that was second to none. With a discrete incantation, he materialised a small, amorphous blob to hover just above Gwen's shoulders.

“34-B!” Mayuree reminded them as they left. She turned to Gwen, eyes sparkling. “Shall we?”

With her coat off, the Diviner dressed surprisingly conservatively. The bubbly girl had on an emerald one-piece that was tapered at the waist and flared above and below. Her shoulders were bare, but the off-white dress was otherwise modest and endearing.

Mayuree raised a hand to invite Gwen into the fray, but Gwen declined politely, wary of Mina's predictions.

* * *

“Ms Song!”

They were intercepted on the second floor by a surprised Magus Yuu.

“It’s good to see you again so soon, Ms Song.” The Magus shook her hand in an over-intimate manner, insisting that there was no need to bow. “Ms Mayuree, your presence delights me.”

“Hey there, Meng.” Mayuree nodded at the Magus curtly. “The Auction prep is going well?”

Meng, Gwen duly noted. Not Magus, nor Sir. Just Meng.

“Of course, Mistress,” Yuu replied with an edge of caution to his voice. “All the items are secured.”

“Is brother here?”

“Master Marong? He is in the VIP suite with his friends.”

“I don’t want a repeat of last time,” Mayuree’s voice had a touch of steel, which sounded to Gwen as strange coming from a face so sweet and innocent.

“Of course, Mistress,” Yuu retreated from the two girls. “I shall waste no more of your time. Ms Song, please enjoy the Auction.”

Gwen turned to Mayuree.

“Mistress?” She raised an arched brow.

“Don't pay it any mind.” Mayuree laughed. "You probably think it makes me sound like an old woman, right?"

Gwen returned a polite chuckle. That wasn't the point.

Mina was right; it was best not to delve too deep. She should get her auction done and get out of here. They could be home before midnight.

When they reached the private Box 34-B, Gwen saw that Kitty had already taken up residence alongside the three stoic stooges.

“Kitty.” Gwen nodded at her before finding a seat closer to the edge.

Kitty snubbed Gwen at first, but her expression softened when she saw that Gwen had no desire to engage in further conversation. Mayuree sat beside Gwen and again tried to strike up a conversation, with Gwen answering her queries thoughtfully, though keeping a polite distance from her personal life.

The amphitheatre was a concert complex converted for the auction, possing of four tiers of private boxes, an upper and lower circle, and a standing-room pit.

Tao arrived soon after, his unusual demeanour drawing unfriendly and sceptical glances toward their box.

Richard and Mina appeared shortly. By Mina's confession, they had taken a whirlwind tour of the buffet table before retreating to the second floor to sip pinot gris from tall fluted glasses over a vista of the Bund at night.

“There’s a BUFFET?” Gwen moaned. Why hadn’t she seen the buffet? It was Mayuree, Gwen moped. She was denied a boon of deletable Wildland supplements while trying to shake off her adhesive companion politely.

“Here, I got something for you,” Mina materialised a plate of miscellaneous food-stuffs stacked atop a plate filled to the brim. “That is, Richard asked me to get some for you. You should have mingled. Lea said you walked right past the buffet section!"

“Thanks, guys. I knew I could count on you.” Gwen took the laden plate from Mina’s delicate hands and began the terrible work of replenishing her reserves. Caliban had taken a toll from her only hours ago. Whether its calories, vitality or mana, she would take all comers, especially since it's free.

Mayuree looked upon the diminishing plate of food piled three-stacks high as if seeing Gwen for the first time. The others who had never seen a performance of Gwen’s bottomless appetite likewise regarded her with wide-eyed wonder. There was an internal sound of glass shattering, their vision of the prim and elegant sorceress shattering like a crystal goblet dashed against the concrete pavement.

* * *

A serving staff wordlessly removed the offending plate of canape wrappings from the room.

Gwen wiped her hands and dabbed the sauce from her lips.

“Where do the items come from?” Gwen asked Mayuree out of curiosity.

“Here and there, traders, adventurers, Magus and Magisters looking to trade for rare ingredients, that sort of thing- but that can wait. It's starting!”

Upon the illuminated central stage, the auctioneer began.

The presiding agent wore a charcoal vest over a white silk shirt, accentuated with a bright blue tie. He stood ramrod straight, thin as a pencil, his face severe and aristocratic.

"LADIES and GENTS, MAGES, MAGUS and MAGISTERS! Thank you for attending our Auction, hosted by the House of M, humbly at your service! My name is Arden Cooper, and I am your Bid Caller for the night."

The auctioneer’s accent was distinctly British, his sonorous voice rolling off the tongue like smoothly churned butter, every syllable accentuated and annunciated deliberation and emphasis.

"We have a lot of items to move tonight! We are item rich but time poor! And so, serving the scarcity of time, allow me to open with our first item!"

An illusory barrier faded from existence, revealing a pair of exquisitely crafted ankle-high boots.

“Ladies and Gents, a pair of Boots of Levitation, unisex, self-fitted, crafted by T.K. Giro from the hide of an albino Bauxite Rhino from the Orange Zone southward of Frontier Phuket. This item allows the use of the Levitation effect by will. Perfect for the curious Dungeon crawler and consummate traveller. As a master-crafted item, the shoes possess an allowance of two hundred and fifty kilograms, with a maximum height of six meters. Furthermore, the shoes possess a built-in Feather Fall feature...”

“The bidding begins at 400 HDMs.”

"500!" A voice called out from the darkness, raising a glyphed paddle.

“500, thank you, Sir, for the fine start.”

“600.”

“800.”

“850, calling once!”

“I am happy to sell it at 850 unless another enterprising collector would like to become the possessor of this unique item.”

“Is that so, then 875 it is, the hammer is in the air, Sir.”

“Madam?”

“Of course, 875 remains a bargain, Madam.”

“I would like to remind all present that a portion of tonight’s proceeds will go towards the maintenance and care of our citizens in the Frontier, as you know, Sydney has suffered a terrible setback. All that Auroch beef, lost! Truly a tragedy!”

“900! I must congratulate you, Sir, for having such rare judgement.”

“900?”

“Going once?”

“No more?”

“Very well…”

“No?”

“Going thrice! SOLD! To C028 for 900 HDMS!”

A round of applause greeted the winner, whose box was just out of Gwen's field of Vision.

So this was the auction. Gwen was happy to know that the methodology did not differ from her old world; only that the items were stranger than fiction.

The next article was a pair of Bangles that provided a weak but autonomously activated, near-perpetual shield, allowing even an unconscious Mage to deflect attacks. It sold for 960 HDMs.

The next was a set of a dozen potions of Heroism, blessed by some famous Cleric from the Roman Catholic Church. The liquid was advertised to dispel fear, provide clarity of mind, deliver minor healing, and provide enhancement in both fortitude, strength, and dexterity. Sold as a set, these fetched 110 HDMs.

“Next! A rare Ring offered by the Wildland Trade Consortium of Pudong, a Ring of Animal Influence, crafted by a Demi-human master!”

The clamour from the crowd rose in pitch and volume.

Gwen shifted to the edge of her seat. An item made by a non-human Magic User?

“From the Woods that Wend, crafted by Master Iythronel Yllahice from the yearling growth of a millennia-old Dryad, this ring offers wearers the ability to speak to mundane and magical animals! Furthermore, users may command and influence low-tier Magical Beasts, as well as evoke an area of effect fear which affects all creatures within a maximum radius of one hundred meters.”

"A Demi-human crafter?" Gwen turned to Mayuree again.

Mayuree nodded.

The auctioneer continued.

“The bidding begins at 1000 HDMs.”

"... 2000!"

"... 3000!"

The contest for the ring was far fiercer than Gwen had anticipated, ending at 3850 HDMs.

“What does a Demi-human do with HDMs?” Gwen asked Mayuree, expecting that the ‘Mistress’ of Magus Yuu would possess some insight into the matter.

“Trade, really,” Mayuree replied casually. “We have resources the Demi-humans need; they have items and ingredients that we need. HDMs are an easy currency for exercising that goal.”

“Do they have any use for the crystals itself?”

“Sure, empowering our magical devices, using it for themselves, or dispensing it as a reward. Mageocracy HDMs are now a standardised currency even among the other races. Man-made HDMs are SUPER popular.”

“How so?” Gwen found the notion puzzling. Were the other races treating HDMs like the U.S Petrol-Dollar? Was this a naturally forming phenomena or a politically imposed one? "Can't the Demi-humans mine their own? All the mines are in the Wildlands, no?"

“No, you Silly! Only we can mass manufacture HDMs.” Mayuree’s helpful tone was full of eager information, happy that Gwen was speaking to her so overtly. "The other races tend to prefer barter. The Mageocracy's universal currency makes cross-cultural, intercontinental trading much easier."

“I see.” Gwen turned back to the auction. "Thanks for the heads up."

"Anytime! You'll learn all of this in the General Course anyway."

A dozen more items came and went to their new owners.

“LADIES AND GENTS!” The auctioneer continued. It has been almost an hour since he begun, his clarion voice growing in intensity with every item sold, as though the auctioneer's stamina fed off the flow of currency. “Now for the rare ingredient component of our evening!”

Applause and cheers hailed the announcement.

The 'ingredients' consisted mainly of Creature parts, each with different attributes of elemental affinities that made them unique in creating particular kinds of magic items. Hide, eyes, teeth, nail and organs of various creatures were also auctioned off at prices ranging from 50 to over 500 HDMs.

“Next, a Fruit of Life, A Fructum Vitae!”

“Gwen!” both Mina and Richard spoke up, but Gwen needn’t their advice to know that she needed to bid for the fruit.

“Someone else must have found one as well, from the Hengsha Dungeon,” Richard observed when the fruit made its appearance. It’s durian like exterior hinting that it likely had the same origin as their own. The life of the fruit was kept captive in an inscribed stasis box.

“100!”

“120!”

“140!”

“200!” Gwen called out.

“Very good, to the lovely lady in 34-B! 200! Going once!”

“230!”

“45-A, 230! Do I have an answer from the Miss in 34-B.”

“250!”

“270!”

"275!"

"278!"

"Go to 300," Mayuree suggested. "Don't creep your bids."

“300!” Gwen raised a paddle which displayed the number she announced.

“300! Going once! Going twice! GONE! Sold to 34-B!”

Gwen breathed out.

"What do you need a Fruit of Youth for, anyhow?" Mayuree dug for details. "Someone in the family looking to turn back the clock? There are better options for that purpose."

“It’s a Void Mage thing,” Gwen told the half-truth. “I need as many as I can get.”

“Magical fruits have diminishing returns though,” Mayuree pointed out helpfully. “How many have you had?”

“Two?”

“Four or five is the usual limit, then you’ll barely notice its effects,” Mayuree advised. “Although you should probably consult someone from the Alchemical Faculty. Maybe they can synthesise it for you for some CCs. I can help out if you lack the connections."

“Thanks, I’ll look into it if I get the chance.” Gwen returned her eyes toward the auctioneer. “Now what?”

“Someone will be here to collect and deliver,” Mayuree told her expertly.

“You come to these auctions often?" Gwen tested her talkative companion.

"Now and then." Mayuree shifted her attention toward the stage.

Gwen followed her eyes.

As the illusory veil lifted from the next item, a flash of elemental lightning lit up the entire auditorium. Gwen's eyes locked onto a Creature Core with the appearance of a yellow diamond.

"NOW! A WONDER from the Forbidden Zones of Central Africa, pilfered from the Heart of Darkness, from the reachable sanctums of the Mbochi, a rare and precious gift for those who wish to traffic in the power of the Gods, channel the divine essence of the heavens - A Crystalised Heart of the Congolese Eland!"

Gwen had no idea what an Eland was, but she knew that this was an item she needed to possess. Within her pocket dimension, Ariel had sensed the resonating force emanating from the crystal heart; begging for release into the Material Plane. As motes of lightning mana filled the amphitheatre, the empathic link became so intense that Gwen felt as though she had to go to the bathroom.

Discretely, Gwen allowed Ariel to manifest in her lap.

"Oh! How precious!" Mayuree did not seem surprised at all that Gwen summoned a Lightning-element Familiar. "What's its name?"

"Ariel," Gwen replied distractedly, trying to catch the auctioneer's boastful description while trying to read Ariel's frantic body language.

In her lap, Ariel was busily trying to illustrate something with its paws, alternating between begging, wagging its head cutely, and flopping onto its belly and squirming like a serpent-waisted cat.

"Here, let me try. Lea, if you please?" Richard intervened.

A minuscule Lea about the size of Ariel's non-combat form appeared beside it and began to converse with Ariel.

"EEeee! EE!"

"EE?!" Lea replied

"EEEE!"

"Eeee ee?!" Lea nodded.

"Lea speaks marten?" Gwen felt her knowledge of the Always-Amazing Undine renewed yet again.

"Nature spirits can Commune with Animals at will," Mayuree cut in helpfully beside her. "I can too, you could have asked..."

Lea turned her tiny face up toward Gwen.

"It says that it wants to eat the gem so that it can grow strong like Cali."

"Why?" Gwen seemed puzzled by the marten's request. "Ariel can't shapeshift, can it? It's not like Caliban."

"Not like Caliban, no," Richard advised. "But you have to remember that both Caliban and Ariel are not actual fauna. They're summoned manifestations tied to your School of Conjuration, how else do you think they reside in your Pocket Dimension? They don't drink water. They eat mana crystals; they don't' defecate, they don't suffer from illnesses, nor can they be bred."

"They're Elementals," Gwen realised where Richard was going with the reminder. She cited a line from her Bestiary textbook. "In nature, Elemental beings are manifested from the primordial chaos where the fabric of the Planes is thin. They grow in power through living in regions rich with reinforcing elemental forces."

Unconsciously, she had grown too accustomed to Ariel being its cute little marten self. She had allowed too much of her old-world cognition to filter into her knowledge of the new one. Ariel may look like a pet and feel like a fluffy tubby, but it wasn't a terrestrial being. It remained a part of her magic; a congealed, semi-permanent phenomenon manifested from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning. Strip away the animus provided by Summon Familiar and Ariel would be a ball of lightning, just as Caliban would be a malevolent mass of hungering void. Only spirits could retain their astral forms, and neither of her companions creatures were spirits.

"... a region ravaged by storms and lightning, beyond the habitation of man! Here is a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

Below them, the auctioneer had finished extolling the virtues of the Eland's heart. Now was the moment of truth.

“The float begins at 2000 HDMs!”

“Oh no, there’s no way we can afford that.” Gwen turned to Richard with a forewarning, watching her friend’s jaws set tightly. From her observations of the previous Auctions, they were most definitely short.

“3,000!”

“4,000!”

“4,500!”

"I'll lend you 1200 HDMs," Mina suddenly interjected. "Go for it!"

"4,600!" Gwen held up her card and called out.

"4,700!"

"4,800!"

"4,900!"

"5000!" She gritted her teeth and continued. There better be some fortuitous part-time jobs when this is said and done, Gwen thought worriedly. Maybe she could take Tao out for another spin and squeeze some more gratuity from Patriarch Wang.

"5100!"

Gwen cursed. From the sounds of it, there was at least three others bidding.

"5500, going once! Going TW-ICE!" The auctioneer did that elongated voice which irked Gwen to no end.

"5550!" Gwen had to save as much money as she can for her University days ahead. There was still accommodation, food, textbooks, socials, and God knows how many other expenses. The Scholarship may mean that her Courses are free of charge, but that's assuming she even receives one. Gwen would have to find a loan somewhere, maybe contact Gunther or Alesia to beg for alms, which made her face burn just thinking about it. Asking babulya made it no better, in fact, considering her Grandfather's scowling displeasure, she would rather sleep at a shelter.

"5700!" The next bid dashed the last of Gwen's motivation. Opportunities come and go. Ariel's existential upgrade could wait.

"Keep bidding!" Mina urged.

Richard placed a hand on Mina's arm.

"No. We can't afford it."

"But its a rare item!" Mina looked as though she wanted to start bidding on Gwen's behalf.

"We can't afford it," Richard's repeated words stabbed Gwen in the gut. She hugged the antsy Ariel close to her chest and squeezed her Familiar tightly. Sensing its master's disappointment, Ariel struck out its salmon-pink tongue and licked her face.

"Sorry, Ariel..." Gwen stroked the marten. "Not today."

"Eeee..." Ariel channelled Gwen's guilt and likewise appeared dejected.

Mina looked flabbergasted by the idea that Gwen could give up something so potentially beneficial to one of her primary powers.

“7,000!”

The next call surprised them all.

Somebody must have wanted the crystal desperately.

"Well, that's that then." Gwen breathed out. She felt less disappointed now that it was clear the item wasn't to be.

Such was life, Gwen mused to herself. You win some; you lose some. If she wanted to ensure victory, she would have to work harder, for fame, for currency, for influence. That's the hard reality of it.

“Going once… going twice…” the auctioneer announced quickly. “Sold! For 7,000 HDMs!”

The sound of applause filled the auditorium.

More items came and went, but Gwen had lost the curious anticipation with which she had begun the night.

A Ring that allowed one to negate Paralysis, as well as ignore Slow and Halt effects fetched 8,000 HDMs.

Another rare item which made an appearance was a shimmering dress which turned out to be Elven made chainmail, as light as cloth and as resilient as tier 5 spider silk, capable of impeding virtually all non-magical physical attacks. That austere item fetched 12,000 HDMs.

It would seem that Demi-human artifice fetched almost double the price of human-made items.

“Good grief,” Gwen breathed out when the hammer fell. "That's an obscene amount of money."

For a dangerous moment, she wondered if she should pawn something, but her rings were priceless. The teleportation ring was from Gunther. The Ring of Evasion won by her Master. The Storage Ring was from her Opa. They were untappable treasure troves.

Below, the applause finally died.

With a final, astronomical exchange, the auction had reached its conclusion. The stage went dark, and the sound of shifting seats and moving people filled the auditorium. Gwen sighed. It was time to leave this place of extravagant opulence and return to reality.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mina assured her. “You can always use CCs. As long as whatever you need exists, somebody somewhere will try and get it into your hands. It's just a matter of time."

But time was precisely the matter, Gwen wanted to retort. As her grandmother so wisely reminded her. Time was the only finite thing she possessed.

There was a knock at the box’s door. One of the young men opened it to reveal Magus Yuu.

“MS Song, I have your Fructum Vitae.” Yuu presented the piece of white-jade flesh, stored within a stasis device.

With a touch of Rings, Gwen transferred 300 HDMs over to Yuu, and the exchange was complete.

"Oh yes, I have also brought the item you requested, Mistress." Yuu motioned behind him, and a young woman in an attendant's uniform brought out a velvet cushion, upon which a crystalline heart sat, glowing with the hysterical radiance of elemental lightning.

Gwen felt her heart catch in her throat as the Core illuminated the interior of their private box.

Richard took on a thoughtful expression and turned toward Mayuree with an unreadable expression.

Tao's eyes were aglow, as were Mina's.

Casually, Mayuree plucked the core from the cushion.

“Gwen, catch!” she announced mirthfully and tossed the offending object toward a flabbergasted Gwen, who fumbled her catch with heart-in-mouth panic until she finally caught it on her lap.

“Wha-?” Gwen held the precious object; the 7000 HDM treasure hummed in her trembling hands. “W-What’s the meaning of this?”

“A memento for our friendship,” Mayuree announced with a glint in her eye that sent shivers down Gwen’s spine. "For commemorating the day we met."

The heart-shaped core felt as though it possessed the weight of a neutron star in Gwen's lap.

Should she return it? Give it back? Of course, she should. A gift without cause is a dangerous thing. A nasty, hazardous thing. A debt.

"I can't take this!" Gwen protested. "It's too mu-"

“Eeee!!”

'Crunch!'

Gwen looked toward her lap.

Below, Ariel had broken off a small chunk of the crystal and was now happily chewing away.

She regarded the happy Ariel with a look of abject horror. She should have dispelled the marten! She cursed her inattentiveness. Ariel was too instinctual and unintelligible to obey empathic commands, and Gwen had not explicitly stated that it could not touch nor consume the thing it desired desperately. That was her fault, not Ariel's.

Her eyes fell upon the smiling face of Mayuree, so childish, tender and innocent. Mayuree’s warm-black irises glowed with a tinge of near-colourless violet, burning with motes of Divination. Her expression though, remained adorably naive, as though she had not the slightest agenda in the world.

There was the sound of another crunch coming from her lap. Not that it mattered the second time. There was no returning the Core the moment Ariel had taken the first unexpected bite.

“We're friends, aren't we?” Mayuree begged with a tone that tickled her soul. "Right?"

“A friend in deed is a friend indeed,” Gwen replied drily. “But when a deed without need-”

“Surely its nothing so serious!” Mayuree took a moment to process Gwen’s disquieting quip. “What’s a paltry Elemental Core for a gesture of good will? Ariel needed the core, surely, and I could afford to gift one.”

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mayuree.” Gwen winced at the sound of Ariel’s gluttonous crunching from below, feeling its paws scribbling over her dress. “I am understandably grateful for the gift, but its such a grand offer, given so casually. Surely a girl must wonder-”

"It's a trifle! It's nothing! I am not asking for the world. Just the things that girlfriends do. Some shopping here, some adventuring there, I've got the backing, and you've got the firepower. What's not to like? We'll be like the dynamic-"

Gwen tensed.

“Mia!” it was Mina who spoke next, evidently having had enough of Gwen's diplomacy. “Cut the crap. Gwen's not going anywhere with you. What are you up to?"

“Making a friend,” Mayuree insisted, her complexion glowering a shade darker. "What does it look like?"

“How does it look? Do we look like fools?” Mina snapped at her alumina. “We’ve known each other since High School! What do you want from Gwen? What’s your game? Is this one of your Divination ploys?”

Mayuree seemed stunned by the ferocity of Mina’s accusation. In Senior High, Mina, a Healer, held a position at the unequivocal centre of the social hierarchy while Mayuree remained relegated to the role of the eccentric Diviner who mumbled things best forgotten. Having Mina curse her out was like experiencing a blast from the unpleasant past.

Behind the petite Diviner, they could feel the hostility from Kitty and the three guards growing more palpable with each accusation.

“So this is all an act of generosity?” Richard interjected with a wave of his hand, his voice neutral and unmoved, which made him seem all the more sarcastic. “No strings attached?”

Kitty opened her mouth to retort, but Mayuree stopped her with a glance.

“You owe me nothing.” Mayuree raised her hands defensively toward Gwen. Her expression remained unreadable, though the faces of her companions were far less proficient in hiding their displeasure. Kitty’s scowl felt as though she could freeze the air without uttering a single cantrip. For a second, Gwen could have sworn she saw a few snowflakes.

"She better not, it's only 7000 HDMs," Mina churlishly defended Gwen. "You're not wrong on one point at least. It IS a paltry sum."

Well, this is awkward. Gwen thought uncomfortably. 7000 HDMs is bloody astronomical to her. Likewise, her ardent rejection of Mayuree would have been more effective if Ariel wasn’t chowing down with all its might. What was the Diviner's game? Would it involve endangerment of her life or those close to her? If so, she would rather scrimp and save to pay back the core as soon as possible. If not, a debt now for a favour in the future was a fair trade. No one else but herself knew how desperately she needed Ariel to keep up with her Conjuration, especially considering Caliban's overzealous disposition.

Gwen wracked her brain for a way to break the tension. If possible, she preferred to resolve the confrontation with diplomacy and tact, walk away with a win-win, or at least a compromise.

Then the familiar, eager, high-pitched voice of Tao took the words right out of her mouth.

“This hoe is trying to entrap you. Dawg!” Tao flew fingers of accusations toward Mayuree's direction, spittle spraying every which way. “It’s just 7 Gees, Gwen. I’ll cover that shit like a bitch in heat! You can count on Peaches. This shawty ain’t turning no tricks on us yo! No way- Arrgh-!”

A sliver of ice materialised rapidly on Tao’s Adidas jacket, its stiletto like point stabbing into the base of his skull.

Kitty glowered behind Mayuree with a murderous expression, her cerulean irises two pale orbs of eldritch nimbus trailing strands of rime across her cheeks.

“You should watch what comes out of that shithole.” The air around the box fell by several degrees as she spoke. “Offend Mia again, and I am going to shatter your filthy tongue.”

“Lea!” Richard commanded.

Lea instantly dispersed into a fine mist.

A rush of crystalising ice materialised around Kitty, falling like snow into the velvet carpet below.

“That trick won’t work on me.” The Ice Mage warned Richard.

“We’ll have to find out.” Richard’s face was impassive. “Ice Mage or whatever else; you beg all the same, man or woman.”

Struth Almighty! Gwen felt the tension between the two groups descend upon her like two sides of a crushing vice. How did the hell did this escalate so quickly toward violence?

It was Peaches, Gwen groaned internally, answering the rhetorical question. It was always fucking Peaches.

“You’re going to regret threatening us,” Kitty hissed.

Richard shrugged, his smile more chilling than her eldritch ice.

“Gwen,” he spoke to Gwen with a tone that matched Kitty's antagonistic demeanour. “Repeat what I said in Fudan.”

“Er…” Gwen tried to recall the conversation. “T-The rest we’ll feed to Caliban? Wait! Richard! No! EVERYONE! HOLD YOUR HORSES.”

“F-fuck!” Tao whined. “Dis stone-cold whore still trying ta shank me, Gwen. If ya gonna unleash the big C-dawg, better do it n- Ow! Oww! Arrrgh! Tsssss!”

Impressively, the intensity of Kitty’s limitless loathing for Tao was enough to manifest her magic; there wasn't even a need for an incantation.

The room descended into silence once again.

There was an audible, deliberate cough.

Eight pairs of eyes turned to see Magus Yuu clearing his throat.

"One moment." The Magus waited until he had their full attention.

“Ms Song, Ms Mayuree. I cannot consent to a display of Magic in a place such as the Hyatt-Regency. For all of your mutually beneficial interests, should you choose to proceed- I will have no choice but to report this public disturbance to the Police.” Yuu’s voice of reason brought the group back to reality like a well-timed Dispel Magic. “Which, I would assume, would be an undesirable outcome for all, considering your circumstances.”

The Magus was right. His soothing radio presenter's voice cooled their heads. They were guests at the Hyatt-Regency. One of the most extensive and exorbitant hotels in Shanghai. The stakeholders capable of creating such an architectural wonder would undoubtedly be intimate with the highest authorities of the PLA and the Towers, and their displeasure would shake the sandy soil of the metropolis with every stomp!

“You’re right!” Gwen intervened before Tao could speak. “Magus Yuu is entirely and unequivocally correct. We need to calm down!”

She took a deep breath, then continued.

“I believe there’s been a horrible misunderstanding.” Gwen continued. “Mia wants to be my friend - I am not adverse to having friends. AS SUCH - Mia and I would like a moment of privacy.”

Her eyes turned to Mayuree.

“Mia, can we talk? Just you and I, in private?”

“Of course, Gwen.” Mayuree too, breathed out as though a huge weight had shed from her shoulders. “Please give us some privacy, everyone.”

“Mia…” Kitty protested.

“Mistress…” The guards were likewise unwilling.

“I insist.” Mayuree raised her voice an octave.

“Let’s go.” Richard gestured to both Tao and Mina. They made for the door.

“Richard.” Gwen turned to him with a measured voice. “Take Lea as well, please. I’ll be fine.”

The Undine materialised and exited the room with the trio.

Mayuree's companions likewise left the box, albeit with unambiguous scepticism and paranoia. In Kitty's eyes, they were the ones who were right to be worried. Their Mistress was a harmless Diviner - Gwen Song was in possession of a devouring monster.

Magus Yuu was the last to leave.

“I shall ensure that your companions remain duly segregated,” the Magus assured them. “Please take your time. They will be in one piece when you find them again.”

The suave Magus retreated, closing the double doors silently behind him as he passed the threshold of the private box.

Gwen and Mayuree sat opposite one another as the clamour of the crowd below grew less boisterous with every departing guest.

“I am listening,” Gwen stated unabashedly. “You want to be friends? Fine. Friends should be honest, to a degree at least, so let's have it.”

Mayuree’s eyes glowed with the faint and subtle signs of Divination at play, dimming and glimmering with an ebb and flow that betrayed her conflicted thoughts.

Gwen watched her fingers tense and relax, alternatingly gripping, brushing, and tapping the saddle-leather of her seat.

Finally, it appeared that Mayuree reached a decision.

When the fresh-faced Diviner looked up again, she was no longer that childish, vacant sweetheart who’d being accosting Gwen since the practical exams. She was, Gwen could only presume, herself; one who's chosen to dispense, at least for the moment, her masquerade.

Mayuree gathered her thoughts before she spoke.

“I was there when you were at M on the Bund," Mayuree began, her voice retained its sweet soprano vibrancy, but now afforded a candidness that had been absent prior. “I knew it then that we had to become friends.”

“Why?”

“Because I need you,” Mayuree replied stoically, then realised how unconvincing she sounded; she leaned forward and repeated herself. "I need you so that I can live."

Gwen felt a hint of colour rise to her cheeks.

“Be serious.” She brushed away Mayuree’s vague fingers.

“No, I am serious,” Mayuree continued unabated. "Let me clarify. My Augury told me that I need you to avert a potentially deadly episode of my life, sometime in the future."

The explosive knowledge did not seem to faze Gwen as much as Mayuree hoped. But there was nothing she could do now; she had to foray onward for better or worse.

“The night I saw you, I felt electrified by a reaction from my Divination Sigil. I felt filled from the crown to toe by an intuitive knowledge. I knew then that I need you in my life, one way or another.”

“That’s…” Gwen wanted to say that's absurd, but then again, she reminded herself; her Familiar, a Lovecraftian battle-toad, had just swallowed a lion-goat-snake. Who was she to challenge the possible and impossible? There was also the autobiographical fact that she was herself tapped into Divination, albeit her sensitivity barely registered anything beyond imminent mortal danger.

“Preposterous? Of course, that's what it seems to someone ungifted in Divination. It’s a talent that is both vague and ambiguous. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I only know that I can't be wrong.”

“No, I mean that’s believable,” Gwen replied.

“It’s stupid, I know…" Mayuree rambled on. "Wait, you believe me?”

Gwen channelled a stream of mana into her Divination Sigil and incanted a basic Detect Magic. Before her eyes, the world plunged into multicolour streams. She saw a fount of Divination well from Mayuree, strikingly illuminating an Astral Form surrounded by a purple-blue nimbus.

“Your element…” Gwen’s surprised expression mirrored Mayuree’s own. “You’re attuned to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning?”

“Forget that!” Mayree’s eyes bulged from her already sizeable sockets, giving her the likeness of a doll. Her lips were agog. “You’re a Diviner?!”

“Among other talents,” Gwen replied carefully. In opposition to Mayuree, she felt more thrilled that she’d found another Lightning Mage. Maybe she could learn a thing or two, or they could discuss the subtler points of manifestation. If the girl had just begun their first encounter by stating the obvious, they would have been fast-friends without further ado.

The proviso, of course, was that Mayuree genuinely wanted to be her friend and wasn’t just looking for a shield to tank the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

“As for Divination- I dabble,” Gwen confessed with a feeling of mild shame. “Suffice it to say; I can empathise with your psychic intuition. My sensitivity barely registers through, I am afraid.”

“A tingling sense of peril is the expectant reaction, it's level 1 on Meister Warner's Divining Scale,” Mayuree concurred, still trying to fathom why her desired companion was now also a Diviner. It would have made the process so much easier had she known. “My abilities are a little more nuanced than that; I can register up to tier 4.”

“I never studied Divination." Gwen felt a hint of pink flush her face. "Never got the chance. I know how to Detect Magic, that's it."

Not that she would have invested in future-proofing herself anyway. There were far more critical spells in the Diviner's repertoire, everything from Detection to See Invisibility, to the all-time Illusion killer - True Seeing.

"Oh?" Mayuree seemed taken aback. "Sorry."

"Nevermind me, so do you have prophetic visions? Like the Delphi Oracle?” Gwen knew of no other Diviners. The Oracle was a household name, a visionary whose powers were said to have aided the Tower in minimising damage to humanity's cities.

“The Oracle is in a class of her own,” Mayuree answered modestly. “Like most Diviners, I can only sense the future as it pertains to myself. My intuition works through a prediction of whether someone will be boon or bane. A branch-manifestation of Augury, if you will.”

Gwen became reminded of Mina's first warning to her when she'd first mentioned Mayuree.

“Let me hazard a guess…” She studied the complex emotions of the Diviner’s soulful, amber eyes. “You read your fortune, huh?”

“I couldn’t help it,” Mayuree lamented. “Not after the near seizure I had when I saw you at the Bund. I can’t quite describe the sensation, because it's all abstract, but I knew that you were important. In my future, you feature very prominently as a boon, a very large, very necessary boon.”

“I should think I am a bane,” Gwen confessed. “What with Caliban and all the baggage I am carrying. I want to be entirely honest with you, Mia. I can’t prioritise your needs; I want you to understand that. There is too much I have to do.”

“That’s for powers higher than you and I to decide,” Mayuree did not appear disappointed by Gwen's honesty. “I don't know what you have to do either. Maybe you could incidentally find an object in a Dungeon that could save my life one day. Perhaps a beast that could have spelt my end dies by your hand. Mayhap even, we would be on the opposite ends of a Factional conflict, and you could think of this moment and choose to spare me. The future is a fickle thing, Gwen, as fellow Diviner, you would know as well as I the dangers of presuming the currents of fate.”

“Then why?” Gwen gestured with open palms. “Why go to all the effort if nothing is certain?”

“My Arcane Soul tells me so,” Mayuree’s expression was bittersweet and helpless. “Would you believe that?”

She paused for breath.

"Not to mention, I DO want to be your friend. You seem smart and beautiful, and you're surrounded by people who defend you because they are your friends, not because of your status or your influence. You may not understand how rare that is, Gwen, but I do."

"That Kitty..."

"I trust her. She's a rare friend."

“The gift then? Just a ploy to get on my good side?”

“Can you consider it a down payment for pre-emptively saving my life? It doesn't have to do with our friendship at all.”

“...”

Silence again descended between the two girls as Gwen weighed the risks and rewards in her mind, measuring Mayuree's confession for authenticity.

Did she want to make a friend out of the Diviner? Could Mayuree offer her the 'mateship' Yue and Elvia did? Gwen knew the answer to that. But did she want to make an enemy out of the Diviner? No. The House of M, whatever its affiliation with Mayuree may be, was sure to be helpful in the future. If they could take advantage of Gwen in some manner she could not begin to comprehend, should she not also take advantage of the opposition party?

“I’ll take what you've told me with a grain of salt.” Gwen tested the waters. “So what now? We go our separate ways?”

“If that’s what you want.” Mayuree’s dejected words lingered in the air. “Must that be the case though?”

“Would you trust me, if our roles reversed?”

Mayuree considered Gwen’s antithetical counter, then sunk defeatedly into her chair.

That was the answer Gwen sought.

By now, Ariel had finished eating the core, lapping up the last of its remnant residue from her pencil skirt. With a cute twisting motion, it turned its belly toward her and paddled its pink-beaned paws until it coiled into a serpentine ‘C’. Then with a yawn that showed off its cutely protruding canines, it abruptly fell asleep.

Gwen dispelled her Summon Familiar, watching Ariel dematerialise. She made an empathic apology to Caliban, who had egged her for the opportunity to be let loose the entire time Ariel was out and about. Caliban was understandably upset - earlier, its prey had been stolen from its jaws, while Ariel just had a feast fallen into its lap.

Look! We’ll go somewhere where there are no people, and you can eat whatever you like! We’ll spend a whole day in the Wildlands! Soon! Gwen promised her increasingly sagacious creature. Repeating herself several times until Caliban attained comprehension. Satiated by the promise of a day of gluttony, the netherworld worm settled into its Pocket Dimension.

Gwen stood from her chair.

Below, she could see Mayuree's defeated eyes watching her warily.

“Hi, I am Gwen Song,” Gwen announced suddenly. "I am new here."

Mayuree’s face transformed from concern to comprehension, then to cognisance.

“I-I am Mayuree,” she replied with a voice that grew in confidence. “I am a Diviner. I am a scion of the House of M, third-in-line to succession.”

“That’s marvellous.” Gwen extended a hand. “I am principally a Conjurer, an Evoker, but I also dabble in Transmutation, Divination and Abjuration. I am a Void and Lightning Mage.”

“That’s a mouthful!” Mayuree took Gwen’s hand. “I mean, wow. Mao’s Red Stars. Really?”

“And I am a freelancer,” Gwen added with some deliberation. “Though you could say I owe the House of Song a great debt. So that's who I am with, at least for now.”

“W-would you like to join the House of M?” Mayuree blurted reflexively.

“Not on our first meeting, no.” Gwen shook the girl’s hand. “We should meet up for a luncheon sometimes, some tea and coffee. I am sure we’ll be seeing one another plenty in Fudan.”

“Of course!” Mayuree’s face once again assumed that youthful jubilance that gave her such an atmosphere of adorability. “I’ll pay! Whatever you want!”

“We’ll take turns,” Gwen said seriously. "It's called shouting your mates."

“Right! YES!” Mayuree eyes grew a little moist. Her pent up anxiety drained from her like water from a clogged dam.

“Great! Let us find our companions then. I hope they haven’t taken the hotel apart,” Gwen suggested jovially and turned to the door.

“Ha!” Mayuree followed.

As Gwen reached the handle of the double doors, her newly minted friend pulled her back by the elbows.

“Wait!” Mayuree took her by the arm with an urgency Gwen hadn’t felt before. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

Then she felt it.

A tingling premonition struck the back of her mind like a pail of frigid water. Danger. Not dire. But a threat nonetheless.

Both of the girls turned warily toward the door.

Unbidden, it opened.

A cloud of smoke came billowing inwards, smothering the surrounding air. Ambient light from the corridor outlined a slimly build male dressed in formal attire.

A gust of acrid tobacco accosted Gwen, sending her reeling backwards with a reflexive gag. Mayuree seemed more accustomed to the fermented smog, enduring it as though it were the beginning of a ritual.

As the haze dispersed, Gwen took account of the silhouette who now obstructed their exit.

The man was an Evoker, that much was obvious. She could sense the familiar mana condensed within his body, far surpassing her own. The Mage had a face that was androgynous in its quality, with cruel eyes that were almond shaped like Mayuree’s but lined with thick, dark eye-lines that gave him a pretentious, gothic air. His complexion was a hale tan possessed by those of South East Asian descent, his hair a dark auburn styled heavily to resemble backwards-sweeping blades. Upon closer inspection, his formal wear was a smoking jacket, casual but expensive, with a loud, blue-clover patterned dress shirt embossed with gold buttons imprinted with little 'M's. In the man’s left hand, he held a cigarette that glowered as he inhaled and exhaled, stirring the smothering vapours.

Where was Richard? Or Mina? Or Kitty? Gwen wondered, trying to spy a peep around the corridor. All she saw was more white-suited guards lining the entrance. Her Message device was in her Storage Ring, Gwen realised, she should have worn it when Richard left.

She turned her eyes toward Mayuree, who seemed frozen to the spot as though she'd suddenly transformed into a little girl who'd been caught red-handed at the cookie jar, or a froglet before a king cobra.

Well shit, Gwen wondered if this was the moment of crisis. Is Death coming for Mayuree already? She’d just befriended the socially awkward girl for less than thirty seconds ago, and the Grim Reaper comes calling in the form of Asian Tim Minchin toking on a fat cig?

“Is this the girl?” the man demanded of Mayuree.

His eyes fell upon Gwen with the palpability of a wet sheet plastered over her skin.

"You're the Lightning girl from the other night; the one who whipped Dai, no?" the man continued. "I must say, for a Guang-er-dai, Fung has good taste."

Who the hell was this asshole? Gwen furrowed her brows unpleasantly. Why was he here in the first place? More importantly, Gwen thought worriedly. Where were their companions?

“Hi Brother,” Mayuree said quietly beside Gwen.

“That’s Big Brother Marong to you,” the man retorted with a tone of joviality.

Ah, Gwen instantly recognised the situation in which they'd just found themselves. She was no stranger to an old-fashioned family rivalry.

"Where are our companions?" Gwen demanded.

“They're somewhere.” Mayuree's brother possessed a falsetto voice that was at once pleasing and sensuous.

"They're safe. Kitty and Richard are in the lobby." Mayuree had a mote of Divination glowing by her ear, signifying a silent Message spell in operation. "Brother Marong, Gwen and I have somewhere to be. Can you please move aside?"

Marong pulled his arms back to his sides and opened a space ample enough for one of them to pass.

Mayuree glanced at Gwen, nodded at her confidently, and moved toward Marong.

Gwen took a step forward and grabbed Mayuree by the arm, pulling her backward toward her chest.

Marong watched them with a look Gwen frequently saw on her cats.

Ah-ha, there it is. Gwen sighed inwardly. She knew it. If she were a walking, talking, sister bullying prick, she would have done precisely that. The guy was probably going to separate the two of them, and then play a cat-n-mouse game with Mayuree to see if his sister was willing to abandon Gwen. That way, he could split the two of them up, and force them into an antagonistic position.

“He’s fucking with you.” Gwen’s stepped in front of Mayuree, feeling her protective instincts kick into gear. “Hey asshole, what’s your problem?”

Marong seemed astonished by his new title.

“Did you just call me...” Marong’s mirthful smile faded from his lips. “No, never mind. I am more interested in what Mia wants from you. My servant tells me that she'd been chasing you like a dog-in-heat all afternoon.”

Mayuree’s expression hardened. Her mind was a jumble of questions. How had her brother found out? What did this mean for herself and Gwen? They had just made up! Why did Marong make an appearance now of all times?

Meanwhile, Marong seemed to enjoy the spectacle immensely.

“I mean you no harm." The Mage considered the pair intently. “I am just curious as to why my little sister is so interested in you. Surely a friendly chat is not beyond consideration.”

“I am not interested in men who bully children,” Gwen snapped at the offending Mage. If someone like this bullied Elvia, she would have sicced Caliban onto his ass; damn the consequences. Mayuree was no Elvia, but this Marong's lording over his sister seemed to flip all the switches in her body.

To her surprise, Marong laughed, while Mayuree's face became flushed with embarrassment.

“I am older than you…” Mayuree whispered stiffly behind her.

“Good for you,” Gwen blustered, but she had no time to be impressed. She turned back to Marong. “You letting us pass or not?”

“Is a few minutes of your time too expensive?” Marong remained firmly entrenched at the door. "A man has a right to be curious."

“You can’t afford my time,” Gwen riposted reflexively.

Marong blinked. Was a challenge? A proprosition? Was it an insult? A joke? A shot at his masculinity or just a slip of the tongue?

Gwen felt herself cringe the moment her words left her mouth.

It was just as well that she had enough of talking.

“Flashbang!”

As the shockwave of sound resonated across the box and into the corridor, Gwen pulled Mayuree backwards, and the two of them fell from the balcony.

Gwen had endured enough of these situations to know its final port of call. If she agreed, there would be unpleasantness; refuse, and there would be unpleasantness. More talking was meaningless. She would choose neither of the well-worn paths in these wolf-filled woods.

It was just a Flashbang. These asshats should be right as rain once the tinnitus faded.

“Gweeeeeeneaaarrrgh!!” Mayuree screamed as she fell, her Divination failing to forsee Gwen's unconventional mode of departure.

“Dimension Door!”

By expending an exponential amount of mana, Gwen could transport a passenger with her through the ethereal space of Lightning with her lesser teleportation spell.

The two girls disappeared mid-flight as they fell - and reappeared on the unguarded floor of the theatre’s lobby entrance some twenty meters from where they had teleported with a burst of pyrotechnical lightning.

“I am going to be sick...” Mayuree suppressed a gag, thoroughly disorientated by the thrumming tinnitus in her ears coupled with the vertigo of being sent through the material plane via an elemental jaunt.

Gwen quickly dragged the confused Diviner with her through to the lobby and toward the Atrium. Once they were in the public domain, they would be safe from harassment. There was no possible way Mayuree's brother would dare cause a scene in the grand lobby of the Hyatt-Regency.

“Gwen!”

“Mia!”

Richard, Mina, and Kitty, together with Tao and the three stooges, were waiting for them.

“Young Mistress! Ms Song!” Magus Yuu was there as well, looking decisively apologetic. “I am sorry, it was all I could do to prevent Master Marong from goading your friends to imperil themselves."

“Don’t worry about it.” Gwen waved him off. “Anyone behind us?”

Richard scanned the entrance to the theatre complex.

“We're clear,” he observed. "I tried to Message you. Another minute and I was going to send Lea."

“I’ll make Marong choke on his stupid Chungha!” Kitty growled vehemently beside Mayuree. Her usually cool and icy exterior was hot with agitation. “I knew it was a mistake to leave you alone!”

“I am fine, its okay.” Mayuree stared at Gwen with eyes full of admiration. “I had Gwen with me. I can’t believe we got away, just like that!”

“Erm…” Gwen fixed her dishevelled hair. “How do you usually deal with that asshat?”

“Through inhuman feats of endurance,” Mayuree quipped miserably. Then her face took on an epiphanic expression. “I usually sense him coming long before he's close. I can avoid him nine times out of ten.”

“Why not this time?” Gwen scanned their surroundings as well.

“I don't rightly know.” Mayuree curled her perfectly pink lips. "Divination is not an exact Spellcraft. At any rate, thank you for the prompt delivery from the presence of my pompous brother."

“I hope that wasn't the life-saving moment you had predicted,” Gwen joked.

“No, but please consider the debt of the crystal paid.” Mayuree took the opportunity to salvage a prior misstep. "You don't know how happy it makes me that we eluded that encounter, especially with your help."

“That’s still too much,” Gwen protested. "That was a costly bid!"

“Please,” Mayuree pleaded. Gwen could see the desire for redemption plastered all over her face. "I'll be perfectly honest with you; I had the crystal retrieved from our private collection. I am not spending 7000 HDMs, more like 4000."

“Alright, alright,” Gwen comforted the girl, more impressed that Mayuree found 4000 HDMs to be a paltry sum. Gwen knew she was taking advantage of the girl's desperate circumstance, but she wasn't, in her own words, one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I'll accept it."

“If you're quite done, Gwen; let's get out of here first.” Mina eyed the theatre anxiously. “What if-“

“Let’s get on a move on then!” Gwen announced to the gathered group. “We should find somewhere to eat and re-introduce ourselves. Mia and I are renewing our friendship! We're getting to know one another from square one! Come on guys, my shout!”

Kitty, Mina, and Mayuree looked at one another puzzlingly. Did Gwen not just polish off a plate of canapes stacked four high a few hours ago? Also, what the hell is a 'Shout?'

* * *

“Sir?”

One of the white-suited guards dispelled his Shield. Had it not been for a command to hold their positions, they would have retrieved the girls within a few breaths.

The smell of ozone hung heavily in the air, together with an electrifying feeling of static that set their hair to stand on end.

“Sir," the guard intoned politely. "Shall we invite the young ladies…more persuasively?”

“No,” Marong replied in a haze of smoke, his voice possessing more amusement than anger. "Have some tact, Ang; this is why you're still single."

Ang smiled awkwardly.

The smouldering fumes surrounding Marong parted as though stirred by a soft, unseen breeze. When the Flashbang had hit, a portion of it had congealed as if moved by a supernatural will, shielding him from the brunt of the blinding flash, as well as muffling the thunderclap.

“What an interesting girl.” Marong toked on his thin-white cigarette, allowing two jet streams of smoke to join the perpetual haze which lingered in the air. A few sparks fell as he tapped the hand-rolled tobacco with his fore-finger, sending a few amber embers to take to the air.

“Hyun, find out who she is.”

“Of course, Master Marong,” a second guard acknowledged Marong's command.

“Do it discretely, man. We don't want to frighten the poor girl.”

With the practised ease of a seasoned smoker, Marong allowed a mote of flame to touch his cigarette. A flare of brilliant fire burned for a brief moment, snuffing the stub expertly. The remaining length disappeared into a Storage Ring adorned with an elaborate geometry of precious gems.

Marong was glad he came to oversee the monotonous auction. How else was he going to catch his sister giving a 10,000 HDM core to some stranger? The one she'd gifted wasn't even the one on display. That had been the female heart. Her sister had gifted the male variant.

Who was this 'Gwen'? And why was his sister so zealously attached?

Whoever she might be, Marong chuckled. He was confident the girl would prove far more entertaining than just a pretty face.

On Mayuree's advice, they chose to stay rather than leave, betting that the Hyatt offered far more protection than an oyster-shell restaurant somewhere. The group loitered in the lobby until they were met with Mayuree's brother, Marong, exiting the theatre. To their surprise, the offending sibling's parting gesture was a greeting and a farewell, to which Gwen's party failed to reciprocate.

When the convoy of dark sedans departed, the group breathed a collective sigh of relief. Gwen then turned to her companions and explained her newfound rapport with Mayuree.

Richard cared little, informing Gwen he’d be alright with whatever decision she made.

Mina politely withheld her tongue. Possessing the belief that one said it best; when one said nothing at all.

Tao loudly proclaimed he would treat Mayuree as one of the ‘crew’ should Gwen desire, even allowing her to participate in his projects.

Kitty, Mayuree’s faithful companion, rejected any desire to join a ‘crew’ in which Tao Wang took part, but conceded that Gwen and Mayuree necessarily benefited from each other’s company. Her guards had no opinion either way, remaining as silent and invisible, leaving Gwen to wonder if they would have been of any use had the encounter with Marong escalated.

Then the jig was up; the caper finished; Mina's driver arrived at the lobby to pick them up.

Gwen gave Mayuree a friendly hug and promised her that they would see each other again in Fudan, and they were away.

* * *

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Mina questioned Gwen as their sedan pulled onto the orbital highway. Her cousin remained irresolute about Gwen's decision, preferring that she had left Mayuree well alone.

When Gwen stated the undeniable benefits of having someone so intimately connected to the House of M on their behalf, Mina conceded the benefits of being favoured by one of Shanghai's more reputable Auction Houses. After all, one could hardly repudiate gaining access to a network of Mages willing to trade rare ingredients for non-CC based currency and vice-versa.

“Well, be careful. That brother of hers looks like trouble from his slicked hair to his Oxfords,” Mina warned Gwen, wagging a finger. She then pouted her lips attractively and whistled. "Who'd thought, huh? Little Mayuree, connected to the mysterious house of M. Did she say third-in-line? She was quiet as anything back in school. She was socially illiterate then, and she continues to be now. Red Stars, if I wanted to be your friend, Gwen, we'd be arm-in-arm by the second hour."

"Mia's an alright sort, isn't she?" Gwen chuckled. "Now that brother of hers, he looks like a character."

“I too, am interested in this Marong,” Richard spoke beside them. “Were it not for Magus Yuu and the circumstances of the hotel, I would have loved to meet him in person.”

"You'll get us all arrested, if your 'meeting' is what I think it is," Mina quipped. "Never pick a fight in a place that has more staff than guests."

"Sometimes, a meeting is just a meeting," Richard stated with ambivalence.

“Thanks, Richard,” Gwen replied warmly. “We were fine. Marong didn’t even lay a hand on us. I think the brother was just curious as to why his sister was so interested in me.”

"You said he insisted that you stay," Mina pointed out. "That sounds plenty dangerous to me."

"Only if you say it like that," Gwen pointed out. "I mean, if some Mage suddenly had you tied around his or her fingers, I'd be worried too."

“So what happened between you and Mayuree? Surely you did more than just kiss and makeup,” Richard pursued Gwen's line of logic. “Personally, I am no less curious than Marong.”

“I’ll tell you what I can.” Gwen relented after a moment of contemplation. With considerations for privacy and disclosure, she carefully illustrated Mayuree’s panicked self-diagnosis to her companions.

“See? That’s why I never do fortunes!” Mina pointed out triumphantly. "They're nothing but trouble!"

“So I see.” Richard nodded. “Now that one mystery is settled. What of Ariel? What did our penultimate winner attain?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Gwen had no intention of testing out her familiar in the car. She couldn't, at any rate; Ariel appeared dormant. “Also, does anyone know what an Eland is? ”

“It’s a huge goat,” Tao surprised them all with the factoid. “Huge mofo with twisted horns and stripes.”

“A goat…” Gwen tried imagining the delightful marten becoming a gangly buck. How does one share a pillow with an antelope-sized Ariel? Frolic with it upon her lap? What if the horns snagged her clothes? Maybe she could ride it? Gwen tried to imagine herself riding a lightning-wreathed billy goat into battle; the illustrated fantasy was rather more 'Heavy Metal' than she'd hoped.

“What’s it doing now?” Mina asked, likewise inquisitive as to what Ariel, the culprit of their predicament, had gained from the ordeal.

“Asleep.” Gwen checked her Pocket Dimension. Beside the softly purring Ariel, Caliban remained dormant, deprived of stimuli, mana and vitality. "Indigestion, perhaps?"

“Richard, you’re the Conjurer supreme here.” Gwen looked up to meet her cousin's bemused eyes. “What do you think would happen?”

Richard's self-satisfied expression told Gwen, 'you came to the right guy.'

“Well, academically, when a lesser Elemental consumes greater Elemental’s core, it takes on some of its power and characteristic. Although the phenomenon is a rare one, Explorators had reported hundreds of sightings over the past decade.”

“As for Ariel.” Richard tapped his knees. “I can only speak from experience.”

“Go on.” Gwen was all ears.

“Before I found Lea, or, I should say, Lea found me. My Familiar was a Monotreme Platypus.”

"Puahaha!"

Gwen riotously snorted while Mina looked on with incomprehension. The vision of Richard standing as cool as a cucumber, looking as stoic as a glacier while accompanied by a waddling platypus was too much for her overtired imagination to handle. Mayhap the creature even held its head and suffered from a constant headache.

“What in Mao's Army is a platypus?” the healer asked.

“Lea, if you please,” Richard requested his Undine familiar.

A transparent model of a bird-billed-beaver quickly formed, possessing the head of a duck, the body of a seal, webbed feet, scales on its lower back, and a waddling paddle for a tail. It was as though the Creator had taken all the spare parts of animals he had left over and then said 'fuck it; it's 11:59 on a Saturday night'.

“Is that a Dobhar-chú?!” Mina beamed. “An Australian Dobhar-chú? Those are incredibly powerful!”

“It’s a water elemental in the semblance of local fauna,” Richard corrected her expertly. “A native creature of the estuaries and rivers of NSW. A noble member of the local legends.”

“Hahaha.” Gwen was beside herself with tears. “I- I can't believe your spirit animal is a platypus!”

It suited Richard perfectly, Gwen thought. She could never make heads nor tail of her cousin, his incredible competence, his cold and hot demeanour, his abrasive social behaviour and stoic charm; the uniqueness of a platypus was an apt metaphor.

“… Anyway,” Richard continued, ignoring Gwen. “I managed to win the core of a lesser sea dragon in a bet - that’s a seahorse, by the way, a pseudo-dragon at best, and then my Platypus became like this-”

The model changed until they saw a strange chimaera creature covered from head to tail in scales. It had the look of an aquatic pseudo-dragon, a form of water fey, but possessed of duck's bill and the paddle-like tail.

“OH, Gods!” Gwen was breathless; she fanned herself with her fingers. “Ach! My stomach! A pseudo platypus! Oh, Richard, you should have stuck to the original form!”

“I think it looks very handsome.” Mina glared at her cousin with critical disapproval of her sudden hysterics.

Gwen tried to check her offensive merriment, but another glance at the duckbilled-dragon-beaver sent her into a second fit of belly-aching laughter. The more she wanted to halt herself, the less she managed to restrain the chortling giggles escaping her belly.

The watery construct faded to be replaced by Lea’s scandalous torso, wet and shimmering with beaded water as her upper body materialised. Her gemstone eyes regarded Gwen with curiosity, wondering why she was so beside herself with relentless joviality.

"Gwen?" Lea asked quizzically. "Are you in pain?"

“Sorry, sorry!” Gwen finally managed to pull her wits together. She had no idea why she had allowed herself to go so thoroughly. When the eye-watering joviality finally departed her body, she felt as though she had purged something from inside her. Perhaps her sense of the ridiculous was trying to find a balance, it had, after all, been a very long day. She extended a hand toward the water sprite. “Here, a reward for that lovely blast from the past.”

Gwen congealed a mote of Almudj’s mana on her fingers; with a squeal of pleasure, Lea eagerly took it in her mouth with a delightful moan.

Mina's lip fell half open with wordless scandal.

Tao's eyes opened so wide they glowed.

Richard found a renewed fascination for the city's skyline.

Gwen retrieved her finger, realising only now what Tao and Mina might think of her nonchalant practice. It was something she had done for Sufina and Lea many times, usually presented in privacy; in her mind, it was more akin to giving a salmon-treat to her cats.

It was time to pivot the topic. Perhaps, Gwen thought tactically. The platypus-drake needed to make another guest appearance.

* * *

Klavdiya was waiting for them when they arrived.

“How were the exams?”

“I think we both went well, Babulya.” Gwen ran in to embrace her babulya.

Once her party settled in, Gwen regaled what had transpired, what she wrote, what went wrong with Caliban and what she told the interviewers, hiding nothing from her family. She furthermore added the encounter with Mayuree, her decision to befriend the Diviner, and her confrontation with the brother.

Encouragingly, babulya told her to pay the brother no mind. The House of M, she stated, was a merchant family tied to an old Clan. A tiger they may be, they would not dare to pull the whiskers of the dragon known as the PLA.

Klavdiya’s gesture of confidence made Gwen feel immensely comforted. At least she could rest easy knowing that she wouldn't be spirited away to face some arrogant young Master.

Richard repeated his side of the tale, though without nearly as much detail nor flair.

“Mao above, that’s terrible!” Mina sucked in a breath of cold air when Richard outlined his ‘Centaur’ strategy. “Richard! That’s vile!”

“Stone cold!” Tao was as impressed as he was disgusted, so much that he had to repeat his overly fond expression. “Stone cold! My man!”

Gwen measured her cousin's strategy against her own. She was reminded of a certain string of retaliation following the 1972 Munich Olympics. Or perhaps the Russian operations during the Nord-Ost siege.

Fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. The unspoken mores of this world.

Richard was truly a man born in the right time, at the right place.

“I can guess how well that’s going over with Liwen and Gillian,” their babulya mused. “James probably swallowed his tongue when you proposed the hoof-collection.”

“Alas, it’s out of my hands now.” Richard's nonchalant gesture matched his expression.

“At any rate, well done,” babulya commended the both of them. “I am confident that the both of you will pass muster magnificently.”

“Thanks, babulya. What do you think we should do for the intervening month?” Gwen requested. For now, at least, all her labours seem at an end. What laid in store until the mid-semester started? Should they ready themselves too for a non-scholarship enrolment? Was there some way they could pay back her grandmother for her tireless efforts? "Is there anything you'd like our help with? Something Richard and I can do for you?"

“Now now, you just rest.” Babulya patted her shoulder assuringly. “As for doing something, I do have someone I'd like you to meet tomorrow. Someone who will need your help, and be of immense help to you.”

Gwen wanted to ask who, but her babulya insisted they proceed straight to bed.

“Where’s Percy?” Gwen changed the subject. Her brother had not come out to greet her.

“Percy is asleep already, his training is taking its toll,” Klavdiya informed her. “He’s fine though, don’t you worry. Guo will let nothing but good things happen to his boy.”

His boy, Gwen allowed the word to roll over her tongue. She wondered what her mother would think about that. And speaking Helena, Gwen reminded herself, a visit should probably be in the works once the Fudan ordeal settles. Though she wanted as little to do with the woman as possible, Helena was still her mother. At the very least, it would ease Gwen's mind knowing that her mother was living a life of material comfort; if nothing else.

In the midst of her thoughts, Tao and Mina bid them goodnight.

Before she left, Mina left the additional 3000 HDMs with Gwen.

“You’ll likely need it,” Mina tapped the triple-stack of 1000 HDM cards left in her cousin’s hand. “Don’t worry, if there’s one thing the Wangs aren't short on, its crystals. Don’t expect us to be nearly as liberal with CCs though. Let me know if you have trouble finding a place to stay. Dad owns a few places not too far from Fudan.”

Gwen hugged her cousins as they left, with Tao promising he'd show Gwen his latest project soon.

"Go to sleep!" Their grandmother henpecked Gwen and Richard. "Why are you still up! It's almost eleven!"

Gwen washed up and slipped into bed, wondering what tomorrow would bring. She had a dream about a scholarship and pondered the propensity of its probability as a prophetic vision.

* * *

The next morning, Gwen woke with a start when someone pressed a finger against her temple.

“For shame! Gwen,” her babulya remarked critically. “You should be training from 7 AM! Meditating! Not sleeping until 10!”

“I feel so tired,” Gwen murmured, feeling exhausted even after almost ten hours of sleep. She figured that the consumption performed by Caliban’s unbidden new form was likely the culprit.

It was a weariness that no sleep could replenish. Only higher concentrations of Almudj’s mana could so that. The more of those little green motes of primordial mana she flushed into her Astral Body, the more readily her vitality seemed to return over time. She would have to find an Alchemist to work her remaining two Fructum Vitaes, but that would be a future endeavour. Assuming Mayuree was genuine about her offer, she could probably afford a few more favours.

“Up! Up!” babulya peeled back Gwen’s blankets, expelling the cosy air. “You’ll be late! Richard's already gone on his errand.”

“Aiee!" Gwen clutched her small clothes against her shivering white figure, yelping at the sudden chill. She stumbled from her bed and found a pair of shorts and a tee shirt left by the bedside. A discovered scrunchie helped her tie her frizzled hair into a ponytail. "What are we late for, babulya?”

“Your tutor. Seeing as you’re woefully underprepared for University level theory, I’ve asked someone to help you out,” babulya informed her. “There is a cost to your private tuition though; she wants to see your Void Magic.”

Gwen furrowed her brows. She trusted her babulya implicitly, but was it wise to flaunt her magic so openly? Put it on such public display?

“I know what you’re worried about,” Klavdiya comforted her. “Worry not; it’s someone we both know. It'll be a pleasant surprise.”

“Okay.” Gwen left the bedroom to wash her face. “What should I wear?”

“Whatever you like, dear,” Klavdiya replied. “It’s at the university. Be fashionable like the other kids, but don't show too much skin! You'll catch a cold!”

“Alright!” Gwen studied herself in the mirror as she brushed and rinsed. Her complexion had lost its supernatural lustre. The tender, moisturised paleness prized by her Asian counterparts now took on a sickly pallor. It was evident that she had been far too liberal with Caliban, as well as her Void capabilities. If the future allowed, Gwen promised herself; she would have to experiment with long-term abstinence of her Void powers to see if Almudj’s life-force could repair her tattered vitality.

But for now, there was the query of her bodily presentation.

Late-April in Shanghai meant the city suffered from high humidity and intermittent heat-waves, made worse by the pollution of magical smog that trapped the heat under a thick blanket of mana particles.

Gwen had seen how people dressed in Fudan. It was a cosmopolitan university with a middle to upper-class population of young men and women, which made it a mecca for adventurous and experimental fashion.

The male students preferred mute coloured jackets in maroon, white, or olive worn over loud shirts with flared collars. For pants, ankle-length chinos and skinny-jeans were ubiquitous; the Chinese had slim builds that disfavoured the heavy cotton or straight denim so popular in Australia.

The girls were far more grandiloquent and varied in their attires, with everything from flared, tapered, loose, tight, mid-riff blouses to shirts, tees and tops; matched with skirts of all lengths, though the preference in spring was for high-waisted shorts and miniskirts above the knee.

A dozen combinations flashed across Gwen’s mind as she pondered the disposition she’d desired to project. Smart but casual? Academic chic? Oxford prep or the college girl-next-door? When she was sixteen in her old world, her attire of choice had been short everything, singlet tops, cut-off shorts, the sort of attire that had made her father nervous to let her out of the house. Those were the days of innocence, and Gwen knew better now than to draw that kind of attention.

She dug through her wardrobe and found a loose hanging antique-white collared blouse, enclosed with a black ribbon-tie, then unfolded a knee-length, high-waisted skirt in blueberry with double-buttons to match, pairing the nondescript outfit with the wedge sandals she’d bought with Mina.

It was clean, fresh, and breezy enough for the warm spring, while also mute enough to not draw the eye from a distance. Babulya nodded with approval as Gwen slipped into her chosen attire, wrapping the fabric comfortably against her slim figure.

“Ah, if only I were younger!” Klavdiya mused tenderly.

“Oh, Babulya! You’ve plenty of youth in you yet! I’ll be more than happy to dress you if you like!” Gwen gushed, hugging her grandmother tightly. “We can go shopping, just the two of us. It’ll be fun!”

“Of course, when we’re both free,” her babulya replied with a mirthful smile. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I was in a clothing mall. They must be gigantic by now.”

“More than you know,” Gwen teased. “The shop assistants would think you’re my mother!”

Babulya laughed. No woman wouldn't want to be seen younger, not to mention Klavdiya had the natural blessing of being a healer. Gwen was serious though, if her babulya dressed the part and discarded her love of militant olive or the old styled mandarin suits, she would surely look not a day over forty, likely matching her birth mother in appearing the same age! Gosh, Gwen couldn’t help but draw a few inferences. Given Elvia’s age, she would likely still look fifteen by the time Gwen and Yue were well into their twenties! It would initially be a curse, of course, but the angelic healer would be laughing well into her fifties while Gwen herself became sans perkiness, sans moisture, and took on the likeness of a prune plum.

“Alright, enough wasting of time. We need to go.” Klavdiya urged Gwen. “Go get a bite to eat. We leave in thirty minutes, no more delays.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Breakfast in the Song household was long over. Gwen went to the kitchen and seized several buns that were left over from the morning, washed down with a glass of milk warmed by a helpful NoM attendant.

She then swung by the main house to see if Percy was in, but the boy was gone along with Guo. Feeling miffed that she’d missed her brother yet again, Gwen found her grandmother waiting outside by the gate and announced herself ready to depart.

"Where's Richard gone?" Gwen asked as the car moved out from the Song compound.

"I've sent him to see a few old contacts, get him acquainted," Klavdiya replied. "Worry not, that boy's far more capable of taking care of himself than you!"

Gwen could hardly deny her grandmother's jocular jab. She took the injurious indignity to her pride in stride, turning instead to strap on her Message device, which she'd promised Richard she'd wear at all times should they be parted.

The PLA chauffeur took them along the familiar route to Fudan, across the second orbital highway and onto the third, before reaching the campus grounds. The car turned into the shaded avenues of the university, eventually parking in front of a salmon-on-white building with an architectural facade taken straight from the 1930s. At its entrance, two mock-Roman pillars held up six floors of brick and mortar, with two wings splitting north and south.

Gwen stepped from the vehicle and moved to aid her grandmother, who took her hand and lifted herself from the soft cushions.

“Where are we?”

“Henglong Research Building,” her grandmother informed Gwen. “Come.”

Gwen followed her grandmother until they reached the interior.

“No levitation platforms?” Gwen looked around the dated interior.

“It’s an old structure,” babulya chucked. “Over here, I remember it well. I used to study here, on the top floor.”

They proceeded down the north wing until a set of side stairwells took them to the sixth floor. For a woman of advanced age, her grandmother was surprisingly sprite, which Gwen attributed again to her affinity with Positive Energy. It was a hell of a boon to have the healing energies of life invariably circulate through one’s mana channels, nourishing one’s flesh and bones. Gwen couldn't help but wondered if the opposite applied; if her Void channels aged her body more rapidly, or if Negative Energy Mages were short-lived. Likely not, Gwen reminded herself. Elizabeth Sobel was almost sixty, and she didn’t look a day past her twenties. That horrid woman must have engaged in some dark and nefarious ritual of stolen youth.

They proceeded until they reached the end of the corridor.

“We’re here!” Her babulya knocked on a set of paint-peeled double doors.

“Gwen! Babulya!”

The voice that greeted them was music to Gwen’s ears.

“Petra!” Gwen embraced her cousin.

The girls parted after an informal cheek-to-cheek, with Gwen stepping back to examine her talented, older relative.

Petra looked effortlessly stunning, her naturally voluminous lashes framing her sky-blue eyes in a way that made them the most striking features on her already chiselled face. And yet, despite winning nature’s genetic lottery, Petra wore a set of baggy lab-overalls, what looked to be rubber-slippers, and had her hair loosely coiled in a bun hidden underneath the transparent film of a hair net that made it seem as though she had cling-wrapped the top of her head.

“Don't you look nice!” Petra spun and twirled Gwen over, taking in her ensemble. “Very nice!”

“Thanks, Pats,” Gwen allowed Petra the pleasure. Perhaps stimulated by Gwen's carefully chosen attire, Petra quickly changed the subject and invited them in, undoing her cap as they entered, allowing her voluminous hair to cascade like an auburn waterfall.

“Is Marie in?” Klavdiya stepped through the threshold and took a gander around the corner, where a lab choked full of magical experiments rested in organised chaos. "She should be expecting us."

“Master got delayed at a meeting, she’ll be back in a few hours,” Petra replied. “Come in! Come in! I’ve cleared a space.”

The three found themselves in a private area of the laboratory safely segregated from the main working area.

“So,” babulya turned to Gwen. “Meet your new tutor.”

Gwen felt both brows arch with delight, her lips half-parting with surprise.

“That's right,” Petra laughed at Gwen's stunned expression. “I am your tutor from Tartarus.”

“More like I am your student from the seven circles.” Gwen shook her cousin’s hand. “Thank, Pats. I know you're awful busy.”

“It’s nothing. I wanted to do it. I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” Petra cooed at her. “Master wanted to speak to you as well, but we can start first; I want a full rundown of your curriculum and what you have completed at your Frontier school.”

“You two have fun, dears.” Seeing that the girls had settled in, babulya retreated from the room. “Seeing as Marie is busy, I am going to see some familiar faces and catch up with some old friends. I'll hopefully swing by later. Message me if she's back before dinner.”

“Thank you, babulya.” Gwen thanked her grandmother earnestly. “I’ll be sure to absorb everything Petra teaches like a sponge!”

“I am counting on it.” Petra materialised textbooks, pencils, and a set of data-slates across the table. She even had a tea warmer and a set of cups. “Lets’ begin.”

* * *

An hour later, Petra had a throbbing headache.

“How are you even casting tier 4 spells?” Petra chewed her pencil, indenting the wood with punctuated teeth-marks. “You don’t even know Gainsburrow’s four-tier algorithm for hextogramic formation!”

“My Master taught me through the Cognisance Chamber,” Gwen confessed nostalgically. “I followed his instruction directly.”

“Your Master…” Petra felt her academic mind broil with longing and commiseration. “Magister Henry Kaine Foster Kilroy.”

“The very one.” Gwen felt her chest constrict every time she thought about Henry. Henry and Sufina, who for a year had treated her like their closest family: dispensing advice, resource, compassion, and comfort with absolute liberty.

But now her Captain lies cold and dead in the Grot, his Dryad companion the guardian of his mausoleum, growing more alien with every passing anniversary.

“You realise Magister Kilroy is one of the founders of the original Tower system in the 70s, no?” Petra tapped her pen against the slate. “He’s not an active member, but Good God, Gwen! A founding member of the Towers! A legend! Deathless Henry! Oh, to think I could have met the man in the flesh.”

“How I wish you could,” Gwen swallowed the taste of iron filling her mouth, feeling her throat constrict involuntarily.

“Sorry.” Petra reached over the desk and touched Gwen’s hand.

“I am okay.” Gwen pressed the welling emotions back down the rabbit hole of her memory. “I know who murdered him. Me, Gunther and Alesia, we all know. We’ll be getting our satisfaction one day. Until then, it'll be something that drives me. It’s my strength.”

When Petra pursued the matter, Gwen told her roughly what had transpired.

“To think Elizabeth Sobel was alive,” Petra marvelled at the account with a click of her tongue. “What a mess. I am sorry you had to experience all of that. Do you need a minute?”

Gwen shook her head.

"No, I am alright."

"It's okay if..."

"I am fine, Pats. Thanks."

“Okay, back to your Spellcraft.” Petra took up the slate again. “I'll be honest with you. It’s horrible. Your theory is all over the place. What they’re teaching you in the Frontier is half full of shit, and half conjecture. Your curriculum was lagging behind by a decade!”

“But…”

“Which is why, I am assuming, your Master taught you himself through the Cognisance Chamber. His algorithms are perfect, simplified, in fact. Your Dimension Door manifests at half the time it takes for the text-book version! Your initial Summon Familiar virtually costs no mana! Your Evocation spells are probably your weakest link, to be honest, they’re all over the place. Some of the core ones, like Lightning Bolt, are using Signature incantations, I assume you got those from Alesia de Botton. Your regular spells, like Magic Missile, are all outdated, while spells like Lightning Whip or Lighting Blast hardly synergise with your existing repertoire of Spellcraft theory.”

“Damn…”

“You and I are going to have a busy month ahead of us. I shall speak to your advisor when you eventually get one. I recommend we work towards Conjuration as your Major, Evocation as support while working on specific spells from Transmutation and Divination. As for your Minor, I suggest holding off on that until you specialise in the Second Year.”

“What about Abjuration?”

“You’ll choke if you try to eat too many dumplings at once,” Petra advised. “Work on your Shields, but the branch powers of Abjuration, like Dispel, Remove Enchantment, Wards and Protections are a whole world unto themselves. How many lifetimes do you want to dedicate to this, anyway? I have a spell that takes away the need to sleep, but you’ll be in hysterics within the week.”

“Well, Pats, I am in your capable hands…”

“At my mercy, you mean," Petra chuckled. "I am going to have to drill you like a conscripted farmer just joining the Long March."

Gwen sipped her tea miserably. She had no idea her Spellcraft theory was a tale told by Frontier nincompoops, full of sound and fury, signifying misdirection. The loss of her Master was a far more significant loss than she had first anticipated.

"So," Petra continued. "Conjuration 1001, Bestiary and Care of Familiars FAM102, plus Supplementary Conjuration as your mainstay. Evocation 1001 and Advanced Spell-shaping ASP101 as support - that makes Five. Individual spells I’ll sort out something with babulya, which means you have one more course of your choice, and two General courses.”

“I was thinking Economics and Management, for you know… reasons.” Gwen couldn’t explain that she was probably more knowledgeable than her tutors, albeit what she lacked was context.

“What about your final Spellcraft course?”

“Are there anymore Conjuration courses I could take?” Gwen enquired. “I need to get a hold of Caliban before its leash becomes too short for either of us.”

Petra shook her head.

“That’s a miscalculation on your part, I am afraid.” Petra shook her head. “This isn’t a time-sink issue. You can’t just ‘power up’ a School of Magic. One becomes more proficient over time, becoming aware of the complexities of the Sigil, stacking exponentially into more powerful invocations and incantations. By the time you exceed Tier 6, you would need a knowledge of mandalas and glyphs to assist non-localised castings. That is a second-year course, extending well into post-grad. You think the motto in the Exam Hall is for display? ‘There exist no shortcuts on the winding path of Spellcraft; there is no shore when sailing upon the seas of Arcane knowledge.’”

“How can I raise my Conjuration to tier 5 as soon as possible?”Gwen asked. “It’s urgent. I can’t temper Caliban if I can’t trust my ability to set its boundaries.”

“According to Babulya, you’re sitting on 4.05 on the inference scale, so I’ll be candid.”

“Okay.”

“Assuming you’re the top 0.1% of individuals gifted for Conjuration, it’ll take you a year.”

“A year!” Gwen spluttered. “But I went from 1 to 4 in twelve months!”

“...And now you’re at a bottleneck!” Petra indicated with an expansive wave of her hands. “You need more than just knowledge of spells to weave more complex incantations. You need to understand Planar Theory, Elemental-energy Theorems; you need to study the Void and brush up on your Quasi-Elemental Lightning affinity. There is no way we are going to finish by a months time. We’ll be seeing each other plenty, at least for the entirety of your first year. Both me and my Master are going to take turns getting you up-to-date with Advanced Spellcraft.”

“Oh.” Gwen felt as though she was staring into an abyss. “I guess there's much to learn.”

“Chin up!” Petra patted her hand. “I’ll make a Mage out of you yet!”

By the late afternoon, Magister Wen had returned.

Petra ceased her delivery of Gwen’s bridging course and aided her master in delivering new components to the central laboratory.

When the last crystalline box was filed away, Magister Wen turned to Gwen with curious eyes, as though she was examining a rare and unusual specimen.

“So, you’re Gwen Song,” the bookish Magister shook Gwen’s hand with her studied, skeletal fingers.

“It’s good to meet you, Ma’am.” Gwen bowed after they shook. “Petra has had nothing but praise for your expertise and your care.”

“She's ever the star student.” Wen glanced at Petra with amusement, drawing a rare blush from the laconic Mineral Mage. “Now I know she is also a good flatterer.”

Petra shot Gwen a perturbed look which made the other two laugh out loud.

"At any rate, we're not big on formality here, just call me Ms Wen, no need for Mage titles."

"Thank you, Ms Wen." Gwen curtsied expertly, taking on the offer of intimacy as to bring them closer.

Magister Marie-Roslyn Wen appeared to be a bookish Enchanter-Transmuter who, like Petra, had a rare affiliation with the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Mineral. She was ethnically Chinese, but years of practising the Mineral arts had tinted her once dark eyes with the likeness of emeralds, making her pupils peculiar and striking on her classically Han facial structure. As for height, the Magister was average, measuring five-foot-five from head to toe, with a slight stoop to her spine. Bodily, she possessed a build akin to Earthen Mages, small and compact, with a rigid exactitude to her body language as she talked. When Gwen further enquired if she was an expatriated scholar, the Magister affirmed that she had grown up in England as a child to expat parents on an exchange.

When the polite small talk had ceased, the trio sat down to some tea, with Magister Wen going over Gwen’s file with an expression of delight.

“Klavdiya’s right, this does read like four Acolytes crammed into one,” Wen mused as she scrutinised the thickly annotated bundle. “Petra has her work cut out for her. Did your grandmother explain the cost of tuition?”

“You wished to study my Void Magic?”

“'We' wish to, dear. Petra and I, and you as well, I'd imagine.” Wen sipped her camomile gingerly. “You are not averse to exercising your affinity, I presume?”

“No, it’ll be my pleasure to assist you, Ma’am,” Gwen replied demurely, choosing a display of modesty over bravado. "Though there is a significant cost in vitality beyond the third tier of spells."

“Knowing your limits is a good thing,” Wen assured Gwen. “We shall endeavour to err on the side of your preservation and safety. Numbers aside, I am interested in the way Void manifests as it contacts material objects. The fact that you’re well-versed in Conjuration, Evocation, Transmutation and Abjuration makes this beyond perfect. Say, you’re not interested in taking on some Enchanting, are you?”

“Not at the moment, Ms Wen.” Gwen felt a tingle of premonition tickling the base of her spine. If she were to covet the talent, it would mean feeding Caliban an Enchanter or two, or a dozen. There was a slippery slope there that Gwen knew better than to let herself slide down. The abyss looks back, or so it goes, and she had no intention of becoming a second Elizabeth Sobel.

They conversed for another half an hour or so until Petra professed that she had to return to her laboratory work. Gwen bid the two Mineral Enchanters goodbye with the promise of returning Monday to Saturdays for her tuition, and to assist in Wen’s curious investigation of the properties of Void-matter.

When Gwen opened the door to leave, she was braved by a young man who looked to be in his twenties, holding a bouquet of spring-time flowers; loitering palely in the corridor.

“Is… Ms Kuznetsov in?” The young man asked nervously. His eyes widened when his gaze fell upon Gwen. “Oh, S-sorry! My name is Baili. Has her lab work finished for the day?”

“Pats!” Gwen called out into the lab, her mouth grinning broadly. “You have an admirer here!”

“A-admirer?!” Baili’s eyes shifted nervously. “I suppose… yeah. That’s it exactly! I am an ardent admirer!”

Petra came stomping from the lab in her white coat, armed principally with a bearing full of displeasure and impatience.

Oh no, Gwen winced. I know that look.

Her cousin confronted the young man quaking in her presence.

“Bai, I told you."

"Petra..."

"No. I am not interested. I don’t date.”

“But… I am just an admirer!” Baili seemed to relish the new moniker he’d acquired. “Please accept this gift. That’s all I desire. From your admirer!”

Petra reached out and plucked the bouquet from Baili’s hands.

The vibrant flowers passed under her nose.

“Ah-Cho!” Petra’s eyes watered from the pollen. These were very fresh, and exceptionally vibrant flowers.

And there it is, Gwen winced again. At least do your homework and find out if Petra has pollen allergies.

Petra pulled her face away from Baili's gift with a look of annoyance.

“S-sorry! I didn’t know…” Baili panicked.

With a thump that might as well have left a trail of blood on the wall, Petra threw the bouquet against the top of a bin that was conveniently placed in the corridor. The flowers lingered for a vertical moment, then slid home into the darkness.

“Don’t bother me again,” Petra stated coldly before turning to Gwen. “Gwen, check your Message device. Babs said that she's organising a banquet tonight and has invited everyone. She'd gone home now to prepare. I'll meet you here at 1800, and we'll go together.”

“Okay, thanks Pats. Is Babulya not meeting your master?”

"Not that I know. Master's probably organised something with Babs."

Gwen checked her Message device. Sure enough, a recording had just come through.

"See you in a few hours," Petra said to Gwen. "Don't interrupt me with trivial stuff like this next time."

Petra then gave Baili the evil eye before closing the double doors.

Gwen breathed out and turned to regard the pale-faced Baili. Ah, she waxed sentimentally. The sorrows of youth and love; won and lost.

“I should go.” Baili looked as though someone had pulled out his spine and beat him bloody with it. Gwen once again came face to face with an unfortunate truth; Petra had no chill. “Goodbye.”

Gwen followed the young man as he descended the stairs with a Prufrockian air. She felt such sympathy for the love-struck fellow; watching the exchange had induced her with such an acute nostalgia. Gwen had taken on five years of tertiary education in her past life, studying at Sydney U. Unlike her horrid high school days, university was a highlight. She made friends; she attended classes with the best and the brightest; she partied hard and studied hard. She found her earliest taste of love there as well, meeting a bevvy of admirers ranging from adventurous, reserved, academic to the occasional mad, bad and dangerous to know.

Those Halcyon days had felt as though a glass of water remained at the end of every day; that her jug of daily time was perpetual. Such was life in her old world, relaxed, easygoing, passionate and free, a far cry from the endless crisis within which she was now ceaselessly entangled.

Back then, her greatest paranoia had been the prospect of a Big Three internship.

Comparatively, in her new life, her five-year plan involved the best way to approach the cold-blooded execution of her Master’s ex-wife, carefully coordinated with a thirty-something woman who summoned meteors from the sky and a man who was the avatar of the Sun God Apollo.

But, Gwen pulled her wild thoughts from her mind. Things could be worse.

She could be this miserable sod walking in front of her.

The self-deprecating humour made Gwen feel better, and she took the courage to tap the stranger on the shoulder.

“Yes?” the man turned to her with eyes swollen with disappointment.

“Say, wanna grab a coffee?” Gwen smiled at the young man with her dazzling teeth. “I want you to tell me all about Petra.”

* * *

“… and that’s about all I have to say.” Baili felt his spirit immensely lifted by Gwenn's pep talk. ‘Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,’ the girl had told him, said to be quoted from an English Magister named Lord Alfred Tennyson.

Seeing that it was Baili's treat, Gwen allowed the lemon meringue tart to melt in her mouth luxuriously. It was time well spent; she had now scraped a good volume of information from the good-natured fellow whom Petra had stomped to the curb.

According to Baili, Petra had been considered as one of the top belles of the school since she arrived two years ago. Her looks, her talent, her Spell-Cubes; all of which caught the attention of the school’s Student Committee, who wanted her as a poster-child for promoting Fudan. A position of envy for many who desired fame and fortune.

To the surprise of all involved, Petra refused, citing her work at the laboratory, but the lumen-pics of her visage had already become famous around the campus. Since then, she’s had an endless stream of pursuers, ranging from delightful to polite, forceful to outright possessive, becoming unbidden prize of many a manly duel between the male, and sometimes female, students.

Speaking to Baili and having him talk at length about the Univerisity also gave Gwen much insight into the student body of Fudan; chiefly split into several stereotyped sub-groups:

The Little Gong-zi, or Gong-zhu, were the privileged few, the ’young masters’ of Clans and notable houses, typically equipped with an entourage of lackeys. These pupils are mutually acquainted with one another from Clan gatherings and contests outside of University, and so formed their elite social group, ranging from ones based on geography to particular philosophical sects. When Gwen pushed for examples, she found that Fredrick Lin's brother, Melvin Lin, was a member of this group.

Conversely, the Guan-er-dai, or more accurately known by the officious moniker of the Political Progeny, were descendants of officials in the PLA. These men and women, typically sons and daughters of the officials that ruled Shanghai and its surrounding Frontiers, are afforded special privileges and opportunities by the power and advantage enjoyed by their parents. For Gwen, these were the ones to avoid, as they spelt endless trouble; not unlike a hornet's nest. Her old nemesis, Dai Fung was one such member of this austere group.

Finally, these were joined by the Fu-er-dai, the Progenies of Prosperity, referring to the sons and daughters of influential business leaders, who are similarly afforded great opportunity by bloodlines and limitless resources. Comparatively, these were the most harmless. Tao and Mina belonged to this group, who occupied the middle-strata of privilege in Fudan.

Below the triple triad of the well-inherited, the politically-advantaged, and the resource-rich, were the regular students who formed the majority of Fudan, mostly middle-class and from well-to-do families, each with useful talents and unique skills. As invisible as these students may be, it was they who would form the backbone of Chinese society, becoming its Administrators, District Officials, Fabricators, Army Lieutenants and the glue that held the rare few at the top and the burgeoning bottom together. The creme de la creme of these students were the Scholarship students, commoners who had risen above the masses to stand toe-to-toe with the over-privileged; these had a destiny as Tower Mages.

According to Baili, life on the campus was incident-free as long as one made sure not to involve oneself with the triad of entitlement. The general rule was that the Clans were wary of the Officials, the Officials were wary of the Industrialists, and the Industrialists were wary of the Clans. A more perceptive rule was that they were all ferrets of the same den, and all of them saw commoners as egg-hens inevitably destined for the plucking. After all, these groups had by now become increasing incestuous in their shared interests.

So what did that make herself? Gwen wondered.

She imagined herself the loner, existing outside of the system, taking a little from column A, a little from column B.

To Gwen's surprise, Baili also spoke of the world outside of Shanghai, where against all the odds, there was an actual semblance of Communism. The young man himself wasn’t sure though, as he’d never ventured beyond the city’s walls other than for a holiday to the scenic Frontier.

The ‘Scenic Frontier’, Gwen had laughed uproariously when the man delivered the hilarious diatribe. Sure, if he considered the milling millions of Mermen, baying for human blood scenic.

A call came through on her Message device.

"Hello? Babulya? It's Gwen. Okay. Yes, I know, Petra told me. Alright, see you soon!"

Six O’clock crept upon them faster than Gwen had expected; she exchanged her glyph with the now spirited young man, to whom she’d promised to deliver a good word with Petra, and set off to find her cousin.

When they met at the bottom of Henglong Laboratory, Petra suggested they take the public transport so that Gwen would later know how to get home herself.

Petra had changed into a one-piece turtleneck fleece that flaunted her figure voluptuously, matched with effortless stretched-fabric pantaloons that resembled yoga-pants. For shoes, she had on a pair of well-worn military-boots which made her seem even taller. Her hair was carelessly swept back and tied just below her shoulders, forming two thick twin-tails that hung over her shoulders.

Gwen’s jaws almost dropped to the floor. Was it intentional? Or was it a coincidence? Peta had, for all intents and purposes, been trained for espionage while she was in the Moscow Tower, though that was many years ago and she had professed to leave that part of her life well behind her.

If she was dressing down reflexively, then no wonder she was driving the unfortunate young men of the university insane with lusty-angst. The girl showed not a single sliver of skin beyond her face and hands and yet inspired the imaginations far more than if she were to make the rounds in a bikini top. Less-is-more was an ironclad principle of femininity, and Petra had assumed an unconscious mastery of this cardinal rule. If her cousin had made the slightest effort of making up her face, Gwen felt that Baili would have fallen to his knees and wept like a child, becoming the first of many disciples under the queenly rule of Saint yoga-pants Petra.

The two foreign girls made an eye-catching spectacle as they perused the tube and then the bus, but Petra seemed entirely unperturbed by the glances that came their way every few seconds. She kept Gwen occupied with topics of Spellcraft, and in seemingly no time, they had arrived within walking distance of Plum-blossom Village.

* * *

The banquet was set as before, with grandfather Guo presiding at the head of the twelve-strong table.

As they entered, Gwen greeted each of the participants warmly with measured degrees of familiarity.

Clockwise from her babulya sat Jun, followed by her father, who’d returned from his mysterious ‘re-education’, followed by aunty Nen. There was a man Gwen had never seen before next to Nen, whom she could only guess as Tao and Mina’s father, beside which were his children, until they finally reached Richard and Petra and Gwen. Percy sat next to Guo, which meant that Gwen sat next to Percy, nearer to the head than she’d like.

“Oh my God! Dad!” Gwen left her seat and approached her father.

Morye looked to be in one piece but had taken on a dark tan. He also looked far leaner, tighter, his body more sinuous and trained than she had never seen in the past. According to babulya, her father had to make a pilgrimage to their ancestral village in Hebei. The ancestors must have been quite harsh on her father then, for Gwen could see that there were now visible wrinkles around his eyes and across his forehead.

“Gwen, you’re looking good. Your grandmother has told me all about your adventures. You’ve been a busy girl!” her father greeted her officiously.

“Well.” Gwen wasn’t sure how to approach Morye. They hadn’t exactly parted under the best of circumstances the last time they had seen each other. To think that if it wasn’t for him, she might be in Sydney still, training under Gunther and Alesia with her friends Yue and Elvia. But for his little escapade from the House of Song, Gwen’s life had been turned upside down, topsy-turvy, and now she had found herself in mixed circumstances of boon and bane, all thanks to this man. Then again, but for his adventure, she might not have existed. “You know how it is.”

“Well, it's good to see you looking strong.”

“Thanks, dad. How are you doing?”

“Aha ha!” her father glanced toward the head of the table, where Guo sat stoically. “I am surviving.”

“I’ll speak to you later, okay?” They separated, Gwen allowing her conflicting feelings for Morye to trump her curiosity.

“Alright, take care. I might be in Shanghai for a while; let's have a coffee.”

“Thanks, dad.”

"Hello, Uncle Wang." Gwen shook with Mina and Tao's father on the way back to her spot. "It's good to meet you finally."

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Gwen. Thank you for what you've done for my children."

"That's what family's for, Sir," Gwen replied formally. The man's handshake was firm and robust, pulling her inward slightly as they exchanged the greeting. Gwen touched a hand to his shoulders in a likewise gesture of amiable friendliness.

The Patriarch Wang laughed, a resonate and heart cackle.

"I hope there are future opportunities as well; please take care of these two rascals."

"I shall, Sir. Thank you for the gift."

"It was nothing. Call Mina if you need anything, it'll be my pleasure."

The two parted, watched by an uncertain Mina and a thoroughly impressed Tao.

Gwen retreated to her seat, hailing the others as she did so.

"Richard, how was your day?"

"I'll tell you about it after, it was rather fruitful," Richard replied.

The food on the table steamed famously. It was a banquet arranged in haste, but rare Wildland ingredients overflowed the table regardless. Hare, flying game, rare mushrooms and exotic legumes abound on the rotating lazy-susan.

“Before we begin, there’s something I would like to announce.” Babulya stood from her head of the table and spoke to the intimate gathering, her bemused eyes surveying her closest family members.

She produced from her Ring a letter embossed with the distinctive crest of Fudan University.

Gwen felt her breath catching in her throat the moment the familiar symbol appeared. Underneath the table, Richard reached over and squeezed her hand. Richard seemed entirely cool, which made Gwen realise how silly it was for her to freak. Her babulya arranged a banquet: they were in public, in front of the whole family; it was cruel and unthinkable to deliver the bad news under these circumstances.

Babulya slipped a piece of linen-like paper from the envelope and began to read.

“Dear Gwen Song… Congratulations on your Full Scholarship Admission to Fudan University-”

“OH MAO!” Tao let loose a cry of jubilation. “Fuck me! Gwen! You did it! Mao's balls! You did it!”

“That's wonderful news! Gwen!” Mina leaned over and hugged her tightly, pressing her cheeks to Gwen’s stunned face.

“Congratulations.” Richard and Petra both held their emotions in check. Richard, of course, but Petra? Had she been expecting this?

“I knew you could do it.” Her babulya walked around the table and offered her the letter. Klavdiya recalled her mid-morning visit to her old acquaintance, Jiang Luo, the Dean of Fudan. The man had held her hand and was almost on the verge of kissing her fingers, though that might be under an entirely different motive - before she stopped him cold. "A Void Mage!" the Dean repeated at least three times. "Jiantong would turn green with envy!" Furthermore, her colleague had promised her that they would take every care to ensure her granddaughter graduated magna cum laude. But those were things that Gwen needn't know, at least for now; it would only go to her head.

“Dean Luo personally thanked me when I met with him, you should know," her grandmother continued.

A round of 'woos' and 'wows' resounded across the table, with Nen and her family clapping loudly.

Unbeknownst to the celebrating members of the family, the head of the table had grown increasingly silent. With babulya mingling beside Gwen, no one but Percy had noticed Guo sitting by himself beside Percy with an impassionate expression.

“Sit down! Don’t be an embarrassment!” The Patriarch Wang, Tao’s father, slapped his son on the head. “Why can’t you be more like Gwen? She’s from the Frontier, and she's a hundred times more well-spoken than you.”

He turned to Gwen.

“Please continue to take care of my son,” Wang stated seriously. "He's going to need it..."

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Gwen replied, batting her hands. Turning away from Tao’s father, she opened the letter taken from her smiling babulya and scanned the first few lines.

‘Dear Gwen Song,

Congratulations on your Full Scholarship Admission to Fudan University under the LCSS program! For nearly 100 years, Fudan has proudly welcomed new Mages into its fold, and we are excited for you to be part of this great tradition. As a member of the cohort of 2003, you will join a dynamic Spellcraft community in a place of endless magical opportunities…

… Yours Sincerely, Luo Jiang, Dean.’

“Oh, babulya!” Gwen folded the letter carefully and stowed it within her ring, then she enveloped her babulya and hugged her petite torso tightly.

This was it! It was finally here, here was her new beginning! Gwen felt overwhelmed with wordless joy. Now she had finally taken a step into the Path that her Master had planned for her. Here and now, she had finally arrived at the starting line.

Across from the table, Percy’s eyes flittered between his stoic grandfather and his sister. There was something terrible simmering beneath the old man; he had spent enough time with Guo over the last two weeks to at least know that much. It was like sitting beside a volcano that one knew was about to blow, but had no way off the island. Torn between the sight of his grandfather gripping his fist into an iron ball, and the jubilant air just across the famous cornucopia of food, Percy finally chose to rise from his seat and joined the celebratory hug. His grandfather couldn't blame him for showing comfort in his sister's success, could he?

“Congrats, Sis.” Percy's voice carried over a wealth of emotions.

“Thanks, champ.” Gwen pulled her brother in and hugged him tightly. “You’ll be in University soon as well! I look forward to seeing you there in two years!”

“I am sure it’ll be awesome.” Percy parted from his sister, then became lost as to what to say or do next. His grandfather's eyes felt like a pair of spell-wands pointed at his back.

Hugs and hands were shared all around, with Petra pulling Gwen toward her and kissing her on the cheek.

"You knew!" Gwen accused her.

"Of course, I had to teach you!" Petra chuckled. Her smiling eyes were twin pools of crystalline water. “You better study twice as hard!”

Gwen nodded furiously, which caused the others to laugh in turn.

When Gwen turned back to the rest of her family, she was surprised to see her father before her.

“Good work,” Morye intoned proudly before opening his arms.

Gwen hesitated for a moment before allowing her jubilation to overcome her prejudice, permitting herself to fall into the rare indulgence of her father’s arms.

Her father’s arms wrapped around Gwen's shoulders and pulled her closer, squeezing her against his chest. Gwen smelt on him the familiar whiff of tobacco, and something else, something floral, pleasing and feminine. Ah-ha, Gwen didn't know whether to laugh or cry - even in his re-education, Morye managed to snag a woman. Then her father's lips leaned close to her ear.

“Your grandfather's up to something. Whatever it may be, keep your cool and give him what he wants. Mother will take care of you no matter what happens.”

Father and daughter parted. Gwen took on an expression of confusion as her father brushed a loose fringe back behind her ear.

“I am so proud!” Morye intoned loudly, enough for all to hear. “You make me very happy indeed.”

The rest of the congratulatory greetings became static as Gwen stole glimpses at her grandfather. It was true, she realised. The old man had not moved from his seat. His throbbing temple veins had the look of someon about to pop a gasket. The way his jaws locked seemed as though he was the victim of a Flesh to Stone.

Klavdiya then turned to Richard and produced another letter.

“Oh, Richard! Your turn!” Gwen gushed.

“For Mr Richard Huang… a Half-Scholarship award from the Lim-Chanrol Student Scholarship prize!”

“Incredible!” Mina applauded and gave Richard a tippy-toed embrace.

“I am happy for you.” Petra shook Richard's hands.

“Aw man! That sucks! Richard you da bomb! Why not a full Scholarship!” Tao expressed his honest feelings of injustice without reserve. "You'd wipe the floor with dem Clanners!"

But if Richard was disappointed, it did not show on his face.

“Thank you, thank you,” Richard thanked Klavdiya, making a reverent ninety-degree bow. “I am afforded this opportunity only because of you, Klavdiya. I am greatly in your debt.”

He then turned to Gwen and likewise bowed.

“You as well, Gwen. Thank you for allowing me to accompany you on your journey,” the young man announced earnestly.

“Richard, it was all you! I had nothing to do with it. The true gem's lustre shines unbidden. You’re the one who I should thank,” Gwen replied with a flustered expression, drawn away from her observation of Guo.

Caught in the moment, Gwen bowed toward Klavdiya as well.

“Thank you, babulya. None of this would have been possible without you.”

The gathering bathed in the mutual exchange of gratitude and congratulations.

Klavdiya watched the two with benevolent eyes that were moist with gladness. How beautiful it is to see one’s progeny like this! What more could a grandmother want from the world?

“The food is getting cold,” Guo’s baritone voice cut through the air like a sledgehammer.

The celebratory air hung itself as the Patriarch stood.

“Start eating,” he commanded.

“Alright, alright, we can all celebrate later, let's not waste the wonderful food the servants have spent hours on." Klavdiya urged them all to sit.

She had known that Guo wouldn't be too thrilled with her intervention in Gwen's and Richard's affairs, but she had likewise not expected Dean Luo's reply to come so quickly. Had she moved the timetable too excessively? Klavdiya wondered. Guo likely had imagined that she would have submitted Gwen for the cohort of the new year, starting seven months from now, and as full-fee paying student no less. The surprise that came to her as such a joy likely came to Guo like a slap in the face.

Klavdiya felt worried, of course, but she also felt a sliver of pleasure. She knew her husband wasn’t one for hugs and kisses. In fact, her stoic and loyal spouse detested any and all forms of overtly emotional display.

“Alright everyone, enjoy the banquet!”

The family returned to their seats and proceeded to work through the dozen or so dishes with polite chit-chatter. Recipes of exotic games passed to and from the Lazy Susan, filling serving plates and diminishing until only soups and sauces remained.

With Guo presiding over the dinner though, the process was conducted with careful politeness, as though there were landmines buried under the table and the slight touch of nerve might set it off.

Finally, after an agonising hour, Guo stood from the head of the table.

The rest of the family rested their spoons and chopsticks.

“Gwen, Percy, I need to speak to you. Come see me in my Meeting Room.”

Without ceremony and with the usual stoicism of his usual self, Guo left the room.

Gwen met the eyes of her family and communicated an apologetic look with her eyes before she too left the table. Percy agitatedly threw his napkin onto the chair for the servants to collect, and followed Guo closely.

Klavdiya left her seat to escort Gwen.

“I suspect I know what he wants.” Klavdiya had by now lost all of the joy she’d acquired since delivering the good news. She had miscalculated. She hadn't thought through the extent of her husband's reaction. Underestimated still how much he cared for not only his heir - but also the legitimacy of his heir. Her hand gripped Gwen's arm. "Gwen, whatever happens, it's not your fault. It's mine. I pushed for this."

Gwen held her babulya's hand and looked across the courtyard, where the entrance of the Meeting Room stood like a gaping maw.

"It's alright," Gwen spoke with kindness. Her mind might be a jumble, but she could never blame Klavdiya. "The fault, dearest babulya, is not in ourselves, but in the stars."

Guo’s study was usually illuminated by two Everlasting-Lights that could be turned on and off with an incantatory gesture. Perhaps wishing to create a solemn mood, only one of the lights was now activated, drawing deep shadows across the room, casting a chiaroscuro sliver across the spartan redwood furniture, accentuating Guo’s impassive bearing.

Klavdiya had by now admonished all feelings of mirth from her face, jubilant only minutes ago, and took her seat by his side. When Guo made a conciliatory gesture by moving a hand toward her, she stared at him starkly and placed her hands across her lap. Sighing, Guo retreated his hand and focused on the two grandchildren in front of them.

Gwen and Percy lined themselves up before the two elderly sovereigns of the House of Song and awaited their decree.

A servant ventured carefully into the room and presented two jars of tea served in white-blue porcelain. Guo took a sip, cupping one hand over the saucer while the other worked the loose leaves with the lid.

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but a rapid series of blinks from her babulya settled her back down into silence. Now was perhaps, she realised, not the best time to flaunt her way with words.

“Allow me to congratulate you on your acceptance into Fudan,” her grandfather began. “Well done.”

“Thank you, grandfather,” Gwen replied stiffly. She wasn’t going to relax just because of a few kind words. There was no way Guo separated her from the family just so that he could congratulate her in private. Gwen eased her nerves with the knowledge that he couldn't interrogate her here, not like the way he did in that MSS prison, certainly not in front of her grandmother.

“Gwen. I want to ask you a question, and I want you to respond earnestly.”

“I shall, grandfather.”

“Gwen Song,” her grandfather’s voice dropped an octave lower. “What do you think of Percy inheriting the House of Song?”

“Guo!” Klavdiya felt her worst suspicions confirmed by the obtrusive question from her husband. She had felt it the moment she had handed the letter of acceptance to Gwen during the celebratory banquet.

As an old married couple for almost four decades now, Klavdiya knew that her husband was a brooder, a stoic man who kept his feelings buried and to himself. He never spoke when the need for action had not risen, and when he felt the need to act, he rarely spoke before acting. It was a trait that served him well as one of the hound masters of the CCP, more so as the Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee.

By that same virtue, Guo had always respected her actions, allowed her the freedom to act as she saw fit. Her husband was a laconic man who seldom professed his love but made her know in other ways that her absence diminished him. He had been a Frontierman, a first-son who chose to leave the sanctuary of his isolated village in Hebei. Her family had been dead set against her marriage to a Chinese man, much less a 'farmer', but Klavdiya was no less strong and determined than Guo. During that difficult time, he had been just a soldier-turned-PLA Administrator, while she was a White Russian heiress. Then the PLA won a sweeping victory across China, and they caught the crest of that rising power. Children were had, promotions were taken, homes were built.

Then their troubles began.

When Hai disappeared, Guo became wrecked with grief. When they then realised that the body they found was not their first-born son, but some doppelgänger he had used to escape, Guo became tyrannically upset. It was as though something had broke inside the uncomplicated man she once knew. Guo's tempers became tempestuous, his reputation in the House turned from respect, to fear, to aversion. But Klavdiya held his hand and ensured that he did not stray too far, and life went on.

Then came the news, some years and a failed marriage later, that Jun was sterile. As talented as the boy was, his rare affinity exacted a terrible cost from his body, one that could not be healed by spells, items, nor Demi-human rituals. They consulted the Magi of the PLA, Grand Marshall Sun, and the austere presence of the God-like man had informed them that a Greater Wish might suffice. It was a hopeful answer, Guo and Klavdiya conceded, but a wishful one. No Mage would dream of begging a Magi to make a crooked deal with the supernatural Djinn, not to mention they had to request a foreign Magi to intercede on their behalf.

Her tortured husband then became bitter and removed, distracted even in the years since, placing his entire being into his work. She had tried to reason with him, perhaps accepting the Wang’s son as an heir, but he lamented the fact that he could never return to his Hebei village and speak with the ancestors again. Under the direction of Song Guo, the lineage of Song Ying Xing, a family with four hundred years of history, had come to an end. Guo was the one who had left the village to join the PLA; he was the one who told his parents that the House would thrive. Now he must return to visit those ghostly halls and tell them that the family line would end with Jun, that after another half-century, a century at most, there would be no more Songs left in the world.

She felt his pain, but she could not share his burden.

But, fate was a funny thing.

The MSS came through with a report that Hai was in Singapore.

And Guo received the news that he had a grandson, extracted from Gwen.

A grandson who had inherited the family talent, the rarified affinity for Salt.

Guo’s happiness was beyond comprehension! It was as though all the expressions that had gone from his face returned at once. He didn't know whether to cry or laugh, resigning himself to the muttering utterance of, "Thank Mao… thank Mao… I can now face the ancestors.”

Klavdiya hadn't worried that Guo would demand Gwen's excommunication from the house, or that he would have attempted to stifle her education in Shanghai, because of their pact with the Morning Star. She was confident that her husband wasn't a man to renegade on such a deal.

But there was a problem. One in which Klavdiya counted herself accountable. A stickler that Klavdiya had impulsively denied Guo when he had attempted to rectify the matter.

The Song's had an inheritance. A Kirin Amulet.

Two pieces of a whole.

Yin and Yang.

Crafted from the core of a Celestial Kirin, one of the four Heavenly-Beast archetypes of the old Dynasties, worshipped as Gods before the PLA dispensed with all that nonsense. For Guo, the amulet was an inheritance from father to son, passed down the centuries until it reached his hands. When he had two sons, both with rare talents for dangerous magic, he had the two halves of the amulet made into separate pendants.

Jun had the Yang half.

Hai had the Yin half.

Gwen had inherited her amulet from Hai, given to her out of kindness, passed from father to daughter.

When Guo had desired that Gwen should give up the amulet and deliver it to her brother, Klavdiya had told Jun to intervene. If her mulish husband listened to anyone, it was his younger son, the pride and joy of the House of Song. As anticipated, Guo couldn't embarrass his son in front of the granddaughter, and so the matter remained in the air.

Why should Gwen be the one left in the cold? Why should the girl be marginalised under some irrelevant, ancient prejudice? Why should the boy, enjoying all the privileges of her husband’s boundless devotion, take even the last vestige of his father’s inheritance away from his sister? The girl had been tortured, abandoned, and left distressed and afraid. She had committed no crime and deserved no punishment. Had not Klavdiya herself abandoned her family to be with Guo? Why was he joyous and blithe then, and full of high-sentence now? The amulet was Gwen's keepsake from her Hai; it wasn't Guo's to give or take.

When she had read her granddaughter's report, her survival of the Sydney Mermen invasion, her possible connection to the deceased Henry Kilroy, and her rationale for risking life and limb in Singapore; Klavdiya’s heart melted.

Gwen was a good girl. She would become a fantastic Mage. She deserved better.

Enough was enough, Klavdiya had felt, and so ensured Gwen could keep the amulet. The boy would not need its blessings until he had children of his own, and that would be many years yet. By then, the family relations would have mellowed, the girl made to understand, and then the passing of the Amulet from sister to brother could be well worth the symbolic and pragmatic act.

In the days since; Gwen had proven herself again and again.

The show of force at the Bund, among the darling youth of Shanghai.

A sterling performance at Hengsha Island.

Her wondrous affinity with her peers, even the prideful Petra and the obnoxious Tao Wang, filled Klavdiya with high hopes for the future.

The further revelation of her intimate relationship to the Morning Star and the Scarlet Sorceress made her all the more precious. The loyalty and devotion of her friends in Australia spoke more of Gwen's character than any report.

So Klavdiya called in a few more favours.

And Gwen exceeded her expectation yet again.

There were jubilation and celebration.

But not so for her husband.

She should have known, but Guo and herself had seldom seen each other since the grandson's arrival. They may have their differences, but they were joined at the hip and tethered by the heart for over four decades.

The moment Guo opened his mouth, it all became clear.

Gwen's affirming flame was so bright that ‘his boy’ was barely perceptible; Percy was a shivering candle beside the furious discharge of Gwen's blinding lightning.

Her husband was afraid that his heir would be irrelevant.

Did Gwen desire to be his heir?

Guo didn't seem to care when she countered his proposal.

Klavdiya could only chalk it down to paranoia, a cleft of fear and insecurity left by Hai's absence, her son's irresponsibility. Father and son could have talked, there would have been some bloodletting, but the matter would have settled.

But her husband was not a man prone to being swayed.

Over the decades, her husband had proved himself ten times over. He was there during the Blight of 83', then he stayed on the Front with her during the Breach of 92'. He forsook promotions to remain with her in Shanghai, relinquishing the call of power in Beijing. Perhaps, Klavdiya mused, it was because he was born under the zodiac of the Horse. His elemental year was metal as well, a metal horse - as stubborn as they come, rusted in his ways.

She had loved him for it, but this time, she loathed him for it.

For Guo, it was better to have a mediocre house lead by a Song, then a House as bright as the rising sun, lead by a woman whose surname could change at any given moment.

Klavdiya sighed.

As a medical practitioner, she knew well the way of karma. All men die. All Houses fade. All empires fall.

She did not wish to fight her husband. They were too old for that. She could not neuter his raison-d’être, not after Hai's escapade and Jun's dissolved marriage. She couldn't enforce that cruelty upon her misguided man anew; she felt far too much compassion for Guo to do that.

She could only hope that one day, Gwen would remember them as her family, one that chose poorly - and not her adversaries.

* * *

After the first glance, Guo felt it best not to meet his wife's eyes until the matter had reached its conclusion.

It had all happened far too fast for Guo to comprehend.

Barely three weeks ago, his men brought in a bedraggled girl half drunk with the dizzying aftermath of long-range teleportation, knees weak, vomit on her dress already, and laid her into the confines of a glass prison.

Under the hard light of a Cognisance Chamber, the girl professed to be his granddaughter, the progeny of Hai, his wayward son who had fled Shanghai almost twenty years ago, before revealing herself to be the single most talented Mage Guo had ever seen. Her wife then caught wind of the girl's existence, and he conceded her entry into his home.

Not more than forty-eight hours later, the girl returned from some Mao-forsaken nightclub, having trounced the Lins and shamed the Fung family, soiling herself with currency! Crystals by the fistful! Behaving as though she were some village waif who had never seen money, flaunting her skills in an underground fighting ring for all to see.

Then before Guo could give her a sound thrashing to remind her of dignity and place, of the discipline her father had utterly neglected; he received a Vid-Cast routed from central, explicitly demanding his attention. After apologising to his superior, he was put face to face with a militant, well-built gweilo accompanied by a livid gweilo woman wearing far too much red.

Klavdiya had to take his hand and calm his infernal temper. That damned scarlet woman's first words were to threaten him! Him! A Committee Secretary!

"Imprison Gwen again, and I'll burn your fucking House down to the ground!"

Guo had thought he was hallucinating. Even now the memory of the woman's voice grated his ears, made his blood boil. But for his wife, he would have thrown Gwen Song back into the Sky Prison.

As it turned out, he couldn't even if he wanted to. Gwen was no longer a nobody body-snatched from Singapore. The call had validated all her claims and then some. She was a direct Disciple of a Magister, one of the Ten, the Lord Mage of Oceania, first among equals. An equivalent under the CCP would have been a Marshall of the Army or one of the twenty-four Secretariats of the State serving under the Supreme Leader of the Party. Sydney might be a Frontier town, but Henry Kilroy was a founder! A Magister among Magisters!

Guo could only find peace of mind in knowing that the man was dead.

If the Magister had lived and he had taken Gwen the way he did, it would have caused an international incident. The pot would boil over, and heads would have rolled.

Thankfully, Gunther Shultz removed the offending woman in red, followed by an apology on her behalf.

Guo then sat down with the Morning Star to discuss his wayward granddaughter.

"I do not wish to make things difficult for either of us, Secretary Song," the man had said. The implication was obvious. The gweilo Magus had indicated he 'chose' to smooth things over, meaning he could 'choose' not to.

But against the Morning Star, Guo kept his cool. He knew better than to lose his head over a blatant attempt to goad his ire. Like him, Shultz was a man who trafficked in power and kept company with conspiracy.

So they talked, speaking in riddles, vocalising charades and bargaining with enigmatic implications. Guo found that against all the odds, he liked the man. They were the same, despite their different Masters. They were military men put into enviable positions by deed and not by connections; they were both men of competence, and by that extension, they could find a compromise.

They soon reached an agreement.

Gunther would convince the mother to release Percy Song into his care.

In return, Guo promised to see Gwen through university, one of the top two that could access the International University Competition, and supply her with shelter, aid and care so long as she remained in Shanghai. Finally, at her education's end, she would be free to venture out of the city, unmolested by the CCP.

Guo couldn't guarantee that final detail, of course, but agreed to perform what was within his power. If Gwen were to excel to excess, to draw the eye of the CCP by her own accord, that would be out of Guo's control.

The deal was sealed, his heir delivered; he had thought that was the end of it.

Gwen Song would leave after three, at most five years, and all would be well within his world.

But there remained a fishbone in his throat. The girl still had his Amulet. More accurately, Gwen had Hai's half of the Kirin Amulet. Guo had wanted it returned earlier, their position made more transparent, both pragmatically and symbolically.

But of course, the girl's capacity for trouble again exceeded all his expectations.

Her party returned from the Clan gathering in Hensha as victors! Somehow, together with the water Mage from the mother's baseless bastard clan, two nincompoops from the Wangs, and Klavdiya's niece, they had secured the champion pole position, exceeded the last record by almost two hundred CCs!

Guo, of course, knew why she had won. The girl was using the Kirin amulet to sooth the life energies of the dying creatures as they expired.

Stupid girl! She had no idea what she was doing! The amulet was worth far more than some fetish that ensured the survival of Creature Cores. The foolish child was using an heirloom device, an artifice from the dynastic eras for something as stupid as currency and material gathering.

The girl would never learn to use the amulet's full capacity. He would not teach it to her, and Jun would not dare.

Return it was thus, the rational thing to do. But his wife was watching, thus Guo bided his time.

Then enquiries about his granddaughter flooded his channels at work.

Gwen Song had suddenly become the name on the Clans' lips!

"Guo! You've been hiding a gem from us!" His colleague from the Politburo joked with him. "You should let her out into society, old man. Ha! We're long past hiding our granddaughters; this isn't the old society, you know."

Even his superior, the Secretary of the Internal Affairs Committee, had mentioned her.

"What is this I hear about a Void Mage in your family?" From the Message came the voice of a woman Guo respected and admired as a colleague and a patriot, and it grated his ears to hear her speak of his estranged granddaughter. "Mind bringing her in for a tour? We can maybe help her out."

He declined their offers.

He had made a deal with Gunther Shultz. There was no going back on that now; the gain was too uncertain, the cost too prohibitive. There were too many unknowns for Guo to turn on the girl, not that he would have done such a thing. There was her mother, there were her sister and brother-in-craft, there was Percy, but most of all there was his wife. She had taken a liking to the girl, a far greater fondness than he found comfortable; with a word she had usurped from him the duty of protecting and overseeing the girl until her graduation.

"I'll ask around at the University," she told him. "See if they're willing to take her on."

Then there was the banquet, and here they are.

The girl had been in Shanghai three weeks, Guo reminded himself.

It took her THREE weeks. It was dizzying to think what the girl had achieved, with or without his wife's unwavering support.

She fought into the inner circle of the progenies of politics and prosperity. She impressed the scions of the Clans. She made herself known in the Pudong Tower. She acquired the lauded full-scholarship prize awarded to only six students per annum in Fudan.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

They loved her.

His family loved her.

Jun adored her for reasons he could not begin to understand.

His wife pulled in favours she had held for decades to help the girl.

The Wangs, the damned Wangs who could never see eye to eye with him, whom Guo had counted on to become a staunch ally to Percy, fawned over the girl as though she was one of their own.

Even his wife's niece, whose talents impressed even him, treated her as though a sister.

Klavidya stated that even Jiang Luo, Guo's old rival, had sworn mountains high and rivers swift, to take care of the damned girl.

THREE WEEKS.

That was what frightened Guo.

He couldn't understand it.

Her achievements were inconceivable.

An improbable emotion grew from a tingling in his spine into a shuddering quake that rendered his confidence.

Could he be - wrong?

Was it a mistake to make Percy the heir?

No! Guo told himself.

How could his wife be right? The girl was a menace; she felt nothing for the House of Song. She was too steeped in the ways of the West. She could never understand it, risk her life or be willing to die for the greater good of others so that the House persisted.

Watching the girl standing starkly in the ambient light, Guo felt his resolve rally. He was right. He had to be. It was time to retrieve what was Percy's. It was time to return to his heir, his birthright. It was time to draw the line.

* * *

"Guo!"

Guo hardened his resolve and pushed forward with his plan.

“As I was saying… what do you think, Gwen?” Guo persisted. "About our designs for Percy?"

Besides her grandfather, his wife was mum.

The ominous tension caused Gwen to stiffen further, so much that she could feel cramps developing throughout her diaphragm and abdomen.

Gwen looked towards her brother, who dared not meet her eyes.

“I am overjoyed that he could inherit your austere position, in time,” Gwen stated loudly, feeling the taste of formality on her tongue foreign and disquieting. Had they grown that far apart already? She couldn't help but wonder. Or more accurately, was it accurate to say that she had never gotten closer to Guo at all? They remained just strangers, or perhaps, less than strangers, despite the dinners, the breakfasts, the greetings and the occasional critique.

“So you give your support." Guo reclined in his chair, touching a finger to his temple. "I wonder then... "

The patriarch's next words caught her off guard like a jagged Salt Strike.

“What would you say, if I wanted you to become the Matriarch of the House of Song? Would you like to become the inheriting member? Replace your brother?”

Percy stiffened as though his grandfather had struck him with one of Gwen’s Lighting Bolts. Gwen, likewise, felt her movements petrify.

It was a test. That much was self-evident, but the offer still made Gwen dizzy with unbidden projections of the future. Did she want to inherit, to become master and lord of the House of Song? Gwen intellectually acknowledged that she had no desire, no want, nor need to take the role from Percy, but it didn’t mean that her blood wasn’t boiling and her face had not taken on a glowering, presumptuous pink shade. Her body, her subconscious Id, was hailing the prospect with all its submerged heart.

Guo's question hung in the air until Gwen could force her lips to move.

“You jest, Grandfather,” she replied carefully. “At any rate, I have no desire to inherit. It is not my place nor my inclination.”

“A fine declaration,” Guo stated stoically, allowing the syllables to ring emptily across the vaulted ceiling of the Meeting Room.

Percy looked as though he was already rocking back and forth from the rollercoaster of emotions and expectations. When he looked up again at his sister, his eyes had taken on a cast of doubtful wariness. Gwen could see the germination of a seed planted the day she ceased to be a toy in blood and became a Mage in her own right. There was Opa’s decision to give her what was left of his inheritance, leaving her the estate. There was the fact that while he struggled to be recognised by Prince’s, Gwen had already become intimate with the mightiest echelons of the Tower’s highest powers. There was the unforeseen kidnapping, all because Gwen had blurted out Percy’s name to Guo, and now there was this.

Was she a terrible sister?

Gwen wasn't a good sister.

In her past life, her brother had earnt the highest accolades, studied at the best school, attended the best university, gotten the job he always wanted and after all that; kept a cordial relationship with the family. She envied him. Even when Gwen finally carved out her corner of the world, she felt harassed by small, nibbling resentments that never entirely left her alone. For all her care of him in his youth, they were just acquaintances in the end. Something she regretted deeply.

She was vaguely aware, somewhere in her profound introspection, that her Grandfather was making his case known.

“The House of Song… originated from the late Yuan Dynasty, when the people of Hebei rose up to contest the Mongol rule… there had been many branching sects since, but our house remained as guardians of the home front…”

Some things paralleled even across parallel worlds.

The cost of individual agency, the burden of wanting things your way, the equal and opposite reaction that comes from resisting external compulsions.

What was the cost of that liberty? How does one measure the boon and bane of dispossessing those whose bond of blood with her was as thick as molasses? They said that one couldn't choose kin, that this was what made the covenant of the womb more sacred than any other union, but what water did that hold with Gwen? She wasn't even from this world!

In this one, in this world where rhino-sharks swam through the earth and schoolgirls conjured Lovecraftian monsters; should she elect to make the same mistake?

What mistake? Gwen's snide conscience riposted.

If this world was indeed a place where might makes right, her Path of Asura paved with rough reckoning, what help could she be to Percy if she relented on something he would not keep with his natural talent? Should not the boy fight her for the privilege, rise from the ashes? If she should forfeit him the opportunity, as though handing out a piece of reluctant charity, how would that secure his position?

In front of Gwen, Guo continued unabated.

“When the Manchurians finally broke the Ming’s back, the House chose to go underground, fighting the oppressors in another form… the village was rebuilt not once, but fourteen times! It was the darkest period of the Song’s history… Song Kai volunteered for the dangerous mission…”

The offer to keep pace and peace with her grandfather was tempting, but she wasn't going to let him ride roughshod over her. The man will have his ways; she had to give her grandmother that much, but then she would be untethered.

She had just become accustomed to Shanghai and yet, here was the hard reality of it. Here was not her home. They did not share the same values. Her world was across the ocean, beyond the reefs. Her world was slowly rebuilding. It was weak and underdeveloped, and it tittered on the edge of destruction - but it was home. There were Gunther and Alesia, Yue and one day again, Elvia. There were Opa and the rest of the people who’d called her 'hon' 'darl' and 'mate', meaning every word.

And Shanghai?

After the tea and the ices, the bouts and the Dungeons, the banquets and the dumplings; she was still the stranger in a strange land.

In front of her, Guo's story was reaching a climax.

“… the village behind! It was a decision that shocked them all, those who had survived the Japanese internment had their spirits broken…"

"I met your grandmother during those dark days, but night soon turned to day. The Communist party finally united China in 1949, sweeping aside the Magical Creatures, the Demi-humans, and most importantly, the foreign devils who thought themselves…”

Gwen blinked, resuming awareness of her surroundings.

“… which is why I hope, you could come to understand why Percy is such an important part of the Song’s legacy.”

Gwen recollected Guo's story.

Ming dynasty?

Manchurians?

The Japanese?

An old village rotting away in Hebei.

She could intellectually understand her Grandfather’s position, but how was she supposed to find inspiration or rapport? Did he expect her to swell with filial piety? Burst from a bout of patriotism? Cry out with fear at the antics of the Japanese? Weep when finally Maozhidong's army pushed into Shanghai and razed the Japanese occupation to the ground?

The man had good cause - so much purpose that it flooded the levies.

His unassailable cause was of such pith and moment that they might as well be the warmth of the sun shining upon a blighted land starved for light. They trumped her wants, dispelled her desires, negated her needs.

Legacy indeed! Gwen bit her lower lip. She must endure, for Klavdiya's sake. She promised.

“Gwen?” her babulya beckoned.

Gwen met her grandmother’s soft eyes apologetically. She loved her to bits. Whatever happens now, she would never blame the woman who’d shown her such kindness and unreserved support.

“Sorry, I am listening. Please go on.” Gwen bowed her head. “What would you like me to do, Grandfather?”

Guo felt the air of disappointment radiate from his wife, feeling his heart dragged through a field of splintered bones. He had to end this quick. A long-agony is no counterpart to swift suffering. It was time for this charade to end.

“I shall be plain then.” Guo changed his tone. “I request the return of the Kirin Amulet. I also wish for you to renounce your candidacy as heir to the House of Hebei Song, the descendants of Song Ying Xing.”

Gwen allowed the words to filter through her mind.

She nodded quietly.

She undid her ribbon tie and retrieved the amulet, still flushed with her body warmth, from the space just above her breasts. The half-amulet glinted in the low light of the lumen globes, its jade glowing faintly with an inner light, as though its marbled patterns were vessels of blood.

Guo continued to speak.

“There are uses for the amulet which are only known to the inheriting member of the family. Hai had never learned it; he was too young when he left. Jun has learnt it, but he will no longer be the inheritor. Percy, on the other hand, could very well become a beneficiary of the amulet’s boon. I am going to be very plain, grandchild. You will not learn its secrets. You will not access its greatest gift.”

"Guo!" Klavdiya stopped her husband. "Get on with it."

“What now?” Gwen felt a strange calm; she felt like she was watching herself from the third person.

“Give the Kirin Amulet to Percy, then say you renounce your entitlement.”

The Kirin Amulet. The reason why they won the competition. The ease by which she could maim Magical Creatures up close to harvest their cores. The trinket was the source of her future income, her unnatural confidence, her surety for success, her horn of plenty.

“Alright.”

There was no need for hysterics, no call for drama. What good would that do her now? It wasn't as though she hadn't seen the day coming. She was letting go of something, but then Guo was letting go of something too.

"I, Gwen Song, daughter of Hai Song and Helena Huang, renounce my entitlement to inherit the House of Song."

Then Gwen added on a little bitterly, a piece of her mind.

"I will forthwith remove myself from this House. I will not return to the house unbidden. I shall not participate in its activities. I will not intercede in Percy's career or his position as heir in any way, shape or form."

Gwen hooked her fingers under the red string tied to the amulet. The pendant had not left her body since the day her father gave it to her. It had warded off Faceless at the eleventh hour, saving her life. It had received Almudj's blessing, though she was thankful that Almudj's mana was spirit-bonded to her, and not stuck in some trinket.

She felt her breath quicken as she lifted it from her neck. There was an emptiness there, in the space between her breasts. It felt as though she had removed a piece of her flesh.

“Percy, come here,” she said to her brother.

“Sis, I…” Percy looked as though he wanted to refuse, but Gwen knew her brother better than that. He was an ambitious pup. Percy had always thought himself destined for greatness. It was delusional even to imagine her brother possessing the gall to say no. His grandfather had just confronted his sister and acted against the best efforts of their grandmother. To deny Gwen’s surrender would be to jeopardise everything: the sunk cost of Klavdiya's wrath, Guo's machination, her choice, his predestined purpose.

Percy moved his hand mechanically toward her, as though the offending appendage did not belong to him but someone else. Gwen allowed the red strings to loosen before hanging it over her brother's neck.

Her brother felt the heat of his sister’s body still lingering on the jade as he enclosed a hand around the jewel.

“Thank you,” he muttered softly, wetting his parched lips.

Gwen forced her hand to move away from her chest and rest beside her thighs. She allowed her breath to return to is usual cadence. Staring straight ahead, Gwen gawked, still stunned, at Guo’s feet, at an old pair of cotton-flats, the kind that farmers wore in the early days. She felt Percy parting from her, his careful and apprehensive body language an apt metaphor for their precarious bond as brother and sister.

“I am glad you and I could see eye to eye.” Her grandfather observed the proceeding. “If you wish to move away, I am more than happy to provide-”

“Guo, I’ll take it from here.” It was her babulya who intervened, cutting off her husband mid-sentence. She left the seat and walked towards Gwen to take her hand. “Come with me, dear. We’ll talk.”

“Alright, Babulya.” Gwen lifted her head to glimpse Guo one last time.

Her grandfather’s face remained impassive, its stoic rigidity unchanging from the moment they entered. She could see both the desire for distance and immense relief in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Grandfather,” Gwen coaxed her voice to retain its usual timbre. She then turned to her brother. “I hope you take care of that thing, Percy.”

Percy said something as well, but Gwen was already being escorted from the room by her grandmother. The two of them passed the central garden, where Jun and her father, Morye, was waiting for them.

"We heard a few words from here..." Morye began. "Well, it doesn't take a Diviner to guess what-"

“Jun, Hai, the training room.” Their babulya silenced him before motioning for Gwen's now-defunct bedroom.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Alright, Mama.”

Before Gwen could consolidate her wits, she was back in the training hall, adjacent to her room.

Richard was there already. He looked to be packing.

“So.” He looked up expectantly. “When do we move out?”

“Richard…” Gwen wasn’t sure how to be the bearer of bad news. Now that she was out of that room, her mind felt like a swollen mess. It was though someone had left weet-bix in the milk of her mind for too long and now it was a sodden log of emotions, insults and indignations all threatening to spill.

“Richard!” Morye broke the awkward silence. “Good to see you. How are your parents?”

“In a Refugee Camp, Sir,” Richard replied. “They lost everything during the attack. You were there.”

“…” Morye retracted his hand. “Right, of course.”

“They’re doing better now, waiting on some CCs for their immigration grants.”

“Ah? That’s good to hear,” Morye replied awkwardly. He just wanted to dispel the awkwardness, not to start a philosophical debate. Morye then turned to Gwen.

“Look, don't worry about the old man, alright? Fuck him. Why do you think I left? You got me still, right?”

“…” Gwen looked at her father’s boisterous face. Was the man trying to cheer her up? Rely on him? Gwen was too exhausted to fight him. She understood the sentiment, and so she nodded.

“Hai! Don’t speak about your father like that!” Klavdiya chided him.

“Sorry, Ma.” Morye sighed. He turned to face Gwen. “Anyway, I am sorry about Percy. I didn’t teach that boy well. Takes after your mother, I'd say. Obsessed with the rat race. I was a negligent dad.”

He then opened his arm towards Gwen expansively.

“So er... You wanna have a wail?”

“I am not a child, Dad,” Gwen retorted churlishly. Somehow, her father’s come-what-may attitude made her feel better about the whole ordeal. “I’ll be fine. I am just a little… upset.”

“Don’t be shy! Come on!” Morye urged. “Right in here! Both arms!”

With her babulya watching expectantly, Gwen resigned herself to the unexpected filial indulgence.

She allowed her father’s arms to envelop her as she walked into his embrace, feeling his hands stretch across her shoulder and waist. Her father’s face came closer to her face, his stubble stabbing into her cheek. She felt the heat of his body beneath his casual shirt and smelt a little hint of cologne and B.O. It reminded her of Forrestville, of living with her father both in this world and her old one. The daily struggle to get her out of bed. The alternating breakfast duty. The mixing of their laundry which drove her up the wall. The time her father gave her a birthday gift, and it was a six-pack of Bonds underwear. She had found out a week later while wearing a pair that it was originally intended for one of his girlfriends.

“Thanks, Dad.” Gwen pulled herself away, feeling a little dubious about her judgment of her father. She didn’t feel any different about the ordeal she had just undergone, but her smouldering resentment became blunted, as so to speak.

“Red Stars, I wish I had a daughter,” Jun said beside them, his eyes green with envy. “That was beautiful.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Morye punched his brother in the arm. “That was a highlight for sure. Most of the time its just Gwen screaming at me at the top of her lungs.”

“So, what’s the deal?” Richard had brought nothing with him when he came. All he had was a few day’s changes of clothes and some assorted toiletries Gwen had bought him. He stashed the backpack against the wall and faced the family expectantly. "Gwen, I'll go where ever you go."

“Gwen, how are you feeling?” her babulya asked worriedly.

“I am fine.” Gwen allowed her grandmother to touch her cheek; her voice then became firmer. “I am good. I can deal with it. I AM dealing with it.”

“Please don’t feel too strongly towards your grandfather. He’s a stubborn old man, but he's acting out of fear and stubbornness and not malice.”

“I know that.” Gwen squeezed her grandmother’s hands. “I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel any resentment, but I understand how and why it happened. I don’t fault Grandfather for being who he is.”

Her babulya sighed deeply.

“I hope you mean that, Gwen.” She patted her shoulder. “It would make me very happy if you do.”

“I do mean it.” Gwen was beyond glad that she had the wisdom of age to face the crisis; had she been her sixteen-year-old self, a nineties adolescent, she would have bawled out her eyes; throw a tantrum of denial, paint her bedroom black; accusing the world of being cruel and uncaring. Now at least, she could face facts with the maturity of one tempered by reality, she would bend and flex, but she would not break.

“Sorry for intruding.”

There was a knock on the training hall’s door.

It was Petra, Mina and Tao.

"Sorry for intruding," Petra spoke first. "I had a Clairvoyance-cube on me so..."

“Shit, Gwen! So it's really going down? Are you getting kicked out? That's fucked up dawg! G-Hommie is NOT cool man! NOT COOL!”

Petra pushed past her indignant cousin and gave Gwen a big hug.

“Don’t worry, cousin,” Petra intoned seriously. “Your scholarship, your position at the school, your future. These are all your own. Nothing can take them away from you. Just look at me! Away from my parents since fifteen, I survived just fine! You and I, we can be of great help to each other!”

“Thanks, Pats.” Gwen felt her depression dispel further. Petra’s hair smelled like her lab, but right now, it may as well be blessed incense.

“Gwen!”

Lea burst from Richard and joined the huddle, careful not to wet the two girls.

“Oh, Mao…” Mina rolled her eyes but relented in the end, joining the triplet array to form a foursome of bodies rocking back and forth. "You wanna stay with me for a while? I got a spare room close to Fudan, and a couch for Richard, that or you can stay with us at the estate."

Tao wanted to join in, but Richard took him by the arm.

“Give them some space,” he said to his distant cousin. “This is something that girls can do that we can’t because we are stoic men who check our emotions at the door. Also, if you joined right now, I think Mina and Petra will kick your ass.”

“Right, thanks, dawg.” Tao felt his heart warmed by the huddle, toasty and comfortable. "That's beautiful, man."

Klavdiya watched the three girls and one spirit with an expression that was bittersweet.

“Regretting your decision not to fight Dad?” Jun asked beside her.

“You know me best,” Klavdiya comforted herself by taking her son’s arm inside her elbows. “Do you think young Percy can ever attain this? Gwen's with us for what, two, three weeks? The girl has a talent that’s far beyond magic. The House of Song would have flourished under her.”

“She's not one to forget her brother,” Jun pointed out kindly. He hugged his mother close and felt her disappointment like a blade stabbing into his torso. He lowered his voice. “Mother, perhaps I could…”

“No, you mustn’t.” Klavdiya shook her head and squeezed Jun’s hand. “You need it; it’s too dangerous otherwise. Wait until she's older- assuming she wants children of her own.”

“I’ll have it ready for her.” Jun touched his mother’s hair thoughtfully. Perhaps if he hadn't used the amulet so soon, they wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Morye watched his brother’s confidence with their mother and felt trapped within a tortured world of his own making. The guilt in his chest felt as though all the collected tar from his two decades of tobacco addiction was coming out all at once.

“Oh, I can’t breath!” Gwen begged the girls to relent. Giggling, the other three parted, with Lea returning to Richard’s body.

“Feeling better?” Petra smiled that dazzling smile of hers.

“Never better.” Gwen couldn’t help but be infected by the jovial air that had replaced the solemnity only a moment ago.

“Don’t be a stranger!” Mina quipped with her usual confidence.

A stranger, Gwen mused. Only a moment ago she had fancied herself a stranger. Yet here she was, proven wrong no less than half an hour later. It was a strange land alright, but she wasn’t a stranger here, there was abundant evidence of that now.

Gwen stepped back and surveyed the friends and family that she had gained by coming here to Shanghai.

Babulya, Petra, Mina, Tao, Uncle Jun, her father and finally Richard.

As they say, the home was where the heart was. If the Songs would not have her, then she would build a place of her own; a home, a House, a demesne, a Tower!

“Thank you all!” she bowed deeply toward them, feeling an unfathomable satisfaction filling her heart. “Thank you for supporting me!”

Even with a medium Storage Ring, Gwen couldn't fit everything.

Babulya had told them that they needn’t pack so hastily, but Gwen felt no desire to meet Percy and Guo in the morning and put on a charade of congeniality. She had proposed to find a hotel or a motel for a short-term stay while they shopped for lodging, but Mina’s passionate proposition persuaded her to take up a vacant apartment owned by the Wangs.

“I am serious. It's empty right now. Just finished renovating, feel free to use it.”

“It’s too much,” Gwen replied out of politeness. It wasn't as though they would be homeless. She had enough HDMs to last herself and Richard for half a year, assuming no unforeseen expenses. It was the choice of others to give charity, but Gwen knew better than to overextend generosity.

“We’ll take you up on it,” Richard answered in her stead, as straightforward as ever. “Charge us the going rate. We’re not broke, at least not yet. It'll make Gwen's pride easier to swallow.”

Mina chortled as her cousin's complexion took on a pink glow. Richard had a habit of drawing blood with every word.

Babulya tried again to convince Gwen and Richard to stay, but Gwen politely refused, hugging her grandmother tightly and kissing her on the forehead.

"It's alright, Babulya. I am feeling fine. Moving out is something that has to be done. It changes nothing between us."

In the end, the Wang siblings called ahead for housekeeping to clean the place while Gwen and Richard packed with the help of Mina and Tao’s Storage Rings.

Klavdiya embraced Gwen again at the threshold of the Song estate when all was said and done.

“Gwen, promise me you’ll come back,” she pleaded with her. “Your Grandfather is a stubborn old horse, but he’ll come around one day.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gwen replied enigmatically. “But Babulya, we still have our shopping date, and I’ll come and see you at work. We'll be spending time together again. Please allow me a week or so to settle into the new place.”

“Alright dear, I am sorry for what happened,” her babulya replied with a tone of weary melancholy.

“Take care of yourself, Gwen.” Jun shook her hand, then shook Richard’s. “Take care of her, Richard.”

“I will,” Richard answered affirmatively.

“Another one before we go?” Morye seemed intoxicated with the father-daughterly rapport he'd built with Gwen in the last few minutes. Was it because Gwen was following in his proud footsteps of giving Guo the finger? He felt far closer to the girl than he had in years.

“I suppose another one couldn't hurt.” Gwen indulged herself again and hugged her father, touching his cheeks affectionately with a light peck.

“I’ll be around, just call if you need help.” Her father's voice had a hint of guilt to it, a rare case of sentimentality for Morye.

Jun looked on with such envy that Gwen couldn’t help but indulge her uncle as well, though his beard stabbed her lips painfully and irritated her cheeks terribly.

“Kids, be well.” Morye waved at them as they loaded into the Wang’s enormous SUV. Nen and her husband had left already after the frosty dinner, so it was just the children and the chauffeur travelling to the vacant apartment.

“Til we meet again!” The group of young Mages waved at the adults.

Klavdiya, Jun and Morye watched as the dark vehicle pulled away from the compound.

Klavdiya sighed dejectedly.

“They’ll be fine, Mama.” Morye patted his pockets for a cigarette, then sighed with as much disappointment as his mother. He’d forgotten that they had made him quit smoking; whenever he recalled that fact, it felt as though worms slithered under his skin.

“I concur.” Jun patted his brother’s shoulders. “You got one heck of a daughter, Brother.”

“Well, I did raise her myself,” Morye boasted proudly.

Klavdiya turned to Morye with her amber eyes glowing with criticism.

“…” Morye swallowed his next boast.

“So, no send-off from Percy, huh?” Jun remarked.

“That boy takes after his mother,” Morye declared miserably.

Klavdiya's eyes bore into Morye like two amber crystals digging into his skin.

“…” Morye breathed out with a long, drawn-out breath. “But I suppose I am responsible as well. I was negligent in teaching him. Sorry, Ma.”

The three of them stood listening to the sound of frog-song lifting from the rock garden just outside the compound.

“I am tired,” their mother spoke into the night, then shook her head softly. “Good night, boys.”

“Goodnight.” Morye bowed slightly.

“Goodnight, Ma'am. I’ll be going back to the barracks.” Jun inclined his head as well.

The trio took one last look at the vehicle just disappearing beyond the main boulevard, then went their separate ways into the uncertain shadows of the Song compound.

* * *

“You sure you’re alright?” Mina held Gwen’s cold hands as the car cruised down the Second Orbital Ring Road. “Your fingers are like icicles.”

“I am holding up,” Gwen replied, one of her hands unconsciously moving toward her chest. “All the adrenaline is draining out of me, that’s all.”

“The Kirin Amulet…” Richard observed Gwen repeatedly feeling the space between her breasts. “You never did clarify what it did.”

“It's a little hard to explain, but you've all seen it in action, so I'll try my best.” Gwen anecdotally informed her companions of what she had discerned, listing each instance in which the amulet acted on her behalf. “Then during the Mermen Crisis in Sydney, it drew power from a Mythic serpent’s egg, then fended off a Faceless shapeshifter by releasing the serpent’s essence.”

“You’re gonna have to tell us about that sometime,” Mina remarked. "Mermen? Shapeshifters? Mythic beasts? Your life sounds like someone wrote a Vid-cast episode. Are you really the same age as we are?"

“Who knows, what if I told you I was a wise old Changeling?”

"Ha!" Mina chortled. "As if!"

Gwen smirked weakly at Mina. Telling the story of her time in Sydney sent her memories wandering back to another time. To think that she once had a Geas planted in her by Henry that prevented her speaking to anyone about Almudj. The remembrance triggered a prickling heartache to trouble her chest. She became aware of a masochistic desire to feel the old Geas restraining her Astral Soul. Such an agony would act as proof that her Master was alive, that if she recounted of Almudj, her rare and kind mentor would at once know of her disloyalty. It was like what Joni Mitchell had sung about, 'That you don't know what you've got. Till it's gone.' Who'd have thought tireless days of agonising training would become the sweetest memories she possessed of the magnificent old man?

But her Master was gone now, murdered barely a month ago.

A month? Gwen realised with shocked horror. Had it only been a month? It felt more like a lifetime. The loss of the Amulet was upsetting, but how could it compare to the loss of her Master? She would instead take this offer of life's lemons in stride, and see it as a cost of liberation.

"Whatever its loss will cost you, I’ll ask Master give you a check up when we start looking into your Void abilities,” Petra intoned besides Gwen. “From the time we were together in Hengsha, I'd say it did a hell lot more than absorb essences from dead monsters. I hope you don't mind me saying so, Gwen, but I think you're going to regret letting that thing go."

"It's just a thing, in the end." Gwen defended her decision. "I am here, that's all that matters."

"I support her decision," Richard intoned besides the girls. "It was a ball and chain as much as it was useful. On the Frontier, we don't get to see many Magic Items, so we've learned not to rely on them overmuch. Most of us go into battle with a bandoleer of potions, that's it."

“Now that's God's Truth,” Gwen castigated her rural origins depreciatively. “We don’t get no Magic Items out there in the Outback. Just Roos and Emus, and Aurochs. So many Aurochs. Which we wrangle with our bare hands.”

“You joke now,” Petra sighed and wrapped an arm around Gwen's shoulders. “No matter. Keep up the tough cowgirl facade. My only concern is that you continued to hit the coursework. Whatever the heck the amulet did for you, you can do better for yourself. I said I’d make a Mage out of you and I mean it!”

"Thanks, Pats," Gwen cooed. "You're worth ten Kirin amulets."

Gwen then rested her head on Petra’s shoulder. It was tiresome playing the mature one all the time. She was happy that she got to experience being the younger sibling as well. That's what second-lives were all about, wasn't it?

Petra nodded before turning away, her face made rosy by Gwen’s earnest affection.

'Snore...'

Tao napped on the rear-most seat of the seven-seater SUV. Here was a man who could ruin the mood of anything.

Some thirty minutes later and closer to midnight, they arrived at a set of newly build serviced apartments some fifteen minutes walk from the Bund.

Gwen sucked in the chilling night air as they exited the SUV. A vacant apartment?! Gwen grimaced. Mina's gesture of charity turned out to be a two-bedder suite at the Shanghai-Bund Waldorf.

The apartment itself was a small investment property consisting of two generous bedrooms, furnished with two queen-sized beds and decked out with decadent luxuries. Its shared living room possessed floor to ceiling glass overlooking the Bund and the Huangpu river.

The NoM personnel stationed below had dusted the premise, filled the toiletries and changed the sheets before the young Mages arrived. If Gwen desired, there was also a 24-hour kitchen, anytime room service, a masseuse, and laundry services.

“We’ll start looking for a place tomorrow,” Gwen informed them immediately, feeling her crystals becoming lighter with the passing of each moment.

“My recommendation is to stay on campus,” Petra advised sagely, her eyes scanning the ultra-luxury critically. “Assuming there are vacancies, LCSS students should have no issues getting approval. Of course, the admin's slow as molasses, and you might have to be enrolled first, but I am sure they’ll make an exception for scholarship recipients.”

“Thanks, Pats, I’ll swing by first thing in the morning.”

“You’re always welcome to stay here,” Mina reminded Gwen of her generosity. "It's a little far, I know, but it's cheap and clean."

“Nonetheless, I’ll need to see Pats almost daily, and I’d like to try out the campus life.” Gwen met her cousin's imploring eyes with tenderness. She felt a little dirty for euphemistically omitting the fact that there was no way she and Richard could afford a place like this long-term. “Thanks, Mina, I appreciate your offer, and I won't forget your kindness.”

“Don’t mention it.” Mina searched her cousin's face and found her answer in the way Gwen sat on the edge of the couch, looking as though lying back into the plush pillow might incur an extra cost.

“Yeah, it’s our Dad’s anyway, he said to- Ow!” Tao hissed at his sister.

“Peaches, shut up.” Mina viciously pinched her brother in the ribs, her face reddening immensely.

Gwen maintained her sweet mien and said nothing. One should not look a gift horse in the mouth, even if she had no intention of taking it for a ride. Not to mention this was the prancing pony kind that she could not possibly bestride.

Gwen's items were sorted and stowed here and there as the five made small talk about the surrounding area and  its conveniences.

The conversation softly dwindled, and then died.

“Yo! You guys wanna have some Xiao-ye?” Tao spoke up suddenly. “There’s five of us, and we’re five minutes away from Huahai Road, perfect for some Hotpot!”

“Hotpot?” Gwen's ears perked up. She had heard of the famous steam-boat dish before and seen her colleagues enjoy it in Sydney, though she had never personally participated.

“Oh yeah man, bitch’n peppers and melt your asshole chillies in a pot! You then dunk in some prime cuts of lamb and auroch, Wildland vegetables and mushrooms; it’s the SHIT dawg!”

“I am game.” Petra’s anticipation suggested she was an old hand at the spice game.

“Count me in, I love spicy food,” Richard added. “I’ve had it a few times in Australia as well, though I doubt it was authentic.”

“So much for my beauty sleep, guess I’ll take morning class off tomorrow.” Mina played with her hair. “Gwen?”

Gwen pictured a mountain of ingredients sitting next to a famously steaming hotpot.

“Alright! Let’s do it!”

* * *

“I KANT FEL MY MOUTH.”

Gwen moaned as she sipped her warm beer.

“MY TUNG ISH NUMB.”

When they first started, the reddish, peppery soup had felt mild. An hour into the meal, the soup became lava. Besides a dozen empty plates, Gwen was learning a painful lesson in overestimating her ability to consume spice. What her companions had said was a medium level of spice was for her, suicide by Fireball.

It was now approaching 3 AM. Gwen was surprised that she didn’t feel sleepy at all. Was it the spices overstimulating her palate? She wondered. Or the boisterous company? It was likely both.

She regarded her companions.

Tao was on his sixth beer but remained entirely lucid, loudly speaking as he recounted stories with his gang of wannabe Rappers.

Mina appeared demure and petite, her coiled hair framing her small face as she sat primly, her slim thighs tucked across the low stool in a way that drew the eye. Her style of eating was as delicate as her appearance, cooking only vegetables and little bowls of handmade noodles.

Richard was a carnivore through and through, seemingly unaffected by the river of the molten pepper oil. He clinked beers with Tao often, surprising Gwen with the ease to which he got along with the boisterous Illusionist.

Beside the bubbling cauldron, Gwen made a striking pair with Petra as the girls huffed and puffed through every piece of chilli laden lamb, beef, tofu, fish ball, mushroom and bamboo that came their way.

"Double, double pepper and trouble;

Chilli burn and caldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny fish,

In the caldron boil and bake;

Slice of lamb and ball of beef!"

Gwen chanted jokingly as more exotic ingredients arrived.

She omitted the next line though. It was 'tongue of dog.'

Slowly, Gwen fell into a chilli coma.

The boss, a hard-boiled veteran of many a nightstand health inspections, was so impressed with the imposing presence of these young Mages that he couldn’t help but provide them with ingredients far fresher than his usual fare.

In the meanwhile, Gwen, a little drunk on beery emotions and feeling uncharacteristically liberal, spoke of her life in Australia, of her high school, of her meeting with Alesia, with Henry and Gunther. Petra, noting the sensitivity of their topic, provided some privacy by shielding the five of them within a Scramble incantation so that to others, it sounded as though they were speaking in tongues.

“Wow, Henry Kilroy…” Mina made a face. “I’ve read that name in one of my textbooks. To think he was still around.”

“And Lizzy Sobel… that bitch is stone cold. Like, FRIGID,” Tao became enthralled when Gwen roughly told the events at Rosebay, redacting her narrative where necessary. “She shanked her pimp, just like that huh?”

“I want to meet this Elvia of yours,” Mina mentioned after Gwen's story concluded. "She sounds like such a cutie."

“I wanna meet dis Yue.” Tao was more so fascinated by the bombastic fire mage.

She’d probably beat you senseless, Gwen tried to imagine the fateful meeting of Tao and Yue. Would they get along? After the initial beating, they probably would. Gwen had to confess that there was a charm about Tao that one appreciated after acquiring a particular taste.

“That Debora as well, poor girl.” Mina chewed absent-mindedly on some noodles. “Can’t believe she was skin-changed for so long and no one noticed.”

“We have Skin-Changers as well,” Petra appended. “Though magical impersonation is illegal. The maximum penalty for identity theft under the PLA is summary execution or permanent stasis.”

"They do summary executions here?"

"Oh yes, there's Vid-Casts even." Petra shrugged.

Petra's nonchalance made Gwen shiver a little at the PLA’s idea of ‘corrective’ punishment. Back home, Australia had borrowed its system from the Britannic Mageocracy and so, generally favoured rehabilitative imprisonment.

“Well, now you know my story, and why I need this Scholarship, as well as the Inter-University Comp.” Gwen returned to sipping her beer. The chilli was SO GOOD, but it was SO SPICY. Her guts felt as though Vulcan had opened a forge in the pit of her stomach. She would be feeling it in a few hours, Gwen was sure, maybe it was time to call it a night.

“Accolades for freedom, huh?” Petra wrapped another piece of lamb around her chopsticks expertly, swishing it back and forth in the hellish soup of floating garlic and Sichuan peppers. “It’s a good plan, I think It’ll work, but you’ve got quite a bit of balancing to do.”

“I am a good juggler,” Gwen replied.

“If you want the Pudong Tower to recognise you, getting your Magus’ accreditation will help immensely,” Mina informed her helpfully. “That and do their bidding and participate in their Tower activities from Fudan T2. Most of the Instructors there are Pudong alumni.”

“I can confirm that,” Petra declared, starting on another piece of lamb. “Master Wen worked for a while for Pudong too, though she’s well received in the PLA Tower as well. She’s made a pact to not discriminate in her work.”

“Speaking of work, I’ll be doing some part-time work over the next few weeks. At least until university starts,” Richard interjected, turning toward Gwen. “I was going to tell you earlier. But you know, stuff happened, we got kicked out and were minutes away from being vagrants.”

“What kind of work?” Mina asked curiously.

“Light Utility-stuff, mostly construction and escort. It’s close, just up the Yangtze. Babulya set me up with a few of her old colleagues who needed a good Water Mage.”

“Pays well?” Gwen asked.

“Well enough.” Richard grinned. “Enough to keep myself lodged and fed, with spare left over for training.”

“Alright,” Gwen didn’t pursue the matter. Richard had his pride as well. It wasn’t as though he was going to mooch off her the entire time they studied together. “Congrats on getting a job.”

“Cheers,” Richard raised a beer. "I'll leave finding our new home to you."

Tao met Richard halfway and swigged his sixth stout.

The boy can drink! Gwen couldn’t help but marvel at her skinny cousin who measured barely past five-foot-six. Sobriety appeared to be an unforeseen, hidden talent of Tao’s, she thought to herself. The Illusionist must have a bladder like iron.

The group continued to talk until Mina accidentally fell asleep. She rested her head on Gwen’s shoulder for a moment and then began snoring gently, triggering a round of laughter from her extended family.

“We better pack it up.” Richard finished off the last of his bottle. Tao agreed heartily and slammed his seventh. Gwen and Petra picked up the sleepy Mina between then and took them toward the direction where the Wangs’ had parked their SUV.

Petra Messaged for a cab and told Gwen to come to the Lab after 2 PM. From there they can go and see the Campus Administration, get their student card pre-registered, and see if the university is willing to fast-track her dorm application.

Richard noted that he'd likely need to be away for his job, but Petra assured them that the university should already be in possession of all their biometric and academic transcripts. As a favour for Scholarship students, Fudan should be more than willing to bend some minor red tape.

Waving the others goodbye, Gwen and Richard returned to the apartment, where Gwen melted under the luxurious multi-headed shower system. She then found a set of cotton robes and slipped into the silky embrace of luxury.

"Gwen?" Richard appeared at the threshold of her bedroom. "Why'd you really let the amulet go? Did you do it for Percy? Was it babulya?"

His cousin hugged a plush pillow closer to her chest as she sat city-gazing near the panoramic windowsill, her long white legs pale against the thick glass panes and their refracted light. Her hair rested damply across her shoulders, where a few droplets of water beaded on one exposed shoulder. Below her, the shimmering mirage of the Bund below beckoned.

"Goodnight, Richard," she replied.

"Goodnight, Gwen."

* * *

Gwen woke around 11 AM.

Richard was gone. He’d left a note reminding her to wear her Message device. Additionally, he had left her two hard-boiled eggs.

Gwen hefted the eggs in one hand. They felt more like billiard balls in weight and shape, informing her that either these were Wildland eggs or the hen was the size of a small horse.

She cracked one, and a sweet aroma of creamy egg-yolk filled the room. After last night’s flaming turmoils, her stomach lining could use some fortifying.

Lacking access to her full wardrobe, Gwen dug through the first layer of the neatly piled cloth in her Storage Ring and put on a dark easy-Sunday dress with white bands accenting the hem and collar. The attire was minimalist and straightforward, reaching a few inches above her knees without being excessively breezy. She commended her decision to put self-cleaning enchantments on her wedge sandals and readied her face to meet the brave new world ahead. It was, after all, her first day in Shanghai as a free woman.

Drawing a glyph on the door, she locked the apartment after washing the dishes and setting the bed, then ventured out toward Fudan.

She took the No. 10 subway until she reached University Boulevard.

It was easy to orientate herself once she was out in the vicinity of Wujiaochang because that was where her babulya worked. To her right, she could see the enormous superstructure of the PLA Second Army Experimental Hospital just looming on the horizon, and to her left, she could see the top of the two mock-Towers atop the Guanghua building peeking over the numberless apartments.

As it was only noon, Gwen figured that she could walk to Fudan, get to know the area and find her bearings. The district beside Fudan was a redeveloped region of knock-down and rebuilt apartments rezoned for education and private residences.

Her path toward Fudan therefore, alternated between manicured greens on well kept median strips, to barely accessible pools of construction waste hidden with bits of wood and slabs of haphazard concrete. Gwen praised again her choice of investing her shoes with the ability to evade grime and dust. Her wedges-sandals were open-toed, and she grimaced at the thought of stepping into muddy puddles and having the fetid water invade the space between her feet and her sole.

“Spare some change, Miss?” a voice croaked out beside her.

Gwen almost jumped at the sight of a man who’d suddenly emerged from the darkness between two alleyways marked for demolition.

He was a NoM, that much was obvious. If the man had been a Mage, Gwen might have felt his presence. He posed no danger either, Gwen observed, else her Divination would have pinged her spine. If the encounter had been anywhere and any other time, Gwen would have ignored the hobo. For sure, she had just done just that in her old life both in old and new Sydney. But this was her first day out in Shanghai as a woman of means, and she fancied herself in an inquisitive mood.

“I could spare some, sure,” Gwen stopped beside the dim alleyway. Above, in big red writing, a slogan read something to the effect of, “Peaceful Removal of Old Structure for Safety - We Welcome NEW Birth of Civil District.”

The man seemed just as surprised as Gwen when she took note of his existence. The girl was a Mage, that much was evident to him, and she was a foreigner to boot. His eyes were followed her lithe white legs until they reached her hazel eyes, feeling lost for words.

“Donation for… the poor?” the old man repeated. He had the look of someone wracking his brain for something intelligible to say but was too shocked to find his tongue. “They took my home… I- I am so hungry…”

To Gwen, the NoM looked to be in bad shape. The old battler had bruises on his face, and he sat, half cowering, on what looked like a dolly, like the ones used for furniture removal.

Gwen materialised a few LDMs, as well as the comically large egg she had saved from breakfast.

“Here, Sir,” she said kindly, kneeling down to give the man her offer of charity. The hobo’s eyes widened when he realised that she was giving him weighted shards of mana crystals.

Then Gwen felt the presence of Mages turning the corner.

“Hey! What do are you doing!” a voice barked across the dilapidated space of the deconstruction zone. Gwen quickly recovered herself and eased out her dress. She cursed herself for her curiosity, for the tone of the incoming voice sounded far from friendly. Whatever happens, she had better not be late for Petra.

The trio who by now had moved to confront her dressed in blue-navy cargo pants and sky-blue shirts, with a white Naval officer's cap embossed with Shanghai’s skyline. The leading officer was short and middle-aged, while his two companion cadets looked as though they were fresh on the job.

Gwen stiffened as they approached.

“Hao! I told you not to return here!” the middle-aged officer cursed with an acerbic tone of annoyance. It would appear that she was not the target of their ire.

“We’re sorry if you were harassed, Miss!” the two young men bowed. “It will not happen again! If you would like to make a report on this incident, we are happy to be of service!”

“Oh no, it’s quite alright.” Gwen put up her hands and back-peddled, confronted by the Chengguan's eagerness to be model guardians of the city’s civil community.

The older man continued to admonish the NoM beggar for violating a string of the city’s rules Gwen had never heard off before, everything from ‘No soliciting money,’ to ‘No Loitering around Construction Zones.’

“But… here is my home!” The man wailed. “I lived here for thirty years!”

“You HAVE A NEW HOME!” the officer shouted at him, sending a string of spittle flying toward the man like dandruff. “GO HOME, HAO! In the name of Mao! Red Stars! You're such a typical NoM…”

“Does the man not have a home?” Gwen asked out of curiosity. “The man said he was homeless.”

“They 'are' provided new homes, Miss,” one of the young men answered her with eyes aglow with devotion, his voice breathlessly earnest. “We’re new patrol officers for this area, by the way. I am Officer Lee, and this is Officer Kuu. That there is our boss, Sergeant Li.”

“To answer your question, Miss,” the one called Kuu replied anxiously. “The residents here are moved to the more rural areas where the city has built a whole new apartment-city for them.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Gwen replied carefully. She could see from the NoM’s distress that wherever his new home may be, the man had no desire to leave the old Hutongs.

"Are you a student, Miss?"

"From Fudan, yes."

“How wonderful!”

“Hao! I am warning you. Move it!” the sergeant barked, finally out of patience.

“No! Please. LI! My home is here! We grew up here together! You can’t just demolish the place! My father and his father lived here! Your Grandmother too!”

“Yuu! Lee! With me!” Officer Li growled. "Let's get this eyesore out of the way."

The two officers apologised profusely to Gwen and requested that she leave the premise.

Gwen complied and walked some distance away before she heard the sound of painful grunting and the noise of something scribbling and struggling, pressed against the pavement.

“Miss!” a voice called out behind her.

Gwen turned to see Lee running toward her. The young Chengguan bowed again before opening his hands, revealing four LDM crystal chips.

“These are yours, I believe.” The young man met Gwen's eyes expectantly. “Once again, allow me to apologise for the harassment you had to endure.”

Gwen took the LDMs and uncertainly thanked the young officer.

“At your service, Miss.” The young man saluted before turning and running back to assist what Gwen could only assume was the forced removal of the beggar from his old home.

Gwen felt the weight of the LDMs in her hand for a moment then stowed them away in her ring. She took a deep breath, then thought of Petra's appointment. The emotions she felt slowly filtered away as she hasted her pace.

The construction zone ended once she cleared the old district and reached University Road, where a new block of glass and concrete apartments began. Above, twenty-four storeys of privately owned apartments loomed over the sycamore trees lining the boulevard, while below a riot of students and staff shifted through the innumerable choices available for lunch.

University Boulevard seemed packed to the rafters. There was everything here: A bakery with Elven-woodland decor sold shortcakes stood next to Texan smokehouses made to look like 60s roller-cafes, Japanese sushi-trains and Korean stone bowls competed for space, joined by geographically aligned Chinese food, six different hot-pot joints, and just as many milk-tea outlets. Tempted by the delicate scent of butter and eggs, Gwen ended up wasting another ten or so minutes purchasing two boxes of Lembas as a gift for Petra and Magister Wen.

She arrived a few minutes before the agreed upon time, meeting Petra at the door. The girls exchanged cheeks, stowed Gwen’s gift of buttery Lembas, then made for the Administration building.

The administration building, named after the Transmuter-Meister Chen Yeyao, had recently been refurbished with a fresh coat of cream and cherry which seemed to be a popular colour motif for the ageing section of Fudan’s historical architecture. Thankfully, as if to mask the unsavoury palate, a thirty-meter high sheet of vines had taken residence across half the building, giving the faux-Georgian architecture an air of incidental antiquity.

Gwen and Petra entered through the foyer and found their way to the campus residences department, bypassing streams of administrative staff, mostly NoMs with the occasional Mage. Behind the chest-height counter, three NoMs sat hammering away into tablets, working through stacks of paper. There was a ticketing system for service, and the girls took a seat to await their turn. A sign indicated that the stall closed at 1600.

‘203’ their ticket read. The current counter was 188.

Petra took the opportunity to make small talk with Gwen regarding the family, particularly the open secrecy surrounding her father, the infamous Hai Song.

"He was quite famous, you should know. Before he uprooted himself and left Shanghai. Even my Master speaks of him. By the age of sixteen, he was already a member of the PLA's lauded generation of Mages slated for leadership."

"Power to him then, but I don't think Dad would have made a good leader for anyone." Gwen then told Petra of the father that she knew, as well as his involvement in her abduction from Singapore. When Gwen further elaborated on her father's infamous exploits with women, Petra's face took on a frosty expression.

"That explains... a lot."

"Oh no," Gwen grimaced. "Did he..."

"No, no!" Petra snorted. "I mean, my master had a resentful look when we talked. I assumed they had been rivals but now... I suppose they were more intimately acquainted."

Gwen breathed out with evident relief. Her father, in his peculiar way, was becoming more agreeable to her.

"Now Serving 189..."

Twenty minutes later, the counter ticked over.

“Da shto za...” Petra swore under her breath. “I’ve got samples curing in the lab! It's 1435, and they close at 1600! Gwen, wait here.”

She pulled herself from the visitor chair and made straight for the counter.

“Yes? What’s your ticket number?” A woman behind the counter looked up toward Petra. She had the appearance of incumbent administration staff anywhere, with the bearing and girth of one who sat for more than ten hours a day.

Petra glared at the NoM woman, menacing her with steely Siberian husky-eyes until the NoM stammered a response.

“We’re inundated,” the poor woman quaked beneath Petra's presence, swallowing in rapid succession. Though Petra was now a researcher, she had seen training under a Master of the Moscow Tower, renowned for its ruthlessness. The pressure exerted by a Mage trained in interrogation wasn’t something that a NoM civilian could endure, not to mention Petra's mineral-enhanced pupils arrested all attempts at averting her gaze.

The woman now realised the extent of her erroneous judgement. As a non-magical staff member, employees like herself were fundamentally a part of the decor of Fudan, as replaceable as anything else in the university. There were days when one could slack off. Today was not one of those days.

A Mage member of the staff sauntering into the front portion of the office took a gander at Petra, made an abrupt turn, then executed an Expeditious Retreat.

“I-I’ll serve you now!” the woman stammered.

“No! You do your Job!” Petra stated coldly. She turned to the crowd. “189! Where are you?! Get over here!”

“…” The young man who’d just stood up a moment ago held his ticket as though he was wrangling a snake. “Er… you can go first.”

“Are you sure?” Petra walked over to the stunned young man and waved her ‘203’.

“Y-yeah, please.”

“Here’s mine in exchange, thanks.”

When Petra broke her icy exterior to flash a pleasant smile at the young man, his entire face turned scarlet. Gwen could have sworn the poor man's knees knocked loud enough to make a sound.

Another one bites the dust, Gwen mused.

“Gwen, with me.” Petra turned to her. Gwen lifted herself from the couch, feeling the gaze of a dozen others critically berate her line-cutting, and quickly appeared beside her companion.

“This is my friend Gwen Song. She’s the current holder of the mid-year LCSS. She and her companion, Richard Huang, also a member of the LCSS, require lodging at the Student’s Quarters. What are your current vacancies? We’re looking for long-term and single dwellings only.”

The woman pulled up a stack of files and began to work through the list as though a Transmuter had hastened her.

“Starting second-semester, though any vacancies now would be good.” Petra urged in a tone that possessed a jagged edge.

“Please.” Gwen smiled at the woman politely, flashing her a sympathetic smile.

“Let's see…we have a shared room in the upper campus…” The woman pulled out a file and placed it in front of them.

“A single, if you will, or rather, two singles.” Gwen clarified her request. “Privacy for both myself and my fellow LCSS member is paramount.”

“You and Richard can’t co-habit by the way,” Petra pointed out. “The dorms have mixed gender, but the rooms are single-sex only. The same applies to all residences on Campus.”

Under Petra’s watchful supervision, the poor woman produced a dozen or so vacancies that are currently available. Unfortunately, all of them were for shared rooms.

“When do you expect to have more clearance?” Petra tapped the forms. “Anyone leaving when the current semester ends?”

The woman produced a few more potential vacancies but could not offer a single room that met their criteria, not to mention Gwen would have liked to keep Richard close if possible.

Petra glowered at the woman, to think that had she not intervened, they could have wasted up to two hours here.

“There’s n-nothing left…” the woman quaked visibly.

“That’s alright,” Gwen said sweetly to the woman, tugging on Petra's sleeves to urge her to leave. “Thank you for your time.”

As the girls' silhouettes faded from sight, the tension in the room visibly dissolved.

“190!”

“191!”

Somehow, work efficiency seemed to reach a new peak as well.

* * *

“What now?” Gwen asked her friend.

“We’ll try the more expensive Dorms; these are privately owned and rented out to students.”

The girls cleared the administration section and approached the lower part of the Campus which boarded Guoding Road.

“Which one’s yours?” Gwen asked out of curiosity. “Don’t you live near here?”

“I do. About fifteen minutes walk from here. Master set me up in one of the dorms just outside of the square, on private land.”

“There wasn't room on campus, even for you?” Gwen inquired curiously. Petra had been here for almost two years now, technically longer, considering she came when she was fifteen and started under Wen as a research member when she was sixteen.

“There was, but...” Petra explained patiently. “I am not fond of the rowdiness of the campus dorms. But you're much more at home dealing with people than I am. The other reason I'd thought we try out the campus dorm is cost. If Master puts a word in with the Dean, you might even rent for free. Although, I doubt the Bursary can kick people out on your behalf. That would invite trouble from the ethics committee.”

“Right.” Gwen followed Petra through the gardens at the Qinyun building, a beautiful marvel of curved class and soaring steel wings, toward the Student’s quarter. Her companion was dressed little more purposefully today, sporting a V-neck lime skivvy matched with a hip-hugging Dirndl skirt, decked with suede ankle-high boots with a combat heel that looked as though it could crack pavement. The girls meandered dashingly across the square, catching glances from passersby as they sauntered through the green lawn toward a newly risen section of the campus' ongoing gentrification.

Their destination was a real estate office with a glowing minimalist logo that said 'WMR Properties and Conveyancers'. As soon as the girls entered through the glass doors, they were greeted by an elaborate scale model of the surrounding region, demonstrating the sights and benefits of the complex which, incredulously, stretched for a dozen blocks.

“Is Manager Xie in?” Petra asked the fresh-faced NoM receptionist. “We’re looking to rent two single rooms. As close to campus as possible.”

“Miss… Kuznetsov?" The reception quickly glanced down before looking up with a smile like the blooming of a rare flower. “Of course! I’ll get Manager Xie right away; he might be in conference though. One moment.”

Petra found a couch and sat, crossing her legs luxuriously in a way that made Gwen want to whistle loudly. Her cousin motioned for her to relax, so Gwen joined her in an adjoining seat.

Manager Xie, a short, balding man with a face like a pudgy Buddha, came to greet them a few minutes later. His eyes became two narrow slits when he saw the two girls lounging comfortably in the company's crimson tub-chairs, their legs like long white pistils extending from two oversized tulips.

“Milly! No tea?!” he berated the receptionist, who immediately ran to provide the beverage. “Miss Kuznetsov! It is a pleasure to see you again. Are you happy with your current lodgings? Looking to upgrade? Please pass on my most sincere greetings to Master Wen.”

“I am satisfied with my lodging, Manager Xie, thanks for asking,” Petra replied. Gwen couldn’t help but note that Petra’s voice had a natural coldness to it, a keen edge - if one had to resort to synaesthesia. Magister Wen also had that coldness to her demeanour, Gwen noticed, wondering if it had to do with possessing the mineral affinity. Besides her, Petra introduced them. “This is my kinswoman, Gwen Song, a newly enrolled member under the LCSS program. We are looking for two rooms, singles, if possible, for herself and a family member, Richard Huang, also a young scholar of the LCSS program.”

“I am in rare company.” The Manager bowed. “Please to make your acquaintance, Miss Song. May I ask what Clan or House you hail from?”

Gwen shook the Manager’s hand.

“Gwen Song. I am... an independent, for now. I’ll be in your care.”

“Of course. May I inquire as to your price range? As Miss Kuznetsov would know, our rooms ranged from single to shared, service or unserviced, self-contained or shared facility. All of course, with a range of rates to suit your needs.”

The Manager did not miss a beat. Gwen was impressed; the man knew how to do his job.

“Give me a list of the single options under 100.”

To Gwen’s surprise, the NoM manager possessed a small Storage Ring from which he retrieved a data slate. A few simple somatic gestures on the screen later, the man turned to show Gwen the displayed vacancies on the E-ink slate, etched upon an off-white parchment.

B17-111 :: 35 HDM / M

B22-1114 :: 30 HDM / M

B24- 404 :: 25 HDM / M

The prices were acceptable to Gwen, but turning to the map, she noted that B17 was already a half a dozen blocks from Fudan. It would mean an extra 20 to 30 minutes walk to university or a few more minutes by public transport. She had also crunched the numbers in her head earlier because their monthly HDM expenses are likely going to be in the hundreds. In addition to lodging; food, textbooks, socials, and most importantly, HDM Crystals for additional training, is going to hit three digits for the both of them.

“Can Richard and I share a double?” Gwen turned to Petra, who shook her head. “I am afraid not; the real-estate cannot register cohabitation for unmarried Mages. It’s a rule to prevent, incidents... Look, let’s say the Clans, the Houses, the prominent Families and even the Towers are all invested, shall we?"

“Not even with family members?”

“That’s never stopped some of the Clans.” Petra shrugged.

Manage Xie chuckled nervously beside them.

“Is there anything closer?” Gwen pointed to the buildings that were within fifteen to twenty minutes away from the centre of the campus, where the Henglong Building and the Towers stood.

Manager Xie tapped the screen again.

B1 P2201-P:: 520 HDM / M

Gwen almost spat out the tea that Milly had just served them.

“What is it?” Petra asked out of curiosity. "I didn't know B1 had vacancies."

“The penthouse suite,” Manager Xie intoned reverently. “It has four bedrooms, each self-contained, with a common lower mezzanine living with open kitchen and shared dining; the upper storey has a common entertainment-living room.”

“I don’t think I can afford that.” Gwen shook her head, thinking that in her old world, she probably could afford such a place if she so desired. Still, with a Fortune 500 level of success; such excess was still beyond an acceptable level of expenditure. “We’re just students.”

“I know, but I always offer,” the Manager said jovially. “One day, maybe, who knows? There are many wealthy students in Shanghai.”

“So there’s nothing?”

“I am afraid B17 and beyond is all we have at the moment. The Dormitory apartments rent-out well ahead of time. There’ may be a few openings at the end of the year though, I am more than happy to reserve what’s available.”

“Can I make a reservation now?”

“With a deposit, yes.”

"Then please put me down for one closest to campus."

Manager Xie instructed his receptionist to bring a deposit slip and a reservation form, which Gwen signed and paid, handing over a sum of 50 HDMS per reservation, one for herself, and another for Richard.

The closest vacancy that seemed to be available in January was B13, still some months away, but if that was the best Xie could offer, then that was what she must take. There were also apartments in the outlying areas, but those were either archaic, congested with NoMs, or slated for re-zoning.

"How about you bunk with me?"

Frustrated with the lack of space mid-semester, Petra advised staying at her studio. She was confident she could squeeze another mattress into her single room if she had to. Her cautionary advice was that as Gwen’s talent became well known, St Peter knows what sort of attention Gwen might begin to attract. If she could spend as little time as possible in transit, her three years at Fudan would be far safer, more expedient, and present fewer unknowns for those who cared for her. Shanghai was a safe and lawful city, but it wasn't so safe that a girl-Mage like Gwen could gallivant through its districts without care.

“I live in B3-703,” Petra pointed to one of the buildings that a mere block away from the university campus. “Well lit paths, regular patrols by the Chengguan, not too far from the convenience mart on the Boulevard.”

By now it was almost 6 PM, and the girls opted for supper. Gwen ordered enough for two, attracted a small group of spectators who marvelled at the foreigner's ability to pack away sushi as though she was a man twice her size. Thankfully, the stack of plates beside Gwen soon grew twice as high as Petra’s, becoming tall enough to hide her face from the gawkers.

After their early supper, Gwen followed Petra back to her lab, where she withstood three hours of Goulding's Primer before being let go to totter home. Still fatigued from the excess of yesterday, Gwen staggered into Mina’s apartment to find Richard cooking instant ramen.

“Ah sugars, sorry Richard, I should have doggy-bagged some sushi!” Gwen apologised as Richard combined two packets into a bowl.

“No worries. Not a fan of raw fish. Besides, I haven’t tried this flavour before, 'Black bean soy'. It looks interesting,” Richard shrugged at Gwen's self-conscious neglect. “You want some? It comes in a six-pack.”

Gwen hesitated, she wanted to try the noodles. But she just ate four hours ago. Why was it that she felt so hungry these days? Gwen confessed to being a glutton, but her hunger within the last twenty-four hours had been unreal. By the same measure, she hadn’t summoned Caliban for a few days now, nor plan to in the immediate future. Should she be eating so much? It wasn’t as though she could fire off a few Void Bolts into the sky shouting, ‘Calories be gone!’ either. Consciously, her hand moved to her abdomen, where she could feel her skin taut against the musculature. Maybe, she thought, just a taste?

* * *

Gwen drank the last of the salty soup.

The instant ramen was better than she thought.

The word instant was also a bit of a misnomer since whatever arcane method which preserved the ramen allowed it to retain the chewiness of its texture and the richness of the bone broth. It made Gwen wonder if a business model like Uber-Eats was possible in Shanghai since everyone appeared to be foodies in their own right.

Hell, Petra’s stasis cubes would be perfect.

She tried imagining Petra standing at the end of a long production line, freezing steaming bows of ramen into stasis cubes. “Two Shio, Two Pork, One Miso for 1183,” she shouts to the delivery boys outside, dozens of them, all lined up with their mopeds.

Gwen shook her head. If Petra found out about Gwen's permissible uses for her Spell-Cubes, she would probably slap Gwen on the mouth.

"... and then we came home." Gwen finished extolling her unsuccessful bid for an apartment.

“We could live further away. Or, at worst, I can live far away, and you can stay with Petra. I'll come pick you up or take you home whenever I can,” Richard suggested.

"Enough about me, we'll sort it out later. What did you do? How was work?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Richard recounted his day. "What'd you like to know?"

Her cousin was working with a construction crew as a specialist consultant. With Lea’s guidance, he could part the Huangpu, or more precisely, a three-by-three meter portion of it so that foundations could be laid by the Transmuters working by his side. As her cousin explained, it wasn’t so much that they didn’t have higher level Transmuters available, more so that he was the cheaper and safer option. Thanks to his high-tier affinity, he could predict changes in currents and work within a high-depth environment, all the while expending very little mana. If need be, his Abjuration Shield could even shelter fellow Mages for up to a day in the event of a catastrophic collapse under the murky waters.

“Had to save a guy as well,” Richard described with nonchalance. “Some fish-lizard that's mostly mouth and stomach got past the barrier and attacked one of the Transmuters, disrupted his Shape Water. That was a close one.”

“A Monster got into the city?!” Gwen raised a brow in surprise. “I thought the Capitals are free of Magical Creatures.”

“This is about fifty kilometres out; you can’t even see the city from where we were.” Richard orientated Gwen as to the geographic bearing of his story. “According to Reese, my foreman, it happens every other week, the further away from the city, the more frequent.”

“But NoMs are living there, right? Upstream from the river?”

“Oh yes, millions. Tens of millions. Maybe even a hundred. Shanghai itself is about 20 mils if I recall. Up to 50 mil if you include the extreme reaches of the city, which reaches Suzhou to the west, Nantong up north, and Hangzhou toward the extreme south. The moment Nantong hits the Yangtze River though, we’re looking at Frontier land until we hit Tianjin, the edge of Beijing. That's 1000 KMs of No Man's Land. 18 hours by Mage-flight.”

“The Frontier’s closer than I thought,” Gwen noted, trying to the picture a map of China from her memory of the old world. "And more significant as well. I mean back home we were just a city in the Frontier. Here I'd imagined the opposite."

“The population density is not the same though. Remember how back in Sydney, if you crossed Lithgow, you’re smack-bang in the middle of the Wildlands? I mean, the city's southern edge is less than 10 minutes Mage-flight away from a Green Zone. We used to get swarms of Tiger Sharks up the Parramatta River while there’s still ferries in the water! In Shanghai, it'd take 3 hours of Flight before human settlements fade out.”

“Do you reckon the city’ll recover?” Gwen asked, thinking of the city she used to call home. The Parramatta river must be two kilometres wide by now thanks to that Leviathan. The once placid river could probably serve as Sydney's new deep-sea port.

“Sure, Gunther has it well in hand. He’s got big plans, you know.”

“Any ideas?”

“Nothing specific.” Richard laughed. “I do know that he’s planning to rezone the whole city though. Maybe you can ask him when your LR Communication Caster is set up.”

Re-zoning a city! Gwen couldn’t help but be impressed. Could Gunther achieve what was necessary to make Sydney a Tier 1 city? It would take decades of fastidious labour, consuming the toil of millions. What plan did Gunther have in beating back the Mermen? How could he tap into the ley-lines of the land? Could the Morning Star cow the Mermen by setting the seas to boil? It could be possible, Gwen mused; it was difficult to fathom the depth of her brother-in-craft's abilities. Her Master had stated that not even he wished to face his student in battle.

* * *

Gwen arrived at the Lab early next morning, ready to face the first of her tests requested by Magister Wen. When she entered the laboratory, she was met by Petra and Magister Wen, both in white coats and looking very much like scientific researchers from her old world.

“Gwen, you’re here. Wonderful.” Wen motioned for her to come closer. Gwen wondered if she too should find a laboratory coat, but her seniors didn't seem to mind her one-piece floral-frock. “We're going to start testing your Elements today. Petra tells me you can manifest some form of Vitae-Fruit mana congelation?”

“I can.” Gwen nodded. “Would you like a demonstration?”

“I would like a sample.” Wen pointed to three Spell-Cubes Petra had prepared on a stainless steel desk.

“One lightning, one void and one of the vitae-essence, if you will.”

“I'll do my best.”

Gwen approached the table and placed her hand on the first cube. She tapped into her Sigils and allowed the free-flowing energies of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lighting to fill her mana channels, feeling their hysterical caress as the torrent of electricity enveloped her mana and manifested below her hand, feeding into the Cube.

The scent of ozone lingered heavily in the air.

The next one was Void, and Gwen grimaced as the ice-cold energies of the Quasi-Elemental Plane shot ramrod through her body, seeking an escape into the material. The volatile matter spilt into the Cube like viscous ink, hungrily consuming the space within until the entire cube was darker than black.

“Good God…” Magister Wen sucked in a chilling breath, placing a hand to her temples. “I can feel it from here.”

Gwen then closed her eyes and focused inwardly upon her mind’s eyes, picturing Almudj’s energy as the green motes of life flowing through the dark expanse of her Astral Form. Slowly, Almudj's primordial manifestation began to condense and congeal around her hand, dripping drop by drop into the vessel below as though filtered through layers of fabric.

“Fascinating.” Petra placed a hand above the cube felt the vibrant aura awash over her skin. Even without tapping into it, the fecund life-force was palpable. “What do you think it is, Master?”

“I would hazard an educated guess that it is an alter-form of life-force, the kind usually found in ancient beings. Do you recall Magister Salinger’s lecture, during that conference in Beijing? He had invited a Druid from the Woods that Wend. Do you remember what it was like when they demonstrated Essence Magic?”

"I do," Petra retracted her hand and continued to observe Gwen's endeavour. Inches away from the crystalline contraption, Petra’s Master likewise watched the growing intensity of the emerald cube with burning anticipation.

Gwen felt the last of her vital energy drop into the cube.

Then immediately acknowledged that something was wrong. She felt a breathlessness of the soul, as though she'd sprinted up an ascending hill, and now the air was too thin to sustain the oxygen she required to catch her breath. Feeling a mild panic, she refocused her mind's eye.

Slowly, very slowly, the emerald motes inside her body began to recover. That was the reason for her unease. The shadowy particles usually returned to their emerald-like vibrancy with far more expediency.

Through the trained synaesthesia of her Mind's eye, Gwen could sense that the emerald motes were dimmer, weaker. Their recovery seemed almost a trickle where prior the specks had pulsed to the rhythm of her heart.

What could be wrong? Was she ill?

Gwen moved a hand toward her temple and chest to feel if she had a temperature. A refractory habit then touched a hand to her chest. There, between her breasts, she felt the absence of the necklace, the Amulet, the Kirin Token. A piece of her flesh. An organ.

Could it be? She felt her mind revolt with agitation. What was it that the Kirin core had done? But it had never demonstrated such a function during all her training. Did this mean that the amulet had a passive role she could not detect? Did it contain a part of Almudj, from which now she was alienated? If so, had she given away a part of her connection to the serpent?!

“Gwen!” Petra grabbed her shoulders. “What’s wrong? You’re turning as white as a ghost! Is it the Void Cube? Did you put too much vitality into filling it?”

“Give her a potion,” Magister Wen suggested beside her.

“No, no, I am fine…” Gwen looked past Petra, once again taking in her bearings. She had become accustomed to the vital reinforcement provided by Amundj's mana in the last months or so. Having drained what her body had collated into the cube, it now felt as though she had suddenly become unwell, or fatigued, as though she was recovering from week-long flu.

“Gwen, what’s wrong?” Petra asked worriedly. “You don’t look fine at all.”

“Pats…” Gwen swallowed, forcing her quickened breath to return to a controlled cadence. “You were right, giving away the amulet... was a mistake.”

Gwen explained her anxious hypothesis to Petra and her Master, nursing a cup of hot tea to ease her troubled mind.

“Spilt Milk,” Petra responded mercilessly. “Your amulet is gone, and that’s that. Stop thinking about it.”

“I know, I know,” Gwen answered miserably. “I would have given it up anyway, I suppose. It caught me by surprise, that’s all. The whole interaction with the Vitae-Mana was passive. It's my fault that I never noticed.”

"Any chance I could convince Klavdiya to bring it in for some tests?" Magister Wen asked hopefully, her voice full of academic curiosity.

"I don't think Grandfather will consent to that," Gwen remarked wryly.

“The good news, I suppose,” Magister Wen asserted. “Is that you found out now and not while you’re in a Dungeon or carrying out a quest. Now that would have been a disaster. At any rate, you shouldn't rely too much on items.”

“So, can you still cast Void spells safely?” Petra continued, asking the important questions. “You’re gonna need it for what you’ve planned for the next eighteen months.”

“I can, but my recuperation between heavy bouts is going to be extended,” Gwen hypothesised. “From my experience, there's a threshold as to how much Void matter I can channel before it begins to take a toll.”

“Can you clarify?” Wen asked from the other side of the bench.

“Drowsiness, nausea, fainting spells, crippling fatigue, anorexia,” Gwen counted the symptoms from her memory.

“Sounds like symptoms of Negative Energy Drain.”

“How did you deal with this in the past?”

“I had a healer top me up while we fought,” Gwen replied. “My friend Elvia had that position; then it was Mina, my cousin who’s currently studying to be a Cleric.”

“You poor child!” Magister Wen grimaced sympathetically. “The impact of elemental affinity on the physical body is hardly mixing hot and cold water! The abuse you must have endured!”

“I seem to do alright,” Gwen protested. "My late mentor, Magister Kilroy, had assured me as such."

"Magister Kilroy..." Magister Wen recalled the report she had read on Gwen's past. "I am sure he had his considerations, but that is no long-term solution."

“Grandmother healed my injuries when I came to Shanghai as well.”

“I don’t think high-tier Restorations, consuming hundreds of HDMs worth of materials, available only from experimental hospitals in capital cities - are going to help you in the Wildlands, on the Frontier, or during a six-month siege against the Undead.” The Magister shook her head. “My dear, we need to find a way to make sure you stay in one piece!”

“I can’t say no to that.” Gwen smiled weakly.

"Right, that settles it then. Petra, we're using the SPEC, give me a hand."

"Yes, Master."

Gwen watched as Magister We set up the three crystalline cubes in a contraption which arrested the captive elemental-cubes in mid-air between two plates. The constructed device looked as though the magister had erected a holographic projection, within which were her three energised cubes of distinctly different mana.

"Petra, get Gwen a coat."

Obediently, Petra dressed Gwen in a lab coat enchanted with Shielding, Elemental Absorption, and Sterilisation glyphs.

Coming closer, Gwen could see the suspended Spell-Cubes hovering over a triplicate of pins that teased motes of mana from them.

“This is an Allenberg-Erwin Elemental Spectrometer,” Magister Wen helpfully informed their novice research partner. “It’ll visualise motes of Elements injected into a suspension field simulating the Astral Plane. I am going to test a few interactions. This way, we can get a better understanding of how your elements interact in an isolated plane.”

Wen incanted an arcane command, allowing the Almudj-Cube and Lightning-Cube to each release several motes of mana.

Unbidden, the primordial mana from the emerald-cube met a mote of lightning-element midair in volatile conjunction, then emitted a brilliant blast of emerald-green.

“Barbanginy!” Gwen recognised the energy right away. “That’s Almudj’s lightning!”

“B-ba-barga… sorry…” Magister Wen sprang her tongue on the first attempt. “The fabled, mythical serpent of Australis, no? A fascinating existence, to be sure. Extinct, in fact, anywhere humanity has made their domain. Your report was an equally fascinating read. Maybe the Cryptozoology folks would like a chat. For our interests, are you able to incant or summon this admixtured Lightning?”

“Barb-an-gin-ni,” Gwen allowed the word to roll off her tongue. “I don’t think I can, to be honest. I can move the mana around in my Astral form, congealing it for expulsion, but I can’t work it into spells.”

“Yet, you’ve cast this Barbanginy before?”

“Once or twice before, yes, when the serpent’s will was with me.” Gwen's voice took on a forlorn tone. Where was Almudj now? Asleep somewhere, maybe in Uluru, mayhap coiled up deep underground, perhaps resting upon a rainbow. She felt an impulsive desire to see her 'kin' again but knew her want to be an irresponsible fancy.

“Interesting, maybe we can work towards that.” Magister Wen jotted down a few notes onto a data slate. “Allow me to test a hypothesis.”

Wen materialised a seed and floated it toward the centre of the Spectrometer's suspension field.

She guided it under the Almudj-Cube.

One incantation later, the seed took on a few motes of the emerald mana and sprouted, bursting into a small, inch-long vine.

“Master, that’s…” Petra held her hand to her lips.

“Oh yes,” Wen grinned. “That’s a Bolivian Stone Pear sprout.”

“But the seed…”

Magister Wen looked upon Gwen with the eyes of a woman in love.

“Indeed, the seed was a sterilised specimen,” Wen looked over at Gwen. “The Ag department would be over the moon. How much of this mana do you think you’re able to synthesise?”

“About… a single tier-2 spells worth, per day?” Gwen tried to estimate the volume she had injected into the Cube. “At my current rate of recovery, likely less.”

“A shame. It's not every day that we see Druidic Essence manifest in a human, but no matter. That brings us to our next demonstration.”

"Druidic Essence," Gwen mouthed to herself, finally finding a name for the phenomena.

With a word, Wen coaxed a few motes of Void-matter and Life-matter into suspended motion. Another incantation brought out additional specks of the emerald-mana. Interestingly, the motes did not cancel each other out. Instead, they glided around one another as though two immiscible liquids repelling one another at some undetectable, molecular level.

"Interesting, no?" Magister Wen intoned with great reverence. "This serpent mana of yours, it is not a raw, elemental force. It is an arcane-compound, spell shaped by a mythic beings' will and intent, capable of restoration and growth."

Magister then produced another cube and injected a cloud of Positive Energy, colourised with a bright pink pigmentation, into the controlled platform.

"Positive energy from one of our healers. "

Like some ravening beast, the cloud of Void-matter moved across the air and struck the diffuse pinkness, feeding hungrily upon the energies of life until both elements faded into nothingness.

“Oh dear.” Gwen watched the spectacle with ominous comprehension.

“Indeed,” the Magister intoned sagely. “Gwen, your serpent’s energy never did negate the damage done to your body by the Void - it was instead a Shield and a restorative. On the other hand, flooding yourself with positive energy may protect you, but it also diminishes your Void affinity. If you wish to maximise output, heal after the fact, not during the channel.”

“But I could feel myself draining the vitality provided by healers when I cast Evocation and Conjuration,” Gwen tried her best to recollect working with Mina and Elvia. “Surely that would have neutralised my spells if the elements were mutually consumptive.”

“As for that, we must turn to further experimentation.” Wen then introduced a new medium to the mix.

A creature core floated into the midst of the levitation field.

“I am very curious as to the function of your Kirin amulet,” Wen pointed to a floor to ceiling whiteboard where dozens of arcane formulas made their presence known. “I hypothesise that this is the answer.”

Wen introduced a mote of the Amuldj-mana toward the thumbnail-sized creature core, where it immediately entered the Magical Creature’s remains, affecting an inner glow to the sphere. Then, the Magister applied an Evocation glyph, a simple Bolt. The resultant energy that manifested was a blue-green arc of electricity that sizzled the air magnificently.

“That’s Barbanginy!” Gwen uttered, impressed by the ease of the manifest.

But it was the next demonstration that astounded her.

The core took within itself a mote of Void-matter, then manifested a bolt of midnight-black lightning which whipped through the air and struck the protective pane of the Shield behind the testing station, gouging a Lichtenberg-figure shaped scar across the force-panes.

“That’s…” Gwen watched the demonstration. “That’s my Void bolt!”

“Now watch.”

Magister Wen set off a half a dozen bolts in quick succession.

‘Crack!’

Suddenly the barrage of bolts ceased. The core shattered.

The trio watched the nucleus crumble.

"That's you," Magister Wen allowed the dust to settle around the spectrometer. "One can assume that prior to your awakening in the void, the amulet likely protected you somehow. After your acquisition of the serpent's Druidic essence, it became less useful but remained a bulwark against excessive abuse of the Void element."

"So, I've lost... a crutch?" Gwen tried to think of an apt analogy. "I've lost my emergency breaks?"

“A strange way to put it, but sure." Magister Wen gave herself several moments to gather her thoughts. "Gwen, describe your Void manifests before you obtained the serpent’s energy.”

"It was before the Field Trip, long before I knew the serpent existed..." Gwen began. "The Awakening test was that day..."

She told them of the first time she had manifested the Void. She was in a park, feeling rather upset with herself. There was a moment of darkness when she got a little too emotional; then she woke up a few hours later sans handbag and wallet.

The second significant event was when she’d manifested it was against Edgar. Her outburst had taken the Dust Mage's arm and leg, as well as half his face, but also took enough out of her to make her lose consciousness. After that, she came into possession of Almudj’s mana and accessing the Void became more manageable and less injurious.

“What advice did the late Lord Kilroy give you?”

“To always have someone who could tap into the healing energies of the Positive Plane on hand, and to feed off the vitality returned by spells.” Gwen annotated her Master’s recommendations. “When Caliban consumes enemies, I can feel it returning vitality to me. Sometimes, when I use Evocation spells, I can also feel something akin to it, but its never as distinct as that of my familiar.”

Magister Wen jotted down notes as Gwen spoke.

“Tell me about the Dungeon again,” Magister Wen proposed. “Describe in detail what it was like.”

Gwen tried to put into words the ethereal hunger that came with Void magic. When they had taken down the blue Gilas and the reds, she had felt Caliban’s pleasure and shared in the bounty of life it provided. When they had assailed the Elder Gila, Caliban could not only restore itself but keep Gwen’s reserves fed as it wormed its way through the massive Salamander’s body. The only time she ever felt satiated was when Caliban fed.

Again and again, Magister Wen cross-examined Gwen's recount, nitpicking at minor details.

“Which still leaves the question of how the Kirin amulet factors into the dynamic of your elemental interactions,” Magister Wen recorded her findings enthusiastically. “I will make an appointment to peruse the University’s Greater Cognisance Chamber right away, as well as order a few disposable Magical beasts from the Conjuration department. I believe that it would be in the interest of all of us, to get to the bottom of this.”

“I can’t say no to that,” Gwen sat back in her seat dazedly, gazing at the set of suspended Spell-Cubes holding her mana captive.

“It'll take a few hours to arrange. Go with Petra and arrange your lodgings. I would highly recommend trying to find something very close to campus. With your difficult condition and the amount of work you will be putting in, I would not be surprised if you topple into bed every night! If you wish to push yourself hard, Gwen, you need to learn to recuperate.”

"Yes, Ma'am."

“We’re trying,” Petra sighed. “There’s nothing within thirty minutes or so with reasonable prices or facilities. I am going to take Gwen to the lower Campus today, see if they have anything available there.”

“I could always share with someone; there were a few of those available.”

“Not safe, not with the number of secrets and talent that you’re holding. I’d imagine it wouldn't do your roommate any service either,” Petra pointed out.

“How do you mean?”

“You’re going to get a lot of visitors once news of Fudan's Void Mage spreads around campus. I would HATE to be your roommate if every other hour of the day I had people asking me about you, wanting to give something to you, demanding access to you, refusing gifts, accepting gifts, failing to deliver after accepting a gift… and that’s just the beginning.”

“I would hesitate to be my roommate too,” Gwen understandably affirmed Petra's worries. “I'd probably hate my guts.”

“Which is why I live alone.”

“I see your point.”

"Why don't you girls go get some fresh air. Take Gwen through the gardens, see if that helps her recovery. Go on, off you go.” Magister Wen battered her hands to shoo them away. “Don’t take up space if you’re not here to work. Gwen, maybe its best if you stayed with Petra for now.”

"There's also Richard," Gwen reminded the Magister politely.

"He's a young man in a Tier 1 city. He's perfectly happy without you looking over his shoulder, trust me." Magister Wen seemed to misread Gwen's concern. "I'll Message you when the Chamber is ready, meet me at the Yifu Spellcraft Building, expect 1400 or so."

"We're not like that," Gwen noted with dismay, but the Magister wasn't listening; she was already in the midst of a Message with the Yifu administration staff.

"Let's go," Petra urged Gwen to follow; the girls hung their lab coats, and left to make the best of three hours.

* * *

“Miss Kuznetsov!”

To their wonder, a pudgy NoM in an expensively tailored suit was waiting for them downstairs at the entrance of Henglong laboratory.

“Manager Xie?” Petra wasn’t at all expecting to see the balding NoM outside of his office. Xie looked as though he had run the whole distance from the eastern end of the campus as well; even with the cooling glyph on his blazer, the man was sweltering from head to toe.

“Thank Mao I caught you both. I would hate to have intruded. Have you found a place to rent yet?”

“Not yet, why?” Gwen replied, studying the man as he mopped his face with a handkerchief. “Do you have any unexpected vacancies?”

“You're as good as a Diviner! My goodness, it was difficult to get a hold of you, Miss Kuznetsov!”

“I am not fond of unsolicited Messages,” Petra stated cooly. “But allow me to apologise. What’s the matter?”

“I’ve got two apartments opened up just this morning! Both of the tenants have just terminated their lease. As a result, I've got vacancies at B1-2203 and 2204.”

Petra knitted her exquisitely arched brows.

Building 1- Level 22, Suite 03 and 04?

“What’s the rental price?”

Manager Xie’s face split from ear to ear.

“Due to the emergency nature of the vacancy, the owner has requested that the rooms are occupied as soon as possible. As such, they are willing to accept rental well below the market value.”

“How much?” Petra pushed the Manager.

“75 HDMs for the two bedrooms 2203, and 50 HDMs for the single.”

“That’s…”

“What’s with those prices?” Gwen asked the manager puzzlingly. According to her research last night, the prices drastically increased once they got closer to Campus. The rooms should be fetching at least 140 to 200 HDMs.

“I am simply offering what the owner has requested.” Manager Xie mopped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “Would you like see for yourself?”

“Right now?” Gwen asked, equally curious as to their strange turn of fortune. In her experience, there was bound to be something wrong with the property if the owners were so eager for tenants. Perhaps they were infested with infectious vermin? Or the previous tenants had left it in a mess or destroyed some of the vanities? Mayhap the owners were laundering money through the rental income, and could not allow the cash flow to cease. Or, knowing this world, the apartment was haunted, that would be as good an explanation as any. For sure, a cheap, haunted flat fit the trope of a ‘place too good to be true’ very well.

“Of course, if you’ll follow me. It’s only a kilometre or so across the campus. B1 is the first building in the new Student’s quadrant. We should be able to see it as soon as we pass Guoshun Road.”

“Petra?”

Petra’s expression was sceptical as well.

“Let’s see for ourselves then,” her cousin affirmed the desire to see the place with their own eyes. “I’ve got a See Invisibility cubed. Let’s see if we can run a Detect Magic through the place as well. Can you cast Detect Traps?”

* * *

As they arrived at Building 1, two large trucks and a half-dozen removalists were carefully loading furniture.

“The apartments should be undergoing a thorough cleaning,” Manage Xie explained.

“Already?” Petra felt impressed by Xie's zealous professionalism; she was not a Mage often surprised, much less by a NoM.

“Owner’s request. I cannot claim credit, ha!”

They entered the lobby of the luxury apartment block, where a dumbfounded looking young man was sitting on several suitcases. When Manager Xie came inside with the girls in tow, the young man’s complexion changed from a wan despondency to a shade of beetroot.

“...” An internal battle seemed to wage within the young man's mind, but the Mage chose presently to leave without a word.

“What was all that about?” Gwen pursued the curious incident with Xie. “That was the old tenant right?”

“He was,” Xie replied.

“Why is he leaving?”

“Who knows?” Manager Xie smiled at the girls with his usual amiability, his face folding until his eyes were two thin, happy lines. "Perhaps a family emergency?"

The levitation platform took the girls up toward the 22nd floor. When the door opened, they became greeted by a riot of activity.

Three removalists and half a dozen cleaning staff toiled between the two open apartments.

“Careful! careful!” A young woman was directing a piano out of what appeared to be 2203. She turned to regard the trio when their elevator pinged.

“I would say hello neighbours, but I am leaving,” the girl hummed mirthfully. “I hope you enjoy your stay here. It’s a wonderful place to finish the years at Fudan, assuming you get to stay until you graduate.”

Before Gwen could answer, the parallel levitation platform pinged close.

“That would be our other ex-tenant,” Xie noted with the same care as one having spotted a mildly interesting potplant. “Which apartment would you like to see first?”

“The two-bedder,” Gwen pointed to 2203. For 75 HDMs, it was a steal. Whatever was happening, she felt inclined to take advantage of it. Furthermore, if the apartment turned out to be not haunted by the ghosts of disturbed indigenous spirits, she would entertain a bold proposal for Petra.

The trio passed the removalists and found themselves embroiled in the midst of NoMs scrubbing the carpet, dressing new drapes, and fervently scouring the kitchen.

“Maybe now is not the best time.” Manager Xie looked around the controlled chaos of bodies busily at work refitting the kitchen. “Forgive me for my blunder.”

“It’s fine.” Gwen walked through the room and took in the breathtaking view of the skyline. At level 22, she could see the entirety of Fudan’s campus. The only taller building within her immediate view was the Fudan Towers. When she turned to the right, she could see the 2nd PLA hospital at Wujianchang, followed by the urban sprawl of Building 2 to 25. To her left, the Second Orbital Highway shot into the heart of the city, where the PLA Tower’s superstructure loomed like a perched spider across the web-work of crisscrossing highways.

The apartment was not ultra-modern like Mina’s Waldorf suite. It was what one expected from a property developed for profit over style. The living room was a rectangular extension of about twenty odd square meters, just enough to fit a three-person couch and a Vid-caster. There was an independent bathroom next to a laundry renovated with wood-patterned tiles. The open kitchenette was a modest assemblage beside the entrance, possessing just enough space to cook meals for one or two, with a built-in refrigerator fitted into the gloss-white polyurethane panelling. Its two bedrooms were spacious and clean, with deep built-in wardrobes and enough room for a queen-sized bed, a single sideboard, and an ergonomic desk.

“It’s perfect,” Gwen found that beyond all expectations, they had arrived at the Goldilocks Zone. The apartment was not overly luxurious, it was close to campus, and it was within a price range she and Richard could afford.

“Excellent. Shall I prepare the contract?” Manager Xie implored them hastily, as though he had expected her affirmation. “Your option is for annual or quarterly leases, though the annual contract has a smaller fee for breaking your rental agreement.”

“You don’t need to perform a credit-rating check?” Gwen asked the eager-faced manager suspiciously.

“I am sure we can trust LCSS candidates not to flee the City, ha!”

“Gwen,” Petra tugged on Gwen’s sleeve, her face uncharacteristically demure.

“Yeah, Pats?” Gwen turned to her cousin.

Petra took Gwen to one side with a look of secrecy and guilt.

"I am going to run some Detection spells while you check the contract. Do you know how to read a rental agreement?"

"Of course," Gwen flipped back a few strands of loose hair. "I've rented before."

Petra nodded and produced Divination based spell-cubes, convinced that something had to be wrong with the apartment. She allowed an array of Detection spells to manifest and went about examining every nook and cranny.

Gwen collected herself and turned to Manager Xie.

“Manager Xie, may I inquire as to the possibility of subletting to Miss Kuznetsov, or perhaps taking out the rental on a twin-share?”

An expression of hesitation appeared on Xie’s face for but a moment.

“The Wess-M-Rutherford Property Group welcomes Miss Kuznetsov. If she so wishes to join you in leasing the apartment, I shall further terminate her existing B3-703 contract without penalty.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Gwen raised an attractively tapered brow. “Why Manager Xie, I had thought you the kind to preserve every penny in the Company's cache.”

“I am but a humble purveyor of residential space,” Manager Xie stepped back and bowed gingerly. “The customer’s word, contractually obliged, is law. Who would refute austere customers such as yourself, Mr Huang, and Miss Kuznetsov?”

Gwen cocked her head and studied the smiling Manager.

"I spoke to a few colleagues and became well informed of your noble bearing," Xie confessed humbly. "I ask for generosity and forgiveness if you are offended."

“Not at all. Let’s see this contract then. Strike while the iron is hot,” Gwen pushed. She wasn’t sure why the owner of the property was so breathlessly eager to have the property rented out so quickly, but if her old life had taught her anything about renting, it was that there were no second chances to snap up a bargain.

The duo proceeded to the smaller of the two bedrooms, away from the hustle and bustle of the cleaners. Xie materialised a short novella with the header for ‘WMR Property Group Tenancy Agreement.’ Gwen flipped through the Tenancy Agreement like an old hand at shuffling poker, observing the usual Clauses and by-Clauses.

“Please take your time.”

Except for the prohibition of Magic usage that would affect the property in any way, the rest of the agreement was distinctly similar to what one would have expected in her old world. The Rent of 75 HDMs per month included mana conduit, heating as well as water. There was even the option of taking out a parking spot down below in the garage, though Gwen had no designs on acquiring a vehicular licence as of yet.

Petra returned with a face full of puzzlement.

"It's clean." Petra met Gwen's imploring eyes with a nod of assurance. She then looked out the expansive bedroom window thoughtfully. "What a pleasant view."

"Pats," Gwen pulled her closer and tapped the contract. "I just spoke to Manager Xie..."

Gwen explained that if her cousin should desire, they could take up a co-rental agreement and share the apartment.

"That's... wonderful!" Petra was surprised and delighted by Gwen's offer. Her rental costs were almost 70 HDMs a month and ate up a significant chunk of her grant. "Are you sure?"

"Of course! We can share the rental costs, and have safety in numbers, right? I would feel so much safer with you here, and Richard as well, of course. Not to mention we can save on food costs, energy, the whole shebang!"

Petra considered her options and found that she was not at all adverse to living with Gwen. In fact, her Master would probably applaud her decision to keep an eye on her precious Void and Vitae specimen; she had stated as much already before they left.

"Alright," Petra nodded in agreement. "I am in."

"Alright! Roomies!" Gwen held her cousin's hand a danced a quick jig before collecting herself. "I am still going through the contract, one moment."

Gwen returned her attention to the legal gobbledegook.

“13.13 and 13.14,” she pointed out after a few minutes spent in silence. “Are we responsible for environmental damage resulting from self-defence?”

“If an Arbitrator deems yourself to have lawfully defended yourself, then no. The offender, in this case, will be responsible for all incurred costs.”

“And if they are dead?” Gwen raised her brow.

“D-dead?” Xie seemed caught off-guard by Gwen’s composure. “You would fight to the death?”

Gwen looked at Petra quizzically. Do Mages in the Tier 1 cities kiss and make-up after they are defeated or something? Do one’s assailants apologise and offer compensation? She could imagine a confrontation in the Frontier ending with the two parties shaking it off and reconvening for another go on a better day.

“Er... Fatalities are very rare in T1 cities," Petra explained. “Crimes are low, and incidence rates are far and in between. The entire city is within Teleportation range of the Special Spells and Tactics Unit, which means response time for tier 5 infractions is usually within a few minutes. If something does occur, there’s little that can escape the tender attention of the MSS or the Diviners of the Metropolitan Major Crimes Investigation Unit.”

Gwen blinked.

Cops? She could call on the cops?!

What a self-evident revelation! She had been so enamoured in the bloodsport of the Frontier that she had not at all considered that there is actual law enforcement that could come to her aid. But had she not seen law-enforcement twenty-four hours ago, stomping on a poor NoM who refused to leave his Hutong home? If the Chengguan were the equivalent of City Guards, then naturally there were the equivalent of high-tier Arbitrators, and if there were armed Arbitrators, then of naturally there was the equivalent of SSAT. How else was the city going to keep a lid on the boiling mass of egos that simmered beneath the facade of congeniality? For every Mage willing to contractually engage in a Lawful duel, there would be at least three who preferred to ambush their competitors. For all the talk of security and peace within the city, there were surely larceny, robbery, burglary and grand theft that would be unchecked without an equal or greater force hammering down with the cold steel mallet of brute justice.

Had Petra not stated that there were public executions? It meant that even in this alt-world PLA, the CCP had a judicial branch servicing the city’s population. How else could society function when the well-connected, the well-to-do and the well-bred flouted its laws? How else could a place where privilege and stratum impoverished the rule of law maintain order?

Next time, all she had to do was keep safe and ping 119 on her Message device. Call the Police indeed!

Armed with new confidence, Gwen returned to the contract and scanned the rest of the pages.

“Everything seems in order,” Gwen noted to Petra. “There's three months deposit as a bond paid upfront. I’ve got the currency on me right now.”

“You can seriously read that elf-speak?” Petra gazed upon Gwen with the expression of one having discovered a new continent. “I had tutors for that so that you know.”

“I…” Gwen realised she couldn’t possibly affect a conceivably believable excuse. “It's not a difficult read. The Ioun Stone takes care of the heavy lifting.”

Petra glanced at the contract and then back at Gwen. If her cousin was capable of understanding that particular piece of arcane document, then textbooks and arcane lore should offer no great obstacle, right? She would push Gwen harder! Now that they lived together, Gwen shall never know another morning of sleeping in! They would complete Goudling’s Core Primer within three weeks!

“Let me give Richard a call.” Gwen activated the Message function on her device and dialled in Richard’s glyph.

“Gwen?”

“Rich, I found a place to stay 5 to 10 minute from the campus. Single dwelling, high up, relatively new facilities. 50 HDMs a month, next door to Petra and me. What do you think?”

“Struth, that's a good price. Sign me up. You and Petra huh?”

“Ya. We're going to be roomies! I’ll send you Manager Xie’s contact and address. I’ll put down your deposit now.”

“No worries then, I'll go see him later. Fix you up later.”

“Thanks; also, I'll be crunching some tests with Mag Wen and Pats in the arvo. I'll be late.”

"Yeah alright, cheers. Give us a shout if you need help."

Gwen ended the Message.

“Here,” Manager Xie passed over a gilded fountain pen. “I’ll have it ready by the weekend, two days from now. Please inform the strata if you wish to have heavy furniture moved. You can call me anytime, and I mean anytime - if you have any enquiries.”

Gwen placed her initials on each page before signing at the front and back. Petra cosigned beside her on a second column. A receipt glyph signalled Manager Xie's receivership of their deposits, then the matter concluded.

“There will be some noise as the top floor will be undergoing renovations,” Manager Xie guiltily informed them after the fact. “There maybe be some noise for the first week or so, between 9 AM to 6 PM each day.”

“That's fine. I don’t have any furniture, at least not yet. Petra?”

“Just the usual. I can borrow Master’s Storage Ring; it’s no bother.”

“Alright,” Gwen turned to Xie, and the trio shook hands. “A pleasure working with you, Manager Xie. I look forward to moving in very soon. Richard will see you after his work.”

* * *

The two girls exited Apartment B1 of the Student’s Quarter jubilant with the prospect of their new residences. Following the jubilant Gwen like a mother hen watching a newborn chick taking her first steps, Petra couldn't help but allow her mind to wander.

Was this not the first time that her cousin, a girl of almost seventeen, had to find her lodgings? She seemed like such a veteran, her decision making so decisive and assured. She could even sift through the legal script used in those rental contracts. The poor girl. For how long had she been alone, struggling with the frivolities of life? Damn her father and mother for leaving Gwen to fend for herself for so long.

“What now?” Petra heard herself asking her younger cousin. She had not expected to finish their errand so quickly and with such convenience.

“Lunch?” Gwen felt the buzz of the Void’s insatiable hunger distinctly now that Almudj's mana muted itself from over expenditure. “I could eat.”

“Alright,” Petra gave her cousin a pat on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The girls returned to Magister Wen just before two, meeting the emerald-eyed Mineral Mage by the Yi-Fu Spellcraft Building, another renovated piece of ageing brutalist architecture that survived the aeons. Thanks to the L-shaped construction and the soaring foyer, the white-on-salmon palette loved by the university appeared far more aesthetic than at Hengsha and elsewhere.

Within the elongated section of the west wing were the Cognisance Chambers, ranging from the size of a studio to that of an auditorium. As a Meister candidate and a head researcher at Fudan, Wen had the privilege of perusing the Chambers at will.

To test her hypothesis, Wen commandeered a chamber approximately the size of an indoor-soccer field.

"How serendipitous," Magister Wen delightfully replied when Petra told her of the development on their property hunt. "Take care of her, Petra. Gwen is very precious to the University, and to ourselves."

If that wasn't loaded rhetoric, Gwen remarked, then nothing else could be considered euphemistic. Wen's candidness sat well with her though. It was far better to have someone tell yourself the precise reason they wanted to help, then to be used without consent or sanction.

They were met in the Chamber by a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties but had the bearing of someone much older.

"Magus Mai Kumiko, Assistant Professor, Department of Conjuration," The woman introduced herself.

It was the first time Gwen had seen a Japanese person in Shanghai. Both the city and the country had bad blood with the island nation thanks to the Sino Conflict in the 50s, not to mention the PLA had built its grass-roots around castigating the Japanese 'threat', so it was quite the surprise to see a Dai-Nippon national in the flesh.

"It's nice to meet you."

The Conjurer had light brown eyes adoring a face blessed with soft, supple complexion, framed by a shoulder length bob woven with auburn highlights. Her bearing and posture were posed and controlled, elegantly upheld by a hip-hugging pencil skirt and a white blouse accessorised with a red ribbon tie and tall slim heels.

"Mai's teaching the supplementary Conjuration class," Wen introduced Gwen to the Assistant Professor. "You'll likely see each other again very soon."

The three women exchanged greetings.

"I'll be in your care," Gwen stated.

"More like I'll be in yours, Miss Song," Mai confessed candidly. "I am very much interested in your Familiars. Especially the Caliban."

"I'll do my best not to disappoint," Gwen flashed the instructor a confident smile.

"Let's begin," Magister Wen said impatiently beside them. "Alright, Gwen, let's see what has the masterful Deathless Henry so enamoured!"

There was a thrum as Mana crystals clinked into place, then the room fell into darkness. A gradual light began to circulate until the floor became a mirror-plane, reminding her of the lessons taught by her Master. Feeling stunned by the spectacle, Gwen fought back an onslaught of nostalgic melancholy and turned her attention toward the reflection underfoot.

There, captive beneath an illusory pane, her Astral Body glimmered.

Held intact within the glass sculpture of her anima, was the hungering Void, the cracking Lightning, and a little something else: specs and motes of emerald green, swimming freely through a sea of alternating light and dark.

“Sorry. A slip of the tongue,” Magister Wen apologised for her faux pas. In any other circumstance, referring to a deceased Master by their famed alias would be well received but alas; Gwen's Master was unique. The Magister calmed her nerves, realising that she had been carried away by the prospect of studying a dual-element Void Mage in the flesh.

“Uwa~!” a strange exclamation issued from Mai, who had not known anything about Gwen other than that she could tap into the Void. “Dual-element! Oppositional too! Wh- what is that green mana? Triple-element?”

“Just some Druidic essence, dear.” Wen seemed to enjoy herself immensely. “Don’t be too shocked just yet. We’ll be here all day otherwise.”

“Incredible!” Mai inspected Gwen’s figure as though probing a high spec piece of machinery. The Magus' eyes firmly affixed onto the refracted figure of Gwen's Astral Body. “Beyond incredible, this is impossible.”

“Magus Kumiko!” Magister Wen snapped at the Conjurer.

“Forgive me!” Mai bowed politely and retreated behind Magister Wen, demurely assuming her place.

“Mai, proceed.”

“Onibi!”

A vivid surge of ochre mana manifested around the Conjurer.

A glowing bushel of ghostly flame floated before Gwen's instructors, casting a ring of yellow-orange illumination around the trio.

Gwen felt life-energy cascading from the summoned spirit like a fount opened into the Positive Elemental Plane.

A Positive Conjurer! And from the looks of it, a Summoner specialist. Gwen had to catch her hand from reaching out to touch the hovering flame. Here was a spirit from that exalted plane of Positive Energy, an existence rare beyond means.

“Is… that a Lantern Sprite?”

“Not a spirit, unfortunately,” Mai caught Gwen’s expression of disbelief. “Onibi is a form of spirit-lantern from my homeland. When I manifested my familiar, it was all I could think of so…”

“Sorry,” Gwen apologised for her hasty misjudgement.

"That’s alright.” Mai motioned for the lantern to float behind Gwen. “Healing Aura!”

In Gwen's astral reflection, she could see a stream of Positive energy issuing from her body, becoming tethered to the Lantern.

“A countermeasure,” Magister Wen noted dutifully beside them. “I would be lying if I said our experimentation wouldn't tax you.”

“The cost of knowledge.” Gwen turned to her seniors brightly. “I'll pay it gladly.”

“That’s the spirit!” Wen chortled approvingly. “Now, let’s start with the basics. Give me a repertoire of your spells, starting with Lightning.”

"Yes, Ma'am!" Gwen replied, finding it too strange to call the Magister Ms Wen in the presence of others.

Gwen redoubled her attention, closed her eyes, and began to incant, invoking the cosmic changes which allowed for the manifestation of sorcerous phenomena.

She took a deep breath.

“Guiding Bolt!”

"Flash Bang!"

“Lightning Blast!”

“Lightning Gasp!”

“Taser!”

“Lightning Bolt!”

“Blade!”

“Warding Bolt!”

“Call Lightning!”

Once she was hitting the fourth-tier spells, the mental and physical exertion began to manifest. Gwen could feel the strain of continuous casting starting to take its toll. It wasn’t so much that she was running out of Mana, her pool was almost double or triple the average Mage, but that the incantations and calculations induced immense mental stress without allowing for a sizeable cooldown of her cognitive faculties.

Gritting her teeth and wishing to show Magister Wen her conviction, Gwen redoubled her efforts.

“Lightning Tentacles!”

“Morden’s Faithful Hound!”

“Dimension Door!”

Gwen appeared a few meters away in a flash of conflagrating lightning. Staggering a little, she turned to face her audience. Her milk-white skin glowed under the refractory illumination of the Cognisance Chamber. So much Lightning-mana had flooded her body that her eyes sparkled with two concentric rings of electricity, with an occasional discharge arching from her hair onto the floor. Gwen allowed herself a moment of recuperation, then looked up to see what her mentors thought of her performance.

Petra, Mai and Magister Wen regarded one another with astonished faces.

“Did we just witness Morden’s Faithful Hound?” Mai’s voice shook. “There's’ Evocation, Conjuration and Transmutation all at once! How’s that possible? Also, why is her Dimension Door offensive? How did she trigger a Lightning Nova on exit? Her incantations! The mana channels! They’re nothing like the stock spells!”

She had to take a breath.

“A fascinating observation indeed.” Magister Wen was furiously running her fingers through her data slate. “Petra, did you know of this?”

“I knew-” Petra observed her Master’s eyes. “That is, I spoke to Gwen over the last few days, and noted that several of her key spells were hand-taught by her Master, not learned through textbooks.”

“They're all signature spells!” Mai looked as though she could burst into song. “Those Conjuration incantations are all signature spells! I can’t believe it!”

“Especially Morden’s Hound… Did you know the Tower no longer has a version that allows for elemental shifting?” Wen slid a finger across the slate violently. “These were taught to you personally, Gwen?”

“By Master Kilroy, yes.” Gwen dispelled her persistent effect Conjurations to conserve mana.

“Mao...” Magister Wen breathed out forlornly, shaking her head. “We lost a great man when Master Kilroy passed. All that knowledge…”

“Ki-e-ru-i?” Mai intoned besides them. “Magister Kilroy? D-Henry Kilroy? Master of Ordo Arcana?!”

“The the same, he passed in March, in Sydney. You recall, right? We watched the Vid-cast on the news.”

“Uwa~,” Mai turned at Gwen and realised what Magister Wen was apologising for earlier. “Sorry, Gwen. I was inconsiderate!”

“It’s alright…” Gwen stifled the shuddering in her chest. Who’d have thought? She knew her Master was a great man, but to think he was a man of this calibre.

She was beginning to realise just how much clout a founder of the Tower system represented. His junior disciple, a Fire Magus, called the Scarlet Sorceress, was famed and feared across Oceania as the penultimate Hunter-Killer, capable of going toe to toe with Magisters twice her age, possessing the power to rival strategic-class manifestations. His other student, Gunther Shultz, the Morning Star, could singlehandedly one-shot a Leviathan, a millennia-old Creature the size of an aircraft carrier, and was considered a peerless duelist.

The reality of the company she had kept was filtering through the familiarity she had shared. She had been so intimate with the duo that she had failed to acknowledge just how rare and incredible her siblings-in-craft were.

“Alright, now for your familiar.”

“Ariel!”

A blast of lightning struck the floor.

Ariel materialised and struck a pose.

“EEeee! Eee!”

The little marten appeared more girthy than before, now reaching the height of Gwen’s thighs. Its dark eyes glimmered intelligently. Intently, Gwen scanned Ariel for any changes after it had consumed the Eland Core.

“Eeee! EEE!”

Ariel proudly showed off two cute little horns that now protruded like spiralled triangles from its head. Thank God! Gwen praised the higher power above. If Ariel had become a giant goat, that would be terrible.

“Your familiar is beyond adorable!” Magus Kumiko gushed, clearly possessing a weakness for cute things. Disregarding her position, she dropped to one knee. “Hey there, Ariel! How's it going cutie?”

“Eee! Ee!” Ariel looked to Gwen for permission.

Gwen gave her consent.

Ariel then leapt toward Mai and rolled over onto its belly, flashing its soft fur. When Mai stroked the creature, it caused arcs of electricity to spark away from the marten spectacularly.

“What a wonderful Familiar.” Mai had none of the haughty demeanour expected of a Magus. In fact, to Gwen, her voice sounded full of green-eyed envy.

Well, Gwen had to admit. Ariel had that effect on people, especially women.

“Very well. Let’s see the Void element. Mai, get ready. Just as we discussed,” Magister Wen commanded.

“Yes, Magister.”

Gwen returned to the centre of the room.

“I am beginning.”

She aimed for the other far side, where walls of force were in place to absorb the impact of her spells.

“Void Bolt!”

“Warding Bolt!”

“Call Void Lightning!”

Gwen had only used her Void element for the Call Lightning once when they ambushed the Elder Gila. The sustained channel from the self-guided bolts consumed both mana and vitality, making the spell ineffective except for extreme measures when damage output had to be maximised.

In her present condition, two spells at tiers 3 was her limit.

With a second bolt from the Void Lightning, Gwen felt her vitality begin to wane. Without a cache of the Druidic essence, pushing for additional Void spells became a hazardous affair.

“Are you able to continue?” Magister Wen spoke from behind Gwen. “Magus Kumiko has you in safe hands, I assure you.”

Gwen nodded and redoubled her focus.

“Dark Tentacles!”

A burst of writhing Void-matter caught in the air and erupted as thought a blossom of obsidian sea anemones. With a manifestation of such force and volume, a wave of nauseating vertigo washed over the chamber.

“Mao!” Magister Wen stepped around the manifestation, examining it with great interest. “Fascinating! The manner in which the Void coils around the original incantation, the prehensile nature of the tentacles. It’s almost like a living thing!”

A few of the tentacles, perhaps sensing Wen’s presence, reached for her body.

Gwen tried to stifle the tentacles' furore. Naturally, the flailing limbs ignored her. Dark Tentacles was a spell, not a summon, the appendages were capable of differentiating between friend or foe, but it didn’t mean they did so intelligently. Teasing the manifested phenomena the way Magister Wen had done was a sure-fire method to confuse the limited IFF abilities of the spell.

Magister Wen manifested a frontal Shield and allowed one of the tentacles to touch the mineral barrier. Gwen felt a trigger in her mind informing her that the spell had found a target, and watched as one of the tendrils dug into Wen’s barrier hungrily.

“Incredible penetrative power,” Wen jotted down more notes as the tentacle whittled down her shielding. “Excellent against hard shields.”

"Shield!"

With a new invocation, the crystalline shell of Magister Wen's Mineral Shield switched to that of a transparent mana barrier. This time, the tentacles thrashed against the invisible forcefield without penetrating its exterior.

“How curious,” Wen took note. "Ironically, a low-density shield can halt the corrosively Void-matter."

Behind Gwen, a steady stream of positive energy fed gently into her body. She could see the conduits at work, smothered by the blazing glare from her own Astral Body. She had seen the same phenomenon manifested when Sufina was in Magus Kumiko’s place, channelling a steady stream of her life-force into Gwen as she trained, repeating spell after spell. Sufina’s mana was far more nourishing, akin to Almudj’s essence, but also gentler and more motherly, tempered by her Master’s knowledge of his pupil’s physical condition.

“Keep the spell up, Gwen,” the Magister commanded.

Gwen felt her vitality trickling away.

Her instructor came close and studied the reflection of Gwen's Astral Body underfoot. There was an astonishing exchange happening below. The colourless positive energy, glowing with a pale luminance, entered her Astral projection, becoming fuel as Gwen’s Void energy manifested. Within the metaphysical sculpture, the ink-like movement of the Void-matter could be seen, collating around each of the motes of tenebrous matter within her form before moving through her torso, exiting through her palms and manifesting some distance away as a blossom of grasping tendrils.

“So the Void can directly convert healing energy into life-matter for the host body?” Wen studied the phenomenon. “Gwen, try activating your Druidic essence.”

Gwen spared as much concentration as she could to command the emerald motes to move. She could almost feel the embedded motes reacting to her force of will, but even gritting her teeth and grunting with exertion, they would not manifest.

“I can’t,” Gwen huffed after an exhaustive attempt. “They’re not activating.”

“Hmm, how about something Lightning?” Petra asked curiously. “As counter-elements, they should disrupt one another, but what if you could somehow counter the effect of the Void-drain with the Positive aspect of Lightning?”

“Maybe it's worth a try.” Gwen closed her eyes and tapped into the Quasi-Elemental Gate of Lightning.

Magister Wen looked as though she was about to say something, but stopped herself.

A torrent of pale-blue mana surged throughout Gwen’s Astral form.

“Arrrrgh!” Gwen felt her head turn white as though stricken with a sudden blow to her head. She involuntarily staggered backwards and held a hand to her temple. A burst of brilliant energy flared from her torso, together with an ink burst of void-matter that appeared and disappeared within a barely perceptible split-second. The force of the sudden expulsion caused her to fall onto her buttocks, stunned by the volatility of the elemental cocktail.

The Dark Tentacle dissipated.

“EEee!!”

Ariel ran to her and began to lick her hand frantically.

“Oh my God! Gwen, are you alright?” Both Petra and Wen knelt beside the stunned sorceress as she cleared her head and orientated herself. It was Petra who was cursing herself for making such a stupid suggestion. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Bychit! How are you feeling?”

“Forgive me, that was my mistake,” Magister Wen apologised stiffly. “Tis the curse of the academic, I should have stopped you.”

The Magister produced from her ring a Spell Cube several grades higher than Petra’s.

“Greater Restoration!”

Gwen felt her mind clear and her flesh mend. She looked dazedly at Petra and her two instructors, her eyes lingering a little too long on Wen. Gwen had caught her little fidget when she was about to test out combining Lightning and Void. The Magister must have known, Gwen acknowledged a little sulkily, hiding her displeasure behind a mien of amiability. Curiosity killed the cat indeed; only she was the cat trapped in the vice. Wen might have her survival in her best interests, but she wasn’t about to hold Gwen between her hands like a fragile blossom. Little incidents such as these would be the ‘price’ of Wen’s knowledge. She had to be realistic, Gwen told herself. Gwen balanced her disappointment with the input of Magister Wen’s expertise and her generous loan of the Cognisance Chamber; her rational discourse informed her that for intents and purposes, the danger was worth the risk.

“Let’s take a break, shall we?” Magister Wen suggested.

“I can continue.” Gwen pushed herself off the floor. There was no time to beat about the bush. “Let’s continue. We need to summon Caliban next, right?”

The three women nodded.

“I am not sure how well I can control it.”

“You’re in safe hands, we're perfectly secure,” Magister Wen assured her. “So is your familiar. At worst, nothing a Force Cage or a Stasis can’t resolve.”

Petra nodded confidently at Gwen, affirming her Magister’s confidence.

“Here goes…”

Gwen closed her eyes and called out for Caliban.

With a jolt of malevolent mana, Caliban rouse to consciousness from the tenebrous embrace of the pocket dimension's dark womb. It had not expected a call from its Master so soon, and the opportunity to once again taste the delicious air of the Material Plain filled its lamprey’s maws with delight.

An oppressive air stifled the Cognisance Chamber, dimming even the enchantments that kept the sensory illusions projected.

Gwen’s Astral projection turned as dark as ink, as black as pitch, then Caliban issued forth. The gathered Mages watched as the void-matter drained from her Astral Form, taking with it the meagre glow of the Druidic Essence that was only now beginning to recover. A tear in the space above them formed, then like a monstrous obsidian placenta, a toad-thing slid from the gap between Planes and landed with a wet plop between them.

Gwen's complexion turned the colour of sheets before the stream of gentle healing returned her vitality.

“Oh, Mao.”

“Goddess above!”

Two sharp intakes of breath punctuated the chamber. While both Magus and Magister had been told accounts of the Void-toad, seeing the damnable creature meters away in the flesh still possessed the full impact of gazing upon an abominable thing possessing unending hunger. The feeling Caliban's presence gave them was akin to staring into an abyss, only now the proverbial void was sniffing the air and turning its faceless mien towards them.

“Caliban! Heel!” Gwen commanded, forcing her voice from her lips as the supply of Positive Energy intensified. Fuzzily, she felt the invigorating energy gently restoring her spent vitality. The expertise far exceeded that of Mina or Elvia's rough healing; such was the difference between a Magus and an acolyte.

“Shaa…Shaaaa.” Caliban’s hulking form stalked here and there.

Ariel playfully ran up the trunk of its massive, triangular torso and rested on the faceless head, dancing a jig. Caliban groped for its long-term nemesis and sent the playful marten skittering away.

“Caliban! Stay!” Gwen willed her creature to tarry.

Caliban turned to regard its master, and Gwen could feel the blind sense of its skin opening and closing its scent pores as it took in her scent.

"Please?"

With the sound of something slithering from a gash or an open wound, it opened its lamprey’s mouth, ejecting twin lengths of tentacle-tongues from its maw. One was blue, and the other was red.

“Steady… steady…” Gwen reached out and touched one of the tentacles, guiding it away from her with her hand before petting Caliban's faceless head. Caliban drooled to excess, and Gwen was in no mood for more laundry.

“Shaaa… Shaaa…” Caliban turned to her, then focus its senses upon the vibrant source of positive energy behind her.

“No. That's a friend.” Gwen informed her toad-minion. “Not for eating.”

“Shaa! Hiss! SHAA!” Caliban protested. Onibi was a delicious ball of Life-matter, any Void-fiend can see that. "Shaaa?!"

“If you’re not going to be a gentleman, I am putting you back!” Gwen warned it, scalding it with everything she had. She pictured dispelling the creature and felt Caliban hesitate. Then like a devious cat, it tried to move past her for a better look. Just a look, it empathically told her. Nothing else.

“SHAAA!” Caliban moved toward her, batting her aside, though gently, with its two tentacles that were the girth and size of her arm.

Gwen pushed back.

“I said no!” She gripped one of the tentacles and used it to reign Caliban’s face away from Onibi. “Heel!”

"Shaa!" Caliban made a token struggle; neither willing to forfeit its meal nor ignoring Gwen completely.

Beside the Master and creature, Petra, Magister Wen and Magus Kumiko watched the spectacle with their lips hanging limply.

“That’s…” Mai felt herself swallowing several times in rapid succession. “Is that a Death Gila?”

“It’s a Void-beast in the morphic form of a Red-cum-Blue Gila,” Petra pointed out helpfully. “Gwen’s creature seems to be able to tap into her Transmutation talent at the point of its summon. So far, I’ve seen it as a snake, a spider, and this thing. Maybe it can turn into more forms; I don’t know.”

“Blessed Yamatai.” Magus Kumiko eyed her Onibi nervously. “Onibi is going to be okay, right? That thing looks… hungry.”

The two women turned to Wen.

The Magister was shaking. Shaking! She was quivering with enthusiasm.

“A Void Beast! A living, walking, hungering Void beast! Petra, do you know what this means? We shall be the first to document the habitation and physiology of a shapeless, formless thing in the flesh! The first in a generation! Accreditations for the Meistership, fallen from the sky! Oh, Mao, I owe Klavdiya favours I cannot possibly repay. A Paper on the Void beast. Another upon the properties of Void Magic! Another and another. We’ll be publishing for years!”

“I am sure Gwen will be happy to help out, Master.” Petra had never seen her Master in such a state, feeling an unusual and rare pang of possessiveness. Her Master had not even had such an expression when Petra succeeded in creating her first Spell-Cube at age sixteen.

“Of course, I am getting ahead of myself,” Magister Wen recovered herself and laughed dryly, but her voice croaked with emotions simmering to a boil. “Oh, Petra. We have to take care of your cousin. Absolute care. She is far more precious than you know.”

“I know.” Petra turned to her cousin and watched the lithe girl bopping the menacing toad on the snout, trying to reason with it as though it was a dog.

“Mai, have you readied the summons I asked for?”

Magus Kumiko turned to the Magister nervously.

“We’re really feeding that thing?”

“Aren't you curious?” Wen’s eyes were two glowing orbs of scintillating emeralds. “We’re the first Mages to witness in detail the workings of the Void since that girl’s Master, Henry Kilroy, aided in forming the Tower system with the help of his wife.”

“…” Magus Kumiko checked her Storage Ring. “I am ready.”

“Gwen!” Magister Wen called out. “Are you ready to feed Caliban something?”

Gwen meanwhile, had just managed to turn Caliban away from the Onibi. It was now salivating globs of grey-goo saliva large enough to form a sizeable puddle on the floor.

“Please proceed!” Gwen answered the observing Mages. “Also, Caliban might get a little excited. Please take care of me! Try not to hurt it!”

“Will do!” Petra promised, answering for her Master.

“Detect Magic!”

“True Seeing!”

“Arcane Eye!”

Magister Wen was aglow with an array of borrowed Divination magic. She was pen poised and slate steady, readying herself to become the first to bear witness to the inner workings of a Void Mage first hand. What new surprises will the genius acolyte bring?

Magus Kumiko stepped forward.

With a wave of her hand, she released several glyph-stones that shot from her ring toward the ground ten or so meters from Gwen. The stones landed erect, forming an octagramic pattern that extended around each invocation until a silvery mandala became visible.

“Summon Magical Beast!”

A jolt of silvery conjuration mana could be seen linking Magus Kumiko and her mandala, signalling to fellow observers that she was channelling an immense volume of mana into the mandala. Unlike Conjuration spells, Summon spells tore creatures from the Planes into the Material world, whether willing or not. Before casting such a complicated spell, extensive research was necessary. Hosts, even swarms of willing magical-creatures could be contracted if they were intelligent. But if the need was dire, unintelligent creatures could be effectively abducted at random by summoners if they had set up corresponding mandalas in the Wildlands. What Magus Kumiko now affected was such a spell, executed mercilessly to drag unsuspecting creatures kicking and screaming by their creature cores through space and time.

A silvery flash of mana splashed across the Cognisance Chamber.

When the mandala burned out, there was a stunned creature about the size of a large dog sniffing about its suddenly changed surroundings with great interest. The creature resembled a tremendous hound of some sort, with bat ears and small, red beady eyes that glowed like motes of cinder. Its mouth drooled generously, while a protruding line of distended spines ran the length of its back to end in a tail that resembled a whip.

“A Blink Dog!” Mai frowned. These were not dangerous, but they were apt at fleeing.

“Dimension Anchor!”

Beside her, Wen was far faster than Mai. A stable of Abjuration and one of a hundred spells Wen kept on her person at all times, the Magister immediately disabled the phasing ability of the fabled Blink Dog, sealing its fate as Caliban’s snack.

Caliban turned to Gwen with its faceless head.

Gwen nodded.

“SHAAAAAA!” Caliban turned to the dog and charged.

“GRRR! ROAR!” The Blink Dog charged Caliban in turn.

At the moment of their meeting, the dog turned aside and took out a chunk of Caliban’s soft, rubbery flesh.

Gwen winced.

Caliban turned its ponderous body toward the dog and lashed out with its limbs.

The dog must have tried to use its Blink ability, for it was caught fully unaware when it did not Blink but was instead swiped by two claws the length and girth of full-sized harvest-scythes, impaling it through the left lumbar.

The creature coughed up a lungful of blood as Caliban lifted it from the air and moved it toward its maw.

“Yip! Yip! Hu hu hu hu… Nnnn… Nn…” The dog’s sounds grew weaker as Caliban’s twin tongue wrapped around the creature and crushed its ribs.

“C-CONSUME!” Gwen caught herself before the opportunity wasted itself.

Again her Astral Body turned darker than black, forming a visible line of void-matter fed into Caliban as the creature bulged and engorged with mana. With a shake of its massive shoulder, Caliban reared back and opened its lamprey’s mouth, widening until all musculature and bone seemed to distend to accommodate its abyssal maw.

There was a sound of suction; then the yipping dog was gone.

“Oh,” Gwen felt a sudden, unexpected surge of vitality. “What-“

It struck her.

A wave of indescribable pleasure, a feeling of satiation she could barely begin to comprehend, filled her mind and wiped away all other thought. It wasn’t so much that the orgasmic euphoria had overwhelmed all her senses; it was that she had not expected nearly so strong a sense of feedback. It felt as though that for a split second, all the vitality that had made the dog a living, breathing magical creature had passed through her body, that for a moment, she was in possession of a life far more robust than her own.

She had never felt like this before, not even once. Not when she trained with her Master, not when Caliban fed on the NoMs and the Mages, not when it assailed the Elder Gila. Was it because of Caliban’s new ability? Was that the root of this euphoric exaltation of satiation? Or was it because of her missing appendage, her pound of flesh that she had traded away for dismantling her shackles?

For several seconds that seemed caught in time, Gwen forgot to breathe.

“NO!” a voice resounded beside her. “Gwen! Stop your Familiar!”

Gwen returned to reality to see Caliban scraping its long claws against a crystalline wall, headbutting the barrier and drooling grey goo all over the transparent pane.

“Gwen!” Petra called out urgently her. “Get it under control!”

The Mages were in no danger, Gwen realised, but there was something to be said about a three-meter Lovecraftian monstrosity bashing at one's Shield with talons the length of one's arm.

“Caliban! To me!” Gwen petitioned angrily for her familiar to return her side.

When the 'Consume' had taken place, she had momentarily lost her reins on the creature. On a Familiar less inclined to act on instinct, it would have stood stupefied, or remained obediently passive, but on Caliban; it meant the netherworld-fiend began to seek out its next meal.

Caliban wasn't stupid, and it knew that one of these allies dispensed delicious treats.

Sniffing the air for mana, it could sense the fount of vitality that was Mai Kumiko. Caliban didn’t want to hurt Mai, Gwen could feel that much, most certainly not consume her. Instead, like a Great Dane too dumb to know its strength, it was trying to goad the Magus, in its unique way, to produce more treats from the Summoning Portal.

When Gwen reestablished the empathic link, she could feel its frustration simmering like a pot of proverbial toads in hot water.

“Caliban!” Gwen leashed the creature mentally to no avail.

Wrought now with even greater frustration, Caliban turned to the three women behind the Crystal Barrier and howled.

“Shaa! Shaa! HISS!”

Magister Wen quickly jolted down their interaction.

“Fascinating! So it's intelligent enough to not berserk! Gwen; looks like you need to work on your mental commands, maybe get the creature conditioned,” Magister Wen advised, her emerald irises lovingly eyeing the monstrosity beating down on her nigh impenetrable barrier. “Mai, summon another thing. I want to see what it does. Gwen, are you able to leash it or not?”

“I can continue, but this little bugger is a bloody handful!” Gwen tried snarling and growling at Caliban. “Caliban! HEEL! You want me to go over there? Fine! I am coming! You better not regret this!”

Wen double-checked her notes.

"Can you confirm that the last ability your Familiar used had a restorative effect?"

“Yes Ma'am, but not enough to match its expenditure,” Gwen replied in all honesty. Although Consume appeared to nourish her far more than Caliban's regular attacks, her vitality remained in deficit, meaning she could not abuse the ability in succession.

“Can Caliban eat without using your mana or vitality?” Wen asked a crucial question that was likewise hovering on the edge of Gwen's mind.

“Small creatures, yes. Ideally, something that can’t fight back.” Gwen thought back to when Caliban was sweeping through the Gila-infested pocket dimension.

The three women watched as Gwen reached Caliban and placed both her hands on to its back. For whatever reason, the creature responded far more favourably to tactile stimuli. Was it because the Void-beast lacked physicality and form in the Void? They pondered, watching with interest as Gwen laid a hand on Caliban’s broad, wart-strewn back and caressed its toad-skin, its ridges and bumps.

“Caliban, calm down,” she said to the creature softly. "Be a good boy."

Caliban ceased its restless antics and turned to face Gwen with its faceless mien. She could sense it sniffing her body, her hair, enjoying the sensation of her touching its skin.

"Good boy," Gwen cooed. "There's plenty to eat if you'd just listen."

Just as Gwen thought she had everything well in hand, Caliban reached over her shoulder with its three-meter reach and snatched at something with its dragging arms something behind her.

“Onibi!” Magus Kumiko was aghast. “Gwen! Stop it!”

“Caliban!” Gwen pounded her Familiar, but the damn thing was too large, its hide too thick. She may as well have struck a golem with her bare hands. In its attempt to get away from Gwen’s berating assault, Caliban bowled her over with its cumbersome body, not possessing the spatial awareness necessary to move with sufficient agility. Overwhelmed by the creature's girth, Gwen fell onto her buttocks for the second time.

“EE?! EeeEE! EEEEEEE!”

Beside Gwen, Ariel had stomached enough of Caliban’s arrogance. It had watched obediently, as a Familiar ought to do, its delinquent half-brother thrash and trash its surroundings like an uneducated young marten incapable of understanding their Master’s command! What was Caliban's game? Did its empathic link to Master get fed to the dogs! A stupid worm is stupid!

Ariel sent an empathic command to its Master, wishing for the mana necessary to defend her. Its answer came in the form of a generous surge of electrified Lightning element filling every inch of its body with power.

With a simple command, Ariel released its power.

* * *

Gwen felt like an idiot who’d suddenly seen the light.

When Ariel requested to contest Caliban, she suddenly recalled something that her master had said when the two Familiars first appeared to her.

"Looks like her elements are oppositional rather than cooperative... She's going to have her hands full trying to wrangle them together. Hopefully, one will check the other.” She recalled her Master stating with great wisdom.

Since then, Caliban and Ariel had rarely fought in tandem, Gwen generally used either one or the other. When she did use the two together, it was almost always against enemies with overwhelming odds, leaving the creatures with little opportunity to bicker and contest.

Wasn’t that the point though? Had her master not specifically pointed out the obvious?

“EEeee!”

A semi-circle of electricity arched from Ariel’s cute little horns.

A command came bidden to Gwen, learned from her Empathic link with Ariel. As the words issued forth from her lips, she felt the satisfaction of having a childhood fantasy she had long possessed fulfilled. She was, after all, a child of the nineties. There was little to do in her negligent household but to keep company with the soapbox, and for a child, there was nothing more significant than that rare, golden hour from 7 AM to 8:30 AM.

“P-er… Ariel! Thunderbolt!”

“EEEE!!”

A torrent of Lightning channelled directly from her Evocation sigil, possessing the same intensity and power as if she had issued forth the attack, connected the space between Caliban and Ariel.

The line-blast struck her dark Familiar full in the chest and forced it to release the quivering, terrified form of the Onibi flame, sending it packing toward its owner through some innate Blink.

“HISSS!! SHAAA!”

To Gwen’s surprise, the Lightning blast from Ariel seemed to trigger something in Caliban, her creature shrunk in size, losing its Transmutation empowered morphic field until it became an obsidian serpent of about two metres in length and the size of her thighs in girth.

“EEE!!”

“Shaa!!”

“Hiss!”

“EEeeeeee!!

The two creatures slid toward one another and joined into a ball of black and white, nipping, hissing, clawing, and wrangling one another on the floor, blazing back and forth. Feeling Caliban possessing the upper hand, Gwen helped Ariel cheat a little by supplying it secretly with a smidgen of mana to empower its Haste.

She then watched agog as her familiars fought, thinking of Ariel’s new ability.

Did the horns replicate her spells? Or was it an innate ability for Ariel? It would require additional testing, of course, but either way, it meant she could use her familiar as a secondary source of Lightning damage. Considering Ariel’s innate ability to Haste itself and crawl, roll, duck, and sneak around the battlefield, it would mean the creature offered an excellent source of offence that could arguably come from anywhere.

She turned excitedly to regard the others. Like herself, Petra watched the two Familiars bemusedly. Magus Kumiko comforted her terrified Familiar, while Wen furiously tapped her data slate.

Ariel and Caliban continued to fight with boundless energy, sending bits of fur flying here and there, with Caliban dripping its oozy saliva, or perhaps blood, it was impossible to tell, all over the Cognisance Chamber’s polished floors.

“Alright! Stop!” Gwen commanded them both.

Ariel leapt from the melee expertly, far too fast for Caliban to follow. Caliban snarled and continued to spin in a circle, only stopping when it realised it had bitten its tail with its circular maw.

“To me!” Gwen intoned, fortifying her voice with a jolt of mana. “Sit! Heel!”

Ariel returned to her instantly, the very picture of a model Familiar.

With great reluctance, as though a delinquent thrashed by a stern mother, Caliban slithered beside Gwen sulkily. Gwen couldn't help but notice that its serpentine form had changed since Gwen had last seen Caliban in its original shape. Its worm-like body now resembled a mass of roving, congealed ink, while Caliban's carapace had become opaque. Its faceless head, with its massive, singular piece of smooth chitin, had a disturbing, erotic elegance that made any observer uneasy, especially knowing that it could split to issue forth lamprey-lipped tongues.

“Bravo.” Magister Wen clapped softly. “Well done, for whipping it back under your fold.”

Magus Mai did not appear at all convinced.

“Gwen, how’re you feeling?” Petra asked carefully, observing her cousin.

After demonstrating the majority of her spells, conjuring two familiars, and exhibiting their abilities, a brilliant sheen of perspiration now covered her, plastering the fabric of her dress to her white legs. In the pale brilliance of the Cognisance Chamber, her eyes glowed, lit by the static mana that circulated her body.

Below Gwen’s physical body, her Astral Form was a blend of inky, tenebrous motes of Void bisected by brilliant flashes of Lightning. Hues of Conjuration, Evocation and Transmutation appeared and disappeared, creating a curious contrast that made it seem as though her cousin was lit from below by a quicksilver pool.

Beautiful, was the first thought that came to Petra’s mind.

Gwen was beyond elegance, she was ethereal, unreal, as though she was not of this world.

“I think I need to take a break." Her cousin raised her hand gently. “I am getting a little woozy.”

She was almost OOM, the three realised. The succession of spells, the drain on her vitality, the fiasco with her unruly familiar, the bout between the marten and the void-serpent that followed, all of her feats had been performed without rest. Restoration and Healing did much for the body, but Spell-fatigue was a weariness of the spirit.

“Let’s finish up here.” Magister Wen nodded affirmatively. “There is much to be done, and we have no reason to rush. Thank you, Gwen Song. You have shown us something truly unique and worthwhile.”

Petra left the crystal barrier and approached her cousin, heedless of the serpent that now coiled miserably around Gwen’s ankles. She had ridden Caliban as a spider, Petra thought confidently, she had full confidence Gwen could keep the creature docile in its serpent form.

“Eeee!” Ariel leapt toward Petra and made an infinity coil around her legs before begging with its paws, like a monk praying fervently.

Petra retrieved an LDM crystal and fed it to the marten, who turned to look at Caliban gloatingly as if showing off.

Provoked by the marten’s goading display, Caliban opened its maw by splitting its carapace, extending two thin, long tentacles, one blue and the other red.

Wordlessly and mildly disgusted by the vividness of the fleshy organs, Petra allowed a lamprey lip to take another LDM crystal. With the blue tendril satisfied, the red one further implored Petra, relenting when Petra wordlessly issued yet another shard.

Now in possession of two shards, Caliban turned to Ariel and hissed triumphantly.

Not to be bested, Ariel turned to Petra and opened its two beady eyes of heart-melting pity to maximum capacity. Petra had no choice but to lose another LDM.

“Alright, enough is enough, you two.”

With a call fraught with fatigue, she coaxed the two to return to their pocket dimensions.

The thrum of the chamber began to diffuse, and soon the illumination globes resumed their function. The four women found themselves in a room with floors covered with glistening fluids. Some from the now consumed Blink Dog, but mostly from the excretions Caliban left behind everywhere.

“I’ll send for a cleaner.” As the lowest member of her group of three, Petra volunteered for the trivial task.

“Mai, can you take care of this?” To their surprise, Magister Wen interceded.

“Of course, Magister,” Mai nodded. It was a nuisance, but she could do that much for being involved in something so groundbreaking. Behind the Magus, the Onibi flame hid from Gwen, quivering in fear.

“Gwen, Petra. We’re going back to the Lab. I need your help to confirm our initial findings.” Wen then turned to Mai. “We will continue the experiments, two days from now. Do you wish to be a part of our fact-finding mission? I can offer you third place on the Co-Authorship.”

“I would be honoured to be a part of your research.” Magus Kumiko bowed.

Wen nodded approvingly.

“Good, take care of Gwen when the semester begins. All of our findings will be made public in good time, but I advise discretion until we are ready to publish. You may inform Master Birch, and he can speak to me personally if he too wishes to participate.”

“I shall.”

“Very well then. Gwen, Petra. With me.”

With Petra holding Gwen steady, the three women made for the Hengsha building, leaving behind their fourth member to ready the place for its next user.

* * *

A technician, attired in the pale blue uniform of a maintenance officer, watched the women disappear between the rows of Mulberry trees lining the avenue.

He proceeded to the botany quarter, where he met a young woman in the adjoining rose garden, blooming with the splendour of spring's floral bounty.

“Get on with it, this isn’t a date.” The comely woman scowled, her fluttering lashes cutting the air with annoyance.

The technician smiled wryly and produced a recording crystal.

The woman impatiently placed the recording medium within a viewing device, and observed the Illusory projections held within the card-like sliver of crystalline data.

“Okay.”

The two touched hands, then currency passed between their Storage Rings.

“They’re going to be back in two days.”

“Good. My Master will offer the same rate for the additional sessions as well.”

“May I…”

“No. The price is for an exclusive. You know what will happen if you cheat us, or if someone finds out.”

“I know.” The technician swallowed nervously.

“One would think so. See you in two days. Don't be found out.”

Turning on her heels, the woman in white left the maintenance officer to ponder the choices left to him. The woman was right in one regard; the opportunistic technician knew what would befall him if he tried to cheat her.

* * *

“We can use a spectre-index to represent your vital cost and expenditure numerically,” Petra pointed out helpfully as the three women poured over the data collected from the afternoon’s experimentation.

“We still haven’t carried out indexing on your Evocation Spells either, I would suggest benchmarking with Void Bolts, testing with small animals and moving up from there.”

“I want to try out Ariel’s new abilities and see if it meshes with my other spells,” Gwen informed her seniors. She needed a field of some sort. It wasn't as though Gwen could fire off blasts of Lightning in public. “Also, if Ariel could truly keep a check on Caliban, it would provide a temporary solution to one of my pressing issues.”

“You can't suppress Caliban entirely?”

“It still possesses a mind of its own, I am afraid. If it becomes overstimulated, I am not sure it will listen to my commands.”

“Can it take on a Blink-Dog form now?” Wen inquired.

“I am not sure; it’s the first time I have used the Consumption ability in that sort of setting. Normally, Caliban burrows for the cores, then consumes the creatures from within.”

"Mao below, that's terrifying," Magister winced, trying to picture the serpent borrowing under a Magical Creature's skin.

The three Mages drank their Oolong. For supper, Wen had sent the NoM staff in the building out on an errand to bring food from University Boulevard. Now they were sorting through the data while enjoying their infusions and glutinous osmanthus cakes.

“At any rate, you’re saying there’s terrific feedback from the Consume?”

Gwen nodded, chewing on the florally scented jelly. She swallowed before she spoke.

“I am positive. The feeling is indescribable, it's as though I am starving, or maybe thirsty to the point of exhaustion, and then suddenly encountering the Golden Nectar of the Dryads. Incredibly intense, I almost blacked out.”

“Do you think…”

“I hope it dulls with repetition, yeah,” Gwen replied worriedly. The sensation was one of pleasure - comparable - if she had to find an analogy, with the proverbial Soma of Huxley’s famed novel. It was delight without effort, rapture without cause, a feeling of fulfilment in the metaphysical sense, a genuine jolt of unadulterated gratification. It was cocaine. Even now she was feeling the buzz, the fuzzy aftermath of having a surge of life and mana suddenly filling her body. It was ambrosia, a moment close to immortality.

"Do you think it will be a problem?" Magister Wen asked earnestly. "We can probably do something about it via a dampening item. Maybe a Ring of Protection from Mental Command, experiment with various mental-Abjurations, that sort of thing."

"I'd like to see if its possible to resist it naturally," Gwen advised her companions. "I think I've had enough of crutches for now."

"The choice is yours, but we'll look into it regardless," Magister Wen affirmed her decision.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Petra spoke to Gwen with a worried expression.

"It's fine. I'll take care of myself. I promise."

“Your initial report from Klavdiya said that Caliban's consumption of Mages ballooned your capacity for mana, is that true?” Magister Wen continued.

Gwen nodded again.

“Do you think Consume could increase your… vitality? Become healthier? Stronger? Faster? Who knows.”

“I don’t feel any different,” Gwen confessed a half-truth. She was feeling a sense of satisfaction that was difficult to put into words.

“Are you adverse to- er... human testing?” Magister Wen dipped a finger into the water to test Gwen's tolerance.

“I AM,” Gwen retorted sternly. There was no way she was about to start murdering human beings to test out her abilities. That was the way of Elizabeth Sobel; she’s trying to hunt the monster, not become the monster. "Please, Ma'am. I don't want to harm anyone, insofar as much as we can."

“Of course, I am merely asking,” Magister Wen replied unconvincingly. “You are alright with experimenting on summoned creatures, yes?”

“I am," Gwen agreed hesitantly.

“Alright then, how about Demi-humans?” Wen tested the waters again. “Ugly, inhuman ones? I guarantee you won’t even know. We'll use nothing remotely simian.”

“Please, no…” Gwen insisted.

“Okay, I understand.” Magister Wen gave her an affirming smile. Gwen tried to hear the gears grinding in the Magister's head, but the Magister allowed nothing to escape her.

The trio looked down at the planned Papers for the next year and a half:

Initial Investigation of Void Mana to Vitality Conversion Ratio.

Affinity rate for Void Spells: A Comparison.

Void-Matter Interactions Material Data.

Effects of Consumption on the Caster:: C: G. Song F: C. Song

Longitudinal Study of the Extended Use of Void Magic:: Gwen Song

Druidic Essence Material Data.

Most of her slated tests centred around Gwen's Void talent.

Magister Wen then offered the modus ponens that the strange, pleasurable effect of the Consumption ability was both a part of Caliban’s skillset, as well as exacerbated by Gwen’s loss of the Kirin Amulet, which would have acted as a mediating force between the exchanging Void and Life energies within her body. What she was feeling now, the Magister proposed, is merely the raw, unfiltered comings and goings of rough magics violating her senses.

"Mayhap you could try to locate a second, similar device? About fifty CCs at the Tower will likely get you an answer. As for purchasing one, you might have to wait until you become capable of performing Quests for the Tower."

Wen furthermore informed Gwen that she could refuse any of the papers the Magister had planned but also promised that the research data would be used to gain her a position at the Pudong Tower as soon as she invests herself into Shanghai's political scene.

“By Second Year, I guarantee you.” Magister Wen brimmed with confidence. “With the old Magisters at Pudong, mayhap even the Magi himself taking an interest in these findings, your safety in Shanghai is assured!”

“Won’t the PLA interfere?” Gwen asked.

“That would be Pudong’s problem,” Magister Wen answered with a smirk. “With your ties to Kilroy’s apprentices, it's not as though the PLA could have a use for you, at least not without significant reconditioning. But if they did that, you’d be useless to them.”

“Reconditioning?”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” Wen batted a casual hand to and fro. “You’re perfectly safe.”

Gwen wondered about that, but her outlook was agreeable with Magister Wen's proposal. The research helped Gwen immensely as well, allowing her far more nuanced knowledge about her abilities and their limitations, all the while performed in a relatively safe location under supervision and support.

"Well, about this spectrometer..."

* * *

As it was a Friday night and the city's vibrant 'night owls' were all out and about, Petra escorted Gwen home. Mina’s apartment occupied a very trendy part of Shanghai, and the weekend attracted all manners of unsavoury characters into the neon lights of the Bund and beyond.

“I hope our apartment is ready by Monday,” Petra commented as they passed by a troop of young men and women outside a nightclub, drawing dozens of eyes as they passed. “God, I hate places like these. So many people. All the time.”

Gwen’s Message device buzzed.

“Yeah, Richard?”

“Mina and Tao are over, how close are you to home?”

“I am with Pats, about 10 minutes, why?”

“They want to eat out, want to come along?”

“Sure, I could eat,” Gwen replied. Unlike the previous days, she did not feel the incessant hunger. It was unusual because she had most certainly excessively used Void Magic today.

“Great, tell Petra we’re going to SHOOK! on Nanking. The Address is 23 Nanjing East.”

“Alright, see you there soon.”

Gwen informed Petra, who knew of the place, and Mina, Tao and Richard soon joined the two. Mina flashed a card at the manager, and the group bypassed the half-a-block line outside and ventured straight in.

Within, the young Mages had a booth to themselves, staffed by private Waiters and a Chef who cooked Wildland cuts of tender meat on a fire-enchanted slab of stone.

Richard and Tao knocked down expensive European beers while the girls had cocktails. Gwen initially thought of ordering a mock-tail but forwent the consideration for her drinking age after becoming peer pressured by her two girlfriend-cousins.

An account of the day exchanged between them; then small-talk was made regarding their new place of residence.

“WMR Properties?” Mina raised a tapered brow as she sipped her Signature Blue-Moon. “Huh, it figures.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Gwen turned to her cousin for some sincere advice.

“Probably nothing.” Mina shook her head. “The M in WMR belongs to The House of M, but they own lots of properties around the city anyway. WMR is a corporate conglomerate group, after all.”

“Ah, you mean Mayuree,” Gwen realised Mina's concern. “You think this is another favour?”

Mina shrugged, putting a spoonful of truffle to her lips and chewing thoughtfully before answering.

“If you were renting anywhere from Waitan to Laoximen, around the Jinan District, you’d be looked after by my Dad, so I’d dare say its fifty-fifty. The big merchant consortiums own most of the properties around the CBD.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Gwen turned to see how the others were doing.

“Yeh Dawg, I am telling ya. Yo gotta come to one of our shows man! It’s the bomb. You gone be impressed, I guarantee it! Drinks on me! VIP! Yeeeah!”

Tao was extolling the virtues of his underground shows, hosted by ‘crews’ of cosmopolitan men and women who worshipped the latest trends from America.

For Gwen, if a ‘trend’ like the latest iPhone could make its way across the sea, that would be far more satisfying. Having spent almost fifteen years of her life with a smartphone, using a device capable of only Messaging and making Calls was agonising. She had no idea where things were, what district had what businesses and services, and could get lost in the city if she did not follow someone or asked for directions. Until she had carefully explored the downtown and could call herself a local, it was unlikely she would venture too far out of the CBD and the Campus district, at least not alone.

“Gwen, come on, you gotta come to one of my shows, just one!”

“Okay, Peaches. I will. I promise,” Gwen replied sweetly. “Petra and I are a little busy right now though, but definitely once things cool down.”

“Alright, alright!” Tao whooped loudly, and the two cousins made a low-five.

“Pussht!” Gwen leaned backwards dramatically, expecting Tao to do likewise.

“…” Tao stared at her as though he’d slapped her, which was what Gwen's sideways tilt, followed by the strange sound effect, seemed to them.

The others turned to look at Gwen as well, searching her face for answers.

Gwen felt her pale complexion flush pink and beetroot.

Ah nuts, she blinked. She could guess by now that this world did not have six seasons of Fresh Prince to culture them in the art of the low-five.

A day later, Manager Xie called and told the girls that they could pick up the keys from the office whenever they desired. As such, the girls took inventory of what they needed, then had Tao’s chauffeur drive them, as well as Richard, around town picking out furniture, toiletry, as well as other necessities of life for the latter half of Saturday until finally receiving the keys to their new apartment.

Sunday, the girls returned with Magister Wen to the Yi-Fu Spellcraft Building and continued preliminary testing, recording Gwen’s biometric fluctuation as she fired off Void Bolt after Void Bolt.

“Minimal rebounds from your Evocation spells,” Magister Wen observed somewhat disappointedly. A dozen summoned creatures perished under Gwen’s spells before her Druidic Essence waned, but they could not replicate the fabled vampiric effect of the Void.

Caliban proved to be a superior research subject.

Now aware that it was being summoned to feed, the creature became far more compliant. Warming up to Magus Kumiko, the sometimes-serpent, sometimes-toad, occasional-spider and centipede monstrosity ravaged the magical chattel summoned by the Magus, all the while purring like a kitten.

When Gwen tried to command Caliban to transform into the creatures it had consumed, everything from scarlet-furred felines, carrion crawlers, dire wolves to even a horned-bear, the beast became frustrated and disruptive.

“Maybe it only transforms into creatures it bests, in the wild. Like in a ritualistic bout.” Petra made an unusual and unlikely proposition.

Gwen was thinking more so of Faceless, and how the void-woman-thing had tried to consume her body by taking it into its morphic form as though submerging her into a pool of corrosive pitch. Maybe it had something to do with creature cores, or perhaps power levels, or, as Petra said, it was about besting the opponent.

Under Wen and Kumiko’s watchful eye, she attempted both Consuming feeder-summons, as well as having Caliban wail away without using its Gila-ability. Though there was no conclusive answer to that hypothesis, Gwen did confirm that without her Kirin amulet, she was most definitely receiving the lion’s share of the vitality consumed by her void-Familiar.

Her new problem, which she felt best kept to herself, at least for now, was the persistence and consistency of the euphoric pleasure that came with Caliban’s consumption.

Being a woman of experience, she wouldn’t quite say that Consumption was ‘better than sex’, but it was undoubtedly a penultimate feeling of pleasure. To rationalise the peculiar attraction of the unbidden euphoria, she couldn’t help but think of the time Morye tried to cold turkey his smoking addiction; after forty-eight hours of cold sweats and dark mumblings, her father put a Marlborough to his lips and made a face like he'd entered nirvana.

A few times, her spine tingled when Caliban tore and ripped at its meal like a wood chipper turned roaring and thrumming, onto a cowering magical beast abducted from the Orange Zones. The omen was clear, but Gwen knew the danger - when it came to the Void, merely existing was a risk. At any rate, all she could do was ward herself against pursuing these all-consuming moments of transient rapture.

I can do it! Gwen told herself, confident that she could handle it. In her old world, Gwen herself was a woman of many habits; she liked her fine dining, her theatre, her shoes, her couture, but substances had never been her vice.

Exhausted and tired, Gwen returned to Mina’s apartment and readied herself for another big day.

* * *

When Monday arrived, Gwen, Petra and Richard came to their new abodes, removal truck in tow, and began to furnish their new homes. Magister Wen had lent Petra her Large Storage Ring, allowing Petra to pack all of her belongings from her B3 apartment in one convenient sweep.

Gwen took the room with the larger window at Petra’s behest, who insisted that she desired little more than a place to wash and sleep close to the campus. The girls laughed and made chit-chatter while their white goods arrived, followed by a contemporary couch, a dining set in the Saarinen Tulip style, a luxurious high-pile rug to warm their feet on the sofa, and a Noguchi coffee table.

When the living room was finally set up, Petra couldn’t help but marvel at the simplistic beauty of it. They had a Vid-caster on the far wall, a scandi cabinet in white polyethene and oak, equal-distantly framed by a glass coffee table and a low-back couch that made the room far more spacious than she had anticipated. When the workmen were done with their bedrooms, Petra marvelled at the ergonomic use of vertical space in a way that seemed natural and not all cluttered.

Gwen reminded herself that she needed to contact the Pudong Tower to install that LR Communication Projector, wondering if Petra was okay with having a crystal-core LRC Device located in the midst of their common area. The project had a slight delay though, for Gwen needed to access Fudan's Towers to trade in her CCs.

After the NoM cleaners made another round, collecting bits of cardboard, Gwen went next door to oversee Richard’s renovations. Her cousin, whose adolescence survived the dorms of Prince’s College, transformed his small living room into a bachelor pad. Lacking a Vid-Caster, Richard congregated four eclectic-themed couches, a battered table amongst a bric-a-brac of things that had arrived while Gwen was busy with her side of things. An old, iron-plate advert of a lascivious leggy blonde riding a ten-foot wand with the tag 'blasting away' insinuatingly adorned a back wall. The room resembled, Gwen realised, someone's idea of a college student's abode and Gwen couldn't help but wonder how much of it was Richard, and how much of it was for show.

“Where in the world…” Gwen marvelled at the fridge and the Magitech equivalent of a micro-oven. “...Did you get these?”

“Ha, I mentioned that I was moving and starting university, and some of my co-workers donated these.” Richard grinned.

Gwen felt immensely impressed. Richard had worked with the work crew less than a week, and they were already donating all their second-hand white goods and spare couches. As for the quality of the donations, she couldn’t say, but the gesture was something she could appreciate.

Returning to her room, Gwen saw Petra busily personalising her own, inspiring Gwen to return to hers to do the same. She carefully laid out her arsenal of attires which she’d acquired in her travels as well as salvaged from Sydney, then took account of her war chest: T-shirts by the dozen in pastel and plain. Skirts in the twenties, jeans in the tens and half a dozen pair of blouses, jackets, blazers, shorts and other assorted bric-a-brac accessories all poured into the built-in-wardrobe. Finally, she once again possessed ample space in her Storage Ring.

She would need to purchase more outfits, of course. There would be frequent gatherings, socials, outings, interviews and meet-and-greets in the immediate, three-year future. The golden vestige of teenagehood was the prime of a young woman’s life. Having been given a second chance, Gwen was keen to live it to the fullest.

* * *

The next two weeks thus came and went without incident, and the euphoria of living in a new home was soon drowned out by the noise of her busy schedule.

The renovation upstairs wasn’t nearly as bad as Manager Xie made it out to be thanks to their frequent absence. Gwen left the apartment with Petra early in the morning, as did Richard, whose work made him more often away from home than not.

Every few days, Gwen called her grandmother, even if she was sure that Petra would have reported their comings and goings with the precision of a military report. Her grandmother spoke a little about the development at home; her father's returning to Hebei to train, her uncle’s advice for her to stay safe, and then there was Percy.

Thanks to Guo calling in some favours, Percy was accepted into 'The' Shanghai Xiangming High School, the most prestigious government-sponsored school in the city. It meant that her brother would receive the best education under the most experienced tutors, in addition to placing firmly under the auspice of the PLA, for the school almost exclusively produced Mages who went on to join Jiantong University, and then a PLA career track.

“That’s wonderful news,” Gwen said nothing else and mentioned nary a word about the Kirin amulet. Her babulya likely already knew about her dilemma, and if she could have done something about it, she likely would. Nagging would only make her grandmother feel worse. “Would you like to come and see our apartment?”

Her grandmother promised she would - when work at the Experimental Hospital allowed.

In the intervening time, Gwen managed to book a private training hall through Petra’s connection. Her instructor-to-be, Magus Kumiko, offered to accompany her, but only if Caliban would not make an appearance. The Void-beast had grown obnoxiously fond of the master Summoner, seeing her as an indispensable fount of Wildland treats.

“Lightning Grasp!”

"Eee!"

“Lightning Bolt!”

"Eee!"

“Blast Bolt!”

"Eee!"

“Call Lightning!”

"Eee?"

“Flashbang!”

“EEeeeeEEEE! EEEE!! EEE~”

“OH. MY. GOD! Sorry! Are you okay?!”

Performing a ranged Flashbang, Ariel manifested the spell in front of its face and became instantly blinded and deafened, causing it to collapse onto the ground and writhe in epileptic ecstasy.

"Poor Ariel! I'll kiss it better, okay?"

Gwen congealed a droplet of her Druidic Essence and fed it to the marten. Ariel took the emerald dew within its lips, then sprang to renewed life, dashing to and fro with such haste as to resemble a bolt of lightning itself. She could feel her empathic link going into overdrive as the marten blazed across the training field, tearing up the conjured bitumen. She had tried to assuage Caliban in an earlier outburst of frustration and wilfulness, but the Void creature appeared ambivalent about the source of Gwen's primordial Lightning.

As the marten recovered, Gwen considered her new options.

It would seem that Ariel's horns could only duplicate her Evocation spells, allowing for a twin-cast from both herself and the creature, so long as she channelled the mana for both of them. As such, it seemed that the best way to abuse Ariel’s horns was to load up on Conjuration herself, then together with the marten, unleash Evocation spells from both herself and through her pet at an opponent’s blindside. In theory, the strategy seemed sound to both herself and Magus Kumiko, as Ariel could be mauling an opponent one second, then blast them with a bolt of Lightning a few inches away from their face. Gwen imagined the Hasted marten shimming up a Mage's trouser leg, and then- Zap!

“An exceptional ability and one rarely manifested.” Magus Kumiko observed approvingly. “It takes an incredibly dense and well-preserved core to pass on such a talent. Where did you find such a thing?”

“A favour,” Gwen confessed enigmatically.

“Beware of favours,” her instructor advised.

“I know.” Gwen agreed wholeheartedly.

Onibi floated toward the marten and nudged it. The marten purred and rubbed its face on the flames. Gwen knew that the ghostly fire felt more like strands of silk. Onibi was a thing from the Positive Elemental plane, and that was why it found rapport with Ariel, who was a being of Air and Positive mana, though mostly unstable positive mana; just as Caliban was primarily hungering Negative energy.

“Shall we try some target practice?” the helpful Magus offered, as much for her curiosity as any other. When one whetted a knife, there was always the overwhelming desire to test out its keenness.

“Sure.” Gwen closed her eyes for a moment of introspection. Even now, she marvelled at the volume of mana welling within her Astral Form. “I got plenty left in me yet.”

* * *

Gwen awoke to the most god-awful sound imaginable on the Material Plane.

“WEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEE!”

“Evacuate NOW!”

“Do not use the levitation platform!”

“Evacuate NOW!”

“W-Wha?” Gwen pulled out of her blankets, pyjamas akimbo and half-asleep with grogginess.

“Gwen!” Petra burst through her door, wearing nought but her intimates. “There’s a fire somewhere in the building. We need to go.”

“Oh God,” Gwen groaned. “No! No! No! Not when Richard is away!”

They had just settled in for two weeks! How could she lose her home now? Her mind immediately thought of the potential of the fire being a scheme of some sort, but no one knew nor cared enough about herself nor Petra to set an apartment on fire, surely?

“It’s just an evacuation alarm." Petra read the panic on Gwen’s face. “There shouldn’t be any danger, I don’t sense any smoke, and there’s nothing I can see from the winter garden. We should be safe, but its best to go.”

Gwen rolled out of bed and searched for something to wear, finding a pair of stretch-pants and a light-weight parka to cover herself. All of her essential documents remained safely in her Ring, if the apartment should genuinely perish, all she would have lost was her wardrobe and her new furniture.

“Where’s Richard gone?” Petra asked.

“Working late. Staying on-site.”

Richard increased his part-time hours now that they had settled into the apartment. Gwen figured that her cousin must be hoping to make a sizeable sum before their semester officially began, for he would have scant opportunity for labour once the academic term consumed all their time. If Richard had been here, Gwen would not have entertained a single thought of being endangered by wayward flames. Surely, with Lea’s help and a liberal sprinkle from the Elemental Plane of Water, any fire could be quickly doused.

“Evacuate NOW!”

“Do not use the levitation platform!”

“Evacuate NOW!”

“Bloody hell, I can’t even hear myself think!” Gwen groaned as she struggled into her attire. Petra emerged a moment later in a singlet and her yoga pants.

The two girls made for the fire escape after locking their apartment, meeting their neighbours who were likewise fleeing down the stairs with faces full of annoyance and simmering anger.

“Evacuate NOW!”

“Do not use the levitation platform!”

The alarm system drowned out all conversation as the girls followed the crowd to the meeting point below, where already over a hundred residents chit-chattered, looking straight upward at the building and trying to figure out what was wrong.

The midnight air of Shanghai’s spring was stifling as usual, and the girls found themselves sweating despite their light attire. Such was the humidity of the weather, exacerbated by the thick mass of mana pollutants that hung like a miasma over the city.

“Hi, I am from 21-03.”

Within minutes, seeing the two girls alone and by themselves, a few bored and enterprising young men from the dorms were taking advantage of the enforced intimacy. Petra ignored them entirely, but Gwen shook hands with a few of them and introduced them as students from the university.

“Miss Kuznetsov! Is that you?” A young man uttered in disbelief once he came closer and saw Petra’s face, stunning even without any makeup. “I am… I can’t believe we live in the same building! To think we’re neighbours! I thought you lived in B3.”

Petra stared at the young man coldly until he apologised and made a retreat. Despite her putting up a frigid resting-bitch face, dozens of eager eyes shot toward the two girls, and soon the courtyard was liberally whispering about 'Miss Kuznetsov', as well as inquiring as to who the girl next to the celebrated ‘Ice Queen’ of Fudan was.

“Maybe a relative? She looks like a gweilo as well,” A girl commented.

“I think so; she’s almost as tall as Miss Kuznetsov…”

“Do you think she attends Fudan?”

“She must, she just said so to Lee.”

“I’ve never seen her in class though.”

It took a good ten minutes or so for the Fire Fighters to arrive. Gwen understood from reading PSA's that there was a Mage variant of Fire Fighters and there was the NoM variant. As the fire presented itself as non-destructive and localised, the NoM variety arrived to assuage the residents.

Another ten minutes passed where Gwen was harassed by interested parties, politely diffusing the situation with sweet smiles, vapid giggles and generous handshakes, with Petra watching on as though she had no involvement in her cousin’s predicament.

“Alright, everyone! You can go home. False Alarm! False Alarm!” the Fire Marshall declared.

“What the fuck?”

“Wocao! Stupid alarm.”

“Kaonima! Whoever set this off!”

“Who the hell triggered it!”

“Shit, I got to work in 2 hours!”

“I have a paper due in 5!”

Grumbling and far from happy, the crowd returned to the building.

Not wanting to be crushed by the weight of the people crowding the lifts, Gwen and Petra decided to take a walk around the perimeter and take in the ambiently lit rock garden at B1's exterior before returning to the main lobby.

As they entered the foyer, Gwen couldn’t help but have her eyes drawn to a pair of siblings also waiting for the levitation platform.

The familiar-looking girl was small and petite, cute with large and luminous eyes that made her look younger than her real age. She wore a pink terrycloth set in the Juicy Couture style prevalent in Gwen’s old world, tapering to her body with a tailored fit.

Beside her, a young man stood languishingly, not much taller than the girl beside him, attired in a grey-white set of matching tracks. He turned to the girls with a sheepish grin, blowing out a stream of smoke.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the man distinctly recognised by his love of eye-liners greeted Gwen. “What are the chances, hey?”

“M-Mayuree?!” Gwen blurted out a name that wasn’t much surprise.

“M-Marong?!” she then blurted out a name that was most definitely a surprise.

“What are the two of you doing here?” Gwen heard the blocks falling into place in her head even as the words escaped her lips; the two pissed off ex-tenants, the eager Manager, the sweet-rental deal, clicking into place.

“Ahahaha…” Mayuree’s flustered, embarrassed face looked as though she was about to burst into tears. “Hello, neighbours.”

* * *

“You set off the smoke glyph?!” Gwen didn’t know what else to say.

It was Marong who had set off the alarm. It was the Para-Elemental Mage’s first day staying in the penthouse suite, and he had entirely neglected the fact that unlike his own home, none of the safety devices in the newly renovated apartment was deliberately deactivated.

“It’s because that was originally my Master's-Suite…” Mayuree sulked, hugging a pillow on the L shaped couch resting on the lower-floor of the mezzanine. Above them, a glass-cage construction looked out over the campus, where the two Fudan Towers were fully visible, aglow with diffusing mana.

“Quit your sulking, Mia, the guest rooms all have ensuite too.” Marong leaned back into the couch without any sign that he’d thought himself in danger from Gwen and Petra.

The young man yawned then turned to the girls.

“I am more so surprised you’re here speaking with us.” Marong cocked his head toward Gwen questioningly. “Last we met, you were positively skittish!”

“Are you alright?” Gwen ignored the brother's goading and turned to Mayuree. “Is he bullying you, Mia?”

“Wocao!” Marong protested. “You make me sound like a scoundrel.”

“You are a villain! Meanie! Idiot!” Mayuree retorted churlishly.

“I take it you all know each other then?” Petra felt as though she was having the wool pulled over her eyes. “This is the Diviner you were talking about?”

“Yes, Ariel’s benefactor,” Gwen snickered.

“It was a trade!” Mayuree insisted. “A downpayment.”

“You shouldn’t have told your fortune,” Petra noted critically, looking the girl up and down as Mayuree clutched her pillow tighter. Petra's husky-blue eyes had that effect on small animals.

“So you’re the infamous Miss Kuznetsov of Fudan,” Marong smacked his lips together appreciatively. “Simply exquisite.”

"Mmmph,” Petra grumbled at him.

“And the infamous Void Sorceress. A pleasure.”

Gwen met Marong's inquisitive eyes.

“If only Kitty were here, she could be making us some tea,” Marong announced regretfully, holding his gaze without the slightest deviation. “Alas, our little storm in a teacup will not arrive until the semester starts.”

“Kitty is not my servant!” Mayuree hissed at her brother. "She's my friend!"

“And Gwen too is a friend. A friend to us both, right?” Marong smirked at Gwen.

"Maybe when we get to know each other a little more," Gwen chided the offensively confident Marong. "I am on Mia's side, after all."

"Ha!" Marong huffed disingenuously.

“At any rate, we should get back,” Gwen interrupted Marong’s self-aggrandising banter. “Mia, I know that you’re to thank for our lodgings, and I certainly don’t mind that we’re neighbours. If there's something you want to talk to me about, come to my apartment.”

“Sleep well!” Marong called out, waving a hand casually in the air. “The detector better be off! I could kill for a smoke...”

Gwen and Petra left the penthouse, followed closely by Mayuree.

“Look, I can explain. Please let me explain.” Mayuree followed them out the door, touching Gwen's arm over familiarly.

“Come down with us? We can talk in private,” Gwen offered. She was interested too, in how Marong came to be their menace-in-residence.

“Right now?” Mayuree hadn’t expected Gwen to be forgiving.

“Yep, come on.”

The three girls returned to 2203.

“Wow, nice setup!” Mayuree marvelled at Gwen’s contemporary living room when she entered. The girls set themselves up on the couch, and Petra poured the two of them each a glass of water.

“I am going to bed, scream if you need help,” the Mineral Mage quipped, then retreated to her room.

Mayuree watched Petra leave.

“The one and only Petra Kuznetsov, in the flesh!” Mayuree intoned with awe. “She’s as beautiful as the rumours say.”

“Petra’s a good sheila,” Gwen agreed. “She’s a ripper of a gal.”

“S-she-la?” Mayuree tried to replicate the slang without success. “Gwen. I am sorry I didn’t let you know beforehand!”

“It’s fine.” Gwen was starting to feel a bit guilty. She got an apartment that she couldn’t have otherwise accessed, for half the price, and now the bringer of her boon was apologising? There was only so much advantage a girl could take before she should blush for shame. “Look, I am happy and thankful. I owe you another one. “

“You’re not mad, are you?” Mayuree came closer to her face.

“No! Of course not.” Gwen took Mayuree’s hand to assure the girl, while moving her face further away. “I am more worried about you. Are things okay with your brother?”

“My half-brother,” Mayuree confessed candidly. “I don’t know. I moved some of my people to get this penthouse sorted out, but my brother barged in halfway with his people, then I had to concede the Master bedroom to him if I wanted to stay here at all.”

“And you agreed? What if he’s pushing you around? What's his game?”

“Well… I don't know. I wasn't going to Divine it...” Mayuree tried to place Marong, but even she felt lost for words. “He’s a peculiar sibling, I guess. I wouldn’t exactly call him malicious or cruel. He likes his jokes, and his jokes always go a little far. This one time when we're young, he set a goblin on me to see how long I could run before..."

“That’s abuse, hon.” Gwen patted the poor girl on the hand. “You should report that.”

“I don't think anyone would have cared until injuries started happening...” Mayuree looked the very picture of pity. "My family is... openly competitive."

Gwen felt her maternal feelings skyrocket. Mayuree wasn’t cute like Elvia, but there was a natural innocence about the Diviner that made one want to protect her, not unlike the feeling one got when holding a kitten or a puppy.

“You’re okay with being neighbours then? Even with Marong?”

“Yeah, he seems like an alright sort to me, to be honest. It’s fine to be a bastard when you're young. Kids are cruel. I am fine so long as he leaves you alone. Do you think he’s going to be a danger? What’s your deal anyway? Why are you here?”

“I got a half-scholarship,” Mayuree informed her. “I thought we could attend school together.”

“Can we even attend the same course?” Gwen asked sceptically.

“We can hang out on campus.” Mayuree came closer yet again. “I just wanted us to be close, for you know, reasons.”

“I wouldn't mind that. I don’t know anyone here, except for the people you’ve already met.” Gwen slid back an inch.

“That’s wonderful news!” Mayuree replied happily, then caught herself. “I mean, I am sure you’ll make new friends.”

“I hope so too. Did Marong say Kitty is staying with you as well?”

“Yeppers, she’s the one with full-scholarship.”

“Oh?” Gwen noted with surprise. So that’s the other winner of the LCSS. When she thought back on it though, the Wind Mage had demonstrated control far superior to hers. Her casting speed, tactical choice, and even her ability to use Flight both defensively and offensively, were leagues above Gwen’s. As for herself, she could only admit that for all intents and purposes, she was the immoral backdoor cheater who’d snatched her LCSS placement like a bandit before fleeing the scene of her crime.

“I hope you can work well together,” Mayuree prophesied hopefully. Her imploring puppy eyes made Gwen all the more guilt-ridden.

“I am sure we will,” Gwen assured her. “Look, it's getting late. How about we convene for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Sure! Come to the apartment! We have an Aunty there who will make it! She’s from the main house, and she’s a muse of the kitchen. Cantonese style, Japanese, Korean, Western, whatever you want, she can make it.”

“An Aunty? Your aunt is living with you?”

“Not an actual Aunty!" Mayuree corrected Gwen, "Our NoM Maid, she’s in the kitchen.”

“Wha? I was just there. There was no one.”

“I mean the pantry; she lives in the pantry. There’s a Maid’s room in it.”

“The p-pantry? Where was she when the fire went off?”

“We weren't in any danger, so she stayed behind.”

“Jesus…”

Gwen furrowed her brows and tried to imagine the strange spectacle. There was a living, breathing human being who was living, hiding, residing- in the fucking pantry the entire time, listening to them banter? What was she, Dobby the house elf? Did the Maid take socks in exchange for freedom?

“So… breakfast? I’ll get the Aunty to make something nice,” Mayuree beseeched Gwen expectantly.

“Alright,” Gwen relented, still wondering about the Scullery Maid. She also wanted to speak to Marong again, at any rate, see if she could press some information from the man as to why he was intruding into their lives.

“Okay! I’ll let her know. She’ll probably have to start baking. Western okay?” Mayuree answered happily before leaving Gwen’s apartment, satisfied that she would see her new friend again in six hours.

Gwen breathed out and returned to her living room from the door, shaking her head. Mayuree was, in a word, suffocating. Out of paranoia, she checked their apartment’s pantry, in case a NoM house elf came with the utilities. Thankfully, theirs was cramped and small and could only fit some plates, boxes of instant noodles, cases of SPAM, and a rice cooker Petra had bought with her.

Satisfied, Gwen returned to bed. Hoping to God that Marong would not set off the fire alarm again.

The next morning, Gwen couldn’t help herself and snuck a peek at the Maid’s room in the pantry. Sure enough, built into the kitchen was a pantry door, and behind that door was the food storage - and a room with a single bed, a lumen globe on the wall, a chair and a small cabinet built into the wall.

“Greetings, young Miss.”

Gwen turned around and saw the Maid with her face full of wariness, wondering why the guest was so interested in her quarters. The woman was in her thirties, plain-faced, but had an intelligent look about her dark eyes.

“Miss, erm…”

“Lei,” the woman replied. “The young master and mistress call me Ah-lei.”

Bloody oath, the woman even has a pet name, Gwen thought to herself. She quickly scanned the woman: clean, braided hair, a simple linen shirt and pants, and comfortable cotton shoes that wouldn't leave streaks on the polished floor.

“Sorry, Lei, I was intruding.” Gwen collected her feelings, then dipped her head apologetically. “I am Gwen Song, by the way, Mayuree’s friend and classmate.”

A look of recognition registered in the woman’s face. She then bowed deeply, arching her back until she was doubled over.

“Please take care of the young Miss!”

“I will. I’ll do my best.” Gwen gingerly sidestepped and allowed the woman to pass, feeling guilty that she had intruded on what little privacy the woman enjoyed. A servant that lives in the pantry, Gwen couldn't help but be impressed again. Forget the Sirius Estate, not even Downton Abbey had their servants sleep in the pantry.

With the small, inconsequential episode over, Gwen settled down at the open kitchen-dining overlooking the campus for breakfast with the siblings.

Mayuree remained on edge, sitting with Gwen and Petra rather than with her brother. While Marong engaged in what seemed like his most favourite thing in the world - chain smoking enigmatically.

As the girl tried to eat their breakfast, Marong watched them like a hawk, as if reading their body language. He pulled out a cigarette and lit the tip with a snap of his finger, then puffed away, surrounding himself in a circle of smoke that thankfully, never quite reached across the table. It was as though an invisible tendril was pulling the grey-white particles back toward the man.

“Impressive." Petra pushed her plate away and levelled her eyes at Marong. "I assume that's a Smoke Mephit. I think I have heard of you. The infamous Poof and Puff of Peking fame, right? What are you doing here in Fudan?”

“PUFFT!”

Gwen felt a gulp of milk raid her sinus as she choked on her flat white. Lei quickly brought her a towel, which she used to drain the coffee from her nose.

“Petra!” she scolded her straight-talking cousin. She knew Petra had no chill, but this ignorant, repulsive display was too much even for Gwen. The Russians were known for it too, even in her own world. “That’s horrible; you can’t… you can’t call people the P word in polite conversation!”

“Sorry Marong, Petra didn’t mean it,” Gwen apologised profusely. “We have nothing against that sort of thing. It’s not a choice, after all. Everyone is ‘born this way’, am I right?”

Petra turned to look at her flustered cousin with incomprehension. Sometimes, Gwen did the queerest things. She was overtly polite to NoMs; she raised strange questions about Tier 1 society. Gwen seemed to have little episodes like these when she went off on some tangent only she could understand.

Marong followed Gwen's gaze until his eyes fell on his cigarette.

“Started when I was 14.” The Smoke Mage crossed his legs cooly, taking a luxurious drag, playing the fag across his lips. “No, I don't mind the moniker. That’s what they call me.”

“That’s horrible!” Gwen felt the utmost sympathy for the poor man. Lineage might be paramount to a Mage's household, but to think that such a public display of discrimination could seem so nonchalant.

“What’s wrong with Puff?” Petra said the P world out loud again, apparently missing the point.

Marong exhaled. Smoke coiled around his torso, then formed into the likeness of a vaguely humanoid sprite. It was an impish looking thing, resembling a skeletal goblin with wings, anorexic and indistinct in the haze that surrounded it.

“This is Poof,” Marong introduced his spirit. “He's not very friendly; we can dispense with the pleasantries. I am not a Conjurer, so I am afraid you won't be able to interact with it either. Smoke Mephits are infamously skittish.”

PUFF. Gwen cursed her ears, or perhaps her Translation Ioun Stone; or both. Puff as in parfait, not as in Queen. Poof as in vanish, like smoke.

“Brother is number three in the family,” Mayuree explained, seeing Gwen's inability to follow Marong and Petra's conversation. “He was on the Peking Inter-University Team in 98.”

“Oh?! Do tell.” Gwen turned to the man with renewed interest. "There's more than meets the eye!"

“We lost.” Marong shrugged. “I didn’t have Poof with me then, nor the moniker.”

He tapped his cigarette.

“We could speak some more if you like. Over dinner, perhaps-”

"Gwen needs to study," Petra interjected, her voice cutting the dialogue like a keen scimitar.

Gwen swore she could see the glass table vibrate in tune with Petra’s boiling Mineral-charged mana.

“On that note, we better go,” Gwen advised the siblings. “I have lessons with Magister Wen.”

“I’ll see you out.” Mayuree quickly left the table to accompany the two girls.

Petra and Marong exchanged another glance, her Husky-blue eyes meeting a haze of distinct smoke that masked his face behind blue tendrils.

"She's busy. We're busy," Petra announced each syllable audibly, stressing her vowels.

"Nothing would please me more." Marong crushed the cigarette in his hand and reached for his coffee.

"Ciao."

* * *

Gwen's’ tuition under Petra continued for another fortnight. Gwen self-studied in the lab during the morning, receiving lessons from Magister Wen or Petra alternatively during the week, then participated in a minimum of two sessions of data-gathering and fact-finding.

With a growing sense of foreshadowing which Gwen thought best kept to herself, at least for now, the immense feeling of satiation gained from using Caliban’s Consume did not fade nor falter with repetition. Each time, the experience was as vivid as the first, though Gwen was beginning to be able to differentiate the different creatures fed to it by Magus Kumiko. It would seem that Magical Beasts of the mammalian kind, provided a sort of fuzzy satisfaction that was akin to being bathed in a hot spring. Xeno creatures, such as an occasional insectile thing the Summoning Circle pulled through, provided a bitter aftertaste, a kind of iron on the tongue that felt as though she had swallowed something ichorous. At any rate, the sustained euphoria lasted for a few hours, easing her casting of additional Void Spells.

With additional trials, the inquisitive foursome furthermore found that a consistent casting of Consume spread across every few days kept Gwen's vitality and health at a status quo. In sharp contrast to her prior experience with the Void, Gwen no longer felt her physical body diminished by its usage. Combined with the nourishing effect of Almudj’s druidic essence, her eyes remained bright, her complexion smooth, and her limbs shapely and supple; entirely withstanding the punishing demand of the Negative energies involved. Once a pattern was established and Caliban regularly fed, Gwen felt herself at peak physical fitness, despite only engaging a nightly jog with Petra, and sometimes Richard, around the safety of the B1 compound.

Magister Wen was immensely pleased that Gwen could now sustain her health and noted it down as a milestone victory for Gwen’s development as a viable Void Mage.

But Gwen didn’t just study and train for two weeks straight.

The first weekend, Gwen invited her babulya over to the new apartment. They sat for hours talking about recent developments. Klavdiya informed Gwen that she was in constant contact with Magister Wen, who had provided her with any changes in Gwen’s biometric data.

“Feeding Caliban Magical Creatures might not be a long-term solution, but it's a decent short-term solution, for now,” her babulya comforted Gwen. “Remember, as your affinity grows, so will your efficiency in converting vitality and mana into Void spells. Maybe one day, you will find that lesser spells would cost little to no vitality.”

Gwen was inclined to agree. Elizabeth Sobel seemed to rip through mid to high tier spells unceasingly without even breaking a sweat. If Gwen were to cast three tier 4 Spells consecutively; she would immediately start feeling the signature vertigo that came with Negative Energy drain. If she persisted in using her magic without a source of positive energy or restoration, she would begin to feel faint by the fifth or sixth spell. Her maximum allowance, as recorded by Magister Wen, was five tier 4 Incantations within five seconds of one another.

“Which means I need to seek out Void-beings attuned to the element and try to have Caliban Consume it,” Gwen followed her babulya’s line of logic. “Not sure where there’ll be Void-spawn though. I think the centipede that Caliban ran into had a smidgeon of Negative energy; it was a carrion eater for sure. Maybe I could attempt a Consume on something with Negative Energy…”

“No, stay away from anything involving the Negative Plane,” she advised sternly. “Even if you should survive it without incident, the PLA would not take it kindly. The Undead up north and to the West remain the greatest threat to the State, and the PLA Tower would hardly be expected to sit on its hands if it turns out you can tap into the Plane of Negative Energy."

"Gwen, I know Void is a rare element, and its nature is not conducive to simply ‘exist’ somewhere, that’s true,” her babulya noted sagaciously. “But that is why you need to go and adventure, see the world. When the semester begins, go check-in with the Tower, see if there is any information on whereabouts where Void-energies manifest. That would be your best bet.”

“Not to mention, without the forbidden art of the Yin-Yang Daoshi, or the Necromancer, you would likely deteriorate as soon as the element floods your body,” Klavdiya continued. “It is, after all, the antithesis of life. It’s a miracle in itself that your control over the Void, for one reason or another, appears to have limited impact on your health. Guo's family trait with Salt was a talent tempered by centuries of natural selection. We can assume that those within the blood-line with too much affinity for the Negative would have become sterile, or died, never passing on their lineage.”

“We’ve had Void Mages before as well, but…” Klavdiya shook her head. “None survived more than a few years past their Awakening. Which is why you’re a subject of such interest, Gwen. To the CCP, you might only be one insignificant acolyte for now, not enough for them to start pulling whiskers and clash heads with the Pudong Tower, but for Fudan, for the study of Spellcraft - the data we glean from your experiences might mean the survival of future Void Mages. Young Mages like yourself, who could learn to live with their talents. Your milestones are their touchstones, do you understand?”

Gwen nodded solemnly. She hadn’t thought of that before.

She found herself possessing renewed respect for babulya and Magister Wen.

* * *

The second matter which Gwen resolved was something that had nagged her mind incessantly since Percy arrived in Shanghai.

Her mother, Helena Song.

A loose end she wanted to resolve, ideally put behind her, at least for now.

From babulya, she had received the address for her mother's new abode. A Mage-only gated community just on the south side of Shanghai, nearing the scenic region of the Hongqiao district, past the Third Orbital Highway.

Petra had wanted to go with Gwen, but she was preoccupied with an errand from Magister Wen. Richard as well had travelled out from Shanghai towards Suzhou, where he was now heavily involved in the waterworks operation that dominated the Civilian news-cycle. The Water Conjurer had only returned home to sup with Gwen once this week, promising that things would settle into a more reasonable pattern once the Semester started. When they last spoke, Richard's expression looked wane, and he had puffy bags under each eye, but he appeared otherwise happy and fulfilled.

In the end, it surprised Gwen that it was Mayuree of all people who accompanied her, tempting Gwen to finally agree when she offered the loan of her private chauffeur and the comfort of a massive Maybach-sedan whose interior looked as though a dozen Aurochs were sacrificed on the altar of upholstery.

Gwen had to admit there was vanity powering her decision as well. She wanted to show her mother her success since their separation. It would be a cathartic experience, something that Gwen felt she owed to the old Gwen, whose thoughts and feelings she could now rarely detect. It would be a cleansing, a scouring of the past so she can move forward without baggage.

When the Maybach pulled into the driveway of the compound, it received the reception Gwen intended to elicit.

The Hu Clan was well-to-do, but they were bait-fish to the House of M. It was the equivalent of comparing a thriving farming community to Monsanto. The Hu’s mainly dealt with military contracts and mass fabrication, while Mayuree's people dealt in the trade of rare and unusual magical creatures, magic items, magical beings, and even Mages themselves.

When Gwen extended her long legs from the back seat, her hand held by the impeccable chauffeur, she realised the accidental genius of her bringing Mayuree. It wasn’t so much that the Hu marvelled at the car - it was the embossed, stylised M discretely mounded into the bonnet and the side carriage.

Having a girlfriend accompany her also sent a good signal. With Mayuree's demure, adherent body language, it was clear that Gwen was a close acquaintance of the auspicious merchant house, an ally; not something that would send tongues wagging, like the mistress of a young master or a haughty plaything.

Her mother wasn’t among those who greeted her, but her stepfather was.

Tang looked older, far more tired than he did in Sydney. Where the man had reminded Gwen of a Chinese Clint Eastwood, he had grown visibly frailer and now had a softness to his demeanour expression that suggested he was no longer in a position of power or influence. The man had been proud and outspoken; now he just seemed tired. Losing three decades of one's fortune and place in the span of a week could do that to anyone. If Tang had lost his position in the Hu Clan, Gwen realised warily; it also meant her mother was in misery.

Now knowing her mother's present circumstance, Gwen regretted her choice of battle dress.

She had explicitly chosen an elegant, twist-dyed split-thigh maxi in cobalt, obsidian and emerald that emphasised her eyes, which she had thickly lined to bring out her vivid iris. As she sauntered, the dress flowed from her upper body, baring her shoulders and showing off her collarbones. Though sheer, the chiffon fabric was otherwise modestly taped to her elongated figure. Her hair, a waterfall-plait, was styled with help from Mayuree’s Maid, who proved an able hand at helping her young, ditsy Mistress appear presentable.

She had chosen the look after consulting with her Fu-er-dai companion, who had assured her that she looked the very picture of a Covergirl on the upper crust fashion Mags. Gwen seemed mature and elegant, but most importantly, she appeared aloof and out of reach.

But there was no turning back now.

It wasn't as though she could apologise and return in sweatpants and tracks to attempt a more homely encounter.

Fawned over by the Hu’s family members, Gwen and Mayuree entered the manor’s foyers, moving toward the East Wing, where the side-branch of the family resided in their temporary residence. It was a temporary abode, with simple fixtures and none of the opulence of the main house.

She found her mother waiting for her in an open living room overlooking a small garden area. The french windows of the European style manor filled the room with light, but the ambient glimmer against her mother's silhouette only made the woman feel less significant against the vista.

Helena had gotten her wish. She was in a tier 1 city now, but what did that mean? What did her mother gain by it?

Gwen felt that her mother had become so enamoured with the idea of becoming a citizen of a world she dreamt of entering, that now she’d gotten here, she had no idea what to do with herself.

She could read the paralytic ambivalence in her mother's body language.

Her mother’s vibrancy seemed to have become muted, her vivacious fire doused by living under the roof of a family far more auspicious, wealthy, and powerful than her own. Gwen knew her mother. She loved, craved, thrived and nourished herself on drama, but what dramatics dared she engender under the roof of the Hu's main house?

“Gwen,” Helena intoned softly. “You’re here.”

Two pairs of hazel eyes, near identical in their hue and complexity of colour, met one another across the open space of the living room.

Helena critically regarded Gwen’s peacocking of the success she had wrung from the detritus of circumstance, and couldn’t help but allow a touch of forlorn disappointment to touch her lips. Gwen was her daughter in more ways than one; the girl was without mercy in her mockery. Oh, how her daughter must laugh at her now. How father and daughter must be cackling with glee! Morye must have reconciled with his father and mother, no doubt. When Magus Shultz, Master of the Sydney Tower, spoke of the true origins of her erstwhile husband, Helena had felt such a sickness as to make her dizzy. It was with a lingering hope that she allowed Percy to go, but her son had only contacted her once since he'd arrived.

Watching her mother’s face run through changing shades of complexion, Gwen felt no satisfaction.

She felt instead the guilt one felt when stepping on an injured animal. The immoderate makeup, the overdone hair, the dress that attended Gwen's figure like a cascade of colour; all of it now seemed childish and vindictive.

“Mother.” Gwen curtsied. “How have you been?”

“I am well.” Helena's lips curled, but it didn’t take a Mind Reading to see that her smile did not reach her eyes.

Mayuree introduced herself, and Helena dipped her head.

The three then stood in silence, Gwen waiting for Helena to speak, and Helena for Gwen to begin; with Mayuree enduring the agonising standoff while holding her breath.

Somewhere outside, there was also the Hu family, probably wondering why the room was entirely silent.

“I have a Scholarship to Fudan, in full,” Gwen said at last. She was here. She may as well deliver her piece, do her part.

“That's nice,” Helena spoke, but Gwen could detect her mother’s breath quickening, seeing the small vein below her mother’s jaw throb with an invigorated cadence.

“I have also left the House of Song,” Gwen intoned without any particular emotion. “Grandfather asked me to forfeit any right to inherit to make way for Percy. I gave Percy the Kirin Amulet, a Song heirloom that Dad gave me.”

Helena’s eyes lingered on her daughter in disbelief, then considerably softened.

“I then told them that I am cutting off all ties to the Song’s inheritance. I said that I would do nothing to interfere and that they should expect nothing from me in the future.”

Helena’s throat moved as she swallowed.

“I am my own woman now, Mother. I am just me. Gwen. I belong to myself.”

Helena moved her mouth a few times as if to speak, but in truth, she knew not what to say. What could she say? The words that came from Gwen’s mouth were strange to her, outlandish even, meaning less than the verbs and nouns that formulated them. Helena herself had not been born with exceptional talent, but she was beautiful - Gods, she was beautiful then. Men fawned over her, fell over their feet. But out of all her gallants, she chose Morye. She’d elected a man with a rare talent, a man she’d thought she could love. A man to make her life better. There was passion, of course, and there was love, as fleeting as it was, but most of all there was desire. There had been aspiration and expectation, then disappointment, and now regret.

It was her choice to abandon them.

It was she who chose Tang Hu, an admirer she knew from the past. A man of the moment. A man who now possessed the things she desired. A man who spoke softly to her and cared for her.

As she observed her daughter, it seemed as though the girl was drifting further and furtherer away.

It was a displacement that was difficult to measure, even harder to put into words. What advise, what critique, what deriding comeback, could an Acolyte offer a Magus? The difference was too significant, too displaced, too metaphysical.

Her own woman?

Helena had never been her own woman.

She was her father's daughter. She was the perfect girlfriend. She was Morye's wife; now she belonged to the Clan of Hu.

How could the summer insect know of the winter’s furious rages?

So she remained silent, watching, observing her daughter drift into the distance.

Who was this stranger? She realised after a while, listening to Gwen recounting the events of her life since arriving in Shanghai. The curve of her face seemed familiar, the hue of her eyes, the thinness of her lips. There was nothing of her daughter that she could recognise. Where was the frightened, insecure little girl that clung to her side and pressed her face against Helena’s bosoms? Where was the quivering little thing that shivered at every critique and ran to her room in tears, shuddering and shaking? There was no loathing she could sense from the Gwen in front of her. No emotions strong enough to register on her face. Nothing to stir Helena’s insides.

“… Singapore had a few close calls…”

Her daughter was right, Helena realised.

“… I had no choice but to help out cousin Tao. He’s a strange young man, but I think he grows on you after a while…”

Gwen was herself.

“…Babulya, that’s my grandmother, took me to the Second PLA Hospital…”

Unattached, untethered, uninvolved. Gwen was her own woman.

“… We managed to pull through with enough CCs to win the bonus…”

Helena felt at a loss for words. What else was there left to say?

“… That was when I knew that I had gotten the Scholarship, but unfortunately, Grandfather became suspicious that I was after the inheritance, that I would make Percy look bad…”

"Mother!"

Helena peered up at Gwen with a dazed expression.

“Here, Mother. It's for you. A token of appreciation for Gwen Song’s childhood. For whatever happy memories you did leave her, limited they may be.”

Helena woke with a start.

Why did she just refer to herself in the third person? She looked up at her daughter, but her gaze became drawn to the item left on the table.

A sudden luminance overtook the ambient light of the room.

A crystalline cube with an attached note. A piece of fruit with white-jade flesh quivered within.

“Goodbye, mother. I've left instructions on top.”

Then Gwen Song, the fruit of her ten months labour, left.

* * *

“Why?” Mayuree asked once they returned to the car.

“I owe her,” Gwen replied.

“Because she’s your mother?” Mayuree was immensely confused by it all.

“Because she is my mother.” Gwen nodded. “Now we are in the clear, in so far as I am concerned. That fruit should be good for a decade at least, right?”

“You needed that fruit though, didn’t you?” Mayuree recalled Gwen mentioning that the Vitae Fruit supplemented the growth of her emerald mana. Mayuree wasn’t clear on the details, but she hypothesised that she would think twice if she were in Gwen's limited, material condition.

“You told me there were diminishing returns, and I’ve already had two," Gwen returned Mayuree's question with a statement of her own.

“I also said I’d find you an Alchemist-Enchanter…”

“It's just as well then, that I’ve got one left,” Gwen assured her companion. “It’ll do.”

“So… that’s it?” Mayuree regarded Gwen in a new light. She hadn’t thought that her choice of friend and companion could be so decisive. No matter what kind of person this Helena was, she was still Gwen’s mother, right? How could a girl turn her back on her closest kin with such audacity and determination? It was unthinkable. Was there some story there Gwen refused to tell? Some painful memory that ached when touched and bled when pried? Was it abuse? Betrayal? Was it something unforgivable?

“You think that I am cold, right? Mia?” Gwen tilted her head toward Mayuree inquisitively.

The diminutive Diviner inclined her head ever so slightly.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I barely know the woman? That she’s my mother only in a biological sense? That I feel no more connection to her than a character of fiction? That all that tethered me to her was a sentiment that had long since waned?”

Mayuree shook her head. She did not understand.

“That’s alright.” Gwen reached over and pinched her cheeks, still adorably adorned with baby fat.

Mayuree allowed Gwen the pleasure, feeling her fingers cold as ice against her flesh.

Retracting her hands, Gwen leaned back into the thick leather of the ultra-luxury saloon and closed her eyes, hiding her face from her companion. She realised she should have used waterproof liners.

“Wake me when we’re home.”

A few more days of tuition and exhaustive data gathering came and went.

After supper, Richard returned from his extended outing looking like he had gone through all kinds of muck and hell, smelling as though he’d lived the last two weeks in the belly of a whale.

“I really should have borrowed those cleansing glyph-cubes from you,” Richard joked as he opened the door to his apartment and stripped off his shirt to reveal a torso sinuous with toned musculature. Her cousin was not a stocky man, but there was definition there that made his long-limbed body pleasing to the eye.

He filled the tub with water and dropped a pile of clothes into the soapy mess.

“Oh?” Gwen couldn’t help but notice the upgrade. “A Medium Ring of Storage? Congratulations!”

“This thing?” Richard waved his hand. “It’s a small-medium, just a cubic-meter, nothing like yours. I won it in a duel, ha. Fair and square.”

“Did you guys manage to finish the foundation for the Nantong Suspension Bridge?”

“Naw, it’s gonna take a while.” Richard shrugged. “Got some Fresh Water Mermen that are set up near there. Keeps attacking the crew. PLA wants to hammer out an agreement, that or send in a Purge team from the Nantong base. So it’s going to take week or so. I am back here until it's sorted out. Come on! We’re going to start university! Got to see the Course Advisor first though. How are you doing in that regard?”

“Petra’s taking care of it,” Gwen smirked. “She’s taken over as my mother and mentor.”

“She’s a top gal,” Richard nodded approvingly. He then cleared his throat. “Do you mind? No free shows.”

“Whoops, sorry,” Gwen turned her back toward Richard and walked into the living room.

Richard emerged ten minutes later, scrubbed to within an inch of his life.

“I am reborn,” he moaned with relief.

He flung himself into the double-couch on which Gwen sat, sending her almost bouncing off the other end. It was an old couch made by a master artisan, and the springs were a little too enthusiastic in evoking Newton’s laws.

Catching herself on the armrest, Gwen pulled her long legs under her buttocks to keep her feet warm; Richard meanwhile, leaned back, arms wide, and laid his head against the worn headrest.

As her cousin rested his eyes, Gwen continued her story.

“So, quite a bit happened while you were gone. I already told you about Mia and her brother, right. Well, the other day I went and made a clean break with mother. I spoke about our experiences, watched her stunned response to everything I said, and then I gave her a Vitae Fruit and…”

“Richard?”

Gwen looked over at her companion.

“Zzzzz…”

After more than a week away from home, Richard appeared more interested in rest than her minutes of the last two weeks.

Gwen chuckled to herself.

Feeling maternal, she pulled herself carefully from the couch, leaned over, and kissed her cousin on the forehead. She then found a blanket and placed it over his chest and shoulders. The Shanghai spring was yet to pass, but the night air had begun to cling as the monsoonal moisture rose toward a wet summer.

There was much to do tomorrow.

She had to finish her tests: one academic; the other for academia, before the Semester began in just over a week.

* * *

Friday night.

“Where are we going?” Gwen asked Petra when she emerged from her bedroom. She had never seen Petra dress up so lavishly in the months they had been together. Her tutor, companion and cousin had on a little-blue-dress, and by God she was magnificent! Gwen had seen plenty of strapless midi-dresses before, but what Petra wore could turn heads so quickly that victims could sue for involuntary whiplash. She even had lipstick on, a deep scarlet that resembled two petals of blood.

“I thought I told you; we’re going to Mina’s Karaoke Party at M on the Bund.”

Before Gwen could continue her appreciation of Petra’s jaw-dropping attire, her cousin pushed Gwen into her room, where a dress was already laid out for her.

“What is this?!” Gwen took the dress from her bed quizzically. It was beautiful, the fabric as soft as flowing water. At first, she had thought the garment a simple one, but once she had it in her hands, she realised that it was backless all the way down to her mid-torso, tied together with a pink bow. The front though, was modest and fully tailored, tapered as to emphasise her bust.

Her eyes glanced at the label.

“A Miu Miu!?” Gwen gasped, looking toward Petra with incomprehension. The Miu Miu wasn't a gift from her mother, undoubtedly. Who else would buy her frivolously expensive couture? Not her father and certainly not babulya. It can't be Petra, nor Richard.

“Just put it on, we’re going to be late!”

“But…”

“Just do it already!”

Gwen pulled her skivvy over her head, wiggled from her shorts, then slipped the dress over her shoulders. It fitted her perfectly, down to the last millimetre of fabric that clung to her shoulder just enough so that the fabric felt as though it floated. The hem reached just past an acceptable line of modesty, exposing the envious length of her legs dangerously; whoever ordered the dress either had supernatural powers of Divination, Gwen speculated or had access to her biometric data.

Petra tied the bow for her and left two pink streamers reaching just past her shoulder blades.

Gwen found a pair of white pumps to match the dress, then quickly lined her eyes with wingtips while Petra brushed out her hair. She matched Petra’s lipstick, feeling a little mischievous, then the two made it downstairs to see Mayuree’s chauffeur waiting with the Maybach.

“Young Misses, the Mistress is waiting at the M already.”

Petra shuffled into the rear seat and pulled Gwen in with her.

Gwen placed a hand on the hem of her dress, which proved a little too short for carelessness, and began to ask a series of questions. Whoever ordered it tailored also had less than pure intentions, Gwen's chilled thighs informed her, still trying to figure out who was her mysterious benefactor. Tao? That would be unlikely as well. Mina would have gotten her something that sparkled, Gwen was confident of that.

"So, who-"

“Enjoy the mystery! Just go with the flow.” Petra churlishly quipped, not letting a single slip of information past her lips.

But Gwen had already pieced two-and-two together after Petra’s eyes grew mischievous. She was a perceptive woman, after all, she had an inkling as to what was transpiring.

It was May.

It was 2003.

And that meant she was going to be seventeen.

She had celebrated her last seventeen birthday with acquaintances from University; people she'd met for no more than a year.

By the Gods! She felt young and old at the same time.

Petra's meagre attire, the Karaoke Party that came out of nowhere, the expensive dress on her bed, evidently not a gift from her mother because it fitted, it all added up. All she had to do was relax and enjoy the ride.

That, and pretend to be at least a little surprised.

* * *

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“Ghetto Platinum! Barely Legal!”

A cacophony of voices exploded as Gwen entered the interior of the privately booked function room at M on the Bund. Confetti, balloons, and projections both physical and illusory filled the room as she became showered by congratulatory greetings.

“Oh my God! You guys shouldn't have!” Gwen did her best to communicate her delight, though her happiness was effortlessly genuine, gushing from her in torrents of bell-like laughter.

Mayuree was there, as expected.

Richard, too.

Petra, of course.

A jubilant Tao.

Mina clapped her hands adorably, standing next to Mayuree.

And Marong? Unexpected, but Gwen could see why he wanted to tag along. The man’s eyes hadn’t moved from their dresses since they entered. She still wasn't sure what Marong wanted from her or Petra. There was no way they would allow him to wiggle into their panties, but if the man desired something academic or business related - Gwen wasn't adverse to an injection of capital.

Her eyes scanned the rest of the suite.

Babulya wasn't here.

Nor her father.

No uncle Jun.

Naturally, no Percy, but that came as no surprise.

But it was enough, Gwen was wise enough to know that other people had their circumstances. Time, as the poet once said, makes it easier to be wise. She had long since learned to take a walk in the shoes of another, becoming capable of empathising with their choices.

“Babulya sends her regards.” Mina caught Gwen’s flash of disappointment and immediately moved to clarify their grandmother’s intentions. “She’d even passed on a gift for me to give to you!”

“I appreciate it very much,” Gwen returned Mina’s explanation with a smile of her own. “I’ll thank her personally later, thanks, Mina.”

Mina breathed out and laughed, feeling a sizeable weight lift from her shoulders.

The private function room was a VIP section of the M on the Bund’s restaurant section, which had karaoke facilities embedded into the P.A system. Some enterprising Magitech-Illusionists had managed to interface a large-scale Vid-Cast crystal into the wall so that one side of the room functioned almost like a cinema.

"Feel ~ your body close to mine ~ ~ ~. "

The problem was that Gwen knew none of the songs, even if they sounded vaguely familiar. She could find the tune in her memory, of course, but the dissonance between the melody of her old world and the new made it impossible to predict the next note, be it soprano, mezzo, or contralto. Fumbling with the words and halting with the cadence of her voice, Gwen did her best as her companions agonisingly endured the lacklustre singing with grimacing faces. The sonorous torture resulted in a new understanding; or misunderstanding: Gwen couldn't sing for shit.

Thankfully, it was time for the last song.

The cake wheeled into the room was enormous. An enclosed lotus in green and pink, with an exterior that resembled jade.

“Goodness!” Gwen marvelled at the spectacle. “That’s a cake?!”

“It’s a Seven-Fold Jade Lotus from Taihu, the lake in Suzhou,” Richard clarified for her. He had come to know many bodies of water surrounding Shanghai thanks to his labours. “Also, your singing is worse than your Flashbangs! Hahaha! You should open up a duel with a tune.”

“Richard!” The girls chided.

“Aha! Hear hear!” It was Marong who applauded the one man brave enough to tell the world the truth they all had to endure in silence.

"Haha... N-not true!" Tao bit his tongue when the girls turned their eyes upon him.

“That’s my gift to you,” Mayuree proudly presented herself. “Of course, we’re all going to partake in it, but I got it especially for you! Make sure you eat the lotus heart at the centre. It'll help your emerald mana!”

Mayuree then lit the top of the lotus, and the whole platform began to rotate slowly. One by one the petals caught the Illusory flame, then the lotus ‘bloomed’ as the thread which held it taut unfolded, becoming a fuchsia-pink wonder. A delicious, sinus-clearing fragrance, part lake-in-spring and part floral, spread throughout the room.

Unable to contain her giddiness, Mayuree urged Gwen to blow out the illusory candle.

“I wish that we can remain friends and family forever, and I wish for all of our good fortunes!” Gwen spoke aloud as she blew out the flames. It wasn’t the etiquette, of course, but it left a fuzzy feeling the hearts of all those who attended.

Mayuree then retrieved a ball of pink-green petals from the centre of the lotus, a cluster of buds yet to be given the opportunity to bloom.

“Here, the heart,” Mayuree had an expectant grin split from ear to ear as she presented her birthday gift to the woman who may yet one day save her life, directly or indirectly. “To your health.”

Gwen took the Lotus-Heart from the girl’s tiny hands and placed it to her lips.

“One gulp~” Petra advised. “Don’t chew it. That’s the best way to consume mystic flora.”

Taking her cousin’s earnest advice, Gwen tried cramming the fist-sized ball of petals into her mouth. Thankfully, the leaves were soft and pliable, filled with water and capable of significant compression.

“Mmmph- it's bigger than I thought, I can barely fit…"

She met Tao's half-smiling degenerate expression.

"Ghurrghk... Oh, God damn it Peaches..."

Gwen coughed and choked.

The girls laughed and chuckled as Gwen crushed the lotus between her teeth, massaging her chest a few times to ease the passage. As the magical flora dissolved, Gwen felt a burst of vital energy passing through her chest and into her abdomen, warming her instantly as though she’d just being through a sauna. A sheen of sweat broke out over her forehead, her arms and her legs, covering her exposed back. Gwen breathed out expansively and felt the fatigue of her studies fall away.

Within her body, Almudj’s essence rejoiced at the boon of primal energy, growing wildly as the motes multiplied, becoming more robust and invigorated.

When Gwen glanced up again at her companions, her skin was glowing with divine splendour, momentarily thrifted from the gift of the lotus, said to be the essence of renewal, the heart of rebirth; the very place where Buddha entered the wheel of reincarnation. For a few transcendent moments, Gwen seemed to her family and friends beautiful beyond compare.

Marong had to swallow several times in quick succession as he watched the girls pull petals from the lotus and bite into them, each delighting in the gift of vitality and youth bestowed by the rare bounty, and each enjoying the flash of divine radiance that encompassed their bodies.

"Oh~ you look amazing, Petra! Marry me!" Mayuree exclaimed, her eyes aglow.

"Your skin is glowing!" Mina quipped, jokingly running a hand over Petra's thighs. Petra sternly slapped her daring fingers, soliciting a sharp squeak from the petite girl.

Marong knew that the fruit had cost his sister another 1100 HDMs, perhaps more, knowing the season, and couldn’t help but wonder about his sister’s designs. The amount Mia had spent was almost a quarter of what her talent had generated for her estate this year. Was the Void Sorceress worth such an investment? Not to mention these were non-contractual gifts, merely goodwill, likely a waste of time.

But he wasn't unhappy to be present. The dress he had picked out for the Void girl was perfect. The dark velvet matched her porcelain skin with an aesthetic minimalist that pleased him immensely. He was happy that he had not left that critical choice to his fashion-blind sister, who had been dressed by her Maids all her life. Curiously, he looked toward the only other man in the room and wondered if his fellow had shared his appreciation.

He looked straight past Tao toward Richard.

Richard grinned at him.

He grinned back.

There we go, Marong thought pleasantly. We’re friends already. That was easy.

Richard meanwhile, turned to Mina as the music pumped.

“That Marong, he looks strong,” Richard noted dutifully. “I don’t think I can take him, at least not alone.”

Mina turned to look at Richard strangely.

“Why do you want to fight him, Richard?”

“Curiosity and instinct.” Richard shrugged. “He’s a wolf.”

“How do you know he's a wolf?” Mina glanced a few times at Marong. The man caught her watching and winked. Mina didn’t mind the man, but she disliked men who wore eyeliners. They seemed to her to be delinquents. The androgyny of the Smoke Mage made her uncomfortable, and the cigarette smoke that lingered around him odiously did not help matters either.

“I know my kind.” Richard received a petal from Mayuree and took a bite. The taste was like drinking honey-water, but the vital force within was palpable. He wondered if it was possible to keep a piece as a panacea for overwork. “Lea!”

His water spirit materialised and squealed in delight as Mayuree passed the humanoid Spirit a petal too. There was plenty to go around. The entire mass of the Lotus was more than enough to feed a dozen people, much less a group of teenagers. There would be enough left for Petra to keep in stasis.

With the ‘cake’ finished, it was time for gift giving.

The groups sat around the U shaped couch built around the wall with Gwen seated at the centre on an ottoman.

“The Lotus is from Mia, of course, and you’re wearing my gift already,” Marong declared. “I must say, it suits you perfectly, Miss Gwen. It was well worth the HDMs.”

Gwen thanked the Smoke Mage nervously, allowing Marong the privilege of appreciating his gift. So that's who gifted it, Gwen felt her lip twitch just a millimetre, pulling at the too-short hem.

“Thank you so much, Mia. Marong too, such a thoughtful present. And Mia, your gift is too rare and too thoughtful.”

“It’s a trifle.” Marong crossed his legs and waved his hands in front of him. “The House of M is at your service.”

“That’s my line!” Mayuree huffed and blocked Gwen from her brother’s sight with her petite frame. "Stop looking! By Mao, you're terrible!"

The room laughed rancorously at Gwen's expense.

“This is from Babulya,” Mina opened a small trinket box and retrieved what looks like another Ioun Stone. “This is a Stone of Clarified Thoughts. It’ll help you concentrate and think, as well as improve your memory retention.”

“How lovely!” Gwen took the box and pressed it to her bosom. “I’ll be sure to thank her as soon as we finish!”

“This is from your father and Uncle Jun,” Mina produced another package from her Storage Ring. "Uncle Jun provided the HDMs; your father picked the gift."

Gwen pulled open the packet, revealing an intricate pink box.

She opened the box. and saw the offending item.

She snapped the box close.

“What is it?” Petra leaned over.

Gwen’s face grew as pink as the box's salmon exterior.

Mina caught the label on the box.

“Ooo,” she cooed. “I got a pair of those too.”

Petra took a gander as well, lifting the lid slightly.

“Uncle Song is a strange but a very thoughtful father…” She returned the gift, somewhat disturbed but also acknowledging the wisdom. Maybe, she thought, she could purchase herself a pair as well. She could most definitely use it during long hours of delicate experiments.

“Those are surprisingly useful,” Richard recognised the box as well. “I’ve got several pairs myself, for men of course, and in briefs. Let me say that when you’re adventuring in the wild, surrounded by God knows what, the last thing you want to do is to leave the Party and find a place to have a good squat. Hell, I know of a place in Malaysia where there are larval parasites in the river that can crawl-”

"Where do they crawl into?" Marong pursued the subject. "Pray, do tell. I need details."

Now scarlet, Gwen’s stowed the box in her Ring.

“Tell Dad thanks,” she quickly asked Mina to move on. “Thanks for the heads up, Richard. Marong. No.”

“You know," Marong quipped, "As a soon-to-be goddess of the University, that thing is going to be indispensable to your image.”

“Why?” Gwen asked quizzically.

“Well,” Richard burst into laughter. “I’d imagine that when we’re out on Quests and Field Duties, no one would like to find their Goddess having a squ-"

"Richard!"

"NO!"

"- I mean, there're parasites that-"

“OKAY! THANK YOU!” Gwen waved them both away. God, these immature men were worse than children. Still, Goddess of the University? That sounded nice. There were plenty of pretty girls in university though, and she likely had no time for a popularity contest.

“This is from me.” Petra materialised a gift 'box' as well.

“Pats! You shouldn’t have. You’re helping me so much already!”

“Nonsense, here it is.” Petra pushed a crystalline cube into Gwen’s hands.

“A Spell-Cube?”

“Yes,” Petra announced proudly. “It is from Master and I. We paid a special visit to the Tower and met with Chief Apothecary Dao of Pudong.”

“This is…”

“A Tier 7 Regeneration, the activation trigger is with me, I'll tell you later,” Petra announced proudly. “It will mend your flesh, restore your health, even attach lost limbs. Its duration is unknown but, I would suggest two hours minimum.”

“A second life!” Gwen gushed and embraced her cousin. “Thank you so much, Petra. Master Wen too. Your present is beyond precious. You must have spent CCs on this! Pats! I ever so grateful!”

“I am happy you like it.” Petra hugged Gwen back.

The others were immensely impressed. There were no more than a dozen Magister-healers in the city and only two who were tier 8 in their attainment of Clerical spells. Magister Dao was as famous for his healing as his aloofness. Usually, only his apprentices attended to requests. This gift of Regeneration was a rare gift indeed, for the Mage who had its blessing could continue to fight, heedless of minor injuries, until the spell’s duration ceased. Whether on the battlefield or in times of peace, it indeed the gift of a second life.

“Alright, now for our gift,” Mina announced after Gwen separated from Petra.

Herself, Richard and Tao walked beside a table covered with a dark cloth.

Richard coaxed Lea into some hidden contraption behind the table.

Tao began to incant his Illusory projection spells, filling the surrounding space with airy motes of pale luminance.

Mina fiddled with a device for several moments.

“Gwen, are you ready?”

Gwen nodded. What could it be? She wondered. What’s with all the fiddling and the secrecy? Was it a puppy or a kitten? Maybe a young Magical Beast? No, that would be absurd. She had two familiars already.

“Here we go!” Mina manipulated a button, and there was a thrum of mana.

The black cloth fell away.

A petite Asian girl about the height of Gwen’s shoulder was standing before them. She had large, luminous brown eyes and prominent lashes that gave her a wilful demeanour. Her china-doll face was milk white and porcelain, punctuated by a small pink mouth. When Gwen’s eyes fell lower, she had full confirmation that the girl before her was who she thought she was. There was no one else she knew who won the genetic lottery like that.

“YUE!” Gwen choked. “OH MY GOD, YUE!”

She rushed forward to embrace her friend, still reeling from the fact that Yue was here. HERE! In Shanghai! What a gift this was! WHAT A GIFT!

“Gwen…” Yue began to move.

Gwen crashed into her friend, fully expecting to be cushioned by her gift of surplus flesh; instead, Yue burst into a pool of water that drenched Gwen from head to toe.

“Eeeek!” Lea collated her watery form and renewed the Illusion.

“I am not ACTUALLY here, Gwen,” Yue laughed at her bedraggled friend, who by now had water streaming down her dress and her face. “I am being projected via the LR COM Device onto the water spirit in real-time though, so you can imagine I am right here beside you.”

Gwen paused her rollercoaster of emotions and oriented herself as to what Yue meant.

Tao provided the Illusion.

Mina provided the loaned LRC Device.

Richard provided the medium for projecting Yue.

The trio managed to synthesise a combination of Magi-tech and Spellcraft that simulated a real ‘Yue’ which Gwen could touch and feel, albeit not embrace violently nor pash lovingly. How long had they spent on this project? The undertaking must have taken weeks!

“Oh, you guys!” Gwen felt such joyous enterprise filling her heart. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

The trio laughed jovially and took their seats.

‘Yue’ joined the party, and the music once again blared.

* * *

“Yep, Evee’s gone on her merry way,” Yue informed Gwen after the others left them some room for privacy. “I am training hard too, almost up to tier 5! I am spewing blood every other night, haha. Alesia’s pushing me pretty hard. I am dog-tired every night, I tell ya.”

“God I wish you were here,” Gwen lamented.

“You think I don’t?” Yue chuckled. “Wait for me; I’ll come and show all your tier 1 upstarts what a real Fire Mage looks like.”

“I eagerly await the day,” Gwen replied.

Yue asked Gwen for the latest news, and Gwen unreservedly told Yue of what had transpired.

“Seriously, fuck that old guy,” Yue huffed. “Fuck him in the Chink-eye.”

“Yue, you’re Chinese too,” Gwen couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve got Babulya on my side though.”

“I want to beat the shit out of your useless brother.” Yue kept on going. “Beat him black and blue, the little cunt. Burn his pubes off, and he can go back to suckling on his mother's tits.”

“Alright, alright,” Gwen had to calm her down. “Jesus, your mouth is as foul as ever.”

“Doing work with the military. Broke the two thousand Mark just the other week,” Yue boasted. "They call me the Kill Monger, ha! Imagine that. They need to man the fuck up."

“Amazing!” Gwen marvelled. “What’s plaguing the city still?”

“Just Mermen.” Yue shrugged. “Wish there was something more significant to hunt other than stragglers in sewers. The crabs are pretty good, especially the big bastards. Tastes divine with some soy sauce.”

Ah, Frontier banter. How I missed thee. Gwen allowed herself to indulge in the scene of Yue chewing on a crab leg after a few well-placed Walls of Fire. Yue then told Gwen that her Opa missed her terribly, but was otherwise doing well.

“I’ll try to contact him when my LRC gets installed,” Gwen told Yue. “Maybe a month or so at the longest. I can’t wait to see Evee as well. How was it when she left?”

“Tears, lots of tears, but she looked cute crying too, stirs something dark in you, yeah? Haha,” Yue chuckled sadistically. “She kept saying your name as well. I guess she’s expecting you to call her soon.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Yep, Master says she’s already moved into a dorm in London, near the Cambridge campus. She got a contact there to help Elvia set up. She’s sharing a room with some other Cleric studying at the Nightingale College. I don’t know the details yet, but you can speak to herself soon.”

“I will, thanks, Yue. I look-”

The illusion of Yue faded.

The disappointment came so suddenly that Gwen could hardly react.

Tao’s apologetic face appeared behind Lea.

“Sorry, OOM,” Tao said despondently. "Never tried Greater Image for like, hours."

“Sorry from Lea too! I am tired!” Lea apologised, then returned to Richard.

“Machine’s out of crystals as well,” Mina tapped the LMC Device. “I’ve lost the feed. Did you have a good time, Gwen?”

Gwen pushed herself from the ottoman and moved to the middle of the room.

“THANK YOU! Everyone!” She announced, bowing deeply. “Thank you for everything!”

The girls made a big huddle and exchanged hugs and cheeks as the party finally wound to a close, with Marong watching enviously by himself alongside other two men. Gwen was feeling a bit tipsy by then from the dessert wine, and so Mayuree and Petra escorted her back home. Arriving at the apartment, Gwen took a quick shower, then fell onto her bed, feeling all the happiness she could muster.

What a night! She thought to herself, to be seventeen for the second time.

In less than one week, her university life would begin.

Somehow, the future looked impossibly bright, so bright that for a split second - Gwen couldn’t help but blink.

During Orientation Week, the campus bloomed with hanging streamers, pop-up stands, student restaurants, duelling arenas, and even dubious student sponsored ‘idol’ shows carried over from Japan and South Korea. The rationale for all the fanfare, Gwen realised between being mobbed, was the all-consuming desire for Clubs to absorb new first-year students. That this festivity was in full flush in the middle of the academic year utterly caught Gwen flatfooted, sending her haplessly into a whirlwind of activity.

She had made it no more than a dozen meters into the campus’ main boulevard when catcalls of “Hey! Beauty! Over here! Join the [Insert name here] club!” resounded from all sides. Perhaps even more frighteningly, over-enthusiastic students with no concept of personal space daringly approached her to compel her toward one stand or another.

“I’ll be fine, thank you very much.”

“No thank you!”

“Please, no!”

“I am fine.”

“No!”

Her patience lasted all but three dozen stalls before she had to pull her arm forcibly away from zealous students eager to score a beauty to infuse into whichever club they belonged. Whatever Gwen’s background may be, whatever her skills, having a face like hers to post on the club poster was undoubtedly enough to drive up recruitment.

Despite her ricochet from stall to stall, Gwen took note of the Clubs, ranging from serious to frivolous. Even if she currently had no time for them, Gwen couldn’t help her eyes becoming drawn to the more impressive displays.

There was the Dungeoneering Committee, a Club which organised monthly outings to Dungeons in the outer regions surrounding Shanghai, as well as offering a yearly Advanced Dungeoneering Expedition to hitherto 'unexplored' Dungeons deemed suitable for junior Mages and Maguses.

Besides the Dungeoneer's grand display of magical loot surrounded by gawking visitors, was the Fudan Competitive Duelling Club, renowned for its presence on the regional stage. As Gwen repelled a girl-Mage insisting that Gwen’d be perfect for their cooking club, she caught two Mages, one Fire and the other Earth, fending one another off in a spectacular exchange of offensive and defensive spells.

Further down from the main avenue and toward the Fudan Towers, she passed by a petting zoo of Magical Creatures set up by the Wildland Creature Appreciation Club. Looking at the variety of exotic and cuddly creatures, Gwen entertained the rapturous indulgence of molesting an assortment of fleecy, furry, fluffy things. If nothing else, it made her miss Elvia terribly.

Other, more expectant and mundane clubs lined the distance between the towering statue of Chairman Mao, many of which would not be out of place in Gwen’s old world. The Discovery Club, the Media Club, Independent Research Club, the Management Club, Literature Club, Politics Club, as well as the lesser club activities such as dance, music, theatre, chess, and art.

There were more semi-professional extra-curricular clubs also, such as the International Student’s Activity Association, the Fudan Charity Consortium, the Student Helper’s Committee, and something curiously called the Expansion Club, whatever that meant.

Gwen felt depleted by the time she ran the recruitment gauntlet, grumbling at the fact that she had wasted half an hour. She was attending the Fudan Towers on the first day of Orientation Week for two specific reasons. Today was the day Gwen could formally apply to become a member of the Fudan Tower, which meant she could trade in her CCs for the LRC Crystal Projector in her apartment, and two: she had an appointment with the Dean, Jiang Luo, to oversee her academic prospects.

She made her way up the levitation platform and entered the Student’s Guidance Office, where an appointment for her to speak with her course coordinator awaited her. Gwen straightened her dress and sat, waiting patiently for her turn.

“Nihao." A breath of cold air brushed her cheeks.

Gwen turned her head, startled at the sudden appearance of a ghostly visage which had materialised beside her.

“Oh God- You startled me.” She stilled her hammering heart.

The face that greeted Gwen was an exquisite doll. It was Ellen, and she was less a girl and more so a spirit of Air that Magister Luo was trying to temper into a more humanised existence.

“Master will see you now.” Ellen bowed, then levitated through the lobby. Then, as if recalling her Master's command, she allowed her legs to properly manifest, landing on the floor with an audible clack.

“Thanks, Ellen.” Gwen smoothed out her dress and fixed her hair in the window’s reflection before passing the threshold and entering the adjoining office.

“Dean Luo.” Gwen bowed as she entered, instantly picking out his familiar face. There was another familiar face present as well, Magus Kumiko, in addition to another male instructor, a westerner whom she had never seen before. “Magus Kumiko. Sir. Greetings.”

“Gwen! How wonderful to see you again.” Magister Luo clapped his hands expansively. He pointed to a visitor’s chair set up in front of them. “Come, sit, there's much to discuss.”

Gwen demurely sat and positioned her legs at an angle to her audience. She placed both her hands on her lap, turned her torso slightly sideways, then flashed her audience a winning smile. Magister Luo looked the same as always, unassuming and friendly. Magus Kumiko sat beside and behind the remaining Mage silently, indicating that the Caucasian Mage was her superior.

“This is Magister Louis Birch, the head of our School of Conjuration. He’s a specialist in the manipulation of Spatial Magic, and has studied extensively in Europe, the Americas, as well as under the Red City, capital of the Eastern European Dwarven Consortium.”

Gwen paid her respects again while seated, tilting her head respectfully.

“So, you are our Void Mage,” Magister Birch returned her greeting. “I have heard much about your progress from Magister Wen.”

“She is too kind,” Gwen humbly acknowledged the Magister's praise.

Unlike the academically inclined Magister Wen, Magister Birch was a Mage fastidious with his appearance. The man clothed himself in a suit tailored to fit his lanky body, punctuated with a vest patterned and threaded with dusky gold glyphs and paired with a pair of scaly Oxfords that likewise hinted at expensive Enchantments. Above a tightly buttoned collar, the Master Conjurer’s circle beard framed his grim lips. Beside the man, the casual and intimate seeming Dean Luo looked positively like a country uncle who had never seen the big city.

“I have your recommended courses for the upcoming Semester. As your major lies in Conjuration, I shall be your Course Coordinator,” Magister Birch intoned with a voice that Gwen felt was unnecessarily stern. “Magister Wen assured me that you are ready to undertake the path to higher learning, despite your… Frontier public education.”

Gwen ignored that little jab at her rural origins and received the document Ellen levitated through the air.

Conjuration                                 CJR1001

Supplementary Conjuration        CJS1001

Bestiary and Care of Familiars  FAM1021

Evocation                                    EVK1001

Advanced Spell-shaping             ASP1201

Utility Transmutation                  UTT2003

Management                              GEN100M

Economics                                 GEN100E

“Thirty-Six units of Spellcraft, Six Units of General Studies. Have you consulted with Magister Wen regarding your suitability for these courses, or would you like me to explain.”

“I am well informed, sir.”

“Good. Your confidence becomes you. I hope that you remain in confidence once our lessons begin. Pending your answer, therefore, we shall waste no more of your time. Well met, Miss Song.” Magister Birch's lips tapered shut, forming two thin lines.

Was that it? Gwen felt taken aback by the briskness of the Magister. Had she done something to displease the Conjurer? Was he perhaps, adverse to a student possessing the Void talent? Had she offended him somehow?

Before Gwen could excuse herself, the Dean began to speak.

“Gwen, a moment if you will.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“You wish to apply for the International University Competition, correct? And would like to represent the Fudan team?”

“I do, Sir.” Gwen nodded affirmatively.

Magister Birch raised a brow critically but remained silent, mumming his thin lips.

“The current tryouts are in September, which is far too close for them to be feasible for you." Dean Luo informed her helpfully. "However, as you are a mid-year applicant, you should be well positioned to apply for the 2004 competition. There is also the possibility of the 2005 September placement, or at worst, a 2006 placement should you delay your graduation until December.”

“I understand sir.” Gwen brushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear before responding with confidence. "I shall endeavour to achieve my goal by next year."

"Ha!" Magister Luo applauded her. "Such confidence! Even if the competition fares poorly, I would ask that you do not lose confidence! Many of the top teams almost exclusively consist of multi-entry veterans."

“Hmmph!” Magister Birch snorted.

Dean Luo shot his tenured Magister an amused look before turning again to Gwen.

“I look forward to your performance, Miss Song. I am sure your grandmother is looking forward to you bearing Fudan's name.”

“I won’t let you down, Sir.” Gwen ignored her future instructor’s abrasive attitude. “I won’t let Director Klavdiya down either.”

The mention of her babulya’s name seemed to touch a nerve in Magister Birch, and Gwen caught the Conjurer furrowing his brows dangerously, knitting them together with a passion that exceeded mere annoyance.

"You may ask too much of your Song bloodline," Magister Birch chided her coldly. "Overconfidence seems to be a family trait."

“Louis!” Dean Luo intoned in a low voice weighted with authority. The force of will exerted from the casual-seeming man was such that Gwen felt a tingle of Divination ping her spine.

Magister Birch tensed, then resisted the Dean's displeasure with a projection of his own.

“I’ll not show any favouritism,” the Conjurer said suddenly. “You know that, right? Jiang? Certainly not to Miss Song here.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Luo reached across and removed a piece of lint from Birch's shoulder.

"She will be pushed hard."

"I will expect nothing less."

Gwen sat quietly, still recovering from the stunning expulsion of mana that the duo had unleashed a moment prior.

“Your Grandmother,” Magister Birch said to Gwen, his face softening. “How is she?”

“She’s hale and happy,” Gwen replied uncertainly, unsure what the Magister's relationship to her babulya might be. “Do you know my grandmother?”

"..." Magister Birch nodded stiffly, his eyes suggesting that somehow, the amiable answer displeased him.

Dean Lou coughed loudly to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Gwen, you’re a busy lass. You may go and do your other errands now. Remember, my office is always open!”

With Luo's blessing, Gwen hastily took her leave, closing the double doors behind her.

What was all that? She pondered the abundance of expression that had passed over Magister Birch's face. Should it give her cause for concern? Perhaps she should contact her babulya.

The doors to the levitation platform pinned open. Gwen stepped through the threshold and pressed the glyph for level 3 - Registration and Administration.

“Gwen!” Ellen's voice blew an inch from her ear.

“Jesus Christ, Ellen!” Gwen almost jumped from the Levitation platform when Ellen materialised, as it were, from thin air.

“Do you have it?”

“Do I have what?”

“Essence!” Ellen poked a finger timidly at Gwen’s heart, pressing into her bosom. “Lea said you possess a tasty druidic essence.”

“You want some of this er... tasty mana?”

Ellen intently stared at Gwen's chest, then nodded affirmatively. Gwen double checked that they were, in fact, alone; then quickly congealed a droplet of her Druidic Essence.

"Alright, let's make this quick."

Gwen raised her hand, but Ellen allowed Gwen’s hand to enter her chest, where she felt a frigid swirl of Elemental Air so dense as to induce hypothermia in her fingers.

“Ah-ah~” Ellen’s morphic form momentarily lost its shape before reforming itself. “Thank you! I enjoyed that very much.”

“Anytime.” Gwen checked to ensure that she was still in possession of her hand, thankfully, her fingers remained responsive.

“Okay! Bye! Love you!”

Ellen dissipated in a burst of quicksilver Conjuration.

A Familiar who can teleport at will! Gwen couldn’t help but be impressed. She wondered if Caliban or Ariel would ever get to the stage where they could function independently as a fighting force. She had no idea if Dean Luo knew that his familiar had just snuck out to thrift some Druidic olive oil, but Gwen wasn’t adverse to luring a few wayward familiars with her candy van. Was it not said, she mused, that the way to a Magister's heart was through greedy Familiars?

* * *

“It's all done! Welcome to Fudan, Miss Song.” The woman at the counter smiled amiably, and Gwen returned the gesture with a smile of her own.

Gwen took her cards and retreated to a well-lit window.

Gwen Song

Public Practice of Magic I.D:: 9840598 001

Evocation (3), Conjuration (4), Divination (1), Transmutation (1), Abjuration (1)

Quasi-Elemental :: Lightning :: Void

Class Permit (A)

Her Public Practice Licence received an upgrade from B to A class, which implied she could incant Spells up to tier 6 when outside of the city’s magic exclusion zones. The permit wasn't an invitation for abuse, however, as the use of destructive magic within the city proper remained ambiguous; cases were dealt with via the discretion of Arbitrators and the Tower’s own internal policing. In truth, the vast majority of Mages communally abided by an unspoken social contract: to not involve bystanders, to limit destruction of property, and to act only in self-defence.

She checked her Student Card.

Fudan University Student Card

Gwen Song

L.O.I:: China, Shanghai

S.I.D: 12598 S0203

P.O.B: Sydney, Australia

Y.O.A: S2 2003

LCSS:: 2003-2006 (M) (Full)

Her student I.D transformed from the unassuming, singular line of ‘Blackwattle Bay’ into a crystalline rectangle with the emerald watermark of Fudan’s Qin-Dynasty logo embossed behind her name. There was also an unflattering picture of her face which projected an Illusion when injected with mana.

The Administration lobby was like any other in the university, large and spacious, open planned with large waiting areas prefacing a dozen counters, behind which were data and file stores. Lacking networking technologies, the need for file storage space was immense. Even with the advent of American Magitech such as data-slates, the lack of data-servers in this world severely limited the volume and detail of stored information.

Gwen recalled the infamous East Berlin warehouses where files on nearly every German Democratic Republic citizen. She tried to visualise the endless rows of yellow envelopes in numerically numbered boxes alongside row upon rows of Enchanted data-slates, shuddering at the thought of having to sift through the avalanche of paper for a sliver of information. Maybe, she pondered, there was a Spell for that.

With her I.Ds done, it was time to visit the Tower proper. Gwen proceeded to the lobby of the Guanhua Building, then perused one of the six levitation platforms ascending into the Fudan Towers.

Though seen by outsiders as a single Tower, the faux-Factions of Fudan played a significant role in shaping the allegiances of their students. Guanhua Tower 1, or commonly known as T1, was the busier of the two, whose students came from backgrounds that inevitably drove them to select the PLA Tower. T2, meanwhile, was a gathering place for self-proclaimed adherents to the Pudong Tower, as well as a faction of freebooters who dreamt, often naively so, that Spellcraft was above politics.

It was T2 that Gwen ventured into, exiting on the 25th level into a lobby that overlooked the surrounding landscape. From the south side of its thickly paned windows, Gwen could see her apartment block stretching down the length of Guoding Avenue.

She took a ticket and waited, examining the busy lobby and the bubble-be milling of its busy staff. The place resembled a bank, Gwen realised. There were counters for simple transactions, rooms for private consultations, as well as a few conference chambers with large oval tables.

Her request was a mundane one, and so she approached the open counter when her ticket was up.

“Hi, here’s my card.” Gwen waited while the young woman ran her newly minted identification for forgeries.

“Your balance is 151 CCs.” the young woman gazed upward toward Gwen after some arcane verification system was carried out. “What would you like?”

“I would like an LRC Projector installed in my place of residence. One that will enable private conference with a friend in England,” Gwen informed the girl.

“Would you like to loan or own?”

“What’s the difference?”

“To own is 50 CCs, including a Tower technician installing the device. To loan is 15CCs plus 1CC per month, with a minimum hire of six months for fixed installations.”

Gwen quickly did the math. If she remained in Fudan for three years, it might be worthwhile to buy, but there was merit in loaning as well. Overheads, sunk costs, depreciation and potential lost investments from spending too many CCs at once; she quickly ran the numbers through her head.

“Can I return a purchased device for CCs?”

“No Ma’am, you may not.”

“Alright, I’ll loan then, thanks.”

“No problems. Let me get the slates. Please fill in forms 1B and 23C.” The girl returned a moment later, and Gwen completed the documentation.

“Is Friday okay for the technician to install? Your serviceman will be a certified Pudong Tower affiliate.”

“That’s fine,” Gwen thanked the counter-clerk.

“Very good, with a minimum hire period of six months, I will deduct 21 CCs, leaving you with 130 CCs. The installation will be in two days; please be home between 9 AM and noon. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No, thank you.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. Please feel free to browse the T2 CC Community Request Board. Have a nice day.”

Gwen left the peppy administrator and sauntered over to a panoramic display that ran the length of the back wall - a full thirty odd meters of changing projections equipped with slots below to input data slates. She wandered to the far end and began to read.

“Looking for Abjurer of at least tier 6 and good repute to join a party for Taishan’s Emerald Forest Dungeon, minimum 100 CCs and HDMs for the right Mage. Compatibility interview and training session essential. Original party members will vote on accepting or rejecting the applicant.”

“35 CCs reward for information on Dragonkin in the Huashan region HS32B. Seeking type, size, age, gender, and colour. Half payment now, half on confirmation.”

“Looking to collect live specimen - wood elementals, nymphs, dryads, sprites. Exchanging between 10 CCs to 200 CCs. Offer lasts until CCs spent.”

There were also some requests outlined in red.

“URGENT:: Seeking Diviners who can aid with discerning whereabouts of Li Mingyue, a charlatan who has defrauded my brother, the Magus Fu Weiwei. 10 CCs for proof of Li’s location. 50 CCs for information leading to capture. 150 CCs for Li brought in alive.”

There was a projection crystal attached to the manhunt notice which displayed the Mage known as Li Mingyue.

Gwen read another.

“URGENT:: Tier 5 to 7 Adventuring Party needed to reclaim Zhongming Island Mining Facility 11B-43QM. Amphibian infestation has halted operations. Bounty dispensed by Provincial governor offering 2 CCs per head and 50 CCs for total restoration of the mine. Deadline is July 10th, after which PLA will assume control of operations. A cleric capable of Dispel Disease and Poison is essential.”

By invoking the glyph attached to each notice, the viewer may trigger the contact details of each quest. Gwen tried to activate one of the glyphs to no avail, forcing her to step back and watch the others.

One Mage approached the board, read a notice, then tapped a card against the quest glyph. A small mandala became visible, then the Mage passed the card through the glowing array and went his merry way.

My Adventure Permit! Gwen realised. She quickly materialised her card.

Multi-Pass Adventuring Permit

Gwen Song

L.O.I:: China, Shanghai

P.P.M: 9840598 001

Ethnicity: Australian (Eurasian)

Eyes: Hazel - Green

Skin: Caucasian

Hair: Black (Warm)

Height: 180CM

Access Rank: E

Quest Attainment: N/A

Gwen took another ticket and returned to the counter.

“Can I get my card updated here?”

“Of course, we can validate it for you via S-C Adventure Central Office, do you have a few moments?”

Gwen nodded.

Gwen retrieved her card quarter of an hour later. She noticed that there were now subtle changes.

Multi-Pass Adventuring Permit

Gwen Song

L.O.I:: China, Shanghai

P.P.M: 9840598 001

Ethnicity: Australian (Eurasian)

Eyes: Hazel - Green

Skin: Caucasian

Hair: Black (Warm)

Height: 181CM

Access Rank: E+

Quest Attainment: Hengsha Gila Rift (S)

Well, well, she was 1 CM taller, Gwen mused.

The plus behind the E, the attendant explained, meant that though Gwen is not eligible for D-rank quests alone, she was considered proficient enough to join a party for D-rank quests. When she further enquired about what the Ranks implied, the clerk informed her that the Tower system ranked Mage’s capabilities by reviewing their Quest completion and then assigning a hidden score that allowed one to rank up. Rank is tied to Spellcraft proficiency, naturally, but it is also a measure of one’s problem solving, negotiation, charisma, and other abilities that aided in resolving a quest. As an anecdote, the counter-clerk cited Sol Durban, the A-Rank adventurer, far better known for her ability to talk her way out of a Dragon’s nest, which aided her mastery of Tier 6 Illusion and Abjuration immensely.

“Say, out of curiosity. Do you know a Mage called Marong? From the House of M?” Gwen enquired inconspicuously.

“Smoko Marong?” the clerk mused. “The Poof and Puff? We know of him, yes."

"What rank is he?"

"A publically available data sheet is available for 1 CC, Ma'am.”

“I just need an idea of what rank he is.”

“The Puff Duo is renowned for their versatility,” the clerk nodded. “Smoko Marong has undertaken many quests successfully; his rank is B. I have a list of his feats and spell-list if you like, it's...”

“1 CC, I know,” Gwen thanked the girl. "Thank you for your time."

"Happy to be of service!"

With all her errand done, she now had time to explore the campus a bit before returning to the lab. Gwen made a strategic turn through the recruitment corridor and took advantage of the generosity of the clubs to acquire bags of candy, stationery, notebooks and other assorted loot.

Glancing at the bright and happy faces of her fellow students, Gwen couldn’t help but feel her heart soar for what was to come.

University! Tertiary Education! Mastery of Spellcraft!

In four days, her academic odyssey would begin.

Gwen laid out her timetable with Petra’s help, then took a deep breath. She had colour coded her classes and labelled her lab work in fluorescent green, blue, yellow and red. The periods that she had left were her own, and the scant spaces looked meagre indeed.

One… two… three…

Gwen grimaced.

Three hours to herself between 8 AM and 8 PM, inclusive of evening classes, between Monday to Friday.

Her reprieve was that she had half a Saturday and most of her Sunday. The condition was, of course, that Magister Wen didn’t suddenly feel compelled to perform additional tests or came into possession of a sudden breakthrough.

Luckily, with a data bank already collated, Magister Wen's interest shifted toward longitudinal studies. Gwen was now required to report biometric measurements every odd week, and provide the Magister with a supply of Void and Druidic mana every even week.

As for her classes themselves, Gwen was surprised to find herself alone. She had not expected to attend class with Petra, of course, that much would be wishful thinking, but as it turns out, she did not share many common courses with Richard nor Mayuree either.

When her cousin returned from his Advisory board meeting, the university had deemed the gifted Conjurer proficient enough to attend second-year courses for Conjuration, which meant he no longer shared the same level of coursework as Gwen. It was a great boon, meaning Richard could begin specialising in six months time. Likewise, Richard’s minor was Abjuration, implying that four of his six Spellcraft courses were uninvolved with Gwen’s selections. As for the remaining two classes, Richard opted to Quest for Credit. It was a testament to the young man’s excellence that the opportunity to engage in sanctioned Quests allowed him the privilege to receive both instruction and reward, striking two birds with one stone. His acceleration meant that Richard only shared her General Courses, Management and Politics, which did not have mandatory attendance and only required students to pass written exams and a series of Viva-voce.

Mayuree, likewise, had no choice but to follow the advice of her Professor, a scholarly Magister associated with the House of M. Though she had supposedly changed from Peking to Fudan, there was no way that her family would allow her to waste away her university hours. Her primary focus remained Astral Theory, Divination, Divination Utility, and Supplementary Divination. She could join Gwen in Transmutation Utility, and likewise, the General Education courses.

As it was Monday, her first classes were Conjuration and Evocation, both taking up a three-hour block, both located on the upper campus.

The instructor for Conjuration CJR1001 was unsurprising. It was Magister Louis Birch, the resident Master Conjurer. There were about sixty or so students in the first year lecture, and it was only then that Gwen realised the rarity of Conjurers.

When she attended Accounting 1001A in old world Sydney, there were 1200 students in the first year. Gwen had at first thought she had wandered into some orientation class for the entire student cohort! Conversely, there were only sixty-odd students in her Fudan first-year class. Assuming Conjuration went from 1001 to 3001, it meant that the whole Conjuration student body had at best 180 students and at worst 100.

Was 180 a significant number? Gwen had no idea. What was the attrition rate? That was the question on everyone’s mind when they were on the Frontier. There was never a lack of Mages - what they lacked was Mages who could grow into Maguses and Magisters. With the average Mage rarely attaining skills above tier 6, and even rarer when more Schools of Magic came into play. The Frontier was effectively a system of elimination. Those who survived won the resources and investment necessary to take them into the next tier, where the contest began anew.

Was she a survivor then? Gwen mused. She had survived a lot. She wasn’t sure how her personal experience measured up against the others, but Gwen felt the confidence that came with having survived the fall of a city.

As a wane smile broke over her face, Gwen felt distinctly the sensation of being watched. She warily glanced around her, wondering who might be prying, but she didn’t have to look far.

There were a group of young men to her right, who were stealing glances at her.

There were a few girls up front, who kept glancing back at her.

There were people to her left and right, whose eyes shifted toward her every once a while.

Gwen felt as though she was in a reverse-panopticon.

Was it the dress? Gwen wondered. Did she dress too frivolously?

Or did word get out that she was a Void Mage?

“Gwen Song!” The voice of Magister Birch called out across the auditorium.

“Sir!”

Gwen stood, all six-feet and then some. It had been a hot and humid day, and Gwen had gotten comfortable enough to feel at home on the campus' shaded avenues. As a languished morning person, she had casually chosen, without much thought, a loosely fitting floral sundress from Singapore with spaghetti string straps that just reached her knee, matched with a pair of straw wedge-sandals.

“Gwen Song, come to the front, you’re distracting the other students,” Magister Birch commanded.

“Yes, Sir.” Gwen did her best to ignore the eyes burning holes in her sundress and descended until she reached the last aisle before the podium. It wasn’t so much that she hadn’t been gawked at before, but that reprimands were usually in response to something she had done, not something that was done 'to' her. She had thought about rebuffing the lecturer - but thought better of it when she considered that Birch might be acquainted with her babulya.

Magister Birch continued the lecture.

“Conjuration is considered the least diverse School of Magic, but don’t let that fool you, for it is also one of the most versatile. Your tertiary study is nothing like your high school Spellcraft. You will be undergoing the general course under me, and then you will have to choose Specialisations in the second and third year. Whether you want to be a Creature Mage, a Summoner, a Translocation Specialist, a Logistics Support Officer or remain generalised, that’s up to you.”

Birch’s voice was sonorous and resounding, his gestures broad and expansive. Even with Gwen now seated at the front; the flesh of her exposed back enjoyed by all parties, it took him only a few minutes to persuade her audience that Gwen hardly existed. For that at least, Gwen was glad and relieved. She had no desire to deal with a lecturer who wanted beef with her and would introduce her to the class as 'Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr Harry Potter... the chosen one.' Speaking of which, the man did have a rather Alan Rickman look about him; if Birch could only make the hair darker and greasier, it would be perfect.

Magister Birch continued while Gwen daydreamed.

"... or one could be a Translocation Mage. Observe.”

There was a flash of silvery Conjuration mana. Magister Birch rapped the inattentive Gwen on the head.

Another flash of Conjuration silver followed.

The entire lecture turned about face to catch the Lecturer now almost fifty meters away, appearing at the furthest row of the enormous auditorium, slapping another student on the head. This one had fallen asleep.

“You too will be able to walk this path, if you are keen, diligent and hard working. You ALL have the talent.”

Another near-instantaneous Dimension Door and Magister Birch was again at the dais.

"You are already the best, are you not? Do not sully your entry scores. Welcome to Fudan, ladies and gentlemen. I expect nothing but the very best from you."

The auditorium applauded.

Louis Birch motioned for silence.

“Now, let’s comb over the basics. I will randomly ask some of you to supply some basic information on the semantics of Conjuration…”

Now afraid of further embarrassment, Gwen listened attentively to the responses provided by each of the selected students as Birch jotted down each point on a horizontal slat: a Transmutation - Illusion empowered board that projected what Birch transcribed onto the back wall. This world might not have IT and Electronics as Gwen knew it, but it had found magical ways to replicate the same phenomena.

“… the creatures are then transported through the Astral Plane into the material.”

A student two rows above Gwen struggled to complete an answer demanded by Birch.

The Lecturer shook his head and told the student to sit down. His finger then lowered from the middle of the amphitheatre until it rested on the lower row. Of course, there was only one person seated there.

“Gwen?”

She was the only person the Lecture knew by name, Gwen reflected annoyedly. Whether that was a boon or cause for concern later, she couldn't tell.

Gwen stood, recalling the theory that Petra had taught her and Magister Wen had explained in detail. They even had practical demonstrations using her familiars.

She took a deep breath and soothed her nerves.

Public speaking? That was like breathing to her.

“Familiars are essentially elementals, Sir. They do not exist except as a part of the Mage’s anima, or subconscious psyche, spell-locked into a persistent phenomenon and nourished by the Mage’s practice of magic. When conjuring such a creature, the spell directly interfaces with the Mage’s most compatible sigil - in this case, Conjuration, and then materialises in the Material World. For higher-order Familiars who possess their own Spirit, and by that nature, sapience, the morphic form locks onto the creature’s anima. These are the only creatures that can exist independently from the Conjurer. Furthermore, when the Conjurer dies, these creatures continue to exist on the Material Plane, so long as they can sustain their Astral Presence…”

“Enough. Very good.” Magister Birch was unexpectedly impressed by the clarity of the Frontier’s girl’s answer. He had half expected her to be dumbfounded; Gwen was a Song after all. Maybe she took after her grandmother?

Gwen sat to the sound of mumbling from behind.

“Continuing, onto the matter of the summoning of objects…” Magister Birch continued.

* * *

“Mao! It's Gwen! Gwen! Over here!”

When Gwen walked into the Evocation lecture two hours later, two young men and a woman waved their arms to get her attention. She recognised them from the Conjuration lecture, and so approached the trio with an amiable expression of congeniality.

“Olá.” Gwen hailed with one hand. “You guys are from the Conjuration lecture.”

The trio introduced themselves.

“Lily Li,” the girl announced. She was shortest of the bunch, measuring just over five feet. South-East China, Gwen noticed, was not conducive to producing tall women.

“Jon Wong”

“Pu Un”

The Conjurers exchanged handshakes.

"I love your dress.” Lily sat next to Gwen, her eyes scanning Gwen like a biometric instrument. “Mao, you're a tall one!”

“Thanks, I am not that tall,” Gwen replied modestly.

“So, Gwen, you’re an Evoker too? What tier?” The man unfortunate enough to have a homonym of ‘Poo’ for a name enquired politely. Thankfully, in Mandarin, the plosive Pu was an entirely generic syllable.

“Three, barely.” Gwen couldn’t help but notice that the boy’s eyes were aglow with friendliness. Well, it was only natural, Gwen chortled internally. It wasn’t like she was much better when she first entered university; compared to high school, there were an endless array of young bachelors ready to buy her a drink at the slightest invitation, imagined or otherwise.

“Conjuration is technically my minor School; Evocation is my main,” Pu pointed out smugly. “I am just past t-4 at the moment; tier 5 is probably going to take a while.

“I am tier 3 in both,” Lily stated boastfully, then added a little zest to her brag. “My father is the Chief Arbitrator of the Jiading District.”

“Wow,” Gwen cooed, having no idea where Jiading was. For all she knew, it could be a rural village of ten thousand NoMs.

Lily seemed pleased with Gwen’s response; her demeanour was becoming friendlier by the minute.

“How about yourself?” Gwen asked the remaining young Mage.

“I am not a Conjurer,” Jon replied softly, blushing slightly and looking the bookish type. He had to clear a misunderstanding. “I am tier 4 in Evocation though. I am studying to be a Materials Engineer. My other School is Transmutation. I... I wasn't in the earlier class with you.”

“Material Engineer sounds amazing.” Gwen gave him a confident smile, which made the boy more flustered than ever. "There's a great future in it for sure."

“We went to the same high school together,” Lily informed Gwen. The self-proclaimed leader of the group then leaned back to place her arms around her two chums. “We’re No 9.”

When she received no response from Gwen, one of the boys helpfully added ‘No 9 Hong Qiao International School’.

“Ah, of course.” Gwen politely smiled, as if she understood the gravity of the announcement. “From the same school, and all of you have gained proficiency in two Sigils? That’s amazing.”

“Heh, it's Hong Qiao's speciality,” Pu scratched his head. “What element-“

The sound of a set of massive doors opening suddenly and loudly interrupted their conversation.

Abruptly, the student's conversations were at an end; their Lecturer had presented herself.

The instructor for Evocation was a British woman in her late-thirties whose appearance hinted at a military background. From the poise of her walking gait and the way her presence dominated the auditorium, she gave the air and bearing of a high ranking officer. Gwen had seen many high-ranking Military Mages on the Frontier, and this woman had a similar presence.

Her hypothesis was proven when the Instructor spoke.

“Acolytes, Mages, future Magus and Magisters. I am your instructor, Captain Carol Young. You may call me Captain Young, or Magus Young.”

The sorceress’s formal attire, a starched blue blouse that wrapped around her well-toned torso, rasped as she walked. Her high-waisted pencil skirt tapered tightly around her hips, showing off powerful, athletic legs made feminine by tall black heels. To Gwen, Young gave off the feeling of an unsheathed blade. Here was a Mage, she could sense, who had more than just Magical Beasts' and Demi-humans' blood on her hands.

Magus Young's voice boomed across the auditorium.

“Evocation. The signature school of Spellcraft. From the most primitive days of humanity, it had served to protect us from the wilderness, the Wildlands, the Demi-humans and the Magical Beasts. Evocation is the Magic Missile that defeats the darkness. It is the basis by which our cities survive, the beginning and end of our defensive lines. It is the School of Spellcraft that rests at the throat of the enemy, ready to blow their brains outwards.”

The students waited for a magical display, but none seemed forthcoming.

“My fellow Evokers - welcome to Evocation 1001.”

Polite applause greeted the Magus’ greeting.

“My Element is Earth. I am a Transmuter-Evoker, a senior Battle Mage.”

Then gently, as if emphasising the gravity of her next words, Magus Young rose into the air a few inches.

“If you are studying Evocation to supplement your other schools, good for you. If you are studying Evocation as your major school of Magic, or as a Specialist, I implore you also to undertake Transmutation, at least Utility Transmutation UTT2003 taught by Magus Luo. A Battle Mage without mobility is a liability. Remember that.”

Magus Young patrolled the lecture stage.

“For our program. We will begin by rehashing the basics, followed by an extensive program on AOE and the merits of Danger Close, how to avoid Friendly Fire, then short and long-range assault Doctrines. There will also be Spirit-demonstrations from your Seniors in the latter half of the term, and finally, we will have practical exams every four weeks for the twelve-week term. During this time, you are expected to put between 5 to 10 hours of practice into the range. If you fail the program, you are prohibited from Evocation level 2 subjects and further specialisations. Any questions?”

There were questions of course. There were far more Evokers than Conjurers. The class was almost two hundred strong by Gwen’s count, with an even spread of women to men, and even two dozen foreigners.

A particularly cheeky young man asked if the instructor was married. The ageing woman had a sophisticated charm that must have made mommas' boys rock hard.

“Was. My husband was eaten alive by a Twin-Headed Senai Wyvern during the Defence of the Suez Canal in 93’. My son perished in the same year in the Sinai, different incident. Any other questions?”

There was none.

Only respectful silence.

The reality of the world outside the T1 cities was something that awaited all of them. University was just one more layer of protection against the unknowns of the Wildlands.

The lecture proceeded without interruption.

* * *

With the first class of Evocation over, her new acquaintances invited Gwen to dinner. She declined, however, as her late afternoon schedule split between Petra’s tuition and practice, not to mention Caliban’s feeding time.

“Before we go, what element are you? We were interrupted earlier,” Lily asked, then volunteered herself. “I am Fire.”

“Void and Lightning," Gwen answered briskly, keeping her tone as nonchalant as possible.

“How nice!” Lily gushed.

“Oh.” Pu's face paled.

“…” Jon swallowed his next words nervously.

Lily' lip formed a silent 'o' as well.

“See you guys next week in Conjuration!”

Gwen quickly made her escape, materialising a shawl and wrapping it around her shoulders. Spring persisted, but the chilling wind as the sun fell hinted at wetter days to come.

Her new companion’s eyes lingered on the lithe figure walking away from them, regarding one another in disbelief.

* * *

“Tired?”

Petra tapped on her slate as Gwen’s attention wandered for the second time. Her pupil was usually far more focused, but all things considered, Gwen did sustain six hours of lecture with only an hour of break in between.

“Dog-tired,” Gwen replied, borrowing a phrase from Yue. “I think I dozed off when you started on the Astral compression algorithms.”

“Take a break.” Petra pointed at Gwen's mug of tea. “Heat!”

A simple cantrip was enough to reheat the liquid until it gently steamed.

Gwen took a sip and pulled her legs in under her.

“Our lecturer, Magus Young, said that her husband died defending the Suez Canal,” Gwen noted from memory. She’d been daydreaming about the Magus’ words since the lesson had ended. They hinted at a Frontier that was different yet again from Sydney.

The Suez Canal was a famous enough piece of old world history that even Gwen knew it off by heart. It was built by the Suez Canal Company in 1869, connecting the Mediterranean Sea to the Red Sea through the Isthmus of Suez. Widely perceived as a miraculous feat of engineering, the canal offered vessels a reduction of over 7000 kilometres in connecting the North Atlantic and northern Indian Oceans. It had been and continues to be, a critical piece of trade infrastructure joining the Middle East to Africa. It did not take a stretch of the imagination for Gwen to acknowledge how vital the Canal must be in a world lacking mass air transit. The transportation of goods via teleportation was unviable; meaning the bulk of freight was land and seafaring.

“Magus Young? The Evocation Professor?”

“Yeah, do you know anything about that?”

“The Canal or the professor?”

“Either.”

"I know of it; if that's what you mean."

Petra gathered her thoughts, took a few sips, then shared her knowledge.

“The Canal has always been a great point of contention between two ancient nations. You got Israel on one side and the Egyptians on the other. Both have lineage and Spellcraft far more ancient than ours, and they've been at war since God knows how long."

"Magister Young, your instructor’s husband, was a part of the British Mageocracy Peace Keeping force sent by the U.N Council to ensure that the two sides could tear each other apart without tearing the Canal apart. The Israelites are Golem specialists, while the Egyptians relied on, I suppose, their sanctioned form of Necromancy. During 93’, the Israelites accused the Egyptians of crossing into the Sinai; then they crossed over into Egypt themselves in response. As a result, all hell broke loose for a year or two down there. Then the Demi-humans, involving a Sect of the Cult of Ammit, a coven of Medusas, as well as local Legions of Jackal-men all somehow got involved. Battle lines collapsed, and the Sinai became a free for all for about six months. When the dust settled, both sides retreated and the UN PKF left in tatters. After scouring the desert, the Israeli forces returned to Magus Young what was left of Magister Young's body to prevent certain parties taking advantage. The body parts of a Magister was good material, and The Cult of Set has a reputation."

"As for the rest, her son died a few months later against an Undead incursion in the incident called the Siege of Ismailia in 94’. I think Young gave up on the Mageocracy after that. She travelled around for a while, ultimately ending up here as an instructor. I remember Master saying that she knew Dean Luo, maybe they were colleagues in the past?”

“Good God.” Gwen nursed her tongue against the hot tea. “The poor woman.”

“It’s a common enough story.” Petra rested her cup. “Maybe one day, you or I...”

“Knock on wood.” Gwen rapped the oaken table, interrupting the morbid Petra. "Say no more."

Petra reached across and brushed a loose lock of hair from Gwen's forehead.

The two shared a knowing smile as their eyes met.

“Had enough of a break? Let's continue,” Petra urged her distracted pupil. “We’ve still got to cover 17.2 - 3 from Goulding's Core Primer. Three more chapters and it's all over.”

“Okay.” Gwen slapped her cheeks with both hands, forcing herself to drop Magus Young’s nonchalance from her mind. “Let’s continue.”

Tuesday.

Gwen was up again at 8 AM, ready to meet the world ahead. Richard was already gone, having left at 7 AM for his Questing credits. She and Petra made breakfast, drank their coffees, then went their separate ways.

A cloudy horizon hung over the vista, with looming clouds hinting at thunder. Gwen took precautions by switching to her thrifted boots and jeans, made casual and unassuming by a V-neck Tee. When she put on an old Tee, the fabric appeared to have shrunk in the wash, leaving a smidgeon of flesh exposed about her navel.

No biggie, Gwen narcissistically admired her teenage figure; there was a particular window of opportunity in a girl’s life when a little mid-riff was not only acceptable but fresh and delightful. Satisfied, she stowed a water-proof jacket in her ring and left the apartment.

Bestiary and Care of Familiars took place down on the lower campus, south of Guoding Rd. The tiered construction of the arena reminded Gwen of rice paddies as she descended the stairs into the concavity of its exterior landscaping. According to Petra, Daishan Stadium tapped into a leyline that bisected the Guanhua Towers and the five-path epicentre of Wujiaochang.

The reason for this exorbitant feat of engineering became apparent when Gwen reached the mezzanine and spied in front of her a vast field almost 50 meters across and over 100 meters wide. Surrounding the platform was a circular arrangement of bleachers twenty chairs deep at the shallowest dip and over fifth rows at the highest nosebleed section.

Here was the home ground for the Fudan University teams, where various competitors vied for magical dominion across a dozen Spellcraft sports. According to Petra, here was where the final selection of the Fudan Inter-University team would take place. First, they would be shortlisted based on accomplishments and accolades; then the top twenty could challenge one another for placement positions in single matches or team contests; ultimately producing five core and five reserve members to participate in the illustrious International Inter-University Competition.

Taking a deep breath, Gwen entered a side entrance where a corridor led her down toward the containment field array below. Here the Bestiary class took place, below the arena, where facilities double-dutied in the off-season as holding pens for Summoned beasts and Familiars, allowing them to square off against one another, obtain metrics for their skills and practice fending off a variety of Magical Creatures.

She saw a few familiar faces from her Conjuration class in the Bestiary section, as well as a few new students which Gwen assumed to be her seniors. As she entered the underground, an instructor arrived from the bay door where two vice-like panels of steel unfolded, resembling a giant maw. It was a bulkhead freight section, Gwen recognised the contraption from her journey to Singapore. In the event of failed Force Shields, the steel bulkheads offered significant impediment to all but the most powerful of elemental creatures.

The instructor himself was a grizzled Asian man with a square face and small beady eyes that glinted with intelligence. His distinguishing feature was a nose that was deformed and askew as if someone had struck its bridge repeatedly. Rather than a seasoned Mage, the shabby, dishevelled attire of the man reminded Gwen of a NoM machinist.

“My name is Instructor Chen Hufei,” Chen announced himself. “I am a simple Conjurer, not a Magus and certainly not a Magister, so no need for formalities. My highest rank in the PLA was as an NCO, so don't worry about that either.”

A slight murmur echoed around the underground chamber.

“I have, nonetheless, served with the 42nd Battalion and 83rd PLA Canton Division across four Tours of Duty and two Purges. Since retiring from the PLA, I held the position of Warden for the Canton Wildland Reserve for over two decades. Rest assured that the training you will receive, and the advice you shall receive is the result of experience and experimentation, each tailored to your specific needs. Any questions?”

The room fell silent.

“Good. For those of you in possession of Spirits, proceed to Sectors 5 - 12, I will be overseeing your training. For those of you with mundane Familiars, proceed to Sectors 22 - 27. Sergeant Pei will be overseeing your training.”

The groups began to split. There was an air of expectant haughtiness from those already gifted with spirits.

“Is there a Gwen Song?” Chen called out suddenly.

“I am here, Sir,” Gwen answered.

As expected, a dozen pair of eyes from both sides to centred upon her. Gwen felt less conscious in her jeans than when she wore a dress but moved her hands across her midriff nonetheless. The body was prideful but the mind, the mind was very self-conscious indeed.

“You’re with this side.”

“Yessir.”

She peeled from the first group to mixed expressions of confusion, disappointment and envy, then joined the second group, whose faces remained dismissive. No one would claim to be No. 1 in Spellcraft, but extreme competitiveness typified the academic field. A particular arrogance bred by unceasing contest was that until proven, all Mages fancied themselves better than their uncontested peers. The same especially applied to Mages from the Clans and Sects, who thought themselves naturally superior to the ‘organic’ variety of grassroots students.

There were five members with Gwen’s group, all of whom were older than her. They were four young men and one girl. The girl Gwen recognised from her Conjuration class. The men were likely Second Years.

Gwen followed behind them, mindful of the junior and senior system that the university seemed to have inherited from the old Confucian Analects. They soon arrived in sector 5.

The ‘chamber’ was a misnomer in itself as they were under the stadium and in the belly of what Gwen saw as an underground carpark. The sectors were themselves simple micro-arenas closed off by bulkhead doors a dozen meters wide and four meters high, which ran parallel and perpendicular to the massive concrete pillars that held up the superstructure above.

“Alright everyone, let’s introduce yourselves.”

Gwen’s companions arranged themselves in chronological order by seniority, with Gwen standing at the back row looking awkward as she loomed almost half a head taller than the tallest man present. She was the same height as Feihu, their Instructor, but her ankle-length boots added another inch-and-a-half atop her gangly frame, giving her the likeness of a crane among bobbing chooks.

“Nihao everyone! I am Ji Lu, I am a tier 5 Conjurer, and this is my Spirit partner, Ahu.”

A burst of flames escaped from the Mage’s chest and formed into a cat with intelligent eyes. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that the orange tabby was a tiger-spirit, portending its destructive potential.

A round of golf claps echoed through the chamber.

“Hello, my name is Chan Baoguo, I am a tier 4 Conjurer and Tier 3 Transmuter; this is Feifei.”

Following Lu's fire was water. Baoguo’s animal was a water bird of some sort, mayhap a crane or a shallow-water stalker. The summoned crane obediently followed its Master and stood to the side, fully understanding its partner's orders.

The next student had an unassuming water-sprite as well, a low-tier spirit, but a spirit nonetheless. It would appear to Gwen that Water Spirits were the more common kind, but that came as no surprise; Earth was, after all, a blue planet.

Candidate No.4 announced himself with a burst of vibrant Blue-Green energy that leapt from his chest and frizzled the ceiling above them.

"Screeeee!"

“Wanli!”

A Lightning Elemental! Gwen’s bosom rose and fell with awe as the young man announced himself to be Lu Fung, of the Clan of the Nangtong Fungs. Gwen recognised the Clan name, as it belonged to Dai, the inheriting son of the Police Commissioner of Shanghai’s Metropolitan Security Bureau. She thought of her rather unpleasant history with Dai, though they had since amicably resolved their differences, and wondered if this particular Fung would recognise her.

Lu’s Spirit Hawk soared through the air majestically before returning to him. A hawk! Gwen wanted to squeal in delight. Now there was a proper Spirit of Thunder and Lightning! Once the crackling lightning faded, they could see that the creature resembled a sparrowhawk, but Gwen had no doubt it could grow to many times its present size if empowered with mana.

"Screeee!" the bird of pray screeched.

Wanli, whose name meant 'ten thousand li', alighted on its master’s shoulder.

Holy shit, Gwen had to stifle an unbidden impulse of admiration. She had to admit the Spirit Hawk was incredibly imposing. Having it land like that was an astonishingly voguish move; like the gut-tingling feeling of watching a Fu-er-dai step out of a brand new Ferrari 488. The owner might be a dickhead, but it didn't diminish the panty-dropping allure of a Pininfarina designed marvel. The Ferrari is without sin!

“Eunae, your turn,” the instructor implored the girl in front of Gwen.

The quiet girl nodded palely, likewise impressed and intimated by the ravishing display put on by Lu’s hawk. She hadn't spoken a single word since they separated from the group, Gwen realised; not to anyone.

“My name is Eunae Lee, and this is Luyi!”

A mote of pale emerald energy manifested in front of the girl as something akin to a fig-tree begin to materialise, first forming four legs, then a lumbar, followed by a slender neck, a tail, liquid eyes, then a black, pointed nose.

It was a deer! Gwen gasped. It was beyond adorable! The forest sprite then looked upon its surroundings with curious brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence. The mana radiating from the creature was of such familiarity that Gwen almost stepped forward to touch the mewling Familiar.

A nature Familar! The girl, this Eunae, possessed a Sprite just like Elvia!

“Luyi…” the girl cuddled the deer’s neck.

"Eeee!"

Her familiar struggled from its Master's embrace and bolted right toward Gwen.

“Luyi!” Eunae’s eyes filled with anxiety as the flesh of her flesh, the quintessence of her Conjuration, the child of her imagination and her contracted soul mate, abandoned her like an odious smell and ran head-first into Gwen’s leg. Upon reaching Gwen, it began to nuzzle her, seeking the source of the delicious scent it had sensed earlier.

Gwen looked up with a horrified expression at the poor girl, who was now on the verge of tears.

‘Luyi’ gazed up at Gwen with its soulful brown eyes, too human to belong to a mere beast, and made a puckering motion with its lips.

“I know you got it. Give it up! Hoss!” it seemed to say to her.

No! Your master is watching! Gwen grimaced at the forest-friendly critter trying to bedevil her into yielding a trickle of her Druidic essence.

“Go back to your owner,” Gwen urged the creature.

The faux wood-doe bleated adorably at her. It then rudely nudged her thigh gap.

The men sniggered.

Gwen swore under her teeth and bodily picked up the doe, much to the dismay of Eunae, then dragged it across the concrete to deposit it in its owner's lap.

“Keep a leash on your Familiar,” Gwen reprimanded the Conjurer sternly.

“Y-yes!” The girl nodded furiously, stroking her precious Spirit-doe.

Now that Gwen had taken a better look at Eunae. Though Eunae was a Korean name, the girl had a Eurasian look about her, one that Gwen couldn’t place in any terrestrial geography.

“It would appear your lack of authority over your Spirit is as serious as your instructors say,” Instructor Chen observed dryly. He then turned to Gwen. “Miss Song, if you would finish the introductions?”

Gwen left Eunae and found a safe spot far away from the others.

She then moved another ten paces or so away.

“She must have a big Familiar,” someone commented.

“How big can it be?” Another one of her peers scoffed.

“She’s not a Spirit Conjurer right?”

“Heh, I bet she’s got connections higher up, that’s why the instructor is personally taking care of her,” Lu Fung intoned sardonically.

No one had humanoid Spirits, Gwen pondered as she readied her familiars for summoning. It was a testament to the rarity of Richard’s Undine.

“You may proceed.” Instructor Chen glanced at the other students with an expression she knew well. It was the smug look of expectant schadenfreude. Chen must have gone over her records already.

“Ariel!”

Gwen called out her Lightning beast. The marten materialised, rolled, then struck a pose. It then sniffed the air and ran toward her, making infinity tracks around her legs as it joyously celebrated rapturous freedom.

“Haha! What the hell?!” Lu could be heard chuckling from across the threshold.

“It’s a mundane marten!”

“A common beast!”

“Wait, its not a Spirit?”

“It looks altered though, its got horns.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it's a dumb animal. Haha, what a waste of talent!” Lu snickered.

Gwen blushed annoyedly at the insults and called Ariel to her. She scooped up the marten in her arms and kissed it on its forehead. Ironically, unlike Gwen, Ariel was too dumb to understand human speech and thus was incapable of being harmed by the foul remarks of wicked men.

Eunae meanwhile, became even more confused. Why did her Familiar run to Gwen? The girl was a Lightning Sorceress! What did that have to do with her Nature Familiar? Was her pet maybe attracted to her appearance? The girl was tall and pretty, and she had uncommonly clarified eyes, but there were no reasons for her doe to choose a stranger over a Soulmate. Eunae held onto Luyi tightly, her eyes full of wariness and incomprehension.

Instructor Chen made a motion that said ‘get on with it’.

Gwen stepped back.

Caliban fed recently. He had been obedient. She was hale and healthy. She had to be confident that it was going to be harmless. Gwen would not let her Familiar sense her insecurity since Caliban could sense fear like a dog seeking out its poop.

“Caliban!” she called out.

"What the f-"

"She has two?"

"Impossible!"

A slit opened in-between time and space.

A long, spindly leg cut through the air before stabbing into the concrete floor. Another soon joined the first, then another and another, each resembling disjointed, anorexic fingers. Caliban slowly emerged in its spidery form. Sensing its mistress’ displeasure at the peanut gallery, it had chosen to emerge from the nether in full Lovecraftian glory, wholly uncensored. Ten pairs of grasping legs skittering across the floor, raking and rasping against the concrete floor. Its back-carapace pulsed with expansion and shrinkage like a beating organ, its semi-translucent plates of obsidian bleeding ambiguous grey goo as it flexed. When the final length of its tail emerged into the Material Plane, it extended a pair of blue-red tentacles from its slurping underside and caressed Gwen’s cheeks. Behind it, an appendage of barbed-razors on steel cable whipped through the air like a puppy tail.

Wocao, that's fucking magnificent, Instructor Chen applauded internally. What a Buddha-cursed monster, it's like something that crawled out of the nine-fold underworld.

A moment of complete silence hung in the air, humming with the tension of a taut violin string.

Then all hell broke loose.

“MAO’S BALLS!”

“WOCAO!”

“CAONINAINAI!”

The junior Mages took a defensive stance and even manifested their Shielding spells, their familiars stood at the ready to defend their Masters against this monstrosity.

“Luyi! Aeee- Ommph!”

Eunae’s doe bolted right into its mistress and bowled her over, then fled the scene, sprinting across the hall in full gallop.

Lu Fung’s Sparrow-hawk rose to the air and bellowed a challenge, sending out a shower of sparks. The Mage himself had turned as pale as a ghost. He tried to keep his blood up, but his legs were knock-kneed and noodly.

“Shaaaa! Shaaaa?”

Caliban sensed, as Gwen had done, the familiar mana radiating off Eunae.

‘Click… click, click c-click click c-click…’

It began to skitter toward the Korean healer for a closer inspection. Caliban might not possess a brain, but it recalled fondly the memory of the old man who fed it food and petted its faceless mien without fear. If Gwen was its Mistress, then the old man was what Caliban would have considered an equally important authority figure, though the old man's nature spirit never seemed to enjoy Caliban's company.

Instructor Chen muttered an incantation under his breath, then observed the proceedings.

"Caliban, stop!" Gwen commanded her creature. "Hey! Big guy! I said stop!"

She felt no malice nor hunger from Caliban and pulled at her creature half-heartedly as it dragged her along toward the shaking Eunae. Downwind, the poor girl fell onto her buttocks and was desperately calling for her familiar.

“Luyi!”

Luyi appeared before Eunae in a flash of silver Conjuration.

"Luyi! Protect me!"

Luyi took one look at Caliban, then fled the scene like a bandit on a fast horse, or deer, as the case may be. To the discerning viewer of Gwen’s world, the scene reminded her of the infamous video in which a mother doe abandons its fawn to a cheetah with the decisiveness of a meth dealer fleeing the police.

“Luyi…” Eunae was inundated with snot and tears as Caliban approached, hoping to whatever higher powers that watched she had not soiled herself. Damn her Spirit! Damn it all! Why must it be so wilful? Why was she so weak? She wished at this moment that she had never contracted the forest sprite at all.

“No! No! Aeee!! Save me!”

“SHAAA! SHAAA!”

Ah, the infamous duet, Gwen slapped Caliban on its cephalothorax, bidding it to back away before the girl became entirely deaf, dumb and insensible.

“Feather Shard!” Lu Fung commanded his Familiar.

The attack came out of nowhere. Even as the other three junior Conjurers relaxed, realising that the monstrous vision was no danger, Fung had entirely lost his cool. Perhaps the Master of Wanli had not thought Caliban’s skittering approach as benign; maybe the induced hysteria had overwhelmed his shuddering will, but the reality remained that Lu Fung opened up a barrage from his Spirit hawk.

A deadly, long-range AOE Lighting assault.

Instructor Chen immediately saw that Lu’s attack would miss the agile Caliban but catch the novice Cleric in its area of effect. The inexperienced Clan-bred fool wasn’t trying to save the girl, as he had initially thought; he was reacting to a fight or flight reflex.

“Caliban, help her!” Gwen commanded. Unlike other elemental Familiars, Caliban’s physical form regenerated so long as she provided the vitality. It was a double-edged ability. It meant that so long as Gwen had a healer with her, she was capable of keeping Caliban in fighting form against any enemy, so long as they did not banish, or completely disable her creature.

Caliban needed no coaxing to protect the healer. The Void-spider lumbered over Eunae with supernatural haste and flared out its carapace. Below, Eunae afforded an unmitigated view of Caliban's second mouth below its thorax, where a slit opened to reveal a lamprey’s mouth where multiple tentacles, each with independent mouths, waved at her.

Eunae fainted dead away as shards of bladed lightning rained down around the beast and the beauty.

“Idiot!” Instructor Chen swore at the panicking Lu Fung, then invoked his own Familiar. “Huonu!”

A stench of rotten eggs and brimstone filled the air as a massive three-pronged claw reached out from thin air and seized the hovering lightning-hawk, sending it crashing into the ground. A pulsating mass of scaly flesh followed, crimson with flowing magma and smoking with ash and sulphur.

The gathered students opened their mouths in awe, their fear of the Caliban-thing momentarily forgotten as they witnessed the full fury of a Tier 7 Spirit Familiar - a Magma Salamander.

Chen's partner was no common Spirit, for a true Salamander possessed not the amphibious likeness of a creature in-between frog and newt, but a half-humanoid giant with the upper body of a woman and the lower body of a snake, akin to that of the Greco-Lamia. They were native Spirits existing upon the Plane of Fire.

Instructor’s Chen’s Familiar did not fully materialise, however. After the lightning-hawk became a pile of smouldering silvery residue, Huonu faded from the scene, leaving behind globs of magma and an unbearable stench of sulphur.

“Wanli!” Lu Fung glared at the instructor in shame and fury. It would take days for his Familiar to restore itself in its pocket dimension, perhaps even weeks.

“Intemperate fool!” Instructor Chen howled at the cadet. “All of you! Attention!”

The lucid students quickly stood to attention. The three who stood ramrod straight had seen military duty and presented themselves for inspection. Gwen helped Eunae to her feet, having now regained her senses; while Lu stared defiantly with barely contained rage at his instructor.

Instructor Chen nodded approvingly at the three seniors but then turned upon the girls and the inconsolably furious Lu.

“You three are the worst Creature-Conjurers I have never seen!”

“How dar- Blargh!”

Instructor Chen punched the air before him, and two meters away, Lu Fung fell to the floor and discharged the contents of his breakfast.

“Shut the FUCK UP! You shit stain!” The militant instructor’s voice was like a thunderclap. “This is your last warning. Another strike and you are out of my class. I will personally see to it that Fudan removes you from its roster. Do you understand?”

“I- I understand-”

“What was that?!”

“I UNDERSTAND! Sir!” Lu shouted back at the Instructor.

“Now stand back up and act like a man, you boot scum! You think you’re top dog because you have a mid-tier spirit? Think again, worm! Your Clan bought you that Thunder Hawk. You did not tame it! You did not fight for it! You did not scale the twenty-thousand steps of Kunlun's Evergreen Peak to steal the egg from the Heaven-Splitting Crag! You think you’re something? You’re nothing! Worthless!”

Lu remained standing, inflated by nought but the sheer force of his indignation.

“You don’t even know how to control your hawk’s ability! You can’t aim its AOE! It can’t even I.F.F! What a waste of a beautiful Spirit on a piece of amphibian shit.”

Eunae stood shaking and shivering no more than a dozen meters beside the screaming Instructor, while Gwen had commanded Caliban to skitter away quietly and hide behind her. Ariel meanwhile, dug into her T-shirt and quaked with terror.

As expected, the nature Spirited healer was the Instructor’s next victim.

“Where is your Familiar, Miss Lee?”

Eunae looked at the Instructor as though he had demanded she strip down and give birth; her face was equal parts incomprehension and stunned terror.

“WHERE IS YOUR FAMILIAR?! CONJURER?”

“Luyi!!” Eunae wailed helplessly, summoning her Familiar once again. The girl was in tears now, crying out for her Familiar to appear while trying to retract her bubbling snot. When finally her doe materialised, it took one look at the Instructor and turned to flee.

“Luyi,” the Instructor said in a voice filled with command. “Luyi, down.”

To their surprise, the skittish doe dropped to one knee.

“Do you want to protect Eunae, Luyi?” Instructor Chen spoke calmly and softly.

Luyi bobbed its head vigorously.

“Then you can’t let her fear affect you, okay? I know that’s how Empathic Link works, but you have to know that you’re stronger than your mistress. You’re her protector. Do you understand?”

Luyi nodded again. That was the thing with Spirits. They understood human speech, and they understood human empathy.

“Okay, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

Luyi licked the old Conjurer’s hand.

Instructor Chen rapped Eunae’s forehead.

“You have much to learn.”

“Y-yes Sir!” Eunae's head bobbed like a drinking bird. It was cute and adorable, watching both the girl and the doe nodding together in synchronisation.

Gwen was just about to smile when her half-formed grin froze on her face.

Instructor Chen turned toward her.

Oh shit, oh shit oh shit! Gwen’s inner dialogue crapped itself.

“They told me to take special care of you.” Chen approached Gwen until he was no more than two inches from her. She could still smell the sulphur on his skin, feel the heat radiating from the Magma Mage like a glowing furnace. The man’s eyes, Gwen couldn’t help notice, was two glowing orbs of flaming coal. She had to circulate a thimble of Lightning mana to resist the pressure he was exerting upon her. “Your link with your creatures are untempered, and that makes them a danger to yourself and your allies.”

“I am sorry, Sir! I will take greater care with my familiars in the future!”

Chen looked past Gwen at the massive spider-thing behind her.

“Caliban, come here!” he commanded.

Surprisingly, Caliban came.

“Caliban. Sit!”

The scorpion-spider thing roosted itself until its belly touched the floor.

Gwen’s lips formed an ‘O’.

Instructor Chen produced two raw, uncut fragments of mana crystals and offered them to Caliban. The creature extended two tendrils and retrieved both pieces, then fed them into its maw, crunching them luxuriously as it enjoyed the burst of raw mana infusing its body.

“Gwen, tell it to return to its lesser form,” the Instructor told her.

“Caliban, Serpent!”

Caliban focused on its meal instead.

“You also have much to learn.” Instructor Chen shook his head. “How did you manage to tame this creature? I find it difficult to believe that it would have come to you naturally. It is too powerful, too wilful and far too volatile.”

“It’s a long story, Sir…”

“Next time then.” Instructor Chen patted Caliban on the forehead of its faceless carapace and retreated from them. Gwen had to produce a piece of LDM and feed it sneakily under her shirt, for Ariel had watched the instructor feed its half-brother and was wondering if it too should take on the role of the troublemaker. After all, it appeared that Caliban got rewarded for harassing the Mage with the familiar scent.

Instructor Chen returned to the bulkhead entrance of the section.

“Your task!” Instructor Chen announced. “Is to temper the connection to your Familiars. Get them to remain in the Material Plane! You will eat with them. Sleep with them. Go to Class with them. They will become a part of you, and you a part of them! They will not be unsummoned until you are OOM!”

There were groans all around, but Gwen had to regard the nightmarish bulk of Caliban with alarm.

Eat with it? Sleep with it? GO TO CLASS WITH IT?

Thankfully, what Instructor Chen meant was that they would ‘soon’ have to bear the burden of living with their familiars. The students could choose to refuse, of course, but that would imply taking a significant hit to their Academic Record.

Once the roller coaster of emotions wounded to a halt, the student came to see the rationality of such a seemingly unreasonable request. Gwen, who had owned two cats and a deceased dog, had always seen her Familiars as more than just tools, they were her companions. If Caliban or Ariel could be smarter, she'd dare say they were her friends. For the vast majority of Conjurers, however, a Familiar was a tool, a thing, a resource. What Chen was asking was the equivalent of taking a large mallet with one to work, to class, to lunch, and to bed.

But, as Instructor Chen explained; power and control were often inversely related. When acquiring Familiars and Spirits, chance was rarely generous. When Lady Fortuna dribbled her lucky olive oil, one then had the problem that a Familiar became too intelligent, willful, or dominant; what one needed then, was rapport.

For Familiars were ultimately constructs of Magic given animus and will by the Conjurer. They were tirelessly loyal but highly subject to the repressed emotions of the caster. Exhibit A was Luyi, a Forest Sprite doe considered mid-tier and possessing high levels of intelligence. It's owner, Eunae, was, unfortunately, a nursery flower, feeding all her terrors into the hapless Luyi so that even if the Familiar wanted to protect its mistress, it couldn't disobey its instinct.

“To wield your Familiar with absolute trust, all you need is a decade of common experiences, eat together, sleep together under the stars, bath together in the blood of your enemies...”

“But, as we're no longer in the 70s and you're all scions of your precious Houses and Clans, we can't throw you into the trenches just yet. The academic board doesn't want to risk your precious lives. Your mummies and daddies would have our skins if you were to have a limb gnawed off by a Ghast. You’re the special spark that keeps your Clan’s inbred bloodline boiling. As that is the case, there’s no way but to have you accompany your familiars in public.”

Ouch, Gwen winced at Chen's depreciative insults. She had to admit; Instructor Chen did not mince words; the man gave no two shits about the Young Masters and Mistresses of the city.

“THIS - is what you will need. For the duration of the course, it will be on LOAN to you.”

Instructor Chen introduced the students to what he called a Sustenance Bangle, a magical device which when worn around one’s wrist, allowed one to keep Familiars out and about in docile form. The moment a Familiar become aggressive or hostile, the bangle's circuit-break triggers and the Familiar is banished. To pass the course, Instructor Chen articulated in his rough speech; the students must keep their Familiars out and about for at least seven days.

“Why seven days?” Lu Fung asked carefully, nursing his stomach. Gwen couldn't help but be impressed by the man's ability to pack away his ingrown arrogance so quickly. Like Dai, the young man knew when to kneel and when to butt heads; it was perhaps the secret of the Clan's success.

“Because you’re all tit-sucking man-children,” Instructor Chen informed them gravely, shaking his head. “During the Siege of Tianjin in 91’, we Conjurers had to keep fighting for three weeks. If you can’t keep a leash on your Familiars for even seven days, you can forget about sending them into the battle line alongside other Mages. What would happen if your precious Spirit berserks or causes friendly-fire during a siege? Forget about being a Creature Conjurer. Go and work on your Spatial Magic or learn to Summon spell-fodder. Be a Box-Conjurer and work on your Teleportation. You’ll be wasting the lives of your Spirit Familiars, your comrades, and yourselves.”

When the lesson was finally over, Gwen asked if it was necessary for her, who did not possess a Spirit, to undergo the same training.

“Your control of your familiars is abysmal.” Chen shook his head critically at her. “For you to pass my course, there are two requirements. One, control your damn familiars. They don’t move a muscle without your express consent. Two, get your familiars to work together; otherwise, you’re just wasting your talent. You, who possess two elements! Do you understand that? Dean Luo has especially asked me to make sure that you don’t turn out like those inbred failures, don't waste the man's goodwill.”

“Yessir!” Gwen half bowed, half curtsied to affirm the Instructor’s intentions. She promised to do whatever was needed to gain total control over her familiars.

“I’ll be honest with you.” Chen shrugged. “Never seen a Void beast before, don’t even know if it's intelligent. Caliban acts like it is, but you never know. Just be careful, alright? Keep a tight leash on the thing when you get issued your bangles.”

Gwen solemnly promised that she would ensure Ariel and Caliban act in good faith.

Instructor Chen turned to the rest of the group.

"No more complaints? Very well then. Your extra-curriculums begins next week. In the meanwhile, we're going to go through some Master-Familiar bonding routines. Each of you, take a room."

* * *

When they’d finally escaped from the Daishan Stadium, it felt as though a day and night had passed and the students were now emerging into the mid-morning of Wednesday. Bloody hell, Gwen blinked and tried to orientate herself. It already felt like Friday.

Nonetheless, the reality of the day ahead was that she still had Advanced Spell Shaping in the afternoon.

Feeling fatigued by the events of the morning, Gwen called Mayuree to see if she was available for a Luncheon. Her eager friend informed her that she could be, and met Gwen half an hour later, huff and puffing, at University Boulevard.

She arrived with a third wheel, Gwen mused; or was it that she was the third wheel?

“Hi Kitty.” Gwen waved at the dual-elemental Mage in possession of Ice and Air. Since finding out that Kitty Liang was the other winner of the LCSS full scholarship, Gwen had 'checked her out'. After all, it was more than likely that this girl who was in possession of not only talent but also the skills, was going to be her rival for the IIUC placement. Of course, there are going to be second and third years competing for the positions as well, but Gwen had to cross her bridges one at a time.

“Gwen." Kitty inclined her chin. Perhaps because of her affinity with two elements known to produce aloof personalities, Kitty felt somewhat ethereal to Gwen, like she existed on another Plane entirely. It was only in speaking to Mayuree that the girl put on expressions like a young woman. When Kitty dealt with others, it felt as though they were talking to a doll. Her voice as well, was quiet and wispy, giving the listener the strange sensation that they were instead listening to the wind whistle through the willows.

The three found a trendy faux-Victorian joint for Afternoon Tea.

Mayuree took a sandwich.

Gwen took a plate of sandwiches.

Kitty watched the other two eat while her petite fours thawed.

“You need to eat, Hon.” Gwen regarded the girl worriedly. She had arms and legs like sticks; sometimes, it felt as though Kitty's had the constitution of air. She could probably blow her away with a loud sneeze.

“I ate earlier. I just wanted to spend some time with Mia,” Kitty replied airily. “You go on ahead.”

The two were perfect for each other. Gwen couldn’t help but acknowledge. It was curious how socially challenged they were, for all their Magical abilities. Then again, Gwen reminded herself, most of the 'House' raised youths she'd met seemed to possess personalities that in her old world, would attract adjectives like 'sociopathic' and 'megalomaniac'.

Gwen polished off three tiers, scones and all.

As a result of Caliban’s high level of satiation, Gwen no longer felt the dizzying yearning for nourishment. But so long as she exercised her Void abilities, her body craved food and energy. Although the pleasure of delicious deserts could not compete with the existential satisfaction of Caliban’s Consume, they blunted the edge of her hunger.

What if she used Consume upon a slab of slow-cooked brisket? Gwen pondered the enticing hypothesis. After all, Caliban was capable, to a degree, of tasting its meals. What if it was possible to season the Magic Creatures she consumed? She could conjure up some sweet garlic soy, or a shower of syrup-

No no no! Gwen warned herself. Those who hunt monsters should beware! That way lies darkness.

While their third-wheel daydreamed in a food coma, Kitty and Mayuree discussed classes and instructors. Kitty had a room at the apartment, but she seldom slept over.

“There are only six people in my class,” Mayuree said happily. “I guess there are not that many high-affinity Diviners even in Fudan.”

“Mao helps us if everyone starts predicting the future,” Kitty replied softly. “I am in the opposite position. Even in Transmutation 2021, there’s over a hundred of us.”

2021! Gwen bit her lip. That’s a second-year course. Both Kitty and Richard were way ahead of her in their Majoring School of Magic. She had neglected her Spellcraft for too long, spent too much time fiddling with too many Schools, and now she was comparatively behind in all of them.

Gwen listened to the girl' banter for another half an hour or so, nursing her Earl Grey and resting her mind. When the last dollop of cream was gone, she 'shouted' her mob the luncheon, then left for her Advanced Spellshaping.

* * *

Advanced Spellshaping took place in the upper campus not far from the Henglong building.

There were about a hundred students who attended the mostly theoretical lecture. Their Instructor was a Magister called Michio Lee, a Singaporean expat who specialised in advanced Spellcraft algorithms. He was young for his position and popular with the girls in the lecture who admired his talent and intelligence. When Gwen eavesdropped on the girls sitting up front, she heard that Lee was from a family similar to Mayuree’s House. He was the fourth son of a significant Frontier trade Consortium based in the fabled Fortress City and the heir apparent for his unmatched talent.

The first half of the lecture was mainly introductory fanfare. Lee spoke about the possibility of using personal intuition and understanding of Spellcraft to create unique Signature Spells. He outlined the immutable triangle of Spell-Lore: the trifactor between Elemental Mana, Soul Sigils, and the Physical Body as the Triumvirate controlling the Arcane arts.

Spells and Incantations, stated the Magister, were age-old formulas that the predecessors of Spellcraft had left their descendants. He pointed to the potential of looking not forward, but backwards at pagan magic, ancient magic, druidic magic, and even Demi-human magic to find forgotten laws of causation and effect that humanity’s predecessors had used to shape the elemental forces, offering a brief history lesson.

But in the second-half, Lee shifted his tone.

“Often, we overthink what lies ahead, failing to see that so much of what we thought and sought as new knowledge - are instead forgotten by history, hidden by conflict, stolen and hoarded by Clans, Sects, and the Religions.”

Lee's accusation did not seem to align with at least a dozen of the cohort’s view of the world; Gwen even saw a few students filing out of the lecture as the Instructor grew more radicalised.

“Think of China's Undead Incursions every Winter in the North East,” Lee intoned sagaciously. “We fear the Undead, we loathe the undead, but we are reminded annually, of a wilfully neglected blindside.”

The lecture grew silent.

“That WE are the architects of Necromantic Magic! You and I, humans, are the ones who first raised the dead! In Egypt, it was the Cult of Anubis who first began to reign supreme under their God-King Pharaohs! Narmer! Khufu! Khafre! Each was peerless in their Necromantic craft. In our nation of the Central Kingdom, the Great Emperor of Qin, Ying Zheng was the Ruler of all under heaven; his tomb remains the greatest mausoleum known to humanity - the burial palace of a Necromantic God who sought to rule forever!”

"The ancient teachers of Magecraft,” continued Lee. “Promised impossibilities and performed miracles, shackled dragons and tethered demons. The modern masters transmuted life; formalised the rules of Magic, and created the chimaera that we call Spellcraft. Humans have penetrated into the recesses of the Wildlands and hunted the Demi-human in her most secret hiding-places. They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the mana circulates, and the nature of the Planes we exist upon. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the Primary Elements of Creation, mimic creation, and mock the invisible world with its own shadows of Positive and Negative Energy!”

Excited murmurs began to filter through the lecture hall.

“But I digress.” Lee laughed, ignoring his students' disquiet. “Necromancy is forbidden. The point that I wish you all to understand is that Spells are not arcane constructs confined in textbooks, there only to be aped. All magic is a result of experimentation and hypothesis. Do not be afraid to test your limits, break the rules. In this world, you and I are all discoverers. Those ancient Mages could find the tipping point of light and death through their curious enquiry of the world around them, so it should be no trouble for you too, to find new and novel ways to wield your magic for the benefit of humankind.”

The auditorium offered scattered applause as Magister Lee finished up his lecture and retrieved the projection crystal he had been using to show the students historical anecdotes of magical experimentation and discovery.

Gwen felt well instructed by the two-hour session, so much that she was still thinking about it when she finally arrived at the apartment, opening the door to find Petra watching the news.

“Hey.” Gwen walked over to the couch.

Petra was bundled up in towels, waiting for her hair to dry.

“How was your day?” Petra asked, stretching out her toes.

“Oh~ Pats.” Gwen made a long face before leaning heavily into the armrest. “Where to begin?”

* * *

Wednesday.

Gwen underwent Supplementary Conjuration with Magus Kumiko in a class of about twenty students, practising the basics repeatedly to train for efficiency, consistency and proficiency. She then had a follow-up session with Petra, who aided her in consolidating the knowledge she had picked up throughout the week.

“... there! Done! I'll be at the lab tonight so don't wait for me.” Petra surprised Gwen with her absentee notice.

“Sure you don’t want to grab a bite?” Gwen asked. It was almost 6 PM.

“Got data to collate and reports to write.” Petra lifted herself from the bench. “I have an errand for Master as well. I’ll be home late.”

“I can bring you food,” Gwen offered.

“No, no. Go rest. Big day of classes tomorrow as well.”

“Just Gen-Ed.”

“Which I know you love. Professor Ma is presiding. Go on; I’ll be fine.”

Gwen bid her cousin good night, then retreated from the lab.

She may be a part of Wen's cosy little study group, but Gwen knew her place. She was in no way a part of Wen's Laboratory. There were some things she could attend, and then there were things far beyond her level of clearance. It didn't take a Meister to know that the Magister wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine; Gwen had no idea what the scholar was doing with two Cubes full of Void Matter and Druidic Essence each fortnight, and chose not to ask. All she could do was have faith that her allies were wise enough to not slaughter the golden goose for the malformed eggs in her oviduct.

She chose instead to contend with a more mundane problem. Dinner!

She didn’t want to eat out by herself. Her comeliness drew as much unwanted attention as her appetite. Either was a hassle, but when combined, she became a spectacle. There was a seafood buffet on University Boulevard, and the one time she ate there, she had inadvertently recreated Homer's scene in the 'The Frying Dutchman' episode.

There was nothing but instant ramen at home. Neither of the girls was remotely good at housework, and as such, the fridge had nothing but a few pieces of ageing fruit, water, some juice and a slab of mouldy bread. God, Gwen reminded herself, she had better throw that thing away before it becomes her third Familiar.

There was also the matter of cleaning the place, but Mayuree said she would lend them the 'aunty' for a few hours.

Gwen gnawed her lips and considered her options.

She raised her Message band and punched in a glyph.

“Hey Mia, it's me, Gwen.”

“Yeah, listen, er… Have you had dinner yet?”

“No no, I am just downstairs.”

“Can I? That’s wonderful!”

“Okay, I’ll be up in twenty!”

Perfect! She thought to herself. Free dinner. Just her and Mia in the privacy of their own homes. At worst, there would be a stone-faced Kitty presiding, but Gwen rather liked Kitty; competitor or no, she admired all forms of competence.

* * *

The pixie girl wasn't home, but Marong was.

The man didn't technically even live at the apartment, Gwen furrowed her brows. Why was he so damn omnipresent?

“Magister Lee said that, did he?” Marong drew a serpent in the air with this smoke and watched it swim through space in front of his eyes.

Gwen watched the serpent arch its back until it looked like a rainbow stretched across two smokey landscapes. Across the table, she sipped her cranberry juice. Was Marong trying to hint at something, or was his 'display' merely a coincidence? The Rainbow Serpent incident during the Black Sun event was common knowledge by now, but only her Sister and Brother-in-craft knew of Gwen's involvement.

They were having a traditional western style dinner: meat and three vegs consisting of heirloom mushrooms, asparagus, mash and a choice cut of cattlemen's rib-eye.

Marong ate a small portion of his oversized steak, then contemplatively watched Gwen deliver piece after piece of bloody flesh to her lips. When Gwen began to glance over at his plate, the Smoke Mage told the maid to hew away the mostly uneaten portion and serve it to their famished guest.

Marong then felt a mild revulsion as Gwen furthermore polished off Mayuree's serving.

It wasn’t so much that the girl ate what seemed like the lion's share of an Auroch, but the fact that she happily ate leftovers. Gwen wasn't living in splendorous wealth, but a Mage in her position should afford some dignity. She could have asked the maid for another serving or requested more food. Was it politeness? That would be ironic. Was it Gwen's Frontier upbringing? Was eating leftovers a country, folksy thing? Marong could undoubtedly imagine peasants taking on the practice.

At any rate, he made small talk to displace the awkwardness.

“Michio Lee is famous for being an oddball, but he means well,” Marong responded to Gwen’s curious enquiry as to Lee’s statement about dredging for the ‘hidden knowledge’ the Clans and Sects had kept from the rest of the Spellcraft community.

“What are they hiding though? Signature Spells? Never-before-seen Arcana? Forbidden magic?”

Marong watched Gwen's eyes searching the kitchen imploringly.

Good Mao! Marong snorted, setting free two streams of cigarette smoke. She was looking for dessert! His eyes fell a bit lower toward Gwen’s tapered waist, then up toward Gwen’s exposed collarbones. The Void sorceress' jawline was impeccable, her neck as elegantly faultless as a swan's. The girl’s metabolism must be as rare as her Void talent.

“Who knows?” Marong shrugged. “As a member of one of those 'Clans' your Instructor despises so much, I can inform you that we have secrets, big ones, but nothing to the degree of Unique Schools of Magic.”

“Do they exist though?”

“Of course they 'exist'." Marong chuckled cooly. "Let me give you an example. I had a Senior in Tsinghua, years ago, who could cast a form of body enhancement that allowed him to leap several meters from standing, walk on walls, and balance on tree branches as thin as your fingers. Think about what you would need to achieve the same thing. Spider Climb, Jump, Adhere and Enhance Dexterity, and that’s assuming you could parkour. You know what parkour is?”

Gwen nodded.

“He’s a Jianshi, or Wushi, depending on your dialect. He refused to participate in the IIUC, but if he had, Tsinghua would not have lost.”

A Wushi? Like in Crouching Tiger? Gwen tried to imagine a Mage scaling walls while swinging a sword, finding the vision as ridiculous as it was enticing. When a Monster like Elizabeth Sobel could drain the life out of a city with ten million souls, what use were Romantic notions of close combat? It was the difference between a special forces unit and a WMD. Swordsmen had their applications, of course, as assassins perhaps, but wouldn’t the other side also have an equal and oppositional force to defend their VIPs? In her old world, with the advent of Drone Strikes and deep sea ballistic missile delivery systems, there was little need for personal heroics in time of war. A Jianshi made good storytelling, of course, not to mention fantastic propaganda, but they were hardly conducive to the outcome of a significant regional conflict. Mao certainly did not take China from the Dynastic Clans by swinging his sword arm; it was through a Cult of Personality and his autocratic control of the state to engage in Total War.

“Lee also went on about Necromancy,” Gwen continued.

“That’s a topic best left well alone outside of academia,” Marong warned his inquisitive guest. “Pretty much everything north-west of Xian is gone to the dead. It’s a controversial topic among the upper echelons.”

“Lee said-“

“His opinion is hardly original. Don't you think people thought of that already? That only the Undead could fight the Undead? That we should be developing Necromancy ourselves?”

“Why can’t we turn back the tide with our current forces? The News said we're holding steady and slowly progressing westward.”

Marong chuckled. He liked it when the girl finally acted her age and said things befitting of her level of knowledge. The girl must have gotten her insights from watching propaganda Vid-casts. "We," she had said, what a ridiculous notion.

“Because they’re the Undead!” Marong laughed, taking a toke on his cigarette and allowing the smoke to add to the constructed scenery, which now resembled the Great Wall. “This is not a war the PLA can win without opening itself to bigger problems down the road from the American and the British Mageocracy. Can we win? Probably. What's left after 'we' win? Not much. We'd lose most of our Mages, especially the middle rank."

"Think about it; we got a few million NoM soldiers and about six thousand Mages up at the Northern Front. The Public Information Bureau says there’s around 12 million Undead or so, not including their Magic Casters. Now, where do you think the 12 million bodies come from?”

“From tombs? Graves?”

Marong shook his head and gave Gwen a look with his darkly lined eyes that said ‘oh you sweet summer child.’

“From us!” Marong chortled suddenly. “There wasn’t even that many people in all of China when the Qin mausolea dug into the earth! The number of undead sealed to serve the old Emperor would number no more than ten thousand, maybe twenty thousand! Now there’s 10 - 12 million! Even with a dozen tombs, there's no more than a few hundred thousand. And Lichs? Draugs? Spectres? Wraiths? Death Knights? Hundreds at best. Now they number in the tens of thousands."

Marong snorted sardonically.

"It’s us. Don’t you see? The more living there are, the more become fodder for the undead. The only way to stop the undead is to cease..."

Marong left the rest unspoken. He allowed two jet streams of smoke to play about his nostrils. Twin serpents of smoke swam through the air. The Great Wall collapsed into nothing.

“It's best to think of it as a natural disaster. We’re trying to stop a rockslide, a tsunami, a lava flow, from the North West,” the Smoke Mage advised. “To be honest, it’s best not to dwell. The threat is contained; that’s all the PLA is willing to do.”

Gwen wanted to ask more about this ‘threat’, but Marong seemed disinclined to discuss the matter further. To Gwen, the whole Undead problem and people’s attitudes toward it had a touch of irony. If she was to draw an analogy close to home - it was like Australia’s Royal Commission into the Catholic Church’s paedophilic sins of the Fathers - all thunder and no rain.

“Do we have to participate in this defence?” Gwen changed topics toward something closer to home.

“Mao, I hope not.” Mayuree, who had been listening to their conversation intently, made a grimace.

“It’s a good career boost for the PLA and the CCP track if you're a free Mage. For the Clans, there’s not much merit in dying for the government that took down the Dynastic golden age. As for participation, Tower Mages are exempt from conscription, if that’s what you mean.”

“There’s conscription?” Gwen’s voice lowered an octave.

“For the NoMs, of course,” Marong’s voice droned on. “Gaps need filling, no? Humanity is trying to stop a flood, after all. There’s a lot of bodies lying around, which is both the solution and the problem.”

Marong motioned to the distant horizon where in the gloom, they could see NoM habitat-blocks rising toward the heavens like swords stabbing into the sky.

Gwen thought of the supersized apartment blocks with their underground facilities, mini hive-cities, all of them, where the NoMs made their living. Conscription? She should've known. If the country needed to supply the frontlines with fresh bodies, then she could no longer see those NoM structures as a socialist government doing the best for its non-magical citizens.

Instead, the hive-cities were glorified pits and pens for the production of a vital supply. Gwen imagined a scene in which a family received a letter in the mail, within which was a lottery-selected barcode. Was it too late to volunteer and receive a bonus? The hapless victims would wonder. The one solace they had was that the rest of them were safe until the next reaping. The air around her grew suffocating; she felt cheated of breath. Jesus, she thought, Shirley Jackson would have a field day.

The milky-white skin over her bare legs became suddenly covered with shivering bumps, resembling plucked gooseflesh.

“Gwen?” Mayuree regarded her friend’s pallid complexion with her amber eyes, searching Gwen’s face for an answer. Was it indigestion? She wouldn't be surprised.

Gods! Gwen thought to herself, feeling her innards churn with acidic reflux. Those poor bloody NoMs can’t catch a break!

* * *

Thursday.

Thursday held the one class that Gwen herself and Mayuree attended together - Transmutation Utility.

There were several such courses - Abjuration Utility, Transmutation Utility, Divination Utility, and so on. The idea was that there were essential spells from each school which a Mage’s party should never be without; circumstances rarely provided the opportunity to form perfect parties.

As such, Mages could learn to use low tier spells from other Sigils. These were simplified versions of the spells available from each School, adapted for general use at the cost of potency and efficiency.

Transmutation Utility covered the majority of the translocation spells necessary for general Adventuring, Combat, and Dungeoneering.

Jump - a stable spell Gwen already knew.

Feather Fall - a life-saving staple.

Levitation - for scouting and moving up and down ledges and platforms.

Lesser Fly - A poor Mage's variation of the Transmutation staple, a glorified Levitation.

Enhance Ability - Essential for survival, split into Constitution, Dexterity, and Strength

Lock and Knock - useful for a variety of situations.

Expeditious Retreat - For fleeing as quickly as possible, serving as a cheap Haste. It was a combination enhancement that also heightened agility and awareness.

Spider Climb - for vertically inclined spaces.

Dark Vision - For seeing in dark places.

Aqua Lung - For aquatic mishaps.

Almost all of the students participating in the course were non-Transmutation students, but not so for Gwen. Tier 1 Spells were therefore easily mastered. Tier 2 Spells such as Lock and Knock, Levitation and so forth, took longer.

Her primary reason for taking the class was Lesser Fly / Flight, arguably the most useful spell for a Junior Mage. At tier 3 though, it would likely use up the rest of the semester, some fourteen weeks, until she could gain rudimentary mastery of it.

“Without these movement Spells, you are nothing but a stationary turret ripe for destruction,” the instructor, a Magus named Canto Luo, a nephew of the Dean, told his students earnestly. “You will be a liability. Do not venture into a dungeon without ensuring that your party possesses every possible means of mobility. Remember - Dead Mages don’t contribute to damage.”

Mayuree had no talent in Transmutation, but her natural intelligence and good breeding ensured that she could arguably follow the instructor’s incantations without delay nor confusion.

Gwen meanwhile, could feel her long-neglected Transmutation Sigil pulse with eager luminosity as she alternated between Lock and Knock, abusing her abnormally large mana pool.

“Good work, Gwen,” Magus Luo nodded approvingly at her progress.

The students split into a dozen stations, with the class spending their training time moving from station to station, attempting various spells while under the careful, watchful eye of Instructor Luo.

After just one afternoon, Gwen had basic control over the staple tier 1 spells.

When she arrived at the apartment building, she felt overcome with mischief and so carefully and meticulous cast Expeditious Retreat, as well as Enhance Strength. She then ran all the way up to level 22 and burst through the Firedoor into her apartment after casting a Knock, marvelling at the ease of her transit.

How's that for a routine! She wondered what her old PT would think of that near-superhuman feat. Step-machine my ass! Gwen stood smugly in the living room, drenched with sweat but visibly pleased with herself.

Then her Transmutation wore off.

“Ouch…” She felt the first cramp coming on. “Oh no…”

Gwen collapsed onto the couch, her face ashen as her body took stock of the muscular fatigue forced onto her tender flesh; paying it back to her in full with compounded interest. Her legs locked up entirely as she tried to stretch them out, sending her into fits of racking pain.

Tears of regret gushed from her eyes. Gwen sobbed helplessly into the micro-fibre fabric of the couch and laid unmoving like a corpse between the coffee table and the cushions.

Play stupid games. Win stupid prizes.

Petra! Come home soon! She prayed to the Gods above. Please, let there be a Lesser Restoration in your Cube collection!

Petra massaged Gwen’s stuttering legs as her cousin squirmed and groaned.

“I am not a spell-bank you know. Unless we’re Adventuring, I don’t stock up on those spells,” Petra chided Gwen, who moaned as her masseuse's fingers worked over the inflamed flesh. “Transmutation Utility doesn’t teach you the physiological and morphic aspects of these spells, so be careful with the revised Incantations. We can always get you a Transmutation Tutor in the future if you’re so keen on getting up close and personal.”

“It was an idiotic fancy.” Gwen gritted her teeth as Petra worked over a knot.

“Turn around,” Petra commanded.

Gwen flopped over like a flaccid fish flipping itself.

The sorry sight of the languished Gwen made Petra laugh as she began work on her hamstrings, working her way down to the quads.

“Is the Druidic Essence helping?” Petra asked. She had advised that Gwen focus on circulating her emerald essence through her body to take advantage of its regenerative properties.

“I'd say- oh goodness!” Gwen took in a breath of cold air. “I can f-feel the soreness fading away, but you’re doing God’s work, Pats.”

Petra had quite a shock when she opened the door to find Gwen transformed into a mass of convulsing flesh caught between the sofa and the coffee table. It wasn’t until she poked Gwen with her foot in the buttocks that the girl began to scream blue murder.

“Three more days to go, and you get your break,” Petra advised her. “Feel like doing anything this Sunday?”

“I think I am going to r-r-rEST!” Gwen whined loudly when Petra pressed an elbow over Gwen's gluteus.

“Delicately, Pats! You’re breaking the girl!”

Gwen felt a sudden tingle as her Divination senses pinged.

"Pats?"

Above her, a sadistic playfulness touched Petra's husky-blue irises.

* * *

Thursday.

Gwen had practice, followed by Management, followed by practice.

It was only by virtue of her abnormally large mana pool and her Druidic essence that Gwen was able to pile together two sessions bisected by her Gen-Ed, which served to restore her mana.

From 0900 to 1200, she took to the practice field and focused on repeating her Conjuration incantations. Gwen warmed up on the cantrips, moved her way up to Dimension Door, then concentrated on progressing toward the next tier.

For her advancement toward the fifth tier, Magister Wen had prepared a new Incantation for Gwen, contributed by Magus Kumiko.

Based upon the altered Invocations used by Master Kilroy for Dark Tentacle and Faithful Hound, Wen had reverse-engineered three tiers of Summon Elementals: Minor, Lesser, and the basic tier 5 Summon.

At first, Gwen had been disparaged by the fact that she was forced to acclimatise her method to the mundane variety. When she mentioned this to Magister Wen, the helpful Magister intervened, showing Gwen that higher spells are quintessentially the same formulas worked into increasingly complex spell-layers. Confidently, she informed the Void Conjurer that there was no reason why her Sigils couldn’t process the usual formulas in Kilroy's Signature style, at least until tier 6; beyond which she would need to tap into supplementary mandala arrays developed especially for her altered-School.

The rest was a matter of familiarity, accuracy, stability, and speed.

Speed was paramount to combat.

The time it took to manifest magical phenomena varied, depending on utility. Her staple escape spell, Dimension Door, was tailored especially for speed by Magister Kilroy and as such, took just over a second while possessing minimal somatic components. Faithful Hound, however, as a defensive spell with many conditional modifiers, took almost two minutes. Dark Tentacles, as an entrapment spell, took about four to five seconds, while sustained barrage spells such as Warding Bolt and Call Lighting each took two to three seconds.

When she began with her new spell, Conjure Minor Elemental, she took almost two minutes to complete the new calculations in her mind, carefully drawing the mana into her sigil and willing the spell to manifest. Her target time was just under 5 seconds.

According to Magister Birch, the difference between 'Summon' and 'Conjure' was their different foundations. Conjuration originates from the Latin term ‘conjuratio’, a phrase popularised during the shift between the Dark Ages of Middle Europe to the Golden Age of Florentine Renaissance. It was an epoch with many concurrences: the splitting of the Papal States into the warring factions of the Romagna; the birth of ocean-faring magic which began the age of colonisation; the rediscovery of Roman and Greek Spellcraft; the renewed interest in the notion of Republic - all of which made for a cocktail of conspiracy and progress. It was during this time that early Conjurers such as Dante Alighieri and Johann Georg Faust, a German philosopher, discovered the way to bind elemental forces onto human anima, allowing humanity to ‘control’ and ‘communicate’ with the forces they once worshipped as divine. Since such times, a Magic Caster who summons creatures for the specific intent of performing tasks and waiting upon their desires labelled their school of thought Conjuration.

Meanwhile, Summoners, or spells that ‘summon’ creatures or things, were founded under far less academic circumstances. Archives as ancient as Egyptian hieroglyphs told of ‘summoning’ ancestral spirits, divine avatars, elemental Gods, and so on. The phrase itself is an uncertain corruption of the original Latin ‘evocatio’ which has since being appropriated by the School of Evocation to mean the summoning of raw elemental power. For Conjuration, a Summon thus represented the translocation of semi-sentient and mindless creatures compelled, but not controlled, by the Summoner. This imprecision was why Summoning was shunned. Early summoners called forth all kinds of mayhem and chaos by accident. From summoning Succubi from Astral civilisations that then went on to topple nations, to accidentally calling out fiery fiends from the depth of the Elemental Plane of Fire; to the spread of occult malignancy such as Vampirism; all of these legends had the common root of ambitious but unwise Summoners at their centre.

Summon Elemental, therefore, was a flood of leaping, howling, hooting creatures rushing toward one’s enemies, appearing and disappearing just as quickly.

It was a spell not very well suited to Gwen as a junior, but now with the boon of her abnormally large mana pool, she could genuinely ‘flood’ her enemies.

The 'minor' creatures for Gwen’s Lightning element was rather a misnomer in itself, for what she called forth was a swarm of sparks that flew toward the direction she desired. The more mana she channelled, the greater the duration and volume of sparks that manifested. If she was willing to OOM, she could sustain the spell for a whole five minutes to the average Summoner’s one; bringing a happy cheer to Magister Wen’s face.

"Don't you see, Gwen?" Magister Wen clapped happily. "Your ability to hone your Sigils is at many times the capacity of the common Mage! My dear, you'll be tier 5 before the year is finished! No slacking off now!"

When she attempted the tier 4 variant after an hour of trying to close the Spells’ circuits, she could only sustain the spell for a minute, even with all her mana. The sparks though had evolved into a swarm of Lightning Scarabs, or so it seemed; Gwen did not profess to be an elemental entomologist.

As for the tier 5 variety, she had so far no success, only raging headaches from mana feedback. Petra had said that it would take her at least half a year, at best four months, of weekly devotion to even begin casting the spell without risking mana exertion.

Nonetheless, it was good practice for her progress toward tier 5; all Gwen could do was to keep milling at the stone of experience.

As for the Void variety, Magister Wen had explicitly warned Gwen to leave her curiosity well alone until they could gather sufficient data. She had no desire for Gwen to be recorded in Spellcraft history as the first Void sorceress to waste herself during a mundane session of enthused practice.

When she exited, sweat-soaked and pallid from the privacy of her practice room, she was met by several of her peers from the Conjuration class.

“That’s Gwen Song,” she heard one of the students whisper under their breath.

Gwen looked up toward the group waiting along the exterior corridor and prepared herself to greet them. What she received, however, was disparaging glowers ranging from interest to loathing, admiration to antipathy.

When she came close enough to inspect her antagonists, she saw their colour matched practice equipment and enchanted uniforms. Gwen also recognised somewhat sardonically, that several of them shared very similar and distinct facial features.

Either these were a troop of six brothers and sisters - or these young Mages belonged to the Dynastic Clans of China.

Gwen pulled her gym-towel tightly around her bare shoulders, covering her sweat-soaked bosom. Following her habits in the old world, she had taken a leaf from Queen ‘yoga pants’ Petra and purchased sporting attire. This world had yet to catch up on the notion of active women’s wear, but that didn’t prevent Gwen from acquiring a combo consisting of a pair of high-rise boot-cut yoga pants, a pink tank top, and comfy white sneakers. Her highness Kuznetsov had been so impressed with the active-wear combo that she immediately invested in several colour-coordinated combinations herself.

As for her current encounter, both Petra and her babulya had warned her that there was merit in associating with the ‘Clanners’. They saw all outsiders as the enemy, and they jealously guarded their secrets while hypocritically coveting the skills and talents of Mages they saw as inferior.

Gwen felt her spine tingle with foretelling Divination.

She lowered her head and kept her gaze downcast.

It wasn't worth it, at least not for now.

Someone snickered.

Somebody else whistled.

Unsurprisingly, someone cracked a lascivious joke.

She quickly passed the small group to the sound of jeers and a few sniggers.

What a bunch of asses, Gwen cursed under her breath. Lucky for her, several of her subjects had Mid-Term exhibition matches. She promised herself that she would repay them three-fold then, revenge best served cold, and so on. Until then, she would assume the form of the tortoise, and endure the buckled burden of humiliation.

* * *

“Gwen, its good to see you,” James Ma, Professor and one of the overseers of their scholarship interview, greeted her as she entered the auditorium. “Is Mr Huang not with you?”

“He’s Adventuring until next week, Sir,” Gwen replied meekly, not wish to appear to possess the come-offish air of the Mages who thought themselves superior to the NoM scholar.

The Professor seemed more relieved than disappointed at Richard's leave of absence.

“I suppose we all have our priorities. Very well, take a seat.”

The beautiful thing about having the quick-drying yoga pants in a boot cut style was that she could slip on a zip-up velour jacket, and her active-wear would transform into casual wear. For Thursday especially, when she had practice sessions in the morning and the afternoon, she wouldn’t have to change multiple times. At worst, she had her Prestidigitation cubes.

Mayuree joined her a few minutes later, and the two cuddled up near the front. The Diviner held no interest in Gen-Ed. She instead spent the lesson dozing on and off on Gwen’s shoulder. For Mayuree, a pass was enough.

Gwen, on the other hand, was scribbling down sources like a mad woman.

“Following the Leviathan Accord by Meister Thomas Hobbes, Non-Magical Humans were given rights of their own, becoming an integral part of human society. To trace the history of Hobbes' writing, one needs to acknowledge the French Meister and father of modern political philosophy, René Descartes; himself informed by classical predecessors such as Plato and Aristotle, who saw the merit in providing Non-Mages with a fighting chance at making themselves virtuous - useful - to Human society beyond as a resource to create more Mages.”

"Of course, during antiquity, Mages were divine heroes, sons and daughters of the Pantheon of Gods, so we mustn't anachronistically judge their limited understanding of egalitarianism."

James Ma was an excellent lecturer, possessing the precise sort of aptitude that Gwen admired. His gold-rimmed glasses glinted as he spoke, and the cadence and intonation of his speech made the somewhat dry lecture far more interesting than its subject matter.

Unfortunately, very few of her peers shared her sentiment for the NoM histories.

The class, when she had last heard, was meant to be almost 300 strong.

Right now, there were about a hundred of them in the lecture, and half of them were either listening with dazed expressions or quietly engaged themselves with private affairs hidden in the back row. As a NoM, Professor Ma couldn’t challenge the students bodily, meaning he had to do his best with passion and rhetoric, hoping that at least a few of the Mages graduated with enough knowledge to have some sympathy for their NoM brothers and sisters.

The first lecture was on Rights, or more precisely, on the ‘Universal Guarantee of Equal Rights to all Human Beings,’ but the passionate lecturer may as well be playing guzheng to the proverbial oxen.

“It was the British Oxford Think-tank, headed then by the Meister John Locke, who first roused the idea of universal human rights for all. He stated that rather than law, human rights should be an existential creed; as a moral principle, enshrined and protected by all.”

“Human Rights, in sharp distinction to the two-tier system of Mage and Non-Mage laws practised around the world pre-17th century, refer to the 'RIGHTS' ‘to which a person is inherently entitled simply because she or he is a human being. This right is to be inalienable regardless of nation, location, language, religion, ethnic origin or any other status. This 'right' is an egalitarian, universal constant, the very thing which separates us from the Demi-humans. A rejection of social Darwinism.”

Mayuree snuggled against Gwen’s arm and opened a bleary eye, then closed it again. The lecture was to her a lullaby.

Gwen eagerly jotted down the keynotes to Professor’s Ma’s informative representation of what she internally termed the NoM-Mage Apartheid.

“Some of you will one day be given a demesne to govern on the frontier, an area deemed important enough by your tier 1 city to require a guardian. As steward representative of your Tower or Provincial governorship, you will hold the power of life or death over the citizens under your care. You may be the protector of a township, the Arbitrator of a district, the Paladin of a Tower, or even the Tower Master him or herself, presiding over millions of lives.”

“It is then, and only then, will you realise that all humans, NoM, Mage or otherwise, bear the burden of upholding the rights of their fellow citizens. The privilege of holding so many lives in your hands may prove a stressful affair, but it is necessary for the survival of mankind.”

“Why else does humanity persist today as the most prosperous terrestrial race on Earth? The Sea Folk far outnumber us. The Elven race possesses far more knowledge and Magic. The Dwarves are far more industrious and wise. The Dragonkin are to us, what Gods are to insects. BUT, why is it that Humans, whose practice of Spellcraft only began in earnest during the Spellcraft Revolution at the turn of the 19th century, have such dominion over the planet? Why is it that we, who are weaker by all accounts, continue to survive and prosper, despite the fall of Frontier and city, year after year?”

The entire lecture now listened attentively. It had taken the Professor a while to rouse his audience, but at last, his Spell slinging pupils were listening to his climatic message.

“It is because of Good Governance!”

“The rule of Law! The respect for NoMs and Mages! The working together of all of humanity! That is how we survived! We have produced more Mages in the last fifty years than all of humanity’s histories put together since the time of the Magi Moses and the coming of the Prophet Jesus Christ! Right now, more Mages are serving in the frontlines, the cities, studying to become Magus and Magisters like yourselves, than any other time in the history of the human race!”

“Good - Governance!” the Professor reiterated. “That is the greatest power of all and the most difficult thing to master in the world.”

Gwen completed her notes with a flourish. Her eyes glowed with passion and enthusiasm. Ma’s lecture was fantastic! Such wisdom! Such sagacity! Such foresight! Gwen felt giddy with ambition, her skin crawling with goosebumps.

She could do it! She felt such confidence that if she should inherit or be gifted a demesne, she could bring forth a faux-democratic utopia! At the very least, she could bring such egalitarian fare to her people that they would no longer suffer the yolk of unemployment and existential nihilism. She would endow her people with purpose and produce! She would make the Mages see sense in raising the NoMs toward positions of meaningful participation in society! What intellectual gems and wonders lie hidden in the untapped masses?

“… There will be an excursion to District 108 and District 35 in Week Six.” Professor Ma pulled out an image of a sprawling hive city shot from the air. Gwen recognised it as one of the ‘forest’ of apartment blocks for NoMs which she could see from the Third Orbital Highway. “If you wish to participate, sign off a Security Clearance form 10-B outside the drop box beside my office.”

After the Professor concluded the lecture and finished issuing homework reading and reports, Gwen shook herself from the revelry of new knowledge and turned to regard Mayuree.

The girl slept sweetly beside her, curled up like a kitten, a sliver of drool leaking from one corner of her lips and forming a silvery thread across Gwen's dark yoga pants.

Gwen watched the Diviner’s eyes flutter slightly.

“Is it time for lunch?” Mayuree asked groggily.

“Sure.” Gwen chuckled, shaking her head and helping her companion into an upright position. “Let’s go get some fish’n chips; I got another three hours of Evocation practice after.”

* * *

Friday.

The Tower technician that came to install her LRC Projector felt his blue cotton uniform drenched in cold sweat as soon as the door to Gwen’s apartment opened at 8 AM.

Two gweilo girls, looking as though they walked out from calendar-catalogues, greeted him. One had eyes like pale clear ocean water, and the other with an emerald-ochre complexity that seemed to consume his soul.

Feeling starstruck, he ambled into the living room and marvelled at the extravagance of the girl’s living room. The view from the building was incredible, nothing like the brick wall outside his Shanzhouzhen apartment which grew mouldy every monsoonal season.

He was a tier 4 Enchanter trained in Specialised Magitech Communications equipment, but even so, he felt distinctly inferior to the two women who sauntered about the apartment. As he employed a wand to Stone-Shaped the wall and tap into the mana conduits buried deep in the concrete, he fantasised about what it would be like to live in the building.

One of the girls, the hazel-eyed beauty, stopped to regard his work, making his hand jittery with nervousness. She smiled at him! Mao! He returned her gesture and tried his best to maintain a straight face.

* * *

Gwen chewed on her Spam toastie as the Tower technician laboured away on his knees; undividedly dedicated to his work. She hadn’t expected the technician to arrive so early, and so had to slap on a pair of briefs and a T-shirt, but was glad the man was consummate enough in his labours as to not be a bother. Petra had risen as well, likewise in tee and shorts. Her oversized shirt, however, hung at an awkward length; exposing too much leg but covering enough of her buttocks in a way that was more suggestive than intended.

Gwen glanced at the technician again, whose focus was so intent upon his work that his eyes watered. Such professionalism!

With the LRC Projector installed, she would be able to talk to Yue and Elvia, not to mention Gunther and Alesia. With a little patience, she could even commune with her Opa, and Richard with his parents. It was a worthwhile investment for sure.

But first, she had classes.

The final class of the week - Economics.

* * *

As before, the Gen-Ed for Economics took place on the upper campus. Gwen quietly pushed through the door and snuck into the lecture hall; happily, the Professor ignored her.

Mayuree waved, and Gwen stole up the aisles until she reached her companion.

“Hey there, Kitty.” Gwen waved to the girl beside them.

Kitty nodded, then turned back to her note taking. She was a studious individual, unlike somebody sitting between the two of them.

Gwen materialised the slate she borrowed from Petra’s lab and tried to make head and tail of the lecture's progress.

The lecturer was on the topic of currency.

“… The first instance of Mana Crystals used as currency was undertaken unknowingly by the Church-Templars from the 12th-century Crusaders; originally escorting members of the nobility on their pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Though the four major Crusades against the then indomitable Sultanates between the 12th century and the 14th century remained a failure, it nonetheless opened up the Mediterranean to commerce and travel, consolidating Papal leadership, galvanising medieval romance, philosophy, and of course - Economics…”

How interesting! Gwen scratched onto the device’s parchment-like surface. It was just like using a Kindle Paper-White, only powered by forces of arcane mystery; though in truth, Gwen reminded herself, any technological device of sufficient advancement was no different from magic. The people of this world could call meteors from an alternate dimension - but her world had smartphones and the internet. A Mage may be able to conjure an amorous Incubus of some kind, but could they stream bass to trout, up to 4k, on their Message devices?

Below, the lecturer was unaware of Gwen's smug superiority.

“As it was near impossible to transport precious metals and large volumes of coinage, raw mana Crystals, then the currency of Wizards, Warlocks and Sorcerors, became popular among the common people as a trading currency.”

“Over time, mercantile empires seeking to take advantage of the Crystal currency rose and fell with the onset of disasters both natural and supernatural. Too much hoarding of crystals attracted Magical Beasts sensitive to such things, such as Dragons; while too little lead to shortage and conflict. It was only after the Undead incursion of WWI that the newly formed League of Nations established the World Banking Regulations Body, where the G9, a collection of Western Nations, joined by the U.S from the New World, brought legislative recognition and fiscal management to Crystal currency trading.”

“As is common knowledge, Mana crystals, as a resource essential to Spellcraft and Magi-tech, is generated from the earth. It is longitudinally perpetual, but finite in volume and harvest. As such, it serves as the basis for our resource-backed economy, as a trading stock sustained by near-linear growth and demand. We have a finite amount of crystal producing regions generating a calculable volume of Crystals - and this reserve is set against market trends and needs of the Tier 1 cities. It is such predictability which affords the LDM and the HDM their role as the currency choice of not only humanity but Demi-humans as well.”

Crikey! Gwen heard herself cry out in dismay and disbelief. Struth, fuck me dead!

Crystals are friggin Petrol-Dollars! No wonder the fiscally infantile economy of this world never collapsed! Before the Americans created a stranglehold on Petroleum, the world economy pre-WWII was rife with instability, exploitation, economic bubbles and fiscally irresponsible governments printing currency like toilet paper. Not that the 21st century faired much better, but the U.S succeeded in wrangling the G20 onto the Raft of the Medusa that was its Barrel-based currency.

Why was it that the U.S could quantitatively ease their economy almost indefinitely after the GFC? Why was it that the U.S could outspend the G19 on military single-handedly? It was because it had an infinite capacity for inflation without upset - for the only way to drastically devaluate the U.S dollar was to unpin its stranglehold over the Crude.

So long as the world used Petroleum as its lifeblood, the world supported the hegemony of the Petrol-Dollar! Why did the U.S rapidly destabilise the Middle East oil nations in the 90s? Non-OPEC countries wanted to trade in Yuan and Rubles! Why did the north of Africa become a hotbed of U.S intervention? The incumbent Dictators had forgotten the terror of the Cold War and were selling their oil in Euros! The invasion of Iraq and intervention of Libia had geopolitical rationales, but there was also an undercurrent of Crude-currency at play. The whole house of cards built on tethering the USD to the Barrel would collapse if the status quo became disrupted.

Nobody wanted to see that!

The world had drunk the milk of carbon-paradise for too long!

So that’s why! Gwen felt as though she had put the final piece into a 1001 puzzle set. So that's how it all worked! This world's economy functioned on the stuff of legends, the Crude of the Gods! Clean, self-perpetuating, virtually infinite Crystals that grew from the earth where the foundation between the Prime Material and the Astral grew thin!

It was as though the Reserve Bank was the Earth itself! A self-capitalised reserve bank with infinite-capacity and zero-interest-rate! The financial systems of this world could operate like an inebriated motor-hoon, and they still wouldn’t veer into bankruptcy.

The only way for a nation to lose everything was to lose its people.

To lose its Mages and its manual labourers.

Its capacity to extract crystals.

To usurp the Wildland.

No wonder no one saw the need to keep the NoMs employed and productive.

No wonder almost all gainful employment involved venturing into the Wildlands and fending off the encroachment of the wilderness, the Magical Beasts and the Demi-humans.

No wonder the socialism in this world treated the NoMs like bodies bred to fill gaps.

No wonder the capitalists had little regard for creating hegemonic conglomerates.

No wonder slums like Blackheath were a dime a dozen in Sydney.

In its particular way, this world had already reached a self-perpetuating equilibrium; its macro and microeconomics balanced by a resource that was infinite and self-regulated. The gifted few were the Triple-Alphas; the Clans and Houses the Alphas, the Mages Betas, and the NoMs the semi-moronic Delta and Epsilons! Mustafa Mond would be proud!

No wonder, Gwen felt a sudden sadness overcome her weary soul, no wonder only the NoMs engaged in finance. No wonder the Frontier was rural and exploited. As a Mage, all she had to do was open up new vistas on the Frontier, and all the currency that grew within her demesne...

...belonged to her.

Money, for the lack of a better phrase - would appear from thin air!

Gwen felt intoxicated when she stumbled out from the lecture, followed closely by Mayuree.

All those skills, all that otherworldly knowledge, less useful than Yue’s ability to provide Firepower! Firepower! Firepower!

Gods! To think Yue of all people was right on the money.

She stumbled back to the apartment like a ghost and buried herself into the soft linen folds of her bed. EVEE! EVEE! EVEE! She chanted like a Mantra. This whole time she'd imagined herself taking to economics like a duck to water, now she felt like a cat that'd accidentally slid into the bath. She wanted to hug something so badly! But she wouldn’t receive Evee’s Glyph until her companion’s LRC Device was authorised. She could try to contact Alesia or Yue though, although 3 PM might be a little too early. With the time zone taken into account, it might be best to contact them at a more convenient time. Although if she remembered correctly, Alesia has an LRC installed in her apartment at Nelson's point, which had miraculously survived the Inland charge by the Leviathan.

“Gwen, are you okay?” Mayuree peeped up on the other side of the bed, eyeing her companion worriedly. Gwen opened a bleary eye, and Mayuree saw within her companion's hazel orbs a predatory glint.

“Gwen? AEeeeek!”

Gwen arrested the unsuspecting Mayuree and hugged her fiercely, feeling the softness of the girl under her as she rested her chin on Mayuree’s soft head of dark brown hair. The girl grew beetroot, turning rigid as Gwen held her, unmoving, for five whole seconds.

“Okay!” Gwen breathed out, releasing Mayuree from her enveloping arms. “Thanks, Mia, I needed that.”

Mayuree’s chest rose and fell; her heart hammering at her ribs, her face hot as an iron.

“...” Her mouth moved several times to make a sound, but the petite young woman felt as though a Displacer beast and taken her tongue.

Gwen sat upright on her bed.

"Sorry," she apologised.

"It's alright, are you okay now?"

"I am okay."

"What was that about?"

“Nostalgia? Impulse? Sentiment? When I was in Sydney, there was a friend - Elvia, who was close to me. She was a dear little thing, a tiny blonde angel. She’s a healer, but she’s gone off to England to study abroad.” Gwen sighed and met Mayuree's amber eyes. "You remind me a little, of Elvia I mean. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

“No, no.” Mayuree’s complexion resembled a cooked lobster as she waved her hand. “I am still in one piece.”

“Great, I am glad to hear it!” Gwen chuckled, then felt the call of the void. “God, I am famished.”

“Coming up then? Ah-lei can make us something. Anything you like.”

“If it's not too much trouble.”

"Ha! Of course not!" Mayuree replied richly.

Well, of course not for you, Gwen thought sardonically, unable to help herself. There was no point wasting Mayuree's generosity though; it wasn't as though Ah-lei would be freed from the labour of making lunch for her young Mistress.

Gwen bounced off her bed, sending the small Mayuree tumbling away. Mayuree picked herself up from the carpet, her hair a mess of auburn tresses mopping about her face.

“Is western okay?” Gwen enquired, offering the girl a hand. She regretted the puerile act she had committed earlier, but she felt in a childish mood. It was just one of those days, maybe her anticipation for the conference with Elvia was subconsciously altering her habits.

“Whatever you want.” Mayuree grinned at her friend, her heart pounding at Gwen’s unexpected show of genuine intimacy. “Whatever you like!”

* * *

“Beep-KeeeEEE-HUUUUUU- PSSSSSST- Ka-ka-ka…Ssss..HSSSSS!”

The LRC Device made an infernal noise that resembled two cats mating violently. Having survived the days of dial-up, Gwen found the sound more endearing than grating; she knew that the din of kitty-amour was in fact, Divination glyphs in search of a target.

‘Click’

A projection appeared of a woman in a red cotton nightie.

“Jesus Christ, who the fuck is this? Do you know what time it is?” A bleary-eyed Alesia scowled at the projected image.

“Alesia?”

The vision of offended femininity turned her face toward the prism.

“Gwen?” Alesia's brows took on a life of their own.

“Hi!” Gwen made a silent note that this particular glyph was Alesia's home address.

“Oh wow! You got it installed?! Good work, Tiger!”

“How’s it going, Sister?”

“Recovering, chugging along. How about you? Bloody hell, Gwen, you look right-well bushed.”

“Erg, how bad does it look?” Gwen placed a finger under her eye to prod her eyebags. “I guess I’ve had a big week.”

"You look like something a drunk dingo dragged into the bush camp, haha!" Alesia laughed at her own Outback humour. Gwen joining in to share a jovial chuckle, the distinctly Australian imagery in everyday vernacular was something she missed.

"Well, you're looking rather nice. Nightie and all. Waiting for somebody to slip into bed?"

"Bah! You little rascal, in my dreams. How about you huh? Shaking your tail feathers at all the young fellers up there in Shanghai?"

"Oh, I was flat on my back alright, a week of CLASSES! God, it feels like my entire life is taken over by class, test, and sleep. I assure you, Sister, I have had no time for the lads."

“Come off it!" Alesia chided Gwen's rebuff. "Surely there are some hot hunks in Fudan. It's a tier 1 city! There's sure to be a yummy boy-toy to catch your eye, no? You're young! Live a little, don't sleep on a cold bunk!"

Gwen was beside herself. Trust Alesia to act the old wand! Wasn't she the thirty-something virgin? A female Wizard? The gall of this woman to mock her young and innocent heart! Speaking of which, Alesia's lascivious curiosity reminded Gwen, she wondered how her sister-in-craft and Gunther are getting along.

“Enough about my amorous adventures, how about you, Sis? You and Gunther do any horizontal tango? Make the beast-of-two-backs?”

“Oh, what the fuck! Jesus,” Alesia reprimanded Gwen churlishly, her face glowing. "Oh my God, the beast of t-two backs! How do you come up with this stuff!”

“Ha, how about you two come off it! You guys are adults! I give consent! What are you waiting for?”

“He’s busy, and that’s not an excuse either, just the reality,” Alesia's voice took on a more serious note. “But, we’re together now, at least.”

“Oh ho ho!” Gwen made her eyebrows wiggle expressively.

“No! Get your mind out of the gutter,” Alesia blasted back in good humour. “He’s worried about my health. You know, he still cooks for me sometimes.”

Ergh, Gwen felt the sting of being single. Gunther’s cooking was divine.

“He’s running the reconstruction of an entire city, and he's got the time to cook for you? Girl, you have to jump that bone as soon as you can!” Gwen advised earnestly.

“Gwen!” Alesia rocked backed and forth. “You’ve become such a naughty girl! That’s right; you’re seventeen now! How are you so experienced, hmm? How many boyfriends have you had?”

"I've been living cleaner than a nun in a cloister," Gwen replied tacitly.

The two women traded a few more jocular jabs before moving onto the matter of Gwen’s subject-selections, of which Alesia approved.

“I can be your Transmutation tutor in the future,” Alesia announced confidently. “Anyway, since we missed your Seventeenth, Gunther and I have sent you a care package. It’ll take a while to clear Customs though, especially in China. I hope it gets there in one piece.”

“I’ll look out for it, thanks, Sis!”

“Anytime, Sis!” Alesia smiled warmly, enjoying the sound of the sibilance rolling off her tongue. “Anyway, you know these LRC calls cost an HDM per minute right?”

“…”

“Ahahaha!” Alesia snorted. “I hope you’re not low on funds!”

“I’ll get a job,” Gwen said miserably. So much for all-nighter calls with Elvia or Yue, she sighed.

“Okay, I’ll let Yue know it's set up; and get someone to chase up Elvia. It's a two-way charge, by the way. Bloody Diviner-Communication companies. Probably run by vampires. See ya later, Tiger!”

“See ya,” Gwen watched as the device died.

She looked at the clock.

15 HDMs.

Maybe it was time to look into part-time jobs.

* * *

Saturday.

Gwen emerged from Magisters Wen’s session feeling like a lifetime had passed. How absurdly long was her week? She hadn’t felt that kind of elongated distortion of time since she was training under the hellish schedule set by Henry Kilroy.

Finally, like Frodo said on Mount Doom, it was over.

Now, she felt lost.

So she had half a day to herself.

What was she to do?

Petra was busy.

Mayuree was off to see her family.

Richard worked like a madman.

Neither Mina nor Tao was available.

She couldn’t just call babulya out of the blue and ask her impossibly busy grandmother to keep her company.

Her father was out of the city, her uncle probably on a mission.

Percy? Gwen baulked at the thought.

Gwen harked back to the memories of yesteryear.

In old Sydney, she could spend whole weekends cooped up with two cats that kept her company, a good book on her Kindle, and a bottle of Mexico’s best-distilled agaves by the sideboard.

Paper White in hand, she would lounge languishingly on the porch overlooking the ocean, a Tequila Sunrise sweating against the Australian sun, a cat or two nuzzling at her ankle. Later, when her body grew stiff, she would do a little yoga; meditate to the sound of the ocean. Sometimes, she binged Netflix and cackled herself silly. Oftimes, she had friends over; occasionally, she had gentlemen callers.

But that was neither here nor now.

Gwen racked her brain for something both productive and relaxing.

She returned to the training hall, booked a room for the afternoon, then practiced her Evocation and Conjuration until she was OOM thrice over.

* * *

And on the seventh day, Gwen rested.

Petra was out. So was Richard.

It wasn’t until noon that she awoke, famished beyond belief, and called for take-out.

After receiving looks of pity from the NoM who delivered a family-sized serving of food, she sat down by the kitchen table and ate by herself. She then cleaned up, switched on the LRC Device, then sent a Message for Yue to call her when she was back in town.

At 5 PM, she left the apartment and jogged around the neighbourhood, from University Boulevard down to Guoding, from Guoding Rd to the second campus, then doubled back through the tree-lined centre of Fudan to the Guanhua Towers. From there, she took a sprint down toward her apartment, then cooled off in the garden. Her muscles, so disastrously worn out by her experiment yesterday, had rallied around her Druidic essence.

As she materialised a towel and wiped her face down, she saw a Blue-Green utility vehicle with the label ‘Greenfield Construction’ imprinted on the side panel. A familiar figure stumbled out from the passenger side, spoke at length with the driver, then stumbled toward the entrance.

“Richard! Jesus! Are you alright?” Gwen rushed over to her cousin.

Richard looked as though he’d lost five kilograms or so. His face was sallow, and his skin had a sickly tinge. He peered up at Gwen with eyes that were on the verge of exhaustion.

The kindly seeming old man in the Van gave Richard an look of empathic misunderstanding and a thumbs up before driving off and honking the horn twice.

“Yo. I am back.”

“Good God, Richard, what happened?” Gwen caught her cousin.

“Just a little incident, nothing too serious." Richard immediately attempted to diffuse her anxiety. "I just received a few Cure Moderates. The ol' blood-bag is right as rain. Don’t you worry.”

“Bloody hell!” Gwen wrapped his arms around her neck to support her friend. “This is not a laughing matter! Where did you go? Who was that in the car with you?”

“The foreman, he’s got another two blokes in the hospital, he's gotta go check on them. I think they should pull through.”

“Jesus, tell me what happened.”

They entered the lift.

“Nothing catastrophic, if you must know,” Richard articulated tiredly. “Damn Riven Mermen didn’t uphold their part of the Ceasefire. They collapsed an upper section of the Dam we were working, flooded the entire lower-valley past the Yellow River up South-East Nantong.”

Gwen could almost imagine the raging torrent of water bearing down on her cousin, bringing with it construction concrete, boulders, rebar, and other flotsam.

“Are you wounded? Do you need more healing? I could ask babulya or Mina…”

“No, it's fine.” Richard had no desire to leave unfulfilled favours in his wake. “Boss bought me two potions already. I am just a little dizzy, is all. The healing took a lot out of me.”

“Bloody oath, Rich, how bad was it?” Gwen could feel Richard's weight loss. She wasn't a healer, but she could tell the healing took a dastardly toll on Richard's constitution. That meant that Richard had sustained a potentially fatal wound.

“A few cracked ribs, contusions, internal bleeding, that sort of thing…”

“Struth! Christ, Dick.” Gwen dragged Richard into his apartment and carefully deposited him on the sofa. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel like shit.”

“What do you need? I’ll get it for you, anything.”

“Got something to eat?”

“I’ll call take out.”

“I need… meat. Something with iron in it.”

“You got it!”

As they waited for takeout, Gwen demanded Richard relate every detail.

The whole ordeal, as it were, began in good spirit.

The request they were fulfilling for Contribution and Academic Credit happened to be for his old foreman, who, knowing Richard's hunger for CCs, set up a Request for a clean-up crew to clear out Magical Monsters from their construction zone.

Richard's team spent the next two weeks clearing out the monsters with limited success. As with anything involving large masses of water, creatures tend to hide in the nooks and crannies of the meandering river. Even with Lea's ability to displace liquid, they struggled with the Purge action.

On the fifth day, the Mermen incident occurred. As a result, Richard's party ran afoul of Gill-Gobs, or Mer-Goblins, ravenous little creatures resembling Goblins with jaws built like that of piranhas. These creatures were hyper-aggressive; with a tendency to swarm when the pack grew too large for their underwater warren, or when their homes were destroyed - which was the case.

Richard held off a dozen single-handedly, but there were well over a hundred, each more agile in the water than even Richard with Lea’s aid. He generated Replenishing Shields for himself and his allies, quickly pulling them from the water, but even so, they became overwhelmed. When help arrived in the form of a construction Golem dropping ten-tons of gravel into the river to stun the nasty buggers, Richard displaced enough water to pull his team to safety.

But it was a hair-breadth escape, one not won without cost. Richard had been wounded all over his body; the little knee-height Gill-Gobs had taken their pound of flesh from the Water Mage before they fled. Richard then collapsed from loss of blood; then he woke up in Shanghai Metropolitan Hospital.

“Bloody oath, Richard...” Gwen felt her tear ducts loading up on water bolts. She had considered the possibility of Richard becoming injured before, but this was a return ticket to the afterlife and back, and it had come out of nowhere! She wasn't one for tears over the odd broken-bone, but Gwen couldn't prevent her mind from spinning like a top when she considered that, but for a healing potion, Richard would have never recovered.

“It's only to be expected,” Richard tried to assuage her growing paranoia. “Who doesn’t get injured while Adventuring?”

“But not like this! You almost died!” Gwen knelt by her cousin’s side and cupped his face. “You’re not allowed to die on me, do you understand? Under no circumstances…”

“I understand.” Richard closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Gwen’s warm fingers on his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to put myself in that much danger, I assure you. It was an unforeseen accident.”

Gwen wanted to say something akin to ‘never again’, but she wasn't a naive waif from the North Shore. If she desired Richard to accompany her on the IIUC tour, it was with absolute certainty that their life and limb were on the line.

When the food arrived, delivered by the same stone-faced NoM, Gwen sat by Richard’s side and tore up his order of baby-back ribs, feeding her cousin by the spoonful. It wasn't entirely necessary, but Gwen felt an ambivalent guilt gnawing on her conscience.

Petra arrived an hour later, just after 7 PM.

“I went and collected a Lesser Restoration from Babulya.” She opened the door without knocking and strode toward Richard with a Spell-cube in hand. “Dropped by the hospital as soon as I got your Message. Mina’s on-route as well.”

“I’ll be fine,” Richard chuckled painfully. "It's just a scratch."

"You were almost worm-meat!" Gwen protested.

“Nonsense!” Petra allowed the spell to diffuse Richard’s body. "He'll be fine after some bed rest."

A warm glow of Lesser Restoration suffused Richard's body.

“That’s better. I can feel myself again.” Richard breathed out. “You don’t really realise until after the fact how much healing takes out of you.”

“It’s possible to die from it, as stupid as that sounds,” Petra advised. “Your boss means well, but he’s an idiot. Two potions could have hollowed you out entirely. How badly were you wounded?”

“He couldn't have gotten you a Restoration?" Gwen interjected critically.

“You should have asked for a transfer to the 2nd PLA Hospital," Petra continued.

“Too true, Richard. Babulya would have taken care of you.”

Richard shook his head.

“I’d rather not owe them anything, the Songs, I mean.”

Her cousin's answer caught Gwen off guard. It would be her babulya's personal favour, but the circumstance could be construed as continuing to take advantage of the Song's connections. Hadn't she boasted only weeks ago that she'd broken free, weaned off the teat? Was she the hypocrite here?

Petra slapped Richard on the back of the head.

“Don’t be a prideful idiot!” she scolded him, her eyes glancing at Gwen. “You think Babulya cares about that? Don’t think so little about our grandmother!”

“But...” Richard's expression said that he understood Petra was trying to enlighten Gwen - but did she really have to boop him on the head?

“But nothing!” Gwen's train of thought crossed the canyon of hesitation. “Promise me you'll ask Babulya for help next time.”

"Of course," Richard replied. "Thank you, both of you."

“Where’s Lea?” Petra asked curiously.

“She’s tired, resting,” Richard assured them. “Defending the others took a lot out of her.”

Which meant whatever attacked them had been strong enough to destroy Lea's morphic form. Gwen realised. Richard wasn't telling them the whole truth. She would have to grill him later, maybe put the deceitful man to the rack with a few teary deceptions demanding the whole hog.

‘Clack!’

For the second time, the door opened without being knocked on.

“Richard!” Mina came into the room and made a beeline for the Water Mage. “Oh, Mao! You look terrible!”

Mina revved up her best healing spell.

“Mina, I-” Petra tried to stop their overzealous cousin.

“Restoration!”

The precious ingredients of the mid-tier spell became consumed in an instant. A surge of renewing, restorative energy coursed through Richard's weakened body. Locking his teeth, Richard exhaled as though an immortal part of himself was escaping his body.

“Richard!”

“Richard!”

“Richard!”

“Too… too much Restoration…” Richard’s eyes were rolling toward the back of his head as the positive energy ravaged his physical form.

The girls watched the Water Conjurer convulse for a second, then quieten down. Gwen poked her cousin in the ribs.

“Rick, are you alive still? Should I call Babs?” Gwen asked carefully.

Richard pulled himself up by the armrest and regarded the three girls. Gwen knelt worriedly on her knees by the side of the sofa. Petra stood impatiently by the sideboard, one hand resting on her curvaceous hips. Mina’s moist amber orbs were rolling with liquid anxiety, her small mouth cute and pink, agitated with anxious concern.

Gwen became distracted by movement rising from below.

“…”

Well there it is, Gwen channelled her inner Jeff Goldblum.

There was no need for alarm. Richard was a virile young man, after all.

Petra followed Gwen’s gaze, her face transforming from worry to passivity, then into her usual frigidity.

Mina’s face took on the warmth of molten magma.

For a man on the verge of exhaustion. There was quite the proverbial tent. It was Eros and Thanatos, the Freudian forces that constituted man.

“Too much positive energy, I think,” Richard muttered weakly. “I feel as though all the blood has gone from my head.”

But there was no one to answer him.

The door slammed, and the girls were gone.

* * *

Time is relative, hypothesised Einstein.

Time is a specious, irregular flow of subjective, observable phenomena, expounded Heidegger, and Merleau-Ponty; it is temporality, the quintessence of possibility-for-being.

But for Gwen, her routine was a lesson in time dilation.

Monday:: Conjuration and Evocation

Tuesday:: Familiar Training and Advanced Spellshaping

Wednesday:: Transmutation Utility & Lessons with Petra

Thursday :: Conjuration Practice / Management / Evocation Practice

Friday:: Economics

Saturday:: Biometric data gathering with Magister Wen. House chores and socials.

Sunday:: Blissful freedom and cat-naps. Report writing and catch-ups.

Her life had become a beaten blend of class and practice, routine and repetition hollowing out her hours time and time again.

On her second Tuesday, she received her Sustenance Bangle - two of them. One white and one black, colour matched to her Familiars.

She channelled her Conjure Familiar through the wrist-rings; first calling forth Caliban, who emerged in its serpentine form, then Ariel as a horned marten. Even in its principle-shape, Caliban was monstrously large, well over seven-feet of obsidian glass sculpted with interlocking, semi-transparent chitin. Caliban's under-scales scoured the concrete as it slithered, its faceless mien tasting the air with triumph. Ariel, thankfully, juxtaposed Caliban in its fuzzy and adorable docile form; staring at the world with golden eyes sparkling with curiosity, sniffing its surroundings with its dark nose.

Her fellow students had their Familiars out as well.

Eunae with her doe.

Ji with his tiger-cub.

Bao, with his waterbird.

Ming, with his floating koi.

And Lu with his sweet-as-anything Lightning-Hawk.

They kept a distance away from Gwen, who stood with a cute marten over one shoulder, and what looked like an abominable amazonian python-cum-armoured-earthworm coiled around her white ankles.

“Acceptable.” Instructor Chen finished inspecting the lot of them. “Now, we go for a walk.”

The troop began to shuffle out from the underground, emerging into the daylight of Fudan’s secondary campus.

The Bestiary students immediately caused a stir as they stepped into the public space, drawing eyes from all over. Mages and passersby from the surrounding area began to gather as they gleefully pointed out the unusual nature of each Spirit and approximated their owner’s origins.

Then the crowd fell silent as Gwen emerged with her twin Familiars.

So. Much. Food.

She could sense Caliban's burgeoning hunger through their empathic link.

Caliban did not ask for permission before it slithered away and made a bee-line for what Gwen presumed was a Positive-Energy channeller. The fresh-faced young man was pointing at Caliban and saying something to the tune of ‘Wocao! What the fuck is that?!” when the serpent without a face charged him.

“Caliban! Back!” Gwen commanded her pet.

Caliban reared to its full height like a cobra, almost a meter and a half off the ground, and attempted to halt itself before it ran into its unfortunate victim.

“Arrrrragh!” The young man understandably screamed like a woman.

“Eeee!” his girlfriend shrieked in soprano.

“EEeEeee!” Ariel scolded Caliban.

“Shaaaa! Shaaa!” Caliban sang. It split its carapace and began to apologetically drool all over.

“Fuck!”

“Wocao!”

“Someone stop that thing!”

“Kill it! Kill it!”

“M-magic Missile!”

“Caliban! No! Come back!”

But, it was too late.

A volley of relatively harmless Magic Missiles struck her void Familiar, causing it to open its carapace and actively demand from Gwen the vitality needed to activate its combat form. Before she willed it to back down, the Bangle kicked in, and Caliban was gone. When the culprits realised they had attacked someone’s Familiar, they quickly fled the scene, with the crowd breaking into scattered cheers mixed in a with a few mocking jeers.

The rest of her classmates looked over at Gwen with expressions of disbelief, schadenfreude, and amusement. Instructor Chen pinched the bridge of his brow as though he was suffering from a sudden migraine.

Gwen felt an ardent desire to flee the scene right there and then, but her pride did not allow such a pitiful display of surrender. She made sure that despite the beetroot complexion of her face, she was in full control of her body language. Placing one white leg in front of the other, she regally joined the others, wearing Ariel like a minx-scarf around her neck.

“Pfft! Ahaha…” Eunae burst out in laughter, followed by the bleating cry of her doe sniggering uncontrollably. She was soon joined by the others, forcing Gwen’s face to transform into multiple shades of splendiferous salmon.

“Pitiful,” Instructor Chen snorted mercilessly. "Go home and meditate. Work on bonding sessions. Run routines until they learn to stay by your side."

“I could manage with Ariel,” Gwen retorted defiantly.

Chen shook his head.

“Go home," he commanded.

Ashamed and humiliated, Gwen stalked from the scene, aided by her new mastery of Expeditious Retreat.

* * *

The rest of Week 2 began thus:

Ariel slept smugly on the thousand-thread count bed sheets.

Caliban slept in a cot that Gwen had purchased and covered with plastic tarp. The netherworld worm had a tendency to drool in the middle of the night, and the first night she’d shared a bed with it, she awoke at 1 AM with a pool of viscous goo collecting across her chest and arms as the sleepless serpent meandered back and forth listlessly.

That was her other problem.

Unsurprisingly, Ariel, a principally mammalian creature, slept when told; while Caliban, a thing of the Void, possessed no desire to sleep - ever.

Like a bleary-eyed mother, she awoke in the middle of the night, startled and upset, to find Caliban wandering the bedroom, snuggling up in her clothes or digging up her trash. In no less than two nights, it had consumed three pairs of thankfully non-enchanted intimates, including a favourite bra.

Ariel meanwhile, still had its moments of curiosity and mischief, whether running into traffic to investigate a particularly loud vehicle, or harassing student Mages for Crystals, or zipping across sidewalks to startle the innocent passersby.

Following Instructor Chen’s advice, she began by taking both Familiars into the garden to run routines with them.

"Shadow me."

Start. Stop.

Start. Stop.

Treat time! LDMs of course, Gwen wasn't made out of money.

Sit. Wait. Hold for 10 seconds. Reward!

Unlike unintelligent pets, Familiars have an empathic link with their Masters and thus, understood generally what the Master wished. What Gwen had to do was to establish a chain of command so that a request for the Familiar to exhibit a particular behavioural event was natural and unforced.

Gwen laid down some HDMs.

"Hold... Hold... Hold."

She commanded Caliban and Ariel to hold. Wait. Good boys! Treats!

Halt. Shadow me. Follow. Follow. Follow! Good boys! Reward! Caliban! Do as Ariel do!

Ariel took to training like a duck to water, but Caliban's capacity for following orders was cat-like.

According to her Instructor, there was little else for her to do but to desensitise her pets to external stimuli, habituate following commands, and create a strong sense of discipline and routine. If she could get her Familiars trained in their passive form by Week 7, then she could move on to Combat Training. If not, he would advise her to give up on being a Creature Mage until such time that her Conjuration becomes sufficiently forceful to compel her Familiar into absolute obedience. If that were the case though, her familiars would always be weaker than herself; generally by at least a tier.

I would need to be tier 6 to 7… Gwen didn’t tell the instructor that Caliban when fully empowered, could probably solo a tier 5 - 6 creature. She had no intention of giving up at any rate. Whatever it took, she was determined to pin Caliban’s dogged will under her stiletto heels.

By mid-week three, Gwen could take Caliban out for a jog without inciting a public incident. When she'd first attempted the spectacle, she had far underestimated the visual impact of her innocuous exercise, even for an audience as attuned to the mystic arts as Fudan's student cohort.

It didn't take long for a new 'Great Mystery of Fudan' to circulated around the campus.

"If you go to Gouding Rd and Unversity Bullevarde around 8 AM, you may see a ghostly gweilo beauty jogging with a Mongolian Death Worm."

It was an absurd rumour, of course, but then Lumen-Pics began to circulate of a beautiful girl with bright hazel eyes wearing a spaghetti-string sports-top and form-fitting yoga pants fleeing from a monstrous Death Worm.

But Gwen paid no attention to the occasional click of a curious bystander. If passersby wanted images of Caliban, who was she to deny them? She was in public and on common land.

Her routine traversed through Fudan’s shaded avenues, where the early spring's wind hung heavy with moisture as it blew through blooming sycamores and mulberries, filling the air with the fecund scent of future fruit. With an elfin grace, she meandered between the dappled trees, her hair swaying from side to side. Fellow joggers, able-bodied and clean-cut, nodded as she passed; she nodded back, then sighed as they fled at thrice her cadence.

Her monstrous 'Mongolian Death Worm' trailed closely behind, slithering across the pavements with its rasping, chitinous underbelly raking the pebble path. Despite lacking a 'face', the worm seemed to sense its surroundings, avoiding the occasional pale-faced pedestrian too weak with revulsion to flee. Occasionally, when the armoured creature grew tired, it split its obsidian carapace four ways and panted from its lamprey’s mouth, drooling profusely as its tentacled tongues tasted the air. That was when the sidewalk became a private resting area.

Occasionally, they were stopped by Chengguan - but the city-guards were polite to a fault, more often asking Gwen for a Lumen-pic to show their colleagues.

Somewhere in the scuffle, an unassuming marten was accompanying the pair, but few onlookers noticed the white-furred cat-snake when the brain screamed blue-murder at a seven-foot Amphisbaenia slithering down Main St.

As Lumen-recordings of the new gweilo beauty spread, Gwen's infamy grew. One would presume the news of her Void talent would catch the popular imagination, but alas, it was Gwen's co-habitation with the ‘Ice Queen’ that set tongues wagging.

Were they an item?

Was THAT the reason why the Ice Queen refused to date anyone?

No no, they're cousins.

Oh. My. Mao.

Are you telling me that if you get to date one of them, you get to hang with BOTH of the girls?

Or so it goes.

* * *

Meanwhile, the stress of Caliban's constant company accumulated elsewhere.

Conjuration lessons were manageable. The Mages that she sat with - Lily and the unfortunately phonic Pu, had acclimatised to Caliban’s presence after giving it a pat on its faceless snout. The physical interaction with Caliban must have been a real thrill, for Lily squealed with such delight that half the lecture must have turned their heads. Consequently, a new vogue began in her Conjuration classes. Every student and their Familiars wanted to touch Gwen's Mongolian Death Worm.

What the fuck is a Mongolian Death Worm? Gwen searched her audience's eager faces when one of the girls near-fainted at Caliban's hidden lamprey's mouth. The attention was an acceptable cost; so long as people were willing to give Caliban a fair go.

Evocation was a more significant problem.

Overstimulated by sound and the flurry of rough magic and volatile elements in the air, Caliban had unsummoned itself twice in as many weeks when it escaped her mental-leash and fled into the fray, or tried to investigate some Mage only to be blasted by flame, ice, magma, air and stone.

Spell Shaping degenerated into a hot mess.

The first time she showed up with Caliban, she cleared half the lecture.

Micho Lee, the Magister presiding, became so upset that he made Gwen sit in the far corner by herself. In the subsequent week, news had spread of Caliban’s docility, and he had to again seclude Gwen by herself in the auditorium when students kept trying to attract Caliban with LDMs. When Caliban got overexcited and opened its carapace to catch a shard, it cleared the lecture again. After a third incident, Magister Lee personally Banished Caliban.

Impressive, Gwen had to admit. It was almost a chantless incantation.

Ariel meanwhile, took advantage of the situation to win hearts and minds, stuffing its mouth pouches full of crystal fragments.

For Bestiary, Chen grilled the students on their performances and recorded metrics for control, obedience and compliance from each of the student’s Familiars. Caliban waffled below average, while Ariel shone like a beacon.

“That is an uncommonly intelligent beast,” Chen remarked. “That Evocation-channel ability is something else, as well.”

Happy that her ‘good boy’ received recognition, Gwen ruffled Ariel's fur and snuggled it against her bosoms. The marten purred and whined, licking her face with its little pink tongue.

Meanwhile, the marten had struck up a friendship with Luyi, Eunae's doe, though both of them seemed to antagonise Wanli, Lu's Lightning Hawk.

Thanks to Luyi, Eunae had taken fondness of Gwen as well. The demure girl was clearly uncomfortable around the men, especially the braggadocio Lu. As Gwen watched the lithe healer manipulate her Familiar; she couldn't help but think of Elvia and her Sprite, Kiki. What were they doing now? She wondered. When would they install her LRC Device?

The one Conjurer that remained aloof was Lu, but none of the others found that fact surprising. He came from an austere Clan, he had a rare affinity, and he was in possession of an aerial mid-tier spirit. The Mage had reason to be proud.

When Eunae complained to Instructor Chen, the old man told them an interesting factoid. According to Chen, the side effect of Lightning affinity manifested as quickened metabolisms and an irrational sense of pride and possessiveness.

Oh? Gwen attempted a little introspection. Was she proud? Indubitably, though no more than her favourite femme, Elizabeth Bennet. Was she possessive? Which woman wasn't? Metabolism? She doubted her absurd ability to digest enough food for three fully-grown NoM males was a product of Lightning.

At any rate, Chen persisted in his hypothesis.

“Like a Dragon,” Chen pointed as if that explained Lu’s bratty braggadocio. Gwen could only presume he meant Chinese Dragons: four-footed serpents with tiger paws, eagle claws, demon eyes and fish-scales, sailing through the heavens without equal.

“Yes, I meant the Shenglong,” Chen clarified. “The ones encircling the Kunlun range.”

"Are there dragon-kin about the place? Can we harvest Draconic cores from the demi-dragons?" Gwen directed the critical questions. Ariel, as a little Draconic-marten? Yes, please!

“Don’t,” the Master Creature-Mage hewed her enthusiasm with a single stroke. “Dragons are avaricious and licentious, I can tell you right now that there’s not a species of creatures within a hundred kilometres of that nest which ain’t half-dragon something. Imagine a pack of lightning-breathing half-dragon rabbits, or half-dragon flocks of geese, or draconian fish. The whole damn range is guarded by Hobs as well: Draconic Hobs.”

"Are they-"

“Are they dangerous? What do you think, little Miss? Most Magic just slides off their scales like water off a duck’s back. Just as well that a dragon’s worst enemy is another dragon.”

"But surely-"

“You wouldn’t want a dragon core anyway,” Chen interrupted her. “If another dragon senses that you’ve captured, pilfered, usurped, or fed your familiar one of its species, prepare for a whole cabal of the flying lizards to descend from the heavens. No one. And I mean NO ONE fucks with Dragons for a reason.”

"How about ah-"

“I suppose a pseudo-draconic core is fine. I mean, there’s a shit load of them, whole bloody mountains worth!” Chen laughed. “Good luck getting one though. They’re resistant to magic and near-immune to lightning, what are you going to fight em with? Oh right, you’re Void as well… Look, just focus on training, alright?"

* * *

Friday night of the third week, Gwen sat with Richard in her living room.

The two listened to the demonic trill of the modem, aka her LRC Device, singing its song of unholy Divination. When the device finally connected to Sydney, they were treated by a vision of Alesia, invariably in red.

“Okay, Tiger - they’re here. Call me if you need me!”

This was a session Gwen had arranged for Richard. She had planned it since his return from Nantong.

“Richard! Oh my God, Richard! My baby!” Aunty Tali burst into uncontrollable sobs as soon as Richard’s image appeared to her in Sydney.

“My boy! How’s life in Shanghai?” Kwan’s eyes were red as well. “Gwen, it’s good to see you’re doing well. Has Richard been taking care of you? Is he being good?”

Gwen made polite small talk, then retreated to her room to give Richard some privacy. Petra had already recused for their benefit as well. The walls were thin though, made from pre-fabricated fibro, and so Gwen caught every word between her cousin and his doting parents.

In the living room, Richard spoke of recent events, his adventures with Gwen in the Dungeon, his work, and his progress on gathering the necessary CCs. His parents grew into a frenzy of worry, bidding Richard that they were in no rush and that his first priority should be his personal safety. It was all very heartwarming, nurturing in Gwen a prickling, resentful envy as the call progressed.

“Gwen!” Richard called for her.

Gwen emerged to the sight of Opa. Her age-old Opa, gnarled like an old branch but hale as sunshine, standing before the crystalline projector.

All her accumulated discontent diffused at once.

‘Opa!” Gwen cried out. “Opa! Opa! Opa!”

“My cute cucu perempua!” her grandfather’s familiar voice rang out. “I’ve missed you so, little one!”

She couldn’t embrace the illusion, of course, but Gwen made an effort.

“How are you? What have you been doing? What is going on over there? Where have you gone? How are the Songs treating you? I heard there was a Dungeon? Duels? University! Scholarships?!” A barrage of questions assailed her from the old man’s lips.

Watching her Opa’s face, Gwen forgot all about the 1 HDM call rate and began to answer her Opa’s questions one by one in meticulous detail, everything from Singapore to the Songs, to her dungeon, her exams, her farewell with Helena, her apartment-hunting and her university courses.

When she had finally finished, they were well into the evening.

“Very well, my cucu perempua, remember Opa loves you! No matter what the Songs say, there will always be an Opa here in Sydney waiting for your return.”

“Thanks, Opa!” Gwen wiped away some moisture from her eyes. “I’ll come back soon, I promise.”

Opa’s visage went away to be replaced by a very sleepy Alesia.

“Gwen! I am happy that you enjoyed your time together, but all of this is happening in my apartment…”

“Sorry!” Gwen apologised. “Please, I release you, O Djinn of Fire, return to your Plane.”

Alesia laughed.

“Earlier, I contacted the Pudong Tower, and they said that your care package should be arriving at the Song Estate. My God, ocean freight is so slow.”

“My old address?”

“Where you first hole up.”

“Ah,” Gwen affirmed rigidly. “Okay, I’ll call Babulya tomorrow.”

“Right, I am gonna hang. This whole session is going to cost you 200 odd HDMs, are you alright for funds over there? I could… you know.”

“I’ll be alright,” Gwen dismissed Alesia’s generous offer. “I can do with some part-time work myself. Even if just to get out and get some air and exercise.”

“Kay.” Alesia leaned in closer. “Guess what? The Cambridge Tower Messaged me today as well. Elvia’s LRC Device is slated for installation! I’ll send you her Glyph-codes soon!”

“Awesome. Cheers, Allie,” Gwen beamed. Elvia! So close at hand!

“Ha, its a pleasure, Gwennie,” Alesia replied. “Ciao!”

The image faded.

Gwen laid back against the couch and took in the afterglow of speaking with her Opa and bathing in the boundless affection of an elder with unreserved tenderness. She wouldn’t be able to return to Australia for at least three to four years, but she was free to dream and fantasise about the eventuality at her will. What would it be like when she did return? Would Gunther have finished repairing the city? Would it once again be safe? Would it pass muster to become a tier 1 domain?

Gwen was once again alone. Petra was likely in bed, and Richard had left as soon as Opa made an appearance, gifting Gwen the same privacy she had given him.

Gwen poured herself a glass of milk from the fridge, heated it with a simple cantrip, then nursed its warmness in her hands. She watched the city blinking below, winking and glowing with all the lust for life that a metropolis of 22 million souls engendered. Arterial highways in streams of red and white formed three massive loops, each larger than then the last, reaching into a cityscape that illuminated the horizon.

Avoiding the reality was foolish.

She would go and see babulya on Sunday, and maybe, hopefully - Percy.

* * *

The lesson of the day for Conjuration was Mass versus Mana transfer over Distance.

Gwen felt a dizzying lightheadedness coming on as soon as the mess of formulas appeared on the illusory projection board.

“The amount of mana expended for mass transfer is inversely proportional to the square of the distance,” Magister Birch explained. “Be extremely wary of object density. If you should fail to translocate an object, the feedback will be of equal or greater force.”

Translocation was Birch’s speciality. With each additional lecture, Gwen was beginning to recognise its nuance. When she’d met with Alesia and her crew, it was Paul who was the Translocation Mage, specialising in Teleportation and other transit spells. The mousy man had also been the one responsible for evacuating the students at Rosebay, not to mention the one who set up the mandala array that allowed Magister Irene Ferris’ team to penetrate into the Sydney Tower. Gwen hadn't thought of the Mage as unique, but now she knew Paul was an irreplaceable genius.

“The understanding of what one’s limitations are, therefore, central to any Translocation Specialist.”

Magister Birch had installed two Mandala arrays on either side of the auditorium, one near the entrance to the hall, and the other where Gwen and Caliban had been segregated from the rest of the class. The Mandala itself resembled a six-petal lotus drawn onto the floor with glyphs that Gwen had seen before underneath the PLA Tower, at the ISTC when she’d first arrived in Shanghai.

“For small objects, the mana capacity of an average Mage is plentifully enough.”

The Magister demonstrated transporting a 5kg cube of iron between the two teleportation circles, filling the dark auditorium with the silvery light of Conjuration.

He then materialised a chunk of what resembled lead from his storage ring. An indent inscribed alongside the knee-height block of mystery metal indicated that it was 50kg.

“Unlike living bodies, which can be attuned to project astrally, objects without life must be given a Teleportation Metric Index or TMI. Furthermore, the simpler the makeup of the item you are transporting, the less chance of complications.”

The Magister transported the cube back and forth a few times, allowing the students to gauge the volume of mana required. Where the 5kg block had been near-negligible, the 50kg block clearly strained the Magister.

“Now for a cautionary demonstration.”

Birch produced what resembled an overly complicated gear-box within a glass-cased mechanism, and wound up the clockwork. He then teleported the construct between the two Mandalas. After the thirtieth time, there was a clonk, and the mechanism ceased its purposeless function.

“The more mixed material and intricacies are involved in an item, the more difficult it is to transport without the item becoming warped as it travels through the Astral Plane. This phenomenon likewise increases with distance, volume, and weight. There is currently no known way to mitigate Tellestolle’s Paradox; though the more experienced Translocation Mages can alleviate degradation with minor tweaks, or interface aid from Divination and Transmutation.”

The students duly noted Birch's wisdom.

It was knowledge gleaned straight from the horse's mouth.

“Now, some material variations.”

Birch materialised blocks of hard metal, collated shale, a block of sandstone, a slab of crystal and a chunk of fragile looking glass.

“Material resonance during transportation is likewise impacted by distance and mass.”

The Magister made the students record the volume and weight of each of the objects, then began a practical on ‘teleportation fatigue’ and the stress exerted on different materials.

The crystal shattered after the fifteenth jaunt, while the sandstone crumbled after the tenth.

“Who here, has experienced Long Range Teleportation before?”

When no one raised their hands. Magister Birch pointed to the girl with the Mongolian Death Worm.

“Gwen.”

Gwen looked up. Caliban hissed. Ariel flattened itself against her legs.

“You’re from the Frontier, no? How did you get here?”

“Teleportation, Sir,” Gwen felt her face glow as a few students in the audience snickered.

“How did you fare? Be honest with us.”

Gwen felt pressured to satisfy the Magister. The gaze of her fellow Conjurers made her skin crawl.

“I was sick all over the shoes of my escort,” Gwen spoke just loud enough to be heard. “I was disorientated and dazed for almost a day and night after.”

Her fellow students murmured.

“Indeed, thank you, Gwen, for sharing.”

Birch turned to the lecture.

“The human body, capable of channelling mana and responding to the magical energies of translocation, is largely exempt to the small inconsistencies of dislocation and displacement. However, not even the human body is immune to teleportation fatigue. Your organs and innards will be shifted and shunted before being set back in place by the Incantation, the more distance is undergone, the more severe the sickness. This is why long-range translocation must be executed in a place of absolute safety. Even the best of Mages will be disabled by the disorientation of distance.”

“My escorts were unaffected by the compression,” Gwen pointed out to the Professor.

“As they should be,” Magister Birch answered, then walked away.

Gwen stood awkwardly for a few more moments, waiting for an answer before realised that none was forthcoming; Birch simply continued on with the lecture.

She sat back down and ran a hand over Caliban to dispel her annoyance. Ariel ran its face against her other hand as well to quell her sullen upset. As she stroked both of her pets, the lecture looked on with a mixture of envy and mirth.

Far above Gwen, seated at the rear, was the forgotten Lu Fung, dazedly stroking the Lightning-Hawk perched on his shoulder. Just a week ago, he had entered the hall, the very centre of praise and envy. Then Gwen strode past him, sat at the bottom of the lecture with her friends, and the world instantly forgot that the fourth son of the Fung Clan existed.

Lu had spent most of the lecture studying the girl. Not far from Gwen sat their doe-eyed Korean compatriot of Bestiary. Since their meeting, Eunae's Familiar had held an unfathomable obsession with the gweilo girl; launching itself at the Void Sorceress as though she were a life-tree.

The memory of the absurd sight made Lu chortle mockingly. The nature inclined Cleric was gifted and talented, sure, but she would never make it to the frontlines at this rate. As a Conjurer-Evoker, Eunae wasn’t suited to combt. She was best as a utility Mage, proving heals, buffs, snares, barriers, dispels, shelters and other useful boons on the battlefield. If the girl had acquired a combative spirit, like the legendary Sufina belonging to Magister Henry Kilroy, she could one day become a force of nature, but alas, a glorified Cleric was all she would amounted to.

On the dais, Magister Birch was asking another round of questions, invariably concluding with Gwen Song standing and delivering a summation. More often than not, she succeeded. Rarely, she failed. There was evidently something going on, and Lu felt a sadistic mirth toward the mild-mannered bullying the Instructor orchestrated.

He had spoken to the other members of his Clan since the semester began, and was surprised when he found out that Gwen was the girl who thrashed Frederick Lin and had almost embarrassed Dai during one of their outings. When he’d consulted his First-Brother, the principal heir had told him to leave the girl well alone and to be curt and respectable when possible. Privately, Lu felt he needn’t bother, but he wasn’t about to go behind Dai's wishes.

Lu's eyes fell upon the gweilo girl again. Gwen returned to her seat, clearly agitated by the Instructor’s unwanted harassment. She had on a sundress for the day, and the ferret had nestled itself between her white thighs, curled up on her lap like a napping cat. Beside her, the dark obsidian worm meandered here and there, nibbling on her hair and occasionally nudging her knees.

It's little wonder, Lu affirmed with First-Brother’s stricken impression of the girl, that Dai was so interested in gathering her data.

Saturday.

Gwen took a break from biometrics and practice, choosing instead to spend her third semester weekend with her babulya. It had been almost six weeks since Gwen had seen or spoken to her brother, burdening her with a growing sense of guilt. She had lost him once in her old life - she couldn't miss him a second time.

As for Percy's own neglect, Gwen chose forgiveness. The boy was just a teenager seeking affirmation from Guo, a figure of authority and power. Unlike Percy, Gwen wasn't an adolescent; she didn't have the excuse of immaturity and inexperience. Percy's negligence was a product of circumstance and upbringing. Her abandonment of her baby brother would be a choice.

"Don't fret, your grandfather isn't home,” her babulya assured Gwen as she stepped from the sedan. Gwen had been quiet the whole while because her Divination senses had been grating her, agitating her with an anxiety that was like an inner itch she couldn't quite scratch.

Gwen scanned the courtyard.

“Percy's inside,” her grandmother comforted her. “Go see him, he should be training right about now. Leave your familiar and pick up the package later.”

Gwen nodded and made her way through the familiar layout of the Song estate. There was no doubt that news of her faux-excommunication had spread, for the servants avoided her as she passed through the long corridor of the siheyuan.

When she arrived at the training hall, there were sounds of exertion audibly emanating from within.

Gwen knocked.

“Come in!” Her brother’s voice reverberated.

The sliding door pulled back to reveal Percy, son of Hai, heir apparent to the Clan of Song, Guan-er-dai in residence.

“Sis!” Percy appeared startled to see his sister sauntering back into her old abode.

The boy - or more accurately the young man - Gwen adjusted her mental demarcation, was half-naked and bathed in sweat. The boy had inherited their maternal grandfather’s southern complexion, giving his skin a bronze expression. It was evident that Guo had been training and feeding Percy well. Her brother looked as though he’d picked up at least 10 kilograms in muscle mass, concentrated across his chest and arms, which had acquired definition. His face as well, which had always appeared juvenile to Gwen, was starting to take on their father’s famous jawline.

“Who’s this handsome young man? Where did my baby brother go?” Gwen broke the ice with a genuine compliment.

Percy grinned, then greeted her formally. His voice was deeper as well, more resonate and powerful. There was confidence now that the boy had lacked in Sydney.

Percy became conscious of his undress as Gwen began to engrave his biometric progress with her eyes. With a nonchalant gesture, the boy materialised a towel from thin air, wrapping its length around his shoulders.

A Medium Storage Ring, Gwen noted. How quickly they grow up.

“How’s training going?” Gwen stepped into the renovated training hall. The gym barely resembled the spartan space she had called home for three weeks. All manners of equipment had been introduced to the once empty room. Body-building machines, target platforms, stress-bars with adjustable tension. One would have thought Percy was training for the Mageocracies' Commonwealth Games.

“I’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Percy explained, watching his sister's eyes. “I am repeating a year in Xiao Ming, did you know that? There are three years of Middle School in China. I am supposed to be in second-year, but Grandfather made me start from the beginning.”

“Are you much older than your peers?” Gwen asked, wondering if her brother would be bullied.

“I am not the oldest, no,” Percy answered with a smirk. “Did you know the school is Co-ed? Thank God, I thought I was going to be stuck for another three years in an all-male campus.”

That last comment was delivered in such a familiar intonation that Gwen immediately thought of their father.

“Percy, if you spend your time chasing skirts…”

“No! No way!” Percy’s complexion took on a reddening shade. “As if I have the time!”

“Let Dad be your anti-role model,” Gwen warned her brother with a crooked smile. “So, how’s the magic coming along?”

“I'm officially an Evoker! They told me I am suited to Transmutation as well, but for now, I am going to focus on Evocation. Grandfather says Evocation-Transmutation is an excellent combination for Quasi-Elemental Salt. It's the same as Uncle Jun!”

“Wow! That’s wonderful!” Gwen wanted to give her brother a congratulatory hug, but the young man was still steaming odiously. “Can I see? Are you able to use Salt safely now?”

“Yes,” Percy boasted happily. "It's thanks to..."

His gleeful mien froze mid-expression.

Gwen followed Percy's guilty gaze until her eyes rested on his chest.

There, a length of red string ended with a pale coloured pendant in milk-white jade.

The Kirin Amulet!

"!!"

Suddenly, Gwen felt the ground beneath her give way.

"!!!"

Her face paled as an impromptu anxiety attack ignited her Divination Sigil.

Was something amiss with the amulet?

Her pupils focused upon the Kirin Stone.

Why was it opaque-white? Gwen couldn't help but feel that something was terribly amiss. She hadn’t even noticed it when she came in precisely because she was anticipating a spot of jade-green on her brother's chest. Now the Kirin core had taken the colour of lamb’s fat, with barely visible pink-veins of marbling running throughout its semi-opaque centre.

“C-congratulations.” Gwen fought past the sudden assault, her tongue felt as heavy as a slab of stone.

Jesus, she must look incredibly guilty to Percy; freaking out after seeing him using the core. It wasn't as though she could explain the subtler points of passive Divination to her brother; it would sound like an excuse less believable than the truth itself.

“Master, I mean Grandfather, taught me how to use it…” Percy intoned carefully, his body tensing at his sister's evident queerness. “The negative energy feeds into the Amulet and becomes displaced by the essence held within.”

“It… does that?” Gwen restored herself by sheer force of will. “You can tap into its store of essences now?”

Percy unconsciously took a step back, just out of Gwen's reach. His sister had a hungry look about her, especially the way she glared at the amulet with bloodshot eyes. Despite the stillness of the air outside, the interior of the training hall was beginning to take on a nipping coolness.

“Yes. I can use the Kirin core.”

It was a statement, Gwen noticed. A show of determination.

“It was painful at first, but I powered through it. I can use it now, would you like a demonstration?”

“May I?”

“Here, let me show you.” Percy moved away from her.

There was a churning of Evocation mana; a sudden drying of the air. The accumulated sweat on Percy's brow instantly evaporated.

“Salt Bolt!”

A sliver of silvery Salt, formed into a razor-sharp crystal, appeared in the air, then shrieked toward the target-platform. It struck the transmuted surface with a thud, then shattered into thousands of ice-like fragments.

“Smite!”

The residual salt scattered about the platform suddenly collated, then erupted once again, sending out a shockwave ringed with jagged salt-shards.

After covering the intended area of effect, the Salt faded into the aether. The target board, torn and blasted, began to restore itself.

“What do you think?” Percy turned to his sister, expecting her to be thoroughly impressed.

But Gwen’s attention was focused on his chest, where the marbled vein of red embedded into the milk-white jade throbbed as though alive. He couldn't help but notice that her chest rose and fell with the same cadence as his own, in sync with the ebb and flow of mana within the Kirin core.

“Wonderful,” Gwen announced distractedly. She even clapped a few times. “You’re progressing so fast!”

“Thanks, Sis.” Percy smirked. He would take what he's given. It wasn’t often that his sister offered praise. “Say, I gotta take a shower and finish up here, do you want to stay for lunch or…?”

“I’ve got errands,” Gwen declined Percy’s offer, her mood miles from her usual hospitality.

The amulet.

It was the damned amulet.

It was all she could think about, driving her to distraction. Was it jealousy? Was she envious of the fact that he was using it? She knew it was silly to feel possessive over something she had willingly given up. All she could do was grin and bear it until the constriction in her chest went away.

“Babulya is still waiting,” Gwen added unconvincingly, too preoccupied to even continue her act.

“Alright, Sis.” Percy paralleled his sister's aloofness.

“Take care of yourself, Percy. I’ll come to visit now and then.”

“Thanks.”

“See you later, Percy.”

"Goodbye."

Gwen left the room and walked stiffly from the training hall toward the central courtyard. In between her subsiding Divination-driven anxiety and her self-loathing, she was reminded of another explanation for the amulet's altered state.

Was it possible that a little bit of Almudj was still in the amulet? Was all of it spent, or could there still exist a tiny sliver of the mythical beast within the Kirin stone?

Gwen paused by the tranquil water feature to gather her thoughts. She was out of the east wing now, away from the shadows of the white walls and into the light of the central garden.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, feeling the warmth of the sun on her hair and shoulders. The damned Divination was at peace now, acting as though it had known nothing. Within a minute of her meditation, she cleared her mind of its distasteful palate of paranoia. At any rate, her Divination Sigil was only tier 1, not to mention her stolen talent was mundane and untrained. What good could possibly come from responding to such a vague and unreliable thing? She thought of Mayuree and the advice the superior Diviner had given her.

"Don't look into self-premonitions, not if you want to have a life. Let it be. Be ready. If you're wrong, you've wasted your time. If you're right, you've wasted your time."

From her old world, Hamlet had expressed a likewise sentiment:

We defy augury: there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, it's not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it will not be, yet it will come...

In English, it meant, 'Fuck it, whatever, I am ready for it.'

But she wasn't Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be.

She was fortune's fool.

* * *

Percy stumbled into his shower shaking with nausea. He didn't even bother removing his pants as he stepped into the frigid stream of running water.

The coldness calmed him somewhat, drowning the fever in his brain.

There was... something in the Amulet.

He had first thought it a part of the ritual. After all, Guo had stated that their predecessors killed thousands, if not tens of thousands, of magical creatures, including Demi-humans, in their Clan's history.

The secretive technique that grandfather had taught him, bypassing even grandmother, allowed Percy to redirect the 'yin' energies of the Salt element into the amulet to be purified. That way, the amulet both protected his body from corrosion and provided him with additional mana, passive empowerment, and enhanced constitution.

That was the idea, at any rate. Percy only ever half-trusted the mumbling mysticism Guo fed into him. The man was a master indoctrinator, but Percy had already experienced years of that sort of thing at Prince's. Any and all spell and ability inevitably tied into the greatness of the House of Song and its four-five centuries of history. No matter, he played along; it made Guo happy, and that was what mattered.

As his training began in earnest, the amulet changed. As he channelled more of himself into it, its jade-green exterior fell away, becoming something that resembled a fleshy stone, not unlike a windowed-haworthia.

Grandfather had become amazed and told him that this showed he was well-attuned and well-suited to the yin-stone. He even patted Percy's head tenderly as his eyes grew moist with sentimentality.

Percy chose not to tell Guo the whole truth. He dared not.

How could he tell his grandfather that he feared the thing that lurked within the family heirloom? That he felt stricken with thalassophobia, the fear of dark things in the deep waters of the open sea, whenever he perused its fortifying powers?

Something... prowled within the Kirin Stone, but Percy knew not what.

Now he knew it had something to do with his sister.

The moment she walked into the room, he felt consumed by an indescribable agitation, overwhelmed by a shapeless, vague longing.

Thankfully, unlike his sister, Percy was far better at controlling his emotions. He knew she felt the same agitation when her exquisite face turned white, then pink.

When she left, the feeling subsided entirely.

Percy allowed the shower to run.

The frigid water was heavenly.

* * *

Gwen took luncheon with Klavdiya not far from the Song Estate, at a little eatery her grandmother recommended. For a place of questionable decor and hygiene, the food was surprisingly tasty, specialising in Xiaoxiang stir-fries.

Distractedly, Gwen listened as Babulya explained that Percy was doing well in his new school. That he made new friends with other kids from the notable Houses, even becoming popular enough to be elected to the SRC.

“Grandfather is alright with the whole fertility thing?” Gwen enquired. Wasn't the old man obsessed about an heir?

Her babulya explained things were well in hand.

“We’re keeping a very close eye on Percy, not to mention his affinity has a long way to go. The Kirin-stone will negate the negative effects as well, becoming more efficient at filtering the negative drain with time,” her babulya explained.

Gwen couldn't help but recall the first time her father had handed her the Kirin Amulet; she had asked him if it was unique in any way.

“It brings fertility and fortune.”

Bloody hell, Gwen sighed at her own naivety and her father's irresponsible indifference. How the hell was she to know Morye was dead serious.

“I see.” Gwen accepted her grandmother’s answer. Why didn't any of them fret about HER potential infertility. Was it because she possessed the druidic essence? Or that Gwen could forsake the Void and choose her Lightning instead? Come to think of it, was she even expected to have children? That idea had consumed Helena since Gwen had acquired her uncommon comeliness. Children... Gwen sipped her tea absent-mindedly. Even across two lifetimes, the idea of bearing a child seemed entirely abstract. Gwen had no desire for children in her old life. As for her new life, she certainly felt no renewed impetus.

She tried to concentrate on replying to her babulya's kind questions about her lessons and her tests with Magister Wen, but the thought of children turned her mind once again to the Kirin Amulet. What was that undecipherable Divination warning supposed to mean? Her head felt swollen with a feverish uncertainty. Her brother's simple attunement to the Kirin core and Almudj's essence why did her anxiety fade bloody hell the blatant favouritism and the inbuilt sexism the heirloom and her void magic Caliban the future her womb children fertility children of her own the future the lessons live with others feeling sorry for babulya if she was stronger maybe she could have made a difference her grandfather and her father whats with the white stone but what would why did they-

“Jun!”

Gwen felt the pandemonium of her thoughts stir with a start. She turned from the tenebrous spiral of her waking daydream to see her uncle pass through the entrance of the eatery, hailing her and babulya with one hand raised.

“Captain Song!” the owner, a balding old man, saluted Jun as he passed.

“Good to see you, Corporal Chen. How're the kids?”

“Ah-Wong is doing well, the usual?”

“Please,” Jun dismissed the owner politely before arriving at Gwen and babulya’s table.

Gwen stood to greet her uncle, but Jun motioned her to sit.

“Ma’am.” Jun pulled up a chair. “Gwen.”

"Hi, Uncle Jun."

“Just made it?” babulya asked cryptically.

“I had a few minutes to spare,” Jun laughed. “But yes, I made it in time.”

Gwen’s eyes darted between her two elders.

Each time Gwen regarded her stubbled uncle with his circular beard, she wondered how it was possible that two siblings raised under similar circumstances could be so different. They looked almost like twins, with the same envious jawline, the butt-chin, the lifted cheekbones from her babulya, and dark eyes from their grandfather. Yet for all their genetic similarity, one was the most frivolous, allergic to responsibility human being she had ever known, while the other was the most responsible person in her immediate orbit.

She felt struck by a sudden fancy.

Would life have been different if Jun was her father? The hypothesis was absurd, of course. She could not possibly imagine Jun being attracted to Helena. On the other hand, being raised by a father who affirmed and cared would have worked wonders for both of her lost childhoods. Yue once joked that she had ‘Daddy issues’, Elvia found it funny as well, but Gwen's laughter never touched her eyes; she knew her herself too well. In old Sydney, she had consulted a therapist, and they had worked out her problems: She was generally physically distant, often emotionally absent. She seldom felt secure in a relationship. She had a swaggering, independent, can-do attitude that covered up her anxieties. She truanted regularly, sought cheap thrills and endangered herself needlessly. She had poor academic performance throughout her teenage years. She was more often than not drawn to older, much older men. All of which was bottled up and kept in check by her workaholic ethos.

So what now? Gwen had asked her psychologist.

"Let's start you off on Celexa and Buspar, and we'll go from there? Okay?"

Freud knows what else was simmering underneath her submerged psyche.

The whole thought of fathers, mothers, men and wombs was making Gwen feel nauseated. Maybe she should find a supply of Seasonale to keep a lid on things, as so to speak, should the levee break.

“Gwen, you in there still?”

Gwen's glazed pupils refocused. Jun’s worrisome face materialised close to her own.

“Sorry, Uncle Jun,” she apologised for her disrespect. Ever since the episode with Percy, she’d felt as though her mind was mired in muck. It was as though some deeper part of her psyche was diverting all her rationality awry.

Jun exchanged a glance with babulya, who must have passed over a Silent Message of some kind, for when Jun faced her again, he reached out and covered her hand with his own.

"Gwen, are you alright? You can tell me anything."

It was a simple gesture, subconscious, but it was something her father had never done for her. With Morye, there was always a distance, a pane, a degree of separation, to Gwen, their father-daughter moments always seemed so rare and unanticipated.

“I-I am alright.” Gwen could think of no other reply. It wasn’t as though she could complain that she felt peevish and upset that Morye hadn’t taught her how to use the Kirin-Stone, or that she desired the amulet returned to her because she was waxing sentimental for a Mythic serpent capable of reducing Shanghai to rubble. Should she tell her Uncle that her Divination Sigil was driving her to madness? Her Uncle Jun meant well, but not even he could possibly begin to-

Then Jun pinched her nose.

It was such a puerile move that Gwen felt stunned by the innocuous invasion of her private space.

“You don’t have to be an adult all the time, Gwen. You’re a child. Act like one.” Jun held her gaze intact as he spoke. “We’re family, right? No matter what father thinks. You’re my niece, for Mao’s sake. To me, there's only one of you in the world. I want to protect you as much as your Babulya and my brother.”

Gwen’s hazel eyes met her uncle’s immovable gaze.

“I don’t care what Guo says - or what your father thinks - or what Percy wants to do with the House, you're a part of MY family. I like you, Gwen. I've liked you since the day I found you in the MSS Holding facility. I want you to know that I am very proud and happy for what you have done for Mina, Tao, and Petra. My mother thinks the world of you, and I do too. Can you believe that?”

Could she believe him?

She wasn't the trusting sort. Only time would tell.

“I believe you,” Gwen’s voice assumed her usual, confident cadence. Her uncle's kindness was like a dose of positivity that she sorely needed after that amulet-induced anxiety attack. “Thank you, Uncle Jun. I am alright now.”

Klavdiya exhaled a with a relieved expression of ‘good job’ for her youngest.

"Sorry, babulya, I was distracted earlier," Gwen apologised to her grandmother as well. She must have made babulya feel awful.

"That's okay dear," her babulya returned kindly.

Jun squeezed his niece’s delicate hands, feeling the smallness of her thin fingers caress his calloused palm. But before Jun could enclose his hand, Gwen retracted her palm from his sandpaper grasp.

Jun felt a pang of disappointment.

The poor girl.

Behind the counter, Chef Chen added twice the usual amount of beef into Jun’s favourite chow-fun, his eyes moistened by the splendiferous scene of Confucian piety.

Gwen touched a hand to her face, feeling a phantom pain pinching her nose.

“Sorry.” Jun laughed. “Did I bruise it?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got my druidic essence, after all.” Gwen wrinkled her celestial appendage cutely. That was the thing about Jun; he was so nice, and she couldn’t tell if the man was two-steps ahead of her, or if her uncle’s benevolence was instinctual. Surely, someone with the moniker of the ‘Ash Bringer’ did not acquire such a chilling nickname by being Mr Rogers!

Jun’s food arrived.

“Hmm.” her uncle raised a critical brow. “It’s saltier than usual.”

* * *

Gwen returned late to the apartment.

Alesia’s care package remained unmolested by Customs thanks to Jun’s influence. Gwen had stowed the box away in her ring and had forgotten all about it after the emotional exchange with her uncle in the early afternoon. After assuring her of his support, he then listened to her worries and anxieties for an hour, going as far as to promise her that he would assist her Evocation when she reached Tier 4. She did not, however, inform him of Percy.

"How about we go on a little trip," he had teased her. "A little adventure to train, just you and I. I know a place where you can work on boosting your elemental affinity."

Gleefully, Gwen had told him she would like nothing else.

Smiling to herself, Gwen tore at the cellophane tape.

“Gwen, what in God’s name are you doing?” Petra watched with curiosity as Gwen tried to search for the seam.

“Open the box?”

“Use Knock.”

She knew that spell.

“Knock!”

The arcane energies of the Knock spell ran along the edges and unsealed the cellophane ducting within the span of half-a-second.

Gwen took out the contents.

There was an assortment of goods within, each in individual packaging. Some were cellophane wrapped, others were in boxes of plastic or cardboard, there was even a ball of foil. On top of the items was a letter.

Gwen opened the envelope. Inside was a Message from Alesia, Yue and Gunther. The card itself had a picture of a drunk Koala saying 'no worries, I am just old enough to get pissed.'

“Have a happy Sweet-Seventeen!

The very best from all of us who are rooting for you.

Your siblings and friends.”

The loftiest package was the first to be unwrapped, revealing an impressive pair of thigh-high, double-stitch, calf-skin boots, its brass heels inscribed with elaborate Transmutation glyphs.

“Use these until you learn how to cast the real deal-” read the attached note.

Petra ran a cubed Identify over the magical boots.

“How delightful, a pair of vintage Boots of Flight!” she cooed delightfully. “It's an older model. These feed off your mana rather than Crystals.”

“Perfect for me then,” Gwen thought of the savings she could engender.

“Until you OOM mid-flight,” Petra warned her, immediately pointing out why the old models were retired.

“I'll be careful,” Gwen chuckled. “There’s inbuilt Feather Fall, right?”

“As long as you're not OOM over a lava pit, an icy lake, or a sulphur mine…”

“Haha, who the hell would OOM while flying over those!” Gwen chided her cousin humorously.

“...” Petra had a pained expression on her face.

Gwen unfolded the next package.

It was a poncho made from what first appeared to be cashmere.

“Ah, civilian class Optic-Camo.” Petra was proving a font of Magical Item knowledge. “Slip it overhead, lets’ see the build quality.”

Gwen slipped the poncho across her shoulders. The fabric loosely hung over her chest and back until it reached her thighs.

“Activation glyph should be on the right side, inside tag.”

Gwen examined the glyph key.

“Camouflage!”

The poncho shifted in colour until her torso blended into the living room so that it looked as though Gwen was split in half, becoming a disembodied pair of legs and a floating head. It came with a hoodie that covered her head.

“Full body Optic-Camo are military-issue only,” Petra informed her roommate before Gwen could complain about the strangeness of having ‘half’ a chameleon-cloak. “The civilian model will keep you safe from prying predators and beasts from the sky, as well as giving you relative cover if you remain stationary.”

The final few packages were foodstuff from home.

Rolls of Auroch jerky, so tough that they defied digestion.

A few boxes of the locally made NoM chocolate biscuits known as Tim-Tams.

A satchel of golden kiwi-fruit, currently in season.

Two kilograms of dried Mangos from Cessnock; a gift from her friends down at the ranch.

Collating her loot, she apportioned them for sharing with Petra and Richard, as well as their upstairs neighbours. As for the Magical Items, she stored them within her Ring.

A pair of Boots of Flight and a Camo-cloak. Gwen could guess from the strategic selection that Gunther and Alesia expected her to do more than just study within the sheltered confines of Fudan.

She had several options where that was concerned.

One - Gwen could take up a weekend occupation working with the local Adventuring Consortium, though it was an unlikely endeavour. Gwen doubted Magister Wen or her babulya were about to let her trapeze into the bush with a group of strangers.

Two - The University Dungeoneering Club - a better option, and one her overseers are more likely to agree to. The danger is tailored from novice to expert, and higher level Dungeons are overseen by Magus, or even Magister escorts.

Three - Make a party of her own - team Cousins, for example - and take up Questing on the weekends. This was the most viable option, but also the least likely; each of her members had their own occupations and circumstances. Petra could maybe squeeze out a few days, but could Mina and Tao open up the same weekend? Could Gwen’s tightly packed schedule match up with Richard’s and the others? Could they profit enough to make it mutually worthwhile?

She had more immediate fish to fry.

It was the end of Week 3, and in 21 days, she would have two mid-semester practicals and the excursion to the NoM hive city, the ominously named District 108 and 35. On the Metropolitan Map, 35 appeared to be located on the outer ring of the Second Orbital Highway and the Fourth-Intracity bypass, while 108 was almost fifty kilometres toward the direction of Hangzhou.

It was a change in her routine she highly anticipated, but it also meant she had only three weeks to leash Caliban to her will, make her Conjure Elemental battle-ready, and learn at least another Evocation spell or two to use with Ariel.

As for her Familiars...

Gwen looked up to see Caliban attempting to swallow a mango whole, egged on by Ariel, who was itself munching on a kiwifruit. Realising that Gwen was watching, Caliban spat the mango back out, smothering the orange-red fruit in grey goo.

She sighed despairingly.

Three weeks to sort out this lot.

The fourth week of the Summer Semester.

Magister Wen called Gwen into the Cognisance Chamber.

“You know, Gwen, it has occurred to me that there is a way to replicate Bar-gain-ginny,” Magister Wen informed her proudly.

“Oh? I am all ears!” Gwen looked up from her practice to see the master researcher's eyes glowing intelligently.

“Ha! You'd think the answer as far away as heaven, but it was right under our eyes!" Magister Wen smirked. "Remember how we managed to simulate the green lightning with nothing but a Lightning-based creature core?”

Gwen nodded eagerly.

Magister Wen pointed to Ariel; the marten immediately perked up, thinking perhaps that the Magister was trying to offer it an HDM chip.

“No need for expendable creature cores. There’s your elemental-mixer right there.”

“Eeee?”

“But I can’t channel the druidic essence,” Gwen explained. "Not into Spells and not into Familiars."

“Oh no, there’s no need for that.” The Magister stroked Ariel’s furry, folded ears. “You told me once that Ariel could be empowered with your druidic essence, yes? Would that not count as mixing your Lightning element with the Druidic one?”

Gwen considered it. It could just work.

“I think you might be absolutely right, Ma'am,” Gwen answered confidently. "Ariel, come here, yum-yum!"

She coaxed Ariel closer and urged the druidic mana to circulate through her body until it condensed at her fingertips, becoming a drip of congealed pale-green fluid not resembling simmering tree-sap. Her marten took her finger and greedily suckled upon it until almost half of her reserve was gone. Despite consuming two Vitae Fruits and a Lotus, her volume of Almuldj's essence remained inconsiderable.

As they were in the Cognisance Chamber, Gwen observed as Ariel took the essence within; as expected, Ariel's internal mana conduits began to pulse with emerald energy, mingling with the raw cobalt of Lightning.

“Alright, let see if my hypothesis is correct, give Ariel a whirl.”

Gwen ordered Ariel to step away and face the far side of the chamber, where an illusory target had been set up. She willed a surge of mana to enter her pet, watching the beast expand until it was almost the size of a small pony. The tiny horns Ariel possessed likewise elongated, becoming spiral swords branching off in the shape of a ‘Y’ atop Ariel’s mongoose head, giving it a menacing chimeric appearance.

“Barbanginy!”

She incanted Almudj’s variant of Lighting Bolt, feeling her Lightning element course through her body and enter Ariel’s combat form. Besides Gwen, Ariel's horns grew bright with hysterical electricity, then a blast of jade-green Lightning emitted from between the two horns.

The ozone stench from the energised blast was immense, so much that it filled the entire tennis-court sized training room with its oppressive odour. The illusory target became utterly obliterated as its glyphs fried, disabling the function altogether.

A piece of old world knowledge clicked into place for Gwen as Magister and freshman marvelled at the scorched tiles. The Cog-Chamber was built to withstand blasts and bursts up to tier 6. How was it possible that a tier 3 Lightning Bolt could punch through the shielding?

Magister Wen puzzled her head, but Gwen's mind floundered over an old National Geographic magazine. She recalled reading that there were two distinct forms of lightning. The first, Negative-charged Lightning, accounted for almost 95% of all strikes. These were usually up to 300 million volts and could blast apart trees and set fire to forests. Occasionally, when circumstance, chance and climate converged, nature allowed for the formation of a positively-charged plasma arc, a freakish occurrence with a current capable of exceeding 1 billion volts, amassing enough power to reduce an eighty-meter Californian red-oak to smouldering wood chips.

She had no idea what the ‘life’ energy of Almudj did to empower the lightning, but like her Guiding Bolt, as well as the accumulatively more powerful strikes of Blast Bolt, there seemed to be something about an excess of Positive energy that catalysed Positive-strikes.

The blast was exceedingly difficult to direct, but if Ariel could close in on the target, and she could open with Guiding Bolt...

Arguably, despite its complexity, Barbanginy seemed like a viable 'King Hit'; to borrow an Australian pub-crawl misnomer. She can't control the outcome very well, but the effect on an enemy would likely be devastating, especially on an opponent expecting a regular Lighting spell.

Magister and student then examined Ariel for damage and expenditure. It was worth noting that her magical marten had expended the Druidic essence it had consumed earlier. Other than that, Ariel appeared perfectly hale and eager for action.

Gwen attempted to produce another drop of the druidic essence, but her reserves only allowed for so much per day. Only her Void consumption could 'drain' her supply of Druidic mana. Gwen herself could not offer more than that which fatigued her; it as akin to how one could tire oneself out, but excessive, superhuman exertion would require a far more compelling stimulus.

“Wonderful, Gwen.” Wen busily recorded their new findings. “I would recommend testing again in a few days to obtain some standardised metrics. I'd dare say the Ba-gain-ninny's inherent combative limitation is severe, but it may be useful as an artillery option, especially at the higher tiers.”

“Of course, thank you, Magister.” Gwen double-checked her Astral-reflection below. The spell took no more out of her than a regular Lightning Bolt. Its only limitation was her ability to produce Druidic Essence - and like an artillery system, the need to load up her pet with powder.

* * *

Chen's advice proved sound.

As mid-term quickly approached, Gwen’s training regime with Caliban and Ariel was finally beginning to take shape. Mayhap because Caliban had already tasted, disturbed, harassed and terrorised everything molestable by its faceless muzzle, it had calmed itself significantly.

Her Familiar quietened once it acclimatised to external stimuli. Caliban was beginning to take her order as precedence over its curiosity. Though her growing command of tier 5 Conjuration likely contributed as well.

By Tuesday, Gwen had sustained the creature’s presence in the Material realm for four days.

Chen's attitude likewise improved once Caliban no longer slithered for Eunae, snapped at Wanli, or tried to nip at the other Familiars as they crossed one another's path. Ariel, in stark contrast, had become a model Familiar, a poster pet of the 'good boy' manifesto.

By now, Gwen was likewise making gains on Transmutation and Evocation.

Magister Wen had remarked earlier on the fact that her absurd VMI of 130 and over would do wonders for her training. Even so, her ability to bench the 'iron' of repetitive Spellcraft exercises exceeded even the high esteem of her Instructors.

The average teen-Mage measured close to 40 VMI, a talented Fudan student in the 70s, and those with bred-to-purpose bloodlines perhaps 80. With a nearly double mana capacity, those young Casters could acquire mastery over complicated Sigils with twice the efficacy.

Gwen had not measured her VMI since babulya took her to the Second-PLA Hospital lab for her biometrics, but she was confident that thanks to her growth in Conjuration, Evocation and Transmutation, her mana pool should exceed 140.

Had others comprehended the extent to which Gwen could continuously practice without tiring, they would have despaired at the snail's pace of their regular training. Besides, there was the advantage that Gwen's elemental affinity reduced her mana-costs and casting fatigue.

Gwen was no statistician, but her potential gains were evidently far more than four to five magnitudes surpassing the average bear. Petra had informed Gwen that it would take her a year to advance Conjuration from tier 4 to 5, but she had not taken into account that for all intents and purposes, her cousin was using training to distract herself from life's many dissatisfactions.

Unbeknownst to Petra, Gwen’s self-imposed workaholic ethos had given her a rare kind of focus, one more suited to perhaps, the Daoist isolationists of Wutang Mountain, or the esoteric swordsmen of Kunlung ranges. She left the house early in the morning for classes, took her lunch near campus, attended her afternoon classes, then trained before having dinner. She repeated this schedule for five days, then relaunched herself at the Training Hall whenever she had a few hours to spare. When possible, to save time and also to entertain her companionship with Mayuree, she ate together with the siblings in their loft. Richard returned home more often than not after his previous incident, but the young man still worked and studied, pursuing HDMs and CCs with a fervour that embarrassed even Gwen. Petra meanwhile, returned to her research schedule, now with the additional burden of compiling reports on her cousin’s Void metrics.

* * *

Week 5. Monday. Late afternoon.

Gwen burst through the front door, launching herself at the LRC device, positioned it just right in front of the couch.

She glanced at the clock anxiously, then tried to meditate to pass the crawling seconds that felt like hours.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

She waited with growing agitation, her hazel eyes staring so intently at the pin-hole projection crystal that had she possessed optical powers, it would have burst into flame.

'Beep~'

‘KEEEEeeee—KUuuu-HSSSSSS’

It came! She exalted the Gods for they are merciful and kind.

Gwen pressed the glyph to accept the incoming call, then sat back.

The projection began to manifest.

First, a few strands of glorious golden hair, then a pointed chin, followed by a dimpled pair of pink cheeks, then finally, luminous, ocean-blue eyes. As the rest of the vision materialised, it began to move.

“Elvia…” Gwen mouthed the name sweetly on her tongue. “EVEE!”

“GWEN!”

“AEEEEEEE!”

“ARRRRGH!”

"Shaaa! Shaaa!"

"EEEEEE! EE!"

The two girls gushed as the projections on either side animated their illusory simulacrums, joined by Gwen's familiars.

Elvia looked as though time had held her intact and refused to change a thing. Her hair was longer, of course, now reaching her waist, but Gwen's golden girl was as adorable as the day she last saw her in Singapore. Her cheeks were puffed with baby-fat as before, her eyes as clear as sapphires, Gwen’s gaze dropped a little lower and indeed, nothing had changed on that front either.

“Oh my God! You look amazing!” Elvia however, noted the changes in Gwen’s appearance right away. When they’d last separated in Singapore, Gwen had fluctuated between hale, pale, and loitering almost weekly, pending on her use and abuse of her Void spells. The Gwen in front of her now appeared genuinely in peak physical fitness, possessing a rosy complexion, bright eyes, and glossy hair that hinted at an excellent mana-rich diet.

“Ha! Thanks, Evee! A lot has happened.” Seeing that Elvia was in good health herself, Gwen felt as though an anxious weight had lifted from her chest. “How’s school in England? Are you making friends?”

“I am doing well.” Elvia giggled. “Though there are too many classes. I’ve got Biology, Magitech, Clerical Studies, Pharmacology, it’s endless!”

As she spoke, a little green sprite popped up on Elvia’s shoulder and waved at the projection crystal.

“Is that Kee-kee?” Gwen pointed just past her ear.

“Kiki! Say hi to Aunty Gwen!”

Oh Lordy, I am an aunt now? Shouldn’t it be an older sister? Gwen reflected dejectedly.

“Hi, Kiki!” she greeted the flowery nature sprite.

Kiki was the dryad spirit that Elvia had picked up from Sufina’s island, an encounter that paralleled in many ways, Sufina’s meeting with Henry Kilroy, her Master of four decades. As with Sufina, Gwen had no doubt that should Elvia learn to treat the spirit well and allow it to grow, it would become immeasurable to her success as a Cleric. To her knowledge, high-affinity healers are a dime a dozen, but a healer who came attuned to a Primary-Elemental spirit of life and regeneration was sacred indeed. She could infer from Petra's lessons that in all of England, attuned healers would exceed no more than a two digit number.

For so long as she took care of Kiki, the potentially high-tier spirit would trivialise her lacklustre affinity.

A sweeping Mass-Regeneration, a battle-field wide Bless, a timely Resurrection on a newly-fallen Magister; such were the Clerical miracles that directed victory and loss on the battlefront.

When such incredulities were expressed to Gwen, not even she could fault Gunther’s proposal on sending Elvia to London. It was the best possible outcome for her friend, despite the demure girl having to endure loneliness and separation from friends and family.

Without further ado, the girls informed each other of their life since their last ‘video’ conference.

Elvia spoke of her anxieties since their separation: Her family left Sydney and received resettlement without incident thanks to Gunther. Her brother rejoined the Princes’ Academy in Munich; her father and mother took up new residencies in state hospitals. She arrived in London by herself, then immediately became lost on her way to the Nightingale College. Thankfully, the residents of London were more than willing to come to her aid, a kind old woman showed her to the police station. A Police officer walked her to the right tramline. The conductor showed her where to get off. A few local lads in prim public school uniforms then walked her to the College's entrance, where a porter took her admission letter and even transported all her luggage to her twin-share room.

But after she checked into the dorm, she had no idea how to enrol for her classes. When her new roommate found her anxious and teary, the girl guided her down to the Administration Office. The lady at the office was so touched by Elvia's story of separation from her family that she personally took it upon herself to enrol Elvia and ensure her smooth transition into College. When they passed the entrance, the office clerk introduced Elvia to the head Nun of the cafeteria and the Dorm Mistress.

"It was all very fascinating! I was really anxious!" Elvia exclaimed in her delightful demeanour.

Gwen nodded and nodded, then nodded again, marvelling at the friendliness of every single helpful person Elvia had met. She knew that those with Positive Energy affinity exuded an 'angelic' aura, but what was Elvia on now? Five? Six? How could mere mortals resist such a vision of exuberant innocence? They would be helpless before her doe-eyed onslaught!

Elvia continued her tale of conquest.

A few days later, Alesia’s colleague, a Magus called Dominic Lorenzo, arrived to find the ‘demure girl’ fully settle into her dorm life, surrounded by a small army of middle-aged ladies who grilled him incessantly for almost twenty minutes before he was allowed to speak to their 'precious'.

Escorted by Jenny, the overprotective lady from the front office and an incredulous Dominic, the trio then made it to the London Tower, where Elvia registered for a preliminary membership thanks to an introductory letter from Magus Shultz, a celebrated champion of the Commonwealth. Having then received all of Eliva's licences, the trio returned to the dorm, where Dominic contacted and arranged for the installation of the LRC device in Elvia’s twin-share room.

The news then spread that Elvia had high-level backing from the Towers, further evidenced by the unheard extravagance of receiving a personal LRC device. The dorm, however, deemed the device an inappropriate piece of equipment for a place consisting of entirely teenage girls who boarded, and therefore, was understandably lonely. The Divi-Telecom companies would have a field day.

After Dominic negotiated with the College's Mistress, Magister Celine Nightingale the 3rd, fully employing his Florentine charm on the ageing woman, a separate room was made available for the device. There was an added caveat that any of the girls can use the LRC, provided they pay the HDM cost and submit a prior application. Also, unlike Gwen, Alesia had outright purchased the device and gifted it to Elvia. For Elvia to make the device publicly accessible, therefore, the Mistress offered to pay Elvia the rate of 2 CCs per month for the privilege of allowing her peers to call home.

"Mr Lorenzo is soooooo good looking!" Elvia exclaimed. "When he came in, all the girls were staring."

"I'll bet," Gwen urged her to continue. Who cares about some upstart Adonis? She needed more Chronicles of Elvia!

At any rate, after all the fiasco, Elvia's classes started. Somehow, likely via the canteen Nun, news of Elvia's life in Sydney, the terror that befell her, the separation from her family, and her loneliness (not to mention her connection to Gunther Shultz) spread throughout campus. Brimming with self-righteous sympathy, instructors took it upon themselves to ensure that the poor girl had nought but the most gracious of receptions, easing her into her courses with gentle, guiding hands. When the time came to elect an SRC member for the class of 2003, the only name everyone recollected on their lips was Elvia Lindholm, and so Elvia had become unanimously elected to the Student Council.

"Let me see!" Gwen geeked out. SRC! Elvia was already accumulating power and influence! In response, Elvia showed Gwen a silver badge with a staff and twin serpents in the middle of a bough of an olive wreath. Inscribed at the very bottom, was Elvia's name.

"So, how was the Student Council?"

Elvia said that at first, she was terrified. When she stepped trembling and confused into the Council building, she was met by Magus Emily Greyson Rothwell, a teenager - a nineteen-year-old Magus! The handsome third year Student President took one look at Elvia's mid-tier affinity and melted at the spectacle of the coy and demure maiden half-peeking through the hallway door with her sky-coloured eyes.

"I got your back! If anyone so much as touches you, I'll break them in half!" the haughty Student Council President declared, drawing the girl to her bosoms. "Of course, I mean someone from my Knight retinue will. We're healers after all, hahaha!"

"She actually has Knights at her command!" Elvia exclaimed. "There's three of them serving her family, and they're all at the rank of Magus! They looked so amazing in their dress uniforms - Emily says that one day, I'll get Knights assigned to me too if I work hard."

"What's a Knight?" Gwen asked.

Elvia informed her that Knights were Combat Mages assigned to high-profile healers. Many Knights would follow the same Magus or Magister for life, becoming the subject of many an amorous young girl's fantasies. In a single-sex convent College such as the Nightingale School, the presence of Knights was enough to make the girls strive for their very best in attaining what would one day, be their very own partners for life. Both the French Hospitaliers and the English colleges had this tradition; though the Greek Acropolis school favoured an interchangeable retinue of guardians tied to the Temple itself.

Gwen’s felt her mouth open and close as Elvia regaled episode after episode.

Why was it that Elvia’s story was so incredibly heart-warming and enviously agreeable? Gwen couldn't help but feel that her retelling resembled an episode from the Tess of d'Urbervilles - while Elvia’s was the latter half of Silas Marner. What’s with the bloody difference? In just three months, Elvia acquired and iron-clad following of middle-aged mid-tier administration office ladies who’d venture to hell and back for their adorable angel, the pity and loyalty of her roommate, and the full support the SRC and its president, the darling star of Nightingale College.

God! Jehova! Yahweh! The world is not just! To be oneself is not safe! She wanted a refund! A do-over!

How was it that their encounters were so different? If Gwen were to get lost in London, she was sure the first thing she'd meet was an unmarked Van promising a modelling career and all she needed to do was get in. If she were to saunter into the college, someone would probably demand to duel her at the door. If she ate at the canteen, the Nun might just kick her out for asking for thirds.

Was her life cursed by a blighted star?

Gwen wept bitter tears of joy as Elvia regaled her ‘difficulty’. In return, Gwen told, euphemistically, of her own trials and triumphs at the hands of the Songs, as well as her consequent University life with Richard, Petra and Magister Wen.

Two hundred HDMs into their conversation, Petra came home, and Gwen introduced the stunning Russian beauty to her bestie. Petra was instantly in love with Elvia’s huggable adorability, while Elvia became stunned by Petra’s surreal glamour. In response to Petra’s intrusion into the privacy of their conversation, another face ducked into the protection, a striking punk-rocker girl with shocking pink hair and a nose stud.

“I am Elvia’s roommate, Sylvie Stratford, please to make your acquaintances,” the roommate introduced herself.

The four exchanged greetings all over again, then the call was finally at an end. The conference had costed Gwen almost 1/10th of her remaining funds. As much as Gwen would have liked to continue her communication with Elvia, her friend too had limited funds. But unlike academic life in Fudan, Nightingale was a practitioner’s College. As the girls trained and studied, they also received HDM-based stipends for serving in hospitals and clinics attached to the school. Unlike offensive casters who needed to expend mana continually and therefore drain crystals, the ‘practice’ carried out by the girls was also a source of income, their expenditure covered by the British Mageocracy's NHS program.

Elvia faded as she bid a teary temporary farewell, leaving Gwen alone with Petra.

“I like her,” Petra gushed, informing Gwen that 'another bites the dust'. “So that’s the famous Elvia Lindholm.”

“She’s my lifeline,” Gwen joked half-heartedly.

The girls then shared a call-out dinner, then settled in for the night.

The rest of the bustling week was to come.

* * *

Tuesday.

Instructor Chen observed critically as Gwen demonstrated her command over the unruly serpent.

He had set up a gauntlet of sorts, a little maze of temptations and distractions for the Familiars. By raising and lowering the bulkhead doors, he created a kind of twisted corridor, where ‘rooms’ awaited the students and their Conjured beasts.

Some rooms had small summoned fauna that the creatures loved to consume, testing for ability to resist instinctual aggression. Other 'rooms' had enticing blocks of raw mana crystals with explicit commands such as ‘can eat after 2 minutes’ and ‘may only eat 50%’. Other rooms had little traps that shocked, surprised or directly assaulted the familiars.

Ariel managed to clear the rooms without incident, though it’s idea of ’50%’ was more akin to three-quarter. Caliban, to Chen’s surprise, did not trigger its self-defence even when struck by half a dozen Magic Missiles. As for it eating the entire block of raw mana crystal, Chen gave Gwen a pass. One could hardly demand a creature formed of hunger and gluttony to abide entirely by human command. That Caliban learned to obey Gwen’s commands was good enough for them to begin their next phase.

* * *

Meanwhile, Management and Economics had moved toward statistical dissection, making an already dry subject desiccated and disinteresting. Mayuree could barely open her eyes as soon as the lectures began. Gwen even caught Richard in the midst of a catnap during a particularly dense block of agricultural data.

For Gwen, picking the two subjects was the right choice.

First, there were the Hive Cities. Dubbed 'Districts' under the tier 1 cities, the hives were residences built with the best interests of the NoMs in mind - but invariably transformed into Kowloon Walled City of 1980s Hong Kong infamy.

A Hive began as the typical sort of benign dictatorship China was famous for, constructed to house up to 100,000 residents, with an upper limit of 150,000 people. The fifty-storey concrete forts served as both protection and sanctuary in the unlikely occurrence of an invasion. The bottom of the forts was quake-proof and fortified by glyphs, followed immediately by a level consisting of water purification systems and filtration depositories that processed the city’s hygiene amenities. Above the base began the commercial sector, with food shops and dispensaries run by the state and those living within the city’s walls. Above, street-level commerce is owned by more enterprising members of the township, invariably Committee members of the State, the Clans, and the Houses.

The Hive itself stretched upward, forty levels above where the resident's homes, drawn by lottery, determined where NoM Families stayed. When a NoM reached the age of 21, they were given the choice of occupying another ‘apartment’ or moving to another city. The typical Hive-city stretched from twenty blocks to fifty blocks, though the largest, located in Beijing, extended in an ‘L’ shape for almost sixty.

The top of the buildings had parks, open-space areas, gardens, cafes, more shops, some even housed swimming pools and other amenities. These highly-desired spaces, however, were at a premium; despite the presumed egalitarian state of a state-sanctioned Hive City, the gap in wealth was painfully evident.

Those living below had barely enough space to sleep and rest, crammed into habitat blocks like sardines in a can, sleeping four to a room vertically, formed out of wooden decking on bare concrete. Others nearing the mid-section had individual rooms, though more often than not shared with other family members awaiting their own sub-divisions. Near the top, the oligarchs of each Hive City had their abodes, sometimes an entire level or loft, to themselves.

The descent into organised crime, Triad activity, bloody contests between neighbourhoods, District disharmony and petty theft, became the norm.

The system of self-governance the PLA devised, where each ‘District’ had its own ‘elected’ Secretary to oversee the running of the cities, inevitably fell to corruption, rivalry, meddling from the Clans and Sects, PLA infighting, and ambitious free-lance Mages.

Over a period of rapid reconstruction from the 70s to the 90s, China kept on building an endless stream of Hive-Districts, fuelling its internal consumption and employment with ghost cities. Eventually, these cities became filled with NoMs.

As for the population living there, generating a Mage offspring that passed muster was the dream of every family. Should a family give up a potential scion talented in Magic to the state, they would immediately receive an ‘abode’ in the upper strata. Many a family had turned their fortunes around through such means, acting as living proof of the state’s generosity. But the ‘Uplifting’ policy had its limitations as well. Though NoM families often engendered multiple children, abject poverty and the irregularity of a Mage being born from a non-magical bloodline remained a significant deterrence to social climbing.

To feed a burgeoning population; the state built co-op farms across every inch of Shanghai's arable boundary. For many satellite cities, foodstuffs were externally imported. It wasn’t unheard of for a Hive to overthrow their provincial Secretary or brutally murder its ruling class over perceived or real injustice - but it was simple to suppress a city of 100,000 souls when one could cut off the water, grain and meat with a word.

The more Gwen learned about the cities, the more she grew pale with disgust and horror. Given what she had seen in Australia, she would far prefer the freedom and neglect of the ghettos and the slum, the shanty-suburbia of Blackheath to Calhoun’s behavioural-sink Ratopia.

Gods! To think she signed up for an excursion to Mega-City-Dredd! Gwen suppressed her regret and steeled her resolve - there was no helping it; if she wanted her own land in the future, she needed the first-hand experience.

What was it they said?

Read one book, and one has travelled one Li.

Walk one Li, and one has read a hundred books!

Week 5 - Supplementary Bestiary lesson.

The junior Conjurer's Familiars were being put to task on hapless Wildland summons.

One may call it cruel that Instructor Chen arranged for creatures to be used as instructional specimens, but the Master Conjurer reminded them that one couldn't make delicious Wildland omelette rice without cracking a hapless Cockatrice's innocent egg.

The idea was to combine two lessons in one. The junior Creature Mages got to learn about their pet's strengths and weaknesses while simultaneously discovering the physiological and biological statures of their future enemies.

For Wanli the Lighting-Hawk, Chen advised on air superiority, tactical use of blindsides, and CQB using Lightning's passive paralysis, impressing even the haughty Lu Fung.

For Eunae, Chen informed ways Luyi could set root-snares, grow barriers and platforms, and take advantage of Eunae's positive energy to gain immense vitality and fortitude.

Gwen made mental notes as others received their inputs. As a testament to Chen's expertise, each piece of advice was tailored to a Familiar’s particularity.

When he got to Gwen, he asked first for Ariel, the model marten.

"Wang! Bring in D-5!" Chen yelled at a troop of Conjurers operating the Summoning Circle.

A large and ferocious Wildland boar materialised. It immediately launched itself furiously at the Shields, leaving behind white-scars where the walls of force reconstituted. From the thick carapace of shale and clay on its flank, it was evidently a spawn of elemental Earth.

"Alright, Gwen, send Ariel in."

"Ariel!" Gwen affirmed her instructor's command, then coalesced her Familiar with a bolt of ionised lightning. Ariel emerged in its combat form, transforming into a six-foot silvery Mongoose equipped with two spiralled horns each a foot long.

Following Chen’s directions, Ariel kited the boar, gouging it with its claws, teeth and horns, slowly wearing the tank-like monstrosity down with its hasted agility.

Chen watched Ariel's performance with evident satisfaction.

“You should get ready for the killing blow," he advised. "Do you have any localised AOE Lightning spells? Ideally something volatile and explosive, midrange, with high penetrative power?"

“No, Sir,” Gwen explained that rather than learning new spells, she was trying to punch through to tier 4, where spells like Wall of Fire and Blizzard became available.

“Forget those wide range AOEs, my advice is that you acquire Elemental Sphere,” Chen explained. “Rather than a line attack Lightning Bolt, Lightning Sphere manifest first as a swirl of energy in a dome-like sphere, not unlike a ball-cyclone with you at its 'eye', then explodes outwards as a short-range AOE.”

"That sounds immensely useful, Sir."

"I should think so. It's a signature spell of the late Magister Einar Larsen. He was a very well known master of the Lightning Element."

"How should I learn such a spell?" Gwen requested humbly. "Surely, one has to be well connected."

“It's nothing so serious. You can trade 36 CCs for it. Magister Larsen released his spells into the Tower's public domain when he passed,” Chen informed her. “I mention this because the spell is perfect for your Ariel's Evocation-channel ability. It could serve as an offensive Shielding, a mid-range AOE, and a Shield-breaker.”

“I shall consider the recommendation, Sir,” thanking her instructor, Gwen tried to picture the spell and its many applications. It was true that she lacked AOEs in her Evocation repertoire; on paper, the tier 4 incantation fit her current needs like a shoe. Besides, what destructive potential could a Barbanginy-Sphere bring? Just trying to envision the ultraviolence of such a spell was giving her shivers.

Then there was also the Void variety - though Magister Wen had forewarned that all Void-AOE was forbidden until her affinity could be persuaded to grow beyond tier 5.

Meanwhile, the gladiatorial battle in the cage had come to an end. The boar was on its last legs.

“EEEeeee! Eee!”

"SQEEEeee!"

Ariel impaled the boar's flanks.

“Lightning Bolt!” Gwen channelled her Evocation staple and watched the boar became inundated with cobalt-green plasma. The blast flung the pig-beast against the force barrier until it was medium rare and smoking from both eye-sockets.

Gwen breathed out, retrieving Ariel. Evocation-Conjuration proved an excellent combination, her mana pool had barely dipped.

“Wonderful,” Chen clapped. “Excellent work.”

Caliban was next.

"Wang! B-7!"

The next monster materialised - a giant hyena the size of a horse. Startlingly, a sudden stench of putrid decay pervaded the floor.

“Mao!” The junior Mages wrinkled their nose.

“Wocao! What is that thing?”

“Is it Undead?”

“It’s a Corpse-fed!”

A Corpse-fed Hyena.

Gwen had read about such creatures. In the north, where the undead gathered, the fauna had mutated to become capable of feeding off the necrotic energies seeping from the tombs. Predators that once hunted live prey now hunted the dead - becoming fearsome carrion-carnivores capable of carrying plagues, devouring decay, and growing stronger by killing and consuming higher-level Undead.

She wasn’t sure why there was a hyaena in Asian-Major, but that hardly mattered now. Chen had prepared something incredibly formidable for Caliban. Ironically, if it had been Ariel, its Lightning would have naturally suppressed the Necrotic energy, but with Caliban, Gwen honestly had no idea. It wasn’t as though she’d fought Demi-Undead before.

Chen indicated for Gwen to proceed.

“I can banish it at a moment’s notice. Not to worry,” Gwen's instructor informed her. “Send in your pet. It should be immune to Vitality Drain anyway.”

That was news to Gwen. She warily regarded the prowling fiend, even now seeking a weakness in the Force Barrier, then picked a spot on the far side. The war-dog looked strong; thanks to its Necrotic blessing, it was likely incredibly resilient to injury. As with the boar, the best way to grind down a creature with high constitution and strength was with agility and haste.

“Caliban!” Gwen called for her Familiar to manifest within the arena, bypassing her Sustenance limiter. “Spider form!”

When Caliban leapt from the slit between the Material and the Void, it was indeed in its multi-legged form. Gwen had come to acknowledge that so long as she 'willed' a particular form, it was possible to coax Caliban to follow suit. Petra once pointed out that a creature with five pairs of legs, pincers and a tail should belong to the Order Scorpiones, but Gwen preferred 'spider' as the origin of Caliban’s morphic shape was initially an arachnid.

Gwen circulated a chunk of druidic-vitality into herself as her Familiar took its pound of flesh, empowering Caliban with supernatural haste and a frenzied desire for destruction. As Caliban became pumped full of void-rich mana, the observing crowd felt a wave of nausea.

“Onslaught!” Gwen mouthed soundlessly.

“SCREEEEeeeee!!”

Her spider launched itself like a bolt of black lightning.

The hyena appeared first intimidated by a creature like Caliban, but its wariness vaporised as Caliban attacked. Sidestepping expertly, it extended its elongated neck with the agility of a viper and attempted to catch one of Caliban’s foreclaws.

“Jump!” Chen commanded.

Gwen willed Caliban to change its trajectory by leaping into the air.

“Tail Spear!” Chen directed.

The hyena missed its first bite as Caliban, too quick for the horse-sized dog, kicked off the force-wall and stabbed it on the upper flank with its barbed tail, sending out a mist of dark ichor as a chunk of necrotic flesh came away.

“Oh MAO!”

"Bleargh!"

A few of the Conjurers fell to the odious assault.

Eunae buried her face into Luyi's flank while her doe quivered defiantly against the fiendish terror, protecting its Mistress.

The hyena snapped at Caliban and caught it in its maw, crushing it effortlessly. The loss of a limb, however, had no impact on a creature without nerves or organs like Caliban. Gwen's spider fiend then fell upon the yelping, hapless dog with the ferocity of a combine-harvester.

The first limb struck, then another and another and another, until its three pairs of appendages became a blur. The corpse-eating dog instantly became a spray of vivisected flesh.

“WOCAONIMA!”

“Cao - BLEARGH!”

“Garrgh!”

“Oh G-“

The odour flooded the room and all the gathered Mages, Gwen included, began to clear their meals onto the floor. The stench was indefinable, it was fetid death and faecal matter, half-digested flesh mixed with the smell of pus and gangrene.

Only Chen stood without so much as wrinkling his nose.

The hyena disappeared in a burst of silver-white energy.

The Wall of Force went down. The vents powered up.

“What are you-“ someone cried out in alarm.

Caliban clattered forth, covered in pieces of necrotic carrion; its carapace a snail-sheen of foul fat and decomposing excrement.

“Take it all in!!” Chen laughed at the students fleeing the scene but trapped by the bulkheads. Even Gwen was on her knees, regretting her last breath of air. Eunae buried her face so far into Luyi it looked as though the Korean Cleric had melded with her fawn face-first.

“That’s the scent of the Northern Front! Learn to love it! For that’s the smell of an undead filled battlefield! Let this be a lesson!”

Caliban moved for its mistress. With a yelp and a gag, Gwen dismissed it in an instant.

* * *

Gwen felt as though she had become terribly ill the same evening, but according to Magister Wen, that was pathologically impossible so long as she had druidic essences circulating her body. For all intents and purposes, her body was immune to mundane infections. For her to be stricken, the pathogen would have to be magical or genuinely virulent.

All she could do then, was bath herself in lavender-scented bathwater in an attempt to disguise the phantom stench. The damned odour was so intense that she couldn’t even stomach the thought of summoning Caliban, despite sorcerously bathing it with magic.

That night, Gwen slept fitfully, unable to persuade her brain that she was not smelling the scent of a ceiling full of dead rats decaying in the mattress.

* * *

Gwen decided to invest in a new Signature Spell.

After consulting with Petra and Magister Wen, it was agreed that 36 CCs for the tier 4 Elemental Sphere was a viable option for her Evocation development.

She would struggle with it until she reached the expertise necessary to use the spell in combat, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t employ the inherent complexity of the Incantation to mill out the proficiency of her Evocation Sigil. By training with it, she could kill two birds with one Elemental Sphere.

The acquisition was simpler than she had imagined.

A trip to T2 of the Fudan Towers gave her a script. Then a visit to the Reserved section of Fudan University Library was all it took for her to return with an inscribed scroll. Like a magic item, the manuscript was attuned to herself, requiring her student card to access. She also received a script that could be exchanged with an Instructor for a private lesson. After taking stock of her receipts, she was left with 94 CCs.

“What do people do about plagiarism? Or piracy?” Gwen asked Petra when they met for lunch.

“Piracy?” Petra chuckled. “What does this have to do with robbery on the high seas?”

“…” Gwen opted for a less abstract vernacular. “Like what if I wanted to teach you this spell?”

“You could try.” Petra grinned dangerously. “It's against the academic etiquette though.”

“What's the damage?”

“Penalty from the Tower, ire from other Mages, excommunication from your Clan or House. Its serious enough to make you a public pariah. Learning public domain spells with CCs is far more convenient than trying to thieve them. Through the Tower, your acquisitions are sanctioned and safe; your mastery publicly acknowledged. If one day, you’re willing to give up a Signature Spell of your own to the public domain as the progenitor - you or your Estate would receive CCs every time someone learns it.”

Excommunication - Gwen pondered the severity of such a thing. The rewards for obeying the rules far outweigh the benefits of illicit learning. She supposed such a system was sufficiently robust for the majority of Spellcraft society. It wasn’t as though roguish Outland Mages living in the Wildlands bothered with Tower etiquette at any rate; nor would a Clan or Sect give up its secrets to anyone but an inheriting member.

“I understand.” Gwen played with her Storage Ring contemplatively. “I’ll be down at the Training Hall if anyone asks.”

* * *

It took another three nights for the illusory stench of the Corpse-fed Hyena to fade from Gwen’s consciousness. In the meanwhile, in preparation for Gwen’s excursion at District 108 and 35, Magister Wen recommended Gwen take her new items - the Chameleon Cloak and her Boots of Flying, to the Training Hall and book a session with the Field Instructors there.

“Why? Is the excursion not a sightseeing tour?” Gwen questioned her mentor.

Magister Wen gave her a secretive smile.

“Professor Ma will keep it interesting for you young Mages. There’s nothing better than a dose of reality to get the Management students invested in the course.”

Speaking of 'doses of reality', Gwen couldn't help but recall when Mark Chandler had sent her into Blackheath.

At first, she had imagined that her Master’s old Diviner war-buddy was also testing her, teasing her with the reality of poverty and circumstance the NoMs faced. But it was all a ruse to gather evidence for his own hypothesis against her Master, Henry Kilroy. Hopefully this time, Gwen thought to herself. With a whole University backing her, her misadventure wouldn’t deviate too much from the planned tour.

The PLA, perhaps mindful of their limited influence in Fudan, had assigned military Instructors to the Training Hall who students could employ. Many of the instructors were surviving Mages from Frontier conflicts who could no longer return to the front in a capacity required by the military, but whose experience was too precious to be wasted.

Gwen fell under the tutelage of a one such flight Mage named Staff-Sergeant Bao Yan, a clean-cut, middle-aged veteran missing a hand and using a prosthetic leg. With patience, she informed him that she was in the process of learning her Utilitarian Flight spell, but had an excursion to the NoM Districts in a week or so.

“That’s fine, you’ll be knotting the air in no time,” the Instructor smirked. “Let’s see your form.”

Gwen first ensured her tunic was adequately fastened; she had yet to purchase her wardrobe for flight and would like to avoid a Marilyn Monroe situation. Her current issue was that her second-hand Boots of Flying had to be worn against her skin.

To Gwen, Alesia’s vintage training boots spoke volumes about her intrepid teenage years. When Gwen first tried them on, the thigh-high leather pulled just above her knees and rode three inches up her thigh. As a mid-tier Magic Item of ‘rare’ scarcity from the 90s, the boots were not enchanted to conform to new wearers and were only serviceable because Gwen and her sister-in-craft were physiologically alike, that and the boots were double-laced to allow for significant expansion and contraction. Gwen had to admit that in many ways, the Scarlet Sorceress was more ‘womanly’ than her sister-in-craft, and the boots had to be laced snug as a corset to adhere to her skin.

As a pairing, shorts were out of the question, so she settled on a ‘skort’, a pair of skirt-cum-shorts with ample coverage, which ensured unity of ergonomic mobility and aesthetic modesty. For up top, she could wear whatever she wished, though her choice of attire was currently dictated by the Chameleon Cloak. It made her look ridiculous. From above, she was invisible, likewise if she crouched and folded her legs in the foetal position. Standing before a mirror though, she resembled a free-floating face resting above a pair of leggy, laced leather boots.

“You’re not going to need that in an urban space. Register and apply for a full Optic-Camo cloak with CCs if you really want to be discrete,” Lian advised. “Though you better not get caught by the Tower’s Arbitrators or the MSS if you’re using it inside the city.”

“How useful is Opti-Camo?” Gwen enquired. If wasn't as though her Familiars or her Magic were subtle. In fact, they were eye-catching and very, very loud.

Lian snorted.

“Extremely! It's life or death out there in the Wildlands. First-strike is winning or losing! You think Optic-Camo grows on trees? Mao knows how you even got your hands on one. You from an old military family or what?”

“Something like that.” Gwen nodded.

“You better take care of it, girl. Not many of those are left in civilian hands.”

Gwen carefully folded the cloak and stored it in her ring.

“Your pets going to be a problem?” The Instructor pointed a thumb at Caliban and Ariel.

“They’ll be fine so long as they’re unmolested, Sir,” Gwen answered. “They’re tagged to my bangle, they’ll be no trouble.”

The instructor's attitude brightened considerably after noting her collection of rare items. There were three rings on her fingers, two gemstone-rings with enchantments accompanied by a nondescript copper band. The girl was, in his eyes, decked out.

“You a Clanner? You look like a Young Lady.”

“I am…” Gwen thought about her answer, then replied cryptically. “… connected.”

“I’ll say,” Lian replied thoughtfully. “Let’s begin with levitation exercises. What’s the crystal-consumption rate on those?”

“It’s a user-model.” Gwen kicked with one foot and rose an inch into the air, wobbling as she held her balance in check.

“Not bad, a classic archetype,” the Instructor nodded and activated his own Flight incantation, lifting into the air. Gwen couldn’t help but notice the man’s prosthetics dangled. “Make a danger sign when you’re about to OOM.”

“Yessir,” Gwen replied.

Unlike the Mage-trained Flight spell, the lift provided by the boots had capped agility and velocity. Transmutation Mages who specialised in Flight, especially Mages attuned to Air, could move at four to five times the pace and coordination of Mages not attuned to Transmutation. Given time and training, the Air-affiliated Gwen could arguably fly faster and more proficiently than even Alesia, but that would be many years in the making. It was also the reason why the dual-elementalist Acolyte, Kitty, was deemed a prodigy. Given time to grow, her affinity with Air and Ice, Evocation and Transmutation would make her an elemental terror, the crème de la crème of the Aerial Battle Mage regiment, a Valkyrie of Ice.

The Instructor indicated toward two illusory markers in bright orange overhead.

“Do not venture past the training Zone. Shanghai is a No-Fly. We’ll be making basic zig-zags on a 2D plane, then move onto vertical climbs.”

“Yessir.”

Instructor Lian led the way as Gwen followed unsteadily. The grace of moving in three dimensions had little to do with an individual’s natural agility, and all Gwen could do was try to acclimatise herself while battling the constant nausea of vertigo.

* * *

Week 6, University Mid-Term.

Mid-terms meant exams, excursions and exercises; after which was the Week 7 mid-term break.

Gwen had Practicals for Conjuration and Evocation, a written exam for Economics, and finally the excursion with James Ma’s Management course. During their Thursday lecture, Ma mentioned that sixty-four individuals would be participating across seven Districts and that the students could arrange their own groups and sub-groups as they pleased, down to a minimum of two individuals. District 35 would entertain the lot of them, while their subsequent visit to Districts 108 - 114 would only take up to five Mages per zone.

Naturally, her group would at best consist of Richard, Mayuree, Kitty and herself. At worst, it would be Richard and herself.

Well, I’ll be damned… Gwen thought about Wen's helpful foreshadowing. She could hardly wait for their first outing, not to mention her first visit to a NoM Hive City in a tier 1 capital. She had done slum tours in her old world before - 'the grand snob', her friends called it. Would the Hives be like the Rocinha Favela before the World Cup pushed through? Or perhaps the industrious gutter-slums of Mumbai? Could it exceed the time she was in Khayelitsha, laying over on the way to a two-week safari?

But first, her Practical Exams.

Conjuration took place underneath the Arena, where Gwen had her Bestiary classes. Students had to demonstrate their heightened proficiency in Combat, Translocation, and Conjure Object.

Combat was simple enough. Students could choose to square off against Summoned Monsters, Instructors, or each other. Gwen was confident she could take a tier 5 to 6 creature without incident.

Transportation involved moving cubes of cargo ranging from fragile crystal to a slab of lead from one end of the enormous stadium to another by attuning with pre-inscribed Teleportation portals. For several of the talented students, they were capable of drawing their own Teleportation Circle at tier 5, and could thus opt to use their personalised Mandala array. Gwen, still entrenched halfway, would have to use a pre-prepared one.

Finally, Conjure Object was an exercise in which items stored in a pocket dimension had to be conjured by the students onto a platform. It was a simple cantrip which any Mage in possession of a Storage Ring used daily; though the variability of mana grew exponentially with heavier, larger, and denser objects.

Despite the simplicity of the exam, however, she felt an oppressive unease as she walked among the crowd. A tingling in the spine that warned her of crisis, but Gwen had anticipated that; she was, after all, here to demonstrate her prowess, and there were immutable risks in combat that went beyond skill and expertise.

Standing almost half a head taller than the crowd in her pump combat boots, she scanned the crowd with her eyes, wondering why there was this uncomfortable feeling that she was being intently watched.

* * *

"I think she sees us," Lulan Li murmured to her dearest elder-brother, the corner of her lip curling belligerently as she observed the Void Sorceress scanning the room. Even from this distance, Gwen Song's absurdly high yanzhi was pissing Lulan off.

She had wanted to challenge and beat down the skanky whore for weeks now, but each time her eldest brother stood in her way.

"You're a second year," he told her. "What would people think of our Clan? What would people think of me, if you had to save my face in my stead?"

Lulan puffed her cheeks churlishly.

Big brother was right of course, but Lulan wouldn't have minded if she took on that burden. If anyone dared to call Kusu a 'soft rice eater', she would break every bone in their body.

"She just saw me!" Lulan exclaimed excitedly.

"Steady now, you don't want to frighten her," Kusu replied.

"She's strong." Hui, her middle brother who was gifted in Divination, whispered back in hushed tones. "Are you sure we should be doing this? What about her backers?"

"Of course!" Lulan snapped at Hui, the pressure of her bearing making him wince. She was his younger sister, but Lulan was many magnitudes his aptitude, not to mention half of his talents were in Divination. "This upstart has had her day for too long. We've left her alone until now, but as I said, I have it on good authority that she's no longer an inheriting part of the Song. Their Patriarch couldn't care less what happens to her. Hee hee, we're probably doing the old man a favour."

"Still, don't underestimate an LCSS candidate, she did get the full scholar-"

"She got in because of her connections!" Lulan seethed at her middle brother. "You think big-brother Kusu would lose his full-scholarship to a biaozi like her? We'll have her know she's dug her own grave."

"Shut it, the both of you," Kusu silenced the both of them. "It's starting. I am going to announce my challenge."

"Alright, big brother, you show that Guan-er-dai the power of someone who has no need to cling to the Dean's lap!" Lulan felt her heart soar. Finally, it was time to vindicate the shame of her most talented eldest brother losing his full scholarship to some skinny bitch from the Frontier!

* * *

Gwen's eyes passed over the familiar faces of a group of Mages with faces so similar that they were unmistakably related. One of them, the girl, glared at her with a hunger that was palpable from across the room.

One of them, the eldest and who looked like the leader, stepped forward.

"HALT! I declare a spar against the acolyte Gwen Song!"

The Conjuration cohort parted, revealing to everyone but Gwen's surprise, the Clan Mages who’d ambushed and mocked her outside the training hall weeks prior. She wasn't sure if she had 'beef' with them, but she’d avoided them since. The way they presented themselves clearly looked as though they would not take 'no' for an answer, and Gwen almost wondered if refusing just to troll them would be worth the effort.

Still, it was better they called her out now rather than in the privacy of her training sessions. So long as they fought in public, Gwen felt that she could handle them.

The young man who stepped forward was a little shorter than her, with a sharply chiselled face that would have been cruel but for his bright and intelligent eyes. He wasn't a mean looking sort, possessing a sort of bookish, scholarly charm that was common amongst the ethnic Han students in Fudan.

“I, Kusu Li of the Huashan Sect, wish to challenge Gwen Song of the House of Song to a duel,” The young man declared formally, then bowed. "Please accept my duel."

A Clanner. Gwen felt ambivalent about his challenge. It wasn't good to get involved with the Clans.

“Do you accept, Gwen Song?” he repeated himself, raising his head.

Gwen’s familiars began to hiss and growl menacingly. Her 'Mongolian Death Worm' opened up its carapace and lashed out with pink-and-cobalt tentacles, while her marten struck out its tongue rudely. It was an embarrassing display, to say the least.

Gwen weighed her options. She refused to fight unless victory offered her a tangible benefit. There was no shame being pragmatic and realpolitik with one's enemies. She needed crystals, many, many crystals, to offset her phone - her LRC Projector costs.

To fight, or not to fight: that was an ambivalent question, but to profit?

Humans die for riches, and birds risk beak and claw for feed.

Now there was a risk she was willing to take.

Magister Birch furrowed his brows, much displeased, then looked toward Gwen Song for an answer. The challenge was valid, but the girl was well within her rights to decline. The etiquette was to accept regardless of one’s chances of victory. It was the pride of possessing courage, or at least respect, for walking one’s path of Spellcraft. What worried the Magister was that an accident, especially one that may mar the girl's health, would come back to haunt him. She was Wen's precious specimen, Dean Luo's prized pitbull and Klavdiya's darling. Should the hammer of blame come down, it wouldn't care for veracity, only that he was neglectful in protecting the collective benefit brought by the Void sorceress.

As for the challenger, Birch was confident enough in the Huashan Sect's skill to acknowledge that they had sufficient means for their champion to defeat Gwen Song even at her best.

So the question remained, should he intervene?

Magister Birch felt at a crossroads.

He knew that stopping the match would be the safest course of action.

But Birch couldn't help but feel that having the granddaughter of Guo Song taught a lesson wasn't a displeasing prospect. With his ability, he could save her at any time, with a little care, the girl should be perfectly safe.

Therefore, he would bequeath her the privilege of answering for herself, and see if the girl was as good as Lou touted her to be.

* * *

A few rows from the aggrandising Kusu - Lu Fung was likewise at a crossroad. If Dai’s object of desire became humiliated and indeed, injured by this upstart from the rural province of Huashan, it would surely ruin his elder brother's sport. There was a contradiction though, stepping in would countermand Dai's orders to leave Gwen Song alone.

As Lu hesitated, the opportunity passed him by.

Gwen Song apparently had designs of her own.

“I accept," she replied with nonchalance. "But not without condition.”

“State your condition then,” her opponent demanded.

“Promise me that you will leave me alone when you lose; that you and your Clan will not bother me incessantly. I lack the leisure to entertain sore losers.”

The gathered crowd of Conjurers sucked in a collective breath of cold air. The solemnity was held for several fragile seconds, then someone broke the tension by laughing loudly. Lu almost burst out in laughter himself. The Mao-bespoken confidence of the girl!

“You’ll regret that,” Kusu riposted, his face reddening.

"Watch your tongue! Tamade shabī!" the girl next to Kusu opened her mouth and let loose a torrent of abuse.

Lu watched Gwen Song exhale with exaggeration. What was her plan? Piss off her opponents? Make them lose their cool then lay an ambush?

"Care for a wager?"

"My life-" Kusu began.

"Nothing so serious. I mean this." Gwen Song produced ten currency cards that amounted to just over a thousand HDMs. "A little show of confidence. There has to be something for me to gain, you know. I can't fight unmotivated, what would be the point? You win, I lose. I win, I gain nothing. It's hardly fair."

A murmur of incredulity radiated from the centre of the crowd.

MAO'S BALLS, she's in for it now. Lu felt himself shivering with schadenfreude. These bumpkin rural Clanners fought duels with the same fervour they fought for the honour of their mothers. Gwen Song just offered to whore Kusu's mother for a thousand lousy HDMs. Prizefighting? What gave the girl the idea that Clanners would sully a duel with money? It was such a Western way of thinking that even Lu felt flat-footed.

Kusu's face said it all.

It was hilarious. Absolutely hilarious to Lu, that both sides lacked understanding on duelling etiquette. For Gwen, the correct thing to do was to get a friend or an ally to hedge on your behalf, not to insult your opponent to his face! As for Kusu, the norm was to make the duel worthwhile for your opponents, to tempt them to accept! That was the problem with bumpkins from the Frontiers. Lu shook his head in wonder. In their own little domains, they were Gods among insects, standing above the free-lance Mages and the NoMs. They were the quintessential big fish in a small pond, but in a place like Fudan, there were goliath gropers even in the shallows.

Lu pushed through the crowd, stopping a few bodies from the front row.

Magister Birch was going through the rules of the duel.

“Conjuration spells only. First to Shield Break. Respect your opponents. No attacking after forfeiture, or you will receive an academic warning. Gwen, you will have to conjure your Familiars when combat begins.”

Gwen Song nodded, then dismissed her Familiars.

The shields went up. The crowd then relocated around the tennis-sized open space.

“Ready?” Birch ordered Gwen and Kusu into separate mandala-arrays.

The first order of business was for the Mages to move via Teleportation Circles into the Arena without disorientation. If the Acolytes could not even handle that, then they deserved the trashing that followed.

“Begin!”

Two bursts of silvery Conjuration appeared outside and inside the arena simultaneously, signalling the expedient entry of both contestants into the field.

The Void Sorceress appeared half a second faster than her opponent and Conjured a pulsating white-blue crystal right where her opponent was still manifesting.

As Kusu appeared, a thin Shield of semi-transparent ochre immediately went up as the Flashbang exploded, rocking the interior of the battlefield with a muffled ‘thump!’.

“You're too predictable! Dagger Swarm!”

The Huashan Clan, as far as Lu knew, was formerly a sword-saint Sect during the Song Dynasty. Much of their secret art was lost to the fall of Southern Song after the rise of the Yuan Dynasty, with all their Grandmasters and Masters dying in a single battle to protect the mount from the foreign invaders. To survive, they amalgamated old manuscripts with Spellcraft theory from the West, forming an original style of Magic that utilised physical objects and mystical forces. The Clan did have one or two notable young Mages, such as a girl prodigy in second-year, but their male disciples were just above-average but below the watermark for a tier 1 Clan like the Nantong Fungs.

The ‘daggers’ summoned by Kusu, therefore, were actual daggers inscribed with secret incantations. Lu watched as a multitude of flying, slicing, stabbing implements swirled around the young man like a flock of furious quicksilver swallows.

How would Gwen Song counter?

He received his answer in the form of a signature Dimension Door that erupted in a burst of void-ink, as though someone had violently landed in a puddle of tenebrous fluid. The resulting splash consumed a dozen or so of the blades from the swarm of a hundred, visibly reducing the volume of Kusu’s implements.

The Void Sorceress then appeared, as expected, behind the Huashan Mage.

No good. Lu thought. She really was too predictable. If even Lu could anticipate such a cliched move, then his rival from another Clan would be equally apt. Combat was everything to a Clanner, their lifeblood and creed.

No sooner had Gwen appeared did another spell manifest from Kusu, this time an iron web. It wasn’t a magical web but a physical set of balls-and-chains. The Huashan Mage was combining projectile-techniques with Conjure Object, Lu acknowledged, fascinated by the display.

He looked toward Magister Birch to see if the Adjudicator objected to the use of physical objects conjured from pocket dimensions. Birch’s expression remained impassive, and so Lu turned back to the action at hand.

“Caliban!” Gwen Song incanted. The slit of space between the Void and the Material Plane cleanly sliced the iron-mesh netting in twain as her creature began its ascension into the material world.

Despite the unexpected destruction of his snare, her opponent had evidently been waiting for her to summon Caliban. Kusu immediately responded by redirecting the “Dagger Swarm” to corner both caster and Familiar. A rain of daggers pelted down upon Sorceress and Familiar, pinging off Gwen’s Shield and gouging chunks from an enraged, semi-formed Caliban.

Excellent play! Lu couldn’t help but congratulate the Huashan upstart. He had placed Gwen in a terrible defensive position, while he himself was well provisioned to respond with an offence, defence, or evasion. Meanwhile, the Dagger Swarm continued, leaving white-streaks of impact marks all over the Void sorceress' semi-dome Shield.

Abjuration! Lu felt his chest tighten with the affirmation of Dai’s data. She really was versed in multiple Schools of Magic! One couldn’t really identify Divination usually, and Transmutation was universal enough that everyone knew ‘some’ form of utilitarian incantations - but only Abjuration was unique in the strength of its Shields. For a professed Conjurer-Evoker of Quasi-Elemental Lightning-and-Void, her Shield should have cracked after the first few seconds.

“Pin him down!” Lu heard Gwen cry out, seeing Gwen's face reddening with intensifying battle lust. The girl was beginning to take this seriously as well. “Caliban! Onslaught!”

Finally, the netherworld scorpioid slipped onto the battlefield. It immediately skittered on spindly legs from a canter to a trot, launching itself toward Kusu with the momentum of a runaway harvester.

“Guard!” Kusu fell back, sheltered by a defensive formation of daggers forming a shimmer wall of steel. “Misty Step!”

“Dimension Door!”

Again it would seem that both Mages, restricted to one School of Magic, had chosen evasion rather than defence. Gwen Song appeared just behind the wall of Steel, while Kusu’s Signature version of Dimension Door materialised the Huashan Mage where she had stood.

When Gwen Song appeared across the wall of steel with another murky burst, she again consumed about one-tenth of Kusu’s dagger with her Void-matter.

Kusu swore and retracted a portion of his Dagger Swarm, using the mass of metal as defensive barriers to repeal the monster leaping, bounding, screeching and slithering after him like a mad thing.

On the far side of the court, Gwen Song began to empower a complex Conjuration incantation.

Great Mao! Lu applauded internally. So that’s how she’s going to play it. Kusu was the more experienced tactician here, and the girl more often stepped into his anticipatory retaliation than not. If so, then one should consult Sun Tzu’s strategy of pushing through with brute force when the enemy perused an evasive stratagem.

“Misty Step!”

Sensing Gwen’s terrific gathering of Lightning, Kusu risked direct assault from Caliban and teleported in a direct line through the creature, gambling on the fact that the Void beast could not tap into the Ethereal Plane.

"Burst of Steel!"

His gambit proved sound, and he emerged a safe distance away from Caliban, close enough to Gwen to let loose with a terrific hail of daggers. Gwen’s form became swallowed by a cloud of hacking, flying and stabbing blades, pinging off her Shield and making opaque the entire frontal semi-sphere.

Could her Shield hold out? Lu wondered. Maybe the girl was less a Sun-Tzu and more so just turtling up with the hopes of finishing off a slippery opponent with artillery. It was such a lousy tactic, but when it worked, it drove an opponent mad.

Unfortunately for Kusu, Gwen Song emerged unscathed. Even now, her Shield was healing itself rapidly, the opaque impact points returning to translucence.

“Wocao!” Lu swore. Kusu must be shitting himself. How was it possible that the girl was still holding up?! How thick was that barrier! She hadn't cheated and cast a dome-shaped Wall of Force, had she? What else was the girl hiding?

“SUMMON LESSER ELEMENTAL!” Gwen finished her spell.

It had taken her almost ten seconds, but she had finally connected the Sigil with its elaborate incantations, opening up a gateway to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning.

“Shit!”

Kusu's Dagger Swarm formed a rotating wall of flying steel that warded him from all sides. The desperate Mages’ only chance of victory now lay in piercing Gwen's Shield in the next few seconds.

But would Gwen Song give the Huashan Mage that chance? Lu tried to anticipate the next moment. The girl's Shield was proving monstrous, almost as absurd as her Void-critter.

The auditorium began to glow - her scarabs were materialising rapidly.

The tiny Elementals first manifested as motes of glowing azure.

By twos and threes, then dozens, then hundreds, they filled the chamber; each hysterical and hungry for a target.

“Pierce!”

Sensing his imminent demise, Kusu forsook his Barrier and forced his remaining daggers into a piercing cone. In the next split-second, the cone launched itself with terrific force toward Gwen Song, becoming a shrieking vortex of grinding steel that penetrated the scarab swarm with impunity.

Brilliant move! The crowd launched into scattered applause amidst cries of surprise and dismay. Lu joined them. It was a strategically ingenious move that followed the Thirty-Six Tactics. To attack where your enemy must save, and your offensive becomes defence itself! Gwen Song had to remain still while channelling her Elemental swarm, meaning she had to halt her attack to Dimension Door. If she chose to both Shield and channel, it would greatly amplify mana-consumption, making her OOM. Either way, unless Gwen Song was willing to trade life for life, Kusu's strategy would succeed. It was a good psychological gamble as well, the young man had a good head on him. If Lu was Gwen, he would not risk mortal injury for something as inane as an exhibition match either.

At any rate, Lu glanced at Magister Birch, whose eyes flared with silvery Conjuration. The old man was ready to move one or the other out of harm's way.

“Caliban!”

To the confusion of all, the Void Sorceress sent her Familiar to stand in her stead. The scorpion reared itself, supported by a multitude of hind legs, revealing a second mouth below its cephalothorax.

A wave of revulsion spread through the crowd as the thing hissed and made that horrendous 'Shaaa!' cacophony. Its form became denser with Void-matter. Not even Lu, whose element countered the Negative-Plane, was exempt from the aura of existential vertigo expanding from Caliban.

“Consume!”

Oh MAO! Lu's mouth opened in sync with Caliban's.

Impossibly, Caliban's second mouth unhinged itself with the effect of tearing itself apart. With a single gulp, it took the lion's share of the daggers, blade and hilt and all, then...

… then nothing. The rest of the daggers clattered to the floor.

For the scarabs had converged on Kusu, and the burst of brilliance was so bright as to smite the walls with blinding electricity.

Lu couldn't blame Magister Birch for not jumping in. He couldn't convince himself to teleport into a swarm of Lightning Scarabs either. Usually, two to three hundred was the limit. Just how much mana did Gwen Song put into a single summon?

“HALT! THE VICTOR IS GWEN SONG!”

The electrical hysteria of the flight of the Lightning Scarabs faded.

Kusu was unconscious on the ground, convulsing all over.

Gwen stood with Caliban unsummoned, her chest rising and falling thanks to the exertion of Caliban’s expectedly utilitarian Consume.

“Kusu!”

“Big-Brother!”

Kusu's siblings, the foul-mouthed sister and a middle-brother, leapt onto the stage with potions and restoratives. When they concluded that Kusu was merely momentarily stunned and knocked out, they turned upon Gwen.

“Chou-biaozi!” the girl cursed, sending out a pulse of powerful Earthen mana so palpable that Lu could've sworn the anti-magic tiles clattered. “I am going to make this as painful as possible.”

Now was the time to make his move! Lu was determined to seize the moment. Another opportunity may not come again.

He pushed himself from the crowd before Birch could tell the offending sister to stand down and leapt upon the stage.

“Shut your mouth! You shame the Clans with your rudeness!” Lu Fung, fourth in line to the Nantong Clan of Fung, arrived stage-left. “Have some humility, woman! Brother Kusu lost, and that's no one’s fault but his own, go and perfect your art instead of mewling like a loser!”

Lu’s appearance caused a stir in the crowd as extraordinary as Gwen’s defeat of the Huashan Mage. This wasn’t some hot-blooded youth standing up for a pretty girl - this was an inheriting member of one of the preeminent Clans in Shanghai! The patriarch of the Fung - Shen Fung, sat atop the Shanghai Security Council like a Land Deity! If need be, and if the Huashan ‘bumpkins’ chose to disagree with the Fungs, he could potentially have the lot of them evicted from Shanghai!

The girl’s face paled as soon as Lu castigated their presence, then slowly began to change into one of simmering scarlet rage.

“Brother Lu…” the girl said quietly, dangerously. "Please stand aside."

Who the fuck does this girl think she is? Lu was about to make a disparaging remark to inform her of her place when Kusu intervened.

“Brother Lu! Forgive Lulan, she’s still young!”

The defeated challenger, who had regained his consciousness, fell to one knee and held his head downward in a show of compliance. “Lulan! Get down!”

“Big Brother!”

“Lulan, please! Listen to Brother Lu FUNG!”

The young man dragged his sister down to his height until they were both on one knee. If Kusu had paid any attention to his sister, he would have noted the pink froth issuing from her lips.

Lu meanwhile, felt as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head.

Lulan Li?!

That's fucking Lulan Li?!

The girl looked not a day over fifteen.

Wasn't Lulan a second year? She wasn't even supposed to be in Shanghai!

He'd been told she had daggers for teeth and had eyes the hue of bloody wine. Wasn't she a six-foot, iron-blooded battle maniac with a musculature as taut as steel cabling?

Thank Mao for his stature as the inheriting disciple of the Fung Clan. Any other challenger would have been mopping their guts off the arena floor by now.

He felt afflicted by a severe case of the sweats.

"It's alright, Brother Kusu, Lulan just wants whats best for you. I understand." Lu Fung measured his words and spoke carefully, assuming the tone of a wise and benevolent elder Clan-brother. "The both of you, please stand. There is no shame in this defeat. You can try again next time. I am sure you will both grow from this experience. Kusu, you fought well. I can speak to your Elder on your behalf..."

* * *

Gwen felt the colour returning to her face. Thanks to their weekly feeding of Caliban, she could now sustain her Void spells with a far more substantial ‘tank’ of vitality. When Lu made her opponents genuflect though; her Divination Sigil felt as though a nail scraped across her spine.

She turned to face Lu, who nodded at her confidently with an expectant look of someone evidently feeling the euphoria of ‘Mission Accomplished”. She glanced at the girl on the floor and saw such malice rippling from the sorceress that it distorted the symmetry of the anti-magic tiles.

Kusu approached, bowed deeply, then produced 1000 HDM Crystals in assorted currency cards. It would appear the Huashan Sect was not one known for wealth.

"Your spoils, Miss Song. Thank you for the instruction," the young man spoke politely.

FUCK. Gwen forced a smile to her face and nodded at Kusu, thanking him.

She took the money. She might as well as this point.

From across the room, a pair of eyes the colour of rusty shiraz burned with a hatred that made Gwen's skin crawl. She didn't need her nail-on-blackboard premonition to tell that she just stepped into a pile of proverbial horse shit up to her thighs.

God damn it. She thought of Elvia’s Nightingale College tour de comfort.

Why me?

Louis Birch gave Gwen a grading of A and told her she needn’t attempt the other exercises. Instead, he sent her away to the infirmary, under the supervision of the unexpectedly helpful Lu Fung. He wasn’t exactly sure what business the junior Conjurer had, but Birch's business ended at the Lecture hall's entrance.

It was a wise decision not to intervene, he thought to himself. What foresight. As expected, Gwen Song was trouble personified.

“Kusu, are you alright?” Birch turned to the other party, assuming the role of a caring mentor. He wasn't worried about Kusu's health; the young man's pride was more wounded than his body. He was more concerned about what may come. That Lulan Li...

“I feel fine, Sir.”

“Good. And Kusu..?”

“Yessir?”

Birch leaned in closer as to give the young man a private spot of advice.

“Maybe keep a tight leash on your sister. I've dealt with her enough in second-year to know what she's thinking - or not thinking, as it were. You and I both know foresight is not her forte.”

Kusu bowed solemnly.

Lulan Li, Magister Birch sighed. Another troublemaker. The younger girl was already a second-year. Hailed as a genius of the Earthen arts, she entered Fudan at the age of fifteen and progressed almost exclusively through questing credits until reaching her second-year specialisation. The girl was initially slated for an LCSS placement as well, but after what she did to her opponent...

There were good reasons why Lulan Li usually took her lessons away from Shanghai. Then again, he mused to himself; maybe the girls deserved one another. One troublemaker against another, like fighting fire with fire.

Despite the well-fought match, it wasn't hard for Birch to imagine that Lulan was under the impression that Gwen cheated. After all, what kind of Conjurer-Evoker had an Abjuration Shield? Not to mention Gwen’s Shield was stronger than even an Abjurer’s of the same tier. There was her Familiar’s ability as well - a Familiar that consumed enchanted implements. How was Kusu supposed to fight that?

He knew a little of their circumstances: Kusu wasn't an inheriting disciple of the main branch, but had every ambition to make it to the top. The boy was gifted, but his sister was something else - and therein lied the trouble.

Birch sighed.

It would take someone far better connected than he to ensure the incident did not blow out of proportion. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to rile the Clanners up? He would have to look into that as well. A Magister did not allow others to set fire to their own backyard!

Maybe he should pay Klavdiya a visit.

He would love nothing more than to see her again; not the imperfect facsimile that was her granddaughter, but the perfection of her own face, untouched by the passage of years.

* * *

“I am fine, really." Gwen’s mind was still thinking of Lulan Li, who looked as though she wanted to drink her blood, even after they left.

“If you’re sure…” Lu stepped away from her politely, keeping a respectful distance as Gwen sat on the infirmary's white bedding.

“I’ve still got Evocation Practicals, I just need an hour’s meditation, that’s all.”

“I’ll speak to Magus Young if you like, you can postpone,” Lu offered kindly.

Gwen shook her head politely. Clanners being nice to her? That itself was enough to set her packing.

“Thank you, Lu. You’ve done plenty enough for me.”

Lu had escorted her to the infirmary east of the campus, a few minutes by foot. For a Clanner who was usually aloof and utterly neglectful of Gwen’s presence, the Spirit Conjurer had affected an 180 and was acting like one of those young men in inane idol-dramas.

When Lu finally left, she doubled-checked her surroundings with Detect Magic, then told the presiding nurse that she would like some privacy for a few hours to restore her mana and focus. The nurse complied, pulling close the curtains, and told her to call if she began to feel worse.

Sensing that she was alone, Gwen began her meditation, feeling her Druidic essence restore her Void-ravaged mana conduits. As her body healed, she attempted to figure out if her latest incident was spontaneous or a part of something more significant.

She began with her immediate concern.

Kusu Li and Lulan Li.

She had seen them once before down at the training hall.

They were the ones who had cornered her once, whom she had elected to ignore, then retreated from.

Did they challenge her because they thought she was an easy persimmon to squash? A little fig of fame, plump for the plucking?

Gwen knew that because of the infamy brought by her Void talent, her Scholarship, and her relationship with Petra, she was somewhat notorious. With the addition of Caliban’s high-impactful visual presence during her bestiary training, she was likely a well-known personality on the Upper Campus.

Was that why Kusu challenged her?

It made sense logically.

In Henry IV part I, the future King Henry V especially challenged Hotspur and killed him for the 'garlands' of fame and honour taken from the young warrior-prince. It was central to Henry V's plan to assume the throne by building a reputation for himself.

If so, then why was Lu trying to help her? They were both Clanners, and they evidently knew each other. Kusu even called Lu Elder-Brother.

That being the case, was this orchestrated by the both of them?

Was Kusu supposed to thrash her, then Lu comes to the rescue to impress her? Was Dai a part of this?

Speaking of Dai, he still owed her a favour. Maybe she could look into that. That was one way to resolve this problem, but further contact with yet more Clanners - and a big-wig at that - was the last thing she desired.

At 1400, Gwen felt her body clock tick over.

It was time for her Evocation Prac.

* * *

Evocation took place down on the Lower Campus Training Grounds, a zone setup especially for the purpose of large-scale magical demonstrations.

Portable ‘WoF’ generators had been set up across a span of about two football fields, dividing the malleable, transmuted asphalt with simmering barriers. Various Dummy-golems, given life with simplistic Animate Lesser Objects enchantments, formed a line of stackable targets that, from a distance, looked comically like a wooden marching band.

As with Conjuration, the examination was split between Combat and Utility.

Very few students actually studied Evocation for industrial purposes, but it was essential to manufacturing that at least a portion of students chose finesse over malevolence. As Gwen walked onto the field, she became surrounded by her usual companions in Evocation, the phonically challenged Pu, the haughty Lily, as well as the quiet Material Engineer -Jon.

The trio immediately surrounded Gwen.

“Mao below! Pu and Lily told me about what happened during Conjuration, are you alright?” Jon inquired, his bookish face red with worry. Usually, the boy kept to himself and was the ardent listener of the foursome. “The Clanners… I don’t know. Couldn’t you have refused?”

In hindsight, Gwen wished she’d refused as well. She had made a call on imperfect information, and now she bore the consequences. At any rate, it wasn’t as though Gwen thrashed the man. It was a good duel, she didn't push her full advantage. Given opportunity and Evocation, she could have jacked up Ariel with a Druidic-boost and potentially dropped the poor man with a single Elemental Sphere or a well-placed Lighting Bolt.

The young man had been amiable enough, humble and accepting of his defeat. Lu helped, and Magister Birch had certified her victory - what more was there to be done? She'd done her part.

Maybe it was the money? Gwen felt a rash of cold sweat. Kusu had given her denomination as small as 5 HDMs. Perhaps she had accidentally bankrupted the guy? If someone had bankrupted her, she would be feeling sore indeed.

Then again, Gwen reminded herself. She had done what was best for herself in the circumstances, going as far as to leave Kusu unscathed. If that Elemental Swarm had been Void or if she finished him with a Void Tentacle...

“I’ve got it under control,” Gwen assured her friends. “I’ve got back-up as well, haha.”

“You’re friends with Petra Kuznetsova and studying under Magister Wen, right?” Pu asked doubtfully, his lack of confidence written all over his face. "Are they going to help you? Magister Wen is famous for her indifference to these things."

“It's not Magister Wen who's going to help. I know that Gwen's the niece of Jun 'The Ash Bringer' Song,” Lily spoke up, far more confident than her companion in Gwen's bravado.

The two boys turned to regard Gwen with a new light.

“But he’s Chinese! And you're...”

“He’s half-Russian, actually. Though he takes after my Grandfather," Gwen corrected them.

“Who's your grandfather?”

Gwen told them.

“You’re a PLA Guan-er-dai! A power progeny!" Pu stammered. He'd been told by his family to avoid association with Clanners, Guan-er-dai, and the Fu-er-dai. He and his friends were just regular, middle-class kids with a bit of talent. Involvement in a political power feud could wipe out their entire line in a single purge.

Jon looked thoroughly intimidated as well.

“I am not, really, it's complicated,” Gwen shook her head. “The family and I are not close. I also have no desire to follow my Uncle into the PLA.”

“Don’t worry, we understand,” Lily, who was a provincial Guan-er-dai herself, said sympathetically. She seemed to have reached a suitable misunderstanding. It made sense though. Gwen had talent, she had beauty, but she never spoke about her family, bragged about her connections, nor attended important socials. “I am sure your family will accept you one day, you have such an amazing talent, after all.”

Gwen felt fatigued by the effort required to dispel Lily’s inferred hypothesis that she was a secret lovechild of influential people, but decided against it. Her friends were clearly ‘independently aligned’ students, and she was better off being seen as ‘one of them’ than one of the 'big three' to be avoided in Fudan.

“Still, wow, The Ash Bringer is your uncle,” both Jon and Pu muttered reverently.

“That’s why Gwen should be safe!” Lily took her arm, and they began to proceed toward the centre of the practice field, where the students were assembled. They had practicals for Evocation in Week 4 already, which Gwen passed without incident. “Ha, can you imagine it. Some Clanner opening their mountain gate, only to find The Ash Bringer staring them down, demanding for the prick who hurt his niece!”

“Uncle Jun wouldn't be so rash!” Gwen laughed, realising that perhaps, she was in a better position than she’d thought. The cognisance instantly made her relax, scattering the dark cloud of paranoia that had hung overhead. Uncle Jun did explicitly say that he 'had her back', which, now that she got thinking - was likely directed especially at events such as these. In Shanghai, as in Sydney, one needed backing. A Mage couldn’t just thrive on talent alone.

So she could appeal to Uncle Jun.

She could call in her favour with Dai.

She could even ask Magister Wen if need be, Gwen was positive Magister Wen would fight tooth and nail for her fortnightly samples.

Problem solved!

Time for some ass-kicking in Evocation!

* * *

Despite having spent almost five weeks with two Familiars attending class with her, Gwen’s infamy in Evocation was nowhere near the level of begrudging notoriety engendered in Conjuration. She rarely used her Void powers outside of private practice, and most of the students knew her as a Conjuration Major, Evocation Minor. Evokers possessing a superior talent to Gwen numbered in the dozens out of almost two hundred individuals, not to mention she was still grinding through tier 3 while the rare student had reached 5.

Combat trials were essentially obstacle courses combined within a shooting range. Targets varied from stationary-single, moving-single, cluster, cluster-in-motion; to identify Friend-Foe scenarios. It was this final segment, where ‘enemies’ were placed beside ‘allies’, that proved the real challenge. As different Evokers had variable access to elements and spells, the grading was geared toward problem-solving, precision and control, Spell-shaping, and situational awareness.

The rationale for such stringent training was that university graduated students were independently operating agents. A secondary graduate going straight to vocation College or Military Service would also be trained in the same tactics but would lack the higher knowledge necessary to become anything other than NCOs, rank and file.

Unlike Gwen's incident-filled morning, the afternoon proceeded smoothly.

There were prodigious standouts in Evocation as well. A plethora of Fire Mages scored over 90. An Earthen Mage scored over 100, performing above the scoring threshold. The student who topped the class was a Mud Mage, the first of his kind Gwen had ever seen, who had a perfect 120, going as far as to single out and destroy a target surrounded on all sides by moving, friendly dummies simulating a panicked crowd.

Gwen finished her heat with a personal best of 1 Minute and 58'11 Seconds, extinguishing 18/20 targets with an aggregate score of 89.

Her companions of Evocation, Pu and Lily, finished in the mid-80s as well, with Jon trailing in the 60s.

Gwen didn’t mind the modest score, because she was bereft of a foe-seeking Spirit to guide her bolts, not to mention both Ariel and Caliban were absent from her trial. She was happy with the uninspiring result. The last thing she needed was yet another Clanner who would pluck the wreath from her brow to adorn their heads.

Magus Young was still excitedly congratulating the victor when Gwen told her friends that she was seriously needing some food in her belly. She had used her Void abilities excessively in the morning, then ended up skipping lunch as a result of Lu's excessive kindness. Going by the experience of the past month, another hour or two without a fortifying meal of mana-rich comfort cuisine and she would be feeling light-headed and dizzy.

Her friends urged her to be safe, going as far as to escort her home.

“Well, how about I shout you guys a nice dinner since we're all going the same way?” Gwen suggested. Familiarity breeds intimacy, after all. She had known Pu, Lily and Jon for almost six weeks now.

“Shout dinner?” Lily raised a critical brow.

“It means buy dinner,” Gwen translated.

The boys were evidently keen, going by their enthusiastic anticipation. Lily sighed, overpowered by the democratic decision.

“Alright, nothing too expensive,” Lily relented.

“How about Fengbo Manor on Zhengmin Rd?” Gwen offered. “Cheap as chips, and a top watering hole too.”

“What… do those words even mean?” Lily couldn’t help but laugh at Gwen’s overtly idiomatic expression. Gwen realised that her Australian locutions must come out as something bizarre under her magically-translated Mandarin. "Is it next to a lake?"

“I am game. Let’s go!”

“Hear hear!”

The boys took Lily by her arms and began to carry her forward.

“Lead on, Gwen Song!”

* * *

Fengbo Village was cheap but well worth the culinary visit.

The place was tiny, with a whimsical decor which suggested it was a ‘branch’ of a ‘Beggar’s Clan’. All the dishes were aptly named with titles that sounded like something from an old wuxia Vid-cast, with the menu tastefully written on bamboo plaques.

“I’ll take a Fengbo Platter, Wildland Beggar Pheasant, Chilli Mud-Carp soup, braised pork, Purple bamboo stir fry with preserved rabbit, Giant headed fish pot, stuffed goat leg, and two tubs of Enchanting Jasmine rice.”

“Tsingtao for the table as well, Mama,” Gwen ordered from the menu like a local even as her Ioun stone struggled with the pictogram calligraphy.

“You got it, Beauty!”

The middle-aged NoM lady, the wife of the Chef who was also the proprietor, took Gwen's order to the kitchen. She loved the stunning Gweilo girl to bits. Whenever Gwen showed up for dinner, almost no diner who walked through the door wanted to leave. The girl usually ordered the most expensive and exotic dishes on the menu; for many reasons, she was a godsend for attracting customers.

“So, this your usual haunt?” Pu looked around the tiny restaurant and felt cheated that an up and coming goddess of Fudan would find comfort and solace in a place fit only for middle-class NoMs and low-rank Mages.

“They serve fresh ingredients if you order the specials,” Gwen pointed out. “I guess it's not always Wildland produce, but the taste is top notch!”

Truth be told, Gwen was growing weary of being spoilt by Marong and Mayuree’s maid. During a particularly busy week, she had eaten so often at Mayuree’s generous behest that she was sure the maid had to restock the pantry twice over.

Her favourite food here was the 'Beggar’s Wildland Pheasant.'

It was a fantastic dish, one that Gwen had initially ordered out of curiosity. The chef first cleaned and tied off a Wildland pheasant after stuffing it with Chinese rice wine, aged ginger, Wildland shallot, coriander leaf, star anise, soy and blood sugar, then wrapped it in betel leaves, covered it in clay, then buried in a charcoal kiln and baked it for six hours.

When served, the chef personally presented himself with the cocoon, breaking the clay 'egg' with a mighty blow from a wooden hammer and releasing the famously steaming pheasant within. As the leaves came off, the juices flowed generously onto the wooden plate, sending out an aroma that flooded the restaurant and about half the alleyway.

“How is it possible that I am getting food advice from a Gweilo?!” Lily moaned, her mouth watering uncontrollably. “Beggar’s pheasant, where have you been all my life?”

The four-some tapped their beers then dug into the dish, carving up the bird with their greasy fingers and sending up another cloud of aromatic euphoria throughout the restaurant.

"Boss! One pheasant!"

"Mama! One here as well!"

Gwen's other dishes came soon after, weighing their bamboo table until its tied-lattice creaked.

"Dig in!" Gwen lavishly urged her friends to try a bit of everything.

Beers clinked, and the meal was in full swing.

“!!!”

Just as Gwen wrenched off a chicken-drumstick, she perceived a crashing premonition of danger touch her tongue with a taste of iron, as if she'd bitten through some undercooked offal.

Gwen looked about her surroundings, searching the patrons. From where would the danger come? Her Divination was too untrained to pinpoint hazards and recognise the source of her premonitions. Could it be her fellow diners? Was it the man stuffing his face with jasmine rice, or perhaps the bloke who looked as though the Sichuan-fish was giving him an aneurysm.

Seeing Gwen's sudden expression of dismay, her companions chopsticks came to a standstill.

'Wham!'

The bamboo gates of the ‘Beggar's Clan Fudan Branch’ flung open with a crash.

A girl-Mage of about five-foot-five stood at the threshold, her light ochre eyes more rust than brown, burning with a circular current of Elemental Earth. She was attired in black, her silhouette tenebrous against the exterior street light.

Wocao! Gwen was beginning to pick up on the local dialect. It's been less than six hours! Was the girl that impatient for satisfaction? Shouldn't the Clanner girl be plotting from the shadows or at least ambushing her somewhere discrete? How about bringing a few goons or calling on some allies? Gwen was sure the caution of Lulan's peers still rang in her ears.

While Gwen held her beggar's chicken in disbelief, Lulan Li strode across the bamboo tiles toward her table.

Pu stared with his mouth hanging half open.

Jon was struggling to keep the soup in his mouth.

Lily was working through several shades of royally pissed off.

Gwen swallowed awkwardly, then looked for a napkin. If the girl wanted to meet and greet, it was best performed with dignity and not orchestrated with a pheasant drumstick.

The girl was now upon them.

The restaurant was packed with mostly NoM patrons, yet each and every one of them, Gwen and her companions included, felt the pressure unleashed by Lulan’s petite body. A stink of rust and iron permeated the air, a scent that curiously reminded Gwen of that unfortunate time in Blackheath.

“Miss…”

“Lulan, Li.”

“Gwen, Song.”

“I know.”

“So… how can I help you?”

Gwen had no desire to appear overpowered, but she was wearing a bib, and her hands were still sticky with grease. It was hard enough to face down a stone cold sorceress, more so when your own dignity was yet invested in dinner.

“My brother’s daggers. I want them returned.”

“What daggers?” she asked carefully.

“The daggers you took during today’s match.”

“I took his daggers?”

“Don’t play the sha-bi!” Lulan snapped at her. “Your Mongolian Death Worm! It ate almost a hundred of Big-Brother’s implements! I want them returned! They don’t belong to you!”

SHIT, Gwen confirmed that the girl was talking about the ‘daggers’ the Earthen Conjurer had summoned. How the fuck was she supposed to know they were magical implements? Return them? Since when did Caliban return anything?

“There’s going to be a slight problem with that,” Gwen replied politely. Were the daggers particularly precious? Or were they a sentimental thing.

“You better not fuck with me.” Lulan’s irises alternated between amber and wine, pulsating with dark emotions. The girl seemed unusually taken, Gwen noted, almost excessively so. “Those daggers took brother thousands of hours to inscribe. They’re irreplaceable.”

Well, that would explain why he was moving them around like a telepath, Gwen realised. She had thought that the guy had a Sword-Spirit or something. But none of that mattered now, she couldn’t return - that is, Caliban couldn't regurgitate - the blades even if she commanded him to.

Gwen was more anxious for the spectacle in front of her.

The irrationality of Lulan's act was as rash as fire.

Gwen doubted that even Yue, with her fiery temper and passion, would do something as stupid as confronting a rival in public, and alone no less.

Gwen couldn’t see why the Huashan girl would ruin herself by attacking her here. They were well within limits of the CBD, her Clan was evidently not one with influence in Shanghai's provincial government. What was she getting at? What’s her game? Surely it can’t be over some measly steak knives!? What are they, Dwarves forged Damascus steel? Did she have other members outside, waiting for an ambush?

“I am afraid that’s impossible,” Gwen explained calmly. “Caliban consumes things in a manner directly correlated to the Void. Your brother's implements are gone - in the purest, most literal sense imaginable.”

As the last of her words left her lips, the ground began to tremble.

The elemental earth pouring out of the girl was tectonic! Gwen’s Divination Sigil pinched her nerves like she'd slipped a disk. She immediately circulated a flood of Void matter through her mana-conduits, triggering a surge of her Druidic essence. Across the table, her companions readied themselves likewise, resisting the incredible pressure exerted by the brash Earthen Elementalist.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Lily warned Lulan. “My father is-”

'CRACK!'

Something shot up from below their table, smashing the bamboo top into a splintering mess. The recently prepared banquet erupted in a delicious cascade, sending up a fountain of scalding soup, congealing grease, chunks of chicken, slices of pork, vegetables and rice into a fantastic shower.

Gwen immediately regretted not having her Familiars out. Caliban was naturally gifted at snatching flying bits of food out of the air.

“Tamade! That bitch is DEAD!” Lily, the fiery Evoker, staggered back from the table, her expression full of intensity and anger as she wiped soup from her lips.

Pu and Jon likewise retreated, their clothes and faces covered with sauces.

Gwen sat without moving an inch. She knew the immediate danger had passed. Her Divination sense was no longer flaring like a swollen sinus during pollen season.

She sighed as bits of beggar chicken fell from her hair and dripped onto her v-neck tunic, soaking her intimates with slow-cooked brine.

Picking out a leg of pork from between her thighs, she looked around to see if the owners were safe.

The patrons and the staff were safe, and their assailant was gone. She likely made her escape during the eruption of the banquet vocano, while their attention was distracted by the earthen eruption.

“Sorry Aunty, I’ll pay for all this,” she said to the terrified NoM woman cowering in the corner. “The Arbitrators should be here later, please let them know what happened, exactly as is.”

“Ayeeeya!" The woman seemed to have regained some of her sensibility. "Are you okay, Miss?! Ai-ya! Your clothes are all dirty!”

With some urgency, the lady-owner picked herself up from the floor and approached Gwen with a large towel she retrieved from the kitchen.

“We have a shower upstairs,” she said helpfully. Her husband too was watching warily from the kitchen. The rest of the diners, in typical Shanghai fashion, either discussed the spectacle with great gusto or continued eating as though nothing had happened.

Gwen's friends doubled-checked their surroundings and affirmed that indeed, Lulan Li was gone.

“I am going to tell my Dad, you don’t worry, Gwen,” Lily assured her friend.

“That’s alright Lil, I don’t want to involve you. I’ll inform my Uncle,” Gwen returned in kind, speaking a language that her friend understood.

“Tamade! Huashan Sect,” Pu cursed, his face scowling. “Gwen, are you alright?”

“I-I’ve got pork-floss in my eye…” Jon complained as he tried to rinse his face with a kettle of warm water the lady-owner provided.

“Sorry, everyone…” Gwen wrung a fistful of broth from her shirt. She could launder her outfit, but she was determined to cut her losses if it meant getting out of this sticky mess sooner.

She dropped an HDM on the counter and told the owner not to worry about the change.

But - was it safe to go home?

She was about five minutes from the apartment.

Maybe if she used Expeditious Retreat and Enhanced Agility?

Something wasn't right with the girl's head. That much was obvious even to Gwen. Could she bet that Lulan Li wouldn't assault her in the middle of Shanghai’s second largest University District? There was a police station just a block away! There was a Tower within walking distance!

But could she bet her life on Lulan's rationality?

Gwen wasn’t a betting sort of woman.

She pulled up her Message device and dialled for Richard.

Behind her, her Evocation companions exchanged curses and insults about their encounter with the sha-bi.

“Yes, Gwen?” Richard’s voice answered.

“Hey Dick," Gwen intoned sweetly. "Can I trouble you for an escort? I am in a bit of a tight spot…”

‘SLAP!’

Elder Li’s backhand strike left a five-fingered imprint on Lulan’s cheek.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU?” Her Uncle hissed. “Subtlety! This is not our territory! We have no influence here in Shanghai. What in the name of the Ancestor Jiang did you think you were doing?”

“Uncle Luwei, Lulan was just-”

“Shut your mouth, Kusu!” Luwei turned to his disciple with a wave of anger that made the young man recoil.

“YOU LOST, and what’s more, you lost a hundred or more of your inscribed daggers! How long did it take you to craft those blades?”

“Three years, Shifu.” Kusu felt that given the circumstance, respect was likely kinder than kinship.

“Well? Where are they?” Luwei turned to Lulan. “You went to find Gwen Song, didn't you? Where are your brother’s inscribed implements?”

Lulan touched a finger to her swelling cheek. A dangerous mist of pinkish oxide seemed to reach her eyes.

“Gwen Song says they are destroyed.”

“And you believed her?”

“…”

Luwei looked as though he was about to slap the churlish girl again, but a chilling, murderous intent dissuaded him from acting upon the impulse.

“I spoke to Second Brother earlier. Our Clan received a caution from the Tower! A Magister Wen made an official complaint. A Caution! What do you think would happen if either of you were expelled or Blacklisted? You will never receive accreditation! You think another C-9 League University would take rejects from Fudan?”

The siblings weathered the verbal beatdown.

“Stupid child! You don't know who Wen is, do you? Let me remind you: Magister Marie-Roslyn Wen of Henglong Laboratory is on no less than FOUR Advisory Boards, THREE Examination Councils, and is a regular member of the Accreditation Committee! I don’t care if the girl is an inbred DOG! She’s Magister Wen’s DOG! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? LULAN?!”

The two youngsters looked as though they were willows being blasted by a storm. Luwei had to take a breather before he could continue.

“Who told you that Gwen Song was excommunicated from the Songs?”

“I heard from Pei,” Lulan confessed, her voice hoarse with simmering animosity.

Pei was the youngest son of the Patriarch, Dulian Li. Talented and fair of disposition, he was the Clan Master's favourite. There were already rumours that should Pei best his seniors when he came of age, he would become the inheriting disciple.

“It’s true, Shifu,” Kusu backed up his sister, stepping in front of her protectively in case his Master’s hands itched again. His sister was a useful tool for the clan, but she wasn’t Luwei Li’s tool. Their Master, San - a homonym for 'Third Uncle', perished at the Front a year ago. Since then, Lulan's talent and her difficult demeanour made a dangerous combination that seriously agitated factional politics in the Huashan Sect.

“Pei? What does Pei have to do with this?”

“He knows Gwen Song’s brother, Percy Song,” Kusu spoke in his sister’s stead. Lulan had a way of talking that always brought out the worst in her elders. It was the chief reason that despite her talent, she was scorned in the Sect. She was brash, rash and had no respect.

“Go on.”

“An important distinction,” Kusu continued. “Percy told Pei that his sister was excommunicated from the family and made to give up her inheriting heirloom - a Kirin-Stone amulet. Pei further confirmed that he has seen this amulet worn by her brother. We’d thought that since she was expelled from the inheriting line entirely...”

“Guo Song disinherited a girl with dual Void and Lighting? She’s got a Mongolian Death Worm leashed to her astral soul!” his Master muttered incredulously. “Why didn’t the two of you think of that? Huh? You think someone without backing just casually goes farming for pets in the Gobi Desert? That’s a Black Zone! Not even the Undead venture there. Maybe the Ash Bringer escorted her? But he's an active Military member... then again...”

Luwei scanned his clan's two 'prodigies', checking to see if they were trying to fool him. He would have to verify with the Eldest's son himself.

"So, who's idea was it?"

It was a rhetorical question.

Lulan, who stood demurely behind Kusu, blanched.

A rare moment of passivity, driven by the notion that she'd ruined her brother's chances at advancing his position. It was only in these rare flashes that an observer could see that in fact, Lulan could be quite beautiful. Lulan Li had monolid fox-eyes that were long and almond, with heavy lashes that accentuated a rust-ochre set of pupils illuminated wetly by distress and dim light. Her striking complexion had a sheen to it that gleamed, her skin stretched taut over a trained figure without excess body fat. If one looked carefully, one caught bruises and abrasions from practice and adventure that floated beneath her porcelain exterior, but these little blemishes only added to her peculiar allure.

Lulan's charm was an unyielding kind of beauty. The sort one felt when regarding a monolithic formation of a cliff face, or perhaps the lay of a precarious cliff. Under her gaze, what one felt wasn’t awe or admiration - but fear and intimidation.

“That’s it? You acted on a rumour?”

“We studied the girl for weeks,” Kusu continued to defend his sister. “She never spoke nor visited her grandfather even once. She saw Director Song three to four times, for shopping trips and luncheons. Her primary focus seems to be training. Even when we confronted her a few weeks ago, she fled from us. She’s not from the PLA Faction, I guarantee it.”

“Hmmph!” Luwei eyed the siblings with dissatisfaction. Her defiance continued to rub him the wrong way, especially when their stupid ploy sullied the name of the Huashan Sect. He needed now to return to the Mount and inform the other Elders and verify their story.

“Shifu?”

“Leave me, and keep your sister out of trouble. Tend to your injuries and write a reflection letter for the Patriarch. Leave nothing out. Explicitly examine every single ability Gwen Song has demonstrated.”

“Yes, Shifu!”

“And a Letter of Apology to Magister Wen as well. Likewise, Lulan, you’re forbidden from contacting Gwen Song again.”

“No.”

"Good, I-" Luwei stopped. For a moment there, he thought she said 'no'.

Lulan’s irises had turned the colour of red wine. She stared at Kusu as though in a trance. It was the red mist, Kusu felt goosebumps break over his skin. That was what he called it when Lulan became focused on something and couldn't tear herself away. Their old Master had said that it had something to do with excessive Yang energy. The Ironheart technique wasn’t composed with the intent of being practised by female disciples. Their Song Dynasty founder would have rolled in his grave if he knew that a woman could successfully manifest the Iron Sword technique.

Lulan continued to speak.

“They’re going on excursion soon to the Lost Districts today. I can confront her there. I’ll get back brother’s daggers," she stated. "Give me another chance. I won't fail."

“Lulan!” Luwei’s patience was hanging by a straw. “Enough!”

Lulan met her Uncle's eyes with an expression of insubordinate defiance.

Kusu knew that look well. He moved to intervene.

‘Slap!’

Kusu flinched. He was a second too late.

Another five-fingered welt marred the other side of Lulan's face.

When their Uncle spoke again, his voice was more fatigued than angry.

“By the Iron Sword, there better not be another incident. Also, make sure that your implements are either retrieved or entirely destroyed. If our arts should be stolen thanks to your blunder. I will personally disinherit the both of you.”

“...” Lulan remained silent.

“Yes! Shifu!” Kusu bowed. "I will negotiate with Gwen Song."

Luwei left.

He'd done all he was willing to do.

San Li was dead. The Siblings had an awkward place in the Clan. If the girl could not be brought to heel... then whatever happens next would be for the best.

Kusu remained in place, bowing until his Uncle's sedan drove away. Hopefully, this was the end of the incident for both himself and his sister. Their father might be the second-hand man of the Patriarch, but he was more so a scholar than a warrior, influential because he held the purse-strings, not because he could wield the Iron Sword over the heads of his enemies.

When it came to factional conflicts, Luming could not be counted on to stand on the side of his children.

As for the Iron Sword of Huashan…

Kusu reached behind and felt for his sister’s affirmation. Her hands were not like that of a girl's. She had the calloused palms of a Jianshi; her fingers rough from practice.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Kusu said to his sister, wondering if that was true. Who’s protecting who? Kusu mused. Could he trust Pei to abide by his promise?

His fingers grasped the air, where he had expected Lulan to meet his hand; there was only absence.

“Lulan?” Kusu turned to find his sister.

The girl was gone.

"..."

Ten thousand llamas rode across the terrain of Kusu's muddy mindscape.

* * *

Friday.

Excursion Day.

Both of Gwen's Economic and Management essays were done and dusted with full confidence in distinctions.

The ‘Field Trip’, as it was announced, would take up to three days, from Friday to Sunday, pending on the student’s performance.

As expected, Gwen was joined by a jubilant Mayuree, an indifferent Kitty, and finally, a tired looking Richard who saw the excursion as a big break.

A day ago, while pumping two cubes full of the tenebrous energy of extinction, Gwen had told Magister Wen of her troubles. Petra's Master told her she would put a word in with the Tower, and that should be the end of it.

Confident in the Magister's promise, Gwen turned her attention to the excursion.

She took stock of her Adventuring Gear:

One pair of leggy double-lace Boots of Flying.

One civilian-class Chameleon Cloak, stowed.

One pair of tactical all-occasion underwear.

One Ring of Evasion.

She had her usual passive items, such as her Ioun Stones and Gunther’s Contingency Ring. She furthermore possessed in her Storage Ring a Vitae Fruit and Petra’s gift of Tier 8 Regeneration.

Six healing injectors.

Six mana injectors.

Her problem now with Mana potions was that the mundane variety restored less than half of her mana, while the 'greater' variety was almost ten times the price, at nearly 60 HDMs. Possessing virtually no alchemical skills or talents, she caught potion-fatigue on her second bottle, meaning she could get three-quarters of her mana per day back, once.

Kitty was an all-rounder, requiring virtually nothing to supplement her enviable Spell List of everything from Haste to Fly, Frost Armour to Blizzard. Compared to Gwen in her button-tab blouse and grey-blue ‘skort’, the pixie-like Mage was perfectly prim in her A-line one piece, naturally in ultramarine.

Richard meanwhile, wore jeans, a lumber jack’s flannel, combat boots and white inners. He had also taken to acquiring a beard after Gwen mentioned just how much manlier Jun looked than Morye with his circular beard, though her cousin’s five-o-clock shadow made him more menacing than handsome.

Mayuree, finally, was decked out in Fu-er-dai splendour.

Two enchanted Rings on each hand.

An amulet of Health at her throat.

A white, inscribed knee-length dress that repelled dirt, dust and elements effects, paired with Boots of Flying that, according to her smug boast, was Water-Walking as well.

Mayuree showed off no less than three Combat Wands: A Wand of Magic Missile, a Wand of Scorching Ray, and a Wand of Stone Shape, each with ten charges.

“Are we anticipating something?” Gwen asked the Diviner. There must be a reason why Mayuree was equipped to clear out a Hobs' Den.

“Who knows?” Mayuree shrugged mysteriously. “Its good to be prepared, you know?”

“Can I get a heads up?”

“I’d rather not…”

“Alright,” Gwen made a mental note to follow her Diviner closely. "How are we getting there?"

For all the fire and fury the junior Mages exhibited, Gwen's answer came in the form of a hired Municipal bus.

There were about forty students on the bus to the first District - an area once known as Chonggu-zhen, meaning ‘Hamlet of the Clan Chong-Gu.” But both clan and name were lost to the shifting sands of Dynasty and epoch until all that remained was a misnomer for the ‘model’ city's official designation - District-35.

As the bus rolled out, Gwen realised shamefully that this was the farthest she had ventured from Shanghai’s CBD since arriving some half a year ago. There was so much to see, but she had done none of it. It was the equivalent of an expatriate in New York never going past Queens, or a Sydney-sider having never gone beyond the Shire.

As the superstructures of Shanghai’s central districts fell away, the roadsides began to transform. The concrete city mortared in steel and glass began to shift into brick and tin until finally, they were looking at stunted apartments with blasted windows for eyes and busted doors for teeth.

“Reconstruction Zones,” someone on the bus said helpfully. “Mao, they’re filthy.”

After three-quarters of an hour, the Third Orbital Ring was reaching its farthest boundary. Suddenly, the landscape changed again.

The roads became straighter, power poles began to make a regular appearance and trees once again made their presence known. In the distance, they could now see District-35 and its megastructure looming overhead, coming closer as their bus hurtled down the highway.

Coming closer, Gwen could see that the District-Zones were just like her memory of the infamous Kowloon Walled City. Behind a concrete barrier four meters high, the stacked rectangular blocks appeared packed back to back, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. In a fashion almost unique to Asian culture, laundry, not architecture, dominated the scene. An endless array of laundry kilometres long and forty stories high, covered every conceivable space on the building’s exterior, giving the place the appearance of a pirate-fort made from stilts and canvas rather than rebar-reinforced concrete.

The hire-bus pulled up at the gate, where a PLA trooper hailed the driver and examined their clearance before opening the gate. The massive concrete barriers were like the walls of a dam, opening with agonising slowness as the students waited silently in the bus.

“I can see a lady’s brasserie from here,” someone remarked jovially, pointing upward toward a window choked full of laundry. “Impressive size.”

The crowd burst into laughter, dispelling the nervousness of entering a world were NoMs were the norm.

Following their guide, the bus moved into the courtyard, where the driver told the students to disembark.

After so much time in Fudan, Gwen felt as though she'd stepped into another country.

One by one, the student Mages emerged into the lazy heat of the afternoon with her companions. As soon as she disembarked, Gwen became aware that she was being watched; that is, she was being attended by an endless multitude of curious, prying eyes.

The entire District must have turned out to watch the Fudan Mages!

There were faces in every window, hanging from every winter garden, gawking from every rooftop, nook and cranny. Women, children, men, old men, grannies and lasses, all looked upon the rare visitors below with gleaming eyes full of wonder and worship!

University Mages! They told one another. The Mages are coming! Not just any student Mages either - Sorcerers and sorceresses from Fudan! Mages who would one day stand at the Front, protecting their lives and the lives of those from the Hive city selected for Conscription! Mages, whose effort and favour meant their loved ones lived or died, survived or perished!

That's probably what the NoMs have been told. Gwen thought sadly. The citizens likely never knew anything else. The greatest achievement of any successful regime is to create orthodoxy - for orthodoxy is the removal of any need to think and question what was self-evidently the norm. In both worlds new and old, China had never lacked in indoctrination.

“DISTRICT 35 WELCOMES OUR DELEGATION FROM FUDAN!”

A sudden burst of symphonic propaganda almost took Gwen off her feet.

She had to suppress a choking bout of laughter as the absurd sight of a huge red banner unfurled in Chinese from the rooftop that read::

'DISTRICT 35 WELCOMES SAVIOUR MAGES'

While another on the adjacent building read:

'UPHOLD IDEOLOGY OF SOCIALISM

MAN AND MAGE HAND IN HAND.'

Jesus Christ, Gwen scoffed. Do they think it was that easy to-

Then the children came.

GOOD GOD! Gwen would have screamed were it not for the need to maintain decorum. Children, cute little children were rushing out, dressed in red and their very best, to bring the Mages wreaths - handmade, origami flower wreaths!!!

The kids streamed past Ma and the Administrator. Little bodies surrounded the students three to a caster and began bestowing upon them ‘handmade’ presents.

“Miss, you so pretty!”

“Oh Miss, you so tall!”

“You must be important, Miss!”

The same story was being told everywhere, and the Mages from Fudan were feeling very fine indeed, becoming instantly drunk on the praises of little boys and girls with their innocent, worshipful eyes.

The children… Gwen's cynicism melted away. The children were too adorable!

Gwen couldn’t help but pick one up, scooping the child expertly until she held the little girl in her arms. With an adorable tilt of her hand, the girl placed the red and gold wreath around Gwen's head.

A dozen little boys and girls had Richard dead to rights and were trying to overpower him with handicraft. Mayuree meanwhile, had entered some kind of nirvana, squealing and laughing uncontrollably. Kitty was the best of them, she ignored the first and engaged an aura of rime which informed the kids not to push their luck. After the first left dejectedly, the rest avoided the Ice Mage and congregated around Gwen and the others.

In the midst of her euphoria, Gwen looked past the crowd and saw Professor James Ma standing with the Administrator from earlier, smiling conspiratorially.

What an absurd display! Gwen was not sure whether to laugh or cry. What the hell is this? Is this what she had geared up for? This was too much! Gods! She felt as though she was ODing on Oxytocin. The little girls were beyond delightful! Oh! Mayuree’s little one was a cutie as well! Arrrrgh! Richard had three hugging him at once! Beware of jealousy! For it is the green-eyed monster-

“MAGES! WELCOME!”

Finally, the man next to Ma began to speak.

“I am Yuhan Lai, Secretariat of District 35. I welcome you to our humble abode.”

Collectively, the Mages bowed.

It was an impressive display, and the crowd ascended to a new level of fiery participation.

“I hope that you haven’t had lunch yet! Because you will now meet your hosts, and enjoy a bountiful meal cooked by the matriarch of the family!” Lai declared.

The children took Gwen by the hand and began to lead her away.

Gwen looked toward Richard alarmingly, but Mayuree came between them.

“It’s safe,” her Diviner companion assured her. “Enjoy the lunch. A little breeze told me that the excitement is to come in another District.”

The assurance was enough to affirm Gwen's resolve, and she allowed herself to be led away.

As it turned out, there was a perfect reason why the students were separated, and it had nothing to do with trying to separate party members.

It was because their NoM host's apartments could house precisely ONE Mage and the host family.

Gwen sat at the head of a table usually set for two adults, two children, and a toddler. The room she now occupied was stacked from floor to ceiling with versatile vertical space-savers. Fold out beds, fold-out chairs. Fold out cupboards. Fold-out everything. The entire habitat-block measured four-meters wide and five-odd long, forming a space for five people - three children, one grandparent, and a lone mother in her early thirties.

“Please, please make yourself comfortable, Miss Mage!” The woman, who to Gwen’s eyes was quite beautiful in a homely sort of way, pleaded for her to be at ease in the cramped space of their abode. She was evidently a recent mother, for she had that soft and feminine look to her eyes, as well as a lingering scent of breast milk.

“Please, call me Gwen,” Gwen insisted. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Bai-Lian, Mistress,” the woman replied. “I am delighted to be of service.”

“Thank you for the luncheon, Bailian” Gwen replied kindly.

“Oh no, its thanks to your presence that we are getting extra rations, please help yourself.” The woman bowed again needlessly.

“Big sister, please partake in this tea!”

The kids must have been touted, Gwen felt- because the six-year-old girl was expertly pouring out Jasmine tea for her into a cup, then presenting it to her with both hands.

“Thank you.” Gwen took the cup carefully, terrified of spilling tea on the little one.

“Please try these dates!” Another little girl presented her with a bowl of honeyed dates.

“Thank you!” Gwen was now fully occupied.

The mother left, then returned successively, bringing in a banquet of dishes until the table was laden with food. It was all mundane, household fair, but they looked delectable.

Egg with chives.

Braised Pork.

Steamed garlic bokchoi.

Eggplant and Mince.

Ginger and shallot fish in soy sauce.

Gwen expertly worked her chopstick, portioning the food and delivering it into the bowls of the children whose eyes were gleaming with such longing that Gwen forgot about her own insatiable appetite. Bailian herself refused to dine with them but made no move to stop Gwen giving her portion to the children.

She spent the next half an hour conversing with the single-mother, but Bailian's answers grew vague once Gwen asked about her husband.

“He was Conscripted two years ago…” The woman put on a wane smile that didn’t touch her eyes, then was silent.

Oh shit. Gwen realised she stepped on a Warding Glyph. It was no business of hers that this woman had a babe not yet two years old.

“Do you work?” Gwen asked.

Bailian nodded.

“I clean people’s apartments and cook for them.”

Gwen asked her how she was finding life, and Bai told her that she wished one of her three children could be a Mage. She joined with another young man because his great-grandfather had been a Fire Evoker.

The little girls looked upon Gwen with eyes that she dared not meet. She placed a hand on their heads and felt the softness of their hair, brushing the silky curls passing through her fingers.

Mages, Bailian said. She wished her children were Mages.

Gwen thought of Sydney, she thought of the battle there - the dead Mages strewed across the streets, dragged away by the Mermen, eaten alive by impatient enemies too hungry to wait. She thought of Instructor Chen’s maniacal glint as he laughed and laughed while the juniors vomited around him.

Was life so miserable here?

The grass was greener on the other side, but there in the bushes laid lions in wait.

* * *

Nephres Zalaam could scarcely believe her luck.

Gwen. Fucking. Song.

The report in her hand shivered, the mute paper quivering as though alive.

How was such a thing possible? Nephres felt her mind reeling with disbelief.

The girl had disappeared after her charge, the junior Ravenport, perished mysteriously without rhyme nor reason in Sydney. He had gone to perform the Mistress’ request, then the next thing they knew, Edmund Moore Ravenport was dead. It was supposed to be a low-risk Mission. The young Master was a Dust Magus for God’s sake, and the Shield Station was full of Abjurers. He had an entire troop of Ravenport guards with him! Four Senior Mages and two Magus, all gone.

But that's all in the past now. Spilt milk and all that.

As the nurse-in-residence for Young Lord Ravenport, her dereliction in duty meant she had to flee the house immediately. There were fates worse than death, and the wrath of a psychopathic Lord like Mycroft Ravenport ranked rather high in her list of ‘shit where death was preferable.’

At any rate, her loyalty was first to her Mistress, then to the organisation.

Nephres bit her lower lips, her eyes wandering back to the task at hand.

She was in Shanghai to pick up a supply of magically gifted youths to bring back to the Outlands - a name the organisation preferred to ‘Wildlands’. They were the ‘Others’ after all, and they lived in the “Outlands”. It rolled off the tongue better. They didn't want to be misrepresented as savages or Demi-humans.

In all honesty, as a city girl, she found the whole ordeal pretty funny. A bunch of Rogue Mages squabbling over power, dabbling in fucking public relations of all things. What the hell did they expect? That the Towers would just accept them with open arms because of alliteration? Fucking idiots.

Her local sweetmeat, Boss Yi, had told her to lay low for a few days.

“Got Elites coming through from Fudan. Find the deepest hole you can and bury yourself in for the next week,” he told her. “Maybe stay in bed, eh? We can make a child for sure. You feeling up to the task?”

“Go fuck yourself,” she told him.

“Ha ha ha.” Yi fell about cackling like an idiot, withdrawing from the silhouette of her sweat-soaked figure, smelling foully of overwrought sex. “I do love you so, you little minx.”

“You expect me to believe that, do you?”

Yi toked on a cigarette as he wiped himself, then materialised a new set of clean clothes.

“Look, just stay safe these few days, alright? Stay out of trouble. Keep your crew below and out of sight.”

Nephres didn’t dislike Boss Yi, but she wasn’t an owned woman. Far from it, Nephres rather fancied the boss as her seasonal fling. A spot of both business and pleasure.

Love? Have his child? Those thoughts never crossed her mind, not before, and not now.

Gwen. Fucking. Song.

The little bitch in the flesh after almost six months off the map, falling into her lap like God's gift from the blue yonder.

It was pure serendipity that she had spotted the girl. Out of curiosity, Nephres had asked her contacts to generate a list of the ‘Fudan Elites’ visiting the Districts, in case one of them ended up causing trouble for their operations. As the list of Dossiers passed through her hands, she had paused at a familiar pair of hazel eyes looking out from the page.

“You’re shitting me!” she heard herself mutter. “Is this fate or what?”

She quickly scanned the spartan dossier.

It was a stolen compilation thrifted from the University's registry.

Guo Song. MSS Committee Chair.

Klavdiya Song. Director 2nd PLA Experimental Hospital.

Hai Song. Unknown.

Helena Huang - Unknown.

So the girl was a Power Progeny, Nephres furrowed her perfectly tapered brows. That would explain a few things, but not why she was associated with the Sydney Tower and the folks at the very top. How were they even connected? How could they begin to know each other? The Tower and the PLA were at odds, were they not? The Grandfather could be troublesome, but that was a problem for Boss Yi, not herself.

There was one addendum that was cause for concern though.

Jun Song - The Ash Bringer.

Even as a foreign agent Nephres had heard of the Hero of the Northern Front. The man was a walking engine of destruction, and if he should find out someone had taken his niece…

Poor Yi, Nephres chuckled to herself. She tried to imagine his face when The Ash Bringer came knocking.

Her slow chuckle escalated into a rip-roaring, belly aching laughter.

Holy shit! If she weren’t going to be on a cargo ship a hundred miles away, she would've loved nothing else than to watch the god damned Ash Bringer of all people ripping the District apart! What would be the look on Yi’s face then! What kind of expression would he make? What would the man confess as his body transformed into necrotic ash, inch by inch?

Nephres turned over the file.

There were some loose annotations on the Mages' talents.

Void and Lighting!

BINGO.

That was her alright, there’s no mistaking it now.

Before she returned to the Outlands, her mistress had said that the girl was instrumental to the plan’s collapse in the zenith of its success. Her connection to Gunther Shultz and the Scarlet Sorceress made her an invaluable hostage. Nephres wasn’t privy to the details, but she knew one thing for sure.

If she could get her hands on Gwen Song, then her stint in the shit holes of South Asia was over.

Whether as an offering to her Mistress or as a gift to Lord Ravenport -

the ascension of Nephres Zalaam was at hand.

Gwen farewelled her host family.

She had felt sorry for the single mother but knew the danger of giving wealth to those who could not afford to keep it; though District 35 may appear tranquil and safe, Gwen wasn’t naive enough to believe the socialist utopia was sold on its own hype.

In the end, she left the woman two self-injecting Healing Potions and a Potion of Cure Disease.

Should herself or her children be sick or injured, one dose was enough to restore haleness and health.

The potions could also be sold if the woman was unwise enough to trade them for money, or gift them as favours. Either way, what she did with Gwen's generosity was no longer Gwen's responsibility. She was under no delusion that she was a Samaritan. What she did, she had done for pleasure and ego, it was a repayment for the joy the children had brought her, however brief and choreographed.

When they returned to the courtyard, eight separate buses awaited for departure. The students were now being assigned to different Hive-cities, ranging from 108 and upwards.

The residents residing above were now throwing paper confetti from the top floors, showering the courtyard with a snowfall of colourful slips that made an undeniably enchanting scene.

Indeed, Mayuree was beside herself with unadulterated joy, waving happily to her host family, blowing them goodbye kisses, gushing as she tried to catch the falling confetti. Richard and Kitty, in juxtaposition, stood indifferently, Richard was smiling awkwardly at his host family, while Kitty needed no pretence to suggest she couldn't have cared less.

When they boarded the bus to District 109, their assigned ‘Outer District’, there only remained their party of four and another party of three seniors, two young men and an older woman. They had not seen these Mages prior except in passing during the lectures, and so the two groups snubbed each other, segregated to the front and back.

With a honk and the sound of earth-shattering applause in their ears, they were away. The buses returned to the highway, then ventured toward the furthest reaches of the Fourth Orbital Ring road.

* * *

After ten rumbling minutes on the highway, Professor James Ma’s projection appeared, this time as a ghostly tour guide.

The trip to District 109 would take almost an hour. As an academic excursion, it naturally came with a lecture component.

“Hello everyone in the Management course. I hope you have enjoyed the exemplar of prosperity; a city which, under good management, has successfully attained a balance between autonomy and compliance.”

“District 35, a ‘Model’ District, accounts for a third of our current satellite NoM cities. Self-contained within the District is an escalator system of advancement where public education offered to the NoM Citizens ensures that they are capable of achieving lives outside of the Hive, where the best and brightest have opportunities to become civil servants; engage in productive labour for the state, or find work in the private sector. I hope you have enjoyed your first-hand experience of speaking with the NoM citizens. These are the people that will be under your care in the future."

“Next, you will be receiving a different educational experience. You will find out what happens when law and order become diminished in a Hive city. You will come to acknowledge what is at stake, should you fail.”

A slight murmur spread through the bus. This episode was no surprise to anyone. The student-Mages had all been warned by friends, alumni, family, Masters and Instructors.

"You will be entering the Lost Districts - also known as the Lost Zones."

"As Team 7 and 9, you have been assigned to D-109."

There was a slight glitch in the recording, suggesting to Gwen that Lecturer Ma had been slothful and dubbed over an old Lecture with a few new lines.

When the lecture resumed, Professor Ma was in a different coloured vest, which made Gwen chuckle with nostalgia. It was the sort of thing her old-world lecturers at Sydney University would have done as well.

"D-109 remains one of the largest of its kind, built in 1984 and designed to house 100,000 NoM citizens. Constructed as a mega-city platform, it stands today as an abject failure of policy which resulted in the proliferation of in-fighting, religious cults, the forming of violent gangs, and the infiltration of the Triads into the districts."

"In 1993, the PLA attempted purging 'undesirable elements'. Though initially gainful, the operation ultimately failed to dislodge the unlawful presence. In reviewing policy, the CCP realised it was a mistake to convene such a scale of citizens, especially given that the Hive was equipped with food production and water purification operations. District-109 had become a microcosm, a city in a bottle with its own rules and regulations that seemed to exist almost independently from the outside world. What was initially a perfect infrastructural system with the very best intentions for its citizens, proved to be the very thing the PLA loathed - a collection of civilians who no longer embraced the ideals of Chairman Mao, blessed be he in his crystal resting place."

"Faced with mounting tension and dissidence in how to deal with the Lost Districts, the PLA formulated a new policy in 1996 under Premier Hu."

"Leave D-108 to D-128 to their own devices."

The lecture paused while the image drank a glass of water.

Mayuree was already asleep in Gwen's arms. Richard as well was resting his eyes against the window.

Professor Ma continued.

"The Lost Districts would serve another purpose. They would be used as proving grounds for social experiments, Mage training exercises, places where samples could be collected, theories tested."

"Should a District resist, they had no way to prevent the PLA from destroying the sub-basement and thus, the entire eco-system of the Hive. When the rogue citizens ran out of food and water, and a significant culling had been undergone, the survivors would naturally return to the embrace of order and law that was Mao's vision for China."

"In 2003, it may be best to consider the Lost Districts as penal colonies. They provided their share of Conscripts - twice as high as any other District - and paid their tithe of produce, goods, and newly awakened Mages. In return, they received autonomy to run their own cities to the ground."

The vid-cast glitched again. Professor Ma reappeared wearing his previous vest.

“You will soon be entering one of these cities. Within the city, you will be effectively cut off from Shanghai. Your Message devices will not work outside of their natural range. In the process of completing your given tasks, there is only one thing you have to do - OBSERVE EVERYTHING. Observe the consequences of those whose use of power is without remorse, whose abuse of their Magic is without consequence. The residents of these cities may attack you, and you are well within your rights to respond. I urge, however, that you recall enough empathy to recognise that not all Mages and NoMs are born with the knowledge and privilege that you possess. I hope you can acknowledge that ofttimes, circumstance drives action, not logic or rationality. Whatever your choices may be, I want you - as students of Fudan - as future Guardians, Paladins, Arbitrators and Tower Masters, to gaze upon how your actions, your choices, your decisions, can impact the lives of those whose fragile existences you hold in your hands. Though you may be underground, you are not in a Dungeon. These are real people with real lives, aspirations, desire for life and living just as you do.”

"I wish you good luck."

With that, Professor Ma's vid-cast faded.

Gwen turned to her companions, her appearance paler for the news. She was sure there was a segment that was cut out by accident. Wasn’t there something else Ma was supposed to say? Like 'DON’T MURDER PEOPLE?' You will be 'PENALISED' if become a 'MASS MURDERER'?!

“Is he saying we’re going to butcher people in there? Kill NoMs that attack us?” Gwen couldn't help but vocalise her anxiety.

“I would venture that we ‘may choose’ to kill people in there,” Mayuree corrected her. "We don't 'have' to kill people."

“It’s the NoMs' 'choice' to attack us.” Kitty shrugged with indifference. "It doesn't diminish my right to defend myself to the best of my abilities."

“I could probably incapacitate them if need be,” Richard assured Gwen as her complexion blanched. “You’ll be fine. They’d have to have a death wish, ha!”

There was laughter from the front of the bus as well.

“I don’t think they know how bad the Lost Districts can be,” a voice sniggered.

“It’s a dog-eat-dog world in there, beauty!” one of the young men scoffed. “You’re gonna have to stow your white gloves for this quest!”

Kitty rolled her eyes at Gwen's soft-heartedness.

"..." Gwen ignored the others' snide remarks. She gazed outwards toward the retreating distance as her mind lingered on the memories of Blackheath.

She made her first kill there, guided by Gunther's hand. He had taken her into a world she didn't dare think possible. That was her first step onto the Path of Asura, she was dragged kicking and screaming on its bloody path, but how many lives had she taken since?

There was Faceless. He - She - It - deserved it.

Then there was the pigtail girl whose name Gwen had forgotten.

Would there now be another and another?

The mind was willing, but the heart - the heart was in revolt.

"I see it!" someone said at the front, interrupting her thoughts.

The bus had passed some threshold on the highway. The manicured trees fell away, and the urbanscape once again declined to dilapidation and neglect.

They were indeed getting closer.

The students could see a looming wall in the distance, a barrier circuit that surrounded a block of concrete habitats rising into the air like grey mushrooms. As they came closer, details appeared: precarious extension of sheet metal and wood erupted from the surface of the facade like wild fungi. The addition of laundry, far less colourful and far more numerous, furthermore made the collective of apartments appear as an amalgamated whole. From afar, the whole superstructure resembled a dark lesion across the landscape in the shape of an ‘L’.

Painted across the gate were the Chinese pictograms for ‘109’. The red communist logo of the sickle and hammer had been defaced, and slogans promising order and civility were likewise scratched off or painted over. A smog of exhaust hung over the air directly above, thick and miasmic, giving substance to its oppressive atmosphere.

“Struth,” Gwen exclaimed. "The size of it up close..."

“Mao above, so that’s what it was,” Mayuree muttered. “The smell…”

The smell was the first thing on the mind of the students as the bus entered the compound. Mana, miasma and human odour lingered in the courtyard.

After the students disembarked, the driver immediately made a U-turn and left the malice-filled space of the courtyard.

There was a contingent here to meet them.

A troop of soldiers in dark emerald-khaki, the uniform of the PLA, fanned out and made a perimeter around a man in an olive uniform.

“Students of Fudan! Welcome to District 109! I am the District Administrator, Secretariat Choi. It is a pleasure to meet some of the best and the brightest stars of the academy!”

The students lined up before the Secretariat.

“We thank you for having us, Sir!” One of the second years bowed. Gwen and the rest followed suit. It was easier to parallel their seniors to avoid a potential faux pas.

“Let’s talk inside,” Choi advised. “The external courtyard is not the safest place to linger.”

As they entered the city proper, Gwen noted the grimy scraps and dusty wraps of garbage that hung in each and every corner of the forecourt. District 35 had been spotless, it even had gardens with flower beds! Anti-aesthetically, the courtyard here had puddles, potholes, and the occasional offensive spill which indicated the filtration system below must be operating at its limits.

Gwen looked up. She likewise noted that the windows were all closed and curtained despite the sunny disposition of the day. As they entered the shaded avenue of the Hive-city, the temperature immediately dropped by four to five degrees, making her shiver.

“Gwen, we’re being watched by A LOT of people.” Mayuree’s eyes glowed with the soft light of Divination.

Gwen redoubled her efforts to spot the hidden citizens above. As her pupils adjusted, she could see pale faces looking out from between the curtains and windows. There were almost a thousand windows visible from the central quadrangle that led into the heart of the city’s habitat blocks. Their presence was less than welcome, the buzz of ambident hostility filled the air like the sizzle of a live wire.

“There are quite a few magical signatures too,” Mayuree added, pulling her white coat tightly over her shoulders. The girl had materialised a parka that covered her upper body and shielded her enchanted attire from prying eyes. Beside her, Kitty protectively walked closer to Mayuree as well. The pixie girl must be drawing quite the attention in her ultramarine knife-pleated one-piece dress, though her confident gait hinted at abilities that yearned to be tested. In contrast, Gwen herself was quite satisfied with her demure earth-tone pastels. She had earlier wondered why her friends chose such conspicuous attire but came to an epiphany after beholding an entire busload of well-dressed compatriots. To put it bluntly, Gwen realised her fellow Mages didn't give a shit about what NoMs thought - they were far more interested in impressing their peers and Mages of the opposite sex. To the majority of her elite classmates, the NoMs in these cities were akin to decor, a sort of a feature, like lesser Magical Creatures in a Dungeon.

Their seniors kept to a group by themselves, pointing and speaking loudly to stress their uncertain bravado. Gwen empathised with their nervousness. It was one thing to read and hear about the Lost Districts; quite another to be walking through one. Here in the courtyard, the Mages were reminded that there were dozens of them - and about a hundred thousand NoMs above and below them.

The Administrator, flanked by his guards, began a semi-guided tour as they walked and talked.

“We’re on the Ground Level,” he began. “From which the basement extends fourteen levels below, tapping into a leyline that powers the filtration, water, and power systems. It’s been many years since the old glyphs had seen maintenance - all intentional of course - the city itself has CCs it could exchange: simply that its denizens have chosen not to.”

“How so?” Gwen paced beside the old Mage, whose figure was short and portly.

“Autonomy means the right to make poor choices,” Choi chuckled, his eyes briefly scanning Gwen's figure. “I have given the Bosses, their Under-Bosses and the little tribes of people living here the choice of how to spend their CCs via a voting system, and guess what they spend it on?”

“Food and water?” Gwen inquired hopefully.

“Personal wealth, Magic Items, entertainment and HDMs for their Faction's Mages!” Choi laughed. “It would take only six months of the city's output to gather enough CCs in order to repair the filtration system. Another six months to upgrade it to the best system the PLA can offer. Who wouldn't want that? Better water, better living conditions, better health for everyone.”

“But they don’t?”

“Of course. That is the distilled nature of the scum that lives here. The 'lost' Hives exist as an exemplar. We give the people here the ‘democracy’ touted by the West. They can vote for what they want as they will, the only proviso is that their world begins and ends at the borders of 109.”

So that's whats up: a little slice of Orwell and a little slice of Atwood, Gwen thought sullenly, following the Secretariat's autocratic banter. These 'Lost Districts' were used to show the rest of Shanghai the pitfalls of not following the CCP’s vision for China. Almost a million people, condemned to the crucible of abject poverty to show the other 90% that the alternative to the Mageworld’s brand of benign socialist dictatorship was an exquisite kind of Capitalist Hell dominated by a warped, egocentric band of ruthless buccaneers.

“Has any of the Lost Cities ever improved their lot?” Mayuree asked beside Gwen. "Maybe save themselves? Return to the fold?"

“What do you think?” Choi eyed the Diviner bemusedly with a sideways glance, evidently with less enthusiasm than he had offered Gwen.

The tour continued.

“The superstructure extends across twenty-seven blocks, with an average height of forty storeys. The population is, as you can imagine, mostly NoM citizens, with roughly just under 0.02% of the population exhibiting magical potential, or are outright, low-tier Mages.”

"Mid-tier Mages operating within the city are mostly Enforcers or gang leaders of one sort or another. As for their abilities - most of them have never seen formal training. As elites, you should have little problem dealing with them, not to mention their first priority would be avoiding you at all costs. Should they sufficiently delay you, let me know. They'll be on the next Conscription shipment to the Front."

“Over there you can see a market. Yes, it looks derelict from here, but I assure you the interior is quite lively. There are over forty general market spaces for commercial ventures, operated by the gangs and the local merchant families, who could be just as vicious as the Triads.”

“Which Triads?” Gwen enquired. She had seen enough Hong Kong movie have developed a cursory knowledge of Triads.

“The usual: Shao-chilou. Black Dragons. Jade Tigers. Woshin. Wo-phowo, Buk-pu so on and so on. Mostly NoM organisations with a few Mages at the top. It’s nothing of concern, I assure you. They’re kept in line by a triumvirate of Bosses - Yi, Kha, and Lam. We found that once we cut off communication within and across the Lost Districts, the Triads soon became the local rabble. You’ll meet them soon enough. If you have questions, you can ask them yourself.”

“We’re meeting with Triad Bosses?” Gwen made a cute o with her lips. Shouldn’t they be fighting them? In all honesty, she had expected the ‘quest’ to be ‘subjugate Boss X’. That seemed like a perfectly reasonable request for a troop of Mages consisting of no less than three LCSS candidates and a bloodline-Diviner.

The Secretariat chuckled.

“I like to think of them as my lieutenants, NCOs if you will. They’re nasty people, but you need cruel and nasty managers for a place like this to run smoothly.”

Was the Secretariat being self-depreciative? Gwen wondered as they arrived at their destination.

The group now entered a set of double doors. The interior was somehow worse than the urban decay of the exterior. There were piles of garbage and filth filling the entire corridor leading to the cargo platform.

One of the PLA guards pulled on a chain, and the sliding doors yawned like the maw of some toothless beast, sliding back above and below to reveal a levitation platform abused by neglect.

Accompanied by the din of grating metal, the lift took them toward the top floor. When the doors opened, they were in a corridor with faded but plush carpet in maroon, leading forward until it reached a set of mahogany double doors.

The guards unlocked the doors and took up positions on either side. The student Mages followed the Secretariat into an open plan room with vermillion as a motif. Behind a conference table sat the emblazoned logo of the CCP, five stars soaring over the Forbidden Palace in red and gold.

Secretariat Choi took his seat and faced the student Mages, who stood across from their superior.

“Right, allow me to welcome you all yet again. I am Magus Choi, Secretariat of District 109 with the rank of Major under the People’s Liberation Army’s Shanghai Division.”

The second-years saluted the Major, their actions were quickly aped by Gwen and company, who snapped off dishevelled salutes with varying degrees of success.

“Per our agreement with Fudan, you will be given a quest to complete on-premise. Satisfactory completion of this request will give you 5 CCs per individual, though I am authorised to dispense up to 20 CCs pending your performance. Of course, this-”

“I am at your service!” Richard instantly declared, saluting crisply. “Please point us in the right direction, Sir!”

Gwen and company retracted their eyes from their usually calm and collected companion with evident amusement. When it came to CCs, Richard was a bloodhound. He was still leagues away from accruing the two thousand CCs needed to bring his parents over, an epic undertaking that would likely take him until the end of his University career and beyond, even with his applied questing credits.

“That’s the spirit, good man!” Choi congratulated Richard. “What’s your name, young Mage?”

“Richard Huang, Sir. Conjurer Abjurer, LCSS candidate.”

“I have high expectations for you, Richard.”

“Yessir!”

T-Ten points to Gryffindor! Gwen silently thought to herself. If only CCs were as easy to attain as House points. She wanted the CCs too, but she lacked the gusto to just blurt it out. From what she’d seen so far, the CC distribution was almost directly proportional to risk. 5 CCs to start meant the danger was likely minimal. If so - what was the 20 CC for?

“What would you like us to do? Sir?” Gwen enquired.

The Secretariat’s gaze lingered on her face bemusedly. Gwen couldn’t help but think that Choi reminded her of Caliban, her old world cat, when it caught something to torture, such as a skink.

“Your job is to help these ‘democratically elected’ individuals with some of their problems down in the lower stratum. Bui! Send them in!”

Another set of doors opened on the far side, and in came three human shaped metaphors for the industry within the Lost Districts.

The first was an obese, corpulent man whose eyes kindled like lit-tinder as his gaze fell upon the girls in the room, his eyes drifted past Gwen then plastered onto the diminutive Kitty, remaining transfixed as he sauntered forward laboriously.

The second Mage was a middle-aged woman who looked like someone’s mother had wandered into the wrong place. From the rigidity of her body language and the stocky solidity of her stout body, she was likely an accomplished Earthen Mage.

The last man was huge, a hulking figure almost seven feet tall. He was shirtless and heavily tattooed with writing and images from either Thai or Chinese scripture. The man possessed muscles that seemed to be grafted on top of muscles, indicating his Mage-class to be a CQC Transmuter. To Gwen, the bronze-skinned brute was living reminder of an unpleasant recollection.

Secretary Choi indicated to the middle aged soccer-mom.

“Mama Lam.”

He pointed to the half-man, half-papaya.

“Mr Kha.”

Then to Asian Schwarzenegger.

“Mr Yi.”

The three bowed: first toward Secretary Choi, making a full ninety-degree arch of their spine, then again toward the Student Mages to a lesser degree.

Three pairs of eyes licked over the students, notably Mama Lam, whose lips curled when she greeted Richard. What are we, meat? Gwen thought to herself, pondering the outlook of their present company; then again, what did she expect? Melt away their waxed exteriors, and the elites of the city would have the same naked expressions of lust and greed. She should applaud these people for their raw, undisguised honesty.

Out of curiosity, Gwen glanced over at Secretary Choi.

The PLA Major was smiling happily in his chair, his eyes formed into twin elongated slits.

It’s a bloody game to him! Gwen realised at once.

To the ‘Bosses’, this was a test of their allegiance and their ability to hold down their followers. Choi had no uses for underlings who could not toe the party line.

To the students, this was a test of their character, an opportunity to dip their feet in the mud.

But to Choi - they were a goddamned reprieve from the tedium of governing this shithole!

* * *

D-109 Eastern Boundary.

The thrum of a Sai-Ron White Ghost quietly rested against the chipped concrete wall. As the engine plinked against the cooling air, its lone female rider dismounted.

With impatience, she disconnected both ties and folded the chassis.

Lulan Li placed a hand upon the still-warm engine and allowed her mana to envelop the vehicle.

'Pssht!'

The bike disappeared into her Storage Ring.

The large Storage Ring was a reward from one of her Subjugation quests in an Orange Zone, an item that made many a young men in her Clan glower with jealousy. When she first demonstrated its conveniences in front of them, materialising and storing her bike - another spoil she had won, she had enjoyed watching their faces twisting with avarice.

Her favourite part of the pedantry was that her brothers-in-craft couldn't take it from her. It was attuned to her alone, a reward from the PLA Tower. Should she perish, her ring would return to the Tower, and not the Huashan Sect. Their impotent jealousy had provided her with endless delight.

Her one regret was that she could not gift it to Kusu, who still used a Medium Ring filled with his implements.

Her brother's daggers! Lulan gnashed her teeth unconsciously.

From that reminder came the thought of Gwen Song's smug face, of Kusu's humiliation, of his priceless implements. Of herself fleeing from Gwen Song when the red mist cleared from her head. Lulan felt her still swollen cheeks sting with remembrance. She thought of Pei's smiling face as he told her of the 'great' plan to kelp Kusu. Then her mind looped back to the humiliation two days ago.

Cao! Tamade cheating er-bi biao-zhi!

A taste of iron filled her mouth.

She had to do something.

She had to make Gwen Song capitulate.

She had to make her apologise to Kusu - in public.

She had to get Kusu's implements back, else her brother would be weakened for years to come!

She had to make right their names in the Clan!

She had to put the two of them back on to their Path!

Lulan's irises resumed the hue of wine.

Her Heart of Iron pulsed within her petite body, empowering her with supernatural strength and constitution.

“Stone Shape!”

The transmuted concrete - rebar and all, obeyed her will and parted.

For the average Earthen Mage, rebar concrete was impossible to navigate, but not so for Lulan, for her talent with stone was empowered by an equally powerful affinity with ferrous metal.

In front of her Transmutation empowered body, the ferroconcrete moved aside as though it was water and her surroundings were hydrophobic.

'Sha... sha... sha... sha...' The concrete melted away like wax, peeling back its fine sediments.

She began to traverse through the two-meter-thick barrier, moving downward through earth, concrete, and steel.

She had to hurry.

Her quarry had already arrived.

Secretary Choi drank his Eight-Treasure Congee.

The chef at the Traditional-Medicine branch had told him it was too potent in Yang energy, but Choi enjoyed the sinew, the chew, the texture and the richness of the rice-broth.

"Sir, we have a breach on the Eastern Quadrant," his head of security, Bui, informed him.

Choi continued to sip his congee with an expression of absorption.

"Suspect is female, late teens. She was seen riding a compactable bike, and she is in possession of a large Storage Ring. Our informants describe her as an Earthern Mage, but she is able to Transmute the metal within the concrete as well."

Choi paused.

Staff Sergeant Bui glanced over at his superior.

"I did offer an extra 20 CCs for extra labour, did I not, Bui?"

"You did, Sir."

"And you have distributed Magister Wen's Dossiers through the relevant channels?"

"I have, Sir. Why do you suppose..."

Choi took another sip from his soup.

"Our unexpected Guest? Sir? Should I send a team to..."

The secretariat drained the pot.

"Sir..."

"Bui, you've been with me for what? A year now? Do you know why Fudan keeps sending their most talented Mages into this shithole? Year after year, incident after incident, casualty after casualty?"

"Experience, Sir?" Bui had a dark expression. The last time Fudan had sent over a troop of Mages, they had left behind a dozen corpses. To Bui, the citizens of D-109 may be denizens of the Lost Districts, but they were also citizens of Shanghai, to have them offered up for slaughter to blood some young Masters and Mistresses was the precise reason he loathed the old powers.

Choi played with the clay pot in his hands.

"Bui, do you know what a Gu is?"

"Sir?"

"In Lingnan, several bloodlines of the Miao still remain, you know, the ones rumoured to have coupled with the Yuan-ti."

"Sir." Staff Sergeant Bui inclined his head slightly, informing his superior officer that he knew of the second, but not the first.

"They have very particular bloodline magic involving magical poison. To awaken their junior Mages, they must create a monstrosity of supreme toxicity by placing five or six, up to a dozen, poisonous Magical Creatures into a poison crucible."

"Once inside, a special incantation is used to make the creatures wild with hunger. They begin to hunt and kill one another, while the crucible's magic ensures that they cannot die from wounds, only from toxicity. Yet, as each creature consumes the next, it grows and grows in potency and power until one remains - one that possesses a superior venom drawn from all the others."

Bui's face paled.

"Then, they get the awakening Mage; usually a girl and usually a virgin - don't ask me why - and they have the girl place her hand inside the jar."

"Sir?"

"The thing bites the girl, and she either awakens as a Poison Mage, or she dies, becoming a boil covered mass of flesh consumed by the poison. Her corpse becomes so necrotic and deadly that her remains are harvested to be applied to weapons, darts, whatever have you."

"That's terrifying, Sir."

Choi chuckled.

"D-109 is a 'Gu', Sergeant Bui," Choi clarified for his pale subordinate. "The entire city, infested with Triads, NoMs, Slavers, Gangs, cults; now an unfriendly rival. What a wonderful 'Gu' for our student Mages to undergo."

"But..." Seargent Bui wanted to ask why a Magister would give out information on her students.

"Bui." Choi shook his head. "If you ask too many questions, you'll never make Lieutenant."

"Sir!"

"The thing with a 'Gu'," Choi instructed his young officer patiently. "When there are so many vermin in the pot, Bui, who would notice if we slipped in one or two more?"

The Secretariat cackled to himself.

"It's not every day you get sanctioned killers from the upper echelon who ask no questions and know no one to clean up our mess!"

* * *

Gwen stood in the cargo elevator with her companions, enduring the ancient gravitation platform’s groaning and shifting as it descended toward B7.

As expected, her party was operating independently from their seniors, who had been given a separate quest by Madam Lam.

“Well, what do you think?” Richard asked the rest of them. As the eldest and the most experienced Adventurer, he was their de facto leader. “I want your individual opinions before we proceed.”

To Gwen's surprise, Kitty was the first to speak.

“Carrion Crawlers don’t just appear out of nowhere. Someone’s bringing them into the sub-levels, breeding them, that’s my opinion.” Kitty continued. “According to Aldous’ Urban Bestiary, Carrion Crawlers are found where large amounts of carrion can be accessed. They should be large in size, between five to six feet long on average. They secrete a paralysing ooze found in their saliva and bodily fluids which can paralyse creatures they touch. Usually, they do not prey on living beings, though if they become large enough, they are known to attack humans. Their medicinal p-”

“Thank you, Kitty,” Richard nodded affirmatively at the pixie girl. “That was very useful.”

Kitty inclined her head, then glanced at Gwen.

“Mayuree?”

“The Filtration System are exchange-pillars using Conjuration and Transmutation glyphs, right? The Crawler could be holed up down there because of the mana-rich environment. A broken column could collate quite the mass of mana, given enough time. At any rate, if you can get me within twenty to thirty meters of the thing, I can tell you more.”

“Clairvoyance?”

“There's too much mana interference in those rooms. I'll have to send in an Arcane Eye.”

“I see. Gwen?”

Gwen had been silent the whole trip down because she had been thinking about Boss Yi since they left the conference room.

It was Secretary Choi who issued the edict for the purge, but Boss Yi who provided them with the details. Yi had told them that Filtration Column B7-4-3, located on Basement 7 extending to Basement 4 had been out of commission for almost three months. The NoMs that made a living down at the sub-levels reported seeing a giant larva of some sort - pale yellow and worm-like in appearance, lurking in the general vicinity. It had supposedly been snatching up the sick and infirm at night and dragging them back into its lair.

Watching Yi's face though, Gwen suspected that the big man wasn't telling the whole truth. The reason being that he had glanced at Secretary Choi's face about four to five times while they conversed.

To test her theory, Gwen had turned to ask the Secretariat why the PLA didn’t send any Mages down to investigate, Choi joked that if they had done the job, what need would they have for students like Gwen.

Unperturbed, Gwen continued to question Boss Yi, who was very much forthcoming and liberal with his information, almost as if he was reading from a script. The area, he informed them, was out of their zone of control and therefore not their responsibility. Yi controlled the west towers of the Hive City, Lam controlled the East, while Kha controlled a section near the middle. Though their influence extended below Ground Floor in theory, the lower levels were usually inhabited by NoMs who had lived there for generations, becoming cloistered into a kind of incestuous tribe of 'Undercity' degenerates who had grown to love the shelter of the darkness. Ergo, they needed a third party to go down.

There were people like these in every Hive-City of the Lost Districts, Choi explained, once a few generations had passed, certain demographics tended to lock themselves into a cycle of self-abuse and poverty.

One time, the PLA tried to root them out, to ‘help’ the fallen citizens of D118 back into normalcy.

The 'Under-folk' chose instead to immolate themselves, destroying three levels of the lower strata, trapping close to 4000 souls in a boiling hell of choking miasma before the Tower Mages moved in and purged the whole section.

“A Lost District within a Lost District, hilarious no? Microcosms within microcosm! A crucible for the human condition!”

Choi seemed in love with the sound of his own voice. From the alliteration of it, he was delighted with the elegance of his Chinese prose.

He told her that since the incident, the PLA rotated lower strata citizens by lottery - elevating families to the surface levels, sometimes even the mid levels, to offset any desire at entrenchment into the sub-basement. Families who resisted the benevolence of their autocratic leaders simply disappeared, evaporated, ‘moved away’.

But no such systems existed within the Lost Districts.

“Kitty's right on the money. There’s a bigger problem down there than a loose Crawler, that's for sure,” Gwen began, informing her party about her suspicions on Yi.

“Yi has told us a lot. Where it is. What it is. What we should be expecting. But he averted every question as to how it got there, where it came from.”

“Let’s say I am being paranoid, its entirely possible it spawned due to an abundance of magic or a tear in the Prime Material; it would still mean that something is creating carrion down there, I doubt this place can afford to waste food. Crawlers are omnivores, but they feed on necrotic flesh, right? There's no agricultural industry here, there's a protein farm, but that barely keeps up with demand, which leaves us with an unpleasant prospect."

“Someone is making carrion. Dumping bodies. Someone is rearing these things intentionally. YET, our quest is just to kill one of these things - a specific creature in the location Yi gave - what do you guys suppose that implies?”

"Eww..." Mayuree made an unpleasant expression. "They're hatching targets for us to kill?"

"That's my theory, anyway." Gwen pieced together the circumstantial evidence. "Additionally, I am not sure what the other 20CCs are for."

"Maybe we will run into more than one Crawler?" Mayuree asked.

"Or other trouble," Richard added. "The Crawler's 5 CCs, what do you suppose could be worth 20?"

The party members regarded at one another.

"Let's keep an eye out," Richard informed them.

“Agreed.”

“Yep”

"Fine."

“Great.” Richard turned to the door. “We have to go through B7’s residential zone first. Eyes wide open. Mayuree, we’re in your safe hands. I’ll take the point. Kitty's on second. Mayuree’s third, Gwen, bring up the rear."

“Detect Magic!”

“Detect Invisibility!”

“Detect Evil!”

“Detect Poison!”

“Detect Trap!”

Mayuree launched into a dazzling array of self-buffs as the lift slowed and finally stopped.

“Lea!”

Richard’s Undine appeared in mid-air.

Kitty’s eyes enlarged with self-evident longing.

“Lea, can you keep watch as well? Mayuree takes precedence, she has the weakest Shield.”

Lea inclined her head haughtily, shot Kitty a snide glance with her pale blue orbs, then shimmered before becoming invisible. As a high-ranked Spirit and a demi-Fey, she possessed both Flight and Invisibility at will. Richard once joked that rather than learning Fly himself, he could have Lea hold him up and sort of just ‘paddle’ through the air.

The cargo lift opened.

Basement level B-7 appeared before the Student Mages.

* * *

“Mistress Zalaam, they should be arriving. As you suspected, they’re headed for the area where Yi asked us to plant the Crawler.”

“Shukraan, Sui. Tell the others to be wary of the tall girl's Void spells. Get the handlers to send in the Crawlers first. Remember - I need her alive. The others don’t matter.”

“I shall endeavour to keep them 'all' alive for you, Mistress.” The woman known as Sui replied humbly.

“Where’s Zuyao now?”

“He was last seen proceeding through the western sewers, Mistress. The passage there should be safe before the rains hit.”

Nephres nodded with satisfaction. Everything was going smoothly so far. Her messenger to the Organisation was safely away. The trap-within-a-trap was set. Her naive lover had unknowingly sent the Student Mages her way. Best of all, when it happens - and it will happen - the blame would fall on Boss Yi. With any luck, it would also bring down that conniving Choi, the PLA hound guarding this place. Even from a distance, the man gave her the shivers.

She rechecked the Dossiers.

There was little on the young man called Richard other than that he had attended Princes and that he was related to Gwen Song. His parents were apparently not even tier 1 citizens. A nobody.

Richard Huang - Water - Abjuration - Conjuration. Nothing worth noting.

Mayuree - no last name - nothing on the girl other than that she was a Diviner.

Kitty Liang - Evoker - Transmuter - Ice - A sponsored Mage from the House of M. The girl could be problematic, but by that same measure, she was a grand prize.

As for the senior Fudan students, Lam had sent them elsewhere.

Nephres had hoped that the reports were more detailed, but this wasn’t the Frontier. Here they couldn't work their numbers into the stratum of the administration. Nephres recalled that her Mistress had mentioned Faceless was dead. The loss of the shapeshifter was a significant blow to the Organisation, for the creature had many identities that yet remained untapped. Nephres wondered if Faceless had been unique, or if her Mistress had more Doppelgängers under her command. Nephres always thought that it resembled the result of some infernal Conjuration, some sort of nightmare made flesh, like in the Odes of the Abyssian from her homeland legends, borrowing the skin of loved ones to fuel their malevolent existence.

Nephres thumbed the papers.

She couldn't help but feel a strange sense of nerves.

It wasn't a foretelling Divination, but nonetheless, she felt the unshakable buzz of peril. Call it instinct perhaps, or a woman's intuition. Nephres had enjoyed an outstanding track record of escaping harm, so far.

Her eyes fell upon Gwen Song’s Dossier. She would have to be extra careful with the girl in transit. It wouldn't do to have what happened to Edgar happen to her. Perhaps a drug? Or maybe a Stasis Unit. Yes. A Stasis Unit would be safest.

Nephres smirked.

In front of her, Sui waited patiently for her Mistress' orders.

“Sui.” Nephres' voice was the promise of milk and honey. “Go, I want you to oversee the operation personally. May Anubis guide you.”

Sui touched her forehead to the ground and kissed Nephres’ feet.

“I will do as you command, Mistress.”

Nephres felt the soft caress of Sui’s lips. She wondered if her Mistress could feel, as she just did when Nephres prostrated and kissed her soft feet. Unlike her dark, honeyed skin, the Mistress’s complexion was always pale and flawless, cold as though Nephres was touching her warm lips to hoarfrost.

Hopefully, with this redemption, she would be seeing her Mistress soon.

* * *

Lulan Li was having second thoughts.

She had travelled all this way out of the CBD because within the city's public domain, she would have no opportunity to confront the Void Sorceress.

Gwen Song was a Power Progeny connected to the PLA, she was a favourite of the Dean, and she was protected by more than one Magister from the university. If Lulan were to challenge her within the teleportation range of the Tower, even assuming she succeeded in humiliating the girl, there would be hell to pay for her clan.

But here - here in the Lost Districts, she could fight her fair and square. Lulan could issue a challenge, and they would fight. There were no Magisters here to interfere.

That was what Lulan had thought at first, at any rate, when the red mist came down.

Now the mist had thinned, and gone was the fervour that had compelled her to traverse Fourth Orbital Highway to District 109.

Should she return? A voice of reason whispered faintly in the dark.

No, no! She needed to show Gwen Song the difference in their power!

Maybe then, Gwen Song would realise the error of her ways and return Kusu’s daggers, or at least offer reparations if she had destroyed them.

Somewhere at the back of Lulan’s head buzzed the idea that all of this was folly, that she was going to make things worse or make a fool out of herself, but each time that thought surfaced, it was overridden by a scene of Gwen Song standing over Kusu’s unmoving body.

She thought of Uncle Kwon screaming.

Pei giving them that smirk that he always affected.

Their father shaking his head and say that they took after their mother.

The Patriarch Li slapping their father on the back approvingly, then turn to Kusu with disapproving eyes.

Her bruised cheek burned.

Her jaws ached.

Her blood was up again. The red mist came on as dense as iron. It always felt the most potent when she was using her clan's unique talent.

Each time, Lulan would find her body in motion before she could think clearly. Brother had told her that it was the Yang energy. The more proficient she became with the Iron Sword technique, the more she was prone to these episodes.

Gradually, she became aware of her surroundings once more.

She was in one of those warren-like corridors in the lower strata. She was sure that this was still Building 3. Assuming Gwen and her friends went to the central area, she had to somehow get to Building 10 or 11. Perhaps, Lulan’s head felt heavier than usual, she should have thought about this a little more. How was she going to find Gwen Song? Comparing the appearance of the strata from her previous visits to the double-digit Districts, Lulan estimated that she should be in Basement 2. Once a Mage worked through the incredible thickness of the foundation, the concrete layer between the levels shouldn't be nearly as thick. She shouldn't have much further to go.

Her eyes scanned the corridor.

She was being watched.

“You!” Lulan broke her trance and strode toward an adjacent door, where a face quickly disappeared behind a shoddy wooden door. “Come out!”

It only took her a second to approach the barrier. As she arrived, there was the sound of a bar sliding into place.

She turned to the next door. Her eyes met something dark in the dimness of the corridor.

“Dark Vision!”

A quick self-buff and she was staring down a corridor a hundred meters deep and filled with just as many pairs of eyes staring at her with a mixture of fright and curiosity. Whenever they met her eyes, however, they shrunk behind their barriers and slammed closed their iron-wrought door. As her scarlet cat’s eyes swept across the darkness, the sound of doors closing was like a repeating echo ricocheting down the corridor until it twisted from her view.

How are these people seeing in the dark? Lulan felt equally impressed and disturbed by the acute timidity of the undercity's denizens.

She knocked on a few more doors to no avail.

Lulan resisted the urge to kick down the door. It was better to play it safe in a place like this. There was an ambient sense of hostility in the air that made her skin crawl, not to mention the stank of acrid ammonia made her eyes water. She would take the Orange Zone mountains and jungle any day than spend another minute in a place like this.

“Iron Skin!”

Her complexion took on the colour of rust. Where her fingers touched the rough walls, it raked and chipped the surface.

Building 11 was northward.

Maybe she could find someone deeper in who could tell her where the Fudan party had gone.

Lulan sauntered down the twisting passageway, her footfalls heavy against the pavement like the beating of a telltale heart.

Abruptly, her progress was interrupted by the sound of a scraping and screeching Levitation platform moving in the distance.

There! Lulan's heart soared. In the Districts, movement between the layers was rarely undertaken by the magically operated lifts. Only important guests, outsiders, and the building's administrators made use of the platform.

"Haste!"

Lulan shot down the corridor, barging past the trash and the debris strewed across every surface. There were barricades too, but she ploughed past those with a single swing of her Conjure Blade.

"Stone Shape!"

The concrete walls parted.

"Stone Shape!"

A NoM family stared at the Transmuter, mouth open, as she appeared in their room, smashed through their dinner table, then disappeared again. From across the other side of the five-foot hole, their neighbours met their eyes.

Hmm, they thought to themselves. A few slats and they had an alcove for an additional bed.

A dozen more homes later, Lulan could no longer hear the lift.

Lulan became faintly aware as she ascended into the deeper levels of the East Wing that there was a great deal of groaning and moaning happening somewhere above her. This wasn't the sort of groaning associated with stressed metal, a sound she knew well.

There was also the tinnitus wail of those weeping in despair.

Lulan grimaced. She must have missed a critical turn.

There were whorehouses in the Districts. Lulan knew that.

As fitting as it was for Gwen Song to inhabit one, Lulan wasn't going to find her there.

The lift had been going down.

Lulan had quested in the Districts before and knew that it wasn't unusual for creatures to spawn in the magic-dense spaces below, no matter the warding put up by the Enchanters.

From the lay of the land around her, she could infer that somewhere below was a centre line that ran from one side of the superstructure to another, usually used by maintenance crews to access suppression systems or the underlying plumbing quickly.

"Stone Shape!"

Lulan descended.

When she broke past a concrete barrier into what she hoped was B-3 however, she appeared to have fallen into what seemed to be, for the lack of a better word, someone’s home, raising a cloud of dust and debris.

Lulan used the word ‘home’ lightly because she was in a cubical-hollowed out from what was once a small tunnel, padded and built up with salvaged wooden planks and painted over with what appeared to be tar. The resulting construct was a ‘room’ with a door, and now she had sliced through the roof and was standing in the ‘abode’ of whoever owned this place.

The door in front of Lu opened, revealing the filthiest man Lulan had ever seen. There was a sort of encrusted grime on the man that had almost become a part of his skin, making the man appear more southern than his Han facial structure first suggested. His clothes were likewise filthy, layers of unwashed stink piled upon one another until they were almost fused into a sort of cloth-armour.

Lulan felt immediately ill.

As the man opened his mouth to speak, a foulness Lulan dared not believe possible assailed her nostrils.

“Er-bi! How did a beauty like you get in here, eh? You from Madam Lam’s?Wocao! My house!”

“Shush! Shut up!” Lulan hissed. Madam Lam? The man thought she was a whore?! The nerve!

“Me, shut up?! Who the FUCK you think you are? EH? Sha-bi! You want to fucking die!? EHH!”

Lulan had never been treated this way in her life. Not even the Elders spoke to her like this when they beat her for insubordination.

Taking her timidness to mean she was afraid and helpless, the man came closer, made more brazen by Lulan's beauty which, in his eyes, was almost unearthly. Furthermore, the girl wore tight leather pants and a white singlet where he could see the white of her cleavage. No one ever wore clothes like that down in the Basement levels.

If the man had immediately recognised Lulan as a Sorceress, he would have fled the scene.

But the man had only seen Mages a few times in his life. By what logic would a Sorceress, a Deity-like existence, venture into his quarters? Furthermore, the girl was filthy with dust and grime, her clothes clearly soiled by passage through the ceiling. It was far more likely she had fallen down a collapsed tunnel somewhere and ended up in his abode. All's well ended well then, the man had thought. Maybe someone had heard his prayers of loneliness, eh? Hell, what if the girl had money on her, or food - either way, he could be traded her for something worthwhile, even if it's just a hot meal for returning Madam Lam’s property to the East Wing.

Lulan’s eyes widened in horror as the man reached out with scaly fingers, his parched lips dividing to reveal rotten teeth. The redolence was so ripe as to make her dizzy with revulsion and nausea.

The vagrant paused.

The girl's eyes. They looked like a cat's.

He felt a buzz of something in the air.

WOCAO! She's a Ma-

“Conjure Sword!”

From an open slit between the Primary Elemental Plane of Earth and the Prime Material Plane shot a slab of iron in the rough shape of a sword, elongated and jaggedly formed from tip to pomme, resembling a flattened, rusty girder.

As it slid forward, the metal crashed into the body of the pauper, punching through flesh and bone with the ease of a stiff finger of reprimand piercing a sodden strip of tissue paper. There was a sound of crunching bone, wet and sudden, as the weight of the blade was freed, dipping forward and smashing tip first into the concrete floor, cracking the pavement.

It stuck there, several inches into the concrete, embedded into the floor.

Blood, guts and viscera cascaded over the singularly shattered rebar slab, splattering and splashing with a grotesque cacophony.

The door which the man had earlier opened remained ajar, hanging from a nail.

A dozen pairs of blood-rimmed eye stared in horror at the gore-soaked girl inside their companion’s abode, their mouths parted in terror.

"Monster!" someone screamed.

"Kill it!"

"Find the Boss!"

"Block her in!"

"Someone help!"

"Aeeee!"

"YAAAAA!"

Hysteria suddenly filled the shack-strewn corridor of Access Tunnel B-7, the sound of clattering feet, screaming voices, beating sheets of galvanised iron, women’s screaming, men crying Blue murder, the crash of bodies against bodies filled the tightly wound space of the tunnel’s circumference.

To Lulan, it felt as though the world had suddenly gone insane. Why couldn’t these NoMs just shut the fuck up! How was she going to find Gwen Song in all of this chaos?!

Her face felt sick with filth.

There was a sudden taste of iron on her tongue, as well as Mao knows what else was inside the man.

The red mist descended.

Basement level B7 - Market Quarter.

Gwen had expected a scene from the undercity of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis. What she saw was a Saturday Bazaar from Market City in Sydney relocated into a tunnel network, inundated with customers and traders.

Originally built with the intention of moving heavy-plant, the tunnels were impressive in height, with a diameter of close to seven metres. Criss-crossing passageways further served as junctions where stands and stops met, densely populated with people who now stared at Gwen and company with grinning faces.

“Nihao! The Boss said yer was coming,” a greasy fellow with an indistinct face hidden behind grease and grime hailed them. It was impossible to tell if their guide was man or goblin, but given the time and place, Gwen and company gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Come this way, Mister and Missus Bosses.”

Gwen wrinkled her nose, there was a faint smell of sewerage, musky human sweat, and pressed body odour that oppressively hung in the air. Thankfully, the Mages had come prepared for such a thing. A little Prestidigitation about their attire and mundane foul odours could be held at bay.

Furthermore, Gwen noticed as they stepped into the tunnel, was that the floor was covered by some sort of sawdust or sand-like substance which kept it relatively clean.

The NoMs here had been supremely industrious, with wooden structures built into the sides of the tunnels and even hanging from the ceiling. Shacks, shanties, shops and shelters in stacks of three or four, piled five or six deep against the slanted curvature of the walls haphazardly.

Weakly glimmering Light spells in lanterns likewise hung from every surface of these structures, painting the scene with vivid hues of soft ambience that played softly through the smoke and steam.

To Gwen, the B7 Market ward was strangely aesthetic - a far cry from the urban decay of Blackheath. It felt as though the people here had decided that since the upper tiers were out of reach, they may as well make life below tolerable, feasible, worth living; rather than fall into the sort of abject purposelessness she’d seen in ghettos elsewhere.

To her old world sensibilities, the slums here felt more Mumbai than it was Calcutta, especially the heartache of the Shibpur district which Gwen had regretted touring. Though both were filled with abject poverty, one possessed industry, filling the viewer with hope. As for the other; one was sternly reminded that God was dead and humans could be real bastards, moved to maliciousness by the slightest suggestion of currency.

“Stick close,” Richard advised. “If you have to move around an obstacle, move no more than four meters from my side.”

“We’re being watched,” Mayuree said suddenly. “One Mage, low-level mana signature, 2 O’Clock.”

“I see them,” Kitty whispered.

“Don’t look,” Mayuree advised.

“Lea,” Richard intoned softly.

Something invisible moved through the space above the Mages.

The student Mages followed their guide further into the markets.

The residents of the dark alternated between wanting to gawk at them, especially the girls, and being too afraid to raise their head in case the subjects of their curiosity visited wrathful displeasure in return.

Gwen once again applauded her foresight of earth-pastel and pants, wondering if Kitty’s choice of ultramarine was a symptom of her own naive decision-making in Blackheath.

Comparatively, Mayuree’s garb, though not flamboyant nor suggestive, was the most attention seeking. Unlike Gwen, Richard and Kitty - she didn’t have a single spec nor splash of mud or dirt on her. In a place where Magic Items were hen's teeth, it was self-evident to their keen public that her attire was magically enchanted from head to toe. Knowing the cost of Mayuree's gear, Gwen wondered if any NoMs were unwise enough to risk life and limb for sufficient HDMs to feed their family for the next decade, or two.

The outing was advertised as an excursion, but the student Mages had all known that there would be some mild adventuring involved, especially that which put them in intimate contact with the NoMs. Mayhap next time, Gwen thought - the team could coordinate outfits as to appear less like a touring band, and more like working Mages.

When they passed a particular junction with a delicious smell, Gwen couldn’t help but be drawn to the sound of sizzling fat.

She soon caught sight of the smell's source, slabs of mystery meat on skewer smoking famously over charcoal.

“What is that?” Mayuree enquired as the party came closer.

“Looks like…” Gwen moved to block her view because her eyes caught the origin of the mystery skewer.

An old man, grinning happily at her, reached into a cage and produced what must be a mole of some sort, or a rat, or a gerbil, Gwen couldn’t tell in the dim light. With a deft swing of something like a switchblade, he gutted the squealing thing, threw its offal into a bowl, then used a three-pronged iron skewer to crucify the carcass so that it looked as though the hamster was being propped like a sock-puppet.

With the lemming's adorable face frozen in stunned disembowelment, the man flashed it over the charcoal; its fur fell away, revealing a rapidly crisping body of pink flesh sizzling with fat.

“Hey, Beauty! Free for you!” The man offered the visiting Mages a free sampler - a rare and generous offer; nothing was free in the undercity, least of all food.

Mayuree looked as though she was going to faint right there and had to be supported by Kitty, who was thankfully unfazed by the spectacle.

If Gwen were still her Sydney self, she would have battered the skewer away. After almost half a year in Shanghai though, she was a veteran culinary traveller, seasoned in outlandish gastronomical ventures from China and beyond.

Seeing that she was not adverse, the man heavily seasoned the greasy prize and spun it until it's flesh was al dente - chewy but still tender.

Gwen took the skewer and thanked the man.

What had Magister Wen said?

She was immune to all mundane disease and infections, right?

Watched by her companions, she took a bite.

“Tastes like chicken.” Gwen chewed. “Hmm, a little slimy, but satisfying. I’d call it an acquired taste. The spice tastes a little cumin and pecan, with a delightful crunch. You’ll learn to like it, I am sure.”

Her friends declined Gwen's offer.

As they passed, the seller began to holler.

"Best Rat! Best RAT in B7! Mage and Sorceress Approved! Get your RATS here! JUICY RATS! FRESH! 50 MSK!"

The party soon passed another stack of shacks.

“Oh Jesus.” Gwen heard the commotion before their eyes could be sullied with the spectacle. “Mayuree! Cover your eyes!”

“I am older than you!” Mayuree snapped at Gwen, realising way ahead of her companion what lied ahead. "You've never even had a boyfriend! Shouldn't you be the one who's worried?!"

It was only reasonable that the oldest profession in the world would thrive in a place where human life was cheap and abundant.

Their first sight of the four-storey abode of negotiable affection came in the form of a diaphanously dressed woman who waved at them; her sensuous flesh undulating and quivering passionately as the Mages rounded the corner.

Richard’s optics locked on for a few appreciative moments, then moved on. Mayuree, however, stared at the flapping flesh with her lips parted in frustration and fascination.

“Udder madness!” she muttered to herself. “Mao! Monstrous! Monstrous I say!”

As the group passed the brothel, the door opened to reveal an evidently intoxicated patron whose eyes lustily fell upon Gwen’s party.

“Hei hei! You young ladies new?” he blurted out before one of the working girls could drag him back in.

The space that formed around the patron was instant.

The man’s complexion turned to ash as adrenaline defeated alcohol.

“Shit! S-sorry! Please forgive me! Mistresses!” He fell to his knees, covering himself in the silt of grim and wastewater, slamming his head against the ground repeatedly until he bled profusely.

Gwen had a mind to stop her companions from acting out unnecessarily, but there was no need. Kitty, who had looked as though she was about to throw a Bolt at the intoxicated NoM, shook her head with disgust before pushing Mayuree ahead of her.

The group moved on, leaving behind a field of rime rimmed puddles where Kitty had entertained the thought of punishment.

“We’re close,” their guide stated, taking no heed of the commotion. “The Filtration section is just up ahead.”

“How're our guests?” Gwen whispered to Richard, taking advantage of the distraction to check up on their watchers.

“Following rather inexpertly through the crowd, I am spotting at least three. Lea says there’s four.”

“Six, actually.” Mayuree’s voice rang beside their ears. As a middle-tier Diviner, she could utilise Mass Message and Silent Message almost at will. The Divination Towers set up by the communication companies were magic devices mimicking the function of Divination Sigils. “You guys have no idea how easy it is to spot Mages in a place with virtually all NoMs.”

“Are they after our party?” Gwen asked.

“Looks like it,” Mayuree reported. “They’re convening and talking about us, Wanna hear?”

“You’re serious?” Gwen interjected. “You can…”

“Clairvoyance or Scry, take your pick.”

“Ho ho, what’s more discrete?” Richard laughed.

“Clairvoyance. I am casting it now. Keep moving.”

As the group continued to move, Mayuree opened a second channel in her Message array.

“Status report.”

“Almost at the entrance.”

“What’s team 2 doing.”

“On standby. Near the target.”

“Waiting on them.”

“Is it true they doubled the fee?”

“Yeah, triple for if they’re alive.”

“They’re from Fudan though…”

“If they resist….”

“I like the tall one.”

“We should kill the guy. The girls we can keep around.”

“As if. Nephres is moving out the Merchandise almost immediately.”

“I don’t know, they’re Fudan kids, they have power people up top…”

“Go home then. I wonder what Nephres will think of your cowardice, eh?”

“We can buy enough food for half a year if this succeeds.”

“Slavers, or robbers, or Triad,” Gwen stated coldly, her voice harmonised by Mayuree into their shared Message array, one that only mid-tier Diviners could formulate. “I’ve dealt with them before. They regularly abduct the local Neophytes who awaken and sell them for parts or as merchandise. Sometimes, they find someone with a rarer talent, and they get a little ambitious for their own good.”

“A bit too daring.” Kitty frowned, likewise sceptical. “Marong would kill every man, woman and child here if something were to happen to Mia. Hell, I would do it too if they dared lay a hand on her.”

“Let’s not go that far,” Gwen felt her scalp crawl at Kitty’s nonchalance. “It’s not like the citizens here are trying to harm us.”

“The NoMs are in on it too,” Kitty stated. “Why do you think this area is so prosperous? Where do they get the money for the mana? The water? The food? The wood? You think they can mine for crystals here?”

“A third power then? An outsider party?” Richard asked. "We met the bosses upstairs, right? They would be kneedeep in shit if they tried to impede or harm us. Secretariat Choi would skin them alive."

“Boss Yi is playing both sides then? Do you think secretary Choi knows?”

“Choi did offer 20 CCs for... something else,” Richard said thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No, this is too stupid. It’s just not worth it. I could solo these guys. With the four of us, they wouldn't even last five spell exchanges.”

“Shush!” Mayuree interrupted them suddenly. “Something’s happening. Two guys just came down another tunnel. I am bringing them through now.”

“Fuck. We need help. Some crazy-biaozi is carving the place up on B2.”

“Impossible, how did she get in? Where she from? Triad?”

“They’re getting too close to the target site. Mistress says the Fudan Mages take top priority.”

“Fine, take Liu to intercept. We’re proceeding to the original meeting point.”

“We don’t have enough people!”

“Tell the NoMs to go.”

"They are spell fodder."

“Leave them, Nephres said she’ll take care of it. We have our own job.”

“No! We need at least another two teams, give me Lu! That Biao-zi killed Lin and Pan already! She-"

“Shut up. Don’t make a scene.”

“S-Sorry! It’s just that-"

“What do you think?” Mayuree asked her companions.

“Well, I am personally a big fan of ambushes. Especially reverse-ambushes.” Richard grinned. “Gwen?”

“Let's see what they have in store for us first, shall we? Mia, how far can you Scry?”

“Not very far if I've never been there - I can send out an Arcane Eye though. We’ll see everything, but it'll take longer.”

“Any chance we might get detected?”

“None, I don’t sense a Diviner near. There’re also no Divination Relays in here, by the way. No Message devices. I am routing your Message spells through my Sigil with a Silent-spell suffix applied. I don’t think their Mages can actually talk to each other except face to face.”

“Poor sods,” Gwen noted. "The hunter becomes the hunted."

“Alright” Richard cracked his neck. “Say, reckon some of those CCs could be for busting a Slaver's syndicate?”

The rest of the party chuckled, even Kitty couldn’t help but smile.

“Can you contact our Seniors going to the West section?” Gwen asked.

“Too far,” Mayuree replied. “We're too deep in.”

“Let’s hope for the best then.” Gwen couldn’t help but feeling that bringing along a bloodline Diviner like Mayuree was cheating. Mia might lack DPS, Defence and Utility - but by God, her omniscient Intelligence made up for raw power ten-fold. Was this what its like to Adventure with a Diviner? To know what your enemies' progress, their locations and tactics, even listen in on their planning sessions? Insanity!

Ahead, the Fudan party's guide glanced behind as the student Mages conversed silently, occasionally grinning foolishly. In their flamboyant clothing, they looked like state visitors during the New Year Festival. When he’d heard that the city was going to get genius Mages from Fudan, he was half expecting Demi-Gods.

These just look like anyone else up above, the ones who had access to clean water and could see the light. They were most definitely mortal.

Heh! The guide thought to himself, feeling supremely confident of his bluffing skills. These uppity young Mages don’t know what they’re in for! Maybe once they were hogtied and incapacitated, even a man as low as he could have a go at giving them a swift kick up the bum.

* * *

Nephres was not a happy woman right now.

Moments ago, her NoM scouts had reported that Gwen Song was now physically progressing toward the trap they had laid for the Fudan Mages.

Then one of her backup crew just informed her that there was a third Fudan party that just barged in.

According to witnesses, the intruder was a lone-wolf Transmuter from Fudan in the upper basement levels making her way towards Gwen Song’s party. She wasn’t on the dossier list, but from the blabbering tongue of the survivors, the girl was trying to reconvene with her companions, and she wasn't adverse to ultraviolence.

The girl had apparently freaked out when confronted by some of the undercity's less than savoury residents, who had mistaken her for a whore from Madam Lams. Now, she was hacking her way through the natives like a red-hot knife through rancid butter.

Usually, Nephres wouldn’t care - the NoMs could all die tomorrow from a Cloud Kill, and she wouldn't care. But she couldn’t allow anything to intervene with her grand plan of ascension. Nephres wanted to return to her mistress’ side, or at least 'not' be stationed at a place as run down and filthy as the Lost Districts, and this was a God-given opportunity she could not afford to miss. For Nephres, whoring, gambling, fighting, drinking the honeydew of paradise - they were all fine and dandy in small doses, but in excess, vice rapidly lost its allure. There was only so much debauchery one could take before longing for the light of gardened terraces and a mug of Elven tea overlooking a shimmering skyline.

Nephres arrived at the B5 Guardhouse with her bodyguards in tow - a Senior Evoker and Sui, who was an earthen Transmuter, invaluable for a place with so much concrete.

“How’s it looking?”

She could smell the stench of blood even before she entered.

Inside was a dozen mangled bodies, alive but groaning. Nephres clicked her tongue.

“Tell me what’s happening.”

One of the Mages spat out a mouthful of clotted blood onto the floor.

“S-She came through the vents on B4 - just fell right on top of us. Don’t know who she is, but her spells look like Signature spells from one of the Sword-clans. She conjures some sort of iron-slab, which she uses to attack both up close and at a range. It b-blocks projectile spells too.”

Nephres furrowed her tapered eyebrows. That was the problem with these bloodline Mages. Their abilities were always outside the reasonable scope of potential solutions.

“What is she, a Magus? A Magister?”

“Her destructive potential is definitely Magus level.” The man winced, then persisted in coughing up more blood. “Shit, the healing potion was subpar. Cao! Made in China injectors!”

Nephres sighed. There was no helping it.

“Mass Cure Light Wounds!”

As much as she loathed helping these useless meat bags, they were still useful to her. With a simple incantation, she suffused the surrounding space with Positive energy. Jolts of emerald mana sought out their targets within the spell’s range and restored the wounded Mages.

Wounds closed, bloody stumps staunched. Pain ceased.

“Thank you, Boss!”

“Thank you!”

“You’ve saved my pi-gu!”

Words of praise from trash such as these meant little to Nephres, who took their compliments with a smile.

“I hope you’re not just throwing yourselves at her like roasted lemmings, where is she now?”

Nephres received her answer in the form of a crashing cacophony close enough to be audible.

“Is there a vantage point we can see?” she asked. Not having access to Divination was a pain. The presence of any Diviners in the Lost Districts was a great taboo that Secretary Choi enforced with an iron hand. When the iron fist of the CCP descended, it seldom spared innocents.

“Yes, Missus Boss, this way.”

Nephres followed the street Mage until they were at a set of service tunnels caught between B4 and 5. There were innumerable such tunnels built for access and maintenance by the Hive’s original designers, but they had all been turned into rat warrens by the NoMs eking out a living in the under-city.

The sounds of something dull and iron striking concrete became more prominent as they approached their destination until finally, Nephres saw first-hand the scene of the intruder's butchery, filtered through slitted vents corroded by the acrid air.

There she was, a lone, female Sword-Mage, soloing her Mage-team below.

The Clanner wore a stained-white singlet and what looked like biker's leathers, from the looks of which was enchanted against wear and tear. Her hair was now wet with gore, her twin irises concentric rings of rusty red, from the way she swung the heavy iron blade through the air without a care, the girl seemed to Nephres to be not entirely conscious of her actions.

Hmm, Nephres made a note of the girl’s strange demeanour. The girl below reminded Nephres a little of the infamous Blade Dancers from the Temple of the Jackal God. Those women too could manifest themselves as engines of whirling destruction, aided by their faith in the Jackal-headed, and a little potion that momentarily took away pain and fear, as well as inducing a sublime euphoria.

With a deft swing of a hand or her arm, the Sword Mage summoned a massive chunk of rusted metal - roughly in the shape of a sword but more akin to an oxidised slab of rough-hewn metal.

“Broad Strike!”

“Thrust!”

"Sweep!”

Nephres observed the girl carefully. As an experienced healer, she could use a Clerical form of Detect Magic used for medical diagnosis. From what she could see, the girl's conduits were a mess. Observing the mass of rusty mana swelling about her person, Nephres could see that the Sword Mage had a catalyst agent embedded into her chest which was now infused with her body.

Interesting. Nephres thought. Another potential treasure to be unearthed. Body-changing techniques that messed with the mana-channels a Mage naturally developed were both ancient and rare. The girl would make an exceptional specimen, dead or alive.

Not far from the girl, Nephres’ Abjurer was holding her off with Walls and Shields, sending the Sword Mage into a frenzy of futile frustration. They were trying to tire her out, Nephres realised. What faithful employees! Even risking their lives, her minions were thinking of the bottom-line.

Then the Sword-Mage began to holler.

“GWEN SONG! WHERE ARE YOU!”

“COME OUT! YOU BITCH! STOP HIDING!”

The girls’ voice reverberated through the lower levels, ricocheting off the walls with a metallic jangle.

“ARRRRGH!”

She hurled a length of iron toward one of the Abjurers, striking the Earthen Shield with such force that it penetrated the exterior and would have crushed the Mage cocooned within had the Sorceress been sufficiently lucid to direct her aim.

Merciful Jackal God below, Nephres exhaled. That’s some striking power!

Her Mages weren’t the likes of those in Fudan - they were mostly independents who attained tier 3 and 4 without instructions from caring Elders or wise Lecturers. Their spells lacked speed and finesse, but their mastery was more pragmatic and practical.

Across the service tunnel, the Sword Mage was swinging tirelessly.

Nephres watched the girl hammer away like a blacksmith, her mana barely diminishing.

They were certainly not going to subdue her at this rate.

Did Gwen Song murder the girl's father or something? Nephres couldn’t help but hope for a more coherent narrative. The girl's killing intent was so overpowering that she was tasting iron on the tip of her tongue.

"You!"

Nephres turned to the Mage who had summoned her and shot the young man a look of contempt and displeasure.

“Does that look like someone who’s the Fudan party's ally, you idiot?” she snapped at the stunned Mage. The problem with these Lost District Mages was that despite years of cultivating power and talent, they lacked basic education. To Nephres, they were effectively Magically empowered imbeciles.

“She wasn't screaming like a fengzi before.” The man lowered his eyes.

Nephres turned back to the girl.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Almost an hour now, Missus Boss.”

Nephres turned to the scene below contemplatively. The girl’s attacks suggested she wasn’t about to be OOM anytime soon.

The problem was that if they were expending personnel keeping this girl in check, then who could guarantee that the operation in B7 was going to be properly provisioned? Nephres was experienced enough to know that these progenies of the powerful always had some trick up their sleeve - mostly Contingency Rings, but potentially, they could have scrolls of higher Magics, triggered Magic Items, or even means to summon extra-dimensional creatures. The only way to suppress them was through an ambush, and to do that she had to be personally present; there were no other Mages in the city with the relevant talent to keep her Mages, and the beasts topped up as they ground down the student's mana. As young Mages, the Fudan Mages should not have had much time to acquire an extensive mana pool.

“Get a runner down there, tell them to hold their position until we engage the Fudan students. If the girl wants Gwen Song so badly, we’re going to bring her a gift. Make sure the handlers are well hidden, full lockdown. They are not to reveal themselves without my express say so.”

Her runner was off at once.

Nephres stayed to watch the girl for a few more minutes. There was a trail of blood leading away from the Sword Mage and toward the dark recesses of the B4 complex. From the viscera that splattered the walls, it was evident that the girl was accustomed to the sight of blood; an average Student Mage would have lost their nerve upon seeing the sight of human offal.

Not even Nephres felt immune to the sight of such coagulant gore.

Sometimes, a well-flung trail of intestinal tract could go for six to seven meters. Then there was the stench of ruptured stomach acid and shit, it was not something an average Mage, much less one trained in a walled garden, could endure.

Nephres was confident between their Sui's Transmutation and Liu's Abjuration, they could lead the girl down two more levels toward the target zone. Then, all they had to do was wait for Gwen Song's party to engage, and they could send her blasting down the tunnels full of red-eyed rage.

Nephres couldn’t help but allow a smile to touch her lips.

This was going to be more interesting than she thought.

“The Filtration section begins just ahead.” Their guide bowed, moving aside. “This is where I must leave you.”

Richard turned to Mayuree. Their Diviner extraordinaire continued to empower their Silent Message array. From an outsider’s perspective, it looked as though the Mages were moving their mouths and mumbling something barely audible.

“How’s it look?”

“Got a spotter, 7 O’clock, creeping in the ducting. There are probably other spotters, but if they’re NoMs, I can’t detect them.”

“How’re they communicating?”

“Runners from the looks of it. That or shouting very loudly. The mana signature registers as barely tier 1 in transmutation. I am guessing he knows a few enhancement spells, probably Expeditious Retreat.”

“How does it look, up ahead?” Richard asked. "In the filtration chambers."

Mayuree squinted.

“Sorry, Richard. I can't tell. The entire segment is lit up with too much residue mana of all sorts. It’s like a solid block of illumination four storeys high, going on for about six to seven blocks.

Amazing! Gwen wondered if she too could one day attain the sort of proficiency Mayuree had shown, feeling such delight that she wanted to squeeze Mayuree’s haughty cheeks.

Sensing their query, Mayuree explained that her Greater Detect Magic could distinguish the presence of other Mages up to a hundred meters away, assuming a clear LOS, and through walls about twenty or so. Outside of the staple spell, she could scout ahead with a magical eye, or use her powers to listen in on the conversation of people they could see. Furthermore, given time and preparation, combinations of spells such as Scry and Clairvoyance, combined with Locate Creature or Track, brought great utility as well.

The Diviner was a one-woman intelligence service equipped with all the right tools. Additionally, Mayuree could foretell danger should anything escape her notice. Unlike Gwen's mediocre senses, Mayuree could also pinpoint the direction of the threat as well as gain an understanding of the chronology of events to come. Sometimes, as with her unfortunate self-reading, she could additionally foretell 'keystone' persons, places, or events.

Gwen gushed. Such competence! After watching Mayuree sleep, eat, and procrastinate for half a term, she could scarcely believe that this was the same girl who went from awake to asleep in Management within thirty seconds of Professor Ma opening his mouth!

“It would be nice if we had Tao here,” Richard noted with a wry smile. “He could ‘send’ a team up ahead.”

Mr Wang would probably burst into tears if he heard that, Gwen mused. Tao Wang, wanted and useful, in an elite team from Fudan.

“Mr and Missus Bosses?” their guide craned his neck. “I leave you now, okay?”

“Thank you, you may go now.”

They watched their guide leave. It was impossible to tell if the man was genuine or leading them to a trap, or both occurrences happened to coincide.

The party turned to the bulkhead that led into the filtration section of B7. The excess mana that leaked from the area meant that there were unlikely going to be NoMs within. Non-magically aligned humans could live in highly magically charged environments, but they seldom chose to, as quasi-magical diseases and parasites made short work of NoMs lacking the means to defend themselves.

Richard incanted the codified-glyph the Secretariat had given them. The door unlocked with a rusty clang of mechanisms moving out of and into place.

The banded-iron gate swung open, revealing interchanging nodes of light and darkness where decades-old Light glyphs struggled against disrepair. Boss Yi had told them that following the old adage of never fixing that which wasn’t broken, he had barred access to the Building 10 Basement 7 filtration plant on pain of death. Had not a 'Crawler' manifested somehow on the level, not even acolytes of Fudan would have been given access to such an important section of the city's livelihood.

“Arcane Eye!” Mayuree created an all-seeing eye of Divination capable of piercing illusions and seeing in the dark. The eye itself was invisible as it shot forward, feeding back to the Diviner everything it conveyed. The spell was notoriously difficult to exercise, as it forced the user to perceive a 270-degree field of view that was disorienting in the extreme, especially in motion.

Like flying a wide-angle lens drone with a VR headset, Gwen mused.

Mayuree scanned the next few rooms and the corridors, revealing that they were unexpectedly free of any Crawlers. When she skimmed the ground closer with her Arcane Eye, however, she spotted a trail of viscous, snot-like slime. Mayuree held her breath unconsciously, then followed the trail.

If they were in a dungeon, there would be a need for a scribe to map the place, Gwen thought, wondering if there was such a thing as an auto-mapping data slate or something that made the process less time-consuming.

Gwen watched her expression move from curiosity to contortion.

“What’s wrong?”

“I found the creature we’re looking for. Section 3-8. It’s set up a nest of some kind down here. I can, oh Mao - I can see a few bodies mostly bloating and rotting. I don’t think it's on B7 though, I had to move up the vent - I’d say B6?”

“What’s it look like?” Richard asked.

“L-like a white Caliban with moustache tentacles, maggoty, oozing pus all over. It’s pretty big as well, about the size of a small car.”

“Strewth!” Gwen suppressed her nausea as well, making a mental note that Caliban must not eat this thing. If Caliban could turn into a netherworld larva the size of a VW Golf…

Mayuree’s Eye continued its tour of the surrounding area.

“I got something,” she continued. "Let me finish doing the round."

"Ooop, I found something!" Mayuree gushed. "Well, I found someone."

"Okay, steady..."

"Yes! One more!"

"And another!"

"Alright, Basement level 5, Section 2-3, 4-3, 3-6 and 4-8. Hostiles, a dozen NoMs armed with… nets? Why are they doing with fishing nets? Catching the Carrion Crawler? There’s a Mage with each group as well. Evocation and Transmutation from the looks of it- Whoops! One of them just looked at me. I am going back into the vents. Maybe they know Detect Magic?”

"... okay, I am safe. False alarm."

Using the entrance of the filtration quarter as cover, Richard asked Lea to create a little model of what Mayuree was seeing as the Party convened for their next step.

“So, its confirmed,” he said. “An ambush. Waiting for us to take on the Crawler maybe. Those things are notoriously difficult to kill. As a magical aberration born out of God knows what, their bodies resist physical damage and their slime has both paralysing effects and acts as protection against elemental damage.”

“So Gwen’s right? There’s someone responsible for this thing?”

“And laid a trap for us no less.” Gwen tapped her chin. “What are they hoping to accomplish? They can’t be robbing us, that’s absurd. Ransom maybe? A kidnapping? That's beyond stupid...”

“Half the Undercity would cease to exist,” Kitty scoffed. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“Then that makes even less sense. Are those Undercity Mages protecting the Crawler, maybe?”

“It’s still a magical creature,” Richard added. “A powerful one at that, tier 4 or 5 at least. Maybe they’re looking to harvest its core?”

“Too much effort. With this many men, they could form a party and go to the Orange Zone,” Mayuree dispelled Richard’s hypothesis.

“Assuming they are after us -“ Gwen stated unpleasantly, from experience, she had no difficulty believing the extent to which Slavers may go to capture a rare talent. “Any group that wishes to operate with the domain of the Tower would not dare antagonise Fudan. Assuming they're after one of us, they would make enemies of powers they cannot possibly contain. The presumption, then, I would suggest, is that they are a group operating outside of the CCP and the Towers' power. Perhaps Rogue Mages?”

The others considered her theory and found it sound. It was the only logical explanation, given the circumstances.

“Well, how do you want to do this?” Mayuree asked, looking a little unsure. "Do we... umm..."

Gwen felt her whole body tensing.

There it was.

The moment of truth.

She studied the three-dimensional diagram in front of them. The enemy was grouped into four quadrants, one Mage to four to five NoMs. They were situated one basement level above the creature. From the looks of it, they had planned to attack the Fudan party as soon as the Mages had exhausted themselves against the worm, maybe catch Gwen’s party unaware via some sort of environmental effects, like a collapsed ceiling or a flood of water. That would explain the fishing nets, Gwen surmised for the others. The filtration systems could summon immense volumes of water. If they did not have Richard with them or Mayuree with them, it was entirely possible that herself and Kitty could be caught unaware and swept away, drastically diminish their mobility and interfere with their spell casting.

“Gwen.” Richard placed a hand on her shoulder. “Caliban. Consume or Onslaught. Those Mages look tier 3 or 4 at best.”

Gwen flinched at her cousin suggestion, feeling her hands grow clammy.

Vents. Enclosed Spaces. Caliban. Fresh Meat. It was a good plan. There was one Mage in each sector.

If her creature descended upon her hapless victims, there would be no survivors. It would be a repetition of Blackheath.

No, not a recurrence.

Worse.

Far worse.

Gwen felt her initial euphoria over Mayuree’s Divined advantage transform into a cold and unpleasant epiphany. Earlier, when speculating about the battles ahead, she had anticipated that like her prior experiences, they would be assaulted by parties who wished to impede or oppose them, then in the heat of combat, she would wound, maim and if need be, kill her enemies.

But this…

They had a word for it in her old world.

Murder.

Cold-blooded, premeditated, murder.

“There’s likely quite a bit of noise and vibration once you get down there,” Richard continued to explain, perhaps sensing her unease. “With any luck, the other groups wouldn’t hear…”

Mayuree's complexion paled as well, watching Gwen's silence, her own conscience was catching on.

Kitty's eyes moved from Mayuree to Gwen. In her opinion, if one of them had to do the dirty work, it was self-evident that Gwen should be the one to get her hands dirty. She was the one with the monster leashed to her soul.

Gwen began to speak.

She knew the day would come, but not like this. Not over something so trivial. Not for convenience.

“Wait!” Even if it was futile, she had to steer her companions' minds away from one of bloodlust. “You’re all forgetting about what the Secretariat’s quest for us was! It’s to kill this thing, right? It’s to make this level safe from an aberrant beast! We don’t have to go in there and kill everything and everyone. What would be the point? I know of a way to solo the Crawler. Single shot artillery spell. Boom, and its smithereens. Richard can defend me, Mayuree can keep an eye out, and Kitty, you can run interference if anyone comes to find us. Think outside the box! We’re not going to benefit from killing these NoMs and Mages, because it’s not a part of our quest! This way, bang-bang-boom, 5 CCs. Done! Otherwise, we waste time and mana, get blood on our hands, and for what?”

"More pussyfooting around?" Kitty frowned at Gwen, her eyes critical and unpleasant.

Mayuree pulled at her friend's sleeve. Kitty turned to the Diviner.

"Mia?"

"I... don't want to kill the NoMs," Mayuree raised her voice, perhaps thinking of the NoMs in District 35, or maybe the lively scene she had seen in the market. Ma's thought experiment had struck her soundly. These NoMs were just people, desperate people trying to eke out a living. To kill them in defence was one thing but, to casually slaughter them when an option for avoidance was available, wasn't the outcome she had intended with her Divination.

Gwen was averse to murder, while Mayuree had no desire to be accessory to murder.

Richard grinned his usual grin, shrugging. He would abide by Gwen's choice.

“You sure you can kill the Crawler solo?” Kitty pulled a face before turning to her fellow LCSS candidate. "Also, an artillery spell? You know an artillery spell? What are you, tier 4? 3?"

“I’ll Consume it if I have to.” Gwen’s expression was full of hopeful determination. “As for your question, yes. I know an artillery spell. Worked it out with Magister Wen. We measured the maximum output between tier 6 and 7."

Kitty's pale eyes grew hard, impressed but not convinced.

“If you screw this up and they find us, I am not going to be soft-hearted, just so you know,” she warned Gwen. “My Path does not allow for such sentimental hesitations. Mao knows why you’re trying to spare these trash.”

“Thanks, Kitty,” Gwen unwound the tension in her voice. That settled it.

She knew that Mayuree’s friend was the sort of person whose words were harsh and unforgiving, but having spent six weeks with the girl, Gwen knew better than to judge Kitty by her frigid exterior.

Nonetheless, empathy was a rare bird in this world. Even Gwen's friends, whom she considered good people, didn’t see killing enemies to be something that was morally reprehensible. Had Kitty been blooded? She certainly acted the part. Richard? Gwen had no doubt. Conversely, Mayuree was a confessed neophyte in the taking of human life. As for herself, Gwen could only abide by her lingering remorse.

At least for now, she had convinced her party to give her a chance to complete the quest without unnecessary bloodshed. If they still got attacked by these NoMs and Mages, then her mercy was at an end.

There was a nonchalance she still couldn't quite grasp.

How can one come to accept a training exercise with sanctioned murder?

If she were to kill an innocent, attack a fellow Mage in Fudan, she would be trialled and sentenced, then put in Stasis or be done and dusted by a well-aimed Disintegration.

But because she could label someone with no backing, no authority, no Clan and no allegiance 'THE ENEMY', she would receive accolades and applause for mass-murder.

To kill under the duress of dire straits was one thing - but the alternative?

She walked the Path of Violent Conflict, not the Path of Gleeful Butchery.

"Gwen?" Mayuree turned to her friend. "Are you right?"

The time for thinking was over. Now was the time for action.

“Ariel!”

“Eeeeee! Eee!”

“Caliban!”

“Shaa! Shaa!”

Gwen faced the threshold, beyond which was the flickering unknown.

“Right,” she informed her companions. “I am ready.”

* * *

Richard sighed internally.

Gwen had an irrefutable logic.

These slavers weren’t going to be worth any CCs.

He could probably drown the whole room without making a peep, but what was the benefit?

He had known that Gwen would be averse to the killing. Likewise, he could have offered Gwen a reprieve, taking it upon himself to kill the men so that her little hands remained unsoiled for a little longer.

But instead, he'd egged her on because Gwen needed instruction in matters more than just magic.

Lord Gunther had told him as much when he left for Shanghai.

“Now that you and I are both privy to Gwen's peculiar quality,” Magus Shultz had shared with him. “We have some interesting times ahead of us. My Master had seen his redemption in Gwen, and I am determined to see his legacy fulfilled, for all our sakes. Despite her trauma, her mind has retained a clarity of purpose, her heart an unwavering moral compass. That is why Master loved her so. The girl has a curious ability to see things with a perspective outside of our ken, a conception of balance, just like her Void and Lighting, interesting, don't you think?"

“The abuse of greatness is when the use of power is disjointed from remorse,” Richard recalled Gwen’s tale of meeting her Master. How strange her mind worked!

“In times of doubt, look to Gwen,” Gunther had advised. “But when she is in doubt, give her a prod.”

Richard observed Gunther's grey eyes.

"How forceful a prod, Sir?"

“Keep her safe, but don’t keep her sheltered,” the Magus had informed Richard. “She will bend, but Gwen will not break.”

And so I shall prod. Richard thought to himself as Gwen summoned her Familiars. He regarded Caliban in its serpentine form, appreciating the obsidian serpent's smooth, high-gloss exterior. A double-edged blade, he thought to himself, one that necessitated finesse and skill.

As the others entered the filtration chamber, Lea returned from her discrete little adventure in the vents above.

The Undine informed him through their telepathic bond that the spotter in the vent had expired.

'Anyone else?' He asked internally.

'The NoM who was watching us is unconscious,' Lea replied. 'I spared him as you asked.'

'Good girl. Stay out of sight, Lea.'

Richard felt a light pressure to his right.

He looked down to see Mayuree, her face full of questions. Gwen and Kitty could not detect his invisible Familiar, but Mayuree could.

He smiled at her innocuously.

“What are you doing?” It was a Private Message.

“Doing what I can for Gwen,” Richard answered without a hint of shame. "Paving the road ahead. Doing my best."

“Best for you, or for Gwen?"

“Is there a difference? I can't foretell the future, I am not a Diviner.”

“…” Mayuree's amber eyes searched his face for an answer.

Were it not for the fact that she knew Richard was bonded to Gwen as both family and ally, she would have exposed him right there. Killing the Mage up in the vents was a convenience, not a necessity. It was only a moment ago that Richard had affirmed Gwen's proposal of letting the non-combatants live.

“Why did you kill him?”

Richard’s answer was as cryptic as it was chilling.

“You gave me cause.”

“Me?”

“Aye,” Richard paused, then gave Mayuree a look that made her skin crawl. “Because we have no need for low-level Transmuters.”

“…”

The Diviner walked on ahead.

* * *

The party entered the filtration chambers.

The wastewater exchange nodes were rooms constructed from ferroconcrete, transmuted into twenty-meter width cubes. In the midst of each hub, was an enormous pillar inscribed with a combination of Transmutation, Conjuration, and Abjuration Magic held together by inscriptions and glyphs of the Enchantment School. A plumbing system which tunnelled throughout the Hive city was embedded within, taking fetid wastewater from above and then expelling it into the near-infinite stratum of the Elemental Plane of Water. Below, another node drew in fresh, clean water from elsewhere on the Plane, feeding the purification junction in B2. Though exceedingly rare, the occasional Elemental creature thus stole into the Material Plane, causing havoc in the Hive cities where maintenance was neglected.

When the device was first introduced to the Management students, Gwen almost spat out the chai she was nursing. How big was this Elemental Plane of water exactly? She thought to herself. What if some Aquatic Demi-God came across a floating log of human turd? Would they then desire to punch through the fabric of reality into the Prime Material Plane and end humanity once and for all?

Magister Wen later provided Gwen with some solace by informing her that the Elemental Plane of water was of a scale measured in astrophysical terms. The amount of waste humanity injected into the Plane would not even account for a single particle of waste ejected by native creatures to the plane, such as the True Leviathans, whose size was measured by continents, and whose turd, Gwen reasoned, would be the size of Tasmania.

The filtration system within the room was as Secretariat Choi had described. They were built in the eighties, and many of its sections were suffering from disrepair. Parts of it glowed faintly, others had chipped or missing inscriptions. The lower section had plumbing failures, resulting in gushing pools of foul water that ran ankle deep into water-worn crevices that leaked into the lower floors.

There was also a scent of death in the air, distinct from the heavy odour of human excreta. It was the sort of smell that was sour and acrid with an offending odour that watered the eyes. There was likewise a faint sound of buzzing in the distance, as though someone had thrown a wasp’s nest into a room and then shut the door.

“We’re close enough. We’re smelling the Crawler because of the connecting vent above us.” Mayuree indicated to the rusted entry-point above, where a network of ventilation shafts lay long neglected, used only by strange and aberrant creatures spawned from the chamber’s connection to the Elemental Plane of Water, and now an Arcane Eye. “The creature’s lair is one level above us on B6 and one chamber to the North. The Slaver Mages are on B5 above the creature, spread across various adjacent rooms. My Arcane Eye is currently overseeing the creature. It's disgusting. It's got some sort of compound insect eyes too, and tentacles, and it's squirmy and slimy, and oh God, its got maggots in its maggot body! Arrrgh!”

"It'll all be over soon, Mia," Gwen promised. "Hold steady!"

She knelt and focused upon circulating Alumdj’s mana until half of her Druidic essence congealed into a sphere the size of a ping pong ball.

“Ariel, come here.”

“EEeee!”

Ariel appeared beside her hand in a flash. With a snap of its jaws, it swallowed the ball of vital energy with an audible chomp. As the emerald energy suffused its body, Ariel's serpentine, marten figure grew several magnitudes until it was almost the size of a hunting hound. Sparks of emerald lightning arced from its whiskers onto the concrete, gouging out a set of Lichtenberg figures across the pavement.

"Eee!! EE!!" it 'E'ed at Gwen.

Her companions, Kitty included, felt the palpable intensity of the mana stored inside Ariel's body.

“Caliban, you’re on back up,” Gwen communicated to her Familiar that it should wait for Ariel to deliver its payload, then strike if the Crawler survived the lightning blast. “Stay in your serpent form until you’re needed. Okay?”

“Shaaa! Shaaa!” Caliban 'S'ed at Gwen.

Gwen could only assume her infamous 'Mongolian Death Worm' understood.

“Okay, lets head up now. Mayuree?”

“All good, the thing’s still in there. Keep in mind I’ve only got the proficiency to control one eye. Our goal is to do this quickly and get out before they're able to come down. Time is of the essence.”

“That’s right,” Gwen said deliberately. “Let's make this clean and snappy.”

Kitty scoffed. In readiness, she had also put on an array of self-buffing Transmutations. Her A-line one-piece had now become a sort of battle-dress, encrusted with dense shards of frigid crystal. Like a Valkyrie of ice, she floated through the air, hovering an inch off the ground, radiating an Aura of Frost that would slow any enemy that tried to close the distance to melee her.

“Richard?”

“Lea and I are good to go.”

Gwen nodded.

“Thanks, everyone.” She knocked her boots together. It wasn't necessary, but she had felt the gesture suited the effects of the magic item rather well. “Flight!”

Caliban coiled itself around her waist while Ariel rode on her shoulder. Gwen elevated herself carefully until she reached the height of the vent, near the entrance where Mayuree's eye had entered prior.

At about half a meter from the rusted ventilation, her familiars leapt into the corroded space of the metal with a terrific clang.

“I think it heard that. It's stirring.” Mayuree kept a real-time tab on the Crawler with her face half caught in a suppressed gag. "Mao, that was loud!"

Rookie mistake No. 1, Gwen grimaced. The Arcane Eye was silent and ethereal. Physical movement through the vent was a drunkard playing silly buggers with a trash can outside an inner-city pub, 3 AM Friday night.

Too late now though, Gwen thought. She had to see it through.

Gwen channelled a jolt of Lightning mana into Ariel.

“Haste! Go!”

Ariel disappeared in a silvery-emerald streak of light. Caliban slithered forward as well, traversing the vent in an S pattern. When Ariel reached the vertical section, it kicked off the sides with another terrific ‘Clang!’ and made its way up.

As for Caliban, the Void serpent turned its faceless mien upwards, then requested the mana necessary to transmute legs.

Rookie mistake No. 2, Gwen pulled a face. There was a vertical section too steep for her pet to climb in its snake form.

Gwen allowed the request, feeling her blood run cold as Caliban assumed the form of the Javanese Death’s Head centipede.

Caliban stretched out its 29 pairs of newly sprouted legs and began its ascent with a rhythmic ‘tink-tink, tink-tink, tink-tink-tink’, its carapace clanging as it went and its bulbous head and two grasping mandibles attached banging the vent like a cymbal.

‘Clang! Clang! C-C-Clang!’

‘Tink-tink-a-tink! Tink-tink!’

“Shaaaa!”

'Clong! - Clong! - Clong!'

An unholy orchestra of noise reverberated and shot through the vent with such absurd cacophony that Gwen's party could hear nothing else.

“Mayuree.” Gwen closed her eyes as to avoid becoming distracted, turning her mind inward to feel her Familiars through their empathic link. Until her creatures took on Spirits or became higher-order existences, they would not be able to feedback visual and audio stimuli like Lea. It meant that she would have to trust her training of her two Familiars, that and abide by Mayuree’s observations. “Mia, be my eyes."

“It’s fully active now, it's moving toward the vent!” Mayuree shouted over the ding of Gwen’s Familiars raking and ripping their way through the rusted vents.

“Ariel, faster!” Gwen's voice took on a tone urgency, giving her pet another jolt of mana.

Within the field of Mayuree’s Arcane Eye, she saw Ariel launch from the vent into the corroded, slimed covered filtration room where the Crawler had made its lair, skidding across the slippery pavement.

“Ariel’s in!”

“Combat form!” Gwen released the limits placed on Ariel’s marten form and allowed it to transform into its mongoose shape. “Ariel, keep it company while I ready the spell!”

“EEeee Eee!!”

As it enlarged, the mongoose became surrounded by a splash of blue-green energy that scorched the ground, its spiral horns blasted off a jolt of excess electricity which ionised the fetid air into purified ozone.

Above the Mongoose and Crawler, an arcane eye hovered.

The Crawler had apparently been feeding on the filth that leaked from the malfunctioning filtration node, growing fat on waste and excreta. Now that Ariel was in the fray, Mayuree could see just how unnatural this aberrant creature had become.

The bestiary had stated that Crawlers measured up to a maximum of five-feet, but this creature was clearly nine-feet and then some, excluding its writhing tentacles. It had evidently outgrown its own natural instinct for carrion, for Mayuree could see that in the pile of amphibian spawn-sacks behind it were pale and bloated bodies of humans in various states of decay.

Ariel’s fur fluffed into needle-like slivers as it blasted the creature with a shower of pins and needles, setting up a damage multiplier for Gwen's next assault.

Enraged, the Crawler vomited forth a spray of vile milk liquid in a frontal cone which covered a distance of almost four meters.

Ariel proved far too fleet for a creature used to tracking down unmoving prey either dead or dying. Ariel, meanwhile, in the form of a creature born with the reflex to hunt and devour Wildland cobras, moved as a streak of quicksilver. With a thrust from its powerful hind legs that pulverised the pavement, Ariel leapt from the ground, kicked from the walls, and used the three-dimensional nature of the filtration node to manoeuvre itself into the Crawler’s blind spots, sending its compound eyes twisting and turning on their stalks.

Gwen, meanwhile, readied her artillery spell.

Mayuree was keeping her topped up with a steady stream of updates, informing her that Ariel was performing masterfully. With Mayuree's panoptic eye, Gwen could alleviate her worry that Ariel lacked the intelligence to supercede its tunnel vision prey-sense, making it susceptible to ambushes.

One after another, she incanted the necessary patterns of the Evocation Sigil required to manifest Elemental Sphere.

Though the spell was still a tier above her, she had studied the incantation enough to complete the circuit. Using a spell above one's attained tier was slow and costly, though Gwen had mana to spare.

Caliban suddenly sent her an empathic warning.

“Something’s coming through the top side!” Mayuree abruptly shouted beside Gwen, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What in Mao’s name? A Stone Shape is manifesting on the east wall!”

The intrusion was so sudden that Gwen almost let slip of her spell.

“Gwen, if you’re going to do it…” Mayuree urged her to make or break. As the intrusion had posed no immediate danger to Mayuree, she had not foreseen it coming and was just as surprised.

Gwen caught her fumble and finished the last few syllables. For a combat spell meant to be used in the heat of battle, Gwen's carefully orchestrated artillery version had taken her almost three minutes.

"Gwen! I think its-"

“BARBANGINY!”

Gwen finished the last dozen syllables of her incantation, feeling the strain on her Evocation glyph dialled to eleven. Given a choice, she would have chosen Lightning Bolt, but it was only in her new Signature Evocation AOE that she had full confidence. The spell required no aiming in an enclosed room, just that Ariel was within ten feet of their target.

"Garr! My eyes!"

Mayuree felt her arcane eye burst with a brilliant display of dazzling light.

At the same time, before her spell fizzled, she had seen the wall burst open to reveal a familiar mana signature she was sure she had detected before.

The ball of plasma which erupted from Ariel was like a miniature sun manifesting within the tightly constrained space of the filtration chamber. Arcs of blue-green lighting running at a billion or more volts filled the room, turning the air into flames.

The Crawler creature made a single screech before its mucus evaporated, its flesh charred, and its soft innards boiled. Already pin-cushioned by Ariel’s lightning-charged spines, the volatile energy sought a path of escape, finding itself drawn to the creature’s body, obliterating it so entirely that it split from top to bottom in an eruption of superheated mucus.

Then the first stage of Elemental Sphere ended, and the second stage began.

A secondary burst of electricity in emerald and cobalt smothered the room in a cleansing tempest, scouring every inch of its surface with plasma, flaying the necrotic air with heavenly fire until only ozone remained.

* * *

Gwen immediately retracted Ariel and Caliban when the spell connected.

Rookie mistake No. 3, Gwen sighed. Too much gunpowder in the cannon.

She wanted to make sure the volume of vitae spent was a sufficient multiplier for the Crawler.

But, Gwen realised too late. Overkill was overkill.

Having spent weeks practising Ariel’s lightning manifestation, as well as record metrics with Magister Wen, she had developed an acute internal sense for the strength of lightning produced by her Evocation Sigil.

Week after week, she had felt the intensity and power of her Evocation Sigil increase in proficiency little by little, like water carving out a pathway through stone, becoming more fluid and fluent.

From the rush of heat exploding from the vent, Gwen's spell appeared to have ignited the residual mana within the room, left by the broken Enchantment of the filtration system.

Gwen felt her back soaking with sticky perspiration.

Rookie mistake No.4, she drew in a hot breath of ionised air. Getting caught in an accidental AOE of one's own making.

If Gwen had been in that room, and she had no idea that her lighting was powerful enough to ignite the excess mana - then the ramifications would have been severe burns or even incapacitation. Gwen was confident her Shield was supreme against pinpoint physical attacks, but this was a burst of plasma that turned all localised moisture into superheated steam.

She couldn't help but applaud her choice of avoiding the Slavers. What would have happened if she was with allies in that room? Or that Gwen had chosen to cast the spell as Richard defended her? She could have taken out their own party - and by extension all her aspirations for Fudan and the IIUC.

“Goddess above and below!” Mayuree struck out her tongue at Gwen. “What did you and Magister Wen create?!”

“Bloody hell.” Gwen felt her heart pounding against her chest. “Thank God we sent Ariel in! No one else got hurt right?”

Mayuree's expression froze.

“Er… I don’t know about that…”

She recalled the sight she'd seen as the spell erupted. She was sure that a sorceress had come through the wall, which meant that...

“!!!”

“!!!”

The two Diviners instantly took up defensive postures.

There was no time to explain.

“Richard! Incoming!” Gwen warned her cousin.

“12 O’Clock! Above us!” Mayuree’s warning was far more precise. “It’s coming through the bulkhead!”

“Shield!” Richard formed a water barrier in front and on top of his companions. He had been working on his Abjuration for the last six weeks, focussing on both the speed of his manifestation and the endurance of his protective barriers, bringing it to tier 2.

Kitty readied an incantation.

Then the floor began to churn.

'Thump!' 'Thump!' 'Thump!'

'Thump!' 'Thump!'

'Thump!'

“Shit!”

The whole chamber seemed to ripple and tear from a Shockwave spell.

The ground lurched violently, and Gwen lost her footing. She had not dared to keep her boots in a fight while she focused on her Elemental Sphere.

Richard too was forced off balance. Mayuree fell on all fours.

“Mia!” Kitty cried out. “Watch out!”

The floor shook.

The ceiling shifted.

It felt as though the whole building was shivering.

The concrete surface directly above them suddenly opened, revealing curling rebar that folded back as though commanded by a supernatural force, like the inverse-bloom of a flower.

Four pairs of eyes turned skyward.

A rusted blade, two-feet across and a full ten-feet long, shot into the filtration chamber where Gwen’s party lay sprawled, arms akimbo.

No, not a blade, Gwen thought as it punched through two layers of Richard’s Water Shield then struck her non-newtonian mana Shield.

More like a slab of iron.

It was Kitty who intervened, sparing Gwen from finding out whether her non-newtonian shield was capable of absorbing the impact from an iron girder falling from the N(th) storey of a high-rise.

As the frontal lobe of Gwen's Shield cracked, taking on the likeness of frosted glass, Kitty instantly completed the circuit for a Wall of Ice which erupted underfoot from where Gwen halted the strike, diverting the momentum of the terrific blow aside, shattering as it consumed the kinetic energy.

The foursome then turned their gaze upward, where the transmuted aperture of the ceiling gaped like a dark maw with folded iron for teeth.

There was first a smell of burnt flesh, then a girl-Mage descended through the air.

“Lulan?!” Gwen spluttered with shock and bewilderment, her Divination Sigil screeching like a cat dragged across a chalkboard. “W-what are you doing here? Were you in that room?!”

The girl was half-naked and half-baked. Her Earth-enchanted riding leather destroyed by the baptism of lightning, her intimates and her singlet reduced to ashes. Her beautiful head of hair was a charred mess, smoking in clumps and missing most of its mass. Her eyebrows were gone as well, giving her a comical expression, while her skin wept from a dozen wounds gooey with mangled heat-rash. There was blood seeping down from her ears and her nostrils, but even so, her irises were two glowing orbs of molten iron locked solely onto Gwen.

When she opened her mouth to speak, Gwen swore she could see smoke billowing from Lulan’s throat.

“Gwen Song… Daggers… give me back brother’s daggers," she murmured, spitting splutters of scarlet with every rise and fall of her chest.

“…” Gwen felt an impulse to lie - to delay until they had the time and convenience to sort out Lulan without a dozen Slavers rushing toward their location as they dallied. She had no doubt that by now, the other Slavers knew their monster was a smoking mess of ravaged offal, how long would it take them traverse three levels? "Lulan, are you wit-"

“Cao! We don’t have time for this.” Kitty hissed. “Glacial Spike!”

A conic missile of ice materialised with a crinkling clatter of frigid air, then launched itself with terrific velocity toward Lulan.

“Parry!”

Effortlessly, Lulan raised a hand. From thin-air formed a slab of iron which took the force of the blast full on. A rush of cold air filled the space between Gwen and Lulan as Kitty’s spell exploded, half covering the blade with rime.

The blade barrier barely moved.

Kitty’s brows knitted. That was a tier 4 Evocation spell, and Lulan wasn’t an Abjurer. Was the girl using the weight of her blade as a form of defence? How stoic was a slab of iron ripped from the bowels of the Elemental Plane of Earth!

Gwen attempted to disarm the girl verbally.

“Lulan, listen to me, now’s not the time to discuss Kusu’s implements. If you could just calm down for a minute-“

“Don't lie to me!” Lulan's face was a mask of anguish and pain, livid with suffering. “THRUST!”

Another girder of iron took a split second to materialise, then sped toward Gwen’s Shield with the momentum of a rockslide.

“Fuck!” Richard snapped, his patience depleted. He felt supremely irritated that his water Shields were weak against a specific type of magic: pinpoint, solid-core projectiles, and it just so happens that Lulan specialised in that very attack. In a manner of speaking, Mages of Lulan's style were the scissor to his paper. Now he had to resort to cruder methods to deal with the girl.

He had wanted Gwen to continue her training - but it looked as though circumstances had rapidly changed for the worse.

“LEAVE HER! Regroup! Back to the tunnels!” he shouted at the others. The worst case scenario would be if they ended up being boxed in.

Seeing as his Water Shields were ineffective, Richard turned to Lulan, who was mercilessly hammering away at Gwen while parrying projectiles from Kitty. Without a healer, Gwen dared not over-utilise her Void Abilities, by that same measure, she could not both defend against Lulan’s sword strikes while also cast her own spells. Given a few seconds to recover, Gwen could bring out her Familiars and turn the tide, but her cousin should hold her cards close to her chest. The Slavers had to be related to the sudden appearance of Lulan in their midst, for all he knew, she could be in cahoots, though that seemed unlikely, knowing her history and the modus of the Clans.

He had to make this quick.

“Lea! Elemental Form!”

Silvery Conjuration filled the air as Richard’s Undine manifested in full. It was the first time Gwen had seen Richard Conjure Lea in her entirety - and the effect reminded her of when her Master brought forth Sufina's full power.

A resplendent goddess in blue materialised, hovering six feet from the floor, instantly drawing every mote of elemental water toward her consolidating form. Lea’s impossibly beautiful face, ethereal and elven, solidified from the aether. First, a head full of rope-like cobalt hair, followed by a long, elegant neck, a serpentine waist and two pale white stalks for legs. As her elfin form solidified, motes of bean-green mossy liquid dripped from her toes.

“Human! Release your weapon and begone!” Lea commanded Lulan, her fluttering, inch-long lashes opening to reveal sapphire-blue eyes without pupils. Her voice was ethereal, unearthly, informing the young Mages in front and behind that indeed, she was a higher-order being, a denizen of the Elemental Plane of Water.

What greeted Lea was a Sweep, cutting her watery torso in half.

Water was the most harmonious of all elements. The very weakness that ensured Richard’s Shields could not block Lulan’s attacks, also implied Lulan could not harm Richard’s familiar. Lea scoffed, how could an apish brute assail the likes of a water Goddess?

"Lea!" Richard urged his familiar to attack more, posture less. Elemental manifestation consumed mana at an atrocious rate.

Lea’s eyes flashed. She called upon her contracted partner, and Richard allowed her the liberty of taking whatever she required. Unlike Caliban, Lea knew her Master’s limitations.

She opened her mouth, and what emerged was a string of strange invocations innate to creatures of her Elemental race.

Unlike the magic of men, the Undine was herself a creature connected to the Plane of Water, a place of infinite mass and space. As a creature of the estuary and the river, Lea’s link to the Plane was with the brackish flow of streams fecund with life.

With a simple gesture, she opened an elliptic portal four-foot in diameter. A jet blast of water, forced under the immense pressure of the near-infinite tonnage of the watery Plane, erupted horizontally and struck Lulan across the chest, blasting her off her feet and launching the unsuspecting Sword Mage into the furthest concrete wall.

Four seconds later, Richard was stumbling.

“Lea!” He called out weakly.

Wistfully, his Familiar closed the elemental gate.

Dark and tenebrous waters thick with reeds and silt, now knee-deep, sloshed back and forth across the filtration room. The party turned their attention toward the concrete wall, where Lulan’s body had been pressed against the rebar-reinforced concrete.

The Sword Mage's arm was twisted in impossible directions, broken in two places, one leg now hung limply.

With an almost comical slowness, like a mannikin with its joints smashed, she slid from the wall into the water.

The only indication that she was still alive was the dull glow of wine still circulating in her eyes, glaring at Gwen with a dark and resolute passion.

Lulan made an attempt to move, but a racking pain seemed to overcome her twisted body, sending a jolt of agony into her face despite her most ardent effort to remain stoic and impassive. When she attempted again to lift herself from the floor, a torrent of blood gushed from her nostrils, indicating extensive internal damage, or a punctured lung where a rib had been dislodged.

I should work on that spell some more. Richard thought. So much for a one-hit kill.

The others could scarcely believe Lulan was alive as well.

Richard’s eyes moved from Gwen to Lulan, then to Kitty and Mayuree, pondering the possibilities.

If he could get Gwen to be alone with Lulan, who had a rare ability indeed, then…

But how could he convince Gwen to perform the deed?

It would have been perfect if Lulan had attacked them first, but now everything was muddled - who would have thought she would have burst into the Crawler’s room at the final second of Gwen’s Elemental Sphere? If they had more time for Lulan to wear down Gwen's Shield, that would have likewise worked Gwen's blood up.

But not now.

Now was the time to regroup and reassess.

Lea returned to Richard's side, again becoming ethereal and invisible. Manifesting Lea in her full glory was no easy task for a Conjurer without the necessary expertise to control a high-tier humanoid spirit, much less utilising her innate ability to such a degree.

Richard materialised a mana potion and injected himself in the thigh, feeling his reserves revitalise. Alchemy fatigue implied that his next dose would only be half as effective before the potion’s cooldown ticked off.

“Gwen, you alright?”

“Y-yeah. Strewth, where did Lulan come from? Jesus…” Gwen muttered, still shaking herself from the rapidly escalating events of the last two minutes or so. "By the way, bloody impressive spell, Dick."

Richard watched Gwen dispel her damaged Shield. The fact that she tanked Lulan’s sword-spells as a tier 1 Abjurer with nothing but a Signature Shield and her mana reserve was a miracle in itself. In a manner of speaking, she was the Rock to Lulan's scissors.

“Are we finishing her off?” Kitty turned to Gwen. “Your enemy, your choice.”

“Gwen,” Richard wondered if now was the right time to broach the subject of waste not, want not. After all, they had to go.

“!”

“!!!”

His morbid advice was interjected by Gwen and Mayuree suddenly tensing. Gwen looked about bewilderingly, while Mayuree glanced straight upward toward the hole where Lulan had come through. By now, Richard had seen their reactions enough to know that this meant another episode of potential danger would soon follow.

“DODGE!” Mayuree shouted, moving to the side.

“Shield!” Richard called out to his familiar. “LEA! MAKE A DOME NOW!”

Lea instantly formed an umbrella-shaped Shield large enough to cover both himself and Gwen, but still, the flood of milky white liquid that came from above splattered off the walls and splashed on the Shield, frothing as it slid into the knee-deep water.

Besides Richard, Kitty had done for Mayuree what Richard had done for Gwen, erecting a wall of ice that momentarily protruded from an adjacent wall to act as her cover while she herself floated elegantly, effortlessly dodging the incoming tide of viscous fluid.

When the foursome looked up, they could see five aberrant silhouettes imposed against a blinding backlight of Dancing Lights descending toward them.

Five Carrion Crawlers, each more massive than the one Gwen had slain, were roving downward toward them, adhering to the smooth sides of the hole shaped by Lulan when she had earlier intruded into the chamber.

Fucking Five?! Richard felt his mind reel with an unpleasant realisation. So they were breeding them! This wasn’t just a single creature being reared for whatever nefarious reason! This was a large-scale professional set up! They had all underestimated the criminal undercurrent running under the ferroconcrete of the Lost Districts!

BUT wait! Richard felt his own rationality challenged by their precarious circumstance. None of this made any sense. What would some ruffians from the Triads gain by attacking them? Did these fools have a death wish? Are they not afraid the entire District could be purged? They were LCSS candidates. Mayuree was a scion from the House of M! Kitty was from God knows where, and Gwen…

He scanned his companions.

Was it for Gwen? Is that why these Slavers were here? Did the Slavers have some kind of network where they communicated and exchanged information on ‘rare specimens’ akin to how collectors traded secrets on the location of rare and exotic Magical Beasts? He knew from his experience in Prince’s that some of his schoolmates would pay hundred of HDMs for the location of rare fauna, like the Glass-Winged Butterfly, just so that they could have exotic Familiars or boast to others of their collection. Wouldn’t someone like Gwen be the pinnacle of that sort of collection? Like a real-life Chimaeric Birdwing or the elusive black-white Panda Bear?

Richard circulated a mote of mana through his body, then assessed his condition. If he took the second injector now, he could likely persuade Lea to open with a second blast of water which would eject these creatures entirely, or at least reduce their number by two or three.

It would be a precarious move though, Richard regarded the space behind the creatures, covered by the glittering mass of Dancing Lights. Was this group the ones who they'd seen before? Or were they another party? If they had a tier 4 Transmuter up there...

* * *

Lulan felt the red mist fall away.

The berserker’s haze had not departed by choice. It was forced to retreat by her battered body, no longer capable of sustaining the stress put on by the Heart of Iron.

Then came the pain.

Searing, burning, scalding pain that oppressed the breath in her body.

Barely lucid with torturous injury, she watched the Water Mage who was with Gwen erect an impressive dome that splashed the milky liquid all over, splattering the walls and herself. Where the liquid touched her bleeding body, it quickly frothed, soaking into her skin.

Numbness, paralysis, then incapacitation, Lulan recognised the symptoms but was glad for the anaesthesia they provided. Without the chemical insensibility, she would have likely perished from the shock.

She recognised the beasts as Carrion Crawlers - specially bred ones with a highly potent dose of the paralytic saliva. From the bestiary, she knew that despite the aberrant nature of the crawlers, they were often bred for the many medicinal agents that could be extracted from their body. Their saliva could be distilled to become poison, or used as an agent for morphine, or synthesised into alchemical gas for use in the battlefield against the armoured troops of Demi-humans like Orcs or Hobs. Their ichorous blue blood was likewise a precious reagent used in healing magic or even distilled to produce a potent opioid.

Her thoughts drifted.

With a wet plop, a Crawler landed beside her.

Lulan was covered with wounds and on the verge of death.

That made her its favourite sort of prey.

The pallid-fleshed aberration approached. From either side of its teeth-lined maw, extended two pairs of suction-cupped tentacles barbed with jaundiced teeth-hooks.

Lulan felt the birth of a new awareness press upon her brain, one that only now she knew in its entirely - despair. The despair of knowing one died for nothing.

Was this how her life was going to end? Like a dog with its legs snapped, fed to a monster like carrion?

Kusu… she had caused him no ends of trouble.

As the Crawler’s tentacles grappled her flesh, Lulan wondered if her brother would cry.

* * *

The party had made it no more than a dozen meters back the other way when they ran into the ‘ambush’ party that they had seen in the upper chambers of B4, ratifying Richard's worst fears.

The Mages in the enemy party immediately opened up with a barrage of Flaming Hands, Magic Missiles, and Scorching Rays. An Abjurer in the ambush party brushed away a few Water Bolts Richard sent his way, erecting a half-dome Earthen Shield, forming a pincer attack with the Mages from the other side.

“Shit!” Richard now knew the meaning of one step wrong, then every step you're fucked sideways. He had placed too much faith in Mayuree’s detection spells and vastly underestimated the complexity of the tunnels that had been worked into the basement by the locals.

Mayuree’s demonstration of her prowess had proved too impressive. Her seemingly omniscient knowledge of the lay of the land had made them all lower their guard. Locating the creature and scouting the tunnels that lead to it was one thing - but they should have had the patience to also scout out the other tunnels with her Arcane Eye.

Then there was Gwen's proposal.

Was it her fault then? She was the one who had urged that they immediately slay the creature and extract themselves from the level for 5 quick CCs. In and out. It was Gwen who had refused to hunt down the Mages first, group by group. If that had been the case, they wouldn't be in this precarious situation.

Or was it Lulan's fault, or were greater powers at play?

He glanced over at his cousin, who was firing off Lighting Bolts at the Crawlers. As usual, her spells were supremely effective against Magic Creatures, and the deranged worms screeched and screamed as they fried.

Kitty likewise, was flitting back and forth through the air, nimbly firing off darts of ‘Glacial Spike’ that on impact, snapped off tentacles and slowed the Crawler’s movements.

Mayuree now exhibited the classic weakness of the single-class Diviner, she had to rely on her expendable Wands, blasting away at the Crawlers and keeping them at bay with Scorching Ray and Magic Missiles. In addition, it was up to Richard as the Abjurer to protect her, as her unfortunate Lightning affinity made her shields paper-thin, unlike Gwen, she both lacked her absurd mana capacity and Gunther's tutelage.

“Gwen! Can you get us out of here?” Richard implored his cousin. “I can keep us Shielded while you work the Dimension Door.”

Gwen could teleport one of them at a time, with her mana pool, she should be able to take Mayuree and Kitty to safety. As for himself, Richard was confident that should he flood the tunnels with Lea, he could at least escape.

“I can-”

‘THUMP!’

Gwen’s answer was lost as a blast of explosive air discharged in the middle of Richard’s Shield, displacing the flowing mass of water for a split second. To her horror, a few splattered drops of the vicious, creamy Crawler phlegm landed across his face and arms.

“Fuck!” Richard immediately directed a stream of clear water to his face and limb. His timely action was sound, but the venom was most potent.

Gwen watched as Richard’s face drooped, losing all expression.

“WEER!” Richard called for his Familiar once more.

Lea manifested and took over Richard’s Shielding of his companions, demonstrating one of the supreme reasons Creature Conjurers were unmatched. Richard fumbled in his Ring and produced a Remove Poison injector and slammed it into his thigh.

“Garrrgh!” He grunted as the magical adrenaline dispelled the paralytic alchemical effect. "FARRRK!"

“Blizzard!” Seeing Richard taking a hit, Kitty could no longer hope to preserve her mana. She turned upward the front of the party where the second group Slavers were trying to close in, then opened up a long range, wide radius AOE.

Instantly, shards of ice and slivers of arcane frost pelted the Abjurer’s Shields, turning the ground to slush and rime.

“Gwen! Help Kitty!”

By now, Gwen had taken enough of a breather to resummon both her familiars. Caliban she had to be wary of using, for she no longer had the Kirin Amulet, but Ariel she could use to its full extent.

“Caliban! Keep them off us! Clear a path!”

Caliban had taken on its most mana-efficient form, the scorpion-spider.

Her netherworld fiend leapt into being, taking with it a chunk of her vitality no longer offset by her waning supply of Druidic essence, then charged the crawlers with its scything limbs.

“Ariel!”

Her marten emerged in its Mongoose form, doubling the firepower of her Evocation Lightning.

Between their Glacial Spikes, Lighting Bolts, Wands and Richard’s Shielding, the second ambush party slowed to a proverbial crawl, becoming entrenched by their defence. As for the other side, the carrion feeders were fighting a protracted battle. To the student Mages, it meant that the Slavers had someone capable of controlling these creatures, likely a specialist handler skilled in rearing these things.

“Blast BOLT!” Gwen gritted her teeth and channelled a sizeable portion of her mana through both herself and Ariel. The twin blasts of arcing electricity connected with the group of Crawlers, striking three in a row. Immediately, the tunnel filled with fumes reeking of cooked flesh.

“KEEEeeeaaaAAAAAA!”

The creatures' screech was like a mob of insane infants.

In the next moment, the party had expected the things to explode, or fall, or topple over.

Instead, the whole group of Crawlers glowed a shade of emerald, then came on with redoubled effort.

“Healing Magic!” Mayuree cried out in dismay. “They have a healer with them!”

"Oh, you gotta be shitting me!" Gwen gnashed her teeth! That was almost a quarter of her mana!

The party regarded one another with looks of doubt and disbelief, hesitant at this new information, A Combat Healer? The Slavers - ruffians and scoundrels of the undercity - had a Cleric with them? It was already absurd that some mid-tier Mages from the Lost Districts were pinning them in a tunnel with sedan sized maggots. But now they also have a healer capable of casting ranged AOE heals? That would make the healer at tier 6 at the very least! Why would a Magus traffic with these scum, and of all the Mage classes, a Cleric?

As one, they thought about Secretariat Choi’s offer of 20 CCs.

If this hidden prize was what the CCs were for, then it made perfect sense.

The problem now was that rather than celebrating their find, they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. The escalation of their already dire circumstances meant they could be injured and sent back in disgrace.

As for death or capture? The risk was not high.

Gwen could escape by herself, though she would refuse. Her mana pool and her Dimension Door made her the least likely to be caught.

Kitty could also escape by herself, but likewise, she would not leave Mayuree.

Moreover, Gwen could take one of them with her, which meant Mayuree.

As for Richard, he could escape with Lea's help via the vents.

The problem was that should they split the party, they risked putting themselves and each other in greater danger. What if they escaped the frying pan, only to find themselves in the fire?

If they were caught alone, it would truly be the end.

Had Secretariat Choi anticipated this? Would the smiling villain come to their rescue? Most importantly, if the students were maimed, would he be held accountable? As far as Richard could deduce, fear of disadvantage to himself was the only reason why the Major would send someone to aid them.

‘Crack!’

The student Mages became aware of another impending crisis.

“WOCAO!” Even Mayuree was losing her cool. “Someone’s using Stone Shape on the walls! They're trying to box us in!"

She quickly materialised her Stone Shape wand and countered with her own Transmutation. Comparatively, her wand was at the minimum tier required for the spell, possessing only ten charges, meaning a maximum of eight odd minutes. The opposing Transmuter, assuming they were of average talent, could keep casting until they were OOM, furthermore restoring themselves with injectors.

“Kitty?” Gwen turned to their Transmuter. "Can you Stone Shape?"

“I am an ICE MAGE!” Kitty snapped at Gwen cattily. “AIR and WATER!”

‘Crack… Crack!’

The walls were moving in closer.

“MAO!” Mayuree knew then that her wand lacked the potency to compete with the affinity of the Mage on the Crawler's side. The Wand spells were meant as conveniences, like opening a hole or moving a wall, not for construction nor extended spell-duels.

“Gwen! Take Mayuree out of here with your Dimension Door!” Kitty yelled.

“We'll be fine!” Richard affirmed Kitty's call for an expeditious retreat. “Pop a potion, take Mayuree, and get out of here. Go!”

Gwen looked toward Mayuree, who shook her head angrily.

“I am not leaving the two of you!”

“Now’s not the time, you idiot!” Kitty was losing her patience. “Richard has Lea, and I can fly and Blink!”

The walls closed in.

FUCK! Gwen’s mind screamed with frustration. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I got us into this shit hole. I was too busy pussyfooting to murder these assholes in cold blood, and now they’re trying to fuck us! No, they’re fucking us right now! God damn it!

She needed to get them out of there somehow.

ELEMENTAL SWARM - she thought immediately. The Void variety.

But that was a double-edged blade.

If she drained her vitality and sucked dry her druidic essence, she was confident she could clear everything within a radius of fifty meters. The problem was that the Swarm could not identity friend-foe other than herself, the chances of her summons attacking her allies were high.

Elemental Sphere? The AOE was too small to encompass both front and back, not to mention she now lacked the Druidic Essence for the version Ariel had manifested earlier. She could invigorate a Lightning Bolt or two though, as a last resort.

‘Crack!’ ‘Crack!’ ‘Crack!’

The walls shuddered.

If only they had an Earthen Transmu-

Gwen felt the light of epiphany ignite in her mind, paralleling the twin blasts of lightning she was feeding front and back.

Who said they didn’t have an Earthen Transmuter? Didn’t one just fall through the roof? She wanted her brother’s daggers, didn’t she?

Gwen turned to Richard.

“I am going to get Lulan! She got us into this, and she can get us out of this!” She shouted over the ding of Crawlers, the crumbling tunnel, the splashing of poison on Shields, and bursts of blizzard and ice to their front and back.

“How do you know she’s not with them?” Kitty shouted back.

“You think Lulan is capable of laying a trap like this?” Gwen fired back. “We need her - there's no time! I am going to make her an offer she can't refuse!”

“That's absurd! Don't waste your fucking time, get Mi-"

“Kitty! SHUT UP!” Mayuree screamed at her friend, causing her to flinch. “Gwen, go! You can do it. I know you can.”

Kitty looked at her friend, who looked apologetic, then glared at Gwen with her jaws clenched in vexation.

“Gwen, are you sure?” Richard asked. “I can manage one more push with Lea. We can bullrush the rear. What if Lulan is dead?”

"She's alive," Mayuree said suddenly. "I can sense her still. She's in bad shape though."

The party turned to Mayuree.

“It'll work,” the Diviner reminded them cryptically. "I have a good feeling about this."

"Thanks, Mia," Gwen turned toward the direction where she had last seen Lulan. The girl had been wounded badly, but Gwen had a solution for that. So long as the Sword Mage still had breath, Gwen was sure she could bring her around. “Caliban, distract them! Ariel! You help!”

“SHAAAA! Shaa!”

“EEEeee! EEee!”

Gwen stabbed a mana potion into her thigh and felt her reserves tick over three-quarters.

“Enhanced Strength!”

“Enhanced Agility!”

Gwen shook out her reinforced body, feeling the empowering magic encompassing every sinew and muscle. Gwen then produced her Chameleon Cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering the top half of her body.

“Be careful out here. If it doesn’t work or Lulan refuses - come back and Dimension Door Mayuree out first,” Richard advised.

Gwen affirmed Richard's wisdom with a nod.

She was confident her plan would work as well. It was a win-win for herself, for Lulan, and for her party. If the girl was idiotic or thick-headed enough to refuse, then the onus of what happened next was on her.

Gwen readied herself.

Her heart was pounding at her chest with a cadence that would have driven her old world physician wild with panic. She was the one who got them into this mess, and now she had to dig them out of this hole. From the moment she had dealt with Lulan with timidity, a scenario such as this was put in motion. She had to become stronger, but it didn't mean she had to resort to the lowest denominator. There were other ways that one could become strong.

Gwen took a deep breath.

“Dimension Door!”

With her growing command of the spell, she could teleport further and more accurately. She calculated precisely the distance to where she had last seen Lulan, then released the spell.

Her exit was a slight wrinkle in space, but her arrival was a tenebrous burst of inky Void. Though precarious, she preferred the Void version of her Dimension Door, because unlike the Lightning's thunderclap, the vitality-expanding variety was whisper quiet.

She appeared a safe distance away from the slavers.

Gwen orientated herself and looked down toward Lulan’s body.

JESUS! Her mind reeled and recoiled as she caught sight of the Sword Mage a few feet away, half submerged in the brackish water.

Lulan Li was missing an arm and half-covered in viscous white-goo. From the looks of the stump, one of the Crawlers had chewed it off a few moments ago. Were it not for the fact that somehow, Lulan’s reinforcement Magic still coloured her pale complexion with a reddish shade, Gwen would have teleported back already.

Gwen materialised a thick blanket, ready to wrap the girl.

The only part of Lulan’s corpse-like form that moved was her eyes.

A pair or pupils the colour of wine glared at Gwen with a resentment that could set the world on fire.

Gwen met Lulan's eyes without hesitation.

"Lulan Li," she spoke with absolute certainty. "Come with me if you want to live."

“Good. If you're actually that pissed off, it means you're alive and lucid.” Gwen threw the blanket over Lulan, then picked her ragdoll body up from the floor. There would be time for words later.

The commotion from behind their battle-line seemed to have alerted the Slavers crowding the tunnel entrance. They turned to what they presumed was the corpse of the berserker girl only to see a blurred outline lifting the girl’s body into the air, underneath of which was a pair of long, shapely legs in leather booties. All in all, it was a surreal sight.

“Stop her!” a husky female voice cried out.

From underneath her cowl, Gwen caught sight of the leader of the Slavers. To her surprise, it was a woman, and an exceedingly beautiful one at that, with honeyed skin and dark eyes, as well as a head full of dark hair that fell to her waist.

She looked nothing like the Slavers Gwen had fought, people like Bozza, who appeared as caricatures from a Mad Max movie. If Gwen saw this woman on the streets of University Boulevard, she wouldn’t think twice. But that was the reality of it, wasn’t it? Gwen thought dangerously. It’s not as though the head of a kidnapping operation would dress up and advertise the fact. All that wealth and ill-gotten gains had to be translated into life’s little luxuries, and those could only be gotten outside in the ‘real’ world of the Tier 1 city.

Gwen held Lulan close to her as she manifested another Dimension Door.

She materialised in the midst of the enemy Mages as a burst of inky Void.

“Wocao!”

“Shit!”

“This er-bi!”

Four Shields burst into brilliance, cobalt, ochre, yellow and brilliant white, sending their Mages stumbling backwards, limbs akimbo.

“Dimension Door!”

Another burst of tenebrous ink, then Gwen was gone.

* * *

Nephres watched her Shield absorb the splash of void-tainted mana.

The hungering energy had been enough to consume a semi-sphere of concrete below where Gwen Song had landed, four-inches deep.

Nephres felt a sudden unease gripping her imagination.

Weren’t the Sword Mage and Gwen Song mortal enemies? What was she hoping to accomplish? They had no healers, and no potion was capable of restoring the Lulan girl. Did they have a wand? That was impossible, those only reached tier 4. How about a scroll? No, that still required the relevant Schools of Magic.

“Bless!”

“Mass Cure Moderate Wounds!”

Nephres ensured her ‘meat shields’ were sufficiently topped up as she eyed three separate exit routes. She had not made it this far in the Organisation by being illiberal with her followers.

She had not expected the students to last this long against a two-sided assault, and most importantly, she had not at all expected the tier 4 Dimension Door to be in Gwen Song's repertoire. It was virtually impossible to catch teleporting Conjurers.

The only saving grace was that Dimension Door was a costly spell that most Mages could only manifest half a dozen times. Still, if the girl chose to run, abandoning her friends, catching her would be a significant chore.

“Sui,” Nephres called out to her Second-in-command.

Sui was the one who had been transmuting the concrete in the tunnel. Now it was evident that a certain Void Sorceress had access to short-range teleportation, Nephres realised that she needed to make some contingencies.

Raising her head, Sui looked to her mistress for further instruction.

Nephres threw her a mana injector, then activated her earring to deliver a Silent Message. Without access to a Divination control tower, the devices only worked within line of sight.

“Seal the tunnel. Keep them in with the Crawlers. We’ll cut our losses and retreat to B9. We’ll be leaving via the service tunnel in B12.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Sui replied likewise via her embedded device. She had questions but needed no answers. Her mistress' word was divine. If Nephres thought there was a danger and that their operation was too risky, then Nephres must be right.

Sui turned her attention back to the tunnel and redoubled her efforts.

“Stone Shape!”

Their Evoker took the opportunity to send in a few Magic Missiles that clanged against the Water Mage’s Shield, which instantly replenished its flowing facade.

The second Evoker sent in another ball of blasting air, but the Water Abjurer had layered a double-Shield this time, preventing the same feint from happening.

Thinking of Gwen's Dimension Door and grinding her teeth at her team's incompetence, Nephres' mind was unpacking a whole new narrative. She pondered the 'advantage' gained by their ambush against their present stalemate.

Within the tunnel, the student Mages were:

A Spirit Abjurer with an insane water affinity.

An Ice Mage with at least tier 4 in both Evocation and Transmutation.

A Mage who was likely a Diviner, using 400 HDM wands like they were expendable.

And Gwen Song with a near-dead Clanner Sword Mage.

That meant the Void Beast and the Mongoose both belonged to Gwen. In addition, the object of Nephres' assault was manifesting both Evocation And Conjuration.

What else was the girl hiding?

What did she have in reserve?

What about the others?

Thinking of Lulan, Nephres was reminded of the Sword Mage's battered form.

When they descended down the tunnel, she had felt the shock of the blast in the crawler's abode, though they were too far to see it. From the vibration through the shaft Nephres had figured that Gwen's lightning must have ignited the residual mana that flooded the chamber whenever a filter broke down. What if she was wrong, and Gwen Song had a trump card capable of destroying that chamber wholesale? What if she were to use it and slaughter everyone here, allies and enemies, indiscriminately?

Nephres felt an impotent frustration at the fact that she’d been baited.

Those fucking Dossiers!

Was it Yi? Unlikely. Was it Choi? That she could believe. Did Choi know about her connection to the Ravenports? Or to her Mistress? Impossible. The only reason she could think of was that Choi had thought he could use the student Mages to clean house.

Nephres bit her lower lip vehemently.

Fucking rat bastard!

How many thousands of HDMs had she sent him to keep her operations running?

Seeing that the tunnel was almost closed, Nephres carefully backed away toward the side tunnel connecting B7-4-3 to its adjacent filtration chambers. Her mind was already thinking of the dozen or so routes she could potentially take. Only the locals would know the place as well as she did.

Time was of the essence then. Once she mingled with the flood of magical signatures in the Metropolis or escaped into the Outlands, not even Diviners would be able to locate her.

“Mistress, it's closed,” Sui announced her success. It was far easier sealing the tunnel than it was trying to enclose the interior to crush the inhabitants.

The other Mages had stopped attacking and were looking toward their leader for further instruction as well. Nephres wondered if Sui obsessed over her enough to leave the others. Unlike Nephres, who had taken command of the operation months ago, these warren-rats had known each other all their lives.

“Sui, get the men o-“

A burst of lightning exploded in the midst of Nephres' Mages.

This time, they hadn’t stood so idiotically close to each other, and their Shields had not crowded one another onto their buttocks.

Gwen Song and the Sword Mage emerged with a brilliant flash of silvery Conjuration. The girl no longer had her camo-optic cowl, giving Nephres a good look at her striking mien and flashing eyes.

But it wasn't Gwen's striking appearance that took her breath away.

It was the Sword Mage.

To Nephres’ disbelieving eyes, the girl was utterly restored from head to toe. Not only that, she was the very picture of vitality and haleness. She was now attired in a loose shirt and shorts that covered her shame, her exposed skin glowed with the metallic sheen of iron, her eyes two garnets flashing with merciless bloodlust.

How the fuck?! Nephres felt her reality invert. Even the girls’ hair had grown back!

"Expeditious Retreat!"

Nephres turned and fled down the closest service tunnel. She had never been one for sentimentality.

“Mistress!” Sui called out to her desperately.

"Enhanced Agility!"

Nephres sped up.

Time was of the essence.

* * *

Gwen had returned to the midst of her companions with the battered Lulan in tow.

“Mao above!” Mayuree had to suppress a mouthful of vomit, gagging over the Sword Mage as her eyes fell upon her.

Lulan’s face was a ruined, corroded mess. She had bits of cheek absent from an inquisitive tentacle as well as missing the soft tissue of her nose. Her arm was a stump kept from bleeding out by the paralytic poison of the Carrion Crawler. She was topless as well, one breast almost entirely flayed of its dermis, with pockmarks of suction-cup wounds running up and down the left lumbar. Only her legs, which had been submerged beneath the water, remained unmolested by the worm.

But her wide open eyes indicated she was alive and lucid.

Gwen materialised a healing injector and punched the solution into Lulan’s chest. She needed to stabilise the girl so they could make their deal.

As the potion worked its magic, Lulan coughed, clearing the blood constricting her breath.

“We don’t have much time, so here goes.” Gwen watched the red fluid enter Lulan’s body, then produced a Cure Poison injector. She pulled, then punched the anti-venom adrenaline into Lulan's thigh.

The Sword Mage's body shuddered and convulsed as the remedy took effect.

“Kill me,” Lulan grunted when her muscles regained motion, her voice barely audible. “Put me down. I don’t need your charity.”

Gwen licked her lips drily, observed by her companions.

“Lulan, I am going to make you a deal.”

“Kill me!”

“Listen, Lu-“

“Just get it over with!” Lulan gasped.

“Hey! Listen to-“

“Chou Biao-zi! Just kill me already! I am ruined! Look at me! I-" Lulan made a supreme effort to rise.

‘PA!’

Gwen slapped her across her remaining face.

In the stunned moment that followed, Lulan opened her mouth to speak again.

“Kil-“

‘PA!’

Gwen slapped Lulan across the face again.

Lulan looked as though she wanted to speak again until Gwen raised her hand as a warning.

She met Lulan’s burning eyes.

“Good. Now shut up and listen. I am going to make you a deal.”

Gwen produced from her ring a Spell Cube that glowed intensely with emerald energy.

“I have in here, a tier 7 Regeneration spell cast by a tier 8 Healer. It is capable of restoring every wound, regrowing every limb, and repairing every scar on your body.”

Lulan’s chest rose and fell as her eyes rested upon the Cube.

“I am going to save you. In return, you will help us repel our enemies, Yes. That’s right. Yours and mine. I am sorry for what happened with the Elemental Sphere. It was an accident. I don’t know if I can return Kusu daggers, but I will ask Caliban where they have gone and try my best. I also want no more trouble from you afterwards. Do you understand? Nod if you do.”

For some reason, the pressure from the Stone Shape had ceased. Now there was the sound of shifting concrete coming from the furthest part of the tunnel.

After several seconds, Lulan nodded.

Gwen breathed out. She couldn't think of a reason why Lulan wouldn't agree. Just look at the state the poor girl. Jesus fuck. Apart from her legs, she didn’t have a single piece of her torso and face that wasn’t mauled beyond all recognition.

“Gwen! They’re trying to close us in!” Mayuree cried out. Her wand’s charges were almost out. "I don't know what they're trying to do! Flood the tunnel? More crawlers? AOE attack?"

“I am getting close to being OOM,” Richard informed them. “Going to use my last potion soon.”

“Whatever you want to do, you better do it now!” Kitty hissed at Gwen. In her opinion, Gwen teleporting Mayuree out was the best option by far.

“Okay.” Gwen incanted the lock release on the Cube gifted from Petra, then redirected the manifesting spell from herself toward Lulan.

Instantly, the healing energies of the tier 7 spell suffused the Sword Mage, its potency so powerful as to lift her bodily from the floor. With a rapidness that defied even their wildest expectations, Lulan’s lost limb restored itself, growing from stump to pale white, flawless arm in less than ten seconds. Her skin likewise restored itself, her face returned to its usual pale beauty, and even Lulan's hair, which had been burned off by Gwen’s lightning, grew long and silky down to her shoulders.

Richard glanced at Lulan’s half-naked form, lamenting a missed opportunity.

He had hoped that Gwen could consume the damned girl and see if she too could tap into this Sword Magic, or gain greater affinity in her Conjuration and Transmutation schools. What a perfectly good waste of a unique talent.

Lulan bolted upright, her body alive with renewal.

Her heart pulsed, transmuting her Earthen mana into motes of iron.

She regarded her surroundings, but there was no haze.

What she saw, she observed with crystal clarity!

The red mist… it was gone!

Doubtfully, she circulated her mana. Lulan's mana-lit irises became twin garnets. They were no longer a cloudy wine or a rusty red. As the volume of mana running through her body reached an apex, her eyes became two vermillion rubies, clarified and clear. Her everpresent headache, the oppressive feeling that something hot and rusty was hammering her brain, had all but disappeared.

Lulan touched a hand to her left breast.

The incision below her bosom, where the catalyst for the Heart of Iron, implanted into all of Huashan’s disciples who qualified for the secret sword-art, was gone. Furthermore, as she circulated her mana, her motes of elemental iron felt unimpeded and rarified, flowing through her conduits with complete ease. All those injuries she sustained, all those conduits cut off by her brute-forced training, sending the iron roughshod through her body, were fully restored.

Even now, the healing energies in her body were continuing to repair hidden injuries that she knew not existed.

“I…” Lulan looked around her, unsure what to say. “Than-“

Gwen handed her singlet. Coughing gently. Their temporary ally was filthy and covered in grime and ichor. And topless.

Lulan slipped the borrowed shirt overhead, then got to her feet. She smoothed out her damaged riding leathers. It would have to do for now.

“We’ll talk later,” she informed the Void Sorceress, the clarity of her own voice strange to her. “For now, use me as you see fit.”

* * *

“Sweep!”

The sword that protruded from the space between the Planes was bright and razor sharp, its edge honed by the monomolecular split between the Prime Material and the Elemental Plane of Earth. Its surface was still speckled with impure ochre, but it was no longer rusty and misshapen.

With the sound of whispering steel slicing through paper, Lulan’s sword penetrated the Shield of the Transmuter before she was ready to defend herself, then sliced off her legs at the knees, where the Shield was the thinnest. For most improperly trained Mages, their Shields tended to be thick near the head and torso, thinning as the membrane reached the ground.

The expression on the Transmuter's face was still one of disbelief as she fell to the floor. She landed with a thump, staring at her own severed feet before a torrent of blood turned the brackish water crimson.

The Fire Evoker let loose with several beams of Scorching Rays.

"Parry!" Lulan materialised a blade which absorbed the blast.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen called down a bolt from the blue, sending the Mage's shield into a dazzling display of crackling energy.

She readied another Blast Bolt, but Lulan was faster than even that.

“Thrust!”

A second blade shot from the Elemental Plane of Earth and took the Fire Mage in the face, entirely unimpeded by its passage through the feeble Fire Shield the Mage erected. Hardpoint attacks were not something soft-Shields could resist - paper and scissors.

“Onslaught!” Gwen allowed the lull in danger to provide her with the liberty of commanding her hasted void-spider to make quick work of the Carrion Crawlers, now isolated from healing and frostbitten by Kitty’s spells.

The Air Mage turned and fled.

"Lighting Bolt!" Gwen let loose another spell. This time, it penetrated the Mage's Shielding, struck the water, and lit up the brackish liquid.

"Impale!"

Like a javelin, a length of polished steel flew through the air and landed in the water with a heavy 'Thunk!' In the next moment, the dark waters took on the colour of red wine.

Which one of these was the Crawler handler? Gwen wondered. There was no point to it now though.

“Gwen, take us to the other side. There’s three more. ” Lulan informed her quietly. “My Misty Step cannot teleport outside of the line of sight.”

Taking a glance at the dead and dying around her with a grimace, Gwen wrapped an arm around Lulan's waist and initiated a Lighting based Dimension Door.

From within the tunnel, Caliban informed her that it had torn through the first Crawler, and was now moving onto the second.

The duo appeared on the other side of the tunnel complex with a blast that sent the Abjurer stumbling. There was a dozen of the Slavers here, apart from three Mages, the rest looked to be NoMs carrying various apparatus’ like netting made from a nylon-like substance and an assortment of melee implements.

“Shockwave!”

A rippling wave of upturning concrete spread throughout the room, sending the Mages off balance and flatfooted. These untrained magicians of the warrens had not undergone formal training, meaning their mana reserves were woefully low, and their prolonged casting easily disrupted. It was one of the reasons why often, they had NoM bodyguards and melee fighters supplementing their magic.

Lulan’s irises flashed like twin rubies as her killing intent swept over the Slavers, sending a few of the NoMs to their knees.

“Sweep!”

An enormous blade almost four-meters in length and half a meter across swept through the crowd. The stunned NoMs and hapless Mages screamed and cried as the iron blade harvested their lives in one swoop, sending a spray of blood and guts in a crescent arc.

When her blade ended at the Abjurer, her eyes narrowed.

"Sweep!"

"Thrust!"

"Uppercut!"

"Impale!"

"Sweep!"

"Impale!"

“Please! N-“

“Thrust!”

There was a sound of splintering glass, then a severed head rolled away. The Abjurer had dodged and deflected Lulan for almost an hour prior, and he had furthermore tanked Gwen and Kitty's bolts for the last five minutes. There was only so much a Shield can take.

As if waking from a bad dream, the rest of the NoMs began to flee for their lives.

Lulan moved to intercept, but Gwen held Lulan's shoulder.

“I think that's enough.” Gwen was a single corpse away from hurling up all the contents of her lunch at D-35.

No more purpose would be served by cutting down yet more NoMs. Gwen was glad that the sight of slaughter stifled the growing feeling of satisfaction. The joy of slaughter was one she would rather not entertain needlessly, for any more would be butchery.

Jesus Christ, Gwen thought. It's a fucking abattoir. Enough for today.

Lulan was surprised herself that she felt no blood frenzy, just a strange, mechanical calm.

Richard, Mayuree and Kitty emerged from the tunnel now that the enemies at this side were cleared. They informed Gwen that between Caliban, Ariel and Kitty, the already wounded crawlers were accounted for. Without their handler and without healing, the crowded crawlers made easy targets in an enclosed tunnel.

As they appeared at the scene of Lulan’s merciless retribution, her team members baulked at the steaming mass of corpses before them. Mayuree’s face paled, while Kitty frowned at the dead NoMs; only Richard seemed to be energised by the total victory that Lulan and Gwen had wrought.

“There’s one more who escaped. Their leader - the healer,” Lulan stated with finality.

The foursome regarded the Sword Mage strangely. Who was this young woman and why was she so collected? Where was the crazy-eyed Sword Mage?

“Shall we give chase?” Lulan further enquired.

“Of course we give chase!” Richard felt his exhaustion fall away at once, his body rejuvenated by a second wind. “I bet she's worth 20 CCs.”

“Wait, let me try,” Mayuree stopped them. “We’re looking for that Middle-Easterner, right?”

“Yes,” Gwen nodded. She had gotten a good look at the woman. "What are you going to do?"

Lulan used another Stone Shape to clear the blockaded tunnel. Employing her Greater Detect Magic, Mayuree caught motes of the healer’s diffused mana still lingering on the Crawlers.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” Mayuree stated hesitantly. “Too much mana floating around, from both the filter and our fight.”

“Do your best, Mia,” Gwen informed her kindly.

“I always do my best.” Mayuree grinned, turning to the task at hand. With a flick of the wrist, she summoned two obsidian tubes bent in the shape of bananas.

Banana Dousing?! Gwen’s mind was still reeling from the slaughter and took every opportunity to distract itself. Mayuree is going use dousing to vector out the location of the Slaver’s leader?

“Dousing!”

Well, there it is, Gwen nodded approvingly.

To their surprise, the sticks shifted and tilted until they were pointed downwards and toward the north-east.

“…” The other four watched.

“This way?” Mayuree indicated.

The party began to move for one of the side tunnels.

“No need,” Lulan interjected, surprising them all with her impromptu helpfulness. “You'll never catch her at this rate. I'll make a shortcut. Stone Shape!”

The girl appeared to have a near-perpetual supply of Stone Shapes, Gwen observed. Was it because of her high affinity? It was impossible that the Sword Mage possessed a VMI similar to herself; it was more probable that Lulan’s peculiar elemental compatibility with Earth made her low and mid-tier spells extremely cost-effective.

The party followed the direction of Mayuree’s dousing, creating an entirely new system of tunnels that cut diagonally from B7 to B12.

* * *

“Restoration!”

Expeditious Retreat, when used excessively, exacted a terrible burden on the body. Nephres felt such exhaustion that she was on the verge of falling to her knees, but knowing a hot pursuit, she continuously cured her fatigue cramps the best she could.

She had raced the entire length to B12, running, crawling, sliding and leaping across collapsed sections and hidden crevasses to get to the service tunnel that would lead her back up above ground. She had a vehicle stashed at the exit warehouse, where once she made it into the city, Nephres could safely disappear.

As for disappearing, Nephres was confident she could escape.

After all, she was currently Invisible.

Potions of Invisibility were absurdly difficult to obtain. A highly controversial and controlled substance made from the rare catalyst of the Pixie-winged Mayfly’s scales. A single potion was almost 200 HDMs at the source, escalating in price from trader to black market until it was close to 800 HDMs. Nephres didn’t mind though, anything was better than falling into the hands if the PLA, especially Secretariat Choi.

With a burst of fearful adrenaline, she made it past the final section of the crisscrossing tunnels and found herself twenty or so meters from the iron grate that connected to a hidden exit. It was her predecessor who had built the escape tunnel into the exhaust port. She was the only one who knew of its existence.

As she approached the tunnel, she became aware of a small, white creature sitting on its haunches. It looked like a ferret, or perhaps an ermine, with beady eyes that stared straight at her.

Nephres readied a Shield of Faith as he approached.

There was something familiar about the ferret that caught her eye. A particular hint of ozone, perhaps, that lingered in the air, or mayhap the way its fur reminded her of the larger beast she had seen earlier.

The ferret sniffed the air with its nose.

Nephres froze mid-movement, scanning her surroundings.

The ferret made a throwing motion with its neck, tossing a white crystal toward her general direction before fleeing down the tunnel.

Nephres felt her stomach lurch as the crystal landed a few meters away.

‘BUNG!’

A burst of light and sound triggered the Shield Nephres had prepared, momentarily negating her invisibility as her barrier absorbed the sonic force and lumen brilliance of the blast. In the next moment, a torrent of water gushed from the tunnel, pooled around her semi-dome Shield, and unveiled her whereabouts.

“Jump!”

She made a leap for the exit, but the water pinned her firmly against the floor. Nephres had the choice of releasing her Shield or remain fast stuck.

The choice was soon made for her.

Nephres' heart tumbled like a boulder down a sheer cliff as her assailants emerged one after another.

The Water Mage, Richard Huang.

The Ice Mage, Kitty Liang.

The one called Mayuree.

Gwen Song emerged with the accursed ferret.

And finally, the Sword Mage who had gone berserk earlier followed behind the Void Sorceress with a grim expression.

Nephres felt her spine quiver with agitation, had she not seen such misery and agony under her Mistress that would drive a grown Mage insane, she would have fallen to her knees and despaired.

But Nephres had been around long enough to know that chance came to those who had the patience to endure.

“Enough with the invisibility,” Gwen Song pronounced in her general direction. “Come out.”

Nephres bit her lower lip. It wasn’t as though she could turn off a potion! She had no control over it!

The Sword Mage behind Gwen huffed with displeasure, then made a motion with her hands.

“Shield of Faith!” Nephres swore, frantically channelling her mana into the staple Cleric defensive incantation.

A wrought iron blade, polished and gleaming, struck Nephres with the force of a small truck. Nephres was lifted from the air as her Shield shattered, sending her skittering and sliding across the concrete pavement.

The impact and the damage were jarring enough to dispel her Invisibility.

“Why did you attack us? Who are you? Who do you work for?” Gwen Song fired off a rapid series of questions as Nephres was lifted into the air by a pocket of sentient water. “I suggest you tell us the truth because Richard here can be very persuasive.”

“…” Nephres knew then, that she had overplayed her hand for the last time.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t 'talk' to the student Mages. They evidently had no desire to kill her, nor were they uncivil. The problem for Nephres was that she knew death was preferable to what her future held.

She could easily bullshit the students. Gwen Song had no idea who she was. Then what? Then she would be handed to the PLA. To Secretary Choi. Did Choi know who she worked for? Nephres wouldn’t bet her Arcane Soul on it, that was for sure. They would torture her, of course, that was without doubt; take liberties with her sweet body even. As a healer, she could withstand that, survive without lingering symptoms. Then what? Then the MSS would bring in the Mind-Mages, and those nasty Enchanters would comb through her drugged mind, sifting through the sand of her incoherent memories for gold.

What would she say?

Without a doubt, Geas or no, Nephres would reveal her true identity under delirium or fever.

She would speak in dreams and riddles but speak she would.

The Organisation.

The Outsiders.

Outland.

Her Mistress.

If someone had asked Nephres whether she would be a martyr for the Organisation one day, Nephres would have laughed in their faces. Yet here she was being called to question.

When she woke up this morning, what did she portend for herself?

A fuller lunch would have helped. Nephres thought. A final meal of her favourite things. Maybe another round with Yi, fulfilling another appetite.

Her eyes moved from student to student until they landed on Gwen Song.

The girl was impatient with triumph, flanked by an obsidian serpent and a white marten.

They did say that salvation came in all shapes and sizes.

As one sensitive to other’s expressions and emotions, Gwen was the first to notice the fatalism that befell their captive.

Richard held the woman aloft in his water prison, exposing only her head. The rest of her body was tethered by invisible tendrils beyond the ability of a Mage unbolstered by advanced Transmutation.

“Well, let’s have it.” Gwen examined the woman more closely now that they were face to face. She figured that they could start with some simple answers to gauge her level of cooperation. Her cross-examination techniques were solely derived from Ian Flemming novels, but it would have to do for now.

“What’s your name?”

“Nephres Zalaam.” The woman had a cockeyed smile unbefitting of a captive. Her eyes were bright and intelligent, lacking the anxiety Gwen had anticipated.

“Who do you work for, Nephres Zalaam?” Gwen continued, a little taken aback at the candidness of Nephres’ reaction.

As someone who had enjoyed a night in the MSS Hilton, Gwen felt flustered that the woman appeared entirely too relaxed for one now-imprisoned and soon to be handed over to Secretariat Choi. What awaited her was surely torture, maybe even a Mind Mage who would peel her brain like an onion.

Then what? Stasis? Execution? Show trial? For a moment a little voice at the back of Gwen's head asked if this was like aiding and abetting an autocratic regime, but her concern was quickly quelled by her remembrance of Nephres abandoning her companions.

Nephres raised her head and met Gwen’s hazel eyes with her own amber orbs. It was difficult to tell how old the healer was. Her appearance could be measured in her twenties, but the woman could be fifty for all Gwen knew. Even her captive state, the echoes of her Positive Energy affinity was palpable, radiating from the woman like a beacon and setting Caliban on edge. There was a natural desire felt by all to see the woman in a kindly light, an aura that reminded Gwen of Elvia, a spiritual inclination to show her mercy and give her the benefit of the doubt.

Gwen broke eye contact first, afraid that she would be drawn to that halo of positivity and life.

“Come closer if you want the truth,” Nephres murmured in her husky voice. "I'll tell you."

The Party regarded one another.

“You can tell all of us,” Gwen derided the questionable attempt at gaining her empathy. If that's the game the woman wanted to play, she figured a little white lie couldn’t hurt. “We’re not playing games here. If you satisfy us with the validity of your answers, I’ll put in a good word for you when we hand you over. It’ll make a world of difference, trust me.”

Nephres’ citrine irises scanned her audience. Her sensuous lips split from their previous battery, formed into a crescent.

“Alright.” Nephres beamed in an overly familiar manner. “It’s your funeral.”

Gwen looked at Richard, who nodded imperceptibly, indicating that he would not allow her to escape. She then looked to Mayuree.

“We’re clear,” Mayuree replied with a Silent Message. “No Mages within range as far as I can tell.”

“I am all ears.” Gwen folded her arms. Besides her, Ariel leapt onto Gwen’s shoulders in a show of force, menacing Nephres with its dainty little horns.

Not far, Caliban slithered to and fro, patrolling their surrounding as much out of curiosity as following Gwen’s orders. At Gwen’s behest, it also made a guttural that resembled a growling stomach.

“I work for Elizabeth Winsted Sobel.”

As the last syllable sizzled through the air, Gwen felt as though someone had cast a tier 5 Hold Monster on her.

Mayuree’s face remained impassable and uncomprehending.

Kitty’s likewise had no particular expressions whatsoever, the name meant nothing to her.

Richard paused, his usually calm demeanour quietly took on an unpleasant expression, he drew in a breath of cold air.

Gwen's companions watched as her entire complexion, from her brow to her hands, turned from pink, to pale, to ashen, as though Caliban had leeched out every drop of vitality from her body.

Gwen moved her face closer to Nephres.

“You better not be fucking with me,” she spat with such venom and vehemence that Mayuree felt as though she was seeing Gwen for the first time. Her friend was funny and awkward and talented and eccentric, but she was never cruel. “I swear to God, 'Nephres,' if that’s your real name. I am going to do to you things you cannot imagine if you’re lying to me. Your Astral Soul would be begging for mercy for the rest of eternity."

“Touché, I see you know my Mistress,” Nephres continued in her careless way. “She always did wonder what happened to her little-sister of the Void.”

“W-where is she?” The voice that emerged from Gwen's white lips was quaking with emotion.

“I am frankly surprised you’re not taking advantage of your talent. There’s no shame in it, we do what we do to survive. Certainly, my Mistress is living proof-”

“WHERE IS SHE?” Gwen’s eyes had taken on a vividness that would have made Lulan proud. Dark energies circulated as two concentric rings around her iris. Around Gwen, the perception of space seemed to distort for a moment, not a tangible thing, but one that alarmed the souls of the living.

Kitty, Mayuree, Lulan, Richard and the target of Gwen’s intimidation, Nephres, felt an intense awareness of vertigo engender in their bodies. Mayuree, the weakest of them all, suddenly had an urge to vomit as nausea overwhelmed her senses. Kitty stared at Gwen with suspicion and incomprehension, then moved in front of Mayuree, relieving the pressure on the Diviner.

Lulan touched a hand to her chest, surprised by the unexpected fear reflexively engendered in her body. So this was Gwen Song? She wondered. Could Kusu have fought this? Could her brother have survived this?

Richard meanwhile, saw the writing on the wall.

Something was coming to a head. He could feel it in his bones.

'Lea,' he intoned internally. 'Don't do anything without my express command. Do not kill our captive under any circumstances.'

His attention returned to the confrontation at hand, his heart pounding with more agitation and anticipation than even when the Crawlers had them cornered.

Under the party's unfriendly gaze, Nephres’ complexion fluctuated, but as a Positive Energy user, she quickly recovered.

“… do your companions know about the Consumptive aspect of the Void?" she chided Gwen. "According to Mistress, not all Void users are capable of absorption, you know. The two of you are sisters in more ways than you'd think."

“Shut up!”

"Ha! Was that what Henry Kilroy saw in you? Did he enjoy you as he did my Mistress? Did he-"

‘Whack!’

To the surprise of her companions, Richard included, Gwen punched Nephres across the face, tearing open a gash across her lips and cracking the bridge of her nose.

A trail of vermillion escaped from a nostril, drooling from Nephres' chin.

How angry would Gwen have to be to punch another woman?! Richard had some inkling of what Gwen might be feeling, but the bafflement on Kitty and Mayuree's face, Lulan as well, was entirely genuine.

“Did he feed you!? What did he start with? Prisoners?! You’re a fool if you’re not consuming every Mage you lay your hands on, think how quickly you can-”

‘Thwack!’

Another strike, this time right in the kisser. Nephres' mouth was filling with blood from her bitten tongue.

“SHUT UP!”

With every word that came from Nephres’ lips, Gwen felt her blood run a little colder. Elizabeth Sobel! Gwen had not expected to hear that name so soon, and certainly not like this. So this whole ordeal occurred because of her? They were ambushed because Nephres had 'history' with her? Sobel was evidently alive then. If so, she had to tell Gunther!

“Fine, fine, that upset you, I get it." Nephres swallowed the blood in her mouth. "Let's change the subject. You remember Edgar, Gwen? He loved you, you know, even if he didn’t know it himself. The man talked of nothing but you for weeks on end.”

Unpleasant memories surfaced in Gwen’s mind. Memories she’d thought long buried and gone. Her head throbbed, her neck ached, her throat felt parched. Where Edgar had intruded, she could still feel the Mind Mage's presence like a lesion across her subconscious.

“He’s dead!” Gwen hissed through clenched teeth.

“Oh yes, we have no idea who killed him, you know. Some say its the one called the Pink Salt Saivour.”

“…”

“Do you wish to know Edgar’s real name? Do you want satisfaction?”

“…” Gwen’s complexion blanched and burned simultaneously.

“I can see that you do. You have very talkative eyes, Gwen. Did anyone ever tell you that? Edmund, that's Edgar's real name, stupid, I know, loved your eyes so. I do believe he would have kept them as a fetish once he was done with you.”

"..."

"See? I know you very well, Gwen. I know everything about you."

“Who is this woman?” Kitty interjected, turning to Richard and then Gwen. “Do you know her?”

“We don’t,” Richard answered for Gwen. “I've never seen her before.”

Nephres smiled sweetly at Gwen's companions, showing them teeth pink with gore.

“It seems your friends are the ones not in the know," she said sardonically. "Shall I tell them? Shall I be explicit?"

“You're playing a dangerous game!” Gwen raised a quivering hand. The initial anger had gone from her. What she now felt was a stinging paranoia and a rising urge to silence the woman before she could blurt out more of her secrets. Secrets that Gwen didn't even know she had.

“Playing?! I am not playing, Gwen Song! I've won! Guess what I did before you came? I sent off your data to Lord Ravenport! Oh! You don’t know who that is!” Nephres laughed in her face. “It’s alright, you’ll find out soon! He’ll find you, and then you’ll know just now exquisite the retribution can be from a member of the House of Lords!”

“W-what did you do?” Gwen’s voice wavered. Edgar’s father? Lord Ravenport? The House of Lords? What did the British Parliament have to do with this?

“Oh, Magister Ravenport will have a field day with you, my dear. The things that repugnant man will do to a lovely thing like you. He will tear you apart. He will make you wish you were never born. Ha!”

Lulan, Kitty and Mayuree listened to their conversations with equal parts confusion and disquiet. Was this another Clanner enemy of Gwen’s? They knew little of the world outside of Shanghai, but even so, they could guess that this Ravenport was likely going to be a tough customer.

It was Richard who felt his heart leap when the name of Ravenport issued forth from Nephres' lips. As a Praetor for Prince's, he had the opportunity to sign a soul-binding contract to enter Great Britain and enter one of the High Orders of the British Mageocracy. He had declined the offer and withdrawn from the School's upper curriculum, but his instruction had included the recognition of the 793 peerage positions that made up the House of Lords.

House Ravenport is a very old title indeed, dating all the way back to Henry Tudor and the Golden Age of Elizabeth I, Queen of the Twin Rose.

This... was trouble.

Watching Gwen grow increasingly despondent, Mayuree stole a glance at Richard, half expecting him to kill the blabbering woman outright. Instead, Gwen’s faithful defender had a dark and contemplative look about his mien that was unreadable to her.

“Can we shut this woman up and just deliver her to Choi?” Kitty growled. “She’s clearly insane.”

Gwen made no move to secure the woman, nor did Richard act on Gwen’s behalf.

“What in Mao’s name is wrong with you two?” Kitty placed a hand displeasingly on her hip. “Someone caught your tongue?”

Watching the exchange, Lulan affirmed the truth of that age-old Confucian saying, that every family had a heavy volume of analects that was painful to read. Lulan knew that she had her circumstances, but it seemed Gwen also had hers. From the sounds of it, the Void Sorceress's problem went far deeper than clannish assholes and power squabbling relatives.

Seeing that she had their undivided attention, Nephres continued her tirade.

“Oh, hand me over to Choi, sure. That prick will hand me over to the MSS after I tell him everything. You’d love that, wouldn’t you, Gwen Song? I wonder if the MSS knows about the Mistress and her connection to you. The bond you share with us! Shall I tell them how useful you would be in the future? What great hopes my Mistress has for her little sister of the Void?”

Gwen slowly shifted her eyes until she was eye level with Nephres. The darkness of her orbs had become pure pitch.

“OH, YES! GWEN SONG!” Nephres voice took on a new volume and octave. “I’ll tell them everything! About Henry Kilroy! About Edgar! About Sydney! About YOU!”

Gwen raised her right hand.

The trembling ceased.

“No you won’t,” she said quietly, then her voice suddenly took on a hard edge.

“Void Bolt!”

“SLEET!” Kitty, who’d been observing Gwen, caught her bolt cold with a sheet of ice that half covered Nephres, freezing a portion of her water prison.“What the fuck are you doing? Are you killing prisoners now?”

“Kitty…” Mayuree was beginning to realise that perhaps, Nephres words weren't just the inane and insane rant of the captured. From the way Gwen reacted, it seemed there were some deeply buried secrets now being shorn with an unwelcome Day Light spell.

“She’s a psycho! She’s crazy! Mia, get over here! What did I tell you?!” Kitty pushed Mayuree away then stood between Nephres and Gwen. “Back off you fucking hypocrite!”

“Get out of my way, Kitty!” Gwen snarled, her mind blank with broiling black emotions. “This doesn't concern you!”

“Stop!” It was Richard who interjected loudly.

A part of his watery prison that was frozen fell away, the sudden disjunction in circulation dispelled his hold on Nephres, allowing the woman to tumble from Lea's grasp.

"Shit!" Richard growled.

Lulan stood to the side, watching the confrontation unfold, her face a mask of bewilderment. Caught between acting and staying put, she stifled an impulse to aid in the re-capturing of the fugitive Healer. There was no way the Water's Mage's liquid prison could have failed that easily.

Nephres landed on all fours, with a burst of almost supernatural speed, she sprinted for the tunnel entrance.

“Lea! After her! Gwen! Stop her!”

“Kitty! Get out of my way!” Gwen reached out to push Kitty from her path.

“No way, not until you explain what the fuck you think you're doing,” Kitty snarled. “Mayuree can track her down. But I am not letting you kill her. What does she have on you? Dirty secrets? What is this Consume she's talking about? What Prisoners? Who's Elizabeth?!”

“GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!”

“NO!”

“CALIBAN!”

“WOCAO!” Kitty swore. She lifted from the air and turned towards the fleeing figure of Nephres. “Glacial Spike!”

Where Caliban had been slithering toward Nephres’ sprinting form, a precisely aimed spike of explosive ice that would freeze and slow the creature now shrieked through the air to intercept it.

“ONSLAUGHT!” Gwen poured her vitality into Caliban, causing it to Haste.

“Cone of Cold!” Unexpectedly, Kitty had another trump card. Her expertise far beyond the likes of Gwen, whose mastery was wrangling the brute power of Lightning and Void. Kitty’s genius lay in efficiency, speed and versatility. Her attack would ensure that Gwen had to defend by erecting her Shield, cutting her line of sight.

Just as the Glacial Spike reached the transforming serpent, it shattered. From the looks of the spell-blast, her Glacial Spike had struck a body of water, turning into brittle ice which clattered about harmlessly.

“Lea!”

Richard put his hands in the air to indicate a friendly fire. Apparently, the Spike had struck his Undine, who had been invisible and chasing Nephres. Lea quickly discarded the solidified part of her body, then continued her pursuit.

On Gwen’s front, Kitty’s Cone of Cold was met by a gleaming iron blade embedded into the concrete, diverting the blast by parting it into two streams.

“YOU!” Kitty turned to Lulan, her pale blue eyes flashing dangerously.

“Stand down.” Lulan’s speech was wrought with finality. “Or be put down.”

Meanwhile, Caliban had finished its transformation into its spider form and was almost upon Nephres.

“Don't you dare!” Kitty shrieked at Gwen. “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!”

“CONSUME!” Gwen spat between her teeth, her eyes swirling with tenebrous purpose. “CALIBAN! DO IT NOW!”

Caliban fell upon Nephres, who futilely put up a Shield of Faith.

Engorged with more vital force than it had never obtained from Gwen in any point of their master-familiar history, Caliban launched itself upon the hapless healer, opening its torso to reveal a secondary mouth under its cephalothorax.

“Mistress!” Nephres let loose one last shriek, then the spidery fiend was upon her.

Tentacles lashed out at Nephres, one blue and one red. The crimson lamprey lip swelled and expanded, swallowing her head whole and cutting her cry short. The other punched into her abdomen, seeking out her liver and then her heart.

To the observers, it seemed as though Caliban simply tore into the woman before bringing her toward its gaping maw. With a delicate crunch, Nephres disappeared, clothes and all, into the void of Caliban’s maw.

Kitty was so shocked that for a moment, she had forgotten her fuming rage.

Mayuree held trembling fingers over her mouth, then vomited into her hand. Richard remained impassive, his face impossible to read. Lulan glanced from Gwen to Caliban, then to Gwen again, her eyes as wide as hen’s eggs.

“Oh…” Gwen opened her mouth to speak, to make an excuse, but no words issued forth from her lips.

She was already in ecstasy.

Richard caught her as she fell backwards, her hazel eye rolling back in their sockets.

“What the fuck? Has the world gone insane?” Kitty felt as though she had been teleported into a strange alternative world. Watching Gwen groan in her cousin's arms, she tried to place the last thirty seconds into a reality she was familiar with.

First, their prisoner started sprouting some kind of nonsense. Then Gwen Song went madcap. They exchanged spells, protecting and attempting to murder the very prisoner they had set out to capture. Then Caliban ATE the fucking prisoner, and now Gwen was squirming in Richard’s arms.

Kitty felt an incredible desire to leave these crazies right there, right now. Gwen Song - Richard Huang - Lulan Li, these three deserved each other.

“Mia! We’re leaving!” Kitty hissed. “Come on! We can’t party with these… I don’t know! Psychopaths? Wackjobs? Fengzi? They’re a liability! They’re insane!”

Lulan’s eyes gleamed dangerously at Kitty.

Kitty averted the Sword Mage's gaze and turned to Mayuree.

Her childhood friend refused to budge. Instead, after cleaning her hands with a quick cantrip, she knelt beside Gwen and produced a healing injector.

“Is Gwen going to be okay?” Mayuree asked softly.

Richard placed a hand on Gwen's forehead, where beads of sweat formed.

Ariel helped by lapping up the perspiration, nudging her cheeks with its little pink paws.

Not far, Caliban slithered back in its serpentine form. After the terrifying deed, it had become well-fed and docile. From the looks of its slim body, there was no likelihood that Nephres still existed anywhere in the multiverse. For all they knew, the healer was now particles of Void drifting in the lightless and lifeless liminal space.

“Get the fuck away!” Kitty floated half a meter away. “Mia! Listen to me!”

“Shaa! Shaa?!” Caliban came upon them, feeling very pleased with itself, a little drunk on the payload of life-matter. "Shaaa?"

“Back off!” Kitty raised a hand in warning.

“Kitty!” Mayuree stood. Her face was no longer sweet. “That’s enough. Calm down.”

“NO! Did you see what the fuck that thing just did?”

“I did,” Mayuree replied stoically.

“Then why-”

“KITTY!” Mayuree snapped, her face reddening. “I am upset now.”

Kitty looked as though someone had slapped her. Her throat bobbed back and forth rapidly, hinting at the torrent of thoughts churning within her overstimulated brain.

“I can't. It’s my duty to protect you,” Kitty replied weakly.

“Protect me then." Mayuree’s tone had a growing edge to it. “If you’re not helping. Stand down.”

Kitty returned to Mayuree’s side, her expression unreadable, the party followed her gaze until it landed on Gwen.

Gwen appeared to be in the thrall of an illusory hallucination, a lucid dream. Her eyes glazed over, her body trembled and sweated profusely, her fingers scratched the floor violently and had to be held by Richard and Mayuree.

“So, what happens now?” it was Lulan who spoke, her voice showing a hint of concern.

"Is Gwen going to be alright?" Mayuree added.

“I don't know.” Richard felt the clamminess of Gwen’s hands and felt his own heart thudding against his chest. He could only bet that Gunther was right, that Gwen would bend but not break. He took a deep breath and held her clenched hand in his own.

“Now," he replied with feigning confidence. "Now we wait.”

* * *

When Gwen was a girl-child, she had experienced many great and beautiful things for the first time.

The strangest was her first taste of durian, which made her puke.

She could also recall her first Royal Easters Show cotton-candy, larger than her head, filling her mouth with sugary happiness.

Her first time on the Ferris Wheel in Melbourne, vertigo turning to awe then joy and wonder.

Her first time at the aquarium in Sydney, watching the penguins being fed.

Her dog, Rin, licking her hand and feet for the first time, then shitting itself in her bedroom, for the first time and last time. She was seized by loathing and love for weeks.

Her first day at school, the fear and the anxiety, the expectations and the relief.

Her first time meeting Yue, her first party at Yue's house, a sleepover. Debbie was there too.

Her first crush, Blackwattle’s blue-eyed school captain. Her first heartbreak; he was gay.

Her first job selling ice-cream at Darling Habour. Her first purchase, a pair Levis bought with her own money.

A girl's life was filled with many firsts, from innocence to experience.

Now she was having another.

The first time she consciously consumed another human being, sans the buffer of the Kirin amulet.

The immediate sensation, if Gwen were to engage her academic mind, was the unfortunate synaesthesia of taste. Insects and reptiles tasted bitter or acrid, while mammals consumed by Caliban had a sweeter palate.

But a human being? A five-foot-eight Healer?

It was as though she was experiencing every bounty from the Horn of Cornucopia at once.

Orgasmic was too gentle of a word, for the sensation was beyond the comprehension of even Shakespearian expression, reaching a level akin to religious rapture. Where she had felt revitalised after being fed by Magus Kumiko’s Wildland summons, now she was rejoicing having touched a higher power, the body of Christ and all that.

Every cell in her body sung of the vital energy that suffused them, the fatigue and wastage that had accumulated as a result of her ceaseless expenditure, disappeared at once, becoming fortified and full of life.

Gwen had to remind herself that Nephres was a tier 6 healer. As far as fortifying foods went, she was a human-sized block of ginseng.

The shuddering satisfaction of supreme pleasure had dilated time itself.

As the euphoria faded and Gwen regained control of her faculties, she attempted to orientate herself. How long was she out? Minutes? Hours? A day?

A few minutes, she realised. It had felt longer.

As the last vestige of chemical joy left her body, she felt the oncoming of guilt like a tenebrous tide of grime swallowing her white body, plastering across her skin like tar. The abyss was lovely, dark and deep, and she had avoided staring for as long as she could.

But all that now came to an end.

She felt Richard holding her arms, though she felt no urge to rise nor wake. Let her rest in the dark. She deserved the break.

Nephres Zalaam. Gwen etched the name into her mind. Was Nephres her first, or was Faceless her first.

With Faceless, it was revenge.

With Nephres, it was self-preservation.

Yes, Gwen heard herself reply.

Gwen tried to speculate, extrapolated from her misadventures in Blackheath. When the inevitable came, she had imagined herself bawling in melodramatic regret, pounding the floors and howling in frustration. Would she marvel at her hands like Macbeth? Would she find the tallest tower like his wife? Or maybe, she could be bloody Richard!

Caper she had this whole erstwhile long, there would be no pause for breath! I want the bastards DEAD!

It wasn’t a perfect analogy, Gwen thought. But it would do.

Even Brutus had limits to his self-aggrandising moralisation.

She protected herself, made a choice, paid the mana and Caliban did the deed. If she allowed Nephres to live, then she would be exposed. The CCP would find out about the truth of the Black Sun, her connection to Amuldj, and her life and freedom would be forfeit. At best, she would be a specimen. At worst, she could be mind-raped and stowed in stasis. Worse still, her siblings-in-craft, her friends and her babulya would get involved, then they would all be in a world of shit.

What was there to regret then?

Her choice was right. Her actions dignified. Her remorse was great, but she would live with it.

She had killed the serpent whilst in its egg.

There would be no more mischief from Nephres.

As the puzzle pieces fell into place. Gwen felt buoyed by a strange calm; she was out to sea, far out to sea and alone, but it wasn't an unpleasant kind of loneliness. The blue yonder was contemplative, white, peaceful; the dark below was bottomless.

Her tenebrous thoughts had become small enough that she could now crush them, swallow them, consume them.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Enough for today.

There remained much more to be done.

Lulan, the Huashan Clan came first.

Had Nephres not said something about a Ravenport?

Other dramas in Fudan would inevitably follow.

Then the IIUC.

Then graduation.

Then she would return to Gunther and Alesia, and the threesome of Henry's Disciples would find Elizabeth Sobel.

Slowly, her long, vibrant lashes fluttering, Gwen opened her eyes.

Her pupils, which had been vivid before, had now taken on a vital hue that was more opal than peridot. Her skin glowed with divine radiance, moist and plump, pale and as tender a child’s. As Gwen lifted herself from Richard’s arms, she noticed something falling from her face, her exposed arms, and her thighs. Dead skin cells, replaced by rejuvenated dermis, fell like dandruff. She could use a shower.

“Everyone,” Gwen spoke, her voice emerging from her lips with crystal clarity, thrilling the ear.

Her Familiars, now in their docile form, rushed in to nuzzle her.

Gwen placed a hand on Ariel and scratched its head, her other hand tickling Caliban’s faceless mien by reaching under its uncertain chin.

“Gwen, how do you feel?" Richard asked.

“I would be lying if I said I felt anything other than great,” Gwen replied. She had intended to sound fatigued and dour, but her body felt such vitality that she wanted to go for a sprint, to leap and bound and maybe even do a few summersaults.

“You okay now?” Mayuree took Gwen’s hand and was feeling it against her cheeks, marvelling at the smoothness of her skin. “You know, you remind me of a Cleric…”

Her friend’s words struck Gwen’s heart like festival dancer striking a tabla, sending shockwaves of lingering disquiet against her meditative state of zen.

“Help me up,” she implored Richard.

Her cousin obliged. Gwen stood, feeling taller, though visually she confirmed herself to have remained the same height.

“Thanks, Mia. I am happy you stayed,” Gwen said earnestly.

“I had full confidence in you.” Mayuree beamed at her.

“I am sorry Kitty, for that sad display.” Gwen turned to their deeply affected mutual companion. “One day, I’ll explain it to you, I promise. For now, I assure you that I won't lose control like that again.”

Kitty turned away from Gwen, her eyes purposefully resting upon Mayuree.

“Lulan…” Gwen turned to the Sword Mage.

“We’re not friends. Don’t mind me.” Lulan put up both her hands. “Our matter is hardly resolved either. Let’s us return to your superior officer with the news of what’s happened. Whatever happens, you saved my life and gave me a chance. If I survive this ordeal, let's talk.”

“You helped us too, in the end,” Gwen reached out a hand. "I wish you well."

Lulan shook Gwen's hand.

“You don’t have Kusu’s daggers. Do you?” Lulan asked, her voice hopeful but measured.

“I don’t,” Gwen apologised. “Sorry for lying.”

Lulan smiled wryly.

“It’s fine,” she replied, the timidity of her tone uncharacteristic of the berserker they knew. The volume of her voice trailing away as she turned from them. “Where I am going, none of that is going to matter anymore.”

As the threesome pondered Lulan’s cryptic message, Richard interjected.

“Shall we?” He pointed upwards.

“Let’s go.” Gwen led the way.

The rest of the party followed, each deep within the recess of their own thoughts, their mind digesting the scene they had just witnessed. Even if they tried to delude themselves that Caliban’s consumption of Nephres was just like another attack, they couldn’t deny that the Gwen who now sauntered in front of them was no longer the Gwen that has descended the cargo lift with them only hours ago.

They felt it in their Astral Souls.

* * *

B11 basement.

B10 basement.

B 9 filtration chambers.

Service lift.

As the carriage of the levitation platform rumbled.

Occasionally, one of them looked toward Gwen, then averted their eyes when Gwen met their own. Only Richard seemed unfazed and indeed, pleased, watching Gwen with such benevolence that one might have mistaken him for a young father.

‘Ding!’

The door opened, revealing one of the PLA guards serving under Choi.

“Oh thank God you’re all back!” His eyes scanned the party, then stopped at Lulan.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen inquired.

“The Major will see you at once!” The private saluted. “They’re all waiting for you! We were going to send out a search party just now!”

“Who’s waiting for us?” Gwen asked quizzically.

The soldier met her eyes, stunned by her electrifying presence.

“E-everyone!” The private stammered. “Directors, Professors, Magisters and Maguses, the whole lot!”

Gwen’s party stepped into the oppressive atmosphere of the conference room, watched by guards and strangers alike. She bowed at the door, raised her head, then scanned the room as she proceeded to the centre.

At the head of the long table was Secretariat Choi, his face smiling that fox-like grin he habitually wore.

Her eyes strayed to the left.

Then widened to their utmost limits.

“B-babulya?!” Gwen blurted out.

She could scarcely believe it. Why was her grandmother here?

“Gwen, dearest." Her babulya’s face broke into a smile. “I am glad to see you’re safe. When Magister Birch came to me, I had feared a more unfavourable outcome.”

Gwen had to resist the urge to break ranks and rush toward her grandmother. After what she'd just been through, a heart-warming pick-me-up was sorely desired.

Besides Klavdiya was another familiar face.

“Magister Birch!” Gwen blinked. What was her Conjuration professor doing here?

Magister Birch sat beside her grandmother, looking dandy as usual in his vest and three-piece suit, with his long limbs and angular face assuming a severe and serious demeanour.

Next to Birch was Professor Ma, who scanned the party until his eyes fell unpleasantly on Lulan.

To Choi’s right was an older man in his mid-forties wearing a mandarine jacket in blue silk. Standing beside the man was another familiar face - Kusu Li, which left little doubt that the unusually dressed man was a Huashan Elder.

The party proceeded until the members stood in a row before the austere company seated on the opposite side of the conference table.

Director Song.

Magister Birch.

Secretariat Choi.

The Huashan Elder, likely a Magus or Magister.

And Professor Ma, whose expression was unreadable.

They bowed again.

“Good, everyone is here.” Choi put his hands together under his chin. “Luwei, you have the floor.”

The man named Luwei seemed taken aback that the entire party was only looking a little worse for wear. Apart from specks of blood over their clothes and boots, the students appeared otherwise unharmed. What’s more intriguing was that Lulan looked as though she’d emerged refreshed from a day-spa, though her clothes were worse for wear.

“Perhaps, we should listen to what these young Mages have to say first?” Luwei glanced at Kusu, who looked equally flustered and confused at Lulan's presentation.

“Very well.” Choi motioned a hand toward the party. “This is not an interrogation, so say what you will. So long as its believable.”

Magister Birch and Gwen’s grandmother both turned to look at Choi, who chuckled.

Luwei passed the Secretariat an annoyed look.

“Lulan, you first,” the Elder instructed his unruly adherent.

Lulan looked visibly nervous as she stepped up in front of her audience.

With a motion that made Gwen flinch, she dropped to her knees on the vermillion carpet, lowering her head.

“Sirs!" Lulan implored the panel. "I disobeyed Elder Li’s orders directly and attempted to seek out Gwen Song, who I believed at the time, was hiding my brother's, Kusu's implements. Despite my uncle's and my brother's advice and warning, I chose to take action of my own accord. I allowed my rash anger to overcome my better judgement. For this, I am deeply apologetic. In my thoughtlessness, I have destroyed valuable infrastructure, endangered and harmed the citizens of this city. These actions and the decision is entirely my own, and possess no relations to either Kusu, or Elder Li, nor the Huashan Sect.”

The others nodded. It was an excellent appeal for leniency and a favourable show of loyalty for Lulan's brother and the Huashan Sect. On the right of the Magisters though, both Kusu and Luwei could scarcely believe the faculty of their eyes and ears.

This was Lulan?!

Shouldn’t she be stepping out of line, screaming at the top of her voice, refusing to admit fault, and blaming it on Gwen? Shouldn’t she be red-faced, eyes glazed, letting loose burst of Earthen mana? Who the hell was this model student? What happened to the firebrand? Was Lulan under an Enchantment or a Mind Control spell of some kind? Did someone skin-change Lulan?

“Well, that was easier than I thought,” Secretary Choi chuckled. “That settles it then, shall I announce the sentence?”

“A little hasty, don't you think?” it was Klavdiya who spoke. “Earlier, Secretariat, you informed us that three levels of filtrations systems were disrupted and one completely destroyed. I would like to hear more details before such a severe punishment is passed onto one so young. Gwen my dear, can you volunteer?”

Secretariat Choi's eyes moved between the Director and her granddaughter, trying to gauge their game. Whatever it may be though, he had no clue. It wasn't possible that they were in contact, and Gwen Song had evidently been surprised to see her kin, had she not?

“As you wish, Director. Please elaborate, Miss Song. Miss Li, you may be at ease.”

Gwen had been building a narrative in her head since they’d left B12. The moment Richard had announced their return, she'd known that to get past this particular episode, she would have to spin like Fox and Friends on an Election Year.

As for Lulan, if one begged the question of whether or not Gwen felt anything toward the Sword Mage, she would have to say ambivalence. Her displeasure for the girl had derived from self-preservation, but now that their conflict had been resolved, her ambient feeling of enmity had trickled down into sympathy. When Lulan further made her grossly overstated confession, that sympathy furthermore turned into empathy.

Lulan wasn't right in the head because of her magic, wasn't it? The magic belonged to the clan, right? Now that their human battering ram had accidentally pounded its way into the wrong castle, they wanted to throw her under a bus?

That was precisely the sort of thing that Gwen could not stomach. In her old world, even in the Big Three, the corporate culture was that any fuck up, no matter how minor, could be resolved by defenestrating the juniors.

Gwen herself was no stranger to bouts of dark passion - her mother in the old world had an undiagnosed bipolar disorder, and Gwen herself experienced periods of unexplainable depression that came and went like a stormcloud. Likewise, as they ascended the rickety lift, Gwen had spoken to Lulan, whose lucidity and fatalism was both sad and aggravating. The fact that prior to Lulan’s near-death experience, her manifestations had been rusted iron, and now they were gleaming steel, was indication enough that the girl had scored an unexpected new lease on life.

Putting her albatross aside - Gwen desired to emerge from this ordeal with a win-win scenario. As it stood, the problem was that should Lulan perish, the Huashan Sect would still consider Gwen an enemy and she would lose Lulan as a potential ally.

Since the Sword Mage had amply demonstrated her usefulness, the desired outcome would be to preserve the girl and placate the Clan. At the very least, retain the girl and anger the Clan. If someone had something worthwhile to gain from this whole sordid, chaotic ordeal, it might as well be her.

Then there was the fact that she had spent a Tier 7 Regeneration Cube made by Magister Wen and Magister Dao. It was with absolute certainty that she would not be getting a replacement for that particular boon anytime soon. Having sunk that cost into Lulan, Gwen figured she had full right to expect some investment returns.

Pushing her wayward thoughts aside and burying them a little deeper, Gwen readied herself. Depression, self-loathing, anxiety-attack or otherwise, the show must go on.

“Of course. Magister Song. Secretariat Choi. Magus Li. Magister Birch. Professor Ma. I will endeavour for the truth.”

Gwen glanced at Mayuree before she continued, who nodded imperceptibly.

She met her babulya’s eyes, swept her gaze over the rest of her audience, then began.

“Good Magisters, honoured Elders. Madams and Sirs. Lend me your ears for a moment and allow me to relate."

"We arrived, as per Boss Yi’s instruction and Magister Choi’s advice, on Basement level 7. There, pertaining to Professor Ma’s coursework, we interacted with the locals and partook in some sightseeing activities, mingling with the locals in a friendly manner.”

Choi's smile became more rigid than he had intended.

The Song girl sure had a way with words.

Nothing that had happened so far was her party’s fault, every angle was as a result of some else’s decision making.

“When we reached the filtration section, Mayuree, our Diviner, informed the party that there were Mages following us. We further ascertained our present condition and revealed that these were not simply curious parties but indeed, Slavers. Furthermore, we logically ascertained that since Boss Yi has promised us that his men would not intervene with our operation, the culprits must be a rogue-party not under the control of the PLA nor the militia of D-109.”

Gwen quickly scanned her audience.

They were not in disagreement.

When their orbs met for a split-second, Choi's eyes twitched.

Gwen lowered her cadence and began to place more emphasis on her vowels.

“At this point, we were presented with the dilemma of whether to wantonly seek the death of our potential enemies, who, by Mayuree’s Clairvoyance, had announced their intention to harm us - or to proceed with a slight detour. Therefore, thinking of the lively scene of the B7-Markets, our party resolved to complete Secretary Choi's quest without further bloodshed.”

“Thinking of Professor Ma’s guidance for the last six weeks," Gwen nodded at Professor Ma. "And his request that we think of the NoMs and the citizens of this place as our fellow human beings, each capable of pain, joy, love and the pursuit of happiness, we decided to elect the more difficult path.”

Professor Ma inclined his head sagely, pleased with Gwen’s name drop.

“Our party found our way to the lower section of B7, where via an Arcane Eye, we ascertained that there were indeed no less than four groups seeking to ambush us, should we engage the Carrion Crawler. Furthermore, the size and scale of the Crawler indicated that it was purposely bred for combat, not reagents and ingredients. They were malicious, vicious, foul and disgusting creatures, my esteemed Sirs and Madam, terrible to behold and more so to engage in close combat. Therefore, we chose to complete our task remotely via my Familiars.”

“And your familiars could destroy this beast by themselves?” Secretariat Choi enquired.

“Yes, Sir.” Gwen gave no more details. “Just ONE familiar. I have the means.”

Choi raised a brow.

Gwen continued before Secretariat Choi could interrupt.

“Having then deployed my Familiars, our would be assailants were unfortunately alerted. By the skin of our teeth, my Familiar delivered its payload in the chamber that housed the target. Unfortunately, this was when Lulan intruded into the scene. I am not in a position to state why she was present, but she did not interfere in any way with the operation at this point in time.”

Magus Li glanced at Lulan, who remained on her knees. His brown eyes fell on Gwen, then his brows knitted in growing suspicion.

“Once the Crawler was destroyed, we had planned to evacuate to our preplanned route, expecting to extract via the levitation platform to inform Secretariat Choi of the presence of the rogue Slavers in his tightly controlled District.”

Secretariat Choi looked as though he was about to protest, but Gwen pushed on, raising her tempo and octave.

“The ceiling was then Stone Shaped by Lulan, whereupon she descended, demanding why she was attacked. There was significant confusion, as you can imagine, due to the unforeseen circumstances of the friendly-fire incident. Had we known beforehand of her presence, we could have informed her of our danger-close operation.”

“It was incidental then.” Gwen brushed off the incident euphemistically. “That Lulan’s confrontation delayed us significantly, and we became surrounded. My party became trapped in one section of the tunnel, while she was stuck outside with the Slavers. A chaotic melee ensued, after which we emerged as the victor. Lulan scored most of the kills, and we managed to escape largely unscathed.”

“When our party finally regrouped with Lulan, she informed us that the Rogue Slaver's leader, a healer, had escaped. Taking advantage of Mayuree’s Divination, and being very mindful that Secretariat Choi had promised us another 20 CCs for additional duties which he had NOT specified, we gave hot pursuit until we cornered the woman - an individual called Nephres Zalaam - at B-12.”

“The woman struggled free as we were trying to discern her identity and intent. I am sorry, Secretary Choi, I know we had overstepped our boundary, but you did put CC to your mouth, and Richard and I are starving for CCs. As a result, I allowed the heat of the moment to overwhelm me, and I erased the woman with the power of the Void. All I can offer is ocular evidence that we did encounter and destroy your enemy for you.”

“We then checked the area for lo- EVIDENCE. After which, we arrived and were informed of your august presences, Magisters and Elders.”

The group looked at Gwen, each with slightly dazed expressions. What the hell did they just hear? Why was it so thrilling to hear? Was she a bard from the Nordic college of Skalds?

Choi’s face was scarlet.

Babulya expressed support and courage.

Birch had no expression at all.

Luwei had one that was dark and contemplative.

Kusu’s expression said it all - bewilderment and surprise - his eyes quickly darting between Gwen and Lulan.

Lulan herself faced the floor, her eyes staring into the carpet.

Choi opened his mouth to speak but realised there was nothing else to be said. Gwen’s story appeared to have covered all the angles: according to Gwen, everything the student Mages did, they did for Choi.

“Which leaves us with the matter of Lulan Li,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, putting Gwen's spell-proof narrative aside. “Unauthorised intrusion into the Lost Districts is punishable by stasis imprisonment up to ten years, pending on sentencing. Besides, she has caused extensive damage to the District, resulting in the death of no less than eight citizens, and up to thirty with grievous injuries.”

“What do you say to these charges, Lulan?” Choi demanded.

“Guilty,” Lulan answered quietly.

“Lulan!” Kusu stepped forward, but a calloused hand barred his approach. It was Luwei, his Uncle and Master.

“What did I tell you Lulan?” Luwei spat, finding his stride after Gwen took the words from their mouths. “I gave you explicit instruction to stay put. I told you exactly that if you take action on your own - if you bother Miss Song again - I would excommunicate you from the Clan. Well, I suppose that’s what you wanted. The moment you left your brother’s apartment to seek out Miss Song, you were no longer a member of the Huashan Sect. We are not responsible for any action you perform. I hope you are at peace with the decision you have made.”

Lulan slowly moved her face upward until she met her uncle’s stoic mien. She could see the cogs turning in her uncle’s eyes. With the clarity of her mind came the clarity of understanding; all those put-downs, those punishments, the slaps across the face, the public humiliation, the gaslighting. Her circumstance, now that her uncle's intent to be rid of her was self-evident, had exposed itself like a reef of exposed iron. Fourth- Uncle Luwei belonged to the faction of Pei, the youngest son of the Clan’s Head. Pei was a rare prodigy possessing both intelligence and martial might. Lulan and Kusu’s old Master, the third son, would have desired his own disciple, Kusu, to play a more critical role in the Clan’s affairs. Lulan knew that she’d always been a thorn at the side of the elders, particularly the Clan Head's, because her raw power had always excelled the boys, even if she wasn’t entirely lucid or stable while wielding it. In a fair duel, she could floor any one of them. This meant that so long as she supported Kusu, she could potentially demolish the authority and most importantly, the ‘face’ of any of Kusu’s competitors.

Simply put, she was an existential threat to Pei, a ticking Glyph of Warding.

Lulan thought of the incident when the innocuous Pei had convinced them to challenge Gwen Song to build Kusu’s reputation in Fudan. The boy was still in high school, but he possessed a far better head than either herself or Kusu.

Was she to be the sacrificial lamb then? Was an offering of her head what it took to keep Kusu safe? Without her, there would be no threat to Pei, and Kusu could live on in the safety of mediocrity, eventually becoming an Elder, taking a wife, becoming yet another branch family of the Sect?

"Do you concede?"

“…”

To Lulan’s surprise, her lips refused to move. With the red mist gone, she was beginning to realise just how much she had missed out on the colourful world outside of that blinding haze. Everything seemed so exciting and vibrant, new and refreshing. Even Gwen Song’s confrontation with the Ice Mage filled her with curiosity and wonder, filling her with a desire to know. What happened when Gwen Song consumed that Mage? Who was this Nephres Zalaam? What was this Elizabeth Sobel? What secret world did Gwen Song come from?

An endless array of questions assailed her mind.

How could she die now? How could she leave Kusu alone to suffer a life under Pei? How could she allow this smiling villain to get away?

“Very well, I will take that as a confession.” Choi appeared to be playing the same fiddle as Luwei.

“Lulan Li, Disciple of San Li, I officially excommunict-”

“Don’t! Uncle! No!” Kusu interjected.

Luwei ignored Kusu, his face flushed with anticipation.

“… communicate you from the annals of the Huashan Sect. You will henceforth return to Huashan the arts bestowed upon you by the ancestors. I - Luwei Li - Elder of Huashan, will carry out this sentence by the will of the Clan-Head.”

With the sentence delivered, Luwei Li swung his arm toward where Lulan knelt.

A thin blade, barely visible, appeared from a slit between two planes and moved toward her chest, aiming for a space below her heart.

‘CLANG!!!’

The blade struck a thick slab of iron which caught Luwei's attack mid-air. Upon closer inspection, where the metal had kissed metal, it was evident that the whisper-thin blade had chipped itself on Lulan's materialised length of gleaming iron.

Luwei winced, then his eyes widened.

“You! What?!”

As if disbelieving his eyes, he blinked then blinked again.

“The Iron Sword!” Luwei sucked in a breath of cold air. “How can you manifest the Iron Sword?! That’s impossible! You're a woman!”

“Lulan?” Kusu was incredulous as well. “You’re healed? How?”

“Miss Li owes me a tier 7 Regenerate.” To their surprise, Gwen stepped in between Luwei and Lulan. “I would very much appreciate it if the Clan of Huashan does not come between creditor and debtor. I can’t collect my dues from Lulan if you maim or kill her.”

“This wouldn’t be the one Magister Wen, Petra and myself acquired for you, would it?” Klavdiya intervened. “If so, that was a personal favour from Magister Dao.”

Choi’s beady eyes shifted between the parties, unsure of what to make of Klavdiya's words.

“That may be so,” he announced, “What do you intend to do with her, Gwen Song?”

Gwen turned to Lulan, her face hidden from the adults.

“Don’t you think you should repay me, Lulan?” She blinked at the Sword Mage, hoping she was bright enough to read her charade.

Lulan’s eyes glanced upward for a microsecond, then her head fell lower.

“Yes, I cannot repay such an auspicious gift, but by duty and honour as a member of the Clans, I cannot leave such a debt unpaid. Uncle! Please allow me the chance to repay Gwen Song!”

"You're not a member of the Clans any longer!"

"Is this how the Clans repay their benefactors? For shame!" Gwen snapped back at the Elder. "Elder Luwei, do you think tier 7 spells grow on trees?!"

Luwei’s eyes shone dangerously.

“A tier 7… Regeneration?” he mouthed, tasting the words on his tongue. “From Magister Dao and Wen... and Song?”

The man was turning a shade of red more akin to pork liver.

“No! I cannot allow it!” The words issued from his lips were accompanied by spittle. “If you think the Sect is going to suffer an excommunicated possessor of the Iron Sword to live…”

“Uncle!” Kusu interjected, now standing between his Uncle and Lulan as well. “You told me tacitly that you’d spare her life! That taking the catalyst wouldn’t harm her other than preventing her use of the Huashan techniques!”

“Foolish child! Get out of the way! She has the proper form of the Iron Sword now! You want to be excommunicated too?”

“Please, Uncle! Show us some compassion! We're your nephew and niece!” Kusu stood in front of his sister, besides Gwen. “You’ll have to kill me too then! Take my Heart of Iron too!”

“Hahaha!” Choi suddenly burst into laughter behind the three of them. “This is why I love you Clanners. Never a dull moment. Assuming she lives, make sure you leave Lulan behind. She still has sentencing waiting for her.”

“But, Sir!” It was Gwen who butted in yet again. “I believe that these NoMs and Mages who assaulted Lulan were likely in alliance with the Slavers.”

“Oh?” Choi raised a critical brow. “What proof do you have?”

“We also killed a dozen of them just a few minutes ago,” Gwen stated. “That is proof by parallel.”

“You expect me to believe that, do you? What makes you think the ones Lulan killed were Slavers?”

“Are you suggesting that the ones we killed are not Slavers, Sir?” Gwen stepped up her questioning.

Choi furrowed his brows.

Usually, he would shout the students down, but he couldn’t help but be reminded that Klavdiya Song, Director of the Second PLA Hospital, was watching as well as another Magister from Fudan. The two of them may not have a military position, but they had connections to places far higher than his own.

“I suggest no such thing.” Choi’s voice gained an edge of defensiveness. “What obtuse reasoning is this?”

“I have no proof that those NoMs are Slavers.” Gwen stepped forward once more. “For all I know, they were fishermen.”

“What?” Choi was genuinely flustered by Gwen's pivots.

“They had fishing nets, Sir.”

The audacity of this girl, was she challenging his intelligence?

“What are you talking about, girl?” Choi’s voice took on a keen edge.

“I am saying, Sir,” Gwen continued with a cadence that allowed Choi no room for breath. “That within your city, the citizens are Slavers, and the Slavers are the citizens. They do what they must to eke out a living. The ones who attacked us are citizens, but they are also Slavers. The Slavers who attacked Lulan are citizens, but it doesn’t make them any less capable of being Slavers. Asking for proof is asking for the impossible Sir. This is why the excursion takes place in the Lost Districts, is it not? What difference does it make if one or two parties of Fudan students must defend themselves against the malicious elements of an unruly District? Where are our seniors? Are they in the building still? Have they encountered any difficulties? Are their hands dyed in the blood of your innocent citizens?”

"They are progressing with their quest," Professor Ma informed them. "I loathe to admit it, but the girl has a point, Choi. You and I both know how this works. Why are you drawing barrier sigils in the air now of all times?"

“…” Choi stared at Gwen, ignoring Professor Ma.

“…” Luwei had his eyes firmly affixed upon Lulan.

“Lulan defended herself while lost in the District!" Gwen countered tartly. "These Mages she killed, UNSANCTIONED. These NoMs that perished, UNREGISTERED. From the state of this District that I have seen, Secretariat Choi, harping on about the lives of your beloved citizens is a rather precious proposal when the reality is so different from the words issuing from your mouth.”

Again, Gwen cut in just as Choi was about to speak.

“Professor Ma! In your lecture, you stated that the Lost Districts are outside of the laws that govern Shanghai and that many of the laws exist in grey-zones of ambiguity differing from District to District, is that not true?”

“Yes, I suppose…” Ma affirmed Gwen’s verbatim reproduction of his own words.

“Then Secretariat Choi has no legal authority over Lulan. Only law-enforcement outside of the District is able to pass sentences pertaining to the judgement of citizens who are not under the jurisdiction of the Lost Districts, am I correct?”

“You are.” Ma noted the constipated expressions on Choi and Luwei’s face and felt a mild exhilaration. “Indeed you are! Section XXII, article 4 of the District charter states that officers of the state overseeing a District only have the power of execution and imprisonment over citizens of the District, not anyone who is a citizen of the City! Mao! Can you imagine the chaos if carte blanche power is given to a mid-tier official to act as they please over anyone! Chaos! There would be absolute chaos!”

“There you have it - Sir!” Gwen gushed sweetly at Choi. “If you wish Lulan to be prosecuted, I am afraid you will have to engage a third-party officer from the Extra-Judicial Division of the Magistrate’s Office to oversee the trial. They will have to engage in a thorough investigation of whether or not these citizens were Slavers or if they were innocents, though I contest that I believe my party and Lulan innocent. I am sure you would welcome an investigation, no? After all, for us who possess clean consciences, a trivial inquest from the MSS touches us not, am I right?”

Gwen's words cut across Choi's mind like a scalpel. It was as though an aneurysm was coming on.

“I rest my case, Sir," the girl ended with a flourish.

Choi felt such anger at the impudence of the girl that for a moment he imagined blasting her with a Flame Strike. Instead, he shifted his attention to her friends. If one of them could prove her false...

“Is Gwen Song’s summation of your actions in B7 correct? Has she omitted any important information you would like to add? If you were to aid in my proper administration of this matter, I would offer you 10 CCs for any ocular, eyewitness testimonial.”

He turned to the eager looking Richard.

“Mr Huang?”

Richard grinned.

“Make it a hundred, Sir?”

“…” Choi's face froze.

“Then I suppose not, Sir.” Richard chuckled.

Gwen shot her cousin some shade, which Richard returned with a broad grin.

“Miss… Mayuree?” Choi continued hopefully.

“I have nothing to add, Sir.”

“Miss Liang?”

Kitty turned her head toward Gwen. The temperate dropped a degree or so. then Mayuree coughed.

“I didn’t see anything,” Kitty said coldly.

“There you have it, Sir.” Gwen felt a cold sheen of sweat covering her back.

Choi grunted, looked as though he wanted to continue, then sat back down.

Beside him, Luwei once again turned his attention to Lulan.

“Gwen Song, move aside. I need to retrieve the Heart of Iron.”

Gwen moved instead in front of Lulan until she blocked her from Luwei entirely.

“I am afraid I can’t let you do that, Sir.”

“Move aside!” Luwei felt an agitation in his chest that he hadn’t felt in years. This girl! This insolent girl! How dare she! Did she think the Huashan Clan was a bunch of pushovers like the siblings?!

“Will you listen to reason?”

“I SAID MOVE IT! You insolent fool!”

Gwen scoffed at the man.

With her grandmother and Magister Birch here, she could afford to gamble.

“You are gravely mistaken, Sir. I am not a member of your Sect, and you are not a Magister. You have no authority to tell me to do anything I do not wish to. Do not mistake yourself my superior. This is not Huashan, 'ELDERLY' Sir, this is Shanghai.”

“Pufft!” It was Magister Birch who almost spat out his drinking water. Gwen’s babulya was smiling as well. The fact that the Sects had always thought themselves above the city Mages was a concept they had found laughable. What Gwen had stated was something that Magister Michio Lee, a legitimate Magister and the no.1 vocal dissident against the Clan in Fudan, hung on his lips without end. Gwen had just repeated one of his infamous diatribes back to Luwei.

Elder Li looked as though he was about to erupt. With Magister Birch and Gwen’s grandmother sitting behind him though, he dared not.

He turned to Kusu.

“Kusu, retrieve the Heart of Iron from Lulan.”

The blood drained from Lulan’s face.

Kusu was likewise pale and wobbling. His hands trembled.

Gwen turned to Kusu.

“Is this the Clan that you defend, Kusu? Is this the honour that you hold in your hand like a precious baby bird? A family that despises your sister? Did you know why your sister was so sick? It was because she was given defective magic, Kusu! All those years she suffered and yet year after year, your Sect did nothing! Are you even her brother, Kusu?! Do you know what Lulan was doing? She came after me, in the deep dark of the District, demanding your daggers! Her hair was burnt! Her skin was singed! She was barely conscious! You know what she said to me?!”

Lulan quivered.

Kusu's whole body shook.

“She said - GIVE ME MY BROTHER’S DAGGERS!”

“KUSU! Is your heart gone to the dogs?! Is your honour fed to brutish beasts?! Are you a man?! Lulan! Get up!”

Gwen took Lulan by the hand and pulled her up.

She poked her finger at Lulan’s left breast, just below the soft mound of her bosom.

“This is the unkindest cut of all, Kusu! Are you a man or are you an animal? SPEAK UP!”

Lulan placed a hand to her breast, feeling a tenderness. In her passion, Gwen had poked with rather too much enthusiasm.

“I..”

“Do you want to be exiled as well, Kusu?!” Li shouted behind the wavering Sword Mage. “Are you and your biao-zi sister ferrets of the same den!?”

Kusu froze, then turned to his uncle.

“Kusu! You better-”

“Wocaoni-ma...” Kusu muttered.

The whole room became as though someone had covered it with an AOE Silence.

“Kusu, say that again...” Elder Li pointed a shaking finger at Kusu.

“Wocaoni-MA!” Kusu spat out between his teeth. “WOCAO! Fuck you and you Huashan! Make me attack my own sister! Rip her heart out? GO FUCK YOURSELF!”

“How DARE YOU!” Luwei was so angry, he felt as though he’d ascended into a new plain of existence. “You… the both of you… how dare… cao… ni… ni…ni…”

The Mage in his fifties looked as though he was about to foam at the mouth.

“D-Do you know what you are doing?” Elder Li spluttered.

“FUCK YOU!” Kusu spat back, giving Li the finger.

“YOU DARE?!"

For a moment. Luwei Li realised he must have blanked out, because the next moment, he found himself swinging at the student Mages.

‘Schwing!’

The sound of metal cleaving air vibrated like a struck chime.

A barely visible blade moved through the air toward the students.

“Barrier!”

“Thrust!”

“Shield!”

Kusu manifested the two dozen or so daggers he had that remained in a futile attempt to block the incoming swing. His uncle was a senior Sword Mage, his blade honed and sharpened until it was so thin as to be almost invisible. Its cutting power and penetrative potential likewise, wasn’t something that he could hope to withstand.

Lulan meanwhile, had taken her deceased Master’s instruction to heart. The best defence was an offence. Luwei wanted to kill Kusu? Fine, if the vain bastard was willing to trade his life for that of a disciple, then she would call his bluff.

Gwen meanwhile, acted more so out of instinct than anything else. With her Abjuration Sigil blazing into effect, her Shield ballooned instantly, knocking both Kusu and Lulan to the ground. Shields, by their very nature, tethered to a Mage’s instinct for life, was the fastest manifesting spell of any Magical phenomenon.

So it was that Kusu fell forward, Lulan fell backwards, and Gwen became the unintended target of Luwei’s sudden assault.

‘Keeekkeeeekeeee!’

The screeching blade bit into Gwen’s non-newtonian Shield and made instant progress. As bits of her crystalline mana sprayed into the air, the observers could visibly see its cutting-edge vibrate with an ear-splitting frequency.

A sonic blade?! Gwen’s chest constricted. The blade was cutting through her Shield like a butter knife through a soft block of margarine.

She began the incantation for a Dimension Door.

“Jun!” the shrill cry of Gwen’s grandmother's alarmed voice rang through the air.

From the entrance came the sound of rapid footsteps, a triple-staccato thumping that thrilled the ear.

“Disintegrate!”

A thin white ray shot forth as the Invisibility wore off, revealing the form of a man looking in his late thirties. As the spell manifested, the carpet beneath his feet instantly turned into white ash, that swirled and drifted with the circulation of mana across his body.

Where the white beam had struck the vibrating blade, Elder Li's implement ceased to exist at once, becoming ashen dust. Within the blink of an eye, the transformation of matter into free flying particles consumed the blade of the sword, bit into the pommel, then struck the hand that held it.

Elder Li threw his weapon as though he was scatting hot ashes, but even so, two of his fingers were gone. His face turned the same shade as that of his once proud implement, and all the passion drained from his face at once. As the negative drain infused Li, he sensed his anger, his emotion, everything about the present circumstance that had brought him to violence faded at once.

Almost epiphanically, he looked around him as though awakening from a dream. Why did he care so much? He wondered. Why bother with a girl who would die from her own foolishness anyway. He should return to the Clan and meditate on his Dao. Why did he feel so tired, he wondered.

Luwei looked at the mocking faces of those around him and felt too tired even to summon shame.

“Insolence!” Jun lowered his finger, wagging it like the barrel of a smoking gun. “Who gave you the nerve to harm my niece? Does the Sect of Huashan wish to be excommunicated from Shanghai?”

Gwen was only now recovering from the unintended attempt on her life, but her mind caught up in an instant.

“This man is deranged, uncle! He just attacked me out of the blue!”

“No doubt.” Jun’s eyes were two glowing white-hot orbs. “I saw.”

“I saw it too.” Klavdiya had a hand over her heart. “My heart nearly leapt from my throat! Gwen, dear, are you alright?”

She gave Birch a kick in the ankles.

Magister Birch looked up at the ceiling for just a moment, then stepped forward.

“I too bore witness to this assault,” he said flatly.

“Count me in.” Professor Ma felt as though he was having the time of his life. To think a fucking Clanner would have a day like this! Ha! Gwen Song was a doll! “I may not be a Mage, but as an attaché to the Shanghai Inner Regional Magistrate Advisory Board, I can attest that Gwen Song was assaulted without provocation!”

Luwei looked at them disinterestedly.

Whatever, he thought. Purposeless words.

“I… I apologise for my indiscretion…” he replied unceremoniously. He regarded the two charred stumps on his hand, optimistic that they could be fixed one way or another. It was rather fortuitous that he was right-handed, for he wore his Storage Ring on his left.

“Are you alright, Gwen?” Jun approached, leaving behind dark footprints on the carpet that made Choi wince.

Gwen looked up at Jun with a pained expression, her eyes twinkling wickedly.

“I am alright…” Gwen intoned painfully, she turned to Luwei. “I feel so traumatised though… nothing short of a concession or compensation may shake this debilitating experience from my heart…”

Luwei felt that this was a bad sign, but he just couldn't summon the energy to retort.

"Gwen, that's enough." Gwen's grandmother approached Luwei. "Allow me to apologise, Elder Li. My son is overzealous. Restoration!"

Verdant and fecund eneriges infused Elder Li.

Elder Li shook himself awake from the negative energy induced stupor and stared at Jun in horror. The Ash Bringer! Wocao! The Ash Bringer! How terrifying!

It felt... it felt as though he had lost all desire for life, for beauty, for ambition!

"Give me your hand." Gwen's grandmother commanded the Clan Elder.

Luwei obliged like a child.

"Lesser Regeneration!"

An intense, bone-rending itch travelled from his hand to his heart, then to his head. Luwei gritted his teeth as two fingers, white and pale, sprouted from the charred stumps.

When the spell completed, he looked at the collection of Mages now standing in front of him.

Director Song of the Second Army PLA Hospital, equivalent to the rank of a Magister.

Her Son, the Ash Bringer, Captain Song, a war hero.

Magister Birch, long-serving Professor in Fudan, well connected with thousands of Alumni.

James Ma, a NoM, but likewise influential and well connected.

And Gwen Song - which meant Magister Wen - which indicated Magister Luo, Dean of Fudan.

Thinking of that these Magisters could bring to bear against the Clan, Luwei shuddered.

He felt fear.

“What… what do you want?” he mumbled softly.

Gwen looked at Lulan, whose mouth was wide enough to fit a quail’s egg, then regarded Kusu, who’s face had frozen into a mask of self-loathing the moment the ‘I’ll fuck your mother’ left his mouth.

“Mr Li,” she spoke with a voice that was sickly sweet. “We're going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Elder Luwei was allowed to leave once he’d confirmed that Huashan would forgo any privileges over the Li siblings unless they wished to return to the fold of their own volition. A verbal agreement was reached, observed by a Secretariat, two Magisters, a Magus, and Professor James Ma: should the Huashan Sect renege on Luwei's agreement, the Clan's occupancy in Shanghai would become precarious indeed.

With the matter resolved, Gwen ran to her babulya, embraced her, then reciprocated the affection for her uncle.

"Thanks, Uncle Jun." Her eyes sparkled.

"You take care now." Jun patted her head. "Be more careful next time."

The Li siblings could scarcely believe that an agreement had been reached without further violence. They had anticipated that at the very least, they would lose something precious, like their specialised Magic. Dazed by their circumstances, Kusu mumbled an apology to his grandmother, looking devastated, while Lulan held her brother’s hand with moist eyes gleaming with hope.

Mayuree and Kitty likewise, were recovering from the escalation of Gwen’s precipitous encounter, while Richard had on an expression of barely disguised exaltation.

“It’s not over yet.” Jun pulled Gwen away from his arm, giving her a rap on the forehead.

As the infamous Ash Bringer turned to Choi, the Secretariat froze like a Wildland buck caught in the path of a Disintegrate.

“Secretariat Choi.” Jun inclined his head ever so slightly.

“Captain Song,” the Secretariat intoned respectfully.

“I wish to know more about your dealings with Nephres Zalaam.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

A lingering moment passed between the two as Choi held his face unmoving and intact.

“Shall we speak in private?” Jun offered. “I will only extend this kindness once.”

“I-” Choi's eyes darted to the ashen footprints still lingering on the vermillion carpet. "I don't think that would be necessary."

Jun folded his arms and studied the Secretariat, whose face was like a jade sculpture titled 'impassivity'.

"Staff Sergeant Bui!" Jun called out to one of the guards.

"Sir!"

"Tell Secretariat Choi who you work for."

"MSS Grey Ghost, Designation SG442123! Sir!"

Secretariat Choi's expression remained masterfully unmoving.

"I am relieving you of your post, Bui. Good work, Lieutenant."

"Sir!"

"I am not under the jurisdiction of the MSS or the Internal Security Review Committee," Choi spluttered. "You think I can be cowed by a double-dealing dog?"

Jun cracked his neck.

"Maybe I can, maybe I can't. Are you a gambling man, Choi?"

Choi's eyes darted behind Jun and the others, who were all looking at him with expectation and anticipation.

“I'll say this one more time, Secretariat Choi. Would you like to discuss this privately? Or do you think the MSS are herbivores?” Jun offered nonchalantly, his pupils taking on a hint of dusky ash. “You think I am just here for my niece? You think I have my men combing the depth because of a family matter? You think the Grey Ghosts are toothless? Well, it's the dogs that don't bark that you have to look out for, haven't you heard that before, Choi? When the MSS strikes, it goes for the jugular.”

With every word from Jun, Choi felt as though he was perspiring all the liquid in his body. Certainly, his expensively tailored uniform, layered with fine gossamer as an inner layer, felt far more clammy than he’d ever recalled.

“My office, please.” Choi pointed to the door. He was a gambling man, but he wasn't a fool. There would be concessions, penalties, favours, but he could at least walk away with his position and his life.

“Gladly.” Jun turned to the others. “Don’t wait. This is going to take a while. Mother, it’s getting late, please don’t tire yourself out.”

“Alright, dear. Don’t work too late.” Klavdiya chided her son warmly.

“Gwen, I’ll speak to you later.”

“Yes, Uncle Jun.”

Jun stopped at the door.

"5 CCs per Crawler, and 20 for the Healer, right?"

Gwen's face broke into a wide grin.

"Yessir!"

With Jun gone, the elderly Mages now desired to return to the comfort of their usual abodes. Klavdiya told the students that there would be a car waiting for them below to take them back to the city. Birch offered to escort Gwen’s grandmother back home, but she sweetly declined and thanked him for the gentlemanly offer.

"Why a car? Couldn't you just teleport the two of us back?" Klavdiya enquired of her old acquaintance.

"I wouldn't want to abuse my privilege," Birch dodged the question expertly. "Please, it's the least I could do."

Gwen watched their interaction with amusement and a little trepidation.

Who would win in a duel between Birch and Guo? She mused herself with the hypothetical but knew her grandmother would not allow such a thing to come to pass. Klavdiya had three children with Guo, and a little flattery from an old alumni wasn’t about to test her resolve.

“I’d love to speak to you a little more, Gwen,” her babulya informed her. “Maybe next time though, you can show me some more of those dainty little restaurants you have found on University Boulevard.”

“Of course, babulya!” Gwen farewelled her grandmother, squeezing the diminutive woman tightly.

As they parted, Klavdiya touched Gwen’s cheeks strangely, her amber orbs lingering on Gwen’s face far longer than was necessary, even for a doting old grandmother.

“Is something wrong?” Gwen touched a finger to her cheek. Blood, perhaps, from the slaughter below?

"My dear, if what I think happened, did indeed occur, you should contact Magister Wen immediately. We need data, biometrics, and understanding - not doubt, self-loathing and blame. This is a difficult milestone on the Path of Conflict, Gwen. One on which you cannot afford to wax sentimental. Many eyes are watching, my sweet child. Stay strong and show no weakness."

"I will, Babulya," Gwen promised, thinking of how Petra and her Master would react. As a pair of staunch Spellcraft maniacs, they're probably thrilled to hear her progress. As for herself, staying stoic was sound advice.

“Let me hitch a ride!” Professor Ma, not reading the situation, suddenly butted in. "The two of you have a car separate from the kids, right? Let them mingle, I don't want to be an eyesore."

The look from Magister Birch’s face said it all.

“I’ll Teleport you,” Birch offered.

“Wha? No! That is terribly expensive! What a waste of crystals!”

“It’s settled. The cost is on me,” Birch insisted.

“But you just said...”

Ma’s protest was unheeded as the trio left, with Klavdiya smiling amusedly, waving to Gwen.

The student Mages were finally left alone, awkwardly watched by a dozen guards.

“Do we go now?” Mayuree asked no one in particular.

Gwen looked out the window, then checked her watch, realising that indeed, it was now very late. They had arrived in the afternoon after 1400. She estimates that they had entered B-7 around 1600, and now it was past 2200.

Conditioned by reflex and habit, she knew she should be famished by now.

As for the fact that she felt not a hint of hunger…

Gwen swallowed her rising bile.

She shifted her attention to her companions, counting herself, there were six of them.

Mayuree, Kitty, Lulan, Richard, Kusu and herself.

“Let’s see what car they prepared,” Gwen advised the party amusedly. "One of us might have to fit in the boot."

Leaderless and directionless, the guards allowed the student Mages to pass, after which the levitation platform took the juniors down to the ground floor, where dilapidation and garbage kept company with the darkness. Intermittently, feeble Light spells lit up the corridors, leading outward onto a courtyard murky with mist. The only source of visibility came in the form of a hazy Daylight spell hanging over a PLA people mover.

As the students appeared from the door, the driver greeted them, then popped the side cabin.

“I’ll take the passenger side,” Richard informed them. He was the largest of the lot and so took up the most room.

Gwen, being the tallest of the girls, sat in the front of the cabin, while Kusu, Lulan, Kitty and Mayuree found spots to the side and back.

"I could ride back," Lulan offered, noting the tight squeeze, not to mention Kitty's frosty, unreadable expression. "I got my White-Ghost in the Ring."

"Naw." Gwen patted her shoulder. "Hop in. It's nice and cosy, right?"

“Back to Fudan?” the driver asked.

“Back to Fudan,” Richard informed him.

The door slid-close with a click.

Like an egg, the van shot out of District 109, then rumbled toward the gate.

The barrier went up.

The barrier went down.

The excursion came to an end.

As the van pulled away, Gwen couldn’t help but be drawn to the dark silhouette of D-109 in the distance, growing more vague and faint with every kilometre.

A dark city and an apt metaphor, Gwen reflected upon the fading vision. The poor sods. I hope Uncle Jun makes their lives just a little bit better.

Was the trip a success or a failure? She wondered. For certain, she had gained something in there, but she’d lost something too.

Babulya said to stay strong, Gwen reminded herself.

The van soon traversed the fourth orbital highway, the dark recess of the world around them blossoming into illumination. Light-posts, sedans and lorries, the light of civilisation and the suburbia and beyond that, appeared one after another, filling the visual field, polluted the misty atmosphere with a dazzling display of florid colours.

In the uncertain distance, the splendour of Shanghai's megacity glowed like a mirage, setting the heavy vapours of the mid-night fog aflame.

Feeling overwhelmed, Gwen turned her attention into the cabin, where the Li siblings were now discussing their immediate futures.

“We would have to leave the apartment, of course. The Clan owns it.”

“It's father's private property though,” Lulan retorted. “Before that, it was mothers.”

“Well, it isn’t ours. You think our father would stand up to the Elder, or the Clan Head? He's a glorified accountant,” Kusu said with finality. He eyed his sister contemplatively. “So, you’re feeling fine now? No more… mist?”

“Not for now.” Lulan stretched out her arms, then immediately remembered she was wearing a borrowed shirt, sans intimates. She caught Gwen looking contemplatively and awkwardly lowered her hands to her knees.

Kusu blushed, more so because Gwen seemed enchanted by the sibiling's relationship.

That his sister was a girl was something he knew at the back of his head, but one that he had never thought about. Within the Clan, no one saw Lulan as female, much less a woman. The curious fact that Lulan was now consciously aware of her femininity filled him with conflict.

What if, Kusu wondered. If someone wanted to date Lulan? As a brother and a protector, how could he allow such a horrible, dangerous thing to happen to a poor, innocent bastard who didn't know better?

To distract himself, he shifted his attention to the Void Sorceress, whose frenetic energy and glib tongue were the reason why they now had the freedom to live within the crack between a rock and a hard place. Kusu felt happy for the fact, though the exhilaration paralleled the trepidation.

The life of a Sect member was regimented and orderly. Training to learn one’s skills. Training by carrying out missions. Training by sparring and participating in the internal squabbles of the Clan. The rest of the time, they ate, slept, and occasionally got a glimpse of the world outside of the Sect’s sacred grounds. Select individuals, such as Kusu, Lulan, Pei and others, were sent away to ‘mingle’ with those outside of the Clan, to broaden their horizons. Occasionally, these individuals never came back. Primarily, this was because they died, performing some service to benefit or defend the Clan. Once or twice per generation, the florid world outside proved too much for young Clanners to return to the monotony of monastic training. These 'rogues' no longer wished to dedicate themselves to the single-minded cause of the Clan to perpetuate itself.

Their uncle, Luwei, had been thoroughly beaten. What now followed would be at the digression of those involved. If the Magisters kept the encounter to themselves, the Clan would try to put it behind them. If they boasted and mocked Huashan as a result and made them into a public spectacle, then Lulan and Kusu should expect an Iron Blade in the back very soon. Kusu was under no delusion that he and Lulan would have to be very discreet if they wished to make it to graduation. Lulan was already a second-year, while he was still in his first. They had many li's to go.

What about the Clan's secret techniques? Kusu and Lulan knew nothing about the Heart of Iron other than that they had a catalyst embedded and the incantations necessary to use it. What if someone at Fudan had designs on their talent?

If it came to that, the Magisters who helped them would get involved. Having extended their hand in the matter, the sudden demise of the siblings would directly translate to a loss of face and influence.

It was a precarious balance then.

If Huashan made a move on the siblings, the Magisters would speak out.

If the Magisters speak out, Huashan would have to silence the siblings.

If the siblings were to perish from a third party; both the Magisters involved and Huashan would lose face.

The best possible outcome for all parties, therefore, was to keep quiet and keep an incantation front-loaded.

As for the siblings, all they could do was walk the tightrope and hope there were no sudden gusts.

“Kusu,” Gwen spoked first. “What’s your plan from here on out?”

“Get registered at the Fudan Tower, I suppose.” Kusu had been thinking since they left D-109. “That way, we gain some protection, and enough employment to keep us in Fudan.”

“I’ll be joining the Pudong Tower in the future,” Gwen stated purposefully, looking over at Lulan. “For now, I am registered with Fudan’s provisional Tower Two.”

“We’ll be going there first thing in the morning then,” Kusu smiled wryly. To think that days ago, Gwen and themselves were at each other’s throats. He bowed his head. “Thank you for saving my sister.”

“I couldn’t have done it alone.” Gwen shook her head modestly. “It was Professor Ma and all the others. You're giving me too much credit.”

“But they were there for you,” Kusu pointed out.

“Hardly.” Gwen grinned, forcing Kusu’s heart to up its cadence. “Magister Birch is present for reasons I’d rather not think about. My Uncle was there for Choi. Professor Ma is there because that was his job. I suppose only Babulya was there for me. So, as I said, you’re giving me too much credit.”

“I owe you my life, twice now,” Lulan interjected between Gwen and her brother’s mutual contest of humility. “You can’t deny that.”

“I won’t,” Gwen beamed at her.

“Whatever you need in the future, just let me know,” Lulan stated as a matter of factly. “I’ll do whatever is in my capacity to satisfy.”

“Take care of yourself first,” Gwen advised sagely. “You're not helping me if the both of you end up homeless and drop out.”

"I’ve got… funds saved up, from my previous Tower missions, the Sect took its share, but I’ve got enough,” Lulan replied. “I can sell my bike as well, Kusu and I can take on some small-scale missions in the Orange Zones.”

“Do you have a place to stay at the moment?” Gwen asked.

“No, but we’ll manage, somehow," Lulan stated hastily, not wanting to intrude on Gwen's generosity any further.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to huddle up in a park…” Gwen grimaced. "Have you never rented before? Or visited a real-estate agent? Do you have your documents on you? I.D Cards? You might need at least 200 points of identification to pass muster. How about a bank card?"

The siblings looked at one another. This was a side of Gwen they did not expect.

“We'll be fine,” Lulan muttered softly, herself smiling gently. “I've had some experience dealing with this before. Thanks, Gwen.”

"What about tonight?" Gwen stated. "Or tomorrow, or the day after that. It's not cheap finding something around Fudan, you know. You guys should probably not stray too far from campus."

"We can find a hotel or something," Lulan muttered.

Gwen looked at Lulan. The girl didn't even carry a change of clothes. Was she really ready to face the world?

Then again, Gwen herself had sauntered into Blackheath wearing a minidress. Just reminiscing about the whole ordeal made her wince.

“Look, I can lend you this for a while until you find a place.” Gwen produced a Portable Habitat. “It doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the Melbourne Tower. I was going to return it soon, but there’s no rush. It utilises 1 HDM per application, which lasts around 12 hours generally.”

Kusu's brows formed the Chinese figure for 'eight'.

“A Portable Habitat!” his lips parted in surprise. “I’ve only ever seen the Elders carrying such a Magical Device, and even then they have to commandeer it from the requisition Elder.”

“Gwen, this is too much.” Lulan shifted her petite body uncomfortably, adjusting her weight. “We owe you so much already. This is a rare and precious item!”

Well, it’s military requisition I’ve yet to return. Gwen thought guiltily. It wasn’t as though she risked life and limb to acquire it. The only reason she wasn't using it herself was that she needed a registered mailing address for all her I.Ds, and she needed to install a LRC device to speak to Elvia.

“As I said, it doesn’t belong to me. I am lending it to you until I need it back.”

"But..."

"Take it and set up under our building for now," it was Mayuree who interjected. "Trust me, Gwen's right. You don't want to be sleeping somewhere random if people from your Clan might come knocking. You'll be perfectly safe if you stay near campus until the whole thing can blow over."

“We’ll get it back to you as soon as we can,” Kusu prodded his sister, hinting at her to let the matter drop. “Maybe tomorrow, at worst a few days from now. Thank you, and everyone else here as well.”

“Sure.” Gwen passed it over. “Lulu, is your ring large enough?”

Lulan nodded. Lulu? She repeated the moniker to herself.

“Lulu…” Kusu chuckled. “Uncle San used to call her that.”

“Sorry,” Gwen apologised. "I didn't know."

“No, it's fine.” Lulan waved away her apology. “Lulu is fine.”

“Master was trying to find a way to help Lulu,” Kusu revisited the moniker himself. “But a year ago, he was sent away by the Sect to participate in state-sanctioned military service. Every year, the Sects send a few members of the outer circle - lead by a senior member of the inner circle - up north. Because Master volunteered, we didn’t have to go.”

“We received news that he died in April,” Lulan explained, her eyes misty with troubling remembrance. “Six months after the fact.”

“Sounds like you guys have your own circumstances to contend with,” Gwen sighed wistfully for the siblings’ maltreatment. “It must have been hard.”

"Your Clan sounds like a real piece of work..." Richard had been listening in from the front seat. "How many of those they send out come back?"

"About half, maybe less," Kusu confessed dejectedly. Hindsight was Clairvoyance.

"Sounds like a factional rivalry to me," Richard observed. "Back in Prince's, it wasn't strange if people who pissed off the higher-ups got sent on dangerous missions to do some good before they're discarded."

"Uncle San wanted Kusu to participate in the contest for the next Head," Lulan explained. "Of course, I was going to help Kusu."

“Now that I think about it, it probably has something to do with Pei,” Kusu raised a finger conspiratorially. “That’s the Grandmaster’s younger son. He’s even better than Lulan when he was her age. There’s talk that he’s being set up for the position of the inheriting disciple. I guess it all makes sense now. I feel sorry for Uncle San.”

“He was a harsh but fair Master,” Lulan confessed with bittersweet feelings. “Oh!”

Kusu and Gwen both turned to regard the girl.

“Do you have a brother called Percy?!”

“I do.” Gwen thought of Percy and felt a stab of sadness. “Why?”

“He was the one boasting to Pei about you. I think your brother and Pei are both students at Xiangming Metropolitan Selective High School, right?”

“I think so,” Gwen replied.

“Pei told us to challenge you because your brother had told him that you’ve been excommunicated. He even showed Pei some kind of Amulet?” Lulan recounted. “Pei said that if we defeat you, then we can take over all the fame you’ve been gaining. Pei said that this was an opportunity that appears once in a lifetime - a famous prodigy without any backing for us to worry about 'ripe for the plucking'.”

“Oh?” Gwen’s voice lowered an octave.

Now it was her turn to be despondent and quiet. It wasn't as though she didn't have enough on her plate already.

“Sounds like we both have circumstances to contend with,” Lulan replied. "Sorry."

The three student Mages exchanged tired looks.

Together, all three of them sighed.

“I am sorry, Gwen,” A voice came from the back. It was Mayuree. “I know how much you love your brother. He’s still young, just a child. Maybe it was a careless slip of the tongue?”

"Pretty bloody specific for a casual slip, the little shit. He's a snake in the grass. Little fucker." Richard retorted from the front." That Amulet would have come in bloody handy about now, eh?"

A moment passed before Gwen could respond.

“It's alright."

Her voice seemed far away and distant.

"He's just a boy."

The atmosphere in the car took on a new weight. The rest of the journey was travelled in silence.

* * *

The van pulled up at the Fudan apartments, dropping off the student Mages at the circular parking bay of B1. Richard yawned and informed them that it was now the witching hour. Looking up, they could see that the lights of the Penthouse suite and Gwen’s apartment were still lit.

“You can set up in the sky garden if you want,” Mayuree informed the Li siblings. “I’ll speak to management and let them know.”

“Thank you.” Lulan inclined her head, while Kusu bowed.

"We're in your debt," her brother added.

“Let's head up,” Gwen informed the party. “Let’s have breakfast together. I know a few good places around campus and on the Boulevard.”

"How about my place instead?" Mayuree offered. "I'll get Lei to prepare for company."

"Chit-" Kitty jeered.

Mayuree reached over and squeezed her childhood friend's cold hands.

“That would be wonderful,” Gwen answered for the rest of them.

“See you tomorrow, please rest well, Miss Song.” Kusu bowed, making Lulan bow as well. “Allow me to thank you again for your aid tonight.”

The group ascended the levitation platform.

"DING!"

Gwen waved the siblings goodbye at the mid-section, where a sizeable balcony created a sky garden for the public to enjoy the privileged view offered by B1, Goulding Road, Fudan University. The Portable Habitat could not be set up indoors, so the private garden made a perfect temporary location.

The remaining foursome rode the rest of the distance in uncomfortable silence until reaching Gwen’s level.

“Thanks for all the help, Mayuree, you were excellent.” Gwen reached over and hugged her friend.

“You were the one who was instrumental, Gwen.” Mayuree blushed as she returned the affectionate embrace.

“Kitty, thanks for holding out for me. I won’t disappoint you.” Gwen extended a hand.

Kitty rigidly reached out with her dainty white fingers and took Gwen by the palm.

“I hope I don’t come to regret tonight,” she replied cryptically. “I’ll be watching you closely, for Mayuree's sake.”

Gwen nodded solemnly.

'DING!'

The platform opened to reveal level 22.

Richard exited, followed by Gwen waving a short goodbye.

Gwen turned to Richard.

“Richard, G’night.”

“G’night, Gwen.” Richard reached over, and they exchanged a quick embrace. “If you want to talk, or if you need anything, I am just next door, alright? Anytime.”

“No worries, Dick,” Gwen held onto her cousin for a lingering moment. “I am coping.”

‘CLICK!’

The door to Gwen’s apartment opened.

“Gwen! Richard! You’re back!” Petra was in a loose shirt and shorts. From the looks of it, she’d been waiting for them. “I heard from Magister Wen that you used the Regeneration Cube! Are you alright?! What happened?”

Seeing Petra, Gwen felt a sudden release of the compounded tension within her body. It was as though a button had been pressed and now all the pent-up pressure was escaping like gas from a pressure cooker.

“Pats!” Gwen left Richard’s arms and raced to her cousin.

Richard scratched his head, then exhaled with relief.

Knowing his future intentions, he was glad that he would not be the one to offer Gwen the solace she now needed. Knowing that Petra could serve that much-needed role was a weight off his back and a load off his chest.

“Gwen?” Petra allowed her cousin to squeeze her tightly. Petra faced Richard with a questioning look, her icy-blue eyes cold and questioning.

"The inevitable happened," Richard replied cryptically.

"We need to call Magister Wen and inform her right away," Gwen said to Petra, her words muffled by being buried in her shoulder. "I need to know if there are aftereffects."

Petra’s eyes widened for a second, then filled with softness.

“Goodnight, Richard. I'll take care of her.”

“See you tomorrow. Breakfast at Mayurees.”

Petra watched Richard go, then brought Gwen into the apartment. She dimmed the lights, then settled her cousin on the couch, looking pensive and withdrawn.

“I am sorry it happened after all,” Petra spoke softly. "Can I get you some tea."

“Yes please.” Gwen laid herself out on the couch, sinking into the softness of the enveloping leather. “No sugar, please. It's late.”

“Sure.” Petra heated the water with a quick cantrip, raising the tea to the optimum temperature. “Milk?”

“I'll take it black.”

“Alright.”

Petra sauntered over and handed over a ceramic mug.

“So, what’s it like?” She asked after they sipped the first few mouthfuls. Slowly, the scent of chamomile infused the air.

Gwen took a long deep breath, allowing the air to flow from her lungs languishingly.

“I want to say it was terrible. That I was horrified," Gwen began. "But I would be lying."

"The truth, Pats, was that it was pleasurable like you would not believe,” she continued softly. “It felt so intense, I... I couldn’t think of anything else. Not even remorse. It was like I was filling with life. How could anyone get enough of that?”

“I see.” Petra cupped her drink. “Addictive?”

“I don’t know. I am…” Gwen searched for a word but chose to dispense with the euphemism. “Right now, I am feeling full.”

“Who was it that Caliban ate?”

“Nephres Zalaam, a Slaver. Apparently, someone connected to my past in Sydney.”

“Your old Master? Gunther Shultz? Almudj?”

“All of the above.”

“…Derr`mo!”

“I haven’t told you the whole story, have I?”

“Don't.” Petra waved her off. “A girl should have her secrets.”

“Pats…”

“I would have to tell Master, if you told me,” Petra explained. “I don’t mind. Really.”

“Another time then.”

“Another time.”

“Caliban ate her in front of Kitty and Mayuree.”

“Are they trustworthy? I can get Master to have a word…”

“I think so. Mayuree at least. We are bonded by fate, her words, not mine. Kitty should be fine, at least until Mayuree fulfils her vision and has no more use for me.”

“If you say so.”

The two girls sipped their drinks.

“Would you do it again?” Petra inquired carefully. “Out of necessity, I mean.”

“…” Gwen had to force the words from her lips. “I think I would.”

“How're your Sigils? What'd she give you?”

“What I stole from her, you mean,” Gwen groaned bitterly. “She’s a tier 6 healer, so I’d guess Evocation and Transmutation, maybe a little Conjuration, who knows?”

“Master would probably want a full scan,” Petra muttered. “If you wish to rest, I’ll talk to her.”

“No, no,” Gwen stopped her cousin. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” Gwen interjected distantly. “I made my bed...”

Petra placed her mug on the coffee table, then arranged herself so that Gwen's head rested across her lap.

Below Petra's soft eyes, Gwen took in the vaguely sweet scent of shampoo and conditioner.

She welcomed the warmth of Petra’s skin against the nape of her neck, feeling the flow of blood through her veins. Very occasionally, there was a slight gurgle from Petra’s abdomen that made her want to giggle.

“Gwen?” Petra asked after they remained in the same position for a quarter of an hour.

“Yeah?” Gwen felt as though she was in a state of zen.

“You need a shower.”

“…” Gwen felt her zen shatter. The Boots of Flying did not unlace easily. That she had remained fully clad had entirely escaped her. For all she knew, there were still spots of Nephres’ blood on her blouse. Despite a cleaning cantrip or two, the offensive presence of D-109's sewers lingered in her hair and had seeped into her shirt.

“I am sorry, Gwen,” Petra was at her limits. “You stink.”

Before she went to bed, Gwen sent a LR Message to Elvia via the LRC device, petitioning for a conference on Sunday. It wasn't so much that she was going to reveal one of her direst secrets to Elvia. It was the solace she could gain by speaking to the healer and seeing her angelic face.

Likewise, she sent an urgent communication to Gunther as well, asking to speak to her brother-in-craft about the encounter, concurrently requesting an opportunity to converse with Alesia, and Yue if she was available.

But first, there was her morning session with Magister Wen. Together, they could obtain some numbers, investigate a few possibilities, then go from there. Any plans made in haste would be purposeless if their knowledge was incomplete.

Gwen took another shower to wake up and wash away the fatigue. Her body felt tense and strung, yet her mind felt sluggishly strained by insomnia.

Towelling herself dry, she received a Message from Mayuree. The Message spell bloomed beside her ear.

"Ah-Lei is making breakfast now, come whenever - XXOO."

The kissy noises are little cringeworthy, Gwen had to admit, but the Diviner meant well.

Petra was up as soon as Gwen finished with the shower. Her cousin rinsed and brushed out her hair, slipped into smart casuals, and was ready and waiting by the time Gwen made up her face.

When the two girls arrived at the mezzanine of the lofty penthouse, Lei was busily plating a western style breakfast of petite sandwiches, fingers of French Toast and fresh butter-cream pancakes.

Lulan and Kusu removed themselves from the long table at once, ejecting themselves from their seats. Together, they bowed as Gwen entered.

“No! Don’t do that!” Gwen moved to intercept, flustered by the formality.

“Told you so,” Lulan complained at her brother, relaxing.

“That doesn’t matter.” Kusu shot his sister a glare of annoyance. “This is proper!”

“Please, you’re making this awkward for me…” Gwen walked past the pair casually, inferring that truly, she wasn't keen to stand on ceremony. "Come on, let's sit together."

“See?” Lulan scoffed.

They turned their eyes toward Petra.

"Petra Kuznetsova," the Russian brunette introduced herself. "I am Gwen's cousin and roommate."

“Miss Kuznetsova.” The both of them tipped their chins respectfully. Petra was as infamous a second-year as they come. The Flower - or as some would say - the Ice Queen of Fudan.

“Pleased to meet you.” Petra shook their hands. Like most people meeting Petra for the first time, the effortless intimidation given off by her stunning appearance made her aloof and distant. Gwen had figured that this was a defence mechanism. In Petra's own words, strangers who were overtly friendly almost always desired a piece of herself, her talent, or both. In Gwen's opinion, her incomplete training at the Moscow Tower had given Petra a very cynical outlook toward people in general.

“Gwen! Welcome! You’re up nice and early!” Mayuree descended from the second floor in a loose shirt and shorts. “Let me freshen up, I’ll be down soon. Kitty’s already up, she’s such a light sleeper.”

Kitty sat a little way off on the couch, facing the magnificent view of the Fudan campus below. She raised a white hand and waved it flaccidly, communicating her ambivalence at Gwen's presence.

“Talk to you soon, Mia.” Gwen waved back as the Diviner disappeared. "Kitty, good morning."

Lei brought over a freshly brewed set of coffee and tea.

“This is Lei, Mayuree’s maid,” Gwen introduced the siblings to the masterful woman running back and forth between the kitchen and the dining. “Don't underestimate her because she's a NoM, her breakfasts are magical.”

“Ah, you're too kind, Mistress Song,” Lei simpered, sliding the beverages onto the table soundlessly. “You and Miss Kuznetsova are looking so pretty as usual! Your skin looks amazing today, almost like... healing Mages.”

“I have a healthy appetite,” Gwen returned Lei’s complement awkwardly. “It's all your nutritious cooking, Lei. You're spoiling me.”

Lei allowed a happy smile to touch her lips, then returned to her labour.

Richard joined them a quarter of an hour later. Together with Mayuree, the party presided over pancakes and coffee, discussing their plans for the immediate future.

“I am going to see Magister Wen for my check-up, then I guess I'll be returning to classes on Monday.”

“I’ll be returning to Nantong for a short while.” Richard sipped his milk tea. “For the next few weeks at least, I'll be out of Shanghai four days out of seven.”

“You need to relax a little, Dick,” Gwen chided her workaholic cousin. She was a compulsive worker too, but her training at the range didn’t endanger her life on a daily basis. Questing gave practical experience, generated CCs and provided credit, but Richard left himself with no time to learn new spells or engage in Arcane theory. In his own words though, her cousin had informed Gwen that working with Lea was what helped him develop his skills the most. Working allowed him to strike multiple birds with his limited stones. He exercised Conjuration constantly while employed under gainful employment, and got to practice Abjuration; a School of Magic best practised in the field. “I am sure Uncle and Aunty would rather wait than have you risk your life.”

Richard thanked her, but otherwise offered no verbal confirmation of heeding her advice.

“I am with Gwen, back to classes.” Mayuree chopped into her pancakes, smothering them in Wildland beechwood honey. "Here's hoping I can take it easy today and tomorrow, got to finish off some family requests for Divination."

“Classes & practice.” Kitty’s answer was abrupt and short.

“We’ll look for a place to stay first.” Lulan poked her pancake curiously, having never seen such delicately made Western food. For the last sixteen or so years, her morning diet had consisted of rice and pickles. “Then back to class. I am with Richard though, most of my classes are Questing credits.”

Petra wasn't on the same level as the regular students and so left herself out of the conversation. She couldn't participate even if she wanted, her research was classified.

“Where’s Marong?” Gwen asked inquisitively. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“As it should be,” Kitty replied jeeringly. Gwen wondered if this meant she was in a better mood than expected.

“Brother has gone home for a while. There have been some issues with the family business.”

“Anything serious?”

“Don’t know.” Mayuree shrugged. “I didn’t have any foreshadowing visions, so it’s either nothing serious or…”

“Or?”

“Or it's beyond my ability to foresee.” Mayuree shook her head. “Worry not, brother will take care of it. There's also second-sister to take care of things back at the HQ.”

Gwen had asked Mayuree about the family before, but the girl's answers remained evasive. Not wanting to step on any toes, Gwen figured Mayuree would tell her when the girl was comfortable enough to reveal the House of M's mysterious origins.

The breakfast continued until Gwen was full, which was only three pancakes. Lei had prepared three stacks in anticipation of her abnormally large appetite and became notably upset that her labour would be wasted.

“Are you feeling well, Miss?” Lei regarded Gwen worriedly. “You usually finish the whole plate! No need for a diet!”

“I am fine, Lei, thanks for asking.” Gwen pushed the rest of the pancakes away, she glanced at the clock. “Alright, Petra and I better get going. Magister Wen is likely waiting for us. Mia, thanks for the breakfast as usual. Lei, it was delicious.”

“Bye Miss Song!”

“See you in class on Monday! Call me if you want to do lunch and let Lei know if you’re coming for dinner.”

“Will do.” Gwen directed herself to face Lulan and Kusu. “Good luck, I know the rental market can be brutal.”

“We should have enough to scrape by,” Lulan assured Gwen. “I’ll take care of Kusu.”

'Should have,' Gwen winced, reminding herself that she was still in possession of a thousand HDMs once belonging to the siblings. I should return it, Gwen thought. If she was going to help the Li's; a little more generosity couldn't hurt. It wasn’t as though she needed the money immediately.

“Kusu, I’ve still got your HDMs…” Gwen produced ten 100 HDM currency cards from her ring.

Kusu’s refusal to meet her eyes suggested that indeed, he could REALLY use 1000 HDMs to get through the current semester and the next.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Kusu replied with eyes that longed for the currency cards. “I’ll live… off… my… sis…”

The sheepishness of the young man broke Gwen's heart.

She shoved the cards toward him.

“On loan then, from me,” Gwen informed him. “I’ll tell you when I need it back.”

Kusu looked as though he was still going to refuse, but Lulan extended her hands and took possession of the currency cards.

“We owe you again, Gwen,” Lulan said, her voice taking on an affected tone.

“It’s nothing. I also came to Shanghai from the Frontier so I know how hard it can be without a steady source of income,” Gwen assured the siblings. “I got to go. Good luck.”

Kusu bowed again, this time from the waist. Lulan hesitated for a moment, then mimicked her brother.

Mayuree glanced from Gwen to the siblings, then back again.

Arrrrrgh! She thought to herself. How come no one thought of asking her for a loan? Seeing what Lulan could do down in D-109, she was perfectly happy to take on the siblings. What was 1000 HDMs to an heir from the House of M?

Who wouldn't love to have two ex-Clanner Sword Mages indebted to them?!

* * *

Magister Wen was waiting for Gwen and Petra at the gate to the Cognisance Chambers. By mid-June, the weather continued to be unbearably warm, the verdant greenery encircling the Yi-Fu Spellcraft Building was beginning to fray and dry. The heat however, failed to impact the senior researcher, whose cheeks were rosy with giddy anticipation, hungry for new data for her journal.

“Gwen! You’re here!” Magister Wen's cold fingers felt like steel cables. “Oh, you poor dear! That must have been a horrid experience! Terrible, yes! But Wonderful all the same!”

“It was bittersweet, for sure.” Gwen allowed the Magister to touch her arm and cheeks. She was beginning to empathise with how blue-ribbon cows felt at the Sydney Easter Show.

“Nonetheless, I have full confidence in you.” Magister Wen pulled herself away. "Think of it as a new page, if you will. You have my full support!"

Gwen felt goosebumps crawling up her thighs.

The magical haze over the city trapped the heat, but even so her bare legs reacted as though a chilling wind had blown through the shaded avenues.

“How curious.” Magister Wen curled her lips. “You have a very particular aura about you. A Cleric, perhaps. Can you write a report for me later? Fill out a survey? A scale of one to ten, that sort of thing.”

"Sure thing, Ma'am." Gwen wasn’t sure if Magister Wen’s academic disregard was making her feel better or worse. Wen's open admiration for her action, Gwen felt, was precisely the sort of dangerous thinking she should be avoiding.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Magister Wen was all smiles. “I’ve booked the big one! This way!”

The largest of the Cognisance Chambers was almost two tennis courts in size and took fifty HDMs to power a session lasting no more than an hour. Gwen had no idea why Magister Wen had booked such an exorbitant fare, only that she should speak quietly and be very wary.

As the trio reached the threshold, they became accosted by two men in military uniforms. From the rank insignias on their collars, Gwen recognised one as a PLA Major, while the other was a rank Gwen guessed to be an air force Captain, bearing a sky-blue lapel with three stripes. The Major was evidently Han Chinese, carrying the ubiquitous sobriety typical of senior PLA. His counterpart was a dark-haired Caucasian man with a prominent Roman nose.

“Ma’am?” Gwen swallowed twice rapidly. It's a bit early to sell her out, wasn't it? Magister Wen hadn't even completed her papers yet.

“No need to fret, my dear.” Magister Wen patted her hand, though Gwen noticed that the Magister had taken the opportunity to grasp her by the wrist. Was she afraid that Gwen was going to make a run for it? Where was she going to go? “These men are here for your own good. They’re neutral observers informing the highest power.”

“Observers of what?” Gwen inquired carefully.

The implication made her knock-kneed. Her morning pancakes threatened to make an upward journey; she could almost taste the tart berries tickling the back of her throat.

“Let’s us speak inside, away from prying eyes.” The Caucasian man opened the door. “I mean you no disadvantage, Miss Song, though I cannot say the same for our mutual friend.”

“Hmmph!” The PLA officer grunted, proceeding through the threshold.

Inside the Cognisance Chamber, the vast, egg-like sphere of white tiles made a strange, spaceless spectacle. There were no definitive edges for the viewer to gauge the distance, giving the viewer the impression that they'd stepped into a place unconstrained by dimension.

“It’ll be okay,” Petra assured her. “I don’t know who the other guy is, but Commander Webber will look after you. Sorry, Gwen, I had no idea Master had invited observers. I could have informed you beforehand otherwise.”

With a whisper, the door shut behind them. For a few seconds, the only audible sound was their collective breaths echoing faintly through the acoustic ambience of the chamber.

Magister Wen shifted to Gwen.

"Your observers will now introduce themselves," she began. "I'll let them finish their introductions."

The man with the protruding Roman nose spoke first.

“Wing Commander Derrick Webber, Miss Song. Attached to the Pudong Tower. I am currently assigned under the 2nd Specialist Aerial Mage-Wing of her Majesty’s Royal Armsmen, at your service.”

The PLA Officer beside the man scoffed, the British sure love their verbosity.

“Major Wong, PLA,” the Chinese soldier announced stoically.

After a formal bow, Gwen extended a hand to shake. She was a civilian and as such could afford more personal gestures of greeting. Webber took her fingers and passed them under his lips, arching his back to effect a genteel address. Major Wong shot the Commander a look of disgust.

"Very good, I'll take it from here." Magister Wen came between them. "Gentlemen, you may stand there, and you, there. Good."

"Gwen," she continued. "As you know by now, these men are from the PLA Tower and the Pudong Tower. Both Towers have been keeping an eye on your progress. News of your unique talent has reached some very HIGH places. This is a good thing, Gwen - an opportunity."

"High places, Ma'am?"

Wen pointed a finger upward toward the ceiling.

“So they tell me,” Wen replied, glancing at the two men. “At any rate, these men are not here to interfere with your life, they are here to confirm the contents of our paper. Please be at ease.”

That’s easy for you to say, Gwen slightly creased her brows. What was she to show and what was she to hide?

Magister Wen motioned to the operator.

“Begin!”

The chamber dimmed.

Space became indefinite as the illusion took place.

Standing at the Chamber’s centre, Gwen’s Astral Form materialised below her, a sculptural spectacle of light and dark with motes of emerald appearing and disappearing.

The two men produced data slates and began to scribe onto the transmuted surface.

“Gwen, cycle through your schools please.”

Gwen nodded, then turned her mind inward.

Evocation.

Conjuration.

Abjuration.

Divination.

Transmutation.

The Sigils flared one after and another, made material by the Cognisance Chamber’s illusory projection.

When she opened her hazel eyes again, her orbs glowed with vibrant mana.

Magister Wen’s wizened face resembled a ripening pippin. Petra stood beside her and observed quietly. The two military men scribbled furiously on their slates.

The entire room was basked in the glow of illusory Sigils, from the silvery-white of Conjuration to the pale purple nimbus of Transmutation.

“Congratulations, Gwen.” Magister Wen clapped her hands.

Perhaps wanting to place more emphasis on the matter, she paused before continuing.

“Or I should say, Magus Gwen Song?”

"I am sorry?" Gwen almost lost her concentration. "M-Magus?"

"Ha! Did that surprise you?" Wen chuckled, her hands meeting by the palm. "By Frontier standards, you are indeed already a Magus! We're a little more discerning here in Fudan though. I doubt you would pass muster in theory-craft."

"So you're saying..."

"Oh yes," Magister Wen gushed happily. "Both your Conjuration and Evocation look to have reached the mid-tiers, making you an unofficial Magus!"

Gwen knew she should be happy. Summoning the joy to celebrate her ascension, however, was another challenge altogether.

"Let's have a demonstration for our gentlemen observers," Wen instructed her. "What are your Tier 4 Evocation Spells?"

"Just Elemental Sphere, Ma'am," Gwen felt almost embarrassed to say that as a 'genius' Sorceress, her entire spell list numbered under twenty and was primarily preoccupied with low-level incantations.

"Go ahead then."

Gwen nodded, turning to the far side of the egg-shaped dome. As she cycled through the necessary preparations both mental and somatic, her observers once again began their furious scribing.

Petra watched Gwen's astral form tap into the Elemental Plane of Lightning, filling her mana conduits with vivid electricity. The mana coalesced in her torso, then flooded forth as the spell manifested.

"Elemental Sphere!"

Like a pressurised pool of liquid finding escape, the lightning-charged mana escaped from the crucible of her Astral Body, becoming a controlled arc of plasma which traversed toward its target destination, then imploded before rapidly expanding outwards, first as a semi-dome sphere, then as a burst of static electricity.

"That's Einar Larsen's Signature Spell." Wing Commander Webber raised a brow in pleasant surprise. "I know this spell too. It is not an easy incantation to learn!"

"It's all I know," Gwen peeped modestly.

"You're only seventeen!" Commander Webber informed her confidently. "When I was seventeen, I was still receiving detention at Sandhurst for failing muster! A tier 4 Signature Spell at seventeen and you feel ashamed? You shame me!"

His counterpart tapped his slate.

"It's impressive," Major Wong concurred. "Please continue."

"Are you alright to perform a Void variety?" Magister Wen asked her carefully.

"Yes, Ma'am." Gwen was also interested in seeing what would happen if she should try to expend some of this excess vitality she felt brimming with.

She resumed her labour.

Below, her Astral Form assumed a tenebrous ichor of sinister obsidian. The gathered Mages felt a tingle of vertigo as a nauseating awareness assailed their physical bodies.

"Void Sphere!"

The spell manifested as an expanding bubble of sable ink which then exploded outwards in a swirling pattern of Void matter. When the spell ceased, it had caused extensive damage to the self-repairing tiles below.

"How do you feel?" Magister Wen asked carefully, observing Gwen's Astral Body returning to its usual admixture of lightning, void, and an occasional mote of fleeting emerald.

Both of her observers had to do a double-take before resuming their scribing.

Gwen checked her state of being. She felt fine. There was no feeling of Negative-Energy drain anywhere on her body.

"Excellent! Very good," Magister Wen had reached her own conclusion from observing her Astral projection. That was the thing with the Cognisance Chamber - there was no place to hide. Everything was, for the lack of a better word, in plain sight. "Wonderful, Gwen! We've found an answer for the self-consumption problem suffered by Void users!"

Gwen shuddered to think what Wen could mean by that.

"I don't see any diminishment though," Magister Wen tapped her chin. "Gwen, bring out your Familiars."

Gwen obliged.

"Eeee! EEEE!"

"Shaaa! Shaa!"

At the appearance of Caliban, the two men held their breath, though only for a moment.

The Cognisance Chamber's mirror-like floors refracted the mana signatures of her creatures. Caliban was a roving mass of dense dark energy many times its actual size in the Material Plane. Ariel, meanwhile, had a signature to match its diminutive size.

"How curious!" Magister Wen walked around her Familiars, then beckoned Caliban closer for a better study. The two military men unconsciously stepped back.

Wen produced a fist full of untreated crystal, scattering the shards in front of her.

Caliban snagged one with a tentacle then munched away, slapping its tail against the floor as it did so. Ariel caught another with its little paws before nibbling away, arcing electricity as the mana discharged.

Carefully, the Magister materialised a Spell cube, then placed it next to Gwen's Familiars.

"Do you see the similarity?" the Magister inquired of Gwen.

Gwen saw that beneath the unassuming looking Spell Cube, there was a mass of glowing elemental fire in vivid orange.

"Caliban is storing... Void matter?"

"Something to investigate, for sure," Wen nodded. "There's so much we don't know. Your predecessor didn't exactly leave notes, and her husband was a very zealous protector."

Elizabeth Sobel and Henry Kilroy, Gwen duly noted. She wondered what Magister Wen knew. According to her Master, many in his confidence had known the truth, though now, they were either dead or held positions where such a thing was no longer of significant concern to them. Indeed, from the touch of her Master's tone, the upper echelon should have some clue as to the true nature of Elizabeth Sobel. The fact that for years she was promoted as a war hero and one of the central figures in reclaiming a global front against Demi-humans though, likely prevented widespread recognition of her current occupation as a terrorist.

Gwen glanced at her two impassive observers. Neither of the men appeared to possess any misgivings about Wen's musing.

Magister Wen though appeared to have had enough of them.

"Gentlemen, have you seen enough? Any more would violate our agreement."

Two sets of eyes fell upon Gwen. The PLA official appeared dissatisfied, but his protest was interrupted by his counterpart, who stowed his slate and inclined his head.

"I will take my leave. You shall have Pudong's support."

Major Wong grunted a likewise affirmation.

The trio watched the two men leave by the exit. Gwen wondered how it was that they could find the door unerringly in the illusion of the chamber.

"Well, that went pretty well, don't you think?" Magister Wen peeped up.

"'Well' how?" Gwen's voice came across as a little more reproachful than she intended.

Petra came closer and touched Gwen's hand.

Magister Wen waved her apprentice away.

"Would you believe it if I told you that these men are not here for you? The drinking gentleman's heart is not for what's in the cup, as so to speak."

"Ma'am?"

Magister Wen chuckled.

"They're here to ensure that each other did not unduly gain an advantage they could not account for. The Pudong Tower, the PLA Tower, two sides of the same coin; rivals since China joined the coalition of nations. There's history there if you're interested. Petra can tell it to you sometime."

"So, they're here to make sure we're not favouring one side over another?"

"Yes, dear," Magister Wen applauded her. "I always ensure that both sides balance one another. It's best they contend with each other before they contend with you. Don't you think?"

"I see, Ma'am," Gwen considered the Magister's words.

"At any rate, this meeting wasn't supposed to happen for some time. I had originally scheduled it for the end of the year. If anything, your rapid progress is to blame."

"Ma'am?"

"You've attained a significant level of Spellcraft, Gwen. I know you're just seventeen, but you must consider the practical outcome of your growing talent. How could either Tower sit idle when you have progressed past a level capable of flooring a few Mages in a duel, to a level capable of pacifying small population centres?"

Gwen felt her stomach lurch.

Wiping out a town?

Who did they think she was?

Elizabeth Sobel came to mind...

"If you wish to maintain a decorum of autonomy, Gwen," Magister Wen advised. "You must pay the cost of privacy."

"I'll be... under observation?"

"Yes, no, not as such." Magister Wen battered her hand dismissively. "No more than me, or Petra, or any other Mage of significant note. We know that you're connected to Magus Shultz and Kilroy's line, the Lord Protector of Sydney had stated as such. Don't look so surprised - It's only natural, after all, Kilroy's wife - was - one of the signature agents of the Coral Sea War and the most famous Void Mage of the mid-century."

She's also a signature example of how south things can go, Gwen muttered internally.

"Sufficient to say, stay away from factional politics. Once you do choose a side, you will lose the protection you currently enjoy. Unless of course, you can find enough prestige and accord to stand on your own."

That would be Gunther's plans for the IIUC; Gwen acknowledged her brother-in-craft's foresight. If the three of them stood together, and if their Master's old connections could lean in to put weight on the matter, it wasn't unreasonable for herself to remain independent.

"At any rate, don't overthink it," Wen advised. "Much of this is beyond what you can do personally. We're done for today though. Klavdiya couldn't book the laboratory on such short notice. She will attend to you tomorrow, around noon. Make sure you report to the hospital."

"Should I go home?" Gwen's thinking was still firmly stuck on the paranoia of a PLA panopticon.

Then again, she tried to convince herself. It wasn't as though 'privacy' was any more sacred in her old world. The government had your tax records and medical records. Google and Facebook had your private 'likes' and 'dislikes'. A thousand and one companies had your address, phone, and emails logged to spam at their pleasure. All of which was hidden behind gargantuan TS&As that no one, including herself, ever read.

"No! Go relax, have some fun! Go to a cafe or go do whatever it is that young girls like yourselves go and do. Take Petra with you. Mao knows she needs a break too. You've had a long week, Gwen. Don't tire yourself out."

Magister Wen's advice was surprisingly lax. Perhaps it was because her anticipated 'sample' filled her with joyous anticipation, Gwen imagined. Maybe the Magister was right. She needed to relax and rest her mind.

Magister Wen approached the exit, then paused by the door.

"Have you changed your mind regarding our earlier discussion?"

"Ma'am?" Gwen inquired. Which discussion was that?

"About feeding your talents in a controlled environment. Death-penalty prisoners, Demi-humans... lots of potential there, remember? Now that we have an inkling as to how your consumption works, it would be a net positive outcome for all of us, not to mention society itself, no? Perhaps you have a preference? Rapists, murderers and slavers. I know you're squeamish, but give it some thought, alright? The choice is yours.”

"..." Every follicle of Gwen's hair stood on end.

"Shaa?" Caliban raised its head and looked toward her, feeling itself in its Master's thoughts.

"One more thing - NO Spellcraft training," the Magister reminded her specimen. "No duelling and excessive display of Magic either! I want to see tomorrow's biometrics exactly as we've left it!"

Petra reached her side and shook the stupefied Gwen from her trance.

"Come on." Her cousin squeezed her numb fingers. "Let's have some tea and see who else is free."

“In all the history of Fudan, you are the first," Petra reprimanded her cousin.

Gwen made a face, sipping miserably from her iced matcha-latte.

Sitting on the table was Ariel in its docile form. Gwen figured she may as well continue Instructor Chen’s ongoing training in which the students keep their Familiars manifested at all times. Below their table, the eight-foot body of Caliban in its obsidian serpent form coiled around the girl's legs, wrapping a length of its body against Gwen’s ankle as it basked in the summer's sun.

An additional boon was that having Caliban and Ariel around deterred strangers from approaching the pair. Though Caliban was aesthetically pleasing in its passivity, the faceless worm-snake nonetheless filled viewers with disquiet.

Beyond the immediate distance, the patrons ogled at their pleasure. Gwen paid them no heed. She was with Petra, and the girls were used to the fact. Her sundress was modest and comfortable, and Petra's preference for form-fitting activewear was profoundly discriminating. A writer once wrote that a woman's beauty did not belong to her alone, though Gwen's personal wisdom was to dress in good taste, for that choice was hers alone.

The two girls were waiting on Mina and Tao, who’d wanted to meet up for a luncheon. The cafe they’d chosen was a new place renovated by the owner to resemble an extensive garden shed. Perennials, fed on a diet of quasi-magically enchanted water, bloomed heedless of the season, expending their vitality for a few precious months until finally, spent, they were replaced by blossoms of a different season.

“The Language of Flowers,” the shop was called, located not far from University Boulevard in a rezoned district gentrified by sorcerers moving in from the suburbs. One observance Gwen made as they sat was that the population was predominantly of the magical variety: young and old, acolytes and neophytes, joined by the occasional Magus. It was a deceptive climate. If one never left the CBD of Shanghai, one would have thought the city primarily occupied by Mages. The reality, as Gwen had learnt, was that outside of the CBD, even in a city of 100,000 like D-35, there would exist no more than a hundred Mages, and one Magus at best within each district.

“First of what?” Gwen thought back to the two military men who’d parted less than amiably from each other, turning her attention back toward her cousin.

“The first Magus that has the spell list of an acolyte, haha!” Petra chuckled, sipping her iced coffee.

A NoM waitress with bright eyes and a waspish waist brought out shortcakes and petite-fours. Petra dropped a few LDMs, telling the worshipful girl to keep the change.

Gwen watched the girl retreat happily into the shopfront.

"Ahhh..." she leaned back in the elevated garden-chair and stretched. "What do you suggest I should learn?"

"Figure out what you're missing." Petra shrugged. "Maybe go Adventuring or Dungeoneering for a bit and get a feel for what spells you want to pick up."

"I have no time~" Gwen tapped her fingers against the beading waters on the tall glass of her matcha-latte. "I need to complete my classes first."

Magister Wen’s latest proposal knocked against her chest like a drum.

“Death-penalty prisoners, Demi-humans... lots of potentials there…”

Gwen had been so stunned Petra had to drag her from the room.

She couldn't help but be reminded that Nephres had said precisely that. That they began by giving Elizabeth prisoners. Was it true then? Did her Master authorise such a thing? Then again, Gwen ran some rational interference before her imagination could run wild. Her Master and Elizabeth were in the middle of the Coral Sea War. They were fighting to ensure the entire east coast colonies of Terra Australis survived. After that, it was one war zone after another for almost a decade.

Try as she might to calm her nerves, Magister Wen's 'good intention' buzzed in her ear like the tinnitus susurration of a mosquito.

The very act of logically measuring the pros and cons frightened her, setting her mind to reel with breathless horror. What was the bane in becoming a professional executioner whose labours strengthened her affinity to all schools of Magic?

Only her sanity. That was all.

Sensing itself in her thoughts, Caliban shifted from its resting position. Gwen felt the cold caress of her Void-creature's obsidian body against the warmth of her skin.

Could she send Caliban against her future enemies, knowing the horror of being consumed by the Void? If she chose to subsequently 'consume' all her enemies, what portion of her intent would lie in self-defence, what division would be given to ambition, and what share would be driven by the strange hunger that would surely awaken once her current store of vitality was spent?

How steep was the slippery slope ahead? At what junction does the incline become impossible to steer or navigate? At what degree did the slant become free fall? Would she combust before she struck the ground?

She was hungry for skills and affinity.

But then her hunger would be insatiable.

What would become of her then?

What makes a man, if all he cared for was sleep and feed? A beast! No more!

'BEEP!'

A dark Audi sedan disrupted Gwen's internal philosophising. The door opened, the engine plinked, then two familiar faces emerged.

Tao 'Peaches' Wang had a way of sauntering where the gait of his 'gangster' strut made him appear mildly intoxicated at all times, wavering back and forth like he was ducking an invisible boxer.

“Yo! Mah bi-b… er… eu… tiful ladies!” Tao was instantly the ire of every patron in the cafe. "Gwen, you looking sweet-ass!"

“Eeeee!” Ariel greeted the newcomers.

"Wassap! Mah smooth Cat-snake brother!" Tao fist-bumped Ariel's paws, bringing a broad smile to Gwen's lips. Lacking Elvia's divine presence, it took someone like Tao to divest herself from ethical dilemmas that plagued her Path every inch of the way.

“Shaaa! Shaa!” Caliban hissed its greeting from under the table.

"Sup? Big Dick Caliban!"

One of the patrons began a coughing fit. Another spilt her tea.

"Peaches! Stop it!" Gwen was already beside herself.

"Petra! Yo yo..." Tao turned his attention toward Petra.

Petra's husky blue eyes were two orbs of pale crystal.

"Hello."

"Good afternoon, Peaches. How are you?"

"I am doing well," Tao replied solemnly, his fingers subconsciously forming a gang-sign.

“Pats! Gwen!” Mina bypassed Tao’s stooping figure and embraced her cousins. Both Gwen and Petra were a head taller than her, making the gesture more self-conscious than she anticipated.

When Tao received a peck from Gwen, someone audibly gasped. As per his unique style, Tao's choice of all-weather Adidas, paired with a broad-billed baseball cap, cared little for Shanghai's latest trends.

“I heard from babulya that you had a tough time at the Districts,” Mina began, her oval eyes glimmering with sympathy. “I am here if you want to talk about it.”

"Aww, thanks, Mina. I appreciate that."

“Me too, dawg.” Tao nodded affirmatively. “If you want my advice, you should write a song about it and mix it up with sick beats! That way, you can expel yo demons, dawg. BOOM! Then you feel all released, like Yo just took a huge shit, growing a tail - ya know?”

“Thanks, Peaches, I’ll take your advice into careful consideration,” Gwen thanked her cousin kindly, stifling the roaring hilarity escaping her chest.

Horrified, Petra couldn’t dispel the vision of this ‘tail’ that Tao had driven into the recess of her mind.

“Don't think about it,” Mina advised, catching Petra's pained expression. “Instead, think about spell incantations. I find that reciting my healing mantras helps immensely. I don’t know how he comes up with this stuff. Maybe he’s a genius?”

“Lyrical Gee! Bi-b-booya!,” Tao stopped himself. “Dis bad boy's moonlighting at the Shan tonight! Gwen, Pats, treat yo-self and check out the boys and me down at the Club making sweet noise!”

“He means he and his friends are performing at the Waldorf Astoria Shanghai - basement B2,” Mina translated. She paused, looked as though she wanted to add something, but refrained from doing so. "I'd say it's the usual shit-show, but the Waldorf Astoria is a very nice hotel. We can stop by before or after and have drinks. They're famous for their cocktails."

“Mimi, you gotta stop stepping on mah tail, bitch. Don't be putting the B-boyz and me down in front 'o Kuz! That’z not cool.”

“Nobody calls me that, Peaches.” Mina rolled her eyes expertly, evidently having had plenty of practice. “Besides, you’re upsetting Petra. Stop talking.”

Petra had just dispelled the imagery of the proverbial tail, and now she was introduced to a yet more disturbing premise.

“Here’s yo tickets, Gwen.” Tao produced two golden slips, one for Gwen and the other for Petra. “VIP, backstage access, front row, whatever you need!”

“Wow, you really are putting on a show.” Gwen took the tickets and passed one over to Petra, who took it dubiously. “There’s going to be an audience other than… us… right?”

“AHAHAHAHA, you funny Gwen!” Tao laughed nervously, providing a hasty addendum. “We got a fan club, bitches galore!”

Both Petra and Gwen turned to Mina, who took on a troubled expression.

Bitches, huh? Gwen considered the claim. She supposed that the heir of Wang Xin Enterprise would naturally possess a fan club - the Gold Digger's Club.

“He’s not lying,” Mina confessed. “Don’t look at me, I don’t know how it’s possible either.”

Gwen regarded the ticket in her hand.

‘Battle of Rhymes’ the tagline said. ‘The Waldorf Astoria Shanghai, basement 2…’

She wanted - no - she needed to blow off some stress: alcoholic refreshments, music and good friends in a high-class hotel sounded like just the 'ticket'.

“I’ll go,” Gwen announced her participation with as much fatalism as Lulan confessing to her misdeeds at D-109. Her mind was so strung up and tightly wound that if she didn’t unleash some of that tension, she was sure to explode at a less unfortunate time and place.

A hip-hop party? Sure, she’d been clubbing in the old world more often than she could count.

“Petra, do you have the time to chaperone me? I could go by myself if you're busy.”

Tao looked over at Mina with the look of a drowning man begging for rescue.

Mina sighed.

“I’ll pick you guys up and take you home if you’re coming,” she offered. "Peaches will pay all incurred costs, including unlimited drinks."

Petra chewed her lip for a moment, looking as though she was about to reject the offer until Gwen touched her arm gently.

“Alright,” she acquiesced. “Nothing untoward better happen, Tao. Magister Wen will be very upset if something happens to Gwen. If one of your fans decides to get handsy, it's your funeral.”

“Of course! Aww yeah!” Tao visibly pumped a fist in victory.

Tao and Mina's drinks arrived: a spritzer for the sister and a beer for the Illusionist rapper. The trio made small talk about one another, with Gwen stating that she'd save her adventure at D-109 for when they could speak in a less public space with less commotion and more intimacy.

"Great idea," Mina assured Gwen. "The Astoria once had the longest bar in the world! It's a relic from the old colonial days. You're going to love the cocktails."

Gwen pointed her finger at herself.

"I am not eighteen yet..."

Saying that about herself made Gwen a little happier for the fact.

Mina chuckled.

"We know the management, don't worry."

Tao joined in and started on something about Gwen being 'barely legal'. Mina dismissed her brother before their cousins could change their mind.

“Okay! You the boss! Hoss!” Tao happily sauntered off to pay the bill. “See you guys at the show!”

Mina made sure that Tao was out of sight before she apologised.

“He’s getting better, believe it or not,” she told them. “He’s much more confident after Hengsha Island. Thanks, Gwen.”

“I can’t help but feel deeply suspicious,” Gwen observed Mina's halting speech and guilty expression. “What’s at this show? Why does he want me and Petra to attend so desperately?”

“Let's talk at the shops.” Mina slid off the barstool. “The choice to attend is yours. Tao's too simple-minded to hold grudges, thank Mao. He’ll be sore for a while, but whatever your choice, it won’t leave a scar.”

“Coming, Pats?” Gwen asked Petra hopefully.

Petra considered her Master’s earlier advice. She wasn't about to let Gwen into the lion's den alone. If nothing else, she was going to bring a full complement of her Spell-Cubes.

“Sure, let’s relax for the rest of the day.” She stepped from the stool. "I think I am going to need a drink or two before the night's over."

* * *

The reason, as Mina explained over a selection of party dresses at K-11, was that Tao had made a careless bet.

“Again?” Gwen spluttered.

“What is it this time?” Petra scowled.

“Please don’t get upset.” Mina braced the girls for impact. “So, what happened was that Peaches... boasted to his circle of friends that he played a pivotal role at Hengsha, saving the two of you.”

“That seems reasonable,” Gwen affirmed that Tao did make a good contribution to their hunting down of the Elder Gila. “I can accept that.”

“…” Mina waited until Gwen finished. “Naturally, he told them that the two of you are his… close acquaintances.”

“We’re family, I am cool with that too.” Gwen held up a mini-dress and pressed it against her chest. The colour was beautiful, but the cut did not conform to her waist.

“Not his exact words, I take it,” Petra added coldly, feeling the fabric of a sheer blouse between her fingers before letting it fall.

“No, not exactly.”

“What did he call us? His whores?” Petra was relentless, cutting through the evasive euphemism with the keen edge of a crystalline shard.

Mina was visibly sweating.

“No!” Gwen looked aghast, think of the ubiquitously annoying hip-hop clichés from her old world. “Really? We’re related!”

“I don’t think he means it like that…” Mina interjected before Gwen's opinion of Tao soured entirely. “More like, you know, helpers.”

“We’re his 'shorties?” Gwen jeered.

“We’re his ‘bitches’,” Petra’s frigid tone could rival Kitty’s arcane ice.

“I’ll concede to that,” Mina muttered. “Look, he means well…”

“How exactly?” Gwen demanded as the trio left the shop and entered another.

“You know Peaches,” Mina tried her best. “Or not. I guess you guys don’t. BUT you know he doesn’t mean half the things he says. They just kind of come out of his mouth, like an illness. Like his 'ill' rhymes.”

“Tourette's Syndrome,” Gwen suggested helpfully.

“I don’t know what that is, but sure,” Mina said.

“It’s a neurological disorder where people fail to suppress unwanted premonitory urges,” Gwen said. “Though saying the word ‘bitch’ every other sentence is hardly a part of the spectrum.”

“Is this disease recorded in a book?” Petra's attention perked up.

“I heard it from someone in Australia once,” Gwen lied. “There was a guy called Gilles de la Tourette, who had severe muscular and verbal tics that he couldn’t help. He’s dead now. His tic got him while chanting a spell and he blew up.”

“Oh.” Petra seemed disappointed.

“I get what you’re saying. I suppose its just Peaches being Peaches. So then what happened?” Gwen continued.

“Some of his 'friends' doubted that this whole ordeal about Hengsha is real,” Mina spoke with exasperation. “To be honest, I still can't believe we came first. Anyway, Peaches got riled up, a fight ensued, he got his ass handed to him - and now they have a bet.”

“Who's this bet with? What's it about?”

“Well - if Peaches can prove you’re his… er… helpers,” Mina replied. “Then he gets a favour from Sammy Gu, and Sammy’s limited edition Roadster.”

“If he loses?”

“He has to give up the Battle of Rhymes by singing about himself being a filthy liar, and Sammy gets to keep Tao’s car.”

“Tao has a car?” Petra raised a sceptical eyebrow. She didn't know Tao could drive.

Mina pointed a finger toward her chest helplessly.

“I have a car. It’s ‘our’ car,” she moped.

Gwen inspected the arch of a pair of ivory-white platform pumps, inspecting its make and design.

“Look, I’ll help out,” she declared sweetly. “To save your car, if nothing else. Petra, what do you say? We just have to show up, right? He's not expecting us to... do anything else, I hope. ”

"I'll break both his legs," Petra stated matter-of-factly. "Uncle Wang would probably thank us."

“There, there.” Gwen patted Mina, drawing her into her arms. “You poor little thing.”

“I am older than you.” Mina reddened, pushing Gwen away.

“I am bigger than you.” Gwen grinned, towering over Mina in more ways than one. Mina was a year Tao’s junior and the second oldest of Team Cousins. It was her ageless appearance which was misleading. Where Petra could easily be mistaken for a stunning model in her mid-twenties, Mina could be mistaken for a junior high-schooler.

“Hmmph!” Mina turned her head, pouting.

This made Gwen snort fitfully.

“Well, let’s pick something out then,” Gwen announced to the girls. “Party frock or something more subtle?”

Petra checked the price tag, then furrowed her brows.

I wonder what would happen if Petra attended in her yoga pants, Gwen mused to herself. Perhaps this could be the beginning of a new religion.

“Pick whatever you want,” Mina steeled her resolve before making the offer kindly, a mischievous smile touching her lips. “Tao’s paying.”

* * *

The girls arrived back at Fudan B-1 just after 4 PM, where they could change into their newly acquired outfits for the evening to come. Petra and Gwen watched Mina longingly gaze at her Audi as they extracted the contents of their shopping, amused by the sudden sentimentality Mina felt for her sedan.

Didn’t Joni sing that 'you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone?' Gwen waxed nostalgia. Though Mina shouldn't have to part with her Audi if things went according to plan.

It was a stupid bet. Not even Gwen could deny that. One that could only occur between adults whose who I.Q was disproportionately lower than their financial thresholds. There was such a word for it in Shanghai - the Fu-er-dai, or the progeny of the mega-wealthy. It was just as well that Tao's vice was his passion for music and not something more nefarious.

As for the Wangs, Gwen had since gotten a decent idea of where the family fortune came from. When an opportunity presented itself, she had accosted Patriarch Wang regarding the source of his success, hoping that it could serve as a reference point.

Mining!

Construction!

Excavation & Exploration!

The Patriarch was a self-made man!

As a mediocre Evoker, the Patriarch Wang was a man who made his fortunes through quick wit and opportune investments. At twenty-three, the Evoker quit the PLA military tract and joined the CCP’s administrative bureau to polish up his 'guanxi'. At thirty, he had established himself with the necessary connections and favours to leave the administration branch and open his own resource extraction company, Wang Xing Enterprise. A thirty-six, he owned three companies. The first, WX Capital, extracted crystals from contracted Green and Orange Zones. The second, WX Construction, was a state-owned co-op company that built infrastructural projects for the state. The final venture, WX E&E, was a co-operative partnered with the Towers, serving the explicit purpose of opening up new zones for resource harvesting.

The success of Bao Wang, therefore, wasn’t the originality of his ideas nor the expertise of his magical talents. It was his supreme ability to balance the interests of those he had to contend with. Within the twin Towers of Shanghai, he was known as ‘Fortune God Wang,’ the man whose generosity knew no bounds. Within the CCP, ‘Bao of the Bund,’ was an endearment known at the highest echelons.

He was a man without power in the arcane sense, but whose influence could shake all of Shanghai. Gwen was sorely impressed! Though Mina dismissed her father’s exploits, Gwen understood that Bao had succeeded in the envious task of creating a triumvirate, conjoining the stakeholders of Shanghai through profiteering. To touch Wang Xing, meant that the Tower would receive reduced dividends! To undermine Wang Xing, would imply a delay in CCP infrastructural projects!

Of course, enjoying such favours meant that one must never carelessly expend them, and Wang Bao was a very frugal man indeed. There was a careful balance here to be maintained between services rendered and debts owed, a precarious path no less dangerous than Gwen’s ingress onto the way of violent reckoning.

How was it that such a man married Nen? Mina's air-headed mother? Gwen was beyond curious.

According to Mina, Bao had met Nen Song, Gwen’s aunty, at a charity gala. The unwary Nen helped Bao with a spilt drink, kept him company, then bid him goodbye, all without remembering who he was. Even when Bao arranged for repeatedly fortuitous meetings, she blithely recognised him as the poor man with the ruined shirt.

“You don't care who I am or what I do?” He had asked her incredulously on their third date.

“Why does it matter?” Nen replied with complete earnestness. “You’re Bao.”

Bao Wang was sold.

“I can’t believe he doesn’t have a mistress,” Mina remarked once, to which Gwen responded by choking on her char-siu bun. “In Shanghai, among the rich, they say three’s company; two is none. All my friend's fathers, and sometimes their mothers, have a 'side dish'.”

The one regret that the Patriarch Wang possessed, therefore, was that their only son, the heir to one the more prominent fortunes in Shanghai, wanted to be a musician.

“I use the word ‘musician’ lightly…” Mina gibed when Gwen asked what Tao would be performing in the evening. “That tongue-flapping Western thing they do… I don’t know…”

Gwen didn't mind at all that Tao wanted to be a rapper. The phenomenon had changed the very landscape of music in her old world. She pledged to herself that given a chance, she would watch some of those banned American Vid-Casts and offer Tao some advice, plagiarised from the USA of her past.

The two bedroom apartment proved too small for the three girls to change at once, so they took turns between the two bedrooms and the one bathroom, conversing loudly with one another through open doorways.

Gwen’s selection was a matt navy A-line mini-dress with a modestly plunging V-neck, its hem shortened precipitously to emphasise her lithe white legs. Both light and airy, the form-fitted fabric was enchanted to expand and contract slightly, allowing the lining to stretch without hampering the wearer’s movements.

Petra, who had a military upbringing and had a distinctly Eastern European perception of modesty, stripped down and struggled into her simple outfit in a matter of seconds. She had no desire to doll herself up for the likes of Tao, and so attired herself without apparent effort. When she emerged in a denim miniskirt and black t-shirt, made up with nought but lip-gloss and the barest of eyeliners, Gwen felt aflutter.

“Oh. My. MAO!” Mina wasn’t sure if the strange sensation bursting from her bosoms was jealousy, worship, or awe.

Unlike Gwen, whose limbs were supple and refined, Petra had the sort of vivacious figure that was smouldering fire and oozing desire. Her naturally sculpted legs, partly from training and partly from her affinity with Minerals, was shapely without excess, long and endless, tapering at the ankles with the elegance of a ballet prima donna. Following the natural contour of Petra's lithe body, Gwen became increasingly smitten with breathless reverence until finally, her inevitable meeting with Petra’s pale-blue eyes immobilised her with their intensity.

Gwen looked away. That was a dangerous moment!

Mina likewise had to shake herself out of a Petra-induced stupor.

Petra provided such astronomical sex appeal that Mina felt there was no point trying. Her defeated choice encompassed a loose varsity shirt that emphasised her bust, paired with a saddle skin belt on short denim shorts, completed with dark knee-socks and pump ankle-booties.

So it was that the girls emerged in entirely different styles, each becoming of their preferences and personalities.

Gwen’s was elegant and debonair, distinctly party-girl and entirely suitable for the Waldorf Astoria.

Mina’s was fresh and urban-chic, cute in her pastel.

Petra’s was ‘I don’t give a shit, this is how I dress anyway,’ - though Gwen had no doubt that if the three of them stood in a line, very few observers would notice herself and Mina; at least for the first few seconds anyway. There was very good reason Petra had been hand-picked by the Moscow Tower to be their femme fatale, Gwen postulated dangerously, she could have been a modern-day Lucrezia Borgia.

“Where’s Richard?” Mina released the question she must have tasted on her tongue all day, her face blushing adorably. “Is he... next door?”

“Richard’s away on errands,” Gwen informed her. “He’d be over otherwise, even if it's just to check on us.”

“… oh, alright.” Mina looked disappointed by the news. “Next time.”

Mina pivoted the conversation to Tao.

According to her, Tao’s so-called Battle of Rhymes was slated to begin around 8 PM. The girls could get there around 7 PM and load up on some drinks before they had to be subjected to Tao’s music.

“You sure we're not going to be harassed?” Gwen tugged on her dress, bringing the hem a little lower. "I shouldn't expend any magic..."

“Peaches’ friends will be there,” Mina assured them. “Dad is well known at the Metropolitan as well. If you’re worried, I’ll have a word with the management. The backers for the Hotel are not the sort of people the average Guan-er-dai or Fu-er-dai can contend with.”

“Alright,” Gwen nodded sceptically, uneasy at the prospect of yet another asshole whose brain became checkmated by their erection having a go at her, or Petra for that matter.

Gods, she shivered. There would be nothing left of the prick but a smoking pair of shoes.

When she’d spoken about her many terrible experiences with Petra, her cousin had become sceptical.

“I’ve been harassed now and then, but never like what you've gone through,” Petra scanned her cousin expertly. “Trust me, I’ve had enough training in to know that you’re not the type to drive men crazy. The occasional pervert - I could believe - but all the time? Maybe you’re just unlucky?”

“But it keeps happening!” Gwen tried to rationalise the phenomenon. “The NoM on the train, I could somewhat understand. But Richard’s juniors at my Uncle’s was just weird, especially after I met them again and they were perfectly fine. There’s Dai as well, who lost his head, and those Mages in the Dungeon we were in. I mean, you were there too. Did anyone try to have a go at you?”

“Have a go?” Petra had snorted with derisive laughter.

“Ergh... you know.” Gwen grabbed at the air with her hands.

“I don’t.”

“Never mind,” Gwen changed the subject.

The reason for her concern was Elizabeth Sobel. It was impossible not to think of her Master's wife when her own reflection in the mirror was pale and loitering.

Sobel had an allure about her - a kind of hunger that was infectious. She was beautiful, but when Gwen tried to picture the woman again, she had found that compared to Petra, or even Alesia, Sobel was only slightly above average. What the woman possessed instead, was an incredible presence, a kind of 'attraction' and 'allure' that Gwen had no words for.

A pang of hunger and a madness, perhaps.

A feeling akin to standing at the perilous precipice of a cliff and having a sudden urge to leap.

Gwen blew a lungful of air through her lips.

It was a wishful hypothesis at any rate. A more plausible answer was that Gwen simply had the worst of luck.

At any rate, she looked at the clock; it was almost 630, they had better-

‘BEEEP-AAAA-eeeeee-KERRRRRR’

The LRC device blared its unholy chorus.

Gwen bolted for the projector. Despite the cruel pedi-device strapped to her thin ankles, her movements appeared entirely dextrous, suggesting to her companions that she could handily outrun a prehistorical Magical-beast should the necessity arise.

The call was from Gunther.

“Do you want us to clear out?” Petra inquired as the call connected.

Gwen considered her cousin’s proposal. She could bring Mina into her circle of confidence, of course, but sometimes the truth wasn’t worth the trouble. Mina’s life was happily naive and carefree, there was no need to drag the healer onto her Raft of the Medusa.

Gwen nodded.

“We’ll wait for you by the lift,” Petra informed her. “Come on Mina. You don’t want to hear this.”

Mina followed Petra out the door.

Gwen turned to the device as the illusory projection manifested.

“Gwen!” Alesia’s worried face appeared. “You said there’s something dire and urgent? I got Gunther here with me and… WHAAAAAT! NICE! What are you wearing? Are you going out?”

The tale of misfortune hovering on the tip of Gwen’s tongue became stuck in a barbed wire snare.

How dangerous could Gwen's circumstances be if she was in a party dress and stiletto heels?

“The dress is… for another matter. I’ve got something important to inform Gunther and yourself,” Gwen said seriously.

“Ohhh! You look lovely!” Alesia gushed, her blue eyes twinkling. “What did you do to your skin?! What product are you using? Is it an Enchantment? Some kind of fruit from the Wildlands? What sort? How much for a dozen?!”

“Alesia…”

“Phua! I can’t get enough of my little sister! Such a beautiful child! How come you never dressed like that around us in Sydney? Bachelors would be beating down the door if-”

“Alesia!” Gwen had to flap her arms as though she was trying to take flight with invisible wings. “It’s important!”

“Alright Alex, come on, let Gwen speak.” Gunther’s voice could be heard beside Alesia.

“Fine, fine,” Alesia relented, grumbling. “Get a load of Gwen's stalks, Gunther. Don’t look too long though. No cheating on me!”

Gunther’s face came into view. He raised one brow critically, then smirked.

“I see you’re doing well in Shanghai,” he chuckled. “Boyfriend?”

“No, no!” Gwen waved her hand in front of her face frantically. “Gunther, I got something to tell you. It happened. I ate a lady the other day and stole her talents.”

“You did WHAT?!” Alesia pushed Gunther away from the cube’s projection. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “Like, with a fork?”

“Like in Blackheath, I mean,” Gwen corrected herself. “I had Caliban take her in one gulp, though I am pretty sure that like before, you know... the brain, the heart, and the offal…”

“Was she alive?”

“And kicking…” Gwen’s hollow tone echoed her devastated conscience.

“Did she deserve it?” Alesia inquired, unperturbed. "It's fine if they deserved it."

“That’s why I am calling,” Gwen began. “It’s about Elizabeth Sobel…”

“It’s almost seven…” Mina bit her lower lip, irritated by the delay.

“You can go first.” Petra shrugged. Before Gwen brought the party together, she had spoken to her second cousin about a dozen times in total.

“I'd rather not, the two of you wouldn’t make it in time,” Mina replied, her tone anxious with agitation. “Tao’s performance starts at eight, it'll be pointless if we arrive and he's already given up the match.”

“Gwen is on an important call, be patient.” Petra regarded Mina. It wasn’t that she was looking down on Gwen's paternal-side cousin, though that was certainly true due to their height difference. She simply felt that Mina and Tao weren’t on the same plane as Gwen and herself.

Petra enjoyed Gwen’s companionship because they were alike in many ways. They both came from difficult familial circumstances. They both had dealings that tied them to Towers. They both had coveted magical abilities. They both had futures filled with conflict and uncertainty.

Their parallel paths made them perfect allies, partners, comrades.

But Mina and Tao?

Two greenhouse Fu-er-dai growing up in a Tier 1 city, not knowing wind nor rain, hunger or pain. Their greatest trial would be who to marry, how many kids they should have, their violent reckoning was whether or not keeping a lover was a plausible balance between wanton desire and social propriety.

Mina stamped her feet, striding up and down the corridor.

“These damn shoes are killing me!” Mina hissed, pulling at her ankle-straps.

Not an easy-going individual either, Petra shook her head imperceptibly. Even if Tao were to lose his bet, it was nothing Petra would consider worthy of her sympathy. The bruised ego of an Illusionist nobody, and the loss of a car. Who cares about a car? A quasi-magical device made for NoMs and Mages alike? The Audi wasn't even the military variety. She wondered if Gwen could fathom the value of the Regeneration Cube she had expended on Lulan. At the right moment, in the right hands, the spell in that cube could have secured a whole demesne.

Human life, after all, was priceless. The higher the power one amassed, the more wealth one accumulated, the more value one placed on life itself.

‘DING!’

The levitation platform slid open, revealing a sprinter's figure in shorts and a tank top.

“Miss Kutznetsova!” Lulan’s eyes swept over Petra, dumbfounded by her revealing attire. “H-Hello!”

Speak of the devil, Petra hailed the Sword Mage amiably.

“Hello, Miss Li. What’s the matter?”

Lulan held several takeout boxes in her hand.

“I brought some sweets for Miss Song…” She tore her eyes away from Petra to greet Mina. “Greetings, Miss?”

“Mina. Mina Wang. I am Gwen’s cousin.”

Lulan bowed hastily.

Petra’s lips curled sardonically despite herself.

Ten Mina Wangs would not be able to resist a single full-forced blow from Lulan Li. If Gwen’s tale of the Sword Mage's slaughter was anything to go by; 'Lulu' was someone Petra wouldn't mind being acquainted with.

“Gwen, Petra and I are all going out together,” Mina stated cattily, her tone unconsciously more churlish than she intended. “She’s on a call right now.”

“I’ll wait.” Lulan stowed the takeout boxes in her ring.

Mina’s well-honed eyes of appraisal narrowed.

“That’s… a Large Storage Ring?” Mina knew her exorbitant rings like the back of her hand.

“Yeah.” Lulan paid the question no mind. 'Her' ring technically belonged to the Tower. As such, she had never thought of it as something precious. It was a reward, a tool. She wouldn't trade it away, and she couldn't sell it. When she died, Kusu couldn't keep it. “Where are you all going?”

“To the Astoria, for the Battle of Rhymes.” Mina’s tone took on a less critical demeanour. A girl with a rare ring couldn't just be anybody. “My brother's competing.”

“Oh, a duel! I do love those. My brother and I often compete,” Lulan boasted a little sheepishly, mindful of how Kusu's last duel turned out. “What’s the Waldorf Astoria?”

“Ha?” Mina chortled, wondering if Lulan was from one of those Frontier families. “It’s a hotel, one of the oldest in Shanghai. It was built in the 20s in the International Quater by British expatriate Mages who wanted it to be the grandest establishment in the Pearl of the Orient.”

"Oh? That sounds amazing." Lulan's expression suggested that Mina's words may as well be rain splatters against a window.

“Why don’t you come with us?” Petra cut in unexpectedly. “Gwen would love it if you could come.”

“To the duel?” Lulan’s eyes lit up.

Mina caught Petra's attention, then blinked rapidly.

“Something like that.” Petra smiled brilliantly, making Lulan weak at the knees. “Mina, you don’t mind, do you? This is our new friend. She’s a brilliant Sword Mage and an important asset for Gwen.”

“You're a Clanner?” Mina’s brows furrowed.

“Not anymore.” Lulan shook her head stiffly. Now that her thoughts were clarified and lucid, she couldn't help but become hypersensitive to her interaction with others. Socialising was harder than it looked, Lulan moped internally. She had no idea what either of Gwen's 'cousins' was thinking and couldn’t help but feel that she was being wielded like a proverbial sword for their amusement.

“It’s complicated," she replied uncertainly.

Thankfully, her awkwardness was short-lived.

“Lulu!” Gwen’s voice called out as the door to 2204 clicked shut behind her.

Mina checked her watch. 7.20 PM. They could just make it if she dodged and weaved through traffic.

“Let’s go then!” Mina had no more time to debate the merits of including a fourth member. “Come on Lulu.”

“It’s Lulan…”

“Whatever, get in Lulu, we're going clubbing!”

Gwen came jogging, her heels clicking against the tiled flooring of the corridor.

Lulan felt a touch of pink on her cheeks as she stood behind Gwen. The Void sorceress had on an outfit more daring than she believed possible! In her mind, Gwen was a Battle Mage, a summoner of fiends, a flying avatar of lightning and thunder sowing death amongst her enemies.

But a vision of loveliness? Lulan felt as though she was seeing Gwen for the first time. What was she wearing? Her footwear offered no protection! Those heels looked like chopsticks! Her legs were dangerously exposed! Lulan's nostrils flared, simultaneously scandalised and over-stimulated.

She had never been told to be feminine before, the most daring thing she had ever done involved a makeup kit she'd discovered in one of the servant's quarters. When Lulan had examined the result of her curious labour in the mirror, she quickly reached for a towel and wiped away any evidence of her experimentation.

“Lulu is coming with us?” Gwen gushed excitedly.

“No-no-no!” Lulan waved her hand frantically. How could she stand beside Gwen? Next to Miss Kuznetsova? By the Iron Sword! The very thought of it terrified her. It was incredible to think that Gwen and her cousins were going to witness a battle in those shoes and that dress. What happens when a melee ensues? What if one of them received an elemental attack that penetrated their Shield? Lovely as their mundane clothes were, they were as flimsy as they were beautiful. There was also the fact that her wardrobe consisted of entirely pants, tops, and singlets. “I don’t have anything nice to wear.”

“I’ll lend you some,” Gwen was about to drop a few more minutes on getting Lulan dolled up, but Mina was at her limit.

“MAO! WE’RE LATE!” She polymorphed into a mother hen. “GO! GO! GO!”

She pushed the threesome into the lift despite Lulan’s feeble protests.

“In the CAR NOW! WE GOT TO GO!”

* * *

Bombastic-beats reverberated through the basement of the Astoria.

“Mmmm you gonna give it up, Son?” Sammy Gu, Big SAM, wordsmith extraordinaire, mercilessly mocked his rival, Big Peaches, AKA Peaches, AKA Tao Wang of Wang Xing Enterprise.

“Fuck you, I ain’t no liar!” Tao retorted. “How about you face me with wicked rhymes and fight it out like real men, huh?! You wanna be the kingpin or you gonna pussy out?”

“That’s YOUR bet you're trying ta worm out of, fool, don't play me with your third-grade bull, little man!”

“Peaches don’t need no bitches to beat your ass down to a pulp! Your rhymes so lame when you try to bring it, you choke on your own vomit, piggy~!”

“Ooooh!”

“Kick his ass!”

“Nice one! Peaches!”

The room was dim, hazy and filled with moving bodies; the air was rank with tobacco, body odour and a hint of medicinal herb.

Usually, the establishment would have refused to lease the subbasement level to individuals such as these, whose presence would bring infamy to the noble visage of the Waldorf hotel chain - but the one who had made the request was the sole heir of the Wang Xing Group.

The General Manager was about to pull out his hair when he had a sudden epiphany. Out of sight! Out of mind! He immediately told the staff to clear out the basement level and hastily erect a stage. According to Tao Wang, they would bring their own music. Silence enchantments had been set up both above and below so that their riotous foreign music would be contained within the sandwiched layers of aural fortification.

So far, Tao had been talking shit for almost ten minutes straight. Their match had begun nearly a quarter of an hour ago, but Sammy Gu refused to participate due to Tao's poorly contested gamble. Unless Tao could prove Petra Kutznetsova, the ‘flower of Fudan’ and Gwen Song, the ‘hottie cousin with a Mongolian Death Worm’ were his ‘bitches’, Tao had to apologise for being a liar, then quit the stage.

“Come on! Come on!” Tao was sweating buckets underneath his mocking demeanour. Where the fuck was Mina?! She’d promised to bring the girls!

“Yo such a little bitch, Peaches.” Sammy shifted his weight impressively. “I think you’re lying about them, cuz yo face is as ugly as dat Petra’s ass is FINE!”

“Woop! Woop!”

“Goddess yoga pants!”

“Sammy, you suck!”

"You just pus-"

“TICK-TOCK! Mother fucker! I have no idea how a fine thing like yo mama gave birth to a stain like you, Peaches. You so ugly, you went to the Northern Front, and they mistook you for a ghoul!"

I'd CAONI-MA, but she's too fat! Toa retorted internally. His head felt as though two llamas were taking turns mounting each other inside his skull. His usual mastery over the lyrical had become a hodgepodge of stir-fried syllables. He could undoubtedly fire off a few more mud-grass horse insults, but those were the lowest common denominator. Looking at Fat Sammy there, his rival could probably K.O. him just by sitting on his chest.

“Peaches, what’s plan, man?” Mack-Daddy was balls out and perspiring profusely. “Is Miss Kutznetsova and Gwen going to come? If not…”

“You gotta have faith man!” Little-Dog insisted. “I believe in Peaches, who believes in Miss Song!”

Tao felt unsteady, his knees weak and wobbly, wondering if he should vomit forth his mum's chashui-mien already.

Come on, Mina! His eyes scanned the lift.

It was moving. MAO's BALLS it was opening!

“DING!”

The door opened.

Tao's voice caught in his throat.

He saw...

... the concierge in a red vest.

FUCK! Tao groaned. Fuck that bitch!

Then the bastard stepped aside.

* * *

The nighttime drive through the Second Orbital at 7:40 PM was smooth enough that Gwen could brush out Lulan’s hair and affix a few brushed shadows as well as definition to her wine-coloured eyes. Thanks to the Regeneration spell's repair of Lulan’s previously Crawler-consumed dermis, her complexion was near flawless.

“You look wonderful, Lulu.” Gwen finished her handiwork and presented Lulan to Petra, who sat at the passenger side.

“Lovely,” Petra replied. After a short pause, she added. “Don’t let Richard see her like that.”

The car lurched a little. Mina glanced back through the rear view mirror.

Lulan was reborn.

The girl was a pretty thing previously, but even the best gems needed polishing and cutting to bring out their lustre and shine. Lulan studied her reflection in the mirror, a whole new world opening up before her, one that would drive Kusu up the wall shortly.

By now, Lulan had struggled into a dress Gwen had lent her - a simple sundress that suited her clean-cut, athletic figure well. Like all high-affinity Earthen Mages, Lulan possessed a hard and lean musculature. It was hard to believe that a girl with such a delicate face could have abdominals hard enough to shatter stone slabs on.

The Audi pulled up in front of the parking bay of the Waldorf Astoria Shanghai.

Several bell-boys immediately approached the car, headed by a well-dressed concierge.

“Miss Wang!” the concierge greeted Mina with a bow as she escaped the driver's seat impatiently. “What may be your pleasure today?”

“Stow the car,” Mina commanded the handsome young man dressed impeccably in his vermillion vest. “Take my guests down to Basement 2.”

“Where Young Master Wang is hosting his friends? Of course, Ma’am, right this way.”

Lulan stumbled from the back seat, helped by Gwen and aided by a bell-boy, struggling to balance on her wedges.

When Gwen herself straightened her dress, the wait-staffs’ eyes lit up.

Then Petra emerged, one shapely leg after another, and a respectful silence descended upon the parking lobby.

“Come on!” Mina urged them, watching the minute hand ticking toward its inevitable destination. "I've half a mind to have the two of you Dimension Door down there!"

The girls made their way across the lobby, guided by the fleet steps of the concierge and drawing eyes from across the room. The grand foyer of the Waldorf Astoria was four storeys tall and lit by Daylight spells playing beautifully through a panoramic array of French-window skylights. At the elevation platform bay, Greco-Roman statues in white marble added a touch of the classics to the otherwise Art-deco facade.

"DING"

The 'lift' was a brass and glass contraption which moved without sound. A relic of bygone days when master craftsmen built the elevation platforms, and not prefabricated spell-glyphs installed by technicians.

"Level B-2," the concierge told the operator, who bowed, then returned to the stoic labour of cranking archaic ivory-handled shafts.

The party could hear the thumping of bone-throbbing bass before the lift even arrived. When the brass-wrought retro doors finally opened, the girls found themselves in the midst of a haze of smoke.

“YOU’RE HERE!” Tao’s voice could be heard projecting across the room via an empowered Ventriloquism. By his tone, Mina's brother sounded as though he had finally found Godot. “FUCK YEAH BITCHES! MAH HONEYS HAVE ARRIVED!! PEACHES IN DA HOUSE! HE AIN'T NO LIAR! BRINGING IT DOWN! SUCK IT SAMMY G! SUCK IT!!!”

The thumping bass reached a new high as a path opened between the stage and the girls. Gwen’s eyes scanned through the crowd, noting the absence of speaker systems. As before, their entire 'show' was a product of Tao and his gang utilising Illusionary magic.

'BOOM - Chic - BOOM- Chic...'

Once her curiosity in spellcraft was satiated, she craned her neck to inspect Tao's audience. As her hazel eyes took in the scene in front of her though, Gwen's lips fell half open with growing dread.

Beside Gwen, Lulan’s eyes were blazing with anticipation. The music! The thumping! The beat! What an atmosphere! Her blood was boiling! Just look at all the guys here dressed for battle. Some of them had visors, others wore hats that hid their faces in darkness. There were apparently two groups here as well, one side was predominantly red, while Gwen's cousin's side was in white and black. There was in addition, a hostile, thuggish atmosphere that made her suspect a melee was about to break out any moment! The strange thing though, was that there were just as many Mages as there were NoMs. If she were to perform a Sweep, how would the NoMs defend themselves?

'BOOM-BOOM - Chic - BOOM-BOOM- Chic...'

“Mina…” Gwen reached out and shook her cousin by the shoulders. “It’s a sausage party, Mina! You hear me?! A sausage party! What have you taken us to!”

Gwen's quivering voice had to be choked out between gritted teeth. So many MEN. WHERE ARE THE WOMEN? DIDN'T TAO HAVE A FAN CLUB?

Mina’s watering eyes struggled against the smoke, which unfortunately was as much atmospheric Illusion as it was second-hand cigarette smoke, with a tasteful hint of 'Chinese herbal medicine'.

“Peaches…” Mina felt such betrayal that her dainty healer's face had become twisted with malice. “I am going to kill you.”

* * *

The room grew quiet, beginning with the peanut gallery closest to the levitation platform. One by one their voices choked as the foursome of girls emerged.

First, a lovey but flabbergasted girl exited the lift with a stupefied expression. Then a short Asian girl with adorability dialled to ten, which many of the crowd recognised as Tao's famous sister.

Then...

Then the observers' heads went white with noise.

Slowly, the crowd parted like the Red Sea before a proverbial Magi.

Tao’s boastful voice reverberated through the basement, adding to the ambient noise. Sammy Gu’s face dropped, looking as though he had eaten a family-sized serving of bad sushi.

Petra Kuznetsova moved through the open lane like an empress surveying her domain, stepping over paper cups and smoking butt-ends. Those from Fudan who knew her reverently muttered her name, informing the others. Those whose knowledge had been lacking, now branded those syllables upon their brain.

Gwen took Lulan by her hand and moved up the aisle. She had wanted a more flashy entry, but Petra had forbidden all magic. The Sword Mage gazed reverently at the smiling sorceress just in front of her and followed without question.

Petra stopped at the stage's edge.

The spotlight moved from the stage centre and landed where she stood, bathing her in white illumination.

The sound of breath being drawn echoed across the room.

With a hand, she motioned for the vox-phone.

Obediently, the adjudicator M.C handed her the Ventrilo-device.

“We’re here,” she stated flatly, her voice ringing across the basement. “Now battle. It’s getting late.”

Gwen, Lulan, and Mina joined her side.

“You can do it, Peaches! We support you!” Gwen made her best impression of a fangirl. Her voice echoed across the basement, punctuated only by the thumping of bass generated by modifying Illusory Sound incantations. "Come on Lulu, you do it too."

“Why is his name a fruit?” Lulan's face was aflame with shame and unspeakable embarrassment. “Is he going to battle now? Is this a part of a ritual? Dark Ritual? Is someone being sacrificed?”

“WOooo!” Gwen's reply was alone and forlorn. "We love you, Peaches! Come on, Pats!"

Lulan felt full of scepticism for her 'support' of this snivelling worm-like Illusionist. In her eyes, the strangely dressed young man on the stage with the barely perceptible mana-signature could hardly even be considered an acolyte. In Huashan, such individuals could only assume the role of menial labourers. Sometimes, if their lack proved great enough, they were put to death or sterilised, or exiled if they were the children of notable members.

“Go on.” Petra clapped. “Get on with it. We’re here to support you.”

Tao turned to Sammy, his rival. His face flushed with excitement.

“Time to get it ON! BITCH!”

Tao launched into a bombastic beat-box rhythm to set the tempo of his Project Image. His lips unleashed a torrent of cognitively dissociative bitten syllables clashing with deliberately mispronounced homophones. Mack-Daddy and Little-Dog soon joined in, dimming the lights and providing vocal backing.

"When the Firestorm clears, it won't be

So fuck'n difficult to hear, 'til then hopefully ya

Little gobos get over your fears and neuroses

It's OK to be scared, bitch. The Magister said I'd trigger ears

My Illusions, ya see, they bring tears, my whole career's

A stroke of tactical genius, Illusory magic, pimp-ass sorcery, year after year..."

Tao was good, Gwen had to admit.

The Illusionist was actually riling the crowd up, getting them distracted from Petra long enough to once again start bobbing their heads and moving. That in itself was an impressive feat.

Maybe, if she could recall some of the classics from her old world, she could give Tao a push in the right direction. If Tao could master higher-tier Illusions or parallel casting, he could combine his 'show' with visual as well as audio spectacles, like Light Balancing, or clones of himself breakdancing.

Being the victim of Tao's verbose spit-spray, Sammy’s jowls quivered.

Try as Sammy might to recall rhymes to beat back the Peach, his thoughts were a mosquito swarm of libido and half-formed innuendo. Each time he tried to fathom a connecting rhyme, he instead saw the infamous sorceress' white stalks moving beneath the laced hem of her skirt. When Sammy attempted to shift his eyes away, his ocular muscles revolted, telling him to go fuck himself. Even as he pinched his legs black and blue, all he could think of was her white thighs, rising to the tapered arch of her waist and hips, punctuated by a pair of bottomless hazel orbs sinking from emerald to black.

It would be awesome, Sammy thought dreamily, if she could berate him or maybe step on his belly or something like that. Mao... to think he ate a four-course meal only two hours ago.

* * *

“I AM TERRIBLY SORRY!” Tao apologised beside the girls.

“Don’t be, it was fun.” Gwen laughed with genuine affection. “It was interesting to see you beat down that Sammy guy.”

"Still, I had no idea that dawg was such a pervert," Tao confessed miserably. "I mean, Sammy's wanton dude, but Mao, that was something else, even for him! Who'd thought he'd just unbuckle and flash Petra the goods..."

"Aha..." Gwen's expression was unreadable.

"..." Petra's was petrifying.

Following Tao’s one-sided thrashing of his stunned ‘rival’, Sammy lost it. Maybe the idea that Petra and Gwen were Tao's 'fans' was too much to take for the prideful 'gangster'. He released his 'wand' from its 'holster', then made a rush for the girls' side of the stage.

Petra immediately erected a crystalline wall that caught the large man mid-stride, catching his crotch, crushing the poor sod's mouse between a crystalline block and a hard place.

Though hastily resolved, the incident quickly turned into a riot of jeers and insults. Despite Gwen best efforts to dissuade Petra, her self-proclaimed bodyguard removed the girls from the scene.

Soon after, the party retired to the famous ‘Bar Astoria’.

“So, they battle with words only? Like a debate?” Lulan was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that several hundred individuals got together in a dark basement, set up a stage, squared off, then walked away after half an hour of shit-talking. “No spells? Could Even NoMs participate? Wasn't that man challenging us? I was going to use a Sword-Wall...”

The entire party winced. Tao crossed his legs.

“Something like that…” Mina was still furious that Sammy, a close family friend, turned out to be such a pervert. She promised the girls that everyone in her social circle would know and shun Sammy from this day forth.

Gwen told Mina to forget about Sammy and get the drinks started. As Mina ordered for the group, her eyes scanned the historical setting of Bar Astoria. During the day, the French windowed balcony doors were opened, offering a vista of the Huangpu River and the Bund. At night, the panes were shut, creating a cosy lounge. Beyond, the arc of the Bund's bay ran from left to right, paralleling the length of the white-quartz bar that stretched the entirety of the room.

“Young Miss, your drinks.”

A bright-eyed young man with the standard red vest of the hotel staff bowed stiffly, lowering himself as to allow the girls easier access to their drinks. When they each took their orders, there were two that remained, purple-orange creations with flecks of gold circling within.

“From the gentlemen by the window, Miss.” The waiter motioned subtly, drawing Petra’s eyes to the windowpane, where a suited young man seated with another male companion raised a glass.

“The second is for you, Miss,” the waiter spoke with a whisper. “From the other young Sir.”

Lulan’s eyes sparkled! She’d only ever seen this in drama Vid-casts!

“Please return both drinks to the gentlemen and thank them for the offer. We’re not socialising tonight.” Gwen smiled and placed a LDM on the tray as a tip for the waiter, intervening before Petra could dismiss their admirer with far less diplomacy. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” The young man's cheeks filled with colour.

“Those Dragonfruit Daiquiris are 4 HDMs per serve, you know,” Mina hinted at the prospect Gwen had rejected out of hand.

Lulan took her Sunrise on the Bund and gingerly sipped the viscous liquid.

“Oh my!” Her eyes lit up. “Delicious! I've never had a drink like this before.”

Gwen observed the bright-eyed girl sipping away happily, but couldn’t quite put her concern into perspective.

“Where did you dig this one out from?” Mina couldn’t help but ask, distracting Gwen from her thoughts. Large Storage Ring aside, Lulan was worse than Gwen when she first arrived in Shanghai. It was as though the girl had never been to a five-star historic hotel with a world famous bar before.

“There’s a pretty good story there, you guys want to hear? Peaches?” Gwen was now ready to deliver the story she'd withheld during lunch. Once certain elements were filtered for family-friendly listening, the tale would provide at least an hour of rapport and laughter.

“I am all ears, maybe you can rap it out?” Tao pulled up a chair.

The wannabe hoodlum cut a strange figure in the bar. The girls were all delicate fabric and dazzling white flesh while Tao was attired in white sneakers, Adidas tracks and a shirt two sizes too large. The contrast especially, made his presence more jarring than usual.

“Well, gather around folks.” Gwen crossed over her legs and straightened her spine, sipping her glass of Saffron gin & kumquat tonic, infusing her tongue with the tartness. “It all began when Kusu, Lulan’s brother here, asked me for a duel…”

* * *

The waiter left the 4 HDM beverages by its despondent buyers.

The young patron examined himself against the French window. He wore an Italian suit tailored to fit. In his reflection, he resembled a magazine model.

Looking over at the far table, he couldn’t help but notice that the single young man with the troop of stunningly gorgeous girls wore Adidas trackies and looked as though he should be squatting somewhere, bumming a butt-end.

Did I dress wrongly? He wondered to himself. Am I doing the wrong sort of things to attract girls of that grade? Had the trend changed that quickly? The yellow-teethed Adidas man had a face that looked like two soft-boiled eggs socketed into a gaunt skull.

“Say.” He turned to his companion. “Did you say that they were having a ‘battle of words’ in basement 2?”

“Some American thing, yeah,” his companion replied. “Why?”

“Should we…” The young man’s eyes darted back and forth between his own reflection, the chav, and the girls. “Should we go and see what it’s all about?”

* * *

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Lulan hugged Gwen’s arm against her chest as she snorted and shrieked with hysterical laughter.

“That’s FUNNY Gwen!”

Gwen was a little buzzed herself and had not noticed Lulan ‘trying out’ half a dozen mixed-spirits within the hour. The girl clearly had no idea what her limits were, which made an unfortunate cocktail when combined with the concoctions from the bar.

When she caught her balance, Lulan’s cheeks had taken on the hue of the Moschino cherry she had gleefully suckled between her flushed lips.

Beside the intoxicated Sword Mage, Petra’s ability to put away alcohol was as stoic as her stone-cold mien, packing away at least a dozen shots without so much as a shade of scarlet touching her cheeks. Unlike the others, the Mineral Mage had enough constitution to order Vodka by the shot.

“Like liquid mana,” Petra informed her. “You should try it.”

Gwen wasn’t sure if the Vodka in this world was the product of magical Druid-grown potatoes or what, but if Petra extolled its virtues, then she wouldn’t mind giving it a go.

"Here's to the Void."

Toasting the difficult days to come, she slammed down the shot.

The liquid was like a string of fire running down her throat.

“Woa… hugggn!” Gwen took a second to master herself. “Strong.”

Her abdomen filled with a flush of warmth.

“Not bad,” she noted, clinking the empty glass with Petra.

“I want to try!” Lulan eagerly offered herself as a tribute. As she reached for the shot glass, however, Lulan stumbled and had to brace herself against Gwen's hip.

“She drunk as a goose, dawg.” Tao chugged the rest of his beer, flaunting his iron liver and generous bladder. “Man, she’s tots wasted, Gwen.”

Then the disquiet which she'd felt earlier came to Gwen.

HOLY SHIT, she realised. Lulan’s sixteen!

Thanks to Lulan's capacity for ultra-violence, Gwen had not once thought of the fact that Lulu was for all intents and purposes, a high school student.

Gods! They took a kid to a bar and allowed her unlimited access to the sauce bottles?

“I think we better go…” Gwen sobered up at once. She propped up Lulan’s flaccid, limping body with one arm. “Someone get me a spare bag as well. If I know my alcohol…”

Despite the apparent risks, Mina still offered to drive them home. Tao left to rejoin his friends, no doubt boasting that he 'told them so'.

Gwen’s foresight proved fortuitous.

“Bleeeeaarrgh! Oh… oh… I am dying… Gwen… Errrgh…. Bleurgh! Tell Kusu… tell…”

All four windows were drawn downward, and an odour-filtering magical trinket was placed in the middle of the car. Even so, the volatile mix of fruit juice, alcohol, stomach acid and whatever Lulan had for dinner was plain for all to experience.

Real friends let their acquittances vomit in their Audi’s, Gwen heeded Mina’s generosity. From her vantage point, she could see Mina wincing every time Lulan purged another Secret Peach & Tonic.

When they stumbled up to the sky garden, Kusu was waiting for them.

“Oh, Mao!” Kusu had never seen Lulan this vulnerable his entire life. “Is she poisoned?! Did someone envenom your food? Are you all alright?”

“She’s had a little too much to drink…” Mina apologised.

Gwen figured she had better not let Lulan stay with Kusu. The sheltered Clanner had clearly never dealt with drunk teens before. If Lulan was left to her own devices, she could pull a Bon Scott of ACDC fame.

Kusu nodded eagerly, his head bobbing like a nodding chook. He very much preferred not to be the one who had to strip Lulan and wipe down her vomit. If they were back in the Clan, a servant could have done it for him, though that would be after an Elder thrashed Lulan sober with a scabbard.

The girls thus brought Lulan back to Gwen’s apartment, with Mina bidding them goodbye after ensuring the Sword Mage didn’t need medical attention. Petra asked Mina to leave a few minor healing spells with her, then bid Mina goodbye. It wasn't until after Gwen and Petra dragged Lulan into the bathroom for another hour of purging that she resumed control of her faculties.

“S-sorry…” Lulan had lost her voice as well.

Having had some experience with the matter, Gwen rinsed the tub, ran a cleaning cantrip, then left the soiled dress to soak.

When Lulan reappeared before Kusu, she was pale and unsteady, but lucid. Petra had popped a Healing Word from Mina to smooth out any physical ailments but held onto her Lesser Restoration. There was no point wasting the reagents on something that could be reasonably slept off.

“Drink lots of water and sleep it off,” Gwen advised them. “How did the housing situation go?”

“No good,” Kusu admitted despondently. “We’ll keep looking from Monday.”

Gwen nodded and told them not to worry, then reinforced that Lulan should be kept under strict supervision and be given plenty of fluids.

Returning to her apartment, she found Petra running the filtration trinket in the bathroom again. The girl could be an incredible hypochondriac sometimes.

“Mayuree’s maid is coming over tomorrow noon,” Gwen informed her cousin. “I’ll be away at babulya’s at the PLA hospital. Wanna come along? We can have lunch after.”

“Sound’s like a plan.” Petra crossed her legs and regarded her cousin, who stood by the door. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Much better.” Gwen smiled weakly. “It was good to do something so…”

“Mundane?”

“Hahaha, that’s it exactly. I needed that.”

“You’re the type to want to feel grounded, huh?”

“It helps.” Gwen chuckled. “Magisters. Magic. Mages. Magi. Up, up and away. There’s not enough air up there. It’s suffocating.”

“But there’s much more space up there too. The sky’s the limit.”

“I know…” Gwen tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came to mind. She too, needed to sleep off the buzz. It had been a good night. As for tomorrow... tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow...

Tomorrow will be a long day.

Richard was out the next morning after a quick breakfast with the girls, informing Gwen he would be back by Thursday. Lulan, meanwhile, was out for entirely another reason. The terror of mixing alcohol wasn’t something anyone could endure. It took years of abuse to train the sort of liver that a person would come to regret decades in the future.

Meeting Petra below, Gwen felt refreshed and clear-headed, feeling her mental fatigue erased by the riotous night.

As for herself, she felt perfectly in bloom. With her current constitution, another five shots of Vodka would not have made a dent.

The girls took the public transport to Wujiaochang, then entered the hospital through the main gate. A fresh-faced Red Guard halted their progress, though a quick call to Klavdiya resolved the matter without further ado.

“Sunday shift,” the girl's softly smiling babulya explained. “Most of the labs are shut, so they cycle in the new recruits for the experience.”

“What’s the purpose of having NoM guards?” Gwen asked out of curiosity. It wasn’t as though a NoM could stop a Mage from entering if they wanted.

“For 'show', dear. As witnesses to any incidents, and to ward off those who genuinely wander into the wrong place, as you may have.”

“The labs are magically warded,” Petra explained. “Just like Fudan’s experimental laboratory. You think anyone can just come and go from Master’s domain? Master assigned your I.D and mana signature to level 2 access after our first lesson.”

Gwen thought of when one of Petra’s admirers aimlessly wandered back and forth in the corridor, too afraid to approach the door. She had assumed the man was just unusually shy.

The lab was as impeccably clean as the last time Gwen made her visit, smelling faintly of sterility and bleach. Gwen followed her grandmother to the usual cupboard, where she had stowed a hospital gown that was large enough to keep her modesty.

“I heard you all went out last night, is this true?” Babulya inquired, a gentle smile touching her face.

“Oh yes, with Mina and Tao,” Gwen replied happily. “We went to one of Tao’s shows, it was quite exciting actually. Afterwards, he shouted us drinks.”

“Shouted, hmm?” Her babulya wasn’t familiar with the lingo.

“To repay us for showing up to support him,” Gwen laughed, eyeing Petra. “Pats is very popular on campus, you know. She must have turned his showcase upside down with her presence. There was this rival of his, Sammy, who was so enamoured he disrobed on stage.”

“Oh my! I should have a word with this young man's family!" Her babulya knitted her brows. “Yes, Petra is rather popular, hmm? Did you know that when she first arrived, I had to knock back two to three proposals a month, asking for her hand?”

“Babulya!” To Gwen’s surprise, Petra blushed.

How cute! Gwen gabbled internally. She hadn’t seen Petra acting like a young woman at all. Most of the time, her resting expression was one that could lower the temperature of any room she entered. Her previous post at the Moscow Tower had made her a jaded woman.

Gwen wondered if, without her 'elderly' self, she would also become cynical.

“Haha.” Their babulya laughed. “I should count myself lucky, eh? I’ve received a few for you as well, you should know.”

“You have?!”

“Oh yes!” Klavdiya’s eyes twinkled. “Would you like to know from whom?”

“Do I want to know?” Gwen inquired of Petra, seeking wisdom from her predecessor.

“You don’t,” Petra advised. “Imagine running into someone at the university, then realising that the ublyudok had asked for an Arranged Marriage.”

“Erg… awkward…”

“Yeah…”

“Ah~.” Their babulya amused herself with the prospect. The joy of having beautiful and talented granddaughters! "Alright, enough talk. Gwen, you know what to do, yes?"

"Yes, Babulya." Gwen changed into her hospital gown, then fitted herself into the wall mounted machine that measured, scanned, and recorded her biometrical data.

Klavdiya read out the script’s data entries one by one, the octave of her voice rising with every record.

“Evocation, 4.21.”

“Conjuration 5.02.”

“Transmutation 2.10.”

“Abjuration 1.65.”

“Divination 1.11.”

“My heart…” Gwen’s babulya had to hold onto one of the protruding manipulator-arms. Petra quickly rushed to her grandmother's aid, taking the opportunity to see the script for herself. “Gwen, these numbers…”

Though her grandmother knew what had occurred, Gwen elected to provide more explicit details of her cannibalistic act. When she had finished her story, Klavdiya touched her fingers against her fragile lips.

“Goodness, I’d presumed but - this is unimaginable!”

“My training should have taken me close to Evocation 4 and Conjuration 5,” Gwen explained. “As for the rest, I guess the statistics speak for themselves.”

“Let’s see your affinity as well before we get ahead of ourselves,” Klavdiya calmed herself and tapped the console contemplatively. “There are more at play here than just numbers.”

Gwen approached the Awakening Stone device and placed both hands onto the orb.

“Begin when you’re ready.”

The stone glowed brilliant white for several seconds as Gwen poured her Lightning charged Mana into its conduits.

“4.82… hmm…” Klavdiya noted on her data slate. “Again?”

The next value returned 4.83.

The one after that, 4.82.

“An expected increase. It’s in line with the amount of practice you’ve been doing.”

Gwen flexed her fingers, then placed her hand atop the orb once again.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” She took a lungful of air. The last time she had performed the same test, her grandmother had to supplement her vitality with a Restoration. “Here I go.”

The orb grew dark and inky.

Gwen sensed the tenebrous tendrils of the void caress her conduits, raging against the oppositional forces of Almudj’s druidic essence. Her vital force, however, was enough to rebuff the negative energy drain.

Slowly, very faintly, the bulwark of her fortified vigour diminished.

She ceased her channelling.

“4.22,” Klavdiya breathed out, glad that Gwen did not appear injured by the negative energy. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, Babulya.”

Klavdiya held the scripts in her hand, trying to fathom what secrets the numbers held.

“One more station,” she informed her granddaughter. “Then we can talk.”

Gwen stepped into the chambered mechanism of a machine that resembled a chest-compression trainer. She grasped both handles, allowed the circuitry of the device to connect with her own conduits, then channelled her Shield.

As before, she imagined herself pushing the mana in her body outward. Within her body, Astral forces poured from the aether, gushing through her mana channels. The free-floating mote of Divination entered, then quickly dissipated into her Astral Body.

The indicator rose and fell until it reached equilibrium.

“You're past your old record.” Petra had been watching over Klavdiya’s shoulders.

Gwen continued to channel, forcing everything she possessed into the machine.

“Enough!” Klavdiya had to catch the stream of scripts pouring from the data slot with both hands. "Take a rest."

Gwen’s chest rose and fell as she caught her breath.

“How’s it looking?”

“189.” Klavdiya made a face. “Monstrous.”

“That’s about two Senior Mages rolled into one, if you’re wondering.” Petra’s face was still recovering from the shock. “Gwen, you have three times the VMI I do.”

“But your Cubes hardly use any mana,” Gwen protested.

“I don’t think that’s the point,” Petra teased her. “You’re a one-woman mana battery! They should send you to power the siege engines. Tell em you can start with an Iron Golem straight up.”

“Well, babulya, what do you think?” Gwen enquired. "Does this mean I am more proficient in my two Major schools now?"

“I am not sure, to be honest.” Her babulya held the scripts. “I’ll need to consult with Magister Wen. Why don’t the two of you go get some lunch?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll go and see Marie now. We'll eat and talk. We'll call you in a few hours and continue.”

“Alright, Babulya,” Gwen replied, seeing just how distracted her grandmother was. She hoped that her affinity increase wasn’t something which came with a deadly side effect.

“Where do you want to go?” Petra asked, likewise disappointed that their grandmother would not be joining them.

Gwen changed back to her one-piece sundress.

She was feeling a little hungrier now after that liberal expenditure of Void-matter.

“I know a little place where they sell Beggar’s Chicken.”

“A beggar’s…?” Petra’s expression was sceptical. Her usual diet was excessively healthy and regimented, militaristic even.

“Oh yes!” Gwen assured her with eager eyes. “We can take one back for Babulya as well. Babulya, it's a wonderful dish! You have to try it. I’ll store the whole thing in my ring.”

“Sure thing dear, I’ll be sure to share it with Percy and Guo.” Her grandmother was shutting down all the machines absent-mindedly while still muttering about the numbers on the scripts.

At the mention of her brother and grandfather, Gwen felt her enthusiasm doused somewhat. Petra patted her shoulders, then the two left their babulya to her devices.

* * *

After polishing off a Beggar's Chicken in a jam-packed Fengbo Village, Gwen received a Message from Magister Wen to attend the training hall at Fudan.

“Let’s go,” she meticulously wiped her hands, making sure that she finished off her winter-melon soup.

Petra left an HDM on the table.

The boss and his wife bowed several times as the girls left, hungrily watched by the patrons who had each ordered the same expensive dish after watching the two girls working through theirs.

“Boss!” several patrons called out at once. “Take away! I am late for work!”

* * *

Magister Wen, babulya, and to their surprise, Magus Kumiko, met the girls at the training hall.

The Magister informed them that she had prepared a private chamber for the continued investigation of Gwen’s new found powers.

“Worry not, we’ll get to the bottom of this yet,” she informed Gwen confidently, though Gwen wasn’t sure what exactly ‘bottom' meant.

The training hall itself was about the size of an indoor soccer field, twice the size as the ones Gwen hired for herself. The inner chambers, in juxtaposition to the outer rooms, was reserved for staff and Warded for confidentiality.

“Alright, Gwen.” Magister Wen held a slate with her updated biometrics. “Let’s see some tier 5 Conjuration, shall we?”

“I haven’t tried it yet, Ma’am,” Gwen confessed. “I couldn’t get the Conjure Elemental Swarm to complete its circuit before.”

And it wasn't for lack of trying either, Gwen sighed. A tier 5 feedback was enough to give her a ringing headache and ongoing nausea for about an hour. Should the recoil be unexpectedly robust, she could be put out for a half-a-day.

“Now’s a perfect time then, go on,” Wen urged her. “Klavdiya is here to take care of any mishaps.”

“Marie's right. Have confidence, dear.” Gwen’s babulya informed her. “Even so, do be careful, dear.”

Besides the Director and Magister, Magus Kumiko was scanning Gwen’s scripts with her lips half-parted.

“Gwen, this… this is incredible,” the Positive-Conjuror apprised, feeling a little misty at the prospect that a seventeen-year-old was almost at her level of expertise. What the hell did she do for the last decade? Had her training gone to the dogs? To think this whole time she considered herself above average in intelligence. "I'd been debriefed by Magister Wen, but this is..."

“…” Gwen smiled awkwardly. Kumiko was the only one not entirely in the know. From the looks of it, Wen was now confident enough to draw her into their confidence. After all, they would need a constant supply of her Summon to feed Gwen's hunger.

From the looks on Kumiko's face, the youthful-seeming woman was eager to please. She should be in her mid to late thirties, Gwen noticed, though she appeared entirely fresh-faced and wrinkle-free. From the feel of Wen’s interactions with Kumiko, the Magister saw their ‘No.3’ as little more than a treat dispenser for Caliban. At any rate, the Magus’ presence meant that today, they were likely going to exercise her entire repertoire, Caliban included.

"Gwen, you may begin. Tier 5 Conjuration, don't forget," Wen urged.

Gwen walked some distance away until she was far enough from her observers that they could safely be shielded behind the Walls of Force, erected for the observer's protection. This essential convenience was also the key reason why they had chosen a training room rather than the Cognisance Chamber.

Thus watched by her seniors, Gwen slowly drew in her breath, relaxed her mind, and allowed her breathing to reach a comfortable, natural cadence.

Her fingers moved slowly through the air, like a conductor of some invisible music, weaving the spell through her inner world. Her lips invoked incantation after incantation, aiding in the mnemonic delivery of complex support-Sigils. Her mind turned inward, envisioning the luminance of her Conjuration Sigil aglow with increasingly complex networks of swirling mana.

As the stacked incantations took form, she felt the stress placed upon her mind ratchet rapidly. Here was where she had failed before - when her mental capacity and trained expertise was no longer sufficient in sustaining the pseudo mandala formed within the recess of her Astral Form. Should she err, the whole incantation-stack would overflow, and the injected mana would feedback into her Astral Body. Without a VMI like hers, a lesser Mage could be struck dumb by the flood of excess mana, potentially sustaining extensive injuries to their conduits.

Gwen sharpened her focus.

Bit by bit she piled on the final components of the magic Magister Wen had tailor-made for her based off her Master's unique Conjuration technique. It was payment, Wen had announced, for services rendered.

The last part of the chant fell into place with the snugness of a final puzzle piece sliding into its final position.

Gwen's hands ceased.

Her lips were at rest.

A flood of lightning-charged mana entered the Sigil from her Elemental Gate.

* * *

From the other side of the room, the others watched. Both Kumiko and Klavdiya had access to the Clerical variety of Detect Magic which allowed them to perform Spellcraft examinations, surveying the movement of Gwen’s mana through her conduits. Lacking the diagnostic spell particular to biomancy, Petra and Magister Wen perused especially modified Spectacles of Detect Magic, which replicated the effects.

“Fascinating,” Magister Wen couldn’t help but declare her enthusiasm. “She’s like an incandescent font of mana!”

“This is her first time?” Klavdiya inquired, likewise impressed.

Wen continued writing on her slate.

“A smooth transition, uninterrupted incantation too; no external aids either,” Kumiko observed, hoping to make herself useful. "Though her casting speed suggests she's a novice, how interesting- Oh!"

Gwen finished her last invocation.

“Conjure Elemental!”

Two bolts of white-hot lightning cut across space in front of Gwen.

First came a pair of enormous cobalt horns, then a scale-covered reptilian face with incandescent orbs for eyes. In the next moment, both creatures freed themselves from the planar-tear, transitioning from the Elemental Plane of Lightning into the material realm.

“Arc Runners!” Magister Wen clapped impressively. “Wonderful!”

Petra made a note to ask her Master about these half-lizard-half-bulls later.

The two elementals noticed their observers immediately and made a dash for the foursome, running headfirst into shimmering panes of force. Repeatedly, as though dumb and deaf to their surroundings, the creatures continued the assault until they were spent.

As the hysterical electricity faded, Gwen’s silhouette could be seen. Excess elemental lightning arced from her body onto the tiles, likewise circulating through her eyes as two concentric cobalt circles. Her hair stood on end, lifted into the air by the static.

Klavdiya chuckled at the sight of Gwen's electrified disposition, amused and proud all at once. One impression held true though, the girl had a way to go before she could control her powers efficiently. From the looks of it, a good percentile of her VMI escaped her control rather than feed into the spell.

“Gwen, come. Take a deep breath, release any excess mana from your body. Let’s discuss what we’ve seen so far.” Klavdiya motioned for her granddaughter to join them.

The training hall was spartan and without detail.

"Mai, can you bring some chairs and tables?"

Magus Kumiko was a Conjuror at a sufficient tier to Call Greater Objects.

The Summoner walked a small distance away, then beckoned for a small round table and four chairs, inviting a burst of silvery Conjuration.

"Thank you, dear. The old bones aren't what they used to be." Wen sighed with relief.

Gwen's eyes quickly glanced between her babulya and Magister Wen.

It was true! She realised, a little shocked. Magister Wen clearly looked like someone in their fifties, while her babulya could be mistaken as someone in their late forties!

The senior Mages sat.

Out of respect and solidarity for Gwen, Petra opted to stand.

One of the things she was most interested in, Magister Wen explained as tea and shortbread was furthermore summoned, was how Consume subverted existing dynamics of Spellcraft. According to Petra’s Master, Gwen’s jumps in affinity had no parallel in current theory.

“You should have learned that ‘quotients’ for certain Schools of Magic refer to the affinity one possesses in conjuring a particular type of arcane phenomenon,” Magister Wen explained. “Transmuters modify existing things, Conjurors call for and summon creatures and beings, Abjurers generally have an innate protective instinct, so on and so on.”

“As for tiers, there's a whole other can of worms here. Tier 4 doesn’t mean that one is 300 spells away from reaching tier 5,” she continued. “That would be absurd. The scaling system is simply a metric developed to ballpark the expertise required to utilise particular Spells of a specific complexity or magnitude. This is why you can train in higher tier spells to increase your overall ‘tier’. Though if you’re not careful, a particularly nasty mana burn could set you back years.”

"For the Frontier, if you recall, the average Senior Mage had a cap of tier 5 to 6. This is because spells become so diverse and complex after a certain number of incantations are reached. For those without talent, they risk more than they gain. Likewise, training in lower-level spells has diminishing returns, failing to provide overall expertise once they become almost second-nature."

This was true, Gwen noted. Her 'lock-unlock' use of Knock and Lock could only go so far.

"As such, the Path of Spellcraft is one in which one must constantly risk one's cultivated faculties to push forward. Endlessly learning new spells, adventuring, gaining alternative means to increase one's affinity, and so on. It takes vast amounts of resources, risk, and time to break through the 'ceiling at six'. It's not a Path for everyone, and indeed, very few make it."

"Now, Gwen - for your particular situation," Magister Wen began anew. "I suspect that what you’re gaining is not what a ‘tier’ usually refers to, which is a Mages’ expertise and experience within a School of Magic, distilled through a formalised metric system. I suspect that what you’re gaining is the affinity or the ease by which your Astral Body is able to process such specific types of magical phenomenon. This means that while you, personally, have not gained greater knowledge or expertise, you will experience far less spell-stress and fatigue.”

The foursome took a moment to take it all in.

Magister Wen continued her rumination while Gwen digested the scholar's hypothesis.

“I am going to tell you something that’s a few academic ranks above your means to know,” Wen began again. “The 'Tier' System, also known as the Imperial Metric System, is imperfect. The visual manifestations that we have come to accept as the norm, as well as the indexes commonly used, are merely numeric simplifications of a complex phenomenon.”

Gwen nodded. She understood that. In her old world, not even a century of Natural Philosophy could explain common, observable phenomenon. As a parallel, it took Richard Feynman, arguably one of the giants of modern science, to finally explain inertia. It began when Feynman was intrigued as a child by a ball that kept rolling to the back of his wagon. When he enquired, his father stated that ‘It’s called inertia, but why it happens nobody knows.’ Feynman's first order of business at Princeton, therefore, was to provide the Wheeler-Feynman Theory, finally ratifying what had been observed and known since Antiquity.

Magister Wen had expected Gwen to be flummoxed. Finding no perplexion, she raised an eyebrow.

“Can you explain?” Wen tested her test subject.

Gwen gave the matter some thought, then began to speak with great care.

“I will try, Ma’am. What you’re suggesting is that current theory is something which we 'know' but do not 'understand'; much in the way the ancients built their lives around the seasons but could not conjecture why the seasons happened, nor why each season was the way it was."

"By that same logic, what we see inside ourselves is a cognitive projection shaped by years of education and study, taken as fact, and seldom questioned. Our view of Spellcraft, therefore, is a 'system' rather than a description of its raw, explicit nature."

"Can you clarify?"

Gwen wet her lips, then continued.

"It's about projection and visualisation. Much in the same way that when we think of a cat, we envision a ‘feline’ in our minds and can even go as far as to interact and imagine ourselves playing with it - so we visualise the interplays of astral, spiritual, and elemental energies as ‘Sigils’ and project ourselves into ‘manifesting’ the 'phenomenon'. The incantations, I presume, are a part of shaping and directing these Astral and Planar forces to do our bidding.”

Magister Wen blinked several times before a broad smile touched her usually severe lips.

“Very well, can you elucidate then, what constitutes a 'tier'?”

Gwen gave the matter some thought, watched patiently by her seniors, then began again.

“A tier, assuming what my previous conjecture is correct, is a measure similar to say, speed. In a circumstance without the variables of talent, bloodlines, affinity and Spirit-links, a tier is a precise measurement of one’s processing abilities. The capability to concoct and manifest a certain complexity of incantations within one’s astral and physical body before the mind becomes overstressed. However, with those variables, one must also consider the compatibility of the individual Mage with the spells they are learning. The more one ascends the tiers, the more significant this affinity becomes.”

Lulan came to mind, Gwen thought. The girl had forced herself to learn an unsuitable style of magic, almost destroying her conduits and her mind in the process. Mana-burn occurs for a reason, Gwen felt sympathy for Lulan's foolish tenacity. Using sheer will-power to supercede one's limitations should be a calculated risk, not a rush of blood to the head.

“Correct.” Magister Wen tapped her slate. “You are a very talented academic, child. If all else fails, you will have a sterling career as an analyst.”

Gwen’s babulya beamed.

“Petra taught me well, Ma’am,” Gwen replied modestly.

Petra’s face was red for the second time today.

Gwen blushed as well.

Her internal embarrassment though was for the fact that she had lifted the entire analogy from Plato’s 'Allegory of the Cave' and his 'Other Dialogues'. The Astral world which Mages saw as the soul of their power was, in Gwen’s philosophical reasoning, projected shadows on the wall. In this parable, therefore, one had to consider that someone was lighting the fires and making the shapes. This ‘someone’ would be the Imperial Metric System, where one was ingrained in learning and envisioning Arcane phenomena from an early age. As the child of two magically-gifted parents, Gwen recalled being touted as early as kindergarten as to what ‘Sigils’ were, and how important one’s ‘inner mind’ was supposed to be. When finally Awakening and senior high happened, she tapped into her ‘Astral Body’, and there it was - exactly as her instructors had foretold. She supposed that had she been a mundane Mage, she would have been shackled to the cave for the rest of her life, never understanding that the shadows are a representation, a 'tier' of understanding in itself.

“Which means, in the practical sense,” Magister Wen circled back onto their initial discussion. “You are appropriating the ‘talent’ of those who you consume. Your innate ability to manifest these phenomena has become greater.”

When Gwen looked concerned, Petra joined in as well.

“I think its best if we picture it like this-” Her cousin created a crystal lattice. “The bottom one is what you’re born with.”

She allowed the first segment to stand on the table.

“This next section is what you’re appropriating from others.”

Petra added another block atop the first.

“Last is the result of your training.“

Petra put another block on top of the second.

“Together, they make up your 'tier' index.”

Gwen walked the circumference of the demonstrative visual metaphor.

“How many stolen talents could I train? I could currently use an Abjurer’s Shield, as well as Transmutation and Divination. Could I reach tier 9 simply by stealing?”

“I dare think there have to be diminishing returns,” Magister Wen cut in. “Otherwise, ‘someone’ would be a Demi-God by now.”

So she does know, Gwen inclined her chin solemnly toward Magister Wen.

“But, here's what we do know. You will be able to pick up spells easier, far easier, in your practical training. Unlike your peers, you won’t ever experience ‘bottlenecks’ in your Spellcraft progression like the rest of us. At least not until the higher tiers,” Wen proposed proudly. "Unless you're thinking of Consuming every Magister you can lay your hands on."

“I don’t intend to,” Gwen replied somewhat sensitively, pivoting the subject matter. “What’s a bottleneck?”

Both Klavdiya and Wen chuckled.

“Erg...” Magus Kumiko sighed enviously. “A bottleneck is when someone is training in a School outside of their natural affinity reaches a limit. The lack of compatibility within their Astral Body is simply too much for the individual to overcome with study and practice. I am at Conjuration 6, but I am struggling to get Evocation past tier 5.”

“For Mages who are not, well… YOU, Gwen,” Petra joined in. “The more we practice a particular school, the more our Astral Form becomes attuned to that kind of Magic. This is called Specialisation, and Enchanters such as myself and Magister Wen especially focus on this sort of phenomenon to make our creations possess both consistency and stability. For the average Mage, it takes decades of practice in a single School to align body and mind. Likewise, this phenomenon impedes a specialist Mage from training in other Schools of Magic.”

“Indeed.” Magister Wen affirmed approvingly of her disciple. “What happens when a Mage has access to all the Schools of Magic from an early age? What does that do for one’s physiology? What could it mean when each school reaches a particular tier of affinity or expertise?”

“What happens?” Gwen asked. Petra was glad her distraction was successful.

“No one knows!” Wen’s voice rose an octave and took on a life of its own. “Perhaps you’re the answer! Thanks to Caliban, Gwen, we may open whole new chapters in Spellcraft theory!”

Gwen tried to speak, but Magister Wen was too excited to let her interject.

“Imagine! Gwen! A Mage versed in all Schools! Even ones we don’t know about! You would be the ultimate Generalist! A Generalist-Specialist! Haha!”

“That’s too much!” Gwen blustered, wary of where their conversation was headed. She hadn’t intended to snap at Magister Wen, but the pie in the sky in the Magister's comment had touched a nerve. What was it that Nephres had taunted her with? Was that what happened to Elizabeth Sobel? Did her Master’s wife also begin her spiral of madness with death-row inmates?

Gwen wrung her hands nervously. Did it come to that? Would it come to that? As for what happens next...

“Marie…” Klavdiya interceded on Gwen’s behalf.

Too soon, the Director’s eyes told Magister Wen. Patience.

The zealous academic caught herself.

“Of course, of course!” Magister Wen had to remind herself that Gwen was in fact, on loan from Klavdiya and not actually one of her eager specimens hoping to curry favour. She couldn’t pressure the girl to act. Even if Wen did, coercing her participation would backfire, costing her more than Wen had to gain. She had time, the girl needed power, not to mention they had an additional caveat to deal with.

The girl had to eat, didn't she?

Magister Wen felt giddy with anticipation.

“Now, onto our second agenda,” Magister Wen collected herself.

She exchanged a glance with Klavdiya, then moved onto the keynote agenda of their meeting.

“Gwen…” Magister Wen began. “Are you ready to test the limits of your satiation?”

Wen's burning eyes made Gwen appear to wilt.

How could the Void know satisfaction? It was insatiable by nature.

The worst of it was when she abused the Void precariously in Sydney. Her weight had dropped considerably at one point, so much that she could count her ribs.

When finally, she began training with her Master, Sufina was there with her vitality-enhancing Golden Mead. A single cup was to Gwen, a gentle Restoration, nourishing both her body and her mind in addition to dispelling the residues of Negative-energy in her body.

The truth was, with the Amulet's mystical aid, her voracious appetite had been kept at bay. Even consuming Faceless, a Mage-creature many times her aptitude, did not induce convulsions of mind-numbing euphoria.

Once she got to Shanghai, there was babulya’s healing and the two Vitae fruits she consumed, which all provided ample buffers for her to remain relatively healthy. By that same measure, the vitality she now possessed was excessive enough that strangers mistook her for a healer.

With the amulet gone, all of that had changed.

For the first time, she felt full.

The hunger that had awakened after her first encounter with Edgar at the Royal National had not known satisfaction the very moment Caliban stuffed a creature into its gullet.

Gwen searched for an honest answer for the Magister.

"Are you full now?"

"I don't know," Gwen confessed. "I suppose I don't feel hungry."

"You've never described the hunger to us, Gwen." Magister Wen prodded her for clarification. "Can you describe it to us? Is feeding addictive?"

There was no use hiding it now, Gwen forced herself to relax her jaws.

"The hunger of the Void... it's not hunger in the sense of a desire for food. Rather, I would describe it as a kind of desire for completion - a lust for vitality."

"What is it like when Caliban consumes something?"

"It's akin to, I'd say, a man whose perpetual existence is one of voracious hunger, sometimes, it was overwhelming, driven to gluttony, other times like the ambient tinnitus of mana in a Dungeon," Gwen explained. "Feeding is the satisfaction of that hunger."

"Addictive?"

"I am not wholly in possession of that knowledge." Gwen shook her head. "Yes, one could suppose. Addictive in the sense that a ravenous man desires to feed."

Magister Wen exchanged a brief glance with Klavdiya, who appeared concerned.

“For almost a decade, your infamous predecessor had no lack of resources to keep her satiated.” Magister Wen tested the waters. “The world was at war. Humanity fought the Demi-humans, fought the Magical Beast tide; we fought each other. Mages galore, a perpetual, decade-long buffet.”

Gwen felt her spine run cold.

The Magister noted her disquiet.

“No, we do not intend to send you into a war zone.”

Klavdiya's benevolent eyes advised Gwen to remain collected.

"However, we DO need to make progress, Gwen." Magister Wen raised her voice. "You are currently ignorant of your limitations. You don't know the consequences of your Magic. You don't understand the ramifications of your Consumption. What if you disable yourself during an engagement? What happens to your party? How does the Void influence your mind? What is its longitudinal impact, both mentally and physiologically? Is it powerful enough to overwhelm your faculties? We need answers, Gwen - YOU need answers. Answers too dangerous to be haphazardly gained in the field."

“The ultimate choice is yours.” her babulya drew Gwen closer to the table. She touched Gwen's hand and massaged her fingers. It was then, feeling the paper-thin skin on Klavdiya's hands that Gwen perceived her grandmother’s true age. “What we all want is what is best for you, and right now…”

“I know.” Gwen returned her babulya's gesture with a squeeze. “The greatest danger would be to do nothing.”

“Precisely!” Magister Wen looked pleased. “I am glad you understand. Let us proceed then, by assessing our strategies going forward.”

Wen tapped the table as though it was a blackboard in a lecture hall.

“In the last six weeks, Petra and I, with the aid of Magus Kumiko, have collated data on your abilities, studying how the Void-talent expends, collects, and utilises vitality concurrently with Mana. If you're wondering, Gwen, I have sent the data to Klavdiya for analysis; she is fully aware of the self-harm caused by your talent, which is why I have her support on the matter as mentioned earlier.”

“As such, let me explain our findings. First - there are two aspects to Void Consumption, both phrases we coined for our Paper. One: the inundation of your body by the Necrotic energies of the Void. Also known as Passive Negative-Energy Drain. Two: the expenditure of vitality to empower the vampiric effects of the Void - Vitae Cost. We have observed that each manifests as a distinct outcome independent of one another. Both are harmful to your health."

“Gwen, when you use Void Bolt, a spell which you describe as lacking the vampiric effect of life-drain, the weakness you are feeling is the negative energy flushed into your Mana Conduits. I believe you can validate this, yes?”

Gwen acknowledged that yes, her Void-based Evocations did indeed induce a negative energy drain.

“Conversely, when you empower Caliban to Consume, you have described the effect as ‘taking a pound of my flesh’. Our collated data from your feeding sessions with Mai suggest that to activate Caliban’s ability to take in the essence of the creatures it feeds - there is a Vitae Cost.”

“Essence? Ma’am?”

“Yes! Essence! The Elves called it one’s Life Force, the Dwarves called it Dasein; both refer to the abstract concept of 'being' that is peculiar to sapient creatures from the smallest pixie to the most ancient dragon. We, as scholars of human Spellcraft, call it Essence. Existing theory on it is incomplete, though Abstraction Theorem ABT3003, a third-year course, offers some answers.”

Gwen inclined her head.

“Therefore, to account for Passive N.E.D and VC, you require BOTH a constant source of magical healing, which will repair your damaged conduits and negatively-drained body, as well as a source to replenish your lost vitality.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” Gwen observed. "Especially in the field."

“No doubt, which is why we need to ready contingencies for your conflict-filled path ahead. According to Petra, you fell unconscious when you Consumed Nephres Zalaam?”

“I did,” Gwen confessed. “The vitality from that woman was too much.”

“No doubt,” Magister Wen quipped. “A tier 6 Healer, even a rogue one, would have amassed a life force many magnitudes that of your average Mage. Though some of it appears to have been converted by your Familiar into Void-matter.”

“It didn’t do that before,” Gwen pointed out. “When I was in the Dungeon, the critters Caliban ate directly empowered my Void spells as vitality.”

“Perhaps a condition of the Consume ability then?” Petra noted. “You did receive it in the Dungeon.”

“Maybe,” Gwen wavered.

“Putting that aside for now,” Magister Wen implored, laying out the brutal facts. “Here are your options."

“The first solution is to stop using Void altogether. Or employ no more Void as could be offset by your Druidic essence. It means that you can focus on acquiring items and Wildland rarities that will bolster your vital-essence. As this buffer grows, so you will have greater access to your Void Powers. This is, of course, a stop-gap measure, one that offers the minimal risk for the minimal gain.”

“Solution two. We work on increasing your affinity. We know that Caliban can consume monsters of the Air and Positive Energy variety to increase your Lightning affinity. Concurrently, it means that it may also be able to consume Void-creatures to increase your Void-affinity. We have no idea how this will affect your physiology or your mental state, but suffice it to say, it will greatly reduce VC, and Void Mana needed to manifest spells of the same magnitude. The added boon to this solution is that you can be satiated with Magical Creatures, which I believe you have conceded to Consuming."

“Yes, Ma’am,” Gwen concurred.

“Now for our third option. Prisoners on death row, or Demi-humans slated for disposal. Every month or so, the CCP executes up to twenty Mages for various crimes, from grand treason of the Human Race, to repeat offenders of particular vices, to battlefield deserters. Though rare, they may possess interesting Schools of Magic or very particular talents which can be of use to you.”

“Magister…” Gwen began, understanding what Magister Wen was trying to leverage.

It was an old managerial trick. Give someone three options: one is terrible, another is difficult, the last one is beneficial for the majority but morally ambiguous. More often than not, the upper echelons picked the most expedient option. As for ethics, penalties were tied to results; success meant it was swept under the rug, failure implied there would be hell to pay.

“I feel that is going too far.” Klavdiya shook her head, her tone growing severe. “We didn’t experiment on prisoners even during the Sino War! Do you think we’ll go as far as the Japanese? Have you forgotten the atrocities of Unit 731?! That's a path that strays too far, Marie, even for you.”

Magus Kumiko blenched.

Indeed, the infamous experiments carried out by ‘Nana-san-Ichi Butai’ had sullied Japan’s relationship with their neighbours. Their attempts to create superior bloodlines through bio and necromancy using Demi-human and human prisoners shook the Spellcraft community to its core. The refusal to publicly accept the existence of the Unit furthermore alienated Japan from its Korean, Chinese and South-East Asian neighbours. Even its Singaporean trade partners snubbed the island nation.

“Your granddaughter needs to know how her power works, Klavdiya. I guarantee you; these are dead men walking. They may as well benefit humanity one last time. Where's the fault in that? Gwen must either ride the lightning or be utterly obliterated by it; would you like to see that instead?” Magister Wen confronted Klavdiya’s unwavering eyes, then turned toward the culprit responsible for their conflict. “Gwen. You make the call.”

The taste on Gwen's tongue curdled as Magister Wen, Magus Kumiko, Petra and Klavdiya expectantly awaited her answer.

‘You make the call.’

Such an easy thing to say!

She had indeed ruminated upon her dilemma through the night, allowing the fleeting visions of her projections and speculations to pass through her mind like hues of colour across a kaleidoscopic spectrum. Time and time again, she mulled over her visions and revisions, decisions and indecisions which the next minute would reverse.

She couldn’t go on like this.

Not with Elizabeth Sobel huffing and puffing after her.

Not with her enemies clawing at the door of her stick-hutch home.

It wasn't as though her hands were white and sweet.

She would be a fool to believe herself unsullied.

Gunther’s instruction during Blackheath.

Her killing of Faceless at Rosebay.

The pigtail girl in the Hengsha Dungeon.

The choice she made in D-109.

This world was tainting her little by little, tinting her in its colours. For how long could she remain undyed, believing herself above it all?

Didn't they say one had to break a few eggs to make an omelette?

Whatever happens, it had to be by her terms, by her choice, via her explicit intent and instruction. She refused to be carried away like a raft caught in a summer squall; sent adrift upon a sea of troubles.

No. She would take up arms against the elements.

Her eggs, her omelettes, her decision.

The others waited patiently for Gwen to speak.

When Gwen met their eyes again, her once soft eyes were emerald-on-citrine.

She left her babulya's presence and stood before her audience, fatalistic and final.

“I have given the matter much thought, Magister, and I realise that a decision must be made for all of us to move forward,” Gwen spoke slowly and meticulously, as though she was ascending an increasingly steep set of steps. “Therefore, Babulya, Petra, Magister Wen and Magus Kumiko, please allow me a moment to explain.”

She had to catch her breath to stifle the riotous rebellion in her chest.

“I did not ask for the power of the Void. I was at first naive and dismissive of what it brought and what it would do. I foolishly refused to acknowledge its presence, even as I abused it, used it, and revelled in the boons it brought. But, as a great sage once said: though we may not be interested in war; war is interested in us. Though we seek no company with conflict, conflict loves company.”

“With Nephres Zalaam, I made a choice. I have mulled the decision in my mind over and over, and still, I could not think of a single reason why I would have left the woman alive. She was simply too dangerous, too damaging to those I love, as well as myself."

"I won't deny it. I took a life to benefit myself."

“With it, I have embarked upon the path which Grandmother had shown me when I first arrived in Shanghai. I now walk the Way of Asura, the Path of Violent Reckoning. With this step, I can no longer turn back. To regret is death. To return is to embrace failure. I would lose my freedom, my life, and most importantly, I would bring misery upon those I love.”

“The choice Magister Wen has given me is the first mountain upon that path. The cliffs are steep, and the ascent difficult and precarious. I have seen it looming in the distance; I had shunned it for fear of injury. But I now know that there is no recourse. I must now scale its heights, then descend into its dark valley, tenebrous it may be, however uncertain its depth.”

Gwen wetted her parched lips.

“I am not a religious woman, but I wish to tell you this: 'though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.'"

The quivering in her voice quickly faded.

"I will not fear because you, Babulya, is with me. Because Petra and Richard are with me. Because Uncle Jun said he would be with me. Because I have Gunther, and Alesia and my friends both here and in Sydney. You will be my beacon of light in the void, the keepers of my sanity, my shields, even in my darkest hour.”

Klavdiya's eyes had become two clear pools of liquid brimming with happiness; Petra too, felt her chest tighten.

“And you as well, Magister Wen and Magus Kumiko. You who are my guides, I give myself to you.”

Magister Wen appeared lost for words. She raised a hand, then touched her cheek to ensure that no liquid had unwittingly escaped, then opened her mouth to speak, only to recall that she was lost for words. Magus Kumiko as well suppressed a shuddering sob, her youth and occupation making her far more sensitive to sentimentality.

Gwen repressed her own billowing emotions, then continued.

“And so I consent to Magister Wen’s advice. I too, wish to investigate the depth of the Void’s powers. I too, wish to know how I would deal with the addiction - yes - the addiction of its deployment. I want to master the Void, not be mastered by it. I have no desire to be a burden to all of you, who risk life and limb to support me. Whatever happens in the future, whether we defeat the Void’s taint, or whether I must be put down like a rabid hound; I want to have no regrets, because it was I who steered my sails into the sea of troubles. I own this moment; this choice is mine."

Gwen bowed, forming a full ninety-degree arc, allowing her hair to fall past her shoulders.

“For my selfishness. Thank you. Everyone.”

Magus Kumiko fought back a choking sob.

Klavdiya reached out and embraced her granddaughter, then kissed her endearingly on the forehead. Gwen hugged her babulya tightly, then welcomed Petra into her arms.

When finally they separated, Gwen embraced Magister Wen, flustering the awkward academic. When Magus Kumiko looked on enviously, Gwen hugged her as well, enveloping the small Japanese woman against her chest.

“I will help you as much as I can,” Magister Wen's voice rubberbanded back to normality almost instantly.

“I- I will t-too!” Magus Kumiko appeared drunk from the drama.

“I’ll keep you on the straight and narrow.” Petra squeezed Gwen’s fingers, assuring her of her devotion. "How can you go insane when we have to attend more of Tao's Godawful concerts?"

Klavdiya directly gazed at her granddaughter with eyes full of benevolence.

A moment of gentle silence lingered between the five-some.

“Enough time?” Magister Wen cut in. The ambient beneficence proved too stifling for the academic. “Gwen. It’s settled then. Wait for me to make the necessary arrangements. Both Towers will be informed, as well as Lord Shultz. I will consult with Dean Luo as well. Everything will be officially confidential. You will have nothing to fear.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Gwen sensed such a weight lifted off her shoulders, that she felt as though walking on air. “Let us both move forward with great strides. I must reiterate that I do not wish for unnecessary experimentation beyond that which we require to acquire for the knowledge we seek.”

“Of course, Gwen. It's all for Spellcraft. I wouldn't have it any other way. Do you have a preference?” Wen inclined her head solemnly.

“Preference, Ma’am?”

“Preference for your next meal, I mean,” the Magister replied. “Man, woman, Demi-human, Divination, Abjuration, something new perhaps, Illusion?”

Gwen directly suppressed the rising bile in her throat as a new weight crushed her short-lived positivity. She dearly wished that Magister Wen could at least feign concern for what their future held.

“Marie! Really!” Gwen’s babulya interjected.

Gwen raised a hand to stop her grandmother.

“At your digression, Ma’am. I would suggest a School I have yet to possess. Will these prisoners be fully vetted?”

“Absolutely.” Wen nodded. “I will be judicious.”

“When…”

“Next Saturday.”

“I see. Very well.”

The sudden turn in the atmosphere dispelled the last motes of sentimentality lingering in the air.

“In the meanwhile, let's proceed with our original plan. I wish to expel my excess vitality and ready myself for what is to come,” Gwen implored her seniors. “Magister Wen, is that alright with you?”

“More than alright, let us Enchant when the iron is soft enough to be inscribed. I can’t say I am not intrigued. Klavdiya, Mai, keep an eye on Gwen. Petra, lend me a hand.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The two healers retreated to one side.

“How shall we proceed?” Gwen enquired.

“Gwen, summon Caliban please,” Magister Wen commanded.

“Caliban!”

Her serpent slithered from the immaterial.

“Shaa! Shaaa?”

“Stay,” Gwen commanded.

“Shaa!”

With her increased mastery of Conjuration, the tug on Caliban’s animus exerted by her will took on a whole new level.

Flush with void-matter, Caliban’s exterior was now almost entirely jet, absorbing the light itself. An oily sheen reflected off the creature’s smooth, faceless chitin as it coiled about Gwen’s ankles.

Magus Kumiko moved a distance away to construct her Summoning Circle.

“First of all, let's not waste all that Void matter.” Magister Wen materialised a dozen Spell-Cubes.

“Your previous weekly threshold is 27 VMI’s worth of Void-infused mana.” Magister Wen pointed to the Cubes. “These are 25 VMI Cubes. Fill as many of these as you are able, let’s deduce a baseline index for what you have absorbed from the Healer for us to use as a Control for the future.”

Gwen knelt by the Cubes and placed her hand onto its surface.

Wen turned to her student.

“Petra, octagramic Warding, tier 3. Enhanced stability and extended duration. Start the sealing process at nine-tenth capacity.”

“Yes, Master.”

Petra moved a little distance away and began to inscribe the floor with crystalline shards, creating a magical circle warded with glyphs of protection and stability. It was an ability that only those who specialised in Enchantment could utilise. Even if Gwen were to acquire affinity in the Enchantment school, she could not replicate the effect without years of schooling and experience.

Standing apart and once again watched by three pairs of eyes ablaze with diagnostic magic, Gwen felt as though she’d been stripped bare and naked. Magister Wen made an especially intimidating figure with her wiry-thin frame and glowing glasses, the very caricature of a scientist likely to affect a catchcry such as, 'It's alive!'

Petra took a few minutes to finish up while Gwen shook the nerves from her body. Upon the completing of the circular ward, she activated the circle with a jolt of mana, her invocation setting the glyphs alight.

Magister Wen inspected her student's work and found it satisfactory.

“Gwen, we will proceed in three stages. First, we will drain your excess vitality in the form of Void mana. During this stage, keep a close eye on your health, and report any anomalies as you experience them.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Next, assuming you are able to continue, you will expend your Druidic Essence to depletion. Again, I must ask that you report any anomalies, especially pertaining to your satiation.”

Gwen nodded.

“Finally, at your discretion and judgement, you may experiment with what remains of your vitality. Know that Klavdiya and Magus Kumiko will be on hand to assist.”

"Yes, Ma'am."

“Gwen, you may step into the circle. At your leisure.”

The magic circle itself was now humming. As Gwen entered the ward, she could sense the circulating energies of the magical construct providing a protective barrier that soothed the flow of mana within her body, significantly offsetting her anxiety.

When the cadence of her breath plateaued, she turned her mind inward, commanding her Evocation Sigil to channel a torrent of raw Void-matter through her conduits into the Spell-cube. Instantly, as though pervaded by inky water, the cube turned tenebrous. Within her body, she felt the movement of void-tainted mana like slivers of ice through her veins, prickling and tickling her mana channels. Through it all, her excess vitality both fed and protected her against the flood of negative energy manifesting through her physical form.

“Sealing,” Petra intoned professionally. “Switching to the next cube.”

“Gwen, don't be afraid to let us know your limits," Klavdiya advised.

“I will, babulya.”

Gwen replaced the cube in her hand with a new one. Magister Wen stowed away the stored energy for future experimentation. Gwen began on the second cube.

A third followed.

Then a fourth.

And a fifth.

Midway through the sixth, Gwen stopped.

The excess vitality filling her physical form ceased. Triggered by the negative drain, her Druidic essence activated, filling her mana channels with its restorative energy.

“I am tapped out.” Gwen paused. “Give me a moment.”

She closed her eyes and inspected her Astral Body, envisioning its projected form, observing the motes of lightning and void interplaying within a sculptural form furthermore lit by flashes of emerald.

Already, she was feeling the buzz of abstract hunger hovering at the edge of her consciousness.

“I will now proceed with my Druidic Essence.”

“Switching to a fresh Cube,” Petra announced.

Her babulya readied a Restoration and a healing jolt of positive energy.

Meanwhile, Gwen embraced the familiar sensation of raw-void matter ravaging her innards as her Druidic essence diminished.

“I am out of essence.” Gwen’s complexion turned ashen as her Druidic essence waned. She had filled a single cube.

“Gwen!” Kumiko inquired worriedly.

“Are you alright?” Her babulya held off on the Restoration.

“Shaaa!” Caliban cooed worriedly.

“I am okay,” Gwen assured them. “Caliban, its okay! I am fine.”

Caliban laid its head to rest at her feet.

With her spectacles aglow with diagnostic enchantments, Wen inspected the interaction between Familiar and the Conjurer.

“Curious, the stored Void-mana within Caliban is independent of your conduits. Can you induce it into feeding you some of that energy?”

“Caliban…” Gwen demanded from Caliban its cargo of void-matter.

“Shaaa! Shaa!” Caliban rolled back and forth on the floor adorably, coiling and uncoiling as though it was trying to squeeze something from within itself.

“It doesn’t know how…” Gwen replied.

“Meaning it could, once Caliban attains a higher order of intelligence,” Magister Wen noted. “Maybe coax it some more? Try to envision it.”

Gwen exerted more pressure on Caliban.

"Come on, Cali! Out with it!" she urged her Familiar.

Caliban split its carapace, revealing it purple-skinned head with its lamprey's mouth.

"Shaa~ hurrrgh~ hurragh!"

"Something's coming!" Gwen noted. Perhaps a projectile attack? If Caliban could vomit forth a spray of consumptive void-matter, it would add a whole new dimension to its attacks.

'Clang!'

A dagger fell on to the floor.

Caliban's audience froze.

"Hurrrrggn!"

A torrent of familiar looking implements emerged from Caliban's gullet.

Oh my god! Gwen stared.

"HUURRRRGH! Sha! Shaaa! SHAAAA!"

Caliban regurgitated a pile of wet, slime-covered hair.

Gwen recognised the fist-sized hairball immediately and felt her heart sink.

'Tink ~.'

Something else landed on the Transmutation-enhanced pavement.

Her observers shifted their gaze toward the pile on the floor.

"Gwen!" Petra called out. "Don't tou-"

"Mage Hand!" Magister Wen retrieved the object from the floor.

A ring.

"Careful now, it's Warded," she warned. "Very potent as well."

It took Gwen a moment to realise what she was seeing.

A Storage Ring.

Nephres Zaalam's Large Storage Ring.

“Petra, run a Dispel on this thing,” Magister Wen commanded.

Petra approached the hovering ring eagerly, once again donning her diagnostic goggles.

“A Pentagrammic Ward,” she announced after a few seconds of focused observation. “It’s a western style protection algorithm, Master. Outdated by at least a decade.”

“I’d hardly think Nephres Zaalam was a local. Someone likely warded it for her some time ago.”

“It’s rigged to destroy the pocket dimension.” Petra prodded the illusory glyphs which only she could see. “Master, I am not confident enough to Dispel something of this level without risking the contents.”

“I would very much like to see the contents of that ring.” Gwen glanced again at the pile of hair on the floor before speaking with great care. “It may be of significance to Magus Shultz and me.”

“Your ring, your discretion,” Magister Wen affirmed both of the girls' concerns. “Let’s see the Warding first. Petra, I'll take over.”

Gwen had never seen a Dispel performed on an enchanted object before.

She activated her meagre Detect Magic, just making out the vague shapes of glyphs. Tendrils of energy were being pulled away by Magister Wen, like a woman meticulously picking away at a clump of tangle twines for the loose string which would unravel the whole knot.

After a few more minutes, the Magister held the Storage Ring in her hand, its warding negated.

“Here.” She tossed it toward Gwen. “Your spoils.”

That Magister Wen did not check the contents of the ring first herself struck Gwen as an incredibly generous feat. Was it because her earlier speech had engendered enough rapport to allow for mutual respect?

She found that unlikely.

There had been a palpable distance between them even as they embraced.

Perhaps it was decorum? The 'loot' was, after all, a ring from her enemy, whom she murdered, and now retrieved from her Familiar's gullet. Offering to unlock a chest didn't mean one got to peek or keep what was inside it, to do so would be violating the unspoken norm. Perhaps one of Gwen's companions may have issued a challenge for the Ring, but certainly not someone as unrelated as Wen herself.

It was also equally likely that the Magister may have considered the Ring and its content Gwen’s personal problem. If so, it was a not so subtle indication from Wen that she had no intention of involving herself with Gwen outside of their mutually beneficial research. Their relationship was strictly one of giving and taking.

“The Warding…” Gwen tested the Magister's intention.

“Is dispelled, a trivial matter,” Magister Wen informed her, generous in her show of support. “An outdated formulae indeed. Likely a Rogue Enchanter. It’s not like those Wildland exiles could attend the latest International Conference on Advanced Warding Algorithms and Mandalas.”

Magus Kumiko pouted despite herself. How many more years would it take before she graduated from her Medium Storage Ring? Would Gwen be a Magister by then? She wondered if she should take a gap-year from academia and Adventure for two semesters.

Gwen donned the ring. She wore her Contingency Ring on her left ring finger, her Ring of Evasion on her right, her Medium Storage Ring on her left index finger, and now her new ring on her right index.

A few more rings and she could rival Mayuree.

In general, Mages seldom wore more than one Storage Ring. The larger the ring, the more mana was required to stow items of a particular size and density. A Large Storage Ring, therefore, was usually an item enjoyed by those with significant mana pools, such as a senior Magus or a Magister.

Gwen made a note to gift her Opa's ring to Richard, who had a smaller Medium Storage Ring. Her cousin would keep her keepsake safe, make good use of it, and return it to her in good time.

“Caliban, anything else you got in there?” Gwen picked up her obsidian serpent with some effort, hugged it to her chest, then gave it a mighty squeeze, pondering if a Heinrich Manoeuvre could coax some more mysterious items from its gullet.

“Shaa! Shaaaaaa!” Caliban wiggled happily in her arms.

Her empathic link told her that it enjoyed being hugged and smooshed.

A rude tentacle attempted to give her a lick, splattering grey-goo as it wiggled back and forth.

The rest of her party stepped back politely.

Gwen took a moment to collect twenty-odd inscribed implements. When Gwen examined a slimy dagger, she realised that they were more accurately short-swords without pommels or handles, allowing the blades to interlock like scales when controlled en-masse.

“Let’s complete our investigation before you inspect that ring,” Magister Wen advised impatiently. “I hope that break was enough for you to catch your breath.”

“I am ready.” Gwen turned her attention back to the task at hand. Petra handed her the final Spell-cube.

“Be careful. You’re draining your vitality now, right?”

Gwen nodded, then place both hands on the crystalline cube.

The cube began to fill.

Gwen gasped, shivering as she sought to endure the ice in her veins. The skin on her arm, torso and legs turned clammy and cold with sickly sweat; her complexion took on the pallor of ash. Her irises took on the likeness of two bottomless, deathly orbs. A sudden sense of vertigo, that familiar feeling which she had not felt so poignantly since she found herself alone and afraid in Hyde Park, made her body weightless.

“Oh, Gods…” Gwen muttered, feeling the strength fade from her arms, refuting the command from her mind; the half-filled cube fell from her hands.

“Shaaa!” Caliban slithered back and forth with agitation, its limited cognisance preventing it from meaningful action.

Petra caught Gwen by the shoulder as she tripped on her own feet, suddenly drunk on deathly liquor.

“Gwen!”

Klavdiya’s Restoration struck her granddaughter in the next moment, dispelling the negative energy consuming her life-force. Magus Kumiko’s healing spell struck next, restoring her to lucidity as positive energy flooded her mana-channels and revitalised her cold flesh.

Gwen gasped for air, her dilated irises regaining their focus.

“You’ve pushed yourself too far!” Her babulya took her frigid hands and warmed them between her palms.

“I am alright… “ Gwen leaned on her elbows, feeling he crystals digging into her flesh. “Thanks for the pick-me-up, Pats. Babulya. Magus Kumiko.”

“Looks like that’s your limit.” Magister Wen ticked off a set of data on her slate. “I would be cautious, Gwen. If you inundate yourself with excessive Negative Energy, I dare say permanent damage to your mana channels would be the least of your worries. Very good, Gwen, I’ll run these numbers and generate the numeric indices for you.”

Her babulya pulled Gwen beside her protectively.

“I hope we’re done, Marie.” Her voice had taken on a tone of distinct displeasure.

“Are we?” Magister Wen replied. “I don’t want to see Gwen hurt either, Klavdiya. But that doesn’t mean I can inference her limits with guesses. Our actions are for her benefit as well. You of all people should know there are sacrifices for knowledge.”

Gwen’s grandmother knitted her brows, looking pensive. Gwen wondered if she regretted her consent.

“I am sorry, Babulya,” Gwen apologised. "Magister Wen... is trying to help, in her way."

“Then I am sorry too.” Her grandmother brushed a stray strand of hair from the arch of Gwen's pointed chin, pulling back the dark tresses from her cheekbones. Her eyes lingered on Gwen's flawless face, then sighed defeatedly. "I understand, but it doesn't mean I wish it on my dearest grandchild."

The vast space of the oversized training hall made the moment bleaker than either Gwen or Klavdiya intended. The abundance of space seemed to amplify the coldness, making Gwen's fatalistic choices seem more poignant than she had expected.

“Shall we check the contents of the Ring?” Gwen took the opportunity to pivot toward a pleasant distraction.

Gwen swept her consciousness over Zalaam’s - or rather - HER new Large Storage Ring, sensing it attune to her mana signature.

“I will now display its contents,” Gwen announced. No one had demanded to see the ring’s inventory, but she had read the curiosity in their eyes the moment the ring 'tinked' on the tiles.

Six banded metal boxes, elongated and rectangular, materialised beside her boots.

She knelt, flipped the clasp, then released the catch.

A row of neatly embedded HDM crystal currency cards appeared.

100 HDM in a row of ten.

1000 HDMs per box.

6000 credited currency in total.

She would split this with her party, Gwen decided. Especially Lulan and Richard, who could most definitely use the money right now.

She moved a little to the side, unleashing a knee-high pile of raw, unprocessed HDM and LDM Crystals. If she had to ballpark, she'd guess about a thousand HDMs.

So far so good, Gwen swept her mind over the next few items.

The Director and the Magister exchanged glances.

Gwen moved on.

A box of twenty-four healing injectors, still wrapped in the cardboard packaging.

A second box, half-used.

A crate of assorted potions.

“Oh!” Petra interrupted her cousin’s selfless show and tell. “A Potion of Invisibility!”

“An item high on the list of alchemical contrabands,” Gwen’s babulya warned. “You should be very careful, Gwen. Hide it, or destroy it, but don't let anyone know you have it. Present company excepted, I would hope.”

Gwen nodded, putting the crystal-clear potion aside for now. Magus Kumiko squirmed when Gwen's babulya shot her a sideways glance.

Next, her mind brushed over something substantial.

‘THUNK!’

A crystal core the size of a medium sized sofa successfully materialised beside Gwen after consuming almost a quarter of her mana. Given an average Mage with only 50 VMI, they wouldn't even be able to store or retrieve the core. The higher the density, the greater the weight, the more magically inclined - the higher the cost of an item’s storage and retrieval.

“A Shielding Stone?” Magister Wen was the first to recognise the crystal core.

There was an austere criteria for size, purity, and clarity which could be used to create resonance Shields that could ward away Wildland beings and creatures. A deep-earth crystal mine generally only produced enough condensed cores to supply two to three Shielding Stations.

“Now this is a rather dire development.” Klavdiya stepped around the stone. “Gwen, I don’t suppose you have anything else in there that can pinpoint to whom this core is supposed to be delivered?”

Gwen took a few moments to scan the rest of the ring, then shook her head.

Next, she produced several crates of minerals in a number of interesting hues.

Her babulya’s brows furrowed.

“Five-Stone Powder.” She drew in a cold breath of air. “What else have you got in there?”

“That’s a highly illicit alchemical product.” Petra glanced at the ring on Gwen's finger worriedly. "Distribution carries a death sentence under the CCP."

Five-Stone Powder was a concoction made by Taoist alchemists from an infusion of ground realgar, sulphur, turquoise, ochre, and amethyst. Each of the stones possessed elemental attributes. When catalysed by an infusion of mercury, it created a highly addictive affinity-booster that considerably raised one’s connection to the Elemental Planes for a short period. The downside was the potential temporary insanity often caused in those vulnerable to mind-altering effects. As with all boosters, there were significant diminishing returns once the body acclimatised to the dosage.

Gwen brought out everything else of interest within the ring.

Shoes.

Clothes.

Dresses.

Intimates.

Cosmetics.

Things that reminded her poignantly that the Ring’s previous owner wasn’t just nutrient for Caliban. She was human. A person. A being who pursued the wild beauty of life, even if she did err on the wrong side of their morality spectrum.

The mundane sight pressed the air from her lungs.

Morality? What morality? Gwen reminded herself bleakly. The pot was calling the kettle black. In six days time, she would be following in Elizabeth’s proud footsteps. There would be a man condemned to die, and she would take his life in the most repugnant way possible. We’re such fucking hypocrites, Gwen felt her mind revolt with remorse. For a second, she thought of yanking the ring from her fingers and tossing it away from her like a fat spider.

While she ruminated, the remaining foursome regarded her ‘loot’.

6000 HDMs in currency.

1000 HDMs in raw crystals.

Twenty-four healing injectors.

A dozen mana injectors.

A crate of assorted potions from Cure Poison to Remove Disease, to rarer varieties such as Resist Elements.

A Potion of Invisibility.

A sofa-sized Shielding Stone.

Enough supply of Five-Stone Powder to feed a District.

A curious and highly suggestive collection.

"When I was on the Frontier, I found a Shield Station with the stone taken out," Gwen spoke, thinking back to her misadventure with Debora and company. "Later on, Gunther told me that the same Stone was used to cause a frequency overload that detonated and destroyed the outer segment of Sydney's Shielding Wall."

“I see. Rest assured that would not happen here. At any rate, keep the currency and the crystals. The potions too, including the Invisibility one,” Magister Wen advised. “As for the Stone and the reagents for the Power, I am going to have to get the Dean to contact the Internal Security Bureau. It looks like there’s much more going on at D-109 than any of us thought.”

Gwen thought of Secretariat Choi’s beady, weaselly eyes.

“Hadn't Uncle Jun taken care of him?”

“I wouldn’t know dear, MSS business.” Klavdiya avoided taking the conversation any further. “Your grandfather usually deals with the aftermath of Jun’s work. Speaking of which, Jun would like to speak to you sometime soon. He wants to have a chat with you, regarding all... of this.”

“Alright babulya, I’ll call him,” Gwen promised.

Circling the perimeter of the ill-gotten loot, she packed away her plunder, leaving behind the crystal core and the cargo of illicit reagents.

“How do you feel now?” Petra asked Gwen as she exercised the capacity of her new ring with an expression of permeant distraction.

“I am good,” Gwen replied, a careless white lie no one believed.

“Hungry?”

Gwen touched a hand to her diaphragm.

“Nothing I can't handle.”

“I am ready,” Magus Kumiko announced eagerly. “Bring Caliban into the Force Cage. Let's get you some vitality to ease you through the week!”

Gwen was about to oblige when Magister Wen obstructed her.

“Perhaps this is an opportunity to test exactly ‘how’ addictive your desire for satiation may become. You can safely experience if it should impact your thoughts, your physiology, make voracious a particular appetite, for food or otherwise,” the scholar declared.

When her babulya rose to protest, the Magister cut her off.

“Gwen lives only a few minutes away, after all. Should anything arise, both Kumiko and myself can be made available immediately. She will be perfectly sound.”

“Still, that’s a little rushed, don’t you think?” Klavdiya intervened. "She's only had a dozen beasties and a single..."

The silence lingered like a floating feather.

“Gwen," Magister Wen retracted her decision. "As I said before, it's your talent, your body. You make the call.”

Gwen pondered the proposal. Magister Wen read her better than anyone, her babulya included. She wasn't one to delay till tomorrow what could be done today. There was a certain gratification in getting these questions about herself off her chest. Whatever mechanic or trait her hunger would induce, there was no benefit in escapism. As a Mage and an academic, she desired to move forward without any doubts as to where future pitfalls may dwell.

“I am curious too,” Gwen informed Klavdiya. “I’ll be alright Babulya; Petra is with me as well. Let’s give it a few days and see how it goes. As we say in the Frontier, she'll be right.”

Klavdiya could only nod. Too distraught to acknowledge her attempt at diffusing the tension. Grandmother and granddaughter, they were both committed now.

“Master,” Petra intoned as she stood by Gwen’s side. “If you think we're finished for the day, then I wish to take Gwen home to rest. We have classes tomorrow.”

Her Master's mien looked as though she could have experimented and sampled until Kumiko, her babulya and Gwen were all OOM. What issued from her lips, however, were thoughtful words of understanding.

They had made great strides today. Gwen had consented to human trials, and she had gained invaluable data regarding the mechanical operations of the Void as an element. All that was left was to test the breadth and scope of its impact on sentient and sapient beings, not to mention the caster herself.

“Very well, girls. Rest well.”

“Agreed,” Klavdiya completed the consensus. “Rest well, Gwen.”

As much as Klavdiya wanted to send Gwen home and put her to bed personally, there were slews of data waiting to be analysed and unpacked. She and Wen would likewise be overwhelmed by the red-tape necessary to proceed with the ‘live’ experiment next Saturday. Klavdiya was doubly mindful of her promise to fully vet the ‘offering’ with her connections before such a ‘meal’ could be presented to Gwen.

Sweet Saint Peter, she thought to herself. Talk about self-delusional euphemisms, what the hell have we become? We haven’t even done the deed, and already our minds are reeling from the reality of it. For a second, Klavdiya wondered how Wen was coping with it, but one look at the apple-pink cheeks of her old alumina told her that the scholar had no such qualms, only impatience for more data.

“I’ll show them out and make sure Gwen's alright,” Magus Kumiko added hastily, seeing that the Director and the Magister wanted to converse further in private. Their conversation was likely leagues above her grade, academic or otherwise.

* * *

Watching the trio close the door behind them, Klavdiya turned to Wen.

“You’re really doing this?”

The two women met one another’s eyes.

“Don’t you mean ‘we’ are doing this?”

“Marie, I respect you as a friend and colleague, but I won’t forgive you if-”

“You can’t keep Gwen under a rock forever," Magister Wen scoffed. "Someone’s bound to dig her up and try to take her away. Would you rather she get taken, kicking and screaming? Will you fight the world? Will Guo? At least with us, she gets to walk her own Path.”

“A difficult path for one so young.” Klavdiya studied the age lines on her hands, the most telling part of her body, feeling her age. “So many ways this could go wrong.”

“What’s the recourse? You could send her back to Sydney. I know you’ve got connections within the Foreign Affairs Committee. Now’s the chance. Before the powers that be get involved. Send her away. Do it.”

"Don't test me, Marie."

"Sorry."

"... I am sorry too. This business doesn't sit well with me."

"She'll be looked after. Eyes are watching."

“What's the news from upon on high?”

“Both sides have promised to remain observers for now. But you know how it is. Guo survived the Second Purge, didn’t he? Promises are only kept when expedient and convenient. When did your people ever play by the rules? Only when it suits.”

“…” Klavdiya bit her lips. “Marie, how far do you intend to take this?”

“As far as she is willing.”

“And if she is as strong as Shultz promised?”

Magister Wen’s eyes had an ethereal, unsettling glow to them. One not empowered by any magic nor mana, but conviction, belief, faith.

“What if we create the Overmage by accident?”

“There’s no such thing!” Klavdiya retorted cynically. “The deities are just planar creatures and God-Kings, killable and mortal.”

“Hahahaha!” Magister Wen knew she should have expected such an answer from a Godless Communist Spellcraft Director.

She glanced at her friend and alumina, catching Klavdiya's gazing into the middle distance. Wen touched a finger to her jaws. Laughing was rather tiresome when you didn't use the muscles often.

“Imagine, Klavdiya, a being who can tap into every School of Magic, and whose ability allowed herself to steal from others the Essence of life,” Magister Wen’s face became as pink as pippins. “Yet, this Übermensch is thinking, benevolent, and full of altruism and compassion. How do you suppose history will perceive such a being?”

“…”

The two women stood side by side.

“There is a line here, Marie,” Klavdiya stated coldly. “We will reach it, and then we shall cross no more! I hope you understand that if you wish my, and Gwen's support. Will you go see Secretariat Shi now?”

“Yes,” Wen affirmed. “Yourself?”

“I’ll go see Dean Luo,” Klavdiya answered. "He has to be involved for a trial of this ethical ambiguity."

“Do you want me to perform the background check on our hapless participant?"

“We’ll both do it.” Klavdiya was already walking away, leaving Wen to stand alone in the training hall. “I will brook no mistakes! I'll not have Gwen become a murderer of innocents.”

Magister Wen watched Klavdiya close the door behind her, clearly entered by the task ahead of them.

The elderly scholar took a stroll around the empty hall, stopping by the crystalline warding, then strolled past Kumiko's defunct Summoning Circle.

Her mind brushed over the eight or so cubes stowed in her ring, brimming with Void-matter. Who'd have thought she would have enough fuel for her demonstration to the Tower Magisters within a day of submitting her report? It was as though fate itself was desiring her success.

“Kilroy and Sobel… ” Wen muttered to herself; her tone like one reciting a mantra, her crystalline, colourless eyes aglow with a supernatural hunger. “How strange is the way of Karma.”

* * *

“Oh! I’ve still got a beggar’s chicken in my ring!” Gwen realised when Petra and herself entered the apartment. “I’ll give it to Babulya the next time.”

The pocket-space of Storage Rings differed from one Enchanter to another. Her Opa's mastercrafted ring held non-magical items in stasis but allowed for thermodynamic changes. Hot food cooled, and cold stuff returned to room temperature. Likewise, the non-magical food did not spoil, but mana-rich foodstuff did. As for her new ring, she would have to experiment.

Petra had said that there were Absolute-Stasis Rings, but those were ten times more expensive and used only by alchemists and other professionals who dealt with fresh Wildland produce.

Though the clock only struck six, the summer sun glared fiercely into the apartment. The shut windows furthermore trapped the heat, making the two-bedder stuffy and uncomfortable.

Petra located the wall panel and punched in a few glyphs into the climate control, activating the cooling glyphs inscribed into the ducting.

As fresh air began to circulate the room, Petra made herself comfortable, then pulled out a bundle of pamphlets for local takeout.

“How hungry?” Petra enquired.

“Famished,” Gwen replied. “The usual.”

Petra Messaged the local Vietnamese restaurant and ordered enough for a family of four, prioritising soupy comfort food in the form of pho and rice rolls.

While they waited, Gwen checked the LRC Device for any replies.

There was exactly one Message waiting for her.

“Elvia away on Mission - will return next week - S.S,” read a message. ’S.S?’ Gwen puzzled her head, then realised it likely stood for Sylvie Stratford, Elvia’s roommate.

Gwen turned on the Vid-caster and checked the news.

“- ime Minister Tony Blair speaks out against the influx of migrants seeking access to London from the Frontier regions. Riding on a wave of anti-immigration movement and focusing on the internal development of the Britannic Mageocracy, the Prime Minister has successfully rallied-”

“- U.S and British Coalition expedition have ignored suggestions from the United Nations to push ahead with the retaking of Babylon, angering Demi-human tribes in the Frontier region. The Middle-East has long been a hotbed of religious and sectarian conflict, and the intrusion of the Western Human forces into this biblical landscape has many Chinese experts worried. The CCP has officially offered humanitarian aid to those fleeing the region, despite criticism from the U.S that the PLA is undermining peace and stability in the region…”

There were only seven ‘TV Stations’ on Chinese Vid-cast streams.

CCVC-1, CCVC-2, Shanghai-ONE and BBC Pudong were undoubtedly filtered for the Chinese audience, largely focused on producing propaganda Vid-casts about a particular historical event or a contemporary piece on spreading human hegemony across the South China Sea and beyond. The remaining three channels, Shanghai-PEARL, Shanghai-Media, and Huaxing, offered mass-entertainment, music, and other shows crafted by Illusionists. There were other regional channels as well, an official government channel showing snippets from parliamentary meetings; a classical music station which featured Chinese opera, and an emergency broadcast band which overrode the others.

Where the West often thought of Vid-casts as something akin to illumination, the CCP saw Vid-casts as an easy way to brainwash the impressionable and the vulnerable, especially the NoMs, who in their poverty and the boredom, were often obsessed with a particular show, icon, or drama. After all, many of the actors, musicians and idols were NoMs, offering the masses a lofty and unreachable dream of fame and fortune.

Gwen checked BBC Pudong.

"- On the Northern Front, a new Undead Tide has emerged from Pyongyang, threatening Seoul and the Chinese port city of Dalian. In response, the United States held tripartite talks in Beijing on April 23-25. Multi-party negotiations with Seoul, Moscow and Tokyo to discuss aid stalled when the United States refused to give up interests in the South China Sea. The Central Committee has since withdrawn its support for an alliance, citing territorial tensions with Japan and South Korea…"

Gwen turned off the Vid-cast.

Just like in her old world, the news-cycle was a necessary evil.

The more one obsessed with the news, the more one got the impression that all was not right with the world, and that the shape of things was always going pear. Maybe that was why depression was rampant in the information age. There were too many sources of bad news blaring for attention, 24/7.

At least in this world, without the internet, things like ‘fake’ news had yet to become the norm. What one had instead was 'official' stories.

‘Ding-Ding!’

The doorbell rang.

Petra took delivery, then the two girls sat down to eat, making small talk as they picked through the food. Petra stopped after one bowl of noodle soup, then watched as her cousin patiently packed away two bowls of soup, one serve of salad, half a dozen spring rolls, and a coconut sago pudding.

Where does it all go? She wondered if Gwen’s gullet had become like Caliban’s.

In all honestly, Gwen had no idea either. Her body absorbed it all. Her stomach could be so full as to be painful one moment, then fifteen minutes later she was hungry again. When she discussed it with her babulya, the Director had told her to consume more Wildland produce rich in mana and vitality.

“With the amount you’re eating, if you overeat NoM foodstuff, you’re going to get a very upset stomach. The human digestive system can only take so much, dear. You’re not a minotaur - did you know they have four stomachs?”

Gwen could see where babulya was going. NoM food made her bloat.

It was just as well that the restaurants around Fudan all catered toward Mages. With the surrounding districts becoming rezoned and gentrified, the only NoMs left were the ones who worked at Fudan or as service staff to the local industries.

After the meal, Gwen sat in a food coma for about half an hour, feeling infused with warmth. As her metabolism cooled, however, the hunger returned.

Was there an addiction to Consume or wasn’t there?

What form of addiction could serve as an analogy for existential hunger?

In her old world, addiction had minimal abstraction. There was always a gateway moment - a harmless bit of fun. Maybe a joint of weed at a party, or a pill at a rave. Then harder drugs followed, greater varieties of euphoria, crazier doses, sometimes dangerous, always thrilling. Gwen might have been a problematic wreck in her teenage years, but she knew better than to be sucked into that particular vortex. Older, as a professional, she had prescriptions to guide her foray into pharmaceuticals. When the Prozac she was prescribed lost its edge, it was replaced by its more potent cousin with half the half-life, Cipralex.

The girls cleaned up, then Gwen bid Petra good night.

A hot shower later, she clicked-shut her bedroom door and turned the locking mechanism.

Seating herself on her bed, Gwen scanned the Storage Ring again.

Tomorrow, she would give the daggers back to Kusu, then split her loot with Lulan, Mia, Kitty and Richard.

Sweeping her hand across her bedsheet, she produced three data slates.

Slates which she had sensed in the ring but chose to keep hidden from Magister Wen.

Glancing at the door once more, she picked up the carbon-coloured slate, checked its crystal battery, then activate the device. Unlike the intelligent devices of Information Age, the slates were glorified notebooks whose surface could be turned into parchment, then inscribed and stowed. They were initially American made, though China’s manufacturing sector had long since appropriated the inscribed device for themselves, flouting protests from the American Towers.

The familiar sight of tables and numbers appeared on the first slate.

Gwen quickly scrolled through the sheets, over three hundred in total.

“Accounts paid…”

“Accounts received…”

“Inventory…”

The 'Invoice' segment made her chortle.

A treasure trove of potential information, even if the client details were filled in with code, with annotations such as ‘E.M203-HZ45-003”.

The second slate proved to an inventory of business matters within D-109 itself. Browsing through its details, Gwen spotted several instances where the recipient of casements of Five-Stone Power, Mage-stock, or Crystals was explicitly addressed to Secretariat Choi.

Good, she thought to herself. More fuel for the fire.

The third data slate displayed a profile page of a sort in a format that was familiar to her.

There was the rectangular passport photo headshot, beside it was first name, last name, notable biometric features, birthday, all the expectant data.

What sent shivers up her spine was that she was looking at a picture of herself.

Gwen Song

Public Practice of Magic I.D:: 9840598 001

Hair: Warm Brown

Eyes: Hazel

Height: 181 CM

Race: Eurasian

Father: Hai Song

Mother: Helena Huang

Notable Members of the Family::

Guo Song. MSS Committee Chair.

Klavdiya Song. Director 2nd PLA Experimental Hospital.

Jun Song. Captain, PLA. Grey Ghost (Retired)

SoM: Evocation (Min), Conjuration (Maj)

Elemental: Lightning / Void

Magic Class Permit (A)

The data on the document was so familiar because she had seen it before. It was the one that her grandmother had handed into Dean Luo. Gwen produced the carbon copy from her Storage Ring, then felt her jaws set grimly as the details and formatting matched up perfectly.

What did this mean? The incomplete data sheet raised more questions than it answered. Why would Nephres Zalaam have access to something like this? The only way a document such as this could have gotten away from Fudan’s archive was if someone deliberately disseminated it. If so, why were her extended Spell-Schools removed? Especially as her Dual-Elemental talent was gloriously displayed.

Her head throbbed, she felt hollowed out. Her thoughts were a jumble of mishmashes scenarios jostling for attention against the ambient hunger. Gwen stowed away the slates, then called her Uncle.

“Uncle Jun?”

“Gwen? What a pleasant surprise! I wasn't expecting a call until next week. How are you? Did the examinations go well?”

“They did, thank you, Uncle Jun,” Gwen replied. “Listen, I’ve come into possession of Nephres Zaalam’s Storage Ring, and there’s some fascinating accounting information she’d kept which I think will be of interest to you involving her dealing in the city, and with Secretariat Choi. Do you have time to talk?”

A moment of contemplative silence lingered between uncle and niece.

Gwen could imagine Jun having two expressions: one where he pinched the bridge of his nose then looked up at the ceiling; another where he grinned confidently, unfazed, then stood to action.

The first impression, Gwen had to admit, was something more readily attributed to her father; Jun was the very opposite of Morye-Hai Song.

“Where are you now?”

“I am at the apartment.”

“Are you free to meet up? I am still processing Choi’s case. If what you say is true, there’s going to be a lot of trouble for Secretariat Choi, and another round of CCs for our little spook.”

“It’s entirely accidental.” Gwen chuckled at her new moniker as a femme fatale. “I can come out now. I’ll let Petra know.”

“Maybe she should escort you?”

“That’s going to be awkward,” Gwen confessed. “I hid the slates from her Master earlier.”

“Petra's a good girl. She wouldn’t have minded, I am sure.”

“I was more afraid there would be sensitive material in there. I trust Petra, but we have an understanding. I don't want her to act against her Master's interests, not when we can avoid the issue altogether.”

“Well! As a loyal member of the PLA, I must have misheard just now. Where do you want to meet?”

“Do you know a cafe called Caffebene? It’s on Handan Rd.”

“I don’t, but I’ll find it. Is 2040 alright? I'll be leaving from Dachang Airbase. Signing out is going to take some time.”

“Sure, I am just three blocks over.”

“See you soon.”

“See you, Uncle Jun.”

Thirty-odd minutes later, Gwen opened her bedroom door. The Shanghai summer was coming on sticky and muggy, with the monsoonal air so humid as to cling to one’s skin like a film. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Gwen picked out a pair of safari shorts and an ink-dyed camisole, pairing it with calfskin booties. Seeing that it was late, she added on a windbreaker as well, its hood hiding her thick ponytail.

“I am heading out for a sec.” she knocked on Petra’s door. “Seeing Uncle Jun for a bit, he wanted to have a pep talk. I'll Message you if anything happens.”

When Petra donned her robe and emerged, the apartment door had clicked-shut; her cousin was gone.

* * *

Caffebene was a little out of the way coffee shop that transformed at night into a dessert bar selling an assortment of cakes. The owner was a NoM young man in his late twenties who liked to follow the latest trends, fancying himself a bit of a fashionista.

He hadn’t intended to open the shop for almost sixteen hours a day, but Fudan was a high-rent area with a lively nightlife. Its citizens enjoyed mid-night strolls and Xiao-Ye, or nighttime snacks, often staying up as late as 3 AM, playing cards, making small talk, and trading gossip.

Currently, his eyes were scanning the horoscope section of the local paper.

According to the columnist, they were written by sanctioned Diviners.

‘There may be a great deal of fuss over something that you have thought about before. Snake, try to see the beauty of everything around you. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Make sure you give enough credit to yourself. Good things await those who are willing to try.’

The owner looked about his shop. Empty.

What should he try exactly?

Caffebene did not have the best decor, though it was cute and clean. It did not sell the best coffee, though they were marginally cheaper. The chocolate-coffee cake his wife baked though, was divine.

Should he make the shop into a 'coffee' confectionary instead? What if the astral-signs are different tomorrow?

Just as he began to doubt the contents of his horoscope, a figure pushed past the doorway, setting the bell to jingle. When he looked up, he recognised the familiar figure immediately.

Petra Kuznetsova’s cousin! Guan something!

There was no-one else around Fudan with a more recognisable silhouette! He had seen her jogging around Campus every morning for the last six weeks. Every time she passed with her Mongolian Death Worm, it set the customer’s tongues wagging.

Mao! The girl was stunning even in casual wear. The owner had to remind himself that he was a happily married, non-magically inclined husband with a wife who could bake like an Enchanter.

“Please sit anywhere you like, Miss,” the owner’s voice choked out, an octave higher than he had intended. She was an actual celebrity! The word on the street was that she was a one-in-a-million Conjurer. Maybe she could bring business with her. Guan-something's favourite cake!

When the Mongolian Deathworm followed her in, a ferret riding atop its head, the owner paled.

The girl, however, nodded sweetly, her face pallid in the ambient light, her eyes seeking out a discrete corner. The owner couldn't help but stare at the girl as she crossed her legs, her white stalks almost touching the opposite table leg.

A strange sensation seemed to engender itself in his chest, a daring thought that he would have never entertained were they not alone in his shop. The visage of his wife dimmed. What was she doing out so late and alone anyhow?

The Mongolian Deathworm raised its head curiously.

‘Tink!’

The door opened again, shaking the owner from his thoughts.

What was that? His head cleared, the sensation falling away. He could breathe again. He issued an apology to his spouse, then looked up to greet the new customer.

“Gwen!” the man called out, raising a hand.

“Uncle!” the girl roused from her chair.

“Just us in here, huh?” The new patron turned his attention toward the owner.

This ‘Uncle’ of the girl was a military man. He had the bearing of one used to command. A PLA officer? The owner pondered. He knew that grunts were forbidden from leaving the barracks after curfew. Only select officers had that sort of leeway. The man wore blue-white military cargo pants that ended in a pair of dark leather boots laced far too neatly, with a tight, long sleeve shirt that moulded around his broad pectorals and tapered waist.

The man moved with cat-like grace.

The 'Uncle' threw something toward the owner.

The owner caught it, then opened his hand.

Even as a NoM, he recognised the sliver of crystal. From the feel and weight of it, it was worth three to four HDMs at least. Magic-currency wasn’t uncommon in the districts around Fudan.

“Do you mind locking up for the night? We need privacy,” the military man enquired; his sonorous voice one of command. “That’s yours if you do. We can go elsewhere as well. Not to worry.”

Who was this guy kidding! On a quiet night like this, the owner knew that he was lucky to make half of what he’d been given. He sold coffee and cakes, for Mao's sake, not banquets.

“Sure thing, boss!” The owner quickly approached the door and locked up, switching the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed'. “I’ll be upstairs, doing accounts and preparing for tomorrow. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Gwen? Do you want anything? I'll take water."

“Can I have the 10-inch Choco-mouse cake?”

The owner reached into the cabinet and was about to cut a slice when the Girl spoke again.

“The whole cake…”

The girl blushed, adding a hint of colour to her bloodless cheeks.

“Of course, Miss.” The owner averted his eyes. With his head freed from that shameful compulsion, he dared not losing himself again in her hazel orbs. Fudan was full of Mages. The owner was well aware that certain Mages exerted a palpable aura of some sort. As for the girl herself, now that he had divorced himself from her allure, she was beginning to make his skin crawl. “Right away, I’ll bring water. Please help yourself to anything you like in the cold-cabinet. No charge.”

Plates, serving dishes, and a 10-inch one-pound chocolate cake was bought out.

Jun made a face when the cake that was presented to them was placed with an audible thud on the table. Not many things frightened him, but the liberty by which icing on the cake was applied made his heart skip a beat.

The owner returned with glasses, a jug of cold water, forks and spoons, serviettes and even a bib, then retreated to some farther room, leaving uncle and niece to themselves.

“First things first.” Gwen materialised the data slates and explained very briefly what was in Nephres’ ring. Furthermore reiterating her experiences in Sydney and the incident involving Edgar.

Jun took the slates and carefully read through them one by one.

“We know about the Powders,” Jun murmured as he browsed through the slate with Choi’s name written in black and white. “Interesting. The Secretariat himself was doing a little trading with the other leaders of the Districts.”

“Is that bad?” Gwen enquired. The Lost Districts were, after all, a semi-autonomous region.

“Oh, yes,” Jun replied. “There are no Divination Towers in or near the area, which means they must be running things via some external network. Contact between the various zones is one of the foremost things forbidden in the Lost Districts. It looks like Secretariat Choi and his colleagues are going to be vacationing at the Sky-Prison far longer than they had anticipated.”

“Why would he send the Slavers against us if Nephres had this much dirt on him?”

Jun shrugged, rolling his broad shoulders. He took a sip from the glass of water Gwen had poured out for him.

“You have to understand that when a man like Choi sits like a King on the throne of his little abode for too long, it twists his head. He begins to think that he can do no wrong, that his choices are impeccably wise and immaculately planned. I’ve seen it all too often, not just in the PLA but in places in the Frontier when a Clan-Head or an official has all the power. There's madness there that comes with having the power of life and death over so many.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Gwen chimed.

“Yes. Very good, Gwen.” Jun stabbed small corner of the cake and took a bite, then grimaced. “Too sweet.”

Gwen had held off out of politeness, but now that Jun had dug in, she was free to ravage the remaining 99.9% of the sugary treat.

“Choi is the blister and boil that inevitably appears when a beast as large as the CCP, with its PLA, holds so much power over every aspect of the citizens' lives. There’s an interesting Chinese saying which covers it well: the district bureaucrat is greedy for money, the regional bureaucrat is greedy for power, the state bureaucrat is greedy for stability, and the Emperor is greedy for immortality. I guess Choi never graduated past the first rug. As for where all the money goes, let's say the vine extends far up the trunk.”

Gwen nodded, her cheeks filling like a chipmunk's.

Jun watched his niece, humoured by Gwen's self-professed ease in his presence.

Jun looked through the third slate, the one with the student profiles.

“... this one has our student records on it. I think they leaked from Fudan.”

Jun paused at the profiles.

“Incomplete. How curious.”

“What do you think, Uncle Jun?”

Jun stowed away the slates in his Storage Ring.

“Bait."

"Bait?"

Jun nodded.

"I've seen that profile image. I think mother took it when you first had your biometric-Spellcraft measurements done. The only people who would have access to that specific image is your Grandmother and the Fudan Administration office, though I suppose Dean Luo could have had a copy. It's not the image used on your Student I.D. It's the one on your original application.”

“How do you suppose Nephres Zalaam got a hold of it?”

"Do you want to know?"

"Do I..." Gwen read her uncle's eyes immediately. Sometimes, a little bliss was better than having too much knowledge. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. "I... do."

"Wen gave Choi the records. Not an unusual thing, mind you. Quite within the expected standard of things. What's interesting is why there are omittances."

"Of my other Schools?"

Jun chuckled.

"Gwen, let me give you some advice. You need to learn to open your eyes beyond your immediate world. Your record was incomplete, sure, but it remains an impressive read. Void, Lightning, two Schools of Magic, how wonderous and powerful! If I were in the trafficking trade, you would be a prize beyond compare - absolutely worth the risks of the Tower's and the PLA's ire! What's missing then, is not YOUR record."

Gwen scanned her memory of the others' records. Other than Kitty's profile, both Mayuree and Richard's gave away nothing.

"The others! They're depicted as nobodies..."

"Nothing impressive or dangerous. Yes."

"Which means the records were altered to engender temptation for the traffickers!" The fog cleared. It all made sense!

"Always look at the whole circumstance. You must see beneath the beneath," Gwen's uncle advised. "You'll get the hang of it."

Gwen's face flushed. In the next second though, her blood ran cold.

"Magister Wen..."

"Is a woman with an agenda."

That much was evident by now.

The Magister had no idea who Nephres was, of course, nor her relationship to Elizabeth Sobel, nor to Edgar. Maybe the incident couldn't have been averted, perhaps it could. It was all muddled up now. What was important was that, as Jun stated, the Magister was not her friend. Her designs were her own; Gwen Song was less an individual and more so a beastie Wen had to fatten up with carrion.

"I see that you now know. To be honest with you, Choi told me already. I had a Mind-Mage scrape him, though it looks like we might have to go deeper now."

Gwen inclined her head solemnly, thinking of the brain-scraping sensation of having someone invade the most private sanctum of your mind. Unconsciously she cut out a generous portion of the cake with her fork and crammed it into her mouth melancholically.

“As for the slate with the code, we have someone who specialises in that sort of thing. I’ll submit it and see if I can get some more CCs on top of the ones I promised you back in D-109.”

That was one piece of good news, at least.

Gwen thanked her uncle. CCs helped; she needed to pick up another two to three spells across three different Schools of Magic.

“So Gwen,” Jun began again. “I spoke to grandmother before I came.”

“Oh?”

“She told me about the decision you have reached.”

Gwen met her uncle’s dark eyes, within which the ambient light of the coffee shop refracted acrosss his cold, charcoal pupils.

“I have to know how to control… my appetite,” Gwen announced evasively.

“That may be.” Jun’s face came closer. Gwen could see his biceps balloon as he leaned in, elbows on the desk. “There’s a better way, Gwen.”

Gwen’s fork paused on its way to the chocolate cake.

“There is?”

“I think,” Jun said carefully. “Both you and mother have been pulled too deeply into Magister Wen’s world. That woman cares for nothing other than her data, her papers and her publications. She doesn’t see you as who you are, Gwen. She sees you as a sample, a precious sample, no doubt, but in the end, she doesn’t care about what’s in here…”

Jun's finger paused an inch centre-left of her bosom.

“She only cares about satiating her curiosity. That’s not in itself a bad thing, don’t get me wrong. She may not even be in it for fame or power - she’s the sort of woman who would do anything just so that she could have the answer. That’s what makes her so useful - but also dangerous.”

“But…”

“I understand that you’ve made a choice, Gwen.” Jun’s face, so identical to her father’s, was making her queasy. The look of earnest devotion and care on Morye’s ever-playful and never serious face was screwing with her head. “Mark my words, there’s going to be far more ‘prisoners’ in store once she gets her initial data.”

“I told her we were going as far as our fact-finding mission would take us,” Gwen protested, feeling strangely defensive of her choice. It had taken her so much effort and will to make this decision, and now Jun as trying to dissuade her from it? If there was another option, another choice, then what was the point of her splatting blood all over her face to make that decision?

Jun caught the defiance in her eyes and put up a hand in protest.

“Whoa there, let me finish. Mao, you’re just like my mother in that regard, once you set your head around something…”

Gwen stabbed the cake a little more violently than she’d intended.

"This is what's so dangerous about Magister Wen. The woman is offering you extremes, delivered in logical and reasonable terms. There's no compromise. Tell me, Gwen, do you believe that consuming another 'being' would help your present condition?"

Gwen wanted to say yes.

"Do you believe that you cannot control your 'appetite'?"

She had no idea.

"Do you think consuming 'more' people would make it easier for your future endeavours? That you're going to fundamentally change the nature of an Element because of applied academia and repetition? That after the 10th victim, things are going to be 'different'?"

Gwen honestly had no answer to that. Perhaps Magister Wen did-

"Can you NOT be satiated with Magical Beasts? Do they not possess essence, vitality and mana? Since when did the Void specialise in cannibalism? You think the PLA will leave you alone after that?"

"I could... maybe..."

The impeccable logical scaffold constructed by Magister Wen floundered under Jun's assault.

"But knowledge is a necessity. Knowledge is control, especially as it may not be possible to avoid your condition," Jun continued. "I think there is a compromise here. I'll speak with mother, and we'll figure something out. You'll get your data, Gwen. A man will die. But Magister Wen will also know she can't just walk all over you."

Gwen felt a fuzzy feeling in her chest. It was nice to know that her uncle cared. That was something she had most definitely not experienced in her old world; not even a liberal dose of Cipralex could dispell her anxiety so readily.

“In addition to that, here’s what I am proposing,” Jun folded his arms. “After your End of Semester exams, you and I are going on a little trip.”

“A trip? Where to?”

“An undisclosed region outside of the capital city, a little way from Anhui, a Purple-zone.”

“Oh?”

“Have you heard of the Huangshan Mountains before?”

The ‘Yellow Mountain’ was one of the five great mountain ranges of China, famed for its cloud-covered precipices jutting out from the cloud bank into the heavens. Combined with its unusually high tree-line, the mountain served as the visual inspiration for caligraphic silkscreen-paintings.

She replied that she did.

“Good, then you should know that there is a Yinglong who roams those ranges.”

“I didn’t know that,” she confessed, then added embarrassingly. “What's a Yinglong?”

Jun chuckled.

“In the Analects of the Mountain and the Seas, Gou-Pu described the Yinglong as a creature of up to seven Li long. It is one of the very first dragons, most famous for his service to the Yellow Emperor, aiding him in the Battle of Zhuolu when he fought against the tyrannical Spirit King Chiyou. Named the ‘Great Responding Dragon’ Yinglong would create a great storm to flush out the Emperor's enemies. When the wind and rain deities, Feng Bo and Yu Shi, were causing problems, the Yellow Emperor summoned his daughter, the Drought Goddess Ba to silence them, allowing the Yinglong to unleash a tempest. The battle ended with the capture of Chiyou, who was then eaten by Yinglong.”

“That sounds awfully mystical.” Gwen couldn’t help but feel her uncle wasn't very realistic. Then again, she reminded herself that Amuldj was accurately ‘several Li’ long. “Or maybe not, what are we going to do there?”

“Not be eaten by the Yinglong, hopefully,” Jun laughed. “I am going to give you some training, and you’re going to discover a detour away from your current conundrum.”

“How so?”

“Well, dragons are very much wanton creatures of lust, see, and when they inhabit a mountain region…”

“They have sex with everything!” Gwen blurted out, having heard it before from her Bestiary trainer, Hufei.

Now it was Jun’s turn to look flustered.

“Well, yes, very good,” he coughed. “We’re going to go to Huangshan and get you some dragon babies.”

“You’re expecting me to dance the er... horizontal tango with a Yinglong?” Gwen muttered, wondering where this was going. Could a human even become the concubine of a Yinglong? What a suggestion! Is she going to return to Shanghai bearing an egg of some sort? Gods! How does the physiology of that sort of thing even work? Is there a Polymorph involved? Her voice took on a keener edge. Not even Amuldj would- Ergh! Unthinkable!

“I don't think I am willing to go that far..."

Jun stared at his niece for several awkward seconds, then broke into a rip-roaring snort of laughter.

“Uncle Jun…”

“No you silly goose!” Jun rapped Gwen across the forehead. “We’re going poaching!”

“P-poaching?”

“Yes!” Jun snorted. “The dragon fucks everything that walks, swims, and flies, right? To use some Western Spellcraft terminology, the Yinglong is specifically a dragon of the air, water, and positive energy! I suppose in the Western Bestiary; it would be something akin to a blue-dragon.”

“Lightning-dragon spawns!” Gwen realised what Jun was suggesting.

“Indeed!” Jun chuckled. “You and I, we’re going to try and find you a Lightning Spirit! And collect Lightning Creature-Cores! There’s a whole mountain of spawns there, they’ve become a plague!”

“Is it safe to hunt them?”

“Of course not!” Jun laughed. “Very dangerous in fact, but I’ll convince Mother one way or another. She’ll see the need for it. In my opinion, Lightning should be your primary-Element, let Void be supplementary. Some of the most powerful Magi in history were Lightning Battlemages, you know!”

“But, the chances of finding a Spirit…” Gwen wanted to say that they could be killing hundreds of draconic spawn and it wouldn’t be strange not to see a single Core, much less a Spirit. Not to mention a significant battle of some sort would surely attract the Yinglong.

“Oh ho ho.” Jun reached into his shirt and pulled out a familiar looking heirloom keepsake.

The second half of the Kirin Pendant!

“There’ll be no luck needed to find some Cores.” Jun grinned, showing the whites of his teeth. “All we need to do is survive.”

“I see." Gwen's voice shivered. "A third path."

Her father’s smiling face gazed back at Gwen, sending her bosoms aflutter with unspeakable emotions.

“Who says that the Void is be-all and end-all? Why not build yourself up to oppose this Elizabeth Sobel with the one thing that would counter her? Why not become, how do you say this? The Second Coming of Thor? The Nordic God of Lighting?”

"It's the Second Coming of Christ," Gwen couldn't stop herself from smiling.

When she finally caught her overexcited self, her chest was rising and falling with anticipation. She reached out with a hand and took Jun’s rough fingers in her palm.

“I’ll do it! Uncle Jun!” she proclaimed with bright eyes glowing with renewed faith for her Path ahead.

She violently stabbed the cake with her fork.

“For dragon babies!”

Gwen promised to keep the entirety of Week 14 of the semester open. Her finals should be taking place on Week 13, mid-September. After that, she could be away with Jun on their Elemental poaching adventure.

What remained then, was seven more weeks of the academic term. That, and Gwen's impending trial by fire with the prisoner. Having made a choice with such a teeth-gritting expectation of imminent martyrdom; Gwen couldn’t help but sense that Jun's rare and precious devotion had taken the wind out of her sails.

As for her impending trial-by-murder, that morbid reality remained immutable. As a future Battle Mage, Gwen couldn't risk becoming burdened by unknowns when her life and the wellbeing of others were at stake. She was thankful then that Jun's offer had offered a detour. If nothing else, the inhumanity of the methodology required to feed her talent was no longer an albatross strung across her chest, asphyxiating her with its rack and rope.

With the rush of blood gone from her head, her euphoria was joined by despondency. In taking uncle Jun’s guiding hand, she couldn’t help but be reminded that neither her father nor mother had enquired after her since the semester began. There were no surprises there - but the moment lingered. Her parents - in this life or the last - remained carefree people in the pursuit of their individual happiness. As an adult, she couldn’t blame them for that. Wasn't herself also reaching out for that orgiastic green light across the bay? Wasn't she willing to kill for it? She was going so far as to murder a man to see how her brain ticked, wasn't she?

When she returned to the apartment, Petra’s lights were out.

Gwen hovered by the door apologetically for a few seconds, then left.

When her bedroom door clicked-shut, Gwen had soothed her ambivalent emotions. She would rather not trouble Petra if Magister Wen was indeed buttressing her agendas behind her and their babulya’s back. Her cousin’s loyalties would be unnecessarily conflicted, especially as she already had a history with another Master in Moscow. If Petra should abandon yet another instructor, it was unlikely she would ever be apprenticed by a third. As Jun said, Magister Wen provided a service, Gwen provided materials. It was an even trade. She was fine so long as she did not misunderstand that their relationship extended beyond give and take.

She wondered what Wen thought of Petra.

Would the old academic risk her life to shelter her Mineral Magic apprentice?

Gwen struggled out of her casual clothes and slipped into bed, sliding between the silken sheets.

"One Evee... two Evee... three..."

After a night staring at the ceiling, she finally felt the coming on of blissful, restful sleep.

* * *

Kusu stared at the twenty-odd implements in front of him.

“How?!”

“I don’t know,” Gwen confessed, making a hugging motion with her arms. “I squeezed Caliban real hard and… there they were.”

“Brother! What a fortuitous day!” Lulan gushed beside her sibling, hugging the young man until his face was scarlet.

Gwen had met the lot of them in Mayuree’s apartment, where she presented the loot of crystals from Nephres to her four companions.

Kitty took her share of the 1400 HDMs without so much as a blink, swiping her hand across the stash and dematerialising the cards with absolute certainty.

Mayuree however, refused, saying that she really had no need for HDMs, that it was barely pocket-change to her. When Gwen insisted, she threatened to spend it all on shoes unless her or the siblings were willing to partake in her generosity.

More arguments ensued, each party trying to outdo the other in modesty.

In the end, Gwen split the surplus three ways, giving herself, Richard and Lulan 1860 HDMs per head. Kitty looked as though she was going to speak up about 'her' share of the surplus, but a frown from Mayuree turned her intentions awry, leaving her sulking by the window.

“Thank you!” Lulan couldn’t believe that she, the troublemaker, would receive such a generous portion of the spoils. “Thank all of you!”

“This means we can take up the vacancy in Building 14,” Kusu added with immense relief. “Your aid couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“Lulan did all the hard work.” Gwen pictured the two scenes of carnage leading in and out of the tunnel section. The expression on the Abjurer's face as Lulan crushed his Shield and sent his head flying had imprinted in her mind like a photo still. “B-14? I am glad you’re both so close, that makes me happy.”

Lulan beamed.

Kusu incanted something under his breath, and the daggers rose into the air.

Was it magnetism? Gwen wondered. Or was it a combination of Levitation and some other secret algorithm of magic? She had read that there was a Transmutation spell called Dancing Blade at tier 4, which allowed one to command an unattended blade to attack, parry, and defend on its own. Perhaps Kusu’s Huashan Sword-Magic was akin to this phenomenon.

“Still works!” Kusu announced, his face relaxing. “Thank you, Miss Song.”

“Just Gwen,” Gwen insisted. “Caliban did Consume your other daggers. Maybe they’re in there, somewhere.”

“What you have returned is already several months of my work,” Kusu bowed, then little sheepishly, he added a ‘Gwen’. "I wouldn't dream of demanding more than that. Whatever else Caliban can... retrieve, I leave it entirely to its discretion."

Kusu was an unusual Clanner, Gwen nodded at the young man's diplomacy. Losing him was most definitely a bad deal for Huashan.

With the siblings taken care of, it was time for her to attend her Classes once again. If there was an unexpected benefit to Magister Wen’s leeching of her void-matter, it was the loss of her healer's aura. Now bereft of her excess vitality, she could resume life as Petra’s ‘hot cousin’ and not a fount of wellbeing that drew eyes like a second sun.

“I am off!” she informed the others, turning on her flats and calling for her Familiars. “Message me if anything comes up.”

The others, Kitty notwithstanding, waved goodbye. Lei, Mayuree’s maid, looked at the stacks of empty plates lining the breakfast table.

She, for one, was happy.

The old Miss was back!

* * *

Conjuration was first, with Birch directing Gwen and her Familiars to their usual place in the front row.

“Gwen!” Lily, her fellow Conjurer, hailed her from across the room. “Wait up!”

“Hi guys,” Gwen greeted Lily and Pu of the unfortunate homophone, her peers from Evocation doing a double Major in Conjuration.

“How're the Districts? I am thinking of taking Management next semester.”

“Quite the adventure!” Gwen beamed at her acquaintances. “I’ll tell you about it after, over luncheon. I’am starving already haha.”

“Are you okay?” Pu ran his eyes over Gwen’s familiar figure. Preparing for the summer, she’d layered up in a spaghetti strap summer dress in navy with floral prints, leaving her bare shoulders to be covered by a cream cardigan. Appreciation aside, the acute Mr Un noticed that Gwen had lightly bruised eye bags and pale, bloodless lips the hue of peach petals.

“Not enough iron,” Gwen explained casually, dismissing Pu's concern. "Nothing a good steak and veg can't fix."

“Shaa!” Caliban nodded its head at the two.

“Hi, Cali.” Lily patted it on the head. Pu kept his distance.

"Eeee!" Ariel whinnied.

Lily took the marten with her hands and hugged it to her chest.

"Ohhh! So cute!" The girl looked rapturously happy.

“Take a seat. Magister Birch is starting.” Gwen moved her familiars to her left as the other two sat.

Birch soon assumed his place on the podium.

“Welcome back, students.” Birch did his usual walk around the elevated platform of the lecture theatre, scanning over the sixty-odd students with his eyes until his gaze rested on Gwen. “We will now begin our new topic: Teleportation Circles.”

“In our earlier lessons, we discussed the problems of translocation. For the next four weeks, we will discuss the single most important use of Conjuration - the transportation of Mages and other personnel throughout Human territories.”

“There currently exist THREE distinct forms of Teleportation - Personal - Assisted - and Powered. Personal teleportation involves translocation by Line of Sight; this includes spells such as Blink from the Transmutation School, or Dimension Door, from the Conjuration School. Upon manifesting the arcane phenomenon, the Mage is moved through the Astral Plane from one location to another with relative accuracy.”

“Assisted Teleportation is translocation assisted by Divination, typically a skill acquired by Translocation Specialists, requiring a rudimentary knowledge of the School of Divination. By tapping into the Divination towers’ loc-by-loc triangulation, it is possible for the caster to pinpoint a location for the spell to manifest. Recall your Ludwin-Clarkson formulae: the cost of translocation is proportional to the distance; in addition to the baseline cost of invocation. Make a note.” Birch paused for the students to catch up. “In areas without Divination Towers meaning non-human controlled regions - you will require a Diviner in your party to Teleport to unmarked locations. If you lack a Diviner, this can be offset by employing a Ranger Class operative - typically a Transmuter with Polymorph or an Illusionist with Improved Invisibility, who can plant translocation beacons.”

“Finally, Powered Teleportation such as that used by the Inter-State Teleportation Circle, commonly abbreviated as the ISTC - are connected by Long-Range Divination Stations. Rather than using the Mage’s mana, these Circles are empowered by HDM stores embedded within the mandala. Access to ISTC stations is heavily restricted, typically only utilised for military troop movement, or with a permit to visit other countries and inter-city Towers."

Gwen herself made a note to learn Teleportation Circle as soon as possible. The utility of the spell felt endless. If she could utilise her jack-of-all-trades talents, she could provide the party with the means of offence, defence, and extraction. All she had to do was pick up some formal training in rudimentary Divination pertaining to the Message spells and the use of the Divination Towers.

“Now, the intricacies of the Teleportation Circle…”

Gwen perked her ears as though Ariel hearing the jingle of crystals.

“... the baseline mandala, available from the public library, is the Ludwin-Clarkson octogramic containment circulation glyph. The preceding layers vary from caster to caster, though usually, we use a stabilisation glyph as such - see here - and insert transfusion circles at the fourth layer - and here - at the inner circle - creating a circuit that allows for the consumption of HDMs placed within the axis…”

The sound of pens scratching parchment and slate filled the lecture hall.

When Birch finished, Gwen realised that using the spell as a form of combat tactics was a bit of wishful thinking. The original template of the Spell was exceptionally fragile and easily disrupted. It also took two to three minutes to attune every individual beyond the inscriber of the Circle. It meant that though she could insert allies into a combat zone, she couldn’t extract people without someone holding down the fort.

When she raised her hand and asked the question, Birch answered that usually, an Abjurer formed a protective layer of Shields and Walls around the surrounded or besieged party, while the Translocation Conjurer worked on transporting the party to a safe location.

“Are there better variants of the Teleportation Circle?” Gwen asked.

“My personal Teleportation Circle can be attained for 55 CCs,” Birch answered her question with a twinkle in his eye. “It takes three-quarters of the time to prepare a companion for translocation, and it has a built-in Shielding glyph which can be personally empowered by your Abjurer. For students in my Course, there is a discount. The spell is usually traded for 64 Contribution Credits.”

Gwen wrinkled her nose.

Despite Birch’s dandy outfit and perfectly groomed beard, was he a miser? Teleportation Circle is a custom Tier 5 Spell! Not mangos at the market! Doesn't he feel embarrassed hawking his discounted spells to his students?

The lecture ended with Birch approaching Gwen and asking if her grandmother asked after him. When she replied with a most definite no, the Magister smiled bleakly, then left her with her peers.

“Something going on with Magister Birch and your family?” Lily was a gossiper at heart.

“Nothing worthwhile, just an old pair of alumna and alumni waxing sentimental,” Gwen replied offhandedly to offset any suspicion, not wanting to start any troublesome rumours. “Gran’s past 60 you know. I think Magister Birch might be mid-sixties. It’s the age when people get nostalgic about their youth.”

Lily nodded wisely.

Pu shrugged.

“So.” Gwen touched a hand to her washboard abdomen, feeling hollowed out after just four hours. “Lunch?”

* * *

Evocation class.

Magus Carol Young gave out the gradings for the students from the week prior, each report attached with a personal memorandum of advice.

“Good control, limited AOE potential, recommendation on acquiring a low-level 400 - 800 CC Spirit ASAP. More Adventuring and practicum experience should provide an increase in performance index. Rank 47 / 302.”

'A-' was the grade Magus Young gave her performance, a few tiers shy of ‘S’. Considering her effortless Grading in Blackwattle, Gwen thought of that old Confucian saying: there are 'people above people' and 'mountains over mountains'.

“Gwen,” the comment continued at the back. “As irresponsible as it is for me to suggest that you should ‘simply’ acquire a Spirit, I must stress that the ability to direct your attacks with IFF is central to Lightning Magic due to its inherent volatility. Once you reach tier 5, keynote Spells such as Lightning Wave become severely limited without an ability to Spell-shape, either learned or supernatural. Once you reach tier 6 and gain the signature spell of the Lightning talent - Chain Lightning - IFF is essential if you wish to use it pragmatically in the field. May I propose that you work up some CCs in the next 24 months as your tiers develop, putting out a Tower notice for a Lightning Spirit of any tier. Without this gift, you will be consigned to the Artillery Unit, limiting your immense potential.”

Though the lecturer was relentless in the delivery of her lessons, she offered sterling advice. Magus Young did not, of course, take Gwen's Conjuration into account, nor her Void talent. Gwen had so far chosen not to demonstrate her alt-element, though her instructor was likely aware of it.

Gwen wondered what Young would say if she told her that over the weekend, she had an ‘accident’ and now she was tier 4 in Evocation, that in the future, there may be more ‘accidents’ where she may very quickly come into possession of those tiers that her peers may take up to a decade to master.

That said, the prospect of large-scale AOEs, especially when exercised with Identify-Friend-Foe, appealed to her very much. Given the opportunity for future missions to collate fame, fortune, or CCs, she would much rather be in the midst of a Wildland Orange zone sending off savage Lizard-men, Serpent-folk, Hobs and Goblins. If possible, Gwen would very much like to avoid the labour of prying undesirable Mages from society's sides like barnacles off a ships' rudder.

As for the lecture itself, Magus Young continued to extol the virtues of possessing a Spirit. For the majority of students, failing to make A, she explained, was due to Friendly-Fire in a Danger Close situation. There was little point in having enough firepower to wipe out a building if one's collateral damage would kill more humans than they could save from a Demi-human or Magical creature infestation.

“Allow me to provide you with an anecdote,” the Magus explained. “During the Sinai conflict, the Egyptian Jackal Cult deployed a forbidden spell - Corpse Scarabs - which quickly bred out of control as a result of the absurd volume of carrion left by both sides. The demise of the Temple Necromancer by Israeli assassins further devolved the situation into anarchy. The Scarabs bore into the carcass of the fallen or buried themselves underground, then emerged weeks later as a voracious swarm that could blacken the sky.”

"The problem was that when they attacked, the Scarabs covered enemies, allies, everything and everyone. The defenders were helpless."

“In the end, the Tower brought in a Spirit-attuned Fire Magister. This rare individual, with the help of the Israeli Heavy-Golem 4th Division, managed to thin out the swarm enough for it to be dispersed, as well as decimate the enemy troops.”

A few more anecdotes of the battlefield followed before the lecture came to an end.

“In Week 9, I, as well as a member of the PLA 22nd Aerial Division, will offer a demonstration. For those of you currently in possession of Spirits, you will be asked to participate with the instructors. That is all. Dismissed.”

Gwen left Evocation full of brimming anticipation of her upcoming Wildland foray.

Refreshed with new funds, she treated herself to a buffet of Wildland cuts and vegetables at 'Uni-Rd Korean BBQ', reducing the proprietor to tears. For the entire two-hour allotment of her table, the grill had remained on full burn.

When she finally finished, feeling ‘full’, watched by the waiters and waitresses with stunned expressions, Gwen left a tip of 5 HDMs: 2 to cover the extra food, and 3 to help the waitstaff overcome the trauma of seeing Caliban coiled beneath the table.

Thinking of Magus Young’s advice as she walked home with her familiars, she made a note to pay a visit to the Guanghua Towers to check on new potential spells for her spell list. Even with her monthly deductions from the LRC Device hire, she still had 93 CCs remaining, plus whatever Jun could rope up for her from the Choi incident. Her savings meant that she could potentially purchase four to five new Spells at Tier 4, or one to two spells at Tier 5.

Utility or more offensive options?

Or perhaps, she could train up her Transmutation to gain Flight?

The night was young, and her stomach was full. Petra should be home soon, then they could mull over her Spell-list slowly over a nice pot of ginger-lime Tisane.

“You’ve tiered up?”

Instructor Chen’s abilities of observation were sharp as a tack.

The moment Caliban completed the obstacle course, ignoring the howling summoned creatures, delicious treats and abrupt stimuli, he had confronted her with the question. When Gwen's usually disobedient Death Worm wiggled, crawled, and squeezed itself through to next stage, Chen knew he was right.

“Yessir,” Gwen replied with a toothy grin.

“Too fast. You'll ruin your foundation.” Chen furrowed his brows, screwing up his face until she could see a dozen lines on his weathered face. “What’re you taking for supplements? Nothing illicit I hope. One should never pull up rice-sprouts to hasten the harvest. No good can come of that.”

Bloody oath, the man was keener than a razor, Gwen reflected with renewed respect. Supplements? She wondered how Chen would react if she told him that she took her steroids in human sacrifice.

“Nothing of the sort Sir. I had a lot of help from Magister Wen, and I am training diligently.” Gwen hoped her vapid innocence was enough to deflect the Instructor’s suspicion.

“Baagh,” Chen grunted, clicking his stopwatch. He checked her Sustenance Band. “At any rate, keep your Familiars manifested. You’ve got six odd weeks to pass the course. Remember, seven days straight.”

“Yessir.”

“Look, if you’re doing as well as you’re proposing, sign up for the Frontlines during the Winter Break, head up north and rack up some CCs. There’s no replacement for real combat experience. Don’t waste your talent by becoming one of those greenhouse ‘geniuses’ who are useless in the field.”

Gwen was inclined to agree.

Her precarious planning and subsequent inflexibility when dealing with Lulan’s sudden intrusion spoke loudly of her need for more experience. If the District episode proved anything, it was that the more she wished to do things ‘her way,’ the more foretelling her tactical decision needed to be.

Not far from where she conversed with Instructor Chen, Eunae stood by her doe, ready to unsummon her forest-sprite, Luyi, should Caliban's docility proved to be a farce.

Over the weeks, except for Wanli, the prideful Lighting Hawk who thought itself leagues above the rest, the other Familiars had formed a sort of social club. Ariel and Caliban weren’t at the level of intelligence to possess speech with their human Master, but their ‘Shaaa!’ and ‘Eeee!’ could be partially comprehended by the other Spirit-familiars such as Ahu, the Fire-Tiger, or Feifei, the Water-Crane.

Watching the Familiars make their adorable sounds at one another reminded Gwen of doggy-daycares where hounds as diminutive as Ariel and as enormous as Ahu socialised through barks, whines, and growls.

“Gwen.” Lu approached the student and instructor with his majestic hawk perched above his shoulder.

God damn. Too cool. Gwen sighed at her peevish saltiness, observing Wanli with the same discrimination that Lu observed Gwen in her tank-top and denim skirt. What she wouldn't do to get a piece of that lightning Spirit, Gwen pouted. Why it looked so charismatic that she could just run her fingers through its electric feathers. Gwen pictured Wanli lifting off her shoulders. Or, she could be riding a horse, and while galloping, Wanli could alight on her arm! In the Wildlands, she could have the hawk scout from up on high while sending her a stream of intelligence, making trivial the positioning of monsters and enemies so long as her Familiar had a clean LOS.

“Hi Lu, how was your weekend?”

“Good, very good. Brother Dai held a gathering at the Four Seasons, lots of families and heirs. He would have loved it if you could have attended as well.”

“I was rather preoccupied I am afraid.” Gwen smiled affably. “Tell Dai I said hello.”

“Will do.” Lu tried his best to prolong their small talk. “How’s training for Caliban coming along?”

“Grudgingly.” Gwen studied the young man, watching his eyes dart about her body subtlely. She couldn't help but notice that Lu seldom liked to meet her eyes while they conversed. He preferred to focus on her chin, her navel, or her legs. Curiously, Kusu adopted the same body language. She wondered if they were indeed that uncomfortable speaking to her, or if there were some ingrained social-cultural aspects at play. What she’d heard from Pu and Lily one time, was that within the Clans, acting in accordance to hierarchy was absolute; eye-levelling inferred one was speaking with an equal.

Was she then Lu's superior? Why was Lu, the possessor of a Spirit of Lightning, afraid of her?

Gwen thought of Dai, and how the young man had tried to 'have a go at her' only to be beaten back like an obtrusive dog panting at her heels. She hoped the quick-witted young man didn’t hold a grudge. As the sole male heir of the Police Commissioner and by that extension, one of the most influential power progenies she had met, he could easily complicate matters while demanding unsavoury favours.

Certainly, she couldn't imagine life would have been easy for her if Dai had pursued the matter.

As well connected her babulya and Magister Wen might be, she couldn't envision the two of them confronting the city’s most prominent para-military civil servant to complain about harassment. The matter would be resolved, of course, but it would be lose-lose for all parties, with 'face' lost all-around and grudges becoming embedded.

That Dai had not contacted her again, nor made his presence known except through Lu, spoke loudly of the young man’s intelligence and the comfort by which he navigated the upper-echelon of society.

Thinking of the 'favour' Dai still owed her, she recalled that Lu too had immediately apologised to Chen after his beatdown by the Instructor’s Magma-Salamander. Whatever it is they’re teaching the kids in the Clan of Fung, it was a damn sight more useful than whatever education the other Clanners were receiving for high-society.

Caliban finished sizing up Luyi, gave it a lick with a tentacled tongue, then returned to Gwen.

“Gods, I am starving.” Gwen felt hollowed out by the three-hour lesson between breakfast and lunch. “Eunae, you up for some Sushi?”

“Sure,” the Korean girl pipped up. She had made good progress with her doe. Luyi was now no longer running off without her express consent, even when troubled by Caliban, though that may be because the Conjurer herself was acclimatising to the presence of her ‘Mongolian Death Worm’.

After offending Eunae with her gluttony, Gwen paid for lunch, then left for Advanced Spell Shaping.

I better save my Tower Visit for Wednesday, Gwen mentally rescheduled her imaginary calendar. This food business that she’d thought under control was taking up more time than she had imagined. Gwen wondered if any of the instructors would consent to her snacking in class.

The cost of her almost exclusively mana-rich diet was nearly 70 HDMs a week, a price unimaginable to her Blackwattle peers in Sydney. As for her inventory, Gwen knew she was just shy of 3000 HDMs. She was also in possession of an assortment of potions and raw crystals that could be traded in for another 1000 or so.

Still, she promised herself that she should investigate a sustainable source of passive income to feed her growing appetite.

An appetite that may grow more exorbitant yet, unless of course, she could alternatively afford a steady diet of living things large and small…

* * *

Advanced Spellshaping.

Magister Michio Lee had on a shirt so tightly that his toned pectorals strained at the buttons.

As per usual, a gaggle of giggling university girls sat at the front row, well away from Gwen's serpent and her marten and as close as humanly possible to the handsome, wealthy and talented Magister, whose jawline possessed an animus of its own.

One reason for the girl’s audible panting, Gwen could reasonably guess, was for the Magister’s choice of a narrow-waisted, closely tailored attire. The summer air outside was unbearably sticky and hot, and the Magister’s urbane choice of clothing served his triangular figure well.

With his horn-rimmed glasses, Michio reminded Gwen of an Asian Clark Kent. One whose ego could probably bend steel.

In a way, Michio reminded her a little of Gunther. Both were hyper-competent, though Gunther, either because of his Germanic heritage or his time in Australia, had a laconic cool and ease of confidence which superseded Michio’s peacocking.

Returning from Mid-Semester break, Magister Lee continued his instruction of theorems which would ultimately, Gwen guessed, lead to the third year courses that deconstructed existing Magical theory in favour of free-form doctrines drawing from multiple sources, including that of Demi-human magic.

“… Which brings us to the nature of hybrid magic, the most common of which, not surprisingly, is the Conjuration-Evocation ‘Biomancy’ used by Clerics. As I have annotated in Week 4, the existing schools of Magic are pigeon-holed by current proven theory. Though spells utilised Major Incantations specific to their Sigil; many are in fact, supported by minor incantations tied to auxiliary Schools of Magic. For example - in Heal Moderate Wounds - Conjuration provides the matter, while Evocation supplies the power. In advanced healing spells such as the tier 6 Full Heal or the tier 7 Regenerate, Transmutation provides precision.”

“Let's go back a little further. The Clerical - Or I should say, the 'Healing Talent' - is tracible back to antiquity. In the Classical Era, when Magic was beginning to be discovered by humanity, 'healing' was the most useful and revered School of Magic. Among the recorded history of Spellcraft, healing spells remain the most preserved 'School' of Magic in existence. Not only that, the Big Three of the Apothecary Colleges: Nightingale, The Acropolis, and The Hospitallers of Saint John, have never withheld knowledge from other like-minded institutes. This is why we have the Clerical Class. It shows that truly, for Spellcraft to exceed its current state, knowledge should be disseminated!”

A few scoffs resonated from the back row. Gwen knew those to be the Clanners, who, as a fraternity, always sat together.

Lee ignored them.

“What most of you are not aware of, seeing that Healers have their hyper-specialised training, is that the Clerical School is a mixture of the common schools of Magic, with each spell tailored for those with the Positive Energy Talent. It is living proof that anyone could attain different Schools of Magic. Bless is an Enchantment based Spell. Healing Word is Evocation. Protection from Disease and Poison is Abjuration. Guardian of Faith is both Abjuration and Conjuration, and so on.”

Michio Lee paused on the podium for dramatic effect.

“What if I told you that one of the most important spells of the Clerical School - Revivify - is a form of Necromancy?”

Shocked murmurs rang through the classroom.

Even Gwen felt the hair stand on the back of her neck.

“Ha! Yes! Though Necromancy is banned, many of our most stable Clerical Spells are indeed, Positive Energy variations of their Necromantic foundation-spells! You think Resurrection, one of our most precious spells, is Evocation?! No!”

Michio Lee appeared to enjoy watching his students chatter nervously. His lectures were as melodramatic as they were opinionated.

“Shocked? Don't be! What I am telling you is common knowledge. All you have to do is keep digging and keep reading. Necromancy, in the end, is just another form of Spellcraft. It's not the knowledge we fear, it's those who use it to nefarious ends! No, no! Quieten down! There is no need to fear censure. Mr Hong! I said DOWN! We'll have none of that in my lecture. Most of you, the vast majority of you, will never have the chance to have Resurrection performed upon you. The exception among you would be…”

Michio’s eyes scanned the crowd.

“You - you - and you…”

The crowd followed Michio’s fingers through the multitude of faces.

Individuals pointed out by the attention seeking Magister either straightened their spines proudly or hid their profiles with their notes. Lu Fung with his spirit, Wanli, was among those indicated. Finally, Magister Lee’s eyes fell upon the front row, where the girls held their breath.

“…and you, most of all.”

A hundred or more pairs of eyes converged on Lee’s final target.

Gwen wondered if she could have grabbed Ariel and used its furry body to cover her face as a ferret-beard. There was no point though. Petra's cousin with the 'monster' was an official campus exhibition. One did not bring a Mongolian Deathworm into class without becoming the ire of every student who either broke out in peevish jealousy or who felt slighted at her preferential treatment by Magister Lee.

“Of course, there are problems with our pedestrian variety of Resurrection. Unless one looked to true Necromancy used by the Death-Cults, the Resurrection of the Clerical School suffered from many flaws, the chief of which is the partial loss of one’s Astral Body. At best, you’ll retain your sanity and lose half of your powers and talents. At worst, you could be resurrected as a drooling idiot.”

Magister Lee amusedly looked over at Gwen with great interest, making her unconsciously tug lower the hem of her dress. His gaze then shifted to the back row, to the Clanners.

“What the degradation doesn’t impact, of course, is one’s ability to pass on, or engender the next generation of uniquely talented Mages. That's the prime reason why you, Mr Hong, would likely be resurrected. Useless as you are, you'll make an acceptable stud for your relatives.”

An uproar rang out over the lecture hall.

Lee shot back a derisive snort of laughter.

“So take good care of yourself!” Lee announced loudly, looking pleased with his performance and the student’s reactions. “Don’t die! Resurrection is a fool's game!"

"Dismissed!"

* * *

Wednesday.

Gwen suffered through Supplementary Conjuration with Magus Kumiko, dizzy with hunger.

She had slept through the alarm and as such, had to forgo breakfast for a glass of cold milk and lukewarm coffee. At first, she felt fine, feeling confident she could fight the hunger. By the second hour, her agitation had transferred to Caliban, who was going around tasting everything from the floorboards to the door handle, to other Conjurers who fled from the obsidian worm in alarm.

"I need to eat," Gwen confessed to her instructor. "I need something right now."

“I can help, but...” Magus Kumiko offered to feed Caliban after the lesson.

“I'm going to grab a bite real quick,” Gwen replied vaguely. “I'll be alright. I'll be back if I am able.”

Gwen barged through the door of the training hall.

Magus Kumiko wanted to give chase, but she had twenty students waiting on her help and instruction.

Outside, Gwen forced herself to endure the five famished minutes it took to walk back to the apartment.

The hunger, for the lack of a better word, could be split into two distinct stages. The first was a feeling of hunger that could be attributed to a physical sensation of desiring nourishment and fulfilment. It was equal parts physiological and psychological, a sensation which Gwen knew well from her earlier days fooling around with low-tier Void spells. It wasn’t so much reliance as it was a need, a desire for sustenance rooted in the instinct for survival. This psychosomatic component was something she could consciously combat, subdue with her force of will. Growing up being taught by her mother that appearance was paramount, she wasn't a stranger to crash diets.

Beyond the 'conscious' strata of the Freudian iceberg was the incessant mewling of a subconsciousness demanding to be satiated. Gwen was beginning to learn first hand the unpleasant aphorism that hunger could change everything one thought one knew about oneself.

“Lei! Can you make me some chow real quick? Something hot and filling?” Gwen stumbled into Mayuree’s apartment to see a shocked Lei, who was cleaning the place. "Just give me something, anything, Lei... quick."

While on the levitation platform, she had thought about materialising a packet of instant noodles, chomping straight into the snap-dried gluten. That or open a can of the ten or so allotments of Spam in her Ring. It was only the thought of Lei's cooking that prevented her from becoming a culinary savage.

It took a least a few minutes to prepare a clarified-broth noodle soup, so Lei brought out the cold-cuts first. Gwen thought nothing of the fact that she was supposed to dump the toppings onto her soon to arrive hot noodles, digging in with a passion. Her tongue encountered the cold, hard meat first with delight and then disgust, the solidified fat and salt abrading her taste buds. When Lei returned with hot soup, Gwen was already half-way through a mana-rich length of braised Aurok, the unhappy and the happy meeting in her stomach in an all-consuming ecstasy.

“You’re going to choke!” Lei’s eyes were two wide orbs as Gwen took the noodle soup and almost dumped the scalding hot contents into her mouth.

Gwen's eyes went wide, almost as if a part of her was somewhere within watching her reflexive gluttony in horror. For a moment, watching Gwen cramming the butt of beef into her mouth and pressing her palm to her lips, Lei had thought Gwen was feeding on her own flesh.

“Miss Song!” Lei stepped forward worriedly, afraid that Gwen would somehow injure herself. What sudden madness had overcome her usually prudish self? Why was Gwen like this?

Then Gwen choked.

For such a slender woman, there was only so much food Gwen could orally engulf at once. When finally she swallowed, she felt the gnashing of her organs storming against the furious hunger as though two Magisters galling one another with fire and ice.

“Water…” Gwen pounded the table.

Lei returned with a jug and a glass.

Gwen drank, then felt a sudden upheaval.

She ran toward the open kitchen, grabbing the bin, then hurled her guts into the metallic can.

“Shaaa!” Caliban slithered toward her crouched form and nudged her sides.

“Eeee! Eeee!” Ariel ran in circles, screeching worriedly.

Lei became so alarmed and frightened that she promptly dialled Mayuree with the self-powered Messenger Device in the living room.

When Mayuree dodged her next class and arrived some ten minutes later, she was looking at an exhausted Gwen, makeup smeared and clothes soiled, nursing a jug of hot water against the kitchen bench.

“Mao! Are you alright? Should I call your grandmother?”

“No, no… I am fine, Mia. I am fine now, really.”

Lei had been kind enough to heat up some plain porridge, which blunted the worst of it.

Gwen had spent the last few minutes trying to convince herself that it wasn't a total loss. There was a lesson here - when suffering from supernatural hunger; do not consume solid food. Soup, congee, porridge, gruel, meals which were easy to consume in large amounts as well as being gentle on the stomach was vital.

“God, you’re a mess.” Mayuree didn’t know what to do with herself. She wanted to help her friend but had no experience looking after anyone or anything. “Lei, help Gwen to the bathroom and help her wash.”

“I am good, just get me to the apartment,” Gwen insisted.

“Are you drunk? Did you get drugged?” Mayuree asked the crucial questions.

“Likely an aftereffect of the Friday event.” Gwen pointed out. “I've been experimenting with my limits, with Magister Wen and my Babulya.”

“Oh.” Mayuree now appeared even more concerned.

“There’ll be a resolution on Saturday,” Gwen stated a half-truth. “After that, everything should be fine for the foreseeable future.”

“Of course,” Mayuree replied, clearly disbelieving Gwen’s assertion. “Let’s get you to your room first.”

Gwen struggled off the barstool.

Aided by Lei and supported by Mayuree, the trio deposited Gwen into her bathroom. Lei helped Gwen out of her soiled clothes while Mayuree waited in the living room. The NoM servant wiped her down, then left as Gwen showered.

When Gwen emerged in a new t-shirt and shorts, Mayuree breathed a sigh of relief.

“Goddess, don’t scare me like that.” She glanced upward to appeal toward some unseen force, as though issuing an apostrophe in a play.

“I didn’t know you were religious.” Gwen seemed amused by the fact.

“It’s an old custom from home - when we had a home,” Mayuree answered melancholically. “The worship of mythical beings is not banned there.”

As to where 'home' was, Mayuree hasn’t been forthcoming; though she did extend an invitation for Gwen to visit during Winter Break.

That was the only clue Gwen had gotten from the girl regarding the origins of the House of M. A lost country, perhaps, or a destroyed township, was Gwen’s guess. A displaced people, seeking to return home.

If her hypothesis was correct, then Mayuree’s family may be another example of the mass diaspora experienced by those who lived on or near the Frontier. Everytime a human region fell, all the Mages, NoMs, Clans and Houses had to find a new home. Often, the survival of the bloodline did not naturally imply the continuation of a Clan or House. Sometimes, the loss of things, of homes, and of land, was enough to diminish a people so significantly that they ceased to exist within a few generations.

Gwen applied the addendum to her Mayuree memory-logs, then fell onto the couch exhausted.

Training was out, but she’d hoped to visit the Tower still.

“You should rest,” Mayuree suggested, touching a hand to her forehead.

“No rest for the wicked.” Gwen smiled weakly.

In the end, thanking Mayuree and Lei profusely, she convinced the duo to leave her alone so she could nap. After a short shut-eye, she snacked on some Spam Toast, then departed for the Guanghua Towers. She needed sustenance, but more than anything, she needed a constant source of distraction from the idle fantasies of the Saturday only three days away.

Lulan caught Gwen as she passed through the lawn leading up to the Guanghua Towers. It was easy to spot the girl even in a loose frock because no one else had a Mongolian Death Worm with a ferret riding on its head trailing behind them. That and the fact that she parted the crowd like an icebreaker through a frozen sea.

“Gwen!”

Lulan called out reflexively, then instantly regretted her cavalier familiarity. Gwen looked like she had somewhere to be, not to mention she looked dog-tired.

As the Void Mage came closer, Lulan couldn’t help but notice that her saviour’s distinct ‘aura’ had changed from that of brimming confidence to one resembling that of a burnt out NoM ending a long day at the Manufactorum.

“Lulu, finished your classes?” Gwen asked the Sword Mage. “You and Kusu settled in yet?”

“Almost.” Lulan fell in step beside her. “It’s not like we had anything to move.”

That much was true. Herself and Kusu had decided to forgo all their ‘belongings,’ which included some bedsheets, a dozen changes of clothes, and assorted mementoes from the Clan. Together with the apartment, they had been excommunicated from Huashan, Luwei, their father, the Clans.

“I am sorry to hear that.” Gwen patted her shoulder.

“Enough about me, how about you?” Lulan couldn’t help but study her saviour’s face intensely, observing Gwen's puffy eye bags and the fissure of blood vessels surrounding the whites of her hazel iris. “Not sleeping well?”

“Something like that,” Gwen replied vaguely.

Gwen wondered if someone experienced in going cold turkey could have offered her a pointer or two. Morye, for example, had tried and failed to quit tobacco at least a dozen times. Following Lulan's gaze, Gwen touched a finger to her face to prod her puffed-up eyes. Clearing her throat, she noted that her tonsil felt sore and hoarse as well. Gwen sensed that something was coming on, but Magister Wen had previously celebrated Gwen's immunity to mundane diseases. Once her Druidic Essence regenerated, she should be as right as rain. As for when that would be, only time could tell.

“If there’s something I can do for you…” Lulan wanted to help but knew not how. She hadn’t had a chance to look after anything, ever. Kusu was usually the one who pampered her, even as the red mist made her brother's life a waking nightmare. Thanks to Gwen though, those days were behind them.

“I am just tired, that’s all.” Gwen’s voice was a little distant. “You want to come up with me? I am browsing for new spells and checking to see if my Uncle’s CCs have come in. There should be some for you as well, I assume.”

Lulan fell into step beside Gwen.

Though Lulan had been the Clan's pariah, she was still a cog in the Clan's collective. As a sterling footsoldier, she had always been surrounded by company, both junior and senior. Privacy and alone-time was a thing of myth. Now, as a wayward drone estranged from the hive, she was feeling the sting of isolation.

It wasn’t so bad when Kusu had been with her. Her brother’s presence calmed her anxiety and reminded her she wasn't alone. But now that the Semester had begun and she was without a companion, Lulan felt directionless. Without immediate access to a Clan sponsored Party, she had to wait to be assigned to a PUG.

She tried to recall how she used to pass the time when the red haze still held her mind hostage.

Adventuring for Credit, purging Green and Orange Zones with the other members of the Sects. Training with her Clan-mates, sparring and making pleasant if uninspiring chit-chat. Eating at the long table, watching her fellow Clanners mock the ‘upstarts’, deriding talented ‘Rogue’ Mages like Gwen, like Kitty, or break out alternatively in peevish admiration and jealousy for their ‘betters’ like the Fungs of Nantong.

There were less pleasant memories too. Getting berated by an elder for one trespass or another, real or imagined. The frequent public beatings, the laughter of her peers as yet another bamboo rod broke against her body.

After an unpleasant bout of soul-searching, Lulan found that against all reason, that she felt nostalgic for the past.

When she first sat alone with a takeout box in the middle of the Guanghua Tower’s famously scenic lawn, listening to the sound of sycamores swaying in the summer wind, what she felt wasn’t the romanticised tranquillity poetically written on silk-screens.

She felt instead, a paralytic sense of loss; a diminution, depletion, an impoverishment of her being.

The freedom. It frightened her.

When she saw Gwen coming by, she as though a woman swept into the open sea had found a sudden length of rope extended from a passing vessel. As for the ship's destination, she wasn't inclined to know. That she wasn’t adrift in the open sea, tormented by distance and horizon, was sufficient.

* * *

The duo arrived at the Administration level, took a ticket at the Spell-List counter, then studied the list of Spells available for exchange with CCs.

When they consulted the front desk, Gwen was informed that she was sitting on 163 CCs. Uncle Jun had come through with the matter involving Choi.

“What are you on, Lulu?” Gwen proudly invited Lulan to verify her accumulated CCs.

The receptionist took some time to retrieve Lulan’s records, emerging from the back room after some time with an apologetic smile.

“372 CCs, Ma’am.”

Gwen’s smugness shattered like a brittle sheet of glass.

“I did a lot of questing,” Lulan explained. “But there was nothing really to spend it on. The Iron Heart technique is unique to Huashan. All my other spells are mundane versions you can acquire from the University’s public records.”

372 CCs! Gwen wanted to berate Lulan's unthinking naivety. This entire time, she could have demanded medical treatments! How simple was this girl to not even know that? Had her Clan withheld that information from her? Did Kusu know? She wanted to shake Lulan by the shoulders.

But then Gwen thought of her history of naivety. They were both doe-eyed 'Frontier' girls, unknowingly wandering into the deep dark of the sinful city. It was too bad for their opportunistic assailants then, for they were both she-wolves.

As for Lulan's CCs, the system was working as intended. Despite Huashan usurping the girl's assets, the Tower ensured that no one could take away her contributions. From now, any injury from training could be offset by medical care paid for by the Tower. Not to mention Gwen could beg her grandmother for a favour.

Her attention now turned to her own resources.

Emboldened by her unexpected windfall, Gwen discussed with Lulan what would benefit her current repertoire, with Gwen liberally informing Lulan of her Spell list. Though an unassuming act of trust, Lulan felt flushed by the confidence demonstrated by her companion.

“I am using a Specialised version of Shield by Magus Shultz,” Gwen answered when Lulan asked how she managed to block her sword strikes without a hard-point Shield. “If ever Gunther permits, I don’t mind teaching it to you guys.”

Lulan shook her head vigorously. The Clans hoarded such secrets, often kept by the Master from the Apprentice until their deathbed. It wasn’t unusual to hear a Clan Master tell the age-old joke that a well taught Apprentice would steal their teacher's rice bowl.

The girls were then directed to a small private room where they may peruse the Tome, a catalogue of spells the Tower has on record.

“How about this one?” Lulan pointed to a page gilded with a golden edge. The girls were currently hovering over a section with several entries on Lightning. Unsurprisingly, the Nordic Lightning-Evoker Einar Larsen, the Magister generous enough to offer his intellectual estate to the public, was chief on the Spell List. Gwen scanned the entries, thinking of what Petra had suggested over tea and biscuits. Jun did say she could be the Second Coming of Thor, did he not? Maybe she could try her hand at being the Second Coming of Magister Larsen?

The page displayed a tier 5 Evocation Spell.

Ball Lightning

Evocation (5)

Casting Time: 50 Major, 31 Minor Incantation

Range: Seeking, LoS, 100M

Components: Somatic, Verbal

Duration: Instantaneous + Persistent.

Magister Larsen’s mid-tier Signature Spell remains one of his most sought-after Incantations. The Spell manifests up to (N) plasma orbs of lightning which function independently as Magic Missiles. With a somatic command, the orbs strike (Y) targets within the caster’s line of sight. Each orb generates a small explosion dealing electrical damage.

(N) Number of Orbs may vary.

(Y) The number of targets must be one or above.

The spell was impressive, but it was tier 5, just beyond Gwen’s current proficiency. As Larsen’s masterpiece, the cost was 72 CCs, more than double the tier 4 Elemental Sphere. She could purchase it now and begin training, then ’grow into it’, as Petra would say.

The girls continued their browsing, favouring Petra's recommendations.

Grey’s Warding Shield

Evocation (4)

Casting Time: 20 Major, 7 Minor Incantation

Range: Self

Components: Somatic, Verbal

Duration: Persistent + Sustained.

A modified Fire Shield allowing casters of different elements to make use of the Shield's reactive capabilities. Composed originally by Magister Charles Grey, Sydney University, the spell creates an offensive barrier which retaliates against Melee and Close-Ranged Foes with a 360-degree semi-dome coverage. While the spell is active, all soft-point projectiles are nulled by reactive bursts, with an additional elemental bolt counter. A popular spell for pinpointing invisible or hidden attacks.

Another exciting and supremely useful spell, one that reminded Gwen of Yue's early experiments. She felt tempted by its utility, though she was satisfied with her non-newtonian variation for now. With her absurd VMI, she could weather hard-point assaults for hours.

With some effort, she shifted the catalogue's encyclopaedic entries to another section; scanning through the index until she found the Conjuration-Familiar section. A familiar name greeted her.

Morden’s Bloodhound

Conjuration (5)

Casting Time: 48 Major, 33 Minor Incantation, Preparation

Range: Close

Components: Somatic, Verbal, Glyph

Duration: Persistent, 24-72 Hours

Another Signature Spell of Magister Morden, Conjurer Supreme. A continuation of Morden’s lifelong preference for quasi-magical hounds, the spell Conjures forth a bloodhound capable of tracking a target through any terrestrial terrain. The Hound is capable of combat, varying from tier 3 to tier 4. This spell is best paired with Morden’s other Signature spells, as intended by its creator. As with many of Morden’s spells, this variation remains incomplete due to damage to the original manuscript. Elemental-Shift is therefore not a part of this spell.

Thinking of Henry's tutelage in her 'complete' Morden's Faithful Hound, Gwen quickly located the ‘other spells’ in the series.

Morden’s Bloodhound Pack

Conjuration (6)

Casting Time: 201 Major, 42 Minor Incantation, Preparation

Range: Close

Components: Somatic, Verbal, Glyph (M)

Duration: Persistent, 24-72 Hours

Another Signature Spell of Magister Morden, Master Summoner. A continuation of Morden’s lifelong passion for quasi-magical hounds, the spell Conjures forth up to a dozen bloodhounds. Each hound possesses the equivalent combat ability of tier 4 - 5 Magical Creatures. The hounds are telepathically linked and are capable of employing pack-tactics against single enemies. Morden originally designed the spell for the hunting of Trolls in his homeland of Scotland. A Hound Pack accompanied by a Creature Mage versed in support Magic would find no trouble dealing with a tier 6 - 8 Troll, Hill or Stone Giant, and other Demi-humans of the Giant subclass. As with many of Morden’s spells, this variation remains incomplete due to damage to the original manuscript. Elemental-Shift is therefore not a part of this spell.

Gwen imagined herself commanding a dozen handsome hounds, exhausting a 10-meter giant. Even as a speculative projection, the scene set her heart to quicken with anticipation. The cost for the spell though was a whopping 118 CCs.

She flipped the page. There was one more, a spell Gwen had seen Elizabeth Sobel use once before.

Morden’s Sword

Conjuration (7)

Casting Time: 512 Major, 217 Minor Incantations

Range: Close

Components: Somatic, Verbal, Material

Duration: Persistent

The famous Signature Spell of Magister Morden, Master Summoner. This spell creates a blade of compressed force which is near-invisible. The blade possesses a Vorpal edge capable of passing through most non-magical constructs. The conjured implement can be commanded at will to attack one’s enemies, equating a Dancing Blade with the indestructible attribute. Morden famously used this spell to behead the Stone-King of Dunsinane in a single stroke, breaking the morale of the Giant-kin’s army during the Battle of Perthshire in 1922. As with many of Morden’s spells, this variation remains incomplete due to damage to the original manuscript. Elemental-Shift is therefore not a part of this spell.

But Sobel had used a Void-version, Gwen recollected. It was so sharp that not even Whetu's thousand-latticed Punamu Shield could withstand more than a few blows. She shuddered to think that in combat, the sword could persist for hours, striking every few seconds.

As for its purchase, the cost of the spell was not only astronomical; it also required an application for a face-to-face interview, as well as three referees.

The girls allowed the book to rest against the table. It was a hefty tome.

Wasn't this just like two girls window shopping? Gwen amused herself with the delightful realisation. She was with a girlfriend; they were looking at costly Spells of Mass Destruction and fantasising about using them on their foes while being too frugal to afford any of it.

Rested, Gwen turned to another section of the Spell List and found what Magister Birch had noted earlier.

Shielded Teleportation Circle

Conjuration (5) Abjuration (1)

Casting Time: 70 Major, 11 Minor Incantation, Preparation

Range: Translocation

Components: Somatic, Verbal, Material

Duration: Persistent

Created by Magister Luis Birch of Fudan University, Shanghai, this variation of the Teleportation Circle spell has an additional component which allows a Party Abjurer to directly protect the Circle’s Glyphs by expanding a half-dome Shield toward the extremity of the Magic Circle. An improved mandala algorithm likewise has given this variant a shorter activation delay.

The spell was listed at 64 CCs, implying that the Magister’s 55 CC offer was a sizeable discount for his students.

She also browsed the utility spells for lower tiers.

Divination had a suite of Detection Spells she could pick up from between 5 and 20 CCs.

Enchantment had several self-buffs, from Heroism to Strengthen Body. The spell she'd likely covet, however, was the tier 2 Hold Person. Lulan said that even herself had been the victim of such an Enchantment.

As for Illusion, a simple command of Phantasmal Sound allowed her to create music like Tao, while Illusion staples like Invisibility hinted at almost limitless opportunities for abuse. Another spell of great interest was Disguise Self, a spell which allowed one to change one's appearance subtlely. Both Invisibility and Disguise Self required a registered Practice Licence grading of M, meaning Military or Para-Military.

Abjuration likewise offered keen options for defence or dispelling.

At 5 PM, Gwen felt again too hungry to continue. She wasn’t keen on testing her resolve this time, and so left the Guanghua Tower to find a restaurant that sold comfort food. Escorted by her Familiars and joined by Lulan, she discovered a congee-hotpot joint and ordered for the table.

When the small cauldron of congee arrived, she piled in Wildland wood-ear mushrooms, a South Sea seafood platter, and other ingredients. When the admixture was cooked into the congee, she dug in with a ferocity that frightened her companion.

Lulan herself was bloated after two bowls, making small talk as an inordinate amount of mana-rich congee flowed into Gwen's stomach.

As Gwen sucked out the creamy filling of a prawn head, Lulan observed her companion’s cheeks take on a pinkish hue.

"Did you er... want one?" Gwen enquired.

Lulan shook her head. Her usual diet consisted of five-grains, pickled vegetables, and steamed flesh of Magical Beasts.

For dessert, they had a salad bowl's worth of tapioca and sago in Wildland coconut-cream. Lulan’s teeth ached when she delivered a spoonful to her mouth, tasting a sweetness as heavenly as it was heavy. She looked over at her friend, who seemed to thrive on the sugary injection, with an ambivalent sense of awe.

“I’ve finally warmed up.” Gwen stretched out her arms. “You had enough, Lulu?”

“I am full, thank you.”

At first, Lulan had demanded they split the bill, but seeing as Gwen had eaten enough for four Lulan(s), she grudgingly accepted Gwen’s generosity.

The girls thus returned to B1, where Lulan bid Gwen goodbye then returned to her new abode in B14, happier than when she'd left it.

As for Gwen, she felt the urge to retreat quickly to her apartment. The congee had been as delicious as anything, but it appeared to disagree with her somewhat fiercely.

* * *

Gwen didn’t show for Transmutation Utility the next day.

When she further did not answer her Message, Mayuree was worried enough to truant, returning to Guoding Road B1.

She knocked on the door of 2204, then became supremely surprised to be greeted by a kindly old woman with an aura of benevolence. It took her a moment to acknowledge that this was Klavdiya Song, Gwen’s grandmother, as the woman had on a white doctor’s coat and wore her hair in a tight, severe bun.

“Is Gwen…?”

“She’s inside, dear, come in. You are Gwen’s friend from upstairs, Mia, am I right?”

Mayuree nodded. The woman had a face with Gwen’s likeness, though she lacked the height and the haughtiness. As a healer, the grandmother appeared youthful everywhere except for her neck and the skin of her hands, as well as a slight sag to her shoulders which betrayed her real age.

When Mayuree entered the bedroom, she saw that Petra was there too, looking worried.

As for Gwen herself, she was propped up on pillows, looking deathly.

“Oh, Goddess.” Mayuree swallowed, her heart catching in her throat. “Gwen! What happened? Is it your, 'you-know-what' talent?”

“Argh…” Gwen appeared to be in pain. Her once shining eyes formed two thin lines, her whites were wholly bloodshot.

Caliban was coiled up in what looked like a laundry-basket baby-carrier, while Ariel was purring softly by the end of the bed, warming Gwen's feet.

Mayuree touched Gwen's clammy hands, then choked back a sob.

Unexpectedly, Petra chuckled.

Mayuree shot Gwen’s cousin an annoyed look. Gwen's life was not a joking matter! If the sorceress had been consumed inside out by the Void, she could have died then and there. If Gwen were to perish, what would happen to herself? Who was going to be her ‘saviour’?

“I…” Gwen grimaced, too troubled to speak. “Petra, explain-”

“Gwen!” Mayuree urged her friend to remain in bed. “What can I do? I can get anything, Ancient Ginseng! Life Lotus! Just let me know! I got crystals!”

“Calm down, Mayuree.” Petra rose from her seat, her face devoid of worry. “Gwen’s not sick from her magic. She’s got food poisoning.”

Mayuree looked from Gwen to Petra, then to Gwen again.

“Too much junk food, too quickly. There’s not enough vitality even in Wildland ingredients, so she over-ate. Her physical body couldn’t take all the gunk she was stuffing into it. The food around Fudan has far too much NoM ingredients, sugar, salt, oil, soy sauce, Lord knows what else. That and I'd dare say she ate the seafood in that congee a little too soon, or maybe it was the mushroom, who knows?”

“Oh…” Gwen groaned. “It's like there's two roos boxing in my gut.”

Mayuree felt as though ten bags of rice had been lifted off her chest.

“What does she need?”

“Essence, for the lack of a better word. She needs to feed the Void.”

“Like…” Mayuree looked over at Gwen. "You know..."

“Yes, I know about it,” Petra affirmed that they were on the same page. “That or survive on a steady diet of Wildland fruits, the rare ones.”

That would be several hundred HDMs a meal, assuming one a week, Mayuree calculated. That’s also assuming Gwen’s appetite does not grow with her mastery. Not bad, Mayuree thought. It seemed like fair upkeep for such a preciously rare talent.

Gwen meanwhile, was in pain for both herself and her piggy-bank.

She had acquired via looting, gambling, and other less than sustainable means a total wealth of three to four thousand HDMS, together with Magic Items worth much more, but which she could not possibly trade away. It was the classic problem of having wealth, but not the liquid currency by which to invest nor expand.

Perhaps, as her babulya and Jun had stated, it was time to diversify herself into Adventuring or Dungeons Crawling. There was a verdant buffet out there, one which she could partake at her leisure. The minimum attendance for a course to pass was 10 out of 13 weeks, though further absences could be negotiated pending a student’s results in the finals. With her grades, it shouldn’t be difficult to take a week or a day or two out of her theory-classes such as Economics or Management, to tramp and trudge around the Wildlands with the Fudan’s outdoor Clubs.

When Petra had discovered her faint-headed and famished in the morning, The Mineral Mage had immediately infused her cousin with a Lesser Restoration. Serendipitously, it was the one which she’d kept initially for Lulan after the girl returned from the Astoria vomiting seven ways to Shanghai.

Nonetheless, the ordeal was an experience and a valuable one. Gwen now knew the extent of the debilitation brought by her deficiency in ‘essence’. She’d been fully prepared to consume her remaining Fructum Vitae as well, though babulya’s timely arrival had prevented that, anticipating her troubles, though not the source of it.

Thanks to a further infusion of healing energies from her babulya, Gwen’s deficiency of vitality was momentarily replenished, kicking her Druidic Essence with the necessary agitation to multiply. If there was a valuable lesson learned here, it was that mortal food was insufficient in keeping up with the demands of her Void-tainted physical body. She could not sustain herself by eating non-stop unless she was willing to subsist, like the fabled Elves, upon the fruits and produces of the Wildland.

That was why after thorough physical examination, her babulya happily blurted out somewhat amused, that the pain Gwen was feeling wasn’t the hungering Void consuming her living flesh from inside out, sapping her of all vitality. Instead, it was the destructive and volatile mix of oily stir-fry, hot rich soup, and icy dessert pounding at her digestive organs which brought on the episode.

“Keep a healthier diet.” Her Babulya motioned for Petra. “Dear, you keep an eye on Gwen. She is only allowed healthy and hearty food until after Saturday.”

Petra stood to attention. Klavdiya then turned to Gwen.

“Call Kumiko, dear. I don’t care what Wen thinks. We’re getting you fed.”

Kumiko was the first to arrive at the staff training hall. By the time Klavdiya and her throng of youngsters had arrived, she was ready to go. Magister Wen had by then been informed by Gwen's grandmother of their plans.

“I am having Kumiko nourish Gwen,” Klavdiya had informed her friend and colleague before they left the apartment; her statement short and abrupt.

“Of course, we all want what's best for her.” Magister Wen’s reply came after a few minutes, her voice measured and calm. "I am in a meeting, do you need me to observe? I can be there in an hour."

"No need, we'll take care of it." Klavdiya's tone lost some of its terseness. "Thanks, Marie."

When Gwen struggled to outfit herself, flailing about like a fish, her cousin intervened. Petra expended a cube of Enhanced Strength, then effortlessly princess-carried Gwen, sweatpants and all, down the levitation platform, ignoring her feeble protests. The parade drew amused and curious looks as they moved, lead by Kladviya, trailed by ferret on Death Worm cavalry.

When they arrived at the training hall with her reddening like a beetroot from head to toe, Petra finally allowed Gwen to stand on her own two feet.

“That was entirely unnecessary.” Gwen was sufficiently energised by the rush of blood, though standing so suddenly made her woozier than she had anticipated.

“If you eat all that junk again and have another episode, I’ll do that again,” Petra promised her mirthfully, but her eyes were entirely serious. “I am taking Babulya’s advice to heart, fair warning, Cousin. Hope you like your lightly salted meat and vegetables.”

Gwen groaned. It wasn’t as though she had intended to OD on street food. She had to eat, and it was far easier buying whatever tasted good. Bloody oath, she still had a Beggar Chicken in her ring!

“Walls of Force are in place,” Magus Kumiko notified them helpfully. “We can begin anytime.”

“Gwen?”

“Babulya, can you give me a pick me up before I feed Caliban?”

That was another caveat Gwen was anticipating. If she was sufficiently diminished, the vital cost of a Consumption might just wipe her out before Caliban could be empowered.

Gladly, her babulya provided the extra shot of invigorating positive energy.

Magus Kumiko called out incantations in quick succession, filling the Force Cube with a flaring burst of silvery Conjuration. When the light solidified, the gathered Mages were staring at a befuddled Wildland boar.

Caliban audaciously rubbed up against the invisible panes of the wall, causing the boar to immediately go berserk. It rushed the Wall of Force and struck the pane with such resounding force that it split its nose and broke off a tusk, sending a splatter of dried mud against the surface.

Clever worm, Gwen thought.

“Caliban!”

Gwen re-summoned Caliban inside the Force Cube, giving it the command to consume from her the pound of flesh required for it to assume the Gila form.

In the next moment, Caliban teleported in as a giant nine-foot tall bipedal Gila, its skin dark and tenebrous and its fore-claws each ten inches long. When Gwen readied herself for the backlash, she found that her vitality had not diminished, not even by a single mote.

Caliban’s internal stores! She recalled what Magister Wen had pointed out during their first session with those two men from the PLA and the Pudong Tower. Caliban could store excess vitality as Void-matter within itself. Did this mean it no longer used her life force as a battery?

Her curiosity became disrupted by a sudden bout of action.

With neither her explicit instruction nor command, Caliban launched itself toward the cowering boar. With a single swipe, it tore inch-wide gashes across the boar’s mud-caked hide, splattering the panes with fresh arterial gouts of vermilion.

Incensed by the injury, the boar became enraged, entirely ignoring its flesh wound. It dug in its heels and charged, trying to cannonball Caliban with its heaving mass. Caliban waited until the last moment to suddenly frog leap, urged by Gwen's rather purposeless outcry of 'dodge it!'. As it sailed over the charging beast, its limbs impossibly twisted as though they possessed no cartilage, then dug into the spinal ridges atop the mud-covered swine. When the boar further attempted to dash Caliban against the floor, Gwen’s creature landed, tearing out a chunk of flesh from the swine’s neck so large as to make the audience wince.

A torrent of thick blood poured from the creature, sending it crashing against the further wall, leaving a bloody skid mark several meters long.

“Shaaa! Shaaaa!”

Caliban roared once or twice, then opened its maw impossibly wide.

Even as the oinking creature defecated in terror, Caliban's contracting tentacles were cramming the boar headfirst into its open mouth, swallowing the swine wholesale.

* * *

“Bravo!” Magus Kumiko applauded Gwen.

Gwen stared slack-jawed and sick to her core at her Familiar.

What-the-shit? Her mind reeled and spun, a thousand and one paranoias playing across her standing hair follicles. She had not given Caliban a single command! Of its own free will, it had executed an Onslaught then finished off the boar with a Consume. The whole time, she hadn’t given it a single mental command. She hadn't! She was thinking it, but no explicit instruction had issued from her lips! What did that mean? Did Caliban feel no need to obey her if she was no longer its battery? She felt like a jilted bride!

A freelance Caliban was more dangerous than-

A wave of ecstasy struck Gwen's depleted body. The rain after a prolonged drought. The vitality from a tier 3 Tusker-Charger was nothing compared to Nephres Zalaam, but it was palpable. She held on, riding the wave of pleasure without being swallowed by the sensation. The euphoria came and went after several heartbeats, allowing her to gather her wits quickly.

“Caliban, return!” she commanded, expecting the worst.

To her complete and utter surprise - Caliban came bounding back like a nightmarish labrador retriever, its goofy toad-face sagging as its jowls drooled from the contraction.

As it approached, it even turned back into its docile serpent form.

Caliban coiled itself against her ankles, purring, happy that its stomach had experienced nourishment so soon.

“How do you feel now?” her babulya asked, watching her face flush with colour.

To the others, a notable transfusion had taken place. Gwen's hazel eyes reclaimed their beautiful lustre. Her dermis was once more tender and soft, her hair glossy and dynamic. From a wilting anaemic, she had taken on the likeness of one in the bloom of youth.

“Once a week,” Klavdiya notified Magus Kumiko.

“Hai, once a week.” The Magus bowed reflexively toward the Senior Director.

"No more diets," Klavdiya sternly informed her granddaughter. "This elastic vitality of yours, coming and going every other week, surely it can't be good for you."

Gwen was then advised to return to bed. She might appear to be hale, but appearances were deceiving when it came to health. Her indigestion wasn't something that could be solved by vitality. Having lived an evil diet, Gwen could only hope that her revitalised Druidic Essence could provide the remedy she required.

For now, the rooting hog of gluttony had been put to rest.

Gwen would forgo Economics.

As her babulya had said, "You've done enough for today."

* * *

Friday.

Gwen felt well enough to attend Professor Ma’s class.

Richard had returned from his quests in the Hangzhou region, happy to receive his share of HDMs and the loan of her Opa’s Medium Storage Ring. When she further informed him of the additional CCs they received from Jun, the young man was ecstatic.

“I’ll have to thank him,” Richard declared. “What do you think he would like for a gift?”

Gwen honestly had no idea. It seemed Jun knew far more about her than she did about him. Maybe in their trip together, they would get to know one another a bit more informally as uncle and niece.

By the end of the lecture, Professor Ma issued new homework - the students must produce a 6000 word report on their experiences in the Districts, reflection on what they had learned and gained through walking and working in a place where NoMs were the norm.

Though a groan emitted from the crowd, the report was no trouble for Gwen. She could likely hammer out- 'write' out the sixteen-page document in a single night.

A pair of small and feminine hands slid around her waist in an overtly friendly gesture. Gwen turned to see Mayuree blinking her chestnut eyes, her lashes meeting like two petals of a Venus Flytrap.

“Can you help me out?” the Diviner begged. “I foresee I will fail without your help!”

For the sake of academic conduct, Gwen knew she should have refused, but she owed Mayuree so many dinners and lunches. Sometimes, Gwen felt like an ungrateful cat, returning nightly to Mayuree’s loft for watering and feeding, only to disappear after the meal. Surely a little ghostwriting could go a long way in repaying the girl’s generosity. She would make sure Mayuree understood every word.

“Okay,” she agreed, catching a dirty glance from Kitty. “But you’re the one doing the handwriting.”

“Pufft, handwriting,” Mayuree scoffed, hugging her tightly. “I’ve got a Dancing Pen!”

* * *

Gwen was working with Mayuree through her report, watching jealously as the Dancing Pen produced flawless and florid scripts across the parchment when Petra Messaged.

“Call for you.” Her cousin’s Message resounded through her device. “From an Elvia Lindholm? Your friend in London? We spoke last time.”

“Dimension Door!”

When Mayuree looked up to ask if this was Elvia, AKA Evee, Gwen was gone.

“Did she just…”

Mayuree looked around, bewildered, but there was no one to answer her. Kitty was writing her report in her room. Marong remained away for business at home. Lei was in her pantry-room.

Did Gwen teleport through the floor?

* * *

“JESUS!” Petra jumped when Gwen appeared next to her in a flash of Conjuration mana. “Gwen! Use the Lev! It’s dangerous to Dimension Door indoors!”

That much was true. There was too much clutter, and the spell wasn’t exact. If Gwen had materialised into something, the ‘shunt’ moving her physical form to the closest displaceable point could cause significant injury. At worst, she could twist or sprain a limb from the whiplash.

“ACCEPT!” Gwen punched the glyphs. “Sorry Pats! Won’t happen again!”

The illusory projection began to manifest.

Petra retreated to the kitchen to make herself a cuppa; she had recently found a vendor selling grapefruit and citrus-peel Ceylon. As the pleasant scent filled the living room, Elvia’s projection began to move.

The blonde girl appeared even more angelic than last time she’d seen her. Against all improbability, her healer’s aura could be palpably felt even across time and space.

“Gwennie!”

“Evee!”

The girls exchanged ‘phantom’ hugs.

“How are you? How're things? What 'mission' did you go on?”

“Oh, it was incredible! Horrible- but also incredible! How about you, Gwen?”

“I’ve got a story to tell. I am telling ya,” Gwen informed her erstwhile companion. “How are you doing for credits? These calls ain't cheap.”

The Long-Range Messages were double charged. The Telecommunication division must be up to their necks in HDMs.

“I am doing lots of good! I’ve worked plenty, earned lots, and I’ve never spent the stash Alesia loaned me.” Elvia familiarised Gwen with her financials, her ocean-blue eyes alive with happiness.

Petra filled her tea flask, then left for the bedroom. There was little privacy anyway, and Gwen wouldn’t have minded her watching, but the Mineral Mage knew not to overstep their familiarity. Boundaries didn't have to be pragmatic. Sometimes, it was a matter of respect.

Gwen returned a curt, affirming nod of appreciation; Petra acknowledged the gesture, then left Gwen to her angelic healer.

“You go first!” Gwen adjusted the projector so that she could sit without the sensors cropping off her forehead.

“Okay!” Elvia leaned in closer as well. The girls were now seated as though they were intimately sitting at a coffee table. “I told you last time that Miss Rothwell, that’s Emily Rothwell of the er… Rothwell family - took me under her wing, right? Well, I started my work for the Student Representative Council...”

By her admission, Elvia’s charmed life continued under the shelter of Emily Greyson Rothwell, the darling daughter of Lord John Rothwell, the Duke of Somerset. Having taken on the duties of secretary and personal assistant to the 'Lady Duchess' of Nightingale, she enjoyed unfettered access to the considerable resources of the third most prestigious Healer’s college in the world.

As for the semester, Elvia attended classes without incident, enjoying the friendship of peers she had acquired since arriving at London. She passed her exams with flying colours with a little help from her instructors, who took pity on the fact that she had to ‘suffer’ through a Frontier public high school. When the time came for practicums, Elvia was assigned to the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children, one of the most coveted placements in London.

As its namesake inferred, the fabled GOS was the premier hospital for the care of children anywhere in the world’s Capital cities, with an impressive roster of 1 Meister and 9 Magister-level Clerics presiding over its Board of Directors and Department Heads.

Those who intern at GOS would graduate not only with the most praise-worthy referees - but also a network of connections that extended as far the House of Lords, whose number made up four of the ten seats.

“Wait, let me guess,” Gwen tried to extrapolate what may have taken place, mindful of Elvia’s prior history. “One of the Directors took a fancy to you?”

“How did you know! You’re a Diviner!” Elvia cooed, giggling with glee as Gwen returned a meek smirk. “It was Lady Astor who found me wandering around the ward! She’s a Viscountess. Gwen, you should have seen her house at Cliveden! It’s HUGE! I mean, it's beyond huge! There are ten bedrooms in the upper level and a French Dining room and a library with all kinds of Spells and first editions manuscripts and there’s an entire lower level for the NoM Servants and the Butler was a Magus who cooks…”

After a good ten minutes of Downton Abbey, Elvia edition, the girl finally moved on to her placement. After several weeks in the hospital serving as assistant to one Doctor or another, she was sent out with a crew to the Frontier counties to assist in the effort of repelling Demi-human invaders.

Gwen had no idea what the ethnographic makeup of England was, but from Elvia’s tales of Trolls, Hobs, and the ‘Celtic Elves’ - commonly known as the Wood Elves; she guessed they had a lot of Demi-humans.

“We got to meet one of their healers! It was incredible! Amazing! Kiki took to the Druidess right away! They're soooo beautiful, all of them look like models. They have these incredibly cool tattoos on their faces, which turned out to be Enchantments!”

The story was quickly moving beyond Gwen’s comprehension. As every minute was another HDM, she opted to nod and smile as Elvia delivered her fantastic tale. What Gwen could discern after twenty-minutes of her superlative ‘OOOs’ and ‘Ah!’ was that Elvia served in a Field Hospital safely embedded in a Green Zone for almost a week while the benign Demi-humans, aided by the Humans, pushed back the ‘savage’ Demi-humans.

“In the end, only two of our Mages died,” Elvia announced proudly, her voice growing more distant and hollow.

“That’s wonderful.” Gwen cheered her on. “I am sure you did all you could.”

“They were brought in too late, all we could do was ease their pain.” Elvia’s smile was wane. “Did you know only Mages ranked Magus and above meet the criterion for deploying higher-tier healing spells in a triage centre?”

“Now I know,” Gwen affirmed Elvia’s jaded address. According to Elvia, reagents for advanced healing spells were finite, with a bottle-necked supply restricted by trade with the Wildland Elves.

Immediately, Gwen thought of her cubed Regenerate. She didn’t regret her investment in Lulan though. The now lucid Sword Mage was proving to be a good friend with a clear head. She wondered if this restriction was also the reason why Lulan’s Clan never sought out healing for her, though from the way she was treated, fear and malice was far likelier the culprit.

“Kiki!”

Elvia’s floral sprite made an appearance without warning. It looked sturdier than when Gwen had last seen it. With its folded leaf resending a skullcap and its white stems forming its limbs, it was quickly taking on the form of a future dryad.

“Shaaa!” “EEEEE!”

Caliban and Ariel made themselves known.

“Kii! KI!” Kiki fell out of sight.

“It’s scared of Caliban.” Elvia reappeared, the petal of her mouth issuing forth a delirious string of laughter.

“Evee, I miss you and Yue so much,” Gwen confessed, thinking how the girl was so close, yet so far away. What she would give to give Elvia a flesh and blood hug about now.

“I miss you too, Gwen.” Elvia’s eyes became misty. She swallowed hard, then perked up. “Tell me about what you did since we last talked.”

“Alight, so the whole thing started after Mid-term Exams…” Gwen delivered her recent adventure, readjusted for PG viewing.

* * *

“I am sorry…” Elvia’s eyes were swollen after Gwen told her the truth. “I didn’t know…”

Unlike Yue, who shared a link with Alesia and Gunther, Elvia had never been privy to the depth of Gwen’s depraved talent. When Gwen finally told her that she had Consumed a human being, Elvia was stunned for the duration of a HDM.

“Its okay, if it's you, I know you’ll do the right thing,” Elvia finally managed to ingest Gwen’s tale, though from her expression the Void was a hard truth to digest.

Gwen then reminded Elvia about Edgar, expanded on the Ravenport ordeal, and of Elizabeth Sobel and their connection to Nephres.

“Oh! My! God!” Elvia touched four dainty fingers to her peach-hued lips. French tips, Gwen noted, life was good in Europe. “Lord Ravenport?! Mycroft Ravenport? He’s a Duke in the House of Lords!”

“What do you know about him?” Gwen's eagerness was breathless.

“I don’t know,” Elvia confessed, crestfallen. “I’ve only ever seen him in the papers and on vid-casts. I can ask Miss Rothwell though.”

“What’s he like in the British media?”

“The London Gazette had a picture of him just a few days ago. Tall and dark? I suppose? He looked really gaunt, kind of scary and miserly too. The papers said he’s a part of the Tories - that means the Conservative Party. I think one of the articles said that he was all for purity and wanted the Commonwealth to return to the old days of the Britannic Empire.”

“That’s about what I pictured too.” Gwen bit her lip worriedly. “Is he influential?”

“I think so?” Elvia evidently cared nothing for politics, though a reasonable education wasn't out of the question. “He’s on the papers a lot! Always looming over someone and looking incredibly upset. The cartoons often make fun of him and his Party.”

Roo’s balls, Gwen swore under her breath. When someone could only be insulted in satire, you knew they were dangerous. That can’t be good, especially when the Ravenport Sr gets the message that she was the one responsible for Ravenport Jr’s demise. Didn't Gunther hint that her father crushed his balls? Bloody Oath. She was floating up shit creek without a paddle. Was she safe in Shanghai? From what she knew, the tier 1 Capitals loathed Mages from other cities barging into their territory. She just hoped that China had enough tension with London to not offer the Lord a reprieve in the form of an extradition treaty.

“Well, I gotta grill one chop at a time," Gwen replied dejectedly. "I guess I'll see what happens after tomorrow. I guess there's no point worrying about Puritan Sr when I gotta murder a guy in cold blood tomorrow for Spellcraft-”

“I don’t care!” Elvia announced suddenly, her blue eyes defiant and glowing. “I don’t care what you do. You’re always going to be the Gwen I met from Blackwattle.”

Hearing Elvia's shrill proclamation of irresponsible affection immediately turned her frown upside down.

“Thanks, Evee. You don’t know how much that means to me. I’ll do my best to keep walking on the straight, sane, and narrow, for you guys.”

“I’ll visit! I’ll be your healer! We’ll never be apart again!” Elvia promised idealistically, her aching heart clouding her judgement. “Wait for me! Three years, right? I should graduate in under three years! I’ll come to find you in Shanghai.”

“Okay.” Gwen reached out and touched her fingers to Elvia’s phantom appendages. With a hook and pull, the two girls made a pinky-promise across space and time. “That’s a promise.”

Elvia nodded fiercely.

“Alright, time to go. I got a helluva day tomorrow,” Gwen announced. “If possible, I’ll Message you and let you know the results. I'll think of you when I murd- er- or maybe not. Either way, knowing you're around, I'll be fine.”

“You have to! I’ll be waiting! I am not going anywhere until you do!” Elvia’s white face filled the projection.

“I promise. Good night, Evee. I'll call or Message.”

Elvia kept nodding, mumbling promises until Gwen hung up.

Gwen stared at the projector as though in a trance.

“You alright?” Petra met her at the door of the bedroom, dressed in singlet and panties, evidently ready to sleep.

Gwen turned her gaze upward, then nodded.

“Rest well. I’ll wake you 0800 sharp,” Petra announced. “Master Messaged me earlier, its all arranged. We’ll be going to Tilanqiao Prison first thing.”

“The…” Gwen felt her scalp crawl. "The 'Blue-Basket Prison'?"

“Yeah.” Petra instinctively reached out to touch Gwen’s increasingly clammy hands. She hadn’t expected it to be in Tilanqiao either, it was not a place any Mage wished to ever see in their lives.

Tilanqiao Prison.

Even Gwen knew about the infamous Prison, located in the Hongkou District. The compound was initially built by the British Mageocracy during the Colonial Occupation, and then later taken over by the Ministry of Public Security. Currently, it served as a nightmarish symbol of the shadow cast over Shanghai by the Ministry of State Security and the Internal Security Bureau. The stories that escaped from the prison were pure nightmare fuel.

It was said to be the harshest Mage prison in the world, second only to the now-defunct Alcatraz in the United States. False imprisonment, extortion, torture, the murder of political prisoners, organ harvesting - there was little that escaped Tilanqiao Prison when it came to humanitarian crises. It was a five-star fortress of atrocities, worthy of Orwell’s Mini-Luv moniker.

THAT was where they were going?

Gwen shivered, thinking of what horrors tomorrow would bring, on top of what horrors she would bring.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Petra urged her.

When Gwen finally came to lucidity and self-awareness, she was already in bed, and Petra had returned to her room. Shivering, she slid her body snugly into the silky cotton.

“Evee… Evee… Eve…”

Gwen invoked the mantra of peaceful sleep.

But try as she might, Hypnos refused to give his blessing.

To her shame, Gwen fell asleep on her babulya’s shoulders. She had at first been kept awake by a wild night of increasingly anxious speculations, but the abrupt release of tension when her babulya took her hand brought on what ten hours of darkness had failed to provide.

When was the last time she had felt so nervous? The HSC perhaps, the Australian University Entrance Exams. Her academic record had sucked; if she furthermore failed her external exams; tertiary education would be out of reach. Gwen recalled swallowing her own vomit as she sat at the exam table.

Now she was nearing another test.

The killing joke was that Gwen was herself the executor of the murderous scenario, one that arguably was more challenging than writing 3K word essays on Tess of the d'Urbervilles and W.B Yeats.

Then there was the fact that they were about to enter Tilangqiao Prison - a place synonymous with living hell.

Who was to say the PLA wouldn't have her ‘disappear’? According to rumours, more than one dissident had evaporated in its uncertain depth. The moment Tilanqiao’s Colonial era thrice-Enchanted, twice Transmuted gates swallowed her, she would be cut off from the outside world.

When she stirred, it was because her babulya had opened the car door. A frigid gust instantly displaced the cosy air of the sedan's cocooned interior.

Why was it so cold? Gwen wondered. Wasn’t it summer?

When Gwen looked up, she felt oppressed by the infamous gate of the Tilangqiao Prison, five meters tall and three meters across, looming over their vehicle. As the women alighted, her hands unconsciously wrapped her grey cardigan tightly over her camisole. Doubtlessly, the chilling presence of the prison was the source of her uncontrollable shivers.

As for the prison itself, the word that came to mind was austere. The gate was concrete and sandstone, with several layers of square tiles in scarlet making up the threshold, weathered to the hue of dried blood. What was imposing was the thickness of it, the weight of the high walls that stretched until a corner bent it out of sight. Above, four sentry towers marked its perimeter, with a fifth central building watching over the rest. The prison did not have an overwhelming presence above ground, taking up no more than five blocks. As for its depth though, Gwen had read once that no one but the highest officers of the MSS and ISC knew the true extent.

The sedan pulled away, leaving Gwen with Petra and her grandmother. Magister Wen said she'd meet them inside, while Magus Kumiko had stated she would not be joining them. As a Japanese national, she had no desire to visit the famous prison.

The guard at the gate examined their papers before Messaging his superior. His eyes lingered first on Petra; then on Gwen.

As a Mage prison, Tilanqiao was unisex, though the two genders were housed in separate areas and overseen by gender-segregated staff. The token attempt at curbing abuse, however, did not prevent certain rumours escaping from the prison and into the public; another reason for Gwen’s hair-raising paranoia.

To her immense relief, the giant gates did not boom open to swallow them. Instead, a side gate, near invisible, pushed itself open. A short, balding man with a greasy forehead emerged, scanning the three women with deadened eyes.

“My name is Ji Tongli. You can call me Warden Ji. Good to see you again, Director Song,” the unassuming man introduced himself before shaking their hands. Gwen noticed that his fingers were so calloused as to feel as though she was caressing toad-skin.

The women introduced themselves in turn.

“I will take you to Professor Wen.” The stoic official offered them neither small talk nor an attempt at amiability. “You may follow me. Keep your hands against your torso. Do not speak to anyone. Do not touch anything. Ms Song, Ms Kuznetsova, you will be scanned by diagnostic Scrying, but you will not be physically searched. That is the greatest courtesy I can offer. Should you betray my confidence in Director Song, a cell will be your abode until further notice. Am I understood?”

"Yes Sir!" The girls stood to attention.

As per babulya's instruction, the girls were fully attired, preferencing lose, non-magical clothing. Only their faces remained exposed for identification. Both of the girls likewise had their hair tied into ponytails-buns. Klavdiya's precautions had been another reason for Gwen's gut-churning paranoia. Except for passive-effect Magical Items, the girls had been advised to leave everything at home, or in their Storage Rings.

The foursome soon entered the side corridor, its interior severe and without decor, not even dust settled on the floor. Above, multiple Daylight spells were in full effect, their sterilising light erasing all shadows.

At the end of the corridor was another set of doors presided over by two guards, Mages the both of them. Gwen detected that one of them was likely a Transmuter, while the other was an Enchanter. They were low-tier, at least lower than her. She noted the wands they carried on their thighs.

Warden Ji conversed with his guards in low murmurs.

“It’s alright, dear. We’re perfectly safe.” Their babulya comforted her granddaughter and grand-niece. “We’re not going by the prison blocks. We’re going straight to the middle chamber, where the interrogations take place.”

The glow of glyphs faded.

The double-door opened.

The foursome proceeded.

Gwen noted that the warding-glyphs reactivated almost instantaneously as the doors shut behind them. As the party penetrated into the prison proper, the atmosphere changed. There was an oppressive presence, palpable and tangible, which now lingered in the space between door and corridor, growing more ominous with each successive section.

“Magic dampening,” Petra informed her cousin, giving the physical repression a name. “Nothing but basic cantrips can activate here without an explicit exclusion of your Mana Signature.”

To test Petra’s theory, Gwen attempted a faux summon of her Familiars. When she activated her Sigil and channelled her mana, there was a sluggishness that prevented her Spells from completing its arcane circuits.

“Unpleasant, isn’t it?” Petra likewise felt something crawling under her skin.

It was helplessness. Gwen recognised the reaction from when she'd discovered her 'generalist' talent in Blackwattle. It was a crippling sense of confusion, stemming from the loss of one's agency. A Mage without magic was a King without his army, a carpenter without his tools, a NoM bereft of his limbs. A sense that one was made incomplete and unwhole. It was likely the reason why her grandfather had put her in a cell with anti-magic warding when she had first arrived in Shanghai.

The current corridor ended. Another set of doors. Another set of guards. The prison was intentionally built like a maze.

“This way,” Ji directed the trio.

Though Gwen’s babulya seemed at ease, the two girls were beginning to perspire, their nerves fraying as eyes both physical and arcane canvassed their bodies, likely wondering if the girls were guests or future inmates.

When a much larger door in a different hue of charcoal opened, the girls crossed over into a courtyard. It was their first sight of the open sky since entering the compound. Ten minutes in, both Gwen and Petra felt as though a lifetime had passed.

They were now in a wire cage section - the exercise yard.

Here, the girls had their first glimpse of the prison population.

Having watched Oz, Prison Break, and, for her guilty pleasure, Orange is the New Black, Gwen was pretty sure she was an expert in prison stereotypes. Though she and Petra were demurely dressed in clothing that hid their figures, she did not doubt that Petra at least would cause a riot. After all, Tilanqiao was a prison, a mill of the human soul. In a place like this, ‘fresh meat’ was about the only thing that could drive a man, or a woman, wild with anticipation.

Then she was met by an eerie reality.

To their right, they saw the male prisoners. Mages, all of them.

To their left, the smaller quadrant reserved for women was empty. A barrier separated the larger and lesser half of the Prison, from the space between the sections, it was evident the two genders did not mingle.

One of the scenes Gwen had been contemplating was the infamous incident from Silence of the Lambs when Clarice Starling copped a hair full of bodily fluids from the psychotic Migs. They had Petra with them, after all, and Gwen wondered if anyone from the prison would be driven as wild as Tao's rival, 'Big Sammy'.

But there was no hooting.

No shouting nor jeering.

There wasn't the stomping of impassioned feet, nor the aggravation of violent men shaking the bars, frothing at the lips.

There was only a sullen silence. That and the sound of laboured breathing.

There weren’t nearly as many prisoners as Gwen had expected. A mere thirty-odd Mages of various ages, almost exclusively Han-Chinese, sat at the benches or stood against the exercise bars, beyond which were shimmering Walls of Force. They stared at the girls with shrunken irises swollen with pink vessels, but the inmates did not move nor make a sound.

They watched like though dumb statues as the girls passed, led by the Warden. To Gwen, the identically dressed men resembled flesh golems deprived of their scripts, awaiting command.

“Your stewardship is as steady as always,” Klavdiya praised the Warden of Tilangqiao.

“My job.” Warden Ji snorted. “I do it well.”

“That you do,” her babulya confessed. “No deaths this month.”

“No.” Warden Ji's lips curled. “Thanks to your help.”

Klavdiya's healer's aura seemed to relax the tone of Ji's body language. Above them, the twenty-story concrete block in faded blue, endearingly called the 'The Blue Basket' loomed, sapping the warmth of the sun as they stepped into the shade.

More guards met them at the door.

They scanned the girls layered clothing with a wand.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of aimless wandering, the foursome entered the basement of the main building. The B-1 was hollow at its centre, creating a long rectangular descent extending downwards in a double-helix spiral.

The wind blowing from below had a strong scent of antiseptics.

“Gwen, Petra. You can close your eyes if you want,” her babulya said after a moment of deliberation. “There’s nothing here of interest that will do you any good.”

Gwen and Petra regarded one another. One was thinking how things could be worse than being eaten alive by a Faceless skin changer, while the other recalled her encounter with mind-wiped internees under Moscow Tower.

The foursome waited for the levitation platform, which arrived a few minutes later, delivering a troop of four guards armed with lethal-looking implements on their thighs.

“Sir!” The guards saluted.

Ji inclined his head.

“LG-24, Interrogation and Observation Chamber.”

“Sir!” the operator hailed the command.

How stoic, Gwen noted.

The platform began to move.

The familiarity of the transit system filled Gwen with a wave of nostalgia. It reminded her of Sydney. Standing to attention beside Master Kilroy, she had traversed the Sydney Tower in this exact manner, guided by the Tower’s staff. For the first time in a long time, Gwen pondered what had happened to those guards she had befriended, wondering if they had survived.

The girls saw their first ‘VIP’ after twenty meters, where presumably the 'P' stood for Prisoner.

A gruff old man in orange overalls sat in a cell with nothing but an iron slab for a bed and a stainless steel toilet bowl. The cell was too small for the man to fully stretch out his body, forcing him to use the bowl as a seat so he could fully extend his feet. As the party passed, his eyes widened. The man launched himself at the transparent pane, plastering his whole face trying to get a glimpse of what he thought were two teenage girls.

“Dissident.” Ji had been warmed up enough by babulya to start playing the tour guide, speaking like a man describing the local fauna. “He tried to rile up the NoMs in Jiangsu against the local Secretariat. After the local security forces lost him in the mountains, the Aerial Division stationed in Jiangsu caught him gifting his ‘supporters’ to the Jueyuan to garner their support.”

“What’s that?” Gwen couldn’t help her curiosity. “Jueyuan I mean.”

“Humanoid apes,” Ji replied. “The Jueyuan elders know how to use Magic. The most distinct aspect of their society is that there are no females.”

“How do they-” Gwen reflexively began.

Petra stopped her right there.

“Oh.”

Ji continued to explain, humoured by the girl's interactions.

“When a Clan of Jueyuan gets out of hand, they become a force of reckoning. A small outpost is no match for a troop of a hundred Jueyuan. Even a teenage one can rip your arm off with its bare hands. Not to mention their shamans can use primitive Clerical and Druidic magic.”

The levitation platform proceeded.

The party bypassed by a dozen other prisoners, with Ji providing them with what passed for entertaining anecdotes.

“That last one, the one with her pants off? She’s a real piece of work,” Ji’s voice remained entirely flat and unassuming, even as the girls' faces were crimson from the last encounter.

The moment Gwen had met her eyes with the deranged female inmate, it was as though a strange compulsion had overcome her senses. She tore away her prisoner’s uniform and spread herself against the invisible pane, then-

Then babulya forced the girls to turn away from the obscene sight.

“Forbidden magic, that one.” Ji chortled coldly. “Some lost Clan or another. Her magic involves a forgotten Yin-Yang witchcraft where she drains her victim’s vitality through coitus. It was a thing, I am told, back in the Dynasties, the self-styled Emperors used such methods to prolong their longevity, going through dozens of concubines a month. She looked your age when she first came in. Without replenishment, she’s gone back to her real age.”

Gwen had taken a good gander before babulya thwarted their curiosity. The woman looked to be in her forties, looking like a meth-addict from her old world.

"Filthy wretches, the lot of them." According to Ji, no one imprisoned in Tilangqiao was 'innocent' or undeserving. Gwen chose to take his words with a grain of salt.

The bottom of the LG-24 was where they arrived finally. More PLA correctional officers secured the room beyond. thereiform was navy-on-grey camo, making their silhouette distinct against the bare white of the concrete.

“After you.” Ji motioned to the women.

The party entered.

Gwen felt a trickle of ice puckering the segments of her spine.

As they entered the rectangular chamber, Gwen felt the Magic Dampening fall away, though she was sure that it could be reactivated at any time.

She looked up from her lead-like feet. There he was. Her victim.

In the middle of the desolate room dressed in pale polished concrete, was a man brass-bound to an anchored chair. The man sat without sound; his body slumped and passive. His face was hooded, with a section in breathable mesh.

Gwen approached the man in a trance, as though her body was no longer her own. She felt as though she was a marionette pulled by stubborn strings. For a brief second, she entertained the idea of immediately summoning Caliban to inhale her victim. The ordeal would then be over.

“Gwen, I am glad you're here,” a voice issued forth from up on high. The party chased the source until they faced the far-right wall. The wall was Illusory, Gwen realised, something akin to a one-way mirror. “I am here with a few officials from the Ministry and the Pudong Tower. You've met them before. We’re ready to proceed when you are.”

The voice was Magister Wen’s.

A thrum of magic could be sensed flowing through the walls. From the prickling on her skin, Gwen knew it to be the activation of the diagnostic spells particular to the Cognisance Chamber.

She forced herself to face the hooded prisoner.

So what now? She’ll do the deed, then leave for lunch?

Should she talk to the man? Or look him in the eyes? Explain why he must now die?

“What was his crime?” Gwen asked. Magister Wen did promise that her victim would be thoroughly vetted.

“Terrible and heinous, I assure you. A mass murderer. It's all confirmed.” Magister Wen’s voice came from somewhere indistinctly above. “Warden, if you will.”

Warden Ji moved to discard the man’s hood.

“That’s not what we agreed on,” babulya moved to stop Ji. “What's the point of seeing his face? Just get this over and done. We’re not here for sadism. We’re here for knowledge.”

"It's alright, babulya," Gwen intervened. "I want to see - I need to see. I am taking this man's life, how can I not give him a final measure of respect? Warden, may I have the honours?"

"Gwen..." her babulya's face was equal parts concern and fatalism.

Annoyed by the delay, Ji stepped back.

Gwen took a deep breath, then approached.

The hood came off.

Her hazel eyes grew as large as hen's eggs.

* * *

“There she is. Is she ready?”

Magister Wen affirmed that Gwen was indeed 'ready' as Warden Ji led the party into the room below them.

A troop of military men stood beside the Magister by the observation window, with a fourth leaning casually against the far wall.

Furtherest from Wen was Wing Commander Derrick Webber, standing ramrod straight and looking downwards toward her specimen with benevolence and goodwill.

Major Wong of the Internal Security Bureau was next, more relaxed than his western counterpart. Tilangqiao was, after all, Wong's home ground.

The man standing closest to Wen was the Committee Chair of the Ministry of State Security, her specimen's grandfather, Klavdiya Song’s husband, Guo Song. The man's face was a mask of unknowable impassivity.

There was their uninvited guest. A fourth man who had arrived with Guo.

Jun Song. The Ash Bringer.

A man who had outlasted all expectations of his volatile elemental talent to become the Hero of the Northern Front.

Decades ago, Marie-Roslyn Wen had offered to dissect Jun’s talent in return for research that may preserve his body against the Ash talent. The family refused, not even her friend and confidant, Klavdiya Song, then only a Department Head, consented to her offer.

She wondered if someone from the PLA had considered scrutinising Guo's bloodline for signs of Demi-human ancestry.

Guo was Salt.

Hai was Salt.

Jun was Ash.

And now Gwen was Void and Lightning.

She could hardly believe it when Klavdiya told her. What's more absurd was that Guo was apparently against the girl's inclusion in the family!

The old hound's negligence was pure serendipity, a convergence of stars.

Had the old man not expelled the granddaughter, Klavdiya would have never come to her for help. Wen could hardly believe that in her remaining lifetime, there would be an opportunity to investigate the incomplete research abandoned by Henry Kilroy and Elizabeth Sobel!

As for why Guo loathed the girl, Wen had a theory.

She believed, notwithstanding imperfect evidence, that Gwen must be a bastard. The eldest son absconded, had he not? And now he returned with a teenage daughter. Wen had even uncovered that Gwen's 'mother' was a worthless Fire Mage! Two tiers from a NoM! Who was Hai kidding? How the hell does a Water-Negative Mage and a Fire Mage produce a Lightning-Void progeny? What freakish miracle was that? She was a woman of Spellcraft!

So she dug deeper, sending out her feelers into the Commonwealth's Towers. There, she found that information on Gwen was censured! Not only that, it was at the behest of none other than the Morning Star, Gunther Shultz! When Wen further inquired with the desperate Klavdiya, she came to the knowledge that Gwen had been attached hip to hip with Henry Kilroy before he died.

The puzzle pieces were falling into place.

Sobel was the single most accomplished Void Mage in modern history.

Kilroy was her spouse, the pioneer of research carried out on Sobel's talent.

So what did that make Gwen, the only Void Mage to not only survive her awakening but flourish thereafter - thriving as though ignorance was her Shield against the Void.

Coincidence?

Wen did not believe in coincidence.

Against all reason and evidence, Klavdiya’s granddaughter did not waste away like every other Void Mage the Towers had managed to scrounge up over the years.

As an outlier specimen, the girl was peerless. With the data gleaned from her negatively drained body, Wen was sure she would be hailed as the premier academic of her generation, the progenitor publisher of an original theory.

MEISTER Marie-Roslyn Wen would be the God Mother of a new branch of Elemental Magic, to be recalled and remembered and referenced ten thousand times over; immortalised in the appendices.

Whenever she thought about the future within her grasp, Wen felt an insatiable hunger, an unquenchable drive to push the girl just a little bit further.

She had done well so far.

The incident at D-109 had been just the beginning, a touchstone. The persuasion of Klavdiya followed. Now, the Towers from both the PLA and Pudong had pledged their support. Both sides had offered her unfettered liberty in exchange for a means to generate Void Mages. As dangerous as such beings might prove to be, the potential of cowing the Demi-humans as Sobel had done was immensely appealing to the Magi of the Towers.

The Oracle of Apollo at Delphi had stated as much that great calamities lie in the future, though truth be told, the spread of human cities was synonymous with disaster.

As for a more immediate premonition, Wen couldn’t comprehend why the Ash Bringer weighed her with an annoying smirk. To her knowledge, the former Grey Ghost was no longer a part of Internal Security. Had he taken on a more covert role? Or was the man here in the capacity of an Uncle? Her imperfect knowledge irked Wen to no end.

The victim she had chosen for Gwen was likewise a psychopath possessing immense talent. Lu Bing was a Clanner from the Frontier District of Qingcheng with a taste for Mage blood. The boy had awoken as a Dust Mage, then succeeded as a Conjurer-Illusionist. It was unfortunate that the young man had acquired a Scroll of Drain Life from the Rogue Mages, outlaw practitioners of Necromancy, learned the spell over a period of several months, then began a killing spree. For Years, Qingcheng City was convinced that a Ghoul was loose in the sewers. It wasn't until Bing's gluttony outgrew his caution that he was discovered. A chaotic melee ensued, resulting in the death of two acolytes and a Senior Mage.

Since then, the man had been imprisoned in Stasis for almost two years.

Would devouring the Dust Mage increase Gwen’s affinity to the Void?

Would Gwen acquire Illusion as a school?

Were there diminishing returns on how many tiers she could steal from others? How about the girl's VMI, did that have a limit?

These were legitimate questions for herself and her specimen.

They would both benefit.

Wen was also interested in the mental and physiological aspects of the Void and its impact on the user. Was the hunger an addiction, or was it madness, as Sobel had shown? Could it be controlled, or was it more akin to a gradual transformation? Could it be offset or satiated?

The answers lay somewhere in the girl's body. The more Gwen could be pushed; the more accurate her statistics. Then the girl would break, but that was data Wen sought as well. Some would say, as with Material Spellcraft, the boiling point was the most crucial data of all. Didn't Gunther Shultz boast that the girl couldn't be broken? Gwen had only herself to blame if she did.

But none of her considerations addressed why Jun Song now bothered her.

“Welcome, Gwen,” she stated to those below. “… We’re ready to proceed when you are.”

Klavdiya had wanted the man's face covered. It was a stupid sentiment, but Wen had allowed it.

"... I want to see..."

Wen almost snorted. The girl was entirely uptight and self-righteous! Maybe she WAS Guo's granddaughter. That part of them was practically identical.

The hood came off.

Beneath it was a familiar face. A face Wen had never seen in real life, but whom she knew from an exchange a little more than a week ago.

"CHOI?" She let loose the exclamation, then immediately regretted her tell-tale outburst.

Her eyes widened in nervous incomprehension, darting to Jun then to Guo.

Wen felt cold sweat oozing across her back, drenching her linen blouse. She had to circulate a sliver of Mineral-tinged mana through her body to steady the pounding of her heart, forcing her skin to retain its unflushed paleness.

How the fuck was Choi here? Her mind rioted with speculations. What was the meaning of this?

* * *

“SECRETARIAT CHOI?!”

Gwen was aghast.

“CHOI?”

The voice that came from above suggested that the Magister was no less surprised than Gwen.

Secretary Choi’s beady eyes were now two dilated orbs staring into the middle distance. It took only one glance to know that the space between the man's eyes was devoid of all human discourse.

Gwen was unpleasantly reminded of Magister Lee’s mockery of the Resurrection spell, where he ridiculed the idea that the body could be utilised even if the mind was gone.

Forcing herself to breathe again, she leaned in closer to the Secretariat’s face, watching her pallid appearance reflected in his glassy orbs.

* * *

“Where’s Lu Bing?” Magister Wen snapped at her audience before realising that she had trespassed protocol. She was a civilian; they were the PLA and a member of the Pudong Tower. If anything, they should be the ones dressing her down. As the Mineral-mana completed a circuit, Wen's fevered brain cooled. “Please accept my apologies. I was merely surprised that my candidate had been replaced.”

When she met their mocking eyes, Wen felt her skin prickle with goosebumps. They’re all in on it! The thought struck her like one of Gwen's Flash Bangs. The bastards!

“Miss Wen,” Guo began, his choice of title inferring just how little he thought of her. “Let me make a point very clear for you. Gwen is a Void Mage, and a Void Mage is a calamity waiting to happen. Unfortunately, others like my colleague here, are in disagreement...”

Guo’s bulldog face barely moved as he spoke, giving the MSS hound master the impression of an inexpressive statue. The filtered glow from the illusory wall further cast an indifferent light across his hawk-like nose.

“For this reason, I understand that rumours have circulated of my dismissal of Gwen. This is true. I do not trust the girl. She is an anomaly; an impossibility made flesh. I know not her mind, and I resent her allegiance with the late Henry Kilroy.”

The old man’s presence seemed to grow as his voice fell lower. Though she stood perfectly still, Wen felt as though cornered by an ancient beast. That was the difference between an academic against one who had survived a global conflict, a civil war, followed by a Political Purge.

“But my dislike, my loathing, my repudiation of my granddaughter; are private matters. A personal preference. If Klavdiya wishes to aid Gwen, that is her choice, HER undertaking. I have to respect her decisions. If Klavdiya believes her actions are for the best, I will not interfere, just as she had not intervened in mine.”

The MSS Secretary's voice dropped an octave.

Wen was sure her shirt was now drenched.

“YOU - on the other hand. Who do you think you are, Miss Wen? You’re an Expat, not even a member of our Party. You’re from the Commonwealth, are you not? Your parents fled to England. That’s where you received your education. Your loyalties are only to yourself. You don’t respect my wife. You don’t respect the girl you’re using. You don’t even care for my grandniece, your 'apprentice', who thinks the world of you. They’re just pieces of a puzzle to you.”

Magister Wen was too wise to offer an immediate rebuttal. Even if she could, she had to wait until her body resumed its full faculty. She was reminded of the rumour that Guo was a Mind Mage. Wen was no slouch against Charms, but the old man's mental pressure was immense!

“Jun.”

When Guo turned away from Magister Wen, his son approached.

“Observe the fate of Secretariat Choi.” Jun tilted his head in the direction below. “Magister. You’re a researcher, a damn good one. But even the best researcher can't write her papers from a cell in Tilangqiao."

Wen felt her spine tense when the prison's name played across Jun's lips.

Her eyes drifted toward Wong and Webber.

“We remain in full support of your ‘Research’, Magister.” Wong inclined his head. “This is a private matter between you and the Song family.”

“I am inclined to agree.” Wing Commander Webber furrowed his brows. “Certainly, Pudong would prefer a more organic approach to Miss Song’s Void talent. I must inform you, Madam, that there exists a long-standing request from Magus Shultz that Pudong ensures the safety and freedom of Miss Song in Shanghai. Had I known that today and the District incident were begotten by yourself, I would have advised patience.”

Neither rebukes nor agreements, Wen damned her 'allies' silently. When she thought about it, why were they even laying Choi's bullshit onto her doorstep? All she wanted was to nudge the girl in the right direction.

“I would hardly think it’s fair to-“ she protested.

“Klavdiya had been upset. Very upset,” Guo interjected suddenly. “I hadn’t seen her so stricken since the Purge when her friends were accused.”

There was something about the man’s voice that made Wen wish she had sewn her mouth shut.

“I see what you're trying to do. I do not condone what you are trying to do.” Guo’s eyes were now observing his granddaughter. “But I suppose a calamity is called as such precisely because it cannot be avoided.”

“…” Wen decided remaining silent was likely her best option for the time being.

They watched the girl marvel over Choi's mind-cleansed appearance.

“Magister.” Guo's decision to use her proper title filled Wen with immense relief. “Do your job. Nothing more.”

Magister Wen turned to the scene below.

The Path of Spellcraft never did run smooth. These militant meatheads would never understand. Like the old Faustian allegory, so long as knowledge could be gained, the ends justified the means. Who could judge a Meister after the fact? Did the Confucian liturgy not state that the sea of knowledge knows no shore?

Desist?

She had run this far without pausing for breath, how could she stop now?

Wen turned to Guo.

"As you wish, Secretary Guo."

* * *

“Gwen, please proceed,” Magister Wen's command called out from above after an uncomfortably long bout of silence.

Before Gwen could summon her wits, Jun appeared beside the three women and the Warden.

“Uncle Jun!” Gwen's greeting had a tone of ambivalence.

Much of her present circumstance was beginning to make sense now.

“Gwen.” Jun grinned at her. “I’ve prepared for you a dossier of Choi’s inglorious service to the State. Let’s say the Secretariat could have died ten times over and his sentencing would have been insufficient.”

“It’s alright, Uncle.” Gwen had mixed feelings about her Uncle's intrusion. “I trust that you-”

“Don’t.” Jun halted her flattery, then handed over a data slate. “Trust yourself first and foremost. Read it, then make a decision. If you choose not to do this; no one can force you.”

Gwen turned her attention to the slate, where the magic-parchment showed MSS records for Choi's 'confessions', extracted via a cocktail of Compel Truth and Enfeeble Mind.

“Jun.”

“Uncle.”

“Mother. Petra.” Jun greeted the others in turn. "Let's give Gwen some space."

Above, Magister Wen watched in sullen silence as her aborted endeavour took on a twist of its own.

* * *

Distribution of Illicit Substance

Human Trafficking

High Treason

The list of jargonistic 'state' crimes for Choi made little sense to Gwen, though career highlights such as the 'Trafficking' of underage Mages stood out to her. According to the transcript, Choi was running 109 like a dynastic bureaucrat-scholar, making the 'locals' fight and quarrel with one another for stability and amusement. As for Treason, Choi had confessed to trading state-sanctioned magic-tools, glyphs and materials to Wildland rogues in exchange for precious ingredients and exotic fauna.

The verdict from Internal Security was 'Summary Execution', followed by the reduction of the man's remains to ash to prevent Necromantic tempering.

Choi was a dead man walking.

Gwen was to be his deliverer.

* * *

Gwen returned the slate to Jun.

“Gwen, don’t fret. Choi was such a babbling lunatic by the third reading that we had to Mind Blank him to prevent him biting off his tongue.”

So she was executing not only a condemned criminal but also a vegetable, Gwen pondered her renewed circumstance. She knew it was ungrateful to resent her uncle, but having her resolve deflated in such a manner felt like a slap to the face.

Gwen took a step forward, approaching the man formerly known as Secretariat Choi until she was an inch from his face.

"Mr Choi, do you know me?" She gazed into the man's empty eyes once more.

Behind her, babulya and Jun exchanged a concerned glance.

"Nurrrgh..."

"I am Gwen Song," she declared. "I was there in D-109. You sent Nephres Zalaam after me. I Consumed her with my Void abilities. In a few moments, I will consume you as well. If there is anything you would like to say, you can make your peace now."

Choi drooled, his eyes unblinking.

Gathering her wits, she made some space between them.

“Caliban!”

The netherworld worm slipped into the material plane.

“Shaa! Shaaa!” Anticipating what was to come, Caliban opened its head carapace to reveal two tentacles, one cobalt and the other crimson, symptomatic remains of its Gila-feast.

“I am proceeding,” Gwen informed the assembly above. The thrumming floor increased the pitch of its mana-wells; its diagnostic magic cranked to full.

As Caliban came closer, Choi's body began to shudder. First shivering as though he was cold, then with greater violence as the netherworld worm coiled around his torso. When Caliban came as close to his face as Gwen had, Choi began to thrash in his seat.

"NEeeaaagh~! Neaaaagh!"

The sound that issued forth from his lips were like that of a bleating goat. The Ex-Secretariat struggled with such ferocity that the skin of his wrists broke, opening a vein on his cubby-white forearm. A spurt of arterial blood escaped as the man strained against the brass manacles, sending a dash of crimson to splash onto Gwen's white runners.

"What are you...." Jun's expression soured. Was the girl toying with Choi? "Gwen, just do it."

"I need to see this," Gwen's voice drifted across the room. "I can't avert my eyes, Uncle Jun, not now. Not ever. No matter what Secretariat Choi had done, he isn't a side of veal we're feeding to Caliban."

"Gwen." Jun's jaws set displeasingly.

"I am sorry." Gwen redoubled her focus. "Please bear with my wilfulness for a little longer. Caliban!”

Before its observers, the serpent engorged, its carapace splitting until the formerly six-foot snake became a nine-foot pulsating monstrosity of chitin and bruised flesh. Two lamprey-tipped tentacles shot toward Choi, one ramming into his throat while the other penetrated his abdomen.

Choi’s body shook; a hint of hysterical terror came and went, then his eyes rolled upwards as muscle and ligament distended. Caliban's tentacles tugged Choi's loose flesh like a ragdoll caught between two taut ropes.

Petra, Babulya and Jun all watched with fascinated horror. Was this what Gwen wanted to see? Was this what she wanted them to see? Was she trying to tell them that this was the horror she must now endure with every victim?

Gwen stood only half a meter away, her camisole and pants splattered with carmine, her shoes spotted with gore, her pearly teeth gnashing so fiercely.

Her choice, her responsibility, her remorse.

She had to burn this moment into her mind; else she was no better than her Master's estranged and insane wife.

‘Crack!’

The grotesque onomatopoeia indicated that there was now enough of Caliban inside Choi's chest to overburden the ribcage. There was solace that Caliban had sought Choi's brain through his throat and not his eyes, for if the man could scream, Gwen felt she could kiss goodbye the sweet innocence of sleep forever.

Without warning, Choi's stomach ballooned, as though the man had become instantly pregnant. His bloodless mien lost all expression. There was a final twitch, then Choi's limp head hung itself against his spine. His hanging eyes bulged, his ocular nerves finally severed at the stem.

The heart, the liver, the brain - Gwen suppressed the repugnance rising from the pit of her stomach.

She would burn this vision into her skull.

“Hurrrgh…”

It was Petra who first lost the fight against her body’s rebellious revulsion.

The Mineral Mage materialised a crystalline cube and deposited her breakfast.

Gwen meanwhile, patiently anticipated her tithing of Caliban's harvest.

It came.

The euphoria that struck her was somewhere between a tier 3 Tusker Boar to half a Nephres Zalaam. Akin to the Schmidt Pain Index, Gwen figured she should mentally compile a Caliban Index, with Nephres at 10 and the small-fry at 1.

With an arm holding onto babulya for support, Gwen weathered the incoming tide of pleasure gnashing her innards; perceiving herself as a standing stone amidst breaking waves. Her eyes rolled, her legs shook, her hand gripped her grandmother’s shoulders, clenching until it was pale and bare-knuckled.

But she held on, conscious and lucid.

Her eyes had not moved from the cadaver of a man alive mere moments ago.

“Enchantment and Illusion,” Jun informed her, shaking his head at her pigheadedness. “Those are Choi’s Schools of Magic. Tier 4 Illusion was his natural talent. Tier 4 Enchantment was what he chose as his minor; though I’d dare say Enchantment was the more skilful of the two. It took us quite some time to get through his mental shielding. As for his element, I believe it was Water.”

Gwen opened her eyes, her orbs alive with vivid vitality; her irises brilliant emerald and citrine-topaz.

“Gwen, how do you feel?” Magister Wen’s voice resounded from up on high.

“I feel… myself.”

The perpetual hunger Gwen had endured for the week had entirely disappeared, making her wonder if all her suffering had been a waking dream. Her complexion became rosy and flushed, her limbs brimming with potential. She stood straighter and felt taller; her stoop disappeared, her swan’s neck extended effortlessly. Even her hair appeared fuller.

Petra packed away her Vomit-Cube and incanted a cleansing Prestigitation.

“Sorry.” Her pale-blue irises fell upon Gwen with renewed respect. “I thought I knew, but in hindsight, I guess I knew nothing.”

“Can you activate Enchantment and Illusion Sigils now?” Compared to Petra's introspection, her Master's tone was breathless with curiosity.

“I don’t know how,” Gwen addressed the Magister's eager demand. She never had the choice to learn any spells from those Schools. “Caliban might take a while to transfer those talents.”

“Unsummon Caliban,” her voice suggested. "Perform your usual meditation. As I said before, all the necessary components for recognising Sigils are a part of theory by indoctrination, you couldn't miss it if you tried."

Caliban had by now returned to its docile form entirely of its own volition. Gwen reached down and picked up the bloody worm bodily.

Her babulya and Jun gave each other another worried look. Was the girl feeling alright? Was she silently protesting?

Gwen's behaviour could be incredibly thoughtful and endearing, but sometimes, her reactions took on a whole new slant.

They watched as she wiped Choi's bodily fluids from Caliban's seamless face, then gazed at her bloody hands.

“Shaa?” Caliban struggled in her arms, nodding its faceless mien and wagging its spear-like tail.

“Return.”

Caliban dematerialised.

Gwen turned away from the gory remains of Choi’s mangled body. Turning her mind inward until she was within her inner world. Wen was right. The recognition of Sigils was ingrained knowledge. Through her mind’s eye, she saw past the glowing beacon of Evocation, beyond the silver-brilliance of her Conjuration and a multitude of others, until she caught the pale-blue illumination of Illusion. There was no Enchantment. She saw nothing of the School's ochre-gold glow.

Gwen opened her eyes.

“Illusion.” She breathed out. “I see it.”

By now a pair of janitors had been called in to clear away Choi’s body. The Corporals came in with impassive faces, zipped up Choi's corpse in a dark polyester bag, then left with numb expressions. When they passed Gwen, she sensed the fear radiating from them like a stench.

“Very good, we're done here.” Magister Wen’s voice had such relief in it that one might have thought she was the one who'd just cannibalised a man in cold blood. “We’ll be having another biometric session Sunday midday, twenty-four hours from now.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Gwen replied.

She thoughtfully rubbed the sanguine liquid between her thumbs as it grew viscous and sticky with each passing second, the human life within fading cell by cell.

With a flick of the wrist, she produced a cleansing cube. A single LDM later, Gwen was once again pristine. The irony did not escape her as she snorted mockingly at her particular regard for cleanliness.

Gwen then turned to her silent family, who'd been watching her ritual with mild alarm. “Babulya, everyone, shall we?”

“I don’t suppose lunch is out of the question?” Jun half-jokingly suggested, hoping to diffuse whatever nerve Gwen had snagged in the execution of Choi. "Maybe vegetarian?"

Petra’s pale face indicated that lunch was the last thing on her mind. Gwen gave her a brief hug, squeezing Petra against her body and telling her not to worry.

The role-reversal seemed to have caught the prideful girl off-guard. Her expression grew grim with the realisation that for all her blustery big-sisterhood, Gwen had seen horrors she couldn’t begin to imagine. Who knew that Caliban could become such a nightmarish abomination? She watched Vid-casts with it coiled by her ankles for St Peter’s sake! It had played catch with her and slept on her lap!

“Dessert and ices, I think,” Klavdiya suggested. The Director then turned to her son with a bemusement expression. “Jun, can you tell me why your father is up there?”

Gwen froze. Had grandfather been watching?

“Ah~ you knew?” Jun scratched his head. "I thought those walls hid everything, even Detection spells."

“I know now.” Their babulya chuckled mischievously. “I was wondering why Marie had suddenly become so demure. I take it Guo's poured a bucket of cold water over her?”

“Grandfather…” Gwen glanced up, imagining his coal-like eyes looking down. Gods! He’d seen her feed Caliban! The blood! The gore! The monstrous nature of it all! She'd even denigratingly smeared herself with symbolic self-loathing! He MUST think that she's bat-shit insane by now!

“Don’t fret.” Babulya touched a finger to Gwen's cheeks. “Let’s have tea first. Then we can talk.”

“I'll leave Gwen in your careful hands, mother. I am going back to base,” Jun informed them. He bowed toward his mother, then turned toward his niece. “Remember what we discussed. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

“Thank you, Uncle Jun. For looking out for me.” Gwen hugged him gratefully. Her uncle had wanted what he thought was best for her, even though it was a cop out.

Remorse, she reminded herself, thinking of her boastful promise to Henry and Sufina. The day she no longer felt remorse, was the day she stood shoulder to shoulder with the woman who murdered her Master.

Watching Jun depart with a wink and a grin, Gwen couldn’t help but put a hand to her chest, searching for the oppressive presence of conscience.

Her heart was calm.

But then it skipped a beat.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in quiet relaxation at a garden cafe.

Extraction from the prison was more expedient than the trio's entrance, with Jun and the Warden escorting their guests through yet more twisted side passages. From what Gwen could discern, the whole prison was specially built so that any imperfect knowledge would result in escapees becoming trapped or lost in the prison’s depth.

"No Teleportation Circles exist for going out," the warden informed them.

Gwen figured she wouldn't want to be Teleporting in either.

Though the grotesque execution remained a recent memory, their desire for discussing Choi’s mercy-killing extinguished once the group exited Tilangqiao's austere interior. Jun parted from the girls, and they caught Klavdiya's chauffeured sedan toward the Bund.

Once the smell of blood had been sufficiently diluted by a precisely brewed flask of Buddha's Tears, babulya griped that both of the girls did not yet have boyfriends.

“Gwen's still a lass, but Petra, you’ve been here for almost three years now. You're nineteen and then some!”

“I am not interested in relationships.” Petra shrugged, sipping her high-grade Jasmine.

“I hope Wen’s asexual obsession with Spellcraft isn't rubbing off on you.”

Despite apparent lack of any hilarity, the trio chortled and snickered. There was an inane hysteria about it all, as though the women were drunk on laughter.

“No, babulya, that’s not it.” Petra had to return her cup on the table to avoid spilling the tea. “I am more interested in finishing my thesis on the Spell Cubes, I guess.”

Their trilling twitter drew attention from the other guests, some amused and others annoyed.

"I saw a guy asking after you, Baili? I believe? He looked like a top bloke. Why not give him a chance?" Gwen poked at her cousin mischievously.

“How about you?” Petra poked back. “There are lots of rumours, you know. I can dismiss Kusu, that guy’s a sister-holic, but how about Dai? His cousin was very upfront about how much the Princeling of Nantong asked after you.”

“Just a man who owes me a favour.” Gwen brushed Petra’s riposte aside with a deft parry. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“The Fung Clan has a good reputation,” babulya cut in. “They shouldered the cost of developing Nantong and even opened up their Clan’s secrets to the Towers. A very progressive group of Clanners, a new wave, if you will.”

The girls went on talking and babulya chimed in now and then. They paraded around the prickly perimeter of the morning’s events like women circling a barrel cactus, afraid that a single slip would break the skin and draw blood.

The tea was refilled by a NoM Waitress several times. The triple-tier of petite-fours disappeared, as did the black-sesame chiffon cake, a house special.

“I better head back,” babulya informed the girls. “I bet Guo’s got a long list of grievances to launder.”

“I understand, thanks for everything, Babulya.” Gwen offered to pay for the meal, but their babulya would not have it.

“Take care of her, Petra. Gwen, take care of Petra as well.”

“We will, Babulya,” the girls replied in unison.

The military saloon arrived a minute later.

The girls watched their grandmother go.

“It’s still early,” Petra noted, reading Gwen’s face for an outbreak of sudden distress.

“I want to learn Illusion spells.” Gwen’s words caught the Mineral Mage by surprise. She had thought her cousin would mope and simmer in misery for a few days at least.

“To the library then? Reserved access offers common incantations from Tier 1 to 3.”

“You beauty! We’ll go there first, and then to the Henglong Laboratory.” Gwen stood from the chair and unwrinkled her clothes. “I want to surprise Tao!”

* * *

Gwen and Petra discussed viable Illusion spells as Magister Wen carried out the necessary measurements on Gwen’s new biometrics.

Though not at the level of her babulya’s lab, Wen had loaned an Indexing Engine from Klavdiya’s hospital to save Gwen from continually moving between Henglong and the Second Experimental.

“1.81 to 1.85 is what I am seeing,” Magister Wen noted, scribbling into her data slate. “Congratulations Gwen, you’re an Illusionist now.”

“Thank you, Magister. I appreciate your patience and experience.”

“It’s my job.” Gwen couldn’t help but detect a sardonic ring to the Magister’s voice, though she chose to disregard the Magister's passive-aggressive displeasure. A line had been drawn in the sand, and now the proper thing was for the both of them to respect their distance. As Jun had said, give and take, nothing more.

Petra said nothing as Gwen and her Master conversed, sidestepping one another with overt politeness like two sabre-dancers.

“VMI… 220.”

Gwen thanked the Magister again.

“I’ll be drafting my reports to the Towers. Goodnight.”

Wen told Petra to lock up, then left the girls to their devices.

“Too bad you’re not quite tier 2,” Petra waited until her Master was gone. “The good Illusion spells are all 7 to 9 Major incantations or more. Invisibility, Mirror Image, Magic Mouth, the works.”

“I think I’ll have my hands full.” Gwen smirked. “Can’t believe there was a spell called Invisible Familiar.”

“I feel so sorry for whoever has to deal with Caliban now more than ever.” Petra grinned, shaking her head. When her cynical laughter ceased, she shivered despite herself.

Her cousin had almost ripped the page from the book when she saw the inscription for the Creature Mage support spell.

Invisible Familiar

Illusion (1)

Casting Time: 7 Major, 2 Minor Incantation

Range: Close

Components: Somatic, Verbal

Duration: Persistent.

You wrap your Familiar in a shroud of invisibility. This spell functions as a Lesser Invisibility when applied to one’s Conjured Familiar. The Familiar is near impossible to spot until it enters combat form. When in docile form, the spell remains active until the caster dismisses its effect, or is OOM.

Combat functionality aside, having Caliban being invisible was the most useful thing Gwen could imagine. It would do wonders for her interactions with others if she wished to have Caliban manifested out of sight.

As with all Invisibility-spells, she needed to register an application at the Tower to be ‘sanctioned’ with its possession. Should she be discovered in the future with an ‘illicit’ possession of Disguise Self, Invisibility and other similar 'incognito' incantations, she may be paying a more meaningful visit to Tilangqiao.

Other than Invisible Familiar, Gwen made requests for Clarion Call, Ventriloquism, Auditory Hallucination and Disguise Self.

‘Disguise Self’ in particular, Gwen was very keen on adding to her repertoire. The spell allowed for minor alterations of her attire, the colour of her hair and eyes, and her general ‘aura’ to be more eye-catching or discrete. The description further informed her that the true version of the incantation - Greater Disguise Self - was censured in all Tower controlled regions. It was the same ordeal with the Transmutation spell, Polymorph Self. Both the civil government under the CCP and the Mageocracy under the PLA and Pudong Towers discouraged any magic which would complicate the identification of individual Mages.

With her new utility spells accounted for and her biometrics sent off by Wen, it was time for the girls to retire.

* * *

Week 8.

Elvia had been informed, as had her siblings-in-craft in Sydney.

Alesia in her usual bravado told Gwen not to mind.

“Shit happens,” the callous Battle Mage informed her. “Unless you’re on the Frontier, all the tier 1 big-wigs rise to the top by stepping on human corpses. Don't sweat it. Fuck ‘em, just so long as you’re alright.”

Gunther berated his fairer, though far more hot-headed half, then held a serious heart to heart with his Master's youngest. Gwen's paternal brother-in-craft then explained with great patience, that her choice showed great maturity, and that he was proud of her decision to face Choi head-on.

“I am actually far more worried about Yue. I hope she doesn’t take after Alesia too much…” He sighed, clearly exhausted from his work as Chief Administrator. “Look, we should get going. Gwen, you’re the one who enlightened Master about Noblesse Oblige and Militant Pacifism, as we are your siblings, we’re behind you. Do not doubt your choices, do what you think is necessary. Master trusted you because he saw something in you. You’re not going to become Elizabeth Sobel.”

Thank you! Gwen's fear for her sibling-in-crafts' disapproval disappeared like snowmelt. Thank the guiding stars for Gunther and Alesia, even if her sister-in-craft possessed the emotional quotient of a yam.

As for the absent Yue, she was ‘living it up’ on the Mermen Front, kicking ass and taking names. Already the soldiers were calling her “Little Red”. The moniker alluded to Yue's Master of course, but the title amused Gwen. She felt sorry for any Big Bad Mermen Yue might run across. She would probably set her grandmother's house on fire, then watch it, the farm, and the surrounding bush burn.

“She almost at tier 5 Evocation,” Alesia intoned proudly. “Her Transmutation is coming along as well. Nothing like death and danger to get your tiers up.”

Having thus received both confirmation and affirmation of her milestone, Gwen then threw herself into her studies with a frightful passion. In addition to her classes, she practised and trained in the early morning and late afternoon, varying her Schools of Magic.

Illusion proved to be a mixed bag. The Spells she had acquired for utility worked perfectly. As for the ones she had learned to impress Tao, they proved far too challenging without a tutor.

Clarion Call was an easy spell she learned in a day, projecting her voice until she could be heard almost a kilometre away. When she tried the spell in her private training chamber, she had nearly deafened herself.

Ventriloquism was more difficult. At higher levels of expertise, it was used explicitly in conjunction with other Illusion incantations which created sounds both real and falsified. All Gwen could do was throw her voice a dozen meters, which made for little more than an impressive party trick.

Auditory Hallucination was the spell which proved to be her first hurdle. As the incantation manifested, she was meant to visualise, for the lack of a better word, the sound she wished to generate. What she lacked, however, was an ability to translate the ‘sound’ within her mind into spells. It was as though she was feeding analogue signals into a digital system. After a few dozen attempts, she managed to mimic her speech. As for the music within her mind, the spell either ‘failed’, or produced a jumble of sounds which jarred her ears.

Baby steps - think of it as learning a new instrument, Gwen narrated to herself. Everything takes time, especially when she was using the 'spell' as a means of translating ‘thought’ to ‘sound’.

On Thursday, she received the green light for Invisible Familiar but lost her appeal for Disguise Self. The reason was that the board did not deem her request ‘productive’ and that the spell was ‘unnecessary’ for a Fudan Student. Furthermore, an addendum suggested that she was welcome to re-apply once she has 'chosen' a career path.

The operative clauses did not escape Gwen.

It was unlikely that the Towers would consent to spells like Invisibility, Disguise, Alter-self, and other spells common to espionage for someone in her shoes. They probably had their hands full just tracking her Teleportation Ring on a daily basis. Never mind that these spells would easily fail muster under a pair of diagnostic goggles or a Dispelling Ward. Any measure to aid her evasion was a measure too far.

Of course, she could ask for help from Gunther or Jun, but Gwen declined the temptation. There was no need to rock the boat - yet.

* * *

Magister Wen continued to receive her fortnightly allotment of Void and Druidic essence.

Their relationship had changed since Guo's intervention, with the Magister keeping a respectful distance from both Gwen and her babulya. Petra meanwhile, played the monkey-in-the-middle, trying to soothe tensions.

The poor apprentice may as well be pushing through wool.

Where Wen’s snide remarks were jagged crystal and pointed criticism, Gwen’s politeness was weightless cotton. Sometimes, the air between Master and cousin was thick enough to spread with a butter knife.

Just the other morning, Petra found no less than two strands of white hair on her brush.

* * *

With Gwen's courses entering their final weeks, her workload drastically increased.

Magister Birch began to introduce elements of Divination into his curriculum, dividing the class into those doomed to rely on devices, and those gifted enough to progress to the next stage. Gwen took to Divination like an Undine to water, making the Magister smack his lips thoughtfully as she Dimension Doored to and fro, masterfully displacing herself from beacon to beacon.

As for Evocation, Magus Young made good on her promise of showing off ‘Spirited’ Evocation. Each of the students received a chance to ‘experience’ the IFF possessed by the lucky few. Lu volunteered when it was Gwen’s turn, skilfully arcing blue flashes of plasma around her person to strike targets behind or beside her. When she enviously fluttered her lashes at Wanli, the hawk's Master demonstrated a new mastery. Unlike his first lesson with Instructor Chen, he could now utilise the hawk’s AOE without harming allies caught in its range.

For Gwen herself, she worked on pushing her Evocation toward Tier 5. Without Caliban’s aid, it would take her at least until the middle of next year. The delay would be used to fortify her existing talents. She would focus on the efficacy and speed of her Evocation incantations.

As for new spells, Magus Young recommended the late Magister Larsen’s Ball Lightning.

“Until you get a Spirit, 'seeking' spells are likely your staple within a mass-melee," the Evoker advised.

The cost of the spell was 72 CCs, not to mention Gwen lacked the tiers necessary for the time being.

“You’ll grow into it,” Young informed her. “Think of it as loosening the tier 5 bottleneck.”

Gwen was more so looking forward to self-seeking Void orbs that explode.

Days whizzed by in the blink of an eye.

She had too much to do and too little time.

If there was a solace to her workaholic ethic, the hectic schedule had driven any thoughts of Choi entirely from her mind. She took this as a good thing, for it implied that there was something to be forgotten, rarified as the feeling may be.

She had also uncovered an unexpected boon, proffered by her supernatural vitality. Gwen found that she never suffered from 'true' physical exhaustion. Haggard as she may be after an eight-kilometre campus-circuit, she was up and at em five minutes later. Her only limitation was mental and spell-fatigue, which needed to be cured through sleep and meditation.

By Week 10, Gwen had successively kept Caliban and Ariel manifested for eight days. She submitted the results to Instructor Chen, upon which she received his congratulatory accolades.

“That’s it.” Chen spread his hands. “You’re welcome to keep attending, of course, there are three weeks left, but if you want to progress further, go to the Front. Congratulations on passing the course.”

Gwen insisted there was more to learn, but Chen shook his head.

Ariel had been a sterling example of obedience in the obstacle run; Caliban had scored in the median as well. Gwen thus considered Chen’s words, taking to heart the military man’s advice. The Front loomed large on her list of places to visit, but she would consult with Jun as to whether ‘real’ experience was necessary for her participating in the IIUC.

* * *

Economics moved from Macro to Micro as the term progressed, shifting from the resource trade between the cities, enabled by the mass-freight services between the Frontier and the tier 1 hubs, to individual power brokers.

Cities such as London, with its proximity to friendly Demi-humans, thrived not on mineral wealth, but on essential ingredients and reagents for spells.

Other cities such as Paris and Rome, thrived on lingering vestiges of soft power left over from their dynastic history, retaining unrivalled influence through their institutions.

A particularly interesting place which made her ears perk was the Vatican.

“The ultimate seat of Faith Magic,” the instructor had blatantly stated as though reciting hypnopaedic dot-points. Gwen raised her hand, but Professor Jiang wasn’t a Mage and couldn’t explain the subtler points of Faith Magic.

Faith? The moniker smacked of mysticism. Her babulya had remarked more than once that there was no such thing as Gods. If so, what constituted a Deity? Even in Australia, religion was just that - a public spiritual service. It wasn’t as though the Cardinals and the Bishops flew through the air at the behest of higher powers. Then again, the Frontier had gone so far as to censor Spellcraft textbooks. Lord knows what else the ordinary people of Sydney were kept from knowing.

When she asked Professor Ma, who confessed to desiring her intellectual company, the academic provided some clues.

“Ha! Not even your average Magus would know the answer to that question.” Ma chuckled. “What we know about Faith Magic is that it taps into the collated animus of those who believe in a particular doctrine. It’s an ancient sort of Magic; some say the Egyptian God-Kings were the first pioneers, or the Israelites, though both of those ‘faiths’ have now reduced themselves to more orthodox forms of Spellcraft. I suppose the Christian Church has retained a stranglehold on Faith Magic for some time; they never did lose their seat of power. No conquest, no diaspora, no loss of home or hearth. A few civil-wars though, Luther and all that, but they’ve kept together for the last two thousand years pretty well.”

“How come Fudan doesn’t have a course on Faith Magic?” Gwen enquired.

“What a silly question!” Ma mocked her unworldly conversance. “Isn’t it obvious? There are no state-religions in China! All forms of organised faith are seen as a challenge to the CCP. You know what I think? All magic, in the end, is just Spellcraft. You know what they say, any phenomenon that can’t be explained is always seen as divine providence. That’s why we have Spellcraft; to take us out of the mystical antiquity and into the modern world of reason and rationality. Observable and replicable - that's our motto."

“I see, Sir. Would you happen to know the mechanics behind Faith Magic?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree.” Ma collated his lecture-notes, just as well that he was alone. None of the other students possessed any desire to keep a NoM Professor company. “Don’t overthink. Focus on what you do know. Your finals are coming up, yes? Don’t get distracted. Excellent essay, by the way. A+. Keep up the good work.”

“How come you know so much about Spellcraft, Sir?” Gwen felt puzzled that neither Birch nor Young had answered her enquiry. Petra knew little to nothing about it either. She had said that Moscow Tower was ambivalent about Faith Magic, though religion held palpable influence across the Russian Frontier, especially in the Faith Capital - St Petersburg.

“I came from a lineage family.” Ma snickered tragically. “What can you do? If the Gods do exist, they’re cruel bastards. I suppose I did pretty well though, all things considered. We can’t all be Void and Lightning, you know.”

The Professor departed after that, leaving Gwen to regret that she had brushed an open wound.

* * *

“Dai would be very pleased if you could join him.” Lu held in his hand an invitation for the heir apparent’s 22nd birthday.

The looks she was getting from those who had seen Lu’s invite was palpably hostile.

“Tell Dai I won’t be able to make it,” Gwen refuted the public invitation loudly, then more quietly, she added in confidence that she would thank Dai personally should a future opportunity arise. “I have a very important excursion coming up, and training for the IIUC tryout, I hope Dai can understand.”

Lu seemed disappointed. The invitation was gifted regardless, in case Gwen ‘changed her mind’.

Gwen was determined not to be tempted though. She had no confidence in the people at these high society gatherings. It was one thing to say she had bad luck, but so far Gwen's encounters with assholes were almost 100%. Either she lived under a blighted star, or she needed more clout to make herself irreproachably unapproachable, especially to those wooing her with questionable designs. With her plate brimming with to-do’s; Gwen had no time to propagate yet more trouble.

The weeks thus rolled by, and soon the time for examination was upon them.

Gwen prepared her mind and body as the countdown struck the final day of August. She had trained with Petra, sparred with Lulan and Kusu, and further polished her skills with Richard ‘tanking’ her endless assault of Evoked and Conjured lightning.

The academic theory was nothing noteworthy; she was a paper tiger - no, Paper Dragon! She just hoped there wouldn’t be Kusu and Lulan 2.0 waiting to challenge her during the practicals.

“You’re telling me you’ve done… nothing? Not a single quest completed?”

Gwen felt a wave of sympathy roll over her chest.

Lulan sat on Gwen's living room lounge, her knees held against her chest, her expression glassy and miserable. Lulu was impressively flexible, Gwen noticed, she could maybe find alternative employment as a contortionist.

Herself, Petra, Lulan, Kusu and Richard had been enjoying a celebratory dinner in Gwen's apartment before Monday’s Finals. As the Mages each took turns discussing recent events, Lulan confessed that she hadn’t been questing.

“What happened?” Gwen inquired, curious as to why someone with Lulan’s skills would be excluded at all.

“Eh, I joined a Purge party around Week 9, although…” Lulan explained.

As it turned out, the Clan organised Party had been instructed to isolate her. After entering the Jiangxi Orange Zone, her party members immediately snubbed the Sword Mage. Having brought only a week’s supply of rations, she ended up having to forage for food and water, as well as make her shelter. When she accused the Party Leader, the man further turned the rest of the party against her, citing her ‘violent’ past and her infamous reputation as a 'traitor'. No longer clouded by the red mist, Lulan was lost as to her next course of action, knowing that if she killed them or maimed them, she would probably never again return to Shanghai.

When she returned in week 11, she fell into such depression that she stayed in the apartment for about a week, sleeping.

“Those bastards! You should have come to us immediately!” Gwen gnashed her pearly teeth. Caliban stirred beside her, licking its chops. “Who are they? We'll pay them a visit.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Kusu intervened, ever the cool-headed one. “Lulu and I, we need to keep our heads down. Maybe it's best to get pushed around for a while. This way, they can ‘forget' about us. We're just going to be glaring targets otherwise.”

“Huashan has a stick up their arse.” Gwen’s complaint was low and grumbling. "Should I talk to Uncle?"

“It’s not our Clan.” Lulan shook her head. “It’s everyone else.”

Clanners then. Clanners in general.

“Maybe I should drop a year? Take six months of leave?” Lulan wondered aloud, watching Gwen’s face. “I could be in the same year as you and Kusu then.”

That’s more like dropping TWO years, Gwen explained to her. That’s too much time wasted for what was essentially a problem resolvable with a little tenacity and a lesson delivered via an Iron Sword.

Gwen was almost considering whether she could speak to Dai for that favour when her cousin chimed in his two cents.

“Look.” Richard came to Lulan’s rescue. “Why don't you join my party? We’re all second years. My guys are all independent contractors so don’t expect anyone fancy, but we got no baggage either.”

“You have a regular Party?” Gwen felt a little envious that Richard already had his own ‘crew’. She knew he had a few people who regularly sought him out, but a party?

“You know, the Nantong guys from the Bridge project, plus a few strays we’ve picked up since.”

“I don't know about that,” Gwen pouted. "You've never introduced them formally."

“They’re all eager to meet you, haha,” Richard chuckled, thinking of the time his boss spat the dummy, accusing him of keeping his 'beauty' of a cousin hidden. “I told them they’re dreaming.”

“Can I join then?” Lulan perked up. "They won't dislike a Clanner?"

“They wouldn't care. We’re mostly doing construction and clearing work though, don’t expect us to be doing much Purging. We're on the defensive nine times out of ten. You can transmute metal, right?”

“I conjure Iron, and yes. I can Transmute all kinds of metal, though iron is my forte.”

“Perfect.” Richard clapped his hands. “You have no idea how helpful that's going to be. It’s dirty work though, lots of water, sand and mud every day, every inch of the way. Lots of merfolk to fight as well. Think you'll be alright with that?”

Lulan nodded eagerly.

“Great!” Richard reached over with his hand. The two shook on the deal. “The boys will be thrilled.”

Kusu watched the exchange, his eyes increasingly uncertain.

“How many women are in your group?” Kusu asked casually.

“Just one.”

“One?”

“Yep, Lulu. Hahaha!” Richard broke into rancorous laughter, slapping Kusu’s thighs with casual intimacy.

“Hahaha!” Lulan laughed as well, giddy that she had joined a non-Clan Party. Richard was someone she could trust, he was Gwen's cousin, right? He had defeated her in D-109! The Water Mage was incredible, not to mention he had a humanoid Spirit!

Kusu’s temple throbbed.

A vision of Lulan in shorts and a spaghetti singlet, covered in construction dust, hammering away at bedrock, flashed between his eyes. There were men, so many men, their eyes green, glowing, and watching as her iron sword pounded away.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Then Lulu would wipe away a brow full of sweat.

Suddenly, Kusu felt violently ill.

* * *

The Conjuration practical exam involved a graded demonstration. There were duels galore, but not so for Gwen. One 'Shaaa!' from her Mongolian Death Worm was enough to dissuade anyone eager enough to consider contesting the Void sorceress. The Bestiary students had spread the word that should a Familiar be consumed by Caliban, 'It's gone forever!' As for those without Familiars, they were rarely on the Combat tract and therefore lacked the galls to challenge the girl who had disgraced Kusu and Lulan of the Huashan sect. Additionally, a rumour had circulated that Dai Fung owed Gwen Song a favour, that was a Warding Glyph no one wanted to step in.

Evocation came and went as Gwen had anticipated. Without access to her Familiars or the convenient IFF of a Spirit, she had initially scored in the low 80s. It took a manifestation of Ball Lightning, consecutively creating three self-seeking orbs which unerringly demolished their targets to attain High Distinction.

Though higher grades were not necessary for her inclusion in the IIUC team, Petra had informed her cousin that seldom did team members possess a Weighed Average Mark below 85. As for Gwen who wished to participate in the 2004 October tryouts, her grades as well as her skills needed to be in the top percentile.

CCs well spent, Gwen thought as she circulated her mana, filling the air with ozone. Her instructor had given her excellent advice.

Tuesday followed with Bestiary, a course Gwen had already passed with flying colours. She went anyway, giving Eunae and the others moral support as Luyi ducked and dodged through obstacles and fought summoned creatures.

Advanced Spellshaping was next.

The 60% weighing project for Magister Lee’s course was the alteration of a ‘spell’ which the students must present for a glorified show and tell. Gwen hadn’t thought much of the project as the assignment involved ‘an original alteration of an existing spell’. Thus far, her peers proved woefully unoriginal.

It was fortunate that Gwen had several.

Flashbang was almost entirely ‘original’, though nine-tenths of it had been Alesia’s design.

She also had a spell she had named Taser. In hindsight, it was utterly useless against monsters because meleeing a land-shark was foolish. It was also useless against Mages because casters possessed Shields. What was it good for? NoMs.

Gwen cringed. Those days of playful innocence were behind her. To think she had thought NoMs a force to be feared.

Then there was Blast Bolt, which was another spell Alesia and Henry had advised. Finally, she had the Elemental-Shift variety of Faithful Hound and the Blast-Radius variety of Dimension Door.

Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t ‘messed’ with any new spells for a long time. Was it because of time and resource? Or that it was easier to buy than discover? In truth, her human resources in Sydney had been over the top. She had unilateral access to the battle-prodigy Alesia de Botton, her brother-in-craft Gunther Shultz, and the late Master of Oceania, Henry Kilroy. For most of her early career, she had been tutored via a Cog-Chamber, with her mana guided and her incantations perfected by Tower-tier teachers.

Talk about a silver teaspoon, Gwen reflected with a bittersweet melancholy. In hindsight, she had been fed with a platinum escargot fork.

Michio appeared interested in her Flashbang but snorted at her other spells.

“75, Distinction,” the man noted, flexing his chest unconsciously. “I am frankly disappointed. I’d expected more.”

Well, shit. Gwen gave the Magister her best smile to hide her flustered nerves. Averaged against her previous assignment, she was sitting on 82. She had figured that since Michio was such a peacock, the man was likely going to give her an easy HD if she dressed up for the occasion.

From his hypercritical dismissal of her never-before-seen spells, Michio was either a consummate professional unmoved by miniskirts, or, as Elle Woods had remarked in Legally Blonde, 'was he gay, or Singaporean?'.

“This might take a while. Magister Lee, please observe.”

Gwen drew a low-tier summon circle on the floor with her finger, then began to incant her sole warding spell.

“Morden’s Faithful Hound!” It took her just over a minute to finish the spell, a personal record.

A blazing silhouette constructed of cobalt electricity erupted from the circle, then disappeared for all but Gwen. Only the owner of the guardian-hound could see its presence within the AOE perimetre. Those who were not designated by Gwen during the spell's incantation saw only a dim circle of glowing light on the floor, easily hidden by debris and dust.

“HOW!” Magister Lee stood from his chair with enough force to send the fold-out chair clattering across the training hall.

“Sir?”

Michio strode across the floor toward Gwen, who frantically began to dispel the hound. Her inexpertise, however, was time enough for the Magister to approach with the specific intent of ‘testing’ her ward.

A blaze of Tyrian-cobalt fulmination erupted, then an enormous Great Dane leapt from the summoning circle. Michio’s mana-shield sparkled and sizzled as a pattern of red-orange light erupted, keeping Gwen's tier 4 guard dog at bay, scraping and snarling at her intruder.

“Dismiss!” Gwen finally managed to dispel the hound. It was the first time she had to undo her incantation.

Michio’s Shield glowed for a second longer, then dissolved, leaving a scent of sunkissed bedsheets.

A Radiant Mage, no wonder! Gwen thought immediately of Gunther. No wonder the two men resembled each other. The overbearing presence, the aura of authority, the endearment they engendered effortlessly.

“WONDERFUL!” Michio reached out with his massive hands, catching her shoulders and pinning her at arm's length. “I AM VERY PLEASED! GWEN SONG.”

“THANK YOU!” Gwen hollered back, her mind awash with his awesome presence. Gods, why were they both shouting? “Can you let me go, Sir? I have no wish to lose a kidney to one of your fangirls.”

Michio released her.

Gwen shot a suspicious glance at the dozen or so students throwing daggers with their eyes. She stepped back a safe distance from the Magister in case he once again became enraptured by The Passion of Spellcraft.

The Magister was literally glowing as he stepped back, his Radiant Aura brightening the room.

For a second, even Gwen felt an affection that was difficult to place. It was the feeling one got when seeing the sun rise behind Uluru, watching sunbeams cascade over the dark land.

If she had been a teenager, she might have fallen in love with Lee right there and then. The man evidently had far less control over his aura than Gunther, for her brother-in-law never ‘leaked’ his charismatic Colour Spray all over innocent bystanders.

“Who taught you this variation?”

“My instructor,” Gwen answered vaguely.

Michio studied Gwen's eyes with an intensity unbefitting an instructor. As the Radiant mana circulated through Lee's mana channels, his dark pupils flared like beads of superheated charcoal.

“Are you willing to offer the variation to the Tower for CCs? If you are in the rightful possession of these spells, you will be amply rewarded. You will contribute to the greater good of the Spellcraft community! What say you, Gwen Song?”

Gwen did a double take. Sell the spell? Offer it to the public? Could she do that? The variation belonged to her Master, did it not? But of course, her Master was cold and preserved in Sufina's Grot. Not to mention his estate belonged to Gunther and Alesia more so than herself.

“I would have to consult with the er… other stakeholders,” Gwen replied expertly. “I will endeavour to give you an answer as soon as I am able.”

“You MUST!” Michio came closer, his aura making her eyes water. “If you do, you shall receive a perfect grading!”

Gwen’s complexion glowered a vibrant shade of scarlet, looking as though she had been facing a furnace.

There was that smell of freshly sunned bedsheets again!

“I need to go.” Gwen pulled herself away. Jesus Christ, she tried to imagine Gunther pulling one of these orgiastic light shows of personal charisma. People would likely fall to their knees and kiss his shoes even if he had stabbed their mothers.

With her booties clacking against the wooden floorboards, Gwen fled the scene.

* * *

Wednesday.

Gwen drifted through the air, following their instructor’s lead. Lesser Flight was the last station for Utility Transmutation. Magus Luo, the Dean’s nephew, led the group of about twenty or so Utility Transmutation students who had mastered enough of their secondary School to take to the air.

Gwen followed without apparent effort, though she received no praise from her Instructor.

Luo had found out from the Dean that Gwen was a natural Transmuter, meaning her ‘genius’ for her ‘third’ school was the equivalent of a native speaker masquerading as a foreigner learning the language.

When the flight finished, fourteen students remained.

Kanto gave Gwen a 95 out of 100, grudgingly marking it down on his data slate before bidding her leave to enjoy her Winter Holiday. Though it was almost hitting 30 to 35 degrees Celsius daily in mid-August, the University's Extra-curriculum circuit meant students would remain busy in Shanghai well into November, all the way until day-time temperatures dropped to sub-zero.

As for Gwen, freedom was at hand.

Economics on Thursday was a cinch. Searching through the three dozens of economic models seared into her memory by week-long cram sessions, she re-imagined a watered down revision of the Keynesian Economic model by the late John Maynard Keynes. To the erstwhile consultant, the mass unemployment and high demand for consumption of the NoMs reminded her explicitly of the Great Depression suffered by the U.S during the 1930s.

She appropriated a few ‘golden rules’ offered by Keynes as a solution to the Great Depression, mainly that there was a way to stimulate the economy via an ‘incentive to invest’, substituting the Arcane Class for the Capitalist Class, and the NoMs for the Working Class. She advocated for the opening of the Shanghai Central Bank to low-interest Loans for NoMs seeking to erect small and medium enterprises, with the CCP serving as gatekeepers of monetary policy.

Her essay furthermore explained that should interest rates for lending be reduced, many investments previously not seen as viable or profitable would able to manifest. Loans would serve as financing for long-term debt-purchases such as houses, automobiles, and the spread of magical appliances. In this manner, the stimulation of the NoM economy directly fed into the circulation of currency and assets in the Mage economy, drawing the two together to create an overall apportionment of goods and services across the two previously segregated spheres of economic development.

As for the potential rise of buccaneer enterprises and Fordian moguls, Gwen wasn’t worried. She wrote that Crystals were naturally resistant against hyperinflation and that the Towers would punish anyone whose greed threatened to undermine the system. For corruption at higher levels, she could only hope someone watched the watchers. In Gwen's eyes, economics in this world were small-scale, city to city. There would be no catalytic and systematic failure even in the worst scenario. Assuredly, with the NoMs already living like Steinbeck’s Middle-America in a literary cross-over with Orwell's Air Strip One, things could hardly get worse.

Management was another easy write-up. As this world sorely lacked in political science in favour of outright violence and total war, Gwen decided to address Ma’s question of “Problems of Equality in a Society of Strata” with stolen transcripts from Amartya Sen, the Harvard resident on Human Development Theory. In the 80s, the professor had posed a formative question regarding the emergence of Neo-liberalism, citing the problem of distributing limited resources ‘equally’. Gwen contributed one of her old essays, proposing the question of ‘Equality of What?’ moving through topics such as welfare, resource, capability and opportunity. Following Sen’s theory, she linked these with key humanistic themes of individuality and responsibility, then worked in an entire section on the concept of Noblesse Oblige, arguing for a more balanced approach to the social strata, emphasising a convergence of liberal and socialist receptions to ‘equality’ among the classes that linked in with her earlier economic essay.

After the last call for ‘pens down’ was met by the clattering of writing implements; Gwen gathered Kitty, Richard and Mayuree around her, then paraded her compatriots toward the local Korean BBQ, where she ‘shouted’ them dinner.

* * *

"Sure, put it into the registry, I don't mind." Gunther shrugged. "Alesia will likely need some of those CCs though. She's been trying to auction up a Fire Spirit for months now."

"Thanks, Gunther."

"Tell you what." Her brother-in-law tapped his cleft-chin. "Leave it with me. I have Master's notes in a Spellbook somewhere. I'll submit it under your name from my end to Pudong. The negotiation with the Towers usually takes a while. You're not ready for that, not as a first-year student!"

"I have full confidence in the both of you." Gwen smiled, showing her pearly-whites. "I'll ask Mayuree, my friend, if they know of anyone selling a Fire Spirit. Her family runs the House of M!"

"Sounds like someone useful." He nodded approvingly. "Whatever happens, keep your Contingency Ring on."

* * *

By Saturday, the semester was officially over.

Gwen went by her babulya’s laboratory to receive another check-up, confirming with Jun that he would be there to pick her up Sunday morning.

“Evocation, 4.61.”

“Conjuration 5.12.”

“Transmutation 2.70.”

“Abjuration 1.85.”

“Divination 1.34.”

“Illusion 1.95.”

“230 VMI.”

Klavdiya couldn’t help but be stricken all over again, holding the scripts to her heart like she was clutching a precious great-grandchild. She sighed wistfully, shook her head, then stole another glance at the numbers before her gaze became thoughtful and vacant.

“Babulya, you’re embarrassing me.” Gwen tugged at the script in her grandmother’s hand. Her grandmother told her to burn it, which Gwen complied by consigning it to the Void.

“Be careful out there with Jun. Don’t overextend yourself. When you return, we’ll have a big family dinner."

“I will, Babulya. And thanks, dinner sounds wonderful.”

"Percy will be there, I promise."

Her younger sibling had not called nor spoke to her since she had last visited him. It was as though the boy had fallen off the Material Plane. Were it not for a stream of updates from babulya; she would have thought him a phantom from her previous life.

At least Percy 1.0 called every other week, Gwen moped. Hopefully, their forced encounter would bring any misgivings or misunderstandings to light.

* * *

Sunday.

Gwen laid out all her gear on the bed, from smallest to largest.

12 Healing Potion Injectors.

4 Remove Disease Injectors.

4 Cure Poison Injectors.

1 Potion of Invisibility.

1 Potion of Giant’s Strength.

1 Potion of Night Vision.

Most of these were her loot from Nephres.

1 Portable Habitat returned from Kusu.

1000 HDMs in assorted HDM and LDMs.

Assorted cosmetics, body wash, shampoos and conditioners.

Cantrip Cubes - from insect repelling to laundry, to those that produced water and fire.

Assorted intimates.

Shorts.

Pants.

Shirts - twenty assorted.

Ten pairs of socks, from ankle, knee to thigh length.

1 Skin-suit, military issue.

1 Enchanted Boots of Flying, as well as an assortment of runners, heels, wedges and sandals.

1 Chameleon Cloak, half body.

And so it goes.

Her ring was barely half-full, even with two week’s worth of Korean instant noodles and Spam.

Gwen congratulated herself on the joys of owning a Large Storage Ring.

She was up at 6 AM, unable to sleep for the all the excitement. It was as though she was a child again, waiting for the camp out at Cockatoo Island with her Blackwattle friends. In the intervening time, she had dressed for style and comfort, knowing that Jun would advise her on gear requirement once they were on their way.

Wanting to impress, she slipped into the laced-up thigh-highs that Alesia had loaned to her, pairing it with a ‘Skort’, a kind of shorts-cum-skirt commonly used in tennis. For a top, the sun insisted that nothing but a spaghetti tank-top would do; any attire lacking a cooling glyph would be unbearable in the humidity of Shanghai’s mid-summer. Lastly, a duck-billed cap Tao had given her, enchanted to soak sweat and keep cool, finished off her attire, with her thick ponytail poking through the hat's buckle-window.

Her Message device rang.

“Uncle?”

“I am down stairs.”

“Coming!”

Petra met her in the hall.

“Going?”

“Yep, take care Pats. I’ll bring back some dragon meat!”

“Take care.” Petra embraced her, pressing her cousin against her cheeks. She had been against Gwen's trip with Jun, deeming it too hazardous to poach Lightning-spawns under the nose of a Yinglong.

Richard had faired her well last night, wishing her good luck and promising that he would likewise return from his extended CC-gathering quest in Nantong in one piece. He further informed her that Kusu and Lulan had both joined his ‘Party’. The brother could not leave his sister alone after Lulan met with Richard’s crew and instantly became their Party mascot. When she returned home with freshly-picked flowers one night, Kusu could no longer sit idle.

Gwen had likewise promised Tao and Mina at Friday dinner that she would see them at the big family reunion after her return, and that they would spend plenty of time together in the Winter break.

Of all her friends and family, it was perhaps Mayuree who loathed Gwen leaving the most.

“I am going to hide in my room and not come out until you return,” the Diviner had informed her miserably. “Come back soon! Please!”

“I’ll try my best! Maybe perform an Augury? See how my trip would go?”

Mayuree returned about ten minutes later, her face flush with excitement.

“Awesome! Everything is going to be great! My Augur says great success!”

“Wonderful!” Gwen hugged her friend and gave her a peck on the forehead. “Alright, I’ll be back in one piece, I promise! Wish me luck!”

Outside Gouding B-1's lobby, Gwen met her uncle parked beside his Wrangler-styled Jeep, back against the door, one foot over the other.

Jun wore his military casuals, a tight dark tee-shirt which stretched over his broad shoulders, tapering around his waist and tucked neatly into a set of military cargos, secured with a black leather belt. He had an enormous wristwatch on his right, which Gwen assumed to be a Magical Device and an assortment of rings on either hand.

Her uncle must have recently cut his hair, for his military crop was shaved close to his scalp, giving him a more masculine look than usual. Perhaps out of habit, Jun had kept his beard, which formed a dark halo around his lips, culminating in a villainous goatee.

When he saw her, his eyes lit up.

“Looking lovely there,” he grinned. “Your father would be so happy to see you.”

Gwen had been skipping happily toward Jun when she paused mid-stride. If she had been holding a bag, she would have likely dropped it.

"My... father?”

Jun laughed, opening the car door to let her in.

“Jump in.” He effortlessly leapt into the driver’s seat, then slipped on a pair of cool aviators. “Dragons await, but we’re going to see how Hai’s doing first. I bet he misses you like nothing else. It’s on the way!”

* * *

From the penthouse, Mayuree watched Jun’s Jeep enter the main boulevard; she followed Gwen with her eyes until she disappeared in a forest of sedans, trucks and rickshaws.

In her hands, she held her inscribed augury implements - two lengths of dragon teeth from her homeland. When she had attempted to roll the bones, her decahedron Theravāda mandala had steadfastly refused any foretelling of the future, expelling the bones. When she changed to a less potent octogramic mandala, the mulberry fibre upon which the Divination glyphs were inscribed began to smoke.

When her next attempt caught fire, Mayuree knew better than to tempt fate. Such things were beyond her ken; any more prying would invite calamity.

By now Gwen was familiar with the scenery on the Second and Third Orbital Highway. As the city centre shrunk into the distance, giant billboards empowered with Illusion gave way to humbler ones, just as commercials transformed into state propaganda. Curiously, one could almost estimate the distance from Shanghai proper by the frequency and vernacular of the long red banners spanning the six-lane girth of the Fourth Orbital.

“Happy Community - CCP and You - Hand in Hand.”

"Joy in Labour - Prosperity in Harmony."

"Hard Work - Happiness - Peace - Socialism."

There was a poetic simplicity in the increasingly stupefying slogan. Gwen reckoned that given the number of times she had been distracted enough to read the damn things, she was likely already subconsciously subscribed.

“Four hours to Hangzhou,” Jun stated cooly. She could see from the ease and pleasure on his face that her uncle loved driving. She loved it too, during the rare occasion that she could be away from home, her favourite thing to do was a long drive. There was freedom in distance, open skies, and the road moving under one’s feet, the trees whizzing by, the cattle lowing on the hill.

There were no cows here though. The countryside was entirely utilised for the growing of grain. Before the duo spread an endlessly vast vista of green, yellow and brown, which Gwen assumed was a symptom of crop rotation.

“Jiangnan is the rice bowl of Shanghai.” Her uncle caught her staring glassily at the emerald expanse. “Biggest aquaculture region in the world. Shanghai eats surprisingly little of it, most of the grain is exported to Frontier cities.”

“The Frontier can’t hold its own?”

Jun chuckled.

“Expecting NoMs to defend their farms against Riven Merfolk, Jueyuan and Goblinoids, do you? Take up pitchforks and carry large sticks? Even armed and trained NoM Militias have to be supported by Mages. Without buffs, how can a NoM fight monsters? There're far more NoMs than Mages here.”

Her uncle had a point, but still, Gwen gazed toward the fields sullenly. Was the Frontier useful only as cannon fodder and resource collection? There are fifty million souls spread across the outer reaches of Shanghai!

They travelled without speaking for a short while, the stuttering breeze prolonging the contemplative silence.

Despite the cooling glyphs blowing cold air, Jun's topless Jeep meant the dark interior leather heated up considerably. Gwen's Boots of Flying became increasingly stifling until she felt her skin slipping against the suede lining. When she noticed a dribble of sweat pooling against the leather, she had to unlace and let her thighs breath.

“Those are meant for flying, not fashion, just take em off if you have to.” Her uncle’s expression was unreadable behind his sunglasses, though the slight curve to his thin lips suggested he remained in a jovial mood.

Gwen pushed the seat back and wiggled free of her boots, feeling the draft buffet her stifled dermis.

“Sunblock.” Her uncle tossed over a tube. “We’re outside the city. There’s no mana miasma; you’ll get burned.”

Gwen gingerly applied the ointment with her fingers while Jun continued to speak. With her Druidic Essence, it was unlikely, although as an Australian, she knew the sun's torturous abuse all too well.

“We’re going to see some very interesting things on our trip,” Jun continued. “Here’s our projected itinerary. We’re going to see your father in Hangzhou first. He’s working with the local militia at the moment, helping to clear the land for more aquaculture.”

“Then, we’re going to detour toward the Anhui Frontier. We’ll be meeting the garrison stationed there, then leave for the Huangshan region controlled by the Yinglong on foot.”

“Once we’re away, we’re going to be cut off from the cities. No Message spells, not even with Long-Range Devices. Don’t worry; your Contingency Ring should still function without fail. It's keyed to the Tower's beacons via a whole other system.”

“You knew about my-” Gwen glanced toward the nondescript iron band on her finger.

“Of course, you think the Pudong Tower is going to let you out, just like that?” Jun chuckled. “If myself, mother, and grandfather had not vouched for you on the PLA front as well, the authorities would have never agreed with Pudong to let you out of the city.”

“Grandfather?” Gwen paused in her application of sunscreen and looked toward Jun.

“Yes. Your grandfather -look, I know you guys are not fond of each other. But father's not an entirely disagreeable man,” Jun explained. “He’s a conservative. Being risk adverse comes with the job and the title. Subtle and steady are the watchwords of the MSS. You; are anything but subtle.”

“He's also suspicious and paranoid,” Gwen added reflexively.

“Well, I can’t argue with that.” Jun shrugged his shoulders. “There’s a reason why the Ministry, as well as my branch, Internal Security, tend to be iron-handed. Maybe one day you'll see. People are not nice in general, Gwen. Least of all to those not in their immediate circle.”

“I’ll see?”

“Sure, it'll be a lesson. The word from Professor Ma is that you’re hoping for a demesne of your own?”

“I am?” Gwen ran her palm down to her ankles, then up again, lathering the cream. She was reminded of the academic essay she had written for Ma. Certainly, she appeared to have ‘big’ ideas.

“I suppose- WOA What is that!"

Gwen became distracted by an enormous buffalo, or at least what she thought was a water-buffalo. It was well over 3 meters tall by her reckoning, almost 6 meters from head to tail. A boy was steering it through a length of rope tied to a nose ring.

Jun ignored her outburst.

“You ever read Mozi’s Analects of ‘Fa’?” Jun asked after the buffalo disappeared in the distance.

Gwen had heard of the name, though she couldn’t say if she knew or understood the Mohist school of philosophy. Asian Studies was an elective, after all, one that was worth only three out of six credit potential points. She had been advised to take it because 'We're in the Asian Century now!'

“He’s the pioneer of Chinese Legalism, isn’t he?”

“I guess these days we would call him a Magi, but yes, he was the Sage King of Xia’s advisor, a Mage-Scholar. He spent his entire life fighting the rise of Confucian philosophy, but when the Qin Dynasty collapsed, his works were burned. I guess we’re lucky that some of his compositions survived. Rather than obedience, he believed that human society should emphasise self-restraint, self-reflection and authenticity. He advocated ‘Ai’ universal love, as early as 420 BC, long before the west came up with any concept on democracy or human rights.”

“What happened to him?”

“The Confucian Sage-Kings had him tied to a brass pole, then stacked it with coals until…”

“Alright.” Gwen felt her skin writhe.

“Do you want to help the NoMs, Gwen? Improve their lot?”

“I do,” she replied without much thought. “At least, I believe I can do better than people like Choi.”

Jun glanced at her, then snorted, a derisive chuckle escaped his lips.

“I am serious!” Gwen shot back cattily, her hazel eyes full of controversy.

“Back to what we were talking about before.” Jun kept his eyes on the road. “Here's a question for our future Secretariat Song. Mozi argued that the natural state of man is one of “Lī”, rationality or propriety. His student, Hanfei, famously appropriated his master’s teachings to mean that all men were beings of ‘Lì’ meaning profit or self-gain. What do you believe, Gwen?”

Gwen thought of Niccolò Machiavelli, wondering if this world had a ‘Magister’ from the 15th century who tried to suck up to the Lorenzo Medici. Machiavelli had believed that goodness in man never existed, that in politics as in life, it was every man for himself. For the cynical scholar, the moment a human being was born, they selfishly lusted for the nourishing milk of their mother's teet. The greater world was merely the macrocosm projection of this instinctual microcosm. Powerful men desired society to nourish them, and them only.

“I suppose its easier to say people are greedy,” she replied. “There’s altruism though, right?”

“Of course,” Jun replied. “Though altruism is a luxury for those with power and excess. I think the Demi-humans are much more honest than us in this regard.”

“Demi-humans, Uncle?”

“You’ll see,” Jun again responded mysteriously. “You’ll come away from this trip with more than just a Lightning Spirit, I hope.”

"In that case, I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Gwen promised, wondering what her uncle had in store. She was confident that Jun wouldn’t just drop her into a pit of snakes to teach her that ‘not all snakes are poisonous.’

As the distance wore on, Gwen's thoughts turned to that of Hai, her father. What was he doing now? Was he safe? The last time she’d spoken to Morye-AKA-Hai he had appeared almost ragged with tiredness. What kind of horrid, torturous existence had he been subjected to?

* * *

The aquaculture landscape eventually ended after what seemed like hours, with the sighting of mountainous buffalos becoming more frequent as the road tapered. From the twelve-lane two-way freeway, the road narrowed into a four-lane rural strip.

When they reached their final checkpoint, a troop of PLA guards examined Jun’s papers, regarding Gwen with interest as she hid her legs with a towel.

“Did you see that girl?” One of the guards turned to the other, starstruck by the rare encounter. “Mao, I could die a happy man.”

“Do you know who that is?” the sergeant chided his subordinate.

“Sir?”

“You’ve seen him on the Vid-caster. That’s Jun Song, the Ash Bringer.”

“Oh,” the guard watched the Jeep until it passed around a corner.

“Yeah, some bureaucrat is going to get fucked. I remember he transferred to Internal Security. Haha!”

“Hahaha!” the Corporal laughed as well, but within his head was the branded vision of the girl's gleaming white legs. “Sarge! Permission to be excused… I er… got the runs.”

* * *

Hangzhou, a Frontier city of the Jiangnan geo-block, was a satellite region attached to Shanghai.

Together with Anhui, Jiangxi, and Zhejiang, the three Frontier regions formed the Green Zone immediately south of the Yangtze River, creating a fertile delta known widely as the ‘rice bowl’ of China. The region had been occupied by humans since antiquity, having remained in Human possession for over four millennia. During the Han Dynasty, it famously formed the nation of Wu during the Three Kingdoms. In the 1204 AD Mongolian invasion, it was the last part of China to fall to the Demi-human Incursion from the Northern Steppes. Later, the Ming Dynasty had Nanjing as its temporary capital. Three centuries later, the Qing Dynasty sacked the region when it came into power. Despite its historical turmoil, however, the temperate climate, the scarcity of Demi-humans, the lack of predatory Magical Monsters and a wealth of ley-lines made the region quintessential to Shanghai's continued prosperity.

After the Cultural Revolution, the region expanded. When the bureaucrat-leader Deng Xiaoping, the ‘paramount leader’ of the CCP after the death of its founder-Magi, Mao, opened the country to the international Tower system, the regions switched to the international Frontier standard.

At the south-western extremity of Jiangnan was the Anhui Frontier.

Anhui, inclusive of the ‘Yellow Mountain’ of Huangshan, was boarder line Black Zone, though the apathy of the mountain’s Yinglong made it categorically closer to a Purple Zone - an area with intelligent creatures who saw humans as a food source.

Before one reached Anhui, three human cities made up Shanghai's Western Frontier. Wuxi to the north-west, Suzhou to the west, and Hangzhou to the south-west.

Wuxi, known for its beautiful Taihu north, sat beside an Orange Zone - a zone suitable for human occupation but prone to the formation and habitation of intelligent Magical Creatures and Demi-humans who saw humanity as competitors, but not a food source.

South of Wuxi was Suzhou, and then Hangzhou.

Most famously, it was Hangzhou and Suzhou which gave birth to the aphorism, ‘where there is heaven above, there is Su-Hang below.’ Suzhou was celebrated for its canals and beautiful architecture such as temples and gardens from as early as the 4th century AD.

Hangzhou meanwhile, was likewise an ancient and cultured city, a place famous for producing famous poets and ancient Kenshi.

To Gwen's surprise, her uncle began to hum a short poem as they passed by a picturesque estuary upon which a pagoda-home was attached.

“The river flows beneath a stone bridge-

One listens to the pattering rain,

Dreaming of soft willows.”

Her Ioun Stone took its best shot.

According to Jun, romantic verbosity was the common disease of all those who came to the land of silk and willows. The northern Emperors often said that the Jiangnan was a 'womb' whose tepid weather, flowing streams and pale women milled away the ambition of northerner kings.

From their vantage point, the city of Hangzhou stood tall and gleaming in the distance, mirage-like in the haze of the Jiangnan summer. Their Jeep had pulled into what Gwen could only describe as an idyllic landscape-painting produced in the late Song Dynasty.

Compared to the ancient and venerable architecture of the siheyuan, the concrete parking bay outside the riverside garden home was jarring to the extreme.

“We’re here.” Jun popped the locks and invited Gwen to disembark.

“We’re where?” Gwen put on a pair of runners, stretching her languished body.

“Your father’s temporary abode, so I am told.” Jun’s expression was one of surprise and delight as well, his eyes scanned the whitewashed walls of the siheyuan, marvelling at the ancient lichen-covered terracotta. The door was deeply set into the covered porch, the eaves opulently inscribed with weather-beaten lacquer. “Mao, this place is as incredible as I recall.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Once, a long time ago. We were both fresh out of military school. It belonged to the local Magistrate back then. He's probably the District Official now.” Jun approached the door, lifted the brass knocker, then tapped it a few times gingerly. Gwen meanwhile, inspected the Chinese-watercress and lotuses growing in the ‘moat’ surrounding the impressive facade of the homestead. There was always something soothing and wonderful about the lotus flower that soothed the viewer’s mind with its gentle arrangement of pastel carmine.

The door opened a sliver.

“Young Master Song,” an elderly Chinese man greeted them. “Please, the side door. We are expecting you.”

The servant’s entrance? Gwen had at first believed themselves victims of a conspiracy. When they reached the ‘side’ however, she could see that it was a modern door with a mechanical lock. From its well-worn step, she deduced that this was more likely the ‘usual’ entrance used by the venerable home’s residents.

Inside was a small rock garden which led to a gallery, where the duo was politely asked to switch to inside shoes. The old man patiently waited on them, neither introducing himself nor greeting them formally.

“This way.”

The ‘quadrangle garden terrace’ was more aptly a ‘six’-heyuan. The decor was exquisite, with an eye-straining volume of detail painted into the alfresco murals of cranes in flight. The compound was likewise enormous; the corridors endlessly extensive, while the galleries and gangways looped through river-stone outcroppings and slow-moving pools of bean-green water spotted with lotuses. When Gwen came to a ledge, she saw a school of florid koi lazily combing the surface for fallen seeds and insects.

When finally they came to a central pavilion circled on all sides with water, she caught sight of two figures lounging on cushioned benches. There was a stained mahogany coffee table by the wayside, upon which a pot brewed gently. An assortment of fruits and flowers had been laid out on the low table; silk shawls had been hung up here and there to filter the harsh sunlight.

The scenery was exotic beyond measure; a silk-screen painting where life imitated art.

All that was missing was the gentle plucking of a guzheng.

“Beautiful,” Gwen muttered. “What’re we here to see?”

“Hai…” Jun paused beside Gwen. There was a sharp intake of breath. “Great Leader's Ghost, what are you doing?”

Gwen caught herself mid-stride. Uncle Jun wasn't one to use Mao's name in vain without meaningful agitation.

Jun swore again before he began moving.

As they came closer, Gwen saw what Jun had seen.

“Fuck a duck!” Gwen swore under her breath, following Jun’s cue, her mouth felt suddenly full of ash. “Jesus Dad, you gotta be shitting me.”

She wasn’t sure if her uncle understood the slang, but the sentiment was conveyed.

Morye, AKA Hai Song, the No.1 son of the House of Song, lounged in the lulling arms of a woman who may as well be liquid.

Hai looked well, far better than when she had seen him at the last family dinner before University began. His complexion, which had been peeling and cracked, had by now been restored. He was topless, a sight which made Gwen want to gag, his well-formed musculature was nude but for a robe which hung from his shoulders. When her eyes dared drop lower, she thanked the Gods that her father had pants on, though the glimmering silk left nothing to the imagination.

Gwen resisted the urge to stab her eyes with two chopsticks so that she could pull them from her bloody sockets and feed them to the koi.

She shifted her attention to the woman.

A young woman.

The most salient part of her was her pale-petal lips set upon her flawlessly white face. Next were her eyes; two long slits tipped with wings that made them seem overlarge and juvenile; a style preferred by women of the region. She was feminine beyond measure, radiating an air of motherliness, her body as soft as a swaying willow.

Her heart-achingly beautiful face sat atop an elegantly arched neck, below which two narrow collarbones met in harmonious alabaster. Her arms enveloped Hai in a secure embrace, wrapping around his face and neck. Hai’s head was rested on the snowy-globes of her breasts, which were doubly superior to Gwen’s endowments. Beneath a silk mermaid dress, a pair of white feet with red nails playfully hung over the gold-trimmed lip of the embroiled cushions.

Hai took notice of his brother and his daughter.

“Gwen!” Hai shot up as though someone had jammed a wand up his bung-hole.

"Aya~"

The woman lost her balance; her father instantly turned and caught his lover by the waist, helping her to stand. When they both recovered, Hai’s face was scored by rouge. Besides him, the woman’s white face was petal-pink.

“S-sorry!” Her voice was both soft and demure. “Hai said you wouldn’t be here until the evening!”

The servant who had brought them abruptly turned and left, shooting Hai a dirty and disgusted look.

“Hai, what in the world?” Jun’s voice sounded just like their father’s. He faced the girl. “Qin, is that you? Xiao-Qin right? Qin Liu?”

“I… I am,” the woman became flustered. For a second Gwen wondered if she was going to leap from the pavilion into the water to escape Jun’s scrutiny. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Second-Brother Jun.”

“Hi, I am Gwen.” Gwen extended a hand. “Gwen Song.”

“Hello, I am Qin Liu,” the girl reached out uncertainly, then shook Gwen’s fingers. Gods! Gwen's fingetips touched Qin's flawlessly skin, the woman’s hands felt boneless and tiny; she was as tender as a water-peach!

Hai coughed.

“Yes, very good.” He regarded Gwen distractedly. “This is Gwen, my daughter.”

Jun still appeared to be in shock.

“Little-Qin? Qinnie? How did you find Hai? When he told me to come here, I had thought it a coincidence. Hai, shouldn’t you be at the base? Why aren’t you at the base?!”

“Well, Qin’s father’s the District Secretary now, so…” Hai smiled innocently.

“Father is NOT going to be pleased, Brother,” Jun warned him.

“Oh, he’ll have his plate full.” Hai’s laughter had a touch of insanity to it.

“Why?” Jun became immediately suspicious. “What did you do?”

Qin’s face looked as though she had became intoxicated.

Jun’s paranoia kicked into gear.

Gwen felt her scalp grow ice-cold.

Uncle and niece shifted their gaze from Qin to Hai, then back again. Gwen wondered if Divination had a guy called Murphy who laid down some laws.

“Can we speak in private?” Hai motioned with his hand toward a farther pavilion.

“I am sorry, Qinnie,” Jun switched over what Gwen assumed to be a pet name to maintain amiability. “Can you give us a minute?”

The girl nodded, she had been fascinated by the sandstone floor the whole while.

The two men walked a few corridors away, then began an animated conversation, with Jun striking his temples and wildly gesticulating as Hai shrugged and chuckled. The reaction seemed to set Jun off into an even wilder display.

Gwen rigidly turned to Qin.

“So er…” Gwen tried to think of something to say. In the past, she had always ignored her father’s girlfriends. She didn’t mind playing the cold, bitchy daughter; it wasn’t as though he kept the same woman for longer than a few months. “How long have you guys been together?”

“About three months.” Qin’s lips barely moved.

Gwen nodded in what she hoped was a friendly manner. She inspected her father and her uncle in the distance, then caught Qin studying her face.

“You’re very beautiful,” Qin observed; her voice more than a little sour. “Your mother must be very beautiful too.”

Gwen wondered if there was a correct response here. Thinking of her absentee mother and her father’s feeling though, she chose diplomacy.

“You’re a sight to behold yourself,” she returned the compliment. Then, with a measured tone devoid of criticism, she asked the most pivotal question on her mind. “How old are you? You don’t look a day over twenty!”

The compliment appeared to have pleased her father's latest squeeze.

“I am thirty-two!” Qin intoned proudly.

Gwen breathed out a sigh of tremendous relief. She felt more cathartic than when Choi had finally breathed his last. Thank fuck! She cried internally. Thank the Gods that her father wasn’t a total cradle raider.

“You’re a healer?” Coming closer, Gwen sensed a familiar aura of gentle vitality, not too dissimilar from Elvia’s, though far less intense for the fact that Qin was more sensuous than adorable.

“Yes, I am a Cleric.” Qin nodded, allowing a lock of hair to fall over her face. “I was assigned to work with Hai at first, and then things happened…”

I bet they did. Gwen thought numbly.

“So, are the two of you going out?” Gwen decided to do her mother a solid and gather some data. When she’d last heard, Helena had been doing well with her Fabricator husband, who had taken up a new position thanks to some new contracts their House had established with the House of M.

“Oh no, we’re not going out.” Qin shook her head vigorously.

A casual fling then?

“YOU WHAT!” Jun’s voice could be heard from far away. “YOU IDIOT! MAO’S BALLS! You're insane!”

Gwen turned to Qin, who responded by placing a hand on her abdomen in a matronly manner.

White noise filled Gwen's mind.

OH FUCK NO! NO! NO! NO! SHIT-SHIT-SHIT!

No.3? After Percy, they're going to have a sibling?

“We’re engaged!” Qin reached out and pulled Gwen closer so that her hands were held captive. “We’re going to have a baby!”

There was a ring on the woman's ring-finger; a simple metal band.

Gwen felt too tired even to swear internally.

Qin smelled like peach blossoms, she noticed distractedly.

“Oh, Gwen!” Qin pulled herself from Gwen, then took up her hands and held them close to her lips to be kissed. Her eyes were feverish like the eyes of a woman who'd been praying for salvation all her life; then one day, God answered.

“Yes?” Gwen gave her the most capable smile she was able to muster, hoping it didn’t look too forceful.

“Gwen!” Qin said seriously, her eyes glassy and happy. “You may call me Mother, but I would prefer Sister...”

Gwen embraced the woman.

Her fucking eyes!

The woman was intensity and a half!

Why, oh, why did her father have to stick his dick in crazy? Was it for the thrill? Why was his pullout game so weak? Why was someone with an astronomical Salt affinity fucking so fertile? How was that fair to uncle Jun?

She turned her head to regard her father, her own hazel orbs despondent with despair and defeat.

Beside Hai, Jun was oscillating with impotent anger from head to toe.

Hai winked at Gwen happily.

"I told you, she's fine. Just look at her!" Hai boasted to his brother. "You think I'd fall for some hellcat like Helena again? Ha! Not on your life, brother!"

I should set Caliban on him. Gwen thought seriously.

Wen would love it if she returned with new data.

Her father was tier 6 Transmutation, right?

Maybe she could hit tier 3 in one fell swoop?

Qin ‘Qinnie’ Liu settled her step-daughter and brother-in-law into the guests' suite while she and Hai returned to the bedroom to get changed. As much as their Emperor Moth silk-robes suited the decor, parading around braless was hardly going to make an authoritarian impression on their 'elder' daughter.

There was a son as well, wasn't there? Qin wasn't fussed. According to Hai, the mother was a Frontier woman, some local labourer's daughter. When Hai had been banished to the Frontier, he must have been heartbroken and weak-willed, that was why a man as great as he fell for a low hanging fruit.

Her father, the District Secretary, would soon be home for dinner. The old man had been in a good mood as soon as he heard that the Ash Bringer himself was going to visit their humble, millennia-old abode, though he was less than thrilled to hear that Qin's groom had invited his daughter.

“I’ll be next door.” Hai kissed her expertly, sliding a hand onto her waist as their lips met for the third time. Having never had another man, her lover’s kiss felt like hot brands, causing her heart to quicken. Qin crossed her legs. She guessed they were both feeling it; she hoped their eldest didn't catch them out, not that she cared what the girl thought.

“Not here!” Qin chided the man of her dreams. “The servants will talk.”

“Let them talk!” Hai laughed. She loved that about Hai; he was so confident, all the time.

For now, the two of them had to live in different rooms. Qin’s father would not have the two of them under one roof until they were married. She was sure that her father knew that Hai had taken her weeks ago, first when they were together on an outing to the waters of Taihu, then again and again when the old man had been away. The servants gossipped like anything. When Hai becomes the young master, he would have to exert some discipline.

Even so, father had pretended not to know.

His 'Mienzi' wouldn't be able to take it.

Parting from Hai, she opened the door to her room.

One of the problems of living in a venerable siheyuan was that any modern decor ruined the atmosphere. The open roof was chalked matt-black, offset by the wine-red lacquer of the beams. The windows were glass, though a subtle Illusion kept the facade faithful to its original paper-screen aesthetic. Qin's bedroom was spartan by the standard of the 21st century, consisting of several chests and cupboards, a double bed, and an area where she could sit and sip tea. Beside the window, she could engage in reading or meditation while listening to the sound of flowing water.

There was another room a short way to the side, an old storage section; it was there that Qin now went. The alcove wasn't a secret by any means, though Hai hadn't seen it yet. She wanted to keep it a surprise for their wedding night.

Several semi-permeant Dancing Lights lit the small shrine which she had built within its alcove.

Atop a table with several blocks of pinkish-salt, was a leather bound book full of newspaper clippings from two decades ago.

In the middle of the room was a life-sized wall-scroll silk painting.

It depicted a young man, handsome and chiselled, encased in a pinkish-layer of crystalline armour that resembled articulated plate mail. The young man within the image was smiling gently, his eyes dark and gleaming, full of confidence and intelligence.

It was here that Qin felt at peace.

Here was where she could calm her mind and dispel the dread of finally meeting Hai’s daughter.

She had no idea if Hai's eldest child was willing to see her as a mother.

The girl herself was frightfully beautiful and uniquely talented.

A threat.

Her hand fell to her abdomen.

She was with child.

As the Head Physician of the Anhui regional hospital, she knew every inch of her body, inside and out. There was life engendered there, a life that belonged to her and the man she loved.

After all these years of waiting, hoping; despair and then desire, she would give birth to a child.

Her father would have an heir.

The Clan of Liu, First of those who called Jiangnan their home, would have an heir!

* * *

Gwen and Jun sat stunned in the guest room, sipping tea and staring blankly over the vista of the artificial lake. A pair of swallows alighted on the eaves; they regarded the two humans sullenly basking below it, then flew away amidst a bell-beat of wings.

“I still can’t believe it,” Gwen said at last. “Why are we here again?”

“Your father said he wanted to surprise you,” Jun replied miserably. “Maybe we should have gone straight to Huangshan.”

"Bloody oath, we should have. No disagreement there."

Gwen sighed.

Jun patted his jacket for a cigarette, tried his Storage Ring, then remembered he'd promised his mother.

"Qin is..." Jun's expression looked as though he was trying to grasp at some distant memory. "... a childhood associate. I am fairly sure we were both in our late teens when our father spent a summer working with hers. We would have met no more than once or twice. I wonder why she's so obsessed with Hai. A childish infatuation? I seem to recall Qin's mother died when she was very young."

A psychological complex then? Hai just happened to scratch an itch? Gwen was herself no stranger to mental-complexes. The human psyche remained infinitely obscure and mysterious. Though man could collide atoms at sub-light speeds to create new matter, they struggled to fathom the depth of human depravity, insecurities and paranoia.

The two of them sighed together, the tranquil view of heavenly Jiangnan mocking their unsettled hearts.

"Sorry."

“We’re both sorry.”

"I feel sorry for Babulya."

"Have you ever seen mother angry, Gwen?"

"..."

The two sipped the high-grade Tisane provided by their new in-laws.

A jade dragonfly alighted on a lotus.

Golden Cicadas heralded the stifling summer.

* * *

The dinner banquet was fit for twelve, though the table only sat five.

Gwen, Jun, Hai, Qin and her father; five visible attendants and a dozen that came and went, attended the banquet.

The District Secretary of Hangzhou was no paper tiger like Secretariat Choi. He was the bonafide no.1 chair in the region, a ‘Central Office’ man directly responsible for overseeing the administration of the region. As Hangzhou was one of the most central rice bowl regions of the entire Chinese food-economy, his position as acting official between the CCP governing branch and the local Frontier’s provincial government made him supremely influential on both ends.

“How fares Guo? I heard your father had dislodged a few notable names from the ranks in recent weeks,” Sumei Liu, Gwen’s new grandfather-in-law, was putting on a friendly face for his guests.

There was no doubt what they were here to discuss.

The man was sounding out Jun, who was Guo’s most regarded progeny, testing the temperature of the water. What Sumei and Jun were doing was an etiquette Gwen internally inferred as the ‘Waltz of words', a sort of ritualistic social decorum the big-wigs in the CCP had mastered. It was the ability to say something and demand something, without ever saying anything.

“He’s very pleased with the MSS’s recent progress,” Jun replied carefully. “You’ve heard about the incident regarding the late Secretariat Choi, yes?”

“Oh yes, public execution on CCVC-1,” the Patriarch Liu raised an eyebrow. “Messy business, that one, who’d have thought the man was so depraved. We went to the same academy, you know. He had always been the quiet one. You know what they say though, watch out for the quiet ones. The dog that bites doesn't bark.”

“It's over though. Father’s schedule’s open, thanks to that,” Jun remarked offhandedly. “I kept telling him to take a break. The family could revisit Jiangnan. It’ll do him and mother good. You know how she loves the Su-Hang.”

“It’s a beautiful season, a bit hot though. Still, the flowers are out; plenty of fresh produce to sample. Does your family have a place to stay? I have an abundance of room here.”

"Hangzhou's fine. He'll be eager to see an old friend, I am sure. Mother misses Hai as well."

Gwen listened to the conversation, mesmerised by the subtlety of it all.

“So, you’re Hai’s daughter.”

Unexpectedly, the conversation had shifted to her without warning. She had no idea what had passed between the two men, but it felt as though an agreement had been engendered.

“Uncle.” Gwen inclined her head respectfully.

“You’re a lucky man, Hai. Your daughter will marry well, I am sure,” Sumei remarked coldly. Hai had been playing footsies under the table with Qin and was caught off guard. Sumei's expression darkened.

Taking the razor-filled compliment, Gwen shot her father a glance of annoyance. The least he could do was stomach a few razors for her.

“How old are you, Gwen?”

“Seventeen, Sir.”

“Almost a fully grown woman! Have you any request for your hand?”

“No, Sir.” Gwen felt ire rising to her cheeks. What kind of small talk was this? Was the man hoping that she could be fucked off somewhere so that they wouldn't have to 'take care' of an unmarried daughter? Why the fuck would she want to live here in the first place? Your daughter gets to have her fairytale, fuck the others?

She wondered if insulting the Sumei would put a dent in her father's new marriage prospects, but the thought of the innocent child in Qin's belly doused her fury. The flush of her cheeks, however, betrayed her intentions.

“We’re on our way to training, Secretary Liu,” Jun interjected. “Gwen is a very talented sorceress; the Tower expects very good things from her in the future.”

Gwen noted that Jun had failed to mention which Tower.

“Oh, are you a Salt Mage as well, Gwen?” Sumei seemed surprised that a Gweilo girl had inherited the Song family trait. “Your grandfather must be very proud.”

“I am…” Gwen glanced at her uncle. Jun dipped his head subtly.

“I am a Void Mage, Sir…”

Sumei Liu looked toward Jun. The Ash Bringer nodded.

“…and Lightning.”

Sumei’s superior expression dropped like a slab of caesar stone plonked into the placid surface of Taihu. Beside Hai, Qin’s face became ashen. Hai had told her that Gwen’s mother was an overly attached, overbearing nobody from Australia, whom he had divorced almost a decade ago. They barely talked and were more often at loggerheads than not.

If Gwen was indeed a Lightning and Void Mage, what did that make her Mother, a woman capable of engendering a dual-elementalist prodigy?

How could sweet little Qin compare to that?

“Hai,” Sumei’s voice dropped by at least two octaves. “Explain yourself.”

Hai looked as though raked over by hot coals.

“Gwen is a special girl,” he replied carefully. “Her abilities are… a product of chance.”

"Absurd!"

“He’s telling the truth.” Despite his clear annoyance and misgivings, Jun came to his brother’s rescue. “Helena comes from an Enchanter’s family, but she’s a Fire Evoker. She’s remarried now too, who knows, she might even have more children.”

That much was true. Gwen had not contacted her mother since the gift of the Vitae Fruit. Assuming it made her a decade younger, it wasn't impossible that Gwen might be looking at a pair of half-siblings by next year.

Qin collapsed against Hai’s arms. Sumei ground his teeth unpleasantly, while the corner of Jun’s eyes twitched. Gwen felt such sympathy for her mother that for a moment, she had forgotten about Helena's faults.

“Fine.” Sumei sipped his rice wine. He had ordered a three-decade old bottle of Maotai opened for the occasion.

Gwen tried a sip; the spirit almost gave her a coughing fit. When she did manage to swallow the crystal-clear liquid though, it was the smoothest thimble of fire she had ever consumed.

“So, Qin, how did you and father meet?”

“It’s Qīn,” Qīn's father corrected her pronunciation. “Like the guzheng harp. Though I guess in the future, you would have to call her mother.”

Gwen’s expression was unreadable, her facial muscles channelling Guo’s impassivity. Perhaps as a show of future amiability, or possibly in response to her deliverance from a former wife's shadow, Qīn persisted in providing Gwen with the proper context for her rediscovery of her father.

“Our fathers’ are acquainted with one another,” Jun chimed in helpfully, thawing the glacial atmosphere. “We trained near Fuyang when it was still an Orange Zone. It was 83’, I think. We were both stationed at the Huangshan outpost.”

“Yes, I remember it fondly.” Sumei’s face grew softer with the remembrance. “The two of you were busy making a name for yourself. The Song boys, rising stars of the PLA.”

“I was just a little girl then.” Qīn’s milky complexion grew warmer, her eyes dark and liquid. Meek and feminine, she was the sort of woman who made men straighten their spines when in her presence. “We were on a boating trip through Taihu. Some Riven Merfolk had slipped through the Barrier Shields. Our boat was attacked. At first, we were okay; our teacher did her best to fend them off. Then one of the Merfolk scuttled our ferry…”

It was with great fortune then that Hai, Jun, and a troop of fresh Cadets were on border patrol. The girl’s instructor had sent out an SOS, and they had been the first to respond.

“Hai was incredible. He came down from the heavens just like that and turned the surface of the water into sheets of solid pink-salt. Hai looked so amazing in his crystal armour, just like a Tian-Jiang! We all thought a land deity had answered our calls for help!"

Qīn's impassioned articulation made Gwen think of those Harlem priests; those wholly animated ones who believed the hype of every word issued forth from their lips. She'd seen that sort of fervour before, especially during product seminars, like those for new iPhones.

Jun shifted toward Gwen, then leaned in until his lips were an inch from her lobes.

“While the others and I were busy fighting the Merfolk. Hai went to save them of his own volition. Our protocol states that saving civilians is secondary to the extermination of intruders. To be honest, I think the girls would have been fine. Their teacher was a Water Mage. If someone drowned under her watch, that would have been a spectacle in itself."

“Was the teacher…”

“Yeah, she was a real beauty…”

“Did father…”

“… for sure. Brother was bow-legged when he returned after curfew. Received a week's confinement for his dereliction.”

Gwen’s head felt groggy as she turned back to Qīn’s ‘Astounding Tale’. Fucking Morye Song, she grumbled, Hai was a tale as old as time and as base as instinct. Goats and Monkeys!

“I couldn’t forget him, the man who saved my life!” Qīn continued. Qīn's father’s eyes glazed over. He had heard the story a thousand times. “I was heartbroken when I heard that Hai passed away on the Front, so I vowed never to marry! In my heart, I already belonged to Hai Song!”

Gwen felt a pricking of her thumbs.

Something evil this way c-

No, she told herself, there had been far too much of that. That was the whole problem.

When she glanced downward, she saw goosebumps puckering all over her pale legs.

A premonition of Divination? She wondered. That was new.

“So imagine my delight and surprise when I went to work a few months ago at the Hangzhou Military Hospital, and guess who I saw?!”

“My father?” Gwen answered the rhetorical question politely, feigning interest.

“Yes! HAI! Oh, Mao! I was so happy I burst into tears right there in the hospital. To think he was alive! Thank the ancestors! They must be looking down on us from the heavenly court!”

“Or turning in their graves,” Sumei muttered unpleasantly under his breath. "We better not be accused of Necromancy."

Qīn appeared not to notice her father’s foul mood. She continued the tale with her bird-song voice, trilling against the tempestuous tension in the room. By her account, Gwen's father didn't know who she was at first but wasn't opposed to giving her a chance. Qīn had thus gotten to enact her childhood dreams from ground zero.

“… that was when he professed his love! It was very romantic, so Western! We were in the middle of the lake, the very place where he saved me! How fortuitous was that?! It was fate, I tell you. I broke down and wept like a child, oh…”

True to her words, Qīn broke down and began to weep like a child.

Gwen and Jun sat as though dumb statues, joined by Qīn’s father, whose face was full of sympathy and doting forgiveness.

Hai laughed happily, hugged Qīn to his chest, then kissed her on the forehead.

Sumei looked as though someone stabbed him in the liver, twisted the knife, then spat in his face.

“Try the fish,” Qīn’s father said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. “It’s a speciality here, the Vinegar Sturgeon of the West Lake has the most tender flesh of any fish in China.”

The ingredients in their banquet were indeed something else. Au naturale and entirely different from the semi-processed food in the city, each bite seemed to contain within the flesh some form of elemental mana or subtle vitality. If a Mage could feast on these ingredients daily, an impressive growth was assured.

Dinner was thus concluded, the finishing dish was Swallow’s Nest in Wildland Osmanthus and Heart of Pear, a dessert and a palate cleanser.

Sumei insisted that Gwen and Jun should sleep over in the guest rooms, but the pair had already booked a hotel room in Hangzhou. At any rate, they were both in silent agreement that the sight of Hai and Qīn hot in the heat of their steamy passion was too much for their mental health.

“Alright, but you’re welcome to stay anytime.”

Sumei materialised a glyphed plaque, then handed it to Jun.

“My authorisation for entering the Purple Zone. Have it confirmed by the Commander there when you reach Anhui.”

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.” Sumei regarded Jun thoughtfully. “We will be troubling you. I think. When do you expect to be back?”

“A month at most, Sir.”

“I see.” Sumei sipped his tea thoughtfully. “Qīn needs to be accounted before… things begin to show.”

Qīn hid her face against Hai’s chest.

“I will speak to mother tonight. I expect you will get a call from father tomorrow.”

“Good.” Secretary Liu’s bearing alternated between that of a father, and a District official of the highest order. “Our houses joined, will become greater than either. There will be great things for this child. Your father has no heir nominated, yes? Boy or Girl - this will be a good thing for all of us. For both of our Houses.”

Gwen kept her mouth shut.

Jun’s face was unreadable as the two men shook.

Gwen shifted her orbs with great deliberation toward Hai, who did not at all take notice of her alarm. He was busy sweet-talking his new bride, making her giggle and laugh, the very picture of a perfect fiance.

* * *

Hangzhou CBD was an hour away from the Liu’s lakeside estate.

The city’s centre had been re-developed, through much of the surrounding landscape and cityscape kept its dynastic facade. Rather than neat rows of street lights, the city’s suburban sprawl floated on dark water, lit by Dancing Lanterns, forming a mirage-like reverie of floating reflections.

Hangzhou's reputation as the city of 'lake and fishes’ was a misnomer; the city was instead built on a network of estuaries; famous for its canals, not large masses of water. The unique inland penetration of seasonal streams, however, resulted in many pseudo ‘lakes’ of various sizes, which then gave the city the illusion of being situated on the water.

At ten to ten, uncle and niece arrived at a hotel that was neither lavish nor modest. A modern building, it was one of the taller establishments in the city, offering a view of the city’s north, beyond which one could see a shimmering sheet of light illuminating a massive body of water in the far distance.

“Aqua-farming operation.” Jun indicated to the Taihu’s surface. “Big quasi-magical fishery.”

“What’s the plan from here on out?” Gwen spread her toes, allowing the cold, conditioned air to infuse her moisture drenched skin. She felt as though she had perspired non-stop the entire drive from the Liu Estate.

Jun looked already exhausted.

“Originally, I was going to request for Hai to join us in the city. We can try out some of the local delicacies, go for a tour of the lake for a day, then visit the Administration Office. We were going to see Secretary Liu. He had to authorise our visit into Huangshan.” Jun pulled up a cantilever chair and fell into it heavily. “Now, I propose we go straight into the mountains.”

“Sounds good to me,” Gwen agreed. “Regarding Dad?”

“I’ll call mother now. Why don’t you get ready for bed? We’ll leave at 0600. I’ll inform the base we’re on the way.”

“Thanks, Uncle.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Gwen felt unbound sympathy for her uncle as he hunched over and Messaged Gwen’s grandmother.

“Wei? Mother? Yeah, it's me, Jun. Can you hear? Okay, yeah… look, er… I met Hai today…”

Gwen entered the bathroom, turned the lock, then laid out her pyjamas and intimates. She took a cold shower, the only activity that could provide solace against the clinging humidity, then dried her hair, tying it into a loose ponytail for sleeping.

When she emerged in a silk bathrobe and a white face mask, Jun almost spat out the tea he’d made for himself.

“Not going to say I’ve never seen a facial mask before,” Jun replied self-depreciatively. “But that scared the ghost out of me! Did you know the Banshees we get up north sometimes wear the faces of their victims, just like that?”

Was her uncle unused to the feminine company? Gwen wondered. Jun had shown no interest in men, so she could only assume that her uncle was the sort of guy who valued his independence. She reminded herself that her uncle was infertile. If one was infertile, did that impact one’s libido? If the Ash element’s negative drain took away the victim’s desires and passions, as it had done to Lulu’s Huashan uncle, how did it impact Jun, its wielder? If her hunger for vitality and ‘essence’ was anything to go by, the influence should have been considerable.

Jun caught himself staring and diverted his gaze elsewhere.

“I’ve spoken to mother. She will sort it out with father.” He rested his mug against the glass worktable. “You finished?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Great. Lights out at 00:00. Don't wait for me.”

Gwen slipped into the rough sheets, glad that she’d brought her silk robe. She listened distractedly to the sound of the shower next door, thinking of what creatures they would soon be encountering. When the opportunity arose, she had asked her Bestiary instructor, Hufei Chen, about the variety of Dragon-spawn commonly found within its demesne.

“It’s easier to go from the top down.” Chen had taken her line of questioning as innocent curiosity. After all, dragons were very rare and very interesting and charismatic creatures, especially to the Chinese. “One simply needs to follow the food chain. We mentioned before that dragons, intelligent or otherwise, thrive on two core instincts, eating and fucking. Let’s say a dragon goes to a mountain and takes over one of the peaks. The first thing it's going to do is to kill is the alpha Magical Creature there. If it’s a buck or a bull, it’ll likely kill it. Occasionally, it might fuck it-”

“Wait-“ Gwen stopped the instructor. “Dragons can be gay?”

“No!” Chen gave her a dirty, disgusted look. “Ignorant child! Dragons are protandrous hermaphrodites. You can’t just presume a dragon’s sexuality, Gwen.”

“… sorry.” Gwen waited for the Instructor to continue.

“As I said, sometimes, when Dragons see a creature they like, or they think is useful, they might mate with it. The Kunlun Range, for example, is full of pseudodragons because the original alpha there was an enormous wyvern. There are draconic thunder-birds as well, amongst a dozen other species - the Shenglong ain’t fussy.”

“So anyway, as I was saying. Start from the top. The biggest thing that used to live in those mountains is going to be the basic template of whatever draconic-alpha you’re likely to run across. Then go down the food chain. Rocs and Wyverns tend to feature a lot, after that, downgrade to terrestrial hunters like bears and wolves. It might not sound like much, but when you consider that the draconic blood empowers these spawns to live for up to a millennia, and all they do from day to day is eat and fuck, fuck and eat…”

“I see.” Gwen stopped her instructor there. “I get the picture.”

When Jun emerged from the bathroom in short and a tee-shirt, his niece was already fast asleep. He gazed over her perfectly symmetrical face paternally, then quietly laid himself to bed on the second single.

His right hand moved to encompass the Kirin Stone. After quietly invoking mystical incantations, his weary soul rested.

Tomorrow was going to be another long day.

The hotel offered a decent breakfast the next morning at 0630, consisting of congee and preserved vegetables, after which uncle and niece were on their way.

In the Jeep, Jun continued the education of his niece.

“Our first stop is the Anhui guard station, after which we’re going dark. I’ve brought a full set of Optic-Camo for you, on loan of course, as well as some survival basics. Now, Hai tells me he brought you a set of self-preserving intimates, yes?”

Gwen thought she heard wrong at first; then she remembered her father's questionable gift. Her friends had roasted her over the incident.

“Yes.”

“Good, I am similarly provisioned. We can’t leave behind anything that might attract predators.”

“Right.” Gwen kept her eyes on the road. She still had it in the original box.

The freeway extending from Hangzhou was a narrow and tapered stretch of bitumen in a significant state of disrepair. Gwen was beginning to see why her uncle had bought his army Jeep and not some cosy sedan. Even with the lifted suspension, water ingress and erratic vegetation made for a teeth chattering experience.

“Hangzhou is the last Frontier city of its size this far west from Shanghai.” Jun noted Gwen's dismay at the road’s growing dilapidation. “This far out, it’s not uncommon to see Demi-humans and Magical Creatures. Huangshan would have been perfect for a Barrier, though the PLA never got to penetrate that far. The Yinglong keeps to itself, and we have to respect its boundaries by keeping to ours. A Shielding Station would disrupt that unspoken agreement.”

“So what happens when Magical Monsters sneak in?”

“More like saunter in, right through the glaring gap between Nanking and Hangzhou,” Jun chuckled. “We have two battalions stationed in Anhui, including three mid-tier Mage-Flights on rotation tours. Unless the Yinglong empties the Three Heavenly Peaks and comes roaring... well, you were in Sydney, you get the idea.”

"Would it be better or worse?"

“Worse, Hangzhou has no Tower, much less Magus Shultz. That man is a world-wonder when it comes to Strategic-Class Artillery,” Jun confessed more candidly than Gwen liked to admit. “Assuming the Hangzhou Frontier holds up for twenty-four hours, the PLA or the Pudong Tower could Teleport to its aid. The PLA Tower was built for Epic-class engagements. Its superstructure can provision for up to two thousand active Mages up to the rank of Magi, the Dragon’s as good as a pile of priceless ingredients.”

“You make it sound painless,” Gwen regarded her uncle, watching the passing scenery refract from his cool aviators.

“Nothing's that easy, of course. Four million NoMs are living in Hangzhou. Maybe two will survive an attack of that scale. As for moving the Superstructure, Hangzhou will semi-permanently entertain the PLA Tower for the next decade.”

“Would the city ever recover?”

“Sure. Two, three decades? Shorter if we can migrate citizens over from Shanghai. But you know what won't recover? The Yinglong. It'll be gone for good. Forever. Humanity can finally expand the Anhui Frontier. Terraform it into an Orange Zone. The resources alone are going to keep Shanghai going for a decade.”

"But that's not going to happen."

"Of course. A pyrrhic defence against a Yinglong is a necessary act of survival. Attacking a Yinglong while it's in its lair? I don't think we have enough Mages in Shanghai to invest in a conflict of that magnitude. Assuming we fight all out against the Yinglong and its children, Total War and all that, I’d say we’ll be down anywhere between a thousand rank and file Mages, a hundred or so Maguses, and at least a few Magisters.”

“That’s-”

“Potentially a whole generation wiped out,” Jun reiterated the devastation. “Sure, we’ll be fine for now. Dead Dragon and all. What about the next calamity? Suddenly, there’s a generational gap. Shanghai is missing a hundred Maguses! That means potential Magisters! Maybe a Meister! Then there’s the lost potential that at least one-fiftieth of those acolytes would have survived to become something greater. That’s why humanity cannot persist in protracted wars. Humanity neither possesses the lifespan nor the personnel. Even if the NoMs produce a sudden glut of talented individuals, it won't help. We need BOTH quality and quantity to expand. Without enough rank and file, how do we keep the Demi-humans out?”

“Does Hangzhou have a Magical Creature problem? In Australia, they're a constant menace. Most of the military budget is spent on Purging the east coast; that and the Saurian tribes up in Queensland."

"It's done seasonally here. We’ll be heading through the lowlands, where it's spawning time. As for types, in South-East China, we get all sorts. Mermen from the ocean, Merfolk from the Changjiang; ranging from semi-human Mermaids to those cannibalistic little River-gobs that swarm; its the diverse geography."

"Are the ones here as strong as our Mermen?"

“Not inland, and especially not individually. Only the South Pacific can throw up Siege and Titan class beasties. The River-folk are more like vermin; impressive when they reach a critical mass. Habitually, they're the Dragon-kin's primary food-.”

The Jeep struck a patch of caked mud. Gwen had to hold onto the rails to endure the crumbling, half-solid silt. Her uncle continued unabated, enjoying the rough ride.

"- the main problem is how long it takes for them to mature. That's why we have to keep purging the local population. It's endless. How long do you suppose it takes to train a Mage to the right tier of Magic?"

“Ten Years?” Gwen replied very carefully. "Well, 'twenty' from birth?"

“More like thirty, if we’re talking about mastery of a single School of Magic. Most Mages are capped around tier 5, give and take. THIRTY YEARS Gwen, to produce a Mage capable of holding their own. There's an additional caveat; how many of those do you suppose are Combat Mages?"

Gwen shook her head, feeling the moisture of the lowland cling to her hair. There was a stink of decay in the air which hinted at swampland and stagnant water.

"Ten to one in tier 1 cities. A little over five to one on the Frontier."

"Oh?"

"How long do you think it takes to pop out a combat-ready water-Gob?”

“Six?” Gwen seemed to recall good sized Barramundi took that long to mature.

“Three,” Jun remarked. “They're fish. They spawn, meaning broods are usually ten to twenty thousand per; once per annum. At around two years, your average water-imp is fully functional. The rarer ones take longer, of course, just under a decade for a Riven Water-Priest - there's no need for institutional guidance neither; Merfolk magic is innate. The egg-heads at the academy think it’s an evolutionary trait or some form of endemic memory ingrained in the bloodline.”

“T-Ten thousand?! How are we not swamped with fish-faced mermen?!” Gwen started alarmingly. She could believe it if it were the ocean, for the Pacific was a big place, far deeper and wider than any terrestrial landscape.

“One, we Purge annually. Two, the tribes are cannibalistic. Three, they're food - for us, and for the Dragon-kin.”

"Oh..."

"Caught between a rock and a hard place," Jun chuckled. "Remember that 'famous' Vinegar Fish? Now you know why it's so tender."

"You mean..."

"Well, as I said, its spawning season."

Gwen first felt ill, then she felt guilty, followed by remorse. It was a Man-eat-Fish versus Dragon-eat-Fish versus 'Hey! That's my fish!" world. Strewth, it must SUCK to be a fish, especially a one that possessed the sapience to complain.

The car rocked again, shaking her from her thoughts. They were entering a sort of low-land floodplain. The road itself was inundated by patches of water left by episodic showers.

Just as uncle and niece came to a lull in their conversation, there came a cacophony of commotion from beyond the hill. For Jun, the explosive crackle of Evocation and the muffled thumping of Abjuration Shields was self-evident. As for Gwen, it took her a little longer to catch on.

"Is there a fight ahead of us?"

"Yeah, sounds like they're in the thick of it, at least one Evoker. Not uncommon along this stretch of the road. The Merfolk need food for their young, and Humans happen to be growing copious amounts of food."

Jun slowed the Jeep to a halt, the engine plinked beside an algae-covered milestone.

“We’ll proceed on foot," Jun commanded her, his casual confidence was infectious. “Your call. Show me what you can do.”

“Yessir!” Gwen deployed her Familiars. “Caliban! Ariel!"

"Invisible Familiar!”

"Invisible Familiar!”

Watching the marten and the void-worm fade from sight, Jun whistled.

“That is an evil spell.” Her uncle listened for the sound of Caliban’s slithering. “Well, lead the way.”

The two made it over the crest, gliding above the ground via their flight spells, bypassing the mud and grime. A battleline of human soldiers pushing against a swarm of amphibian-frogmen came into view.

“URRGH'ug! Kreee!”

The most salient spectacle in the chaotic melee below was a frog-giant the size of a water buffalo. Conversely, the unfortunate victim of the frogmen's ambush was precisely one buffalo. From the looks of it, the frog-things were trying to get away with their loot of flesh when the human patrol caught them red-handed.

“A Frogger-alpha,” Jun remarked. "Big bastard too, the smaller ones are Spawllings."

“Really?” Gwen turned to the frogs, pondering how the swarm managed to cross the road, evading the traffic. Three dozen of its spawns accompanied the great brute; tadpole-men covered with mucus-armour, carrying bladed reeds on poles that reminded her of a half-pike.

The Human unit fighting the frog-folk, to Gwen’s astonishment, were NoMs backed by two Mages. One of the casters was an Abjurer, while the other Gwen guessed to be an Evoker-Transmuter.

NoMs, equipped with armaments! Gwen felt taken back. It was the very first time Gwen had ever seen NoMs fighting Magical Creatures. The infantry looked to be armed with staves enchanted for elemental damage, with a command, the pole extended and retracted. Whenever the head struck an enemy, the pole-weapon sent out a brilliant burst of deadly energy from the business end.

“A Frontier Militia, likely from the local agricultural-garrison.”

Jun folded his arms, waiting for Gwen to act.

His niece studied the battle below. The Merfolk were retreating, but neither side had casualties. The sticks wielded by the militia were having a hard time penetrating the mucus of the amphibian-men, while the van-sized frog-giant kept the Merfolk battle line from crumbling by holding off the two Mages. Occasionally, it spat a glob of viscous-white liquid which looked like glue, disrupting the battle-line.

Despite being outnumbered, the Militia was doing well. The Abjurer, in particular, was keeping his men safe with timely Shields. It was ten against thirty, but thanks to what Gwen assumed were buffs from the Transmuter, the NoMs held their positions.

“Do they even need my help?” Gwen entreated her uncle.

Jun crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.

“Should I be discrete?”

Jun channelled Guo's stoicism.

Gwen turned back to the scene.

“Alright then. Here I go.”

* * *

“Shield!” Rurong Peng wondered if his sergeant had a plan other than trying to grind the Merfolk's morale, hoping that the frog-men ran out of stamina before they ran out mana.

The squad was doing well, perhaps better than he had anticipated.

When they had arrived and disembarked, no one vomited, and no one complained. The men simply formed up, made two rows, then awaited their buffs.

They found the frog-folk raiding party not far from the location described by their first intelligence report. A local farmer had been accosted while taking his buffalo out to forage; he fled, abandoning his charge to inform the garrison of the raiding party.

When it was clear to the frogmen that they could not escape with their quarry, they attacked.

Li's squad fell into formation with Rurong at its centre and the Sergeant himself hovering behind them, forming a V-wedge.

With the melee joined, Rurong’s work began in earnest. The attacks from the smaller of the Merfolk were not difficult to deflect, it was the big bastard duelling sergeant Li that took out his mana by the increments, pulverising his Shields one by one.

His sergeant was doing well though, gouging out chunks of its Demi-human flesh with fire. As for the NoMs, they were performing better than last time; during their first engagement against a mud-salamander, half of them had fled.

Sergeant Li flittered backwards, drifting through the air as another globular of glue flew overhead. Rurong altered the path of the projectile with a deflection Shield, but the viscous liquid adhered to the Earthen crust, remaining in midair until Rurong could be sure no unfortunate NoM was going to get caught below. The extra second was vexatious, Rorong complained, a waste of mana.

“Careful,” his Sergeant advised via Message. Rurong hailed back an affirmative.

“Scorching Ray!” Sergeant Li let loose his favourite spell, blasting three beams of fire into the Frog-spawn’s hide, turning a chunk of its flesh into char as the surrounding mucus boiled, sending up a great stink smelling of rotten reeds and fish.

Before the Sergeant could load up another, the giant frog-man reared up on its hindquarters, rising to almost four meters in height.

“Cao!” Rurong swore. He had seen the ability before in similar creatures but hadn’t accounted for the frog to still possess enough of its bile to execute the AOE.

‘GLUUUARRRRGH!’

A torrent of sticky liquid poured forth from the frog’s lips in a viscus, semi-circle arc.

“Shield!”

“Earthen Wall!”

Rurong was very proud of his simultaneous casting. It a staple ability of the Abjuration school, though only a single percentile could claim that their Shield was near-instantaneous.

The conjured wall caught half of the viscous vomit, while his Shield prevented the NoM closest to the strike zone from becoming enmeshed.

The same could not be said of Three NoMs further down the battle line.

“Caonima!” Rurong growled. “Sarge!”

“Hold it steady!” Sergeant Li shouted back. “Cover me! I’ll try to cut them loose.”

Not even Enhanced Strength was enough to allow the NoMs to escape the suddenly solidifying gloop. There was a mild acid within the creature's phlegm which immediately began its terrible work.

“Cao, it burns!”

“Don’t come! I think its poisonous!”

“Save me! Sarge! Save me! ARRRRRGH!”

Rorong felt a wave of annoyance engender in his chest. The NoMs were drilled especially not to panic. Mass panic would impact morale and could lead to a rout. Without the platoon holding down the little fuckers, how could he and Li focus on fighting the big bastard?

Sensing the Abjurer’s preoccupation, the amphibian-giant launched an attack, unrolling a corkscrew, arm-thick length of pink flesh from its mouth to ensnare one of the hapless NoMs.

“No! Help me! I don't want to die!”

It was L04, the coward of the bunch, always the first to panic.

Rorong swore under his breath; he felt no compulsion to risk his Sergeant’s safety to preserve the useless meat bag. Fuck em, Rurong bemoaned, even if L04 returned safely, the Er-bi would be whipped within an inch of his life for failing to maintain discipline and thusly endangering the platoon. The Commander had reiterated that it was best for useless conscripts to be weeded out naturally. He had called it Social Darwinism; a term coined by an old English Magi who studied Magical Beasts, theorising that natural-selection was what made Wildland Creatures superior combatants.

“Caliban! Onslaught!”

“Ariel! Ball Lightning!”

A shrill female voice echoed across the clearing.

Rurong whipped his head toward to the voice's source. He spied two human silhouettes floating above the steep rise. That the intruders were flying meant Mages, not only that, one of them was a quasi-elementalist.

His hypothesis was soon answered by screaming orbs of crackling cobalt striking three frogmen in quick succession. The self-seeking bolts sizzled the thick mucus on contact, then burst into a hysterical brilliance, resulting in an eruption of flesh, amphibian-gore, and mucus.

The startling ultra-violence forced a pause in the combat, followed by an even lull of silence as an enormously hideous humanoid-toad materialised from thin air.

A Gila? Rurong had graduated from technical college and thus knew the likeness of Hengsha Dungeon's signature Monster. From the icy prickling of imminent death engendering in his spine, Rurong knew he might be in deep shit.

A wave of revulsion and vertigo permeated the battlefield with the Death-Gila at its epicentre. The NoMs fell backwards, a few becoming violently ill; others screamed insensibly; L04 became incontinent.

Shit! Cao! Rurong looked toward his Sergeant, whose expression was ashen, suggesting he was likewise affected by the Death-Gila’s necrotic Aura.

The Merfolk too were thankfully smitten by the sudden appearance of the three-meter amphibian. The lesser ones fell to the floor and began to thrash and convulse, while the larger ones turned to flee. Their giant leader appeared as though it was facing down a cobra. It halted where it stood, its haunches frozen, too terrified to move.

“Sarge! Now’s our chance!”

“Corporal! Get back! Get everyone back now!”

The Sergeant’s response flipped a switch in Rorong’s head.

What if these were ROGUE Mages? Those bastards never suffered witnesses to live!

“Back! F03! S04! Get back! C11, you take point! MOVE YOUR ASSES!”

The NoMs however, were too terrified to obey.

“CAONIMA! You bastards want to die! SHABI! MOVE IT!”

With Rurong's abuse ringing in their ears, the NoMs came to; the first was F03, then S04, then the others began to mobilise.

“FORMATION! FOR MAO'S SAKE! FUCKING SPELL FODDER! STAY IN FORMATION!”

The idiots! Rurong growled, wishing he could dispatch one to motivate the others. Supposedly, during Mao’s unification campaign, the Commissariat system worked wonders to motivate the NoMs. When a squad failed to exercise an order or delayed the speed of a battlefield manoeuvre, the presiding officer could execute the slowest member, thereby saving the rest of the squad from annihilation.

Heedless of the humans panicking, the Death-Gila began to move.

Terrified, the Frogger-alpha spat a globe of sticky-residue toward it.

What would the Gila do?!

Rurong couldn’t look away. He had heard that the Death Gila could use Necromantic magic, Drain Life, Enfeebling the enemy before tearing it apart.

Without even slowing, the Death Gila opened its maw.

A Death Beam?! Rurong’s heart hammered at his throat.

In one swift motion, the Gila caught the spit-ball in its mouth-pouch, swallowing it wholesale.

“…”

Rurong vomited a little in his mouth.

* * *

“Caliban can perform complex actions independent of my commands,” Gwen explained carefully to Jun; she had no desire for her uncle to be surprised in their dragon-poaching journey. “It leaps, jumps, uses abilities; Caliban even attacks and retreats via its own volition.”

“Yet it’s not a spirit.” Jun tapped his chin. "How curious."

Gwen located three more targets; she made the mental image in her mind, then executed the necessary somatic components to activate her newest incantation.

“Ball Lightning!”

Three orbs flew from Ariel, some hundred odd meters away, seeking their targets. Ariel itself was busy mauling a frog-spawn with gleeful bloodlust.

“Why aren't we exterminating them?”

“The Merfolk possess low-cunning.” Jun observed Caliban moving in on the adult-alpha. “You should leave the small ones to tell the tale. An overwhelming force always discourages the tribe from sending out larger raiding parties. It's better to eat your neighbours than to risk warriors, gain no supplies, then become food for the very neighbours you spared.”

Meanwhile, Caliban's claws dug into the giant Frogger's torso with a terrific force, vivisecting the creature in a horrific onslaught; cutting through its excretion without apparent effort.

“Did you figure out how Caliban collates morphic forms yet?”

“No.” Gwen shook her head. “I thought it just took whatever it ate at first, but now that I think of it, it probably has something to do with affinity, or preference, or Cores.”

“Speaking of Cores.” Jun took her hand. “Let's test that hypothesis.”

“!”

One Dimension Door later, the two of them were face to face with the dying Frogger. In its final moments, the Merfolk-alpha recognised the origin of the creature that had been its undoing. Its intelligent eyes bulged with hate and despair just as Caliban raised a bladed appendage and dashed its brains out, forcing a tennis-ball sized eye to pop from its socket.

Jun stood casually beside the corpse as its assorted organs failed. The creature was almost three hundred kilograms of flesh and bone, and its amphibian offal died sequentially. The air was punctuated with the sound of gurgling and popping as spleens ruptured and vessels deflated until finally, all sound ceased.

“Ariel, Caliban!”

Gwen retrieved her familiars.

Jun dug through the body, kicking it apart with his combat boots. With a triumphant expression, he retrieved a small core the size of a fist with Mage Hand.

“Unimpressive, tier 3 at best,” remarked the Ash Mage disappointedly upon closer inspection. "Elements' all muddled up too."

As uncle and niece picked about the body for potential loot, the Abjurer and Transmuter approached them. By now it was self-evident that they were on the same side.

“Sir!” The Transmuter saluted. “Sergeant Li, Anhui 22nd Militia, may I petition that you identify yourself?”

The Abjurer fell into step behind his superior officer. Behind them, the troop of frightened but unharmed NoMs regarded the duo with dreadful expressions, clutching their staves with white-knuckled fear. A few of them were covered in their own sick. One man stayed away from the rest, his pants heavy with noxious cargo.

Jun returned a salute. Gwen bowed.

The striking mien of the girl as she raised her head and brushed back a lock of indifferent hair diffused the tension somewhat, though the mountainous carcass reminded the Anhui Militia that the very same girl had summoned the Death-Gila.

“Jun Song. Captain. Internal Security.”

“The Ash Bringer?!” The Sergeant raised an eyebrow. How could he have missed it? He kicked himself. He had watched the propaganda Vid-cast religiously. It was mandatory viewing during the NCO orientation.

“Captain Jun?!” His Abjurer companion was beside himself. The propaganda made a strong impression. “S-Sir! Can I have your autograph?!”

“Corporal!” Sergeant Li snapped at his subordinate.

“It’s no trouble.” Jun materialised a scrapbook. “Your name?”

“Rurong Peng! Sir! The boys won’t believe it!”

Jun wrote something nice for the young man, signed the page, then neatly tore it from the book.

“Thank you, Sir!”

“You did well, Rurong.” Jun patted the man on the shoulder. “We need more men like yourself and Sergeant Li.”

“It’s our duty!” Li beamed, his eyes strangely moist with gladness.

Gwen watched the proceedings with great interest, marvelling at her Uncle’s charisma.

“May I inquire...” Li turned to Gwen apologetically.

“My niece. We’re in Anhui for business,” Jun replied cryptically. "I know the protocol. Here are our Passes."

“Of course, Sir, sorry I asked,” Sergeant Li apologised. He checked their Passes, then respectfully returned the tablet. “May we be dismissed?”

“You may, Sergeant."

“Thank you, Captain, Miss Song.”

“Sir! Ma'am!” Rurong saluted the both of them.

“Sergeant. Corporal.”

“Bye!” Gwen bid the militia goodbye.

“That went well,” Gwen commented to Jun, wondering if she 'did good' enough to receive a pat on the shoulder.

“I am frankly impressed.” Jun regarded his niece in a new light, patting her shoulder. “Caliban held his own against a tier 5 Monster without endangering others. So Ariel can displace and extend the range of your Evocation, hmm? Very useful indeed.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Gwen mimicked the militiamen, knocking her heels as she touched her fingers to her forehead.

Jun laughed.

“Good, keep your spirit up,” he replied ominously. “We’ll be trying our luck with the quasi-dragon spawn soon. They're going to be tough customers.”

“A real challenge, Uncle?”

“Naturally.” Jun nodded. “The ones we're after are immune to Lightning. Besides, the dragon-kin possess universal elemental-resistance. The purer the bloodline, the harder it'll be to score a clean hit. For now, we’ll visit the local garrison to check in, after which we’ll proceed on foot. Hopefully, you’ll get your first taste of dragon-flesh by tomorrow night!”

Gwen nodded her head, her eyes full of eagerness.

Dragon-spawn.

The apex existence within this region and the next.

She wondered if draconian flesh tasted better than chicken.

Jun chose the scenic route, venturing off-road into a patrol-trail to acquaint Gwen with the particulars of the local geography.

“Look up,” he told her as they roved through the valley, where occasionally a glimpse of the ‘Yellow’ mountain could be seen in the distance, surrounded by clouds and obscured by mist. “The peak you're now seeing is the Lotus Peak, about 1864m from base to tip, that’s where the Yinglong has its lair. Behind it, just visible, is the Celestial Peak, about 1800m. There could be something else living there, but we haven’t seen it.”

“There's a third rise currently out of sight, the Bright Peak, aka Guanghua Peak; verily the moniker used for the Fudan Towers. Together, the three peaks form a natural leyline called the Three Heavenly Reaches. The locals suspect that there’s an open tear into an Elemental Plane somewhere in-between because the volumetric thickness of Elemental Air up there is visible even with the naked eye - look.”

Gwen looked.

It was true what her uncle said.

When she squinted against the sun, she discerned that so much Elemental Air voluminously smothered the 'cloudy peaks' that the motes had formed into tropospheric cloud-banks. In streams and eddies, they swirled and traversed from peak to peak as if moulded by some unseen hand.

As they approached a tree line, Jun slowed the Jeep to a stop.

“This is the unspoken natural boundary; marked by the Dragon-Pine. Back before the PLA left Anhui, they used to call it the ‘Welcoming Pine.’”

“I can guess why the name changed.”

“Yep, the Yinglong wasn’t very welcoming, at least not to the PLA.” Jun chuckled. He turned the Jeep around and began to retrace their route. Gwen had no idea how her uncle could navigate using nothing but his head. If she had been the one performing the orienteering, they would have driven off a cliff by now.

“You know what's the most famous produce here in Anhui?”

“Lumber?”

“I wish.” Jun slowed the Jeep, then turned into another fire trail. “It’s tea. The best green tea in South China. It’s called the Maofeng Cha, also known as the Tea of Fur Peak. That name had also changed, by the way.”

“Oh?” Gwen was the sort of girl who drank fancy, fashionable fruit tea. Or, as connoisseurs would point out, ‘a sacrilege to tea-craft’.

“We call it Dragon-Peak Tea now, the main plantation is within the dragon's territory, and we trade them for it.”

“Sounds better than furry-tea.” Gwen grinned, wondering if her uncle was in on the joke. "Does the dragon tend to the tea?"

“Hahaha.” Jun chortled. “I don’t know if the dragon is rubbing the tea-trees or dribbling its dragon juice into the ground or what, but you’ll see what I mean once we get back to Hangzhou. There are only a few select places that sell them. Anyway, the circulating currents of Elemental Air up on the Three Heavenly Peaks means the place is permanently clouded. The cloud coverage is good, perfect for us. It means that there’s terrible line-of-sight anywhere from the sky. Once’s we’re over the 1300 mark, there’s very little visibility past twenty to thirty odd meters unless a freakish gust clears the bank.”

“A Sea of Clouds,” Gwen returned, thinking of Casper David Frederich’s Wanderer above the Sea of Fog. Would she be Gwen above the Sea of Clouds? Indeed, the vista above was of sufficient sublimity to stir the Romantic soul. Maybe there was a Lumen-recorder she could buy or borrow from the base. In all her time flitting from one magical place to another, she hadn’t at all thought about taking any pictures. To think that the principal preoccupation of any and all travelling in her old world had been Insta or Facebook photography. A single shot of Almudj from the floating Towers, or the Leviathan lying dead just off the city's coast, would have sent her audience into a frenzy.

What was curious, however, was that the mountain was dark-granite, emerald-pine, blue-sky and white-cloud. There wasn't a spec of yellow to be seen.

“I’ve been thinking for a while, Uncle,” Gwen interjected on Jun's geography lesson. “Why is it called the Yellow Mountain? There’s nothing yellow here, not even mustard.”

“It's a wordplay. It’s said to be the birthplace of the first Sage-King, the Huang Emperor. The word 'yellow' and 'Huang' are homophones. Huangshan is also where the forging of the Pill of Immortality took place, so the name caught on. As for how the moniker spread, we have the Sage Li-Bai, the Jade-Lotus Wanderer himself to blame.”

“Who's Li-Bai?”

Jun cleared his throat, slowing the Jeep until they faced the mountain and the Sea of Clouds.

“Thirty-six immortal peaks,

Their blades touch the heaven.

Morning sun strikes the darkening trees,

Here in this sky-mountain realm.

Men of Han! Raise your mien!

A thousand spring and autumns,

The cranes have come and gone.

Far off I spy a travelling swordsman,

Plucking clouds from the stone crevice."

Uncle and niece sat in the now silent Jeep, watching the clouds descend the distant mountaintops. The breeze was temperate and pleasant, dispelling the oppressive humidity of summer. Wild and thrilling birdsong filtered through the trees, joined by the chirping of cicadas. Leave rustled, diffusing a minty scent of pine wax.

After an indeterminate passage of poetic silence, Jun restarted the engine.

“That's why its called Huangshan.” He beamed at Gwen. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The duo reached the Anhui garrison by late afternoon.

The garrison commander had gotten wind from his returning soldiers that the Ash Bringer himself was in the area and would likely visit them. In anticipation, he had set up a tremendous banquet.

Jun thanked the commander for his hospitality, then bid Gwen join him and the Garrison’s unisex Officer Corp for dinner. Upon their arrival, they had been given generous accommodations in the officer's quarters. Wanting to make an impression, Gwen changed into something semi-formal, taking her uncle's advice that all of the men and women with whom they were liaising would be wearing their dress uniforms.

The banquet itself kicked into gear once Jun arrived. He wore his Army Captain uniform, though his clandestine rank within Internal Security would likely place him at the same level as the base's Commander, if not higher. Jun couldn't compel the movement of troops, but he could necessitate the arrest or decommission of military or bureaucratic officers. Gwen meanwhile, chose the blue-white porcelain high-waisted dress her babulya had given her when they first met, pairing the form-fitting attire with a pair of white ankle-strap pumps.

The male officers' eyes lit up as Gwen curtsied, more so than when Jun shook their hands. The women, consisting of a Major and an Assistant District Secretary, were doubly impressed by both uncle and niece, taking Gwen away from the men at first opportunity to gossip about Jun's private prospects. When Gwen refused to divulge her uncle's preference in women, the daring officers attempted to loosen her lips with rice wine. It was only when Gwen began to slur that Jun rescued her from the two women, citing their early excursion. With great disappointment, the women allowed uncle and niece to elude their grasp, staring at Jun with such fervency that Gwen's skin crawled. She knew that men could be wolves, but now she understood that age-old saying about powerful Chinese women being as hungry as tigers!

By next morning, the two were back in their hiking garbs, ready to roll out. Jun had acquired an updated map for their perusal. He had consulted the garrison's Rangers, updating his knowledge on the local fauna, their whereabouts, and the current occupation of the Yinglong.

“No sighting for two months and three weeks so far,” the Ranger Sergeant enlightened the pair. “If it’s not sleeping - that’s how Dragon’s cultivate, if you didn’t know - then its gone Mao knows where, but chances are its sleeping.”

Jun thanked the man, then called for Gwen. He left the Jeep with the quartermaster, after which the pair embarked on foot. There were no trails into the Three Heavenly Peaks, much less the Sea of Clouds. Aided by Expeditious Retreat and Enhanced Constitution, the pair had to bushwack and trek through the shrubland, using the scenery above and Jun's Compass as orientation.

Though forty, Jun remained at peak physical condition. Gwen meanwhile, was buoyed by her long limbs, her Druidic Essence, her youth and the stolen vitality of her hapless victims.

“You hike like an Army Ranger.” Jun was sweating by the time they reached the tree lines at 1100 meters above sea-level, feeling embarrassed that Gwen appeared more refreshed than exhausted. “Alright, equipment check. No more fun and games after this point. Discovery by the Yinglong could be life or death.”

"I understand."

"Here, take these."

True to form, Jun had thought of everything. Gwen's uncle produced from his Large Storage Ring all the necessary Magic Items for their ‘poaching’ adventure, appropriated from the Internal Security quartermaster.

One Optic-Camouflage Cloak, full size.

One pair of Soundless Boots.

One Hide Presence body-suit, reinforced.

“I know you’ve got Habitat and potions, so I forwent those. Babulya informs me that you’re able to use Teleportation beacons now?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Good, saves me using my device. You're our Translocator from here on out.”

“I am? But you DDed us earlier.”

Jun tapped his wristwatch.

“Allenberg's Portable Translocator. Usable three times per day. Takes HDMs as well, though the rearming process is rather fiddly.”

“You’re not a Conjurer, uncle?” Gwen had assumed that Jun was a Transmuter-Conjurer.

“I dabble here and there.” Jun smirked. “Nothing like your legitimate Schools of Magic. My major School is Evocation. Transmutation is my secondary school. I also know most of the utility low-tier spells from Conjuration, Abjuration, Illusion and Necromancy.”

"Wow, that must have taken a while." She thought about her own Schools of Magic. Her methodology was literally cheating the system. She counted the number of Schools her uncle knew against her own: Conjuration, Abjuration, Illusion and Necromancy...'

When she looked up at Jun, she caught her uncle grinning at her.

NECROMANCY?!

Her tongue had transformed into sandpaper. Her uncle was visibly trying to keep a straight face. Was it a joke? The cavalier manner in which Jun had dropped the truth bomb seemed to suggest the Ash Bringer was not joking. If it was true, then Jun was now sharing something extraordinarily intimate and delicate. They were now crossing a dangerous threshold of faith.

The trust which Jun invested put Gwen to shame, whom herself had refrained from informing her uncle of many things: Almudj's possession, Henry Kilroy, Elizabeth Sobel, and the ultimate secret that she was a twin-souled cross-dimensional migrant thrust across space and time to usurp his niece's body.

A little alarmed, Gwen tested the waters for buoyancy. Far more accustomed to the crumbs of intimacy, Jun's generosity frightened her, setting her mind on edge.

"I must have misheard."

“I don't think so. I mean what I said."

“Seriously though, Necromancy?”

“It’s an old family secret. A necessity. I suppose my father wouldn’t have told you, and it seems Hai never shared that particular secret either. His selfish instinct for self-preservation astounds me sometimes. But to answer your question, YES. Necromancy.”

If knowledge could induce vertigo, then that was what Gwen was feeling. She felt as though thrust into an outlandish world where all her expectations and understanding of the Song family was turned topsy-turvy.

“Can you clarify?” Gwen demanded reflexively. "Sorry, Uncle, it's just a lot to take in... in a place and time like this."

Jun pulled out his half of the Kirin Amulet.

“You activate this-” he met her hazel orbs with his charcoal irises. “- with Necromancy. That’s our Clan’s secret.”

Gwen couldn't help feeling that Guo was going to jump out from behind a pine tree and start screaming at her. Her brother was using the Amulet, was he not?

“S-should you be telling me this? Does this mean Percy…”

So Percy's a bloody Necromancer?!

“Oh yes.” When Jun saw that his niece was beginning to hyperventilate, he knew it was time to stop yanking Gwen’s chain. If nothing else, the girl's love for her brother was admirable, strange even, considering how little reciprocation occurred. “Woa, let me stop you there. Don’t fret! Look, the incantation may be Necromantic in nature, but it isn't a spell to raise the dead. There's nothing overtly illicit about it other than being explicitly forbidden.”

“Oh, that makes it all better,” Gwen replied with unintended sarcasm; she was still trying to catch her wits from escaping through her ears, then making a run for the woods.

“Watch.”

Jun produced the Core they had seized from the Frogger Alpha.

“Ready? Stand back. A little further. A little more. There you go. Normally, the rite is much more subtle. I am going to show you the full extent of it to vindicate its reputation.”

Gwen nodded, her eyes as wide open as humanly possible. Necromancy! Now that she had calmed herself, she could rationalise that it wasn't so bad. Magister Lee had gone on and on about this. To think he was mocking her Clan as well.

Her fright stemmed more so from social stigma; that and the indoctrined learning that 'Necromantic Magic' was the worst thing to have ever happened to the human race. To think the whole time a Necromancer was two feet away from her!

“Drain Life!”

There was a sudden dimming of the sunlight surrounding Jun, as though the spectrum had been distorted by something invisible. The area around Jun’s feet turned instantly to ash, with every living thing within half a meter radius or so wilting rapidly.

The Frogger Core cracked.

Gwen could feel a presence, a palpable life-force akin to her Druidic Essence, escape from the misshapen orb and enter Jun’s body. Her uncle took the life-force without so much as blinking, then casually stowed the remains.

“Drain Life, the staple spell of the Necromantic school. The transference of the life energy of another to empower one's Negative-affinity incantations. Though considered Necromancy, it's perhaps truer to say that it's a form of latent biomancy. In conjunction with the Kirin Amulet, the Necromantic infusion of Drain Life syphons drained essence, living or undead, into the Kirin stone as pure essence. With another incantation, I can draw forth this purified essence to bolster my body and fuel my casting. Though my Ash is more volatile than your Void, I can remain combat-active for a long time. My single longest bout of combat was 14,000 VMI’s worth of continuous spell-casting, all thanks to the stored essence I had collected. That was the battle that made me famous, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.” Gwen stared at the Kirin Amulet, thinking of Percy’s other half. “I want to hear it though.”

Gods, 14,000 VMI worth of spells? That must have been some battle! She was surprised there wasn't a book about it. That was the thing about this world though, the privilege of information which she had taken for granted in her old world was a rare bird in these neck of the woods.

“I am actually surprised you haven't heard it. Another time then,” Jun teased her. “All I can tell you now is that I managed to spend six years worth of accumulated essence in twenty-two hours of continuous combat-”

"But none of that has anything to do with me now," Gwen cut in a little cattily. "I gave mine up."

"I don't know about that~."

Her ears perked up. The mountains. Lightning Beasts. Yinglong. Maybe it all added up to a different purpose than the one Jun had proposed?

“Is it possible to make my own Amulet?” Gwen pulled her eyes away from the dazzling presence of the solution to all her problems. "Are there Kirins here we can kill?"

“No! Kirins are near Mythic Class!" Jun battered away Gwen's romantic fantasy.

“Not to mention if we did possess a core, where are you going to find an Enchanter of antiquity at the 8th tier, versed in the old magic of the Song Dynasty?”

"Tier... oh..."

Magister Wen was said to be close to 8, but Gwen could hardly trust the knowledge-crazed academic, not to mention her less than pure interest. Her Opa was at tier 6, but the wizened old man was unlikely to progress any higher in his craft. In fact, with the onset of dotage, his proficiency would slip rather than grow.

“Maybe with CCs?”

“Impossible.” Jun shook his head. “A world-class Enchanter would be needed, one that is Chinese and well-versed in ancient magic. You can't tell anyone of this at any rate, else the greatest secret of our Clan would be known to outsiders. The MSS Secretary and the Ash Bringer, Necromancers? Gwen, we wouldn't have enough heads for the CCP to chop! What would happen to grandmother if either of us carelessly blabbed?"

“Does the CCP know?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Jun shrugged. “I’ve been told no, at any rate. The rite of the Kirin's Blessing remains an heirloom secret.”

“But you just told me.”

“Indeed, I've told a member of my family, a dear member.”

Gwen hesitated.

The taste in her mouth was bittersweet.

“Gwen,” Jun leaned inward, his presence loom over her.

Her uncle’s intimacy made her flush with a strange heat. She had never confronted a family member like Jun before, one who not only trusted her implicitly but was even now opening his heart. She forced herself to face Jun’s paternal gaze, feeling utterly abashed by how differently they felt. Internally, her thirty-something spirit clashed with the teenage oxytocins firing away inside the hemisphere of her brain.

When Jun spoke again, it was with absolute sincerity.

“If and when I am no longer…”

Her uncle’s fatalistic words splashed over her feverous rapture like a bucket of ice-cold water.

“Jun…”

“Let me finish- Gwen, I am a soldier. A good soldier doesn't die in a retirement home. In the probable event that I do perform the ultimate service in Mao's name, I have instructed in my Will that the Kirin Amulet will go to you.”

Gwen felt sick.

She felt a sudden and grotesque loathing for the Kirin Stone. She wanted to pull it from Jun’s neck and dash it against some rocks, or perhaps launch it into the sky and consume it with a Void Bolt.

“Don’t say that!” The voice that issued from her lips felt not her own. Her eyes flashed angrily; her breath came in rags. “NO! I don’t want it! Fuck the Amulet! I'll stick to Consume. I'll eat each and every bloody one of my foes: man, woman, dragon or otherwise. I don't need it!”

Jun touched a hand to her quivering cheeks.

“I have no children. I want it to go to you.”

“You don’t know that!” Gwen interjected. “Maybe there’s something you haven't tried. The Elves might have something. Wen said they have Druids! I’ve got Druidic Essence! I can consult with Almudj, a mythic being! If and when it wakes up! If it can bring life to the dead clay of Australia, it can help you conceive children! Hell, ask Dad for one! He's probably got bastards everywhere!”

Gwen could barely breathe. How did it come to this? They were just about to enter the forest, then Jun made a joke about Necromancy, and then it wasn't a joke; how the hell did they arrive at this morbid bullshit fucked up conversation!?

Jun brushed a lock of wayward hair from her face, one that had fallen out of place in his niece's excitement. The girl's senseless gibbering was endearing; he had to admit, it was nice to know Gwen cared.

How beautiful it would've been, but alas.

“My affinity is 7, almost 8, and I don’t even have a Spirit,” Jun interrupted his naive fantasy. “I am not capable of having children, because the Ashen Mana has made me its vessel. With a touch, I can turn even the Undead to ash. Not even the greatest Necromancy can raise what I have laid to rest. That is why I am the Hero of the Northern Campaign. The Ash Bringer. Gwen, you see; Oblivion and I, we’re old chums. We’ve walked side by side for far too long. I am not a man capable of bringing life. That was the price I paid for power, one which I have accepted. There is balance in all things, Gwen. A man such as I cannot be greedy. Else the Ash would bring calamity to everyone I love.”

“Uncle…”

Gwen touched her chin. Her cheeks were wet.

Was she crying?

Jesus Christ, she chided herself. My internal chemistry must be a hot mess.

She opened her mouth to speak, to find soothing assurances, only to discover herself in the rare circumstance of being lost for words. Her estrangement from her old-world family had meant that never had she entertained the possibility of a loved one being consigned to the void, never to be seen again.

“Uncle, I…”

Her tongue was caught in a barbed wire snare.

She watched Jun’s calloused hands move from her face, mesmerised by his slow, articulate fingers.

In a sudden, swift gesture, Jun pinched her nose, just as he had before in the coffee shop.

“Uncle!” Gwen protested, the adult soul feeling bruised and ashamed.

It was as though a spell had been broken.

“Nobody is dying! You silly goose of a girl!” her uncle chastised her. “Such morbid thinking! I am going to live for a long while yet! So will you, and so will father and mother! Hai’s going to have another child. You’re going to have a baby sibling. You will have children one day too. We’ll be four generations sitting at the banquet table!”

Gwen stared at her uncle, stunned by the sudden change in tone.

“Why should anyone be dying? I am hale and healthy thanks to the Kirin Stone. Your biometrics are fine as well, far better than mine. Caliban is doing God's work, or at least the work of some deity-like power that resides in the Void. Some dark, old God, maybe, who knows? You have in you a balancing force, Gwen, and that makes you precious. My Path is not for you.”

“A dark power, you say? An old God?” Gwen scoffed, thinking of Caliban.

With her sentimentally dashed, she felt at a loss.

In fact, she felt a little hurt.

Why couldn’t have Jun played the doting father for a little longer? She was feeling it! She was really feeling it! It was warm and fuzzy and sour and sweet and bitter all at once! Just a little longer would have sealed up something that had been leaking since she left home at the age of sixteen.

Gwen sighed; instead of an internal retreat, she felt an ill humour rising to the fore; a reflexive response to the blues.

“Uncle, there IS a God in the Void. What if I told you his name is Yog-Sothoth! The Hungry One? The Lurker at the Threshold?”

Jun’s expression became earnest because he couldn't tell whether Gwen was serious.

In response, Gwen opened her arms and raised her hands to encompass the vista of the mountains, just as Jun had done the day before when reciting Li-Bai.

“Great is HE, the protoplasmic flesh that flowed blackly outward to join together and form that eldritch, hideous horror from outer space, that spawn of the blankness of primal time, that tentacled amorphous monster - the noxious one - who froths as primal slime in nuclear chaos beyond the nethermost outposts of Void and time!

"Lä! Yog-Sothoth!”

"Lä! He who lurks in the dark!"

“Mao!” Jun’s expression transformed into a mask of concern. Gwen's behaviour was deeply disturbing. Was the girl trading a secret for a secret? Was this the Pandora's box stowed in his niece's bosom, now uncovered?

“Great Leader’s Ghost! Are you serious?"

"Am I?"

Gwen kept her face serious for as long as she could. When her uncle’s severity proved too much, she burst into laughter.

Jun joined in nervously, carefully studying Gwen's face for signs of madness. When Gwen met his scepticism, she doubled over with a mirth that was half choked laughter. It was only when she became almost blue in the face that Jun perceived that her jest was genuine.

"Oh, Uncle..."

Gwen wiped away ambivalent tears. Her makeup was ruined.

But the time for feeling was over. Up ahead was the imminent business of the tree line and their sojourn into the Sea of Clouds.

“I’ll be changing into the suit. No peeking.”

Jun scoffed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re too skinny anyway. What's there to see?”

Gwen snorted derisively at her uncle. She seized her boots, cloak and bodysuit, then loudly rustled her clothes to inform her uncle that she was indeed slipping out of one gear and into another.

Jun kept his eyes on the horizon, meditating.

“Yog-Sothoth,” he mumbled to himself, inaudible to Gwen. “The Lurker, the spawn of blankness… blackness? Darkness? The noxious one...”

He consigned the names to memory.

Dreamed up or otherwise, he would have to research this ‘deity’ and make sure that Gwen had not been drawn into some dangerous cult.

Jun shivered, the name and titles gave him the creeps.

Too bad his brother wasn't here, he thought.

Would Hai have understood Gwen better? Handled that smoother?

At the very least, Hai's Salt could ward off The Lurker in the Dark.

The military-issue bodysuit from the PLA was a thing of wonder compared to the mass-produced variety rationed to Gwen by the Melbourne Tower.

Its Hide Presence Enchantment soaked up all scent and sweat, was resistant to heat and cold, and helped her skin breathe through its porous fabric. The suit itself was semi-plated and magically fitted, providing protection for her bosoms and her abdomen. It possessed a stocky collar made from Magi-tech, with a slot for inserting raw or processed HDM crystals.

When she asked her uncle to check her equipment, the soldier's eyes had reflexively widened before uncomfortably looking away. Jun's reaction gave Gwen a smug thrill, knowing that she had paid him back for that ‘too skinny remark’.

“It’s American.” Jun noticed her fiddling for the artificer's tag. “Only the States make stuff like this. They’re known for it.”

The Soundless Boots were of Chinese construct, a copy of the Elven variety known to deaden all sound of the wearer's passage. A fashionista at heart, she noticed that despite its parallel magical qualities, the boots were hideously tailored.

“The CCP tried its best.” Jun shrugged. “For now, our Manufactoriums can only copy, not create.”

The Optic-Camouflage Cloak was the last layer, a Japanese creation. The tag read 'Sumitomo Heavy Industries', sporting a four-diamond petal flower as a logo. Was Japan still a leader in technological innovation? Gwen couldn't help but wonder. She fancied herself visiting Osaka in the future to see how it differed from her old world. The food there was to die for.

With the Cloak activated, Gwen and Jun could spot one another due to an inherent design included in the product, though to un-glyphed outsiders, they appeared as grass, stone, bark, foliage, and all but invisible when remaining still.

“Keep Caliban and Ariel out,” Jun advised. “Apply your Invisibility spell. Get them used to the woods. Ariel should have a scent like most of the creatures here. As for Caliban, I suppose we should be glad that it's scentless.”

“I’ll get it to roll around and pick up the ambient odour," Gwen suggested. A presence without scent was just as notable to the right pair of olfactory organs.

“Sure, we'll be taking some time to get acquainted with the landscape and the fauna.”

The party of four moved out.

Adorable marten, Spawn of Yog-Sothoth, The Severed Tongue of the Lurker in the Dark, Ash Bringer and the Girl who eats, lined up at the tree line formerly known as ‘Welcoming Pine’.

Her uncle rechecked their gear, hinting at the need for caution ahead.

“Alright, let’s go!”

* * *

Jun bunched a fist, raising it beside his ear.

Gwen halted, holding her breath. It wasn’t necessary, but she didn’t know that. Her first foray into a Purple Zone had her walking on tippy-toes as soon as they stepped past the first set of gnarly trees.

The visibility within the mountain was horrendous as expected. The massive cloud bank that moved and shifted with the currents from the Elemental Plane of Air sent down mist and gust almost ceaselessly, pelting the duo with light showers of pine needles that stuck to their garb.

After the first three hours and fifteen-odd kilometres, Gwen understood precisely why the magical equipment was essential.

It was the micro-climate.

The flora of the region consisted mainly of Pinus and Strobus, punctuated by the occasional Magnolia and interrupted by unexpected groves of enormous bamboo. The conifers did not grow straight, but burst from granite outcroppings, twisting and turning like the proverbial dragon until finally erupting into waxy umbrellas of dark jade.

Whenever a wayward gust stirred the leaves, a shower of pelting pine-needles fell upon uncle and niece, sliding from their durability-enhanced cloaks in glistening sheets. When a frequent shower passed through the region, it filled the surrounding area with a freezing mist, one that chilled the bone. Yet, walking through the muggy mist was a warm, wet, and bedraggled affair. Had they not been wearing their American-made bodysuits, the alternating heat of the stifling summer and the cold bursts from the Elemental Plane of Air would have sapped their mortal bodies before long.

Another hour in, they heard the crashing sound of ponderous lumbering.

Their first victim arrived, crawling on all fours.

A goanna?!

No, Gwen corrected herself. A pangolin. A draconic pangolin.

“Check it,” Jun commanded.

Gwen incanted a Detect Magic, relying on the suit’s Enchantments to muffle her sound and movement.

The pangolin was six meters long and just over two metres tall. It didn’t look particularly ferocious, though the scales on its back suggested an imperviousness to physical assaults. In the zoology of Gwen's old world, pangolins protected themselves by curling into impenetrable balls. In the cryptozoology of this world, Gwen felt she could assume an educated guess of the same. Indicatively, the ridges on its scales inferred a draconic origin, though it was visually evident that the thing was more pangolin than thorny-drake.

The element that radiated from the creature was a dull ochre.

Too bad, Gwen muttered in disappointment. No lucky first-strike.

“Earthen,” Gwen passed along the silent Message, their devices operating via LOS and radius. If Gwen wished to function as Mayuree had, she would have to take a bridging course, then undergo first-year Divination training.

“Care for first blood, or let it pass?”

Gwen considered Jun's offer. The creature looked reasonably powerful. Maybe Caliban could pick up a new form? Her Void-worm already possessed a lizard-amphibian body-morph though, not to mention Caliban was primarily immune to physical damage, presuming infinite access to vitality. Having armour plating on Caliban was akin to adding nipples to a bat-suit.

“It’s alright.” Gwen felt no desire to kill gluttonously.

They allowed the creature to pass.

“Let’s see where it's going,” Jun suggested. To the experienced survivalist, creatures such as these did not roam without reason. “Follow my lead.”

As a novice tracker, Gwen could only do her best. Her dexterity and natural fitness, combined with purpose-made Magical Items, however, more than made up for her inexperience. Their quarry, likewise, was supremely confident in its safety, paying no heed to Gwen's potential blunders.

The duo pursued the Draconic-pangolin for half a kilometre until it stopped.

There came a sound of buzzing in the air which had been barely audible prior but grew louder as they climbed. As the duo came within visible distance of the pangolin's prize, the winged-thrum grew to encompass every audible spectrum.

The bee-hive - at least that’s what it resembled - was enormous; it hung two-meters tall from zenith to nadir, hanging from the side of a pine-tree with such weight that its growth had yielded to the unwelcome burden. Bees the width and size of two of Gwen's’ fingers caught sight of the pangolin. Within several seconds, they began to swarm.

“We’re in luck.” Jun motioned with a glance. “Wildland Sting-blossoms. Their honey is good enough to extend your life, restore youth. There’s the Queen inside as well, that's what the pangolin is after. We should gather the honey. One portion can be for my mother, the others you can use as gifts. It's a fairly sought-after youth elixir for women.”

“Sounds good, anything for Babulya! So, do we keep watch for now?”

“For now, yes. When the time comes, we have to intercept it before it eats the Queen.”

“Are we saving it?” Gwen hadn’t figured Jun for an entomological conservationist.

“… You’re going to eat it.” Jun was likely smiling underneath the cowl.

Meanwhile, the pangolin languishingly strolled toward the nest, possessing no consideration for the thousand or so bees swarming its face, eyes, and nose.

“Its got armoured eyeballs?” Gwen marvelled at the resilience of the creature.

“Probably immune to poison too, Draconic-constitution.”

The Pangolin stood on its rear two legs, climbed the nest, then began to pound away at the shell-case exterior. Great chunks of sticky honey fell from the nest in golden globs, filling the air with a sickly sweetness. Watching the spectacle, Gwen felt nostalgic for the running commentary of a certain British Naturalist.

“Hmm, this is not good.”

Jun urged Gwen to remain hidden. He pointed a finger upward.

The Pangolin’s efforts continued unabated.

A rustling sound came from a tree-top.

The two looked up to see a feathered silhouette outlined against the mist-diffused sky. Gwen adjusted her magic. It took a great deal of concentration to focus Detection spells in a place like this.

“Air!” she informed her Uncle, her void eager and hungry.

“Good for us, but wait and see,” Jun advised. “We need to ground it with Void or Ash; it’s likely highly resistant to Lightning. It's interested in the nest, likely the Queen itself.”

Jun’s hypothesis proved correct.

The pangolin too noted the intruder. It turned to the bird-like creature and began to bark.

The bird ignored it. As far as it was concerned, the terrestrial-bound pangolin was harmless.

What a waste of a draconic-bloodline, Gwen grumbled. At least have a dragon-breath or something. How unimpressive.

Without a reply from the bird-thing, the pangolin returned its attention toward to the nest and continued digging. By now the bees were in a frenzy. Had Gwen not seen the process, she would have thought the pangolin naturally armoured with a buzzing layer of black-yellow chitin.

“It’s making a move, get ready. Lightning Sphere on the bees. Avoid the nest. Void on the pangolin, go for the eyes. I’ll clip the flyer.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

The avian silhouette began to move.

When the bird creature came into view, Gwen realised it was a winged lizard. The spectacle of the chimeric-creature was as strange as it was awe inspiring. The scales were rainbow-hued, a dark oily obsidian with a petrol-sheen. Its wings were like that of the Macaw, a burst of brilliant emerald and vibrant orange, with just a touch of cobalt at the tip.

It swooped for what Gwen could only assume was the exposed Queen.

‘Splat!’

To their surprise, the pangolin was waiting for it.

Clever bastard! Gwen’s lips parted in surprise. The stupid looking, ponderous pangolin launched a glob of honey toward its assailant! The delicious golden liquid caught the lizard entirely by surprise, smacking it face first, sending it crashing against the ground.

Suddenly, the bees that had made their new nest on the pangolin’s hide found a new target.

“Good God!” Gwen grimaced. The lizard was instantly carpeted in bees with stings the size of surgical needles. She didn’t need to be a biologist to know that the rainbow-bird-lizard did NOT have armoured eyes.

“Huuu huuu huuu…”

The pangolin laughed. IT WAS LAUGHING!

FUCK, Gwen thanked the Gods for her uncle. It was fucking intelligent! The fucking thing was sapient! What did that mean? Should they abort?

“Well, that kicks it up a tier or two.” Jun seemed relieved they had waited as well. “We’re swapping targets. I am on the Pangolin. You take care of the bees. As for the Queen, you’ll have to retrieve it by hand. Use your Void Skin; your gear should be elementally-shifted.”

The pangolin turned back to the hive.

“Ashen Spear!”

A bolt of white ash struck the creature’s head, hitting it just below the right eye. There was a sickening crunch as the armour plating crumbled, filling its head with negative energy.

The pangolin slumped, losing all interest in the nest. The unique attribute of the Plane of desolation and destruction sapped its will. It turned around apathetically, barely curious as to what had penetrated its scaly dermis. It wanted to flee, but its instincts were brutally suppressed.

“Ashen Smite!”

Blasts of necrotic fire, burning invisibly, consumed its limbs until only stumps remained. The pangolin fell on to its belly, barely bothering to move, patiently awaiting death.

Gwen meanwhile, stepped into the open, clad in midnight.

She moved like tenebrous ink, her feminine figure shifting with the alien articulation of ferrofluid. A frenzied swarm left the lizard and assaulted her as she approached. When the bees made contact, a sizzling sound of corrosion signalled the futility of the insect’s actions. Gwen’s Void skin wasn’t enough to stop Lulan's blows, but it was perfect against swarms.

After the first two hundred kamikaze strikes, Gwen could feel her vitality stores beginning to falter. These were large and heavy insects, and they kept on coming relentlessly. The good news was that she had future provisions on hand in the form of a lizard and a limbless pangolin.

She reached the nest, crushing mounds of half-consumed bee-corpses underfoot, stepping over the paralysed pangolin.

There she was, the Queen. It was easily distinguishable by its golden buttocks, aflame with whatever insects passed for hair.

Jesus Christ, Gwen felt her skin crawl. The bee-monarch was the length of her hands-span! She reached out with a blackened arm as the buzzing intensified. The dive-bombing of the bees continued, covering the floor with carcasses.

“Erect a half-dome Shield, keep the workers at bay, then eat the Queen,” Jun compelled her.

Gwen knew her uncle meant 'eat' in the literal sense.

Channel Bear Grylls, she told herself. You are Bear Grylls. He can do it. You can do it. It’s just a-

The Queen writhed in her hand, its abdomen curled suddenly; a pale-white egg ejaculated from its ovipositor. The creature’s compound eyes regarded Gwen’s Void-smothered, featureless mien with insectile eyes begging for mercy. She could let it go, but this wasn't that sort of adventure. She wasn't here to Disney Princess. Gwen was here to eat.

“Shield!”

Gwen retreated the portion of Void Skin protecting her face.

Goodbye! Sweet sanity! Fare thee well, noble Queen! She took her supplement like a bitter pill. The queen was stingless, but it was too large for her mouth. Gwen had to take it in recurring bites.

‘Screeeeee!’

Jesus FUCK! It’s feeling it now! Gwen forced herself to chew. The innards exploded, filling the cavern of her mouth with the thankful scent of royal honey. She munched and munched, dreaming of deep-fried soft shell crabs with salt and pepper.

* * *

Gwen must have drunk about a litre of water as they waited for the bees to disperse.

When finally the last bee wandered off, the two collated their loot.

Jun stowed a dozen portions of the honey, ate a length of honeycomb, then cleansed the area with Ash.

Her Familiars gluttonously polished off the remaining molasses, with Ariel stuffing its mouth pouches full of the sticky liquid while Caliban took up entire slabs: dirt, bee and all, sliding whole lattices into its bottomless maw.

“Let’s test your hypothesis.” Jun checked their misty surroundings. Visibility remained poor. "Time for a Lightning-affinity boost."

“Caliban, enough playing, it's time to work!”

Caliban came slithering forth, slathered with honey.

The winged-lizard, disappointingly, turned out to be a unique species. Lacking the resilience of the dragon-kin, it had unfortunately perished in the bee’s assault, having had its eyes and soft-parts pumped full of venom.

Jun flipped the thing over. He sliced it open only to find a shattered core of no value.

"Well, that's a shame," he apologised. "Maybe we should have moved sooner. Too much caution and one may miss out on potential opportunities."

Beside the corpse of the winged-lizard, the pangolin watched the two humans without any emotion nor distress. Until the Negative Energy drain from Jun’s Ash faded, it would remain utterly indifferent, disinterested in anything and everything.

When the female human touched her hand to the pangolins' snout, it didn’t even both to snap nor bite, merely regarding her with deadened orbs awaiting death.

“Uncle, this is the effect of all Ash attacks?”

Gwen couldn’t help but be curious, thinking of when Huashan Elder who had been struck by Jun’s Disintegrate. He too had seemed to have lost all will for living.

“Indeed.” Jun inclined his chin in affirmation. “As one of the four Negative Quasi-elementals, Ash removes an individual's seven passions and six desires. I too would have been been deadened to the world as well, were it not for the Kirin Amulet. Ash users are often correlated with Void Mages, though our malady tends to be of the mind rather than the body.”

“Are there others like you, Uncle? Ash Mages, I mean.”

“Oh yes,” Jun answered. “The ones who survive have all found ways to deal with the side-effects, one way or another. Unlike Void Mages, we have an abundance of time. An insensible, uncaring Ash Mage can still be studied. They make excellent specimens, considering how little they care about their wellbeing.”

The two sat for another half an hour or so, waiting for more scavengers.

“Right, I guess nothing interesting is going to show up. Let’s finish up. Not bad for our first day. At least we found a Draconic-Something.”

Gwen regarded the Draconic-pangolin. The creature regarded its captors.

“Steel your resolve, Gwen.” Jun gave her a prod on the shoulder. “This thing escapes, we’re both going to be hunted until we get back to Shanghai.”

“Sorry, big guy,” Gwen apologised to the pangolin. “Caliban, you’re up.”

Her serpent performed its terrible duty, starting at the tail. Inch by inch, like a python working its way up the body of a saltwater croc, her creature slid its victim into its gullet. Empathically, Gwen could feel that Caliban was enjoining its meal very much.

When finally only the head of the pangolin remained, it suddenly appeared to have regained some of its lost lucidity. The Ashen mana must have worn off.

A sudden look of fear and desperation entered its eyes.

“TAILUEN VE!”

An enormous sound emerged from its lips, echoing through the mist and bouncing off the trees.

IT CAN SPEAK?!

"Kill it now!" Jun commanded.

"FOO! SIA KIN WI-"

“Caliban!” Gwen jolted her familiar with a shot of vitality.

Caliban convulsed, the engorged body of the Void serpent expanded suddenly outward, then violently contracted; the motion was enough to pull the rest of the pangolin into Caliban's maw.

“Daomei!” Jun pulled the cloak over his head. “Dismiss Caliban. Cloak up. We got to get moving. Send Ariel out to scent up the place.”

Caliban’s carapace clicked shut.

"What did it say?"

Jun uncle shook his head. It wouldn't help Gwen to let her know that it had said 'spare me!' before threatening them.

Receiving no confirmation from her uncle, Gwen dismissed her Void-worm, called for the gluttonous Ariel, then activated her cloak.

The vitality-hit came a moment later. On the Nephres-index, she would register it as a six, just enough to keep her disabled but conscious.

“I’ll need about 5 minutes,” Gwen spat out between clenched teeth, her face turning the colour of beetroot as waves of vitality battered her Astral and Physical Body. “The life-force of this thing is enormous!”

Her uncle laid her down beside him and covered the both of them with his optic-cloak, forming the shape of a lichen-covered boulder.

Ariel helped by dashing here and there, leaving its scent to confuse potential pursuers. As a creature of Air and Positive energy, Ariel’s trail of lightning residue would hide the presence of its human masters. When the marten was half a kilometre away, Gwen retrieved her familiar. She couldn't move, but she could do that at least.

Uncle and niece thus waited, Gwen's breath coming in quick bouts.

The answer to their opportunistic ambush came in the form of a thunderous swooping. A vast shadow covered the area of the now ravaged nest, after which a serpentine drake alighted. Gwen couldn’t help but stare despite the pangolin's draconic-essence pouring in, sending her mind into a pleasure-induced tailspin.

The intruder hovered midair with the grace of a falling feather, its wings churning not wind, but Elemental Air itself. It then landed tail first, balancing its overlong frame before touching down, whereupon the sinuous length of its rear legs coiled to take the weight of its body.

An Amphiptere? No, Jun ran the strangely shaped creature through his internal bestiary. A Wyvern. The Amphiptere did not possess any limbs and resembled more so a winged serpent. This thing had two pairs of hind legs and bat-wings that could be folded to support the fore of its body.

As for Gwen, what she found alarming wasn’t so much the size of the creature nor its imposing presence.

It was that the draconic-wyvern was a mount.

The rider looked to be a bona fide Dragon-kin, a rare offspring between a humanoid and a dragon. Invariably, these dragon-men were the result of females coupling with draconic-beings. Unlike the egg-producing reptilian partners, mammalian creatures rarely if ever survived the child-bearing agony of gestating a child far more substantial, powerful and more demanding than that which the mother’s physiology could bear.

How could a womb of warm flesh survive a child of teeth and claw? How does a mortal mother provide the necessary essence and nutrients for an offspring who would outlive its birther by magnitudes measured in centuries?

The alternative was likewise unthinkable. A dragon kind, subjecting itself to be impregnated by a lesser creature? Unheard of!

Jun studied the Demi-human Dragon with every attention to detail.

It stood just over three meters, with pearlescent scales more serpentine than draconic. That was expected, for the Yinglong was a creature of the air. Only terrestrial Dragons favoured heavy plating. The thing’s face had a casual sophistication about it, a smooth reptilian head ending in an elegant snout. As for whether it was male or female, it was impossible to tell, egg-laying creatures seldom needed enlarged hips, and certainly no need for mammalian glands.

His niece convulsed, her chest rising and falling violently.

Furrowing his brows, Jun gently placed a hand onto his niece's diaphragm, then channelled into her channels a sliver of Ash-tainted mana.

Beneath her uncle's calloused hand, Gwen felt her interminable ‘pleasure’ abruptly cease. It wasn’t tranquillity per se, for that in itself was a pleasure. Her ‘quiet’ felt akin to an estranged form of despair, the kind which made one devoid of all desire.

Such was the power of the Ash Mage; an assault that was both mental and physical, peerless against any sentient creature capable of longing and agitation. Unlike the gluttonous Void, the Plane of Ash was a place where not even death could linger; it was the world after the bomb, a world of eternal fallout. Its casters exchanged their human condition for power, the higher the affinity, the lesser one felt the sensibilities of human pathos.

Her uncle was right. Such a power couldn’t exist without a counterbalance. Jun was defrauding the system, and there would be a reckoning. For Gwen, paralysed and her thoughts clarified by apathy, she wondered whether the old Gwen had paid the ultimate price in her stead.

Seeing the girl's lips parting, Jun lifted his hand from her abdomen and cupped her mouth, reminding Gwen to remain still.

No more than fifty paces from where they took the guise of granite boulders, the pearlescent dragon-kin was rubbing the ashen mixture of dirt, honey, and dead insects between its scaly fingers. Its eyes were aglow with what Jun could only assume to be Divination magic. Unlike Humans, Dragons attained abilities with age and bloodline, and could likewise train in almost any form of magic, be it Human Spellcraft or Demi-human, they were the apex existence in a world of creatures immeasurably more powerful than humanity. Where it not for their loathing of each other and their few numbers, the world would have turned into the Dragons' plaything.

As for their optic-obfuscation, Jun was confident in the Japanese artificer's craft. When static, the Transmutation Enchantment transformed the surface layer into lichen and stone; it was only in motion that Illusion came into play, exposing the wearer to keen eyes and low-level Divinations.

“I smell human equipment,” The wyvern spoke through rows of dagger teeth. "Ayxin, you see anything?"

Jun heard the speech in Common; he had come equipped with a Ghost-spec Ioun Stone.

“Si keefum munthrek equip, Ayxin, re wux ocuirir??”

Gwen's ears registered a syllabic string of what sounded like Cantonese mixed with tongue clicks and a hacking cough. Unable to comprehend their new circumstance, she closed her eyes and focused on circulating her new-found draconic vitality, willing it to release her body.

“We lost one of our young ones. I think was Angkar-Molis; this is his domain.”

"Bah, a weakling of no import."

The one who scoffed was the wyvern. Tyrian-purple scales covered its tree-trunk, serpentine neck. On its massive head, over its eye-ridge, a few bright cobalt feathers jutted from its horn-ridge, giving it a refined dignity. Its eyes were hungry and cruel, a single reptilian slit that scanned their surroundings hungrily, a dark gash amidst the sky-blue iris.

A Thunder Wyvern, Jun noted apprehensively. A mature adult, likely sitting between tier 9 and 10.

The creature was the jackpot Jun and Gwen had sought, though he had no hopes for its subdual. Plausibly, it could go toe to toe with him without breaking a sweat - or as the case may be - without losing a scale. For a while, they would be evenly matched, but Jun was confident he would eventually win out if he liberally consumed the stowed essence in the Amulet.

“The Queen’s gone.” The pearlescent one called Ayxin kicked what remained of the bee's nest. “Lots of human magic residue here. I don't know though, something's not right. Angkar’s a resilient child, I would have expected more collateral damage.”

“He was a pup.” The wyvern cocked his head arrogantly. Jun wasn’t sure, but the feathers did make it seem female. "Now likely someone's armour."

“Don’t be like that.” The humanoid Dragon-kin gave his mount a cold look.

The two wanted to linger for longer, check the area, but a shift in the wind meant the region would soon be smothered by fog and mist. Watching the haze thicken, the two made one last round through the site.

“Let’s return to the peak,” the pearlescent one advised.

“You’re not going to…?”

“No...”

The humanoid dragon-kin mounted the wyvern without a word. The pair took flight amidst a great bell-beat of bat-like wings twenty meters from tip to tip.

Jun felt for Gwen’s pulse. The girl was holding steady in her meditation, milling away his Ashen mana. Instead of moving, he remained still, entering a meditation of his own. He had time, and he had his suspicions.

The one known as Ayxin was good, but the wyvern was a terrible actor.

After a few minutes, there came the sound of beating wings from above them.

The wyvern snorted.

“See? Told you. So much for that prized head of yours."

“… shut up, Golos.”

The sound of wingbeats faded once the wyvern reached the necessary altitude, where it caught a slipstream of Elemental Air.

Jun smirked to himself. The mind of a dragon was formidable, but the mind of a man was far more suitable to ploys and schemes. As creatures of absolute power, it was difficult for the dragons to position themselves from the perspective of the meek.

Underneath him, Gwen raised her head and shoulders, putting herself onto her elbows.

“How do you feel?” Jun asked.

“Wonderful.” His niece met his eyes, her hazel eyes more amber than he recalled. “On top of the world.”

Jun suggested they penetrate deeper into the Yinglong's territory before extracting to an outer region to lay low; it would both throw off their pursuers' expectations as well as provide opportunities to Consume higher-order lifeforms.

“Raids are the norm here,” Jun explained to Gwen as she stretched, too full of energy to remain static and standing. “There are no resonance crystals between here and Hefei, the capital of the Anhui Frontier, or any of the surrounding regions. When tensions are high, it's a free for all.”

“That means we won't cause a stir?”

“No, not if we remain discrete. There should be thousands of beasts like the one you just Consumed. So long as we avoid the pure-bloods, like that talking duo, I doubt the Yinglong would care.” Jun inspected Gwen’s gear again. The next portion of their poaching adventure would be doubly more dangerous, and any equipment failure would result in mission failure.

“Let’s find a place to rest for the night. You still need to process the Queen’s latent life-essence.”

At the mention of the screaming insect, Gwen forced down her priceless cargo even as the revolting remembrance threatened to expel the Queen’s mangled carcass. Soft-shell crab, Gwen told herself, nori-avocado wrapped in sushi rice, just Sushi Hub down on George St.

“It’ll do you good.” Jun watched her throat bobble. “A creature capable of spawning tens of thousands of younglings almost indefinitely until its death, imagine the primal essence contained in something like that!”

Gwen would prefer NOT imagining anything.

As night fell, the temperature dropped considerably. Even sheltered by their bodysuits, Gwen felt a chill permeating her skin.

The two reached a sheltered outcrop, then employed Transmutation magic to form an isolated one-meter escarpment unreachable by creatures without considerable arboreal or flying capabilities.

Gwen set up her Portable Habitat, then laid down a Lightning-based Faithful Hound. The subtle mana signature would not seem out of place, and it would give them plenty of warning to buff up before clearing out.

Once inside, the duo finally relaxed, the need for constant vigilance had their nerves stretched-taut.

Gwen freed her Familiars into the living room. She had by now, grown accustomed to their presence. Caliban coiled up under the coffee table to ruminate its next meal, while Ariel raced around the Habitat in a frenzy, scenting every inch of its new abode.

“Can you cook?” Jun checked the pantry and the cooler, finding both empty. Kusu had meticulously cleaned the cottage before returning it to Gwen. "I've got military rations if you can't."

Gwen produced a small mountain of Korean Instant-Noodles and a dozen cans of Spam.

“…” Jun regarded the volume of ‘food’ presented in front of them.

“Military rations it is. We'll hunt and forage something edible tomorrow.”

Gwen hadn't wanted to trouble Jun with domestic duty, but reality prevented her from exercising her feminine bewitcheries. She could strut, she could kick ass, and she could talk, but cook? Neither of her life in either world was equipped for culinary expeditions. One time, she forgot to turn off a boiling pot of pasta water, two hours later, the plastic on the pot caught fire. She became henceforth known by her neighbours as the woman who could set water on fire.

“Go freshen up, run a Cleansing cube over your gear.” Jun then ran a hand across the length of the table and produced a dozen silvery packets without labels.

“Those are?”

“Military rations,” Jun announced. “Tonight, we’re having Aurok Stroganoff, Shandong Chicken, Coconut Rice, and Custard Pudding.”

Oh. My. God. Gwen glanced at her mountain of Spam. There were ready to eat Military Rations that could be heated up with magic and immediately consumed? What the hell am I doing? Why didn’t anyone teach this at the University?

“It’ll take a few minutes to plate them, go. I'll find us cutlery.”

Gwen retreated from the living room, feeling better that Jun didn't have to waste more time.

Perhaps a little inconsiderately, she took the Master bedroom without thinking. Once inside, she unhooked the cloak from her neck, inspected the fabric for damage, then tucked it aside on a wall hanger. The bodysuit was harder to remove, even with the zipper down, the stretchy fabric involved a contortionist's level of flexibility to discard. Did the design assume there was a buddy on hand? Would it be too much to ask Jun-

She slapped herself on the forehead.

I am an idiot, she berated herself.

An ingenious Mage Hand solved her problem, allowing her second skin to be productively peeled. Now that she thought about it, she could have asked Caliban or Ariel to hold down a sleeve.

She turned to the mirror-doors of the built-in cupboard to inspect her post-draconic Consumption body.

No tail.

No horns.

No scales.

The setting reminded her of when she first arrived in the old Gwen's body. It was herself in her bedroom, in front of a mirror, wondering what the hell just happened.

To her hypercritical eyes, her unusually pallid complexion appeared to have acquired a warmer hue; she slowly twirled, arching her neck, inspecting any nooks and crannies for scaly growth. To finish, she leaned in vis-a-vis, checking the colouration of her iris. By now, she knew that in Spellcraft, a Mage's eyes were ‘windows’ into the astral soul. The most evident change to a Mage’s physiology almost always began with the eyes.

Like her flushed dermis, her amber-speckled emerald irises appeared warmer. Gwen wondered if there was something particular about Draconic Essence that paralleled the effect of Druidic Essence. Where Almudj had altered her Astral Body, Caliban’s transference was less abstract. Her Lovecraftian worm injected the draconic-essence into her physical and astral form, raw and unfiltered.

Satisfied, she took a quick shower, the hot water refreshing and calming.

Her Decanter of Infinite Water had been left in the Habitat since some time ago, providing the place with fresh water hot and cold. Gwen towelled off, then slipped on a comfortable camisole and a pair of exercise shorts. Her father's intimate 'gift' was left by the bedside; she felt far too weird wearing it when the bathroom was right there.

When she emerged from her bedroom, Jun had finished setting the table, her uncle's absence implying he too was changing in one of the bedrooms. The guest rooms were half the size of the Master, and that was when Gwen realised her thoughtless error.

Feeling apologetic and guilty, she sat herself down at the dinner table and inspected the food.

On her plate was a strange collection of multi-coloured gloop.

There was a brown one.

And an orange one.

And a white one.

A small dish held what looked like cold custard.

There was no fork and no knife.

A spoon had been placed next to her plate.

Just one.

Gwen looked around, bewildered by the lack of solids.

What the hell was this? She checked the oven. Was there food in there waiting to be heated up? Where was the Auroch Stroganoff, Shandong Chicken? Don't tell her the gloop was-

‘Click’

The door to the secondary bathroom opened. Jun emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Dig in if you’re hungry!” Jun indicated to her plate, a second towel hung over one shoulder.

"Sorry Uncle, I didn't mean to take the Mas...ter..."

For a few seconds, Gwen forgot all about the un-food.

Where her father had an arguably wellformed masculine frame; Jun’s looked like something chiselled out of marble and then put into a museum. His skin was stretched taut across every detail, as though an anatomic model of human musculature had presented itself for her viewing. No scars? Gwen stared, her ears flushed a warm carmine. She had expected a battle-scarred Uncle Jun that would break her heart. Then again, knowing that their babulya was close at hand, it was unlikely her 'good' son would be without cosmetic care. In the past, she never could stand the hassle. Possessive, egotistic, braggadocio bucks were her biggest turn-off. If there had been a guy like-

‘Snap!’

Gwen looked down.

She had snapped her wooden spoon.

“That’s some impressive grip strength, did the Draconic essence increase your physical abilities?”

When Jun emerged a minute later, he had on a white singlet and maroon shorts. By then, Gwen's mind had cleansed its palate. She furthermore noticed their outfits were colour-coordinated; for some indiscernible reason, this made her happy.

A new spoon was proffered by her Uncle, who watched Gwen with amusement.

The matter then turned to dinner.

“Let’s dig in!”

Her worst fears came true. Indeed, the gelatinous gruel was the military rations; it was real food, powdered, remixed with purified water; filled with nutrition and vitality. But for a girl who had spent the last six month eating herself to death in one of the most food-obsessed cities in the world, it was torture. The taste was there, but the food was sans all texture, all aroma, all the bells and whistles that made eating a delight. The dinner, if that was what one could call it, was a chore; the hard labour of inducing nutrients down one's gullet.

After dinner, Jun placed his elbow on the table.

“Wrestle me,” His dark eyes gleamed. “I want to see if you’ve got stronger.”

Gwen obliged by taking her uncle’s hand.

The two seesawed back and forth, with Jun gauging her strength.

“Pretty strong,” He remarked. “Stronger than your average male Cadet, I’d say.”

“Do you think its permanent?” Gwen enquired. What if she became incredibly strong? A semi-permanent Enhanced Ability could help do wonders. “Would I become stronger the more Draconic-essence I consume?”

“Maybe, you might experience some physical changes though. You did say your Cleric Aura came and went when Nephres' vitality was spent, right?”

Gwen nodded.

"Well, you have to understand the distinction between Vitality and Essence," Jun commented. "Vitality is life-force, it's an abstract concept we don't understand. Only experts like Mother have insight into how it manifests independently like a resource. Essence, on the other hand, I can tell you about Essence."

Jun tapped his amulet.

Gwen touched a hand between her bosoms, where her amulet had once sat.

"Magister Wen said that my Druidic Essence is an arcane-compound, spell shaped by a mythic being's will and intent."

"And she's right. Though in my experience, I personally favour an older, more obsolete term. It's the 'soul' of a being."

"The soul." Gwen felt a few goosebumps engender. She thought of Mark Chandler's ghostly sister. Her insane screaming that went on and on.

"Or something like it. Essence, as we know it; is neither mana, vitality, nor element. If so, what could it be?"

Gwen had no answer to that.

"Well, no use worrying. Just letting you know how it is. You're human, Nephres Zalaam was human. That sapient Draconian though was certainly not a human being. When you take in so much alien 'essence', there's bound to be some changes. I mean, didn't Almudj's essence change your physiology?"

What if she OD'ed on dragon juice? Gwen wondered. My God, am I going to start hoarding gold and kidnapping young maidens? Having Elvia to herself in a castle wasn't too bad, actually. She could invite her friends and they got themselves a demesne going.

“As for your strength, I’d wager it's not permanent. It’s a nice temporary buff though. I am interested to see how long you can keep it. In prolonged conflicts, an ability to acquire certain traits could trivialise certain disadvantages and obstacles. Oh yes, speaking of morphic essences, can Caliban turn into a pangolin yet? That would be something!”

Gwen called for her serpent.

“Can you do it? Caliban?” Gwen focused on the image of the pangolin they had seen earlier. "Do the pangolin?"

“Shaaa?” Caliban rolled on to its belly and wiggled.

“Caliban! Pangolin!” Gwen pictured the creature ponderously moving through the woods.

“Shaa?! Shaa!” Caliban slithered up to her.

The feeling she got from their Empathic Link was that it understood.

“Hurrrrughk!”

Its carapace contracted.

‘Thunk!’

Caliban regurgitated a jagged, egg-like shard of crystal in burnt amber. The pangolin core.

“Oh, very nice!” Jun retrieved the core and scraped away the grey-goo. After a moment, he disappointingly shook his head. “No spirit. Sorry.”

“No worries,” Gwen dismissed her uncle’s unrealistic expectation. Most people struggled to see a Core, much less a Spirited Core.

“Still, its worth quite a bit.” Jun hefted the crystal in his hand. “Tier 5 core like this, draconic lineage - 25,000 HDMs? More if there’s the right buyer. It would probably make an incredible Elemental Bangle for the right Earthen Mage, or maybe a defensive item like a Portable Shield. More funds for University?”

“Surely, you’ll take a cut, Uncle.”

“What am I going to do with that much crystals?” Jun scoffed. "Is this a bribe?"

“But…”

“I am a government official and an officer of Internal Security.” Jun tossed her the Core. “It’ll do me no good. For a man in my position, austerity is security. You know a girl from the House of M, right?”

Gwen nodded.

“Problem solved. Do that thing you do, and 'shout' me a few fancy dinners if you feel bad about it.”

Gwen bit her lower lip thoughtfully.

Caliban wagged its tail, expecting praise for doing the ‘pangolin’. Still caught up in her contemplation, its Master retrieved it bodily, then gave it a mighty squeeze. Caliban exerted a squeal of gleeful pleasure as its carapace split, oozing a joyful grey-goo.

“Eeee!” Ariel raised a paw in protest; it received Gwen’s apology in the form of a belly rub.

Caliban objected and hissed at Ariel. Its brother had done nothing today! It deserved nothing! The marten nipped the serpent in return.

“No!” Gwen scolded the both of them. “Down! Hand! Roll over! Kisses!”

She ran through her routine, the very same that Chen had taught her. Nightly discipline was not to be missed, and she had already skipped a few nights thanks to their travel time. For a Creature Mage, obedience from Familiars needs to be both active and subliminal.

Jun watched his niece toy with her creatures, finding it strange that she would treat them with such familiarity, almost as though they were her little children. In his experience, most Conjurers saw Familiars as little more than phenomena manifested from the spell of the same name. Those in the PLA especially often used Familiars as spell-fodder or secondary damage source. It was only the exceptional few, choosing to focus on a rare and restrictive discipline, who held their manifested animus with such regard.

He sat on the couch and Gwen soon joined him. There was no Vid-Cast and no fireplace, but the antics of the two Familiars provided plenty of entertainment.

Was this what a family was like? He wondered, sensing the empty space to his right. On his left was Gwen, which made the feeling of absence more poignant. He thought of Hai, of the girls that Hai dated and more than often left in tears. The pursuit of a military career had driven him onwards all these years, and now Jun couldn’t shake the thought that maybe he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. Was he having a mid-life crisis?

“Are you alright, uncle?” His niece turned to regard him with her hazel eyes. She was a young woman, a very talented and unimaginably dangerous young woman. Watching her aglow with youth and vitality, Jun reminded himself that she was Hai’s daughter, not his.

“I am fine,” he murmured, averting her inquisitive gaze. “Sleep early. You’ve got a Queen Bee to digest, and we’re leaving at first light.”

* * *

“Father.”

The all-powerful presence of the Yinglong atop Lotus Peak shrouded the Draconic Palace with miasma and mana, illusion and obfuscation, making its location impossible to scry even with the most powerful of Divination magic.

“Speak.”

“Angkar is dead, father. His presence is gone.”

An eye opened in the midst of the uncertain mist, enormous, almost the size of Ayxin’s torso.

“Angkar…”

“The Earthen child, father. He was born two decades ago, blessed by the permeation of your essence into our land.”

“…”

“Father?”

The single-slit pupil within the Yinglong’s eye made Ayxin shiver. What emotion was engendered there? Not even after two centuries, could Ayxin tell. He had arrived to serve his father at the behest of his Clan, but that had been a lifetime ago. He didn't even know if his relatives still existed. Likely not, as humans were woefully short-lived. The world had changed drastically since then; the Humans' world especially had transformed more abruptly in the last fifty years than it had for the previous five hundred.

The silence proved too oppressive for Ayxin to bear.

“He was weak, father, but he was one of us. Another decade and he would have gained the ability to change himself. You need to-”

The white-jade palace, an enormous cavern of granite smoothed out by the wind until it was pearlescent and achingly beautiful, shook as Ayxin’s father extended a limb.

An eagle's claw with serpent’s scales, adorned by brilliant cobalt-emerald peacock’s feathers, solidified from the mist, its foreclaw as tall as Ayxin himself.

Ayxin knelt to kiss the claw, then prostrated himself.

“Please admonish me for presuming your wishes, Father.”

“You will assume your original form until the culprits are brought before me for questioning. One wonders what it is about the matriarchal lineage you loathe so.”

An ill-humoured punishment. Ayxin tried not to let the displeasure reach his, or as it were - her face. A true spawn of the Yinglong, Ayxin could change her gender at will. There were advantages and disadvantages to both forms, though as their father preferred the male form, so did all of his children. To assume the female form, therefore, showed others that Ayxin was in disfavour. It further attracted unwanted attention from the lower ranks, especially those whose intelligence was tied to their mortal lineage. When Ayxin was younger, a wyrmling fresh in her years, she had spent decades as a female. There had been yearly contests to ‘woo’ her, as the humans would put it, a futile endeavour which gave Ayxin a feeling of ambivalence. Dragons were wanton by nature, though Ayxin had found no one worthy to bear her brood.

"As it pleases you, Father."

When Ayxin emerged from the mouth of the palace-cavern, Golos was waiting for her. Golos was surprised to see Ayxin in her fairer humanoid form.

The Thunder Wyvern was one of the foremost powerful creatures within her father’s demesne, though his intelligence made him a blunt, rather than surgical instrument.

“You looking to lay?” Golos tilted its head, mocking her.

Ayxin’s response was glacial.

“I am right here.” Golos smirked with teeth. “I told you we should have stayed put. Angkar was a snivelling fool, the heavens will not rain for his passing and the earth will not shake. He was an insect, nothing more.”

Ayxin gnashed her pearly teeth. Her siblings clearly felt nothing for each other. If so, why was she bothered? Was it because of the lesser half of her heritage? Was that why she was prone to these sentimentalities?

“We’re going on patrol!” Ayxin declared annoyedly. She would have to give Golos another sound thrashing if he tried anything. Her half-brother combined the worst of draconic-hybrids, the savagery and impulse of the lascivious Thunder Wyvern, and the prideful, compulsive desire of the Winged Dragon.

“I am hungry,” Golos complained.

Ayxin sighed.

She looked toward the palace, where her father had slumbered since time immemorial. Before Ayxin was born, her mother-

The pearlescent dragon-kin shook her head, swallowing her all too human feelings.

She had wondered about father’s original mate, the first of her line. But all that was left was the dusty dowry, an Emperor’s gifts, amongst which was a time-faded silkscreen painting, composed before a time when the humans learned to recreate personages realistically. Ayxin's name as well, was unique amongst her siblings, consisting of a human syllable in place of the draconic tongue. ‘Ay’ was Draconic for air, its homophone meant 'love'. The second syllable, ‘Xin’, derived from Human tongue, meant 'prosperity'; it was formed from three pictograms for 'gold', though according to her Father, the archaic phonic was 'xùn', meaning vessel.

So she was a vessel of air? Or was her name a phonic for love and prosperity? Or maybe, she was a 'Lover's Vessel'?

That possibility was too crude and morbid to entertain.

“I could do with a dozen goats,” Golos reminded his half-sibling. In his opinion, Ayxin spent far too much time thinking and far too little time eating and doing what came naturally to dragons. “Maybe a carp. Think Ryxi dares to complain?”

Ignoring the wyvern’s grievances, Ayxin mounted her half-brother. She dug her claws into his flanks, striking sparks from the azure scales. Golos grunted, then lifted into the air, once he reached a viable altitude, his wings unfurled, reaching their full length, bristling with bright feathers. For the Yinglong's children closest to their progenitor’s bloodline, reptilian scales and bright plumage featured prominently.

Finding the Humans would be a difficult endeavour, assuming they had not retreated. They were diminutive beings, their presence almost negligible.

She would start at Angkars' demise, and try her best to retrace any tracks.

* * *

Uncle and niece were up just before first light.

Gwen hadn’t slept a wink, though she was abuzz with energy.

True to Jun’s prediction, her body had begun to absorb the vitality held captive within the Queen Bee. She could feel her Druidic Essence activate mote by mote, multiplying rapidly until its primal fecundity was spent. Sweating profusely and unable to sleep, Gwen sat on the bed and meditated until the alarm went off.

“You’re looking refreshed,” Jun pointed out.

Gwen told him about her swell of Druidic Essence.

"Good,” her uncle congratulated her. “We should not forsake any of the potential paths you could take to master your Void abilities.”

Gwen thanked her uncle, then enquired as to their itinerary.

“We head towards Lotus Peak. The higher we go, the more likely we’re going to find something with Lightning as its base element. We’ll camp out until we’re able to capture something, ideally several things, then immediately retreat for the outer regions. Luck pending, we’ll be here a week, maybe two.”

“What if those intelligent dragon-kin finds us? Do we fight them?”

“We can parley, or we can escape. At worst, you’ll be activating your contingency beacon. Don’t worry about me if that happens, unless the Yinglong shows up. Nothing’s going to prevent me from making a bolt for it. They’ll give up pursuit once we’re south of the Dragon Pine.”

The two emerged into the sickly daylight of the permanently overcast mountain, whereupon they began their trek.

Transmuted Flight was out of the question. It ruined the Transmutation function of their Optic-Cloaks, and the incantation left a jet stream of mana distinct to Human magic.

By mid-morning, Gwen and Jun penetrated into the Sea of Clouds.

True to its name, the cloud sea circled the three peaks of Huangshan like a cat, enveloping the granite tops and its draconic-silhouetted pine trees like a shroud. Occasionally, the two caught glimpses of blue sky, affirming their orientation via revelatory confirmations of Lotus Peak. Most of the time, the misty haze made orientation difficult.

When the peak came into view again, Gwen felt slivers of ice stabbing her spine.

"I think the Yinglong is up there," she noted to her uncle. "My Divination is acting all funny."

"We're here to avoid it," he assured her. "Don't stare at the Peak too intently or anything. Let's not tempt fate."

More than once they almost ran head first into the local fauna. The first time it was a harmless mountain goat. When they hid and made their observations, they could see that it had claws for feet and that its teeth were tooled for the rending of flesh. Not knowing if it was a part of a herd, they left it well alone.

The next monster to encounter them wasn't so lucky.

The duo’s first victim was a bird creature a mere head shorter than Gwen from head to tail. It had alighted close to where the two were taking a break and exhibited a clear indication of its elemental origins as Air.

While Ariel distracted it with sparks of lightning, Caliban snuck up in its spider form, made invisible by her new spell, and ambushed the creature by pinning it into a tree with its fore-limbs. Caliban’s Master then gave the order, and the bird was pulled kicking, flapping and screeching into the Void-spider's all-consuming secondary maw.

The commotion meant that they had to relocate. Carrying Gwen on his back, Jun pushed upward for another kilometre, then turned downhill for another two before moving up again, forming a zig-zag trail as the duo made for the Lotus Peak. She recovered a minute later, citing that the bird, for all its pretty plumage, was lacklustre on all accounts.

When the sun reached its zenith, the duo arrived the saddle of Lotus Peak.

“Let’s get a lay of the land first. Pass me the map.”

Jun produced a Divination-enhanced compass, a device that unscrambled the influence of leyline interference. Gwen watched and listened as Jun marked out three locations. A Sky Lake where magical creatures frequented - a grove that looked to be a prime nesting site - and a gorge where Mermen were reported to have lightning based abilities.

Now that they were above an altitude where less hardy plants could grow, the pine-coverage thinned, making progress easier thanks to the hard granite underfoot. Newly vitalised with the pangolin’s essence, Gwen made easy progress, outpacing even Jun, who became out of breath after an almost sixty-degree climb that lasted forty minutes.

“Okay, take a break.” Her uncle regarded Gwen with a critical eye. The girl had leapt from rock to rock like a mountain goat. “I am an old man, you know? Have some decency for the elderly.”

Gwen laughed, berating her uncle for his dishonesty.

Jun elected to self-buff, reinforced himself with Enhanced abilities from the Transmutation school before they continued.

The Sky Lake came into view an hour later after the two ate their military ration of nutritious un-food. From a distance, the ‘Billabong’, as Gwen would know it, was formed between two outcroppings that formed a wide wedge. One end appeared to have been dammed by fallen debris from a shattered crag, suggesting that the lake was likely made intentionally rather than naturally formed. Drawing on her recollection of National Geographic, Gwen knew that Huangshan lacked the altitude for glaciers, furthermore adding to her suspicion that the lake was a thing of purpose.

The two remained cloaked and hidden as they surveyed their new hunting ground.

Beside the watering hole was a variety of creatures, each bearing a hint of draconic ancestry.

Goats the likeness of those Gwen had seen before roved in herds of a dozen and more. From a further edge of the lake, predatory fauna such as owl-bears warily watched the roving herd of omnivorous goats. The larger of the owl-bears particularly caught Jun’s fancy, who pointed out its pelt could be converted into elemental-resistant battle armour.

“The Americans prefer their Golem-plates, but us traditionalists always value mobility and flexibility,” the Ash Bringer remarked, the ethos of his achievements speaking for themselves.

For the owl-bear itself, the Asia-major species were more agile than stocky, reaching a little over the size of a full-grown man and weighing in at just two hundred kilograms. The draconic-variant retained their hawkish facial features and cumbersome body, though their reptilian claws looked impressibly formidable.

“Look over there.” Jun pointed. “Draconic-macaques.”

Goats and Macaques! Gwen’s eyes widened at the sight of what she had at first thought was a dozen harmless fur balls hanging from trees. Now that she could adequately put into perspective what she was seeing, the damned things were numberless. They were so numerous that the enormous, heaven-piercing metasequoia beside the lake was drooping with the weight of their bodies!

“I think we’re in luck.” Jun's voice took on a hopeful tone, pointing to a herd of snow-white deer lead by a massive stag. “Check those out.”

Gwen activated her Detect Magic, did her best to filter out the flood of information, then distinguished that those were indeed Lightning-based creatures. In fact, the stag looked a little like a Kirin, with jutting antlers, a draconic face, scales covering most of the body, and hooves like jewels.

“Beautiful,” she uttered, feeling a pang of guilt.

“Don’t dwell on it,” Jun reminded her. “Just one herd of those things could take out an entire season’s crops. That hoard of monkeys could probably dismantle half of Hangzhou.”

“There’s something in the water as well.” Gwen registered the peculiar refraction. “The surface is brimming with motes of Lightning.”

Just as Gwen began to doubt her eyes, one of the goats approached the tranquil edge of the lake. It watched the surface warily, then with great deliberation and care, began to lap.

To Gwen’s eyes, the motes of Lightning instantly condensed. The goat seemed to notice this change as well; it stomped the ground and to her surprise, rose into the air as though stepping on invisible stones. It had made it a dozen meters when the surface of the water exploded, revealing the head of a fish-cum-serpent creature with a cumbersome, armoured head, saliently characterised by two whiskers.

A Magical Carp! Its dumb-founded expression was almost comical.

It was from these whiskers that a jolt of Tyrian-purple lighting lashed the goat, paralysing it midair. With another powerful swish of its tail, the nine-meter odd creature lunged into the air as though swimming through water, took the goat in distended lips, then dove back into the lake.

“Dragon-Carp!” Jun placed a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “That’s no lake! Its a pool of condensed elemental mana! We're in luck!”

Uncle and niece spent the next hour marking down the traits and habits of fauna they could observe.

“We can start by isolating the smaller creatures. As for the larger ones, caution before action. We need to doubly affirm their numbers, intelligence, social groups, allies and enemies. One strike - that’s all the chance we’re getting each time. We take our prey and leave no traces. The more discreet our poaching, the more shots we can get at Core-harvesting. Hopefully, one of them would retain a Lightning spirit.”

“Alright, Uncle.” Gwen turned to the map and studied it carefully. Already, it was overlayed with keys and guides, with colour-coded annotations for all the different creatures, their routes and territories.

“If you want some meat tonight though.” Jun grinned. “I doubt anyone would miss one of those goats.”

The Dragon-Goat was lured with a can of half-opened Spam.

Uncle and niece located a sheltered space between two crags, Transmuted a thin ledge, then set up the Portable Habitat. Once they were snug and secure, a length of Everlong String and a can of processed meat managed to isolate a wandering goat looking to forage.

When the bleating omnivore came close enough to the entrance, an ambushing Caliban in its spider-guise materialised from its Invisible pretence, pierced the creature with its foreclaws, then scurried up and into the portal.

“Shaaaa!” Caliban deposited dinner at Gwen's feet, waving its scythe-like limbs.

“Thanks, Cali.” Gwen gave it a pat, careful to avoid the forelimbs.

They were outside the house proper, in the grey-zone that extended twenty-odd meters in a radius around the bungalow. The pocket dimension had been empowered to have an allowance for extra storage, though anything outside the dwelling was stowed at the owner’s own risk.

“I am going to show you how to dress your kill,” Jun instructed Caliban to hang up the goat. “But first…”

Jun held out a bowl and collected the blood.

“A pint of the fabled heart-blood of a draconic-something. It’ll be fortifying. Go on.”

Gwen stared at the bloody gloop in horror.

“I’ll pass.”

Jun pressed a hand to his hip, musing at Gwen judgementally.

“You down a full-sized healer kicking and screaming, and now you’re squeamish about drinking some blood? Just think of it as medicine.”

Her uncle's got the right idea, Gwen thought, feeling numb about it all.

She took the bowl, held her nose, then slammed the shot like a Bloody-Mary.

To her surprise, the blood did not taste of anything too disagreeable, if anything, it had a hint of oxidising iron in an old factory. The taste was such a strange synaesthesia, nostalgic too; the blood's olfactory stimulus reminded her of the abandoned St James Station in Sydney, with its rusted rails.

As with the Queen Bee, Gwen soon felt a heat roaring in her torso. Hopefully, it was the fire of vitality, and not the water of dysentery.

"We'll have as many pints as it takes for the diminishing return to hit." Jun nodded happily, drinking a bowl himself. "Oof! That's the stuff."

After a few more bowls, they got down to work.

“Alright, Caliban, take the hind legs. Yep. Just like that. Now spread them. Good. Forelegs too. Very good. Okay, Gwen, you're up.”

As a born and bred city girl, Gwen wasn’t entirely sure what dressing an animal involved, though she could guess it didn't include bowties.

By now, the Dragon-Goat was mercifully deceased. Caliban held the goat like a rack, rearing on its hind legs by locking its chitin-plated joints. The carcass was thus splayed like a cheerleader jumping in mid-air, in the guise of one hollering 'gimme an X!'

Jun passed Gwen a bowie-knife.

“Cut here, and here.”

Gwen sawed away, striking sparks.

Jun raised an eyebrow.

“Tough customer. Alright, draw me a mote of Void onto your fingertips.”

Gwen concentrated for a second, then carefully raised a stark-white finger with a dash of darkness at its extremity.

“Try again.”

She did as she was told, with Jun giving the instructions slowly and meticulously. Where her fingers touched, the skin and flesh quickly fell apart. The unconventional use of her element gave Gwen an idea, though the execution of it was a little terrifying to entertain.

“Right. So, the belly and bowel contents are high in contaminants and must be removed promptly to avoid contaminating the flesh. The body's organs need to be removed as soon as possible. Yes, that means everything from the throat to the anus…”

Gwen held back her Military Rations as bundles of stuff emerged, splattering the ground with obscene noises.

“You see that? That’s a scent gland. Mature male goats and deer have pungent scent glands. You see those? Balls. You don’t think an animal of this size would have balls bigger than its brains, no? That tells you a lot about these dragon-goats, hahaha.”

Her uncle’s jocular manner made her both pale-faced from the gore and blushing from the brusqueness. Indeed, the dragon-goat’s cock was probably the largest ‘organ’ the thing possessed, thumping onto the floor like a bloody eel.

Before Gwen could riposte her uncle's ill humour, Ariel dashed from the porch, snatched up the foot-long wang, then fled.

“Ariel!” Gwen felt a rush blood reddening her face; she willed a jolt of Conjuration mana into compelling Ariel's obedience. “For fuck’s sake!”

“Ahahaha! It looks like your mongoose has a hankering for snakes!”

“Arrrgh! Ariel!”

* * *

Jun checked the exterior security of their abode several times during the night, telling Gwen to have a good night’s sleep. As for himself, he needed to meditate. As Caliban was an existential insomniac, Gwen instructed the creature to keep Jun company.

She found that whenever Jun patted the void-serpent, she could feel a phantom sensation upon her Astral Body. The strangeness of it was keeping her from sleep; like an itch in the bone that she couldn’t scratch, subtle but infinitely distracting.

When morning finally came, she felt more tired than ever, while Jun appeared fully refreshed.

“Blood not agreeing with you? I heard it could act like caffeine for some people.”

“Something like that.” Gwen had to rinse and gargle multiple times; her morning breath may be because of the blood, but more likely her restlessness was to blame.

When the two re-emerged, the rising sun had cast a deep shadow across the valley, punctuated by geometric rays of burnishing coral which lit the peaks with fiery contours. Gwen found the splendour breathtaking until the cloud banks rolled in, whereupon the vision took on a surreal majesty. The temperature of the valley, especially before it could receive the sun’s consecration, was single-digits at best. The warm currents of elemental air and water thus flowed down the mountain, epic streams of lazy mana, pooling and congealing, swirling in eddies and streams until they reached the bottom, collecting into the Sky Lake.

“Magnificent.” Gwen had seen Life of Pi in IMAX, but the view exceeded even that.

“Yeah.” Jun stood beside her, feeling that all's right with the world. “Alright. Let’s buff up! Fresh crystals for all your gear.”

* * *

As they marked a perimeter for their hunt, the duo placed teleportation beacons here and there for insurance.

“I suggest we proceed opportunistically,” Jun suggested, satisfied that they had several routes of escape planned. “The goats and the small fauna will help, accumulatively at least. A little draconic essence here and there. Even a mosquito has meat if you’re eager enough. Wen said there should be diminishing returns on your Consume; I say let’s find out its limits.”

The duo's ultimate target was the deer herd.

The Thunder Deer were guarded, as expected, by a massive buck the size of a people-mover van. In addition to emitting AOE Lightning, it also made a cacophonic noise when charging, creating a thunderclap on impact. Gwen had been witness to one such attack when a civet-like predator tried to have a go at a fawn. The resultant sound from the stag was like rolling thunder, echoing from cliff to cliff, refracting from the surface of the Sky Lake.

Their secondary target was the Dragon-Carp; voracious, vicious and mindlessly hungry in their desire to consume anything that came close to the lake's edge. Watching the dumb fish, Jun figured that they could likely fish one by using Ariel as bait.

“EEEEeee?!” Ariel presented itself eagerly, happy to serve.

It had eaten half of the goat-cock by the time she compelled it to return it. The act was nonsensical to Gwen, who knew Ariel to be a manifested, metaphysical marten, not in truth a creature of flesh and blood. What did it even do for digestion? She had never seen Ariel poop! Was there a cryptozoologist who could explain?

Amused by her flustered bemusement. Jun told her not to mind.

“Both of your Familiars are strange, to say the least,” he noted. “Caliban’s on a whole other level, of course. Ariel is likewise unusually salient, or I should say, ‘invested’ within the Material Realm. It even takes damage, no? It has taste, it can feel, it knows pain..."

“Should I be concerned?”

“I am not a Conjurer, so I can’t offer any educated advice.” Jun shrugged. “But let me remind you that you ARE running a Signature Conjure Familiar, maybe the one who taught you could tell you more?”

Jun's reminder made Gwen think of her deceased Master, engendering a tightness in her chest. She thought of the last time she had seen him, asleep beneath Sufina's Lifetree, presided over by the expressionless face of his eternal guardian; Master and Familiar, silent in the cold dark Grot.

Was her Conjure Familiar yet another memento from her Master?

Her Master had drawn the Summoning Circle himself, had he not? Her Opa had likewise said the duo spared no expense. There was even a mention of Griffin blood, Powdered Mithril-

Now that Gwen had received a practical education, the remembrance astounded her. Griffin blood?! Where does one acquire Royal Egyptian Griffin Blood in Australia? Powdered Mithril? That stuff was from the Demi-human Dwarves, all the way from the depth of the Glocknergruppe range, east of Brenner Pass, was it not?

And Gwen? She had been just a fledgling Conjurer.

Those ingredients were tier five, perhaps six? More? She would have to consult Petra. Now that she thought about it, those medium-tier Warding Glyphs looked suspiciously like Conjuration Glyphs. According to the instructions given by Magister Birch, the ones in her memory matched that of a Twin-Radii Octogramic Summoning Circle.

Bloody hell! She had to go back and check with Petra. If true, what insanity-

“Hey, focus.” Her uncle nudged her.

They were lurking not far from the edge of the lake, two mucky cats eyeing the fish in the pond.

“So, Ariel lures the carp, when it clears the water. We’ll both Alpha-Strike. I’ll go for the limbs and fins; you go for the tail. We only need the head and torso. Caliban will collect, then we’ll make for Safe Point Alpha. If anything goes amiss, we’ll extract to Delta or Epsilon to regroup and assess.”

"Yessir." Gwen performed a salute.

She ran the map-locations through her head again, then commanded Ariel to go ‘drink’.

They had earlier discovered that the simple act of allowing her Lightning Familiar to bath in the hyper-condensed mana increased its constitution little-by-little. Were it not for the fact that the waters were filled with tier 5 Ariel-eating Carp, Gwen would have happily allowed the little furball to soak.

After a minute of Ariel’s one marten, all nude bath-show, the first fish happened upon them.

The early carp gets the weasel!

With a burst of Elemental Air, Water and Lightning, the glassy-eyed carp emerged in its six-meter glory. The front of its body resembled a koi, while the rest of its body resembled a predatory Arowana crossed over with a sea snake.

“Elemental Sphere!”

“Ashen Strike!”

Jun’s spell struck first, executed with both finesse and precision, severing the creature’s tendrils which it used for elemental attacks. The main body though, proved far too resistant even for Jun’s penetrative potential, disabling only one of its four frontal fins.

More importantly, Jun's Negative-Energy drain filled the struggling fish with Ashen thoughts of despair and apathy.

'Whoomp!'

Gwen’s Void-empowered orb imploded upon the petrified carp, striking its lower torso; first shrinking, then expanding into a two-meter sphere before erupting again as a concentric ring of necrotic ink, severing the creature in twain.

As the carp's initial momentum brought it forward, Caliban emerged, first hooking into the front-half of the still writhing Dragon-Carp, then fleeing for the Safe Point Alpha.

"Gwen, you're up."

Jun had informed his niece that it was best they save his translocation device for emergencies, meaning it fell upon Gwen to act as their Dimension Door to and from the sheltering recess of the twisting pine grove.

Once inside, Jun checked the surroundings for danger; Ariel aided the Ash Mage by sniffing out potential adversaries, while Caliban laid out their quarry.

The two Mages inspected their still-living prey.

To their relief, the Dragon-carp was indeed a creature of Lightning and air. Its eyes were glazed over, two giant yellow spheres, within which reflected the faces of its assailants. It opened and closed its mouth like a landed fish even though it could breathe the air as easily as it did the Elemental-Water of the Sky-Lake.

From lake to plate, the poachers had a window of several minutes. These Magical Carp were hardy creatures. Without Jun, Gwen would have struggled to keep her prey from fleeing into the depth. Even with two-thirds of its body missing, its draconic-constitution could likely keep it alive, mayhap even regrow its lost lower-half.

“Consume!”

A fraction of the creature’s elusive essence became absorbed by Jun’s amulet, the other portion by Caliban. Gwen sat crossed legged on the pine-needle strewn floor, anticipating the rush. The ecstasy arrived a minute later, filling her with supernatural vitality. By the reckoning of her Nephres-Index, its life-force could be felt at a 4 or 5. By now, Gwen was getting a hang of how the sensation translated into various states of orgiastic paralysis. Under 3 induced quivering and shaking, 4 to 6 required a lie-down, and anything above 6 likely resulted in blackouts. A hypothesis she was keen to prove, was whether intensity decreased as satiation increased. If she felt crammed full of vitality, would an 8 on the Nephres-Index knock her out, or would the sensation be blunted?

As before, the pair cleaned up their murder scene, hid a safe distance away, then waited.

When no creatures appeared, they furthermore snagged a few of the Draconic-goats, whose attraction to small furry animals scurrying for cover far exceeded their capacity to process caution and safety-in-numbers.

As they waited for the Thunder Deer herd, the pair continued their Ariel Dragon-noodling. There were a few close calls when the marten was nearly swallowed, but Gwen found that she could unsummon her Familiar, even if it had entered the gullet of a four-hundred odd kilogram carp. Any injuries Ariel sustained quickly recovered once it returned to the pocket dimension of her spell.

The second day thus came to an end, three carps and a dozen goats stuffed into The Lurker in the Dark's limitless gullet without the slim creature showing so much as a bulge.

“GuuuarrblaH!”

Caliban coughed up 3 fist-sized cores of various clarity.

The carps’ cores were without hosts, but at least they were Lightning.

The goats, on the other hand, were a mixture of primary elements that made them seldom more useful than low to mid-level materials.

“Feed them to Ariel?” Jun suggested. “How desperate are you for crystals?”

“Not overly much,” Gwen admitted. “At least until I have bigger prospects.”

“Wait, don’t feed Ariel now. What if it goes to sleep? You said that’s what happened last time.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Gwen was reminded that Ariel had been out of action for almost a week after the eland core. She needed her marten with her right now, any potential boosts for her familiar would have to wait,

“The Dragon-Carps are dumber than I anticipated,” Jun noted suspiciously once the duo retreated into their den. “You know what they remind me of?”

“Pets?” Gwen thought of the Koi she had seen in Qīn’s pond.

“Cattle.” Jun dug his chopsticks into a leg of roasted dragon-goat. Another reason for dressing the animal was to release the leftover essence and residue mana so that mundane heat could be used to cook it. In high-class restaurants, Magically trained Chefs prepared chomps of vitality-filled Auroch-hinds with arcane fire in enchanted kitchens. There were rarer, higher-class restaurants where actual Mage-chefs prepare rare and exotic Magical Creatures, crafting alchemical cuisine with magical properties.

“They milk… the Carp?” Gwen tried her best to imagine how such a thing was possible. Did reptile-fish even produce milk? Maybe they excreted gloop, one which could be synthesised into something edible.

“For... meat,” Jun corrected Gwen’s overactive imagination, bemused and amused. “Did you notice how they kept to the Sky Lake even though they could swim through the air however they pleased? Maybe it's a pen to fatten them up?”

“Hmm…” Gwen knew all about the dangers of stealing livestock. The greatest Australian folk-song of all time was about an old swagman thrifting an escaped jumbuck til the troopers chased the poor bastard into a billabong, where he joined the fishes. They say that till this day, you could hear the winds singing 'Waltzing Matilda'. As for why the story made a popular children's limerick, it spoke volumes for the morbidness of Australian bush-humour. “Should we relocate?”

“No, not at night.” Jun carved out another generous portion for himself. Gwen had already stuffed herself; her appetite restricted to the mortal realm, for now. “We’ll check on the Thunder Stag and its herd again tomorrow, whether it's present or otherwise, we need to move out.”

With dinner done, Gwen washed up. From the kitchen sink, she watched Jun undergo the rite of drawing essence from his Kirin Stone. Her uncle wasn’t even bothering to hide it now. He gratuitously masticated, for the lack of a better arcane metaphor, the essences captured in the heirloom at every opportunity, keeping himself in peak condition.

Thinking of Jun’s proposal, Gwen felt full of disquiet.

For how long could they remain hidden, poaching the Magical Beasts?

Now that they were in the thick of it, her optimism that a Lightning Spirit presented itself miraculously seemed ever more unlikely. What was the tipping point where risk outweighed the reward? She was too inexperienced to know. Though she trusted Jun absolutely to make the right decision, she couldn’t help but feel a tinnitus buzz pinging her Divination Sigil, humming in her ears that all of this, was hubris and folly.

* * *

“Ryxi, it’s not Golos,” Ayxin halted her two half-siblings by placing her body between them. “He took one Carp. I was there when he caught it.”

Ryxi snarled, his serpentine form sleek and slender as he coiled and uncoiled with barely contained rage, his ivory scales glimmering.

“Those were meant for Father! They were a gift!”

Unlike his siblings, Ryxi was the descendant of the White Serpent, one of the original denizen of the Three Heavenly Peaks. Unlike the Yinglong, the Spirit-Serpent lacked the draconic vitality to survive past its second millennium, choosing instead to spend its final few centuries hibernating until its children could find something to prolong its life. Celestial Peak was where it made its home, though it was more accurate to say that the Peak 'was' its form since the great serpent slumbered in the guise of a skyward block of pure white granite. Over the years, Dragon pine and other flora had taken up residence on its body until it resembled a part of the original landscape itself.

Of all their siblings, Ryxi was the oldest, though not the most powerful. Ruxin was the most powerful, though the Thunder Dragon rarely came home, preferring to wander abroad and consort with their oceanic cousins, the Hailong. Ryxi took after his 'mother', a scholarly soul who could find amusement rearing rare butterflies for half a century.

Both brothers knew that Ayxin was the favourite, she had the most clout when any issue was presented before Father, and therefore it wasn't worth it to anger her.

“I am missing FIVE Dragon-carp!” Ryxi snapped. “Goats too! There’s nothing else within Father’s demesne that has an appetite like this greedy, insatiable lizard!”

“There should be other tracks…”

“What tracks?! The only tracks I could find was this fat lizard trailing carp-scales, blood and guts all over my territory!”

Golos' temper flared.

“I don't like your tone, brother. When’s the last time you shed your skin? I hope it won’t take another century for your scales to grow back,” the wyvern threatened his sibling smugly. He knew that the spineless Ryxi couldn’t stand up to him, not before, and certainly not now. It was just a carp; father was barely awake these days, when would he even have the time for eating stupid carp?

“Shut up! Both of you!” Ayxin spat, her draconic eyes sparked with annoyance. “We have an intruder into the realm. I believe they took Angkar.”

“Who? The earthen whelp? He’s useless.” Ryxi seemed more confused as to what possible use anyone could have for something as diluted and un-dragon-like as Angkar. There were hundreds, if not a thousand beings like Angkar in the lower reaches. Ryxi wouldn’t even consider them Father’s spawn, for they were merely mundane Magical Creatures who had taken up vestiges of their father’s immortal essence as his slumbering spirit permeated the mountain. If someone actually cared about those bastards everytime they died, they would have no time to tend to Bonzai, or carp, or silkworms! How would Ayxin like it if she had to stride the place with complete immodesty? Golos was terrible enough as he is.

“Maybe one of the others ate him?” Ryxi suggested. The list of culprits could go on virtually forever. Angkar's primary defence was to become a tasty, crunchy ball, after all. Both he and Golos could arguably swallow Angkar whole.

“No, this is different.” Ayxin put a finger to her lips, making the others stare. “It’s the intruders, I know it. They have no scent and left virtually no tracks. All I found was ash, and something else.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Ayxin couldn’t put it into words. It was truer to say that she detected an absence. However Angkar had died, it was as though he had ceased to exist. Where his scent was everywhere at first, it suddenly disappeared as though their sibling had evaporated. “Look, forget about Golos, keep an eye on your flock. Stop playing around with your insects, or miniature trees or whatever, stay near the Sky Lake. Tell me as soon as you find something. Hold them down until we can arrive.”

The three Dragonkin were perched, coiled, and seated on a rocky crag overlooking the Sky-lake below. The moon hung high in the sky, though only a little of it pierced the thick banks of elemental air circulating to and fro from one peak to another.

“Fine,” Ryxi muttered, displeased with the unsatisfying outcome. “I shall be as watchful as my originator, a veritable stone sentinel.”

* * *

“We’re in luck!”

The duo was indeed in luck.

After more than two days at the Sky Lake, the Thunder Stag and its herd finally returned.

They were simply there as uncle and niece had emerged from the Habitat, each animal carefully taking turns drinking from the liquefied elemental air of the lake.

The buck, a big brute well over four meters and zinging with excess motes of Lightning, stood guard while the females drank one after another, guiding their fawns to sup at the condensed mana.

“We’ll have to take down the buck first,” Jun observed. “As for the rest, how ambitious do you feel?”

"Very."

"Heh, alright. That means we'll try to corner the whole pack, the females, fawns and all."

Gwen fought down the thought that she was mass-murdering innocent beasts for uncertain 'drops', wasting their meat and blood.

Though the Thunder Deer had draconic facial features, they remained gentle creatures with a clear emphasis on herd and family. The old Gwen of Sydney would have surely revolted at so much slaughter.

“Alright, what’s the play?”

“Distract with Ariel, alpha strike the buck, disable, not kill, at least until you can Consume. I’ll construct a Blade Barrier to the left and right in a triangular arc, pinning them against the water. Assuming they can’t fly, they should be trapped. Start Consuming as soon as its safe to do so. Once Barriers are up, I’ll help you pacify the rest.”

“Are we giving up being covert?”

Jun nodded.

“Calculated risk. The Stags are too skittish to hunt one by one. This is an opportunity, Gwen. A docile, high-tier, Elemental Spirit. It’s too good a chance to pass up. There are potentially two dozen cores in it.”

“No risk, no gain." Gwen worked to convince herself.

“That's right. Keep an eye out though. Remember, if we run into the Demi-humans from last time, stick close. Extraction via point Beta to Episolon.”

“Alright, Uncle.”

Think of the future, Gwen thought to herself as she crumpled the remorse rising in her chest. Think of the Spirit!

Indeed, the prospect of a high-tier Spirit drowned her protest. By God! If she could get her Affinity to Eight, her spell volume and damage would be immeasurable! For the IIUC, she could keep casting without pause until the opposing Abjurer was OOM, then continue unabated until victory was all but certain!

She thought about Lulan’s speciality, that spell-flurry of ceaseless strikes! If she could perform the same with Lightning or Void, the two of them could make a ridiculous range-melee combination.

Gwen felt shivers up her spine, all she could do was ask nature to forgive her transgression.

I am sorry, deer fawns.

To Doe, or not to Doe, there was no question.

It was time to crash the Stag's party.

Ariel once again played the Judas Goat, making itself plainly visible as it sauntered toward the Sky Lake’s edge to partake in nature's bounty.

Initially, the Thunder Stag regarded the unexpected intruder with wariness, though caution was quickly dispelled by curiosity as it noted an ancient, emerald presence, more alluring than anything the stag had ever encountered in its half-century of existence.

The source of the glow was a viridescent light, held in the marten creature’s mouth-pouch.

The stag ventured closer, followed by a few of the braver females, licking their draconic snouts. Others soon followed, perceiving that it was safe when the alpha began sniffing the minuscule predator.

Soon, the herd formed a small semicircle around the marten.

“Hrrmph!” The stag nudged the Ariel, demanding that it give up whatever prize it held, greedy for the delicious fecundity withheld by the marten.

Bullied and harassed, Ariel dropped the crystal at the buck’s feet. The marten was gone in the next second, remembered only by a streak of silver.

“Neerrrgh?” The Stag nudged the crystal. Perhaps it was edible?

The crystal cracked.

‘BUNG!’

Though Thunder Deer were no strangers to a good cacophony, the spell that now struck the herd seared their eyeballs and jarred their brains.

The resultant din echoed far and wide across the misty sound, its rumbling not unlike the echoing taunt of a mythic beast.

“NEERRRRGH!” The Stag panicked, swinging its mighty sixteen-pointers to and fro, knocking aside doe and fawn in its frenzy. Its eyes became dark; its ears rang with tinnitus. All it could smell was fear, the scent of blind terror from its herd, with the females shitting and pissing as they hysterically scattered.

‘Whirp! Whirp! Whirp! Whirp! Whirp!”

There was a strange metallic vibration in the air, so loud as to be audible even to the stag's impaired sensory organ.

Abruptly, it inhaled the redolence of blood, tasted the iron in the air.

A female had died!

Then another!

And another!

“EEEAARMF!” the Thunder Stag Buck roared, gathering Lightning into electrified horns. It would envelop their entire surrounding with a lightning field, bypassing its herd and decimate its enemies.

“Conjure Elemental Void Swarm!”

A sudden sense of vertigo overwhelmed the herd, sending the weaker creatures tumbling to their knees. The stronger ones buckled and bolted, only to run into a wall of scything blades formed from scalding ash, severing limbs and heads. Those that survived the dismembering sank limply onto the grassy knoll, choosing instead to bleed out, losing the will to flee.

"Shaa shaaa shaaaa..."

The buck was cunning enough to wait until the sound of crawling intruders could be palpably felt within the perimeter of its electro-sensitive fur. As the charge in its horns peaked, it unleashed a semi-dome blast of lightning and thunder, forming a circumference of crisscrossing electricity twenty meters across and expanding rapidly.

With its reserves spent, the stag snorted the scent of charred grass, ionised air, and lingering ozone.

“Neerrrgh!” it warned its females not to stray too far.

‘Shaa shaaa shaa shaaaa shaa shaaaa…”

The strange noise came on again.

The stag circulated a jolt of lightning through its body, fortifying its fur with an electrified charge capable of instantly killing lesser creatures.

All around it, the odour of piss, shit and blood polluted the air.

The insane bleats and neighs of its females tempted the stag to flee. Within its hormone-induced brain, self-preservation and herd-instinct fought for dominance.

Its vision returned.

The Stag raised its head proudly, its electrified irises contracting, ready to ignite the first enemy it spotted.

The first and last thing it saw was two tentacles, one red and the other blue, a fraction of a second before their lamprey’s lips, lined with thousands of grinding teeth, kissed its eyeballs.

“Shaaa! SHAAAA!”

A three-metre Death-Gila brought the stunned stag to its knees, its jaws distended impossibly, ready for the feast to come.

* * *

Caliban needed no coaxing from Gwen to execute the dazed stag with two direct strikes to the eyes, instantly causing its body to go limp.

When her Void-Familiar had been caught in the Lighting AOE, Gwen had felt her heart skip. Even in its thick-skinned Gila-form, the energy had been enough to de-glove Caliban from faceless mien to bladed digit, stripping away its obsidian toad-skin to reveal pulsating purple flesh beneath. Had Caliban been a creature with actual biology, it would have died then and there from the shock.

Chocked full of usurped vitality, Caliban recovered in the next instant, drawing upon its stores to replenish its physical presence within the material realm.

Gwen gave up her excess without reserve, willing her creature to gorge itself.

Meanwhile, her previously repelled Void Swarm once again manifested, fueled by carp and goat. Her error had been a product of inexperience, she couldn't hold onto the final incantation and had blown the spell's payload too soon.

As for her long-anticipated Void Elementals; courtesy of Magister Wen's extensive research on her Master's signature incantations, the result proved both spectacular and disheartening.

She had presumed beetles or scarabs, or even long-limbed netherworld aberrations, but what she got were lampreys - slick, slithering lampreys - an oily, oozing mess of hungry mouths, moving en masse.

Thousands upon thousands of lampreys, swarming over one another in an eager bid to reach the feast before them. What was worse was that like Caliban's serpent form, the things had no eyes. It was as though she had summoned an abstract swarm of voracious chompers.

Worse still, Gwen had seen the spectacle before. Though she had no dark egg to house her swarm like Elizabeth Sobel, her inadvertently identical manifestation hinted at the undeniable link they shared.

“Mao, that's a terrifying sight!” Jun felt the impact of the Void as well, growing paler as he maintained both of his Bladed Barriers. “At this rate, we’re definitely going to have company! Get Consuming!”

Gwen needed no encouragement from her Uncle.

Caliban was already at work.

It sucked in the four-meter stag with a single gulp before turning upon the hapless females.

Meanwhile, Gwen's Swarm had reached the weakened members of the herd too hurt or injured to thrash and kick. The lampreys slithered up the bloodstained coats of horrified deer as they bleated in hysteria, lapping up the scarlet dew. Except for those made insensible by Jun’s Ash, the rest began an insane shriek that echoed around the valley, filling Gwen’s ears with madcap, child-like wailing.

Gods! She was going to be sick! Gwen willed herself to steel her proverbial spine. She couldn't relent now! The slaughter must continue, she was doing this for a Lightning Spirit! To stop would be an insult to her uncle's endeavour! This opportunity would not rise again!

Jun scanned the horizon. It couldn't take long for reinforcements to arrive. That druidic-essence empowered Flashbang, the Thunder Stag’s AOE, the slaughter within which they were now engaged; each one was enough to draw the Yinglong's ire. Then there was the fact that even he felt sickened by Gwen's Conjure Elemental, and he had once seen a swarm of Ghasts tear a whole platoon apart limb by limb. He would have to caution her about using this variation in public.

“MEeaaaaaah!”

“Meeeeeh!”

“EEeeaa!”

“Baaeeah!”

"SHAAA!"

Unlike its master and her uncle, Caliban had no qualms. Young and old, large and small, wounded and maimed, the Void-worm had never known a more celebrated orchestra in all its life. The feast was endless. It leapt from creature to creature, Consuming one after another, shrugging off lightning strikes that would strip off its hide, shatter its carapace or displace its limbs.

A fawn tried to hide by digging into the carcass of its mother.

Caliban cared not. The more it fed, the haler it became.

By its third doe, the Void Swarm joined the slaughter; prey ceased struggling altogether as a swarm of dark and unspeakable things smothered their bodies and delved into every orifice, natural or otherwise.

“Woa!” Jun hid behind Gwen, safe from her hungry, hungry lampreys.

His Kirin Stone was so hot with absorption that it was blushing the skin on his chest. Not even in the heat of a city-wide battle had the stone overworked itself so magnificently, though Undead hardly compared to the vigorous vitality of a forty-strong herd of draconic-deer. Regardless, all good things must come to an end. “Another minute, then we DD! Exfil to designation Beta!”

“The cores…”

“Don’t be greedy,” Jun cautioned her. “Caliban already has the buck stowed inside, and a dozen others. Besides, you’re going to be out like a candle before you know it.”

Gwen blinked.

SHIT! She cursed herself. She had been so concerned about the deer escaping that she had neglected the fact that she wasn’t consuming one or two of these things, but dozens! Though each doe was nothing compared to say, a Dragon-carp, they were still sizeable creatures, not to mention the buck was enormously vital itself.

“Caliban! We’re leaving!”

“Dimension Door!”

She left the Swarm manifested as they made their escape, taking as much of the biomass into her as she could. Like Caliban, each lamprey was returning to her tiny slivers of health; en mass, they added up.

“Ergn~Grrgn!” Gwen let loose a moan that was more embarrassing than she had anticipated, stifled by forcibly clenching her jaws.

Her uncle was right once again.

Two kilometres into the mist-shrouded pine forest, Caliban delivered its payload.

She had commanded it to hold on, but there was a limit to her Familiar's proverbial bladder. While Gwen could double-Door consecutively, the third and so on required increasingly longer breaks. She was glad therefore that her uncle had plotted navigation-points prior with Tele-beacons, reducing her mental burden significantly. They were at the edge of the forest in two jumps, then well within its coverage by the fifth. By the tenth, they were on the subtly transmuted ledge of another crag, out of LOS both above and below.

Jun caught her as she doubled over.

Her breath was coming in rags now; her eyes were rolling back into her skull. Gwen hid her face against Jun's chest, the alternative was too upsetting.

A quick manipulation of the Portable Habitat opened up its near-invisible entrance; then the two were gone from sight.

* * *

Ryxi had never been gladder that he wasn’t the combative sort of Dragon-kin.

The lineage of the White Snake was elemental creatures of Air. They were scholarly beings, creative and interested in the world. When met with an interesting stimulus, their first instinct was to study the thing, a world’s difference from say, its Thunder Wyvern half-brother, whose preference would be ‘can I eat it?’ followed by ‘what if I fucked it?’; when both failed, Golos chose destruction.

He had been meditating in the Sky Lake, well covered by the clouds when the culprits appeared.

A first Ryxi felt cheated. If he had caught Golos bloody-clawed and gore-toothed, there would have been a case to make in front of Father.

His first instinct was how to toy with the two humans. After all, Ryxi was a master of mirage and illusion, and these were puny mortal beings. He watched with great interest as the creatures ambushed his animals, waiting for them to expend their mana before he could strike. Ryxi relished his herd; he often milled their horns to make alchemical medicine for himself, crafting pills for father and mother. He disliked the buck though; Ryxi had a strange suspicion that the boisterous brute might be a spawn of Golos.

One of the Mages passed a viridescent crystal to its pet, a ferret.

The gem was of great interest to Ryxi because there was a familiar but also alien energy within it. He watched it being delivered to the stag.

'BUNG!'

An incapacitation spell! How wonderful!

His scholarly curiosity lasted until the larger Human manifested a dark fire, heat without matter, an all-consuming force which sapped the very life from the air.

“Heavenly Father above!”

Isn't that the power of the Drought Goddess?! Ryxi would have opened his eyes wider were they not set into his skull by bone-plates. A second barrier went up, ashen blades reeking of desolation and destruction cornered his herd.

Ryxi shook from head to tail, all fancy of fighting fleeing from his mind. It was a cowardly thing to do, but he wasn’t about to go tail to toe with a descendant of the thrice-damned Drought Goddess. His ancestors, the original occupants of the Three Peaks, had learned that the hard way. Now only his mother remained.

Just as the White Serpent didn’t think things could get worse and he should probably report to Ayxin, he felt an aversion strong enough to turn his gullet.

A horrid beast was ravaging his Stag! It was eating his deer alive! Yinglong above, he saw it penetrate the SKULL of the buck with- penises? WHY IS THERE A DEATH GILA?! THOSE ARE EXTINCT!

Ryxi had no idea his race - the divine White Cloud Serpents - could regurgitate into their mouth without prior abdominal contractions. Now he knew. Almost five centuries he had inhabited this body and still he was learning new things.

Then a swarm of dark things began to consume everything in sight.

The White Serpent held the goat carcass in his mouth, too afraid to provoke the condensed mixture of Air and Water that made up the Sky Lake.

“Caliban! We’re leaving!”

Thank the Dragon-father! Ryxi thought to itself.

He waited another minute to ensure the poachers didn’t double-back to accidentally catch a delicious White Serpent guiltily slinking away.

Ryxi knew he had to find his half-siblings as soon as possible. If the Mages were to escape the range of the mountain, he would lose track of their whereabouts.

The serpent lifted effortlessly into the air before speeding toward Ayxin's territory, adjacent to their father's White-Jade Palace.

The Drought Goddess had returned! Ryxi baulked, and her attendant controlled a Death-Gila!

* * *

Gwen dreamt of a white-jade palace.

A palace sculpted from granite, shaped by wind and will until it was perfection.

Nine mystical thresholds led from the saddle to the mount's zenith, for thereupon Lotus Peak perched the White-Jade Hall, within which sat the Nephrite Throne.

Within its vaulted hall, a mighty presence slept, slumbering the years away, bathing in a concourse crisscrossing with Elemental Air, Water, and Positive Energy. It was there, amongst the throne room pillared in white, in the midst of which was an enormous lotus, that she saw Master and Mountain both bathed in an incandescent essence.

The peculiar synaesthesia induced a wave of déjà vécu.

There had been a time when she too, experienced the intimacy of land beneath one's feet, intwined body and soul. The old Dreamer, Goolagong, had slapped her chest, thighs and buttocks with earthen handprints, dabbed her forehead with ochre and red earth, painted onto her abdomen a way for Almudj to Dream though her body.

“Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!” uttered old Goolagong, slapping her thighs.

Gwen had slapped her own, following awkwardly.

The landscape beneath her feet shifted.

As in a lucid dream, one travelled where one wished.

Red earth, blue skies. Short, stunted trees sighed at waterless creeks. A flat and vast expanse now stretched before her, extending from nowhere to infinity, its distance maddening.

Here was the Dreamtime, conceiving a continent rich and untouched.

Gwen blinked; she was back in Huangshan again, her face wet with dew as she stood upon a Dragon pine, watching the cloudscape unfold as a silk-screen painting.

The mountain called to her. It compelled her.

She had taken so much of it inside her already.

Why not join with it?

She could be the land itself, as unmoving as the three Heavenly Peaks. She could be the air itself, wandering and weightless. She could bath in the light of the risen sun. She could shower in the rain cascading from the crags, awash with white water; she could delve into depthless gorges below.

But the vastness frightened her, threatened to overwhelm her, and so she Dreamt of more familiar places.

There, Gwen saw the intimate glow of Almudj’s essence, forming the contour of a multi-hued serpent, coiled and slumbering.

The outward world pressed in.

Almudj's will pushed out.

Her world folded inwards, pulsing like a heartbeat. She was straddling two worlds, disorientated to the extreme.

Like a retreating tide, the two visions flowed into each other; it was the ebb and flow of life and land, living in one another, falling apart, coming together. She felt homesick for the native jacaranda, the blood-gum, the iron-oxide earth. She saw a Dragon Pine wilt, fighting the dry, foreign wind. She saw, from the misty peaks awash with rain, bushfires of the black north choking the blue sky, she saw a harsh horizon rimmed with red drought. How could a tree from a temperate land withstand such a thing?! Gradually, the arched, gnarly pine growing from a granite crag withered; in the next moment, it was abloom with flaming galahs, fuming with wild wings!

The pine needles, the wet squelch of fecund southern soil became overpowered by the scent of blooming dogwood under the stark moon, sweet from the hint of thunderstorms crackling cane fields.

From a red-stone throne in the midst of a vast desert, she saw the ponderous form of Almudj staring out, its obsidian orbs iridescent amidst the scintillating colour of its rainbow scales.

From the triple-silhouette of an eastern mountain, she saw the shape of a winged dragon; it’s wingspan stretching from peak to peak.

Gwen gasped, her breath catching in her chest; the pressure from the two beings was immense, she could hardly breathe.

A thick-fingered pair of dark-skinned hands took her by the wrist.

“Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!” came the voice of old Goolagong, slapping her thighs. "Come, girl! The corroboree is this way!"

"Almudj!

The rainbow snake

see it take wing

the wind

and water fills the rivers and gullies

and billabongs!"

"Migloo girl! Did you know that Almudj dislikes strangers?"

Gwen tried to speak, but she was in the grip of a power far greater.

"Yes." old Goolagong pointed at the winged-dragon haughtily. "Almudj will attack strangers! It is known!"

Almudj rose into the air.

It was the horizon, as far as the eye could see!

* * *

“Woa! WOA! It’s me!”

Gwen’s fist smacked into something solid.

“Ooomph! Careful now.” Jun’s face hovered over his niece, wincing. "Are you alright?”

Dazed and nodding demurely, the girl straightened her camisole, then pulled her legs closer to her body. Her eyes swiftly studied the room before returning to his face.

“I am okay now, Uncle Jun." She saw him nursing his ribs. "Sorry..."

Jun retreated, wondering if he should imbibe a healing potion.

The girl had given him a fright!

When he had heard the commotion, he burst into the thankfully unlocked bedroom to find her writhing on the bed, grinding her teeth with a dangerous intensity.

Failing to wake her even with a slap to the shins, Jun ran to the kitchen and fetched a wooden ladle. He feared the worst if he let her be. Bodily wounds could be healed, but a severed tongue could spell the end of their poaching adventure.

The girl was immensely strong! Too strong, in his expert opinion. She could rival a buffed Transmuter! Was the Draconic Essence to blame? There was plenty of it in his Amulet, but the girl's Consume had never interacted with human, nor Demi-human essence before, such as those of the bipedal Gila, or the Merfolk.

Unsure of how to proceed, he elected to keep her grappled before resorting to more drastic measures, like flushing her body with his Ashen mana. It would do well to pacify her struggle, but they had neither access to a medical facility nor a healer who could offset the Drain. It would be disastrous if he had to escape the mountain with an incapacitated Gwen, or accidentally triggered her Contingency Ring.

If she suddenly disappeared and reappeared in the Pudong Tower stark raving mad, frothing at the lips, or comatose with Negative Energy, what would Magus Shultz think?

Perhaps more terrifyingly, his mother’s wrath would be unthinkable!

Klavdiya had been against the trip herself, preferring for Gwen to travel with her peers to well-explored Dungeons.

Just as Jun was ready to shoulder the burden of blame, the girl recovered. And then she punched him.

It was like being struck by a sledgehammer.

Jun was sure he had heard his rib crack.

“Sorry,” the girl apologised, her expression a mask of mortification.

He told her not to worry.

Perhaps it was best he injected the healing potion out of sight.

“I’ll be in the kitchen. Come out and explain yourself, if you’re able. If you can't, we're going home. I’ll have breakfast ready.”

He felt his terms were a little harsh, but there were no 'maybes' when a Yinglong hung over their heads. If Gwen suffered an episode while they were hunting, the best he could do was trigger her Ring, then immediately make for the woods.

At any rate, breakfast first - nutritious ration-soup and toast, with milk and Wildland honey.

His niece emerged ten odd minutes later, hair slicked back in a ponytail and padded up in her sneak-suit. The girl seemed taller, Jun felt, or was it her presence that changed?

“Uncle.” Gwen turned to face him seriously, ready to explain.

Jun took a sip of his military-coffee. The acrid taste must have been modelled on the credo that what couldn't kill you, woke you up.

“Care to explain yourself?”

“I shall.” His niece took a deep breath before opening her hands, within which was cupped the familiar glow of her Druidic Essence.

Jun leaned in.

It was different somehow. The energy felt alive, wilful, possessed by a commanding presence.

A Draconic presence.

Had all the dragon-souls she inadvertently consumed joined with the Druidic essence? Or had the girl always been in possession of such a thing, only to have it awaken now?

When he dipped a finger into the mana, he felt goosebumps all over.

Jun had fought Dragons before. Staring down an adult Dragon gave one the feeling of facing down a storm front stretching across the horizon, or a tsunami drawing back the tide, or a forest-fire that blackened the sky.

Spellcraft may have allowed Humans to harness the energies of the Planes, but nature easily reminded them that she was effortlessly more potent.

That was the feeling he got now from the dancing viridescent mana within Gwen's hands.

“Uncle Jun.” Gwen’s face was equal parts apprehension and excitement. “My Druidic Essence… I think its gone and taken on a new form!”

* * *

The dream ended.

She woke up.

Gwen was thankful for her uncle's concerned mien and soothing voice.

The first few seconds of her groggy wakefulness had been punctuated with a sudden desire for grievous violence. Especially as there was a man looming over her, pinning her arms. Though Edgar and Blackheath was a lifetime behind her now, she still roused once in a blue moon, breathless with remembrance.

Her precious, thousand-thread count cotton sheets were in tatters. Her clothes were likewise distressed. There was something in her mouth that she'd been biting, which turned out to be a cooking paddle swaddled with a pillowcase.

“I am okay now, Uncle Jun. Sorry..."

The guilt of punching her uncle was overshadowed by the lucid vision she had just undergone. Having experienced it twice, she was confident in recognising the phenomenon.

When was the last time she had Sang the Snake, dreamt the Dreaming? Not since her Xmas adventure with the girls, when they fought Wanka. She placed a hand to her chest and felt for the kinship engendered there. Did Almudj awaken? Had she awakened it? She recalled seeing the red rock of Uluru; there was something else - the Three Peaks! Lotus Peak! There was a white-jade hall and the Yinglong-

“I’ll be in the kitchen. Come out and explain yourself..."

Gwen nodded. She knew she owed her uncle an apology and explanation.

With Jun gone, Gwen felt for the change with her Astral Body.

Last time, when the Rainbow Serpent had left, a part of it had remained in her, a spark of primordial divinity that had made her special, given her a way to combat the hunger of the Void.

This time, Almudj's intervention was born from anger and possessiveness.

Calming herself, Gwen took account of the phenomena as rationally as she could.

Almudj was an old and natural existence, a mythical being from times immemorial. Dragons, for all intents and purposes, even Chinese ones, were largely the same thing. Creatures of magnificent elemental affinity, intimately linked to land and legend.

Assuming she was Almudj’s kin, wouldn’t that mean that her possessing its ‘essence’ made her an extension of Almudj’s domain, sharing its presence and being? If so, her voracious consumption of the ‘essence’ of creatures engendered by the Yinglong, wouldn’t it offend Almudj? After all, she had been cramming draconic vitality into her body intemperately for days. Just in the last twenty-four hours, she had Consumed at least a dozen deer, including a buck.

Eek~ Gwen bit her metaphoric tongue. Did that count as cheating on Almudj?

She switched to her mind's eye.

When she gazed inward, she saw that the fortifying vitality stolen from the draconic-creatures now nourished her Druidic Essence. For Gwen, her limited understanding of the mystical phenomena could only be clarified by the imperfect analogy that Almudj, a 'native flora' was subsuming the 'invasive' intruder. After all, her Rainbow-scaled kin hated usurpers and invaders more than anything.

For now, her 'Amuldj' Essence swelled with vigour, floating beside raw motes of lightning and Void. As for her Astral Body, it glowed a bit brighter but otherwise remained the same.

As for what Druidic Essence 2.0 portended.

She had no idea.

If nothing else, her Divination Sigil remained as quiet as a church mouse.

* * *

Once outside the Habitat and within the grey-zone, both uncle and niece were eager to see what her new mana portended.

“So, it's taken up with the dragon-juice,” Jun observed. “Try circulating it-”

His niece closed her eyes-

"Steady now..."

Jun self-buffed with Detect Magic. He saw the viridescent essence infuse his niece’s body. There was the distinct feeling of existential oppression again, though it was faint. It was stronger than what the pangolin could manage, but far from the wyvern.

“Can you cast anything with it?”

Gwen pointed a finger away from them.

“Barbanginy!”

A cobalt arc of plasma appeared in the distance. A regular old Lightning Bolt.

“Mao!” Jun noted the change in his nieces’ Affinity far more readily than Gwen herself, whose brows furrowed. “Try again!”

Gwen shook her head.

“I can’t work it into the Sigils.” The girl looked devastated by her continued inability to tap into her Almudj-Essence. “It’s the Spellcraft, I am sure. Our element-integration algorithms aren’t compatible with it. I can feel it trying to feed into my mana channels, but it's like my spells refuse to recognise it.”

Jun felt a wild thrill thumping through his chest.

“No! Lightning! Gwen! Give me the best blast of Lighting you possess! Lightning! PURE LIGHTNING!"

Gwen’s eyes glowed electric-blue as she channelled the maximum allotment she could muster. Jun's excitement was infectious; like a child who woke up remembering Chinese New Year had arrived.

“Lightning Bolt!”

A bolt of lightning ionised thirty-odd meters away, as thick as Gwen’s leg, its plasma so vivid as to leave a scar burning across their vision. An ear-splitting 'Crack!' resounded a split-second later, almost deafening the duo.

“What’s your affinity NOW!?” Jun held his niece's shoulder, his voice quivered.

“I- I don’t know." The pitch of the girl's voice rose at least two octaves. Her heart rate rose well over a hundred. Her breathing quickened as she tried to clear her head for a better measure of what was to come. “Let me try to gauge my mana-quotient.”

Jun helped Gwen with a quick breathing routine to soothe her mind.

"Okay-"

“Lightning Bolt!”

“Lightning Bolt!”

“Lightning Bolt!”

“Lightning Bolt!”

“Lightning Bolt!”

“Lightning Bolt!”

"STOP!" Jun halted her. The grey-space was shuddering. Any more and they might deactivate the Portable Habitat.

Regardless, he was certain Gwen's affinity had gone through the proverbial roof. The clarity of her Lightning Mana may as well be directly harnessed from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning itself.

“I am not sure, but it’s using three-quarters of the mana I used to…” Her voice quivered. Like Jun, Gwen was trying to work out the calculations in her head. Without instruments, they could only manage an educated guess.

It was common knowledge that Elemental Affinity impacted casting cost and power. Previously at 4.8, Gwen enjoyed an unprecedented reduction in mana-cost of almost 50% of her Lightning Spell’s designated VMI cost. With a reduction of 25% on her current casting, if she had to ballpark a figure-

"Tier... 6?"

There was an old saying amongst Elementalists. 'Four's hard work; Five're talent, Six - good luck." It meant that no matter how hard a Mage laboured, they may never reach a baseline tier 6 elemental affinity.

“Tier 6?!” his niece squealed with glee. “I am tier 6, Uncle! Unbelievable! Amazing! Oh! I can't believe it!”

“Ha! Congrat-“

Before Jun could confirm her growth, his nostrils became filled with the soft scent of floral shampoo. His niece had wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely.

“Tier 6!” Gwen’s gleeful voice choked with happiness. “That’s incredible, Uncle. I… God… I …”

Was she crying? Why was his niece crying? Jun couldn’t fathom why Gwen was so distraught. All he could do was wrap his arms around her slim shoulders and the small of her waist, feeling a patch of wetness built on his collar.

Jun had imagined a moment like this, in the past. His child had been accepted into an elite university, her future assured. He would congratulate her, and then she hugs him - like so, and then he would comfort her. When later he was told of his infertility, he had buried those fancies.

They remained in place, the girl sobbing and the uncle patting her back, for longer than either would have liked to admit.

“You have made me happier than you know.” His niece pulled away before facing him, her eyes wet and a little swollen, her white face melting his heart. Suddenly, she lifted her lips to his grizzled neck, then kissed him on the cheeks. “Thank you, Uncle Jun.”

“I am glad, t-that you’re happy.” Jun released the girl. The touch of her too-soft lips lingered on his chin, moist against his stubble. His mind struggled to find something suitable to say.

"I am happy... too," he remarked after a while, aghast at his tongue-tied response.

His niece materialised a handkerchief and applied the corners to her eyes.

“Sorry.” She sneezed into it. “Got a little 'too' emotional there. Ha! Not very becoming of me. Let me freshen up, then we can go. We have to relocate as soon as possible, right? We can test the new essence later when it's safer, probably back in Shanghai.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Jun felt more paternal at this moment than he had his entire life, finding himself drunk on the euphoria. He touched a hand to his chin, wondering how else he could dote on the girl, flushed with immeasurable affection. What else could they do?

"Maybe there's a herd of Void-deer somewhere too? You never know!"

Her uncle's insensible gesticulation had not escaped his niece’s notice, who bit her lips secretly before fleeing for the ensuite.

Watching her go, Jun felt a novel satisfaction.

Happiness? He wasn’t one for sentimentality, but if this ain't it- then no other satisfaction would suffice.

“Ryxi…”

Ayxin pinched the centre of her brow-ridge. In her draconian form, she had a single horn - a little protruding ivory tooth forming a distinct and aesthetic addition to her androgynous appearance. Her eyes, however, had grown glacial with displeasure, the ultramarine of her vivid orbs resplendent against the obsidian slits which formed her iris.

Golos spat a glob of phlegm at their eldest sibling. The viscous gunk splattered on Ryxi’s Emperor-moth silk robes. Their eldest took the insult with measured dignity.

“I don’t know what to say.” Ayxin shook with emotions she didn’t know she still possessed. “The Drought Goddess. You expect us to believe that?”

“It's the truth!” Ryxi had chosen to bypass the stage of haughty denial, arriving straightaway at despairing defeat. Their eldest had presented himself in his Draconian form, a slender male with a feminine silhouette, the equivalent of showing one’s belly. It was degrading, but it drew sympathy from Ayxin.

Ryxi knew he had brought shame upon the lineage by not attacking the intruders, but what did his siblings expect him to do? The last time he had attacked an outsider was two decades ago. The last time he fought Golos, the wyvern had stripped off half his precious scales, after which Ayxin had to intervene. “It was terrifying! They were slaughtering my stock like Merfolk! There was a hideous creature, eating them alive! Alive, Ayxin! Swallowing them whole! The Death Gila, it stabbed the buck in the EYES with its PENIS!”

Golos shifted its impressive bulk.

“It kills with its penis?” Golos demanded. “How big are we talking?”

Ryxi made the dimension with his hands.

“That’s nothing, are we talking, prehensile or what?”

“I think it had a mouth on the end.”

“…” Golo’s reptilian face took on a contemplative air.

“… Lined with teeth!” Ryxi added.

“This thing is an abomination!” Golos declared, snapping his maw, shifting his barbed tail. “We have to kill it!”

“You two idiots!” Ayxin snarled. “Silence!”

“Grrrrgh!” Golos snapped back. He hated it when Ayxin treated him like a wyrmling. They were almost the same age, and he had twin draconic-lineages.

“Hissaaaak!” Ayxin’s face contorted, extending a forked tongue.

“Aaeeeee!” Ryxi bolted for cover.

With a sinuous twist of its densely muscled back, Golos swung its tail across the plateau like a whip, stirring dust, pebble and loose plants unfortunate enough to be caught in its path.

“Jilg Soti!” Ayxin spat from her petal-like lips, invoking the bloodline magic gifted from their mutual father. Though Golos was many times the brawler compared to Ayxin, it was no match when it came to the most prominent of the Yinglong's endowments - the ability to invoke Magical effects via sheer will and dragon-tongue. Few dragon-kin could develop the power of the pureblood, and even fewer could master it. Ayxin was an exception. That was why she was her Father's favourite.

A few inches from her face, Golos’s spiked tail came to a halt.

“You cheat!” Golos gnashed its teeth. “Try fighting me with your body! Your REAL body!”

“We need to apprehend the assailants!” Ayxin’s scales bristled with malice. “Fighting me is only going to delay father’s wishes.”

“Fight me, pissant!”

“Vataka!”

Golos knelt, crashing against the granite and sending up another dust cloud.

“Guuaaarrgh!” Golos opened its muzzle.

“Don’t you dare!” Ayxin glared at her brother coldly.

“Huurrrgh-“ The shriek of thunder and lightning rose to a crescendo.

“Saut coi!”

Before the rumbling blast of superheated plasma could emerge, Ayxin commanded Golos to close its mouth, catching his breath-attack halfway. Golos’ eyes bulged as a surge of thunderous lightning travelled up its sinus and blasted out its nose and ear holes. For all its comical effect, Golos felt as though a small mountain had fallen onto his head.

Hammered by his own breath, he slumped onto the plateau.

“Tut-tut.” Ryxi watched Golos’ suffering with evident glee. “Idiot!”

“Can you find them?” Ayxin turned her wrathful mien against their eldest sibling. “Your answer better be 'YES', else I am feeding you to Golos.”

Ryxi’s retort choked in his mouth.

“Y-yes.” His uncertain answer was full of apprehension.

Why the hell were his siblings so strong? Their youngest, Golos, he could understand. His mother had been the alpha of the southern-range for half a century before the Yinglong took an interest. As for Ayxin, the dragon-kin had shown up one day at the mount, demanding to see Father. Ryxi had then taken Ayxin, who knew only her human form, to see their esteemed patriarch.

It had been at least two centuries since. The mountainous realm of their father remained as immutable as the three peaks themselves. When half a century ago the Humans came to parley, it was Ayxin who had taken care of their affairs, with the humans conceding the entirety of the territory they called Anhui in return for peace and some trade.

At first, a non-aggression treaty was in place, but then idiots like Golos began to wander from the Mount, taking whatever they wanted from the humans below. The humans then raided them back, though their esteemed father had always turned a blind eye. It was impossible to know the patriarch's magnificent mind, and so Ryxi could only guess as to what the Yinglong would want with these poachers. For sure, Father had no interest in punishing the humans for stealing deer. As for Angkar, Ryxi couldn't even recall who the pangolin was supposed to be. He was just an essence-spawn, one of the numberless thousands.

“Doton Szcy!”

Ryxi activated the bloodline magic of the White Serpents, a form of greater Clairvoyance tied to the mist that permanently surrounded the land.

“I asked the Mists to distinguish their passing,” the Draconic-sprite explained. “They have no scent, that’s why you couldn’t find them, their equipment makes them almost invisible.”

A large pool of water appeared in front of the two humanoid dragon-kin. The two of them leaned in closer, jostling for space against the unconscious Golos. Dragon-form was great and all, but there was only so much space on top of the peaks - if they all took their natural forms, at least one of them would have to hover by the edge awkwardly.

“Nothing!” Ayxin hissed. "There's no one there!"

The scrying pool showed an empty patch of forest.

Ryxi wasn't entirely sure if White Serpents could sweat, though his scales did secrete a slimy substance.

“They may be in a Pocket Dimension. The humans often hide in such spaces.”

“Bah! Keep an eye out.” Ayxin approached the comatose body of her half-sibling wyvern. Golos’ breath was shallow and feeble. Cobalt oozed from every orifice on his face. “You are not to rest or sleep until they are found.”

“I obey, Ayxin.” Ryxi’s prideful draconic heart bled blue blood as he bowed.

“Irisv!” Ayxin touched a finger to Golos’ face.

Healing energy infused Golos’ head.

The restoration continued for half a minute as Golos' torn scales mended, his eyes returned to clarity, and his serpentine neck once again rose into the air.

“What happened?” Golos looked around confusedly.

“You lost consciousness.” Ayxin folded her arms. “Rest, Golos. You’re on standby. As soon as this 'Drought Goddess' makes an appearance, we’re moving to intercept.”

Golos glanced at Ryxi, who mediated with a swirl of mist entering and exiting his nostrils. The memory of their last exchange came flooding back. Golos knew he lost, again. He could always ambush Ayxin, of course, but that would be meaningless, not to mention Father would be very angry indeed.

“Fine.” Golos shook its massive head. He would have to take it out on their prey. “I obey.”

* * *

Gwen emerged into the heavily shaded pine forest, slipping from the grey-space of their Portable Habitats’ Pocket Dimension.

Jun followed shortly, after which Gwen retrieved her Habitat, stowing it within her ring.

“This way.” Jun lead the way with his peerless orienteering.

Their destination was six hours away by foot, including shortcuts undertaken via Flight, Feather Fall and Jump.

“The gorge should have some fascinating fauna as well,” Jun was speaking of the marked map they had received from Anhui’s Rangers. “Draconic Mermen. They say that some may even be Lightning, although those would be the elite warriors.”

More lightning affinity, Gwen couldn’t help but feel her lips curl.

“Do you think Consume has a limit?”

“It must have,” Jun pointed out. “There is balance in all things. Even if it is capable of taking you beyond tier 7, there has to be a cost.”

"I don't feel any different," Gwen assured her uncle, though she was inclined to agree, there had to be a limit.

Once her fevered celebration cooled, she was forced to acknowledge the unnatural state of her affinity.

Jun had informed her earlier that possessing a tier 6 Lightning Element made her the top five percent of all Elemental Casters. Additionally, that she was only seventeen meant she had room to grow as well.

Unilaterally, what she gained was raw power; abstractly, what she gained was future autonomy.

The IIUC selection looked that much brighter, her objectives, both immediate and distant, appeared closer and within reach.

For the prospect of her ultimate freedom, she wept.

For her uncle's paternal generosity, she cried.

In a way, Jun's warning was more superstition than fact, but Gwen trusted her Uncle’s intuition because her Divination Sigil had been buzzing like an alarm clock since the moment they had left for the gorge.

When she made mention of this to her Uncle, they had stopped, hid, then set an ambush. When nothing appeared for almost an hour, they once again began their trek.

“Perhaps something in the gorge?” Gwen queried her Uncle. “We might get swarmed by Mermen, or ambushed.”

“We’ll be cautious,” Jun assured her. “Does your Divination pertain to yourself or our quest?”

“Just me,” Gwen replied. “Mayuree said that our trip was going to be very fortuitous. She’s right so far! Bang on the dot. Gods, I still can't believe it, tier 6!”

“Yes, yes, tier 6.” Jun chuckled. “Alright, let’s keep going. We're just getting started!”

* * *

“They’re headed for the Buxian Gorge.” Ryxi displayed the vision for his half-siblings, refracted from his conjured scrying pool.

“There’s a female.” Golos licked his lips. “She looks delicious.”

“That’s the Drought Goddess,” Ryxi pointed to Jun.

“…” Ayxin wondered if Ryxi had spent so long holed up in the Sky Lake that he had become a carp himself.

“Pretty big for a human female,” Golos grunted. “Looks tough.”

“I’ll take the man.” Ayxin pointed at the vision in the pool, rolling her eyes. “You can’t handle him.”

Golos’ scales bristled.

Ayxin waited until her half-brother finished stroking his machismo, glaring at Golos until he averted his gaze.

“Ryxi, I don’t want them seeing us until we’re close. I am going to separate the girl for Golos. My Misty Realm needs to catch our 'Drought God' by surprise, else they'll teleport away.”

“Then I shall coax the sea of clouds.” Ryxi lowered his head. “There shall be rain and thunder to mask our approach.”

“Good. Golos, take care with the girl. She has to be brought before Father alive. No eating her.”

"Blargh!”

“Do be careful.” Ayxin scrutinised her half-brother, ensuring that his wounds were healed. “No one is going to help you if you become fodder like Angkar. From the sounds of it, she's got a Death Gila as a Familiar. If she's a full-fledged Necromancer, flee.”

* * *

The gorge came into sight.

The sheer drop was best traversed via a free fall from the cliff using Feather Fall, though that would expose the two of them to sharp-eyed spotters wary of churning shrouds and cascading mist.

Gwen and Jun discretely made their way down the mossy crag, avoiding the gruel-like slick and the occasional block of deceptively anchored mud. She slipped once or twice, though Jun always caught her, once by the scruff, another time by the wrist.

They arrived twenty minutes later at a metasequoia bursting from a fissure, forming an umbrella over the scene below. The duo was resting above a Merfolk village, a sizeable one with a hundred huts and what looked like extensive warrens dug into the granite. It was the first time Gwen had seen a Demi-human village. She studied the layout intently, noting with disquiet how much it resembled those rural communities she had seen on her previous travels.

“Map.”

The two stretched their cloaks between them, forming a camouflaged canvas. The Japanese made military equipment astonished her with its versatility.

Jun produced a pair of binoculars.

He jotted down notes on to the map of the gorge, marking down patrols, numbers, and type, explaining the legend.

“Here, you try. It even works with Detect Magic.”

“Carl Zeiss AG 70 - 300mm, made in Germany.” Jun noted his niece’s interest in the make and manufacturing of the ocular device. “It was a gift from your grandfather.”

Gwen adjusted the nose piece, then placed the device over her eyes.

The Merfolk below looked almost human. The males stood just over five-foot, discounting their crest-fin, with a slick dermis which suggested they were likely descended from eels. The females were smaller, with thinner frames and proportionally longer limbs. Despite the familiar silhouette of their bodies, the males had a larger upper torso, while the females had wide birthing hips. As with most Merfolk, their faces were horrendously ugly, with wide lips that looked like open sores, and milky eyes with indistinct pupils. Despite their eel-like nature, their foreheads had scales that resembled markings.

The ones Gwen could spot radiated a strong presence of Water. When Gwen willed the device to zoom in upon an abnormally large hut, however, she caught the distinct glow of Elemental Lightning, its motes of mana sharp and distinct.

“Four or five of them.” Gwen marked their locations on the map.

“Good.” Jun tapped the cartographic chart. “You plan and execute the operation this time. I’ll be back up. The younglings are tier 1 at best, their warriors about 3. The Lightning-Warriors would normally be General-Class, an equivalent of tier 5, but I wouldn’t worry about their chances against you.”

At the sound of his behest, his niece regarded the village with an unreadable expression.

“Can you do it?” Jun wondered what the girl’s hesitation was.

“Yeah.” Gwen met his eyes. Strangely, they looked mortified. Was this the same sorceress who had just cornered and slaughtered all that deer?

He put a hand to her back, feeling the tension in her spine.

The girl flinched, her heart raced.

Jun reminded himself that the girl was seventeen and green, that she hadn't Purged a Village before. She was a survivor, but one warzone did not make a warrior. It took the death of teammates, friends, acquaintances, again and again, to make a man or woman stone-hearted. He had no desire to wish calamity on his niece, but the reality remained she had to acclimatise herself to walking the Path of Violent Conflict.

Mercy to one's enemies was cruelty to oneself.

The secondary objective of their poaching adventure was to whet the girl's edge and hone her killing instinct. Jun hoped the girl recalled his promise that she would walk away from this trip with more than just a Spirit.

“They’re only fish,” he assured the girl, finding her hesitation endearing. “You can’t make a Jiang-bing without breaking a few eggs. No sushi roll without fish-men roe! If we leave them, they’ll grow to be a menace.”

His banter seemed to have run up against a Gwen-shaped wall.

Jun waited while the girl stared into the middle distance, ruminating her options. When she opened her eyes again, they were clarified with renewed purpose and determination.

“I don't want to kill beyond our objective," the girl answered. Gwen looked for a spot that would allow her to slip into the gorge.

“So be it. If that's your choice, then we wait.” Jun halted her progress.

When he and Hai were boys, Guo had taken them to the Wuxi Frontier and made them slaughter Merfolk until their mother threatened Guo that she would take her sons home, with or without him.

For now, he would bear her tender burden and buy her the time she needed to come around. That was the fatherly thing to do, wasn't it?

He pointed a finger toward the darkening clouds.

“Rain is coming,” he elucidated his niece, instructing her to observe the volumetric increase in Elemental Water. “Always remember, people, time, and place, without the congruency of all three, you will always be at a disadvantage. Let the rain obscure everything; then you begin your mission of mercy.”

Gwen nodded.

She observed the Merfolk below, some by themselves, others in twos and threes. Her breath felt heavy, the atmosphere full of moisture. An oppressive emotion she couldn't name made her abdomen quiver with discomfort. Her fingers felt frigid despite the Enchantment embedded in her skin-suit. She glanced at her uncle, who nodded back.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the village life.

Side by side, the hunters waited for the first drop of rain.

* * *

The spawning pool simmered, warmed to perfect brooding temperature by quasi-magical firestones.

Beside it, a sleekly shaped Merfolk, a female, decorated the sides with precious gems. Her name was Glugurp, meaning the 'gleaming of silver streams at midnight'.

Glugurp’s mate, Bhu, was the best warrior in the village.

Bhu had been blessed by the Dragon God of Lotus Peak and could use the endowment of heaven to punish the tribe’s enemies.

His lineage made Bhu very desirable as a mate, and he had since spawned with many females.

But Glugurp knew herself to be special to Bhu; every time Glugurp set up her spawning pool, Bhu would bring her insects, sweet fruits, and even flesh from creatures he had hunted.

Tonight was a special night because the rain would be plentiful and the thunder very loud.

The Water-Priest had said that children hatched during this time would receive the blessing of the Master of the Mount. It meant that maybe, some of her spawn would be like Bhu.

If enough of them survived, it would make Glugurp very influential in the village indeed. She may even become a Sacred Mother.

One day, her children may even invade the village across the gorge, usurp their hunting ground.

When the tribe became large enough, they could even leave the Dragon’s Mountain.

Thinking about this made Glugurp very excited.

It also made Glugurp angry and upset.

Hairless ape-men ruled the outside world. Not the ape-men of the woods, by the Sky Lake, but ape-men wearing exotic skins and wielding terrific powers. The elders had said that these ‘Humans’ were all blessed by their God. They had the means to control fire, water, earth, everything, even the heavenly thunder.

Humans were scary, Glugurp agreed. But they were a future threat. What they endured here and now, was what troubled her mind.

During her last spawning, half of her little ones had to be offered to the Dragons. The village Elder even offered her most beautiful daughter, Gui, whose scales were blessed by the golden sun, to the Thunder Wyvern. The Elder hoped that perhaps, the indescribable beauty of Gui would entice the wyvern to spawn with her, thereby empowering the village.

Glugurp too had thought Golos was going to mate with Gui, plant his seed in her pool, a thing her daughter had meticulously decorated for the Wyvern, lining it with all the precious babbles in the village.

Then the wyvern came, but not to spawn.

The thrice-cursed Golos ate her daughter.

'Chomp!'

Gui screamed just once; then she became two halves.

Glugurp wasn’t sure what she had expected.

Why did the elders say that Wyvern lusted after Gui? There were plenty of others the wyvern could have eaten.

Then came the famine.

Winter was unseasonably cold.

Only a dozen of her children survived.

Then came the fire.

They said a dragon started it.

Or humans.

Or it was an accident.

No one knew the truth.

All she knew, was that she lost more of her precious ones.

Then there were raids.

Some against them, some they orchestrated against the other tribes.

After many summers, Glugurp was left alone.

Her pretty ones had died, all of them.

When she looked at the other females' elvers, her chest grew sore.

But, the village survived.

It was the wet season again.

It was time to spawn again.

Bhu would have to do his best; she hopes his body will keep up. He was no longer a young fish, and there are many females.

Though she alone would be the first.

‘Thunk!’

A strange sound. A fallen cone, perhaps, from one of the dragon-trees, dislodged by the rain.

Glugurp went to investigate.

The gorge resounded with the pitter-patter of rain.

But where were the frogs' songs? What happened to the night-birds trilling from the shelter of their bowers?

The lack of nature sounds frightened her.

Bhu, she told herself. I need to find Bhu, my dragon-hearted love.

“What has happened?”

Her neighbour. A young female, though not as beautiful as Glugurp, came to see if Bhu had arrived. Glugurp does not like the upstart, whose only worth was her youth. Bhu had visited her a few times, though not as many times as Glugurp.

“Nothing, go back to your hut,” Glugurp snapped at the young female.

Glugurp hoped that Bhu wasn’t on his way to see her now, for they may miss each other, then that young one would receive his seed first.

Nonetheless, she was afraid; she had a gut feeling. Glugurp was very good with her gut-feelings. Were she not so fertile, she would have become a Water-Priest.

Glugurp made her way to the Elder’s hut. The largest building in the village.

During the Tribe’s glory days, it held over two thousand warriors.

Now they have only a hundred.

One of the reasons why Bhu was so important.

The Elders knew this; this is why they had asked Bhu to become an Elder as well, even though he lived a mere twenty summers.

The other females were busy preparing their huts, decorating their pools.

A few of the young males gawked at Glugurp.

Glugurp was very attractive.

Glugurp has silvery, shimmering scales, and very supple limbs. Her abdomen was very large for a Merfolk of her size, meaning she was very fecund and could produce many eggs.

Glugurp bared her teeth at them; the young men gurgled shyly.

They would not receive a chance to spawn with Glugurp; not while Bhu was around, they knew this.

Still, they were young warriors, useful in their own way.

She has made it to the large hut.

Where are the guards? Glugurp wondered.

There were usually two burly warriors standing guard. Kar and Vurg. One season, she had spawned with Kar. He is a good eel, but not as good as Bhu.

The ground was soft with mud. Glugurp saw misshapen footsteps leading into the Chief’s hut. The squall was heavier now; the air was growing electric.

Should she enter without announcement?

The Chief would beat her.

Or not.

Not if Bhu has anything to say.

“Glugurp is coming in,” Glugurp said to no one.

The inside of the hut was dark.

Too dark.

Where was the light?

There was usually moss or magic, just enough to see.

‘Clack!’

Pottery shattering. A drinking vessel.

What was that?! Glugurp felt her heart jump.

She walked forward slowly.

“Guards?!”

She raised her voice.

The rain drowned out her voice.

The hut has many rooms.

She proceeds to the guard room.

Many of the warriors had designs on her. This pleased Glugurp. She can persuade them to do things for her, even though they were afraid of Bhu.

“Jukl, Fup, Dui, are you here? Where is Bhu?”

She smelled it before she saw it.

Blood.

Merfolk blood, the colour of bruised cerulean.

Jukl was slumped forward, his head and torso were missing.

Fup was missing his chest and right arm.

Dui's his head was attached, but it looked like something chewed through his lower abdomen, then attempted to decapitate him.

Glugurp felt her blood run colder than usual. She began to secrete a milky ooze all over her skin, a defence mechanism.

She turned around.

Only darkness.

“Guards!” she called out. “GUARDS!”

A flash of lightning.

‘CRASH!’

Then a sound of thunder rolled in.

The rain was falling harder now.

For some strange reason, she felt a sensation like the time Bhu had taken her up onto a cliff, and they dared each other to dive into the depth of the pool far below.

Glugurp quietly exited the guard room.

The second room did not burst open with burly Warriors.

There was ash on the floor. The dark motes stuck to her feet.

Maybe out of morbid curiosity, or perhaps it was the courage given to her by Bhu, Glugurp approached the double-door of the Chief’s meeting room.

She hesitated at the threshold, then pushed.

The door opened.

Glugurp saw.

A huge frog… no - a toad - was trying to swallow Bhu!

No.

NO!

It was swallowing Bhu whole.

That flash of lightning and thunder, was it from Bhu?

Her Chief lay to one side, mangled, his skin was charred, his eye sockets smoked.

Bhu did not do this. Bhu wasn’t that powerful.

Four other warriors like Bhu, one of whom was Bhu’s spawn from another mate, lay here and there, unmoving. One of them even looked awake, though his eyes were wide and vacant.

“BHU!”

Glugurp couldn’t help herself.

“Let go of Bhu!”

She spat a glob of gastric acid at the giant frogman, conjuring a water-missile to attack its face.

She once had the potential to be a Water-Priest. It was known.

The toad’s chest convulsed, there was a sucking sound.

Bhu was gone.

Glugurp stared, disbelieving.

Her dragon-hearted Bhu, just like that?

"Get out of here! Get out! Go!"

"Gwen, that's a female..."

"Uncle..."

"Gwen! Do you know how much that one female can spawn?! Our combat doctrine prioritises the females!"

Glugurp did not understand the voice that called out to her in the dark.

"Void Bolt!"

Human magic!

Glugurp recognised the sound of human magic. It was extremely distinct, the melody of its incantation like nothing that could exist in nature.

A dark shadow consumed her lower limbs.

Glugurp lost her balance and fell to the floor.

The pain came. Her legs were gone!

“Wuaah, whuaaah!” Glugurp flailed. “It hurts… ah... ah… Bhu…”

What was happening? Why was this happening?

The monstrous toad plucked another dragon-blessed warrior from the floor.

WHY! Glugurp felt the warmth drain from her lower body. Why this cruelty? What had they done to deserve this? The Dragon Gods! Why weren’t they there to defend Glugurp? Protect their people? They had sacrificed so much, lost so many of their children just to appease the powers that be!

Her spawning pool glistened.

It was supposed to be filled with eggs by tonight.

“GUUAARRGK! DAMN YOU!” Glugurp cried out, only to have her cry drowned out by thunder. Her pretty Gui. All her pretty ones, gone. Gone forever. The Gods were cruel, and they don’t care. “WHERE ARE YOU?! GOLOS!”

‘CRRAK-CRASH!’

A blast of thunder erupted overhead.

The hut’s roof splintered, flying every which way, scattering all over.

The sound was so loud, its eruption so intense, that Glugurp was sure she might never hear ever again.

Not that it mattered now, she was dying.

The rain cascaded into the room, splattering over the bloody floor, over the stunned warriors, over two vaguely humanoid silhouettes, over the tenebrous form of the toad, over Glugurp's body.

Glugurp’s eyelids enfolded her orbs, wiping away the blurry vision.

There was a flash of Lightning; then a human silhouette abruptly disappeared.

"UNCLE?!"

Next came a thunderous bell-beat of wings.

Glugurp could barely keep herself conscious. The rain was freezing. Had it always been so cold? Wasn't it summer? It was spawning season, she was sure.

A familiar shape landed atop Glugurp.

A cruel face Glugurp would never forget, not even as her world grew too dark to see.

Golos.

He was here.

He was here to avenge Bhu, to avenge all her pretty ones, doomed to be never born. A petty master who came to avenge the theft of his livestock.

The gorge was lovely, dark and deep; it was only now that Glugurp could sleep.

The Gods listened, after all.

Ayxin, Golos, and Ryxi watched as the interlopers made their descent into the gorge.

“We should take them now,” Golos snapped impatiently, his voice low and vulgar.

“Silence,” Ayxin sibilated. “We shall observe their abilities and cantrips.”

Golos grumbled, emitting a thrum of louring thunder.

“This is your territory, isn’t it?” their eldest declared mockingly. “Your people look like they’re in a shocking state. They look half-starved.”

“Yes, you have taken far too little care of this place.” Ayxin furrowed her brow ridges attractively. Her own territory was flush with Merfolk who had built up entire theologies surrounding the Dragon of the Mount. “Father will hear of this.”

Were it not for the fact that they were about to ambush two intruders, Golos would have taken a chunk out of Ryxi. Tattletale Snake! The wyvern visibly fumed, sending up two streams of blue smoke from his nostrils.

“Hee hee.” Ryxi knew he would pay for it, but not before Father berated Golos. The White Serpent remembered fondly the time Golos was so intimidated by their father’s Dragon Fear, that he took a dump right there in the middle of the White-Jade Hall! Oh, that was the day! The putrid stench was worth it. Golos had been nest-ridden for a month afterwards, denied all healing as his body mended bone by bone.

The two humans, one male and the other female, stopped to study the village.

As their quarry waited patiently, so did they.

“Ryxi,” Ayxin urged their eldest. “Hurry it up.”

“Subtlety takes time,” Ryxi replied with a sibilant whisper, his voice barely audible. “It’s almost here.”

Possessing both the blood of the White Serpent and the Yinglong, their eldest could persuade the rain, fog and snow to fall where and whenever he wished within their father’s territory. The cost of moving elemental Air and Water from their natural formation was no simple feat. It took incredible volumes of mana and unimaginable concentration to coax even a single cloud to move against the course of nature. As Ryxi was a horrendously incompetent combatant, he chose to contribute to the obfuscation of their enemy.

The rain began.

First with the gentleness of soft archery, then growing with strength until Dragon Pines bent from the sudden inundation.

A flash of lightning rolled across the sky.

“I feel strong.” Golos cracked the many ligaments in his neck. “This is good.”

‘CRACK!’

The fulmination of thunder soon followed a low rumble which matched Golos’ chuckling.

The Dragon-kins watched as their quarry skulked into the village.

“Sneaky rats,” Golos puffed with growing agitation. The village looked vaguely familiar. He recalled feeding here. The eels here were not as fat as the ones in Ryxi's territory. “I will make them pay.”

* * *

“Caliban, do it now-“

Under cover of rain and thunder, uncle and niece moved from shadow to darkness without fear of detection. Ariel streaked from hut to hut, cover to cover with impunity, while Caliban stalked in its Spider form. Until they engaged in combat, both of her Familiars were invisible to the naked eye, courtesy of her new Illusion talent.

As the rain fell, an air of celebration seemed to take over the village.

The males, slick with milky gloop, seemed to take on a new vigour. When Jun had said it was spawning season, Gwen hadn’t imagined that they would be stalking past spawning pools swimming with transparent egg-sacks.

Some of the eggs were enveloped in creamy gunk.

Gwen shuddered.

The two skirted around the village until they reached a point where it was easier to switch to Flight, thanks to the heavy rain, they could move unseen and undetected into the central compound.

Caliban and Ariel soon followed, skittering and creeping into place.

Two guards stood in front of the Chieftain’s hut, ugly humanoids, with wet neck-slits for breathing gills and fat lips that rolled in and out as the eel-folk breathed, savouring the moisture in the air.

A low rumble began to build.

Gwen waited.

‘CRACK!’

“-d Bolt!”

“-en Lance!”

Two headless bodies struck the floor, one head turned to ash.

The meagre magical resistance of Merfolk warriors was no match for the duo’s notoriously corrosive elements.

Caliban, perched atop the hut, pulled up both carcasses with its fore-claws before packing away its humanoid cargo wholesale.

“Alright Uncle, like we discussed.”

Jun nodded.

The two entered the Chief’s abode. Despite the smaller height of the eel-like Merfolk, it was impressively large and served a dual purpose, likely as a place of ceremony.

“Three guards on the right, one on the left. Uncle, can you take the lone one?”

Jun made an 'okay' with his fingers.

The two pushed inward.

Gwen waited at the door, a stick-straw-barrier that would prove no obstacle. The guards appeared to have been drinking. There was a sick smell of alcohol in the room. From the festive atmosphere outside, she guessed that they were likely having some sort of gala to celebrate the breeding season.

Another thunderbolt began to swell.

On her right, Jun emerged. He was done.

She turned her attention back to her quarry.

‘CRACK-!’

Caliban pried the door open, surprising the guards inside.

Gwen let loose the incantation she’d been nursing.

“Void Orb!”

Her elementally-shifted Ball Lightning sought out their targets unerringly.

‘Thunk!’

‘Puwark!’

‘Shump!’

One guard lost his face.

The next took a hit in the right shoulder, with the spell expanding to consume his chest and arm. The final guard took it in the abdomen. He looked up at Gwen and opened his mouth to scream.

‘Schwark!’

Caliban sunk his fore-claw into the wood behind the Merfolk’s neck.

“GUueeeark…”

The head fell, tethered by a flap of slimy skin.

Gwen suppressed the acrid taste touching the cavern of her mouth. She stalked from the room, her nostrils distending from the scent of gore, half-digested fish, and failing organs. Before Caliban could consume the corpses, a stirring commotion came from inside the hut’s main chamber.

“Rbmrgr mrmrll grrbmrgrmrgllbaba?”

“Ml mrllmrmgrlrl glrllrlrbrmrgllbaba!”

The smell! Gwen cursed herself. The stink of these creatures’ carcasses was immense and impossible to hide! Unlike her uncle, her spells did not entirely consume the bodies of her enemies.

“Ariel! Like last time!”

“EEEee!”

“Cali! Onslaught the Chieftain.”

“Shaaaaa!”

The double ‘thatch’ doors opened.

Ariel shot into the room, between the Merfolk's legs.

The surprised warrior was one of their desired quarry, one that possessed a strong presence of Lightning. Inside, Gwen could detect her remaining Affinity-boosters scrambling to act.

‘BANG!’

Ariel escaped right before the Flashbang payload filled the room with light and sound, exactly as though a rolling coil of lightning and thunder had erupted, mixing well with the sound of the pelting rain outside.

Gwen allowed her mana to flow freely.

“EEeee!”

Ariel grew into its mongoose form. It re-entered the room, a living streak of lightning. The mongoose barrelled into a large Merfolk shaking his head vigorously, ripping out a chunk of his throat.

“SHA! SCREEEEEEEE!!!”

Caliban burst into the room, knocking the first ell-man onto his back.

“RBLLR MRRRLRRR! Grmlllgrmrgllbaba!!!”

The Chief was the first to act. It let loose a syllable of warnings before Caliban erupted into a full-fledged Onslaught fed by the collective death of three dozen draconic-deer and a Stag. The Eel-priest managed half a spell, raising a wall that barely covered its waist, before Caliban hacked off its limbs, stabbed two rending pincers into its chest, then shot a tentacle into its gaping mouth.

“Ashen Chains!”

A lightning-bolt wreathed in dark fire and sooty ash appeared for a split-second, making a sizzling sound akin to fat pressed against a red-hot griddle.

Jun’s Ash-shifted Chain Lightning scored its first target, then leapt quickly to a second, third, fourth and fifth. The Merfolk warriors slump to the floor placidly, drained of will and fortitude.

IFF without a Spirit!?

Gwen wondered how her uncle managed such a thing.

Was it because of his absurdly high affinity?

“Caliban!”

Her Familiar threw the rag-doll body of the dying Chieftain away from itself, splashing its audience with a slick spray of slimy offal. It then turned to the first Merfolk, effortlessly assuming its toad-form; unlike the spindly spider-shape, the bipedal Gila allowed for expedient applications of Consume.

“Looks like everything's under control.” Jun scanned the room. “They should be stunned for at least five minutes, better hurry though. They’ll be spent before long.”

Gwen followed her uncle’s advice.

She ignored the fish-stink assaulting her nostrils, fortifying her mind for the butchery to come.

These Demi-humans were the enemy of the Human Race; she reminded herself. She wondered if this world endured the Vietnam War, whether governments told their soldiers that the farmers there were the Enemy of the Free World.

It’s a Fish-eat-Man-eat-Fish world out here.

Like her uncle said, you can't make sushi-roll without Mermen roe.

The law of the jungle spared no man.

She shouldn't dwell.

The downpour continued unabated, filling the room with the dull thud of pellets pelting the thatched roof, killing the clamour caused by their atrocity.

“That one first-” Gwen directed her Familiar to the biggest of the bunch.

With a smooth strike from its left, Caliban skewered the humanoid-eel like an unagi-slab at an Izakaya restaurant. It then distended its mouth, enclosing the victim’s upper body-

‘Creak…’

The double door opened.

A womanly Eel-folk stood at the threshold, its milky eyes wide with horror.

A female? Gwen's stomach lurched sideways.

The Merfolk pointed to the male struck halfway in Caliban's gullet.

“BHUERRH?!”

“GHMMMRRL LR BHERRH!”

"Get out of here! Get out! Go!" Gwen hissed at the wretched thing. She had promised herself there would be a limit. This matronly aberration was that limit. They would be done soon; they could afford to let one go, surely?.

"Gwen, that's a female, AND it'll give us away." Her uncle appeared to have a different idea.

"Uncle... she's... pregnant."

"Gwen! Do you know how much that one female can spawn?! Our combat doctrine prioritises the females!"

Her uncle waited for Gwen to act.

When she did not, he raised his hand to strike the Merfolk.

Gwen caught her uncle's arm.

Jun's unconscious attempt at cleaning up her mess came so naturally that it made her heart sore. Unbidden, a spell uttered from her lips, accompanied by a dreaded sense of guilt far more compelling than her initial remorse.

“Void Bolt!”

Her attack shaved off the female’s lower body.

Surprised but satisfied, Jun gave her shoulder a reaffirming squeeze.

The horror Gwen had anticipated turned irrationally to an immense feeling of relief. A muffled cry of inner turmoil chided her hypocrisy.

But now was not the time for a performance reevaluation.

Gwen crushed down whatever feeling was rising in her chest and urged Caliban to hurry. If she was foolish enough to abandon her objective after all that, then the wretched female would have truly died for no reason.

“Wuaah, whuaaah…” The damned thing flailed. It was crying! Milky tears were flowing from its eyes! Her hand reached out again.

“Burl… ahrr…Bherrh…”

She attempted to finish it, but her invocation choked as it escaped her lips.

“GUUAARRGK! GBBBLRH! HURR!” the female let loose one last cry, her voice drowned out by the coming of rolling thunder. Gwen was glad for it. The thunder should mask the hateful thing’s voice, after which there would be blessed silence.

“WWARRRRBL ARRH HURRR?! GOORRRLOOOOTH!”

‘CRASH!’

The thankful thunder came.

Gwen turned away from the sorry sight of the pitiful thing, her conscience numb with self-loathing. She would have to take up her issues with the woman in the mirror at a later appointment.

“!”

A jolt of Divination struck her spine.

“UNCLE!” Gwen cried out, her voice drowned by the rolling rumble now filling both of their ears.

"ROAR!"

That's no thunder! Gwen's mind barely had time to register the shock before they were struck. In a mocking parallel of how they had stunned their enemies, now something stunned them in turn, rendering uncle and niece incapacitated and disorientated.

It was only a split-second.

But it was enough.

The roof splintered.

Rain poured in.

An enormous draconic shape began to descend, its advance far quicker than Gwen could believe possible for a thing of its size.

A puff of mist and vapour appeared beside them. Jun was about to recover, his hands already in the motions of invoking a spell. There was a burst of colourless mana mixed with Air; then her uncle was gone.

The Thunder Wyvern landed in front of Gwen. She could smell its stinking breath.

“Imputak munthrek nak!” the Thunder Wyvern spat at her. "Hur-hur-hur!"

Desperately, Gwen circulated a violent jolt of her Almudj's essence through her body, defeating her deafened and stunned state. Her mind was running ten-thousand paces a minute trying to catch up to reality. Where was Uncle Jun? Where did he go? Was it an attack that took him?

“Where is he?” Gwen spat back at the Wyvern; her chest felt tight, her face flushed with blood, a strange heat was quickly consuming her rationality. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Shaaa… Shaaa…” Caliban swallowed its victim. It snarled at the Wyvern and bared its teeth-lined maw. Two tentacles, one red and the other bright-blue, distended from the recess of its bottomless gullet.

“Eee! Gowrrr…” Ariel likewise flattened itself in its combative mongoose form, having dispatched its victim.

The wyvern taunted them.

“Fogah shafaer ir! Si hefoc wer odat!”

Gwen’s vivid irises grew bright with encircling lightning. There was a terrible sensation in her bosom, an unspeakable emotion that harkened back to when she saw Sobel standing over her Master at Rosebay and when her friends disappeared along with the Grot.

When Gwen next spoke, she too possessed the baritone of rumbling thunder.

“You will give Uncle Jun back, or I will fuck you up from the inside out, you oversized flying maggot!”

“Fiesk! Origato ui|ulph ocuir sjek wux retalk huena si spred dout hoinpic! Huhuhu, si inglata wux geou ergriff scivarn!” The Wyvern had a lascivious look in his eye that would have usually made her nauseous, but Gwen was beyond such sensitivity.

Gwen felt her mind glowering with white rage. Everything had happened so fast; her comprehension couldn’t keep up with the chemicals bombarding her amygdala. All she knew was that she wanted to kill the fucking thing in front of her, really badly.

"Sho ve svabol wux tepoha itrewica!"

“YEAH, WELL FUCK YOU TOO! Elemental Sphere!”

The wyvern tensed.

An unruly smirk took to Gwen's lips.

Her spell emanated not from herself, but from Ariel's horns.

The Lightning Sphere caught the wyvern entirely off guard, it stuck his flank, crawled up its scales, then exploded into a blast of cobalt-energy more potent than anything she had ever manifested in her entire life as a Mage. The power and efficacy of tier 6 affinity! The second eruption was palpable enough that the Wyvern's body shifted half-a-meter in the mud.

She could do this!

And she was far from done.

“Void Bolt!”

“Lightning Sphere!”

“Warding Bolt!”

“Void Bolt!”

“Conjure Storm!”

"Void Bolt!"

"Blast Bolt!"

Before the wyvern could recover, she let loose as many incantations as her rage-induced mind could weather before a temporary spell-fatigue set in. By the last spell, her mana reserve dropped to three-quarters, her vitality to a lesser extent.

“Shochraos Shud!!” A sheet of blue-white lightning emanated from within the Wyvern itself, shrugging off her assault with its absurd constitution.

Her hopes for a quick kill faded as her spells 'slid' from its neck and torso. Her Lightning ripped through the wyvern’s scales but failed to penetrate its tissues and sinews as it had done so for her usual monstrous enemies. The Void-matter was likewise limited. Though it consumed some of the Wyvern's keratin, her opponent's leathery hide was warded by an unseen, supernatural force, either the wyvern’s draconic vitality or his inherent affinity for Lightning, or both.

Gwen’s heart fell.

Now that she had gotten her immediate feelings out of the way, she began to realise the size of the shit-show within which she'd starred herself.

“Durrhop riika!” The wyvern seemed to grow larger the angrier it became, suddenly, it launched itself forward.

“SHIELD!”

“SCREEEEEE!”

“Gaurrrowl!”

Both Ariel and Caliban propelled themselves into melee attacks, Ariel latched onto the Wyvern’s flank and dug into its back with tooth and nail.

Caliban meanwhile, dropped back into its spider form, Hasted, then leapt into the air.

‘THUNK!’

It was met by a lashing tail which instantly crushed two of its forelimbs, slamming into its thorax. With another sickening crunch, the void-spider was sent tumbling into the mud and the darkness. Some distance away, it connected with a hut, crushed the thatch-wall, then spiralled into the interior.

The wyvern entirely ignored Ariel’s assault and pushed forward into Gwen’s Shield.

“FEEBLE!” it roared in a human-tongue as it brought its massive jaws to bear. Looking up and seeing the splattering rain against her opaque Shield, Gwen flashed back to the original Jurassic Park. Never in her life did she imagine that the T-Rex scene would be played out for her so intimately.

There was a moment of uncertainty as a toothy maw connected with the Non-Newtonian Shield. Both attacker and defender were caught off-guard, Gwen hadn't expected the Wyvern capable of actually biting a semi-dome Shield, while the creature had not expected a Mage’s fragile mana barrier to be so impervious.

The wyvern's head twisted awkwardly as its teeth failed to penetrate her Shield, a miscalculation which brought forward the awkward momentum of its body, made unstoppable by the might of two draconic bloodlines.

With a grace that seemed improbable for a creature of its size, the wyvern brought its rear to bear, twisting and turning until its wing-tips dug into the muddy earth, allowing him to stomp the Shield with both hind legs.

'SKREEEEeee~!'

‘CRACK!’

The thunderous noise that followed was not issued from the cloud-strewn heaven; it came from a semi-trailer-impact, from claws the size of Gwen’s arms raking against her double-Shield.

Her Shield broke.

There was too much force, much too quickly; well exceeding what her N-N Shield could maintain at her current tier of Abjuration. Without more complex barrier-patterns such as those employed by Whetu, her Shield was only so strong against an overwhelming force.

A Shield-Break.

She hadn’t experienced such a thing since Wanka had struck a claw through her semi-dome in Australia.

Its remaining momentum sent the wyvern sledging into the mud and dark, though not before its lashing tail, its most deadly apparatus of bodily harm, struck her across the chest.

All the air was pressed from Gwen's lungs at once.

Her vision faded to black.

Gwen was vaguely aware that she was flying backwards. She observed a sudden shift in her bodily fluids as sudden G-force accelerated her from zero.

Smothering rain splattered her face as a portion of her cloak disintegrated against the abrasive caress of the barbed tail, her American made armour thankfully taking the brunt of the appendage’s scaly hooks and nooks.

This was the first time, Gwen realised.

It was the first time a Monster had broken her Shield.

How could she-

Her fleeting, floating moment of zen was interrupted by the ground kissing her shoulder. She rolled in the soft mud; a doll sent sprawling across the earth, skidding and sliding until she found herself face down in a pool of filth.

Gwen tried to cough, but her chest was aflame.

All she could hear was the sound of Ariel's snarling.

That and the thudding rain.

"AH~!" she groaned.

Not because her body was broken, but because Caliban delivered its payload.

* * *

“Ashen Spear!”

Ayxin battered away the eldritch force with one hand, forming a protective barrier that prevented the necrotic energy from touching her body. It was a nuanced and modified version of the Abjurers' crude Shield Magic.

“You cannot defeat me.” Ayxin flared her nostrils, her ivory horn glowing with unidentifiable magic. “This is my realm. I control the space here.”

Her hand felt numb. Not all of the Ashen mana had been parried.

So that was the power of the Drought Goddess which made Ryxi so flustered. Ayxin flexed her fingers, flushing it with healing energy to purge the Ash. Their eldest was right to avoid the human Mage; if their eldest fell under the blight's influence, he would be a sitting snake awaiting slaughter.

Ayxin readied herself for another attack.

The human Mage had appeared flustered when she first forcibly pulled him into her pocket dimension, yet very quickly, he grew calm and collected.

Strangely, he didn’t attack her immediately.

But just as she was about to speak, he did.

“What do you want? Ayxin?” the man asked.

Ayxin felt a sudden unease in her chest. How did the man know her name?

“The name’s Jun, Jun Song. I am also known as the Ash Bringer.”

Ash Bringer?

The name brought no recollections to Ayxin’s mind.

Was it a nickname or a title? During Ayxin's time, all of the Daoshi and Kenshi had officious titles.

“I am a member of the CCP; I hold the rank of Captain in the PLA. I am currently serving as a member of the Internal Security Bureau, holding the position of Inspect-Secretary.”

Ayxin had spoken to representatives of the CCP before, they were the ones who had succeeded the Dynastic rule of the Clans. It had been almost five decades since. Did the CCP even exist still? Were they still farmers?

The man furrowed his brows.

“I see. Let's get on with business then. Where is my niece?”

“She is being entertained by my brother, Golos." Ayxin was relieved that the conversation returned to a familiar setting. “Do not fret. He has been instructed to leave her alive.”

She raised both hands to show her peaceful intentions.

"Skryig jillepse!"

The mist cleared, they were now hovering above the village.

Below, Golos, mongoose, spider-demon and niece engaged in a grand melee of Void and Lightning, tooth and nail.

“She is performing admirably, but Golos will have her soon,” Ayxin observed the man. “Do you yield peacefully and place yourselves under our guard?”

“And be at your mercy? I don’t think so,” ‘Jun’ replied sardonically. “I suggest you let me out of here. I’ll take my niece, and we’ll peacefully retreat from your territory. You may lodge an official complaint with the local garrison.”

“Absurd!” Ayxin snapped. “Do you think you can waltz into our territory?!”

“You certainly take your liberty with our lands and people,” Jun snapped back at the dragon-woman. "Look, how-"

The sound of a Shield shattering interrupted her opponent's speech.

They observed Golos crushing the girl’s Shield, then she was sent flying.

“It’s over,” Ayxin sneered at the man’s arrogance, she would break his will yet. “Do you yield? If you refuse, Golos will make that girl wish she were never alive. You know the depraved appetite of the dragon-kind, do you not? Your niece, she appears to be a fertile female, no?"

The human warrior grimly watched as his niece skidded across the sodden ground like a rag-doll. The girl landed shoulder first, then sledged onward for several meters before coming to rest in the mud.

Ayxin studied Jun's expression carefully, watching his jaws set, his eyes growing bloodier by the second.

A smile touched Ayxin’s lips, flushed raw by the violence.

Now was the time to push the descendent of the Drought Goddess over the edge.

"Vataka!"

With a will and a word, Ayxin brought the power of her blood to bear.

Dragon fear radiated from Ayxin’s body, filling the limited space of her pocket dimension like a miasma, thick as molasses. If Golos had been here, he would have dropped on all four knees and whimpered.

The human Mage tensed, his face grew white as ash.

Good, Ayxin felt vindicated by the outcome.

Now they could negotiate.

One should always negotiate from a position of power.

“Avatar of Ash!”

A prickle of instinctual panic struck the Dragon-kin, bone-deep and likewise born from the blood. It was the dread of desolation, the fear of destruction, an anxiety shared by all living beings.

Her opponent stood, no longer as a man, but as a humanoid fount of death.

No, not death, Ayxin realised. The sooty fire smothering the man's physical form was something worse than death itself. Tenebrous flashes of netherworld-fire the likes of which Ayxin had never seen licked at the edge of her vision.

This magic...

Her unassuming opponent had become the embodiment of eradication and extinction. In front of the terrifying visage of absolute annihilation, all beings and things material could be made immaterial.

“A year from now,” Jun’s voice came across with searing intensity, sending shivers up her spine. “The Yinglong will mark the passing of his children.”

“Insolence!” Ayxin simultaneously activated the latent powers of her draconic bloodline just as Jun delivered his threat; instantly, her dragon soul repressed any feeling of dread and panic.

A single stag-horn sprouted from Ayxin’s ivory stump, crackling with incandescent motes of sizzling lightning. Her pearlescent scales took on a delicate shade of ultramarine as her irises became iridescent and cruel. Her garb, which had been complexly stitched sheets of Emperor-Moth silk woven by Ryxi, immolated as she abandoned her orthodoxical draconian form, sprouting feathered wings of scintillating jade shimmering with metallic citrine.

Incredibly, to Ayxin's disbelief, her opponent proved the faster combatant. A ripple of stark-grey mana erupted from where Jun stood in a concentric ring, flaying every inch of Ayxin’s pocket-dimension with the destructive embrace of ashen obliteration.

Her mind was suddenly aflame, as though her brain had ballooned to twice its size and were now rebelling against her skull. She fought the agony, her draconic-constitution suppressing the pain.

The man was trying to escape!

She again called upon the bloodline of her progenitor, invoker of thunder and lightning, Lord under the blue heaven, he who answered the first Divine-Emperor.

“Kepesk!”

Incandescent sheets of Lightning ionised from every direction, converging onto the human warrior. If caught, Jun would become the epicentre of a hundred lightning bolts, each capable of reducing a man to cinders. No matter how powerful the man’s Shield was, no matter how well he weathered the elements, Ayxin was confident her opponent would be lashed and whipped until an inch of his life.

“!”

The Ash Mage disappeared!

But he hadn't made an incantation!

Ayxin spun her head, flaring her wings out with the violence of a gale. She was sure that Jun would try to close in on her, exploiting the one glaring weakness of her Misty Realm - the invoker herself.

The irony, of course, was that unlike the originators of her magic, she wasn’t a human Mage. Her physical abilities, gifted via her father’s lineage, made her capable of crushing a man’s skull with one hand. Besides, she was near-imperious to most magic. As far as Ayxin was concerned, her talent had no weakness! Only a higher order existence could suppress her control over the pocket dimension, space she could command to shrink and expand, enveloping her enemies or ejecting them.

Her wings caught something.

Her strike struck true.

Ayxin's lips curled cruelly.

The Ash Mage, for all his bluster, was only human.

Then her smile faded.

“Enervation!”

The ash-smothered Mage wasn't sent flying. He instead held onto her wings, one in each hand. Instead of being buffeted by the force of her blow and falling to his knees, he had caught her. There was a sound of creaking sinew; the Mage had his right hand crushing the metacarpus of her right wing, while his left had snuck between her shoulder-blades and was now placed behind her back, against her heart!

Was it the Transformation?! Did his spell strengthen its user? Or was the man this strong to begin with. Father above! He could rival Golos when the wyvern took on his brutish, humanoid form.

“!”

But Ayxin did not need words nor gestures to control her Magic. Dragon-Sages had no such drawback. With her eyes, she directed the sheet of lighting toward her assailant.

She heard a snap.

“AAARRRRRGH!”

The pain was unreal because Ayxin had never sustained an injury like this. She who had been raised by a silken cord felt equal parts agony and disbelief. The sensation was fresh and hot and so new that for a second Ayxin wondered if it was possible to escape the torture by blacking out. Her Lightning Field converged, licking the Ash Mage, tearing out chunks of his cloak and armour, gouging his body with white-hot claws of plasma.

Her whole body suddenly grew rigid.

Necrotic mana poured into her wound, into her back.

With a grunt of supreme effort, Ayxin activated her draconic blood yet again, driving back the negative energy, expelling it from the divine sanctuary of her body.

No! She forced her mind to focus, isolating the pain. This bastard! She would show him the power of the Yinglong’s daughter! An Avatar of Ash? She too could play that game! How would the Mage’s human body fare against the living embodiment of lightning itself?

She would abandon her human form entirely, a prospect she did not cherish, but there was no helping it now.

Her will focused, the lighting converged.

Dragon-kin and Ash Mage, the two became wreathed in lightning, glowing white-hot with explosive discharges of erratic electricity.

Another bout of ash-tainted mana invaded her body, disrupting her concentration.

Ayxin felt the man's mocking breath inches from her neck.

She desired to turn her head and snap at the man’s face, though rationality dictated she would lose a mouth full of teeth as opposed to the man losing the tip of his nose.

Another explosion of plasma licked the two as they danced the waltz of death. Ayxin herself felt the hot lick of electricity ripping at her scales, dancing upon her and Jun's exterior before grounding themselves like hysterical eels.

How was the man still alive?! Ayxin felt herself growing weaker, her vital reserves draining. The man’s mana was becoming more and more invasive, more forceful, pushing its way into her body, his fingers dug into her broken wing, scattering multi-coloured feathers that turned to ash the moment they left her body.

His grip grew stronger.

“Impossible!” Ayxin felt her legs falter. The man pressed in on her. How could it be that her, a dragon-kin, could be overpowered by a human Mage?!

“Cease your Lightning,” a voice rang out beside her ear-hole. Had Ayxin been human, she would have visibly flinched. “I can’t stop the Enervation if you don’t stop your lightning. At this point, you're just killing yourself.”

It suddenly struck Ayxin why the man wasn’t taking damage.

The spell! The spell the man used - it was Necromancy!

He wasn’t trying to invade her body with ashen mana, he was feeding his spell with her life-force, with her vitality!

Suddenly, a boot struck the small of her back.

Ayxin fell forwards, stumbling and slipping, landing on her hands and knees. Her broken wing sent up another bout of searing pain, making her curl into a ball instinctively as she broke her fall with a roll, just as the man’s niece had been sent skittering into the mud by Golos.

Ayxin found her balance. She stood, propping herself upward.

“You want to die, be my guest,” the Human stoically stated as lightning continued to bath his ashen-form. “Three seconds and I will resume my assault.”

"One..."

Why had he let her go?

Were they not in an embrace of death, seeking mutual destruction?

Ayxin looked down and found her answer.

The girl stood up from the mud, clothes torn and armour in shreds.

"Two..."

Unharmed! She was unharmed? Who was this duo? When had human Mages become so capable at physical combat?!

"Thr-"

Ayxin willed away the sudden deluge of lightning.

She felt her draconic constitution already working to repair her twisted wing, restoring tissue and bone. She placed a hand awkwardly to where it bent.

The bone mended, the feathers regrew, the tissues reconnected.

“No wonder,” the Ash Mage chuckled. “A Demi-human incapable of channelling positive energy would have lost their will by now. Look, I'll go meet your Master if the Lord of the Mountain insists, but..”

“But what?” Ayxin’s words emitted grudgingly. Dragons respected the strong. This man was strong. Ayxin couldn’t deny that.

“Well, I was going to say you had to let my niece go, but now we wait-”

The dark fire withdrew into the Ash Mage's body, though Ayxin was confident it could flare up at any time.

“Wait?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “For what?”

The barbaric male tapped his feet, indicating to the scene below them.

“We wait for my niece.” The Ash Mage folded his arms.

A cruel smirk touched his lips.

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

The mixture of slow building agony and orgiastic rapture was exquisite; a serendipitous convergence dulling all sensation.

Gwen took advantage of her pumping adrenaline and circulated Almudj’s mana throughout her battered body, mending her beaten flesh and bruised ligaments. There was damage there, she could feel it, but at least there was no pain, and her system wasn't in shock.

She spat out the awful taste of fish and mud in her mouth.

A dozen meters from where she crawled on all fours, the Wyvern was trying to snap at Ariel. The mongoose proved too fast for the serpentine creature, but it couldn’t penetrate the damned thing’s armoured scales.

Her Opti-Cloak was in tatters; it was never built to withstand the level of abrasion delivered by the barbed tail of a Thunder Wyvern. Her sneak-suit was torn from the collar down to her left breast, though it was holding together by virtue of cross-sectional straps and slings.

Quickly, she tied the tattered cloak over the left side of her body.

Unlike the wyvern, she would find fighting semi-disrobed infinitely distracting.

Her opponent's form was barely distinct in the downpour.

The rain was hiding all the potential damage her spells might have caused, giving Gwen imperfect knowledge as to how to proceed.

"Uncle Jun?!" her voice reflexively called out.

Nothing.

No answer but the rain and the low rumbling of swelling thunder overhead.

The rainwater stung her eyes, ran into the torn collar of her suit; making it clammy and uncomfortable.

Uncle Jun HAD to be alright.

She had to believe that.

He was the Hero of the Northern Front, right?

He was the fucking ASH BRINGER.

NO WAY he would fall, just like that.

With the fire in her head put out by the wyvern and doused by the rain, she discerned there was no way someone like Uncle Jun could be ‘taken out’ so easily. If the Dragon-kin had such means, they would have unconditionally ruled this region, usurping the verdant paradise that was Suzhou and Hangzhou with impunity.

If so, there was only one thing left to do.

She had to mangle this wyvern, then force its owner to confront her.

Mayhaps she could even hold it hostage.

Once Jun was back, he would know what to do.

Her lips formed a grim, thin line.

“Caliban!”

Caliban leapt from the rubble, revitalised by Gwen's and its internal stores.

“MAGGOT WITH WINGS!” Gwen howled, utilising the projected voice of her Illusion talent to penetrate the rain. “COME ON! I’ll MAKE A VEST OUT OF YOU YET!”

Her cat-calling caught the wyvern’s attention.

“Si siofmea wux loreata!” it snarled. “Nomeno ui gethrisjir ekess qe diwhaf!”

Gwen knew she couldn’t tank the bloody thing. It was big, and it was fast, not to mention too strong for her Shield. She would have to kite it around the village, wear it down. If one Void Bolt wasn’t enough, how about twenty? How about a hundred? So long as she could keep her vitals up, she was confident she could mill it down to the stumps. She had her Conjured Storm up; she had her Warding Bolt. It was just a matter of time.

As for vitality and mana.

Gwen’s eyes grew dark and cold; her irises faded to pitch as the Void inundated her body.

There was a whole DAMNED village here.

How tough could the flying fucker be?

* * *

Ayxin pursed her lips.

"A girl's gotta eat," the Ash Mage's nonsensical inference made her heart skip a beat.

“What… is that girl?” Ayxin furrowed her scaly brows. "Is she human?"

“That’s not for you to know,” Jun answered. “Though if she had died just now, I can guarantee you that two of your three peaks would have ceased to exist. One by me, and another by her ward in Sydney. Lucky you then, huh?”

Ayxin glared at her quarry.

She regretted underestimating the human Mage. The damned human was at least her equal. He reminded her of the Elders in her long-perished Clan. They too had been powerful beyond belief, but unlike her, they grew old, their power waned, and then they died. They had seemed so insurmountable when they had sent Ayxin away to 'meet her maker'. Ayxin vaguely recalled that when her mother died, she had wanted to visit vengeance upon her maternal Clan. But in the end, her zealous ambition was laughable. Before she even matured into her draconic powers, her enemies had died of old age, consumed by the shift of dynastic power, became dust in the wake of history. How fragile these humans were! How transient their mark on the world!

How bright and brief was the candle of man?

“We can continue if you like.” The Mage shrugged, utterly relaxed now that his niece was worse for wear but otherwise unharmed.

Ayxin wasn’t the combative kind. Unsure of how to proceed, she turned her attention to the battle beneath them. If need be, she would dispel the Misty Realm and expel the both of them, though the chant would require significant concentration.

Below them, Golos charged the girl again.

Her boisterous brother better not play the fool now of all times, Ayxin pondered grimly. The uncertainty oppressed her, stifling her breath. She was confident she could subdue the Ash Mage, though Ayxin was ashamed to admit the cost of subjugation was proving higher than she was willing to pay.

“Suit yourself.”

Her opponent scratched his head. For some reason, the man's gaze made her uncomfortable. The cloak he had been wearing had been disintegrated by her lightning, though his body-armour remained intact.

The Mage coughed. Curiously, he held out a crude linen garb, retrieved from his ring. It was large enough to cover the upper and lower body.

“Look, Miss Ayxin? Mr Ayxin? I know you’re a talking-walking lizard, but how about putting something on?”

Ayxin looked down.

Golos' skirmish aside, her destructive melee against the Human Mage had shredded the silken garb which Ryxi had woven for her. It should have been durable enough to resist elemental damage, though not, as it appeared, the negative-fire.

The draconic side of her couldn’t care less.

Her body was a wonder of natural beauty, who wouldn't be proud to be descendant of a dragon with the scales to show for it?

Her human side screamed blue-murder.

Ayxin rigidly turned half-way away from the Ash Mage, hiding her profile.

She couldn’t think of an appropriate curse in Draconic.

Nor was she in possession of another item of clothing.

Below their awkward silence, the duel intensified.

* * *

Golos was surprised by his own vehemence.

There was something in the air that made him oddly stimulated.

His first attack had been a ground assault, covering the space with his powerful legs, guiding his strike with perfect poise, balanced by a pair of prideful wings and delivered via his thick, muscular neck.

One snap of his jaws and the girl would be bereft of a limb.

Then he could take his time.

He was confident because the Mages he had fought in the past were all glass-canons. This female, however, had both powerful Shielding and offensive magic, which confused Golos.

She appeared to possess the same blessing of Lightning which Golos possessed. More worryingly, the girl wielded a Negative-aligned power potent enough to penetrate his resistance.

It was with this foul-element that she tarnished his scales.

The very notion of such an idea; of being wounded by a being he could eat or mount at his pleasure, was the greatest insult.

He had to call upon his father’s constitution to resist the painful permeation of the tenebrous matter into his otherwise impervious draconic-body.

Then there was the matter of the two strange beasts that accompanied the female.

The first was an existentially inconsequent rat twice the size of one of Ryxi’s goats. It couldn’t touch Golos, but it was absurdly agile. For Golos, the effort he had to expend to catch the thing was more troublesome than just ignoring it.

As for the second creature, Golos had sensed a tingle in his thirty-foot spine when it made a horrendous noise and charged him. He had experienced a strange sensation of falling followed by the urgency one felt when urination was imminent. Alarmed, he dealt with it with more seriousness than he would have liked to admit. It was just as well that the insectile thing was as fragile as glass, Father knows what would have happened if it had latched onto him.

According to Ryxi, that thing has prehensile penis' with teeth.

The girl was screaming at him now.

“I’ll MAKE A VEST OUT OF YOU YET!”

Golos thought the girl had perished.

It wasn't every day he was pleasantly surprised.

“I thought you died!” he roared with glee, speaking in Draconic. He saw no reason to speak to the girl in the tongue of her apish ancestors. “This is going to be fun.”

If the girl could survive a strike from his tail, it must mean she was immensely capable at taking abuse. He had been worried earlier, as Ayxin had explicitly stated that Father wanted the girl alive. Now that the human female was proving to be such a good sport, his blood boiled. After the interlopers' meeting with Father, he would ask for her as a reward. If he could populate the place with Demi-Ayxins; it would irritate his half-sibling to no end.

“WHOMP”

With a single sweep of his wings, Golos lifted into the air. If a ground assault proved too weak to incapacitate the girl, then an aerial one would have to do. A pinpoint dive was a force multiplier, a talent every wyvern mastered. Even Ruxin, the purest of Father's blood-spawns could be brought low by a well-aimed dive bomb.

But first, a greeting for the girl was in order.

Golos opened his jaws and let loose a line of lightning that cut through the rain, vaporising water droplets and carving a channel into the earth.

“Dimension Door!”

The female teleported.

Golos tried to sense the girl’s Lightning Aura; previously, she had blazed like a thunder-struck Dragon-pine. Disappointingly, he found none. The strange dark energy she had emitted must be shielding her presence.

“Void Bolt!”

Another splash of corrosive muck struck his flank, removing yet more scales, soaking into his skin.

There! He caught a glimpse of the sorceress. She was using a spell to hide her presence, taking advantage of the darkness brought by the storm.

The sorceress was now covered from head to toe in the same dark substance that she used to attack him, hissing as the rain struck. Were it not for Golos' highly developed prey-sense; he would have missed the slim silhouette shifting between the Merfolk’s buildings.

“ROAR!”

A thunderous shockwave, concentrated into a conic blast, flattened the building behind which the Mage took cover.

There was a splash of ink as his breath-attack struck.

But the girl was gone.

Curses! Golos flapped his wings. The damned ape sure could hide!

From up on high, the Demi-dragon surveyed his domain.

His Merfolk livestock had been fleeing by the droves as soon as their combat began, elevating chaos into full-blown anarchy. The pelting rain did not impact Golos’ line of sight, but it did diminish the efficacy of his kinesthetic-vision, which specialised in hunting smaller creatures, especially when in hot pursuit.

A commotion caught Golos’ eyes.

The spiderling! It was alive, and it was hunting down the Merfolk.

Golos scoffed, what use would the slaughter of useless eel-men accomplish? He could kill them by the dozen any given day, a hundred even. Once, he ate one that had golden, shimmering scales, believing she would taste better. While not as good as Ryxi's carp, the eels possessed a fatty but delicate taste; they were one of Golos’ go-to snacks.

“SCREEEE!”

The spider turned itself inside-out, then consumed one of the Merfolk.

A few of the others who had been fleeing beside it fell to their knees and began convulsing and retching.

“Void Bolt!”

Before Golos could register what the thing was doing, another assault struck his right wing. The sudden pain spreading across his dactylopatagium felt like stinging ice. Golos inspected his limb for damage and noted that several of his most precious feathers, the likeness of which father possessed, were gone.

“DISGRACE!” He felt his head aflame with thunderous rage. The girl was spitting in his face! Her attack was an insult to their sacred Progenitor!

“Ball Lightning!”

Three blasts of enormously destructive lightning cascaded off his breast, chipping a few scales and bruising his flesh.

With another mighty roar, the wyvern dipped below, the wind pressure of his dive so great that nearby huts were sent rolling, their roofs blasted open by the jet stream of Golo’s passing.

A flash of Lightning lit up the darkened gorge with a hysterical light.

‘CRASH!’

There were two sources of crashing cacophony.

The first was the rumbling storm sundering the valley with ear-splitting sound. The second was Golos, smashing into huts and Merfolks, flattening shelters and storehouses as he snapped at the space where the spell emanated, where he could still feel the girl’s lingering lightning-aura.

Instead, he was greeted by a fleeing mongoose.

“EEEee!”

‘BANG!’

A blast of light and sound disorientated Golos for a mere tenth of a second, but it was enough for the mongoose to escape.

Where was the female?! Golos swung his tail in a wide arc and cleared a whole row of huts; sending up a cloud of dust, debris and Merfolk. All around him, his ‘people’ begged him for mercy in their grotesque fish-speak.

“COME OUT! COWARD!”

Golos had lowered himself to speak the human tongue. His frustration knew no bounds!

“Void Orb!”

The voice came from further than Golos had expected. As he lifted into the air, another three blasts of the dark matter struck his leg, his chest, and his neck. More precious scales disappeared from his dermis. If Golos could see himself now, he would have revolted, for his once beautifully patterned scales now resembled the fur of an eclectically shaven cat.

“ROAR!”

Another thunder blast, this time catching the culprit.

A half-dome Shield foiled Golos’ hopes; then the girl was gone again. He could do nothing else but lift into the air, searching for yet another opportunity.

There!

Golos caught the silhouette and began his dive. This time he would not stop until everything within range and beyond was ploughed and annihilated!

“Lightning Sphere!”

Golo felt the expansion of a lightning-charged explosion intercept the trajectory of his flight.

WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?! The wyvern felt as though he was going insane. Was the girl an Illusionist? Was he trapped in an Illusion? Ryxi could weave Illusions, but Golos never fell for those. Was this girl more adept than even a scion of their Father?

Before he could pivot and turn, he was struck again.

“Void Sphere!”

WHAT?! Golos felt his world go dark as a blast erupted right in front of his face, consuming his head. Instinctively, his scaly lids protected his eyes. The wyvern quickly channelled both vitality and lightning to protect his sensory organs, emerging better than he had expected from the exchange.

The darkness ended.

Golos opened his eyes.

Collision with a hut was imminent.

"GARRRGH!"

Golos smashed head first into the hut, completely demolishing the exterior structure. There must have been something hiding inside because he heard the crunch of bone and the smell of blood. From the stink of crushed roe, he knew it not to be the human female.

CURSES! CURSES! Golos whipped his neck back and forth, clearing the space around him. WHERE WAS SHE?! WHERE IS SHE NOW?!

* * *

“Your pet’s not doing so well,” Jun taunted the dragon-Mage.

“Golos is my half-brother,” the dragon-woman answered.

Jun regarded the absurd sight of a Draconian wearing a pink t-shirt with an anthropomorphic cat at the front with the words, "Hello Kitty." He had bought it for Gwen, thinking it was cute. When he saw her usual fashion, however, he had realised the design was for far younger girls.

Would Ayxin try to murder him if he took a Lumen-Pic? The boys at the barracks would never believe such a thing.

But then again, few would believe he was face to face with a Dragon-Mage?

That was the designation the PLA had for Draconic Demi-humans who could use human magic. From her appearance and her Spellcraft, the stupendously garbed Draconian must possess human blood within her, else she could not possibly be able to manifest this ‘Misty Realm’ of hers. Was it a Draconic-spell made possible by human Spellcraft? Or was it a human spell manifested by Draconic lineage? Was it particular to the domain of the Yinglong? Or was it the woman’s own?

Spatial Magic was a lost art, or perhaps, some would say - a deliberately ‘forgotten’ art. These days, Enchanters could recreate its effects with mandalas and glyphs, but the ‘School’ itself no longer exists, at least not in the sense of a curriculum. He eyed the Draconian as she squirmed, alarmed by the battle below. Gwen was doing very well indeed, using mobility and cover, as well as her Familiars as distractions. The two-legged winged dragon might be impervious to her spells, but so long as she could keep her vitality up, it was a matter of time.

He had heard of Ayxin; she had received an honourable mention in the archives. What he didn't expect was that she really did use Human Spellcraft. It meant the Demi-human had been around since before Mao’s Great Revolution in the 40s, before the fall of the Qing Dynasty.

The dragon-woman caught him staring.

Her castigating expression amused him; it wasn’t every day you pissed off the equivalent of a Demi-goddess. From what he could discern, she could use Lightning magic innately with impunity and near-limitless capacity, AND she had access to Spatial Magic. Her body possessed Draconic-constitution, meaning she could live for millennia, AND she was highly intelligent to boot.

If she had been a Mage, the Towers would be grooming her to be a Magi.

As she was a Demi-human, he should be seriously considering killing her.

But neither of them chose that path because Mutually Assured Destruction was overrated.

Instead, they stood in the space of her Misty Realm and watched the battle below. Was it curiosity? Jun wondered. Or was it that they both lacked the necessary bloodlust for senseless victories? He had known peaceful Demi-humans, but Dragon-kin seldom counted amongst that number. Perhaps this Ayxin was a sentimentalist? One for whom violence was the means, and not the end?

If so, he was in luck. Each second he maintained his Ashen Avatar, the spell set his soul ablaze. All these years, he had paid for it with the essence from his Amulet. Sadly, his reserve wasn't infinite.

Either way, pending on the outcome below, he would have to coax her into diplomacy.

With words, or with dark fire.

* * *

Falling rain turned to steam against Golos' obliterated dermis, his once proud armour was wounded, cracked and corroded.

The water cooled him - a pleasant sensation.

He would normally enjoy such a thing, but not so now.

Instinctively, he knew that his pretty plumage, those rare ornaments that had once framed his skull like a lion’s mane, like the ones Father wore, was gone.

The exchange had gone on for almost half an hour, with Golos missing the girl each and every time. During their last dozen melees, he hadn't even bothered trying to spot her. He merely hovered, demoralised and stunned by the turn of events, tanking her attacks until he was sure of her whereabouts.

But he was wrong.

The girl stayed just ahead of him, again and again.

It was Madness! Did the girl have an infinite mana-pool? Golos was being ground down by monotony and indifference! The ceaseless impediment was making him question his sanity. Frustration, loathing, impotent anger; he couldn’t flee, he couldn't lose, and he couldn’t win.

The wyvern preferred to be beaten to the ground, at least then, there was an end to the misery.

As Golos surveyed the desolated village, half strewn with corpses of Merfolk, the female Mageling was still nowhere to be seen.

FINE! Golos congratulated his opponent.

He would give her what she wants.

Play stupid games; win stupid prizes.

Golos took flight until he was above the gorge.

If the girl wanted to play the coward, he would simply destroy everything. From this day forth, this region will be nought but shattered stone; a memory of what once was. Riding the currents surrounding the storm, Golos found a spot to hover which allowed him the necessary space to manifest one of Father’s most destructive abilities.

There was no name for the power he was about to employ, Golos knew it only to be the manifestation of his father's wrath. He would call upon the heaven, offering his vitality and spirit to the skies, then call down a sweeping deluge of thunder and lightning.

That in itself would not be enough, of course.

Golos grinned, his cracked and bleeding reptilian lips forming a toothy curl.

The thunder and lighting would destroy the crags, the cliffs, the trees and the granite - the very substance that formed Huangshan. The falling debris would build in momentum until a flash flood of logs, rubble, granite and whitewater consumed the entire valley.

Then the girl would have to emerge.

That or die below.

Once above, Golos unfurled his once magnificent wings, now torn and splotched with blighted scales, bloody membrane, and feather-stumps.

The winds changed.

The air began to form into a maelstrom.

The already dark sky became lightless, plunging the gorge into a deep pitch.

As his assault intensified, Golos noticed a little green mote below.

It grew brighter, then brighter again.

It was coming closer.

Golos felt his muscles tense, his vertebrae trembled.

What was this feeling!?

It was as though Father was watching!

He glanced about him bewildered, wondering if the Yinglong's all-seeing eye would suddenly appear and berate him.

The green silhouette piercing the darkness became fully visible as it came closer. It had been scaling the cliff-face at a terrific speed.

A serpentine form.

Four limbs.

Two long, protruding horns crackling with emerald energy.

A Kirin?! No, Golos’ jaws hung open. No Kirin looked as ridiculous as that thing. It appeared almost like that mongoose he had encountered below.

But that creature couldn't fly.

And this creature swam through the air, albeit with its paws waddling like a dog paddling through water.

Golos wondered if the world had gone daft.

He was exhausted, and he had taken at least three-dozen bolts of both elements to various parts of his body. The damned sorceress and her cowardice had sapped his patience and sanity.

Was it a Kirin then?

Its aura was palpable. Old! Was the impression Golos received. Older than anything he had ever seen or felt, perhaps older than Father?! Was it an emissary from the Great Mount?

“Lord Kirin?” Golos couldn’t help but ask as the creature finally managed to lift itself to his eye-level. “Why do you visit us in this hour?”

The Kirin opened its mouth to deliver its edict.

“EEEEEEE!”

A Barbanginy Elemental Sphere Exploded in Golos’ face. Illuminating the gorge, the heavens, the cliffs; painting the cumulonimbus formation above in a blinding blast of viridescent light. The explosion expanded violently, engulfing the entirety of Golos’ body, then erupted again as a supernova, scattering the clouds above.

The rolling thunder could be heard as far as the horizon.

From within a shroud of superheated steam, Golos fell.

A draconic shooting star, fallen from heaven.

STUPID GOLOS!

Ayxin hadn't known panic in as long as she could recall, not since she had been a human girl trying to awaken her wyrmling powers.

"!"

An Ashen Bolt flew past her face.

“What are you-” Ayxin was in the midst of dispelling Misty Realm when the Ash Mage disrupted her incantation. The bolt had been too weak to harm her, but enough for her to flinch.

"- don't you want to leave?"

“Not right now.” The man grinned. "Give it time."

“I am letting us out of here!” Ayxin's eyes formed two cold slits of repressed anger. “Golos is subdued. Your niece is safe. Father had no desire to maim you; he said he wished to hold an audience.”

“That's hardly fair on the girl!” The Ash Mage became once again cloaked in dark fire. “You weren’t going to let me out to help my niece, no? Why should I let you out to help your brother?”

“You-” Ayxin wasn’t sure how to respond. “You insolent, arrogant ape!"

A blast of lightning struck the Mage, more purposeful than harmful.

The Ash Mage took it unflinchingly.

“I know it's not fair, but I took the opportunity to inject a Greater Resist Elements potion,” the man explained, amused by her frustration. “You’ve paid too much attention to the fight. I could have sneak-attacked you a dozen times and over. Miss Ayxin, you don’t get much fighting up on these mountains, do you? Nice and peaceful up here, no? Are you not getting enough action around here?”

“I get enough!” Ayxin’s face would have flushed if she had possessed the soft dermis of her human form. As she was, her draconian-scales merely bristled.

“Tell me, how old is that wyvern? Would he leave behind a core? I suppose I need to be down there for the core to be preserved. The more powerful a creature gets, the more likely the core shatters on death. Unless he's over a century or two, so which is it?”

“…” the dragon-woman's eyes bulged.

“Do you have a Core? A half-human like you?”

Dragons were warm-blooded creatures.

Even so, Ayxin felt her blood run cold.

Below, the girl was approaching the fallen wyvern, her eyes glowering with murderous intent.

“Well, I am not going to stop you. As I said, I need to be present for Gwen to retrieve your brother’s core. So if you’re happy to let us out, go ahead. I am just as happy to duke it outside.”

“If she kills him, I will destroy you and your niece,” Ayxin spat.

The man shook his head.

“NO. You will not,” the man retorted in an almost friendly manner. Such was his confidence. “You’re a powerful being, sure. But your combat experience is laughable. You’ve never fought a contest of life or death, ever.”

Ayxin trembled with frustration.

Her hands wrung the hem of her Hello Kitty t-shirt.

WHERE THE HELL HAD RYXI GONE?

She could guess.

Their eldest was either hiding somewhere, shivering with fright-

Or hiding somewhere, giggling with glee at Golos' abuse.

“So, what will it be?”

Was the Mage right?

Could he be bluffing?

More importantly, dared she test his hypothesis?

"Take your time." The Ash Mage pointed to the scene below.

"Gwen is about to start."

* * *

Gwen watched the wyvern fall from the sky.

Her draconic vitality was spent, a dozen tier 5 spells, two dozen tier 4 spells, and an endless number of Void Bolts and Dimension Doors had drained her reserves.

Her head throbbed, her brain felt inflamed; the mental drain from spell-fatigue was tremendous.

When she tried to breathe, her chest ached. Without the draconic-vitality, she was unable to sustain the intensity of the Void-mana ravaging her body. Much less the injury she had sustained. Even walking the distance to engage the wyvern made her breath rip out in rags; no matter how hard she gasped, she couldn’t get enough air.

Additionally, she felt ravenous despite a sumptuous feast of two-dozen Merfolk. Given a choice, Gwen would have chosen the warriors - had the males not been the first to flee. Unluckily for both herself and her victims, there were only the females and the elvers left.

But she couldn't afford the sentimentality now, her body was vitality-poor, and beggars couldn't be choosers.

The final choice of expending her Almudj-Essence had been a significant gamble. Without the Rainbow Serpent's breath of life, she couldn’t use the Void variety of Dimension Door without corrupting her constitution.

Then the wyvern flew out of range to launch a massive attack.

The downpour was easing up, though the rain persisted. Already the water was ankle deep in the gorge. Even from her diminished vantage point, Gwen could see what the brutish wyvern was trying to accomplish.

Her plan involved feeding Ariel all of her Essence, allowing it to climb the cliffs until it was within a hundred or so meters of the wyvern, then launch a volley of positive-charge Lightning Orbs that would hopefully disrupt the wyvern’s 'spell'.

Then Ariel exceeded all of her expectations.

After Almudj’s altered essence infused her Familiar, it lifted into the air, growing to multiple times its standard size. Its Eland’s horns, two twisted spirals, grew large and protruding, splitting into stag-horns. Her mongoose marten’s mammalian face likewise distended, taking on a strange draconic shape.

When Ariel furthermore began to dog-paddle through the air, she became struck with a sudden epiphany; the sort one gained when moments away from extinction.

Her intuition was right, and the rest was history; one in which she'd been written the victor.

“Enhance Constitution!”

That was the best Gwen could do for now.

‘SPLOSH!’

The wyvern, for all its terror and bluster, landed with a comical splat, cushioned by the soft mud. Gwen had hoped that, like in the movies, it would fall on pailings or spikes, skewering itself. Real life, it seemed, seldom provided such serendipitous clichès.

Elsewhere, Caliban continued its hunt.

When the wyvern did not move from its muddy crater, Gwen took the liberty of waiting until she was jolted by a surge of meagre vitality from an eel-woman before she approached the great beast.

“Caliban! Ariel! On me!”

The three of them converged.

Twenty meters from the wyvern, it suddenly twisted its head in a last-ditch effort, letting loose a clap of thunderous air.

Gwen’s Non-Newtonian Shield manifested instantly with a speed that would have made a Master Abjurer applaud. Her barrier weathered the blast without strain, splitting the palpable force in twain. Around her semi-dome, a 'V' shape formed in the muddy ditch, then sloshed inwards as the breath faded.

“Where’s Uncle Jun?” Gwen stated the first thing on her mind, enhanced by her Illusion.

The wyvern regarded her with its fierce eyes; two blue-white orbs split with dark slits. Its maw snapped; just one of its fangs was the size of her forearm.

“You will never see him again, Ayxin has taken care of him,” the wyvern laughed cruelly even as its body convulsed. It tried to rise.

“You really do speak my language.” Gwen’s nostril flared, a block of icy despair engendering in her bosom at the wyvern's boast. The rain ran from her pallid face in clear streaks, washing away the mud and grime. Her fist clenched.

“Dark Tentacles!”

Gwen's complexion took on an ashen cast as vitality from her final Merfolk drained into her Conjuration staple.

Four writhing tentacles wrapped around the wyvern’s neck and wings, pinning it to the ground. Where the dark matter touched its scales, it scorched the skin and ate into its hide. A tiny trickle of vitality began to feed into Gwen, far from sufficient to keep her standing. The wyvern's natural resistance was beyond her affinity and her tier of magic.

“GNNNARGN!” the wyvern howled. “BITCH! I’ll mount you! I’ll skewer you with my cock!”

“I hope you’ll generate a sizeable Core.” Gwen’s voice lost all emotion, it rang hollow and cruel through the cascading rain. “Caliban!”

Caliban skittered toward the wyvern.

The wyvern writhed and struggled, dangerously whipping its tail.

Gwen materialised two healing injectors and jammed them into her thigh.

She was well past the limit for alchemical fatigue, but every mote of Positive Energy helped.

“Dark Tentacles!”

“Lightning Tentacles!”

Her cheeks were sallow now; it was as if she were a ghost. Against the dark leather of her armour, she appeared almost like a Wraith.

Caliban! She commanded her pet. YUM-YUMS!

Her spiderling skittered beside the wyvern and struck at its sides with its forelegs. Despite striking sparks, it couldn’t penetrate the leather. The difference in tiers was too great.

“You cannot get past my armour! Your monster is worthless!” the wyvern mocked her. “When I recover, I am going to tear you apart!”

Gwen parted her lips to deliver a riposte. Alarmingly, she realised that her consciousness was waning. Her sneak-suit was torn; the water ingress had lowered her body temperature significantly. With her vitality running on fumes, she was likely coming down with hypothermia.

Her tentacles tightened.

“Hurmph! Hurmph! Hurmph!” The wyvern chuckled arrogantly.

She had to finish this soon; the wyvern grew stronger by the minute.

"You probably have no idea what I am talking about, but once, I watched a movie called Stalingrad where these Germans had to fight tanks. They couldn't get through the armour, so they had to hide, then stick explosives onto the tank's engine blocks, jamming sticky bombs into exhausts."

"..." Golos glared, its eyes uncomprehending.

The rain was clearing up.

"Anyway - Caliban!”

Gwen commanded her spider to revert to its serpent form, long and sleek, torpedo-headed, translucent and obsidian. Within its carapace, purple muscles and sinews writhed like worms.

“… enter from its anus.”

The rain stopped.

The wyvern remained as still as a draconic-statue, trying to make itself appear as a rock. This was because rocks, for all intents and purpose, lacked an anus.

“Shaaa! ShaaAA!”

Caliban began to move.

“MMMMM! GHMMM! GGGGGMNNNNNNN!” The wyvern was in a frenzy now. It managed to open its maw, forcing apart the tentacles in an adrenaline-fuelled rush of desperation.

“YOUUNCLEISALIVEAYXINHASHIM-WERETOLDNOTTOKILLEITHEROFYOU!”

“TOO LATE FUCKER!” Gwen willed Caliban to hurry the fuck up. Her body was a hot mess; she doubled over in pain, she could barely breathe. Once she lost her consciousness, there was no telling what this half dragon-half maggot would do to her. "YOU WANNA LIVE? GIVE ME UNCLE JUN NOW!"

“CALIBAN! GET THE FUCK IN THERE!”

“NOOOO~ GGNGGNNMMM!”

“I WANT ITS COR-”

She fell forward.

A pair of arms took her by the waist and picked her half-flailing, half-wrecked body up from the ground.

Shit, Gwen immediately regretted her grandstanding. Her mind was a chaotic mess of shell-shocked noise and sound. Reinforcements for the wyvern?! She needed another vitality injection ASAP. Caliban, hurry the fuck up!

She spun, her backhand striking a human face.

“Gwen, calm yourself.” The familiar face had a five-fingered mark over the right cheek. “It's over. You're safe now.”

“Uncle Jun?!” Gwen reflexively blurted out.

The man was smiling, albeit awkwardly. He opened his mouth to explain.

“UNCLE JUN!” a cathartic utterance exploded from her lips, her knees crumpled. Before she struck the mud, her uncle's hands caught her, one arm wrapped around her knees, while another first slid around her waist. In the next moment, she was lifted from the ground and cradled like a child.

“I am glad you’re okay.” Jun held onto her tightly. “There's no need to keep fighting. Miss Ayxin and I have arrived at a compromise.”

Over? How could it be over, just like that?

Gwen’s mind was immediately suspicious.

Uncle Jun would never spare the Demi-humans.

They were harvesting CORES, for fuck’s sake.

Why would the Dragon-kin negotiate now?

Was she in the midst of a delusion?

Is this an Illusion?

“AYXIN!” A screeching voice cried out beside them in the human tongue. “TELL HER TO RETRIEVE HER THING! IT IS INVADING MY G-GUTS!”

Ah~ right, Gwen reminded herself. Of course.

“Lady Song,” a woman's voice sounded beside her. “Do you mind retracting your creature from my brother’s anu… insides? Your Uncle and I have agreed to parley with my Father.”

“Gwen, do as the Lady says.” Her uncle’s voice was the same low and assuring tone she’d been hearing all week, certifying the authenticity of the man who now held her. “Do it now; else we'll seriously be in trouble.”

“Okay.”

Tension drained from Gwen's body in torrents.

A horrid fire erupted over her right lumbar and solar plexus.

“Caliban… Ariel…”

Gwen's head rolled against her uncle’s bicep, free falling into uncertain darkness.

* * *

Round and round the corroboree went, circles within circles.

She was there, amidst the ring, moving her body wildly, a migloo ghost swaying to the beat of the thumping cadence. Sweat trickled off her chin, soaking into the body paint, the earth clung to her thighs, covering her feet. Faster and faster they went, following the pace set by the clapstick.

“Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!”

The material world became less defined, the figures above and below her, in front and below her blended into one space. The rumbling of distant thunder joined the didjeridu. Above, the snare-drum sibilance of wind-tossed blood-gums splattered dewdrops over the frenzied figures below.

She was in the midst, Singing the Snake, inducing the tempest. Its waters came from the oldest place, from Uluru, from a hole where all the waters of the world originated. That was its home, the cheeky snake, the Old One who comes when called by the singing, pleased by its sound and rhythm.

When the snake spoke, its voice filled every crevice in her head.

"KIN!"

* * *

Gwen opened her eyes, her vivid irises adjusting to the brightness.

The scent of hibiscus was heavy in the air.

There was also the melody of a gentle guzheng adding to the ambience.

She was floating.

Don’t panic, she told herself. A dungeon did not smell like a five-star day spa at the Shangri-la.

Slowly, her pupils focused.

Indeed, she was in a spa.

Everything was white. Alabaster walls, ivory floors, porcelain pillars. Even the mineral-rich bathwater was white and milky. On the ceiling was a carved fresco, a scene of women bathing. The water was warm and buoyant, and pink-lilac hibiscus petals were floating here and there. Amongst the visage of naked women, there was a dragon with wings.

SHIT. That can't be good.

Was she imprisoned in a draconic seraglio?

"!"

Gwen froze.

Something was slithering up her thighs and caressing her toes.

Her eyes scanned the placid pool.

Was there something in here with her? It had felt like a hand or at least an appendage. Could it be a woman? A man? A fish-man-woman?

Another tactile sensation, indistinct, rubbed her shoulders, kneading her neck. The richly mineralised water lapped between her breasts. As more of her faculty returned, Gwen realised there were other ‘hands’ in the water, massaging her calves.

The massage felt good.

Very good.

As a long time patron of her inner-city masseuse, she could differentiate between a hydro-massage and an assault. It was just that the disembodied experience was creepy as anything.

'Am I being molested by watery poltergeists?' was the thought that immediately occupied her mind. She channelled a mote of Almudj's Essence through her body and found that she was in perfect health. Not as hale as her halcyon days of draconic-constitution, but as hale as can be for a woman who had gone vis-a-vis with a wyvern.

"Don't fret, they’re water elementals,” a soft voice emitted from behind her.

Gwen slowly turned her head.

A woman was there.

Or a man, she couldn’t tell.

She had rarely seen anyone so androgynous.

He or she had a perfectly symmetrical face, Asian, but mixed with something unfathomable. Her face, an aesthetic masterpiece, was angular but not sharp, long, but not obtrusive, masculine, but not oppressive, feminine, though not delicate.

“You are…” Gwen scanned her memories. “Ayxin?”

The being nodded.

“This is my human form.” Ayxin caught Gwen staring at her chest. Indeed, there was a gentle swelling there.

Comparatively, the woman’s chest was barely noticeable, much less protrusive. Her waist as well was slender but not waspish. Then there were features that hinted at her inhumanity. She had a small horn jutting from her forehead, her hair, which fell to her waist, was silvery-platinum.

Her eyes were the most obvious giveaway. They were impossibly blue, speckled with snow, possessing a single slit in place of a round pupil.

“Are you finished with the healing pool?” the woman enquired impatiently.

Gwen had never bathed in public, much less in an open hall with Water Elemental masseuses and a dragon-lady voyeur. When it was clear that Ayxin had no idea what privacy entailed, she steeled her resolve and lifted herself from the water, streaming milky minerals over her already porcelain-white skin.

One of the formless water elementals inundated her for a final time.

When it departed, her skin and hair were bone-dry.

“Convenient,” Gwen remarked.

The room was a little chilly.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Do you not have any in your Item Ring?”

Gwen turned away to mask her faux pas. Of course, she had her rings. If the Contingency Ring had been forcibly removed, she would have Teleported all the way to Shanghai by now, perhaps in the nude.

Amazed that she was still being watched, Gwen grudgingly materialised intimates and slipped on her bra and panties.

“May I see one of those?”

The dragon-woman appeared interested in her briefs.

Gwen wordlessly handed over a spare, a mundane pair constructed of fine cotton; wondering if the Chinese wore briefs a century ago.

While Ayxin hefted the garb, ruminating on its purpose, Gwen slipped on a porcelain-pattern ankle-dress in cobalt and white, seeing that whoever ruled this place clearly had a hankering for white and blue. She then produced her wedge sandals, hoping that the cork would soften her footfalls and make walking on the granite less conspicuous.

“Is there a mirror here?” Gwen asked Ayxin.

The dragon-kin stared at Gwen’s shoes intently as she muttered a word Gwen couldn’t even begin to pronounce. In the next moment, one of the water-elements formed into a what could only be described as a reflective pool, suspended in mid-air.

“Thanks, Love.”

“I am not your friend, nor your love.”

"Okay."

Gwen tipped her eyes with wings and applied a pink-petal gloss to her lips. She had a pretty good idea what their next meeting was going to entail, and showing up to meet the owner of the mountain looking like a pale, colourless undead certainly wouldn’t do.

“Can I see those?”

Gwen passed over the makeup kit.

“Those shoes, they look uncomfortable, and yet…”

She passed over a spare pair of platform pumps.

“Why does that dress cover so much of your body? Is it a religious garb?”

"..."

Gwen gave the woman a new dress she hadn't yet worn. A white and floral number that reached the knees suggestively. If anything, Gwen had never worn it because she felt it was a little immodest. When she regarded Ayxin, however, she realised the dragon-lady was wearing a single layer of silk, like a kimono, and nothing underneath. She wasn't leaving much to the imagination.

The woman held her treasures thoughtfully.

"Thank you for the gifts. Come, your Uncle awaits.”

Thank you for what now? Gwen blinked.

But the woman was already walking away.

Gwen felt a strong dislike for this Ayxin.

* * *

“Uncle Jun!”

Gwen stifled the desire to run to her uncle as they entered a grand hall with an impossibly tall ceiling. The carved architecture was seamless, polished with a blinding gleam that made orientating one’s eyes a chore. A sort of sanctified music played as they walked, but after a pillar or two, Gwen realised it was the wind playing through the vaulted roof, creating a gentle echo that resembled voices in prayer.

Her Uncle was still garbed his sneak-suit. Unlike her own, his equipment appeared relatively unharmed, though his optic-cloak was missing.

What was surprising, however, was that they weren’t convened in a throne room. Instead, the white palaces’ corridors led to an outdoor garden overlooking the breathtaking view of Huangshan.

Even more incredibly, Gwen acknowledged from the dozen or so gates which were in view, that this was the exit.

That’s it? What happened to the Yinglong kicking their ass? Where was her grand meeting? She had a whole speech in her head!

“Uncle?”

Her uncle assured her that indeed, they were leaving.

Gwen turned to Ayxin, whose demeanour was as unwelcoming as ever.

“Your Uncle will explain, child.” The Dragon-kin pointed toward the descending stairs. “You must leave now. The Sacred Mount is not for the likes of Humankind, Vessel or otherwise. Your presence here has already taxed my father’s generosity and sullied the White-Jade Hall.”

“Gwen, let’s go.” Jun reached out to Gwen, taking her fingers in his palm. “I’ll explain later.”

* * *

The trio flew through the mountain range, taking in its majesty.

Below them, above them, beside them, Huangshan’s magnificence revealed itself as fog and mist parted, revealing thousand-year-old life-size bonsais contorting from cliff-sides and crags. An occasional waterfall added to the breathtaking scenery, cascading until the stream turned to vapour, fuelling the mystic realm below.

With Ayxin leading the two, the conversation was kept strictly to business.

Gwen still couldn't believe they were leaving, just like that.

What about all the animals they hunted? That talking pangolin? The wyvern that she defeated?

“Miss Ayxin,” Gwen ventured an inquiry. “The Lord of the Mount has forgiven our transgression?”

Ayxin scoffed.

“Father’s interest in worldly matters has significantly diminished as he grows ever wiser with age,” the Dragon-kin replied cryptically. “You will do well not to venture into our realm again. Father has decreed that you are a force of Calamity, and I for one applaud your expulsion.”

"A Calamity for whom though?" Jun interjected. "Lord Yinglong was not specific in his prophecy."

“What Calamity?” Gwen recalled that her grandfather had said something similar as well. A peevish annoyance crept into her chest. “I am the 'Calamity'? That’s hardly fair. You make it sound as though I have no freedom nor will, that I'll harm those around me simply because I exist. What am I? A Tsunami?”

Ayxin slowed until she flew beside them. With her diaphanous shawl and silken garb, she really did look like one of those mystical women from ancient legends. Gwen was reminded of the mythos where a mortal kept a 'heavenly maid' who had lost her shawl as an unwitting bride until she stole back her clothing and could flee her husband.

Gwen doubted Ayxin would have that problem though.

She’d probably nuke the whole village from orbit.

“Of course, dismissing the ageless wisdom of infinitely greater beings is also a very human thing to do,” Ayxin riposted smugly. “Father does not wish to consult with you because to do so would disrespect an elder. Our race is very particular about seniority.”

“Do you mean Almudj?” Gwen did a double-take.

“You dare speak the Old One's name?!” Ayxin snapped at her, her eyes suddenly ablaze with fury. “Your audacity knows no bounds, human girl! One wonders how you have lived so long! Or what the Old One sees in you!”

The winds picked up. The moisture crackled with static.

Dragon-fear washed over the landscape below.

The sound of lesser creatures fleeing filled the valley. Birds rose from the treetops in splendiferous colours, scattering in all directions.

Gwen bit her tongue.

Jun shivered, feeling his muscles knot and his fists ball unconsciously.

Without his Transmutation magic active, he had to endure the brunt of Ayxin’s draconic presence with his will alone. Not wanting to appear intimidated, he circulated a mote of Ashen mana through his system, forcing his heart rate to slow and his sensibilities to return.

The Ash Mage then observed the exchange between the two women.

Gwen seemed entirely unfazed by it all, looking more like a girl scolded than a lower being whose existence had been threatened with extinction.

Contemplatively, he noted the ‘presence’ shared by his niece and their draconic counterpart.

“Never say the Old One's name without the proper respect,” Ayxin warned her, annoyed that the girl didn’t panic and fall. “In fact, do not enunciate that name at all, and especially not to your fellow Humans. One's true name cannot be used with impunity.”

Gwen nodded. There was no point contending on how much respect she felt for Almudj. It would appear that the relationship shared by the Indigenous people of the wide-brown land with their deity was far more intimate than that of the Yinglong, who had marketed himself as a deity to be worshipped and feared, rather than loved and admired.

The flight continued in silence until Gwen could no longer withhold her curiosity.

“What’s happened to the wyvern?”

“Ah~ about that,” her uncle pipped up. “I tried my best, Gwen. But no dice. I am afraid there is no Dragon Core.”

“Hmmph!” Ayxin jeered her uncle. From the look on her face, she had recalled an unpleasant memory.

Jun smiled broadly at the Dragon-Mage, then turned to Gwen.

“Conversely, I have spoken with the Lord of the Huangshan, and he has informed me that there will be reparation for the loss of your victory-spoils.”

Ayxin lowered her eyes, glanced at Jun, then turned her chin away from him.

Gwen regarded the atmosphere between the two. She was very good at reading people and what she read right now made no sense to her. In her human form, Ayxin was extraordinarily beautiful, albeit aesthetic in the artistic sense. There was tension between the two, but it wasn’t sexual. If there were, she would know. Gwen was confident she could read sexual tension like a violinist tuning the tautness of her strings. No, what the two shared was a kind of cross-species admiration, and that made it worse.

“And what may that be?”

“Golos owes you his life, though no doubt my brother would prefer death to indentured servitude, so your Uncle here negotiated your terms with Father in your stead.”

“Oh?”

Gwen reminded herself that there was still a dozen or more cores held captive within Caliban which she had not examined. Whatever spoils she could receive now would be in addition to the surety of her secret stash.

“Yes, Golos shall save your life - THRICE - in the years to come, even if it means he would expend his own in the process. Should he survive the endeavour, he will be allowed to return to his former position.”

“That’s…” Gwen mulled Ayxin’s words in her head twice over, only to find that she couldn’t comprehend a single word of it.

“Gwen,” her uncle came to Ayxin’s defence. “The Yinglong is well known for its prophecies. I believe it’s a good offer. Think about why we’re here. Despite everything, we’re leaving unscathed. As for saving your life, if Ayxin says her father is to be trusted, then that's literally three-times you will cheat death!”

H-her uncle was playing the devil's advocate for the dragon-lady?! The nerve!

Gwen fought down a sudden soreness in her chest.

Suddenly and unbidden, she felt Almudj's essence come alive.

Ayxin regarded Gwen with wonderment, then matched Gwen’s unconscious projection with one of her own.

Caught between two opposing waves of draconic-fear, her uncle appeared hen-picked.

“Ayxin...”

He had spoken the woman’s name with such familiarity!

“Gwen…”

“I am not doing anything,” Gwen snapped.

“Ayxin,” her uncle again turned to the Dragon-kin. “Can you teach Gwen how to… control that? I am afraid we’ll be having incidents back home if she keeps leaking.”

“Control what?” Gwen confirmed she was safely provisioned underneath her skirt. Her maxi-dress was likewise bone-dry. Her face took on a darker shade. “What’s leaking?”

“Your aura, your presence, or rather, I should say - the presence of the Old One.”

“Almu-”

Gwen stopped herself.

“As a Vessel-”

“What’s a vessel?”

“You presume to be too familiar with me!” Ayxin chided her, cutting her off. “I am older than your ancestors! Learn some manners, girl!”

Gwen chose diplomatic silence.

“Please continue,” her uncle urged his new favourite.

“Your niece is a Vessel, meaning she has been chosen to contain a portion of the Old One’s being. As for what it means, Father would not say.”

“Surely you know something?” Jun coaxed the Dragon-kin.

“Maybe I do.”

“Well?”

Ayxin shrugged; her lips were pressed.

Jun sighed.

“Why am I leaking? What am I leaking?”

Jun felt exhausted already.

Gwen turned to her least favourite Dragon-kin.

“Can you answer the question, Ma’am?” Gwen added sweetly, her voice tinged with tartness. The sound of her voice surprised her, and she caught herself before proceeding further.

Why was she so peevish? Gwen touched her chest uncertainly. It wasn't like her to be like this.

“Miss Ayxin. Allow me to apologise.”

“Hmmph!” Ayxin slowed their progress. “Come here, girl.”

Gwen drifted closer.

Ayxin placed a finger to her forehead, then withdrew from it a mote of light. The rarified substance condensed until it formed a small trinket, not unlike an Ioun Stone. Upon closer inspection, she noted that it was a dragon-scale.

“Father foresaw, and instructed me to give you this.” She turned to Jun with a knowing look before returning her judgemental eyes to Gwen. “Wear it like one of your magical items. It will help you temper the draconic-essence within your body. Eventually, it will teach you to perform the meditation unconsciously.”

“Thank you.“

“Good, take this-” the woman placed the scale in her hand, then she smirked at Gwen. “- now go over there. Your Uncle and I need to speak in private before I leave you both.”

Gwen surveyed their whereabouts.

Indeed, they were at the border. She could see the line of Dragon-pine standing at the base of the mountain.

“A moment please, Gwen,” her uncle requested. "I'll be with you soon."

Gwen took the scale ungratefully and drifted far enough as to be out of earshot.

She would have a ‘talk’ with her uncle at the earliest convenience!

* * *

“Sorry, she’s young.”

Ayxin shook her head.

“She is not young.” The Dragon-Mage’s expression softened. “You know this. Father told you so.”

Jun breathed out, sighing deeply.

“She will be a Calamity. Father is never wrong.”

“I don’t believe in predeterminism.” Jun shook his head. “I only believe in choice and consequence.”

“Father’s offer…”

“No. I am sorry.”

“But the girl isn’t who she says she is,” Ayxin protested. “Your niece is no longer; what inhabits her body now is an aberration. A being that should not exist.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jun met the concerned woman’s single-slit eyes, like pale water amidst the soft light of the mid-morning. “Did you know that I had previously not known she existed? I never knew this ‘original’ that you keep harping on about. It makes no difference to me. Gwen - is Gwen.”

“You’re wasting-”

“Enough! Lady Ayxin.”

The dragon-woman lowered her eyes.

Jun took the quiet moment to wipe the expression of vexation and conflict from his face.

“I am sorry.”

The two listened to the lilting melody of Dragon pine swaying below their feet.

“I will remember you,” Ayxin said at last.

Her candidness surprised Jun; such a promise was not an easy thing for a near-immortal to declare. He thought of the Yinglong's offer, of the conversation he had shared with the Demi-Deity about the Drought Goddess, about family secrets, about the Amulet. The Yinglong had bestowed upon him a prophesy as well, just as it had given his niece.

A lock of Ayxin's silvery-flaxen hair blew across her face.

Now was the right moment to touch her hand and speak softly, but he was neither Hai; nor was he happy with the Yinglong’s meddling.

Humans took fate in their own hands.

“Thank you.”

Jun drifted away from her.

“And Goodbye.”

Uncle and niece returned on foot, travelling in sullen silence, each buried in their ruminations. Gwen tried to reignite the conversation, but her uncle responded with scant and sodden interest, extinguishing any small-talk.

Sighing inwardly, Gwen excused herself, found a secluded area, let out her Familiars, then changed out of her dress. She first switched to her Flying Boots, finding the leather more suitable for trekking, then attired herself with a plain t-shirt and the skort, lamenting her missed opportunity to see a living breathing mythical dragon from yore. She had anticipated the encounter, wondered at the physicality of a being possessing every chimeric animal-part, fantasied about how inferior to Almudj the creature would be.

As she laced up her boots, she observed Jun in the distance, casually leaning against a tree, resting his eyes.

Was he thinking perhaps, of Ayxin, the Dragon-woman? A tenderness in Gwen's chest made her diaphragm cramp uncomfortably. Jealousy was a useless emotion, she knew - AND this was her uncle Jun, a man toward whom she should be infinitely grateful. Try as she might, subconscious longing and rationality rarely made bipartisan partners. If anything, her peevish pettiness surprised her. For a woman weened on the parable of the green-eyed monster that doth mock the flesh it feasts upon, she was eating it up.

Was it an Electra-complex thing? Gwen attempted some self-imposed Freudian psychoanalysis. She had paid her psychologist enough to learn a thing or two. Or maybe, she was merely a terrible sharer, a hoarder of affections, a proverbial, selfish bitch?

They had made it about half way when the two of them ran smack into an ‘ambush’ by a pack of Merfolk.

These were the classic bipedal kind, fish-faced and brightly-scaled, wielding crude spears with sharp obsidian tips that worked wonders against naked flesh and animal hide; omnivorous, vicious, and possessing of a dangerous low-cunning.

Her uncle stood back and watched his niece expend her peculiar frustration, testing her powers against regular foes who didn’t possess near-immunity to Spellcraft magic.

Having spent all of her vitality-stores, Gwen opened up with Lightning.

A single Bolt pierced three Mermen in a row: the first disintegrated, blown clear apart; the second had electricity gushing out of its eye sockets, the third fried. Behind the trio, a conifer caught fire.

“No~ my vitality!”

Surprised by the potency of her spell, Gwen switched to her Familiars.

Caliban and Ariel stalked through the forest, plucking up the escaping fish-men one by one. Compared to a week ago, barely a hint of colour touched her cheeks as her arachnid-aberration hunted down the fleeing opponents.

The ease of her hunt, both physically and psychologically, startled Gwen. After the prison and their poaching adventure, she had evidently crossed a threshold when it came to using Caliban’s most grotesque and unnatural powers.

She pursued the Merfolk for about half a kilometre, harnessing about a dozen individuals worth of life-force. After returning with a portion of her hunger sated and a spring in her step, she rejoined dear uncle Jun, and the two went on their merry way.

By evening, they arrived at the outpost.

Immediately, the two were accosted by a PLA patrol.

“Sir!” It was a man and a woman, leading a group of about ten NoMs.

Jun had approached, hands in the open and his I.D plainly visible.

“Captain Song!” The woman’s eyes burned with worshipful intensity. “Welcome back Sir! The Commander told us to look out for the two of you and to inform him immediately upon your return!”

Jun thanked the troop and commended them for their hard work.

The two Mages bristled with heart and conviction, while the NoMs gave Jun apathetic looks. The NoM conscripts were, as per doctrine, all-male; as men possessed higher combat potential, and having female NoMs about was a recipe for public outrage.

The men's eyes licked over Gwen, who paid them no mind. She was far more interested in her next meal. The crass vitality of the goblinoid merfolk was hardly sufficient after the draconic feast.

Another hour of magically-assisted trekking took the duo into the vicinity of the Anhui Military Outpost.

Having received word of their arrival, the Commander put on yet another banquet. A second officer’s dinner ensued. Again, the female Officers broke out the distilled spirits, though Gwen had wisened up to their attempts at loosening her lips.

After eating every other thing on the table that wasn't utensil or platter, the dinner ended in high spirits.

They stayed the night at the Commander’s behest, opting to leave by early morning.

Gwen informed Jun that she wanted to account for their loot, but her uncle advised patience until they could obtain privacy. Cores, particularly the fact that they possessed low to medium level cores from Draconic creatures, should be kept a secret. One core was fine; two was a surprise, three was pushing it. A dozen cores at once, all of the same type? A recipe for disaster.

The next day, after a pleasant breakfast with the Commander, the two were again on their way.

They had being absent from Shanghai a week by now, about half the anticipated time they would be away.

“It’s like I’ve got a new car,” Jun joked as he started up his Jeep, fully fuelled and polished inside and out by enthusiastic grunts.

As the two drove out from the base and hit the main road, the real world came flooding back; not just in the sense that they were on bitumen, finally seeing signs of human habitation, but that the surreal unreality of Huangshan was finally behind them.

“I am not looking forward to checking my Messages.” Jun adjusted his Message Device and changed the setting from LOS to roaming.

Oh yeah, Gwen reminded herself.

The trip was done, the voyage was over; she was back on land and all the things that she had left in stasis now becked and called for attention.

The matter of her training for the next few months.

The mind-blowing absurdity of her father's marriage.

The machinations of Magister Wen.

The displeasures of her grandfather.

The designs of her unseen enemies, such as a certain Lord Ravenport, or Spectre, or Outsiders, or Rogue Mages, or whatever they called themselves.

But there were more pleasant forecasts as well.

Dates with Mina and the girls around downtown.

A jam session with Tao just as soon as she could learn how to make music with Illusion.

Spellcraft studies with Petra.

Luncheons with babulya.

Maybe an adventure or two with Richard and his crew.

Checking up on Lulan and Kusu.

Mayuree, who was probably worried sick after a week without a peep from her 'fated' Gwen.

Calls to her friends overseas.

Aping her uncle, she likewise activated a glyph on her Message Device, a discrete bangle, switching the Divination to roaming.

Ding!

Ding!

Ding!

Ding!

Gwen cherished the din.

It was the sound of civilisation. Birdsong was nice, and pines were pretty chill, but she was a big city girl, and nothing comforted quite like the sound of a mass communiqué from friends and family. As any Instagram addict would know, there's nothing quite like a full inbox and a list of notifications that fell off the screen.

She tapped through the messages.

“Gwen, it’s Petra. How are the woods? I hope you’re keeping safe. Master has asked about you, and I told her that you’re still with your Uncle Jun. All the best with those Cores. Spirits are rare for a reason. Don’t worry; you can always save up CCs to get one. The main thing is to stay safe. It's kind of strange coming home to an empty apartment.”

Gwen played the next Message.

“Yo! Cuz, its the big T with the big P, PEACHES! Hey yo listen, er, last time you guys made a real-good impression at the show, and I was hoping that you and Pats could like, come to another show you know? This time for real there’ll be hunnies there, not just homies. By the way, Mina misses you too; she be so HIGH if you could come down to the next show!”

Gwen bit her lips amusedly then pressed the glyph for next.

“GWEN! Don’t LISTEN TO PEACHES. He’s got nothing! It’s another one of those retarded rap battles! I am not even going-”

“- HEY! Give that back to me! PEACHES, GIVE IT BACK! You're asking for it, you little ass. DAD! DAAAAD!!!”

Chuckling until her abdomen hurt, she pressed next.

“Gwen. Got a Message from London for you. Elvia called. I don’t know when you’re back, so that’s what I informed her. She said she’ll wait for you to get back. Petra.”

Next.

A familiar voice drifted out from the Messages' recorded audio.

It was Hai.

“Gwen! I have excellent news. After speaking to your new soon-to-be mother, she has decided that you should be her bridesmaid! WONDERFUL. Right? You’re a maid, I hope, and you happen to be at a perfect age! It’s a rare position! You have no idea how many beautiful girls were jostling for the hono-”

Gwen turned off the Device, her jovial mood instantly drawn and quartered.

“Uncle.” She turned to Jun, who had been listening to his very own Messages as they sped along the winding pass back to Hangzhou. “I just received a terrible piece of news from Father.”

Jun’s expression suggested he had also received 'the good news'.

“You can listen for yourself.” Her uncle pressed another glyph, and an audible Message from Guo began to play.

“Ah-Jun, where are you now? I need you to return to Hangzhou. Leave the moment you receive this Message. If your niece protests, tell her the Dragon-spawns are not going anywhere. I have just met with Sumei Liu. Your Mother and I are currently at his estate, trying to salvage what’s left of our mien. The wedding needs to proceed as soon as possible. Your brother has requested you to be his best man. This whole thing is moving faster than expected. Qīn's pregnancy will be showing soon. Your Mother is upset, to say the least. Let me stipulate, return as soon as possible-”

Then there was a brief second of silence, followed by a grudging postscript.

“- the both of you, be safe.”

“I guess we’re headed back to Hangzhou?”

“Don’t think we have a choice.”

Gwen sighed.

Jun sighed.

They sighed together.

Their synchronicity was such that they both chuckled.

“Okay, let’s make the best of it,” Jun urged his niece. “You could dress up again.”

“No, no, no!” Gwen advised her inexperienced uncle. “Father just asked me to be a bridesmaid, meaning I absolutely cannot dress up. I need to dress DOWN. Its absolute taboo for a bridesmaid to have better makeup, better hair, or a better-looking dress than the bride. I’ll be wearing flats and making my hair as flat as possible. Then I’d have to hold her dress, follow her around all day; there’s going to be a lumen-pic Illusionist following us around, recording the whole thing. There’s going to be the ceremony, the reception, the dance, the line-up and farewell, speeches - my GOD.”

“You know awfully a lot about weddings,” Jun marvelled. “I’ve been to a few, but never… well. You know.”

“Not even as a best man?”

“Not even once.”

“Wow, that’s hard to believe.” Gwen raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“The guys I graduated with, there’s not many of them left,” Jun’s tone took on a more serious edge. “As for the guys I work with, the Ghosts - let’s say we’re usually not the kind to marry, much less have a life outside of our work. One of the guys did get married while under deep cover, and let me tell you, that turned out to be one hell of a situation.”

“Oh?” Gwen rather liked her Uncle’s stories of the ‘dark side’.

“Yeah. So, as 'best man', what should I expect? From the sounds of it, it's going to be a Western-Eastern wedding. It's all the rage these days, and I suppose Hai spent most of his life overseas."

Gwen had no idea, but she could make a few educated guesses. She had been to numberless weddings in Australia. All her friends and colleagues were in their 30s, meaning the vast majority of them were married.

Chinese, Indian, Thai, Anglican, Christian, Hillsong; she had been to all sorts, taking on roles such as the MC, multiple times a bridesmaid, and once as the maid of honour. Weddings were fun, even if they are highly stressful. They were also a top joint to meet well dressed and well-mannered blokes on their best behaviour. More often than not, her purse would be bulging with cards and numbers by the night's end. One time, she even took one home; the lumberjack’s beard had made the virile young man appear much older.

“Well, as you said, it’s a Western Wedding with an Eastern reception. There’s probably going to be a ceremony first, walking the aisle and all that. I don’t know if there’s going to be a Priest or not, probably not seeing as we’re in China. This means there’s probably a Celebrant whose going to do the rites, say a few interesting aphorisms. They’ll exchange vows; then we walk out under a shower of rice and flowers.”

Jun listened, fascinated by the strange details of the matrimonial world.

“Then there’s the reception. Which I can guess, is going to be a Chinese one. This means they have to do the tea ceremony; kowtow the heavens, the earth and the parents. The Eastern ones are pretty good for bridesmaids because we don’t have to do anything other than help the bride get up and get down in her dress, pass the tea, fill the pot and all that.”

"As best man, you have to organise a buck's party, though I doubt Qīn is going to like that, knowing Dad. Not to mention this is a shotgun wedding whether we like it or not. I guess you'll need to coordinate groomsmen, assuming there's going to be..."

Gwen paused.

A disgusting and resentful reality struck her cerebrum.

"Wait a second. Why AM I a bridesmaid? Doesn't Qīn have female friends? Relatives? Who is going to pair with you? WHO IS GOING TO PAIR WITH ME?"

Gwen recoiled; if she were to pair with some stranger, she would prefer been absent.

“How do you know all this?” Jun grinned at Gwen through his visors. “Feeling your age? Do you want to get married? Getting the jitters?”

The question caught her off guard.

"Me? Marriage?"

“Sure, it’s every girl’s dream, isn’t it?”

Jun's tease gave her a jocular mental prod, nudging her defensive silence.

That’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it? Was the immediate thought going through Gwen’s head.

Marriage.

She had entertained the prospect in her old life, but an opportunity had never presented itself. The concept of matrimony was both the norm and the status quo, but like her literary heroines, she had wanted to enter into sacrament for love with a friend who was also a lover. The problem was that though there was no shortage of willing men, she had never felt any of them could compete for her freedom and autonomy. The idea that she would not be her foremost priority was a hard and bitter pill to swallow. Though potential partners were willing to give in to her demands, she wouldn't wish that sort of union on anyone, much less her spouse.

Her psychologist once told her that it was her fear of trust.

Dr Monroe had then suggested that she lacked role models.

Role models? Gwen had snorted with laughter.

Certainly, her father’s apathy and her mother’s screeching bipolar psychosis did not paint a pretty picture of married life. Gwen recalled having fantasies when she had been an adolescent that her parents weren’t her own, that she was adopted, or that she was a foundling; anything to suggest that her abnormal family life was no fault of her own. Her mundane-world childhood in itself was already traumatic enough; what the Gwen of this world had to go through appalled even her jaded sensibilties.

“I don’t know…” she fell into a contemplative silence.

“Look, sorry I asked."

"It's okay..."

Jun fell silent for a moment before pipping up once again.

"Say, you ever watched a movie called Stalingrad?” Jun suggested offhandedly.

“The German WWII film?” Gwen remarked.

What a strange pivot, Gwen thought. Did her uncle realise he touched a nerve? It was like she had felt insulted. Sure, she wanted to get married one day. But it wasn’t as though she could marry anyone because her ovaries were ticking down.

“Yeah, that’s the one. The one with the tanks and the suicide platoon.”

“Sure, it’s a classic, why do you ask?”

“Well, I have no idea what a 'tank' is, and I’ve never seen a Sticky Bomb either. Can you elaborate?”

“What, a tank? You’re the military man…”

Something in her mind clicked.

A sensation of numbness manifested, first from her toes, then travelling up her calves and into her thighs. The tingling continued until it became a sliver of ice, travelling up her abdomen, chilling her spine and twisting her diaphragm until it cramped. It crawled up her neck until her scalp itself was paralysed with paranoia. Her breath caught; she couldn’t will herself to take the next breath.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times.

The emptiness within her mind could rival the Bolivian salt flats.

“… you tell me,” she finished up, ten seconds too late.

“Gwen.” Jun kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable behind his aviators. “Would you like to get something off your chest?”

It took her battered brain another half a minute to catch up.

What did her uncle know?

How did her uncle find out?

Then suddenly, she could breathe again.

Stirred to defensive wakefulness by her cerebral agitation, Almudj’s Essence grew alive and animated, filling her mana channels with its blessing. Unlike the previous morning when she had been upset by Ayxin, her body inhaled, then exhaled, first profoundly, then in expeditious successions. A pin-prickle from behind her neck activated simultaneously. Though she had her doubts as to the true purpose of Ayxin's scale, she allowed it to induce in her body a cadenced meditation, expanding and contracting Almudj's Essence, massaging the passage of her emerald mana until the turbulent current calmed. After a few moments, she found herself relaxed and no longer held in the grip of crisis.

With her mind returning to lucidity, Gwen took note of the paths before her.

She could confess to her uncle and hope for the best, or she could play the fool and hope for the moment to pass. In this instance, she faced two divergent paths, two trails that bent in the undergrowth, preventing her from seeing past the woods that wend.

It was times like this that Gwen wished her Divination had been the rarer kind, like what Mayuree possessed.

To tell, or not to tell; that was the question-

But she knew deep inside that truth strives for light, secrets themselves may be hidden for a day, but at length, the truth-will-out!

What she now faced was a leap of faith.

How deeply did she trust Jun?

* * *

“…”

Jun kept his eyes on the road as Gwen's leaking Dragon-fear subsided. He was beginning to regret breaking the news to his 'niece' so soon, but his thought had been suffocating with the disturbing knowledge ever since they had left the Yinglong's domain.

Maybe that was the purpose; Jun questioned the Yinglong’s gift of wisdom.

Secrets had a way of festering and fermenting. If he kept this from Gwen, it would inevitably affect his feelings for his niece. First, he would see her differently, and then, he would notice her abnormal behaviour; that strange maturity she had exhibited since they had first met in the Sky-Prison would become more prominent, more self-evident. Each time she would attempt to hide her identity, it would sour their bond, he would feel cheated, maligned, untrusted by the girl to who he had given so much of his time and effort. Then, one day, he would tire of her, perhaps even grow to loathe her.

Indeed, now that he thought about it; the Yinglong's actions felt increasingly more malicious.

The Yinglong may market itself as a Demi-God transcending mortal concerns, but in the end, it was still jealously guarding its rice bowl. The dragon wanted to retain its territory, but it was wary of the Human neighbours next door. Fifty years ago, it could have wiped out Shanghai if it had been willing to risk its life. Now, with two Towers, especially the PLA Super-Structure, the Yinglong had no chance.

Though humans only lived a short lifespan, they were ingenious.

Though Dragons were wise and ageless, they were ruthless.

Millenia-old mafiosos who ran century-long cons.

If so, why did the Yinglong choose to remain in its hole, knowing that Humanity was only biding their time? One day, Jun was sure, Humans would spread across the Northern Steppes, vanquishing the undead, conquering the oceans. Even before the Spellcraft Revolution at the turn of the 20th century, Humanity had carved out its niche in the world. Now with the human cities inter-connected by trade, Spellcraft and the Tower System, the demise of the Demi-humans was only a matter of time.

Unless of course, humanity, or at least Shanghai, were to receive a considerable setback.

That was where Gwen came in, and the Yinglong’s vapid, vague Prophesy reared its ugly head. Jun wasn’t a man to believe in fortunes telling. The CCP had long since alienated China's mystic Diviner-Clans, choosing instead to follow the global trend on Spellcraft driven Divinations.

A Divined-warning, even from the Oracle of Delphi herself, was to be taken with a grain of salt. The Yinglong had called Gwen a Calamity, but what did that even mean? A Calamity, by Jun’s standard, had to be an all-consuming disaster that enveloped all without discrimination. In the past, Calamities predicted by the Oracle had been self-evident enough: Tsunamis caused by Merfolk; Incursions of Undead; natural disasters. If Gwen were to be a ‘Calamity’, did that mean she would trigger an event of catastrophic proportions?

More importantly, what did the Yinglong intent Jun to do? What did it expect ANYONE to do?

Was his niece a Calamity?

He recalled seeing Gwen sleeping, curled on her single bed, pale against the moonlight. The girl had breathed softly at first, then nearing midnight, she bemoaned something about ‘Evees’, then snored thunderously before fitfully returning to silence.

How in Mao's name could 'that' be a Calamity?

Jun had replaced her blanket anyway, despite knowing his niece couldn’t possibly catch a cold.

The simple gesture was another paternal fantasy ticked off his bucket list.

Therefore, it had to be a ploy.

Indeed, Jun grew troubled as he drew out a hypothesis.

He could have returned to the city to inform his superiors, or his father, that Gwen was indeed a ‘Calamity’. With confirmation from the Yinglong, the PLA could make doubly sure of the city's future prosperity by keeping the girl iced via indefinite Stasis, deep within Tianlianqiao.

As for the Dragon’s motivation-

Didn’t Gwen boast that she had connections to an older, more powerful entity dwelling in a Black Zone at Australia's centre? It was entirely plausible to Jun that the Yinglong feared this ‘Almudj’.

He felt invested in the theory because it explained Ayxin’s docility and the circumstance of their unscathed exit from Huangshan. There were more unearthed secrets the Yinglong had given him as well, ones which he had to return to Hubei to rediscover via House's archives before he could even begin to believe the Dragon’s information on the origins of the Song family’s Kirin heirlooms.

Now all that remained was to see how Gwen reacted.

How much did the girl trust him?

* * *

In Gwen's mind, she had already confessed to her beloved uncle twice over.

In reality, she was opening and closing her mouth like a fish trying to breathe on land.

All in all, she felt very Prufrockian; marked by weariness, regret, embarrassment and longing; a mess of emotions.

Summoning a bout of courage from Almudj’s blessing, she tried again.

“So... the German soldiers were being punished for desertion,” she recalled expertly from the film. “They had to fight the tanks because it was both punishments, and a means to prove themselves loyal soldiers of the Reich.”

FUCK, Gwen wanted to bang her head on something. That’s not what she meant to say at all! What the hell was she doing?

“I see.” Jun’s face was unreadable.

Gwen gave her cheeks a gentle squeeze.

She was burning up.

Jun did so much for her.

He had risked his life.

He was like a father to her, not an imaginary one either.

Surely, she could tell this man the single most critical secret of her second life, right?

“I… er…”

She felt a strong desire to meditate again.

FUCK, if only Dr Monroe were here to mediate.

“I... want... to SAY... that...”

BLOODY HELL! She wondered if slapping herself across the face would help. Maybe she could stab herself in the leg with something.

“Gwen,” Jun interceded any further attempt by Gwen at painfully assaying the truth. “Just say yes, or no.”

“Okay.”

“Are you the same Gwen Song I met at the Sky-Prison?”

Gwen considered this question without a truthful answer.

“Yes.”

“Are you Hai Song’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a doppelgänger?”

“No.”

“Are you an undead sprite, or a being who has died and come back to life?”

That was a more difficult question.

“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so. I never died as far as I know.”

“Okay, that takes a weight off my chest, haha.”

“…”

“Did you kill the old Gwen.”

“No!”

It was true, far as Gwen knew. As far as she knew, the old Gwen likely fell victim to a Void-awakening.

“Can you leave this body?”

“No.”

“Do you have a spare body or an original body somewhere?”

“No! I don't know.”

“Did you 'willingly' occupy your current body.”

“… No. Yes. I mean, I've grown into it now."

“Do you wish to destroy humanity? Do voices speak to you from the Void?”

“WHAT?! No!” Gwen protested. “I'm as human as anyone! I am… I don’t know. I don’t know anything, Uncle Jun.”

"Do you know a Yog-Sothoth?"

"No! It was a joke! I made it up! Yog-Sothoth is fiction! An excellent fiction, but PURE FICTION nonetheless!"

Jun snorted before he exploded into jovial hilarity.

Gwen listened to her uncle’s deep-throated mirth. The ridicule made her feel better; the pressure lifted from her bosoms. If Jun could laugh, then everything might be okay.

“Let me tell you what I told Ayxin.” Jun's voice came across both resonate and full of seriousness. “I told her that it doesn’t matter who you are. I told her that I did not know anything about this ‘Gwen’ that is now gone because I wouldn’t have known you existed anyway. The 'niece' I chose to help is you, and it is only you - the girl sitting right beside me now. You are GWEN, the one and only 'Gwen'. Do you understand?”

Gwen understood.

She understood every word, and the comprehension made her feel so light that she could take to the air and just drift away.

Yes, she could trust this man.

With her life story.

With her life.

“Thank you, Uncle Jun. I want to tell you my story if you're willing to listen.”

“I am listening,” Jun replied.

“Alright.” Gwen took a deep breath. “Here goes…”

By the time Gwen finished her tale, her lips were parched, and the duo was within Hangzhou’s city limits. She had told all, from her rebirth in the Forrestville apartment to her mind-meld with the old Gwen; to her adventures in Highschool, her awakening with the Void, then Edgar, Almudj, her Master Henry Kilroy, Gunther and Alesia, Mark Chandler, as well as her embroilment in the feud between Elizabeth Sobel and her remaining siblings-in-craft.

There was only one innocuous detail which she had left out.

Her original age.

A woman lying about her age was acceptable in any meta-universe, surely? Not even an elder God spawned from nether-space could blame her for that!

If Jun knew that a thirty-year-old broad with hardwired daddy-issues had been thrillingly calling him ‘Uncle’ this whole while, the cringe alone would prevent them from speaking ever again.

By her recount, she was a ‘graduate’ who had ‘just built her career’.

A fresh out of university 'adult' who had left home at sixteen and had lots of experiences while living a worldly life.

Her story had been acceptable to Jun, and so Gwen left it at that.

What followed were more cans of worms.

“What’s the other world like?”

“Was there Spellcraft?”

“What’s an iPhone?”

“What do you mean there are only NoMs?”

“You’re telling me humans have wiped out every other Demi-human race on the planet? You must live in utopia!”

"How does one destroy Nagasaki without Japan having a Magi retaliating strategic spells of its own? You said their Emperor was alive, no?"

"A bunch of 0's and 1's connected the whole world?"

"There's a library of all human knowledge for anyone - ANYONE to read, at any time, called Wikipedia?"

“Can you explain again what Global Warming is?”

"The Theory of Relative to what?"

"President Trump? Never heard of anyone by that name."

“This NoM-Science business sounds awfully sketchy, haha.”

Gwen struggled to explain the most basic concepts from her old world, especially the science. It was like trying to describe the colour red to a deep-sea dweller at a depth where long-wavelength spectrums did not reach. She had always been an Arts student, with scant interest in science other than math, and therefore lacked the nuance of knowledge herself. Had she known that she was going to be born again into another world; majoring in math, physics, and chemistry, as well as engineering, would have made excellent choices.

After several confusing bouts of jargonistic, nonsensical nomenclature, the conversation turned to the fact that she was the third officious disciple of Henry Kilroy beside the Morning Star and the Scarlet Sorceress.

"No wonder the Pudong Tower made it very clear that they wouldn't condone any interference with your studies." Jun slapped his thighs. "At least now we know why Pudong is so polemic."

"Would you mind if I joined the Pudong Tower?"

"As long as we won't be pitted against each other," Jun warned her, foreshadowing a most undesirable prospect. "You should always have a choice though. The Western Towers' employ free agents, unlike us military grunts trained and fed by the PLA."

"That's terrible!"

Jun shrugged.

"They gave our families everything we have after the Great Revolution, and again after the Purge during the Cultural Revolution. The entirety of Northern China would be ruled by the Undead were it not for the defence put up by the PLA in the 50s and again in the 80s."

Gwen wanted to ask about the Undead, but Jun interrupted her with a sudden chortle.

“I wonder what they will call you,” he snickered. “The Devourer? Gwen the Voracious Eater?”

“Why not Lightning Gwen, or something like ‘The Flash’?” Gwen fired back.

What kind of bloody moniker was the Devourer? Was she a terror at the buffet, the consummate consumer of roasts? The emptier of the oyster tray? If they're going with non-sensical names, why not something that sounded terrifyingly cool like The Lurker in the Void? The Tempest-tress?

“Well, usually its the most memorable aspect of a Mage that makes the moniker. Think about it. Gunther’s powers manifest as Radiance, so it goes to show that he’s the Morning Star. Your sister-in-craft is well known for her scarlet fire, and she always wears red, so she’s the ‘Scarlet Sorceress’. You, on the other hand, I don’t think anyone is going to remember your Lightning spells after one look at Caliban, especially if they see him eat. I don’t think it's possible ever to forget the sight of Caliban taking a meal.”

“Ergh…”

"Maybe something like 'Gwen of Light and Dark'?"

An approaching structure loomed in the near-distance.

It was a sentry gate; after which they would be within Hangzhou’s city limits.

As Liu’s manor was on the outskirts, they didn’t need to enter the city itself. Following the orbital ring-road highway around the estuaries that marked the city’s crawling watery progression was sufficient in delivering them to their destination.

“Gwen, your secret is safe with me, I am on your side,” Jun assured his niece.

“I know.” Gwen channelled her inner Han Solo.

“Great. You can tell me more about your world, at your leisure. I am very interested in this Science business. Though I am afraid, we're going to have to keep it to ourselves.”

“Sure thing, Uncle, of course. Should... I tell Babulya?"

To her surprise, Jun shook his head.

"No, Mother has enough on her plate. The shock and disappointment aside, it would drastically complicate your relationship with Father."

"Alright," Gwen replied, her voice a little hollow for the loss.

“On to a more immediate matter then. What do you think about this wedding business.”

Gwen sighed.

“To be honest, I think it’s going to be a shit-show, excuse my French.”

“Aha.” Jun chuckled. “Go on.”

“Uncle Jun… I don’t know how well you know Dad - he is not a one-woman man. Qīn is the most feminine woman I have ever seen, and she’s very much in love with him, but that hardly compares to Dad's history. He’s a free spirit.”

“Why do you think he’s choosing to settle down?”

“God knows,” Gwen shrugged. “Maybe he is in love with the woman; maybe he wants to have a normal family again - I mean, I am a pretty shitty daughter.”

“No!”

“It’s true. I am bitchy; I am ungrateful; I am judgmental. Dad couldn’t wait until I was out of the house.”

“Oh, Gwen, that’s not true.”

“Well, it's spilt milk now.” Gwen puckered her dry lips, wetting both petals with her tongue. “As I said, Dad likes women like I like food. I can’t imagine myself eating hotpot every day, no matter how spicy and awesome it might be, and Dad can’t f- SLEEP… with the same woman. It’s in his blood.”

“I imagine Father would have something to say about his blood.”

“Sorry, Uncle.”

“That’s alright, keep going.”

“That’s it. Dad’s not a bad bloke. He took care of Percy and me, materially, minimally, and I am not unthankful for that. He’s the sort of a guy who makes a far better mate - that’s friend in our Aussie lingo - than he is a father or a husband.”

“I can see that, yeah.”

“What I am worried about, and this is what you should tell grandfather - is what happens when Dad sleeps with the maid? Or one of Qīn’s colleagues, or a female something with two legs, a gash, and happens to be in the local vicinity.”

Jun winced.

That respect Gwen had for Hai made his eyes water.

"Father believes Hai is a changed man."

"Because of Qīn?"

“The House of Liu is an old family with strong ties to the CCP. We’re not Clanners, like those Sectarian Sword-Mages, the old Daoshis, or the Monks, just old families that have done well in the new China. The Lius are a decent Clan, as far as Power Progeny goes. A little nepotism in the ranks, but well within norms. The older generation is well deserving of their reputation.”

“That makes it worse, right?” Gwen felt a sinking feeling in her chest.

“Unfortunately, yes. I suppose we should be glad that Hai was married then divorced, to a nobody. Sorry, Gwen. On the other hand, Qīn is way past the usual age for marriage but is well regarded as Chief Physician. She is a gifted healer, certainly better than Sister Nen, Tao’s mother, and inferior to mother only by virtue of age and experience.”

“Wait up,” Gwen thought of an unpleasant projection. “Was Dad ever a mummy’s boy?”

“Of course, he was always her favourite. He’s extremely good at squeezing adoration and affection from her, you know.”

“Was Babulya famous for her beauty, her youth, her motherliness, her wonderful personality… classic Oedipal and all that?”

"What's Oedipal?"

"Its when you... love... your mother, very much."

“That goes without saying, Gwen. We ALL love mother, right?! At any rate, Klavidya was the most eligible bachelorette in the CCP’s Medical Spellcraft Division! Probably more famous than you or Petra when she studied in Fudan. They called her the czarina from the Harbin Frontier!”

"Did the two of you get a lot of affection from Babulya?"

"Yes and no, she was working as much as Father. The military raised us. But, Mother used to shower us with affection every chance she had."

"Absent mother, huh?"

"Gwen, what are you getting at?"

“So DAD is marrying a HEALER who is soft-hearted, kind, beautiful, and dotes on him unconditionally…”

“…”

“Just like Babulya?”

“Oh, Mao…”

“Ah~ classic Dad…”

Jun’s Adam’s apple bobbed a few times.

"Surely Dad won't cheat... on his mother?"

Jun's fist gripped the steering wheel.

“Is... this the 'psychology' you spoke of?”

“Yeah…”

"Don't... ever be a Mind Mage."

"Okay..."

On the horizon, the quiet outskirts of Hangzhou came into view, a shimmering sheet of haze hanging over a mirage-like waterscape of dynastic terraces sitting over the city's tributaries and estuaries, wilting in the summer haze.

* * *

The same servant they had seen last time led uncle and niece into the courtyard.

Babulya was there, as well as Gwen’s grandfather, including Gwen’s aunty, Nen, which she had seen only twice. The younger generation was missing and likely would not be present until the wedding date.

Her father was present, naturally, along with the Liu brigade.

“Ash Bringer! Welcome back! Miss Song! I am glad to see you are safe!” Sumei, the Patriarch, opened his arms expansively and welcomed the two into his ‘abode’.

Not wanting to take her chances, Gwen curtsied expertly.

Jun bowed, then bowed again toward his parents.

Gwen quickly moved over to the other side of the aisle and dipped likewise.

“You look as lovely as ever, Gwen,” Qīn remarked.

Gwen wasn’t sure if her comment was a genuine compliment or yet another jab at her mother, so she took it with as much grace as she could muster, putting up a smile as synthetic and illuminating as the Day Light lanterns brightening the courtyard.

“Gwen IS very pretty, isn’t she?” Nen flattered her niece. “She’s famous in Fudan you know. Even I’ve heard about the Deathworm-Beauty of Guoding Road, hahaha! Tao and Mina has nothing but praise for you, Gwen. My husband thinks the world of you as well.”

“Thanks, Aunty.” Gwen played the coy waif.

“Gwen.” Her babulya made a come-hither with her hands. Gwen carefully approached, cute as a button and meek as a kitten.

“Grandfather~.”

“Sister.”

The sound of the familiar voice gave her a start. It was deeper than she'd recalled, more mature, but also worn and fatigued.

Behind Guo was her brother.

“Percy! I’ve missed you!” she let loose a genuine yelp of jubilation before recalling how they’d parted last time, with unspoken bad blood. "How are you? The training is going well, I hope."

“I see you have done well for yourself,” Guo interjected before her brother could reply. There was a dull glow in his eye that suggested some sort of Divination; the effect was subtle, and Gwen had only noticed because each and everytime she felt ‘scanned’, the follicles on her arms and her legs broke out in goosebumps. “The trip has gone well?”

“It has, Grandfather,” Gwen replied in a decorous and careful manner. “Uncle Jun has taken great care of me.”

“As he should.” Guo inclined his head, his expression unreadable as usual.

When Gwen persisted in looking behind him, the old man annoyedly sidestepped. To Guo, the uncultured girl had no inclination that the protocol was to make small talk with the elders, asking permission to be dismissed. He wondered if she'd been raised by wolves, but then recalled that yes, she was raised by Hai.

“Percy.”

“Sis.”

“How have you been?”

“Good, good.”

Percy looked paler than Gwen recalled, though it was no surprise if he had spent his time indoors, training in his private gym. Even if the boy had lived a healthy lifestyle outdoors, the Chinese sun was piss-weak by Aussie standards. Shanghai especially was choked by mana miasma. The silver lining for Gwen was that her soft skin fared well so long as she wasn't stuck in a topless jeep for six-hours, affording her convenient summer attires like singlets, tank tops and sundresses. If she had remained in Australia, summer would have been an endless ritual of slip-slop-slap.

While the youngsters talked, the oldies moved to occupy more comfortable seating in the East Wing.

The manor was tranquil and beautiful, especially as subtle manifestations of Dancing Lights played across frond-filled ponds that surrounded the pagoda pavilions, joined by frog song and the sibilant trickling of water.

With the two of them left alone, Gwen attempted to thaw the ice.

“So, how’s the training.”

Percy looked sheepish.

“Coming along, I am filling up my second tier in Evocation. Grandfather hopes that I can concurrently train with another school, but learning meta-Schools Spellcraft is very taxing.”

“Oh yes.” Gwen nodded sagely. She vaguely recalled her ‘I am a Generalist’ days. Learning anything had been a chore until she had properly Awakened to Conjuration and Evocation, cognitively conjoining her Astral and physical bodies. “The headaches you get from mana burn can get pretty nauseating. Don’t push yourself too hard, hey?”

When she looked up, Percy had a sardonic smirk on his face.

“Do you 'really' have trouble with meta-School spells, Sis?”

“It’s only natural,” Gwen defended herself reflexively.

“Which School, exactly?”

“Well.” Gwen placed a few indignant fingers against her collarbone. “I would certainly struggle to learn Enchantment, for example.”

“But not Evocation, or Illusion, or Abjuration, or Transmutation, or Divination?”

Her next words became tongue-tied.

Did Percy think she was humblebragging?

In hindsight, the boy was right, what she had said was exactly that.

Of course, Percy would know the true extent of her Schools.

Her Grandfather had watched as she dissected Choi for his Illusion talent.

Percy snorted.

“So, how was the trip?”

“The trip? Oh yes, the trip! It was fascinating! Jun and I had many encounters with Wildland Magical Monsters. Ran into a Dragon-kin, the most intimidating Pangolin you have ever seen. Started shouting when we tried to kill it. Then there were bees. My God! So many bees! Bees the size of…”

Gwen launched into an endless tirade of relative half-truth, detailing what had happened on the mountain. She couldn’t possibly tell Percy about her harvest of Draconic-Essence, nor was she about to reveal the existence of Ayxin or Golos. Instead, Gwen focused on the hunting of the Dragon-carp and the Draconic-deer.

“So, did you manage to find a Core? or a Spirit?”

Ah, Gwen snickered internally. You sneaky little rascal. ‘That’ was the million-HDM question.

“Huhuhu.” Gwen puffed out her chest.

“You did?”

Percy’s breath quickened.

His face grew flush with crimson.

Gwen almost felt sorry for teasing him.

“NOPE!” She laughed, slapping his shoulder. “I got nothing! We did find a Core though, an earthen one. Gonna hawk it for crystals to pay for rent, haha.”

Her brother laughed awkwardly, from the looks of it, he rightfully doubted her story.

But there was one more thing on Gwen’s mind.

If Percy wanted to test her, it was only right that she prodded him back.

The information that Lulan had told her.

“Percy, tell me about the young man from the Huashan Sect called Pei Li.”

It wasn't a question.

Gwen wasn't going to let her brother off without at least twisting his arm.

Percy’s demeanour palpably shifted toward the defensive.

“He’s a classmate.” Percy was visibly sweating. The young man was too green! Gwen mused - though it was endearing that her brother immediately thought he was in deep shit. Their grandfather must have informed him that she’d made up with Lulan; if so, Percy should have expected that Lulan would have told her everything. From the looks of it, Grandfather was leaving Percy to deal with his cock-up.

“Are you close friends?”

“We’re acquainted.” Percy couldn’t meet Gwen's eyes.

“Did you ever talk to Pei regarding my circumstances? About things like…”

“…”

“About... you know... like...”

She could hear Percy audibly breathing now.

The boy looked as though he was being racked!

The schadenfreude was intoxicating, but she had to stop.

“... how PRETTY your sister is!”

Gwen wrapped an arm around Percy, pulling him closer until his face was against hers. She blinked her eyes coquettishly in a jovial and clownish manner.

“Are your friends at all interested in the infamous Deathworm Handler of Fudan?! I am rather infamous now you know. They say that Petra and I have become the most well-known faces around University Road!”

“Let me go!” Percy struggled feebly, caught off guard by Gwen’s aggressive body language.

Gwen kept Percy captive under one arm. Despite the growth spurt her brother had enjoyed, he was no match for her Almundj-Essence empowered body. Even without the Draconic-vitae, she was far sturdier than her lithe arms suggested.

The kinship felt good, as did the skinship.

It was the sort of thing she had done with Percy in the old world.

When Percy finally escaped, pressing against her with all his might, Gwen had to let go.

“Hey! You’re crushing my boob!”

“Am not!” Percy’s face had become scarlet pork-liver. "That's your rib!"

“Ah~, Boys, they grow up so fast. Did you get to know any girls from school? Xiangming Metropolitan is Co-Ed, right?”

Percy nodded, fixing his ruffled hair.

“So, you got a girlfriend yet?”

Percy shook his head.

“WHAT?! FOR SHAME!” Gwen scolded her brother. “Loser! Look at Dad! How can you continue the legacy of your Father if all you do is sit around on your ass NOT having a girlfriend?!”

“Grandpa forbade me,” Percy muttered.

“PUFFT!” Gwen spat out rancorous laughter. “Why?”

“He said that er… we need to preserve our… vitality, because of Salt.”

“What? Are you for real? You're celibate?”

Percy growled, looking as though he wanted to find a hole and crawl into it.

“Hahaha, you need to preserve your… hahaha.” Gwen slapped her thighs. “What kind of Fengshui logic is that?! If your father had done that from the start, we wouldn’t exist! Can you imagine Father having enough temperance for that sort of thing?”

“OKAY~ Jeez.” Percy shot her an annoyed look.

Gwen wiped a tear from her eye.

Percy sighed.

“Bloody hell, Percy, SO MOROSE. What are you, Vincent Price?”

“Who’s that.”

“Ah, never mind.”

“Okay.”

“So, what do you think about Dad’s wedding?”

“I don’t think," Percy muttered, his voice morose and affected. "It's not like my opinion matters."

Ah, that means he hates it. Gwen recognised the rebellious tone. Well, it only stood to reason. Their father was indeed having another child, and Percy was right to feel paranoid. Replacing the heir was unlikely though, Grandfather had gone to great length to set up his new grandson, and a bird in the hand is always better than two in the bush. She was confident that their patriarch wouldn't just give up Percy in exchange for the great unknown inside Qīn’s belly.

“Well, what do you think about your soon to be baby sister or brother?”

“My WHAT?!” Percy shot from where he'd sat as though a pin-cushion had materialised on the wooden bench. His already pale face took on a new shade of sickly paleness that rivalled Gwen's complexion.

OH SHIT! Gwen mentally slapped herself. He didn’t know?! Did no one tell Percy? The boy must have known?! Right? That's the bloody reason for the shotgun wedding!

“Well, it was a secret? Or I should say, an open secret? Can you pretend to have not heard?”

There was no salvaging the shit-show that had been unleashed.

Loose lips sink ships! Gwen berated herself.

Percy sat down.

Taking her brother's hand, Gwen felt his skin first boil, then rapidly cool until it was icy.

“Percy- seriously, are you okay?” she intoned worriedly, putting a hand to his forehead. Her brother's skin became clammy with sweat.

“I-I-”

Percy looked as though he was intoxicated.

His eyes suddenly grew wide; then he doubled over.

“Oomph...er..."

“Percy! What’s happening?” Gwen tried slapping his back.

“I… Gods…”

Then Gwen felt it.

That familiar aura of Jun, subsuming essence.

The Kirin Amulet - something was happening within the Kirin Amulet.

Not only that, her own Almudj's Essence was agitated.

“Percy, it’s the Amulet! What are you doing with it?”

“NOTHING! I’ll be fine!” Her brother spat defensively. "Leave me alone!"

“You’re not fine! You bloody idiot! Let me see!”

“NO!” Percy battered her hand away, jarring her fingers.

The audacious act filled Gwen with a sudden bout of righteous fury.

She felt such resentment and annoyance that any feeling of sentimentality became drowned out by a sudden wave of all-consuming vindictiveness.

How dare Percy refuse her generosity!?

“God damn it you little shit!” The words escaped her mouth before she could even think of them. “Don’t try to play with powers you can’t control! Let me see the bloody thing before you kill yourself.”

Even though the words had engendered from in her mind, she hadn't the slight intention of expelling them. That her diatribe had escaped her lips unbidden shocked the both of them into stunned silence.

Percy glared at her with a fierceness that made her flinch.

“Shit, Percy, sorry, look, I didn’t mean that.”

Percy clasped his Amulet protectively.

“I AM FINE!” He stood up, his neck throbbing with purple veins. “GET AWAY FROM ME!”

“Alright, alright… Jesus…”

Gwen backed out of the pagoda-pavilion. She wasn't sure how to deal with Percy's outrage. Not even in the old world had her brother ever screamed at her.

“DAD! UNCLE JUN?!” she called out. If Percy refused her help, maybe someone else can help her. "MR LIU? ANYONE?"

“SHUT UP!” Percy hissed at her. “SHUT UP! GOD DAMN IT!”

A few of the servants came running.

Jun and Guo materialised from the East Wing.

“What’s happened?” Jun turned to Gwen. Her uncle's face was a mask of concern.

“Percy’s not feeling well…” Gwen tried to explain.

“She wants my PENDANT!” Percy almost howled out his accusation. His face was a mask of blind anguish. "She tried to TAKE IT!"

“Grandson!”

When Guo stepped into the pagoda, Gwen felt the moisture drain from the air. As the old man held up his precious heir, he gave Gwen a cold and dangerous glare full of suspicion.

“WHAT! NO!” Gwen protested wildly. "It's a misunderstanding!"

She begged her uncle with her eyes.

Jun looked to be far more worried about his father, who appeared on the verge of popping a gasket.

“NO! I’d never!” she stated again. “He was in pain! I was trying to help! I gave him the amulet, why would I want it back?!”

“Gwen, we believe you,” Jun interjected. “Let’s all just calm down.”

“Grandfather…” Percy held onto Guo’s shoulder. "I don't feel well."

“Bring your Grandmother!” Guo snapped at Gwen. “Go now! She's attending to Qīn! The East Wing!”

Gwen ran.

Her heart felt as though it had been dashed on the floor and stomped.

Her brain was a jumble of mixed emotions; indignity, impotent fury, and wilting betrayal all mixed into a volatile cocktail.

Of course, she wanted the fucking thing, but she would never TAKE IT from her brother, GOD DAMN IT! She swore internally, gnashing her teeth. As she ran past the terrified NoM servants, her chest felt so constricted that the pressure against her ribcage felt rigged to blow.

'Splash!'

Below her, the Koi in the pond began to boil, writhing as though they were trying to escape the water itself. A few of them became driven into such a frenzy that the fish started attacking each other.

SHIT! Gwen caught herself before the commotion spread too far.

She was LEAKING now of all fucking times.

Calm your tits girl! She chided herself as she activated Ayxin’s scale by directing her seething Essence toward it.

Harmony! She had to remain calm and collected.

She had to be placid like a summer Billabong.

An indistinct passage of minutes passed.

When she opened her eyes, her heart had returned to its usual cadence.

Her unruly essence was under control.

That and two dozen priceless Koi were dead, floating belly-up after tearing themselves to bits.

FUCK!

FUCK A DUCK!

IT DOESN’T FUCKING END!

Her zen shattered as the tranquil green water below broke into silvery fragments refracting the Dancing Lights hovering over the pond, hinting at the violent demise of yet more Koi.

She had to get out of here! She had to get somewhere where her 'leaks' wouldn't murder the pet fish Qīn had likely raised for a decade.

Gwen fled the sight of the carp-holocaust, only to run into her uncle coming the other way two pavillions away, catching her on the narrow bridge where there was no avoiding the anxious-looking man.

“Gwen." Her uncle was surprised to see her. "You try to find Mother, yes?”

Gwen froze.

Did she go and get babulya?

Of course, that had been the plan.

“Yeah…”

“You were gone for almost ten minutes. Mother found us by herself.”

“Oh…”

“Where did you go?”

“I had a leak.”

“Mao! Did you get it under control?”

“Yeah, I mean, no, I-”

She couldn't continue because, in the next moment, uncle and niece were no longer alone. Her grandfather was accompanied by her brother, who was looking pale but otherwise restored, as well as babulya.

“Gwen, I had requested that you find your grandmother.” Guo’s expression spoke of one whose patience and kindness was running on fumes. “What did you do instead? Where did you go?”

“I was looking,” Gwen told the half-truth.

“I find that very difficult to believe.”

“Gwen,” her babulya tried to intervene. "Guo, let it go."

"Klavdiya! Stay out of this!" Guo growled at his wife, furious that even now she would take the ingrate's side.

Watching her babulya's crestfallen expression, something snapped inside of Gwen.

“Well, I did, Old man! What's so hard to believe?” Gwen riposted suddenly, her eyes vivid with barely contained passion. “Whether you believe it or not, I did. That's the truth, take it or leave it!”

The resultant silence was as though a magical debuff had descended upon the gathered throng. Not even the frogs dared to croak. Pressing terrified and vague fingers against her lips, Gwen wondered if slapping herself loudly and humiliatingly across the face would salvage the moment, though her grandfather’s demeanour suggested the situation had escalated way beyond that.

“Jun, with me. Gwen, do as you please.”

“Father…”

“Guo…”

Gwen lowered her head.

The glower her grandfather gave to his wife and his son was enough to make their blood run cold.

“Jun, you have disappointed me. Is this insolence what you hoped to accomplish by risking yourself? Is this what you've been teaching her?”

Her uncle lowered his head as well. The transpiring act, in Gwen's eyes, became a physical pain stabbing at her chest.

“I am sorry, Father.”

At that moment, Gwen would have gladly tested the hypothesis of whether their grandfather could tank an affinity 6 Lightning Sphere to the face, and if her babulya possessed the ability to put fuck-wit McGuo back together again.

But her uncle and babulya were watching, and so Gwen held her tongue.

“I am sorry, Grandfather.” Gwen bowed deeply. It was all she could do right now.

Her hair fell over her face and shoulders, blocking her forward vision.

All she could see was the feet of those who shuffled past, each by each.

Guo.

Jun.

Percy.

Then finally babulya.

An elegant pair of embroidered sandals stopped just below her eyes.

“Gwen, you don’t have to like your Grandfather, but you do have to respect him. Can you at least do that for me, Dear?”

“Yes, Babulya. I am sorry.”

“It’s alright dear. This is a sensitive time. You Grandfather doesn’t want to lose face in front of the Liu’s.”

“Yes, Babulya.”

“We’ll talk once this is all over, alright?”

“Yes, Babulya.”

The troop moved on. She was left alone.

Gwen felt sick. She felt more fatigued than for the entirety of her and Jun's Huangshan poaching trip, including her Golos-showdown.

“OH MAO!”

The shriek made her flinch.

“GREAT LEADER’S GHOST!”

“SOMEONE KILLED THE KOI!”

“MISTRESS' FAVOURITE KOI?!”

"WHO WOULD DO THIS?"

That was the final straw.

She had run out of the necessary willpower to deal with even more shit after a world of shit had just descended upon her shit filled world.

“Flight!”

Gwen incanted her Lesser Flight spell; she lifted herself into the air, then pointed her face toward the lights in the distance.

She needed a fucking drink, a quiet place to sit, and time to think.

Gwen had never bought alcohol in Shanghai. Bad as things had gotten, she had been too busy with new friends to desire chemically induced leisure.

Luckily, the first shopping-street she found had a local mini-mart selling booze.

She filled her basket with a six pack of Tsingtao, a bottle of what looked like soju, and a sparkling flask of peach-flavoured mystery. There was no tequila, her poison of choice, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

The store clerk, a NoM, stared at her with such intensity that he may as well tear out his eyes and toss his orbs onto her legs.

That was when Gwen realised she was still wearing her black skort, easily mistaken for a salacious minidress. When she had left the military base, she had thoughtfully tossed on something that allowed her to survive the humidity of Hangzhou. T-shirts were too casual, while dresses were too much of a hassle, especially if Gwen had to sit for long durations, perspiring into the chiffon fabric. Settling on the skort, she then found a loose blouse that she could wear over her white camisole. When Gwen wanted to relax, she could pop the shirt and feel the wind. If she wanted to go formal, the front could be buttoned up and ribbon-tied.

Her current get-up wasn’t the latter. She was open-bloused and ‘not giving a shit’. Her hair was also wild from the late-night Flight, plastered to her face, having picked up every mote of condensation rising from the West Lake.

"Can I see some I.D?" The clerk swallowed.

Gwen glared at the poor NoM. Mayhap it was the dragon-fear, or maybe she simply looked pissed off enough to skin a man alive; the clerk apologised profusely for daring to question her age.

Turning quickly and feeling ashamed for terrifying the hapless NoM, she left him the change, whatever it was.

Reminding herself of her luck with opposite-sex encounters, she then flew over the rural farmlands, where presumably No-Fly restrictions were not in play; until she found a rather attractive location on the uninhabited shore of the West Lake, dotted with lotus flowers, glimmering with muted moonlight.

She alighted on what she had thought was a floating deck, but turned out to be an enormous water-lily leaf almost four-meters across. The platform first wobbled, but quickly stabilised as Gwen lowered her centre of gravity.

When she further tested the buoyancy of the flora, she noted with wonder that it was quite literally unsinkable. The furry surface felt like carpet, not to mention hydrophobic.

Confident in the plant's ability to keep her above the tepid, weed-filled water, Gwen sat crossed legged in the lotus-position and tried to come to grips with what the hell was happening.

Breath in -

- Breath out.

It all began when her Uncle had found out about her origins.

That particular crisis turned out fine, the drama was unwarranted, and she could trust the man unconditionally. The revelation was more cathartic than it was traumatic.

Then father called.

After that, they arrived in Hangzhou, and there was the big family reunion.

She spoke to Percy, and tried to rile him up over his ‘snitching’.

It was harmless fun, and the boy seemed to take it in stride.

Then she revealed that their father had a new child on the way.

Percy freaked out.

Something happened with the Amulet.

She felt it activate - there that distinct 'tingle', just like the one her uncle manifested when the Ash Mage 'fed' on the essence captured in the Kirin Stone.

Her brother then had an asthma attack.

She tried to help.

Percy had battered her hand away.

Then what?

Then she snapped at him.

“God damn it you little shit!”

Yep, that’s about right, Gwen thought to herself.

The thought was most definitely her own. Even now she felt upset over the rebuke.

“Don’t try to play with powers you can’t control! Give me the bloody thing before you kill yourself.”

Ah, fuck.

Freudian slip?

Or was it?

Gwen pondered on why she had blurted such a thing.

They were doing so well, making a connection, getting along, and then the amulet had dispelled the Illusion; bringing the two of them kicking and screaming into the real world.

Percy saw her as a competitor.

And the Kirin Amulet remained a point of contention.

Feeling that she needed something to ease the kick-boxing kangaroo in her chest, she popped a bottle of Tsingtao. With Almudj’s unconditional aid, she had no idea if she could still become intoxicated. Alcohol was, after all, something that altered her chemical state, while the Essence did its best to keep her in peak physical condition, willingly or no, which was precisely the source of her incontinent 'dragon-fear'.

“This one’s for you, Uncle JUN!”

Gwen threw her head back, allowing the ice-cold fluid entry into the temple of her body. Despite the likelihood that her buzz was a placebo effect, she persisted through another bottle.

"Puuwa!"

She continued her rumination.

After an unintended trespass, Percy freaked out.

Did she leak her dragon-fear then? Gwen wasn't sure. If she had, the koi would have gone nuts right below them. The fish always congregated where there were people, expecting to be fed.

She then called for help, anxious that Percy was gripping the Amulet and crying blue-murder, which brought their grandfather and Jun.

Then what happened?

The little shit snitched on her!

That fucking weasel! I ought to fry his lily ass.

A spark of electricity zinged across her vision. It must have escaped from somewhere on her person.

WOA WOA WOA! Gwen caught herself yet again.

Her Almudj-Essence was immensely agitated and with it, her thunderous lightning mana.

What the fuck was that?

Why was she uncharacteristically upset, so out of control and impulsive?

Her 'grin it and bear it' demeanour was arguably world-class.

She had been less upset when some guy grabbed her ass on the train!

She hadn’t even felt this intensity of emotion when her father pulled a whole alt-life story out of his ass, then doomed her to being stuck in Shanghai, taking her away from Yue and Elvia.

She closed her eyes and tried to mediate.

Almundj’s Essence revolved around her body, again and again, diffusing the alcohol. Gwen topped up with the soju.

Wait up, her mind clicked.

What the hell had Instructor Chen said?

It was during that conversation they had about the Dragon Cores.

“You two should learn to temper yourselves, as Quasi-Elementalist Mages, the more Lightning Affinity you possess, the keener your physiological and mental metabolisms will become. You’re temperament will worsen; you’ll find that your impulses, especially ones aligned with pride and possessiveness, will become easily agitated by stimuli.”

An irrational sense of pride and possessiveness…

Together with Wanli, the coolest Familiar Gwen had ever seen, Lu’s affinity was about 6. Around campus, Lu was famous for his arrogant manner and quick temper, though the young man seemed very much self-aware. In fact, during their first meeting, Lu had made a prideful misstep, then apologised to Instructor Chen. Assuming Wanli gave Lu at least 2, it meant his natural affinity was about 4.

Her affinity?

Six.

SEX sexy tiers of Lightning, as Whetu would say in his Kiwi Kant.

A fair shakeup of the sauce bottle - right up there with the best of em.

Gwen chuckled to herself.

The narcissism was real, but she had to give herself credit for grinding down a tier 10 Thunder-wyvern, then fucking it in the ass with Caliban. A girl had to know her worth; there was a difference between humility and ignorance of one’s excellence. Why she ought to inform those twats at the Liu manor that-

Gwen stepped on her mental brakes before her fantasy roared down reality highway and ran someone over.

“An irrational sense of pride,” she repeated to herself, tasting the words on her tongue. “And excessive possessiveness.”

How awful, Gwen thought. Was she to become like Ayxin or Golos? Transformed into an insufferable, stuck-up, better-than-thou Machiavelli-draconian? In her old world, the sociopaths with psychopathic disregard usually got ahead. That was one of the reasons she dreamt of working for herself. She had always been prideful, else she would not have left home at sixteen. The problem now was that the face she had prepared to meet faces that she meets was cracking like poorly applied makeup.

What were the other traits that came with Elemental Affinity?

Fire Mages were irrational and quick to anger and passion - which certainly spoke loudly of Yue and Alesia.

Radiant Mages had incredible personal presence and vitality, like Gunther and Magister Lee.

Ice Mages were distant and aloof - such as the infamously frigid Kitty.

Earthen Mages underwent physical changes - like Lulan, especially with her heart of Iron Technique.

Air Mages were flighty and distracted, become physically diminished.

And Healers? Positive-Energy Mages transformed into wonderful, caring, angelic little Evees or Babulyas.

In all honesty, Gwen found her Affinity-induced PMS hard to swallow. That somehow she was not in control of how she acted and reacted to others, that her neurological wiring was reworking itself simply because she had grown more powerful, was abhorrent to her.

It made no sense that she couldn’t dig herself out of this hole. How was she going to fight her ‘Calamity’ if she couldn’t uproot something as simple as a little chemical alteration of the brain? Where there's a will, there's a way, wasn't there?

Feeling the empty space around her, she desperately desired that there was somebody she could talk to.

Someone like Yue, or Elvia - or Richard and Petra.

Perhaps emboldened by the alcohol, she punched in the glyphs and did exactly that.

Richard should be with Lulan and Kusu, Gwen recalled. They had gone Questing roughly the same time she had gone off with Jun.

"Hello? Gwen? You're back?!"

"I am back!" she replied jovially. "How's everyone."

“We're all in Nantong at the moment, though Gwen... I heard from Mina that your Father is getting remarried?!"

"YES! And guess who's a bridesmaid?! It's a ME! GWEN!"

"Bloody oath, Uncle Hai... he's such a fuckwit, it's like he can't help himself. I mean, who'd want YOU as a bridesmaid?"

"Hey! Are you saying I'll make a terrible bridesmaid?"

"It doesn't take a Diviner to now that!"

"Richard!"

Richard laughed.

The mirth was infectious, and Gwen felt better already.

"Ah, bloody hell. Strewth... Gwen, NOT that I care about Aunt Helena or anything, but if you want someone to talk to, I am here with Lulu, Kusu and the crew. Do you mind if I put us on audible? Lulu is keen to talk to you.”

“Sure! Hi guys!”

“Hi, Gwen!”

“Miss Song, I am glad you’ve returned safely.”

“So, how was the trip?” Richard asked, perhaps wishing to divert her from becoming further depressed by the woeful wedding. "Regale us with your adventures!"

The voice of her cousin and friends worked its magic like a much-needed dose of Celexa. Gwen felt the taut tension in her body unwind as though the rack she’d been stuck on had released the screw.

“The trip was good, VERY good! We ran into all sorts of interesting Draconic animals - then ate all of them, ha! Uncle Jun was amazing! I LOVE HIM TO BITS!”

Gwen's voice took on a hysterical edge. With great gusto and flourish, she told them the same version she had narrated to her brother. As for Richard, her cousin, as well as Petra, would receive a private revision once they were reunited.

“Wonderful!” Richard’s voice bellowed across wherever the ‘crew’ was gathered. “I look forward to seeing your new affinity and Caliban’s new form.”

“Oh, his new form is terrible,” Gwen boasted guiltily, reminding herself to consult with Caliban after the call. What would a Void-stag resemble? The Thunder Stag had undoubtedly given Caliban a run for its money. Surely her Familiar would have subsumed the form of a worthy challenger.

“Caliban has yet another monstrous form?” Kusu’s voice was equal-parts anxiety and nervousness.

“Kusu, don't interrupt - so, Gwen - how was the peak of Huangshan? I've only ever seen Huashan. Is it as awe-inspiring as they say?” It was Lulan who spoke up.

“Lulu~, Huangshan was beautiful - deadly and dangerous - but also pretty as a painting…”

"That sounds wonderful. I'd love to climb Lotus Peak one day."

Assuming you don't run into a dragon! Gwen mused.

“So, Lulu, how’s working with Richard?”

“Richard is amazing,” Lulu’s response was worshipful. “I feel like such a frog in a well.”

“The siblings are BOTH doing great,” her cousin butted in jovially. “Kusu helped as well. He's our level-headed strategist.”

“I didn’t do anything worthwhile,” Kusu interjected humbly. “Those two are insane.”

“Hahaha.” Richard chuckled.

“So what did you guys do?”

As Lulan was far too drunk on happiness and excitement to tell a lucid story, Richard obliged in Lulan's stead. According to her cousin, they ventured to Nantong with his old crew to participate in the construction of Tonlv Canal, a major infrastructural project connecting Nantong to the Yellow Sea, enabling maritime trade between Seoul, Nagasaki, Qingdao, and upper Shanghai, forming a quadrangle trade-route.

Richard’s ‘party’ had initially been tasked with clearing wildlife beside the construction Mages and NoM labourers, but after Lulan started to 1-hit K.O every other river-gob they came across, the presiding official recruited the party for Purge requests across the Dayang peninsular.

With almost triple the pay and double the CCs, the party immediately made a name for themselves, with Richard acting as Abjurer and support, while Lulan served as the primary offensive damage-dealer. On the fourth day, the party managed to uncover an extensive Merfolk-warren. Before the Party official had even issued an edict, Richard’s party had cleared the entire ‘Dungeon’, bringing back a half-a-dozen cores and the head of the Merfolk Chief, a fifty-stone humanoid catfish.

"... We stood back while Lulu did her thing. I kept her Shielded, and Kusu had our backs. The other guys spent the whole time digging for cores and mining water-crystals."

"Sounds like you guys had a great time."

“Indeed it was. Smooth as butter. Anyway, we’re on break right now, on government expense, ha!” Richard boasted. “It's a state-sanctioned hotel, but the buffet is wonderful. Wish you were here, the water’s beautiful and Merfolk-free!”

“How’s Lulan dealing with the boys?” Gwen asked a critical question. As she recalled, Kusu had been very nervous.

“Hahahaha!” Richard broke into rancorous laughter.

“Richard!” Kusu complained bitterly, evidently triggered by Gwen's query and Richard's mirthful mockery.

“Lulan brought a risque swimsuit to enjoy her R&R, but Kusu has forbidden her from wearing it!”

“It shows her-”

“Kusu!” Lulan’s voice cried out shrilly. “I can wear whatever I want!”

“Gods, Kusu, it’s just a boob tube! Mate, calm your tits, not that the ones on display are yours to withhold, hahaha!”

“Arrrrgh~! Not so loud!"

"Richard! Nooo!"

The Message Device became inundated with snickering laughter.

Gwen shared in the merriment even as her chest became punctured by disappointment and resentment, a feeling worse than checking Facebook during the end of the fiscal quarter and seeing people on holidays in Santorini or Hokkaido. She felt hollowed out, as though all sensation of joy became consumed by gut-wrenching, maddening envy.

Why couldn’t she be in Nantong with Richard and Lulu, kicking ass and eating on the government’s dime, living life however she wanted?

Of course, Gwen knew the answer to her rhetorical question; it was the source of her grievous upset.

She was such an ungrateful bitch, moping about her teacup-drama when Uncle Jun risked his life to gift her with tier 6 Lightning.

With the shame of her churlish egocentrism crushing her mood, the bounty of happiness her friends provided no longer felt nourishing; instead, their carefree laughter grated her ears.

"Okay, I got to go. Thanks for the laughs, Richard, I'll Message you again later, or see you guys in a week!"

"Laters, Gwen!"

"Bye!"

"Stay safe, Miss Song."

With the call ended, Gwen called forth Caliban and Ariel.

Her serpent and marten weighted down the discus-foliage of the water-lily.

She needed something else to cheer her up, and a little loot could do just that.

“Alright Cali, let’s see what you got.”

“Shaaa!”

She took Caliban between her arms and began to squeeze, pressing the obsidian serpent against her ribcage.

Caliban heaved.

Out popped the first core, then another, and another and another.

Plop! Plop! Plonk!

Thirteen Draconic-deer cores of exceptional clarity were steadily milked from Caliban, with the addition of one Merfolk core of indistinct quality.

Gwen likewise released the three carp-cores from her Ring, as well as the pangolin’s Earthen core.

The much larger orbs joined the pile of smaller cores in the middle of the lily-pad.

By her inexperienced appraisal, the deer-cores likely fetched 4 - 5000 HDMs, while the carp-cores were slightly higher at 6000. Jun had said that the sapient pangolin's core could be worth up to 25,000 to the right buyer, especially as Earthen Mages were numerous and Abjurers especially were highly sought after. She wasn't sure why there was such a price disparity, perhaps it was because the core's owner was capable of speech? It was an answer that only an experienced crafter like her Opa could give.

The fact that the small pyramid was likely worth up to 100,000 HDMs improved Gwen's mood immensely. It was like looking at a six-digit figure in one’s bank account, basking in the monitor's glow. Her breath became audible pants as she ran a finger over the stockpile, feeling a secret thrill run through her coiled body.

The moment of truth had descended.

Gwen activated her Detect Magic, then picked up the first core and ran a mote of lightning into its interior. It lit up dimly, humming with elemental lightning.

But it was without spirit.

Disappointed, she placed it into a separate pile.

The second, the third, and the forth followed.

Some cumquat sized, others a small orange - the Alpha's core was the size of a grapefruit.

It was an impressive thing of superb clarity, as potent as the Eland core which Mayuree had gifted to Ariel, likely worth a solid 8000 HDMs as well.

A mote of mana left her fingertips and made its round inside the core, projecting such a light that it was as though a Daylight spell had momentarily irradiated the lily-filled lake.

Gwen cursed her indiscretion and surveyed their surroundings.

The light faded, her night-vision returned.

She was, as far as she could tell, thankfully alone. This late at night, NoMs respected curfew, while Mage patrols would be visible from kilometres away thanks to their Day Light lanterns.

Greedily, she cupped the alpha-core and examined it.

Nothing.

Just a core.

SHIT. Gwen prevented herself from stomping the lily pad and sending her collection tumbling.

No spirit.

After all that.

After Uncle Jun risked his life for her!

Should she have killed Golos? Made Caliban consumed the bastard from inside out, heedless of the Yinglongs’ retribution? She was confident there was a core inside that wyvern she could use.

“EEeee! EEE!”

Ariel nudged the stag’s core in her hand, begging her with its big button eyes.

Gwen had known the desperate desire and the wantonness exhibited by Ariel only one other instance. It was at the Auction when Mayuree had tossed her the Eland core.

This time, Ariel's whining was even more intense, possessing such urgency that her empathic link tickled her bladder and gave her an urgent desire to visit the ladies.

Should she give the core to her Familiar though?

She could trade it away for CCs, or sell it for HDMs.

Who knew what projects in the future needed one or the other, or both?

But then again, she corrected herself, wasn’t Ariel a significant investment? Hadn’t its Eland ability helped her immensely, almost single-handedly upped her damage and strategy potential?

Until Gwen achieved a domain of her own, excessive wealth only served as a burden. Personal prowess, on the other hand, possessed linear growth potential for her safety and ambition.

Sensing her relent, Ariel cried a thankful “EEEEE!”

It bit into the core, crushing it within its jaws.

There goes at least 8,000 HDMs, maybe even 10,000 HDMs, Gwen allowed the dust to fall from her fingers, enough to pay for her entire tuition were she not a Scholarship student.

She had Babulya to thank for that.

“EEee!”

Ariel swallowed the rest then indicated to the carp-core.

“Sure, go ahead.”

At this point, Ariel was a sunk cost; the wiser option was to commit her resources fully.

And so Ariel then treated itself to a second.

“Cali, you want in on this action?”

“Shaa!” Caliban wagged its tail.

“Alright, I guess not.”

Gwen examined the last Merfolk core.

It would be ironic if this one were pregnant with a Spirit, she mused.

A mote of mana later, she was left making a face, chewing one side of her lips contemplatively. Nope, she sighed despondently; not even Alanis Morrisette was on her side.

Having now ravaged two creature-cores, Ariel licked its chops and surveyed the rest of the loot pile.

“Oh no you don’t,” Gwen warned her gluttonous Familiar. “The rest has to be split with Uncle Jun. You got those other two because you worked for it! They're coming out of my share.”

“Eeeee! EE!”

“Alright, get back in there.”

She unsummoned her Familiar. Ariel was already getting sleepy. Whatever was in those Draconic-cores, they were very quickly inducing her Familiar to undergo another metamorphosis. Gwen wondered how long Ariel would take this time, and if she would need it in the week or so to come.

With Ariel gone and her loot failing to cough up a Spirit, she packed away the pile of assorted cores and tapped into another beer, feeling the still-cold liquor dispel the summer haze that hung over the West Lake.

Occasionally, a breeze came through, borne upon a cross-wind, lifting her hair and chilling her legs. Those moments were both rare and tranquil, allowing her to forget - if only for a moment - her grandfather's displeased face and Percy’s fearful eyes.

“Oh yeah, Caliban, what else you got?”

“Shaaa?”

“Any new forms?”

“Shaaaaa!”

“Well, let's see em.”

“Woa!”

Drained of its stores, Caliban was back to its old tricks, taking a pound of flesh from Gwen’s body. It was fortuitous that she had earlier had a meal of Merfolk grubs. Otherwise, she would have been bereft of a significant chunk of vitality.

Standing upon the lily pad, framed by the silver of the moonlight, Caliban began to bloat, twisting into its new form. First came the stag-horns, an anticipated addition, then limbs, long and sinuous, stabbing outwards until they formed arm-thick double-jointed needles. A serpentine neck distended from Caliban’s bone-frilled skull, framed by its massive shoulders. Below, its torso tapered into a narrow waist of darkest obsidian, supported by bulging hindquarters. Upon closer inspection, Gwen noted, she could spot scales just beneath the smooth exterior of its semi-opaque obsidian dermis.

"Good boy, Calib- OH JEZ LOUISE!"

Just when she thought Caliban’s horror-filled growth spurt had ceased, it launched itself upward, sprouting two long and elegant hind legs half-a-length longer than its front limbs, likewise armed with needle-point hooves.

“Christ, Cali,” Gwen breathed in the tepid air of the West Lake. “That is not a PG-13 morphic form. What are you? Coraline’s other mother meets xenomorph wendigo?”

“Shaaaaaaa!”

Like all his forms, Caliban was faceless, his skull was Draconic shaped, with a hint of the stag, but otherwise without distinguishing features.

“Where're your tentacles? Cali?”

Gwen glanced at Caliban, hoping to God that thick, prehensile tentacles wouldn't sprout from between the stag’s legs. If so, Caliban’s new power was going to be X-rated. After a public display using 'that', she would sadly miss the days when people called her the “Devourer”.

“Shaaa!”

Caliban stood on its hind legs.

“Bloody hell, you can be bipedal in that form?”

Caliban's pointed hooves stabbed into the water lily’s membranes. Fully erect, her monster Familiar stood well over four meters inclusive of its sixteen-pointer. Eerily, the night became filled with the sound of slithering, accompanied by a mass of lamprey-lipped tentacles dipping low to scent her, touching her hair and cheeks.

Fuck’n oath!

Gwen almost had a heart attack.

Its friggin stag-horns turned into tentacles! Sixteen points - did that mean sixteen tentacles?

What would happen if she commanded it to attack?

“Shaaaa! Shaaaa!”

Caliban turned, sending all of its appendages to assault the air, snapping as though each was bestowed with a life of its own. The effect was simultaneously awe-inspiring and abominable, akin to the stop-motion Medusa Gwen recalled seeing in Clash of the Titans.

So the stag horns are an AOE multi-attack? Gwen pondered the proper application of Caliban’s obscene new body.

For Gwen, the utmost terror of Caliban's new horror-stag morph was its limbs - four lances-like appendages that looked readh to do some serious puncturing. When her stag-fiend furthermore stood on its hind legs, it resembled a doubly horrifying wendigo with needles for limbs and prehensile tentacles for horns. In fact, Gwen's fingers tapped her chin thoughtfully; there were many elements to the creature that was aesthetically familiar to her.

The nuance of a Familiar’s forms was associated with a Mage's deep psyche. As such, Gwen wondered if she was digging through old literature to fuel Caliban's nightmarish appearances. If one was asked to think of a Magical Stag, wouldn’t the Forest Spirit from Princess Mononoke come to mind? Why did her creation look as though Lovecraft and Geiger had a love child? A thousand-young-cum-xenomorph Black Goat?

Retracting its tentacles and returning its horns into coral-like branches of obsidian bone, Caliban dropped to all fours and stalked toward her. The lily pad swayed as Caliban’s bulk shifted its centre of gravity, forcing Gwen to balance herself.

“Caliban, enough.”

She recalled her Familiar, furthermore instructing it to refrain from shifting into the horror-stag unless given express consent. It was just too horrifying and too petrifying to exist in a public space. People would eventually find out, of course, but Gwen wasn’t in a position to entertain the consequences of Caliban terrorising the city in its new aberrant form. She would have to consult with Petra, or at worst, Magister Wen, regarding how to best present a Lurker-Spawn to polite society.

‘Ding!’

Her contemplative privacy was interrupted by an incoming Message.

“Dad?”

“Gwen, where are you now?”

“I am still in Hangzhou if that’s what you mean,” Gwen answered chirpily, her mind a little groggy from the trace alcohol still in her blood.

“Where in Hangzhou exactly?”

“I am at the West Lake,” she confessed. “Enjoying the moonlight.”

“There’s no moon out tonight; it's clouded over.”

“Enjoying the darkness then.”

Hai sighed.

“Mother wants to see you. Are you coming back?”

“Yes, I am coming back.”

“Well, if you do, remember to take the servant’s entrance, the one by the carport. The side entrance door is locked.”

“It’s alright. I flew out. I’ll fly back in.”

“Bloody hell, Gwen,” Hai spat in English, switching to the Australian dialect he had acquired in his years in Oceania. “Just because there are no bleeding patrols doesn’t mean Hangzhou is a Fly-Zone! It's a major food-bowl district! What made you think you can use Flight in a place like this? Why do you think the estates all have walls?!”

“Hangzhou is a No-Fly Zone?”

“Yes!”

“But I flew to the convenience store, and I flew to West Lake.”

“Oh God damn it,” Hai cursed. “You flew out of Secretary Liu’s house! You and the family are registered as VIPs! Of course, no one is going to intercept you! Your step-grandfather will likely cop an earful tomorrow. What else did you do? No boys, I hope?”

“No, just a few drinks.”

“You’re FLYING DRUNK?”

“No!”

“Were you drinking?”

“I guess.”

“How many?”

“About six-beers and a bottle of soju?”

“…”

“It was a small bottle. I’ll be home soon.”

“Walk! For God’s sake!”

“Alright! Jeez, Dad, I am not a child.”

“You’re A MINOR WHO IS DRINKING AND FLYING IN A NO FLY ZONE!" Hai hissed with impotent anger; his voice desperate and quivering. "You don’t even have a Flight licence!”

“…”

Her agitated Almudj-Essence sobered her up. Her father had a point.

“I’ll run home then. See you soon.”

Hai muttered a few grudging pleasantries, then hung up.

Huffing unhappily, Gwen packed her garbage; she might be selfish, possessive and prideful, but she wasn't a tosser.

Her late-night excursion had gone as Gwen had expected. She had given herself time to think, and she now had a general idea what was happening. As the holder of six tiers of affinity, Gwen would have to do her utmost to keep her 'Electric Blues' in check. For now, she would 'apologise' to Percy for her unintended and poorly worded expression, help her father with his wedding, and play nice with he grandfather. In one week's time, she could be back to Fudan, obligations done and dusted.

Anything to keep her babulya and uncle de-stressed and content.

“Okay!”

Gwen slapped her cheeks with both hands.

“Come on! You can do it!”

It was time to go home and face the music.

* * *

Hai sighed, tossing his Messenger Device onto the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Hai, I am worried about Gwen.” Qīn’s breath was pleasant and ticklish against Hai’s ear. “Going out to drink at a time like this, she's going to ruin herself. Such a pretty and talented girl as well, what a shame."

“She'll be fine, dear.” Hai brushed a lock of his fiancee’s hair from her cheeks. “Gwen’s a good girl. It’s just a phase. You were young once, heck; you’re young still! Just look at those cheeks~ softer than ripe peaches!”

Qīn laughed, her voice trilling like a nightingale’s through the winding corridors of the pagoda.

Hai had thought his wife would be livid over the dead Koi. Instead, Qīn had told him that it was no big deal. What was important, his wife had stipulated, was that both Gwen and Percy were safe.

What a wonderful woman! Hai couldn't believe his ears. Had this been Helena, the decibel of her voice would have shattered the transmulated glass in the courtyard. His soul would have escaped his skull!

“You don’t think it’s a mistake asking her to be a bridesmaid, do you?” Qīn asked uncertainly. It was only natural. Any woman would want their wedding to proceed swimmingly.

“No, of course not, dear. Gwen might be in a bad mood now, but she always comes through in the end.”

“Alright, I trust you, Hai.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Hai tasted his fiancee's flushed lips, held captive by her tenderness.

"So, what do you think of my earlier proposal?"

"Ah..."

“I think this is a wonderful opportunity for Gwen to meet some of the young men in the local bureaucracy,” Qīn continued. “I think she’ll be far less troublesome if she can settle down with someone to look after her and teach her the ways.”

“Umm...” Hai pulled away unconsciously. “I don’t know about that.”

“Is Gwen not interested in boys? Well mannered, good-looking boys from prominent families?”

“Em…” As a father, Hai wasn’t sure how to respond. He couldn’t exactly critique Gwen. In the past, he had brought hundreds of women home since Gwen was at a tender age, the girl had developed an especially hostile attitude toward men, particularly flatterers.

He was also reminded of the time she ran home yammering about a train molester. Had that been a big deal? She'd just gone to her room after. Well, it wasn't as though Gwen had lost a piece of her flesh. Sometimes, an ass grab was just an ass grab. After all, Hai himself had grabbed plenty of buttocks in his time; understanding the context was important. From what the Railcorp Officers had said, the man was likely going to gaol, an apt punishment for a man incapable of reading the situation.

“Hai, I need you to be on my side. Can you do that for me?”

Qīn nibbled his earlobes, making his whole body quiver.

“I don’t think Gwen would enjoy meeting young men like that,” he mumbled. “I don’t even know what kind of men Gwen is attracted to though. As I’ve said, we’re not the closest, ha.”

“She needs someone to ground her, Hai, just as I need you.”

Qīn ran a hand against his abdomen and injected a flush of positive energy.

“Hai?” Qīn worked her magic.

“You have my consent.” Hai pulled his fiancee’s milky body closer. “But tell the youngsters not be so pushy. Gwen doesn’t like that. She REALLY doesn’t like that. Agreed?”

“Of course, dear.” Qīn was already straddling the man of her dreams like a jockey at an El Caballo-Blanco horse show, cantering into a comfortable cadence.

“I was going to speak to Gwen." It took Hai several attempts to complete his sentence. "My father's still angry as well."

“Don't worry, Daddy will deal with Magus Guo.” Qīn sealed his lips with her own, her eyes melting into him like liquid.

“Gwen's a big girl," Hai's breathless fiancée added. "She'll be fine.”

Gwen ran full tilt through the side doors and into the courtyard, expecting to see an inquisitional court assembled for their Gwen-hunt, racking her over the coals for the dead Koi.

Instead, she was greeted by her babulya, seated beside a brewing pot of Maofeng Cha, the tea from Fur Peak.

“Gwen, come.”

Like a shy kitten, she made her way across the cold cobblestones. Despite sprinting for a good thirty minutes, she wasn’t at all tired. At one point, she even made a four-meter leap between two estuary banks without incident. It wasn’t anywhere near the super-human world records set by men like Bob Beamon, but it was impressive considering she was running au-naturale; while wearing peep-toe sandals. By the last stretch, she was overcome by a runner's high, where a strange euphoria, coupled with the vigorous circulation of Almudj's Essence, washed away all fatigue and anxiety. She had felt so good that she opted for a second lap around the manor, trying to capture the trigger that precipitated her chemical elation.

And so it was, almost twelve kilometres later, Gwen stood in front of her grandmother, her trembling legs perspiring in the moonlight.

“I am sorry, Babulya,” she began.

“It’s alright, child. I believe you weren’t trying to take Percy’s Amulet.”

The warmth in her voice startled Gwen. She glanced, then stared at her dear old babulya, feeling doubly guilty that she had doubted the old woman at all.

“I wasn’t,” Gwen aped her babulya's proclamation reflexively. “He was in pain, and I thought I’d help. I didn’t know that he had developed a complex about it.”

“Percy has his circumstances,” her babulya explained patiently. “Can you blame a boy for having a big sister he may never catch up to?”

“I see.” Gwen lowered her head even as she felt a secret, vindicating thrill.

The truth was often stranger than fiction.

She had suspected Percy's grievance but had doubted the extent to which her brother was under its spell.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright.” Klavdiya took Gwen’s hand and warmed her fingers. She then patted her granddaughter's cheeks, arranged her blouse, and brushed her skort. "Can you spare an old woman a few minutes?"

"Of course Babulya, anything you need."

"Just a few minutes will suffice, dear."

Grandmother and granddaughter found a cosy spot within the private pavilion. The water below was, unfortunately, bereft of koi. Gwen sipped from the cup her grandmother passed over, awed by the Fur Tea's refreshing invigoration. Her babulya waited until she had settled before continuing.

"How are you feeling?"

"Awful," Gwen replied honestly, though the running had improved her mood drastically. "Babulya, can I say something you're not going to like?"

"Of course, dear."

"Morye, Hai, Dad - he's a terrible father. I can't stand his selfishness, and I don't want to be a part of his wedding."

Klavdiya patted her hand.

"I know that, dear."

"But I can't leave, can I?"

Her grandmother shook her head.

Gwen sighed.

"Gwen, your father is - in many ways - still childish. I am afraid Guo was too harsh on him ever since he was a boy."

"Sounds like Grandfather was too lenient," Gwen griped cattily.

"Oh, the number of times I had to heal Hai because Guo had beaten him within an inch of his life..."

Gwen winced.

"I... I don't know what to do about Hai either," her babulya confessed, her face looking as though she'd tasted a bitter lemon. "We had wanted the best for the boys, but Jun... and Hai... oh Gwen~, sometimes I wonder if things could've been simpler if we had stayed in Hubei, or if I had stayed in Harbin. But then, of course, if all of us had shirked our duties on the Front, there might not be a China left. We would have scattered into the wind, a broken family, and you, my dear child, would not have existed."

Gwen wasn't sure how to respond. She had never had a doting grandmother, much less one who was pouring her heart out.

"Your grandfather is angry, Gwen, but he is not unnecessarily hostile because of you. This business from Hai has lost him a lot of respect. Secretary Liu's daughter is no shrinking violet; I can tell you that! We could have called the whole thing off were it not for that fact that Qīn is with child. The crux of the matter lies in the undercurrent. Our family has always stayed neutral to the politics within the CCP - but with this union, we've been pulled into Liu's Faction - the conservative faction. Do you see what I mean?"

Gwen felt a sense of déjà vu, thinking of Master Kilroy and his troubles with the Factionism in Sydney. Even with his iron-fisted control over Oceania's Towers, they had to allow the Grey faction to have their organ markets, and the Militant wing to have their Purges. If her family here were to be drawn into the CCP's internal politics, what did that portend?

"That's ominous," she muttered, not entirely understanding the context, but wise enough to speculate.

"One would think so," Klavdiya agreed. "The CCP doesn't have Factions in the traditional sense, like the Tower Mages, who share different world-views. The Factions within the Party are simply power-hungry wolves banding together as much for safety as the acquisition of territory. Liu's Faction falls under the banner of General Secretary Won Liping, and they have been aggressively seeking out allies. Your grandfather's position as the Committee Chair and Secretary of the Confidential Communications Department is one that must remain neutral; he holds too many secrets of the upper echelon to belong to one Faction or another."

Jesus, Gwen muttered under her breath.

Does that mean the family may fall from grace just because her father stuck his dick in the wrong hole?

"Babulya..." Gwen wanted to help, but she didn't know how. If she was Gunther or someone like her Brother-in-craft, she could offer the family a haven in Australia. But she was just a student. "I don't know what to say."

"Guo wanted to cut ties with Liu, regardless of the child in Qīn's belly," her babulya spoke very quietly so that her voice was audible only to Gwen. "But that would put us in another dilemma; we would then be seen as a part of the Central Committee Chair, Yi Jinhua's faction."

"Bloody hell, fucking Dad..." Gwen gnashed her pearly teeth. "Sorry... "

"I hope you can understand why Guo is so quick to anger," her babulya added. "The koi, the insult, the commotion with Percy, all of it weakens his position when negotiating with Liu."

"..." Gwen couldn't accept her babulya's justification as a viable rationale. Having a fuckwit son was no reason to rag on the fool's perfectly estranged granddaughter.

"I see." Her babulya continued massaging Gwen's fingers, whose disappointment palpably communicated via the rigidity of her hands. "You are right to be upset, Gwen, I can't deny you that."

"So what does Grandfather have in mind?"

"He doesn't know either, dear."

"There are things he doesn't know?" Gwen scoffed.

"There are too many things Guo knows. He knows Secretary Liu wouldn't free us from the hook that easily; especially now that the fisherman has unexpectedly snagged a mighty sturgeon."

"He should be careful it's not a dragon underneath the water."

"If only, my dear. Nothing is ever simple when there is the temptation of power involved. Both Guo and I agree that we don't want you to be involved. It may be too late to refute your father now, but I promise things will be better from here. You won't have to do anything other than show up, walk the aisle, then sit quietly until the banquet ends."

"Okay, Babulya." Gwen squeezed the old woman's hands. Even now she was thinking of campus life and how removed it was from all this unwarranted drama. The futility of it all grated on her. She might be able to whittle down a Thunder Wyvern, but she couldn't prevent her father from marrying the 'woman of his dreams' and fucking his own family over in the process.

Or could she?

The temptation was astoundingly salient.

"What about Percy? Is he alright?"

Her babulya put on a complex expression that was difficult to read.

"Guo has set out a tightrope for Percy to walk, and your brother refuses to get off." Her grandmother took a long draught of the scalding tea. "All I can do is 'be there' to catch them in the fall, do you know what I mean?"

Gwen bit her lips with annoyance.

She understood, but her babulya's martyrdom filled her with indignity.

"You have your own life, Gwen." Her babulya brushed back a lock of hair from Gwen's grim face. "After the IIUC, whether Fudan emerges victorious or otherwise, you will enter the service of the Commonwealth Towers. You may serve yourself, or you may join a Tower Faction, as your Master had done. We will be at odds, even if not entirely, but at odds nevertheless. These days that we have enjoyed each other's company, and indeed the days to come, will all become pleasant memories as our Paths divide. As a physician, I can tell you that so long as you continue to cultivate your Druidic Essence, you will have a long and prosperous life, far longer than any of us. When you think of your youth in the far future, I want you to remember us fondly. We were absent grandparents, and in many ways, we're still incapable of being here for you; Guo and I, we're imperfect people compelled by circumstance, and I hope you can forgive us for being so selfish."

Gwen felt a convulsion of hurtful passions wrecking her chest.

Her babulya's kindness was the cruellest cut.

What could she say after that?

All she could do was hold the old woman, thinking of the alternative. Would it have been better if she had never met Klavidya? What if she had fought those officers, screamed blue murder, endangered her friends? She could have also wounded herself or drained herself to such a degree that the Contingency Ring activated. Then she could have demanded asylum from the Singapore Tower, drag in Gunther, then return to Australia.

Then what?

No Babulya.

No Petra.

No Mina and Tao.

No Mayuree.

No Uncle Jun-

The alternative prospect was too terrible to bear.

She shivered, feeling goosebumps crawl all over her body.

Her babulya noticed. Unconsciously, the old woman placed a hand on her upper thigh and channelled a mote of positive mana. Gwen's Almudj-Essence reacted, pushing the foreign element from her mana channels.

Klavdiya raised an eyebrow.

She looked as though she wanted to comment, but shook her head instead.

"Your skirt is a little too short, don't you think?"

It was a very grandmotherly thing to say.

“Oh no, Babulya, this is a pair of shorts!” Gwen rose and spun for her babulya. “It’s a skort!”

“Alright, dear.” Her grandmother chuckled. “I guess we should both go to bed. Can you think about what I've said?”

“I will.” Gwen leaned in and kissed her cheeks. "Oh yeah, I also have a gift for you, from me and Uncle Jun."

She produced ten jars of Wildland Honey straight from the hive, as well as a Beggar’s Chicken still in its clay casing.

“This is for you. The chook is from a while ago; it’s from my and Pat’s favourite joint on University Rd!”

Her grandmother opened a jar, dipped a finger into the honey, then savoured the taste of life-force contained therein.

“Thank you; this is a wondrous gift.”

“You’re going to get younger and younger, Babulya, we'll be seeing each other and having luncheons for EONS,” Gwen declared, her voice broken on the last few syllables. “Soon, aunty Nen will be wondering when she had a sister!”

The two women chuckled, each pregnant with their private thoughts.

“Good night, Gwen.”

“G’nite, Babulya.”

Gwen bowed as her grandmother left, then made for the guest rooms, where she and her uncle had stayed before. To her dismay, she was alone. Her uncle was staying in the west wing, together with the family, while Gwen - the black sheep of the Song Clan, was accommodated in the south side.

Other guests were staying as well when she returned, but as it was well past midnight, they were already behind closed doors.

Her double room felt larger without Jun; the bleak 17th-century architecture felt far older and more dilapidated now that whitewashed walls were her only companion. There wasn’t even an ensuite in the outdated design of the guest room, and she was no longer in possession of her mystical ‘goddess’ underpants.

Feeling bloated with thoughts of separation and mortality, she resolved to change out of her clothes and wipe herself down with a damp cloth. She switched over to a pair of cotton shorts and singlet, then slipped into the soft silk covers of the single-bed, the only 21st-century amenity within the room.

“Ariel~.”

The marten appeared beside her, still asleep, gently snoring as it digested the cores.

She hugged her Familiar against her chest, buried her face into its fur, then heeded the call of Hypnos.

* * *

Ayxin sat in her section of the White-Jade Palace, pondering the possibilities associated with the attire held out before her.

It was an anthropomorphic image of a cat. There were two small love hearts, one pink, and the other scarlet, on its left and right. At the bottom, just above the navel, was printed in carmine the nonsensical words ‘Hello Kitty’.

She sighed, feeling as though a set of mystical manacles held her captive. Her heart, not to mention her core, had pounded at her ribcage when her father made the offer of 'life' to the Ash Bringer.

Reaching into a pocket-space Ayxin had created to mimic the effect of the human’s Storage Rings; she produced the makeup kit that Jun’s niece had given her.

Within the self-contained box was a cheap mirror, beneath which were three brushes, one large and two small, and a tube of something called ‘mascara’, and a palette of mineral powders.

Ayxin recalled that Gwen had 'made up' a face, thinking that she would be granted an audience with her father.

How foolish these humans were, how inefficient and lacklustre that they had to use such mortal substances to ‘make up’ for what the heavens did not gift them.

Ayxin looked into the mirror, examining her not entirely 'human' face.

She blinked.

Her eyes took on the thick outline that Gwen had painstakingly drawn over a minute, not daring to move or achoo.

The effect was… interesting

Her sky-coloured pupils became more pronounced.

The winged tips and deep eye-shadow reminded her of the mountain cats that they had in the lower reaches. Did this mean Humans were attracted to felines? If so, what did they think about Demi-human Leonines?

She blinked again, cycling through the colours.

Ayxin chuckled to herself, making her lashes longer, thicker, curlier - until her face became ridiculous.

“Ayxin?”

The makeup kit snapped shut and disappeared into the pocket-space.

She turned angrily to regard her unannounced visitor.

“Father’s teeth! Did Ryxi assault you?! I wouldn't have thought he had the gall!”

Golos was likewise in his human form. Prophetically, their father had instructed both herself and Golos to ‘exercise’ their humanoid appearances; as per usual, neither of the siblings questioned the Yinglong’s wisdom.

To Golos, Ayxin’s eyes looked as though someone had punched her twice, each time perfectly in the eye-socket so that they appeared blue and black.

“I am fine, Golos.”

“But your eyes, they loo-”

“I said I AM FINE, Golos!”

“Alright, alright…”

“Why are you here?”

“Thought I'd say goodbye. Father says I will be leaving for Mandalay. For now, I am to search out Ruxin.”

“I see.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Leaving?" Ayxin raised a ridged brow.

"Hmmph!" Golos snorted.

In his human form, the Thunder Wyvern resembled a bouncer, barrel-chested and long-limbed, with a tremendous silvery beard set across wide square jaws and a butt-chin. His eyes, poorly formed by inexperience in changing his morphic field, remained reptilian and alien, with a high bone ridge where a bushy brow should be, running up either side of his temples until they formed a secondary ridge down the back of his skull.

“Why would I leave the Mount?”

Golos glanced at the shirt with the kitten.

Ayxin snatched it from the marble table and stowed it away. She was the only one who could access her pocket-dimensions. Not even their father could pry when Ayxin desired privacy.

“You're not very honest,” Golos snorted. "You in heat?"

“How’s your anus, Golos?”

“…”

“I thought as much. Get out.”

She watched as Golos swaggered elsewhere. Her half-sibling would have been more convincing if she wasn’t in the know that Golos had been having nightmares since that day. She had even heard the rumour that he’d stopped harassing creatures in his domain.

With the bullish buffoon sent away, Ayxin re-materialised the Hello Kitty T-shirt, then ran a hand over the cotton fabric.

The turmoil she felt was painful to put into words, even Draconic ones.

The Ash Bringer was a mere Human; his race short-lived and transient.

Yet, listening to the man extol his faith in his ‘niece’ the ‘Calamity’ foretold by her Father’s prophesy, she felt… longing.

That and resentment, confusion and discontentment; she couldn’t understand why a mere mortal girl, especially one so calamitous to those close to her, could receive such devotion and care from her kin, while she sat alone, loitering in a cold palace as her Father slumbered, Ryxi pruned trees and Golos rubbed ointments into his swollen anus.

Dragons were covetous beings, and Ayxin was just as much a benefactor of their bloodline’s blessing as a victim of its curse.

Not to embrace her inferior human side - Ayxin excused her mental weakness - but a girl wants what a girl wants.

Much less a Winged Dragon.

* * *

Gwen awoke to the sound of commotion from outside her room. The walls were wood and clay, while the windows were transmuted glass made to look like paper parchment. Neither provided a solid barrier against noise.

Rubbing her eyes, she opened the double doors to see what the uproar was about.

A NoM servant holding a mug of hot tea choked on his shallot-pancake as Gwen emerged barefoot in her singlet and her cotton-shorts.

The entire courtyard of the South Wing was a hive of activity, and from the cacophony, it was evident that decorative renovations were happening. NoMs were applying fresh stains to everything that could be seen, especially the faded red pillars. All around her, workmen and lesser Mages were lifting plaques and installing giant red “DOUBLE LUCKY” pictograms hung upside down on every visible window and door.

Gifting the servants and workers with another thirty seconds of eye candy, Gwen shut the door and wondered why no one had come to wake her. She checked her device and saw that it was 0900. Tossing on a tunic, she washed her face and brushed her teeth.

“Where’s everyone gone?” she asked one of the scurrying servants from the window slit.

"The family is taking breakfast in the east wing, main hall.”

“Gotcha.”

She threw on a halter-neck maxi and strapped in her wedge sandals, then followed the maid through the winding corridors until they reached the scene of a breakfast banquet.

The family, both the Songs and the Lius, were already eating.

She bowed before finding her seat at the table, intuitively seating herself beside Jun.

Breakfast consisted of fried dough and six-treasure porridge, a local speciality made from Wildland nuts and fruits, combined with the famous Jiangnan rice to form a thick gruel that warmed the stomach and filled the body with energy.

“Uncle.”

Gwen waited for a servant to fill her bowl.

“Gwen, how was your sleep?”

“Well enough,” she replied sweetly.

“Good.” Jun sipped his congee. The military man worked at the gruel, savouring every mouthful before placing the bowl conclusively onto the table. “I need to head back to the base for a week. Hai has requested that you stay here to help with the wedding. I’ll be back first thing on Sunday.”

“No buck’s party?”

“No, thank Mao.” Jun shot a glance at Guo and the Patriarch Liu. There was Qīn next to her father as well. “I don't think either of those three would have wanted to see Hai in that condition.”

Gwen chuckled uncomfortably as well.

Did Mage-world Shanghai even have strippers?

Certainly, in old-world Shanghai, the purchase of vice was merely a matter of prestige, power and wealth. She recalled an incident on ABC News when Li Tianyi, the son of a famous Chinese general, was nearly acquitted until his gang-raped and badly beaten victim made a dangerous outreach to the state media. Knowing the precarious status of NoMs in this world, Gwen had no desire to witness the debasement of women whose only worth was a pretty face.

Was her father even capable of enduring a hands-free lap dance?

On second thought, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

No one could blame the Song family if Hai sabotaged his own wedding, surely?

Nonetheless, the dismissal of the Buck's Party was agreeable to Gwen. Merely trying to picture her father with a whore made her want to expel the congee. Likewise, an image of Jun with some harlot hanging from his shoulder made her want to fire an affinity 6 Lightning Sphere into the table.

“I am going to miss you, Uncle Jun,” she muttered despairingly. With Jun gone, she would be left with only babulya, but her grandmother’s affections weren't Gwen's alone.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Jun announced. “I promise.”

Gwen wanted to reply with something hopeful and jovial, but a cat had stolen her tongue and ran off with it into the bush, where a saltwater croc ate it.

“There, there.” Jun patted her shoulder clumsily, awkward in his public affection.

Jun's innocence proved too much for Gwen, not even the shame of her thirty-year-old self could dispell the welling emotions ripping apart her chest like a Xenomorph. She turned and hugged him, wrapping her arms around Jun's waist, then kissed him on the cheeks.

From across the table, Hai stared at Jun, his expression one of disbelief.

Jun met his brother's eyes, then guiltily grinned.

* * *

“She’s very close to your brother,” Qīn remarked to her husband-to-be once they were in the privacy of the east wing. There were many invitations awaiing the penning of personal greetings.

“I’ll say.” Hai licked his parched lips.

His heavy-hanging eye bags indicated a shortage of restful sleep.

“You don’t suppose Gwen’s…”

"..." Hai raised a brow.

“… fonder of her Uncle than you…”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” Hai grumbled defensively, scratching his nose.

“She’s growing up with or without you, Hai,” his lover advised with great sagacity. “I am worried your rare flower might be plucked by some vagabond or a scoundrel from the horrors. You of all people should know how bad it gets in Shanghai, dear.”

“Gwen’s capable of taking care of herself,” Hai muttered, thinking of the time he flew into Rosebay to save her, only to see her brutally massacring her assailant, some gloop-creature constituted of black slime, all the while in her birthday suit. Perhaps it was the innocent and hapless young men of Hangzhou who should be afraid.

“Don’t you worry, she’ll have plenty of options,” Qīn advised her husband. “I’ve got an impressive line-up of eligible bachelors for her to browse over at her leisure, not to mention her groomsmen is one in a million.”

“Look, I don’t think this is the best idea…”

“I’ve got it taken care of.” Qīn kissed his collarbone, massaging him with soothing motes of positive mana. “Don’t you worry. Just do what you do, be yourself.”

Hai could hardly tear himself away from his fiancèe's almond eyes. Here was a woman who was madly and deeply in love. What if Qīn could find a partner for Gwen, just as she had discovered him? Gwen couldn't fault her father for thinking of her happiness, surely?

* * *

Jun left as soon as breakfast wrapped up, disappearing out the door before the warmth of his hands on her back had even faded.

What remained were duties for every member of the family.

As the wedding was undertaken on short notice, many of the elderly members of the Liu Clan would be visiting friends and family with gifts and invitations. Secretary Liu himself would be visiting his associates as well, leaving the running of the Reception to Qīn.

As Qīn’s mother was unfortunately deceased, Hai’s parents, older than her father by a decade, would double-duty as her elders, receiving guests as they arrived over the next few days.

Babulya was right; the whole ordeal was a vortex of 'Guanxi' - an undertow of filial and political ties that sucked the Song's into its depth, willing or otherwise.

When it came to Gwen, her grandfather came through as promised.

A gruff, "Stay out of the way," was enough to prevent Qīn from further employing Gwen's time.

She had only one job, one that required her presence - get fitted for her bridesmaid’s dress.

It was a position she was more than happy to occupy.

“Go enjoy yourself around the city, see the sights. Go for a boat tour around the West Lake,” her father informed her. “You just came back from a gruelling trip. Unwind, relax, let out the stress. I can see you were very tense yesterday.”

Where the fuck were you yesterday? I bet you were too busy fucking your hussy! Gwen suppressed the words hammering at her lips. She was surprised no one had mentioned the koi at all, least of all her father.

“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”

Hai reached out for a hug as Jun had done so before, but Gwen shirked away, leaving her father hanging.

“I’ll go see about this dress, then.”

“I’ll send Ah-Bei with you,” Qīn chimed in. Her siren's voice possessed a husky timbre mellow enough to melt the bones of any man. It was the sort of hyper-femininity Gwen could never affect, even if she tried. “He knows the city like the back of his hand.”

“Thanks, Aunty Qīn.” Gwen dipped her head.

“'Mama' will suffice, or Nīang, as we say in the Wu dialect," Qīn annunciated expertly, biting the assonance.

You’re my age, and you look like you’re in your twenties! Gwen screamed internally. I’ll call you mother over my father’s dead body.

“Thank you~ Aunty.” Gwen held her tongue.

The two women smiled at each other warmly.

Hai felt goosebumps rising all over. Was it cold in here or what? He looked around, wondering if the weather had turned.

A servant presented himself in front of Gwen, bowing deeply. It was the very same man Gwen had seen on their first meeting with Qīn.

“I am Liang Bei.” The man dipped his head.

Bei had the bearing of a man who awoke tired. Middle-aged, he looked as though the last time he had taken a break somewhere during the Purge in the 80s when the city was aflame with revolutionary zeal.

“At your pleasure, Mistress Song.”

Gwen approached the man, then shook his hand.

The act surprised both Bei and Qīn.

It wasn’t just a touch, a gesture from a superior to encourage a subordinate, it was a proper-greeting, palm to palm, applied with force and intent.

“Good to meet you, Bei. I'll be in your hands.”

Bei bowed a little deeper.

“I am at your service.”

“Father, I am off.”

“Stay out of trouble, Gwen.”

“You know I won’t!”

Then she was gone.

* * *

Bei commandeered a vehicle from the underground garage, playing both guide and chauffeur. Once inside, Gwen changed to a set of comfortable heels that matched the cobalt of her halter-maxi. If she was going to take FIVE days off from ‘life’ and 'stay out of trouble', she wanted to shop, to jog, and to experience the 'heavenly' sights around Hangzhou.

First stop, the dressmakers.

“Hangzhou is one of the best places in the world for Wildland-silk, Mistress,” Bei advised her. “We will be going to the largest silk market in the city, Fengqi Road No. 273. It is a very expensive locale! Even mundane dresses cost thousands to tens of thousands of RMB. If you wish to purchase Wildland Silks, the vendors only accept HDMs.”

“How expensive are we talking here?” Gwen packed her slippers, slipping a foot into the sky-blue pumps she’d acquired in Shanghai. It was too bad there was no Instagram. If she had been in her seventeen-year-old body with unlimited fashion funds in her old world, she would have had an entirely different career path.

“The vendors will try to rip you off, Mistress, because you are a foreigner and a Mage from another city, not to mention a young girl. Sometimes, the greedy merchants ask for many times the value, or even sell you fake products!”

“Then why are we going there?” Gwen asked quizzically.

“Because they need the Secretary's support to continue their business,” Bei informed her, his cracked lips curling on either side. “Mistress has said to spare no expense on your bridesmaid dress, so long as it is appropriate. Her only request is that you purchase in a particular shade of cream. I have the sample fabric right here.”

Gwen examined the slip, rubbing the fabric between her hands.

It was smooth beyond belief, gliding between her thumb and her forefinger without friction. The silk was the real deal; a piece of fabric that felt like cold water.

“Very nice.”

The stimuli made her recall Ayxin, whose entire garb had been spun from a silk-substance that was like mystical gossamer. At the thought of the dragon-woman, her Divination Sigil tingled.

Without formal training, her Sigil was less definitive than her daily horoscopes; not that Gwen needed premonition to know that the woman was bad news.

"Hmm..."

The vision of an anxious face engendered in her mind.

Didn't she have a Diviner on a life-line?

She dialled Mayuree, switching her Messages to private so that Bei could not overhear.

Grande Valse chimed for half a beat before the devices connected.

“Mia!”

“Gwen! Oh thank the Goddess, YOU'RE BACK!”

“My favourite Diviner! How’re things?”

“I honestly don’t know; I haven’t left the house for a week."

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I'm serious. What do you think? You have no idea how happy I am to hear from you. Are you back?”

“Sorry, not yet,” Gwen apologised. "Next time, we'll go Adventuring together."

“You bet,” Mayuree answered sweetly. “So, are you close? Are you within reach of a tier 7 Teleportation scroll?”

“Er… I am in Hangzhou.”

“Oh.”

“My father’s getting married…” Gwen took a moment to explain her situation to her Diviner companion. “I was wondering if you’re able to do an Augury for me. I want to know if the wedding is going to be a shit-show.”

“Gwen, that’s terrible!” Mayuree replied, scandalised by Gwen's shocking proclamation.

In response, Gwen detailed the context for her paranoia, then further went on to explain that she had ‘accidentally’ killed the bride’s prized koi.

“Oh, Gwennie~.” Gwen could almost see her friend scowling, clenching her jaws adorably as she grimaced. “Alright, give me a few moments.”

The Message disconnected while Gwen waited.

“Mistress, we’re here,” Bei informed her.

Indeed, the car was stationary.

Gwen apologised to Bei and asked the man to wait.

“Of course, Mistress, at your leisure.”

"So, Bei, where are you from?"

"Me?" Bei seemed surprised.

"Yeah, you've known the Liu's for long?"

"All my life, Mistress."

The two made small-talk while Gwen waited for her Diviner companion. According to her manservant, Bei's family had served Qīn's for as long as he could recall. As far as he knew, he was 'born' into servitude; a fact which depressed Gwen immensely.

‘Du-du!’

Ten minutes later, her Message Device pinged.

“Mia?”

“Hi, I am back.”

“So, how is it?”

“… it’s hard to say.”

“How hard to say, exactly,” Gwen replied, disappointed.

“Well, according to my Augury, there will be Weal and Woe on the wedding day.”

“That’s to be expected, I suppose.”

“So I tried a higher-order Divination and sought specific outcomes. Do you want to hear them? Are you in a POSITION TO KNOW?”

Mayuree’s rhetorical question reminded Gwen of what the Diviner had said before - knowing your future was like hammering the final nail in your coffin.

“Do you think I should know?”

“NO,” Mayuree answered honestly.

“…”

Gwen relented.

“Okay, I’ll deal with it myself.”

“Phew, hahaha, I wasn’t going to tell you anyway.” Mayuree's voice was relieved.

“Thanks for looking out for me, Mia.”

“So when are you expecting to be back?”

“Six, seven days at worst?”

“Alright.” Mayuree relaxed, which informed Gwen more than she had desired to know. If she were going to be in any danger, Mayuree wouldn't just sit on her hands and tell her to relax. “See you then. I can send a car to pick you up from Hangzhou if you don't have a ride back to Fudan.”

“That’s good to know.”

Indeed, if she had to be cooped up in a van with Guo and Percy, Lord knows what would happen if she started leaking dragon-fear.

“Okay, I got to go. Thanks, Mia. I’ve got some cores for you to sell as well, semi-draconic, plus a special draconic specimen. Please- PLEASE charge me the full commission! I owe you big time!”

“Nonsense, I look forward to seeing the cores! Good luck with the wedding!”

The link broke off.

“Bei? I am done."

To her embarrassment, her patient manservant was already waiting beside the passenger door.

"Alright," Gwen spoke to no one in particular. “Let’s see about this dress."

Once the Dragon-Mage was past the dragon-pine, she began to feel the oppressive resonance of Humanity’s Shielding Stones pounding at her chest. Her core hummed unpleasantly, hinting at the violent end that awaited Ayxin should she persist in approaching the city.

So this was the infamous Shielding magic employed by the humans to keep out Demi-humans and Magical Monsters, she scoffed, displeased by the sensation. The strange frequency disrupted the flow of elemental mana within her body, giving her an impression akin to being underwater.

Ayxin circulated her spatial magic until the throbbing in her chest ceased.

Her progenitor was truly all-seeing and all-knowing.

Humanity's ‘Shield’ was beyond Ayxin’s archaic knowledge of Human Spellcraft. But as coincidence two centuries in the making would have it, she was uniquely equipped to negate its effects.

Was that why her Father had not stopped her from going on her fool’s errand?

The resonance was a form of highly-attuned spatial-Abjuration magic, and Ayxin happened to possess the very talent necessary for defusing its disruptive foci. She felt a strange elation, knowing that Ruxin, Golos, and even her father could be stopped once enough Shields overlapped.

With a few careful incantations, she tied off the elaborate Enchantment mandala encircling her core on all six-sides.

The full force of her draconic-powers would be suppressed until she released the seal, but what prowess that remained was sufficient for uprooting a small township, should the need arise.

As for her appearance, Ayxin conveniently assumed the skinny and lanky form of Jun’s niece. For one, because she had meticulously studied the girl while she bathed, trying to fathom the Ash Bringer’s attraction, and the other was that they shared a minute resonance thanks to the girl utilising Ayxin's scale to temper her Draconic Essence. When close enough, she would be able to locate the girl by using the scale as a beacon. Though Gwen's likeness proved no obstacle, some physical elements remained immutable, such as Ayxin's sky-blue eyes, and a certain air of androgyny.

Then there was a more pragmatic reason. The only ‘modern’ attire Ayxin possessed was the one the niece had gifted her. That and the ‘kitty’ tunic, an item she dared not risk on an uncertain, covert journey.

Thus attired as Gwen's simulacrum, clad in wedge heels and a white tunic-sundress, Ayxin-Gwen approached the way-station which marked the boundary into Hangzhou. In her pocket dimension, she had brought a number of treasures desirable to Humans, as well as the old documentation she had imprinted in blood with the Human regime.

The problem was she had no idea if the same ‘regime’ still ruled in the Human world.

If she was wrong, she would have to parley with cumbersome Human bureaucracy. If she was right, the contract compelled the regime to at least heed her request. Unless she were to wipe out a human settlement, there was no reason to anger the direct descendent of the Ying Long.

Having thus mused between presenting herself in an officious or private capacity, Ayxin chose the latter. She was here to see about a man, not to cause an incident. She wondered if it was at all possible to demand Jun Song from the city’s rulers, though that may well sour her relationship with the Ash Bringer. Empathically, if the Yinglong had offered Ayxin, his beloved 'vessel' to another dragon, she would likely fight the snake-spawn to the death.

* * *

“Halt!”

The border guards, two frail-looking humans with barely detectable innate mana, stared at her with disbelief, wondering why there was pale-skinned gweilo girl in a sundress in the middle of a Purple Zone.

“Isn’t that Miss Song, you know, the one travelling with the Ash Bringer?”

“Didn’t she pass by two days ago?”

“Maybe she went out on her own again?”

“She doesn’t look like she’s dressed for Questing though.”

“Don’t look at me.” The first shrugged. “I am not in the business of presuming what our betters do for fun. Straighten up Corporal, here she comes!”

The girl sauntered toward them, struggling to balance on her shoes.

“Here are my documents.” Ayxin’s eyes glowed with the subtle light of Enchantment, her tongue delivering a draconic-incantation as she held their gaze captive.

“Everything’s in order, Ma’am.” The first guard nodded at the handkerchief she had handed him. “It’s a long way from here to the city if you’re going on foot.”

“I’ll fly,” Ayxin cooly replied.

The second guard saluted the companion of the Hero of the North.

“Where can I find the Ash Bringer?” she demanded, her voice empowered with old magic in the form of a persistent Suggestion.

“The Liu Manor, Ma’am. The word from the top says that the Secretary is finally marrying off his daughter. The groom is Captain Song’s brother. Lots of the brass will be attending, as well as the prominent local families.”

“Where is this Manor?”

“West Lake, Western quarter, Ma’am. It’s the largest complex there.”

“Thank you, Corporal Du.”

“At your service, Ma’am!”

“I wasn’t here, and you saw nothing.”

“Yes, Ma’am we saw nothing.”

Ayxin left the two staring straight forward before stalking across the courtyard with Gwen’s voluminous hair billowing behind her shoulders. The torturous shoes the girl had gifted her required more concentration to muster than the magic she had used to befuddle the soldiers. Not only that, the unergonomic angle of the heels grated on her ankles and the peep-toe tip made her squishy pink appendages arch uncomfortably, forcing her off-balance.

Once the Dragon-Mage was away from the checkpoint, she thankfully lifted herself into the air, freeing the weight on the ball of her foot.

Upon reaching a suitable height, Ayxin accelerated, making for Hangzhou city. Flying at low altitude to avoid detection, the journey would take several hours.

A few minutes later, Corporal Du turned to his companion.

“Qe, do you remember Captain Song’s companion?”

“The gweilo girl? Who could forget.” Qe appreciatively chuckled. “She was a real looker, eh?”

“She was indeed.” Du smacked his lips. “I was just thinking of her.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know,” replied Qe. “Feeling lonely?”

“You’re not thinking of cheating on the old missus, are you?”

“Naw, Miss Song's the proverbial goldfish, you can look, but you can’t touch!”

“What does that make your old woman then?”

“A salted carp!”

The two laughed mirthfully.

“That’s a good one, comrade. Ah~, slow day, eh?”

“Everyday is a slow day out here, Qe.” Du snorted. “We’re out in the woods, Comrade. Nothing ever happens here, Purple Zone or otherwise.”

“Thank Mao!” Qe glanced at the guard tower, where a superior officer might be watching, but was far more likely napping or watching Vid-casts. If a Dragon-kin like that blasted wyvern breached the border, all they could do was immediately report the threat. It was the local garrison's job to take care of the trouble. They were just an isolated watchtower. “We should be so lucky, eh?”

* * *

Ayxin contemplatively hefted a handful of crystals in her hand.

She had about a hundred LDMs and a dozen HDMs.

Her cache of Human currency was solicited from a man who had accosted her, complimented her on her physical beauty, then offered to take her to see the Ash Bringer.

Ruminating profoundly, she attempted to trace the last few hours of chaos.

When she arrived at the outskirts of the city at night, she had become immediately disorientated by the horrendous butchery the Humans had executed upon the once natural landscape. In her memory, Hangzhou was a beautiful city of rivers and estuaries, seated in the midst of a floodplain, surrounded by an extensive network of walls that shielded its population from Wildland Magical Beasts.

Instead, Ayxin became mortified by the sight of a human city stretching from horizon to horizon, utterly obfuscating every natural landmark, sprawled across every conceivable space, stripping out all but small tuffs of greenery from the once verdant land.

Then there was the grey-miasma.

She had taken a lungful of it as soon as she reached the city proper, and the thickness of the spent mana-fog almost sent her tumbling from the sky in a tizzy.

These Humans- they were a parasite! A blight upon the world!

She couldn’t even tell where ‘West Lake’ was! What stretched out in front of Ayxin was a concrete jungle so tightly packed that it was impossible to discern where one township ended and another began. It was as though the city centre was a fat, corpulent spider perched on the floodplain, while all-around it, threads of silk in the form of highways burst like an erupted cocoon across the once virgin land.

She felt stricken by an unbidden nausea, unsure if it was because of the smoggy pollutants in the air, or if the reality of Humanity's usurpation exceeded her wildest nightmares. Dragons - as primordial beings, are given life by the Prime Material Plane. As a race, they were especially sensitive to the changes in an area’s elemental composition. What the Humans had done, in Ayxin’s observation, was to strip the elemental mana from every mote that permeated the material world, leaving only a grey haze to linger.

No wonder humans had such short life-spans! If she could persuade Jun to leave the human city, there would be hope for the Ash Mage yet.

Lost and heady with sickness, she alighted somewhere discrete, then made for the town centre, wondering if someone could know where the Ash Bringer was.

And that was when she met the man who deceived her.

“Of course I know him! He’s famous!” the man had announced boisterously. “Right this way, Miss, I’ll give you a ride straight to his house by the West Lake.”

The liar was an ugly man, apish and small; not unlike the Canhu monkey-men who inhabited Huangshan, only this one was wearing a suit.

He directed her to a vehicle, one that to Ayxin, looked to be in bad shape. There were two other young men in the large cargo vehicle with him; both appeared shocked that their companion had not only returned - but had brought Ayxin with him.

The men said nothing while the monkey-man drove, their faces remaining incredulous as they wantonly gazed at Ayxin. Skimming their minds, Ayxin affirmed that Gwen Song possessed very desirable physical traits, as she could taste the lust oozing from the men's brains.

After some time. The vehicle stopped.

Then the men told her that they were not going to West Lake.

The brazen proclamation confused Ayxin, who could hardly fathom why these apish, low-life existences would deceive her. It was as ridiculous as a Merfolk offering Golos its young, only to pass it off as a joke when the Thunder Wyvern arrived, hungry and anticipating a fulfilling meal.

“Are you saying that you do not know the whereabouts of The Ash Bringer?” Ayxin asked, her voice raising an octave.

“Bitch, are you slow?”

The men laughed at her.

Ayxin laughed as well. The situation was novel indeed!

It was a refreshing experience to interact with these strange and mortal creatures in such a manner. She was rapidly learning about the duplicitous nature of Man. It was odd, because when she had resided among the Humans some two centuries ago, they came only in two forms - aggressive and dangerous, or grovelling.

“Maybe she IS slow…” one of the others commented.

“You are wrong,” Ayxin informed the liar's companion. “I can be very fast if I want to.”

The men grinned at each other.

One of them reached out to touch her thighs.

To prove her earlier point, Ayxin reached out simultaneously.

She was faster - much faster.

“Wha- ARRRGHH EEEEERAARRR!”

She plucked out the man’s eyeballs, using Gwen’s thin fingers as hooks, then tossed them at the screamer's wide-eyed companion, who juggled the orbs comically in abject horror.

The monkey-man who’d led her here must have been uncannily intelligent because he kicked open the door of the vehicle and immediately fled.

“Pok!” she spat from her lips; the draconic was less effective because the fleshy flaps of her human lips impeded her enunciation.

The man froze, his face a mask of agony as every muscle obeyed Ayxin’s command.

The remaining human attempted to stab her with a metallic implement. Her flesh proved impervious, but Gwen's dress was less study than Ayxin's draconic-body.

“What… are you?” The man’s eyes widened, finally realising that they were not dealing with a breathtakingly beautiful simpleton who had wandered into the wrong part of town. She can't be a Mage. No Mage would have given them the time of day, much less follow them to a van.

“Take me to the Ash Bringer,” Ayxin instilled a little draconic-fear into her voice.

The man’s eyes bulged, then made a gagging sound before hurling his last meal over the floor. Ayxin watched the yellow fluid splatter onto her shoes. A vein beneath the dermis of her temple throbbed. Now she knew she had indeed been deceived. Her Draconic Mind-Magic couldn’t compel a victim to confess that which they did not know.

“Don’t kill me!” the man begged. “We’ll give you everything we have! All the money and crystals we’ve got on us!”

A dragon never said no to crystals.

The blinded man continued to wail even as his companion searched him. The monkey man, held by Command, was more compliant.

Ayxin was expediently presented with an assortment of paper and crystals.

She tossed the paper bills and kept the crystals.

With a casual backhand, she knocked the man who had vomited on her across the forehead, sinking his face into the glass pane of the vehicle. As for the liar hung by her incantation outside, she broke both of his legs with a swift kick, crumpling the man like paper. Her final assailant responded by throwing himself into a passionate and bloody series of kowtows that polluted the pavement.

Such weak and frail beings, these Humans, Ayxin mused. There was no sport in killing them.

Leaving the men, Ayxin tried to orientate herself to no avail. The mana miasma was too thick, and the elements would not heed her call. Short of wiping the Human blight from the earth, she would have to navigate as the mortals did.

When she emerged from the alleyway, she became immediately accosted by another male, an older man who professed to be the proprietor of an eatery, the front of which she now occupied, drawing an audience.

“Mao! What happened to you?”

The man had been so surprised to see a gweilo girl with a cut dress emerge from the ‘dumps’ that his cigarette fell from his lips.

“I am fine, Sir,” Ayxin replied. “I am looking for the Ash Bringer; if you could point me in the right direction, I shall be happy to reward you.”

“The who and what?” The old man regarded her critically. “You feeling alright Miss?”

“Jun Song, the Ash Bringer,” she repeated herself. "I need to find him."

“Why are you looking for the Hero of the North?”

Ayxin considered the man’s question carefully. She was in Gwen’s form, so saying that she was looking for her future mate would be grossly unfair and somewhat off-putting. Dragons could be incestuous, but not THAT incestuous.

“He is my Uncle,” Ayxin noted as a matter of factly.

The old man raised an eyebrow, showing no indication that he believed her.

“You can’t walk around here like that. It’s not safe. Hooligans and hoodlums are all over the place. The PLA doesn’t give a shit about the Districts.”

“Please point me in the right direction. I am not afraid of bandits and brigands. I lack currency.”

“I don’t think they’ll be wanting your money, Miss.”

“That is acceptable. I would like theirs.”

An awkward silence passed.

“Look, at least come in and clean yourself.”

“Not necessary, old Sir, though I thank you for offering it.”

The human snorted derisively at her dismissal, shaking his head.

“Nartok!”

A burst of elemental water erupted from thin air, enveloping her body and soaking the dress. The old man’s eyes grew as large as hen’s eggs. Though the elements were rarified in the NoM District, she could still summon magic through the gate within her body. It took all but a minute for the Water Elementals to finish their task, leaving her dress, her face and her hair spotless and dry.

By then, a small crowd had gathered.

“Mao! Why didn’t you say you’re Mage?! A Water Mage at that? Sorry for asking then.” The old man seemed to Ayxin to be uncharacteristically offended. There was a scent of fear that now circulated his body. The man turned to leave.

“Do you know where the Ash Bringer is?” Ayxin intoned, forcing the old man to answer her against his will.

The man’s eyes glazed over.

“No, why would I know that? He’s a national hero. They don’t come to NoM Districts. Try the West Lake, that’s where all the Mages live.”

West Lake.

Where in this light-polluted cesspool of human habitation was West Lake?

Should she perhaps, perform an aerial reconnaissance?

But if she glaringly flew through the city, she may immediately give herself away, ruining both the surprise of her future meeting with Jun as well as informing the local authorities that they had an esteemed guest which required immediate chaperoning. In the worst case, the authorities may expel her before she could attend this ‘wedding’.

Luckily, there was a crowd of humans here at her beck and call.

“You people,” she edged her voice with an irresistible will. “Show me the way to West Lake.”

“THIS WAY!” A crowd of humans stood to attention.

Immediately, they began to walk in different directions, each supremely confident in their knowledge of where ‘West Lake’ may be.

Ayxin stood stupefied, staring at the dispersing crowd.

What… in her progenitor’s name… is wrong with these humans?!

* * *

Ayxin hadn’t slept for two, maybe three days.

Dragons cultivated by sleeping. The more one slept, the more their natural prowess grew. Humans, with their limited lifespans, lived every day as though it was their last moment on the Material Plane.

At least that was the impression Ayxin got when observing those whom she ‘compelled’ to aid her progress.

The motes of mana from the Planes grew thinner the deeper she ventured into the human territory; meaning she had to find sustenance in more mortal forms. When she got hungry, she ate, asking vendors and passerby for food, spending all her crystals. Later, the humans became upset when she could not front up the necessary currency.

Thirst was easier, there was plenty of estuaries with clean, clear water for her to wander into and slake her thirst. Her actions always drew an audience, which Ayxin found humorous, noting with irony that the humans themselves were constitutionally too weak to enjoy the bounty of nature.

Her haughty practice lasted until she saw a child urinate into the river.

The crowd that had gathered around the strangely beautiful girl drinking from the stream almost simultaneously pissed and shat themselves when Ayxin endured a regret never before felt in her two centuries of life.

She then tried summoning fresh water directly from the Elemental Plane, but the water was likewise polluted by whatever the city was pumping back into the Plane. After several such occurrences, she acquired bottles of purified water.

By the second day, Ayxin had lost count of how many times these humans had tried to deceive her, lure her to strange places, and misdirect her quest. Inevitably, she left them broken and abandoned somewhere.

How quickly human society had changed in only two centuries! Ayxin reflected in dismay. When she was a child, she had never seen the outside world. The only time she had been taken from the interior courtyard and onto the streets was when she left the household and made her journey to Huangshan. As she passed, elevated upon an elaborate palanquin, the peasants had dropped to their knees, too fearful to observe the passage of Ayxin's Daoshi entourage.

When eventually after six-days her escorts had left her at the threshold of the Hundred-Thousand Terrace, they also lowered their heads. That salient memory of lowered heads and stooped shoulders had thus shaped her idea of humanity.

Even when the emissary from the humans came to the Mount some five decades ago, they had lowered their head and spoken in soft, polite tones. None dared to meet her eyes, much less demand anything of her. Of course, Ayxin knew she was borrowing her father's terror, but her prejudice remained.

Yet here, everyone glanced at her, stared at her, watched her every move without fear. People came up to her to ask questions, followed her, and even offered her food and printed images on sheets of paper! One daring male even offered her crystal currency, blurting out that he wished to mate with her!

Of course, she wasn’t in her draconic-form. But still, Ayxin was both thrilled and disgusted.

How bold the Human race had become!

She could feel the avarice and greed drooling from their psyche like a palpable slick. Even those lacking magical power such as the ‘NoMs’ possessed avarice rivalling the Dragon-kin.

Was this what her Father was afraid of, that the Humans were a greedy, gluttonous parasitic existence that consumed all matter within the reach of their grubby digits?

When she finally reached the West Lake, she felt as though a year had passed and not three days. She appeared to be in a reserve area, thankfully cleared of the debris-like buildings the Humans used for habitation. Here, the resonance of the Shielding Crystal was strongest, hinting at the presence of the central station somewhere within the middle of the lake. The mana within the region, however, was purer, allowing her to rest.

To the casual passerby fascinated by the exhibition, a gweilo girl had arrived at the Municipal Park, found a bench, sprawled herself on top of the stone surface, then promptly fell asleep.

* * *

“Hey cutie, you looking for a place to sleep? How come you're not jogging today?”

Ayxin opened her eyes.

She was surrounded by Humans, about a dozen of them.

“I didn’t think you were a local but, damn, who’d thought you were homeless? You need someone to take care of you.”

The speaker was a Human male.

From the pale light of the risen moon, she must have slept for a whole day.

Rubbing her eyes to clear the mucus, she found that twelve hours of rest was not near-sufficient to dispel the mental fatigue she felt. Elemental mana here was too thin, too displaced from the Planes to cultivate. She had been tempted to surround herself with the densely packed crystals the Humans used for currency, but she knew well enough not to entice trouble.

But what was this circle of young men, and a few women, doing standing beside her?

The smell of sex was rank as her gaze swept her observers. Several of them were in heat, both the males and the females, though the heaviest stink was the acrid stench of yellow-bellied fear.

They reminded Ayxin of the scavengers on the mount, especially the crows. When the birds found an abandoned young animal; they would peck out the eyes of their victim, then wait for the panicking sufferer to tire.

Fear of what?

If they were afraid of Ayxin, they would not have accosted her like this.

She traced their eyes until their line of sight converged on the speaker, who looked to be in his late twenties. The man had the bearing of an alpha male - broad-chested, well-muscled, confident; possessing a cruel, crow-like glint in the recess of his small, beady eyes. Ayxin recognised the bearing; the man was an opportunistic hunter.

“I was resting until you disturbed me,” Ayxin stated the facts. “Go away.”

“You don’t have to sleep here.” The young man grinned with an opaque expression of dangerous arousal. “I’ll give you a place to stay, a warm bed and food. You’ll never be cold or hungry again.”

It must be because of the restrained virility of the human reproductive systems, Ayxin thought as she moved one white leg after another from the stone bench, brushing the dust from her dress. Self-preservation, procreation, and currency seemed to be the modus operandi driving these Humans; a triplicate of natural inclinations which Ayxin, as a Dragon-kin, empathised with perfectly.

Still, the desperate display was pitiful. This particular Human’s appetite was far more substantial than his ability and worth as an existence. A snake with an appetite for swallowing dragons.

Then, to her surprise, the man reached out and touched her in an overly friendly manner.

Not only that, he took her by the arm.

She stared at the fleshy appendage attaching itself to her limb, frowning unpleasantly. With a word, she could strip the flesh from the man's bones, or command his minions to tear him to pieces with their teeth. But Ayxin would give the man a chance to redeem himself. She wasn’t bloodthirsty like Ruxin or Golos; she was a pacifist at heart.

“Do you know where the Ash Bringer is?” she demanded of the young man, throwing him a life-line even as he stared at her chest. This unusual interest likewise amused Ayxin, because Dragons were egg layers and did not need useless organs like milk-glands. At any rate, her borrowed-form wasn’t overly gifted in the bosom department, unlike some of the human females.

The question seemed to catch the Human youths off guard. They laughed at her before the young man answered.

“I know where the man will be,” the young man seemed puzzled by her fearless naivety, likewise by her perplexing response. “He’ll be at Liu’s wedding this Sunday. It’ll be the biggest event this year. His brother is marrying the only daughter of the Clan. We’re family friends. Why? Are you a fan?”

“I am not a fan.” Ayxin pondered what her next course of action should be. “I am a Human, like you. You are not an astute observer.”

“…”

The young man seemed less confident in his interest now.

“I am hungry.” Ayxin very carefully removed the young man’s hand, cautious as to avoid breaking something off by accident. She still needed him, if what he said was true. “Bring me some food.”

The manner in which Ayxin announced her desire for nourishment was such that her observers felt a sudden desire to bring her sustenance. It was as though her voice filled every nook and cranny of their brain.

“Of course!”

“What would you like?”

“We can get take out.”

“No! We go to Papa Lau’s.”

“To the Hyatt! Full banquet!”

The young man who had touched her, however, seemed unaffected by her Suggestion. A small, barely visible halo faded from his head, then her assailant stepped back, his face ashen.

“You’re a M-Mind Mage!” he uttered, tongue-tied and stuttering. “Everyone! G-“

“Munthrek! Tyrtrol ve!”

Something around the young man’s neck shattered, barely audible and invisible underneath his shirt.

The young man fell to his knees and performed a kowtow.

“I, Chen Pao, am at your command, Mistress.”

His friends ceased their banter, stared at their leader in surprise, then broke into hilarious laughter. When the young man furthermore kissed Ayxin’s feet, their mirth became replaced with nervousness.

“I desire nourishment,” Ayxin commanded her newly Dominated peon.

“Right this way.” Pao stood, bowed, then opened a path for Ayxin. He turned to the rest of his companions. “The rest of you! Follow the Mistress! We are going to Louwailou! Jo, Message ahead and tell them I need a private chamber overlooking the water. Full banquet, spare no expense!”

The ‘crew’ looked at each other.

“Wiilirk!” Ayxin injected Pao's followers with a jolt of motivation.

She was feeling peckish.

“Let’s go!”

“I know the manager there!”

“Full Banquet!”

“Beggar Chicken!”

“I’ll go ahead and prepare!”

“Ah-Xi, bring the car. I am taking the Mistress down to Louwailou,” Pao informed his house-servant. “Bring me the limousine in my dad’s garage!”

* * *

Her sycophants sat in respectful silence as Ayxin worked her way through a small mountain of dishes.

West Lake Fish in Sweet and Sour Sauce

Shallot Stuffed Pancake

West Lake Water Shield Soup

Dongpo Pork

Deep-fried Bean Curd Rolls Stuffed with Minced Tenderloin

Beggar Chicken

Victory Cake

Three 'Savoury' Soup

As well as half a pound of fried rice with freshly peeled river-prawns in a white seafood sauce.

One particular dish, Shelled Shrimp with Dragon Well Tea, caught her interest. Pao carefully explained that the Longjing tea came from the Village of Longjing, and was a Gong-Cha, or the tea drunk by the Kangxi Emperor during the Qing Dynasty, the last and final dynasty of China’s tumultuous change through the 20th century.

“I may have met him, Kangxi was the snot nosed brat who killed off his generals when he was twelve, right?” Ayxin dropped a casual truth-bomb as she masticated the prawns, shell and all, savouring the herbal taste of rich, elemental water.

“…”

Her new followers weren’t sure how to respond to such an audaciously made-up statement.

“Bring me that wine.”

Pao passed over a bottle of thirty-year-old Maotai, worth well over fifty HDMs. He may have been crying because Pao noticed that his eyes were blurry as Ayxin slugged down the delicious, crystal clear liquid.

“Find me lodgings with clean air and water, somewhere discrete and without people. I wish to rest until the wedding.”

“The wedding? Mistress?”

“You will be escorting me into the wedding.”

“… yes, Mistress.”

A small part of Pao screamed and screamed, but the larger portion of his psyche was wholly besotted with this woman, whose every word was law and whose smallest whim was an edict. His friends, likewise, had quickly transformed into her most ardent worshippers.

Whenever he laid eyes upon her, every cell in his body cried out to worship her presence - to fall before an existence infinitely more significant than his mortal self. In watching her absent-mindedly chew through another pork-hock, he felt what the scholar-bureaucrats of old must have felt when gazing upon their Emperor - reverence.

* * *

Ayxin examined herself in the hotel room’s mirror.

She couldn’t help but grudgingly agree that Gwen’s figure was made for wearing these fabulous artisanal creations. Though Ryxi could command the silkworms to spin seamless tunics and shimmering shawls, the aesthetics of the White-Serpent had been firmly entrenched in the 16th century.

The problem was that Ayxin herself had no sense of style, and her followers could not resist the compulsion of her dominion long enough to tell her the truth. Even though her sycophants brought up dress after dress, she rejected them all, finding that none had the charm of the simple cotton shirt which Jun had gifted her in the midst of their heated exchange.

In the end, Ayxin settled on a dark green skirt and the Hello-Kitty T-shirt, imagining how surprised the Ash Bringer would be when she showed up at the wedding.

By the same measure, she couldn’t attend in the guise of Jun's niece, Pao had said that the girl would be there, and was, in fact, the objective of many of the young men attending.

The Dragon-Mage thus allowed her original appearance to overlay that of the Human niece, giving herself deeply set eyes, a sharper jawline, a more pronounced noble nose, and a head full of flaxen, platinum hair, replacing her warm black. For shoes, the pair Gwen had given her had been ruined by excessive use, so she had Pao find her a replacement in albino-snake leather from a place called Italy, as a homage to her useless brother.

“Pao, am I beautiful?” Ayxin knew the answer but felt compelled to request an affirmation.

Pao was wearing a tuxedo-style mandarine jacket. The young man looked good, Ayxin had to admit, even if his faculties had long since been grounded down by material excess.

“OH MISTRESS, I am drunk on your distant looks and frequent smiles, sweet and real. Your delicacy of complexion and symmetry of form, I dream of you in silken dresses embroidered with golden peacocks, riding on a silvery Kirin, dazzling in the sunshine of springs and autumns…”

Even Ayxin blushed a little at the young man’s addled obsession. She recognised the poem, pilfered from the Analects of Du-Fu, the Poet-Sage of the Tang Dynasty. Ayxin’s father had kept a complete collection of Du’s 1500 odd poems, often joking that no second copy existed outside his treasury.

“Enough,” she had to stop the young man. Dufu wasn’t just a sage of poetry; he was also the patron saint of whorehouses during the Tang Dynasty. For the crass historian, the stories of Dufu frequenting brothels not with money, but with free-verse, only to be repaid in affection, gold, love and even worship, made a fascinating study of the scholar. The sexual nature of such tales often overshadowing the bureaucratic and magical genius of the great Sage.

Ayxin patted the young man’s head, not unlike a large dog.

Pao wept with happiness.

“When do you think we should attend?” she enquired of her servant.

“Any time you please, Mistress. Though I would suggest soon. We need to sign in our wedding gifts and be seated. My father has reminded me that I will be meeting with the daughter of the groom along with several other potential suitors. I have already rebuked him, Mistress. You are the sole object of my devotion.”

“No, Pao, go meet Gwen. I shall be occupied once we are at the wedding itself. Pay no mind to me.”

“But Mistress.”

“Pao, obey.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You have taken good care of me in the last few days, Pao. I am not unkind. Though you may not remember me, I will reward you none the less.”

“Your presence is reward enough, Mistress.”

“Nonsense. Here, this is yours.”

She deposited in Pao’s outstretched hand a ceramic pot welded shut by Enchantment. Within its pocket dimension was a supply of yearling Fur Tea, plucked at first bloom by air-elementals. The Yinglong bartered no more than a hundred jars of the life-extending tea-leaves, capable of bringing vitality to the elderly and dispelling disease and injury in the young, as well as temporarily infusing the drinker with motes of draconic-vitality.

Even as Pao wept freely over his impending freedom, Ayxin once again turned to the mirror to examine her striking features. She had never known that with a little touch of ‘make up’, a change of colour to her eyes and a subtle shift in her bone structure, she could be so breathlessly beautiful, even in her own eyes.

If only, she sighed despondently, she could exchange this head of slick fur for some sleek, scaly ridges.

“Alight Pao, ready the car,” Ayxin informed her companion. “The wedding awaits!”

“That’s the dress she ordered?” Qīn spread the cream-coloured horror across the dining table before regarding it critically. “She'll look like a pink pancake wrapped around a stick of fried dough.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Her servant confirmed her scepticism. “Miss Gwen has said that the bridesmaid should never overshadow the bride. Her intentions are for you to take centre stage.”

Qīn shot her manservant a perplexed glance. The elderly NoM had been in her service since she was a child. Rarely had he spoken out of turn, especially in defence of someone other than herself.

“I see.” Qīn clicked her tongue thoughtfully. “It’s hideous.”

Bei lowered his head.

“And you helped her make her other purchases? The ones for her friends in Shanghai?”

Bei nodded.

Qīn chewed her lips thoughtfully, her eyes looking right through her manservant.

“Has the contingency dress arrived?”

“It has, mistress.”

The man brought out a package from his storage ring.

Qīn spread the dress before her, examining it critically.

“What do you think of the cut, the design?”

“Mistress?”

“Speak candidly.”

“The dress is… immodest, Mistress.”

"It's what they call fashion, Bei.”

Her usually soft eyes grew suddenly cold.

Murder her koi?!

Beguile her manservant?!

THE BRAT! Her precious, priceless koi that she'd taken care of since she was a little girl! Murdering her auspicious creatures right before her wedding, what was the girl thinking? Did she disapprove of her union with Hai that vehemently?

"You are dismissed, Bei."

Qīn watched the man disappear.

Hai was hers alone. Not the Song's, and certainly not his daughter's.

* * *

Gwen had spent the last few days exploring Hangzhou at her leisure, putting the wedding entirely behind her.

On Wednesday morning, she spent three hours watching a man materialise a life-like scene of the Qiantang River with nought but three paintbrushes and a four-colour palette of dark ink. Watching the artist at work, she became soothed by the sound of whispering willows, sinking into the softness of the fine turf covering the riverbank.

Her luncheons proved equally enterprising and adventurous. Unlike the heavily salted and sugared cuisine typical of the tier 1 city, Su-Hang dishes were more subtle, based around the plentiful resources provided by the city’s lakes and estuaries. In particular, she fell in love with a textured gloop made from West Lake Lotus Root, a richly sweet gravy possessing a fortifying vitality which offset her growing hunger significantly.

Given the freedom to explore the city proper, Gwen grew partial to jogging along the banks of the West Lake and the river. The exhaustive exercise allowed her to stretch out her limbs, while the runner’s high made her feel less anxious about the wedding ahead.

Her favourite route was the descent of the blue-hour when the crystalline water became awash with mauve and sometimes orange light as the sinking sun diffused its splendour over a dusky horizon.

A short but tranquil lull in her otherwise turbulent life.

The calm before the storm.

On Thursday, Gwen began her morning run from the Santai Yunshui monument, built to commemorate a noble scholar-bureaucrat of the Song Dynasty, detoured via the Leifeng Pagoda, then joined the walking trail encircling the West Lake Municipal Reserve.

The whole route was almost twenty kilometres of blissful greenery.

With a comfortable outfit consisting of a skort paired with a padded-bra singlet, white runners and a swishing ponytail, she powered through the hills and the dips, the byways and the waterways, the ascending steps and the mossy stepping stones.

The more she ran, the better she felt.

Her Almudj’s Essence sang out as she moved through the temperate Jiangnan waterscape, comfortably falling into the rhythmic breathing dictated by Ayxin’s scales. The more she ran, the more mastery she felt over the willful power bound within her mortal body.

As milestones fell by the wayside, she felt the mental grime gripping her consciousness flaking away, piece by piece, mote by mote, until only the feeling of fleeting distance remained.

Occasionally, a passerby or a suspicious looking fellow would call out to her, but she blasted past them without so much as a pause. On one occasion, a Mage joined her, presumably a Transmuter, and the two ran side by side until the man gave up, not wanting to damage his body for something as trivial as chasing skirt.

As the day wore on, Gwen ventured further and further into the reserve, visiting temples, sight-seeing from tall pagodas; she observed monks chanting in halls filled with the heady scent of sandalwood incense. She even caught the tail-end of a funeral procession, allowing her to watch demurely as the white-clad family filed from the grand pavilion in rows of twos, as a monk attired in saffron and gold swished a willow branch back and forth, sanctifying the path ahead.

Feeling moved by the display of human frailty, she entered the grand hall of the Lingyin Temple and lit three incense for her grandmother and her uncle, wishing for them good luck and less interesting times ahead.

Friday.

Gwen noticed several pedestrians giving her strange looks as she jogged back toward the manor. There was a particular idiosyncrasy about the Chinese which had always grated on her nerves - they liked to point. In Australia, finger-wagging at someone was very rude.

In Shanghai, people had pointed, but understandably because of Ariel riding Caliban rodeo style.

Here, they could only be pointing at her because - Gwen hypothesised narcissistically - because she was tall, lithe, and attractive. If there was any saving grace, it was that the Chinese hadn't acquired the 'dog whistling' habit enjoyed by Mages and NoMs alike in her old working-class suburb of Forrestville. Not even a junior-high uniform prevented the bored men from doing God's work.

Still, Gwen felt offended enough to change her route. Along the way, she discovered a quaint ‘hole in the wall’ place selling individual Chongqing hot-pot portions and readied her body for a gut-churning experience as delicious as it was torturous.

Afterwards, she called Richard again, thinking that ‘the crew’ was likely taking time out for some R&R. She was again received with merriment and joy, becoming privy to enticing accounts of Lulan’s exploits and her soaring reputation as the 'Nantong Ripper'.

FUCK. Gwen bit her lower lip. What a cool moniker!

On Saturday, the Liu's held a rehearsal.

Four hours later, her facial muscles were frozen in place.

Jogging from the house, she avoided the riverbank and proceeded upward until she reached Zuanyuan-Fan, north of Chi-San Hill, a historic garden abandoned by the Qing invaders, then restored by the CCP as a monument to the Battle-Mages who gave their life defending the Northern Front.

The garden itself was dominated by a profusion of willows, muffling the sound of swallows jostling for territory. To Gwen's eyes, the garden was a curious, agrarian existence where ancient architecture had grown into the landscape itself. Everything about the garden was taken from natural materials. The streets were cobblestone paved with granite and shale excavated from the surrounding region. The white-washed walls of the tea-houses and shop fronts were likewise weighed down by ochre terracotta, held in place by pillars of aged wood stained with mahogany.

She felt an unexpected quickening of her Lightning mana as her Almudj’s Essence circulated, now with far greater mastery than when she’d first returned from the Yinglong's mountain.

Out of curiosity, she double-checked Ariel. The marten was still fast-asleep, cocooned by essence as a flow of Lightning channelled from her Conjuration Sigil nourished its growth. When she mentally nudged it, Ariel made an 'Eeee!', informing her that it would soon be ready for duty.

In less than twelve hours, the wedding would begin. Gwen would stand like a mannequin and be pushed to and fro by strangers directing her to sit, to stand, to hold the teacups, to pour for her father and ‘mother’, and to smile at guests.

One boon of the tedious rehearsal was that she got to meet Jun’s partner for the wedding, a mousy woman from a neighbouring House, called Jingweng Yi. Small and petite, the woman was thoroughly intimidated by Gwen's unconscious hostility, spending the entire time hiding behind Qīn. Their other bridesmaid was Qīn’s younger cousin, a girl with a hyper-feminine, doll-like mien, who immediately took offence at Gwen’s indifferent demeanour.

Jun himself was absent, as was Gwen’s partner. Luckily, as this was a Chinese wedding, the ‘best man’ had no real job other than standing beside the groom looking stoic and loyal. Most of the legwork was done by the girls, who had to escort the bride through no less than one tea ceremony, four changes of dresses, and act as her ‘door stops’ when the groom first comes to ‘welcome’ the bride into a palanquin.

The reception wasn’t at a restaurant or a hotel, such as the Hyatt Regency or the Hangzhou Four Seasons. Instead, it was held at the Liu estate, with the front doors wide open. The practice called the 'flowing water banquet' allowed anyone who wished to wish the couple well the chance to join the 'outer banquet', while the inner circle held their private function in the interior courtyard.

The sheer volume of guests frightened her, but there was no rescinding her sunk cost. She convinced herself that no matter how tedious the wedding, it would pass like a bad meal of hot pot eaten too quickly and with too much pepper-oil.

Then, she would be back to Fudan.

Back to academia.

Back to honing her six tiers of Elemental Lightning.

And finding a way to introduce horror-stag Caliban to polite society.

* * *

Sunday, 0600.

W-Day.

A day that may very well live in infamy.

Gwen hadn’t slept and had to compensate for her lack of REM with a fifteen-minute meditation. Almudj's bounty wouldn’t keep her entirely alert, but she wouldn’t just crumple in the middle of serving tea.

She dressed in slacks, then ventured toward the dresser to prepare her face.

With her flawless dermis, she needn’t apply the copious layers of concealer she had to use in the old world. She instead began with a thin layer of spot-cover, highlighted with dashes of easy-glam, dabbed in some eye-shadow paste, then used a no.2 to draw thick, voluminous wing-tips. Some contouring followed, highlighting her forehead, cheekbones, and chin. A wet-look lipstick in peach, sharpened with the aid of a pencil, completed the look.

The result was agreeable to Gwen.

Fresh but dazzling, subtle but coy.

As for hair, Gwen opted for a low-do. She tied her long hair at the three-quarter mark, then folded the knot up and inward. The result was a half-bun with curly fringes framing her face, a style which exposed her elegant neck and sharp shoulders.

At seven-sharp, she made her way across the south wing, through the central courtyard with its sprouting spectacle of dining tables.

A familiar looking triangular platform caught her attention.

"Are those Force Barriers?" Gwen stopped a servant.

"Yes Miss, there's going to be Spellcraft demonstrations after the reception."

Not a conspiracy-device then, Gwen rolled her eyes at her paranoia. Duelling was the most popular activity amongst junior Mages, as demonstrated by the fact that the largest and most popular association at her uni was the Fudan Competitive Duelling Club.

When a large coalition of Houses, Clans and notable folks had a gathering, they bragged about themselves by showing off their children.

The servant left before she could apologise for stopping her.

The groomsmen’s party was set up elsewhere, at another family estate.

The idea, Gwen gathered from the rehearsal, was that the groom would ‘arrive’ to ‘welcome’ the bride, ‘persuading’ Gwen, Jingwen, and Fei to let them through.

The weird part of it was that Hai was marrying 'into' the bride's family, which meant the palanquin would return to the main house, from where it came.

Truth be told, Gwen was tempted to ‘defend’ the door to her death.

"Over my dead body!" she would declare.

What would her father do then?

But then she would have to fight her uncle.

She was still musing when Fei, the China-doll cousin, approached with her dress.

“Gwen, you seriously going to wear this thing?”

Of course, Gwen grinned at the cousin. She had picked a burrito dress that made her look like a soggy Mexican takeaway luncheon on purpose. God knows what Qīn would do if she were to overshadow the bride in any form.

And then she pulled up something light and flimsy.

Her immediate confusion was, 'What happened to the other 80% of the fabric?'

“Aunty Qīn?” Gwen blinked innocently at the bride.

“Wear that one, Gwen.” Qīn made a guilty face. “Your original one was lost.”

“Lost?”

“Bei slipped, and it fell into the pond.”

“Really?” Gwen felt a spark of annoyance and tried to keep it from her face. If Qīn couldn't be bothered putting any effort into a lie, why bother lying at all? Was she testing her?

“Yes, Bei was devastated.”

Gwen’s scalp crawled with phantasmal premonition. The dress wasn't excessive by Australian standards. She could easily wear it to the races, where the ladies would have nothing but praise for her excellent taste.

Yet, she couldn't help but shiver.

“Gwen - put on the dress.”

Qīn’s healer's presence pleaded with her.

The emotional blackmail was glaringly obvious. For a brief moment, Gwen fantasied throwing the dress in the pond.

But she thought of babulya, of Jun - of her father’s stupid smitten face.

And the fact that it was this woman’s wedding day.

A woman who had waited twenty years to marry the man of her dreams.

As a fellow lonesome single-lady, she had to give Qīn a chance.

She put on the dress.

Or, as it were, she slipped into half a dress.

If she was going as a wrapped burrito before, she was now wearing only the lettuce.

Qīn had picked out a knit flare-dress with a round neckline, a backless design, a full circle skirt and a weighted hem, all done up in pinkish pastel silk.

The hem was at least three inches above her knees, dangerously exposing her thighs, while her entire back was in the nuddy thanks to superficial ribbon-ties tethered to make a cute little 'H'.

Just as she was about to complain that the dress was too loose and she could have a wardrobe malfunction, the bloody fabric tightened.

A fucking magical dress.

Her evil-stepmother had spared no expense.

On the one hand, the dress was both elegant and youthful. It put Gwen's best attributes on display - her legs, her thin ankles, her toned back, her well-formed collar bones and her long neck.

On the other hand, why would Qīn go the extra mile to draw attention away from herself?

“You look like a real treat, dear.” Qīn flashed her eyes lovingly. “Here, put these on. They’re a gift from me.”

“Hermès?” Gwen stared at the golden buckle embossed with a horse-drawn Duc's carriage. “For me?”

“Yes, try them on,” Qīn mused in a friendly voice. “The shoes are self-cleaning, self-sizing, and resistant to almost all forms of wear and tear. It will also attune to your element, once you complete the ritual. The instructions are in the box, here.”

Qīn passed over an orange box.

The surreal moment caught Gwen off-guard.

Qīn had scored a critical hit on the weakest part of her psyche.

Even in her old world, the most she’d ever spent on shoes was outlet priced Jimmy Choo or Burberry's. A pair of ankle-strap Hermès sandals was over $1000! In season varieties were often well over $2000! For that price, she could be buying work-related oxfords from Louis Vitton.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford Hermès. It was the unbearable thought of scuffing a $2000 pair of shoes, especially ones she would only wear to parties or races once in a blue moon. She had promised herself that perhaps, in another decade, when she could comfortably retire, she would casually purchase a pair a year, the newest of the season, and cycle through them.

What would something like this cost in the Mage-world?

As a magic item crafted by one of the most esteemed ‘Artisanal Accessory' workshops in the world, what price did it command? In Australia, they had designer goods, but the products were rarely enchanted. It was like buying from the ‘budget’ section of a designer store versus purchasing from the top-shelf, in-seasons range.

“Cat got your tongue?” Qīn broke into mirthful laughter, amused by the stunned expression on Gwen’s face.

“Thank you… Aunty Qīn.” Gwen suddenly felt incredibly depraved. Had she wronged the woman? One could not look a gift of Hermès in the mouth!

She put her new shoes on and walked around in them.

The strap was calf-skin soft, and the shoes were weightlessly attached to her feet. Despite the high arch, she felt no discomfort; the heeled sandals were perfect.

“This is incredible,” Gwen blurted out, still in disbelief that she had a pair of Hermès casually gifted to her.

“We all have a pair,” Qīn informed Gwen. “Daddy got them for me from the Paris Tower. He has acquaintances there.”

As is tradition, the other girls showed off their shoes; an act which absolved some of Gwen's guilt.

Fei wore a version of her dress with ample fabric at the back, though she had a plunging neckline that showed off nothing in particular. Jingwen meanwhile, was wrapped from shoulder to knee. When the three stood together, it looked as though they had one, three-quaters, and half a dress.

“Mao, your legs are so long.” Fei chewed her lips. Qīn’s cousin was about five-foot-four, an average height for a local girl. The diminutive Jingwen was only five-foot-one and looked like a New Zealand Halfling when standing next to Gwen.

“It's the shoes.” Gwen awkwardly made herself smaller. The shoes added another four inches to her height, pushing her just over six-foot-four.

“Gwen’s standing on the far end so it won’t matter,” Qīn informed the other bridesmaids. “Come on, the men should almost be here.”

“They won’t get past us!” Fei announced readily.

“I’ll do my best,” Jingwen muttered.

“I’ll kick my dad’s ass,” Gwen declared.

The other bridesmaids fell about with laughter.

“Gwen.” Qīn took Gwen's hand, her eyes forming two smiling half-moons. “I am counting on you.”

Gwen nodded.

For the shoe's sake, she better not fuck this up.

The women's collective attire was finalised with jewellery.

The bridesmaids wore crystals jewellery in sterling silver, while Qīn wore gold and diamonds.

“No bangles and necklaces for you?” Gwen asked quizzically. Qīn’s first costume was a big red number that covered her from neck to ankle, its flared sleeves begged for jewellery. A top her head was a massive headdress that for now, rested on a coffee table.

“You’ll see after the tea ceremony,” the other girls chimed in, giggling with anticipation.

Gwen opted to use her own cheap, non-enchanted jewellery she had kept since Singapore. A crystal necklace and a water-crystal bracelet. On her hands where her rings, and on her ears, she wore her two Ioun Stones, the Clarity of Thought and her Translation Stone, as earrings.

A trumpet blast outside the main house suggested that the men had arrived.

“How long?” Fei turned to her cousin.

“At least an hour.”

“Haha, no problems!”

Thus buoyed on her Hermè's High, Gwen turned away, insensible to the curling of Qīn’s crimson, sanguine lips.

* * *

The servants who had remained were all women: from teenage relatives to elderly attendants. The guests, as well as the male members of the family, were all lined up outside, ready to observe the spectacle of the groom’s party trying to break into the main house.

The blaring cacophony was emitted by a suona, a kind of miniature trumpet that made a deafening, ear tingling whining. The player must have been an Illusionist as well, for the bloody thing could be heard for miles. Together with the trumpet, a giant gong joined in the festival of noise, followed by the thunder-blast of fire-crackers created by a second and third Illusionist, filling the path with red petals for good fortune as the procession passed.

As the party alighted at the front gate, now once again shut for the occasion, Gwen could spy through the iron-wrought windows her father, Uncle Jun, a young man she’d never seen before, and a fourth someone she recalled seeing at the Liu banquet, a man in his thirties.

The groomsmen approached the gate, then knocked on the brass rings.

“I AM HERE FOR THE BRIDE!” Hai declared. "OPEN SAYS ME!"

“Why should we open the gate?” Fei retorted from behind the wooden threshold.

“For your cousin’s happiness,” Hai shot back.

“She’ll be happy, sure, but what’s in it for me?”

“I don’t suppose you’re willing to take some candy?”

“What am I, a child? I would not open the door unless you pass THREE tests to prove yourself worthy of Qīn’s hand in marriage.”

“I will accept any trial!” Hai declared expansively, oozing charisma. The crowd gathered outside began to clap, adding to the festive atmosphere.

“There are three of us, and you must defeat all three bridesmaids!”

The doors swung open, and the groom’s party filed into the outer courtyard, accompanied by almost a hundred spectators young and old.

Each of the trials had been pre-planned by the girls.

Jingwen was unexpectedly in charge of the ‘Martial Trial’.

Fei was in charge of the ‘Wisdom Trial’.

While Gwen was in charge of the ‘Trial of Love’.

Thankfully, the ominously titled festivity was just a poetry recital selected for maximum cringe as the husband-to-be professed his love for Qīn, with Gwen acting as the judge.

The Martial Trial involved knocking Qīn’s protectors into the water. With Hai and Jun, it was self-evident that the female guardians would have no chance. Nonetheless, the maiden-guards put up a good show of force, eliciting cheers as they deflected spell after spell, buoyed by Water Walking. Jingwen surprised them all with her skill and affinity as a Water-Abjurer, holding out against the Song brothers and the Liu cousin until the very end, when Hai destroyed the platform she had been using, forcing her into the watery arena. When the girls finally relented, they were greeted with thick red envelops filled with currency cards as a reward for their labour.

Watching the exhibition, Gwen wondered if she should have volunteered and if her father could break through her non-newtonian Shield before she was OOM. If Hai ran out of mana - would the wedding be off?

The trial of Wisdom was essentially a slapstick Q&A, with the bride asking questions which Hai must answer, selecting from a list of answers.

Hai thankfully got most of them right, inciting jeers and laughter every time he struggled. It was just as well that the Liu cousin was a part of his entourage, for Gwen could discern from the girl’s vantage point that Hai knew far less about Qīn than she thought he did.

Finally, it was time for the trial presided by Gwen, and she presented herself to her father with big smiles and a sheet for him to read out loud.

With her entrance, however, a hush fell over the spectators.

A few of the elderly covered the eyes of their children.

Jun’s eyes were glazed over, while Hai looked as though a frog was caught in his throat.

Was it the length of the skirt? Gwen felt a chill. She couldn’t wiggle the hem down anyhow, the bloody dress was magical and could resize itself.

She scanned the crowd.

It wasn’t the length of the skirt.

There were plenty of female guests wearing minidresses and cocktail skirts, some of their cheongsams had leg splits that were far more ‘revealing’ than her A-line ruffles.

Was it the backless part?

Did the Chinese not wear backless dresses?

But it was too late to repeal her fashion faux-pas. She was committed, and the sensibilities of attire would have to wait.

“Here you go, Dad. I could only write in English, but Qīn had it translated for you. She liked it very much when I showed it to her.”

“Gwen.” Hai averted his eyes as he took the sheet from her hands. “You are going to attract a lot of attention. Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I didn’t pick the dress.” Gwen stood half a head taller than her father in her new heels. “Aunty Qīn gave it to me.”

“She did, did she?” Hai looked away.

Gwen regarded her father. Was her old man in on this? There was palpable guilt in his body language. It was the look of a father who had suddenly realised his little girl was a woman, and that there were wolves all around them.

“Uncle Jun,” Gwen flashed her pearly whites at her uncle. She struck a pose. "What do you think?"

“Gwen, you’re breathtaking, if a little disreputable, hahaha…”

“You’re looking like a treat yourself, Uncle.”

Indeed, the Song brothers were good-looking blokes whose august appearance was improved by their suits. Hai had on a tapered Mandarine jacket in crimson silk, a riotously eye-catching colour that suited him well, while Jun was in a western three-piece suit with a red and gold embroiled vest, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Amusedly, the two of them standing together reminded Gwen of the Hemsworth Brothers, Australia’s great export to Hollywood.

Perhaps a little comically, the third groom, as well as the Liu cousin, resembled pedestrians when standing beside the two Songs, invisible but for the corsage.

She could see from the glowing eyes of the women in the audience that her uncles were stealing hearts and winning minds.

“Come on Dad, start READING! Loud and clear!”

“Alright, alright.” Hai cleared his throat.

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of spring and winter.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and Dancing Light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

I love thee purely, as crystal mana clear.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my humanity, with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

Growing with lost years. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if heavens choose,

I SHALL BUT LOVE THEE BETTER - AFTER DEATH.”

With the final words delivered, Hai’s complexion paled.

“Hell of a speech,” he muttered, staring at Gwen nervously.

Jun likewise appeared contemplative.

“Til Death do you and aunty Qīn apart, Dad.” Gwen met her father's dark eyes with her hazel orbs. “There’s no backing out of this one. Babulya, Grandfather, the whole Song family, needs you to commit.”

Hai nodded solemnly, stunned by the promise of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s timeless sonnet. Gwen wondered if it was the beauty of the sonnet that had brought Hai to heel or the fact that he had made the promise in front of such an esteemed gathering.

The crowd was already roaring with approval for Hai’s boundless devotion.

“You PASS!” Gwen declared, embracing her father.

Hai dared not touch the naked flesh exposed by Gwen's backless dress. He settled on patting her shoulders instead.

Gwen’s attention then shifted to Jun, who nodded appreciatively at her gesture of support for the wedding and the unfortunate path ahead for the family. The better Hai could act as husband and consort to the Liu ‘heir’, the more influence he could exert over Qīn. If so, it was possible that Secretary Liu’s sway on the Songs could be mitigated somewhat. Ideally, their House could remain neutral even as they were forced to perform inconsequential favours for the Liu’s.

With the three trials over and the maid’s tasks completed, it was time to welcome the bride.

Penetrating the inner courtyard, the groomsmen dispensed copious amounts of ‘red packets’, each with arbitrary amounts of currency cards. When enough of the women in the courtyard had been ‘bribed’, Qīn was lead out by her maids amidst thunderous applause, clothed in red and gold, a humanoid tapestry of embroiled silk.

From the east wing, the palanquin made its round before the party eventually entered the west wing, where the ‘elders’ had been waiting.

Holding the train of Qīn’s dress, Gwen followed after the vermillion garbed bride with her head down. Qīn’s other two bridesmaids cleared the path as Qīn’s headdress, consisting of a heavy red-cloth, prevented her from seeing beyond her own feet.

Hai walked beside his bride, unable to touch her before the most important ceremony of the day.

As bride and groom entered the west wing, Gwen spotted her grandparents seated at the head of the ceremonial table, with Qīn’s father, Sumei Liu, standing beside them.

First came the nuptial rite, where the couple faced each other, followed by Hai removing the veil and headdress, revealing the ravishingly beautiful bride. Hai and Qīn then each received a golden goblet, tethered with red string and filled with honeyed plum-wine.

An ovation resounded across the inner courtyard as they drank from each other’s cups, followed by a crash of trumpets and gongs.

Looking away, Gwen spotted the Illusionist recording the whole thing, standing outside the crowd, manipulating incantations with his fingers like a puppeteer. The convenience of magic impressed Gwen to no end. Wedding photographers in this world had it so much easier! There were no guests with iPhones trying to be amateur photogs, and no danger of backing away for the perfect shot only to step on the flower-girl, trip, then break their wrist trying to protect equipment and toddler.

In front of and below the elders, bride and groom knelt on cushions placed under their knees by the bridesmaids while a servant brought a jug of tea with a dozen cups for Gwen to hold.

The almost newlyweds knelt on both knees as tea was poured by bridesmaid no.1 and carefully passed to Hai and Qīn via bridesmaid no.2.

Guo and Klavdiya were the first to receive the honours, being the eldest and the parents of the groom.

“Do us proud, Hai.” Guo patted Hai on the shoulders. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this day. I am truly happy for you.”

“Thank you, father.” Hai bowed deeply.

“Welcome to the family, daughter.” Klavdiya was glowing with positive energy as she spoke, filling the room with warmth. Qīn regarded her mother-in-law with tearful eyes, perhaps thinking of her deceased parent, then sobbed as she received the old woman's benediction.

“Here, this is for you.”

Gwen’s babulya slipped a heavy gold bangle onto Qīn’s wrist, then furthermore gifted her with a pair of diamond and ruby earrings in mithril. Gwen could tell the earrings were enchanted but knew not enough about Magic Items to say what they were.

The next to receive the tea ceremony was Secretary Liu and his sister, serving as Qīn’s ‘mother’. The tea was exchanged, words of wisdom were given, and more gold was given to Qīn.

Another set of Liu’s relatives followed.

And another.

And finally, the eldest member of the Clan of Liu, an ancient Magus aged a hundred and twelve, gave her his benediction, followed by yet another heavy-gold bangle.

Gwen wasn’t sure if the Liu’s were showing off or what, but Guo looked less than pleased when Qīn tried to rise and was almost taken off balance by the three or four kilograms of gold and mithril she now carried on her person.

By now it was almost 4 PM.

Between the waiting, the games, the ceremonies and the gifting, Gwen had been attending to Qīn for almost eight hours. She had eaten copious amounts of gut-filling fried dough for breakfast, but without Kimiko’s nourishing weekly feeding of Caliban, her hunger grew increasingly more urgent. If she couldn’t get something in her stomach soon, everything around her might start to look like food.

The reception, thankfully, was immediately upon them, after which Gwen was free to eat the night away. It was the western portion of the wedding, with an MC introducing the bridesmaids and their groomsmen. From the looks of it, she had been paired with the unassuming Liu cousin, a companion Gwen didn’t mind at all as the man was apparently in his thirties.

As expected, being the ‘third’ bridesmaid, Gwen was the first to take to the stage. Purposefully strutting across the pavement, she walked arm in arm with the Liu cousin into the courtyard.

By now they were losing daylight, but that was precisely the magic of the banquet. Sparing no expense, Secretary Liu had purchased thousands of Floating Lanterns, embroidered individually with silhouettes of good fortune and pictographs for luck and happiness, in every shade and colour. These then floated above the wedding reception, swaying gently, forming the most spectacular outdoor wedding Gwen had ever seen, casting the entire inner courtyard in mystical, ambient light.

As they entered the banquet, the Liu cousin placed a hand against the small of her back. The man’s hand was heavy, trembling, hot and sweaty.

“Sorry,” his unassuming voice was filled with tension.

“Is something wrong? Are you feeling alright?” Gwen leaned in closer.

The man shirked away, sweating profusely.

“I am fine. Please, let’s finish the walk. I am afraid your attire is a little too scandalous.”

So that’s why the man kept averting his eyes.

Gwen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. At least the guy was a good sport. A man who knew better than to entertain improper thoughts for Qīn’s daughter-in-law.

“It’s alright, I understand,” Gwen replied sweetly, giving credit where credit was due.

As the two made their rounds, Gwen felt a tingling on her neck, where the scale was buried at the base of her hair. She scanned the audience quizzically, unable to locate the source of the resonance.

What she did receive, however, was tumultuous acclaim from a group of young men all lined up like ducks waiting to be fed, applauding her as though she had just completed a runway. Amongst the group was one young man appearing as though his eyes had fallen out of their sockets. The exaggerated gesture made her break out with a broad and friendly smile.

Placing one foot before the other, she strutted with the best of em.

On the way, she spotted her cousins seated by the ‘junior’ section far from the bridal table. Gwen wanted to run over and embrace Petra, but she still had at least two more hours of bridesmaid duties to execute. After finally completing their circuit, her guilty companion abandoned her on the maid’s side of the bridal table.

The moment Gwen's buttocks touched the soft, padded chair, the tension drained from her taut body. Her designer shoes, despite their wonderful craftsmanship, were not meant for nine hours of walking and standing. With meticulous subtlety, she circulated her Almudj’s Essence, feeling her mana channels bathed in the healing essence’s restorative embrace, relieving the knotted muscles in her feet. Beauty was pain, and as much as she loved those shoes, a day standing on tippy-toes was torture.

The others were soon seated, as were the bride and groom.

Plates of food, steaming famously, entered the banquet.

A plate of Peking Roast Duck Crepe arrived.

What? She blinked. Snatching up the crepe and finishing it with two bites.

WHERE WAS THE REST OF THE DUCK?

The other tables had a WHOLE DUCK!

She looked at her companions, who nibbled at their food, careful not to ruin their makeup.

Gwen dabbed the hoisin sauce from her lips.

The next dish arrived.

One small bowl of shark-fin soup, barely two ladles-full.

WHY DO THE OTHER TABLES GET A WHOLE GOD DAMN WINTER-MELON FILLED WITH SOUP?

She was so hungry she could cry.

Uncle Jun was no help because she would have to leave her seat to beg him, not to mention she had no desire to eat his share of the food. By the same measure, she couldn’t just leap from the platform and demand one of the guest table hand over their duck, could she? They were barely touching it!

The next dish, and the next, and the next arrived.

One cut of Australian-Auroch in mandarin sauce.

Two stuffed crystal-prawns.

Half an East-Sea Coral-Lobster tail in ginger and shallot, with one mouthful of noodles.

Watching the others eat with meticulous slowness, she wanted to reach over with her chopsticks and steal the meal from their bowls. The cuisine was delicious, and that made it all the worse, that there was food and as far as the eye could see made it feel as though a Void was opening inside of her.

“Ah~.”

Jingwen, the quiet Abjurer, dropped her chopstick.

“I’ll get it.”

Both of them reached down.

When their heads came up, Gwen noticed Jingwen was sweating. Her face was flushed, and she was panting slightly.

“Are you alright?” Gwen poured the woman a glass of water.

“I am fine.” The poor girl squirmed, likely suffering from dehydration from all the talking and the walking she had to do. She looked as though she had a heat-stroke.

“Hang in there!” Gwen encouraged the Abjurer.

But the gentle-woman was looking over at Jun with a glazed expression, an act which immediately soured Gwen's opinion of the whore.

“!”

Her Divination pinged.

The scale at the back of her neck bristled.

Gwen scanned the banquet alarmingly, looking for a face she should recognise.

“It's time!” Qīn suddenly rose from her seat, her crimson cheongsam hugging her hips. “That’s it for the main banquet. Let’s get down there and start the greetings! Hai, tell the boys to get their kidneys ready! Jing, Fei and Gwen, bring the Mao-tai! One bottle each! We're starting the toasts!”

Jingwen slipped her arms into between Jun's elbow and his waist.

“!”

“!”

“!”

Gwen stood as dreadful premonition poured over her like an ice-bucket challenge.

"Gwen!" Qīn called out. "Come on! You're pouring!"

“Happy wife, happy life, Mr Song! Gānbēi!”

Gwen poured the wine distractedly, far more engrossed in seeking out the source of her dreadful premonition.

Her surveillance, however, was limited to the table-by-table meet and greet where, as is tradition, people were trying to get Hai as drunk as humanly possible.

At each table, they had to toast the guests with thimble-shots of baijiu sitting at a heart-stopping 53% purity. It was, therefore, the groomsmen's job to ‘help’ the groom by acting as the 'Abjurer'.

Likewise, as the bride's companions, it fell to the bridesmaids to ‘take one’ for the team to ensure the bride was sober enough to complete her nocturnal nuptials.

At the main table front and centre of the inner courtyard, the bridal party greeted their immediate elders. Klavdiya touched Gwen's hand and thanked her for acting so competently, while her grandfather knitted his brows, displeased at Gwen's unnecessarily revealing attire. Secretary Liu, conversely, immediately complimented her on her beauty, raised a toast, then congratulated her grandparents on possessing such a 'treasure'. The grandiose gesture drew eyes from around the room, which then doused the spiteful pride Gwen had mustered in rebellion to her grandfather's ire.

All in all, there were ten tables in the inner courtyard, twenty tables in the outer courtyard, and another thirty-odd outside the estate, under an external pavilion. The bridal party needn't visit the outer assembly - it was filled with mundane guests and servants, consisting principally of NoMs.

“Petra!” Gwen squealed when they reached her cousins. She had been hoping to converse with her Shanghai 'crew' all day but had been too busy to tear herself away, even for a minute.

“Gwen, you looking sweet-ASS!” Tao gave her a thumbs up. “Please wear the dress to my show? Bring some sugar!”

“Are those Hermes?” Mina knew what was up and what was truly important. Her eyes had a lean and envious cast about them. “Where did you get them? Do you know someone from Rome? Paris?”

“I am happy you’re safe and sound.” Petra nudged Mina, feeling awkward that the first words out of the girl's lips after a week-long absence was branded shoes. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks, everyone,” Gwen relaxed. “Please come and join me after it’s all over. We just have another thirty tables or so. No, Mina, they're a gift from Qīn. But I'll tell you what - these shoes are killing me! Tao, I'll consider it, but only you can convince Petra! Pats, how long did it take you guys to get to Hangzhou? Did Mina drive all of you?”

Mina did not answer Gwen but looked to be in a trance, likely still thinking about Gwen's shoes. Beside Mina, her mother forced Gwen’s cousin to sit, mortified by her daughter’s inappropriate fascination, thanking her lucky stars that Patriarch Wang was absent.

“Sorry, Gwen,” Tao wasn’t sure what had overcome his sister as well.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gwen replied, disregarding the faux pas as inconsequential.

“S-sorry!” Mina stammered, dazed by her sudden infirmity, appearing as though she had broken free of some charm. “I am feeling a bit unwell… maybe it's too stuffy in here.”

The banquet was outdoors.

“No worries, Mina, have some water,” Gwen urged her cousin. "The humidity here gets to everyone."

As the bridal party left the table, Gwen became hyper-conscious that the guests were now staring at her shoes, which were unfortunately attached to her very naked legs. If she had been wearing her burrito dress and not Qīn’s scandalous number, immodest exposure would not have been a problem; alas, her meagre fabric just managed to cover her frontal torso, hips and upper thighs. Maybe, Gwen mulled as she played at waitressing, she could let her hair down to cover her shoulders.

The rest of the 'inner circle' were Liu’s friends and family, notable local Houses, and a few prominent Clans from between the Hangzhou Frontier, Suzhou, Shaoxing and Anhui.

The guests ranged from polite and friendly to displaying undisguised concupiscence. One middle-aged bloke even sniffed her arm as she poured.

After another half dozen tables, Gwen took to camouflaging herself behind the other two bridesmaids. It was just as well that their dresses were identical shades of pastel pink; with a little effort, she could hide her legs behind the frontal pair, even as the back of her hem lifted precariously.

“I would like to toast Miss Song!” a voice called out from the table.

Gwen looked up and saw a young man with a square face and bushy brows lifting a shot of Maotai toward her.

The wedding party turned to regard Gwen with amusement and expectation.

Jun met her eyes, but said nothing, leaving the matter to Gwen's discretion.

Gwen lifted a shot glass, then sculled the liquor with one gulp. The rice wine entered her throat as a line of fire, burning her tongue with its delicious scent. The enormously vital baijiu, distilled from rare Wildland sorghum harvested from the Orange Zone south of Chongqing, meshed well with that of her Draconic-Essence.

Gwen found, to her surprise, that her hunger abated.

There was a brief moment of silence, then the table, as well as its neighbours, burst into applause.

“HAO!”

“Cao! That girl can drink!”

“NICE!”

“The Song’s are northerners, right? Those northerners can drink!”

“She is half Russian... well, her grandmother is from Harbin.”

“You know what they say, the Ruskies prefer Vodka over water…”

Gwen licked her lips.

She could do with another.

Maotai was famous for its distilled 'life-force'. The purer and older the distillation, the more potent. She wondered if the rice wine, like the Fructum Vitae, had diminishing returns.

Unconsciously, she licked her lips again, savouring the scent, setting the young man's heart to race.

“Thank you,” she replied sweetly. “Right back at you! Fill’er up!”

Jun regarded his niece, guessing at her intentions.

Qīn and Hai regarded one another quizzically, but the exchange was beyond them now. One of the uncles happily filled up Gwen's glass and the young man’s.

“To your health!” Gwen took the shot without even blinking, savouring the taste.

"HAO!"

"Wonderful!"

The young man sipped his second drink, not wanting to choke and embarrass his family. The table cheered the young sorceress and jeered her competitor, filling the festive air with jovial mockery.

Thanks to Gwen, the 'toasting' had taken on a less formal, and far more familiar air, cries of 'Good!' and whole-hearted 'Gānbēi!' filled the air.

At the next table, Jingwen turned to Gwen.

“Gwen,” the diminutive woman was slurring a little. At one point, Jun had to hold his partner steady lest she tripped over her own feet. “Can you still drink?”

Again, her spine tingled, and again she failed to locate the source.

“Sure.” Gwen gave her a thumbs up. “Hit me up.”

It wasn’t every day that she got to drink decade-old Maotai like spring-water, not to mention the distilled sorghum appeared to nourish her hunger. If one bottle of five-decade-old Maotai was close to a hundred HDMs, then she had to savour every drop.

Another one of the young men, a fellow whose eyes hadn’t left her face since she arrived at the guest table, raised a toast to Gwen.

“Gānbēi!”

Three shots and the young man was ready to spew.

The next table came and went, with Gwen taking the shot for Qīn, and furthermore another two shots from her admirers. Very quickly she was gaining a group of followers who couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Following the group from table to table, cheering every time she took another hit for the bride.

“Gānbēi!”

“Gānbēi!”

“Gānbēi!”

Hai was beginning to sweat even as Jun continued with a mirthful expression readable only on his curled lips. Her uncle must be cracking up behind his stoic exterior, Gwen chuckled, flashing Jun a happy grin. He was the only one who knew that so long as she kept her essence cycling, she couldn’t become intoxicated. Her evolved Draconic-essence, more potent than even her previous Druidic Essence, impeded and corrected all altered-chemical states, from toxins, hallucinogens, to alcohol.

At the next table, to the surprise of all, it was her uncle Jun who couldn’t hold his rice wine.

The bridal party was doing the last rounds of the inner courtyard when they were greeted by an ethereal beauty. Raising a glass, the coy maiden toasted the Ash Bringer.

Gwen's uncle raised his glass, sculled the shot, saw the Hello KItty shirt - then spattered the poor woman with a conic blast of high-grade alcohol.

The spontaneous spittle-shower drew every eye from across the courtyard.

What a beautiful girl! The guests sucked in a collective breath of air.

The young woman was so strikingly stunning that the their hearts became sore with sympathy at her bedraggled state.

The Ash Bringer coughed violently.

The young lady's appearance suggested she was in her late teens, about Gwen’s age. Spit and Maotai slobbered past a set of bright blue eyes, a high-bridged nose and deeply set features which marked her as a foreigner. The dead give away was her platinum-blonde hair, which was now plastered across her face in sticky strands of sun-silk. One would have figured the girl older than she looked, but the young lady uncharacteristically wore over her slim body a Hello Kitty t-shirt now covered with booze still dribbling from her chin.

The crowd regarded the new girl - then Gwen - then shifted their attention toward Gwen's grandmother, with each instance adding increasingly more adventurous guesses as to their connections.

There was an uncanny resemblance between the two girls, that was undeniable.

Their facial structure, their long, lithe limbs, even their demeanour and body language, was similar.

Could the girls be sisters?

The guest's curiosity converged on Hai, who was for once, earnestly confused by the girl's familiar yet alien countenance.

Jun made a sound that sounded as though he was drowning.

The wedding guests migrated their gaze toward the Ash Bringer, who had become slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

A love child?

Not Hai's child, but Jun's?

Gwen meanwhile, endured goosebumps for an entirely different reason.

That shirt! Her mind scraped its grey matter for recent memories. Where have I seen it before?

Her Scale - or rather, Ayxin’s scale, tingled.

FUCK ME DEAD! Gwen felt her cerebellum perform a double-summersault before landing awkwardly with a sprained ankle.

AYXIN?! Gwen screamed internally. What the hell is the Dragon-Mage doing here? COULD SHE EVEN BE HERE? Why isn’t she imploding from the Shielding Resonance?

Was the PLA aware that a thermo-nuclear warhead had snuck itself into a city of four million people?

Most importantly, should she tell anyone?

But she needn’t make that call, Gwen realised. She was in the presence of a higher ranking officer possessing far more intimate knowledge than her wild speculations; if anything, it was Jun's call to make, his dragon to lay.

Ayxin's expression was one of complete devastation as well, though her distress was directed at her alcohol ravished 'Hello Kitty' shirt.

“I am sorry,” Jun stammered, his face growing as red as a beet. Gwen figured her uncle was likely shitting himself as he spoke.

The man had ruined the dragon-kin's one of a kind shirt; despoiled the memento of her affection and ravaged the romance of her surprise visit.

Ha! Serves you right! Gwen smirked even as she deliberated the possibility of the Dragon-Mage erupting into an all-consuming fount of living lightning.

Jun turned to Hai.

There was no time to explain.

If anyone should get the wrong idea about why a Dragon-kin wandered into a Shielded city without a self-decaying Resonance Sigil, Hangzhou could be playing host to the PLA Super Tower for the foreseeable future.

Ayxin opened her mouth to speak.

"Jun, I want a b-"

“BROTHER, I NEED TO GO.”

“You go for it, man.” Hai offered his straight-shooter brother a bro-fist. Completely misreading the situation and glad only for the fact that the girl hadn't blurted out 'Daddy' in front of his guests. “Do what you gotta.”

Keeping a straight face, Jun ignored Hai's fist-bump, took Ayxin by the arm, then pushed the girl behind him. With a single, scandalous gesture, the Dragon-kin wrapped her arms around his waist and dashed the hopes of women in the courtyard young and old.

Jun's constipated expression insinuated someone had stabbed his reputation in the kidneys with a broken-chopstick.

"Gwen, stay out of trouble. I'll be back if I am able."

"Where are you going?"

"Far... from the city, for now. You never know-"

"Gotcha," Gwen nodded. "Be careful. If need be, what should I tell Babulya?"

"Everything."

"I'll try."

Jun produced a Teleportation scroll.

With a flash of silvery Conjuration mana worth over 700 HDMs, the two de-materialised.

The guests erupted into wild and audible speculation.

Gwen glanced back at the Song’s table and saw that Guo had transformed into an impassive stone statue, not unlike one of those granite lions outside the Liu's estate. Her grandmother must have received a Message from Jun, for Gwen could see that the old woman was cupping a hand against her ear.

Gwen's heart sank.

Her precious uncle Jun- A gigolo?

* * *

Besides Gwen's grandfather, Secretary Liu poured for cup of tea for Guo.

The man's palpable schadenfreude was visible almost half-a-dozen tables away.

Already the Songs owed the Liu’s because their wayward son had knocked up his only daughter. And then their grandaughter 'lost face' by causing a scene with her belligerent brother, furthermore showing up as bridesmaid wearing an entirely un-maiden-like attire.

Now even Jun, the golden boy who could do no wrong, was slinking away after splattering a guest in the face, perhaps to get her a new change of clothes, but more likely dealing with a lover's dilemma. Jun's only grace was that the beauty had not burst into tears and made a scene! To think that the Ash Bringer of all people had been panicked enough to burn a tier 7 Teleportation scroll. It made Liu wonder which family the lass could belong to, though the answer would have to wait until after the wedding.

Unexpectedly, events had progressed so well that Secretary Liu felt as though he had previously consulted with a State-sanctioned Diviner from Pudong.

After tonight, the Songs would not have enough face left to slap!

As if guided by a divine hand, the pieces kept falling into place of their own accord.

Earlier, he had received conflicting reports that Gwen Song was seen marauding through Hangzhou city, making trouble for the locals, venturing as far as hooking up with the son of Assistant Secretary Chen at the Ritz Carlton. When he questioned Qīn's servants, however, they had reported that the girl had returned to the estate with regularity, bathing and sleeping in the south wing.

The inconsistency was a puzzler, but to Liu, the actuality hardly mattered.

With the Ash Bringer gone, a rare opportunity had presented itself.

And Liu was nothing but an opportunist.

* * *

A few tables over, Gwen was still trying to think of a way to put together a contingency plan, or at the very least, a way to clear the guests should the Dragon-Mage return with less than peaceful intentions in mind. With her Spatial Magic, it was difficult to say if anyone in Hangzhou could hold her down, Jun included.

“Let’s take a break.” Qīn licked her drying lips, she couldn't drink on account of her pregnancy and all the Maotai was giving her a heady dizziness. “Hai, take me back, then get me some water.”

"Of course, dear."

Gwen caught the split-second glance that passed between them.

The bridal party moved as one. Yet, when Gwen followed, her step-mother stopped her.

“Go see your friends, Gwen. Mingle with the crowd. Hai and I will be fine. We’ll do some catching up over on my side of the family. I would think Jun should be back soon; we'll wait for him. What do you say?”

“Sure, I’d love that.”

The woman put on a sympathetic smile intended to assuage the girl's growing paranoia, but the girl had bolted without so much as a glance in her direction. Gwen made for her babulya, feeling an urgent need to impart critical information necessary for near-future contingencies.

It was just as well that she could see the 'oldies' had hardly touched their bottle of Maotai.

Gwen had made it no more than three tables when she became surrounded.

A dozen young men from the various families had apparently been waiting almost two hours for the opportunity to address her vis-a-vis.

“Miss Gwen!”

“Gwen…”

“Song Xiaojie”

“Another toast!”

"Come have a drink with us."

The attention was flattering but there was something in their eyes that reminded Gwen of Caesar's paranoia, that 'Cassius over there has a lean and hungry look.'

She hoped they weren't expecting to stab her in the back, in a euphemistic manner of speaking.

“Let me through.” She forced a wane smile to her lips. “I’ll be with you soon. We'll 'hang' later, I promise.”

To her dismay, the men closed ranks. Their uproarious voices overpowering her feeble protest.

Gwen's spine stiffened with displeasure.

Are these guys fucking with me? She performed a double-take.

In her eyes, the Frontier power-progeny were like dogs in heat. Goats and monkeys! Gwen bit her tongue, taking a moment to ponder what was the acceptable amount of minimal force necessary to dispell the Wall of Lust. Judging the look on their faces, this wasn't their first rodeo.

From the way her step-mother had left with the bridal party, the men's actions would appear premeditated.

“My Uncle, the ASH BRINGER, is going to be very upset if we come to any unfortunate misunderstandings,” Gwen raised her voice an octave. "Let me remind you that he is an Internal Security operative."

Name dropping Jun seemed to have made it through their system, penetrating the spirit and the hormones ruling their judgement. She was already regretting taking advantage of the blokes to drink their table dry.

Seeing that her wayward suitors had become sufficiently cowed, she put her hand forward to part the crowd.

"!"

Gwen had made it about halfway through the throng when her Divination tingled.

She sighed.

What is it with her uncanny gypsie-luck with molesters?

Can't she just meet normal people for once?

Do these people think that just because they were rich and powerful, they could do whatever they wished, that a woman would just let them grope and grab her? What an absurd sense of entitlement! One would have to be semi-moronic and mentally-addled to believe such a thing.

With extreme prejudice, Gwen swung her hand across her buttocks, as though swatting at an annoying gadfly. The edge of her knuckles grazed a wandering pair of fingers that were clearly going for a squeeze, a pinch, a nab or a grope targetting whatever her attire had left exposed.

“Arrgh-! Tama-de!”

There was a yelp, a scream cut short.

Then a burst of expletives.

And they said chivalry was dead, Gwen rolled her eyes.

One of the young men who Gwen recalled as having shared a drink with her was nursing his right hand with a painful scowl. Two of the would-be groper's fingers were twisted in a strange direction.

SHIT, Gwen shook out her right arm. A little too much force.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

Gwen turned to regard the source of the uproar.

One of the young men charged her.

ARE YOU SHITTING ME?

Gwen sidestepped the crimson-faced buck with ease.

She readied herself to push the man away, wondered if crying out for Petra, Tao, or God-forbid, her grandfather, would salvage the situation.

But she wasn't the young man's target.

The bloke passed her by, wound up a right-hook, then king-punched the molester in the face.

Gwen suspected the young man must have been a Transmuter or something because his victim was sent flying in the literal sense. A clatter of teeth scattered over the pavement, joined by a striking arc of crimson.

“WOCAO! What are you doing, Pao?”

“Is this guy trying to show off?”

“Back off Chen! Who the fuck do you think you are? Your Dad is only the Second Chair!”

"Buhaha! Playing the hero. You think she'll spread her legs for you?"

"So fake, not even trying!"

Gwen stared slack-jawed at the young man who stood in front of her, sharing the shocked expression of her astonished assailants.

A white knight?

A real-life, true to form white-knight?!

She was impressed. Not that she wanted to know the guy better, nor did she possess any desire to butter the guy's toast, but she was impressed nonetheless. It was one thing to talk the talk, but this Pao guy walked the walk!

“I love her!” Pao declared his loyalty with such passion that Gwen's heart rate shot to a hundred. Pao then turned to the assembly of amazed assholes, then blew her away with yet another audacious announcement.

“I'll die for her.”

"Pufft-!”

Even without a nip of booze halfway down her gullet, she had to wipe the surprised spittle from her lips.

The rest of the guests appeared equally astonished.

“Are you two in cahoots?” One of the young men stated with an impassioned face full of injury. “Why in Mao’s name would you put up this charade if the two of you are already an item.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Do you know how much I gave to your Father's wedding registry?”

"So what, it's not like you're gonna lose a piece of flesh."

"You should be happy that we're interested in a gweilo at all."

"Suitors my ass! Stinking er-bi..."

"CHEN PAO! YUUA MEAD MUN!"

The youngsters parted. Pao's victim had recovered from his tumble and was returning with a mouth full of blood and eyes full of retribution.

Gwen swore and tried to back away from the scuffle, but a wall of bodies kept in place by spectators and rubberneckers pushed her back into the ring. The scent of fear, excitement, sex, and alcohol, it all seemed to mingle and feed into each other until she was reminded of music festivals where ‘bullrings’ spontaneously erupted and had to be put down by security.

“PAO! YORE DNNND!” the groper had recovered after using a potion injector, attesting to the extent of his injury. His teeth, however, would require professional help.

But the man's outburst became halted by a second cry from beyond the ring of spectators.

“GREAT LEADER’S GHOST! WHAT IN MAO’S NAME DO YOU RASCALS THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

The crowd parted like the red sea.

Guo, babulya, and the Patriarch Liu descended upon the riotous kerfuffle. From the perspective of the watchers, it was proper that the bride and groom remained absent and out of sight, leaving the dirty work to their elders. The expected outcome was the expulsion of the troublemakers - though Gwen's inclusion among that number infinitely complicated an otherwise easy deliberation.

“Young lady,” the patriarch began. “What is the meaning of this lover’s spat?”

For a moment, Gwen thought she was hallucinating.

The meaning of what?

A Lover’s Spat?

HERS?

How the hell?

She trained her hazel eyes onto the Secretary, whose nose merely reached her chin.

“I am afraid you are gravely mistaken, Magus Liu,” she riposted critically. “I am an unwitting victim. These men have taken offence entirely of their own accord.”

“From where WE stand, all I can see are young bucks butting heads over a doe.” Liu grinned, putting on a show of sagacity. “What do you think, Guo? Your granddaughter is a rare beauty. To think she possesses such beguiling powers at such a young age. What will you do when she enters society?”

Her babulya’s face became torn between ripping the man apart with her bare hands and keeping the peace. Gwen was reminded of that old saying, that even Buddha has a temper.

Behind her grandparents, she could see Petra's face fuming with quivering rage, while beside the Russian girl, Mina kept a hand firmly on Tao's shoulders.

“As I VERY CLEARLY STATED, Magus Liu, I do not know these men.”

“Am I to presume these young gents spontaneously decided to accost you?” Secretary Liu scoffed.

“That is correct, Sir,” Gwen replied chillingly, channelling her inner Guo. She raised her voice so that everyone could hear. “They appeared from thin air, uncalled for and unsummoned, to block my path. They have no respect for you or my father's matrimony. If you have any sense, you should expel them from the wedding.”

The retort from a girl a quarter of his age seemed to catch Liu off guard.

For a brief second, the Secretary appeared entered by her commanding presence.

But then the man's face soured with annoyance.

Liu's eyes swept over Gwen's livid face, his expression rimed with frosty displeasure as he cynically regarded her 'beau' and his toothless victim.

“Pao, Hu, explain yourselves.”

“I am in love with Miss Song.” Pao's admission blew Gwen's mind to kingdom come. “I’ve spent the last few days and nights with her in the city, sharing in her company. I cannot allow animals like Hu the chance to place his dirty fingers on the girl I adore.”

S-Spent the last few days...

And nights...

PLURAL? FUCKING PLURAL?

Gwen felt dizzy.

“I dnn no such fing!” Hu retorted vehemently, his missing teeth slurring his protest. The man’s unbridled anger was lending strength to his cunning. “The Song girl is a tease, and she's also insane! She attacked me when I offered her a greeting! Ben and Pei-Jai and Suqee can all attest!”

“That’s right!”

"Unprovoked!"

“She broke his hand!”

“The girl’s out of control.”

“Such a shame, why waste what the heavens have given you?”

“There are some girls you take to a hotel but not your home...”

Secretary Liu turned to Gwen, spreading his hands as though he had received all the evidence he needed.

With a critical eye, he admired Gwen’s state of half-dress. Watching the man's curling lips, Gwen felt a subconscious longing to Consume Liu's smug face right here and right now and damn the consequences.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Song? What’s your game? Why the garb, and if so, why turn away the young men you set out to attract?”

“That’s not tr-”

“Don't play games with me!” Liu snapped at her, making her flinch. "Do you believe me so easily swayed? This is my daughter's wedding you're despoiling!"

The last statement was intended to ricochet elsewhere.

Both Gwen and the Secretary turned to look at Guo and Klavidya.

Her grandfather maintained his stoic-statue countenance, while her babulya’s face became as vivid as pippins.

Gwen's head buzzed. Every ounce of her depleting will was spent suppressing her raging essence. She was sure that if she blew her casket now, she could be on an examination table by next week, having her Draconic-essence leeched into a bucket.

“As I was saying,” Liu continued, basking in the shameful attention he was bringing to his in-laws. “Gwen, it is improper for a young lady to lie so readily. Young Master Chen evidently knows you in an intimate capacity. By his own admission of guilt, you have shared his companionship for many days, and indeed, my servants can attest that you have been absent from my home from morning to evening.”

The patriarch’s accusation hammered her like a mallet.

She could refute - but the age-old quandary of 'he said, she said' put her at a distinct disadvantage.

From the wedding guest's perspective, it looked as though Gwen had became stunned by the Patriarch’s judicious revelation.

Gwen's grandmother moved to interject; Guo held her in place.

Secretary Liu continued.

“I can see why the young Chen is so smitten with you. Talent, beauty, intelligence, a good family, you lack nothing. However, it would appear to me that your Frontier upbringing has limited your understanding of how our society functions - its basic rules of modesty and dignity. I cannot blame your esteemed grandparents, of course, they are the most wonderful people I know, but one wonders…”

“Patriarch Liu…” Seeing her dismay and believing her on the verge of tearful disgrace, Pao interjected on Gwen’s behalf. “I am willing to take any punishment, please leave Gwen out of this.”

“Now, now, Mr Chen, we’re not done with Miss Song yet.”

Gwen was an inch from going nuclear and hitting the Mutually Assured Destruction button when she detected her grandfather eyeballing her.

She blinked back angrily.

Her grandfather looked over at the bridal table, shook his head, then shot a sideways glance at Liu before narrowing his eyes dangerously.

Liu could see that something was up, but the Secretary was intoxicated by his own oratory.

“Now, knowing what you have set in motion, Miss Song, I want to know how you wish to resolve this? If you have nothing to say, perhaps Secretary Guo can provide a nugget of wisdom to share with us? No one wants this sort of ugliness at their son’s wedding, no?”

So that's it. Gwen realised. It would appear negotiations over the allegiance between the Songs and the House of Liu had yet to be settled.

Gwen glared at her grandfather, her eyes fiery and demanding.

“Gwen,” Guo's voice filled the room with its sonorous timbre. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

The unexpected olive branch surprised Gwen as much as it startled her grandmother, who stared at her husband with astonishment.

Gwen stepped forward.

By now a ring of rubbernecking guests had gathered around the commotion. Many of the non-factional members remained seated, not wanting to embarrass the Chair of the Confidential Communications Committee. Others, members of Liu’s faction, took up an audience to lend the Secretary their clout. If someone like the infamous Secretary Song, the old ‘hound dog’ of the CCP, could be taken down a peg and brought to heel, it would do wonders for their factional influence.

Gwen smoothed out her dress, her calves lifted by the Trojan gift of Hermes. Mindful of her hostile audience, she struck a power pose. Let them look, she mused sardonically, let their eyes rot.

To Gwen - Qin’s purpose, intentional or otherwise - was now clear; whether Secretary Liu premediated the event no longer mattered. What was important was that her grandparents had been cornered because she fell for a pair of shoes, among other things.

Secretary Liu’s intent, she discerned, was to show that the Songs had diminished since the heydays of the Ash Bringer. A House was only as good as its standing in high-society, and the House of Song had fallen far from their perch. Caught within a web of shame and social pressure, the best outcome would be to allow the Patriarch Liu to speak up and absolve the matter, that or risk the further disintegration of the Song's reputation.

Though Ayxin’s presence was entirely unanticipated, Jun’s absence had set something unexpected into motion. She doubted Patriarch Liu would be pushing her grandfather like this if Jun could step in. Whatever his plans, Liu was honour bound to ‘give face’ to the Hero of the North or risk ire from the PLA's military.

“Secretary LIU-”

Gwen stood with her shoulders squared and legs slightly apart. Her draconic-Essence filled her veins and mana-channels, gifting her with an air of effortless supremacy.

The change in the atmosphere was immediately notable as the crowd ceased their murmuring. Those who’d been ‘checking out’ her goods now tasted in the air an unexplainable cocktail of reverence, fear and uneasiness.

“- What I am about to tell you is the truth and nothing but the truth. Listen well. I DO NOT KNOW Mr Chen. I have NEVER MET Mr Chen in my life. MY DRESS-”

She slowly turned, her gaze sweeping past the silent crowd, shivering spines and silencing small children.

“Is chosen FOR me by Qīn, your daughter. I do not personally have an issue with it. I am grateful that she has given me such beautiful attire to attend her wedding. If you feel scandalised, take it up with her.”

“You can’t expect me to-” Liu moved in to cut her off before Gwen's performance could derail the narrative he had constructed.

“Let her finish.”

It was her grandfather who now moved a hand in front of Liu’s face.

A supremely offensive gesture.

But Guo was the elder, and the old man held a higher, though far more sensitive position within the CCP.

The two men gazed upon one another like two tigers sizing their opponents. One was an old veteran of the jungle, the other an ambitious intruder looking to expand his territory.

Liu relented, for now.

He couldn’t publicly break with the Patriarch of the Songs. That was never his intent, a public showdown wouldn’t benefit anyone and would only gift the other factions with mana for criticism.

Gwen continued.

“Mr Chen?”

Pao appeared bewildered by Gwen's outright denial of his existence.

“Y-yes?”

“I am not the girl you are looking for, Mr Chen. Let it go.”

“But it was you!” Pao protested desperately, his face scarlet from sweaty brow to throbbing neck. “I know it was you! How could I forget your face? All my friends were there!”

He turned to his ‘friends’ in the crowd.

“That’s her!”

“Yes, she’s the one!”

“We even have lumen-pics!”

One of them waved a Pic-recorder.

“What do you say to that?!” Liu grinned wolfishly.

The Secretary immediately commanded the young man to approach. A moment of tinkering later, an image became visible, projected via an Illusionary Enchantment embedded into the device.

There was a picture of Gwen in her white sundress, standing beside Pao. She stood like a queen surrounded by her sycophants - arrogant, proud, and beyond reproach. The boys were cowed by her demeanour, clearly subordinate to her presence.

A thunderous clamour broke out among the audience; a few the guests began to chuckle.

Voices jeering at Gwen rose above those restraining themselves to polite mirth.

The girl was a liar, and she had been caught red-handed.

What a moment of shame for her elders!

What a thing for the granddaughter of the Songs to do!

The apple had fallen far from the tree indeed!

Perhaps the girl was insensible from her excessive drinking?

Mayhap she had been raised as a greenhouse flower, and had thought the world her oyster because of her uncommonly pretty face?

“The woman in that picture is not me!” Gwen's voice rang out over the courtyard.

But there was no one to hear her.

Granddaughter and grandfather stood in the middle of a circle of wedding guests, bearing the cross of humiliation. To Gwen's wonderment, her grandfather reached out to her. She reflexively responded by offering her grandfather a hand, which Guo took.

Her grandfather drew a few pictograms in her hand.

Gwen blinked rapidly at Guo.

SHE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND CHINESE.

HER IOUN STONE COULDN'T TRANSLATE SECRET HANDWRITING.

Guo blinked back.

The two regarded one another as the clamour persisted.

Secretary Liu raised a hand.

The laughter ceased.

It was a clear demonstration of power and influence, one that said to Guo and Klavdiya that he could make all of this go away if only they’d listen to his proposal.

“I want compensation!” The Hu boy cried out, breaking the silence as if on cue. “Now we know the girl's a liar! She attacked me first! She owes me an apology and a favour! The Songs owe the Yuan family an apology!”

Before Gwen could retract her hand from Guo's grasp, Chen Pao, the unwittingly involved young man, lost his shit entirely.

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The poor fool's eyes were glazed over with rage and unrestrained passion. “I CHALLENGE YOU! I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DEATH MATCH! You FUCKING LIAR! How dare you sully Miss Song’s name! I’ll KILL YOU DEAD!”

“PAO!” A voice called out from the crowd. It was one of Chen's relatives, who had been observing the proceedings. “Don’t be a fool. Apologise and go home! You’re no match for Young Master Yuan.”

“I can’t, Uncle.” Pao gazed at Gwen longingly, his voice choking as he spoke. “I have to defend her, even if she doesn’t care or remember me.”

OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE. Gwen felt her temple throbbing painfully. YOU FUCKING SIMPLETON.

She glanced over at the bridal table, hoping her father or Qīn could salvage the situation.

The bridal party was gone.

OF COURSE, her father was fucking gone.

Within Gwen’s mind, the final puzzle pieces fell into place.

Secretary Liu must have begun the night with hopes of humiliation to 'push' the Songs in the right direction, but the absence of Jun had provided an opportunity he couldn't refuse. Steering Hai and the wedding party away, the Secretary then took advantage of whatever childish tomfoolery his daughter had set up to bring matters to a head.

What blew her mind was that Hai, her father, left with his cunt of a wife instead of standing up for his own family.

But then again, what the fuck had she expected?

As for her uncle Jun, he'd probably have to offer his body to the Dragon-witch, quelling her wrathful lust. She imagined her Uncle lying on his back, thinking of China as Ayxin did what came naturally to dragons.

Just as the two hot-headed youths were about to leave for the duelling arena set up in the other courtyard, her grandfather walked between them.

"You two, a moment before you shame yourselves."

Guo turned to face the wedding guests, studying the faces of those who had mocked and laughed at a Chair of the CCP's inner circle, as if carefully remembering their faces.

What had Liu promised them? Guo wondered. His is a position that should have made these 'esteemed guests' quake in their boots. No one could attest that their rise to power was achieved without mud on their feet, least of all in a verdant place like Hangzhou, full of scum and intrigue.

Guo fell into step beside Gwen, flanking the girl, joining her precious babulya.

“I believe my granddaughter is telling the TRUTH.”

His voice penetrated every inch of the guests' skulls, empowered by Suggestion, enhanced by Illusion, skills which Guo had squirrelled away over the years, waiting for the right moment to be exercised.

Gwen was sure she had misheard.

Guo was taking her side?

Had the Plane of Fire been taken over by the Para-Elemental Plane of Ice?

The old man appeared to grow in size as he addressed his audience.

“Two truths are presented before us - no matter, for you know as well as I do, that this is not about Gwen. If you do believe the words of Guo Song, that is your choice-"

"THOUGH I tell you now as the CHAIR of the CHINESE COMMUNIST PARTY's CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMITTEE, my granddaughter is NOT a LIAR."

"Who among you will challenge me? SPEAK UP NOW. I WELCOME IT."

The crowd fell silent.

The sudden and uncomfortable reminder that this man knew their secrets, perhaps better than themselves, overrode Liu's promise of an obedient ally.

Guo's mien remained ironclad, though his timbre dropped an octave as his voice rang out once more.

"So you hold your peace."

Guo scoffed, then continued.

“The Songs do not require another to defend their honour."

He turned to Gwen.

Gwen puffed out her chest, taken by her grandfather's uncharacteristic outburst. Was this what they meant when they said that a dangerous dog rarely barks - because you'd only hear it after it had torn off your face?

"Gwen, show these whelps why you have no interest in them, and why their accusations are false. A toad may wish to take a bite of the swan, but the immutable TRUTH is that toads are toads! Do what you will. You have my support!”

Suddenly, the thin veneer of politeness hiding the hostility between the two families was torn asunder.

Mina, Tao, and Petra all broke through the crowd to stand beside Gwen.

“We believe our cousin!” Tao declared, defiantly looking around at the Hangzhou’s collective Guan-er-dai and Fu-er-dai. “Peaches will fuck em up for you, Gwen! They all know who my Dad is! Let’s see em try! These motherfuckers are gonna be bankrupt before the weekend’s out! You Er-Bi's want to honour your House? I'll BUY YOUR DOGSHIT HOUSE AND KICK YOU OUT! YOU'll BE HOMELESS! YOU HEAR ME?!”

Gwen fought to suppress a snort of inappropriate laughter.

Tao's boast was just that, but didn't they say one had to 'fight poison with poison?'

“I’ll act as your Abjurer in Richard’s absence,” Petra declared, giving Gwen a curt nod as she flashed her Storage Ring. "I always bring a full complement of spell-cubes. By the way, I got a tier 6 Blade Barrier loaded for emergencies..."

“I’ll heal.” Mina was peeved that Tao had just dragged her out here without her consent, though for once her brother had tossed her under the bus for the right reason.

Gwen turned to the young man from the Hu family.

Her eyes were light-fantastic, alive with mana.

“You still insist that it was my fault?”

“…”

The young man couldn’t back down, which meant he couldn’t apologise either.

Watching Hu's face twisted in anguish and self-righteous indignation, she lost the last ounce of her sympathy.

“Well, are you going to apologise, or are you going to screw your courage to the sticking place?”

“What in Mao's name does that even mean?”

Hu's eyes were wildly eyeballing Secretary Liu.

“This is absurd!” Patriarch Liu scowled as events escalated nonsensically. His daughter had consented to whatever he had planned so long as she was allowed to marry the wayward son of the Song family. As for the Songs, Liu would have preferred to end the ceremony on a high note.

It was supremely vexing for Liu that even nailed to the wall, Guo refused to cease his struggling. Why was it so hard to ask for the Secretary's help in public, declaring their allegiance for the Conservative Faction? Even a cordial 'let us work together now as one family' would have sufficed.

Guo snorted at the schemer.

“Sumei.”

The old man’s countenance suggested he was browsing turnips at a market, not facing the disintegration of his family’s reputation.

“Care for a wager?”

“What do you have in mind, Guo?”

Guo's reply filled the courtyard.

“If a single one of your Clan's juniors can best my seventeen-year-old granddaughter tonight, I will join the House of Song wholeheartedly to your Faction and labour toward whatever cause the Conservative Party wishes. Furthermore, your grandchild, male or female, will become the inheritor of both our Houses.”

Liu’s heart skipped a beat.

The guests ceased their eating, drinking, and merry-making.

Duels were a common feature of any good social gathering. The after-dinner entertainment was a chance for the elders to show off their young people, to find suitors, and to size up their factional rivals.

Wagers were also a standard feature.

But this -

This had to be a bluff!

“And if she survives the contest?”

Much to Liu's annoyance, Guo refused to lower his voice.

“If Gwen should prove the victor - I and the house of Song shall cease all obligations toward the House of Liu. Your future grandchild will not only have the last name Song, but they will belong to MY household.”

Liu stared at Guo, his mouth half-open.

Dared he test the old dog's resolve?

The girl was talented, sure, a rare Dual-Elementalist. But she was only a child! How long had she cultivated her skills? The intelligence he had gathered on the girl showed that she was tier 4 Lightning and tier 4 Void. Furthermore, the girl had severe limitations when using her Void spells, endangering herself more often than not. Her upbringing in the Sydney Frontier likewise limited her Spellcraft knowledge. Unless of course, the information trader from the Fung's sought to entrap him.

But that was unlikely.

What would be the benefit?

If one couldn't trust the surety of having something to gain, what could one trust?

“You ask for a difficult wager…”

Guo turned to Secretary Liu.

For the first time, a smile touched his lips.

“It's true what they say. Paper Tigers don't bite.”

A few of the guests snorted.

Others tittered politely.

One idiomatic phrase was enough to set Liu’s world on fire.

When was the last time Liu had been insulted like this?

The Secretary of Hangzhou closed his eyes for a brief few seconds to cool his feverish mind. Taking the opportunity to ruminate upon a checklist of young Mages the House of Liu could draw upon. The more he measured the pros and cons, the more assured he became of victory. Even if the girl had acquired new spells, mayhap even an Elemental Spirit, he was sure she could be beaten.

A girl of Gwen’s age was in the end, just a girl.

For Liu, there was everything to gain.

With the old dog on their side of the fence, the Conservative Faction would gain wings!

“Very well, Secretary Song.”

The two men's hands met in a firm and unrelenting shake.

“I applaud your confidence, Secretary Liu.”

Guo nodded at his granddaughter, who stood defiantly with her friends.

Receiving the confirmation from Guo, Gwen patted Pao on the shoulder, feeling commiseration for the addled sod.

“I’ll take it from here, buddy. Thanks for the save.”

Pao's lips trembled as he sank to one knee.

"Anything for you..."

Gwen sidestepped his attempt at kissing her, careful not to reward the man with a knee to the kisser.

She then turned to the assembly of 'suitors' gathered in front of her.

Gwen struck a thumb toward the direction of the outer courtyard.

A blue-white spark zinged from her shoes and grounded itself on the stone pavement.

She placed a hand to her hip, forming an admirable S-line with her proportioned curves. Their insults, lies and humiliation had left welts on her mind that could only be soothed by tier 6 Lightning.

“Alright, fellers. Like my grandaddy said, its fuck or walk."

The men stared, stunned by her expletive.

"Don’t you bastards DARE go soft on me now.”

Dueling, as a national sport, was begotten in the West, though it had always existed amongst the Chinese Elite in an unofficial capacity since antiquity.

Compared to grand displays of power and ego, what the Tower's system had brought was a code of conduct upheld by adjudicators and participants the moment they stepped into the sacred space of the arena.

Commonly, Acolytes and Mages duelled for practice and to settle grievances.

Maguses oft participated, restricted to a lower tier of spellcraft.

Magisters, however, were strongly discouraged from dangerous and excessive demonstrations of their powers. Past the middle tiers, spells were far more likely to result in fatalities.

In general, duels to the death were illegal and frowned upon as a waste of human resources. When duels were held in unofficial capacities, however, 'accidents' tended to become a fact of life.

By the time Gwen and her toothless groper entered, banquet tables had already been shifted to the side, and an impromptu area about the size of two tennis courts had been boxed in with portable Force Barriers. Below the transparent 'box', was the koi pond, though the fish were now curiously absent.

A wave of nostalgia assailed Gwen's memory.

When she had visited Elvia’s mansion in Sydney a lifetime ago, Evee’s extended relatives had duelled over the water. The Frontier Aussies didn’t have access to Force Barriers and had to instead rely on floating docks and the bay itself to displace wayward spells.

The news had circulated that the two Patriarchs were betting the honour and the future of their Houses on the contest, drawing all eyes toward Gwen as she stood with her family on the sidelines, awaiting the opening act.

“Gwen, we’re all behind you.” Petra gave her cousin a long-overdue embrace.

“Yeah gurl, any ho who even thinks of trashing you better watch their bank!” Tao announced a little too loudly.

“Thanks, Peaches. I appreciate the gesture.” Gwen ruffled Tao’s hair, flustering the young man. Tao was her senior by almost four years, but Gwen always treated him as though he was the younger one. “But no threatening my opponents with bankruptcy, you hear? You’re going to ruin grandfather’s plan.”

“What plan?” Mina scoffed. “Throwing you to the wolves?”

As her father’s spoiled little jewel, Mina rarely had to stomach Guo's discipline. Whenever the old man grew grumpy, she would scoff, then leave. It was one among many reasons why the Wangs and the Songs had grown apart over the years. That and Tao’s insistence on his career in music and entertainment instead of military, politics, or commerce.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Gwen stifled a smile. “They may be wolves, but I am the Lurker in the Dark.”

"Ha! Is that a self-prescribed nickname?"

"How about Black Widow?" Peaches suggested. "Now that's a bitch'n moniker."

"I don't think so," Gwen firmly refused. That name was copyrighted.

With overt familiarity, Petra placed a hand on Gwen's shoulders.

Gwen looked up inquisitively, meeting her cousin's startling, husky-like eyes.

“Gwen, may I?” Petra enquired.

Gwen gave consent.

Petra focused her mind, sending an inquisitive diagnostic glyph into her cousin's body.

Gwen forced herself to relax as Petra called up her current status, gauging the change in her Sigils, Affinity, and her biometrics.

“Jesus.” Petra breathed in. “You’re…”

Gwen put a finger to her lips.

“What is it?” Tao leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Did Uncle Jun leave Gwen with some killer item?”

“Something like that.” Gwen chortled.

“Where is Uncle Jun anyhow?” Mina looked around the place.

“He’s preoccupied, I’d wager, pounding away for the motherland,” Gwen answered more cattily than she would have liked, wondering what her uncle could be doing with Ayxin. If her uncle could return at a convenient time, it would make the Song's victory doubly assured.

But then again, if Jun threw his reputation around bullishly, then the Lius may just launch everything they have.

It would be total war.

With the barriers assembled and tested for rigidity, an older gentleman in a mandarin jacket presented himself.

“Good evening all, for those of you who do not know me, I am Magus Owen Ly, Registered under the PLA Tower in Shanghai, holding the rank of Major in the PLA. I have been asked by Committee Chair Song, as well as District Secretary Liu, to oversee the proceedings of this auspicious duel celebrating the wedding of Magus Liu and Mr Song. If there is any among you who desire to question my impartiality as arbitrator of the duel, please speak now...”

A moment of silence reigned, followed by polite applause.

“Excellent. I shall now proceed.”

“From the House of Song, we have Gwen, currently a student from Fudan, first year. She is the daughter of Mr Hai Song.”

Gwen walked forward, watched by her family.

Klavidya turned to her husband, who held his wife’s hand.

“You’re not nervous?” Klavdiya felt her husband’s fingers. They were firm, cool, and bone dry.

“While you spoke with Gwen a few nights ago, I spoke with Jun.” Guo's face was impassive but there was a hint of gentleness in his eyes. “For weal or woe, Gwen has become powerful; not even I can deny that. I have every confidence in Gwen's ability.”

Klavdiya blinked, feeling a sudden thrill engender in her chest.

Guo said nothing.

Upon on the duelling dais, Magus Ly continued.

“First to challenge Miss Song is Cadet Zheng Hu, from the Branch House of Cheng, serving the House of Liu. ”

One of the spectators turned to her male companion.

“They’re pitting that poor girl against a military officer? What’s the Patriarch Song thinking?”

His companion shrugged.

"You mean what's Patriarch Liu thinking."

Magus Ly seemed unsure of the proceedings as well.

“Miss Song, may I obtain a confirmation? Do you intend to proceed? This is not a contest until Shield Break. You may very well receive grievous injuries.”

“I am ready.”

“Very well. Duelists, enter the arena please.”

The walls became immaterial.

“There is to be no item usage, nor any offensive or supportive magical armaments. The match is to first 'yield'. Until then, I shall not intervene.”

Both contestants affirmed their willingness to follow the Magus’ guidance.

"You'll be sorry, your little minx. The world will see what kind of woman you are."

Gwen ignored Hu's shit-talking. Any action not contributing to the bastard's decimation would be a waste of her time. Above them, the Magus levitated until he was behind a section shielded from the combat below, standing just above the cage. At a second's notice, he could erect new barriers to protect a defeated combatant from additional injury.

“BEGIN!”

Cheng's half of the arena grew suddenly hot.

“Flame Str-”

“Lightning Bolt!”

Both Gwen and the Young Master from the House of Hu had nursed their first incantation as soon as they entered the duelling ring. Where Hu had desired to use Flame Strike, smothering the better half of Gwen’s court with fire, Gwen had only one goal: the advantage of first-strike.

A blue-bolt of raw plasma issued forth from thin air, connecting the space between herself and her target with an arm-thick concatenation of ionized air.

Hu’s Shield activated at once, forming a semi-dome wreathed in orange.

‘KRINK!’

With a sound like crushed glass, his shield cracked.

“Shit!”

Hu retracted the spell on his lips, switching to defence, weaving another Shield into place. Basic Abjuration was a staple of military training, even for Elementalist damage-dealers.

"Fire-"

“Lighting Bolt!”

A second bolt joined the first, blinding the audience with its intensity.

“Shie-”

“Lighting Bolt!”

Gwen’s first bolt diffused only when her third bolt issued forth. To the audience, it seemed as though three lines of lightning had tethered Hu to Gwen, preventing him from repositioning himself.

“Mao! What’s her affinity?!”

“How much mana is that girl channelling into those bolts?!”

“Maximised Lightning Bolt?”

“Looks Empowered to me…”

“No, she’s using the mundane variety, listen to her second incantation. It’s just a regular Lighting Bolt…”

‘KRINK!’

Hu’s Shielding failed yet again.

"Blink!"

A bolt grazed the Fire Mage just as he disappeared.

When he appeared behind Gwen, the man was already half-paralysed and smouldering with static.

Gwen had been waiting.

She knew that her opponent's only recourse was to close in. Fire Mages tended to have many low to mid-level short-range AOEs with high damage thresholds, such as Flaming Hand, Flame Toss, and Wall of Fire. Close-quarter elemental combat was where certain Elementalists shined.

"Lightning Whip!"

Her 'whip' caught the man as he emerged, sizzling his half-formed Shield before it could expand to protect his body.

"Flaming H-"

"Lightning Bolt!"

"Aarrrrgh!"

'Crack!'

'Crack!'

Again and again, she flayed away at Hu's arrogant mug, watching his face filling with fear and panic.

'Spak!'

'Spak!'

'KRINK!'

Hu's Shield failed yet again.

Her whip struck the man's flesh.

A sudden crackle not unlike a thunderclap resounded across the courtyard, followed by a nostril-distending stink of burnt flesh. A welting gash of strikingly salient blood ran from the man's temple, down across his nose, and again across his chest.

"DO YOU YIELD?!"

Gwen halted. Her whip-hand trembled.

Her brain took a moment to catch up with her thrilling body.

Holy shit! She had almost maimed a man!

A man whose crime had only been aborted sexual harassment.

Her heart pounded, white-hot adrenaline dangerously pumping through her systems, demanding gratification.

"I...erg..." Hu appeared more robust than his demeanour suggested, caught between honour and self-preservation. His voice was cut short as a paralysing agony wrecked his nervous system.

“VICTOR, Miss SONG!” Magus Ly shook his head, declaring Hu’s loss, not wanting to log a semi-permanent maiming under his judgement.

Gwen diffused her whip.

She shook out her fingers.

A portion of her brain chemistry urged her to continue.

The rational part of her discourse issued a red card to the psychic persona who wanted to administer another twenty lashes.

“WHAT?! NO!” Her assailant rose from the floor. "I haven't yielded! I haven’t even completed a single spell! This is not fair! She’s using an accelerator! A spell booster Ring! You said no Offensive Items! She cheated!”

The wedding guests burst into boos and jeers.

Hu’s face grew three shades darker.

A dark and tenebrous emotion overruled his senses.

“STINKING BAOZI!” he screamed at the audacious girl. “HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME!”

Gwen narrowed her gleaming eyes.

Enough was enough.

Something equally dark within her own mind answered the young man's call to combat. A surge of Draconic Essence circulated violently through her body as she focused her will upon the screaming imbecile.

Her whip materialised instantly - she raised her arm menacingly, ready to deliver the maiming blow.

Up above, Magus Ly felt a shudder overtake his mental faculties.

Below, Hu stood dumb as a statue, his body frozen in place by an instinct for survival far wiser than his ego-addled mind.

A trickle of yellow liquid began to seep from between his legs.

“OH MAO!”

“LEADER’S GHOST!”

“Wocao!”

“That’s it for the Chengs. Good riddance.”

Gwen's disciplinary intervention paused mid-air.

She had no desire to whip an incontinent man.

“Mercy! Miss Song! MERCY! Hey, let me through! MERCY! MISTRESS!”

A man, presumably a relative of the young Hu, banged against the Force Barrier with all his might. Magus Ly prevented the man from entering.

"Miss Song?"

Gwen lowered the whip when she saw Cheng's follower on his knees, banging his head on the pavement just outside the duelling box.

Her anger deflated.

The pity she felt was overwhelming.

"Let him in." She motioned to the wall.

Magus Ly complied.

The intruder ran toward the young master Hu before bodily picking up the mortified young man from where he had spread his foulness over the floor.

"I... I yield..."

The declaration came too late and too inconsequentially. The Cheng's good name had been pissed away, and all the magic in Hangzhou couldn't put it back in his bladder.

“Make way!”

The audience made way.

There was no point in continuing to shame or jeer the young man. He had already pissed away his future into the wind. It was one thing to lose to a seventeen-year-old girl when you’re in your twenties and enrolled as an Officer Cadet of the PLA, and quite another to become incontinent when threatened.

Gwen leapt from the platform.

She caught sight of Chen Pao, the man who'd mistaken Ayxin for her. The poor sod appeared more convinced than ever that she was 'the one', his eyes fervant enough to burn holes into her dress.

Turning away, she averted the man's gaze.

Those were a stalker's eyes.

When would Ayxin be back?

How long was her Uncle going to work his magic?

“Hit me!”

Tao tossed her a bottle of Maotai she had earlier commanded him to scrounge. Gwen didn’t need Divination to know that she would soon need to draw upon her vitality-empowered abilities.

“What was that you hit em with?!” Tao’s eyes gleamed with marvel. “A new spell? Was it Enchantment? Did you finally pick up Enchantment?”

“Naw…” Gwen slugged the bottle like mineral water, savouring the warmth soaking her mana conduits. She recalled the last time she and Tao had a similar conversation. She put down the bottle and coolly inform her cousin that she'd been training her 'killing intent'.

“Woo~.” Tao’s mouth hung open, trying to imagine Gwen bathed in the blood of her enemies. The scene playing in his head made for some fascinating lyrics.

Meanwhile, the crowd gave their condolences to the Cheng family. At least the girl wasn’t putting on airs, the audience thought, turning to regard Guo and Sumei; both of the old men wore their expressions like Noh masks, revealing nothing.

Who would crack first? The guests wondered, looking forward to the next match.

* * *

"Got what you wanted?”

Liu ignored his counterpart.

Guo’s taunt was as arrogant as it was confident.

Liu now knew he had been baited. Gwen’s prowess had been revealed, but her depth remained unprobed. The miscalculation didn’t mean Liu didn’t have a contingency of his own, though the foul taste in his mouth was undeniable. The House of Liu had gained local prominence by absorbing, allying, and intermarrying into the local Clans, and Jiangnan remained the birthplace of many of China's most celebrated Scholar-Sages.

The question at hand was how many of their young folks he could afford to throw at Gwen without invalidating the gambit Guo had goaded him into. If he resorted to grinding Gwen down with trash before assaulting her with their most talented Magus, the amount of ‘face’ the Liu would lose would be immense, nullifying the whole purpose of subjugating the Song into the Conservative Faction. Most importantly, the underhanded tactic would anger the Ash Bringer, who could then have an excuse to ‘step in’.

Liu Sumei measured the pros and cons of sending out his trump card immediately.

There were still too many unknowns. What if the girl had a spell which happened to counter the prodigy he had in mind - the pride and joy of the Suzhou branch of the House of Liu? Liu was confident that within the confines of the arena, it was impossible that his nephew, Wonsoo, could lose.

Still, it paid to be careful. Guo was an old dog, but even a decrepit mutt could crush one's hand if given the opportunity. Should the Lius lose, all the investment they had put into the Song’s first son would be forfeit, not to mention he would lose his daughter as well as a future heir of the Hangzhou bloodline. He had no desire, as the parable goes from the Three Kingdoms, to lose the army and then the bride.

Three more challengers - Sumei affirmed the limit of his conviction - then he would send out Wonsoo.

From the looks of the girl’s Lightning Affinity, she was at least above a 5 - marking her as a rare breed indeed. No wonder Guo was uncannily confident.

If he should fail...

No, Sumei tapped his chin.

It was unthinkable that the girl could defeat Wonsoo.

“Ji-an,” he called out to the crowd.

A young Clanner in her early-20s stepped forward. The girl had a wisp-like aura about her that reminded the audience of a swaying willow. Her hair, her limbs, everything about the girl seemed weightless.

“Please demonstrate to our guests the famous Spellcraft of the White Crane School.”

“Yes! Uncle Liu!”

As before, the two combatants were invited into the arena. By now a group of NoMs had cleaned the place thoroughly, ensuring that neither Gwen nor Ji-an would accidentally slip or step on the shameful display left behind by Gwen’s last contestant.

Ji-an bowed toward her Patriarch.

Gwen hastily performed the same gesture for her grandfather, eliciting a few awkward laughs from the audience, defusing the tension somewhat.

From above, Magus Ly asked if they were ready.

“Yessir.”

“I am ready.”

“BEGIN!”

“Air Step!”

“Lightning Bolt!”

Gwen had hoped she would catch the Liu’s second contestant again with a fast-chant offensive, but her opponent eluded her assault by using a Signature form of Blink.

Sidestepping Gwen's line-based elemental onslaught, Ji-an appeared half a meter to Gwen's right, then swung her hand in a broad, sweeping gesture. A melee Mage? Gwen mentally adjusted her strategy. The wispy-looking girl was a melee-caster?

“Shield!”

Gwen’s barrier manifested in the blink of an eye, springing from her body as a semi-dome.

‘TSsszzz!’

A horizon slash turned the frontal lobe of her Shield stark-white.

Fast! Gwen immediately fortified her Non-Newtonian Shield, anticipating the follow-up.

‘Tssshing!’

‘Psshing!’

‘Tzzwing!’

Ji-an’s Air Blades were a tier 1 incantation, but her spell-flurry was pumping out almost three scythes in the space of one of Gwen’s Lighting Bolts.

For the observing Wedding Guests, the Aerial Mage’s plan had worked brilliantly against the Lightning Sorceress, who had no idea what to expect. She was now caught flat-footed in the same manner as the Cheng Fire Mage.

The question on the minds of Gwen's audience, however, was how long a fellow offensive elementalist could hold out.

* * *

Outside the perimeter of the duelling area, Liu turned to Guo.

“Your granddaughter appears to be using Westernised Spellcraft. Have you taught her nothing?”

“She received her education in Sydney.” Guo sipped his tea.

“Western Spellcraft is predictable.” Liu smirked. “What will she do now? Her Abjuration is only tier 1, is it not?”

Guo glanced at his rival.

Was the Secretary showing off his intelligence network?

What a laughable and stupid display from a bureaucrat playing at espionage.

“I wonder.” Guo pursed his thin lips, forming a grey line. “It would be laughable if your Affinity 4 Kenshi with Transmutation and Evocation at tier 4 couldn’t even break through Gwen’s paltry tier 1 Abjuration Shield.”

Liu snorted with derisive mirth, feeling a cold sweat soaking his mandarin jacket as Guo continued to nurse his cup. It was true that he had requested a report on the girl, but he hadn’t thought the spy-master would have gathered so much intel on the Liu household in so short a time.

“...”

Perhaps it was best to keep his mouth shut.

The duels would speak for themselves.

* * *

The frontal part of Gwen’s Shield had become almost entirely opaque.

But she paid it no mind.

The Air Blades were barely penetrating the first layer.

In fact, she could top up her Shield faster than Ji-an could diminish it.

Compared to Kusu, who had assailed her with a hundred daggers at once, the Air Mage's blades were barely a chicken-scratch. Correlated against Lulan's spell-flurry, whose blades could crack the first layer of her Shielding with a single strike, the force from Ji-an’s was laughable.

What troubled Gwen was how she would nail the speedster without giving away too much of her ability.

Ariel was still asleep; Caliban she wanted to save for a tight spot. Without Cali's pants-shitting, PTSD inducing initial impact, the melee-monster had limited utility.

She considered a large-scale AOE.

Ball Lightning? But that too was one of her trump cards.

Something akin to a bluff that could unbalance her enemies would be best. Gwen wasn’t sure how many contestants there would be, though five or six wouldn’t be out of the question. If the Lius kept throwing fodder at her, could she also call for a proxy while she took a break? The only other ‘Song’ who could fill in for her was Tao, though no-one wanted to see that happen, least of all Tao himself. Perhaps Petra could fill in, but her position as Magister Wen’s disciple and her lack of affiliation with the House of Song could be used to contest her eligibility.

Perhaps Percy could participate.

Gwen searched the crowd and saw her brother standing behind Tao and Mina. By now the assault had slowed, and her Shield was restoring its clarity faster than Ji-an’s attack could make its surface opaque. By Gwen's count, the girl must have fired off thirty-odd blades. Even someone with enhanced mental fortitude would have to endure Spell-fatigue sooner or later.

To Gwen's surprise, she and Percy's eyes briefly met; her brother responded by giving her an encouraging nod and a thumbs up.

The gesture filled her with good cheer.

“Flashbang!"

Gwen generated an over-charged crystal, humming dangerously in the palm of her hand.

Outside her Shielding, Ji-an launched an AOE in the hopes of draining Gwen's mana pool. So far, it felt as though she had been hewing away at a mountainside.

“Ice Storm!”

Being an Air Mage, Ji-an lacked the impact and penetration of Ice Mages when using the spell. Conversely, her AOE manifested with greater range and coverage, instantly smothering Gwen’s Shield with a layer of ice.

“Air Lance!”

‘Thunk!’

A battering ram of ice and air slammed into Gwen’s Shield.

The eastern quadrant of Gwen’s Shield turned entirely opaque as the projectile struck.

Inside the dome, Gwen was ready.

“Dimension Door!”

“Air Step!”

Ji-an was relentless, tailing Gwen’s movements even as she appeared on the far side of the duelling arena. It was a testament to the girl’s talent that with nought but Transmutation, she was tracking Gwen’s Conjuration-based teleportation.

What greeted Ji-an however, was a blast of lightning as they both materialised.

An offensive teleport! The crowd’s clamour rose to a new height. A signature Dimension Door? Who was the girl's instructor? Such a spell was unheard of in the Frontier city of Hangzhou.

Ji-an erected a hasty Shield as she attempted to reposition herself.

The sound of a clicking crystal striking the surface of her Shield greeted her.

As for Gwen herself, she had disappeared behind yet another Shield, one consumed by a dark membrane.

‘BANG!’

Ji-an’s world filled with light as the sonic blast concussed her brain.

Unlike Gwen’s Void Shield, the Air Mage’s defensive barrier was transparent and paper-thin, suitable only for deflection. In stark contrast to Gwen's worst elemental match-up, Earthen Mages - the Aerial Mage's Shielding lacked the physical and elemental resistance to endure Gwen's overloaded Flashbang.

Ji-an's eyes filled with light as the sound rattled the Force Barriers and sent her off balance, falling to her buttocks.

Disoriented and stunned, the Air caster despaired, struggling to rise.

As an Aerial Combat Mage, evasion and avoidance were her staple defence.

Tanking an offensive spell was suicide.

“Lightning Bolt!”

“I FO-”

She was too late! Ji-an's blood ran cold.

‘CRACK!’

A bolt of lightning sizzled past her face, filling the air with ozone. The plasma had ripped through her Shield and would have sent her straight to Hangzhou's ICU had Gwen not altered the trajectory of her spell.

The female mage fell to one knee, feeling her entire body quivering with exhaustive fear as she took in the reality of her unexpected survival.

"I FORFEIT!" She pushed the words from her bloodless lips.

“VICTOR - MISS SONG!”

Magus Ly landed beside Ji-an and examined the status of the girl. The blindness and deafness would soon wear off. The girl was otherwise unharmed.

“Good work.” The adjudicator nodded appreciatively at Gwen with an expression of immense relief. Not announcing Gwen’s imminent victory and allowing Ji-an to be mortally wounded would have cast his judgement in a critical light. “Most excellent control, Miss Song. You should be proud. I’d thought you would have struck the girl for sure.”

“Nothing to it.” Gwen smiled at the Magus before helping Ji-an to stand. “You alright?”

“I thank you for your mercy.” Ji-an bowed deeply.

“Hey, we’re just pawns in someone else’s game. It’s nothing personal.” Gwen gave the girl a hands up and a hug. “I am glad you’re okay.”

Ji-an accepted Gwen's embrace, a gesture which was met with applause from around the courtyard.

Gwen turned to regard her grandfather, finding the old man golf-clapping. When she smiled at him, the old man cleared his throat and stoically went back to nursing his tea.

Waving her opponent off, she descended the dais as naturally as she could muster.

Her heart was racing over a hundred and fifty.

What had the instructor said?

'Most excellent control'.

CONTROL? She had never possessed the ability to twist her Lightning!

That she had done so could only mean one thing.

“Ariel!”

She internally called out to her Familiar.

“EEee!” Ariel responded with a resounding squeak.

“Did you redirect that Lighting Bolt?”

“EE!”

“YOU BLOODY RIPPER!” Gwen gushed audibly.

Tao stepped backwards, both hands waving in the air.

“I didn’t do nothing!” her cousin protested.

“Haha, Peaches, sorry, I intended that to be silent.”

"Gwen! Is that what I think it is?"

"You got one? YOU GOT ONE?!"

Petra and Mina were both beside themselves.

"AWW YEAH SISTAS!" Gwen gave the two of them a round of high-fives, so giddy that she was having trouble trying to express herself.

“Congrats on the Spirit, Sis,” a quiet voice rang out from behind Tao.

“Oh, Percy...” Gwen felt taken aback by her brother’s unyieldly propensity for misunderstandings. She reached out for her little brother with an outstretched hand. “Come on, not now. It's complicated.”

“No, it's fine. I am happy for you, Sis.” Percy took her hand, but his fingers had no rigidity to them; she may as well be holding flacid Korean rice-cakes.

A wave of annoyance overcame her.

Here she was, fighting for the honour and continued existence of the House of Song, a house that had rejected her as an ‘heir’ and yet her brother was moping about some immaterial detail about...

She blinked.

Fighting- for the House of SONG?

D- Did her grandfather rope her into the whole ordeal without her even noticing that she was now fighting for the very house whose continuation she has rejected?

She turned to glare at Guo.

That conniving, sneaky, weaselly old man!

But then Gwen saw her babulya standing beside her grandfather, and her peevish ire melted away. Klavdiya's face appeared far more relaxed than she could recall in the last few days, prideful and happy, even. The heart-gnawing sensation of watching her babulya losing hairs over her wayward son was a wretched sight Gwen never wanted to see again.

For babulya, she would do this - not for Guo.

Jun was away dealing with Ayxin; Hai was pussyfooting about; Guo was too busy trying to worm his way out of their firstborn’s blunder; Percy was acting the selfish little shit; who would look out for their grandmother?

She would.

It was up to Gwen to protect the meagre blessings of a hapless mother worn threadbare by her boundless devotion to family.

Gwen flexed her fingers.

She would be the champion of her babulya’s fragile happiness.

For Klavdiya, she would slay dragons.

“A wonderful match.”

Guo averted his eyes when Gwen turned to glare at him. The girl was uncannily mature, but she was easily caught up in her emotions. For all her talent and her mysterious resistance to Enchantment, a pathos-driven prod in the right direction was all that was necessary to get her blood boiling.

In all honesty, Guo admired Gwen’s reflexive, dog-like willingness to attack anyone threatening her loved ones. His problem was that the girl counted dangerous individuals such as Schultz and De Botton among that number and that her loyalty could never be monopolised.

Opposite Guo, Secretary Liu was having doubts of his own.

“Yes,” the man muttered.

Liu scoured his memory, trying to recall the exact words from the Fungs' report.

How was it possible for an offensive Elementalist to tank over twenty exchanges without refreshing her guard even once, especially when armed with only tier 1 Abjuration?

The Secretary wasn't alone in his bemusement.

The very same queries dominated the conversation beside and behind the two Patriarchs, with the wedding guests likewise marvelling at the supernatural rigidity of Gwen’s immovable and impenetrable Shielding.

“Huh,” a voice meditated out from somewhere in the crowd. "Anyone remember the Morning Star, Magus Shultz, the Paladin of the Sydney Tower?”

“What of it?”

“He’s a Quasi-Elementalist Offensive caster, but he possesses a hard-point Shield."

“But Shultz is from Oceania. This girl's from the Song family."

“Who knows, isn't the girl half-Russian?”

“I thought she’s half Commonwealth?”

"That's not a country-"

"She looks like a full-blooded gweilo to me…”

"No, she's from Oceania! I am sure of it!"

Liu slowly turned toward Guo, an unpleasant premonition playing across his scalp.

“Your granddaughter, she isn't… acquainted with Oceania, is she?”

"No - more so JOINED at the hip. You may think of Gwen as a sister of sorts to the Morning Star, heir to the late Magister’s Kilroy’s Seat on the Oceania council of Ten, and current Master of the Sydney Tower.”

“…”

The long and deliberate range of titles hammered away at the Patriarch.

Liu would have sworn and cussed but for Guo's presence.

Guo kept the mirth from reaching his mouth.

Liu was a District Secretary, a stranger to the matter of foreign affairs. Though he may act the master of his domain, the realm outside his principality nonetheless loomed, dark and dangerous, full of unknowns the Secretary could not know. Despite lording over ten million souls across the rivers and lakes of Jiangnan, the Secretary, in Guo’s honest opinion, remained the idiomatic frog in the well.

It was the common disease of the Chinese, rulers of a Kingdom isolated from the world since antiquity. Even the CCP, hoping for a larger slice of the pie on the global stage, suffered from this collective malady.

How unfathomable someone like Gunther Shultz must seem to a man like Liu. The existence of a Mage whose name was known around the world, whose individual capability could make or break treaties with Demi-humans, was as strange and distant as the Yinglong on the Mount.

What's terrifying was that Shultz was only in his late thirties.

If one considered that Radiant Mages had one of the longest natural lifespans bar healers; who would dare to anger a man like that? A man who, given time, and the right political climate, would undoubtedly assume the mantles of a Magi?

What's more curious was that Liu had so many details missing from his intelligence. It seemed that whoever had ensnared the Secretary was likewise an opportunist, one who stood to gain regardless of the outcome.

As for Gunther Shultz, it wasn't as though Guo hadn't entertained the possibility. When he had first known the girl's connection to the Sydney Tower, he had masticated the possibility of sending Gwen to the North.

Perhaps, her siblings-in-craft would follow their wayward sister; if a Mage of the Morning Star's calibre could lend the PLA his support on the Northern Front…

But Guo had banished that fancy to the abyss, nipped the idea in the bud.

The risks did not outweigh the rewards.

Not that Klavdiya would have allowed it.

There were lines not even he dared to cross, and his wife was one of them.

“Who will be your next candidate?” Guo sipped his tea.

“Your confidence may be tested yet.” Liu adjusted his posture, regaining some of his composure. “So she has a spirit? Did she receive it in the Purple Zone in Huangshan? You knew the risks of sending your son and granddaughter there, no?”

“Speak for yourself.” Guo met his opponent’s eyes, sensing Liu trying to wiggle his way out of the predicament. “You authorised Jun's pass.”

“Only to venture past the dragon-pine.” Liu curled his lips. “If they murdered one of the Yinglong’s children for its core - or perhaps, a great number of the Yinglong’s flock, it would be a diplomatic incident of significant proportions, no?”

“Perhaps Gwen’s spirit is a goat with the lighting attribute. You can surely see how horn-headed she can be.” Guo shrugged. “If the Yinglong would assault Hangzhou on behalf of goats, I’ll go and negotiate with it myself.”

“Oh, I am confident they had quite the misadventure.” Liu rapped the table with his nails. “The Anhui commander reported quite the commotion from the mountain. Lotus Peak was storming for days.”

“The weather on the Mount changes as often as a woman's mood." Guo chortled. "Who’s the next carp on the chopping board?”

Liu grunted.

“It's true what they say about you Northerners.” Liu turned back to the match. “No tears until you see the coffin, eh?”

* * *

“Competing for the House of Liu, hailing from the Five-Lake Alliance, Sui Xì of Suzhou!”

Gwen’s third match was against a young man who’d been a part of the 'heckling' crew. She studied the man with Detect Magic as he stepped onto the stage - sensing Abjuration and Conjuration. When Sui caught her eyes, the smug Elementalist's immediate reaction was to send Gwen a cringeworthy wink, then give her a once-over with his beady eyes, like a butcher inspecting a choice cut.

Gwen averted her eyes, fighting down the revulsion threatening to overthrow her store of rice-wine. There was something about the guy that made her think of swamps and sewers, and his flirtatious behaviour hardly helped matters. Don't be intimidated! Gwen rebuked herself for losing her cool. It was pointless getting upset over a pond-scum when eating shit was in its blood.

“Duellists, are you ready?”

Magus Ly had taken up his usual residence above the duelling arena.

“Ready!”

“I am ready!”

“BEGIN!”

Gwen cranked her dial to eleven.

She wasn’t sure if Ariel was a ‘spirit’, but the fact remained that Ariel could bend and redirect her Elemental Lightning. It was impossible for her to know whether Ariel's ability was innate, evolved, or pilfered from a core. That had to wait until she could run her Familiar through a Cog-Chamber.

“Flashbang!”

“Wall of Water!”

Her stunning-assault was caught by a sudden swell of brown, briny liquid, smothering the explosion before it could fully form.

“Lightning Bolt!”

“Water Shield!”

“Lightning Bolt!”

“Water Armour!”

The wall of water grew to twice its size by the third exchange, enveloping the right side of the duelling arena. When Gwen's Lightning Bolt struck the fast-moving liquid, the plasma induced a localised explosion of superheated steam, then diffused harmlessly as the electricity grounded itself.

Shit! Gwen readied a Shield in case Sui had a counterstrike ready.

“Resist Elements!”

You’re shitting me, she cursed. The bastard’s a turtle-specced Abjurer!

But she should be glad that the bastard was only tier 4; higher incantations such as the tier 6 Greater Resist Elements would cut her effective damage by as much as 80%.

“Call Lightning!”

“Warding Bolt!”

Gwen wondered how long it would take for the Water Abjurer to OOM, or if it was at all possible to ionise the water to such a degree that her electrical attacks permeated the man’s Shielding, electrocuting him through this triple-layered defence.

“Water Missiles!”

Six slivers of water, each the size of javelins, launched from the wall of water.

The prick didn't even have to lower his Shield or his Wall! Gwen fumed. Water Mages had a versatility that few other elements could match.

“Shield!”

The half-hearted barrage clattered harmlessly against her barrier.

Water Mages had woeful damage potential until they could command the volume and degree Richard had obtained with the help of his Undine Spirit. Speak of her cousin, Gwen realised that Sui was what Richard aimed to be: a Utility-Shield Mage whose versatility could suit a multitude of roles within a party.

“Lightning Bolt!”

‘Zap!’

‘Pak!’

‘Crack!’

A second and third blast of ionised electricity struck the Wall of Water, evoking a profusion of Lichtenberg figures in vivid cobalt. Before her charged particles could spread, however, they were quickly circulated back into the Elemental Plane.

“Sleet Storm!”

“Shield!”

Gwen formed a semi-dome barrier above her.

Rather than a hailstorm, it was more accurate to say that a localised downpour of bone-chilling water pounded down on her protective barrier.

She gnashed her teeth.

A turtle-specced Mage indeed!

She should have asked Richard what his weakness was and how she could kick his ass at a moment's notice.

"Blast BOLT!"

She channelled a good chunk of her mana into the continuous blast.

After the initial explosion, her attack reached the Shield, but no further.

Gwen cursed.

"Stinking Cloud!"

A volley of brackish water made for her Shield.

Stinking WHAT? Gwen reflexively chose to dodge the cannonballs.

The fetid-smelling water had impressive mass, if nothing else, and Gwen wasn't sure how well her Non-Newtonian Shield dealt with such wide-area impacts. The last thing she wanted was to be drenched by an attack with the prefix 'Stinking'.

"Dimension Door!"

When she landed again, her priceless shoes splashed into puddles of the algae-filled, odious liquid, foul enough to turn her stomach.

Her sinus first wrinkled, then wilted, assaulted by what could only be the refined fart of an ageing dog mixed with week-old prawn.

Was the man attempting victory by stench?

His command of the 'water' elements was nothing she had never see before; usually, Water Mages conjured crystal clear water from the Elemental Plane. Sui, on the other hand, appeared to draw his power from the local storm drain.

FUCK! MY SHOES! Gwen's mind rioted.

They were self-cleaning, but GOD, the Hermès were peep-toes! And the water was getting in between her piggy-wigglies! The sensation was so revolting that her sole felt crudely violated.

Just as she was considering whether feeding Ariel a mote of Almudj’s Essence would kill Sui outright; her opponent made his move.

“Mire Ghosts!”

The puddle of water, now trapped within her semi-dome Shield, suddenly came to life. Forming into dozens of flat-worms about three-foot long and about two inches in girth. Due to the muffling effect of the Wall of Water and her Shield, Gwen had entirely missed the Conjurer's invocation.

"!"

The shivering of her spine came too late, for it was immediately answered by the sensation of something squirming about her toes.

As one, the semi-translucent flatworms slid up for her unprotected body, plastering their cold and sinuous torsi onto her dress, her naked legs, and her feet.

“FU-ARGGH!”

The assault was so slimy and disgusting that Gwen instinctively let loose a blood-curdling cry natural to the fairer sex.

“Ah-Nu! Strangle her! Do it now!”

She heard the frantic voice of Sui calling for her blood.

The worms tightened their hold.

The physical sensation was like being restrained by silk, the worms were only minutely more powerful than a man, but the repugnance Gwen felt was enough to make her want to quit the world because they STANK.

One of them made for her neck, while another tried to move under her skirt.

MOTHER FUCKER! One of the fucking things just touched her-

What kind of fucking magic specialises in BAD touch?!

Circulating her Almudj's Essence, she dug her finger into one of the flatworms to try and pry one off her thighs. She succeeded in removing a length of worm about ten inches long by hand, but the rest of the damned thing then split into two.

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

One of them had reached her neck.

IT REEKS! Her brain was hammering at her body to do something, threatening a union strike over hostile working conditions.

Gwen was reminded of Caliban's screaming, revolted victims.

Was karma a bitch like they said?

Was public humiliation what Sui had hoped?

She had to calm down.

So what if slimy parasites were trying to dig under her skin?

No big deal.

She would take a hot shower later and cry it out under the bed.

Her mind raced.

“Dimension Door!”

Gwen displaced herself to the right, allowing her body to be enveloped by electricity.

A few of the worms disintegrated.

The rest continued their gleeful molestation.

FUCK A DUCK! The AOE from the short-ranged teleport did not manifest from her skin, but as a blast-ring around her body. NO SHIT, her brain quaked. If the electric-nova came from her body, it would burn away her clothes during manifestation.

“Barrage!”

More foul water came her way.

OH, YOU LITTLE SHIT! Gwen swore internally. To think she would be pushed to this extent by a turtle-Mage. Richard’s choice of Conjuration and Abjuration with water was a broken skill-set.

Despite her struggling concentration, Gwen managed to Shield herself.

More flatworms emerged from the displaced water.

A slithering worm slid across her thigh, tightening around her legs, setting off goosebumps all over her legs.

By now, Gwen's scandalous dress was soaked. Its silk fabric wasn’t intended to be worn ‘wet’ under the best of circumstances. Already, a hush had gone out over the audience, and parents had covered their children's innocent eyes. Lord knew what the fuck the wedding guests were seeing as she stamped and squirmed, tearing out worms and throwing them against the Force Barrier.

She took a deep breath.

The words 'FUCK IT' flashed neon-hot across her brain.

“VOID SKIN!”

Gwen had wanted to avoid the most obvious solution.

A silken silence descended upon the stage.

She became clad in midnight.

That is - 'only' midnight.

The dress was gone, consumed by the Void Skin.

As for her shoes -

Gwen held her breath...

...the peep-toe platform sandals were untouched.

VIVA LA HERMÈS! Her heart sang out. Had the shoes been destroyed, somebody would have been vivisected, live on stage.

But in all honesty, she was now in a killing mood.

If there existed a temperature gauge for how pissed she was, the bulb-end would have blown several exchanges ago.

The Void Skin masked her features, but it's protection consumed an excessive volume of vitality when defending its caster. Her Almudj’s Essence protected her mana conduits from manifesting Void, but not from the expenditure. As a matter of fact, even losing the dress had cost her vitality.

Tapping into Ayxin’s scale, she willed the draconic-essence into her mana channels.

Dragon-fear radiated from her in torrents, blessedly dulled by the Force Barrier protecting the audience.

“Hiiieeeeee!”

The excess water displaced about her body suddenly formed into a single pool of collated, murky liquid, then promptly fled for the Wall of Water.

A FUCKING SPIRIT! Gwen felt a sudden gladness.

So it was a Spirit and not Sui.

Ergh~, to think a bloody Spirit of all things had molested her.

But a flatworm? Who the fuck grinds flatworms? Those things were harmless bottom-feeders that consume algae and grime. How many flatworms would a guy need to kill before one drops a Core? How many Cores before there's a Spirit? Could it be that Sui's Clan 'raised' flatworms?

If nothing else, she had to admire their tenacity.

No wonder the guy gave off a slimy, smarmy, sticky feeling.

But enough of that.

She was in a precariously shameful position now.

It was the very same dilemma Alesia had endured.

Either wear the same elementals attuned ‘uniform’ day in and day out.

Or risk exposure on the off-chance she had to assume the form of a flame-clad avatar.

That, or drop upwards of ten thousand HDMs on outfits imported from European Enchantment-Workshops.

A rip-roaring clamour exploded across the observing audience, filling the courtyard with utterances of disbelief and shock. Gwen quickly doubled checked her person, ensuring that her Void-coverage had sufficiently preserved her modesty.

“She was a VOID Mage?!”

“Dual-element!”

“The Song’s have a dual-quasi-Elementalist?”

“What the hell are the Lius doing?”

“I don’t think she’s wea-”

“Since when did Fudan have a Void-caster?!”

“Haven’t you heard? She enrolled six months ago-“

“That’s the one? Who'd have thought it was a Song?”

“They did say it was a gweilo girl…”

The audience didn't catch her Void Shield the first time?

It must be the Flashbang, Gwen realised. With the amount of power she had put into it, the whole courtyard would have been blinded; furthermore, she had immediately dispelled the Void Shield as the tenebrous membrane blocked LOS.

Regardless, she couldn't be happier that ‘Holy Shit - Void Mage’ trumped ‘Fuck yeah! Skinny sheila’.

By now, Gwen's Dragon-Fear had worn thin. While she took the liberty to attune to her squid-ink attire, her opponent took the same opportunity to meditate.

By her own account, it was time to fuck or walk; she was spell-clad and disrobed, her only recourse was to end the match.

Her opponent was a turtle-worm, and Lulan had already shown her the universal weakness of Water-Mages. If Richard couldn't pressurise the flow of his Water Shield enough to ward off Lulan’s sword-strikes, then she needn't worry that Sui could ward off her Caliban-strike.

She would have to play it by the ear.

“CALIBAN!” Gwen picked a point somewhere behind the Wall of Water. “Anything but Stag!”

“Watery Tendrils!”

Gwen knew better than to let Sui’s crushing manifestation mug her person. The Void-skin would absorb water like crazy and tank her vitality.

She expertly Dimension Doored out of the tendril’s range, sundering the brackish appendages with a burst of electricity.

Meanwhile, her Caliban sneak-attack became offset by a clamorous burst of horror from the audience, screeching at the sight of her Lovecraftian Familiar. Sui turned, took one look at the twisted fiend, suppressed a gag, then commanded a dozen tendrils to intercept the obsidian beast.

Among cries of ‘Void Beast!’ and ‘Mao!’, Sui’s Flatworm Spirit enveloped Caliban in a watery cocoon, lifting it from the floor and suspending it in mid-air. Gwen recognised the spell as ‘Watery Prison’, one of Richard’s favourite ways to abuse Lea’s affinity.

"SHAAA!"

Caliban’s empathic link informed her that it wished to transform.

“Do it!”

Caliban still had a portion of vitality remaining from its consumption of a dozen or so draconic-deer, giant carps, belligerent goats, and Merfolks. Unlike Gwen herself, its abilities did not require an excessive quantity of life-force, at least not yet.

“Use your reserves!” Gwen mentally urged her Familiar, praying that Caliban understood her meaning. During their poaching adventure, Caliban had grown gluttonous thanks to the abundance of biomass.

Caliban's carapace split.

It’s size ballooned.

The watery prison made by the flat-worm Spirit burst like a ripe sausage as Caliban leapt from the Water Prisons' embrace.

A fresh wave of antipathy visibly spread through the audience, the Force Barriers hindered the aura of vertigo, but it couldn’t shelter their eyes from the aberrant form of a serpentine carp-creature with two pink-purple tentacles for whiskers, possessing no face but for a two-feet-wide disk of teeth in the guise of a lamprey’s mouth.

Caliban-carp slithered through the water with as much ease as a carp could muster under the circumstances.

“Mao!”

“Bleurgh!”

“Dreadful! HORRIBLE SIGHT!”

“I YIELD! I YIE-!”

The moment Caliban crashed into Sui’s Shield and its corrosive, void-tinged slime penetrated his water barrier, Sui knew it was all over. If he attempted to hold out, Mao knows what would have happened when that thing reached his person.

But surrendering was one thing.

Stopping Caliban was another.

Gwen's Familiar balled into the Water Mage with the force of an out of control, hydroplaning mini-van.

Half a second later, a Wall of Force went up, separating pedestrian and Caliban-Carp.

Sui struck the opposite wall before sliding into the floor like a sack of half empty potatoes.

The Wall of Water was first to dissipate.

Then the Water-Armour.

Then the Shield.

Were it not for the fact that the Water-Abjurer had three layers of protection, Gwen was sure Sui would now be lamenting the absent half of his upper body.

With the conjured water suddenly dissipating, Caliban fell to the floor.

After a resounding 'splat!' it began to writhe like a landed eel, splashing its grey-goo all over, sizzling the Force Barrer with its void-tinged slime.

“VICTOR - GWEN SONG!”

Magus Ly finally breathed.

I MADE IT; he congratulated himself.

The Magus had to circulate mana through his body a dozen times before he felt lucid enough to save the Xì boy. It was just as well that the girl hadn't intended to actually slaughter the Water Mage; just picturing the slippery lamprey suckering onto boy’s body was enough to send his stomach into revolt.

Gwen leapt from the platform before the crowd could recover.

As a distraction, she left Caliban gloating over the terrified young man.

“Shaaa! Shaa!”

Caliban began to sing.

The crowd went wild with cries of 'Mao!' and 'Disgusting!' 'That's not edible, is it?' and 'Why doesn't it have a face?'

“Petra! Mina! Peaches!”

Gwen had bigger fish to fry.

“On it!”

“I got you covered!”

"I CAN SEE YOUR-"

Petra materialised an oversized robe. Mina likewise had a towel ready to wrap around their cousin. Gwen slid out of her Void-Skin and straight into the awaiting attires before activating her next spell.

Petra kicked Tao aside.

“Nice save! Dimension Door!”

Gwen was gone in a burst of silvery Conjuration.

A scream came from the women’s bathroom.

The water closet wasn’t as unoccupied as Gwen had hoped.

A moment later, a terrified woman ran from the door, pants around her ankles.

As a private residence, the guest bathrooms did not possess cubicles.

“SORRY!” Gwen’s muffled voice was barely audible above the din.

Petra and Mina faced one another.

"Wow, that was a close shave."

"She barely made it."

"That's the naked truth."

The girls burst into sniggering laughter.

Tao nursed his buttocks.

Upon the elevated platform, Caliban de-materialised with a final 'Shaaa!'

* * *

Watching the girls falling about in their celebratory joviality, Guo tempered the cadence of his breathing.

When the worm-Spirit had almost taken his granddaughter, his heart had skipped a beat.

Though his silent outbreak of arrhythmia was nothing compared to his opponent's wild and buckling ride.

When Sui managed to ambush Gwen, Liu grinned.

When Gwen panicked, the Secretary chuckled, revealing his teeth.

When Caliban made its appearance, Liu half stood, then sat, groaning.

The man's amateurish display was beginning to grate on what little patience the Chair of the Confidential Communications Committee had left.

“A close match,” Guo stated mildly.

“Excuse me.” Liu rose from his seat.

“Take your time, Gwen's changing outfits.”

From his body language, Guo could see that the Secretary was ready to double down on his wager. The next match was likely going to be the last. The Lius had to demonstrate a show of force; else they would lose face and influence. A list of potential candidates scrolled through Guo's head. There were a few that worried him, but they were either too senior, or already deployed at the Front.

Klavdiya approached her husband as Patriarch Liu made for the east wing.

“Guo, perhaps this is enough. Gwen-”

“Gwen will be fine,” Guo replied with confidence. “The reputation and fame she has gained will contribute toward her IIUC selection. She has little to lose other than her pride, but we have staked much indeed.”

"I am worried."

"Worry not." Guo patted her hand. "You're here, aren't you? She'll be fine."

"We'll owe her so much, after tonight."

“That we do. Next year, assuming Gwen applies, I will call in a favour from the Central Education Committee. Magister Guang owes me for the Nantong incident back in 93'."

"I am glad to hear that, dear."

Guo nodded.

"Look, there's something else. Jun told me that he wanted Gwen to inherit his half of the amulet - if and when the time comes.”

“That’s…” Klavdiya searched the crowd for her absent sons. Not finding either of them, she turned back to her husband.

Guo rapped his knuckles on the wooden chair, warding off the portentous evil that had escaped his lips.

“I can give her anything, but not that. Jun is too close to the girl. Even knowing the dilemma, he chose her.”

Klavdiya thought of Jun's hasty Message right before he had Teleported away.

“Ah-Jun is too willful,” Gwen's babulya declared with a wounded voice. "I don't know if Gwen truly needs the Amulet, but if the time comes-"

“One can only hope Jun changes his mind, or that Gwen overcomes the need,” Guo interrupted Klavidya, ruminating on thoughts his wife could never genuinely know.

There were good reasons why Gwen could never inherit. Indeed, if a girl-heir should learn the secret-rites of utilising the Amulet, would she teach it to her daughter, her daughter's daughter? Would that daughter possess the last name Song? More importantly, what happens when a mother knew their child NEEDED the Songs' Necromantic secret to survive their bloodline talent?

What happens when more than two drought-cursed children possessed the means to use the Amulet, but only two halves could be shared? Which branch shall live, and which shall wither? Would a father or mother risk all to save their child, even if it meant the murdering of kith and kin?

Could Gwen watch Qīn and Hai's future child die in slow agony, drained by the negative energy engendering in their body? Perhaps she could, perhaps she could not. Only time would tell. Void, Lightning, draconic essence, egotism, pride and a desperate desire for validation; the internal forces driving the girl forward were powerful indeed.

For now, all Guo could do was petition the ancestors with an earnest wish.

"Please let Hai's child be mundane."

Or else - calamity would befall the House of Song.

“Wonsoo,” Secretary Liu called for his great-nephew.

“Grand-Uncle,” came a reply from the dim interior of a large bedchamber.

The low voice issued forth from a face with an unkempt beard covering the entirety of the speaker's mouth and chin. Likewise, although the man was in silk robes, the manner of his lounging on the divan and the bedraggled state of his undress suggested an undutiful slovenliness.

"Light!"

Sectary Liu illuminated the room.

To his displeasure, the once pristine studio was now a mess of discarded clothing.

Feeling a throb in his temples, the Secretary regarded his nephew.

Wonsoo Liu was a born prodigy, the product of purposeful lineage. Unlike the Clans, the Su-Hang Houses did not possess the bloodline diversity to safely inbreed for affinity. As such, they drew their talents from a pool of local aristocrats, many of whom were descended from the dynastic Houses banished to the Frontier by the CCP after the Cultural Revolution. They had been scholar-bureaucrats in the age before the Communists reforged the social strata of China, possessing enormous ambitions for returning to power; a period when the Confucian-Gentry had held dominion over hundreds of millions of individuals, from the lowest farmer to the child-Emperor.

Theirs was a common enough narrative, dispossessed Gentry such as the Lius existed all through China and its territories. For the scholar-bureaucrats, the European Spellcraft Revolution was a disaster of existential proportions. Within two decades, their monopoly on the pedagogy of Magic, the source of their influence and the ladder that elevated them above the masses, had been pulled out from under them.

First came the peasant rebellions.

Then came the Communist Revolution.

After that, the threat of the Undead.

Then a new status quo descended.

New China had no need for the old Gentry, for the CCP elevated hundreds of thousands of Mages from NoM stock. What the new state desired was quantity to fill its administrative, manufacturing, territorial, and military ambitions - not prodigies.

But that didn't stop the scholar-gentry, who had mastered patience, subservience, and subversion for two millennia. When the Song Dynasty fell, they went on to serve the new invaders. When the Mongol Demi-humans were wiped out by the Ming Emperor, the gentry immediately prostrated before the new world order. When the Manchurian Tribesmen took the heavenly throne from the decrepit bloodline of the Mings, they ingratiated themselves into the new dynastic government. With the CCP, it would be no different. What the scholar-gentry possessed was knowledge to rule, to keep the proletariat dumb and pliable, and to ingratiate themselves as the bureaucratic sword-arm of those sitting on society's apex.

In time, they forged alliances, controlled sectors of the government, sent their feelers into the CCP and the PLA, into the Universities, the tier 1 cities of Beijing and Shanghai, into the manufactoriums and the military tribunals.

That and the Gentry refined their Spellcraft and bloodlines.

Wonsoo was the product of that particular ambition.

A Para-elemental Mud-Mage.

A rare existence among rare existences.

A Conjurer and Abjurer, trained from birth by the best instructors, fed more precious Wildland floral and fauna than most NoMs have eaten bowls of rice.

At only twenty-seven, Wonsoo had already made a name for himself on the Northern Front. A young man whose future was immeasurable and restrained only by the limitations of time. It was with serendipity that the young man was even in Hangzhou. After a Purge mission had gone awry, he had been given time for rest and relaxation. Paranoid that the PLA would send his nephew into riskier missions, Liu had requested that Wonsoo returned to Hangzhou to ‘sow his wild oats’ before setting off again.

Had the Song girl been pliable and obedient, Liu would have entertained the notion of setting up the two for what could potentially be an incredibly potent union. If the girl could give birth to three or four children, there was bound to be quasi or para elemental talents among that number.

But Guo had refused his best efforts at an inter-house alliance, and now Liu must demonstrate to the old dog that the millennia-old Gentry of Jiangnan wasn’t just for show.

It was almost sickening how talented the man's gweilo granddaughter was, especially considering the common stock from which she emerged. The Songs were an old House, but they weren't scholars nor bureaucrats. In Liu's esteemed opinion, the House of Song, originating from Hubei, was akin to peasants.

Peasants elevated by the Communists. The very thought was an insult.

That and Guo was the kind who denied defeat until his casket was presented to him.

“You have been watching the match, yes?”

Wonsoo nodded.

“What do you think of the girl?”

“A bother," Wonsoo confessed readily. "That Familiar of hers is bad news. Mao knows what other forms it can shift into."

"Can you do it though?"

Wonsoo grunted.

"Grand-Uncle, I don't mean to be forward - but I am a Lieutenant in the PLA's Elite Northern 11th Battalion - and I'll be promoted to Captain by the end of the year. Do you really think I should be duelling girls too young for me to date?"

Liu's jaws stiffened.

"Why, you want to date the girl?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"She's a lovely thing."

"Well..."

"I've sent you a few promising candidates, didn't I? Where are the girls?”

“Sent them home.” Wonsoo shrugged his shoulders. "I did my duty if you must know, now I am trying to get some sleep, between that and the wedding, I've had a busy week."

“You laziness is legendary,” Liu chided his nephew. As a Mud Mage, slothfulness was par for the course. “Those girls are counting on you, a child with your talent would set them up for life, you know.”

“Being a father is a bother as well...” Wonsoo lamented.

Liu hid his growing irritation.

“I am out of options here, Ah-Won. Tell me one thing, can you beat the girl or not?” he asked the only question that mattered. “For the House, for Jiangnan, I need the Songs under my thumb.”

“Yes.” Wonsoo yawned.

“Good. Also, use this for the Familiar.” Liu passed Wonsoo a spell-scroll.

“?"

“A tier 7 Banishment - it’ll deal with her Familiar.”

“I don’t need it.” Wonsoo pushed the scroll aside. “Too much bother.”

“You will.” Liu threw the scroll at his nephew’s chest. “Activate it before the match. It’s got a trigger algorithm built-in. You're an Abjurer anyway, no one would notice.”

Wonsoo took a deep breath before exhaling deliberately.

“Whatever you say, Grand-Uncle.”

“The girl can be yours; if you prevail. I can make it happen,” Liu promised.

Wonsoo regarded his Clan's Patriarch, at once impressed and revolted with his grand-uncle's pragmatism. He deliberated whether a rebuke was in order, but averted the potential vexation. Already, instead of enjoying a week of R&R, he had been dragged into marriage meetings, made to repopulate the bloodline, attend a wedding, and now he had to beat down a teenager.

He should have just stayed on base.

But hopefully, it would all be finished soon. All Wonsoo had to do was strike the girl down, then he could go back to sleep. After Aunty Qīn's wedding, he would return to the Front.

Liu kept on talking.

Wonsoo closed his eyes and sipped the overnight tea, finding it bitter and oversaturated, he grimaced.

“Pay attention!” Liu slapped Wonsoo's knees. “I am counting on you, Wonsoo!”

* * *

Gwen emerged from the ladies’ room wearing her old skin-suit from her Singapore trip, overlaid with cargo-shorts and a white tee. For her next match, she wasn’t going to take the chance that Void Skin was off the menu and risk unnecessary exposure once again.

Murmurs of disappointment and disapproval issued forth from the crowd when she returned fully clad from neck to toe.

Gwen resisted the urge to give the wedding guests the bird.

“Okay, I am ready to rock.” She stretched out her hammies and calves, flexing the stiff leather of her combat boots. Her entire jungle-set was elementally attuned, though the build quality was strictly Frontier.

Her hair had been tied into a thick ponytail, double knotted to reduce its length as to avoid whipping her own eyes should the combat require acrobatic manoeuvres.

From across the courtyard, Liu returned with his next combatant.

“That’s a ‘young’ Mage, is it?” Gwen looked over at Petra

Petra shook her head.

“Mina any ideas?”

Mina had never seen the man either; her social circle was in Shanghai.

Her opponent looked nothing like any of the clean-shaven young men she had met so far. The Chinese, particularly the Southerners, favoured sharp brows and intense eyes with clean-shaven faces.

As for the new guy, he appeared as though possessed by the spirit of the ‘Dude’ from The Big Lebowski, only with dark hair and an Asian face. In her eyes, the man appeared in his thirties. He had a stooped gesture and yawned as he walked, more than once he scratched his crotch with far more vigour than necessary. Everything about him seemed tired and devoid of life. Even the man’s hair lacked vitality, plastering to his face in oily, disorderly locks.

Was she going to fight a hobo now?

The Secretary conversed with Magus Ly, who glanced up at the ‘young man’ with an expression of surprise.

“Our NEXT and FINAL challenger!” Ly returned to the arena before announcing the next duel. “From the House of Liu, Magus Wonsoo Liu."

“Gwen.” A Message spell from Guo blossomed beside her ear. “You’ll need to go all out for this one. Wonsoo is an Abjurer and a Conjurer who uses Mud. It’s a terrible Elemental matchup for you. Don’t stay in one spot for too long, and DON’T let him ensnare you. Remain mobile at all times. All I can tell you is that his signature move is an Entrapment incantation, not unlike Watery Tomb, but virtually impossible to escape from. He doesn't have a Spirit, but his affinity is at least a 5.”

Gwen nodded at her grandfather before turning her attention toward this unassuming opponent.

As Wonsoo wandered into the arena, the crowd began to protest.

“How is this a fair fight?”

“Wonsoo's a Captain now, isn't he?”

"No, he's still a lieutenant."

“Didn't Wonsoo go to the Northern Front?”

“Still, for him to be back now, the Patriarch sure put some thought into this.”

Petra took Gwen by the arm.

“Mud is a bad matchup for you,” Petra affirmed Guo's advise. “Try to end this as soon as possible. Don’t play around. I hear that Mud-Mages are weakest during the first few spell-exchanges.”

“…”

Mina had nothing to offer.

“I can intimidate dat bitch if yo like,” Tao proposed, scratching his head. “If he is a good Abjurer, U gonna be in for a long grind, Gwen.”

"I concur, you should alpha-strike,” Petra insisted. “Don’t stop until you’re spell-fatigued or OOM, or both. That's how I would do it. If the guy’s capable of continuing after that - forfeit.”

That much was true, Gwen surmised the situation and found herself in agreement with Petra.

She was running tier 6 lightning.

She had a VMI of over 200.

And she had a trump card as well.

Two, in fact.

Caliban’s Horror Stag form.

And Ariel’s Barbanginy, which she dared not use for two reasons: one, she would like to save it for a life or death situation like Golos; and two, she had no idea what Barbanginy plus tier 6 affinity would do. Could Ariel even control something at that level of power? What if her AOE shattered the portable Force Barriers and maimed the wedding guests?

Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

“Alright, wish me luck!”

“You won’t need it!” Mina called out with confidence.

Petra thumbed her Storage Ring and took account of her spells.

If Gwen should be injured-

“OI! YOU!” Tao called out beside her. “DICK-SOO! YOU KNOW WHO MY DAD IS?! LET ME TELL YOU MANG, YOU- OW!! Damn it, Mina! I am shit-talking here!”

“ZIP IT, Peaches! Gwen will be fine.”

For the fourth time, Gwen stepped into the duelling box.

His opponents stood a little shorter than she did. His stance, however, suggested he was completely relaxed. If anything, the man reminded Gwen of someone browsing the university's canteen menu.

“Look, no hard feelings.” Wonsoo caught Gwen's attention with a wave of his hand. "You're young; life will have lots of other opportunities."

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Gwen riposted tartly. “Do your worst.”

“I always do my worst.” The man appeared amused by her enthusiasm. “Let me guess; you're the valedictorian who always does her best?"

Gwen's temple throbbed.

It would appear that she and Wonsoo were indeed poorly matched.

“BEGIN!”

Magus Ly wasted no time in getting the show on the road.

The adjudicator had a feeling that regardless of whether Gwen won or lost, he would be talking about this day for many years to come.

“Dimension Door!”

Gwen decided to take Petra’s advice to heart.

She would close in with an AOE, then dance around her opponent.

An offensive barrage from start to finish.

“Shield!” The Mud-Mage's reaction, unlike his languished mannerism, was instantaneous.

Gwen appeared beside the Abjurer, triggering a burst of tenebrous ink.

Her Void-matter splashed onto the Mud-Mage’s barrier, though her consumptive motes of mana corroded no more than an inch of Wonsoo's considerably impervious semi-dome surface.

“Void Bolt!”

‘Thunk!’

To her surprise, the impact failed to penetrate the weakened barrier.

Wonsoo too appeared to be surprised by Gwen's offensive potential.

“Terracotta Guardians!”

Two semi-opaque chunks of mana broke off from his Shield.

“!”

Gwen didn’t need Divination to know she had underestimated the Mud-Mage's defence.

“Dimension Door!”

She reappeared to the man’s right, about five meters away. Her lightning-burst caught one of the golem-things as it emerged.

“Lightning Bolt!”

A line of arm-thick Lightning surged across all three targets, with Wonsoo caught in the middle. The foremost ‘Guardians’ exploded, while the further one managed to escape with missing limbs.

“Mud Slide!”

“Dimension Door!” Gwen escaped the conic, AOE barrage.

She revved up an Elemental Sphere.

“Mud Soldiers!”

The viscous mud-mana disbursed by her magic began to collate.

Be it the mud from his Shield, from his Sleet-Storm, or from his summoned ‘guardians’, they all began to form into vaguely shaped humanoid elementals.

A shot of adrenaline straightened Gwen's spine.

SHIT.

So her opponent combined the resilience of an Earthen Mage with the regenerative versatility of a Water Mage?

“Elemental Sphere!”

With tier 6 affinity, her imploding-then-exploding sphere encompassed the entirety of the second half of the duelling area.

“Caliban!”

Before the secondary explosion began, Gwen summoned her nether-worm to her side.

As her serpent materialised, her spell reached its second stage - a radial burst in the form of an electric-nova.

The resulting energy was enough to destroy most of the ‘Terracotta Soldiers’, though Wonsoo's 'mud' had now spread everywhere, plastering every surface.

Fudgesickles!

Gwen felt the engendering of a terrible premonition.

The man’s Mud-Shield singed and smoked, but ripples of fresh Elemental-Mud soon replaced the damaged exterior. As Wonsoo exchanged the volume-metric ratio of water and mud, it became translucent.

'Clap… clap… clap…'

“Not bad.” Wonsoo grinned, striking his palms in appreciation. "You're a greater prodigy then I, that's for sure."

Was the man mocking her?

“You’re not too shabby yourself,” Gwen retorted. “CALIBAN!”

“SCREEEEE!”

Caliban sped toward the Mud Mage as though launched from a catapult, transforming halfway into its spider-form. Gwen figured that since the man’s Shield was unusually resilient, Caliban would perform best if it harassed the guy while she loaded up on buffs and turret-spells to up her damage per Spell-exchange.

“Barrage!”

More conjured balls of semi-translucent slime flew her way.

Weary of what had occurred with the Water Mage, Gwen immediately erected her semi-dome Shield.

The mud splattered all over, obscuring her line of sight.

Wonsoo could evidently control the opacity of his 'mud' at will.

Caliban meanwhile, raked the Mud Mage’s Shield with a flurry of sword-strikes from its forelimbs.

“Mao, what a fantastic beastie.” Wonsoo whistled. “Almost like a Shambling Horror crossed with an Arachne.”

“Warding Bolt!”

“Call Lightning!”

Gwen meanwhile, loaded up on persistent Conjuration attack spells.

For all his resilience, the Mud Mage appeared to cast one or two spells every time she managed three or four. If so, the man must be used to opponents going OOM long before penetrating his defences.

Hoping to test Wonsoo's limits, she began an incantation for Ball Lightning, simultaneously giving Caliban a mental order to play interference until her incantation finished.

The Mud-Mage took a step backwards.

Was he bracing for impact? Gwen pondered.

“Jump!”

To her surprise, Wonsoo utilised a low-tier Transmutation spell.

The man launched into the air like a human cannonball, catching Caliban by surprise as he balled into her creature, Mud-Shield and all.

“Adhesion!”

Gwen almost lost her spell when Caliban slammed to the soft and wobbly Shield like a cockroach caught in a sticky trap. Her Familiar squirmed and screeched, crying out ‘Shaaa!’ as it attempted to free itself to no avail.

Three tier 1 spells disabled Caliban?!

Gwen felt her confidence falter.

The versatility of the Mud Mage was borderline ludicrous.

Shield.

Jump.

Adhere.

To think someone could defeat 'The Thing' by using a human-sized cockroach trap. John Carpenter would be spewing.

Gwen was four incantations from finishing her Ball Lighting when Wonsoo turned his attention toward her.

“Jump!”

The Mud Mage charged her, using Caliban's stuck-body as a battering ram.

“YOU’RE SHITTING ME!” Gwen swore. She had no time to finish the spell, and even if she did, Caliban would be the one tanking her explosions. “Dimension Door!”

Wonsoo reached her within the span of a second or so. Confined within the arena, Gwen was incapable of using the 100 meter-plus range she had exploited in her fight with Golos.

“Caliban!”

Her fiendish Familiar turned back into its serpentine form, secreting grey goo all over its obsidian carapace to free itself from the adhesive Shield.

Wonsoo watched his opponent reappear on the opposite side, obliterate a circumference of his mud, then land in the remnants he had planted earlier.

Gwen's error in judgement had been forced, but its occurrence suggested inexperience in competitive duelling. The girl's reactive tactics painted her as a monster-hunter, unused to catching Mages off-guard. Unlike Magical Creatures, a Mage-Duel was more akin to a game of Go; one had to plan three moves ahead, where no action was performed solely for the action alone.

“Barrage!”

Gwen resumed a defensive stance, warding off the globs with her Non-Newtonian Shield.

“Lightning Bolt!”

Her arc of lightning obliterated a few clumps of mud, though the rest splattered over her Shield.

“Adhere!”

What remained of the sticky mud Gwen had teleported into suddenly grew liquid and slime-like, glueing her feet to the floor.

“Void Skin!”

Gwen fumed that she had to use such a dangerously double-edged spell so soon. The sticky slime fell away, sizzling as her vitality-draining body armour absorbed the offensive substance. Her t-shirt and shorts disappeared, but at least she had her skin-suit.

Caliban harassed Wonsoo with a few tentacles, punching small holes in the man's semi-liquid Shield even as they self-replenished.

But the momentary gap created by Caliban gave Gwen an idea.

Do Mud-Shields have a convenient 'crack' through which Caliban could slither into? In the wild, she could get her Familiar to burrow downwards, but here they were surrounded by Force-Barriers.

Furthermore, from what she could discern, the man had restrained himself to low tier spells, while she had been nuking the guy with tier 3 Lightning Bolts and above. Perhaps the man was trying to disgrace her as she had the Fire and Air Mage, but if they kept going like this, even with her massive mana pool, she would be OOM before long.

‘Crack!’

‘Thunk!’

“Lightning Bolt!”

'Splat!'

Gwen's Warding Bolt, Call Storm, and Lightning Bolt barraged Wonsoo’s Shield again, turning a portion of it opaque before the Mud Mage allowed it to fall from his barrier. The whole process reminded Gwen of reactive tank armour; only these grew back.

“Ready to give up?” the man called out from across the room. “There’s no shame in it. We’re not well matched, and I’ve got almost a decade on you. Don’t push yourself too hard! Old men talk and drink their tea, while young folks like us are given the butcher-cleaver to carve each other up-”

"Lightning Bolt!"

Another chunk of Shielding fell away from Wonsoo's shield.

Watching Gwen's livid face, the Mud-Mage rolled his eyes.

"Almost forgot about that... you high-affinity Lightning Mages, always tripping up on your ego." Wonsoo sighed. “Barrage!”

More mud built up around Gwen's Shield, hinting at more dire circumstances to come.

Wonsoo's accurate assessment of her mood pissed her off.

She suspected the hobo-looking prick was trying to undermine her determination. If so, all Wonsoo had achieved was piling fuel on her bushfire.

It was time to up the ante.

She recalled what Alesia had once told her: if your opponent's defence appeared impervious, change gears. She could target the environment, target their defence spell, do whatever was necessary to find a chink in the armour. An opportunity always presented itself, for no such thing as a perfect defence existed, only insufficiently applied offence. As an anecdote, her Sister-in-craft professed to never Fireball a Mermen Water Priest when collapsing the building on top of them would do just fine.

As for her immediate dilemma...

Her Warding Bolt and Call Storm fired every other interval, tinging her mana channels before they activated. The man’s Shield was reactive, meaning there was a play she could make if she were willing to put herself at risk.

“Caliban,” Gwen mentally commanded her Familiar. “Slip in when you get the chance.”

“Shaaa!”

‘Crack!’

‘Thunk!’

Her Conjuration spells fired their payload.

“Barrage!”

Wonsoo was building the density of Mud-mana around her, readying a finisher. According to her grandfather, it was likely an entombment-style AOE.

Gwen timed her assault for the split-second the Mud Mage was distracted by her bolts.

“Elemental Sphere!”

Her vitality dropped like a stone.

A blob of tenebrous darkness appeared just behind the semi-opaque mud-clumps, forming a phenomenon akin to a micro-blackhole against Wonsoo’s Shield.

Having expected another Lightning-blast, Wonsoo’s eyes narrowed just before the dark dot imploded, rapidly expanding into an all-consuming ball of jet-black, swirling ink.

“Caliban!”

Caliban leapt into the void created by the exploding sphere.

‘Whomp!’

The secondary explosion triggered, a Void-nova rang out, a dark disk splashing against the sides of the Force Barrier.

As one, the audience retreated.

* * *

The wedding guests fell atop one another in an attempt to find some cover. Overwhelmed and overcome by a sudden sensation of vertigo. The Force-Barriers held, but the visual impact of the attack amplified its metaphysical stimuli.

“Mao!”

“Wocao!”

“She’s a monster!”

“Bleeerrugh… ergh…”

Secretary Liu shot up from his chair.

“Guo! You! Y-You’ve been keeping something of this magnitude from the PLA?”

Guo sipped his cold tea, frowned, then motioned for a servant to refill it. The pale-faced servant obliged with a trembling hand.

Liu recalled a vid-cast attached to the report he had received - in particular, the effects of the ‘Void Bolt’ - a dark lightning which consumed rather than electrified the target. But the Fung's intelligence had mentioned nothing of the fact that VOID could be used with Signature Spells such as Elemental Sphere, nor how absurdly devastating the attack could be.

Liu's back became drenched with cold sweat. Nothing better happen to Wonsoo, or else there will be blood.

Elevated on the stage, the tenebrous burst of ink faded.

* * *

The audience slowly came to their senses.

A clay semi-dome Shield remained in the midst of the duelling arena.

Wonsoo Liu was presumably inside, safe from the Void-empowered Elemental Sphere.

“Where’s the Familiar?” a spectator's voice broke through the silence. "The Void-Beast, I mean."

A hundred pairs of horrified eyes converged on the muddy dome.

* * *

SUCCESS! Gwen mentally punched the air as Caliban slipped between the gap that was created. As she had suspected, the self-replenishing mud-Shield had the same problem as Richard’s Shield of Water, that it could be disrupted when an equal or greater force was applied.

She didn’t have the force, of course, but she could ‘disappear’ enough of the Shield for Caliban to pierce through. Cloaked with its Void-tinged goo and filled with Void-matter, Caliban should be impervious to the Void-blast generated by her spell.

As the orb erupted, she could sense Caliban striking the raw mana below the elemental ooze, she had held her breath, anticipating failure, then confirmation arrived from her Mongolian Deathworm.

“Do it now!” Gwen willed Caliban to intimidate the Mud-Mage, maybe take a nip out of the man if he refused to yield, though her Familiar should take care that its blow wasn't fatal.

Caliban landed with a plop, faced its opponent, then shifted into its centipede-form.

'Gotcha!' Gwen couldn't help but grin smugly, happy that her spontaneous plan superseded her expectations. Such was the result one could gain from a rapturous study of Spellcraft: to exploit the mechanical functions of her opponent’s spells!

‘!’

Gwen stumbled.

There was no warning from her Divination Sigil.

Whatever happened, it wasn't targeted at her.

From standing tall, she was suddenly freefalling.

It took Gwen a split second to catch herself, dropping to one knee as the feedback of losing her Familiar washed over her.

Caliban was gone - banished by a counterspell, back into its pocket-dimension, incapable of re-materialising anywhere between an hour to a day, depending on the tier of the expulsion.

A forced 'unsummon' had only happened once before in all the time Gwen had fought other Mages. It was when Xiao Huyi ambushed Petra and herself in the midst of the Hengsha Dungeon, where the young master had used some Clanner gobbledygook to send Caliban packing. As before, the sensation could only be described as having one’s brain slugged with a cricket bat, or waking up on Saturday after a 2 AM mixed-spirit bender.

The jubilation of victory bled from Gwen’s systems as though Wonsoo had opened a vein.

The crowd began to clamour in confusion as she spat out a mouthful of Maotai-infused bile.

Thankfully, the expulsion cleared her head.

The Mud-Shield collapsed.

A guilty looking Wonsoo stood in front of her.

“Sorry.” The Mud-Magus' chest rose and fell. “That caught me by surprise.”

Gwen picked herself from the floor, her bosoms likewise heaving.

“So, call it a tie?” The man scratched his head. “You can’t win, and I’d feel guilty if I won now.”

Was he taunting her? Gwen wondered if the man was as thick as molasses. Why hadn’t Wonsoo taken the opportunity of her disorientation to floor her? Was it to keep her on the back foot? There was plenty of mud strew all-over. He could have used that mud-golem incantation again.

A truce? Or a bluff?

Either way, she can't quit when she had a straight flush left to play.

“We continue,” Gwen declared.

Wonsoo scowled, clearly irritated. He looked around the arena, saw the lead-coloured face of his Patriarch, then turned back toward the teenage girl standing thirty feet away.

“You’re not making this easy on yourself." The man’s voice took on a tone of patronising criticism.

“Well, tough luck. Life is hard,” Gwen riposted with a catty twang.

The Mud Mage snorted.

“Very well, ladies first ~, that's how you Westerns do it, right?”

Gwen took no heed of the Magus’ mockery.

She had another familiar and another means of breaking through the man’s barrier.

“Warding Bolt!”

“Call Storm!”

“Mud Amour!”

The Mud Mage became encased in semi-opaque globs of mana that flowed around his body, levitating him into the air. From her point of view, it seemed as though the man had become suspended in the midst of a vaguely-humanoid ooze.

‘Crack!’

‘Thunk!’

“Lightning Bolt!’

Three chunks of the Mage’s liquid erupted, the resultant electricity grounded itself, ionising the barriers on the floor.

“Terracotta Soldiers!”

By now, the room had been thoroughly splattered by the translucent mud. To Gwen's dismay, the clumps of the stuff which had formed here and there now transformed into little mud-men. The impromptu army then sprang from the floor and began to converge on her position. When two or more of the mud-men met, they formed into slightly larger variations that reminded Gwen of clay-golems.

“Dimension Door!”

Her vitality was holding up, but even so, Gwen had to use her health sparingly. The AOE Void-burst from her short-ranged Teleportation spell cleared the space in which she’d landed, affording Gwen a renewed appreciation for the Signature Spell her Master had left her.

“Ariel!”

“EEeeee!”

Gwen summoned her second Familiar.

Fighting while partnered with her Familiars was now second nature to her, so much that the moment Caliban was Banished, she had felt incomplete, frustrated, and furious.

It was as though she was made to fight with an arm tied behind her back.

A meter above her head, Ariel materialised, though not in the way that she’d expected. Where the marten usually performed a twist and turn before landing with a flourish, it now materialised directly in mid-air.

A strange hush fell over her audience, including the Mud Mage.

“Eeee?”

Her familiar haughtily surveyed its surroundings, whipping its bushy, fan-like tail.

Upon its head were two elongated stag-horns, branching out before spiralling into sharp tips.

Its mongoose face had elongated, taking on a strange hybrid appearance that was neither mammalian nor draconic, but something in between.

Two tendril feelers struck out from where its whiskers used to be in the guise of a carp or a catfish, and Ariel’s new pale-blue fur shimmered with a strange pattern that resembled fish-scales. Around its neck grew its old pure-white marten-coat, giving it a faux-mane.

Most importantly, its front paws were two maned hooves, while its back legs were predatory claws from its original body.

“Is that a Kirin?” a voice in the crowd whispered audibly.

A murmur radiated through the crowd.

“Horn of a stag, the scale of carp, the beard of a catfish, hooves and a fishes’ tail with a lion’s mane…”

"Well, if it looks like a Kirin, sounds like-”

“EEEE! EEEee!” Ariel turned its handsome, whiskered jowl toward Gwen, demanding validation.

Its Master was enraptured with equal surprise and suspense.

Gwen knew Ariel wasn’t a Kirin.

She would bloody well know if her marten was a Kirin,

It was a Lightning-Mongoose, one that ate an Eland antelope’s core, a Draconic Stag’s core, and a Draconic-carp’s core. It had taken on some faux-Kirin traits, sure, but they were superficial, possessing no ability. A true Kirin, according to her research, could Command Weather, Plane-Shift, Shape-Shift, use Telepathy and Illusion at will, and speak. Her marten-creature was restricted to ‘Eeeeeing', face nuzzling, and shooting lightning.

“Hear that cry?” a voice ratified the crowd’s presupposition with complete incompetence. “A true Kirin neighs like a horse, this is a young Kirin, so it goes ‘Eeeee…’”

“Leader's ghost, that’s amazing.”

“Holy shit, the girl killed a Kirin and absorbed its Core?”

“Maybe she found a young one?”

“Maybe she's a Mythic Whisperer?”

“Most people would be dead.”

“They eat human flesh, you know, like Dragons.”

“An adult Kirin could obliterate Hangzhou by itself.”

“Wait, does that mean-”

“Oh, Mao…”

Liu turned to Guo with his mouth open, all composure thrown to the five winds.

The man was visibly trembling.

“ARE YOU ALL INSANE?” Liu blurted out. “YOUR SON WENT AND KILLED A KIRIN FOR YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER?!”

Gwen watched as her opponent put up his hands, motioning for her to look instead to her elders. Equally weary and wary, Gwen instructed Ariel to keep an eye on her opponent while she turned to Guo and Liu.

"Eeee!" Ariel flittered through the air, swishing its tail and twirling its prehensile whiskers. Pointing its buttocks toward Wonsoo, it swished its tail tauntingly.

Gwen reached out with a hand to stroke the creature's mane, simultaneously materialising a block of raw HDM crystal.

Ariel took the opportunity to fly around its master in a figure-eight, tickling her face. When it passed her outstretched hand, it nipped the crystal gingerly from her fingers and crushed the mana-rich material in its jaws, using the second whisker as a grasping tentacle.

Below, the audience watched, mesmerised.

* * *

Besides the livid Secretary Liu, Gwen's grandfather had taken on a contemplative expression.

The appearance of the 'Kirin' had caught him flat-footed as well.

The corner of the ageing Chairman's eyes creased as he divided his attention between Gwen and the Familiar, his irises glowing subtly with Divination, unsure of what to make of their present circumstance.

The Kirin was a mythical creature tied to the Song's history. The Amulet which his sons shared was said to be crafted from the Core of one such being their ancestor had slain. The Analects of Song Rou had stated that as a result of their progenitor's transgression against the heavens, their family bloodline had been cursed with drought - resulting in male heirs awakening with Salt or Ash, elements that would render them infertile. However, after many years of cultivation, the Progenitor uncovered a way to circumvent the affliction through utilising the Core of the very creature that had cursed his progeny. Consequently, the line survived, growing weaker, but persisting nonetheless, until the family left Hubei and joined the Cultural Revolution.

But that didn't explain to Guo why Gwen had a Kirin with her.

He recalled Jun's debrief; his younger son had informed him that Gwen had bested a Thunder Wyvern in single combat. That knowledge had been the source of Guo's confidence. Not having anticipated Wonsoo, he doubted the Lius had a candidate who could measure up to an elementally-impervious, draconic wyvern capable of obliterating the outer city of Hangzhou by itself.

Jun likewise had not mentioned a Kirin.

Assuming uncle and niece had encountered a Kirin, why would they monopolise the knowledge? For one, Guo knew better than anyone that Jun's reputation preceded his ability, that much of his son's legendary competence was attributed to wide-spread propaganda. Jun, much to his regret, was no Gunther Shultz, and there was no way that a Lightning Mage and an Ash Magus could even begin to harm a Kirin without supporting magic from a Tower.

Was it Gwen then?

Did the girl possess yet more untapped potential?

Had his granddaughter's association with Henry Kilroy given her yet more secrets to be unearthed?

If the reports were accurate, Kilroy could have hunted down a Kirin.

The man had done no less during the Saurian Sea War and on the Eastern European Front, aided by his Void-Sorceress wife and his Dryad Familiar.

Kilroy and Sobel.

Gwen and Kilroy.

At any rate, it was improbable for Huangshan to house both a Kirin and a Yinglong.

By nature, Dragons are highly territorial and usually hated those of their kind with a passion. There was only one exception to the rule - when one of their 'kin' fell to lesser beings. Retribution was the only banner under which Dragonic-kindred banded together, forming cabals capable of erasing even tier 1 cities.

What if it was a young spirit they subsumed? Perhaps Gwen had stolen an egg, and somehow Jun managed to hatch it during their Huangshan trip.

Guo found his second hypothesis equally unrealistic.

He had begun entertaining a third when Liu's incessant squawking grew to such a pitch that it derailed his train of thought.

“GUO! You’re a fool! You hear me?! Your sons are nothing but troublemakers! I can’t… I can’t believe… Mao! My poor Qin-Qīn, what have you done to my precious child?"

In Liu’s mind, there was no doubt what had transpired.

The mournful Secretary regretted inviting the Songs into his house. He regretted letting his daughter near that playboy Hai. He regretted more than anything, signing his name on the Pass which allowed Jun and Gwen to access the Anhui province. When Internal Security came looking for heads to chop, his would be penned in red next to the Songs.

Dragons were quick to avenge their kin. Most importantly, as mythic beasts of air and positive energy, they controlled the weather at will. What if the Yinglong issued an edict that it would banish all rain from the region?

Would the PLA capitulate?

Give up Jun and Gwen Song?

Or would the PLA follow the Militant Faction’s doctrine of no mercy, no negotiation, and directly assault the Yellow Mountain?

What ghastly enterprise had driven Liu to fall so low as to think of allying with the peasant House of Song? What cursed coincidence had tempted him? Now the Lius and the Songs were mutually doomed! No Faction mattered when their immediate future involved being mind-read, mind-wiped, then offered to the Yinglong with less ceremony than a suckling-pig on Chinese New Year.

“Guo! Say something!” Liu wondered if Guo would be more reactive and forthcoming if he grabbed the old man by the collars and rattled the answer from him like a pepper shaker.

Abruptly, Guo rose from his seat.

“Guo-” Klavidya's Silent Message bloomed beside her husband's ear. “This has to be a mistake. Gwen knows better! Jun knows better! Her Familiar is a mongoose! Look! You can still see part of its original form!”

“I am aware of that.” Guo gave his wife a reticent expression fraught with cautious confidence.

He had suspected that Gwen might bring a calamitous destiny to the house, though he couldn't have imagined it happening so soon.

Not to mention his wife was right. Jun was too wise to make a mistake of this magnitude. Whatever this was, it originated from Gwen - which meant he could divert their present predicament to Gunther Shultz, or perhaps the late Henry Kilroy.

As for Gwen's 'Kirin', Guo felt that a play could be made. Either Ariel was a Kirin whose existence had nothing to do with Jun - or Ariel wasn’t a Kirin, and this was all a big misunderstanding.

But first, it wouldn't hurt to receive a confirmation.

"Gwen-"

Guo sent a Silent Message directly to his granddaughter.

"Grandfather!"

"Don't move, and don't look around. Tell me one thing, is Ariel a Kirin?"

"No! HELL NO! Ariel just ate some bad Cores, that's all! It-"

"It's fine. I believe you."

"You do?! Tell them that I-"

A mistake then.

Guo suppressed a smirk.

An error that he could use to his advantage.

The wizened old hound of the CCP turned to his counterpart, catching the stench of the man's fear like a Stinking Cloud to his dog-nose.

“Secretary Liu. Do you forfeit the match?”

"What?"

"If you do, I shall assume all responsibility for the Kirin."

Liu stared at his counterpart, gobsmacked by Guo's declaration.

“Guo.” The Secretary was caught between resentment and a desperate desire for exoneration. “Have you lost your mind?”

Gwen's grandfather looked toward the stage.

“You heard Gwen when all of this started, no?” Guo’s face was blank as a piece of paper, an expression which exacerbated his mockery. "It's over, Liu. It was all over the moment Gwen stepped onto that platform. We can still finish the banquet amiably; do you wish for bad blood that fervently? Are our children not lovers? What would they think?”

Liu's tongue caught in his throat dangerously.

A cascade of doubt washed over the Secretary.

Should he give up?

Cut his losses?

The two families would need to work together, pool their connections if they wished to survive this.

"Guo..."

'Ding!'

A Message spell blossomed beside Liu's ear.

"Wonsoo?" Patriarch Liu had not expected his grand-nephew to Message him now of all times. "Look, I didn't know-"

"It's not a Kirin," Wonsoo's voice came across from the duelling area. "This thing's a paper tiger; it just LOOKS like a Kirin. And another thing, the girl most definitely got blooded on Huangshan, the reasons we're all thinking her Familiar is a Kirin is because it's exuding Dragon-Fear! That thing's been fed on draconic flesh!"

At the mention of the idiomatic origami tiger, Liu's face ignited.

In a fury, the Secretary turned to Guo, his complexion now the scarlet passion of raw pork liver.

"WE CONTINUE! THE MATCH WILL CONTINUE!" Liu ejaculated with a petulant vehemence, sending out a spray of spittle.

Gwen's grandfather dabbed at a spot of spit with a finger, unmoved by Liu's sudden passion.

Liu tapped into the still-open Message.

"HURT HER! Crush the girl! I want the Songs to regret everything! Listen to me, Wonsoo! Do your WORST!"

* * *

Gwen watched as Wonsoo grumbled under his breath, then looked toward the ceiling with an expression that read 'why did I do that?'.

"What's wrong with you?" She sized him up with her eyes.

"Nothing," Wonsoo lamented. He stretched both of his arms, then shook loose his fingers. "Fair warning, this time, I won't be holding back."

“The feeling is mutual.” Gwen stood with her off-hand resting on her hips. Her other hand was stroking Ariel, purring and swimming here and there with adorable swishes of its tail.

“The MATCH WILL CONTINUE!”

Magus Ly resumed his position atop the cage.

Wonsoo cracked his neck.

"Last offer - we tie, what do you say?"

"Nice try..."

"Song meimei." The man groaned. "Are you always this difficult?"

"Try me, Big-Brother-Liu."

Wonsoo regarded her to see if she was serious. When he saw that her serious demeanour was entirely genuine, the man sighed.

“Look, I am finishing it with my next spell,” he declared to her. “If you're serious, stop screwing around. Come at me with everything you got.”

“Fine!” she retorted.

The two parted.

"BEGIN!"

Wonsoo moved behind his barriers, then began an incantation.

“Ariel, to me.”

Gwen pulled Ariel closer to her torso.

Discretely, she supplied a flow of Draconic Essence to her fingertips.

"Eeee!" Ariel indicated that there was no need. "Eeee! EE!"

"Oh?"

She released her Familiar just as Wonson began his chant.

There was no need to 'feed' her Familiar because Ariel had just 'requested' her Draconic-essence much in the same way Caliban demanded her vitality. Having gotten accustomed to Caliban's liberal consumption of her vital force, all she had to do was channel her Draconic Essence toward her Conjuration Sigil for Ariel to subsume the usually inoperable resource.

She quickly glanced at her opponent.

Wonsoo had his Mud-Shield, Mud-Armour, and a shit-load of Mud-mana stacked here and there. Whatever the Mud-Mage had planned, he was confident that she couldn't do shit to him.

That would be his mistake.

By now Gwen had gotten used to the Mud Mage’s slow-incantations, though this one was exceptionally long. From the mana radiating from his body, Gwen suspected it was at least a tier 6 spell, a tier withheld from Gwen until her Spellcraft knowledge caught up with her affinity.

"EEEE!"

Her Familiar was loaded up and ready to go.

“ARIEL!”

Raw lightning-mana flowed from Gwen's Elemental Gate, channelling into Ariel's body, activating the Draconic-Essence encircling its centre.

“EEEEee!!”

Her Kirin-marten expanded to full size.

Ariel’s neck distended, its mane whipping the air. Long, stag-like limbs spiralled from its stumpy, infantile form, and its fur shone with such metallic brilliance that for a moment, Ariel seemed armoured with Dragons-scales.

“LORD KIRIN!” someone cried out in the crowd.

“So she does have a Kirin for a Spirit!”

“Forgive us, Lord Kirin!”

“It is TRESPASS to kill a Kirin…”

“That girl’s going to bring calamity onto all of us!”

A palpable wave of Dragon-fear, dulled by the Force-barrier, rolled over the audience like an undulating tide.

A portion of the guests fell to their knees.

Some wept.

Others began to whimper.

"WONSOO!" Patriarch Liu cried out, half choked with rage, he appeared on the verge of a paroxysm, igniting every mote of his mana to retain his sanity. "DO IT NOW!"

"Cao, I am glad I wore 'the' underpants," Tao moaned beside Mina, who was herself fighting an uphill battle.

“Seven Li of Swallowing Earth!”

Gwen recognised the manifesting phenomena.

Her father had used a similar spell!

She had seen him use it on Sufina's island.

In an instant, Hai had turned an entire twenty-odd meter radius of his strike-zone into a world of sparkling white salt - destroying all hostile flora and fauna in a single strike.

"!"

Her Divination tingled.

With added urgency, Gwen willed Ariel forward.

"NEEEIGH! EEeeEEE!"

Ariel swished through the air, then made a bee-line for the Mud-Mage.

Gwen wasn’t sure how potent Wonsoo’s AOE was going to be, nor did she have time to gauge Ariel's new abilities. Whatever Wonsoo's plans, she had to finish it first.

"BARBANGINY!"

The template she chose was her Elemental Sphere.

Ariel’s horns blazed incandescent and viridescent.

Within the material, mortal realm of the Liu's wedding banquet, an emerald-hued celestial object entered the world.

A cacophonic 'Crack!', not unlike Golos at the apex of his insane wrath, washed over the wedding guests with the bone-thrumming intensity of rolling thunder.

But Gwen's wasn't the only spell in motion.

Mud wasn't a flashy element.

From above and below and all around, Wonsoo’s oppressive, ooze-like mana enclosed her being. Gwen was standing unassailed one moment, then unexpectedly, she was underwater - or more precisely, under a deluge of semi-opaque mud.

The force elevated her globular barrier from the floor, swallowing all light. Within the protective shell of her Non-Newtonian barrier, the undertow of an obscure current tossed her about like a snowglobe in a washing machine.

‘Crack…’

The weakness of her Non-Newtonian Shield became immediately apparent. The all-encompassing crush of Mud rendered her impact-resistant insulation worthless.

Her world went dark.

The mud was now entirely opaque.

Gwen became enfolded in pitch black darkness, her world illuminated only by the glow from her iris, weakly refracted from the glass-like interior of her Shield.

'Clang!'

Her Shield shattered.

The walls pressed in, first enveloping her feet and hands, then her thighs. The mud-mana was coarse and cold, with a texture like high-grit sandpaper.

A wave of claustrophobic panic inundated her mind, paralleling the viscous liquid now filling her Shield.

The compressed air was making her head swell.

Her ears popped.

She couldn't breathe.

Outside, Ariel reached its target.

“EEEEEEEee!”

Gwen's payload left her Familiar.

Not one but two Elemental Spheres issued forth from Ariel’s horns; twin emerald suns bright enough to illuminate the entire courtyard, turning night into a smogless summer's day.

The guests stared in stunned silence, overcome by the twin spectacle before them. Those on their knees had already accepted their inevitable demise.

A volatile cocktail of destructive energies washed over the Force Barrer, sending the generators into a hysterical whine.

Wonsoo’s para-elemental quagmire had held the energy of the Emerald Lightning captive, and now the whole duelling area was filling up with immense pressure, threatening to escape via the only logical means.

It was an unexpected outcome for both Patriarchs.

Guo had not anticipated that Wonsoo would take advantage of the arena to ‘fill’ the room instantly with his viscous ‘Mud’ mana, incapacitating Gwen by assailing her on all sides.

Liu, on the other hand, had not foreseen that Gwen could squeeze out an artillery-class AOE capable of taking out his entire manor.

‘WHOOOMP!’

The Elemental Spheres forcefully expanded to their maximum allowance.

The entire duelling arena became an incandescent, rectangular block of light, blinding the audience and obscuring the combatants.

The Force Barrier warped.

A shockwave rang out.

The manor rocked as though an earthquake had struck. Pavements cracked, the pond water churned. A stone bridge collapsed. Eaves fell from the fascia and roof tiles clattered, falling over the panicked guests.

For a moment, the wedding guests wondered if this was the last and final duel they would ever witness, pondering if the green sun was the call to some higher purpose. A few regretted their skeletons in the closet. Others thought of their families and the children in their final moments.

Then the secondary blast hit.

A lightning-nova swept across the arena unimpeded.

The barriers grew white-hot, then dimmed.

The crowd came to their senses.

What happened to the quagmire?

The only beings who remained in the duelling Arena were the girl, looking dazed and confused, and a Kirin handsomely dog-paddling above her head, vainly showing off its mane.

It took Liu all but two seconds to realise what had occurred.

Guo too seemed to have understood, more or less.

Their eyes met.

Liu shied away; his lips ashen.

A flush of colour spread across Guo’s uncharacteristically stony face.

Gwen had defeated Liu's prodigy.

Wonsoo’s plan had backfired.

To think the combination of an enclosed space and highly-compressed mana would amplify the power of the girl's Elemental Sphere.

Guo searched the arena, wondering why there was no Magus Ly to announce Gwen's victory.

A sudden realisation made the corner of Guo’s lips twitch.

If he had been Ly, would he have stood on top of the duelling box, waiting for it to blow?

Shaking his head and turning to Liu with undisguised loathing, Guo stepped away from his in-law.

“A well-fought match,” he declared to Liu, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “I would have contested that curious Banishment, but let us not dwell on such trivial dishonours. If there is nothing else, my family and I will be leaving for Shanghai first thing. The air of Hangzhou, Secretary Liu, is far too humid for a Northerner peasant like me!”

* * *

Shanghai.

PLA Super-structural Tower.

Contingency Teleportation Chamber No.11.

A blaring red light illuminated the chamber, followed by a wailing siren indicating an incoming Mage whose Contingency Ring had triggered.

‘Bzzzak!’

A flash of Conjuration mana blazed across the end-module mandala, hand-etched into the mithril-plated floor.

The figure of a male, slightly singed and fully disoriented, plopped unceremoniously onto the platform.

The medical team rushed to the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Magus Wonsoo Liu!"

"Mao! From Hangzhou?"

"Sir! Can you hear us?"

The Magus had spread himself on the floor, resembling the Chinese pictogram figure for ‘big’.

He raised a hand to indicate that he was alive.

The Medical Mages regarded one another.

“Sir, you are badly burned,” one of the nurses pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah...Hrrng!” Wonsoo coughed, a spray of crimson issued forth from his lips.

"Get me the burn ointment! We'll stabilise him with Healing Word, then transfer to the 1ST PLA! Get the Transport to get ready!"

Drawing on the last of his will, the Mud-Mage circulated his languished mana, dulling the wracking agony stabbing at his nerves. “Tell Colonel Jiang that I need another week of R&R...”

“Sir?”

“…away from Hangzhou...”

"Sir, we need to move you..."

Wonsoo was already unconscious.

* * *

For Gwen, the period after Ariel's double Elemental Sphere passed as though in a trance.

She had seriously thought she was going to die.

When Ariel’s attack filled the entire arena and electrified the mud-like mana, she knew she had fucked up. The AOE was too much for the barriers to handle. Furthermore, the invigorated positive lightning had ignited the mana which Wonsoo had used to fill the room, much like it had done so before in the enclosed sewers under District 109.

But who'd have imagined Ariel could double-up on her spells? She had felt the increased drain on her mana pool and thought the phenomenon a part of her empowered casting.

Her dark world had suddenly become white.

She had wondered if the pressure exerted on her body would pop it like a blood sausage.

And then she recalled that she was in possession of a Teleportation Ring.

The Contingency Ring had been a gift from Gunther, a surety that she would be safe no matter where she ventured. So long as she was close to a Tower, her survival was assured.

If she had expended Gunther’s ring on an ego trip, especially after Wonsoo had explicitly offered a truce, how could she ever forgive herself?

Gwen reflexively dispelled Ariel, much to the crowd's relief.

Caught in a haze, she descended the stage, swallowed by a sea of noise and sound. There were pats on the back, cheers and congratulations; there were also death-stares, as well as jeers and boos born full of anger and disappointment. The chaotic stimulus grew until it was white noise; she saw faces moving to and fro, hands reaching out to touch her for good luck, voices ringing like tinnitus-

“Good work,” a familiar voice cut through the static.

A large towel wrapped around her shoulders, covering the spectacle of her immodest skinsuit.

Gwen looked up.

Jun’s face grinned back at her, his arms folded across his chest.

“Uncle Jun!” An unbidden surge of passion choked the cry of relief escaping from her lips.

Her immediate reaction was to embrace him.

Next, she carefully inspected the complexion of his neck and collarbones for hickeys.

Just as she had finally rested her cheek comfortably against his shoulder, she caught Ayxin staring.

“Ayxin.” Gwen pulled herself away.

“Gwen.” The dragon-kin inclined her head.

The air between the two women sizzled.

“So, are the two of you an item yet?”

“Gwen, not now,” Jun cleared his throat. He cautiously warded off the inquisitive faces of Tao, Petra and Mina with broad smiles. “The short answer is no.”

Ayxin growled, flustered by Jun's confession.

The sound emitted from the Dragon-kin's vocal cords carried with it a suggestive purr. It was a strangely erotic reaction, especially considering her exquisite and alluring choice of form, so much that her audience had to will themselves away from staring too intently.

Gwen wanted to say something witty, but her interjection was interrupted by an uproar from the middle of the courtyard.

“Don’t you understand, Guo, we’re in this together now! Your grandchild and your son have killed the Yinglong's flock! They’re going to bring calamity to Hangzhou and by extension, Shanghai! How will you explain that to the National Assembly? To the Security Council?!”

“Excuse me a moment.”

Her Uncle left, followed closely by Ayxin.

Before Gwen could follow, her friends closed in on her.

“Gwen, are you alright?”

“How are you feeling?”

“What was that spell!?”

“Is Ariel really a Kirin?”

“Can it turn back into a marten?”

The barrage of questions made her head throb.

She noted that the assembly of wedding guests who had enjoyed the death match was now also craning their necks to hear what she had to say to her friends and family.

"Yes, I am okay. That was an EMPOWERED Signature spell. Ariel IS NOT A REAL KIRIN, and I am sure it could turn back into a MARTEN if it wanted to."

With the euphoria of seeing Jun now displaced, her muscles ached as though each piece had been individually racked and screwed.

“Overextended your mana channels, I’d wager,” Petra noted Gwen's unnatural stiffness. She moved behind her cousin and began massaging her shoulders. “You’re going to need a week's worth of bed rest, and healing from Babulya on top of that. Assuming you’re continuing with Master, we’re probably looking at a whole new body scan as well.”

“Yeah.” Gwen closed her eyes and sunk into the sensation of Petra’s fingers kneading through her bruised and battered flesh. Her commitment to Magister Wen had to continue. Less so on Petra's account, and more so out of necessity. According to Jun, so long as Pudong and the PLA Tower both had equal access to Wen's research data while Gwen remained in China, they would abide by their unspoken agreement to leave her be. Should that teat of knowledge dry up, only Mao knew what frenzy the PLA could work themselves into.

“My Lady!”

A not so familiar voice caught Gwen's attention.

It was Chen Pao, and the young man had accosted Ayxin, separating her from Jun.

Holy moly, Gwen tugged at Petra. This she had to see.

Pao was staring at Ayxin with his eyes peeled, as wide as quail-eggs, possessing the same ferocity which he had earlier garnered for Gwen. As he came closer to the Dragon-in-disguise, however, the young man appeared to grow less sure of himself.

“You…” Pao stuttered. "I..."

Then to their surprise, he back peddled.

“Miss? Do… I know you from somewhere?”

Looking at Ayxin strutting around in her laundered Hello Kitty t-shirt, something clicked between Gwen’s ears.

Ayxin must have 'borrowed' her likeness!

The Dragon-kin had asked for a change of her clothes back on Lotus Peak! Assuming the woman ventured into the human world searching for Jun, the only garb the dragon-woman would have possessed was Gwen's gift of mundane, non-magical clothing. Ergo, to enter the human world, it would have been best to assume Gwen's likeness, not to mention the Anhui border guards had seen her prior, both at the crossing and at the Forward Operating Base.

Bloody hell, you snake bastard! Gwen spewed internally. You're in violation of copyright! You wouldn’t download a teenage body, would you?

But of course, the Dragon-kin had done just that. Ayxin was arrogant, entitled, and perfectly happy taking people’s shit without regard. Not to mention that getup! God, how old was the woman? TWO HUNDRED?! Parading around like she’s sweet-sixteen, do dragons know no shame?! How thick was their skin?

To everyone's surprise, Ayxin did not berate the young man.

“Your suffering was my oversight, young Mage. I shall now clear your mind. Go and sleep off your sorrows -tomorrow will be a better day, and all your woes will pass like a summer squall.”

"Yes, Mistress." Pao appeared to have acknowledged Ayxin's cryptic response.

The young man turned toward the exit, catching Gwen and her posse in the process of eavesdropping on their conversation.

Gwen swallowed nervously as their eyes met.

Chen’s orbs were bloodshot with sentiments he could not even begin to rationalise. It was as though someone had crammed his brain full of solicitudes, and was now demanding forgetfulness in the same manner that Gwen would CTRL-A and DEL on a spreadsheet.

Oh Lordy, her heart ached with second-hand pity, the poor sod.

Pao bowed deeply.

“I am sorry I mistook you for someone else,” the young man apologised. “Please forgive my blindness.”

“Look, it’s not your fault.” Gwen waved her hands defensively, battering away the wretched misery emanating from the young man like a stench. “We all make mistakes.”

“I will do everything in my ability and beyond to exonerate your reputation.”

“That’s not really necessary…” Gwen was serious. She wanted to put this episode behind her. Being slut-shamed in front of half of Hangzhou's high society wasn't really the sort of experience one cherished.

But before Gwen could continue, Pao walked away, compelled by a greater force than Gwen's mortal presence.

With the young man gone, she approached Ayxin.

The two 'girls' were the same height, with near-identical figures, creating a curious visage for Gwen's cousins to digest.

“Don’t expect me to thank you,” she addressed the dragon-woman cattily.

Team Cousin joined the two.

“Gwen, who is this?” Petra examined the Caucasian girl, but couldn’t quite pin Ayxin’s mien onto her internal world map. The Gwen-like girl possessed the facial features of a Northern European, such as clarified eyes, strong brows, high cheekbones and a Roman nose, but the rest of her face was very much Southern-Han, with gentle curves and a sharp chin rounding off her jaws. Rather than a beauty that felt real, Ayxin's comeliness appeared as though sprung to life from a silk-screen painting.

Gwen introduced her uncle's dragon D'amore.

“Ayxin - Petra. This is Tao. This is Mina.”

“Guys, this is Ayxin. She’s a Demi-human-dragon-kin.”

Ayxin snubbed Gwen's cousins.

“Ai's got an attitude, eh?” Tao chuckled. He straightened himself, then threw a gang-sign up in Axyin's face. “Sup, Ayxin! You wanna party, you come to me, gurl! I show you the best beats in town, real Culture, with a Capital SEE.”

Mina was a far better listener.

"Umm... Where's she from?"

“Huangshan.” A mischievous smirk touched Gwen’s lips. “Lotus Peak, to be specific.”

“But that’s where…” Petra traversed her eyes until they landed on Ayxin. A flicker of Divination passed behind her orbs, then the Russian girl audibly gasped.

Petra retreated a step and bowed.

Mina quickly followed suit.

Tao appeared confused.

"Wat's wrong with chu?"

"Peaches! Shut up and bow!"

Ayxin waved them away.

“I am here for a private matter,” Ayxin dismissed the young Mages. “There is no need for ceremony.”

“Dangerous as she might be, she’s a cool Sheila.” Gwen tucked a hand against Ayxin's narrow waist. “Did I mention she’s got the hots for Uncle Jun?”

Mina shot Ayxin a look that was immediately filled with alarm.

“Hmm, you have been very liberal with me,” Ayxin chided Gwen. “Your overfamiliarity displeases me.”

“You came uninvited!” Gwen fired back at her. “What did you do with Uncle Jun? The two of you were gone for a long time.”

"I fail to see how that is any of your business."

"My business? Oh ho ho..."

“Gwen…” Petra touched a hand to her head to suppress a sudden migraine. She pulled her cousin away from the Dragon-kin. “How is this possible? Ayxin shouldn’t be here. It’s not possible for her to be here!”

“I wouldn’t know.” Gwen studied the dragon-kin, hypothesising a few potential possibilities. “She’s here though, so I'd say it's a bit late to worry about Shielding loop-holes.”

“What about her C-O-R-E?” Petra whispered warily. The vast majority of the guests had cleared out by now. The place was filled with servants cleaning up what remained of the banquet. “You know…”

"That's a good point." Gwen turned to Ayxin. "So, how is it that-"

“AYXIN!” Jun’s voice called out from beside Liu and Guo. “I need you for a moment, can you spare a minute?”

“I can,” Ayxin's voice effortlessly carried over to Jun.

The cousin-crew watched Ayxin depart.

“She got a nice ass.” Tao smacked his lips. "She hollering from the Anhui Frontier, you say?"

That's MY ASS, Gwen resisted the urge to punch Tao in the arm. She could feel her Draconic-Essence trickling back now, unknotting her muscles one by one.

“…”

“…”

Both Mina and Petra regarded Tao with distaste; there were terrible listeners, and then there were terrible listeners.

“No, Peaches.” Gwen mimed a flying dragon with her fingers. “She’s a Winged Drake, a Dragon-kin. Half human, half Demi-God, and she’s over two hundred years old.”

“SHE’S OVER TWO HUNDRED YEARS OLD?!” Tao suddenly looked up. "If dragons live for thousands of years, does that make Uncle Jun a cradle-robber?”

"Naw, she's an old goat looking to tuck a young ram," Gwen snorted spitefully. "Say, where's Percy?"

Mina and Tao both shrugged.

"I saw him leave right after you won," Petra informed her cousin.

Gwen exhaled deeply before surveying the desolate courtyard now empty of guests. Only the NoM servants remained, scrubbing grease and vomit from the tiles, mementoes left over from her inexpert Dragon-fear.

"Come on," she notified the others. "Let's see what the oldies are up to. Maybe we can leave for Shanghai tonight. I don't think I've ever missed my apartment so much as I do now."

* * *

"Jun, I signed you a Pass through to the Anhui Frontier because you said your niece needed training, not so that you could slaughter the Yinglong's flock!"

"Magus Liu, it's a little disingenuous to back peddle now, both you and I know the rules. Why raise a fuss after the fact?" Jun had on his usual, affable grin. From the looks of it, her uncle was trying to dissuade Liu from weaselling out of their gambit.

"Because he lost his gambit, and now he wants to reclaim his face," Ayxin interjected before Liu could continue. "You can see it on his face."

"Excuse me, who are you?" Liu snapped, his eyes narrowing with annoyance, his patience no longer generous after losing Wonsoo. From the Secretary's annoyance, this wasn't the first time Ayxin had spoken up while the 'men' were talking. "I have been nothing but courteous to you, young lady. I suggest you take your wisdom and leave my estate, right this minute."

"I refuse," Ayxin scoffed. "If Jun stays, I stay."

"Guo, this is your son's guest, are you going to let her insult me in my own house?" Liu's tepid attempts at dragging her grandfather into the muck no longer escaped Gwen now that she was over her shoe-euphoria.

"I would rather think our esteemed guest can do whatever she likes." Guo meet his son's eyes.

"Oh yes," Klavdiya informed Ayxin. "You just be yourself, dear."

"Yes, I intended to." Ayxin eyed Jun's parents suspiciously. Jun's father had the scent of a drought-priest, but the mother was strange to her. She had learned that mothers-in-law were frightful beings. If so, why were they so nice?

"Guo!" Secretary Liu's voice took on a higher pitch and volume. "This insolence is unbecoming! You think that just because you have defeated Wonsoo, you can just walk sideways all over the House of Liu? Did you know crabs are a Hangzhou delicacy?"

"Secretary, there's no need for that kind of language," Jun stepped between his parents, his in-law, and his dragon-girl; his forehead was sweltering despite the cooling glyphs climate-controlling the courtyard.

"Let's just part amicably, shall we? Where's Hai and Qīn, anyhow? Shouldn't they be here to acknowledge how... er... 'events' are going to go forward? It's their child after all."

Jun's diplomacy seemed to embolden the desperate Secretary.

At the mention of his future grandchild, the man's face suddenly grew grim.

Liu clicked his tongue rudely.

"If you think I am going to hand over my grandchild just like that, Guo, you've got another thing coming. You uncultivated peasant farmers-"

“HOW DARE YOU INSULT JUN!” Ayxin tongue-lashed the unsuspecting Secretary. “CHASTISE YOURSELF!”

The Dragon-kin's words reverberated through the air with a palpable force. With the deliverance of the last syllable, something overcame the Secretary, crushing his being until only crumbs remained.

To the surprise of the Songs and the servants who remained, Liu prostrated himself before Jun and Ayxin.

Though 'prostrate', in Gwen's opinion, could hardly do the man's actions justice.

What Liu performed was a full-body, Manchurian kowtow; one in which the sycophant threw oneself on the floor, flattened one's body while on hands and knees, then slammed one's head against the floor.

Too bad for Liu, his estate had used solid granite for the flooring.

'Thunk!'

The audience winced as Liu fell face first on the pavement, pancaking his facial features.

A bloody tooth went flying.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"FUCK ME!" Tao muttered audibly.

The spectacle lingered, as did the awkward silence.

"Master!"

"Protect the Master!"

"Defend the Patriarch!"

Abruptly, guards began to converge from the shadows, the doorways, and the roof. All in all, a dozen Mages of various seniority surrounded the outer courtyard.

Jun shook his head.

"Peaceful Hangzhou isn't just for show," the Ash Bringer chortled sardonically.

Guo chuckled.

Jun's derision struck true. Hangzhou had remained safe and unmolested by external forces since the fall of the Qing Dynasty almost a century ago, and its peace had diminished the vigilance of its denizens.

Ayxin stood unmoved, her visage that of an empress who could command the death of Liu's men at a whim.

She turned to the Secretary.

“You... dare?”

"...”

Secretary Liu racked his brain for something to say that would save his face. His lips, however, defied his cereberal commands, welded shut by some external, compelling force.

Mind-Magic? Liu panicked.

Was it Guo?

Or...

He willed himself to raise his head.

It was no good, he may as well be Petrified.

“Father!”

The beleaguered Secretary was saved by the bell, for his helpless acquiescence was interrupted by the sound of Qīn's harrowing shriek from the eastern gate.

Liu’s bleeding mien darkened considerably.

To lose face in front of his beloved daughter was a fate worse than being beaten half to death.

He recalled instructing her to stay away until the night was over and done with, though it would appear the commotion from Wonsoo's loss had disturbed the inner courtyard enough to summon Qīn and Hai from their love nest.

Qīn ran across the courtyard, silk robes streaming behind, her white-jade flesh dancing against the pale light. She fell to her knees, heedless of the muck, then scooped up her father with both arms.

"Cure Wounds!"

A flow of positive energy suffused Secretary Liu, who became putty in his caring daughter's hands.

Hai then appeared at the threshold connecting the inner and outer courtyard.

“Jun, what is the meaning of this?” Hai sheepishly entered. He noted a little too late that Guo glared at him with an expression that could only be matched by the frigid hostility exhibited by Jun's libidinous little minx.

But the girl's anger was different.

Hai read upon the girl the body language of a woman in love defending her beau.

"Father, can you get up?" Qīn pulled at her father desperately.

"Ayxin. That's enough," Jun pleaded with his draconic-companion. "Sectary Liu wasn't serious."

Ayxin lifted her chin imperceptibly.

Liu felt his lips loosen.

“Qīn, get away!” he blurted out. “The girl's a Mind Mage!”

“You'll be sorry!” Qīn screeched at Ayxin. The willow-like woman turned to her husband. “Hai! Do something!”

* * *

Hai almost tripped over his own feet.

'HE' should do something?

That’s his brother, the fucking Ash Bringer and his mind-warping Grey-Ghost escort standing there, and the Salt Mage without a catalyst-Pendant should do something? Not to mention Gwen was glaring at him judgementally, though that was expected... AND his whole bloody family, including his little sister, Nen, his mother, Klavdiya, and his nieces and nephews are all waiting for him to play the silly bugger.

Do something? She may as well have asked him to shove a wand up his arse and do a fucking Tripak routine.

Hai scratched his head.

His wife began to sob.

FU-UCK!

What the fuck was his wife thinking?

Should he fight his fucking father?

Fight Gwen?

Fight Jun’s Hello-Kitty?

But Hai instinctively knew he had to do 'something'.

In a situation like this, the greatest danger of all was to do nothing.

“So…” Hai swept his gaze over those critically observing every hair on his head, groped the air for something to say, then sighed with exaggerated resignation.

“Look," he began. "It’s my wedding, fellers. Maybe ease off on the politics? Have some tea, there’s still the cake left. Can't we just all be friends?”

A curious silence descended among Hai's audience.

Hai breathed out.

Did it work? He wondered.

That was easier than he'd imagined.

“FUCK YOU!”

An F-bomb echoed across the desolate courtyard.

An empty bottle of Maotai flew toward Hai's general direction.

Gwen's father ducked.

Behind his head, the Enchantment-strengthened ceramic bottle bounced against a wall, fracturing the sandstone before rebounding from the granite floor and into the pond with a plop.

The 250ml rebuke had come from his daughter, who was reaching for another bottle even as she was being restrained by Petra.

* * *

For Gwen, watching her father putting on a self-satisfied smile finally broke something inside her.

One childhood marooned with Morye Song was one thing.

Two childhoods lost at sea with Morye-cum-Hai was more than a girl could grin and bear.

Feeling her chest ache, a curious revelation gripped her.

Gwen discovered that she wasn't mad at Qīn, at Secretary Liu, or even her grandfather. They were people with an agenda, with goals that were, in their own twisted way, admirable. Men and women like her Grandfather, they worked toward their single-minded objectives with an ego-centric amorality that, at the very least, implied devotion.

But her father.

Hai 'fucking' Song.

All he cared about was his own God damned happiness.

Her father couldn’t even meet the most basic metric she could imagine in a human being: to do no evil, to leave one's family out of one’s own cock-ups.

“HOW DARE YOU?! HOW CAN YOU LAUGH?”

The banshee-shriek that rang out across the courtyard was unconsciously enhanced by Illusion.

“YOU got us into this mess! We're only here because of YOU!"

"FUCK you and your careless bullshit!"

Her face had become a twisted mass of bubbling rage pouring forth from every oriface.

"YOU LEFT ME OUT TO DRY! AGAIN!"

"SOME FUCKERS TRIED TO HAVE A GO AT ME! AGAIN!"

"WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU, ASSHOLE?!”

Hai’s first instinct was to get the fuck out of the way, but Qīn’s presence tethered him to the emotional cluster-fuck wearing his daughter's face like a ball and chain.

“Gwen! Calm down! Woa… Bloo…Z" Hai stammerd. "HEY! CALM DOWN! You won, right? Everything worked out! What's the problem?”

"FU-"

Gwen's hazel eyes glowed bright blue.

A cascade of Dragon-fear leaked from her body.

Both Petra and Mina stood frozen in their tracks.

Sensing her imminent implosion, Jun rushed toward Mina and Petra as Gwen dragged her two cousins bodily across the floor in an act of superhuman strength; dead set on find another Maotai-projectile.

A surge of electricity arced from Gwen’s body.

“Arrgh!”

“Gwen…”

The two girls jumped back.

Petra, being a Mineral Mage, circumvented the accidental assault readily.

Mina proved less resilient. She swore under her breath and nursed her hand as she circulated a mote of positive energy, fighting off both the supernatural feeling of fear and the numbness paralysing half her body.

“Shit!” Gwen spluttered, forcing herself to cool her superheated jets. “Oh my God! DAMN IT! Sorry! This is on you, Dad! If Caliban was still around, I’d…”

Jun reached Gwen just in time.

He reached out and pressed Gwen to his chest, burying her face so that her cries became muffled.

“There, there…” her uncle comforted her awkwardly.

“Jun, you can't let this go, not this time. This...this fucker…”

“It’s okay, I get it… shush… shhh…."

Arcs of electricity fired from her hair, her body, her fingers.

Jun circulated a sliver of Ashen mana into his niece.

Within her Astral Body, he sensed the Dragonic Essence fighting back.

The girl's got a long journey ahead, Jun breathed out empathically, holding Gwen captive until her limbs ceased their struggling.

The front of Jun's shirt was soaked.

His niece's meticulous makeup was ruined, though she was sedated and calm and no longer reaching for bottles.

A chilling breeze swept the outer courtyard, rustling the willows.

The screaming, the shouting, the crash of bottles and the sob of human misery ceased.

Hai stood awkwardly to one side, facing his family, watching his daughter hugging his brother's waist in a daze. Slowly, unconsciously, he averted his gaze.

Not far from her husband, Qīn recovered from Gwen’s sudden hysteria, her right hand firmly rested against Liu's back, while her free hand dabbed the blood from her father's face. Her eyes persisted in begging her husband to do something, to somehow make this go away.

Liu remained kneeling, certain realisations swirling inside his head as his fevered mind cooled.

Guo stood beside his wife, his temple throbbing with agitation at his increasingly incomplete knowledge of their circumstances, one hand gripping the hand of his wife of over four decades.

Klavidya slumped against her husband's rigid body, overwhelmed by disappointment and an indescribable sense of shame.

Nen hugged Tao and Mina to her sides and thanked Mao's lucky red-stars that she had married the right man. Her kids likewise stood intimately beside their mother, feeling such sympathy for their cousin that Nen's wordless devotion felt sinful and undeserved.

Petra stood alone, thinking of thoughts others could not know.

Opposite Petra was Ayxin, who studied the humans to her left and right like an anthropologist having found the last tribe of the Anthropophagi, trying to document emotions and interactions she could only begin to guess at. How queer were these low-land creatures, how full of passion and vigour for their transient lives! As her eyes fell upon Jun holding his niece, she too felt pregnant with unbidden emotion. Ayxin relented the pressure of her will upon Secretary Liu, then looked toward the direction of the Mount, where her father may very well be watching. Was this it? Ayxin wondered. Is this what they call the human condition?

Not wishing to be vortexed into the business of their betters, the guards and servants remained very still, becoming invisible, becoming decor.

'Ding!'

A Message spell bloomed beside Jun's ear, breaking the spell of silence.

"As I was saying..." Jun turned to Secretary Liu. "...before I was interrupted, there's going to be someone from Central coming."

"C-Central?" Liu stammered.

His eyes watered.

Had the ploy gone too far?

All he wanted was for the Songs to join their faction!

Guo would go so far as to appeal to the Central Committee of the Chinese People's Communist Party?

Almost as if on cue, the air hummed.

Gwen had seen high-tier Teleportation once before - when Gunther had come to her rescue in Blackheath.

A flash of silvery Conjuration engendered in the air.

A silvery mandala laid itself over the floor, burning the pavement with its white-hot mana, ensuring that there were no obstructions for the traveller's arrival.

At its conclusion, a spatial tear opened as though someone had unseamed space and time with a scalpel.

The first to emerge was a handsome woman in a standard off-white military blouse, dark tie, pencil skirt and black heels, the badge and lapel on her collar and shoulders indicated she was from was from the Central Confidential Communications Bureau.

The next two were men in their thirties and forties respectively, each exuding palpable auras. One had the build of a close-combat Transmuter, the other the stocky form of an Earthen Abjurer. Both of the men carried with them a stock of Wands strapped to their thighs. The Transmuter furthermore had a four-foot sword strapped to his back.

The last man to step through the portal was an old gent with greying hair. He wore a cotton-mandarin jacket with knots for buttons, paired with pants and hand-stitched coarse-cotton shoes. As the man dusted himself off, he gave off the air of a farmer having arrived home after a long day at the fields.

His eyes were hidden behind two thin lines that hid his orbs, made prominent by a profusion of crow's feet.

"Guo, you old dog! How are you? It's been a year since I last saw you at the National Congress!"

Guo, Jun and Klavdiya were already bowing before the portal had fully formed. The younger members of the family followed suit, as did Secretary Liu and his daughter.

The guards fell to one knee.

The servants lowered their heads against the pavement.

Ayxin furrowed her brows.

"You?" She glanced at Jun before turning to the stout, smiling gent.

"Do you remember me?" the silver-haired gentlemen chuckled.

"Miao...Yang-Bò?" Ayxin recalled. Dragons possessed eidetic memory. "You're Secretary Miao."

"It's Secretary-General now."

To their surprise, Miao bowed, lowering his head respectfully.

Liu's complexion was now the colour of freshly laundered bedsheets.

"You look different, Lord Ayxin."

"As do you, Mr Miao. You look like an old man."

The man didn't look a day over fifty, Gwen observed from behind her uncle, in fact, he appeared younger than her grandfather.

"Haha, Lord Ayxin, you're as ruthless as ever." Miao chuckled, his sonorous voice pleasing to the ear. "I am eighty-two, can you believe it? Now, if you would excuse me a moment, we shall negotiate the terms of your unexpected visitation shortly. I assure you, Lord Ayxin, you will not be disappointed."

"Do as you wish."

Secretary-General Miao extended a hand.

Ayxin raised hers.

Miao clasped the Dragon-kin's appendage and shook it vigorously.

"Welcome to Hangzhou, Shanghai, Lord Ayxin. I am sure you will find Pudong to your liking!"

He then turned toward the humbled assembly.

"The Chinese Communist Party welcomes her eminence, Lord Ayxin of Huangshan, scion of the Yinglong, an ally to mankind and now our state-sanctioned VIP, the first of her kind in fifty years!"

'Clap! Clap! Clap!...'

Miao’s bodyguards broke into a standing ovation.

Guo clapped.

Liu clapped.

Jun clapped.

Swept up by the moment, Gwen clapped as well.

Every pair of hands in the room followed suit, including the guards and the NoM servants.

'Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!'

The calm had passed, now a tempestuous ovation filled the once quiet courtyard, signalling the swelling of the next act.

When enough of his faculty returned, Percy Song found himself in the outskirts of the Lake District encircling the Liu Estate.

Taking a moment to gather himself, he surveyed his surroundings.

He was in an old, abandoned place of worship, possibly Taoist, maybe Buddhist or Confucian, the decrepitude of the ancient pagoda made it impossible to know. There was a half-shattered statue of a headless figure lying on its side, but the visage of the Chinese Gods, with their long flowing robes, was indecipherable to a boy who had grown up in Sydney.

There were bundles of straw strewn here and there, as well as old newspaper, disposable cups and plates, and scrunched up bags of spoiled food that reeked. A dozen baijiu bottles, empty, lay to the side.

An acrid scent of urine furthermore informed him that the dilapidated temple wasn’t as abandoned as he had initially thought, though it was certainly devoid of human presence at the moment.

But none of that bothered Percy, at least not now.

Touching a hand to his Kirin Amulet, the Salt Acylote searched the spirit-well within the Kirin Core like a man noodling for catfish in the muck. Usually, it was dormant, mingling with the collated Essences within Core, providing him with vitality and raw Spirit Essence for his training.

Other times, it seemed to take on a will of its own.

When it happened, each and every time, Percy would be forced to flood the ritual with his Salt-tinged mana. He would ultimately succeed in subsuming the damned things' essence, but then he would be left OOM and vulnerable - a most undesirable set of circumstances, both for the present and the future.

It was the only way to make sure the Amulet was his, and his alone.

The temple was foul and filthy, but there was no helping it.

"Thunder Wave!"

A ripple of clear mana blasted away the grime and debris from the centre of the room.

He listened for the sound of commotion or alarm.

Good. He was alone.

Percy seated himself in front of the headless statue.

The Ritual of the Kirin's Blessing had four steps:

Meditation.

Harmonisation.

Circulation.

Absorption.

Percy crossed his legs, forming the lotus position, then took account of the last half an hour or so. Before he could begin the Circulation phase, his mind must be harmonised and untroubled.

His quandary, however, was that he had a full plate on his mind.

After all, his sister had summoned a Kirin.

Bloody Caliban was already a thrice-damned shapeshifting abomination, horrific enough to turn supporters away from his sister,  but now she possessed a demi-god Spirit?

At first, he was unfazed. He had immediately recognised it as Gwen's Familiar. Despite its pseudo-Kirin appearance, its gait and that ubiquitous ‘Eeee!’ was a sight he had seen many times prior.

But as the battle climaxed, Gwen had injected her Familiar with a dose of what could only be described as the single most rarified Essence he had ever felt. Ariel's appearance then changed from that of a Kirin-like creature to a semi-divine being.

Feeling a peevish ache in his bosom, a sense self-loathing caught Percy in its grasp.

Shouldn’t he be happy for his sister? A voice had whispered from somewhere within his chaotic mind. Logic inferred that his sister's boon was his gain; that her growing influence served as his pillar of support, that her mightiness would elevate his position as well.

But then he would be lying to himself, and Percy was too smart to fool himself with benumbing platitudes.

The truth was simple enough - he was resentful.

Ever since Australia, a slow-building, gut-wrenching envy had culminated into a deep-seated jealousy, an unshakable feeling that somehow, Gwen had usurped his destiny. Why wasn't it him up there with the Kirin Familiar, battling it out with a famous Magus? Why hadn't Uncle Jun offered to take HIM into Huangshan? After all, Percy had a Kirin Pendant; he would be the bigger beneficiary by far.

High above on the stage, Gwen and Wonsoo exchanged spells.

Her emerald lightning then filled the duelling arena.

Concurrently, his Kirin Pendant had gone ape-shit.

Percy couldn’t think of another word to describe the sensation.

It was as though a Mage Hand had gripped the Kirin Core, tugged it from the red string around his neck, then made a bee-line straight for his sister’s radiant presence.

Percy felt caught in the grasp of an unexplainable panic.

RUN!

An unbidden thought flooded his adolescent faculties; a shoal of white-water over a tidal flat. Turning away from the stage, he had fled, unseen and unnoticed, while all eyes were glued to the cataclysmic forces unleashed between the duelists.

He bolted past the guards, who paid him no heed, then vaulted over the walls with a well-timed 'Jump'.

By now, thanks to his grandfather’s gruelling training, Percy had gained steady mastery over simple, utilitarian Transmutation. When he hit the pavement outside, he buffed himself with Agility and Expeditious Retreat, then ran from the estate, pursued by the urgency of the burning pendant searing his flesh.

Upon reaching the edge of the West Lake, he dove into the thrush, hoping that the frigid pool could temper the scalding stone.

But there was no hiss nor sizzle when he broke through the murky surface.

The heat had been an illusion - or perhaps more mockingly - a delusion.

Percy thumbed the cold exterior of the Kirin Core.

For a split-second, he envisioned tearing it from his neck and hurling it into the dark water.

Percy's mind returned to the present.

When had it all gone pear-shaped?

Two years ago, he watched his clueless sister go off on her Awakening Day at Blackwattle, her mundane, government high school. She had returned home, distraught and confused, almost comically so, and told him that she was a Generalist.

A Generalist!

What the FUCK?! Was the first thought on Percy's mind. She had to be shitting him!

He recalled that his pity had struggled to overwhelm his amusement and that it took everything he had to keep his face straight. Their mother had always stated sagely that Gwen's only worth was her face, and now his sister had splendidly proven their mother's prediction. Having attended a Selective High School, even at the tender age of thirteen, Percy knew better than anyone what waited Gwen - a loveless marriage; the bearing of children who would be her hope; amiable in-laws if she was lucky; an apathetic and neglectful husband if she was not.

He had promised himself that when he became a Magus in the Sydney Tower, he would help her out.

A few weeks later, he heard the shocking news that there had been a ‘mistake’ and Gwen had awoken instead as a Lighting Evoker. The electrifying shift in her fortunes had caught Percy flatfooted, but he had felt happy for his sister, whose life could now take on a less tragic slant.

Then things began to happen around Gwen, seemingly without rhyme nor reason, escalating without end.

First Lightning, then Conjuration, then her Void talent, then her strange Familiar, Caliban.

Names Percy had only heard or seen on the Vid-casts began to circulate his sister’s life. Alesia De Botton, Henry Kilroy, Gunther Shultz, men and women in positions that an adolescent Percy could not even begin to describe filled the rare conversations he held with Hai and Helena. Even their Opa, the weird old Patriarch who had been estranged from the House of Huang since Percy could speak, became obsessively fond of Gwen, going so far as to leave her his share of the Estate, leaving Percy to eat dust.

That had been yet another shock to Percy, but one he could take in stride.

After all, there had been no expectation that their Opa would have left anything to his children, especially knowing the old man's vitriol toward his two ungrateful scions.

After that, the Mermen Leviathan crashed into Sydney Harbour.

His schooling at Prince's, his life in Sydney, his future, came to an abrupt end. Even his uncle, the arrogant Kwan, had lost everything to the city’s sacking, forcing his prodigious cousin, Richard, to seek his chances elsewhere.

As for Percy, he had become disoriented and numb by the destruction. For weeks on end, he had followed his mother and his stepfather without question.

Followed them like a zombie, not knowing what the future held.

But Lady Fortuna had other plans in store for him.

A grandfather he had never known existed suddenly made his presence known to Percy. Guo Song took Percy from the refugee hellhole that was Frontier Sydney and brought him to Shanghai, a tier 1 city.

Not only that, he had told Percy that he would be heir to the House of Song.

His sister was in Shanghai too, but strangely, the old man loathed his sister with a passion Percy couldn’t even begin to understand.

But no matter.

He was saved.

The orgiastic relief and joy that swelled from Percy's heart scoured every inch of his cankerous depression and doubt. Finally, he had found his place in the world; finally, he could fill the shoes of promised destiny.

After that, he barely heard Gwen’s subsequent grandstanding, though he recalled that she had upset his grandfather.

When Gwen passed over the Kirin Amulet, the very same one their father had given her on the day of her Awakening, he had felt such giddiness that his hand trembled. Percy recalled that he could scarcely breathe when Gwen slipped the amulet over his head.

The still-warm Kirin pendant then sat against his bosom.

And Percy knew all was right with the world.

His sister's eyes were misty, and the natural amber-emerald hue of her orbs had become clouded, but Percy couldn't worry about that now. He would make it up to her later, somehow, but this was HIS moment - the moment of his triumph.

After the short ceremony, Guo left for the study.

His grandmother departed as well.

Percy had sat alone under the ambient light of the dimly-lit hall, thumbing his new pendant, just as he was doing now, dreaming of the bright future that awaited him. Sometime later, he had heard a commotion from the west wing, from the training hall. There were shouts of encouragement, sounds of laughter and a few choked sobs. Driven by curiosity, he had peeked through the faux-windows separating the practical section of the estate from its living quarters.

Voices filled his sister's temporary abode.

There was Gwen.

As well as his father.

His grandmother.

Uncle Jun.

Petra.

Tao.

Mina.

Richard.

Laughing, cheering, belonging.

Standing alone, separated by the flimsy barrier in the dark, a caustic panic had gripped Percy's heart, just as it had done now. The amulet grew hot and heavy around his neck, more akin to an iron-wrought manacle than silken strings.

Should he have taken the Kirin Stone? A tinnitus of doubt thrummed in his ear. That was when he had first felt the presence in the Amulet. He had felt a pressure, a touch, a finger on the soft membrane of his brain.

"Thank you all!"

“Thank you for supporting me!”

The clarion voice of his sister rang through the courtyard, and Percy found himself fleeing toward his room, his lungs fighting for every desperate gasp of air.

What had happened after that? Percy pondered. His memory of the event was fuzzy and uncertain.

A few days later, Grandfather had laid out privacy wards in the training hall, sat him down, and told him the family history. There were some gobbledygook about Chinese spirits and an old Kirin, as well as blood curses that sounded as mystical as it was divorced from modern Spellcraft, but the point made by his grandfather was clear.

If he, a Salt Mage, wanted to carry on the family line, he would need the amulet.

If he wanted to ever catch up with his sister, he would need the amulet. Most importantly, if Percy ever wished to wield the power of Salt with impunity, he would need the amulet.

“Both your father and your uncle begin their training shortly after Awakening, but to my knowledge, only Jun managed to utilise the power of the Kirin Amulet fully. As for your father, I could only assume he did enough before he left, considering that you and Gwen are living proof of his mastery over the element.”

Percy had no idea, of course. His father had never mentioned his past, his family, nor his half of the amulet.

“I will now teach you how to cultivate using the Kirin Stone. Percy Song, I now bestow upon you the Kirin's Blessing and the Rite of Essence Transfer.”

The rest of the lecture had been both a threat and a warning.

The training had been difficult, fraught with pain both physical and mental. More than once Percy had regretted taking on the burden of the amulet and its Necromancy-tainted application. As the essence from the Kirin Core nourished his body, his training progressed in leaps and bounds, far quicker than replenishing his reserves with HDM crystals. Both his Astral and his physical body felt impervious to the negative drain from his Salt talent, meaning he was limited only by the extent of his willpower.

For the first time, Percy had become confident he could catch up to Gwen.

Slowly, the jade pendant lost its emerald exterior, turning translucent and white, like Salt. He took it as a sign that he had succeeded in converting the Kirin Core to his use. Later, Guo confirmed that indeed, the Core took on different hues when reacting with different users. Jun's half of the Kirin Core, unsurprisingly, was white, dull and ashen.

Shortly after that, he felt the presence again.

A schizophrenic existence.

Sometimes, it sought to reject him, even attack him during meditation.

Other times, it was inviting and hungry, drawing in more and more of his Salt-tinged mana.

That and the indescribable sensation of drowning in darkness whenever he entered deep meditation with the Amulet active. In these moments, he felt as though cast out to sea, alone and abandoned. He was a drowned sailor, sinking into the murk while painfully aware that something indescribably large waited for him below - a poetically apt phobia for a boy who had survived a Leviathan crashing into his city.

Then one day, unbidden and unexpected, in the midst of contending with his inner demons, Gwen came to visit him.

A few minutes into their conversation, the pendant had gone ‘ape-shit’.

He realised then that there was something inside the amulet which desperately wanted to join its former possessor. After shooing her away, he took a cold shower, returned to the training hall, then with masochistic glee, he had poured his desiccating mana into the damned thing, suppressing whatever ‘thing’ that stirred within the Kirin Core’s depth.

After that, Percy tightened his training regime.

There were additional incidents where the amulet rebuked him, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Furthermore, he had questioned his Uncle, who had disputed the existence of a ‘presence’ inside the Amulet.

"Gwen has been through a Warzone, so there's probably any number of Spirits in her stone," Jun had replied offhandedly, his lack of enthusiasm for Percy was poorly disguised on his face. "You should be so lucky to be the benefactor of her woe..."

Jun's reaction was enough. Percy had decided it was safest to keep the complication close to his chest. His Spellcraft training was coming along well, and that was all that mattered.

He felt for sure that he was progressing far better than his sister when she was just fifteen. Having received formal preparatory training since he was eleven, he knew the theory, the practical methodology, and his abilities far better than Gwen knew hers.

Not only that, his new school, Xiangming Metropolitan, provided Cognisance Chamber readings on a fortnightly basis.

Seeing his statistical data increase point by point, month by month, was the greatest satisfaction and the most ardent vindication of his resolution. Things at his new school likewise fell into a routine. He made new friends, mostly among the Guan-er-dai, power-progenies such as himself, as well as finding mixed company in well-to-do Clanners.

Midway through the semester, he met Pei Li. The two got talking, and Pei had asked him if Gwen Song from Fudan was related to ‘the Songs.’ Percy’s answer had remained evasive, and his new friend had accidentally found out about Gwen’s precarious position in the family. Later, another mutual friend told Percy that an Elder from Pei's Clan had been discharged and that the Huashang Lis had lost two of their promising young Mages in a confrontation involving Gwen. When he confronted Pei, the young man shrugged, stating that it was the work of renegades who were now excommunicated from the Clan’s inner circle.

Not wanting to rock the boat, Percy accepted the explanation, even though the thought of his sister chasing him down and demanding to know the truth haunted him.

But there was nothing he could do, so Percy delved headlong into training.

Then news came of his father’s new bride.

Percy had initially thought a new mother would have bothered him, but having met his new family, he rather liked the Lius and what they had built for themselves in Hangzhou. In Percy's eyes, the Lius' history was a good roadmap for his ambitions in China: to secure the position of House Song, to branch out via powerful allies, and to build himself a legacy.

He imagined himself the Master of an Estate like the Lius and rather fancied it. NoMs would quake as he passed; men and women would bow if they were subservient, or dip their chins if they were equals. People would refer to Percy as “Patriarch,” “Master,” “Sir,” and perhaps in time, “Secretary," and "Magister."

Then, of course, Gwen arrived.

As before, the Amulet had gone 'apeshit'.

This time, Gwen had suddenly reached for his Amulet, something she had never done before. The act rattled him to his core, for he knew with absolute certainty that had Gwen laid her hands on the pendant, she would have yanked it from his neck and forever laid claim to his heirloom.

So Percy panicked, again.

He vindictively accused her of having designs on his inheritance, driving his sister from the house.

Good riddance, Percy thanked the Gods for a grandfather like Guo. He had no idea why Guo disliked Gwen, just as he couldn't fathom why Jun had taken to Gwen so strongly.

After that, he retreated to the privacy of his guest room and circulated his mana into the amulet until it had ceased its damned rollicking and he was out of mana.

He had avoided his sister after that, until tonight.

Percy thumbed the Kirin Pendant again.

“Little shit,” Percy said to no one in particular. The insult had come from his sister. It was a spur of the moment thing, but it had stuck with Percy, grated on him, ate away at his innards.

A little shit…

Percy scoffed.

For some reason, the bland and uninspiring insult sat in his kidneys like a stone.

“FUCK YOU TOO!” he announced to the decapitated statue.

The stoic form of the half-shattered ornament informed him that his insult was not very effective.

“Hahaha…” Percy chuckled, hearing his mocking laughter reverberate around the sky well of the shattered atrium, returning the mockery back to its sender.

Percy shook his head.

He had to return to the wedding.

Win or lose; he had to be there, else Guo would be upset.

Percy relaxed.

The rumination felt good.

He felt much better now that his head wasn't cluttered with angst and repressed solicitudes. Nothing like an open-air F-bomb to clear your system.

Collecting himself, Percy rested the pendant between his hands, looking as though he was cradling a miniature Kirin, then began the Rite.

“Drain Life!”

The stowed essence within the Kirin Stone began to flow into his body, strengthening his vitality and fortifying his Astral Body. When the pendant wasn't acting up, the process was almost pleasurable, like being bathed in warm milk.

“ARRRRRGGH!”

A shriek echoed across the courtyard.

A vaguely female humanoid figure burst from the remnants of the broken statue, struck the floor, then began to writhe and twist, scratching and clawing at her throat.

It took Percy half a second to register what he was seeing.

"Shield!"

He tumbled backwards across the filthy floor and came up in a defensive stance, ready to run if his opponent was an ambusher or a Mage he couldn't overcome with his meagre tiers of Spellcraft.

With his Drain Life disrupted, the female figure rolled onto her belly, then onto her hand and knees.

His assailant raised her head.

Hiden behind a crow's nest of filthy, matted hair, a pair of dark eyes looked up at Percy.

A woman? No, a girl.

Percy felt his blood run cold.

She had seen him!

She had seen him exercise the Song's forbidden magic!

He raised a hand toward her face.

“Don’t kill me! Lord Mage! I am… I am a NoM! I just live here... I got scared when someone came... please...”

The voice was coarse, pitiful and weak.

Percy paused.

The woman, or girl, it was impossible to tell, was stick thin and covered in dirt, muck, and grime. Her wild hair was tangled in unpleasant knots, falling over her back and neck like a filthy rope. Whatever was in that statue had furthermore stuck to her rags and her exposed skin, making her more akin to a Night-Goblin than a human being.

Now that his shock had passed, Percy furthermore noted that the source of stench he had noticed earlier belonged not to the locale, but to the vagabond.

His gaze softened.

“No, it’s me who should be sorry,” he replied, breathing out gently. “Do you live here? In such a horrible state? Where are your parents?”

“I…”

The girl appeared caught off guard by the visage of an affable young man in a tuxedo, standing in the moonlight, speaking amiably to her.

“Can you stand?”

“Y-yeah…”

She made an effort to stand.

Percy waited until the girl was unbalanced.

“Salt Bolt!”

A fist of weighed salt launched itself toward the girls' head. It was his most expedient spell. Percy had practised the incantation until he was out of Mana, his lips bled, and his tongue was raw and parched.

“Shield!”

The girl did not appear to have had any formalised instruction beyond mandatory vocational training.

Her Water Shield was paper thin, barely a membrane of semi-opaque liquid.

His bolt cut through the girl’s Shield, scalping her shoulder.

"Arrrrrrgh!"

In a blind panic, she charged him.

Percy sidestepped, too well trained to fall for such a bullish assault. He tripped the girl, seized her skeletal wrists, twisted her arm, then sent her reeling toward the floor, where her profile connected with the brickwork.

The fluid motion had almost been subconscious, the result of Guo's merciless, repetitive training. As his grandfather said, 'If you need to think about how to defend, you've already lost.'

With the girl on the floor, he drove a knee into her back.

The girl screamed and coughed, struggling to breathe.

“Are you a spy?” he asked.

It was a stupid question.

He wasn’t that deluded.

Rogue Mages were not unheard of, especially in the Frontier.

The Chinese government conscripted children from the NoM masses every year by the tens of thousands, throwing them into training to create fodder for the insatiable revolving door of the District Militia. Those who survived and indeed, thrived, were then relocated to the Military. Those who proved to be little more talented than mana-batteries became spell-fodder for the Front. If so, knowing that one's demise was all but inevitable, desertion should come as a no surprise to anyone.

A Rogue Mage then.

It was no wonder then that the poor tramp was living by herself in an old, worn out temple.

“Oi, are you a Rogue Mage? A deserter? Answer me! What are you doing here?”

Now exposed under the bright light of the moon, he could see the girl more clearly.

He could see that she was bleeding. There was a shallow wound that was caught between the folds of her torn shirt. Furthermore, blood seeped from her nostrils and the corner of her lips where her face had struck the floor.

He knelt.

Not knowing why, Percy dabbed a digit into the girl's wound, touching the scarlet gauze, rubbing the hot, sticky glob of gory ejaculation between his fingers.

"Arrrgh! It hurts! Please! Let me go... I'll do anything... anything..."

The girl moaned.

Percy felt a rush of blood to the head.

Reflexively, he gripped the Kirin pendant with his off-hand.

It was an unconscious habit; for Percy, the stone had become something of a fetish. He found himself holding it whenever he felt anxious or unsure.

I should finish her.

He thought to himself.

She’s a Mage, and she saw me use Necromancy.

But she’s innocent, his rational half protested. It’s human decency to show mercy.

No! The girl's a deserter! She's going to die sooner or later anyway; the punishment for desertion was a televised execution.

Percy bemoaned his fortunes.

Just his luck to run into a deserter here of all places.

Who the fuck hides in a hollow statue?

He thumbed the Kirin pendant.

As the girl's blood smeared across its surface, a discolouration polluted the purity of the Kirin Core's lamb-fat complexion.

Unnoticed, Percy tucked the pendant beneath his shirt.

Percy took a deep breath.

He wondered how many people Gwen had killed.

Dozens, probably.

"If I let you go-"

'Creak...'

The sound of rusty gates opening from afar punctuated the tranquil air.

Shit! Percy's ears perked.

Did she have allies?

"LIFAN!!!" the silent girl suddenly began to scream with a vitality that utterly surprised Percy. "LIFAN! HELP ME! HE'S GOT ME! HE'S AN EVOKER!"

Percy placed a hand over the girl's head, then pressed her face into the pavement, silencing her with a resounding 'Crack!'

A spell came to his lips with unerring clarity.

“Drain Life!”

The girl’s face contorted with agony, her gurgling scream ceased as though a facet had been shut. What little vitality that had remained in the girl's battered body filtered into the Kirin Amulet, then circulated into Percy’s body.

Percy's hand came away with a fistful of greasy, rancid, human hair.

In the undulating ecstasy of the life-drain, he had pulled at the girl with more passion than he had intended.

He caught his breath as it ripped from his chest in rags.

The communion between himself and the Amulet was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was as though the Kirin Core had finally become one with his flesh, accepted him as its sole master.

With renewed vigour, Percy gripped the deserter girl by the back of the neck.

“Drain Life!”

But there was no more euphoria to be squeezed from the limp and flaccid carcass.

The vagabond was dead.

“FUCK!” Percy stepped back, feeling hungrier for his unexpected satiation. Like a man who'd just finished an astonishingly appetising entrè, he was now lusting for the main course.

Gods! He felt invigorated!

He felt invincible!

No, more than that.

Percy turned his mind inward.

Something had changed.

It was different this time. Different from when Percy had worked the ritual with only the pendant.

Unlike his once timid sister, he had been trained within an inch of his life since he had exhibited the promise of magic. He knew his body and his capabilities like the back of his hand.

Seeing that no intruders came to rescue the dead girl, he turned his mind inward, searching through his Sigils until he found the source of the disturbance.

“Shield!”

A Salt-Shield sprang into existence.

Percy retracted the Shield.

“Shield!”

A semi-dome Shield erected around his person, semi-transparent and glittering with blue-white crystals.

Abjuration.

It was an Abjuration Shield.

A wild fancy came to Percy.

A puzzle-piece had fallen into place.

An epiphany.

EUREKA!

“SO THAT’S HOW SHE DID IT!”

Gwen had six Schools of Magic.

SIX MOTHERFUCKING SCHOOLS!

And TWO Elements!

From none!

But they weren't hers.

She had stolen those Schools, just as he had done now.

Stripped them from her victims' Astral Souls; pilfered via means of illicit magic.

That selfish, immoral whore! She must have figured out a way to abuse the Song’s Necromantic legacy!

“HAHAHAHA! I KNEW IT!” Percy paced back and forth, shaking with uncontrollable glee. “Gwen! GWEN! Gwen! You knew the whole time, and yet you kept it all to yourself. You bitch! You selfish, conniving little bitch…”

Was this why men like Kilroy and Shultz were lining up at her door? Had they thought she was a one in a million genius? A Meister in the making? The fools! If only they knew!

Who else would know? Percy couldn't help but wonder.

Jun.

Uncle, fucking, Jun.

Percy saw the way Jun had looked at Gwen.

He had heard him say that he wanted a daughter on multiple occasions.

This was the reason why he had gone on the trip with Gwen! Her Kirin MUST have something to do with the cannibalistic powers of the amulet! Maybe it could consume Demi-human magic as well? Or Transmute their souls? Uncle Jun had his half of the Amulet and if he had lent it to Gwen-

And his grandfather as well.

What was it that the old man had said to Liu?

‘If a single one of your Clan's juniors can best Gwen, I will join the House of Song wholeheartedly to your Faction. Your grandchild, male or female, will become the inheritor of both our Houses.’

Guo had bet his - Percy Song's future - on his Sister! HIS SISTER!

A FUCKING GENERALIST!

THE BASTARD! That decrepit, senile old bastard!

HE WAS THE FUCKING HEIR!

NOT HIS SISTER!

To think he had trusted the old fart with his future.

“YOU ASSHOLES! ALL. OF. YOU! ARRRRRRGH!!”

“Shield!”

Instantaneously, his Shield sprung into place.

It was not a dream.

The Shield was real.

He had plucked Abjuration from the Rogue Mage! He was sure of it! For months, his Abjuration had lingered at a pitiful index of 0.45. From what he could gauge now, it was at least tier 1!

This proves it!

He always knew that Gwen had cheated, and how he had found her out.

Most importantly, now he could catch up to his Sister, fair and square.

If she could drain hapless Mages in Districts 109 to account for her lack of talent, then so could he!

If HE could attain her level of power- NO!

IF HE COULD SURPASS HER POWER, where would it take him?

To what heights could Percy Song ascend?

Magus Percy Song?

Magister Percy Song?

The greatest was behind!

“We’re alike now! Hahaha!”

Not knowing why, he kicked the girl’s body, sending her tumbling into the headless statue, shattering its terracotta exterior.

“Gwen! I am going to catch up to you! We’re going to be together. One way. Or another!”

'Crash!'

‘WHAT IN MAO'S NAME DID YOU DO TO LI-HUA!’

Percy curbed his manic passion.

A haggard looking woman stood by the doorway, a shattered bottle of alcohol rolling at her feet.

“What did you do?” she uttered in disbelief and shock.

Slowly her eyes adjusted, and the woman saw her companion’s goose-skinned, saggy corpse draped over the statue like a ragdoll.

Percy circulated a full contingent of Salt-tinged mana through his body, supercharging his physical attributes. His eyes became twin orbs of pure white, so alien as to be devoid of pity.

“Oh no…” the woman swallowed, stepping back, trapped between fleet-footed flight and bewildered intoxication.

Percy took a gander at the intruder’s paralytic panic.

Who’d have thought he could affirm his hypothesis so soon?

A sadistic, uncharacteristic cruelty touched his lips as though dredged from the darkest depth of his soul.

“Oh-no?”

Gwen’s little brother sniggered.

He was fully willing to sacrifice a little integrity to advance the human knowledge of Spellcraft, not to mention he was performing a social duty.

“OH~YES…”

By the second minute of the unceasing applause, Gwen's hands were beginning to hurt. The ovation had continued unabated as though they had concluded a concerto and the audience refused to leave without an encore.

Miao raised a hand.

The Inspector-General's impromptu humility caught Gwen by surprise. While a sudden cesura reigned, she kept clapping for half a second.

'Clap! Clap! Clap....'

It didn’t help that her envigorated approval was at a decibel hitherto unreachable by those without draconic-essence.

Horrified, she made herself smaller, hiding behind Jun.

Catching sight of her ashen complexion, the Secretary-General snorted with good humour.

Gwen's apprehension was voluntary.

Unlike when she had first arrived in Shanghai, she had studied up on the organisational structure of the CCP in the half-a-year since she had been at Fudan.

Secretary-General Miao Yang-Bò wasn’t someone whose name and title she could afford to lose to inconvenient amnesia.

Within her head, Gwen had painted a picture of the confusing separation of powers within the CCP. At the nerve-centre of the Chinese Communist Party was the General Office, an organ which held the Central Committee of Twelve. Attached to the General Committee was an independent oversight body - which was the Central Commission for Discipline and Inspection. The head of the CCDI and its Secretary-General was Miao Yang-Bò.

She knew of the man because, quite simply, Secretary General Miao was the boss of Jun’s boss.

The watcher who watched the watchers who watched the state.

How's that for a mouthful? Gwen thought. It would be funny if not for the fact that every word from the man's mouth could be enforced as an edict.

“Lord Ayxin, I hope you will forgive us for our neglect of your august presence. That Secretary Liu has insulted you was an unforgivable trespass.”

Boom. Gwen winced. There goes Liu's career as a statesman.

“I BEG FOR YOUR CLEMENCY! LORD AYXIN!”

Liu threw himself into another prostrating kowtow.

This time, it was of his own volition.

The CCP had long since banned the use of Imperialist gestures like the 'full body kowtow,' but Liu had mastered the form after only one attempt. The man was amazing in ways Gwen could never replicate; his skin was as thick as dragon-scales.

Qīn fell to her knees as well, bowing until her forehead touched the cold pavement, knowing that only humility could save their family from disgrace.

Hai stood awkwardly behind the two, unsure of whether to kneel or remain standing. After a moment of stiff-jointed hesitation, he implored Jun, his eyes swimming with unspoken desperation.

The corners of Ayxin’s lips twitched.

It was amazing how such a worm-like being could be the blood-relation of the male she desired. But then again, Ayxin recalled with reproof, wasn't she related to that scholarly coward, Ryxi? There's one in every family, it seemed.

Erasing Liu would please her, but she had a feeling that exercising the liberty afforded by her position and prestige would sour Jun’s opinion of her. But as a dragon, she also hungered for satisfaction.

Echoing Hai's dilemma, she allowed the matter to fall to Jun.

“Lord Ayxin, please have compassion for Hai’s father-in-law” Jun bowed, reminding his companion that they were at a wedding. More specifically, a wedding Ayxin had intruded upon uninvited and unwanted. "The man did not know of your august presence."

“I do not like that you are so distant,” Ayxin recoiled at Jun’s formality. “Speak normally.”

Jun awkwardly looked toward Secretary-General Miao for instruction.

The old man was watching the siblings and Jun's draconic-charge with great interest.

“Be at ease, Captain Song,” The Secretary-General chided Jun with a tone of great mirthfulness. “You will assume the role of our Ambassador while Lord Ayxin remains in Pudong. I am sure you're aware of how having an ancient land deity who has protected the yellow-earth for millennia as an ally would affect our borders. Maybe the Japanese will think twice about our South Sea territories then, eh?”

“My only interest here regards Jun,” Ayxin stated bluntly, furrowing her brows. “I do not have my father’s permission to engage in political barter.”

“Then let our city be your shelter and sanctuary,” Miao answered without skipping a beat. “You are welcome to stay for as long as our cities stand.”

“Sir, I have duties in the North…” Jun coughed, politely rejecting the General Secretary’s too-generous offer. Listening to the man’s increasingly grandiose diplomacy, he was getting goosebumps over parts of his body hitherto untouched by nervous premonition. “My next tour begins in February.”

“Lord Ayxin is free to go wherever she pleases.” Miao inclined his chin in a way that made him seem infinitely agreeable. “If it pleases her to tour the North, we will make that accommodation as well.”

“I see.” Jun stepped back. He was beginning to comprehend the scope of the CCDI’s vague intent. Whatever Jun desired was now out of the question. As a soldier, orders were absolute, be it trench-charging a troop of Corpse Gatherers, or the escort of a Draconic-Mage to the Front. "I shall perform my duty."

Hidden behind Jun, Gwen gritted her teeth, feeling a sincere desire to pinch her uncle.

“Perfect, Captain Song. You are a smart man and an even better soldier. Now, let us not stand on ceremony,” Miao stretched his arms behind his back. “I am an old man, Eighty-Two years old! Guo, is there a good place to sit down for some tea? Lord Ayxin and I have much to discuss.”

“Please allow me to offer my home!” Secretary Liu quavered from the floor. “Qin! Bring me my store of yearling Da Hong Pao!”

Qīn remained unmoving, but the implication was clear enough.

“Lord Ayxin?”

Ayxin dismissed the pitiful sight of Secretary Liu.

“You are forgiven,” she stated beside Jun. “Next time, know your place."

Qīn and her father remained on the floor, the very picture of humbleness.

Hai moved to retrieve his wife, but she battered his hands aside.

Caught by the awkwardness of her rebuke, Hai finally took a knee beside his spouse.

Klavidya turned away from the pitiful sight of her son, as did Guo, who was grinding his teeth with enough vehemence to require new molars.

"This way, Secretary-General.” Guo didn’t so much as glance at his first-born son as he led the way back to the west wing.

“Oh, one more thing.” Miao paused mid-stride.

The gathering collectively ceased their shuffling.

“The young Miss over there, I have some questions for you, but lacking the time, Xiao-Kú will act in my stead.”

The crowd parted to reveal Gwen, still wearing her skin suit, covered only by a towel.

Gwen pointed a trembling finger at herself.

She had been singled out like a drunken Sheila at a Friday night alcohol-stop.

A resounding series of 'Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!’ resonated through her mind. On the surface though, she kept her passions contained.

“Sir?” She dipped her head just low enough so that she was eye-level with the Secretary-General; her makeup was a mess, but Gwen figured her guise of juvenile vulnerability was to her advantage.

“It’s nothing serious, Miss Song.” Miao was already on his way out. “Kú, I'll debrief you later.”

"Sir!"

The woman in her early thirties known as Kú lowered her gaze until Guo, Klavdiya, and Miao were out of sight. Walking side by side with Miao was Ayxin, the state VIP, followed closely by Jun, who paced beside his father. Trailing the group beside Miao’s two bodyguards were Qīn and Hai, with her father lagging slightly behind. When they reached the end of the corridor, Hai and Qīn went their separate ways, evidently lacking the seniority to participate in whatever discussions that now took place.

With the senior party gone, all that remained in the spacious courtyard were troops of servants, Gwen, Kú, Mina, Tao, and Petra. The sibling's mother, Nen, accounted for her children, then quickly excused herself.

Kú turned toward Gwen with eyes the clarity and hardness of rock-quartz. Attired in a hip-hugging pencil skirt, the woman was the definition of corporate cool, though Gwen suspected her blouse & dark skirt combo was something akin to a departmental uniform.

“This way, Miss Song.”

The woman indicated to a pavilion beside the water.

Gwen pinged her Divination Sigil to no avail. Its silence wasn't a bad thing; it meant Kú wasn't going to knock her out and take her back to Central for vivisection.

Her cousins reached her side.

Petra especially, having seen such incidents in her previous line of work, raised a hand to Gwen's shoulder.

“I’ll be fine guys, the worst is over,” Gwen assured them, though she wasn’t so sure herself what Kú, and by extension Secretary General Miao, wanted from her. “Miss... er, Kú?… appears quite amiable, I guess.”

“It’s Kú Tēng, Senior-Assistant to Secretary Miao. I hold the rank of Assistant Chair within the Central Confidential Communications Bureau, Ist Division, Beijing branch. I assure you, your cousin will be safe with me. My business with Miss Song is conducted at the behest of the Secretary General’s office. All non-affiliated personnel should make themselves scarce, lest you are charged with espionage.”

Tao and Mina were the first to leave, being far more in awe of Kú than Petra, who was more accustomed to officious grandstanding from public officials.

“Gwen, be careful.” Petra lingered for the rest of their short walk, at the end of which Gwen urged Petra to go.

Walking into the pavilion, Kú materialised a wand that suspiciously looked like one of those butt-thermometers. It was, however, the width of two fingers.

“What’s that for?” Gwen stayed a step behind the woman, readying herself for a series of rapid Dimension Doors if the Assistant Chair’s next response was to ask her to lie down.

“Samples.”

“For?”

“Your Familiar.”

“Oh, thank God...” Gwen simpered with relief.

“Your Kirin, please.”

“It's a marten.”

"We'll see."

Kú waited impatiently by the table.

Gwen glanced at the instrument one more time, then once again brought forth her Familiar.

“Ariel!”

Ariel materialised mid-air.

In its passive form, Ariel's draconic qualities were far less pronounced. Without an empowering flow of Lightning-mana, her Familiar remained closer to its marten form. Two little stag-horns peeped out from its forehead, while its tail more closely resembled that of fan-tailed fish, forming a fluffy pad perfect for stress-relieving molestation.

“Eeee?”

Ariel swished through the air a few times, then landed on Gwen's head.

Ooo~, WARM! Gwen kept her face straight. Minx-scarfs aren't just for show!

“Hold it steady.”

“Ariel, be strong.” Gwen held her Familiar with both hands. “Look at me. Focus.”

“EEE?”

Kú passed the wand over Ariel.

She then punched the numbers into a data slate.

Gwen blinked.

“That thing’s not for sticking?”

“Sticking what?”

Ariel’s butthole? Gwen stopped herself from blurting out the obvious. Why are you aiming it at my Familiar’s ass if all you wanted to do is wave it like a metal detector?

“I am detecting a trace of Draconic Essence,” Kú prodded Ariel’s fur. "I need some samples."

“Okay,” Gwen scratched Ariel’s tail. “But Ariel dematerialises when I unsummon it.”

Kú handed her a pair of nail shears.

“One lock of hair and clippings from the front hooves and the back paws, if you please. As for your enquiry, Familiars with highly developed Ego - ergo - a Spirit, retains their existence in the Prime Material. The samples will degrade. That is the point. The degradation itself allows us to gouge its authenticity.”

“I see... Ariel, hand.”

It was a shame that Ariel’s front paws had become hooves, though they were cute in their own way, with a thick bushel of furry mane covering the pastern bones. The hoof-wall was a polished jet, more akin to obsidian than keratin. When Gwen took hold of its hoof, she noted that the frog was thickly fleshed, like an overlarge paw-pad of a dog or cat; immensely satisfying to squeeze.

'Clack!'

A chunk of the keratin parted.

“EEeee!!” Ariel retracted a hoof, pawing the air.

“It’s okay buddy, come on, one more!”

Reluctantly, Ariel settled back into her arms.

Cradling her Familiar like a baby, she retrieved one of its hind legs. Hidden under the snowy fur was a mightily fluffy paw with four meaty beans so pink and springy one could play with them for days.

Gwen dug her fingers into the luxurious tissue, tickled by the soft down.

“May I?” Kú's eyes followed Gwen's joyous, exalted digits. “Inspect your Familiar, that is.”

Hmm, Gwen felt her old instincts kick in. Maybe there was a play here. It was always good to bond with your clients before talking shop. Asking about their day, their holiday, their latest venture, that relative they had once mentioned, their new car, their dog and cats.

“Help yourself.”

“Thank you. Ariel?”

Ariel regarded the woman warily.

“Eeeee…”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Eee~!”

The Assistant-Chair retrieved the other foot, with Ariel now floating belly-up.

“Mao… Ariel is certainly a divine specimen.”

“Not divine enough to be a Kirin, I hope.”

“No… that much is evident. The physiology of a Kirin is far more complex.”

Ku gingerly lifted Ariel’s tail.

“EEEEE?!”

Ariel covered its butt with its swishing, flap-like appendage.

Rude! Its scowling face seemed to say.

Gwen couldn't help but notice Ariel now possessed 'expressions'.

“As you can see, your Familiar has no sex.”

Gwen made an 'O' with her lips.

“Through the Kirin is a chimeric creature, it nonetheless possesses universal underlying traits. Your Familiar is lacking dragon-scales, or ‘Fish-scales’ as we say.”

Kú then parted Ariel’s mane.

“Additionally, the mane should extend from under the keratin, but Ariel has an undercoat with a herringbone scale-pattern. Furthermore…”

Kú tapped on Ariel’s horns.

“Young Kirin sport ‘ròng’ or fuzzy horns. This creature possesses what looks like a warped stag-horn, even unempowered.”

“You're very observant,” Gwen marvelled at the woman’s expertise. Was she a cryptozoologist?

“Well, observant enough to see that it’s a low-tier Spirit. What did you feed it?”

“Assorted Cores? I was given some by Uncle Jun, and then we found one in Huangshan imbued with Draconic Essence.”

Kú paused in her molestation of Ariel’s paw before continuing.

Gwen looked up.

The two women met one another’s eyes.

Gwen averted her gaze, using Ariel's back paw as a distraction.

“Out of respect for Inspector Song, my colleague, I will give you an opportunity to be forthright with me,” Ku replied amiably. “You should know that I am a Bloodline Diviner. I am not very good at foretelling the future, but I can tell with fair accuracy whether someone is telling a lie.”

“EEE!!”

Gwen clipped into Ariel’s back-paw with more force than she had intended.

When she looked up, she caught a glimmer of Divination refracted from Kú's dark, amber eyes.

Her Familiar escaped the women's grasp, slithering away like greased lightning. It hovered just out of reach, swishing its tail, taunting the pair for their trespass.

“Is this an interrogation?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Then think of it as an interview. I would endeavour to make a good impression if I was in your position. With a rare talent, come dire complications.”

Gwen shifted her position so that she wasn’t so intimately seated beside the Diviner; it was bad enough that the woman could affect her with a touch spell. As for her response, it would seem cryptic answers and Divination were mutually symptomatic. Mayuree too suffered from the affliction of using half-truths as answers to common queries. Admittedly, Gwen wondered if she was still in the grasp of Mayuree's foretelling of weal and woe.

“Then I shall endeavour to do my best.”

“Good, who is the originator of your Summon Familiar?”

“Henry Kilroy, he was my mentor.”

Gwen had omitted the fact that Henry was also her saviour and her Master. She wasn’t sure how many people knew of her position as Kilroy’s No.3 apprentice, but the information was best kept covert until such time that Gunther could announce her presence to the world.

“I see. What is your Familiar’s original form.”

“A Marten. With mana, it transformed into a Mongoose.”

“May I see your second Familiar? The Void Beast?”

“I am afraid not.”

Kú's pen paused above her slate.

“Wonsoo sealed it,” Gwen added helpfully. “I can’t call for Caliban right now.”

“Back to our original question. What did you give your Marten?”

“Three Cores. An Eland Core I bought from an Auction. A Draconic-Carp Core, and a Draconic-Stag Core.”

“Retrieved from where?”

Gwen gave Ku a wane smile which said ‘nice try’.

“I see.” Ku tapped her slate. “Are you able to empower Ariel right now?”

“Yes.”

“Please do so.”

“Ariel!”

Up above, Ariel grew into its combat form, transforming into a magnificent pseudo-Kirin.

“How wonderful. I need Lumen-Pics from all angles if you please.”

Gwen coaxed Ariel to come closer, then paraded her Familiar like a show-dog at Crofts. She lifted its tail, struck out its chin, and lifted its paws for close-ups.

More samples were collected with Ariel in its combat form.

“You are a fortunate young woman.” Ku brushed a hand over her Familiar's back, startling motes of static electricity which leapt from Ariel's fur. Grimacing, the Diviner retreated her hand gingerly, shaking out the numbness. “There are stories of Familiars becoming Spirits, of course, but no replicable sample exists that we know of. Certainly, your Familiar's changes are tied to Kilroy's spell.”

“The State’s not going to want Ariel for invasive tests, is it?” Gwen inquired worriedly.

“No, Magister Wen of Fudan will take care of that. She has been given broad jurisdiction over the matter of reporting on your progress.”

Gwen’s heart sank.

Magister Wen wasn’t a malicious sort, but the woman was utterly amoral when it came to filling charts with numbers. Given the opportunity, the scholar would likely jump at the chance of dissecting Caliban or Ariel to figure out what made them tick.

“Jun mentioned Draconic-Essence.”

"Ah, of course.”

Still thinking of Petra'a Master, Gwen funnelled what little Essence she had collated in the meanwhile into Ariel.

Again, her Familiar took on the radiant form of the full-maned Kirin with the elongated fork-pronged horns and shimmering fur-scales.

“Beautiful.” Kú breathed in. "It almost feels like the real thing, especially its presence."

Ariel modelled for another round of Lumen-pics; before Ku was done, however, Gwen’s Familiar shrunk back to her marten form.

“What happened?” the Assistant Chair demanded.

“I am out of juice,” Gwen confessed. “It takes a long time to coalesce Draconic-essence.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” Kú noted the flaw down on her pad. "You're only human."

“So, what’s going to happen with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask." The woman packed away her implements.

“Well, I am asking now,” Gwen fired back.

“What do you think will happen to you?”

“Again with the rhetorical questions.” Gwen’s patience was wearing threadbare. If the woman wanted to play the fortune teller, she could do it on a day when Gwen wasn’t so damned tired. “Assistant-Chair Tēng. I know Gunther has a thing going on with you guys, and that I've got limited options, so why don't we be 'forthright' with one another?”

“That’s a bleak way of putting it.” Kú crossed her legs, though older, the woman rocked her pencil skirt; she reminded Gwen of a female CFO she had known from Westpac. “Let us be blunt then. The Secretary-General’s position is to ensure you do not become a point of tension between ourselves and the Mageocracy.”

Gwen nodded.

“Our only expectation is that you actively avoid putting yourself into a position which would flare those tensions. Territorial disputes; Political posturing; sabotaging Lord Ayxin's interest in your Uncle. Jun has informed you of the treaty we have with the Pudong Tower, yes?”

The snide insert about Ayxin hadn't escaped Gwen's notice.

“Wen’s research data?”

“Yes, so long as both sides have equal access, you are free to do as you please.”

“If I wish to leave the country?”

"Go ahead. Jun is a loyal member of the CCP and the PLA. Your grandfather and grandmother are both our countrymen, so is your father and now your brother. You're welcome to return to the fold at any time; so long as your interests abroad does not conflict with ours."

"Is that a threat?"

"Are you going to be a threat?"

Gwen sighed unhappily.

Kú leaned forward, studying the young woman's vivid irises as the saturation of Gwen's hazel orbs reflected her lifting emotions.

“Look...” Gwen took a deep breath. In Kú's eyes, the girl visibly squared her shoulders and arched her spine so that she sat upright and poised. “As you know, I came from Australia, an old British Penal Colony. I was a nobody - hell, in a place like the Oceania Frontier, I was meat. But as luck would have it, I awoke to rare talents I had no idea how to control, literally winning the bloodline lottery. During that very uncertain period of Spellcraft infancy, I was picked up like a stray cat by Magister Kilroy and his apprentices, Magus De Botton and Lord Shultz. They gave me a home in the Sydney Tower, taught me how to use my magic, and set me on the right path.”

Gwen waited to see if Kú would interrupt her, then continued.

“Until I had found allies like Magister Kilroy, my babulya, my friends in Sydney and my family here in Shanghai, I had no idea what I wanted, nor what I was going to do with my talents. Crystals? Sure, I could do with a mountain or two. Buy a big house, have a nice life, place by the Ocean, sans the Mermen; that sort of thing.”

“Sounds nice. A good aspiration.”

Ariel turned in Gwen's lap.

Positing her Familiar, Gwen offered Assistant-Chair Tēng Ariel's super-soft belly. Gingerly, Kú dug her fingers into the luxurious fur.

“And that would’ve been it. But Magister Kilroy told me that there are bigger things in this world than just sitting on your ass sipping a Tequila Sunrise, watching the surf at Bondi. A great man once said ‘With Great Power, comes Great Responsibility.’ My benefactor himself believed in Noblesse Oblige, the idea that Mages should take it upon their shoulders to elevate NoMs above their mediocre, poverty-stricken lives, or at the very least, show compassion and empathy for our fellow man.”

“The Great Leader stated as much in his Manifesto,” Ku added, squeezing Ariel's beans. “I am in full agreement. Go on.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it." Gwen wetted her lips quickly. "What Magister Kilroy gifted me was more than Spellcraft, more than his Signature Conjure Familiar. It was a goal that extended beyond myself. A goal that, with every tier of magic I master, I feel inching closer. As my power grows, so does the burden on my shoulders, and that’s why I strive always to surpass myself. For my immediate future, I want to represent Fudan in the IIUC. I’ll finish my degree here. I’ll graduate a Magus. After that, I want to help Gunther rebuild Sydney. If China wishes to be a part of that, you're welcome. If not, not my problem. THAT'S my honest opinion. I hope the Secretary-General is not going to think lesser of me.”

Kú played with Ariel's tail.

Got her! Gwen exalted internally.

“What about Magister Kilroy’s killer?” Kú asked casually.

Gwen stiffened.

Kú smirked.

“Well, given a chance…" Gwen licked her lips again. "I would like to see her returned to the Void."

“I will pass on the sentiment.” Kú nodded, her face revealing neither agreement or malice.

Gwen swallowed. Assistant Chair Tēng seemed amiable enough. It was time for a few questions of her own.

“May I inquire as to the Secretary’s desire?”

“Status quo.” Ku waved a hand over the samples, stowing them in her ring. “The country is in a good place at the moment. The past decade has seen minimal insurgency, and the Undead has been kept from the Xian-Beijing Front. It’s times like this that we need to build up our forces for the next big calamity.”

Gwen nodded, a little unnerved by Kú's choice of words.

'The next big calamity?'

Her grandfather had called her that when they first met.

Ayxin had stated likewise, as had the Yinglong.

“I understand,” Gwen answered. “I’ll keep out of trouble.”

Ariel coiled again, its serpentine marten's body offsetting the tension. Without speaking, the two women listened to the bone-thrumming purr of Gwen's Kirin-like marten as they worked over its head, feet and tail.

“Very well,” Kú replied eventually. “This concludes our meeting. I will inform the Secretary of my findings. Oh, and one more thing, young one.”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Don’t be so trusting, especially of those wearing a uniform.”

“Ma’am?”

Kú's chuckle broke into a laugh.

What was that all about? Gwen wondered.

“It was a pleasure speaking to you, Miss Song. I look forward to your progress.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I’ll not disappoint."

“I have every confidence you won’t.” Kú took one last gander at Ariel, then picked herself from the seat. “An official announcement regarding your pseudo-Kirin will be sent out to relevant stakeholders, though I would personally advise keeping a low profile. It would be a fortuitous day when half of those under our jurisdiction believed in official notices. Never underestimate what people are willing to do to get their hands on a piece of semi-divinity.”

"I'll be careful, Ma'am."

‘Ding!’

As though preplanned and divined in advance, a Message bloomed beside Kú's ear.

“Sir? Yes, I am done here as well. I understand... Very well.”

Kú turned toward Gwen amiably.

“Looks like we’re all wrapped up. Your family is seeing off the Secretary-General. Shall we?”

“Yes,” Gwen followed.

Back in the outer courtyard, the party had reconvened. From the looks of it, the group had already bespoken their farewells when Gwen and Kú approached.

"Xiao-Kú, allow me a good gander at our future Magus." The Secretary-General beckoned.

Gwen bowed deeply.

“I am flattered by your recognition, esteemed Sir,” she replied sheepishly.

“Don’t mind the formality.” Secretary-General Miao approached. Strangely, it was as though the man had no aura at all; she may as well be addressing a NoM.

Miao extended a hand.

An opportunity! Gwen contemplated the unexpected prospect. First impressions were important!

She had a split-second to react: years of ingrained professionalism took over. Gwen straightened her body, looked up with bright eyes, and gave Miao the most sugary smile she could muster under the circumstances.

The two shook.

Gwen had long since discovered the power of a submissive handshake, a poise uniquely exploitable by women, particularly attractive women. She lowered her shoulders, dipped her head, then took Miao’s hand with both hands. The ‘double-cusp’ it was called, delivered underhand, almost like a hug. Miao’s hand felt coarse and hard, rigid and skeletal; hers were soft, tender, and warm.

“Thank you for looking after our family, Secretary General Miao. It put me at ease knowing that Grandfather has a reliable superior and that Uncle Jun is working under your esteemed guidance.”

The Miao's mien took on a generous and expansive expression.

“A fair flatterer!” the old man marvelled, smiling so much that his face became a mass of weathered lines. “Guo! You have a wonderful granddaughter; I am jealous!”

“Please don’t mind her.” Guo awkwardly chuckled next to his superior. “Gwen, show Secretary Miao the proper respect.”

“Please forgive my insolence.” Gwen bowed again, this time with her hands on her knees and her long hair cascading from her white neck. Her makeup, she mindfully noted, was still in ruins.

“Nonsense!” The Secretary appeared pleased by her demure humility. Behind Miao, Kú fought back her mirth.

“Sir.” She coughed. “We need to go. You have to be back in Beijing at 23:15.”

“Of course.” Miao turned toward Ayxin, who stood with Jun. “Lord Ayxin, I hope Captain Song and yourself will usher forth a new era of cooperation between the PLA and the Lord of Huangshan. For now, please enjoy your stay in Pudong.”

Ayxin remained attired in her Hello Kitty shirt, cutting a curious figure beside Gwen.

“Thank you for the reception, Yang-Bò. I am sure Pudong will be a very interesting experience.”

It was the first time that Gwen and Ayxin had stood side to side; the apparent similarities had not escaped the Secretary General’s sharp eyes.

“Fair well.” The Secretary dipped his chin.

The gathering saluted, bowed and curtsied.

Meeting Gwen’s eyes, Kú began an incantation.

A silvery Conjuration mandala formed on the floor of the outer courtyard.

SHE WAS A CONJURER? Gwen baulked. Suddenly, the woman's advice made so much more sense. Kú had played her like a fiddle! Seeing her dismay, Kú Tēng, Assistant Chair to the Secretary-General, winked at Gwen, then moved aside as a portal connected Hangzhou and Beijing, where presumably a massive ISTC array fed power into the translocation spell.

In the next moment, the Secretary and his men were gone.

All that remained was the scent of burning silver in the air, sizzling away where the mandala’s reagents had eaten into the granite floor.

The gathered members of the wedding party breathed out a collective gasp of relief.

Magus Liu turned to Guo.

The man bowed deeply.

“Secretary Song, can you forgive a fool who was blinded by greed and ambition?”

Gwen’s grandfather sighed.

“We’re family now, Liu. Lets put this behind us, shall we?”

“I cannot possibly repay you for your generosity,” Liu’s voice choked.

The two old men held each other's hands and shook on the ceasefire agreement. It was a foregone conclusion, one that had been set the moment Miao arrived. The head of the CCDI wasn't going to allow his Chair of Confidential Communication to have a shit-fight with the man responsible for supplying Shanghai with grain. It would create chaos for his precious ‘status quo’, as Kú had so generously informed Gwen.

Gwen felt a wave of revulsion.

The two old crooks had been at each other's throat an hour ago!

Bloody politics!

“Gwen…”

It was Qīn who now turned to Gwen.

“I am sorry, for everything. My intentions weren’t pure. Can you please forgive me?”

A blast of heady perfumed washed over Gwen’s nostrils, Qīn was inches from her face. There was a musky scent of old sex as well, one that Gwen as an inexperienced teenager could not have known, but as a veteran, prickled her nostrils.

What the fuck? She glanced from Qīn to Hai, then back to the woman again. They had been gone an hour at most. To think that in a time like this, her father and step-mother still mustered enough libido to get it 'on' like they do on the Discovery Channel.

“Of course,” Gwen replied, stepping away. “As grandfather said, we’re family now. We’re on the same team. Right? Not to mention I love those shoes, hahaha.”

Qīn's face trembled with happiness, even though Gwen could feel the rigidity in her fingers. She was a woman being forced to put on a show, but Gwen couldn’t blame her stepmother. Qīn had her circumstances, such as being stuck with her asshole of a father, and that in itself would be torture enough. Why add insult to injury, especially as tomorrow, she would be back to Fudan.

“Well, I am glad that’s resolved,” Jun interjected. “I’ll be taking Lord Ayxin-”

“Jun~.”

“...Ayxin. Back to Pudong first thing in the morning. They’re readying her accommodations, as well as a Shielding Key capable of supporting a being of her seniority.”

Ayxin growled.

“Uncle, such poor choice of words,” Gwen intervened. She took the opportunity to separate from Qīn, not wanting to think about where the woman's fingers had last been. Walking beside Ayxin, Gwen offered the Dragon-kin her off hand. Reflexively and a little perplexed, Ayxin took it. The two then shook in full view of the audience, two near-identical figures standing side by side.

“Ayxin, I hope you enjoy Shanghai as much as I did. There’s lots of cuisine to eat, tons of interesting places to visit, clothes to buy, shoes to try. Let me tell ya, sweetheart, the number of outfits you could buy could fill up that cavern of yours up in Huangshan and then some. That Hello Kitty shirt? That’s just the beginning. I am sure Uncle Jun's company Currency-Card has no limit, right?”

“I suppose.” Jun shrugged helplessly, feeling a terrible premonition, both for himself and the Operations Budgetary Office.

“That sounds wonderful.” Ayxin tugged at her shirt, then looked toward Jun.

“Yes, Ayxin.” Gwen smacked her lips. She had seen how Ayxin looked at her clothes on the Mount. The dragon-lady was strong, but not even a dragon-kin could escape the curse of vapid consumerism. “In the mortal world, we call it Retail Therapy. Endless shopping, unlimited budget, with Uncle Jun by your side, holding your bags. Every other woman, staring at you with nail-biting envy! You, my girl, are going to have a blast!”

"Gwen-" Jun warned his niece.

“I think I will.” Ayxin beamed, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, I would like that.”

Jun groaned inwardly.

Shopping? Endless shopping?

He would rather face an endless Undead hoard.

Beside her uncle, Gwen beamed - an innocent flower with a serpent's tongue.

Jun felt an outbreak of cold sweat soaking his dress shirt.

Was this Gwen’s revenge for his indiscretion with Ayxin?

The girl's pettiness could rival a Dragon's!

Percy wondered if anything in the world could hurt more than walking with a gash in his gut. But the wound couldn't be helped. It was the first time he had fought anyone to the death.

His instructors were right.

When the shit came down; one should never underestimate an inferior enemy. That his opponent would struggle until her final, dying breath was a concept Percy understood intellectually but had never encountered in real life, much less vis-a-vis via a live spell exchange.

The second assailant had been a Transmuter, though unlike the Abjurer, she had reached at least tier 2. Drunk on the acquisition of his new School of Magic, Percy had attempted to tank a Rock Shard, a sort of home-brew Barrage, only to have the obsidian spike pierce his Salt Shield, then slam into his abdomen.

In the first split-second, he had thought his injury manageable with a little grit, his brain still in shock and denial. Then the pain hit, and Percy reeled, coiled over like a cooked prawn, gasping for breath as a white-hot wave of agony washed over his shell-shocked brain.

‘FUCK!’ he’d howled internally, forcing his eyes to open. So much for the power up. So much for discovering the greatest secret of the Song’s lineage. He was going to get murdered by a hobo in a temple, and it would take them days to find his desecrated corpse. He bet Gwen never got wounded by hobos, not even that time she supposedly Quested in the Blackheath slums.

At any rate, by the time his brain moved past denial, the anguish was unreal.

As the deserter-woman closed in, Percy's life flashed through his feverish brain. He thought about Gwen, his mother, Helena, his father, Hai, his babulya, and even his Grandfather, but most of all, he thought about his aborted future: his titles, his House, his position in the PLA.

“Stone Spike!”

“Jump!”

Percy wasn’t too sure how he’d survived the fight, but he figured that it must have been the ingrained training from Guo kicking in. He vaguely recalled that he maneuvered away from the blast of spindly stone, then fired off two Salt Shards in quick succession while in mid-air, a feat he’d hitherto never accomplished, taking the astonished woman in the gut.

As she fell, choking on her own blood, leaking excreta, he had rushed toward her, bowled the vagabond over, caught her by the throat, then activated another ‘Drain Life’.

‘Holy crap I am good,’ he remembered thinking.

Was it the adrenaline?

Enchanters had a spell called Heroism that could temporarily lessen pain and increase physical and mental alacrity. Transmuters had a spell called Unyielding Body which performed a similar function. For Percy, the feeling was akin to a training-trance when one pushed past the pain and entered a kind of nirvana-like state, awakening only when the timer blared.

Usually, it took him almost fifteen minutes of concentration to activate the Blessing of the Kirin, but just now, he had used the elaborate Necromantic ritual as though it were a Salt Blast or a Chain of Salt.

By the time his second victim became desiccated, Percy had restored enough vitality to regain a clarity of mind, though his wound oozed, it was no longer dire.

Searching through his Storage Ring, Percy produced a Healing Potion.

“Tssss~!”

While the potion staunched his bleeding, an unbidden insight blossomed within the chaotic recess of Percy’s stimuli-addled Astral Soul, bringing with it an acute awareness of just how far up shit creek he had inadvertently paddled.

'You fucked up,' Percy's brain declared mercilessly.

Without a doubt, he had just violated some major-tier manifesto regarding both the preservation of the House of Song’s secret and the non-proliferation of Necromancy.

What would happen when someone inevitably found out?

Would he be sent to that infamous prison near Hongqiao, the Tianlanqiao?

How could the future heir of the House of Song, one who sought to resurrect the House's bygone glory, be the very one to bring its demise?

Percy’s temples throbbed.

He was most definitely up shit creek.

And HOLY FUCK he just lost the paddle.

Panic germinated from the pit of the boy's stomach, twisting and turning, gripping his heart with skeletal fingers, pinching his arteries and wringing his chest with sadistic intensity.

What should he do?

Who could help him now?

Gwen?

His sister's face was first and foremost on his mind.

When Hai was out playing with women, Gwen had made him breakfast. When Helena was too upset to show up for their weekly dinner, Gwen had taken him down to the local RSL for phó. When it was New Years, and neither of their parents were around, Gwen had taken him to see the fireworks at Darling Harbour; she even bought him a Big Mac with her part-time money.

She had always given him her things, while he had gotten used to taking them.

And now, Gwen had given up their father’s amulet.

A new agony seized Percy’s breath; it was like that proverbial trope where an angel and a devil duked it out within one's conscience; only within Percy's head, there were two devils - Guilt and Envy, jostling for dominance.

Out of habit, he thumbed his amulet.

The smooth texture of the stone, its all-too-familiar design, comforted him.

Going to Hai was a joke.

Going to Jun was an unknown.

Going to Guo? It was social and filial suicide.

Going to Gwen for help?

Percy was surprised that he found the prospect plausible.

What was the alternative?

Bury the bodies?

Never use his newfound power again?

A spark of hope flickered within the darkness of his despair.

No.

Gwen was living proof it could work.

His sister had kept the family secret and thrived, hadn't she?

There was no reason why the Songs couldn’t accommodate another. He was sure that Uncle Jun, or at least his Grandfather, would be more than happy to provide him with the means to become the most potent heir the House of Song had ever seen, elevating House Song beyond its mundane strata.

As for his sister, his beef with her was irrelevant.

It was a problem of his immaturity and his insecurity.

An issue of her overwhelming excellence.

But those barriers were no longer applicable.

He was just like his sister now.

They could fight together.

Adventure together.

Be together.

The ‘Dynamic Duo!’ the Mage-world would call them.

“Haha!”

Percy sniggered, his choking chortle sounding strange and hollow. He tried recalling where he’d heard the idiomatic phrase, except the laughter brought a new wave of agony.

“Ergh…”

Percy popped another healing potion, but the Positive Energy diminished by his Salt-corrupted constitution. Despite his self-medication, the wound continued to weep.

With nought but pure grit, he 'cleaned up' the scene, then limping and staggering, Percy wandered back to the manor.

As a guest residing in the West Wing, he possessed a Warding Glyph which allowed him passage through the siheyuan’s perimeter. Seeking discretion, Percy entered from the south side’s servant’s quarter via a Jump, then ducked between the artistically landscaped faux-ponds and granite mountains.

With his sister's guestroom in sight, he stopped to catch his breath.

His abdomen was now smarting something fierce, while his brain remained conflicted about his decision to trust Gwen.

“Ooo~, so good…”

Gwen's voice came through the window.

“Oh~ yeah, that IS nice…”

Petra’s soft moaning followed.

“Squeeze this part…”

"Oooh!”

Percy hesitated.

Was now the best time to break the news?

* * *

“Where do you suppose Percy’s gone?” Gwen asked Petra.

After the fiasco, the girls had retired to their guest quarters in the south wing.

Most of the wedding guests were gone, though a few stragglers elected to remain overnight. Taking advantage of the vacancy, Petra had moved in adjacent to her cousin, desiring to catch up on recent events. As for Mina and Tao, their mother had preferred Teleportation, seeing as crystals weren’t a concern for the Wangs, and that the woman had no desire to stay in the Liu’s estate for a single minute longer than necessary. After a brief goodbye, the siblings promised to organise a catch up once they were back in Shanghai, bidding Gwen and Petra farewell.

“I have no idea.” Petra’s husky-blue eyes flashed with displeasure. “From what you’ve told me of his deeds, I fail to comprehend why you’re so hung up on the little twat.”

“Well, he’s my brother, for one,” Gwen stated as though she had delivered an exhaustive response on the matter.

“I'd be careful. Percy's belly might be full, but his eyes are always hungry.” Petra jeered. “You won’t see me inviting him on July the 8th, there's no family and certainly no faith in the boy.”

“That's a little harsh?” Gwen nudged her cousin jovially, causing her to almost slip from the single bed. “He’s just a whiny kid who wants his piece of the world. It’s a perfectly normal response for someone undergoing his developmental stage. He thinks he's a Judge, but he's just a kid with a wispy wig, haha- ouch!”

Gwen bumped her head.

Petra half-sighed, half-groaned, rolling her neck to work out a kink. The post-framed single bed was somewhat cramped, barely boxing in two six-foot women and a four-foot pseudo-Kirin.

But the girls didn't mind. It was cosy, not to mention they were playing with Gwen's Familiar. Ariel’s meaty feet-pads had become divine objects of orgiastic tactile worship, pink-fetishes capable of setting off oxytocin in the most stout-hearted cynic.

With conversation at a standstill, the duo focused on molesting Ariel, digging their long white fingers through the soft rush of its undercoat, manipulating its body this way and that.

"Eeee... eEE... Eee." Ariel wiggled.

“Ooo… Ariel's new fur feels so good, such softness."

“Oh~ yeah, that IS nice…” Petra squeezed the frog of Ariel's hoof, splaying the fur. They were two perfect stress-pads, warm and springy, with just the right amount of tension.

“Squeeze this part…”

"EN-HUGNN..."

The moan was a little TOO masculine to belong to Petra.

‘Knock! Knock! Knock!’ Came the sound, thrice at the door.

The girls ceased their lallygagging.

“A visitor?” Gwen turned to Petra, her face full of bemusement. “At this time of night, tapping at my chamber door?”

"Who could it be?"

“Better not be a bloody Raven.” Gwen turned to command her Familiar.

"Don't you mean a Jackdaw?" Petra asked, recalling a famous poem.

“Ariel, can you check it out? If it starts rhyming, eat it.”

“EE!”

Ariel floated from her arms, drifting toward the door.

The sight of Gwen's flying pseudo-Kirin still filled Petra with wonder. Lacking wings, whatever Ariel was using to fly was supernatural, an ability tied to the Elemental Plane of Air.

“EEeee?!” Ariel be-screeched the door.

The silence outside remained unbroken; the stillness of the air gave no token.

“!”

Gwen felt a curious tingle in her bosom.

Gauging the intensity, she determined that whatever was outside wasn't dangerous. Taking Mayuree’s advise, she had elected to ignore minor 'tingles', as ‘avoiding every mishap,’ would make her abnormally 'interesting' life impossible. Back in Fudan, every Mage frightened by Caliban could tickle her spine.

Sensing no physical danger, Gwen opened the door.

“Hey, Sis,” a young man's voice called out to her.

Gwen spun on her heels.

There was Percy, her brother, the very devil they were ragging on just a second ago, laying half-slumped on the floor.

“PERCY! What are you doing here!”

Gwen knelt, placing a hand on Percy’s shoulders as to help him sit.

“Shhhh~.” Percy groaned. “Sorry Sis, I fucked up.”

“W-what did you do?” Gwen quickly inspected her little brother. Following the blood trail, she spotted the wound near his abdomen. “SHIT! You're bleeding! Oh my God! PETRA!”

“On it!” Petra put a hand to her Message Device.

“No!” Percy raised a trembling hand. “Please, no Grandfather. No commotion.”

Gwen halted Petra’s Message.

“Percy, what the hell happened to you?”

“I swam up shit-creek, Sis. I am sorry.” Percy’s face was as white as a sheet. “Have you got… a Healing spell? My injectors' are on cool-down.”

“I got better,” Petra tsked. “Here, stay still.”

She produced a Spell-Cube.

“Cure Moderate Wounds!”

“Ooo! That prickles!” Percy rolled to one side, gasping for breath. Visibly, his flesh mended, the nerve endings flaring as though ten thousand ants ate away at Percy's injury.

By now, the commotion had attracted NoM servants.

Gwen shooed them away, then gingerly pulled Percy into her guest room, hoping that none of the other guests had decided to have a sticky-beak at 2 AM in the morning.

“God you're strong,” Percy marvelled at the ease by which his sister picked him up with both arms then placed him upon her bed. He was almost six-feet by now, athletically muscled, weighing in at nearly seventy-odd kilograms.

“Shut up, fat ass,” Gwen chided her brother. "Don't move! You'll agitate the wound."

The girls laid Percy on the bed, then settled by his side.

“What happened?”

Percy caught his breath as the healing spell finished its run.

“Sis…” the boy looked more vulnerable than she had ever seen him; his visage was so pale and loitering that Gwen’s heart melted.

“I killed someone.”

“…”

“…”

It took several seconds for the news to register.

“Like, a person?” Gwen inquired, wondering if her ears were deceiving her.

“You heard him right.” Petra finally breathed out. “How did you receive that wound, Percy?”

“I am sorry,” Percy repeated the phrase like a mantra, his eyes hunted by dark thoughts.

Could the boy be suffering from post-traumatic stress? Gwen wondered, playing the armchair psychologist. She had read about the infamous disorder in the Goodweekend Magazine when they interviewed ASDF soldiers returning from Iraq.

“It’s okay, we’ll deal with it,” Gwen assured her brother. The important thing, the article had said, was helping the victims understand why the trauma happened, and that they could control their unbidden episodes. “Just tell us what happened.”

Percy took a deep breath.

Gwen's gentle demeanour as she knelt beside him was exceptionally compelling.

The boy's words came slowly, reluctantly.

“When I saw your Kirin…”

“Eeh?” Ariel flittered around Percy, then patted his head. "Eee!"

“… I felt this... insane jealousy,” Percy muttered, his face a mask of shame and misery. “The idea that you found a Spirit of all things ate me up. It was the last straw, and I guess something snapped inside my head and I sort of just… ran like an idiot.”

Poor sod, Gwen patted Percy's hand, mimicking Ariel.

The green-eyed monster had almost claimed another victim.

Jealousy was like that; it could turn virtue to pitch, brother against sister.

“I didn't mean it, Percy …” Gwen moped.

“Percy, get to the point.” Petra felt a natural dislike for Percy's simpering. The boy was usually such an arrogant little 'young master' that his sudden demureness rubbed her the wrong way. She had seen plenty of whelps who thought themselves too good for the world in Moscow, but she had never seen a single one of them overcome with remorse because they took a human life. In their world, it was undeniable that life was cheap. NoMs died by the tens of thousands from starvation, predation, and human causes, what's another corpse if it was no one important?

Of all their relatives, Petra disliked Percy the most. Tao was annoying, but the young man was usually well-meaning; Mina was vapid, but she had a good heart; Richard? She liked Richard - as for Percy, Petra possessed an earnest desire to punch his teeth out.

“Out with it! What happened?”

“Pats! He’s in a fragile state of mind!” Gwen growled like a young leopardess defending its young. “Percy, you can tell us anything. Pats is worried, just like I am.”

“O-Okay…” Gwen's brother swallowed. Percy steadied himself, then began to tell his tale.

“So… like an idiot, I ran from the Estate. I was upset and super pissed. I wanted to blow off some steam by going to West Lake and fire off a few Salt Bolts into the water.”

“Go on.”

“I felt better, so I wandered around. Eventually, I got to this abandoned temple complex. At first, I thought it was empty, so I did some angry yelling…”

“Oh, Percy…” Gwen placed a hand on his thigh. “Understandable, keep going.”

Petra scoffed.

Gwen shot her cousin a look that said ‘come on, Cuz, cut me some slack.’

“...After a while, I got tired. It was stupid because I knew I had overtaxed myself. That means I had to use this-”

Percy took out the pendant.

“WOAAAA…” Gwen stood between Petra and Percy. “Percy, we’re with… good company. Maybe you should speak to Grandfather or Father about this. Also, I might not be the best person to consult about 'the pendant'.”

“Someone saw me.”

"WHAT!" Gwen almost leapt from the side of the bed. “SOMEONE SAW YOU?!”

“They were ROGUE MAGES! DESERTERS!” Percy petulantly protested. “They attacked me first! I defended myself!”

"Bloody hell, Percy..."

“I think they were living there,” Percy blubbered. “They wouldn’t let me go because I would have reported them. I couldn’t bluff them either, because I was wearing this…”

Indeed, Percy was wearing a very expensive looking tuxedo.

“So you killed them?” Petra asked in Gwen’s stead.

“Yes!” Percy groaned.

"Just like that?" Petra interjected. "Also, you said they. Earlier, you said 'one'. What's happening, Percy?"

"Pats, Percy's confused. We've both been through this. We know how bad it can get in the heat of the moment. Give the boy a chance to explain."

“Numbers and specs, Percy.”

“An… Abjurer.” Percy breathed out. “As for the other one, I think a Transmuter.”

“Sanctioned?”

Percy shook his head.

“Tier 1 or 2? Were they Chinese?”

“Yes, they were Chinese; they were barely tier 2.”

“How did they get through your Salt Shield?”

“I panicked. I tried to take out the Abjurer first, and couldn’t keep my Shield up.”

The girls looked at each other.

"How did some vagabond Mages wound you?" Petra frowned. Usually, deserters fled when confronted. What made them want to stay and fight a properly trained Mage?

“It’s the first time… I had to fight someone seriously,” Percy confessed. “I still can't believe I killed them. They were just two women.”

“A woman?” Gwen raised her head. “TWO? You killed TWO women?”

“Vot der'mo!” Petra swore.

For Gwen, the reality of Percy’s confession struck her like a bolt to the brain.

Her brother, a killer?

He was just a boy.

What a fucked up world.

Then again, were her hands so clean? There were accidents, such as those poor sods at Blackheath and that poor pig-tail woman in Hengsha. Then there were those she had willingly murdered, like Faceless, Nephres, and then Choi.

She felt as though she had to do something. What had she desired after the deed? After stepping back, her feet inch-deep in blood and her hands scarlet with coagulated gore? What could she give Percy that no one had given her?

Compassion, perhaps.

Empathy.

Someone who didn't think killing was no big deal.

Someone who understood.

“Oh, you poor thing.” She enveloped her brother with both arms. “It’s okay Percy. We'll get through this.”

Surprised by her unconditional affection, Percy dug his face against her collarbone, breathing heavily, as though taking in a part of her.

“Thanks for understanding, Sis, but I’ve got bigger problems.”

“Bigger… problems?”

“I used… 'you know what' on one of those Deserters.”

‘The... erm... Amulet?’ Gwen took a moment before she digested the full extent of Percy’s doubly horrid confession.

“Yeah, the Kirin Stone…”

“Holy shit, Percy…” Gwen looked over at Petra.

“Should I leave?” Petra inherently understood that this was ‘one of those times’.

“I am sorry, Petra,” Gwen apologised guiltily. “This isn't something I have jurisdiction on.”

“It’s fine.” Petra picked up her jacket. “I’ll be in my room.”

Gwen wanted to apologise, but her cousin was far too a consummate professional to linger. Families had their secrets. Petra knew the Songs' had theirs. If she was to know, Gwen would tell it. No mere secret could drive a wedge between them.

“Gwen.” Percy waited until Petra audibly entered her room. “I life-drained one of them.”

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” Gwen hissed, thinking of uncle Jun, thinking of babulya and the family. If anyone should find out, it would be the end of the Songs. "How is it even possible? The spell is incomplete! It's not supposed to be Nec- the N word. Its just a part of the ritual, right?"

“I got scared… I was low on vitality. They caught me in the middle of the ritual. I was almost OOM, and it just… happened.”

Her brother groaned; a wail of abject misery tinged with desperation.

“Fuck’n oath Percy.” She leaned back, but soon changed her mind. Instead, Gwen wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Gods, we’re a fucked up duo, you and I.”

“Not only that,” Percy continued, his voice barely a whisper. “I think I stole her Abjuration talent.”

Gwen's arm turned rigid.

Talent Consumption?

Percy wasn't a Void Mage, so how was such a thing possible?

Shivering, she thought of Edgar. The young man could use his Dust Devil to drain the vitality from its victims. He had done it to Debora, or was it Faceless? She knew for sure he had done it to her. But it wasn't as though anyone knew how Caliban's Consume worked, it was just an observable phenomenon.

“Its true,” Percy muttered guiltily. “Look.”

Her brother got off the bed and stood in the centre of the unfurnished room.

“Shield!”

A semi-dome consisting of a thin layer of Salt spontaneously appeared.

Gwen recognised the tell-tale signs of Abjuration.

It was nothing impressive. Almost every Mage at Fudan could manifest a split-second Shield, but Percy had just begun his training. Abjuration was one of his secondary schools, one that required time and dedication.

“I could barely reflex-cast my Shield before, and the lag was usually half a second,” Percy explained. “But now… you know.”

Gwen did know. She had walked the same well-worn path. Gwen's recollection brought memories of the aftermath of Blackheath. Though her knowledge of Spellcraft had been dog shit and she had a terrible understanding of theory, she could sudden Shield herself like a bona fide Abjurer, going as far as to undertake Gunther's Signature non-Newtonian Shield.

“Tell me again what happened.” Gwen attempted to retrace Percy's steps.

Percy explained as before: he was almost OOM when the two attacked him. He tried taking down the Abjurer, but the Transmuter got him. In desperation, Percy ended up breaking through the Abjurer’s Shield, used Drain Life while wounded, then used his replenished vitality to overpower the second attacker. Unfortunately, his vitality and his mana weren't holding up, so he ended up using the AOE effect of Drain Life to nail the Transmuter.

“Where are the bodies?” Gwen loathed the prospect of having to go and clean up Percy's mess.

“In here.” Percy flashed a Medium Storage Ring.

“I am sorry? You mean-”

“They just fit,” Percy explained nervously. “They were both very short and very… skinny.”

Gwen stared at Percy's ring finger in horror.

“Percy… God! Eurgh... why?”

“I just-”

"Just... think of a way to dispose of it."

“What should I do?” Percy choked. “I got scared. I wanted to go to the authorities, hand myself in, I believe I am justified in defending myself. But if they find the Necroma-”

“SHUSH! SHHHH!” Gwen cupped his lips. “Don't speak the N-word.”

Her brother nodded obediently.

Gwen wracked her brain for a logical outcome.

Her brother had killed in self-defence.

His victims were vagabonds and deserters, according to Percy.

Usually, that meant they had to file a report.

With Percy’s connection and the Lius now under their thumb, her Grandfather could easily prove his innocence.

BUT - what if the coroner detected Necromancy on the corpses?

How the fuck were they going to explain that?

What if someone else used Percy's crime as an excuse to play silly buggers with the Songs, as the Lius would have done?

Perhaps they should bury the bodies, smite the evidence.

No, that wouldn’t work either.

How the fuck do two teenagers hide evidence in a world with bloody Divination? What if some someone ‘dousing’ upped a corpse or some shit?

Cremate the cadavers?

Where the fuck are they going to find a crematorium?

Get Uncle Jun in on this?

Did she REALLY want Jun to play clean-up while Ayxin watched? What the hell are they would they say to the Dragon-kin? Hey, let me borrow uncle Jun for a bit, we need to turn some bodies to ash, you want in on this action?

Percy moved his hand over the floor.

Two corpses materialised.

Both were dressed in rags.

The first one was barely five-foot-two, skeletal and gaunt, with yellow skin that sagged from her bones. The second was likewise slumped over, but there was a wound on her gut, its jagged wound suggesting a Salt Shard.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Gwen hissed, overwhelmed by the sight and stench. “PERCY! WHY would you dump them HERE of all places?!”

Percy stared at his sister, dumbstruck.

“I thought you wanted to see…”

‘Creak…’

The noise may very well have been the innocent swaying of an unlocked door or window, but to Gwen, with the evidence of her brother’s kills fresh on the floor, the noise may as well be a SWAT team bursting through the window.

A flush of scarlet washed over Gwen's ashen face.

“Caliban!”

Nothing. Caliban remained dormant.

“SHIT!”

Should she force Percy to stow the corpses again? She could stow them herself, but the thought of having her Ring play home to fresh cadavers, especially ones that reeked like rancid cheese and old, mouldy rags, petrified her.

She would have to do this the hard way.

“Percy, stand back.”

Percy did as he was told.

Forcing her mind into painful focus, she channelled a glob of Void matter, then deposited the tenebrous mass onto the horrid shapes below her.

To Gwen's relief. It worked.

There were now two craters in the middle of the room. Blood, hair and clothes, even the pavement below had been sent into the Void.

Bloody oath, I would make an excellent Season 1 and 2 Dexter, Gwen studied her handiwork, then felt immediately overwhelmed by the reality of what she had just done.

FUCK, I just became an accessory to Murder!

She looked over at Percy.

Her brother was staring at the missing granite slabs as though in a trance.

Gwen sighed.

“Percy, come here.”

Her brother came to her, his feet like lead, his dazed orbs the eyes of a haunted man.

“It’ll be okay, bud.” She kissed him on the forehead.

That’s what Gwen would have wanted when everything had gone to shit. Someone to hold her, to tell her everything was dandy and that life would go on as before.

She mustered her best smile for her brother.

Percy's eyes were like their father’s; two dark hazel orbs hidden behind long slits that softened an otherwise angular face. His mouth, and his nose, however, were from Helena, a little overtly sensuous for a boy, giving Percy a permanently sulky expression that Gwen knew some girls would love.

Percy.

The Gwen of this world had loved her brother as well, even knowing that their vastly different magical talent would drive them apart. Was it genuine affection? Or was it a condition of her loneliness, Gwen would never know. In her old world, she had fancied herself a mother to her adolescent sibling, taking him out to dinner when neither of their parents came home, helping him with homework, buying him study guides with her part-time job money.

In Percy's eyes, she saw hope, desperation, awe... and hunger.

It was good that Percy came to her, confessing his jealousy, looking to her to save him from himself. She had thought the boy gone down a Path she couldn't follow, but now his prodigious return made her giddy with happiness.

Like Pope said, "To err is human; to forgive, divine."

Percy had learned to accept her help; his coming to her of all people after a singularly traumatic event was all the proof she needed that she meant something to him, that he trusted her enough to rely on her, and that alone drowned out the noise from becoming an accomplice.

In the secret court of her heart, she had acquitted Percy on all accounts.

“Sis…”

Her brother nuzzled her shoulders. His hair had a scent of brine, like the ocean.

But the time for sentimentalism was over. It was time for action.

“Percy, we can’t keep this from the people we love,” she advised, dispensing the foresight of her adult mind. “You need help, and I need help. We need to tell Grandfather. He was the one who taught you the Rite, yeah?”

“The 'Secret' Rite,” Percy noted with a hint of sardonicism.

“Look, I’ve 'heard' of it,” Gwen continued. “That’s not important right now. We need to fortify your secret with as many trustworthy custodians as we can. Should we tell Uncle Jun and Dad?”

“… Probably not Dad.”

Gwen tittered, her sniggering bitter and full of disappointment.

“Alright… Jun and Grandfather then. I’ll Message them now.”

“Sis?”

Gwen paused in the process of activating her Message Device.

“Thanks.”

“Hey.” Gwen flicked her hair cooly. “No worries, Champ. I got your back.”

Percy laughed.

It was a sound thrilling to her ear, a sound she hadn't heard since Sydney.

It was good to see that her brother still had a sense of humour, though now she had a far more harrowing task at hand. She hoped to God that Jun wasn’t doing the horizontal draconic-fandango when she rang.

She made sure that her Message was on silent.

“I’ll be back, stay here.”

Gwen made the calls outside, leaving her brother in the bedroom to ruminate on what he would say to Guo and Jun.

“Hi, Uncle Jun? You asleep? Er, is this a good time? Is it? Okay! Good! Ha! Thank God, phew! Hahaha- anyway, we got a situation here…”

* * *

Percy watched his sister through a gap left by the door.

Curiously, after his 'bonding' with the amulet, The Kirin Stone no longer ‘went ape-shit’. It had remained dormant the whole while they had conversed, even when she hugged him.

“Ariel, come here,” he commanded her Familiar.

“Eeee?”

Ariel drifted closer.

Percy ran a hand through its mane, feeling its luxurious coat run through his fingers.

“Beautiful.”

“Eee!” Ariel coiled itself around its mistress’s kin, sensing her familiar scent about his body, his hand, and his hair.

“But you’re imperfect.” Percy allowed Ariel’s tiny whisker-tentacles to play with his fingers. “You have lots of room to grow yet.”

“Eee! Eee.”

Ariel's draconian nose sniffed Percy's hand.

"EE?!" it recoiled, seemingly confused.

"Ariel?" Gwen pushed through the door of her bedroom. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Percy carefully slipped his hand into his pockets. "I was playing with Ariel. He's gotten cuter!"

"Isn't he?!" Gwen beamed.

Her expression said to Percy that the Guo and Jun would both be joining the two of them.

“Righto jackaroo." His sister slapped his back. "Saddle up; you and I, we're in for a wild ride."

Hai rested his face against his wife’s milky abdomen, listening for the heartbeat that may even now be finding its pulse.

The room was a mess, but that was fine, the NoM servants would restore it to pristineness tomorrow.

“Hai?” Qīn’s fatigue-riddled face turned toward him in the darkness. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, my love, go back to sleep.” Hai brushed her forehead with his lips.

The usual Qīn would have kissed him then queried him until she was satisfied, for the moment though, his wife was arguably and understandably exhausted.

The Wedding.

Gwen's fiasco.

The Patriarchs' bitter dispute.

Gwen's fiasco, redux.

Secretary Miao's visit.

As any soul with half-a-heart would heartily agree, his wife deserved the rest.

Hai dug his face into Qīn’s voluminous hair.

He loved the scent of vitality radiating from her scalp, the softness of her supple skin; the warmth she exuded effortlessly. It was in moments like these that Hai felt genuinely happy.

Happy - and a little paranoid that his fragile happiness wouldn't last.

There had been a near-miss right after they had left the aftermath of the wedding. It was the reason why the room smelled like burnt paper right now, despite the Gust of Wind he had operated for half an hour.

After her father's disgrace, Qīn had stormed back into her room, screaming ‘I can’t even talk to you right now!' He had chased her all the way into the interior of her bedroom, where she dispelled an illusionary wall, revealing a hidden alcove.

Curious, Hai had followed his wife, then immediately regretted his decision.

Qīn was tearing down a wall scroll.

It was a picture in his likeness from many years ago.

On the table were chunks of pink salt, which tended to naturally form if he fought on water or areas with high humidity. There was a splayed, leather-bound volume as well, filled with old newspaper clippings of his past exploits in the military, as well as other propaganda pieces about when the ‘Song Brothers’ were still a thing.

If Hai had to be honest with himself, he felt unnerved but a little pleased.

To think Qīn had waited for him this whole while, alone and loitering, even knowing that he was 'dead'. Hai knew that if it were him in her place, there would be no chance he could muster the conviction to ‘wait’ for a woman, much less lose a decade of his life.

But of course, his wife was now in the process of tearing down her ‘shrine’.

His callousness had broken her heart.

“Qīn! Calm down! Hey!”

Hai approached his wife.

“No!” Qīn’s mascara was running down either side of her creamy white face like squid ink. “I can’t believe you didn’t help daddy! Your peasant family humiliated him, Hai! Humiliated him! I felt like I could have died right there! If I could have killed myself to save him from that experience, I would have!”

“But…” Hai scratched his head.

“I KNOW!” Qīn wailed. “Mao! Oh, Hai - I knew you couldn’t do anything. You ran away from your father, didn't you? You faked your death! But I had HOPED! I had a little spark of wishful, HOPEful thinking that maybe, just maybe, you could have done something!”

“I did do something… it was Gwen-”

“Then Gwen exposed you for the man you truly are! A RUNNER! When things get too hard, you RUN! ARE YOU GOING TO LEAVE ME NOW?”

“Qīn, that’s not true,” Hai protested.

“YES, IT IS!” Qīn touched a hand to her belly. “Poor child… poor baby…”

God damn it! Hai snarled internally, feeling the descend of torturous anxiety enveloping his mood like a dark shroud. Qīn was right though; he had a half-a-mind to get the fuck out of here while everyone was busy entertaining Secretary-General Miao.

Why was it that every time he achieved a little happiness, people from his family came and shat all over it. Was it so hard to get the fuck on with their own lives? To leave him to live his life in peace? Was that so impossible? The wedding wasn’t even for him or Qīn; they could have just eloped and be done with it. They could be happy somewhere, ANYWHERE that’s not here, living off his Abjuration and her Healing.

But Qīn loved her father, and he couldn't force her to leave Hangzhou.

Earlier, Qīn had demanded that he 'do something'.

He did.

It wasn't enough, but he did it anyway. Put himself out there like a worm for hens to mercilessly peck and quarrel.

"Waaaaa~" Qīn's wail was heartbreaking.

He had to do something.

Hai summoned the courage that came naturally to him in moments like these; he strode toward Qīn with the conviction of a martyr going to the cross, spitting at sneering Romans along the way.

“Create Flame.”

Hai set the scrapbook on fire.

"!"

His wife recoiled from the scrapbook, her misery suddenly replaced by shock. Her face was streaked with tears and fraught with fury, caught between wanting to preserve her childhood memento and letting it burn, like her marriage.

From behind, Hai's arms wrapped around his wife’s waspish waist.

The act surprised Qīn at first; then she began to violently struggle, beating his hand with her fists.

"Let me go! Let me go you bastard!"

“Qīn.” Hai held his wife tightly, ignoring her protest. “I love you.”

Qīn's trashing visibly grew tame.

“I won’t leave you, and I won’t leave our child,” Hai whispered beside her ear.

Her struggling ceased.

“You won’t?”

“No, not now, and not ever. I’d rather leave my parents, leave Gwen, leave all of them behind than leave you.”

Qīn gasped; she turned to putty in his arms.

“…”

She then began to sob.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then we can leave right now.”

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere you want. Just pick a direction, and we’ll be on our way. It’ll work out.”

The idea of ‘leaving’ struck Qīn like a bolt from the blue. It was such a romantic notion, and it was just like Hai. Just trying to imagine the two of them escaping from home and going on a life-long adventure had her heart in stitches. Her face flushed, her breath came in shallow gasps, her bosoms rose and fell dramatically. Perhaps not surprisingly, she could feel Hai stabbing her thighs with the proof of his commitment.

“We can’t…”

“We can,” Hai stated affirmatively. “Just say the word.”

“No.” Qīn refused, fearful of what she might undertake in the passion of the moment. When she seriously entertained the notion, Qīn found the idea of a future without the House of Liu, without the familiar siheyuan, without her koi- well, her koi were dead now.

Nonetheless, the abandonment of her family was abhorrent to her, and it made her all the happier for Hai's proclamation.

“Hai, we can’t just leave. Daddy needs me now more than ever; it’ll break his heart. Not to mention your daughter, your parents…”

“Then I’ll stay here with you. I don’t care what deal the family has made, Qīn. In the end, this is our marriage. It’s just you and me. It’s our right to be selfish; it's our life, our happiness, not your father’s, not my father’s and certainly not Gwen’s. ”

Hai needn't even have finished before Qīn melted into his arms, silencing him with her peach-petal lips. The warm glow from the flaming scrapbook illuminated their faces with dancing flickers of orange light, juxtaposing the acrid smell of diffused ink, old leather, and lacquer.

“Salt Bolt!”

A cascade of Salt washed over the burning effigy, snuffling the light.

Qīn launched her own assault, infusing Hai's abdomen with positive energy.

And that’s how they had spent the hour or so until they had to send off Secretary General Miao. Upon their return, Hai and Qīn had mucked about the entire room, as Gwen had once noted with asinine peevishness, like ‘goats and monkeys’.

An inestimable number of 'rounds' later, Qīn was OOM.

She collapsed beside her once again loving husband, sticky with musk, fast asleep.

Hai breathed out. His whole body was sore, and his legs trembled, and certain parts of his anatomy had pings and needles.

It was done.

By all accounts, he had sheltered his little corner of the world. His wife’s milky form lay beside him, and their future was arguably going to be uneventful.

Still, Hai felt an interminable 'bad feeling'.

Naked and sweltering, he shivered.

He embraced his wife.

As a Positive-Energy Mage, her quick metabolism meant she had a very snuggle-worthy body temperature.

He hoped, somewhat naively, that Gwen had no more grievances waiting to be unloaded. She was no longer a little girl, and her continued obsession with his life had gone on for far too long. With any luck, Gwen would be back to Fudan, back to her ‘interesting’ life of power and turbulence, leaving him to his boring old honeymoon on the placid surface of the West Lake.

On the other side of the estate, a conspiracy of Songs convened.

It was impossible to know if such a thing as ‘privacy’ existed in the Liu’s estate, and so Jun had suggested for Gwen offered up her Portable Habitat.

Now gathered together in the living room, the three junior Songs stood uncomfortably opposite their patriarch.

Guo.

Jun.

Percy.

Gwen.

One of these is not like the others, Gwen noted.

“You… told her. Without my permission.”

Gwen further noted acidulously that her grandfather’s accusation was not a question but a statement.

"Grandfather, I hardly think this is the time to be bickering about-" Gwen began.

“I did. I informed Gwen while we were on Huangshan,” Jun interjected between the old man and his granddaughter. “And I intend to teach her the Rite when the time comes. You can’t deny her now, not after all that she’s done for us tonight.”

Beside the uncle-niece duo, Percy's expression took on one of confusion and contemplation.

“I-I see.” Guo’s fury was starved of its indignant fuel; he had indeed promised his youngest. He turned his head ever slightly toward Gwen. “I can’t deny that she has earned that privilege. Gwen?”

“Yes, Grandfather?”

“Tell us what has happened.”

Gwen back-peddled until she stood behind Percy.

For once in her life, it wasn't her who stuck some crackers up the cat's arse.

“First of all, I am perfectly fine.” She watched her uncle raise a brow. “Yeah, I know, I can’t believe it either. This time its Percy who’s in trouble. BIG trouble. We did what we could to mitigate the damage, but as I’ve said to Percy, there’s no point keeping secrets from family! Right, Percy?”

Guo glanced at Jun, who cleared his throat.

“Percy.” Gwen prodded her brother's spine; he'd been as quiet as a church mouse the whole time. “Tell them what you told me.”

"We're all here to help you, Percy," Jun encouraged the boy as well, following Gwen's lead.

Guo grunted.

"Percy, speak."

“A-alright.” Under the watchful eye of his family, Percy rustled up his courage.

In affirmation of Gwen's growing validation of her brother, he bared the naked truth.

Percy told Jun and Guo that he had become increasingly jealous of Gwen ever since her awakening as a Lightning Mage, then again as a Void Mage. He confessed to his peevish insecurity as Gwen found belonging with the likes of Gunther Shultz and Alesia de Botton. He furthermore told them of his paranoia that Gwen would somehow be better suited to the Kirin Amulet than he. Lastly, as an unexpected boon, Percy told Guo of his sinful intentions the night Gwen attempted to ‘take’ his amulet.

“I lied. I was afraid, and I lashed out. I am sorry, Grandfather. Gwen as well. I’ve disappointed all of you.”

“Owning up to your wrong is a good thing, Percy,” Gwen stated with sagacity, leading the conversation.

Guo's gaze shifted between his two grandchildren.

"Father," Jun politely intruded. "Gwen is a model sibling, is she not?"

An unspoken missive passed between father and son.

“Gwen," Guo declared after a few seconds of hesitation; his expression one of constipation. "That time, I was too quick to judge.”

“You were under a lot of stress.” Gwen lowered her chin understandingly even as her heart soared with vindication. “Babulya already told me. So it’s fine. I understand your intention, Grandfather. I know it’s not personal.”

Guo nodded, his expression softening.

Percy then told of his killing of the two deserters.

“Percy.” Guo regarded his grandson. “You were right to defend yourself, but your lack of discipline must be addressed. Your training will be harsher from now on.”

Percy shook his head.

“You do not think you deserve it?” Guo’s face twisted into one of displeasure and outrage.

“No, Grandfather,” Percy answered. To their surprise, he retrieved from his neck the Kirin amulet, then held it within the palm of both hands. “I made a terrible mistake tonight, Grandfather, something that proves I am not worthy of this.”

Guo looked to Gwen, who quickly forced Percy to put the amulet away back where it belonged.

"Grandfather,” Percy uttered miserably. “They saw me use the Rite.”

Both Guo and Jun tensed, flooding the enclosed chamber of the Habitat with a sudden pressure that made it laborious for Percy to breathe. As for Gwen, she gauged her Grandfather’s aura to be inferior to Golos, especially when the Thunder Wyvern was fluffed up and as angry as a pissed wombat.

“No one else saw anything!” Gwen added quickly. “Percy took care of the two that attacked him. He came home wounded, I looked after him. Well, Petra looked after him. After that, Petra left, Percy told me what happened, and here we are.”

“What about their remains?” A military man, Jun followed up with a pragmatic enquiry.

“Ah, about that.” Gwen made a face.

She recounted that Percy had collected the bodies and that she had deemed it necessary to ‘void’ the evidence, as it were.

Guo raised a cynical brow.

“You helped your brother hide the bodies?”

“Guilty as charged.” Gwen raised both hands. “We’re accomplices.”

“And you discerned that they were deserters?” Jun was surprised that after all of Percy's misgivings, Gwen's immediate reaction was to shield her ungrateful sibling.

“They stank, their attire smelled like old onions and rancid grease.” Gwen creatively painted a picture for her elders. “They wore rags as well, completely haggard; matted, wild hair too. Does that sound about right?”

Father and son contemplated Gwen's depiction.

“Look, there's more. Percy made a booboo,” Gwen tried to downplay the catastrophic news of accidental Necromancy by making a cute face. Hopefully, it sounded better coming from her lips than if Percy stuttered out the truth in terror. “He used Drain-Life on the hobos.”

“HE DID WHAT!”

“WOCAO!”

Even the unfazed Guo leapt from where he'd leaned against the couch.

“IMPOSSIBLE!” Guo snarled. “The Blessing is a RITE! It takes minutes to prepare! How is it possible that you, a boy, can use it in the heat of combat? PERCY! Now is no time for deception! I want the truth!”

Percy’s mien turned the colour of paste.

“I was in the middle of the Rite itself when they attacked me!” The boy protested feebly. “I… I don’t know what I did. There were two of them; it was dark, I was OOM. I did the first thing that came to my mind.”

Guo's face was a tremor of conflicting emotions. Gwen could see the pressure building, the old man's weathered face may as well be molten tectonic plates.

"YOU INGRATE FOOL!" Mt Guo erupted.

Percy shielded his face.

Gwen reflexively moved in front of her cowering brother.

"Yeye! NO!"

The outburst, particularly her rare use of Mandarin, caught Guo off guard.

The intercept was just enough time for Jun to intervene.

“Dad, hold on.” Jun took his father by the arm. “Let Percy finish, what's happened has happened. You're right to be angry of course, but punishments can wait until after we figure out a solution.”

Guo struggled against his son's iron-grip before slumping a little against Jun's shoulders.

"I have taken too little care of this..." He signed. "I was too hasty. The boy's not ready."

"Percy?" Gwen swallowed, feeling fortunate that she didn't take an accidental licking in Percy's stead. "Tell grandfather what happened."

Percy took a few seconds to calm his nerves.

Unfortunately, it became self-evident that the boy was not talented in the gift of gab.

"Why are you all so surprised?” Percy had on a wounded expression of having been betrayed; the very picture of a child bewildered by circumstance beyond his knowledge. “Didn't you teach Gwen, Uncle Jun? She Life-Drained people in D-109, didn’t she? That’s how she gained those schools. She also used her Amulet in Australia as well. Maybe Dad taught her back in Sydney? How else is she stealing all those Schools of Magic?”

“…” Gwen stared at Percy, mouth half-open.

“…” Jun met his father’s disbelieving eyes.

“…” Guo looked as though he was about to open another jar of Salt-laden walloping on his obliviously entitled grandson.

“What do you mean, Percy?” Guo’s low voice took on a dangerous fullness.

Percy stared at his elders with incomprehension.

Even if he had no idea what was going one, even with his limited knowledge of the world and its people, he could read the mood. If he'd been up shit creek without a paddle earlier, now the dingy has capsized, and there was a Shit-Water Crocodile in the water.

“I think there’s a misunderstanding…” Gwen pushed between Guo and her brother again, much to their grandfather's annoyance. “What Percy is saying is that he accidentally took on Abjuration, the talent of one of his victims, after accidentally using Drain-Life on her in the heat of the moment.”

“Nonsense,” Guo dismissed Gwen’s counterpoint. “Percy has been trained in Abjuration. It should be no surprise that he could reach tier 1 by now. Not to mention your sister is... different, in a way.”

“Gwen's telling the truth, Grandfather.” Percy stepped back from the inquisitorial Patriarch. “Watch!”

“Shield!”

An external Salt-Shield sprang into existence, lingering even after Percy ceased his channelling. To Guo and Jun's trained eyes, either Percy had become a prodigy in learning secondary Schools of Magic, or he as telling the truth.

“Mao…” Guo touched the Shield, observing its rigidity and its slow corrosion of the skin on the surface of his finger. “Percy, tell me exactly what happened. Every detail.”

Percy retraced his steps as he had done for Gwen.

“Percy, perform the Blessing of the Kirin, right now,” Guo commanded.

“Do it outside,” Jun advised, not wanting to damage Gwen’s Habitat.

Once outside, the rest of the family retreated to a safe distance.

Guo activated his diagnostic magics, then watched as Percy underwent the process. Compared to Jun, Percy’s movements were clumsy and unrefined, his command over the essence reclamation was likewise ineffective and amateurish.

What impressed both Jun and Guo however, was the affinity Percy seemed to posses for the Amulet. What little mana the boy injected into the amulet induced a disproportional release of rarified essence far more generous than Percy’s expenditure.

“What do you think?” Guo enquired of Jun. "I've never seen anything like this."

“Same; not for me and certainly not for Hai,” Jun confessed. “Percy has taken to the Amulet’s Soul-Well like a fish to water.”

Though the incantation ended with the infamous Necromantic utterance, both Guo and Jun understood that the spells’ misnomer was a syntactic misunderstanding. The final utterance for activating the magic was the Hanyu incantation for ‘draw’, a synonym beside the Annunciation for ‘drain’. "Chōuqù," wasn't the same as "Xīqǔ". Where Necromancers would ‘DRAIN’ life, the Song’s magic ‘DREW’ Life from the Kirin Amulet.

Of course, anyone with limited knowledge of Necromancy and its reputation would naturally assume the spell ended with ‘drain’ and not ‘draw’, even though one implies taking out something that had been stowed, while the other was synonymous with usurpation.

Not far from where the trio stood, Essence flooded Percy’s Astral Body, forming a swirl of darkly shimmering energy barely perceptible at the edge of vision. The spiritual meta-matter first entered from Percy’s palm, with the Kirin Core at its epicentre, then diffused into his mana channels.

“I activated the Rite,” Percy reiterated. “Just like this.”

To his observers, it wasn’t so much the Rite, but the ease and efficiency by which Percy had completed the sigil and incantations for Drain Life that surprised them.

Percy could apparently 'switch' the 'draw' effect on and off at will.

Did the boy have a talent for Necromancy?

What a terrifying prospect!

If so, they should thank their lucky stars that Percy was a Salt Mage and had no means to raise, empower, or summon the Undead.

Of course, nothing the boy had demonstrated explained how he managed to ‘power up’ his Abjuration like Gwen. For the boy’s sister, there was a whole Elizabeth Sobel who came before to explain her otherwise inexplicable talents; likewise, her mastery over Caliban offered a rational logistical pathway for the acquisition of new Schools of Magic.

As for Percy, the family stood on unbroken ground.

If a Song had ever thought it was a great idea to use the Rite on a living human being, a Mage no less, they had undoubtedly not recorded it in the Analects for posterity.

“We need to keep an iron-lid on this,” Guo suggested darkly. “Until we know more…”

“I concur,” Jun breathed out, glad his father saw reason. “Gwen?”

“I am at your mercy.” Gwen smiled simperingly, knowing that sort of thing placated Guo. "Percy, are you fine with it? Speak up!"

She slapped her brother's back.

“Percy?”

“…” Her brother was silent.

Percy looked up.

“May I return the amulet to Gwen?”

The quest fell upon his listeners like crashing thunder.

“No!” Gwen was the first to protest, an act which confounded both Guo and Jun. “It’s yours now! Didn’t you see how well it worked just then? I never had that kind of interaction with it, ever!”

Percy's weakness should have made Guo erupt once more.

But instead, the old man stroked his chin thoughtfully, gazing upon his granddaughter with a profound understanding in his eyes.

“You do not wish to possess the Amulet, Gwen?" Jun tested the water in case Gwen was playing one of her mind games. By now, he knew that the girl had a depth that neither he nor Guo could see through. "As you can see, it could help you train beyond what you are capable of doing alone, not to mention you may need it if you wish to master your Void element.”

“Don’t need it,” Gwen flexed her bicep in the 'We can do it!' Rosie the Riveter pose. “I got Ariel and tier 6 Lightning! Let Percy have his.”

“I see,” Guo’s voice took on a kindness the old man had previously withheld. “This makes me truly happy, Gwen. I don’t know what to say.”

“Saying you feel proud of her would be a good start!” Jun laughed. “See Dad, I told you; you’ve mistaken her this entire time!”

Guo scowled, but it was a sheepish expression, mingled with feelings of pride, scorn, and self-loathing.

Indeed, Gwen freely had given Percy the Amulet, if she had fought Guo tooth and nail, Klaviya would have likely sided with Gwen. Earlier, she had again refuted the Amulet when Percy first took it from his neck. And now, she had denied it thrice, not only verbally, but had used the attempt to encourage her brother, to help Percy attain his destiny.

Thrice she had resisted the temptation, and thrice she had proven herself, unbidden.

He had always known that her ardent loyalty to family sat well with him, and now his wayward granddaughter had demonstrated a selflessness that Guo knew to respect, even if he doubted the purity of her loyalty.

The girl was alright.

A groundswell of rapturous pleasure engendered in Guo’s bosom.

“Granddaughter.” The old man uncharacteristically placed a hand on Gwen's shoulder.

“Yeye?” In all honesty, the sudden generosity in Guo’s eyes made Gwen's skin crawl. Though she knew what to say, where Guo had expected her to meet him, she unconsciously shrank back.

The old man retracted his fingers, disappointed.

But lucky for Guo, Gwen wasn’t a sulky teenager who'd delight in rebuking an old dog who'd bitten her. The girl instantly recognised her error, as well as Guo’s desire for reconciliation.

“GROUP HUG!”

Taking the opportunity, Gwen pulled up Percy by the hand and brought him into the circle.

“Uncle Jun, come on!”

If Jun was Australian, he would have declared 'You bloody ripper!' but as he was Chinese, he chuckled politely.

Guo stoically joined the fray, his arms awkwardly tethered to his side.

The four of them huddled.

“Team Song!” Gwen stepped back, beaming at her work. “If we work together, we can overcome anything! Percy, don’t you worry about a thing, we’ll get to the bottom of this yet! There has to be a logical reason for all of this!”

“Sure thing, Sis.” Percy’s face was beet red.

Touched and invigorated by the spectacle of sibling communion, Guo took to silently Messaging his son.

“Jun.” Allowing a smile to touch his lips, the old hound of the CCP felt his well-worn bones loosen. “I think your mother will be overjoyed to know that the two of them have made up.”

“You should tell her yourself, Father.” Jun held his father’s shoulders and felt his father's tense shoulder relax. For how long had the old man stood by the tip of his toes, hung by a string, tethered and strung until breaking point? “With Percy’s talent and Gwen’s support, he will make a great heir.”

Guo watched the brother and sister muck about, giddy and happy after knowing they weren’t going to take up residence in Tianlanqiao.

“Ancestor’s blessing,” the old man muttered.

“I thought we’re cursed,” Jun joked, then more seriously, he returned a silent Message. “Dad, I'll be going to go back to Hubei once Ayxin is settled in.”

“About what the Yinglong told you?”

“Yeah. I should probably bring Percy.”

“Never trust these supernatural beings.” The mirth faded from Guo’s face, replaced by his usual indifference. “These Dragons, they give us truths to damn us with our own foolishness.”

“I’ll treat it as a matter of academic interest.”

“Do you believe that I made a mistake? Trying to save both you and Hai?”

“No, father. If you hadn’t made the hard choices, either myself or Hai would not have been here today, and without Hai…”

The two of them looked at Gwen and Percy.

Gwen had Percy caught under her arm and was now overpowering her physically more pronounced sibling. Percy, perhaps because of puberty and perhaps fearful of Guo, was too shy to fight back, woefully allowing Gwen to ruffle his hair at her pleasure, crushing his face against the side of her bosoms.

“Isn’t this fine, Father? We’re all here. Whatever happens, we will deal with it together.”

Guo blinked.

“You’re right.” the old man placed a hand on his youngest son's broad back. “Hai as well. You’re absolutely right. We’re all here, and that’s what matters.”

By the time Petra succeeded in dragging Gwen out of bed, it was almost 10 AM.

The family had only gone to sleep around four, having explored what paths Percy could undergo, and what avenues the young digger must avoid at all costs.

"The first rule of Per-secrecy is that we do not talk about the N-word or Percy's unfounded talents."

Gwen had proposed.

"Indeed, the second rule of Per-secrecy is that we do not talk about Percy's N-affinity, at all, to anyone."

The family concurred.

Thirdly, it was agreed that Percy would not use his newfound methodology carelessly and that any extra-curriculum progress would be in a controlled environment, under the strict supervision of his loved ones. Percy, she reasoned, was only fourteen. There was no rush. Now in possession of Abjuration, Evocation, and Transmutation, he was already far ahead of those who had to train their Meta-school Magic the hard way, through hard-coded memorisation and unceasing practice, risking mana burn and regression. He could slowly introduce his 'talent' over the next few years and with Gwen as a herald, his family connections, and some discretion, come of age 'naturally'.

Fourthly - there was no fourthly.

None of the stakeholders within the conspiracy of Songs had answers, nor what questions to ask. All they could do was to wait for an opportunity to uncover Percy’s incidental Consumption. Uncle Jun had mentioned that during Golden Week, he would request a break from his duties with Ayxin and return to Hubei. As for Grandfather, he would ensure that all eyes steered away from Percy and that those who wished to pry did so at their peril.

At its conclusion, after a deliberate sloppy kiss on Percy's forehead, Gwen returned to her room then struck the silken sheets like a corpse. She slept dreamlessly - until Petra twisted her arm.

“It’s time to go back to Fudan!” Petra slapped her thighs. “Up you get, porosenok!”

Gwen fought Petra for the blankets, succeeding in tearing the silken fabric from her cousin’s hands until Petra threatened to open the doors and reveal a semi-nude ‘piglet Gwen’ to the whole wide world.

“Alright! Sheesh, I am up!”

The girls had to be up early because unlike the oldies, whose position offered them Teleportation from the local military ISTC at the state's expense, the girls had to tap into their own pockets.

While Gwen was potentially in possession of a modest mole-hill of crystals, she wasn’t about to spend fifty odd HDMs for no reason other than to save six hours of travel. As students, their time wasn’t worth the crystals, not to mention for a mere 3 HDMs each; the girls could book a private cabin on the return train and catch up.

After a hearty breakfast of pickled vegetables, cured fish and porridge, the girls waited in the courtyard to be seen off by the remaining family members.

Lamentably, the only 'family' who remained were Gwen's father and his lady wife. Guo and her babulya had work; one had patients to save while the other had conspirators to condemn. Percy was deemed too dangerous to remain in Hangzhou for any longer than necessary, and so the grandparents had spirited him away.

Jun and Ayxin were gone via Teleportation as soon as the local ISTC station opened, arriving at Pudong where a major delegation awaited Ayxin’s Demi-divine presence.

“Take care.” Qīn waved at Gwen happily, a shared sentiment.

“You be careful out there.” Hai wore that goofy, guilty expression of his which he carried like an albatross, simultaneously incensing Gwen's ire as well as stoking her sympathy. “If you run into trouble, call me.”

Gwen smiled politely but said nothing.

It would be too awkward after her tempestuous outburst, not to mention her father had shown neither contrition nor remorse.

An estate car took the girls to Hangzhou station in the CBD, where a 13:00 express would bring them back to Hongqiao, forty minutes from Shanghai’s CBD. From the Transit Station, an additional Taxi would return the girls to Fudan.

“Farewell.” Gwen ducked into the cabin, towing Petra by the hand.

‘Thunk!’

The slamming of the door was her final farewell.

Hai watched his daughter and her cousin disappear into the distance with ambivalent emotions.

“Finally…” Qīn muttered beside him.

Hai turned to regard his wife.

“… we’re alone.” She beamed at him.

“I can hardly believe it.” Hai slid a hand around his wife’s waist, feeling the slight bulge of her belly. “My father left me alone. I wonder why.”

“He has heirs to play with,” Qīn quipped wittily. “You’re no longer his favourite.”

“I should be so lucky,” Hai chortled.

For the foreseeable future, it was just the two of them living in the estate, surrounded by wealth, servants, idyllic idleness. The West Lake and its boundless bounties both natural and man-made beckoned, and in seven months, they would be welcoming their child.

It was paradise, one that Hai wasn’t entirely sure he deserved.

What of the future? What would become of a child who lacked the means to tame their talent? Would the ‘drought’ curse manifest yet again in his third child? But that was something he has no control over.

The two kissed, he fell into the embrace of Qīn’s petal lips, falling endlessly into a land of flower and flesh, milk and honey.

Well, whatever. Hai shrugged mentally. The future was so far away.

Why be greedy?

“St Peter’s Golden Gates! Tier 6!?”

On the express train, in the privacy of their cabin for two, Gwen revealed to Petra her recent Elemental upgrade.

Petra stuck out her tongue; in her haste and excitement, she had bitten it.

“That’s insane!” Her cousin could hardly believe her ears. “Is there a limit to Consume?”

“I am certain that I've maxed out diminishing returns,” Gwen confessed. “There was A LOT of deer, Pats. Carps, too, and goats. What Monsters are there beyond tier 7 for Lighting or Air?”

“An ancient Dark-beast, maybe. That or a Behir.”

“Is that like a Lightning-chicken?”

“Like a basilisk, but lighting-wreathed and semi-draconic, oodles of legs. Found in Black Zones here and there, mostly around central Africa.”

“Sounds interesting.” Gwen licked her lips as well, wetting her whistlers. "I could do with one, figuratively speaking."

“You’re not going to become a gourmet hunter, are you?” Petra quipped. Sometimes, the rich and powerful paid a premium for the flesh of rare beasts. Such obscure delicacies could be used in alchemical cuisine that fortified the body. As for her cousin, Petra had no doubt Gwen would likely gobble her victims whole, alive and kicking, maybe with a sprinkling of pepper. “Speaking of which, is Caliban back?”

“Yep.” Gwen made sure there was no one watching, then sprang her Familiar forth.

Caliban slithered into the world, happy to once again savour the air of freedom.

Ariel was already out. In its docile guise, it was discrete enough to pass as a marten-like creature, though a closer inspection would likely stifle the breath of one with sufficient knowledge to recognise a horned, clawed, and hoofed Lightning Familiar with fish-scaled fur.

Her Familiars sniffed one other, then began to play-bite, tumbling under the girls’ feet.

The Hangzhou-Shanghai Express did not serve lunch, but Qīn had ensured that a hearty banquet for two had been packed. One by one they brought out the lukewarm dishes, feasting upon the final generosity of Gwen’s stepmother.

The topic then moved toward Gwen’s future training.

Although the University was said to be open 365 days of the year, its facilities were shut between December 10th and January 7th. There was another break from 19th to 25th of January, where ‘Golden Week’ took place. During these times, the entire University went into lockdown.

Semester 2 began on the 2nd of February.

Semester 3 began on the 9th of July.

The IIUC Selection Trials begans on the 8th of August, with the five finalists and the five reserve members announced four weeks later.

It meant that Gwen had almost ten months to master her spells, gain proficiency in her auxiliary Schools of Magic, as well as pushing Evocation to 5 and Conjuration to 6.

“I’d honestly favour utility over raw power,” Petra advised her power obsessed cousin. “Do you seriously think you need MORE power.”

I need FIREPOWER FIREPOWER FIREPOWER! Gwen channelled Yue, feeling nostalgic for her friend's forever optimistic presence.

“Should I… not?” Gwen twirled a finger around Ariel’s swishing tail, causing it to coil around on her lap. Sensing Ariel's empowered cuteness, Caliban too demanded that Gwen scratch its obsidian belly.

“We’ll work out a plan.” Petra smacked her lips sensuously; Spellcraft was her favourite thing in the world. “You’ve got a lot of Spell learning to catch up. Considering how long it takes to learn high-tier Magic, I don’t think ten months can be considered generous.”

“Took me close to a month to get a handle on Ball Lightning,” Gwen pointed out. “Amongst other things, of course. What do you suggest?”

“Some proper AOEs, now that you’ve got yourself Ariel as a Spirit. Finishing up your Transmutation Utility spells, as well as Divination and Abjuration Utility.”

“No Illusion?”

“Not your style, but you can play around with defensive varieties with contingency triggers like Mirror Image.”

“Ah ~ I want Invisibility!”

“You’re welcome to join the Ghosts anytime,” Petra chortled. “Other than that, don’t expect the state to be liberal with Unsanctioned Magic.”

“It’s not like I can sneak into government facilities with it.” Gwen shrugged. “There’s Polymorph as well. That’s the one people watch out for.”

“A straight ticket to Tianlanqiao.” Petra snorted. "Not to mention its absurdly tricky to master. One wrong move and your organs will never recover. That's why Shifters generally rely on Spirit-forms."

Gwen took another nap shortly after lunch, awakening to the sight of Shanghai as the train passed under the PLA Superstructural Tower.

“God, it looks bigger every time I see it.”

“Most of it is for tapping into Ley-lines.” Petra shook her head disapprovingly. “The Pudong Tower told the CCP the Superstructural Tower would disrupt the flow of geo-energy in the region permanently, but as always, they took the advice as an affront - or a deception.”

“So, did it damage the Ley-lines?”

“Hard to say.” Petra's shoulders fell. “The miasma is dense as anything in Shanghai. The city had already stripped its outer circuit; not to mention the NoM habitats are putting out an absurd amount of waste.”

Gwen was reminded of the bleak landscape she had seen during the District 109 trip. The rural countryside wasn't exactly dead, though it managed only patches of green and brown here and there, giving the impression of leprosy.

Compared to verdant Hangzhou, it was as though the land itself was sick.

“We’re here.”

The train pulled into the station.

The girls alighted, cutting curt figures across the concrete platform as they made their way to the taxi bay.

“Fudan, Guoding Rd, Apartment B1. It’s the one with the sky-garden, you can’t miss it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The taxi driver tipped his hat, then hastily bowed, sensing from the girls’ haughty airs that he had rare guests.

Bustling people, NoMs and Mages alike, surrounded the cab on all fronts, swarming through the streets like balls of sardine. Once they were away from the train station, an endless stream of vehicles meandered through crowded arterial roadways. The atmosphere stank of stale oxygen and stifling mana-miasma; the autumn humidity of early October sent an unpleasant chill through the air, pricking her bare legs.

Safe in the cabin, Gwen slumped back against the leather seats.

Just like that, she was back in Shanghai, as though the passing of a midsummer fancy, no more yielding than a dream.

It took the girls another hour to get through the 6 PM grid-lock.

As the cab pulled into the covered foyer of Gouding B1, Gwen noted a delegation at the apartment’s sliding doors.

“GWEN!”

“MIA!”

It was only to be expected. If there was one person who had both interest and expertise to predict the precise moment of her arrival, it would be Mayuree.

“Goddess, I missed you.” Mayuree pressed herself against Gwen’s torso, almost as if the girl wanted to meld into her. “I can finally go out! WONDERFUL FREEDOM!”

“Hahaha.” Gwen returned the hug. “Sorry I took another week.”

“How was the wedding.”

“Weal and woe,” Gwen replied. "A little too accurate for my liking."

"That's why you never ask!"

The girls grinned.

“Gwen, it’s good to see you back.” the next companion to accost her was Richard and his ‘crew’, meaning Lulan and Kusu.

“Richard!”

The cousins embraced.

“Lulu!”

Again, the girls exchanged greetings, with Lulan woodenly accepting Gwen's Westernised overfamiliarity.

“Kusu, did Lulu give you trouble?”

“Hahaha.” Kusu laughed with the sound of a man coming to accept painful haemorrhoids as a fact of life. Gwen could sense the buried uneasiness underneath Kusu's amiable exterior like intestinal ulcers. Poor bastard, she patted him on the shoulder. An adorable sister was a blessing and a curse.

“I’ve got a banquet set up!” Mayuree beamed. “Ah-Lei cooked up all your favourites!”

“Wonderful!” Gwen waited until everyone was ready before walking through the double doors. “Oh man, have I got a 'show and tell' for you guys!”

“Wow, your father is a cunt.” Richard sipped on a beer, stating what he considered to be obvious, his speech as liberal as ever. “That Qīn sounds like a character. Let's introduce her to Helena. The drama generated from those two clashing could tear a gap into the Elemental Planes.”

“Gosh, I am so... sorry.” Mayuree covered her lips. “What a horrible experience.”

"I'd just do this." Lulan made a cutting motion. "Problem solved."

“Excuse me,” Kusu butted in. “I think you’re all missing the main point here.”

The gathering turned to regard Kusu.

“Gwen defeated Wonsoo, right? Wonsoo Liu?”

Richard shrugged. Who the fuck was Wonsoo Liu?

“THE Wonsoo Liu! The Quagmire?”

“No idea who that is, maybe my brother would know, but I haven’t seen him in months.” Mayuree was as clueless as Richard.

“Come on. You guys seriously don’t know who Wonsoo Liu is?” Kusu was incredulous.

“He’s one of the 90s generation war-heroes, right?” Unlike the others, Petra had witnessed Gwen rooting the whole hog. Wonsoo’s omnidirectional entrapment spell, Quagmire, was as impressive as anything. Apart from his Spellcraft though, she had no interest in the man. She cared little about the workings of the PLA and the Front. As an expatriated Magus to be and a researcher, the chance of her being sent to the Front was zero, barring a cataclysmic failure of the Beijing-Xian battleline.

“He’s incredibly famous!” Kusu marvelled at his friends' ignorance. “During the Meeting of the Sixteen Sects ten years ago, he was undefeated. The Scholar-bureaucrat Houses see him as their big hope of ascension.”

Gwen paused; her chopstick resting halfway to a Wildland pheasant drumstick.

“Er… should I NOT have defeated him?”

“Of course you should have kicked his ass, Gwen,” Lulan declared sulkily. “Why Kusu, you scared?”

“What? No!” Kusu huffed. “Oh, Lulu~. Look, Gwen, what I am saying is that once the news gets out, you’re going to be even MORE famous. I’d be surprised if a single Clanner wouldn’t know your name, or want a piece of you, either for fame or for er... amour.”

“That sounds bloody awful.”

“Gwen,” Petra snickered, thinking of Gwen's future income stream. “Show them what you came home with.”

“Ah, yeah…” Gwen grinned. “Guys, as I said, we got our hands on A LOT of GOODIES in Huangshan and Hangzhou.”

She stepped back.

First, to whet their appetite, Gwen gave her family and friends gifts of silk.

“AND NOW, for our main course - Mayuree, this is for your Auction.”

Gwen then produced one, two, three, a dozen and more Creature Cores from her ring. There were twelve from the Draconic-deer, two from Dragon-carp, and one murky Merfolk-core, as well as one sapient sibling of Ayxin, now deceased.

‘Thunk!’

A fist-sized Pangolin-core rolled across the floor.

Lulan sucked in a breath of cold air.

Kusu’s eyes bulged.

Richard smacked his lips.

Mayuree wailed.

“They're ALL DRACONIC?!” Mayuree took the pangolin core and brought it closer to her face. “I know you’ve told me already, but Goddess! REALLY?! You were gone for TWO WEEKS, and you come back with more Draconic-Cores than the House of M has seen in the last financial year?”

“Oh.” Gwen pulled half of them closer to her bosom. “How about you pretend these don’t exist? That one's just a Merfolk Core, still Lightning though, maybe a sliver of Dragon in it.”

“Ha! You wish.” Mayuree picked up another core, her pupils glowing with faint divination. “Great clarity as well. No cracks, no fissures. How the hell? What did you do? These Draconic-beasts died peacefully in their sleep?”

“Magic.” Gwen spread her fingers.

Petra burst into laughter.

Richard's face took on a contemplative mien.

“Say, Gwen.” Her cousin leaned in closer. “Can your 'luck' hold out if we go on a Quest of our own?”

Gwen shook her head.

“Does it have to do with you know what?”

Gwen nodded.

Richard glanced at Mayuree.

“I’ve got a proposition for you and Percy,” he Messaged Gwen silently. “Nantong region dungeon crawl. We’ve almost cleared the whole district, but a lair refuses to budge. Give you the details later.”

Gwen inclined her chin.

Mayuree observed Gwen's interaction with Richard; as a Diviner, she was very sensitive to Silent Messages.

“Gwen, if you’re going away again, take me with you!” the girl interjected guilelessly, her almond eyes begging for approval. “I hate being stuck home, please?”

Richard formed a, ‘noooo,’ with his lips.

Gwen grinned amiably at her cousin.

“If there’s any chance you can join us, Mia,” she answered diplomatically. “Then I’ll be happy to have you with us! Adventuring with you in D-109 was awesome.”

Richard returned to sipping his beer, his expression as stoic as a monk's.

The girls clinked glasses.

Gwen swilled down her glass of red, savouring the dryness of the oaky Cabernet Sauvignon.

Mayuree sipped hers gingerly. Like most Asians, she had a low tolerance for the sauce.

The rest of the dinner proceeded with small talk, in particular, the HDMs Gwen stood to gain with her harvest of Draconic-Cores.

“You want any Magic Items crafted?” Mayuree asked after a few more dishes arrived, courtesy of Lei’s extraordinary culinary artistry. “Draconic Cores make master-crafted items, after all. I could offer you a trade-off with our in-house enchanters.”

“Any good suggestions?”

Mayuree tapped her glass.

“Staves, wands, rings, armour, clothing, that sort of thing,” Mayuree suggested. “For example, it’s not much on paper, but a Thunder-Deer’s core could be used to craft a Thunder-Rod.”

“Those things are REALLY expensive.” Lulan appeared nervous just thinking about owning such an item. According to Richard, Lulan had become hyper-conscious of the balance of her bank account after leaving Huashan. For the last months, she squirrelled away every crystal she had earned on her adventures, fearful that she wouldn’t have enough to pay for tuition and training. “Like, heirloom expensive.”

“Not really,” Mayuree explained. “You have to consider what the Rod’s capabilities are. A master crafted Thunder Rod can be used as a knocking-baton that shatters hard-Shields and displaces soft-Shields. It can convert Air and Positive user’s mana into Lightning Bolts at a tier lower than the caster. It can likewise be used to destroy brittle surfaces. Decisively, you can overload the Core for a massive AOE burst. Its a hard counter against Earthen Mages, the most common of Abjurers - which, I might add, counters Lightning and Void.”

“Alright, alright. So, what's the damage?”

“The core I’d say is about 5000 HDMs, while the crafting is usually by Commission, ranging anywhere from a thousand HDM to almost ten thousand HDMs if you want a famous artisan to put their name on it. Keep in mind that this includes the extra materials as well, like the Mithril-inlay, the Elder-wood insert, the dragon-blood inscriptions, and so on.”

“So what you’re saying.” Gwen did some quick math in her head. “I give you two cores; one is for your Enchanter to do his or her pet projects, the other is for the baseline material. Then we auction the Rod?”

“Precisely, or keep the item for yourself,” Mayuree suggested. “For example, we take the two largest cores - around tier 5 - and make the item. In that case, the Rod could likely auction for 12,000 to 15,000 HDMs.

Lulan’s eyes twitched.

What were these numbers, SO LARGE and inconceivable!

She had laboured endlessly for almost a month or more, and she had just made 500 odd HDMs while covering herself with fish-slime and worm-gore. She tried to count the number of zeros in her head, but the tremendous amount gave her a headache.

“Hmm, do you have a list of potential items?”

Mayuree swilled her glass.

“I’ll send someone over and discuss it with you by the end of the week. The sale of your Cores will take up to six months. We’re going to release no more than TWO per month, to keep prices afloat if that’s fine with you. If you want them crafted then sold, maybe up to six months per item.”

“Of course, supply and demand,” Gwen noted. “Cheers, Mia.”

“Anything.”

The girls clinked glasses again.

“There’s like 80,000 HDMs in that pile?” Kusu allowed his chopsticks to fall gently beside his bowl. “Mao, I’ve never even seen 10,000 HDMs in one place!”

Lulan’s eyes were two blazing ochre orbs, akin to her berserker days.

“If things go well, we can also borrow some of Gwen’s luck.” Richard burped, replacing the empty bottle. Gwen popped another beer and passed it toward her cousin. “Cheers.”

Lulan and Kusu turned to regard Gwen.

“I suppose.” Gwen grinned. “I’ll have to ask Grandfather for permission to bring our lucky-charm.”

“Very well.” Kusu raised a toast. “For the lucky charm!”

“For Cores!” Lulan raised her juice. Kusu had forbidden his sister from having more than one glass over dinner.

“Hahaha.” Gwen raised her glass as well.

Mayuree wasn’t sure what’s going on, but she had good premonition it was all going to be alright, and so she raised her glass as well.

“For Crystals!” Richard raised his bottle of frothy beer.

“Gānbēi!”

“Gānbēi!”

“Gānbēi!”

“Cheers”

"Za zdarovje!"

Gwen swirled the scarlet liquid in her overlarge glass, then with one tilt of her head, she downed the red wine, leaving not a single drop to linger.

Sanctioned Schools of Magic

(Sigils by Lampshade)

Evocation

The most commonly awakened school in modern Spellcraft, Evocation is a school that manipulates energy. Evokers become the mainstay of the citizen-soldiers, wielding spells of Fire, Earth, Water, and more exotic elements such as Lightning or Radiance. As Evokers mature, they become more specialised in a particular elemental affinity, taking up specialist equipment, attunement and contract Spirits. In the media and propaganda, the Evoker is the archetype Mage, the spell slinging, fireball blasting Sorcerer of yore, tapping into and drawing limitless power from the elemental planes.

Abjuration

Abjurers weave spells that protect, block, dispel or banish. An Abjurer is a common but highly sought after profession. Abjuration made Shielding Stations possible. An Abjurer possesses the unique ability to utilise restoration spells such as De-Curse and the ability to dispense protective AOE combat buffs. Specialists in this field typically contract elementals of earth, ice, and water, all of which are relatively common.

Conjuration

Conjuration is a school that materialises creatures or materials for the caster. A Conjurer becomes a one-man army after mastering higher tiers of Magic. Through Familiar rituals and or contracting Magical Creatures, Conjurers gain life-long companions that grow with the Mage in power. Due to this advantage, it is not uncommon for Summoners to become several magnitudes more powerful than Mages of equal tier. The disadvantage of Conjuration is the persistent mana drain caused by most of its sustained effect spells and crippling loss of combat potential to specialised Abjuration such as Banish. Certain Conjurers choose to focus on the summoning of items or beings. These valuable individuals are also responsible for the Teleportation Circles around the cities.

Divination

Diviners reveal information. They are highly prized for their cognisant abilities in detection and foretelling. Many diviners go on to become telecommunication specialists, becoming key intelligence and strategist operatives who serve a multitude of critical roles. Other schools of Divination focuse on disaster deterrence, by reading the threads of time and fate. Despite their lack of offensive capabilities, it is said that the most influential Magi on the United Nations Council is the Oracle of the Acropolis. Though the Divination school has no preference for elemental afflictions, it is a school that synergises well with subsequent studies of other schools. Many Diviners go on to become Magus or Magister.

Enchantment

The school of Enchantment remains the most difficult and expensive to train of all schools. Capable of imbuing items and buildings with protection, strengthening materials and extending persist phenomena - Enchanters are essential to humanity’s cities. The world's most successful manufactoriums and artisanal workshops are all operated by skilled Enchanters. Unlike regular Mages, many Enchanters seek to master additional schools such as Transmutation or Abjuration for the creation of magical items. A dangerous school within-a-school of Enchanters are those whose abilities allow them to control, manipulate, and glamour the minds of others. Mind Mages are closely watched by government forces, for the misuse of mind-altering effects on others could lead to life-imprisonment or banishment.

Illusion

Illusion is the magic of mirage, the altering of perceptions to create false visions. Many Illusionists go on to become involved in espionage if they choose the path of the militant. Many others, however, have elected media and entertainment, creating spectacles for adoring audiences, becoming superstars of immense prestige. Illusion spells which deal damage attack the mind directly, creating what is known as psychic feedback.

Transmutation

Transmutation is an unusual school in that it changes the caster and the objects they touch, manipulating the properties in powerful ways. In the present world, Transmuters become builders, architects and creators, working hand-in-glove with Enchanters. In combat, some Transmuters choose to specialise in manipulating life itself, changing plants, creatures, and even themselves to become deadly and proficient in the art of war. It is said that Transmuters posses the most versatile school of all and enjoy the most lauded status after that of Evokers. An overall well-rounded School of Magic.

Biomancy

The Clerical School of Healing Magic has always existed in human history in one form or another. Some say that this was the original 'School' of magic. In Modern Spellcraft, Clerical magic exists between Conjuration and Evocation, and is considered a 'hybrid school of magic'. Exclusively, Biomancy requires Mages attuned to the Positive Energy Plane. The combination of Healing Magic and Positive Energy often shrouds the Biomancer with a 'halo' of sorts.

Necromancy

The dreaded School of Necromancy was banned after WWI following the Geneva Convention. Currently, the school is studied only by Sects authorised by the U.N, arguing that the study of souls and the afterlife is inseparably connected to matters of faith, culture and religion. For many scholars, the irony of the matter is that Necromancy is most likely the most ancient school of magic in the world; dating back to the Egyptian Pharaohs, in an age when man first uncovered magic. As such, it is more accurate to say that the summoning, raising, and animation of the dead is strictly forbidden, as much of the old world had turned into ash and cinder following The Great War with the Undead.

Post Note: Other schools of magic likely exist but lie beyond the reach of the ordinary Mage. These include Faith Magic, ancestral worship, old world shamanism, naturalism, animalism, and so forth. By the same measure, rumours of humans learning the magic of monsters, magical beings, and demi-humanoids, or Demi-humans learning Human Spellcraft abound.

Elements & Elemental Magic

by Me (best with white background)

Prime Material Plane (The Material Realm)

The Primary Elements of the Material Plane are what Astrologists propose our world is made from. It is the very stuff of existence itself, existing in perfect harmony. It is suggested that when a Mage is attuned to a certain element, it is because that an excessive element is present within their body. Though exceedingly rare, there exist individuals who are born capable of tapping into all four Prime Elements, becoming mages capable of manipulating 'wood' and other natural phenomena, hypothesised by Eastern Spellcraft as an individual element.

Prime Energy Planes

The Positive Plane - The Plane of Positive Energy is a place of pure life-force, it is where the healers draw their power to heal and mend one's broken bones. The Undead are fearful of this energy, and the unwary caster should be as well. Too much positive power without the ability to channel it may lead to strange mutations and cancerous tumours.

Negative Energy - Where Positive is life, Negative is death. The Undead are tethered to this plane, drawing their undead lifeforce from this domain. When 'living' creatures utilise Negative Energy, they suffer Negative Drain, rapidly diminishing vitality. In the old days, the Mage world saw the Negative Energy as just another source of power. After WWI, Necromancy became highly controversial, gaining a dangerous reputation as a forbidden craft.

Prime Elemental Planes

Earth - Earth is one of the most useful and common elements awakening in Human Mages, it is the element responsible for most of our industry, mining for Mana Crystals, building our cities, and so on. It is said that one-fifth of Mages awaken as Earthen Mages.

Air - The Elemental Plane of Air, as the name suggests, a place of gases and open space, frequently filled with thunderstorms, blizzards, microbursts, tornadoes and all manners of interesting weather phenomenona. Of the four common Elemental Affinities, Air is the rarest.

Fire - Fire is another common element Mages manifest. Ancient legend has it that Fire was stolen from the Gods themselves. With Fire, man has created many useful tools and beaten back tides of monstrous creatures. Fire is another common element for Mages to possess and the mainstay of Combat Evokers, Transmuters and Conjurers.

Water - Assumed to be a near-infinite volume of water, this Elemental Plane is pivotal to the survival of modern magical cities. The Plane provides Human cities with its supply of fresh water. Likewise, human cities pump its waste-water back into the Elemental Plane. It is theorised that the Oceans are directedly connected to this Elemental Plane. Water Affinity is exceptionally common among coastal communities.

Para-Elemental Planes

Ice - Ice is the most common Para-Element to awaken in Mages. It is a supremely useful element that creates drops in temperature - being a combination of Air and Water. The Plane of Ice is said to be a tumbling expanse of frigidity with islands of glacial ice. Ice provides good defence and offence capabilities, as well as chill and slow effects against water-based enemies.

Ooze - Ooze is a stranger element, scarce and virtually non-existent outside of isolated magical bloodlines. Ooze Mages are specialists, pending on their school, with spells that focus on entrapment, debilitation, poison, and other strange and mysterious effects. A speciality of the Ooze Conjurer is the ability to summon creatures that exist within that elemental plane - Oozes. It is theorised that some oozes are virtually indestructible except by other Specialist Mages. Ooze is the combination of Water and Earth. Mud is a derivative of Ooze, though far closer to the Elemental Plane of Water than true Ooze Mages.

Magma - The Magma Mage is unique indeed; a rare combination of Fire and Earth. These Mages are typically found where there are volcanic islands or fjords. Their power combines the physical prowess of the Earth Mage, with the damage potential of the Fire Mage.

Smoke - Smoke is the marriage of Air and Fire. Smoke is an element that is said to only exist in legend. Very little is known about Smoke Mages or the Para-Elemental Plane of Smoke.

Positive Quasi-Elemental Planes

Mineral - Mineral Mages take their capabilities in the form of specialised mineral or metal to which the caster is attuned. As such, the Element creates distinct abilities that differ from Mage to Mage. A Mage capable of summoning volcanic stones, for instance, would generate obsidian shards which are brittle and fragile but possess dangerous offensive capabilities. Jedite Mages create powerful super-dense defensive layers. There are rumours that King Midas was a Gold Mage.

Lightning - Existing between the Air and Positive Elemental planes, Lighting is the most penetrative of all elements due to its electrical nature. Lightning causes stun and paralysis, in addition to manifesting instantly and delivering payloads in a fraction of a second. Lightning Mages are preferably Evokers, Conjurers or Transmuters. The Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning is said to be a place of plasma, ozone and endless thunder.

Steam - Where the Positive and Water Elemental Planes meet, one gets Steam. Steam is a rarely seen element. Only a handful of Mages are on record as having tapped into a Goldilocks' zone where two Elements meet in harmony. There is little known about the Plane and its Elementalists.

Radiance - Radiance is formed from Fire and Positive energy. Often mistaken as the power of Light. In theory, it should be useless, too scattered to be used offensively - too dispersed to be used defensively. It takes a special Mage, therefore, to change something so immaterial into a powerful projection of destruction. At a certain intensity, Radiance is capable of melting through solid steel, boiling blood, searing flesh, and severing matter. Not much is known about the Elemental Plane of Radiance.

Negative Quasi-Elemental Planes

Ash - A derivative of Negative-Fire that manifests corrosive ash and black flames. The most destructive element in the array of Elemental Planes. Ash Mages rarely live long as the Element eats away at their minds. It is said that Ash Mages exist as tortured existences whose ruinous powers rack their bodies with unbelievable pain. If one is Negative Drained by an Ash Mage, one loses one's seven emotions and six desires.

Dust - Dust is the most stable of the Negative Quasi-elements, next to Salt. It doesn't have any offensive capabilities of its own but enjoys the same corrosive ability drain as Ash. The most annoying part of fighting a Dust Mage is their ability to deaden all elemental damage. Due to its abrogating nature, Dust consumes Fire, Water, Air, Lightning, even Ash. It is said to be the most stalwart Abjuration Affinity next to Mineral.

Salt - Salt is a stable Negative Quasi-element, with the additional ability to form into a range of crystalline shapes. It's capable of dealing extreme damage to Slimes and Oozes, as well as an assortment of creatures composed mostly of water - including Humans. The desiccation caused by the Salt Mage draws out elemental water from the bodies of their enemies. Elemental Salt is different from mortal salt, found in oceans and sometimes in rocks; it is formed where Negative Energy and Water meet. Salt is the least destructive of Negative Quasi-elements.

Void - As the name suggests, the Elemental Plane of Void is a place of vast, perpetual darkness, where strange, forgotten things lurk in a vacuum darker than black, always hungering. It is a Plane consisting of the very idea of nothingness, a place where forgotten things end up. When manifested in the Material Plane, Void consumes matter, then disappears. Like Steam and Smoke Mages, very little is known about Void Mages. Arguably, the most famous Void Mage in Modern History is Elizabeth Sobel.

Spellcraft and Metaworld Glossary

Astral Body - The cognitively generated projection of one's connection to the Multiverse, visualised via indoctrinated Spellcraft. Typically manifests as a humanoid silhouette with abstract details pertaining to the user's Sigils and Elemental Affinity. Elements are perceived to be within the astrophysical body, while Sigils manifest Externally. Only Mages possess Astral Bodies.

Physical Body - No matter how powerful a Mage may be, they are still biological creatures that need to eat, crap and sleep, subject to Eros and Thanatos, life and death. The Physicality of a Mage tends to reflect the degree of their Elemental affinity. Most infamously, Earthen Mages have rock-hard physiques, Air Mage are frail and flighty, while Lightning Mages have quickened metabolisms.

Anima (Animus) - Drawn from the theory of the Meister Sigmund Jung, the psyche, the Anima (male psyche & common vernacular) and Animus (female psyche) inference a being's subconscious self-awareness. Only sapient creatures are classified as capable of possessing Anima and Animus.

Mana - The Gurus of Hinduism refer to this as spiritual energy or Prana. Chinese Doshi denotes this spiritual energy as Qi. Early Western Theology referred to this energy as Faith or Zeal. Modern Spellcraft unified the term as Mana, a generic word for mystical 'energies' of any kind. The Astral Body produces mana as it interacts with Glyphs and Gates, channelling mana into conduits of the physical body.

Mana Pool - The maximum amount of mana which a Mage can produce. When the Astral Body is no longer capable of producing mana, this is referred to as OOM, or Out of Mana. VMI - Volumetric Mana Index - is the official nomenclature for measuring a Mage's mana pool.

Mana Channel - Often confused with the concept of a Mana Conduit. A Mana channel refers to metaphysical pathways by which Mana produced by the Astral Body enters the Mage's physical body. A Mage's Mana Channels can never be damaged without injury to their Astral body.

Gate and Conduit - A Gate refers to nomenclature describing the effect of non-elementally attuned mana becoming suffused with the Mage's Element. This 'elementally-attuned' mana then feeds back into the physical body. The pathways through the Mage's physical body are referred to as Mana Conduits. Damage to the physical body damages one's Mana Conduits.

Essence - A metaphysical form of energy derived from a being's existence. Referred to commonly as one's 'Soul' or "Spirit" in ancient Spellcraft, contemporary Spellcraft sees Essence as a hitherto little-known form of energy, separate from mana. Creatures possessing great magical power and ego possess higher degrees of Essence. Likewise, sapient beings typically possess greater essence than their non-sapient peers of the same subtype. NoMs, in general, possess little Essence. Human and Demi-human Mages possess immense Essence, a fact profoundly valuable to the study of Necromancy. Theoretical Spellcraft propose that Essence is tied to a Mage's ability to access particular Schools of Magic.

School of Magic (Imperial Metric Schools) - Since unifying the study of Magic under the IMPERIAL METRIC system during the Spellcraft Revolution at the turn of the 20th century, 7 Schools of Magic exist: Evocation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Abjuration, Divination, Enchantment and Illusion.

Hybrid School of Magic - Rarely, some Mages awaken with Magic in between the Sanctioned Schools of Magic, belonging to no School. Of these types of Magic, Biomancy: the manipulation of Postive Energy and Necromancy: the manipulation of Negative Energy, reign supreme.

Awakening - The term is loosely used to describe an Acolyte coming to terms with their first School of Magic and their Affinity for an Element. In Frontier cities, NoM Civilians are filtered, with potential Mages tested for aptitude. In tier 1 cities, Mages naturally grow into their powers, training from an early age. A 'Stimuli Crystal' may be used to induce an Awakening, circulating mana into the recipient as to 'jolt' their Astral Bodies into existence.

Spellcraft - The study of Magic. The Imperial Metric System (IMS) splits spells into 9 Tiers.

Advanced Spellcraft Theorems - Spells whose theory and manifestation fall outside of existing methodology. Most universities study Advanced Spellcraft to push past the current boundaries of human knowledge of Magic. Those who contribute significantly to this study are awarded the title of Meister.

Sanctioned and Unsanctioned Magic - Sanctioned Magic may be purchased by Tower Mages with LDMs, HDMs, and CCs. Unsanctioned Magic may only be acquired through petition. If a Mage is found practising unlicenced Unsanctioned Magic, they are subject to severe punishments and even disbarment.

Sigil - A spiritual manifestation of one's affinity for particular forms of Magic, tied to the generation of one's Astral Body during Awakening. Each school of Magic possesses a unique Sigil under the IMS visualisation doctrine.

Glyph - Sigils exist only in one's mind. When Mages wish to manifest the concept of Sigils externally, they turn to Glyphs. Glyphs vary but may be thought of as symbols of power capable of channelling Magical energy as though a man-made conduit existing outside the Mage's body. Magic Items and Enchantments such as Wards rely exclusively on complex Glyphs and Mandalas.

Mandala - Taken from Tibetian Mysticism, Mandala refers to large-scale, complex Glyph arrays used to support complex Spellcraft manifestations.

Spell - A series of Incantations both somatic and verbal which triggers magical phenomena when exercised with mana from a Mage's Astral Body.

Rite - A spell requiring time, preparation, and setup, typically includes meditation, ritual and complex external components. Rites include city-wide Strategic-Class Spells.

Incantation - Invocations with somatic and verbal components. These are mnemonics which manifest Magic through Sigils. The higher the 'tier' of magic, the more complex and convoluted the number of Major and Minor Incantations. Senior and experienced Mages may specialise in particular spells so that they become 'silent'.

Shield (Mage) - Shield refers to the mental ability for Mages to form a barrier of mana around their physical bodies. Even without training, a Mage is capable of manifesting a membrane of mana, projected just outside of their physical body, which displaces hostile mana and foreign objects. Abjuration specialises in forming persistent Shields and Shields that can manifest on Mages OTHER than the caster.

Acolyte - Neophytes and Acolytes are the colloquial names for beginner Mages. The moniker of Mage or Senior Mage is given to those with mastery over at least one school of magic, meaning access to spells over tier 4.

Magus - A Magus is an arcanist who has gained multiple Schools of Magic through talent or laborious study. To be called a Magus in public, the Mage must undergo examination within a Tower.

Magister - Likewise, a Magister is a peer-reviewed, publically sanctioned Magic Caster. Unlike the moniker of Magus, Magister is a title that comes with the weight of public service and responsibility of upholding the Tower's interest.

Meister - A Meister is a Magister, but not all Magister can become a Meister. A Meister is a Mage who has contributed significant advancement to Spellcraft, and whose work benefits all of Mankind. Claude Van Saint, the famous healer who pioneered modern magical medicine, is a Meister. Philo R. Farnsworth, the man responsible for proving that Illusions may exist as a form of media stored in Capture Crystals, is a Meister. As powerful as famous individuals like Henry Kilroy has been, his preference for keeping his studies wrapt and secret excludes him from the title of Meister.

Magi - A Mage whose power and command over Spellcraft exceed Sanctioned limits, going beyond the 9 Tiers. A Magi rarely concerns themselves with worldly affairs. They are seen as humanity's greatest deterrence against Demi-human and Magical Creature incursions. It is unfortunate that Magi are typically old and venerable.

Sanctioned Mage - A Mage registered under a Tower, beholden to its Laws, Codes of Conduct, and Ethics for Public Practice of Spellcraft.

Rogue Mage - A Free-Mage that is not registered, practices magic freely and therefore perceived as dangerous to society.

Tier (spell) - Tier 1 to 9 of Spellcraft. Tier 1 - 3 is accessible to almost all Mages. This tier is capable of combating individual, as well as groups of Monsters. Tier 4 - 6 exists within the realm of all Maguses as well as most Senior Mages with a single School of Magic. This tier is capable of wiping out Monster lairs and Demi-human villages. Tier 7 - 9 is open usually to Magisters for reason of both academic-access as well as state sanction. High tiers of Magic can act as strategic-class spells capable of wiping out cities.

Tier (Affinity) - The attunement of a Mage to their element. The higher the affinity, the higher the efficacy for Damage and Mana Cost. As Affinity grows, damage increases by a magnitude of 10% for every observable tier. Likewise, mana cost for spells decreases with higher affinity. Though damage increase appears to be on a linear scale, mana cost suffers from diminishing returns. As such, a spell will never be 'free'.

Higher affinity likewise involves physiological and psychological changes for the Mage in question. Some examples are provided below, taken from the story-in-progress.

Fire Mages are often hot-tempered and over-zealous, possessing a short fuse. Physiologically, they gain resistance to cold and heat.

Air Mages become fragile and whispy, becoming airy and flighty in their mannerisms.

Earthern Mages undergo the most profound physiological change, becoming taller and more robust, with enhanced musculature, increasing both strength and fortitude.

Water Mages are known to be pliable and easily convinced, with personalities that like water, are capable of fitting any vessel.

Lightning Mages gain increased metabolism, becoming prideful and possessive beings.

Ash Mages are known to become apathetic. Their emotions become dulled by the continued practice of Ash Magic until they waste away.

Void Mages are rumoured to exhibit extreme hunger, both physiologically and in terms of their psychological demands.

Ooze Mages are said to be slothful and lazy, unmotivated and uninspired.

Mineral Mages become dispassionate and pragmatic, often, their eyes take on the likeness of their attuned mineral element.

Positive Energy Mages are ubiquitously known to be amiable, friendly and full of life and vigour, possessing a halo of likability.

Tier (Creature) - A generic classification system used in common parlance to ratify the danger-level of a particular creature. Goblins usually have a tier of 1. A raid of Goblins may be up to 4 or 5. An adult Dragon up to 11. A Leviathan with a swarm of Mermen may be up to 25 - 30, requiring the mobilisation of a Tower or Towers.

Class (Monster) - Military lexicon for the number of Mages needed to pacify a threat. Soldier-Class infer a single Mage. Lieutenant-Class infers the need for a Magus or two or more Mages. General Class requires a Magister. Usually, a party of Mage may subdue a Lieutenant-Class Magical Creature. A Party of Senior Mages lead by a Magus may defeat a General-Class Creature. Some creatures, such as Titans (overlarge Monsters) and Mythics (Land Gods) are likewise a part of this denomination. Class systems differ from nation to nation and are not an official Tower designation.

Wildlands - Lands not occupied by Human Cities, separated into Zones. Green - relatively safe for NoM habitation. Orange - unsafe for occupancy, safe for Mages to traverse. Purple - dangerous for both Mages and NoMs, contains hostile creatures that will disrupt human habitation. Black - extremely dangerous for human habitation; zone includes creatures that predate on humans. Environmental factors may also play into codified Zoning.

Demi-Humans - Humanoid races that share the Prime Material Plane with Humans. Friendly species include Nordic and Bavarian Dwarves, Keltic Elves, German Gnomes and Hobbits from New Zealand. Hostile races include Goblinoids, Dragonoids, Harpies, Serpentfolk, Merfolk, Mermen (Oceanic), Lizardmen, Dryads, and other sapient beings capable of speech. Like most Magical Creatures, these beings possess a Core. Some Demi-humans are capable of interbreeding with humans. The majority of Human cities are highly xenophobic and racially homogeneous.

Magical Creatures - Creatures generated by nature where the veil between the Prime Material and the Elemental Planes are weak. Current theory infers they are Elemental creatures that manifest into the Prime Material. Magical Creatures possess Cores, which are condensed mana that serve as the anchor of the creature's Essence to the Prime Material, giving it life.

Cores (Creature) - From the lowest Snotling to the highest Ancient Dragon, all Magical Creatures possess Cores. Upon death, the Core shatters, releasing the wild energies contained within. Interesting fact - ancient creatures have highly condensed and compact Cores that are virtually impervious to damage.

Spirit (s) - When a creature possesses a high level of anima, its Core may contain a Spirit. Spirits are potentially found in all forms of Creature Cores, though typically, it is exceedingly rare amongst lower order Magical Creatures. For Spirit-Seekers, the irony lies in that billions of low-tier creatures exist with a lottery's chance of possessing a Spirit. While beings with a high probability of retaining a Core upon death, as well as possessing both ego and anima, are exceedingly rare, and more often than not incredibly powerful.

Spirit (Mage) - A Mage dreams of augmenting their elemental powers with a Spirit. A Spirit may be acquired through directly killing and harvesting Cores, then bending the will of the 'anima' of the creature contained therein to the Mage's service. When successfully attuned, the Spirit is absorbed into the Mage's Astral Body, becoming a part of the Mage's ability to channel Elemental powers. The alternate method of gaining a Spirit is through taming existing Magical Creatures and opening one's Astral Body to the foreign Spirit. This methodology is considered highly irregular and potentially fatal for an unsuspecting Mage incapable of melding with the entity.

Familiars - Typically, the Conjure Familiar spell is responsible for bonding Elemental entities to a Mage's psyche or anima. Such creatures are manifested from the psyche of the caster. When a Spirit is partnered with the Mage, the Anima of the Spirit usually takes the form of the Familiar. When a Spirit is bonded with a Mage already in possession of a Familiar, it usually subsumes the form of the Familiar and replaces it with its own. It is not known if Familiars can become Spirits through gaining ego and animus.

The Frontier - Originally a term denoting cities which are cut off from logistical support after WWII, the term has grown to encompass all Human territories lacking geodynamic Ley-lines. Some Frontier cities such as Merauke, Darwin, Chittagong, and Izmir, are little more than Human havens eking out a living in the wilderness, serving as little more than trading ports and supply stations. Prosperous Frontier cities such as Sydney, Singapore, Naples, Las Vegas, have a quality of life nearing tier 1 cities in all but name, lacking the geography, natural resource and political power to ascend into the status of a tier 1 city. With exceptions akin to continental hub-cities like Singapore and Istanbul, the vast majority of Frontier cities have limited access to Spellcraft and Magitech.

Tier 1 Cities - Cities build around powerful convergences of Ley-lines are considered tier 1 cities. These cities have the near-perpetual energy to supply to their internal and external Shielding Stations. To apply for tier 1 status, a city-state must pass muster with the Commonwealth Towers , joining the network of tier 1 cities.

Shielding Station - A stationary mini-Tower built to withstand the elements, manned by Abjurers and a patrolling team of Mages. At the heart of the Shielding Station is a Resonance Crystal which projects a frequency harmful to all beings possessing Cores not attuned to a Mage. A Shield Generator Tower creates the resonance, visually manifesting as a shimmering 'wall' or 'barrier', and additional, smaller station refract the "Shielding".

ISTC Station - The Inter-State Teleportation Circle Station allow Mages long-range teleportation to and from nations. Prohibitively expensive, ISTC Stations are used only by the upper echelon of Tower Mages and State-level operatives. Most tier 1 cities have ISTC stations to and from the Towers in allied cities, as well as its satellite, Frontier cities.

Tower - A robust structure with inbuilt Enchantments. A Tower can vary in size, function and power. In most cities, the Tower functions as a way-station, a bastion, and a nerve-centre for all magical matter. Even the most basic Tower include the ability to amplify the manifestation of Spellcraft of its stationed Mages, the levitation of its structural body, long-distance teleportation and displacement, and the ability to act as a mass-communication Divination array. A tier 1 city's Ley-lines usually provide power to the Tower. For Frontier cities with limited geodynamic supplies of mana, a significant cargo of HDMs are required.

The Towers - The United Nation Council of Towers (U.N) refers to a coalition of all Towers from around the world formed after World War II's Beast Tide. Akin to the U.N in Gwen's old world, the Towers sanctify and ratify the regulation of Spellcraft, the status of city-states, and mediate the conflicts of interest between Human nations.

Tower (Commonwealth) - Towers belonging to the old British Mageocracy, said to have conquered more than 50% of all Human lands in its Golden Age. The Commonwealth form a loose factional coalition through a shared ideology of social democracy, English as a primary language, and mutual defence-pacts.

Tower (Independent) - Towers not beholden to any specific faction and are wholly independent (on paper). Singapore, Istanbul, Tel Aviv, and Hong Kong are examples.

Tower (State Owned) - Towers which are a part of the global network of Towers but are beholden to their city-states or nations. Almost all non-independent Towers belong to this category.

NoMs - Non-Magical Human Beings, also derivatively known as No-Magic. In the Frontier and tier 1 cities, NoMs serves as a labour force. The majority of NoMs work in agriculture and manufacturing, with a small percentile working in Administration and other white-collar positions. Most NoMs, whether because of indoctrination or the social climate, see the possibility of becoming a Mage, or introducing a Mage to their bloodline to be a way out of a life of oppression, poverty and mediocrity.

House (Mage) - A bloodline of Mages usually with a powerful or influential Progenitor. A House usually includes three or more generations of Mages. A Branch House is when a potential heir, usually a sibling, starts a new House with the same bloodline.

Clan (Mage) - A coalition of Houses sharing the same bloodline. A Clan involves several hundred individuals across a dozen Branch Houses, supporting the Main House. Clans are highly hierarchical. Clans are also unique, pending context and culture. Asian Clans focus on styles or Schools of Magic, while European Clans may focus on bloodline lineage. Some Clans operate by region, heedless of bloodline or magic. Due to the desire to keep a particular bloodline 'pure' or a specific magical talent prevalent, marriage within the Clan is common.

Sect (Mage) - Sects can be religious, ideological, factional, or based upon styles of Magic. In China, old Doushi Clans evolved into Sects, with famous examples such as Kunlun, Huashan, Shaolin, Wutang, The White Lotus Society and so on. The Western world's Sects tend to be based around organised religion, while regions in continental Africa tend to have Sects based around tribal boundaries and shared ancestry.

Currency - The objective means by which trade is conducted. Humans use localised currency, LDMs, and HDMs.

Mana Crystals (LDMs and HDMs) - Mana Crystal is the currency used by Mages across the human cities. In its raw form, they are harvested from places where the fabric between the Prime Material Plane and the Elemental Planes are thin, allowing 'crystalised' shards of mana to grow. Where there are large volumes of Mana Crystals, there are almost always powerful Magical Beasts. While most mana crystals are non-elementally aligned, rare and precious specimens do exist as gems and precious stones. Examples include Jadeite, Citrine, Emerald, Zircon and Turquoise.

Crystal Currency - Defined by the World Bank as a single shard of High or Low-density crystal, containing a standardised (1 LDM or 1 HDM) volume of mana. A shard of LDM resembles a fingerling crystal akin to a 3cm hexagonal pencil. The appearance of LDM currency is exemplified by its semi-opaque state. Comparatively, a shard of HDM is transparent and without blemish, measuring 5 CM. Certification is overseen by a cooperation between the Towers and a local agency (Bank of China, for example). The volume of crystals in circulation is often controlled on the Frontier.

LDMs - Low-Density Mana Crystals are commonly used on the Frontier and as lesser denominations. Raw shards of L-D crystal can be exchanged in terms of weight and total mana volume, but cannot be used as formal currency.

HDMs - High-Density Mana Crystals are the currency of choice for Mages in the tier 1 cities, consisting of compressed and certified crystals.

Currency Cards - Certified cards which contain 10 - 50 - 100 - 1000 HDMs that can be exchanged at local banking branches and Towers.

NoM Currency - Local currency issued by the government for use by the NoM population. In poorer Frontiers and tier 1 cities with large volumes of NoM activity, the local currency is vulnerable to hyperinflation, forgery, and currency fraud.

Demi-humans and Human Currency - As humans are the only race capable of mass-producing crystal currency, Demi-humans have taken to use human currency as the preferred unit of exchange for barter.

Future Lexicon -

Geo-Political Factions -

Ideological Factions -

Archetypal Mage -

Combat Mage

CQB Mage

Artillery Mage

Clerics

Summoner

Enchanters (Artifice)

Scrolls

Magic Items

Magitech

On Tuesday morn, Gwen set out her schedule while basking in bed like a lounging lizard. She managed to jolt her brain with just enough juice to generate an itinerary:

- Work out a Spell-list with Petra after breakfast.

- Check out her CC balance at the Tower and see what’s for purchase.

- Establish a training schedule between November and early February.

- Try to catch up with Gunther and co.

- Contact Elvia.

‘Ding!’

Her Message Bracelet pinged.

“Hello? Pats?”

Petra had called to inform her cousin that Magister Wen had received ‘the good news’ and was thus expecting Gwen’s august presence at the 2nd PLA Hospital.

“Oh.” Gwen's mood instantly fell several fathoms. “Okay, I’ll be there in an hour.”

In her smallclothes, she walked onto the winter-garden to check the weather. With the quiet death of September, Summer had come and gone. Below, the oak and mulberry trees lining University Avenue were transforming into a river of brushed orange and daffodil yellows.

Thinking of the hassle of changing into the hospital gowns, Gwen elected easy ankle-pants and a silk pullover sweater she had bought in Hangzhou that hung loosely over her body. She tied her hair into a knotted bun and rounded the outfit with her peep-toe Hermès. If there was one thing she loved about her insanely expensive magical-shoes, it was that damage-resistant, elementally-attuned, self-cleaning couture could be worn whenever, making the purchase of artisanal goods actually worthwhile.

She took the subway, the same route Petra had shown her but in reverse, picking up a milk-tea on the way. Alighting from Wujiaochang, she then proceeded through the internal stratum of the hospital's megastructure until she reached the lab.

“Miss Song, Magister Wen and Director Song are waiting for you,” a guard informed her politely.

“Cheers, Cheng.” Gwen waved.

Cheng beamed, he had not expected the girl to remember his name.

“Have a nice day, Miss Song.”

Gwen was surprised herself, given the perspicuity of her recall. Even with her babulya’s Clarified Ioun Stone, her memory was hardly eidetic. Was it a condition attributed to her newfound Draconic-essence? They did say Dragons held grudges forever.

She entered the sterile laboratory.

There was Magister Wen, seated by the affinity-machine, her pale crystalline eyes scanning over slates of data placed beside and in front of her.

“Gwen.” She managed a smile, evidently less salty over Guo’s rebuke now that some time had passed. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Gwen nodded curtly, bowing succinctly. “Where’s Grandmother?”

“She’s with Petra.” Wen patted a seat beside her. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.”

Gwen kept her expression as ambiguous as possible as she ‘took a seat’. Her rip-roaring, palpitating heart, however, failed the subtlety test. The distinct impression Gwen felt was that she was seated next to one of those tigers you took a picture with while in Bangkok.

“Come on. I won’t bite.”

Gwen sat, her face a wholesome apple-pink despite her best efforts.

“Look.” Magister Wen cleared her throat. “I am sorry.”

Gwen blinked at the Magister.

“I have allowed my curiosity get the better of me.” Magister Wen extended a hand. “Truce?”

Gwen stared at the hand as though Wen had suddenly shoved a barbed tentacle in her face. She had known that Wen was awkward when it came to things like ‘empathy’, but asking for a ‘pass’ in the aftermath of having Gwen murder a stranger in the name of Spellcraft was a little too strange.

But - she took Wen’s hand anyway.

It took two to tango, and Gwen was confident she wouldn't be cheated again. Like a great statesman once said: "There's an old saying in Tennessee—I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee—that says, 'Fool me once, shame on...shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again.'

“Of course,” Gwen smiled amiably. “Let’s work together as before. We're both stakeholders, are we not?”

“Very good!” Magister Wen stepped back, then stood awkwardly, unsure of what came next. “That was easier than I’d thought, to be honest. I had anticipated resistance or outright rejection.”

“Nothing so complicated! We're colleagues, and also...” Gwen decided to do a little politicking of her own. “Secretary-General Miao sends his regards.”

Wen visibly paled.

“Yes. Yes indeed.” She forced a cringeworthy smile to her thin lips. "The Secretary's office did say to keep you out of harm's way."

Watching Wen fidget, Gwen regretted borrowing the tiger’s terror, hoping that her spontaneous indiscretion would not make Petra’s tutelage under Wen more awkward than necessary.

‘Beep!’

The laboratory’s glyph-protected doors opened.

“Gwen, you’re here!” Petra’s voice greeted the two already within the room.

“Gwen, how are you feeling?” The other voice belonged to her babulya.

“Alright!” Wen clasped her hands, interrupting the irksome public display of affection. “Let’s get some numbers!”

Magister Wen stared at the script in her hands with such intensity that one wondered if her colourless, crystalline orbs would fracture.

“Lightning - 6.54.”

“Void - 4.32.”

“Just how many mid-tier Lightning Creatures did you consume?!” Wen’s complexion appeared as though she had enjoyed a glass too many of chardonnay. “You were at 4.8! Your affinity growth is worthy of two decades of dedicated practice!”

“Gwen.” Petra nudged her cousin. “Stop teasing my Master, bring out Ariel, I want to see what it’s giving you.”

“Ariel!”

“MAO's Tomb!” Wen spluttered. She had known that Gwen had a ‘Kirin-like Familiar’, but the visual confirmation was shocking nonetheless, especially as she had known Ariel in its infancy. In fact, by her recount, only a few weeks ago, Ariel had been a furry marten.

The two girls bit back laughter.

Seeing as Gwen, Petra and even Klavdiya were having a go at her expense; Wen took several seconds to compose herself.

“Petra, help me set the machine up to measure Ariel,” she commanded, putting a hint of steel back into her shaky speech. As one of the very first individuals to encounter and study Gwen, she knew more than anyone else what the girl’s absurd growth portended. Her research with the Void was making steady headway. If she could replicate its effects, a Meistership was assured.

As for their immediate question: If Gwen’s affinity was 6.54, how much of it was courtesy of Ariel?

Spirits did not ‘add’ tiers of affinity in a linear sense. As denizens of their respective elemental Planes, they allowed for greater efficacy in energy transfer, spell manifestation, and of course, provided IFF.

“6.35,” Petra announced once Ariel’s portion was read out.

“A low-tier Spirit.” Wen touched a finger to her data-slate, seemingly relieved. “Ladies, we are in rare company.”

Though both Klavidya and Petra had already known Gwen’s abilities, they nonetheless gaped with awe. Wen’s semi-sardonic remark was no joke. How many Mages could arguably boost a natural affinity over 6? How many Mages could look forward to their Spirit Familiar ultimately reaching a tier capable of adding a multiplier that could push it to 8 or 9? Would there come a day when Gwen’s tier 3 Lightning bolts possessed double the damage and range while necessitating a negligible volume of mana? Her tiers of Conjurations could be kept active almost forever. Her Dimension Door could range hundreds of meters while requiring a fraction of the cost.

Gwen squirmed, unused to the feeling of familiar face gazing upon her as though they had spotted a tap dancing panda bear.

“I wouldn’t celebrate yet.” Wen coughed, interrupting the moment of revelry. “Affinity doesn’t come free, you should know. Gwen is going to see some interesting mental and physiological changes too.”

The coldness of Wen’s pragmatic advocacy doused Gwen’s affirming flame. It was true. She had already felt the influence of her prideful Element driving her onward even when the best course of action was to reverse course. Likewise, thinking of her uncle Jun, it was evident that without the Kirin Amulet, he would have become an apathetic cadaver incapable of caring for his most basic needs, kept alive only by servants and a team of attentive physicians. As for Hai, Gwen had no idea what the effects of Salt were. Despite being a quasi-element, it held only trace volumes of Negative Energy, making the Element more akin to Water.

The next indexing machine wasn’t nearly as taxing on the women’s suspension of belief.

“Evocation 4.69.”

“Conjuration 5.22.”

“Transmutation 2.75.”

“Abjuration 2.01.”

“Divination 1.35.”

“Illusion 1.96.”

“There’s significant growth on both your Primary schools,” Wen noted. “Did a lot of fighting, did you?”

Gwen nodded.

A lot of fighting was an understatement.

She fought Merfolk, Draconic-fish, Draconic-deer, a Thunder Wyvern, then a whole fruit salad of Mages and even a Magus.

“VMI 234.”

An increase of 4, Gwen wondered if it was because of her extended bout against Golos, or if there was some mana floating around all those creatures she had gleefully Consumed.

“Petra.” Klavdiya turned to her grandniece. “How’s Gwen’s theory-work?”

“Passable,” Petra noted. “Unless you're thinking of having Gwen take the Magus examination. Then no. She’s not even a second year.”

Klavdiya turned to regard Gwen’s confused face.

The girl was oblivious! It was adorable.

“Mao’s ghost.” Her grandmother grimaced mirthfully. “I hope they won’t disqualify you for misrepresenting yourself. I don’t think there’s a Mage in all of Shanghai who can take down an actual Combat Magus in a one on one duel.”

“Puahaha.” Gwen chuckled, pulling Petra close to her. “That’s the plan! Let em underestimate me, and then BAM! Crystals!”

Behind the trio, Wen watched; her irises two pools of sterile, distilled water. If Gwen and her family had been more conscious, they would have noted the Magister's fingers trembling as her paper-thin lips formed an upward curl.

As it was already noon, Gwen and Petra farewelled their babulya, then took lunch at a local deli selling Hongkong style bbq pheasants.

“Far too greasy for me.” Petra polished off a leg, leaving the rest of the carcass to the ravenous Gwen.

“Food in Hangzhou tasted so light.” Gwen swallowed, ignoring the usual stares from pedestrians and patrons. “Salt, sugar, and saturated fat, that’s Shanghainese food in a nutshell, haha.”

“Well, don’t forget the soup.” Petra pointed at the extra bowls that came with the meal. “What say we check out Fudan T2? I am interested to see if your contribution to Morden’s Hound sold well.”

“Oh yeah~!” Gwen quickly spooned down the sauce-soaked rice. She had forgotten all about Morden's Hound because Gunther had said he would take care of it.

“Let’s go!”

With both semesters over, the Tower was on half-staff roster.

When a young man took their petition ticket, his eyes widened.

“You’re Miss Petra Kuznetsova! And you’re Miss Gwen Song!”

Ooo, Gwen mused. Are we famous? Or rather, am I infamous?

“No Mongolian Death worm today, Ma'am?"

“Caliban is taking a break.” Gwen reminded herself to let her Familiars 'air out' as soon as they got back to the apartment. Both at Mayuree’s place and with her hospital visit, she had put off re-summoning Caliban.

"!"

At the mention of its name, her Void-Familiar’s pocket dimension became agitated, indicating its desire to be out and about.

“So, how can I be of service?” The young man’s eyes glowed, feverishly taking in the splendour of the Flower of Fudan and her cousin, The Worm Handler. He could hardly wait to tell his friends. He had met and served THE Worm Handler, in person! Too bad she didn't have her worm with her.

“Checking on my CCs,” Gwen smiled and pushed over a signed slip.

“Of course, Ma'am. It’ll only take a moment.”

The young man returned a minute later with Gwen's data-slate.

Gwen tapped through her profile.

203 CCs.

HOLY corn-chips!

There was a note attached as well:

'Gwen, the Tower has granted you access to Morden's Blood Hound and Hound Pack. In exchange, get Magister Wen or someone to help you with a report on how Master's Signature magic interacts with the spells. The Pudong Tower has been advised and should provide you with the scrolls - Gunther.'

“Petra, I’ve got…” Gwen passed on the number discretely.

Her cousin’s husky-blue eyes widened.

“We’re going to need a private office,” Petra informed the helpful clerk. “And bring us the Spell Catalogue. Oh, can you check if Gwen has any items from Pudong?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” For some reason, the young man saluted.

The clerk escorted the two of them to a private chamber with opaque glass walls, then returned to deliver the thick volume of spells-for-sale. Under his other arm, the young man carried two scroll-cases reverently.

"These are keyed to you mana signature, Ma'am."

"Thank you."

Petra gave the young man a dazzling smile, then clicked the doors shut, blocking out his stupidly grinning face.

She materialised her tablet, several notepads, and pens.

“Alright, sit down.”

Gwen obediently followed her cousin's orders.

“Write down your Spell list,” Petra commanded her. “Let’s see what we can do in the next ten months!”

The girls spent the next few hours drawing up a chart of Spells Gwen may very well benefit from if she were to become a one-woman-party.

Her Evocation was steadily working its way toward tier 5. Her acquisition of Ariel as a Lightning Spirit meant that with IFF, she could now be far more liberal with her range of Incantations.

For tier 4, Evocation staples such as Ice Storm and Wall of Fire, which both had Elemental-shift variations, would both up Gwen’s combat utility as well as her AOE potential.

Likewise, for tier 5, she had the incredibly useful Evocation-cum-Conjuration incantation ‘Bilby’s Hand’, a spell made famous by Magister Bilby Bigglesworth, the youngest disciple of Magister Morden. It was also a spell her Master had once shown her, though back then the possibility of her using the spell seemed so far away.

Bilby’s Hand

Conjuration (5)

Casting Time: 41 Major, 40 Minor Incantation

Range: 1 - 20M

Components: Somatic, Verbal

Duration: Persistent

A Signature Spell of Magister Bigglesworth adapted for modern Spellcraft. It is said that the Late Magister wished to improve on his favourite spell as an acolyte - ‘Mage Hand’. This variation of the Magister’s famous telekinetic incantation may be used by both Conjurers and Evokers, though knowledge in both schools is necessary to maximise the spell’s efficacy. Upon manifestation, a prehensile human hand between 1 to 2 meters in height appears. The Mage may control the manifestation as Mage Hand, commanding at will the phantom appendage to grasp, manipulate, push, pull or attack the target. The Elemental-shifted variation is intended for Mages with material elements such as prime, quasi, and para-elemental variations of Earth and Water.

“I am not so sure.” Gwen mulled over the possibility of ‘grabbing’ her opponents. What kind of Magister specialised in groping their targets? Did he grab a Dragon by the... neck? Perhaps a Centaur by the... mane? Or maybe a Lamassu by the... paws. With a famous spell like this, the Magister could grab whatever he wanted.

“Its absurdly useful,” Petra corrected her cousin. “You could retrieve things from afar, save people from torrents, push back boulders; it’s one of the most versatile spells anyone could have. Not to mention the non-Elementally shifted variety is usually used for pacification. You’re still into that sort of thing, aren’t you?”

“I’d say so.” Gwen sniggered. “Okay, I’ll keep it in mind. Still, 53 CCs!”

“You won’t regret it,” Petra assured her. “Let’s keep going.”

Cone of Cold, a spell firing away a blast of Lightning or Void Matter in a 90-degree cone extending up to 15 Meters, was another impressive AOE Gwen could now utilise at tier 5.

As for the future, Petra pointed out that tier 6 brought the most potent spells a Magus could arguably employ without the need for mandalas. Maelstrom, Chain Lightning, Blade Barrier, all three were tried and true damage-dealers capable of changing the tide of a small battle.

At the mention of Maelstrom, Gwen’s lip stiffened.

She recalled the story of Elizabeth Sobel when the woman had first awakened to the Void. Her Master’s wife had then opened up a vortex which turned the Battle of the Brisbane Line, culminating in Sobel’s descent on to a dark and insane path of endless hunger.

Would the same happen to her if an endlessly consuming miniaturised black hole opened up atop thousands of enemies?

Gwen dispelled her doubt with annoyance.

She was better than Elizabeth. She had the wisdom of Sobel's failure to guide her. She had Henry’s instruction. Moreover, she had her friends and family, she had her Almudj’s Essence. And unlike Sobel, her powers were gained through Caliban indirectly.

“Now, about Conjuration…”

So far, Gwen had only a single tier 5 Conjuration spell - Conjure Elemental Swarm.

“I’d say pick up some of Morden’s spells, especially since you’re able to get a discount since you’re the originator of the new Elementally-shifted incantations.”

"Got em right here!" Gwen announced proudly. "Freebies!"

She opened the scroll-cases.

At tier 5, there was Revised Morden’s Bloodhound.

At tier 6, there was Revised Morden’s Bloodhound Pack.

Once she could push into tier 6, with her VMI and her control over her Familiars, she could summon Caliban, Ariel, a single bloodhound, and a pack of up to a dozen dogs. She would indeed be a one-woman army! She could harass her enemies with her hounds, then let loose either an AOE or single-target assaults with Evocation, or even supplement the ‘swarm’ with Conjure Elemental. Just thinking about the glory of a pack of Lightning-dogs or Void-mongrels had her proverbial tail wagging!

Going beyond the Hound-based options were other Conjuration staples such as Cloud-Kill, which filled an area with motes of Lightning or Void, perfect for dispersing mass-troop movements.

Additionally, tier 6 in Conjuration marked the entry point for higher-order spells such as Planar Ally, a spell which bound a semi-intelligent tier 6-8 creature temporarily to the caster’s service. Likewise, Arcane Gate was the precursor to Teleportation at tier 7, allowing long-range, non-instantaneous transfer of the caster across vast distances.

“Arcane Gate and Teleportation are Tower-only spells,” Petra pointed out helpfully, observing her cousin’s eyes aglow with passion. “You need to be a registered Sanctioned Magus to submit the applications for learning them. Anyone caught breaking the rules: be it Clan, House, Magus or Magister, is going to have to answer to the full force of the Council. Usually, a Mind Wipe would be the kindest punishment. In the worst case scenario, you could get iced. That’s why its easier to give one’s followers Teleportation Scrolls.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Gwen thumbed the pages. A state can’t allow folks to come and go nilly-willy. It would make the idea of border security a joke. “What else we got?”

“Here, I’ve outlined my suggestions. These are all utilitarian spells, by the way. Some of them you can’t use without theory. Next semester, you can pick up some Utility-courses to up your WAM, or take Secondary-Magic classes for things like Divination.”

“Hmm…”

Gwen browsed through Petra’s notes, one hand on the spell-list and the other on the Spellbook.

Only one spell was highlighted for Transmutation - Flight, arguably the most important spell to master, and one that paired with every other School of Magic. But it was also the most time-consuming. She wasn’t just getting her metaphorical Provisional Driver’s licence; what she needed to acquire was the ability to circumnavigate like a boss while slinging spells, like Frank Martin in the Transporter, or Dom in the Fast and the Furious movies.

As for Abjuration, Petra recommended against taking advanced courses that required extensive specialisation. Her Spell-list thus included only the staples.

Tier 1 - Resistance, Endurance, Mage Armour, Alarm

Tier 2 - Obscure Divination, Static Shield, Repulsion Shield

Tier 3 - Ward, Explosive Glyph, Barrier

“Bloody oath, that’s a lot of spells!” Gwen blurted out.

“All practical.” Petra nudged her. “They’re not difficult to learn. I’ve neglected Dispel Magic, Dispel Curse and Negate Ward. Those are far too specialised, you’re not going to be working at a Shielding Station, so there’s no point wasting time on theory. Even if you did, there's a snowball in the Elemental Plane of Fire's chance you of all people would be called upon in a time of need.”

“I am barely tier 2!” Gwen protested. "No way I am getting Abjuration to tier 3 in 10 months in addition to everything else."

“Well, work on it. You could also pay CCs to study advancing Shielding theory with one of the Magisters. Where did you get your Signature Shield from again?”

“Gunther.”

“Well, I don’t know if there’s going to be someone like the Morning Star in Fudan.”

The girls continued down the list.

“Divination is going to be problematic,” Petra confessed. “You can ask Mayuree about it as well, but insofar as I know, if you want to serve as the Party’s Message relay, you won’t be able to cast high-tier spells yourself."

“Too much static in the brain?”

“More like you’ll be maintaining a Message mandala,” Petra sketched out the ‘problem’ for Gwen on a piece of scrap paper. “As you can see, the more ‘people’ you support, the more likely you’ll be inundated by their thoughts. There’s a reason Diviners are trained from the age of ten. Neither you nor I can handle it. Personally, I never Spell-cube Divination spells other than Detection Magic. If you want to play that role, get a Magic Item for it.”

“Hmm…” Gwen touched the list with her index finger. As before, it was an impressive list:

Tier 1 - Detect Traps, True Strike, Hunter’s Mark

Tier 2 - Arcane Sight, Aura Sight, See Invisibility.

Tier 3 - Link Familiar

“That’s the one that allows you to look through your Familiar’s eyes,” Petra pointed out. “It’s going to be a chore to train up your Divination, but with a flying Familiar, I’d say it’s one of the most useful spells a Mage could have.”

Ariel Surveillance? YES PLEASE.

“I can imagine,” Gwen mused, giggling to herself.

“Finally.” Petra moved her finger to the bottom of the Page. “I don’t recommend learning Illusion at all, but if you must - here’s a list of helpful spells for the IIUC. Keep in mind that like Abjuration, you’re going to have to attend beginner, intermediate, then specialist classes if you want to use the School in Combat.”

“What’s wrong with Illusion?”

“One, it’s useless against golems and the undead. Two, most of it requires so much concentration you need to be standing still while casting. Rare is the day that you see a flying Illusionist, but then again, you’ll be competing in the IIUC, so who knows? Illusion is big business in the States and Europe. Here? Not so much.”

Gwen took note of Petra’s recommendations.

Tier 1 - Auditory Hallucination

Tier 2 - Haunting Mists, Mirror Image, Minor Image, Magic Mouth

Tier 3 - Hypnotic Pattern, Haunting Vision, Lingering Image

The list appeared as though she was going to operate a Rocky Horror House at a freakish carnival. What if she learned to summon visions of Lovecraftian Transvestites from Transylvania? After all, she had the entire 20th century’s horror genre to plagiarise. What if she paired Caliban and her Void-hounds with yet MORE gut-churning terrors?

Gwen shuddered.

There's potential there.

What the hell would they call her after that?

“You’ve got so many options that it’s become a burden.” Petra patted her cousin's head, hoping she hadn't burnt Gwen's brain. “Take your time. For now, work on your two main Primary Schools of Magic and get used to the Lightning. Didn't you say Caliban has a new form too?”

Gwen nodded.

"I can't test Caliban without live targets. Richard mentioned a dungeon, didn't he? Can you make it?"

"I'll see," Petra answered. "It'll depend on duration, and my Master's schedule."

Gwen nodded.

She collated her notes, then closed the Spellbook. It would take time and advice to ruminate over her Spell-list. Maybe she could get a second opinion? Perhaps one of her lecturers was willing to give her some of their time?

The girls’ quiet dinner at home was joined by Richard and Lulan, both taking a few days off from adventuring. Kusu forbade Lulan from ‘being a bother’ to their saviour, but the ex-Clanner couldn’t care less about her brother’s idiosyncratic politeness, coming and going as she pleased.

Conversely, Petra had taken a liking to the girl and didn’t mind Lulan at all. Perhaps it was because of Lulan’s ability, though more likely, Gwen guessed, it was because Lulan was what they called a ‘straight shooter’. The girl didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. Whether because of her Iron affinity in Earthen magic or merely that she was raised to be simple, Lulan meshed well with the Russian beauty whose formative years were spent amongst Factional politics and intrigue.

“So, what do you think about bringing Percy as a lucky charm?” Richard began after dinner was done and dusted.

“It should be fine, though I’d have to confirm with Grandfather. I'll say its a bonding exercise.”

Gwen wiped her hands on a napkin, then reached for the rice pudding. Now that she had a few days to settle down, her metabolism was giving her hell. Although her draconic essence suppressed her Void-induced hunger, it was no better in its relentless demand for snacking.

“That would be best.” Richard leaned back. “Training with Lea is costing me an arm and a leg! We could all do with a boost to our extracurricular budget.”

Upon hearing her name, Lea looked up from the living room, where she had been playing with Gwen’s familiars. Though sapient, the Undine felt more at home conversing with its fellow elementals, even if one of them was Void-serpent with endless hunger, and the other was a worshipful Kirin.

When the trio had met the other night, Lea had been intimidated by Ariel’s draconic-demeanour, so much that she quivered behind Richard. It took a drop of her emerald-essence and several minutes of coaxing to finally convince Lea that Ariel was indeed its marten self and not some predatory Dragon looking to eat or mate. 'Look!' Gwen had pointed out. 'Ariel has no ding-a-ling!'

“Where are you thinking of taking us?” Gwen spoke between mouthfuls of rice custard.

“A Dungeon - well, a Monster Lair.” Richard produced a Lumen-caster from his ring, and projected images of what looked like a hole dug into the side of an escarpment, surrounded by dense shrubbery. “We were clearing the Tonglv canal when we discovered it.”

“What’s in it?”

“Water Monkey's Den.”

"WOA~!"

Gwen briefly envisioned ten billion Sea Monkeys swarming forth from the cavern’s mouth in a white-pink devouring wave, their little shrimpy claws snipping away at every inch of organic matter in their krill-path.

“He means Watery Ghosts,” Petra pointed out, sensing Gwen’s remarkable confusion.

But her cousin appeared taken yet again, now imagining ten billion undead, incorporeal Sea Monkeys rushing forth like that scene from Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King, only the spectral millions were starved Sea Monkeys out for vengeance against their neglectful teenage owners, lead by Krillagon, last of the Heir of Krillisildur.

“They look like bedraggled Jueyuan.” Lulan decided to lend a helping hand. “Only with giant bulging eyes, sharp claws and teeth capable of chipping my iron sword. They’re also cannibalistic, though they prefer other meat. The locals say they're single-sex beings that rape human women, though I am sure that's made up. We saw females while we were in the den.”

“Holy hell.” Gwen grimaced. “That sounds nasty as anything.”

“Yep.” Richard observed the Familiars mucking about as he spoke. “Bloody good cores though, they’re semi-sapient and so make great material for mid-tier magical items. Especially for imbuing water-based Enchantments.”

“Well, what’re we looking at?” Gwen, the capitalist entrepreneur, raised a critical, snobbish brow.

“About 50 to 300 HDMs, pending on the tier,” Richard sagely advised. “There’s A LOT of the buggers in that cave though. We got through about three dozen of the little nippers before we had to retreat.”

“How come?” Gwen glanced toward Lulan, the last persons she would have associated with the term 'retreat'.

“They had the home ground, and they’re ambush predators, and they have low cunning, and they run away,” Lulan grumbled, puffing out her cheeks. “If it weren’t for Richard and Lea, some of us could have died.”

“Their claws and teeth are poisonous as well,” Richard added. “At least these buggers are. Your wound festers if left unchecked, starts oozing pus after about an hour, then there's the fever.”

“Sounds like an infection.” Gwen was reminded of a National Geographic episode she saw about Komodo Dragons.

“Well, 'disease' then.” Richard shrugged. “We pushed about a kilometre before the caverns widened. Crevices and cross-tunnels all over the joint. I figured it would be best to get you in on the action, maybe invite Mina as well.”

“Team cousin?” Gwen laughed. "Round two, monkey boogaloo?"

“Possibly, unless Petra wants to come? We’re in it for the money after all. I doubt Tao and Mina would care for HDMs.”

“I am always on the lookout for more HDMs.” Petra raised her hand. “Research, training, luncheons, rent, clothes, power, extra-curriculum - everything costs HDMs. Shanghai is an expensive city.”

“Bloody oath, ain’t that the truth,” Richard laughed.

“YES! Shanghai is VERY expensive! Kusu and I pay almost a hundred HDMs per month!” Lulan replied with a shell-shocked expression. When she had received her first paycheck of 300 HDMs, she had thought herself the wealthiest she had ever been. A few weeks later, 80 HDMs went to training, 55 went to rent, 25 went to food, and 75 went to tuition. Since then, Lulan had become budget-conscious, ever paranoid that a single mishap would wipe her out. Her immediate goal, though laughably insignificant, was to be as well provisioned as Gwen, casually spending 1 to 2 HDMs on high-class meals in fancy restaurants with 5-star reviews. She also had her eyes on some clothes which Kusu disapproved of; cementing her opinion of him as a dried up, scrotal prude.

“The PLA ain’t taking care of it?”

“Naw.” Richard shook his head. “There’s a Dungeon-Clear bounty though. I am betting there’s a bigger monster inside controlling these fish-faced monkeys. They’re staying put for now, but once their numbers swell…”

“They’ll be out in force,” Petra agreed. “The Construction Bureau's cleared the land, right? It's aquaculture from the Yangtze to the coast.”

"So what?" Lulan asked. "That's how it is in Hangzhou and Suzhou."

“That means no more food for the Water Ghosts,” Gwen expanded on Petra’s conjecture, a simple enough ecological deduction. The destruction of hunting habitats meant apex fauna had to forage for food elsewhere. As for the Water Ghosts of Tonglv Canal, it just so happened that there were 7 million odd meals in Nantong within half a day’s travel. Of course, Shield Stations sheltered the city, but there were tens of thousands of labourers working outside here and there on the canal, enlarging the city’s transportation infrastructure.

“Which is why we should take advantage of the bounty before the local authorities are forced to act,” Richard declared. “I am sure the locals are keen to be not torn apart in their sleep either.”

“Why does Nantong sound so familiar?” Gwen cocked their head. “I've got it on the tip of my tongue.”

“I worked there a few months ago,” Richard reminded her.

“NO WAIT!” Gwen felt a bulb ignite briefly through the air. “Nantong! The Nantong Fungs! Dai’s Clan!”

“You know the Fungs?” Lulan’s mouth grew sulky. “They’re incredibly uppity! Think they’re better than us just because Nantong's been rezoned to be a part of Shanghai. They're a boat clan, you know.”

“Lulu means the deep-water port,” Richard added helpfully. “The Tonglv Canal offers access to the South China Sea and has trade routes running up to Korea, Japan and the north-east coast of China.”

“Right, thanks, Dick. Lulu, if you meant Dai, we're acquaintances.” Gwen determined that after fighting off Wonsoo and Golos, her instigated duel with Dai’s bodyguard was child’s play. She wondered if it was possible that she could K.O the guy with a single Elemental Sphere. To think that she’d struggled six months ago! Caliban’s Consumption truly was a cheat-like ability. “The Young Master owes me a favour.”

Gwen watched as Lulu's thin, petal-pink lips made an adorable ‘O’. Ever since Lulan’s restoration, she not only looked younger, but more refined as well. Not having to deal with damaged mana channels and a faulty implant that polluted one’s Astral Body could do wonders for a girl's complexion.

“So, interested?” Richard implored his cousin. “We haven’t done anything together since Hengsha.”

“Of course! Sign me up!” Gwen clenched her hand for a fist-bump, which Richard smoothly addressed with one of his own.

“Me too!” Lulan raised her fist as well.

Gwen met her halfway.

“Pats?” Gwen floated a fist toward their femme fatale.

Petra rolled her eyes.

Then met Gwen halfway.

“FOR HDMS!”

“FOR CORES!”

“FOR CCs!”

“…”

Petra refrained from joining the cringeworthy battle cry.

If anything, she whispered, 'For dignity!'

“I’ll let you know by the end of the week.” Richard packed his bowl and chopsticks. “You do your best with our lucky charm.”

Back at the apartment, Gwen took it upon herself to ask Gunther and Alesia for advice regarding her Spell-list. They had been discussing the virtues of Creature Mage combat versus aerial casting when Gunther dropped a bomb on her.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" Gwen shrieked, her startled voice rattling the panes.

"Absolutely." Gunther laughed. "Ariel can direct Morden's Hound Pack. The Arch-Mage's Familiar, Milo, was a Church Grim. It was said to be his Pack's Alpha."

Gwen saw sparks.

Ariel, leading a pack of Lightning Dogs?!

Could anything in this world be more perfect?

“Ugh, I can’t believe you’ve almost caught up,” Alesia's voice uttered from somewhere beside Gunther. “I am… bloody hell, I am thirty-four! Twice your age! What the hell am I doing?!”

“Don’t dwell on it.” Gunther brought Alesia into view, giving her a peck on the forehead even as he wiggled his brow conspiratorially at Gwen to keep from pushing the matter. “More importantly, I am pleased that Ariel mutated into a spirit, and a pseudo-Kirin no less. I dare say it's going to bring you fame and trouble in equal measure.”

“Ah~, about that.” Gwen sat back down on the living room couch. “I was hoping you could tell me more. Did Master ever mention anything about Signature Conjure Familiar rituals?”

Gunther shook his head.

“Not to me. At least not for Conjuration. My Schools are all over the place. I Majored in Evocation. Additionally, Master and I developed an Illusion-Conjuration secondary school to amplify my Radiant powers. Master Henry was an outstanding theorist. Alesia’s Spellbook is likewise chock-full of Signature spells.”

“I wish I could have known him for longer,” Gwen lamented sadly. The loss of her mentor had come so suddenly that even now she felt as though she could return to Sydney and see Sufina and Henry sitting in the Grot, sipping on a cuppa of Golden Mead.

“More than a teacher, Master was like a father to us.” Gunther echoed Gwen's grievance, sympathising with the dour atmosphere. “He had a lot of secrets though. He once told me that he hoarded Signature Spells because Elizabeth Sobel could utilise every School of Magic.”

Gwen nodded. That made sense.

To think that if Henry had remained alive, she would have inherited a treasure trove of Signature Spells from around the world.

“Did Master leave behind any clues for something like a Grimoire collection? Scrolls?”

“No,” Gunther refuted her hopeful fancy. “If anything, Sufina would have a copy, but you were the last one to see her.”

“She didn’t mention anything,” Gwen recalled her last meeting with Sufina. “She had already grown distant by then; I think she’ll revert to her baser instincts after another decade. I hope she’ll at least remember us.”

“I hope so too.” Gunther’s face took on a grim cast. “It’s too bad you couldn’t assume Master’s talent for the Prime Element; else you could have inherited Sufina. I am sure she would have liked you. Remember how you used to feed her that viridescent mana of yours?”

“Oh~, about that…”

Gwen explained the ordeal with her Druidic Essence, with their serpent friend ‘Al’, and her recent acquisition of Draconic Essence.

Her Brother-in-craft took on a thoughtful expression.

“Maybe you should pay Sufina a visit in the near future, anytime within the next five years,” Gunther suggested. “As for Alesia and I, we’ll join you as soon as we’re able to bring back Sobel’s head.”

“On a silver platter,” Gwen added helpfully. "Don't forget, I am a part of this as well. I am coming too."

“Of course.” A smile touched Gunther’s lips, his pupils glowing like two embers in the ambient light of Alesia's apartment. “It haunts me, you know.”

“What does?”

“My failure.” Gunther’s chiselled jaws clenched. “Being unable to prevent Sobel's ploy. Being baited to fight the Leviathan. Given the same choice, I would have gladly allowed the numberless millions to die if it meant Master could be here with us today.”

“Would Master have wanted that though?” Gwen caught the flash of pain as it crossed Gunther's laconic face. Her chest grew constricted; the rare display of raw emotion made it all the more powerful. “Master would have wanted you to help the city.”

“I know.” Gunther sighed. Gwen wondered if Gunther would have liked to be 'Alesia' once in a while and just let loose. “They sentenced Walken, you know. Stripped him of his titles. He’s retired now. Gone to a teaching job. His Faction fell apart. Magister Ferris is the head of the Grey Market now. They’re fully compliant with the rebuilding of the city.”

“That’s good to hear.” Gwen could feel Gunther’s frustration. Her Brother-in-craft would have coveted nothing more than to annihilate Walken, whose misunderstanding had expelled Gunther from the Tower at a critical junction. It was unfortunate that the Radiant Mage's sense of justice did not allow him the satisfaction, knowing that Walken was as much a victim of Sobel’s conspiracy as anyone else.

“Gunther, are you done?” Alesia’s voice came through the LRM Device. “I want to speak to Gwen.”

“She’s all yours.” Gunther retreated from the projected image. “And Gwen, enjoy those CCs. Master might not have left you a Spell Book, but he certainly left you an inheritance.”

“Thanks, Gunther.” Gwen blinked away a few drops of wayward moisture.

“Gwen!”

“Alesia!” Gwen watched as Alesia’s face drifted closer. Her Sister-in-craft had regained her lost vivacity; she appeared far healthier than when they’d last spoken; her complexion once again had that glow atypical of Australian women.

“Bring out Ariel again! I want to see Caliban too!”

Gwen obliged.

“Awww, how wonderful!” Alesia cooed. “I could snuggle Ariel all day, and maybe Caliban, just for a little bit.”

“Ha.” Gwen snickered, wondering how Alesia would feel if she could see Caliban in its Horror Stag Form.

The two women then discoursed regarding Gwen’s future Spellcraft training. Gwen reiterated her proposed Spell-list, asking Alesia for a second opinion.

“I wouldn’t bother with Illusion or Abjuration, to be honest,” Alesia pointed out. “I would focus on Divination, empower my Evocation and Conjuration, master Flight, and specialise as a Hunter-Killer. With Void and tier 6 Lightning, you could be peerless. Get Morden's Dogs up, and you'll be a bonafide living nightmare. Between Dimension Door and Flight, you should be perfectly safe. Don’t you have Gunther’s Shield as well?”

“Hmm…” Gwen weighed Alesia’s advise. It was certainly true that she was a glutton for spells. “Thanks, Sis. I’ll consider your input.”

“Don't over-generalise, but don't over specialise. Too much specialisation and you breed in weakness. You’re going to have teammates. No matter how many spells you know, you're one woman. As a single Mage, you can’t multi-cast anyway,” Alesia advised. “Don't pussyfoot around when you can lay down the Wrath of God. Let’s see some sucker try to attack when they're one Lightning bolt away from electrocution.”

"Well spoken." Gwen snorted.

“Good.” Alesia beamed. “Now tell me again about how you thrashed this Golos feller, in the ass, you say?”

Gwen wanted to call Elvia as well, but it was getting late. 8 PM in Shanghai meant noon in London. There was no way that on a Tuesday, at midday, Elvia would be in the dorm with nothing to do. She would have to wait for a more convenient time or wait for Elvia to call her back.

“Done?” Petra always secluded herself in her bedroom whenever Gwen called her companions overseas. Her cousin’s self-imposed discipline made Gwen feel glad, grateful, and guilty.

“Sorry.” Gwen dipped her head. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us? Alesia seems quite taken with you.”

Petra shook her head.

“Divided loyalties are never a good thing.” The Russian smiled, her luscious lips forming a rouged crescent. “As long as my studies under Master continues, I am bound to her for the duration of our relationship.”

Gwen inclined her head.

She had raised the matter of Petra’s apprenticeship with their babulya. Klavdiya had assured Gwen that Petra wasn’t an ‘inheriting disciple’ but rather an 'apprentice' in a mutually beneficial relationship. It was akin to the ‘Apprenticeship’ that Alesia had offered Gwen at her uncle’s house; in the parlance of Gwen’s old world vernacular, Petra would be a PhD student, and Wen her Supervising Professor.

Other than guidance, knowledge and a co-authorship, Petra stood to inherit nothing from Wen, and so was bound to the Magister only for the duration of their Thesis on Spell-Cubes. Once released from Wen’s studies after another year or two, Petra would be able to apply for tenure at an institution, join either of the Towers or failing that, become a private consultant.

“Feel like a snack?”

Petra shook her head.

More than a snack, it was more accurate to say that Gwen took meals just before she slept. Once, Gwen had fallen asleep while cooking instant noodles and had almost pulled a Marong, clearing out the whole apartment with the smoke from her flaming ramen.

“G’nite, Pats.”

“Nite, let me know what you end up picking.”

"Will do!"

‘Ding!’

Bleary-eyed, Gwen reached for her Messenger Device.

“Gwen!” Mayuree’s voice came across the vox-glyph. "Can you come up?"

Naturally, Gwen was still in bed.

“Why… something important?”

“I’ve got Enchanter Maymaruya here to talk to you, can you come up?”

“Sure, let me get ready!”

“Dress up!”

“Alright, alright,” Gwen buzzed back. “Give me twenty.”

“TEN!”

Gwen rolled out of bed.

A quick circulation of her Draconic Essence was enough to chase away her physical fatigue, though her increased metabolism was giving her an unexpected bane - insomnia. She either woke up hungry, experienced hyper-arousal for no discernible reason, or laid back in bed with her eyes wide open.

She retrieved her matt-navy mini dress from her Storage Ring. Its flared sleeves were formal enough, while its modest hem gave her a dangerous and titillating edge. For shoes, Gwen stuck to her Hermès; she had worn it daily since Hangzhou, savouring the afterglow.

A quick over-the-shoulder ponytail and a pair of cat-eyes later, she was up and over.

“Good morning!” Gwen greeted Mayuree and the old gent seated in the lower living room. Hastily, she scanned the room for Mayuree’s erstwhile shadow, Kitty, but the girl was nowhere in sight. “I am sorry for being late.”

“Miss Song.” The Magus dipped his chin respectfully. “I am Magus Maymaruya, serving under the House of M.”

“Sir, Mia said that you have business with me?”

“Miss Song.” The Magus remained standing while Gwen sat, making her a little uncomfortable. “I would like the pleasure of purchasing and inscribing the Earth Dragon Core you have provided.”

Gwen turned to Mayuree.

“He means the pangolin.”

“Ah.” Gwen nodded. “I would not mind. It’s not mine though, or rather, half of it is mine. How may I repay my benefactor if I were to allow this favour?”

“In currency, favour, or service,” the Magus immediately addressed her concern. “Mayuree’s elder sister, Miss Maymyint, has dire need of it.”

“What do you wish to do with the Core?”

“A gift,” Haymaruya declared. “For the Tyrant of our conquered homeland.”

Gwen raised an exquisite brow.

She and Mayuree had an unspoken pact. She would not unduly expose Mayuree’s history or family, and Mayuree steered clear of hers. They were friends and allies, and it was best to remain as such on the best of terms. Should they unduly gain too much knowledge of one another, it would likely impact the path upon which Mayuree’s prophesy lay.

Beside Gwen, Mayuree remained as quiet as a sleeping lamb.

If knowledge were to be passed under innocuous circumstances, who was she to put a stop to what came naturally?

“Where are you from, Magus Maymaruya?”

“Please, just Maymaruya.”

“Maymaruya.” Gwen squared her shoulders. "Please call me Gwen."

“From a Frontier south of China.” The Magus’ face grew nostalgic. “A place rich in jade and gems and the bounties of nature. A fallen kingdom once called Myăma.”

“BURMA?” Gwen blurted out. “Mayuree, you’re from Burma?!”

“Please do not use that name.” Maymaruya spoked with quiet dignity. “That is the name of a colonised country. We are the people of Myăma.”

“Right, sorry.” With the aid of her clarifying Ioun Stone, Gwen tried to reconstruct as much of her twin-world reconstruction of Myăma as possible. All she recalled was that the place was a constant hotbed of human rights disputes - that and Aung San Suu Kyi was one of its heroes, suffering house arrest until finally bringing a semblance of democracy to the country in 2015. If this is the year 2003, it could only mean that the Junta was well in control of the state and that in four years, there may very well be a violent but futile uprising. “Say, I might be completely wrong, but how’s Miss Aung San Suu Kyi these days?”

“The daughter of General Aung San?” Maymaruya’s face grew stern. “Her name is Aung San Yuzana. She is unfortunately imprisoned in our captive nation, kept as a prize by the tyrant. Who is this Miss Suu Kyi?”

Gwen quickly glanced toward Mayuree, who sipped her tea gingerly.

“No one. How’s the situation with the Military Junta?”

Maymaruya appeared confused.

“What is… this Junta?”

“Sorry.” Gwen coughed. “I am not well-informed regarding Myăma. Who is keeping General Aung San’s daughter captive?”

“A name that shall not pass our lips, for its gaze sees far, and its ears hear all.”

Gwen’s mind furiously connected the dots presented to her.

Mayuree’s family owned and operated a Mercantile House called the House of M.

She came from a ‘conquered land’ called Myăma.

A ‘beast’ ruled the fallen Frontier, a place famous for gems, jade, and jewels.

It kept the famous daughter of the nation’s founder captive.

A beast that hoarded gems, coveted jewels, and kept a girl captive after taking a kingdom hostage?

RIGHT.

“So.” Gwen smiled delicately for the Enchanter. “Tell me about this Dragon. It's not called... Smaug... is it?”

“The Tyrant came upon Myăma some two decades ago,” Maymaruya began, his countenance the manner of one delivering a eulogy. “At first, like the fabled Yinglong, it desired only a mountain upon which to nest. As a remote Frontier city in the 1980s, Yangon did not possess a Tower capable of defeating the tyrant without crippling our city-state. We asked for help from the British Mageocracy, though as expected, no help came; the newly formed Commonwealth was too busy establishing its Towers all over the world to oversee the problems of a deserted colony.”

“Not Smaug then. Still, I am guessing it came…” Gwen dug through her long-term memory for what she could recall of Burma. “For the Jade, and the gold?”

“Yes.” Maymaruya nodded. “It came for the jadeite, the gems and the gold.”

Gwen was happy to know that at least some of her old world knowledge still held up. British Imperial Burma, now officially known as Myăma, had once been a thriving kingdom. Like all medieval kingdoms, it fell to decay and internal strife and was conquered by the British Empire during its Pax Britannica days.

Despite its infamy for poverty, Burma was in fact, one of the wealthiest regions in the world when it came to natural resources. The struggling nation possessed an untapped trove of exotic animals, lumber, natural gas, oil reserves and native fisheries. Most notably, however, British controlled Burma was infamous for its blood-jade and gem trade. No other place on earth could produce jadeite with the clarity and hardness of Kachin’s excavated stones. It was no wonder then that a Dragon had taken an interest. In a world of Arcana, Jadeite could substitute for Creature Cores, being itself a form of congealed mana formed of the Quasi-elemental Plane of Minerals. Though Gwen herself had little longing for jade, she had seen the Chinese Mages donning their jade pendants, earrings, thumb rings, belt buckles and waist-danglers.

“The House of M was called by another name then,” Maymaruya continued. “We were the lords of Tawmao and Khansee, the heartland of Myăma’s jade trade, inheritors of the old kingdom.”

“I see.” Gwen paused. "Did you dig too deep looking for the wonders of Myăma and then awoke a nameless evil?"

"You are too perceptive, Gwen. Yes. It was in 76' that we unearthed the Jade Pillar, an enormous lode of Jadeite of the highest purity, possessing an incredibly dense core capable of serving as the basis of a Tower’s nucleus.”

“So, a Dungeon Core?” Gwen wasn’t up to date on the matter.

“Indeed, that would be the name for such a thing in today’s parlance,” Maymaruya affirmed her suspicions. “A Tower needs to tap into geo-dynamic Ley-lines, and only a Dungeon Core possesses the density and size necessary for channelling the earth’s natural energies.”

“What IS a Dungeon Core, if you don’t mind me asking,” Gwen implored. “I am only a student, Magus Maymaruya. Please excuse my ignorance.”

“I take no offence,” the Magus replied. “Mayuree, are you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mayuree battered a hand.

Gwen gave Mia a comforting smile, which she returned warily, unsure of where this was all going and fighting the urge to find out.

“You must know about Creature Cores.” Maymaruya raised the Pangolin core.

“Yes.”

“Good. A Dungeon Core is not so dissimilar; it is a solidified mass of condensed elemental material, buried deep down in the earth where subterranean Ley-lines meet. Did you know that the PLA Superstructural Tower has at its heart the King-Stone of the Huang River? I was a part of the team that excavated it.”

Magus Maymaruya mimed his incredulity with animated glee.

“Three storeys high it was, big as a skyscraper, entirely consisting of condensed Earthen mana. It took the team six months to move it to the construction site, and another two years to carve the glyphs necessary to channel its latent energies.”

Gwen made an ‘O’ with her lips.

“But I digress. As I was saying, having found the Jade Pillar, our city-state was readying itself for building our Tower. We had even invited the Mageocracy’s Magisters to aid us in our endeavour.”

“But the Dragon had other ideas.”

“Indeed. The 70s was a time when unified magic was young, Miss Song. You must understand that our nation struggled with Western Spellcraft, possessing only six Magisters and no more than three dozen Maguses. There was no way we could have fought the Tyrant to a standstill. Even if we had won, there wasn’t enough of us left to rebuild Yangon.”

“We attempted to placate it at first. The Tyrant had remained on Mount Arakan, in the Golden Valley, minding the territory and warding off lesser beasts. It had even made the region safe for human habitation. We were wary, and so was the Tyrant. But of course, human nature prevailed. A few of the local Lords thought the creature Divine, though I could hardly blame them. After all, our Goddess is a Naga, a form of Dragon-kin. They approached the Tyrant with carts of polished jadeite and nephrite, stoking the creature’s insatiable greed. Over time, the Tyrant grew more and more voracious until it caught news of what we had unearthed in Tawmao.”

With a greedy ear, Gwen eagerly consumed every word.

The Enchanter’s alternative-history of a colonised nation was music to her ears!

“That was the beginning of the end for our city-state.” Maymaruya shook his head wistfully. “Arriving at our capital, the Tyrant destroyed the construction site, chased off the Mages, then carried away the Jade Pillar, calling it the cornerstone of its unholy palace. Surprised and beaten, we desperately attempted to retrieve the Pillar. Without it, we could not construct our Tower. We asked for help, but once more we were outdone by human nature. Factions within the Mageocracy took advantage of our weakness. Old allies and new enemies from China, India, Japan and Britain flooded the country under the guise of ‘aiding’ our city, only to pillage Tawmao of its jade, leaving our people to rot.”

“After that, those of us who survived fled the country. We smuggled out what we could and established a trade consortium with our shamefully gotten gains, amassing wealth and waiting for the day when we could raise an army, gaining enough influence as to invite a tier 1 city’s leadership into helping us reclaim Yangon.”

“What’s happening with Yangon now, as we speak?” Gwen enquired.

“It survives, barely. Until the Tyrant is removed, I fear, we will never have our Tower. Without a Tower, we are cut off, unable to join the ranks of even minor Frontiers like Chittagong, or compete with our neighbours in Bangkok.

Gwen turned to Mayuree, who’d been silent the whole time.

“Was I supposed to hear that?”

“Was Miss Song not in the know?” Magus Maymaruya coughed gingerly. “At all? You had spoken of her so dearly that I’d thought…”

“It’s fine.” Mayuree visibly relaxed, as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “The Goddess willed it. I was no more than her instrument. Well, Gwen, now you know about the House of M!”

“So the M stands for Myăma?”

“Close enough.” Mayuree smiled. “It stands for our country, of course, but also for our displaced House and home. There’s a symbolic significance as well. The M stands for Mü, nothing. Until we recover Tawmao and restore Yangon, we are the house of ‘Nothing’.”

“The House of Moo…” Gwen rolled the words across her tongue. “Yes, the House of M is definitely what I would have stuck with as well.”

Mayuree, who must have been well versed in English, wouldn’t have it.

The two girls had a pleasant chuckle, offsetting the heavy atmosphere.

“So, what can I do to help?”

“Nothing.” Mayuree rested her hands on her honeyed thighs. “It’s not your problem.”

“But?”

“There is no but,” Mayuree insisted. “Come back when you’re a Tower Master. We can pay to fly your Tower over and fight this dragon, haha.”

“Alright, I’ll keep foreign aid as a top priority.” Gwen grinned. “So, tell me about this gift. Why are you giving this ‘tyrant’ of yours Magical Items?”

“It’s a Trojan gambit,” Mayuree divulged readily. “Maymaruya says that the Pangolin Core contains traces of the Yinglong’s essence. Dragons are extremely territorial. Mixing items like this into the jade we send it will make it think that another Dragon is encroaching on its territory. If nothing else, it’ll be losing sleep - and Dragons love to sleep.”

“What if you well and truly piss it off?”

Mayuree tilted her head.

Maymaruya explained for his young mistress.

“Not even the Tyrant can detect the whereabouts of a thing like this if we embed it into a procession of jadeite Bodhisattva. It would have to destroy the visage of the Naga Goddess to get at the Core, and the Tyrant is too superstitious a being to do that and too greedy a drake to relent a priceless carving of Imperial grade jadeite.”

“Eek, the woes of being a Dragon,” Gwen mused. Like a starving man eating raw turnip; the stinging acridness of the bitter flesh made one vomit, but the hunger disallowed such a meal to be forsaken.

“There are worse things.” Mayuree stretched. The girl was impressively flexible, reminding Gwen of her cat. "As the Tyrant's essence pervades these statues, they will subsume and 'erase' the essence of the Earthen drake. A land God as powerful as the Yinglong would certainly sense such a thing. Maybe it'll stir the pot for us, dislodge the Tyrant?"

Gwen wondered if she should say something like they were playing with Dragon-fire, but she was too uninvolved to start telling people how to recover their long-lost homelands. If Thorin could have been persuaded, the book would have ended differently.

“So, the House of M will pay in currency, favour, or service; up to you. What do you say?”

“I am fine with it,” Gwen conceded. She wouldn’t know the first thing about hawking the Core of a Sapient Earthen Dragon-kin, but she could trust Mayuree on offering a fair price. “Myăma, huh? A House of Nothing. I am so sorry, Mia.”

“It’s been like that since I was born, so I don’t feel the loss, not like Maymaruya here.”

“You would have loved Yangon, young Mistress.” the Magus' voice was pregnant with nostalgia. “It would warm my old heart if you could see it one day, the city that is - the avenues abloom with Dendrobium, Frangipani and Cherry Blossoms; the Sule Pagoda resplendent in gold and ivory, the saffron-clad monk boys, walking to morning prayer beside the cafes of the Yangon Riviera. We had all of that before the Tyrant usurped the city’s jade, gems, ivory and gold.”

“That sounds nice.” Mayuree closed her eyes. Imagining the serene scenes of the Riviera.

“One day.” The Magus sighed. The Enchanter then turned to Gwen. “Miss Song, are there any items you wish to craft right now?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Gwen smiled politely. “Mayuree, any suggestions?”

“Not unless you want to disclose your spell-list and talents.” Mayuree put up her hands before Gwen could respond. “No, no, don’t do that. Trust me. Just tell us what you need.”

“I don’t know what I need.” Gwen faced the dilemma of a high-maintenance girlfriend being asked what she wanted for dinner.

“Our in-house Crafters specialise in Ioun Stones, pendants, rings, earrings, precious stone bracelets,” Mayuree informed her friend expertly. “Maymaruya, can you give Gwen a few recommendations.”

“Our most popular products are Contingency Rings.” The Magus smiled. "But I can see you have one already."

Mayuree glanced at Gwen’s fingers.

“An exceptionally master-crafted device.” The Magus begged for her permission. “May I take a closer look?”

Gwen extended her lithe fingers, fancying herself performing the mafioso gesture of one looking to have a signet ring kissed.

A brief glow flashed across the Magus’ eyes.

“From the Royal House of Asscher!” The Magus snapped back, punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. “Mistress Mayuree! Is your friend of noble lineage? Are we in the company of a noblewoman?”

“No, no!” Gwen withdrew her hand quickly. “I am just a nobody from Sydney’s redneck south coast!”

“Impossible! You are too modest.” Magus Maymaruya was shaking with excitement. “The Royal House of Asscher are jewellers given the title by the Dynasty of Queen Juliana herself! They were and continue to be the foremost Enchanters in the field of Gemmology! They pioneered the Spellcraft behind Contingency Magic, the basis of which is the Royal Asscher 17-facet algorithm! Yours is an incredible collector's item. From the cut, the clarity of the Core, and the glamour applied to it, Goddess, it could be worth a hundred thousand, without question!”

OH FUCK. Gwen felt her hand immediately grow sweaty, as though the ring might slip from her fingers at any moment. GUNTHER gave her a ring worth enough currency to buy… God knows, a lot of things! Hadn’t Jonas and Paul, Alesia’s crew, joked that Gunther’s ring was like 15,000 HDMs? Why is it worth ten times the amount now?!

“Maymaruya…” Mayuree coughed.

“Of course, you may trust my discretion - on my life,” the Magus announced, placing a hand to his chest. “By the Naga Goddess, I will keep your heritage a secret, Mistress Song.”

There’s a terrible misunderstanding, Gwen wanted to say. Having the Magus in awe, however, wasn't a bad thing. She had told the truth - the man's opinion was his own business.

“Thank you, Maymaruya.” Gwen smiled regally. “Now, your suggestions?”

“We possess several useful patents,” the Magus continued. Swiping his hand across the table, the Magus produced four intricate jewellery boxes.

“Oo~.” Gwen’s eyes sparkled.

“The first is a Band of the Lamassu.” Maymaruya opened one of the boxes, revealing a ring in the form of a lion biting its tail. “It performs several auditory functions. The first is the ability to project your voice, which can be used at will. The second is the ability to generate a tier 3 shatter effect against hard-Shields, three times per day. Finally, once per day, it can be used to project a sonic Cone at tier 5, as per Cone of Cold. Used with Lightning, I would mark the Shatter at tier 4.”

“How useful is it?” Gwen turned to Mayuree.

“There’s no casting cost, no need for incantation, and the effects happen at-will,” Mayuree advised her friend. “It’s for use in one-two combos, for example, a shield-shatter effect, followed immediately by one of your Void-Bolts.”

“Oh, ouch.” Gwen made a face. “That’s a little lethal for my taste. Are there items made for Monster hunting?”

The Magus chuckled, then opened the second box.

“A Dungeon Earring,” he announced quickly.

Gwen burst into snorting laughter at the 'pun-ishment’.

Who’d thought the Magus was into fatherly humour?

“Great for dungeoneering, I bet.”

“Yes, indeed.” The Magus laughed. “These come in sets of five, a Master and four Slaves. The Master, when attuned to a Diviner, boosts the Diviner’s Message Range. When used by a non-Diviner, it generates a Message Relay at tier 1, with an effective range of twenty meters without LOS and up to two hundred meters with LOS. It allows free communication between the master and the slave units.”

“VERY USEFUL!” Gwen picked up the scintillating, ruby-like Creature Core, mounted atop a sterling silver setting.

“Indeed. Here-“ The Magister opened the third box. “A staple - A Ring of Mind Shielding, with Mind Lock, Resist Glamour and Resist Illusion. It will vastly improve your resistance to Mind Magic, Suggestion and external Glamour. Works against both human and non-human phenomena.”

“I could use one of those.” Gwen pinned the tear-drop crystal against her ear. “Mia, how does it look?”

“Beautiful.” Mayuree beamed. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Aww, thanks.” Gwen gushed. Who’d knew having a family jeweller was so awesome?

“And the big one.” The magus opened the final box. It was a necklace pendant with a thumb-sized opal.

“Oh…” Gwen’s eyes sparkled. The stone was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Crafted from the Core of an elder Foglet.” Maymaruya allowed the light to play through the stone, showing off every facet of its scintillating beauty. “A Ghosting Amulet - it's a contingency item. Should you suffer a catastrophic Shield Break or become injured, you will be Dimension Doored to a safe location. At the same time, if you are an Illusionist, it will further draw upon your Sigils to create two mirages per tier of illusory simulacrums who will ‘fight’ your opponents while you escape to safety.”

“WOW!” What else could Gwen say other than being awed? She was a simple country girl. The Ghost Amulet was the Mercedes S-Class of Magic Items.

“The rarity of Foglet Cores aside, that one consists of Maymaruya’s blood and tears. Took him close to three months to craft,” Mayuree added. “Also, it’s mine…”

“Oh?”

“He asked for to to be used as a sample.”

“Ah~.” Gwen returned it to Mayuree awkwardly.

The Magus as well, seem embarrassed.

“Those cores you brought can be used to make the Earrings, the Lamassu Ring, and the Mind Shield. If you want an Amulet, we’ll have to barter for one from the Eastern European Foglands.”

Gwen ruminated her options.

The Shatter-shield ring was useful, but she could manage without it.

The dungeon-earrings were very useful, but she had so far managed without them.

The Mind Shield was a godsend. She never wanted to be Dominated or have her mind invaded again, ever, by anyone.

As for the Ghosting Amulet, Gwen felt very much tempted. In addition to her Contingency Ring, it could serve as another buffer. If her ill-gotten wealth can save her from expending Gunther’s Ring, it could be well worth it.

“I want the Mind-Shield and the Ghosting Amulet,” Gwen declared.

“Would you accept two tier 3 Draconic-deer cores for the Mind-Shield? As for the Ghosting Amulet, I knew you were going to want one, so how about a one to one trade with the Earthen Core from the young drake?”

“Sure?” Gwen did a few quick calculations in her head. She was trading away about 30,000 HDMs worth of Cores for a 'rare' and a 'near unique' magical item that could save her life. Money was a priority - but one had to be alive to spend it! She was also glad that Lulan wasn’t here to witness her spendthrift. The price of these rarified items alone would drive the girl into a berserker frenzy.

“Deal.” Mayuree struck out a palm.

Gwen offered her companion a low-five, then the two shook on the deal.

“I'll leave the rest up to you,” Gwen suggested. “Sell it or make items with it. I'll trust your best judgement.”

“The two draconic-carp cores should sell well,” Mayuree noted with a smile. “If you need currency. Deductions will be taken from your account with the House of M, where all your future proceeds will be deposited.”

“Future proceeds, huh?” Gwen mused. "Am I a part of your elite Clientelle yet? Do I get a black card?"

“Of course!” Mayuree hugged her friend by the waist. “As someone in our 20,000 HDM Club, you’re now a VIP! What's a black card?”

It was now Gwen who tilted her head.

“The House of M has spending strata for clients but no executive service branch?”

“Well, not formally.” Mayuree laughed. “We can do front-row seating at auctions, priority bidding and all that, as well as offer advice on items and ingredients. What else do you want?”

Gwen blinked.

She knew that this world’s financial practices were well repressed. The methods of her old world had yet to penetrate the virginal econonics of Shanghai. To Gwen, it was the symptom of a market where inter-continential economic imperialism never quite took hold. There was no stock market for her to navigate per se, but surely she could make a few dollars elsewhere, such as HR and Business Structuring.

“Mayuree, I wouldn’t normally ask this. But how big is your organisation? What’s your turnover? Do you have lots of clients who break 10,000, 50,000 and 100,000 HDM strata?”

Mayuree turned to regard Maymaruya.

“I cannot provide an exact figure, Miss Song.” The Magus cleared his throat. “Our clearance from our auction division alone is almost a quarter of a million HDMs, last financial quarter.”

“Who are your largest competitors?”

“That would be the Hong Kong Shanghai British Corporation, the Dai Nippon Trade Consortium, and the state-sponsored Shanghai Wildland Auction Commission.”

“Is there a… Citibank? American Express?”

“The Americans do not operate within our sphere,” the Magus replied. “Too far, not to mention they have their hands full. Last I heard, the Mayans of Chichen Itza are not taking the American's Southern expeditions lying down.”

Oh yes, of course, Gwen reminded herself. Thanks to limited communication and the fragmentation of human city-states by Frontier zones, globalised banking had been stunted. The lack of a Cold War, deferred by the common threat of Magical Beasts, prevented a global dissemination of Social Democracy, Laissez-faire Capitalism and Communism. Had the Tower System not been established, there would have been no coalition of humanity.

Gingerly, Gwen stood from her chair, pried Mayuree from her waist, then squared her shoulders. Her expression grew severe and serious.

“Is the House of M looking for a Business Consultant, by any chance?”

Mayuree and Maymaruya looked upon Gwen as though she had suddenly gone off the deep end.

“Don’t answer yet. Just give me five minutes. Promise me that whatever I tell you won’t leave this room - and if you choose to take on my advice, I would like a stipend, assuming my proposal is successful, which I am confident it will be.”

“Okay, sure.” Mayuree gazed upon her friend with as much perplexion as admiration. More often than not, Gwen said the strangest things. But then again, anyone who liked Gwen's company would soon grow accustomed to her 'Gwenisms'.

“Miss Song. I am listening.” Maymaruya played along out of curiosity if nothing else.

“Thank you.” Gwen took a deep breath. She channelled a little Draconic Essence into her presence.

Her two captive audience members inclined backwards as though Gwen had suddenly grown in stature.

Then she began, her voice commanding and assured. The young woman in the navy blue dress moved with such conviction that Mayuree and her Enchanter felt compelled to listen.

“Mia, Magus Maymaurya. I want you to imagine yourselves attending an auction organised by the House of M. It’s 7 PM on a Saturday, and we're deep inside the historic Waldorf Astoria. Tonight is going to be an amazing night. Rumour has it that there are Draconic-cores for sale."

"The rich and the famous are gathered to see who’s who and what they’re willing to pay. They turn to see you, a vaguely familiar face. You know of them, and they know of you. For now, you're just one of the many faces here.”

“…”

“…”

“That is - until you reach into your breast pocket. Slowly, meticulously, without excessive endearment, you produce an I.D card, it's 'invite only' and made from anodised Orichalcum, darker than black, so dark that it sucks in all light. A single imprint, briefly visible, displays your personal Glyph.”

Mayuree and Maymaruya regarded one another.

Gwen opened her hands, as though unleashing an unholy power.

"But that's okay, because after tonight, everyone will know your name - and the fact that you're a rare member of the Centurion Club."

It was 8 PM before Magus Maymaruya left the apartment with a ring chocked full of loose notes and a data-slate pregnant with the future of the House of M’s Centurion Customer Service Division.

“Oof- I'm going to sleep.” Mayuree yawned. “I can’t believe the two of you went at it for six hours!”

“Well, when you’ve got the working bug, time just flies!” Gwen chuckled. She was still flushed with vigour, the complexion of her face pink with excitement. Her eyes were swollen, her lips were cracked, and her throat was parched, but watching Maymaruya falling over himself had been orgasmic. How long had it been since she had a ‘sit’ with a client? For the better half of the day, it had felt as though she was back in the old world.

“How do you even know this stuff?” her friend queried.

The 'stuff' had given Mayuree a headache.

Silver, Gold, Jadeite, Mithril and Centurion-Orichalcum membership.

Annual Fees.

Minimum Spending.

Cash flow Period.

Privileged Point-Exchange programs.

Personal Assistants.

Reserved Travel at ISTC Stations.

Priority reservation of rare ingredients.

Words stranger than eldritch Magic kept pouring from Gwen's lips.

"The more they spend with the House of M, the more selective the reward. Trust me when I say that it's not the value of the service or the money they save that will distinguish the House of M's branding. It's the fact that you care. To you, the client is a valued family member. To make their life infinitesimally easier is the existential creed of the Centurion Executive Service."

Maymaurya had nodded like an acolyte at his first meeting with a Magister.

“Why do I know? My family grew up poor,” Gwen confessed, hugging Mayuree close to her chest conspiratorially. “You see, I promised myself once when I was young…”

She stretched out her right arm in a grand gesture toward the magnificent view of Fudan below.

“As God is my witness - I'll never be hungry again!”

“Aww.” Mayuree slipped from Gwen’s overstimulated intimacy. Gwen's draconically-imbued embrace possessed a crushing, suffocating grip. “Poor you. Well, I am glad Maymaruya liked your ideas.”

“I am up for salary negotiations anytime.” Gwen grinned.

“Ha!” Mayuree chuckled. “What makes you so confident it’ll work.”

“Oh, you’ll see.” Gwen left her companion lounging on the sofa. “Alright, I better head down as well. It’s going to take a few months, but keep me updated on the Cores! And the CCS Division proposal! Likewise, I’ll let you know if I need a currency-advance.”

Mayuree laughed heartily.

“Say, where’s Kitty? Or Marong?” Gwen looked around, begging the question that had been on the tip of her tongue.

“Brother’s still got problems back home - well, in Yangon, since now you know. We’ve got constant problems with border disputes, poachers, and the occasional Rogue Mage out in the Orange Zone. Kitty's away questing; she’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“I see, here’s hoping they’re both safe, eh? I better go. Petra’s feeling lonely, I’ll bet.”

“Good night Gwen.”

“Ciao!”

Gwen reappeared a few seconds later.

“Mia, can you give me a doggy bag of the leftovers?”

By 4 AM, Gwen still couldn’t sleep.

Wide awake from the excitement of having her new items made and having her proposal heard, she slinked into the living room to call Elvia.

“BEEEEEP-Bo-kEEEE…”

Elvia's Dorm Matron answered the LR Communication Device. After a quick exchange, the kind woman relayed the Message.

Five minutes later, Elvia appeared standing before Gwen in a nightdress.

“OH MY GOD!” Gwen gushed, her eyes bulging. “LACED VICTORIAN NIGHTIE!”

Gwen was of course, on Silent, but still, she managed to kick up a fuss. Quickly, she calmed herself. Earlier, she had told Petra all about her arrangement with the Magus, repeating herself until her cousin escaped into her bedroom to sleep off the Gwenism induced headache.

Elvia twirled.

“Hi, Gwen! Do you like it? It's from Bluebirds!”

“Ernngh~ I love it! So lacey!”

“Hahaha, so, what’s happening?”

“Oh, TONS of things. Things you cannot begin to imagine. Do we have privacy?”

“Yep, but let me switch to Silent.” Elvia returned a few seconds later.

Her angelic little Evee had grown her hair out, falling about her slim shoulders like a golden waterfall. Elvia must have made good progress in her Biomancy, Gwen remarked. Her erstwhile companion appeared younger, despite being nine months older. Whatever they were feeding the girl, the Nightingale School had done Elvia right.

“Wow, I haven’t talked to you in a month! How’re your funds? I've recently acquired a windfall."

“Me too! I worked tons!” Elvia pouted. “Five days a week, and I am volunteering as well.”

“That’s wonderful! How’s work at Ormond Street?”

“It’s going well.” Elvia’s voice took on an ambivalent hollowness. It was something she did whenever she either tried to mask her discomfort with a white-lie or tried to avoid a particular topic of conversation.

“Evee.” Gwen leaned in. “You can tell me. If you do, I’ll show you Ariel’s super adorable new form.”

Elvia stared at Gwen critically.

Gwen shirked back, wounded. Had Elvia grown up!? Was she immune to Ariel’s charms?

“Okay…” Elvia moped.

Gwen mentally punched the air.

As it turned out, Elvia had been bullied.

Gwen’s mood grew increasingly more dangerous as her friend’s account continued. The basic gist of it was that Elvia was interning at the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children when they received a young Mage from a prominent family who had been severely burned, suffering both internal and external injuries. Elvia’s mentor, Lady Astor, was assigned to the case, and things had initially gone as well as expected. A day later, Elvia had the night shift. She attended to the young man, struck up a conversation, and even convinced him to take a sponge bath to discard the peeling, old skin that had fallen off after the treatment.

HOWEVER, Elvia’s popularity at GOS, especially pertaining to Lady Astor's intimate interest, had also brought ire and envy. A few of the younger nurses and even one of the ward's physicians accused Elvia of inappropriate behaviour with Lord Allen of Liverpool, attempting to ‘social climb’. Lady Astor was alerted when Elvia's accusers cornered the blonde healer in the staff’s break room, at which point Elvia had become hysterical.

The no-nonsense Director stood her ground and informed Elvia’s accusers that they had five seconds to confess the truth and retain their jobs with a pay cut - or hold their peace. One of the nurses cracked, while the others held their ground.

“Elvia, will you subject yourself to a Truth Geas?”

Of course, there was no need for such a ruse. Lady Astor's word was law, not to mention one of the nurses had snitched on her co-conspirators as soon as Elvia agreed. Her accusers were caught out, and even the young Lord Allen put in his two cents. The nurses lost their positions, and the young physician disappeared from GOS. After that, Elvia had thought her troubles over, but not so. Three weeks later, she ‘screwed up’ the medication for another patient. When she adamantly refused to confess that she had made a mistake, Lady Astor again stood up for Elvia. At the Lady’s behest, yet another investigation took place. She called in the hospital’s Master of Medicine, who testified in Elvia’s favour. This revelation then led the staff to suspect malicious action or even assassination, even though the ‘victim’ was a young girl from a regular Mage household. In the end, Scotland Yard arrived. Their swift deployment of Forensic Diviners revealed that one of the staff had ‘accidentally’ taken Elvia’s cart and had been too afraid to fess up once Lady Astor was involved.

Another public firing later, the junior staff had a new name for Elvia - The Trouble Maker.

Of course, it wasn’t Elvia’s fault. Though grievous mistakes rarely happened at GOS Children’s Hospital, the culture was to let bygones be bygones. Conversely, Lady Astor had torn a scabby gauze from a bloody wound, revealing to the world that even the best support staff at the best medical institution were only human in their pettiness.

“I’ll come over there and fucken rip em a new one!” Gwen shouted at the Projection Crystal. “How do I get to London? Caliban’s got a brand new form and it sure as fuck can do with some Christmas baubles! Ever since that wyvern, it's got a real hankering for assholes, let me tell ya...”

Gwen’s vitriolic passion made Elvia reel with fright.

“No! Stay in Shanghai!” The petite blonde girl shook her head and waved her hands. “I’ve got it sorted; it’s no big deal!”

“You can’t take this shit lying down!” Gwen fumed, the amber of her eyes glowing with Draconic-presence. “I am calling Alesia! She’ll send that guy, what’s his name again? Dominic Lorenzo? He’ll take care of it!”

“But it’s taken care of,” Elvia pleaded with her. “I don’t want more trouble, please, Gwen?”

Gwen growled, her frustration low and rumbling.

A continent away, Elvia visibly shivered.

“Show me Ariel!” Elvia attempted to change the subject. “Kiki! Look! It’s aunty Gwen!”

“Sister Gwen!” Gwen snapped.

“Sister Gwen,” Elvia corrected herself. For whatever reason, Gwen always felt much older.

“Kiii? Kii-kiii!” A bauble-head appeared.

Gwen felt her ire drain away.

Kiki had grown since she’d last seen it.

Where the creature was a little weed-like seedling a few months ago, it was now evidently humanoid, with well-formed limbs and a bulbous head like a large chestnut. Its hair, like Sufina’s, was a tangle of trellises filled with little white flowers.

“WOW,” Gwen spluttered. “Put it closer! Ariel!”

She likewise presented her pseudo-Kirin.

“OH MY GOD!” Elvia gasped. “Ariel’s got horns!”

The two girls gushed over their mutual Show and Tell.

Caliban made the rounds as well, but there was no way Gwen could show Elvia its Stag-form.

"Kikiki!" Kiki put a little dance routine.

Unlike Gwen’s Conjured Familiars, Elvia’s Spirit existed not as a part of a complex spell, but as a part of an agreement between Dryad and Mage. Even empowered, Kiki merely looked a little larger, growing from a bauble-headed doll to that of a somewhat better proportioned Barbie. In so far as Dryads went, Kiki had a long way before it could even begin to mimic Sufina’s grandeur. Gwen’s Familiars, however, had their full complement of forms: from docile marten-plushy to its pseudo-Kirin guise, to its full-fledged draconic-chimaera likeness.

"Wow!" Elvia marvelled. "That may not even be Ariel’s final form!"

After the exchange, Gwen told her own story: her father, Hangzhou, Uncle Jun, and Percy, omitting only what was necessary; bound by the No.1 and No.2 rules of the Per-secrecy club.

“I am so sorry.” Elvia fought back her tears of sympathy. “Mr Song is a terrible man.”

“I feel sorry for their new kid.” Gwen sighed. “But making up with Percy was pretty good.”

“I spoke to Yue last week!” Feeling self-conscious, Elvia changed the subject again. “She’s up in Queensland at the moment.”

“Covered in fish-guts and lizard spawn, I’ll bet.” Gwen chuckled.

“Yeah, she and Paul and Taj and Jonas. BIlly is there too; you remember Billy?”

Gwen recalled the stuttering Diviner. It was cute that he was the youngest of the original group, fresh out of university and already assigned to Alesia. That had to be a nightmare.

“They got a whole party going!”

“I know, right? Alesia is staying and helping Gunther with his work in Sydney now, so Yue’s inherited her old Adventuring party. She says she’s getting a promotion at the end of the year as well.”

“Oh?”

“She’s going to be Warrant Officer Class 2.”

“We’ll have to salute her the next time we see her then.” Gwen made a mock salute with her hand, which was returned by Elvia. Seeing their Masters performing the salute, Kiki and Ariel did the same; Caliban had no arms and so could only wistfully watch.

By now it was almost 6 AM. Gwen was finally feeling the desire to sleep.

She technically had nothing planned for the day, though there was arguably a lot on her plate. There were new Hound spells she had to learn, inscriptions to copy and incantations to practice. Then there was the matter of her end of semester marks which had been given out in her absence.

“Alright, Evee, it was lovely talking to you.”

“Likewise, Gwennie. We’ll catch up later. What are your plans for Christmas and New Years?”

“Honestly?” Gwen bit her lips. “I have no idea. Maybe something with the family? I don’t know if they celebrate Xmas here in China. As for New Years, maybe a dinner or something.”

“Okay! For Xmas, I’ll be volunteering with Emily, our Student Council President, and Sylvie, my roommate, at the refugee shelters. Lady Astor has invited me to a ball on New Years, Emily and Sylvie are going as well, so don't worry. Emily will be attended to by her Knight; it's all perfectly safe.”

“That’s alright.” Gwen gave Elvia a phantom hug. “We’ll talk beforehand anyway. I want to see Lumen-pics! Don’t pick your dress without showing me first!”

“Hahaha, alright.”

After a few more XXes and OOes, Elvia hung up.

Gwen closed her eyes to rest for a moment.

And woke up with Petra standing over her.

“Oh God, you gave me a fright!” Gwen spluttered. Petra’s husky-blue orbs had a predatory quality, particularly when she was upset or unhappy.

“I know you can’t catch the Flu.” Her cousin tsked disapprovingly. “But that doesn’t mean you sit out here comatose with your buttocks in the cold.”

“I had insomnia,” Gwen confessed, tucking her legs under said buttocks. “So I talked to Elvia for a bit.”

“Go back to bed,” Petra advised. “When did you sleep? I heard commotions at like 5 AM.”

“Sorry,” Gwen apologised.

“Off you go then.” Petra pulled her from the couch.

Heeding her cousin’s advice, Gwen went back to bed.

‘Ding!’

‘DING!’

‘Ding!’

‘DING!’

Gwen shot awake.

She pawed the bedsheets for her Device.

“Yes? Gwen here?”

"EEE!"

In her haste, she had kicked Ariel.

"Shit! Sorry," Gwen murmured.

"SHAAA!"

"Arrgh! You drooled on me! Sleep in your own bed!"

“Gwen!” A stranger’s voice came across the Message. “It's me, the Dean. Can you see me in my office this afternoon?”

“Yesssser.” Gwen attempted to make herself as alert as possible, but her sleep-deprived tongue refused to cooperate.

“Young lady - it’s 11 AM.”

“Yer ser!”

The Dean sighed.

“… Your appointment is at 1300. I know you’re young - but have some discretion. Remember, always use protection, and go see the Medical Mages if you have to.”

“Sir?”

The Message clicked shut.

FUUUUU~ Gwen kicked herself.

After five minutes of self-loathing, she forcibly circulated her Draconic-essence until the desire to go back to bed was kept at bay.

“Alright! I am up!” Gwen slapped her cheeks.

She struggled out of her beckoning silk sheets, throwing on a blue silk buttonless-blouse from Hangzhou and a four-button high-waisted pencil skirt. She brushed out her hair, cleaned up her face, then stepped back into the Hermès.

Along the way, she picked up two Taiwanese crepes from a local vendor for brunch, as well as a taro milk tea. At ten to one, Gwen arrived at the Dean’s Office, once again marvelling at the intricate beauty of the Zibinyuan, the sole colonial building in Fudan’s old Handan campus to have escaped the Purge unscathed.

“Ellen?”

Dean Luo Jiang’s ‘secretary’ met her at the door. The Air Sprite wore a business getup, or more accurately, she was garbed by Luo’s Illusion in a bell-skirt and a frilly avocado blouse. The garb wasn’t very creative, but it suited the pale-faced Spirit. From afar, Ellen perfectly resembled a regular human female. Curiously, Gwen wondered if Luo had a specific spell for attiring his Spirit Familiar.

“Gwen! Come in!” The Dean's voice summoned her.

Gwen noticed Ellen hadn’t greeted her.

The Sprite was keeping her distance, looking wary and apprehensive.

Given more time, Gwen would have tempted Ellen with a mote of her emerald essence, though now she had to wait before ensnaring the Dean’s Familiar.

Inside the office, the Dean sat at his table, inundated by paperwork as usual.

“Sit! Sit!” a voice called out from behind the pile. “No wait, I’ll come out.”

The friendly face of the middle-aged Dean appeared from behind the table.

His eyes swept over her new attire.

“Hmm.” The Dean’s expression took on a contemplative mood. “Lovely shoes.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Gwen curtseyed. "I can dress Ellen for you if you like."

“... I spoke to the Secretary-General this morning." Luo cut to the chase, coughing to hide his awkwardness. “As well as Magister Wen.”

Gwen stiffened, her remaining fatigue dispelled by a sudden surge of adrenaline. After a dignified recovery, she gave the Dean a bright and dazzling smile, flashing the man with her pearly whites.

“Draconic-essence, huh?” The Dean walked a circuit about her person. “Ellen- the door.”

The door shut of its own accord.

“A demonstration, if you could? My room is heavily warded.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Gwen understood that this was a chance to appeal to the Dean directly. If she could receive a personal commendation from the man, her position in the IICU team was well-assured. Compared to what she stood to gain, the indignity of putting on an Ariel and Caliban show was of little importance.

"Ariel!"

First came Ariel’s many forms.

"Caliban!"

Then it was Caliban's turn.

The Dean was suitably impressed and commended her on her supernatural growth. Ellen as well was supremely delighted with Ariel’s Kirin form. Gwen supposed that it was because of their mutual affinity for Air, which induced a certain sense of kinship. As for Caliban, the Sprite kept her distance.

“Caliban’s got a new form-factor, Sir,” Gwen explained. “It’ll cost a significant volume of vitality, however. Additionally, Caliban's new combat form may prove to be extremely taxing on the er… psyche.”

“You've piqued my curiosity, good girl!" Luo chuckled. "Are you suitably provisioned to demonstrate the creature’s prowess? Shall I call for Magus Kumiko?”

“I should be, Sir. Though I would propose we push Caliban’s feeding schedule from Saturday to later today or maybe tomorrow.”

“Of course.” The Dean straightened his vest. “Let’s see it.”

“Please step back, Sir.”

The Dean took half a step back.

“Caliban!” Gwen commanded her Familiar. “Stag form!”

A torrent of obsidian mana pumped into Caliban even as her creature tapped into its internal stores. Gwen's face paled, her veins filling with ice as Caliban took the bare-necessity of vitality required to trigger the transformation.

"SHAAAAA!"

Caliban's serpentine torso extended, its carapace ripped and torn. Pink and purple tendrils joined the sound of snapping bone and mangling flesh as Caliban polymorphed into its three-meter, X-rated visage.

“Mao’s GHOST!” Dean Luo stumbled back, taken by the aura of vertigo and the inexplicable existential terror emanating from Gwen's Familiar.

“Master! Watch out!” Ellen teleported right beside her Master and took up a defensive stance. Looking at her discarded pile of clothes, it would seem that only parts of her attire were illusory. Now in its elemental-form, Ellen reminded Gwen of Lea, a humanoid female silhouette filled with just enough condensed mana to manifest a physical body. “Gwen! What is this thing?!”

“It’s Caliban,” Gwen pointed out.

“It’s a roving mass of hunger!” Ellen pushed Luo backwards. “It desires only to consume!”

“Yes,” Gwen nodded confidently. To her, that was indeed Caliban. “Void’s got a bit of Air in it, right? Caliban’s a good sort, think of it as Ariel, but hungrier.”

“Abomination!” Ellen frowned, forming a wall of shimmering air between Caliban and her Master. “This thing should not be!”

“You got that right.” Gwen admired her sweet old Caliban. It was a bloody terror alright. In its Stag-form, Cali was an absolute unit.

“Ellen, it’s perfectly safe.” Dean Luo patted his Familiar’s shoulders.

“Luo, this thing has taken the form of our Kin into itself!”

“Ellen, stand down.” Luo’s voice was a gentle lull. “Gwen is in control - are you in control, Gwen?”

“Caliban, sit!” Gwen ran through her routine.

They were lucky that the Dean’s office was one of those generous Victorian studies and not, alas, Fudan’s modernised glass and concrete cubicles. Caliban carelessly swung its faceless mien to and fro, dangerously swinging its sixteen-pointers. Its needle-point front legs dug into the floor, cracking the herringbone inlay. Then, as promised, it sat.

“Shaaa!” The smooth facial carapace emitted a muffled cry more akin to a strangled babe than any sound that should exist in the material realm.

“Hand!”

Caliban raised a meter-long length of limb-cum-lance.

Gwen took the ‘hoof’ by the ankle, where the girth was just right for her hand to envelop. The chitin was smooth obsidian, seamless and polished, as though machined into existence by some old, tenebrous power with an eye for minimalism.

“Excellent, Miss Song.” Dean Lou dismissed his Familiar, commanding her to stand down. “Have you tested Caliban in combat?”

“Not yet, Sir.”

“I see. I would do so at the first opportunity.” The Dean took a step forward, then placed his hand against Caliban’s face. Gwen took in a nervous breath, hoping that unlike Carp-liban, Stag-liban didn’t secrete Void-ooze.

“Sir…” Gwen began.

“I would have thought the carapace oily, or at least wet,” the Dean replied, his voice filled with profound wonder and genuine interest. “It's dry! A little cold to the touch, but quite pleasant. I am touched, young lady. Quite touched!”

“Yessir. Cali's a cutie, Sir.” Gwen breathed out.

Ellen moved closer, her ethereal form flickering in and out of vision. The Sprite likewise reached out with her arm.

Caliban turned to regard the Air Sprite.

Gwen felt a surge of excitement and interest passing through her empathic link.

Oh shit! Gwen suppressed Caliban’s curiosity, but it was too late.

As Ellen placed one hand on Caliban’s faceless head, one of its sixteen horns lost its rigid form and attempted to give Ellen a lick with its pink, barbed tentacle tongue, tipped with a lamprey’s maw.

Ellen froze as an arm-thick rosy tentacle slapped her wetly across the forehead.

Dean Lou froze, evidently stricken by the torrent of emotions ravaging his Empathic Link.

Ellen’s lips parted.

“AEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEAAAA!"

A Sonic Blast issued forth from a Master Conjurer’s mid-tier Spirit enveloped the Dean’s chamber.

Dean Luo unsummoned his Familiar the moment his paperwork began to disintegrate. There was a brief exhilaration in seeing his workload disappear before Luo realised that requesting the faculty to re-submit their proposals was a far bigger hassle.

He looked over to see how Fudan’s prized Void Mage was handling Ellen's Aural Vortex, finding Gwen sheltered behind a double-glazed Mana Shield. It was no surprise to Luo that the girl was in possession of such a unique Abjuration; knowing her history, he would have been disappointed had the Morning Star not endowed the girl with his Signature Shield.

Overlooking the two Mages each nestled in their barriers, Gwen’s Stag-monster placidly loomed. It had lost a layer of its chitinous exoskeleton to the sonic blast, though its expressionless head showed no acknowledgement of being flayed.

Of greater interest to Luo, was the fact that the Stag had shielded Gwen with half of its body, forming a make-shift barrier with its protruding tendrils, one of which had broken off, obliterated by Ellen’s innate ability.

“Are you alright, Gwen?” the Dean enquired. It was his duty, after all, to ensure that the students were safe.

“Yessir.” Gwen brushed off a few motes of plaster.

The office was in ruins.

Gwen pondered if there was a ‘Reparo!’ Charm the Dean could use.

“CAO!” Dean Luo approached his obliterated alcohol cabinet. “My four-decade single-malt! ELLEEEEEN?!”

“I am terribly sorry, Sir.” Gwen shared the heart-rending suffering of the Dean; she could smell the sickly sweet scent half a room away.

“It’s not your fault, Gwen.” Luo held a shard of shattered crystal in his hand, his face a mask of devastation. “I wasn’t ready for Caliban’s prehensile friendliness either. It was probably too much to expect Ellen, whose instinct was fight or flight, to rationally assess both context and circumstance. Let that be a lesson! Many young Mages freshly endowed with Spirits think that the IFF is universal, but it is correlated with the Spirit's innate erudition.”

Gwen stood awkwardly beside the Dean as he made an increasingly grim assessment of his historical office. The walls were warded, the windows shielded, but not so his collection of baubles and curio that he had put up for flavour.

The Dean dug out a shredded manila folder.

“I had your results here as well,” Luo lamented. "I was going to commend you on achieving your first H.D average. Well done, Miss Song."

He handed her a pile of mangled paper.

“…” Gwen expressionlessly received the tattered shreds in her hands. Stoically, she stowed them in her ring. "Thank you, Sir."

The Dean beamed happily.

“Thank you for coming in, Gwen. I eagerly await your participation in the 2004 IIUC in August.”

Speaking of the IIUC, Gwen raised a hand.

"Yes, Miss Song?"

"How did the current group of students progress, Sir? There's been nothing in the Student Paper."

The Dean's expression fell.

"The field of competition is rather stiff, I am afraid," Luo lamented. "Fudan was knocked out in round 2. It happened while you were away. We've decided not to make too much of a fuss, you know, student morale and all that."

"That's unfortunate, Sir."

"Unfortunate is the right word," Luo continued. "They were up against the regional champions from last year, the team from Kyoto University. I am ashamed to say that Fudan lost fair and square. Outmatched, if you will. Nippon's Shikigami's nothing to scoff at; alas, we had a good crop this year, but..."

Gwen felt the Dean's feverish gaze rest against her face.

"... next year, with you - and I am hoping Mr Huang, a few talented third-years, and a roster of support Mages, there will be an underdog uprising."

"Of course, Sir," Gwen extended a delicate white hand. "I am from Australia, where the underdog always wins."

"That's what I'd like to hear!" The Dean laughed heartily.

The two shook firmly, her draconic-essence turning Gwen's supple fingers into an iron vice.

"Let me know if there's anything you need, or if anyone troubles you." The Dean flexed his tenderised hand contemplatively.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Song."

Gwen bowed, then exited the Dean's office.

Already, there were several staff members gathered outside, wondering what had happened.

“Is he injured?” One faculty member asked eagerly. “Maybe out of commission?”

Gwen regarded the gathering of old men surrounding her with wonder. What she saw on their face wasn't worry, but expectation and vain hope.

“No, the Dean is fine,” she informed them.

“Oh.”

“Bah!”

“What a waste of time.”

“That man's a cockroach.”

The various Chairs and Heads of Fudan's faculties dispersed.

Behind her, Dean Luo despairingly picked up the pieces.

"Ellen." She heard him say to his re-summoned Familiar. "Tell the Chair of Abjuration and the Bursar that I need another copy of their reports on my desk by this afternoon..."

Outside, Gwen was met by Magus Kumiko, who’d had also been summoned by the Dean on short notice.

“Shall we?” The Magus was apparently in the middle of something before the Dean demanded her immediate presence. Her face was anything but willing.

“I can wait,” Gwen offered. She could use a breather as well.

Kumiko shook her head.

“No need. It’s best we keep your health up.” She smiled graciously, though her eyes suggested otherwise. “Not to mention I want to see this Kirin of yours. Did you know that in my country, we worship them?”

“Uh-huh… Yes, Grandfather. Percy will be safer than my personal portfolio. Yes, Lulan and Kusu will be joining us- No, of course, not…. What’s a portfolio? It's- Look, I’ll take a spell in the gut before he loses a single hair, haha… Alright. Thanks, Yeye - Cheers!”

Gwen dismissed the Message.

“OKAY!” She turned to her companions. “We’re good to go!”

“Sweet.” Richard gave her a thumbs up. “Our Quest is not THAT safe, you know. We're going on an unmapped Dungeon crawl.”

“Ah, he’ll be right.” Gwen chuckled. “Mina and Tao can’t make it, but Babs said she'd load up Petra with healing spells.”

“So who’s coming?” Lulan butted in. “You, Me, Kusu, Richard, Petra, and your brother Percy? Is he cute?”

"Very cute," Gwen joked. "He's a real Lady Kill...er... Uh-HGN!"

Gwen cleared her throat awkwardly and took a sip of water.

Petra rolled her eyes at her cousin's unintended slip.

“I understand rearing the younger members of your House.” Kusu put his mind on the table. “What if he receives a mortal injury? Are you sure bringing an Acolyte is the best course of action?”

“Bringing Percy is indeed the best course of action,” Richard interjected. “When Gwen has Percy with her, there’s a convergence of stars. Creatures will start dropping Cores more often than not.”

“…” Kusu regarded Richard with scepticism. He knew Richard always gave Gwen what she wanted; endangering her brother and creating a hassle for the Adventuring Party was unlike the efficiency-obsessed workaholic.

“That’s amazing.” Lulan’s ochre-amber eyes sparkled.

“That makes no sense,” Kusu pointed out.

“Well, you’ll have to trust me." Richard grinned at Kusu. "When have I ever disappointed."

"..." Kusu conceded that thus far, Richard had been their saviour in more ways than Gwen, who had abandoned the siblings like a wealthy step-mother with endless social commitments.

"Look, if we want to do this easy, there's not much to gain. The bounty is 500 HDMs, with 200 CCs shared amongst the members, with a bonus 2 CC for every monkey we eradicate. Assuming we kill say, two hundred Water-Ghosts and some big bugger at the end, that's 620 CCs, tops. That's a hundred odd CCs, but what about the HDMs? Even if Gwen doesn't need her share and Percy forfeits his, that's 125 among the four of us. Barely enough to pay for our training! What we need is a real source of income, and that's where the Cores come in..."

“Jesus, we don’t have to stow the corpses, do we?” Gwen remarked. “I use my Storage Ring for food…”

“We can use mine.” Lulan flashed her ring finger. “I got a Large one as well. Usually, I do the butchering in the party.”

“They’re all yours.” Gwen grimaced, picturing Lulan hacking happily away at a mountain of corpses, giggling maniacally. The very idea that a hundred odd eyeballs, scalps, and other ‘materials’ could be kept together with her Spam and Shin-Ramen was abhorrent, not to mention she kept her outfits in the same pocket space!

“When do you want to go?”

Gwen counted the days.

Currently, it was Wednesday night.

She could arguably squeeze out a ‘Hound Pack’ by Sunday. Ever since Gunther had told her that Ariel could lead the pack, she had been looking forward to it.

“How about we leave Sunday, first thing?” Gwen suggested to the party. “Richard, you’ll be leading, right?”

“I'd say so. I know the area, the people and the lay of the land,” Richard addressed her question with confidence. “Passenger trains are usually booked out well in advance though. We'll hitch a free ride on the express Cargo-trains heading that way with the NoM labourers.”

“The NoMs don't mind?" Gwen asked.

“I’d say the NoMs are far happier for it.” Richard chuckled. “Imagine getting ambushed by some critters in the countryside. Wouldn’t you want a team of crack Mages sitting next to you when that happens, rather than rely on the train's armoured engine to plough through blood and bone?”

“Right, of course.” Gwen nodded sheepishly. “Sunday?”

“Lulu? Kusu?” Richard turned to the others.

“We’re fine.”

“Pats?”

“I should be alright for a few days. How long do you think?”

“A few days sounds about right.” Richard cocked his head. “I’d say our itinerary is as follows: Get to Nantong. Get our passes stamped. Go to the site. Clear the lair over two days. Return with our ill-gotten gains. Be back by Wednesday evening. If anyone wants to check out the Nantong District, we can stay longer, but there’s not much to see. It's all construction at the moment.”

“I’ll ask for Monday to Thursday off,” Petra concurred. “A sound plan, Richard.”

“Gwen?”

“I got nothing,” Gwen approved. “Give me three days to get Morden’s Hound and Hound-Pack running. I want to show you guys something extraordinary, haha.”

“Ooo!” Lulan gushed. “How many dogs can you summon?”

“No idea.” Gwen laughed. “We’ll see!”

2 AM.

Gwen laid in bed, wide awake, thinking about dogs.

Would her dogs look like basset hounds? Dachshunds? Or perhaps Rottweilers? In her old world childhood, she had a Maltese-Shitzu. But in the heart of hearts, she had always fancied something bigger and more huggable, like a Golden - or something incredibly handsome, like a Weimaraner.

Bloodhounds are hunting dogs, Gwen theorised, they would probably be Weimaraner-like dogs with long, lithe limbs and powerful upper bodies.

Other than field-testing her Hounds, the trip was an excellent opportunity to gauge her future spell list.

In her mind, there were THREE scenarios a Combat Mage would face on the regular:

The first was a Mage's primary vocation - the defence of Human life and property against Magical Creatures. A successful Mage must possess the means to contribute to the extinction of threats to human cities via fire and fury. She was, Gwen proudly confessed, rather good at this.

The second was the expansion of Human-held territory: this involved clearing Dungeons, ones with actual Cores, as well as lairs, pseudo-Dungeons with powerful monsters. Arguably, Gwen had experience in both. What she had not undertaken was a Purge, Yue’s mainstay.

The third was duels - A.K.A contests of ego. Though entirely futile and even counterproductive to the wellbeing of the Human Race, it was a necessary evil to attain prestige and power amongst Mage kind.

Most Mages were specialised for one purpose or another.

But she was unashamedly unique.

Gwen felt narcissistic to the core, but there was no denying the truth.

She had a solid if unimaginative defence.

She was working on additional mobility.

She had arguably absurd damage-per-spell.

And soon, incredible AOE potential, thanks to Ariel’s IFF.

AND she had stamina, both physically, mentally, and in the magical sense.

In other words, she possessed the looks, the will and the way to assume the mantle of a particular protagonist, all she needed was Chris and Liam Hemsworth fighting over her disinterested affection, and invent a catchy whistling jingo.

In her esteemed opinion, the best way forward was to have a baseline tactic, augmented by unilateral access to secondary Schools of Magic.

Conjuration would form the basis of her Spellbook.

Arguably, she was already a Creature Mage through and through.

Ariel.

Caliban.

Warding Bolt.

Call Lightning.

Tentacles.

Bloodhound.

Hound Pack.

Some spells, such as Warding Bolt and Tentacles could be doubled up.

Call Lightning she didn’t dare, for the spell attacked her targets indiscriminately. The last thing she wanted was someone yelling out ‘I yield!’ - then taking a randomised Bolt to the face.

Furthermore, with increased proficiency in Conjuration, she could also add Planar Ally to that number, bringing her concurrently active spells to eight, excluding her Familiars. Of course, spell fatigue was a thing, and only so many effects were dumb-fire or seeking, but milling an opposing Mage down to the stump as she had done with Golos was a solid strategy.

For Monster Hunting, she would augment her Conjuration with Evocation AOEs and Divination such as Hunter’s Mark and True Strike.

As for Abjuration, she would pick up Resistance and Mage Armour, then augment her abilities with Magical Items. There were single-use items such as Shielding Pebbles that expended themselves as reactive barriers. She could additionally invest in a suit of Combat-leather, something akin to what Golos had destroyed.

If she could push Conjuration to such a point that Dimension Door was at-will and near-instantaneous, survival was guaranteed, especially considering her possession of Gunther’s ring.

As for the rest, mastery was a matter of time.

Additionally, perhaps as a side project, she wanted to hash out Illusion with Tao. Even if she had no intent to use Illusion in combat, she could likely manage a few of the Lesser Image spells to bring to life a few exciting and notable elements from her old world. Ideally, she would like to deliver a few killer TED Talks.

Having mapped out her mind, Gwen welcomed the embrace of Hypnos.

Thursday.

Upper-campus Training Hall.

“Miss Song!” A member of the administrative staff accosted Gwen before she could swipe into one of the student training rooms. “There is a Warded Staff Room reserved for your use."

"Oh? Sure!" Gwen replied happily, not one to say no to privilege!

The room had been left for her at the Dean’s behest. Now that Fudan was no longer catering to its disappointing 2003 team, the Dean was free to splurge on more hopeful ventures.

It was probably the tentacle slap, Gwen supposed. Caliban's tentacle slap must have left a deep impression.

Inside, Gwen marvelled at the spacious sanctum. It was one of the larger staff rooms, second only to the one Wen had employed. Furthermore, the room had an inbuild Cognisance Chamber which she could peruse at her leisure, drastically saving the time she would have spent on introspection and meditation.

"Alright, let's do this!" The echo of Gwen's voice answered her.

She retrieved the two scrolls from her Storage Ring, opening them side-by-side.

The tier 5 Morden’s Bloodhound originally involving 48 Major and 33 Minor Incantations.

After augmentation with her Master’s Signature Morden’s Hound, it now involved 72 Major Incantations and only 9 minor incantations, significantly pushing up the casting time. Furthermore, the somatic component involved drawing a glyph in the air, a segment taken from her Master’s variation.

Observing herself in the reflection below, Gwen replicated the incantation, mouthing each movement to achieve a better understanding of the spell's somatic and verbal orientation.

She ran the routine a dozen times, taking just over an hour.

With practice and expertise, thirty seconds of continuous casting was needed to manifest Morden's Bloodhound. In a team battle, it was entirely viable. A 1v1 was much harder to say.

Still, she was satisfied. How can a Creature Mage not be when watching an enormous Quasi-Draconic Deerhound sporting with Ariel?

She inspected its superior physicality with a critical eye.

The Deerhound portion she could understand.

It stood to reason that a Scottish Arch-Mage who hunted Giant-kin would conjure the most iconic quasi-magical canine of his homeland as his 'Bloodhound'.

As for Gwen, her 'creature' was abstractly dog-like.

A casual observer would happily note from afar that indeed, this was a Deerhound - until the creature came closer, at which point they would freak. Curious enquiries would beg uncomfortable answers.

Why does your dog have a lizard tail?

What's with the crested, scaly brow?

Where did its tapered cobra snout come from?

How did you get a bitch to mate with a Draconic-beast without it being eaten?

With supernatural grace, her Draconic-Deerhound landed on all fours. It possessed a noble mien, handsome like an old-timer gent, sporting a spindly coat of white-fur tinged with mottled cobalt highlights. Its ears, strangely, were pointed backwards, resembling twin-horns, twitching back and forth as it listened for her command. The Deerhound's form was sleek like that of a greyhound but heavily muscled in the chest and legs. As with Ariel, it had a white mane running the length of its spine, though ending with a whippet’s tail, barbed with carapace.

And it was huge, standing on its hind legs, the Deerhound was taller than Gwen.

She had pondered giving the dog and all her subsequent conjurations names until she unsummoned the creature, then practised summoning it again. When Morden's Bloodhound re-emerged, it wasn't the same. It was stockier the second time and sans brow ridges.

“Buck?”

That's what she had called the last one.

The dog came to her, but without evidence of self-awareness.

Alas, the Deerhounds were neither summoned beings nor manifestations of her animus.

They were temporary elemental phenomena coaxed into existence.

“Eeee!” Ariel commanded the creature at Gwen’s behest, relaying her mental commands.

It sat.

It rolled.

It could offer its hand, and Gwen could safely rest her hand between its jaws. The Deerhound was wholly obedient and happily self-destructive if need be.

“Guess I’ll be calling you guys by the number,” she remarked with disappointment, having imagined herself at the head of a pack of sled dogs. She had hoped to christen them with names like Buck and Old Jack and Silver and White Fang.

Bummed by reality, Gwen took a break for lunch.

Outside, she was joined by an old familiar face: Instructor Chen Hufei, the senior Magma Mage with a Salamander Spirit.

“Sir!” Gwen bowed her head, showing respect and meaning it. Master Chen had taught her everything she knew about keeping her creatures safely out and about in public.

“What’s this I hear about a Kirin?” Chen folded his arms. “You went to Huangshan, didn't you?”

“I am not at liberty to say,” Gwen addressed the old veteran’s blunt enquiry evasively. She respected her cynical Instructor, but the buck stopped at anything relating to her family's secrets. “I can show you Ariel's new form though. First of all, it's not a Kirin…”

“A pseudo-Kirin.” Chen grunted. “Meaning Draconic Essence. What did you and the Ash Bringer kill? You're not going to bring Hangzhou trouble, are you?”

“No, Sir," Gwen answered defensively. "You knew I was with Uncle Jun?”

Chen grumbled annoyedly.

“Dean called me in this morning. Told me to check up on you, so here I am,” her Instructor explained. “As for the Ash Bringer, we’ve met a few times on the Front, before I retired from combat tours. Can I see your Familiar then? Is now a good time?”

“Of course, Sir.” Gwen smiled sweetly. “I could indeed use some advice with a few of my new Creature spells.”

The stoic Chen nodded, making for the door.

“I have a Staff Room booked.” Gwen directed him to the right.

“Luo’s giving it his all, eh?” Chen scoffed. “You better not disappoint come August.”

Gwen informed her Instructor that he would be well-satisfied.

The two of them re-entered the private sanctum.

“Alright, show me what you’ve got.”

Gwen brought out Ariel and introduced her new Kirin-Marten’s forms.

“Fascinating.” Chen ran a hand through Ariel’s undercoat.

Unexpectedly, Ariel began to purr thunderously, emitting the loudest, most heart-melting thrum imaginable.

“Ha, still got it.” Chen parted Ariel’s spiky mane and pointed to a protruding nub of flesh. “Flying Draconids tend to have a ‘reverse’ ridge where their shoulders and wings meet. Your pseudo-Kirin’s got Winged Dragon-essence, from the looks of it. I take it you and the Captain took down one of the Yinglong’s spawn and got lucky with the Core?”

“Something like that,” Gwen confessed. “I thought most Familiars couldn’t consume Cores to evolve themselves, Sir.”

“You’re running a Signature Conjuration by Henry Kilroy.” Chen shrugged. “And no. You can't. Don't ask me though. I am just an old soldier. I can tell you where Ariel likes a scratch, but I can’t tell you why it can eat Dragon Cores.”

Gwen gave Ariel’s hidden ‘nub’ a little pat as well, eliciting a chest-rumbling purr from her marten.

“I am also working on this new spell, Sir.”

Gwen showed Chen her scroll for Morden’s Bloodhound.

“Mao’s tomb! You’ve bought the augmented variation already?” Chen regarded her with disbelief. “Damned thing cost me 94 CCs just the other week!”

So Chen was one of the many Mages who contributed to her CC-pool. Gwen felt guilty that she was doubly benefiting from the Instructor.

“I’ve got the Hound Pack as well, Sir.”

If Chen had been toking on a cigarette, he would probably be having a coughing fit.

“The two of them together would be 240 CCs,” the Creature Mage remarked. Like the Dean, her Instructor paced around Gwen, inspecting her for wounds or some other signs of doubtful competence, even a torn sleeve or a mote of dust on her shoes would do. Finding none, he scratched his head.

“You’ve done how many quests?”

“Ahahaha…” Gwen laughed cringingly. “None… Sir…”

Her Instructor's inquisitive mien fell away, revealing the gruff old sergeant who loathed young Missus and Masters. From the look in Chen’s eyes, his opinion of her as a hard-working, down to earth straggler from the Frontier was curdling like sour milk.

“So, what’d you want to know.” Chen’s raspy voice grew annoyed and impatient. The old soldier was anything but brutally honest. "I got places to be."

Gwen wondered if it was worth explaining herself.

“I would like to know…” Gwen tried to think of a better way to phrase her enquiry as to not appear to humble-brag. “What I should do after I’ve summoned a pack of Draconic Deerhounds… Ariel’s a Spirit now so it can command them via telepathy…”

“D-Draconic Deerhounds?!” Chen's bark made her flinch.

"Ariel's a SPIRIT?"

“You found a draconic SPIRIT core?"

"What did you kill on Huangshan? What tier?"

"Is Hangzhou on fire? Did they censor the news?"

If expressions could kill, Gwen swallowed nervously, Chen would have triggered her Contingency Ring.

Gwen quickly explained that not only was everything 'cool', but the matter also had been blessed by the highest echelons of the Party.

“You expect me to believe that a girl of eighteen…”

“Seventeen, Sir-”

Chen glared at Gwen, who bit her tongue.

“…seventeen - possessing TWO unique Familiars convoked via a Signature Familiar Conjuration, now imbued with a Draconic Spirit, met face to face with the Secretary-General of the CCDI - is a nobody from that vast and empty final Frontier?”

“You forgot tier 6 Lightning, Sir.” Gwen went for broke. At this point, she may as well buckle up and break-in Chen entirely.

Chen pinched the bridge of his brow while breathing dejectedly.

“Fine, show me.”

“I haven’t succeeded manifesting Morden’s Hound Pack yet, Sir,” Gwen confessed. “Can you teach me?”

Chen glanced at the exit, then back at Gwen's sweetly smiling face.

“Are you using the augmented variant?” the old soldier relented.

“Yessir.”

“Operator!” Chen Messaged the front desk. “Cognisance overlay, Instruction Mode, charge the crystals to the Dean’s account.”

The floors thrummed as the inbuilt Cognisance Chamber activated.

“Observe.”

With meticulous care, Chen ran through the necessary verbal and somatic components.

First, her Instructor drew the glyph in the air, leaving behind a sulphur scented imprint akin to a light drawing. Then came the Major incantations, shaping the nascent Magma Mana coursing through his conduits. A steady flow of red-hot arcane-energy filled the glyph.

“Hound Pack!”

Chen finished off with the minor incantations in a flurry, concluding with a flourish. The entire process took just over two minutes.

A magma-hound slipped into existence, a little smaller than Gwen’s Deerhound, less defined and far more abstract. It was more exact to say that rather than any specific breed, Chen’s animal was a ‘dog-like’ elemental.

Then another.

And another.

Until nine of the hounds were lined up, one after the other, smouldering gently as their Magma-enriched skin sizzled the air, filling the limited space of the practice room with eye-watering sulphur.

“Gust!”

A low-level Evocation ensured both student and Instructor would avoid asphyxiation by monoxide.

“Sir,” Gwen pointed out. “Your dogs, they’re a little different from mine.”

“That's because I am not a Transmuter.” Chen ordered the dogs to form into two rows. “Conjured creatures are altered by a Mage's affinity with other Schools of magic, your elemental affinity, and any other factors that may influence your Astral Body.”

Gwen thought of her Abjuration, her Transmutation and her other Sigils - there was also the fact that her Astral body had three ‘elements’: Lightning, Void, and her Almudj’s Essence.

“Transmutation gives definition and flexibility in form,” Chen continued. “Abjuration gives greater toughness and resistance. Evocation boosts your creature’s elemental attack. Enchantment gives resistance to glamour, while Illusion bolsters Familiars or Spirits attuned with obfuscation abilities.”

“So... just like how a Healer's Familiar can deliver AOE healing?” Gwen pointed out, thinking of Kumiko’s lesser Spirit Familiar, Onibi.

“Not always, but yes, in addition to self-regeneration. Also, if you ever see a Necromantic Conjurer, they have the most infamous Familiar ability of all.”

Gwen was all ears.

“Life-drain and Vampirism,” Chen stated grimly. “We had to fight them a while back on the Front. Let’s just say it took a Creature Mage to fight a Creature Mage. As the Abjurers found out, you can Banish a flock of Corpse Crows, but you can’t unsummon the decomposing body of a risen Behemoth Beast.”

“God, that sounds awful…”

“More than you can imagine,” Chen snorted, his mood improving. “But they burn all the same. With your Lightning, that would be a sight to see!”

“I am glad to hear that.” Ariel's abilities were a battlefield shoo-in, but Gwen had little faith that Caliban’s Consume wouldn’t be mistaken for Necromancy. The effects were eeriely similar, after all.

Chen unsummoned the hounds.

“Can you keep up? Shall I slow down?”

Gwen replayed Chen’s incantation in her mind, then shook her head slowly.

“I’ll give it a go,” she assured the Instructor.

Chen’s scoffed with cynicism.

Gwen stood back from her Instructor and imitated his stance down to the last inch. Having Chen beside her amidst the glow of a Cognisance Chamber reminded her of how Henry used to teach her the same way. Back then, her theory work had been so lacklustre that all she could do was to parrot her Master’s flow of mana. It was funny that despite possessing no knowledge of advanced Conjuration theory, she could Dimension Door back and forth like a seasoned veteran.

Watching a tidal flood of mana circulate through Gwen's Astral Form, Chen squinted, a smirk touching his wizened old face. With an Astral Body like that, Chen speculated, no wonder the Dean was up in arms.

“First!” Gwen's Instructor began. “We inscribe the Glyph…”

Gwen alternated between Faithful Hound, Blood Hound, and Hound Pack over the next few days, readying herself for the monster lair ahead. Thanks to Chen’s timely intervention, she averted a process of precariously experimenting with delivery and cadence.

The result was that after three days, she could wrangle a tier 5 Bloodhound with absolute confidence. As for the Hound Pack, she managed the tier 6 spell with a one-in-three chance of success.

That was where her VMI, combined with her Lightning affinity, met in beautiful confluence.

A run of the mill Senior Mage casting tier 6 spells usually rocked a mana pool of 60-100 odd VMI. Intuitively, Gwen felt that a pack of Bloodhounds cost her about one-seventh of her 230-odd mana pool. In the event of spell failure, she suffered nothing worse than a headache. Had she been the aforementioned Senior Mage, a feedback-loop exceeding half of one’s maximum allowance would have knocked her out cold.

And so, Gwen added resistance to spell-failure to her accumulative list of advantages. Considering that her first Magic Missile had her vomiting all over the rooftop, it was comical that she could now shake off catastrophic fuck-ups with a smile and a catnap.

With this in mind, Gwen noted that her Evocation could use a dose of hyper-tier magical training as well. Boosting her Evocation to 5 would up her direct-damage and the damage of Ariel's spell-channelling. Mayhap, Gwen conceived deviously; she could coax the Dean into sending her Magus Young for a few serendipitous lessons on Blizzard and other Evocation staples.

Sunday Morning, the crew assembled.

Richard, Lulan, Kusu, Petra, Percy and Gwen herself lined up outside Guoding B1.

“GEAR CHECK!” Richard inspected his troops.

Gwen reported that she had a full complement of potions and clothing, including her elementally-attuned skin suit and Boots of Flying, as well as her Portable Habitat. For her casual attire, she had picked out a black skort to go with her thigh-high boots, paired with a tapered quarter-sleeve top.

Beside her was Percy, hand-delivered by an anxious Guo first thing in the morning. Her young man wore military cargo pants in the PLA style, likely chosen by their Grandfather, and a dark t-shirt tapered to his waist and shoulders. His boyish face had taken on a masculine likeness of their father, oozing smugness. Though half-a-head shorter than Gwen, Percy carried himself with quiet competence.

Lulan's expressive eyes flittered from Percy to Gwen, then back again, stroking her chin as she pondered Percy's lady-killing proficiency.

“I’ve got potions and supplies in my Storage Ring,” Percy rattled off a list of must-have items, feeling neurotic as one of Gwen's companions licked him from head to toe like a piece of meat. “Grandfather got me a localised Contingency Ring as well, so I wouldn't be in mortal danger.”

Gwen inspected the glamoured band on Percy's finger, noting its simplicity. As Magus Maymaruya had explained it, two factors determined a Teleportation Ring's worth. Mechanically, the denser the Core, the further the Teleportation. Contractually, the more influential the patron of the commission, the more Towers were willing to accept the Ring's displaced owner. Gunther's Asscher-cut Contingency Ring worked almost anywhere in the world, provided she wasn’t stuck in Antarctica.

By that same note, Gwen wondered if the Towers had ever found an elegant solution to the method of infiltration used by Elizabeth Sobel. Considering that she had received no CCs for exposing the loophole, the solution was likely highly censured. In fact, it made sense to expunge the news, as a unilateral voiding of Contingency contracts would suddenly imperil countless Magisters, Maguses and their precious Acolytes.

“... Cure Moderate, 3 Restorations, 2 Cure Serious, Antidote, all Cubed,” Petra ran through her inventory with Richard. “I’ll be leaving damage-dealing to Gwen and Lulu.”

“That’s fine.” Richard made sure Petra had at least a few spells left to protect herself.

“I got potions and myself,” Lulan announced proudly.

“I’ve got her supplies, her change of clothes, and our food.” Kusu flashed his 'medium' storage ring. “Lulan brought her bike... and a bed.”

“Hey, I like my bike, and I can't sleep without my mattress! AND I have to leave room for the loot!”

“You don’t need a bike in the Dungeon! Gwen's got beds in her Habitat!”

Richard left the siblings to bicker.

Mayuree stood on the sidelines, moping miserably. She had wanted to come, but the House of M had forbidden her from needless danger. As a countermeasure, Gwen took a Teleportation beacon with her so that should the need arise, Mayuree could immediately be within her vicinity. Richard applauded the idea as well, stating that the beacon also served as a contingency for the party, who could always call upon Mayuree for aid should the Quest proceed poorly.

"I think we're good." Richard nodded at Gwen.

“ALRIGHT, gang!” Gwen declared. “To the public bus!”

The 'gang' alighted from the bus at Hongqiao Transit Station.

As Richard had promised, their early morning ride out to Nantong was via a freight train. After having their Student I.D’s recorded and their passes stamped, the crew boarded a fifty-segment freight-mover stretching from horizon to horizon.

They were joined by a company of labourers who immediately displaced themselves, making space for Gwen’s party.

“Ju!” Richard called out to the foreman. “Tell the men to be at ease.”

“Mr Huang!” A man in his fifties approached the group. The two men clasped hands. “Good to see you again, Sir.”

Once Gwen and her companions settled, the displaced crowd came closer. The men’s demeanour was equal parts wariness and curiosity, surprised by the unexpected visitation of three delectable beauties.

Richard conversed with the Foreman, laughing and slapping the wry old labourer on the back. Behind the girls, Kusu joined the group.

“…”

“…”

“Hey, boy!”

Kusu pointed a finger toward himself.

“Yeah you, what are you doing! Come over here! Don’t bother the Mage ladies!”

Kusu felt incredulous - until he looked down.

Desiring anonymity and low on crystals, Kusu wore no-name khaki pants, an unbranded t-shirt, and a jacket he’d picked up from the local market.

Contrastingly, Petra wore a bright-red Mizuno parka over yoga pants. His sister wore a sundress, the style Gwen liked, mismatched with combat boots. Gwen looked as though she was going for a magazine spread, and Percy wore PLA surplus in aerial sky-camo.

Without any distinguishing peculiarities, it was no wonder the labourers thought he was one of them - they were wearing the same style, though theirs were far shabbier.

One of the NoMs helpfully drew him aside.

“Don’t get too close,” the old man kindly advised, pulling Kusu behind him. “Let Foreman Hung deal with Sir Huang.”

The girls stared at Kusu, making him even more self-conscious.

Sequestered from his companions by sheer good will, Kusu wanted to weep.

Gwen snorted.

Possessing a sharp eye for fashion; the NoMs' misunderstanding was immediately apparent. Her mirth quickly infected the other girls, filling the carriage with giggles.

"Oi, I think they like you." One of the middle-aged men nudged Kusu in the ribs. "Don't try anything though, enjoy the view while it lasts."

One by one Richard introduced his party.

“Oh! The Flower of Fudan!” one of the workmen blurted out before someone dragged him back into the crowd.

Petra nodded imperceptibly.

Upon reaching Kusu, Richard passed over the hopeful young man with complete nonchalance.

"!"

Kusu wanted to call out, but the friendly labourers dragged him into their midst. Clearly, the hot-headed lad had gone 'must' and had to be restrained.

When Richard finished introducing Gwen, who curtseyed and waved, the crowd fell eerily quiet.

“Hello.” Gwen gave them a blindingly dazzling smile. "I am Gwen Song."

“Where’s her Worm?” someone whispered.

“What Worm?”

“She’s famous for having this giant Worm following her.”

“It eats her enemies!”

“Alive, the bones and all.”

“Woa…”

It was now Gwen's turn to be incredulous.

How was it possible that a group of NoM labourers knew about her Caliban? Had she reached that rare stratum of fame where everymen NoMs knew who she was? Would she now need to wear Gucci shades everywhere she went?

She waved at the workers, hoping to appear approachable and amiable.

As one, the workers backed away.

“Careful!” A hand took Kusu by the wrist and yanked him back yet again. “She’s a dangerous one, that one. Sir Huang says she eats Monsters and Rogue Mages for breakfast. You wouldn’t want to offend her now.”

“I am a Mage, actually,” Kusu informed his helpful companion, his face growing desperate. “I am with her.”

The old man sagaciously patted his shoulder.

“Young man, I was young like you once, but a young buck needs to know his limits. That girl might look like a million HDMs, but let me tell ya, a lass like that will gobble you for so much as staring at her the wrong way. You think they call her the Worm Handler as a joke? She’s a Maneater.”

Gwen froze, hoping that her ears had deceived her.

Possessing unusually acute hearing was both a boon and a curse.

Did the NoM just call her a 'Worm-Handler'? What the fuck was a WORM HANDLER?

At that moment, sensing the tense atmosphere, Foreman Hung split from the group and shook the team’s hand one by one, sans Kusu.

“I’ll be in your care,” the Foreman informed Gwen. “You too, Young Master Percy.”

“Likewise,” the siblings replied.

“We’ll be over yonder.” Richard directed his team away from the NoMs. Gwen was likely fine interacting with the labourers, but Percy, Lulan and the others usually had little to no contact with the common people. Lulan especially was too thin-skinned and thick-headed to stomach the ill-humour of the labourers.

The train departed, its armoured engine core sending a thrumming, chest-thumping vibration through the parallel rails, ponderously picking up speed.

Though the train was used for freight, there was enough space cleared for the Mages to make up a comfortable abode for the four hours it took to travel to Nantong.

The party made themselves comfortable with an assortment of packets and wedged canvases, then settled down to snacks and chit-chatter.

Richard popped a sour plum into his mouth. Puckering his lips, he watched Lulan, Percy and Gwen make small talk beside a heavy slab of transmuted steel.

Petra closed her eyes and meditated.

Percy looked outside the cabin, enjoying the quickening scene of the countryside.

“Say…” The boy looked around, feeling that something was amiss. “Where’s Kusu?”

“REALLY?!” Kusu listened to the old men’s flights of fancy, caught in the revelry of their blustery anecdotes.

“Truly.” One of the middle-aged men passed him a cigarette, which Kusu accepted out of politeness. Another man helpfully lit the soggy tobacco stick.

“I heard from folks living in the Districts that the Worm Handler cleared out a whole level in D-109,” the original speaker continued. “Broke through the gate, she did, rammed right in there, worm and all. Massacred her way through the outer perimeter.”

“Blood, guts, bodies all over the place. That worm left nothing alive.” Another joined in. "I hear that her Worm grows larger with every man it eats."

“That can't be right. I heard the Handler was on the hunt for a man-eating Carrion worm,” someone attempted to correct the fake news disseminated by the first.

“Naw,” a third spoke as though he’d witnessed the bloody ordeal vis-a-vis. “I have it on good authority that she’s taming them. That’s why she’s the Worm Handler, see? She tames worms and uses them for her foul magic. I hear she rides em too.”

"Ah, yeah."

"That makes sense."

"Mao, the gall!"

"What, like, clutched between her legs?"

“I don't think that's right?” Kusu swallowed nervously. Why was it that Gwen’s exploits around the ‘out wall’ sounded exactly like what Lulan had done? Furthermore, the thought of Gwen riding on Caliban, her white thighs straddling its girth, combined with her usual perchance for skirts, was heating his face like a furnace.

“Yeah, she’s a real fatal female, she is,” the first man utterly sagely, borrowing a word he’d gleaned from a book once. “Don’t let her pretty face trick you, she’s a man gobbler.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means.” Kusu scanned his company of grinning NoMs nervously. “Maybe a better choice of words would be wise.”

“How about the Swa-”

“NOOOO!” Kusu stood. “Alright, it’s nice talking to all of you. I have to go.”

“What’s a good one then, eh? All the great Mages got nicknames!”

Kusu paused.

A vision of Gwen devouring half her bodyweight’s worth of vitality-rich ingredients flashed across in his inward eye. That was during yesterday's lunch, and two days ago at dinner, and...

“How about…” The words came to his lips unbidden. “The Devourer?”

Gwen had wanted to talk to the NoMs on the freight train to ask about their jobs and their living conditions, but the men seemed to have an aversion to her presence.

"Leave them be," Richard advised, a solemn expression on his poker face. "They're just NoMs. They're the same everywhere. Food, shelter, safety, a chance to get better food, shelter, be safer, that sort of thing."

An hour later, the train pulled noisily into Nantong Central Railway Station. Kusu had rejoined them halfway, though the Sword Mage strangely kept to himself.

The primary platform held two lines for passenger trains while the third and fourth was set up with a wide berth for cargo. The NoMs shuffled off the rear carriage and formed a line for inspection by one of the Transport Officials. Not far from the friendly labourers, Gwen and company proceeded unmolested.

“See you on-site, Ju.” Richard waved at the Foreman, who casually saluted him. “Alright everyone, this way.”

The station itself was more akin to an enormous warehouse, with a vaulted ceiling of latticed steel forming a gargantuan oblong shape. After registering with the officials at the checkpoint, they proceeded down a stark corridor which eventually led to the main atrium.

As the double-doors opened, a blast of hot air odious with human sweat blew into the inner terminal. Unlike the station’s interior, the atrium was a hive of human activity. Thousands of NoMs, seemingly all wearing cotton jackets in garish colours and bundled from head to toe with backpacks and other travel accessories, lined the ticket counters a hundred deep, as far as the eye could see.

“It’s gotten worse.” Richard grimaced as he pushed through the crowd. “Gwen, Petra, be careful.”

“Why?” Gwen asked, following her cousin closely.

“You’ll get pick-pocketed,” Richard warned. “Or worse. They can get grabby. The people here are simple folk. The menfolk especially are used to running things, so they don't think much about respect for the women. Added to the fact that until recently, they had rarely seen Mages and certainly not Gweilo, you get the idea.”

“Some guy tried to grope me once,” Lulan stated proudly. “But I didn’t maim him.”

“Thanks to me,” Kusu added annoyedly. “Just be careful. Gwen, I'll take the rear, and Richard take the front. Percy, take the side. You girls can walk between us.”

"That seems excessive," Petra pouted, evidently offended.

“…” Gwen’s thoughts immediately fell to her propensity to attract all kinds of creepy weirdos. Already she could see that their group was drawing eyes from all over. As countless pairs of eyes centred on Gwen, she began to regret not wearing a burka. With her keen perception, Gwen could already sense several figures converging toward them. Am I paranoid? Gwen pondered, or was she merely once molested, twice shy?

“!”

Her Divination pinged.

For once, her foresight affirmed the need to take immediate action.

“Caliban!”

Her Void worm slithered into existence.

“Shaaa!”

At once, the crowd fell away from the party, overwhelmed by an inherent aura of existential dread. In Caliban's docile form, the vertigo was barely perceptible by her companions. For the NoMs, however, it was as though the circumference surrounding the party had become a bottomless pit.

The tingling in her spine faded.

That’s one crisis averted! Gwen gave herself an imaginary pat on the back. Caliban, the eldritch deterrent of pickpockets and deviants!

“Showing off?” Richard joked as the party sliced through the crowd. “Cali is hardly subtle. The world will know you’re in Nantong.”

“Is that so bad?” Gwen searched the crowd. Everywhere she looked, people averted their gaze.

“Who knows?” Richard shrugged. “You could ask Mayuree to throw some bones.”

“Nah.” Gwen made sure the others followed closely. “Where are we going now?”

“I booked a truck to the site.” Richard indicated to the exterior of the station.

Like all public transit spaces, the entrance to the station was six storeys tall and inundated with red ribbons. Across the top row, Gwen read a sign which said ‘SAFELY EXIT AND ENTER’. On an adjacent banner, she read, ‘MOVE QUIETLY AND ORDERLY’. Closer to the door, she almost did a double take when she came across smaller signage:

‘DO NOT DEFECATE ON THE PLATFORM.”

Her nose wrinkled.

A second sign read:

‘NO PEEING IN THE ATRIUM, USE BATHROOM AT EITHER END.”

“What?” Gwen directed Richard to the warnings. “What happened to the euphemisms? Shouldn’t it say something like ‘public health for all’ and ‘clean environment for you and family’?”

“It’s the countryside.” Richard snorted. “What, you think people have flushing toilets and running water out there? Filtration units don’t grow on trees you know!”

“B-but,” Gwen protested. “You said Nantong was a part of Shanghai’s redistricted outer-zone!”

“Oh, Gwen…” Petra squeezed her squeamish cousin’s hand. “That began only two years ago. The Tonglv Canal’s just started this year.”

Gwen appeared scandalised.

From all she had heard of Nantong and the Nantong Fungs, she was expecting some sort of palace-city. Thank God she came prepared.

Richard laughed out loud.

The massive gates to the station interior slid open.

Humid air rushed in, inundated with a mana miasma so thick that spent particles were visible to the naked eye. Next came the stink of stagnant water, urine, and construction waste. Furthermore, a tidal wave of sound washed over Gwen, the thrumming of earth moving Golems so offensive as to jar her bones.

“WOA!” Percy gazed upward at a massive, vaguely humanoid Construct hoisting piles of rebar onto trucks. A dozen similar Constructs were shifting all sorts of cargo onto flatbeds trailers.

Richard opened his arms expansively, the dust billowing about his ankles.

“Welcome to Nantong!" he shouted above the din. "The fastest growing District in Outer-Shanghai!”

Once they were outside the station, Richard wandered off to locate his truck driver while the rest of the crew stood under the shade of the colossal transit-station.

Thanks to Caliban, her party remained unmolested by neither paupers nor guards, not even a single beggar accosted them.

“Was it like this the last time you guys came?” Gwen turned to Lulan and Kusu.

“Not as such.” Kusu pointed to the mass of bodies still attempting to press into the station’s interior, stopped only by olive uniformed guards with dangerous looking batons. “It’s getting close to the end of the year, and farm work is winding down. Without jobs here, the NoMs apply for permits to work in Shanghai proper. For these folks, the redistricting of Nantong was a real game changer.”

“How so?” Gwen enquired, full of questions for the curious mass-migration. Most of the llabourers appeared to be men, but there were women too. She even spotted a few children.

“Being included in the Shanghai Special Economics Zone means their Hukou moves up a rug. These guys are no longer rural peasants, haha.” Kusu laughed. “I suppose they’re urban folk now, just look at them!”

Gwen, Percy and Petra 'looked'.

Gwen felt that it was a bit rich coming from Kusu, but the young man was right. The peasant-turned-city folk were all bundled up in their Sunday best. Coming from a redistricted zone like Nantong, this meant that they were indistinguishable from the homeless wandering through Shanghai’s industrial rim.

“We have that in Moscow as well,” Petra chimed in nostalgically. “Outside of the big city, it’s all Frontier: from St Petersburg to Perm and then onto Novosibirsk. Westward of the Eastern line, things are tenable, eastward, there is nothing but Black Zones. Every winter, the rural folk try to get into the cities for safety, warm meals, and menial employment.”

“It’s all Black Zones?” Gwen raised an arched brow. “What, all of Siberia? That's a vast swath of land!”

Petra nodded.

“Are there Dragons?” Gwen persisted out of curiosity. It seemed to her that every country had their dragon-sized problems. If China had a Yinglong, and old Burma had a Tyrant, why not Siberia?

Petra shrugged.

“No one knows. Or at least no one knows who's in the know.” Her companion snickered. “My ex-Master once said that the powers in Moscow had cut a deal with whatever governed its Siberian domain. If rumours were to be believed, I’d say our Baba Yaga is something akin to a Zmei.”

“Is that a type of dragon?”

“I suppose.” Petra raised a hand. Using her palm as a platform, she created a three-headed crystalline Magic Beast half-hydra, half-dragon. “There, that’s a Zmei. The most infamous of which would be Chudo-Yudo, it’s all fascinating and mythic, of course, but unproven.”

“Hey, the Yinglong is very real.”

“Ah~, but Chudo-Yudo hasn’t been seen, not in the flesh, ever.”

“Never been witnessed, you mean. All who sees Chudo-Yudo die!”

“Well, there's that,” Petra conceded.

“Dragons all over, huh?” Gwen noted. "Maybe we're living in the Dragon's world, and Humans are just getting in their way."

“There’s a good reason they’re the universal mythos,” Petra suggested shrewdly. “Name me a culture without a dragon.”

Gwen didn’t know enough to comment.

“Egyptians?” Percy dropped his two cents.

“Oh! Good work!” Gwen patted her brother’s head. Indeed, she couldn’t recall seeing dragons on her trip to Egypt back in the day. No bearded crafter sold draconic memorabilia as far as she knew, and she had browsed Khan El Khalili for days.

“Nope.” Petra grinned with an air of superiority. “Apep the Chaos Serpent. Primarily cobra, partly divine, and most definitely draconic.”

“Bugger.” Percy scratched his head.

The conversation then turned to more mundane matters.

“Caliban, where are you going?” Gwen noticed her serpent tugging at the edge of her mind. Out of curiosity, she followed it rather than recalling her Familiar. "Pats, I'll just be over there."

"Want me to come with?" Percy peeped up.

"Naw, stay with Kusu and Pats."

"Over here, Little Brother, talk with us," Lulan indicated to a spot next to her.

Percy stayed a respectful distance away. He had caught the girl staring several times already, though far from attraction, the feeling he perceived from her was that of an appraiser inspecting a curio.

Gwen meanwhile, stalked her slithering serpent toward a branching street not far from the station. In a few years perhaps, it would likely develop into a trendy, gentrified alleyway full of eateries, though now it was filled with dubious, banged up little shops fronts, half-abandoned and falling to pieces. Some workmen were having lunch, a few other napped, and a group of old men played Chinese checkers.

“Shaa!” Caliban indicated with its snout.

What little activity in the street had instantly ceased, all eyes were turned toward the lithe Mage standing beside her monster by the entrance.

“Caliban, to me,” Gwen commanded.

Her serpent twisted and turned upon itself with surprising agility, coming to a stop beside her ankles.

Her Familiar tugged at her mind. It wanted to go deeper.

With meticulous care, Gwen surveyed the scene.

The crowd looked away wherever she set her gaze, not daring to meet her eyes.

“Shaa! Shaa!” Caliban urged her.

The duo proceeded through the alleyway until they reached the other side.

She was met by the roar of machinery. It was the main street, still under construction.

There had been a crowd of people gathered near a series of box-shaped containers, though now they were staring at her and her monster.

Gwen edged closer.

First, there was a dour odour.

Her monster sniffed the air.

"Shaa!"

Then Gwen saw it.

The spectacle had eluded her at first because there was a huge red banner slung across the cages. The words, embossed in black against the dusty red fabric, read:

PROGRESS AND PROSPERITY, LOWERING CRIME, IMPROVING LIFE.

Earlier, she had wondered why there were no beggars outside the station and had praised Caliban for deterring vagabonds. Now, Gwen found her answer in amidst crate-like enclosures surrounded by an acrid haze of urine and despair.

She had to do a double-take.

People in cages?

A few were men, most were old women, though a few young children were present as well, both boys and girls. A few old men, missing a limb, or two, or otherwise, laid on their backs. The cages were made low, reaching only her waist, forcing the inhabitants to slouch. She wasn’t sure how long they had been in there, but from the looks of their attire and the filth clinging to their soiled clothes, it had been some time.

Outside the cages, just within reach, were begging bowls.

“Shaa!” Caliban wiggled its tail.

Gwen glanced between her Familiar and the beggars. The panhandlers had by now noted her presence, a few of them already reaching for their bowls. Perhaps it was her attire, her transparent display of wealth and comfort, or maybe it was Caliban’s aura, she couldn’t know, but the beggar began to bang their bowls collectively against their iron rails.

‘Clang!’

‘Clang!’ ‘Clang!’

‘Clang!’ ‘C-clang!’ ‘Clang!’

‘Clang!’ ‘C-clang!’ ‘C-clang!’ ‘CLANG!’

An abominable cacophony filled her head.

“SHAAA!” “SHAAA!”

Caliban sang to the music of abject hopelessness and desperation, thrilled by the aberrant dissonance. As for Gwen, she tasted a mouthful of bile. Not even in the hopelessness of D-109 had she seen such a sight as this. Beside her, Caliban’s exhilaration extolled her with an unpleasant thought: that perhaps, the greater mercy for these folks was to answer the call of the void. What was it that had drawn Caliban to this place? Her curiosity was no longer keen for answers.

Without a word, Gwen fled the scene, unsummoning her fiend.

By the time Gwen rejoined her party, Richard had returned, accompanied by a minivan and a friendly looking labourer.

“The Boss did us a favour,” he informed the party. “I was wondering how we were going to make it on a flat-bed truck, haha.”

His companions filed in one by one. Gwen was the last to arrive.

“Gwen?” Richard noted her pale complexion. “Did you use your Void spells?”

Gwen shook her head.

“I’ll tell you in the van.”

It took another thirty minutes to get to the mid-section of the Tonglv Canal, where a two-hour hike was required to reach Richard’s Water-Ghost den.

“I see.” Richard remained stoic after Gwen narrated her ordeal.

“This is not unusual,” Petra pointed out. “After January, it’s not entirely surprising to find frozen NoMs in alleyways, even in Shanghai.”

“NoMs die every day.” Lulan put in her two LDMs. “Just in D-109, I knocked off a few by accident.”

Gwen stared at Lulan, struck by the weightlessness of her casual confession.

“She paid a fine,” Kusu iterated. Seeing that Gwen wasn’t sufficiently placated, he added a few more details. “In both HDMs and CCs, as well as future Community Service.”

"I... see." Gwen licked her drying lips. "That's good to know."

"Are you unhappy with the verdict?" Lulan asked, her voice worried and uncertain, far more touched by Gwen's displeasure than the maiming of a dozen civilians.

“Why the sudden pity?” Petra joined the fray, though the Russian beauty's tone was measured and delicate. “Did you not escape from Sydney? I heard as many as ten thousand NoMs, and several hundred Mages perished in that single incident. Assuming they've accounted properly by now, the dead may exceed thirty thousand. In case you've forgotten, during WWII's Beast Tide, NoM casualties came in around 60 million.”

“That's not the same,” Gwen murmured, thinking of the child sitting in a puddle of her wastewater. “The state could help, surely? I am just a little confused as to what the cages imply. Are they being left to die?”

“They’re safer in those cages,” Richard explained patiently.

“Richard!" Gwen snarled. "What?!”

"I think its an elegant solution," Petra stated in that overtly rational manner of hers.

“There were kids in there!” Gwen hollered. “How can babies be criminals?”

“Gwen.” Richard patted her shoulders. He had been seated in the front passenger's seat, but now he turned around. “Nantong is a developing city, and it's going through growing pains. There's a lot of money coming in, skilful labourers from the city, as well as Mages. The folk here are used to abject poverty, so seeing all that wealth pouring in is getting to their heads. For a while now, the city's had a real problem with pickpockets and beggars. Remember those guys from the train? They're from Shanghai; they don't take shit from anyone; those guys know how to operate machinery, they're concreters and sculptors and plumbers and brickies. You think they're vegetarians? Think again. They're honest, hard-working blokes, but you know what? If those labourers caught one of these peasant-beggars red-handed, they would beat the shit out of them, probably to death. If one of those beggars robbed a Mage from Shanghai, no guard is going to save them. By segregating the beggars, everyone's happy. They're safe, and Nantong's beggar free.”

“What?!” Gwen spluttered. “That’s absurd.”

“An absurd truth,” Richard pronounced with nonchalance. He knew his cousin had a soft spot for the destitute and the downtrodden. It was admirable, but also impractical in the extreme. “Chang, what's your take on this?"

"We'd probably break their thieving hands and leave them to the authorities, boss," the driver replied. "Miss, you're kind-hearted, but don't you worry about the trash, leave em to us. They don't want to work, they don't eat. Easy as that."

“I…” Gwen felt as though she was wrestling with an eel. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t dwell on it.” Petra pulled Gwen closer so that Gwen rested her head against her shoulder. Gwen was having another one of her episodes, a curious failing for one so gifted for death-dealing. “It’s nothing. They’re nothing. Think about something else.”

“…”

For the rest of the trip, she instead focused on the rumbling of the mana-engine as the van struggled over the hilly terrain, bouncing and shaking against every groove and divot along the twisted, broken path.

Tonglv Canal exists for a singular purpose. To streamline freight shipping from Shanghai’s industrial zones to the South China Sea while bypassing the CBD.

Measuring 200 meters across and 90 meters at the thalweg, the yet to be filled man-made valley cut a straight line across the landscape, carving through plains, forests, valleys, hills and wetlands with equal impunity.

When their van first pulled up at the industrial zone, Gwen had thought themselves arrived at the foundation of some epic monument, at the base of which concrete covered every conceivable space. Within the valley, gargantuan golems, a dozen or so each four to five storeys tall, manipulated sheets of criss-crossing rebar or towed cables across the newly established canal.

At its extremity, two dozen Mages of varying talents worked in tandem. Earthen Transmuters shifted soil and stone aside, pulling apart roots and vines from the sub-tropical flora while Translocation Mages turned the debris, simultaneously conjuring away the refuse. Above and beside them, standing on platforms, Evokers blasted away at quasi-magical critters as the freshly excavated earth crashed over the grey ferroconcrete, as well as denotating sections of hardy granite.

“GWEN! Look! It’s a Class III Iron MITSUBISHI Construction Golem!” Percy blurted out, his eyes alive with excitement. “I’ve only ever seen them in Lumen-pics!”

Richard likewise took on an appreciative expression.

Depressed but nonetheless curious, Gwen regarded the lumbering giants labouring below.

Vaguely humanoid, the Golem reminded her of power loaders from the movie Aliens. Standing on iron-wrought stilts and apportioned like a dwarf, the golem was stout of body, with broad, iron-wrought shoulders sporting a plethora of hissing pistons. Painted a comical construction-yellow, it towered over the Mages working below. Just above its shoulders where its head should be was an operator cage, within which was the pilot. Behind the driver's cage was a load-trailer where the golem deposited what was dug up.

“Wow.” Percy was beside himself. “Gwen, are you seeing this?!”

Gwen chuckled, boys and their toys. It was in moments like this that Percy acted his age. As for Gwen, just seeing her brother so filled with exuberance dispelled her earlier ire.

“Sure am.” she placed a hand against her hip. “Richard, do you know any of the drivers?”

“Yeah, I know a few."

"Do you think Percy could take a look inside?"

“I don't see why not." Richard shrugged. “So long as Junior won’t be a menace.”

“I won’t!” Percy turned back to the machines, his eyes gleaming.

Gwen chuckled. Indeed, what fifteen-year-old boy wouldn't be in ecstasy when seated within a full-scale Caterpillar heavy-hauler? These Golems looked like bipedal, humanoid Bagger 288s mated with a Tonka Truck. If she had to draw a pop reference, they reminded her of gritty, 90's cartoon Transformers.

The party watched as the golem knelt with one of its excavator's arm, shoving up to its elbows into the loam. A Transmuter below then collapsed the upper section perfectly into the digger. With a mighty roar of its Japanese-made engine, the giant retreated, taking out a near-perfect rectangle of elementally compressed soil, displacing the load onto the canal’s banks.

Gwen had to admit, watching a ten-meter robot earth-moving had a simple, hypnotic quality. This world might not have basic social safety nets or OSHA, but they had Iron Giants at their beck and call.

“Look there!” Richard tapped Gwen’s shoulder, pointing at a sudden eruption at the base of the excavation. “Those are River-Gobs!”

The new excavation had inadvertently revealed a warren system, exposing its interior to air and light. As Richard spoke, two midget-like goblins leapt from a collapsed section of the mud-bank and made for the Transmuter.

“CONTACT!” someone yelled.

The Transmuter must have had an armour spell active, for the first Gob bounced off, while the second hung onto his arm without managing to deal damage. The Evoker atop the escarpment seemed lost as he waited for an opportunity to strike, waiting for a Shield or perhaps the Transmuter to throw the Goblins a safe distance away.

The goblins, possibly understanding their life depended on their adhesion to the Transmuter, clung on for dear life.

“Gwen.” Richard nudged her. “What's the range on your Lighting Bolt?”

“Enough." Gwen gauged the distance: the Gobs were a little far, but she could manage. "Ariel! Assist me!"

“INCOMING! DON'T MOVE!” Gwen called out, her voice ringing across the construction space, empowered by both her Essence and a vocalised Clarion Call. “Lightning Bolt!”

The party below was a hundred odd meters away.

A blue-white arc of lightning struck the first ball-like Goblin, penetrating its body before it enveloped the second. Where the electricity would have concurrently assaulted the Transmuter, it instead grounded itself, completing the circuit between Gwen and her target.

The first pot-bellied Mer-Goblin exploded in a shower of guts and bone. The second convulsed; its overtly large eye-sockets boiling before it fell limply to the floor.

Percy stared at his sister, as did a smitten Kusu.

“WOW!” Lulan clapped happily.

Gwen retracted her finger, then blew on it as one would the nozzle of a pistol. The gesture was a little strange to her peers, it wasn’t as though Gwen used a Ray subtype or a wand, but the implication was clear.

“Well done!” Richard clasped her shoulders.

The construction Golem turned its cage upward and waved at the Party.

The Party waved back.

The Transmuter shaped a protruding block of soil into a thumbs up.

Gwen’s companions laughed heartily at the acknowledgement.

“See?” Richard smiled at Gwen, full of confidence. “Nantong’s not so bad, right?”

More Riven-Goblins poured from the warren.

Gwen pupils flared with concentric rings of blue-white electricity.

She could use a good fight to blow off some steam.

The encounter ended as quickly as it had begun.

In its aftermath, they had been joined by the Transmuter crew Gwen had saved. Perhaps more surprisingly, the pilot of the rig was a NoM and a woman, shocking Percy as well as Gwen. The wizened pilot thanked Gwen and her companions, leaving them a gift of bottled rice wine from Xian. Percy got to have his ride, going as far as walking the golem around, moving several metric-tons of dirt to and fro.

"The controls are manual," Richard explained later, sensing Gwen's confusion. "At least that's true for Construction Golems. If you're wondering about Mage Pilots. They're exclusive to the Military. Did you know Military Golems can be linked to the driver's talents? It's very interesting Magi-tech, mostly from Israel and the U.S.A."

"Abominations." Lulan appeared wary of the giant constructs. "I hear the real ones have human souls sealed into them. That's got to be Necromancy."

"Which is why we use the piloted variety," Richard stated the obvious. "I'd love to see a battle-golem up close though."

They were a little behind schedule now, though that didn't worry Richard. Thanks to Gwen’s Portable Habitat, there was no need to fret over day cycles. Combined with Petra’s Warding expertise and Lulan's Stone Shape they could set up a discrete shelter anywhere, even deep inside the Dungeon.

The marching order of the Party was laid out by their de facto leader. First and foremost was Richard himself, joined by Lea. Lulan, whose swords could counterattack through the soft Water Shields, was second. Gwen was the artillery Mage, taking up third place. In the middle was their VIP, Percy, who was advised to stay put, followed by Kusu and Petra, bringing up the rear.

The team affirmed their positions.

“If we had a Cleric, we could get some group buffs,” Gwen noted from the mid-section, thinking of Elvia.

“No worries there,” Richard advised. "Petra's brought buffs."

"Once we're inside, or when we're close," Gwen's cousin advised. "I've also got two Heroisms cubed."

Lulan gave Petra a thumbs up.

“I could do wonders with a buff like that.” The girl grinned from ear to ear. “Keep me topped up, and I'll solo anything.”

“Now, now,” Ricard placated the cheerfully murderous Lulan as she hopped from foot to foot. “We don’t know what’s at the bottom. It could be a big-ass Water-Ghost, or it could be something nastier. Our job is to kill it, not to put ourselves in unnecessary danger.”

The Sword Mage nodded obediently.

“Lulu, be a good girl and listen to Richard,” Kusu apprised.

“Che-!” The girl clicked her tongue at her brother. "You're not the boss of me."

Kusu shot Richard a look of agonised constipation.

Gwen read it as, ‘Are you seeing this shit?!’

She burst into unexpected laughter, vaguely aware that her offence over the caged NoM had grown diluted and distant. As for the reason why, she could only guess that amongst such a company of excellent and competent companions, her conscience had grown comfortably numb.

"Gwen, can you drop the Hounds now?" Richard diverted Gwen's train of thought before her solicitude could dwell.

"Of course!" Gwen perked up. She had been looking forward to this moment. "Who let the dogs out?"

“DOGGING IT UP!” Gwen announced to the party. “If I screw it up and start barfing all over - nobody laugh.”

“Ooo!” Lulan clapped, her eyes full of anticipation.

"We won't," Richard promised, his legs casually crossed as he leaned on Kusu's shoulder.

“Ariel!”

“EEee!!” Ariel presented itself with a flash and a flourish, swishing its tail.

Gwen drew an iris-searing Conjuration glyph in the air, first beginning with the Major incantations, then moving onto minor adjustments before finishing with the final invocation.

“... Hound Pack!”

The party collectively held their breath.

The first Deerhound emerged, sleek and semi-draconic, shimmering with static-electricity.

Then another, a more robust copy of the first, with long, blade-like ears.

Another and another, until all seven were facing Gwen's astounded companions.

“D-Draconic Hounds?” Kusu blurted, his jaw failing to re-hinge itself as the hounds began to sniff the party members, recording the scent of their allies.

“Seven?” Richard implored.

“I can’t seem to get past that number,” Gwen confessed. “Instructor Chen said it's a matter of experience. Maybe when I actually reach tier 6, I could manage more, but that's all I got for now.”

Gwen drew another Glyph in the air.

“Bloodhound!”

An eighth hound emerged, heavier than the others.

The Deerhound's noble mien reached Lulan’s shoulders; when it breathed, two sets of electrified-air ejected from its dark nostrils. Its eyes were two cobalt orbs of vivid lightning with a dark slit at its centre.

Kusu’s heart violently seized when Lulan carelessly embraced Gwen’s alpha-hound with an open-armed, full body hug.

“IT'S SO SILKY!” Lulan rubbed her cheeks against the dog’s forehead as it licked her hand. Gwen’s Deerhounds were modelled after the short-furred hunting hounds of Scotland, possessing a fine coat of short silvery fur that oozed luxury when stroked. "Oooh! Its jowls are super soft as well!"

Kusu back-paddled cautiously. According to the spell’s description, these were tier 4 compelled-elementals. Though doglike, Kusu knew well the deceptive nature of assigning standardised ‘tiers’ to Magical Creatures. When imbued with draconic-essence, even a deer could become a significant threat.

“What beautiful animals.” Petra patted a dog with each hand, feeling the warmth radiating from the beasts’ scalps. “It is hard to believe that they are elementals. Why are they so real?”

“Chen says it’s because I am concurrently running Transmutation,” Gwen remarked helpfully. “That and I love my dogs!”

“You used to have a dog?”

Caught by her own disinformation, Gwen rummaged through her memories for an answer.

“We have greyhounds in Australia.” She threw out a bone for her companions. Gwen couldn’t possibly inform Petra that she had religiously attended every Easter Show, window shopping for canines while speaking to their breeder-owners, fantasising about rearing a big Wolfhound or a stout Dane. Even now, she could recall the sensation of running her hand over those big, beautiful canines, through their fur, feeling the warm drool dripping down their paunchy jowls.

“EE! EE!”

Her hounds stood to attention, skipped away from the gang, then formed into a wedge with Ariel at its centre.

“Oh my GOD.” Percy mouthed, his eyes glimmering with awe and desire. Like Gwen, he had always wanted a big dog as well. “Sis, you’ve killed me.”

“Hahaha!” Gwen laughed, her hands gripping her brother's shoulders, hysterically gloating with pleasure. There was a particular euphoria that drugged the brain when others praised one’s pets or children, and Gwen was drowning in a pool of it.

“Can you incant…” Kusu asked only the important questions. “Void Hounds?”

Richard whistled.

Petra's ears perked up.

Gwen shook her head.

“I’ll need A LOT of vitality for that,” she informed her companions. “Also, I’d rather not risk Void-burn. I had those a few times, in the beginning, and each time I was knocked out for hours.”

Just imagining a mana burn that involved both void matter and vitality was enough to make the party grimace.

“So, what can your dogs do?” Richard paced around the alpha, inspecting its handsome features.

“Ariel!” Gwen commanded.

"EEE! EE!"

'Showing' was worth a thousand words.

As one, the dogs formed into a W.

The pack sat - rolled over - then swapped places as though in a marching band, responding to each, 'EE!' with mechanical efficiency.

‘Clap! Clap! Clap!' Lulan was beside herself.

Ariel rose into the air.

“EE~ Eee!! EE!”

“They’re going to scout for prey, see what’s in the surrounding area,” Gwen declared boastfully. “Originally, the pack is supposed to be led by the Bloodhound. That’s what Morden had intended, although I’ve got Ariel.”

The party looked upward.

Ariel levitated above like an airborne general, resplendent even in its mundane combat form.

“Hah-hah-hah-hah~.” The dogs fanned out into the knee-high bush, their panting growing fainter as they crashed through the hilly peat.

“Let’s proceed.” Gwen pointed northward. “MY Ariel and MY Deerhounds will take care of ALL our scouting! HAHA! No more stupid orienteering!”

“Wonderful!” Lulan applauded, admiration gushing from every pore.

Petra and Kusu looked toward Richard.

“Gwen.” Richard implored his cousin with great gentleness, placing both hands on Gwen’s shoulders before turning her leftward toward a northerly direction. “Your dogs have gone the opposite way.”

"That's not north?" Gwen pointed a rudely erect finger toward the direction her dogs had gone.

“That’s east,” Richard informed her with great solemnity. “North-North-West is that way.”

The euphoria drained from Gwen's face.

“Lea!” Richard summoned his Spirit. The Undine couldn't 'fly' in the Spellcraft sense; instead, she levitated at will with complete freedom of movement.

“Heeheehee!” The Undine flittered about Ariel playfully, mocking its master’s directional-blindness as below, Gwen grudgingly redirected the hounds.

“Ariel.” Gwen moped. “Follow Lea’s direction…”

“EEE-EE!”

“Contact!” Gwen called out.

An hour in, the Water Ghost’s lair could just be seen, buried under a massive mound. The strange landscape reminded Gwen of a colossal ant-hill, disrupting the flat expanse of the muddy peat bog.

When Gwen had asked Richard why the bog had evaporated, her cousin informed her that the PLA had drained it in anticipation of the Canal's final stages, which required the ground to be thoroughly dried and compressed.

After half a minute, two of Gwen’s Deerhounds came running, pursued by Water Ghosts.

“God they're ugly!” Percy cried out as the Ghosts came into view.

Gwen mouthed a silent 'Strewth!' in turn. Ugly wouldn't even begin to describe these simian fiends.

The leading male was a specimen almost five-foot tall, broad of chest, hulking in its bearing with steel-cable arms. Its face was a bedraggled mess of fur, moss and other unnamable growths, hiding two beady eyes glowing with dark maleficence. The creature had the gait of a biped, though it ran expertly on all fours, using its elongated arms in the same fashion as gorillas to propel its body forward.

The second was a male as well, though smaller, begging the question of whether or not it was an adolescent or an inferior specimen.

The party fanned out with Richard taking the lead, attended by Gwen and then the others.

“Wanna try out your dogs?” Richard inquired.

“Sure,” Gwen agreed. “Ariel!”

“EE!”

Her dogs sallied forth.

About a hundred meters from the party, the two Water Monkeys stopped. The alpha sniffed the air, then turned directly toward Gwen and her company, half hidden in the ankle-deep sedge.

“See that? They have poor vision, but possess a keen sense of scent,” Richard pointed out. “There’s no ambushing these bastards.”

The Water Monkeys turned to flee, but by then it was too late.

Three of Gwen’s Deerhounds closed in behind their prey, growling dangerously.

The other two made an about-face, likewise turning on the Monkeys.

“GRRRRRR~!”

A throaty confluence of bone-throbbing growling filled the low valley, masking the presence of yet another three dogs hidden in the shallow sedge. The stink of ozone radiating from Gwen's electrified animals was overpowering.

“Did you teach 'em that?”

“Chen trained Ariel,” Gwen smirked. “Ariel’s the top dog up there. I suppose that makes me the sheepherder.”

Indeed, from up on high, Ariel shimmered gently, commanding Gwen’s hounds.

“EE!”

“Rrowff!”

The foremost hound feigned an assault.

“SHREEEIII!”

An unexpected howl pierced the soggy air, rippling from the Water Monkey’s chest like a banshee's wail.

“YIP! YIP! YIP! YIP!”

The smaller of the two began to beat its chest, emitting an awful racket from its peeling lips, baring inch-long fangs set into pink, mangled flesh.

“They’re calling for the rest of the pack!” Richard cracked his neck. “Lea! Shields on everyone! Maximum repulsion! We’re forcing them toward Gwen’s dogs!”

Gwen's irises gleamed with excess Lightning as she loaded up a tier 5 Evocation.

Lulan fell into a defensive stance, her pupils turning a vivid ochre.

“Dagger Wall!”

A swarm of dagger-like implements materialised around Kusu, floating placidly above the party, ready to intercept whatever came their way.

“Crystal Skin!”

Petra’s envious silhouette shimmered, becoming wreathed in a brilliant shell.

Percy hopped from foot to foot, trying to spot the incoming pack.

Down on the bog-flat where the two Monkeys had been cornered, Gwen’s pack met their quarry in melee. After a feigned snap to the neck, the second quickly nipped at the larger of the two targets, trying to hamstring the alpha. Dextrously, the first Water Ghost dodged, only to be met with a third dog, who had anticipated its sidestep. The smaller Monkey attempted to assist its companion - but was bodily checked by yet another growling hound. As it dived for cover, a shadow leapt from the sedge, barrelling into its chest and pinning it against the soggy turf. Beside the fallen Water Ghost, its companion faired no better. The sneak-attack ripped into its calves, forcing the Monkey to its knees while another ambushing hound tore out a chunk of its arm.

“SCREEEEEEIIII!”

"SCHEEEII! YIP! YIP! YIP!"

A series of bone-chilling screeches polluted the air.

“SCEE-!”

Its battle cry was suddenly cut short.

Gwen's alpha hound made its move, assailing the larger Water Ghost from behind, sending it crashing into the mud.

The rest of the pack fell upon the shrieking simian, tearing at its abdomen and torso as it frantically struggled. One of the dogs took a blow to the chest before snapping back, catching the Monkey’s paw in its jaw.

‘Crunch!’

“Shii…shii…” The creature attempted to cover its face with a mangled limb. Gwen's alpha wouldn’t have it, her hound tore away at the Ghost's forearms with an enthusiasm that would have made a starving Gwen proud, ripping out rags of bone-white sinew.

“OH MY GOD!” Percy paled, watching the dogs at their terrible work. “GWEN! They’re eating the damn thing alive!”

“SHUT UP!” Richard shouted over Percy’s incredulous utterance. “STAY DOWN! THEY’RE HERE!”

And they were.

The waterlogged loam surrounding the party bulged like diseased pustules before erupting into full-sized Water Ghosts.

“Their elemental teleport is kind of like a Blink!” Lulan shouted over the sound of splashing water. “They can't use it unless they're ambushing though. It'll get worse when we’re indoors!”

“LULU!” Kusu screeched. “DON’T let the water from their fur touch your lips! It’s poisonous!”

Diseased, Gwen corrected Kusu mentally. Virulent bacteria likely inundated the water cascading from the damned thing's mangy fur.

“Ariel!” Gwen channelled a spell into her Familiar. It was far easier launching spells from up on high than at her eye-level, especially when they were ankle-deep in mossy turf.

“Warding Shield!”

A total of six adult Water Ghosts emerged about two meters from the party’s right, taking advantage of the momentum of their innate water-Blink to throw their bodies into melee range.

"FARRRRRK!" Percy fumbled with his Salt Bolts. He was beginning to realise that competitive duelling was distinctly different from half a dozen disease laden barrelling baboons frothing at the lips.

Richard waited until the last moment before activating his Shields; driving Percy up the wall, or at least up Petra's crystal coated form.

‘Thunk!’

‘Splash!’

Forward facing semi-dome barriers swiftly negated the Monkeys’ momentum, catching four of the creatures mid-air. A hidden jet of water caught the victims as they spun, turning the Shield into a cocoon.

The remaining two broke through.

“Lulu!”

“GOT IT! BROAD STROKE! SWEEP!”

Lulan’s gleaming Iron Blade caught the first Monkey across the chest, biting viciously into flesh and bone, stopping the creature's momentum cold. Her second strike proved a second too slow, nicking the Monkey across the shoulder as it dexterously contorted its upper body.

“Ball Lightning!”

Gwen had been the nursing her tier 5 Evocation with meticulous care. Jacked up on adrenaline and fuming with thunderous wrath, she channelled the spell through Ariel's horns.

Despite her growing competence, the hyper-tier Evocation remained a considerable challenge. Without her teammates, it was unlikely that she could enjoy fifteen-seconds of uninterrupted, stress-free invocation.

Her first Ball Lightning caught the last Ghost that had slipped their defences, erupting into a white-hot sphere of plasma as its latent energies unleashed.

The remaining four, likewise ejaculated from Ariel’s incandescent horns, erupted where Richard had momentarily immobilised their quarry, ripping through their targets as the liquid cocoon turned into superheated steam.

“Caliban!”

Gwen materialised her second Familiar. Now was the perfect time to stock up on vitality.

“SHAAA!”

There was no need for elaborate transformations. Caliban slithered straight for the most wounded creature, pinned by Lulan’s sword into the ground like a kabob, opening its carapace with gleeful abandonment.

“Shaaa~, Shaaa~.”

“SCREEEEEEIIII!”

The lame Monkey thrashed against the slab of iron, ripping its wound; its flailing claws scored bloody gashes all over Caliban’s pulsating purple flesh, spraying ichor over the dark turf.

But as with the proverbial honey badger, Caliban didn't give a shit.

Caliban's lamprey lips launched for the Monkey's face.

It all happened so fast.

Percy stood in the midst of splashing water, exploding lightning, crushing blades of iron, the yipping and growling of dogs, throngs of screaming, insane Monkeys, and a yawning Petra.

His sister was strong, and her friends weren’t bad either, that had been the intellectual understanding he had brought to Nantong. Seeing the gory ordeal come to life, however, was opening his eyes to a reality he could scarcely comprehend.

How could they even tell what the hell was going on? Percy’s mind revolted. There was so much chaos, a concourse of light, colour and sound concomitantly occurring amidst spurting blood, snapping bones, howling Familiars and screeching monsters.

“Lightning Bolt!”

“SWEEP! THRUST!”

“PIERCE!”

“Lightning Sphere!”

"SHAAA!"

"Shield!"

“SWEEP! Iron Strike!”

"E-EE!"

"LULU! CAREFUL- CAO!"

"GRRR!"

His amulet glowed red-hot, subsuming the escaping essence of dying creatures all around him.

A few times he tried to help, but before his incantation even finished, a sword would lop off a limb, or a blast of lighting would erupt, leaving nothing but smouldering flesh. Whenever a creature got too close, a barrier of water would send it reeling backwards, or Kusu would protect him with a wall of steel implements. More often than not, stragglers were dragged off by Gwen's dogs.

“Salt B-”

"SHAA!"

Caliban tackled Percy's target.

Now in a feeding frenzy, Caliban was fully fluffed, more terrifying than Percy had ever seen the jovial worm. Ignoring all wounds and feeling no pain, it crashed bodily into the largest of the Water Ghosts. The simian beast kicked and scratched at the Familiar's body while Caliban hung on face-first, a comical addition to the monster's anatomy.

OH, GODS! Percy felt sick to his core even as his amulet recharged.

The Monkey's simian head slipped into Caliban’s maw, then inch by chomping inch, Caliban took the damned thing into its gullet. Even when half of the Monkey’s torso could no longer be seen, it thrashed and kicked, sending out vivid sprays of purple-black ichor that polluted the yellow-green undergrowth.

“Percy!” Gwen’s cheery voice called for him. "You alright?"

Percy glanced up to see his sister, her face flushed with the passion of the hunt, her cheeks rosy with thrilling violence.

“Gwen! Bring em!” Richard commanded Percy's shepherd sister.

The combat was dying down, the earlier chaos reduced to the sound of whimpering resistance.

Gwen’s Deerhounds approached, six of her dogs dragging two simian victims between them.

Percy stared in horror as the hounds deposited its quarry.

One of the Water Ghosts could barely be recognised as such, now missing most of its furry dermis and half of its face, with one eye hanging loosely by a few precarious vessels.

The smaller one was whole, though it was bleeding out via a missing chunk of its throat.

The rest of the party convened upon the bloody spectacle.

“Percy, go for it,” Richard directed him toward the twitching aberrations. “Your first Monster Kill, buddy, tier 3, maybe tier 4, not bad! I had to start with bloody Yabbies, you know!”

Gwen appeared behind Richard, looking apprehensive.

Percy could hardly breathe. He looked down at the creature below him. A pair of mangled jaws, even a meter away, reflexively snapped at him.

“Salt Bolt!”

The incantation came naturally to his lips.

Percy watched as a razor-sharp shard of Salt sliced into the creature’s skull.

His sister winced. Percy wondered what drove Gwen to want her little brother to deliver the coup de grâce.

“Salt Bolt!”

The second strike proved likewise unerring, taking the creature with a single hit.

“WELL DONE!” Richard slapped Percy on the back. “Nice control you’ve got there, Percy. Next time, your targets will be moving!”

Percy looked up to see his sister smiling at him with bloodshot eyes. The amulet burned as the creatures' essence entered the Kirin Stone's Soul Well, after which the jade cooled.

“Holy shit.” Percy cracked a forceful smile, his mind a deluge of emotions after bearing witness to such competence. “Sis, you guys are insane.”

A look of benevolence broke across Gwen’s tautly strung face.

“You know it!” She hugged him. “You did so much better than me when I was put in the position. I couldn't even look at my targets, even knowing that I had every right and that they deserved nothing better.”

Percy awkwardly returned the embrace.

“ALRIGHT!” Richard spared no time for sentimentality. “Petra! Lulan, IT'S TIME!”

“Resist Disease!” Petra dropped an essential protection spell on Lulan. At the tier in which Petra had acquired the stowed spell, it would remain active for days.

Lulan kicked over a Monkey corpse.

Two Iron Blades fell like meat-cleavers, taking the body apart, splattering her from thigh to elbow.

She reached down and ripped open the ribcage, searching for the promised prize. Not far, Gwen was coaxing Caliban to return any Cores the creatures may have stowed by stroking its mid-section.

“MAO!” Lulan triumphantly emerged, scarlet from her elbow to the tip of her fingers, her white face crimson with viscera. “I found one!”

“You’re kidding me!” Kusu’s eyes moved between the object in Lulan’s hand and the astonished, pale-faced Percy, trying to fathom some form of probable cause. “A Core?! REALLY?!”

“I got one here too.” Gwen pushed on Caliban’s torso, coaxing a slimy orb from its lamprey lips. The Core landed with a plop.

“Four more bodies!” Lulan skipped happily to the next body and once again began her merry butchery.

A wayward spleen ruptured, filling the air with a foul odour.

Behind Lulan, Percy reached his limits.

His sister, their cousins, and her friends were insane.

Turning away from the 'Nantong Ripper', Percy cleared the contents of his breakfast.

Richard nodded with satisfaction; his work was done.

“Good sport.” He gave Percy a thumbs up. “Kusu, you owe me 50 HDMs.”

“CAO!” Kusu cursed. “You would think Gwen's brother was made of sterner stuff!”

Four Cores later, Kusu was aghast.

“I am not going to ask why, I only hope you come with us every time,” the crystal starved ex-Clanner professed, handing Percy a towel.

“Thanks.” Percy wiped his lips.

Gwen’s dogs fanned out again, directed by Ariel.

“Prestidigitation!” Gwen ran the quasi-magical laundry Device over Lulan’s dress. The girl’s tolerance for ultra-violence was mind-numbing. Even Gwen, who had personally seen a Mage eaten from inside-out by an eldritch horror, was sickened by her gory labour.

Earlier, Gwen had to take a quick break to ‘digest’ her newly acquired vitality.

Having her friends, not to mention Percy, seeing her groaning with ecstasy was beyond awkward, so she had forced herself to remain grim and unmoving while her innards contorted.

After a minute of stoicism, Gwen could once again breathe. The Monkeys were robust, but their vitality was tier 3 at best, maybe scraping into tier 4 on the Nephres scale. It was their ambushing, pack-hunting tactics that made them so dangerous.

On another note, Gwen was gaining a renewed appreciation of just how potent draconic-essence could be. Compared to the earth-shattering, eyes-rolling-to-the-back-of-her-head ecstasy in Huangshan, her mortal meal of Monkeys was chugging stale-beer compared to slugging Mao-tai.

Lulan emerged from her butchery smiling from ear to ear.

8 Water Ghosts. 16 CCs so far.

Fortuitously, Gwen packed enough LDMs to dry-clean Lulan's entire wardrobe and then some.

“EE! EE!” Ariel reported back.

“All good.” Gwen passed on the buck. “Nothing of note within half-a-kilometre.”

“Marching Order!” Richard barked. The Water Mage was a born drill sergeant. He inspected his troops before giving the command to keep moving.

“Gwen, get the dogs! Alright, to the Lair!”

Having gotten a taste of the Water Ghosts' peculiarities, the party proceeded with care as they made for the lair.

There were no more ambushes, indicating that the creatures had retreated for the advantage of their subterranean abodes.

“Any chance we can just excavate the damned lair?” Gwen noted the intimidating size of the den as they approached. Judging by the outside, a medium-sized shopping complex would fit under the thing.

“You're going to need a Magister-tier Earthen Mage for that.” Richard commanded Lea to displace the water as they proceeded, allowing the party to avoid any unpleasant surprises. “That or earth-moving golems. Good luck transporting them though. It’s cheaper to pay five ambitious Uni students, hahaha!”

"There sure are A LOT of beasties here," Gwen noted, watching Caliban slither about, eating every other thing it found. There were colourful frogs, viscous looking water bugs, and other devious looking fauna all over the place. Ariel reported that Gwen’s hounds were constant victims of harassment by the local fauna, though it wasn’t anything their draconic-constitution couldn’t handle. The falling level of water had brought all kinds of critters out from the murk.

“Is the lair underwater?”

“Nope, Water Ghosts are air-breathing.” Richard sent out a blast of water, removing a clump of stubborn turf, revealing a host of red-spotted white worms slithering this way and that.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Percy circulated a layer of Salt over his body.

“Scarlet-tailed leeches.” Kusu leaned in closer for a better look. “Better not have an open wound - they're drawn to blood…”

Percy paled, shivering uncontrollably.

MY BOY, afraid of bugs? Gwen mused. It was true though. Percy was a city boy through and through. She at least had the experience of camping out in the outback, and an extra decade or two’s experience-

Sensing the font of vitality that was Gwen's delicious, essence-filled body, dozens of leeches made a leap of faith for her exposed skin.

“FU- LIGHTNING BOLT!”

A line of lightning cut through the peat-marsh, displacing a linear row of water before spreading forth as a jagged fissure of scorched earth.

“Jesus-strewth!” Gwen caught her breath. It was strange how Caliban could be a cute little horror from the Void, but these slimy white wormlings set her teeth on edge.

The others chuckled.

They continued, with Gwen blasting off bolts every hundred meters or so.

“I am frankly surprised your spells aren't attracting more Ghosts.” Richard looked up at Ariel and Lea floating up above. “GOT ANYTHING?”

“EEE?! EE!”

“Nothing,” Lea reported back.

By the time the party arrived at ‘base camp’, by which Richard had meant the entrance to the lair, they were losing sunlight.

“How're we feeling?” Richard turned to his party. “Got enough stamina to start on the lair?”

“I am fine.” Gwen raised her hand. “Percy?”

“I am alright.” Percy had worked up a good sweat. All of them had in the humid weather. The chill radiating from the soggy marsh permeated their bodies. Combined with the hostile flora and fauna, it was self-evident that without significant terra-forming, the sodden landscape could not sustain human habitation. Of the group, it was only Gwen who appeared barely touched by fatigue.

But looking at his party, Richard knew better.

"Let's take a breather anyway," he advised. "We'll break for afternoon tea, refresh our heads, then head in."

He gazed upward.

“Ariel, Lea, set up a perimeter please.”

“EE!” Ariel swished its tail.

Lea nodded, then drifted away to survey the perimeter.

The hounds fanned out.

Gwen stared at the cavern’s entrance. Had she not known it was there, she would have thought it a moss-strewn split in the risen landscape.

Beside her, Richard materialised a portable stove. “So, what flavour of rations do you guys want?”

The party had barely eaten when Ariel and Lea reported that they had Water Ghosts coming out of the cavern.

“They're attracted to SPAM?” Gwen protectively held the block of spiced mystery-meat close to her chest.

They had enjoyed the peace until Gwen, displeased with rations of nutritious mana-infused military ration, added a few blocks of SPAM to her bubbling pot. Soon after, the salt-soaked meat sent up a delicious scent. It was then that Lea reported on the disturbance around their camp.

The party's response was skeptical, none more so than Richard, who’d thought he had done his due diligence on the Water Ghosts.

“Gwen, give me your SPAM. I need at least twice as much as you've got going there." Richard wasn’t one to let go of an opportunity; straightaway, he ordered the party to collect their things.

“A-all of them?!” Gwen protested feebly.

Richard mercilessly tore the SPAM from Gwen's hands, then dunked the formless flesh into the bubbling pot.

The party was by now over a hundred meters away, watching two dozen blocks of simmering fat swimming in Richard's wok.

“Lea!”

Lea manipulated the water vapours, stirring the salty soup so that the bubbling scent wafted into the cavern's mouth, likewise permeating the waters below.

They left Ariel floating above, just out of sight, confident that the remarkable scent of processed meat would overwhelm the Monkeys' desire to look up.

“Gwen, get ready.”

Still mourning her ration of SPAM, Gwen channelled a sliver of Almudj’s Essence into Ariel, transforming her Familiar into its Quasi-Draconic form. Ariel seemed to possess a far better command of the essence than she did, capable of both withholding and radiating the aura's palpable effects.

Gwen then preloaded an Elemental Sphere.

The party waited.

It didn’t take long for the water around the campsite to roil and churn, bursting apart violently to reveal a dozen Demi-humanoids both large and small. With her eagle-eyed vision, Gwen baulked when she spotted a specimen with drooping, dried up breasts beneath its mattered fur. There was another, a youngling, suckling on the teat of a younger female. From their gait and their body language, they appeared famished. It was no wonder the creatures were drawn to SPAM.

Gwen’s mind blanked out, suddenly accosted by an unpleasant and dubious acknowledgement.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

"Let's do this!" Richard grinned. "Good thing you brought the SPAM! Kusu, take a left, wall them in. Lulu, you're on the right, don't let a single CC escape! Percy, Petra, you’re with me! Gwen, engage as soon as we're in place!”

Gwen's companions charged ahead.

Her mind numb with unbidden solicitudes, Gwen commanded Ariel to prioritise coverage over damage.

“Barbanginy!”

Two globes left Ariel’s stag-horns, guided by its tentacle whiskers. In a split-second, the blinding orbs grew in size, taking on the guise of a twin star-fall, hellbent on obliterating the SPAM stealing culprits.

The spheres struck, growing in radius until they encompassed the entirety of the campsite.

“SCEEIIII!”

“SCARRRR!”

“YIP YIP Yi-”

Twin novas of viridescent lighting rang out, blighting the landscape, splitting the peat, rending flesh, blasting bone, peeling skin and fur.

The shrieks of the Monkeys suddenly grew silent.

“Caliban!”

Gwen’s second Familiar joined the fray. Though she could taste her dilemma like oxidised iron on the tip of her tongue, she knew better than to let the Monkey's lives go to waste.

Her serpent joined the fray, frenzied in its feasting of their fried and battered foe.

“Salt Bolt!”

“Strike!”

“Piercing Dagger!”

Percy quelled his share of singed, gurgling simians, feeling his amulet thrum as it drank the low-tier essence.

Lulan directly dispatched her share of babbling beasts with broad sweeping strokes to the head and neck.

Kusu likewise swept through the rear, his daggers unerringly finding their marks, penetrating softened flesh flayed by Gwen’s lightning.

Richard walked up beside Gwen as she ruminated upon the operatic scene styled after the Seventh Circle of Dante's hellish Inferno.

“What’s wrong?”

“What's WRONG? There were females and younglings amongst those Water Ghosts!” Gwen spluttered. There was no need to be coy with Richard. “They're sapient beings! Don't deny it! You said they were sapient back in Shanghai!”

Richard took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

“They’re sapient.” Her cousin smirked, his tone entirely objective. “I duly confess that these creatures feel, have complex social units, and are even known to perform the occasional act of altruism. Why - what’s the matter?”

“W-what's wrong?" Gwen shuddered. "Richard, must we exterminate them?"

"Well, its only expected," Richard scoffed. “They’re dangerous animals.”

Gwen swallowed twice in quick succession. Richard wasn’t wrong, but she was reluctant to concede the point.

“Think about it.” Richard pointed to an enormous female carcass Lulan was crudely vivisecting like a lioness ferreting for offal. “How can creatures whose primary preoccupation is to feed, reproduce, and expand: co-exist with us, whose primary preoccupation is to feed our kin, spread our territory, and ensure our continued dominion? Don't you think peaceful co-existence is contradictory to either of our reasons for being?”

“But…” Gwen sighed. She had no persuasive answers, not when her old world gleefully engaged in genocide over trivialities like minor differences in religious texts. From the Mongolians incursions to the British Empire, from the Holocaust to the war in Yemen, human history had rarely if ever conspired for mercy. If there was a single immutable truth that defined humanity, it was that scene from Full Metal Jacket, the one where a Colonel grilled Private Joker:

"You write 'Born to Kill' on your helmet, and you wear a Peace Button? What’s that supposed to be, some kind of sick joke?"

The scene had stayed with her all these years. The duality of man: the Jungian thing. Was it that simple though?

“It's that simple, Gwen.” Richard appeared to have read her mind. “Don’t worry your pretty, tier 6 Lightning head about it.”

Gwen snorted bitterly. Don’t think?! Easier said than done!

“You overthink.” As if to make his point, Richard petted Gwen's head.

Gwen annoyedly brushed off her cousin's intrusive hand.

“You know, I wonder,” her cousin noted sardonically. “What do you suppose happens when we’re on the losing side? Mercy, perhaps?”

“…” Gwen couldn't counter that hypothesis either.

“SIX CORES!” Lulan was in desperate need of another Prestidigitation, though the girl was clearly too ecstatic to care. “GOOD WORK PERCY!”

Kusu turned to Gwen.

“Percy's our lucky charm, huh?”

“Yep, you got it.” Gwen cracked a wane smile, shaking herself from her induced stupor. “My boy brings all the Cores to the yard.”

At nightfall, the team camped atop the swollen lair, with Petra setting up Wards and Gwen arranging her dogs for guard duty. She had to retrieve Ariel as they entered the Portable Habitat, meaning the alpha Deerhound was now in charge of the pack.

According to Chen, her inexpert conjuration should last a good twenty-four hours, meaning there was at least another twenty odd hours left: more than enough for the team to get a good night’s sleep.

The gang settled into the habitat, with the girls sharing the master bedroom; Richard having a guest room to himself; Percy having the other, and Kusu offering to sleep on the couch.

As the boys prepared dinner, Gwen meditated for a short while, inspecting her gains for the day.

Though individually robust, the Water Ghosts were 'essentially' Demi-human simians with an affinity for Water, measuring unimpressively on the Nephres scale. After snacking on six or so of the buggers, Gwen's Vitality had reached a satisfying state of satiation, albeit nothing like the brimming, supernatural haleness she had gained from the Draconic-creatures. For a moment during their last fight, she had considered the dangerous idea of having Percy use his Drain Life, but ultimately the number one and two rules of the Persecrecy Club reigned.

“Time to eat!” Richard called out after half an hour.

Gwen found herself at the head of the table.

“Our MVP.” Richard chuckled, raising a glass. “To Gwen!”

“TO GWEN!”

“Good work, Gwen!”

“Sis~!”

“Thanks, everyone.” Gwen toasted back, well within her element. "You guys are the reason everything is going so well. Here's to you!"

"Cheers!" the group toasted again.

“Sis, your artillery spells are amazing.” Percy sighed dreamily. “Lightning is the best.”

“Hey, your Salt is only going to get better. You haven’t seen Dad kick ass in Singapore. He was very impressive, more powerful than me, certainly.”

“That sounds promising, especially coming from you.” Percy raised his glass.

"Ha!" Gwen snorted. "Did your elite high school teach you to be a flatterer?"

Richard soon passed the giant pot of curry. Gwen spooned out enough to fill her bowl, an impressive salad bow, half-filled with rice. Even though she was feeling happily vital, her boosted metabolism had woes of its own.

The group made chit-chatter about the events of the day, discussing how they would proceed tomorrow. Richard expressed that he had mapped out the first level or so of the lair, and that they would be advancing straight to the second. All in all, he suspected six layers of criss-crossing tunnels and caverns.

“It’ll be Lea and Caliban’s turn to shine,” Richard ruminated aloud. “Lulan too. I don’t think Ariel’s earth-shattering AOE is going to do us any favours in a tunnel system. It'll be two abreast at best.”

“I’ll have Ariel bring up top,” Gwen agreed. "Let's hope the ceiling's not too low."

“EE!!” Ariel too was eating from a bowl, though the curry was proving excessively pungent for its sensitive nose. It kept sneezing, which was adorable indeed.

“Here.” Lulan materialised something in her hand and threw it at Ariel. The offending object was a length of knotted meat in the shape of a generous shank.

“You bought meat?” Gwen was surprised because Lulan had explicitly stated she had brought no supplies.

“It’s from those Monkeys.” Lulan wiped her hands, returning to her bowl as Ariel tore into the flesh.

“Ah.” Gwen took a few more spoonfuls of curry.

Watching Ariel chow down, a nascent paranoia began to build in her chest.

“Richard.” Gwen stirred her curry softly. “What meat is this?”

Richard blinked.

“Bushmeat,” her cousin replied.

“Oh, thank God.” Gwen breathed out. “Ha! For a moment there, I was sure you were going to say M…”

She noticed her party was staring at her strangely.

Petra pulled herself from her seat.

“I’ll get the napkins.” The Russian reached for the paper towels.

Gwen looked down at her curry-gumbo.

In her haste, she had eaten half a salad bowl.

She should have known. Only curry could overpower the gamy taste.

A vision of a Water Ghost's babe clinging onto a pair of hairy old teats flashed across her mind.

“Dimension Door!”

Gwen reappeared inside the kitchen, projectile vomiting into the sink.

“You see that?” Richard remarked to Percy. “See that control? Now that’s fuck’n impressive!”

The next morning, Gwen gleefully ate three servings of SPAM.

Glorious ignorance! Such ambiguous taste! Not even the ingredient label divulged its secrets. The processed meat put Gwen's mind at ease. Lulan and Petra had spent the night convincing her eating Bushmeat wasn't cannibalism.

Gwen switched to her skinsuit, ensuring she wouldn't blind Percy and scar him for life if she had to Void Skin.

When the party re-emerged, Gwen’s Deerhounds greeted them. The dogs were almost at their limits, so Gwen dismissed them in order to re-engage the spell.

Unfortunately, her lack of sleep had taken a toll on her concentration, and she only succeeded on her third try.

“Sorry," Gwen apologised. Her recovery time meant the whole party had to wait for her.

“It’s fine.” Richard tapped his temple. “But from here on out, FOCUS. Our lives are in your hands.”

“I know,” Gwen promised.

“Petra, if you would, please.”

"Bless!"

"Aid!"

"Resist Element!"

"Water Breathing!"

Petra buffed the party. She had enough for two forays, more than enough.

“Alright folks, here’s how we proceed…”

With Gwen’s dogs now in play, Richard decided to change up their initial strategy. The Deerhounds would lead scouting incursions into the splits and partitions that made up the lair, telepathically reporting back to Ariel if they found anything interesting. Meanwhile, the party would proceed forward as one down the main artery as far as they could before Lulan had to Stone Shape and Earthquake to create new paths. The idea was to pick up as many Water Ghosts as the party could manage in a round trip.

The interior of the cavern grew spacious once Lulan Stone Shaped the entrance, widening the granite so that the party could pass easily. Gwen’s dogs disappeared into the dark, the soft pattering of their paws splattering like pelting rain as they streamed through the cavern.

As expected, the Water Ghosts were exceptional ambush predators. Utilising their innate water-Blink abilities, they erupted from the sodden walls and mossy undergrowth to attack the party. Concurrently, the tunnels were filled with traps: envenomed barbs, diseased spikes, saplings tipped with malignant growth, as well as toxic fauna that laired in small crags.

Every so often, Ariel reported that the dogs were bringing back a host of their simian quarry, too incensed by the hounds' presence to remain in hiding. The party would lay an ambush by having Gwen warding the entrance with Lightning Tentacles, or when there was enough time, Petra would set immobilisation Warding Glyphs, and Gwen, her Faithful Hound.

Their progress remained fruitful for the better half of a day, harvesting dozens of Monkeys each encounter, which Gwen disturbingly acknowledged as 'family' units within the tribe. There were a few precarious calls as well, such as when a section of the cavern suddenly collapsed, sending Gwen and Lulan tumbling. Thankfully, Gwen had on her Boots of Flying, not to mention both of the girls had their Blink or Dimension Door equivalents should the need arise. Another time, the Water Ghosts attempted to flush the party into an ambush by sacrificing one of their own as a lure. Taking Richard’s advice, Gwen sent a Barbanginy Elemental Sphere into the adjacent chamber, collapsing the entire thing altogether.

Lulan collected body parts via her Stone Shape.

“Lulu, open a passage downward from here, let’s see if we can go deeper, we're getting close to the centre.”

“Okay!”

The party advanced steadily. Percy's’ amulet warmed his chest against the cold murk. Beside him, Lulan’s Large Storage Ring bulged with reclaimed heads and harvested Cores.

Their pace persisted until one of Gwen’s dogs returned with a souvenir.

“EEee! EE!” Ariel notified the party.

“Shaaa!” Caliban sniffed what the Deerhound had dragged back.

“Oh no…” Lea floated closer to the Mages. “Ariel says the dogs found a person.”

Where the endless slaughter had numbed the party, the unwelcome news now reinvigorated their interest. A person? Gwen knelt to see as her hound padded toward them.

‘Plop!’

Her Deerhound deposited a limb.

It was a human hand.

“Fuck!” Gwen took a step back, her nerves taut enough to play a sound. The hand looked like it had been gnawed off. Did her dog do it? Were her Draconic-Deerhounds man-eating?

“EEE!”

“No, not the dogs,” Lea translated, with Gwen gladly exhaling. “They found someone another layer down.”

The party regarded one another cautiously.

"We need to find out if there are people down there," Gwen urged. "Maybe they're alive? Victims captured by the Water Ghosts?"

"That's unlikely," Petra pointed out. "The Ghosts we saw were starving."

"Waste of time." Kusu appeared adverse detouring as well.

“Okay, we vote.” Richard pointed downwards. “Who wants to see if there’s someone alive down there?”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Nay.”

“Nay.”

Petra and Kusu’s ‘Nay’ made Gwen recoil.

“A good rule of thumb,” Petra educated her young companion. “Is to never deviate from a planned route in a Dungeon. We need to work through the warrens systematically, not go traipsing after a dead man.”

“I concur.” Kusu shrugged off Lulan’s bulging eyeballs. “Keep to our task. We’ll find this man or woman or not: it’s just a matter of time.”

“I shall abstain.” Richard nodded. “By majority, we find the owner of this hand. Objections?”

“None,” Petra answered without hesitation.

“I am fine with it,” Kusu conceded as well.

Even as the tension in her chest yielded to relief, Gwen couldn’t help but notice the heat in her cheeks. There was a bit of guilt, a dash of pride, and a mixture of less than cordial sentiments lashing out at cruel Kusu and his partner in crime, pragmatic Petra. More worryingly, Gwen knew that had the nays won; her first reaction would be to launch into oratory rather than affirm the consensus. If so, did that make her a terrible team member? If the party could not proceed without her, could she then hold that over them, driving them into danger?

She was overthinking again, Gwen realised. But she couldn’t help herself.

Such a test was sure to arise one day, especially if they were to work with Seniors from Fudan for the IIUC. Could she handle it if they told her to act otherwise in a morally ambiguous circumstance? Was team cohesion more critical than principles?

“Stone Shape!”

Lulan’s mastery of the Earthen element was as impressive as ever.

Now descending to a lower system of caverns and warrens, the party continued their foray. Gwen's Deerhound took the lead, followed by Lea, parting the water, dismantling the traps and blasting lines of lightning down dark holes. Caliban brought up the rear with Kusu, shielding Petra and Percy from harm. Finally, Ariel floated above their heads.

Along the way, three other dogs joined the march. By now, the other hounds had strayed too far from the party and so were ordered to stay put.

After a few more stray Monkeys and a dozen bobby traps, the party came to a small cavern with clear signs of industry. To their surprise, Gwen recognised the evidence of crude furniture, stone tools and other stolen bits of flotsam and jetsam collected from the Water Ghost’s victims.

“Grrr…” Her Deerhound growled.

The rearmost hounds pushed past the party and took up their positions at the fore, joined by Ariel and Lea.

“Invisible Familiar!”

“Lea! Vapor Form.”

Lea dispersed herself to effect a pseudo-invisibility, while Ariel took its cue from Gwen’s Illusion incantation.

The two familiars entered the dark cavern while the party readied offensive and defensive spells.

“There’s a pile of equipment in there, clothing and such,” Richard reported, possessing the sole Familiar capable of both empathic link and human speech. “Looks like a larder to me. A rather fruitless larder.”

“…”

The party held its breath.

“… it’s not looking good.” Richard breathed out after a while. “Lea says she's found the owner of our wayward hand. He’s dead.”

A solemn air descended over the group.

“There’s… a few victims in there. Emergency supplies, I guess.” Richard turned toward the party. “I think it is best not to go in. Nobody wants to see this stuff.”

How rare for Richard to be so sensitive, Gwen pondered: the same Richard who delighted in opening her eyes to every horror from faux-cannibalism to mass murder. If so, what the fuck could be in there?

“I want to see,” Gwen insisted. “Richard, I think I need to see this.”

Richard stepped aside.

Their eyes met.

“You knew I was going to say that, didn’t you?” Gwen chided her cousin, her accusation cattier than she’d anticipated.

In a work environ, the advantage of knowing someone too well could be a complication in itself, especially when it came to situations like this. Gwen had suspected that Richard DID give a shit about her giving a shit about the simian women and children and that he was trying to deliver yet another one of his ‘corrective’ therapies.

“Just prepping you for the big one," Richard affirmed her suspicion. "I am serious though, its a fucked up display. The choice is yours, but no one can be ready for shit like this. With your sensitivity, I don't know..."

Because YOU know better? Gwen suppressed the irritation engendering in her chest. How presumptuous of Richard to think-

Gwen’s thoughts seized at once.

They had entered a large, airy cavern.

As anticipated, it was a pantry of sorts.

But the place looked to Gwen more akin to a torture chamber.

Or perhaps, an abattoir.

Crude hooks had been fashioned out of rusted farming implements. Upon the hooks, hanging like a slab of beef at a butcher’s window, was the owner of the hand. The corpses were expertly dressed: an arm here, a leg there. The torso was butterflied, the body split with a sharp implement.

A thick layer of salt covered the dark flesh, like jamón serrano.

In the darkness, all Gwen and her companions could hear was the sound of their breathing.

“Grrr…”

“Grrr…Grrr”

“GRRRRR…”

Her dogs’ growling grew in intensity until their throaty warning filled the cavern.

“We got company.” Richard readied his multiple Shields. “Petra, Wall up. They were probably waiting for us. If so, this is the big one, likely the ruler of the cavern. Lea, clear all the water in a twenty-meter radius.”

“Crystal Barrier!”

A semi-dome of crystal blossomed into place, its exterior lined with jagged, glassy teeth, enveloping Petra and Percy.

“Caliban!” Gwen commanded her Familiar. Caliban oozed a coat of void-slime, then sunk into the wall, coiling its body.

“Void Tentacles!”

“Lightning Tentacles!”

“Wrrrof!”

“Wrrf!”

“GRRR!”

Gwen's Deerhounds were now in a frenzy.

‘SPLASH!’

Twenty-odd meters away, a small tidal wave of water leapt from cavern floor without warning, rushing toward the party with enough force to dash apart their formation.

“LEA!”

The wall of brackish white-water parted as if commanded by the Prophet Moses, passing the party, leaving them unmolested.

Immediately following the chaotic deluge's passing, figures formed in the darkness. A dozen, no, two dozen Water Ghosts surrounded them both back and front, having Blinked into existence in the wake of the deluge.

“It's their Water Priest,” Richard spat. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere! This is the big one!”

“Petra!” Lulan called out.

Petra was way ahead of Lulan.

“Mass Heroism!”

The golden glow of the Enchantment School suffused the party, dissolving all fatigue, strengthening their bodies and dispelling all fear. Precariously, the application of Heroism was a double-edged blade, for the Mages would remain fearless until the spell’s resolution.

“Caliban-”

“Wait-“ Richard halted Gwen before she could give the command for Caliban to Stag-form. “Save Cali for the Priest. Creatures possessing magical abilities are far more likely to produce Cores with a Spirit.”

“But what if-“

“Don’t worry. Lea is here.” Richard smirked with confidence. “As am I. We need to show these animals the price of hunting humankind.”

At the thought of the preserved corpses, concentric rings of electricity circulated brightly in Gwen’s pupils until her eyes were shimmering in the dim darkness. With great pain, the Lightning sorceress forced herself to look away from the slabs of human flesh.

"Suffer not our enemies to live!" Lulan spat vehemently; the girl had been doubly affected by the horrid sight, so much that she was sprouting CCP propaganda slogans.

“Yes.” Gwen's voice took on a cold, unyielding edge. “Not a single one."

Four Ball-Lightnings erupted in the midst of the screeching swarm, expanding until they compassed the entirety of the chamber’s passageway.

“SCREEIII!”

“YIP! YIP! EEEIII!”

“SCRIIIII!”

Insane, baboon-like howls pervaded the cavern, rebounding across every nook and cranny.

Even under the robust influence of Heroism, Gwen's bones shivered. She could see why the expedition was considered so dangerous. The psychological pressure exerted by the Monkeys became amplified in the cramped, confined space and could even unnerve hardened Battle Mages.

In retribution, Gwen sent a swell of Almudj's Essence into Ariel, suppressing the simian horde's howling with a burst of Dragon-fear. Much to her dismay, the frenzied Water Ghosts surged past their fallen comrades undaunted, suds dribbling from diseased gums.

“The Monkeys have a battle-buff active!” Lulan placed herself as the groups’ spearhead, her lithe figure silhouetted against the frothing bodies bull-rushing the party.

“Wall of Water!”

Since arriving in Shanghai, Richard had been tinkering with both Conjuration and his Abjuration. In particular, lacking the freedom to disburse CCs, he instead improved synergy.

“Warding Tendrils!”

Gwen's Conjurer-Abjurer companion had the tier 4 water barrier pre-loaded, and now he added a tier 2 snare, empowered and maximised by Lea's innate affinity.

As the first of their assailants broke through the Wall of Water, the creatures' passage became impeded by viscous tendrils snapping at the creature's arms and legs, dragging the Monkeys backwards.

“Lightning Bolt!” Gwen incanted, then concurrently, she fired off a second volley through the empowered Ariel, careful as to avoid collapsing the overhead cavern.

“Barbanginy!”

The surging horde finally wavered, initially on behalf of the Dragon-Fear flooding through the chamber like an invisible tsunami, then doubly so when two viridescent bolts, thicker than Lulan’s waist, impossibly bent around the Sword Mage’s body to strike into the midst of their assailants.

“Good JOB!” Lulan hollered, feeling every hair rise on her iron-clad dermis, alive with static. “SWEEP!”

With a gesture, an enormous hunk of gleaming iron carved through the howling horde of Water Ghosts, splitting two of the weakened creatures in half before sending a third fatally into the wall.

“DIE! DIE! DIE!” Lulan leapt into the fray, a whirling dervish of bladed death, all caution diminished by the pulsing Heroism filling her body with fiery adrenaline. “SWEEP! PIERCE! HA!”

“LULU! CONTROL YOURSELF!” Kusu hollered from the rear. He and Petra had no problems keeping four Monkeys at bay while Percy peppered them with Salt Shards.

But Lulan couldn't care less about Kusu's warning. Buffed by Heroism, Aid, Bless, and her innate assortment of secretive enhancements, she felt invulnerable, knowing no fear as she acrobatically dashed, flipped, Misty-Stepped and twisted through the air, dismembering enemies left and right.

“Worry not, champ. I’ve got her covered,” Richard assured Lulan's paranoid brother.

Two more Monkeys broke through the wall, heedless of the horde's losses. Immediately, Gwen’s Deerhounds engaged the creatures.

“Damn that’s useful.” Richard focused instead on forcing the creatures toward Lulan. That had been their usual tactic before Gwen joined. Lulan acted the meat grinder, while Richard used his battlefield control to throw her tasty morsels to be sliced and diced.

“!”

Gwen’s Divination pinged.

“Richard! 11 O’Clock!”

“LEA!”

Richard had been waiting for the Priest to act. He couldn’t sense the incoming jet of super-pressurised water, but Lea could.

“Shield STACK!”

Not one but two Shields opened up in quick succession, Richard initiated the first layer, then Lea the second.

A jet-blast of brackish water hammered the foremost Shield, shattering its liquid membrane. Lea’s thick and fast-flowing underlayer then caught the remaining draft, diverting it downward, sending the stream back into the Elemental Plane of Water.

Taking advantage of the Water Abjurer's industrious defence, three more Water Ghost managed to flank the party. One attempted to sneak attack Lulan as she contended with two snarling specimens still stuck in Richard’s tendriled Wall of Water.

“Void Bolt!”

Gwen’s lethal bolt caught the ambushing Monkey in its lower torso. Unlike higher-order beings, lowly Demi-humans such as the Water Ghosts lacked the magical resistance of genuinely powerful Magical Creatures. Her Void matter consumed itself as it struck, shearing off the creature’s lower body, leaving a pair of dangling limbs to hover comically before clattering wetly onto the granite.

“Richard! The Priest is making his move!” Lea warned.

“Gwen!”

Richard’s Wall of Water exploded, overpowered by the superior control of the Demi-human caster. The trapped Monkeys, half a dozen of them, scattered toward the party, some rebounding from the ceiling, others leaping forward, thrown by the momentum of the blast.

Gwen's dogs moved to engage.

"Dagger Wall!"

Kusu blocked off either side of the party's flank with a swarm of magical implements, swimming through the air like shoals of silvery fish.

"Petra!" Kusu called for support.

Petra had things well in hand.

"Sword WALL!"

The four Water Ghosts attempting to waylay the party's rearguard had counted themselves lucky when Kusu's daggers moved elsewhere, only to be caught once again in a wall of whirling crystalline shards. Curiously, the incantation originally belonged to Kusu. Petra had been experimenting with Cubing the Clanner's spells, as she had always done when new styles of Magic became available. Unfortunately, her Spellcubes were sporadic at best when working with magic outside the Imperial System. After weeks of trial and error, only Kusu's Dagger Wall managed to fit into one of her crystalline cubes.

With both Mages' spells active and the hounds in melee, the party's rear had been secured; their flanks likewise warded for the moment.

Gwen knew the opening would last only a few brief seconds.

"CALIBAN!"

She felt weightless as the vitality stowed in her body fed into her Familiar.

Caliban burst from the ground directly behind Lulan, sailed overhead, then began its polymorphic transformation into an avatar of the dark goat who must not be named.

Behind Gwen's Familiar, Caliban's companions continued their bombardment.

“SWEEP!”

Lulan flung an enormous hunk of polished iron into the Monkey's midst, before she Misty Stepped into the aether, appearing behind Richard a split-second later.

“Lightning Bolt!”

A line of Lightning cleared the path ahead.

Caliban's serpent-form bloated, needle-like legs sprouted, a nova of tenebrous energy expanded from Caliban’s body. Fresh obsidian carapace snapped into place; spiralled horns grew like thorny saplings. As Caliban lowered its head for the charge, ebony Void matter flowed beneath the semi-opaque armour like inky blood.

Without a sound, Caliban plunged into the wall of cascading water, skewering three of the hooting Ghosts with its horns.

Gwen desperately circulated Almudj’s Essence, attempting to reclaim her pound of lost flesh. She had enough remaining to sustain herself, though the magnitude of Caliban's toll inferred that a draconic-stag was best fueled with draconic-tier essence.

“LEA! DO IT NOW!” Richard commanded his familiar. The Water Mage had been waiting for this very moment.

Lea materialised in her Undine form, drawing greedily from Richard's reserves.

The risen crest of brackish swamp-water which had acted as the Water Priest’s shelter and vehicle parted with a violence that surprised both Caliban and its target. In the next split-second, every mote of free-flowing liquid returned to the Elemental Plane of Water.

Richard staggered to one knee, having to catch his breath as his mana pool tanked. Lea's Undine abilities remained far beyond his ability to sustain. A mana potion injector appeared in his off-hand, violently stabbing downwards.

Comparatively, there was no respite for their enemy. The now exposed Water Priest was a corpulent sight, a fat, bloated Water Ghost covered from head to toe with shells, river-weed, and algae, wearing a necklace of blue-green orbs of unknowable origin. Completely caught off guard, its rotten maw opened wide, issuing forth oily spittle.

“NOW!” Gwen commanded. She had no idea how much an actual activation of Caliban’s new ability would cost. “ONSLAUGHT!”

Caliban carried through the momentum of its charge, cleaving into the Water Priest with the same gusto it had shown the foot soldiers.

“SCREEEEEIII!” The Priest shrieked. The orb necklace at its chest gleamed. The air grew heavy with moisture. Beads of limewater began to form all over Caliban's smooth carapace.

“SHAAAA!” Caliban made a muffled shriek halfway between a neigh and a scream. Its tentacle-horns shot their payload, penetrating the Water Priest a dozen times over. There was a moment of tension, then the Priest's body lost all vigour.

With a wet smack, Caliban tossed its quarry and its precious victims against a wall. It reared, then stabbed downward with its stiletto forelegs, ramming into the creature’s chest with such force that the Priest transformed into a butterfly collector's specimen.

“SHAAAA!”

Caliban's horn-tendrils hatched into bloodworms voraciously ferreting for flesh, bloating the Priest' chest cavity and swelling its stomach. Revoltingly, the massive Water Ghost become suddenly pregnant.

“Petra! Get Percy closer!” Richard urged Petra to salvage their loot.

Gwen hung onto consciousness via a thread of Almudj’s Essence. Caliban’s new onslaught wasn’t something as simple as a hasted melee assault, such as in its spider form, it was a simultaneous shape-shift involving sixteen lamprey-tipped tendrils.

“GET CLOSE TO IT?!” Percy baulked. “THAT THING?!”

The remaining Monkeys appeared stunned by the sudden death of their worshipful leader, their frenzied enhancement diminishing at once. Sensing an opportunity, Lulan Misty-stepped toward the four which had harassed their rear, hewing away while her brother provided cover, corralling the beasts into pens consisting of swirling daggers.

Gwen's dogs made short work of the survivors.

Caliban meanwhile, acknowledged its master’s desire. With a kick of its powerful hind limbs, it withdrew its stiletto hooves. Caliban then trotted back toward the party, wearing the dying Water Priest like a trophy-crown.

Percy’s legs were chow mien by now, partly because of the ragdoll Priest, and partly due to the dozen or so writhing lamprey's mouths popping in and out of the Priest's carcass like a game of blast-a-mole.

The amulet hungrily drank in the extract provided by the simian Priest’s passing.

Looming above Percy's ashen face, Caliban hollowed out the body of the grotesque Water Ghost, crunching through blood, bone, sinew and viscera with equal ease. Furthermore, as if performing a rite of the Old Ones, Gwen’s familiar swung its head to and fro, sending out sprays of blood like incense smoke from a censer.

Then it began to coo.

"SHAAA! SHAAaaAAA! SHAAA!"

The remaining Water Ghosts routed.

“Oh NO, you don’t!” Richard had recovered enough mana to reactivate his tendrils, pulling the Water Ghosts back toward the party.

Half-covered in gore and half blinded by blood splatters, Lulan burst through Richard’s Shield and set to work. Kusu joined from a distance, ensuring that the beasts could not take advantage of her carelessness.

A hot flush of vitality injected into Gwen's body.

“Oh shit.” She turned toward Petra. “Help me!”

Understanding Gwen's laconic plea, Petra caught Gwen in her arms just as her sister-in-battle began to convulse, shaking with the infused vigour.

“I am okay,” Gwen spat between clenched teeth. “Hold me up... OEGH!”

She almost bit her tongue.

All she could now was ride the lightning and wait for it to pass.

The Water Priest had been potent indeed. Though its essence was low-born and contemptible, the sensation registered at least a 5 on her Nephres Index.

To Gwen’s supreme embarrassment, her cousin held Gwen in her arms as she dug her face into Petra’s shoulder, hiding her scarlet mien.

Luckily, Caliban had an MBA in providing distractions.

Having finished its meal, it deposited a Water-Priest skin-suit, largely intact, at the feet of an aghast Kusu, a doubly impressed Richard, and a pant-shitting Percy.

“Strewth!” Richard cursed. Then unable to find the words, he swore again. “Fuck'n oath.”

“Wocao…” Kusu fought back his breakfast. “Lulu… don't look!”

Lulan returned, sweaty perspiration mingling with Monkey blood from head to toe, plastering the sheer fabric of her dress to her iron-enamel skin. She panted heavily, her chest rising and falling as the adrenaline drained from her body. Her slicked hair oozed a viscous, wine-like fluid that could only be congealed core.

Behind her, they could see Gwen's dogs tearing the rest to pieces.

“THAT…” Lulan cooed, marvelling at the new 'rug'. “...WAS AMAZING.”

Not knowing if the Water Priest was the ‘Master’ of the Lair or if something greater lurked in the depth of the Dungeon, Richard counselled the party to rest. There was a toll to Heroism, the least of which was aching bones and knotted muscles.

“Are we heading back up?” Gwen inquired.

Richard shook his head.

“We rest here.”

In the interim, the party took account of the Sword Mage's gory harvest.

"Eureka!" Richard loudly applauded the discovery.

A Spirit-Core!

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the core of the Water Priest, a sizable fortune at tier 6, but rather the strange necklace it wore. After a quick Identify, Petra informed the group that the necklace was crafted entirely from the Cores of its kin.

The group stared at the necklace, aghast. What could lead the Demi-humans to self-cannibalising one another for Cores?

“The power is concentrated here.” Petra’s finger indicated to the central orb.

They had no idea if an item crafted by Demi-human could be disassembled and sold, but it was sure to be worth a pretty penny, especially if Mayuree and the House of M were involved.

"We made a lot of commotion, are you sure its safe here?" Gwen wasn't convinced they were now safe.

“The stragglers won’t dare.” Richard pointed to the pile of decaying corpses. Gwen's cousin had been fiddling with some contraption the whole time Lulan looted. “I made a no trespassing warning.”

The party's attention turned toward a dark shape situated atop the pile of bodies discarded by Lulan.

"Dancing Lights!"

Feeble, watery lights danced around the small hill of mutilated corpses.

“What?!!” Gwen spluttered.

Both horrified and fascinated, the group silently scrutinised the eerie visage of a stuffed scarecrow made from the discarded skin of the Water Priest. It had been hung on a crude iron cross, its loop-sided face ghastly and grinning.

"I made the cross." Lulan raised her hand, expecting praise.

Percy let loose a gut full of ejecta once again.

“I’d say we’re pretty safe here,” Richard reiterated. “I am exercising the Water Ghost's tribal customs. When the families go to war, the winner often takes the losers from the opposing tribe, then dresses them as totems to mark territorial boundaries.”

"When in Rome, huh?" Gwen chided her grinning cousin. "Is this place safe? The cavern I mean."

“Of course. We're in a natural cathedral; it's all ancient limestone.” Richard pointed a finger upwards. “Lulan can Stone Shape a ledge; we’ll make a cavity like so… then we’ll pop your Portable Habitat. We can rest up for a few hours to restore our mana.”

The party collectively regarded the scarecrow once again.

While they understood the logic of the boundary totem, they couldn’t bring themselves to swallow the fact that Richard had crafted such a thing without so much as a grimace.

“Are we in agreement?" Richard remained in high spirits. "We can vote as well, any takers?"

Standing beside Gwen, Petra whispered in Gwen's ear.

“Perhaps Richard should take a break,” her cousin advised. "He's like a factory spring about to snap."

“He IS a little strung, I agree.” Gwen watched her cousin go about his business. Richard was a little ruthless, and his idea of ethics was skewered, but he had always done her right. Hopefully, once he'd made good on his promise to his parents, he could unwind. “I wouldn't worry about it too much, Pats. Dick's a top bloke. His heart’s in the right place.”

Petra looked away.

"I hope you're right."

Petra watched her cousin tussle with her Familiars, an unexpected epiphany slowly blossoming within her mind like a rare flower.

For a while now, Petra and her Master had attempted to pinpoint the physiological and psychological trait of the Void Element. Their initial hypothesis was that a supernatural hunger was the root of the Void’s Mage’s affinity, a sort of insatiable desire to fulfil a perpetual sense of emptiness. Magister Wen had even pointed out, rationally so, that Gwen possessed an unusual appetite for affirmation and acceptance, bending herself backwards for recognition.

Jokingly, Petra had once asserted that an undeniable streak of masochism shrouded Gwen’s philosophy.

Take the incident of when they had first worked together in Hengsha Island. Some stupid yokel had attempted to harm Richard, resulting in Gwen taking off her head. The girl then beat herself - that was when Petra had felt sympathetic enough for her cousin to open up to Gwen and share something of herself.

After that, there was the incident with babulya’s husband, Gwen’s grandfather. No matter how much Guo browbeat Gwen, she came back begging for more.

And her brother as well, the snide little worm had stabbed Gwen in the back how many times? And yet, his sister wore his disloyalty like a badge! Happy for it! Mirthful that she hadn’t cut him off like a gangrene limb!

Yebena mat’! Petra felt her thoughts snagging something just out of sight, reeling it closer with every thought.

When they took Gwen to Tianlanqiao, Gwen could have killed the old man and gotten the hell out, but no! She had to subject herself to ten minutes of agonising, eye-watering carnage before she let herself go.

Then her father! Petra reminded herself of the loathsome Hai Song. Gwen had inexplicably returned to her selfish moo-DAK of a father and subjected herself to a level of humiliation Petra could scarcely imagine. Wearing that scandalous dress, fighting for the Songs, putting herself in danger over and over, all for what?

And she was doing it now as well! Feeling sympathy for the female simians and their young, didn’t she know that these Demi-humans ate people?! Only when they saw the poor sods made into salted flanks did Gwen fly off the rails. It was as though the girl delighted in agony...

"!"

Puzzle pieces clicked into place.

Could it be? Petra wondered. Was it that simple?

SELF-HARM!

That's the trait afflicting Void Affinity!

Gwen suffered debilitating energy-drains whenever she used her abilities, offset only by her unnatural luck in acquiring a divine essence! When the girl had fallen into her arms earlier, convulsing and quivering, Petra had considered the answer there and then.

Suffering and PLEASURE!

It was all starting to make a sick sort of sense!

NO wonder Void Mages killed themselves more often than not.

The Void! The fucking VOID’s physiological and psychological phenomenon, she’d figured it out! It wasn’t hunger! It wasn’t gluttony either!

It was self-harm!

It was self-taught Masochism!

Her husky-blue eyes glowed with recognition as she observed Gwen, who had been roused from her Familiar-playtime to regard Petra strangely.

"Pats?"

Filled with sympathy, Petra reached downward and hugged Gwen about the shoulders, even as another disturbing thought rose to meet her conscience.

How does one ethically go about ratifying her findings, knowing Gwen was a glutton for punishment?

Gwen couldn’t help but feel that Petra had engendered a significant misunderstanding.

When she said that Richard was an alright bloke, she wasn’t defending her cousin’s lack of compassion or empathy, but rather pointing out the factual reality that Richard had never done anything to endanger herself or the party, and that they should forgive his sometimes off-putting idiosyncrasy.

"Pats?"

Unexpectedly, Petra reached over and embraced her warmly.

Aww, how nice. Gwen hugged her back. Petra continued to warm up to her nicely, and that made Gwen happy. Looking around her Habitat, she saw that everyone else was taking a breather.

Lulan was taking a shower; Gwen discerned that she could use one as well.

Richard remained his usual spotless self, probably thanks to Lea, while Kusu meticulously cleaned his implements, a ritual the Sword Mage carried out after every battle.

“You alright, Percy?” Gwen caught her brother staring at the grey expanse outside.

“Yeah.” Percy watched her for a second before his brain kicked back in. “I guess I never realised your battles were so… intense...”

You think that's intense?! You should try fighting a Thunder Wyvern, Gwen chuckled internally, smiling a secret smile.

“Blood and guts aside, are you enjoying yourself?”

Percy touched a hand to his amulet.

“I suppose I am.” He beamed back at his sister. “I am learning a lot. Thanks, Sis. I appreciate what you guys are doing for me.”

“Hey, you’re helping us as well. Just wait till we get back with the loot! I wonder how much that Spirit will sell.”

“Assuming someone can still use it.”

“Of course.” Gwen poured herself a cup of tea, offering one to Percy.

The siblings nursed their cups as each member of the party went about their business.

“Eee! EE!”

“!”

A sharp stab at the base of her skull tore Gwen from the calming Zen of her astral meditation. Ariel was lividly gesticulating in front of her face, huffing and puffing madly. She could feel its anger gnawing at their empathic link.

“Shaaa!”

Caliban, seeing Ariel’s agitation, grew excited as well.

“What happened?” Petra opened her eyes. The girls were meditating together in the master bedroom.

“Trouble?” Lulan stretched, making spirit fingers.

Gwen herself was incredulous at the news relayed by Ariel.

“Someone destroyed one of my Deerhounds!” she spluttered in disbelief.

“A Water Ghost?”

“No!” Gwen spat. “A MAGE!”

The party assembled outside, restored and refreshed.

Gwen packed the Portable Habitat before listening to Richard's proposal.

“I took the Quest,” Richard explained to his companions. “Meaning until we’re back or reported missing, no one else can take the Quest for at least two weeks.”

“Quest poachers?” Petra hypothesised.

“Likely.” Richard wore a carefree expression, though the coldness in his voice may as well be the fathomless depth of the Elemental Plane of Water. “You know, I am curious as to who dares infringe upon our CCs and our HDMs.”

“What’s the jurisdiction if they’re poachers?” Gwen asked.

“We poach ‘em, broil ‘em and grill ‘em.” Lulan was all teeth. “At least that’s what my Clan used to do to Rogue Mages.”

"I prefer robbing 'em blind." Richard gave Lulan a thumb of approval.

“She means we have to confront them, confirm their intentions, then choose to escalate or retreat," Petra butted in. "If we fight them off, the Tower’s rulings are likely going to be on our side. If we retreat, we can lodge a formal complaint, and the Tower will deal with them as well.”

“What if they don’t care? Or they agree and then carry on?” Percy asked. From what he had seen from school and high-society, he could hardly imagine a confrontation like this ending with a handshake and a heartfelt apology.

“Ha!” Lulan was evidently an expert on the matter. “That’s where I come in.”

“If they’re Rogue Mages, the Clan will use them to test our Acolytes, if they know what’s good for them, they’ll play along and come out with a broken arm or leg,” Kusu explained sheepishly. “In the case where the intruders are from another Sect or Clan, we take them prisoner and exchange them for crystals.”

“That sounds reasonable.” Gwen motioned with a hand for their attention. "Everyone, please let me deal with this. Richard, do you mind if I take this one?"

"Go ahead." Richard stepped back. "If you do decide to engage though, don't hold back."

“I won't - oh, the hounds are coming back,” Gwen passed on the message from Ariel. “I’d dare say we’ll be seeing our poachers soon.”

The pitter-patter of pawed feet soon filled the cavern as her dogs slinked back into view.

Not wanting to be mistaken for a hidden ambush, the party assumed a defensive position, with Gwen’s hounds fanning out, forming a semi-circle.

First came the sound of human footsteps, then the shadowy contour of a large man in his forties appeared, stepping into view from the smooth granite carved out by millennia of subterranean water.

“Greetings.” Gwen raised a hand. “We’ll wait for the rest of your party.”

The man performed a double-take as soon as his eye adjusted to the dancing lights illuminating cavern’s interior.

“Cao!” the man spat.

Behind him, three more men and a woman soon appeared. The woman was younger by far, while the men were all middle-aged.

“Get out of the way,” the woman snapped, ordering her companions into the cavern without care.

Gwen ran her eyes over the group. Her Detect Magic identifying the first man as an Earthen Abjurer, the second and third as a Fire and an Ice Evoker. The woman appeared to be an Enchanter of sorts, while the final man had an indistinct aura, akin to Lulan or Kusu, marking him as a bloodline Mage from a Clan.

“Miss." The Abjurer swallowed nervously. “I guess we found that other party.”

“You mean they found us,” the woman retorted cattily. “Uncle Wang, can you go and parley?”

Gwen and her party watched as the Clanner Mage peeled from the group.

“Hail.” Gwen stepped forward.

“Noted,” the Clanner replied imperiously. “Who are you?”

“We’re Fudan students assigned to the Quest in this Dungeon,” Gwen's expression possessed such friendliness that her companions' scalps crawled. They noted that Lea and Caliban were nowhere to be seen, which could only mean the two Familiars were watching the proceeding from somewhere advantageous. “Which begs the question, who are YOU and why are you here?”

“Rrowff!”

“Grrr!”

"Rowf! Rowf! Rowf!"

Gwen’s annoyance with the arrogant Mage directly translated into raw hostility from her dogs. She became aware that her lack of mastery also translated into unfiltered empathic links between Conjurer and Conjuration.

The young woman caught sight of her hounds.

“Hey!” she announced from the back. “Are those yours? One of them attacked us!”

“Rrowff! Rrowff!”

“Grrrr!”

“Rrowff!!”

“GRRRRR!”

Gwen’s anger instantly leapt to an eleven.

Attacked her party?

What a stupid, blatant lie!

Her dogs wouldn’t harm a soul unless provoked, and even when it had been attacked, her hound had attempted to return to her before it succumbed. Ariel wouldn't lie!

“EEEE!!” Ariel’s whinnying echoed across the chamber.

The hounds silenced at once.

Striding on invisible footfalls, Ariel cat-walked from near the ceiling until it was standing directly above Gwen’s party. It's mane majestic and rippling as it swished its tail, drawing the viewer’s eyes toward its twin stag horns.

The woman’s eyes bulged with astonishment, then burned with desire as she searched Gwen’s party for the Spirit's Master, stopping when it reached Gwen, whose pupils glowed with Divination.

“That Kirin is wasted on someone like you,” the woman scoffed. “Where did you find it?”

A fit of palpable affront circulated through Gwen in the form of sizzling displeasure discharging as Lightning. A part of her snickered with the knowledge that a Spirit could only be passed on between two intimately aligned parties, and almost never via force or coercion. The prideful part of her mind fumed over the woman’s callous remark.

“Richard, NOTE that the offending party has refused my Parley. I shall now exercise our right to defend our claim to this lair and the Quest assigned to it. As a last reprieve, you have five seconds to present yourselves.” Gwen cut in abruptly. “ONE.”

“How DARE YOU!” the peevish woman snapped. “Do you know where you are right now? Do you know who we are?”

“TWO…”

“WANG! Silence this insolent whelp!”

“THREE…”

“WANG!”

“FOUR-“

“WAIT! We’re from the Nantong Fungs,” the Clanner interjected. “This is milady Yuhua Fung, third to the Household of Fung. We are her retainers.”

Yuhua glared at her Clan Elder, furious that the old man had lost her 'face'.

“That doesn’t mean much to us.” Richard smirked. “Prepare your Storage Rings. We're not holding back.”

“YOU LITTL-” The woman was foolish enough to step forward.

“EEEeeEEE!”

"Awoo.."

“AwoOOoo…”

“AWOOOOoo…”

“AwoooooOOOoo…”

Ariel neighed, letting loose a whinny half-roar, half-shriek, joined by the howling of her dogs. A burst of Dragon-fear radiated from Ariel’s pseudo-Kirin figure, mimicking the Monkey's tactics, she filled the cavern with endless howling, smothering all speech.

Even knowing Gwen's intent, Richard and company felt a shiver up their spine as cold perspiration permeated their back. Opposite, their intruders looked as though they'd witnessed a Death Knight cavalry charge.

Caught by surprise, the two Evokers threw up, the Abjurer took on a deathly pallor, and their mistress’ contingency item triggered, forming a halo of amber Enchantment atop her head. Only the Clanner, Wang, bore the Dragon fear with dignity.

“HOLD!” Wang intervened, he placed himself between Gwen and his party. “Mistress, you promised to leave things to me!”

“Hmmph!” Yuhua turned away, her knees shaking as she fought to retain control of her body. “A-As you say, Uncle Wang.”

Wang turned to Gwen’s party.

“We’re searching for a missing adventuring party. My mistress's cousin is among them,” Wang explained. “Please, we mean you no harm.”

“For how long were they missing?”

“About three days,” the Elder recapped. “Three young men, a young woman, and a Senior Mage in his late thirties.”

“Ariel!” Gwen retrieved her Almuldj’s Essence.

Ariel floated over Gwen's head and laid its snout over her shoulders, its tentacle whiskers playing with her hair.

"If that's the case, we have no conflict of interest," Gwen stated diplomatically, telling her dogs to tarry a safe distance away. "Richard, do you have the bodies we found?"

Richard summoned Lulan.

“Lulu?”

Lulan materialised the carcasses the party had found the night before.

The young woman from the Clan of Fung ogled the suddenly obscene sight, transfixed by the surreality that these could be people she had spoken to only days before, now made into salted encrusted rations.

Elder Wang lifted one of the eyeless heads by the hair, bringing it up for examination.

“It’s Jiao.” The old man sighed. “I dare say we have Weng and Qilu accounted for as well, which leaves us with Master Xie and Miss Lihong.”

"There's a chance they're still alive-" Gwen continued optimistically.

“Is there a reward for finding your Senior Mage?” Richard interrupted shamelessly, cutting Gwen off before she could offer their service for 'goodwill'. “Water Ghosts don’t kill themselves, you know. Frankly, I am surprised Miss Fung even made it this far. Were you going to do all the leg work, old man?”

“Richard!” Gwen snapped. She suspected Richard was trying to goad the Fungs. “I am sorry, Miss Fung, Master Wang. You may retrieve the remains of your clansmen as you see fit.”

Wang nodded solemnly, storing what remained of their Clan members.

Gwen shot Richard a warning.

Richard scratched his noise, looking elsewhere.

“We will continue with our Quest,” Gwen informed the Nantong party. “How do you wish to proceed?”

“May we join you?” Wang carefully enquired.

"That's right! You can work for us!" Yuhua implored them. "We'll hire you."

“I am afraid that is not possible.” Gwen shook her head as well. “There are precise tactics and methods we employ which would endanger you and Miss Fung. It would be to your detriment, I assure you.”

"I see," Wang acknowledged. "That's a shame."

“Uncle - we need to find Lihong!” Yuhua interjected. She turned to Gwen's party. “What do you people want? HDMS? CCs-”

“Gwen?” Richard tapped Gwen's skin-suit. "Come on. Currency is without sin..."

“…”

Yuhua and Magus Wang both looked over at Gwen’s Kirin and her host of draconic-hounds, trying to figure out why a Mage of such unfathomable talent and possessing such a rare Familiar was in a party starved for CCs and HDMs.

“I’ll offer your party a Search and Rescue Quest for 400 HDMs and 50 CCs right now,” Yuhua declared. She then spat in her hand. "Well, shake on it?"

Embarrassed, Wang urged his young miss to clean her hand. The girl had read too many novels. No one wanted to shake a spit-laden palm.

“I am happy to look for your missing Clan members- BUT - my one condition is that until we return, you are to remain here. Is that agreeable?”

“EEE!” Ariel gave another warning.

The sound of her hounds’ panting filled the cavern.

“Understood.” The Magus quickly made the call for his mistress. “We will wait here for the good news.”

“Deal.” Gwen shot Richard a sympathetic look before shaking the girl's gobbed hand. She mentally praised Ariel for playing its part so well. Here was the first time she had truly tried out her militant pacifism, and the result proved more than promising. “I will have every hound searching every nook and cranny. Rest assured Miss Fung, Master Wang; we will find your companions.”

Gwen turned to her party.

“Alright, everyone, let’s move out.”

"Rowf!"

"Alright."

"Rowf! "

"Let's go!"

"EE!"

"SHAAA!"

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" The Fung girl screeched.

Gwen paused by the cavern's edge to reiterate the deal they had just made.

"THAT... is the last thing you would have seen if you had fought us."

“Who is that Sha-bi?!” Yuhua accosted her tutor and guardian with indignity, still shaking from her traumatic encounter with Caliban. “Doesn’t she know who we are? We own this place.”

Her party had set up in the cavern after Gwen’s had left.

After the Magus moulded from the limestone table and chairs, the group settled down to recuperate from the Dragon-fear. The Abjurer poured Yuhua a hot cup of jasmine tea to settle her nerves, after which the girl couldn’t help but mope loudly to her companion.

“The girl with the Kirin?”

“Yes, the one with the Kirin!” Yuhua seethed. “Lucky wench! And what the HELL was that OTHER THING?”

“I would be wary with your tone.” Magus Wang looked his ward in the eyes with a seriousness she rarely observed in her teacher. “That young lady is not someone you want to be on the wrong side of.”

“Well? Who is she?”

“I believe that’s Gwen Song,” Wang spoke the last two syllables softly.

“Never heard of her.”

“No, but you will.” Wang sipped his cup of tea. “Master Dai knows her- in fact, he was one of the very first to make her acquaintance in Shanghai.”

“Brother?” Yuhua snorted. “Don’t tell me she’s one of his girls?”

“No, nothing of the sort.” Her instructor shook his head. “From what I recall, she’s a dual-elementalist in Lightning and Void. Her uncle is the Ash Bringer, her grandfather the old hound of the Confidential Communications Committee. Only recently, she single-handedly defeated Magus Wonsoo Liu in Hangzhou.”

“Wonsoo... the one from the Northern Front?”

“The very same. We received the report a week ago.”

Yuhua sucked in a breath of the cavern’s cold, stale air.

“And Void, as in…”

Wang nodded solemnly.

“Her Void Familiar may be more powerful than even the Kirin. THAT, I believe, was the strange worm creature that tried to... nudge you.”

Strangely, Yuhua's jealousy dissipated. What remained was only awe and a sense of grudging respect. Envy was a funny thing. When someone possessed something that one thought one could attain, the mind became filled with desirous energy. When the object of one’s desire became so far as to be unreachable, what one felt instead was a sort of distant reverence and worshipful respect.

“CAO!” Yuhua slapped the table, making the teacups jump. “Wang! Why didn’t you say so! We could have offered her double the HDMs and CCs!”

With the Water Priest dead, the rest of the lair seemed to have lost its malicious atmosphere. What few Water Ghosts they now encountered seemed entirely incidental, engaged either via blind luck as Lulan Stone Shaped into new passages, or flushed out by her hounds.

The party thus arrived at what appeared to be the lowest section of the lair, a large cavern waist-deep in filthy water.

Petra blew the rest of her Resist Disease as the party waded into the filth, taking care as to anticipate any ambushes by the Elementally-Blinking Monkeys.

“Dancing Lights!”

Gwen sent her cantrips into the darkness, illuminating the cavern.

“It’s a… mural?” She marvelled at the sight of the painted walls.

There was an artful simplicity to the crude paintings, communicating meticulous care taken by the artist. From what Gwen could see, the images depicted a great tribe and its daily life, filled with visions of Water Ghosts gathering swamp-fruits and hunting for fish and crustaceans. There were other images too, female Water Ghosts nursing children, male and female Ghosts procreating, and procreating, and procreating, all in different positions.

Yikes, Gwen had to look away for a moment. More than half of the images were bestial-kama-sutra. The Water Ghosts were true evangelists of going forth and multiplying.

The party progressed until the water receded and the ground beneath them began to rise. They soon found themselves in a natural amphitheatre of sorts.

“Grrr!”

“GRRRR”

"Rowf! Rowf!"

Gwen’s dogs fanned out.

An enormously hairy humanoid being sat at the centre of the descending steps, at the lowest point, half submerged in water. From a distance, it resembled a tremendous, shaggy carpet draped over a stone throne.

“What is it?” Gwen turned to Richard, who was more knowledgeable in the matters of Wildland fauna.

“It’s their Chief,” Richard replied. “Or King? It depends on how many Ghosts once lived here. The Water Ghosts have a complex hierarchy. I know that.”

“Ariel, check it out,” Gwen commanded her Familiar.

“I can take it from here,” Lulan informed Gwen. "One Sword Toss and it'll be in two bits."

“No, it’s not attacking us,” Gwen dismissed her companion’s suggestion. “I wonder why.”

“Could be dead already,” Richard noted the thing had barely moved.

Ariel flew closer as Caliban slithered into the dark water, disappearing into the murk.

When Gwen’s Familiar was about five meters away, the shaggy orangutang suddenly opened its eyes. Unlike the Water Monkeys they had encountered so far, there was a softness in the creature’s gaze, speaking of benevolent wisdom as it looked straight toward Gwen’s party.

“EEee!” Ariel relayed back.

“It wants to parley?” Gwen spluttered. “It can speak marten?”

“It can speak a little Elemental, the language of the Planes,” Lea informed them. “It says that it’s dying. It would like to speak to our war leader.”

“Why bother.” Lulan cut in. “Let’s be done with it.”

“Lea, ask it if it knows where the other two Mages are.”

Drifting across the bay, Lea conversed with the creature in a way the human Mages could not even begin to comprehend.

“Yes, he says he will tell us.”

Gwen, Richard and the other exchanged furtive glances.

"I want to speak to this thing," Gwen announced.

When the others protested, she cut them off.

"Please. I have to do this."

“Your call,” Richard assured the others before turning to his Familiar, requesting that she kept Gwen guarded at all times.

“Percy, stay here,” Gwen commanded her brother. “The rest of you as well. Lulan, I'll be very careful, I promise. Only I’ve got the range on my Dimension Door. If it attacks, I'll pop right back."

“Can’t you talk to it from it here?” Percy asked. "Get Lea to pass the message?"

Gwen shook her head. It wasn’t the same. She wanted to look into the Chief’s eyes, speak to it vis-a-vis, understand what made these creatures tick.

At Kusu's insistence, Gwen waited until her dogs had paddled through the water and took up defensive positions.

“Gwen, don't get caught up,” Petra warned her.

Gwen nodded.

“Dimension Door!”

There was another reason why Gwen refused to bring her peers. From their conversation, it was clear that her companions didn’t register the Ghosts as anything akin to beings capable of feeling or rational thought. If she were to regard the Chieftain’s words with weight, her friends may yet again interfere, thinking that her compromised conscience had hoodwinked their companion.

Petra dropped a Water Walk so that Gwen needn't swim through the muck.

The first thing Gwen noted as she approached the old Water Ghost was the spell of mouldy carpet from its fur. When she was within a few meters from the shaggy thing, she further realised it was wounded, and that its injury had been festering for some time. From the smell it engendered, the creature was likely septic.

“You’re hurt,” Gwen observed, translated by Lea.

“I - dying,” Lea had the words pat down, but her tone was oxymoronically strangely cheerful. “Child of man - why do you listen - others of your kin know only death-dealing.”

“Call it curiosity,” Gwen listened to Lea-Translate, then responded in kind. “Where are the other two Mages? Our Kin?”

“In the closed cavern - below us.”

“Are they alive?”

“Yes - not injured or eaten.”

“Why did you capture them?”

“Hostage - for safe passage.”

“Where and with who?”

“Too - late.”

“Too late for what?”

“The tribe. Too many kin - perish. Not enough now - is ended.”

“How come?”

“You come.”

“We killed your kin?”

“Too many, you have - sent back to the water - no, it matter not.”

“It doesn’t?”

“They choose war - we wanted trade.”

“Who is we?”

“I - others. They have fled now - scattered. Only I remain.”

“What happened?”

“My son - Lao’lok - he is Guardian of tribe. Hot-headed. Want fight you kin of the stone forest. I - parley. He challenge - took the tribe from I.”

The old thing rocked its head, drool dropping all over its chest.

“All is folly - tribe go wrong. Tribe could have moved - long ago - when your warriors came with fire - but no. I too - think we fight. Then food grew scarce - the fish belly up - the water dwindle. We knew then that there was no win against the kin of the stone jungle - but Lao’lok was too deep in the frenzy. He want only revenge - satisfaction - not continuation. He lost his brothers - his mate too - to your warriors - your iron giants. From you, man-kin, Lao’lok has learned hate - what our tribe of the Shui - had never known. He even take the spirit of our kin for power - to fight you. Lao'lok killed our kin for power - to kill your kin. But land God is JUST. Taboo is taboo. Now - our tribe no more-”

Gwen remained silent for a short while, digesting the old Chieftain’s story. It made sense. The CCP began their expansion into Nantong. They started by clearing the land, draining the swamp. They ran into the Water Ghosts; losses were sustained on both sides. Mages were deployed, more bloodshed ensured. All the while, the local flora and fauna dwindled until the local tribes of Demi-humans began to starve. They got desperate, more clashes, kidnapping, looting for food. The humans then sent more powerful Mages, until Richard caught wind of the opportunity and brought Lulan into the fold. Gwen distinctly recalled that Richard's crew had been butchering their way through the Nantong Frontier for weeks, making dough from blood and bone.

Gwen sighed, both internally and physically. How many Water Ghosts had they exterminated on the way in? Lulan had almost a hundred heads in her Ring and about sixty Cores, including that of the Priest. Presumably, that was this guy's son - Lao’lok.

“I can give you a quick death, end your suffering.” Gwen offered. “But first, I am going to leave you alive, just in case." Gwen took a healing injector and punched it into the weakened creature. "I have more questions for you, but first, where are the captives?”

“The entrance is behind the gathering chamber. You are curious one - Godling.”

Gwen frowned. What the hell is a Godling?

"Gwen, over here!" It was Lea who helpfully located the entrance to the tunnel.

“You two, with me. Caliban, stay here. Ariel, cover my six.” Gwen picked two of the larger hounds to take the lead. She then Messaged her companions across the murk. “Richard, Pats, I am going to check the captives. It should be safe to cross. I am leaving the rest of the dogs with you. Take care of Percy.”

“You’re killing the damned thing, right?” Lulan's voice came across the Message.

“… eventually. Leave it alone for now. I need to verify where the Fung captives are.”

“I’ll be close by,” Percy joined in communal Message, making a 'C' for Crystal. “To offer my luck, of course, when the big one dies.”

“Hahaha…” Richard slapped the boy on the back. Gwen's brother was growing on him.

Across the swamp water, the rest of her party broke into careless, snorting laughter.

Gwen suppressed the depressing emotions rising in her chest. Instead, she focused on the path ahead.

“Ariel, give me some light.”

She didn’t have to go far, a dozen meters later, the narrow tunnel opened up to an enclosed chamber walled off with what looked like stalactites. Before her entry, the room had been dark, but as Ariel came around Gwen began to take in its modest dimensions.

Two figures were immediately apparent, though the scene was hardly what she had anticipated.

Gwen froze.

Her mind attempted to process the horror show in front of her.

The first figure was a man wearing what looked like half-discarded combat gear, now mangled and bloody. He laid on his back, eyes wide open in terror. Dark blood seeped from his eyes and nostrils, his hands curled, his fingers frozen in rigour mortis. There were two wounds visible, one just below his chest, and another near his abdomen. A pool of congealed blood had already formed around the corpse. It looked as though the man had tried to shove his intestines back into the wound.

Against the wall was a woman in a catatonic state, her eyes wide open and staring into the middle distance. Her face, which Gwen could see was once exceedingly delicate, was badly bruised, with one puffed eye and blood running down both of her nostrils. What was worse for Gwen was that her clothes had been torn asunder, revealing one breast and exposing her lower body. She also sat in a pool of blood, though from Gwen's vantage point, it could only come from one place.

A taste of bile filled her mouth.

An innate revulsion filled her body and she could hardly breathe.

Rape?

The malignant word reverberated through her head like a thunderclap.

They raped her! She recalled from Jun that the simian Demi-humans were known to have a taste for human women, and now she was seeing its aftermath first hand.

THOSE FUCKING MONKEYS!

An arc of lightning shot from her finger, scorching the walls.

She couldn’t think straight.

The idea of rape had crossed her mind, of course, it was in the news, she saw it in a film, there was plenty of it on the internet, real or otherwise. She herself was no stranger to sexual harassment, not since she hit puberty, but the reality of the scene now presented in front of her eyes was burning a smouldering hole in her brain.

It seemed so real... NO! She had to remind herself. THIS WAS REAL.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but still, Gwen couldn’t utter a single sound.

Back in the amphitheatre, Richard sensed Lea’s disquiet.

“Gwen is angry.” Lea materialised before her Master. “Very angry.”

“WAO!” Richard braced himself against his watery Familiar as a wave of Dragon-fear rippled through the floor, permeating the porous limestone.

“Mao!” Lulan circulated her heart-ironed mana. Beside her, Kusu did the same.

“AwoOoo…”

“AWOOOOoo…”

“AwoooooOOOoo…”

Gwen’s hounds began to howl in unison.

Percy sat on the floor to meditate, warding his heart and mind as to keep his stomach’s contents intact and his urine within his body.

“SHAAA!”

Caliban, who had been coiled beside the old Water Ghost Chief, suddenly stood to attention. It suddenly grew in size until it took on its Gila form.

“SCRII! YIP! YIP! YII!” The old Water Ghost rose from his seat.

“What’s it doing?!” Richard opened up Shields, covering Percy and Petra.

“Looks like it’s offering itself!” Petra had the easiest time against Gwen's Dragon-fear. As an Enchanter, a Mind Mage and a Mineral user, her consciousness was well-fortified against all mind-altering effects.

Caliban stabbed four sabre-thick claws into the old simian’s torso, drawing the breath from its body. Then with a mighty heave, it stuffed the thing into its distended maw, head, torso and all. It’s jaws closed with sick, slurping gulp, then the old master of the lair was no more.

Not too far away, Percy savoured the enriched essence pouring into his amulet.

“What the hell happened?” Richard turned to Lea.

“She’s coming up,” Lea informed the party. “One of the Mages is dead, and the other one is wounded. Gwen is really upset.”

The party turned to regard the tunnel, where they could just make out her shadow.

Already, not even fully emerged, her silhouette gave them shivers.

“Good God, put her down,” Petra, who was the team’s acting medic, ordered the poor girl to be carefully positioned.

Gwen unwrapped the bedsheets she had used to bundle the girl.

"Gwen, give me your Decanter of Everlasting Water."

"Here."

Petra washed away the blood from the girl's body.

“Heal Moderate Wounds!”

Lihong's bruised and mangled flesh mended.

“Those fucking animals.” Gwen gritted her teeth. She had to undress the girl before they could heal Lihong; her ire boiled with every bloody strip of torn cloth peeled from Lihong's skin.

Percy, Kusu and Richard had been sent away for the moment, so it was just the three girls tending to the battered adolescent. “To think I had felt sorry for the old bastard.”

“They’re known for this sort of thing.” Lulan spat, watching Gwen as she wiped away the blood from Lihong's lower body. “I want to exterminate every single one!”

“Shut up, both of you,” Petra snapped. “Lulan, go get the other body, we need to hand it over to the Fungs."

When Lulan returned, Lihong had been tidied up.

“She’s still in shock.” Gwen recognised the aimless stare. “Lihong, can you hear me? My name is Gwen Song. We’re here to rescue you. You’re safe now. We've defeated ALL of the Water Ghosts.”

With agonising slowness, Lihong turned her face. Her bruises had faded, though the girl's eyes remained vacant.

Gwen groaned inwardly. The girl was delicate and beautiful, possessing a natural innocence. She would have had a wonderful life ahead of her, and now this happened. From the girl's aura, Gwen guessed her to be an Ice Mage, likely a Transmuter, with a smidgen of something else.

“Lulan.” Petra gazed into Lulan’s face. "Look at me."

“YES?” Lulan swallowed. Why was Petra staring at her?

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure I can.”

Lulan puzzlingly observed Petra turning the girl's vacant gaze toward her own.

“Calm Emotion!”

A dull aura of Enchantment circulated through Petra’s husky-blue eyes, turning her pupils golden. Lulan opened her mouth in amazement.

A Mind Mage! The Sword Mage gulped. Since when was Petra a Mind Mage? Wasn’t Gwen’s cousin a Mineral Mage researching Spell Cubes?

Lihong blinked.

"I need to go deeper," Petra informed the others.

She bore into the girl’s vapid pupils, channelling the Charm Person glamour.

“Lihong, calm yourself, you are in good company.”

As if a cord had been pulled, Lihong’s body reanimated. Tears began to well in her eyes, flowing freely down either side of her face as a moan haunting to behold bled from her lips.

“Ah… oh… ah…” Lihong choked on the sound of her voice.

“It’s okay.” Gwen embraced the poor girl. “It’s fine now. You’re safe. I killed them. We killed them. They’re all dead.”

Lihong clutched Gwen’s torso, then began to wail.

“CAO!” Lulan spat. “I want to obliterate another hundred of those bastards right now!”

Petra motioned for Lulan to shut up.

“Lihong,” the Mind Mage spoke softly, her husky voice low and commanding as she escalated her control to the tier 3 Suggestion, simultaneously activating a Read Emotion. “Who assaulted you?”

Lihong’s face left Gwen’s tear-soaked shoulder, taking on an expression of heart-rending sadness as an irresistible compulsion compelled her to speak.

“Yuan Xie…“

By Lihong's second syllable, Gwen’s mind was white with static.

Lulan stared, her pink lips agape enough to encompass a hen’s egg.

Petra acknowledged the confession wistfully.

“As I suspected.” She lamented before turning to Gwen. “Her injuries are not consistent with an attack by any of the Ghosts, not to mention Water Ghosts are an entirely different kind of creature to the single-sexed mountain Jūefu. They're not known for violating human women, as they prefer their own. I doubt a tribe on the verge of starvation would have copulation on its list of priorities."

“But…” Gwen took Lihong’s cold hands in her own. The girl's fingers were icicles.

Petra’s eyes retained their golden glow.

“Lihong, tell us what happened.”

“I couldn’t see him in the dark,” Lihong confessed. “The water was filthy, and we haven’t had food for days. I was growing delirious.”

“You didn’t bring food in your Storage Rings?” Gwen asked.

“The Water Ghosts took our Rings… We resisted, but one of them gnawed off Qilu’s fingers. They made us take out all our rations, but we only brought three day's worth. They caught us by surprise, Master Xie escaped by himself, leaving us to our fate, but they caught him anyway.”

“You weren’t brought to the prison at the same time?”

“No.” Lihong shook her head. “The four of us were caught the first time. The Monkeys took Qilu after his wounds festered. Then they took Weng and Jiao, one after another. That’s when Master Xie joined me in prison.”

“I am sorry.” Gwen warmed the girl’s hands by circulating a mote of her Almudj’s essence through her fingers. It was too bad she couldn't share the Essence with other humans. “But your companions have died.”

“They ate them?” Lihong looked up, her eyes brimming with suppressed emotion from Petra's Enchantment.

Gwen nodded.

“Master Xie was right then, even in the end.” Lihong sobbed. “He said they'd eat them, and that they'd eat us too."

"Tell us about Yuan Xie," Petra's iron voice demanded. "Why did he attack you? How did he die?"

Lihong appeared to battle Petra's Suggestion. It took a moment for her expression to relax.

"Master Xie was in love with me," the girl stated. "When they threw him in there with me, he apologised for running away to call for reinforcements. He told me that he was going to be back as soon a Message had gotten to Nantong. I forgave him then. I was so scared. I didn't know what else to say. Qilu and Weng and Jiao were all gone."

"Then what happened?"

Gwen held the girl tighter in her arms, cupping her maternally, feeling endless empathy welling in her chest.

"Magus Xie kept a Dancing Light on, but the Monkey-men made him dispel his magic. We sat in the darkness, listening to my stomach growl. I was so thirsty. We didn't dare drink the filthy water. I grew more and more delirious. We were sure that no help was coming. We're not supposed to be here. We didn't tell anyone because we were Quest Poaching. It's stupid, I know, but I just wanted to see what it's like to do a Quest. The training at home was always so boring - Master Xie said this was a good opportunity, so close to home as well..."

"Focus," Petra guided the girl's thoughts. "What did Xie do?"

"I lost track of time in the darkness. Hungry and thirsty, I tried to sleep. Xie woke me up and said there's something he wanted to tell me. That was when he confessed to me that he had always been in love with me, ever since I was a child, and that he wanted to be with me. Since we were both going to die, Xie said he would make an honest woman out of me. He said the Monkeys would have their way with me anyway, then eat me after. If that's how it's going to be, it may as well be him, who had devoted a decade of his life to me-”

“Honest woman!” Gwen fumed. The bastard. The paedophile bastard.

“I was groggy by then, but I knew he was wrong. I promised him I would never speak of this again if he would leave me alone.”

“And then what happened?" Petra pushed for confirmation.

Lihong's voice was quivering now, her words coming more rapidly. Her eyes stared into the middle-distance as she recounted Xie's final moments.

“I blacked out. When I woke up, Xie was on top of me. He was undressing me and…”

“OKAY.” Gwen arrested Petra’s interrogation. “I think we can guess the rest. I take it you attacked him in the dark when his pan- when his defences were down?”

The girl nodded.

"How did-"

"Petra, that's enough," Gwen begged her companion.

Under the dim light, Petra's golden pupils sent shivers down Gwen's spine.

“Lihong, rest now.” Petra invoked a Forgetful Slumber. The spell would remove the last hour of Lihong's memories, after which a tier 6 Recall Memory was needed to expose their interrogation. “Things will be better when you wake up. Your loved ones are looking out for you.”

“I understand.” The girl tucked into Gwen's bosoms, then promptly fell asleep.

The three girls regarded each other with heavy hearts.

“You alright?” Petra enquired of their overthinking, oversensitive, overtly sentimental cousin.

Gwen cradled the girl in her arms, feeling the tremors running through Lihong's body as she slumbered.

“I am too exhausted to think,” she confessed. “In fact. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Okay.” Petra glanced at Lulan, who had nothing to add. “Let's meet up with the Fungs. Gwen, pass me something loose and comfortable for Lihong.”

Petre studied her cousin as she dressed Lihong in slacks, then bundled the girl with towels. Gwen seemed lost as she carried Lihong to the entrance of the chamber. Petra then turned to Lulan.

"Lulu..."

"I saw nothing," Lulan affirmed her commitment to Petra's privacy. Then anxiously, she leaned in closer. "I don't understand, why did her bodyguard assault her? Isn't she like a daughter?"

The dull gold of Enchantment faded from Petra's eyes. As the familiar magic drained from her body, Petra couldn't help but recall the first lesson taught by Master Popov:

"Never trust anyone, my little devotchka; who knows what wickedness lurks beneath the amiable mien of smiling men? Don't trust anyone, not even me..."

“Lihong!”

Yuhua ran from her party to encompass her kinswoman.

“You found her! Thank Mao!”

“Where is Magus Xie?” Magus Wang enquired. “Is he safe?”

Gwen's party remained ominously reserved.

“I need a moment of your time,” Gwen artfully asserted. “Miss Yuhua may join us as well, but what I am about to tell you is a sensitive matter.”

Wang read the seriousness in their faces.

“Bian, Fan, Xiao-Mao, look after Miss Lihong. Give her food, water, whatever she wants. Yuhua, come with me.”

“Huh? Why? What’s wrong?” Their grave expressions made Yuhua's heart skip a beat. “Wocao! Magus Xie died, didn’t he?”

“When Father hears of this…” Yuhua wiped an angry tear from the edge of her eyes. “The entire line of Xie will pay!”

“…”

It was absurd to Gwen that one man’s crime could lead to the punishment of his whole family, but she wasn’t in a position to judge, especially after her blunder with the Chieftain. The Demi-human had demonstrated every aspect of humanity she would come to expect, and yet, she had butchered the old King like a dog.

She had promised him a quick, clean death - instead, she exercised the excruciating torture of having one's existence erased from the Material Plane, having one's soul - assuming Demi-humans had souls - obliterated.

Lihong’s mental condition appeared to have regressed after Petra’s compulsion faded. Once the fortification provided by Petra's Mind Magic wore off, the girl turned inward, becoming both dumb and deaf. According to Petra, if the Clan was willing, a Rewrite Memory of the last few days was enough to ensure the girl went on with her life oblivious to the truth. The origin of such magic, however, would be scarce indeed.

After handing over Xie's corpse and Lihong's bloody dress, they were ready to depart.

“Miss Song, as Miss Lihong is unable to validate your findings, is it at all possible to invite you and your party to enjoy the hospitality of the Clan of Fung for a few days?” Magus Wang bowed respectfully, ensuring that there were no misunderstandings. “I am certain Master Dai would be more than happy to make your acquaintance once more.”

“I need to get back to training in Fudan,” Gwen began.

“Of course, once the matter is resolved; we would very much like to reward your party for your part in recovering Miss Lihong. She is a favourite of the Patriarch’s, you see. Despite this tragedy, the young Miss would continue to be cherished and protected like a delicate pearl. As for her saviours, there would be ample reward in the form of CCs, HDMs and whatever treasures our Clan could offer.”

“A few days in Nantong sounds like just the ticket,” Richard interrupted his bashful cousin before she accepted altruism as a currency. “Don’t you think so, Gwen?”

Gwen quickly glanced at the rest of her party.

Petra was eager to return to Shanghai.

Lulan and Kusu were desperate for resources.

Percy shrugged, leaving the decision to her.

“I guess we can take up your hospitality for a short while. Pats, are you alright with that?”

“I'll head back myself.” Petra wasn’t one to mince words or suffer in politeness. “Don't worry about me."

“We are happy to deliver Miss Kuznetsova to the Shanghai ISTC Interchange,” Magus Fung offered. “If so, would she consider staying for a banquet?”

“Pats?”

“That is agreeable.” Petra ruminated on her schedule; even if she left now, she wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.

“Excellent, that’s settled then.” Magus Wang visibly relaxed. “Let us return to the city.”

A small fleet of dark sedans met Gwen’s party on the halfway built highway some half-an-hour trek from the Water Monkeys’ lair.

“Japanese imports?” Gwen noted the familiar sight of the three diamonds-in-a-triangle she had seen earlier on the golems. Not even in Shanghai were imported vehicles all that common. The new District of Nantong was surprisingly wealthy.

“We’re a trading port.” Magus Wang convened with Gwen, Percy and Petra. Lulan, Kusu and Richard took up a separate vehicle. “The Japanese supply much of our Magi-tech in exchange for foodstuff, agricultural goods, and raw materials.”

"How interesting," Gwen noted, happy for the mental distraction. According to her research, the geographic trade dynamic of the tier 1 cities differed from her old world. Rather than transatlantic trade, the exchange of freight was restricted to geographic neighbours.

The Asian-Pacific nations formed an inner circle of commodity exchange via shipping lanes.

The Commonwealth possessed separate supply lines around the world, connecting its old colonies.

The U.S principally traded with its northern neighbour, Canada, as well as sporadically with an antagonistic Mesoamerica and warily with the Incan Empire in Cuzco.

As Gwen conversed with Wang about Nantong's canal, she realised there was a great opportunity here. The land around Nantong was as cheap as chips for the time being. With the city's development, there was bound to be new habitat blocks for NoMs, apartments and hotels for Mages, warehouses, factories - everything necessary to a thriving trade hub.

Once the topic of trade was exhausted, Wang turned to their Clan.

“The character for our House is the Xia Dynasty pictogram for ‘Harvest,’” the Magus explained. “It represents that which is abundant, lush, bountiful - an auspicious name indeed. Fung was the capital of the Scholar-King Zhou Feng, from which the nation took its name, today we know it as Suzhou.”

“It's an auspicious name," Gwen agreed.

“For five years now, our Clan has been working closely with the leadership in Shanghai, prepping the region for the opening of Tonglv Canal. Without major calamity, the region should complete its infrastructural upgrade within the decade, with the Fung Group leading the way."

“Once completed, the lion’s share of shipping from Singapore, Japan, Korea and Northern China will be routed through Nantong, correct?”

“Indeed, you are very astute, Miss Song.” Magus Wang patronised his young opponent, playing off her inexperience.

“How many TEUs will you be expecting?”

TEUs were shipping units, each denoting a twenty-foot container.

“About 12 Million units,” Magus Wang stated proudly, expecting Gwen to respond with open-eyed wonder.

Instead, he watched as the girl knitted her brows.

Did she not understand the majesty of such an astounding statistic? The Fung Magus questioned Gwen's economic naivety. It wasn't uncommon for the Guan-er-dai to know only how to spend crystals.

But it wasn't understanding that Gwen lacked, she was aghast that Shanghai’s Port Authority would only process 12 million units. Averaging 2 tonnes per twenty-foot container, it meant the volume of freight moving through Shanghai barely exceeded one-third of her old world.

“Will Nantong be operating its own cranes, golems and berths?”

Wang affirmed her enquiry with a nod.

“How will you be charging for administration, storage, maintenance? What economic model will the port be using? How are you tying manifest and admin costs to freight flow-rates? How competitive are your fees, per tonnage?”

“I am sorry...” Wang faltered, assaulted by Gwen's torrent of jargon. “The port operates at a loss. We're hoping the canal's income would change that.”

“…” Gwen blinked at the ageing Magus. “The port doesn’t turn a profit?”

“Ha.” Magus Wang smiled at Gwen kindly. “The Nantong-Shanghai anchorage is a state enterprise. We’re merely its custodians.”

“But Singapore turns a profit, surely.” Gwen reminded herself of the bustling scene she had seen when travelling there. “I was there! I am certain the city thrives on its deep-water anchorage. Economically, Singapore is on par with tier 1 cities like Shanghai.”

“A different governance with different circumstances, perhaps,” Wang answered evasively, unable to provide for Gwen a convincing explanation. “I am sure Singapore has its secrets.”

“I see,” Gwen agreed. She had to turn away because her lips were quivering.

HOLY SHIT, she couldn't help but feel herself on the verge of asphyxiation. The bloody CCP was running the port like a WWII operation. Cargo goes in - freight goes out. Ships paid for repairs and customs, and a small portion of the money went to maintenance and admin.

They had no idea! They had no FUCKING IDEA how the finance of a 21st-century harbour operated! In her old world, Singapore increased its GDP per capita from half of Malaysia's to that of six-times its neighbour, thanks to its world-class freight-hub.

Screw digging at Nantong's infrastructure! Not when she could tap the vein itself. Her business instinct was on fire. But to whom could she speak?

Gwen took a moment to calm her nerves. The serendipitous opportunity was an excellent distraction from the genocide they had just carried out. She expertly boxed up the nasty feelings haunting her insides and instead, looked outside at the canal - the object of her ascension.

The countryside had been stripped bare in anticipation of the massive canal and its parallel highways. Bottomless pits, the foundation of soon to be mega-Districts like the ones in Shanghai, would quickly engulf the terraformed landscape.

From the passager's seat, Wang inspected the rearview mirror, wondering why the girl was so interested in the banalities of a trading port when something like the IIUC or the prestige of the House of Fung was of so much more import and interest, not noticing that Gwen was squirming with anticipation.

“One last question,” Gwen implored from the rear. “Who’s in charge of the Port and the Canal? Who can speak for the Port Authority?”

“A triumvirate." The Magus knew the answer to this one. “Our Patriarch, Shen Fung, will be abdicating his role as the Police Commissioner of Shanghai to become Governor-Secretary of Nantong. He will be joined by Vice-Chairman Tu Guangshao of the Shanghai Economic Exchange, and Magister Chen Quin, formerly a President of Jianqiao University.”

“I see.” Gwen memorised the names. “Thank you, Magus.”

“We’ll be arriving soon. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Their motorcade took another half an hour to reach the city centre, delving into one construction zone after another, strewn with NoM labourers milling about like ants, aided by Civil-Construction Mages here and there.

At the western junction of the new city, Gwen noted an enormous Shielding Station, half constructed, reaching for the sky.

“A new design,” Wang stated proudly. “Did you hear about what happened in Sydney? All the Frontiers worth their crystals are switching to the newer modulation as a result.”

“I am from Sydney.” Gwen’s voice drifted from the back. “Richard and my brother as well. We are survivors of the Mermen invasion.”

“Ah, my condolences.” Magus Wang scolded himself for his inattention. “I hope your loved ones are safe.”

When Gwen didn’t answer, Wang furthermore slapped himself internally.

Percy meanwhile, watched his sister mumbling to herself, he caught a few words such as tariffs and freight deposits, but otherwise noted she was drowning in a chamber of her own thoughts.

The Fung compound, much to their surprise, was a skyscraper.

A construct of glass and concrete, styled with modern decor, the 'Harvest' Group building rose thirty storeys into the air, marking it as one of the tallest in the new commercial district.

“I am speechless,” Gwen greeted Yuhua and the small contingent of men and women who came out from the lobby to greet them. “Not an estate or a compound, but a high-rise?”

“We have to get with the times.” The Fung heiress laughed, threading her arm through Gwen’s elbow in an overtly friendly gesture, a complete one-eighty from their first meeting. The Fungs were VERY good at that, Gwen noted. They could change their position in a heartbeat, whether it was Dai, Lu, or Yuhua. “Did Wang gave you a pre-tour?”

“He did an excellent job.” Gwen beamed at Wang, who acknowledged Gwen’s praise sheepishly. “How’s Lihong fairing?”

“Same as before.” Yuhua bit her lower lip. “We’ll go see the Patriarch first. Wang, can you take us up? Tell Lihong's father to come as well. Also, not a word to anyone else.”

Wang left to make the arrangements while Gwen’s party, accompanied by Yuhua and the ashen Lihong, entered the building.

Once inside the spacious lift, they ascended until the 29th floor, where the door opened directly into a loft. Two guards in dark suits asked them to halt, greeting Yuhua with a cordial ‘Miss’. After a quick diagnostic of Gwen, the guards' mannerisms furthermore assumed an air of esteem.

Wang reappeared a minute later, directing the group from the lobby into the adjoining antechamber, then into a spacious office overlooking the city.

“Lihong!” A man with delicate, almost-feminine features rushed toward his daughter. “Mao! What’s happened to you?!”

Gwen parried a stab of sympathy.

Now was not the time; if she wasted this meeting with Shen Fung, she might not receive another, not unless she dated Dai or something shallow like that.

“Uncle…” Observing Gwen's silence, Yuhua wasn’t sure how to broach the matter either.

Thankfully, the presence of Lihong’s father seemed to have flipped a switch in the girl. With an utterance of secret agony, Liong fell into her father’s arms in a fit of flooding tears and torrential wailing.

“What’s wrong? Did someone bully you? Tell father! I’ll make sure they wish they were never born!”

Gwen’s party collectively winced.

If only retribution could fix what had been wrought.

“Jeishin, take Lihong to see Magus Ong.” Gwen's attention turned toward a second man standing behind the overlarge executive's table.

“Doctor Ong? Why? What’s wrong with Lihong?”

“Go.” the baritone voice possessed an air of command. “Take your daughter and go. Tell Ong to report back as soon as possible.”

Gwen’s attention shifted toward an unassuming middle-aged man wearing a coarse mandarin jacket. What is it with these power-types wearing humbling peasant garbs?! Gwen wondered. The Secretary-General also wore the same ill-fitting, cotton attire. Was it a power-status thing? Once a Mage reached a particular stratum in the CCP, one let go of the material things in life and assumed the guise of a peasant-leader, like Buddha having attained enlightenment?

“Wang, close the door. Is Xie’s family been watched?”

“Yessir, they’re in suite 2234. I don’t believe the family knows, Patriarch.”

“Hmmph.” Shen turned to regard Gwen and her team. The apex politician in Shanghai's newest District was an unassuming middle-aged scholar. He studied her group, his eyes scanning her party until finally resting on Gwen's face. "You're Guo Song's granddaughter?"

"Sir!" Gwen bowed.

“If someone told me that someone with Guo's mug could have a granddaughter like you, I'd strike them for lying."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Sir." Gwen smiled sweetly.

"Xie's Family, Sir?" Wang gently implored his Master.

Shen's gaze remained focused on Gwen.

"I believe there is a western saying from the European Sect of the Jesuits which suits our purpose well - ‘The Sins of the Father’, are you familiar with it? Gwen?”

Her party glanced at one another; Petra indicated that she knew.

“Yessir.” It was Gwen who stepped forward. “I believe it’s from Exodus in the Old Testament, stating that their Old Deity is a jealous God, desiring to visit the iniquity of fathers onto his children to the third and the fourth generation.”

The Patriarch of the Fungs paced a little closer to Gwen.

“A scholar of esoteric theocracy! And at your age!” The Patriarch carried a formidable bearing. “But then again, you ARE the infamous Worm Handler of Fudan.”

It took all of Gwen’s fortitude to keep her face in check.

“A nickname circulated in jest, Sir. Just Gwen, please.”

“Dai has been whispering in my ear about your accomplishments since you met him in April,” Shen stated ominously. “Do you know my son, Dai?”

“He owes me a favour.” Gwen took another half-step forward, circulating a mote of Almudj’s Essence through her body to fortify her bearing. A windbreaker worn over a skin-suit was hardly an imposing presence, and right now, a good impression from Shen possessed immense value to Gwen.

“A favour he may not ever repay.” The Patriarch chuckled. “A foolish child playing at guan-xi, I hope you are not offended, Gwen.”

“The favour of the son, Sir. May very well be a favour from the father.”

Shen paused, then burst into laughter.

“VERY GOOD!” Shen guffawed uproariously. "You've got me there, young lady."

A Message spell bloomed beside the man’s ear.

"Excuse me-" Shen walked to the panoramic windows overlooking the city.

As the Message silently played, the Patriarch's face grew increasingly dark until Gwen could feel the room’s temperate dropping, enough to make Percy, the weakest of them, tremble.

Gwen, her party, Wang and Yuhua patiently waited for the Patriarch to finish.

“Magus Ong tells me that Lihong is indeed… sullied.” Shen had to close his eyes for a moment to recompose himself. “Tell me, Gwen the theologian. Should I punish Xie’s unknowing sibling? His father and mother, who even now reside below us? What do the Western texts dictate?”

“The Sins of the Father…” Gwen craned her neck so that she stood taller.

“Should be visited with extreme prejudice, should it not? Even upon his ten-year-old brother, a total innocent?”

“No, Sir.” Gwen’s retort surprised them all, considering her earlier quip. “It’s a misunderstanding. The correct passage later found in Deuteronomy states that: ‘Lo, Fathers shall not be put to death because of their children, nor shall children be put to death because of their fathers. Each one shall be put to death for his own sin. That’s how it is, I am afraid.”

“You advocate mercy?” The Patriarch’s voice possessed a dangerous edge.

“Gwen…” Richard coughed politely. “A father must have his revenge.”

Gwen brushed off her cousin.

“Nonetheless, Xie’s parents are innocent of their son’s crime, so are his brother and sister,” Gwen spoke out loud for all to hear. “I do not mean to assert that you or Lihong do not deserve retribution, Patriarch. The wisdom of the biblical texts are often themselves contradictory, and the selection of the passage is less so a commandment, more so a choice. Magister Shen, if you believe the lesson of Exodus more compelling than that of Deuteronomy, then you are well within your right. BUT in the end..."

Gwen stabbed a thumb into her bosom.

"...it is WE who make the choices.”

“What would you do? Miss Song?”

“I would make the culprit pay ten-thousand times over. I would flay his Astral Soul,” Gwen declared.

“But the man is dead.”

“Then I shall inform his family of his crimes, tell them the source of their misery, then exile them from my sight.”

“You would not kill them?”

Gwen’s hazel eyes sparkled with unnatural intelligence.

“Where’s the satisfaction in that?” she demanded. “I would be no better than a butcher. This way, his family lives, knowing that their bastard has doomed them for generations. Cursing his name every day of their wretched lives.”

Silence reigned as the Patriarch Shen ruminated Gwen’s proposal.

Percy shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, uneasy in the presence of one so powerful and so evidently in the grasp of violent emotions seeking an outlet. Yuhua stared at Gwen with her mouth half open. Even as Shen’s darling daughter, she had never spoken with such eloquent confidence in her Father's presence, much less advising the Patriarch on the matter of retribution when one of his favourite nieces had been defiled by a man sent to protect her.

Finally, Shen appeared to have reached a decision.

“Yuhua.” The Patriarch exhaled deeply. “Send Magus Xie's apprentice, his parents, and his siblings to the Front. I want them gone by tonight. Inform Colonel Zheng. If they fail to present themselves on the Xi-An Front within the week, put out a desertion bounty, double the reward. From this moment forth, the House of Xie is expelled from Nantong!”

“Yes, Father!” Yuhua left immediately to execute her father's will.

Shen moved behind his oversized table, finally taking a seat.

“So.” The Patriarch appeared to have brushed the chip from his shoulder. “What manner of a reward do you desire? CCs? HDMs? Land? Perhaps, knowing your ambition, people? Would ten-thousand NoMs migrating to a demesne of your preference suffice? Perhaps a Mage of your own, sworn to your service?”

An excited murmur broke out between Gwen’s companions.

“Nothing of the sort,” Gwen interjected.

Richard and company fell deathly silent.

Gwen quickly gave her companions a reassuring nod.

“What I want, Sir…” Gwen appeared more imposing than even when she emerged holding Lihong. “Is a FAVOUR."

“You don’t think you’re asking too much?” Shen's voice lost a measure of good humour. “Are you familiar with the Chinese idiom about the python that choked, trying to swallow an elephant?”

Gwen weathered the Patriarch's intimidation like a robust warratah, unyielding against the wind.

“Nothing of the sort, Sir. I call my request a 'favour', but in truth, my actions can only serve to benefit yourself, Nantong, and your Clan. There are no winners or losers here, only mutual benefit.”

The two locked their eyes.

To the gathering, there was no stranger sight than a Secretary in his late forties having a stare-down against a seventeen-year-old girl.

“What is it then?” Shen's knitted brows formed a deep chasm across his forehead.

“I would like an hour to make a case to you, Vice Chairman Tu, and President Chen. All you have to do is listen to a proposal, after which the favour is repaid.”

The Patriarch Shen raised a bushy brow.

“A curious gambit, Gwen Song. What makes you feel so confident? Are you so compelling that the three of us, who hold between us seven million lives between the South China Sea and Shanghai, would be compelled to act by a girl-child?”

Gwen dipped her head, maintaining her gaze.

“Then you have nothing to lose other than sixty minutes of your time, Sir, perhaps a veneer of 'face' between you and your colleagues. If anything, I would be squandering my grandfather's reputation.”

“Not to mention your Uncle, the War Hero.” Shen's expression softened.

“Yessir.” Gwen grinned. “In the un-likely event that I embarrass myself.”

The Patriarch of the Nantong Fungs rapped the table, drumming away with his fingernails. Gwen remained standing, still as a statue while her party held their breath, unsure of what to make of Gwen's grandiose gesture. What they did know was to trust that Gwen knew what she was negotiating, as she had demonstrated many times before.

After a minute, Shen spoke.

“If nothing else, lass, you have distracted me from the incident involving Lihong,” the gruff Patriarch confessed candidly. “Very well. I shall ask the other two to attend our banquet tonight. After which you have- half an hour.”

“That’s more than enough, Sir.” Gwen had an expression like the fox who just took the hen house. In all honesty, she had expected the Patriarch to make life far more difficult.

Shen caught Gwen’s rapscallion demeanour, realised he had underestimated the girl, then began to laugh.

“Go and clean yourselves up." Shen measured the Song girl against his scions and found them wanting. "You and your friend can take the guest penthouse on level 27. There will be servants there to help you. If you need anything - tell the staff. The banquet will start at 7 PM. I'll send for you when the others arrive.”

Watching Gwen curtsy comically in her combat-suit and a mismatched parka, Shen disappointingly thought of his son, Dai. In recent years, the young man had become spoiled by their success. His other children were no better. His second son, Kei, couldn't duel his way out of a mob of NoMs. Yuhua wasn't bad, though she lacked a keen mind.

He studied Gwen as her party retreated, observing their deference to her.

The girl was a Gweilo, but Shen wasn't an old guard. In the future, Dai needed a firm hand to guide him, especially in the instance of Nantong becoming an international trading port. A spouse with a war hero uncle, a Neutral Faction grandfather, as well as the beauty and ability to match the growing power of Nantong, could very well be the support the Fungs needed.

“So, what are you going to suggest?” Petra was all ears as the girls changed. The VIP suite was enormous; the main bathroom was the size of Gwen and Petra’s apartment. Presently, Gwen was having a good soak in the bubble bath while Petra dried her hair, wrapped in a towel.

“What about this one?!” Lulan ducked through the door with a pink dress that made her look like a sausage sock puppet.

“Horrendous!” Gwen shook her head. “Lulu, you’re the petite type, go for cocktail dresses, something dark, A-line, short sleeves, just above the knee and high-waisted."

“I don't know what that means!” Lulan tugged at the tube-dress, disappearing through the door in a flurry of frustration. “I need a Translation Ioun Stone!”

“Pats, have you decided?”

“No skirts.” Petra eyed the wardrobe Gwen had provided for her, laid out on the bed. “Your dresses are all so… flimsy.”

"Well then, I’ve got a suit that’s just your style,” Gwen assured her cousin. “I’ll help you in a bit.”

She slinked from the bath, soapy and slick with foam. A quick shower cleansed away the milky-suds, followed by a hasty robe.

“THIS ONE?” Lulan appeared once again, this time with an embroidered off-shoulder dress tapered at the waist and flared just above the knees.

“Wonderful.” Gwen gave Lulan the A-O.K with her fingers. “Wait in the living room; I’ll do your eyes and hair.”

“Ooo.” Lulan skipped away, feeling furiously feminine. She went to show Kusu, who was with the boys taking up another section of the floor-wide suite.

“As I was saying…” Petra was thankful that finally, Lulan’s interruption had ceased. "What's your plan?"

“It's less a plan, and more a whole system." Gwen carefully made up her eyes. "I am going to present a mutually beneficial offer they cannot refuse regarding Nantong port.”

“The port?” Petra appeared taken aback.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s a state project, why should they listen to you?”

“They might not,” Gwen explained. “Or they could steal my idea. If so, I’ll make it public, tell the world. Publish it via Fudan’s network. Tell Gunther to sell it to the Commonwealth. Trade it for CCs. but, if we do pull this off, it'll solve all their capital shortage for the next decade, longer if they manage fiscal responsibility.”

“Why the favour then?”

“One - to arrange a meeting. Two - to get Shen on my side. Three - to impose on them that none of this will happen without my guidance.”

“I am still not fully understanding any of this.” Petra shook her head. She was a brilliant spellcraft theorist, but Gwen’s half-baked explanation was driving her in circles.

“It’s a little complicated.” Gwen scratched her chin. “Not to be cocky, Pats, explaining it might confuse you even more.”

“Try me.”

“Alright…”

Gwen briefly explained the notion of flowing capital. Using short-term continuous deposits made by freight moving through Nantong to establish a stock-backed Sinking Fund. The fund can then be utilised on behalf of expanding the port, training staff, repairing ships, and offering short-term loans for misadventure. With future revenue, the fund would grow exponentially, assuming good governance was observed, and that her ‘partners’ didn’t cook their golden goose for greed.

"... and that's what I call 'Venture Capitalism'."

“St Peter… I need an Ioun Stone Translation as well.” Petra fought back the throbbing in her temple. “Your idea sounds like some ancient, forbidden magic for turning lead to gold! How do you know all this?”

"Well Pats," Gwen replied seriously. "You know how we're born with the ability to tap into Elemental Planes?"

Petra nodded.

“As it happens.” Gwen grinned. "I am born tapping into the Material-Plane of Currency."

"Gwen!"

"Hahaha." Gwen dodged Petra's scowl. Retreating to the bed, she picked out a gleaming white ankle-length pants-suit with a matching jacket - in silk. “Here, put this one on. And those white heels.”

“Saint Peter! You could kill somebody with those. And that jacket-”

“Then try not to step on any toes.” Gwen stepped back and observed her work. “Wonderful, take a seat while I’ll do your face. You can't unbutton that, by the way.”

"I don't know..."

“Do me! Do me!” Lulan returned. “I want the thing that makes your eyelashes thicker.”

“Alright.” Gwen laughed. “Kusu is going to lose his mind.”

The party emerged from the levitation platform.

The banquet took place in the grand ballroom on level 3, attended by most of the influential folk in the Fung building, as well as some of the local movers and shakers. Poor Lihong was expectedly nowhere to be seen, nor was her father, though Yuhua was there, and so was Dai.

Gwen descended the stairs, covered from neck to ankle in a sheer, skin-tight silk dress in brilliant white, hand-printed with floral accents. She wore her hair in a messy bun, causing casual strands to fall elegantly about her face, accentuating her smokey eyes. As she flowed down the semi-circular stairs, a slit in her otherwise modest dress flashed her lithe legs, then hid them with every second step.

Escorting Gwen was Petra, wearing an antique-white pant-suit likewise in silk. In contrast to Gwen's bun, Petra wore her hair loose, falling over her broad shoulders like a waterfall. Her husky-blue eyes, made more prominent by thickened lashes and her thick, ambitious lips, held the room hostage.

Behind the two, like an adopted little sister, Lulan walked with teeth-jittering care on her kitten heels, taking every step as if her first.

The boys, in contrast, lacking Gwen’s guidance, looked like the waitstaff. Richard had on a maroon vest and striped charcoal pants paired with brown Oxfords. Percy wore a borrowed tuxedo, while Kusu paired a mismatched pair of dark pants and dark blazer with a black bowtie, looking like a disgruntled valet.

“I should have just stuck with the tuxedo…” Kusu moaned, too embarrassed to follow the girls too closely.

“You looked like a funeral director!” Richard snorted. “Don't worry about it, mate, let the girls shine. We're just background characters. Besides, check that out-”

The boys followed Richard’s gaze over to a group of local girls wearing what could only be described as nouveau-riche couture, exposing more skin than cloth. Just beyond the smiling girls was a buffet table full of Wildland goodies.

“I see.” Kusu rubbed his hands. He couldn’t afford such fare back home in Shanghai.

“Oh… they have South Sea Lobster.” Percy salivated. As a growing boy, he couldn’t say no to food.

“Lea, keep an eye on Gwen. I’ll be… preoccupied,” Richard informed his Familiar, likewise gravitating toward the free food.

Lea drifted lazily across the six-meter ceiling, invisibly coiling around a set of priceless chandeliers.

Below Richard’s watchful guardian, Gwen entered the fray, becoming surrounded by young men who desired to know more about the hazel-eyed beauty from Shanghai.

Petra meanwhile, became inundated by young women, wishing to know more about the pant-wearing beauty. Simply put, Petra was the sveltest human being they had ever beheld.

“GWEN!” Dai’s voice called out. As a testament to the young man’s influence, a path opened almost instantly.

The two shook.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again.” Dai’s voice quivered with genuine emotion. “I’ve been thinking of you since that last time we parted on a sour note. Allow me to apologise again for any offence.”

Gwen caught the stickybeaking women giving her daggers.

“I've learned to think of it fondly.” Gwen leaned in, then brushed Dai across the cheek with her lips, giving him as much ‘face’ as she could muster without feeling excessively disgusted with herself. “I’ve been thinking of you as well. “

“You have?” Dai touched a hand to his face. “I am honoured.”

“It's true. Whenever I think of you, I can't help but think of the favour you owe me. It plagues my sleep.” Gwen grinned mischievously.

“Ha!” Dai snorted. “Of course, I dream of fulfilling it. It’s affecting my sleep as well. I think about our... exchange, day and night.”

“Losing sleep? Hardly. You look well.” Gwen backed away, sensing that at least half of Dai's words were no longer attempts at playful humour. "How's life?"

The young man looked less contrived than Gwen recalled. Attired in a cream tailored suit with a dark vest, Dai appeared significantly less douche-like and far more agreeable.

“Still single,” Dai stated a little too quickly, brushing off death-stares from those around him. “Introduce me to your friends?”

“Petra, this is Dai. Dai, this is Petra, my cousin and one of my best and closest companions.”

Petra beamed at Gwen's announcement, her ruby lips parting to reveal pearly teeth.

Petra's audience gave an audible moan.

The young Russian woman was taller than even Gwen, making her one of the tallest people in the room, not to mention she was outfitted with four-inch peep-toe stilettos. With her bold and uncommonly handsome facial features typical of the Eastern European beauties, her ‘couture’ factor was off the charts.

“Hello,” Petra replied in that husky voice of hers, cool as anything.

“And this is…”

Gwen gestured, only to find that their petite companion was gone.

Kusu was on his second plate when he noticed his sister holding a pheasant drumstick by the foiled knob, gnawing away beside the buffet table.

“Lulu!” He hissed, quickly approaching her. “Don’t just eat it beside the tray! Take some, go to a corner, eat it out of sight, then come back for more!”

Lulan scooped a drink from a startled waiter.

“Put that down, that’s alcohol. Don’t make trouble for Gwen.”

Lulan knocked back half a flute regardless.

“Eww.” She spat half a mouthful back in, then placed the glass next to the condiments. "Mao, its white vinegar."

The traumatised waiter stared at Lulan until Richard intervened.

“Ah~, let her have her fun.” Richard joined them. “She needs to learn how to mingle. Just look at Percy.”

Percy was busy chatting up a group of younger girls who all wanted to know more about his sister and her pants-wearing companion. Gwen's brother appeared entirely in his element, chattering away without so much as pausing for breath, eliciting bell-like laughter from his rapt audience.

“Not keen?” Richard observed. "More than likely someone would be happy to warm your penthouse bed."

“Not at all,” Kusu kept glancing at Lulan.

“K-dog," Richard borrowed some of Tao's endearing vernacular. "The forbidden fruit is tempting, but it’ll only bring grief.”

“What?” Kusu was watching the interaction between a middle-aged man and Lulan.

“Where are you from? You look kind of familiar.” A Clanner in his forties was accosting Lulan. From the look of his scarlet mien, it was probably the wine talking. “Do you like the food here?”

“Delicious.” Lulan nodded, chewing away on her drumstick.

“Want to come with Uncle?” the man asked delightfully. “There’s even better food on the other table.”

“There’s another table?!” Lulan blinked.

"It's a dessert table," the man assured her.

“HEY!” Kusu’s voice came from behind.

The Clanner turned to behold a waiter dual-wielding a crab claw in either hand, one of had a chunk missing. Studying Kusu's face, something clicked within the man’s mind.

“Hey, aren't you two the siblings kicked out by Huashan?” The man chuckled, struggling to fight back the alcohol. “Ha, you’re moonlighting as a waiter now?”

“What? No!” Kusu lowered the claws. “We're guests!”

The man gave him a look of pity.

“Look, we’re all Clanners here. A bad turn could happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone say that Meng of Kunlun bullied a waiter from Huashan just because his chips are down."

"Good Man." Richard gave the guy a thumbs up.

Nodding, the Clanner turned to Lulan.

“Eat up, lass.” He leered at her nubile body. “You won’t eat like this again for a while. Don’t worry; Uncle will keep your thieving a secret, eh? Just between you and me. If ever you need some cultivation resources…”

“Get out of here!” Kusu growled.

The man laughed out loud before snatching up an abandoned flute of wine left by the condiments to wandering away unsteadily.

Richard observed the whole thing with captive interest.

“What?” Kusu angrily bit into a Nordic crab claw.

“It’s alright, K.” Richard patted him on the shoulder. “So long as you stick with Gwen and I. We’ll do ya right.”

“They’re waiting for you inside.” Wang stopped outside the adjacent smoking room waiting for Gwen. The old Magus then turned to the Fung heir. “Master Dai, you are to remain here.”

“I am?” Dai had been surprised when Wang came to spirit Gwen away. He was now doubly surprised that it was his father who was interested in Gwen. The old man wasn't thinking of having a young mistress, was he? His mother was no pushover. If his parents had a falling out, they might need to rebuild the Fung Group sky tower. “I mean, as he wishes.”

Wang acknowledged his young master's piety.

“Miss Song should rejoin you after thirty minutes, I would imagine.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Gwen turned on her heels. “Petra, can you keep me company? I imagine I could use some of your crystals in my demonstration. Master Wang, is that acceptable?”

“Of course, Miss Song.”

The door opened just enough for the two girls to pass. Leaving Dai standing outside scratching his head.

The young master watched his smiling teacher, Magus Wang, close the door behind them. He was now alone, consciously so. He had spent the better part of the evening entertaining Gwen and her friend to the neglect of his usual social circles.

“Feeling lonely?”

Dai turned to see the tall Eurasian cousin and Gwen's brother, the grandson of Secretary Guo Song.

“Not any more.” Dai called a waiter over to hydrate the trio while he changed out the flute of wine for a tall neck of Tsingtao. “I still haven’t thanked you for your service to Nantong, not to mention saving my cousin, the poor girl.”

“It’s a tragedy.” Richard reached for a fresh bottle. The two clinked. “I hope she recovers.”

“She’s a strong girl,” Dai agreed. “She’ll have the whole Clan behind her.”

“That’s good to know.”

“How about you, young master Song, are you enjoying the evening?”

“I am, thank you, Master Fung.”

“Call me Dai, please.”

“Elder Brother Dai.”

“Brother Percy," Dai replied, then snorted to himself.

Percy appeared confused by Dai’s quip.

“A potential suitor for our princess.” Richard raised a toast to Dai. “One of many Jasons come in pursuit of her, haha.”

Dai paled.

“She has many lovers?”

Richard took a casual swig.

“You don’t think she would?”

“Well, of course, someone of her calibre. I mean… how many are we talking here?”

Richard chuckled, evidently enjoying Dai’s growing displeasure.

“It’s an expression,” Percy hurriedly interjected. “Jason was the leader of the Argonauts?”

“A Clan of the Western world?”

“No, no…” Percy struggled with the context. “It’s a myth, you know, Jason the hero, chasing after a golden treasure to woe Creusa, the daughter of King Corinth?”

“So, its an expression of speech?” Dai regarded Richard accusingly.

“She’s never had a boyfriend,” Percy stated with absolute confidence.

Dai glanced at Richard, who grinned at him.

“Why don't you ask her yourself?” Richard implored.

“Not a single one?” Dai turned to Percy.

“None.” Percy crossed his fingers behind him.

Dai took a liberal swig of his beer.

“Thanks, little brother.” He smiled at Percy far too happy. “If there’s anything you need in Shanghai, just let Big Brother Dai know, eh?”

“Petra, if you would?” Gwen’s voice echoed across the conference room.

The tea had long since cooled as her captive audience listened with mouths half open.

Petra had constructed a ‘model’ of Gwen’s proposal.

“Let me explain again so that we’re on the same page.”

“Please!” Vice Chairman Tu reiterated.

“Yes, once more. I too am lacking in comprehension.” Magister Quin was likewise eager to have the proposal clarified.

The girl had drawn a pie in the sky that was impossible to ignore but also unlikely to exist. Nonetheless, it was right there in front of them, clear as the crystalline display.

“I am happy to clarify.” Gwen exhibited a dazzling smile sweet enough to give the old men tooth decay.

“As I was saying - your port is run at a loss. The administration - that's you gentlemen - fears that having costs subsidised by fees would make the venture unattractive for overseas shipping. To remain competitive, the port loses money every year to the tune of just under a million HDMs, made even via trade surplus. Yours is an unsustainable model - think, how long could you run the place until it collapses under the burden of its weight? The more successful Nantong’s Tonglv Canal becomes, the more crystals it burns. The only advantage the CCP currently possesses is the fact that labour is cheap and China has massive internal consumption - but that won’t help increase the efficiency of the port, which desperately needs more transport Golems and freight staff, not to mention skilled Administrators to manage tax and accounts.”

“As such - Petra, can you empty the pie-chart? Thank you.”

Gwen skirted around a circular tank constructed from Petra's crystalline mineral.

“I propose abolishing the Port Fee altogether. Instead, we implement a new system utilising a mandatory deposit, plus a flat, marginal administrative fee.”

“I still don’t follow how getting rid of the docking fees would make the port currency.” Magister Chen folded his fingers.

“It’s the deposit,” Patriarch Fung added helpfully. He was surprised himself at how quickly he understood Gwen’s ingenious proposal. The girl had a mind sharper than a void-tinged sword and as twisted as a Goblin warren.

“Indeed, the deposit is key. What we will do…” Gwen allowed Almudj’s Essence to circulate. “…is to create a Venture Fund using an Assurance system. When a ship arrives, it needs to 'deposit' with Natong’s Port Authority 10% of its manifest in crystals, stock, or promissory certificate, kept safe as a bond."

The men nodded.

“Vice Chair Tu, what is the average turn around for a freight ship?”

“Three weeks for short haul, up to six for a long haul. Varies pending on crew numbers as well, as well as country of origin. Danish ships have the fastest turnaround, followed by the Americans and the Singaporeans and so on. Some ships stay for as long as three months if there are complications.

“Indeed, now. Here’s the clincher. If a ship is capable of completing its transit without incident - and if declared manifest and deposit pass scrutiny, then the ship receives a 100% refund on its bond. If a ship falsely reports on volume, displacement, and or freight, then a penalty is extracted from the bond. If there is contraband, they will lose their deposit pending appeal. In the case of piracy or smuggling, the entire cargo is forfeit anyway, and we can seize the ship."

The men continued nodding.

“This way, there is a great incentive for freight carriers to perform their tasks as quickly as possible and as lawfully as possible because in-effect, the port will service them for free, barring, of course, a negligible admin-fee, and customs.”

“Then how are we making crystals?” Vice Chairman Tu furrowed his brows. “They’re getting serviced for free!”

“Petra?”

Petra grew crystals into the ‘pie-chart’.

“This is the deposit in our venture fund - it comes from the ships using Tonglv Canal.”

They watched as the 'chart' filled with blue and pink crystals.

"If you would notice, the blue crystals are time sensitive. The pink crystals are long term.”

"The blue crystals will disappear after thirty seconds. The Pink, sixty. Using the information provided by Vice Chair Tu, I am splitting the ratio sixty to forty."

As the earlier injected crystals began to disappear, new ones replaced them.

“What do you see?”

"The crystals are ever-present, the volume is persistent so long as the shipping doesn't cease."

"Yes. Petra, can you increase the overall volume?"

The 'pie' on the table grew to double its size.

"Growth of Nantong, as you can see, does not impact the flow rate, only the volume."

A look of understanding began to spread on the faces of Vice Chairman Tu and Magister Chen.

“So you’re saying, as long as there’s this 10 per cent deposit in our coffers at all times, it is as though the crystals are ours to spend? Due to the Sink Fund's possession of these circulating 'deposits'?"

“Under careful management, of course,” Gwen reiterated. “The Sink fund's capital flow cannot fall below a certain threshold. Petra, if you please.”

Half of the container emptied. The trio noted that the state of decay remained constant and that still, a portion the 'funds' existed perpetually.

"The model is sound as long as the amount paid out each day is sustainably supplied by the income."

Gwen then moved to the opposite end of the table.

“For now, I am going to assume that we are in possession of 50% of the Sink Fund, which Patriarch Fung estimates to be…”

“1.4 Million HDMs…”

“Thank you. Patriarch. You are very helpful.”

Against all the odds, the patronised Shen felt rather good about himself. He was the first to grasp Gwen’s idea, and he was the first to understand her scheme.

“Now, we establish a second Fund: The Nantong Port Authority Venture Fund. The Fund will service the Port Authority directly. I'll stick with 50% of the Sink Fund."

Gwen portioned the '50%' slice, separating a sliver of about 10%.

“This is our initial cut. 3% to each of you, and 1% for me - this will be our administration strata, levied against the fund.”

The three men regarded one another carefully.

Gwen felt they needed another push.

"Let's not have a misunderstanding," she explained. "What I am proposing isn't something as corrupt as skimming crystals from a government project. We have to earn our keep. Petra, can you make me three rectangles, three sizes, please?"

Petra performed her duties without complaint.

"This largest block-" Gwen raised the brick. "Is the Venture Fund, the 40%. Think of it as our Investors' assets. We BORROW currency from this fund to invest."

She took a marker and drew a line between the large block and a smaller one.

"This is our Venture Firm. We will direct what investments the fund will make. Our initial income is the 10% consultancy levied on the fund. New levies will apply pending performance."

Gwen then laid her hand on the smallest block.

"This is a portfolio under the Venture Fund, owned by the fund, but invested by us. This one is called Warehouse. Petra, can I get a few more of those? Thanks."

Gwen drew a line between the 'Fund' block and the smallest one, labelling it 'Warehouse'.

"This one is Freight."

"This one is Machinery."

"This one is Real Estate."

"This one is Staff and Training."

"This one is for Rest and Relaxation."

"This one..."

Soon, the structure was evident for all to see.

"Let's me explain how each of these portfolios will generate wealth for the venture."

“Take real estate for example: once built, a warehouse can be rented out to increase the revenue of the port itself. Shipping companies are always in need of storage. What’s the rental on a 100 twenty-foot equivalent unit Warehouse?”

“About 10 HDMs a month in Singapore.” Vice Chair Tu answered.

“How many is Nantong hoping to build in its 2004 Expansion?”

“About 500.”

“That’s 5,000 HDMs per month of income, less cost of operation. What's preventing the expansion from happening?"

"Tied up funding from the Central Bank?" Magister Chen made an 'O' with his lips. "I see!"

Gwen picked up another block.

"This portfolio, we can execute very quickly. How much are Golem rentals?”

“25 HDMs for standard cargo-mover unit per 5-day cycle, excluding pilot, excluding fuel.”

"How are we for pilots?

"There are more pilots than Golems in Nantong..."

“Cost of machinery?”

“About 1750 HDMs for a Mitsubishi unit.”

“In 350 days or 70 cycles, the Golems would have paid for themselves. Not to mention if they wish to hire our pilots, that’s an additional charge. Give it a three-year cycle, and we’ll refresh our fleet - yes Gentlemen - Nantong's fleet of Construction and Freight Golems! Sell the old loaders or trade them in! Again, the operation is scalable!”

The men were nodding so much they were beginning to resemble chooks bobbing for feed.

“And that’s stage 1! Stage 2!” Gwen continued, picking up more crystal slabs. “Nantong is a port city, but the city itself is closed off to our overseas visitors, all lonely seamen with currency to spend. Stage 2 will be the construction of a free economic zone within the port itself! Souvenirs, hotels, restaurants, bars! Whatever those sailors are earning, they should leave at least 30% of their pay packet in Nantong! The employment this could provide for the local NoMs would also greatly reduce strain on the Governor's coffers.”

Looking at Gwen, the men thought a specific something that would most definitely strip the sailors of their hard earned pay packet. Assuming upstairs was willing, perhaps Stage Two would proceed even faster than Stage One.

“And all of this!” Gwen pointed to the model. "Is scalable! Think of it, gentlemen, what is the best course of action for any freight travelling through Nantong toward Shanghai? To report manifest honestly and abide by our laws legally. They will suffer no charge at the end of the day, who wouldn’t want that? Furthermore, once our shipyards begin operation, the port will repair and service their ships at a rate just below our competitors. We will be able to use the Sink Fund to subsidise our labourers better than any other port in China. If freight-carriers want to employ a port that doesn’t impact their bottom line, all they need is provide ten per cent of their honestly reported manifest! At the ends of which they get back in full. Who wouldn't want that?”

“Now, in addition to reduced operating expense from encouraging best practice...” Gwen told Petra to grow a mass of green crystals. "We have the gains from our portfolios, owned by the Venture Fund."

Gwen added the green crystals to the fund.

"Time passes. Expansion continues. After Stage 1-"

More and more green crystals piled onto the fund.

"It gets fed back into the Venture Fund."

The fund that had consisted of pink and blue crystals now possessed more and more greens even as it continued to expand.

"As the Port grows, so does the Fund, the more traffic we service, the larger our liquid capital. The more capital we have to provide extra services, the more customers the port attracts! Furthermore, the withdraw ratio from the Sink Fund can be increased, so long as currency outgoing matches incoming shipping plus portfolio income.”

Gwen then apportioned green crystals in front of each of her audience members, as well as a tiny sliver for herself.

"If you wish to play it safe, our fees can be extracted from the proceeds, rather than the fund itself."

Magister Chen touched a hand to his face.

“Wocao, I am sweating!” the old Mage laughed. “By Mao, you’ve made this old man sweat!”

“I am in awe.” Vice-Chairman Tu wiped a trail of drool from his lips.

“Well done, Gwen.” Patriarch Fung felt as though he’d sat through an hour-long sauna. “Mao! Look at the time!”

The men stared at the clock.

Thirty minutes had turned into two-and-a-half hours.

“The inner workings of our economic model has to be kept confidential,” Gwen warned them. “Our competitors will learn of it eventually, but by then, we would have stolen their customers and locked in our clients with loyalty service and membership discounts.”

“A close-system ecology?” Patriarch Fung recalled Gwen boasting about such a thing in the first hour.

“A closed-loop ecosystem,” Gwen corrected the Patriarch. “Well done, Sir.”

“Hahaha!” Patriarch Shen gloated.

“Well, gentlemen?” Vice-Chairman Tu turned to his partners.

“I am in!” Magister Chen nodded at Gwen. “I cannot see why we should not proceed.”

“I was ready the moment I called the two of you,” Patriarch Fung told a white-lie, winking at Gwen. “Guangshao?”

“I am happy to be a part of this venture.” Guangshao Tu was already imagining the accolades he would receive after five years, when Nantong becomes the ‘new miracle’ of southern China, completely demolishing all expectations set by the upper echelon. That the operating expense of the Port may even turn a profit would blow the minds of the old men sitting atop the Party’s thrones. There was also the three per cent 'bonus'. In a few years, his family would be swimming in Crystals to the tune of hundreds of thousands of HDMs a year. If nothing else, it would pave the way for his eventual chairmanship among the twelve Vice General-Secretaries of the CCP, an enormously expensive endeavour.

Patriarch Fung meanwhile, was dreaming of a day when he could finally stand toe to toe with Wang Enterprises as one of Shanghai’s the Big Ten. Knowing that Gwen was related to the Patriarch of the Wang Group furthermore eased his mind, knowing that Gwen wouldn’t want a conflict of interest to impact her 1 per cent stake.

Lastly, Magister Chen, who had been brought on as a technical consultant on international trade and to serve as the CCP’s inside man on the matter, could only think about the absurd volume of resources he would soon access to continue his research. Perhaps in time, he could donate to Jianqiao and finally get that damn west wing of the library completed. ‘The Chen Quin West Wing’ the plaque would read, and his portrait would benevolently look down on students as they entered the hall.

In front of the smiling men, Petra dispelled her crystal display, sensing the greed radiating from the men like an odour. Astronomical numbers had been tossed back and forth between Gwen and the men as though they meant nothing at all.

She glanced at Gwen, unsure of what to make of her cousin.

What would they call her now?

Gwen Song of the Money Tree?

The men each extended a hand.

“For our mutual benefit, I shall abide by our agreement and keep our methods confidential,” Gwen began, shaking Patriarch Fung’s hand. The man suppressed a wince when his rough palms enveloped Gwen’s own, her delicate white fingers gripping his old bones like steel rods.

“Well said,” the Patriarch concurred.

“As will I.” The aspiring Chairman Tu shook Gwen's hand, then Shen's as well, paling at the firmness of Gwen’s dainty fingers.

“I will abide by our accord.” Magister Chen shook Gwen’s hand, then shook out his fingers. “My word, you have a firm grip.”

“Sorry,” Gwen apologised, giving the men an unnervingly coy look. "It's the excitement, you understand.”

“As anyone's would. Gwen, what are your immediate plans?” Shen enquired. It had been some time since he had felt so stirred, and to think they were safe in a building and not holding the fort against a screeching horde of Beastmen!

“I’ll be going back to Shanghai,” Gwen informed them. “I’ve got to train for the IIUC. Perhaps leave a liaison with me so that I can continue to refine our venture. The devil, as they say, is in the micromanagement. A workspace where we can discuss matters in private would be ideal.”

“I’ll send Dai with you. The rascal could stand to learn a few things.” Fung snorted. “All he does is socialise all day. It would make me very happy if you could straighten him out.”

“I'd appreciate that, Patriarch.” When Gwen bestowed no particular prejudice against Shen's blatant ploy, their other partners took this to imply the Patriarch's infamous son had no effect on her what so ever.

“I’ll send someone from my office as well.” Vice-Chairman Tu pinched his double-jowls. “I have a young protege who could benefit from broadening his horizons.”

“No need for intermediaries, you may contact me directly.” Magister Chen was going all out. Of the three men, he possessed the least wealth, though he enjoyed greater seniority when it came to the trust of the CCP. “Here’s my Glyph. Anytime, Gwen.”

“An old goat grazing on tender grass. Eh, Quin?” Patriarch Shen burst into a snorting chortle.

“Hahaha!” the Magister shot Shen a look of disdain. “Gwen's far too talented for the likes of me! You're a braver man than I am, sending out your heir as bait. Be careful little-Dai doesn't get eaten!”

Shen ignored Chen's rebuttal. Instead, he sent off a Message.

“Dai! Get in here!”

It took all but ten seconds for the door to open, revealing Richard, Percy and Dai. Richard looked his usual composed self. Beside him, Gwen’s brother and the Fung heir had a hint of colour to their faces from being caught red-handed listening at the door. The banquet was long over by now, and the three had been killing time by translating snippets of conversation drifting through the gaps. Candidly, the guards' convenient ignorance had also been a part of the Patriarch's intent.

“Sorry for the wait,” Gwen apologised. "Did you have a good meal? Where's Lulu and Kusu?"

Dai floundered into the room, circulating mana to keep his head clear and his face pale as to appear entirely sober.

“Father. Uncle Tu. Uncle Chen.”

“Dai,” the Patriarch addressed his son. “You are to stay with Gwen in Shanghai.”

“It'll be my pleasure.” Dai glanced at Gwen, grinning broadly. “I’ll be in your care, Gwen.”

“Same here, Dai.” Gwen smiled back, realising the young man had gotten the wrong idea entirely.

“Ahem!” The Patriarch cleared his throat when Tu and Chen both took on taunting expressions. “Gwen is very precious to me, your Uncle Tu, and your Uncle Chen. You’re to make sure she’s perfectly safe while in Shanghai.”

Dai caught the mockery in Gwen's youthful eyes, juxtaposed against his father’s awkward attempt at preserving his face.

“Yessir!” Dai bowed. “I’ll do my best, Sir.”

“Anything happens to her,” Patriarch Fung grumbled. “Bring your head back on an iron platter.”

“It’s a silver platter, Sir,” Gwen corrected the Patriarch politely.

“I stand corrected.” Patriarch Fung gave Gwen a curt nod. “Teach him well; he is my heir, after all.”

Whatever alcohol that had inundated Dai's bloodstream was now perspiring through his pores. What in the Great Leader's name had just happened? Why was his father showing Gwen such deference? Why did it feel like he'd been sold? Looking at Gwen in her flawless white dress with its floral accents, he noticed for the first time just how imposing she was, how she appeared larger than life. And to correct his father? Dai couldn't recall the last time his father confessed to being 'corrected'.

“Gwen, when do you leave?” Dai enquired of Gwen, taking over his father's mantle. “Let us show our hospitality for a few days.”

“I am afraid I have to train.” Gwen shook her head respectfully. “The selection for the IIUC is getting close.”

“I’ll put in a good word,” Shen stated firmly. He then rose from his seat to face his son. “Dai, regarding Gwen - respect her wishes.”

That was the second time Shen Fung had made it very clear to his son that Gwen was beyond reproach. Though dismally confused, Dai knew better than to challenge his father’s decree. Briefly, he could see the other two chuckling to themselves. Was that it? Was the joke that she was too good for him and that he's the bunch-back toad trying to mount the elegant swan? He, the most eligible bachelor he knew, a wishful troglodyte?

For now, the young man swallowed his wounded pride. He turned toward Gwen, then deeply bowed, as if she were the senior.

“I’ll be in your care, Miss Song!”

“Just Gwen, Dai. We’re friends, are we not?”

Dai looked to his father for affirmation. Shen’s brows knitted, forming a barely perceptible wrinkle of frustration his forehead.

“Of course, Gwen.”

“Good lad,” Magister Chen affirmed happily. “Gwen, I am tempted to send you my apprentice as well, but that would be a conflict of interest. He's a part of the Jianqiao IIUC team. If the two of you do meet, please be gentle. His name is Lianchen Yen; he also goes by Lachlan.”

“I’ll be sure to greet my Senior,” Gwen promised. She then playfully made a mock-swooning motion. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am famished.”

“I’ll have the kitchen prepare something." Dai immediately retreated from the room. He needed time to reevaluate.

As he passed Richard, the young man struck out a hand.

“Welcome to the team, mate.” Richard grinned.

As they shook, Dai wondered what Richard meant by his lopsided grin. He then extended a hand to Percy, who answered with a shake and a bow, as proper from a junior to a senior.

Beside the two, Richard chuckled. For some reason, he was reminded of Gwen's Draconic-Deerhounds. Another dog added to her pack? How many strays would Gwen assemble before she was satisfied?

"She has too many secrets we're not privy to. Be very cautious, Dai. Chen's right in that she might just eat you alive."

"She's just a girl." Dai worked up a retort. Once Gwen and her party were sent to their suite, Shen gathered his two children to confer upon them the dangers of being besotted by outward appearances.

"That doesn't mean much coming from you. Mao, the information you gathered is completely out of date, or wrong to begin with," Yuhua joined the conversation. "I was there, Dai. The girl's Lightning Beast is the closest thing to a Kirin I have ever seen. Her Void Worm as well is far more potent than you give her credit for."

"My information is three months old!" Dai sulked. The first thing Yuhua did was to check with their Master of Records, only to find that Dai's collated information on the girl was leagues away from what she had observed in the dungeon.

"Her hounds were Draconic, Dai." Yuhua illustrated her point by swimming a hand through the air. Shen had made Yuhua give a detailed account of the Water Monkey Dungeon. "That Kirin commands them via some sort of telepathy as well. Meaning its a Spirit, and a Draconic one at that."

"Dai." Shen stood over his heir. "Without venturing into the Ruìshī's lair, one will never acquire a Ruìshī cub. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father." Dai's outward appearance as the dutiful son betrayed his seething sense of shame. In truth, he struggled to reconcile Gwen's striking face and her long, lithe limbs with the terrifying story told by his sister. He had known Gwen since her arrival in Shanghai; he knew she was prideful - all Lightning Mages were prideful, but for him to be subordinate to the girl?

"You must not provoke her." Shen stood with his back toward his son, his mandarin jacket an oxymoronic mask of the man's lofty ambition. "From Yuhua's story, we know that she is a sentimentalist. Touch her with your generosity. If not for herself, then for her brother, her friends, her family. Do you understand, Dai?"

"Yes, Father." Dai bowed deeply. His father's words were sending shivers down his spine.

The most difficult debt to repay, after all, was the debt of generosity.

“Dai? Dai!” Gwen politely nudged their newest companion.

“I am listening,” Dai lied, doing his best to keep still.

Once the meeting was over, Gwen and her party had retreated to their penthouse suite to rest up for the night. After Dai personally brought up her late supper, Gwen chose to induct Dai into their little circle.

The other's didn't much like Dai, but she saw in the man a valuable asset.

Though the Patriarch's intent was self-evident - Dai was nonetheless a useful body to place in the way of potential trouble. The silver-spooned jackaroo was, in Gwen’s eyes, a triple threat: he was a Wealth-cum-Power Progeny rolled into one, and a bonafide Clanner. Clothed via his family connections, Dai was a human-shaped skeleton key for Shanghai’s high society. Furthermore, so long as Gwen and Shen’s economic interests aligned, she was confident in Dai’s loyalty.

Of course, that loyalty was itself ephemeral. Gwen did not doubt that when the numbers came in, her partners were bound to regret agreeing to that seemingly innocuous single per cent of the Venture Fund’s revenue.

But Gwen had a plan for that eventuality as well - one that reached fruition after the IIUC; when she could finally declare herself her Master's Apprentice and the sibling-in-craft of Alesia and Gunther. Likewise, Nantong needed at least a year or two to grow into its new-found wealth, if not longer.

Gwen reminded herself that regardless of her venture's success, her material investments were temporary. Ultimately, when she left the country, it was far more likely that the CCP would attempt to usurp her share. Likewise, her deal with the House of M could be a hit or miss. Mayuree was a sweetie, but she was one of many. With that many siblings, it was unlikely she would have much sway if they refused to pay Gwen her due.

Perhaps this was why Mages, in general, had such a disdain for finance, just as her babulya had held so little regard for currency. The accumulation of magical prowess was personal growth, once gained, Spellcraft, like knowledge, directly empowered oneself.

Wealth, on the other hand, could be pilfered, stolen, usurped and squandered. As a lyrical maestro once rhymed, 'mo-money, mo-problems'.

Over on the couch, Dai sat rigid as a sculpture as Ariel and Caliban kept him company. Her Void Fiend was coiling itself beside Shen’s first-born son, sniffing his tapered suit and dribbling grey drool over his tailored pants. Ariel meanwhile, sat on its haunches, molesting Dai’s tie, occasionally poking Dai's face with a prehensile whisker. Caught between a Kirin and an all-devouring nightmare, Dai chose the Path of Petrification.

The reason being was that he had earlier sidled close to Gwen and placed a hand on her lap and another around her shoulders. Though Gwen possessed championship-level patience, her Familiars were far too sensitive to her repressed loathing.

“I've Messaged you the preliminary staff roster.” Gwen tapped a data slate.

The rest of her party had gone to bed or were meditating in the privacy of their rooms. Lulan chose to make full use of the building’s facilities and had gone down for a massage, joined by a paranoid Kusu, fearful that Lulan might K.O. the masseuse.

“Why so many?” Dai glanced over the numbers, baulking at the complexity of the organisational chart spread out like a dyslexic spider web.

“Lawyers, accountants, auditors and managers. We'll need to segregate the Departmental work as well. I suggest your Father takes care of the auditing since he’s the Governor-Secretary of Nantong. Vice Chair Tu can take care of the accounts and day-to-day Administration. Magister Chen should be in charge of the of the Investment Portfolios, with individual managers reporting to him directly.”

“So many divisions and sub-divisions!” Dai spluttered. “Wouldn’t that make running the business even more complicated?”

Oh, you poor lamb, Gwen groaned inwardly.

“Checks and balances,” she instructed her novice companion. “Think about the inner strata of the CCP. You’ve got the MSS, who oversees the Districts. Then you’ve got Internal Service, who oversees its Secretarial departments. On top of that, there’s the CCDI, who oversees the MSS and Internal Security. All separate entities - independent from the Party's members. We’re going to be dealing with A LOT of crystals, Dai. What do you think is going to happen if we leave it to people we ‘trust’?”

“So we shouldn’t trust anyone, not even people from my Clan?”

‘We’, Gwen noted.

“Trust is too strong a word.” She coaxed Ariel into her lap. Dai’s eyes flittered between the white flesh of Gwen’s smooth thighs and the soft fur of her white Kirin. Catching Dai’s desirous ogling, Ariel wiggled its serpentine body, taunting the man with its soft tummy. Amused, Gwen then kissed Ariel's forehead. “Dai, what we’re doing is Venture Capitalism. We’re making crystals from the void. When there’s that much profit - people are bound to go crazy. I would not be surprised at all if our operation became riddled with fiscal parasites.”

“Preposterous!” Dai snarled. “Heads will roll!”

“You can bet on it.” Gwen kneaded the frog of Ariel’s front hooves, waving its paws at Dai. “Don't tempt fate. Or else, by the 2005's financial year, there may not be a Clan Fung left…”

“…” Dai’s expression implied stubborn disbelief.

"People are going to steal from us, Dai," Gwen assured her protegè. "My job is to make it harder. Your job is to make sure they never steal from us again."

“You can trust me,” Dai stated bluntly.

“I know I can. You’re my Second in this matter. First things first though, we need to parcel out future duties. Believe it or not, I won’t be around Shanghai forever. In the meanwhile, I'll be prioritising the IIUC.”

“Why?” Dai was incredulous. “You're going away? You’re standing to make… hundreds of thousands of HDMs! You could buy yourself a position in the Party with my father's help.”

“Not interested,” Gwen refuted Dai's offer. “What if I told you that I possess loftier goals?”

“You mean a Tower? Is that why you're collecting Crystals?”

“Among other ambitions.” Gwen smiled mysteriously. “I am only seventeen, Dai. Think of it as preparing for an uncertain future.”

Dai understood, though only in an abstract sense. For one such as he, becoming a part of the CCP's inner circle during his middle-years was par for the course. It was the reason for his youthful indiscretion. Now was a period of rare freedom: he could party, date beautiful women, go on adventures and act the young master. When the time came, he would be tied down by a political marriage, inherit a position within the Clan, then embroil himself into a life of realpolitik. His was a gilded cage - one he had long convinced himself happy to inhabit.

“Your father has a lot riding on you, Dai,” Gwen illustrated the point by stabbing a finger at his gut. The girl's vivid irises appeared to glow as she delivered her next words. “If you can pull this off -if you are of help to me. If you can hold the fort even after I’ve gone back to Sydney.”

Dai scratched his chin.

Gwen decided to push in another direction.

“Look, because I trust you so much, I'll be honest.” Gwen lowered her pitch. “We don’t need you.”

"What?!"

Dai turned to glare at Gwen menacingly.

"SHAAA!" Caliban snapped the space directly in front of Dai's nose.

"Cali! Be nice!"

"Shaa~."

Dai sat back down.

“But,” Gwen continued, amused by the boy and the man jousting for control within Dai’s head. “You know what? I think this is a test from your father. If you can’t even take care of a little business, how can you stand to inherit the Clan of Fung? For how many years does your father have to labour? How old does Patriarch Shen have to be, before he can rest? Wheres your filial piety, Dai? You Clanners fancy yourselves Confucian-scholars, don’t you?”

Dai's face grew tense.

“Don’t take my words for it. I am nobody important,” Gwen assured the young man. “This is your task to fuck up, Dai. I can't imagine how disappointed your father will be when you do.”

“I not going to fail!” Dai snapped. He couldn't believe he had wanted to date the girl. She's terrible! Domineering! Nothing like the soft-spoken southerner girls he preferred. He knew that she was unscrewing his head in ways he couldn’t discern and still he got caught. In a rare moment of passion, the truth escaped his lips. “If you don't want me beside you, just say so!”

Ah~, the glass ego of a spurned child, Gwen subtly rolled her eyes. A kid-dult.

“Prove me wrong.” She met his eyes, leaning closer. "Make this work."

Dai met her head on.

“So, can I trust you?” Her lips moved hypnotically.

“Of course!” Dai fought down baser instincts. Her face was too close, her breath so moist and warm. They weren't alone, but the others were asleep by now. Was she doing this on purpose? It's now or never!

Summoning supernatural courage, he leaned in, hoping that Gwen wouldn’t pull back in time and thus, share a quick kiss to seal the deal.

“Shaa!”

A mouthful of tasteless grey goo greeted him. Something slimy withdrew with a sucking sound. Caliban snapped shut its carapace, feeling bashful for having been kissed by someone other than Gwen, feeling like a virgin, touched for the very first time.

“I need to go.” Dai stood so fast he almost head-butted Gwen in the nose, sending Caliban tumbling from the couch. “Goodbye.”

“See you in Shanghai!”

The door slammed shut.

"Thanks for the save, Cali."

"Shaaa!"

"EEee?"

"No, Ariel, you could have triggered his Contingency Ring."

"EE!"

Gwen yawned. Below her, a vista of Nantong stretched out, revealing countless labourers working under the illumination of Daylight spells. Touching a hand to her Familiars, Gwen cautioned herself. Dealing with the Fungs was like wrestling with eels, one false move, and she'd have a slippery situation on her hands.

The next morning, after a buffet breakfast, Gwen and her Party arrived at the newly built Nantong ISTC station. The oval construct remained under construction, though for reasons of government business, a subsection had being made operational.

Two hundred odd HDMs later, the party arrived at the Shanghai ISTC interchange. A guard examined their papers, apologised to Dai for the delay, then escorted the group to the transit terminal. Dai then called for a minibus to taxi the party to Fudan.

Arriving after only two hours of travel from start to finish, Gwen thanked Dai for the Fung’s generosity.

“I’ll find a place to set up an office.” Dai looked around Gouding B1. “This place looks serviceable. Any vacancies?”

“You’ll have to speak to the real estate.” Gwen pointed to the agency whose shopfront, illuminated by a large VMR logo, was visible even from B1's lobby.

“I’ve got an apartment near The Bund, so I am only thirty minutes away,” Dai returned thoughtfully. “You’ve got my Message Glyph?”

“I do.” Gwen tapped her bracelet. “If you can’t find me, talk to Richard.”

“If I am out Questing, talk to Kusu.” Richard pointed to their erstwhile Clanner.

“Yep. I’ll be around,” Kusu answered awkwardly, annoyed that Richard always put him on the spot.

“Kusu is very reliable.” Gwen came to her companion's rescue. “You can trust him…”

Dai measured Kusu from head to toe, unimpressed. He knew Gwen had picked up two strays from Huashan, though that was the extent of it.

“Do I know you from somewhere? Kusu?”

“Lulan and I are ex-Sword Mages from Huashan,” Kusu confessed bashfully. “If you recall, we met during last year's gathering of the Clans.”

“Sorry,” the heir of Clan Fung dismissed Kusu. “I don’t… recall.”

“You remember my sister, right?” Kusu pointed to Lulan.

They looked at Lulan as she plucked out a flower from B1's garden.

“Nope.” Dai shrugged.

“She defeated a prodigy from your Clan! The Water Transmuter, what’s his name? Qianli?”

Dai’s gaze darted between Lulan and Kusu; recognition dawned.

“She's the blade-berserker?” Dai bemusedly studied the teenager with a baby face.

“…” Kusu recalled that indeed, his sister had carried that infamous moniker for many years.

“She’s… pretty cute.” Dai grinned contemplatively. "She's no longer insane?"

Noting their attention, Lulan looked up. Catching Dai’s handsome face, she gave him a heartwarming smile.

“Nope, nothing's changed. She’s a fucking psycho,” Kusu stated with solemnity. “When Lulan gets going, she’s a complete maniac. I should lock her up.”

“She seems fine to me?”

“She's an unsheathed blade,” Kusu assured their newest companion. “When Lulu's iron blood is up, she's indiscriminate. She'll cut you, no joke.”

Dai motioned for Gwen to join him.

“You’re friends with this lot?” He frowned. "Such disloyalty to his own family! How can you trust this man?"

Gwen had been watching the whole thing with captive interest.

“Don't be so quick to judge, Dai. Kusu’s a good bloke. He is loyal to his sister without being an idiot about it. He's level-headed and risk-aversive. We need someone like that around here."

“Whatever you say.” Dai grunted. “I’ll contact you once I have the office set up."

“You got it, champ.”

Her party breathed out a sigh of relief when Dai finally departed.

“What now?” Kusu was feeling rather self-satisfied, thanks to Gwen's praise.

“Tower Two?” Gwen pointed to the two buildings visible from B1. “Lulu's carrying about a hundred collectables in that Ring. You can leave the Cores with me; I’ll take em to Mayuree. When do you need the crystals.”

“We’re almost out,” Kusu confessed. “January rent is due soon, and there’s next Semester’s tuition, textbooks, training hall bookings, Cognisance sessions…”

Gwen patted Kusu on the shoulder. She gazed at the guileless Lulan, who wouldn’t have minded even if she had to live in a Portable Habitat, awakening each day to that maddening grey expanse.

"We're going now?" Lulan raised her head.

"Yep," Gwen replied, giving her first genuine smile since Dai joined them. "Let's collect some loot!"

Gwen requested an extra-spacious inspection room at the Fudan Tower to house the ill-gotten gains they had acquired in Nantong. Dubiously, she recalled that back in Sydney, their student-device could be used to log kills. If so, why was a tier 1 city using such primitive methods?

While they waited for the clerk, Petra elucidated that indeed, for a decade, the Tower did employ kill-counters via Magitech bracelets.

Unfortunately, a string of rotten-apple Enchanters resulted in the Tower reverting to the medieval method of having Appraisers sort through trophies manually to verify totals. It was an imperfect system, but it functioned without major incident.

The body-count took the better half of the day, tallying finally at a hundred and eighteen Water Monkeys, plus one Priest and one Chieftain. Gwen wasn't herself too exact on the number, but Richard seemed satisfied.

Additionally, against all expectation, Yuhua Fung came through with her promise, with Nantong signing over 400 HDMs and 50 CC.

Ultimately, the party left the Tower with 900 HDMs in currency chips and a total of 536 CCs, having received 30 CCs for the Chieftain, and 20 CCs for the Priest. With Gwen forfeiting the HDMs to her peers, each of the members thus received 180 HDMs and 89 CCs, with the extra going to Richard for arranging the trip.

The party then took the liberty of having lunch in a European style cafe under B1, with Gwen 'shouting' her friends afternoon tea.

Once settled, Gwen mentally reviewed her account, arriving at 290 CCs - more if enterprising Mages had since forked out for Morden’s modified spells.

“How about you, Richard?” Gwen was curious as to her cousin's progress. “How far along are you?”

“I am sitting on 450 or so,” Richard confessed. “You've given me a windfall, Gwen! Without your involvement, quests tend to be much more mundane, haha, and of course, far less rewarding.”

“Oh, you know me. I am a vortex for trouble,” Gwen joked self-depreciatively. “That’s a remarkable amount, Dick. You’ve been here barely a year, and you’re already a quarter of the way there! Ever thought to take a break? Don't burn yourself out.”

“I’ll rest when I hit 2000 CCs,” Richard lamented his pace. “You got more lucrative ventures lined up?”

“Potentially - I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Gwen promised, full of admiration for Richard's ceaseless work-ethic. Though she waxed no sentiment for Aunty Tali and was even less fond of Uncle Kwan, she knew their elevation was necessary for Richard's emancipation.

"Enough about me," Richard interrupted his cousin and companion. "How about you? You've got a shitload on your plate, but you keep stacking it."

"Richard's got a point," Petra agreed. "I take it you're going ahead with this 'consultation' for the Fungs?"

"And for the House of M." Gwen's reply surprised them all. "I’d imagine they’d be up to their necks in inquiries by now.”

“What about your training?” Kusu cut in, always the voice of moderation. “There’s not that much time until the IIUC. I would be begging for instructions and perfecting my spells, day and night.”

“I’ll manage.” Gwen smiled. “I can’t be training every waking hour. Taking breaks and switching it up will do me better than living like some hermit Sage."

“Don’t neglect your utility spells,” Petra warned her cousin. "But I suppose you're not wrong. From what I've heard, the IIUC selection isn't wholly combat focused, albeit the inability to fight your way through a scenario is itself disqualifying."

“I'll make sure I don't miss anything.” Gwen brushed a few lose strands from her face. Outside on the avenue, she noticed that the mulberry trees were already bare and skeletal. Out of the blue, she felt overwhelmed by a melancholic diaspora.

"What's wrong?" Petra noticed the sudden change in Gwen's demeanour.

“You know what I really miss? The Australian summer.”

“How so?” Petra was a winter girl; Shanghai's blanketing December snow always reminded her of simpler times in Moscow.

“Back home.” Gwen stretched out her body, wiggling against the soft fabric. “December’s the hottest month of the year. Blue sky, aqua seas, red earth, flaming galahs, olive blood gums and golden sand. You slap on some sun-screen, slip into a swimsuit, then loaf under an umbrella. When the Tasman Sea blows in at high-tide, all your fatigue just blows away.”

“That does sound wonderful.” The Petra of winter tried her best to imagine the Gwen of summer. "You know, I've never been to a beach like the one you described."

"Are there beaches here in Shanghai?"

"There are artificial ones for the well-to-do." Kusu pointed a finger toward the south-east. "To my knowledge, there's an artificial one in Jinshan that's open in the summer."

"Do you have a swimsuit, Petra?" Gwen wondered what style would suit their leggy cousin.

Petra shook her head.

"Lulu, you bought one last time, right?"

"I'll buy another one! I want one that's tied with strings!"

Kusu began to perspire; his swimming eyes begged Gwen to put an end to the topic. The last thing he needed was for Lulan to start swinging iron-blades at the beach, especially one made for the wealthy, indolent scions of the powerful.

"I guess I am in the same boat..." Gwen made a subtle pivot. "Something for the future then. I do miss the beach though."

"Did the two of you go the beach often?" Lulan inquired innocently, trying to vicariously experience a scene she'd only ever seen on idol Lumen-casts.

“Oh, all the time!” Richard chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. “Gwen would be lying down her beach towel, topless, and she'd look around for someone to rub creaming sunscreen into her back. The day’s hot as anything, so she’s pretty much drenched in sunlight, getting a tan. Then there’s the sand, it gets everywhere, you know, on your feet, the towels, on her butt cheeks, when you're putting in a good rub...”

Percy pulled a hood over his head, entering a world of monkish meditation.

“Richard, stop it!” Gwen punched her cousin.

“Oof!” Richard nursed his shoulders. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

“You deserved it,” she scolded him. "Don't listen to him, Lulu. We did no such thing. I was too young to hang out with him in Sydney. Think about it. I'd be fourteen at best."

“Kusu.” Richard slowly turned to Lulan’s eerily quiet brother, his eyes flashing. “Why’re are you sitting so awkwardly?”

“Mia! I AM BACK!"

Gwen Dimension Doored into Mayuree's penthouse, fancying herself Cosmo Kramer bursting in on Elaine and Jerry. After half a year of showing up uninvited for dinner, she was beginning to appreciate the genius of Seinfield's humour.

"Oh, Marong, when did you get back?”

She couldn't actually see Marong from the lobby, but she could smell him. Though Mayuree's penthouse had a double-storey ceiling, it wasn’t so spacious as to negate the stench of tobacco permeating the open living room.

Their eyes met.

Marong's eyes bulged.

Gwen immediately examined her attire to ensure there wasn't a wardrobe malfunction.

“CHI!”

To her bewilderment, Mayuree's half-brother leapt from the couch, kicked the sofa, flipped it over, then dove behind the L-shaped barricade.

"What the h-"

“Smoke Screen!”

“Wha-? Oh, God… erg… cough~! Cough!”

A blast of smog spread across the bottom floor, obscuring all sight. It was just as well that Marong had stripped out the smoke alarms, else the whole building would be screaming for evacuation.

“Who are you?!” Marong’s voice came through the smoke. “Reveal yourself, bastard!”

“It's me, Gwen! MIA! Where are- Cough! YOUR BROTHER has gone INSANE.”

A door banged open on the second level. Mayuree ran out in hastily donned pyjamas. Another door opened, Lei emerged from the pantry, coughing and gagging.

“Marong! What in the Goddess’ name are you doing?”

In the smokey murk, Gwen could make out Puff, the Smoke Mephit fading in and out of vision. Whatever the hell Marong thought he's doing, he was definitely on the defensive.

“MIA!” Marong warned his sister. “Stay back! The Tyrant has taken your friend’s form! I can smell her STINK from here!”

My stink?! Rude! She changed before teleporting over! Gwen’s anger barometer shot from white to red, especially exacerbated by Lei's distress. She’s had it about up to her neck with this impudent asshole. First, he reeks the place like a coal chimney, and now he's accusing her of being a stinking tyrant while choking her favourite cook! If anything, Gwen suspected, Marong may have been vaping the wrong pipe.

“Ariel!” Gwen called on her Familiar. A little Dragon-fear should inject some senses back into Marong's head.

"EEE!" Ariel cleaved through the smoke, blasting apart the obscuring miasma.

"KAAA!" Puff the Mephit shat acrid smoke all over the floor.

“Gwen, NO!” Mayuree came between them, leaping from the interior balcony, landing via Feather Fall.

“Mia! Get out of the way!” the both of them shouted.

“STOP IT!” Mayuree screeched, the pitch of her voice vibrating the windows. "Both of you! Dismiss your Familiars! NOW! Else I am going to be mad!"

The smoke faded, albeit grudgingly.

“What are you?” Marong stood to one side, clothed in smoke and ash, no more than a silhouette of a man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Gwen snapped, her expression thunderbolt and lightning and very, very frightening.

Mayuree stood in the middle; a poor girl caught between the two.

“Why do you have the stench of a Dragon-kin?” Marong demanded of Gwen.

Gwen had half a mind to blast Marong with a bolt of Barbanginy.

“None of your business.” Gwen eased her combative stance. “I am here to see Mayuree.”

“Not anymore, you're not.”

“Marong!” Much to her brother’s ire, Mayuree sauntered toward Gwen, then reached over and hugged Gwen about the waist. “There! See? She’s perfectly safe.”

Gwen could see a vein throbbing on either side of Marong's temple. His accusatory eyes charged her with subverting his obedient sister with her unruly western upbringing.

It took a while longer for Puff to collate the smoke and the building's ventilation to clear the air.

“… and that’s why I’ve got Dragon Essence,” Gwen finished her explanation in as few words as possible. According to her censored narrative, she and her uncle battled Draconic beings in Huangshan, after which ‘redacted’ happened, and now she's in possession of a tidbit of Draconic-essence.

“That makes no sense.” Marong blustered. "You acquired Draconic-Essence after eating too much?"

“And took down a Thunder Wyvern to boot,” Gwen refuted Marong’s freedom of information request. “If you weren't Mia's brother, I wouldn't even bother explaining, much less tell you a cool story."

"Not only that, Gwen’s been advising us on a new tier-based membership program for the Auction House,” Mayuree interjected proudly. “The elders are very impressed.”

Marong appeared lost for words.

"But enough about me," Gwen steered the conversation away from herself. "How's the old country?”

"You told her about Myăma?" Marong growled at his half-sister.

"Master Maymaruya did."

“That old coot.” The Smoke Mage knitted his brows.

"Well, how's progress recovering your city?" Gwen asked. "If you must know, I promised Mia that if I ever become a Tower Master, I'd teleport it over and lend you a hand."

Marong stole a glance at Mayuree, who nodded imperceptibly.

The girl's arrogance knew no bounds!

“Yangon... is not looking good.” Marong exhaled, ejecting two jet streams of Marlborough Red. Within the smoke, Gwen could spot an anorexic humanoid figure with wings flitting about, keeping the smoke contained. “We’ve got rebels stirring up trouble in the south and east of the country. Construction projects disrupted, shipments delayed, assassinations in broad daylight, the whole Bristle-back Hog.”

“Jeez Louise.” Gwen touched a finger to her collarbone. “Sounds like you've got a civil war brewing down there.”

“War, yes. Civil War, no - nothing of the sort,” Marong refuted Gwen’s conjecture. “We’re the only functioning government. Our enemies are brazen, but not organised. They have no goal beyond personal profit. They're bandits, brigands and thieves. Mayuree told you our war-torn land lacks the presence of a Tower, yes?”

“Yeah…”

“No Tower,” Marong growled. “Means no CCs, no Rule of Law. Rogue Mages do as they please. They rape and pillage their own kind and harass Demi-human settlements. Outside of Yangon, where we have our intern government, it’s the Wildlands."

“That's terrible!” Gwen grimaced.

During her University days, she had visited neighbouring Cambodia. There, she saw the atrocities of the Killing Fields first hand, and through swarms of beggar children, experienced the ramifications of war for the young and the destitute.

“We’re doing our best, but Yangon is a crystal sink without a bottom,” Marong lamented. "If it wasn't for the jade, I say we burn the damn thing and leave it to the Tyrant."

"Don't let grandmother hear you say that," Mayuree warned her brother.

Marong sullenly glanced about the apartment, making sure an angry old Matriarch wouldn't leap from the shadows. That the gruff Smoke Mage could be so skittish relieved the horror she felt for his unfortunate country.

“I need a drink.” Marong exhaled. "Lei!"

‘Click.’

Lei emerged from her pantry, having changed to a new maid outfit.

“Good evening, Miss Song - Master Marong, what would you like?”

The fact that a lady as sweet as Lei lived in the fucking pantry brought a stiffness to Gwen’s jaws every time. It was like some sick, servile magic, one that never lost its horrid charm. What further boggled Gwen’s mind was that when she asked Lei about potential emancipation, the maid grew terrified, insisting that she genuinely possessed the best job in the world.

“Whiskey on stone, leave the bottle - how about you?” Marong indicated to Gwen.

“Sparkling water, thanks, Lei.”

“I want fresh coconut juice,” Mayuree joined in. “Thanks."

Lei went about retrieving their drinks, additionally putting together a lovely little fruit platter. The trio sipped their drinks as Gwen snacked on logans and lychees.

“I've got a question." Gwen raised her hand. “How does the Tyrant feature into all of this? Does it fund the brigands or something?”

Marong swished the expensive-looking whiskey in his mouth before swallowing.

“Not directly. It keeps us penned up in Yangon,” the Smoke Mage explained. “As a result of its presence, we can’t project force outside of the capital and put an end to the raids on our mines in Tawmao and Khansee. Our convoys as well, are a constant target. After robbing us, the scoundrels portion a part of their loot for the Tyrant, who takes great delight in our suffering.”

Listening to Marong's frustration, she wondered if there was meaningful advice she could give. Her old world was no stranger to insurrection. As with Afghanistan, with Iraq, with DR Congo, it was impossible for a country to heal without at least a decade of centralised power. In this world where monsters lurked, peaceful reconstruction was doubly painful when there was a dragon to stab one in the back.

Killing the Dragon was only the beginning.

First would come a great Purge of the land.

Then the rebuilding.

Then the inevitable corruption.

Then a gradual balance of power.

If a country could survive that, and if it could ward off foreign interference, then it could finally thrive.

Across the coffee table, Mayuree’s brother extinguished a cigarette against his palm, then stowed the stub in his ring.

“I am going to sleep. Got an early meeting tomorrow."

"G'nite Marong." Gwen waved him off. She waited until the Smoke Mage was out of sight and earshot before excitedly waggling her brows at Mayuree.

“I’ve got another shipment of Cores!”

“M-more Draconic-Cores?!” Mayuree hesitated. “You're insane! The Yinglong has only so many children! It's going to skin you alive at this rate.”

Thankfully, Gwen materialised a Water Monkey’s Core.

“What do you think about this?”

"Not Draconic, thank the Goddess." Mayuree took the Core from Gwen’s fingers.

"Identify!"

Her pupils glowed with a pale cast of Divination, scanning the element-stone with her diagnostic magic.

“A little cloudy.” Mayuree chewed her lips. “Well-preserved, negligible fracturing... hmm, impurities present throughout the inner stratum. How many do you have?”

“Like this? About twenty odd. And forty other lesser specimens.”

“The House of M can offer about a hundred HDMs for the larger ones, assuming a 20% margin for us. They’ll make decent trinkets like Ring of Water Breathing and Water Walking, Everflowing Decanters as well as low-tier Affinity Boosters. As for the others, we can bundle them into bulk-sales.”

“Sounds good to me.” Gwen let loose a small pile of the mishappened Cores on the coffee table, which Mayuree promptly collected. Raw Creature Cores came in all shapes and sizes, unlike the polished products one saw at auctions.

“To confirm, 65 ungraded Cores, Water-affinity, correct?”

“Yep. Then there’s also this.” Gwen materialised the necklace they had looted from the Water Priest. “Any idea if it’s worth anything?”

“Woa - lavish!” Mayuree hefted the heavy chain of some seven Water Ghost-orbs. “Who made this?”

“A Water Ghost,” Gwen briefly explained the Priest they had encountered.

“A Demi-human?”

“Is that bad?” Gwen queried out of curiosity. "Are they getting too smart for their own good?"

Mayuree scanned the heavy ornament with her Divination-vision.

“I’ll have to take it to Master Maymaruya,” the Diviner confessed. “It looks like an affinity-booster to me, though I’ve never seen them daisy-chained like this before.”

“Let’s hope it’s worth something.” Gwen toyed with the orbs, running her fingers over the smooth, misshapen spheres. “You’ll be surprised how desperate Kusu, Lulan and Richard are for crystals.”

“Your latest haul should keep them going for a while.” Mayuree crunched some numbers in her head. “I’d say you’re looking at 3000 HDMs. That’s about the annual upkeep of an upper tier Tower Magus.”

Split five ways between Richard, the siblings, Petra and Percy, Gwen made a quick calculation in her head. It would be more than enough to cover the Spring semester’s expenses.

“Could I get that as an advance? You can charge me the difference.”

“Sure, I've got the currency cards in the safe. Once sales are complete, you can review your accounts and make up the difference.”

“Thanks, Mia,” Gwen relaxed. “How's interest on our Dragonic Cores?"

"A little intense, but that's not a bad thing. We're thinking of saving the bulk for the Chinese New Year rush at the end of January. After our own plans, we're saving the rest for an invite-only event."

"Sounds good. Say, do you know a Dai Fung?”

“The Nantong princeling?” Mayuree raised a curious brow, recalling the very first time Gwen had stepped into the House of M. “He's a customer. Why? Is he bothering you?”

“Not exactly.” Gwen ruminated on how to best present her case without infringing on her commitment to corporate confidentiality. “Over the weekend, I’ve had an opportunity to speak to the Patriarch Shen Fung, a Vice-Chair by the name of Tu Guangshao, and a Jiantiao Magister called Chen Quin. We’re in business now, with me in the position of their financial advisor for the running of Nantong Port.”

Mayuree's expression was one of incomprehension.

“What do you mean? Like what you’re doing for us?”

“Not exactly,” Gwen explained. “I can’t give you the details, but let’s say I’ll have significant sway in the future success of Tonglv Canal. To that end, I was wondering if your Clan could benefit from having a safe and profitable port of entry on the east coast.”

Mayuree made an ‘O’ with her lips.

“That’s incredible!”

“Well,” Gwen articulated haughtily. “It is impressive, I’ll confess to that.”

“We usually route things through the Guangzhou Frontier,” Mayuree confessed. “Shanghai’s tariffs and inspection is way too stringent. Too many people with too many fingers in the rice pot.”

“There’s no rush. The port won’t be accessible until Tonglv is operational,” Gwen explained. “Just thought I’d let you in on some of that insider-information. I would highly advise changing routes to save on costs as soon as possible, and stock up on construction materials, utility Golems, raw materials. When the first stage expansion kicks off, there's going to be a market spike for sure."

“Thanks, Gwen.” Mayuree grinned, revealing pearly white teeth. “I'll pass on your advice to the House. Another thing, Master Maymaruya’s been asking for you as well. He’s unsure about your 'vertical integration' of merchant-provider services.”

“Too easy.” Gwen battered a hand at her companion. “Get him to Message me directly, or if he can wait, I should have a consultation office up and running in the next week or so. I've got a few lackeys running the show for me here in Shanghai. Guess who’s one of them? The one and only Dai Fung.”

“You’re going to have an office of your own?” Mayuree’s mouth again formed an ‘O’ of astonishment. “And the princeling of Nantong is building it for you?”

“I’ll be splitting my time between there and my training,” Gwen replied smugly. “I figured it’s time I took an interest beyond the IIUC. It’ll only be between now and February anyway. After that, the semester will start and my time will be constrained further.”

"You're amazing... I need my sleep..." Mayuree's semester schedule consisted mostly of sleep, sleeping through classes, and dozing through House meetings.

Gwen chuckled at the baulking Diviner. Business, study and self-improvement - she had managed tighter schedules. With her Almuldj’s Essence and her Lightning-induced insomnia, she might even have a few hours to spare.

Gwen never thought there'd be a day she'd yearn for MS Office.

For the fourth time, she threw the data slate onto the bed, then picked it back up with a sigh.

The bloody things were useful only in the sense that they were better than paper. Other than that, they possessed no inter-connectivity outside of some arcane data-storage system used by the Tower, managed by lodging the slate with an Administrative official. Gwen paid for an account, though the fact that her data-bank was inaccessible from home and served only as a redundancy irked her to no end.

Was it possible to introduce complex word-processing to this world?

She would even accept the possibility of an annoying Familiar called Clippy.

But Gwen knew she was daydreaming.

For all its supposed wonder, the data-slate was a handheld projector. Beneath the papyrus 'screen', a crystal core recorded whatever was transcribed by the user. Other than that, the slate responded only to 'record' 'show' and 'next-page' commands. After tinkering with the device for some time, she realised there were no wires, no electronics, nothing to manipulate but inscribed scripts stowed within the Core.

Dislodging the Core from its resin inlay ensured it died a permanent death, losing all of its intellectual cargo. Not that it mattered. Without a decade of study, she couldn’t discern the algorithms used in the crystal.

Gwen pinched her brows.

With a word, she could summon a lamprey from the netherworld beyond space and time to consume her enemies. In Nantong, Japanese-made automata lifted ten-ton slabs. Via an ISTC, she could Teleport from Shanghai to Australia in a matter of minutes.

But copy-pasting a fucking 7-day schedule was beyond her ken.

The next day, Gwen met up with the others and gave them their advance.

Kusu and Lulan thanked her profusely, rushing away to fatten their savings account.

Percy conveniently came to ‘hang out’ with his beloved sister, though Gwen knew her brother was keen to get his hands on some ‘spending money’ to impress his mates at his elite high school. When Percy exhibited a sudden urge to 'train at home', she instructed him to buy something nice for Guo and their babulya with his first ‘paycheck’.

“If you spend it all on yourself, I am never taking you out again,” Gwen warned him, wagging an authoritative finger.

Percy nodded obediently before bolting off, faster than a Bottlebrush Bilby.

“Little rascal.” Gwen snorted, dropping a stack of currency cards in Richard's palm. “Here ya go, Dick, enjoy.”

Richard stowed his cut.

“I am thinking of buying a house,” her cousin declared.

“You’ve made that much?” Gwen raised both brows in surprise.

“I’ve got a few thousand that I’ve saved up from Quests and bounties. I’ve got the share you gave me from District 109, and I’ve received our bounty just now,” Richard recounted his finances. “I can buy something an hour away from the CBD, no problems.”

“Are you moving out?”

Richard shook his head.

“Our rent is absurdly cheap; you know that, right?”

Subsidised by Mayuree, Gwen affirmed ashamedly. She hoped that whatever benefit the House of M would gain from her ideas would make up for the Eland Core, the offset rent, and the copious amounts of free dinners she was mooching off the Diviner.

“Thinking of renting out your new purchase?”

“Nah.” Richard appeared unmoved by her suggestion. “I am saving it for my folks.”

A torrent of advice hammered at Gwen’s throat; buying property and letting it idle was amongst the direst of fiscal blunders.

“That’s wonderful,” she tested the waters. “But, wouldn't it be more reasonable to buy, then lease?”

“What, like Kwan?” Richard scoffed disapprovingly. It was rare to see Richard displeased, though any conversation regarding Richard's father and their family's money was bound to get the man scowling.

To Gwen's knowledge, her crystal-obsessed uncle had built a small fortune on real estate, buying up ramshackle houses, repairing them, then selling them for profit. From Richard's grievances, Gwen learned that Kwan utilised an unscrupulous model, developing housing for low-rent Mages by demolishing areas close to the city inhabited by NoMs. His business partners happened to be councilmen, inspectors and certifiers, people he invariably bribed. The very same people he'd offer Gwen up as a bargaining chip.

Of course, karma came in like a Leviathan.

“Well, not exactly like Uncle Kwan.” Gwen proceeded prudently. She had once queried Richard why he was so keen on immigrating his parents when he had so little regard for his father. His response was one that struck close to her heart.

“Whatever my opinions of Kwan may be,” Richard cooly intoned. “They gave birth to me, raised me, put me in Prince’s, gave me the best education Sydney offered - and I am thankful for it. Realising their life-long dream of living comfortably in a tier 1 city is how I can pay them back."

A man of principle! Gwen applauded. Whatever Richard's faults, his capacity to carrying out his goals with single-minded devotion was in her opinion, a rare bird in any neck of the woods.

“That may be, I could show you how to invest the money,” Gwen offered. "Something safe and steady, or you can piggyback on my ventures."

“Yeah-Nah.” Richard shook his head. “Once my parents settle in, I’ll be finally pushing ahead with my spellcraft. I’ve got a lot to catch up if I want to keep Shielding you.”

“OH?” Gwen cooed. “You’re my knight in shining armour, are you?”

“And you’re my crystal-purse," Richard laughed. "I hope you won't leave me destitute."

Gwen broke into a self-depreciative chortle.

“Well, when my cockatrices come home to roost,” she solemnly promised her cousin. “I want everyone on board. It'll be like a Co-Op, I'll make a 'Trust' for the people I trust.”

“I'll invest my trust in your Gwen-Trust?”

“God.” She cackled. “Really, Richard? You're too young to be a Dad.”

Rather than laughing with his cousin, Richard tapped her shoulder with a fist-bump.

“Thanks, Cous.”

“Hey!” she returned the favour by thumping his chest with the flat of her palm. “Stick with me, Dick, and you’ll never know want for crystals!”

Gwen found Petra in her lab atop the Heilong Building.

“Thanks.” Petra waved a hand over the currency cards. “That’ll tide me over for a while.”

“Are you often short on crystals?” Gwen enquired. “Is your stipend from the university insufficient?”

“A little, just personal projects and the like,” Petra shrugged. “Nothing urgent.”

“Any Magi-tech?”

“Not my field.” Petra declined her enquiry. “Magi-tech is a hyper-specialised School of Enchantment, integrating concomitant energies from other Schools. We have an entry-level course on it in Fudan, but to truly learn it, you have to go on exchange to Japan, the United States, or Europe, though European Magi-tech stems from the Demi-humans.”

“Arrgh!” Gwen flexed her wrist, reeling from report-writing carpal tunnel. “Woe is me!”

“Maybe ask a Diviner-technician?” Petra pointed to the soaring spires of Fudan’s Guanghua Towers. “You can ask around or if you’re desperate, why not put some of your CCs to good use. That’s what they’re for, you know.”

HOLY SHIT! Gwen blinked. Petra’s right! Her prettier-than-thou cousin was absolutely right! Gwen had forgotten entirely about the whole point of CCs! All she had to do was put out a request, attach a CC and HDM reward, and wait for results at the door! Eureka!

“Thanks, Pats!” She gave Petra a quick hug. “Laters!”

“So, what do you think?”

Dai patrolled the breadth and depth of the hollowed out suite.

He had found her a place in less than forty-eight hours. The suite overlooking the corner of Handan and Gouding road was in an older building with a sandstone facade, once a colonial townhouse. Forty-eight hours ago, it had belonged to a researcher. Right now, it awaited its new tenant.

“Perfect,” the girl appraised him with inspiriting approval. “Well done, Dai.”

“Don’t patronise me.” Dai lifted his chin, wary of Gwen’s encouragement. “Who do you think I am; this is the least I can do.”

“Should I ask what happened to the previous tenant?” Gwen tilted her head, allowing her hair to cascade.

“He left.” Dai shook his shoulders. What did it matter? “I was told he had a family emergency.”

“Of course he did.” Gwen put on an apprehensive expression of disapproval that made Dai scowl. “Look, it’ll do. It’s close, it’s roomy, and it’s quiet. That ticks all my boxes. Who do I see to decorate the place?”

“You’re renovating yourself?”

“Of course, it’s my office. I'd hate to work in someone else's workspace. I’ll need a secretary as well, someone who takes care of visitors and paperwork while I am away. Know any good Personal Assistants?”

Dai tapped his chin.

"You mean like a secretary? Sure.”

"Good knowledge of accounting is essential," the girl was quick to complicate matters as usual. "Don't get me a pretty vase or some arrogant lout looking to make a quick buck. I need people to work, not to give me lip."

Dai furrowed his brows.

His counterpart rolled her eyes, ignored his irritation, then paced back and forth, measuring the space with her stride, envisioning where she would place her desk, where her assistants would sit. Dai studied her unassuming yoga pants with renewed respect.

“We’ll need to add a bathroom. I’ll need to shower and change every other time I am here."

“I can ask them to send a team from Nantong. Might take a week though,” he replied uncertainly.

"Don't worry about it then." The girl shrugged. “I’ll ask the Wangs."

Dai's expression replied 'oh yeah'.

He had neglected Gwen's relation to Wang Enterprises.

Of the siblings, Dai thought about Mina now and then, though never as Gwen's cousin. As for Tao, the idiot never entered the orbit of his thoughts.

Still, if she could have gotten one of the largest developers in Shanghai to find her a commercial property, why in Mao's name was she getting him to run around town looking for spaces? Didn't she know how much of a hassle it was to get the City Guards to threaten the previous tenant? In the end, he had to ask the District Secretary to put in his two cents before the stubborn idiot fled. Was all of this a part of her game? Was she perhaps, the hunter and he was the prey?

"Say..." Gwen continued.

She had this habit of glancing down before looking up, Dai noticed. It was highly distracting because the girl made bedroom eyes everytime she spoke about business or crystals.

"... Dai, do you still talk to Mina?”

Dai flushed, recalling the first time they'd met. For some reason, simultaneously smitten and a little drunk, he'd been overwhelmed by a sadistic desire.

“Not since last time.”

“Why did you guys break up anyhow?” the girl persisted, her face full of curiosity. “If you don’t mind my prying of course. You don’t have to answer.”

“Our parents don’t see eye-to-eye,” Dai replied candidly. “The Wang heir is a squib, and I would be a threat to his fortune.”

“Hey!” Gwen's tone was suddenly sharp and uninviting. “Don’t say that about Peaches. He’s a perfectly fine young man.”

“He’s a sha-bi.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Dai felt better. He had finally said something which triggered her. “Can you imagine that ‘thug’ running the Wang empire? Give the walking failure a few years, and Mina’s fortune might be all that’s left, give or take a decade.”

Dai was right of course, but the girl appeared reluctant to concede. She didn't think she could reverse the Wang's downward spiral, did she? The little minx had enough on her plate as it was.

"Hmmph!"

Gwen glared at him, a judgmental hand placed over a hip, drawing Dai’s eyes over her slim curves. For some reason, Dai felt strangely titillated by the girl's displeasure. Nervously, he licked his cracked lips.

"So... why did you and Mina break up?"

Ah, a diversion! Dai patted himself on the shoulder for winning this round. Who'd thought all it took to stump the girl was a fruit.

“We weren’t dating in the conventional sense.” Dai allowed the girl her pivot. “Mina is one of the most desirable bachelorettes, and I am, of course, No.1 bachelor in Shanghai’s social circles. We met at a party, tongues got wagging, and we’d thought we give it a try.”

“That’s so sad.” Gwen shook her head. “You’re not even attracted to her?”

Dai grinned at Gwen.

“No, though I am attracted to you.”

"Oh?" Gwen paused to regard him.

Dai blinked. Was this a break in the levy? With her hair tied into a thick ponytail, there was a sense of youthful vitality about the girl, making her infinitely alluring. Likewise, Gwen's lightly made-up face cast her in a different light to the two times he had seen her at parties, all dolled up.

Gwen placed a hand across the arch of her hip.

"What about me do you find attractive?" She cocked her head, her vivid irises sparkling like opals.

"Everything. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," Dai confessed shamelessly, no, proudly!

Gwen ran a finger along her bosom until her digit pointed at her head.

"Shallow! I take it you have no interest in what's in here? Is that how you're going to answer your father's expectations? I'd thought you a man with depth, but hey, even I could be wrong."

She's pretty even when she's upset! Dai marvelled, swallowing nervously. He adjusted his trousers unconsciously.

"No, no, no!" the young man interjected, realising his faux pas. "I love your keen intelligence. I am most definitely attracted to what's in that head of yours. So many ideas! With my wealth and your head, think what we can achieve!"

"Bullshit!" the girl scoffed, giving him a critical glare. A commanding presence radiated from her body. "If what you said was true the first time, at least I could accept it as a compliment. But to change your tune so callously? I am disappointed, Dai."

"..." Dai stared at Gwen open-mouthed. At the very least, he had expected himself to call her a manipulative biaozi! Instead, listening to her spitting insults and being subjected to her deriding glare, Dai felt a strange, fearful thrill. They said that love was better than hate, and hate was better than apathy. Doesn't that mean he's halfway there?! Mao! She sure looked pretty in her peevishness!

“Let's talk it over dinner.” Dai pointed at the next street over. “I heard there’s a family restaurant there that does authentic Beggar’s Chicken.”

At the mention of supper, the girl relented. She had been training, and Dai was aware of her increased metabolism. His cousin, Lu Fung, the Master of the Lightning Hawk Wanli, also snacked incessantly.

“Fine.” The girl regarded him suspiciously. “You're shouting.”

“Woman, are you human?!” Dai shouted.

Her dinner companion sat open-mouthed as Gwen polished off the chicken single-handedly.

“What, order one yourself if you want.” Gwen sucked on her fingers. “The stuffing inside is to die for.”

As usual, the shop's patrons had gathered to watch Gwen eat, though this time, they were treated to a different spectacle.

“Is that Dai Fung?” someone whispered in the corner.

“It is!” another voice answered.

“To think the son of the Commissioner would be together with the Worm Handler!”

“Mao, I am so jealous.” A third woman bit into her chicken, tasting only envy.

“I know, right!” another female voice joined in. “Mr Fung is Shanghai's No.1 Bachelor! What a waste, like a jade flower, shoved into worm dung!”

Gwen watched as Dai turned to her with a shit-eating grin split from ear to ear, wiggling his brows at her.

“Go and pay.” She wiped her mouth annoyedly with a paper napkin. “You waiting for dessert or something? Supper's over, go home!”

“So, what kind of worms are you apt at handling?”

Gwen's deathly glare was enough to synergise an audible ‘Shaa!’ inside Dai’s head.

"Good night!"

As she stepped out the door, she stole a glance at Dai. Just then, she had combined both a mote of her Void mana and her Almudj's Essence, though, from the looks of it, Dai seemed to have grown tolerant to her use of Dragon-fear. Perhaps she should up the dosage?

Shit, Gwen thought to herself. Did she push him too far? She better not have accidentally awakened something in the prick.

“Within the week would be good,” Gwen spoke amiably into the Message spell. “I’ll be there first thing. I'll bring prints and sketches for your Foreman.”

Her correspondent was none other than Patriarch Wang himself.

“Tao will meet you there. I've instructed him to oversee the project personally.” Patriarch Wang’s voice came across almost like a bark. Gwen could envision Tao cowering in the corner, mumbling incoherently, attired in Adidas trackies.

“That would be fabulous!” Gwen thanked the Patriarch. “I want to consult Tao on the School of Illusion as well. I intended to pick up a few basic spells but can’t seem to get the nuance of it.”

“You hear that, Tao? Listen to how humble Gwen is, even though she can thrash you with a little finger! And she's four years your junior!”

The Patriarch must have left the Message on a public setting, Gwen realised. Poor Tao. From the sounds of it, he was already on the receiving end of a lecture when Gwen called through.

“Uncle, please be gentle on Tao, his talent as a musician is nothing to scoff at,” Gwen pleaded. “He’ll do a great job, I am sure.”

“You better not screw this up, else no more of your idiotic American fad!"

"Not true! Mah music is culture, with a K~, Daw-d-Dad!"

"You little shit! How many times have I told you..." The Patriarch began his lecture anew.

Gwen whispered a prayer for Tao.

“Thanks so much, Mr Wang,” Gwen shouted into the Message, then closed the link.

She invoked the glyph for Dai.

“Dai? Yeah, it’s me. I found someone…”

The next day, Gwen awoke after four hours of sleep. She dressed in her sporting garb, made herself a triple-decked SPAM-cheese sandwich, then caffeinated herself with Almudj’s Essence.

Outside, winter was beginning to invade the November autumn, dropping the morning temperature to single digits.

At 6 AM, she left for a morning jog around the campus, followed by an invisible Ariel and a full-sized Caliban. There was no point hiding her worm, for Caliban had by now become a staple feature of Gouding Road.

Occasionally, stall owners fed the Mongolian Death Worm dumplings and buns, marvelling as Caliban's tentacles snatched the food out of thin air. At first, Gwen was apprehensive, though she relented after consultation with Chen. The old soldier advised keeping a tight leash on her beast, but otherwise allowing it to socialise on its own.

After a ten-kilometre campus circuit, Gwen stopped for a milk tea, then began her Spellcraft practice. Swiping into the room reserved for her by Dean Luo, she ran through her pre-planned routine, exercising each School of Magic she possessed before prioritising high-tier Evocation and Conjuration.

At 10 AM, she found Tao and a crew of gruff workmen, unhappily awaiting her arrival.

“Sorry!” Gwen apologised, bowing deeply.

She had told Tao 10 AM, but the fear put into Tao by his father ensured that he had arrived just after 8 AM. Additionally, Gwen seldom paid attention to her Message device during training, meaning Tao and his crew had waited in the cold.

Seeing the sight of a lovely girl bowing and apologising with such sincerity, however, was enough to turn the men's upset to discomfort.

“Alright, alright.” The Foreman forgave her tardiness. “Let's see this office of yours; Master Wang said you got prints drafted up?”

The group arrived at level 3, suite 3001, where Gwen had her suite. She produced a blueprint sketch of the renovation she had in mind, drew in chalk on the floor where and what she wanted the installations, and furthermore outlined every detail from vanities, tiles, to the placement of plants and other decorative accessories.

"You got furniture?"

As for decor, Gwen already had specific ones in mind, having seen the designs she desired when she had outfitted her and Petra’s apartment.

“Ooo, this is not going to be cheap.” the Foreman scratched his head guiltily. "Just that feature wall's going to cost extra."

“Money ain't a thang, thug!” Tao volunteered, conscious that his father had instructed him to do a good job. “We're loaded, bitch.”

Bloody oath Peaches, this is why you’re going to lose your father’s fortune, Gwen grimaced, noting a similar expression on the Foreman's face.

“Budget’s not a problem,” Gwen imparted. “Thanks, Peaches, I appreciate your kindness, but I won’t need your generosity on this one. The quote's fine, Foreman Du. I can pay you up front for the materials if you're not sure.”

The Foreman rubbed his hands together.

“You're the boss! Let’s get to work!”

After making the necessary calls for the plasters, the carpenters, the floor installer, the civil-Enchanters, he informed Gwen that the outfitting would take just under one week.

"Look, can you do something about that?"

Tao had been instructed by the Patriarch Wang to stay on site and 'learn', though the Foreman made it clear to Gwen that his personal preference was for the princeling to be out of sight. After watching Tao 'at work', Gwen admitted the Foreman had a point. It wasn’t that Tao was a bad technical supervisor, it was that his informative criticism came in the form of ‘that’s the wrong shade, bitch,’ and ‘use the guides, motherfucker.’ Not surprisingly, the workers wanted to sock him in the gonads with a plaster trowel.

Caught in the middle, Gwen promised to occupy as much of Tao’s time as possible, though the young man had to return to the site each evening to inspect the scope of work.

Gwen patted Tao on the shoulder sympathetically.

“Come on, buddy. There are some questions I wanted to ask you about Illusion. Do you think Mina is free for lunch? Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Minor Image!”

Gwen watched her magically projected ‘cube’ float across the vaulted ceiling.

After a light breakfast with Tao, the two arrived at Fudan’s campus, where Gwen logged herself and Tao as a guest into the training room.

“Dawg, yo cruising on tier 2 already?!” He baulked at her progress. Gwen decided it was best not to inform Tao that beyond the Minor Image he just taught her; she knew a total of one Illusion Cantrip and three Tier 1 Illusion charms.

Her principle enquiry was how to construct vector-based projections so she could create tables, lettering, numbers and charts for her future presentations.

“Dawg, you gotta understand spells are dumb bitches,” Tao informed her in a jargonist manner. “You gotta make 'em work for ya, dig? Take this bad boy for example.”

"Major Image!"

Tao projected an image of his pal ‘Little-Dog’ for Gwen’s perusal. The semi-opaque holography gave Gwen flashbacks of a Gorillaz concert.

“I ma doing it slowly for yo eyes ta see.”

“Minor Image!”

“Minor Image!”

“Minor Image!”

The first Image was an ambient background. The second Image was an impressive pictogram graffiti which Gwen's Ioun Stone couldn't read. The third was a florid script of ‘Little-Dog’ written in Chinese, embossed in 3-D, hovering above the visage of Tao’s friend.

“How’s dat?”

“Wow, that looks incredible.” Gwen walked around the Illusion, inspecting the optic visage. Was it a projection of the mind? She wondered, then realised Illusions couldn't be mass-hallucinations. It made more sense that these were mana-particles bending light in such a way that they constructed images, much like a laser-projected hologram.

“How do you add sound?”

“Mo' Illusion spells, dawg.”

Tao incanted a quick ‘Magic Mouth’.

“Yo! Yo! Yo! Little-Dog in the house!” The Illusory pup made a gangster sign.

“Wait-a-second.” Gwen realised something. “You’re telling me you are simultaneously running five persistent-effects?”

“For shows, I gotta run ten-ta-twelve,” Tao boasted. “The hard shit's when ya gotta pimp out sick rhymes at the same time.”

“WHAT!” Gwen cocked her head, looking Toa up and down in the same manner that so many of her seniors had regarded Gwen. “What about spell fatigue?”

“Yo get used to da headaches,” Tao explained. “Jus booze up beforehand and go with the flow.”

Hold on to your hip-hoppity horses! Gwen stared at Tao as though seeing him for the first time.

“Peaches, you’re telling me that during your shows that we’ve attended, you’re operating ten persistent spells, while rapping, while pissed as a koala on fermented gum-leaves?”

“Don’t know about koalas.” Tao tried to imagine it. “That a kind of dog, dawg?”

“It’s a deadly fauna from Australia,” Gwen explained. “They eat a lot of eucalypti, and the leaves ferment in their stomach after a while, so they’re constantly drunk. After that, they fall on you. Hence they're called Drop Bears.”

“Mah spirit-animal!” Tao declared.

Gwen took another gander at Tao.

Could Peaches actually be an idiot-savant?

“Can Little-Dog and Mack-Daddy do the same?” Gwen enquired, desiring to satiate her curiosity.

“They can manage three or four. That’s why most MC’s run with a crew.” Tao nonchalantly answered. "Cuz of my old man, I was forced to play with mah self."

The vision of Tao playing with himself made her throw up a little. Still, Tao’s strange obsession with the ‘arts’ was itself an immense pressure placed on him by his father. It was no different to the burden Helena had put on her to stay thin and attractive.

“So,” Gwen continued. “If I wanted to create, say a song, using Magic Mouth or Auditory Hallucination, how would I go about it?”

“Yo gotta layer it, like I said.” Tao stooped as he spoke, throwing a few gang signs here and there. "Check this out..."

She listened to Tao's ‘track’ as he bobbed and weaved.

Illusionary music, Gwen realised, was Electroacoustic-Synth achieved via magic!

No wonder she couldn’t reproduce anything other than cat-like howling.

Even for the most uncomplicated music, she had to separate each ‘track’ into different spells, loop her ‘samples’, then activate them together in sync before ‘mastering’ the product via a recording device. In essence, Illusionist-musicians were sound engineers and 'Samplers'! .”

Holy Shit, Gwen’s respect for Tao entered a new stratum. Did Tao’s father know about this?

But then again, Gwen realised despondently. It wasn’t as though an enterprise could be inherited via hip-hop. What Patriarch Wang wanted, Gwen supposed - wasn't ill-rhymes, but someone more akin to Dai: ambitious, charismatic, and motivated enough to strive for more wealth and power.

She looked over at Tao, his head weaving back and forth, and felt a curious sympathy for her cousin's innocence. If her Path was the path of Violent Conflict, what then, was the Path of Peaches?

Two days after Gwen began refining her Minor Image with Tao, Mina joined the duo for supper.

“Babulya misses you.” Gwen's cousin began with a relentless warning. More than once, their babulya had asked about Gwen.

“Arrgh! You're right!” Gwen slapped herself. With so much going on at once, she had completely neglected their grandmother. "Should I call her now?"

“Do it after - oh, thank you,” Mina implored, thanking the waiter for stowing her jacket. Mina was looking her usual adorable self in a pastel jacket, mini-skirt and thigh-high pantyhose, making Gwen doubly dubious of Dai's treatment of their cousin. “I am not going, by the way. Can’t stand gramps, the old man gives me hypertension.”

“Count me out too, dawg,” Tao agreed.

“Aww,” Gwen confirmed the sibling’s conviction not to visit Guo. “Alright, alright, I free you from your obligations.”

The conversation then turned to Gwen’s new office, which the sibling's father, the Patriarch Wang, has taken great interest.

“Uncle Wang is welcome to visit anytime,” Gwen informed the siblings. “In fact, in the future, I would love to work with him on a project or two.”

“Dad’s pretty taken with you,” Mina sulked. “He talked about you two days straight. It's making dinner unbearable.”

“The hoss won't shut it no matter what! No offence, Gwen,” Tao grumbled. “I reckon he wants us ta change places or sumfin.”

“Ergh~. Sorry,” Gwen apologised. “To make it up to you two, let me shout dinner.”

“Ho? If that's the case, I am going to order the Deep Sea Lobster.” Mina grinned at her cousin.

“Help yourself, order two if you can finish it.” Gwen smirked back.

When she realised Gwen was serious, Mina pouted, tasting bitter self-pity served with a dash of envy.

“I can see somebody is doing well for themselves.” She studied her cousin critically. "Last time we met, you were struggling with rent, how come you're so rich now? Did you rob a bank?"

“Ah~, you know how it is,” Gwen answered humbly. “You win some; you lose some. I manage a few Quests, ran a Dungeon or two, sold some loot...”

Plus a dozen Draconic Cores, business partners, profitable adventures and risky ventures, Gwen silently appended.

"What, took you a whole seven months?" Mina derided Gwen's humblebrag.

Gwen grinned helplessly, what else could she say? Opportunities came knocking, and she took them by the proverbial balls.

Tao turned to their patient waiter.

“Listen up, Hoss! Abalone hot pot, Daliang school-prawns, Qinhai Sea-Urchins, and two Ginger and Shallot Deep Sea Lobsters.”

“Peaches!” Mina snapped at her cousin. She had meant the lavish ingredient as a joke.

“It’s fine. Make it three,” Gwen informed the waiter. The man who was doubly impressed by the Fu-er-dai high-rollers, although the dodgy young man in Adidas was deeply suspect. “Wildland wheat-noodle base."

“That’s a lot of noodles,” Mina pointed out.

“It's fine.” Gwen patted her tummy. “I’ve got a hankering for gluten.”

Halfway through the lobsters, the topic turned to Dai.

“So, what’s your side of the story?”

“Dai’s an asshole,” Mina stated blankly, forking a white-jade morsel.

“He’s a playa and yo got played!” Tao illustrated his point with a greasy finger.

Mina warned Tao with a lobster leg, threatening to stab him in his noodle-hole.

“Peaches is kidding; it’s not like we had sex or anything.”

“WOA! Too much information.” Gwen crossed two spindly forelegs to make a tasty 'X'.

“Why, you thinking of dating him?”

“No way.” Gwen shook a juicy tail. “Just curious. Did you have feelings for him?”

Mina sighed.

“If we do get married, it’ll be for politics anyway,” Gwen's cousin explained. “The standard thing to do here in Shanghai is to get married, produce an heir, then do whatever you like. I can sleep around if I desire, as long as I don't have children out of wedlock. He can plough as many sows as he likes, so long as he doesn't bring one home. I've got married friends who haven't spoken to their husband for a year. I suppose, in a way, that's what passes for happy endings."

A sow, huh? Gwen allowed the passive comment to slid.

"Would you have married him?"

"Daddy wouldn't have allowed it." Mina chuckled. "You know how he and mum are. I heard they held a marriage meeting with Shen Fung. I am guessing they didn't see eye to eye."

Possibly, Gwen imagined that it was because Bao Wang wanted his daughter to be happy, while Shen Fung spent the entire meeting discussing guan-xi, assets and Mina’s dowry.

“I envy you guys for having such a great Dad," Gwen lamented wistfully, stirring her noodles.

“My dad wishes you were his child.” Mina laughed annoyedly. “Maybe you can substitute for Tao; then we can all be happier.”

"Can Dad marry Gwen into our family?" Tao proposed suddenly, sucking on a lobster claw.

The girls dry retched.

Such was Gwen's revulsion that she dropped her crustacean, having lost all appetite.

"God, you're an idiot," Mina spat. "You disgust me. Go and die, right now."

"ADOPT!" Tao protested. All his talk of marriage had addled the lyrics in his head "I MEANT ADOPT!"

After the dinner, Gwen made arrangements to visit her babulya on Saturday. When she asked about her father and Uncle Jun, Klavdiya informed Gwen that Jun had his hands full as the new envoy to the Dragon-Princess, while Hai has communicated that he was perfectly happy in Hangzhou.

“I guess I won’t be seeing Hai until his baby’s born,” Klavdiya sounded lost as she updated her granddaughter.

“Its okay, babulya," Gwen assured her. "I am sure he’s thinking of you. A grandchild is a joyous occasion! I am going to have another little brother or sister; you can't get happier than that!"

Her babulya agreed - though Gwen could sense that her sentiments were ambivalent.

“Thanks for taking care of Percy,” her babulya added before ending the Message. “Your grandfather had nothing but praise for you the last few days. Did you know Percy bought a pair of Soothing-Jade for us? Over a hundred HDMs! Your grandfather hasn’t stopped fiddling with it since yesterday!”

“They grow up so fast.” Gwen chuckled. “See you Saturday, Babulya.”

Friday afternoon, Gwen returned from training to her office to see Dai conversing with the Foreman.

“I am very impressed with your work.” She overheard Dai praising the Wang's Foreman. “What say you come work for us in the Fung Group? I’ll pay you ten per cent over whatever you’re getting from the Wangs.”

“I'll think about it.” The Foreman's rejection came in the form of diplomacy. "Thank you, Master Fung, for the offer."

Gwen coughed audibly, then entered.

“Gwen!” Dai turned to her, his darkened face brightening considerably. “You’ve exceeded my expectations!”

The young man wasn't lying, for he indeed had nought but praise for the new decor. The once mundane commercial space was now an open office. From the entryway, a frosted glass wall with a receptionist’s desk hindered the view of the interior. Opposite the console, a drink dispenser flanked two fiddle-leaf figs in minimalist concrete pots, furthermore joined by four comfortable steel and leather cubic tub-chairs. Past the reception, a working area with three adjoining acrylic tables staffed by mesh chairs formed a workspace, beyond which was the director's table. Gwen’s desk, an overlarge waterfall table with an assortment of filers and pigeon holes hidden from view, stood in front of left-to-right, floor-to-ceiling glass panes overlooking the street below.

“Who’d thought an office without partition or walls would look so clean and beautiful.” Dai touched a hand to one of the three pendant lights hanging from the ceiling. “Take this thing. I know its useless - but I like it! It somehow ties the front together.”

The floor was ash-blonde wood, extending up the far left wall to create a feature section.

“And that!” Dai stalked back and forth. “Incredible, how is it that the floor looks so good on the ceiling?”

“I'd thought you were crazy,” the Foreman admitted. “Come, let me show you the bathroom.”

If the office itself impressed Dai, then the bathroom blew the Fung heir away.

Gwen had requested a two-tone Scandi-style bathroom, a standard and contemporary option for the 21st-century apartment. The tiles were transmuted to resemble white-ash wood, the cupboards panelled with cedar, and a large round mirror had lumen-globes installed to provide high visibility and soft light for applying makeup. To the right, an all-glass cage encircled a rain-shower, with the bathroom-throne discretely nestled in a spacious alcove just out of sight.

“I am starting to think plating our executive bathroom in gold was needless,” Dai confessed.

Gwen recalled the gaudy bathrooms she had seen in the Fung Group’s building. It was very 80s Colombian Narco-chic.

“Yeah, not a fan of your golden thrones,” Gwen agreed.

“All of this was your idea?” Dai kept touching the vanities. He was a man in hot pursuit of a certain quality of life, and Gwen’s simple modifications were drawing the ambitious heir down a rabbit hole.

“You could say that.” Gwen nodded demurely, she was nearing her limit. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First thing's first.”

"Yes?"

"Get out of my bathroom..."

Dai and the Foreman stood silently in the lobby. Thankfully, the Foreman had spared no expense on soundproofing.

Gwen rejoined them a few minutes later.

“When’s your counterpart from Vice-President Tu's office arriving?”

“A week or two? We’re way ahead of schedule.”

“How’s the recruitment coming along?”

“Could be better,” Dai appeared a little guilty. “I’ve sent a request back home; they’re canvassing the Clan for people right now.”

Gwen frowned - trying to dig up accountants and auditors from a family business's internal members? That's a recipe for disaster.

“That's not going to fly, Dai. Look, why don't you leave it with me,” she informed her Guan-er-dai companion. “Did you read my organisational charter? Sort through the duties of each department and its members?"

Dai regarded her guiltily. Here was a young man who had not done his homework.

Gwen sighed.

Dai's complexion burned; he couldn't recall the last time he'd felt this oppressed.

"Can I leave now?" the Foreman asked. He did not want to be here if either of these scions started blowing up.

"Yes, thank you." Gwen shook the man's hand. "Give my regards to Mr Wang, and send the bill to Mr Fung."

The Foreman fled.

"Now." Gwen turned to Dai, her eyes flashing. She directed him to her desk. "Sit down! We're not leaving until you know our charter down to the last dot point."

Saturday.

Gwen completed a follow-up session with Magister Wen.

"We're no longer collecting your Druidic Essence," the Magister intoned.

When Gwen enquired as to why they were no longer collecting her viridescent mana, Wen saltily informed her that the upper echelon had explicitly forbidden further research into that particular avenue of Gwen’s prowess.

“Unanimous decision from both Towers,” Wen answered as she stowed no less than two cubes of Gwen’s Void matter. With Almudj’s help, she could now tap deeper into her vital stores without harming herself. By her count, a dozen Void Bolts and non-persistent spells should be relatively painless. “Your biometrics are superb, by the way. Resting heart-rate of just under fifty. You’re as healthy as an athlete.”

Gwen thanked the Magister as she dressed behind the curtains.

“Gwen, dear,” the silhouette of Magister Wen implored as Gwen shuffled into her dress. “Have you come to terms with Caliban’s abilities yet?”

“Ma’am?” Whatever Wen’s intentions, Gwen grew instantly uncomfortable. Behind the veil, the scholar's enquiry continued.

“You lack the School of Enchantment, do you not?”

“…” Gwen maintained her silence; no good would come of answering Wen’s inquiry.

“There's a prisoner on death row, a suspect cult leader, tier 5 Enchanter...”

Gwen hurriedly buttoned up her blouse.

“Gotta go!” She took off at a bolt, not even turning to see if Wen acknowledged her goodbye. “I’ve got a date with babulya!”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Master,” Petra joined her cousin as they made their way to the Song compound. Originally, the girls had planned to catch a cab, but Petra convinced Gwen she needed at least twenty minutes of brisk pre-banquet exercise. “She’s not too happy right now. Ever since Secretary-General Miao met you, there’s been sanctions on her research.”

“How so?” Gwen effortlessly paced beside her briskly-walking cousin. Comparatively, Petra was already working up a sweat.

“I suspect it’s got something to do with Ayxin.” Petra huffed, picking up the pace. “You know how jealously the Dragon-kin guard their secrets.”

That makes perfect sense! Gwen realised. Ayxin was all thunder and lightning when Gwen started calling Almudj by name. If the Dragon-kin saw Almudj as something of a progenitor, there was no way they would let humanity harvest and research mana blessed with Almudj’s Essence. Though no doubt the CCP would desire to discretely conduct their research, extracting mana from her like juice from a grapefruit was too glaringly an insult.

I should call Uncle and visit Ayxin, Gwen thought to herself. If only she weren't so damn busy.

“Gwen! Welcome back!”

Gwen couldn’t help but notice her grandfather's rigidity when Klavdiya gave Gwen a suffocating embrace.

“I am back, Babulya,” Gwen kissed her grandmother on the cheeks. She then turned purposefully toward her grandfather.

“Gwen” Guo declared stiffly. "Welcome back."

Gwen kept her arms wide open, making a come-hither expression.

“Guo,” her babulya pushed Gwen’s grandfather forward.

With the unwillingness of a cat forced into unwanted affection, Guo resigned himself to be embraced by placing himself rigidly in between Gwen’s arms. As her arms enveloped the old man, Gwen realised Guo was all but bone wearing skin. The frailty of her grandfather came as such a surprise that she kissed the old man on the forehead.

The CCP hound master flinched, touching a hand to his forehead in disbelief.

Gwen's babulya broke into bell-like laughter beside them, soon joined by Petra and an uncomfortable Percy, who cringed the whole thing with begrudged patience.

After Guo hurriedly wiped the evidence from his forehead, the family made for the main hall, where a banquet had been set up, reminding Gwen of the very first time she had arrived in Shanghai.

Seven months on, how different things were! Gwen marvelled at the familiar table; it's nostalgic seating and the juxtaposing atmosphere of jubilant familial bliss.

"Gwen," Guo intoned solemnly, his bulldog face full of concern. "Tell me truthfully - are the Fungs taking advantage of you?"

Though Gwen had promised herself that Sunday would be a break day, she found herself returning to the training hall. After four hours of unyielding practice, she buckled on her Message Device.

‘Ding!’

“Gwen, it's James Ma. You said you wanted to speak to me? I am on campus now.”

Gwen quickly dialled in her Professor’s glyph.

“Sir? It’s Gwen. Are you available for a luncheon? I need to speak to you regarding a great opportunity for your NoM students. No Sir, I am serious. Great! How about Cafe Europa on Gouding, opposite the Furano candy shop? Lovely, I’ll see you there soon.”

With only a few minutes to spare, Gwen stripped off in the privacy of the training hall, spritzed herself with a Prestidigitation, then slipped into an above the knee cotton skirt, naked-pantyhose and a grey skivvy. She also brought out her Mary Janes, figuring it had been some time since her old shoes saw action.

A quarter of an hour later, she met her Professor at the coffee shop, putting to rest the speculation of a dozen young men and a few women as to whom the infamous ‘Death Worm Handler’ of Fudan could be meeting on a Sunday.

“Not very discrete, are you?” James Ma set down his coat. “I wish they paid this much attention during my lecture.”

Gwen chuckled.

“Thank you for coming, Sir.”

She briefly explained her dilemma, redacting critical elements of their methodology.

“You’ve sold one of your economic theories to the Fungs?” Ma raised a bushy brow. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble, are you? It’s in a Clan’s nature to profit off the State, you know. A parasite can’t help but exercise its nature.”

“That’s a little harsh, Sir,” Gwen retorted. “If they directly steal from the venture, it’s lose-lose. The CCP would excommunicate them. Where could they possibly spend that much money? Escape Shanghai for Singapore? The best thing for everyone is to play by the rules. That way, it’s Win-Win.”

“Perhaps in a western country,” Ma refuted her good cheer. “Here, they’re far too used to escaping punishment.”

“Which is why I need your help.” Gwen brought out a data slate. “Here’s something I wrote over the last few days.”

Ma took the tablet and began to read. After the first abstract, he became glued to the tablet, devouring page after page, leaving his coffee to grow cold.

Gwen patiently waited for her professor to finish her fifty-odd page report, consisting mostly of diagrams, organisational charts, and short-form notes taken from an old MBA Course on Corporate Governance which she’d since made good use of in her line of work. An unexpected boon of her draconic-memory was that she could pull old lessons from her head with relative clarity, assuming she had once crammed them into her brain. Moreover, re-revisiting her old course work for her new world seemed to invigorate an erudition she couldn’t attain as a younger woman.

After half an hour, Ma put down the tablet.

“This is… audacious.”

“It’s a necessary evil, Sir.”

Ma reread the title:

‘Independent Supervisory Roles and Regulations - Establishing an External Auditory Committee.’

“You’re going to make enemies, Gwen,” Ma warned her.

Gwen fluttered her striking eyes at the professor, playing the coy and innocent student.

“I was hoping you would be the one to make those enemies, Sir.”

“Me?” Ma snorted in ridicule.

“Yessir, only you have the influence and the clout to start something like this. You’ve said it yourself. The reason our Spellcraft and Economy is incapable of pushing past competitors like Seoul, Tokyo and the Americans is due to corruption. In my opinion, the CCP would love to enact an independent financial body.”

“But…” Ma’s fingers were white-knuckled. “You’re telling me to fill a department full of NoMs?!”

“Not NoMs,” Gwen strongly stipulated her word choice. “Agents who are auditors, accountants, lawyers, whose actions and decisions must be supported by other departments like the MSS, Internal Service, or even the CCDI. Think of it, Sir. NoMs, freed from the fetters of magic, in real positions of power as arbitrators and supervisors!”

“It's impossible! You’re asking for people to give up their lives, Gwen!” Ma tried to keep his voice down, but even so, they were drawing eyes from all over.

“Let's speak elsewhere.” Gwen’s eyes glinted. She knew she had him now. “How about we talk in my office? It’s about fifty meters down the street.”

“…” Ma slid the data slate across the table, then blinked. “Y-you have an office?”

Professor Ma sat opposite Gwen, quite speechless at the decor.

“This is your office?”

“Just had it renovated, sorry about the paint smell.” Gwen’s heels clicked across the floor. “I brought you some tea.”

Ma looked around Gwen’s resplendent workspace, so much more modern, comfortable, and ergonomic compared to his cluttered workspace at the university.

The professor sipped his tea, savouring the scalding amber liquid.

“You’re serious. You - a seventeen-year-old girl, is a part of the Tonglv Expansion Project's top management?”

“I am.” Gwen nodded, crossing her legs for better comfort.

“Alright. I suppose stranger things could be happening, like a department where NoMs audit a Mageocratic operation.” The Professor leaned back on the cantilever chair Gwen ordered from an upscale import emporium. None of the inventory belonged to hers, of course, the liberty given to her offices’ budget was the sincerity shown by her three partners. That she was using their wealth to project her merit was an apt metaphor for venture capitalism. "So, let me play the capitalist devil's advocate. What’s in it for me?”

“Everything,” Gwen replied. “You’re a well-respected scholar, you’ve got pull within the CCP’s ranks, and you’ve got access to a well-trained, non-magical staff without affiliation to the Fungs, the Shanghai Economic Exchange, or Magister Chen from Jiangqiao University. You’re the only non-partisan person I know who has the skills and the respect to act as an independent supervisory our three partners will trust. Don’t forget; they’re a triumvirate, they always doubt each other as well.”

She continued.

“As to what’s in store for you, Sir, the venture fund can pay you very well. Most importantly, I am willing to pay your NoM students a rate higher than the standard normally paid to Mages in the same role. Rather than working under the moniker of a NoM labour force, I want to establish your group of people as specialists, agents, operators, problem solvers. This project is merely the beginning…”

She opened her hands, then balled her fists.

“As for you, Sir. Succeed in Nantong, and you can start a company - an independent accounting firm - or become the head of a new audit department. I've asked Patriarch Fung to enact internal audits, but we all know how trustworthy that is. This way, everyone has a guarantee. So long as our venture succeeds, Nantong will be a southern miracle. Those in Beijing would be salivating over our methodology, the chief merit of which lies under your austere supervision.”

“What makes you think your doctrines are safe?” Professor Ma pointed out. “Tu or Chen could just sell you out.”

“I wouldn't doubt it. But until then, there are crystals to be made. I asked Dai to find me accountants, administrators and auditors - but you know what he did? He asked home to send him some. Preposterous! I suspect they'll keep me in the loop two years at worst, a decade at best. I am not here for the long haul, Sir. I am not that deluded. I am only here for the IIUC and five more semesters of University. If I can graduate earlier and receive the title of a Magus, I would welcome it. Until then, these are opportunities to fortify my Path. You and I know how it is; always diversify one's investments!"

Ma tilted his head to regard his student, whose grasp of economics was inexplicably leagues above his own.

A part of him was screaming that all of this was folly and what lied beyond Gwen's honeyed words and clear skies was a maelstrom of greed, an economic calamity made inevitable by human gluttony. She had only revealed a thin veil of her proposal for the Tonglv Canal, and already the astronomical numbers she was throwing around were sure to drive the Mages wild with crystal-lust.

And this proposal of hers - this partition of powers to keep her brain-child safe - it was a bloodbath in itself. When Ma and his cadre of auditors invariably unearth corruption, theft, larceny and nepotism, what would await the men and women who’d thought the Triumvirate dumb and deaf? How many would die to the men's rage?

Even if Shen Fung played the merciful bureaucrat, the CCP possessed very little patience for those who sought to enrich themselves at the cost of the country’s progress. The Purge of 86’ was evidence of that. Ma had been an assistant professor then, just an ambitious young man. He saw first hand the massacres, the show trials, the hundreds of Mages chained like cattle through Beijing toward the Northern Front. Behind them were hundreds of thousands of NoMs: associates, servants, family members, loved ones and beneficiaries, likewise taken on the Long March, never to return to their homes.

What would happen if someone were to tear away the festering scab on the country's corrupted wound?

Could the next Purge have its origins here in this fancy office, issued forth from the plump-lips of a girl-child in a too-short skirt playing at economics, stoking her too-big brain, believing herself a niu-bi genius?

But the girl was right. Shanghai was growing stagnant. The Communist Party’s original Manifesto of raising the NoMs from poverty had fallen to the wayside.

As a squib, Ma dreamed of proving to the Party that NoMs were an indispensable part of the CCP and its future. If he could succeed, the party, and especially the wise and all-seeing Secretary-General Miao of CCDI, would acknowledge the existence of an organisation uncorrupted by the Clans, the Scholar-Bureaucrats, the Mage Houses and the power progenies of its Secretaries. Without Spellcraft to distract them, his fellow experts attained proficiency in accounting and bookkeeping far beyond the Mages.

If the state would enact protection for their devoted labour and elevate their positions, it would be the first step of many to integrate NoMs into their socialist society in a meaningful manner, in appropriating a place of influence and indispensable utility.

“Sir?” The girl's voice came across coated with honey. "Is that proposal to your liking?"

James Ma raised his head to meet Gwen's eyes, taking in the extravagant visage of a girl whose eyes stopped at the mountain of crystals.

“I’ll do it,” he intoned with the fatalism of one told to hold the line against an Undead Tide. “I just hope you're happy with the outcome.”

Gwen exhaled, her smile full of relief.

“Sir, it's all for the greater good!” The girl laughed, full of confidence. “We’re in the job-creation business! Not just for your NoM students, the Tonglv Canal will generate hundreds of thousands of jobs: sailors, harbour-men, machine operators, mechanics, service personnel, and a hundred thousands more to support those jobs: food vendors, motels, restaurants, garment makers…”

Ma’s skin crawled with every title Gwen carelessly rattled from her mouth. The girl had no idea! She hadn’t the slightest inkling what prosperity would bring! Progress was all well and good, but where there were crystals, the darkness that grew in the hearts of men held their secret cabals! From the highest Magister of the law to the lowest Neophyte, Nantong would attract them like a bloated Leviathan carcass attracting carrion!

“With your help, Sir,” Gwen smacked her lips. “We’re going to enable a real economic revolution in Nantong!”

Ma said nothing as the girl continued to talk, rattling off her gospel of wealth like a priest at a sermon.

“… one more thing.” Gwen smiled sweetly at her professor.

“Yes?” Ma looked up, feeling numb.

“Do you think…” Gwen cooed at him. “You could send me someone to be my P.A? I'll teach them everything they need to know, and I'll pay them twenty per cent above market rate!”

Gwen informed Dai about Professor Ma’s agreement to sit on an independent supervisory board, then left the Fung heir to schedule a meeting with the other members of their foursome. She then returned home to rest, finally able to relax now that a significant buffer was in place to spurn the jaw-clenching reflex of the Clans to defraud the state. Furthermore, Professor Ma promised to send her his best student to be interviewed.

With her head resting against the soft pillow, she envisioned the web binding everything together.

The Venture Fund would have its three Divisions and subdivisions; each presided over by paranoid men wary of each other’s excess, with Professor Ma’s external Audit Committee acting as a check on all three. So long as Nash’s Equilibrium held, the men should arguably do what benefited themselves individually, as well as enact best practice to maximise collective gain. Should a single individual shift the balance, what awaited them was cannibalisation. Within the scope of her proposal, everyone from the highest executive officer to the lowest plebeian had an active interest in the successful operation of Tonglv Canal. It was trickle-down economics at its finest.

For how long could James Ma hold back the tide?

If under internal and external supervision, mutual interest and low-risk capital-borrowing, the venture still left the womb stillborn; then this country was ill-suited for economics. In Gwen's opinion, she may as well park her future Tower in the middle of a well-grown patch of the Wildland crystals and command her minions to start harvesting.

Dreaming of crystals, she closed her eyes and welcomed the well-earned bliss of restful sleep.

The end of November brought a sudden chill that wiped the presence of autumn from the campus. The inundation of a mana-miasma over Shanghai exacerbated the change of seasons, extending the monsoonal summer and inviting an early winter as a compromised troposphere trapped cold-fronts passing over the city.

On odd-numbered weekdays, Gwen’s self-imposed schedule began with breakfast at 6 AM, followed by a jog around campus. She had a second breakfast from 7.30 to 8 AM, followed by three hours in the training hall practising her magic. Provisionally, she would attend the office after lunch, get changed, then plough through paperwork from noon to 5. After that, it was back to training, returning home at 8 PM for her late supper with Richard, Petra, or alone.

On her even-numbered days, she began with meditation in the early morning, followed by breakfast and training. She then allocated herself some free time to do as she pleased, such as wandering the city and networking with her contacts. In the afternoon, she returned to training, alternating between Schools of Magic. Evenings involved another block of free time, which for now she spent ruminating on particular problems and burying her head in reports, proposals and accounting.

Saturdays and Sundays were free days, which Gwen split between other self-improvement activities such as research at Fudan’s campus library, getting her biometrics done with Magister Wen, training with Percy, or spending time on various activities with her companions.

Throughout the day, she exercised Almudj's Essence whenever she felt tired - inviting the primordial energy to refresh her Astral and physical body. With repetition and practice, the clarity of mind and body offered by her meditation quickly took on a subconscious quality. Aided by Ayxin's scale, she could freely exercise the routine even mid-conversation. As an unexpected boon, draconic-constitution was great for indigestion.

On Wednesday, Dai returned with Vice-Chairmen’s Tu’s protégé, a power-progeny like Dai with a round, friendly face and a plump body that reminded Gwen of a stout prosperity-buddha. Gwen arranged for the three of them to have dinner, where she asserted dominance by eating twice the amount of food as their new staffer, who went by the name of Ken Duan.

“We start with training and project overview,” Gwen informed their starry-eyed intern. “I am still waiting on my P.A, after which I'll teach all of you together. Meanwhile, it's your job to study up on our operations. Dai has a copy of our manual and charter. There is a protocol for filing, answering calls, dealing with enquiries that you must learn as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Ken inclined his head respectfully. His instruction had been to treat Gwen as though she was one of the three - that and report back anything and everything of interest.

Gwen likewise was under no illusion that this Ken character was anything but a pair of eyes for Vice-Chairman Tu, though she amused herself with the fact that just as Ken was watching her, he was far more interested in keeping tabs on the Fungs.

Either way, she received another body to throw at the paperwork.

Monday week, Gwen's P.A arrived. Professor Ma had personally called to give the young woman a commendation, which Gwen graciously accepted.

“So you’re Miss Li.” Gwen crossed her legs and swung her chair so that she could take a good gander at the NoM Professor Ma had sent her. “Ru-Yee-Li?”

“It's nice to meet you, Ma’am,” the girl replied with a tone of apprehension. “It’s Ruì, 'Rū' and 'Eè', Ma’am - my family originated from the Canton Frontier. I can speak English and Mandarin, Cantonese, of course, and I know a little bit of Japanese.”

“How lovely!” Gwen tapped her Ioun Stone. “I'll get you one of these as well. I suspect we'll be seeing plenty of visitors speaking various languages and dialects.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” The girl lowered her head demurely.

Ruì's resume betrayed her mundane exterior. She was a third-year graduate with a degree in Commerce, averaging High Distinction. Ruì had served as the Financial Officer for Fudan’s Non-Magical Socialist Union, a sort of Young Communist's club, receiving an accolade from Professor Ma and commendations from a dozen others for her outstanding work.

In second-year, she had exposed a third-year senior absconding funds from the Student Union. Though the young man threatened her, she nonetheless took the matter up with Professor Ma, resulting in the man's expulsion.

"But that wasn't the end of it," Gwen noted, recalling that Petra had once mentioned the incident.

"No, Ma'am," Ruì explained. The Evoker attempted to get back at Ruì. Of course, Professor Ma had anticipated such a clichèd reaction. After a fiasco on the lower campus and Ma's insistence on making an example, the Evoker and his accomplices enjoyed an expedited promotion to the Frontier.

On paper, therefore, Ruì was the perfect candidate. Skills can be practised, knowledge can be learned, but that stubborn regard for ethics was an ingrained character.

“Dai, Ken, come here for a second.” The two Mages joined her.

Immediately, Ruì tensed.

“Working together will be a test for yourselves and Ruì,” Gwen began. The Guan-er-dai duo gave each other strange looks. Having a seventeen year-old-girl giving them a spontaneous lecture was queer enough on its own, but more so when she was making her point using a NoM.

“Ruì, I am not sure if you know Mr Fung-”

“I do, Ma’am,” Ruì clarified, her complexion pale in the presence of three powerful progenies of Spellcraft.

“Well then - this is Mr Fung, and this is Mr Duan. They’re your co-workers. They do not have authority over you. Only I do. One critical aspect of your work, should you accept the position, is that you will be dealing with Mages - not just ones with arcane might, but political heavy-weights.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Let me clarify: Secretaries from the Districts. Owners of manufacturing facilities. Sons and daughters of influential people, Clanners…”

Ruì was either nodding or quivering violently, or both. When Professor Ma called, she had expected a position in a NoM production facility or a District cabinet's office as a clerk.

“Here’s the thing,” Gwen continued. “You need to remember that as long as you’re my secretary, you do not need to fear them. Be polite, follow protocol, and if a client bullies you, tell me - tell Ken, or tell Dai. They’ll back you up. Right, guys?”

“Sure." Dai shrugged.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” Ken agreed. Unlike Dai, Ken was a born yes-man.

To emphasise the gravity of her demand, Gwen took a stroll around her three employees, punctuating her point with her clicking heels.

“Let me make something very clear,” Gwen stated with absolute seriousness. "It is entirely in your interests to keep Ruì safe. She is your buffer against the endless tedium of paperwork. Only because Ruì is here you two will have the minimalist volume of accounts to sign off. If something should happen to her at work, then all responsibility falls on your shoulders. Dai, you have two siblings and a dozen cousins. Ken, I am sure Vice-Chair Tu has hundreds like you under his care. I have only one Ruì. Do you understand?"

Gwen had seasoned her last statement with a smidgen of Dragon-fear.

Dai flinched, his mind evoking visions of Caliban's gooey embrace. Ken meanwhile, froze to the spot, recalling an earlier moment when Gwen had shown off her divine Kirin. For the two young men, their boss's point had been made abundantly clear - her secretary was above them on the food chain.

"I have the utmost faith in the two of you." Gwen placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "You can go now."

The two men returned to their desks.

“Now.” She turned her eyes to the shaking Ruì. “Let's get to know each other a bit better.”

The duo’s ‘Boss’ first introduced herself, then related a humorous tale of her family upbringing in Frontier Australia. After a few moments of light humour, she migrated onto Ruì’s proficiency in business and accounting.

Dai and Ken took note of Gwen’s friendliness toward the NoM, each marvelling at the oppressive emotions gnawing at their chest. Jealousy over a NoM? It as a novel experience.

“I-I’ll be loyal! Ma’am!” Ruì declared when Gwen asked her if she was willing to be a part of her team, looking as though she was on the verge of leaping from her seat to perform a kowtow.

Guiltily, their boss dialled down Almudj's Essence.

“No need to pledge your allegiance,” Gwen assured the young secretary that she had the utmost respect for the girl’s autonomy. “As long as you’re happy with your pay and do your job well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. If you become indispensable, that would make me happier than you know.”

“Indispensable, Ma’am? What about you?”

“Ah~, Ruì my dear.” Gwen flashed her P.A a confident smile. “The first lesson of any successful Enterprise is the balance between supervision and delegation…”

Wednesday.

Gwen met with Magus Maymaruya. After listening to the Magus' enquiry, Gwen offered her continued co-operation for a percentile of the proceeds, refusing payment unless the Centurion venture succeeds.

The Magus readily agreed, then presented his enquiries.

As Gwen presented common sense solutions to puzzling problems; the Enchanter increasingly entertained Mayuree's theory that the girl’s brain was constructed of a different matter, possibly currency.

“… vertical integration.” Gwen pointed to a chart she had visualised through an elementary employment of Minor Image. “In essence, by generating a massive client roster, your service will lower costs due to upscaling of operations; likewise, diversifying customers lowers overall risk.”

“But to reduce the top tier commission to 8%? Our losses would be considerable!”

“It won’t, not when an economy of scale is applied to the lower tiers.” Gwen dismissed the first graph, then brought up two more charts sitting side by side, one an alarming red and the other a vivid green. “Look here, on the left; you’ve got the numbers from the old model-”

Gwen ‘zoomed’ into the left-most chart.

“Let’s take this day trade sample as our example - 11,432 net transactions, averaging a commission of 30 HDMs at 12% per.”

She then switched to the vibrant green chart.

“Under a new, stratified membership system, the baseline commission for a silver-card holder is 15%, gold-card 12%, Mithril-card 10% and Orichalcum-Centurion-card 8%.”

She presented the numbers for Magus Maymaruya. Earlier, she had asked Ruì to crunch the figures, and her P.A had not disappointed.

“As you can see, the average, if we use the same number of transactions sorted into tiers based on the expenditure figures you provided, is… 33 HDMs. Unexpectedly higher, in fact.”

“But to charge the silver customers a higher commission? Wouldn’t that dissuade them from joining?”

“Not to worry. Silver-tier is open to all,” Gwen assured the Magus. “The purpose of a stratified system is to filter customers upwards. To upgrade from Silver to Gold, all they have to do is exchange 500 HDMs worth of inventory per month. From your interim report, the vast majority of the House of M’s clients are between the 500 and 2500 strata, meaning they will enjoy the usual commission plus perks.”

“But…” The Magus appeared unconvinced.

Gwen conjured another chart, reminding herself to thank Tao and to shout him a few more dinners to thank him for the tuition. In the future, when this specific use of Illusion became standard practice, they would probably award her with the title of the Progenitor of the PowerPoint School of Illusion.

Her second chart was a table dividing the clients into their assigned strata.

“Imagine, Magus, that you’re a Silver client. We’re charging you 15% commission, and you currently have 400 HDMs worth of goods to be auctioned, exchanged, or bartered. 15% commission on 400 HDMs is 60 HDMs, and you only receive a few basic service perks like short-term loans with a modest interest rate. Now, here's a clincher. 15% of 400 HDMs is 60 HDMs. However, at the Gold Tier, at 500 HDMs, the commission is 12%, meaning you pay a commission of... 60 HDMs. Same fees, higher trade volume! Therefore, a Silver-tier client will instinctively strive to reach Gold-tier."

"I see." Maymaruya scratched his beard. "An attractive opportunity."

"Good. Here’s where credit comes in. What if the client lacks the goods or funds to reach 500 HDMs? In that case, the House of M can act as a short-term lender to the silver-ranked client. What's more, you don’t even have to lend said client 100 HDMs. Through the integration of loan, trade, and client services, the House of M can take on the 60 HDM Commission owed by the client as debt, with an overdraft of 40 HDMs, all recorded on the client’s account. By borrowing, the client reaches Gold-ranked, giving them better commission and a reduced interest rate on overdrafts: this we call the Line-of-Credit.”

“Our short-term losses…”

“Will be offset by clients striving to reach the next tier as soon as possible to receive better perks. The debt we hold will be paid off by interest collected from short-term Lines-of-Credit. Don't forget, Magus, clients under this system can no longer leave our ecosystem without defaulting or paying off their debt. With ten, twenty, thirty-thousand clients bundled up, the cash flow can readily offset accounting and debt collection.”

“... correct me if I am wrong. We’re still losing money on the Centurion clients, aren't we?”

Gwen smirked, her eyes flashing amber and emerald. Beside her, the ever-observant Ruì trembled at her boss's voracious appetite for crystal.

“Magus, that’s a feature! The Centurion clients are an advertising cost, an ultimate goal for others to strive. As for reaching that goal? Sorry, invites only: the Centurion tier is exclusive. The minimum annual spending to maintain the Centurion card is only 10,000 HDMs - why’s that? It’s because the card is not necessarily given to those who spend the most, but rather influencers to inspire others to spend - to give Good Will to the House of M! It’s also the reason why we keep the card Invites-Only. Expecting Centurion clients to turn a profit is impossible. It's mathematically infeasible without making the card uncompetitive. But no matter- Ruì, give me the numbers."

Ruì passed over a sheet. Gwen visualised the data for the Magister as a pie-chart, the lion's share of which consisted of Silver and Gold members.

"As it stands: 100,000 clients whose transactions average 500 HDMs from the Silver and Gold ranked members will give us ten-times the trade volume of 50 plus high-roller transactions averaging 10,000 HDMs each. Though we currently have a dearth of low-ranked members, they are also the easiest to recruit. Remember, Magus, in the end; the low-tier members are the real currency makers! Never underestimate an economy of scale!”

Perusing the floating figures, Magus Maymaruya performed the calculations in his head.

While the House of M did not yet possess a hundred thousand 'members', that was because customers came and went irregularly. If Gwen was right and clients could be persuaded to borrow crystals to pay their debt, remaining 'in house' to take advantage of perks and rates, then it was entirely possible that in a few years, their baseline clients could exceed hundreds of thousands.

If so, even losing crystals to placate the Centurion-clients, the House of M stood to make a massive profit. Take the Draconic-Cores, for example, each auctioning for between 4,000 to 12,000 HDMs. How many could they sell a year? Twenty? How many Shield-Cores passed the hands of the House of M’s auctioneers? Less than ten per annum? Though each transaction reached new records for commission payments, they were far too few. The girl was right, the House of M's has been too focused on upper-tier clients.

“One more thing.” Magus Maymaruya raised a hand. “If we’re paying out membership discounts to restaurants and hotels, how can we -”

“Hold it right there.” Gwen stood from her table. Ruì held her breath, surprised that Gwen would interrupt a Magus as casually as one hawking beans at the market. “There's a fundamental misunderstanding here.”

“Miss Song?”

“Sir.” Gwen walked around the table and leaned her buttocks against her desk. Ruì noticed that her boss liked to do that every time she wanted to make an impression. “Who told you that the House of M is paying for the discounts?”

Magus Maymaruya appeared bewildered by Gwen's rhetorical question.

“Ruì, come here for a minute.”

Ruì presented herself demurely before the Master Enchanter, placing her minutes of the meeting aside.

“Ruì, you’ve met Magus Maymaruya already. Magus, this is my Personal Assistant, Ruì. Magus, if there’s anything you need when I am not available, you can leave it with her.”

Ruì bowed deeply.

The Magus waved the girl away.

“Ruì,” Gwen proposed to her P.A. “You run a restaurant. A high-end on the Bund. I come in and tell you that I can potentially bring 100,000 customers who will frequent your restaurant if you’re willing to take a 5% cut from your overall profit margin. Do you agree?”

“Of course Ma’am!” Ruì nodded, recalling relevant statistics from memory. “A mundane fine-dining establishment operates with significant overhead, though a successful venture usually expects a gross profit between 60 - 90%. For magically-inclined restaurants serving Wildland ingredients and whose chefs may prepare magical creatures, the gross can be as high as 200%.”

Magus Maymaruya eyed the NoM girl with interest.

“Assuming 1% of my client-base: one thousand customers - will patronise your establishment every three months, will you accept a 5% discount exclusive to my customers?”

“Of course, Ma’am!”

“Well too bad.” Gwen folded her arms. “I am not including your restaurant unless…”

“Ma’am?” Ruì looked confused, as did Magus Maymaruya.

Gwen pinched her thumb and fingers together in the universal gesture for currency.

“… you pay me.”

“A commission, Ma’am?”

“Yes, for bringing you customers like Dai Fung, the Wangs, and others of similar fame and fortune, high-rollers, all of them.” Gwen grinned. “Savvy?”

“I don’t know what that means, Ma’am.” Ruì baulked. "But I can surmise that I would wish to join your venture."

Gwen chuckled to herself, then turned to an enlightened Magus Maymaruya, who looked as though he’d just been read the Diamond Sutra.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” The Magus had to wipe the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. "They're paying us to give our customers discounts? It's illogical and yet; it makes perfect sense."

“There isn’t much else to it.” Gwen returned to her seat, nipped at a crease in her pantyhose, then stretched out her fingers. "The devil is in the details, of course. It's a numbers game. So, are we in agreement?”

The Magus fell silent, thinking of Gwen's suspiciously modest proposal. Was the girl playing the humble ally? Or was she thinking that too much greed would only bring trouble?

“And all you want…” he spoke finally. “… is one per cent stake in the program? I am only saying this for Mayuree’s sake, not to mention the Centurion proposal was entirely your idea. Why not ask for more?”

Gwen felt an ironic pang of guilt.

The poor man was asking her if taking one per cent of Citibank's Client-Service stock-value was cheating herself. If she were in her old world, a two-hundred and fifty thousand-a-year salary without overtime and inclusive of superannuation would have had people salivating. A consultant asking for a one per cent stake? The Board of Directors would take to her office and attempt to murder her with coffee spoons, ala Caesar! Of course, for the first year, her portion would be negligible. But if the House of M could succeed in running their faux ‘credit’ system in South Asia, mayhap even export the system, that one per cent could grow to be an astronomical figure.

As for the likelihood of her client paying their due, the House of M was different from the CCP in that it would depend on Gwen’s growing prowess and influence. If and when she returned to Australia and stood beside Gunther and Alesia as a pillar of power within the Tower - would a mercantile conglomerate dare rescind their agreement? Had not Gwen promised to one day end Myăma’s dragon-infestation once and for all? To usurp her percentile stake would serve no one's interest, least of all the House of M's.

“Yes,” Gwen stated confidently, her eyes softening. “I am willing to take a loss for Mayuree’s sake. I hope the House will gift her a greater share of controlling interest in the future.”

The Magus bowed his head, blinking slowly to show his appreciation for Gwen's self-sacrifice.

“Then we are agreed.”

The two shook.

Besides her boss and her client, Ruì bit her tongue. She had extrapolated predictions for the proposal, and its five-year figure had her teeth clattering.

“I will deliver our contract to the House of M, and as per our agreement, I shall send a carbon copy to the Pudong Tower for officiation.”

“Thank you, Magus. It's a pleasure doing business. Now, shall we put you in touch with Professor Ma?"

"Please do," the Magus grunted, feeling his bones creak. "I will pass on your other proposal with our Matriarch. A team of unaffiliated NoM auditors? What a novel concept!"

Gwen helped the old Enchanter to stand.

“Are you going to see Mayuree now?”

“I am.” Magus Maymaruya wiped the sweat from his brow. “I would think she'd want to hear the good news! More than friends, the two of you are now joined in enterpise!”

Ruì escorted the Magus out the door.

"Tell Dai and Ken to come back to the office," Gwen informed her P.A. "Where the hell did they go? Have they even finished their paperwork?"

"I'll find out, Ma'am." Ruì returned to her table and began Messaging her peers. Unable to stomach the paperwork, her two co-workers had taken to truanting.

Gwen meanwhile, relaxed at the desk, ignoring her very own mountain of accounts and reports for the moment. It was finally coming together: the Tonglv Canal, Professor Ma's Audit Committee, The House of M's faux credit-card system.

There were only the Wangs left, but that could wait.

For now, it was time to refocus on preparations for the IIUC and to bring her Spellcraft up another tier.

“Misty Step!”

“Dimension Door!”

“Sweep!”

“Caliban!”

‘CLANG!’

Gila-ban caught Lulan’s blade with its torso, its scythe-sized claws missing Lulan’s thighs by an inch.

“Lightning Bolt!”

Lulan intercepted Gwen’s bolt with a hovering slab of iron, redirecting the current to the ground.

“Sweep!”

“Dimension Door!”

“Misty Step!”

“Cali, do it now!”

Twisting sets of writhing tentacles shot from Caliban’s open maw.

“Pierce!”

Blocking Caliban with the first, Lulan's second slab of gleaming iron pinned Gwen's Familiar to the floor, pulling the creature's tentacles just enough so as to grazed, but not penetrate, her iron-clad dermis.

Outside the duelling box, Richard and Kusu watched as the two girls thrust and parried one another’s spells. Lulan had the clear advantage at melee distance. Gwen dominated at longer ranges. Though Gwen could teleport rapidly, her tier 4 translocation took much more concentration than the Signature Blink utilised by the Clanner. Were it not for Gwen's prodigious affinity for Lightning; it would have been impossible for her to keep up with a melee Mage like Lulan.

Of course, the Sword Mage’s advantage existed only in the confines of the Duelling Arena. Out in the real word, Gwen could displace herself as far as a hundred meters, while Lulan’s Misty Step managed twenty at best.

“Slash!”

“Dimension Do- Oof!”

‘Thunk!’

Lulan managed to catch Gwen on the tenth teleport, sending Gwen's non-Newtonian Shield skittering and sparking across the floor.

“Gwen, are you alright?!” Lulan dispelled her swords, landing beside the winded sorceress.

“I am fine.” Gwen nursed her left lumbar. Had her Shield had been a split-second slower, she would have paid a visit to the infirmary. “Ouch.”

“Good fight!” Richard called out. “So, what’s your takeaway on fighting a dedicated Melee-Transmuter?”

“Run the hell away.” Gwen took Lulan’s hand, catching herself on the girl’s shoulders.

“I wouldn't have won if you had Caliban and Ariel out at the same time,” Lulan pointed out. “Not to mention your Dragon-hounds.”

“Not in an ambush I won’t,” Gwen replied. “Especially not the dogs. Also, Ariel’s melee talents are fairly limited, and I need concentration to activate Barbanginy.”

Her praise was overly humble, but there was a reason for that. Gwen wanted Lulan to build up her confidence. Otherwise, the fact that Ariel and Caliban had hasted charge-attacks when in their fully-empowered forms would have made short work of the melee-caster, not to mention her pseudo-Kirin could fly.

“Just shoot yourself with an Elemental Sphere,” Richard quipped. “Ariel’s got IFF. I bet that’ll dissuade anyone from getting into a melee with you.”

“What if they attack Ariel first?” Gwen pointed out.

“Immediately unsummon, then re-summon Ariel with as much altitude as possible,” Richard counselled expertly.

Gwen made an ‘O’ with her lips.

"You need to reconsider your techniques from the perspective of a Spirit-possessing Elementalist." Richard patted his cousin on the head. "Watch my fight with Kusu; I'll show you."

“Wow, that’s evil.” Lulan imagined Gwen hitting herself with an Elemental Sphere, catching her in the splash as she closed in for melee.

“Additionally, you could go in with Invisible Familiar.” Richard laughed. “I’d love to see that.”

“Suddenly, a Ba-ban-gin-ni.” Kusu shivered all over. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Barbanginy,” Gwen corrected her companions. No one seemed capable of pronouncing the Noongar word for Lightning, least of all her Asian counterparts. With little else happening in the quiet start of December, the team had taken to training together in Gwen’s pre-booked training chamber.

“I don’t know, Gwen…” Lulan dispelled her physical enhancements. “I don’t think I am suited for the IIUC.”

“Nonsense.” Gwen hugged the girl about her shoulders. “Confidence, Lulu. You’re the quickest caster I know. You weren't even Hasted! If you can give me a run for my crystals, you’ll brutalise the others.”

Thinking of the IIUC ahead, Gwen had decided to induct Lulan into her and Richard’s group. She had initially asked Petra, though the Enchanter made an excellent case for her vacancy.

“One, I can’t use my Mind Magic in public. Two, I don’t bring a unique spell-set, I can only replicate spells our team already possesses. It’s not like I can borrow Spell-cubes from Master, or stow rare spells to take on Quests. That would violate the rules of the competition. It’s a test of competency and skill, not a test of who’s got the best backers.”

Instead, Petra suggested that Gwen should groom Lulan as her front-line fighter.

Lulan looked over at Richard. Gwen's cousin likewise affirmed her brilliance.

“Lulan, you’re exactly what we need,” he assured her. “My defence and battlefield control you can attest to, but when it comes to offence, your efficacy is leagues ahead of mine. No one can disrupt casting as well as you.”

Lulan beamed.

"Alright, come on, Kusu," Richard ushered the Sword Mage into the make-shift duelling arena. "I'll make this easy!"

A week after she had submitted her application, Gwen's Magitech ‘Quest’ remained unresolved.

Her request was for an Enchanter with expertise on Data Slates to meet with her and discuss the possibility of additional glyph functions. The meet and greet itself would award 10 CCs, with an extra 20 - 40 CCs for each ‘function’ the Enchanter implemented.

“It’s a strange request, so please be patient,” the doubtful clerk informed the infamous Worm Handler. “Assuming no one takes the Quest. Your deposit of 30 CCs will be refunded after ten weeks.”

The deposit was a nice touch, Gwen had to admit. Quests rewarding CCs made by private entities must provide 50% of the payout as a deposit. Should the requester fail to pay the contractor, the Tower will award the deposit to the contractor, then penalise the offender.

When she returned to the glass interior of her office, she caught sight of her three employees each at their private stations.

Dai sat aimlessly with one leg across his knee, hiding behind a pile of paperwork, tossing a ball of Water to and fro, watching it turn into different forms as it reached the zenith of each arc.

Across the table, Ken was earnestly making a futile attempt at the accounting homework Gwen had set the man, struggling to balance the accounts send in by Patriarch Fung’s Construction Golem Division. The difficulty lied in that someone had stolen about 300 HDMs worth of crystalline fuel and had written it off on overtime while simultaneously another manager was underpaying the NoM operators. When Gwen went through the report herself a day earlier, she had spotted the missing fuel pushed onto maintenance, while the schedules of at least a dozen NoM operators was fudged as 'human error'.

But at least Ken was trying.

On the farther side of the open office, her P.A seemed to have taken to work like a Mermaid to water. Ruì's table, intentionally designed by Gwen to be larger than her Mage companions and curved to resemble a kidney, had neatly stacked paperwork in the manner Gwen preferred - ‘To Do,’ ‘In Progress,’ and ‘Ready for Submission’.

“Ruì,” she greeted her P.A first and foremost before turning her attention to the others. “Good work, where did you get up to?”

“Almost done with the East Quadrant Warehouse Expense account, Ma’am,” Ruì answered reverently. What Gwen had taught her over the last few days would have made Professor Ma blush for shame. The manner in which her absurdly young teacher had split the accounts into Cash Accounting for their smaller operations and Accrual Accounting for Tonglv’s construction was ingenious. Now equipped with the ability to report revenue and expense on a quarterly-basis, Ruì could generate periodic tax liabilities the Canal owed the state. The smaller, for-profit operations could then offset their tax against the construction project, whose taxes were offloaded to the District Governor’s office for reimbursement by the CCP’s Central Economic Bureau. This way, the profitable operation paid less tax, while Governor Fung could keep a finger on the pulse of the project's budget. “I can’t believe we’re making crystals through accounting!”

“Ha, saving on taxes IS no different to generating profit,” Gwen praised her P.A. “Any Messages for me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Ruì pulled out a data slate from under her table. “Professor Ma says that everything is proceeding smoothly with Secretary Fung and the others in Nantong and they should be operational starting next year. He had some questions which he will deliver to you via data slates. You’ve also got a Message from the House of M, requesting a time slot for later in the week. Also, someone called Tao Wang Messaged in, saying he had free tickets for a ‘show’; that’s all I have for today.”

“Very good, Ruì. Good work,” Gwen golf-clapped. She then turned to the young men sweating at their desks. “Message Tao and thank him, but tell him I am busy. Ken, Dai? Got some good news for me?”

Ken sat sweltering in his ergonomic chair.

“I’ll need another hour, er… make that two hours.”

"That's fine, Ken. Keep it up. Dai?”

Dai blinked at Gwen, his face full of irritation.

“What was I supposed to do again?”

Gwen pointed to the paperwork.

“You can’t be serious…”

“You didn’t do it?”

“Ruì can do it.” Dai waved at the NoM girl. “Ruì! Can do you this for me later?”

“Yessir,” Ruì answered demurely.

“See?” Dai smirked.

Gwen grinned back, flashing her teeth.

The temperature in the already glyph-cooled room lowered. Dai felt every hair on his neck stand to attention. Carefully, he dispelled his water-ball.

“Ruì, Ken, leave us.”

Ruì ran for the door, joined by Ken, who was more than happy to get away from the accounts unbalancing his sanity.

“Dai Fung!” Gwen stalked toward their power-progeny heavily. She couldn't believe that after all that 'pep' she had to go through, the man remained as useless as a log. “Explain yourself.”

"What's there to explain?"

"Why aren't you doing your assigned work?"

"I am beyond this bullshit, give me something better to do."

"How the hell are you supposed to manage Ruì or your future aides if you have no idea what they're showing you?! How useless do you hope to be? What did you promise me?"

Dai’s face changed from smugness to one of indignant ire. He had given the girl more space than he had given anyone in his twenty-two years of existence, yet still, she shamelessly stood on his toes.

“Cao! Who do you think you are, speaking to me like this?” Dai cracked his neck, standing over her.

"Dai, do you want me to call your father right now?" Gwen didn't bother with the invitation to dance, choosing instead to go straight for the gonads.

Dai's complexion reddened. The girl had gone too far. He had thought the minx fun and beautiful and lively, but now she'd upgraded from standing on his toes to walking over his face. The audacity of the woman! Give her three colours, and she would open a paint factory!

He raised a hand as if to slap her, expecting her to flinch or at least take back her threat.

Who does this biaozi think she is? She's just a girl, a dual-elementalist, a Void Mage, a soon to be Magus, someone who duelled Wonsoo Liu to the hospital-

WOCAO! Dai's passion cooled, his logic coming to an unfortunate realisation. Gwen could kick the shit out of him without breaking a sweat! Subtlely lowering his hand to scratch his nose, Dai nervously looked away, then glanced back to see if Gwen had gotten upset.

Instead, his unrequited amour cooly stepped away.

“Hello? Fung Group Office? This is Gwen Song, connect me to Patriarch Fung, please. It’s urgent.”

“Tamade!” Dai's hand was moving with a mind of its own. “Water Missile!”

A blast of water shot through the air and struck the girl squarely across her upper torso. Miraculously, the water did not injure his target but travelled up her blouse and her arm until it tore the Message Device, a thin gold bracelet, from her wrist, sending it clattering to the floor.

“What in Mao’s name do you think you’re doing?” Dai stood from his chair, his back drenched with cold sweat. Wocao! Wocao! Wocao! His mind raced a million miles a minute. What the fuck am I doing? Get father involved? Need it come to that? Was she so bad at taking a joke?

In front of him, Gwen wrung a handful of water from her hair. The jet-blast had avoided most of her clothes, but the resultant splash, though harmless, had caught her hair and her right shoulder.

“I should ask you the same question, what do you think you’re doing?”

Dai’s retort caught in his throat. He was in the wrong, but he could see her bra. Truth be told, he could see a hint of cleavage too. He tried to think.

Hmm, they're smaller than he thought.

“Erm… we should get the cleaners in,” Dai stammered after racking his brain for half a minute. “The water will ruin the floor.”

“Clean it up,” Gwen commanded, her eyes glowing with supernatural aggravation, setting her amber-green irises ablaze.

“That’s for the cleaners!” Dai insisted stubbornly, his eyes wide and staring, unable to tear himself from the unexpected titillation.

"!"

Gwen crossed the floor in an instant, faster than Dai could blink. She caught Dai's collar before he could decide whether summoning his Spirit to defend him was a better or worse course of action. Pulling his face within an inch of her demanding gaze, she cranked her Dragon-fear to eleven.

“Suiqi, clean it up!” Dai croaked.

An aquamarine salamander, its body entirely transparent, slithered from Dai’s pant leg to lap up the water he had spilt, leaving not a single drop.

“Do you want to be here, Dai?” Gwen waited until the salamander dissipated before releasing the man’s tie. Her eyes softened, in Dai's eyes, the girl choked back a torrent of emotions threatening to spill. “Am I forcing you to be here? Are you my prisoner?”

Dai had fully expected Gwen to slap him or at least attack him with a Lighting Bolt. Instead, his whole body had gone numb with indescribable guilt.

“N-no… I want to be here.” A rush of blood hammered at his head, he couldn't think.

“Then am I not doing enough?” Gwen demanded of Dai. “Have I not done enough for you?”

Dai’s eyes told her 'yes', but his lips were forming a 'no'. A few inches from the man, Gwen recognised the stubbornness. Dai wasn’t just a regular idiot; he was a narcissistic, megalomaniac idiot.

“I made a deal with your Father, Dai.” Gwen moved her hands to his shoulders. With her grip strength, the man couldn't escape without touching her, which she knew he dared not to do. “I told him I would take care of you, make you into someone useful for our operation. Instead, you loaf about all day, moping about this and that, playing the loser.”

“How dare-”

A single glare from Gwen was enough to silence him.

Gwen sighed. As a man, a companion, or a co-worker, Dai was a failure. She would put him to his proper use, harness Dai's out of control testosterone. If she left him as he is, he was a liability for when she went away on the IIUC.

"Have you calmed down?"

Dai nodded.

“Then listen to me, Dai Fung,” she spoke slowly and meticulous. “My dearest wish is for you to be standing atop the Fung Group, leading your company, lording over your Clan, being you, standing beside Vice-Chairman Tu, Magister Chen and Patriarch Fung. That was my intent when your father pleaded for your position. A condition I agreed to because I was very much full of hope for your ascension. Wow, Dai Fung, I told myself, what a catch. He must be an incredible guy…”

Dai stared at Gwen with his mouth half open, flabbergasted by her sudden tenderness.

“… So I come out here, working my ass off; for myself of course, but also you. I got you to rent the office for me so you could show your father that you can do it, show him that you're competent. Else I could have asked the Wangs. Look around. We built this place, Dai, and it looks amazing - don’t you think it looks amazing?”

“Y-yes,” Dai confessed, his voice croaking.

"I jog at 6 AM - did you know I start my day at 5 AM? I get up at 4 AM, Dai, and I think to myself. I better train my ass off, because I need to be at the office, consulting, whipping you and Ken and Ruì into shape, answering mail, writing reports, drafting proposals. But I don’t gripe about it, okay, Dai? I don’t bitch about it. I go home at 6 PM, and you know what I do? I have supper, and then I train again. Training for the IIUC, Dai. No rest for the wicked. But why? Well, you know why. I took time out of my training to make sure that you have an easier time. But I don’t brag about it, how come? Why go to all the trouble?"

"..." Dai's lips parted. "I don't know."

"Because I want to do it - because I believe in you - because you’re worth it. Okay?” Gwen revved her Almudj's Essence like a chainsaw.

“Okay,” Dai muttered, mesmerised by her oratory, paralysed by her Dragon-fear.

“So help me, Dai.” Gwen welcomed the climax of her speech. She could hardly contain her excitement. Who’d thought one of her favourite in-flight films would be so damn useful? Even parroting the line, she shivered with motivational energy.

“So help me - help you. Dai. Help me, help you.”

Dai nodded.

The two stood in awkward silence.

Fuck, Gwen forced her face to remain impassive. Was it too much? The kid better not be too thick-skulled to take it all in.

“I am sorry,” her opponent suddenly exhaled, his eyes grew moist. “That’s the most touching thing anyone has ever said to me. I love you.”

Not the reaction I was looking for, but good enough. Gwen relaxed: if anything, she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. What’s with these assholes who don’t appreciate their parents. What about your father, Dai? Didn't he send you to me to make crystals and gain reputation? If she had a father like Dai’s, she would have been ten times the man Dai was right now. Hell, she'd probably be the right-hand woman to Secretary-General Miao.

“Thank you, Da-”

‘Ding!’

Her Message device chimed from the floor.

“It’s your father.” Gwen glanced at the pale young man before picking up her device.

Dai bowed.

For the first time in his life, he bowed wholeheartedly to someone who wasn't his father.

Patriarch Fung had called to ask why she had hung up. Gwen apologised and told him she had another incoming call, and that the matter was regarding Dai and if she could ask him to canvas Shanghai’s Fu-er-dai to find financiers for Tonglv’s second-stage expansion.

“If he’s up to it.” Patriarch Fung knew well his Son’s ability. From his dubious tone, the man doubted Gwen’s grandiose projection of Dai’s competence.

“I have full confidence in his abilities.” Gwen flashed Dai with a smile that showed off her pearly whites.

“Hee, you're too generous.” Unlike Dai, Patriarch Fung wasn’t a man so easily taken in. “Good work bringing in Ma, by the way. It puts me at ease knowing he’s watching over Tu and Chen.”

The same to you, Gwen stifled a snigger.

“Anyway, keep me updated. If Dai acts up, tell him, I'll skin him alive.”

Shen Fung terminated the Message.

Gwen was once again alone in the room with the Patriarch's darling son.

Just as she was wondering how else she could bend the young princeling to her will, Dai bowed again, a full ninety-degree show of subservience.

“I’ll do it,” Dai announced, his eyes fervent. “Just tell me what to do.”

Gwen’s eyes moved toward the paperwork.

Dai’s profile grew rigid.

It wasn't that he didn't want to do it, but that he essentially couldn't do it. Was it his fault that he had spent three years in Jianqiao duelling, drinking, whoring and partying? It's not like securing guan-xi and hooking up with the nouvelle riche taught him how to balance and audit financial statements.

“I won’t ask you to do that anymore, at least not until you ease into it.” Gwen threw him a carrot. “How about instead, you do something that'll benefit the both of us, and carry out your father’s plans?”

Dai’s expression grew hopeful.

“With Professor Ma now overseeing external Audits, we can afford a more rapid expansion,” Gwen stated. What she meant, of course, was that Tonglv was now a big old slab of braised pork dripping with fat, with every Secretary and his dog wanting a slice. “You, my friend, are going to do what you do best. Did you hear what I told your father? You can do that much for me, right?”

“I’ll convince them!” Dai expressed eagerly.

There it is! Gwen breathed out. Dai was finally getting it.

“Ha, I am not sending you out there alone! Take this." Gwen snapped her fingers, producing an obsidian currency card made of a material so dark that it seemed to absorb light. “This an Orichalcum-Centurion Card.”

The card drifted through the air until it reached Dai’s hands.

The moment his fingers touched its surface, it lit up with two pictograms that read ‘Dai Fung’, followed by the pictogram Sigil for his Clan besides his name.

“It’s heavy…” Dai hefted the card. “Mao, this is real Orichalcum!”

“Of course it is.” Gwen snorted. “When you go out with your friends, make sure you present this card at each club and restaurant.”

“Why?”

“Because they're worth your time and interest. That card is a limited-edition item from the House of M. At any establishment owned or affiliated with the House of M; you will receive VIP personalised service: private rooms, discounts, limited stock, the works.”

Dai, of course, know of the House of M. He was one of their most frequent customers, although, like most of the power-progeny, he was a VIP only in the sense of a fox borrowing the tiger’s terror.

“And at places not connected to the House of M?”

“You show the card anyway,” Gwen chuckled. “Remember, it’s called the M-Centurion Card. Or the Orichalcum-Card. There’s only a few like it in existence at this point. Don’t lose it.”

“Why am I doing this?” Though suspicious, Dai pocketed the card anyway. He was too curious not to try it out, not to mention the damned thing was Orichalcum!

“You don’t have to-” Gwen reached out a dainty white hand. "Give it back, I am sure Peaches..."

“I’ll do it!” Dai knew he was not committed to the girl's demands. Whatever Gwen's intent, he would have to pay his dues. It was the least he could do to show appreciation to the girl who thought of him so dearly.

Gwen glanced at the clock.

They’d been at this for too long. Ruì needed to go back to work.

“I am glad we see eye to eye, Dai.” Gwen softened her stance. “Now take that card, and...”

“And?” Dai asked eagerly.

“… don’t forget to pay the balance at the end of the month.”

December descended upon the pearl of Asia, accompanied by the coming of first-snow.

From the East China Sea, Shanghai resembled a giant snow-globe. Thanks to the city's Super-Massive Resonance Barrier, downy flakes of ice crystal became trapped within the dome, swirling and drifting, carried by invisible currents.

Yet, despite the growing frigidity, the figure of a girl, lithe and picturesque, jogged through Fudan's Gouding Road, heedless of the cold, steaming gently in her thermo-tights and runners. She was by now a well-known sight, for beside the girl was a menacing Mongolian Death Worm, while above her, invisible, floated a Kirin-marten.

Though she began her exercise in the dark, Gwen could see just as well whether at dawn or dusk, another boon gifted by the Essence exercise Ayxin had taught her.

As for the Dragon-kin, the woman had dominated Gwen's mind over the last week, especially when she grew hyper-conscious of the fact that her 'training-crutch', a Dragon-Scale regulating her Essence, belonged to the Dragon-Mage herself, plucked from her neck.

Along the way, Caliban wagged at an aunty who had risen early, preparing the charcoal for making grilled buns. In return, it received a stick of fried dough.

Gwen bowed her head, keeping her pace. The fact remained that she could neither contact uncle Jun nor Ayxin, nor did she have time to pursue the matter.

In the interceding weeks, Gwen had finally picked up a tuned version of Ice Storm, learned free of charge courtesy of Magus Young, her Evocation Lecturer, at the behest Dean Luo. At the same time, she began practising with Wall of Lightning, a spell well provisioned by the depth of her mana pool. Unfortunately, a Wall of Void, with its proportional expenditure of vitality and mana to length, height and length, proved itself to be a precarious and highly conditional contingency.

Additionally, she took flying lessons with a guest Instructor at Fudan, recommended by Jun. The Magus, Eric Dienhart, was said to be an Aerial Ace, retiring only when the psychological burden of the Front began to impact his mind.

When Gwen arrived at the lower campus training grounds, she was surprised to see Kitty, Mayuree’s guard from the Kunlun Clan, waiting for her.

“You’re the new student?!” Kitty’s expression couldn’t have been colder.

“Hi, Kitty!” Gwen cheerfully waved at her. “Haven’t seen you around for almost three months!”

“I’ve been training.” Kitty’s complexion was as white as snow, a testament to her growing affinity in Ice and Air. Gwen noticed that as she spoke, the girl drifted back and forth, as though a strong breeze might blow her away. “We should duel sometime.”

“Oh certainly.” Gwen grinned, wondering if Kitty had any idea about Caliban or Ariel, or her recent growth spurt. “Looking forward to it.”

Kitty escorted Gwen to their Instructor, a gruff old military type.

Like Instructor Chen, Gwen’s Creature Mage mentor, Wing Commander Dienhart was the type to put up a front of good cheer.

“You two know each other?” The man appeared surprised by Gwen's acquaintance with Kitty. “Here I’d thought Kit's a lone wolf.”

“We’re not friends.” Kitty was desperate to clear the confusion.

“We’re battle-buddies,” Gwen reminded Kitty that they had Quested together. "We're neighbours, even."

Kitty hissed.

“Never forsake your battle-buddy,” Dienhart chided Kitty for her immaturity. “Alright, let’s begin with some basic exercises. Gwen, show me everything you got.”

Gwen could scarcely believe her eyes and ears when the LRM Device pinged at dinner, revealing the caller to be Yue.

“OH MY GOD! YUE!” She squealed into the holographic Illusion, negligent of Richard and Petra's annoyance as they tried to finish their take out.

Yue's projection materialised head first, with Gwen holding her breath until her companion’s robust bosom joined the fray, authenticating her friend's identity.

“GWENNIE!”

"YUE-YUE~!"

The two girls studied each other with a frightening intensity.

Almost a year on since rescuing Yue from Sufina’s Grot, the Fire Mage appeared older and wiser, having acquired a tan and cut her hair shoulder-short. Interestingly, Gwen noted Yue wore a white-blue singlet in the shade of the Royal Australian Air Force, paired with matching cargos in camo.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Gwen gushed, finally catching her breath. “I’ve called Alesia a dozen time, but you were always away.”

“I know.” Yue’s voice was huskier than Gwen remembered, more mature. “Lots of Lizardmen drama on the Brisbane Line, so Alesia’s boys took me up north. It was supposed to be three weeks, but it ended up being a tour! Haha.”

Gwen's gaze drifted to the rank-Glyph Yue hung on a string between her bosoms.

“Yue! You got promoted! Evee was right!”

“That’s Cadet Warrant Officer Yue to you!” Her friend chuckled, snapping a crisp salute.

Gwen snapped back with one of her own.

“That’s a terrible salute!” Yue mocked Gwen's feeble attempt. “Whatchu been doing?"

“Oh~ projects. This and that. Trying to make ends meet, hee hee."

“Hmm, so I've heard. But, first things first, when are you coming back?”

"Ah..."

In all honesty, Yue's question caught Gwen flat-footed. With everything going on from Uncle Jun to Mayuree to the Fungs, she hadn't felt homesick in some time.

“...not for a long while,” Gwen replied with a measured voice, assuring Yue that she was indeed coming back when the time was ripe. “I’ve got the IIUC coming up, then three more semesters of University, and that’s assuming I pass my Magus exams. Did you know I am the subject of a dozen research papers?”

Yue snorted with laughter.

“You’re a student and a specimen? So you're engaged in self-study?”

“Well, you know what they say - 'If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.'"

"Umm... Gwen?"

Before Gwen could continue, Petra politely interrupted.

“I am going to bed,” her cousin informed them. She disliked skulking in the corner while Gwen conversed on the LRM Device.

“Woa, there's your hottie cousin again!” Yue wolf-whistled, waving to Petra.

Richard took the cue to walk into the LRM Device's field of view.

"Yes? You called."

"ARRRGH! Richard ya old dog!" Yue laughed out loud.

"Yue, good to see you. Doing well?"

“Better, I am doing good!" Yue replied. "Joining us?"

Richard shook his head.

"Naw, I am off to Nantong first thing in the morning. Don't talk too late. Petra and Gwen need their sleep as well."

"Nite, Richard."

"See ya."

"See you in a week or two." The man left.

With Richard gone, Gwen and Petra stood shoulder to shoulder.

“Are you the one dissecting Gwen?” Yue followed up with an inquiry of surprising abrasiveness. "What's she like on the operating table?"

Petra and Gwen exchanged glances. Gwen recalled that she had indeed bitched to Alesia about Wen, Petra's Master. The Scarlet Sorceress must have Chinese-whispered her displeasure, and now Yue was taking it out on Petra. Like Alesia, Yue was the type whose heart and mouth were interconnected, bypassing the brain.

“Yue!” Gwen Shielded Petra from view. She gave her cousin an apologetic wave. Petra declined, shaking her head, then left for her room. "Yue! That was very rude; Petra's been nothing but kind to me."

“Hey, a girl’s got a right to be curious."

The conversation stalled.

"So, you got a boyfriend yet?” Sensing Gwen's displeasure, Yue banked and barrel-rolled onto a safer topic.

“No, do you?”

“Nope. Nothing to fuck out there but seven-foot lizards. Did you know their dick’s got two knobs? It's like a Y-shape.”

Gwen gagged, trying to dispel Yue's vivid vision of reptilian phallus.

“That’s a crock!” Gwen shot back. For some unknown reason, she was reminded Ayxin, who could change gender at will. Egh, Uncle Jun better watch his ass. “First of all, you’re out there with hundreds of Mages, all beautiful human beings, amongst whom I am sure there are at least a dozen have an active interest in shacking up with a well-endowed sorceress with many talents. Second of all, how do you know you won't like lizard dick? Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Puhahahaha!" Yue was beside herself.

“…” Gwen herself was surprised by how quickly she slid back into immaturity. Such was the terrifying power of Yue's foul-mouthed charisma that all the tension she had collated over the last few weeks dissolved at once. “Lizard-amour aside, tell me about the Saurian-Front. Give me some highlights,” she implored.

“You want stories of lizard dick? We wrangled some giant mother-fuckers, I’ll tell you that.”

“God.” Gwen stifled another round of laughter. “Be serious! So, how was it?”

“Well.” Yue tilted her head. “Let me tell you about this village we hit up in mid-November…”

Yue's descriptions lacked flare, but its simplicity was no less haunting than a well-told epic.

With Alesia in recuperation, the Scarlet Sorceress' Apprentice roved up and down the coast with Alesia’s old unit, kicking ass, completing Quests, and taking names. From week to week, she Purged new mining regions, defended coastal townships and hunted down particularly nasty magical creatures threatening the banana and mango plantations. The climax was when Yue dove into the canopied jungle in pursuit of a Saurian Priest that had sacrificed a sugar cane processing station's two-hundred strong staff.

“Oh yeah, check this out.” Yue pulled up her singlet.

“Woooa!” Gwen instinctively averted her eyes. The illusory projection was very much three-dimensional. When she gathered the courage to look again, her eyes meandered past the udder madness of Yue’s shameless bravado and instead focused on a strange discolouration marring Yue's upper body.

Upon closer inspection, Gwen realised she was looking at a patch of Yue's body that was pale and supple, sharply juxtaposed against the rest of her tanned and peeling dermis. If the effect had been reversed, Gwen would have thought Yue was suffering from a driver’s tan, but Yue's exhibition indicated the opposite.

“Impressive as ever, are you showing off?” Gwen fought back a sinking suspicion, disarming her paranoia with humour. “I am not taking off my top, by the way.”

“Looks weird, right?” Yue chortled. She pointed at her right arm and breast. “How about that, huh, new arm and a new boob."

Gwen's next words choked before she could speak.

“Yep, lost the old pair.” Yue thankfully replaced her shirt, her tone inferring that she had suffered a stomach upset. “Let me tell ya; those lizards don’t fuck around. Got nabbed by one of their Champions in the canopy, jumped me from a tree. CHOMP! Cut through Taj's Shield, just like that. Had a bite-force like a fucking foundry-press. Fuck, it hurt like hell. Thankfully, Jonas had a Regeneration scroll on em. Still, had to stay back at the Brisbane Tower for rehab, took two weeks.”

“Jesus, Yue…”

Yue flexed her arm.

“Pretty interesting, yeah? Anyway, thought I’d let you know, always keep a Regeneration Scroll handy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks, Yue.”

“Anyway, I am sending you a souvenir. You should get it in a month or so.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“You’ll see. Call me when you get it,” Yue grinned, showing her teeth.

Gwen felt immediately suspicious.

“Alright, gotta go. Look forward to the package!”

Not one for sentimental goodbyes, Yue cut the Message link with a finality that Gwen could never manage herself. Not yet ready, Gwen found herself suddenly alone in the darkness of her living room, overlooking the vista of Fudan below, her mind's eye still thinking of Yue's creamy left lumbar juxtaposed against the rest of her tanned body.

She wondered at that moment, what life would have been like had she not gone with Guo’s men to Shanghai. Yue's adventures were like a parallel journey, the road not taken. Had she fought tooth and nail to return home, it would probably be herself, Yue and Richard, roving the east coast, building up their military credentials.

Gwen imagined a life without Petra, or Babulya, or uncle Jun or Tao and Mina and even Mayuree, Lulan and Kusu.

In hindsight, how could that be enough?

Split between paperwork and Spellcraft, mid-December came on in a wintery haze. Each morning, come wind, rain or snow, Gwen persisted in her early morning jog, her Draconic-constitution trivialising the extremity of weather.

Unlike her work, December saw the gradual shutdown of the university and its surrounding industry. With a diminished roster of staff and students, many of the eateries, cafes, and street stalls reduced their staff and opening hours.

Gwen’s office, in contrary to the local trend, had gotten busier. She picked up two more NoM staff members from James Ma, a young man called Terence Li, and a mousy quiet mathematician by the name of Effi Chen. Now at a full allotment of five employees plus Gwen, her work could be offloaded to subordinates. For day to day operations, Ruì remained in command, overseeing Dai and Ken, who managed dealings with their fellow Mages. As for paperwork, the lion’s share of accounting first went through Effi and Terence, then to Ruì, and finally to Gwen.

At Gwen’s behest, all of her NoM employees had access to simple, crystal operated Magitech such as Message Devices, Translation Ioun Stones, as well as other conveniences of life.

Dai meanwhile, had taken to his Centurion privileges like a fish to water. He roved the Bund day and night with his band of Guan-er-dai and Fu-er-dai friends, doing luncheons and throwing lavish banquets, sweet-talking them into buying the canal’s Stage 1 expansions, and for those who had missed out, a chance to invest in Stage 2.

The House of M, meanwhile, had quickly begun to grasp the quirks of a Centurion customer’s desires, acknowledging that men like Dai cared less about crystals and more about face. Simple occurrences such as a maître d` knowing one by name, a restaurant offering a free bottle of expensive wine as a gift, or segregating one from the mundane customers via exclusive seating, made all the difference. Naturally, every interaction began and ended with Dai presenting his Centurion membership.

When Gwen read the House of M’s reports on Dai’s spending and activities, she was pleased to find that a significant buzz had engendered among the upper-class gentry of Shanghai. When finally, in a conversation with Tao, the wannabe rapper mentioned that his father had enquired about the Centurion card, Gwen knew she was onto a good thing.

By late December, Gwen knew she needed a break to stretch out her brain.

Training indoors in a private sanctum and scribbling reports in an office was beginning to grate on her patience. If nothing else, her joints were growing mouldy.

She contacted Richard, who had by now returned to Nantong with Kusu and Lulan, then joined them for a week in the Yengchen coastal District, clearing out a particularly aggressive infestation of Mer-Gobs. She had invited Percy, but her brother was occupied by MSS Instructors fortifying his Abjuration and Evocation.

According to her grandfather, Percy’s new Abjuration talent was exceptional, potentially even exceeding Gwen’s acquired skills. He suspected that the boy had a natural talent for that particular School of Spellcraft and that their accidental trigger had brought out the boy's latent abilities.

At any rate, regardless of whether his talents were acquired or natural, Gwen was happy that Percy was filling the shoes of expectation the family had laid out for him. As for herself, her mastery over her hound spells was progressing nicely, not to mention she had finally purchased a Signature Spell previously deemed too dangerous to use without a Spirit - one with a hefty overhead of 80 CCs.

Robinson’s All-Purpose Cloud Kill

Conjuration (5)

Casting Time: 56 Major, 25 Minor Incantation

Range: Medium, LoS, AoE

Components: Somatic, Verbal, Component

Duration: Instant, Persistent.

Since its initial inception during World War I, Meister Fritz Harber's original AoE has undergone significant revisions. The original invocation, utilising a catalyst of silver-salt activated with Positive Energy, generated a rapidly expanding 'cloud' with the means to disable low to mid-tier Undead. The spell’s current incarnation is the brainchild of British Meister Robert Robinson, whose work on the physiology of Demi-humans and Magical Creatures culminated in the spell's Signature variant. Without a catalyst, Cloud Kill generates an area of Elementally volatile discharge. When employing Earthen catalysts, the spell’s effervescent effects can be altered to produce light, corrosion, poison, or used to repel Undead.

This spell has a Class 2 Restriction and requires registration with a Tower.

To test the effectiveness of Gwen's new acquisition, Richard, Lulan and Kusu, together with Gwen's deer-hounds, corralled some hundred odd slavering Mer-Gobs into a ditch Lulan had dug out with Shape Stone. Gwen then took the thirty second needed to conjure the massive tier 5 Area of Effect Conjuration, unleashing her new spell upon her gibbering test subjects.

Her first attempt discharged a cloud of electricity that succeeded in paralysing enemies stuck within its field of effect.

“How wonderful,” Gwen remarked. She was all for non-lethal alternatives.

After which, she began experimenting with catalyst-driven variants.

In all honesty, the curious sorceress wasn’t sure what she had expected: the spell was called 'Cloud Kill', it created a cloud of elemental discharge. Why should she be surprised when the addition of a chunk of Volcanic rock-salt modified her static-charged Conjuration to emit a 'cloud' of horrid green gas that 'killed'?

In all likelihood, it was because of the screeching. Unlike the usual mob of Gobs and Goblins, Mer-Gobs were semi-aquatic, breathing through their skin. When the gas descended upon the Mer-Gobs, melting their gills, it drove them into a self-destructive frenzy.

“Wocao!” Kusu shied away from the foul-smelling odour. For some reason, he was reminded of indoor pools; only the noxious fume was a thousand times more concentrated. “Can Ariel control that?”

Gwen shook her head. The advertising on the spell was misleading. She could control the static-cloud, but the will of the wind drove the gas. No wonder the damned thing required Tower registration and couldn’t be used within the city.

“Well, go on, try the other ones.” Richard was brimming with interest, urging her to prepare all the variants.

"I don't think I want to."

"Oh, come on." Richard nudged her. "You can't just leave the Gobs to choke like that."

"I want to see as well!" Lulan raised her hand. The spell was anything but fascinating to a sorceress long used to cleaving through flesh and bone.

Gwen gazed at the Goblin-filled pit. As usual, Richard's logic was sound; the Mer-Gobs had to die. Any longer and the buggers would suffer needlessly - that or tunnel through the pit’s bottom.

Convincing herself that it was for Spellcraft, she produced the other minerals they had procured from the Magic Ingredient shop on Gouding Road, then activated them one by one as quickly as she could, stopping only to record their effects.

A bar of Cinnabar produced a paralysing and suffocating silvery gas.

A block of Pyrite turned the cloud into a mustard-like acid.

"I think we should stop." Gwen had goosebumps riding her skin from her shins to her neck. "I'll finish them off with a Barbanginy Sphere."

"There's one more ingredient," Richard pointed out. "Come on. You need to know how the spell works. Don't just waste the CCs."

Her final catalyst was a lump of salt-like Apatite. Once injected into the spell, the resultant 'cloud' spontaneously ignited in the air into white-hot incandescence, raining molten motes of phosphor onto its Mer-Gob victims.

“Jesus, this Robinson must REALLY despise Magical Creatures,” Gwen observed the atrocity below, her jaws grim with second-hand memories from her old world. There was a finality about her other Evocation spells, whether Void Bolt to Ball Lightning, that bespoke of purpose. Robinson's Cloud Kill, in Gwen's eyes, was a spell designed to deliver suffering. “This fucking spell, it shouldn’t exist.”

"It's a blunt instrument." Richard patted her on the back. “The next time we have to crawl into a Mer-Gob Den only as wide as your shoulders, you’ll think otherwise. I might pick up the spell myself.”

“Richard!” she snapped, pointing at the scene below. “You can’t think this is an acceptable act, even in war. It's too dangerous!”

“Don’t be such a hypocrite!” Richard pushed back, catching her flatfooted, being accustomed to her cousin grinning and shrugging off her 'Gwenisms'. When she persisted in glaring at him, he gave her a quick flick on the forehead, to which she responded by punching him solidly in the arm. “Hey! Don't get pissy at me. The spell of the hand! Remember?! It wasn't my Master who said that!”

The retort struck her conscience like a physical blow.

'It's the spell of the heart that murders, not the spell of the hand,' her Master's wisdom rang in her head like it was yesterday. But hypocrite or otherwise, her heart refused to accept the scene below. There was a steepness to the murderous efficacy offered by Cloud Kill that only a student of human history understood in its totality.

She lowered her head.

Richard, Lulan, and Kusu stood to one side, measuring their soft-hearted, stubborn-willed leader with their eyes. In the pit below, the last Mer-gob thrashed and died, leaving nothing but the stink of sizzling fish to permeate the foetid air.

It took Lulan all but thirty-seconds to fill the mass-grave.

“Let’s go.” Gwen motioned for her party to move.

“Gonna need another pit,” Richard reminded her. “We got ten more kilometres to cover, and you haven’t finished investigating your spell yet.”

“Then we'll do it the usual way!” Gwen snarled. Hadn't she done enough? She tried out all the damn minerals!

“Yes.” Richard studied Lulan as he cleaned up, then turned to Gwen with an awkward grin. “But we haven’t seen the Void variant…”

After a break like that, Gwen decided she needed a break.

"Alright, everyone! Let's get ready for a big Christmas bash! Ham, sparkling wine, merriment and gifts for all!"

Her workers, regrettably, first froze, then regarded her with confusion, concern, and accusatory glances full of discomfort. From their expressions, she may as well have told them they were having a unicorn-themed lingerie party.

“I never figured you for a follower of King of the Jews.” Dai took great interest in the unexpected revelation, though Gwen could sense the apprehension in the man’s voice. “Does my father know about your allegiance? Not that I mind...”

Taken aback, Gwen looked to Ken for a second opinion, completely flabbergasted by the resistance she was receiving against an innocuous Xmas Party.

“Maybe it’s not my place to say this.” Ken coughed, averting her gaze. “But there's going to be of trouble if you openly worship the Magi of Nazareth.”

Her NoM workers were likewise intimidated.

“OKAY, HOLD IT!” Gwen commanded her workshop elves to cease their fantastic imaginations at once. “Minor Image!”

She conjured a glowing Christian Cross.

“What does this mean to you.”

“That’s the Christian Symbol for the Almighty.” Dai glanced at Ken. Beside his godless comrade, Ken Duan visibly shivered. “Come on, Gwen, you're not seriously going to hold a ritual in the office, are you? Can't you keep this sort of thing at home? Look, you're scaring Ruì.”

The NoMs backed away.

Gwen stopped herself from tearing a clump of hair out. She conjured, with great effort, a jolly fat man in red and white.

“Does this mean anything to you?” she enquired hopefully.

The men and women under her care shook their heads in unison. What in Mao's name had brainwashed their boss? First, she wants to hold a ritual to honour the mortal birth of a Western God, and now she's showing them an image of a jolly Gweilo in red? Why did the man have a sack? What’s with the beard? Was he, perhaps, a high-priest serving the Christian God? The man certainly looked fat enough to be a high priest. The crimson on his clothes, could it perhaps, symbolise the blood sacrifice made by Christ as he sought to overthrow the old Theocracy? The fivesome collectively shivered; they had heard through snippets of propaganda, that Orthodox Christians consumed the body of their Lord and drank his blood. Was that why the high priest was so fat?

“Er… I have to go.” Ken reached the door. “Permission to return after New Years.”

“NO!” Gwen’s Dragon-fear froze her audience where they stood. More than anything she realised she had to clear up this misunderstanding. “I am not a disciple of the Christian God! Christmas is a...”

She replayed a flashback of last year's Christmas spent at Elvia’s mansion.

They had prayed, said grace, ate and drank, then Elvia had sung Silent Night, and they released candles.

But there was no Santa.

Holy shit, Gwen baulked at the memory. There was no Santa. Thanks to Elvia's divine presence, she hadn't even noticed there were no reindeers, no baubles, and no Christmas tree! Her family had indeed had been celebrating the birth of Christ.

Her workers’ questioning eyes bored into her, demanding answers, wondering if they should report their employer to the MSS for unsanctioned worship of a foreign religion.

Gwen knew she had to do something to offset their concerns.

“As I was saying, Christmas is not a religious holiday in Australia. In Australia, we call it BOXING DAY.”

The workers regarded one another. Boxing day? What did pugilism have anything to do with it?

“Ah, I see why you’re wondering why we celebrate Boxing instead of Christmas in Australia.”

Her audience nodded.

“You know we have Kangaroos, right?”

Though none of her audience had seen a Kangaroo, they had a general idea of the deadly marsupial's prowess. The bestiary stated that the omnivorous mega-fauna could grow up to four meters in length, rove hundreds of kilometres across red-sanded deserts in search of food and water, and had a kick that could snap a man in half. Infamously, they also liked to box one another for dominance.

“See.” Gwen was pulling it out of her arse now, keeping her face as straight as can be. “To mimic the noble Kangaroo, we have a day of Duels. Hence, Boxing day…”

Ken raised his hand.

“Ma’am.” The man trembled. “I went to England for exchange. Boxing day is the non-religious holiday after Christmas originally for the common folk. The Box refers to the act of gift giving, typically in wrapped boxes…”

An awkward silence descended upon the open office, as thick as the December snow. Gwen wondered if she could open a portal into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void and crawl into oblivion.

There was now only one way to prove her innocence.

“Thank you, Ken.” She cranked her dragon-fear until the Essence was hammering at her eyeballs. “There is to be no worship of anything! No one is taking a break! We’re staying open until the 30th!”

Magus Maymaruya visited Gwen’s office with the necklace she had uncovered from the Water Ghost’s den.

“An unusual curio.” The Magus presented the identified device. “The central Core distributes the creature’s mana to the lesser Cores, reducing the stress of operation.”

“So, can a Mage use it?” Gwen asked the quintessential question.

“Poorly - also, that’s the reason why I am here.” The Magus shifted in his seat. “This thing wasn’t made by a Water Ghost. They lack the means. The item was made by people - by us.”

Gwen arched both brows.

“May I suggest handing it to the relevant authorities, perhaps a Tower? Usually, Enchanters are very interested in those creating illicit Magical Items for the Demi-humans.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Gwen heeded the Magus' advice, glancing at the necklace.

“On the other hand, I wouldn’t overthink it.” Magus Maymaruya inclined his head. “Are you familiar with the work of the Grey Faction?”

To the Enchanter’s surprise, Gwen knew.

“Yes, well, boons like this could often be a means to unbalance the power structure of a Demi-human region. By giving items to one tribe or race, the Tower encourages competing tribes to war with old enemies for food, land, and other resources.”

“I see.” Gwen realised the Magus was suggesting the Rogue Enchanter might be the working of the Tower itself, or least a Faction within the Tower. “Let's not stir the pot unnecessarily.”

“Do not fret for the loss,” the Magus assured her. “The reward for such things are usually paid in CCs. About twenty to thirty would be my guess.”

Gwen’s regarded the orbs.

Currently, she had no shortage of CCs. Perhaps she could bolster Richard’s efforts? Call it an early Xmas gift. Surely her cousin would like that.

For the next few days, Gwen managed her long-distance contacts.

With Gunther, she delivered a full report on her current condition in Shanghai, everything from her Spell List to her economic exploits, illustrated via the Power-Point School of Illusion. Thoroughly impressed, Gunther asked if it was possible to apply some of the ideas to Australia, or at least Sydney.

“Our population and production won’t cut it.” Gwen shook her head. “When I am back in a few years, I’ll go over what we can do - not to mention to induct NoMs into our workforce; there need to be significant changes to our basic economic infrastructure.”

Not to mention, Gwen held her tongue for the time being. If Australia was anything like the land of her old world, there remained unfathomable volumes of resources waiting to be unearthed in the Wildlands. In her old world, by 2010s, the great Southern Land was the world's biggest producer of diamonds and opals, a bulk supplier of sapphire, ruby, emerald, garnet, topaz, and the single largest source of iron-ore in the world. Considering that precious stones formed in areas dense with elemental-crystals; she could only suppose that the same could be said of her current world.

“And what of your allies in China?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the methodology I am applying,” she explained. “Not accounting for avarice, nepotism, and inbuilt disregard for social good, of course. There’ll be tangible benefits for some time to come. But, as Master would say, all things conform to the natural rhythm of human greed. As for economics, it bubbles and bursts, ebbs and flows. If nothing else, I hope my friend Mayuree’s House of M will persevere.”

“Merchants without nations,” Gunther mulled Gwen’s earlier words. “An interesting philosophy.”

“Only in an interconnected world.” Gwen had already cut back on the vision her world had entertained since some five decades ago, but even so, Gunther had been sufficiently engrossed in her illustrated roadmap of Sydney’s future.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Gunther inspirited his sister-in-craft's ambitions. “On our other topic, the Imperial Divination Agency has tracked Sobel’s cabal to the South of Kazakhstan, on the Demi-human Steppes.”

That Elizabeth Sobel was alive came as no surprise to either Gwen or Gunther. A sorceress capable of hiding from the Tower’s best efforts for three decades would not lack the means to escape even the direst of catastrophes. When they had held an earlier conference regarding Sobel, Gunther pragmatically informed both Gwen and Alesia that the hunt for Sobel would be neither quick nor satisfactory, but a life-long pursuit involving dismantling her organisation, turning her backers and exposing Spectre’s sympathisers. Only then, finally starved of resources, support, mana and vitality, they would have her.

For some reason, Gwen thought of Henry's story, where they had cornered Elizabeth in Hungary, in a place devoid of people. But even then, she had escaped, or was it merely her Master's sentimentality that had forbade them from pursuing further?

“If you hear anything, or if you think someone’s after you, tell us immediately. Pudong will do its best to intervene.”

“What about our Ravenport problem?” Gwen reminded Gunther of her drama with a member of the British House of Lords.

“I’ve asked friends in the U.K to keep an eye him,” Gunther cautioned his sister-in-craft. “To be honest, the man has his hands full. Westminster’s paralysed from a pitched battle between the Conservative Tories and the socialist Labour Party. Magister Blair’s just declared that he'd resign before his fourth term, so the Priministership is up for grabs in three years...”

Gunther paused when he realised his China-bound junior was politically illiterate.

“… so don’t worry about Ravenport,” he concluded. “At least, not until you leave for your IIUC. Talk to me then.”

Gwen cocked her head.

"What do you mean? Am I going to be in London?"

“I am not saying you will,” Gunther explained. “The U.K universities dominate the top ranks of the IIUC. Oxford, Cambridge and the London Imperial Sorcerous College are all seeded. Assuming you manage to beat out the Universities from your region, your team will progress to the top 20 round. Whether for the Quests or the Duels, its very likely the competition will take place on their home turf.”

“WOA, I GET TO SEE ELVIA?!” Gwen blurted out, her mind suddenly flying to her golden companion. “In person? In Europe?!”

“And Ravenport himself, I’d wager.”

“But Elvia!” Gwen grinned foolishly. To think she'd be reunited with Elvia in just a year and all she had to do was plough through a few teams of elite Mages.

"The chance of Ravenport taking action..."

The Radiant Mage paused; he could see her attention was elsewhere.

The girl was in a world of her own, but in a way, Gwen’s indifferent composure was the right thing. Until their path crossed, there was little they could do against Ravenport, now or in the future. Even in the instance of Gunther's Centralist Faction allies taking meaningful action against House Ravenport, it would be for political gain. Without significant rewards, no one in their right mind would move against a deeply rooted member of the Conservative Faction.

“Don’t count your cockatrices yet,” he stifled the girl’s excitement. “Now, tell me again about this Dragon problem in Myăma…”

Gwen tried to contact Elvia before Christmas came upon them, only to be informed by the Dorm Matron that the girls had left for Lady Astor’s country manor. Elvia did leave her a Message, however, wishing Gwen well and telling her she would be contacted when the opportunity arose.

Dejected, Gwen returned to the slog.

On Christmas Eve, she returned home to find Richard and Petra setting up dinner.

"Richard! You're back!"

“Petra told me about what happened at your work,” Richard remarked with amusement. “China’s not big on religion. You should know that. Also, what’s this thing about putting St. Nicholas in a big red coat? How is it possible that at your age, you confused Jesus Christ with the Patron Saint of Children?”

Gwen groaned. Petra had already bemusedly explained to her that Pope Julius I had made the 25th of December a day to celebrate the birth of Christ.

When she demanded if there was a Santa, Richard chimed in with the expert knowledge that it wasn’t pronounced Santa Claus, but ‘Sinter Klaas’, or Dutch for ‘Saint Nick,’ corrupted by English speakers when the Protestants frowned upon the worship of Saints. Either way, gift giving was not associated with Christ, but rather with Saint Nick.

“Gwen went to a government school,” Richard explained to Petra. “They don’t have a religious curriculum there.”

“Ah~, I went to private girls academy,” Petra informed her cousin. “The Boarding School for Girls of the Ministry of Defense of Russia, we had mandatory religious education using sanctioned scriptures.”

“I’ve heard of your school.” Richard whistled. “The best girl’s academy in Moscow.”

“Prince’s is not bad either,” Petra's lips curled sensuously.

“Nothing of the sort!” Richard scoffed. “I was in a Frontier chapter, incomparable to the real thing in London. The very idea that at tier 5 Conjuration I was made House Praetor should give you an idea of how starved we were for talent.”

Bah! Gwen rolled her eyes. Private school kids. My school was next to the fish markets! It stank, and we ate fish and chips three days out of the week. On the weekend, homeless people slept on our oval.

Ultimately, it wasn’t as though China forbade the celebration of religious holidays. It was more so that its citizens, particularly the younger folk, were indoctrinated by the thought that devoting one’s life to an all-powerful being was antithetical to say, blind allegiance to Clan, House, Family, and the Mao Manifesto. It was no surprise, therefore, that her employees had been so alarmed. What she had done was no different to asking Coca-cola employees to engage in Pepsi Appreciation Day.

The dinner that Petra and Richard had laid out reflected that austerity. Her Xmas celebration was bereft of any sign that the jolly fat man of commercialised gift-giving existed in this world.

Nonetheless, fluted glasses clinked.

“To us!”

“To your jolly fat St Nicolas!”

“Merry Christmas!”

As agreed, the trio had forgone expensive gifts. Gwen bought for Richard a moderately priced quasi-magical cologne. While Richard had gotten her an Expatriates Guide to Living in China handbook; for Petra, Gwen brought French perfume, the closest thing she could find to Chanel No.5, while her cousin gave her a can of Huso-Huso caviar.

“From the old country.” Petra tapped the quasi-magical tin. “The taste of home.”

“Wait up.” Richard stopped her. “I thought the Beluga Sturgeon's gone from the Black Sea.”

“This is incredibly precious!” Gwen pushed the can back toward Petra. “We said nothing expensive, remember?”

“I had it since a long time ago,” Petra explained. “I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. I figured you could do with the vitality.”

“The roe can be kept alive for a century,” Richard salivated. “It’s the ultimate decadent delicacy.”

Gwen made a face.

“I’ll hold onto it,” she informed her cousins. “Maybe one day, we’ll share it for a special occasion.”

Richard had hoped they would eat it now, only to have his hopes dashed when Gwen packed it away.

“Oh yeah, I got this thing from Yue!” Gwen changed the subject. She produced a gift-box which she had received the day prior but waited until now to open. Stripping away the protective shipping packaging, she unwrapped a box, then another box, then a colourful assortment of paper wrapping to reveal a hair ornament.

“Oh wow.” She lifted the opal-coloured twig between her fingers, allowing the play of lights to shine through its semi-opaque interior. “I better call her back! It looks hella expensive!”

Two invitations plus a hopeful Dai presented themselves in front of Gwen.

‘The House of M cordially invites Miss Gwen Song…’

‘Wang Enterprises invites the esteemed Miss Song…’

“Gwen. Father wants to know if you can attend our New Years Dinner. Uncle Tu and Magister Chen are going to be there as well. I’ve invited Ruì, Ken and everyone else…”

In a time like this, Gwen wished she knew the legendary Illusion ‘Simulacrum’.

But in the end, she chose to accept the invitation from the Wangs, informing the others that she wished to spend time with her family, a universally acceptable alibi which absolved her of any accusations of favouritism or snobbery.

“Thanks for the offer Dai,” Gwen apologised to the Fung Heir. “Can you explain my circumstances to your father for me? I haven’t seen Mina, Tao or my Aunty Nen in weeks.”

“I will,” Dai was visibly disappointed by her choice.

“We see each other three days a week, Dai,” Gwen joked. “Aren't you sick of me by now?”

“How could I?” The young man grinned sheepishly. “We should see each other outside of work.”

“Date a teenager? You wouldn’t!”

“Oh... Hmm...” The Fung heir scanned his unrequited beloved from head to toe. Since their first meeting, Gwen had strung him by the nose with the air of an older woman. Through he was intellectually aware of Gwen’s age, Dai never gave much thought to the fact that they were five years apart.

What kind of optics would taking a seventeen-year-old girl to a New Years party bring, especially one who was your boss and could kick your ass?

“Have a happy New Year, Dai.”

She gave him the gift she had prepared.

It was just a simple thing, a jar of potpourri she had made herself, although the vase was imported Venetian glass and the ingredients both rare and enchanted to uplift the user’s mood and attentiveness.

Before Dai could think of something profound to say, Gwen left to give the others their gifts.

“A trifle,” Gwen laughed amiably as Ken Duan likewise received her standard-issue potpourri.

But for the real heroes of her office suite, Gwen had prepared two gifts.

“Ruì,” Gwen summoned her P.A. “Here, this is for New Years, and the bonus is for your hard work.”

“Ma'am!” Ruì’s hands shook.

On her table was a card and a box.

The first was a currency card with 150 HDMs, a paltry sum for Gwen, but for Ruì, it was akin to three months of her salary.

The second was a special-order item Gwen had commissioned from Magus Maymaruya - a small Storage Ring useable by NoMs.

“Miss, I can’t!” Ruì’s hands shook. A Storage Ring was the mark of a Mage, only the servants of powerful families or the NoM attendants of prominent Secretaries were given customised Storage Rings.

“Nonsense!” Gwen slipped the device onto her right ring finger. “If it weren’t for your dedication this month, Dai and Ken would have failed already, right guys?”

“Absolutely!” Ken raised his hand. “Thank you, Miss Li!”

“We’re in your debt,” Dai added dishearteningly. There's was no skirting the fact that if not for Ruì’s help; he wouldn’t have been able to spot the discrepancies in the accounts Gwen had given him.

Gwen took the empty box and placed it in Ruì’s hand. The instructions were inside. Ruì left her seat, bowed deeply toward Gwen, then likewise toward her two co-workers.

“Keep up the good work.” Gwen patted the woman on the shoulders. “I’ll be counting on you next year as well.”

“Thank you for everything, Ma’am!” Ruì’s head remained low.

As for Effi and Terence, Gwen gave them each a ‘thank you’ card and a Minor Ioun Stone of Clarity sourced from the House of M for having followed her gruelling regime, after weeks of training under herself and Ruì, both of Ma’s hand-picked acolytes were proving to be worth their weight in crystals.

Finally, with the secular gift-giving completed, Gwen fared them well, wishing everyone a prosperous 2004.

Dinner at the Wangs was the right choice to make.

The gathering became an impromptu meeting of the young members of the House of Song. The location, as expected, was the Wang Group building just off Zhongshan Metro with the moniker of Dragon’s Dream, a massive complex with self-contained apartments, office blocks and a six-storey shopping mall choked to the brim with restaurants and shops.

After delivering their greetings and performing bows, Gwen, Tao, Mina, Petra, Richard and Percy retreated to a private level of their own, to a shabu-shabu restaurant owned by the Wang Group. With alcohol freely flowing and a display of Wildland meats free for the taking, Gwen thoroughly enjoyed herself.

“Sis, I want you to know I super appreciate our Nantong trip.” Percy raised a glass to toast. “Really gave me a confidence injection.”

“Oh-ho?” Gwen slammed down a shot of Mao-tai. Tao was shouting, after all, the Patriarch shouldn’t mind a few hundred HDMs, she hoped.

Percy’s face flushed with optimism.

“After I got back, I tried out and got short-listed for the junior Duelling team! Once training starts in January, I’ll know if they’ll include me as a starting or backup member!”

“How wonderful! Drink!” She sipped another mouthful of the vital liquid, feeling warm and fuzzy as the triple-distilled alcohol infused with her Essence. Beside her, Ariel was chewing on an enormous bone-nub she had fished from the hotpot soup, while below the table, Caliban ate up table scraps. Not far from her two Familiars, Lea the Undine likewise sat as though a member of her human party, although other than the mana-rich alcohol, she couldn’t consume anything else. "Did you have to duel many people?"

“Hell yeah! You should have seen it, Sis, I kicked ass…”

Inspired by a cup of Mao-tai, Percy related to her a slurred account of his participation in the school tryouts. At first, the boy was nervous and afraid, but after facing the Water Ghosts in Nantong, he realised there was nothing to fear from his fellow Mages, especially when sparring. As such, using his rudimentary Abjuration to create a defensive bulwark, Percy managed to defeat his first opponent by wearing them down, and then a second opponent by immobilising them with his salt shards. After that, the extended use of Salt exhausted him, and he had to request a pause to the duel. His performance, however, caught the eye of the Duelling team captain, a genius-level Mineral Abjurer with a Secondary-School in Transmutation called Kelvin Ma.

“Captain Ma might even give you a run for your money, Sis,” Percy challenged his sister, his boyish face red with passionate worship. “He can duel our No.2 and No.3 at the same time! I’ve never seen someone as good at Melee Magic as Senior Ma, not even Lulan!”

Gwen looked at her companions, who all shrugged.

Richard didn’t know the local celebrities. Petra didn’t care.

Tao wouldn’t know if he tried, and Mina wasn’t interested in kids.

“That sounds wonderful,” Gwen assured her brother. “Maybe we’ll find out one day if Lulan’s better or this Ma of yours.”

Of course, the alcohol-infused Percy continued to speak at a hundred words a minute, an endless torrent spewing forth without end.

When the time was ripe, Gwen retrieved from her Ring a dark, obsidian box and passed it over toward Mina.

“What’s this?” her cousin asked.

“I need a favour,” Gwen leaned in conspiratorially. “Give this a whirl and see how you like it. Most importantly, see how your friends like seeing you using it.”

Mina picked up the container. She recognised the embossed M from the House of M atop the scented and sealed package. It was thin, but also dense, about the weight of a book.

The package opened with a suction sound.

“!”

Mina’s eyes widened as her name flashed across the card’s light-absorbing surface.

“Gwen!” Her cousin whispered loudly, the sorghum amplifying her volume. “Is this the Orichalcum Card?! Daddy's been asking about this!”

Tao's eyes glowed beside them.

"Uncle Bao's already famous and influential, so I'd be infringing on his time and generosity," Gwen explained. "But, for you and I, we both have something to gain..."

Friday, 2nd of January, Gwen returned to the office to find two of her staff absent.

“What happened to Dai and Ken?” Gwen demanded from her P.A.

“Ken’s recovering from drinking too much at Dai’s party,” Ruì informed her.

“And Dai?”

“Mr Fung has being detained by his father.”

“Oh? For what reason?”

“For logging a total of 3,350 HDMs on his expense account.”

“Ouch,” Gwen winced. The total outgoing for the Office so far was 480 HDMs for the outfitting, courtesy of Patriarch Wang, and their total monthly wage, excluding Gwen, was 500 HDMs a month split between three NoM Secretaries, Dai and Ken. “Dai sure knows how to have a good time.”

“It's not the amount," Ruì explained, snickering. Gwen was happy to see that she had grown comfortable talking about her Mage colleagues. "Mr Fung forgot to pay the balance before the year’s end as well, and has incurred a 17% interest on all purchases.”

“…” Gwen exhaled. You can lead a Dai to water, but you can’t make him pay his credit card bill on time.

January passed in a daze.

With university yet to be in session, Gwen continued to refine her Spellcraft, sparring with her cousins, receiving visits from the occasional lecturer, and one time, had impromptu tea with Dean Luo and Ellen on the balcony of Fudan's Zibinyuan.

Two events of note punctuated early January. One was that Gwen received a Message from her uncle Jun, stating that he would return to be with the family on Chinese New Years. Of course, Gwen ecstatically responded she'd be there, or be square.

The second was her catch-up with Elvia. During their two-hour long conversation Gwen's erstwhile angelic companion gushed and cooed that upon receiving her provisional practice-licence, she would be assigned a Knight-Protector for Quests outside of London’s domain. Though Elvia was young and inexperienced, Lady Astor had earmarked the Spirit-Healer for great things.

Gwen's response was one of ambivalence. The idea that some man was going to follow Elvia around the countryside, inches away from her dear Evee at all times, left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Can a woman be a Knight-Protector?” Gwen insisted across the LRM Device.

“The rank of a Knight-Protector is ‘Knight Brother’ of The Most Distinguished Order of St Michael and St George, so…”

Gwen groaned in despair; even the title sounds cool as fuck.

To offset her growing anxiety, she informed Elvia that potentially; there may be an early visit to England on the horizon, assuming the IIUC goes well.

“Ooo! Gwennie!” Elvia squealed, her smiling face filling Gwen with happiness. “That’s amazing! I’ll ask Matron Maxwell and Lady Astor about the November IIUC as well. I am positive our school provides healers to the competing teams! Imagine if we could meet up!”

“No need to imagine! I’ll be there!” Gwen ground her teeth with such determination that the impact jarred her jaw. She had never felt such motivation to run to the Training Hall and summon all her hounds at once. Her Evocation was edging close to tier 5, and Gwen was keen to pick up Bilby’s Hand and Cone of Cold before May. If by August she could make inroads into the mid-tier 5 Evocation, it was entirely possible to learn the most crucial spell of the Lightning Mage’s repertoire - the tier 6 Chain Lightning.

Tier 6 Affinity Barbanginy Chain Lightining? As Peaches would say, you Mother-fuckers better watch out!

"Wait for me, Evee!" Gwen gushed. "I shall not pause until I bestride the green hills of Avalon!"

Curiously, work at the Office began to die down around mid-January.

When Gwen consulted Richard's Expat Guide and her workers, they informed her that all work on Tonglv would be suspended between 17th of Jan to the end of the Golden Week on the 29th, with the labourers and the Mages gradually returning until the 5th of February which was the Lantern Festival.

With book in hand, her orientation of Chinese holidays clicked into place. For her host nation, the real ‘end of year’ party was on the 22nd of Jan, the Lunar New Year of the Wood Monkey.

Supposedly, according to Ruì, the whole calendar wasn’t so much as based on the lunar cycle but the year of the inauguration of the Yellow Emperor, marking 2004 as the 4702nd year of Han dominion. Chinese 'Fengshui' Divination, it seemed to Gwen, was entirely divorced from the Eurocentric variation of Augury sourced from the Greco-Hellenic Dynasties, far too cryptic for a westerner to understand.

“This year is very auspicious for business, Ma'am,” Ruì explained to her bemused boss. “2004 is the beginning of metal-cycle, meaning an abundance of gold, precious stones and crystals. Therefore the financial business will boom. You are a Lightning Mage, correct? According to the Analects, it means you will get along with people who are related to Water and find conflict with those who are Wood. Also, when do you wish to close the office?”

“What’s your opinion, Ruì?”

“The 17th is a Saturday, Ma’am,” her P.A advised. “The problem with Golden Week is that manufacturing also takes the week off, meaning there’s a break in the supply chain. We won't be receiving reports starting from the 16th.”

“Then 17th it is. No point in working when construction's halted.”

“Agreed, Ma’am. I imagine all the migrant workers will be going back to their Districts to visit family and relatives. I'll probably request to travel to Canton to visit my family as well.”

“Well then.” Gwen wondered what she’d be up to in the interim of the Golden Week. “Let’s set that down tentatively, and I’ll speak to the others.”

January 21, 2004.

Chinese New Years Eve.

As was the tradition from Harbin, the Chinese Frontier west of Vladivostok, Klavdiya’s end of the year get-together involved the whole family gathered around an enormous table, jointly knitting hand-made dumplings.

Gwen arrived early, looking a treat in her hybrid blue-silk cheongsam, the very first dress that her babulya had given her. She had taken extra care with her hair as well, piling her long strands into a thick swirly bun before striking Yue’s opalescent ornament through the middle, affecting a distinct oriental look that turned heads wherever she went.

She spent the morning and noon speaking and listening to Guo and her babulya, teasing Percy whenever she got the chance.

By the late afternoon, the rest of the family had arrived.

Once the DIY dumpling banquet began, the youngsters were all pushed to one side, consisting of herself, Petra, Tao, Percy and Mina. Knowing that Kusu and Lulan would be spending their New Years alone, Gwen had invited the siblings as well, but Kusu insisted that he and Lulan would spend the Chinese new year together as a testament to their new independence.

On the other side was Tao’s father, Bao Wang, his mother Nen, her father Hai and his wife Qīn, her Uncle Jun.

Gwen had imagined Qīn's presence would have made everyone antsy as anything, but as it turned out, her family was out of shit to give.

The reason being Ayxin came as well.

Which, Gwen realised, explained why there were two CCP-Tower Magisters eating noodles in the courtyard, chewing the fat with Guo.

Currently, her babulya was trying to teach the dragon-princess how to make jiaozi-dumplings.

Draconic-dumplings.

Initially, the dumplings had chive-and-pork or mushroom-chicken-bamboo as filling, but the Magisters who had arrived informed the Songs that it was an insult to the Dragon-princess to provide for her such mundane, mortal fare.

When Guo bullishly asked his colleagues what the Dragon-kin had in mind, Ayxin outright murdered the old man by exploding his old heart.

First, she tilted her head, then with the utmost respect one of her race could afford a mortal being, she presented to Gwen's grandparents a gold-foiled New Year's gift-box.

“This is for the family, Father,” Ayxin announced, her voice the softness of gentle water. “It has properties that will improve yours and mother’s health.”

Guo's face moved through multiple shades of colour at once. The 'F-word' ripping out his tongue and nailing it to the wall. Babulya blinked her big eyes innocently as Jun performed a double facepalm.

Ayxin then opened the box.

Were it not for the quick actions of babulya calming his nerves, Guo would have spat a mouth full of tea in Ayxin’s face.

What was inside was a white-jade slab of perfectly preserved flesh, and what looked to Gwen like a Mandrake root.

“This is the rump from one of Ryxi’s prized dragon-boars.”

Just the vitality radiating from the damn thing was having Gwen salivate uncontrollably. She could eat the damn thing raw.

“And this is for yourself, esteemed mother and father. It’s a Ginseng Spirit, millennia old, from my father’s herb garden.”

The two Tower Magisters gazed at Guo, wondering if they had heard the word ‘Spirit’ wrong.

That was when the ginseng root tried to make a break for it.

“Pok!” Ayxin commanded in her draconic-tongue. Half the assembly froze. She picked up the mischievous ginseng root, then tore off one of its limbs.

The ginseng let loose a silent scream, possessing no mouth to communicate its agony.

Ayxin then materialised an urn of rice liqueur, then dumped the crushed limb into the amber liquid.

“The Ginseng is best when drowned in this Song Dynasty rice wine.”

Guo wanted to refuse, but the whole family, babulya included, was wiggling their brows at him. Stricken by the immense pressure of public scrutiny and peer-pressure, Guo relented to being bribed for the first time in his life.

“Please accept it, Father,” Jun urged from the side. “I’ve already dissuaded her from bringing gifts that are too outrageous.”

The two CCP Tower Magisters' eyes watered as Guo gave his thanks, wishing Ayxin well in the coming year. Millennia-Old ginseng with a developed sentience? Dragon-brewed rice wine? The flesh of a draconic-creature used to make dumplings?

Was their old friend cultivating a path to immortality?

“Magister Cho, Magister Xiang, if it too much to ask that you join us for New Year’s dumplings?” Guo requested of his two old compatriots, seeing their wistful faces.

Cho and Xiang almost burst into tears. Guo was a true comrade, his socialist manifesto without question.

Spending Golden Week away from their family guarding a Dragon Demi-God was already hard enough on their old bones. If they had to eat buckwheat noodles outside the door while their friend feasted on the food of the Gods, they would lose faith in Mao himself.

“We’re going to need to mince that somehow…” Gwen’s babulya examined the slab of draconic-boar meat, moving in onto a chopping board. “Shall I ask if any of the barrack’s chefs know how to prepare magical ingredients?”

“No need,” Ayxin glared at the slab harshly. There was a gentle breeze; then the meat fell apart into tiny diced cubes smaller than Gwen’s fingernails.

“Now to season it.” Gwen’s babulya didn’t miss a single beat. A collection of Wildland grown garlic, shallots and generous serves of chives cleared her Storage Ring and into the mince. “Nen, start kneading out the dough. Qīn, Gwen, Petra, Mina... Ayxin. Start with egg and chive pockets while I ready the filling.”

The women cleared some space around Axyin, though Gwen didn't care and sat right next to the Dragon-kin.

After Nen cut the dough, they got to work.

Ayxin picked up a piece of dough, feeling the texture of the soft and stretchy flour.

How many centuries had it been since she ate dumplings? Her draconic-memory recalled a temple, or what looked like one to the young Ayxin, with her aunt and her sisters on their knees, head bowed, presenting a stone cold dumpling in a golden bowl after it had been tested for poison.

"You hold the edge like this, and then you flip the corner, kneading with your index and thumbs..."

Luckily, it didn’t take her long to learn. As a Dragon-kin with perfect control over her body, she was soon producing more dumplings than all the other girls put together.

As for Gwen, she couldn't make a jiaozi if her life depended on it. All of her dumplings looked as though conjured from dark space, each one of her creations was a 'thousand young' spawned by Shub-jiaozi-Niggurath.

Soon, the first dumplings arrived. When cooking, the Song family chef, an ex-army cook, almost kicked over the pot when the steam took on strange, draconic shapes.

"Gānbēi!"

"Gānbēi!"

"Hao!"

"Happy New Year!"

"Prosperity and fortune!"

Ayxin bit into a dumpling, her mouth filling with the fatty soup of juices from Ryxi’s painstakingly reared beast. It was delicious and nostalgic, so much so that she closed her eyes to savour the taste and texture.

“Ergh! Sooooo good! The sou- ARRGH my dress!”

Ayxin’s nostalgia was rudely interrupted by Jun’s niece and her indelicate, hyperbolic utterances. Were it not for Jun’s questionable paternal devotion to the girl, Ayxin would have cautioned Gwen with a power-word to teach her some manners. To have so little regard for her betters, especially in a sacred time like the change of one elemental cycle to the next, was blasphemy.

Back in the Palace, every twelve-year cycle, Ayxin, Ryxi, Golos and their mightiest sibling, Ruxin, would present their gifts to Father. For the entirety of the ceremonious occasion, the siblings, as well as the Yinglong’s lesser subjects, would sit in silence, not daring to breathe or achoo, waiting on their Lord to conclude his meal.

She looked toward Gwen, whose form she had once taken, and saw the girl shoving dumpling after dumpling into her maw. For some reason, Ayxin saw Golos' gluttonous face. For some reason, she felt homesick.

That was when she noticed the pronged ornament sticking from Gwen's piled hair.

The Dragon-kin's eyes narrowed, she focused her pupils for a closer inspection. There was something disturbingly familiar about the shape of it, the way its tapered end split into two elegant, coral-like extensions.

Half-way through chewing a dumpling, the realisation hit her.

“PufFFT!”

A mouthful of boar-juice showered Jun, who was turning to ask what held her attention so intently. Ayxin's complexion glowed a vivid scarlet as her desired mate wiped tender bits of pork from his eyebrows.

“Enjoying yourself?” the Ash Mage intoned carefully.

“Your niece, Gwen…” Ayxin wanted to apologise, but Dragons don’t apologise or yield- especially not when faced with such an absurd sight. “She’s wearing…”

“Oh?” Jun looked toward Gwen, who was now staring at them, holding back laughter at her uncle's ridiculous face. “She’s adorable tonight, isn’t she?”

Ayxin wondered if she should explain, but looking at Gwen, she just felt so tired.

“It’s nothing.” The Dragon-kin returned to her meal, though all her appetite was gone. “Here, let me clean that up for you.”

Beside them, the 'adorable' niece burned with oppression as Ayxin took a priceless moon-moth silk hankerchief to her Uncle’s face.

What a peculiar child. Ayxin pondered bemusedly. Why would anyone stick an enormous baculum inside their hair? Sometimes, there was no explaining what humans did in the name of fashion.

After what was surely her third plate of dumplings, Gwen was sure she could summon all seven of her hounds in the yet to be attempted Void variant.

There was ample vitality in the meat, though the cooked flesh couldn't compare to her consumption of creatures via Caliban. The real culprit was the rice-wine ginseng combo. It travelled down her throat like liquid fire, mixing with the dumpling, diffusing through her mana channels.

If possible, she would have liked to stow some of it as a sort of 'vitae-potion', though that would be both selfish and improper.

Usually, after a meal, it was only Gwen whose skin glowed with youthful exuberance as her mixed physiology of essence and Void absorbed the mana in the ingredients.

Now, the whole family looked as though they lost a few years. By Gwen's observance, her babulya visibly had fewer wrinkles, while Guo’s arched back appeared straighter, more robust. Seated nearby, her father and uncle Jun both looked more handsome and less worn by the passing of years. Qīn, still heavily pregnant, was positively glowing with life. As for Gwen's future sibling, there was no doubt he or she was going to arrive as hale as anything.

For the younger girls, the effect of the life-extending ginseng wasn’t so notable, though when Gwen's attention turned to Tao, she couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Tao was the sort of guy who resembled an old man the moment they hit puberty. He slouched, he scowled, drank heavily, and he smoked like a foundry chimney. After a plate of dumplings, a cup of wine and two pieces of the ginseng, he gazed at the family with an unblemished baby-face.

Nen squealed and hugged her baby boy, while Patriarch Wang, himself looking less weathered by overwork, burst into such hilarity that the entire table joined in, roaring with uncontrolled mirth.

Unable to help herself, Gwen reached out and touched her cousin's plump face, ripe with collagen.

His beard, which Tao had attempted to grow to no avail, was now soft, silky and fuzzy.

"How's mah mug, dawg?" The rapper grinned at Gwen. "Handsome Peaches?"

"More like adorable." Gwen squeezed his chin. "With a face like that, you should call yourself Young Peach. Tell me, does idol-rap exist? hahaha."

"How about Peach Fuzz?" Tao rubbed his none-existent jawline. Unfortunately, Tao was a boy with his mother's face. "Don't yo think Fuzzy Peaches juz rolls off the tongue?"

This time, it was Petra who choked on her dumpling.

When Gwen found out that Jun was going to stay at the family compound for the next six days, she too resolved to stay. When Ayxin further informed them that she would be leaving for Huangshan to pay respects to her father and arrange her territory for future trading with Shanghai, nothing in the world could have pried Gwen from the Song compound.

After gleefully faring Ayxin well the next day, she hung about her uncle, bothering him for every little detail.

“Here are the crystals from Huangshan.” Gwen flashed her Ring. “I’ve only got four thousand in Currency Cards on me right now; there’s another five when we sell the rest.”

“As I said, you keep it,” Jun insisted. “It’s not like Ayxin needs to pay for anything on her shopping sprees.”

“Shopping sprees?”

“Oh, she’s been going through the shops as though possessed.” Jun exhaled. “Dragons like to hoard. I think I know as much about women’s clothing as you do now.”

“Oh-ho.” Gwen twirled. “Anything you would like to see me wear?”

Jun chuckled drily, knowing better than to keep talking.

“Ah, you’re no fun,” Gwen teased her laconic Uncle. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Surprisingly, work.” Jun snorted. “What did you think we’re up to?”

“Doing the horizontal tango?”

Jun cocked his head, bemused by her accusation.

“A Latin Dance?”

“Or the spread-eagle fandango…”

“I am afraid that I am not one for folk music,” Jun assured his niece that he and Ayxin had most certainly not engaged in the Cha-cha, vertical, upside-down or otherwise. “But that does give me an idea. There are some fantastic foreign bars in Pudong. Anything to keep away from more shopping, ha.”

“…” Gwen sighed. It was no fun when the person you’re trying to tease was oblivious to innuendo. "Have you and Ayxin engaged in coitus?"

"Ah~," Now it was Jun's turn to exhale with exasperation. "I'd rather not say."

"Why?" Gwen grinned awkwardly. "Nothing's wrong. I am not one to judge someone for premarital sex."

"You should, Gwen," Jun frowned. "You're seventeen!"

"And you're... forty... something!" Gwen pouted, her hands resting against her hips. "I am not a little girl, trust me. Do I look like a clueless waif to you? I know more than you give me credit for!"

Jun glanced at Gwen's hair ornament.

Poor little fool, the Ashbringer averted his gaze, thinking of Ayxin's complaint. The girl put up a good front, but she was as innocent as a ewe.

Gwen took Jun's aversion to infer her Uncle had been slaying his lady dragon day and night, only that the man was too modest to brag. Sure, Ayxin was a two-century-old cougar, but she looked anywhere between sweet-sixteen to twenty. Hell, she could take any form-

Gwen mentally slapped herself.

One shouldn't stare into the abyss for too long, for it gawks back.

“Tell me about Pudong. What’s it like over the checkpoint?” She changed topics.

“What do you want to know?”

“Are there many Demi-humans?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but no.” Jun smirked, far more comfortable with their new topic of conversation. “Nothing like the rumours anyway. The Demi-human guests allowed into Pudong are Government workers, typically expatriates here to establish diplomatic ties. Unlike Europe, China is a very homogenous country, consisting almost entirely of human beings.”

“Are there Elves and Dwarves?”

“A few,” Jun affirmed her limited knowledge. “The Tower has established trade routes with the higher Demi-humans. Of course, if Ayxin can keep her part of our new trade deal, the Dragon-kin may yet become Shanghai’s largest inter-species trading partner.”

“What are we bartering?” Gwen hoped it wasn’t organs, thinking of the Grey Faction and its run-in with Alesia, and knowing how much regard China had for its citizens.

“Crystals, precious metals, gems and food,” Jun educated his niece with great patience. “In return, we get tea, Wildland beasts, herbs, and other useful things infused with draconic-essence. The dāndào's Dānshi are in a tizzy, last I heard.”

“Pill Path?” Having never heard of the title, Gwen's Ioun Stone struggled to find an equivalent lexicon.

“Makers of medicinal Pills & Elixirs,” Jun translated for her. “They make alchemical concoctions with Chinese medicine. The production rate can’t compare to western potions, but the effects of the rarer recipes fall somewhere between low-tier Elven meta-Elixirs and higher-tier pharmaceuticals. Take the Yunnan White-Root Powder for example - a fingernail-sized pinch is enough to close any external body wound, staunch bleeding, and ensure bare-minimal scarring.”

“Wow, why aren’t we stocking em by the ton?” A powder capable of substituting for a potion injector would surely sell very well.

Jun gave her a wry smile.

“The recipe calls for hundred-year-old ginseng and the ground chitin of Calcite Crickets living in the Alu Caverns that hunt down prey to ingest their bone marrow. The lesser Bone Eaters lack potency, so Adventurers have to hunt down the Elder variety, typically tier 8, living in family communes of a dozen or more…”

“Ah.” Gwen shuddered at the thought of two-meter skeletal crickets chewing through human bones. All those little mouth-claws! Terrifying!

“Oh, speaking of which.” Jun slapped his forehead. “Here, I saved this for you.”

Her uncle produced a small packet just a bit larger than his hand.

“Yearling tea from Fur-peak. Ayxin gave it to me, but I am not a tea drinker…”

Gwen held the tea packet. It was such a simple gift, thoughtless even. But it was enough to have her chest welling like a balloon, bursting with gratitude.

“Do Babulya and Grandfather have a share?”

Jun nodded.

Phew, Gwen breathed out, feeling equally relieved and disappointed.

“Thanks, Uncle Jun,” she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

Jun gave her a broad smile.

“Well, since we’re here and taking a break.” The Ashbringer stood, stretching his limbs. “I'll give you a reward if you can push me to Shield Break.”

"Ho ho ho." She cackled. "Hold on to your pants!"

Gwen’s anticipated week-long celebration of eating, shopping and training with her Uncle was abruptly cut short the day before the Shangyuan Festival, when Guo asked if she was coming with them to Hubei.

Earlier, the Patriarch of the Song estate had found his son and granddaughter tearing Percy's training hall apart, forcing him to forbid sparring with spells that would overpower the meagre protection offered by the hall's antiquated Force Barriers.

Thanks to Richard's guidebook, Gwen knew about Qingming.

The ritual of ‘grave-sweeping’ was held on the 15th day after the Spring Equinox, requiring the male members of a House to return to the place of their ancestral origins to sweep the graves of their ancestors. As a girl and a Gweilo, there was no expectation that Gwen would attend, though Guo offered to ‘introduce her to the ghosts of the Song ancestors’.

Though not wishing to be rude, the very idea that she would be kneeling before tombstones while her grandfather spoke to the air about the ‘great prosperity’ of finding a granddaughter on the Frontier had her shivering all over, and so she politely declined.

When Gwen asked if the NoMs held such festivities, Guo replied that first, they had to have a glyphed and sealed Ancestral Tomb. After the outbreak of Undead up north, NoM citizens by law had to cremate their dead. Combined with the fact that the CCP had banned the practice of burying the dead out in the Wildlands, NoM citizens no longer practised grave-sweeping, at least not as the Houses or Clans would know it.

Naturally, Percy had to attend, presumably his father as well.

As for Hai, Gwen had spoken to her father a few times during their stay in the Song compound, though, in all honesty, there was little common ground between them. After all that had happened, amiable dinners would suffice. That Hai was happy with his new wife, waiting for his child to be born, was the best she could manage.

When Golden Week drew to an end, she gave each one of her family members a tight hug, then readied herself for the new semester.

With the beginning of the Spring Semester, life returned to Fudan. The snow had eased mid-January, and by early February, the skeletal mulberry trees were bristling with jade and emerald foliage.

Gwen's favourite restaurants reopened as well; their owners welcomed back the familiar face of the Worm Handler and her Mongolian Death Worm, both spectacles to behold for diners fortunate enough to grace their presence.

After consultation with her peers, her Instructors, the Dean, and anticipating her future needs, she decided on the following courses for her Semester:

Conjuration CJR2001

Translocation CJT2007

Bestiary and Care of Spirits  FAM3021

Evocation EVK2002

Advanced Spell-shaping   ASP2201

Utility Divination DIV2003

Management GEN200M

Economics GEN200E

Conjuration 2001 and Translocation were both taught by the resident Senior Lecturer, Louis Birch. Second-year Conjuration continued the existing theory, moving into higher-level algorithms and incantations necessary for spells tier 6 and beyond.

Translocation was a class taken by Combat Mages wishing to use Short-Range Teleportation as a primary mode of combat. The practical course took students through complex obstacles, as well as instructed the neophytes in various operational tricks of the trade. Juxtaposed against Portage specialisations, Translocation focused on individual mobility and combat adaptation.

Having enjoyed herself so immensely with Instructor Chen in his rudimentary Bestiary class, Gwen opted to join his advanced supplementary course, known simply as Care of Spirits. It was a rare and exclusive course offered only to students with Spirit-Familiars, focusing on teaching Spirits combat doctrines, as well as fostering independent action.

Evocation 2002 under Magus Young, like Conjuration 1002, focused on spell-theory and complex incantations used to boost affinity for Evocation, allowing casters to reach higher tiers of their craft.

Advanced Spell-Shaping was likewise a 'step up' on the same course under Michio Lee, moving away from the general history of Spellcraft into experimental theorems necessary for the creation of original spells. According to the course guide, the final goal for the course was for students to create an original chant of their own to submit to the Tower as a part of a semester-long dissertation. Furthermore, the course included a short excursion to Pudong, further serving as a primary motivation for her choice of Lee's course.

Finally, Gwen’s choice of Divination Utility focused on three primary objectives. First, learning to employ Detect Magic with greater proficiency; second, to bring her Divination affinity to at least 2; third, to learn Arcane Sight, Track Ally and Link Sight.

Arcane Sight serves the invaluable function of detecting camouflaged or invisible creatures. It was useful in uncovering Illusions up to one tier above the invoker’s mastery, meaning Gwen could identify competitors using the tier 2 Invisibility, albeit the tier 4 Great Invisibility would be beyond her ken.

Track Ally was an immensely useful form of Locate Person which did not require the user to be a blood-line Diviner. Once cast, Gwen left a mark on a willing creature, allowing her to find and if need be, Teleport to their location.

The spell was useful in that it worked through walls both mundane and magical, meaning Gwen could track members of her party precisely for up to a kilometre even in a Dungeon, or know their general direction so long as the spell remained on her target.

Finally, Link Sight was the real boon Gwen sought. That she now possessed a flying Familiar opened her world to a Creature Mage staple - using one’s Familiar as an extension of one's senses. Via Link Sight, Gwen could see through Ariel’s eyes, gaining topographic mastery of an area when outdoors and lacking a Diviner, or send Ariel to scout out dangerous regions such as an indoor Dungeon or outdoor lair. Should danger present itself, she could unsummon her Familiar in a split-second.

Furthermore, for Gwen, Ariel's channelling ability plus her Link Sight would make an incredible combination. Assuming she had range, all kind of combo gimmicks involving Dimension Door, AoEs and so on could be attempted.

Lastly, her two Gen-Ed courses were 'cake-walks' whose only purpose was to boost her Weighted Average Mark. Confident that she would almost certainly get near-perfect marks from Professor Ma with minimal fuss, it freed her up to work at her office, while still receiving credit for her coursework.

After re-adjusting her schedule with Ruì, she returned to the campus mid-February, once again ready to dive into the world of academia.

“Make way!”

Gwen was finding out just how troublesome it was to accompany the ‘Flower of Fudan’ through a roaring campus.

The first week of the Semester was Orientation Week, meaning the clubs were out in force trying to recruit the new starry-eyed Mages entering the university. As usual, the Duelling Club had set up a huge pavilion with portable Walls of Force, working spell in hand with the Eatery Club and the Hidden Cuisine Cabal, combining the affinity of action and delicacies. Together, the trio dominated the competition year after year, taking up the entire main lawn between Guahua and Hengbuo Avenues.

Tempted by the street food, Gwen had inched forward stall by stall until she was smack-bang in the midst of the busiest section of the festival. As she had Petra in tow, the folks around the Duelling Arena had mistakenly thought the girls wanted to gawk at the duelists.

“Make way for the Flowers of Fudan!” someone joked, yelling at the first-year newcomers.

Gwen recoiled. Petra’s souring expression likewise inferred they ought to leave, though nothing short of a Dimension Door or Flight would manage a return path, and both were forbidden on campus.

Also, she had ambivalent feelings about any nicknames to do with flowers.

For a while now, she had resigned herself to the cringe-worthy innuendo gifted by Caliban. A two meter long phallic faceless ophidian as pet warranted an equally cheeky title, but 'flower'? The implications were horrid. Was she waiting to be picked, or were they telling her she should be making the most of her youth before it wilted? While showering one night, she'd thought about why Petra had acquired such a title and realised it was because her cousin refused to date and had an aversion to commitment, making her a desirable 'flower' without an 'owner'.

The crowd parted.

On stage, two Mages duelled, flashing blasts of fire and something indistinct. When a bolt of the foreign substance cascaded against the Force Barrier, Gwen recognised it as Dust.

A Dust Mage?! Here?

The Fire Evoker-Transmuter had a similar style to Alesia, using powerful short-range bursts combined with a transmuted body of flames, but the overwhelming volume of Dust particles filling the chamber suppressed the Evoker's furious discharge.

Even with her improved kinetic-vision, the dust-clad Mage was well-Shielded. From his silhouette, however, she knew the caster to be a stranger.

Outside of her twin-elements, Dust was perhaps her most researched Quasi-Elemental Plane. After all, assuming Ravenport had other members of his household coming after her, the eventuality of beating down other Dust Mages was high.

Where Ash and Void were the most volatile and consumptive of Quasi-Elements, Dust was more akin to Salt in that it consisted primarily of Elemental Earth. Furthermore, despite its reputation as an element of destruction and death, Dust could be readily found in the natural world; present in the aftermath of decomposition and decay. In short, where there were living things, there would inevitably be motes of Dust woven into the refuse.

“Do you know Sir Tei?” One of the Mages, noting her dismay, stopped to ask her a question. From the look of his uniform, the man was a Senior at the Duelling Club, likely one of the event organisers.

“No, I was just looking.” Gwen tried to step back into the crowd, but the gap they’d opened earlier was now thick with juniors desiring a gander. If there was one thing she’d learned about crowds in China, it was that people loved crowding and hated lines. It made many a night's grocery shopping an unenviable chore.

“Pats, we’re leaving.” Gwen turned from the makeshift arena. She had no time for duels; not when there was food to be eaten. Earlier, she had seen a stall selling glazed pineapple buns.

“Sir Tei is a candidate recently returned from the IIUC,” the speaker continued. “He’s tier 6 in his specialised Abjuration School.”

Gwen paused, her retreat faltering in the wake of curiosity.

An IIUC candidate?

She had no idea who most candidates for the IIUC selection may be other than Kitty, herself, Richard and possibly Lulan, though she had been told to look out should she encounter second and third-year veterans.

“Tell me more,” she urged the club member, who obliged with red-faced gusto.

“Sir Tei comes from the Northern Clans near Shandong. Do you know of the Tei Family of Taishang? They are the guardians of the Mount since ancient times. It’s a place famous for birthing scholars! Confucius, Mozi, Zenzi, even the Sage of the Three Kingdoms, Zhuge Kongming!”

Holy shit, Gwen knew jack-shit about Chinese history, but even she had heard of these renown figures of mythoi, each instrumental in creating entire epochs and legends of Chinese history. One place gave birth to all these geniuses? What the hell did they put in the water over there?

Above the girls, the battle had already ended.

The Force Barriers retracted. The challenger bowed deeply before removing himself from the scene. Looking up, Gwen realised the victor was coming toward them.

Tei Bai, A.K.A 'Tombstone Tei' appeared shorter outside of combat than he’d seemed when wrapped in flames and dust. Stepping over the edge of the arena, he received the good cheer of his juniors before turning to the two girls whose pilgrimage through the food stalls had deposited them in front of the stage. Though he had not intended to accost the girls, that they stood half a head taller, possessed the visage of flowers, and had cleared a ring of space made the pair too conspicuous to ignore.

When his eyes fell upon the dual-element sorceress, a faint smile touched Tei's lips. Of course, he recognised the Gweilo girls. One was the Flower of Fudan, while the other was her Worm Handling companion. For Tei Bai, his interest in the Worm sorceress stemmed from the rumour that Gwen had bested Wonsoo Li in single-combat in Hangzhou. Of course, he didn't mind her victory, just the opposite, in fact, because his role in the IIUC was the position of the Abjurer. Her Mastery was to Bai a boon, assuming the rumour she was aiming for the IIUC was correct.

“Miss Song!” he called out, taking the girl’s unwavering gaze for interest. “Care for a duel?”

Down below, Gwen's curiosity was in sync with Bai.

To improve her craft, she had squared off against her uncle, her friends and her companions.

Against Richard, each bout was an agonising affair. If she directly used Barbanginy, she could blow through both Familiar and Water Mage. Without the support of her catalysed lightning, however, she struggled to land a hit. Against both of her elements, Richard’s unrivalled manipulation of water was a hard counter. Paralleled against her role as a Creature Mage and a Conjurer, Richard's Undine-enhanced affinity blew her tier 6 out of the water. When she tried to close in, she despaired that Richard’ Dimension Door, though lacking an AoE burst on impact, was faster than her Lightning-teleports. Only by using both Ariel and Caliban could she hope to trap Richard and wear him down, though a single misstep meant she fell into a bubble of water.

Lulan provided a similar challenge, though the girl’s melee was as terrible a match up against Gwen as she was against Richard. Interestingly, Lulan had a far easier time against Richard, blowing through Lea and Richard’s Abjuration, while against Gwen’s reactive Lightning Shield and Void barriers, Lulu's sword magic suffered.

The only other personage nearing her practice of Stagecraft was Kitty, who she’d sparred twice via aerial duels, each time with ambivalent results. Without Ariel acting as a mobile flying turret, utilising its friend-foe abilities, Gwen had no means of landing a hit at the flighty Wind-Mage. On the other hand, Gwen’s non-Newtonian hard-Shield might as well be the Great Wall of China to Kitty’s Air and Ice offensive magic, especially if Gwen rapidly Teleported to avoid her slow-inducing AoEs.

What she wanted was to fight higher-tier Mages like her uncle, but such a thing was unlikely to happen.

As an unexpected insight, she was beginning to realise why Duels at the higher tier of magic fell from favour. When a single spell was capable of filling half the arena with AoEs, all finesse fell away, leaving only the brutal arithmetic of power and defence. Likewise, the methodology of self-preservation also increased exponentially. In the future, should she face off against Gunther’s foretold foes such as Spectre Enforcers or goons serving Ravenport, killing or maiming a Magus-tier opponent was possible only if both sides were willing to fight until the bitter end.

Likewise, should she, Gunther and Alesia pursue Sobel, how many days, mayhap weeks, would it take before finally, haggard and exhausted, they forced the woman to assume a final stand?

Gwen looked toward Petra for instruction. Her cousin's response was that if Gwen had to do it, she better do it quick.

“Sure.” She clambered onto the dais, thinking that she could use the digestion. “Please go easy on me, Senior.”

Tei Bai extended a hand to help her up, just as Gwen stretched a white leg over the ledge, the crowd erupted into wolf-whistles and cheers.

Alarmed, she smoothed down the hem of her dress. When the weather had turned warm, she had gone back to the most comfortable clothing she owned - silk sundresses. Unfortunately, her blushing modesty seemed to have incensed the crowd further. Some of the first-years were positively howling with glee, their eyes bloodshot with a cocktail of battle lust, as well as regular old desire.

The Dust Mage stood to one side.

“Apologies, Miss Song.” Tei inclined his head. "I was careless."

“No need.” Gwen looked down at her opponent with a sickly sweet smile, her expression causing his follicles to stand to rigid attention. In her wedge sandals, she was much taller in person, almost a head taller.

Hopefully, by the time she was done, no one would think of her as a flower ever again.

“As I am the Senior, you may have first-strike,” Tei Bai offered, recognising the mistake of asking his junior to duel while she wore casual clothing. At their tier of magic, it wasn’t uncommon for wayward spells to result in minor wardrobe malfunctions. His Dust element, furthermore, had a habit of destroying delicate fabrics. “I would defend myself very carefully, if I was you, Miss Song. First to Shield-Break?”

“Ha! Your confidence is going to be your downfall,” Gwen snubbed her senior's warning. To her audience, her haughtiness felt natural and certain, especially when considering her reputation. “I am going to open with a finisher if you're not careful.”

“I look forward to it.” Bai's response was sombre. “You're a... confident young woman, Miss Song.”

Gwen returned her senior's retort by arching her neck gracefully, then inclining her chin ever so slightly.

The audience cooed.

There was nothing like a good bout of shit-talking a before a match. That way, when a contestant inevitably ate their teeth, they'd also have to spoon down a mouthful of their own words.

The two parted.

The Adjudicator, a senior club member, began the countdown.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“Begin!”

"..."

"..."

The crowd held its breath, but it would appear neither contestant desired to make the first move. Bai had waited for Gwen to act, while Gwen waited to see what Bai would do and if her Senior was arrogant enough to gift her the first-strike.

“If you insist.” Gwen hoped her opponent was as competent as he proclaimed himself to be. Focusing her mind, she leisurely erected her non-Newtonian Shield, then began to chant her hound-summoning invocation.

“That Shield!” The Dust Abjurer's expression turned serious the moment her double-glazed dome came into existence. “That’s the Morning Star’s Signature Shield! How is it that you know it?”

Gwen smirked. To recognise her brother-in-craft's Shield, this Tei Bai was a Mage of culture. In the next moment, without missing a single syllable, she completed the summoning mandala, having attained a moderate mastery over a month's practice.

“Hmmph!” Bai grunted, his skin crawling as the flood of Conjuration mana issuing from his opponent tickled his scalp, dispelling his sense of ease. He recalled his father's warning that with overconfidence, one might tip one's skiff even in a gutter. “Pillars of Taishan!”

Four columns of dust swirled into existence around the Dust Mage, each three meters tall, vaguely inscribed with scripture and rough-hewn images.

“Ten-Thousand Stones!”

Above Gwen, a blizzard of Dust-speckled stones began to rain down on her non-Newtonian Shield, blighting the dome with a choking haze of free-falling particles. The unimpressive impact informed Gwen that the spell wasn't one for lethality but rather, served to limit her movement.

Is he trying to bury me? Gwen watched her double-glazed Shield turn white from the blows, the interior of her Shield grew dark as Dust blanketed her transparent pane like dirty snow, draining the static from her Lightning-tinged barrier.

“Solidify!”

With a muffled cry from her opponent, the motes of dust instantly grew compact, encrusting Gwen within a vault of shale.

Tombstone Tei indeed! Gwen was beginning to see where the man had gotten his moniker. The fact that the Dust Mage had used a defensive spell as an offensive entrapment was impressive. She could feel the weight of the stones crushing inward. Not only that, the sorcerous snare grew heavier by the minute. Were it not for her absurdly large VMI; she should be immediately entertaining teleporting away before her Shield collapsed or she ran out of mana for a counter-offensive.

But for now, she was safe. With her summoning mandala completed, she allowed her opportunistic Conjuration to manifest.

“Hound Pack!”

Six deerhounds emerged beside her. It was a tight squeeze inside her barrier.

“Alright everyone, gather around.”

Her dogs stood to attention, attuned to their master’s mana signature.

She gave an order for the dogs to fan out and encircle the Dust Mage as soon as they relocated.

It was time to put to practice one of her new tricks of the trade.

“Dimension Door!”

Her mana pool dropped by almost a quarter.

When she had last studied with Instructor Chen, she lamented having to re-summon her dogs whenever she had to cross water or venture across terrain that could only be managed by flying or teleportation. As a result of her high-affinity, her hounds were more elemental than flesh and blood, resulting in a propensity to dissipate when submerged bodies of water.

"With your VMI, why not use Dimension Door?" her Instructor had queried.

How so? She had enquired, Dimension Door was limited to one additional person, was it not?

“Not exactly.” To demonstrate, Chen blew her mind by teleporting with all nine of his dogs at once, though the Senior Conjurer was well-haggard when he appeared fifty metres away across the underground training hall. “Your elemental beings possess the same signature as your magic, meaning they are less prone to Astral-distortion. The reason we don’t transport more than one 'passenger' via Dimension Door is two-fold. One, because of excessive mana usage, which increases exponentially, and two, because spatial tears become inevitable when carrying a being with their Astral signature. As magical creations of your own making, conjured creatures cost less mana to move. In fact, the higher your affinity, the less prone they are to sudden-death-upon-materialisation.”

Serendipitously, Instructor Chen's advise furthermore provided an unexpected boon. When Gwen appeared beside Bai’s pillar, it wasn’t a single electric nova that erupted, but six mini-novas plus Gwen’s own. Her dogs' Astral-hop likewise triggered the after-effect of her Master’s Signature Dimension Door.

The miraculous Easter Egg was a pleasant discovery.

But simultaneously, Gwen had grown melancholic, wondering just how many Signature Spells her Master had in store for her had Henry not perished so suddenly.

The resultant blast, momentarily igniting the air with blue-white plasma, was enough to collapse one of Bai’s pillars, making Gwen realise the young man’s unique Abjuration spell must be a means to absorb damage.

Muttering incantations under his breath, her opponent withdrew the magic he had used to entomb her. Her senior opened his mouth to make a remark but was cut off by the swiftness of her recovery.

“Caliban!”

“Oooh! IT'S HERE!”

“THE WORM!”

“DEATH WORM!”

An enormous clamour broke out, far louder than when Gwen had too immodestly ascended the stage. The passion was of such fervency that she began to doubt her ears. Her obsidian worm with a lamprey's mouth was more popular than she was? Why? Had her Familiar snuck off to perform acts of philanthropy? Did it rescue pale-faced dames in the dead of night, or pluck kittens and puppies from the river while she slept?

Sensing its immense popularity, Caliban opened its carapace and reared to its full height.

“SHAAAAA!”

“Awoooo!”

“Arrroooowwooo!”

“AwwwwoooooooO”

Her hounds joined the howl.

Bai surveyed the pack of dire-sized lightning-hounds fulminating hysterically with blue-white plasma, in the midst of which was his opponent's Death Worm.

“You're right, I shouldn’t have let you finish that spell…” the Dust Mage confessed, immensely impressed by her display.

“Don't say I didn't warn you!” Gwen smirked smugly, doing her best to ignoring the calls from the crowd to have her Worm swallow Bai wholesale.

“I'd advise caution, Miss Song. Be careful now.” Bai gave her a heads up before activating his supplementary spell. “I have no wish to shame or harm a future teammate - Dust Tendrils!”

The remaining three pillars burst into activity as columns of semi-opaque tentacles split from the solidified dust, seeking to entangle her deerhounds.

Instantly, her body grew rigid. What good humour the duel had afforded became instantly quashed by the stifling sight of prehensile tendrils reaching out to ensnare her hounds, and mayhap herself.

The intensity of the sight was such that, for a second, she forgot to breathe.

“Caliban!” Gwen commanded her Familiar. Her tone changed. Gone was the come hither character of teasing and taunting. There was a coldness in her voice now, one unbecoming in a friendly duel.

Her Familiar grew into its Gila form, flooding the space of the duelling arena with its Void-aura, sending those standing too close reeling back with nausea. One girl who’d been busy filming Caliban with a Lumen-recorder straight away lost her orientation, slamming her head on the transparent pane before been rescued by the club’s security members.

Heeding their Master's mental cue, her dogs attacked. Snapping and snarling at the tendrils, forcing their way through.

“Dust Bolt!”

Caliban opened its maw and took Bai’s low-tier offensive right in its open maw, not even slowing down as it pushed forward.

The improbable sight brought a second round of jubilation from the crowd.

“Lightning Storm!” Gwen threw down her newest AoE, flooding the duelling arena with motes of lightning. Her Evocation synergised well with her elemental dogs, empowering them while Ariel, even tucked in its pocket-space, ensured that Gwen's Lightning strikes fizzed before they reached Caliban, neutralising the Dust-motes surrounding them.

“Tomb Wall!”

Bai's Signature Abjuration possessed an unpropitious title, though those who knew the Tei Clan history also know that they were tasked with guarding the rumoured tomb of Mozi, arguably one of the most beloved scholar-sages of the One Hundred Sects Era. As for Clan Tei itself, the stewards of Mozi's teachings walked the Path of Universal Ai, claiming that one must possess empathy for all beings under heaven.

A semi-dome barrier-Shield erected itself in front of Bai, its dust-clad surface dulling her elemental assault even as it repelled her hounds. Inscriptions, likely from the teaching of ancient Sage-Kings, ran the length of its surface.

Caliban slammed into the outer shell, though the impact seemed to jar her Familiar more so than the Dust Mage.

Fucking turtle! Gwen swore under her breath. She hated fighting Abjurers for this precise reason.

"Caliban, Onslaught!"

Her vitality dropped, but she wasn’t finished yet. She had to rid the bad taste of those tendrils from her mouth. For reasons she could likely guess at, each blast of magic against the Shield was therapeutic.

“Wall of Lighting!”

Another layer of lashing electricity joined the first.

“Lightning Tendrils!”

Arm-thick band of lightning, half-a-dozen of them, began to beat the tomb-shell like a drum.

By now, her dogs had exhausted a second pillar. Freed from the harassment of the grasping tendrils, they turned their attention to clawing and nipping at remaining two, wrangling the tendrils and keeping them from Caliban.

Caliban meanwhile, tore chunks of shale-like material from the Shield, making steady progress through the dust-igloo, its void-clad claws removing more material than Bai could replenish.

“SHAAA!” Caliban screeched.

What irked her was that, with Detect Magic deadened by the Dust-barrier, she had no idea what Bai was doing inside his shell-Shield. At the same time, her Divination Sigil remained as silent as Bai's proverbial tomb.

Still, sensing that she needed to end this before Bai encircled his wagons with even more Abjuration and Enchantment, she portioned just enough vitality to Caliban to began his terrible work.

"SHAAA!"

Her Familiar's jaws distended, opening it impossibly wide, it attempted to swallow the entire two-meter semi-sphere Bai had erected, transforming itself into a grotesque, bloated, mega-mouth croaker.

The crowd went wild.

Gwen hoped that Bai would give up before he accidentally disappeared into the Void. How the fuck was she going to explain that to the authorities? It was a game of chicken! Caliban was only supposed to nibble the tip?

She could forfeit as well, arguably a viable option, confessing that the Bai's barrier was beyond her ability to penetrate. But why should SHE be the one to yield? If anything, the ball was in the turtle Mage's court.

“Yield if you want to live!” She shouted with the aid of her Illusion Sigil, hoping her words could penetrate the Tomb-Shield. “Caliban's not going to hold back; it doesn’t know how!”

If the man responded, she couldn’t hear it. Between her thunderbolts, her dogs and Caliban, they may as well be playing Chinese Whispers inside in a tin-shed pelted by hail.

Then Bai's answer came.

“Castigate!”

A powerful repulsion emitted from within Bai's Shield.

Like peeling skin from a bulbous grape, Caliban bloated, then burst.

A flood of Void-mana splattered against the Force Barrier. As one, the audience retreated.

“Cali!” Gwen spluttered. She had seen Caliban banished, but she had never seen it defeated so utterly and with such devastation.

Caliban attempted to recollect itself.

The demand for vitality from her splattered fiend was immense! It was as though Caliban was trying to reconstitute its entire body from scratch, asking for no less than a Horror Stag’s worth of her life-force.

But its demand was impossible. Gwen wasn’t going to give up all of her collated vitality just so she could win a casual duel, not when she still had other trump cards to play.

“Caliban, get back!” She unsummoned her piecemeal worm, returning it to recuperate in her Pocket Dimension. “Lightning Bolt!”

Bai’s Shield was positively crackling with energy now, so much that the Dust motes could hardly be seen underneath the plasma. Still, the dust barrier remained.

A sinking feeling began to engender in her chest.

This turtle Mage! She snarled. He was making a mockery of her offence!

“Hounds! Attack!”

While her dogs harassed the Dust Shield, invigorated by the static motes of electrified air, Gwen decided to inaugurate a dog-move of her own. Arguably, she had the Dust Mage pinned with her hounds. If so, she could afford the precious ten-odd seconds she needed for Cloud Kill, ensuring nowhere was safe for the Abjurer to emerge from his shell.

“Purify!”

A halo of hallowing energy burst from the Dust Shield’s surroundings, hitting her deerhounds with a disruptive resonance that dispersed the Conjuration algorithms holding them in place.

The feedback from having six dogs dispelled at once sent Gwen reeling on her heels, staggering backwards. She had experienced having Caliban banished several times now, but never six of her mind-linked dogs simultaneously.

Perhaps more distressingly, her Cloud Kill fizzled, sending a surge of unspent mana back into her Astral Body. Comparatively, the Abjurer may as well have shoved a tube of wasabi up her nose.

“Twelve Peaks of Taishan!”

Though the spell was impressive sounding, Bai could only conjure six of the twelve potential pillars, each representing the resting place of a Scholar Bureaucrat the Clan of Tei defended at the end of the Spring-Autumn period. If the Dust Mage's father were to manifest the barrier, one could even read inscribed poems detailing the deeds of the great Sage-Bureaucrats who had chosen Taishang as their resting place.

By the time Gwen circulated enough Almudj’s Essence to recover from her mind-blank, six pillars had fallen into place.

From each pole, spectral tendrils reached out for her limbs.

The very sight sent shivers up her spine, dredging up unpleasant memories. Drawing upon the anger of having her Familiars destroyed and dispelled, she pushed past the paranoia of being molested once again by a Dust-wielder. She was no longer the weak waif, she was a dragon!

“Dimension Door!”

“Eight Pillar Formation!”

Gwen reappeared on the opposite side of the arena, though by then Bai had relocated his pillars equal-distantly throughout the modest-sized space, just a bit larger than a tennis court.

She couldn't help but grimly lament the irony that she had sought to trap the man within her AOE only a moment prior, and now she was fast stuck within Bai's battlefield.

“Gwen Song!” Bai called out, opening his Shield. “Call it a draw?”

For some reason, the word ‘Draw’ struck her like a slap to the face.

The Dust Mage's face was well worn and fatigued. With her limited Divination, she could sense that his Astral presence was weaker than before, indicating her competitor was short on mana. Though Dust muted elemental energy, it took a toll to dissolved her lightning.

Gwen's eyes burned, her throat constricted.

“Draw? Not on your life!”

A sound more akin to a growl emitted from her throat as unbridled Dragon-fear fanned out from her Astral Body. Outside, safe behind the Force-Barrier, the observers saw a tangible ripple undulating the motes of dust filling the arena. Those closest to the rink felt a sudden weakness, forcing them to their knees. For those unfortunate enough to both be struck by Caliban’s demise as well as Gwen’s dragon-fear, their eyes rolled back in their heads, their consciousness retracting into their minds in a reflexive act of self-preservation.

“Gwen, no!” Petra called out from below; her cousin was senselessly caught up! She wasn’t herself. “Bai! Gwen’s not in her right mind! Don’t hurt her!”

“Petra, shut it!” Her cousin snarled, eyes blazing with viridescent vitality. “Ariel!”

“Gwen! STOP!”

Ariel materialised amidst an emerald blaze of vivifying lightning.

A hush fell over the crowd.

A Kirin?

A Mao-blessed Kirin?!

The stag horns! The noble mien! The whiskers! The fish-scale fur! The front hooves and the lion’s rump!

Ariel swished its tail regally.

“OOOOH, LORD ARIEL!”

“LORD KIRIN!”

“ARIEL FOR PRESIDENT!”

A cacophony of cries, jubilant beyond belief, erupted across the assembly.

“THE KIRIN OF FUDAN!”

High on the stage, Gwen was oblivious that the cat was out of the bag. She circulated her Almudj's Essence, readying her death-blow. If the turtle-Mage could survive her most potent offence, she was happy to bow down and admit her inferiority.

Then, to her complete and utter surprise, Bai dispelled his Shield-cum-barrier entirely.

“I think that’s enough, Miss Song.” The Dust Mage back away, opening his hands to signal the duel's end. “Good Fight.”

“No!” Gwen snarled, sending Ariel drifting downwards, crackling with Lightning. “It’s not over.”

“It is.” Bai glanced at Petra, then back at Gwen. “We’ll duel again when you’re in better control of yourself.”

“Bullshit! I-“

Bai dispelled his Pillars.

He now faced her with nothing but his fleshy frame, in front of Ariel’s capabilities, the man may as well be stark naked.

The audience below applauded Tei's great mental fortitude. True to form, Mozi's teachings had not escaped the descendants of Clan Tei. The temperament and unshakable calmness possessed by its members were known to all.

“You-!”

Gwen faltered before she could finish her ridicule.

There was something warm dribbling on to her face and a taste of iron in her mouth. Reflexively, she touched a hand to her nose, only to realise she was bleeding profusely from both nostrils.

“Gwen!”

Petra leapt onto the stage but became rebuffed by the Force Barrier. To the Mineral Mage's dismay, Bai's professional demeanour ensured that until Gwen dispelled her Kirin, he was going to keep the barrier up to protect the audience.

“Is she alright?” someone asked worriedly. “She’s bleeding all over the place.”

“Feedback?”

“Looks like a spell-overcharge to me.”

“Poor girl,” a senior remarked. “Doesn’t she know Abjurers make the worst possible match-up for Creature Mages?”

“She probably thought she was testing Senior Tei.” Someone else, a Duelling Club senior, laughed out loud. “When in reality, it was Senior Tei who’s testing her!”

"I liked her better when she was giving us a show, haha."

Up on stage, half her face covered in blood, the words from the audience dug into Gwen's paper-thin skin like stilettoes. She now knew she had read the situation wrong from start to finish. She had underestimated her senior.

If so, why didn't she yield?

The eyes of the crowd bore into her tender flesh. Her flesh grew scarlet with embarrassment, more so than the blood dribbling down her dress, covering her hands. The duel wasn't over yet.

“Dimension Door!”

The spell was on her lips before she even realised it consciously. In one leap, she had broken the university's cardinal rules, disappearing from the barrier and reappearing two hundred odd meters away atop a grassy knoll.

“Dimension Door!”

“Dimension Door!”

In her present condition, three was her limit.

She reappeared on the lawn opposite the Dean’s office, a place that forbad transit, picnics and passage, kept forever lush by nature-magic.

FUCK! She fell to her knees onto the lawn. SHIT! What the hell had she just done? The best thing she ought to do now was calm the fuck down, run the hell back, and apologise to Tei Bai, to Petra, and everyone who had to bear witness to her poor sportsmanship.

“Eeee?!”

The call came from her mind.

Ariel was appeasing the crowd by letting them inspect its noble visage. Petra was with her Familiar, and Tei Bai was there too.

Thank God, Gwen exhaled. She owed them big time.

Now, why the hell did she go and do all that for? Was the milk bad? Neither she nor Petra paid much attention to these things.

Was it her Lightning? Or her draconic-Essence from Almudj? Had her proficiency risen to such a point that she was no longer in control of her impulses? She touched a hand to Ayxin's scale, toying with the idea of tearing it from the base of her neck.

“Ding!’

'Ding!'

Her Message Device rang. The first was the Dean. The second was Petra.

“Sir?” Gwe knew she had to make a choice.

“Gwen...” the Dean’s voice was ice. Gwen had never heard the Dean so pissed off. “My office, now! AND GET OFF MY LAWN!”

Ellen stayed away from Gwen as she sheepishly slinked into the office.

“Do you believe yourself untouchable, Miss Song?” The Dean scowled at her, his usually pleasant face was creased with disappointment.

“No Sir!” Gwen replied. She fucked up, she was in trouble, and there was no denying her culpability.

“I know you’re young and you think yourself a prodigy, but do you believe rules don’t apply to personages such as yourself? That kind of slippery slope makes for a dangerous frame of mind! Mages who don’t think the rules apply to them become a menace to our society!”

“I am sorry!” Gwen flinched. She lowered her eyes coyly.

“Don’t try that with me!” the Dean snapped. “I have two daughters and an Ellen! You think they don’t try to make moon-eyes at me to get out of trouble?”

Gwen straightened her spine. Yes, that was a stupid move. She was in an educator’s office, not her supervisor’s suite at her old consultancy. This arrogance was unbecoming of her. She needed time to work the dragon-juice out of her system, let the static drain from her body.

“Hmmph! The first Dimension Door merits a warning.”

Gwen exhaled with immense relief.

“The second, temporary deferment.”

She tensed.

“The third… academic suspension.”

Her eyes widened, then her lips quivered. That’s not how infractions worked, was it? Wasn’t it each instance, and not each ‘spell’ cast? It was her first incident! She should be receiving a warning!

But, Gwen knew better than to interrupt the Dean.

“Well?” the Dean barked. “GET OUT!”

Taking a chance, Gwen stood rock still, taking on the guise of a new statue newly added to the Dean’s office.

“Bah!” The Dean delayed his response a few good seconds before mocking her obvious attempt at playing his sympathy. “Clever girl. You think you know everything, don't you?”

Gwen wondered if squeezing out a few tears would exacerbate or relieve her circumstances.

Within her mind’s eye, Ariel inferred presently that it was being patted by students all lined up in a row. From what she could make out via her Familiar's Empathic-Link, Petra was with Bai, who had made the duelling platform into a petting station. Even now, amidst cries of ‘Lord Kirin!’ Ariel’s prideful energy fed back into her Astral Body.

The very thought of thousands of strangers touching Ariel’s soft frog-pads and running their fingers through its fluffy tail set her teeth on edge; the annoyance was akin having a bone-deep itch she couldn’t scratch.

“… I am that boring, am I?” the Dean demanded dangerously.

Luo could scarcely believe the girl was staring into the middle distance in the middle of his lecture. The lass was truly lawless! He had been too easy on her, given her too much leeway!

Gwen’s eyes refocused.

Dean Luo looked as though he could choke a Gwen or two and still had anger to spare.

FUCK A DUCK, was the first thought that came to her mind. She had drifted off! It was true what Murphy said, whatever was the worst that could happen was almost always bound to happen; the furtherer one was up shit-creek, the more likely their skiff was to overturn.

“I am not going to suspend our 'best hope' at passing for the Asian Sector qualifier of the IIUC,” the Dean continued annoyedly. “But though you have averted death, a punishment is both merited and will do you good.”

“Sir!” Gwen lowered her head. “I’ll accept any punishment.”

“You are to scrub every bathroom in the university…”

“…” Gwen baulked at the thought. Despite her best efforts, she glared at the Dean.

“Your sincerity astounds me, Miss Song,” the Dean sighed. Bloody Lightning Mages, he lamented. Why can't she be an easy going Mud Mage?

“I’ll do it.” Gwen immediately thought of her Cleansing Spell-cube. Let’s say there are two hundred bathrooms, that’s only 200 LDMs. That’s not so bad.

“I am joking.” The Dean shook his head dejectedly. “I don’t think you realise the damage you've done. I said it’s up to your discretion if you wish to demonstrate your abilities before the IIUC, but what you’ve attempted with Mr Tei was near-exposing your whole hand! If Bai hasn’t made the right call, the whole university would have seen your best attack!”

“But everyone saw what happened in Hangzhou,” Gwen remarked sulkily.

“A Frontier town, in private company!" Luo shouted in her face. "Fudan is an international university! Do you want everyone from Oceania to England to know your trump card? What if every other team includes an Abjurer like Mr Tei? What will you do?”

Gwen lowered her head, taking the tongue lashing in stride.

She would have appeared entirely humble were it not for the fact that Ariel's mind-link was tickling her skin.

“I am sorry, Sir. Truly,” she apologised. “I am sorry I disappointed you.”

“Your punishment will be aiding Tei. In the tradition of Mao’s teachings. In all honesty, I want to send you away for re-education, temper that pride of yours, but we have no more time to waste. In addition, I want a 5,000-word self-critical report on my desk by next week. Now go and apologise to your peers.”

“Yessir.” Gwen readily agreed.

She had lived long enough to realise that self-awareness and criticism wasn’t an easy pearl of wisdom to come by. There were benefits to knocking oneself down a peg, for the alternative was inevitable hubris.

Icarus may have gotten close to the sun, but hitting the sea at terminal velocity would've been no different from slamming into concrete.

Gwen returned to the duelling arena, on foot this time, cowed and bowed in apology.

By now, a line around the block had formed, waiting to greet a legendary Kirin for good luck. A few kind words were exchanged, then Gwen was told to sit down and not to obstruct the audience's view.

Finding a seat by the side, all Gwen could do was endure the sensation of been tickled inside out as Ariel anointed people with its tentacle whiskers and allowed the cohort to touch its hoof-frog.

The favourable treatment of Ariel wasn't by chance. The proximity of the Lantern Festival made the Kirin's presence all the more auspicious.

After an hour, Petra took a leave, thus leaving Gwen and Tei Bai to sit by the arena while the line grew ever longer. With her face flushed and her white legs crossed over as she sat on the pull-out bench, Gwen looked a treat beside the sombre-looking Tei, wearing grey on charcoal on white, looking like a junior funeral director.

“In your opinion, Senior Tei, what are good match-ups for me?” Gwen asked the veteran IIUC contestant. They had been passing olive branches for the last sixty minutes, and now the topic had fallen to one of common interest.

“Someone with your skill set would be fantastic as a counter-aggressor," the Abjurer-Enchanter stated with great sagacity. "If I were the team Captain, I’d get you to butt-heads with their offensive casters. With your firepower, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could suppress two of the opposing team’s casters, bonus if you can pull in their controller.”

“What if they banish my Familiars?” Gwen inquired with a hint of cattiness.

“Ha!” Bai laughed. “I’d have Caliban and Ariel protected with Abjurations against spells that disrupt their morphic-form. Of course, I’d have to go and learn those spells, but they’re not difficult.”

“I’d love that.” Gwen pondered the stratagem. "Can I apply said Abjurations to my Familiars?"

"Of course, but it's a reactive skill with passive components. It's either that or your offence."

"Ah." Gwen drummed her fingers against her thighs. The first-world problem of a sorceress of many Schools was that she had only one head.

“Other than that, your affinity offers longevity in combat. From what I can see, you have mana to spare, so I’d say you’re a boon in protracted battles. As a spear-point offence, you should be front and centre, overpowering the enemy's offensive casters, suppressing their formation so that our controllers can separate their Abjurers.”

For some time, the two had been conversing about the informal ‘roles’ within the IIUC competition. Though flexible, Bai had informed his junior that the general makeup of a Ten-man team consisted of four core functions.

Four members for Offence.

Two members for Defence.

Two members for Control.

Two members for Utility.

Members selected for offence usually involved Mages with high damage potential, chosen for their mana affinity, damage output, AoE potential, and the possession of a Spirit.

“Which means you’re perfect in that regard,” the Dust Mage argued. “I’ve never met another student with as much damage output as you. If we had someone with both Void and Lightning when we went up against Tokyo U…”

"Ha, I promise to please." Gwen blushed, more so because she was halfway squirming via Ariel, but also because of the confidence boost after the Dean’s righteous-rebuke of her arrogance.

According to Gwen's Senior, the two members for defence needed to possess the ability to Shield and weather massive damage for the team. Senior Tei played the role of the stationary Abjurer, whose speciality was defending a particular zone or location. The second Abjurer was responsible for mobile-defence, such as when the teams needed to be always on the move.

“An Abjurer-Conjurer with high affinity and high mobility would be best. Or an Abjurer-Transmuter.”

Of course, Gwen was an Abjurer-Conjurer as well, though she had never practised Shielding others. According to Richard, a superior Abjurer-Conjurer, the most important thing was to anticipate the enemy’s attacks and to Shield your allies only when the precise moment arrives. As an example, Richard could Shield and deflect monsters incoming at Lulan mid-leap so that the girl could preserve the tremendous momentum of her strikes, catching her targets in a moment of weakness.

“As for Control, we’re looking at Mages capable of creating snares, barriers, traps, wards, or even Translocation specialists, assuming an open-map,” Bai explained. “Enchanters, Transmuters, Conjurers, Illusionists, it's an open position for filling holes left by Offence and Defence-”

"Ah~," Gwen stifled a moan.

“Eee!” Ariel sang out. “Eee! Eee!”

“STOP FEEDING MY FAMILIAR!” Gwen shouted across the arena.

Beside her, Bai fumbled for a moment, though as with one gifted in the talent of Dust, his passion diminished as quickly as it came.

By now, Ariel was visibly more substantial.

Being students from an elite university, sparing an HDM or two wasn’t an obstacle for Ariel’s starry-eyed worshippers. Combined with the fact that her Familiar was a glutton, Ariel had gauged crystalline treats by the hundreds. As it were, its last admirer had dropped a raw chunk of unprocessed high-density crystal.

“Sorry, please continue,” Gwen apologised, circulating her essence. Maybe that's the problem; she wondered self-critically. Meditating with Almudj's blessing had been the panacea to all her problems. Sleep deprivation? Hunger? Illness? Too much alcohol? Period cramps? Thirsty? Head Ache? Bloating? Every discomfort can be solved with primordial Draconic-essence.

“Uh…yes, well…” Bai gave himself a moment to tear his eyes away. For some reason, the girl positively glowed. “So, the final two members are typically Enchanters, Buff-specialists, Quasi-healers, Diviners, and so on.”

“Why not a full-time healer?”

“Positive-Energy Mages are too specialised,” Bai explained. “The idea is to avoid healing altogether. As for medical treatment, there are usually healers from the host-nation on stand by, from associated universities. For example, Fudan has an allotment of healers from the Renai Teaching Hospital.”

Gwen immediately thought of Elvia.

“Only after we arrive on location are the Quests revealed to the contestants. Usually, there are two teams going head to head, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be more. The IIUC attempts different tournament formats every year to ensure students don't game the system.”

“Can you give me an example?”

Bai gave the question some thought.

“I’ll do my best.”

Gwen gave her thanks.

“As a speciality of the IIUC, the location generally determines the type of Quest and competition. To use an overseas example, Fudan has only ever made it out of Asia once, in 1996. Our students were sent to the South Korean peninsula to join the Front there against the northern incursion.”

“Undead?”

“What else? Against the Undead, the IIUC appropriated an open-cooperative Quest. Examiners awarded points based on how well the students worked with each other, with other teams, and with the local Militia. Further points were granted based on the number of undead eradicated, General-Class creatures destroyed, and so on.”

“Were the students in danger?”

“Absolutely,” Bai affirmed her fears. “Not everyone made it back. I heard that our team lost three of its members and had to withdraw from the competition. Bit off more than they can chew, snake trying to swallow the elephant, or so the Arbitrators said.”

Gwen tried to imagine what such a situation would entail. Was it like running smack-bang into a Sea Priest and her cohort of General-class warriors?

“As for recent years, the inter-Asian stage of the competition is far less dangerous. Generally, it's best to think of the competition as a Dungeon Crawl or a mock Quest. This year, for instance, we lost against Tokyo U and Seoul N.U, we managed to match points against Tsinghua, but they weren’t fully committed.”

“What was the exam format?”

“Competitive Dungeon Clear,” Bai transcribed the details. “A little like Hengsha, you know Hengsha Island?”

“I was there this year,” Gwen informed her Senior.

“Oh?” Bai blinked. “Ha, I was there two years ago. How wonderful. Anyway, our match against the internal-division took place in Tibet, near Mount Kailash. Teams fought to reach the nest of the Kailash Ice Roc, with one of its eggs as the objective.”

That's terrible! Gwen furrowed her brows; to poach the egg of a sapient creature for a competition? Why not just plant a fucking flag or something.

“Tsinghua U managed to nab the egg in the end. We were busy fending off Harpies and other avians while one of their Clanners snuck up there and accomplished the objective. When he came down the mount, the bastard brought the Roc with him. Chased all five teams the entire way down to Lhasa!”

“I imagine that took a lot out of you.”

“I wasn’t in the party,” Bai grunted. “Questing parties are five strong, chosen by the team leader to tackle a Quest. The rest of the members are on back up. I was doing community service in Lhasa when the Roc started pounding on the Shield, screeching and skirting the dome while feathers the size of cars rained down into the city.”

“So anyway. That was a Quest going well."

"That went well?!"

"Ha!" Bai shrugged. "In Tokyo, it was Fudan and Peking against Kyoto U and Toyko U. Maybe the Japs were looking down on us, or maybe they didn’t want to expend the effort. The competition was a mock-contest over territory over two valleys. An hour in, their Shikigami ripped through our formation. By the time we're done, they had twice the points we had.”

“In Seoul, we fared a bit better, though the result speaks for itself. The teams were each assigned an area to 'pacify'. We managed to purge the local Shui-Guai, that’s water-demon, without problems, but…”

“But?”

“We later heard that the local team from Seoul U chased their monsters into our area…”

“… They can do that?”

“They got more points than we did, so I can only assume yes.”

Gwen made a face.

“That's the long and short of it.” Bai shook his head. “Ancient history now. Anyway, you're helping us out? I almost had a heart attack when you Dimension Doored out of here.”

“Sorry,” the prideful sorceress apologised again. Of course, the person she was most sorry toward was her cousin, whom she’d snapped at without reason and with the temperance of a fool drunk on power.

“Don't mind it.” Bai checked his watch in a way that made it very clear he was late. “I am sorry to say that the display is supposed to have closed an hour ago. We got lessons to go to...”

Gwen looked at the line of growing worshippers.

Her heart sank.

Just how many times did she have to apologise in one day?

“Hold it… Head forward,” Petra commanded. “Now sneeze!”

“ERGH! YUCK!” Gwen watched the blood clots drain down the sink. When it came to bleeding noses, she was the type to swallow, fearful of it leaking over her clothes. As a result, returning to the apartment in the evening, she could feel something stuck in her oesophagus and behind her nose.

“Looks like when you charge yourself up with Draconic-Lightning, you have to discharge before it overtaxes your vitals. There's only so much a mortal body can handle.” Petra noted with concern. “God, I was so worried when you started spraying blood all over the arena.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“It was spectacular,” Petra assured her. "Positively spurting. If this were Eastern Europe, you would have drawn every Vampyre in a hundred-kilometre radius."

Gwen groaned.

“Next time, I’ll just shoot it into the sky. The university bans flying for a reason, right?”

“You’ll hit the ceiling,” Petra pointed out. “Also… next time?”

“Goddamn it.” Gwen wiped her face. “What do I do, Pats?”

“No idea…but…” Petra patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll ask Master.”

“Er…” Gwen hesitated. “Let me ask around first. Magister Wen's barred from studying my Draconic-essence.”

“Oh right.” Her Cousin blinked. “I wonder who could help us?”

"Ayxin?"

"Is that wise?"

The scale on her neck thrummed gently, almost maternal in its regulation of her energies. Was it helping her or making it worse? Somehow, Gwen doubted the Dragon-kin would give her an honest answer.

On Friday, Professor Ma paid her a visit after class.

“So, what do you say?” James Ma sat opposite Gwen in her office. “Full credit - full marks, assuming you take the job.”

Ma's offer made perfect sense.

Attendance was compulsory, but the second-year management and economic courses hardly titillated her existing knowledge.

Ma had initially come to ask Gwen questions about auditing roles like the Project Manager, Program Management Officer and the procedure involved in replacing operators found guilty. Gwen’s response was to implement more frequent accounting via Gatekeeper auditors as well as independent advisors focusing on Risk Analysis.

After a dozen organisation flow-charts, the topic of conversation then turned to the scant time both Gwen and Ma had left for their university courses. In a stroke of inspiration, the Professor offered Gwen the position of Teaching Assistant.

Gwen touched an ink-less pen to her lips, one of the many quasi-magical conveniences she had come to relish.

“Can I look through the course work first?”

“Of course.”

Ma materialised for her the Instructor's outline of Management GEN200M and Economics GEN200E.

Second-year Management focused on Project Management, something Gwen knew well: in the past, she had dealt with long-term projects dozens of times. Ma's course taught Mages to delegate and assign tasks via a pyramidal hierarchy with themselves at its apex. In Gwen’s learned eyes, the primitive system was itself the primary cause for incompetence and corruption. In a region like China, rarely do the most skilled or respected leaders rise to the fore. Instead, social climbers wielded the most influence.

It was particularly interesting to Gwen how despite Dear Leader Mao's ability to beat back the Clans, the Houses and the Scholar-Bureaucrats, the hierarchal structure of the CCP and the Districts it used to house its NoM population was closer to Imperial-Feudalism. In reality, cities like Beijing and Shanghai sat like the Kings of old in the era of North and South Dynasties, a 'Peking' and 'Nanking', lording over its satellite regions like fat spiders perched on their web.

Economics, on the other hand, dealt with shallow systems of accounting and auditing, following by supplementary occupations in developing a command-system. The fact that the theory sanctioned by the party advocated a socialist economic model almost made her laugh out loud, especially when one of her lecture notes called for the elimination of class distinction by reducing the exploitation of the NoM masses by the capitalist NoM Oligarchs. In her eyes, most of the theory fell into purposeless prose, arguing that ultimately, everyone was equal, but Mages were more equal than NoMs.

“Are you serious?” Gwen pointed to the ‘objective’ section of the text. "Did the Clans compose this drivel?"

Ma shrugged.

“As educators, we ward our students against the temptations of capitalism.”

Despite her best efforts, Gwen snorted. There was no point arguing that Marxism was terrible, only that like More's ‘Utopia’ of nowhere, the unreachable Buddhist nirvana, or the Daoist notion of piercing the heavens; it was an ideal, not practical in the least. Despite generations of indoctrination that communism served the needs of the proletariat, a simple gander at the disparity of prosperity between Shanghai and its surrounding regions demonstrated the precarious instability of repressive regimes whose arcane bureaucrats who thought themselves above the NoMs.

“You can’t seriously believe that, Sir,” Gwen retorted reflexively before realising she’d acted out of turn. Whenever the topic of economics came up, she grew forgetful that Ma was a senior member of the CCP and her mentor, not her colleague.

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that,” Ma warned her. “Practicals are one thing, our ideal mustn’t falter.”

The two glanced guiltily at Ruì sweating gently despite the glyph-cooled air. In all likelihood, the others had heard as well. Though Gwen understood this world wasn’t yet the type where MSS goons were dragging journalists into the dead of night, she nonetheless shivered.

“Yessir,” Gwen apologised loudly. "We will do our best to improves the lives of all present, NoMs and Mages equally.”

Somewhere from the other end of the office, Ken cleared his throat, trying to stifle a snicker. The expressions on Gwen’s NoM employees, however, remained solemn and stoic.

Saturday, Club Induction Day.

“I feel guilty that you’re feeling guilty…” Tei Bai, accompanied by a mob of his juniors and Seniors, commented. “Isn’t this false advertising?”

“I’ll come and help out now and then,” Gwen promised the Duelling Club veteran. “If anything, I’d like more info on the IIUC, as well as spar with you.”

“Then you’ll join the club?”

“Officially? Of course. I won’t have time for competitions, though,” Gwen forewarned her senior. At the very least, not before she'd resolved her 'issues'.

“No problems.” Bai glanced at his moon-eyed juniors. “So long as you lend us our new mascot now and then, hahaha.”

The two turned to look at the new display the Duelling club had set up first thing Monday morning.

Next to the Fudan Duelling Club’s old logo was a new one. In the middle was the Qin Era pictogram for Fudan written in Chinese. Besides the old banner was a projection of Gwen, her striking face beautiful beyond measure, her lips parted as she pointed a finger toward the audience. As her eyes fluttered, a voiced Illusion proclaimed, “WE WANT YOU for the FUDAN DUELLING CLUB.”

Across and to the left of the visage of her face was an Illusion of Ariel in all its draconic-glory with the caption: “NEW members will receive a chance to meet the blessed Kirin of Fudan, [Air]”

The pictogram character for ‘Air’, like Fudan’s logo, had been converted to the two-millennia-year-old script from the Qin Dynasty, painting Ariel with an atmosphere of authentic antiquity.

“Eeee?!” Ariel flirted with its visage, purring and rubbing itself against the enchanted projector.

“Ariel will be in your care.” Gwen bowed. “I’ll be over to help after my classes. I am afraid Tuesday and Thursday are all I can manage.”

“That’s plenty.” Tei Bai inclined his head slightly, though his juniors made a full-bodied show of respect. “As I said, if there’s anything you want to know, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll also ask a few of the other old-timers if they're willing to talk to you. Many of the IIUC alumni originally hail from the F.D.C.”

“Thanks, Senior Tei.” Gwen retreated, waving at her peers. “I'll retrieve them at 16:00.”

“EEe!”

“I’ll only be half a campus away,” Gwen told her Kirin. She then turned to her restored Mongolian Death Worm. “Be a good boy now, look after Ariel, and listen to Senior Tei!”

"Shaaa!"

By the weekend, the rumorous wind had blown Gwen's friends together to 'cheer her up'.

Petra came home to an unexpectedly too-full house, already entertaining Tao and Mina, who’d initially wanted to eat out with Gwen. There was Lulan as well, who came to mooch dinner, and Kusu, who had come to apologise for his sister's shamelessness. There was Richard, who came to see what was up, as well as Mayuree, who joined them later. Finally, there was Dai, who'd shown up wondering if he could show Gwen his good side.

When the living room grew too stifling, Mayuree offered to take them up.

"It's no bother!" the girl told everyone. "Gwen's like a sister to me! Treat the place like your own!"

Upstairs, an annoyed Marong and a peevish Kitty welcomed the unwelcome guests. The two had previously been enjoying a quiet evening. Marong was meditating in a cloud of smoke, while Kitty trained by keeping the Smoke Mage contained to his ochre-walled room.

Emerging from the pantry, Lei immediately propelled into action, mixing drinks and heating dim-sims with an efficiency only she could manage.

Once they settled in, the badgering began. Gwen was teased within a millimetre of her paper-thin skin, though the chastisement was carried out in good faith.

Sensing her friend's growing embarrassment, Mayuree intervened, enacting the very purpose she had visited Gwen in the first place.

“Here.” The Diviner did not attempt to hide a prideful countenance as she slipped an item over the table toward Gwen. “I had a feeling you’re going to run into even more trouble from now on, so I had these prioritised.”

“Care to clarify?”

“Ha!” Mayuree chuckled, then more seriously, she said 'No'.

Recognising the stupidity of her question, Gwen instead opened the first box.

“Your hands are full, so I had those re-made as a pair of earrings.” Mayuree pointed to the sparkling pair of stones. “They’re glamoured as well. From the outside, they should be entirely discrete.”

“Is that…” Petra took a closer gander. The crowd leaned in as well. “A Mind Ward Amulet?”

“Earrings,” Mayuree corrected Gwen's cousin. “The left is for Mind Lock and Resist Glamour; the right is for Resist Illusion.”

“They're beautiful.” Mina's eyes sparkled, touching a finger to her choker. “Mine’s Resist-Glam and Resist-Illusion. These don't come cheap!”

“Of course not, but the House of M is generous.” Mayuree smiled smugly, noting Dai's discerning expression and Mina's half-parted lips.

Of course, she was grateful toward Mina and Dai as well, hence the invitation to her abode. Thanks to their showy spendthrift, all of their friends and their friends had signed up to the House of M’s new credit-programs, hoping to one day receive the mysterious invitation to join the Orichalcum Cabal.

“A little too generous,” Dai grunted, his face full of misgivings. “Gwen, that's an expensive gift. Are you sure it doesn't come with a price to match?”

Mayuree fluttered her eyes at Gwen.

Gwen blinked back at her friend, indicating there was nothing between them.

Mayuree tittered.

“It's the other way around, Dai,” Gwen assured her questioning employee-cum-admirer. “Not to mention I provided the ingredients myself.”

Dai folded his arms; he looked up to see Marong standing beside Kitty. Disinterestedly, the man blew a smoke-ring at Dai. Who's that? A bodyguard? The Fung heir felt a wave of annoyance.

“And this…” Mayuree slid over the second item. “Is your other special order.”

She opened the box.

There, sitting inside folded velvet, was an amulet that phased out of sight whenever one looked away.

“Is that a Foglet Core?” Petra recognised the rare ingredient immediately. “You’re joking! A Ghosting Amulet?!”

“Is it expensive?” Lulan asked.

"Of course it's expensive," Kusu cautioned his sister. Having an understanding of these situations, he made sure he was standing behind Lulan when Mayuree gave a modest, undervalued estimate.

“Umm… about 22,000 thereabouts?”

TWO-TWO-ZERO-ZERO-ZERO?

How many crystals was that? Lulan cocked her head.

Despite her woeful monetary skills, Lulan attempted to surmise the five digit number that had escaped from Mayuree’s rich-bitch lips. The weekly rent for her and Kusu’s apartment was 90 HDMs for a B13 suite at 40 square meters with one bathroom, kitchen and bedroom. The suite itself was just under 10,000 HDMs to purchase. Did this mean Gwen wore two studio apartments around her neck?

Lulan's head throbbed.

Kusu caught his sister just as her body turned rigid, then slowly grew limp.

‘It’s glamoured for ease,” Mayuree added quickly. “No one will know you’re wearing it. It’s a contingency item, after all.”

Dai's brows grew solemn. Was Gwen obscenely wealthy even before working with his father? Not even he could waste his allowance on an item like this. If so, why did Gwen scam him for a mere thousand HDMs when they first met? Was it to make him lose face? Was it for the favour?

The Fung heir suddenly felt his shirt drenched with cold sweat.

“Here, let’s put it on.”

Gwen brushed back her hair while someone of the right height - namely Richard, clasped it around her neck. After invoking the attunement glyph, the necklace turned to air. It made sense though; such items were worn permanently. Like her Contingency Ring, it wasn't leaving her body until it activated, or she died.

The earrings too soon adhered to her dawn-tinted lobes. As promised, they looked like tiny diamond studs once the glamour activated.

"Beautiful!" Mina clapped.

Lulan's watery eyes sparkled.

“Gwennabitch, you got any notion how pimped yo ass is right now?” Tao whistled. “You’re more tricked out than a mermaid hustler!”

Gwen grinned, her confidence restored. Excluding Gunther’s Ring, she was wearing quite the list of useful items.

A Ring of Evasion.

A Translator Ioun Stone.

An Ioun Stone of Clarified Thought.

A Ghosting Amulet.

A Large Storage Ring.

Mind-Shield Earrings.

And her high-end Message Device.

Once she was free from the confines of a tier 1 city and had to make her way into the Wildlands, everything from armour to wands to Golems were hers to purchase, with only her ability to generate crystals as the limit.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Master Song!” Lulan professed, her eyes welling with crystal-filled wonder. Under her breath, Lulan thanked her unthankful ancestors that she left that abusive, armpit of a mountain Clan.

The rest of the party laughed, filling the high-ceilinged penthouse with the sound of shared mirth.

“Okay, okay,” Gwen calmed her audience while Lei served up the drinks and snacks. “Since you're all here, I want to let everyone here know that I’ve run into some problems, and I would like to discuss an intervention.”

Her friends and family gazed at one another.

“I think that I’ve trained a little too quickly for my own good,” Gwen confessed. “Though I haven’t checked recently, my Lightning Affinity thanks to Ariel is hitting close to 7. I am also in possession of Draconic-Essence, as many of you know, which is exacerbating the problems caused by my affinity.”

“Humble-bragging?” Dai burst out with a snort, almost spilling his drink. Casually, he willed away the wayward droplets. Tier 7 and she's just beginning her Path? He took a sip. The insanity of it all.

“I am serious,” Gwen declared tragically. “The other day, I was duelling Senior Tei - we made up by the way-”

Tao whistled.

Dai froze.

The others grinned.

“Tao! Not like that,” Gwen reprimanded her cousin. “Anyway, I was losing, and for a moment I lost my marbles. I wanted to win so much, that I told Caliban to Consume his Shield, and then I tried to lay down a Cloud Kill in the duelling arena. After that, as you know, Dean Luo gave me a tongue lashing.”

Her peers grew solemn.

“Well, does anyone have any advice to give?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

As expected, Mum's the word.

“Good luck with that," Dai remarked. "There are not many Mages with your affinity, much less at the natural tier. Even Lu is tier 4 plus Wanli.”

“What Dai says is true,” Petra pipped in. “According to Master, you’re tier 6 without Ariel. Most Mages are tier 3 plus Spirit. You're going to need someone just as special and rare, but when you add in Draconic-essence...”

“Same here, I am tier 4 naturally.” Richard raised his hand. “Lea provides the rest. I suppose I am already pretty easy going though, and a little lazy, haha. We Water Mages have it easy.”

“Lazy? You’re a workaholic!” Gwen accused her cousin. “Weren't you apartment-hunting?”

“Still looking,” Richard replied.

“I can help,” Mina interjected. “Me and Tao, that is, what do you need?”

“Ha, the Wang Group buildings are a bit rich for my blood.” Richard scratched his head. “I am looking for something near the low-end suburbs, not inner city.”

“Well, let us know…” Mina imposed herself. “I’ll take you to see some properties if you like.”

“I might take you up on that offer.” Richard smiled back. “Give me time.”

Dai touched his chin tentatively. Gwen's cousin, looking for a house?

Gwen looked around the room: indeed, her family, including the most knowledgable Petra, had no solutions for her dilemma. Sighing gently, she listened as the crowd continued their banter, thinking just how the hell she was going to wrangle her impulses.

CCs? She entertained the thought.

200 CCs if you can teach me not to freak when I compound Draconic-essence and my Lightning. But could she do that? Would she want to do that? Expose herself, allow a stranger to probe her? In a way, she wished Dean Luo had been harsher. How as she going to learn a lesson at this stage? Where was the follow up? It wasn't like the Dean just to let something like this go, not after all the interest he had taken in her. Was the man cooking up something in the dark?

She bit her lip.

Was Petra right in saying she was a masochist?

“WOCAO!”

“What in Mao’s name…”

“Eee!!”

“Gwen!”

"SHAA! SHAA!"

“LUYI! Come back!”

“GWEN! Stop that at once!”

Caliban expanded to twice its usual size, bloating with Void-matter as it answered its master’s submerged psyche. Likewise, Ariel assumed its oppressive draconic-mien, fluffed with rage and vengeance, crackling with viridescent shunts of tyrannical lightning.

Behind the livid dual-elementalist, the Spirits belonging to her peers descended into fight or flight mode, straining against their Master’s mental leashes, desperate to flee from the Dragon-fear.

There was Wanli, Lu Fung’s Thunderhawk, and Luyi, the deer-Sprite belonging to Eunae Lee, the Korean exchange student, as well as half a dozen others who had joined Chen’s Advanced Bestiary Course, snarling, growling, scratching and biting maddeningly.

The reason for their peer's sudden hysteria was their second instructor. After re-introducing himself, Instructor Chen had invited in a Master Magister with ‘two decades’ of experience in raising a Spirit-Familiar to join them.

Though the Magister proved a perfect, well-dressed stranger to the rest of the class, Gwen recognised his unforgettable face at once.

For the first few seconds, the revelation had stunned her into silence, too startled to command her motor-synapses. But not so her Familiars. Sensing their Master's descent into the abyss, they drank from the fathomless hostility she had buried since the Sydney Incident.

“ERIC WALKEN, YOU BASTARD!”

Her voice reverberated across the empty training hall like a thunderclap, forcing those standing close to her to cup their ears.

“Gwen Song.” The old Magister made no move to defend himself. “Fancy meeting you here, how fickle karma must be.”

“You know Magister Walken?” Chen was incredulous. “But…”

But why are you looking as though you're ready to Consume him, was the question on Chen’s lips. When Luo had introduced Walken, Chen had expected a jovial, almost serendipitous meeting between the two Australians. Gwen was a talented student, and Walken was an Ex-member of the Oceania ruling council. Though he did not know why Walken left his post, that the Dean had wrangled a tier 7 Conjurer-supreme away from the Commonwealth Mageocracy was a miraculous feat in itself.

“What... are you doing here?” Gwen's tone dripped with murder.

Intellectually, she knew there wasn't a snowball’s chance in the Elemental Plane of Fire that she could maim or defeat the Magister in public, especially not in the university. Nonetheless, her subconsciousness persisted in its wilful, meteoric desire for satisfaction.

Each time she reminded herself of the time, the place and her company, her Familiars loosened guttural bouts of shrieks and hisses, informing the others exactly how she felt about Walken. Her new-found honesty was as distressing as it was irksome. The ability to bear and grin life's cruel injustices with poker-faced masochism had been her calling card, but her Master’s face, pale and loitering, quashed her feeble efforts. Beside her ear, a waspish buzz intensified until the memory of yesteryear howled with the tenacity of ten-thousand Furies baying for blood. She didn’t even hear her Master’s last words! Not even a proper goodbye!

And the source of her agony could be linked to one man.

Eric - FUCKING - Walken.

The erstwhile leader of Oceania’s Grey Faction.

The man who had put Sydney Tower into a Lockdown; invited the Mermen right into the city’s midst, preventing her Master from accessing the Grot, activating the Tower's defences, and eradicating his cunt of a wife!

If Sobel had been the murderer of Henry, then Walken was her foolish, unknowing accomplice. Though the Magister had escaped prosecution, he had not fled from disgrace. Thanks to Gunther and the Middle-Faction’s influence in the Mageocracy, Walken had been thrown from a position of power, never again to be included among the shakers and movers of the Commonwealth.

And now, the man was in front of her; his soul ripe for the reaping, his face blanched and resolute, ready to meet his maker.

“Gwen, what the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Lu Fung was the first to recover, snapping at his family's money-tree. Wanli rose into the air, ready for action. "Don't make trouble for the Clan! We still need you!"

"What's gotten into you?" Eunha hugged her doe. She had known Gwen for half a year now, and she had never seen her 'senior' completely lose her faculties.

“Lu, shut up and stand down! The rest of you, back off!” Chen howled the other students into silence. “Gwen, what’s your problem with Magister Walken?”

Walken waited for her answer, his expression that of a man having found a mildly-interesting butterfly.

“This man.” Gwen forced the words from between clenched teeth. “Is the reason I lost my Master and my home.”

The curious students suddenly wished they hadn’t heard her answer. Getting involved in someone else's blood-grudge was always a recipe for disaster, especially when that somebody could duel Wonsoo Liu under the arena.

“Gwen.” Chen placed himself between the Magister and his student. “Put away your Familiars.”

“I've been trying.” Gwen willed her Familiars to back off, but both Ariel and Caliban fought her tooth and nail. The saying went that the mind was willing, but the flesh was weak, though in her case, the brain was deceiving itself, and her body was entirely too honest.

Both of her Familiars owed their existence to Henry's signature Conjure Familiar. The Lord of Oceania had been one of the first human beings they had seen and interacted with upon their entry into the Material Plane. He had been the first to feed Caliban and Ariel, the first to accept Caliban not as a monster, but a companion, even before their Master herself. Though Gwen had no idea if her creatures were intellectually capable of processing Walken’s cock-up in Sydney, they translated her loathing perfectly and without reserve, their minds too simple to blunt the raw hostility pounding their elemental animus.

“Huonu!”

Chen’s Salamander came roaring into the Material realm, becoming a sizable wall between Gwen’s Familiars and Magister Walken. It was the first time Gwen had seen Huonu in its entirety. Stretching almost four meters from head to tip, the humanoid Fire-sprite had vaguely humanoid facial features, a pair of well-muscled arms spluttering magma, and a powerful, barrel-thick serpentine tail.

The stench of sulphur and cinder made the air impossible to breathe, forcing her to back away.

“Gwen, pack your beasts away, NOW, or I pack them for you.”

Cowed by Huonu, Gwen was able to retract both of her Familiars.

Chen waited until he was sure the dual-element sorceress had regained her faculties before he retrieved his Magma Spirit.

“Class is cancelled today!” he barked at the students. “Dismissed!”

Usually, the haughty Conjurers would be full of high-sentence before they dispersed, but after a display like that, none of Fudan's best and brightest Conjurers had any desire to linger.

“Gwen.” Lu paused at the door.

Clan Fung's latent fortune-finder looked to her fellow Spirit-Conjurer.

“Clan Fung will give you its full support.”

Hugging her arms to prevent a wayward misfire, Gwen returned Lu's offer of support with a subtle nod.

“Gwen, stay here and keep your Familiars contained.” Chen then turned to Walken and bowed. “My deepest apologies on behalf of the administration, Sir. I had no idea there would be history such as this between a student and yourself. We have not done our due diligence.”

“It’s quite alright, Sir Chen.” Walken waved his hand. “The full extent of my shame and the reason for our shameful circumstance is known only to the highest echelons of the Commonwealth. By that same measure, I find no fault in Gwen’s anger. In her place, I would have done the same, perhaps worse. As for her outburst, it may be best to speak with Dean Luo in person.”

“I see,” Chen thanked the Magister. “We’ll await the Dean.”

Forcing herself to breathe, Gwen glanced at Walken's despicable mien.

“Of course, there is no rush.” Walken’s smile reminded Gwen of the very first time they had ever met in the Tower. Despite what he had done, the bastard dared to appear self-assured and faultless. To Gwen, the satisfaction gained from punching that face would have been therapeutic.

The reality, however, was that she was in enough trouble as it was.

Since her troubles with Bai, the Dean had warned her several times to keep her composure. By that same measure, she vaguely recalled that the Dean had stated he was on the lookout for potential Instructors to help her out.

Bloody oath, she mentally face-palmed. Fuck!

Even if Luo had found a Ravenport, she would have felt less inclined to murder the man. She couldn't give a shit who Luo dug up, but please don't let it be Eric-fucken-Walken!

“This is your new Instructor, Gwen, to help you temper your unique disposition.” Dean Luo pointed his finger at the villainous, smiling Walken.

Bastard! Bloody, heartless villain! Remorseless, treacherous, soulless, kinless ass-hat! Her mind continued to riot, heedless of the Dean's soft-spoken words. What an ass she was to stand and stare like a whipped bitch! She should be tearing him apart with her teeth!

“No way in hell,” Gwen refuted the Dean’s offer with absolute certainty. “He should be so lucky if a wayward you-know-what doesn’t strike him in the face.”

Magister Walken remained perfectly calm, as though their conversation was about groceries. That he looked good and had his shit together incensed Gwen even more. Though fallen from grace, Walken was the sort that groomed impeccably. His greying hair was slicked back, leaving a wayward strand hanging over his right eye. His face as well retained a certain youthfulness unbecoming of a treacherous scamp. To Gwen, the old schemer reminded her of an anthropomorphic Scar to Henry’s Mufasa.

The Dean's patience had a shorter fuse than she anticipated. Had the man been expecting, and indeed, dreading their present circumstance?

“Gwen, be reasonable.”

“This man… is responsible for the death of my Master!”

“Unofficial Master…” Walken coughed gently.

“You..!”

“Gwen!”

“Sir!”

“Not another word!”

Her blood boiled, as did her Almudj’s Essence.

Her mind grew white with wrath.

She couldn't think.

FUCK IT!

A spell came to her lips.

"Force Cage!"

The Dean was on her before she could utter a single spell.

Though the barriers were invisible, Gwen was sure she had been confined by unseen-partitions because the surrounding air grew suddenly stale. Gingerly, she moved a foot forward, sensing the extremities of her 'dunce' prison. Force Cage was a Monster-hunting spell. It blocked simple teleportation like Blink but allowed Mage-specific translocations such as Dimension Door.

"Cool your head!" Luo raised a finger, then another. "You're on two-strikes."

Fuck! She backed away from the wall. Stay calm, she told herself, repeating the words like a mantra. Evee. Evee. EVEE!

“I can see why the Dean is so worried,” Walken continued. “Henry never did train you properly, did he? Your Master was rearing you up in a green-house, taking his time, hoping you could fill the hole a certain Elizabeth Sobel had left.”

Gwen’s complexion grew as red as pippins. Were she not behind a Force Cage, she was sure a strengthened right-hook would have disconnected Walken’s jaw from his face right about now.

“Tier 6 Lightning… a rare talent. Not to mention Dragon Essence from a Thundering sub-species. How interesting.” Walken returned to the Dean. “You know, Luo, when I first saw her, she was barely scratching tier 3 and 4 in her spells, and her affinity for Lightning was 3 at best. I suppose in the end, despite everything, my suspicions regarding Sobel was right.”

By now, Gwen had held her breath so long it felt as though she would pass out. If her Instructors had paid closer attention, they would have seen her aristocratic veins throbbing with a life of their own.

“Eric, do you have to tease her so?” Luo furrowed his brows. “I read your report to the High Council. Your case for clemency would have been stillborn were it not for the data coming out of Wen’s testimony.”

“What about Magister Wen?” Gwen looked to Dean Luo, a vague but horrifying realisation engendering in her mind. "What testimony?"

Luo sighed.

“Gwen, if you want to know how this came about, I’ll need you to keep calm.”

“I am calm.”

The two men glanced at one another.

“Ellen, keep an eye on her. Gwen, don't you dare hurt yourself.”

The Air Sprite nodded, drifting a few meters, acting the part of bodyguard and ditsy secretary. Gwen had no doubt Ellen could vacuum-pack the Force Cube, knocking her out. Of course, she could D-D the fuck out of here, but that would also spell the end of her University career. It's a test, the rational part of her mind informed her, stay calm and think of Evees.

The frustration of her dilemma was exquisite.

This time, the distress in her rapidly swelling eyes was genuine.

“Shall I?” Walken offered.

“Sure, why not?” Luo found his way back to the alcohol cabinet. He needed a fucking drink. A worried educator and administrator spent personal favours, pulled weight, called in debts and burnt goodwill to get a Mao-blessed trainer for his protege, and she repaid him by spitting in his face. If the girl had been his daughter, he wouldn’t have minded giving her a good spanking or have her kneel over bamboo grates for a night to set her priorities straight. Was Walken responsible for the girl's Master's demise? Only by chance and association. For a child who knew so little of Walken and Kilroy's history, Gwen's hyperbolic reaction was for Luo, equal-parts sympathy and frustration.

“Gwen, you want a seat?” Ellen asked.

“I’ll stand.” Her green eyes followed Walken around the room.

Walken patrolled Luo's Force Cage, taunting her, mocking her intemperance, inspecting the reason why he’d once again found gainful employment.

“First, let me apologise for what happened in Sydney. Events were obfuscated, and politics had clouded my better judgement.”

Gwen swallowed her next words: they involved Dimensions, Doors, and AoEs- but the Dean was watching.

“As for our story, you should be aware of it. After the battle, I was arrested - by your 'unofficial' brother-in-craft. After that, I became the target of a non-too-friendly interrogation by the Magisters present: Lin, Uther, Ferris, and of course Magus Shultz. They put me under a great deal of Enchantment, you must understand, and to be perfectly honest with you, I am not sure what I told them either - only that by the end of a week-long inquest, I was transferred over to Hague, to the International Mageocracy Tribunal there, presided over by the three Factions.”

“Then, weeks later, I discovered that it was you who saved me from Stasis-”

“What are you…” Gwen protested.

“- your discovery of Sobel’s method of entry into the Tower.” Walken raised a finger. “If you recall?”

SHIT! NO! She recalled Gunther’s casual mention that ‘you may have saved Walken's life,’ when they had convened in her brother-in-craft's office in Sydney.

“Indeed, my emerald-eyed Lady Luck. I owe you one. Thank you for saving me from the disgrace of being nailed with a betrayal I did not commit.”

“…” A Displacer Beast caught Gwen's tongue. She felt sick, but what could she say? She should have just stayed quiet. Loose lips sink ships; apparently, they also save your worst enemies from being put into Stasis.

“Then, at my official trial months later, you ratified my theory once again, quite serendipitously, I must add, with your contributions to Fudan.”

“Wha?”

“That would be Wen’s submission of your Void Element’s Consumption properties to the Pudong Tower.” Dean Luo reminded Gwen. "We did tell you the papers were shared with both Pudong and the CCP."

“Oh, yes. Imagine my shock when 'Initial findings on the Void Mage Gwen Song' was able to vindicate my motivation for turning against Henry, having suspected that he was trying to create yet another Sobel. To draw an analogy, your Master was the originator of the first Flesh Golem, 'Lizzy' von Frankenstein, so I’d thought him eager to create a second. Thinking that perhaps, with you being so young, he could keep you under this thumb.”

The Magister waited to see how Gwen would react. When the girl remained stunned, immobile and silent, he smirked.

“Very good. Your improved temperament astounds me. At any rate, when details emerged of your ability to consume Mages to usurp their affinity, the Grey Faction managed to reduce a castigating exile into a more amicable parting from the upper echelons. You see, though I had acted in bad faith, my motives were not wrong. The world certainly did not desire another Elizabeth Sobel, and had we left Henry to his devices, who knew what old Deathless would have knocked up, hmm?”

“I-I… saved you?” Gwen’s hands clenched and unclenched. The mention of her Master’s old moniker, so ironically called Deathless Henry, was too much. Her lips moved as though possessed. “Because of me… you’re walking free?”

“Yes,” Walken bowed. “Thank you, Gwen, for the unbidden generosity.”

“Oh…” Gwen tried to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Touching a hand to her face, she felt an unusual patch of wetness. Was she bleeding? No, it wasn't another nosebleed - it was worse. “O… I… Oh God… shit… you bastard…”

She began to cry.

A grown woman, wailing away her frustrations.

A daughter with a father slain, showing weakness in front of her dire enemy and her heartless Dean.

Was this her punishment?

Was that it?

This sad and sadistic state of affairs, had Jiang Luo planned it?

If only her Master had been here, Henry with his wisdom would have made things alright. He would have taught her how to manage her affinities. He would have tempered her spells, blunted her jagged edges, polished her confetti-collection of spells she’d picked up by chance, charity and choice. Henry, a father she never had, a Master she’d thought she’d share the better part of her life with: a mentor, a friend, a confident - a captain.

Gone! Thanks to this man.

And somehow, she saved his ass.

Not only that, she was forbidden from kicking his ass.

Irony, frustration, bewilderment, self-loathing, grief and melancholy, the weight of her confused emotions broke over her mental-levee.

Across the room, her two educators regarded one another. Luo exhaled. Tears were good. Tears were proof of the girl's humanity, of her malleability, of the fact that she wasn't yet a sociopathic drake.

Then came the sound of the girl's choking sobs, and the men's scalps grew numb. Here was a girl, seventeen or so, bullied by two old men into a river of tears. She moaned, hacked, snuffled and choked.

Luo dispelled his Cage.

“Ellen, can you..?”

Ellen shook her head. She had adored the girl once, but her familiar Caliban was a Spirit-eater. As far as Ellen was concerned, the girl was a usurper, and the Air Sprite had no desire to be any closer to the girl.

With a solemn awkwardness, the two men waited while Gwen wailed and dribbled, leaking liquid emotion over the Dean’s plush, pale-pink Persian carpet.

As for Gwen, the expulsion had been cathartic.

After the unbidden purge of pent up emotions, her mind returned to its usual self; cold as ice and sharp as a tack.

“You owe me,” she stated rather rudely the moment her face regained a semblance of control. Now that her fever had passed, she had to reassess the situation logically, rationally, advantageously.

“As I said.” Walken nodded. “I owe you my freedom.”

“So what can you teach me?” Gwen forced the words between her lips. “How can I control... this?”

“Meditation, attunement, practice, knowledge,” Walken stated each word, pronouncing every syllable. “And of course, the improvement of your mind and your Familiar.”

“I can do that myself,” Gwen snarled.

“You can't.” Walken grinned. “You'll only dig yourself deeper.”

“He’s right,” the Dean interjected. “Ordinarily, such esoteric knowledge is carried on between Master and Apprentice, passed down between generations. A mercenary Instructor at the tier you require does not exist.”

“How do my peers deal with their affinity problems?” Gwen pointed out the Dean's logical fallacy.

The Dean scoffed.

“Gwen.” Luo regarded his protègè critically. “You’re naturally affinity 6, and you’re running a juvenile draconic-Spirit that may very well gift you with another 2 to 3 magnitudes once it matures. How many Mage do you think will ever possess that level of affinity?”

“Which is why Luo found me.” Walken made sure there was enough space in the Dean’s office before raising a hand toward the sky. “Couatl!”

A flash of brilliant Conjuration later, a Winged Serpent fully three-meters tall filled the chamber from the ceiling to the carpet. Its wings were a splay of rainbow-hues, multi-coloured and resplendent. A draconic head opened its maw to reveal a row of backwards-facing teeth, from an equestrian skull, its sky-blue pupils regarded Gwen.

“A Winged Serpent!” Gwen gasped, sensing a strange kinship with the creature. “A dragon?”

“A Lightning-type pseudo-dragon, yes.” Walken studied her response carefully. “Aella the Couatl. My partner and companion. Not too dissimilar from your Ariel.”

The serpent lowered itself until it could coil around Gwen’s waist. It sniffed her, tasting her skin with its forked tongue.

“Aella elemental-shifts Air to Lightning,” the Magister explained. “During the showdown in Sydney, it was Sobel's first victim during our battle. I hadn’t known then how Lightning countered her Void. As a result of my lack of knowledge, our battle was over before it even began.”

Gwen touched a finger to the rainbow-hued feathers. For some reason, the anger she felt for Walken subsided. Did the Familiar possess a calming-aura? No, it was something else, something akin to a strange endearment. Its feathers reminded her of Almudj’s rainbow-hued scales.

She pushed Aella's inquisitive snout from her face.

“Your Familiar won’t make this any easier.” Gwen lied. She did feel better. Cute pets were most definitely her soft spot.

“Regardless, I am engaged by Dean Luo for the duration of the IIUC,” Walken announced. “I was the Adjudicator for the Oceania region between 1997 and 1999 and I will be looking after your team whether you like it or not. If you wish to fight me every step of the way, that is also acceptable to me.”

“…”

Gwen glared at the man impotently. How long would it take for her to gain enough competence to stuff him down Caliban’s maw? For a normal Mage, the answer was likely never. She could catch up, but she could never surpass a Magister four decades ahead of her. But for herself, wasn’t rapid empowerment just a matter of convenience and ethics? Why she could visit Tianlanqiao tomorrow with Wen!

"..."

Shivering, she snuffed the thought before it could germinate.

“Gwen, I offer an oliver branch to you." Walken's voice was deep and smooth, resembling a talk-back radio-host. "I believe we got off on the wrong foot, as so to speak.”

What appeared to be an Ioun Stone drifted through the air.

Gwen recognised the mana signature instantly.

“This is… from my Master!”

“From Henry to me, of course, from a very long time ago. May it help you find some solace.”

Gwen regarded Walken suspiciously but took the Ioun Stone anyway. From the looks of it, it was an old 'recorder', from a time before Divination Towers grew prevalent, a type of Ioun Stone that imparted essential messages, spells, and documents.

“A memento, worthless to me,” Walken added, his thin lips pressing to form a red line before continuing. “I have your Master’s rarer collection, after all. All twelve of them.”

Walken's humblebrag struck her like a bolt from the blue.

Her Master’s Ioun Stones!

Her almond eyes widened until they were the size of an Emerald Rhomboid, a rare variant of Ioun Stones capable of neutralising poison and other chemicals effects on the body.

She had never wanted to possess something so badly in her life.

“BUT - I am afraid our audience is at an end,” Walken suddenly broke off their mutual gaze. “The Dean and I desire a private audience.”

"Wait... hey! Stop that!"

Aella the Couatl pushed against her with its snout until she exited the office, at which point Ellen boomed shut the double doors, leaving her with an arm full of feathered snake.

“Show!” Aella nudged her. “Show! Show!”

Walken's Familiar can talk?! Gwen brushed a feather from her hair. A fucking talking winged snake.

‘Show?’

It wanted to see Ariel, Gwen realised. The Couatl cared not about the gripe between herself and its Master, nor the politics involved between the Factions. It wanted what it wanted, as honest as any spirit Familiar could be.

“Fine,” Gwen agreed, her hand gripping the Ioun Stone. There was no point taking out her feelings on someone else’s good-natured ophidian-retriever. "I'll show you."

“So, what do you think?”

“There's a lot of work to be done.”

“But also potential." The Dean’s admitted his protègè was a handful.

“If you say so.”

“Well, can you do something about her predicament?”

“Isn’t that why I am here?”

“Now that you’ve seen her I mean.”

Taking a minute to mull over his answer, Walken walked over to the cabinet and poured himself a glass of bourbon.

“Oh-ho, how’d you get the American stuff.”

“The usual channels - well?”

“I am afraid it's not so simple.”

“That’s a no, then?”

“Yes, and no,” Walken answered cryptically. “The girl has problems beyond her pride. She was unhealthily attached to Kilroy, you understand. The ol'Deathless died both ironically and very suddenly, I am afraid. Left her an orphan; all that power, all that potential, untempered, raw, undirected.”

“And you’re a part of the reason why.”

“Yes.” Walken took a sip. “We're strangely entangled, don't you think?”

“I doubt she'd think so." Luo chuckled. "That girl's out for blood.”

“Absolutely.” Walken nodded. “Amongst other things, it's strange how if it weren’t for that girl, things would be very different right now. I’d be dead, for one. Or in Stasis.”

“So?”

“As I am responsible, I’ll sub Kilroy in his stead.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I'll be... a facsimile if you will. Something to cling on.”

“And how do you propose to resolve her affinity problems? You've got six months.”

“Trial and error,” Walken explained. “I’ll teach her everything I kno- OH! GOD DAMN, WHAT THE DEVIL?!”

“Walken!” Luo closed in. “Are you alright?”

“The girl just fed my Familiar her Dragon-essence!” Walken spat. He had splashed the bourbon all over his vest. “Is she daft?! Why is she giving out Essence treats? Does she think she's Henry's Dryad?”

Luo laughed.

“She did that with Ellen as well. Careful she doesn't steal your Spirit from under you! She's a charmer, that one. A born negotiator.”

“All the more perfect for an induction into the Grey Faction.” Walken regained his sensibilities once he adjusted his mana wavelength to negate the new stimulus. “Judging from the actions she's taken to establish herself, she's far better suited to our Credo than that of the Middle Path.”

Gwen returned home late, shared a takeout dinner with Petra, then retired to her bed.

From her Storage Ring, she cupped the Ioun Stone with her Master’s mana-signature between her hands.

“!”

She attempted to activate its glyph. These were simple devices, and Walken had left it untethered and unlocked.

Slowly, the egg-sized quartz rose into the air.

A Message began to play.

First, the air around the polished surface shimmered, then an image formed from thin air, pitting Gwen face to face with Henry Kilroy.

“Eric,” the recording started.

Gwen had to cup her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She gazed into the face of her Master, its ghostly form flickering, while the stone delivered its payload.

“Old friend, I am sending you this private Message to apologise for the actions taken by my protégé, Alesia de Botton. She's both young and talented, making her prone to the usual trappings of Fire Mages. As you know, it takes years to temper that arrogance and presumptuousness of theirs. I know you’re still recovering from your injuries, so I’ve sent over some of Sufina’s Mead along with the Ioun Stones I promised, I hope you’ll take care of them better than I did, not trading them away when one of your students berserk, haha...”

“... On a serious note, allow me to thank you for holding back against Alesia. She’s got a lot of room to grow, and I know you could have ended her life if you wished. That you held back in deference to me, enduring her insults out of respect for our working relationship, makes me glad. As for what Alesia had uncovered, I hope that it was a misunderstanding and that in the audit to follow, we can account for the source of those ‘goods’ the Grey Market is using to acquire Creature Cores...”

“Old friend, I know we’ve grown apart since you joined the Grey Faction, but I want you to know that I’ve never forgotten those days we served together during the Coral Sea War. You were as good a Lieutenant one could have asked for during those desperate times. I don’t begrudge your social climbing, nor do I fault you for suspecting Elizabeth. I think, in the end, we would have gone the Path we did anyway, with or without your interference. Lastly, let me ask after your wife, Audrey, and your girls Beatrix and Angie. I hope they are doing well. If you need some Golden Mead or a Vitae-fruit for Angie, don’t hesitate to ask. Having mana-asthma at her age is no easy feat, especially for a child...”

“Thanks, Eric. I expect to hear from you soon. Hopefully, your wounds won’t leave a scar. Your friend. Henry Kilroy.”

After the last syllable dissolving into air, Gwen buried her face in her pillow.

She activated the stone again, allowing the message to repeat.

“Eric… your know how Fire Mages are…"

"Going after Elizabeth…"

"Your friend...”

After the third playthrough, she gave up trying to stifle the moisture escaping her eyes and resigned herself to a tear-soaked pillow as she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of yesteryears when life seemed so much simpler.

"You've got my support, whatever you choose." Petra paired her assurance with a maternal peck to Gwen's forehead.

"Cheers." Gwen massaged her puffy eye bags. "Thanks, Pats. I'll sleep on it for now."

When a minute-long hug from Petra in the morning failed to dispel the vitriol churning in her chest, she knew she was in no condition to make rational choices. As such, emulating the Prince of Denmark, Gwen opted for procrastination and delay.

For the next few days, she continued her Conjuration, Translocation, Utility-Divination and Evocation as before, restrained to the front row, passively running her Invisible Familiar.

Her old friends from the previous year, Lily, Jon and the unfortunately named Pu, accompanied her, watched over enviously by the rest of their cohort as an irksome Magister Birch delivered his lecture.

“Ah~, I want to see Ariel!” Lily moped, running her hand across an invisible belly, looking ridiculous as she stroked the air.

“After the class, sure,” Gwen promised.

Ever since the Fudan DC incident, she had suffered incessant requests to see her Familiar wherever she went. Sometimes she entertained these demands. More often than not, she politely declined or fled.

“You know, Gwen, you’re the talk of the campus,” Jon, the Enchanter aspirant, observantly remarked. “They say you defeated Tei Bai and that you’re going to enter the IIUC on Fudan’s behalf.”

“Woa, you’re entering the IIUC?!” Lily cut in. “That's super elite!”

“Gwen’s an elite, not like us,” Pu reminded their companion. “Who else you know can tap into both Void and Lightning, possess a Mongolian Death Worm and a Kirin?”

“Maybe we should follow Gwen from now on?” Lily half-joked. “What do you say, Gwen?”

“You’re welcome any time,” their elite companion laughed, her mood improving. “I’ve got no Clan and no Tower though, we’ll be vagabonds!”

“How about a Quest or two?” Pu pushed to see if their alumna was merely modest or genuinely interested.

“Sure, if I’ve got time. It’s always good to stretch out my legs,” the object of Pu’s enquiry returned. “I’ve got a party of my own, but I’d love to do something with you guys as well. My magic isn't going to improve being cooped up all the time. So long as you pick a weekend, she'll be right.”

It took a few seconds for her slang to sink in.

“Ooo! I look forward to it! Adventuring with an elite!” Lily, the least bashful of the threesome, was shameless in taking advantage of Gwen's generosity.

Pu laughed awkwardly, knowing full well that anyone who could give Tei Bai a run for his crystals wasn’t likely to think much of folks sitting on tier 4 magic.

Beside their Evoker companion, Jon’s face grew flushed. Like his friend Pu, Jon had a feeling that whatever danger Gwen faced on the regular wasn’t going to be for mundane students like them.

Watching Lily's boisterous optimism, Jon reminded himself to admonish his companion. While Gwen was their friend and associate, she would never be a comrade; their distance, as it were, was unbridgable. If anything, a Mage with Gwen's prospects and family connections could only be their superior; believing otherwise would bring calamity, both now and in the future.

While Gwen flitted in and out of her third week of classes, rumours had spread of the Black and White Kirin of Fudan, attracting curious stickybeaks both local and Districts away. Thankfully, Orientation was officially over, leaving visitors to ponder where Fudan DC's new mascots had gone.

As for those lucky enough to happen upon Gwen's duty-hours, they managed to catch a glimpse of a noble Kirin and a God-awful creature that made the viewer ill even from a distance. Indeed, if that netherworld abomination could be a black Kirin, a Displacer Mauler could be an Shíshī.

“Sir Caliban is an acquired taste,” a Fudan student haughtily informed his Jianqiao opposition. “You wouldn’t understand until you see its owner in the flesh - we’re calling her the Kirin Lady now.”

“What did you use to call her?”

“The Worm Handler.”

“Hahaha, what?! That sounds like-”

“SHHH! Don’t let the Duelling Club members hear you. She’s their idol on a pedestal now, well - her Familiars are.”

“Okay, okay.” The visitor looked around conspiratorially. “So, where can we see the owner?”

'The Owner' was halfway across the campus, agonising over Eric Walken’s help.

“No!” Elvia’s lament poured through LRM Device. “No way!”

“YES WAY!” Gwen groaned. “And then, he told me that I was an ‘unofficial’ Apprentice!”

“Bastard!”

“I know, right?”

They had already spent the rare hour conversing about Gwen’s latest encounter. One by one Gwen had consulted her peers for advice. The hardest and longest came from her brother-in-craft. Gunther’s final opinion was that he would be keeping this quiet from Alesia and that anything other than Spellcraft from Walken should be taken with a grain of salt. With Yue, Gwen's unexpectedly collected companion intimated that she too would be keeping this latest travesty from her Master- that and Gwen should engineer 'training accidents' at every opportunity.

“He’s bound to let his guard down. Maybe suddenly drop your top or something, and while he’s surprised and horny - POW! Right in the kisser.”

“… Thanks for the advice.” Gwen took Yue’s word with a fistful of salt. “I am not equipped for that strategy, unfortunately. I'll pass.”

As for her friends and family in China, their advice concurred with Gunther’s most rational assessment. If she turned down Walken, where the hell was she going to find another pseudo-draconic, high-affinity Conjurer with two decades of experience working with her old Master? As for Richard, her cousin was all in.

"Use 'em and dump 'em." Richard gave her a thumbs up. "Suck 'em dry, Champ."

Elvia was her last port-of-call. The last member of her immediately intimate companions from that incident. She had wanted to contact Surya as well, but her Enchanter maternal-grandfather lived way out in the tablelands with his hands full looking after refugees. Getting Surya to travel to the Tower or Alesia's apartment was a chore in itself.

“Gwen, between you and me.” Elvia suddenly leaned in conspiratorially. “What did you get from Yue around Xmas time?”

“Oh?” Gwen materialised the hairpin. “I got an opal hairpin. What about you?”

Elvia’s profile grew strangely withdrawn.

“Well?”

Wordlessly, Elvia produced a box from her Storage Ring, then opened the rectangular container to reveal a set of ivory chopsticks.

“Wooo, nice,” Gwen cooed. “Same material as mine. It’s got a little curvature to it too. Monster-teeth?”

“Oh, Gwen~.” Her friend touched a hand to her temple. “It’s a set of Lizard-kin baculums.”

“What the hell is that?” Gwen cocked her head. She had neither Google nor a dictionary in her apartment.

“It’s a p…”

“P?” She twirled the hairpin between her fingers expertly.

Elvia looked around to ensure no one could hear her next words.

“It’s the PENIS bone found in humanoid species of Lizard-men!”

With a sudden jerk of her hand, the penial-fashionista hurled her baculum with the revulsion of one suddenly finding a fat, foreign phallus prodding one's fingers.

‘Thunk!’

The business-end, weighted for pleasure, stuck into the drywall with a thunk!

Like a rudely-erect sundial, Yue’s ill-humoured phallus mocked her from up on high. Holy shit! Gwen felt ill. She had worn that thing in front of everyone! She had boasted of how well it matched her outfit!

“That Yue…” Gwen recalled her Uncle’s discomfort while they conversed. Her face burned. “I am… going to pay her back. We must pay her back!”

“Count me in!” Elvia’s eyes grew swollen.

“Why, what did you do, Evee?” She wondered if Elvia too had been using the sticks as a hair ornament.

Evee's lament erupted with anguish.

“Sylvie caught on to what they were, but not before I ate lunch...”

By the week's end, at the Dean's polite behest, Gwen consented to a meeting with Walken to discuss what they would be doing. Before she could invest in Walken's venture, she had to rationally and logically consider the boons and banes. With a few months until trials for the IIUC started, and roughly six months before the IIUC itself began within the Inter-Asia region, those choices came with weighted consequences.

“Come at me.”

She blinked.

“You want me to attack you?”

“I do.”

“You are sure?”

Gwen couldn't believe it. She didn't even have to drop her top or nothing.

“Absolu-.”

“Lightning Bolt!”

A streak of arm-thick lightning flashed between them.

“Elemental Anchor!”

A swirling mandala appeared mid-air. Where Gwen’s Lightning had struck, the invoked plasma harmlessly drained into Walken's revolving glyphs, glowing only for a second before her energy faded.

She stared then glared at Walken with equal parts resentment and awe.

“A tier 5 Transmutation spell, useful for defending against Mages with conforming Elemental alignments.” Walken grinned. “Did you forget that I am a Magister? Is that all you have?”

Gwen had indeed forgotten that Walken was a Magister. The last time she had seen him, the prick was in the midst of being bitch-slapped by Sobel. But the man was indeed a Magister. As such, Walken should have at least three Schools of Magic at tier 6 and above. If Conjuration was his Major School of Magic, what were the others? Transmutation was a possibility, and Evocation most likely. Walken never did invoke Illusion, Abjuration did not favour Air, and Creature Mages seldom took high-tier Divination or Enchantment.

“Elemental Sphere!” Gwen pumped out a second spell before Walken even finished.

“Shield!”

Her sphere struck Walken’s Lightning barrier.

Rather than imploding, her sphere melded into Walken’s Shield, seemingly consumed by its surface.

“Childish!” Walken sneered.

“Void Bolt!”

A dark sliver sped toward Walken.

She shouldn’t have, but taking a hatchet to Walken's kisser would make her very happy indeed.

“Aegis!”

For a second, Gwen wondered if Walken was an Illusionist after all. A portion of the Magister's Shield detached itself, incandescently hovering half-a-meter in front of his body before catching her bolt like a baseball mitt.

The two energies collided, the Lightning neutralising her prideful bolt without so much as a sizzle.

“You’re a long, long way from Sobel if you want revenge, girl,” Walken snorted. “As for your battle-instincts, I have to wonder; what did Henry see in you?”

“Void Sphere!”

“Ha!” Walken dropped another Aegis. “That's more like it!”

This time, her two-stage Evocation imploded.

She watched as a nova-ring of paper-thin ink washed over Walken’s body, filling her heart with jubilation.

"Ha-" She spat.

Rationality returned in the next moment, draining the warmth from her bosoms. FUCK! Her fingers clenched and unclenched. She’d done it again! Did she go too far? What kind of trouble was she in now? But she was goaded! Could they blame her? He was using her dead Master to drive her into a corner!

After a split-second of enveloping darkness, the Void-matter consumed itself.

Walken was gone.

Staring at the space her adversarial Instructor once occupied, Gwen baulked. GONE?! Her mind performed a double-take. Shouldn’t he be cut in half?

“That was wonderfully executed, Gwen Song.” Walken’s voice came from above.

She raised her head to see the man standing upside down on the vaulted ceiling.

A last-minute D-D? An Illusion? Mind Magic? But she has her earrings. Gwen reminded herself. If that was an Illusion, her wards should have chimed.

“You seem surprised.” Walken looked down at her. “Didn’t Henry tell you that at our level of mastery, we supersede the need for audible low-tier Invocations?”

“You must feel so superior up on that ceiling,” Gwen retorted even as the hateful Magister invited her to launch another assault. “It must feel great bullying a novice like me."

“Such an inane humility. ” Walken drifted from the ceiling via Feather Fall, landing with a grace that put Gwen's flight to shame. “Would you feel better if I had praised you? Patted your head? How is it that you still think yourself an Acolyte?”

“Am I a Magus then?”

“You’re knee-deep in carcasses, for one,” Walken mocked her, watching the girl flinch. “And you’ve consumed Monsters that would take Magus-tier casters, working in tandem, to defeat. You must be the most ill-informed Acolyte in the world to think of yourself so lowly. Does our little celebrity of Fudan not recognise her majesty?”

Gwen bit her lower lip until it bruised.

“Glad to see our training paying off already.” Walken’s speech grated on her nerves. “Tell me truly, do you desire to master your Affinity, Gwen?”

“I do.” Gwen raised her chin defiantly. “Are you here to help? Or were you selling snake-oil to the Dean so that you could have a bed and roof over your head?”

To her disappointment, her sarcastic riposte failed to connect. The man's ego was part-eel, part-ass.

“There are three reasons for your imbalance,” Walken began, suddenly serious.

The shift in atmosphere caught her off-guard.

She waited for Walken to continue.

“Well?” the Magister demanded.

“Well, what?”

“Didn’t Henry teach you any manners?” Walken scratched his neatly-cropped beard. “If you want help from someone, a little politeness could go a long way.”

“From you?”

“Is there another Magister here?”

“Are you senile?”

“I see,” Walken sighed. “I am sorry that we’ve wasted each other’s time. Good day, Miss Song. I am sure Mister Lu and the others could benefit from my efforts with a more assistive attitude.”

To her surprise, Walken turned to leave.

It’s a trick!

The arrogant bastard!

He knew she needed his help!

Well, fuck him. Gwen rebuked Walken mentally. She could ask Ayxin!

The Dragon-kin seemed like she had her shit together. Furthermore, she hadn't asked uncle Jun yet; maybe he'll figure something out.

That makes no sense, you nincompoop! The better part of her brain screamed that Ayxin was a fucking Dragon-Mage. Why the fuck would a Dragon have problems with their nature? Being arrogant and prideful was the same as breathing. What could Ayxin teach her? How to hoard crystals? How to take over a mountain? How to use political clout to ensnare her uncle Jun? Which follicle on Ayxin's body showed that she had humility and control over her arrogance?

On the other side of the training hall, Walken had arrived at the threshold.

“Wait!” The better part of Gwen called out. She would have to give the old bastard this round.

Walken's backward glance had the manner of a Bond villain.

“...” Her voice caught in her throat.

Walken reached for the door.

“T-teach me!”

“That’s my intent.” Walken's gaze turned her complexion as pink as pippins. “But its good to know we’re off to an amicable start.”

She slowly exhaled.

“Both in a professional capacity, and private capacity, I do wish that you may benefit from our relationship,” Walken spoke with a solemnity that surprised her. “To that end, I am going to be very honest with you, brutal even.”

Though not entirely convinced, Gwen nodded.

“Good, take a seat.”

Her Instructor raised a hand, conjuring a table and two seats.

The same trick as Dean Luo, Gwen recognised the chantless Conjure Object. The signature was distinct and familiar. Were the two related somehow? How did they know each other?

She sat.

A dark Grot.

A circular table and two chairs.

Herself, and a mentor.

The nostalgia was too real.

“Listen well.” Walken caught her attention by tapping the table audibly. “There is no 'cure' for your affinity.”

“I am sorry?” Gwen stared at Walken.

“There is no helping it.” Walken met her eyes. “That’s how it is.”

“Are you fucking with me?!” she spluttered bewilderingly.

“Language, young lady,” Walken chided his unhinged protégé. “Not to mention you should let others finish before blowing up. It looks to me that you have a patience problem too, do you possess excess Fire as well? A spot too much of the 'Yang', as the Orientals say?”

“I…”

Her teacher made a shushing motion.

“I said there's no 'cure'. I did not say Affinity-traits are unmanageable.”

Gwen pursed her lips.

“To begin, there are three factors involved in your condition.”

Walken raised a finger.

“One - you are too young. Your body, as it were, isn’t capable of managing both the Draconic-essence and the Lightning-affinity. Take, for example, your exceptional strength and agility. No boon exists without consequence. If you exercise powers beyond what your natural body is capable of, then these very same powers will influence you in subtle ways. If you wish to have the proportional constitution of a Dragon, then you will suffer the arrogance of one. Such is life. Nothing is ever so convenient as a gain without a cost.”

Gwen guiltily thought of all the times she had taken advantage of her new physique. Morning runs, moving furniture, punching Richard, pushing Dai, walking in four-inch stiletto heels around campus without so much as a pinched toe.

“Two - your Spell List and theory-craft are atrociously mismanaged. A Mage, even a genius one, slowly acquires spells throughout his or her long years. Take, for example, Magister Larsen. How long did you think it took for him to progress his Signature Magic? I’ve met the man in person so that you know. He became a Magus at twenty-three, perfected Lightning Sphere at twenty-nine, then Ball Lightning at thirty-four. How about you? Buoyed by your affinity and your draconic body, you throw around spells that took the man three decades to achieve-”

“I learned the spells before-”

“The point,” Walken interrupted her protest. “Is that you’re a supernaturally-powerful child wielding a sword twice your height. You possess no finesses. You are a brute, a bruiser, a copy-cat abusing powers beyond your ken, throwing invocations like boulders. Neither your physical nor your Astral Body has had time to accustom itself to the growth of your affinity, which is why you’re so easily influenced.”

She groaned. Walken's advice was connecting all the dots she couldn't previously align.

“Finally, though this is only a theory. I suspect Henry never intended to let either of your Elemental Affinity exceed the other to this extent.”

“Master had arranged for that?”

Walken leaned in from across the table.

“What affinity were you while under your Master’s care?”

“3-Lightning and 3-Void, then 4-Lightning and 4-Void…” Gwen tried her best to recollect Henry’s estimate. She never did receive an exact numerical value then, nor did she obsess over her ‘statistics’. Other than her very first evaluations, she had never recalled Henry fussing over her numbers like her instructors in Fudan. Likewise, he had restricted her to a pragmatic set of useful spells. She had never felt rushed or short on time, not even when the Inter-high competition loomed. It was heaven and hell compared to her present state of affairs.

“Do you believe there was a purpose to it keeping your affinities so closely aligned?”

Gwen blinked.

Was there a ‘purpose’?

She had no idea.

Alesia and Gunther both possessed single-elements. Alesia was a Fire Mage through and through; even her Master had been worried about how she reacted around others and had shielded Alesia from situations where her temperament would adversely impact her Quests.

As for Gunther, his affinity appeared more boon than bane.

For his youngest Apprentice, her Master had always favoured her wit, intelligence and charm over her ability with spells. Gwen had taken Henry's adoration as the natural way of things. After all, Gunther took care of the big problems, while Alesia was always available as a battering ram when the need arose.

How plausible was the application of her Master's Middle Path to her Elemental Talents? Could the two even correlate? Balance in all things? Had Henry ever mentioned anything like that?

“I see you know nothing,” Walken’s cynicism resumed. “Shame. I'd thought the two of you closer.”

“What would you know about that?” Gwen fought down a taste of bile, fighting a thorn digging at her bosom.

“Enough to suspect that Henry knew what he was doing,” the Magister candidly apprised her past. “Your Master wasn’t one for academic publications or CCs, though he has been around for a very, very long time.”

“What do you mean by that?"

“Oh come on, Henry didn't even tell you his age? How old do you suppose someone called Deathless Henry could be?”

Swimming upstream against her simmering ire, Gwen hazarded a guess. Since his tryst with Sobel happened in the 1970s, she’d place her Master as an early 1940s guy.

“Seventy-something,” she declared. "Elizabeth was almost a decade younger, I recall."

Walken laughed.

“A keen estimate.” He snickered. “The data I obtained from the Ministry of Records for Sobel showed that she was born in 1952, making her twenty-four when Noosa Heads happened in 1976. A young noblewoman, at the prime of her life! As for your Master, records state that the late Marshall Kilroy was thirty-six at the time.”

Eh? Gwen wrinkled her nose. If Sobel followed her Master out of London a few years prior, wouldn’t that mean 'Lillybird' was in her twenties, perhaps her teens?

“Mages, especially powerful individuals, have no difficulty in accessing life-extending ingredients,” Walken continued. “If your Master perished in his seventies, why was his appearance so venerable? Why the ironic moniker?”

“Elizabeth had mortally wounded him,” Gwen remarked, withholding details in case Walken was attempting to milk her for intelligence.

“Of course, we all know that. The man drinks his Golden Mead like water!” The Magister knocked the table with his fingertips. “How is it that we call him Deathless Henry?”

“He’s a Plant Mage,” Gwen retorted. “He can regenerate wounds and tap into the essence of life via Sufina. I've seen it!”

Walken admired her impetuosity with amusement.

“How presumptuous you profess to be! Are you suggesting that you know more about Henry Kilroy's magic than I, who has been his rival for a decade? How much time have you spent with him? Less time than he and I have had meetings!”

Gwen stared at her fingers, refuting Walken’s goading, refusing the satisfaction the man must derive from degrading her.

“Think about it, child,” Walken implored. “Your Master: so wise, so powerful. He was there when the Tower System was founded, you know. That was in 72’ after humanity managed to wrestle our capitals from the Beast Tide. Do you recall your history lessons? First to activate was the converted Tower of London, then Paris, Munich, Rome, The Acropolis in Greece, by the time Sydney got its Tower, it was 1982. When in 68' me and my alumni erected Oxford University's faux-Tower, you know who I saw? Henry Kilroy, not a young man, but certainly a man much older than I was. Mid-thirties, perhaps? Who knows? Already, he stood beside my House-master. Imagine my surprise when I met him again in 73’ during the Coral Sea Reclamation! He had held jurisdiction over the entire northern Front of the Brisbane Line! First as a Commander, then a Marshall!”

“I don’t understand,” Gwen interrupted. So much of Walken's words abrogated her knowledge of Henry's past. “What are you trying to say?”

“I am not too sure myself.” Walken leaned back in his chair, then faced her with both hands splayed. “Sobel, Kilroy. Void Magic. There’s history there that you and I do not know and lack the means to excavate. I doubt even Gunther knew your Master's history.”

Gwen opened and shut her mouth a few times.

Walken was right, the bastard was a prick, but he wasn't wrong.

She vividly recalled that Gunther had been caught flatfooted by Paul Chandler as well.

“At any rate, good talk.” The Magister patted his knees. "Let me know if you want to continue."

Walken studied the girl's conflicted, confused eyes, then rose so that he stood over her. When after a minute an answer failed to present itself, he walked beside his pale-faced mentee.

“You know, I was there when you first came to the Tower in April. I saw you teleport into the Tower along with De Botton. I had my eye on you then. The scent permeating from your body was unmistakable."

"What do you mean?" Scent? She gave her collar a quick sniff.

“Imagine, Gwen, if Alesia hadn't acted her insane self. You could have come to see me right after Henry. I would have offered you so much more, Gwen, knowing who you are and what you could do, I would have-"

"No!" She pushed herself from the chair, turning to face Walken with her amber-emerald pupils. "Don't you dare!"

"You and I..." Walken raised a hand both to summon his Familiar and to Message the Administration Desk. "Operator, Instruction mode."

Walken’s Winged Serpent materialised, immediately flocking to Gwen with a passion unbecoming of someone else's high-tier draconic-Spirit.

“Tssss! Gwen! Treat! Treat!”

Gwen battered the serpent away. She wasn't in the mood.

The room thrummed.

Two Astral Projections appeared on the floor.

“!”

Her gasp was audible. She could see Walken’s refraction below! The Magister was opening himself to her, showing her his Astral Soul! What was the man thinking? She was an enemy! She wanted his head on a silver platter!

Unlike her dancer’s sculpture, Walken’s Astral silhouette was a sagely male figure surrounded by his elements. Within surrounding streams of companionable Air floated thunderous clouds that sparked and glowed with Lightning.

An Air Mage! Gwen observed. And via Aella, Walken tapped into the Gate of Lightning as well. From what she could see, Walken and Aella's Master-Familiar sympathy put her and her creatures to shame.

But more than magic, it was Walken’s candid transparency that stunned her. Not even Gunther had shown her his Astral Soul. She had never seen Yue's or Elvia's this distinctly. It was only her Master's and Alesia's that she'd ever witnessed up close and with such intimacy.

"Bring out Ariel, Gwen."

Obedient and dazed, she obliged.

"EE! EEE!" Ariel flowed toward Aella, muzzling the serpent's wings as Aella nuzzled Ariel's horns.

“You and I…” Walken willed his Winged Serpent to approach Ariel.

A viridescent spark passed between them.

“EEeee!” Ariel flew into a frenzy of uncontrollable joy.

“Kin! Kin!” Aella hissed, dancing back and forth.

"EE! EE!" Ariel followed suit, swishing its tail.

There as no mistaking the smell of eucalyptus and sea salt permeating her senses.

It was the Essence of a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains; of rugged mountain ranges, droughts and flooding rains. The Essence flowing from Aella was mana drawn from a red earth singing and Dreaming of a vast brown land.

“I wonder.” Walken stood with both his hands behind his back. “I wonder what would have happened then if you had not fought my invitation. If De Botton had not attacked my men, and we had the opportunity to begin as allies. Would it have been possible, that you would have become my Apprentice, my Kin? If so, would Sydney have happened at all? Would Henry still be alive?”

“It’s called creative-art therapy.” Dr Siobhan Monroe ignored her client's laughter, bearing her ridicule with the patience of a saint. Her client, as usual, wasn’t taking her disorder seriously. “I am not making fun of you, Gwen, give it a go.”

“Fingerpainting? Really?”

Siobhan pointed at the overlarge canvas.

“You did say you couldn’t paint even if your life depended on it. Nonetheless, the therapeutic outcome is valid.”

“Oh, come on.” Her client gave her the biggest, broadest smile she could muster. “I’ve been doing very well, you should know. The Celexa’s keeping a tight lid on things. It's fine.”

“My job is to wean you off the pharmaceuticals, not make you dependent,” Siobhan reminded her client. “Now be a good girl and let's dredge up some of that abyssal oil you keep talking about.”

“Siobhan, I paid for an hour with you - I am literally wearing Chanel in white, and you want me to finger-paint while you talk shop about my father. Really?”

“I got you a single-use raincoat.” Dr Monroe pointed to the clear plastic overcoat. “Don’t forget, you’re paying me very well. Imagine all that money going to waste. Your tendency for disassociation isn’t something I made up, Gwen. You’ll drown in it if you never touch the bottom.”

“Arrrgh! Fine! You know me too well,” her client grumbled. “What are you, my psychologist?”

The two women laughed. Siobhan knew she shouldn't be getting close to her clients, but Gwen was exceptionally personable. Across the table, Dr Monroe's patient obediently slipped into the transparent rain-coat.

“I hope you’re ready.” Her patient stuck her hand into the cold, congealing acrylic. “I am in the mood for Edvard Munch.”

"Would Sydney have happened at all?"

Time dilated.

At first, her mind grew hot with incandescence. Every word, every spittle issuing forth from Walken’s mouth added fuel to her raging bushfire. Her retorts blurred and blended until each refutation she had prepared to rebuke Walken’s accusation grew fuzzy and indistinct.

What had been anger blossomed into doubt, then from doubt came fear, viscous and sticky, clinging onto her conscience with the consistency of tar, slinking up her thighs, throttling her throat.

Meanwhile, looming above her, Magister Walken watched like a rock-spider.

"Would Henry still be alive?”

Gwen wilted at the weight of his allegations.

Instantly, her complexion grew pallid; her pupils contracted, her petal-pink lips gasped; the blood in her torso froze, cold perspiration permeated the sheer fabric of her blouse, and her feet grew weightless.

Then came a vertiginous sensation of falling and whirling, and that was when she recalled the portrait she had painted for Dr Monroe.

She had wanted to do 'The Scream', but instead, she painted a big black vortex, round and round, swishing and swirling until half the canvas was black.

"That's your panic attack." Dr Monroe was beyond satisfied. "Now you know what it looks like."

How strange that she had forgotten all about it.

Dr Monroe had even billed her for the second hour.

Was her Almudj's Essence the source of her superior recall, or her Ioun Stone of Clarified Thought, or something else?

"Gwen?"

At the sound of the Magister's voice, her mind grew as cold as a slice of eldritch ice: shame, regret, remorse - all of her stifling, maddening emotions suddenly drained away as though a plug had been pulled.

Her vertigo receded.

Two years ago, she would have folded like origami, then from that compressed space would emerge a hungering Void, seeking to consume something, anything, trying to fill the uncertain emptiness.

But the Gwen of today wasn’t the mewling girl-child of yesteryear.

She had friends: Elvia, Yue, Lulan, Mia and the others.

She had a family: Babulya, Petra, Richard, Mina and Tao, Guo and Percy.

She had companions like Alesia and Gunther.

As for Walken, the man was and still is a lying sack of lukewarm shit, and she shouldn't trust him beyond how far she could blast him.

What dead and unenterprising eyes the man possessed, Gwen cocked her head slightly to get a better look. Where’s his conviction? If she had to convince someone that their loved one had been a liar, a crook, the black hand behind a world of misery, her pupils would burn with belief, her irises aflame with fervour.

But Walken’s orbs were two lumps of deadened charcoal.

It was the mark of a man who had never believed in anything in his life, living from day to day, making faces to meet the faces that he meets.

Creed without credence lacked all credibility.

It was Henry who taught her that.

Comparatively, her Master was a firm believer in words. By both their reckoning, great men with great oratory had changed the flow of history, made possible the impossible, freed the million-multitudes from slavery, ignited dreams, incited revolutions, immortalised their ideas for better or worse.

In her old world, anyone with the inclination and the interest could become a student of history’s greatest wordsmiths. Some were fictional, crafted by old Masters to inspire and teach. Others were the vanguards of progress, freeing others even as they remained imprisoned behind walls of segregation and prejudice.

Thusly shielded by the great wisdom of her old world and bulwarked by the love of family and friends, how could Walken’s venom work its sinister virulence? Did he expect that she would turn to him instead?

Now caught by the cold logic of hindsight, she reeled from the onion-stench of Walken’s lie-strewn mouth. As a young girl, she wouldn’t have recognised his ploy, but how could a 21st-century woman with a half-decade long history of therapy have missed an arrogant prick’s attempt to gaslight her?

Within Walken's play, she was Paula Alquist; Walken fancied himself the insidious Sergius Bauer, the murderer of her mother, and her fealty was the jewel he sought. Through insults and rewards, Walken was wearing her down, using everything she held dear as ammunition, tossing in morsels of truth to dim her lights, telling her that she was crazy, insane, unstable, while convincing her that her beloved Master was a liar.

Had Walken taken her for a child?

But of course, that was the point. Wasn't it?

She was in the body of an adolescent.

Her comely face and nubile body were naturally disarming.

What had Walken said? That she was a supernaturally-powerful child wielding a sword twice her height? Wouldn’t it be a riot if he knew that she was wielding a mind twice her age, filled to the brim with otherworldly knowledge?

Gwen moistened her eyes to disguise the fact that her lucidity had returned, then took the instance of Walken’s smug satisfaction to lay down plots and inductions of her own.

Walken had the knowledge she wanted, but she wasn't willing to pretend none of this happened, nor could she tell him to fuck right off back to his swamp. Rather, she wanted satisfaction, retribution, and to see that smug smile wiped off his fucking face.

“Ariel! Get away from that thing!” she screeched at her Familiar to separate from Aella. “That thing may be kin, but it’s less than kind!”

“Shaa!” A materialised Caliban came between the Kirin and its amorous companion.

“EEE?” Ariel pulled itself away, unwilling to follow its Master’s unfeeling demand. “Eee! Eee!”

Her Kirin was upset, but there was no helping it.

The feeble essence emitted by Aella the Couatl was real. It possessed a smidgen of the rainbow serpent’s colours, like a long-lost relative one immediately recognised because she had her mother’s eyes. It was this specific energy that Walken had used to abuse her senses, to warp her sense of reality.

“Ariel, Caliban! Come back!”

Her creatures were honest to a fault and unsuited to deception. In hindsight, Gwen realised that was also why Walken had allowed his Familiar to become acquainted with her. It was because Aella was entirely ‘innocent’ and by association, she wouldn’t doubt his ‘honest’ intentions.

“Play!” Aella cooed at her.

“Sorry, Aella.” She brushed away one of its enormous wings. “I am not feeling well.”

Cycling a few motes of Void was enough to turn her skin ashen, effecting a snail-sheen of sweat across her face, her hands, and her thighs.

“Gwen.” Walken’s mask grew pregnant with worry. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled at him with trembling lips. Her hands were shaking. Was it attributed to her narrowly missed psychosis? Or was she unnerved by her attempt at deception? “I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Well, let me give you something to tide you over.” Walken took her hand, then placed something in the midst of her palm.

The touch of the hateful man’s fingers seared her skin like a branding iron. It took everything in her power to stop herself from gagging.

A Message Orb. It was another Message Orb.

So the positive reinforcement for her pliantness was another one of her Master's Ioun Stones.

“Sir?”

“I have many more.” Walken touched her hair in a fatherly manner.

Reflexively, she drew away.

It was too much.

Thankfully, her manipulator chose to keep his distance, likely not wishing to startle his victim.

“I hear you have made a lot of crystals Gwen.” Walken returned to his seat. "Your appetite for economics can only be described as draconic."

“I did, Sir.” Gwen lowered her chin, then peeked at her adversarial advisor in a way that emphasised her passivity. “A girl’s gotta eat."

“Ha, you’ve got that right. I mean no offence, child, but your Master’s Credo, the Middle Path, is not suited for one as naturally avaricious as you. Still, if you wish to persist, I want you to know I’ll do my best to help you.”

Unsure of what to say, Gwen touched a finger to a corner of her eye, smearing some of her make up. When she looked up again, she was the very picture of pity.

Opposite, Walken caught the despair and disillusion in her vacant pupils, swallowing before he could continue.

“I have a proposal: a hypothesis: provable only through practice. I do not know if the method will succeed, so you will have to trust me. I know that’s hard, perhaps impossible, but such is the hand you've been dealt. There are few people alive who possess the same affinity, talent and blessings as you and I.”

She hugged her chest so as to prevent herself from physically unscrewing the man’s head like a lightbulb.

Should she agree? She needed time.

“No, don’t answer yet.” Walken reached out, then with great gentleness, placed a hand on the stunned girl’s shoulders. His victim shuddered. “Think on it.”

Then cooly, his objective accomplished, Walken left.

When Gwen felt relaxed enough to breathe again, she was alone. Suppressing her turbulent impulses, she cupped the Ioun Stone in her hand and activated the glyph for playback.

“Eric,” her Master’s voice floated through the air. He sounded younger, more robust than the previous recording. “Here’s the inventory I’ve set up for the Seventh Expedition. We don’t know if the Divination Towers will be up in time, so I am having this delivered to you in person. Here’s what I managed to commandeer…”

After a mind-numbing ten minutes of army rations, blankets, potions, low-tier magic items of convenience, clothing, transport and quasi-magical implements, Gwen confirmed her disappointment.

Walken thought a recording of Henry reading out a grocery list was enough to bribe her over?

Fidgeting with the stone, she evaluated her lack-lustre performance.

To think two years after she had a freak out at Hyde Park, Walken had almost triggered another Void-leak. Were it not for the friends and family she now had, she would have dived into that dark abyss and given herself to whatever old and forgotten thing that lurked in the Void. With her affinity and her vitality now, what would have happened?

Back in her old world, Dr Monroe would have called it a Depersonalization episode, a moment of manic hysteria accompanied by a sudden divorce from one’s physicality, becoming alienated from feelings and emotions, acting out in ways uncontrollable by the conscious psyche.

Likewise, Dr Monroe had said that if she could learn to trust, and if she could normalise her interpersonal dependencies, then her episodes would lessen, then cease.

Five years and one inter-dimensional reincarnation later, her psychologist finally earned her $300 plus GST an hour consultation.

As for what came next -

Boil, broil, grill or sauté?

How many ways could she cook the knowledge from Eric Walken?

“God you look tired,” Petra remarked during breakfast. “What happened?”

“Cutting back on my draconic-caffeine.” Gwen moaned, letting her head rest against the table. “Give me another cup.”

“I don’t think regular coffee is going to help.”

“Hahaha… well, there’s not much else I can do at this point. Can’t let it get to my head,” Gwen lamented.

“So, are you going back to Walken?”

“Gotta pay him back three-fold.” Gwen forced herself to sit with her back straight. “In the meanwhile, he can sweat.”

“Why’s he so interested in you?” Petra poured her another cup. "Here, I'll fix your hair."

“Maybe I am his ticket back into the good graces of the Grey Faction?” Her cousin shrugged. “Maybe he thinks he could do a better job than my Master, or maybe it’s because the man's afraid. I know that if Alesia were here, one of them would probably be dead by now. If I am on his side, I can keep Alesia off his back.”

“Now there’s someone with no concerns regarding their affinity-traits.” Petra chuckled.

“True, I can see why Alesia chose to stay in the Frontier when she could have lived an easy life in a tier 1 city. She’s affinity 5 or 6, I think, probably 6, and it was higher when she had her Scarlet Caracal.”

“What about your friend Yue?”

“4, when she started. Maybe 5 now.”

“And you’re edging toward 7…”

“Ergh…” Gwen groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Petra laughed, pulling on Gwen's hair with a brush.

“Yeah, yeah.” Gwen produced the Message Orb. “Say, can you take me through this thing again?”

Gwen waited two weeks before she relented to booking Walken.

First, she wanted to have a go at managing her Essence usage. Since acquiring Almudj’s blessing, she had subsisted, consciously or otherwise, on the trivialisation all of her physical ailments.

More so than the euphoric pleasure of her Void Consumption, it was small blessings like not having to deal with menstrual cramps, fatigue, insomnia and indigestion that made Almudj’s powers endearing and highly addictive. It’s like Celexa and Buspar and Ibuprofen, taken together; a miracle panacea just like the old advert uses to say: ‘Have a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down, and she'll be right, mate.’

Now removed from the creature comfort of her draconic-cocaine, she became difficult, cranky, snarky, tired, meandering and forgetful all at once, confirming that her Essence did indeed impact her mental faculties.

Her first slip-up occurred during overtime on Friday night, desiring to finish, she grew roaring drunk on Draconic-essence, high as a drake as she soared through the tedium of paperwork and practice, then took her co-workers out for all-night hot-pot.

By Saturday, she had to acknowledge that her inhuman schedule was impossible. Between her blistering metabolism, her unending hunger and her insomnia, the only thing keeping her stitched together had been Almudj’s blessing.

Meanwhile, heedless of her strained fortitude, classes continued unabated.

Working as Ma's Teaching Assistant was soothing in a way. While Professor Ma gave his lectures, she graded papers, wrote tutorial questions, composed hypotheticals, and provided graphical data. A few lessons in, a nasty rumour spread about her relationship with the squib Professor, but then a public trashing of the mouth-breathers from her Duelling Club seniors quickly put a stop to that nonsense.

Economics proved far more enterprising. As a socialist state, the CCP’s operatives ran most of its major industries as ‘state’ enterprises lorded over by Clan heads and ancient Scholar-bureaucratic families. As a land abundant with resources and low on Demi-humans, China had set itself up as the food-bowl of the South East Asian region, producing grain for export to the surrounding Frontiers. Though the course materials lauded the economic model used for mass-hydro farming, Gwen foresaw the very same mistakes Australia, America and Brazil had made in her world. When an enterprise or state began to pursue an endless annual increase to production, they turned to increasingly unsustainable methods to fuel supply. When expansion involved draining lakes, diverting rivers and flash-burning land for agricultural space, a downturn was inevitable. Like a coiled spring waiting to snap, the Demi-humans and Magical fauna pressed into the margins of what little wilderness that remained was a ticking Warding Glyph.

In Gwen's opinion, the Su-Hang region was a case of having all of one’s eggs stashed precariously into a big basket. In her old world, rapid economic elevation of China’s poor had consumed most of its arable land by producing 20% of the world’s food supply in 7% of the world’s viable agricultural zones, relying heavily on industrial fertilisers. As for her present world, what if an extreme weather event happened? Or an angry, ancient dragon came to visit? Even if Shanghai had stores to outlast the year, what about the Frontier? Where would their supply of wheat, rice and maze come from? What would the NoMs eat when rice costs an HDM a kilo?

Gwen proposed these enquiries to her fellow students and made them compose reports on the short term and long term economic outcomes of disaster-events. Later in the semester, she would teach them how to use data extrapolation for future-proofing.

If even a single one of her peers managed to save a single District on the Frontier, then her job was done. Her Master would be proud.

Concurrently, Divination progressed as well as could be expected.

The class took place in one of the Expatriate-designed ‘International classrooms’ west of the main Fudan campus, in a private ‘training’ hall filled with Creole fetishes. The Instructor was a Caucasian matron by the name of Madam L’Croix, a bloodline Diviner like Mayuree.

To improve her students' basic Detect Magic, the Instructor arranged incense burners with different incense sticks enchanted with an assortment of Schools of Magic. The students’ job then, was to use Mage Hand to pluck apart strands of magical-motes wafting through the air. The idea was to sharpen one's synaesthesia for Schools of Magic, discerning additional details like intensity, duration, and signature.

Gwen had found the bead-wearing Diviner Magus charming, though her Instructor kept a polite distance from the infamous ‘Worm Handler’ of Fudan.

When an opportunity arose, Gwen asked the woman if she had offended her in any way. The Diviner smiled and blinked her eyes unconvincingly. Just being professional, the Diviner informed her, though Gwen suspected her Instructor might have carelessly tossed some bones.

Diviners! She felt a little insulted. They should stick to teaching pragmatics and keep their noses out of other people’s futures!

“Everything alright, Miss Song?”

It took Gwen a moment to re-orientate her surroundings.

“Sorry,” she apologised. “I have no excuse.”

Magister Lee had caught her napping, and the whole lecture had tuned in to watch.

“Don’t burn yourself out.” Michio Lee’s face glowed with supernatural amiability. “You look like something my cat dragged in.”

Gwen attempted to laugh off her embarrassment.

She was truly sorry. Spell-shaping was one of her favourite classes at the moment. Michio was an excellent lecturer, and his contemporary theories were easy to understand. As for her coursework, the ultimate goal of the Advanced Spellshaping was for each student to genuinely attempt a Signature Spell.

Nine-months on, even the self-absorbed Magister Lee had heard of Gwen’s prowess. The reason he was so nice was that Lee had proposed she create an original, minimum tier 4 Void-spell.

“Lightning spells are a dime a dozen!” her instructor had informed her. “Now Void magic, that’s something to see! I want the characteristics of your Void magic used exclusively!”

But what should she create?

Two types of spells made up the Imperial Metric System.

One, Magical phenomena translated from old magic into the IMS.

Two, original spells created via the Imperial Metric System.

Some ancient arcana, such as the ubiquitous Fire Ball, Magic Missile and Lightning Bolt, has since straddled both worlds, each with distinct metamorphic variations when used by Mages of varying skill and talent.

Morden’s Hounds were a case-in-point for old, translated invocations. Lacking the pure pragmatism of newer magic, the spells of old tend to possess flair and flavour, persisting through the ages via a combination of mythoi, record keeping and tradition.

New magic pointed to the late Magister Larsen’s Lightning Sphere and Ball Lightning, which drew upon increasingly more complex sigil-stack, but whose effects were explicit and simplified.

In experimental theory, minor and major incantations were stripped and distilled into various effects. The effect, range, shape, area, form, time, duration and phenomena could all be customised if one knew the theory behind weaving a particular School’s arcane algorithm.

The complication, alas, laid in creating a spell stable enough to manifest without blowing up, or having its feedback knock the caster’s teeth out.

Most ‘creations’ did not succeed.

Those that did seldom proved useful.

And new invocations with safe, widely applicable utility were as rare as hen’s teeth.

Petra and Wen’s Spell Cubes were a sterling example of a successful Signature creation with niche application and limited public utility. Even with all their combined genius, the material and effort invested into creating unique spells weren't likely to provide a profit in CCs or Crystals. The pursuit of knowledge, alas, remained a labour of love.

But Gwen just wanted a high-score to pad her High Distinctions; if she could create a useful, original Void Magic akin to Flashbang, all the better.

So far, her choices were limited.

If she wished to create an original attack spell, she had to choose between Monster or personnel. Monster-wise, very few spells came close to the efficacy of Morden’s Hounds. As for anti-personnel magic, where was the line in the sand that separated useful utility and murderous psychopathy? Take, for example, her Void variant of Cloudkill.

The very thought made her skin crawl.

A tier 4 Void Magic.

Gwen racked her brain without success, too tired to think.

Maybe she could milk an idea out of Walken?

In all honesty, she’ll have to sleep on it.

“…”

For the second time, the rest of the lecture fell into a curious silence.

Magister Lee’s chiselled jaws clenched. His Radiant Aura flared, forcing those sitting too close to shield their eyes.

Luo’s pompous prodigy had fallen asleep, again! Not only that, it looked as though she was dreaming!

“If the Middle Faction outnumber the others, why not force the matter?”

Gwen sat demurely in a low-back chair, having her hair braided by Sufina’s long, twig-like fingers. Just now, she had been conversing with Henry about the Middle Faction’s ongoing feuds with the Militants and the Greys.

“That’s not how we work.” Henry sipped his Golden Mead. “The sensible centre isn’t a position; it’s a compromise. Even within our Faction, there are those who favour the Demi-humans, those who love or loathe the NoMs, and those hungry for conquest.”

“Wouldn’t that make our Faction’s influence unstable?” Gwen furrowed her brows. How can anyone get anything done if no one can agree on a position?

“Ah, good question.” Her Master amused himself with the sight of Sufina consulting a salon-magazine. “In truth, our vulnerability is also the source of our flexibility. Those from the Militant Faction owe us from when we had sided with them on matters of mutual benefits - like the Purge of Katoomba. Walken’s Faction owes us for barring the Militant Faction from the Central Coast, where the Greys had set up a commodity-exchange with the Sandskin Mermen Tribe. Each time, we benefit a little, here and there, keeping the peace, slowly ratcheting up our position.”

“Oh, I get it!” Gwen nodded enthusiastically. Sufina slapped her head, demanding she stay still. “We’re putting the other Factions first, going for win-wins wherever possible. That way, we build up resources and goodwill no matter which Faction is taking the initiative. By the same measure, we don’t have to commit too much of our resources, allowing us always to keep a hand in reserve!”

“And if we are not in agreement with our fellows?” Henry questioned his Apprentice.

Gwen paused.

In the next moment, her eyes flamed with industry.

“We’ll leave them be if they succeed. Negotiation support in the case of a pyrrhic victory, or save their asses to preserve the balance!”

“Excellent!” Henry ruffled her hair. “Well done!”

“Bloody hell!” Sufina screeched. “Henry! Really?!”

“Sorry, Sufi.”

“Haha, don’t worry, Sufina, maybe I can do yours.” Gwen shook out her voluminous dark tresses, turning, she caught a handful of Sufina's 'hair'.

Sufina considered her offer with scepticism, her prehensile, vine-like hair forming instantly into a stylish Scandinavian triple-braid.

“Alright, alright.” Gwen sat back down. “I am all yours.”

Gwen opened her eyes.

There was a group of students mobbing her.

Or rather, they were mobbing Caliban and Ariel, taking advantage of the fact that she had passed out to play with her materialised, no longer invisible Familiars. Ariel was receiving the benediction of its worshippers, while Caliban twirled her hair with its tail.

Her brain slotted back into place.

“Miss Song, you’re awake.” A guilty member of Lee’s lecture stepped away from Ariel. “We were… er… looking after your Familiars for you.”

“Oh? Ah…” Gwen opened and shut her mouth a few times.

Shit! She had fallen asleep in Lee’s lecture. What’s more, it was a Wednesday!

FUCK! She was late for work!

‘Ding!’

‘Ding!’

‘Ding!’

‘Ding!’

Her Message Device chimed now that she was awake.

Ruì's voice blossomed beside her ear.

“Ma’am! You’ve got a meeting with Magus Maymaruya at 3 PM!”

“Ma’am. Should I reschedule?”

“Ma’am, Magus Maymaruya says he’ll wait, but it’s been an hour…”

“God damn it!” She pumped herself full of Almudj’s Essence, then bolted from the room.

“Ruì! Tell Dai and Ken I’ll be right in! Tell Magus Maymaruya I AM SORRY!”

March came in like a lamb, filling the campus with blossoms, dispelling the long winter.

Gwen took her time getting to the training hall, draining an XL milk tea of human kindness along the way before tossing the emptied vessel into a bin. At the double-glass doors of the training hall, she examined her reflection. Dressing for conflict, Gwen had picked out a white and floral sundress with an off-shoulder neckline to accentuate her springtime youth. She even bought a broad-brimmed hat. Since Walken convinced himself that was she was an emotional, adolescent airhead; she would play the part and make an honest man out of her instructor.

This time, for round 2, she wouldn't be Antonio.

This time, she would be Portia, and he would be her Shylock.

“A whole month! I was beginning to worry if you would ever make it," Walken's reprimand snapped like a cane, his tone equally accusatory and paternal. "You mustn't let the pride control you. There's no shame in asking for aid."

A month?

Gwen averted her gaze.

Just as she suspected, the old man had grown paranoid after she had left him neglected for a fortnight. By the same measure, his persistent attempt to undermine her confidence indicated a sustained interest at dimming her lights.

“Please accept my apology, Master Walken.” Her temple throbbed even as the platitude left her glossed lips. “Between classes and my part-time work, I’ve barely slept. And you're right. I tried to deal with my problem on my own, but I couldn't.”

“Then you have invested your time poorly,” Walken repeated his reprimand, then strolled about her person, inspecting her appearance and finding her attire lacking in conviction. “I see you're dressed to please. Do you have somewhere more important to go? I'd figured you more attentive to your studies."

"I am going out..."

Walken's glare would have made an Evil-Eye proud.

Gwen lowered her eyes and forced herself to focus on a point between her feet, glad that her disarming choice of floral, combined with her demure compliance, had tickled her target in just the right way.

"Unlike you, I’ve spent the month researching your condition.”

"Thank you, Sir. I am grateful."

“As you should be. What I found-” Walken edged beside her, close enough for conspiracy. “Will require some verification on your part.”

“You see, for sometime after my battle with Sobel, I became greatly interested in her ability to supersede the arcane fulcrum of Negative Energy. You of all people should know that Vitality-Mana consumption for high-tier AoEs cannot be sustained by low-Affinity users. For Sobel to deploy wide-range AoEs at Noosa Heads, or even against the Saurians, her affinity had to have reached 7 or higher.”

“And at tier 7.” Walken indicated at her forehead. “There are characteristic symptoms. I suspect that for both you and Sobel, the root of your mutual instability lies with an irresponsible rise in Affinity; a theory that accounts for Henry's plans to pace your training by balancing both Lightning and Void."

Gwen's ears perked up. The disparity of theory concerning the stability of her Void-talent, and indeed Spellcraft itself, was endlessly fascinating. Of her three instructors: her Master had forbidden haphazard experimentation, emphasising on intuition and natural growth. Wen's approach was entirely numerical, denoting that so long as she utilised 'N' Vitality, offset by corresponding positive energy, she should be fine. Now, as her third advisor, Walken instead pushed for an affinity-based solution: which made no sense unless he knew of a way to increase her elemental-sympathy, a process likely derived from Wen's revelatory papers.

“Can you clarify, Sir?” she implored her haughty Instructor. "About Sobel, I mean."

“The answer lies in the timeline of her demise.” Walken drew an invisible chart with his hands. “1976 was the Noosa Heads incident. 1972 was when Henry and I served on the Brisbane Line: he was a Field Commander, while I served with Command and Control, doing what Air Mages do best.”

And out of harm's way, Gwen thought snidely.

Meanwhile, her Master was knee-deep in corpses, commanding a stretch of the front a hundred kilometres long and four kilometres deep.

“The Saurian Truce happened in the summer of 1972, meaning between Sobel’s first Awakening in winter and her surviving Noosa in 1976, no more than three years and five months later, your Master reported Sobel's passing in 1979.”

Gwen finally realised what Walken was trying to get at.

“Are you saying Master had a hand… in rearing Elizabeth?”

“Undoubtedly,” Walken’s voice took on a hint of passion. “After Sydney, the Tower's Inquisitors discovered traces of a city-wide mandala, something that had been set up as a trigger for a strategic-class AoE. But during Noosa Heads, there was no way Sobel could have snuck into an unaffiliated base on a two-day visitation pass, not to mention the Mermen attack was entirely unprovoked and unforeseen. If so, how did she survive her magic? Even assuming it was self-perpetuating, the initial cost could have killed her outright.”

Gwen thought of Jane's tortured confession.

The girl had her back turned to Sobel, but it wasn't hard to imagine Sobel working through a few dozen Mages before she had enough to get her Black Sun jump-started.

“The answer is that in the years both before and after 1972, your Master had been working with Sobel, helping her tame her new found element, just as he was helping you. Back in the 70s, we didn’t know much about affinity-traits. The few geniuses that were renowned had their quirks and idiosyncrasies - but they were prodigies. Why shouldn't they be different? Towers were still going up one by one; cities were undergoing reclamation. What knowledge the Magisters of Western Europe managed to accumulate couldn’t be disseminated safely and reliably. We didn't have data-slates or Divination Towers, and Message Orbs were hardly common. To save his wife, Henry had to improve her affinity until it trivialised her expenditure.”

“That could explain why Sobel went mad in the end,” Gwen added to Walken's hypothesis, wondering how much Walken was in the know.

"Care to elaborate?" Walken invited her to continue.

Does he know about Hungary? She queried the man's eyes. What Walken knew had come from Faceless, but she had no idea if Faceless, fed a lifetime of resentment against her Master, was capable of anything other than a fabricated hyperbole. Conceivably, Walken's request was both a test and a desire for clarity. If so, she would tread lightly.

“Master spoke of it in bits and pieces.” She fidgetted with her dress, misdirecting his attention from her lying eyes. Blatant deception remained a challenge for Gwen, so she had chosen instead to redact the truth. “Master said that in Eger, he, Mark, Agnes and my grandfather hunted down his wife after she started draining random people to feed her growing hunger.”

“Did he speak of why her hunger grew out of control?” Walken enquired. His knowledge is incomplete, Gwen realised, noting the slight elevation in his tempo. Walken may have even spoken to Chandler at some point, but Gunther was hardly the type to leave a trail.

“I don’t know,” Gwen confessed. “According to Master, it happened overnight.”

She wasn’t about to say that against all expectation, Sobel had found herself pregnant and that in her desire to bear the future ‘Faceless’ to fruition, her Master's wife had embarked on a vitality-harvesting bender. If the world were to know that pregnancy could trigger such instability in a high-affinity Void Mage-

Her face blanched at the thought.

“I always suspected something had to have happened to Sobel,” Walken pondered aloud for his ward to hear. “When I first knew her, she had been a perfect English rose.”

"You knew her?"

"Both before and after Henry's intrusion into her life. As your Master's fiancèe, I knew her through dignitary functions. Before Brisbane, I had known of her while in England. She's the sole heir of a Baronet in Northumberland if I recall. I met her only once at a society-gathering, a childhood friend of mine, a future Countess, had planned a coming out soirée and Elizabeth tagged along."

"I didn't know Elizabeth was gay before she met Master," she remarked with surprise, playing on Walken's archaism. "Maybe that's why she-"

Walken opened and closed his mouth a few times; utterly flatfooted by her misunderstanding.

"Coming out to society," his voice rose an octave. "Stupid girl!"

"Sorry." She bit her lip. The things we do to please our men, Gwen sighed internally. It was a cynical truth that as an attractive young woman, the amount of effort she required to convince Walken of her naive simplicity was minimal. If she had been a Gunther-jawed young man, they'd be likely tearing each other apart by now. "If you recall, I attended a public school. And my family situation is... complicated."

At least the girl's opening up to him; Walken considered Gwen's supreme embarrassment - though he was beginning to gain a deeper glimpse into the abyss that was the girl's bruised and battered psyche: a neglectful father, an abusive mother, and then a dead Master - she had done well to survive her Void talent in one piece.

“I recall she was very meek.” The Magister's voice grew sympathetic. “As for your enquiry, all I can say is that Sobel was certainly the sort to attract a particular type of men.”

Did he mean her Master? What type? Gwen knitted her brows slightly. What’s Walken getting at now?

“You resemble Elizabeth, in many ways,” Walken continued, touching his chin contemplatively. “There’s a certain look, or quality; I should say, that you affect unconsciously. Have you never noticed that sometimes, men act strangely around you? They turn obsessive, jealous, or overbearing? You're a beautiful young woman, of course, but there's something unique to Void Mages, I noticed. A certain...”

Walken then gave her the most fatherly expression of assurance he could muster.

“Masochism?” Gwen blurted out her cousin's hypothesis, then immediately cursed her loose-lips, her face flushing with embarrassment.

Watching her contradictions, her opponent grew considerably concerned.

“It's a reasonable assumption, considering how so few of your kind survive to adulthood..."

“Which Master offset by raising Sobel's Affinity," she smoothly steered the conversation back on track.

“Ah yes,” Walken continued, taking her cue, equally eager to proceed past the awkward detour they had just taken. “As I was saying, Henry had to have found a way to increase Sobel's affinity. No matter her talent, there is no way to circumvent Allenberg’s Cost-Manifestation Quotient.”

The Magister paused.

“To wit, I had to consult with Sydney, trying to place your Master's training regime."

"With Irene?”

“That’s Magister Ferris to you,” Walken snapped. “You’d think Henry would have whipped some manners into you while he was busy picking away at your 'masochism'.”

Gwen parried the psychic assault by not daring to meet Walken's eyes. Her opponent smirked as she clutched her dress distressingly. It was super effective.

“It was Gunther Shultz, actually,” Walken continued off-handedly. “I am, after all, helping you in the IIUC. Magus Shultz likes to see you succeed as much as I. Sometimes, I am amazed at the restraint shown by those who walk the Tempered Path.”

“Brother’s patience surprises me as well,” she grumbled.

“It's a shame about that hellcat Sister of yours though; she's a right hellion. De Botton's lost her Caracal, didn't she? Had to drop the 'Scarlet' from her moniker. Now there’s someone I'd never figured for the Middle-Path.”

Gwen felt her Almudj's Essence tickling her throat. How many times did he have to gaslight her before he was satisfied? How paranoid could he be?

“Ah~, Alesia, the source of all our troubles," Walken continued to pry her weakness. "To think if she weren’t so blindly antagonistic, we would have profited each other in many ways. You could have been a liaison between Henry and myself, someone we both trusted, as it were.”

Strewth, the gall of this guy, Gwen swallowed hard, forcing her hands to relax. Her distressed-Disney princess facade was keeping up reasonably well, though if she were to fidget any more vigorously with her dress, she'd tear it in half.

Her Instructor chuckled.

“But back to business. Gunther informed me that Henry had used a custom mandala for your twin-elements. After all, regular arrays account only for pulling one Familiar out of the aether. Looking at Ariel and Caliban, I see two pseudo-spirits in their infancy, each capable of growth. I guess your late Master knew that finding you a Lightning and Void Spirit is likely going to be impossible, not to mention they’d neutralise one another at the first opportunity.”

“Wait…” Gwen raised a speculative hand. “Caliban’s a Spirit?”

“Of course.” Walken gave her a bemused look. “Why should Ariel be the only Spirit?”

“That can’t be right. Caliban!” she called forth her Familiar.

“Shaa!” Caliban coiled around her legs, its obsidian body stark against her white ankles.

“Caliban, are you a Spirit?”

“Shaaa?”

“Can you bend this? Void Bolt!” She shot a sliver of Void-matter at a Force Barrier, imagining her Familiar bending her bolt like Beckham.

Instead, Caliban turned to Walken, coiled to strike.

SHIT! Her disappointment gave way to apprehension. The empathic honesty of Familiars was a troublesome thing.

“SHAAA!” Caliban shrieked at the Magister menacingly.

“What's it doing?” Walken studied her serpent as it opened its carapace and menaced him with barbed tentacles.

“I am not doing anything.” Gwen shook her head vigorously, demanding Caliban calm the fuck down before it gave her game away. "Sometimes, Cali's got a mind of its own!"

“Then Caliban must possess an Ego: ergo, Caliban should be a Spirit.”

“But I can’t IFF my Void spells!” She complained desperately. Cali! She screamed internally. FRIEND! Well - Frenemy, she appended. But that might be too much for Caliban to understand.

“A matter of time and methodology.” Walken smirked as the worm calmed considerably. “All you have to do is improve the animus of your Familiar.”

“I don’t know how.” Gwen took the opportunity to pack her Familiar away.

“Ah, but I think you do.” Her Instructor's grin grew wider. “You have access to crystals, or so I’ve heard - a great deal of it. I know of a way in which we can improve both your affinity and your familiar, striking two birds with one stone. It's expensive, but that shouldn't be an obstacle for you.”

Gwen's heart skipped a beat.

Walken, you bunch-backed toad! Her mind exalted. I’ve got your pound of flesh right here, you Je- Filthy Spider!

“But crystals aren’t going to buy me Void Cores,” she fretted with her fingers. "No one knows if they even exist."

“Don't be so ignorant, child. Cores aren’t the only things you can feast on.” Walken edged closer, his eyes glinting with triumph and mastery. “Am I right?”

“Right…”

Walken's outstretched hand reminded her of that scene when Aladdin had invited Jasmine for a late-night carpet ride. Only Gwen's date was the mangy old Jafar, and the old man's bird of paradise was a Winged Serpent.

If he says 'do you trust me?' I am going to vomit on his shoes, Gwen thought. Thankfully, Walken wasn't nearly so romantic.

Swallowing her revulsion, she took it, her fingers clammy and sweaty.

Walken's brows pulled involuntarily. The man was a germaphobe.

“Say the word,” Walken forced himself to squeezed her hand. “And I can offer you Demi-human... and human resources.”

She stared at Walken; this time, her shock was entirely genuine.

In all honesty, Gwen had expected more euphemism.

“I am not a murderer,” Gwen whispered, still disbelieving her ears.

“Squeamish? Don’t fret.” He warmed her frigid fingers paternally. “These are free-range products from the Frontier, harvested from the most ethical sources. Each one comes with a compliance guarantee, sealed and delivered in stasis. We can start modestly, and if indeed your talent can make use of them, our Faction is willing to invest in your future wholly and without reserve.”

“But why?” Her voice drifted through the air, hanging by a silken thread. "Why me? Why should I trust you?"

“I can be your guardian,” Walken promised. “And a friend.”

When the girl failed to respond, Walken knew he had her against a cliff. With a final push, she would belong to the Grey Faction, where a single taste of the forbidden fruit would taint her in their colours, now and forever.

“I can be as Henry was,” he swore with great solemnity, so much that he felt genuinely invested in his masochistic orphan. “I would be better than Henry. I would never mistreat you.”

For a split-second, Gwen wondered if she had passed out from the sudden hypertension arresting her cardiovascular systems.

“Enough!” she growled.

“Enough?” Walken started. “Enough of what?”

“Of your bullshit!” Gwen's retort cracked over Walken like a bullwhip. Dragon-fear poured from her body like a tide.

Reflexively, Walken's knees faltered. Caught unaware, the Magister couldn't resist the natural compulsion of the girl's purer Essence. Alarmed, he realised she still held his hands, preventing him from casting somatic magic.

“I am going to fucking kill you.” Gwen’s mouth was moving before she could think. “How can you remotely believe that you can replace my Master? Join your Faction? You’re dreaming!”

Walken's expression shifted from surprise to anger to teeth-clenching anguish as Gwen ratcheted the pressure exerted by her hands, pressing the blood from Walken's fingers.

“Release me,” he commanded her. The girl’s grasp was twin-vices interlocking his palm, sending blades of white-hot agony stabbing into his brain. “Gwen, listen to me, there’s no profit in your anger. I spoke in jest, okay? You’re too easily incensed, so much so that there’s no sport in it.”

Further gouts of flaming fury blossomed in the furnace of her chest. Her Almudj’s Essence thrummed, thrilling her ear with the sound of hastened blood.

No sport in it?

A joke?

Was the man daft?

“Just you try.” Gwen let her mask drop. “How dare you gaslight me.”

“Gas- what? You’re losing it!” Walken’s voice took on a higher octave, his eyes watering. “Gwen! It’s your Dragon-Essence. It’s controlling you! Fight it, for Henry's sake!”

“Bloody hell, you’re so full of shit!” Gwen twisted her grip.

“!”

A current of Lightning-charged mana flooded into her body.

But Walken’s mana lacked the purity of her natural affinity. Between Gwen's Essence-enhanced body and her au naturale Lightning-affinity, she withstood his assault with only a slight-numbness.

'Crack!'

She crushed his off-hand. The full force of her pent-up Essence was formidable.

“ARRRGH!” Walken desperately fought her death-grip, beads of sweat fell from his head like a spring-shower. “Gwen, how… how DARE YOU!”

“And why wouldn't I dare?” Gwen screeched at him. “Come! Do your worst!”

In the confusion that followed, she allowed the man to go.

“Do you have a death wish?!” Walken materialised a Superior Healing Potion and stabbed it into his wrist.

In the next moment, the Magister was upon her, his hand at her throat, his body swirling with Air, crackling with motes of Lightning. He was fast, almost too fast for her eyes to follow. The man’s mastery over Spellcraft was far beyond her ken.

“Don’t hurt me!” She withdrew, suddenly afraid.

With one hand at her slender neck, Walken paused. By now he had sensed that something was terribly awry. Why hadn't the girl erected a Shield? Did she realise she’d gone too far? As his mind cooled, he realised that her lips, glossy as they were, were curled in triumph.

Shit! Walken baulked. What-

In the next moment, to Walken's utter surprise, the girl took a step forward so that his outstretched hand pressed upon her neck, just above her collar-dimple.

“Well?” Gwen mocked her target with emerald eyes infused with Essence. “You hunted me so untiredly, and now you pause for breath?”

But her 'Gwenism' did not seem to have the impact she'd hoped.

Walken’s tempestuous, rage-filled moment of irrationality receded as quickly as it had distended. In a way, it was immensely impressive. The man’s control over his emotions demonstrated that Walken had indeed mastered his Affinity-trait.

“What’s gotten into you?” The Magister switched gears, reaching for her shoulders.

“Oh, cut the crap, Walken.” Gwen rolled her eyes, brushing away his wayward hand. “Don't touch me. Let's stop the shit-shovelling, alright? It’s not like I don’t need you. I am just sick of all the crap that comes with your help. You're worse than bloat-ware.”

Unexpectedly, Walken appeared struck by a sudden epiphany.

“Are you being mind-controlled right now?” he demanded conspiratorially. “Who's in there right now? Are you willing to parley?”

“Who-what? Don't be absurd” Gwen backed away. She tapped a finger at her temple. “There's no one in here-”

Walken stared.

“God damn it, I am in here!” she stated seriously. “Me, Gwen Song.”

The Magister's expression grew even more suspect.

Now it was Gwen's turn to sigh. Was it that hard for Walken to believe that a teenager got one up on him? That he had lost? Was the theory that a bloody wizard had taken over her mind and was operating her like a finger-puppet easier to swallow than the fact that she had a mind of her own? Whatever the case, she would say her piece. The rest was up to Walken.

“Magister,” she began her prepared speech. All the pieces she had planned were now in place. “I have a proposal.”

“Alright, I am listening,” Walken remained on guard, both mentally and in the arcane sense. What if someone had one-upped him? He had heard that the Ashbringer's Dragon-consort was a user of Draconic-invocations: words of power tied to the creation of the Material world itself, unique to Mythic-class draconic-beings; if such a being-

The girl began to speak.

“You have knowledge and magic I want, and I can help you by emerging victorious in the IIUC, thereby ensuring you’ll be back in the good graces of important people,” Gwen kept her pitch low and her intonation perfect. “I want you to help me, really help me, without any of your manipulative bullshit. In return, I promise you full credit. Furthermore, when Alesia comes for you, I’ll do my best to ensure she keeps her vengeance in check, or at least give you a warning.”

“Absurd!” Walken retorted. “What a ridiculous offer, why would I be afraid of Alesia de Botton?”

“Because I’ll help her ambush you when you least expect it. Sure, maybe you're the superior Mage, but Alesia is tenacious. I’ll be astonished if she doesn’t blow up every venture you participate in, burn down every house you sleep in, turn to cinders every bed you lie in.”

“…”

What kind of absurd-logic was that?! Walken glared at the girl. Was this really the girl he’d try to sway to his side? What happened to the demure and pliant Void Mage with a history of histrionics? Who the hell was this Draconian that had replaced her?

“Not only that,” Gwen continued. “I’ll make sure the relevant people get a hold of this-”

“These are free-range products from the Frontier, harvested from the most ethical sources. Each one comes with a compliance certificate, sealed and delivered in stasis containers…” Walken’s voice played from a Message Orb hidden somewhere in the hem of her dress.

Walken's expression grew rigid.

He hadn’t even noticed! As devices predating Divination Towers, Ioun Stones had negligible traces of magic, not to mention the earlier models weren't of human origin. And to think he had presented it to her, bloody hell!

“Are you threatening me, young lady?” Walken demanded, advancing on her.

“Do you have a death wish?!” His voice answered him, followed by a girlish cry full of terror which unequivocally informed the listener of the circumstances under which the recording was made. “Don’t hurt me!”

“You!”

“Why would I be afraid of Alesia de Botton!” His retort mocked him.

For a moment, the Magister imagined mincing the girl with a Blade Barrier. But then he would have to flee, living out the rest of his life in the Wildlands as a Rogue Mage.

“I could just take that orb off you.” Walken changed the angle of his attack. “You can’t resist me.”

“I’ll D-D out of here, screaming blue murder, in my birthday suit if I have to.” The girl smirked at him. “You’re welcome to chase me all across campus if you’d like. I mean, a disgraced Magister abusing a popular, beautiful student, the Worm… The Flower of Fudan! What would people think?”

“You’re overestimating yourself.” Walken's forehead affected a sheen of sweat. “Give it here, now.”

“Ha!” Gwen chuckled. “Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged-”

She took a step forward.

Walken backed away.

The girl took another step forward, pushing herself against him until the Magister’s waxen face grew scarlet.

“I could be bad to the bone,” Gwen remarked, her eyes boring into Walken's face, their nose almost touching. “Or I could be a good girl.”

Walken straightened his posture.

He wasn't a stubborn man.

“Fine. I'll bite.”

Gwen took a deep breath. Before anything, she had to draw the line.

“I could Consume you,” she opened blankly. “I’ll be in trouble, a world of trouble. But its only trouble.”

Walken’s mien grew grim.

“Whereas you can’t silence me. Hell, you can’t even maim me or hurt me, at least not bad enough to count.” She kept her tone plain and simple. “If you did, Gunther, Alesia, my grandparents, Uncle Jun the Ashbringer, and by extension Ayxin, will hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

Her opponent chose to remain mum.

“Besides, it was you who initiated the difficulties between us. What had been Dean Luo’s offer? Take us through the IIUC, and you get to work yourself into the good graces of your Faction? Then what? Receive a position in China? Is that what he promised?”

“This and that,” Walken confessed.

“And instead, you took advantage of me… and my weakness,” Gwen spat the word between her pearly teeth with a hiss. “I am a quarter your age. Does that make you proud? The mighty Magister Walken? A bully and a liar?”

“I haven't lied to you.”

“Maybe not, but the truth you are peddling is awfully diluted.”

“Gwen…”

“Eric…” Gwen affected the same tone that her Master liked to use in his recordings, an effect which made Walken blink before he grew suddenly scarlet. “You still don't get it. We’re not in a position of mentor and mentee, nor a position of superior to a subordinate.”

“You and I…” she allowed the anaphora to linger, mocking Walken’s use of the words. “Are nothing alike. You and I: Eric, are at best companions rowing together up shit creek. We are equal in that regard. My benefit is your benefit; your gain is my gain. We both have to pull our weight and not drag each other down. If you think to profit from my loss, then you’re in for a world of hurt. Old Friend.”

Walken had to back-paddle as to take in the entirety of the girl within the scope of his vision. On the surface, what presented itself was an exquisite combination of dark hair, striking emerald eyes, a breathtakingly aesthetic mien and nubile limbs extending from a feminine sundress.

There was no hint of Sobel in Henry's old apprentice now.

Instead, her presence felt far older, elemental.

If he had not already seen her panicked and afraid, Walken would have thought her a Polymorphed dragon-kin, toying with his hopes and aspirations, laughing internally while he, Eric Walken, struggled like a vermin trapped by an Adhesion cantrip. There was no doubt about his blunder now. He had indeed entered their relationship full of purpose to empower the girl through her IIUC ordeal-

But he couldn't help himself. It was true what they say: old habits died hard.

When the moment arrived, when she stood before him, a bee box buzzing with indeterminate dark things thrumming to escape, the temptation proved too much. The girl had so much hurt in her that it threatened to spill like overwrought honey, the unintelligible thrumming of her aggression was a mob of maniacs.

He’d envisioned himself the salvation she sought, a Bee Keeper. If he could take Henry’s Apprentice for his own, it would be the ultimate triumph against an existence he could have never bested, more so in the wake of Kilroy's passing. When Gwen had paled and shuddered at his every word, that old fancy had seduced him like the sweetest nectar.

Walken did not sympathise with Henry’s manifesto, nor could he convince his old rival to believe in his. When he saw the girl, saw the gaping gash in her psyche, he instantly knew that she was the means by which he could finally put an old opposition to peace, not to mention mending his esteem.

Watching her defiant eyes, Walken felt full of ambivalence that the old fox had indeed found a kit worthy of continuing their antagonism.

But the time for moping had passed.

He would yield, for now.

Gwen was right.

Her allies in both Australia and China were strong; her higher ground was unassailable. Of course, if they were successful in their suit, as Fudan's advisor, he would accompany the team overseas: to Japan, to Korea, to North and South America, and inevitably, onto England.

And in England-

“Alright, Gwen. You win.” He extended a hand. “Truce.”

The girl took it; this time, she spared his fingers.

“Thank you.” The girl's eyes glinted mischievously, so much so that Walken almost considered withdrawing his amnesty. “More of a ceasefire, I’d say, but I do look forward to working with you, Eric.”

Now considerably calmer, Gwen and Walken agreed that they would reconvene the next day to continue her lessons, each desiring space and time to digest their new partnership.

Once outside, the two parted with an appearance of amiability, drawing mixed glances from the training hall's administration staff. Since arriving a semester ago, Fudan's Worm Handler had become notorious for her draconian training regime. Some admired her panache, others her appearance, but most of all, they drooled over the troop of Lecturers and Instructors that visited her on the regular. Perhaps, some joked sourly; there was good cause for her auspicious moniker.

As for Gwen herself, she first made sure Walken was truly away, then conveyed herself to the privacy of the back gardens, shivering uncontrollably while her adrenaline receded. The recovery was gradual, supplemented by the spring-time sun, her shuddering nerves subsiding as sensation returned to her clammy fingers. When she felt well enough, an additional injection of Almudj’s Essence fortified her nerves so that she no longer felt like throwing up. In that final moment of confrontation with Walken, she had been fully prepared to Dimension Door into the Dean’s Office, damning all consequence.

All in all, she had learned something today - it was mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausting to play the Lady Macbeth. That and she really should have held off on the XL milk-tea-plus-cream of human kindness before meeting with Walken.

After a few minutes, her legs stabilised, Gwen mentally checked her schedule, then returned home for some much-deserved lie-down.

The same afternoon, Gwen found herself back at the office. Still buzzed by the aftermath of taming a shrewish Magister, she slipped into her office-garbs, hoping the monotony of work would put her mind at ease.

In the three months since her induction, the development of Tonglv had ballooned. As Professor Ma had suspected, it was impossible to keep the news of the project’s profitability under wraps, which meant by now the Clans and Houses had flocked to Nantong like vultures to carrion.

So far, with sufficient foresight, the triumvirate of Patriarch Fung, Magister Chen and Vice-Chair Tu, backed by James Ma’s oversight, had kept the accounts arrayed.

When her Quarterly-Progress Report reached its final ten pages, however, her attention was drawn to a segment under the sub-title Personnel Liquidation, marked under Human Resource. When Gwen began to read the record in detail, she came vis-a-vis with no less than a hundred names.

Chen Hui - Embezzlement

Lei De - Fraud

Zhan Shun - Fraud, Bribery and Corruption, Manslaughter

Tan Zhong - Embezzlement

Fan Huan - Bribery and Corruption.

Dong Luoyang - Market abuse and Insider Trading

Liang Liuxian - Embezzlement

Zhu Zhenya - Fraud, Insider Trading

Xuan Chao - Fraudulent Record Keeping

Yan Ming - Fraudulent Record Keeping

The list went on for pages.

Those whose crimes were below 1000 HDMs received a strike in their Party record, meaning their careers as industry officials were effectively over.

For those whose offence exceeded 1000 HDMs, the standard punishment was being earmarked for the Front, returning only after achieving notable contributions to the state.

For those with stacked-indictments, condemnation was life-long.

Of the hundred people, ninety were Mages. The sight of names paired with crimes and a summation of their punishments was enough to make her feel ill. How can these people be so thoughtless in their pursuit of money? Did they think Patriarch Fung would tolerate their parasitic existences when the man had put his whole Clan on the line?

“Ruì.” She fired an enquiry at her assistant, morbid in her curiosity. “How much crystal currency until you're willing to defraud us? What would it take for you to falsify your reports?”

“I would never!” Ruì pulled back from her chair, her face alarmed and afraid. “I am doing everything I can to be of use to you, ma’am!”

“It’s hypothetical,” she told Ruì not to worry, that the PA should entertain her boss’s curiosity if she could. “A thousand HDMs? Ten thousand? Effi? Terence? How about you guys?”

Effi was the more effervescent of her other two NoM workers. A petite girl originally from Nanking, she had a heart-shaped face, long slitted eyes, and a bookish demeanour.

“I wouldn’t want to risk it,” Effi stated warily, wondering if this was a test. “However, if I was desperate: like for example I needed a rare potion for my mother, or if one of my siblings Awoke to magic and needed tuition, I would at least think about it. So it's not an amount for me, but a matter of need. The amount would be just what I need.”

“How about you, Terence?”

“I would do it only if I am confident I can get away with it,” the young man raised his hand. “To be perfectly honest ma’am, knowing what we’re doing here and what Professor Ma’s doing, I wouldn’t dream of it. I think most of the offenders on the list have no idea that there are hundreds and soon to be thousands of NoMs working through every receipt, payslip and invoice. There's another problem though: I don’t think us NoMs have any way to spend that many crystals other than land, but the acquisition of property leaves a huge paper trail.”

“Very perceptive, Terence. Well done. Ruì, back to you.” Gwen regarded her first assistant with interest.

Ruì quaked under Gwen’s keen gaze. For some reason, her Mistress terrified her.

“I… I can’t.” Ruì shook her head. "I love this job!"

“Aww, I won’t force you,” Gwen consoled the poor woman with a few well-placed platitudes and a well-earned hug. She apologised as well, realising she had traumatised the girl. In her eyes, Ruì was a perfect ISTP follower on the Briggs-Myers scale: she possessed uncanny attention to detail, was loyal to a fault, and was meticulous with managing Gwen’s timetable, so much so that she had entertained moving Ruì downstairs into Gouding B1. For any sensible manager, the PA was a keeper.

As for the others, more so than Effi, it was Terence’s answer that resonated with Gwen’s projection that having NoM accountants blind-audit Tonglv’s financial statements was a stroke of genius.

Simply put - the NoMs had nothing to spend Crystals on. Their greatest wish was to live in a friendly, upscale District, have access to good quality food, clean air and water, quasi-magical amenities, and a chance for their children to have the same.

They had no use for mountains of currency. For an NoM, procuring an excess of wealth wasn't a boon, it was a recipe for attracting disaster.

In comparison, a Mage, a Cabal, a House, a Clan, or even a Tower, had infinite uses for currency; so much so that all the crystals pouring out of Tonglv wouldn’t satisfy the appetite of those seeking centuries of prosperity for their kith and kin.

“Where’s Ken and Dai?" Gwen changed the subject. "I’d thought they be back by now.”

“Sir Dai has gone to negotiate with the Yellow-River Trade Consortium, and Sir Ken is sending off reports at the CCP Tower,” Ruì informed her boss.

"Oh, good on them," Gwen acknowledged that the two weren’t slacking off, then resumed the final few pages of her quarterly report.

… Sun Kun - Bribery and Corruption.

Xiao Cheng - Bribery and Corruption.

Xiong Su - Embezzlement.

Zi Fung - Fraud.

Lang Fung - Bribery and Corruption, Insider Trading.

Meiling Fung - Bribery and Corruption, Insider Trading.

Three Fungs, Gwen paused, thinking of a Chinese idiom her Grandfather had muttered once.

'Men die for greed as birds die for feed.'

How keen the Confucians were, she pondered as she stowed the report, and how cynically astute. For some reason, she had a feeling that the first century of offenders was only the beginning. Between now and the next half-decade, the Front would receive a flood of volunteers.

“I’d keep an eye out at any rate,” Petra warned her.

“Agreed.” Richard took a pull from a longneck. Her cousin had already added his piece, praising Gwen's quick thinking. “Seriously, that's some slick work; I didn't think you had it in you.”

"Its payback for trying to malign my Master," Gwen explained. After a moment, she floated the Message Orb between them. “What should I do with this?”

“Keep blackmailing him,” Richard proposed without so much as a pause for breath. “He’s a Lightning Magister. Get him to spill all his spells in exchange for the safety of what remains of his reputation. I dare say there are a few hundred CCs of savings there.”

“I disagree.” Petra shook her head. “You don’t want to insult Magister Walken more than you have already, Gwen. First, it's not like you. What you're doing is more akin to what they do in Moscow: manipulating your enemies via Kompromat. But you don't have a Tower behind you. You have to remember that even a dog can scale a wall if they’re desperate enough, and Walken is an established Grey Faction Magister. If you keep pushing him, you'll both lose.”

“Hmm.” Gwen chewed her lip. “Should I give him the orb as a gesture of good faith?”

"Naw," Richard intervened. “He’s never going to be an ally we can trust; I don't mind treading on his toes.”

“Let me stop you there, Richard," Petra interjected before Gwen could respond to her Australian cousin. "Gwen, so long as Walken believes the gains outweigh the cost, he’ll genuinely try to help you. For you, the best thing to do is to cut him loose once your relationship is over. If you hold onto his Kompromat, he'll spend the entire time, now and later, scheming to get it back.”

“Petra has a point.” Gwen turned to Richard.

“I’d rather you Consume him if you at that point.” Richard smirked. “He’s got to be at least tier 8, right. We could use some high-tier magic in our matches.”

The two girls regarded their cousin, mildly alarmed.

“Imagine that,” Richard continued. “It'd be pretty funny if you could launch a strategic-class AoE at our opponents during the IIUC.”

“No time." Petra popped the Water Mage's bubble. "Gwen would have to finish third-year Spellcraft theory, take Advanced Mandala, complete Spell-Shaping 3004, then apply for a post-graduate position studying Strategic-Class Glyph Arrays in Europe. Unless Caliban gains the ability to 'consume' textbooks, we won’t be seeing anything beyond tier 6 at the IIUC. Not to mention Gwen needs Walken to take her through the contest, there are many nuances you and I cannot know."

“Ah, you're all logic, Pats,” Richard chided their Mineral Mage cousin. "You're no fun."

“We're not here to have 'fun',” Petra fired back. "But I don't want to argue with you, so let's change the subject. Gwen, what’s the deal with your Affinity predicament?”

“I have to grow into it,” Gwen sighed. “That or balance my Affinity.”

“Hey, you can trust us to watch your back.” Richard raised his hand. “Permission to restrain you if you turn half-dragon.”

“Granted.”

“I’ll keep looking,” Petra promised her cousin. “There’s bound to be something. You can't the first person with this problem.”

“Thanks.” Gwen hugged her two cousins close to her bosom. “As for the Walken front, I think I've got a good idea. Pats, do you know what a sponge cake is?"

The next day, Gwen finished her Divination and Economics tutorials, then joined Walken in the late afternoon at the Training Hall.

The duo began their conversation with great care, stepping around one another like a pair of paranoid-drakes. When after a while, Gwen slid forward a Message Orb, Walken raised his brow with genuine surprise.

"I appreciate the gesture." The Magister glanced at the Orb before pushing it back. "But allow me to make the same gesture. Why don't you keep it? It'll be a layer of insurance."

Gwen hesitated.

"It'll help the both of us focus, put our mind at ease," Walken remarked. His expression remained composed, his lips thin and pressed.

She stowed the Orb.

Now considerably unwound, the two laid out the minutes of their meeting, of which so far numbered three:

Her Affinity-trait dilemma.

Her Void-Affinity power-up.

And details regarding the IIUC.

After a few false-starts, Walken came into a well-worn groove, demonstrating why the Dean had chosen him for the job.

“Unique solutions service unique problems,” Walken continued from where they’d left off. “If you recall, Affinity-Traits vary from Mage to Mage: it's as much a product of nurture as it is a problem of nature. In most instances, elemental-sympathy is acquired over a long interval, giving an Elementalist plenty of time to figure out their quirks. To take myself as an example: despite our unfortunately hot-headed kerfuffle yesterday, I am habitually in control of my inclinations. As one aligned to Elemental Air, I am often aloof and distanced from my peers, seldom feeling attached, even to my children. When Aella matured, I had to also contend with the renowned pridefulness of Lightning, as well as a certain stubbornness associated with Dragon-kin. Unlike you, however, it has taken me five decades to exceed a natural affinity of 6. As for Aella, our two-decade history grants me a conditional and proportional Lightning of 8.”

“Goodness.” Gwen made a face. “How do you deal with it?”

“A mental technique is one solution. A method that allows me to distance myself from my immediate impulses. It was tiring when I first began, but the human mind is surprisingly malleable. If you find me sometimes cold, or perhaps divorced and unfeeling, my parallel meditation is to blame.”

That explains Walken's charcoal-eyes, Gwen realised. Walken always hid behind a mask of observance, measuring the effectiveness of every word uttered from his mouth.

“I don’t think that’s possible for me.” Gwen shook her head. She'd rather not turn into Walken 2.0.

“Very well. If you had access to the School of Enchantment, you could also medicate with a Calm Emotion,” Walken suggested. “Or you can custom-order a Magic Item from our Faction’s Craftsmen which self-medicates when the need arises.”

“Let's keep stop-gap measures on the back-burner,” she parried Walken’s second suggestion.

“Does that mean no potions, Geas or Curses?”

“Curses?”

“Hexes,” Walken explained. “There are certain Cabals in Eastern Europe that still practice the old arts.”

“No thanks,” Gwen refuted the Magister’s advice. Pharmacological and quasi-magical solutions would have been acceptable, but not if they evolved into a dependency.

Across the table, Walken kept from commenting on her stubbornness, or the fact that after a dozen witches down Caliban's hatch, Gwen could potentially hex herself.

“Very well then.” Walken exhaled gently. “Temperance and willpower it is.”

“You mentioned something about my Familiars,” Gwen reminded the man. “You said my Master planned something around my future Familiars. Can’t I plug my leaks by doing something with Ariel and Caliban? Whatever happened to that?”

“You happened,” Walken grumbled, flexing his off-hand. “But I digress. If you want to know, then I shall tell you. However, you mustn’t deride or grow upset at what I am about to tell you."

“I won't.”

“We'll see. Let us begin with some theory. Earlier, I noticed you used the term ‘leak’ - an apt if incomplete metaphor. For Mages, our Astral Soul naturally ‘permeates’ mana into our physical body, where it then dissipates into the Material Realm. With Primary Elementalists, the 'trait' is prominent because the body of all living beings naturally consists of Primary and Positive elements. The traits we observe are derived from nurture and nature. Earthen Mages find their bodies hardened and fortified, but the phenomenon is equal-parts elemental-sympathy and best-practice body-training to maximise Affinity. Likewise, Fire Mages grow resistant to heat and cold physically and excessively prone to passion. But did you know that if Fire Mages continuously suppress their impulses, their Affinity decreases? It's quite the dilemma. As for Water Mages, they grow averse to dry environs and are said to be easy going - but really, they're emulating the stereotype, falling into a mould of expectation. If so, are Water Mages laid-back and easy going, or did they learn to behave like that? Now, as for Quasi-Elementalists like us, our metabolism becomes hastened. We grow thirsty and hungry quickly-" Walken wetted his lips. "Suffer from insomnia, and have a reputation for pride and possessiveness-”

“Speaking of hunger - I bought a sponge cake.” Blushing, Gwen materialised an enormous orange sponge-cake, an Australian staple, and a tea set for the table. As Walken had remarked, they had been at it for an hour, and their mutual Affinity had made them peckish. “I figured some nostalgic Aussie-fare would be a good ice breaker if things got awkward.”

Walken stared at the pink-orange cake, transfixed.

“It’s not poisoned,” Gwen assured him, cutting a slice, crumbling the hundreds and thousands. "That's icing sugar."

“Ah, well, thank you.” Walken took a slice, touched by the kindness of buttery dough. “I was not expecting… yes. Very good. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Gwen took a generous slice for herself, then dug into the sugary treat. It had taken Petra and her the better part of an evening to figure out the batter. In the end, it was Richard who baked the cake, folding the flour into the egg-froth with the deftness of a patissier. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yes.” Walken swallowed before he continued. “You and I, of course, are additionally blessed by Draconic-Essence, which adds another layer of complication. Yours is purer than mine: Aella’s blessing, alas, accounts for little more than a commanding presence and a few decades of healthy living. Since you’re capable of generating Dragon-fear, I’d imagine it simmering at your throat at the slightest provocation.”

“The Essence has got quite the kick, that’s for sure,” Gwen confessed.

“Now, having rejected conventional solutions - Excuse me - Heat!” Walken re-heated his tea, added a spot of milk, then took a satisfying sip. As an Englishman, cold tea was worse than no tea. “I propose an unconventional method involving both of your Familiars.”

“Oh?” Gwen cocked her head slightly. Had it taken a sponge cake for Walken to spill the beans? If so, she should get Richard onto Lamingtons next. "Go on."

“First, are you able to exchange mana with your Familiars?”

“I can give them mana,” Gwen replied. “It’s a one-way street though.”

“To empower and engage their innate abilities?”

“Yeah, Ariel transforms when fed,” Gwen explained. “It used to have a mongoose form, though these days it goes through ten shades of Kirin, pending on... how I feel, the time of day... and other things.”

“An enviable guise nonetheless,” Walken remarked. “And Caliban?”

“Caliban has many forms, the most powerful of which takes a quarter of my mana and virtually all of my vitality," Gwen answered, conscious of her evasion.

“Good. Now, can your Familiars feed their mana or Essence back into your Astral Body?”

“No.” Gwen shook her head.

"Can you usurp or command the return of unspent mana and Essence?"

"No. I had consulted with Magister Wen, Instructor Chen, and even Magister Birch as well. They said that it was impossible without higher Affinity with my Familiars."

“Oh? I am surprised Hufei Chen wasn't more specific.” Walken raised a brow. “But I suppose that’s no surprise. As an Instructor, he doesn't owe you an answer by any means, not to mention he lacks the necessary School of Magic to verify a potential solution. You see, Gwen, exchange of mana and Essence from a Familiar requires synergy with the School of Transmutation.”

Conjuration and Transmutation? She did a double-take. The only Conjurer-Transmuter Gwen knew of was Lulan, though the girl's Iron-Heart technique was far divorced from modern Spellcraft.

“The original spell, Familiar Transfusion, was a way to use one’s Familiar as additional mana-pool,” Walken explained. “Unfortunately, the original designer wasn’t a Creature Mage and merely employed his cuy as a means to squirrel away an emergency supply.”

“A cuy?” She cocked her head, imagining a monstrously mystical creature.

“It's er... a rodent,” Walken explained, making a shape with his hands like a man moving an invisible mouse. “Akin to a hamster.”

“Oo, cute!”

“Mmm, yes,” Walken cleared his throat, thinking he'd likely have given up Conjuration altogether if gerbils were the best he could manage. “BUT - his spell had a propensity to incapacitate his Familiar while in use.”

Gwen imagined a jiggly, puffed up, balloon-shaped cuy.

“For now, I propose that you could use Ariel to ‘stow’ your mana-leaks, allowing you to manage your Lightning-Affinity and Draconic-Essence.”

“But then Ariel would be stuck in its Kirin Form,” Gwen noted.

“Only in combat, while you balance Void and Lightning elements within your Astral Body,” Walken nodded. “You have tapped into tier 2 Divination, yes?”

“I have.”

“Good.” Walken nibbled on the sponge cake, then dabbed his lip with a pocket-hankie. “Use Perceive Self to set a gauge of your mana-mix, then adjust accordingly. Of course, the prototype Familiar Transfusion won’t do. I’ll have to redesign it so that its transfusion and storage capacities are diminished enough to service your combat needs. After that, in the heat of combat at least, your Affinities should achieve a temporary balance.”

"Question. Does learning Transfusion mean I can syphon vitality from Caliban?"

"I don't see why not."

“As simple as that?”

“Synergy is never that simple,” Walken answered blatantly. “It'll be a work in progress. Do you always count your cockatrices before they hatch? Remember, it’s all conjecture at this point. We’re breaking new ground.”

“I see.” Gwen sipped from her cup: as one brought up in an apartment like a peasant, she drank her tea cold. “One more thing, Eric, can you teach me Perceive Self?”

"No."

“But you know it.”

“I do.”

“Teach me!”

“It's not my spell to teach!” Walken growled. "Are you attempting to entrap me with intellectual-theft as well?"

“Ah...” Gwen blushed. She was too used to Magisters teaching her open-sourced spells or giving up their unique magic as favours. “Sorry.”

“Hmmph. On that front, I want to say something for your benefit, so you better keep your earlier promise. If you want a cost-effect end to your problems, buy some Demi-human fodder for Caliban. We can't find you Void-beings or creatures to Consume, but you can upgrade Caliban to a humanoid form. I believe that may have been Henry's intention,” Walken stated stoically. “Before you start your bleeding-heart complaints, note that these Demi-humans are chattel either way, they're meat for the scholarly inclined Magister whether you buy them or not: if so, why not you?"

Gwen stared.

"There. Think about it. That's the last and only time I will implore you.”

And with that, the congenial atmosphere turned frigid.

Walken's captive audience of one stabbed her next piece of cake. Her advisor wasn't illogical, but the man was morally bankrupt. Of course, she had to acknowledge the hypocrisy of having Consumed Merfolk when she had travelled with Jun, as well as a sapient Dragon-kin. In practice, her revulsion over Walken was no better than someone with a belly full of Kobe beef campaigning for PETA. But the act of purchasing Demi-human ‘stock’ to test a hypothesis? Even if she verified Caliban’s ascension would work wonders for her dilemma, could she consent to such senselessness? In a round-about way, Walken's logos was that trafficked children got abused anyhow: so it may as well be her having a spot of fun: after all, no greater evil had been accomplished this day! How the hell was that an acceptable code of conduct? Her Master would rise from Sufina's Grot to spank her black and blue! The Tower would accuse her of Necromancy!

They drank their drinks.

“I had a curious epiphany about your potential approach to the IIUC last night,” Walken suddenly changed the subject, a move Gwen gladly welcomed. “You and your Familiars are infamous up and down all the campuses in Shanghai. If so, why not abuse this fact? In my opinion, excess and arrogance should form the basis of your IIUC approach.”

“?” Her lips formed an 'O'.

“Yes, indeed,” Walken smirked. “Henry wanted you to be seen and recognised by the Tower, did he not? Easier said than done, I am afraid. Between you and me, Fudan's a second-rate Magical University compared to Cambridge or Oxford, my old haunt. Though few could compare to your number of ‘Schools’ and ‘Affinity’, I dare say their Spellcraft is leagues ahead. At Oxford, any spell worth a damn would be tuned and perfected to within a half-a-syllable by generations of Magisters.”

"Can't help that." She made a face. "Alas, I am a Frontier simpleton."

“Which makes your statistics all the more enterprising," Walken persisted.

“At any rate, someone with your ‘talent’ has nothing to hide. Instead, what we should do is advertise the fact that you’re an indomitable duelist whose very existence demands an inordinate commitment of resources.”

“How the hell is that a good thing?” Gwen furrowed her brow.

“Because your skills require hard counters. In which case, your team can pre-plan spell-lists. Let me give you an example: you are in control of Morden’s Hounds, yes? Together, you’ll summon ten-odd draconic-hounds-”

“Seven plus Blood Hound plus Ariel,” Gwen reminded the Magister.

“Only eight?” Walken raised a brow mockingly. “Well, we'll work on it. Across open ground, I doubt any team would want to face Lightning-Hounds capable of pack-tactics, not to-”

“They're Draconic Deer-hounds,” Gwen interjected, feeling insulted. “Resistant to elements, strong as tier 5 Magical Beasts, telepathically controlled by Ariel...”

“… Right.” The Magister paused with annoyance before continuing. “I stand corrected. Now, let’s say you were to Mass Haste, or boomerang D-D your Familiars behind enemy lines, to flank your enemies. Likewise, on open maps, Ariel plus your dogs would prevent any ambush, track targets, or make hunting down large prey trivial."

Gwen took to the advice with a greedy, eager ear.

"The point is - I would classify you as a specialist-class of Mage - a Soloist."

"What's that?"

"A contestant capable of besting any other Mage of an equivalent tier, using any School of Magic. There's usually a few in the competition, so one may as well be you; especially as Illusion and Mind Magic suffer from heavy restrictions."

Her eyes lit up.

"As a Soloist - your goal is to ‘eliminate’ designated targets from the competition. While your teammate's job is to 'peel away' targets for you to devour."

"Metaphorically speaking..."

"Right... Concurrently, you mustn't forget that having a team member going solo is a tactic. You by yourself won't be win anything. The best teams possess synergy, and not just in Spellcraft."

Pouting, Gwen cut herself another slice of cake. In hindsight, the man was right in that her spells rarely possessed synergy, whether with her teammates or within her Spell-list. If anything, she should work out a comprehensive list of by-products from her salad-mix of elements and Essence.

“But let's return to our original topic. How to make your opponents wary of your histrionic talents and therefore offer your teammates an advantage in counter-spells.”

“I am sorry. Everything you're saying is abstract to me,” Gwen confessed. She was beginning to realise just how much more she had to learn in the next six months. “I don’t understand half of what you just said.”

“My fault, I am afraid. Public Spellcraft Education was underfunded because I vetoed Henry's package for state-schools.” Walken shook his head apologetically. “Let’s think about this pragmatically. In the instance that you face off against a team, they are bound to have ONE Abjurer. You’re not someone easily stopped without a hard-counter. Knowing you exist, opponents would have to include an Earthen, Dust, or Mineral Abjurer. In that case, let's resolve that problem-”

“One - I’ll teach you Thundering Shatter, terrible mana-efficacy, long chant-time, but it’ll do. Two - one of your peers can prepare a touch-based Shatter, Stone Shape, or Scattering Impact, pending on their schools. Three - for an open-field competition, you pick your teammates for mobility, using run-and-cast tactics to outpace their stationary defence.”

“What kind of opponents should we expect? Bloodline Mages? Noble Houses, Clanners, Cabals, that sort of thing? There’s bound to be specialisations, right?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Walken's voice rose an octave. “Spellcraft sanctioned under the Imperial Metric is a given. You can’t have random individuals throwing out long-lost mysticism with unknowable consequences. Other than that, regional competitors tend to represent geographic and historical microcosms. Asian-casters are obsessed with their secretive ‘Clan-Magic’; while European elites possess superior Spellcraft with ethnographic variations between England, Middle Europe, Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean. Across the Atlantic, Meso and South Americans utilise a unique class of Spirit-Magic. As for Africa - well, you'll see. The ones to watch out for tend to be North American Universities favouring Magitech. America's a young country, and when a nation builds itself via witch-burning and enslaving the previous inhabitants, it tends to favour Magic of its own making.”

“Magitech?" Gwen cooed. "The Yanks can use items?”

“Only items the contestants have constructed themselves, with a nominated teammate as an operator," Walken assuaged her dismay. "One year, they even had an NoM pilot. That had caused quite a hoot.”

“Fascinating!” Gwen tried to imagine the uproar of an NoM stepping out of a golem. “So, who’s favourited to win?”

"Who do you think?"

"Not us..." she moped.

“Very astute. I’ll start at the top. Oxford and Cambridge are finalist staples, as well as the Royal London Imperial College of Sorcery. LMU Munich is a strong contender, PSL Research and Sorbonne University in France came-close a dozen-times, won once. ETH Zurich, Utrecht U, Moscow State have all had a turn to shoot for the top. The Americans have also staked their place - Harvard, Stanford, Yale, Princeton, the illusive MIT, we should be so lucky that they cannibalise each other before being fielded onto the world stage.”

“Just how many do we have to face?” Gwen scowled. Just hearing those ground shaking names in her old world made her scalp crawl.

“Ha!” Walken amused himself at the sight of her chagrin. “Two teams per region: Africa, Asia, Europe, North America, Oceania, and Meso-South America. You have to remember; the IUCC is objective orientated. In total, the competition accounts for thirteen slots, twelve teams from six regions, plus a seeded slot: usually the previous year’s winner - in this case, Oxford. Assuming you clear the Asian Qualifier, there will be four additional locations. Europe is a given, likely the U.S as well, and two other locations. The fifth match will take place in China: it'll be your ‘home game’. Other than that, match-ups are the luck of the draw.”

“So, six matches?”

“Seven,” Walken corrected her speculation. “Two to qualify. Considering how soundly Fudan was thrashed, your biggest competitors are likely Japanese, meaning two matches abroad. After which, I’d expect five matches, four overseas, one defending your turf at home.”

“What determines the winner?”

“Match-points. In the 80s, finals involved group-duels. Those inevitably ended in bad-blood. The IIUC is a spectator sport: you have to remember. Having children kill each other makes for poor sponsorship, especially when favourites were ganged-up on and maimed. If you make it past Asia, maybe the CCP will finally broadcast the match, ha!”

"What if-"

‘Ding!’

Her Message bracelet chimed, displaying a previously unseen glyph.

‘Ding! Ding!’

“Sorry,” Gwen apologised, turning away. “Hello, who is this?”

“Greetings, may I ask if this Miss Gwen Song?” A female's voice enquired.

“Yes, this is she."

This woman better not offer me a better rate on my Message Device, Gwen grumbled internally. Or ramble on about a Nigerian Prince needing a crystal transfer.

“Oh, thank Mao! My name is Nurse Xie from Xiangming Municipal High School. It’s regarding your brother, Percy Song. He’s been injured in a duel and is currently on-route to the Second PLA Hospital. You were on his emergency contact list-”

“What?!” Gwen stood up so fast the chair shot out from under her like a Rock Shard. “HOW!”

The fucking hospital?! In a school with magical healing, her brother had to go to the fucking hospital?! Did babulya know? Did her grandfather? Somebody is going to get fucked something serious when Guo finds out!

“I’ve tried to contact Percy’s father, but the glyph is dead, do you know if…”

“Where is he now?” Gwen snapped. “Did you contact Secretary Song?”

“Secretary Song left us his department number so I’d thought I try you first," the nurse answered awkwardly. "The medical Mages left ten minutes ago, so-”

She slapped her forehead. Well, of course, a school nurse isn’t going to call the Chair of the bloody MSS to say that someone fucked up his grandson.

“Deep breath…” Walken appeared beside her. “Control your Essence.”

She inhaled and exhaled.

“Thank you; I'll go to the hospital now."

The Message glyph died.

“Can we reschedule?”

“Don’t lose your head.” The Magister studied her scarlet face, blushed from ear to ear. A vein throbbed just below her jaw, aristocratic and blue against her pale skin. “Think of this incident as training. People you love are going to get hurt, either by accident or by virtue of your talent and influence. That’s just how it is. What would happen if you lost your head each time?”

Gwen’s mouth moved to form a polite thank you, but her lips felt paralysed.

Abruptly, without a word, she was gone from the training hall, leaving Walken with a quarter of a sponge cake, still glistening with hundreds and thousands.

Xiangming Municipal High School had been famous since the yesteryears of Shanghai's founding as a Britannic Mageocracy Concession. Now, eighty years later, its towering multi-storey structure and generous, blue-lawn campus sat in the Goldilocks zone of Shanghai’s burgeoning centre, in the heart of the Jing-An District, flanked by some of the most expensive real estate in civilised Asia.

It was here that Percy Song, first-year senior and younger brother to the infamous Worm Handler, daydreamed from a nineteenth storey window, marvelling at the vista of Shanghai’s splendour and wealth.

In sharp contrast to the exterior, his homeroom's decor was clinical and austere, akin to a monastery, its atmosphere made insensate by polished concrete floors and pale chalk walls. The furniture, likewise, was ascetic and severe, industrial in its combination of steel and oak.

“Yo! Xiao-Song!” Percy tensed as a heavy, well-muscled arm clasped him by the shoulders. “What's on your mind, Brother?”

“Nothing in particular.” Percy pushed the far-too-friendly young man away. It wasn’t that he despised male intimacy, more so that in Australia, guy-friends were seldom so clingy. “Do you always have to be so close, Shun?”

“Ha!” Tang Shun, also a first-year senior, pulled up a chair, straddling the seat like a saddle.

“So, what’ll it be?” he implored his friend. “Are you going to take Captain Ma’s offer?”

“Of course.” Percy smirked, thinking of Kelvin Ma, a young man whose position he most certainly aspired to one day usurp. “Who would refuse an offer like that?”

“To think you were just a squirt six-months ago,” Shun tsked, tut-tutting with his lips. “How the hell did you get so good, so quickly?”

“I am training double shifts both here and at home,” Percy remarked defensively. “You know I train like a dog daily, and I spar every fortnight with Mages from grandfather's department. At this rate, I am going to become a hermit-Doushi.”

“Ah~, I wish I was a guan-er-dai,” Shun grumbled. “So much resource.”

“YOU ARE ONE!” Percy punched his friend in the chest, snorting with derision. “Your dad’s the Inspector-General of the Pu-Tou District!”

“Doesn’t count, he’s not a 'central' Official,” Shun snorted back.

“Pfft! What’re you missing that I don’t have? Crystals? Instructors?”

"You want to know?"

"Yes, Shun, I do."

“A SMOKING-HOT lamēi for a sister!” Shun’s lascivious grin grew from ear to ear. “Brother Song, I am telling you, I have never in my life seen a mēizi as pretty as Sister Gwen, want to watch that Lumen-cast again?”

“NO!!” Percy attempted to shut Shun down before the others could hear, glancing about nervously. "Nope. Nah. NAW. Shut up!"

"Come on! It's not like she's a secret anymore! Bring her to school! Don't be so selfish. You can't keep her to yourself."

“We’re not having this conversation!”

“Woa, what’s this about Percy’s sister?”

“Percy’s sister’s coming to school?”

“When?”

“I’ll pay admission, Brother Song!”

Burying his head in his arms, Percy groaned.

The boys in class had known since last year that Percy had a sister in Fudan, and Percy had made it no secret that she was indeed the infamous Worm Handler, famed around Gouding Road. It was a childish thing to do, he knew, one that gave his sister a world of trouble last year. At the same time, it also rewarded him eminence with the seniors, who refrained from bullying him or forcing him to take on chores, as was the culture in a school like Xiangming.

All in all, things had been chill until a few weeks ago, when one of the students returned with a lumen-cast of Gwen duelling a famous Mage from the Tei Clan, going toe to toe with the Abjurer while wearing nothing more protective than a liberal sundress.

"Wait, that's Percy's sister?"

"That's the Worm Handler?"

"Isn't that the Flower of Fudan next to her?"

"Percy's related to the BOTH of them?"

After the lumen-cast made public Gwen's beauty, his days of peace also came to an end. Upsettingly, even Instructor Chew, their popular Transmutation P.E. teacher, subtly enquired if his sister was single until Percy declared very loudly and carelessly that she was seventeen.

"S-SEVENTEEN?!"

Percy knew then that he had screwed the pooch.

The seniors exploded.

The third-years at Xiangming were only seventeen themselves!

How in Mao’s name was it that Percy's sister was seventeen and svelte, enrolled in Fudan, while they moped about, losing hairs over their National College Entrance Exam?

The crowd flew into a frenzy and refused to relent until he gave up every secret on his sister, starting with her Schools of Magic, her Elements, and her three-sizes.

In response, Percy turned deaf and dumb, tuning out all external stimuli until those that bothered him went away hungry. As a little brother, the worst thing in the world was hearing licentious compliments for one's sister. Ofttimes, the awkwardness was enough to make him want to slam his head against the school's concrete facade.

“Mao! You're always like this whenever your sister comes up.” Shun knew there was no talking to Percy while he was in his self-imposed catatonia. “Well don’t just sit there like a sha-bī, come on, Practicals are next.”

Practicals took place on the bottom oval.

As a young bloke, Percy struck a striking figure, positively dashing in all of his uniforms, be it summer or winter, sport or formal. Thanks to proper nutrition and ironically, the lack of training with his Salt talent from an early age, he was now just a few centimeters short of Gwen, sitting at a happy five-foot-eight as he arrived at the cusp of manhood.

Like his sister, he was long of limb, with a compact torso supporting a set of broad shoulders. His face took after Hai's, possessed of a well-chiselled jaw, a sharp chin, a straight nose, and dark eyes affecting a perpetual affability. The most evident difference between himself and Gwen was his honey-tanned complexion, owing to Surya’s Indonesian origins.

Though he'd only been in Xiangming for nine-odd months, Percy maintained a good reputation among both the seniors and juniors, far better managed than Gwen's ambivalent treatment by her old alumni at Blackwattle Bay.

Unlike most schools in China, the school's presiding Principal, Magister Nuì Renji, desired no quotas. Instead, he declared that Xiangming was a place of pure meritocracy, with an intake consisting of the top 0.2% of Shanghai's exam-takers.

The result was that with less than thirty per cent of the senior cohort consisting of girls, the majority of the male student body could only stare thirstily as their fairer counterparts entertained well-spoken days of courtship and bliss. As a direct result of this imbalance, the forever-alone students of Xiangming High took on a cursed moniker - the Thirsty Lonely Monks of Ruijin Road.

As for Percy, he was a certified lady-killer.

“Brother Percy!”

“Song gege~…”

Percy waved at the young women greeting him from across the training field. Due to unforeseen circumstances, he was closer to the fairer sex than his same-sex peers.

When he’d first arrived at the school, the local lads had been too snobbish to welcome a stranger into the midst of their well-established cliches - but not so the girls, who found great interest in the exotic Eurasian Salt Mage. When they later found out that he had a sister in Fudan, the university of their dreams, the girls' friendliness only grew.

“Brother, please open a path for us.” Shun saluted fist-to-palm in an archaic gesture for ‘please’, drawing giggles from the gaggle of girls.

“That's right, Percy! Don’t leave us behind!”

The fair-faced boy who intruded was one Percy preferred to punch in the face, but couldn’t find the gall to jeopardise his built-up position. He wasn't Gwen, after all - there are things she seemed to do without effort that would make his life impossible.

“Pei.” Percy kept his greeting short and austere.

“Senior Pei!” A few of the girls warily greeted the newcomer.

The Sword-Mage's skills were well known, though thanks to Percy's prowess at propaganda, the lasses now figured Pei a snake in the grass.

Against all expectation, Pei Li remained the most-likely heir of Huashan despite his catastrophic tussle with the House of Song. As for the boys' friendship, the incident had frayed what little goodwill the two had engendered when Percy began schools the previous year. In a way, it was no loss, as Percy's group of power-progeny friends held little regard for the Clanners. Like their parents, they saw Clanners as parasites sucking on the heart-blood of China’s great resurgence as a central power.

“Mei, Anling,” Percy greeted the girls, ranked by his heartfelt affection for each of them. “Leilei, Ming, Xiao-Jai. It's lovely to see you as always.”

The girls giggled; open compliments were rare. Ones delivered so naturally were rarer.

Of the five girls, it was Mei Yang who held the title of the ‘Flower of Xiangming’ and whose stature and fame towered over the others. She was a scion of the Yangs, a Clan of antiquity, possessing the rare gift of Lightning. As for her craft, she was a Transmuter combining Western Magic with her family's secret arts. To Percy's eyes, Mei was wonderful, for the girl combined a compact and agile dancer’s figure with a pleasing, girl-next-door appearance. A quality he preferred over the heart-stopping visage Gwen assumed; particularly when flushed with Draconic-Essence.

“Percy.” Mei slid closer. “So, are you taking Senior Ma’s offer?”

“Naturally,” Percy flashed a set of pearly teeth, glancing at Pei. “Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Senior Ma is an honour.”

Seeing that Percy was ignoring him, Pei left the group. Percy watched the boy go, knowing that Lulan and Kusu had taken up with his sister from their adventure together in Nantong. Furthermore, Percy had found out from one of the girls that Pei's faction were the ones behind the siblings' plight. If the rumour held weight, he would see Pei squirm sooner or later.

“Mei, you look p-pretty, as usual,” Shun spluttered. Percy knew his friend had a big crush on the girl, though Mei had told Percy that under no circumstances did she have any interest in the muscle-headed Earthen Evoker. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“I am…” Mei wanted to say she was occupied, but she didn’t want to miss out on Percy. “Percy, what are you doing on the weekend?”

“Training.” Percy wondered if Shun could take the hint. “It's sparring week.”

“Oh.” Mei twiddled her thumbs, glancing between Percy and Shun, blinking at him with her glimmering eyes.

“I am… free in the afternoon,” Percy relented, looking away guiltily from Shun. He couldn’t bring himself to disappoint a girl. Increasingly, Percy found pretty faces to be the bane of his existence. Already he had gotten into fights and duels a dozen times because some guy in school wanted to challenge him for Mei, or Anling, or some other girl with whom he was on the level - even though they were just friends.

When he boasted of his popularity to his sister, Gwen had this to say:

“Are you stupid or is your opponent slow? Mei belongs to herself, not to you or anyone. How the hell is duelling you going to get Mei to ‘go’ with them? The fact that you accepted the duel means you've gone down the Path of the Douche. Go and apologise to her on Monday, first thing, you bloody troglodyte.”

And so Percy did, relayed Gwen's message word-for-word to Mei.

Afterwards, the girl's eyes sparkled like anything.

Which was why for several weeks now, Mei had begged Percy for a date - to see his sister, arguably the coolest person Mei had ever seen in a Lumen-cast, a real-life Battle Mage, pretty as an idol, wise to boot, and most importantly, a Lightning Mage like herself!

Naturally, the students had taken the duo's newfound intimacy the wrong way. It was now common knowledge that Mei Yang, the unassailable goddess, had fallen. All in Xiangming suspected that the delicate flower had stuck itself onto a cowpat stamped with the name Percy Song.

“Woohoo! Wonderful!” Mei squealed, jumping for joy, taking Percy’s hands and swinging them back and forth.

Feeling the softness of her palms, Percy took a moment to enjoy his female company, fantasising just how awesome it would be if he had a younger sister instead of a quasi-draconian worrywart. “Thanks, Percy, I’ll buy you dinner after, okay?”

Meanwhile, Shun remained by the wayside, waiting for an answer that would never come. When finally Mei began to swing from Percy like a baby monkey, something shattered in his chest.

“YOU BASTARD! Hands off Mei!” A voice came from the wayside, more bark than human speech.

The speaker was the very devil Percy loathed to see.

“You refused my duel, and yet you dare approach Mei-mēimēi?!”

The crowd collectively cringed.

Alain Yang was Mei’s cousin, twice removed. A brash young man about six-foot tall with the face of an auroch and the constitution of one as well. The boisterous bloke was well known for his excessive passion, for he had inherited a bloodline variant of the Yang’s Fire talent, a fluke of nature that allowed his flames to burn hotter, stronger, and douchier, drawn from the 'heart' of the Plane of Fire. To Percy’s knowledge, Alain was the child of a side family, born in Hong Kong then brought over to Shanghai by the Clan. It was for this reason that Percy suspected his peer’s interest in Mei was two-fold. One, Mei was the catch of the school, and two, marrying Mei would legitimise his claim to the Clan of Yang.

“Mei, get away from him!” The boisterous Fire Mage commanded ‘his’ woman.

Mei rolled her eyes, but said nothing, leaving the bucks to joust.

Percy liked that about Mei. His sister acted shy in front of her elders, but she was as much of a hellion as that friend of hers, Yue, and her confidant, the Scarlet Sorceress Alesia De Botton. Despite having made up with Gwen, no amount of hugs and kisses was enough to gloss over the fact that she had coveted his Amulet.

But for now, the conflict was over Mei, a girl whose tolerance for the antics of people like Alain astounded him. If anything, Gwen had a lot to learn from her junior if she ever wanted a boyfriend.

“Hello, Alain.” Percy turned to face the young bloke with a forced grin. “What’s the matter?”

“The matter?! Stay away from Mei, you Gweilo bumpkin!”

“As you wish.” Percy stepped back -

“Good!” Alain grunted with approval. “If you know what’s good for you...”

- then placed an arm around Mei's shoulders.

The girl took it without complaint, her liquid eyes fluttering mischievously.

“Sunday afternoon at Fudan, then dinner - your treat. Is that alright with you?”

It didn’t escape Mei that Percy had left out some very important details.

“Anything you say, Percy.” Mei bit her lower lip to prevent herself from giving the game away, incidentally multiplying her cuteness. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll show me.”

“I'll show you the largest worm you've ever seen. You can touch it, even.”

“Pfft! Hahaha…” Mei was in tears. She knew Percy was referring to his sister’s Familiar, infamous across the metropolitan schools. That was another thing she liked about Percy: he was a funny guy with a sense of humour, entirely unlike the other power-progeny she knew.

“Fire Bolt!” Alain had just about enough of his fiancèe's public flirting with another man.

“Shield!” Percy’s barrier had half a second to spare.

“INSTRUCTOR CHEW!” Percy cried out in mock panic, his voice projecting across the field with ease. “Alain’s gone crazy again!”

“Alain YANG! I SAW THAT!” A roaring voice poured over the bottom oval. “STAFF ROOM, NOW!”

“I am going to kill you!” Alain screeched at Percy even as two prefects dragged him away. "Just you wait!"

“Sure thing.” Percy wiggled his brows. “I’ll see you at the Duelling Club, reserve member number nine Alain Yang.”

Their audience, a collection of first-year seniors like themselves, burst into merriment. That Percy had previously bested Alain to gain Captain Ma’s favour was well known across the school. It was the reason why snitching to Instructor Chew was a gesture of hilarity, not cowardice.

Percy joined in with the laughter.

Though he had arrived as an ‘import’ student from overseas, aided by family connections, the Salt Mage's growth had turned heads all over campus. In June of last year, the Acolyte was only beginning to grasp his elemental talent, but when he returned to school in the new year, it was as though an Ancestral Spirit possessed him. Not only were his existing spells faster and stronger; he picked up Abjuration and even bits of Transmutation with the ease of a seasoned senior.

Teacher Lu had even joked to the faculty that the boy might have gone through a second Awakening. After a brief investigation, it was revealed that the boy’s sister was the genius girl Fudan had picked up mid-May last year - the Lightning-Void dual-elementalist. When another one of the Instructors pulled a few strings, the faculty was astounded by the fact that the girl had confirmed proficiency in FIVE schools of Magic.

"What are they feeding her?" The head of Spellcraft demanded. "Spirit pills?"

In the old days, elite Daoshi cultivators wielded Transmutation, Evocation and Conjuration concurrently; some had gone a step further and dabbled in Divination and Enchantment. It was only in this age of the Imperial Metric System that multi-school achievements became impracticable.

Conversely, however, none of the Instructors faulted the Westernisation of magic: in the days of yore, a Clan would burn offerings to the ancestor when they were fortuitous enough to produce a dozen combat ascetics. Now, over twenty-thousand Mages graduated from Shanghai’s two-hundred or so secondary institutions per year.

If so, with a sister capable of tapping into five Schools of Magic, why should one be astounded that the brother showed promise in three?

“Okay, now that the eyesore is gone,” Percy grinned at the girls. “Who wants to spar?”

“Please be gentle,” Mei cooed, evidently still in a playful mood.

Beside her, Shun drooled like a fool.

“Look, er... I’ll warm up with Shun first,” Percy decided to do the bro-thing and save his friend from playing the red-arsed monkey. “Come on Shun, show the girls what you got!”

At 3.15 PM, after the academic schedule, students shuffled off to mandatory club activity.

The most popular extra curriculum was the Duelling Club, a place not infrequently visited by headhunters from the top universities. Not long ago, Kelvin Ma, the Captain of Xiangming’s District Competition Team, had received scholarship invitations from Fudan, Tsinghua and Jiantong.

It was highly unusual, therefore, for Percy, who aimed for a scholarship himself, to be absent; enough at least to attract a comment from the captain.

“I’ll go look for him if you like,” the vice-captain, an affable-looking young man with a military-crop, steaming with sweat, offered to resolve his captain’s query.

“More importantly, where’s Mei?” Kelvin Ma scanned the crowd. The girl was a close family friend, and he had promised his uncle to look after the girl.

“Maybe they’re together?”

“He better not be doing what I think he’s doing.” Kelvin scratched his stubble. He trusted Percy, to a degree, but Percy’s father had a reputation. With Mei hanging close to Percy ever since the boy joined Xiangming DC, he got the jitters whenever the two snuck off on breaks. “You know what, Don, go find em.”

Don Li saluted.

“I’ll bring em back safe and sound, or in pieces, if Percy turns out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Kelvin frowned unpleasantly.

"Hahaha, are you jealous, Brother?" His friend burst into merriment. "You could have any of the girls you want, you know."

“Just… bring them back.” The captain pinched his brows. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want a girlfriend, it was more so that he didn’t dare. His family’s secret arts made no sense in the parlance of Western Spellcraft: what the hell does being a virgin have to do the rigidity of his Mao-damned crystals?

“Ah-Bān, get em!” Alain urged his bodyguard. “A hundred HDMs if you pin him!”

“Alain! Don’t you dare! Ah-Bān, back off!” Mei snapped at her cousin and his henchmen.

“Ha! Hiding behind a woman!”

“Says the man hiding behind a brick-shithouse! Come at me yourself, you little bitch!” Percy spat. “Salt Shard!”

Ah-Bān parried the shard with an infused forearm.

“You dare attack the future heir of house Yang?!”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, what is wrong with you people?” Percy growled, rolling his eyes. “Gwen's right, maybe you are slow. You ambushed us! The hell are you expecting? Should I roll the fuck over?”

“Destroy him, Percy!” Mei’s face grew flushed with excitement. It was always thrilling to have men fight over oneself, more so when it was her self-proclaimed dog-faced fiancé taking a beating. “I’ll take full responsibility. Let’s see Uncle Yang try to squirm out of this one!”

“Master Yang is too precious to have to deal with the likes of you!” Ah-Bān's voice was loud enough to bounce off the walls.

“F- You know what? Suffer in ya jocks,” Percy couldn’t help but revert to a more comfortable slang. “Mei, you sure about this? We’re in public. We only have provisional licences.”

“Mom will take care of it, or one of my aunties will. Don’t you worry!” Mei assured her companion. “This is self-defence! I’ll be our witness. Who would take Alain’s words over mine?”

“Alain, you hearing this?” Percy held onto an half-incanted Shield. “You want to cut your losses, or you happy to play silly buggers? You are fucked either way, buddy, you're a slab of raw fish, mate!”

"Ahahaha, oh Mao," Mei rocked back and forth, shaking with mirth. "It's carp on the chopping board!"

“Caonima! Ah-Bān! I want this sha-bī to die!” The novice Fire Mage exploded.

“Mei, get back!”

Mei Yang skipped back a few steps, safe in the knowledge that whoever got hurt today, it wasn’t going to be her. The other reason she wasn’t worried was that Alain was stupid enough to accost them while she and Percy were getting bubble-tea. With a face full of peevish anger, her cousin had informed them that he needed to speak to Percy in private. When Mei said she would come along as well, Alain told her to go home, which resulted in her locking arms with Percy. Two blocks later, the dead-end alleyway they had arrived at was typical of the old hutongs around Shanghai - a small lot surrounded on three sides with residential apartments. With any luck, a city-guard or a police officer would be along shortly.

"Rock Armour!"

"Too slow, asshole!"

In front of Mei, Percy performed one of the most daring manoeuvres she had ever seen anyone execute. Using a combination of Spider-Climb and Enhance Dexterity, Percy flanked his opponent by stepping against a wall then launching himself into the air with 'Jump' so that his path of attack became diagonal and top-down, an angle difficult for anyone but Abjurers to defend with their Shield.

“Salt Shard!”

“Hammer Throw!”

Ah-Bān, Alain’s bodyguard, was a house servant with two decades of service to the Yang’s side branch. From what Mei knew, he wasn’t the brightest Lumen-orb in the Storage Ring. A Transmuter, the man was a good bodyguard for an abusive, impulsive little-emperor like Alain, but made for a terrible source of temperance if Alain’s parents had intended their son to stay out of trouble. To Mei's knowledge, the school forbade students bringing servants and bodyguards, so Alain would be doubly screwed when the matter went up for review. Furthermore, as they were still in schooling hours, the school was accountable for the students' safety, meaning a suspension was all but assured. If Mei herself had to do something as absurdly stupid as ambushing a fellow student, she would have waited until after club, on the way home, after luring them indoors.

'Crack!'

Ah-Bān’s slab of whirling stone grazed Percy’s shoulder, snapped away a chunk of pink-salt.

Meanwhile, Percy’s crystalline shard pierced Ah-Bān’s rock-armour, drawing first blood.

Mei felt a wave of impressionable worship firing off her teenage hormones. In the space it took for them to walk from the bubble-tea shop to the alleyway, Percy had secretly buffed himself! To her knowledge, only someone like Kelvin could have had the subtlety and skill to apply something like this, and Percy was almost two years his junior!

“Tough bastard!” Percy formed a Shield just beneath his feet, then used the layer of salt to launch himself away with another Jump. “Salt Smite!”

A blast of powder struck Ah-Bān, covering his defensive armour with blue-grey grains of desiccating residue.

“Don’t let him drain you!” Alain shouted from the side. “Fire Bolt!”

Percy Shielded himself.

“Hey!” Mei screeched from the sideline. “Don’t you dare, Alain Yang! That's unfair! I’ll fry you like a fish!”

Alain’s bolt clattered against Percy's Salt Shield harmlessly.

“Going soft?!” Percy laughed at the pathetic sight. “Good luck on your wedding night!”

“PERCY SONG!" Alain looked as though he was drunk. "Ah-Bān!”

“Come on, big guy,” Percy taunted the Earthen Mage. “First to Shield Break?”

“I'll die before you dishonour Master Yang!” Ah-Bān roared. “Hammer Throw!”

“This isn’t the fucking feudal era!” Percy dodged another blow, flinching as the concrete wall behind him cracked. “You serious, big-guy? You’re trying to kill me?”

Ah-Bān glanced at his Master.

“Get him!” Alain insisted.

“Mei, call the school! They're going too far.”

“Okay!” Mei raised a bracelet to her lips. "You are going to be in a world of trouble, Alain!"

“No, don't!” Alain reached for his cousin. “Magic Missile!”

“Shield!” Mei erected a Lightning Shield, but defensive magic wasn’t her forte. With a sizzling ‘ting!’, a missile found its mark, striking her wrist and snapping the bangle.

Mei stared at Alain in disbelief, clutching her wrist, her eyes watering.

“Cao…” Alain’s sunflower puckered. “S-sorry, I didn't…”

“Body of Lightning!” Mei rushed her cousin with a technique akin to Blink conjoined with Bull Rush.

“Mei, No!” Percy called out. If Mei succeeded in maiming Alain, they would all be in a world of shit. He needed her to be a helpless witness, not an accomplice!

“Master!” Ah-Bān likewise accelerated toward Alain.

“ARRRRRGH!” Alain wanted to flee, but three Transmuters were converging toward him, the intensity of which was preventing him from using his secondary Schools of Magic.

“Shield!”

Using his Salt-Shield as a springboard, Percy was the first to arrive. He was confident that Mei would stop as soon as she struck his Shield, and that his barrier was strong enough to hinder the Earthen Mage, at least enough for him to dodge -

Mei struck Percy square in the chest.

“Percy?!” Mei did her best to abort, but her Body of Lightning wasn’t the sort of half-assed technique that allowed for things like mercy. Despite her best efforts, the discharge from her invocation poured into Percy, paralysing her companion.

As for Percy, his mind was momentarily white-hot. Every nerve in his body convulsed as the electricity ate away his Salt-Skin.

What happened to his Shield? Percy baulked. What happened to his buffs? For several months now, he had activated his Abjuration with a thought, as effortless as breathing. Even Kelvin Ma, the Abjuration prodigy, had marvelled at the speed and accuracy of his manifestation, praising it as but a step behind chantless invocation. For Percy, the faultless nature of his secondary Schools was his trump card, his ‘signature move’, it was the means of his selection into the team as a first-year senior.

‘Wham!’

Next, Ah-Bān's body-slam connected, the man’s surprise equalled only by the force of his collision with Percy.

Like a carcass of cured pork, the Salt Mage rag-dolled through the air, limbs akimbo.

Mid-way, Percy struggled to find something with enough purchase to halt his trajectory. When he flew over Alain Yang, he willed his paralysed limbs to move, reaching out toward the young man so that he could at least anchor himself to something.

Seeing Percy flying overhead, Alain ducked.

FUCKING TYPICAL! Percy recalled himself thinking as he caught a fistful of Alain’s hair.

“ARRRRRGGGGGNNNN!” Alain screamed.

Percy's trajectory continued, now with twenty per cent more hair.

In the next moment, past a few stickybeaked faces at the entrance to the dead end alleyway, he landed in the middle of Ruijing 2nd Road, the main thoroughfare of Shanghai’s golden commercial district.

‘Screech!’

‘BEEEEEEP!’

‘THUNK!’

The last thing Percy recalled seeing was a two-ton cargo truck - that and the fact that for the first time in three months, he couldn’t erect a Shield.

“He’s going to be healthier than ever.” Gwen’s babulya patted her on the shoulder. “Give it a week, and Percy can return to school.”

Beside his hand-wringing sister, Percy was suspended above a levitation module designed to prevent pressure-sores while he recovered.

“Hey, sis…” her brother moaned. "I am... fine!"

At the sight of several hundred acupuncture needles sticking out from Percy’s full-body plaster cast, her eyes grew moist.

“It's not as bad as it looks, the bones need to set properly, that’s all.” Klavdiya tapped on Percy’s vitals while Gwen shivered at the sight of the needles. “I've foregone Regeneration to implement a strengthening technique. Why waste a perfectly good opportunity?”

Her brother moaned, his every utterance plucking at Gwen's heartstrings. His face retained a mess of blue bruises where the truck's grill had said hello. She had wanted him recovered by the hour, though babulya's advise that gradual healing was always superior to the brute-force of battlefield triage.

“Who did this?!” Gwen snapped, her hair rising into the air as though she’d turned half-Hag. Her flaring temper elicited a quiet 'eek!' - revealing a meek existence hiding behind her babulya in the form of a girl in Xiangming's charcoal-ivory uniform. “You there! What do you know?”

Mei trembled.

She wanted to meet her idol, not be eaten by her.

“A truck!” Mei spluttered. “A truck hit Percy!”

“That truck has seen its last haul!” Gwen seemed to almost rise into the air. “Where’s the driver?!”

Her babulya intervened.

“Arrested - the driver is an NoM, and he is entirely blameless.” The old woman stared her granddaughter down until she acknowledged the unfortunate man's innocence.

Mimicking Caliban with a prey denied, Gwen returned her attention to Mei.

“Alright, then why were you playing in traffic? Belay that, how the hell can a bloody truck hurt a Mage? Percy’s got Abjuration Shields!”

Mei teetered on the verge of tears and would have cried but for the fact that she couldn't breathe.

“Not… Mei’s fault…” Percy moaned. “Blame… Alain…”

“Who the fuck is ALAIN?”

“My cousin…” Mei squirmed. “He was fighting with Percy.”

“YOUR KINSMEN PUSHED MY BROTHER ONTO THE ROAD?!”

“His servant did,” Percy’s schoolmate cowered. “It was an accident!”

“I’ll show him an accident!” A sliver of Dragon-Fear licked at Mei's ashen face, made paler by the bright cobalt emanating from Gwen's electric eyes. "You better not be lying to me."

‘Slap!’

“Gwen!” Her babulya struck her head from behind. “Enough! You're in a hospital!”

“Urrrrghn!” Percy keened like a wounded cat. “Sis, the needles… why…”

“Shit, Percy! I am sorry,” Gwen knelt by the bedside. “Where does it hurt?”

“Where does it... not hurt?” Percy's complexion turned to paste.

Klavdiya sighed.

“Gwen, leave us. I need to reset the needles.”

“Sorry, Babulya. Sorry, Percy.”

“Mei, go explain what happened,” Klavdiya commanded Percy's schoolmate. "Away from here. Your grandfather should be here shortly."

“Yes, Nainai.”

Stepping outside, Gwen and Mei were met by two boys who had been waiting for them to exit.

The older of the two was an able-bodied youth standing close to six-foot, with a sharp, angular face and semi-transparent, pale amber irises. The other was a boisterous looking troublemaker with slicked-back hair, a head shorter than the first, standing with the gait of a wannabe triad hoodlum.

“Brother Ma, Senior Li!” Mei bowed deeply. “I am sorry about Percy; it’s all my fault.”

“No need to be so distressed," the Ma boy answered after a ninety-degree bow. “Miss Song, it’s a pleasure to meet you finally. I have heard nothing but praise from my Uncle in regards to your abilities.”

Gwen scanned the boy's face, her brain quickly connecting the dots.

“You’re Professor Ma’s…”

“Nephew, Ma’am. Please call me Kelvin.”

The two shook.

“Well met, Kelvin.”

“This is Don Li, my vice-captain. We’re Percy’s Seniors.”

Don bowed deeply as well.

“Please accept my most sincere apologies." Don lowered his head. "I was supposed to be looking out for Percy, but I arrived too late to stop Alain.”

“I take it all of you know who this Alain may be?”

“He’s my cousin.” Mei swallowed.

The dual-Elementalist's glare wilted the girl with its intensity.

“Let’s talk outside.” Gwen pointed to the balcony. “I need some air.”

The three teenagers regarded one another, passing a measure of understanding before following the renowned Worm Handler. Once outside, the trio was surprised to find that Gwen had summoned both her Familiars.

“Shaaa!” Caliban slithered about in its obsidian serpent form.

“EEE!” Ariel emerged fully fluffed with Almudj’s Essence.

The sight of the Worm Handler's twin monsters stupified even the usually stoic Kelvin. Beside their captain, Mei took up his right arm, shivering uncontrollably; on Kelvin's left, Don clutched his captain’s left arm with equal vigour.

“It's alright. I am working on something.”

To ease their apprehension, she coiled Caliban behind her, while Ariel set forth on a diplomatic mission.

“Eeee?”

Ariel cocked its head, its luminous eyes blazing with a rainbow-hue.

“Can… can we touch it?” Mei instantly melted. She had been waiting for this moment for the better part of a month.

“Of course," as a generous God, Gwen offered her Ariel for petting.

Ariel took the better part of a minute to charm its targets, who instantly became its servant, hungrily massaging its mane, brushing its tail and touching its feet.

“Watch the horns,” Gwen warned them, sending a stream of Essence into Ariel, feeling the mounting stress in her Astral Body decrease. “They discharge electricity, sometimes.”

“Senior!" Mei raised her hand. "I am a Lightning Mage too!”

“That’s good to know, Sister.”

“Hee hee hee.” Mei's anxious face broke into a grin, growing so giddy that she bodily embraced the fluffy body beneath her.

“Shaa!” Caliban sulked. Why does Ariel get all the fun? It seemed to say. Not wanting Caliban to feel left out, Gwen picked it up bodily and coiled it around her shoulders so that it could nuzzle her face.

"Wow, Caliban looks magnificent," Mei remarked.

Gwen ignored the unintentional double entendre.

Instead, she commenced her gentle interrogation.

“So, you kids got a tale to tell?”

“Ma’am.” Kelvin dipped his head awkwardly. “We’re the same age. You’re seventeen, right?”

Gwen measured Kelvin from head to toe.

“Sorry,” she apologised, realising working at the office amongst adults had thrown off her biological metronome. “Gents, Mei, I would like to know what happened to Percy. I wish for every detail.”

Mei faced the Void Sorceress and her Mongolian Death Worm.

“I’ll start. It’s my fault that all of this happened…”

With a tender voice that matched her petite face, Mei told the tale of Percy helping her rebuff Alain’s possessive jealousy, finishing with Alain’s ambush and her friendly-fire. The final result, she explained, was a serendipitous convergence of circumstances, truck included.

“And his Shield didn’t manifest?”

Caliban's faceless mien slithered closer.

“I think I paralysed him,” she explained, guilt written all over her face. “I hit him with my Body of Lightning; there’s a paralytic effect to the attack.”

“I see." Gwen remained all business. "Gents, your turn to verify.”

“As Percy’s Team Captain.” Kelvin stepped up. “I can verify that Alain had an issue with Percy. A part of their conflict is because I chose Percy over Alain for the final slot of our team. If anything, I may be the originator of their conflict.”

“Not true.” Don stepped between Gwen’s Familiar and his captain. “Alain’s a reptile. I was the one who was negligent. I should have smacked the little er-bi before this happened.”

“Don, watch your language!” Kelvin chided his second.

“Sorry, Miss.”

“It’s fine, Don.” Gwen considered the two boys, carefully observing their body language. Don appeared to be a Water Mage, while Kelvin was a high-tier Mineral Mage. The act they were putting on was likely for her benefit, though she had to applaud the fact that the two boys covered for Mei, who, in her opinion, was the real catalyst.

“I should have gone with Alain.” Mei appeared crestfallen.

With a glance from its Master, Ariel stood on its hind legs and licked the girl’s face. In return, Mei hugged Gwen’s Kirin around the neck and buried her face into its mane.

Gwen sighed. The kids were wary.

“I see, so Alain’s to blame. Tell me about him.”

“He’s my cousin,” Mei reinstated the unfortunate fact. “He’s potentially the next head of the family after Uncle Tsung died in Tibet. In our Clan's bloodline, it's just my sisters, me and another cousin left, that and our mothers."

All women? She glanced at the boys.

“The Yang family is well-known,” Kelvin intruded, realising that their gweilo senior likely had no idea. "They’re descended from THE Yang family of yore.”

Gwen's stone-like mien remained unimpressed.

“They’re a family that’s existed since the Song Dynasty,” the Mineral Mage made another attempt to impress. “The one who lost three generations of sons to the Khitani Centaurs in the Song Dynasty, then again lost all their sons defending Southern Song against the Mongol Clans…”

“Alain came from Xian originally,” Mei nervously continued, stroking Ariel to calm her nerves. “He received a bloodline talent from his mother, which is something our ancestors call the ‘Pure Yang Body’, meaning he excels at Fire Magic. His grandmother's my great aunt, so we’re twice removed. His mother suggested that he and I should wed so that we could reignite the old bloodline.”

“Your family's renown notwithstanding.” Gwen furrowed her brows. “Let’s say I beat Alain up, who’s going to save him?”

“His… mother?” Mei's voice was barely audible. “She’s a Fire Magus.”

“Miss Song, you’re not thinking of…” Kelvin felt the need to interject before the matter escalated. “I am kin to the Yangs. My Uncle is married to one of the Yang women. If you want reparation from Alain, please let me know.”

Gwen cleared her throat.

"Very well. I want a public apology, fair punishment from the school, and all medical expenses paid-” Gwen paused. “Plus something else as compensation. I’ll leave that to this Alain.”

“…” Kelvin looked at Mei, who looked away.

“What? Don't tell me that's too much?”

“Crystals and favours are alright,” Kelvin spoke with great care. “A public apology is a bit…”

“A bit what?”

“I don’t think-“

“Then I’ll break every bone in the little twirp's body, an eye for an eye.” Her threat echoed across the courtyard like thunder. “Where is he now?”

“At h-home.”

“Your home?” Her orbs scorched her quivering victim.

Mei pleaded with Kelvin: the boy subtly shook his head.

“Miss Song,” Kelvin thought he’d give assuaging another go. "If it would-"

"Gwen?"

Guo Song, Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee, pushed open the door the to balcony's exterior.

“SIR!” Kelvin bowed deeply, quickly followed by the others.

“Yeye!” Gwen ran to her grandfather, suddenly a teenage girl. “Percy’s injured, and I know where the culprit is.”

Gwen's statement of intent was enough to Petrify the horrified Mei. It was one thing to face the famed ‘Worm Handler’, but quite another to displease a man capable of sitting on one of the twenty-four inner seats of the CCP’s central committees.

“Very good.” Guo turned to the others. “You may go.”

The trio retreated, not daring to attract Guo's ire.

“Grandfather, I think you scared that girl half to death.”

“I am sure that was you,” Guo remarked dryly. “Why would I scare her? Percy brought her home once. We spoke.”

Gwen raised a brow.

“She’s a Yang, right? Good family. A respectable bunch.”

“Well, it’s another Yang that did this to Percy,” Gwen quickly explained the situation. “... rather than taking it out on the duelling field, he tried to ambush Percy in public.”

“Hmm.” Her grandfather's bulldog jowls quivered.

“Your counsel, Grandfather?”

“What's your intent?”

“Bring Alain here as a companion for Percy,” Gwen ground her teeth. “A tad worse for wear, of course.”

“That might be unreasonable.” Guo's mildness caught her off-guard. “The right thing to do would be to get them to issue compensation and an apology.”

“I asked for that,” Gwen complained, wondering if Percy had fallen out of favour. “The Ma boy said Alain's too proud for that. But I am perfectly capable of squeezing blood from a rock if need be.”

“Hmm... even for the Yangs, not offering a public apology is a little presumptuous.” Guo raised a brow.

“If you're indisposed, Grandfather, I can handle this myself,” her voice grew impious. "No one touches Percy."

"A commendable sentiment." Guo appraised his granddaughter's passion.

“I’ll go and challenge the little prick and anyone else they’re willing to throw at me. I could also take Tao's advise. I am sure an apology is easier to stomach than being homeless.”

To her astonishment, Guo patted her shoulder disarmingly.

“The Yangs… have given much to the Party.” Her grandfather pointed to the city below. “One son during the first collapse of the Front, then another in the Reclamation. Only recently, they lost their sole remaining male heir to a rebellion in Tibet. They have no Magisters left; a few women Maguses remain, but no one of note. Do you truly wish to browbeat a family like that, knowing your guan-xi with the Fungs? With me? With your Uncle Jun and his... dragon?”

“I…” The fire she'd been stoking dimmed. “That would be bullying.”

“That is the correct answer.” Guo took a deep breath. “Still - an apology must be had. Direct involvement of Jun or I would only make our House lose face, so I'll leave it to you. Can I trust you handle it, tactfully?”

“I’ll do my best, Grandfather,” Gwen replied, thinking of her brother's broken body next door. “Percy will have his apology, one way or another.”

Unaware of his family discussing the matter of his vengeance outside, Percy readied himself for restful slumber, hoping that when he woke, his bones would have mended and he could return to school. Not only that, grandmother had promised that after her acupuncture technique, his bones would be better fortified against future mishaps.

Other than that, Gwen's screw up aside, it had been a good day.

Having Mei, Captain Ma and Vice-Cap Li visit him was tremendously inspiriting, filling his chest with a cosy warmness.

Conversely, having Gwen teary-eyed as she attempted to feed him in front of Kelvin, Don and Mei was torture.

Thankfully, he was soon left alone. With his family and friends gone for the night, he circulated a mote of mana into the Kirin Amulet nestled against his chest, then descended into darkness.

When Percy opened his eyes again, he knew it to be a lucid dream.

He knew this because the sensation of estrangement from his physical body was identical to the one he experienced while under the influence of the Amulet’s ritual.

Calmly, without undue alarm, he scrutinised his surroundings.

A mausoleum.

More precisely, the Song's family tomb in Hubei.

The oppressive atmosphere was as he recalled, made more so vivid by the hundreds of Spirit-plaques decorating the place, each with names of his ancestors carved into chunks of incense-wood.

“Hail, child of Ying Xing.”

A voice floated through the air as an unearthly chill infused his spine.

Holy shit! Percy sniffed the air and scanned the scene, scanning for the source of his unease.

Stay calm! He commanded himself. His stoicism surprised even himself. The lite-Necromancy he had committed in Hangzhou was doing wonders for his tolerance against supernatural surprises.

More importantly, what had the voice declared? Song Ying Xing? Wasn't that the progenitor?

His first suspicion had been that the dream was brought on by the entity in the Amulet, whose presence he had felt but could never decipher. Strangely, his second thought was of his sister.

“Hail.” Percy bowed, his body feeling distended and displaced. “May I ask who…”

“This one knows of the living heir.” The disembodied voice resonated across the hallowed hall.

Living heir? Percy recalled his grave-sweeping visit with the family to their Hubei home. As the heir of House Song, he had spent three hours dusting down every nook and cranny of the mausoleum, eyeballing every plaque an inch away from his nose to make sure that not a single spec of grime remained. After Guo saw just how eagerly he had applied himself, Percy’s grandfather grew mightily pleased, praising Percy in front of Ying Xing’s plaque with such fervency that for a spine-tingling minute, he'd thought Guo was enacting a Necromantic ritual.

After that, they left to join the rest of the village, setting off hundreds of lanterns, filled with wishes and messages to their ancestors, into the sky.

The spectacle had touched Percy quite profoundly: there was something to be said when at the stroke of midnight, from all around the mountain, the river, the village below and the city in the distance, a great river of lanterns lifted into the air, turning the horizon into a vista of light.

So, was this 'being' one of his ancestors?

Had 'he' come to answer the messages he wrote on the lantern, asking for a blessing no less than Gwen's?

If so, could an ancestral blessing be considered Necromancy by the Tower?

“My Lord.” Percy swallowed, remembering his grandfather’s instructions. “This descendent greets the Ancestor.”

Slowly, the miasma coalesced within the chamber collected until it formed into a shape more familiar to Percy than even the Ancestral Hall and its plethora of dead Songs etched onto plaques.

First came a stag’s horns, then a tiger’s maw, fishes’ scales, lion’s mane, carp’s whiskers, solidifying until Percy gasped with breathless anticipation. There was no doubting it. From its presence, it’s guise and aura - he was facing the real deal. This must be the being inside his Amulet!

Swirling motes of Negative Energy surrounded its body.

Percy recognised the mana of the miasma shrouding the Kirin's skin like a rash; it belonged to him. It was the ritual used by the Songs.

A sudden thrill ran through his body. If Gwen could tame herself a Kirin, why couldn't he? Whatever she could manage, he was confident he could as well.

“Long has this one slumbered.” The Kirin’s voice was rumbling thunder on a stormy, cloudless night. “Until awakened by the intrusion of a nameless one.”

Nameless one? Was that Gwen’s doing? Percy racked his brain.

“Lord Kirin.”

“Do not patronise me, Child of Song, let us broker no words of deceit.” The Kirin thundered. “This one and the heir are not allies.”

“Umm… we are not?” Percy almost kicked himself. Did he fuck up already? What did Gwen do to get on the Kirin's side? An offering? Offer what? Herself?

“Foolish youth. It was your ancestor who deceived this one.” The Kirin exhaled two churning streams of jet-black ash, slicing the air with its whiskers. "A despicable man.”

Maybe I should get the hell out of here. Percy eyed the exit. To his chagrin, the gate of the Ancestor’s Hall opened into an abyss of space.

“Having now roused from slumber, this one shall broker for thy pitiable ritual no more! The heir will no longer usurp this one's strength!”

Wait, WHAT?! Percy did a double take. What the hell does that mean? What about his training?

From above, the Kirin's eyes were twin orbs of smouldering stone.

No, that can’t be right. Percy willed himself to focus. Necromancy was always 'take', never 'give'.

“If it's your Essence” he accused the Kirin. “I bet I can still use the ritual and compel your stone to give up its nourishment.”

Perhaps because it had been caught lying, the Kirin grew in stature.

Instantly, its presence filled the tomb.

Before its Demi-God visage, Percy was a slab of fish!

But the motes of Negative mana cascading from the Kirin's side told a different story.

For a minute, boy and Kirin both observed one another.

“Your words hold some weight,” the Kirin’s annoyance rocked the interior of the mausoleum, cascading dust and ash all over. “Yet how soon you forget the reason for your sad state. Did your Fulu not fail when you needed it the most?”

Fulu? Percy searched his brain for the unfamiliar term. Fulu- 'Fu'- those were Taoist talismans, were they not? Did the Kirin think his westernised Spellcraft was a form of sectarian Taoist magic?

“What are you saying?” Percy demanded. “What does my Spellcraft have to do with…”

“The Protection charm which you abused with such liberty,” the Kirin continued. “And your body-transfusion sorcery, do you truly believe they belong to you? That you’re a genius?”

“It was you?!” Percy was an intelligent and perceptive young man.

“Good, thou comprehends," the Kirin gloated. "This one could go on, but one tires of unprofitable word-games. As thy ancestor had broken his compact to this one, so now one demands reparation from his descendant.”

Though his instinct told him to leap out the door and into the abyss, Percy remained in front of the Kirin. Did this mean that he had been chosen? Was he elected for some higher purpose? What of his sister? Did she not meet the ancestors?

“What did the progenitor promise you?” Percy carefully enquired.

“Servitude, then freedom.” The Kirin loomed over him with the oppressiveness of a tombstone. “But then an imbecile split my heart stone in two, negating the possibility of this one's eventual emancipation!”

Grandfather Guo! Percy blinked.

Holy Kirin shit, no fucking way!

His Grandfather had split the family amulet in twain to give both Jun and Hai a chance, breaking the Song's tradition of having ‘one’ true heir.

“Lord Kirin, what is your desire?” Percy kept his voice level and steady, hiding his excitement.

“The other half of this one's heart-stone.”

“...” Percy's silence refuted the Kirin’s claim. There was no way he could do anything to uncle Jun, nor did he want to.

“This one does not make demands without commensuration,” the Kirin continued. “Within this one's wisdom lies the knowledge of your ancestors, two hundred generations of them, each a Master in their own right. Even in the parlance of thy ineffective Fulu, this one can trivialise all obstacles in the heir's cultivation!”

"Your meaning?"

"This heir would be a Master in no more than a decade!"

Though the Kirin spoke of his ascension, for some reason, all Percy could think of was Gwen returning victorious from the IIUC. In three years, it would be his turn. He would join the IIUC, and there, he would supersede Gwen's accomplishments! His future would be incandescent!

But still, he didn't trust the creature at all.

“No,” Percy swallowed his desire. Too much ambition was a dangerous thing. “No deal. I am not harming my family.”

“FOOL!” the Kirin roared. “Dost thou believe that this one demands the lives of thy living kin?!”

“Then…”

“As heir, the other half of the Amulet will return to thee, one day,” the Kirin explained. “Be it naturally, or via conspiracy, that is not for this one to enact nor say. This one is an immortal being. What is half-a-century when this one has waited for over a millennium? This one desires a deal - that within thy natural lifespan, thou shall join the two halves of this one's heart stone and free one from servitude.”

"And in return?"

"This one shall aid in thy training; thou shall be as heaven to the mundane earth."

Percy mulled the Kirin’s clarified offer.

The damn thing was desperate, but they both had their backs against the wall. Without the Kirin’s tacit support, his new found talents would come to an abrupt end, his future training all the more arduous. Instead of catching up to his sister, he would be swimming upstream against the current. The Duelling Team, his university placement, being his sister's equal, they would all have to be forfeited.

As for the cost of the Kirin’s offer?

The Song’s would lose their Amulet, presumably.

But by the time he was an old Magister on his deathbed, who would be left?

Guo and Klavdiya would be long gone.

Hai and Jun, most assuredly.

And Gwen?

He somehow doubted someone who could manifest a pseudo-Kirin at seventeen would be hankering for a training crutch. Though Gwen could benefit from the Amulet, her need wasn't dire. Simply put, she couldn't pass on the family name, her training was already leagues ahead of Percy's, and she was in no shortage of Crystals nor Spirit.

Percy's final concern was for his future scions, though as a teenager himself, he couldn't conceive of such a thing. Even his grandfather's obsession with the House of Song was but a parcel to his ascension.

“Once free, wouldn’t you run amok?” he demanded of the beast. Probing its offer for weaknesses.

“If thou cannot best this one even during the infancy of one's rebirth.”The Kirin’s expression grew twisted as a tendril stroked its chin. “Perhaps the cultivator should give up his Dao before he hurts himself.”

Fucking dick-mouth, Percy snorted internally, deriding the Kirin's fleshy, prehensile whiskers. His gut feeling told him that the damn thing would absolutely not go peacefully. But then again, who said Percy would hold his end intact? His ancestor was a perfect example, wasn’t he? In time, with power, research, another century of advancement in Spellcraft, he may very well end up with a Kirin for a mount!

“And you would accelerate, rather than delay my Spell- Cultivation?” Percy reiterated.

“Thy ascension shall be celestial.” The Kirin's whiskers oozed a strangely thick, black liquid.

In the light of the tomb, the Kirin's appearance was positively demonic.

Wait-a-second, what if this was all just a dream? Percy reminded himself. He was taking a lucid fantasy far too seriously. So long as he had control over himself, over his mind, and so long as he had his sister to give up a helping hand, what need he fear? Why, if he told Gwen-

“Thou shall keep this one's contract in confidence,” the Kirin’s burning orbs narrowed. “Else do not blame this one if thy Fulu fails at a most desperate hour.”

“What, and lose you the only means of your freedom?” Percy fired back.

“… the descendants of the Song are crafty,” the Kirin grumbled. "If this heir is unwilling, this one does not mind if one is returned to his superior Kin."

"Kin?" Percy's spine turned to ice. "What Kin?"

"One's Sister." The Kirin's visage grew cruel and haughty; its maw dribbled with dark malice. "She and this one could be happy together."

The fucking nerve of the damned mongrel! Percy's expression grew instantly dark.

"Listen well." He strode toward the beast, his body suddenly alive with vigour. "You and I are in the same fucking boat. Do you understand, ya MUTT? I am your best hope. Gwen will eat you up; you won't even have a whisker left."

"The heir is willing then?"

With a dire vehemence, Percy caught one of the Kirin's whiskers with a terrific grip, feeling a dull heat singe the skin on his hand.

"Yes, I am willing!"

The bond between them, the connection previously engendered through the ritual, grew immeasurably more intimate. Percy felt lifted into the air as the haze entered his body, filling every pore with its strange Astral energy.

"You fuck me over, mutt," Gwen's brother growled with a fury he didn't know he had possessed. "And I'll make sure you'll be living in limbo for all of eternity."

There was a pause.

"Then one... obeys." The Kirin bowed. "So long the heir keeps one... fed."

In the material world, where Percy's body floated over a bed of air, a warning glyph flared. A night nurse rushed into the room to check the patient's vitals, only to find that all was well. After she triple-checked the Biomancy array, she wrote it off as an error, then resumed her patrol.

Meanwhile, hidden under Percy's bandages, the Kirin-Stone Amulet turned the colour of jet.

Jun shot awake, covered in a snail-sheen of cold sweat.

“You were murmuring something.” Ayxin sat by the bedstead, her eyes casting a gentle glow over the hotel room. “Bad dream?”

“... Do you always watch me sleep?” Jun remarked, unnerved by the sight of Dragon-kin looming over his once sleeping form. He reminded himself that Ayxin was, despite the perfection of her current guise, an apex predator.

“My kind rarely sleeps outside of our domain, so yes.” Ayxin’s eyes swept over her lover’s body. She could sense the rushing of his blood, the air in his lungs, the Ash in his mana conduits, and the thrumming Essences of Magical Creatures stowed within the amulet around Jun's neck. Now that her man was awake, what had once been a tranquil balance of the metaphysical was now thrown into disarray. “What’s wrong? Why did you rise?”

Jun touched a hand to his pendant.

“Nothing. Just a bad feeling.” He circulated a mote of mana into the heirloom device, failing to find any irregularity.

Ayxin slipped back onto the bed, serpentine in the manner her waist arched and her limbs folded around Jun’s torso. She pressed her palms against his chest, then circulated her Essence into her lover’s body, probing Jun’s conduits for symptoms of damage or distress.

“I sense nothing.” She laid a pale cheek against his neck. “You’re fine.”

Jun took her hand in his own, his other hand resting on her thighs.

“If we were on the Mount, I could use the Scrying Pool,” Ayxin advised. “Maybe it’s that niece of yours again. According to my father, her time of peace should be ending very soon.”

“I'd imagine that being the case.” Jun wetted his dry lips. “No one ever said the IUCC would be safe.”

“There is no need to fret.” The corner of Ayxin’s mouth formed into a curl. “Father promised her that Golos would be there thrice. She’ll be fine.”

Jun wanted to say the Yinglong's involvement made it worse, though he knew Axyin was right. There was nothing he could do, not to mention Gwen was more than capable of taking care of herself. Relaxing his shoulders, Jun guiltily kissed the Dragon-kin's delicate fingers. With Ayxin's white-jade figure lounged against his chest, Jun couldn’t help but feel that he had betrayed something of the life he had lived, tempering his craft like an esoteric Daoshi, waist-deep in Undead.

“Hahaha,” Ayxin’s laughter was accompanied by daring fingers.

Jun looked down.

“You did that on purpose!” He couldn’t help but taunt his insatiable lover.

Once Ayxin had gotten past her prudish pride, it was as though a dam had broken. As for Jun, his usual apathy to delights of the flesh was swept away by the supply of draconic-vigour supplied by Axyin. The first time they had finally gotten down to business, the double-king frame snapped under the vigour of what Gwen had sulkily dubbed the horizontal fandango, attracting a mid-night apology from the management of the Pudong Ritz-Carlton.

“Privacy Mode,” Jun commanded the room.

The double-drape curtains, enchanted to block Divination, closed of their own volition. The first time Ayxin had invited him to enjoy the view, he had remarked with a throbbing vein a very terrible observance.

On his right was the looming form of the Pearl of the Orient, A.K.A the Pudong Tower, looming only five blocks away and close enough that he could see the Mages working late into the evening.

On his left, some six kilometres away, was the CCP Super-Structural Tower, looming at half the height of the Ritz-Carlton but covering a dozen-times the ground space, one of its Towers pointed right toward him.

Was it a coincidence that the presidential suite just happened to be wedged between the two Towers, within strategic-Scry range?

Ayxin pushed him against the bedframe.

He was a patriot, Jun grumbled. But he wasn't THAT patriotic.

Eric Walken took a sip from his bone china cup, closed his eyes to savour the taste, then gingerly rested it against the porcelain saucer with a crisp clink.

“Did you manage to keep your head?”

“Mmm,” Gwen murmured over sips of Royal Earl Grey.

“You lie better when you're angry.”

Ignoring her opponent's smug superiority, Gwen instead allowed the scent of Wildland cornflower and bergamot to enliven her tastebuds. It was Walken's shout; according to him, she should be glad because there was only so much tea left from the pre-colonial days.

“So?”

“So what?”

“What’s your plan?” The Magister indicated to the table, or perhaps he was referring to herself. "Go on; help yourself."

To return the favour for her sponge cake, Walken bought tea and scones with fresh cream and homemade jam. When she marvelled at the spectacle of a Magister making strawberry conserve, Walken expressed that thanks to a diluted aristocratic lineage, his mother had possessed a deft hand at crafting artisanal preserves of all kinds, a trade he had inherited after her passing. In fact, within his storage ring, he had no less than fifty jars in fourteen flavours, each a unique product of his physical labour.

Cautious but curious over Walken's boastful narrative-laden conserve, Gwen halved a warm scone with her butter knife in readiness.

“To answer your question, I am going to pay the Yang family a visit this evening,” Gwen informed her Instructor. “Grandfather wants a public apology.”

“That's what he wants. What about you? What do you want?”

“A good grovelling would be a good start.” Gwen applied the jam liberally. The cream was a little runny, so she dipped her conserve-covered morsel instead.

Walken watched as the girl bit off a tad more than she could chew, cramming the rest into her mouth before the jam and cream dribbled on her dress.

How was it that this scone-eating glutton had cornered him? Walken reflected as he passed her a serviette. He suspected that not even Kilroy would have believed his Apprentice of attaining such heights of larceny.

The girl dabbed the cream from her mouth, then gave her lips a once over with her tongue. Having tasted its sweetness, she eyed the rest of the marmalade hungrily.

“Eye for an eye,” the girl answered, crumbling a second scone. “Surely that’s not asking for too much.”

“That's not what you told me earlier.”

“No,” she grumbled. “The family’s protected by some Saving Private Ryan bullshit.”

“Saving who?” Walken raised a brow.

“Some guy called Ryan,” Gwen explained, feeling generous. “Lost a whole bunch of brothers, so he’s the last Mage standing in his House. Tower says maybe this family should have at least one child surviving after giving so much to the Frontier, so they send in a Hero Magus trying to extract the boy from the Front. Hero leads a party into the heart of the war, losing guys left and right until he finally finds junior Ryan. The problem is, Junior Ryan refuses to leave his mates, so Hero stays and fights, ultimately dying so that Junior Ryan could return home. That's who this Alain Yang is, the last man, and he thinks he’s bloody invincible because anyone who kicks his ass would be bullying a venerable old House filled with widows.”

“That’s… quite the story.” Walken racked his brain, bemused that the girl was telling the truth. “Yet, I don't believe I’ve never heard of this.”

“Master told me the story.” Gwen cloaked her uneasy deception with a scone. "Mmmmph... maybe a different war? Somewhere in Europe?"

“Right…” Walken studied her face. “But you know, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Do you now? Then tell me. What type of revenge have you planned? What are you after? Despoilment? Leverage? Control?”

“There are types of revenge?!”

“Revenge should never just involve brutalising your opponents.” Walken raised a finger. “It shouldn’t be immediate either. Before one takes on the role of an Avenger, one’s purpose must be made explicit. Needless vengeance brings nought but suffering; retribution should accompany restitution."

Does Walken think he's Titus Andronicus? Gwen ruminated upon the buttery dough. I am not fomenting a blooding Roman tragedy here!

“I just want an apology,” she explained carefully. “I don’t see why they would refuse. My ire carries some weight these days; I'd imagine.”

“How optimistic.” Walken chortled.

“Why, do you have something to add, Eric?”

“Gwen.” Eric Walken formed the tips of his fingers into a triangle just under his chin. “Care for some advice from someone who has survived three decades of intrigue? I promise to satisfy.”

"You talk big."

"I never just talk."

Gwen considered her Instructor's confidence. Walken reminded her of a manager waiting to show her a project proposal.

"If this goes pear-shaped, I want ten flavours of conserve as compensation."

"Deal." Walken winced, touching a finger to his Storage Ring. "Consider this a trial for the wisdom I shall dispense in the IIUC to come."

“Well then.” Gwen inspected her piece of cake. “What did you have in mind?”

“Master Alain has taken ill and is not taking guests,” a pale and shuddering servant informed her stone-faced guest, cowering before her towering visage.

Almost disbelieving her ears, Gwen turned toward her guide, the affable Mei, who stood red as a beetroot beside the giantess.

“Tell Alain he has five minutes to present himself and make his case in person.” Gwen reiterated her demand, dispensing with the politeness. “Or else he can stay cooped up in there for the rest of his natural life.”

“Yi, tell Alain to get out here!” Mei hissed beside Gwen. “This isn’t a joking matter! Where is Aunty Vivian?”

The servant quickly scurried away.

Sweating profusely, Mei invited Gwen to sit with her in the main living room while they waited.

Visibly fuming, Mei's guest settled into a tub-chair with her back arched and her legs crossed, her simmering furore just shy of its boiling point. Beside her, Gwen’s host remarked the way her senior seemed to fill up the spacious living room effortlessly, her worshipful orbs studying every inch of Gwen’s smouldering visage.

Gazing into the middle-distance, Gwen thought back on Walken’s divined foresight.

Though not explicit on details, Walken had correctly described the core strategy the Yangs would employ: to delay and hope Gwen would go away.

That Gwen herself had miscalculated Alain Yang's resolve was also infuriating. After all, just for the occasion, she had prepared a battle-garb.

Considering the information at hand, she had hoped that a first-impression foot-in-door approach would suffice. To that end, she attired herself to appear bold and resolute. From the feet-up, she had equipped a pair of four-inch black stilettos with stockings in sable, paired with a high-waisted plaid skirt, finished with a charcoal collared blouse and a white-ribbon tie. Additional auxiliary arnaments included straightened hair, bold eye-liners and a matt lipstick with a palette called ruby-revenge.

But for all her imposing impressiveness, she struck a wall the moment she requested Alain's presence.

Beside her, Mei's head lowered apologetically.

“Please accept my apologies, Senior. Mother is away on assignment, and Aunty Vivian has run of the house, if you don’t mind waiting just a day or two, I am sure we will have a satisfactory answer for you.”

“Mei.” Gwen reached over with a finger and lifted her chin. “This isn’t your fault. I don’t even want to harm Alain. I want a public apology for my brother.”

“I know that.” Mei glanced in the general direction of the west wing courtyard. The Yang estate had a setup just like the Songs, consisting of four quadrants. Mei's family lived in the east wing while the branch family lived in the west. The south held rooms for the servants, including the main kitchen, and the north consisted of a communal area connecting to the central feature-garden. When neither Alain nor a servant with tea emerged after five minutes, Mei keened for the future of her House.

“Take a seat,” Gwen implored her host. “I am a patient woman. Why don’t we talk about something, Percy said that you wanted to see me?”

“I did, Ma'am!” Mei flushed. "I am sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

"No worries," Gwen assured her. "So, what do you want to know?"

For the next ten minutes, Mei fired off a barrage of inquiries.

What was it like in Fudan?

When do the courses start each year?

How competitive were the students?

Who were her Instructors?

Why did she pick Fudan over Jiantong?

Gwen meanwhile, engaged in counter-intelligence, affirming that Mei's mother worked as a low-level Secretary for an outer District west of Shanghai's CBD. It would appear that other than their Matriarch, the rest of the family lived on a collection of government subsidy and widows' pensions. It was why Alain's mother, an only child enjoying the rare support of her family, positioned herself as an economic cornerstone within the surviving Yang household.

“Can… can I see your Void Magic?” Mei pleaded, her eyes glimmering with desire. “Does it consume everything as they say?”

Not adverse to humouring the girl, Gwen performed a little experiment with a tea-cup, handing over to Mei half a glass perfectly sliced in two.

“Mao!” Mei thumbed the half-consumed vessel as though she had uncovered an unearthly treasure.

“Would you like to see Ariel?”

“CAN I?”

“Of course,” Gwen addressed Mei with a friendly smile. She felt a motherly affection for the girl - though arguably, their shared Lightning Element was likely the culprit. “Ariel!”

“EE! EE!”

Ariel appeared on the plush carpet, poised and handsome, its mane moved by an unseen breeze, a star in its very own dog-food commercial.

“Oh, ancestors.” Mei trembled with excitement. “Can… can I feed it?”

“Of course,” Gwen directed Ariel to play nice with Mei. “Take your time.”

It took all but a few minutes to lure out the rest of the household.

“IS THAT A KIRIN?”

“Leilei! There’s a KIRIN HERE!”

“AEEEE!”

“Lingzi greets Senior Song.”

“Leilei greets Senior Song.”

“Yaozi greets Senior Song.”

“Hello, girls,” Gwen greeted Mei’s relatives.

Embarrassed by their lack of manners, Mei introduced her family members. Lingzi and Leilei were her younger sisters, while Yaozi was her cousin.

“Ah-Hui, Ah-Jia, come look, a real Kirin!”

An older woman in her thirties joined the gaggle of giggling girls.

“Greetings Ma’am.” Gwen rose from her seat.

“Don’t mind us, Miss Song.” Mei’s youngest aunty flanked the fray, unable to resist Ariel’s allure. “It’s we who should be apologising.”

Servants as well, came from the other sections of the house to witness the fabled Kirin of Fudan, powerless to constrain their curiosity. By Gwen's count, there were almost twenty individuals in the central courtyard, all of which were women.

Good God, her cheeks twitched, wondering if anyone had ever been hen-pecked to death in a place like this.

As more women emerged, a picture began to paint itself.

Why was it that Alain Yang refused to present himself for a scalding?

Why did the Yangs fear no retribution from a family like the Songs?

Where did the boy get his confidence?

The answer was right here.

The noble and distinguished Yangs had been reduced to a house of women;

ones who lived in an ivory palace, protected by reputation and sympathy.

And Alain? The boy grew up in such a place! How suffocatingly must he be doted upon, the vehicle of the lineage's bloodline talent, knowing that only he could carry on the name ‘Yang’?

“Mrs Yang,” Gwen accosted the aunty. “Are you able to speak for-”

“No, I am afraid.” The woman gave her a wane expression of helplessness, already regretting not recusing herself. “But I will ask my late cousin's wife to come and speak to you.”

“That would be great. Thank you.” Gwen breathed out, watching the woman saunter away.

“Eeee! EE!”

“So cute!”

“Adorable!”

“I am in love!”

“Feel its fur!”

Gwen almost felt guilty watching the guileless women gang-petting Ariel, drunk on fonts of oxytocin.

After a while, the aunty returned with a servant.

"This is Ah-Bān," The aunty's face was a cloud of harried displeasure. It wasn't hard to imagine the tongue lashing she'd just received. "Vivian says to take him and... excuse yourself."

Ah-Bān immediately collapsed to his knees, touching his head to the ground.

"It is Ah-Bān's fault that Young Master Song was wounded." Ah-Bān grovelled. "Please punish Ah-Bān."

That they sent out a servant to be vilified incensed Gwen considerably, though her feeling of the moment was a crushing sympathy for the pitiful attendant. To Gwen, punishing Ah-Bān was no different than shooting an irresponsible owner's dog for biting her kin. The guard dog was doing its job; why should it be punished for loyalty? A single word from Alain would have tethered Ah-Bān to the ground, harmless as a statue.

"Ah-Bān." Gwen's stiletto was an inch from the grovelling servant's face. "You don't have to apologise for Alain, and I won't accept your apology."

"Please, it's Ah-Bān's fault!" The simple man begged.

"No, as I said..."

"Please punish this Ah-Bān for his transgression!"

To her surprise and mild disgust, the man touched his forehead to the tip of her shoe.

An arc of electricity zinged from the metal plate holding up her four-inch heel.

"Ah-Bān! Get up!" She slipped a sliver of Dragon-fear into her voice.

As though bitten in the ass by a Mongolian Death Worm, Ah-Bān stood.

"Miss, please punish-"

"Ah-Bān, shut up," Gwen growled. "Have some respect for yourself man! You're a human being! Not a masochistic dog!"

The man slowly raised his head. He'd thought himself tall, but this Mistress Song was taller still by an inch.

"You stay here and don't move," Gwen gave the man an order before turning to Mei's younger relatives. "So, this Aunty Vivian of yours: is she a naked Mole-rat or what? In what stratum, under what subterranean depth is she hiding?"

Lingzi, Leilei, and Yaozi all burst into laughter.

"Eeee! Eeee!" Ariel joined in as well.

"What's a naked mole-rat?" Mei asked, fighting her impolite mirth.

"A hairless rat, ugly as sin, looks like a wet bag of pink skin. It's got a nose like a star, with five little fingers it uses for digging - look, I'll show you. Minor Image!"

Horrible at anything other than graphical data, Gwen conjured an abstract testicle.

"Haaa! Haahaa!"

"Haaa! Oh, Mao!"

"I can see Aunty as a naked Mole-rat for sure."

“ARE YOU QUITE DONE YET? MISS SONG?”

Finally! Gwen breathed out.

The voice that next emerged from the west wing filled the air space like a raid-siren. Like Helena Huang, Vivian Yang possessed the sort of banshee timbre that assailed one's eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, a decibel away from decimating wineglass.

The crowd parted to reveal who could only be Alain’s mother, a hellcat of a woman with a scrunched face, her hair piled in a manner that screamed 'I demand to see your manager'.

Unbowed, Gwen straightened herself, meeting the woman halfway. When they finally stood toe to toe, Gwen was almost a head taller, awarding her a clear physical vantage.

“My Alain will not be bullied by the likes of you!”

Gwen could feel the elemental Fire radiating from Vivian's body like the glow from a roaring furnace.

“You think your family can threaten us? Just you try! Let’s see how the PLA likes it when the Yang family's trodden on, huh?!”

The woman wasn’t uncomely, though Gwen noted she was extremely annoying.

“Miss Vivi-”

“YOUR BROTHER~!” Alain’s mother continued, her chest enormous and heaving, threatening to body-check Gwen's less endowed attributes. “Is a little white-faced soft-rice eater!”

Gwen blinked. What the hell is a soft-rice eater? Did the woman mean porridge? Beside her, Mei’s face turned the colour of liver even as her sisters giggled and snickered.

Like a Tiger Shark sensing blood, Vivian Yang fell upon Mei.

“YOU LITTLE STRUMPET!” Vivian barked, her face a mask of indignant horror, as though she'd caught Mei looking for Li's at Nanjing Road. “I wonder, are you still a virgin? If not, Alain will take one of your sisters. How do you like that?!”

“Ewww!”

“I don’t want to! Alain's ugly!”

The sisters immediately burst into protest.

“Now, now.” Gwen put up a hand to interrupt aunt Vivian's rebuttal. “Let’s keep this civ-”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” the woman snapped at her, almost biting her fingers. “Who do you think you are?!”

“Aunty Vivian…” Mei pleaded.

“You shut your whore mouth!” Vivian Yang howled the girl into submission. “Wait until your mother gets home; the things I am going to tell her! To think she’s working herself to the bone at the government office, keeping you girls at some of the best schools in Shanghai, and all she’s getting in return is ungrateful children who…”

Gwen locked out the female equivalent of white noise.

She hated to admit it, but Walken had been right on the marmalade.

A contingency plan made controlling one’s temper far easier.

"Caliban!" she silently commanded her other Familiar. "It's time."

Caliban stirred.

It had waited, invisible, on the roof for so long that its grey-drool had encrusted into crispy snail-trails against the seams of its carapace.

“!”

An order came from its Master.

Void-tinged slime oozed from between its reticulated chitin.

With a barely audible plop, it landed in the bedroom of the one who had attracted the ire of its Mistress.

Alain Yang stared forlornly at his abused visage in the mirror.

His handsome mien was ruined, destroyed, despoiled by the hated Percy Song. First, the bastard stole his Mei mēimēi, and now the er-bī had ravaged his good looks!

Apologise? No way.

He would rather die twice over than to cower in front of Percy Song, watching the young man’s self-righteous mug twist in satisfaction.

How could they fault him? Be it the House of Yang, or Mei, they all belonged to him, and he would go to any length to ensure that it stayed that way.

“Hmmph!”

Now that Alain thought of it, wouldn't the greatest pleasure be to deny Percy Song his love of Mei? The only reason Alain had felt so strongly about Percy's friendship with Mei was the fact that Percy wanted what belonged to him.

Alain rechecked his reflection.

A part of his scalp, about two fistfuls of hair, was removed entirely, leaving a bald-patch that the Medical-Mages said may never recover naturally. When he protested, they informed his mother that nothing short of a minimum tier 5 Regenerate would be enough to re-grow the boy's decimated follicles.

But the House of Yang didn’t have the clout to spare for such a thing. A civilian-tier Regenerate scroll wasn't rare, but it was classified and subject to supply-constraint. Conversely, A military-issue Spell Scroll was too difficult to acquire without the necessary connections.

Angrily, Alain glared at his appearance, growing more upset with every moment. Just now, after his mother’s youngest sister came, his mother had sent out Ah-Bān as an offering of peace. Having grown up with Ah-Bān, Alain had been unwilling - though he knew better than to try to rebuke his mother. After all, it was Ah-Bān who had launched Percy into the street, an act which Alain had awarded 10 HDMs.

But as expected, Ah-Bān wasn't enough.

After the whole courtyard erupted into laughter, his mother could take it no longer and went to deal with Gwen Song herself. Even now, he could hear her banshee screeches going off at full tilt at Percy’s sister.

Alain smirked.

His mother was a Mao-damned force of nature, but when she could steer her destructive potential toward outside forces, the woman was without equal.

“Let's see how you like her banshee wail…” he chuckled to himself.

‘Plop!’

A strange sound resonated through the space of his spacious bedroom.

Alain turned.

“Hello?” he said to the room. Perhaps it was one of the other servants, Yi maybe.

His eyes floated over the unmolested details of his bed, his bannister, his table, his chest-of-drawers.

‘Tsssss!’ Something sizzled.

Alain looked down.

A drop of some strange liquid had fallen between his legs and was now eating a hole through the chair.

Reflexively, he looked up.

"!"

A sensation of sudden vertigo slammed into his brain as Alain fought to keep his eyes peeled.

The hellish visage that emerged consisted of an open maw, fully a meter-wide, pink and lined with razor-sharp teeth, from within which two tentacles writhed as though pregnant with slithering horrors.

Petrified, Alain's helpless eyeballs followed the contour of the beast until they took in the creature's visage in its entirety. From above, limbs that were spindly and spider-like, akin to rapiers, long, thin and obsidian, trapped him as though a bone cage had descended overhead.

“SHAAAAAA!”

A splatter of grey-goo fell on his face.

“ARRRRRGH! ARRRRGH! ARRRRGH!!!”

His handsome face was forfeit!

Though the gloop was merely cold and clammy, all Alain could do was scream. In an instant, the boy became a marionette of whatever natural impulse his failing biology chose to impose upon its terrified flesh. First, he pissed himself; then after a moment, as though his large intestines were trying to flee his trembling, paralysed form, Alain fertilised his underpants.

“SHAAAA! SHAAAA! SHAAAA!” the creature matched his screeching, bar for off-tune bar.

Caught in the odious-throes of his noxious expulsions, Alain vomited, kneeling over until he was curled into a ball, hugging his shit-stained knees to his chest, his eyes spinning in their sockets.

‘Click!’ A door opened.

“Master! Are you alright?!” A girl-servant who attended Alain’s needs from outside the bedroom pushed into the room. Like the others, she had been distracted by the commotion caused by the Kirin and hadn’t noticed her Master’s cries until they grew loud enough to penetrate the sound-warded walls.

“AEEEEYAAA!” She burst into a terrific clamour. Her Master was rolling in a puddle of his own sick and excreta!

As more details filled her vision, her heart sank; at this moment, she hated the young man so much it was difficult to put her agony into words. Was this - was this a new way to abuse her? Was it because she laughed at his hair?!

Gwen returned her consciousness to the present once Caliban was safely tucked away in its pocket dimension.

“You white-eyed wolf! How could you invite the sister of that soft-rice eating whore-son into our home…”

Jesus Christ, Gwen took a breather to gather her wits. How is it that the woman was still going? Vivian Yang's capacity for inventive abuse was expert enough to attract an hourly rate.

“ENOUGH!” she snapped back, her Essence-infused command cracking the air like a super-sonic bullwhip. A wave of Dragon-Fear radiated out from where Gwen stood, paralleled by twin-circles of electric blue illuminating the amber of her eyes so that her irises grew viridescent. “Another word out of you, and I am leaving. And once I leave, I am not coming back.”

“THEN LEAVE!” Alain’s mother grew triumphant. Her face full of self-exaltation as her Fire-Affinity fought off the paralysis imbued by Gwen’s projected prescence.

"Very well." Gwen turned to Mei. "I will say my piece, then go."

"Gwen-"

“Mei.” She took the girl’s hands. “If you do not want to marry this woman’s 'whore-son', you just let me know. If you're willing to trust me, I can assure you beyond any doubt that NOTHING can compel you into an unhappy marriage.”

“HOW DARE-”

Gwen glared at the woman. This time, she focused her Essence.

Alain’s mother choked as though taken by the throat.

Mei shuddered as Gwen continued.

“Regardless of your relationship with Percy, know that I am offering you not only my protection - but also my Grandfather’s as well. If need be, even the Nantong Fungs will give you and your mother a helping hand.”

“Thank you.” Mei swallowed. “I…”

“No need.” Gwen hugged Mei close to her chest to hide a pang of oppressive self-loathing at having to play out Walken's advise. “If your mother is keen to move to a better Secretarial Department, she can speak to my grandfather. He’ll put in the right word with the right people.”

“Senior Song!”

“Miss Gwen!”

“Thank you, Sis!”

Mei’s relatives gushed with adoration, swept off their feet by Gwen's unexpected generosity.

To think that the Worm Handler had come for retribution, only to deliver salvation! What a good person she was! How rare and precious!

“As for you.” Gwen turned to the dumbfounded mother of Alain. “Pray that we do not meet again.”

“Mei!” Gwen extended a hand to Mei.

“Yes, Sister!”

“My coat.”

“Right here!”

Gwen slipped into her jacket, assisted by her fellow Lightning sorceress.

“Ariel!”

Her Kirin followed overhead.

Like a queen in the finale of a film, she strode from the central courtyard on clicking heels, cutting a dashing and unforgettable picture through the door - beyond which a chauffeur Gwen had earlier requisitioned from Mina awaited. Key to the ploy, Walken explained, was to get the hell out so that the ball was firmly left in her opponent's court.

‘Thunk!’

The door slammed.

With a final wave at Mei, Gwen was away.

Vivian Yang was the first to recover.

“Mei!” Alain's mother immediately caught the object of her ire. By now she had realised that the girl had left a world of troubles at her doorstep. If Mei's mother was to move to an actual department with influence and power, there was no way she could pressure Mei or her sisters into marrying Alain. Moreso, if word of the generosity of the Songs spread, there would be mounting pressure for Alain to apologise. “You’re in for a world of-”

“MILADY!” A servant rushed into the courtyard.

“WHAT IS IT?” the wannabe Matriarch barked at the servant.

“It’s Master Alain!”

“What is it?”

“Master Alain… h- he’s…”

“Out with it!”

“Master’s Alain’s not himself! He's shat himself!”

It took another week for Percy to return to school.

Meanwhile, the public news was that Alain Yang had taken seriously ill and that the boy would be taking the rest of the term off to recuperate. Naturally, rumours were cultivated, then flew circles around the campus.

Some said that Alain’s condition was a result of his House’s inter-factional drama. Others alluded to the strange co-incidence that Percy’s sister had visited the Clan of Yang.

A few well-connected informants remarked that after Biomancers had performed examinations on the young Alain, they found no injury nor signs of magic used on the boy. As for Gwen, she had been with the family the entire time, going as far as to take Vivian Yang’s abuse for a good ten minutes before she lost her temper and left in a huff.

Later in the week, new rumours surfaced.

Gwen's culpability was further 'refuted' by Mei herself, who proudly informed the others of the fact that Secretary Song had recommended Mei’s mother for an escalated promotion. In one bound, she moved from the relatively impoverished District of Zhejiang to the Central Administrative Region of Shanghai proper.

The student cohort took note, as did the teachers. The incident impressed upon the minds of the busy students that the House of Song had repaid insult with unbridled generosity. That and no one wishing to keep their pants unsoiled should mess with Percy Song.

But Percy's school life was no longer Gwen’s concern.

Percy’s sister was now neck-deep in training, paddling through her mid-semester practicals and Tonglv paperwork, riding her Essence like a bucking dragon as April approached, bringing with it the pre-selection round for the IIUC.

Buoyed by their mutual understanding, Walken took up the majority of Gwen’s training, working to push her toward her best condition.

When Week 8 came to a close, Gwen paid another one of her bi-weekly visits to Magister Wen, whose stoic undertaking of harvesting Void-Matter continued unabated. This time, for Wen's biometric update, an unwelcome guest in the form of a cocky Englishman overlooked her shoulder.

Once all the measures were done, Walken, babulya, Wen, and Petra all sat together looking over Gwen's records.

Annoyed with the stickybeaks over her shoulder, Wen read out the numbers aloud one by one.

“Evocation 5.01.”

“Conjuration 5.74.”

“Transmutation 3.25.”

“Abjuration 2.44.”

“Divination 1.65.”

“Illusion 2.25.”

“St Peter's ghost.” Petra sucked in a breath of cold air. “Your Conjuration growth is absurd! Every tier of Affinity is exponentially more difficult."

"You haven’t been snacking, have you?” Wen remarked suspiciously. Even Petra, with all her practice and research, focusing solely on Enchantment, just edged past tier 6.

Gwen's expression grew instantly sour - were effort and hard work that hard to believe?

“Why the surprise?” Walken placed himself between his student and her critic. “She practices with hyper-tier magic, and she has two Familiars conjured most times of the day. Her expenditure on a good day of practice exceeds 800 VMI, over five times an average acolyte of her age. Perhaps the question should be why her Conjuration isn't higher.”

The two Magisters exchanged a chilly back and forth.

“Doing unusually well with Transmutation as well,” Wen continued, tapping the paper. “Care to explain?”

“Flight tutorials,” Gwen declared her extra-curricular activities. Thanks to a suite of body-enhancements, she was growing accustomed to the G-force exerted by the drops, loops, and sudden accelerations required for dog-fighting, though she had years of catching up to reach Alesia's state of absolute ease, likewise lacking Kitty's natural talent. For now, aerial Void and Lightning Bolt were at a passing rate, while higher-tier magic required momentary immobilisation.

Her other first-world regret was the disuniform flight capacity of her creatures. The entire time Ariel dog-paddled beside her effortlessly, she had fantasised about Caliban flying alongside. Capturing a Magical Beast capable of Flight, however, would have to wait until her next opportunistic adventure. Likewise, if there were ways to get her Draconic-deerhounds aloft, it would revolutionise her tactics.

“And your VMI…” Walken read on, ignoring his counterpart. When he got to Gwen's metrics, he couldn't help but take a moment to process what he was seeing. "Marie, is that reading accurate?”

“It’s correct, Magister Walken.” Magister Wen cleared her throat. "And its Marie-Roslyn, you may call me by my title."

“Of course, Marie-Roslyn,” Walken thought out aloud. Seeing Gwen's statistics, he couldn't help but be reminded of his fight with Sobel. “Looking at Gwen, one wonders what Elizabeth Sobel could measure. When we fought, she certainly suffered no shortage of mana nor vitality. The woman was a veritable engine of Void-infused destruction.”

“A high Affinity with a VMI over a two or three thousand ought to do it,” Wen observed with displeasure. “I read your report of the Sydney incident. Volumetrically, the Conjure Elemental she deployed would have consumed just over a thousand VMI.”

"Mmm... yes, her coverage was certainly... impressive," Walken noted.

"I hope you mean monstrous." Gwen's grandmother raised both brows. "I worry for Gwen if that woman's her enemy."

"Shultz and de Botton are Sobel's enemies too," Walken reminded Gwen's babulya. "If I were Sobel, I'd worry about the Morning Star first and foremost."

Beside her Instructors, their student was in a world of her own, thinking about her Void Elementals, recalling what they had done to that herd of Draconic-Stags. Just the memory was enough to make her shiver. That somehow, combined with Caliban, such a thing had brought her the most orgiastic experience of her life - a euphoric encounter arguably better than sex - AND boosted her Lightning Affinity, was most disconcerting.

‘CLAP!’

Walken's hands met in prayer, waking Gwen from her chamber of horrors.

“Well, that’s it!” he announced. “Time to send our baby chick into the world and see how far she could fly.”

“It’s only April.” Gwen regarded her Instructor with alarm. “The IIUC doesn’t start until August.”

“Nonetheless.” Walken was brimming with confidence. “You and your teammates will have to pass muster. The first few should be without incident, I would think. As for the others, we shall see.”

Gwen nodded. With Petra having declined her invitation, it was down to herself, Richard, Lulan and possibly Kitty. Of the three, it was Lulu who worried her. Though the Sword Mage was a fantastic disrupter, her lack of a Spirit made her uncompetitive when pitted against Mages who could rely on their Spirit to manifest magic, possessing both IFF and the means to divert Lulan’s attacks and attack at the same time. Likewise, while Lulan could use her Spell-flurry to negate bodily damage, her berserker-state required extensive recovery time, mayhap even medical attention.

For this reason, since January, Gwen had asked Mayuree to look out for Earthen Cores with Elemental Spirits, even a minor one, though no suitable specimens had made it through the House of M’s Auction House since the beginning of the semester.

Still, they had until August. If Lulan were to be knocked out, Gwen would lose a vital ally.

“If you are all done, I am returning to my laboratory.” Petra's teacher appeared not in the mood for socialising.

Considering Wen's research had saved Walken's life, Gwen found it strange that the Magister seemed turned off by Walken. Likely, the astute academic instinctively sensed that Walken was a rotten apple.

"Not staying for lunch?" Gwen's babulya implored.

"Not today, Klavdiya."

“Magister Walken.” Gwen’s babulya extended an open hand. “Will you be joining us? Petra?”

Petra looked to her Master, who gave consent.

“You have until 2 PM.” Wen bowed her head, then left.

“Very well, then.” Walken took Klavdiya's fingers, an act which immediately attracted his student's ire. “Allow me to intrude upon your generosity, Director Song.”

Marong and Mayuree sat opposite the radiant form of Miss Maymyint, eldest daughter and the preeminent heir of the House of M. Of the nine surviving children of the Matriarch’s lineage, Maymyint was the oldest, a true child of the worshipful one’s womb, blessed by the Goddess.

Maymyint was the tallest of the three siblings present, elegant in her silken saffron attire, her auburn hair pulled back and half-covered by a jewel-encrusted shawl. Her face was sharp, bird-like and predatory, beautiful and imposing, as one might feel while observing a Mithril-taloned Harpy-eagle. Her lips, unlike her siblings’, were tight and severe, a red gash across her pale face. Her eyes as well were formed of twin-slits, darkly made up with bold liners to emphasise her grey irises, punctuated by a hooked hawkish nose.

Besides the three, Lei and another young man, Maymyint’s attendant, stood still as a statue, waiting for the slightest need from Miss Maymyint and the siblings.

“The Tyrant has demanded his tribute,” Mayuree’s eldest sister informed her lessers. “And you are of age, Mayuree.”

Marong’s amber eyes narrowed dangerously. A condensed sliver of smoke oozed from his nostrils until it curled about his general vicinity.

Mayuree meanwhile, sat across from Maymyint, pale-faced and loitering, fighting to keep the content of her lunch inside her. Since this morning, she had been suffering a splitting headache; with Gwen so close and all her immediate problems resolved, however, she couldn't figure out why her Divination was screaming blue murder.

Now she knew.

But she did not regret holding off on a self-Scry. A tangent of fate such as this was more likely a result of her interference than one of unmolested probability.

“But I’ve contributed so much to the House!” she protested feebly. “I can’t be the last!”

“You did indeed.” Maymyint ignored Mayuree's agitation. “You are not the last this time. In its growing greed, the Tyrant has requested three girls. The House, on the other hand, needs more time. As you are ranked 5th, you will join Mayindra and Mayshweyi. Still, you may survive yet, you of all people should know.”

“Maymyint,” Marong growled. “That’s not the deal.”

“It is now." Their sister sighed. "Why are you fighting me? I didn't deliver the verdict. Blame the Tyrant."

“We’re not accepting it.”

“Makes no difference to me,” Maymyint scoffed at the Smoke Mage derisively. “The Manipuri Shadowmen will return you to us, one way or another.”

“You forget I was trained in Manipur.” Marong’s form grew hazy.

“And you forget why you are ranked third.” Maymyint untangled herself from meditation, freeing her hands for spellcasting.

“Brother Marong…” Mayuree interjected before things could escalate. Marong was strong, but when it came to combat strength, Maymyint was preeminent. As for Mayuree; she was dead last.

“Mayuree dear.” Maymyint reached across space between them with her claw-like fingers and touched the trembling skin under Mayuree’s fringe. “Do not fret. You were born for this, as was I, as was Marong. Why else would the Goddess bring us into this world?”

“But I don’t want this.” Mayuree recoiled as though Maymyint's fingertips were branding irons.

Born for this?

What kind of life exists to be surrendered?

Was the House of M a luxurious cattle pen?

Since she was a child, Mayuree had heard the stories.

Away from Shanghai, deep in the old country, there slumbered a creature of tooth and nail, scale and tongue, fire and madness, all compressed into a body capable of unimaginable cruelty.

Every so often, once a year or a decade if they're lucky, the Tyrant would demand a tithe. The last tithing had occurred when Mayuree was a child, Magus Maymaruya had spoken of how two of her siblings, twins, had been given up, along with hundreds of others.

As for her self-Scryed vision, her dalliance with taboo...

Mayuree had seen herself, exposed and trembling, waiting for violence to descend. If she were lucky, there'd be gnashing of bloody teeth. If not, her suffering would be unimaginable.

It was in that moment of crisis that she caught the silhouette of a familiar body, accompanied by a visage of viridescent irises.

But Divination wasn't an exact Spellcraft.

What she had seen was a vision, more impression and abstraction than reality and representation. What the revelation foretold was an interjection, not how, when, where or why.

In the comfort of recent events, Mayuree had begun to wonder if Gwen had fulfilled her prophecy.

When the accounts for the Centurion program came in, herself, Marong, and Magus Maymaruya all could only gawk at the surreality of the Short-Loan Credit Program. Via the House of M's new membership initiative, all of their ventures had been tied into what Gwen had called a closed consumer eco-system. Furthermore, inarticulate in the accounting of credit, their competitors had been mired in the mud of bureaucracy.

The company's coffers swelled like a noon-tide. Though Mayuree had no military exploits, no gifts of Spellcraft and no political clout to speak of - she had fattened the family's standing as no fellow sibling had done before.

She was no longer last.

Far from it, she was fifth!

Gwen had saved her life.

It wasn’t at all what Mayuree had expected, but her friend had bought her time. The Centurion program would generate countless crystals yet, vastly more, infinitely more. It was a proverbial money tree.

When the program reached its maturity, would the House have garnered enough HDMs to move a Tower Faction to eradicate the Tyrant? Safe in fifth-place, she could even wait for her friend to ascend.

After all, Mayuree's saviour possessed five Schools of Magic, two Elements, and if age were to be taken into account, her combat potential wildly out-classed their eldest sister, Maymyint.

Moreover, Gwen was the scion of an even greater power! When Gwen stated that she desired a Tower one day, Mayuree was under no doubt that her friend would have her way, that given time, Gwen would bestride the world atop her floating fortress!

Then, and only then, would Mayuree invite Gwen to her ‘home’, below which the Tyrant would cower! Together, they would put the infernal beast down like a rabid dog and harvest its Core so that finally, Myăma would have its due, and the House of M would no longer be the house of Mú, the House of nothing.

That had been Mayuree's plan; until Maymyint appeared.

Had the Tyrant sensed something?

Was she the victim of a conflict within the House itself?

Did someone desire the business that she had built up, wishing to take it for themselves?

Either way, refusing to return home was futile.

As for Gwen, at this moment, Mayuree no longer could confidently say that her friend had yet to fulfil her destiny. If their ties of fate had indeed been satisfied, then she would only invite Gwen to her death. How could she lead a sister into a trap, knowing that an indomitable foe lurked below?

Mayuree lowered her eyes.

She had played herself into a Divination paradox. Knowing that Gwen would save her, she had approached her and messed with their fate. Now that Gwen had saved her once, it was unlikely that her friend could do so again. When one railed against fate, strange things happened. Mayuree was a bloodline Diviner, but she was no Oracle of Delphi.

“You don’t want what?” Maymyint broke into a mocking bout of bitter laughter. “Since when had what we want mattered?”

“Mayuree.” Marong nudged his sister. “Tell Maymyint about Gwen.”

Mayuree gaped in horror.

“No!” she blurted, tongue-tied and panicking. She couldn't do that. To continue her futile struggle would only endanger others.

“What’s this?” Maymyint’s grey eyes scanned over the siblings. “You have a prophecy? Why haven’t you informed the Matriarch?”

“I have…” Mayuree swallowed. “But it’s not important.”

“Mayuree!” Marong chided her. “This is not the time for sentimentality! It's your life! You gave Gwen the Eland Core! You helped her with her lodging! You gave her opportunities at every turn! It’s time you received the help you paid for!”

“Gwen's not a thing I bought!” Mayuree protested. “She’s saved me already! Don’t you see?! Maymyint’s here as punishment for my trespass! You know the rules, a Diviner should never Scry themselves! I interfered needlessly, and how it's all too complicated!”

“This 'Gwen'.” Maymyint licked her lips. “Do you happen to mean Gwen Song? The one who proposed the Centurion program?”

“That’s right,” Marong interjected. "She's fated to save Mayuree, which means she must have a way to deal with the Tyrant."

Mayuree leapt at her brother, but the Smoke Mage’s arm-thick haze was enough to keep the powerless Diviner subdued.

“I know this Gwen. She’s an eater of Dragons: a Void Sorceress. I’ve fought her once, and the stink of the Tyrant radiating from her body was enough to insinuate she made a habit of killing their kind. If it’s her, I don’t doubt Mayuree’s vision. That girl has the means to change Myăma’s fate.”

“Marong!” Mayuree crashed against her brother, almost hysterical in her desperation. “Shut up! Shut up!”

“This is for your OWN good!” Marong pushed his sister against the sofa forcefully. “Stop fighting me, you fool!”

Beside her distressed mistress, Lei bit her lip with such vigour that her complexion took on the colour of the table cloth. If she could only get away for a moment, she could contact Mistress Song, and her Mistress would be saved from this indignity!

Marong continued, deadset on the course he had set.

“Gwen Song has two Familiars. One is a Kirin, thick with Draconic-Essence, the Goddess knows how many Draconic-beings she had consumed to metamorph it from its original form. Her other Familiar, a Death Worm of some kind, takes on the form of creatures it consumes. It’s a Void Beast - nothing like anything we have ever seen before. Its potential is unfathomable. Furthermore, from the reports we managed to skim from Fudan, the girl is proficient in Five schools of Magic, and her VMI rivals that of a seasoned Magus.”

“Mmmmphm!” Mayuree struggled against the smoky tendril keeping her lips sealed.

“Her Uncle is the Ash Bringer, the Hero of the Northern Front, currently dallying with the Huangshan Dragon-princess called Ayxin. Her grandmother is the director of a PLA Research Hospital. Her grandfather is a CCP Senior Secretary. I have also received reports that she is a family friend of the Scarlet Sorceress, Alesia De Botton and the Morning Star Gunther Shultz - that she could be related to the late Magister Kilroy of Oceania. She's the one who collected the Dragon Cores we bought!”

“And that’s who Mayuree thinks will ‘save her’?”

“Correct.” Marong nodded. “That was Mia's original vision.”

Maymyint lowered her hands, then adjusted her shawl.

“And how do you propose we move someone like that?” the sibling’s eldest sister demanded. “You’re inviting destruction for the House of M.”

“We have to persist in the Mayuree’s prophesy,” Marong proposed. “The girl is going to be in the IIUC in a few months.”

“Is that so?”

“I believe the Matriarch can submit a Questing application to the governing body of the IIUC. Our coffers are overflowing right now.”

“What a curious proposition, Marong. How confident are you that this will go well?”

Mayuree kicked out at her brother. Marong caught his sister’s legs and held them down with his hands.

“I want to give Mia a chance.” Marong held the girl’s feet immobile. “Gwen Song will come, and she will make a difference. I have absolute confidence.”

“Very well.” Maymyint’s smile was positively rapacious. “I will confer your offer with Mother.”

“Good. So - Mayuree stays here in the meanwhile?”

Maymyint shook her head. Before Marong could object, she turned to Mayuree.

“Are you going to tell 'Gwen' about all of this, Mayuree?”

Before Marong could stop her, Mayuree nodded furiously.

“Ngar lee…” Marong groaned. “You idiot!”

Freeing her legs while her brother despaired, Mayuree’s feet finally connected with his face, snapping his head backwards.

“Sar!” Marong covered his face. In the next instance, a torrent of blood poured from between his fingers. She had gotten him square on the nose.

“I can’t tell if you’re putting on an act, or if you are that naive,” Maymyint remarked, looking at the siblings. “Either way, I will be taking Mayuree with me to the old country. Pending on Mother’s approval, I will contact you shortly. You can bring this ‘Gwen’, or you can not. It makes no difference to Mother. The tithing cannot wait. You have until Thadingyut, the Festival of the Naga to save your sister. Mia, be a good girl now, and come along.”

Shocked by the violence she had committed on her brother, Mayuree froze in horror. Marong had always picked on her, though she never had she wounded him.

“I’ll take you back in a stasis field if I have to.” Maymyint straightened her back, her body long and slender, her neck elegant and serpentine. “Your servant can pack for you.”

“Mia…” Marong had just managed to stop the bleeding. “You’ll be safe…”

“Don’t involve Gwen in this,” Mayuree begged her brother.

“Sorry.” Marong half-closed his eyes, then exhaled deeply. “I don’t care about her. I only care about you.”

“Then I’ll tell her everything!” Mayuree spat from between clenched teeth. “She won’t come!”

Marong groaned audibly.

Maymyint began to laugh.

“One wonders how you hope to survive.” The sister’s mood improved considerably. “Enfeeble Mind!”

A flash of Radiance emanating from Maymyint’s fingers blasted through Mayuree’s forehead, equipping her with an enchanted halo. Instantly, Mayuree’s eyes lost their lustre, their eldest's spell bypassing the House of M's Mind Shield charms. The raw emotion that had hovered all over Mayuree's face ceased at once. Her mouth open and closed, but no words issued forth; it was as though the girl had grown suddenly dull.

Marong shuddered with barely suppressed anger.

“Don’t look at me like that, little brother,” Maymyint jeered. “You want to save her or not?”

Marong held his tongue.

“To repay your good behaviour, I will make a case in front of Mother. Send me all your reports.” She turned to her servant. “Thum, help them pack. Lei, you’re coming with Thum. Mia is going need a lot more looking after. Once you have her things, have Marong arrange transportation to the ISTC. We leave this evening.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Lei remained impassive.

“By your will.” Maymyint’s manservant bowed.

The House of M's eldest paused.

“Marong, don’t go against the will of our Matriarch. Who knows, the Tyrant might prefer men for its subsequent tithing.”

Marong remained stoic and stationary. He couldn’t bear the sight of Mayuree taken away, but what he could stomach was what came next.

Even if Mayuree loathed him for the rest of her life, a sister that hated him was better than one that was dead or driven to insanity.

Lei closed the door behind her.

She dug into her dress and produced the communication Device her Mistress had left her.

The Message bracelet was for her use, manufactured by Magus Maymaruya for Lei so that Mayuree’s friend could call and ask what and when was dinner.

Lei punched in the glyph clumsily. She had never used an outbound Message before. With any luck, Miss Song wasn't in training, because once Mistress Maymyint was out of Shanghai, it would be impossible to-

‘WHOMP!'

A ball of air struck the side of Lei's head.

“I am astounded.” Thum held onto Lei’s body as she slumped. “Miss Maymyint said that her sister would be a handful, but who’d have thought a mere NoM servant would have the gall to oppose the eldest?”

“She better not be dead.” Marong’s voice came across dangerously.

Maymyint’s servant gave the House of M’s No.3 a wry grin.

“Miss Maymyint will ensure the both of them arrive safe and sound.” Thum pursed his paper-thin lips. “You should probably inform my kinswoman. I find it hilarious that she’s absent at a time like this. I had been expecting to test her growth.”

“Kitty being here wouldn’t have made a difference.” Marong creased his brow. Had Kitty been present, things could have gotten infinitely more complicated. For example, how could Marong explain why Gouding B1's penthouse exploded?

“Of course not.” Thum wrinkled his nose. “I’ll be taking the NoM now if you don’t mind.”

Marong stepped aside.

“I respect you, Sir Marong.” The Mage bowed. “Please live a healthy life, at least until the Matriarch asks for your ultimate service. Dimension Door!”

With a burst of silvery Conjuration, Maymyint’s bodyguard departed.

Marong took a moment to stifle his haggard breathing, then raised his Message Device beside his face.

"Maymaruya, is Kitty with you?"

“She is, Young Master Marong. What’s wrong?”

“Come to the penthouse at B1 as soon as you can." Marong materialised a lit-cigarette. " I have something that we need to discuss.”

"Try adding a spin," Gwen instructed her companion.

Lulan grimaced with concentration, then let loose her projectile.

"Thrust!"

A slab of iron 'wooshed' through the air, spinning and swirling until it made a terrific 'CLANG!' against the Force Barrier.

"No, not like that- here." Gwen closed her eyes and concentrated, then materialised the thing she had in mind. "Minor Image!"

A jagged pie-chart materialised, mimicking a saw-blade.

"That's a whole other sort of magic." Richard tossed in his two-cents from the sideline. "I can do it with Lea's help, but I don't think it's possible for a Sword Mage. Lulu, watch Lea."

The petite form of Richard's Undine lifted a hand into the air, then made a sphere. Gradually, the orb began to spin until it flattened into a disk-shaped object.

"That's it!" Gwen clapped. "That's what I wanted."

"It's not a sword." Lulan studied the spinning 'disk' with evident frustration. "I can only do Swords."

"It's a sword spinning REALLY FAST." Gwen looked toward Richard for advice. "Clanner-magic's not that rigid, is it?"

"I think its best if we teach her with Western Spellcraft," Richard observed.

"Let's try this again," Gwen informed her companions. "Shield!"

A double-glazed semi-sphere Shield materialised.

"Give me your best attack! Add a SPIN!"

"Slash!" Lulan's face grew flush with effort as an enormous blade, almost the height of her whole body, descended onto Gwen's Shield after making several rotations.

'CRACK!'

The entire frontal quarter of Gwen's Shield turned white as the mana compressed. In the next moment, with great expedition, her barrier returned to its usual transparency.

"It's too hard!" Lulan growled.

"Nah, you are getting stronger," Richard assured his party member. "Gwen just has a little too much mana to spare, don't worry."

"Lulu, give me an 'Impale'." Gwen took a deep breath and readied a receiving stance. She manipulated her Minor Illusion to show a cone rotating on its centre-line. "Try adding a spin like so! Like a drill!"

Lulan wounded up a straight; her face grew red with concentration.

"IMPALE!"

A slab of gleaming iron materialised, then accelerated forward suddenly, it corkscrewed a few times, then drifted slightly off-course.

'THUNK!'

The better half of Gwen's Shield turned opaque as she slid back about a meter. Had she not been ready for the immense impact, she would have been knocked over. Earlier, when they sparred, Lulan had kicked her through the air like a billiard ball, sending her bouncing all over the training hall.

"I think the spear-point is Lulu's best attack, to be honest," Richard remarked. If anything, he could parry the sweeps and slashes, but there was little his water could do to against a head-on collision.

Gwen meanwhile, struggled to recall what little physics she had learned. For Void magic, an element that did not exist in her world, she had no idea how to apply her scant recollection of Senior Physics. For Lightning, however, she had some idea of how her self-generated electricity could empower future technological phenomena, though that would have to wait for a time when she could avoid being burned at the stakes for witchcraft.

As for Lulan's giant roving slabs of iron girders, she was sure that there had to be a better way to utilise the girl's ability to summon construction material.

For a while now, they'd been thinking of a way to improve Lulan's Sword-spells. Lulan's basic skills had been honed to a razor edge, but, lacking support from Huashan, she wasn't getting any new tricks, as the saying goes.

If so, Gwen wanted her companion to develop something awe-inspiring, something that would blow the examiners, and ideally their competitors, away.

Considering the brutal-physics of Lulan's attacks, Gwen had racked her brain for something that could drastically improve the girl's offensive potential. At first, she had imagined Lulan's 'Slash!' and 'Impale!' as tree-lopping, lacking finesse but high on destructive-momentum. Then thinking of arboreal professionals, she recalled hiring a pruner to cut down a half-dead gumtree in her backyard. That particular memory had then elicited the notion of a chain-saw.

Naturally, Lulan couldn't summon a chainsaw.

But what about spinning saw-blades?

Just thinking about the scene gave her the shivers. What would a creature or a Mage think when a free-floating angle-grinder spinning at 2400 RPMs descended from above?

The chances of Lulan learning higher-tier magic like the vibrating blade the Elder had used was nil. If so, why not set Lulu on a new path of Spellcraft, one that combined Gwen's knowledge of physics and Lulu's penchant for armed metallurgy?

Take the saw for example - Gwen was sure her Shield, or any barrier for that matter, would be decimated by a spinning, 24-tooth saw.

Failing that, how about a rotating 'shell' of metal 'fired' from the Elemental Plane of Earth? Didn't Wikipedia say that the old smooth-bore rifles could only manage 40 odd meters, while the simple addition of a rifling groove made the same weapon shoot over 400 meters with unerring accuracy?

If so, Gwen hypothesised - could Lulan become a skirt-wearing 88mm tank gun? What if people mistook her as a Melee Mage - only to cop a 15-kilogram solid-slug projectile to the face?

She had learned enough from Spellshaping to know that such a thing was entirely possible - after all, basic Earthen Evocations like Catapult and Stone Lance followed the same principles, only their designers lacked the aerodynamic knowledge necessary for ballistics.

"Are we done?" Richard mopped the sweat from his body with a flick of his wrist. "Got fifteen minutes till the party."

"Yeppers." Gwen moved to change out of her exercise clothes. No one wanted to attend a tea party smelling like sweat. "Come on, Lulu, you change too."

“Gānbēi!”

“Gānbēi!”

“Cheers!”

“Gānbēi!”

“Cheers!”

"Thanks, everyone!"

Teacups, wine glasses and beer bottles clinked.

Since summer in Shanghai was intolerable, it was only between March to May that alfresco cafe sprouted like spring flowers across Gouding and University Road. Taking advantage of the temperate weather, Gwen had organised a final get-together at a floral Eden called 'Birds-sing and Flowers-fragrant' to catch up before the IIUC selection.

On the family front, Richard and Petra, Mina and Tao chatted across the long table beside Gwen’s usual companions, Lulan and Kusu, who occupied the middle. To her right, her workmates Dai and Ken accompanied the timid figures of Lily, Pu and Jon, who huddled on the far side, too tongue-tied to speak.

“I wonder where Mayuree’s gone,” Gwen declared to Petra and Lulan. “Kitty too, strange that they’re not here. No one's answering either.”

Richard shrugged.

Petra affirmed that she hadn't seen Mayuree for at least a few days.

“Sorry, I am late!”

Gwen looked up, surprised to find that it was Marong who had come in the Diviner's place.

“Marong! A pleasure.” She extended a hand. “Here, take a seat! Where’s Mia?”

“She’s gone back to the home country for a while,” Marong explained. “Urgent family business. She’s asked me to come and see you in person to offer an apology.”

“No worries.” Gwen gave the man her best smile. “Please, don't stand on ceremony, we're all old friends here.”

Betraying her projected ease, Gwen felt strangely haunted by Mia's uninformed absence. It was queer that she didn’t leave her a Message. For so long, almost a year, Mia had been a constant companion by her side whether Gwen willed or no, and now her company, and Lei's meals, suddenly ceased.

"I think that's everyone." Gwen gestured for the NoM waiter. "Six Afternoon Delux sets."

"At once, Mistress."

Turning back to the table, Gwen re-introduced her cadre of friends, family and acquaintances to one another, thanking them for coming to her luncheon on such short notice. The whole ordeal had been spontaneous, she explained: she had fancied a proper afternoon tea after tasting Walken’s scones, then serendipitously, a group luncheon resulted.

“Stop, you're making me self-conscious.” Dai and Ken laughed when Gwen told everyone that they were the eldest of the bunch. Ken especially appeared awkwardly out of place with his suit and tie. “We’re old men compared to you folks, but we're young at heart.”

The table resounded with mirth.

The truth was that Lulan was the youngest of them all: she had turned seventeen in November, followed by Gwen, who would finally hit the big one-eight in May. Richard was already twenty and would finish his accelerated three-year degree at the ripe old age of twenty-two, the same as Kusu, who had joined Fudan a little later. Dai had his birthday in late February after a private party which Gwen had declined to attend, while the oldest was Ken, who confessed to being twenty-six.

“There’s another wunderkind here?” Ken indicated Lulan, sceptical that he could be ten years the girl’s senior. “I see why you booked a tea house.”

“Last time, Gwen took Lulu to a bar…” Kusu confronted Gwen accusingly. “Lulu came home raving like a lunatic, soaking from head to toe in sick.”

“Hahaha…”

“Haha…”

"A cute thing like you, Miss Li? That had to be a sight!"

“Ow!”

Lulan pinched her brother.

“So, any plans for your eighteenth?” Dai took the opportunity to put forward a plan he’d been fermenting for some time. “Don’t tell me you’ve got nothing planned.”

“Well, depending on the Selection…”

“Nonsense!” Dai interjected. “Why would you of all people have any problems with the April round? What are they going to do? Hire the other dual-element Void sorceress Fudan has lying around?”

“I shouldn’t underestimate-”

“Nor should you overestimate their selection criterion,” the boisterous young man assured his teenage employer. “Father is vouching for you. Dean Lou is vouching for you. Your family, I assume, is vouching for you. I don’t even think you need to attend the interview, to be honest. There's going to be blood on the Dean's carpet if they reject you.”

Listening to Dai's audacious claim, Lily, Pu and Jon immediately re-calculated what they thought they knew about their long-time classmate: anyone else being so obnoxious would be vexatious - but this was the Princeling of the Fung Clan!

“I am more concerned about Lu,” Dai snorted. “You remember Lu? He's Wanli's owner. He aspired to join as well, but you’ve filled his niche and then some.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Gwen offered her condolences. She then turned to Marong. “What about Kitty? Is she going to be a part of the trials?”

“I dare say she will,” Marong assured Kitty’s least favourite neighbour. “She’s in seclusion right now to wrap up her final training.”

“She is?” Gwen cocked her head. “I saw her just last week!”

“With Mia absent, she's gone with the wind.” Marong shot her a waning smile. “You know how she is.”

Which was true, Gwen had to admit. Kitty had no love for herself nor Marong. With Mayuree gone, nothing was keeping her at Gouding B1. With a week to go, going into seclusion for that final push may be just the thing.

Soon, servers arrived with tiers of delightful petit-fours, scones and jam, fresh fruits from the Wildlands, and daintily cut sandwiches in alternating flavours of cucumber and rabbit-terrine. After working her way through a double serving of pastries, Gwen turned her attention to her cousins.

“Tao, did you ever get your new single off the ground? Was my editing any help?”

“Aww yeah.” Tao gave her a cool nod of acknowledgement, making a 'W' with one hand. “Yo lyrical flow got my juices flowing, Gee. Dem sick beats kicking up ill rhymes, yo lambs be helpful, Gwennabitch.”

“Iambic meter,” Gwen corrected her cousin, wondering what the hell her Ioun Stone was doing to translate Tao so well. Tao was under the impression that her analogy had been about lambs bleating in two-beat syllables.

“Shaaa!” A cry emanated from under the table.

“Woa! Cali-bitch, you back fo mo?”

“Peaches, language…” Mina groaned. Why did Tao persist in making every gathering a place for social suicide?

“Shaaa!”

Her family was used to Tao's befouled linguistic antics, but Gwen's other friends couldn't help but stare. 'Cali-bitch?' 'Gwennabitch?' what were these words coming out of the man's mouth?

“EEEE!”

“I got Ariel covered!” Lily declared from her end of the table. Gwen's Conjuration crew of Fudan's 'normies' had taken up with Ariel to absolve the need for awkward conversation with the strange and haughty folks sitting opposite.

“Sorry Lil, thanks for looking after Ariel.” Gwen flashed an appreciative grin. With her hands, she drew the audience' attention. “Lulu, you recall Lil. Right? You guys met last time we had dinner, about a month ago.”

“Greetings.” Lulan nodded, though it was clear her memory was fuzzy. "I do remember you."

“Hello,” Lily inclined her head. She vaguely recalled Lulan. "I think we met."

“…”

“…”

The two girls stared at one another.

“My father was recently promoted to the Chief Superintendent of Jiading,” Lily stated, switching to a universal ice-break the Guan-er-dai used to pass the time - speaking to each other by talking about their families. "How're things at Huashan?"

“My Shifu is dead, and I am excommunicated. Were it not for Gwen, I would be homeless,” Lulan explained carefully.

"... right. How about you, Tao?” Lily shifted her conversation to the other side, hoping their parents were alive, hale and well-connected.

“Mah old man? He’s Bao Wang, the biggest dawg in town. My fam owns Wang Group Enterprises, ho.”

“Peaches!” Mina scolded her brother. “What did father say about bragging? Sorry, Lily, Peaches is a fruit.”

“This bitch was the one who asked! Ow! Why are you slapping me, fool?”

“…” Lily sipped her tea. Was anyone here a 'normal' person? She was beginning to be very thankful of Pu's advice that they should NOT look Gwen up for Questing and adventuring.

“So, what courses are you guys doing?” Kusu suddenly cut in. The whole ordeal was much too painful to watch.

“Conjuration.”

“Evocation.”

“Wow, that’s great; I am doing a mix of first and second-year courses right now..”

“Cool, who’s your Lecturer?”

"Birch, Lee, Griggs, and Wu, you?"

“Which university are you attending Mina?”

“I am studying at a vocational Hospital.”

“Wow, you’re from the Wang family, and you’re still working?”

“Dad says we all need a trade, so…”

“That’s an admirable attitude!”

Good work, Kusu. Gwen applauded Lulan’s brother. The young man was level-headed and for a Clanner, possessed an admirable temperament. Once they were out of university, she was sure that there would be a place for Kusu in her organisation. Lulan might be the superior Mage by far, but Kusu was talented in other ways Lulan couldn’t begin to match. In her eyes, the man had the making of a Majordomo.

With the further side of the table finally talking, Gwen returned to Dai.

“You never gave me an answer,” Dai implored. “Well?”

“Are you going to organise one for me?” Gwen could read Dai’s face like a book.

“Well, you’re my boss, and my...” Dai coughed, suddenly sensing a chill.

The rest of the table perked up.

Mina's expression darkened.

Giving her cousin the A-okay, Gwen turned to Dai with a bone-tingling smirk.

“Don’t worry, sweet prince." Her luscious lips kissed the air. “We’ll be friends and colleagues, always.”

The others collectively winced.

Having delivered the Friend-Zone kiss of death, Gwen relented.

“A party sounds like a good idea.” She patted Dai on the shoulder before turning to Marong. “Is Mayuree going to be back in May? That's May 25th.”

“I sure hope so, if nothing goes awry.” The Diviner’s brother chuckled along with the rest. “You’re welcome to use one of our establishments if you like.”

“Or one of our hotels!” Tao counter-offered. “Father will clear the whole grand ballroom of Park Hyatt on the Bund if it’s for you.”

“No problems there,” Mina confirmed. “I’ll speak to dad. How big are you thinking? Two hundred guests?”

“I was thinking of something a little less public…” Gwen baulked. Two hundred? Was she going to invite her whole university cohort? “Just family and friends, you know?”

“Not possible!” Dai bolted upright, brimming with anticipation. “It’s your eighteenth! You’re one of the instrumental members of the Nantong Tonglv Committee! A teenage prodigy and soon to be selected for the IIUC! You’ve never come out, right? No one in our high-society circles has seen you in the flesh! That has to change!”

“Dai’s right,” Richard remarked expertly. “A society-gathering is a great opportunity to gain some ‘Guan-xi’. Perhaps you can do a demonstration to spread the news of your prowess to our future competitors. They have their IIUC selection right about now as well. Remember what Walken said.”

Ergh - Gwen's head swelled to twice its usual size. She caught Petra looking and realised her cousin was right yet again.

Why did she always make herself suffer?

"Don't hurt yourself." Magister Lee loomed over Gwen and her Death Worm. "Though I am happy you are making progress, that was a close call."

Week 9's workshop took place in the lower campus, in a place unceremoniously called 'Spellcraft laboratory No. 5', an open-plan arrangement spanning the space of several classrooms, divided via single-pane Force Barriers. Due to its limited capacity to house individual students, the Spellshaping cohort had split into morning, afternoon and evening sessions, with twenty-odd students attending each of Michio Lee's lessons.

Just now, Gwen's Void-spell misfired, sending a splutter of Void-matter into the range.

"I am still trying to stabilise the spell." Gwen pointed to a white-board filled with arcane Glyphs and incantations. "Though Void is unstable by nature."

The spell she was trying to create was an original Invocation of her own making. Though Walken had given her innumerable advice, her 1001 puzzle assortment of Major and Minor Incantations was proving to be a significant cerebral challenge.

"Start from the beginning." Magister Lee conjured a saddle-chair. With his broad chest and well-muscled arms, the man cut a dashing figure anywhere, even on a faux-saddle. "Explain your rationale."

Gwen cleared her throat.

"As you would know, Sir, the quality of Void as an offensive element lies in its ability to 'disappear' materials. Motes expend themselves to 'absorb' anything it touches. In work carried out with Magister Wen, we rationalised this as the Void 'consuming' matter by diminishing itself to send its target into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void itself."

"My current staple is Void Bolt, or black-lightning; a spell which conjures a mass of Void Matter to strike my enemies. More accurately, it should be called an unguided Void-missile which emerges from translocation point A, projected toward a predetermined direction. Compared to Lightning Bolt, it has significant travel time and can be dodged."

"Considering the limitation of expending Vitality, I wanted to create a spell that possessed the lethality of the Bolt but at a far lower cost - one that maximised the characteristics of Void."

"Very good - go on."

"In essence, I wanted to materialise a projectile form that is energy-efficient while generating maximum tactility."

"Proceed carefully this time."

"I can show you the tier 2 variation, Sir. Right now, I can't manage Homing or propulsion."

"That's fine."

Gwen focused her mind.

"Chakrum!"

The air hummed.

Had Lee been standing at eye-level, he would have missed the paper-thin ring that materialised half-a-meter in front of them. From an elevated angle, however, it was as though an 'O' shaped hole had formed in time-space, with the light at the ring's centre becoming distorted and warped.

"A combination of Evocation and Conjuration!" Lee observed. "Marvellous."

"It's the most efficient form-factor, Sir," Gwen explained. "The ring is spinning too, though you can't see it. That was as far as I managed. Next is propulsion, and ideally a homing function."

"Does it cut well?"

Gwen scrunched up a piece of paper and threw it at the ring. Soundlessly, the paper-ball fell into two sections. The smaller portion, trapped in the ring's midst was then reduced to powdery snow.

"Would you consider 'Chakrum!' anti-personnel or anti-creature?"

"Creature, Sir. 'Charkrum' is one-tenth the expenditure of a Void Bolt, at least so far. Once we factor in distance and other capabilities, I anticipate one-quarter."

"Excellent, well done!" Lee slapped her shoulder. "My recommendation would be a channel function to decrease or increase the diameter of the ring. Likewise, you could test if adding or decreasing revolutions impact efficacy of the spell. In the future, I would venture to say that what you may consider an alteration to Blade Barrier that could make the spell a Void Element staple! Likewise, imagine if you can create an offensive Shield that's a perimeter disk of Void-Matter, and co-currently activate it with a neutral Mana Shield, it would make a most excellent melee counter! A disk with a hollow core! Who'd have thought?"

Gwen wasn't about to tell the Magister that she came up with the idea after working with Lulan and thinking of Xena, Warrior Princess.

"After our examination in week 13, go to Fudan T2 at once and have your spell registered," Lee reminded her. "You haven't disappointed me, Gwen. High five?"

Observed by a dozen others, Gwen coyly gave her handsome Instructor a high and a low. Her draconic-strength however, ensured that both were thunderclaps, drawing ire from the girls as only she could.

"Wow, she certainly did leave in a hurry." Gwen glanced over the penthouse apartment where Mayuree's things remained here and there.

"She'll be back soon enough," Marong smoked on the lounge. Without his sister, he could puff as he pleased. "Too bad she took Lei with her."

"I miss Lei already." Gwen sighed. "So, you're living here alone?"

"I'll be gone next week." Marong gave her a strange smile. "You've been orphaned, Miss Song."

Gwen laughed until she caught the man's mirthless mien.

"Gwen." Marong exhaled, tipping his fag. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Sure, shoot."

"How do you feel about Mia?" Much to her dismay, Marong's expression grew strange and severe enough for Gwen to take a seat.

"Not... romantically, if that's what you mean," Gwen replied apprehensively. "I mean, girl-friends do slumber parties, and Mia does have a super-king bed, so..."

"How close are you guys, as... what's the word? Mates?"

Gwen smiled at the sound of Marong's attempted slang.

"Mia's a sister, I suppose. She's small and petite and cute and innocent, kind of reminds of another little sister I have. God, I miss her. Hell, I miss Mia already, and it's only been a week."

"A sister? Are you serious?"

"Do I look serious?" Gwen raised a brow.

"I suppose you do." Marong paused. "Thanks."

"Why, you feeling a little protective?" Gwen laughed. "I thought you loved bullying her. You're the big bad brother, right?"

"Hardly - did you know we're not direct-siblings?"

Gwen blinked. What did that mean?

"In the olden days, in the old country, before even the Great War in Europe, there was a King by the name of Thibaw Min, son of Mindon and the Priestess Mibaya, of the Royal Kingdom of Myăma. The King was a cruel and wicked man. Fearing succession from his young siblings, he slaughtered all of his half-brothers during his coronation, keeping alive only his half-sisters, whom he would wed to loyal ministers, or give as gifts to the aristocracy."

Marong's captive audience blinked, wondering why the Smoke Mage was waxing history midway through a conversation about Mayuree.

"The Britannic Mageocracy had little patience for indulging a small South East Asian nation's civil war, however, and it wasn't long before Thibaw Min capitulated, becoming a Protectorate of the Mageoracy and renamed Burma."

"Thibaw knew then that he had made a terrible mistake killing the most talented of his family members, whose talents were now lost to him. After the British introduced the Imperial Magical System, he expended a thousand year's collated wealth on hundreds of concubines, fathering countless children with talented abilities so that when the time came for the Kingdom to rise again, they would not be bereft of talent."

"So you and Mayuree are half-siblings?" Gwen inquired.

"Thibaw Min has been dead for half a century." Marong chuckled. "Mia and I are cousins, but our blood is a little more intimate."

"Like... Clanners?"

"Indeed." Marong nodded. "It's a complicated matter, but to summarise, we descend from a pair of half-sister Priestesses from the King's harem, who themselves were related to the old King."

"A harem!"

"Is that so surprising?"

"I suppose not..." Gwen forced her brows to lower. A person needs to be culturally sensitive. "So, is Mia a princess?"

"Without name, title, or country?" Marong scoffed. "Not to mention we are half-bloods, carrying maybe a quarter of Min's stock at best. No, Mia and I are not royalty, though there are those of us who are directly descended. We are... spares."

"Oh, er... Sorry." Gwen lowered her eyes, wondering if she had stepped on one of Marong's funny bones. Heir and spares, eh? That seemed to be the way any royalty functioned, look at Will and Harry. "Look, I don't care about that. Mia's an important friend and a sister; that's all that matters."

Marong did not dignify her with a response. It was as though all the words in the world had dried up.

After an awkward 'goodnight', Gwen left for her apartment.

Marong reached into his suit-pocket and extracted the recording crystal of a Vid-cast recorder. He dialled a Glyph into his Message Device.

"Maymaruya."

"Master Marong?"

"I have a testimonial I'd like to send to the Matriarch. Can you arrange it for delivery to Yangon?"

"At once, Young Master."

Marong closed his eyes and tried to picture the girl who had just left. She was so young, so fresh, and so inundated with the Tyrant's scent. Had he made the right choice or had he doomed himself and Mayuree? But that was a moot point now. Without his sister, his life would be Mu - nothing. And for Mayuree, something infinitely worse.

It took only six more days for the fated '/' Gwen had marked off on her calendar to become an 'X'.

As it was a Wednesday, she cleared her schedule of both classes and work, practised a few mock-interviews with Walken, filled herself up to her throat with Magus Kumiko’s summons, then joined the others for her afternoon appointment.

According to her Instructor's insider-information, unless she cock-up by boasting about the dubious nature of the Void, its hunger, and her many mental malignancies, her selection was assured. Additionally, a case for Lulan and Richard's inclusion should be put forward in the manner of a 'package deal'. If one had leverage, Walken remarked, then leverage away.

Nonetheless, the waiting room and the attention of two dozen others made Gwen ever more conscious of the expectations laid at her feet.

“I feel sick,” Gwen expressed a distinct desire to retire to the bathroom to practice Rodin's Thinker.

Petra, Richard, Lulan and Kusu gaped at their ventilating sorceress.

“It's the anticipation.” She tried to put her eccentricity into words. “I can't help thinking that something's going to go wrong."

“Once bitten, twice shy?" Richard pointed out. "You did fail some pretty important tests, I recall."

“The first was when I was ten.” Gwen retrieved her alter-ego’s memories. “I failed the first aptitude test and got placed into a public high school when I turned twelve.”

“You did?” Petra had never been privy to her cousin's true mediocrity.

“Now that I think about it, she tanked her PMAE too,” Richard appended the other’s knowledge of their almighty sorceress. “Did you manage to pass your AMAE?”

“I skipped it, remember?” Gwen grinned guiltily. “If I had gotten back to Australia, we would have continued onto Year 12 and then had our Advanced Magical Aptitude Exams in July.”

Her friends, particularly Lulan and Kusu, stared.

“Y-you’re not even a high-school graduate?” a gobsmacked Kusu stuttered. “You don't have a Higher-Education Magical Aptitude Certificate?”

“Ah-ha-ha…” Gwen cringed.

“Wow, that's impressive."

“Incredible!” Lulan gazed upon Gwen with awe. "I had Questing Credits, but you received an LCS scholarship without higher-education qualifications?"

The combined visage of the Flowers of Fudan was drawing attention from all over, though as usual, the ever-resourceful Mineral Enchanter had earlier set up a Privacy Ward.

"You enrolled younger than I did though," Gwen praised the youthful Lulan. "I mean-"

The corner of her eye caught a pale and lithe silhouette.

“KITTY!”

There was no mistaking it. Gwen could spot the pale-skinned pixie a mile away.

“I’ll bring her over.” She left the group before the others could react.

As she approached, Kitty seemed to drift further away. When she finally got to the other end of the hall, watched by the two dozen or so contestants scheduled for the first round of interviews, the girl was gone.

“That’s strange,” Gwen moped when she returned to her friends. “I think she’s avoiding me.”

“Well, you can be exceedingly bothersome,” Richard quipped. “Caliban sniffs and licks everything; you leak Dragon-fear without warning, Ariel zooms around the apartment, knocking down anything not bolted down, leaving a fine dusting of fur over every conceivable surface, including my cereal.”

“Hmmph! Sif!” Gwen pouted. "My babies are perfect!"

The others joined the jeering.

“At least you're not nervous anymore.” Richard cracked his knuckles. "Nor am I, to be honest. Walken's a good bloke to have around."

“I am scared,” Lulan confessed. Though Walken gave her a pep talk, she had little in the way of a true speciality. “What if I don’t make it, Gwen?”

“Oh, Lulu, you’ll be fine!” Gwen hugged the girl close to her chest, feeling her thudding heart jackhammer against Gwen’s own. “You did well against me in our sparring sessions. You’re kick-ass, okay?! Just wait till we find a Spirit for you and finish our Signature Spells. You'll be an unstoppable Panzerschreck!”

"Armour... scare?" Richard laughed at her Gwenism. "What?"

Between herself, Richard and Lulu, the three of them were making decent headway. Their current problem was the lack of sufficiently powerful propulsion. Lulan’s ‘sword draws’ materialised her blades as she spell-flurried, using the kinetic energy of her heavy-blades to crush or slice her targets. With an alteration to the original spell, it should be possible to exponentially increase the expulsion rate of Elemental Iron by reducing the weight and mass of her Conjure Blades through compression. Assuming it was possible to attain a projectile velocity of a large-bore gun, which Gwen recalled to be almost a thousand meters-per-second, they could then work on generating torque to stabilise Lulu’s shot. Unfortunately, as a half-assed physicist, Gwen could only half-guess as to the mysteries of conserving angular momentum, leaving facts to trial and error. Had she been forewarned of her interstellar adventure, she would have taken the subject for her HSC.

“Oi, I think one of us is up." Richard was the first to notice the Proctors standing at the door.

“GWEN SONG - S.I.D: 12598 S0203, are you present?” an announcer called out, his voice permeating the room.

“PRESENT!” a shrill voice answered. Gwen took a deep breath. "Wish me luck!"

"You won't need it," Richard scoffed. "Don't forget to give us a plug!"

“Gwen Song, S.I.D: 12598 S0203,” Gwen announced to the tribunal overlooking her selection.

The converted training hall had a lesser Cognisance in effect, materialising a stream of Quasi-Elemental Lightning as her boot-heels echoed through the enormous chamber. Observing her were four Adjudicators: one she knew, one she had seen prior, and two she did not. Chief among the gathered was the Dean, Jiang Luo, sitting beside the Chief Registrar, a lady-Magister called Clarine Lee. To her left was a Caucasian man she had never seen before. To her right, was another, a grey-haired Asian man with an austere appearance. These two had the bearing of Tower officials: presumably, one was from Pudong, and the other was a CCP Tower Mage.

“Miss Song, we welcome you to the 2004 IIUC selection interview. In the next few minutes, we will ask you for a demonstration, as well as answer a few questions. Should you wish to withdraw, you may do so at any time.”

The voice that spoke was shrill and sharp, belonging to the Registrar.

“Dean Luo and I will adjudicate, while Magister Eckermann and Wu will affirm or reject our decision. A majority of three out of four is needed to pass. Should our votes tie, you will be included as a reserve member.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Gwen straightened the hem of her cotton blouse. All in all, the scenario reminded her of the time she had to apply for a Citibank 'Young Women in Banking' Cadetship grant.

For this momentous occasion, she had taken great care to dress her team. Richard, thanks to his tall and athletic bearing, made for a natural model. With a healthy dash of gel to style his hair, an expensive jacket, boot-cut chinos and a pastel shirt, the young man was effortlessly cool. Lulu was a little more challenging, for the girl had a reputation and Gwen wanted the interviewers to see her as someone adorably in 'control' of her notable capacity for ultraviolence. After dragging the wide-eyed girl through half a dozen shops in K-11, she dressed the petite athlete in semi-formal belted shorts, knee-socks, booties, and a linen jacket in sunburst yellow. Kusu was, of course, confounded by Lulan’s new look, which to Gwen signalled a sign of success.

As for herself, she had a very particular appearance in mind. Considering the infamy of her worm-handling moniker and her reputation for sassing authority when confronted by her betters, her preference was for something ambivalently wedged between youthful exuberance and earnest industry. Her usually straight-brushed hair was thus left loose and comfortable, juxtaposing an upper body hidden demurely behind a neutral-toned long-sleeved blouse. For her lower body, she favoured full mobility with a pair of cargo shorts that showed off the entire length of her white legs, ending with a set of pumped steel-toes.

The style was minimalist, military, and urban-chic, clean in the extreme, but simultaneously aesthetic and pleasing. Gwen's only regret was that Petra wasn’t competing. If so, she could guarantee her cousin's selection on the Vid-cast ratings alone.

“Miss Song, why do you wish to participate in the IIUC?”

Walken had coached her on this topic already, and so Gwen channelled a mote of her Essence to fluff-up her confidence before attending to her viva voce.

“Lord Magisters - Dean, thank you for giving me the opportunity to be here. For your consideration, I would like to offer an official and a private rationale for my inclusion in Fudan’s IICU team. In the capacity of myself as a student of this austere tertiary institution, I would like to put myself forward for Fudan because the university has helped me in my time of need. When I arrived as a refugee from Sydney, terrified, helpless and confused, it was Fudan who offered me - a mere girl from the Frontier - an opportunity to study with the best Shanghai had to offer. For this reason, I wish to repay the Dean for his generosity and to show the world that Fudan is a first-class institution.”

The observers took notes. The Dean beamed.

"Why do I want to join the IIUC? I fear my rationale is a selfish one. I desire a stage, one of of great influence. I am a Void Mage, and we all know that Void Mages are unstable, self-destructive, deranged and dangerous. This is simply not true. For me, the Quasi-element of Void is a tool - one via which I will exact a price on the Demi-humans who dare to invade our domain and slaughter our people! I will use the IIUC to prove to the world that Void Mages are not to be feared, but celebrated! That Mages like me will be the catalyst of a lasting peace! That one day, atop a Tower of my own making, Humanities' enemies will quake in its shadow and loathe the prospect of war!”

‘CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!’

‘Clap... Clap. Clap...’

Confused by the other's inaction, Gwen searched for the second source of ecstatic applause, finding Ellen clapping mirthlessly beside her boisterous Master.

The other three Adjudicators marked the Dean with unfriendly warnings before turning back to Gwen.

“Miss Song. What is your desired position?”

“Offensive Caster or Battlefield Controller, Lord Magister.”

"Very well - begin your presentation."

Gwen stepped back and took a deep breath. After careful deliberation with Walken, they had decided on one hell of a show and tell. For weeks she had been preparing a spell that would not only impress, but demonstrate her absolute control over the Void.

After raising both hands, she paused for drama.

“You may feel a slight discomfort.”

“Proceed.”

Gwen drew a finger through the air. A Glyph materialised, darker than black, gnawing into the fabric of space and time. Entwined with Almudj’s Essence, Void-matter flooded through her mana conduits, feeding into the modified Conjuration staple made timeless by Magi Morden.

With herself as the epicentre, a wave of Dragon-fear and vertigo radiated from Gwen’s body. Having anticipated her spell, the Dean was already channelling mana through his Astral Soul to offset the side-effects of Gwen’s creature-conjuration, snickering as his peers paled in unison.

As for the Dean's pet subject, she was now wreathed in midnight, visible only thanks to her viridescent irises casting a pale emerald glow across the Draconic-deerhounds slithering into being from a rift in space.

All were familiar with Morden’s Hounds. Most of them had seen the unique effects of Draconic-magic as well and arguably, at least two of them had seen Void Mages up close, but none had ever borne witness to the terrific visage that was the amalgamation of all three.

Dean Luo was the first to shake himself from the horrid sight of Void-tinged deerhounds. Activating a suite of diagnostic magic, he took an intimate gander at the alien creatures now paddling across the training hall’s floor.

Visually, the creatures were dogs - large ones at that, measuring a good two meters from head to toe, though the proportion of the animals appeared to possess more head than any other anatomy. That was the disconcerting thing: Void-clad in obsidian plates, about half of the hound consisted of a large, phallic-shaped head that ended with no face, but what presumably was the beginning and end of a meter long jaw. From between the slit, a viscous grey-goo oozed as the Void-beasts prowled, all seven of them.

“Caliban!”

The beasts' alpha slinked into being.

“Shaaaa!” The jet-black Death-worm screeched.

As one, the hounds stood to attention.

The Void Sorceress turned to face the judges, her complexion heart-breakingly pale, as fragile as white-jade porcelain.

“They obey every command,” Gwen explained, not a hint of exertion to her voice. “The hounds have also inherited the Elemental traits of Void-beings. In tests conducted with Magus Kumiko’s summoned creatures, they can recover from physical damage by consuming bio-mass. Furthermore, unless fully Banished or dispelled by Lightning, the creatures persist until their vitality is exhausted.”

“They also draw their constitution from your health; do they not?” Magister Eckermann, the grey-haired Tower Mage from Pudong, enquired with a conservative air.

“Yessir,” Gwen affirmed the Magister’s suspicions, though she did not append the Magister's enquiry with additional details.

“They are capable of pack-tactics?” the CCP Magister queried.

“Indeed.” She glanced at her dogs.

Immediately, her pack separated, each taking on a corner as if guarding the general perimeter.

“What of their prowess?” Registrar Lee continued the line of questioning.

“Exceedingly lethal,” Gwen stated without exaggeration. “They are yet to be battle tested in the field, though thanks to Magister Walken and Magus Kumiko’s generosity, the pack can dismantle a Tier 7 Bristle-back Hog without losses. I would say that against creatures below the giant-category, my deerhounds’ prowess remains… unmatched.”

“Very impressive,” Dean Luo spoke loud enough for the other’s to hear. “She has my vote.”

The others shuffled in their seats.

Registrar Lee glowered at the Dean.

“We're not supposed to inform you in person, Miss Song. But since the Dean is so adamant and your performance so extraordinary; I shall concur.” Registrar Lee raised her hand.

“I have no objection.”

“Neither have I.”

“Right.” Dean Luo beamed at his protege. “Gwen, congratulations. Second round trials will begin in Semester two, near the ides of June. We will be testing your teamwork. Assuming everything goes well, you’ll be looking to represent our institution!”

Gwen bowed deeply.

"As to that very matter, Dean, Sirs and Madams, may I have a minute of your time?"

"No-"

"Go ahead, Gwen."

The others remained silent.

"Sirs, Madam, you may know already, but my cousin Richard Huang and my companion Lulan Li are also keen to prove their mettle in the IIUC. We're a team, and together, we are all at our best. My cousin Richard and I came first in the Hengsha Island Dungeon even before we came to Fudan. As for Lulan, she has been Adventuring with Richard and myself, and we have managed to clear the Nantong Water-Ghost's lair without incident, going so far as to rescue a scion of the Fung Clan. Together, our complementary skills become multiplicative, greatly increasing our operational efficacy. If I am to be my very best in acting for Fudan, I wish to have my left and right arms by my side."

"..."

"I understand," the Dean assured her.

“Miss Song, you may leave now.” Registrar Lee insisted. "We will take your account into consideration."

“Thank you, Lord Magisters, Dean - Thank you for your guidance."

With that, she packed her creatures, then retreated to the exit.

Once outside, a dozen pairs of eyes converged on the eye-catching girl with the impossibly pale legs.

“Richard, cover me.” Gwen stalked across the floor, her boots striking staccato steps as she pushed past the crowd.

Very quickly, her friends surrounded her.

Gwen materialised a half-bottle of Maotai she had earlier purchased and chugged the rest in one go, exhaling a sweet scent of distilled sorghum as her vitality regenerated, returning a spot of colour to her cheeks.

“Do you think imbibing alcohol is considered cheating?” Gwen packed the bottle away. “Would it count as a potion?”

“Of course not.” Richard grinned wickedly. “If anyone else can afford it, or can slam it down as you do, they’re welcome to replicate our strategy.”

“I think they might ban it once the cat’s out of the bag,” Kusu warned her. “If you can convert the vitality from treasure-grade consumables like Maotai, wouldn’t that imply an unlimited capacity for Void?”

“First I’d have liver failure,” Gwen returned seriously. “My body's still stuck processing the booze. It’s not as though I am an alcohol-fuelled combustion engine.”

Kusu cocked his head.

“Nothing.” Gwen stifled a burp. “There it goes. Yeah, I don’t think Maotai is a long-term solution either. Maybe some of that Spiritual Ginseng…”

“Ask your Grandfather?” Richard implored.

“Naw, he’s saving for babulya and Percy,” Gwen replied sweetly. Though Guo could use a few extra years, he still wanted to reserve the best herbal ingredients for his wife and his grandson. To Gwen, that was an entirely respectable sentiment.

“Ask Jun?”

“And owe Ayxin? No thanks,” Gwen reflected sourly. She hadn’t seen the pair of them in forever. She wondered what they were doing - well, she could guess what they were doing. It was more so a question of Axyin popping out a litter of baby Ash Dragons. Rather than the proverbial Queen of Dragons, she could be 'Aunt' of Dragons.

“So, how did the whole thing go?” Lulan asked anxiously. "What should I expect?"

“Well.” Gwen cleared her head. “When you first walk in, you’re going to be hit by A LOT of diagnostic magic…”

“So, what do you think?” Dean Luo sat in his office, attended by his cosplaying Familiar.

The other three Magisters lounged comfortably in tub-chairs and sofas dotting the Dean’s Roaring Twenties' smoking room, recently renovated after a disastrous mishap involving a hysterical Ellen.

“The Void Sorceress' a shoo-in, I’d imagine.” Hans Eckermann, the Proctor for the Pudong Tower, sipped his coffee.

“Of course, if you dare deny her, Eckermann, I’ll fight you.” The Dean chuckled. “And her friends?”

“The Water Mage is an interesting character,” Magister Wu remarked after swallowing a mouthful of scalding tea. Unlike western variations, the green-tea from Fur-peak was best taken at its hottest and most fragrant.

Gingerly, Ellen flittered about, acting the attentive maid.

Magister Wu Gusong of the Shanghai Tower, more commonly known as the CCP Tower, regarded Dean Luo’s Dutch wife. He was aware of the theory that humanising one’s Spirits allowed them to attain higher tiers of Affinity and hastened their spiritualisation, though he’d rarely seen anyone bother with something as nebulous as clothing their Familiars. The latter, in Wu’s opinion, was an indication that Luo was a confessed sexual deviant.

“How so?” the Dean pursued the matter. “There’s no taking back a vote.”

“It’s his aspiration that I find strange.” Wu cocked his head, turning away from Ellen’s distracting visage. “Not an ounce of self-promotion, but an assurance that his presence will ensure Gwen Song will emerge victorious from the competition? That’s a first. One would have thought he was a foster-child of her House, not an expatriated student from Prince’s Frontier Scholarship program.”

“Did you read the report I attached?” Luo glanced at the others. “It's Richard Huang’s second-year proposal for the subjugation of the lower-Nantong delta’s remaining Demi-humans. He's been exterminating them with the Li girl, joined by a rag-tag team of local Mages.”

From their blank expressions, the answer was no.

“Ellen.” The Dean materialised a stack of reports. “Give these out.”

The others took a minute to read through the reports.

“Monstrous!” The Chief Registrar spat when she got to the recommendations segment. “I can see this working, but Mao…”

“Interesting, hmm?”

“I’d love to recruit him for the Grey Ghosts.” Magister Wu whistled. “I want to say he’s needlessly cruel, but you have to admit, it’ll work.”

“Is this boy the kind of influence we want on the girl?” Magister Eckermann pointed out what they’d all been thinking.

“Undoubtedly,” the Dean interjected. “You remember what Seoul U did to us last year? There’s a naivety in our young Mages, hand-reared by Clan and in a green-House, that must be offset by someone with a practical focus.”

“But Gwen Song was raised in Oceania, was she not? Why isn't she like this?”

“She's fair and of the gentler sex, perhaps?” the Dean alerted the others with a useless bit of information. “Stubborn and altruistic too. Not debilitating by any means, but it’s there. She won’t look kindly on the sort of length her cousin is willing to go. In my opinion, the two together make for a perfect balance between prim propaganda and pragmatic problem solver. She’ll give us good optics, I am sure. You've all seen her. The Vid-cast ratings will be phenomenal.”

Wu snorted.

“The last time we broadcasted the IIUC live…”

“...Was a disaster.” Dean Luo shook his head. “Don’t worry; I’ve got a good feeling about this year. If anything, I'll take responsibility.”

“Fine. What about the excommunicated Clanner?”

“I voted yes to offer Gwen Song more autonomy,” the Dean explained. “On a team of five, she could have operation authority if it’s three to two. Gwen can occupy dual-roles of Control and Offence, while Li can be an Offensive-interceptor. The cousin can likewise occupy dual-roles as mobile Defence and Battlefield Controller.”

“Agreed.” Eckermann made his opinion known. “Assuming this report is true. She's a fantastic soldier. What she lacks in talent, she makes up in enthusiasm. Did you see her Questing data? Two thousand and four hundred plus confirmed kills. She could be a career officer, at the very least a decorated NCO."

“I’ll agree for the sake of the Water Mage, not for your protégé,” Wu declared, glancing sideways at the Dean. “I want to see him in action. If he’s as good as I think he is, I want him enrolled in the Ghosts."

“You can try.” The Dean opened both hands. “I won’t stop you.”

Magister Wu ignored the Dean's quip and returned to sipping his tea.

“I guess my ‘nay’ vote doesn’t matter then,” Registrar Lee grumbled. “We’ll reconvene in June for the team selections.”

“Very well.” The Dean applauded himself. “Ellen, see the guests out, then go give Gwen and her friends the good news.”

“The announcement is one week from now, Sir,” Ellen, trained in processing simple paperwork and reading the calendar, informed her Master.

“Ah~, what’s the harm?”

“You have another thirty candidates to interview, Sir…” Registrar Lee frowned. “Please don’t play favourites. This is an important event for many of the students. Even a reserved position is a highly sought-after accolade.”

The Dean grumbled.

“Fine. Ellen, get me Walken.” He ignored the others. “Gentlemen, Elaine, we're done here.”

Gwen could hardly believe the first round of the Selection had come and gone like a sunshower. The announcement for the twenty-two candidates was posted by Saturday on the bulletin board just outside Guanghua Towers. Atop the list, perhaps at the Dean’s behest, was her name, below which Richard and Lulan’s names were buried.

While perusing the list, she also located the others.

Kitty Liang was among those chosen, as expected.

Lu Fung, Dai’s cousin, was also among that number.

Her senior, Tei Bai, was there as well, together with a few other well-known names from the Duelling Club.

As for the rest, she couldn’t put faces to the too-similar syllables. Just the last name Li appeared no less than four times on the list.

“Oh, thank the Chairman.” Lulan saluted in the general direction of the Crystal Tomb. “I see Senior Huang is up there as well, haha.”

“Good work, Lulu.” Gwen hugged her companion from behind. Lacking Mayuree’s presence, she was running out of things to snuggle. For all of Ariel’s wonders, human contact was nourishment for the soul. When the Lulan in her arms failed to respond; she followed the girl's eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Jinwei Li…” Richard followed Lulan's gaze as well. “Is that someone you know?”

“I think so.” Lulan exhaled, shivering a little. “I think that’s one of my seniors from the Clan.”

“So what?” She squeezed her cheeks. “Once we get some new magic happening, you’ll kick his ass.”

“I’ll work harder!” Lulan replied earnestly.

“If you’re anxious, we'll call in some outside help,” Gwen plagiarised Walken’s advice. “Let’s put in a CC request for a high-impact solid-projectile spell. Failing that, we can put in a request to learn that spell you told me. Currency makes the world go round, after all."

"Crystals can convince even ghosts to mill the rice." Richard borrowed an old Confucian observation.

“The Heart-piercing Sword.” Lulan nodded. “It’s a tier 6 spell that’s only taught to the inner-sect students.”

“I still can’t believe that’s the extent of your Sect’s spell-tiers.” Gwen grimaced. When Richard asked Kusu to produce a Spell-list, they were both surprised to find that the Huashan Sect had never converted the full extent of their ‘Sword-Path’ invocations to the Imperial Metric System.

“We’re an ancient Sect, but we’re poor,” Lulan lamented. “Huashan isn’t rich in resources or Magical Beasts, and all of our practitioners utilise the Iron-Heart Technique, so outsiders can’t use our spells.”

A Sect that has fallen behind in the economy of Spellcraft, Gwen mused privately. Their predicament was akin to a country still stuck bartering wood while the rest of the world had moved onto Petrol-bucks.

“Let’s get to it then.” She took Lulan by the arm. “I can pony up the CCs if you’re short. The earlier we get help, the sooner you'll be smashing faces.”

“I’ll be alright.” Lulan tore her eyes away from her cousin's name. “I haven’t spent a single CC in two years…”

"Ooo! There it goes!"

The sound of an excited squeal rang across the generous space of the Instructor-only training hall.

"The form is sustaining nicely." Walken tracked the floating ring as it sliced through the air soundlessly.

Ah~, the joy of creation, Gwen patted herself on the back.

Arguably, the dopamine hit from reaching a Spellcraft milestone was akin to succeeding in a business project, only-

"I say, it's coming back toward us," Walken remarked drily, clearing his throat.

Considering the limited range of the training hall, Gwen had designated the spell to curve as to avoid hitting the walls. Unfortunately, the disk of destruction appeared to be on a parabolic path back to its designer.

"Shit!" Gwen stood in front of Walken. "Caliban!"

"Shaa!"

Caliban leapt into the air as though the subject of a Crufts cosmic horror commercial and snapped at the dark band.

A section of the Chakram disappeared into the creature's maw, the rest of her disk, having lost its angular momentum, hurtled toward Gwen and her Instructor with murderous glee.

"Shield!"

A frontal Lightning Shield in a semi-sphere was just enough to catch the wildly spinning, half-eaten disk.

Holy shit! Gwen felt her back soak with cold sweat. She was sure she had seen something similar in the past where some self-tracking projectile ended up maiming its owner. The sense of déjà vu just now was intense!

"Perhaps a termination invocation should be built in," Walken announced drily. "We wouldn't want any surprises like that in the field."

Much like Lulan’s, Gwen’s Signature Spell had hit a snag.

Void Matter wasn’t like Lightning.

Despite the inexplicable rationale behind conjuring thundering plasma, Gwen's knowledge of electricity made her spells more or less a matter of common sense. For instance, in the case of her first-ever Lightning spell, Blast Bolt, all she had to do was designate two points, the resultant lightning then flowed between the two spatial tears into the Material world, saturating an area with Lichtenberg figures.

But for Void, she could only make a face and keep trying.

In a physical sense, Void-matter was akin to magnetised Ferrofluid in its viscosity. When left alone and kept sizzling on a plane of pure mana, Void-matter formed hydrophobic droplets of all-consuming anti-matter, hungrily skittering about, trying to find the slightest incline to escape.

When an invocation spell-shaped the fluid, it took on the elicited form. Lightning Grasp, for example, evoked a dangerous splutter of crackling dark lightning, while a dark gash of consuming energy formed the basis of Void Bolt. As for the thrice-damned Cloud Kill, her Void-matter manifested a fine-mist particle field. The latter, Gwen noted, was especially dangerous, corroding anything and everything, rapidly consuming her vitality on useless things like the air, soil, plants, and so on. Only in hyper-dense concentrations of biomass should she even consider activating the spell, not that she would wish such a grotesque agony upon anyone.

As for the optimal employment of the Void element, Sobel had the right idea: Void was an element almost tailormade for Conjured Creatures.

Nonetheless, she needed a Void-specific attack spell and Gwen was confident a 'Chakram' should work.

Lucy Lawless’ flawless multi-kills aside, there were perfect historical examples of Chakrams been used as early as the Delhi Sultanate. If her memory of the BBC Documentary served, records stated that these rings ‘cut through all’ and had a range of sixty to a hundred meters.

As for her current progress, functionality was prevented by the fact that when she ceased supplying mana to the spell, the ‘ring’ fell into a liquid state. At a range of just over twenty-meters, she would splash her target rather than cut it.

That's why to prevent structural collapse, she increased the rotational momentum and added a persistent ‘cache’ of mana to be used while the projectile remained in flight.

“So it’s a Frisbee,” she told herself. Or more accurately, an Aerobie. She recalled playing with one when she was a kid. On the packaging of Percy’s one time Boxing Day toy, it had boasted of holding the Guinness World Record for the longest throw of an object without velocity-aiding features, measuring at 400 or so meters. Unfortunately, she did not read the instruction’s small print - 'Aerobie does not float’.

Two throws at the beach and that was the end of Helena’s $19.99. Suffice it to say, Percy was heartbroken, and her mother had grown insufferable.

Maybe that's why the thing came back to her?

“You’ll have to keep experimenting with the incantation order.” Walken arranged and re-arranged her spell-stack into new variations while she checked her notes. “Give that a go.”

“I don't get why it doesn't do as its told,” Gwen grumbled. “Check this out, Lightning Chakram!”

A ring of blue-white plasma launched into the distance made a loop around her target, then fizzled as it returned to her.

“Cake-walk.”

“With your tier 6 Affinity and Ariel helping you spell-shape, why wouldn't it work?”

Gwen petted her pseudo-Kirin.

Ariel purred, its whole body vibrating.

“You could have finished by now,” Walken remarked sardonically. “If you were to 'upgrade' Caliban.”

“Ah, but you forget.” Gwen gave her Instructor the stink eye. “I am a masochist.”

“Of course, my apologies.” Her Instructor amused himself at her expense. “Let me know how those combinations go.”

“Will do.” Gwen packed her indexes, manuals, primers, notebooks, data slates, assorted tea and biscuits. “See you tomorrow, Eric.”

“Hey Marong, does Mia have an ER Message Device in Yangon?”

Feeling strangely unsettled one morning, Gwen decided to shoot the Smoke Mage a Message before he returned to the old country.

“You’re joking, right?” The Message came back during breakfast. “All Divination Messages are routed through a Tower. We don’t have a Tower in Yangon - or Myăma for that matter. The closest Tower is in the Chengdu Frontier in China, over two thousand kilometres away.”

Gwen slapped her forehead.

“In that case, is there any way to contact her?”

“Send me a Message, I’ll relay it over, and when she sends you a Message, I’ll route it through Chengdu when I or someone from the trade consortium is there. We do have a brisk jade and gemstone trade with China, so expect a week’s turn-around.”

"Okay, will do, thanks Marong."

After Magus Young's Evocation lecture, she did precisely that.

“Mia, it’s me, Gwen. I hope you’re doing well in Yangon. How’s the old country, your home sweet home? Too bad you can’t send me pictures of the place, I’d love to meet your extended family one day. Before you ask, yes, Marong and I spoke about it, and I don't mind at all. In other news, I’ve been selected for the IIUC! It was a breeze. Richard and Lulu have been chosen as well. I am sure you know already that Kitty’s on the list as well, though she’s been avoiding me. Ariel and Cali are doing well, as is everyone else. If you run into trouble or if people bother you, let me know! Maybe I can do something, ask for a few favours, that sort of thing. Marong says you’ll be back in May. Don't forget the 25th! It'll be our second one! Can’t wait to see you again - Gwen.”

“Got it. It’s cute,” Marong's Message fired back. “I’ll leave in two days. Hopefully, she'll make it to your party.”

“Make sure she does!” Gwen warned the brother. "Or I am holding you responsible!"

Marong failed to reply, but she was confident Mia wouldn’t miss the birthday party, not when Dai wanted to make the spectacle equivalent to the first inauguration of the Gwen administration.

After a pleasant weekend spent with family, a new week began. Now deep into the academic term, practicals took precedence over theory.

Conjuration’s twin-modules: 'Advanced Translocation of Objects and Localised Effects' and 'Conjuration of Elemental Effects, Duration and Interactions' came to an end, with the remaining three weeks dedicated to tutorial workshops. With her Affinity and her VMI, Birch's benchmarks were passed without incident.

Conversely, Evocation required several degrees of additional effort. As the weaker of Gwen's two Schools of Magic, her finesses was, as Magus Young put it: 40% Ariel and only 60% herself.

“You’re too generalised,” Young observed critically, puckering her lips in thought. “I know you’re capable, Gwen, but you’re hardly going to match a Master Evoker at this rate. The weakness will show in the future when higher-tier magic becomes available to you. Your lack of specialisation will impact the efficacy of your support mandalas, especially when drawing multi-layer strategic-class invocations.”

Gwen felt a stab to her pride.

The Magister was right. Even with Walken chalking up incantation combinations and helping her with calculations, her limited knowledge hamstrung her progress.

“If you’re keen to make Signature Spells, take Deconstruction of Spell Theory for your second semester, then Critical Appraisal of Spell-Structure when you return from the IIUC next year,” Young recommended wholeheartedly. “For a future Tower Master, the ability to deconstruct and re-construct magic is expected. DST3040 re-hashes existing theory and breaks down the processes involved in the evolution of the Imperial Metric System. As for CAS4010, it’s taught by Magister Julian Fennen on loan from the Imperial College of London. He’s only in Fudan until his research concludes, so I’d hurry.”

Listening attentively, she took the headful of advice with humility, realising just how far she had to go. Thankfully, Magus Young’s critiques aside, she had achieved nothing but sterling results in her practicals.

Meanwhile, her bestiary course with Instructor Chen had been usurped by Walken. With Aella the winged serpent leading the way, Ariel’s ability as a Kirin-shaped all-weather, carrier-capable, multirole combatant transitioned from dog-paddling to dogfighting.

A little disconcertingly, perhaps because of their mutual Draconic-nature, or maybe because they both hailed from Australia, Ariel had grown attached to the rainbow-hued Couatl.

“Play-sparring is the best training.” Walken’s philosophy was unexpectedly lax. “To mature a Familiar like yours and mine, we need to constantly give them new experiences, fresh encounters, opportunities for them to think cognitively and develop their Ego.”

“Caliban can recognise NoMs now, I think,” Gwen informed her trainer. “It knows the meat-bun lady at Five-Mile Dumplings and the guy who sells Teatime Bubble Tea. Normally, it only recognises Mages.”

“It’s the mana signature,” Walken explained patiently. “Lacking eyes, I suspect your little monster has a sense-ability akin to the Death Worm, who can identify prey through the tremor of their footfalls. Do you feel Ariel has grown?”

“Eeee! Eee!” Ariel affirmed Walken's suggestion.

“Ariel, say Mama!”

“Eee! EE?!”

"Child! Child!" Aella was merciless in its superiority.

Ariel sulked.

“It could do with more Draconic-cores, I’d imagine." Walken studied the Kirin as it struggled to enunciate the simple words. "It took Aella about two decades to be able to form thoughts complex enough to communicate. Linguistics, unlike Empathic Link, is a hugely complex trait. It requires abstract reasoning found only in sapient creatures. With your Consume ability and that Conjure Familiar Henry constructed for you, I’d dare say…”

“Come on, Eric,” Gwen intervened. “Broken Vid-caster much?”

"I try." Walken shrugged.

“Anyway.” Gwen turned back to her creatures. “Cali seems to do okay with the dogs though, despite its simple-mindedness.”

“The pack-instinct comes from Morden’s Hounds,” Walken flatly denied any possibility of Caliban’s imminent ascension. “Caliban is top-dog, that’s all. Were you to lack a creature such as Caliban; the Bloodhound would fill in as the Alpha. Morden was a master since before the Victorians.”

“Too bad he’s long gone.”

“You’d think.” Walken smiled. “He has descendants still living in Scotland. They have their home at Inverness - an infamous bunch, in fact, notable for their dislike of the Britannic Mageocracy.”

“Truly? That's amazing.” Gwen felt seriously impressed by the longevity of Morden’s bloodline.

“I wonder what they think about a teenage girl-Mage selling improved variations of Morden’s spells.” Walken chuckled. “The House of Morden isn’t what it used to be, but in Scotland, their word carries weight.”

“Gunther took care of it.” Gwen grinned back at her Instructor, wondering if he was trying to frighten her. “I am just an incidental benefactor of my Master’s Estate.”

After her retort, Walken chose the wisdom of silence.

As for her lesser courses, Translocation and Utility Divination both progressed swimmingly. Thanks to peripheral improvements and some tricks of the trade, Gwen could now Dimension Door up to a maximum range of three hundred odd meters, pending her familiarity with the terrain. In total, she could DD up to six times in quick succession before she expelled her lunch. Additionally, if she were to apportion her DDs into twin-sets with three-second intervals for recuperation, she could manage ten consecutive casts.

If the time came again for a dine-and-dash like that time with uncle Jun, she was confident in her escape.

“That’s impressive.” Birch had applauded. “Even at the higher end of tier 7, I can manage five kilometres on a good day. Your accuracy, however, will improve with experience, or in your case, with the growth of your Divination. If you ever train up Ariel's scouting capabilities, you could increase your range yet again.”

Speaking of Divination, her practice with Arcane Sight, a spell that allowed her to detect invisible creatures and see through low-tier Illusions, was going well. As for her primary goal, the much-anticipated Link Sight, a few months of dedicated labour remained.

Finally, for her Gen-Ed subjects, her tutorials had gone relatively well. Feedback from Professor Ma was that her peers enjoyed her teaching style as well as her unique workshop questions. If all goes well and she successfully aided Ma in grading the two-hundred-odd papers by the end of Semester break, she would receive two perfect High-Distinctions.

What remained then was Spell-Shaping and Magister Michio Lee’s far too optimistic anticipation that a girl without a Higher Magical Aptitude Certificate was going to impress him with an original Void spell.

“Sorry, Sir- KITTY!” Gwen apologised to Wing Commander Dienhart before intercepting Mayuree’s bodyguard mid-air.

“Hey!” Gwen levelled off against the girl while they sped through the illusory obstacle course. “Congrats on passing the interview.”

“Don’t talk to me.” Kitty’s rejection came fast and hard, her voice sharp and full of icicles. The Dual-Element Mage suddenly banked, performed a corkscrew before threading through a loop.

Gritting her teeth, Gwen supplied more mana to the body-reinforcement spell taught by their Instructor to reduce the effect of sudden acceleration and deceleration. Focusing her mind, she followed Kitty’s manoeuvre, barely making it through the target ring.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen was faster on the straights because she could afford to burn her reserves. “You weren’t like this when Mia was around.”

“Will you shove off already?!” Kitty snapped, suddenly accelerating upward toward the next target.

Gwen overshot her trajectory and had to loop around to point herself in the right direction.

When flying, movements towards the zenith consumed the most mana, while dives were the most economical. Interestingly, it was breaking and banking that exerted the most significant burden on one’s mana pool, not to mention one's physical body.

“Come on, don’t be like that!” She persisted, leaving behind a dense trail of inefficiently spent Lightning mana.

On the sideline, Wing Commander Dienhart was enjoying the show. Kitty was a natural dogfighter. The girl’s petite frame in addition to her Ice and Air element gave her the nimbleness of a pixie. Gwen, on the other hand, reminded Dienhart of a wyvern, a powerhouse flyer that executed every manoeuvre, accomplished every turn with pure athleticism. Still, considering the girl could only fly in linear trajectories when she arrived, he was satisfied as a teacher.

But after twenty laps of the sparrow versus wyvern aerial tag, even the Wing Commander grew annoyed.

Kitty landed, pale and puffing from the excessive expenditure.

Gwen performed a summersault overhead when she failed to check in time, landing far enough that she had to walk the rest of the way.

“Have you heard from Mayuree?” Gwen inquired earnestly, not the least puffed out.

“Sure.” Kitty looked up, her pale eyes the colour of blue-tinged glacier. As the mana drained from her body, however, her irises took on a pecan hue. “Mia's doing well.”

“That's good to hear. How’re things back in the old country?”

“Cosy.”

"No Tyrant troubles?"

"None at all," Kitty replied, her face hidden by her shoulder-length hair.

“When do you think she’s coming back? I’ve got a party on the 25th of May; you’re invited as well. I hope Marong gave Mia the Message."

In the next moment, Kitty’s expression grew catty and hostile.

“I need to train.” The girl turned from Gwen. “We’re not friends, Miss Song. Please don’t talk to me unless it's life or death.”

Before Gwen could retort, the girl ran off, aided by body-enhancement magic.

A none too pleased Wing Commander Dienhart reached her side, sympathetic but otherwise offended.

“I shouldn’t butt in,” the veteran growled. “But don’t bring that kind of drama to my lessons. In the field, I’d have both of you disciplined. Mark my words, you'll be up to your knees in latrine duty.”

“Sorry, Commander,” Gwen apologised. “I don’t know what’s happening either.”

“Well, whatever it is, you better at least reach Kitty’s lowest lap record.”

“Yessir!” Gwen snapped to attention. In the next second, feeling frustrated and irritable, she took off in a blast of silvery Lightning, threading through the gaps in the obstacle course with the bumbling grace of a honeyed-up bumblebee.

April passed without Gwen catching Kitty even once, not even when she commanded Ariel to camp at the entrance of the penthouse, terrifying the cleaners who came every Monday night.

The whole ordeal had left a sour taste in her mouth, for if they were to be on the same side for the IIUC, what did their current relationship forebode for their future teamwork?

Her immediate instinct was to consult Marong, but Mayuree's brother had left as well, leaving her with well-wishes and a promise that the House of M would soon deliver her friend's return Message.

As for the week ahead, other than her dedicated class and work times, she had set herself two tasks.

One was a luncheon with Senior Bai to discuss potential competitors, and the other was to make tangible progress in her twin endeavours of completing her Chakram as well as Lulan’s Panzerschreck.

Of the two, Senior Bai was her first order of business.

Bai Tei looked around the small, cramped restaurant awkwardly, uncomfortable in his mandarin jacket.

For their secret wish fulfilment, the other members of the duelling club had goaded him into dressing up for the occasion. In his Storage Ring, he even had a bouquet of rare Wildland flowers from a nearby florist.

"How many?"

A heavily set NoM woman who Bai could only assume to be the lady-boss of Fengbo Village, famous for its Beggar’s Chicken, asked if he was alone or with a group. Close to dinner time, the place was packed shoulder to shoulder, its air gravid with the scent of spiced fowl.

“I am looking for someone.” Bai swallowed, quickly undoing a few buttons.

“Senior! Over here!”

Bai cursed those bastards at the Duelling Club.

When the girl stood to reveal herself, the whole restaurant took note. It was like that time when he went with Uncle Chu to the Front, where a hundred Jiang-shi suddenly turned toward him with their phosphorescent eyes when he prematurely activated his magic.

Regretting everything, he squeezed past the patrons toward the girl, finding her alone. Curiously, there was a ring of space which surrounded their table.

“Shaa!” The answer to Bai’s silent enquiry revealed itself, sloppily absorbing on an enormous stock-bone with its lamprey’s maw.

“EEE!”

Beside Caliban was her other Familiar, likewise sitting on the floor with a bone of its own, chewing away happily.

“The boss-lady was very kind.” She flashed him a winning smile. “Come, sit.”

He couldn’t help but notice that she wore a flattering dress; though arguably, Gwen could wear a rice-sack and be no less attractive.

Pausing slightly, Bai purged his head of useless thoughts with a mote of Elemental Dust, then sat. The stupid idiots at the club had warped his expectations, but it didn't mean he should continue to entrench himself in fantasy.

“My shout,” Gwen offered. “Whatever you like.”

“You can order,” Bai informed their honorary member. “My sense of taste has… declined somewhat.”

“Oh, is that an elemental trait?”

“Something like that.” Bai nodded. “Our senses dull over time, and the stimulus required to reach the old threshold grows increasingly more and more demanding. My Master takes his salt by the fistful.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Gwen's expression was one of devastation. For a foodie like her, 'sans taste' was a fate akin to death.

“Coming from a Void user, I am grateful.”

The girl's smile was as sweet as nectar.

“Mama Chu! Beggar’s banquet! Extra Chicken!”

“You heard her, Banquet-extra-chicken!”

“Coming right up, Miss!”

After the juicy morsels filled the void left by the absence of meaningful conversation, Bai began to query Gwen's unexpected generosity. That was when under no uncertain terms, she asked Bai to give her a rundown of who would pose a 'threat'.

“To you? Why would anyone be a threat to you?"

“To Lulan or Richard, I mean.”

“I see.” Bai mulled over the list in his head. “I am confident Richard can assume the second Defence slot, or a Controller position. However, your ex-Clanner is indeed in a precarious position.”

“Any advice?”

“Realistically? No, it’s a fair competition, leave it to the Proctors. You're not thinking of anything unsavoury, I hope.”

“But can you tell me about them at least?” Gwen fluttered her voluminous lashes innocently. “I can access their Tower records with CCs, but that doesn't tell me about their quirks or their characters. I would prefer not to walk into the June training session blind as a dingbat.”

Bai regarded Gwen’s pleading eyes. The dim glow of her vivid pupils in the amber ambiance of the restaurant’s sickly bulbs told him that it was a terrible idea to give the girl what she wanted. After their fateful encounter on the duelling field, his Clan had given him express advice to tread lightly.

“Please?” The Void Sorceress flashed her pearly teeth, her face coy and full of feigned innocence.

“I shouldn’t.” Bai circulated another mote of Dust. “That information is privy to Fudan DC.”

“Give me something.” She leaned in. “Biggest threat to Lulan’s assured selection. That's all I ask.”

His mind caught in a jumble, a name came to Bai’s lips. After masticating the syllables in his mind, he relented that it wasn’t so bad if he let one through.

“What’s in it for me?” Bai averted his psychic assailant’s wanton eyes.

“Whatever you like,” the girl teased him.

“I want you to leave him alone. How’s that?”

“Sure.” Gwen's swift response made light of his request. “I promise.”

“Hmm,” Bai grunted. “Jinwei Li”

“From Lulu's family?”

“Yes. A third-year - keeps to himself usually; quiet and doesn’t speak much. Jinwei hails from Huashan’s Inner Sect, the Patriarch's faction. He's sitting at the apex of Lulan’s generation.”

“Would Lulu know him?”

“Presumably. From what I've heard from the other Clanners, your girl's problems with her Iron Heart technique makes her a bit of an outcast. On the other hand, Jinwei is a decent fellow. The strange thing is, he’s never shown any interest in Fudan’s extra-curricular pursuits, like most Clanner prodigies, he’s enrolled to receive a degree from a C9 university, then go home. It was the same with Lulan Li; they’re only here for the formal certification.”

“How about you?”

“I can’t say I am not in the same boat, but I do enjoy my time here.” Bai smiled. “The reason I am telling you this is because I can’t figure out why Jinwei would sign up to the IIUC. He’s a third-year, meaning even if he’s a part of the winning team, all his gains are limited. For Lulan and Kusu, a win could be huge. They could find new Masters, gain scholarship grants, receive positions in the CCP or Pudong Tower - as for Jinwei; he'll receive a better position, that's all.”

“So you think he’s here for Lulu?”

“Its as good a reason as any other,” Bai confessed. “There’s no promoting Huashan’s Spellcraft because no one else can use it. I mean, take yourself, for example, your Spell List uses IMS incantations, and your purpose is to peddle Void Magic to the public. For Jinwei, who knows?”

“That is suspect." Gwen’s eyes flashed dangerously. "If he’s here to pull Lulan’s leg…”

“Gwen, you promised…”

“Yeah-yeah.” The Void sorceress averted Bai’s eyes. “Thanks, Senior Bai. I owe you one.”

Bai sipped his ice tea. Hopefully, the Clan of Li saved themselves the trouble. If not, and if Jinwei Li attempted to sabotage Lulan’s IIUC opportunities, then Bai could only pray that Huashan preached the Confucian teachings that the Junzi must remain unbound by negative emotions of resentment and vengeance.

Likewise, as a disciple of the old Masters, it was his duty to give the girl at least a little guidance.

"Gwen." Bai cleared his throat, then smiling, he adopted a segment from the Analects. "The gentleman is never contentious. Even in losing, he shall retire to drink the forfeit-cup. So that in victory or loss, he remains a true Junzi."

The girl's grin was enough to melt the smile right from his face.

"Oh, but Sir," Gwen assured her senior of her best intentions. "I am not a gentleman."

As it turned out, Eric Walken was precisely the sort of scoundrel Confucious feared.

“Here are the stats on your competitors.” Walken passed over almost two-dozen data slates. “Have a look and advise me on how you wish to proceed. Remember, all’s fair in love and war.”

Banishing Senior Bai from her mind, Gwen lowered her eyes and perused the data slates.

Anita Wong

Position:: Defence

P.O.B:: China, Beijing

Ethnicity:: Han

Age: 19

Eyes: Amber (Clear)

Hair: Black

Height: 168CM

Transmutation (5), Abjuration (3)

Quasi-Elemental:: Mineral (Calcite)

Spirit:: Rock-Eater (Minor)

S.I.D:: 12598 S0203

Questing Class Permit:: A2

P.P.M.I.D:: 9443399 002

Note:: Persistent Crystalline Effects, Spirit can restore Caster’s mana by consuming Transmuted or Conjured Earth Elements.

There’s even a picture of the young woman, a northerner with sharp cheekbones and a mirthful smile.

Quickly, Gwen skimmed through the others, pausing whenever she struck a familiar name.

Karie Mok

Position :: Utility

P.O.B:: China, Hangzhou Frontier

Ethnicity: Han

Age:: 20

Eyes: Black

Hair: Dark Blue

Height: 154CM

Divination (5), Illusion (4)

Prime-Elemental:: Air

Spirit:: None

S.I.D:: 12598 S0101

P.P.M.I.D :: 8942379 003

Questing Class Permit:: A4

Note:: Currently the sole specialist Diviner in Selection

The only Diviner.

Gwen touched a finger to her lips.

Alas, that spot could have belonged to Mayuree.

Now that Miss Mok was the sole Diviner, the only recourse was that she and this girl must both enjoy a most cordial working relationship.

Next was her cousin.

Richard Huang

Position:: Defence, Control

P.O.B:: Australia, Sydney

Ethnicity: Eurasian

Age: 19

Eyes: Grey, Dark

Hair: Brown, Dark

Height: 185 CM

Conjuration (5) Abjuration (4)

Prime Elemental:: Water

Spirit:: Lea (Sapient Undine, High)

S.I.D:: 12601 S0203

P.P.M.I.D :: 8341279 005

Questing Class Permit:: AA2

Note:: Undine Spirit allows complete control of water with effectiveness up to tier 8. Key strategist. Unless selected with Gwen Song, the contestant will withdraw from the IIUC.

The note flooded Gwen with a flush of warmth.

Lu Fung

Position:: Offence

P.O.B:: China, Nantong

Age:: 18

Ethnicity: Han

Eyes: Black

Hair: Black

Height: 172CM

Conjuration (5), Divination (3) Evocation (2)

Quasi-Elemental:: Lightning

Spirit:: Wanli (Medium)

S.I.D:: 13598 S0203

P.P.M.I.D :: 8342228 004

Questing Class Permit:: A3

Note:: Aerial Familiar.

Poor Lu, she thought to herself. The Conjurer would have been amazing if not for their mutual redundancies. Even though Lu appeared to have completed his Divination for Link-Sight before she did, she wasn't confident in his chances.

Lulan Li

Position:: Offence

P.O.B:: China, Shaanxi Frontier

Age:: 17

Ethnicity: Han

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Black

Height: 164 CM

Huashan Sword-Art (5)

Prime-Elemental:: Earth (Iron)

Spirit:: None

S.I.D:: 16798 S0102

P.P.M.I.D :: 8783379 003

Questing Class Permit:: AA2

Note:: Experienced Questing Mage. Unless selected with Gwen Song, the contestant will withdraw from the IIUC.

Lulan was such a sweetie.

Kitty Liang

Position:: Offence, Control

P.O.B:: China, Qinhai Frontier

Age:: 18

Ethnicity: Hui

Eyes: Brown (Light)

Hair: Black

Height: 159 CM

Evocation (5) Transmutation (5)

Para-Elemental :: Air / Ice

Spirit:: Ice Roc (Minor)

S.I.D :: 11597 S0103

P.P.M.I.D :: 8341279 005

Questing Class Permit:: A4

Note:: Exceptional aerial combatant, excellent control over dual-elemental magic.

The next slate was for herself, with the same headshot she had taken when she enrolled.

Gwen Song

Position:: Offence, Control

P.O.B:: Australia, Sydney

Age:: 17

Ethnicity: Eurasian

Eyes: Hazel (Green)

Hair: Black

Height: 182CM

Evocation (5), Conjuration (5) Transmutation (3)

Abjuration (2) Divination (1) Illusion (2)

Quasi-Elemental :: Lightning / Void

Spirit:: Ariel (Pseudo Kirin, Minor) Caliban (Void Beast, unconfirmed)

S.I.D:: 12598 S0203

P.P.M.I.D :: 9840598 001

Questing Class Permit:: A2

Note:: Void Mage. The individual is extremely dangerous. Potentially unstable. Candidate backing including Nantong Fungs, Dean Luo, Jun Song and Ambassador Ayxin of Huangshan.

Am I taller again? Gwen furrowed her brows. She wasn’t going to become a basketball player at this rate, was she? And 'extremely dangerous?' Well, she supposed that was right. Unstable? Now that’s just rude-

AYXIN?

The Dragon-princess had put in a word for her? Was this her returning a favour, or was this at uncle Jun’s behest? If Ayxin made a request, then her selection was most certainly assured. No official would risk the sanctuary of Shanghai just so that they could follow ethical guidelines for a Questing competition Fudan had failed for two decades straight.

After taking a moment to take in the gravitas of her nepotic rise to power, Gwen quickly flipped through the data slates until she found the one Senior Bai had mentioned.

Jinwei Li

Position:: Offence

P.O.B:: China, Xian

Age:: 20

Ethnicity: Han - Uyghur

Eyes: Grey (Light)

Hair: Warm Brown

Height: 176 CM

Huashan Sword-Art (6)

Prime-Elemental:: Earth (Iron)

Spirit:: Onyx Cricket (Medium)

S.I.D:: 12598 S0203

Questing Class Permit:: AA1

P.P.M.I.D:: 8235909 003

Note:: Commendation from General Yingyi Hao for exceptional valour in combat.

Jesus, Gwen swore under her breath. Lulan had nothing on this guy. It was like comparing herself to Lu Fung.

The headshot showed a serious looking young man with large, oval eyes more typical of nomads living on the western steppes. The rest of the man’s face was atypically Han-Chinese, pancake flat and delicate, with thin lips and a straight, flattering nose. Rather than handsome, Gwen found the young man strangely effeminate.

Walken glanced over her shoulder. He liked to do that a lot, she noticed.

“That one's giving you grief?”

“Not yet.” Gwen mulled her options. “Where did you get these?”

“Found them lying around."

The two exchanged a look.

“So that you know, the Chinese have a saying: strike first and gain the upper hand,” Walken spoke beside her ear. “Why resolve a problem when you can prevent one?”

Gwen swallowed apprehensively, reading her Instructor's thoughts.

"Wouldn't that be... unethical?"

"Ha!" Walken snorted. "You think they wouldn't do the same to you? They're afraid, that's all! The University - the Tower - your allies will skin anyone who dares!"

"But-"

"No 'buts'!"

"Eric-"

"Gwen - if you can take advantage of a situation in some way, it is your duty to do so. Why should the race always be to the swift or the contest to the strong? Should your competitors be allowed an advantage merely because of their superior gifts, rarer talents, their God-gifted grace? Of course not: victory, Gwen, is the gift man gives himself. Your contemplation of 'fairness' is a disservice to yourself."

"I am pretty sure that is NOT what Ecclesiastes says," Gwen recognised at least a part of Walken's faux bible blurb.

"No, but it is the psalm of victors." Walken's face burned with a fervent faith.

Her teeth clenched.

The man's advice was difficult to refute.

What is fairness? She found herself questioning her motives. Where's the line separating morality and immorality? Was this a case of the hero’s hubris turning them into the villain? What would she do? Use the Fung Clan to pressure Huashan until the Clan relented, or use her money to crush the Clan's finances, then use the leverage to force them to give up all their secrets for Lulan while simultaneously withdrawing Jinwei? Given the next four months, it was doable.

But that would be evil.

Or would it?

Wouldn’t her enemies have done the same, relenting but for the lack of gall?

It’s a slippery slope! She cautioned herself against Walken!

BUT! The crony capitalist in her mind stood up in her four-inch heels. Isn’t ruthless competition the whole point? A true Laissez-faire market of 'fair competition' was just a pipe dream, something that never existed in the first place. In a perfect world, if they were bakers and not Mages, they would all submit their pies to market, and everyone would have a fair shake of the sauce bottle. The reality though, was that if she were to bake the world's greatest sausage roll, it was more likely some scoundrel on the other side would try to steal her recipe, break her fingers, or prohibit her goods from sale.

As such, as the one holding the tongs, shouldn’t she reciprocate?

To be fair was to be unfair to herself: that was the case for business, if so, why shouldn't it apply to her competitors here?

An arc of electricity leapt from her hair, singing the air.

Opposite, Walken marvelled at the girl’s hawkish gaze staring into the middle distance, her lips muttering words only she could hear. As shades of colour played through the pale complexion of her face, the Magister couldn't help but be reminded of how Gwen had deceived him.

Blackmail? Extortion? Coercion? What terrible plans must the girl be concocting now?

The next morning Gwen Song woke from troubled dreams, finding herself transformed in her bed into a horrible vermin.

“God, you look terrible,” Petra observed when she finally crawled out of bed. “Are you not using your Essence?”

“Errghn,” Gwen excused herself. She had spent the whole night fantasising about all the things she shouldn't be doing.

“What’s wrong?”

“… nothing.” She made a face, wondering if she should tell Petra she’s deciding on whether to undermine her competitors unscrupulously.

“How’s the Chakram going?” Her cousin misread her anxiety.

“I am testing out propulsion and range with Magister Lee on Thursday.” Gwen sighed. “Making new spells is hard.”

Petra laughed.

“It took Master and me two years to formalise Spell Cubes as a new class of Magic.” she chuckled. “Of course it’s hard.”

“But you’re pioneering a whole new branch of Spellcraft, going where no Mage has ever gone before!” Gwen buttered her cousin and companion. “I am just trying to put some age-old knowledge together in a functional way.”

Petra blushed.

‘Ding!’ Gwen's Message device chimed.

“Sorry, let me get this. Lulu, what’s up?… What? WHAT?! OKAY, WAIT FOR ME!”

“Sorry, Pats - emergency!” Gwen scowled.

The bastard! She spat internally. To think Huashan would strike when she least expected it!

“What’s wrong?” Petra watched her cousin fly into a seething malevolence. “What’s this about?”

“I’ve been looking up a guy called Jinwei Li,” Gwen explained from the bedroom, quickly slipping out of her nightie and slapping on whatever was on hand. “Struggling - STRUGGLING with my conscience to not send the guy to meet the Mermen in Nantong, and now he comes calling at Lulu’s!”

“Who’s Jinwei?” The Russian observed her glowering, pink-fleshed cousin. “Another molester?”

“Nope!” Gwen growled, spluttering as she struggled into her dress. “Worse!”

“Ahahahaha…” Gwen laughed awkwardly, holding Lulan close to her body, a hand gripping each shoulder. “As I thought, it’s all a misunderstanding!”

“Gwen…” Lulan winced. “You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry!” Her fumbling fingers relaxed.

A few minutes ago, she had charged head first into Lulan’s apartment with both Familiars akimbo. The moment Gwen saw Jinwei looming over Lulan, she let loose a surge of concentrated Dragon-fear like a shaped-charge, blasting the poor Sword Mage with the force of a high-tier Horrify.

On reflex, Jinwei leapt backwards, a gleaming sword materialising in each hand, filling the air with the sound of screaming metal.

“Take him down!” Gwen commanded. "But keep him alive!"

Ariel leapt onto Lulan’s dining table, scattering plates, fried tofu, soy sauce, porridge and pickles all over. Meanwhile, Caliban slithered through the kitchen to flank the Mage, banging through the cramped space, sending down a torrent of spice-jars, cups, glasses and a pot lid.

“On your knees, Asshole!” Gwen's voice thundered through the room, shaking plaster from the walls. “How dare you!”

“Gwen, no!”

"I haven't finished eating!" Kusu despaired.

Lulan tackled Ariel as it zoomed toward Jinwei, hugging it close to her chest. Kusu sidestepped, halting Caliban’s advance.

“Miss Song! Why are you attacking me? I am here at your behest!” Jinwei fired back, both swords raised for self-defence.

Perplexed, Gwen commanded her Familiars to stand down.

“What? Explain yourself!"

“I am here because of the request you and Lulan set at Fudan T2!”

Gwen looked at Lulan nodding her head desperately. Kusu likewise moved his chin up and down vigorously.

“Cousin Jinwei is here for the Heart-piercing Sword Quest,” Lulan’s brother informed their saviour. “Hence, you and Lulu invited him.”

Ariel gave its Master a look, asking if it should maim the guy and be done with it. Caliban slobbered all over, despoiling Kusu' rug.

“Ah~...” Gwen cringed, feeling herself shrink. She grabbed Lulan, then hid behind the girl's profile to mask her evident mortification.

The Old Gods beyond! She groaned. It was true; she was the reason the man was over at Lulan’s apartment in the first place. To the poor bugger, it must seem like she and Lulu had lured him into a trap, and now the three of them were going to send him to the hospital for a long time.

“Sorry!” she apologised again, recalling her complaining Familiars. “Shall we… take a seat?”

The trio looked around the apartment. Its current state suggested a trio of Tasmanian devils had ravaged the Li siblings' abode.

“Or not.” Gwen squeezed Lulan's arm like a stress ball, making the girl wince. “Erm… brunch, my shout?”

Thankfully, with an hour to spare before class, there was enough time for the foursome to gather at a local cafe and discuss the matter of Jinwei’s visit.

“I am here for the CCs,” Jinwei confessed. “As well as a peace offering from the main family.”

An olive branch? Gwen sipped her coffee.

“I am not going back,” Lulan stated right off the bat.

"You tell 'em," Gwen affirmed Lulu's decision. "No one is going to make you go anywhere."

Kusu appeared pained, thinking of the leverage lost after Lulan refuted Jinwei’s offer without even hearing the man out. A simpleton his sister was, but she was honest and dear to his heart.

“I am afraid returning would be impossible,” Jinwei answered earnestly. The young man's almond eyes gave him an affable appearance. “The two of you broke Clan law. If anything, it’s a miracle that both of you have retained the Iron-heart technique. Normally, we are honour-bound to retrieve the catalyst.”

“Then why are you helping Lulu?” Gwen's voice cut through the space between Lulan and her cousin. “You joined the IIUC trial. I want to know why. Is it to sabotage her chances?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Jinwei refuted the accusation. “I’ve been instructed to support Miss Li and if need be, gift her my slot if she happens to fail the selection criterion.”

Both Lulan and Kusu appeared bewildered.

Gwen remained dubious. This gift was equally a threat.

“In exchange, the Huashan Clan would like to ask Miss Song to repay the favour.”

“Oh?” Gwen crossed her arms. “A favour from me?”

“Yes.” Jinwei simpered. “Could you ask the Fung Clan to give us a position in the Nantong Tonglv project? Or rather, could you ask them to allow us to tender for a position?”

Gwen's brows formed the Chinese pictogram for 'eight'.

“All the major Clans have a stake in the project,” Jinwei explained. “Either in exploration, subjugation, security or infrastructure. As a state venture, Nantong is exceedingly safe and especially lucrative, so much that it's now called the ‘Southern Miracle’. The word from one of our sources says that it’s going to be one of the most profitable infrastructural projects within a decade, and you're somehow involved in all its sudden transformation.”

Venture capitalism, Gwen snorted. When credit-derivative economics attended Tonglv's 19th-century shipping operations, it's only natural there's going to be boatloads of crystals to be made.

“… But so far we’ve been kept out of every possible avenue. Members of our Clan can’t even take up positions as guards for the construction teams.”

Must be Dai, Gwen discerned.

Or perhaps his father, Shen.

The Fungs knew that she had 'beef' with the Huashan Sword Mages.

Assuming she was right, was Patriarch Shen trying to do her a solid? No, that kind of thinking was foolish. In business, one acted only on principles of leverage and benefit, privileging one's interest. Rather than rebuking Shen Fung, it would be easier to allow Huashan into the second-stage expansion.

“Senior Jinwei says the Clan is short on funds,” Lulan added timidly. “They need crystals and CCs to rebuild the mount’s infrastructure, as well as hire experts to decipher the Clan’s Magic for the IMS Spell List.

A Clan attempting to modernise? Gwen studied Jinwei's reaction. The young man seemed amiable enough, though as usual, the more harmless a rival appeared, the more sceptical she felt.

“What makes you think Lulu can’t make it on her own?”

“The fact that you put out a 200 CC notice requesting for an incantational algorithm to replicate the Piercing-Heart Technique?”

Okay, there is that, Gwen grumbled.

“So, you’re pawning your Clan’s magic, is that it?”

“As a peace offering, yes. Of course, since I took the Quest, I assume you’ll be paying the CCs.”

Gwen scoffed.

Lulan pulled at her sleeve like a kitten begging for treats.

Gwen sighed.

“Very well, Mr Li, what do you propose?”

“I’ve brought the scrolls for the Heart-Piercing Sword, and I’ll demonstrate and teach Lulu the magic in a Cog-Chamber. If you can provide a Magister capable of dismantling or reconstituting the spell, we’re willing to share the spell with outsiders under the condition that we publish as a co-contributor and receive credit for the new spell.”

Which means they can teach it to their Clan members without paying CCs, Gwen mulled over the Sword Mage’s offer. As for Magisters skilled in deconstructing magic, she had Wen, Walken, possibly Petra, and other human resources to call on.

That said, she wouldn't be sharing her limited knowledge of physics with the Sword Mage Clan. What Lulu and Lulu alone would be firing from the Heart-Piercing Sword spell would remain her very own Signature Spell.

Rationally speaking, Li's barter was acceptable. With Tonglv's Stage 1 nearing completion, there's plenty of pie left.

“And in addition to that, you’ll occupy a competitor’s slot, help her in the June try-outs, and bow out if you’re chosen instead of herself?”

“Assuming our Nantong predicament is resolved by then, of course.”

He's dual-wielding a stick and a carrot, Gwen meditated while giving the man the evil eye.

“Lulu? Kusu?”

The siblings had nothing to say; it wasn’t as though they had sway with the Fungs.

“Deal.” Gwen extended a hand. “Help Lulu, and everyone wins. Stab her in the back, and your Clan becomes penniless, and you're food for Caliban.”

“Of course, Patriarch. I’d love to attend.” Gwen tore herself from her note laden table. Her workspace was starting to resemble Petra's in more ways than one.

Herself, Dai and Ken had been invited to attend the Tonglv Canal's first major milestone.

Just the thought of it quickened her blood.

A single transmuted wall, a hundred meters deep and a quarter-kilometre wide, stood between the waterway and the South China Sea.

After the ribbon-cutting, a steady stream of water would gush into the channel, connecting it to the Yangtze River, after which a torrent of HDMs would swell with the tide, overflowing Nantong's coffers.

Grains, vegetables, stone, steel, lumber, and livestock from the Su-Hang tableland would enjoy an unimpeded passage to the South China Sea, bypassing the inundated Port of Shanghai, finally relieving Shanghai's inundated waterways.

She quickly fired Richard and the others a Message, only to recall that they were already on the way to Nantong. As principle contributors to the eradication of Demi-human infestations in the region, Richard’s party had a place of honour among the adventurers and mercenaries, away from the big-wigs. Instead, her replacement companions would be Ruì, Effi and Terence, all of whom had been invited by Dai.

Thus attired in the porcelain blue attire her grandmother had gifted her, she stepped into the limousine with Dai and the others, cautioning her NoM companions about the displacement sickness that came with long-distance Teleportation.

“Senior Bai, Gwen's on the Vid-cast!”

Bai halted his sparring match when one of the Fudan DC members came running into the gymnasium, waving his arms like a madman.

“Our Flower of Fudan is on CCVC-1!” he hollered. "Someone change the Divi-stream!"

CCVC-1 was the official channel for state broadcasts. It ran a 24-hour news service, looping the latest incursions, attacks, victories and conquests made by the CCP.

“I am turning it up!” Someone else fired off a glyph at the overhanging Vid-caster.

In the next moment, all eyes gathered on the projection, searching for the familiar silhouette of their leggy mascot.

(Music Plays)

(The CCVC-1 LOGO zooms out to reveal a reporter standing atop the canal, below which hundreds of thousands of officials and local elites thronged shoulder to shoulder.)

Zhuli Wei

… therefore, the Tonglv Committee has chosen today, the 22nd of April, as the auspicious day to ‘break earth’ and inaugurate the canal. Though initially a troubled project attracting criticism from the Central Bureau for its wastefulness, recent administrative changes have brought new life to the Tonglv Project, now designated one of the most successful government infrastructural projects in a decade, receiving not just attention from the District’s Office, but from Central as well - Lu Joan reports.

(The picture cuts to another reporter wearing a formal cocktail dress.)

Joan Lu

Thank you, Zhuli, as you can see behind me, the Big Three responsible for the completion of the Canal’s main transit artery are now making their way onto the stage for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Leading them is Secretary Shen Fung of the Nantong Fung Clan, a loyal and local member of the Party who has laboured since two decades ago to integrate the Nantong Frontier into Greater Shanghai Metropolitan Region.

(The reporter approaches Shen Fung)

Good afternoon, Secretary Fung, how do you feel about your achievement?

Shen Fung

To say that I feel proud would be an understatement. This project is my child. To ensure its success, I have scoured every resource from Nantong. I want to say I deserve the credit, but that is not true. The real honour goes to the people and the Party! Personally, I would like to thank our decision makers from Central for supporting my vision and the dreams of Nantong's workers. Likewise, I am grateful to our craftsmen, both NoMs and Mages, who have laboured day and night for the better part of six years to ensure that today, our earth-breaking ceremony is not a dream, but a reality. The prosperity of Tonglv is the prosperity of the people!

Joan Lu

Well said, Secretary Fung.

(Shen Fung leaves to join a group of local power brokers - but not before he directs Joan's attention to a group of young people, at the head of which is his son, Dai Fung.)

Next, we have a leader who is familiar to many of us - the recently promoted Chairman Tu Guangshao of the Shanghai Economic Exchange. Chairman Tu of the Greater Regional Economics Committee has been instrumental in reforming the financial operations of the Tonglv project.

Chairman, how do you feel about this day?”

Guangshao Tu

Joan, good to see you again.

(Tu bows toward the audience)

To our viewers at home, Tonglv is a sea-change, not only for Nantong but for China itself. Though I cannot reveal too much, this project and its administrative practices will go down in history as the beginning of China’s economic rebirth. Soon, we will return to being the 'middle-nation' of the human world. In the decades to come, all of us, and all of you, whether in the Districts, in Xian, Beijing or Shanghai or the Frontiers, will feel the positive impact of our nation's economic growth. I am truly happy to have served Mao's teachings and the People's Republic!

Joan Lu

Thank you for your service. Chairman Tu.

Guangshao Tu

Chen Quin! Stop dawdling! Get over here!

Joan Lu

Next, we have Magister Chen Quin, formerly of Jianqiao University. Within the triumvirate, Magister Chen represents the Overseer Committee. Thanks to his efforts, corruption and nepotism have had nowhere to hide. Magister, what do you foresee for the future of Tonglv Canal?

Quin Chen

A good question. Tonglv will, in the next five years, overtake Shanghai's Port Authority in the volume of goods exported from the Su-Hang region. Like comrade Tu ha stated, our international port shall be the most progressive ventures the Party has ever embarked. For the people of Nantong, this region will become a new industrial centre for processing, packing and shipping. Naturally, this means that we - the Overseer Committee from Central, will be keeping a close eye on matters!

Joan Lu

Excellent, Magister Chen. Can you introduce us to some of your proteges?

(The Lumen-Recorder dutifully pans toward the group of young men and women the Big Three had been conversing with.)

Quin Chen

Of course, young people are the future of our nation. James! Bring Dai, Ken and Gwen over.

(One of the men, an older gentleman, hesitates. Though placed on the spot, he follows through with Chen’s demands.)

Joan Lu

You’re Professor James Ma from Fudan University!

James Ma

I am pleased and honoured to be here.

Joan Lu

Has the famous rivalry between Fudan and Jianqiao ceased? Are you and Magister Chen working together? What are your thoughts on the Canal?

James Ma

… No, and yes. I am afraid the Canal's importance supersedes any academic rivalry. This project is a boon for both Mages and NoMs. The number of jobs it will bring will completely transform this region; it would not be unrealistic to say that millions of people, our non-magical workers especially, will now be employed in one capacity or another-

(Ma continues to speak about the boons of the Canal for the local NoM population. Joan can barely get a word in.)

Quin Chen

Perhaps it's best to hear it straight from the source. Young Dai, the son of Secretary Fung, has been instrumental in Tonglv’s progress. He has brought in innumerable investors with that silvery tongue of his.

(The Lumen-recorder quickly moves toward the group of young people. A few of them look entirely at ease, while a few others appear mortified. The shot pauses on Dai, then subtly zoomed out as to capture a breathtakingly beautiful young woman beside the Fung heir.)

Joan Lu

Mister Fung, can you tell us more about your involvement in all of this.

(Dai glances at the girl beside him, then begins to speak. Curiously, the beauty remains stoic.)

Dai Fung

Chairman Tu and Magister Chen are too kind. To say that I am instrumental in any of this would be a joke. If anything, we should thank the people, the Secretaries who have worked tirelessly to make this possible, not to mention the Party itself. Just being here fills me with a feeling of ardour and worship for the New China my generation will inherit. As for the details of the operation, Miss Song here is the one you should be interviewing.

(Finally receiving a cue, the Mage operating the Lumen-Recorder zooms into the girl’s face. The girl’s eyes widen slightly, then she swallows. Her lips part, but no words emerge. Though the shot is flawlessly aesthetic, she appears speechless.)

Joan Lu

Miss Song?

Dai Fung

Gwen Song.

Joan Lu

Miss Gwen Song, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Joan Lu, Central-Chinese Vid-Cast One.

Gwen Song

…

Dai Fung

Please don't mind her, Gwen is feeling shy because of the Lumen-recorders. Mark my words though, you will be seeing and hearing plenty more of her from now on. This young lady is a staple member of Fudan’s IIUC team. This year, they’re going international!

(The Lumen-recorder performs a one over of the girl, scanning her from her wind-tossed hair to her gleaming Mary-Janes.)

Dai Fung

Earlier, my father and the others have been discussing how we should be cutting the ribbon, though I think we have just the omen. Gwen, can we borrow your Kirin?

Joan Lu

A Kirin!

Dai Fung

Indeed! Gwen is famous around Fudan and has caused quite a stir when she returned from Huangshan with a blessing that surprised us all. Her Uncle, you should know, is the Hero of the Northern Front, the Ash Bringer!

Joan Lu

A Kirin AND the niece of a national hero! Miss Song, we shall be keeping a close eye on your progress from now on!

(The girl flashes a gentle smile before turning to her companion.)

Gwen Song

I am doing what now?

Dai Fung

You said it was fine.

Gwen Song

I never sai- You never said I was going to be on T- on Vid-cast!

(The Lumen-Recorder quickly pans away, returning to the stage where the ceremony is about to begin.)

“There’s Ariel!”

“Oooh! Lord Kirin!”

On the gigantic Vid-Caster, Bai and the members of Fudan’s Duelling Club giddily watched as Ariel, resplendent and fully fluffed, shot a streak of cobalt-lightning toward a giant ribbon tying together the final floodgates of Tonglv Canal’s seawall.

Slowly, still held aloft by currents of air, the two-storey ribbons fell apart to the sound of thunderous applause filling the valley.

Below the noble visage of Gwen's Kirin, an enormous, strategic-class Transmutation glyph blazed, ejecting two rods of ferro-concrete each the size of a small skyscraper, returning their mass back into the Elemental Plane of Earth.

There was a sound of rumbling, then a sudden ratcheting of pressure and moisture. A taste of salt filled the air as all sound save the thundering chunder of the ocean was drowned out.

Twin plumes of white water shot into the newly completed Tonglv Canal, a million-million litres of blue-green sea rushed into the basin, painting the grey-concrete black. Vapour from the crashing waterfall filled the atmosphere, kept away from the VIP personnel standing upon the ceremonial platform, drenching the observing crowd further away.

A roaring cheer echoed across the churning valley.

For those soaked to the bone, the wetness was a benediction. The people of Nantong had awaited this baptism for far too long. To them, the wet wasn’t just so much brine; what Tonglv signified was the floodgates of progress; its spillage the water of life.

After about a minute of silent awe, one of the Fudan DC members turned to the others.

“How about our princess, huh?”

“I love the way she stared into the Vid-Caster not knowing what to do.”

“Haha, our Worm-Handler can’t handle Lumen-recorders.”

“Maybe that’s her weakness. I’ll bring one next time we duel.”

“Hahaha…”

Gwen slipped out of her dress, then still wearing her bra and panties, freefell into her bed.

Her brain attempted for the N-th time to catch up with the events of the day, yet still somehow failed to process the chaos that followed.

First, Dai had asked her if using Ariel to perform an auspicious, ‘good luck’ ceremony to bring fair tidings and good optics was a good idea. Then suddenly, while she was daydreaming about her Chakram and still weighing the pros and cons of Ariel's public appearance, the reporter started firing off questions.

Her immediate reaction was to explode with a combo-chain of pointless Communist clichés, but thankfully her brain was working fast enough to seize her glib tongue and shove it back down her throat.

Platitudes?

New China?

The Party?

The Will of the Workers?

Praise Chairman Mao?

Holy shit! Are these guys still stuck in the Cultural Revolution? 'There will be no loyalty, except loyalty towards the Party. There will be no love, except the love of Chairman Mao?'

More importantly, was she willing to paint herself in their colour?

It was too dangerous!

Looking like a deer caught in the path of a Disintegrate was far better than having the Pudong Tower and the Britannic Mageocracy doubt her integrity in the future. If she were to start ass-kissing the CCP and pass out little-red books on national television, she might as well start demanding a position in the Inner Party now.

But while she looked on dumbly, Dai ran his mouth to 'save' her.

After that, they had walked onto the ceremony stage, where ten-thousand lumen-globes attached to recorders blitzed her until she was blind. Moreover, Patriarch Fung, Chairman Tu and Magister Chen dragged her onstage again for red carpet shots.

But that wasn’t the end of it, Dai and herself were requested by what she could only assume to be the propaganda corps to stand beside the churning levy with an adrift Ariel for more lumen-pics. When she attempted to dilute the attention by including Ruì and her other co-workers, her NoM companions fled the scene.

Even after all was over and done, there remained the after-party back at the Fung building.

There, as a result of her exposure, her status as an uncooperative guest had suddenly transformed into that of an unbidden co-host. Thus accosted on all sides by hungry-looking men, her hyper-vigilance against potential molesters had stretched her stress-levels to a breaking point. It was almost midnight when she finally goaded Dai into sending her back, exhausted and haggard, stumbling home to fall into a dreamless slumber.

“There she is!”

“Shaa! Shaa!”

“Mao! WHAT IS THAT?!”

At Fudan’s Guoding St entrance, a dog-pack had found their prey.

A dozen lumen-globes fired their payload at the surprised maiden wearing her Friday casuals, a youthful combo combining a denim mini-skirt and a quarter-length blouse.

When the paparazzi gang had burst from the street corner and accosted her, Fudan's infamous Worm Handler reflexively erected a Shield. Caliban meanwhile, leapt in-between its Master and the men with large, pipe-like recording instruments, letting loose a threatening growl.

Unfazed and hardened by years of reporting for the Front, a veteran paparazzo strafed to one side to catch a close-up side-profile of his next paycheck.

"SHAAA!"

A second later, he found himself on the floor, staring straight up at the sky with a Mongolian Death Worm sitting on his chest.

“Arrrrgh!” the man screamed while Caliban drooled all over his face, tentacles flailing this way and that.

“Cali, back!” the girl called out in a blind panic, un-summoning her fiend.

A dozen cameras shifted between her panicked expression and the man on the floor, who by now had taken up his best impression of a critically injured international soccer player grazed on the shoulder by a damp feather.

Confused by the exhibition but seizing the opportunity, the pack's quarry ran for the gate, only to find that at least half of the men had anticipated her intent. From the speed of their movements, she gauged these were Mages and that there was no escaping them.

Ten thousand llamas raced through her mindscape as she sought for a way to escape her predicament. It was all very confusing to her, whose only experience with the media was a paid interview on the Sunday Telegraph promoting 'Women in Finance'. Why Magical Reporters? She cursed the tabloid press. Was the country so at ease that they could spare mystic personnel for the back pages?!

She couldn’t Dimension Door into the university, and she couldn’t fly, which left her with one option.

“Jump!”

Pulling on her skirt, she ran for the wall then leapt over the barrier, careful as to avoid the wards. As a student, she should be safe, though the reporters would have to enter through the gate and there, the campus guards would prevent their entry.

When she landed, it was in a pile of filthy, wet leaves the gardener had piled up against the wall.

Incidentally, she was wearing a white blouse.

The girl sighed, closed her eyes for a moment to control her raging Essence, then materialised her laundry Cube. Using the device while attired ensured that her clothes never entirely dried out and that she would have to endure a horrid clamminess for several hours.

'Pa! Pa! Pa!' Lumen bulbs flashed.

She looked up.

The fucking reporters had Levitate.

Auspicious Kirin seals the deal in Tonglv

25th July 2004

The Shanghai Times

A surprise appearance by a Kirin at the Tonglv Opening Ceremony shocked spectators and wowed officials on Thursday, marking the opening date with an auspicious and fortuitous conclusion.

The soon to be operating Tonglv Canal will begin with a daily load of forty to sixty ships, reaching 1,500,000 Tons of cargo traversed per twenty-four hours while at capacity. At present, initial estimates show that the canal will generate 33,200,000 HDMs in its first two years as Tonglv's stage 1 construction reaches its conclusion.

The canal's stage 2, involving the expansion of the Nantong Industrial Region, will see another, 3,320 km² of infrastructural development with an estimated extension cost of 9,730,000 HDMs over three years. Once completed, the Nantong-Tonglv region will form the largest industrial-economic bloke outside of Shanghai itself, second only to the Guangdong peninsula. By 2008, the Central Economics Committee has estimated the total economic benefit generated by the project to exceed 1.2 billion HDMs.

"By the end of 2004, the number of jobs for magical personnel will exceed, 20,000. By the completion of stage 2, we fully expect 50,000 full-time jobs to materialise for the Canal's non-magical workers, with an additional 120,000 certification-required auxiliary positions anticipated, as well as countless seasonal positions for labourers, up to half a million," Professor James Ma from Fudan University has stated.

More on Page 4.

Guan-er-dai goes Berserk:

IIUC Contestant Assaults photographer in brazen attack

26th April 2004

Cai Lin : Daily Shanghai

New socialite darling Gwen Song: niece to the Hero of the Northern Front, Jun Song, allegedly attacked a newspaper reporter shortly after arriving at Fudan University’s Gouding Road entrance, according to eye-witness reports.

Miss Song, a second-year student at Fudan University, is the infamous Void Mage Shanghai's second-oldest tertiary institution has been rearing for the IUCC face off against their academic rivals both local and overseas. Famous for her prodigious parallel cultivation of five Schools of Magic and her dual-element of Void and Lightning, the attention-seeking sorceress was seen attending the Tonglv Canal opening ceremony in the company of Dai Fung and was revealed to be personally acquainted with the Tonglv Big Three.

Jeffery Liu, a news reporter of 32 years of age, stated that he approached Miss Song with other reporters to take lumen-pics of her.

“I took a few… and as I walked to the side, giving her plenty of space, her Familiar charged me, ripped my shirt, then tripped me,” he said after the alleged incident.

"As her monster did this, I fell over. I fell to the ground," Liu stated. “I bruised my spine. The monster could have killed me at any time. I was fighting for my life.”

"At no stage did I touch her or speak with her."

Miss Song has offered no comments for the incident, but her Familiar was quoted declaring “Shaaa! Shaaa!” Which according to other students interviewed by Daily Shanghai, inferred that it was ready to kill.

Jeffrey Liu has spoken with Shanghai Municipal police about the incident later Friday but said he would not make a formal complaint about the matter.

“Are you kidding me? If I snitched on the granddaughter of Secretary Song, ten heads wouldn’t be enough to chop!”

“Miss Song may be beautiful, influential and talented, but she represents the very symptom of what's wrong with our society,” an anonymous source was quoted as saying. “She thinks she’s better than us; she thinks she's untouchable.”

Fudan University's admissions office has declined to comment.

‘Smack!’

Dean Luo whacked his prized student across the head with a rolled-up piece of newspaper. On the cover was two images of Gwen, her white legs akimbo, first standing over an agonised reporter with Caliban over his chest, then with her fleeing the scene in a compromising position. On page four there was another picture of her looking peevish while wearing a wet blouse.

“Seriously?” the Dean wanted to break something. Maybe taking the chair and throwing it out the window would make him feel better. “After all we did - after everything I've done! Why did this happen? Do you hate me, Miss Song? Is this payback for Walken?”

“It’s not my intention!” Gwen spluttered. “They caught me by surprise! I never intended to harm the man!”

“I know that!” Luo growled. “They know that! BUT THE WORLD DOESN’T KNOW THAT!”

“Can I sue them or something? For defamation? I've got crystals. A lot of crystals...”

“It's a LITTLE LATE for that, Miss Song! What did your grandfather say?”

“To leave it alone…” Gwen sulked.

Guo had been blissfully unaware at work, happy over the fact that his granddaughter was on the Vid-cast for such an important Party ceremony when the cleaner, Zao, walked in with the tabloids clutched under one arm. Guo had made a habit of always speaking to the workers, and that was when he saw a deeply disconcerting sight on the front page of a news rag famous for its yellow journalism.

The resultant fallout had been spectacular, but the Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee fought down his hypertension, knowing better than to pick at an open sore.

The tabloids were an arm of the state's Censorship Bureau. Usually, it was harmless entertainment. When needed - it became a scalpel for slashing defacing dissidents.

Towering over an indignant Gwen, the likewise informed Dean rested his face between his meaty palms.

“You’re grounded.”

“What?” Gwen performed a double-take. G-grounded? What was she, a ten-year-old?

“They’re not going to let this go, so you’re grounded. Until this thing blows over, you’re going to stay here, in Fudan. I’ll tell the maids to clear out one of the international guest houses for you. Petra can come and stay as well if you feel you'll be lonely. I honestly believe she would prefer living a spit's distance from Heilong Laboratory. Until the comp, focus on your studies and finish up your spell list. I’ve got far too much riding on your IIUC right now. I can’t afford to have you running around Consuming reporters.”

“I didn’t hurt him!” Gwen screeched. “O come on, how’s that fair? I need to work!”

The Dean remained adamant.

Now committed, he approached the girl pleadingly and for a moment, wondered if taking a knee would make his case more convincing.

"Gwen," he solicited her empathy. “Until the IIUC starts, for both of our sakes, I need you to be picture perfect and your reputation unsullied. For your work, I’ll get Birch to go set up a short-range Teleportation Circle at Guoding Road. So can you please, PLEASE stay out of trouble? Is it so hard to stay focused on your training for four months?”

Gwen grew red as a beet, swallowing the ‘You’re not my Dad!’ sentiment simmering at her throat.

She owed the Dean this much at least.

"Okay." She relented, "I still have my birthday though. It's going to be big, or so Dai tells me. Everyone is going to be there, including the Big Three..."

The Dean looked as though he was passing a kidney stone.

"How about..." Gwen felt she should probably give the Dean a hug. "... I give you an invitation?"

Spring erupted, emerald and wet as a whistle as Gwen’s second summer in Shanghai cast the domed city into a heat haze, wilting the greenery. Cloistered by the university’s shaded lanes, youths in the May of their lives, lithe-limbed and slick with sweat, came and went, the gossamer fabrics of their shirts and dresses clinging to their skin.

Gwen Song, infamous Worm Handler and now man-handler of reporters, sat on a bench with her white legs crossed, Kirin to one side and cosmic horror on the other, taking a breather.

Earlier, after so long, she had received a Message from Mayuree, stating that matters at home forbade her from travelling abroad. The Tyrant, Mayuree’s Message had read, was wreaking havoc around Yangon, meaning all of her formidable powers of Divination were required to avert the worst of what disasters their developing nation-state must now endure.

“Sister Maymyint is going to attend in my stead,” Mayuree’s sweet voice had chirped happily, devoid of any disappointment. “I’ve prepared a wonderful present for you: look forward to it!”

Gwen exhaled, her body languished and beaten.

It wasn’t so much that she was sad Mayuree couldn’t attend her birthday party. It was more so that her friend had been such a constant companion of her uni-life that in her absence, something felt amiss, like sliced salmon without wasabi. With Yue and Evee, it was at least her choice. With Mia, it was as though she'd been suddenly uprooted. That all three were absent and unavailable, not even on her LRM Message device made her all the more upset; especially Evee, who was away on fieldwork. As for Yue, Gunther had said that Alesia took her on exchange to New Zealand so that her friend could Fireball enemies other than Mermen.

"Is there something you want for your birthday?" Gunther had asked for both himself and his sister-in-craft.

Gwen declined, informing her brother-in-craft that he had already given her too much, especially that family insignia ring.

Gunther had laughed, informing her it was no big deal, which made her all the more guilty. They had prepared a gift, he hinted, but it was with Alesia.

Conversely, the month spent within the confines of Fudan had been fruitful. At the very least, a high-distinction average was assured.

Regarding the incident, Walken inferred that he felt forces unseen were testing her. Her grandfather had said more or less the same thing, though his exact advice was to ignore it altogether because 'the lotus is unsullied by the mud', which Gwen took to mean she was 'sludge proof' so long as she held value.

Not wasting the extra time afforded by her confinement, she and Magister Lee had finished her new spell. They had furthermore lodged the blueprint into the Tower’s Spell Bank, marked 'Not for Exchange' but to future proof copy-right claims. The process had been tedious, involving the Dean, Magister Lee and a drop of her blood, but when all was said and done, Gwen held the certification in her hand and felt the unique joy of creation.

Void Chakram

Evocation-Conjuration (4)

Casting Time: 14 Major, 13 Minor Incantation

Range: Far

Components: Somatic, Verbal

Duration: Instant, Persistent

This unique Void-spell creates a ring of Void-matter which rotates to form a flat disk with a deadly cutting edge, maximising the efficiency of the expended vitality. Future revisions may include Seeking, Channelling, Echoing and other additional effects.

On the footnote of the entry was the tab ‘author’ with her name ‘Gwen Song’, together with a publication date, the institution and the certifier.

Conversely, Lulan’s Panzerschreck wasn't yet ready, though Jinwei, Magister Walken and Kusu were hard at work modifying the magic.

"Eeee!"

Ariel rolled its furry body over her thighs, resting its head on her chest. Immediately, the heat grew insufferable.

How was it that Shanghai was so bloody humid?!

She had half a mind to get her clothes enchanted with cooling and drying Glyphs!

Still, heat or otherwise, her reprieve was at an end.

For the next eight hours, she would cease to be herself.

“Why do I feel like I am getting married,” Gwen sceptically remarked while a stylist straightened out her hair and another thickened her lashes. For the last hour, she had sat in the ready room of the Four Seasons' grand ballroom, attended by half a dozen maids chipping away at her body.

In all honesty, it was what she had expected. Leaving her birthday celebration to Dai had been a classic manifestation of her masochism, and now she was asphyxiating under an avalanche of bothersome details.

At first, they had planned for a hundred odd guests, mostly people Gwen knew or had known through the course of her stay in Shanghai.

In the first draft, Gwen’s immediate friends and family would attend. Babulya, grandfather, uncle Jun, her father and his new wife, now heavily pregnant, as well as her brother. She had even invited Mai and her brother’s DC Captain, Kelvin Ma.

After the Tonglv episode, the Nantong Fungs decided to make an appearance, bringing with them Patriarch Shen and an entourage that included his wife, his relatives and the young woman Gwen had saved from the Water Ghost’s den, Lihong.

A week later, they received the coup-de-grace.

By mid-May, the news of Ayxin's appearance had made the rounds through high society.

Somehow, Gwen's birthday bash was now an official gathering attended by Shanghai’s big-wigs, involving the Tonglv Big Three, Ayxin the Dragon-princess, Wang Enterprises, the leading mistress of the House of M, a whole host of notable names and worthy titles, as well as the children attached to the city's movers and shakers.

Her eighteenth, as it were, was now no more than a convenient excuse for the men and women of wealth and weight to meet and greet. Excluding herself, many marriages of convenience and politics would emerge by the night’s end, blessed by a Kirin and a Dragon.

As for Gwen herself, she wasn’t allowed to mingle until the moment was ripe. While her friends ate and drank like kings and queens outside, she was locked up inside the ready room, watching the clock make its ponderous circles while the maids modified every inch of her existence.

"Er... no padding," Gwen declined the generous offer.

Worst of all, she couldn't choose her dress.

For a birthday girl, she should arguably be wearing red. When Gwen saw the selection of dresses Dai had recommended, all she saw were faux wedding outfits.

After a tart exchange with Dai, Magus Maymaruya brought the dress she would be wearing.

It was Mayuree’s gift.

Mia’s selection wasn’t quite the flesh-peddling, skin-coloured mini-dress Qīn had made her wear, though it wasn’t much better stylistically speaking. The dress Mayuree had picked out was a gem-encrusted gown in salmon pink, sleeveless and studded with pearls.

“Now that's what I call impressive apparel.” Dai smacked his lips, swallowing at the sight of her white arms peeking in and out of the diaphanous shawl. “Just one of those South Sea pink pearls is worth a dozen HDMs. The whole outfit? Probably close to five or six thousand.”

“Why?” Gwen moved her legs, struggling against the thirty centimetres of freedom the dress’ fishtail setting allowed. The damn thing was absurdly heavy. Had she been any less of an ox, she would have had to buff herself with Enhance Strength and Fortitude.

"To flaunt of course.” Dai smirked. “Those are Creature Cores, you know. You're wearing the lifetime income of a low-level official.”

She wanted to say that wearing the remains of ten-thousand oysters was revolting, but the dress was Mayuree’s heartfelt gift, delivered from her homeland. Only by wearing it happily and without complaint could she send Mayuree sparkling lumen-recordings.

“Miss,” one of her assistants interrupted her daydreaming from below. Thanks to her four-inch heels, the dress was hoisted an inch above the floor. With her piled hair, she was almost two meters tall. “You have ten minutes.”

Gwen eyed the door.

It was time to put on a face to meet the faces that you meet.

Dragons, as a race, were not the sort to feel torn.

An act was right because a Dragon had performed it, and because one of their kind had performed it, the results, therefore, must be right. Only a Dragon had the right to contest another Dragon.

When she resided on the Mount, Ayxin was second only to Ruxin, who was the oldest. When Ruxin left to claim a lair of his own, Ayxin became the penultimate being on the Mount. When Golos erred, she punished him. When Ryxi failed some task, she berated him. As her father had never harshly rebuked Ayxin, she could only presume her wisdom preeminent.

But coming down to the mortal world, meeting Jun and then the girl, she felt the tumorous growth of doubt swelling under her scales, filling her with disquiet.

Her progenitor had plans for the girl, or more accurately, the girl featured strongly in whatever future the Yinglong had foreseen.

Though hardly possessing the God-like wisdom of her immortal father, Ayxin couldn’t help but feel a chill whenever the girl inched forward in her progress, sensing that somehow, the calamity of which her father spoke of wasn’t so much one for the humans, but for the Yinglong as well, and maybe even Ayxin and her lover.

Arguably then, Ayxin should keep away from the calamitous sorceress. But when Ayxin wilfully bonded with Jun, a relative to the girl and her caretaker, the Yinglong had remained silent. This contradiction was the source of her anxiety. As the faithful ‘vessel’ of her father's will in the material world, her life outside the mountain peaks of the Yinglong's five-taloned palm was most unnerving.

“Ayxin?” Jun carefully passed her a flute of bubbling, fermented grape-vinegar.

Below their raised dais was a multitude of human officials, each wanting a word or sign from the Princess of Huangshan. It was a scene not unfamiliar to Ayxin, who centuries ago, had seen the same clichéd deference and worship even as a girl-child. Perhaps in another nation, she would be less conspicuous and visible, but here, among these descendants of the Yellow Emperor, she was a goddess.

For the folk of the yellow river, the worship of the Shenlong, the Yinglong and the Dragon-kind were engraved into their bones, carved into the nation’s lore. Even their most common idioms and Confucian psalms drew inspiration from her kith and kin.

A sudden blast of music filled the hall.

The Master of Ceremonies, an NoM with a glib tongue and a sculpted, flawless mien, announced the entrance of the calamity into their midst.

The crowd turned as one.

Ayxin exhaled. At long last, she could rest.

"Miss Gwen SONG!"

Inching forward, Gwen recalled an old 80’s show called Wrestle-Mania which used to be on television.

The fighting had made no sense, and the storylines were convoluted, but what did impress was the increasingly more elaborate entrances taken by the wrestlers every other episode.

Never had she conceived that her childhood fantasy would come true in such a spectacular fashion; that one day - she would be a woman whose entrance warranted BGM.

Smoke, exploding confetti, illusory flames and an orchestra accompanied her arrival, attired in a pink-pearl wonder. On stage, an MC accounted for her presence as though she would run onto the dais, shoulder-barge Dai, then slam him against the ropes before gutter-stomping his face to the ground to the cheer of ten thousand spectators.

To Gwen's crystal-counting eyes, the whole setup was an exercise in excess.

A giant, golden ‘Eighteen’ in Chinese pictograms floated across the high ceiling of the Grand Ballroom, completely negating the faux 1920s colonial Shanghai decor, while hundreds of guests, most of whom couldn’t give two shits about her, cheered half-heartedly, waiting for the show to be over.

Quickly, she skittered, inches at a time, for the embrace of her family and friends.

Babulya was wiping away a tear of joy.

Guo looked festive and pissed in equal measure.

Her uncle stood next to a smiling Dragon-vessel.

Her father and her step-mother were nowhere to be seen.

Her mother had declined to attend.

Tao and Mina, and their parents clapped alongside her grandmother, besides which stood Richard, Petra, Lulu and Mina, her classmates and workmates.

Her Instructors, all of them, including Walken, stood awkwardly, joining the circle of applause.

And finally, Dai and the Nantong power-brokers gave their public benedictions before retreated to a private corner.

What then followed was an hour-long gifting ceremony, followed by another hour of lumen-pics. The reporters, Gwen noted, were perfect gentlemen when in the presence of the Secretaries.

Grinning and bearing it all, her only solace was that she had stuffed herself prior. Should the tabloids obtain a picture of her in a 5000 HDM dress, holding multiple pheasant drumsticks in each hand, she would run afoul of punishing headlines.

With the main event over, Gwen had half-a-mind to tear the bottom of her dress to let her legs breathe. Despite escaping to the balcony, she found no solace in the damp humidity of the hotel’s sky garden, but at least she could avoid the cacophony of men and women peddling politics. Inside, Richard had gathered a little following of his own, consisting of young ladies; likewise, Petra's unbidden escorts had cornered her for pictures. Unseen, the Li siblings were off trying to load up on the mana-rich banquet, while the Wang siblings were with their father, being passed around the room like chattel at a flea market. After giving Gwen a thick red envelope full of currency cards, her grandparents had likewise left to mingle politely with Gwen's betters. As for the principal culprit of her party, Mister Dai Fung, the young man was having the time of his life beside his well-spoken father, evidently born and bred for statesmanship.

In a way, Gwen was glad that Dai’s mislead celebration had rectified her myopia regarding her love-struck buffoon. Ultimately, she rationalised, Dai really was his father’s son. Even though they worked together and the young man’s efforts at love were incompetent, he was clearly in his element here, far better than she could ever be.

As for herself, it was only by sending forth Ariel and warding herself with Caliban that she could escape to the balcony to elude the chicken noises crowding her head.

But she wasn't alone for long.

“Miss Song,” came the voice of a woman whose accented syllables had the slightest of lisps. The slender woman wore a one-piece dress in cerulean, punctuated by an enormous pearl fastened at the throat, beneath which a serpentine figure tantalised the viewer. “I hope I am not intruding.”

Gwen turned politely, recognising the face from the gift-giving ceremony.

Caliban slithered aside. The eldest of the House of M approached.

“I am Maymyint - Mayuree is my little sister.”

“We met earlier; it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maymyint. Thank you for your extravagant gift.”

The two women gingerly shook.

“Do you like the dress? Mia picked it out herself.”

“It’s lovely.” Gwen touched a hand to her pearl-plated bodice. “She shouldn’t have, its far too precious for the likes of me.”

“Think nothing of it; she speaks of you daily.”

“How is Mia?”

“Homesick.” Maymyint smiled. Gwen noticed her mouth was overlarge and predatory. “While in her homeland, I may add. She misses you.”

“I miss her too,” Gwen declared wistfully.

“You may see her sooner than you think.” Maymyint opened her palm to reveal a Storage Ring. “I have another gift for you from our Matriarch. However, it’s best if you hold off opening it until the right time.”

Gwen held off her impulsive curiosity.

“Please take it,” Maymyint implored. “This is an important moment for Mayuree.”

After a moment of hesitation, Gwen plucked the ring from Maymyint’s palm.

“Can I ask-”

“You will know,” Maymyint replied cryptically. “All I can say is that it has to do with Mayuree’s talent.”

“Ah~.” Gwen realised what the woman was selling. She would keep it about her person for now. “I’ll take care of it then. Can you tell me what Mayuree’s doing now?”

Maymyint’s smile split from ear to ear.

“I have just the thing.” The woman flashed her pearlescent teeth. “I’ve brought some Lumen-pics.”

“Ooo.” Gwen cooed. “Let’s see!”

“Here.” Maymyint produced a portable lumen-caster, one of the latest models from the States. With a few input glyphs, a picture of Mayuree appeared, dressed in the traditional garb of her people, standing next to an enormous elephant.

“How cute!”

“You’d think, but they stink.” Maymyint's tone grew mirthful. “Here’s the next one.”

Sure enough, there was a picture of Mayuree half-sick with nausea.

“Do you have one of the Quay?” Gwen asked, recalling that Magus Maymaruya had waxed sentimentally about the old colonial districts.

“Naturally, she and I had coffee and croissants by the Yangon river; it’s a must, you know,” Maymyint explained, swiping through the images. “Mia is such a sweet and gentle girl, so obedient; unlike her brother Marong.”

Arm in arm with Jun, Ayxin made the round through the ballroom while her companion politely fended off the guests. She had moved from the dais because she had grown tired of the praises, promises and the stupidity of her moon-eyed worshippers.

That and Ayxin figured she should give Gwen her gift in person, ideally away from the prying eyes of the Humans, whose bodies reeked of onions, old soy sauce and greed.

Focusing her mind, she sensed the presence of her scale just outside in the sky garden and instructed her two caretakers: the Tower Magisters assigned to her whenever she left the Pudong Special District, to disperse the crowd.

The Masters obliged, finding no reason why someone of her position should be denied such a simple request.

Gwen was with company, though as Ayxin approached, the two parted amicably.

Lowering her head, the woman stood to one side while Ayxin passed.

"?"

Ayxin paused, causing Jun to fall out of step.

She sniffed the air.

Not wanting to leave his niece waiting, Jun parted from his companion to join Gwen by the balcony while Ayxin turned to regard the quietly cowed woman, whose long hair hid her face.

“You,” Ayxin commanded the slender female. “Look up.”

Quivering a little, the eldest of the House of M did as the Dragon-princess asked.

A beautiful enough face, Ayxin observed, but cruel and sadistic, full of deception typical of the Humans. There was something else there as well, something familiar to Ayxin, though it was faint, dilute, almost negligible.

“Re wux ir di udoka?” Ayxin twisted her fleshy, clumsy tongue to produce the correct Draconic.

“Nomeno ir waphic ergriff ekess faestir,” the woman replied inexpertly. Her words were nervous and strained. For the female, the language wasn’t a projection of the soul, but a kind of mimicry, a crude facsimile.

But the accent wasn’t what had bothered Ayxin.

She took a fistful of the woman’s hair and brought it closer to her face.

There was a scent here, a vaguely familiar one. One Ayxin hadn’t sensed in half-a-century, not since their eldest left to found his lair.

“Hey! What are you doing!” Gwen's churlish, tactless voice rang across the garden. “That’s my friend’s sister! Leave her alone!”

“Qe gethrisja!” Ayxin barked at the thin-blooded peon.

The woman formed a prayer with her hands held overhead, fell to her knees, touched her forehead to the cold, damp pavement, then retreated while facing her superior.

When Gwen arrived with Jun, her demeanour was catty.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she demanded of the Dragon-kin.

Curiously, Ayxin felt a strange sense of comfort. Having someone speak so candidly, even more so than Jun, was refreshing. It was how she had conversed with her brothers at on the Mount, and it was the sort of banter that she sorely missed.

“Congratulations on surviving your eighteenth cycle,” Ayxin shot back. “Impressive for a Void Mage. I wish you at least another decade.”

“Don’t you know,” the girl riposted, grinning with confidence. “By eating more of your kind, I could live as long as you.”

“Or you could die of indigestion.”

“Or my appetite could grow calamitous.”

The two women sparked, the unstoppable spear meeting the immovable shield.

Beside Ayxin, Jun gulped his wine.

“Ayxin has a gift for you,” he quickly clarified. “Here.”

Ayxin opened her hand to reveal another Storage Ring: the sort used to hold living things in stasis. For the gift, Ayxin had chosen the smallest container permissible.

“We got you ginseng,” Jun explained. “It’s only five-hundred years old, but Ryxi raised it.”

“Does Ryxi know about this?” Gwen glanced at Ayxin, imagining a howling white serpent.

Ayxin shrugged. Even in showing nonchalance she was simply stunning. Ever since she had taken up with Jun, her body had grown less androgynous and far more feminine. Any day now, she imagined, she would be heavy with egg. Just imagining her partner cradling a child-sized egg, singing it lullabies was enough to put her in a good mood.

“Thank you.” Jun’s niece took the ring with both hands, then bowed earnestly for the gift.

“It’s a lively one,” Jun warned her. “It’ll make a run for it at the first opportunity, so make sure you’re on guard. Don’t take more than a few slices at a time; you might bloat.”

“What?” The girl laughed.

“He means your body will explode from the excess vitality,” Ayxin appended Jun's prudishness. “You’re no Dragon-kin, no matter what the Old One has engendered.”

The atmosphere once again grew awkward.

“We’ll talk later.” Jun realised having the two women in one place was mental torture. Both were arguably Dragon-touched, and with their Draconic-blessings also came pride, possessiveness and a natural tendency to butt heads. “If I am out of Pudong next month, we’ll meet for lunch.”

“Sure thing, Uncle Jun.” Gwen gave her uncle her best smile.

Turning to her best side, Ayxin gave Jun's niece a wilting glance before leaving with her man, one hand clasped to his waist, leaving Gwen seething and white-knuckled, clutching the ginseng ring.

Sensing Gwen's agony, Ayxin’s mood improved immensely as she sauntered away, her irritated demeanour passing as though a summer sunshower. Not only had she given the girl a herb watered with Ryxi’s expulsions, but she had also shown the arrogant whelp that no matter how many mountains of crystals, rare ingredients and magical items she would amass, her heart’s desire would forever belong to Ayxin.

From her make-shift den, the Worm Handler of Fudan emerged. Though paler for the effort, her indoor incarceration throughout the smothering summer was overall for the better, touching on many of her milestones.

First and foremost, 'Link Sight', A.K.A Ariel Vision, was now complete. When activated, she could see the world from Ariel's eyes so long as she kept up her concentration, albeit staying stationary was necessary should she wish to avoid sensory nausea.

Curiously, while wearing Caliban V.R, what she saw was a greyscale world where the only vibrancy came from people and things that showed signs of life. The more vitality a creature or person possessed, the more vivid their ‘presence’ appeared to Caliban’s ‘senses’.

“How curious.” Walken was surprised as well. “Many creatures can hide their visual presence or their mana signature, but few can hide their life force. What's the range?”

Unfortunately, even at a dozen meters, Caliban-sight gave her a terrific headache. Perhaps, Gwen thought, if Caliban could acquire a form factor with a powerful sense ability, her Familiar could improve its 'Foodar'.

Her second milestone was the improvement of her Void Chakram, which conceptually, took the form of an Aerobie Drone.

After several revisions, her superior control over Conjuration took precedence over Evocation, creating a hovering ring that could be commanded to ‘seek’ a target up to two hundred odd meters away. One disadvantage was her low-tier 'seeker' invocation, inferring that when a creature left her line-of-sight, the ring returned to a linear trajectory.

When all was said and done, she published the spell into the Spell directory as an addendum to her original.

Void Seeker

Conjuration-Evocation (5)

Casting Time: 50 Major, 31 Minor Incantation

Range: Far, LoS

Components: Somatic, Verbal

Duration: Persistent

This spell creates a projectile ring of Void-matter which rotates to form a flat disk with a deadly cutting edge; this entry is for the seeker variation with termination on target loss.

Her next objective was to create multiple 'rings' as to possess both a Void and a Lightning variation of her staple offensive magic - Ball Lightning. When used in conjunction, electricity would stun the target while her Void Aerobies slice and dice, or inversely, her Void spell could chip away scale or hide, opening the target to electrical permeation.

And finally, Lulan submitted her Panzerschreck.

Panzerschreck

Evocation-Conjuration (5)

Casting Time: 58 Major, 23 Minor Incantation

Range: Extreme

Components: Somatic, Verbal

Duration: Persistent

This original spell is designed with the Huashan Iron Heart Technique as a prerequisite, though sufficiently skilled Conjurers utilising solid Elements may forgo this process. Panzerschreck, also known as Armour Scare, is a Signature Magic created through repurposing Huashan Sword School's ‘Piercing-Heart’ technique. Upon manifestation, this hybrid spell launches a projectile of penetrative solid metal. The shape of the missile (See appendix 1.1 and 1.2) allows for extended displacement.

As a part of their deal, for Huashan's facsimile, Gwen had omitted the appendices which included footnotes for a rotating, four-finned projectile. When finally Lulan test-fired the finned-rods into the distance, Gwen couldn't help but realise that she had subconsciously reproduced an old world junior-science staple - Match-rockets!

Lulan was blasting off bloody match-rockets! The DIY aluminium rocketry had been the bane of 90s parents whose apartments lacked internet and whose kids couldn't be nannied by smartphones! Thanks to her chain-smoking father, there had been an endless supply of Red Heads in the house, meaning many a boring summer, Gwen had launched a fusillade onto a neighbour’s roof. The neighbour had then berated Morye when one of these smouldering projectiles lodged in the mesh screen, melting the cheap plastic.

Unfortunately, aiming the Piercing Heart Sword remained an art form. Though Gwen had a vague idea of the mathematics involved, it would take more than herself for Lulan to gain the accuracy afforded by computerised artillery trajectories. For now, the inconsistency of Lulan’s firing angle, the weight of her conjured ammunition, and the configuration of her ‘swords’ all impeded repeatable performance metrics. For the near future, they would have to CC up a ballistics mathematician or buff Lulu's aim with “True Strike”, a spell exclusive to Diviners trained in manipulating the threads of probability.

In bearing witness to a dozen near-hits, Walken expressed his scepticism of the spell's usefulness. Gwen conversely, assured Lulan that should their magic attain perfection, it would revolutionise low-tier, long-ranged assault spells. Though Lulan was effectively attacking with strangely-shaped swords in the eyes of the others, Gwen knew that if and when they could aim the damn thing, accuracy exceeding several kilometres should be entirely possible, expelling the common perception that only strategic spells had distances exceeding line-of-sight.

If she could furthermore secure non-magical staff capable of such calculations, their institutionalised knowledge could be used again and again. Gwen was confident that when the time came, the single-most terrifying reality of the Great War, that strange arithmetic of chance, would befall any enemy foolish enough to siege her city.

But as for her immediate endeavour, it was the teamwork meet-n-greet that occupied her afternoon.

Gwen found her future companions sitting in a conspicuously large rectangle consisting of sixteen candidates.

Most notably, Lu Fung was missing.

The Dean cleared his throat.

“As you have noticed, some of your nominated peers have chosen to drop out from the second stage,” the Dean explained. “I will not speak of why they have retracted their applications, though I will reiterate that by today’s end, six of you shall be stricken from the roll.”

A collective shuffling spread through the crowd.

“Good. Now introduce yourselves. Gwen, you start.”

At the mention of her name, the others turned to regard the infamous Worm Handler of Fudan, as seen on TV.

Gwen stood then courteously bowed from the waist.

“Hello, my name is Gwen Song, a Void and Lightning user. I am well versed in Conjuration and Evocation, and my Familiars are Ariel and Caliban. I aspire to be a member of the Offence or Control team. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

Concise and without a hint of ego. The Dean nodded approvingly. For all her blunders outside of the university, Gwen had a knack the others lacked.

Lulan next bowed her head.

“Lulan Li, Sword Mage. I am an Earthen user and a CQB Combat Mage.”

“Richard Huang. Defence or Control. Team Gwen. Conjurer with Abjuration as my secondary School of Magic. I possess a high-tier Water Spirit.”

“Hello, I am Lea,” Richard’s Undine, resplendent, semi-transparent and sensuous, hovered above her Master. That Richard's spirit matched Dean Luo’s Ellen was enough to set the others on edge, so much that the ‘Team Gwen’ which preceded his boast fell on deaf ears.

“Anita Wong.” A girl with the same irises as Petra raised her hand. “Mobile Defender. I can retrieve or restore mana by having my Spirit consume transmuted stone. My Mineral is Calcite: it looks like this. I will be providing you with armour-buffs and makeshift defensive formations."

Without an incantation, Anita transmuted a clump of turf, producing a small knee-high barrier of jagged, hex-pyramidal crystals.

“Bai Tei.” Senior Bai stood and bowed. “Defensive position. Dust Abjurer. I am on my third selection and my second IIUC. I will be in your care.” A third-year, Bai was widely known throughout the university and needed no introduction. In all likelihood, with his seniority, Bai would take on the position of Team Captain.

“Karie Mok. I am a two-timer as well, along with that gravedigger over there,” the headliner Diviner of the team announced. The girl had a catty mien that reminded Gwen of a typical ‘Young Miss’. Her slightly upturned eyes gave her a feline expression both haughty and aggressive. “I am your only Diviner, so when the time comes, listen to what I say, else ignore me at your peril.”

The rest of the team stiffened.

“I am… E-Eunae Lee,” a quiet voice spoke from somewhere.

Eunae?! Gwen arched her neck to see, noting that it was indeed the South Korean bestiary exchange-student who had presented herself. Extending a hand, she waved at Eunae.

Eunae waved back with comparably less enthusiasm. The last time they parted, Caliban had scared her shitless.

“I am… a Positive Magic user. And I have a Familiar Spirit called Luyi…”

A healer?

Many a furrowed brow met Eunae's proclamation.

Curiously, Gwen didn’t recall Eunae being short-listed in April.

“Eunae is a Utility caster,” the Dean explained. “She is skilled at dispelling curses, hexes, and mind-afflicting enchantments. Likewise, her Familiar engenders a group-wide Area of Effect Rejuvenating effect that detoxifies and wards against poisons. Isn't that right, Miss Lee?”

Eunae nodded fiercely.

The Dean had a point, though most teams would prefer a dispeller-Enchanter who could also buff. For day-long Quests, it was entirely possible to glamour the questing party for up to 24 hours without the need to include said Enchanter in the away team.

Comparably, Eunae's active inclusion would detract from the team's power level. Had Walken been present, he would have reminded the others that teams from Europe may field Witches, whose infamous hex-spells offered buffs and debuffs in equal measure, all the while retaining a respectable tier of individual firepower.

“Yessir, I have received permission to participate from Ewha U."

“Wait, she’s Korean?” Karie stated the obvious. “We’re going to be competing against Seoul U, aren’t we?”

“Half-Korean,” the Dean reminded their Diviner. “Just as Jiro is half-Japanese. The IIUC is not a nationalist conflict, Miss Mok. It’s a skill-exchange between academic associations and Fudan, unlike Tsinghua or Jiantong, remains committed to being an international university!”

Karie Mok shrugged.

Gwen could sense the tension even from the front of the row.

“Rene Mui,” spoke the next girl, one Gwen had presumed was South-East Asian until she announced her name. “I hail from the Thundering Peninsula south of Guangdong. I am a Magma Mage studying under Instructor Hufei Chen. My preferred position is Offence.”

“Jiro Peng,” the half-Japanese member declared himself. “Fire Evoker, tier 6. Just in case anyone’s wondering, no, I have never been to Japan. I was born and raised right here in Shanghai; my grandmother was a refugee from Okinawa. I have contracted an Undying Firebird named Tanyu.”

Impressive! Gwen wanted to clap. She knew of Jiro’s Firebird from Walken, who had said that the young man's flames were near-impossible to douse without first incapacitating Jiro.

“Kitty Liang…” Gwen had been staring at Kitty since they arrived, making the girl uncomfortable in more ways than one. Her voice was quieter in public, a complete one-eighty when compared to the girl who screamed at Gwen to fuck off. “Ice and Air. Control or Offence. I have a Roc Spirit, a juvenile. My speciality is aerial combat.”

“Tai Sun, Earthen Mage, Abjurer. I am from the Taishang Sect, a Defender like Senior Bai,” another contestant intoned dejectedly, realising that the stationary defence position was likely going to be Bai’s alone.

“Gigi Yang, Ermei Sword Mage.” A young woman with flowing, waist length hair glanced at Lulan and Gwen. “I am a Mineral user as well. My speciality is CQB, like Miss Li. I am aiming for an Offence slot.”

“Chen Chan, Mud Mage.” A stout young man yawned. “Control. Jiangsu.”

“Jinwei Li, Sword Mage.” Jinwei, Lulan’s cousin, said nothing else.

“Miriam Yen, Salt Mage. I hail from the Qingdao Five River Sect.” A muscular young woman with an impressive physique struck out her chest. “Defence, offence, I don’t care. Our Clan’s Magic is very versatile.”

“Tsai Fu, Earthen Conjurer-Enchanter. I can make terracotta-golems,” their final member intoned miserably, realising that when Dean Luo had advised that he rethink the application, he was trying to spare him the embarrassment.

Eight Clanners, excluding Lulan, Gwen noted. Almost half their number.

That in itself was enough to indicate the unbalanced influence exercised by the Clans. She wondered if the Dean already had a short-list of ten in mind, balanced between independents and Clanners. Presuming herself, Richard and Lulan counted as independents, that left room for the Diviner, possibly Eunae, then finally five or six Mages from Sects.

‘CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!’

The Dean's meaty palms met in prayer.

“Good, now that you’re all acquainted. Let’s proceed with the teamwork examination. Conjure Objects!”

Upon the open lawn of the campus oval, a mass of strange and twisted components, some metal, some rubber, some large and small, mundane and magical, littered the immaculately mown turf.

It was an awe-inspiring display of control and mental fortitude.

“Those are the dismantled parts of 'four' planar purifiers,” the Dean began. “The scenario, based on a prior IUCC Quest, is that you and the other teams from three universities are fighting for machine parts to save the NoMs living in your Frontier Districts. As this is a trial to gauge how well you mesh with others, we will not be taking your Magical Ability into account. As such, sans sorcery and in teams of four; each group will occupy a quadrant of the field! Your quadrant and everything on it will belong to your team.”

Immediately, the IIUC contestants scanned the field.

Feeling an intense déjà vu, Gwen spontaneously searched their surroundings for quintessential components. Blessed with fortified vision, she quickly spotted a bundle of nondescript paper in the furthest quadrant almost two hundred meters away. Though the writing couldn't be seen, she could ascertain with confidence that she had spotted the assembly manuals.

“Richard, Lulan, to me!” She took the initiative before the others could act and the Dean could continue.

Eunae sidled toward Gwen pleadingly, though Gwen was glancing at Kitty, or barring that, Karie.

Without a word, Jinwei walked behind the trio.

“…” Gwen exchanged a look with the zealous Clanner. Mate, you’re too keen, her eyes chided the young man; if he had joined an opposing camp, he could have served as a mole.

Taking Gwen’s cue, the others shuffled into their respective assemblies.

Group 1 consisted of herself, Lulan, Richard and Jinwei.

Group 2 consisted of Rene, Jiro, Eunae and Karie

Group 3 consisted of Bai, Chen, Gigi and Tai.

Group 4 consisted of Miriam, Kitty, Anita and Tsai.

“I am happy to see that you are all very keen.” The Dean grinned. “As stated, this a contest to see how well you work together, not just as a group of four, but as a whole, to reconstruct these purification filters as quickly as possible and within the time limit. The group to reconstruct the LAST filter will face harsh penalties when we consider who to exclude. Likewise, the members who assemble the filter FIRST will receive priority.”

“Also, in considering your actions, scores given will be used to calculate seniority within your IIUC party. Students with the highest team-work rating will receive the title of Captain and Vice Captain, while those of you with the lowest, up to the 10th member, will be subordinate. Once established, your leader's decisions are absolute. During the competition, should you exercise insubordination, you will be punished accordingly. For the six members soon to be disqualified, you may be called upon for the competition if there are casualties among the core members, or if a replacement is deemed necessary.”

The Dean gave them all a smirk of encouraging confidence.

“Now, who will choose first?”

Gwen's hand shot up, but to the surprise of all, she turned to face Karie’s group.

“Karie, you’re our only Diviner, so I want to give you the first pick.”

In response, the Diviner gave the Worm Handler a head-to-toe, trying to ascertain her ploy.

“Why don’t you pick first?” the Diviner offered. “I can’t use my talent, after all, talk about stupid.”

Gwen extended a hand to the other two groups.

“Kitty? Senior Bai?”

Kitty and Co. appeared indecisive.

“Ladies first.” Senior Bai folded his arms. As one of the people who were sure to be selected, he was more interested in Gwen's game.

“Very well.” Gwen breathed out. She pointed to the east quadrant, which had the least amount of parts. “We’ll take that one.”

“Miss, I do believe the west quadrant has two Cores,” Jinwei spoke just loud enough for her to hear.

“Trust me on this.”

“Miss...”

“Gwen must know something.” Lulan stopped her cousin, who looked unconvinced.

Very soon, the others picked their quadrants.

“Your time starts now," the Dean announced before sauntering away to the bleachers, simultaneously informing the Proctors to activate the surveillance mandala.

A gentle thrum hummed over the field for a split-second.

“Alright everyone, with me,” Gwen told the group to follow. “Over yonder, hop to it.”

“Shouldn’t we be taking inventory?” Richard glanced at the others, wondering what it took to steal from the others. With Lea, he should be able to pull it off. From the look of their quadrant, they didn’t have a Core.

“No need; just come.”

The group followed.

At the furthest edge, watched by dozens of curious passersby, Gwen retrieved a stack of paper weighed under a glass panel.

“That’s…”

“The instruction manual.” Gwen waved it in the air for all to see.

“How did you know?!” Lulan exhaled a sigh of relief, glad that Gwen indeed knew what she was doing.

With a deft splay of both her hand, Gwen fanned out four copies of the manual.

“How curious,” Richard observed. “I think I am starting to understand how the game is played. Shall we thrift for a Core first? Senior Bai's quadrant has two; maybe get them to give up multiple surplus parts. Between the two teams, I am sure we can corner at least one other team. How about we start with Kitty?”

“That's beside the point,” Gwen urged her peers to huddle. “Listen up.”

She held the instruction just out of sight.

“This isn’t a game for us to win,” she explained. “This is a game to determine who leads and who leaves.”

“Ergh…” Lulan swallowed nervously. Of the three, she was the least likely to be picked, though she had a lifeline in the form of Jinwei.

“So forget about coming first,” their companion intoned seriously. “Instead, we’re going to do everything we can to facilitate everyone else's' success.”

Her team regarded her strangely, even for Gwen, this was too much of a mental pitfall.

"I am not sure if you noticed." She struck a thumb out at the Dean, her mind working furiously to construe a passable analogy. "But the old man never said anything about winning or losing..."

In the mid-00s, during her university days, Gwen had edged past several thousand contestants to participate in the HSBC Young Businesswoman’s program in Hong Kong. After a week of mind-numbing seminars and corporate speakers, the bank's organisers had taken the young women out to a countryside retreat. Within the 7-day conference, they networked through copious amounts of hiking tours, cooking classes, self-defence and nature tours - all based around the Ocean Park Marriott Resort.

On the fourth day, the organisers had told the girls, a splintered gathering of twenty out of a hundred women from international universities, to file into a gym where a disturbing splay of bike parts dotted multiple quadrants.

Then, drawing lots, the girls split into four teams.

The goal, explained the organiser, was for the girls to work together to assemble the bikes.

The winning team received a 1000 USD spa voucher for the Park Regent’s upper floor sauna, enough for all five team members to receive the full treatment.

Number two received buffet vouchers for the seafood feast, valued at 250 USD.

Number three and four received a pat on the back.

Not so gifted at bike-assembly, but gung-ho for spa treatments, the girls were all fired up. Gwen, of course, had assumed natural command of her bartering team and had just managed to hog about half the number of wheels when the organiser brought in a local boy looking decidedly miserable compared to the sea of pastel blouses.

“Mr Ning says that there’s going to be bikes donated to our orphanage," the boy informed the company of sweaty young women busy at work with spanners.

SHIT! Gwen spewed when she realised the whole point of the exercise was applied ethics. The didactic trial was for the promotion of teamwork in a manner that moved individuals away from a mentality of individual gain toward synergy value, prioritising the welfare of the children who were waiting for their bikes: especially bikes not missing parts because someone was desperate for a spa ticket.

In hindsight, it was a rather blatant attempt at force-feeding ambitious young women a ladle of chicken soup for the soul.

Not to mention the orphan HSBC had picked out was cute as a button, instantly slaying half the young women in the room.

Afterwards, the assemblage had all gone to the orphanage and donated individually to the organisation, which was then matched dollar for dollar by HSBC. A little photo-op was had, and the kids, the businesswomen and their bikes all made it into the local paper, as well as on HSBC's social media. Gwen and a few of the comelier girls also made the cover of HSBC's in-house magazine.

Principally, the takeaway was as follows:

The contestants gained a spa Groupon and feel-good memories.

The kids received donations and half-a-dozen K-Mart bikes.

HSBC gained good-will and good optics.

Win - Win - Win.

That's how the game was played.

“And that’s how it is,” Gwen informed the others.

Lulan and Jinwei looked at Gwen as though she was the strategist Zhuge Kongming reborn.

Richard gave their opponents across the oval a cursory glance.

“Okay, we’ll play it your way,” he apprised his over-imaginative cousin.

In Gwen's words, the whole thing was a mind-fuckery experiment to see if people are willing to work together or if they’re keen to succeed selfishly at the cost of the overall objective. As with any corporate group activity, the test was to see how people react when situational duress met underlying personality. Usually, unless an employee demonstrated destructive, spectacular failure, there was no right or wrong thing to do. Presumably, the Dean was interested in seeing which of the students possessed leadership and follower-ship, and who had the tendency of being an asshole.

Teamwork and cohesion, Dean Luo had reiterated, were equal to Spellcraft, as arguably, all the teams possessed relatively similar tiers of Magic.

Which, according to Bai, was minotaur shit. Progenitor colleges like Oxford and Cambridge undeniably possessed an unbridgeable advantage in terms of Spellcraft knowledge. Analogically, Gwen supposed, it was like competing against European countries in the Winter Olympics as a Jamaican Bobsled team. If Fudan couldn’t get its teamwork together, it may as well save itself the shame.

“Great, help me arrange everything first, take the parts that we have, and lay it out on the diagram,” Gwen entreated her companions before approaching the corner boundary where all four teams bisected.

“Ladies, gents, a moment of your time?” Her Illusion-powered holler echoed across the oval.

The splintered parties gathered, leaving all but two individuals to wander.

Kitty’s aloofness came as no surprise, though the fact that Karie, their Diviner, also stood apart was a sign of troubles to come. Did the woman think her position was unassailable? Gwen frowned. If she recalled correctly from her notes, the Mok family was a well-to-do merchant House like the Wangs. What had the woman hoped to gain by putting on airs?

“I have the blueprints and the assembly instruction.” Gwen waved the paper back and forth. “Let’s facilitate a trade agreement to make this hassle-free. I am going to give everyone the first page with the parts and numbers list. Lay out your quadrant's components like what Richard and Lulan are doing, place surplus parts onto the left margin and your core-components in the middle. After that, we'll do the old' swap meet!”

With a mote of Void, she cleanly sliced the booklets' bindings, then portioned out the first two pages, a double-spread diagram.

The others regarded one another. Was the scheming Void Sorceress trying to trade them the manual page by page? What deviousness!

“Senior Bai,” Gwen implored sweetly. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” Bai nodded, not understanding her game but comprehending her goal. “Chen, Gigi, Tai. Do as she says.”

“Yessir.” The others obliged. There was no point refuting Senior Bai, who was the most experienced individual, and whose Clan was famed for its precepts of righteousness and piety.

“Alright, let’s see where this is going.” Lacking a clear leader and feeling jilted by their Diviner; Rene, Jiro and Eunae went about picking parts to bring to the borderline. Watching the diminutive Eunae rolling a length of pipe was entirely endearing, Gwen chuckled. Why was it that healers were all so cute?

In the final quadrant, Tsai and Miriam were commanded by Anita to do the same, joined momentarily by Kitty, who gave Gwen a dirty look.

“Karie,” Gwen called out to the Diviner. “Teamwork!”

The disdainful girl shot her a wilting look of disapproval.

Maybe she’s on the rag, Gwen accounted for the Diviner’s hostility, she couldn't imagine why Karie Mok was so hostile.

It took about ten minutes for the groups to arrange their pieces.

“Would anyone like to start?” Gwen raised her extra three copies of the instruction manual.

“Sure: I'll give you a core, a left-ventricle tubing, and the transformer actuator for all three copies of the manual,” Senior Bai offered with a glint in his eye.

“Ha! No can do. One-copy per team,” Bai's counterpart snickered. “Richard, what else we got?”

Richard read out a list of surplus parts which he had deduced after Gwen's counter-intuitive purpose.

“Cheers, Dick. Senior Bai, we'll trade you a right-ventricle seal, an exhaust gasket and a filtration panel.” Richard pointed to the parts, demonstrating a sharp eye for puzzles.

“But…” Bai gazed at Gwen’s quadrant, then back again, confused by the offer. From what he could see, Gwen was trading out parts she required herself.

“Lulu.” Richard passed a second list over to Lulan. “Go and trade for these with group 3. Jinwei, go trade for these with group 4. Bring back the parts and put them all into the surplus pile.”

“Senior Bai.” Gwen smirked at the perplexed Clanner, her eyes forming two smiling half-moons. “You said you would trust me.”

“Because we’re on the same team?”

“Yep," the girl elegantly inclined her head. "Isn't that what teamwork is all about?"

Dean Luo realised the jig was up as soon as Gwen’s group traded away their share of essential components.

A wave of disappointment and dejection washed over the Dean, who had prepared a speech.

Despite what appeared to be the total sum of parts that made up four filtration systems, he had laid out only three full systems, while the fourth was a different model with similar parts, serving no purpose other than to confuse. In their scramble to chaotically barter for the necessary components, the contestants would first create bad blood by having the group with access to the instruction manuals trade for essentials, ensuring individual success. As a direct result, at least one group would realise that irrevocably, having given away an essential part, they had been duped. The remaining three may then become the target of sabotage, as the only way to avoid disqualification is to ensure that at least one other team failed, or reached a stalemate.

Furthermore, as a result of unplanned, chaotic bartering, confusion would arise, resulting in a scenario where blame and praise would further decay teamwork. Historically, Luo recalled that when Jiantong had utilised a similar exercise, the winner had memorised the manuals, then bartered all four away for multiple core components to two teams, leaving one to be utterly exploited, thereby completely demolishing their competitor’s chances. For the two surviving teams, an embittered process had caused tempers to flare, exposing the best and worst of the contestants.

What Gwen was now doing was thus unprecedented.

The girl was facilitating exchanges to benefit her opponents.

Had she figured out the rules of the contest? The Dean mulled unpleasantly. It was highly improbable that anyone should know of his intent in advance. He had been subtle in his phrasing, not to mention every other contestant had exactly reacted as Luo had anticipated.

With Gwen's approach, rather than losing points for self-preservation, aggression, or subversive actions, Gwen and her team were gaining points for cooperation with every item exchanged even as the remaining three teams did their best to undermine one another’s chances at completing their device first. The devious thing, Dean noticed, was that Gwen's team had no point-deductions at all.

A win via win-win? The Dean grunted. Was the girl trying to exercise the ethos of the Middle Path?

“DONE!” Bai Tei stepped back from the completed filtration unit. “We’re first!”

“Well done!” Gwen clapped from across the dividing line.

Bai's team exhaled collectively. Even toward the end, Gwen had no tricks up her sleeve, like forcing them to offer up their almost-completed filter.

“I don’t get it.” Bai gathered his team behind him. “What’s in it for you?”

The girl smiled secretly as Richard, Lulan and Jinwei parcelled out the last of their useful parts to teams 3 and 4. By now, Gwen's quadrant was full of unusable trash which Dean Luo had conjured for the express purpose of inciting conflict.

The remaining two teams, consisting of Kitty’s and Karie’s, fell into a stalemate. Each held the parts the other desired and was thus refusing to trade.

Gwen wanted to call out that if they were to exchange components until the final piece, it could come down to sudden death. That would be a fair and square measure of luck and skill, and it would ensure two more filters were completed.

“TIME’S UP!” The Dean returned to the oval, happy that his ploy wasn’t a complete failure. “Gather up!”

The groups again converged, forming two lines.

“I have good news and bad news.” The Dean inspected the lonesome filter.

The gathering of students stiffened.

“As stated, the goal of this exercise, your primary objective, is for your group, and that means all of you, to reconstruct the filters as soon as possible.”

Karie’s party, consisting of Rene, Jiro and Eunae, blinked as they exchanged hostile glances with Kitty’s party, consisting of Miriam, Anita and Tsai.

Senior Bai cast a curious glance at Gwen, who looked entirely at ease for a group that had not attempted a single filter.

“Likewise, this is an exercise for us, the examiners, to observe your ability to lead, follow and achieve Quest objectives, as well as to demonstrate creative thinking, problem-solving, negotiation and conflict resolution.”

The Dean gave the failed groups a wilting glare, ignoring the smiling Gwen.

“If this was the IIUC, then you'd all be back on the ship tomorrow. You have already lost the Match for Fudan.”

Silence reigned.

“The origin of this exercise harkens back to 1993,” the Dean continued. “The objective for the second round of the IIUC, set in Inner Mongolia, was the restoration of the Frontier District’s drinking supply. However, the shipment of filter parts had been waylaid by Centaur hordes, resulting in less than six functioning arrays. For this Quest, Fudan had been pitted against Tsinghua and Tokyo U. Having collected core components in their first foray, our friends from Japan managed to reconstruct two filtration systems within their assigned District. As for our parties, they managed one unit each, both as a result of having lost parts to a spell scuffle and having failed at bartering with Tokyo U for the necessary components. For this reason, Tokyo U managed 678 CCs, disqualifying our measly 320 CCs.”

“In hindsight, the primary purpose of the exercise was the preservation of the Districts, which was impossible without planar filtration for the supply of clean drinking water. Within the ruling, any action significantly contributing to your primary objective was awarded CCs. Had a team aided in the reconstruction of all six units, their CC count would have exceeded 600, excluding time-completion bonus and kill counters!”

The other members slowly turned their eyes toward Gwen, some worshipful, others suspicious and hostile.

“Therefore!” the Dean barked. “Let this exercise be a lesson in myopia! Let not your desire to win, to reign over others, cloud your judgement! Always keep your eyes on the true objective of the quest. Think critically! That is the purpose and method of the IIUC!”

“That’s horse shit,” Karie, the Diviner, mumbled under her breath.

A few of the others, mostly Clanners, agreed.

The Dean ignored them.

“Gwen,” he called out to his dearest troublemaker. “Bai as well, I want to talk to the both of you. As for the rest - dismissed! Results will be out by Monday.”

“Gwen, thanks.” Senior Bai gave his junior a thumbs up.

“Shall we?” Gwen stepped aside as to follow her Senior. Along the way, she glanced at Kitty, who stood dejected and shaking, then followed the Dean as to escape the humid heat of the field for the cool interior of his office.

“That’s true.” The Dean acknowledged her proposal in a way that Gwen felt bordered on insult. “Thanks to that display, I’d almost forgot your exotic mental predicament. We wouldn't want that flaring up in the middle of a match now. Still, promise me you won't just do as you please.”

“I will listen to Senior Bai to the best of my abilities,” Gwen assured the Dean.

“And I will heed Gwen's advice as needed,” Tei promised besides her. “We’re a team, as she said.”

“You can work it out among yourselves.” The Dean affirmed approvingly. "I am glad we have finalised the list. Two months left until our first match, have you lodged your deferment?”

"Yessir."

“I’d prefer to keep studying,” Gwen stated. “Semester Two is going to start anyway.”

“I am afraid that’s impossible. You’ll be travelling in and out of Shanghai starting August,” the Dean reminded her. “It's normal for students to defer their studies during the IIUC - or are you saying you’re not confident you’ll last until February?”

February inferred the final match, not to mention the much-lauded award ceremony seen around the world.

“There’s much studying to be done before a match as well, you’ll receive the location and a general guideline for the match weeks prior, though as for the fine details of the Quest, you won't know until the day.”

At the Dean's insistence, Gwen reassessed her schedule.

Should she defer? It was probably the right idea. She wasn’t so arrogant to think she could pass her courses while travelling away for two weeks every month for four months, then again well into February, not to mention there remained work to be done in Nantong and with the House of M.

“I shall heed your advice, Sir. Thank you.” Gwen bowed.

The Dean gave her a paternal pat on the head.

“I look forward to your performance, Miss Song.”

“Of course.” Gwen received the Dean’s benediction. “I’ll be sure not to disappoint!”

“Good. Tei, what do you think about the team makeup?” The Dean turned to Tei. “Sound me out.”

“Of course, Sir.” Tei bowed. “The core members are me, Gwen and Karie. The teams are flexible, but ordinarily, I would suggest the three of us plus a member for Control, for example, Richard or Kitty, and another Offence, such as Lulan, Rene or Jiro, depending on environment and our competition's makeup.”

“That’s good.”

“Conversely, for missions requiring mobility, I’d suggest replacing myself with Anita, bring in Richard to replicate my counter-dispelling, then Kitty and or Lulan. For base defence Quests, we can split the teams, with a mobile strike team emphasising firepower, while Jiro would work wonders on defence with his persistent flames. So long as Gwen remains in play with her Familiars, we shouldn't have issues with small-scale encounters.”

“I notice our Cleric appears to be missing. You haven’t seen the synergy between Gwen and a Positive Energy user yet, have you?”

“No Sir.”

The Dean chuckled.

“Make sure you do. Now, what’s your opinion on our two trouble makers?”

“Karie isn’t normally so obtuse,” Tei defended his former team member. “I’ll speak to her when I get the chance. Maybe it’s something at home.”

“Kitty should come around,” Gwen defended her ‘friend’ as well, thinking perhaps Mia or Miss Maymyint could help. “I’ll convince her, one way or another.”

“Then I shall rest reassured.” The Dean tapped the table thoughtfully. “It is possible to replace members mid-competition, but only if they’re dead or incapacitated. Concurrently, there’s also a penalty for bringing in members mid-competition due to casualties: five per cent, if I recall correctly, so let’s not make any mistakes. If those two are not suitable…”

Fudan's Captain and Vice-Captain both gulped.

“Not that I am without confidence in the two of you.” The Dean cleared his throat. “But you should spend time with your team. I am thinking of sending you all to get to know each other in an Orange Zone, nothing too serious, a light exercise.”

“That would be ideal, Sir.” Gwen’s eyes lit up. “We can do synergy building!”

“Yes, I'd thought you might have something in mind. I’ll let you know when I have the details. It’ll have to be somewhere isolated, and a senior staff member will accompany you.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Then that’s it. I'll put out the notice. You two, stay out of trouble.”

Bai and Gwen both bowed.

“You especially.” The Dean gave Gwen an expectant look. “Stay clean for two months!”

Monday-week: a semi-circle of students studied the bulletin board.

2004 IIUC Final Selection:

Offence: Gwen Song (Vice Captain)

Offence: Lulan Li

Offence: Rene Mui

Offence: Jiro Peng

Defence: Bai Tei (Captain)

Defence: Anita Wong

Control: Richard Huang

Control: Kitty Liang

Utility: Karie Mok

Utility: Eunae Lee

"Do you think they'll broadcast this year's IIUC?" an anonymous voice raised an important question.

"They better." A member of the Fudan DC slapped the first on the back. "I, for one, look forward to seeing our Captain and the Worm Handler on Vid-cast!"

Karie Mok sat in the living room of her family’s estate, drowning out the silence by cranking up the Vid-caster.

With a clumsy fumble, she poured herself a thimble of her father’s Zhuyeqing, a white wine fermented in the hollow of a still-growing giant bamboo, then knocked it back in one gulp.

The sticky alcohol crawled down her throat like a line of fire, its vitality flushing her body with a gradual warmness that dispelled the bone-chilling paranoia she had acquired since returning from Dean Luo's competition.

The day prior, she had spoken to Tei Bai, and the two of them had parted amicably, with Karie promising to perform her duty.

Now, she was regretting everything.

“Young Miss…” Lao Gu, an old butler of the family that had followed her from Shandong when she was just a child, eyed the bottle nervously. Like most of the city’s fu-er-dai, his young miss was prone to occasional excess.

Ignoring the NoM, Karie poured herself another thimble.

Though she wasn’t the future-telling sort of Diviner, she wasn't imperceptive enough to ignore her Sigil. What her gut feeling told her was that under no circumstances should she further involve herself with Gwen Song.

The paralysing dread had caught her entirely unaware, as only a week ago, she had been filled with optimism and hope that 2004 was going to be different.

Yesteryear, their Team Captain had been an arrogant Clanner from the Wutang mountains, a Kenshi from one of the oldest sects in China. He had ignored Vice-Captain Bai’s advise at every turn, going so far as to antagonise the intelligence Karie had Scried when she contradicted his assessments. In Tibet, as a result of the idiot’s decision to play the ‘fisherman’ against the ‘clam and the crane’, Tsinghua had taken the egg while the rest of them were left fending off a very angry mama-Roc.

So this year, when Tei told her that he was vying to be Captain, she had naturally assumed that she was going to be his second. That way, cooler heads would prevail, not to mention as the only Diviner and the team’s chief source of intelligence, she was the pragmatic option.

The addition of Gwen Song had been another reason why Karie had been glad to be participating in her final IIUC. The new girl was phenomenal, her talents and her combat track-record both unmatched - if rumours could be believed. Through her family connections, Karie had verified that the girl had out-duelled Wonsoo Liu, the famous Battle Mage. If so, it meant that Fudan had a powerhouse on par with low-tier Magisters from the Front. With herself in command and Bai wielding Gwen Song, breaking through the Asian round was assured. Merely imagining a Jap Shikigami eating a Void-sphere to its Core was enough to send shivers down Karie's spine.

A shiver without cessation.

When they had met face to face, a sudden sliver of eldritch ice had pierced Karie's spine, then twisted its sinews and nerves until her face was bloodless. During the exchange, when the Void sorceress twice attempted to speak to Karie, the Diviner's nerves had revolted.

Instinctively, she wanted to leave there and then, but she couldn't risk losing so much 'face'. The price of quitting was too high, even if her Sigil warned that attending the IIUC with Gwen Song meant courting death.

She cursed her second-rate bloodline.

To drop out now - what would her parents think? Of course, the IIUC was dangerous, her father would say, of course, people died. But she went to the last one, didn’t she? If she was afraid, why had she joined in the first place? Furthermore, she wasn’t the foretelling sort of Diviner, so who knew if her prediction was even accurate? Chalk it up to nerves! Her parents would say. She should toughen up and get on with it! Chairman Mao didn’t give up on the Long March even knowing that most of his comrades would perish!

And they would be right.

Would her father give up on a venture because he might lose money? Would the army stop protecting its citizens because PLA Mages may perish?

Karie wasn’t the Oracle of Delphi; she was just a young woman, a mundane one at that. She wanted to be an Intelligence Officer, maybe work in the Central Bureau, serving as the occasional Field Officer only when needed, ideally a safe distance away from the Front.

But this was death! Her prescience pierced her morbid mind. She had to choose life!

Having never imperilled life and limb, she couldn’t imagine how such a thing was going to happen. Was Gwen Song going to murder her? Was a Mongolian Deathworm how she met her end? Perhaps the Void sorceress would err in a moment of crisis, then Karie would die in an uneventful accident.

Ensnared by visions and revisions, the Diviner floated between decision and destiny. Was it even possible to change fate?

She took another sip.

The throbbing in her head dulled.

The pinging of her Sigil quelled.

She felt like a proverbial carp wedged between a rock and a hard place.

After all, what was the point of being famous, and deceased?

“A toast to the 2004 Fudan IIUC team members!”

A few minutes into the party, Karie Mok knew she was going to be sick.

It didn’t take a Diviner to foretell that turning up to a mixer with a hangover wasn’t the best idea.

The group had gathered at Gwen Song’s behest at M on the Bund, a chic riverside cafe overlooking the most scenic stretch of the Huangpu River. In the past, Karie had once or twice enjoyed high tea with her friends here.

That a section had been cleared out and reserved solely for ten university students was a scene she’d never expected. Even for someone at her family’s stratum of wealth, it seemed like a waste of money.

Gingerly, hoping that her brain wouldn’t spill from her ears like soup, she scanned the faces sitting around the circular table:

Lulan Li, Senior Tei, Jiro and Anita weren’t affluent by any means. The girl from Seoul, Eunae, wasn’t going to splurge on people she’d never seen before. Kitty Liang? Never heard of her. Richard Huang? She heard he was a workaholic. It meant that only Gwen Song had the clout to burn the hundred odd HDMs necessary to empty a place like M on the Bund for something as trivial as a celebratory dinner.

Karie wasn’t opposed to diplomatic generosity, but when the host was stuffing her to a barrel to throw her into the Huangpu River, she could hardly summon the enthusiasm expected of her.

In a moment, the entrée arrived, a fist-sized 'drunken' South Sea Scampi ceviche in shell, served over a bed of crystalline lychee flesh.

Karie held her breath.

The rich aroma of sweetened mirin was enough to force her stomach into bouts of convulsion. She wanted to leave, to go home, curl up into a ball, then find a way to call this whole thing off.

“Senior Mok, Are you alright?”

Karie looked up to see a pair of vividly amber-emerald irises bearing down with the weight of mountains.

Gwen Song, resplendent in a shimmering little black dress, had been making the rounds, wooing the contestants, standing so tall in her heels that should her peers slink back in their seats, they could kiss the flesh of her thighs.

“I am okay,” Karie lied. Comparatively, she wore comfortable casual cotton. The invitation had stated semi-formal, except Karie was neither in the mood nor the right state of health to make herself ready.

“You look pale.” The girl reached out with a wayward hand, her white fingers landing gently against Karie's shoulders.

“!”

Without warning, a deathly dread engendered.

Her host's touch was vivifying.

Karie almost leapt from her seat; such was the shock surging through her marrows, travelling up her spine to hammer at her teeth, that she bit her tongue.

“Jesus, Karie, you're as white as a sheep!” The accursed Void Sorceress leaned in until her face was an inch away. “Eunae, can you come and see if Karie’s okay? I think she’s coming down with something.”

“No!” Karie turned from the girl's demonic gaze. She took a chunk of raw scampi and threw the translucent flesh into her mouth. “See? I am fine! I just, oh…”

The raw prawn, the mirin, the peculiar crustacean savouriness, all of it was too much.

'Bluuarrrrgh~!'

Before she could swallow, her hangover escaped her body, permeating their group's surroundings with rancid expulsions.

Without expression, Karie's host allowed the admixture of acid and undigested canapè to slide from her shoes.

“Goodness, Karie. Can I get you some water?”

Mao! Was her future murderer trying to kill her with kindness?! The Diviner moaned audibly before raising a foul-smelling hand that sent the rest of the table reeling.

She took Gwen by the hem of her dress.

The girl was fighting her revulsion, Karie could see that, and she was winning.

“I don’t want to go,” Karie begged.

“What?” Gwen blinked.

“Please…” She slumped against the girl's abdomen, pleading and blubbering. “Don’t make me go to the IIUC… I don’t want to die.”

It took several seconds for the rest of the party to fall into a sombre silence.

If anyone else had just said that, they could have laughed it off, but Karie was their Diviner. If a Diviner was begging to leave, what did that foreshadow?

Slick with sick and lukewarm with the foul expulsion of Karie’s gut-wrenching plea, the party’s host turned to regard the rest of her team.

“Don’t worry,” she intoned carefully, keeping her face straight and her smile untouched. “I am sure that's the alcohol talking.”

The rest of the team agreed to reconvene a few days later.

To continue the party after a display like that was impossible. Even if the House of M cleaned up the mess, the glaring asymmetry of their team makeup would only serve to produce paranoia in the team members.

Worse still, the news of Karie’s withdrawal had somehow spread.

Gwen sighed. They weren't the bloody Fellowship of the Ring, but to think they'd suffer a casualty so soon was goddamn disheartening that she couldn't help but feel cursed. She hadn’t expected that they’d become friends quickly, but to think her team would grow distant before they had gotten close was unacceptable.

And this was why she was now in the Dean’s office with Senior Bai, discussing countermeasures.

“I don’t know where else we can find another dedicated Diviner.” Bai exhaled with exasperation. “I am sorry Sir, I failed you.”

“No, no, Mr Bai.” Dean Luo massaged his temples once Gwen and Bai made their case. “One has to wonder what in Mao's crystal tomb was going through Miss Mok’s head. Sufficient to say, her career, in more ways than one, ended before it began, if that makes you feel any better.”

“I don’t blame her,” Gwen intervened on the young Diviner’s part. “Being from the Frontier, I’ve seen death, Sir. I would even say I have come close to experiencing it half a dozen times. Daring death and danger aren't for the faint-hearted; I can entirely empathise with Miss Mok if she lacks the mental fortitude.”

The Dean shook his head.

Were he not confident that Jiantong and their competitors had signed bilateral pacts of non-interference, he'd have suspected foul play. To be caught committing a criminal act against the terms of the IIUC would disqualify the institution for the foreseeable future and drastically undermine one's academic standing. Likewise, if one must move against Fudan, why not target Gwen? Be it bodily harm, scandal, bribery or any other form of creative larceny; each method was superior to forcing out a Diviner he could replace with a dozen lessers.

“This puts our plan in disarray, but alas, there’s good news as well.” To Gwen and Tei's surprise, the Dean grinned. When fate conspired to make one succeed, what could one do but thank the heavens?

“Sir?” His students looked up expectantly.

“Miss Maymyint, you may come in now.”

The two students turned to see the House of M’s premier representative in a python-skin leather outfit that left little to the imagination. When their eyes met, Miss Maymyint’s lips split to form a toothy smile.

“Miss Song, well met.”

“Miss Maymyint!” Gwen gasped. “You’re still here in Shanghai?”

“Business, dear, you should know that. Have you checked your account lately? We've paid you a sizable bonus to aid you in your future endeavours.” Maymyint’s voice drifted across the room sultry and sweet, carrying the slightest hint of a lisp.

“Hahaha…” Gwen answered awkwardly, not wishing to talk shop in front of the Dean. She had indeed checked her account recently. Between her Tonglv coffer and her House of M proceeds, Gwen could purchase an apartment or two near Fudan without crippling her bottom line. Were she not so absurdly busy with matters of magic and the competition itself, she would have invested the money by now, likely into a Wang Group commercial property.

“Miss Maymyint said she wanted to surprise you.” The Dean nodded at the woman, one he had met through the Grey Faction’s trade conferences. “I think we found our Diviner.”

“OH MY GOD, MIA?” Gwen instantly connected the dots, squealing despite herself.

Maymyint affirmed Gwen's hypothesis with a nod.

“Wonderful! How come? She said the House of M wouldn't consent."

"I now consent." Mayuree's eldest sister flashed her pearly teeth. "I am sure Mia would love to help a friend in need."

"Ha! That she does! When will Mia be back?”

“I am afraid she won’t be.”

“W-what?” Gwen caught herself, confused by Maymyint's apologetic expression. “But you said…”

“Your team will be heading over to meet with Miss Mayuree.” A boisterous grin touched his face. “Not only has the House of M entered the IIUC as a sponsor, but they’re also offering to pay for the first round wholesale. Miss Maymyint has told me that Jiantong and our old nemesis, Tokyo U, have both agreed to the location of the first match in Burma.”

“Esteemed sir, it's Myăma.” Maymyint coughed gently.

“Ah, my apologies,” Dean Luo bowed his head. “So: Gwen, Tei, what do you think? It’ll be a home game away from home. Your team will travel to Myăma in October, and Miss Mayuree will meet you there.”

Both Tei and Gwen turned to regard Mayuree’s sister with expressions of awe.

“Hahaha…” Maymyint let loose a string of cackling laughter. “How charming you children look. Think nothing of it. Gwen has brought us many boons, more than she knows.”

Gwen blushed, as did Bai for a different reason. Suddenly her heart filled her with glee and gladness. With a blessing such as this, it was entirely possible to bring the team back on track. With a ‘home ground’ advantage in having the House of M as their sponsor and a member of the House of M on their team, they possessed every advantage.

“Sir, wouldn’t there be a conflict of interest?” Gwen asked just in case.

“You think Oxford and Cambridge play fair when they threw LMU and Sorbonne into the forest of Gwydir?" Dean Luo was in a good mood. "Some of the Brits have Elven blood, you know!”

How was she supposed to know that?

“Gwen, the IIUC Examination Committee is an independent organisation with an oversight committee consisting of European, American and Asian Towers’ senior members,” Bai explained patiently. “Contestants must also submit themselves to surveillance magic by wearing a special beacon on their persons. Having local knowledge doesn't incur a penalty. As a matter of fact, teams are encouraged to visit early to learn the local customs.”

Gwen grimaced; she had almost forgotten this world’s obsession with panopticon surveillance.

"I can hardly wait." She breathed out.

"I know how you feel." Maymyint's eyes formed two thin slits. "You know what they say - absence make the heart fonder!"

“Once again, toast!”

Celebratory dinner 2.0 at M by the Bund proceeded happily.

Though the team had initially grown cynical over Karie’s departure, the news that a bona fide bloodline Diviner would replace Karie had come as a welcoming boon. Additionally, when Gwen announced that the first match would take place in Myăma and that their Diviner and the local sponsor were both her close confidants, the team grew hot with anticipation for the first round.

If even with insider knowledge, the support of the local populace, as well as the favour of the country’s government they still lost - then Fudan should probably give up participating in the IIUC for the foreseeable future.

“This time, we’ll show those bangzi and wokou the might of the middle-kingdom!” Anita, the Mineral Transmuter-Abjurer, suddenly dropped a bomb in Gwen's lap. Hailing from Manchuria, the woman had grown up in a region where nationalism ran high after the Sino conflict.

Mild racism, weak to alcohol. Gwen noted.

Banzi, referring to a corncob, was an ethnic slur for conquered Koreans: during the occupation of Manchuria by Japan's Seventh Army, enslaved Korean Mages were given oft-faulty wands by their commanders, resulting in the spectacle of mana-drained mages having to beat the occasional Chinese rebel-fighter to death with a stout rod of transmuted metal.

Wokuo, meanwhile, referred to Japanese pirates that marauded throughout the 8th to the 17th century, raping and pillaging China’s coastal cities while its apathetic scholar-bureaucrats watched with disdain, too busy with in-fighting to enable a meaningful mobilisation.

Before Anita could deliver a second jingo, Gwen rose from her seat, distracting Jiro and their on-loan Cleric while Bai silently Messaged Anita.

Meticulously, she annotated her mental HR roster.

Their defender hailed from Beijing. Her family was military, thus ensuring that she had attended three separate high schools before arriving in Shanghai. Cool-headed when sober, the Mineral Mage possessed a strong nurturing instinct. When complimented about her cropped hair, she inferred that her father had always wanted a son. When she got older, leaving her hair long became insufferable for someone used to let their scalp breathe. From Gwen's observation, the young woman had taken a keen interest in the diminutive Eunae.

Across the table, Rene was the sole daughter of a mining magnate in Guangdong, formerly Canton under the Mageocracy, whose holdings over the Thundering Peninsular allowed him to establish a commanding presence from the mainland Frontier to the volcanic half-island. After three toasts, Rene furthermore revealed that she wasn’t the real daughter of House Mui, but an adopted one. Her mentor, Instructor Chen, was a family friend who hailed from the same region, acting as her guardian in Shanghai.

Jiro’s introduction was tamer by comparison - he was just a regular rube, the young man explained - until he became trapped in an Elemental Dungeon near Hubei. While inside, he was separated from his peers and ended up surviving without support for a month. While avoiding certain death, dizzy with hunger, he discovered a raided Firebird nest and rescued a remaining egg.

“I was going to eat it…” Jiro explained, too honest for his good. “When I cooked it with Flaming Hands, it hatched. Since Tanyu would have died without food and without its parents, I formed a contract with it.”

The party burst into laughter and applause at the serendipity of Jiro’s fantastic rendezvous with fate. 'Miraculous encounters’, as the Taoists would have it, was a matter of karmic cause, a predestined gift from heaven. Though such gains could be brought to term by human intervention, the results were seldom as spectacular as ‘destiny’.

“Tanyu! Fly!”

With a word from Jiro, his bird burst from his forehead, trickling a flaming trail of embers. Despite the sudden fever felt by Gwen on her face and arms, not a single strand of her hair curled, indicating the immense control Jiro possessed over the flames. Unlike Gwen’s Familiars, however, Elemental Spirits manifested only momentarily, incapable of holding its corporeal-form for long.

“Sal!” Rene intoned, inspired by Jiro's display. With a sizzling burst of sulphur, something that looked like a log of smouldering tar about the size of a football rolled onto the floor, charring the polished wood.

“Oh shit!”

Decommissioning her spirit, Rene apologised profusely.

Indeed a hot head, Gwen noted mentally. One prone to impulse, not unlike Yue. Conversely, Jiro's temperament was more constrained, likely owing to his Firebird and his mundane middle-class upbringing.

"Not to worry," Gwen assured the Evoker. "It's nothing."

Next, she turned her attention to Eunae, who squirmed beside the Void sorceress.

Eunae dared not disobey her Vice Captain, though the proximity of Caliban a foot away was enough to keep her in flight or flightier mode. To prevent her escape, Ariel prodded the Positive Energy caster with its tentacle whiskers, demanding scratches behind the ears. Thus knuckle-deep in Ariel's luxurious, celestial coat; the Cleric complied.

'The meek shall inherit the earth' Gwen observed of Eunae, though she wondered how the meek hoped to keep it. When in Myăma, their healer may need a Gunther-esque lesson in ultraviolence.

"That's enough about us; what about you?" Anita pointed a pair of chopsticks her way.

As for Gwen, a one-two combo of survival and sacrifice in Sydney by Richard and herself was enough to win her new friends over. When Lulan further interjected with her story of Gwen's timely rescue, the others clapped and cheered, toasting their indomitable Vice-Captain, who downed half-a-dozen shots without so much as a blink.

But the morbidness of her tale paled against the magnificence of Richard’s Familiar, the Undine Lea, who had instantly enthralled the group with her elfin elegance and ethereal grace.

“Through Richard, I got to see the world!” Lea flitted about, enchanting every eye from around the room. It wasn’t every day that a diaphanously shawled humanoid Spirit with unfathomable bean-green pools for irises allowed herself to be gawked at by mortals.

Charmed, a tipsy Jiro fervently declared that he too wanted Tanyu to assume a humanoid form; ideally, one with a long head of flame-orange hair, trailing embers from her dress, fully embracing Dean Luo's Path of the Dutch wife.

When finally with the last dessert dusted, Gwen could see that the team had regained its morale.

Very soon, with the Dean’s blessing, the team would travel to the Yancheng Frontier for a training retreat. There, for the next month, they would patrol the newly enclosed Orange Zone, helping the locals as they dealt with Nantong's overflow of exiled magical fauna, supervised by none other than Eric Walken.

Monday.

Fudan Handan campus training arena.

“I am sorry, Percy,” Gwen apologised to her Message bangle. “I'll be stuck at Yancheng for a few weeks; we’re leaving in two days.”

The remiss was entirely her fault. Gwen's brother had reminded her a month ago and then again just now that Xiangming DC was participating in the best of eight from Metropolitan Shanghai, but as a result of Karie's fiasco, Gwen had forgotten all about her promise to attend Percy's matches.

Both siblings had held great expectations, for in the months since his injury, Percy’s talents had blossomed yet again. Though not in possession of the sheer number of Schools Gwen was known for, his ability to exercise new spells effortlessly in combat far outpaced his already prodigious peers.

“Fine, Mei says hi,” Percy sulkily mumbled his disappointment. “I suppose the IIUC is more important than some district comp…”

“You’re a hundred years too young to guilt trip me, ya little prick,” Gwen fired back. “Send me the Lumen-recordings. Are Babulya and Gramps going?”

“Yep,” Percy answered quickly, hiding his embarrassment. “Wish me luck?”

“Go get em,” Gwen chirped happily. “Break a leg.”

“Why would I break-”

Gwen hung up.

“Okay, sorry about that.” Gwen turned back to her training partners. “Let’s pick up where we left off.”

Her body rose into the air, buoyed by a growing mastery of Flight. In a shimmering moment, a double-glazed sphere encased her surroundings.

“Lava Burst!”

Rene had been stewing her mid-range assault for a whole two minutes while Gwen took the call. From a tear in space, a phosphorescent orange geyser poured into the shielded arena, flooding the constrained space with the stink of sulphur.

Gwen’s Shield caught the worst of the strike, rapidly turning opaque as the torrent of molten silica rapidly cooled, petrifying against her barrier.

“Nice! Void Seeker!”

A dark ring of soundless Void tore through the haze of smoke and ash, making straight for Rene.

“Anita!”

“I see it! Barrier Shard!” The Mineral Mage expanded a barrier of calcite into the air, intercepting Gwen’s Void projectile. The ring bit deep, almost exhausting the depth of the pearlescent wall even as it regenerated.

“Ball Lightning!”

Gwen commanded her Familiar to join the fray.

Ariel appeared on the far side of the duelling arena, its Invisibility shedding with the empowerment of its stag horns. After a split-second of incandescence, four electric orbs struck Gwen’s opponents square in the back before erupting into spheres of crackling electricity each a meter-wide.

“Replenish!” Anita replaced the black and charred shards of Mage Armour with a word, grunting as her mana dipped just below half. Comparatively, her opponent wasn't even sweating. Their Vice-Captain had been tossing out mid-tier attacks like popcorn from a griller. “Resist Elements!”

“Cone of Lava!” Rene’s comically translated invocation manifested as a raging torrent of magma and stone, possessing an equally fantastic capacity for material and elemental damage. At the spell's apex, just as it connected with Gwen’s Shield, the Evoker unleashed a second-stage spell shape.

Now under the command of Transmutation, the spray of molten stone transformed into a pair of clasping hands, catching Gwen’s spherical Shield like a baseball caught between a pair of smouldering mitts.

"Calcify!"

Anita followed up with a Transmutation of her own, coaxing jagged crystalline spikes from the cooling stone.

“Dimension Door!” Gwen reappeared just below the splash of lava as the two halves met with a terrific crunch. Above and below her exit, an erupting pustule of tenebrous Void-ink consumed the falling debris.

“Cone of Lightning!” she fired back a fan-shaped blast of her own, filling the space between her and her teammates with sizzling streams of cobalt electricity.

“Barrier!”

Both Anita and Rene took a burst of fulmination to the face before Anita’s blockade stymied the brunt of Gwen’s assault.

“Blink!” Rene moved past the barrier as soon as their mutual line of sight was lost, shedding a cluster of ruined hexagonal calcite rods.

As she emerged, a coiled Caliban, invisible and waiting, took her full in the abdomen before curling itself around the girl in the manner of a boa constrictor.

“Spike!” Anita activated the embedded effect of her Mage Armour.

Rene watched as the Mage Armour's calcite shards penetrated the creature’s carapace.

"Burst!" A follow-up trigger ensured grievous injury.

The fiend's masochistic response was to open its protective shell, expelling a mass of pulsating purple flesh.

Gwen took a hit in vitality as she readied Ariel for another strike.

“Lightning Bolt!”

Anita took the brunt of the formidable discharge, discarding another dozen rods of charred calcite, made brittle after redirecting the lightning sorceress’s assault.

“Rene, Blink back!”

“I can’t! It’s got- oh shit!”

A wave of vertigo and nausea washed over the Magma Mage as Caliban's Void-tinged fluids smothered her. The calcite 'burst' had been a terrible misstep.

“Time out! Time out!” Anita waved frantically at Gwen. “Rene’s going to be sick!”

And she was.

After Caliban kissed her on the head with lamprey tentacle, the defender was on the floor spewing her guts out. Gwen told her Familiar to back off before it could make matters worse with its singing.

“Anita, Rene, are the both of you alright?”

“Yeah, I am fine.” Anita dispelled her Crystal Skin. “Rene?”

“I'll be fine soon…” the young woman was on all fours, forcing herself to ventilate. Being a student of Instructor Chen, her recovery was quicker than most. “I can’t wait to see our opponents face Caliban.”

“Ha.” Gwen grinned, materialising towels for her teammates. “Eunae!”

“Coming!”

A deer Sprite, cute as a button, hopped toward the trio.

“Invigorate!” Eunae dropped a low-tier buff, dispelling Rene's vertigo, quickening her allies’ restoration of mana and stamina.

“Gwen, how large is your mana pool?” Anita’s glass-like irises flashed. “I am counting eleven T-5 and fourteen T-3 to 4 spells, and that's discounting your Shield and your Familiars.”

Gwen grinned awkwardly.

“She’s at half-tank,” Richard called out from the sidelines.

“No way!” A clamour broke out from the rest of the team, demanding her VMI.

“Gwen, you want to tell them?”

“I am sitting on...” Gwen made a cute face. “250… or so?”

The room grew silent, punctuated only by the occasional ‘Shaaa!’ ‘Eeee!’ and ‘Yii!’.

“I am on 82…” Rene appeared devastated.

“78…” Anita confessed. “I am relying on my Affinity for mana conservation and my Rock Eater for recycling…”

“I am a little happy that I didn’t take the opportunity to brag about my 71…” Jiro coughed. “But seriously - really?”

Gwen could only appear bashful. The matter of her VMI was a morally dubious subject. To brag would be worse than an insider trader telling their junior staff that if they pulled themselves up by the bootstraps, they too could sit on their laurels and retire with superannuation, surplus properties and stock options.

“Enough about me. Senior Peng, your fight with Richard was amazing.” Gwen made a masterful pivot.

Indeed, the duel between Richard and Jiro had indeed been incredible.

By the second minute, Gwen's cousin had filled the duelling arena with water, while Jiro had lined the wall with bubbling fire.

Were it not for Senior Bai’s intervention; the loser would have been severely injured, be it Richard being boiled alive, or Jiro drowning. Though Gwen suspected that Lea could have cycled the heated water back into the Elemental Plane, the draw was likely planned out by Richard to test Jiro's mettle. As a result, Gwen knew another thing about Jiro - the Fire Evoker would prefer to be unconscious than be beaten.

“I hope Myăma has plenty of water,” Lulan declared, having seen Richard in action in Nantong. “Senior Huang is indomitable where there are massive bodies of water.”

Conversely, Gwen noted that Lulan's optimism inferred Richard’s threat-level was effectively cut in half in arid environments, meaning Kitty would make the superior Controller.

As for their Kunlun Clanner, the girl did attend practice, though she remained aloof and apart from the rest of the team. As for promising to obey Gwen’s commands in combat, the girl had bitten her lip, then stared at her toes as though possessed.

What irked Gwen was Kitty's imperviousness to her persuasion, though her lack of cooperation did not imply incompetence.

In an earlier bout against Lulan, she had demonstrated supernatural aerial agility against the rapid assault of the Sword Mage, caught only by surprise when Lulan test-fired a Piercing Heart Sword at point-blank, sending the Shielded Ice Mage tumbling below.

Then, perhaps because of Gwen's passive-aggressive bitching, Lulan fell upon the Ice Mage with the ferocity of a frenzied badger. Having spent almost four months duelling Gwen and adventuring with Richard, the girl’s combat sense was sharper than a void-tinged razor. With the blunt edge of her massive, iron-girder blade, Lulan had beaten kitty around the enclosed space of the duelling arena until the girl was spewing rainbows, only stopping when Gwen commanded Lulan to return. In an open field, Kitty’s forte would truly shine, but duelling a CQB Caster like Lulan indoors demonstrated the greatest weakness of a Mage that relied on avoidance as a primary mode of defence.

“I take it Gwen doesn’t much like the Clanner?” Jiro nervously grinned as Lulan shook off icicles from her hair. “You know, our team has only two Sect-born Clanners. Senior Bai and Kitty. Maybe Dean Luo is not too happy with the Sects?”

“Won’t surprise me,” Rene observed likewise. “You know how they are. No offence, Senior Bai.”

“None taken.” Tei Bai battered a hand. “We did have a terrible Captain last year.”

"The Dean's going for broke.” Rene's pencil-faint lips formed a smile. “I think we might be the only team from China that’s not choked full of Sect Mages.”

“Good,” Anita joined the trio. “Less ego is fine with me.”

“I noticed another thing.” Jiro scratched his brows, then counted the members on his hands. “Does our team seem incredibly cosmopolitan to you?”

"For example - I am 'Japanese'," Jiro continued with a hint of self-loathing. "Eunae is South Korean, Lulu is an ex-Clanner, Captain Bai hails from one of the most respected Sects in Shandong, Richard is Australian-Chinese, Gwen looks Anglo, and our Diviner is Burmese."

"Now that you mention it." Bai appeared contemplative. "Last year, we were all locals, the whole ten of us."

The team regarded one another.

Perhaps it was serendipity, or maybe it was by design, but they were undoubtedly an ‘international’ team. Assuming Fudan broke through to the regional competition, wouldn’t it mean that all of Asia had something to cheer for, that someone in their squad would tickle a nationalist fancy here, there and everywhere?

Six pairs of eyes converged onto their Vice Captain, a woman who remained 'at half-tank' after duelling an offence-defence combo.

Each by each, Gwen's teammates wondered if they should prepare a speech for the Vid-Casts, just in case.

“Gwen is going to Burma.” Jun sat against the rails, looking out over the muggy city below, bathed the colour of a florid fruit shop. “Just like you said.”

“Then it has come to pass,” the Dragon-kin’s reply drifted out from the suite’s interior. When she emerged, it was with the bearing of a queen, regal in her gold-spun robes of midnight.

“Mao, you’re beautiful.” Jun's breath caught in his throat. Even after six months, his companion continued to surprise him.

“I know.” Ayxin willed a lounge to withdraw from the wicker coffee table before taking a seat.

“Ayxin, may I enquire after your sibling?”

“Of course. Do you mean Ruxin or Golos? Or heavens forbid, Ryxi?”

“Ruxin.” Jun realised his eyes no longer cared for the city, so he may as well take a seat beside his lover. “You said he was in Burma.”

“You're asking about something that occurred twenty, maybe thirty years ago.” Ayxin cocked her head, holding her lover's reflection intact between her golden irises, following her silhouette in his dark robs. “Our kind isn't cut out for maintaining filial relations.”

“Gwen tells me that her friend, the Burmese girl, told her that a Dragon overran their kingdom,” Jun began, taking care not to sound too concerned. A Dragon’s possessiveness could be triggered by the slightest provocation, which would deny further avenue of enquiry on Gwen's behalf. “Which incidentally, happened some two decades, ago, in 1982, to be exact, in Yangon.”

"So?"

“So Ruxin could arguably be this Tyrant,” Jun noted the change in Ayxin's demeanour. "The timestamp matches up."

“OR, the tyrant could be any other ambitious whelp. After all, my kind enjoys building lairs.”

"But powerful drakes are exceedingly rare, and I recall you saying Ruxin was on the hunt for a nest."

"Hmm~."

"For what purpose?"

"The lair?"

"Yes."

Ayxin spared the subtlest of glances at her still-flat abdomen.

“If you're that curious - Ruxin is just over six centuries, so he's at an age where his instinct for leaving offspring is strong. Unlike my father, whose magnificence permeates the land, melding with its leylines, Ruxin's obligations are physical, like ours.”

“Wait," Jun snorted. "Your kind goes ‘musth’?”

“Are you inferring that I am an Oliphant?”

The Ash Mage broke out in a terrific cold sweat.

“That was humour,” Ayxin assured her partner. “An Oliphant is no match for me. I could kill one right now if I wished. As for musth, I am too young for that and Ryxi is a sexless albino eel, so no, not all of our kind are subject to the instinct of procreation."

"Then..."

"For a true-blood like Ruxin, there is a period between the fifth and tenth century where our bodies mature; after that, high-dragons tend to shed their mortal coil. It's an uncertain time for an adult, for most of them will perish during these five centuries.”

“Now that IS news to me.” Jun was all ears. Ayxin's casual banter wasn't anything like the sort one would find in a textbook. He was learning mythic physiology straight from a dragon’s mouth. “Dragons are some of the most powerful beings on the Material Plane, so how is it that so few high-dragons exist?”

“Eaten by one another.” Ayxin shrugged attractively. “Going musth, or as we say, vaeri di tobor vur marfedelom, serves as ritual and trial. Before ascension, our kind needs to mate. Before we can mate, they need a lair. The bigger the lair, the more likely you’re able to convince another dragon to submit. For true dragons, the rule is one drake, one mountain."

“So in Burma-”

“Assuming Ruxin is there,” Ayxin emphasised on the inferred ‘if’. “He would need to build a lair, an impressive one at that since our Father is a true ancient. After which he would wait for a competitor, ideally a pureblood, then best them.”

“And then?” Jun felt he may yet regret his curiosity.

Ayxin’s eye formed two smiling half-moons.

“Then they get industrious, as we shall,” she snickered. “Or Ruxin enjoys a nourishing meal. The consumption of other dragons equal in age can bolster our power.”

Jun’s mouth hung half-open.

“I am starting to see why there are so few dragons.”

“True dragons. There’s plenty of bastards.” Ayxin frowned as her mind brushed upon a particularly diluted bastard she had accosted in May. “Most creatures would be happy to submit.”

“I am assuming there’s a downside to mothering demi-Gods.”

“There is. For a mortal, gestation is rare without external aid, and bearing the child or egg to term is even rarer.”

“Your mother-”

Jun suddenly bit his tongue, realising his curiosity had gone a step too far.

“When she served as father's Divine Vessel, my mother was cared for by the best royal physicians the Dynasty had to offer.” The mirth in Ayxin's replies faded. When she next spoke, her tone was indifferent. “Your niece should be perfectly fine - so long as she doesn’t play the fool and pull the Tyrant’s whiskers.”

"Gwen, staying out of trouble?"

A flashback of Huangshan flashed across Jun’s mind’s eye. When Ayxin had caught him in her pocket dimension, he had fully expected Gwen to run. Instead, he had to extract Caliban from Golo’s rectum before it ate Ayxin’s brother from the inside out.

Straining the limits of his imagination, he tried his best to imagine Gwen NOT tearing off the Tyrant’s whiskers with an ‘HA!’

“Ayxin,” Jun implored with a hint of desperation. “What did Golos mean when he said he’d save her thrice?”

As an Orange Zone, Yancheng formed the largest prefecture in the Jiangsu Frontier, bordering Lianyungang to the north and Nantong to the south, with the Yellow Sea marking most of its coastal waters.

Like most of China’s coastal cities, the region had existed since antiquity. It's etymology - consisting of ‘salt’ and ‘city’, was derived from the region's abundance of sea salt.

When a nation as large as China needed salt for internal consumption and export, it could afford no half measures when building its coastal salterns. During the summer season, hundreds-of-thousands of shallow brine pools dotted Yancheng’s shores, fed by ten-thousand channels extending twenty kilometres inland.

During high tide, a torrent of concentrated sea water, dredged up by undersea currents, deposited millions of litres of brackish-brine, attracting innumerable Halophilic monsters desperate for the white-pink mounds. Once inland, the beasts were met by half a million labourers, their skin split and encrusted, their blood and sweat mingling into the crystalline mass.

From Yancheng’s ISTC station, Fudan’s 2004 IIUC team trekked its way from the splendour of the city into the mud-strewn countryside, the asphalt below them changing from tar, to gravel and finally to crushed stones long shattered into to jagged shards by haulier-trucks.

The city’s labourers, hard boiled by the relentless summer sun, raised their half-blinded eyes to regard the troop of fair-skinned Mages making way toward the coast, their mouths grinning with delight, revealing tea-stained teeth yellow with age.

Though their life wasn’t easy by any means, Yancheng was a generous city.

Thanks to the District General's abundant investments, their children attended school, with those who excelled receiving an opportunity to attend the civil exams in Shanghai or Beijing. For families whose lineage produced a Mage, they would receive an apartment in Yancheng's inner Districts, and their progeny was free to attend the state's Spellcraft academy.

Thus enchanted with friendly faces, the workers waved at the intrusion of pallid bodies so dissimilar to their own, dreaming of one day seeing their scions returning in similar triumph.

"Don't you think the people here are so much friendlier?" Gwen waved back. "You don't see happy peasants like this back in outer Shanghai."

"Life expectancy is about mid-forty here." Richard gave his cousin a gentle pat on the head. "It's an Orange Zone, the mana here mangles their bodies, but the salt is worth much more than the lives of NoMs."

"Oh..." Her hands suddenly felt like lead.

"But you know," Richard wisely observed. "Better here than D-109!"

'Klang!'

"Panzerschreck!"

"Kree! Kreeee-"

The flailing, armoured horse-shoe crab ruptured, spraying bright blue-ichor across the salt. Built like a tank and impervious to low-tier magic, it was the thing's own misfortune for choosing Lulan as its opponent.

"Well done!"

"Good work Lulu!"

The group appraised Lulan's demonstration.

As a part of their journey across the salterns, the members each displayed their spells on the occasional monster that barred their way.

Watching the briny-blue blood, Gwen raised a hypothesis.

“Do you think it’ll work?” She licked her parched lips, tasting the salt in the air. “Salt is Negative energy and Water, right?”

“I doubt it.” Richard shook his head. "I don’t think Caliban will gain Affinity that way. Even assuming these Monsters have traces of Negative Energy, your Affinity is too high and theirs too low.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance?” Gwen grinned.

“You could try.” Her cousin shrugged. “I’d imagine anything alive isn't going to be rich in naturally-occurring Negative Energy…”

Realising Dick was right, Gwen cursed her cousin’s astute observation.

“Gwen.” A Message spell blossomed beside her ear. “I see something.”

Above the group, choosing to be alone, Kitty had volunteered to be their spotter. When the girl thrice refused Gwen's invitation, Gwen deployed Maymyint to act on her behalf. Over dinner at Mayuree's apartment, Gwen had sat the three of them down to air old grievances. Meekly, the Mage from Kunlun had offered an apology, going so far as to drop to her knees before Gwen forcibly picked her up by the shoulder. According to Kitty, it was Gwen’s closeness to Mayuree, which she thought was undeserving, that was the root cause of their antagonism. As for Gwen’s part, she wholeheartedly forgave her IIUC companion.

“It’s a Salt Fish,” Kitty updated her observation. “Big one, too.”

“Alright, everyone-” Bai raised a hand. “Who wants to take this one?”

“Me! I would.” Gwen pointed to a comically salt-encrusted Caliban. “I think you guys should get used to seeing Caliban eat.”

Both Jiro and Rene moved up keenly, wondering what new nasty surprises Caliban had in store. They had already seen plenty through their practice duels, but her Void Worm had a knack for surprises.

“As a forewarning,” Gwen informed the others. “Keep a comfortable distance until you get used to it.”

“SHAAAA!” Caliban burped, returning to its Master briefly before once again turning invisible.

“Mao, that was something else.” Anita hugged the shivering Eunae. “What a horrible way to die.”

“I hear you.” Jiro closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “So that’s the spider-form?”

“Yes.” Gwen landed beside her team. “If we get a chance, I’ll show everyone Cali’s stag-form. It’ll take most of my vitality though, so fingers crossed we run into plenty of biomass.”

“How was the bug?” Richard enquired.

The ‘bug’, as it were, was a gigantic silver-fish encrusted with hardened salt from head to toe. Creatures such as these were usually passive, choosing to hide inside its armour while it demolished Yancheng’s salt stockpiles. Not bothering with penetrating its carapace, Gwen had Caliban's spider-form flip the thing over with its scything claws, then devoured it from the middle, where its exoskeleton was the softest.

“Could be better.” Gwen swallowed the tingling pleasure with a poker face. The bug registered a three on the Nephres' Scale. “The vitality barely made up what I had to spend.”

“They process salt for a living and stay virtually stationary,” Richard sniggered. “Not much vigour is needed to live the life of a salted fish.”

“Hahaha…”

“Pufft!”

The rest of the party burst into laughter at Richard’s wordplay.

‘Salted Fish,’ as it were, was slang for a no-good-lay-about.

“Kitty, how far to our destination?”

“Two hours across the salterns, or twenty minutes if we fly.”

“Well, ladies and gents?” Gwen turned to her party. “More sight-seeing? Or shall we get to our lodging?”

“Two more hours of salt flats?” Rene brushed a fine powder of salt from her jet-black hair. “No thanks.”

“Let’s get going then.” Bai lifted into the air.

Of the party, Richard, Jiro and Eunae were the only ones who did not possess the actual Flight spell. Richard himself could manage thanks to Lea, though his flight made for disastrous dog-fighting. Jiro and Eunae conversely managed through Magical Items. Of the many items banned in the competition, those granting basic 'Flight' were not among that number.

One by one, the group fell into a V formation.

“Eek!” Eunae shrieked as they passed an assemblage of several hundred bronze-skinned workers.

Gwen and the others halted in alarm, only to burst out in laughter.

Eunae was flying through the air with her legs clamped and her hands tightly pulling against the hem of her skirt. As a result, she was having trouble bracing her forward momentum.

“No one forewarned Eunnie?” Gwen turned to her peers suspiciously. She was wearing full-length spats, Lulan and Anita wore their military cargos, while Rene and Kitty wore jeans.

“I completely forgot.” Anita grinned, smacking her thin lips. “I mean, Eunae's charming enough to eat.”

“Muuuu!” Eunae growled, shaking a fist. The threat couldn't have been more adorable.

The others each expressed varying degrees of mirthfulness.

“I have a pair of pants you can use.” Their Captain handed over an impressive pair of men’s trousers.

“She can use it as a tube dress, Captain!” Jiro hollered at the ballooning cargo pants Tei offered the girl. Compared to Gwen, their Korean compatriot was indeed a pocket-sized pixie. “She’ll be blown away!”

“Bloody oath you guys.” Gwen snorted, exasperated by the good-natured teasing; happy that for once, she wasn't the ass on display. “If that's the case, Eunnie and I will go ahead.”

Gwen scoped up Eunae by the waist and her legs, then shot forward with a burst of speed, gesturing for the others to follow. “Trust me. They can't see anything at this speed!”

The Kirin sorceress tightened her grip.

"Wait!" Eunae panicked, but it was too late.

"To infinity and beyond!"

The team arrived at Lanyan Manor, exhausted from the constant acceleration.

Long distance flying not only relied on concentration and mana pool but exhausted one’s physical constitution. Velocity wise, at a reasonable pace, a flyer without Air affinity could manage twenty-odd kilometres per hour. Conversely, a full-paced hustle burning mana reserves could reach eighty-odd kilometres an hour.

Of the flight group, it was Kitty who reigned supreme, but none could come close to Gwen’s lightning-trailed, full-throttle afterburners.

Besides the team, Eunae sat to one side, wild-haired and wide-eyed, blowing bubbles through her lips.

“Does hair-preserving magic exist?” Gwen pulled at her wind-tunnelled hair, dismayed at its stubborn resistance. After a few discouraging attempts, she tied off a bushy ponytail.

“I am sure there are coiffure spells out there.” Anita’s gelled crop remained unsullied by their hasted travel. “Or magic items made for that purpose.”

“Or something like an aerodynamic barrier.” Gwen picked out a bug from her shirt. If she had been slower with her Shield, Eunae would have copped one in the grill. “I’d hate to imagine what would have happened if I had my mouth open; it's not every day I have Eunae with me.”

"Hahaha..."

Exhausted chortles addressed her ill humour.

The District they now arrived in was Dafeng, one of the original townships belonging to the Clan of Fung. An ancient town, the region remained rich with fauna, producing all kinds of exotic fare for Shanghai’s insatiable markets.

According to Senior Bai, there existed a legend long ago that beneath Dafeng was a Dragon Vein, re-classified in the 21st century as a ley-line.

As an Orange Zone Frontier, Dafeng was additionally famous for producing a unique fauna called the Mirage Deer, or ‘Milu’, a chimeric monster with ‘the tail of a donkey, the head of a horse, the hoofs of a cow, the antlers of a deer.' Most famously, the Milu held within their body a scent-gland which could substitute for ambergris.

Across Yancheng, the local population worshipped the Milu, long associated with the legend of the Dragon-vein. To many, an abundance of these benign and skittish creatures indicated the region was safe from disaster or invasion.

“Famously,” Senior Bai explained as the servants brought the Mages drinking water in silver vessels. “The Communists hunted the Milu for their musk-gland, said to possess a scent that induced heavenly hallucinations. As a result, the CCP almost lost Dafeng because of a local rebellion. It took the public execution of the local Secretary to pacify the District.”

“Not a Purge?” Gwen’s response was one of surprise.

“Dafeng’s production of salt had to be maintained.” Bai pointed to the distant salt fields. “And it was Patriarch Shen from the Nantong Fungs who delivered the verdict.”

Such is life, Gwen observed. This far out from the city, the CCP’s centralised command structure gave way to regional allegiances. Likewise, only by monopolising the natural resources of the Jiangsu Frontier could the Clan of Fung swallow a project as ambitious as Tonglv canal.

"We're ready for you, ma'am," the team's NoM housekeeper, a womanly matron, informed them with a bow. "Please forgive our tardiness."

"No worries, it's our fault for arriving ahead of schedule," Gwen apologised.

The estate Fudan rented was a property volunteered by the Fungs, a fully furnished, 12th-century abode sitting at the saddle of a low-rising hill. To its rear, a vast bamboo forest swayed, gently brushing its whitewashed walls of chalk. From the left side, the manor's frontage offered a view of the salt plains, while to the right, untouched marshland kissed the county of Shenyang, just visible on the horizon.

Each of the contestants had a room to themselves, though this far from the mana-grid and the waterworks, the ancient estate lacked modern amenities. Not keen on the compost bathrooms the NoMs had dug out at the property’s rear, Gwen offered her Portable Habitat to her team, setting up the portal on the central dais of the courtyard as to provide hot showers and flushing toilets.

“Woa, fancy!” Rene, who came from a military family, was suitably impressed. “How the hell did you get your hand on one of these? Portable Habitats are restricted military hardware.”

“She’s Secretary Song’s granddaughter,” Jiro reminded the Magma Mage. Already, the two fire-oriented casters had grown close. “What’s a few trips to the surplus storage under the CCP Tower?”

“Ha.” Gwen chose not to expose the origin of her pilfered Portable Habitat. “At any rate, here’s the glyph key. It’ll change every 24 hours, so Message me if you’re locked out.”

For the next three weeks, leaving from Lanyan Manor, the students ventured out in twos and threes, courting trouble.

In laymen’s terms, it meant the students formed small hunting parties to roam the countryside, visiting counties, speaking to the village heads, finding Monsters to murder and warrens to clear.

As summer brought the peak season for the production of sea salt, a deluge of Salt Fish, Ripper Claws, White Hoppers, Marsh Worms and the occasional Saltmire Merfolk threw themselves toward mountainous piles of gleaming pink crystals.

Day by day, pair by pair, rapport grew between her teammates.

Unsurprisingly, the others took an immediate liking to Richard, whose experience as an Adventurer brought respect and acknowledgement. Lulan likewise enjoyed working with Rene and Jiro, finding accord through their like-minded personalities. Curiously, ever since her beating, Kitty had taken up talking with Lulan as well, making Gwen wonder if Kitty too had a masochistic streak.

On the matter of tactics and teamwork, Senior Bai had asked Gwen to practice on the others her mastery of Dimension Door. Now unrestrained by regulations against Teleportation within the city limits, they enacted the torturous training known as ‘how many DDs can you travel with Gwen before seeing rainbows’. Thus far, Lulan held the record at twenty-two casts with ten-second intervals, while Eunae managed just five before she painted the pavement.

In between errands, Gwen engaged the group in ice-breaking exercises from her old world. Everything from Truth and Lie, where each member shared two ‘truths’ and a ‘lie’ about themselves, to Spellcraft Survival, where each team of three contestants had to scramble for a stack of spell-cards, then explain how they would survive a Black Zone using only these spells.

Additionally, she had been busy preparing a secret surprise of her own - the creation of a memorable experience with which to conceive an empathic resonance between her teammates, engendering sympathy and camaraderie.

Her rationale was simple - a robust sense of fellowship was necessary to offset the conflicts of interest that may soon be in play.

That was why, with the help of Magister Walken, his winged serpent, as well as Ariel VR, she tracked down a herd of Milu.

From above, the chimeric creatures indeed appeared as their moniker suggested - combining donkey, horse, cow and the massive antlers of a deer into a single animal. From the scale-patterned fur on the beast’s back, Gwen suspected that they were diluted Draconic-fauna. The problem was how she was going to drive a herd of these creatures back toward Lanyan Manor.

“Eeee!” Ariel offered a solution.

“You can?” She was surprised by the clarity of her Familiar’s empathic communiqué. Her creature was becoming more and more intelligent every day, evidence that Walken and Dean Luo’s training was paying off.

“EE!” Ariel assured her.

“Alright, here goes.”

She willed a volley of draconic-essence into her Familiar.

Above the Milu, Ariel materialised, shedding its invisibility. When the Milu readied their long limbs for a hasted escape, her Kirin let loose a burst of Dragon-fear.

As one, the Milu froze.

“EEE!” Ariel pawed through the air.

“Eeeer?” the leading stag bleated, expelling the contents of its bladder.

“EE! EE!”

“Eeeer?!”

“EE!”

“Eeeer!”

Half a kilometre away, Gwen wordlessly watched the spectacle through Ariel’s eyes.

Did deer speak? She asked herself. Could venison feel?

“Eee!”

Ariel informed her it was safe to approach.

“Dimension Door!”

Three teleports later, she was among the mystical Milu, smelling an awful mouldy dankness that only carpets fermenting for decades in a swamp could produce. How were the Milu were prized for perfume again?

“EE!” Ariel’s resplendent horns sparked.

One of the Milu turned away from Gwen, then without warning, sprayed her with something from its anal glands.

“Ari-!” Gwen burst into tears. She had not put up a shield because that would have been the last she'd see of the Milu. More importantly, her mouth was open. “Oh…”

In the next moment, a heavenly scent encompassed her sinus.

The fragrance was indescribable, as though a masterful perfume maker had distilled rosewood and sandalwood, bergamot and lavender, together with all the wildflowers on the marsh into a musky concoction.

“Oh my.” The fragrant was so heady as to make her momentarily dazed. “Milu No.5?”

Now that Gwen was marked and scented, the creatures visibly relaxed.

“Eee!”

“Right now?”

“EE!”

Heeding her creature’s command, Gwen channelled a mote of Almudj’s Essence into her forefinger.

The leading Milu approached, gingerly sniffed her glowing green mote on her palm, then lapped her hand clean.

“Eeeeer!” the buck leapt into the air, taking flight for a dozen meters, then landed with a wet thunk.

“That’s good, eh?” She was beginning to see Ariel’s plan. “Gather up, plenty for everyone! You wanna eat, you gotta work!”

A minute later, she was surrounded by a dozen Milu, furiously licking away, filling the swampland air with their scented blessings.

Who'd have thought? Gwen sighed - that one day she too would be a Disney Princess.

Up above, a discrete observational distance away, with the manner of an antagonist warlock stepfather, Eric Walken hovered with an active suite of diagnostic magic, an eye in the sky scrutinising his ward below.

At first, he thought Gwen had wanted to hunt illicit game to feed her friend, or perhaps bolster Caliban with a new form. What he had in turn witnessed was the strangest thing, a girl feeding monstrous creatures viridescent essence while they furiously muzzled, licked and nudged her to and fro.

"Essence!"

With a bell-beat of fluttering wings, his Coatl descended, seeing no reason why it should resist its impulsive desire for the emerald essence.

Weren’t the Milu supposed to be rare and noble, skittish and impossible to capture? Walken scoffed at the fawning venison below. Why was it that with Gwen, nothing could be normal?

On the last night of the training camp, the team's two leaders extracted the ingredients for a dumpling feast.

“I had it packed before we left,” Gwen boasted with self-satisfaction. “They’re from Yang’s, on Gouding Road. All we have to do is make it!"

Under a Milky Way unsoiled by light pollution from the city, sweltering beside boiling pots, the Fudan 2004 IIUC team folded dumplings and made chit-chatter, laughing at one another's failed attempts at wrapping dough.

Kitty, Anita, Eunae and Richard ate their pork-n-cabbage dumpling as is, while Gwen, Lulan and Anita preferred chilli and vinegar. On the far right, Rene and Jiro huffed over the crushed remains of ghost-pepper, audibly ventilating from the chilli oil.

“Tei, you’re going to die,” Gwen observed. Senior Tei wasn't good with chilli.

“Eunae,” Bai implored their Cleric seriously. “Drop me a Revitalise.”

"Revitalise!" Eunae acceded as Bai delivered another morsel to his lips.

“Ah-,” Bai lamented, closing his eyes. “That hits the spot; I am going to miss this taste in a few years.”

Nodding sympathetically, Gwen topped up the supply of rice wine, taking the opportunity to deliver a well-timed speech.

“Friends, teammates, comrades! Lend me your ears!” She raised a shimmering glass, its surface brimming with prohibitively expensive Mao-tai.

The rest of her team likewise raised their cups.

“Within a week, we shall venture from Shanghai into Burma, taking our first step toward the International Inter-University Competition! Therefore, I would like to offer a toast - to us, to Fudan, and to the future!”

“Ganbei!” A clatter of glasses echoed through the night.

“I believe I speak for many of us when I say that our prospects are daunting. From our familiar campus, we shall venture into the blue-dark of battlefields unknown. But - in our endeavour, let us know no fear; for we set sail beyond Shanghai's shores for fame, fortune and friends. As we step into each new continent, facing enemies hostile and competitors fierce, let us know no doubt; for each new challenge, difficult as they shall be - is an opportunity.”

"Hear-hear!"

"Well said!"

“Thank you," Gwen's voice reached a new crescendo. "For all of us, the IIUC is a detour on our Path of Spellcraft, we take this road, not for ease - but for potential. By stepping where no leaf had been trodden black, we shall employ the best of our energies so that when we emerge the victors, we shall have exercised our greatest potential!”

"Toast!"

"Drink!"

"Another!"

"As for our endeavour - I am reminded of Sir George Mallory, a Magister who perished mapping Everest. Once, a detractor demanded of Sir Mallory, ‘Why are you doing this?’ The Magister's response has since stuck with me. ‘Because it’s there,’ he had said, 'why try, if not for the tallest peak?'”

“Well.” Gwen raised another thimble. “For the spring of our youth, the IIUC is our peak, and together, hand in hand, arm in arm, we are going to reach for the top! TOAST!”

“For the IIUC!”

“For us!”

“Gānbēi!”

“Ariel!” Gwen sounded out internally. “Do it now!”

“EE!”

Without warning, a viridescent Ariel lit up the night.

“Oooh!”

“It’s Ariel!”

“What’s it doing up there?”

“Barbanginy!” Gwen allowed the channelled mana to flow through her Conjuration conduits, piling on the collated ethanol she'd drank all night.

An emerald halo erupted across the starry vista, forming a sudden Aurora Australis as Almudj’s blessing poured into the essence infused Elemental Sphere, adjusted for maximum displacement.

When eventually her breathless teammates looked down from the celestial spectacle, they were met with yet another miracle.

“Mao! Milu! Senior Bai! It’s the Milu!” Rene called out, spilling her drink.

“Ancestors!” Even Tei Bai felt his jaws unhinge.

From the hillside, a dozen Milu rode toward them, encircling the young Mages who stood to receive them.

“What an omen!” Anita touched a hand to her lips. “I can’t believe it!”

“A blessing!” Jiro looked up at Ariel, then at Gwen. “From the goddess of victory herself.”

Bathed in the emerald light from above, Richard reached Gwen’s side.

“Thank you.” He embraced her in an uncharacteristic act of piety. “I never thought we’d come so far, so quickly.”

“Dick.” Their fingers touched. “I want to thank you as well. Without your support, I may not have gotten here at all.”

Lulan was next, though the girl was more direct, opting straight away for hugging Gwen tightly and digging her face into Gwen’s bosom.

“Kitty?” Gwen opened her arms, indicating to the wide-eyed straggler. “Mia’s not here, and I’ve got a vacancy.”

The Ice Mage’s lowered her head, the smile that had just touched her face suddenly fading from her lips. Rigidly, the petite sorceress turned away.

“Kitty, don't play the coy maiden. You know you want it!” Rene, mistaking Kitty’s body language for bashfulness, took the girl by the arm and pulled her unwillingly closer.

“Me too!” Jiro, incited by the friendly atmosphere, pushed Rene and Kitty into Gwen’s arms. "Anita, come on!"

"Ah, whatever." The stoic Senior Bai let himself go, bringing Eunae, who was desperately trying to reign Luyi away from the Milu.

Soon, trapping an asphyxiating Kitty inside a human sardine ball, the team huddled for the first time.

At Ariel’s command, the group of Milu approached.

“Shut your eyes!” Gwen called out, though her warning was drowned out by the crush of bodies. “Close your mouths!”

One by one, the deer turned their fluffy tails toward the group, then gave the soon to be traumatised humans the benedictions for which the Mirage Deer were famous.

“This whole ordeal sounds dodgy,” Gwen said drily, forewarned by Mayuree to be wary of prophecies.

“Yet, stranger things have happened to the both of us,” Jun observed his niece, likewise unsure of what to make of his draconic partner’s ambiguous foreshadowing.

“I suppose. Let’s recap.” Gwen had been taking notes on a slate. “The Tyrant may or may not be Ayxin’s minimum five-hundred-year-old brother, a pure-blooded Thunder Dragon with a raging libido. Likewise, Ruxin was last known to have travelled to Mandalay, the old Burmese royal capital, with the express purpose of banditry, nest-construction and dragon-on-dragon insemination.”

“That's…” Jun smacked his lips, raising both brows. “Surprisingly concise.”

“Also, according to Ayxin, I may be saved by Golos.”

“Not her exact words.” Jun furrowed his brows. “Her exact words were, ‘Golos shall act to prevent Gwen from assured self-destruction, as well as intervene should her life be in imminent threat of annihilation.’”

“Annihilation!” Gwen marvelled at the choice of the Draconian’s diction. “What am I? A flatworm? So if I am only half dead, or enslaved, or trapped in a cave or mildly dismembered, Golos is going to leave me alone?”

“You could interpret it like that.” Jun broke out in cold sweat. “I feel a lot less confident now that you’ve clarified the Yinglong’s condition.”

“You know what I think?” Gwen held her uncle's hand, feeling the clammy skin of his palm. “I think the Yinglong is tempting me to act rashly, thinking that Golos will be there as a fail-safe - when in reality, I could be in all sorts of trouble without Golos needing to step in. For example, Golos can’t come into Shanghai, but I could go right now into the lobby, fire off a dozen Void spells and get booked into Tianlanqiao’s stasis bay. When you think of it like that, this 'save your ass thrice' business is pretty suspect.”

“Please don’t say that.” Jun eyed the security partition nervously. “The walls have eyes.”

“Just a hypothesis.” Gwen grinned. “Don’t worry, Uncle. I know how to take care of myself. I’ve got a whole team with me, and Magister Walken, whose interest and mine coincide, at least for now.”

“Nonetheless, a scorpion is a scorpion,” Jun sagely acknowledged. “Betrayal is in his nature.”

“Oh, but Eric's my arachnid until we dismiss our common goal,” Gwen assured her uncle. “But of course, I’ll be sure to watch my back. Or at least Richard will.”

“His roots go deep, within the Grey Faction I mean, and with the Mageocracy…”

“I’ll be careful, Uncle. Don’t forget, Gunther remains a hard counterspell for a disgraced Magister like Walken.”

“I am just worried about you.”

“I know.”

“… Qīn’s expecting in three weeks,” Jun changed the subject. “I think Hai would be happy if you were to send him a Message, you know - a sign.”

She bit her lip, though it was hard to work up a fury when her uncle Jun had just given her a stout shot of paternal care and security. Despite everyone in her family coming out to see her off, her parents remained absent.

“Alright.” She nodded. As much as she wanted to worry about Walken’s ulterior motives, Ayxin’s vague revelations and her father’s new child, what she should be focusing on was getting to Yangon in one piece, survive the meeting with her Asian regional competitors, then work her way to London to compete for fame, fortune and Evee. “I shall - should I do it now?”

“At your leisure.” Jun coughed guiltily. “But play nice.”

“I am always nice,” she replied sourly. "When am I not nice?"

“Don't sound like such a step-mother,” Jun remarked with a pearl of wry wisdom. “You’re too young for that.”

“Am I not an old soul?”

“Well-” Jun was reminded of the secret they shared. “I suppose there’s that.”

“It’s fine. I'll give Hai my benediction.”

Jun patted her hand in return.

“I should go. The others are waiting for you.”

He opened his arms, and the two shared a hug, with Gwen tagging him with a peck on the cheek.

“Good luck with your egg making, Uncle. You have my benediction.”

Jun gave her an exasperated glance.

“And watch your health - they say too much Dragon isn’t good for your kidneys. Let it come naturally.”

“Get going, you rascal.” Jun gave her a phantom kick in the buttocks.

Leaving her flustered uncle with a wink, she returned to the lobby of the ISTC.

“Gwen! You’re back!” Dean Luo and the others gathered outside were already knee-deep in the media pit.

“Here.” Gwen materialised the signatures Jiro and Rene had requested, as well as additions so that no one else was left out. “Personalised and fresh from the Ash Bringer himself, as requested.”

“I’ll treasure it!” Jiro beamed. “I am thankful!”

“Thanks.” Rene reverently swept her eyes over the scrawled pictogram. “I am going to send this back to my Patriarch!”

The power of the CCP’s propaganda machine was nothing to scoff at, Gwen noted internally. Not even Gunther, a Mage capable of shit-canning a Leviathan the size of a suburb, was instantly recognisable in the middle of a street. Comparatively, when Jun intercepted the team at the ISTC lobby earlier, Rene and Jiro’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets.

“Alright, everyone here? Let’s get a good angle in.” The Dean motioned for the CCVC-1 crew to begin. Sensing an opportunity, Luo had brought with him a Vid-Cast crew from the state’s propaganda office.

The group of young Mages, each arriving at the ISTC separately, had bought their families with them. For Gwen, this included her grandparents, her brother, as well as Mina and Tao. Except for Lulan, who had only Kusu, Eunae, who had no family in Shanghai and Kitty who came alone, the rest were inundated with well-wishes from loved ones.

First came the Dean’s grandiose introduction, after which a suitably large assemblage of rubbernecking spectators added to the already crowded lobby.

“We have full confidence in you lot breaking through the Asian round,” Dean Luo informed the youngsters, winking at the Lumen-recorders. “So say something for the future broadcast!”

As Captain, it was Tei's duty to begin.

“Comrades, greetings. I am Tei Bai, the Captain of the 2004 Fudan IIUC team. I want to make our country, our university and our people proud by showing the world that our nation is ready to join world leaders in the development of Spellcraft. Father, mother, Patriarch Wuyue, please accept my most sincere gratitude for making me who I am today."

Tei dropped to his knees and kowtowed toward a grim-faced man wearing a matching outfit in grey and black, standing amidst a small contingent of Clanners from Taishan, eliciting a round of appreciation from the crowd.

Next was Gwen, who presented an entirely different image to the sombre, funeral-director mien of Tei Bai with her sleeveless dress and tender complexion. With a mote of Essence flashing her irises emerald, she gave the lumen-recorder a bright and vivid smile before delivering her carefully worded portion.

“Hi everyone, I am Gwen Song, Vice-Captain of the team. I would like to thank the city of Shanghai, the knowledge bestowed upon me by Fudan, and the generosity of the Dean in offering us this rare and wonderful opportunity. Over there are two people to whom I am deeply indebted, without whom none of this would have happened. Nainai and Yeye, please accept my most sincere gratitude!”

The crew instantly panned toward the delighted expressions of Gwen’s grandparents as well as the parents of the other students who had come to the ISTC station to fare their scions well. With a twist of her dancer's figure, Gwen skipped between two lumen-recorders to embrace both of her grandparents.

The crowd’s applause exploded. What could be more heartwarming, more picturesque than a scene of filial piety such as this? As for the girl’s parents, who knew? It wasn’t uncommon in this day and age to have a young protégé whose parents had given their all to the state.

“Take care, Gwen.” Her babulya kissed her on the cheeks. “Did Jun say his piece?”

“Yes, Babulya, I’ve got everything I need.”

“Gwen, do not fail-” Guo remained as stoic as ever, his seriousness exacerbated by the presence of the propaganda crew. "-and be careful."

“I will, Grandfather.” Gwen bowed. “Percy!”

Percy tried to hide behind their grandfather but was dragged out by his sister to face the glaring crystalline eyes of the lumen-recorders.

“This is my brother, Percy, future IIUC contestant.” Gwen hugged her sibling from behind. “He will be greater than even myself in the future; I just know it!”

Percy blushed from the immodest and outlandish boast, drawing laughter from around the room.

“Sorry for missing your matches, bud.” Gwen hugged her brother close, pressing their faces together as the CCVC crew moved on to their next target. “As compensation, I’ll bring back something nice.”

She remained with her family while the rest of the crew followed her suit, choosing to stand with their relatives to maintain the motif of filial piety.

When the crew got to Lulan, she instead retrieved Gwen, making her doubly flustered as the Sword Mage heaped praise on her saviour, aided by a grateful Kusu, choking like a misty-eyed father sending their child off to the first day of school.

Richard was no better, again redirecting back toward Gwen. Thankfully, her cousin spent at least a small part of his interview leaving an on-air message for his parents, informing them that he had a home ready for them and that by the end of the IIUC, he may have enough CCs to bring them to Shanghai.

When finally the interviewer reached the reluctant duo of Eunae and Kitty, both stammered a few lines about being thankful to Fudan, then clammed up, uncomfortable with such an extroverted display of egotistical self-promotion. For Eunae, Gwen suspected the girl’s participation would likely be negatively received, at least until they thrashed the Korean teams, making Eunae the sole object of worship for the nationalistic peninsular’s prideful citizens. As for Kitty, she could only presume that the ordinarily quiet girl loathed the idea of whoring herself out.

“Mayuree, Miss Maymyint, I am bringing Gwen Song! I am coming for you!”

The Ice Mage’s stalwart finish came as a pleasant surprise, and Gwen couldn’t help but give Kitty a righteous thumbs-up.

When finally the CCVC crew came full circle, the team formed behind the Dean and presented the universal symbol for cringeworthiness - extending their arms and forming a V with their fingers - before finish up at the entrance to the ISTC’s inner chamber.

“GOOD LUCK!”

“FAREWELL!”

“SAFE RETURNS!”

The family and friends of the contestants waved one last time; then with a synchronised bow, the Fudan 2004 IIUC team was away.

Unlike the ISTC station at Singapore, Gwen’s first port of entry into Shanghai, China's Inter-City Teleportation Circles shared identitcal algorithms, likewise manufactured with matching metrics to reduce wavelength fluctuation.

Without so much as a single Eunae kneeling over to paint rainbows all over the silvery glyphs, the team arrived at Chengdu, where they would meet up with the other Chinese Team picked for Myăma.

“I’ve just received the news.” Walken joined the group as they gathered in Chengdu ISTC's lobby. “Your remaining competitors are Kyoto University and Seoul University.”

“We’re not against Tokyo?” Tei took in a breath of cold air. “Mao’s tomb— Kyoto, we’re in for a tough bout.”

The rest of the team exchanged uncertain glances.

Within China's nine leading research institutes, only three Chinese universities ranked high enough in the Asian Regional academic rankings to issue teams for the IIUC. Of the Group of Twenty in Greater Asia, Fudan barely scraped past the finishing line at 19th, Jiantong at 13th, while Tsinghua solidly locked in 2nd or 3rd place, interchanging with their rivals from Tokyo. Peking University, though ranked 4th, had little interest in competition with the old colonial powers, emphasising instead on gatekeeping the PLA's most secretive mystical arts.

“I’d say so.” Walken studied each of the team members, disdained by their dismay. “Here are your current matchups: Of your Asia qualifier group: Kyoto is ranked 1st, Seoul 9th, Jiantong 13th, and Fudan is 19th. It’s not an unusual spread, as the organisers prefer to avoid having top group match ups. When we’re on the global stage, the same dynamic will apply. For your first round, Fudan, a rank 154th university, will pair with competitors in the top hundreds, or whatever is closest, assuming any of them has made it that far.”

“Well, its no surprise we’re the underdog!” Richard butted in. “That’s how I like it! That’s how we do it in Australia!”

“That’s right.” Gwen pumped her fists. “In Australia, the underdog never loses! Fact! Nine times out of ten, a million in one shot taken by an underdog will succeed!”

Her teammates giggled nervously, evidently doubting their Vice-Captain's mathematical abilities.

“Ho! FUDAN!”

Before she could continue, a thunderclap resounded across the vaulted ceiling of the ISTC station. A second team had arrived, and they were now making their way across the interior, awaiting transfer to the international terminal of the Chengdu ISTC array.

It was their old rival, Jiantong.

Senior Bai glanced at Gwen, cautioning his lieutenant before the two moved up to greet their counterparts.

Unlike the Fudan students, Jiantong has been long affiliated with the Communist Party’s Shanghai branch, with their best and brightest graduating into secretarial posts as well as military officerships inside the PLA Tower.

As one, Jiantong marched on Fudan's chaotic formation, neat in their dark navy uniforms, paired with pale blue collars and black military chinos. Unsurprisingly, the most eye-catching aspect of their team jersey was a bright red iconography depicting a hammer, anvil and sword, alongside spell-books, forming the circular logo for Jiantong, symbolising craft, knowledge and military might, each in equal measure.

Conversely, Fudan wasn’t nearly so strict on uniforms, which combined with its intake of international students, was why it was famous for its “Fudan Flowers”.

The Captain of Jiantong, Gwen noted, was a bloke with a military crop, a square jaw, and dark, hawkish eyes that gave him an intimidating disposition, like a man waiting for the perfect moment to deploy a shiv.

Behind the militant looking young man was another with the face of a schemer, scrunched and rat-like, a born villain. Just from the motes of pale mana drifting from the man’s garb, Gwen could tell he was an Illusionist and a high-tier one at that. Though not wanting to judge a book by its cover, the man's appearance had nonetheless forced her to do a double-take. Thanks to planned pairings and generations of good breeding, Mages in general, especially ones with rare abilities, were rarely uncomely. Considering the position of Gwen's team and the rest of the Jiantong team, the Illusionist's unfortunate face struck her as peculiar.

As the groups approached one another, her theory was validated by two exceedingly beautiful young women, both with their long hair tied up in knots, glaring past her at Lulan.

“Tei Bai, Captain.” Tei extended a hand.

“Gwen Song, Vice-Captain,” Gwen likewise made herself known, a little pleased that she was as tall or taller than the entirety of the Jiantong team.

“Ah, the great Tei Bai, the prodigy of the Taishan Bai Clan,” the presumed Captain of the Jiantong team had introduced himself as Xiang Ying of Wutang. “We finally meet.”

“Bai shixiong.” The Illusionist beside Ying bowed, interjecting before Bai could address the Jiantong Captain. “Pleased to meet you. I am Kurong Tsung from the Wutang main house.”

After her Captain's turn with the duo, when Gwen moved to shake the Captain’s hand, Ying instead gave her a smile and a nod, then left her hanging.

Tei was mid-bow when he caught Gwen’s awkward condition.

“Is something the matter, Bai shixiong?”

“Ying shidi, please return my Vice-Captain’s greetings,” Tei returned gruffly.

“If shixiong wishes it, it shall be done.” The Wutang Sword Mage known as Ying then turned to Gwen, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet the infamous Worm Handler.”

Shocked at having been called the titillating moniker to her face, Gwen’s cheeks flushed scarlet before Ying' calloused fingers enveloped her own. Like all Sword Mages, the caster's hand possessed the stinging grit of sandpaper.

Then, for some reason, the man squeezed her hand.

It took Gwen a moment to realise the man wasn’t trying to cop a feel but was squeezing her fingers in the crushing sense.

Bemused and in mild discomfort, Gwen winced.

Ying Xiang grinned.

Senior Bai’s expression grew dark, while the Illusionist’s grew mirthful.

The rest of the team on either side watched their leaders dance the braggadocio fandango, anticipating what was next to come.

Growing annoyed, Gwen attempted to retrieve her hand, only to find that Ying’s fingers had become a vice-grip.

“Ying shidi, you are going too far.” Tei raised a not-very-polite finger, hoping Gwen wouldn't just keep Ying's hand as a souvenir. “Don’t do it, Ying. It won’t end well.”

“Oh?” Ying Xiang’s gaze stabbed at Tei. “You know, I've heard some very scandalous things about your flower. Does it break your heart to see her hurt, Bai shixiong?”

“That’s not what Senior Bai means.” Richard, who had been observing the ordeal, snorted out loudly. “You bloody inbred Clanners, you have no idea, do you? Go on; keep it up.”

A clamour resounded from the Jiantong camp.

“Well done, you’ve just insulted my whole party. What’s your name?”

“Richard Huang.” Richard rested a hand against the small of Gwen's back so that an understanding passed between them. “Say, are you any good wielding a sword left-handed?”

“Mr Xiang,” Gwen interjected, playing along, growing misty-eyed, waiting for the man to lower his guard. “You’re hurting me.”

Suddenly, without warning, a split-second before Gwen was about to crush the man's fingers, the Sword Mage relented.

“You'd be better off charming the Fungs.” Ying Xiang met her eye to eye. “A competition such as this is no place for a soft and delicate thing such as yourself. Is living the life of a princess in Nantong not thrilling enough for you?”

As if confirming his Captain’s point, the rat-faced Illusionist also extended a hand for Gwen to shake.

Lulan, growing furious at Jiantong’s rudeness, took a step forward, only to be halted by Richard when on the other side, two young women likewise looked as though they were keen to step forward.

Gingerly, with great timidness, Gwen tended her slender white fingers and took the Illusionist’s rougher counterpart.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Worm Handler.” The Clanner known as Kurong grasped her hand as though manhandling a hock.

“Oh no, Mr Tsung.” Gwen activated her Essence, locking eyes with the Jiantong Captain. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“AEEEEEEAA! A-ANCESTORS!” Kurong broke out into a sudden clamour, so much that the two young women behind him looked about ready to materialised their swords. “Y-YOU WHORE!”

Ying Xiang's expression hardly changed.

“You'd be better off slinking back down the sewer you birthed out of,” Gwen stated coldly, ratcheting up the pressure so that Jiantong's Vice-Captain fell to his knees, one hand caught in her vice-grip while the other futilely tried to form an Abjuration Shield. “A true competition such as this is no place for a soft and delicate stool such as yourself.”

“Haha!”

“Oh Gwen, that’s brilliant!”

Her teammates jeered.

“Hahahaha…” To Gwen's dismay, Ying Xiang began to laugh as well, paying no heed to his screeching Vice-Captain. “I like you, Miss Song. I see your moniker is no joke. You have handled Tsung shidi expertly.”

Stepping back, the man bowed from the waist.

“Allow me to apologise. May I please have Tsung shidi back?”

With a show of generosity, Gwen returned the Illusionist to his team.

“I am going to destroy you.” Kurong didn’t find the joke nearly as hilarious as his Captain.

"I am terrified," Gwen hummed jovially. "No one has ever said that to me before. Look at my trembling hands."

She sneered at the man’s writhing, snot-covered face, wondering if it was the inbreeding talking or if the man was indeed that arrogant.

“Tsung shidi! Apologise!” Ying Xiang’s faux amicability curdled. “Do you not understand the meaning of a friendly greeting? Did Song shimei not humiliate your shameful display? How much face must you lose before you’re satisfied?”

Kurong opened his mouth to speak, but a proverbial cat in the form of Gwen’s upturned lips had caught his tongue.

“Bai shixiong.” Ying made a gesture with an open palm and a fist, then commanded his team to back away. “Let us continue this in Burma.”

“Indeed, I look forward to it.” Bai returned a bow, then directed Gwen and his party away from the Jiantong team, who retrieved their pallid Vice-Captain.

“What the hell was all that about?” Gwen inquired of Bai. “Was that guy slow in the head?”

“He must be,” Richard chuckled. “Good work, Gwen.”

“I am afraid the both of you have been used.” Tei sighed. “Still, it was a good show of force. No matter.”

“How so?” Gwen raised a brow. She had thought her comeback worthy of an Emmy.

“Ying Xiang was initially trying to bait you,” Bai explained. “If you couldn’t withstand his taunt and carelessly activated your magic, you may be in trouble with the authorities here before we even commence the match.”

“But I am not stupid enough to do that,” Gwen pointed out.

“He knows that now.” Bai nodded. “It's a test of your mettle. What followed was his real ploy. I should have stopped you, but I too was curious as to Ying’s intent.”

“Which was?” Richard and others were now gathered around their Captain, the only true Clanner among them.

“Intra-Clan Politics.” Bai lowered his voice. “All Clans have problems with succession, more so for a big sect like Wutang. Ying Xiang is a genius, a genuine prodigy, but Kurong Tsung is the favourite grandson of the current Patriarch. Just now, I suppose we just watched Ying Xiang wield the two of you against his cousin.”

“Seriously?” Gwen shook out her hand, feeling dirty. "They don't give a shit about teamwork and morale?"

“They do, but Ying is likely trying to cut off the gangrene first. They say in Wutang that the way of the sword is the way of ren - of people,” Senior Bai intoned. “To wield the sword is to wield the heart of lesser men, the blade: their want, the handle: their fear. A strike should not be so easily anticipated, yet the blade will cut precisely when needed.”

“How mystical.” Richard appeared unconvinced. “But no more substantial than what Prince’s used to spew about the distinction that awaited when serving the Four Houses.”

“Xiang shidi will prove a difficult challenge,” Bai warned his teammates. “I know you all have little sympathy for Clanners and our magic, but do not underestimate him. His is a talent that comes once in a generation.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Alright, Senior Bai.”

"We need your advice."

The team murmured their agreements.

“Good, let’s get to our hotel.”

Once the other’s followed Bai from the lobby, Gwen found herself waiting for their instructor, who had been watching the whole while without so much as a peep.

“Gwen.” Walken sidled beside her. “A word.”

“Eric?” Gwen fell in step beside her frenemy advisor.

“Your team needs a confidence boost.” Walken touched his forehead. “I can vouch for the fact that very few contestants will be capable of handling your unmitigated potential, almost none in Asia, so my first advice to you is to bolster your team's confidence. I don't think your Captain truly understands just how much terror you're capable of sowing. More poignantly, I don't think your opponents have a clear idea either.”

“How am I to do that?” Gwen chuckled. “Caliban ambush?”

“Oh, nothing so nefarious.” Walken eyed the Jiantong team as they sauntered away to their hotel. “I think its best to start removing obstacles and laying dominos.”

“You’re saying…” Gwen’s expression grew scandalised.

“Exactly saying that.” Walken’s lips grew cruel and calculating. “When we get to Yangon, there’s going to be a reception. The organisers are going to be there, and traditionally, the end of the dinner reception heralds duels between the various team’s Captains and Vice-Captains - all captured for broadcast entertainment, of course. When that happens…”

“If that happens-” Gwen studied the man’s gleaming eyes.

“Pick someone, anyone, and crush them. To strategise our matches to come, you need to put the fear of Gwen into them. Don’t hold back, and don’t pause for breath until your team has regained its confidence and your opponents' have turned into Christmas pudding.”

The team's modest hotel overlooked Chengdu’s CBD, its well-lit laneways a mishmash of dynastic and modern architecture. Unlike Shanghai, a young city rich with colonial facades, Chengdu had existed as a tamed Frontier since the Spring and Autumn epoch, earning the moniker of “The Country of Heaven”. Most famously, it was the seat of Liu Bei’s capital during the infamous Three Kingdoms period, a civil war that reduced China’s population from 56 Million in 150 AD to a mere 16 Million a century later, rapidly expanding the dominion of Demi-humans, spurred by a decimated Han Dynasty.

Regretfully, it wasn’t possible for the students to participate in two local specialities: the first of which was hotpot by the river, and the second being a chance to consult the esoteric Xióngmāo-Ren, a group of benign demi-humans sages, for advice on spiritual cultivation.

Pandas who were people? Pandering to Pandarens? Gwen could hardly keep her hands from itching. She had seen pandas in her old world, but picturing attired, talking pandas proved too preposterous. If she could meet one called Po, who could perform panda style, who also spoke like Jack Black, she would lose her mind.

“Perhaps on the way back?” Richard patted her shoulder while she forlornly gazed at the giant bamboos covering the southern inclines of Tiantai Shan. “It’s not like the Pandaren are going anywhere.”

"Is there such a thing as peacock-people living around here?"

"What kind of question is that?" Jiro, who had also wanted to see the Pandaren, chuckled bemusedly. Richard had told him that sometimes, Gwen spoke gibberish. This was known as 'Gwenism'.

The next day, following a final checkup of their gear, the Fudan group returned to the ISTC for their long-range Teleportation. Their waypoint would be the Kunming Frontier, routing through Pu’er, famous for its tea, then finally to Yangon.

With all preparations complete, the group stepped onto the glowing dais.

“Hold on to Eunae,” Walken advised. “I dare say Yangon's still using colonial algorithms.”

Eunae paled as Anita steadied her by the shoulder.

“Yangon — Mia,” Gwen implored the general air. “Here we come!”

As the excessive motes of Conjuration burned off, the students were left marvelling at the marbled interior of what appeared to be a Romanesque municipal building consisting of a dozen columns surrounding a central dais where the ISTC’s scripts covered the surrounding white stone.

Flanking the contestants on either side were attendants in maroon wearing silk brocade longyi, a sarong covering the lower body, paired with dark western shirts, while their faces with their caramel complexion, were white with markings made from thanaka. Among that number were also several young monks with saffron shawls draped over one shoulder, regarding the contestants with great curiosity. One of the young monks immediately ran forward with a bucket, meeting Eunae and Rene midway.

As Gwen’s eyes took in the sight of a brand new country, the third of which she would visit after her trans-dimensional displacement, her eyes fell upon her much anticipated local confidant, flanked by her brother.

There, in the middle of the two dozen or so Burmans was Mayuree in bright orange and lime, looking a treat like a citrus-pandan pudding, wearing a tube dress in brocaded silk that covered her from chin to ankle.

Gwen almost burst out in laughter at the outlandish outfit, so different from Mayuree’s usual fair in Shanghai, though she nonetheless lunged forward to embrace her friend, pressing the girl against her bosom.

“Mia! I’ve missed you so much!”

“Gwen! Me too.” Mayuree’s body relaxed as their arms enveloped one another. “It's been forever.”

“Wow, look at you.” They separated after a few seconds, with Gwen taking another look at her friend’s made up face. “You look different, somehow.”

Juxtaposed against her most recent memory, Mayuree seemed older. There was a wanness to her friend’s once carefree mien, a tightness around the lip and the eyes.

“We've got trouble back home,” Mayuree wryly smiled, averting her eyes. “But it’s a beautiful place as well. I can’t wait to show you everything.”

“That sounds wonderful!” Gwen gave her another hug before turning to her companions. "As for your troubles, that's what I am here for."

Behind her, an inch away, stood a Kitty fuming with impatience and agitation.

“Ah-” Gwen made an ‘O’ with her lips. “Sorry, go ahead.”

"Marong!" She turned to her next target.

"Gwen," Marong stood stoic as a sentinel. "Welcome to our home."

While Kitty and Mayuree caught up, Gwen introduced the rest of the team to their Diviner.

“She looks nice.” Anita grinned. “Small and cute.”

"Woa, a Smoke Mage!" Jiro whistled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Marong."

"Likewise." Marong shook the hands of the assembly. "Is your healer going to be okay?"

Eunae appeared already wasted.

"Restoration!" The group's cleric resigned herself to shameful self-medication. "I am sorry..."

"That's alright Eunnie." Gwen patted her head. "You'll get used to it."

“Will we have time to get to know Mayuree?” Rene's attention wandered between their Diviner and the elegant decor covering the room before enquiring their advisor. Thanks to a Restoration from Eunnae, she was back on her feet.

“Of course, you’ll have a week to get used to the place, its people and culture," Walken affirmed the pallid Fire Mage's enquiry. "See the sights, get to know the locals, and most importantly, get used to the weather.”

“Great, thank you, sir.” Rene then turned to her companion. “Jiro, what do you make of that?”

“Ho.” Jiro was already looking out the window at the verdant city outside. “I think a few of us are about to enter hell.”

“The Jiantong team arrived earlier,” Marong informed Gwen and their companions as they exited the ISTC compound.

The air outside felt as though the team had passed between a portal separating the Plane of Water and the Material Realm. The humidity inside the glyph-cooled room had been at best twenty per cent, but now it was well into the eighties, instantly smothering the bare-limbed girls with a snail sheen of sweat.

“Better than I imagined.” Rene caught the air with her hands. The moisture was almost tangible. “Jiro?”

“Wet,” Jiro remarked, circulating elemental fire through his mana conduits. “I should burn off a little moisture before it gets clammy.”

“H-How is this possible?” Gwen moaned, caught between the dilemma of stripping off her long-sleeved shirt protecting her from the sun and wearing waterlogged linen. “Mia, how are you not feeling this?”

“I was born here,” Mayuree snickered at the sight of the team encountering the monsoonal weather for the first time.

“Weren’t you born in Shanghai?” Gwen watched a beat of sweat visibly forming on the back of her hand.

“I mean I belong here,” Mayuree corrected herself hurriedly. “Aren't you from Australia. Isn’t it hot there?”

“The heat there is dry!” Gwen decided a sunburn was better than whatever the hell she was experiencing now, and so stripped out of her skivvy, exposing the sports-top underneath. “Is Magus Maymaruya with us? I don’t think I can handle this. It’s only been two minutes!”

“Gwen, come under the shade,” Richard offered his cousin a moment of respite under a watery umbrella made by Lea. “I'll take care of the moisture if you stay close. The heat is going to take some getting used to.”

“Maymaruya’s looking after things in Shanghai,” Marong regretfully informed his sister's companions. “Come on; our destination is just up ahead.”

The boulevard that led from the ISTC interchange had signs beyond Gwen’s Ioun Stone’s ability to translate, with only the character of "ရန်ကုန်မြို့" being transcribed as “Yangon City”, while the rest remained undecipherable thanks to the rarity of Old Mon scriptural glyphs.

According to Mayuree, the district through which they walked is Dagon, forming the centre of Yangon city, and their destination was the centre of all activity in Yangoon - the Shwedagon Pagoda.

What they were passing now was what had been translated by Marong as “Goddess' Park,” a nature reserve built for the conservation of local avian populations as well as a riverside wind-buffer for the temple complex just behind it. Rather than taking mechanised transport, the walk allowed the students to accustom themselves to the sights of the inner city, as well as orientate their bearings.

In her old world, Gwen had visited Burma during her Contiki wanderlust days, though in the late naughties, the paranoid Military Junta had made exploration nigh-impossible for the aspiring self-guided tourist. Even so, she had seen the glory of the Shwedagon Pagoda first hand, marvelling at its golden dorms during sunset, smiling at saffron monks puffing on hand-rolled cigarettes grinning back at her outlandish, immodest attire.

In the Yangon of her present, the city was an amalgamation of British, Chinese, Indian and local influences, creating a strangely chimeric city that Gwen could only compare to the Milu.

All around them, across the park and behind them, once august sandstone buildings were overgrown with moss, ferns and mildew, many of which lay uninhabited, robbed of its succour of administrative officials and hard-working busboys running messages for their brocade-vested masters.

“The welcoming ceremony will take place here—” Mayuree proudly opened her arms as they cleared the tree line, following the contour of Theingottara Park, finally arriving at the north gate of Shwedagon Pagoda. “While the reception tonight will be at the Secretariat Building downtown at Kyauktada.”

Gwen wanted to talk some more, but Mayuree stopped the troop of gawking Chinese tourists with a wave of her hand.

“Everyone, I am going to share my Message Glyph with you. Once we enter the Shwedagon sanctum, there should be as little talking as possible, so please use Silent Message if you must converse with someone. We don’t have a Divination Tower here, so I’ll act as the foci for your devices.”

Gwen and a few of the others already possessed Mayuree’s Glyph, as for the others, it only took them few moments to ping their devices against the Diviner’s bracelet, transforming her into a localised signal tower of sorts.

When they raised their heads again, the group had cleared the guarded crossing leading toward Shwedagon Pagoda's north gate and was now beholden by its awe-inspiring visage. There, standing on either side of the entrance, towering above the students some ten odd meters, were two enormous statues of terrestrial dragons, their heads the likeness of a lion’s maw in a reptilian skull, with golden manes belonging to that of lions and marble flesh for their gargantuan bodies. Within the dark sockets of their eyes, what could only be Creature Cores burned a brilliant coral even in the daylight, suffusing the statues with life, warning worshippers and intruders alike that should they misbehave, the Chinthe guardians of the pagoda would assist in their reincarnation.

“Ladies and Gentlemen from Fudan,” Mayuree’s voice resounded within their heads once the connections were complete. She turned toward them with her brother and their array of servants fanned on either side, then made a polite curtsey, kneeling by twisting her body to one side. “Welcome to my humble country. Welcome to Myăma."

Lead by their Captain, the rest of the team bowed.

"No shoes," Marong informed them after the formalised exchange.

"No socks either," Magister Walken advised, evidently an experienced traveller. "Keep them in your Storage Rings, and keep audible chatter to a minimum."

With lowered heads and a humbler posture, the group moved between the two guardians, bound by supernatural forces that had shielded the pagoda against all offenders.

Once inside, they became surrounded by throngs of saffron-clad monks lining either side, making way for the travellers from afar. When Gwen smiled at the monks, they grinned back as they had done in the past, revealing betel nut stained teeth stained by years of religious tea drinking.

The maroon-gold interior continued for several hundred meters, florid with inscriptions and murals in sandstone inlaid with pearl and ivory, dotted here and there with precious jewels and Creature Cores. In the distance, as though the group were nearing enlightenment, the marble-plated courtyard awaited.

When Gwen questioned Mayuree as to the story contained within the sculptural relief, her Diviner directed her Message to a young monk who had accompanied alongside the team.

In the next moment, his voice filled their minds.

“To answer your question, Lady Song— the murals, they mark the travails of Gautama Buddha as told in the Pāli canon. Through its erudition, our people observe the Way of the Elder, by reciting the Tipitaka via hymn, learning the Dhamma, remembering the taming of the land by he who journeyed from the west unto our holy land. It is here that Gautama met with the Kings of the Mon and the Pyu, the wisest and earliest men of Myăma. If you look to your right—”

The students caught a glimpse of what had to be a dragon, or a dragon-like being, kneeling on its forepaws toward a man with a golden halo surrounding his head.

“— you shall see the taming of the Naga Goddesses as Lord Buddha's disciples. After Lord Gautama taught them, they aided the Kings of Mon and Pyu to make peace with the Min Mahagiri, the land gods.”

Gwen’s eyes followed the mural, finding another image in which eight mighty Nagas, each with the face of beautiful women and the body of draconic-creatures, were pulling apart what appeared to be a western-looking dragon.

“That doesn’t seem like a very peaceful negotiation,” she remarked.

“Ah—, the Asura reneged on their promise,” the monk continued, not missing a beat, his voice flowing like a gentle stream. “It was greedy for the treasures which the Kings of Mon and Pyu had prepared in praise of Gautama Buddha’s visitation. You see, the Min Mahagiri was immortal and could not be slain, so each of Gautama’s Naga allies took a piece of the land god within them to ensure that it would be stricken from the Eightfold Path, denied from the circle of reincarnation.”

“Goodness,” Gwen struck out her tongue. Now she knew how to deal with the Yinglong. All they had to do was get eight Towers to curb stomp the thing - then each city could imprison a chunk of the Yinglong with mystical magic. So long as their converted 5th-century magic held out, the subjugation should be no sweat at all. It was little wonder the CCP was so thrilled at Ayxin's interest in Jun.

“Honoured guests, we are almost at the exit—” the young monk hummed melodically. “The path on which we now enter is the Pilgrim’s Path, once you exit the Chinthe’s maw, please follow the dragon’s spine in a clockwise direction. You will be gifted wildflowers and prayer flags, as you proceed, please dispense them into the offering alcoves.”

In the next minute, the students burst into the light.

By design, their eyes took time to adjust to the vivid brightness, slowly perceiving the single most dazzling construct they had ever seen.

Above them, a golden wonder of celestial brilliance, the Shwedagon Zedi Daw glowed, a conical masterpiece piercing the heavens. Its arches and bellies and bells polished to a mirror sheen by pious artisans, refracting the light in such a way that their entire vicinity appeared cast in permanent benediction.

“Please step to the right.”

Gwen and the others distinctly felt as though they had walked into the realm of a waking dream.

Stupas, hundreds of intricately wrought stupas, dotted every inch of Singuttara Hill, each held a little bodhisattva within, some with many arms, others with multiple heads. A few held weapons, while many sat atop magical creatures.

Dragons and Nagas… Gwen mouthed to herself as they passed these spectacles of gold, ivory and other unnamable precious metals. Almost everything here had to do with subjugating, taming, and in a tantric manner of speaking, "mingling" with draconic-beings.

Feeling the ice-cold marble underfoot dispel all heat, they arrived at the first spectacle.

“First, is the house of Lord Kakusandha, the Buddha of the present Kalpa. Please offer your charity with generosity and an open heart…” the young monk sang, moving on without so much as a glance at the visitors. “But do not tarry, come. There is a long way to go.”

It took Gwen several seconds to realise that the pool below the buddha’s lily overflowed with mana crystals of all colours. Caught by the reverence of the place and its sanctifying aura, she allowed a fistful of HDMs, almost twenty shards in total, to add to the pool.

With great dismay, her teammates followed suit.

“Gwen,” Richard tapped her shoulder as they made for the second statue. “A little too generous. Lulan was biting her lip so hard she had to receive a Healing Word from Eunae.”

“Oh?” Gwen flashed the others an apologetic smile before continuing.

“So generous, Gwennie,” Mayuree voice came through from the front. “But you could afford to be generous.”

“I don’t see you or Marong dropping crystals,” Gwen chided her friend.

“Ha.” Mayuree skipped ahead.

"All proceeds go to expanding the complex," Marong explained patiently, his voice possessing a rare reverence. "You'll soon see where it all goes."

Another quadrant later, the party arrived at their second stop.

“Here we have the house of Lord Koṇāgamana,” the monk continued. “As before, please let your charity speak for itself.”

This time, Gwen allowed five HDMs to drop, letting her companions breathe.

After the southern Buddha, they came to the third Buddha, Kassapa, then finally, they were back where they began, at the perpendicular of which lay the Buddha of origin, Lord Gautama.

Unlike the other statues with bodies of gold, Gautama’s androgynous form consisted of white jade so rich in appearance that it was without a single speck or blemish. Upon its crown, adorning the space above its head, was a band of silvery metal Gwen recognised as mithril.

“Pure Mithril!” It was Eunae who blurted out the imperial term for the precious metal. “Wow!”

“Just how rich is your country?” Gwen marvelled at the size of the intricately wrought crown. She had heard of the rare mithril variant from her Opa when he was casting Magical Items. If mithril was the rarest variant of silver, prized by humans and Demi-humans alike, then Pure Mithril was as sterling mithril to common silver, used to inscribe strategic arrays like Interstate Teleportation arrays, capable of capacitating almost unlimited volumes of mana.

“We’re a wealthy country,” Mayuree exhaled. “Yet we’re poor, thanks to the Tyrant.”

The others nodded sagely. Gwen had already informed them of the problems facing Mayuree’s country. Curiously, Gwen was reminded of Maymyint's gift of a Storage Ring. What had Mia's sister meant when she said to open it when the time was ripe?

Another round of clinking crystals followed, then finally, Fudan’s troop arrived in front of the golden stupa.

Dropping to his knees, the young monk, as well as the rest of their entourage, dipped their heads against the pavement, leaving the guests to stand awkwardly.

“Don’t mind it,” Marong informed his sister's companions. “Prayers given from those without faith have less weight than that of a feather.”

"I never took you for the religious kind." Gwen cocked her head, noting that Marong had remained stationary while his sister offered a prayer.

"But doesn't this place just fill you with joy?" Mayuree gazed at the golden stupa, picking herself from the floor.

"I suppose it does," Gwen acknowledged her friend's worshipful gaze. With so much gold, her knees felt weak.

After the saffron-robed monks straightened out their burgundy attires, they once again assumed their places beside the guests.

“We are about to enter the great stupa, where you will receive benediction from the reliquary. Here entombed are eight strands of Gautama’s hair, worshipped by the descends of the Mon and the Pyu, each the weight of a mountain.”

Their monk guide then formed the team into two lines.

In pairs, they entered the temple.

And what a temple it was!

Jade, gold, mithril, platinum and innumerable volumes of other precious jewels adorned every conceivable surface. From the floor to the wall to the ceiling, every inch of the place was carved and papered over with gold leaf, polished and maintained by some unknown ancient enchantment so that the light from a single candle was enough to illuminate the hall in its entirety. Considering the state of the mirrored floors, every step felt like defilement, filling the contestants with shame and self-loathing.

Was all the treasure of the world contained here in this place? Gwen couldn’t help but feel a tingle in her capitalist soul, beckoning the colonial blood of her Opa’s Indo-Dutch ancestors. Just how many tons of gold was here? Just how many jewels, how many Creature Cores, how many ingots of mithril had gone into a place such as this?

If she was a dragon - how could she resist?

How could a creature born from avaricious appetite endure even for a moment, the idea that he or she wasn’t the master and possessor of what is probably the single most extensive curation of precious metals in South-East Asia?

Inside, the stupa split into four quadrants, each held up by two pillars of sculpted jade, forming an octagramic mandala consisting of strange Glyphs and tantric patterns that did not exist in modern Spellcraft. Coiled upon each of these pillars were sculptural forms of Naga guardians, the eight divine beings which Gautama took as disciples, each morphically half-cobra, half human, some male, some female, and some possessing features of both genders.

Once the spectacle of the temple's interior wore off, the students finally noted that they were not the only ones who had arrived.

To their right adjacent quadrant were their old rivals from Jiantong, with their Captain standing like a Taoshi while the rest of the team sat in kneeling meditation.

Toward their left adjacent quadrant stood a group of young men in prim navy uniforms, followed by two demure women trailing at the group’s end. Compared to Fudan’s rag-tag of casually dressed Mages, these young men and women from Seoul carried themselves impeccably, without a single strand of hair out of place. Their uniforms, a two-tone charcoal-navy blazer and silver-brocade tie, spoke of a nation that valued perfection in all things, from flawless complexions to trousers without a single wrinkle.

Finally, just out of view, the Fudan Mages caught sight of an assemblage of oddly dressed young men and women in ceremonial outfits. Leading the group was a girl in what Gwen could arguably discern as a Miko’s outfit, with its white haori and red hakama, wearing a thin golden crown. Behind the leading Miko were men wearing the ivory linen of the Shugenja, indicating that they were esoteric followers of Onmyōdō, the Path of Yin and Yang. Having heard and seen these attires during culture tours in her old world, she could only imagine what kind of real-world magic these practitioners could bring to bear against Fudan.

“ALL-ARE-ARRIVED!” the young monk who had accompanied them cried out.

GONG!

GONG!

GONG!

Three strikes heralded the beginning of the ceremony of benediction.

Upon an elevated dais open for all to see, young monks opened the shawls of an elaborate palanquin, revealing the figure of an ageless, androgynous seated figure in the lotus stance with a golden shawl draped across one shoulder. Below, an enormous lotus-flower bore the visage aloft, its pink-white petals glistening as though dripping with freshly collated dew.

Gwen’s eyes widened, her Almudj’s Essence thrummed with pleasure, humming in resonance with whatever force that now emanated from within the palanquin.

It's a statue! It took her a moment to realise this was a life-like carving in jade so rich it had the consistency of porcelain flesh.

As one, the Monks began their chant, reciting the tale of Gautama’s instruction of the Naga and his taming of Min Mahagiri, the great Lord of the Mountain.

GONG!

A fourth gong rang out; then from the stupa’s centre, a gentle light befell those held within its interior, infusing them with its blessing, banishing all fatigue, all disease, and for the moment, all desire.

Shuttle buses outside the great stupa took the contestants to their next port of call - the old colonial administration - now ironically once again the headquarters of the government-in-exile, a building stoically named the Secretariat.

The exit from Shwedagon Zedi Daw proved just as mystical as the Rite of Unfettered Body. Each of the contestants took up a candle as they exited the stupa, forming a long line of warm light that lit the exterior of Singuttara Hill, bathing the entirety of Dagon and the northern half of the city with its magnified, quasi-magical splendour.

“Even now, the light from the stupa and the glare from its guardian beasts keeps the Magical Creatures away,” Mayuree informed the team with a tone of reverence. “It’s the only reason Yangon has never fallen to Demi-humans.”

Which would make sense, Gwen supposed. Had the Mongolian Centaur tribes taken Yangon in the 13th century, as the Mongol Empire of her world had, it was highly unlikely so much gold and precious ornaments would have remained. When finally the group exited the stupa, Gwen enquired about the dome’s aurora.

“If you mean the bud,” Mayuree replied to Gwen’s continued enquiry, then indicated to the crown of the stupa with an expression of immense pride. “Five thousand, four hundred and forty-eight diamonds of varying shapes and sizes, inlaid through mithril Glyph-work bisecting two thousand three hundred and seventeen rubies stud the tip. At the zenith of the stupa lies the heart of an ancient Naga, gifted to the Mon and Pyu kings of old, it’s the source of the stupa’s protective power.”

“Sounds almost like a Shielding Station, only with gold and jewels,” Gwen recalled the giant Creature Core she had seen in Australia.

“It IS similar,” Richard was the one who butted in. “The mandalas used by modern Spellcraft have their origins in Hindi and Tibetan scriptural magic.”

“I find it curious,” it was Magister Walken who spoke next, his mana-threaded voice just audible between the two cousins. “That Myăma has revealed itself to possess both a Shielding Station by another name, as well as an ISTC array? Gwen, walk with me.”

“Eric?” Gwen blinked at her instructor once she fell out of step with Mayuree, who joined the others ahead, spinning yarns about the city and its many buildings.

“I have decided to take your friend’s account of this country with a grain of salt,” Walken advised. “Not that I am trying to come between the two of you, but if I were the ruler of a Frontier with this much resource, I would not be advertising my wealth either. In fact, something to offset unwanted foreign investments, like a rogue dragon, would be ideal.”

“But…”

“I know— you’ve told me already,” Walken dismissed her protest. “You believe what you want, but where I stand, someone or some ‘thing’ has allowed all of this to happen. That ISTC array looks like it's recently refurbished. I am unsure if your Professor Birch got that far with his lessons, but embedded within Imperial Metric standards for IST Circles are geo-dynamic Divination arrays used to pinpoint Translocation. Ergo, there must exist a private Divination array somewhere inside the city, tethered to the Chinese network and the outside world. All, alas, isn’t what it seems, including your friend. You must be careful; understand?”

“I think so,” Gwen answered quietly, mulling over Walken’s suspicions.

“It would be nice if that other cousin of yours, the Russian, were here,” Walken snorted, leaving Gwen to ruminate. “I have a feeling that before long, we’ll begging for a good Mind Mage.”

Though the contestants had left behind the vaulted dome of the pagoda, they nonetheless felt suffused by the blessing invoked by the reliquary commemorating the fabled progenitor of the Eightfold Path, an existence on par with men like Confucius, author of the Path of Rú, or his Western counterparts like Christ, said to be the shepherd of humanity.

It was with a great sense of Zen, therefore, that the students arrived at the Secretariat, also known as The Ministers’ Building, located in the colonial heart of Yangon’s downtown. Spread across six acres of the most prosperous real estate in the city, the old colonial building had fallen into momentary ruin when British Mageocracy left former Burma. In the last two decades, the interim government, having lost its northern capital, now laboured away in its old halls, blushing at the irony of having to return to a place of national shame to keep the daily affairs of the city in operation.

Within the compound’s quad was the central courtyard, a wondrous English garden that had survived multiple purges, revolutions, a rebellion and an assassination. It was here that a duelling arena had been constructed, together with viewing platforms for the dignitaries, a section for the outdoor ball, and an undercover canopy under which servants swarmed with zesty canapés and phalanges of liquor sitting in vats of ice.

After changing into more suitable clothing for the evening in their guest rooms, the contestants entered the building’s centre. There, they met with fanfare blasting from a live orchestra - the very first time Gwen had seen such a thing since arriving in this world: a whole pit of violas and trombones and saxophones and viol and piccolos, alongside traditional Burmese instruments which she could not identify. As they entered through the overhanging tent, taller than any canvas Gwen had ever seen, her eyes swept over truckloads of tropical fruit of every colour and description, lichees the size of oranges, oranges the size of grapefruits, mangoes the size of melons and pomegranates the size of Texan pumpkins.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” A gentle light suffused the centre of the boisterous proceedings. Filing in quadrant by quadrant, the teams reached the front of the circular assembly.

A troop of Mages slowly rose above the crowd, borne aloft on platforms conjured through levitation.

“Welcome! Students, advisors, and guests, to the reception for the first regional round of the 2004 IIUC. Tonight, in beautiful Yangon, thanks to the sponsorship and invitation issued by the House of M of Myăma, we are gathered here for a grand purpose.”

The man who spoke looked about in his sixties, possessing a European accent that Gwen placed in middle Europe, likely the Germanic regions.

“I am Chief Proctor and Magister, Lutz von Schlabrendorff, and I, together with Assistant Proctor Magister Evelyn Hass and our team, will be overseeing your actions in the field. For our presence here tonight, I would like to thank Miss Maymyint of the House of M, Matriarch Nanmadaw Me Nu, protector of Myăma and its Frontier provinces, and the Brussels-based IIUC Organisational Committee.”

Having heard the Matriarch’s name for the first time, Gwen had half a mind to fire off a Message to Walken, but her instructor was standing several paces behind the Chief Proctor together with the advisors from the other teams.

“I know you’re all eager to get to the food and drinks, and even more so to get to the duelling field, so I’ll keep this short.” Magister von Schlabrendorff drew a few laughs from the crowd. “The International Inter-University Competition has its roots in a union of European Universities desiring a means to facilitate cultural exchange, establish academic rankings, as well as engender friendship and camaraderie among the future leaders and Tower Mages. Here and now, each of you represents the apex of what your cities and renowned academic institutions have to offer!”

He waited for the applause to recede.

“I understand your spirit of competition— that you’re here to WIN. But winning isn’t everything. Though this old man’s words sound like sophistry, let me remind you that victory— total victory, is a rare and precious thing in the real world. Against our Demi-human neighbours both hostile and friendly, we succeed in degrees, often so pyrrhic and minute that one wonders if the cost was worth it after all. Nonetheless, such is the real world, and the solution to humanity’s great dilemma is one that requires great power, great wisdom, and great foresight.”

“The competition heralds a singular victor, but even in defeat, there is much to gain. You are in a beautiful country with creatures dangerous and people friendly. I have even been informed that up north, a Tyrant of the Draconis sub-type haunts the mineral-rich mountains! Through adventure and danger, make friends! Enjoy yourself! You are at the beginning of your lives. Remember, not even Sir Jonathan Cornwell, recipient of the Victoria Cross at the age of sixteen, Knight, and Magister at age twenty-four made it to the final round of the 1996 IIUC. So, enjoy the evening! Your quests shall be given, one week from now!”

Suddenly, as if pigmented particles freed into a gentle swirl of air, colour filled the sky and the scent of supper enveloped the crowd. A flurry of Maids dashed the teams’ formations, caramel in colour and nubile in their tropical sarongs, carrying glistening hors-d’oeuvre: from glazed cutlets to rainbow salads to burlesque splays of pork and pheasant baked until golden. Another troop of waiters followed, dark-skinned and back straight, supplying flutes of silvery gins and cordials, splicing concoctions from a colonial epoch long gone.

With Mayuree hanging from one arm and Richard and Lulan standing guard not too far away close to the buffet table, Gwen piled her plate and stuffed herself with the exotic fair, all the while thinking of Walken’s warning, sparing subtle glances at the kitten-like Mayuree meowing about the splendours of Yangon.

As the music moved from trumpet to ambience, the moist air came alive with chatter and laughter, innuendo and introductions. Guests who Gwen assumed to be local powerbrokers wandered in groups. Bodies young and old mingled and entwined, the men seeking out the women, surrounding the confident girls as the Dancing Lights painted their faces in garish hues.

Though a dozen dignitaries had made themselves known to Gwen, Mayuree’s presence seemed to act as a ward, leaving her a measure of privacy. She had abused the opportunity to work through a giant crab claw when a petite foursome from Kyoto U approached, led by a fifth. The leading girl was the Miko with the golden crown, though now she was dressed in pastel casuals consisting of a long skirt and a frilly top.

“Song-sama, Mayuree-sama, good evening, my name is Yuki Kamo, Captain of the Kyoto team and second in line to the Kamo Clan, 39th generation from Kamo no Yasunori-sama. These are my teammates and members of our Clan, Masahiro Kimura, Hiroki Hiroyama, Yamato Kamo and my Vice Captain, Ichiro Otsuki. I wanted to make your acquaintance earlier, but you were indisposed.”

Gwen realised that Kyoto’s Captain was referring to the fact that she’d been politely eating for the last hour, stopping only to comment on the food.

“G’evening.” Gwen quickly stowed her unfinished crab-leg before running a cleaning cantrip over her hand. “I am Gwen Song, Vice-Captain of the Fudan Team. Over there is my Captain, Tei Bai, and those are my companions, Lulan Li and Richard Huang, though they’re indisposed.”

“Hello.” Mayuree bowed her head.

The group exchanged bows, handshakes and nods.

“We are honoured to meet you, Miss Song. Please excuse my rudeness. Is it true that you are in service to a Kirin Kami-sama?”

“Say, yes,” Walken’s voice, delivered via a Silent Message, whispered by her ear. The old man was holed up across the room, speaking with the other advisors, who were undoubtedly keeping an eye on their students as well.

Gwen knew from extensive reading of Murakami and Yoshimoto, as well as her dozen or so viewings of Lost in Translation, a miscellany understanding of Japanese culture. Combined with her Mage world research, she understood that “Kami” denoted an anthropological ‘God’ framed from shamanistic spiritualism, Shinto Buddhism, dynastic Taoism and Fusui naturalism, formulating a faith system based on the Amatsukami and the ya-o-yorozu no kami, the eight million-fold spirits that reside in all things.

As such, it came as no surprise that a theocrat would find intense interest in a heavenly being.

“I am, Kamo-san,” Gwen replied with what she could recall of her Japanese honorifics from her Hokkaido vacation. “Would you like to see Ariel... kun?”

“Please!” The group bowed in tandem because politeness would get a person anywhere.

“Ariel, come out!” She gestured toward an empty patch of air, wary of the lights, the tent and the palm trees.

A jolt of Essence was enough to maximise its presence, and without disappointment, Ariel manifested in its celestial glory.

“EEE! EE!”

Stag’s horn, fishes’ scale, lion’s mane, horses’ hoof and swishing tail instantly drew every eye from across the room.

“Okami-sama!”

The Captain of Kyoto U’s expression grew instantly reverent. Possessed by a fair complexion, crystal clear eyes and pink, cherry blossom bud lips, the young Miko appeared far younger than her real age, more so in her casual wear.

All but one of the group bowed deeply, this time from the waist. It would appear their respect for Ariel was magnitudes beyond their perception of Gwen herself.

“May we interact with your Familiar, Song-sama?”

“Please, just Gwen is fine.” Gwen squirmed. Not even paying seven hundred USD per night at Suizantei had someone called her anything other than customer-sama.

“Ariel!” Mayuree cooed. “Gwen, may I?”

“Sure.” Gwen watched her companion skip away.

“EEE!!” Ariel snuggled against its companion, kissing Mayuree on the lips, drawing envious gasps from the crowd.

That’s Mia alright, Gwen’s nerves calmed somewhat. There was no way Ariel would mistake someone else for Mayuree, not when the desperate Diviner was the one who gave Ariel its first Creature Core.

“Gwen-san, I would also like to be blessed by Ariel-sama!”

While the Shintoists excitedly crowded around the manifested Kami, Gwen’s eye met with Kyoto U’s Vice-Captain, who had stayed behind to speak.

Where their female Captain had the bearing of someone used to deference, the young man with the name Ichiro Otsuki had the bearing of someone used to being obeyed, standing almost a meter-ninety and beanpole thin, the shugenja’s face had a gauntness to it that made him appear a decade older.

“Oro? Kirin-sama’s scales are patterned like the Fumishi deer-kami.”

“The horns are the same as the stag-kami in Itsukushima though.”

“Ariel-sama is licking my fingers! Kami-sama is blessing me!”

A crash of jovial sounds only Ariel could elicit added to the happy atmosphere of the reception.

“Song-san, I am told you are also in possession of another Kami, a thing of Asura,” the young man began, sidling closer.

“No Caliban until the duel,” Walken’s advice once again rang in her ear. Bloody hell Eric, Gwen halted herself from making a face. Was this harassment? It felt like harassment. The old man may as well be breathing down her neck.

“I am.” Gwen nodded, then quickly recalled the man’s name. “Otsuki-san.”

“May I see your other Kami? Gwen-san?”

“You shall, Otsuki-san,” Gwen fired off an amiable enough grin. “In good time.”

“I would be very grateful.”

“Trust me, Caliban isn’t good for a gathering filled with NoMs...”

Meanwhile, others had joined the Kirin quadrant of the party. A few of the students from Jiantong gave Gwen curt nods before joining the Japanese foursome. They were then joined by two prim young women in miniskirts and blazers, the iconography of their uniform possessing a Roman laurel wreath, a blazing wand and a quilt-pen over a backdrop of scrolls, indicating they were from Seoul U.

That an Asian university had a Romanised logo reminded Gwen of Walken’s earlier instruction.

According to her advisor, after the North fell to the Undead unleashed by its crazed leadership, Seoul and its surrounding cities completely embraced the Western way of doing things, going so far as to embrace Christianity in lieu of its indigenous Mu-shamanism.

Modern Seoul was thus a city with more in common with London or New York, serving as a centre of economic and magical development for the region. Unique to their geography, the Koreans enjoyed some of the most experienced combat Mages in Asia. Where China had sent its Mages to grind out the Beijing-Liaoning Front, Seoul’s proximity to the Kaesŏng-Yeoncheon Front meant it was permanently one catastrophic failure away from annihilation by the Undead horde a strategic spell’s distance away. In the decades since the nation’s American and British Mageocracy allies pushed back the tide of Undead, the peninsula has only not fallen, but prospered, becoming one of the largest manufacturers of wands, staves, and magical implements in the world.

“Which makes their magic the same as ours, only they’ve got proper military training.”

But perhaps most famously, Korean disdain for the atrocities of the Sino War and the crimes committed against the nation by the communists and the Imperial Japanese Mages had only grown, exacerbated by territorial disputes and trade routes.

When her eyes drifted from the girls, she caught two more approaching bodies.

“Song-Hubae!”

Gwen’s conversation was interrupted by a call out from across the room by one of the young men.

Ichiro continued to speak, ignoring the duo from Seoul U, though a second “Song-Hubae!” cut him off mid-sentence, leaving no doubt as to their explicit purpose.

With an expression that could chill drinks, Ichiro Otsuki stepped aside to make room.

“Hello.” Gwen tipped her chin just a mite, displeased with the men’s intrusiveness. “Gwen Song, Vice-Captain, Fudan.”

Her lack of deference seemed to rub off on the men the wrong way, as their body language instantly took on a tightness that wasn’t there when they had interrupted her and Ichiro’s conversation.

“Lee Sung,” the first young man introduced himself, likewise spartan on manners. “Captain.”

Another Magma Mage! Gwen’s brow twitched. And one far more practised than Rene. Whether because of the Mage’s absurd Affinity or style, she could sense the heat radiating from his torso. Much to her surprise, when Sung came closer, she couldn’t help but notice the man was exceedingly impressive as well, not in the stoic seriousness of Tei, but in a manner that was raw and imposing, like if Dai was descended from Mao himself.

“Lee Si-won,” the other young man introduced himself. “Vice-Captain.”

“Ask if they’re from ‘that’ Lee family.” Walken’s voice came through. “If they are, ask them for a duel.”

“You’re both from the Lee Clan?” Gwen pretended to mull over the name for a second. “From the Yooksung Chae—”

“…”

“…”

Sung’s impeccable jawline bulged.

Oh shit, Gwen bit her tongue in turn. While the Chaebol, the ten families accounting for fifty per cent of Korea’s GDP referred to themselves as such, they loathed it when outsiders used the word, regarding it as a sort of ironic insult. In her old world, when Samsung’s indicted president went to prison, the phrase Chaebol had been dragged through the Korean media as a scapegoat for the nation’s economic woes; its etymology of “wealth” and “locked gate”, inferring avarice and greed. In this world, she could only imagine what reputations the Chaebol must hold.

“— the Yooksung Group?” she finished awkwardly.

Curiously, she knew more about the Yooksung Conglomerate than the Clan behind it. When working on Nantong’s accounts, she had noted that a behemoth-tier Korean entity akin to Samsung existed across the South China Sea, accounting for almost seven per cent of Nantong’s precious mineral and Crystal exports, and twelve per cent of its Spellcraft and Imbued Material imports. That a single company possessed as much inventory flow as the top two Japanese import-exporters, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries and Tokugawa Mana-Solutions, was enough to burn the name into her mind.

“I see you are acquainted with our humble family business, Song Hubae.” The Magma Mage came closer, radiating displeasure. When the man was inches away, Gwen realised he was likely twenty or twenty-one, the maximum age for the IIUC. In Seoul, males had their Mandatory Military service between the age of seventeen and nineteen.

“Perhaps Song-Hubae doesn’t think we’re worthy of her attention,” Seoul U’s Vice-Captain snorted derisively. “She’s a prodigy, after all.”

The younger companion to Seoul U’s Captain was likely a sibling, from the man’s pallid complexion and bloodless lips, she sensed he was probably an Ice Mage. From the surface, the man was at least as attuned to the Para-Elemental Plane of Ice as Kitty. Unlike his taller counterpart, the man was a head shorter, barely taller than Gwen without her booties.

“Are the two of you done?” Her previous companion, Ichiro, butted in before Lee and Lee could continue.

“Does it look like we’re done?” Sung fired back, cocking his head bullishly. “Go and play with your priestesses, Jap. We have business with the owner of the Kirin Spirit.”

“Ku,” Ichiro scoffed. “You think a servant of an Okami would lower herself to traffic with bumpkins such as yourselves? Need I remind you that only four decades ago, Seoul U was called Keijō Imperial University. Maybe you should offer a proper Seonbae-nim to your betters.”

“Oh, look, Sung Hyung, the jjokbari thinks he’s funny. I wonder how he fares in the arena. They never learn until beaten back.”

“I’d think I would fare better than you, Lee-kun,” Ichiro sniggered nastily. “If you have the time, I’ll squeeze that Seonbae-nim out of you yet.”

“Don’t give up your treatment, jjokbari.” Sung’s temperament flared. “Don’t think we don’t know who you are — you’re the Kotodama User Seonsaeng-nim warned us about. But if we know your tricks, then you’ve lost already. To think they would allow a Mind Mage into the IIUC, how laughable.”

“Ha, you speak as if you know the weight and meaning behind your words, yet we both know that your reliance on Western Spellcraft has made you weak and common. Why would I be here if even a simpleton like you can ward against my kotodama?”

“See, that’s precisely the thinking that can get a fool killed in a competition like the IIUC…”

Gwen, meanwhile, realised the cocks were happy enough tossing one another that they no were longer in need of a hen to ruffle. Taking a step backwards with meticulous care, she slipped away from the group, double-checking to ensure her cocktail dress was in order, then went to check on her Captain.

“Thank you for sharing Kami’s benediction with us, Song-san,” Yuki caught up with Gwen after she was a safe distance away. “As a fellow servant of Kami-sama, we would like a chance to cooperate if our interests should be mutually beneficial.”

“Of course, Kamo-san.” Gwen found herself bowing as well, accepting her new role as Ariel’s servant. Yuki punctuated each of her statements with a cute nod of the head, making it impossible to dislike the girl. “We’ll speak again later.”

When Gwen sauntered through the grass toward her Senior Bai, her companion caught her with a glance and quickly approached.

“Gwen, we got trouble.” Tei pulled her close by looping an arm around her elbow. “I think the Emei Sect’s goading Lulan for a duel, and then there’s a cousin of some sort harassing Eunae as well—”

Just as Gwen was about to suggest that they should let their teammates resolve individual encounters to gain experience, her confidence was betrayed.

“Upstart whore! If you want to play the crafty chang-yeo, you’ll regret it.”

A Seoul U contestant, one Gwen had yet to meet, broke out in an explosive clamour while mid-way engaged with Eunae. Before Gwen could even make heads or tails of what was happening, the usually timid Eunae reached across between them, then slapped the young man across the face with an audible Pa!

The rest of the audience immediately cleared a ring of space around the scarlet-faced duo. As if on cue, a strangled violin croaked its last caw, spreading the contagion of silence.

“Gwen,” Walken’s wary voice came across as a worried whisper. “Temper…”

“You hit me!” The young man was in disbelief. “This nyeon hit me!”

Eunae appeared to be in shock as well, staring at her hand as though it was suddenly alienated from her body.

“Eunae.” Gwen started in Eunae’s direction.

“S-Seonbae-nim-” Her mouth opened and closed like that of a fish’s.

Pa!

A resounding slap echoed across the room.

Eunae staggered backwards, disorientated by the blow until she ran into a table laden with fruit and desserts. Tripping over her own feet, she was on the verge of making a spectacle of Fudan when Richard’s Undine appeared suddenly behind her, catching the girl in her arms.

A split-second later, Lulan appeared beside the healer, having expertly Misty Stepped beside the wide-eyed girl, joined by Rene, Anita and Jiro, who had bull rushed through the crowd, lacking the finesse possessed by the Sword Mage.

A dash of blood trickled down the corner of Eunae’s mouth. The slap had cut her lip.

Were this any other time, Gwen would have enjoyed the fruit of her team building labour, but for now, all she could do was drift toward the red-faced young man with a terrible expression on her face.

“Gwen, this is a good opportunity-” Walken’s voice was the last thing she heard as she tapped the young man on the back.

“What do you want?” It took the young man a second to realise it was Gwen Song, the Vice-Captain of the Fudan Team; a visage that had been circulated to all his team members, that he now faced.

“You have two seconds to apologise to Eunae.” Gwen’s voice drifted as though in a trance. “Go on, chop chop.”

“Are you crazy?” the young man scoffed, his face twisting with equal parts disbelief and disdain. “Hey— Sung Seonbae-nim! Is this nyeon slow in the head?”

“One.”

“You-”

PA!

Gwen’s blow was quick, too quick for the naked eye to follow. Empowered by her Almudj’s Essence, her irises blazed viridian as her palm struck the offender’s jaw, snapping his head back so far that for a second, the newly recovered Eunae screamed, thinking that Gwen had decapitated her victim.

Thankfully, Mages were a hardy lot, and it only took a single pirouette of the lad’s body for his head to catch up.

It was only then that Newton’s laws caught up to speed. Gwen’s victim was lifted off his feet and sent half-flying, half staggering backwards into the very table Eunae had almost encountered. Unfortunately for the displaced member of Seoul U’s team, Fudan’s Mages had no wish to cushion the fellow before his face connected with the table, his body cannoning onto the fruit and juices, turning the man into a harlequin coleslaw.

As if on cue, the Yooksung duo appeared to inspect the scene with frigid miens.

“Gwen, I am sorry—” Eunae began, on the verge of tears. “Sung Seonbae-nim—”

“That’s my cousin.” Captain Lee pointed a thumb at the groaning young man buried in fruit, ratifying their existence as the Yooksung trio. “He’s a LEE... You’re a Lee. So what’s the meaning of this? Eunae Hubae, does Uncle Jae have a death wish?”

“Sung Seonbae-nim, I am so sorry— I- I wasn’t thinking— Gwen Seonbae-nim’s not herself— she has a high Affinity, and she is a Lightning user and—”

“I asked you.” Sung’s eyes were two clinking beads of coal. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Eunae?”

Globs of panicked moisture finally escaped Eunae’s eyes.

Gwen pulled Eunae behind her, cutting the girl’s plea before she could finish her blubbering.

“It’s not like I didn’t give your dickhead a chance to apologise.”

With another deft move of her hand, she brushed off Walken’s mosquito voice buzzing at her ear, a plan formulating in her mind even as the words left her mouth.

One... Two... Three... perfect.

She could do it. With Eunae’s help, it was possible.

“Let’s make this easy. YOU and YOU and this prick, assuming he can get back up. We'll take it in the arena. We settle this as Mages, leaving our families out. Are you game, Sung Seonbae?”

“The three of us?” Sung Lee’s surprise was enough to misplace his building anger. “Against you?”

“Against me— and Eunae.” Gwen reached behind her and took her Cleric by the hand. “If you’re not sure, I’ll let you add one more member.”

“Gwen!” Eunae squeezed Gwen’s hand back, her dainty little palms sweating buckets. “I can’t!”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Gwen assured her healer, her tenderness matched only by her surety. How like her old self Eunae now behaved, not daring to breathe or Achoo when the stakes were up. “Remember our training. Just keep me topped up.”

“But my appa…”

Gwen turned her delicate profile toward the Lees.

“Tell me, Lee & Lee.” she no longer felt the desire to play their game of honorific bingo. “Will you punish Eunae’s family if I beat you black and blue and break you in front of ten million spectators?”

Her audacity was such that both of the Lees appeared lost for words.

“Proctor von Schlabrendorff!” her voice rang out, magnified by Clarion Call so that it echoed across the courtyard. “I require a pressing consultation!”

While they waited for the proctor to arrive, the impromptu fruit salad of the Lee Clan had been recovered by one of his female team members.

“Idiot! What took you so long?!” the young man spat at the woman. “Take care of this now!”

“At once, Seonbae-nim.” The girl obediently picked a piece of orange from the man’s vest. “Cleansing! Prestidigitation!”

A splash of water cleaned the young man’s face and torso as he fumed, glaring dangerously at Gwen, and Eunae, after which a blast of air dried him out. Evidently, the last Lee was an Air Evoker.

“Out of the way!” He pushed the girl away with impatience, then tried to stand, only to find himself once again on the floor, still concussed from Gwen’s humiliating blow. “Ssi-bal-nyeon! You’ll regret this. I am going to kill you.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Gwen rolled her eyes expertly at the Korean variation of cunt. She then turned toward the crowd, spotting the horse-faced Illusionist from Jiantong. “Senior Ying! I am going to do you a favour.”

“Ho? What’s this?” Ying Xiang made himself known by stepping forward. He had enjoyed the bitch-slap very much.

“Throw your Vice-Captain in. I’ll take care of them as a package deal. If you recall, he also wanted to have a go.”

Ying Xiang cocked his head toward Kurou, his Vice-Captain.

Then to the Illusionist's abject horror, the Jiantong Captain pointed a rudely erect finger toward him so that the entire assembly could see.

“Shidi, we all heard what you said to Miss Song in Chengdu. So let’s not waste this opportunity. Join the Seoul-party and take her out of the competition, I am counting on you.”

The Kurou's face instantly grew scarlet.

“Xiang shixiong, what are you saying?” the Illusionist spluttered. “A Wutang Kenshi cannot gang up on a girl with the bangzi.”

“No, you should join us,” the Korean Ice Mage, Lee Si-won, answered Kurou in Ying’s stead. “We’ll be sure to take care of you.”

“ALRIGHT. Cool your Sigils!”

The greying visage of Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff made his appearance.

“Sir!” The students bowed, saluted, stood to attention and curtsied.

“What’s the matter here?” The Magister had seen it all, but it was his job to ensure that the young bucks left the competition in one piece. “I haven’t even given out the quest, and you’re already on each other’s throats. I understand the weather here’s hot, but the duelling segment of the evening isn’t for another hour.”

“Esteemed Sir,” Gwen cut in before either of the Lees could speak. “The Korean team has just threatened one of the members of my team, declaring that they will seek retribution against her family in Seoul should she aid me in any fair capacity.”

“That’s a lie!” Lee Si-won snapped, suddenly discerning Gwen’s game. “Magister, we said no such thing, this girl is a bag of scorpions.”

“Miss Song, your response?” The Magister knew her by name and appearance.

“The truth speaks louder than lies.” Gwen shook her head. She then marched into the centre of the circle which had opened up to accommodate the feud. Opening her slender white arms, she faced the crowd, allowed a controlled trickle of Essence to flow outside her body, then addressed her audience like a ringmaster. “Who among you dares to stand up for the downtrodden? Speak up for the oppressed? If you are true Mages, righteous Kenshi, make your voice heard!”

“As a neutral party.” Ying Xiang took a step forward, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “She asked them for a duel, asking if they would punish Miss Lee’s father. Mister Lee’s response was to leer rudely.”

“This is true!” Richard stepped forward. “I too witnessed a most audacious expression of arrogance. Even in silence, the dishonourable cur was threatening the family of my shivering teammate! Just look at her!”

“I saw what I saw.” Ichiro smirked at the Lees, happy to get a knife in.

Eunae looked as though she could faint.

“Magister!” Gwen turned back toward the Chief Proctor. “Is this what the IIUC has become? A game of nepotism and coercion? For shame!”

“Fudan, tone down your melodrama.” Magister von Schlabrendorff gave her an officious warning. “You are decades too young to goad me, Fräulein.”

“But sir.” Gwen dipped her head attractively, wringing her hands. “How may I teach these young men a lesson of respect and humility if they threaten my healer? I am but a humble peasant in Shanghai, what if they menace my dear old grandparents next?”

The audience blinked. Gwen Song, a dual-element sorceress with a Kirin, a peasant? If so, what were they? Cabbage?

The Magister sighed.

“Mister Lee,” the Chief Proctor began. “Can I have your word that nothing will come of this, whatever the result?”

“Sir!” Si-won’s expression grew dark. “The girl—”

“You may retort or retaliate in any capacity befitting a Path of Spellcraft.” Schlabrendorff furrowed his brows, evidently growing impatient. “Speak through craft, Mister Lee, not through politics, and certainly not through me! I know something of your nation, and I know the power your families wield. Do not take my old age for senility! If I should find out that actions have been taken against the family of that young lady over there, during or after the competition, I will strip Seoul U of its title even if you are crowned the victor! Do you comprehend the gravitas of your offence? That is a THREAT.”

“But—”

“Si-won! Shut up!” Sung’s voice came across as a bark, silencing his spluttering brother. “The Magister is correct. We have fallen into Gwen Hubae’s trap. Let us speak through skill and craft. All else, to take the Magister’s words: is sophistry.”

“The two of us?” Si-won fumed.

“I would much prefer the three of you, plus that pervert over there.” Gwen pointed to Kurou. “He tried to cop a feel when I shook his hand, then started bawling that he would maim me when I caught him out.”

“I did not!” Kurou howled, his face flashing shades of white and red. “You lying biaozi!”

Ying struggled for his next breath.

“There it is.” Gwen shrugged casually. “So, you young gents game for a sixsome?”

The Lees’ regarded one another.

“We will accept, but without the help of the deviant.” Now that a fight was imminent, Sung’s face lost its ire. Instead, a strange calm returned to his voice. With violence imminent, the young man was now in his element. “You and Eunae will duel me, Si-won and Jung-min. First to Shield-Break, Oxford style.”

Gwen had since learned from Senior Bai that in international duels, there were two norms. Oxford style implied that contestants entered the duelling arena without pre-buffs or conjured creatures. Conversely, the Harvard format, pioneered by the Americans, meant one began combat with a pre-allotment of buffs on either side, accompanied by having Familiars summoned and raring to go.

“I am not a pervert!” Kurou spat. “You, Lee Bangzi! I challenge you to a duel!”

“Agreed.” Gwen nodded curtly, ignoring the sexual-deviant. “Magister, will you preside? I am afraid I won’t be able to hold back.”

“Your confidence astounds me.” The Chief Proctor raised both brows. “But you have also piqued my curiosity. Very well, Miss Song. I shall personally adjudicate for this match.”

The Magister then turned to all of them. “I must also remind you that as Yangon is lacking a Tower, your short and medium-range Contingency Teleportation Rings will have limited operability. Likewise, should your ER Contingency Rings return you to Seoul or Shanghai, you will be disqualified from the IIUC.”

Without so much as a wrinkle of the brow, the Captain of Seoul U removed a ring from his finger.

“I would imagine you’d have this much conviction at least, Gwen-ssi.”

Gwen likewise invoked an incantation, knowable only to the attuned owner, then removed Gunther’s Contingency ring. Just as a precaution, she patted her Ghosting Amulet.

“To the death, then?” She smirked at her fellow competitors.

“To Shield-Break!” Magister von Schlabrendorff spluttered, growling at the girl. “You hotheads are really stuffing my snout! Get to it! I’ve still got dinner to finish.”

The crowd parted, forming an open lane to the duelling arena, at the ends of which four advisors awaited.

“Kurou, stop acting the eyesore and get back here!” Ying barked at his devastated cousin. “Congratulations, even without Uncle Cao holding your hand, you survived.”

The Jiantong Vice-Captain looked as though he could have duelled his Captain then and there, but another member of the team pulled him back into the crowd.

“Gwen!” Ying Xiang formed a martial greeting with his hand and fist as the sorceress passed Jiantong’s assembly. “May you have fair winds on your journey forth.”

Gwen nodded, then returned to comforting Eunae, who clutched her arm with such vigour as to deform her supple flesh.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Gwen,” Eunae keened. “That’s my cousin; he’s the son of Uncle Lee!”

Gwen pulled the girl up so tightly that their faces had an inch between them.

“Eunnie, when that other bloke called you a crafty cunt, you stood up for yourself. GOOD JOB. That’s how it is in this world. You can’t keep retreating, because that’s an invitation for brutes like them to goose-step all over your face. They might not be bad people deep down, but living a privileged life has gone to their heads. It’s a disease, Eunnie, and you and I are the cure.”

Eunae understood the logic, but decades of ingrained fear and loathing couldn’t be removed simply because of spectacular words. Concurrently, Gwen’s speech was audible enough that many of the audience members bore complex expressions, caught between mockery for the Seoul team and the hypocrisy of their privileged existences.

“You’ll see, Eunnie,” Gwen assured her companion, thinking of Gunther, acknowledging that only with action could the naive be taught wisdom. “Clear your head. We’re going with Formation C.”

At the end of the human corridor, her team awaited, each offering a word of advice.

“Be careful.” Lulan and Richard had full confidence in their Vice-Captain.

“Kick their ass!” Anita made a face at what she perceived to be impeccably-dressed corncobs. “How dare that bastard touch Eunae, I could have strangled him myself!”

“Gwen, good luck!” The others patted her and Eunae on the back.

“Don’t overextend yourself,” Tei remarked worriedly. “This isn’t the final match.”

“She’ll be right, mate,” Gwen smirked. “We’ll share a bottle of Mao-tai after. I have got a feeling I’ll be thirsty indeed.”

Maymyint withdrew her mental tendrils from her sister’s addled head as to focus on the new drama stirred by her unpredictable saviour.

From the fact that Gwen Song was willing to strike a Lee from Yooksung Conglomerate for a second-rate healer from an inferior branch of the clan, her confidence only grew. Marong was right; the Lightning Sorceress was a creature of great passion and deep sentiment, a born leader in a time of crisis, but also unsuitable for hard-hearted ruling, especially when men possessed the appetites of beasts.

Still, to combat three of the Lees: two siblings from the main House and a cousin, aided by nought but a healer? That would be a sight to see! If such a Mage could exist, maybe Mayuree’s vision may not be so far off from the truth.

“My lord,” she opened a silent channel. “They are about to begin.”

“Silit,” came the reply, its voice filling every nook and cranny of her skull. “Majak ve dout saurivic.”

In the next moment, Maymyint’s world grew dim as a transcendent force suffused her body, shoving aside her feeble, humanoid consciousness with the carelessness of a stampede of Aurochs crushing the tender grass underfoot. Even as her anima shuddered with unspeakable agony, Maymyint cared not for the abuse. Her body brimmed with borrowed divinity, and there was no greater ecstasy.

“To Shield Break.” Magister von Schlabrendorff reiterated bleakly while the crowd below bellowed in wonder at the sight of a sorceress and her diminutive healer standing on one side while three men, each possessing the bearing of seasoned Combat Mages, spread out on the opposing field.

Below the Force Barriers set up for the occasion, a crew of lumen-recorders took up their spaces around the arena, ready to transmute the spectacle for future viewing.

Far above, the Magister’s tier 7 Divination magic, The Eye of Providence, enveloped the entirety of the Secretariat within his command, relaying its sights and visions into a secondary enchantment, Eidetic Memory, likewise tied to his fellow proctors.

Below, the dark-haired contestants readied themselves.

When Lutz von Schlabrendorff cycled into the Asian Pacific Region, he had known it would be a thankless task. The reason for the complication of an already complicated network of competitive academic institutions was hostile history: such as the fact that China ratified the UN mutual defence treaty to challenge Japanese holdings in 1945, Japan after deserting its Sino ambitions in 1953, and Korea after immense opposition from the Japanese in 1991. For five decades, from micro-conflicts to macro-regional disputes, hatred stemming from the Sino War had been maintained to keep a burgeoning population gratified.

To think that an hour ago, he had given a speech on the urgency of camaraderie, companionship and cooperation, and before dessert, the youngsters were already at each other’s throats.

Chief Proctor Lutz von Schlabrendorff wasn’t happy at all.

“You may begin in Three—”

“Two—”

“One—”

A spark of mana erupted mid-field.

“Commence!”

Even knowing his protégée’s plan, Walken’s heart simmered at his throat.

In the opening seconds of the duel, a Shield of Faith, combined with a Spirit Guardian conjured from Eunae’s Familiar, readied itself to intercept the first wave of Seoul U’s assault while Gwen began her invocation.

His ward had chosen her targets expertly despite their incomplete intelligence, as all three Lee Clan Evokers' first instinct was to burn down the upstart, thereby preserving their reputations.

Sung Lee unleashed a twin-headed, persistent Flame Hydra, a powerful eruption of Magma which continued to track and attack his targets, setting up his subsequent assaults.

Si-Won, the Ice Mage, instantly and expertly evoked a Missile Swarm, forming a prehensile cloud of icy daggers, hundreds of them, that would relentlessly pummel their target.

Jung-min, the youngest and the team’s controller, burst open the space surrounding Gwen with a Sonic Thrust, forcing her to move away from Eunae.

Together, the Lees employed one instantaneous disruptor, one mid-range, mid-strength AoE, and a heavy-handed finisher, demonstrating the Clan’s expertise and experience.

If the girl were a lesser Mage, her only choice would be to Teleport away, setting her assailants up for a second discharge. Should the Lees’ further coordinate their attacks, she would tire out, at which point she would teleport outside of the duelling area and admit her loss, or take the hit and hope she survived.

But Walken felt an aching exaltation as Caliban emerged in its stag form, exploding from thin-air as though a cascade of dark ink had poured into the arena, filling the confined space with the gut-churning miasma unique to the Void.

Oily and covered in a film of dripping Void-matter, the creature caught the brunt of the sonic blast without so much as a wrinkle on its faceless mien, even as a chunk of its torso blew out with a violent Chonk!

"SHAAAAA!"

Tilting forward on its stiletto legs, Caliban flew into a deadbolt, catching a portion of the Missile Swarm, losing the better half of its faceless mien.

Relentless, it hammered on, striking sparks on the shielded floor, skittering toward the three astonished Mages without breaking its stride.

Mid-way, it encountered the magma hydra; it’s multi-pointed stag horns erupted into sixteen prehensile tendrils, each a slithering length of lamprey penetrating the body of the twin-headed ophidian. When furthermore Sung’s magnificent two-stage spell exploded across Caliban’s body, ripping out chunks of flesh and gouging holes the size of Gwen’s torso, it leaned forward—

And re-birthed into a skittering spider-demon half the size, fully healed, Hasted and twice as angry.

“Si-Won!” the leading Lee called out, himself erecting a Magma Arc, an offence-defence spell that shielded his team while also exploding outward in a terrific arc of flaming lava.

“Glacial Geyser!” A burst of ice, instantaneously forming underneath Caliban and with a minimal margin of error, caught the spiderling in the rear, preventing it from coming closer.

“Hurricane Blast!” The third Lee remained on Gwen, attempting to banish the Void Sorceress to open up Eunae for a thorough thrashing.

As a chilling draft of cyclonic air descended upon the female duo, Walken tasted a sharp tartness of nervous bile. He found himself clenching his fists when Luyi, leaping in between the Evocation manifest and the girls, made a barely audible ‘Eep!’ before the Air Mage’s superior firepower dashed the Guardian Spirit to smithereens. In the next split-second, the remaining impact descended, catching Eunae’s Shield of Faith, painting the semi-dome a stark white as its mana compressed and the barrier strained.

Walken found himself clenching his teeth.

Four seconds! His mind screamed. Just four more seconds!

On the far side, Caliban escaped once again, this time slipping from the icy prison as an enormous centipede, its carapace slick and obsidian. Unfazed, Sung Lee retaliated with a Magma Breath, stopping Caliban in its tracks, sheering away a dozen legs with a chunk of lava-encrusted shale. Beside him, matching his brother spell by spell, a Creeping Ice ripped through Caliban’s torso, snapping its lower body clean off.

With a wiggle, Caliban fell to the floor and lay still.

The crowd gasped for air, not yet recovered from the horrid sight of the sable-coated nightmare invading their shuddering souls.

NOW! Walken had to stop himself lest he gave away Gwen’s game.

Quietly and without warning, at the precise moment in which Caliban met a grisly, temporary end, Ariel materialised above the Lees, crackling with emerald lightning, its horns charged with Almudj’s punishing fury.

“CHAIN LIGHTING!” Walken found himself mouthing the words.

“Barbanginy!” Gwen’s voice reverberated from within the duelling arena.

The Magister’s mind burst into brilliant happiness as the Lightning Bolt connected first with Sung Lee, striking the man’s hastily erected Shield.

Then, as if on cue, it zig-zagged across the field to strike Si-Won, who was forced to put up an Ice Barrier.

Before the lightning could plough through the Ice Mage’s protection and trigger his Shield, it travelled onwards toward Jung-min, blowing past his protection in a single strike.

“Shield-Bre—!” the command from Magister Schlabrendorff exploded across the assembly, but Gwen’s Chain Lightning wasn’t yet finished.

It shot upwards and struck her Kirin in full.

Walken’s lips curled, his heart galloped, his blood kindled; he finally understood why Kilroy took so much joy in showing off his Apprentices.

From Ariel, a new bolt descended.

“Ha-ha!” Walken wondered if he looked like a maniac about now, but he couldn’t give two shits. Gwen’s Chain Lightning was a skill he had taught. It was uniquely his, and now it was going to be seen around the world, magnified a million times in every institution across Asia, Europe and the Americas.

The second bolt was weaker, but Gwen’s Essence-infused Barbanginy was tens of magnitudes stronger than mortal lightning.

Crack!

A split second later, the bolt struck Sung Lee, splitting his Magma encrusted Shield in twain, revealing a disbelieving face.

Crack!

Si-Won’s Ice Shield was insufficient to withstand the returning bolt. With a singular sound of shattering ice, a split arc from the viridian surge licked the Ice Mage, blasting him off his feet with a clattering of teeth.

“—eak!” Magister von Schlabrendorff hadn’t even finished his first announcement.

Crack!

The bolt persisted, seeking out the final member of Lee’s team for another round of electro-vivification.

Oh, Gods! Walken felt his heart skip. She better not be thinking of killing a Lee. If there was one group that took a blood debt with absolute gravity, it was the profoundly tribal Korean Chaebols. Gwen could kiss her peace goodbye if the boy were to be summarily executed in the middle of a duel before the IIUC had even begun. Any hope that a second Shield could be erected was non-existent; between the sundering of his first and the return of the bolt, no more than a second had passed. Even an Abjurer would need a breather before refreshing a buffer.

“Sung Hyung!” Jung-Min’s voice called out as the bolt struck, lighting the man like a candle.

While the crowd watched with open mouths at the first casualty of the IIUC, the bolt returned to Ariel.

From which a third cycle engendered.

“Shield Break! Shield BREAK!” the Magister howled. “GWEN SONG! STOP THIS DUEL AT ONCE!”

With a glance from its Master, Ariel fizzled the circulating Chain Lightning, reminding the assembly that Gwen retained complete control.

Together with Walken, the assembly’s eyes first caught the illustrious form of the prowling Kirin swishing its tail. Then of the smouldering trio, of which only Seoul U’s Captain, Sung Lee, remained ruffled but otherwise unmolested.

“Shaaa!”

Caliban, once again reborn, slithered from the mangled corpse of its former self, back to its regular size and original shape, ready for probing.

“Shaa! Shaa!” It hissed at the Seoul U’s Captain, who looked around dazed, as though he had entered a strange new metaphysical world, one in which a girl from Fudan had cracked his Shield, then turned his gaze to Gwen.

Finally, Walken’s swelling eyes landed on his student.

Eunae huffed, a hand placed against Gwen’s back, Luyi feebly lingering by the Cleric’s side.

As for the architect of the spectacle that now befell the lords and ladies of Myăma, she stood quivering, drenched from head to toe in perspiration, her complexion was the colour of lily buds, pale with shades of bruised blue.

Slowly, with great care, she withdrew her arms, locked in place for quick-casting, then packed her white legs so that she appeared dignified. With chest heaving and eyes wild, she reached over with a hand to take her healer by the shoulder, then planted a kiss on Eunae’s forehead.

Walken’s heart soared and soared until it strained as though a viol played to the highest pitch. At this moment, in his eyes, there was no greater sense of pride. She was his muse.

“Eunae,” she uttered audibly.

Walken found himself walking down the advisor’s dais toward the exit of the duelling platform, at which point his ward’s sweet voice dispelled the charm that had enthralled her beholden audience.

The girl was a natural.

“Muster up another jolt, Eunae—” Gwen managed. “Go heal your cousins.”

Sung Lee wanted to hurl a Dragon Breath when Eunae, the cousin he had half a mind to remove from the Clan’s roster permanently, offered to heal her kin.

But when she approached, eyes wide with fear, he found that he could not speak.

Earlier, when Jung-min had called for his help, he couldn’t do a thing, so what right did he have to deny his junior’s mercy?

“Sung Seonbae-nim…” Eunae’s gentle bosoms rose and fell as she lowered her head.

Slowly, he reached out and touched her head, feeling her soft hair between his fingers.

“Eunae,” he croaked finally, finding a measure of strength returning to his jaws. “Tell Gwen-ssi, that we’ll do our best in the competition, and that I won’t underestimate her again.”

“Yes, Seonbae-nim.” Eunnae bowed deeply.

“And…”

“Seonbae-nim?”

Sung Lee swallowed, finding his throat swollen when the words reached his mouth.

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Go now. Heal Jung-min.”

Gwen was glad the applause went on for so long because she was firmly stuck in place until her Essence restored her Void-ravaged body.

When was the last time she felt this? She wondered. Her joints were sore, her vitality exhausted, her head swam, and her vision hovered.

The abuse of Caliban’s shapeshifting ability to instantly restore its form was a strategy she had actualised after a great deal of experimentation with Walken, aided by Magus Kumiko. It was something that could only be used in the presence of a Cleric, and now she had traded the secret away to catalyse their strategy, which was to put the fear of Gwen into Kyoto, Seoul and Jiantong.

“Tss...”

Gwen sucked in a breath of cold air. A raging headache, another aftermath of overtaxing one’s vitality, was now pounding her brain into mochi.

When finally Eunae returned from healing her cousins, thus ensuring that there was no possible way they could target her family without shaming the clan, some semblance of movement returned to her limbs.

Glancing above, she caught the Chief Proctor regarding her with a complicated expression before nodding amiably.

“Victory! Fudan!”

Then, aided by her Cleric, she made for the exit.

When she almost faltered at the platform, it wasn’t Richard who caught her slipping body, nor Lulan nor the others, not even Lea or Captain Bai.

To her and her companions’ amazement, it was Walken, his taut face pink as a pippin, who barged through her friends, crashed through the crowd, then caught her with his wiry hands.

“Eric?” She found herself held by the old man's arms.

“You almost burst my heart, Gwen.” Walken crushed her against his chest, so hard that she could feel the ribs beneath his tunic. “Well done!”

Far from the duelling platform, Maymyint discretely wiped a blood-tinged tear from her eyes with a maroon handkerchief.

The appeasement of her master made Maymyint happier than even that old codger, Eric Walken, who even now was coddling his ward.

“I will have her delivered to Kachin right away, my Lord,” she promised.

“Tepoha sanipkur, let them play their mortal games,” the voice echoed within her mind, switching to human speech to reduce the burden on her feverish brain. In the next moment, her lord’s slow chuckling grew into a bone-thrumming roar of merriment. “Make the arrangements. If and when the bastard meets my darling niece, I want them both frothing and seething.”

Cla-Clang!

Clung!

Clang!

Lulan exchanged swings with the girls from Emei, inspired by Gwen to go for a two-on-one.

"Plum-blossom Strike!"

Risking a shallow wound to trade blow for blow, she allowed one of the Hsu sisters, Vicky, to gash her thigh with a mana-charged thrust, thereby overextending her reach.

"Heart Seeking Sword!"

KRUNG!

The slab of iron that suddenly emerged was enough to send the girl flying, scattering a vivid crimson arc across the invisible barrier. Above, the adjudicator did not call for a halt, as Sword Mages, unlike Western casters, usually forwent Shields for Transmutation-focused defence such Lulan's Iron Heart, or the Falling Feather technique employed by the Emei sisters, negating blows and blasts through the application of Taoist mysticism.

Lulan landed without so much as a grimace, her Iron Heart technique instantly closing her flesh wound.

Vicky Hsu, conversely, didn't fare so well. Coughing up a mouthful of bile and blood, she had to be aided by her sister.

"Thank you for the instruction, Lulan shimei."

"Hsu shijie, the same," Lulan returned, stowing her iron-slab back into the Elemental Plane of Earth.

The crowd clapped and cheered, though their heart wasn't in it.

After the first match, nothing else could set the blood to boil, not when it had already evaporated.

The duels ran at half-strength at best. The members of Seoul U had retreated earlier, taking with them their advisor, likely to strategise and lick their wounds. Kyoto meanwhile, sent out a few members who stuck strictly to Western spellcraft.

Gwen chose to stay close to the buffet table, sipping Mao-tai and pulverising the vitality-rich crab claws harvested from Yangon's mana-rich river between her carapace-crushing teeth.

At present, Kyoto U's shugenja and priestess sat politely to one side, holding small talk while Ariel and Caliban slithered about underfoot, teasing the Mages for crystals.

On her other side sat Jiantong's Captain, already flushed from his second glass of rice wine, speaking slowly and carefully lest he fell into a potential honey trap.

Eunae meanwhile, sat on a stool beside a jubilant Anita, blissfully supping on a young coconut.

"I feel so full of vitality," she remarked to the team's Mineral Mage, blushed by the booze. "Come what may- let me at em!"

The rest of the team broke into laughter while Richard returned with Lulan.

"Healing Word!" Eunae managed the Sword Mage's flesh wound. "Does it hurt?"

"There isn't much sensation when my Iron Heart is active," Lulan clarified, stretching her leg. "Thanks, Eunae."

"You should have gone for the face," Richard advised with a grin. "It'll take a Regenerate to restore sensory organs, and I have a feeling the Emei girls are underplaying their hand."

"They have a sword formation that's famous among the Clans, a kind of low-tier Simulacrum," Lulan agreed with the second statement. "Vivian has to be the Illusionist, Vicky's blow felt like a Transmuters."

"They can formation all they want." Richard laughed. "Good spell fodder for Chain Lightning."

Fudan's party collectively sighed with satisfaction. What a spectacle that had been. It perfectly demonstrated that certain spells, when mastered, constituted significant milestones.

For Fire Mages, the ubiquitous Fireball at tier 3 was the single most practical magic in existence. For Evokers especially, even well into their career as Magisters, the spell remained a constant companion, an invocation so ingrained it could manifest with a thought.

Conversely, for Mineral and Earthen Mages, it was Stone Shape or Transmute Stone that made all the difference, swiftly adding versatility and utility to all Schools of Magic.

As for Air Mages, Flight served as the tipping point of their advantage, after which no other Elementalist might hope to catch an Air Affinity Combat Mage without Teleportation or a means to restrain their mobility.

Finally, for Lightning Mages, their sweet fruit of deliverance came at the end of a long, hard road in the form of Chain Lightning, originating from the Icelandic Gothar. The earliest records pointed to a Mage of antiquity known as Thangbrand the Priest, who deployed the ancient magic against Ice Giants.

As for Gwen's specific variation of Chain Lightning, her private instructor had delivered a spell which, in Walken's words, secured his previous career. Incepting as an Air Mage, he initially struggled to invoke complex multi-target strikes, and so had spent years researching and modifying the original incantation so that with Aella's aid, he could replicate the spell.

When applied to Ariel, the two then discovered that her pseudo-Kirin was capable of reinvigorating a refracted bolt, continuing the cycle. With Gwen's current Affinity, the second sequence reduced her Chain Lightning to half-strength, while the third cycle was little more effective than a low-tier Lightning Missile. However, when fused with Almudj's Essence, it took three cycles for the bolt to be reduced to its original strength, arguably capable of returning for a fourth and final strike.

Though impressive, the spell was highly conditional. First, targets had to be intimately displaced. Second, while cycling, targets must remain within range, as a single Teleportation or Blink could disrupt the flow of the spell as it refracted from each victim. Third, Ariel must remain in range and immobile, opening her Familiar to banishment, assaults, and other dangers. Lastly and finally, the spell's effectiveness dwindled against Abjurers who are capable of dampening her lightning, as each strike relied on carrying over energy from the last. In the worst case scenario, a skilled Earthen Mage with a strong metal-element may ground the first strike, undoing the spell altogether. In tests conducted with Walken's conjured targets, it was against clustered aerial foes that the Signature invocation truly shined.

Though as Walken noted, countermeasures were her opponent's problem: as a group; they fed her Chain Lightning. Alone, she could eat them alive.

That was the "Fear of Gwen" he had intended.

All that was left was the competition itself.

Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff stood by the window atop the Royal Strand by Seikkantha Park. His suite overlooked the Secretariat below, where the students should by now be returning to their rooms.

For the next few days, the students could socialise and get to know the people and the land. Of course, the competition itself would take place in Kachin, ten hours Mage Flight north of Mandalay, but the students didn't know that.

Standing in the middle of the luxurious living room, the Magister closed his eyes, allowing greater focus.

"Reveal Dweomer."

Lutz invoked a high-tier detection spell which reacted to the presence of unsavoury enchantments within the vicinity of the caster. At his behest, a ripple of vibrant energy manifested as a sphere radiating from the caster, enveloping the top floor of the hotel.

"Hmm…" Lutz grunted with displeasure. He was being watched. For the defeated ruling remnant of an uncivilised frontier, the audacity shown by this House of M was astounding.

"Obfuscate!" A second invocation from the School of Illusion was enough to render any Divination below tier 7 senseless.

"Evelyn," the Magister spoke into a Message spell of his own making, utilising a private network established between himself and the advisors for the various teams. "Inform Walken I need to speak with him."

"Yessir," came the reply from Magister Evelyn Hass, his right-hand woman.

Lutz had all but ten minutes to set up the lumen-projector and conjure two servings of Old Fashioned before Hass returned, signalling Walken's arrival.

"Come in." Lutz unlocked the door with a wave of his hand.

"Eric, it's been too long."

"Good to see you too, Lutz."

The two shared a friendly handshake.

"Please, take a seat, make yourself comfortable." Lutz indicated to the spacious hotel room. "I've got something interesting to show you."

Each of the veteran Mages took up a spot around the room while Magister Hass left the room.

"Replay," Lutz commanded the lumen-recorder.

The scene now projected in the living room was the match between Gwen Song and Seoul U.

Manipulating glyphs only he could see, Lutz's Panopticon Engine, a sophisticated crystalline device operable only by the Chief Proctor, shifted its angle until it focused on the dais upon which the House of M's representative, the lithe Miss Maymyint, holding a flute of golden liqueur.

"Eric." Lutz indicated to the sight of their female host. "As you are aware, a part of the Panopticon is designed to identify oddities, such as malignant magic utilised to aid students to gain an unfair advantage. In reviewing suspicious magic during the match— observe."

The Mages watched a thin golden thread materialise, linking Maymyint and Mayuree.

"Now that IS interesting."

Walken knew that The Eye of Providence was a class III restricted Divination Spell originating from a darker era under the Papal Inquisition. With it, a Diviner may monitor and record the activities of students and their actions during the competition.

"Well, Eric? What do you have to say for your local contestant?"

"If you must know, she was a temporary shoo-in," Walken grumbled darkly. "The original Diviner quit, saying that she didn't want to die, and her sister, our host, volunteered Mayuree. I can assure you, Lutz- if there is any attempt at subverting the fairness of the game, my team will have no part in it. I've proctored in the past. I know how this works."

Lutz von Schlabrendorff regarded his old friend from the Grey Faction, then exhaled. "Needless to say, if this happens during the Quest, penalties will apply."

"Maybe the House of M is planning something," Walken changed the subject. "Can you do me a favour and route some information from the betting houses?"

"You think they're trying to make a quick mound of HDMs? It's nothing so crass," Lutz refuted Walken's hypothesis. "The House of M donated three-hundred thousand HDMs to the competition's coffers, Eric, and they're paying for all expenses incurred while we're in Burma."

Walken smirked at the nation's old colonial name. To think that only a decade had passed since the Mageocracy pulled out before the Orientals had a dragon infest the north. It was laughable how incompetent these prideful independence governments could be.

"What do you suggest?"

"Nothing. I'll leave that to you." Lutz offered his old colleague a glass of the Old Fashioned, now suitably infused. "The IIUC must go on. Remember, so long as our host holds up their part of the agreement with the Committee, we are a strictly neutral party. For good reasons, we do not interfere, even if the contestants are to lose their lives."

"So, this is a favour?"

"Would you believe pity? You need this. Don't you?"

Walken grunted. Pity was the right word. To think one of the Oceania Ten was now reduced to chaperoning an eighteen-year-old girl Mage like a steward.

"What happened to your famous impartiality?"

"The match hasn't started yet. Can't a man chat with an old friend?"

"Well then, thanks, Lutz." Walken breathed out, bowing his head slightly. "I appreciate it."

"I am doing it for the girl as well." Lutz von Schlabrendorff scratched his temple. "A talent like that, remind you of someone?"

"Sobel?"

"Who else?"

"Gwen is…" Walken checked his tongue. "...different."

"Time will tell." Lutz appeared unconvinced. "Like Sobel, I anticipate the Mageocracy will squeeze a decade out of her at least, two at best. Though I don't think there'll be another Kilroy to ferment a second Sobel. I still can't believe old Henry died such a needless death. He was the best of us."

"They could use her to fight Sobel, you know." Walken tasted a metallic tang of guilt on his tongue. "I can tell you Gwen has good cause to give it her all."

"Ha!" Lutz von Schlabrendorff laughed, swirling his drink. "Good luck with that, Eric. May the best team win."

"I thought the competition isn't about winning?"

Lutz von Schlabrendorff swilled the last of his drink; then the room filled with rye-scented laughter.

Walken teleported back into his hotel room, feeling an urgent need to set matters into motion.

He discerned immediately the error of letting his passions ferment, channelling a little too much of Henry. He reminded himself that his old rival had grown soft, and that was why he failed. Henry had let his students' affections affect his thinking; he allowed his sentiments for his wife to impact his judgement.

Mayuree, defrauding the competition? He found that unlikely. No, this was something more. Something nefarious. He could feel it in his bones; it was just the sort of thing he would plot.

Shuffling out of his jacket, he washed his face to cool his head.

How to proceed? Walken asked himself.

The contents of the match remained unknowable. Lutz wasn't THAT generous.

Should they swallow the risk and persist in their suit?

To bail— to reconvene, may very well waste their immovable advantage. As the team stood now, Jiantong's Captain was amiable to cooperation, Kyoto U had been charmed by Gwen's pseudo-Kirin, and Seoul had been suitably oppressed.

As for Mayuree.

If this were the Eric Walken of the past, there would a hundred and one ways to make the Diviner cough up the truth.

But thanks to Gwen' soft-heartedness, disabling the girl was out of the question, not to mention they genuinely needed a Diviner.

As for the path of least resistance, Walken knew he had to do the unthinkable; he had to tell Gwen the truth.

"Yes? Who is it?"

Gwen opened the door to find Eric Walken standing at the entrance of her Secretariat's west-wing guest room.

"Gwen, we need to talk."

Had Walken's face been any less the likeness of a basilisk, she would have thought the old man desiring a heart to heart, but the firmness of Walken's jaws indicated this was serious.

"Right, what's the matter?"

"Bring your Habitat."

At the mention of her portal Faraday cage, Gwen realised the trouble might be more severe than she initially thought.

"Righto, one sec."

In her spacious guest room were almost a dozen girls fondling Ariel and playing cards. Within her seraglio of feminine figures, she had the hungover Lulan, the thankful Eunae, Anita, Rene, and to Walken's great surprise, Yuki, the Captain of the Kyoto team, as well as a few of her companions, was even now holding Gwen's Kirin with a dreamy expression. Together, the girls had been playing Da-Lao-Er, a game she had learned from Tao, engaging in an equally entertaining but far less destructive royal rumble.

After much grumbling and a promise to leave Ariel behind, Gwen met Walken in the courtyard. One HDM later, the duo joined in the grey space of the habitat's courtyard.

"Here's fine." Walken eyed the conjured home. "Listen well. The Chief Proctor has just informed me that your friend Mayuree is under suspicion of using Mind Link to violate the rules of the competition."

Gwen's eyes grew as large as hen's eggs; a complaint reached her lips reflexively.

"Hold your horses." Walken put up a hand. "Lutz doesn't know Mayuree as you do, nor does he have the information that we have, such as your involvement with her, or the House of M."

Gwen swallowed. She did not recall telling Walken any of this. If so, where had he gotten the information?

"Call it due diligence." Walken gave her a sideways look. "Something that will preoccupy much of your time should you ever come to possess a Tower. So, are we in agreement that your previously naive friend lacked the mental means to execute such a daring subversion?"

"Definitely." Gwen nodded, thinking of the demure Mayuree, who could be overexcited and careless but who certainly wasn't capable of pulling a con like this. "What do you propose?"

"I don't believe this Maymyint is so foolish as to mind-tap Mayuree in the middle of a match. More than likely, I think it's plausible that your friend is under the influence of her sister to perform some bidding. The more I hear about this, the more I am starting to suspect that there's some disastrous event on the horizon. The Tyrant, your friend, the House of M, Myăma, all of it. There's a piece of the puzzle missing, but I just can't put my finger on the pulse of it."

"Ah…" Gwen realised immediately the precise piece of the puzzle that Walken was missing, objectively speaking. There was one thing Walken could not discover through observing her finances, habits and charming her host of loose-lipped mentors. "Eric, there's something I think I should tell you."

Walken ceased his pacing, then met her eyes.

"Don't get angry, because its not something I would have trust you with at any rate."

Walken sighed. "Go on."

"Well…" Gwen organised her thoughts. "See, this whole thing started when I entered Fudan, and I ran into Mayuree and Kitty at the Scholarship Exam…"

Walken listened with increasing grimness while Gwen clarified the conditions of Mayuree's prophesy-driven friendship.

"The Matriarch of the House of M must be senile to pull a stunt like this," Walken spluttered. "Even assuming Mayuree's vision is correct, there's no proof you haven't saved her already. Unless she's the Oracle of Delphi, her foresight could be entirely impressionistic or abstract."

Walken paced back and forth.

"I assume that somehow, the House of M is growing desperate to defeat this Tyrant. Paying tithings to a dragon that occupies a mountain isn't news. It's a tradition as old as time itself. I think something has disturbed the status quo."

Gwen watched her advisor wrack his brain.

"So, the primary outcome, assuming their ploy works, is that they planned for the Tyrant, a draconic-being of some sort, to attack Mayuree. Then, assuming Mayuree lives, there can only be one outcome— someone has to defeat the dragon, thereby freeing their nation from the threat of the Tyrant."

"BUT—" Walken continued. "That's not possible. From what I can see, Myăma is a wealthy country. There's bound to be at least a dozen Magister-level casters, not to mention they can hire mercenaries. That they remain in thrall means the Tyrant is beyond the ability of Mages without the backing of a Tower to challenge. It implies the Tyrant must be at least five or more centuries old, starting to moult, drawing power from the land's ley lines, only then is it beyond the challenge of a mortal Mage. Only a Tower can cut the dragon off its near infinite supply of mana."

Her advisor exhaled.

"I think their plan is doomed to fail." Walken shook his head. "Either these locals have no idea what they're facing, or there are greater powers at play than we can know."

"Should we inform the proctors?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The IIUC Committee won't act," Walken explained. "Lutz has a spell called the Eye of Providence. It's highly restricted Panopticon-Class Divination linked to the Towers. When the competition begins, you will all carry beacons that make you subject to direct observation. During the competition, Lutz and the others will not interfere, no matter what happens. Afterwards…"

"There'll be hell to pay?"

"Yes, which is why none of this makes sense." Walken gnashed his teeth. "What's there to gain for the House of M? You win, the Towers will come down on Myăma. You all die? They would come down on the House, then the dragon. Myăma will be a Black Zone."

The two of them remained silent while they mulled on the matter.

"I guess I'll play it by ear." Gwen's thoughts turned to her friend. "Poor Mia… and that snake Maymyint! To think she helped me with Kitty. Bloody Kitty, I wonder if she's in on this."

"Presumably the House of M will send you toward the north, where the dragon will be in your path. As for the Tyrant: one can only guess what creature lurks in those mountains. Either way, the teams have enough offensive firepower to wound it, though defeating it would be impossible."

"Eric." Gwen grounded her teeth guiltily, realising she had omitted yet another a critical fact. "Can I tell you something else? You can't get mad, okay."

Walken furrowed his brows. "What now?"

"Er… I might know who the Tyrant is."

Her advisor blinked.

"Alright." The old man appeared unfazed. "Confess."

"I have it on good authority that it's probably an in-law... my Uncle's wife's brother; someone called Ruxin. According to Ayxin, he came to Myăma some three decades ago, the exact time that the Tyrant appeared. He's a full-blooded Thunder Dragon, about five hundred years old, and he's looking to nest and mate."

"… okay." Walken pinched his forehead. "So an Asiatic Blue Dragon in the moulting phase, going musth- anything else?"

Golos' name simmered at Gwen's throat. She had promised herself not to count on the stupid prophecy as a part of her plans, but the dots were joining together inside her head. Even if Golos came in at the eleventh hour to save her from certain death, how could he possibly fight a mature Dragon? The Thunder Wyvern, by Jun's count, was just over two centuries old, he is a young buck and would only be dragon fodder. It made far more sense that Golos shows up to explain that if Ayxin lost her niece, her new husband would be furious, meaning Ruxin would have to now deal with both Axyin and Jun, as well as the family, friends, institutions, and the country of anyone else who went down with her. Surely Mayuree isn't worth that much trouble.

"Wait, I do!"

Gwen materialised the Storage Ring Maymyint had given her.

"Maymyint gave me this, and told me to open it when the time comes."

"Allow me." Walken volunteered his well being. With great care, he attuned himself, hawkishly watching every mote of mana.

It was just a mundane Storage Ring.

And within was a device Gwen recognised as a transponder.

Walken inspected the device, a thing carved from jadeite.

"A paired transponder?" Walken palmed the device a few times. "One way as well. It's not for tracking you, but for directing the user to something else, a sister-device. Stranger and stranger."

"I guess we'll find out," Gwen said. "Should we confront Maymyint?"

"Leave it." Walken appeared deep in thought. "Against a schemer, it's always best if they think us ignorant. If you claim to know this Tyrant and he confronts your team, there may be something that we can use to our advantage."

"You know what." Gwen fingered the transponder gingerly. "What if this whole thing could be resolved just by me having a chat with Ruxin? I could wax some sentiments about his sister, about his dad Yinglong whom I hung out with, sort of, and about how we're like, family and stuff now and we're not a threat to him. I could tell him all about the House of M's ploy to turn the world against him, and he could deal with Maymyint himself, saving us the trouble."

"That's an absurd proposal." Walken baulked.

"I'll make a good case, I can be very convincing," Gwen insisted. "Think about it, what would Ruxin gain by attacking us unprovoked? The ire of the entire IIUC committee from the most powerful universities around? Does the dragon even want to keep his mountain? If he kills or maims us, there'll be Towers, least of all from Gunther, parked five-deep in his ass by next month. I imagine brooding eggs while been pounded by Gunther-beams would be pretty hard."

"At the very least, this land will be cut off to him," Walken agreed. "Still, don't do something so stupid if you don't have to. When the match starts, proceed as you will. If Ruxin starts rampaging, take your friends and run. You'll be fine so long as you're not the slowest, there's plenty of fodder."

"… Eric, seriously?"

"A dragon breathing down on you isn't serious enough?"

Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Gwen." Walken faced her seriously. "Listen to me. You might think that I am a coward, and I know your real zodiac is that of the mule, but you have to listen. Your life is extraordinary- many people are looking toward your future. Gunther and Alesia are waiting for you so that one day the three of you might visit Sobel. Your friends, Yue, and Elvia are waiting for your return to Sydney. Your grandparents are anticipating your triumph. Petra, your friends, and I, we're all looking forward to what you'll do in the future.

"This is the IIUC. People fail all the time, and sometimes, contestants die. Gwen, despite everything: you're allowed to fail. The IIUC is a stepping stone, an important one, but just a step. In life, you'll have failures, but don't falter by dying. If you perish: all is lost. There are no second chances, no second life. Even Deathless Henry, someone I'd never thought would be gone from this world, lost his life, and now all of us are adrift in the wake of his passing. You must survive; else none of this is worthwhile, understand?"

Their eyes met, and the Magister could see that the girl was digesting his thoughts, becoming more miserable for the wisdom of his words.

"In the meanwhile." Walken sighed in turn. "Keep an eye on Mayuree, but let nothing slip."

For their layover, the team had the choice of exploring Yangon on a motorised rickshaw with a young monk as a guide or join Mayuree's coach group. Though the city had no restrictions on flying, the local populace frowned upon Mages gliding over the golden stupas that dotted the city, and so magical locomotion mostly remained within the realm of discrete teleportation and mechanised transport.

To Fudan's surprise, the leadership of the Kyoto team agreed to Mayuree's offer, with their squad Captain taking such a shine to Ariel that Gwen was beginning to feel awkward for having to zap the girl in the competition to come.

For the first day, the Mayuree Express took the group into the local craftsmen's district, urging the contestants to dispense some of their first-world HDMs. At the Dagon Market, the girls single-handedly elevated families by distributing the equivalent of yearly incomes as they stuffed their storage rings with hand-made shawls, scarves, local dresses and silk-print fabrics. As for the men who had decided to join, Richard entertained his Familiar, Lea, who fancied the floral colours and myriad spices that dotted the place, while Jiro and Ichiro seemed to hit it off after losing their minds within the hour.

For the tour's luncheons and dinners, Mayuree introduced the local fare, consisting of Mohinga fish soup with rice noodles, creamy aromatic catfish curry, deep fried curdled tofu, and Laphet Thohk – pickled tea salad.

It was between a delicious meal of fried fish in caramelised fish-sauce and stuffed pork-skewers that Mayuree showed her true colours.

"This meatball is so buttery!" Gwen, the gastronomic adventurer, had been nourishing her ever-lingering hunger when Mayuree's expression grew strange. Not realising, Gwen smacked her lips, giving her glistening, greasy lips a quick lick, then complimented the local cuisine. "What an original taste! Like a firm oyster."

"What's wrong?" Anita poked what appeared to be a musk-scented poached egg.

"If you scrap off the curry…" Richard noted. "You'll find that it's an entirely original ingredient."

Gwen performed the careful operation by following Richard's advice, realising that Mayuree had made a crack at her expense, knowing that she was willing to eat anything.

"I see!" She gagged, relishing the creaminess on her tongue, feeling a little disgusted. "It's an eye- yeah? It's a goat or a sheep's eyeball!"

Mayuree shook and quivered as she stifled her merriment.

The rest of her teammates, as well as their guests, laughed as well, though much more awkwardly.

Below the table, Ariel and Caliban chowed down as half-a-dozen Mages gingerly put their bowls onto the floor, donating the still simmering goat gonads out of the goodness of their dear hearts.

After a quaking Gwen forced a fried gonad between Mayuree's resisting lips, subsequent meals were taken at colonial establishments, as well as at modernised hotels around the port, where the majority of the country's trade with China, India, and colonial Indochina took place.

From roof-top restaurants, the team dined on Australian steak and drank French wine almost a century old, eating seafood from the Gulf of Martaban, prying crystal flesh from scampi and crabs fresh from the Bay of Bangor.

The next morning and the next, they sat drinking cold-dripped coffee and enjoying the morning sun from a lounge thirty-stories high, realising just how nourishing and comfortable the unfiltered sun could feel on the skin.

All the while, Gwen studied her friend. It was without a doubt that this was the Mayuree she had known, but there was also a queerness to her actions, akin to the unsettling sensation of entering an uncanny valley. While Ariel interacted fine with Mia, Gwen felt a disingenuine and jarring sense of reservedness. As a mental parallel, Mayuree's exuberance reminded Gwen of some of her colleague's wives whose manic joy smacked of a morning and afternoon glass of Chardonnay.

It was finally on the fourth day that Gwen managed to corner Mayuree alone in the public spa of the Strand hotel, their modesty preserved by a layer of Egyptian cotton. After some teasing here and there, Gwen had invited Mayuree to join her for some high-spec skin pampering, taking advantage of the House of M's unlimited lavishness.

"Ah-." Gwen exhaled as a female masseuse worked her elbows into the nook of her shoulders. She then turned to her companion. "Thanks for everything, Mia."

"Don't mention it." Mayuree was a little distance away, enjoying a good ginger-lime rubdown from a pair of giggling young women awed by the duo's presence. "It's the least I could do for my friend."

"So." Gwen caught the unnatural formality. "I never asked why you decided to join the IIUC. You're just putting yourself in danger, you know."

"But you're here to save me, right?" Mayuree buried her head in the elevated lounge, where an aperture left the customer's nose and mouth free to breathe. Below, a pool of essential oils distilled from Wildland jasmine wafted upward, nourishing the mind.

"That goes without saying." Gwen allowed her neck to relax as the masseuse worked on her legs, starting with her rather sensitive toes. "Still, to think all of this began with an Eland Core. I wonder if I've paid it off by now, do you recall how high the auction had gotten? Five thousand?"

"Ten thousand," Mayuree remarked. "But you've done so much more for us."

Close but no Cigar, Gwen corrected her friend silently. She was starting to pick up little pieces where Mayuree's memories lapsed, not unlike herself when it came to alter-Gwen's childhood. From what Walken discerned, Mayuree was glamoured under something akin to the tier 5 Hypnotic Suggestion or the more invasive tier 6 Implant Agenda. Both spells sealed away certain aspects of the victim's ego, while the latter operated as a trigger, forcing the victim to enact a particular action when a condition was met.

"According to Irene, spells like Dominate Mind have a fatal flaw," her advisor stated after casually dismissing his encyclopaedic knowledge of Mind Magic. "The controlled target tends to draw knowledge subconsciously and without the benefit of context or subtlety. They can blurt out long-held secrets in the presence of the wrong party, or reveal knowledge of themselves otherwise kept sacred."

And so, from Gwen's subtle goading of Mayuree in recounting their good times at Fudan, she was beginning to figure out when Mayuree was and wasn't in the driving seat.

As for the dispelling of whatever potential enchantment holding her friend, she had two options. The first was to find a Mind Mage of equal power to Maymyint, who Walken anticipated was tier 6 at best. The second was for their resident Cleric, Eunae, to attempt a Greater Dispel Magic once they were away from the city.

At any rate, for now, all she could do was roll the dice and move her piece the allocated number of squares.

If there was one good that came with co-trafficking in Maymyint's deception, it was that the team got to dip their feet in the proverbial water of Yangon River, gaining access to offices and temples.

Myăma, as they now knew, was divided into the wealthy south and the ravaged north. In the south, the presence of Yangon and its Buddhist pagoda had pacified the region's dangerous demi-humans for aeons, ensuring a relative prosperous human settlement.

Up north, midway to the old royal city of Mandalay, was the abandoned city of Naypyitaw, half-built and barely populated when the Tyrant laid its claim. After that, over the next three decades, the north continued to decay, losing infrastructure even as its mining operations boomed, uncovering seam after seam of gold, gems, jade, and other precious minerals. From this cache, a portion went to the Tyrant as a tithe, while the rest was traded away to maintain the House of M's hold on Yangon, the last seat of power of the old regime.

As for the Tyrant itself, Gwen and co were shocked to find that the locals knew only of its existence as a sort of natural disaster. Even when she consulted with the older monks, their stories consisted only of mystical euphemisms, such as that of the hubris of Aung San, who tempted the Earthen Asura and its incessant greed, bring divine retribution.

When she asked about operations relating to the House of M, the monks had no idea, and the labouring NoMs, mostly illiterate, struggled to understand her inquiries. But overall, the people of Mayuree's homeland differed little to NoMs elsewhere, desiring a universal wish for shelter, food, and procreation.

"If you mean the cherished scions of Nanmadaw Me Nu." An old abbot's face grew kind when finally Gwen explained that she wanted to know more about Mayuree and Miss Maymyint. "Then they are our saviours. Many of us fled from the holy stupas and monasteries in the royal capital when the Tyrant came, and we would have starved to death were it not for the actions of the Matriarch and her children."

"So, the old leader of the nation was General Aung San, three-decades ago?"

"We do not speak of that demon." the old master sighed. "May the tempter of the Asura be returned a thousand-fold onto the eight-fold path to atone for his sins."

When she enquired further, the old master wished her well and returned to his meditation, leaving Gwen with the distinct impression that somehow, the web of truths had gotten even more complicated.

One week later, upon the seventh morning of the student's arrival, the contestants returned to the Secretariat to receive their Quest.

Seoul U had by now recovered from their earlier setback. After an impressive entrance in their charcoal uniforms, the Lee brothers dipped their heads at Fudan as they passed, snubbing the others.

Kyoto once again appeared in their traditional attires, with half the team dressed in the Miko's scarlet hakama and ivory haori, their long ponytails tied with a red ribbon. Ichiro and Yuki both bowed their heads as Fudan took their place, with the girls waving at Gwen as she passed.

Finally, besides Fudan stood their old rivals, Jiantong, who tensed as Fudan's Mages looked their way. Their Captain, however, appeared far more relaxed than his peers, particularly the anxious-looking Kurou, who averted his eyes when a certain Void Sorceress looked his way.

Upon the same dais stood their exam proctors, a team of ten Magisters and Maguses, as well as Maymyint with a group of representatives from the House of M.

"Contestants, welcome!" Magister von Schlabrendorff once again greeted the students. "I hope that in the days since your arrival, you have gotten to know the local culture a bit better and understood its people's needs and desires, their values, hopes and fears. Now, as you are well aware of our purpose, let us proceed to the competition itself!"

A cautious silence descended upon the contestants as their ears strained.

"Students, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to announce the first round of the 2004 IIUC. Your Quest comes from the House of M of Myăma, our host and sponsor. The location will be the State of Kachin, located in Northern Myăma, south of the Chinese border and north of Mandalay. In a moment, the details of your Quest will be given to you in the form of a scroll, upon which you will imprint your mana signatures as an acknowledgement of its contents."

With the details unveiled, the students began to murmur.

"Your team will use a Teleportation Circle to reach Mandalay, from where you shall assemble a party of five individuals to complete objectives in Kachin State while the home team completes quests around Mandalay in support of the away team."

"As for your objective itself, the away team will proceed toward the mining township of Hpakan, an Orange Zone, famous in all of South East Asia for its production of the highest calibre of jadeite. There, each university shall be assigned a village, namely Kamaing, La War, Nanmati and Mogaung. Your objective is to resume the production of jadeite from the region, clear the area of hostile monsters, then rally the local populace to clear the roads blocked by landslides from the monsoonal rains, and to reconnect the village with the Mandalay Militia to re-secure the region."

"During the competition, the IIUC basecamp will be located sixty kilometres Mage flight away in Hpakan with a medical facility provided by the House of M, as well as emergency Teleportation Circles for contestants wishing to quit. The total examination time for the mission is fourteen days, starting from today. CCs will be given based on your performance achieving said objectives, tallied after extensive review one week after the competition. Expect to receive your results by the end of August."

The Magister allowed the moment to sink into the contestants' heads.

"Make sure you leave a full manifest of your carryon items with the Quarter Master. Remember, offensive Magic Items, implements, weapons, scrolls, personal vehicles and classified items not crafted by yourself are forbidden. You may keep them on your person, but you may not use them. Any transgression will result in harsh penalties and even disqualification of your whole team."

Magister von Schlabrendorff took a deep breath, watched by forty hopeful faces.

"Students! We of the IIUC committee look forward to your sterling performances! Step forward to affirm your consent for the daring glories ahead, and I shall look forward to seeing you all in Hpakan!"

Gwen checked-in a list of her items after affirming her willingness to participate in the IIUC's Myăma round. As Walken had stated, the presence of death and danger on a quest like this was par for the course.

According to the waiver, the IIUC Committee would not interfere under any circumstance to rescue the students, even if they chose to leave the competition. The rationale was that in the past, certain parties had exploited the presence of a dozen Magisters and Maguses to push forward political agendas or to clear out a stubborn region, endangering students to force the committee's hand. Not wishing to dissolve their long-running IIUC, nor willing to be wielded by scheming individuals, the Brussels Committee resolved to introduce an unreasonable but arguably understandable policy of non-interference.

The exception to the rule was that in the event of a catastrophe, a team's Advisor could step in to aid or save the students with healing restoratives as well as scrolls utilised for escaping from danger, though that would disqualify the team.

Fudan's two five-person parties lacked an Enchanter-crafter, and so they carried little more than the prepared suite of defensive items, as well as a complement of antidote and healing injectors.

Across the laneway, Gwen marvelled at the stacks of hand-written talismans carried by the Japanese team which had to be each individually verified and recorded, as well as other arcane implements akin to wands.

To their left, Jiantong presented an allotment of enchanted swords, implements crafted by the Sword Mages for their use, as well as a stack of Fuda, Chinese magical amulets, crafted by a quiet, unassuming young man called Jiufan Chen. After activating her Detect Magic and having a sneak-peek next door, she noted with disquiet that these were Illusion and Earthen empowered talismans, likely for a misdirection formation.

Conversely, Seoul U presented a host of utility Magitech from sleek Message Devices to Portable Habitats to Rings and Amulets for the whole team. Even their uniforms were magically enchanted.

When finally Gwen presented her articles, the presiding Enchanter-Magus gave a start, her breathing quickening as she inspected the increasingly lavish stock of passive items. When Gwen allowed Gunther's Contingency Ring to be examined, the woman's eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed a few times.

"A Royal Asscher original?" The woman's breath caught in her throat. "From an E-Evil Eye's optic Core?"

"It's on loan from a family member." Gwen smiled at the woman, quickly withdrawing her hand. "Could you…"

"Of course." The female Magus promptly finished her inventory check. "Please keep safe, young Miss. There's not many of those left in the world. Every stone spent is one less treasure that will grace the Mageocracy with its beauty."

Afterwards, Gwen felt the band burning her ring finger. I should give it back to Gunther, she told herself, possessing no desire to lose the GDP of a small city. The pressure of such a thing was too much for a girl from the Frontier to handle.

With their items thusly declared, the students boarded the coach for the ISTC array for their transportation to Mandalay.

First was Kyoto, then Seoul U, then Jiantong and finally, four hours later, the underdog of the competition, Fudan, waving at the lumen-recorders as the Glyphs flashed silver and white, distorting the rational rules of space and time, piercing through the Astral Realm.

It was raining when the team arrived in Mandalay.

The dry months had already arrived at the lowland seaside regions of the nation, but where the Himalayan range curved through the north of Burma, its sky-high peaks blocked all access to the traversing clouds pregnant with lowland moisture, extending the wet season well into early September even as temperatures soared to a stifling thirty-six.

The great gusto the teams had summoned at the Secretariat was immediately dampened by the tepid air of Mandalay, submerging the students under swamp water.

Outside the refurbished ISTC chamber, the jungle crowding the verdant royal capital dawned green and glistening from the continued monsoonal efforts, with the vigour of the city gone entirely to the vegetation. Across the central business block where the old colonial buildings smouldered with mildew, the buildings glowered; here and there, mud was knee-deep, growing grasses higher than sugarcane. This deep in the Green Zone, the district felt abandoned even as it bustled with monks and labourers moving to and fro, some braving the rain, others hiding under roofs cross-thatched with banana leaves.

Improbably young and bald, a group of monks greeted the contestants as they arrived, emerging from the rain, drenched from head to toe in twos and threes. Behind them were children, almost all barefooted, splashing through the mud to catch a glimpse of the newly arrived Mages from "Big Town" outside the country's borders. To Gwen, they appeared as beautiful and happy children, skinny and caramel, with gleaming white teeth yet to be stained by betel-nut tea.

Once the team relocated to an assembly point, they huddled to plot their next step.

"From here, you're all alone." Walken activated some imperceptible magic to manage his impeccable hair and beard, now fraying thanks to the excess moisture. "Considering the nature of the quest ahead, your Captain Bai will explain."

"Alright, everyone." Tei took a deep breath. "On the surface; it looks like we have two tasks. The first is to send out an away team to reach our assigned village- La War - as soon as possible to assess the situation. The second is for a home team to organise a local force to begin pushing northward to meet the first team in a fortnight. I think we can safely assume that our proctors will assess our ability to get as much accomplished in two weeks as possible. Gwen, can you explain the team makeup and our projected activities?"

"Pertaining to necessary talents, I will lead the away team, consisting of me, Anita, Richard, Lulan and Mayuree," Gwen explained. "I have full confidence that in a mountainous region like Kachin state, there will be no shortage of landslides due to the monsoonal rain. Assuming this is what the examiners have planned, we are essentially engaging in search and rescue missions, combining area defence with disaster relief. Anita and Lulan are both well versed in Stone Shape and Transmute Earth, essential for maintaining the safety of our assigned settlement. Richard's ability to shift large volumes of water…"

Gwen pointed at the bucketing rain.

"… will be essential in anything that we do. Mayuree will be able to locate missing persons, serve as a relay for our Messages, and detect allies and enemies through the dense jungle. As for myself, I should be able to handle most creatures in the Orange Zone, as well as any of our competitors. If nothing else, I doubt anything can catch up with my vomit-inducing Dimension Doors."

Her teammates shared a few nervous chuckles, lacking her natural confidence. Kitty, Gwen noted, stared intently at the floor. The girl had been avoiding her as always, only sticking to Mayuree whenever the two could be alone.

As for the mission, Gwen's confidence was founded on old world headlines. Owing partly to the clarifying power of her Ioun Stone and partly due to her essence-altered powers of recall, she remembered that Kachin State had been famous for all the wrong reasons in her old world.

Kachin was the hotbed of horrors that formented the Kachin Civil War, begotten by the British when they erased the old border between Myăma and the traditional land of the Kachin-Jinpo people. For decades after the pullout of the Empire, the people of Kachin demanded independence, only to be met with brutal massacres orchestrated by the Burmese Junta. As late as 2015, she recalled that Kachin suffered from an inundation of yearly rain, exacerbated by the poorly planned mines dotting the mountains like hornet hives. Knowing the House of M's appetite for profit, it was entirely possible that "Corporate" had left the local villages to fend for themselves while the company's miners drew back into Mandalay.

According to their proctor's documents, Kachin was an Orange Zone partly because the local Demi-human tribes had long-resisted the rule of the Myăman government, and that they should beware of the complex web of alliances between each village. As for Mandalay, the old royal capital was the last outpost of true human civilisation before the young Mages stepped foot into the Wildlands.

"Thank you, Gwen," Tei continued where she left off. "Meanwhile, me, Rene, Jiro, Kitty and Eunae will be organising a supply train with the locals to leave in one week. Assuming Gwen's hypothesis of what lies in store is correct, we will be able to maximise our CCs if our supply can supplement your rescue efforts, or at least shorten the time it takes to produce visible results."

"That rain is going to be a problem." Richard raised his hand. "Lea says it's going to continue to pour like this every few hours, day and night. I can keep us dry, but it's going to waste unnecessary mana."

"Let's get changed then." Gwen pulled at her sundress, its sheer fabric already clinging like a second skin. She glared miserably at the rain, yearning for the American-made body-armour Jun had brought to Huangshan. "I guess it's going to be soggy skin-suits all the way..."

After her trip in Singapore, Gwen knew that traversing through a sub-tropical jungle wasn't going to happen without permanent protection. There were bugs- and there were bugs, then there were parasitical carnivorous plants, barbed roots, spiked fruits, flesh-eating flowers and predatory fauna.

But torrential rain was new.

In Australia, flood and fire reigned, but the precipitation wasn't ten-thousand Calibans in a chorus of "Shaaa!" for hours on end.

"I don't think flying in this weather is going to be very practical," Gwen grumbled as she walked into the pouring rain to test her gear. Immediately, her combat mesh sagged, her potion pouches drowned, and her Chinese-made water-repelling combat boots grew sodden. "I think we could swim there…"

"I feel unwell." Jiro raised his hand, his fire element reacting badly to the moisture.

"Yep, glad we're staying behind to organise the supply train." Rene shuddered as she watched the swell of water stream through the street.

Earlier, the team had taken a tour through the city to gain their bearings, taking in what they could of the old Royal Capital. Historically, it was originally constructed by King Mindon, the last pre-colonial ruler of old Myăma before a civil war incited by the British Mageocracy looted its riches. When the deposed royal household attempted to reclaim the ancient capital in 1967, the Tyrant routed their army. Then in 1973, the city was sacked anew, with the Tyrant ravaging the jadeite-encrusted Kyauk Taw Gyi Pagoda and looting the Jade Pillar.

As the ancient capital now stood, the administrative district was surrounded by a moat, while individual stupas of varying sizes acted as Shielding Stations, warding away the magical beasts and creatures that lurked in the jungle and the city's many canals. What was once a vibrant capital of a million souls now wasted away amidst an emerald sea awash with flora, with barely two hundred thousand of its inhabitants remaining; all of whom serviced the mineral and gem trade that lied at the heart of Myăma's wealth.

Whoom! A low rumble passed overhead.

"There's Seoul U." Mayuree was the first to note their mana signature.

Fudan's contestants looked up to see five Mages travelling in a wedge formation, parting the cascading rain with water-repelling cloaks, making a ghastly racket as their Captain ploughed through the deluge.

"Looks like they got crystals to burn." Richard raised a brow. "I wonder if there are CC penalties for spending more crystals than one would otherwise earn in a quest."

"There's not a problem as far as I know." Wry smiles echoed Tei's reply. "Brute force is one way to do it, though they'll be visible for kilometres, not to mention they might anger whatever's living below."

"I wonder how the others are getting to their villages," Gwen said.

"We'll find out soon. Our assigned settlements are less than ten to twenty kilometres apart. Don't forget to watch out for our Korean friends, last year they herded all their monsters into our district," Tei warned the away team. "They lost CCs, but we failed our objective."

"Gotcha, I'll keep an eye out." Gwen wondered if the Lees held fresh grudges or liked revenge served cold.

"Alright, then." Richard eyed the rain. "Stay close for now. Lea will divert the flow of water. Let's hope this rain stops before my mana drops."

"Hold up!" Something clicked in her head. "Ariel!"

"EEE!" Ariel appeared in the rain. As expected, its fish-scale fur was hydrophobic.

"Ah-ha!" she exulted, recalling that Dragon Carps swam through air and water alike.

The others formed up behind.

"Gwen, everyone, safe travels." Walken nodded at the students.

"We'll be waiting." Gwen bowed her head. "Eunae, Kitty, everyone. Take care!"

"Don't let a hair on Mia's head get damaged!" Kitty bristled. "Promise!"

"I promise!" Gwen replied, though her eyes landed on Eunae, who together with Walken, returned a subtle nod.

With Ariel leading the teardrop slipstream, the Fudan party formed into a bizarre train, blasting through the water like a slick comet.

While serving as the locomotive's engine, Gwen envisioned lashing together eight of her bloodhounds, Caliban, and a phosphorescent Ariel, thinking what fun it could be to ride a Kirin-sleigh.

Trailing behind, the rest of the party observed the urban sprawl dwindle into reclaimed nature, beyond which were five hundred kilometres of Wildland as the reindeer flew.

To the traveller's left, the Irrawaddy River roared brown and turbulent through the landscape, making up-stream travel impossible. In the distance sat the Arakan mountains, forming the border with Bangladesh, its vast catchment pouring south toward the Bay of Bengal.

The party had clocked about two hours of monotony when they spotted their first place of respite, Pan Kone, a mining-cum-fishing village. This far north, human settlements fed off the river's riches, with its NoMs panning for gold and gems cascading from the Arakan basin into the lowland.

"Pitstop," Gwen communicated through the Silent Messages provided by Mayuree's presence. When flying, the buffeting wind and streaming water ensured that oral communication was all but impossible.

As one, the team descended.

The village consisted of a few hundred huts made from thatch and wood, resting on stilts that lifted buildings some two meters from the ground to avoid the inevitable flood. In the centre of the village, on the highest point of a hill, stood the communal hut, a brick and mortar building on concrete foundations.

"Hail." Lulan raised both hands as they landed on the decking. "Can we dry ourselves here? We're international students from Fudan University on a quest to aid Kachin deal with the monsoon."

An old abbot waved back.

"Come in," he offered with nonchalance. "The guest area is readied for your arrival."

Gwen inspected the interior for signs of the others, herself grateful to be out of the downpour. "Have the others arrived before us?"

"The Japanese arrived an hour ago." The venerable priest nodded benevolently, revealing darkly stained teeth. "Though they left shortly after."

"Old Master, what's the rain like this season?" Gwen wrung the water from her hair. "How are things in Kachin? I bet it's hard to keep up an insurrection when you can't even keep your sandals dry."

"Ho, you claim to know Kachin's troubles, young Miss?" The abbot appeared startled by Gwen's audacious claim.

"I know there are dissenters up north," Gwen teased the abbot for answers. Though she had no evidence, a hypothesis had been fermenting in her mind ever since she saw the devastation at Mandalay.

"It's true, the wet season isn't good for fighting," the monk returned. "Worry not Miss. What is your quest in Kachin State?"

"To re-open the transport routes for the mines." Gwen drew a line with her fingers. "Can you tell me about the roads? How bad are they?"

"The last shipment was four days ago," the abbot said.

"How do you know so much about Kachin?" Mayuree asked innocently. "Even I don't know anything about it."

"It's not hard to imagine." Gwen coughed, masking her white lie. "I mean, mud, rain, mountains, mines and roads in a third-world country, what else could happen?"

"My country is not... whatever that means!" Mayuree pouted. "We're reclaiming our Frontier."

"Haha." she laughed, noting that some of Mayuree's habits were starting to return. If and when they met up with Eunae's party, she would have the girl step into a dispelling mandala. Her advisor had stipulated that so long as it didn't impact their quest, there should be no dramas with the proctors. When she had disputed the delay, Walken riposted with a Chinese proverb: don't hit the grass carelessly and frighten away the snake.

"Master Abbot, have many lost their lives this season?"

"Too many." The monk grew solemn. "The mines grow hungry for lives. But the Kachin's jadeite has gotten purer and more brilliant as well. Tempting those who dream of moving to the southern city."

"How about the Tyrant, old sir?" Gwen continued. "The Arakan mountains are only a day away by Flight."

At the mention of the Tyrant's proximity, Mayuree visibly flinched, her complexion instantly blanching. Gwen reached out and patted her friend's hand assuringly.

"We haven't seen Lord Naga return to these waters for a long time," he affirmed Gwen's expectations with words distinctly different to the ones used by the abbot in Yangon. "One begins to wonder if he has forgotten his Buddha-given duty to tame the river."

"Hold on," Richard cut in. "Are you saying the Tyrant is a water-based Naga? Isn't it an earthen beast?"

"Lord Naga is the land; its body is the river, its claws are the mountain's horns, the whiskers are the great trees crowning the peaks." The monk stiffened. "Being a thing of the world, who may tell what form Lord Naga favours? Take your rest, strangers from another land, I shall leave you now."

With that, the abbot bowed, then left the team to nurse their tea.

The party members regarded one another.

"Old man's got a temper." Richard scratched his head. "I suppose with a place like this. It's easier to believe the Tyrant an angry deity than a greedy lizard. That way, they can swallow the fact that half of their country is buried and gone."

"I was going to ask about Aung San, actually," Gwen remarked. "Back in Yangon, they told me that it was Aung San that initiated trades with the Tyrant. I can't help but feel there's something we're overlooking."

"General Aung San is the reason the Tyrant took the north," Mayuree repeated an oft-heard platitude Gwen had been told a thousand times in Yangon.

Aung San, Gwen mulled the name over and over.

In her old world, Aung San was the man who brought independence to Burma, alternatingly playing the Japanese and the British against each other while fermenting a socialist force for the liberation of his nation. Ironically receiving the Order of the Rising Sun from Emperor Hirohito, Aung San then betrayed his Japanese allies by leading a joint-taskforce of Communist and British forces to repel the occupation. Unfortunately, his victory drew ire from the British, the Communists and the Japanese, and so the Major General perished- after which martial law befell Burma.

In this world, "General Aung San" was a man whose struggle was futile. Informed by hindsight from her old world, she could see how the Commonwealth's Tower system would have dissolved Aung San's desire for true independence. For a nation to succeed in this world, how can they refuse Shielding Stations, Towers, ISTC Arrays, and publically funded Spellcraft schools?

To her, the geopolitics of Mia's home was the real puzzle.

Though Mayuree's House of M hailed from the old kingdom, their rule had been usurped by the British Mageocracy. Meanwhile, Aung San fought the Mageocracy, not only from the British but from the old imperials as well. Then, between the British Mageocracy pulling out in the mid-1950s and General Aung San's contact with the Tyrant in the early 1970s, Burma lost its northern cities and provinces, including the Jade Pillar, excavated by the pre-exile House of M.

The Pillar's loss is an important distinction, for if the materials were present and the host nation could subsidise the expense, the Mageocracy would have fast-tracked the installation of the Mandalay Tower. Had Burma kept the Jade Pillar, Henry Kilroy might have graced his presence in Yangon or Mandalay. Which then left her with a million-HDM question.

Had Aung San brokered a deal with the Tyrant? If so, that's a Bingo.

It could explain why citizens in Yangon, atypically a British stronghold and the jewel of the old colony, denounced Aung San and believed the Tyrant their greatest obstacle to rebuilding, and also explain why the north looked like an abandoned stepchild.

When she excitedly explained this to Walken, her advisor had told her that indeed, her hypothesis showed a political acumen that would have impressed even a senior scholar at London's Imperial College.

"But your goal here is to gain more CCs than Seoul, Kyoto, and Jiantong- so Gwen, can you focus on what's at hand? Please don't accidentally liberate an Indochinese nation while you're questing. My heart isn't as frail as Henry's, but it's not robust by any means."

"But—"

"Give it a decade or three, when you have a Tower of your own, you can fly it down to Naypyitaw and declare it a new Protectorate, but for now, keep yourself safe, and keep your hands out of someone else's internal politics."

Walken's wisdom had been enough to stifle her fancies, though when they arrived at the ruined capital of Mandalay, she couldn't help but observe that the city's disrepair was intentional. From the fact that the people here seemed utterly unfazed by the "Tyrant" flying down to raze the town with dragon fire, it was evident that an invasion was the least of their concerns.

Moreover, if she went by the cardinal rule of 'he who benefits', it was evident that the House of M reaped the highest profits out of the current situation.

But why would the House of M risk Mayuree and Gwen's prophesy? Why break the status quo? She didn't know, and for someone who liked their accounts balanced, not knowing was worse than constipation.

Then just like that, the rain stopped, the sun emerged, and humidity became an unbearable slick.

"Let's get a move on!" Richard ushered the party outside.

"Buffing up." Anita concentrated for a moment, then cast her Abjuration magic. "Crystalline Armour! Enhance Ability!"

"Right, let's make haste," Gwen affirmed the team's desire to trade speed for sight-seeing encounters.

Allowing her thoughts to slide, she lifted into the air, holding onto Mayuree, followed closely by Lulan, then Richard and Anita picking up the rear.

"Let me know when you've reached maximum velocity." Gwen made sure the others were watching before vocalising her next words. "I feel the NEED—."

"What do you need?" Lulan replied faithfully, her eyes twinkling. "I'll do anything."

"… for—" Gwen choked. "Nevermind. Let's go."

"Gwen! Slow down; look there!"

Below, glaringly visible, was a dark brown gash in the landscape.

A landslide! Gwen exalted guiltily, glad to be right but feeling downright bastardly to be happy that her foresight came true.

"I don't think this one is under our jurisdiction," Anita commented.

"Hard to say, but this IS Kachin State, and our objective is to 'complete objectives in Kachin State' and 'rally the locals'." Richard threw in his two cents. "Take a look?"

"Lowering altitude." Gwen made the call as team leader, simultaneously materialising her Invisible Familiar. "Ariel!"

As they approached, the scene of the devastation became explicit. Two dozen wooden huts among a hundred or so spread alongside a stream had been buried under a mass of earth. From every other interval, a branch or the upturned roots of an enormous Padauk or Banyan demonstrated the unstoppable force of savage nature.

When the Mages had gotten close enough, several figures stirred from the mud, and dozens more emerged from huts yet to be submerged.

"Mia, stay behind me." Gwen grew conscious of the crystalline armour surrounding her torso, making her appear decisively aggressive. "Anita, can you suppress the armour for now? I'll be fine."

Their defender performed as her leader requested.

"Hail, we're Mages from Shanghai, and we're here to help," Gwen declared with a blast from her Clarion Call. "When did this happen?"

The audience below bowed their heads, then fell onto their knees into the mud.

"Mia, what are they doing?"

"I don't know." Mayuree appeared perplexed as well.

"Looks like they're kowtowing," Richard remarked drily. "Are these the indigenous people of Chin State that we've heard about?"

"Gwen!" Mayuree suddenly stopped. "I don't think some of them are human! Mana signatures indicate some of them have Cores!"

The team tensed. Besides Richard, Lea sprung into being.

"Raise your faces!" Gwen commanded, hoping her Ioun Stone worked on Demi-humans as advertised. She could see that the villagers had been trying to dig out their neighbours, but it would appear the loss of the village hall also meant the loss of relevant tools, as well as the local shaman.

"I don't know about this." Anita readied a barrier. "We're not here to save Demi-humans."

Lulan kept a Heart Seeking Sword simmering at the edge of her lips, paralleling Anita's conjecture.

The leading figure pulled back a ragged, mud-strewn cowl to reveal a young man's face. It was human enough, Gwen acknowledged- until she saw his single-slit eyes, that and subtle scales covering his chin and neck where a human would grow a beard.

"Wow." Richard whistled. "Serpent-folk, never seen those before."

"Cannibals," Anita spat. "We read about them in the Bestiary."

"Hold your positions," Gwen snapped. "Richard, get Lea to cover me. You guys stay here. Ariel, with me. Mia, use Comprehend Language and translate for me if they don't speak the local tongue."

As her team took up positions, Gwen descended.

"What's happened?" She arrived a few inches from the mud. "Is this your village?"

"It ith," the serpent man spoke with, as expected, an occasional lisp. "The Land God is angry with us, not enough tribute, dethtroy village, many deaths. Please help us, great Mithtriss. Though I fear we have nothing to offer but prayerth for your good health."

By now the others had also removed their cowls, evidently used to ward off the water. Almost immediately, like many a scene from a disaster flick, the survivors congregated toward hope, no matter how feeble or futile. From where she hovered, it was evident that most of them were human, or human-enough, as it were, to pass unnoticed in Mandalay. Only a few, like the young man, possessed enough reptilian features to be Demi-Humans, potentially a sign of the Tyrant's Essence permeating the land.

"Gwen, we don't have time to spare." Anita's voice came through Mayuree's routed Message service, calmer now that most of the citizens appeared to be indigenous NoMs. "The rain will come soon."

"There are others, still buried." Another survivor, visibly the village's alderman, glowed with hope. He lowered his head in genuflection. "Please show mercy, Mistress."

"It's because the rain will come that we must help," Gwen said aloud. She knew it was better that they leave right now, but she had no desire to abandon these people to wallow in desperation. "Is there anyone here who can use magic?"

"None, Mistress Mage." The slit-eyed young man once again got on all fours, urging the others to do the same. "Our abbot has perished. The temple was buried."

"We should go." Anita's voice grew urgent even as the villagers despaired.

"Alright, form up! Follow my command." Gwen's commanding voice absolved any need for further discussion. "We're doing what we can! Consider this practice. Lulan, I want a sloped and cantilevered wall of earth around the village's rear from the north-east to the south-west boundary, a meter minimum to help divert the runoff toward the river. Richard and Anita- start excavating the buried huts. Drain the mud to make retaining back-fill for Lulan's wall. Lea and Mia, you're with me; we're going to look for survivors."

She landed with a plop, her boots digging ankle-deep into the squelching mud. In the next moment, her eyes blazed with emerald Essence.

"Alright everyone, back to your huts. I am going to conjure some help."

While Gwen usually utilised her Lightning element, her Hound Pack and Blood Hound spell retained the ability to bring forth the original conjuration.

When six draconic-deer hounds the size of small horses materialised, the inhabitants of the unnamed village fled back into their huts, leaving only the old man and the reptilian youth to gape at the quasi-magical beasts. When furthermore a brilliant Kirin and a strange, nauseating ophidian joined the fray, the young and old cowered on the floor, muttering prayers to Buddha.

With Mayuree's Arcane Eye and Caliban's life-sniffing as a guide, the dogs began to furiously overturn the loosened earth, parting sediments and boulders, splitting trees with their bites and dragging bodies from crushed homes and humpies.

Anita began her excavation too, uncovering the shattered portions of the village, forming piles of mud that crawled across the landscape while Lulan erected coarse iron barriers from the mineral-rich earth beneath in the design that Gwen had demanded. Aided by Richard, who diverted the squelching water and wrung the moisture from the soil, the trio made quick progress in erecting a flood barrier where the village's border met the hill's saddle.

When it became apparent the foreigners meant the villagers no harm, the surviving members reemerged to aid with the effort, moving piles of debris and dragging the bodies of the deceased away so that they could be recognised.

"Gwen, over here!" Mayuree called out suddenly, her eyes alive with excitement. "There's someone alive! We need to hurry!"

Gwen's hounds furiously went to work, tearing through the earth while Lea helped with the shifting soil until they uncovered the mud-brick foundations of a basement. Taking advantage of her liquid state, Lea squeezed into the gap between the crumbling brickwork and retrieved, after a blow from Gwen's alpha hound, two children and their mud-clad, asphyxiated mother.

"Cao!" Anita inspected the mother, having had some experience in the military. "We're too late."

The children, wild-eyed and disorientated, burst into tears at the sight of monsters dragging their mother's body.

As for Gwen, she knelt into the mud and performed her own inspection. The woman's skin was warm to the touch despite the hypothermia, from Caliban. she noted a mote of vitality remained.

With a word, she dispelled her Crystalline Mage Armour and un-clicked her combat mesh, then knelt to place two hands on the woman's chest. After three dozen compressions aided by her enhanced strength, she pulled the mother's head back and delivered two lungfuls of air. When after two repetitions the woman failed to revive, she materialised a potion injector and stabbed the woman just under her breasts.

Then, with renewed vigour, she pounded at the mother's heart, pushed with both hands for another thirty compressions, and began the rescue-breaths anew.

"What's she doing?" Richard grew as puzzled as the rest of the team.

The villagers likewise gathered to watch the strange spectacle, drawing the children away from the peculiar Mage and most importantly, her Asura monstrosities.

Ignoring hundred-odd pairs of eyes, Gwen felt for the woman's pulse again.

"SHIT!" She cursed. Anita was right, if they had been a little faster, or if she had not bothered with conserving her combat potential and conjured her Void-dogs or empowered Caliban-

Unsure what else to do and willing to try anything, she gathered a mote of Almudj's Essence on her tongue, then gave in to a moment of spontaneity. With the next compression done, she breathed her Essence, along with a life-giving breath, into the woman's lungs.

Wake up! The woman's chest inflated under Gwen's fingers. Live! Else your kids would be orphans!

"Gasp!"

The body underneath her suddenly shuddered.

"NECROMANCY?!" Anita spluttered, leaping back a safe distance.

Richard's eyes were likewise widened in disbelief, echoing that of Lulan and Mayuree's. The woman was dead, wasn't she? Anita had said so. How could Gwen bring the dead back to life by breathing into them and pounding at their chest? Was this a new form of Raise Dead?

"It's CPR." Gwen collapsed on her buttocks, but not before turning the woman on her side. Taking a deep breath, she addressed Anita's hypothesis. "She was near death, not dead. No one can bring back the dead like that. Lea, can you dry her out?"

"Tell it to the walking corpse." Anita swallowed nervously. "I don't think the others will believe this. That NoM was dead as a plank of wood. Trust me, I know. There was no breath."

Meanwhile, the woman vomited up a mouthful of mud and silt, spraying mucous here and there.

"She'll be alright, but she'll be out for a while," Gwen explained. Unlike in a movie, fever, disorientation, confusion and delirium afflicted the victim of asphyxiation. Often, there was permanent brain damage. "You there, warm her up and get her to vomit up whatever else she can."

But the villagers weren't listening.

As one, they had begun a wave of willing prostration.

"Buddha! It's she who cures the world of dukka!" The village alderman declared loudly. "All hail the incarnation of Lord Bhaiṣajyaguru!"

"…"

Gwen lifted a mud-clad hand to refute the claim. She was six-foot in a skin-tight bodysuit half-covered with mud, with only her soiled face showing, not to mention she had a full head of hair tied into a bun. What part of her looked like a saffron-clad Buddha carrying a medicine gourd, sitting on a jade lotus?

"Looks like we have a new deity on our hands." Richard laughed, happy that the villagers had become pliant, reminding himself to ask Gwen about that revival technique. "Gwen, who brings the newly dead back from the grave!"

"Please don't," Gwen groaned. "Mayuree, was that all you could find?"

Mayuree nodded, shocked by what she had just witnessed.

"Anita, Lulu, the wall?"

"It's finished." Anita bowed her head reverently.

Lulan gushed in full agreement.

"Righto." Gwen got to her feet, uncomfortable with the worshipful gazes. "We should go."

Before they left, the village alderman sent away the young man to fetch a token for the village's saviours.

"Please take this, Lord Bhaiṣajyaguru." The two prostrated. "Should the others turn against you, show them this and our kin will know that you have saved our lives in this time of need."

Gwen observed the jade pendant, meticulously carved with the image of a Buddha riding on a Naga of some sort. From what she could see, the quality of the jadeite was exquisite, for half of it glowed shallot-green while the other half had the richness of lamb's fat.

"I can't." She shook her head, pushing it away. "It's too precious."

"You must." The two prostrated once more, raising the item like an offering. "The food you have left us more than makes up for this small thing. As Buddha preaches: the karma from saving one life exceeds dedicating a seven-tier stupa."

Earlier, Gwen had also left the village a portion of her SPAM collection, some forty cans worth, together with instant ramen. Nephres' ring was large enough to stow a pallet of canned goods. After her other mishaps involving Void-hunger, Gwen promised to live by Scarlett O'Hara's creed.

"Gwen, take it." Richard was shameless.

"You saved her. You deserve it." Mayuree appraised the composite jadeite carving. "It's the villager's well-wishes you are receiving. The jade isn't that precious."

Reaching out gingerly, Gwen allowed the alderman to wrap the jade pendant around her wrist.

"Thank you." She made a note to stow it in her ring. "Take care."

After leaving the kowtowing villagers, Gwen once again resumed her place at the fore of the formation, equipped with a newly buffed crystalline armour. She had half a mind to give a little speech about how well they did, but her party had Necromancy on the brain.

She did her best to explain cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but she couldn't recall if this world had such a thing. CPR had been developed in her old world by the American Heart Association in 1956, but in a world of rejuvenation and regeneration treatments, why would Mages care for CPR? It was only her Master, who had literally and metaphorically lost a good chunk of his heart to his wife, that seemed to struggle with arrhythmia. As for the medical science passed down to the NoMs, she had no idea if somewhere across the ocean someone had gifted the life-saving technique to the masses, for no resuscitation routines had graced her first-aid classes in Blackwattle or Fudan. The last person she had performed CPR on had been Debora—

Gwen stifled a gag, suppressing the memory.

"Gwen." It was Anita who Messaged her privately. "I am glad we helped that village."

Anita had donated some of her supply as well, her calcite encrusted heart growing soft as the children thanked them and the adults wept.

"Don't mention it." Gwen redoubled Ariel's forward momentum. "Let's hope La War's doing better."

By dusk, the light grew too dim to continue travelling, for the inundation of low clouds meant a dearth of stars, preventing meaningful navigation, not to mention the forest's denizens were principally nocturnal. Though Mayuree could potentially use her Divination to steer them in the right direction, the Mages were exhausted and tired from seven hours of flight, four of which had been spent in the downpour.

Alighting on a clearing amidst a cascade of Dancing Lights, Flare, and Illumination, the students found shelter in an alcove provided by a Banyan tree's walled roots. Atop the indent that held their Portable Habitat, Gwen left a Faithful Hound, while around the place Mayuree placed Alarms and Anita drew crystalline Warding Glyphs.

"We'll leave first light, 0600," Gwen informed the others. "As for now, who can cook?"

Richard was the only one to raise his hand.

Gwen was a calamitous chef, and Mayuree had never cooked in her life. As for Anita and Lulan, both declined the opportunity to poison their teammates.

"Seriously?" Richard scratched his head. "What do you guys eat if you're adventuring alone?"

"SPAM boiled in water," Gwen proudly boasted of her resistance to toxins. "You can dunk bread rolls in the meat water…"

The team gagged, happy to let Richard work his magic.

Anita, Richard and Lulan each had a room of their own, but for Gwen's paranoia, Mayuree slept with her in the master bedroom. Thus enfolded in Gwen's thousand-threaded sheets, the Diviner passed the night restlessly, quaking when Gwen wrapped a restless leg around her diminutive companion, terrifying the girl with the unsolicited invasion.

A 0500, the party made and ate breakfast prepared by Richard, then set out once more. During the night, Gwen's faithful hound had slain at least a dozen snakes of varying sizes drawn to the thrum of faint mana where the portal to the habitat manifested. Additionally, a family of White-Leaf Macaques, primates native to the Yunnan region, had set up above the student's encampment, curious but wary of the invisible guardian.

The group set out again at 0600 as planned, taking advantage of the lull in the weather. An hour and close to eighty kilometres later, the wet caught up, cutting their speed in half. Following another three hours of near-typhoon conditions, the Fudan Party finally spotted the beginnings of the plateau they would call home for the next ten days - La War.

From above, La-War looked like any other village large enough to grace a mention on the topographic map. Sitting atop a series of hills that made up the surrounding region, its founders had taken advantage of the natural clearing formed by jutting outcrops of igneous rocks, then slashed-and-burned through the surrounding jungle to enable pebbled paths connecting the hundred-odd or so houses to an arterial roadway below the valley.

The residences on the outskirts of the village were a composite of bamboo and banana thatch, elevated on wooden stilts, while the wealthier, larger constructs consisted of corrugated iron and concrete plasterboards in green and carmine. In the centre of the village was presumably the town's hall, two storeys tall and painted a brilliant cerulean. All along the border of the township were thick rolls of brambles new and old, forming a formidable barrier against the local fauna.

Below the brown and barren hill-scape of the village itself was a cascading tier of rice fields carved into the hill, twenty-deep at its very bottom, where lapping waters met a gushing stream.

"We're students from Fudan!" Gwen declared several times before her party alighted in the square. "We're acting on behalf of your government's request for aid."

Gathered at the square, consisting of a tennis-court-sized plateau beside the hall, was the village's longyi-attired alderman, together with a group of young women adorned with patterned thanaka. As the Mages landed, the villagers prostrated.

"Please, there's no need." Gwen landed in the mud with a wet, sucking sound as the soil gave way. "No! Don't kneel! Go inside! Inside!"

The hall's interior consisted of a double-storey covered courtyard, then a converted loft where the Mages may rest if they chose to humble themselves, as well as what passed for a shrine paying homage to an unknown Buddha, besides which sat a nine-headed jadestone Naga.

"Master and Mistresses." The alderman kowtowed, ignoring Gwen's protest. "Welcome you to La War. I have readied warm meals and baths if that is what you desire."

"That would be lovely. Your name, sir?"

"Please call this one Shwe, Mistress."

"Righto, Shwe. I am Gwen. This is Richard. That's Anita, and over there is Mayuree and Lulan." Gwen decided getting to the business end of things was likely for the best. "Please tell me about the village. How big is it, how many people there are. How many work for the mines. And what's happened so far since the monsoon started."

The Mages took their seats in what looked like a meeting room. The alderman remained at attention, commanding the young men and women to bring towels and tea.

"We are a village of eight hundred and seventy-two, Mistress Gwen, including the children." The alderman appeared not to know who Mayuree was, which suited Gwen just fine. "The La War jade quarry is five kilometres from here. We are an open quarry, so the rain has not given us too much trouble. About half of our people work there. Manager Mingyi lives on top of the mine itself, overseeing the operation and defending it against poachers."

"Poachers?" Gwen raised a brow.

"Rogue miners, Mistress." The man nodded. "They have their uses during the dry season, but when they are desperate, they will try to steal raw jade stones at night. It's not so unusual to find a few that have slipped and lost their lives. During the wet season, many fall to their death; others drown in the pits."

The party grimaced.

"Any major incidents so far? Landslides or other geological incidents?"

"We were waiting for your esteemed arrival to clear several blockades formed by the rain, Mistress," the alderman affirmed her hypothesis. "That and we are harassed by rebels now and then, who flee into the mountains after stealing supplies."

"Rebels?" Richard snorted. "Working for whom?"

"For Aung San." The alderman gave Richard a peculiar glance. "They have fortifications in the Arakan mountains, west of Kachin."

"Ah." Gwen nodded. "What can you tell me about this Aung San?"

"Not much, Mistress," the man said. "The General has not been seen for many years, but occasionally, we get raiding parties who disrupt our mining and raid our village."

"What makes you think they're Aung San's forces?" Gwen asked. "The General hasn't been seen since almost thirty years ago, right?"

"Who else would attack us?" The alderman's expression appeared offended, as though Gwen was asking if Buddha truly saves. "The Masters from Yangon have assured us that they will keep Aung San in check, though the occasional party slips past the border patrols."

What patrols? Gwen exchanged a look with Richard. From Mandalay to Kachin, it was nothing but jungle.

"Mayuree, any ideas?"

Her expatriate friend shook her head. She wasn't privy to the Burmese operations of the House of M.

"Thank you, alderman." Gwen turned her attention back to the old man. "Please be at ease. We will rest for a short while, then go and inspect these collapsed roads. I have a feeling there's likely more work once we get to the mine as well."

"Of course, Mistress. Please rest well."

The alderman left the Mages in a hurry, leaving the girls behind as servants.

"Hello, what's your name?" Gwen said to one of the girls.

"…" the girl quailed.

"Ariel." Gwen conjured her secret weapon.

"Eee!" Ariel appeared with a flash, swishing its tail adorably.

"Aeeeee! Buddha protects!"

"A monster! Don't eat us!"

"Asura!"

The girls fled.

"Hahaha…" Richard burst into laughter. "Good work. I wanted some quiet, and you've managed just that."

Gwen bit her lips.

"Don't worry bud, it's not you," she assured her Kirin, who looked offended.

Meantime, the downpour continued to bucket down, drumming on the tin room with the cacophony of someone pouring a semi's load of loose gravel.

"Let's dry out." Gwen produced a magic cube for dehydrating laundry. "I might take up that bath."

"Lord Mages!" The alderman stumbled into the room, noting that only Richard sat in the middle of the converted loft. "It's terrible! We need your aid! Where are the wo- the Mistresses?"

"I'll get them." Richard cocked his head at the alderman, studying the man's panic to ensure his distress was genuine. Satisfied, he fired off a Message. "Alright, they're coming. What's wrong?"

"Something's happened to the stream!" the man blustered, spraying spittle all over Richard. "It's gone! Just gone!"

Gwen and the girls emerged after a few minutes in their magically laundered skin-suits, making the alderman avert his eyes.

"Where's it all happening?"

"Just upstream. Please do something. Hurry!"

Anita raised a finger to berate the bellicose old man, but Gwen interposed with a pat on the shoulder, calling Ariel to her side.

"Should all of us go?" Mayuree asked.

"We're going together," Gwen affirmed.

Upon arrival, it became evident that the alderman's woes were well-founded, as the quickened stream that had swiftly surged only hours prior had now dwindled until it was at half. Considering the deluge that even now flowed into the canal, it was self-evident that something had blocked the stream further up, building up potential energy somewhere out of sight.

"If this were Nantong, I would be advising we evacuate about now." Richard drew from a wealth of his experience working in construction for the past year. "My suggestion is we put up barriers and blockages to disrupt and disperse the flow."

"Agreed." Gwen flew into the air to survey the surroundings. Under the persistent downpour, the vista of the village had the likeness of a Monet masterpiece. "Let's have retaining barriers starting from the right bank, half a kilometre wide, diverting to the left. We need to spread the momentum of whatever is coming down over a large surface area. Lulu, what do you think?"

"I can try putting up those diamond-shaped wave breakers like the ones in Nantong."

"You beauty. Anita, you're reinforcing Lulan's obstructions with whatever you can dredge up. Richard, see how much of the silt you can flush out of that stream."

"What about me?" Mayuree asked.

"Stay here, let everyone know, and keep your Scry active. If you see something coming, get the hell out."

"How about you?"

"I am heading upstream with my dogs." Gwen did her best to disregard the water stream down her face and into her mouth. "If I can find out what's blocking the river, maybe a wide-area Barbanginy will reduce whatever's coming down next."

"Alright," Richard noted the efficacy of Gwen's task-arrangement. "Take care, and D-D back if there are Monsters."

"Will do," Gwen said. "Mia, stay close to Richard."

"I'll take care of her," Richard passed his cousin a subtle acknowledgement.

"Okay!" Mayuree nodded, looking decidedly nervous without Gwen nearby.

"Sir Mages, the rice fields…" The alderman was struggling under the weight of the water pouring from the heavens, drenching his conical hat.

"Old feller." Richard's stood between the alderman and the girls as they set to work, with Lea forming an umbrella screen to ward away the water. "I don't think you have time to be worrying about your fields. Not when your village could be the next thing to go. Let's get some heads together, and I'll tell you how to keep everyone safe."

This time, Gwen spared no expense in deploying her resources.

From Wikipedia and Nat-Geo documentaries, not to mention her old Geography teacher, Mr Ayres, she tried to recall what she could. There was abrasion, which pointed to damage dealt by boulders; attrition, meaning something wore out the banks; and hydraulic action, which pointed to water erosion. From the looks of the mountain stream, it was evident that some sort of collapse was inevitable as the villagers had left nature to take its course.

As her Lightning Hounds discharged when encased in water, it was up to her Void Hounds to do the job. Compared to the non-elemental variation, the slavering netherworld mouth-on-legs were far more adept at eating through obstacles, be it trees, rocks, monsters or otherwise. Furthermore, even if they were injured, she could revitalise about half their number before her vitality ran into the red.

As for her Familiars, she kept Ariel hovering above to ward off the rain while Caliban lurked, invisible but for the persistent drizzle.

After passing the village's clearing, the landscape sloped upwards. Where the water in the stream had reduced, Gwen could see the imperilled banks crumbing like waterlogged fondant, with networks of old roots exposed and torn by boulders propelled through the water. Here and there, jagged granite deposits the size of cars validated her fears.

"Chakram!"

Her attempt at slicing the boulders met with another expectation versus reality lesson of life. Void Chakram couldn't be used in heavy rain. The water consumed her paper-thin disks.

Along the way, she encountered the occasional over-ambitious mudskipper, a dozen goblin-like, fish-faced Demi-humans she couldn't identify, a giant salamander creature that fled with surprising speed, and a ten-meter boa that tried to have a go at one of her hounds. More fortuitously, the eroded river revealed a century-old snapper-turtle that attempted to ambush her, only to be dragged out of the mud by her dogs.

Naturally, whatever Caliban and or her dogs ensnared fed her vitality, restoring what she had expended. The snapper, in particular, had a nourishing essence. Her only regret was that without Percy, no Core had survived, leaving no tangible resource to be collected.

After half-an-hour of leading her dogs through the slog, she reached the source of La War's woe.

As expected, a natural levee had formed upstream, ten-meters wide and then some, created by collated trees, leaves, mud and shifting soil catching an exposed escarpment where normally the stream cascaded freely. Thankfully, the rainfall had by now grown sparse, affording Gwen enough visibility to figure out a viable solution.

But when her dogs scampered up the waterlogged plateau, they were met with a burst of magic—

"GRRRR! Yip!"

CRINK!

— followed by the distinct sound of an elementally-induced blast.

A wave of cold permeated atop the dam. One of Gwen's hounds had instantly expired.

Suddenly livid and smarting with sensory feedback, Gwen hastened her ascent, rising above the barrier with a combination of Jump and Flight.

"YOU!" she howled at the sight of a familiar face.

"YOU?!" The face of Lee Si-won, Vice Captain to Seoul U, stared back at her. "You're the source of those abominations?"

But Gwen wasn't interested in the Korean Vice Captain.

She was gazing with trembling outrage at the sight of the frigid water sloshing atop an enormous, near-overflowing bank of ice, frozen in place so as to collate into an ever-growing pool.

SO THAT's why the river dried up! She immediately recalled what Tei had told her about Seoul's favourite methodology, that winning isn't about winning, but instead having your opponent's fail. Had Seoul known about the landscape and the topography of the villages? Was that why they left so early from Mandalay, going so far as to burn HDMs to mitigate the rain?

"Caliban!"

"Ssi-bal!" Si-won swore, kicking into action without a second word. "Creeping Ice!"

But it wasn't Caliban who came on first, but Gwen's hounds, yelping and yapping as they skittered across the thinly formed ice, slavering with grey goo. Si-won's frost-laden AOE caught the first two dogs as they entered its range, freezing their paws to the water, but the remaining few skittered across the rime.

"D-Dimension Door!" Si-won reappeared some hundred-odd meters away.

Gwen was in no mood to see the culprit escape. She wanted to drag the man back to base camp, and pending on the bastard's honesty, maybe even have Richard work the prick under with a Lea special.

With a Dimension Door of her own, she and two of her dogs appeared less than a metre away, quicker than Si-won could re-orientate his bearings. A splash of tenebrous, nauseating Void-ink splattered all about them, sizzling the ground and consuming all that came into contact. Though the well-trained Acolyte immediately erected a Shield, the unexpected offensive teleport had caught him unaware, sending out a jolt of reactive mana as the defensive spells woven into the fabric activated.

"Taser!" Gwen's low level spells now possessed near-instantaneous activation. She lashed Si-won's shield several times in quick succession while her dogs bit and clawed its surface, surprised that they failed to penetrate an Evoker's shield.

"Dimension Door!" Si-won made another desperate teleportation back to base.

"Ariel! Ball Lightning!"

This time, she allowed four orbs to chase down the escaping Evoker before Teleporting in herself to once again close-in with Si-won, knowing that Seoul U's Vice Captain's best spells were all mid-range AOEs.

"Shield!" Si-won could do nothing as the deerhounds continued their hunt, covering the distance of a hundred meters in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, a spider-form Caliban, Hastened and terrible, leapt from tree to tree, aiming for any lapse in his judgement.

When he reappeared, the orbs also reached their destination, detonating with terrific force, stripping away his defences.

"Icy Eruption!" Si-won pointed a finger some distance away.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen exchanged spells with her opponent, though it seemed she wasn't the target of Si-won's newest assault.

Her bolt caught the Mage in the chest, sending the man staggering backwards. To her wide-eyed surprise, he remained standing.

THUMP! CRACK!

The ice dam erupted with a terrific noise as a tectonic volume of half-congealed water began to shift.

"!"

Her Divination Sigil pinged.

The feeling of foreshadowing she had felt since seeing the icy levee erupted. She realised with growing dread what Si-won had in store for her friends below. "Caliban, keep him occupied!"

She Dimension Doored away from the target of her ire to inspect the damage afflicting the debris-strewn blockade. When she arrived above the Korean-made beaver dam, she could see that the ice magic holding it in place had been withdrawn and that its structural integrity was disintegrating.

"Fuck!" she called Ariel to her side. If that morass of ice and mud picked up momentum, it would take out half the fucking village.

But what could she do? She wasn't a Water Mage, and so she couldn't divert the stream. She wasn't an Earthen Mage, and so she couldn't erect a barrier to hold the dam. At a time like this, an artillery-Mage like herself was helpless. Against the relentless physics of the natural world, even Barbanginy was no more effective than a low-tier Bolt.

"Shaaa!" Caliban's cry came across her Empathic Link. It and the dogs had injured their prey, but then Si-won had disappeared; likely propelled by some defensive item to safety. She commanded her creatures to return, then made a quick calculation for the trip back to La War.

She could at best manage two-hundred meters per Dimension Door, and she had at least five kilometres through dense woodland to cover before she could message Mayuree. If she averaged five Dimension Doors per kilometre to make the exhaustive distance, it meant twenty-five continuous casts before she was in range.

CrinK-CRACK!

The dam gave in to its momentum.

The time for doubt was over.

The Void sorceress vanished in a flash of thunder and lightning.

By the twentieth Dimension Door, Gwen's vision started to see stars.

A forceful circulation of Almudj's Essence brought her rebellious innards into obedience; then she flew for the next minute before activating another five instances of her short-range teleportation.

"Mayuree!" her voice roared across the Diviner's projected network. "There's a mudslide incoming! You've got two to three minutes at best!"

"Did you blow the blockage?" Richard's voice came through.

"My Divination is going off like crazy!" Mayuree informed her. "Did you do something?"

"Not me, it's Seoul U, they're trying to rat-fuck us!" Her tone communicated both her anger and her urgency. "Get barriers up; we need to divert this thing. Sacrifice a portion of the village if you have to, get everyone to move up to the central hall!"

"Alright, you heard her," Richard commanded the others. "Shwe, get a move on! Lulan, Anita, you're with me. Mayuree, make sure everyone in the village knows!"

"Right away!"

Meanwhile, Gwen lifted into the air, thankful that the rain had slowed to a thankful drizzle. From her topographic vantage, she could see the movement of the debris bearing down on them merely by tracking the trees being pulled into the undertow as the massive morass of sediments roved across the old riverbed. Whatever was coming was picking up speed and momentum with all the impatience afforded by gravity, taking every advantage of the shallow topsoil.

"Scratch that, you've got three minutes!"

"Get back here!" Richard informed her. "I need your Barbanginy."

Another half-dozen Dimension Doors later, she reappeared pale and disorientated, a hundred meters atop the now chaotic village, watching its denizens milling about like headless chooks.

Lulan had constructed two dozen diamond-shaped breakers at the village's eastern border, where the river flowed downhill through the rice fields. In the worst-case scenario, half of the structures should survive the incoming mudslide, though the rice field below looked to be the ultimate victim of Seoul U's ploy. As much as Gwen loathed Si-won, it seemed mass murder wasn't his first intention, though the avoidance of collateral damage certainly wasn't weighing on Seoul's morality scale.

"What's she doing?" Gwen asked as Richard approached, his complexion flushed from exertion.

Behind him, Anita was excavating something at the eastern border, widening a gap in the earth.

"Lea says there's an underground cavern below the eastern edge," her cousin explained. "I want you to collapse the top for us so that when the flood arrives, it'll go into the crevasse."

"Is that safe?" Gwen baulked at the possibility of an even bigger landslide as a result of tens of thousands of tons of water and mud gushing into the hill's midst.

"At worst, this half of the village will sink." Richard pointed from the first hut to the tiered rice fields. "Careless hydro farming has hollowed out the limestone bedrock; we should explain to the aldermen that it was going to happen sooner or later."

"Bloody hell," Gwen spat. Reconstruction wasn't a responsibility with which a team stationed for ten days could be or should be saddled. "Those bastards..."

"Don't lose your cool." Richard patted her on the head. "I would have recommended the same. If we too had a geographical advantage, it will take a fool not to make use of it. We'll lose a portion of the village, but the people are safe, and rebuilding isn't impossible."

Gwen forcibly rescinded the impulse pressing against the inside of her skull.

"Hmm, it's close," Richard remarked as the puddles began to ripple chaotically.

Indeed, the land beneath their feet was humming with energy now, sending the villagers into a blind panic. Were it not for Mayuree's village-wide instruction to flee to the hall; the likelier outcome would have been a hundred or more rubberneckers staring at the riverbed, scratching their heads and wondering why the huts were trembling.

"INCOMING!" Lulan leapt from one of her recently finished diamond-barriers to take a better gander. "Mao! It's huge!"

"I am done!" Anita likewise flew into the air; her Mage Armour covered with silt and mud. "I've widened the chasm. Gwen, do your worst!"

"Wait, see how Lulu's barriers do," Richard informed Lea to be ready to redirect the incoming tide. "If—"

CRASH!

The wall of mud, boulders, branches and uprooted Banyans struck the mounts of earth strengthened by Lulan's iron with a tectonic force. Under the mass of such unfathomable pressure, her diamond-shaped barriers folded like origami, eliciting a gasp of dismay from the wide-eyed Sword Mage.

"Well, shit." Richard, who had seen the Nantong Engineers work their magic, now realised there was far more to engineering than met the eye. "Gwen!"

The Void sorceress focused her latent energies, tapping all available mana from her Gate of Lightning, pumping pure power through her conduits.

"Ariel!" she commanded her Kirin, then charged it with as much Essence as she could humanly muster without popping a cranial artery.

In the next instant, the mudflow cleared half of Lulan's barriers, then bore down on the village like a dark tsunami, staggering the very hill upon which La War made its home.

Lulan blinked beside Gwen, ready to take her friend to safety should the need arise. Anita lifted herself upward so that she was out of reach of the mud-flow below. Richard meanwhile, poured his mana into Lea, emptying a pressurised deluge of streaming white-water into the crevasse Anita had made earlier.

"Thundering Shatter!" Gwen invoked another unique spell gifted to her by Walken. An invocation designed for Air Mages but adapted by the Magister for use with the Lightning element.

BOOM!

Combined with the power of her Almudj's Essence, the shattering force of the fulminating spell made the earth beneath them jump, shaking plates and clattering chopsticks, freeing spades from anchored racks.

There was a brief lull in the noise as their ears rung with tinnitus, then an enormous gash opened across the village's eastern escarpment, followed by thunderous rumbling as the entirety of La War's eastern boundary began to split and part from its granite foundations.

From above, a cascade of brown sludge, having consumed Lulan's barriers, raced over the hill, funnelling into the river bed, quickening the collapse of the surface, engendering a crashing waterfall down through the cavern below.

Gwen and the party retreated through the air, grim-faced and tired as dogs as the low rumble of falling earth continued unabated for several minutes, filling the gorge below with debris while up top, the overflow decimated the prized rice fields the village had tendered for decades.

The villagers, having born witness to the destruction of their home, had not expected the hill itself to give way, taking with it their tiered and tiled livelihood. As the first few minutes of stunned silence passed, they burst into tears, fell to their knees, and began to weep uncontrollably.

Their summer harvest was gone!

For the simple folk of the mountain: food security ruled over all. As labourers and farmers, they cared not for international competitions, dragons, nor the pride of national institutions of study. With the rice fields intact, they would survive and maybe even thrive. With it gone, they would starve.

"O, Lord Buddha have mercy… have mercy!" The alderman led the village in spontaneous prayer. It was all good and well that they had survived, but what about the winter to come? There wasn't enough time left to plant a new batch!

As for the party from Fudan, the Mages took the lull in the action to recover some of their mana.

Below, the landslide had gone on its merry way, diverted by Richard's quick thinking, gone to plague whoever was downstream, ripping through Kachin's sloped valleys with renewed vigour.

"Is it over?" Gwen swallowed, happy at least that there wasn't choking dust thanks to the sudden atmosphere.

"It's over." Richard gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "Fuck me, that almost had us dead and buried."

"Gwennie!" Lulan hugged her arm, trembling uncontrollably. For a second there, she'd imagined herself jumping at the mud, cleaving it apart with her sword. That would have been very foolish, and short-lived attempt at being useful.

"Cao!" Anita was covered from head to toe with cold sweat, drenching her skin-suit. "Mao's tomb, my whole body hurts, and I am not even injured."

"Is everyone alright?" Mayuree rejoined the party. "The villagers are accounted for, but…"

"If everyone's alive, that's good enough for now," Gwen answered pragmatically, sensing a new ire rise in her chest. "Let's settle things with the village; then we'll discuss Seoul U."

After almost an hour wasted assuring the alderman that help would arrive in ten days in the form of food, supplies and Mages, the villager's worst fears were laid to rest. Seizing the opportunity, Gwen then willed a mote of Essence into her being and pacified the crowd by stating that the great sacrifice of rice had now placated the mountain spirits.

To further hearten the peasants that they would be alright, Gwen deposited a hundred HDMs into an urn which she then gifted to the alderman for his quick thinking in saving the village, instantly bringing the labourers back to their side and absolving the future drama that would have followed had the mine's workers turned against the students. With funding, she explained, they could buy plants and equipment, not to mention rice for the winter and new rice for planting in spring. As Buddha wills, she told them, their misfortune shall herald a better tomorrow.

"What now?" Anita brooded darkly, glancing toward the north. By the time she and Lulan had reinforced the new landscape as best as they could, it was already night. "Gwen, we can't just let this go."

"Of course not." Gwen sat cross-legged in a singlet and running shorts, fanning her legs with a scented banana leaf. "First thing tomorrow I am going to head toward Mogaung and contact the Kyoto team. I'll convince them that working together against Seoul will be for the benefit of the locals, as well as each of us. For all we know, Seoul may have made a move against them as well."

"What about Jiantong?"

"Jiantong is an unknown. If I can get Kyoto on our side, Jiantong can either play ball or get rat-fucked by Seoul. Neither of their captains seems the trustworthy kind."

"Ha!" Lulan puffed. "Oh, I shouldn't laugh."

"Laugh! Laugh all you want. We'll have the last laugh!" Gwen growled. "I still can't believe we almost lost the bloody village. Imagine that, our IIUC could have been over just like that."

"You have no idea," Richard butted in with a horrifying hypothesis. "If I were Sung Lee, I wouldn't be unleashing the mudslide in broad daylight."

"…" The rest party sat with their mouths open, unable to fathom such brazen ruthlessness.

"Those bangzi arseholes!" Anita made her opinion known.

"Pretty sure it's just the Lees," Gwen muttered. Indeed, the Machiavellian accomplishments of Korea's Chaebol were legendary in her old world. For a world of magic and monsters, where those with power and influence ruled unconstrained by the rule of Law, she could only imagine what little regard the princelings possessed for the lives of several hundred third-world villagers.

"Want me to come with?" Richard stretched, lying down so that his head rested on her thigh comfortably. He met her eyes, appeasing some of her anger. "If Jiro was here, he could probably build some rapport for you with their Kotodama guy."

"Ichiro?"

"That's the one." Richard closed his eyes to rest. "We shouldn't remain only on defence though. Maybe a little offensive of our own? Slaughtering each other's villagers will likely fail the quest outright. I think Seoul was trying to instigate a little 'accident', something like unforeseen collateral damage. Which means we could likewise prevent their progress, so long as the villagers are safe. Didn't you say Ariel could speak to Wildland beasts?"

"They sort of pantomime while I guess the content, its charades all the way," Gwen confessed.

"Remember that horde of monkeys we saw? The one waving at us and throwing fruit?"

"Richard, that wasn't fruit-"

"Well, their diet must be high in fruit-fibre. I reckon you have something they'd want."

"Such as?"

Richard grinned. "Assuming these are Leaf-Macaques, they won't be able to resist a good bottle of booze."

"Ah…" Gwen realised what Richard was getting at. If she could utilise the Milu, why not some other local fauna? "That's evil."

"Good people get cheated, just as good horses get ridden," Richard appropriated a well-known Confucian proverb. "Seoul can do as they will, but I'd be shocked if they lack complete disregard for their village. Why don't you see what you and Ariel can round up?"

"Sounds like I'll need navigation and detection then, Mia, can you come with?" Gwen asked, feeling safer if she could keep an eye on Mayuree.

"Sure!" Mayuree pipped up. Following Richard's lead, she then laid her head on Gwen's opposite thigh. "Mmmm, comfy!"

Lulan balled her fists, her breath quickening.

Anita stifled a laugh, "Let's rest up."

The party had chosen to sleep in the converted loft of the town's central hall. If they happened to be inside the Habitat and if another incident were to occur, it was unlikely any of them would notice until it was too late.

For further insurance, Gwen had her Lightning Hounds on patrol, Ariel guarding up top, and the sleepless Caliban slithering below. Concurrently, Richard had Lea patrolling the stream, while Mayuree set up Alarm beacons at distanced intervals.

Richard was the first to fall sleep, perfectly happy with his Gwen pillow, smirking at Lulan's crestfallen expression.

Fudan's Vice Captain rolled her eyes, then resigned herself to a night of meaningful meditation, restoring her spent Essence in anticipation of tomorrow.

Early the next morning, Gwen took a cold and soapy shower at the hall's back to enliven herself, then dried off and slipped back into the taut skin-suit. Though the rain had ceased, the heavy clouds hovering here and there suggested it could turn within the hour.

"Mia, ready?"

Her partner for the day likewise dressed, though the quasi-magical suit fitting Mayuree had been appended with a suite of protective items from rings to amulets to bracelets.

While Richard, Lulan and Anita worked to stabilise the village's exterior and clear the road to the mine, she and Mayuree had several stops to make. The first was Mogaung, where Kyoto should have set up camp, followed by a heavily forested region where the party had spotted legions of quasi-magical monkeys yesterday. After the fact, she would loop through the south and make for the first of the villages, Kamaing, to suss Jiantong's willingness for cooperation.

With Mayuree in tow, Gwen blasted through the air at full-tilt, leaving a trail of dissipating Lightning as she raced through the mountain, threading through the gorges, shattering the peace.

Half a kilometre from the Mogaung, Gwen halted in the air.

There was a giant in the village.

At first, she had thought Kyoto had brought a bloody Golem with them, but even for construction Golems, the damned thing was far too heavy. That and it lacked signs of mechatronic artifice. The automaton appeared more like a playdoh toy, a sort of brown, rotund Michelin man.

"Ichiro! Yuki! It's Gwen Song from Fudan; I request parley!"

Her projected voice echoed across the valley.

It took a minute for the Kyoto Mages to respond. When they did, it was in the form of a ponderous giant moving toward her, stomping through the jungle, parting trees with its clumsy hands. From above, the facade of the Japanese goliath almost looked cute, with a blank slate for a face, and two sunken dots for eyes.

"Gwen-san!" Yuki appeared at the head of the doll in the literal sense, lifted from its earthen scalp.

"Yuki-san, you're driving that thing?" Gwen spluttered. "That's cool bananas."

"Haha, it's nothing, Gwen-san. You're too modest." Yuki bowed, as did the giant, slowly. "What do you think? My Kami's name is Dororo-kun. He's an Earthen Spirit, isn't he cute?"

"Your Spirit is a three-storey mud-man?" Gwen grew doubly impressed. "Where do you stash him?"

Yuki giggled. "No, Gwen-san, this is a collection of all the local Kami who agreed to help!"

"Right." Gwen gave her a thumbs up.

"It's true." Mayuree baulked, running a Detect Magic over the creature. "Gwen, that thing is full of Spirits! They're tiny, but there are thousands of them!"

"Mayuree-san, welcome." Yuki bowed again. "Please follow me. You may rest on Dororo-kun if you wish."

Dororo lifted a giant stump of a limb, upon which Gwen and Mayuree gingerly alighted on the giant's head.

"Dororo's is... alive!" Gwen placed a hand on the creature's exterior, where an elegant bed of turf had grown. "Wow."

"You are too kind, Gwen-san." Yuki's attention wandered, searching for Ariel. Gwen obliged by having the Kirin materialise inches away from the Japanese Miko, eliciting an excited squeal. "Ariel-sama! I am happy you are well!"

From the village below came the sound of cheering, which to Gwen was jarring, especially considering the lukewarm reception they had received themselves and the fact that Imperial Japan's past atrocities had burned so vividly in the minds of those living in Yangon.

When they alighted from the giant, Gwen finally grasped just how massive Dororo-kun truly was. It was as though a townhouse was moving through the landscape, yet where it's bridge-breamed sized feet landed, the ground did not deform. Instead, every step seems to invoke spurts of natural growth, germinating grass and mushrooms.

Awaiting for them below was three more of Yuki's religiously attired compatriots and Ichiro.

"Gwen-san." Ichiro went through the motions. "Ariel-sama."

"Eee!"

"Of course, Ariel-sama." The Mages produced crystals for Ariel, making Gwen decidedly embarrassed, like a mother whose child had been caught begging for lollies. Beside them, Ariel's HDM treats caused the NoMs to gape with jealousy.

"Masahiro-san, Yamato-san, Hiroki-san, well met." Gwen nodded. "Ichiro-san, its good to see you again as well. I am here today to talk to you about Seoul U."

"Ah." Ichiro passed a glance back and forth with Yuki. "Did you manage to stop their man-made landslide?"

"You knew?" Gwen raised a brow.

"Why didn't you stop them!" Mayuree reflexively accused their opponents.

"Mia, shush," Gwen chided her Diviner. "Why would Kyoto stop Seoul's ploy against us? It's not like they owe us anything."

"I was sure you would figure something out, Gwen-san." Ichiro was starting to remind Gwen of Walken in some ways. Maybe it was their aura or that semi-rigid smile that they both wore. Richard had said that Ichiro was the brain of the operation and he should be the one she should win over.

"We did, and everyone's safe," Gwen affirmed the man's mocking confidence. "How about your side?"

"Dororo-kun took care of it." Yuki nodded toward her conjured Familiar, assuming it could be regarded as such. "The spirits forewarned us, and we were able to chase off their Captain before he could collapse the horn of the mountain."

Gwen looked up to see that Kyoto's village was sheltered under an igneous protrusion, likely a large slab of granite, the sort that was prone to having segments flake off in the event of seismic activity. For a well-trained Magma Mage, it wasn't impossible to manifest a controlled, but malicious catastrophe.

Now that dozens of villagers had emerged to ogle the friendly Ariel, Gwen couldn't help but notice that the number of Demi-humans far exceeded La War, which had been entirely human but for a few with the occasional hint of reptile. Here, at least half of the villagers showed some sign of adaptation to the mana and essence-rich environment.

"The Spirits are abundant where the ley-lines meet." Yuki noticed her wandering eyes. "We do not mind. Transgenesis is common in Kyoto. The old Capital is a cosmopolitan city, unlike Tokyo, or your Shanghai."

"I see." Gwen could only guess at what "transgenesis" meant. Instead, she moved to push forward her case for cooperation. "Yuki-san, Ichiro-san, I would like to propose a temporary alliance between the two of our academies against Seoul University, are you willing to hear me out?"

"Had we not offered back in Yangoon?" Ichiro answered in Yuki's place. "Kyoto will not lose to anyone, but we do not like the methods used by the citizens of our old colony."

Sung Lee might murder you for that comment, Gwen though, masking her immediate dismay. "Good. I am sure that you're all aware that our objective is less mutual sabotage, and more so to do with the delivery of supplies to the villages, the securing of the local district, and the re-opening of the mines. There's that, and the welfare of the local populace."

"Agreed." Ichiro studied Gwen's face. "That is also how we like to do things."

"Shall we agree then to a non-aggression defence pact? I shall speak to Jiantong as well, although I don't believe they will be very pliable."

"Gwen-san," Ichiro halted her proposal.

"Ichiro-san?"

"What makes you think we may not ask you to remain a guest here?" Ichiro said suddenly. "Wouldn't that assure our victory?"

"Ichiro-kun!" Yuki snapped at her Vice Captain. "Ariel-sama will not allow such a thing!"

Mayuree sidled closer to Gwen.

"You could try." Gwen smirked, squaring her composure while she bluffed. "On the other hand, Caliban's out and about, hungry as always. It would be a shame if a terrible misunderstanding occurred. In my haste to escape, it could get nasty."

"I jest." Ichiro nodded agreeably, satisfied with her answer. "For Yuki-sama's sake, we will trust you, for liars and those with evil hearts are anathema to a celestial Kami."

"Sure." Gwen met the man's gaze head-on. "Once our villages are safe, and our routes clear, we can settle matters amongst ourselves. Who has done more for their hamlet, improved the local conditions and produced the most jadeite- Let's have a match exactly as the Chief Proctor intended."

That Ichiro alone accompanied Gwen while Yuki and the others stayed behind hinted to her that perhaps, Dororo-kun's maintenance wasn't so easily sustainable. Juxtaposing the Imperial Metric System, Kyoto's native sorcery was an eye-opening integration of Western spellcraft into a system of magic that operated on an entirely different resource - in this case, Kami, or the Spirits of the land.

When she questioned Ichiro on the matter, the lanky young man carefully volunteered that in Kyoto, the practice of Onmyōdō, the Path of Yin and Yang, had ruled the Japanese psyche for aeons. Rather than separating from the natural world, Mikos, Onmyoji, and the Yamabushi, esoteric ascetics of the Ya-o-Yorozu no Dō, the way of eight million gods, chose to live among their Demi-human kin. Though initially a contentious divide that sowed tensions between Kyoto and Tokyo, the rise of the Grey Faction in the Mageocracy eventually saw Kyoto's philosophy as an exemplar of peaceful co-existence.

"I would love to visit one day." Gwen tried to imagine a city full of crow-men and cat-girls, with the latter proving to be a sure hit with a particular demographic of visitors.

"And you are welcome to, Gwen-san," Ichiro smoothly answered. "We shall be expecting you. In spring, the Sakura of Gion is in full bloom, while the mermaids sing and strum the shamisen; held aloft by lanterns in a floating world."

"Wow..." Mayuree cooed. "How wonderful."

Dreaming of a mystic Kyoto, Gwen and her party moved toward their next objective, what Ichiro termed "Sarugami Hill" - the domain of the monkey king.

"Gwen-san." Ichiro's tone was cautiously optimistic. "In Nagano, the Saru-Kami has its domain in Jogokudani. In my experience, they are proud, chaotic and unruly. How do you hope to tame them and bend them to your cause?"

"I have Ariel." Gwen patted her pseudo-Kirin, eliciting a purr. "I've got plenty of food in my ring, as well as a cache of special sauce."

"Special… sauce?" Ichiro tasted the words, hoping the synaesthesia would provide a clue.

"You'll see."

The trio took almost an hour before Mayuree indicated that she could sense a dense clump of creatures somewhere to their south. As the rain waned, Gwen recognised the landscape for the one which they had passed along the way.

"Ariel, go and parley." Gwen graced her Familiar with a generous dose of Essence, eliciting a curious glance from the Shugenja. "Bring me their leader."

"The Saru-Kami are more willful than you think," Ichiro warned her. "Will Ariel-sama be safe?"

"Sure." Gwen nodded. At worst, a burst of Dragon-fear should bring the monkeys to order, or scatter them.

Several minutes later, a great hoot went up from the hills, followed by the swarming of what must be ten-thousand bodies roving across the treetops. When Ariel reported that all was well, Gwen led Ichiro and Mayuree into the midst of a horde of macaques hanging from every branch of every tree.

"EEEE!"

"Eek eek, ook!"

"EE, EE?"

"Ook! Hoo hoo, Eek!"

"EE, EE?"

"Incredible!" Ichiro was genuinely impressed. "You can understand the language of the wild Kami?"

Gwen lowered her eyes.

"No need for modesty. You are truly blessed, Gwen-san."

Jesus, she cringed. How could she confess to him now that all she heard were monkey noises? That and Ariel only responded via vague sentiments?

"Ook! Ook! EEEK!"

Suddenly, the whole forest burst into clamour, forcing Ichiro and Mayuree to cover their ears.

An enormous macaque descended from a tree, almost as tall as Gwen, with golden fur, dark, intelligent eyes and most saliently, a glaringly red ass.

"Ook! Ook! EEK!" it began to speak.

"What's happening now, Gwen-san?"

"I don't know! I don't understand a word they just said!" Gwen yelled back, her face flushed as a pippin. "Ariel understands, but I can't comprehend complex thoughts."

Ichiro appeared betrayed.

Sighing, he formed a strange Sigil with his hands and fingers.

"O Kami of the forest, heed the call of this humble servant. Allow your wisdom to correct our imperfect speech."

A bright spark manifested where the Yamabushi stood, growing more solid until it took on the form of a mud-monkey.

"Ook? Ee-eek? Oo? Hoo…"

Something passed between the monkey statue and the "Sarugami".

"It says that a Mage killed its mate," Ichiro translated. "Er... ninth mate."

"Macaques can be polygamous?" Gwen spluttered. "And he has a harem?"

"The Boss is the Matriarch of the family…"

"Oh." Gwen bowed her head toward the regal Matriarch. That the monkeys had a female monarch was pleasing to know. "What do they think of Ariel's proposal? Are they willing to harass Nanmati village in exchange for my reward?"

"The special sauce?" Ichiro waited to see what Gwen would produce. "She would like to taste it first."

"Very well." Gwen stepped forward.

She willed into being a bottle of Maotai, then unstopped the seal with a flourish, suddenly filling the space with a delicious scent of fermented sorghum.

"OOK!" The Matriarch performed a backflip. The rest of the horde salivated.

Richard was right. In the Bestiary, it stated that Wildland macaques were famous for brewing "Monkey Wine" from quasi-magical fruits and that their immense strength and intelligence were all in part associated with these quasi-alchemical concoctions. As such, the older the monkey, the more appreciation they had for good liquor.

But she wasn't done yet.

Congealing a drop of Almudj's emerald Essence on her fingertip, she allowed it to drip into the bottle, infusing the crystal liquid with a viridescent magnificence.

"That's…" Ichiro's composure melted in the face of unexpected divinity.

"OOK! OOK!"

Taking Gwen's hand in its pink, hairless fingers, the "Boss" took a hearty swig from the bottle.

"Ook! Ook! Ook!" it howled, sending out a great cacophony.

"Five bottles," Ichiro translated, calming himself. It was impossible that the girl was a land-god. She did not study the Dō. An Ōkami would never possess a stranger.

After half-an-hour of "Ooks" and "EEK!", Gwen traded two hundred-cans of SPAM and three bottles of Essence-infused Maotai for the Sarugami's support.

According to the Matriarch, her man had curiously ventured too close to some Mages when without warning, one of them used air to crush her lover against a tree, then left without even eating the poor bugger, a greater sin than the first.

"Ook! Ook! Eek-Ook!"

"Are we good?" Gwen asked Ichiro after explaining who the likely culprit was.

"They agree," Ichiro nodded. "She says to show them what to do."

"Show them what to do?" Gwen scratched her head, mimicked by a hundred macaques. Having never harassed a rural village in either life, she had thought the monkeys the mercenary experts. "Tell them when and where we'll meet. I'll figure something out."

The allied party's next stop was Kamaing, Jiantong's domain.

Kamaing, like La War, was a saddle village with a deep gorge that fed on the estuaries running downhill from the Arakan basin into the Irrawaddy river. At its furthermost edge, it housed the Monastery Of Mahawithudayama, a sizeable temple of four hundred monks sitting adjacent to a village of almost a thousand souls, making it the most populated of the four.

As they flew into range, what was disconcerting was that a massive landslide had visibly carved through the lowland. Though the debris had spared the town itself, it was self-evident that the village's access to the southern highway and the estuaries connecting it to the main river had been cut off.

"To think Seoul had even planned for this!" Ichiro sucked in a breath of cold air. "I am both disgusted and impressed."

Fuck me, that's on us, Gwen perspired, wiggling a brow at Mayuree in case the Diviner's honesty got the best of her. If one followed the path of the mudslide, she could bet it led straight back to La War. Topographically, each of the university's assigned villages sat within the region's rolling hills, with La War and Kamaing on one end, and Nanmati and Mogaung on the other. Together, the four areas formed a sort of oblong circuit. Mogaung had the highest overall elevation, followed by Seoul's Nanmati, then La War and finally, occupying the fertile lowland was Jiantong's Kamaing.

"Halt!" Ichiro stopped the party from advancing about five hundred meters out. "There's something here. Diviner, what can you see?"

Mayuree had sensed something as well, though her premonition operated on unease and danger rather than wisdom.

"One second." She slowed to a standstill. "Detect Magic! Scry!"

A few moments later, the Diviner turned to her party with an apologetic expression.

"I can't see anything," she lamented. "There's a barrier set up, and there's Illusion Magic all over the place."

"Must be their Vice Captain, that or the Fuda user," Ichiro affirmed Mayuree's findings.

"Why not both?" Gwen shrugged. She took a deep breath, then activated Clarion Call. "Jiantong, this is Fudan and Kyoto. We are at the edge of your boundary! We demand parley!"

A moment later, an illusory projection of none other than Kurou appeared.

"Well, bugger. How awkward." Gwen blinked at the image of the visibly gloating Kurou.

"Hello, Song Shimei," the horse-faced young man neighed. "Whatever your proposal, allow me to say Cao-Ni-Ma. We will not be entertaining your hare-brained schemes, not until you Fudan fools beg for forgiveness. We know that landslide came from La War, and even now, Ying shixiong and my allies from Emei are taking care of your deserter from Huashan—"

"SHIT!" Gwen grabbed Mayuree by the arm, revving up a Dimension Door. "Ichiro! We're going back to La War! Catch up if and when you can!"

Klang!

Krung!

KUNG!

"Hei-ya!"

Lulan contorted her spine so steeply as to form a perfect U, narrowly avoiding the pair of swords just grazing her hair.

"Plum-flower Strike!" Vicki's sword reversed course mid-swing, slicing downward without warning, scraping across her metallic flesh, parting Lulan's skin-suit.

"Five-Petal Gale!" Below, as though a blooming white-yellow plum flower, five illusory swords caught Lulan's legs, scoring hits across her boots, her calves and her thighs.

"Sweep!" Lulan desperately attempted to protect her upper torso from the girls, parrying one blow with Anita's crystalline Mage Armour while battering away Vicki's swing with her iron-clad arm. "Misty Step!"

"Blossom Burst!" The girls were relentless, reappearing a second behind Lulan as she sought to lead the fight away from Richard.

Not too far from where the girls fought, Richard stood in front of a collapsed Anita, already pale-faced and staggered from a sword blow that had dealt no visible wound but had dropped her like a rock.

"We should finish this quickly." Ying Xiang stood with both hands open, like a man hawking wares at a market. Behind the Sword Mage, twin swords hovered in the air as though feathers tangled in a current, behaving as the wind behaves. "Care to make this easy?"

"Sorry mate, I don't think so," Richard remained entirely relaxed. "Got to give you Clanners credit though. That was a slick hit."

"You flatter me." The Captain of Jiantong inclined his head. "I dare say she would have returned to Shanghai in a burst of Conjuration were it not for your water ghost. May I commend you for deflecting a blow from my Flowing Snowdrift Style."

"Commend away." Richard glanced at the empty sky. "Fair warning though. Gwen should be back soon."

"As you will. Silk-cutting Sword!"

The lengthier of the twin swords flew through the air with a melodious whisper, making for Richard's throat.

"Lea! Water Shield!"

The Water Mage's command activated simultaneously. Around Ying, a water prison began to manifest, quickly enclosing the Captain while around Richard, a Water Shield parried the sword indirectly, wary of its collated mystical energy, misdirecting the blow without directly confronting its momentum.

"Hmmph!" Ying Xiang grunted, sensing his attacks being neutralised. Taking the crafty Water Mage would be far more complicated than the Mineral Abjurer, who had made the mistake of taking a direct blow, deceived by the strike's illusory gentleness. "Cloud Ascending Step!"

With a stomp, Ying teleported some ten meters into the air, eluding Lea's Water Prison.

"Rain of Blades!"

The second implement, his heart-sword, split into two dozen sword-spears before descending upon Richard and Anita.

"Cresting Wave!"

Richard saw no need to move. Before the swords could hit, a breaking crest of water, manifesting as a fantastical fountain, broke overhead, diverting the swords so that they penetrated blade to the hilt into the soil, missing their targets. In the distance, Richard noted that Lulan wasn't faring well against the Emei sisters at all. Despite his bluff, he had no idea if Gwen was going to make it back to base before their mana was exhausted, whatever was to happen, he couldn't allow Lulu to be disabled or Anita to be teleported back.

Tsing!

The blade of Ying's main-hand sword penetrated Richard's shield without warning, then stabbed into Richard's shoulder.

"Focus, Mister Huang!" Ying pushed the sword deeper, but despite his exaltation, disappointment came just as quick when the sword passed through Richard's body, taking with it a chunk of Richard's skin-suit, but with no visible spray of red.

"I can do this all day. You should have used that mystical magic you put into Anita."

"I really should have," Ying agreed wholeheartedly. "But the IUCC isn't the place for butchery. Are you tempting me to kill you outright?"

"Nah, Mate, I am notoriously hard to kill." Richard pointed a finger back at his assailant. "Too bad you won't get a second chance. Lea!"

His Undine burst into fine particles of mist, shrouding Richard and Anita.

"Cloud-leaping Step!" Ying cursed, clearing the sodden space the Undine now occupied. If the spray had caught him, Mao knew what would have happened.

The truth was he was at a disadvantage against a soft-defence expert like Richard, especially considering his Familiar was impossible to track and could act wholly independently. If they weren't in a competition, he could have used a Fuda to dispel the Familiar, but for now, Jiantong's Abjurer was back in their village, protecting the town against outside incursions.

Ying made a feint, forcing Richard to raise his shield. "Misty Step!"

"Shit!" Richard cursed, realising Ying had abandoned him and Anita and had gone straight for Lulan. The girl held her own against the twins, but it didn't take a Clanner to realise her Huashan Style was a horrible match-up against an armour breaking specialist from Wutang. "LULAN! TO ME!"

Lulan's response was immediate. After so many months adventuring together, her trust in Richard was no less than her faith in Gwen.

"Misty Step!"

Abandoning her swing and even her defence, she took a shot to the right breast, which deflected off Anita's armour, then copped a blow to her left arm, gashing her flesh an inch deep. The unexpected opening had surprised the two Emei girls, who understood their mistake when Ying appeared a brief second behind where Lulan had been, signalling the girls to use their mana potions.

Lulan meanwhile, rallied within range of Richard.

Psssht!

A healing injector stanched the blood seeping from two dozen injuries.

"Xiang shixiong, do we continue?" the Emei girls asked.

Ying's hesitation lasted only a second. "Flank them; we have to send at least one of their Earthen Mages home."

"Ariel, Barbanginy as soon as we D-D into range!"

"No! Not yet!" Ichiro obstructed Gwen from instantly teleporting into the fray.

The team had come in stealth, with Mayuree running a Scry on La War from the dense woodland surrounding the village. When she reported that Anita was down and out and that Richard and Lulan now bathed in blood, Gwen's preeminent redress was triple-homicide.

"Don't you dare." Gwen glared at Ichiro dangerously, her green eyes threatening to swallow the man bones and all. "You have two seconds to make your case."

"Temper!" Ichiro knitted his brows. "For the servant of a Kirin-sama, you have much to learn from Yuki, Gwen-san. Your companions are safe for now, and we have unexpectedly caught up. Why waste this opportunity?"

"He's right." Mayuree tugged at Gwen's skin-suit. "I've got a... er... good feeling about this?"

At Mayuree's behest, Gwen suppressed her boiling Essence, wondering just how is it that dragons dealt with an ego consisting of pure clumps of elemental energy.

"If you trust me." Ichiro's lips curled upwards, studying Ariel's master as he spoke his next words with great care and conviction. "Then you must first wait..."

"Wait? For how long?" Gwen pictured Lulan's torn and bleeding body with a growl. "Even Buddha's patience has a limit..."

"I am at my alchemical limit."

"Me too," Richard remarked. "Shall we-"

Ding! Ding!

Like a celestial choir drawn from seventh heaven, Gwen's voice crackled across the private channel.

"Lulu," a command came across loud and clear. "Drop a Panzerschreck on one of the Emei girls, either one's fine, pick the one that cut you. Do it now before they notice, in one... two..."

Lulan needed no second guessing, nor did she hesitate to immediately began gathering what was left of her latent energies, her mana now buoyed by hope and happiness. With a grunt of supreme effort, all her anger and frustration manifested into a final spell before she was OoM.

"Panzerschreck!"

Splash!

A shrieking blur flew past Richard's shield, ignoring the liquid defence.

Thunk!

Faster than the eye could follow, her unexpected assault struck the weaker of the Emei girls square in the stomach, catching her midway through a spell.

A micro-second of bewildered incredulity followed before Vivian folded like a prawn, spraying pink-mist from her lips, then tumbled through the air like a rag-doll.

Lulan turned to regard Richard, struggling to perceive that Gwen's concept of a solid-projectile could be so powerful as to negate the innate defensive magic all Sword Mages trained since childhood. What the duo had hoped was that the Panzerschreck would blow the Jiantong Mages some distance away to be caught by their allies, but neither of them had expected Lulan would fold the sister like a paper crane.

Then came Gwen's next command.

"Richard! All attack! We're coming in hot!"

"HALT!"

A thunderous command fulminated across Vivian, Vicki and Ying's Message channel just as Ying forewarned his Clan sisters about the build-up of earthen mana from Huashan's deserter.

Unbidden, the fatigued trio ceased all movement and stifled all thought, their Astral Souls suddenly alienated from their bodies.

THUNK!

A Heart-seeking Sword caught Vivian square in the abdomen. Besides her, Vicki, who shared a sympathetic link with her twin-sister, blanched as her body ignited with nerve-fraying agony.

Unlike the girls, Ying's recovery was near-instant. He dived for Vivian, understanding the trouble he would be in if one of the prized twins of Emei died under his watch. The IIUC could wait, and the girls could try again next year, but if one of them perished, that was the end of Emei's hopes and dreams for the next decade.

Crack!

His heart sank. Trouble always travelled in multitudes.

A Dimension Door completed its manifestation, accompanied by a bolt of blue-white plasma, then finally, the boom of a familiar voice reverberating the horizon.

"...Chain Lightning!"

Richard stopped Lulan before she somehow squeezed out another Panzerschreck, in her excited state, anything was possible.

Above, a coil of electricity pivoted past the pirouetting Vivian, struck Ying's staggering body, then moved onto Vicki. Still stunned, the Emei Sword Mage put up no barrier nor resistance, merely allowing the spell to run its course before she too fell from the sky like a wilted flower.

Jiantong's Captain fared better, just managing a stoic parry before he impressively caught the first falling girl, then performed a mid-air Misty Step to pluck the second one, swallowing Gwen's attack without so much as a grimace.

"I YIELD!" he shouted toward the direction from which the electricity had emitted. "STOP ATTACKING!"

"Gwen!" Lulan squealed, mangling Richard's liquid arm in her excitement. "I knew you'd be back!"

"And earlier than expected." Richard bit back the pain. "I wonder what happened at Kamaing? I hope it's still standing."

Ichiro scratched his nose, doubly impressed by the regular manifestation of Gwen's Chain Lightning. Her range, accuracy and power were all far above the Lightning Mages he had seen back home, and to think she was so much younger than his peers.

Of course, Jiantong's Captain was incredible as well. Whatever the man did to withstand a tier 6 blast from Gwen, it marked him as someone equally extraordinary.

"That was amazing." Gwen marvelled at the Kotodama user's unexpected prowess, which they had routed through Jiantong's Message channel after Mayuree tweaked her magic. "I'd hate to be on the receiving end of one of those power words."

"I got lucky," Ichiro confessed. Catching their fatigued, anxious and unsuspecting opponents off-guard was the only reason the seasoned Combat Mages had lost their composure. Usually, Kotodama was utilised for commanding Kami. Against someone like the Void sorceress, whose body brimmed with Essence, he doubted the girl would even flinch.

"I YIELD!"

Their opponent made his case, carrying a girl in each arm.

"ACCEPTED." Gwen's face finally discarded the murderous aura she had earlier worn with vim and passion. "Let's see how pliable they are."

The trio emerged from the village's western tree line, joining Lulan and Richard who princess-carried the unconscious Anita. Far from the Mages, safely tucked away in the town above, the entirely of La War's citizens gawked at the aftermath of the Mage battle, etching every detail of the titanic struggle to be passed on with every intention of gross exaggeration in subsequent retellings.

"I am going to perform triage before their Contingency Rings activate." Ying Xiang threw down his swords before landing on the soft turf and lowering the girls to the floor. His gaze swept from Gwen to Ichiro and back, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "Then we talk."

"Granted." Gwen brought out both Ariel and Caliban, so that together with Ichiro, Mayuree, Richard and Lulan, they had Jiantong surrounded above and below.

Ying gave her a cautious glance before producing two healing injectors for the girls, stabbing the syringes into their thighs. When a flush of colour returned to the girl's battered bodies, he furthermore produced three pills, one for himself and the larger ones for the Emei sisters. While the girls moaned and squirmed as their flesh mended, he poked about their torso, activating some indecipherable fount of mystical energy. Finally, he turned to Richard. "Here, take this— for your Mineral Mage."

Richard caught the pill, a dark herbal sphere with a sweet, fragrant scent.

"Take it orally. It'll heal internal injuries, as well as concussions. Expect a day or two before she recovers."

"Ying, what do you have to say for yourself?" Gwen demanded. "Why did you attack us?"

"Why?" Ying placed a finger on each of the girls' necks, then let out a strangled breath. "You attacked us first, didn't you? The landslide came from your village."

Gwen looked at Richard, who shrugged.

"That was Seoul U." Gwen pointed to the eastern border of La War, where a quarter of the village had now turned into cliff-side villas with a view. "Not us."

"Whatever you say," Ying retorted, fully accepting of the outcome regardless of the rationale. "You're the victors. I hadn't expected you to return so soon, and most certainly not with a Jap in tow. What can I say? What isn't meant to be- isn't meant to be."

"The pleasure's all mine, Xiang-san." Ichiro bowed. "I don't suppose you're thinking of leaving, just like that?"

"And why not?" Ying nodded. "You bested our assault and defended your base. Good work. Keen to grill or boil us?"

"You hope to continue the competition?" Richard said.

"Do you have a better idea?" Ying smirked.

"Maybe you shouldn't be going home so readily," Gwen suddenly interjected. "Care to know why I got here so quickly? Why I knew how and where to ambush you?"

Ying raised a sceptical brow.

"Your brother-in-craft, Kurou, rat-fucked you." Gwen smirked in return, allowing her mocking laughter to trickle through the air like birdsong. "He told us where you would be, and in exchange, we had to make sure you wouldn't return to Wutang in one piece."

"Kurou? No way." Ying's face was all smiles, but Fudan's Mages could all spot the vein throbbing on his forehead. There was no amount of bluff that could mask the equivalent of a scarlet centipede bulging against Ying's skull. "He wouldn't dare!"

"You can ask him later." Gwen raised her dominant hand, forming a Chakram hoving above her dominant hand, causing her party to gawk. "Left or right arm? Maybe a leg? I can tell you now; anything consumed by my Void doesn't grow back."

"WAIT!"

"Caliban!"

"I SAID WAIT!"

Her Familiar opened up into its Spider Form, polluting the space where Ying stood with a torrent of Void-induced vertigo. Caliban grew into a horrific six-foot arachnid.

"Don't forget to tell Kurou he owes me." Her Dragon-fear flooded the air. "He's promised to cooperate."

"STOP! WE FORFEIT!" Ying wailed through clenched teeth. "As Captain of Jiaotong, I declare Jiantong forfeits!"

Gwen's monster settled down.

"Very well, Fudan and Kyoto bear witness to your forfeit." Gwen's voice was cooler than a cucumber. "You may now leave. Tell Kurou to make for Hpakan at first opportunity. If you need healing supplies, we're happy to spare some for our fellow competitors."

"No need." Ying's shoulders slumped, all tension draining from his body. "Cao, tell me, have I been had?"

"No hard feelings." Gwen struck out a hand to shake the man's hand.

"Touche." Ying recalled their first meeting, meeting her halfway. "Maybe this is for the best. We won't have made it far, not with our internal problems."

Meanwhile, Mayuree and Lulan helped the Emei girls on their feet.

"Thank you for your mercy, Song shimei." Vivian coughed. From the looks of bloodstains trailing from her facial orifice, several months of physiotherapy would likely follow.

"Likewise, Li shimei." Vicki stooped. "I hope we meet again under better circumstances."

"Yes." Lulan wasn't sure how to respond, just a few minutes ago, they were at each other's throats.

"Anytime." Gwen offered them each a handshake. "It's a competition, and we are all creatures of necessity. Oh, and Ying?"

"Yes?"

"Thank Kurou for us."

Ying's jaws clenched and unclenched. "I will."

"Good." Gwen grinned. "Have fun."

"..." Ying retrieved his swords. "We shall take our leave. Goodbye, and good luck."

The moment their opponents were out of sight, Gwen fussed over Anita and Lulan's wounds. Conversing with Richard, she applauded the help she had received from Ichiro and elucidated their current alliance.

"So, how'd we do?" Gwen flashed a grin at the lanky Kotodama user. "That was all thanks to you. Lots of CCs for Kyoto, I bet."

Ichiro mulled for a moment before answering, opening his mouth to speak, but struggling to express his conflicted feelings.

"You are too modest." The man met Gwen's green and gleaming eyes with a complicated disposition. The wooden gaze he held was of someone who had raised a chicken only to hatch a cockatrice. "Gwen-san... I asked you to negotiate a ceasefire."

The party was up just before dawn on the fourth day of their Kachin expedition.

The local women made a rice noodle broth from the wild game Gwen's hounds had brought back to the village, eliciting much happiness in a rural Frontier where meat was a rare luxury. By now, the villagers had warmed up to the contestants, and so among the laughter of children poking at Gwen's dogs and horrified parents spanking said children, the team readied themselves for their duties.

Considering Anita's condition, Richard volunteered to defend the village and look after their recovering teammate while Ying's internal medicine ran its course. The remaining trio was to make for Nanmati to meet with Yuki and Ichiro, joined by Gwen's mercenary macaques.

When they had yesterday shared dinner to discuss strategy, both sides agreed that there was no way for Seoul to win, so a little pressure was sure to make them amiable to cooperation, with reparations in the form of cleaning up their mess.

"Good luck, and give em hell." Richard gave Gwen a high-five while glancing at Mayuree. "Don't forget to keep an eye out."

"Don't worry, Richard," Mayuree assured Richard naively, mistaking his concern. "If Gwen's in danger, I am in danger, and I'll let her know."

"Thanks, Mia." Richard patted Gwen's canary on the head. "Look after her, eh?"

"I will!"

"Who's looking after who?" Gwen snorted. "Take care of Anita. Wait for my good news."

With that, the trio lifted into the air, then blasted off with a boom toward Nanmati.

Sung Lee meditated outside Nanmati's hall, his countenance grim and smouldering, the mana within his conduits simmering at a boiling point.

Four days prior, heedless of expending their allocation of magical items, the team had made it to Kachin before any of their competitors. Their Diviner, Jae-joong, had mapped the topography of the four villages within the first day, laid out a prediction of their opponent's abilities, then charted a path forward for a close victory.

The plan involved sabotaging Fudan and Kyoto's way forward, all the while maintaining their own.

It was unscrupulous, he knew, but all was fair in a competition where their team's talents left them little choice but to refuse to play by the rules.

Of their number, only Sung was capable of using Shape Stone and Transmute Earth en mass. The rest of their otherwise offence-focused arrangement lacked the utility. From the outset, Seoul's Mages were soldiers, elites from the Kaesŏng Front, not engineers nor rescue workers.

Comparatively, Si-won, whose versatility included ice constructs, couldn't help with clearing landslides or expediating excavation.

Jung-min, who insisted on coming along to get back at Fudan, was only useful for scouting and disruption.

Jae-joong, the Earth-Element Diviner, had already proven his usefulness, but he couldn't use Transmutation Magic.

And Yoon-Seok, their Abjurer, was a Salt user, an expert defender, famed in Kaesŏng, peerless against the Undead, but likewise, useless when it came to debris removal.

As for the fillers from the lesser families, the two female members of their team occupied the positions of a utilitarian Enchanter focusing on buffs, and a Water Mage of middling affinity. Together with the girls, the remaining three had been left behind to organise the supply-train from Mandalay.

In opposition, Kyoto's five-element mastery of Onmyōdō allowed elemental shifts to change their Kami to one suitable for excavation and rebuilding, while Fudan had two Mages capable of churning massive volumes of earth, and a Water Mage with a sapient Spirit.

What displeased Sung more than anything was that Fudan had received prior knowledge from their native member that Kachin was going to be a disaster zone, and that their quest would involve very little killing.

According to Advisor Kim, the fairness of the competition was unquestionable, but still, the fact that Fudan, a lower-tier institution, held such an advantage was an unforgivable coincidence.

But Sung wasn't the type to believe in serendipity. Victory, as his father had said, was for man to grasp with his own hands, and that was why they had to employ every advantage.

On the first night, when he and Jung-min arrived at Mogaung to destabilise the mountainside, an army of clay dolls had suddenly accosted them, hurling boulders the size of melons at the Mages with terrific strength. Even after decimating the conjured constructs with a Magma Nova they kept on coming, countless and relentless. Somehow, despite departing later and seemingly without haste, Kyoto's defence had time to spare.

When Sung further unleashed a Magma Burst, followed by a Runic Strike, a giant the height of the Secretariat building in Yangon tore itself from the mountain and began to hurl small hills at him and Jung-min. When he haphazardly issued a Magma Strike against the cracking facade of the horn looming over the village, the giant braced itself, then caught the crashing debris.

After that, Sung knew they had done all they could, and that it was time to go. While the giant lay buried in the rubble, half-wrecked and arms open to protect the northern slope of the village, he had Jung-min expedite a rapid retreat.

He had expected better news from Si-Won, the second most competent member of his team and one he could trust with his life.

Instead, his sibling returned, clad in blood.

A deep gash ran down the side of his lumbar where his thrice-enchanted uniform, designed to withstand blows tier 5 and below, had been torn to shreds. When they sliced away the runically weaved silk and glamoured glyphs, they saw that a section had been corroded, extracting from Si-win a pound of flesh.

Worse still, even after Si-won overdosed his alchemical limit, the injury refused meaningful reconstruction. Where the flesh did mend, it warped. Even after cutting away Si-won's necrotising tissue and using a Restoration Potion, he couldn't sit or stand.

"His Astral Soul is damaged," Jae-joong returned grimly after an inspection with Detect Magic. "He used a D-D ring as well. That's going to cost us CCs. The only contestant capable of doing this to Si-won would be—"

"The Void user," Sung spat. "I know."

When he had thought about it; was it not evident that Gwen Song had goaded them into that absurd duel? Sure, Jung-min had wanted to teach Eunae a lesson about allying with their opposition, but the public tongue-lashing their team had received from Magister von Schlabrendorff, followed by their unexpected defeat, had benefitted Fudan far more than it diminished Seoul.

When Sung reviewed the fight with Advisor Kim, it became self-evident that Fudan had not only won the moral battle but the magic one as well.

"Eric Walken is trying to game our strategy," Advisor Kim had warned him. "If you move in groups of two or threes, your flexibility will be drastically reduced. Meanwhile, thanks to their Ace, Fudan can move the sorceress alone while her other team members defend or flank. I think it's best not to obsess over the girl, and instead focus on a strategy involving the natural environment."

Avoid Combat? Sung huffed. Korea, possessing the best Combat Mages in all of Asia, running from a second-string university in Shanghai?

The very notion was absurd!

Their loss had been a miscalculation, a misstep.

In terms of raw power, Sung did not believe himself the girl's inferior.

Upon Gwen Song's neck was a laurel he was happy to behead to adorn his crown. When the girl lay broken, his victory should burn all the brighter.

In anticipation, he had resolved all of Nanmati's immediate problems. The existing flood had been diverted and the roads cleared of debris. He had even paved the mountain path with smooth basalt and crushed granite conjured from the depth. The route to the mine was likewise reaching completion as well, reinforced by a hardened flow of magma disintegrating the overgrown vegetation, creating a temporary crust that should survive a few months at least, enough for the proctors to gauge the increase in productivity.

Had the delay of their opponents succeeded, a stalwart defence was all that remained, something in which the Combat Mages of Seoul excelled.

Whatever the media would say in the coming days, a victory was a victory. To draw on an old idiom his father oft-repeated: it does not matter how you go, so long as you go to Seoul.

"Seonbae-nim!"

A sudden clattering of feet disrupted his meditation.

Jae-joong, Jung-min and Yoon-Seok burst into the hall. "You're not going to believe this."

"What is it?" Sung opened his eyes. "Have the heavens collapsed?"

"Just about." Jae-joong's complexion was pallid. "Gwen Song is here, and she brought an army!"

"The local peasantry?" he asked. It made sense that the locals were up in arms. If so, it meant Si-won had succeeded. Hopefully, the collateral damage wouldn't overly diminish their CC gains. "Is she trying to use them as fodder?"

"If only!" their Diviner spluttered, struggling to describe what he had earlier Scryed. "She's here with Kyoto U, and… an army of monkeys, they're demanding our cooperation."

Sung exhaled.

Diplomacy. No surprise, considering both Fudan and Kyoto's team leaders were women. They must feel so confident in their advantage to brazenly waltz into the enemy's zone like this, heedless of the defences Sung and his Abjurer had set. Now, all he had to do was smash the girl's well-meaning plans to smithereens.

"Jung-min," Sung Lee, heir apparent to Yooksung Conglomerate, addressed his cousin, who suddenly flinched from the attention. "You began our troubles by harassing Uncle Jae's daughter, and so for the good of Uncle Lee, it may be best if you took responsibility."

Indeed, Sung told himself. Whatever happens now, Gwen Song had only herself to blame.

"They know we're here." Yuki led the way, mounted on Dororo's head, with a dozen macaques hanging from the giant's arms, torso and legs, having the time of their lives.

"So, I'll do the talking?" Gwen felt an exhilarating rush, her blood quickened by their victory over Jiantong. "Also, a reminder, I promised Jung-min for Mrs Matriarch."

"Ook, ook!" the Matriarch gesticulated viciously, cackling in a human-like manner.

"I fear that may be impossible, Sarugami-sama." Yuki bowed her head. "Please recall Buddha's mercy, even for one who lacks it himself."

"Ook, Eek! Eee!"

"Vengeance will only bring calamity," Yuki said. "Please reconsider. The family of Lee Jung-min is powerful, indeed, and your land lacks the means to defend against their retribution."

"Eek?"

"That would be for the best, Sarugami-san."

"That's right," Gwen added a proverb of her own. "The rarer action is in virtue rather than in vengeance."

"Well said, Gwen-san," Yuki translated for Gwen.

"Ook!"

Gwen knew she looked strange speaking to Ariel and Caliban via pantomime but listening to the Kyoto priestess having a full blown conversation with a monkey was mind boggling on a whole other level.

"Gwen." Mayuree unexpectedly tugged on Gwen's sleeve. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

"Oh?" Gwen glanced at Kyoto's Mages with apologetic eyes. "How bad?"

"My head's buzzing," Mayuree confessed. "It wasn't so bad before, but I think I... we'll be in mortal danger."

"Maybe you should remain here," Gwen assured the Diviner. Considering their overwhelming advantage and the fact that there was no way for Seoul to back out, she had full confidence in the Korean's ultimate capitulation. Still, considering Mayuree's "condition"...

She glanced at Lulan, who appeared impatient to get on with it, then to Yuki and Ichiro, whose politeness bordered on wretchedness. That there was danger was undeniable, but going home on a hunch wasn't an option either.

"It's fine. I want to come with you." Mayuree struck out her chest. "We're in this together!"

Gwen nodded.

With that, Dororo began to move.

To Fudan's and Kyoto's surprise, they managed to ride the giant doll almost on top of the village before Sung Lee emerged from the Nanmati's central hut, flying toward them with two others in tow. It was a good sign, one that demonstrated humility.

To Lee's right was Jung-min, the Air Evoker-Transmuter, looking paler than a ghost.

To his left was their Abjurer, whose mana signature Gwen immediately identified as a Salt user.

"Welcome, Song Hubae," the man said. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"I see you're missing an Ice Mage." Gwen observed the trio. "Is Si-won still recovering from his escapade? Or has he teleported back to Seoul already?"

"Si-Won's life hangs by a thread." Sung Lee met her gaze head-on. "But never mind my brother. I see you have brought the locals."

"I have brought victims of your careless and wanton desire for violence!" Gwen's eye sparkled with haughty malevolence. "Least of all, the Matriarch of the mountain, whose mate was murdered by Jung-min over there for sport!"

"OOK!"

Sung turned to regard his cousin.

"We killed some apes during the survey, while we were breaking for lunch," he answered quietly, in a world of his own. "They got too close. It was nothing."

"There you have it." Sung returned his gaze upon the unsuspecting Void Sorceress, noting how frail her white neck appeared. "Is that all?"

"Ha! You wish! I come to represent Fudan, Kyoto, the people of Kachin and the residents of the land," Gwen declared, taking the opportunity to make her case. "For your transgression, Seoul U must provide reparations, cease hostility, and henceforth cooperate with future operations. You may have lost the IIUC, but you need not lose your honour or your reputation. You can make this right, Lee Seonbae-nim! We can work together—"

The Magma Mage listened to Gwen's speech with a look of intense concentration.

"Gwen!" Mayuree was the first to notice. "He's channelling magic!"

"HALT!" Ichiro barked beside Gwen, interrupting Gwen's oratory, sending a ripple of mana through to air to assault their opponent. "Stop him!"

"Salt Ward!" Beside the Magma Mage, Yoon-Seok, Seoul's Abjurer, erected a barrier which shimmered as the effects of Ichiro's Kotodama rippled across a semi-visible screen.

"Gwen-san, beware his Banish!" Ichiro hissed. "And stop the Magma Mage!"

"Lulu!" Gwen commanded Lulan even as she moved to cast Ball Lightning, understanding that diplomacy had given way to brawn.

"Panzerschreck!" Lulan let loose a slab of solid iron, rapidly spinning as it made for the Captain of Seoul U.

"Lightning Sphere!" Combined with Gwen's explosive bursts of blue-white electricity, the space above the village erupted into a dazzling light fantastic.

"Element Ward!"

CRUNK!

From somewhere within the explosion, Lulan's shell spiralled away, deflected by a barrier. Faster than the naked eye could register, Lulan's solid-slug landed in the mud, skipped thrice, then slammed into a hut, collapsing the structure and sending a dozen inhabitants fleeing. When the slug re-emerged, it was crimson with gore.

Gwen stared in horror as the building collapsed, momentarily speechless.

"You—!" With a mental command, her Lightning-charged deer hounds broke from the tree line surrounding the village and made for the collapsed structure.

"Gwen! Something's coming!" Mayuree detected a seismic swelling of elemental Magma, her danger-sense kicking into the red. "We have to get out of here!"

"We'll keep the settlers safe, Gwen-san." Yuki's habitual demurity wrinkled with uncharacteristic anger. "Seoul appears to have forsaken all regard for their quest."

"!"

Gwen's Divination likewise pinged. Shit was about to hit the fan.

"Monkey!" She screeched at the hooting Matriarch. "Get your kin back into the forest! Do it now!"

"OOK!" With a mighty leap, the Matriarch disappeared quick as a whistle, leading her pack away from Dororo.

"Dororo! Help the villagers!" Yuki urged her giant, who even now was shedding little models of itself onto the ground.

"It's a little too late for that," Sung Lee's booming voice roared across the cloudy sky. "PLANAR ALLY - MOLTEN GUARDIAN!"

Spurts of lava, accompanied by jets of lemon-tinged sulphur, burst into being below where Gwen and the others hovered some dozen meters in the air. Where Dororo stood, space distorted, tearing the fabric between the material and the immaterial.

In the blink of an eye, a gate into the Para-Elemental Gate of Magma came into being, sending up a twenty-metre jet of yellow-green gas.

"Dimen—"

Suddenly, Gwen found that she couldn't breathe. When she inspired to cast Dimension Door, her throat caught on fire.

Below, an orange vortex of flowing, flaming earth engulfed the immediate vicinity, crashing into Dororo's vine-strew legs, sending up a great sizzle of burning vegetation, made worse by the stench of rotten eggs.

Yuki's complexion turned white as a sheet, suddenly gnashing her teeth as her eyes spun uncontrollably, struck by such unfathomable agony even as she choked for breath.

"Oooooooo!" Dororo stomped its feet, ripping itself limb from limb, only to step once more into yet more lava, sending Yuki into a second, convulsive bout.

A horrid, bone-chilling epiphany flashed across Gwen's inward eye. She realised she had seen the gaseous magic first-hand, though she had never subjected herself as a victim.

Jung-min! She caught the Mage with her watering eyes. Her variation created floating motes of lightning. For an Air Mage, they could arguably flood the vicinity with a variety of noxious gasses.

But Cloud Kill was forbidden for use against human personnel! She screamed internally. Did the bastard have a death wish?

"Ooooo!"

Dororo was now waist-high in lava and crumbling rapidly. Ichiro promptly activated a Shielding Pendant around his Captain; then with a blast of silvery Conjuration, he activated both their Translocation Amulets, no longer caring for the CC penalty.

Simultaneously, Sung's conjured monster materialised. From a maw that now opened into what looked to be the nine layers of Dante's Inferno, a jagged, obsidian head emerged, exhaling mustard, kindled with scintillating brimstone. With yet another billow of unbearable heat, an arm freed itself, followed by a second, moving with a rapidity that was surprising for a thing of such mass.

FUCK! Gwen realised the error of having both Mayuree and Lulan with her. Could Lulan take a hit from the lava giant? She thought desparingly. Mia needs to teleport the fuck out, right now.

Overhead, the fiery salamander had fully formed. It was now taller than the decimated Dororo, with a body brutally barbed with obsidian shards in the manner of a sadistic plate mail. From its visor, a single flaming eye looked out with unfathomable rage, cruel with a wanton desire for ultraviolence.

Without warning, it opened its mouth, dribbling magma so hot that Gwen was sure the white glow was pure plasma.

Then without mercy, a volcanic torrent erupted.

Gwen's eyes grew hazy, her throat constricted, and her lungs burned.

Shamefully, her first thought was of her Ghosting Amulet and her Contingency Ring. Arguably, Mayuree was also in possession of both as well, but Lulan-

JESUS! Lulu had neither!

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Gwen wanted to bite off her tongue. If she had cared for her friends, she should have burned her crystals and brought damned Contingency Rings for Lulu!

Her eyes swept over Mayuree, who had fallen to her knees, gasping and fumbling for air. Shit! Gwen realised yet another miscalculation. She had her draconic-constitution and resistance to poisons, but Mia was just a girl. She really should have left her back in the forest, even if she was paranoid over the Enchantment afflicting Mayuree's mind.

WHOOMP!

A shimmering shield appeared around Gwen. Instead of teleporting herself away, Mayuree had activated her Ring of Protection but had set it onto her friend.

WHAT THE FUCK? Gwen silently cursed her Diviner. Until Mia's Ghosting Amulet activated, Mayuree was here to stay. Did she have to suffer an attack? The instructions had stated that the amulet was triggered by invasive magic.

"Eaaarrrgh!" Lulan unleashed a cracked and broken howl of frustration.

To Gwen's dismay and despair, Lulu charged toward the flaming sword with one of her own, manifesting a massive slab of iron two-metres tall and as wide as her torso to meet the incoming cloud of smouldering, volcanic air.

GOD DAMN IT! Gwen cursed her myopia. In the heat of the moment, both of her companions were all heart and no brain. When all three of them possessed a selfless, masochistic capacity for martyrdom, all they could do was trip over one another's feet. If even one of them had said, "fuck this for a lark," and had Dimension Doored away, then the matter would have been infinitely less complicated.

ARIEL! She commanded her hidden Familiars, thanking God she had that much foresight at least. CALIBAN!

"EEEE!" Ariel slammed into Lulan, escaping with the Sword Mage.

"SHAAA!" Caliban instantly expanded into its Spider form, ripping Mayuree from Dororo's back before leaping into the fire, where Gwen hoped she had enough vitality to carry Mayuree to safety.

The lava burst descended.

Her shield crinkled.

Her world grew white-hot, but not before she lost her footing. Below, Dororo had turned to ash.

As she fell, Gwen hoped to God that when Caliban drained her vitality, or when she began to sizzle like a takoyaki, her Ghosting Amulet would trigger its Dimension Door, allowing her to teleport away. With her Essence, hopefully, her scars would heal. If not, maybe Babulya had a thing that could help.

CRACK!

Unbidden, a cacophonic burst of thunder broke overhead.

"There it is again!"

In Hpakan, where a dozen Magisters and Maguses gathered around a lumen-caster, the Mages were puzzling over the scene even now unfolding in Nanmati. Where the conversation had earlier centred around Jung-min's illicit use of Cloud Kill, now they had bigger problems.

"Perhaps it's drawn to the mana build-up?"

Despite the titanic battle occurring below, their eyes were drawn to a blue-white silhouette flittering in and out of the range of von Schlabrendorff's eye of providence.

"Think it's related to the Tyrant?"

Lutz von Schlabrendorff shook his head.

"Hass, get a team ready..."

Heedless of the CC penalty, Ichiro took his Captain away from the crumbling Dororo, mindful of his betrayal.

As versatile Yuki's synergy with her Kami could be, that very same connection made for a glaring weakness, which was that her consciousness conjoined with her construct, possessing the Miko's senses as a gateway into the material world.

Once a safe distance away, Ichiro felt a pang of guilt as he looked back at their Fudan allies, still standing atop the burning Dororo, facing the full fury of the Molten Guardian, a famed Asura of the inferno world.

That a member of the Lee family could still access an ancient deity of Korea's long lost Shamanistic faith wasn't something anyone could have predicted. Likewise, that Seoul would stoop so low as to use Cloud Kill, even in its non-lethal capacity, was unthinkable by any rational Mage.

Was winning that important? Ichiro took in a lung full of fresh air, stunned at Seoul U's twisted conviction.

"Ichiro..." Yuki moaned in his arms, her pale body flushed and welting from the sensory feedback, even now aflame with the sensation being burned alive, yet lacking the sweet surrender of unconsciousness.

"Annul Pain!" Ichiro invoked his magic, exhaling as Yuki's spasm thankfully ceased, dispelling Dororo.

"Help them-"

"I know, Yuki-sama, but..." Ichiro looked up, wondering just what a Mind Mage could do at a time like this. Above the Void sorceress, he saw the monster's assault descend without mercy.

Run, you baka! Ichiro's throat constricted.

But Fudan did not flee.

Instead, what occurred betrayed all logic and expectation.

Without warning, Gwen's celestial Kami tackled the Sword Mage, sending her flying away, while her Asura Kami snatched Fudan's Diviner and leapt from Dororo's head.

Then, she fell into the now dispelled Dororo.

Then, the clouds broke overhead.

Then came a wyvern.

Gwen Song had a third Familiar?! Ichiro baulked. But no, that was impossible.

It was an enormous brute; the largest Ichiro had ever seen, descending from the heavens with a velocity that tore the air asunder.

Banking into a graceful arc, it made an effortless swoop past Seoul U's battle line, first snatching a surprised Sung Lee up in its jaws, then swatting their Air user so hard with its spiked, van-sized tail that the Mage descended like a meteor.

In a matter of seconds, less than the time it took for him let loose a bewildered "NANI?" the Seoul team was reduced to a stunned Abjurer hovering alone over a flaming hillside, smothered with still tumbling lava.

"Uwa-!" Ichiro couldn't help but expel the uncouth utterance from his lips. In a moment, a feeling of uncontrollable sublimity erupted from his throat. "UWAAA?!"

The magma giant stumbled as the conduit of mana sustaining its presence in the Material world was cut off. Sung Lee was either dead or had been teleported away.

Gwen Song fell among the flaming debris, engendering a burst of brilliant Conjuration, then re-appeared a hundred meters away before she could sink into the fire, protected by two Illusory simulcrums.

She was safe!

But still, her unscathed escape filled Ichiro's mind with wild and wagging exaltations of incomprehensible awe.

His Master once said that some were born blessed by the Ōkami.

But how could one know that they were blessed by the Shinkai and watched over by the Sun Goddess; that they existed to walk the Kannagara no Michi?

Did, for example, having a wild fucking Wyvern descend from the heaven to eat your enemies then fly the fuck away count?!

An ejaculation of emotions erupted from the Yamabushi's heart, constricting his chest. It wasn't every day that a humbled monk bore witness to the will of the world.

Jung-min considered himself lucky that as a Mage attuned to Air, his superior reflexes was enough to mitigate a portion of the wyvern's kinetic blow even as it sundered his unsuspecting body. His shield had shattered near-instantly, but the split-second was enough for him to shift his momentum.

When he came to once more, he was on the forest floor.

It would seem that lady luck had not abandoned him even in his direst hour, for he had crashed through the soft canopy, then landed in the rotten, mud-strewn undergrowth.

"Argh..."

Something had broken for sure, for Jung-min couldn't move his limbs, although his physical infirmity was nothing when compared to what awaited him. As the number one son, Sung Lee was without fault in all matters. As such, the responsibility for Seoul U's catastrophe of an IIUC would fall to Jung-min. For not only had the bastardly Jung-min invited trouble by harassing Eunae, their little cousin on Fudan's team, he had also used illicit magic on fellow contestants, disqualifying the potentially victorious Sung Lee, the team's saviour.

It was a good narrative; he had to admit. Sung Lee was a good fit for the next family head.

"Hahaha!" Jung-min then recalled that the wyvern had snatched up Sung Lee like a dog treat. "That's too funny."

"Ook?" A hairy face appeared overhead, an inch away from his face.

"Ook?" Another joined the first.

"Ook?" A third.

Jung-min's laughter choked in this throat, and not because laughing drew agony from his torso. Turning his head, he gazed toward his dominant hand where his Contingency Ring would be.

Sitting on said hand and weighing down said limb, was an enormous macaque with a bulbous red ass, bearing her fangs.

"Ook!"

"Ook!" "Ook!"

"Ook, Ook!" "Ook!"

"OOK!" "OOK!" "OOK!" "OOK!"

Golos nullified the Quicksilver Fuda he had stolen from Ryxi once he was a safe distance away from the commotion, feeling a heady rush course through his demi-divine body.

Snatching the "Calamity" from certain doom without endangering his own life had been something he’d mulled about nightly, and now he had done it.

Wyverns weren't made for dancing, but Golos reflexively performed an aerial barrel-roll.

The only thing to dampen his spirit was that the meal he had earlier acquired disappeared in a burst of silver. It was the Human's Contingency Ring, he knew: all the big-wig humans had one, but a drake could only hope.

As for what came next, he should be free in no time at all! Unlike the bookworm Ryxi, Ruxin always made good on his promises!

“Never in my life,” Lutz von Schlabrendorff remarked to the proctors stationed in the village hall of Hpakan. “Have I ever seen someone disqualified via impromptu Wyvern.”

“Perhaps he's an agent of karma,” a second proctor noted. “Sometimes, the actions one takes are an affront to both heaven and earth.”

There was a brief flash of Conjuration.

“Talk about bad luck.” A third proctor observed the contingency trigger. “Who would believe us if we were to spin a tale? Thunder Wyverns don’t gro- Why's it doing a barrel roll? Is it circling back?”

"No, it's gone." A fourth fiddled with the rangefinder.

“Maybe the girl knows the wyvern?” A fifth raised a finger.

“You mean, like old chums?” the third snorted.

“If she could command a tier-ten draconic-class Magical Beast to initiate a surgical strike, why would she need to participate in something as pedestrian as the IIUC?" the fourth snorted. "Why not just apply herself to the Tower as the first acolyte in the history of Spellcraft to tame an adult Thunder Wyvern? I’ll put in a good word with Berlin. We’ll take her, no questions asked.”

The rest of the Magisters sipped their tea while von Schlabrendorff mulled over the aftermath.

“Regardless, Fudan and Kyoto remain,” he said at last. “Inform Magister Kim to collect his students. Explain to him for now, Seoul U forfeits, casus fortuitus. If Seoul plays it smart, we shall leave it at that. They act up, that's at their own peril. As for Jung-min, the committee demands an example is made. Remind Kim to tell his employers that participation in the IIUC, as it is with the Mageocracy, is a privilege, not a right.”

“Shouldn’t it be 'casus Draco?'" Another Magus burst into appreciative laughter.

“Let’s hope it's minus dracones from here on.” Von Schlabrendorff’s brow twitched. “I don’t envy anyone having to explain another incident to Brussels.”

“Ha, what are the chances of it happening again?”

The Chief Proctor grunted.

“Where's our team?”

“They should be arriving, sir...” Hass marked the map. “...right about now.”

"Good. Once Kim is gone, bring Magister Walken..."

Perhaps the most disturbing thought to come out of the whole ordeal, once Gwen forced herself to re-orientate her bearings, was Walken's displeasure. It was a sentiment as off-putting as it was disturbing, but she couldn't shake the fact that for her "own good", Eric had expressly forbidden acts of impulsive martyrdom.

It was just as well that there was a lot on her plate: Golos, Ayxin, the Yinglong, what she had told Uncle Jun, Mayuree's mind-fog, and the IIUC, but for now, there was a more pressing concern.

Nanmati was on fire.

When the great lava-thing lost its mana-link, it exploded in every which direction, erupting like a volcano, spraying ash and burning brimstone over the wooden village.

Meanwhile, her two simulacrums, each a modified Mirror Image, independently pantomimed, drawing the attention of precisely no one.

"I am over here! You'll never catch me!" one said.

"Over here, you big lug!" The other one winked.

Suddenly, without warning, they ran in opposite directions.

Before she could respond, her companions arrived.

“Gwen!” Mayuree’s voice came across their channel before Caliban’s half-baked form could be seen running across the hardening lava. Comically, Caliban had Mayuree strapped to its back like a spider with a bundle of eggs, so that when it ran, she added to the Void-beast's aberrant visage. “How could you! Why didn’t you save yourself!”

“I am fin- Oh God! Puahaha!” When Mayuree came closer, Gwen saw that her friend had received a perm from the flash-fire, spontaneously engendering a horrible afro.

“You could have died!” Mayuree burst into tears. “It’s not funny!”

“GWEN! HOW COULD YOU!”

Lulan Blinked into Gwen's vicinity, then gripped Gwen's collar with both hands balled and white-knuckled.

“Alright, alright.” Gwen pulled out her Amulet, noting that the Core had been spent. “Grill me later, Lulu, the bloody village is on fire.”

“What about him?” Lulan pointed to the floating Abjurer.

“Oi!” Gwen hollered at Yoon-Seok with a blare from Clarion Call. “Is your team forfeiting?”

It took the Abjurer a few seconds to reignite his cognitive functions.

“I need to find my brother!” he called back, drifting back and forth. “I request a ceasefire! Has anyone seen Sung? Or Jung-min?”

“Good enough.” Gwen turned back to the burning village. What she should be feeling was spine-tingling horror. Instead, she felt a light-headed chirpiness which she could only attribute to the thrill of surviving a near-death encounter. “Where’s Yuki and Ichi?”

“They left us!” Lulan hissed like a trodden cat.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Gwen patted down her friend's frizzled hair. “They did what they’re supposed to do and expected to do. You, me, and afro-Mia are the idiots. For the future, we need to work out a who-saves-who contingency plan.”

"A-Afro-Mia?"

WHOMP!

A Teleportation Circle manifested mid-air.

A party of proctors stepped through the Astral tear.

“Spread out and control the damage,” the leading Mage declared as he stepped through, speaking to his peers before turning to Gwen. “Contestant Jung-min and Sung Lee have been sent back to the CCP Tower at Dali. Additionally, in violation of article seven, section four, involving the malicious employment of sanctioned spells against Magical personnel, I declare that Seoul University’s IIUC credentials are suspended pending further review. Remaining members of Seoul University shall leave the competition area and return to Hpakan to report to Chief Proctor von Schlabrendorff.”

Above, as though suddenly recalling something of dire importance, Seoul's Abjurer made for the central hut.

"Fudan, Kyoto, you may return to your respective duties."

Gwen exhaled a breath of relief. Now, with Seoul U's rightful expulsion, only two teams remained. Insofar as she was concerned, Fudan had won.

“That leaves just Kyoto and us.” Lulan channelled her inner Richard before making a chopping motion with her hand. “Yuki and Ichiro are here. If they’re wounded, maybe we could…”

“Whoa, cool your jets.” Gwen reflexively checked for lumen-recorders before reminding herself that the Chief Proctor needed no such thing to craft compelling reality television. “Trust me. We'll do this fair and square. Whatever Kyoto thinks they’ve got, I’ve got better.”

Lulan nodded, caught between faith and instinct.

All around them, the Magisters from the IIUC committee moved about the village, quenching fires with magical items or spells and attending to the villagers who were burned or injured. At first, when a number of corpses were unearthed, Gwen bristled with injustice. But then the rescuers lifted Lulan’s hut, the hypocrisy of the carnage alone was enough to engender a minute of inconsolable oppression from the Fudan party.

“Mia, go with Lulu and offer them some compensation.” Gwen wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, or if it helped, but she couldn't just shrug and leave.

Her companions nodded, then went about their solemn duty.

“Gwen-san! Ariel-Sama!”

Behind her, both Yuki and Ichiro appeared. The two had returned earlier, though they had chosen to first help with the damage to the village.

“Hey. You’re safe.” Gwen exhaled. “Sorry for what happened.”

After doubly taxing herself, Yuki appeared paler than a snow-spirit. “Allow me to apologise for our retreat, Gwen-san. You stood to face that Molten Guardian while we showed our cowardice.”

“No worries,” Gwen dismissed their apology. “No need for drama. You did what’s right.”

“We are very shameful.” Ichiro bowed from the waist.

“Entirely forgiven.” Gwen felt that the Japanese habit of excessive piety was in itself a form of annoying passive-aggressiveness: like they were trying to guilt trip her anger. “I am not even upset.”

“We can pay for your item to be replaced,” Yuki suddenly announced. “Please, it’s the least we can do.”

“Alright, deal.” Gwen nodded quickly, her dour mood leaving scant room for kindness. “I’ll bill you the invoice.”

“This makes us feel less burdened, thank you.” Ichiro bowed again in return. “Was that a wyvern?”

“Who knows?” Gwen averted their imploring eyes. Instead, she looked toward the heavens. “What a magnificent occurrence that it came to our aid. How fortuitous, eh?”

The Japanese duo agreed.

“Well,” she smiled back. “I guess our alliance is at an end. Ichi, Yuki, may the best team win from here.”

The trio exchanged measured looks, followed by weighty handshakes.

"Indeed, Gwen-san.” Yuki's cheeks glowed with anticipation. “We shall put in the greatest effort.”

“Gwen, they came home with us,” Mayuree remarked to the scene below.

When the trio returned to La War, they were followed by a stream of monkeys swinging from tree to tree, forming a great expedition. After alighting at the village’s bramble barrier, the triumphant trio, together with the village's defence, were met by the Matriarch of the macaque, who had come to see Gwen.

“You brought back the troop." Richard emerged, together with Lea. “They’re friendly, I hope.”

“Friendly enough.” Gwen approached the Matriarch, flanked by Ariel and Caliban. “Matriarch?”

“Ook! Ook! Eek! EEEK!”

“EE! Ee? Eee!”

“She says she wants to thank you for delivering their enemy.” Lea appeared beside the Kirin, translating Kirin for Gwen even as Ariel passed on the Matriarch’s thoughts. “She wants to know if there’s anything else you want. A service of some sort.”

“We did?” Gwen glanced at Mayuree, who looked to Lulan, who shrugged. “How?"

“Ook! Ook, Eek!”

"You er... gave her a Mage? They did things- terrible, unspeakable things."

"What kind?" Gwen made a face.

"Unspeakable." Lea looked at Richard, then at Gwen. "As I am not familiar with the anatomy of humans or monkeys."

The party allowed that to sink in.

"So," Gwen changed the topic. "What can we do for them?"

“She wants to know what she can do for you,” Lea translated. "A monkey always pays her debts."

An idea came to Gwen's head.

Behind Richard, just beyond the bramble wall, she could see Shwe the alderman and the rest of the villagers holding staves and sticks, ready to defend their village against the Wildland macaques. Though Gwen knew the beasts preferred Wildland flora, magical creatures were infamously omnivorous.

“Lea.” Gwen’s expression took on a feeling of keen industry. “Ask if Mrs Boss is averse to lasting peace in the region. We’ll supply them with food, and I’ll be happy to offer another two bottles of Maotai. All they have to do is observe our workers, then you know; monkey sees, monkey do.”

From a grey, drizzling sky, the wet continued, bringing with it its usual assortment of problems. Though stung by the kinks in Fudan's teamwork and communication, Gwen resolved to leave them for the aftermath of the competition. Now, with external threats removed, her real work would begin, requiring every measure of her time and concentration.

First, she sent out Anita and Lulan with a team of villagers to repair the roads and bolster the stability of their transport infrastructure.

Then, she experimented with the monkeys. Though her macaque mercenaries were ill-suited for disciplined labour, they made for excellent patrollers. Roving as a hooting pack, the monkeys chased away Earthen Gobs, Snots and other Wildland fauna as they roved from camp to camp, having a great lark.

Gwen and Mayuree meanwhile, worked to put her plan into action.

Drifting south and swinging by Kamaing, she first attempted to convince Jiantong's village to find gainful employment through herself.

"We'll treat everyone the same, equal pay, equal benefits," Gwen appealed to the alderman. First, she would offer diplomacy. If that didn't work, she could be convincing in other ways. "It's an extra hour's trek, I know, but our Mages will open a new path through the macaque's territory. You'll be safe if you go through that."

"How can we trust you?" The Alderman understandably had his reservations, considering that the Chinese Mages that had come to help them had evaporated. According to his story, some liberties had been taken by Jiantong's Vice Captain with the local women as well. While consensual, the understanding had been one of quid pro quo; the problem was that having given many a tit, the chief's family had received no tat.

It was at this juncture that Gwen noticed the alderman, a middle-aged man, was eyeballing her tightly wound figure.

"Gwen." Mayuree, who had been quiet this whole while, interrupted their conversation before Gwen switched plans. "Didn't the alderman from the first village give you something of a token?"

"Oh?" Gwen recalled that indeed, she did have proof of her trustworthiness. With a flick of her wrist, she performed a quick sleight of hand, then produced a piece of jade. "I was given this by the alderman of a lowland village. He said to show it if we were to run into problems."

Kamaing's leader blinked. "You saved Takaung? We have one of our own in the monastery."

"With this, can you trust us?" she proposed with an edge to her voice.

"I need to verify this with the abbot." The sweating alderman quickly left. Meanwhile, after praising Mayuree, Gwen inspected the relatively prosperous township from the second floor of the hall. As she had observed on her last visit, Kamaing was the most populated of the four municipalities and would have afforded Jiantong a significant advantage.

After twenty minutes, the alderman returned with a dozen others.

"We will work." The man returned the mutton-jade solemnly, averting his eyes. "Please make it safe for us to travel."

"Wonderful!" the girls cooed. "I'll let the Boss know at once!"

"The... Boss?"

"Ah, yes." Gwen figured now was as good a time as any. "I'll introduce her. If you can keep your working relationship up, I dare say much of Kamaing's troubles will soon be over!"

After the successful recruitment of at three hundred able bodies, Gwen moved to execute the most pivotal part of her plan. With Mayuree cradled protectively in her barrier, she proceeded toward the jade mine to meet with Manager Mingyi Mok.

From the sky, the mine itself was typical; an open pit punctured into the Arakan basin were seams of jade ran rich through the metamorphic rock, compressed by aeons of seismic pressure into vivid veins of serpentine, quartz, nephrite and jadeite. It were small operations such as these that produced Khotan and Feicui, the basis of the House of M's northern expeditions. Originally, each of the villages had staked different sections of the dig, but Gwen saw no reason why many hands couldn't make light work.

As with third-world mines everywhere, the conditions were upsetting to anyone possessed of a social conscience, involving the sort of operational work and health that existed only in nightmares. From the stench of the place as soon she and Mayuree flew into the pit, she guessed that the dozen or so dredged pools of fetid water, tens of meters across and swarming with insects, were not only neglected but had been collating everything from human waste to local fauna to monsoonal run-off.

The roads moving into and out of the mine were likewise strewn with mud, with deep trenches carved from the wagons that came and went, immeasurably complicating future operations.

As for the jade mine itself, it seemed that magical means had been used to collapse entire walls into a canyon from which miners would then pick out by hand the shards and blocks of nephrite and jadeite. From the depth, workers then transported stones up a human chain to carriers, who then slogged their way from the interior of the mine up to a station, where the rocks were inspected, weighed and recorded until finally, they were transported down the main arterial highway down to Mandalay's regional headquarters.

On the northern cliff of the mine, overlooking the operation, was a series of huts made from galvanised iron and fibrous-concrete sheeting. Within the abode, cloistered in relative comfort, the girls found the Manager, a bulbous man thrice the circumference of a local, attended by two young women.

"Nagas below!"

Manager Mingyi visibly quaked when the two girls descended from the grey heavens without warning, spilling a bowl of piping hot pho in his haste to kowtow. After Gwen and Mayuree introduced themselves, he obediently gathered the dozen sub-managers and supervisors under his control, most of which were Southern Burmese loyalists to the House of M. A few, Gwen noticed, were Han Chinese.

“These are our jade inspectors.” Mingyi mopped the sweat from his quivering jowls. As the first obese individual Gwen had seen in Kachin, Mingyi grew fat not in the manner of portly western men but the rotund jackfruit.

“I’d like to see the accounts.”

“The… accounts?” The man's eyes widened, his belly quaking like a flan. "You don't want to see the jadeite?"

“No. I want historical statements.” Gwen turned her striking irises upon the line of pallid men stinking of sweat. “I will need to see paper records of how much jade is being produced historically over the last twenty-four months, as well as the mine's outgoings.”

“Ah…” Mingyi stammered. “Of course.”

The man wobbled across the office, its floorboards straining to hold his weight. “Right here, ma’am.”

“Manager Mingyi.” Mayuree added her scowl to Gwen's. “Are you forgetting who I am? I am a representative of the House itself. I have operational authority from here to Mandalay.”

Aww, Gwen gushed. Business Mayuree was adorable.

“I am not sure what you mean, Miss Mayuree.” The Manager pulled out stack after stack of half-rotten paper dank from the monsoonal air. It would appear the cupboard was not moisture sealed. “It’s all here… it’s…”

“MISTER MINGYI!” Gwen snapped her fingers. A stack of arm-thick reports fell onto the mahogany table in the centre of the man’s disgusting food-strewn desk. “These are district reports from Magus Maymaruya going back the last five years. I acquired them while in Yangon. Do I have a reason to be worried?”

In truth, her "reports" were the accounts for the Centurion Project, but the manager couldn't know that.

“Of course not.” To her astonishment, Mingyi attempted to straighten his spine. “But as you can see, with weather like ours, the records don’t keep too well. Still, I wish you the best of luck in matching them. Mister Wong, our accountant, will do his utmost to help.”

Lifting herself on her toes, Gwen walked toward the table, then sat with her legs crossed over to one side. Despite the unkind contour and practical nature of her skin-suit, the sight of a first-class woman from a first-world city titillated the line of men Mingyi had gathered for her pleasure.

Mayuree stood to her right, whispering of what her Scry had found in the mine, in between the walls of the building, and in hidden basements.

“Caliban!”

Gwen’s netherworld serpent slithered into being.

As one, the Manager and his men fell to their knees. The weaker of the bunch retched while the others whimpered.

“I am going to ask one more time.” Gwen crossed her legs. “Mr Wong. Step up.”

The man crawled forward.

“Have you ever stolen from the mine?”

“I-”

“SHAAA!” Caliban opened its carapace.

“Oo! Buddha have mercy!”

“One chance,” Gwen helpfully noted while Caliban crawled into her lap, drooling grey goo. “Now answer.”

“I have sinned!” The accountant quivered. “My men pilfered from pit 17 and 21 last year, and 14 the year before!”

“Lies. Grotesque and ugly lies. But even a little honesty is better than none. Maybe you’ll have a limb left when this is over. Go stand to the right.”

“No! I also stole from pit 2! And I took bribes from Mr Mok and Mr Gu!”

“Shut up!”

“Wong, how dare you!”

“Miss Song, he's delirious!”

Gwen leapt from the table.

“CONFESS!” she let loose a bark, smothering the men with Dragon-fear. “Your wives and your children are waiting for you. Your nice homes in Yangon, in Mandalay, your maids and servants, all waiting for the return of their master. But I am not here to play around, gentlemen. I am here on a mission. I am here from the House of M! I know you have stolen, I know how much you have stolen. The worm is Caliban, a Void Beast born from the righteous hunger of an Old One: when Caliban eats you from the inside out, there will no return to the eight-fold path. You won’t even wander the endless plains of Limbo. What awaits you will be oblivion. OBLIVION! YOU-you son of a hog, what’s your name?”

“Leo, Miss.”

“Money or mercy?”

“M-mercy!”

“Then go and stand to the right. You and I are going to go over the books, and if I don’t find the answers I am looking for..."

"ARIEL!"

Ka-BOOM!

A roll of thunder fulminated across the mine’s exterior.

"EEEEE!" Ariel passed by the window, glorious and awe-inspiring.

“...then our company will be trimming the fat.”

“D-Deva!”

“Mighty Buddha!”

“So.” Gwen walked a circle around the men, each cowed under her electric gaze, watching as Manager Mingyi’s face turned a shade of green. “To reiterate. I am here on a mission of mercy. If you chose oblivion, that’s your choice. If the little wealth you have collated is worth more than reincarnation, then so be it.”

She patted Caliban, who opened its carapace to unleash arm-thick tentacles of red and blue.

“The last man to confess gets eaten by Caliban.”

“And that’s how production will increase by fifty per cent, is it?” Richard, Anita and Lulan joined Gwen and Mayuree at the mine by the evening, having reached the entrance with La War's labourers. For the foreseeable future, the party was to be stationed in the managerial office to implement Gwen’s desired changes.

“Simple, isn’t it?” Gwen threw down the stack of rotten accounts. “When a NoM’s greed is enough to endure my Dragon-fear, you know they’re hiding a lot more than they let on. I am having them cough up what they ate as well, with any luck, anything between six-months to a year's supply may soon be 'uncovered'.”

“Money makes the world go round.” Richard sipped his beer, confiscated from the Manager's private larder. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Hopefully, once we implement hygiene protocols, safety measures, basic protective equipment and you guys complete the railway I asked for, efficiency will increase ten-fold. For now, I’ve allocated for a quarter of the funds we've recovered to pay for additional workers from Kamaing. With the monkeys acting as escort, the roads should be safe."

“How are you doing all this?” Anita sipped her porridge. Thanks to Ying’s quasi-magical pill, she was feeling much better and had been well enough to contribute to the excavations. “Are you an Economics Major? Are you studying to take on a Manufactorium?”

“Nothing of the sort.” Gwen awkwardly chuckled. “I read a lot in my spare time.”

“You know six Schools of Magic, and you have time left to read about governing NoMs?”

“Gwen’s going to be a Tower Master someday,” Lulan pointed out. “She needs to know all this.”

“Well, then Master Song,” Anita drily observed, smacking her lips. “I am glad to be on your team.”

“Thanks, Ann,” Gwen smirked somewhat stiffly. “I hope it’s enough to beat Kyoto.”

“I am sure it is,” Richard piped in with a voice full of confidence. “Walken said the quest is about improving the region’s production, stability, the lives of the people, and the amount of resource transported back to Yangon. I somehow doubt Kyoto’s priests and priestesses know accounting and work-health-safety! Ha! I doubt they’ve laboured with NoMs in their whole lives. Wondrous their craft may be, the laziness of labourers and the greed of administrators are beyond magic."

“Nicely put, Dick!” Gwen raised a stubby.

Bottles clinked. Their victory was at hand.

From here on, Fudan had just under a week to set things in order; then, they would push back toward Yangon, hopefully meeting Bai and his team halfway, signalling the culmination and conclusion of their first mission in the International Inter-University Competition.

Within Bogyoke Park, Yangon, sat Kandawgyi Lake, the largest man-made lagoon in the city. The opalescent body of water was first commissioned by King Thibaw, criticised by the British for his love of material excess and ceaseless warmongering, though during the occupation, it became a favourite hangout for expats.

Upon the lake, tethered to its centre by centrifugal currents of pure mana, gently rotating where the city's ley-lines met, was an enormous pleasure barge, the largest of its kind ever built. Named the Karaweik Palace, the ship was clad in foiled gold and studded with gems and jewels, with its interior floor plated with an interlocking herringbone pattern of nephrite and jadeite. On either side, two enormous statues of life-like Nagas, each twenty metres tall and two hundred long, formed the perimeter of the ship from the shore. From atop heads the width of two men, egg-sized ruby eyes watched over the tranquil lake, guarding its precious cargo: Matriarch Nanmadaw Me Nu, protector of Myăma and its Frontier provinces.

While the IIUC raged in Kachin, the Matriarch hid as she had always done for the last half-century, cocooned in luxury, lying on a divan of enormous length and girth, enfolded in silk, satin and chiffon, wary of the outside world, usually asleep to preserve her remaining life.

Within the high vaulted walls of the floating palace, three kept company; though only two engaged in conversation. The first was Me Nu, radiant on her divan, the second was Maymyint, prostrated on all fours, and the third was Marong, quiet as a whisper of smoke, blended into the ever-burning incense, no more obtrusive than the gentle scent of sandalwood.

Marong had never expected that he would venture this far.

The throne room usually fielded two Manipuri Shadowmen, his seniors by decades, standing in the antechamber, followed by four elite guards within the sanctum itself. Strangely, only an hour ago, an order had come from the Grandmaster to transfer every single member of the House of M's precious guards northward for a final confrontation with the Tyrant.

Marong was himself a member of the House of M's elite force, but as a scion, he also existed outside of the cult's organisation.

When the irrational command came, he felt the sea change in his smoke, swirling with hidden eddies clouded by conspiracy.

There was another reason for Marong's suspicion.

Usually, he opted to remain as far from their Mind Mage sister as possible. Maymyint was the eldest and the favourite of the Matriarch. Even when Marong was a child, Maymyint had remained exactly as she was now, aloof, beautiful, and cold-blooded. Thanks to her inherited Radiant Element; she commanded unquestionable loyalty from the House of M's caretakers, especially its troop of secretively trained mercenaries in the mountains of Manipur, including its Grandmaster, a powerful Vairagi and Marong's teacher.

After Me Nu had cheated Mayuree of her promised protection, he had found himself increasingly drawn to his eldest. And it was from the many incidences when Marong lurked to see what treacherous plots Maymyint trafficked, that he caught a whiff of the Tyrant. At first, it was faint, but as he followed Maymyint day after day, the musky scent clung to his nostrils like pork grease.

Was Maymyint in contact with the Tyrant then? Marong knew he had to find proof, though since Mayuree went away, he had found no evidence of collusion.

But then an order had come from the Grandmaster, and much to Marong's shock, the Shadowmen not only obeyed: they had left Me Nu unprotected. He was incredulous, for the contract between the Vairagi and Me Nu was etched out in dragon-tongue, in the writing of the Naga, and only Me Nu could revoke it. Not in all twenty-four years of Marong's life had he ever witnessed Me Nu not being protected by at least four of the Vairagi's elites, the only force she trusted, which was why he had slipped into the theatre to bear witness to the rare sight of a furious Matriarch.

"FOOL!"

Thwack!

An invisible lash snapped across Maymyint's body, sinking her into the floor.

Me Nu's wrath was terrible indeed, so much that Maymyint's pain, which should have delighted Marong, stirred even his smoky form. In Marong's eyes, Maymyint existed as a favourite of the Matriarch, unassailable in her superiority. Never had he seen her berated, much less whipped and beaten. Sometimes, he had thought the pair mind-linked, for they often finished each other's sentences.

"You dared to move my Shadowmen without my consent!" Me Nu snarled, baring pointed canines of flawless ivory.

"The decision is to the benefit of the House of M." Maymyint passively touched her head to the floor. "Matriarch, please understand."

"Benefit? By leaving me unprotected?" Me Nu spat, her ageless face growing grotesque with wrinkles. "Call our Mages back!"

"We need them in Nagaland if we are to retake our home!" Maymyint protested. "Mother, you have to listen!"

"Silence! Do you think I don't know you meddled with the tithing? Why is Mayuree with the foreigners? Why are the transports going out now?"

Thwack!

Another blow, harder this time, was enough to send Maymyint skittering across the polished jadeite floor, leaving a vivid streak of red. From the tiles, Marong could see that Maymyint was bleeding from her mouth.

She defiantly raised her head.

"YOU DARE?!" The Matriarch rose from her divan, revealing her scale-covered lower body. "You, who art the flesh of my flesh, how dare you utter such imprudence? Maymyint, you forget your duty."

"Imprudence?" Maymyint spat blood. "You, who stole life from my siblings, who fed your scions to the Tyrant, speak of duty?"

Like an agitated cobra, Maymyint suddenly stood. "You're past your prime, old bitch."

For a second, Marong thought the flow of time had ceased.

"You have grown cheeky." Me Nu regained her composure. "Tyrtrol!"

Maymyint prostrated by throwing herself on the floor with a violent snap.

Marong likewise felt the blood in his veins urging him to obey, though when it came to off-shoots like him and Mayuree, their genetic heirloom had thinned enough to gift them freedom.

"Confn trelkilt," Me Nu continued in the old draconic tongue, her expression demonstrating full confidence in her command over her children. "It seems the liberty I have gifted you has gone to your head, Maymyint. You believe yourself beyond your role as tithing for our little Tyrant up north. But some lessons, I see, mustn't be remiss. You, my child, are just as expendable as your brothers and sisters. You, arrogant whelp, are no more important than Mayuree, who you so eagerly volunteered."

At the sound of Me Nu's words, Marong tensed, relying on years of training to quieten his disquieted heart. Maymyint volunteered Mayuree? His complexion would have blanched but for his dissipated body. Then it wasn't the Matriarch?

Maymyint forced herself onto her knees.

"But why have you sent all our forces northward, leaving the city unprotected? Are you perhaps planning a coup?" Me Nu continued, growing more upset by the minute, feeling naked without her guards. "I sense something on you, dear child. What could it be?"

By the time Marong had calmed himself, the Matriarch had left her throne and was encircling Maymyint. As usual, their so-called mother's deathless face was something that made one's spine squirm. Said to be the descendant of a great Naga, Me Nu was the last remnant of the Royal Family deposed by the British, a surviving daughter of the Mon and the Pyu. The way she moved reminded him of a serpent, made more so vivid by the jewel-encrusted scales just below her neck, cupping her shrivelled breasts.

"Vataka!"

Maymyint knelt.

"Open your mouth."

Maymyint obeyed.

"Wider!"

Marong's sister stretched her blooded-lips so far that her jaws appeared unhinged.

The Matriarch reached out with fingers crusty with dull serpent scales, then drew out Maymyint's tongue. Quickly, like a dash, Me Nu's tongue flickered.

"Ho?" Me Nu dug a nail into Maymyint's pink appendage, daring the woman to bite. "What is this? Someone else has marked you in my stead. I can smell it on your breath and in your blood."

Marong meanwhile, was considering the possibility of getting the Matriarch to rescind her order for Mayuree. If he should approach their "Mother" with suspicions of Maymyint' treachery against Mayuree's contribution, could he bring his sister back?

"You always had a glib tongue." Me Nu relented her grasp, then patted Maymyint on the cheeks, wiping the frothy blood on her daughter's cheeks. "Tell me, child, how is it that you have met with the Tyrant without my knowledge? What is your purpose? Use the Void Sorceress to make the IIUC Mages join your fight? You know the proctors do not interfere, no matter the sacrifice made by the students. Are you truly hoping a group of children would defeat our enemy of three decades? Your plan appears to be full of holes, my dear. Tell Mother what it is that you have truly envisioned. I know you're smarter than that."

"I planned for your departure from this world," Maymyint spoke, her voice different somehow. "Are you so discontent with rotting away in your palace, Me Nu? You haven't left here, nor seen the sun for how long? What's the joy in life, when you live in a gilded cage?"

That last metaphor, Marong mulled. Was that for Me Nu, or was it for Maymyint herself? In a way, wasn't it the same for all their siblings? Cocks and hens locked in gilded cages, fattened up to be of use to the House of Mü, a house of nothing?

"Ssejinw!" Me Nu commanded, fuming at her daughter's insolence.

"No, I will not." To Marong's shock and surprise, Maymyint not only disobeyed their Matriarch's Draconic speech but rose to both feet. Instead, she opened her mouth, split her tongue in twain in the manner of a serpent's and delivered a power word of her own. "Vataka!"

Unbidden, surprised and caught utterly unprepared, Me Nu found herself hitting the floor on all fours, just as Maymyint had done so before.

"How does it feel?" Maymyint's trilling voice quivered with excitement. "Old whore! Now the shoe is on the other foot! HA!"

"YOU!" Me Nu's eyes rolled in all directions. "How?"

Marong knew that Me Nu's dragon-speech held her children in check. When she fully applied her will and her Mind Magic, it was almost impossible to resist her command. That Maymyint had found a way to combat their Matriarch's blood magic was an impossible thing. Distinctly, Marong recalled the Grandmaster warning him that any descendants not subject to Me Nu's control were sent to the Tyrant, that or fed to the pseudo-dragon-carp in the lake.

"I have a new Master now!" Maymyint snarled. "I am free!"

Before Marong could rebuke the irony of what Maymyint had declared, his sister reached out with both hands and took Me Nu by the arms. "Hag! Your time is done! Progress waits for no one!"

Tzsss!

"ARRRRRGH!" Me Nu screamed as radiant energy seared her scales and melted the golden mounts upon which her jewels were clustered.

"Make me prostrate?" Maymyint exalted as she tore a chunk of charred flesh from the Matriarch's body. "That's the last time you threaten me!"

"Guards! GUARDS!" Me Nu cried out.

Marong's eyes, were he still in his physical form, would have bulged from their sockets. Maymyint, attacking the Matriarch! It was insanity; the world had gone topsy-turvy!

"You ingrate!" Me Nu struck out with a blow of her own, but her body, as Marong suspected, was old and frail, a scarecrow wearing a skin of youth the House of M had supplied for almost half a century. Beneath Maymyint, Me Nu's lower body suddenly fused, becoming the likeliness of a snake, but whatever Maymyint had done was keeping the Matriarch bound in her human form. With this final indignity, Me Nu grew desperate. "Are you working with Aung San?! Did he set you up for this? Do you hope to give up the House to those peasants?! To those rebels?!"

Maymyint didn't speak. Instead, she pushed Me Nu to the floor and began to choke the life out of their matron with a sadistic glee that bordered on orgiastic joy.

"Is it the B-British?" The Matriarch choked and howled, her face turning half-cobra before turning back again. "No-Tsss-M-Maymyint- Sss-spare-"

Mindful of his incorporeal heart pounding away somewhere in the Astral Realm, Marong descended into the throne room, slinking across the ground, mingling with the smoke from the sandalwood incense. He had no love for the Matriarch, but this was an opportunity.

An opportunity that would likely never come again in his life.

A chance to be free.

Maymyint was going to be another Me Nu. Nothing would change with her reign. Even so, their eldest had the right idea. If his sister could make the hard choice to fight for her future, then so could Marong.

"Garrr… Garrrrk… Fles… of mine..." Me Nu struggled for breath. Scales painted with golden flakes began to cascade from her body as her waning vitality began to shed what age should have taken long ago, filling the antechamber with a musical series of clinks and clangs.

"All shall end in Nagaland," Maymyint boasted even as the flesh of her mother began to soften. "When Mayuree and her friends clash with the Tyrant, when the Shadowmen stir up Aung San's nest, they will smash themselves against the fortress."

"F-fool…"

"Oh, I don't expect either side to succeed." Maymyint giggled, ratcheting up the pressure on her sizzling fingers. There was blood now; Marong could see broken skin on Me Nu's throat, affecting a great stink as the Matriarch's ancient plasma steamed and boiled. "All they, and Gwen, and the IIUC teams have to do is create a distraction and then… hahaha…"

Me Nu shrivelled, her clawed feet kicked, then all life departed.

Maymyint looked around, dazed by the blood and gore covering her from her throat to her thighs, baked into her dress.

With still shaking hands, she began to draw a communication glyph from the floor, using the Matriarchs blood as a convenient medium. Marong meanwhile, slipped just behind his Enchanter sister, mindful of her sensitivity to magic, keeping his magical signature at a minimum.

With a flourish, Maymyint completed the circle. "It's done!"

The glyphs activated, proving the potency of their Matriarch's demi-human serum. In the next instant, a sudden stink of draconic-essence permeated the room.

Marong knew by now his sister was in league with the Tyrant. If so, they were all in danger. Mayuree was in danger, Gwen was in danger, the House of M was in danger, and so was all of Myăma.

But not if he could get his way.

It was funny how when the Matriarch had sent him to Manipur for ten years of torturous training, he had sworn to kill her and free himself and Mayuree and that now, he was going to avenge the old bitch.

But first, Marong sought to know what his sister was trafficking.

"So you have chosen satisfaction after all," a deep and rumbling voice rolled across the throne room, eliciting a willing prostration from his proud sister. "Was diplomacy too difficult?"

Shit! His ghostly anatomy puckered. That's NOT the Tyrant!

With one hand, he worked the killing spell, with the other, he readied himself to activate the necrotic device tethered to his craft. Maymyint possessed a Contingency Ring, meaning he had to offset any healing she received when she reappeared in her contracted Tower.

Without warning, Maymyint grovelled so low that Marong found himself vis-a-vis with a glowing eye, electric-blue and golden-slitted, staring past the woman and toward his incorporeal visage.

Their eyes met.

Every cell in Marong's body, astral and solid, stood at a standstill.

"Humph," the voice hummed. "Tell me of events in Kachin."

"Gwen Song and her ilk are at each other's throats," Maymyint obediently replied from the floor. "They should be resolving their quest very soon. I have arranged for Mayuree's extradition to Nagaland once they reach Indaw."

"And the Tyrant?"

"Fuming."

"Delicious, and what of your promise to Marong?"

"Lord?"

At the mention of his name, Marong felt his magic begin to unravel.

"Did you not assert that young Mayuree will be safe?"

Maymyint appeared confused by the unexpected inquiry. "Forgive your servant for not understanding. The sorceress and my sister are bait."

"Indeed they are," the voice grew low. "You may proceed as planned."

"As per your will." Maymyint bowed, just stopping herself before she slammed her head on the jade carvings.

"Go now. I shall be in contact."

Without a word, Maymyint shuffled away, leaving the mangled, half-transmuted corpse of Me Nu, surrounded by precious jewels and gems, to decorate the otherwise spotless golden throne room.

Very slowly, mote by mote, Marong began his retreat.

"Marong." The eye abruptly refocused its attention, and now it addressed him directly. "Your foster mother and something of a matron is dead. Do you hold any affection for her, or is your allegiance akin to that of your surviving sister?"

Before Marong could answer or turn to flee, a dense coil of mana flooded the throne room, making the air as thick as molasses. Something incredibly dense was gathering at the centre, as though a cumulonimbus cloud had suddenly formed in the throne room's golden interior. In an instant, a dark fog, moist and wet like a monsoonal thunderstorm, filled the vacant space, painting the cold walls with moisture.

Marong had been through enough danger to know that nothing good would come of staying any longer.

"Blin—"

"Zexenuma!" the voice that now boomed across the room made Me Nu's earlier command sound gentler than the archery of rain on Kandawgyi. The weight of Maymyint's masters' words pressed in upon his skull with the force of a Stone Spear to his brain, seizing the entirety of his being. He understood the word; in the draconic-tongue, it was a simple command to "Stay" - as one would say to a dog.

With a crash, his physical form fell into the material world, striking the floor with a resounding thunk.

Now held hostage by rebellious limbs, Marong stood still as a statue while the cloud collated, growing solid, crackling with lightning and fulminating with low thunder until it took on the form of a man.

Slowly, as though with all the leisure in the world, his assailant stepped onto the jade-green tiles of the throne room.

Without regard for his captive audience, the monstrous existence exercised his humanoid form, flexing his fingers and extending his legs, craning his neck this way and that. When finally Marong gathered his wits, the Smoke Mage couldn't help but shudder; for he was staring at perfection.

Maymyint's master was tall, at least two meters, with strong jaws, broad shoulders, a compact torso and long limbs. Where Marong had dark hair, the man had a silver mane that sprouted just above his bushy, ash-white brows, tucked behind the ears and flowing till his waist.

The creature's physiognomy was majesty personified, his physique without earthly equal.

When Marong's gaze fell lower, his eyes involuntarily widened.

Abruptly, the man willed a black-silver longyi into existence, leaving his upper body exposed and glistening, rippling with vitality.

"Sva escho," the man intoned with ease, his open mouth hinting at the flickering, forked tongue hidden within.

Without warning, all the tension drained from Marong's body.

"Who are you?" Marong quaked. "You're not the Tyrant."

"Of course I am not the bastard," the man snickered. "You call me Ruxin, your new sovereign."

Marong sniffed the incensed air.

He finally recalled the origin of the nostalgic scent.

How could he have forgotten the stink that Gwen had brought into his home?

Who else could have easily dominated Me Nu?

"You… you're …from…" Marong felt his bones groan. A primal terror unlocked from somewhere deep within his marrows, flooding his spine with adrenaline he couldn't expend. The Yinglong? Was this the Yinglong itself?! A mythic class being, here?! What had Maymyint invited into their home? Was his eldest insane? More importantly, was the Yinglong interested in their country? Was one dragon now going to fight the other for territory? If so, what about Mayuree?

"I suppose I am." The dragon called "Ruxin" smiled gently. "I am but a vagabond prince looking for a home. In this, we are alike: two princelings of worth, seeking their fortune in a hostile world."

Marong felt sticky perspiration drenching his sneak-suit. Alike with a mythic being? To say he was tongue-tied was an understatement.

"Humph, I had thought you quick-witted like your sister," Ruxin observed. "Speaking of which, killing Maymyint there and then was a delicious display of good judgement. But did you think I could not detect your hostility? Had I less care for your sister, you would have delayed my plans..."

The dragon laughed. "How shall I deal with you, young Marong?"

Opposite, Marong's head was abuzz with chaos, though within that primordial chaos of dread and despair, survival and surprise, came a strange clarity.

First of all, he knew that there were two paths ahead. One in which he and Mayuree lived, and one in which he and his sister were dead. Either way, Ruxin would get his way. Maymyint was right in one aspect: that Yangon had survived this long without a Tower was an anomaly. The status quo Me Nu had maintained with bribes was untenable; the House of M's mercantile network would only last so long before external forces, and internal strife blew the lid.

Restoration of the Mon and Pyu bloodlines?

A return to the governorship of Myăma?

Marong could hardly relate to those ageing aspirations, for they were the dreams of an older generation, apparitions from the past.

Compared to old compatriots like Maymaruya, Marong was born in the mountains of Manipur, shipped to Shanghai for his education, then returned to Manipur to be trained as a tool for the Royal House's restoration. He had a dozen siblings then, Thint, Ne Win, Sein, Kwat, Un, Khun and others whose faces he could no longer recall, that and Mayuree, who had clung to his sleeves and cried at every turn, the youngest of their batch.

Now that Maymyint had sold their homeland, why should he remain loyal to a cause that had never been his own, now usurped by another for personal gain?

The words that came to his throat surrendered themselves with a fantastic satisfaction, "delicious" as the dragon would say, for it was Maymyint who had shown him the way.

"My Lord Ruxin, are you familiar with the Centurion Program?"

His unexpected meander must have surprised even Ruxin. Where the dragon had worn the contemplative boredom of a predator toying with his prey, there was now a slight rise to his brow.

"Maymyint had mentioned it." Ruxin nodded with pleasure. "Profitable, I believe."

"Did she inform you that Gwen Song was the progenitor of the program?"

"Not as such."

Marong observed he had been allowed to continue.

"Lord Ruxin, Gwen Song lies at the heart of the Centurion Program." Marong took a gamble. "Maymyint is a fool blinded by her lust for power, which is why she failed to have your interest as her core priority. I know she seeks to borrow your Lordship's terror to cow the House's foxes into submission, but please allow this one a moment to clarify her fault."

"Very well, you have it."

"My Lord." Marong wracked his brain for details, cursing that he had only read the reports in a cursory sense. "The Centurion Program is a credit system the likes of which we have never seen before, at least not in Asia. What Gwen had helped Manager Maymaruya set up in Shanghai is but the seed of something infinitely greater. With only one tier 1 city feeding into the program, the Shanghai division of the House of M has become the preeminent investment our operations now possess. The program, my Lord, is pure profit, not resources dug from the earth, but wealth from thin air, credit and interest, usury by design on an industrial scale. If the program could be successfully replicated in Tokyo, in Seoul, in Singapore, in Hong Kong and beyond, what it may well produce could be the equivalent of many a Myăma and all of its pits of nephrite and jadeite!"

"You had my curiosity." The dragon's eyes were burning holes into Marong's brain, branding him somehow in ways Marong could not begin to imagine. "But now you have my interest."

"Allow me to be your regent," Marong proposed, falling to both knees. "Maymyint has incurred Gwen Song's ire and can neither compel nor elicit her aid. Moreso, if and when Mayuree perishes, that will be the end of our cooperation. Your exalted expansion will be hundreds of times more arduous; our competitors will have us by the throat. For the Centurion Program to continue, and for you to reap its benefits, my Lord, Gwen must remain on our side. Mayuree must remain tethered to Gwen, and I: I shall be your regent where your Grace's presence is too precious."

Ruxin's grin grew until Marong thought for a moment he was going to be swallowed whole.

"You sister promises the loyalty of the Shadowmen of Manipur."

"The Grandmaster is my master, Lord," Marong's voice croaked. "I know him. He will follow you or I or Mayuree even, so long as our supply lines remain intact. His is a developing Frontier, and our alliance is one of mutual benefit, untethered to any one person."

"You lost something of a mother already." Ruxin clicked his tongue. "Now you trade a sister for a sister?"

"This one desires only to serve." Marong touched his head to the floor. "Mayuree is but an instrument which your Lordship must preserve, just as Maymyint is one my lord has expended."

"Raise your head."

When Marong looked up, he saw Ruxin's glowing, single-slit eyes staring back down.

"Allow me to clear a mild misunderstanding, young Marong." Ruxin appeared to mull over his next words. When he finally delivered them, Marong's whole world began to quake. "I shall accept your offer as my regent, your sister shall live, and I shall even allow you the liberty of exacting your human justice, as I had allowed Maymyint. But - let me elucidate on how the events shall now proceed."

In a moment, Marong's mind flooded with knowledge, bloating his brain against the confines of its mortal casing.

"You see, young Marong." Ruxin's voice filled every nook of his skull. "What you failed to understand is that the jade, the land, the people, Yangon, Mandalay, Kachin, Nagaland, the Tyrant, Aung San, your sister, yourself, the House of M and even the Calamity... ALL shall belong to me."

From day one in Mandalay, it was self-evident that there was insufficient food, medicine, machinery and materials for all four universities to attain a balanced ration of CCs. When inevitably, fights broke out, leading to impromptu duels all over the city, the teams convened to work out a formal system of splitting the resources without actually setting fire to the whole thing.

The resulting solution was a reasonable point-system where duels determined the amount of goods each team accumulated. The result was that having sent their ace members northward, Seoul and Jiantong staggered, while Fudan and Kyoto proved similarly matched. To further ensure fairness, a proctor was invited to supervise the duels, after which the assets were distributed accordingly.

"I wonder if the northern expedition teams are working as amicably as we are," remarked Anwei, a member of Jiantong's supporting team, much to the mirth of his peers.

"I believe Gwen would welcome something like this," Tei assured them, thinking of their selection trial. "Rest assured; she works very well with others."

On the fourth day, Jiantong received news that their Captain had forfeited the match. Embarrassed beyond measure, Tei supervised the splitting of their rival's loot between the Koreans, the Japanese, and Fudan.

"I heard your Ace was the one who forced Jiantong to capitulate," Chong Jei, a cautious member of Seoul U, observed as he received their surplus manifest. "I hope she's not thinking of challenging our Lee Sunbae-nim."

"Gwen is fully open to cooperation," Tei said to his Korean counterpart.

On the fifth day, Seoul received news that they were returning home. The girls cried while the young men fell into a disbelieving stupor. Kyoto and Fudan agreed to split the loot from Seoul U fifty-fifty.

"..." A Kyoto member held his tongue lest Tei unleashed another prophetic curse.

"That's our Gwen," Eunae declared proudly after returning from consoling her Korean compatriots. "I heard she took out Sung Lee, Si-Won and Jung-min. The three might already be back in Korea."

"Wocao, Gwen is a monster." Jiro whistled.

"Just Kyoto to go then." Rene waved at their final opponents. "I can't wait to hear it first hand. Gwen, taking out two teams back to back? I wonder if she bothered to take a breather in between the slaughter. Maybe in two days, we go home the victor."

The rest of Fudan's team members took a moment to imagine Caliban hunting down Kyoto's Mages one by one.

With thus a week to reorganise their northward expedition, Tei and Kyoto U's representative, an Onmyoji called Kyu Sakamoto, began to pressure the local government for logistical support. Unsurprisingly, they initially met with ceaseless stonewalling until, without any particular reason, the provincial governorship relented, gifting the teams with vehicles and materials galore.

"Unexpected boons," Jiro, always open to a good fight, suggested something was afoot. "Is never a good thing."

"It doesn't matter; we proceed as planned, we'll be fine as long as we're careful," Fudan's Captain assured his team.

So it was that on the tenth day since arriving in Mandalay, with little to no knowledge of events in Kachin, the teams set out, protecting a great train of supplies.

It was just as well that they now possessed military cargo trucks, not to mention NoM operators. Though their lumbering engines were decades old and likely from the last war, it would suffice for the journey north. Only a week ago, Tei was looking into buying buffalo and donkey carts. As for critical supplies such as potions and medicines, those remained in Tei's ring.

At the forefront of the convoy was Kyoto, clearing the landscape with their communally conjured Kami. For the journey ahead, the teams had agreed on cooperation over conflict. Rene worked on filling potholes and securing earthen banks with quickly solidifying pillars of Magma. Tei meanwhile, planted wards to keep away magically inclined fauna. As for their NoM labourers, the masses riding along within and atop the trucks were cared for by Kyoto's Abjurer, Yumi, who worked with Eunae in looking after the three-hundred NoMs who accompanied the convoy, dispensing minor fortifications of strength, spirit and stamina.

"If fighting starts…" Tei informed both parties, for it didn't take a veteran to taste the tension in the air. "Gather the NoMs between the first and last six vehicles. I have wards set up."

"As you will, Tei-san." Yumi and the others were happy to oblige. "If something terrible were to happen, do you think the examiners will intervene?"

"Not while the competition is ongoing," Tei dispensed his wisdom freely. "That's how it is, I am afraid. Our mission may prove no less complicated than that of our A Team in Kachin."

Gwen had never been to Indaw, a small township adjacent to a lake mid-way between Mandalay and Kachin. But as a fan-girl, she did know that it was the setting for Burmese Days, George Orwell's seminal novel and that the author's home sat in the next town, Katha, only five kilometres over.

But in this world, there was no Nineteen-Eighty-Four. Had there been someone of Orwell's talent, their worthiness in a colonial backwater like this would have manifested only in Spellcraft, meaning they would have fled Burma at the first sign of Aung San's independence movement.

What remained then, was a fishing township of ten thousand souls on the shores of Indaw lake, one of the smaller bodies of water to grace Kachin's northern catchment, fertile with loam and fecund with rice paddies, filled to the brim with mortal and magical flora and fauna.

As their half-kilometre troop of labourers made slow but steady progress down from Kachin through the main arterial highway, Gwen was beset by a new and unexpected problem, one that jolted her from the Zen of micromanagement.

Mayuree had come down with a fever.

That Mages had illnesses was only something she had experienced herself, though her episodes were usually Void-related. What troubled Gwen was the timing of the occurrence. Now that victory was at hand, and they were on their way to meet with Tei and the rest of the team, Mayuree suddenly fell ill?

It took a significant leap of faith to believe such a coincidence.

And yet, she couldn't discount the fact that Mayuree had flown with her through wind and rain. That the weather had been humid, hot and cold, and that they had both gone through an excess of stressful encounters of late in a tropical, insect-infested region.

If that wasn't enough to bring on a burning fever, then what was? God knew what pathogens lurked in the undergrowth or their drinking water.

First, she had attempted a Remove Disease injector. When that didn't work, she abducted the Abbott of the monastery at Kamaing to La War to check on her friend. When the well-respected healer couldn't diagnose Mayuree, Gwen felt at wit's end. Logic told her to leave Mayuree at La War while she brought over Eunae, but a growing sense of paranoia brought on by Mia's glamoured disposition made her risk aversive. Finally, she relented to bring over Kyoto's Captain and Vice Captain to examine Mayuree, hoping that perhaps, the Japanese had an idea.

After a suite of diagnostic magic, as well as a consultation with presumably a relevant Kami, Ichiro had this to say.

"She's not sick," the Shugenja informed her. "It's her Divination that's acting up."

"What?" Gwen and the others from Fudan looked from Mayuree to their Japanese counterparts.

"Mayuree-san, how do you feel? Have you seen any visions?"

"That can't be. I don't feel fearful or frightened," Mayuree protested feebly, her face unusually pallid and her brows covered with a snail-sheen of sweat. The Diviner had remained lucid, though she couldn't hold down food and she tossed and turned in her sleep with the vigour of one possessed.

"There's a charm suppressing your talent." Ichiro drew a line of pale Enchantment from Mayuree's forehead. "Your Sigil is alerting you, but an Enchantment in your mind is preventing you from acting on it. That is what is causing the fever."

"Can you do something, Ichi-san?" Gwen croaked, unused to seeing sickness and suffering in those to whom she had grown close. Before they left, Walken had advised that they should minimise disruption to the competition; now that Fudan had it in the bag, she was willing to expend certain certainties to repair Mayuree. "Name your price."

"We are happy to help." Yuki stopped Ichiro before the exchange grew uncomfortable. "A fellow Mage is ill. It is all of our duty to ensure she recovers."

"But she isn't sick, Yuki-sama," Ichiro pointed out. "I fear Gwen-san has problems of her own; ones we cannot help."

Which meant they should mind their own business, Gwen deciphered.

"Ichiro-kun." Yuki dialled her imploring eyes to eleven. "Please."

"I don't have access to a dispelling mandala," Ichiro confessed, red-faced and embarrassed. "It's not that I do not wish to help, Gwen-san, just that it isn't safe. Without a mandala to drain the embedded magic, the feedback could make Mayuree-san's condition worse."

Which ultimately led to their present condition involving a delirious Mayuree, bundled and strapped to Ariel's back, kept snug and warm and shielded from the rain by Lea. As an offering of compassion, Yuki, Masahiro and Hiroki cleared the road ahead with Dororo, working with Richard, Lulan and Anita to excavate the overgrown highway buried under rubble and ruin.

At night, Gwen slept with Mayuree in her Habitat, enduring the girl's feverish mumbling and muttering even when cradled against Gwen's cool dermis. Outside, her dogs patrolled their surroundings, protecting their troop of NoM labourers sleeping beside rows of carts, punctuated by the rare motor vehicle.

Two days later, from half a kilometre up in the air, Gwen caught sight of Indaw.

"There's Gwen!" Eunae waved as Gwen alighted among her fellow Mages from Fudan, a bundle strapped to her back.

"Eunae! Mayuree's sick!" Contrary to the Cleric's great expectations, Gwen landed with a stumble. "We need to do that thing. Are you good to go? Tei, how long are we resting in Indaw?"

"We planned to move tomorrow morning," Tei hailed his Vice Captain, who hastily bowed. "The NoMs need rest. What's wrong with Mayuree?"

"Ichiro says she's glamoured and her Divination is clogged," Gwen crudely explained. "Her brain is melting."

Before Tei could speak, a furious Kitty pushed past Fudan's Captain.

"How could you!" Kitty's crow-black scowl sliced at Gwen's conscience. "You liar! You said Mia would be safe!"

"Mia IS safe." Gwen fumbled for words, finding none that would suffice, serving only to infuriate a livid Kitty who saw evidence to the contrary.

"I don't believe you!" Kitty snarled. "Liar!"

"Kitty!"

"Get off me!"

"Kitty, calm yourself, Mayuree needs help," Tei intervened. "Gwen?"

"I need at least an hour with Eunae in the Portable Habitat," Gwen explained, too anxious to bother with Kitty's prodding, settling instead for eventual hindsight. "Tei, you'll have to trust me. Can you hold the fort?"

"Sure," Tei told the others to clear out and go find the incoming team and their labourers. "I'll take care of the rest. You take care of Mayuree."

"Eunae?"

"I am ready." Eunae nodded. "Master Walken gave me everything I needed."

"Gwen, please!" Kitty reached out to peel the groggy Mayuree from Gwen's back. "Where are you taking her? What are you doing?"

"KITTY! NOT NOW!" Gwen barked, striking the girl with dragon-fear, driving the pleading Ice Mage back. After three days of not sleeping, her patience was on a short fuse.

Kitty stumbled, dazed despite her best efforts.

"You may come in when I tell you." Gwen found a space between two trucks, canvased and well shielded from sight, then laid down the Habitat. "Tei, I am counting on you, let me know if anything's wrong. Eunae, let's go."

The Habitat opened its portal. Gwen authorised herself, Mayuree, Tei and Eunae, adding in Richard and Lulan just in case.

"STOP!" Kitty screeched. When she reached for the portal, she found its mirror-like surface incorporeal and intangible. "NO!"

"Miss Liang, compose yourself!" Tei glared. Kitty had been a perfect Captain's little helper the whole erstwhile in Mandalay, so it was off-putting to see the girl in such a wretched state. "Gwen knows what she's doing, and Mayuree will shortly return, so stop embarrassing us any further! You'll be on Vid-cast! Act professionally!"

When Kitty turned, her expression was such that he reflexively allowed a half-syllable of Dust Shield to touch the tip of his tongue. Thankfully, Ice Mages cooled rapidly.

"Sorry," Kitty mumbled, then stalked away, likely trying to find somewhere dark and cold to brood.

Tei shook his head, then met the gaze of Jiro and Rene, who had kept a safe distance as soon as Kitty began to act up.

"I told you she's in love," Rene remarked to Jiro. "The girl talks about nothing but Mayuree at night. Never had I thought an Ice Mage could be so fired up."

"But…" Jiro glanced at Kitty's retreating figure, then at the portal. "They're both girls?"

It took Eunae twenty minutes to set up the Dispelling Mandala Walken had taught.

"Magister Walken said that when dispelling persistent-effects like embedded Mind Magic, it's not the same as the disruption type Dispel," the girl explained as she drew lines onto the grey floor of the Habitat's interior space with a reagent dispenser. "The mandala's effects can be multiplied many times, depending on the type of material used. Right now, I am using a mithril and silver compound. The Magister couldn't find one in Yangon, so he took one from his private collection."

Wily old Eric seemed to have many things in his "private" collection, Gwen noticed. From marmalade to cigars to vintage wine to magical reagents.

"Is it going to work?"

"Seonsaeng-nim said it should dispel anything tier 6 and below without incident," Eunae returned her enquiry, evidently feeling impressed enough by Walken to use a culture-specific honorific. "We practised a few times. He's an excellent teacher."

"I suppose he's got his merits."

"You're so lucky," Eunae gushed.

Gwen felt conflicted. When they returned, there would be a tongue lashing from her excellent instructor, though for now, Eunae's worshipful tone made her skin crawl.

"I know Mayuree is important to you." Eunae seemed to enjoy their little role-reversal now that Gwen was the flustered one and she was the one helping. "But as long as we follow sir's instructions, Mayuree will be perfectly fine!"

"Magister, I think you should look at this." Evelyn Hass brought Chief Proctor von Schlabrendorff over to the Lumen-projector.

A day prior, half of the examiners' group had relocated to a mobile field base in Katha, from where they would witness the handover between the two convoys as the teams once again converged before moving up into Kachin. On the fourteenth day since commencement from Yangon, a declaration would announce that the first round of the qualifier was over, and contestants would then be sent home for a week of recuperation before embarking on the second round of the qualifiers.

"It better not be a dragon," von Schlabrendorff grumbled as he set down his coffee.

"I would prefer a dragon at this rate." Hass punched in a dozen glyphs in quick succession, zooming the map out. "A group of unregistered magic users just appeared in the lake's centre."

"What was there previously?"

"An old jetty sir, it wasn't anything suspicious…"

"None of our business, either way." Von Schlabrendorff motioned for the others to gather. "What's the House of M doing? Are they expecting our students to engage in extracurricular labour?"

"Looks like our hostiles numbers in the twenties." A third Magister operated his lumen-caster. "I am not seeing anyone with a significant mana signature but- WOA!"

"Is that a Swamp Hydra?" A fourth zoomed in on the shape that just appeared. "How are they transporting something that size through Teleportation Circles?"

"Two Hydras! Was there another force in Burma with so much resource?" The third wracked his brain for data. "Does a Frontier of this size even have that many mid-tier Mages?"

"I would presume the Rogue Mages are Aung San Yuzana's freedom fighters, from Nagaland," von Schlabrendorff remarked. "Pay them no heed. One assumes they're here to loot or destroy the supplies. Also, knowing where they're from, I don't think they're Hydras."

"Nagaland?" The fourth checked his notes. "Our Indian Protectorate?"

"Originally belonging to the Mon and the Pyu empires, then annexed to the Mageocracy, then lost in the Beast Tide," von Schlabrendorff reminded his Mages. "But yes. That's where the Tyrant is said to have originated."

"So the Tyrant is a..."

"And those are…"

"What else?" von Schlabrendorff scoffed. "Isn't it natural for Nagas to live in Nagaland?"

Yuki and her crew of Onmyoji were the first to notice the sudden change in the elemental composition of the air, sensing a wave of distress as the local Kami fled from the lake, dispersed by the disruption in the natural flow of the ley-lines' energy.

"Everyone!" Ichiro's voice boomed across the township, enhanced by his vocal prowess. "We're under attack! Monsters approach from the lake! Unidentified casters are moving into range!"

"Ichiro-san. We're here!"

"Captain Bai! Where is Gwen-san?"

"She's indisposed," Tei apologised. "We'll set up a perimeter for now."

"Then we'll do our part as well." Yuki joined the two men. "Dororo will shield the south entrance to the village, while Koishishi will guard the west. Are we moving the convoy out?"

"You'll have to go first." Tei nodded. "Gwen's immobile for the time being, and it's too dangerous to spread our forces along a battle line. We'll clean up the rear as soon as we're ready to mobilise."

Meanwhile, two to three hundred meters away, combat had been joined. A cacophony of elemental effects erupted where the lake met the village, sending up plumes of dark smoke where fire, earth and other volatile forces dismantled the old colonial dock. Towns with a population density like Indaw generally possessed a local militia involving a handful of low-tier Mages led by a Senior Mage, accompanied by able-bodied NoM soldiers.

"They're sacking the town!" Ichiro scowled. "Bastards!"

"Tei, are we withdrawing?" Jiro drifted overhead, nodding in passing at Ichiro. "Mao! Look at those Hydras! A big green bastard and a purple one! I haven't seen one since Yunnan!"

"Is this a part of the test?" Anita, Rene, and the others had by now also located their Captain.

"Tei, they're not here for the town." Richard had finished erecting Walls of Water in a wide perimetre in an effort to calm the labourers. "They've spotted us, and they're coming here. Ichiro, can you take care of the NoMs? When the fighting starts they're going to panic."

Ichiro nodded. The last thing they needed was bodies adding to the anarchy.

"O Kami of the land and water, humble this one. Calm our disquieted hearts! PEACE!"

The Kotodama user sent out a ripple of magic with a sudden eruption of his baritone voice. Where his power word resonated, Fudan and Kyoto's hired labourers, together with local villagers who had fled toward the trucks, ceased their terrified milling and instead looked to the student Mages.

"Great work." Richard gave the man a thumbs up. "Load the NoMs up so we can draw the fighting away from the village. Jiro, Rene, you guys fought Hydras before?"

"Twice." Jiro rose into the air beside Richard. "It's their unlucky day that I am here."

"First time." Rene joined them. "BUT, I am sure well-done Hydras don't regenerate."

"I'll cover them." Anita followed, buffing the duo mid-flight.

"Don't damage the supplies!" From a Storage Ring, Tei produced four yellow parchments scrawled with red glyphs. "Ichiro, these are for your trucks. They're single use, effective against tier 5 and below."

He then leapt from vehicle to vehicle, activating the wards drawn on the canvas.

"Thank you, Bai-san." Ichiro received the Fuda, then retreated to reconvene with his team.

"Tei! They're here!" Jiro's voice came through the Message device. "Engaging!"

"Keep the Hydra at a distance! Stone Vaults of Taishan!"

Two-dozen tombstone pillars erupted from the soft ground; forming an impromptu Stonehenge around their circled convoy.

"God, that's morbid." Richard winced. "I think a few of the NoMs fainted."

"It's the Negative Energy." Tei Bai ignored the Water Mage's good-natured jab at his Clan's secretive arts.

"Tei, Richard, you want me on offence or defence?" Lulan asked the two defenders.

"Lulan, check on Gwen," Tei said. Lulan functioned best in close quarters, but first, they needed an electrifying distraction.

The Sword Mage disappeared into the portal.

"Here it comes!" Jiro's voice came through. "HO! LOOK AT THAT!"

Across the village, where Kyoto University was encamped, a giant mud-man with two holes for eyes was wrestling a six-headed Hydra into the earth, pummelling the thing to the ground and wrangling its heads one by one.

"Mao that's impressive!" At Fudan's defence perimeter, Jiro's burning passion became inspirited by Kyoto. Droning with a low voice, the Fire Mage's incantation grew to a crescendo as he reached the climactic conclusion of his tier 6, wide-range AoE. "PHOENIX PINIONS!"

Though no actual sound echoed, the members of Fudan imagined a great caw as a burst of flames escaped from Jiro's Firebird Spirit, growing in length and girth like a peacock's blooming feathers. Once the plumes of vivid, multi-coloured fire fanned out against the sky, they burst into three-dozen flaming arrows, then descended upon the incoming wave of enemy Mages who had barrelled past the NoM militia's non-existent battle line, flanked by a Hydra on either side.

A multitude of defensive magicks activated at once.

"Show off!" Rene laughed, her cheeks warm in the glow of the firelight, delighting in the inundation of Elemental Fire left by Jiro's show of force. "Salamander Skin!"

Suddenly, the Magma Mage clad herself in shifting plates of molten earth. Without pause, drawing glyphs in the air, she then pulled at the Para-Elemental Plane of Magma for a signature spell named after the enemies they were now facing.

"MAGMA HYDRA!" A clump of liquified earth burst from the ground, sprouting no less than five heads, each three meters tall. It was a turret-type spell, one which allowed three consecutive micro-fireball blasts from each of the five Hydra heads. For a defensive battle, there could be no better offence than feeding enemies into a kill-zone established by an endless array of lava blasts.

From above Fudan's convoy, a hail of ice began to descend.

"Crystal Shell!" Anita was ready to cover her two damage dealers.

"Dust Haze!" Unlike Jiro's multi-coloured fire or the scintillating beauty of Anita's crystal, Tei's aesthetics were downright depressing. From erected pylons of condensed dust drawn from the dismal Plane of Dust, a miasma spread, deadening all elemental effects caught within its range, transforming attacks into black snow.

Half a kilometre away, one of Kyoto's twin giants affected a great howl, flaking stone and flinging mud to abruptly metamorph into a molten colossus. It was the elemental-shift for which the Onmyoji was famed, and when it swung its limb, a torrent of fire, thick as a two-lane street, caught the air, turning the lake into a great burst of superheated steam. Where the blast had passed, Tei caught the sight of an enemy Mage peeling from the pack, his shield suddenly exhausted. A second later, the man was aflame, a human torch stumbling across the scorched turf.

Meanwhile, Fudan's Mages flanked their attackers from the right, suppressing the second Hydra with fire and magma. Unfortunately, the Hydra's rubbery skin proved resistant to heat, for heedless of the barrage, its six cobra-heads snatched NoM militiamen from in-between buildings.

PSSSCH!

A jet of odiously corrosive fluid ejected from between the maw of a thrashing Hydra head, smothering an unsuspecting member of Kyoto's team with a generous coating of slime.

The acid-clad victim immediately teleported away, leaving his shield to corrode and collapse.

"Forked Blast!" came a mid-tier assault from Rene, cowing the Hydra momentarily. "You guys' alright?"

A gesture of thanks from their compatriots arrived in the form of a boulder that crashed into Fudan's Hydra, sending it careening into a building.

"Oi, these Hydras have no—!" Rene called out.

A Fireball enveloped the Magma Mage, sending her skittering across the oily-streaked sky but otherwise unharmed.

"Refreshing your Mage Armour!" Anita called out from below.

"No need!" Rene returned the favour with a self-seeking Magma Bolt, sending an enemy backwards with a violent snap. "Barely singed me!"

By now, about three parties of enemy casters had begun to converge. Curiously, they appeared to be seeking something, for though they attacked the students, they avoided damaging the convoy.

"Compress our battle-line!" Tei called out to his team. "Stay within range of the tombstones!"

Though Tei had seen many a time when Mages by the hundreds worked together, it was the first time he had experienced the real chaos of a Mage on Mage, open field melee. Unlike battles against the Undead, whose monstrous wave tactics brought the occasional Wight or Spectral Rider, a fight such as this was pure anarchy.

More disturbingly, he could see that the incoming force was professionally trained, for they moved in four groups of five Mages each, with a minimum of five or six dedicated Abjurers. If the hostiles were to launch an all-out attack heedless of losses, Tei had no confidence he could protect the convoy. What he needed was a force multiplier from their side, like Kyoto's Kami dolls.

Then, as though conjured by a Wish, the Habitat's portal shimmered, materialising the rest of Fudan's team.

When Lulan burst into the pocket dimension of the Habitat, she discovered Gwen and Eunae puzzling over Mayuree's belayed foretelling.

"It's a trap!" Mayuree was trying to inform the two that this whole ordeal of coming to Kachin for the IIUC was folly and that Maymyint and the Tyrant were involved somehow. "Maymyint had offered me to the Tyrant! Marong tried to stop her, but I-I think I am on its list! If today's the fourteenth, then I am supposed to be in Nagaland already!"

"Calm yourself, Mia." Gwen cradled the girl in her arms, unsure what else she could do. "No one is taking you anywhere. Tell me from the beginning. What happened after you spoke to Maymyint?"

"She struck me with something, an Enchantment." Mayuree touched a finger to her sweat-stained brow. "I can't remember anything after that. It was like my whole mind was stuck in wool."

Eunae checked the mandala to ensure that they had performed the procedure correctly.

"We've dispelled something between tier 5 and 6," the Cleric informed her Vice Captain, pointing to the part of the patterned array on the floor that had grown dark. "The mandala is mostly used up."

"A memory-binding spell?" Gwen wished she had as much access to Mind Magic as Walken so that she could tell what was wrong with Mayuree.

"It seems so." Eunae turned to Mayuree. "Mia, we're in Indaw right now, and er... it's August."

"A-August?! Are you saying we're in Kachin? Right now?" Mayuree gripped Gwen's arm like a startled koala to a gumtree. "We can't be in Kachin! I was- I thought it was July! Oh, my Goddess!"

"Mia, we've almost won the first round of the IIUC," Gwen calmly intoned. "We have legions of Magisters with us, eight of the best from Fudan, ten from Kyoto and Mages from the House of M. It'll be fine."

"But—" Mayuree coiled like a cooked prawn, then was suddenly sick.

Gwen didn't mind the stink, although seeing her chippy Diviner in this state made her heart ache. Agonisingly, she thought of Kitty, who even now was outside ready to point accusatory fingers, feeling both guilt and annoyance.

"GWEN!" Lulan chose this moment to burst through the tear between dimensions. "We're under attack by Mages from the mountains!"

"Right now?" Gwen gingerly lifted herself to avoid splashing Mayuree's sick back into her friend's hair. It hasn't even been ten minutes after they ran the mandala, and now some vagabonds from the mountain were attacking them? The timing was far too perfect. "How?"

"They came from the lake. I don't know if they're after us, or the convoy, or the town, it feels like spells are flying everywhere, and Hydras!"

"Hold up, start from the beginning." Gwen struggled with Lulan's incoherent spiel. "Why Hydras?"

"They're not Hydras," Mayuree moaned. "They're Nagas, from Nagaland! Gwen, leave me-"

"Shhhh..." Gwen wiped her Diviner's mouth with a handkerchief.

Lulan stared at the newly recovered but doubly frantic Mayuree.

"Is Mia okay?"

"No, she's not," Gwen assessed grimly.

"They're here for me! They're recovering their Master's lost tithe!" Mayuree moaned.

Gwen stroked the whimpering Mayuree. If what Mayuree said was true, then the Tyrant was supposed to take delivery of the House of M's tithing in July. If so, was Mayuree right? Moreover, was this a ploy of Maymyint's? Were they getting the Tyrant to butt heads with the IIUC proctors? Admittedly, the competition would be delayed while the Magisters dealt with the dragon; if that's the case, what victory or change could the House of M attain? Likewise, if she assumed Aung San was involved somehow, what manner of independence could be preserved when a Tower rakes over Arakan with spellfire?

Though her danger sense remained placid, Gwen could sense in her bones that a controlling force was driving these forces to clash, though a missing piece of the puzzle eluded her.

Who was the beneficiary of it all? She wondered. That was the answer she couldn't find. As for now, keeping Mayuree in the Habitat wasn't a possibility as magical disruptions to the device would send Mayuree spiralling into the material world. The best she could do was have someone like Tei, Anita or Richard take care of her while she and the others chased off their attackers.

"Let's get out there then." Gwen had Eunae make Mayuree comfortable by propping the girl against Luyi, the healer's fawn. They then took the opportunity to buff themselves with Enhanced Ability, Flight, and conjuring seven baying electric-deerhounds eager for action.

"Ariel! Caliban!"

"Eee!"

"Shaa! Shaa!"

"Eunnie, keep Mayuree close. Lulu, you're with me." She took a deep breath. "Let's make this quick."

"Tei! What the hell's happening?" Gwen burst through the portal, followed shortly by Lulan, Mayuree, and Eunae. Where Indaw had been a lakeside township a few hours prior, it was now a setting for Rambo II. "Jesus, are we in a war zone?"

"Mia!" Kitty Blinked in from thin air, embracing her companion with a fierce possessiveness. "Are you alright?"

"Kitty." Mayuree was caught in her bodyguard's arms. "The Tyrant's after me!"

The corners of Gwen's eyes twitched.

"I am not sure what's happening here, but first, let's get mobile. We don't want Kyoto to getting too far ahead of us." Tei would have liked the whole story elucidated from the beginning, but he knew the situation could only get worse if they stayed. At the west gate, their rival's convoy had already cleared the town. "We'll be moving northward. Your friends from Kyoto are keeping our unexpected friends busy for now."

"N-northward?" Mayuree spluttered. "No! We should be going south!"

"We're very close to finishing the quest, Miss Mayuree," Tei patiently explained even as his shield dampened a Fireball. "Please move to the centre for your own safety."

"I am staying with Mia," Kitty interjected.

"You-" Gwen bit her tongue, forcing herself to delay her admonishment, giving in to the fact that from Kitty's perspective, she had indeed taken very little care of Mayuree. "Fine, go. Keep her and Eunae safe."

The Ice Mage shot Gwen a cold scowl of disapproval before directing their Healer and Diviner toward a truck with enough space for the agonised Mayuree to lie down.

"No! Don't leave me!" Mayuree reached out in futility.

"I'll be within teleportation range," Gwen parted from her Diviner. Fucking Maymyint, she cursed internally. Whatever the hell that slithering snake in the grass may be planning, she would give the bitch a piece of her mind as soon as they returned to Shanghai.

"Gwen, up here," Tei invited her up to the back of the end truck, a semi-trailer with a shipping container, within which Gwen willed her dogs and Caliban, anticipating a future ambush of whatever may come within melee range of their cargo.

Unfortunately, the multi-team Spellcraft exhibition rampaging in the sky above proved more chaotic than a geometric Picasso.

"I can't tell who's who." Gwen observed the melee. Buildings were falling, and Nagas were rampaging, Fireballs erupted here and there, followed by flashes of close-quarter combat as spells exploded through windows and lit up the alleyways. Indaw was by no means a large town, and from the looks of the collateral damage, there may not be an Indaw thereafter.

Crack!

In the distance, she heard the familiar sound of Lightning Bolts materialising and striking the ground, making a familiar sound of fulmination as the air turned to plasma. An enemy Mage was throwing down a volley of explosive bolts, peeling away at a building where the local militia had sheltered themselves. Below, civilians fled in panicked mobs, roving across the street as the half-brick, half-galvanised iron construct began to disintegrate.

"Does anyone anywhere give a shit about non-combatants?" Gwen ground her teeth even as Fudan's supply convoy began to withdraw. At the very least, she gave a shit about her NoMs. She would ensure the men and women that came with them returned to La War unharmed, even if they had to pack themselves like sardines to one side, barely caring to breathe or Achoo in the presence of Caliban and her dogs.

"I dare say... no." Tei empowered a Fuda.

"Incoming!" Two blooming mid-air Water Shields punctuated Richard's warning, catching a series of flaming missiles, one of which exploded into a Fireball, showering the hopping NoMs below with scalding liquid. "Fuck me dead. They weren't this keen before."

"I think I know why." Gwen opened her conduits, transforming her invisible Ariel in the process.

"Dick, can you mark my enemies for me?"

"Will do! Lea?"

Globules of glowing water immediately condensed around five Mages who had gotten too close to Fudan's retreating convoy for comfort.

As Gwen incanted, her Kirin Familiar positioned itself. If they were going to punt these bastards back to the mountains, she would do it without adieu.

Sensing her mana build-up, two of the hostile Mages attempted to disrupt her casting. One materialised a spear of stone, while the other conjured a sudden squall of falling fire.

"Tomb Shield!"

As usual, Tei Bai's barrier offered stoic defence and morbid aesthetics in equal measure, consuming both attacks effortlessly even as the Dust's necrotic aura chilled Gwen to the bone.

"Barbanginy!"

Gwen's retributive counter-fire lit up half the battlefield, painting the low clouds a viridescent green.

With Ariel in position, her bolt made just over two revolutions between five enemy casters, blitzing from one to the next with instantaneous clamours of cobalt-green electricity. The initial hit, by far the most potent, singularly shattered an Abjurer's bronze-coloured Earthen Shield, sending her enemy into convulsive bouts of epilepsy. The resultant ricochet then ping-ponged from Mage to Mage, tearing through their depleted defence, sending the unsuspecting rogues tumbling from the sky.

"Flame Burst"

A torrent of Magma caught a Mage as she fell.

Gwen's irises contracted upon seeing Rene giving her a thumbs up and an encouraging wink.

"Go for the kill," Richard interrupted her internal revelry with a spot of unwelcome advice. "Gunther told me to remind you now and then of Blackheath."

Before she could retort, Richard demonstrated his point by firing off a jet-blast of white water, sending another falling enemy spiralling into the distance, crashing into a Wall of ever-burning Fire deposited by Jiro.

"Gwen, focus," Tei intervened when he caught her reddening face. "Look, Kyoto's no different."

Indeed, Kyoto's giants were fending off the waves of incoming Mages with fire and stone. What Gwen's Captain underscored was the fact that Dororo, though cute as Gumby himself, was in the process of crushing a shielded enemy Mage like a soft-boiled egg.

Klang!

"ARRRG—"

A brief scream drew Gwen and Tei's attention to their right flank, where Lulan had caught an assailant flying close to the ground and around the town's waist-high vegetation. Unlike Gwen, whose Ariel could gauge when an enemy was disabled without wasting excess energy, the Sword Mage powered every swing without reserve, cleaving through her enemy's flesh and bone alike. After a dozen flurries in quick succession, an Heart-Piercing Sword impaled her target's chest, pinning an indigenous-seeming man into the gore-strewn asphalt.

Elsewhere, another enemy fled into the distance, aflame with a burst of orange-white fire that refused to extinguish, dashing into the rice paddies in a futile attempt at salvation.

The remaining enemies scattered, likely to regroup and reorganise. Gwen's instantaneous slaying of their Abjurer had opened a glaring hole in their defence.

"Mercy is a privilege," her Captain remarked drily before activating his Message bangle. "Gwen, take the left flank. Jiro, Rene, you take the right. Mayuree, Message our drivers and tell them to increase speed!"

"Oi, we got a big one incoming!" Richard collapsed a Wall of Water to refresh yet another. He and Jiro had been alternating walls every few hundred meters to discourage pursuit. "Gwen! Hydra on the left!"

"It's a Naga!" Gwen shouted, concurrently sending out a mental command, unleashing her dogs from the container's interior. "It's mine!"

A Naga slithered from the tall grass toward the trucks, making haste across the pavement with surprising velocity for a creature of impressive bulk. When the beast broke the fields of still-green rice, Gwen could see that in lieu of Richard's six-headed monster with a body like a brontosaurus, the Naga possessed no limbs, but a massively muscled torso with the likeness of a boa-constrictor. From chest to chest, the creature's central mass was at least the width of their cargo-trailer.

"That's not the Hydra we fought earlier!" Tei reinforced his wards. "Mao! That IS a Naga!"

Nagas were inherently draconic, meaning their resistance to magic was many times that of the pseudo-draconic swamp monster known as the Hydra. If that was the case, it explained how the serpent slithered through spellfire without being cooked, battered or electrocuted.

"Fuck!" Richard swore as the Naga reared to its full height, each cobra head expanding their multi-coloured hoods. "Shit! Lea! Diffusion Shield!"

As one, all six head began to hurl globs of sputum at the convoy.

Lea managed the catch two of the six projectiles, Richard caught two, and the two gnawed at the Tomb Shields Tei had laid down earlier, sliding off the grey barrier to sizzle the asphalt with an odious stink of carbonising acid.

"Nasty stuff." Richard's disgust was met with agreement. "Don't let it get close!"

"I know! Tomb Wall!" Tei formed a circular Sigil with both hands, catching the Naga mid slither, sending its momentum awry by launching it a meter into the air.

Catching the Naga's disorientation, Gwen's deerhounds closed in at once, crackling with electricity as they tore into the Naga's scale-covered body, tearing out great fleshy chunks of rubbery flesh and lichen-covered scales. Feeling the pain, the Naga thrashed, sending its heads to snap at Gwen's dogs. Her deerhounds, however, agile as ferrets and designed by Morden for the express purpose of monster hunting, evaded the envenomed strikes with yips and yelps. With an encouraging "EE!" from Ariel, the dogs renewed their assault by moving down the serpent's body and attacking its mid-section, snapping at its forked tail.

"Do Naga heads grow back?" Gwen shouted at her captain.

"I have no idea!" Tie Messaged back. "This is the first time I've seen an old-world Naga. I'd thought they had human faces and were intelligent creatures."

"Guess we'll find out." Gwen waited for her dogs to position the Naga before she tapped into the Gate of the Void. "Void Seeker! Chakram! Chakram!"

"Dust Bolt!" Tei threw in his support.

"Jet Blast!" Richard expended a portion of his mana to elicit a stream of super-pressurised water from a tear in the Elemental Plane of Water, aiming to hinder the creature's forward momentum.

"Lava Lance!" From across the field, Rene spared a spell, striking the Naga from the rear flank.

"Fire Lance!" Jiro added his piece.

Gwen waited until her allies' spells had rocked the Naga's body before allowing her deadly frisbees to complete their arc, simultaneously enduring a spell of dizziness.

'GARRRRGH!" the Naga bellowed with a sound akin to a dozen elephants trumpeting.

With the din of a mosquito swarm, her warrior princess Chakrams kissed her prey.

Thonk!

Thonk!

Thunk!

The first managed half a neck before it dissipated.

The second struck a foot lower, fizzling at the spine.

The Seeker struck the same place as the first, completing its trajectory to exit on the other side.

Two of the Naga's heads parted like zip-sawed fingers from a careless woodworker's hand.

The remaining four howled, baying for violence.

Twisting its body to shake the deerhounds, the now quad-headed Naga made a spring-loaded charge at the moving semi-trailer. Two of its heads stretched with unexpected reach, slamming into the steel container as Tei and Richard parried left and right.

"Ariel!"

Gwen's Kirin rammed into the creature, its horns crackling with electricity as it sent the Naga off course. The hounds had by now recovered, and once again, they mounted the Naga, snapping at its wounds and digging into its flesh with explosive bolts of electricity. Meanwhile, sensing the creature's draconic vitality through her hidden Caliban, Gwen brought to mind a spell which was perfect for the occasion.

"Tei! I need a moment."

"You got it!"

The manifestation took the better part of ten seconds, then one by one, two by threes, torrent by torrent, a cascade of electric elementals from a vivid Elemental Swarm smothered the air. In a second, they fell upon the Naga, exploding across its vibrant scales and gnawing at its open wounds. Thanks to Ariel, she no longer had to fear friendly fire from her numberless elementals.

Tei snuck in another Tomb Wall while the creature stumbled blindly.

The Naga stacked into the pavement heads-first.

"You really are built for monster hunting," her captain remarked. "Your true talent is wasted on Mages."

"Ha!" Gwen's blood was up, the success with the Naga had offset the shame brought on by Richard's reminder. "The greatest is behind! Caliban!"

From the back of the final truck where it had laid in waiting, Caliban slithered from the vehicle's interior, transformed into its spider visage to the background music of screaming NoMs, then leapt for the thrashing Naga, trailing a snail sheen of saliva.

"Onslaught!" Gwen opened her vitality-valves, eager for Caliban to continue its evolution. Walken did say that with enough high-tier creatures in its gullet, Caliban could very well attain Ariel's cognisance. If so, there was no better candidate. "Consume!"

"Lightning Sphere!" Ariel aided its brethren below with a paralytic explosion, keeping the Naga contained and incapable of movement.

"Scorcher!" Jiro performed a flyby, momentarily breaking from his harassment of the enemy Mages, cutting a line of still-burning fire across the Naga's lower back. By now, the Firebird user had left a kilometre of vivid fire that denied all cover to their enemies.

"Panzerschreck!" Lulan aimed for a head, taking off a chunk of jaw even as she revved up a second. With a target as large as this, she felt confident in her aim.

With a jerk, the Naga staggered; the creature's hurt and agony plain for all to see.

"SHAAA!" Caliban leapt into the air, casually allowing a cobra-strike to snap one of its limbs, then landed on the creature's back. Without delay, the spiderling's underbelly maw deployed, opening its grotesque cargo bay to unleash a gut full of writhing tentacles red and blue, eager to hunt for the creature's Core.

"HISSSSS— NO!"

The bark that came from the Naga was like an exploding gasket, with its final syllable ending in a cry of human anguish.

Without warning, its torso shrank, shaking loose Gwen's dogs and momentarily confusing Caliban as it deflated.

An illusion? Gwen wondered, but before she could react, Caliban renewed its assault. She could feel her creature's appetite hollowing the interior of her chest. It had been a long time since Cali had fed, and her monster was hungry enough to eat a herd of horses.

"Astaka, save—" was the final cry she heard from the massive pile of deerhounds encircling Caliban's engorged form, indicating that it had swallowed something. When she panicked and commanded Caliban to regurgitate what could have just called out for parley, her monster opened its maw to reveal nought but a mass of newly hungry tentacles.

SHIT! The immediacy of her mistake struck her. There was eating the creature's Core after a desperate battle, and then there was swallowing a demi-human mid-fight. There was also the fact that she just Consumed a sentient being, but that mental commiseration would have to wait.

When would the vitality hit?

By her previous counts, she had a few minutes at best.

"Richard," she cried out. "I need to meditate!"

It had been such a long time since Caliban ate something that broke her Nephres' Scale. If a high-tier, high-affinity healer was a ten, what new ecstasy would a four-meter-tall sentient Naga reach? She could be out for minutes to an hour!

"Gwen!" Tei had a Dispel ready go. "What's wrong?"

"I need a moment!" Gwen confessed a half-truth. "Caliban needs to digest."

"Oh." Tei glanced at where the Naga had been just a moment ago, trying to catch Caliban in the chaotic action. Under where Fudan's Captain stood, Gwen struck the container of Tei's truck with an audible moan. When she looked up, the glazed orbs of two dozen labourers from La War met her eyes.

FUCK! She could feel Caliban throbbing. There was no bloody way she was about to fall into a convulsive, orgiastic fit in front of strangers. "RICHARD!"

"I am here!" Lea appeared overhead, setting a barrier shield of murky water over her master's cousin.

Once the watery womb enfolded her, Gwen commanded Ariel, Caliban and her dogs to guard the perimeter of their moving line of vehicles while she could maintain them. Furthermore mindful of the deluge of vitality soon to bloat her conduits, she relented on switching Caliban to its stag form, refraining it from consuming any more enemies.

"Shaaa!" Caliban burped, sprouting and twisting until it reached its full height, it's faceless mien scanning for targets to impale.

Now cut off from external stimuli, she took a second to process the final visage of the desperate Naga. With her Essence-enhanced kinetic vision, her hindsight was truly twenty-twenty. The Naga was a woman; she recalled- an indigenous looking serpent folk with blue-green scales.

Right before Caliban did his terrible ferreting for Cores, her enemy had reverted to a Demi-human being. After that, Caliban was large enough to swallow its target wholesale.

She wanted to say she felt ill, that it was accidental; but in truth, her regret paled against the ecstasy of dominating her opponent.

Worry not, the Caliban of her mind lubricated her conscience. The servants of Aung San attacked first, and Mayuree had to be protected. If she was going to eat it anyway, what difference did it make?

Her digits twitched.

Her abdominal muscles contracted.

In her head, she could hear Caliban singing a happy song of madcap violence as it charged a party of screaming, screeching Burmese Mages fleeing its Medusa's visage. Retracting her legs, Gwen pressed her knees to her chest, coiled in a foetal position, clenched her jaws to avoid making too sweet a moan, then readied herself for the oncoming metamorphosis.

"What a magnificent thing!" Lutz von Schlabrendorff found himself hunched forward, an inch away from the projection. "Absorption! Who'd have thought such a thing is possible."

"It's not," a fellow Magister, a British member, corrected the chief proctor from across the table. "We have Void Mages as well. They can't do that."

"Oh-ho? Then explain that."

"It's her Void Beast, or the girl, or her unique magic," the Magister remarked. "Doesn't it remind you of someone? Although I hear Fudan will be releasing a Systematic Study on the subject soon. Submitted by Magister Marie-Roslyn Wen, I believe, the details are said to be very intimate."

"Then we shall drink to interesting bedtime reading," a Magister chuckled, sipping his tea.

"I find the refractory period after Consume particularly interesting."

"A curious flaw," von Schlabrendorff agreed. "One I welcome gladly."

"Sir," Hass interrupted the men's appreciation of the Void Element. "There's an anomaly within Fudan's formation."

As one, the Magisters turned to the lumen-projection.

"What the devil are they doing?"

"Hass, who does that Enchantment signature belong to?"

"Their controller, sir, someone called Kitty Liang. Her profile states she's from Kunlun, although the House of M remains her employer."

"Note the use of non-registered magic and deduct CCs accordingly," the chief proctor grunted. "Wait, what's happening now?"

"Their controller and their diviner appear to be breaking away from the party, sir."

"Where are they going?"

"Heading North-North-East, sir." Hass manipulated the map so that it zoomed outward. "Assuming trajectory by crow-flight, they're aiming for the border of Nagaland and Burma."

"Can you get me a visual before they're out of range?"

"Yessir, I'll bring them up now."

There was a thrum of circulating mana as the Divination engine worked its magic, channelling the long-range Scry enabled by the Chief Proctor's Eye of Providence. From a bird's eye view, the magical vision fell forward with a sense of induced vertigo until it centred on the vague shape of two petite outlines.

The smaller of the silhouettes had secured the first in what looked like a frosty cocoon; a spell used to capture subdued Mages. Concurrent with the lilac flush of Transmutation, Kitty's signature additionally exhibited the unmistakable golden halo of Enchantment.

"An implanted glamour!" von Schlabrendorff raised a brow. "Not something we could have detected without an actual activation. Hass, additionally note the Mind Magic now active on the Ice Mage. Mark the signature and re-check records from Mandalay. Penalise Fudan accordingly if it has impacted the competition's outcome. I am starting to see where this is going."

"Which is where exactly?" a fellow Magister patrolled the footage. "My word, they're going awful fast. That girl sure can fly. What are they fleeing from?"

"From the Void sorceress."

Lutz von Schlabrendorff glanced at the glyph that indicated Gwen Song remained stationary within the travelling convoy.

How long would it take the girl to wake up? He wondered. More importantly, would the girl take the live bait and rush into Nagaland? If it were himself, he would not have put faith in a Mage from the Frontier having the gall to charge headfirst into certain doom. But having observed Walken's student for the better part of two weeks; he was starting to sense a disturbing trend.

As for their current dilemma, he could only bank on Walken's projection that the deposed Royal House of Burma was playing with dragon fire. When he had questioned Walken about the man's unruly student and the possibility of the girl's connection to a certain wild Wyvern, his old acquaintance had hinted that the girl had links to mythic presences in both China and Australia, though neither received official verification. "Gwen thinks the Tyrant might be related to her in some convoluted way." Walken had explained his limited knowledge of the girl's multi-pronged affairs. "Though I disagree, her speculations do hold some merit."

For von Schlabrendorff, one Dragon or two made no difference. The dilemma was whether or not a rescue action was warranted. For now, as one of Fudan's Mages had betrayed her team, there was no protocol for the IIUC proctors to intervene. As for alerting Walken, with the competition ongoing, it was improper for von Schlabrendorff to feed his friend any more information. By logic, regulation and creed, he was a neutral observer.

"How far is Nagaland from Hpakan?"

"About a hundred-and-fifty kilometres, sir."

"Tell Hpakan to send out a relay team," von Schlabrendorff commanded his second. "Whatever happens, the record shall speak for itself."

Fudan's victory was short-lived.

Just as they managed to disable about half of the Mages pursuing their convoy, there was a cry of blue murder coming from the middle of the transport column.

Hot-headed and bathed in spellfire, Jiro and Rene had ignored the interruption entirely, while behind them, Bai and Anita had their hands occupied deflecting bolts of fire, stone and electricity aimed at the truck's wheels. It was only Richard who heard, though when he finally pulled from the battle to inspect what had occurred, a great blast of air blew through the tarped roof, sending him skittering into the roadside rubble, scattering the NoMs that rode with them in every direction.

After Richard cushioned the NoMs' deadly trajectories and recovered the tumbling Eunae, he found the girl dazed and covered in a thin crust of rime, safe thanks to her distressed nature Spirit.

"Well, shit on a stick," he swore. "KITTY?! MAYUREE?"

Looking up toward the hazy sky, he could scarcely make out Kitty's Flight form, already reaching an impressive altitude, visible only thanks to a trailing cocoon.

Without warning, Aung San's Mages retreated, pursuing the fleeing Kitty as though Jiro had lit a flame up their arse.

When finally the confusion cleared and combat concluded, Richard measured his team's present predicament.

"Lea, how's Gwen?"

"Recovering," Lea replied. "She's burning up, but I think she'll be okay."

"STOP THE TRUCKS!" Tei called out from the rear, ordering the terrified NoMs back onto the vehicle. "Wocao! What the hell just happened?"

"Kitty's gone," Richard informed their Captain as he knelt beside Eunae. "With Mayuree. She attacked Eunae."

"I'll be f-fine," Eunae clattered while she circulated a healing spell from an anxious Luyi. "K-Kitty's gone c-crazy!"

"Give me some heat!" Richard called out to the returning Mages.

"Maybe she is trying to help us?" Jiro landed shortly, likewise troubled by Kitty's unexpected escapade. With a word, a Firebird settled beside the shivering Eunae. "Are you sure Kitty's not carrying out some crazy plan instead?"

In Jiro's experience, Kitty was quiet and shy, but in no way a traitor.

"I don't think Kitty is trying to help, Jiro…" Rene read Richard's iron expression far more readily than the straight-laced Fire Mage.

"What happened?" Anita and Lulan were the last to join them, having come seeking Eunae's aid to heal the NoMs. "Kitty took Mia? Why?"

Richard's answer came in the form of a complicated expression aimed at their vice captain's privacy bubble. Before he could clarify further, the barrier burst, revealing a radiant looking Gwen flush with supernatural vitality.

"Let's not worry about the 'why' just yet." Richard felt his fingers grow suddenly numb. "Here comes the waking dragon. Who wants to hold her down while I give her the bad news?"

"Eunie, Resistance, Bless and Fortify! Annie, Mage Armour, Haste and Expeditious Retreat—" Gwen barked at their defender, all pretence of politeness driven from the usual mildness of her mannerism. "Come on, chop-chop! Every second wasted is an opportunity lost."

Anita obliged, moving her lips even as Captain Bai's bloodshot eyes screamed for her to refuse.

"I am coming with you," Richard insisted.

"Me too," Lulan volunteered.

"Mao!" Tei Bai growled. "We're in the middle of a match!"

"A match we've won." Gwen turned to her Captain coldly. "Deliver the goods, connect Mandalay to the villages, and collect our CCs. Don't bother me if you're not going to help."

"We're a team, Gwen."

"And MIA is a PART of your team!" his Vice Captain snapped, then sighed. "Sorry Cap, the time for words will have come later."

Tei pursed his lips, looking to his other teammates for help.

"I'll come too." Jiro declared.

"Count me in." Rene likewise disappointed Tei.

Fudan's Captain facepalmed with both hands.

"Thanks, guys." Gwen inclined her head. "But I need to arrive fast, and when I leave, it needs to be VERY fast." And without additional burdens, Gwen added mentally.

"Do you know where to go?"

"Yeah." Gwen materialised a transponder unit. "Minty had it all planned it out, right from the start."

"You could be facing a whole dragon," Richard forewarned. "Gunther is going to miss his one-of-a-kind Ring."

"Worth it," his cousin replied. "And no. My only purpose is to take Mayuree back."

"Maybe Mayuree's Contingency Ring will activate?" Tei implored. "Save you a trip."

"I somehow doubt that, Cap," Gwen replied as she lifted into the air. "Tei, please take care of things."

"Lea," Richard implored his Spirit to partitioned a droplet of her elemental Essence into a vial. "Hold onto this. Lea will redirect us to you. Promise me, NO FIGHTING. We'll come as soon as we can."

"Right. Mia and I will be back in a jiffy." Gwen slipped the container into her potion pouch, then without adieu, Fudan's primadonna blasted off.

"Phew." Anita finally breathed, the tension draining from her face. "Mao, I thought we had to fight Ariel and Caliban!"

Tei turned away, then stepped on the truck's bonnet. "Let's not tarry then, move out!"

Xiao Mīao Liang was eight-years-old when she wandered the Wildlands. Her home, the Sect of Kunlun, had failed the test of time. Though the sect had survived since the Han Dynasty, the splendour of the cities proved too alluring for the younger generation of their warrior-hermits, and one by one, either tempted by a better life or slain by the monsters on the mountain, they dwindled into irrelevance. In the end, Xiao Mīao's venerable guardian, a distant relative, took the orphaned child down to Lhasa, through Bhutan, and finally to Manipur, where the Grandmaster of the Shadowmen then introduced Xiao Mīao to the House of Mü. By the end of their journey, her ageing guardian had grown worn and threadbare. With his dying breath, he tethered her to an heir of the Mon and Pyu, assured by the promise of provisions for his heir.

So it was that at the age of eleven, Xiao Mīao entered Mayuree's service as her companion.

"Xiao Mīao means cat!" her young mistress had been adamant on the name of her new pet. "You're Kitty from now on!"

The Mīao in Xiao Mīao stood for "sprout", representing her Clan's hope that one day, she would grow into a mighty tree. Though her impromptu name change had foreshadowed her future in the House of M, the newly minted Kitty Liang had been satisfied with a home and a friend.

At the age of fifteen, she tapped into a secondary element: Air, something the old Daoshi of Kunlun would have celebrated. She was given more resources to cultivate her skills, then assigned to higher tiers of learning.

At sixteen, she returned to Mayuree, who was now responsible for a division of the House of M's mercantile operations in Shanghai and served as her friend's companion and guard in Senior school. She had by then learned of the seniority system among the House of M's siblings, so had sworn to protect her friend against all harm, even her kin.

At eighteen, six-months into university at Fudan, Mayuree came to her with a vision.

"She's going to save my life one day!" Her companion had stammered, brimming from the crown to the toe with confidence. "Kitty, my saviour is going to be at your scholarship practical!"

And that was the first time Kitty met Gwen Song.

Even without Mayuree's divined wisdom, Kitty knew that the Void sorceress was going to be her bane. Faced with a giantess wearing an uncommonly comely countenance, Mayuree became instantly smitten. When her best friend's eyes positively glowed at the auction, it was enough to send a frosty shiv twisting into her heart.

After that, whether serendipity, fate or overt wilfulness on Mayuree's part, Gwen Song entered the orbit of their lives.

At first, the crass Frontierswoman was just an annoyance; then with increasing regularly, she began to show up at their apartment at B1, abandoning her hovel to invade the sanctum of Kitty and Mayuree's abode.

Gwen's constant presence had incensed Kitty to no end, far worse than when Marong, Mayuree's sister-obsessed inbred brother, decided to move into the master bedroom.

Day after day, Mayuree grew closer to the younger woman, eating with her, drinking with her, even questing together and finally, starting a business together; an equal partnership, something Kitty could never achieve.

Somewhere in between, Kitty witnessed Gwen Song eating a woman alive, starting from the head. Who was to say Gwen would not turn her appetite on Mayuree? Or that her aberrant Void powers wouldn't hurt Mayuree in some horrid, unforeseen way?

But Mayuree would not listen, and that had hurt Kitty profoundly. Unable to respond, she instead took breaks, going out to quest, to train up her skills so that when she returned, she could best Gwen Song and prove that it was she who would save Mayuree, and not the six-foot space invader.

"Gwen..."

Mayuree's half-frozen murmuring shook Kitty from her retrospection. They were at an altitude mundane Mages couldn't reach, where the air was cold enough to freeze the moisture from one's dermis. Kitty wasn't afraid of the cold, as per her elemental trait, while Mayuree was safely cocooned in her Rime Shell, a spell Kitty usually used for bounties.

After the IIUC selection, Maymyint had summoned her in Shanghai. There, three Shadowmen had cornered Kitty so that the Mind Mage could ferret through her brain. When she then tried to escape, to warn someone, anyone, their punishment had not been kind.

After that; her memory became a haze.

Training. Gwen Song. The competition. Yangon. Mandalay. Everything had been a blur.

Then they arrived at Indaw, where Aung San's Mages attacked.

As soon as Gwen collapsed in her grotesque throe of pleasure, Kitty knew what she had to do. An ardent desire blossomed in her head, and Maymyint's command that Mayuree must reach Nagaland's border outpost before the fourteenth day of the competition became paramount to her continued existence.

With her capture spell, she had disabled a feverish Mayuree and an unsuspecting Eunae, and now, she would travel to the basin north of the Arakan mountains, just past Manipur.

There, in the rolling green hills of Nagaland, she would find the mountain trail where for the last thirty years, members of Mayuree's family had been exiled to maintain the House of M's operations in the north.

And when she arrives?

Kitty couldn't guess even if she tried.

For now, she could only lament her friend's divined wisdom.

Gwen Song was Mayuree's boon.

While herself, Xiao Mīao, had grown into Mayuree's bane.

Nagaland.

A flock of Wildland Doves took to sudden flight across a winding landscape which an imperial cartographer once labelled, "The Naga's Rise".

The unusual crests and valleys of Nagaland were a formation both natural and supernatural, for here was the homeland of the Naga, a race of mythic beings once worshipped as lesser Deva. Ancient Tibetan records stated that the Nagas descended from the many-headed dragon Xiangliu, itself defeated by one of the seven followers of the Yellow Emperor, a dragon called Zhulong, occupying the Aspect of Fire.

Atop the emerald valley lay the highest locality in southern Nagaland, Saramati Peak, the kissing-point of old colonial Burma and India, long before the cartographic border was made irrelevant by the Beast Tide.

Below the peak itself, in between the saddle of two rising hills, was the beginning of what the Generals of Yangon would call the illusive Tyrant's Lair, the home base of Aung San's rebellion, and the last bastion of the man who once dreamt of Burma's independence.

Within its vaulted underground palace lived the surviving children of Myăma's aborted independence. The first was Astaka, scion of Kauravya, the youngest Naga to follow Gautama Buddha. The other was Aung San Yuzana, inheriting the will of their father.

Astaka's name meant "he who has eight parts", or as Yuzana had translated, he who desires the Noble Eightfold Path. Within the mountain's depth, many manuscripts remained intact, unsullied by the twenty-five centuries that had passed since Gautama reached the state of nirvana, ascending into the Unbound Land, taking with him his many-headed disciples.

What Astaka recalled of his past lay only in fragments, memories baked into the jade shell of his egg, etched onto his Core when he hatched into the uncaring world; for the Naga are demi-dragons, creatures younger than the divine likes of the Shenlong, Yinglong and the Zhulong, whose eternal existence hailed from a higher plane. Comparatively, Nagas were terrestrial, having their beginnings in the material plane, incubated by a convergence of elemental forces given will and shape.

"Yuzana!" Astaka fought to hold his humanoid shape intact, shaken by the horror of what he had witnessed in Indaw. "Where are you?"

"My lord, I have arrived." A human woman entered the resplendent halls in which Astaka fumed. "What's the matter? News from the south?"

"She ATE Virana!" The Naga's metamorphic form revolted, no longer capable of holding back the raw emotions burning at his throat. In a moment, his body bloated, swelling and growing until no less than seven heads sprouted from his shoulders, expanding until his mass filled the cavern. "She's gone, Yuzana, GONE! Not even her soul remained! Virana will never be reborn, do you understand? They diminished her, wholly and completely!"

"What of my Mages?" the daughter of General Aung San pleaded. In the dim viridescent light of the jade plated hall, the woman appeared ageless, with a soft halo of radiance just above her temple. A human observer would have placed her in the forties, though her mien was well preserved, possessing the suppleness of one younger. "If even your Nagas are defeated…"

"They are in retreat," Astaka wailed. "I've commanded Nila and Ugra to flee. But Virana is no more!"

"How many of my kin still live?"

"Eight or nine, before Virana's life was cut short." As the Naga spoke, each head uttered a word, yet together, their fluency flowed without pause.

"Lord Astaka, can you speak to them on my behalf?" Yuzana bit her tongue, stifling her grief even as she spoke. It had been Astaka's idea to take the tithe by force, and she knew the Naga's regret was exclusive to his kin and not hers.

As six heads continued to wail, one lowered itself toward her face.

"Mistress?" came the voice of one of her officers. "Mistress! We're in pursuit! The target Lord Astaka had requested now moves toward Nagaland! W-we've lost half our men, including Kuhara, your brother. I… I am truly sorry."

"We're past the time for sorrow." Yuzana lowered her voice, stroking the Naga's cobra-like mien. With time, Astaka would grow one more head, completing his namesake and come into his destined power. As for now, Astaka remained a young adult, barely past his fourth century. When Yuzana's father first found the creature and actualised their alliance, he had thought the being unparalleled, but since his demise and during Yuzana's conflict with the lineage of the Pyu and Mon, she had come to realise the reality of the Naga's immature power. That was why, rather than completing her father's wishes, she had to cultivate Astaka's growth. For even if they were to decimate Yangon, entirely possible with Astaka, his siblings and her Mages, without the Pillar of Jade and the Naga firmly seated in Nagaland, they couldn't resist the imperialists. "Do you know why they had a change of heart?"

"No, mistress, the one bringing the tithing is Kitty Liang from the House of M. We won't be able to catch up."

Kitty Liang, Yuzana mulled over the name. She knew of the dual-element sorceress, though they had never fought.

"Are you followed?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good, once she nears the outpost, return to your villages."

Astaka's head floated away.

Yuzana tempered her disquieted heart.

For months, even before their betrayal, Astaka's temper had been terrible, smothering the mountain with storms and landslides, making the lives of those farming on its tiled rice-terraces utterly impossible.

If the levy was now delivered, did that mean Me Nu yielded? Could it be that the delay was not the fault of the House of M, but outside forces at play, such as the foreign Mages?

At the thought of these invaders in her homeland, Yuzana felt a wave of anger. Again and again, the Mageocracy meddled in their affairs. An international university competition in Northern Burma? Who were they trying to fool?

As for their lost kin, Virana was only two centuries old. Yuzana had watched the Naga moult as she took on her human form for the first time. It had been a feat much celebrated by Astaka, who saw Ugra, Nila and Virana as future mates. When she had first heard Astaka boast of his planned incest, Yuzana had been appalled, but in the decade since, she had come to accept that the Essence of higher beings had little to do with organic physicalities. In mating and eating, Nagas like Astaka magnified their "being". That was when Yuzana had the brilliant epiphany of making Me Nu sacrifice her army of diluted brood to their "Tyrant". As the old saying goes, even the meat of a mosquito could be nourishment.

Then there was Kuhara. She had told her younger brother not to go, but he had romanticised himself a friend to Astaka. If Astaka was displeased and troubled, Kuhara had boasted, then it was his duty to make his compatriot well.

"Yuzana?"

Yuzana blinked. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Your eyes are wet."

"Pay it no heed, my Lord. Nonetheless, I have good news. The Diviner is on her way."

"The line of Nahusha have capitulated?"

"I cannot be sure, my lord," Yuzana confessed. "But you shall soon have what was promised."

The good news seemed to distract Astaka from the new grief of losing a sibling, catching the lord of Nagaland between anticipation and melancholy.

"Come." Astaka's response was to slither for the exit. "Let us question this soon to arrive Mayuree. I desired to know what manner of cosmic horrors they had to commit to rob me of my sister's Essence, and what her 'mother' means by their gross delay!"

Maymyint's beacon flashed in the right direction, but the bloody thing was far from a GPS, meaning every so often, Gwen had to readjust her trajectory, losing time and distance.

The bitch had planned for everything, Gwen grumbled as she Dimension Doored another kilometre forward, hoping the periodic displacement added to her haste. When she left Richard and company, she had been confident that with her estimated velocity of just over a hundred kilometres an hour, she should be able to catch up to Kitty. It was like a real-world application of those mathematics questions her high school teacher used to give out:

A Kitty has absconded with Mayuree, travelling at 75 KM/H for forty minutes, and a very angry Gwen is in pursuit at 100 KM/H with the addition of Dimension Door at 1 KM for every 5 KMs covered. Calculate when Gwen could catch up to Kitty and light the traitor up like a Christmas Tree.

The arithmetic was unfortunately not in her favour, considering Nagaland can't be more than two hundred kilometres away and she kept getting lost, but she had to try. It was her idea to participate in the IIUC, and she had been more than happy for Mayuree and Kitty to join her. She had also been overconfident that there was no way Maymyint could meddle with the competition, and in a way, she was right. The match was almost over, and barring a Kyoto miracle, Fudan would win. If she hadn't been in a hurry to chomp down on Caliban's upgrades, she wouldn't have allowed this to happen.

Likewise, she couldn't have accounted for the fact that Kitty was a mole for Maymyint, and that she had planned to send Mayuree to the fucking Tyrant like a frozen turkey. Fucking Kitty! Gwen fumed. To take advantage of her single incident of absence! No wonder Kitty avoided her like the plague. She should have known Maymyint would have Mayuree under watch and key. For how long had Kitty awaited the opportunity?

The sheer level of convolution was astounding.

Was Maymyint expecting me to fight a fucking dragon? Gwen wondered.

Had news gotten out that she had bested a Thunder Wyvern, only for it to be Chinese whispered into a Thunder Dragon? Was that the ploy? Did "saving" Mayuree by blasting Kitty from the sky, scooping up her friend and flying the fuck back to Hpakan where a dozen high-tier Magisters awaited not occur to the genius Maymyint?

What of when Gwen returned to Shanghai? What was Maymyint's plan then? She willed a mote of Essence into her body, then pushed herself harder against the buffeting air.

So long as she caught up to Mayuree, then everything would be fine.

The drizzle that washed from Saramati Peak transformed into a deluge, painting the iron-rich escarpments white with rain, filling the canyons below with blood-tinged streams of ochre and rust.

"What.. what happened here?" Astaka's mood mirrored the weather, or perhaps it was vice-versa. Ever since a few months ago, he had felt invaded, violated, as though the land that belonged to him was slipping from his grasp. Losing the connection to his domain was an impossibility when the Jade Pillar was in his control, but the paranoia he felt was compounded by the fact that he knew the scent of the invader.

It was Yinglong; it had to be. Though Astaka had never met the elder being, his knowledge of the divine dragons was written into his blood, burned into his Core by the ancestral memory of the Naga's progenitor, whose ascension ended at the five-digited claws of a Fire Dragon.

Now, his paranoia manifested in reality.

At Saramati Peak, Yuzana had her kin set up a listening post which could observe all activity in the lower valley from Lay Shi to the densely forested province of Sagaing. From the mountain's vantage, Yuzana had witnessed the coming and going of convoys and invasions from the south.

But when Astaka had arrived with Yuzana and her mountain Mages, what greeted them was a massacre. Around the camouflaged outpost reposed the bodies of Yuzana's kin, some crushed, others half-eaten, one torn bodily limb from limb, almost as if a ritual took place. As for the stone shelter itself, the structure which Astaka had his Nagas built had been singularly destroyed, shattered as if by a mighty blow from a creature no less potent than Astaka himself.

"A thunder… dragon?" Yuzana allowed a clump of blasted soil to pass her fingers, noting that the silica had fused into glass. Concurrently, the unique presence of the dragon-kind, mockingly known as the "stink", was unmistakable.

"A scion of the Yinglong." Astaka tasted the air, each of his massive heads snapping at invisible particles, catching the scent of his enemy. "Yuzana, more and more, I feel Me Nu wants war."

Kitty descended, knowing that her destination neared, feeling the conclusion of her compelled quest in the thrum of magic confounding the chemistry of her brain.

Exhausted, she hovered over an upper saddle near the peak of Mount Saramati, observing the sheer drop on one side looking down toward low land Burma, while the opposite sloped back, descending into Nagaland.

She then landed with Mayuree in tow, surrounded by a group of human Mages, two with the dark indigenous skin of the mountain folk, and three with fairer complexions, all wearing the nationalist Burmese garb of a shawl and lungi. There was one other observer, half-naked, a demi-human serpent-folk, who watched from the side.

With a wave of her hand, she dispelled the cocoon capturing Mayuree, sending her friend tumbling onto the grass.

Then she knelt and was still.

Maymyint's Mind Magic faded.

Her senses returned.

She was free.

She opened her eyes like a new-born babe. Having regained her faculties, Kitty realised she recognised the woman who now approached, for she was the number one enemy of Yangon, second only to her father.

"I am Aung San Yuzana," the woman intoned. "I see you have brought the offering."

"I—" Kitty paused, her tongue suddenly caught in a snare. The offering? Slowly, she turned to regard Mayuree.

Her friend was unconscious, preserved by magic.

"Naga got your tongue, girl?" Yuzana prodded Kitty's kneeling body with her foot. "You're not a part of the tithing. You may go."

Kitty's eyes widened in horror.

"No, I- I can't..." she mumbled.

"Oh? Are you going to join us?"

"No! What?" Her mind struggled to catch up.

"What indeed." Yuzana's expression took on the bearing of a steel mask. When she spoke, her voice was full of command. "Tell me, child, is the House of M now in league with the heavenly dragons? Have Me Nu sold us out to the Chinese, or the British, or worse yet, to the dragons of the middle country?"

Kitty backed away, shuffling until she rested against Mayuree's rime-covered form. Her mana was low, but she had potions. Two periodic injections ought to get her home.

"What do you know of that?" Yuzana pointed to her right.

Kitty followed her fingers until she saw half-a-dozen bodies, mangled and desecrated, preserved by magic for burial.

"I don't know."

"You don't know very much, do you? Do you think I don't know who you are or who you serve? Go from here, and tell Maymyint we shall require another shipment if they wish to preserve the peace. Whatever she had planned, it will not succeed so long as our Lord rules Nagaland."

Instead of answering, Kitty reached down and wrapped an arm against Mayuree's hypothermic figure. If she could somehow get away, maybe there could be salvation yet.

"Are you daft, girl?" Yuzana jeered. "What are you—"

"FREEZING FOG!"

Without a word, having no plan beyond the immediacy of now, Kitty activated a spell she had held at the tip of her tongue, one that exercised little harm, but which offered her a chance to use her supernatural agility. From around her body and the space surrounding her Astral Form, a torrent of icy particles, enhanced by the additional of Elemental Air, burst where she stood, obfuscating all vision while simultaneously slowing her enemies.

With a careful tug, Kitty drew Mayuree into a princess-carry, then made an upward Jump into the air. If she could clear a certain height, she was sure that no Mage present could catch up to her, at least until Mayuree could be injected with a Restoration Potion and the two of them could work out a better strategy.

"DOWN! Dog of Me Nu!" The voice that burst from overhead possessed the mass of seven behemoths clamouring at once.

"Shield!"

All Kitty could do was cradle Mayuree in her arms while she manifested an Ice Shield, retracting her arms and legs to protect her friend's head and neck.

WHAM!

The air in Kitty's lungs compressed at once, cracking her ribs as her barrier shattered, driving her into the rocky ground with a terrific velocity that exceeded her initial ascent. Her legs struck the floor first, her thighs cushioning her precious package as both knees cracked against the granite rock bed. With a grunt of supreme effort, she rolled to disperse her momentum, feeling her skin scrap as the cold stone violently kissed the left side of her face.

For a split-second, Kitty thought she had stood back up, for such was the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, but when she opened her surviving eye, she found herself sprawled out on the floor with Mayuree lying over her.

Before the agony struck, she ran a mote of Ice through her body, dulling all sensation. Move! She commanded her rebellious limbs. Move! Damn you! Mia!

"Grrrghk… Miaaaa…" was the sound that issued from her lips, even dulled, the pain was everywhere.

Something loomed overhead, eclipsing the sun.

Seven heads, each the size of automobiles, tasted her broken body.

Where did the Naga come from? How had she missed such a being?

Mayuree! She returned her mind to the only thing that mattered, only to see Aung San Yuzana's men pulling the Diviner from her.

"I still have questions for this one," a voice resounded from each of the cobra heads, indicating Mayuree. "But before we begin, I could use a light snack."

Kitty's one remaining eye stared toward the heavens.

Her tormentor laughed.

But the Naga's semi-conscious victim was no longer trembling at its impressive maws. Neither the Tyrant's flickering forked-tongues nor the fangs that would soon sink into her torso bothered her, for Kitty's cyclopean vision caught something just behind the Naga, first, a spell flare, then a familiar Kirin silhouette.

Suddenly, the Tyrant reared its head as to snap at something in the air.

A bolt of cobalt zinged past the space between the Naga's open mouth, curving around the massive girth of its serpentine body, then blossomed into a semi-sphere of brilliant viridescent energy enveloping the entirety of the outpost, expanding until it reached a dozen meters in diameter. A portion of it caught the Tyrant, sizzling the creature's skin with its plasmic discharge. The rest of the blast enveloped Aung San Yuzana and her Mages, taking the unsuspecting casters off their feet, leaving an untouched Mayuree to tumble violently against the blasted stones of the plateau.

"Yuzana!"

With a twist of its body, the Tyrant arched with unearthly haste and swallowed Aung San's daughter. A split-second later, the second stage of Elemental Sphere erupted, ringing out in a massive nova twenty-meters wide, slicing across the outpost, destroying all that remained, disintegrating the bodies of the fallen, fusing sand to stone and wiping four of Yuzana's Mages from the face of Nagaland.

Crack!

Almost simultaneously, a blast of lightning landed beside Mayuree, revealing a giantess in a bible-black combat-suit, cascading lightning and venting electricity as she scooped up the Diviner's rigid body and hoisted her across one shoulder.

"Gwen…" Kitty choked, her meek lungs incapable of generating a louder sound. The spell had just caressed Kitty's body. Hope soared. If it was Gwen, maybe she could save them both.

"Hello…" Her Vice Captain took a half-second to catch her breath before she dematerialised in the next, leaving only her last words for Kitty. "… and good luck with your Contingency Ring."

Sagol Kangba, Chief of the Salai Leishangthem, Vairagi and Grandmaster of the Shadowmen of Manipur, watched his men and women as they carried out their meticulous work.

His Shadowmen numbered only a hundred, but Sagol's confidence was absolute. Since the fall of the Imperialists, it was the Shadowmen who had defended the Meitei people against the Burmans, the Hindus, the Muslims, the Chinese and the demi-humans. His troops made an inferior standing army, but they made excellent scouts, spies, assassins and saboteurs.

Each of his warrior ascetics was trained from birth, hand-picked from talented children. His troops could stalk like cats, scale walls like geckos, slither like snakes through the smallest windows and infiltrate even monstrous lairs. Thanks to the Tyrant's absence and a freshly failed sortie, the remaining Mages were to the Shadowmen as bleating goats brought to the butcher.

At dusk, the screaming ceased.

Sagol Kangba praised Deva and Asura alike as a dozen of his men, gore-strewn and breathing heavily, parted the ivory gates with the delicacy of a blushing bride on her wedding night.

One by one, his remaining disciples returned. With a little melancholy, he counted seven and sixty.

The last to arrive was Sagol's best, the son of his previous employer.

With Marong's return, the sovereignty of Sagol's homeland was now assured. His disciple had promised that he would personally see to Manipur's protection, though it wasn't in Marong that Sagol placed his faith.

That belonged to their mutual patron.

Unlike Miss Maymyint's secretive orders, Sagol Kangba had been present in Marong's meetings with their exalted client, having been spared no detail as to their lord's meticulous plan, so vast, so complex and yet so well composed that Sagol at once realised the futility of resisting the new master of Nagaland, Manipur and Kachin. It was almost ridiculous to think that he had laboured beside Me Nu for half a century without progress.

"My Lord." Marong bowed. "The Pillar awaits your pleasure."

"Marong, Sagol." Their lord's generosity was astounding. "Well done."

Sagol Kangba inclined his turbaned head, imploring his master to proceed. Even in his human form, the majesty of the dragon was palpable, an existence beyond mortal reproach.

"But before we divest the Tyrant of his power," his white-maned majesty chuckled as he inspected the men. "Let us wait, for in patience lies the root of a thousand virtues."

Gwen chugged the Potion of Invisibility, hoping to hell the illicit concoction didn't have a use-by-date, for her present condition was as Richard would say, "up shit creek without a paddle."

She wiped the milky residue from her lips. Thanks to her illicit potion, she could hover within teleportation range.

Through Ariel's Link Sight, she saw the traitorous Kitty settke her cocoon before her captors, then knelt on one knee before offering Mia with the grace of a vacuum-packed Costco brisket.

Fighting an impulse for immediate retribution, she layered her eyes with Detect Magic. The Divination staple lacked utility while out of range, but at least she could gauge her enemy's capabilities. With a quick scan, her eyes swept the plateau.

The leader was a woman, and from her palpable aura, Gwen detected a mote of Radiance. Shit, she exhaled with great care. No matter how inferior regular Radiant Mages were compared to Gunther, they made incredible disruptors. As for the others, they were Senior Mages at best, likely the woman's supporting casters.

Near the ruin was a serpent-folk, one with an outlandish mana signature. While Mages like Gwen and her enemies below displaced the Astral winds: here was a bloke whose aura formed a proverbial whirlpool. Considering the context, it didn't challenge the imagination to say that that this would be her Naga encounter.

Very well, she told herself. Her present obstacle involved five rebel Mages and a giant-ass Naga beyond her abilities.

Quickly, she ran over the potential scenarios. Firstly, Nagas were terrestrial creatures. Whatever this Naga could be, it wasn't Golos, who could eat, piss and shit while corkscrewing at Mach 1. Secondly, if she alternated between Void and Lightning Dimension Doors, even with a passenger drastically reducing efficiency, she should be able to make it at least twenty to forty kilometres before she had to switch to flight. Thirdly, an alpha-strike should—

VOOMP!

An expansive burst of liquid nitrogen ruptured across the plateau. It was a spell Kitty had previously demonstrated, Freezing Fog. Simultaneously, the serpent folk changed into its Naga form.

What? Gwen gave a start— then quickly banished any seeds of doubt before they could germinate. Mayuree had prophesied that she would save her life, and that time was now.

Ariel! She called on her invisible Familiar. On my mark, unleash hell!

Astaka, whose name signified the Eight-fold Path of perception, resolve, speech, conduct, livelihood, effort, and mindful union, was not true to his name; instead, he was proud, lustful, greedy, resentful, wanton, impulsive, wrathful and very powerful.

For a Naga, the formative years began with cannibalising one's brood, hunting down Magic Creatures, consuming rare flora and finally progressing toward hoarding precious materials. For Astaka, it was only after gaining his sentience in the second century that he inherited the wisdom his forebearers had left, and even then it took decades of instruction by Aung San and Yuzana to temper his baser impulses. Eventually, given enough time, Astaka would reach Enlightenment, slowly shedding his physical form to meld with the land, becoming a higher being.

Presently, Astaka was very upset.

Bound by earthly desire, he could only bow to the alchemical tyranny of testosterone, adrenaline and blood.

He felt a wild desire to destroy anything and everything, wanting nothing more than to crush the female figures even now half-a-kilometre away under his scaled belly.

But first, Astaka took stock.

Yuzana, his mentor and ally, was in his gullet. While under his guard, he would use the power of the Pillar to heal her.

Her kin, the men and women who came with her, were dead. As dead as the men and women of their commune who had guarded the outpost, killed by thunder and lightning.

His tongues flickered.

THAT STINK!

How could he not recognise it? Was their ambusher a daughter of the Yinglong? Was she betting that he would take her sire's invasion with a grin?

"Thran!" his heads barked, invoking powers granted by the Jade Pillar, commanding the air itself to bestow the power of flight.

Though he knew Yuzana would advise against it, he was a dragon, and his dignity, nay, his DIVINITY; could not allow such insults to go unpunished.

"SCION OF YINGLONG! I COME FOR THEE—"

"CHAINS OF ICE!"

Before Astaka could clear the ledge, a sudden tug from behind sent him careening into the cliff-face.

It took Kitty several more seconds to realise that indeed, she had been abandoned.

If so, then she was out of luck.

She had never told Gwen that her teleport was a slave to Mayuree's master. Until Mia's ring triggered, hers would remain inert. That had been their relationship in the House of M. What she and Mayuree shared wasn't the same as what Gwen shared with Mayuree. That was why she had hated the Lightning sorceress, for being Mayuree's equal, something Kitty could only mime.

Good luck with your Contingency Ring!

Kitty felt a sudden urge to cry, to curse, to laugh.

But Mia had been saved! She comforted herself. Gwen had slain all the Mages present, and even now she was kilometres away. The prophecy came true; Gwen rescued Mia. Everything had been ordained from the beginning.

Though her legs lost all feeling, Kitty touched a hand to her face.

If you're so happy that Mayuree was no longer in danger, then why are you crying? She mocked herself. Are these tears of joy?

"Thran!"

A bark from the Tyrant shook her from her self-pity.

Kitty craned her neck, bearing witness to the absurd sight of a Naga the size of a pleasure-barge lift into the air.

No! Her mind rioted. Wasn't Mayuree's safe? How could the Tyrant fly? Nagas were terrestrial creatures! Did that mean that even if she had escaped with Mayuree, her act would have been futile? If so, why had she even tried? What did her suffering mean?

A dreadful sense of oppression suffused her beaten body. For what reason was she made Mayuree's companion all these years ago? Was it for this? For delivering her friend to her death? The western Gods are cruel, or so she was told, but the eastern divinities appeared no less sadistic.

"SCION OF YINGLONG! I COME FOR THEE—"

At the Naga's battle cry, a sudden clarity suffused her feverish mind.

Perhaps there was still a way to save Mia after all.

If she were to die, her final act could not be one of futility.

"CHAINS OF ICE!"

What remained of her mana drained from her body, creating six chains tethering her opponent's tail to the granite below.

With a comical lurch, the Naga crashed into a nearby cliff face, making Kitty laugh out loud.

"You'll never catch them," she shouted at the bloated beast.

"Vermin, I had forgotten about you." The Naga recovered, then with an effortless sweep of its tail, it tore the icy chains from the rock, stone and all. She could tell its anger was magnified now. There was a rainbow sheen running up and down its flaring cobra hoods.

For some reason, Kitty recalled a story Mayuree had told her about a monk who gave himself to a starving Naga so that the creature would not eat its brood.

"You won't have her." She did her best to spit at the creature. "Mayuree is not for thee."

A moment of silence passed between them, a moment Kitty hoped would last for all of eternity.

"You have gifted me a wonderful idea," the Tyrant's voice boomed, its eyes growing cruel and cold as it opened its maw. "You shall be the witness to your allies' suffering..."

An arm-thick fang penetrated her chest, filling her body with molten lead, paralysing every nerve. Even in the darkness, she could hear it speak.

"...and believe me, they shall suffer for a very long time."

After two kilometres of Dimension Doors in the dim dusk, Gwen took a break to reorientate herself. While adjusting her human cargo, she had injected Mayuree with a Potion of Restoration, defrosting her friend and returning the Diviner to a semblance of consciousness. If she was going to be teleporting blindly through the woods in the dark, having a working Diviner was going to be a godsend.

"SCION OF YINGLONG I COME FOR THEE—"

From the mountain, the Naga's almighty battle cry suddenly cut out, as though a cat had arrested all seven of its tongues.

"Mia! Are you awake?" Gwen gave Mayuree a playful slap, wondering if the Tyrant had changed its mind.

With a shudder, Mayuree opened her mouth, then was sick over Gwen's shoulder. "Wha- G-Gwen? GWEN?! Where are we? Where's Kitty?"

"She's with her friends back on the plateau." Gwen made a quick teleport to the next clearing. "Considering what she did, I was very charitable."

"No! Maymyint glamoured her!" Mayuree's words exploded like a thunderclap beside her ear. "I saw it in Indaw, a spell activated, then Kitty started acting crazy!"

Gwen faltered, first her step, then her incantation, then she stumbled again from the nauseating feedback. Kitty, glamoured?

"A-Are you certain?" Her scalp crawled, her skin broke out with a terrific slick. If Mayuree was right, then she had just made a terrible mistake. "The proctors never detected—"

"Gwen, Shield! NOW!"

She obliged.

WHAM!

Crack!

A chunk of granite weighing at least half a ton skidded off her double-glazed barrier, driving her bodily into the soft earth before ricocheting into a Banyan tree, shattering the ancient wood.

Two seconds later, a cascade of magma immolated the treetops.

The girls looked up.

From the sky, a floating Naga expelled bolts of elemental energy, mostly earthen, but also that of malformed rock, molten metal, blue-white fire, and even the occasional deluge of acid from its serpentine heads.

OH FUCK! IT FLIES! She gulped the burning air, then Dimension Doored twice in quick succession.

BOOM!

An eruption of heat blossomed close enough for her to shield up for the second time. When the debris settled, the distinct Dragon Fear of the Naga pressed in from above. A part of her entertained the possibility of a fight, but with Mayuree on her back, a slugfest was impossible. Alternatively, she could try to activate Mayuree's Contingency Ring, but that would send her Diviner right back to Minty, likewise raising the question of whether Mayuree's ring would work at all.

"Scion!" The Naga's chorus was loud enough to give her a headache. "Come and face Astaka, Master of Nagaland!"

Gwen rolled her eyes at the Naga's feeble offer of parley. Wait- she blinked. Scion? Scion of the Yinglong? Did he mean her? Does the Naga think he's fighting another dragon?

"I am a mortal Mage! I seek no quarrel with you! I wish only to return with my friend!" She broadcasted through her Clarion Call, continuing her zig-zag teleportation. "Mia, Scry ahead and plot me a path! Is Kitty's Contingency Ring linked to Yangon, Chengdu or Shanghai?"

Mayuree's arms suddenly tightened.

"Her ring won't activate!" Mayuree's speech pieced her brain like a sliver of Kitty's ice. "It's slaved to mine! It'll only activate after mine does!"

"Y-You're shitting me!" Gwen spat. "Why was I never told? What kind of fucking ring is that?"

"That's how it has always been," came the choked reply. "Kitty's not allowed a normal one."

"FUCK!" Gwen swore, narrowing avoiding a branch. "FUCKING HOUSE OF M! GODDAMN BASTARDS!"

She could feel Mayuree tremble, but she hadn't intended to blame her friend. She knew who to blame.

"As soon as you're safe, I'll go back for Kitty!" Gwen promised, feeling Gunther's band weighing down her ring finger. Blood will have blood, she thought of that aphorism from Macbeth. Is this what they mean by you live long enough, and you'll become the villain? Maymyint had used Mayuree as bait, and she had left Kitty as bait, and now she was going to be Naga bait.

"Which way?" She refocused on the task at hand. "Mia, I don't know what's happened to Kitty, and I can't fight with you here, so I am going to send you away with Ariel."

"No!" Mayuree tightened her grip. "I won't leave you. I'll activate my Ring, maybe..."

"Too risky!" Gwen hissed. "Listen! Do you want to save Kitty or not? Can you Scry the mountain top?"

Mayuree's voice choked. "We're outside my range. I just tried Messaging her as well. The spell isn't pinging!"

"FUCK!" Gwen's heart sunk. "What does that mean? Is she..."

"I don't know! Kitty could be unconscious!"

"You dare flee?!" the Tyrant's voice pounded the valley. "VATAKA!"

Draconic Essence flooded the vicinity. Mayuree's tiny body seized up at once, seizing even her choking sobs.

"BUZZ OFF WITH THE GOBBLEDYGOOK!" Gwen hollered back, feeling a hidden heat compressing her brain as Almudj's will pushed back against the invasive command. "Dimension Door!"

"VATAKA! VATAKA!" the Tyrant's response was more rage, more anger, more disbelief. "You lie! No mere mortal can resist our will!"

"SHUT UP!" came Gwen's verbal riposte from the wending woods. "GO FUCK YOURSELF."

The next barrage grew in intensity and radius.

"Thaczil, tyrtrol ve!"

She had no idea what the creature was incanting, nor did she care. With enough Dimension Doors, she maybe could circle back.

"Oof-!"

In between her spells, something snagged her foot, coiling around her ankles and digging into the leather of her boots. Her forward momentum, compounded with that of Mayuree unbalancing her from behind, sent her face first into the forest floor.

"ARRGH!" An indescribable line of agony travelled up her leg.

"Gwen!" Mayuree headbutted her Vice Captain's iron-hard skull.

Gwen felt it before she saw it. A thorn-studded vine had snagged her left leg, and where it had coiled against her combat boots, hooked spikes now strangled her calve. Thankfully, at least for her, poisons weren't a problem.

"Void Bolt!" A quick spell was enough to sever the vine and prevent it from regenerating. When she limped on, she noted that the landscape had taken on a conscious hostility. Her first instinct was to Void Skin, but she had Mayuree strapped to her.

"I am sensing hostiles everywhere." Mayuree huffed, bleeding from a cut above her eye. "Gwen, leave me!"

"That's the plan! Dimension Door!" Gwen made a snap decision to teleport upwards, above the treeline, she could once again combine Flight with short teleports. "Ariel!"

Her Kirin reappeared just as she stabilised her flight, limping even in mid-air. A few hundred meters away, floated the Battleship Agro-Asta-Fuck, barreling toward her like a natural disaster. She wanted to conjure up another Barbanginy, possibly a twin-strike, but knew whatever Essence she had in reserve was best used to keep up her health. It didn't take a genius to know that if Almudj's blessing dried up, the slightest injury was going to bring the pain.

With a click, she unstrapped Mayuree, then against all protest, bundled her against Ariel, simultaneously slipping the vial from Richard into Mayuree's potion pouch.

"Gwen, don't!" Mayuree kicked and squirmed. "Let me fight! I'll use my items! I'll distract the Tyrant!"

"Ariel!" Gwen ignored her. Instead, she charged up her next attack. "Wait for the signal. Take Mia back to Richard!"

"EE EE!"

Behind the duo, their assailant was pleased that he had flushed the pheasants from the bush.

"Deceiver! Your demise shall be slow and agonising!" The Naga slithered toward her; its seven tongues tasting the air as though slathering her skin.

Gwen meanwhile, collated as much potential energy as she could into a spell that had served her well in many an occasion.

"Eat this, arsehole! FLASHBANG!"

BUNG!

"Hissss!" The Naga recoiled, its hypersensitive organs flaring white-hot. "Dishonourable hag!"

Following Gwen's behest, Ariel decamped eastward, invisible but for the small girl on its back.

Psssht!

Gwen meanwhile, took the advantage offered by the Naga's momentary blindness to airdrop Caliban into the undergrowth before stabbing herself with a healing injector.

Cali! She mentally commanded her beast to Consume at will. If the bloody Naga thought he could turn the vegetation against her, then she would show him the meaning of deforestation.

Below, the forest came alive with roving foliage.

Behind, Mayuree was already a speck upon a speck.

"Void Skin! Chakram! Chakram!" Gwen retooled her defence against untoward ambushes, then sent her discs against the Tyrant. With a sound of cutting silk, both of her meat-slicers scored palpable hits, drawing dark blood where semi-chromatic scales had been consumed.

Woa! She marvelled at the potency of her new spell, realising at once that the Tyrant wasn't like Golos. The wyvern was a tough customer because it had been clad in Lightning. Comparatively, this Astaka was an earthen Naga.

"Shaaa!" Caliban was making a feast of what little life animated trees provided.

"YOU!" The Naga was suddenly in an uproar. "You're the one!"

"I am flattered." Gwen worked her restored ankle before engaging yet another Dimension Door. She looked for a way around. Maybe she could teleport right through the bastard. "I don't date snakes, too clingy."

To her surprise, the Naga's riposte was to regurgitate something from one of its heads.

"Bleurgh!"

It was a woman.

What. The. Fuck. Her mind struggled with the spectacle. Was this Astaka's Simulacrum? The disturbance was akin to Caliban's culinary adventures, only in reverse.

"How dare you hurt Astaka!"

When the woman further began to speak, she had to realign her knowledge of reality. Though slime slathered, the being was alive and kicking. Not only that, she recognised her as the leader of the rebel Mages on the plateau. What did that mean? Gwen's eyes widened. She had thought the woman perished.

"Radiant..."

OH FU— her mind caught up. She blinked.

"...Blast!"

TSSSS! The spell struck before she had time to react.

Her Void Skin broiled with the sound of a searing steak, sending an eye-rolling rush of agony into her brain. The blast had resembled a shotgun of light particles, catching her from chin to chest.

"Radiant Bolt!" A circular imprint glowed red-hot on her shoulder, weaker than the first, but still painful.

"Flashbang!" Gwen retorted with a distraction. She had to buy herself time.

TSSSS!

BUNG!

FUCK! Unbridled tears gushed from her eyes. She recalled training with Gunther, thankful that the most Radiant evokers lacked her brother-in-law's ability to mimic the Death Star. In a one-on-one duel, she could tank every attack until she could overwhelm her opponent, but now she was alone and facing off a Naga. Concurrently, Ariel was half-a-kilometre away with Mayuree, and Caliban was collecting vitality from below. Moreover, she couldn't concentrate on higher spells if she got branded every few seconds.

"Yuzana! She ate Virana!" the Naga chorused. "I need to consume her to recover Virana's Essence!"

"As you wish, my lord." The woman recovered quicker than Gwen had anticipated. "Scorching Radiance!"

Gwen rapidly descended, pre-shielding with a double-serving of Void in a semi-dome, flying in a direction perpendicular to Ariel's trajectory. The problem was that she had effectively blocked her line-of-sight, leaving her to retreat blindly.

Tssss!

THUNK!

A half-dozen beams of radiant fire ate away at her shield, followed by conjured stones from the Naga.

Allowing the momentum of the boulders to accelerate her fall, she quickly erected a second shield. Below, Caliban reported that there was little vitality to be had in these moving trees and walking shrubs, an unwelcome reality furthermore complicating her dilemma.

"Dimension Door!" She disappeared and reappeared.

"Radiant Bolt!"

As expected, Yuzana gave chase, though thankfully the forest provided cover while her Void Skin diffused the threat of molesting tendrils and tripping vines.

"Radiant Bolt!"

A Banyan burst spontaneously combusted.

"Radiant Blast!"

"Void Bolt!"

Her Void consumed itself before she could reach the enemy Mage. As had been proven by Gunther, Radiance was a bad matchup for Void, or at least the Evocation variation. As before, a burst of eye-searing brillance struck her paper-thin armour, causing such a distraction that she almost ran headfirst into a tree.

WHAM!

Whoomp!

A volley of stones crashed to her left.

A fall of fire ignited to her right.

"!"

They were herding her! Gwen's Sigil tingled. She had to do something and do it quick. Could she ambush the Radiant Mage with Caliban? She could, but first, she had to disable the woman.

Taking advantage of her superior agility, she dodged from roving tree to grasping vine, even so, the wayward mote of Radiance scalded her skin and drained her vitality. Were it not for her draconic-constitution and her Void element, she would be nearing medium-rare.

"Shaaa!"

Watching Caliban's casual slaughter of animated lumber, a spell came to mind. An invocation she had never wanted to use against another human being.

"Radiant Strike!"

Tsss! Her back sizzled. Some of her armour flaked off even as an odour of skinsuit and sautéed flesh suffused her nostrils.

All compassion evaporated from her mind.

"Caliban! To me!" she called out. There was plenty of life left in her Familiar. Were she and Yuzana vis-a-vis, she could Consume the bitch, but she couldn't afford the incapacitation, not with the Naga panting like a seven-headed Cerberus over a juicy bone.

A split-second later, a hasted Caliban bodily retrieved her, deposited her on its back, then began to skitter through the forest, shredding through the twisting branches and thorns that sought to impede the duo.

"Radiant Bolt!"

A mass of tentacles from Caliban's underbelly served as a temporary barrier, leaving behind a trail of smoking sinew and writhing tissue.

The last syllable of the horrid spell lapped at Gwen's lips.

"Die!" Yuzana descended, buzzing like a Giant Hornet. She swooped closer toward where Gwen and her minion leapt from tree to tree, skittering high and low and in between before letting loose a wide-area AoE in an attempt to catch the two. "Sundering Sun!"

From a pinpoint just ahead of Gwen, the forest grew as bright as day.

"Cloud Kill!"

A black haze a full twenty-meters in diameter formed near-instantaneously into a semi-dome, smothering the air with particles of corrosive Void-matter, each alive with the insatiable appetite of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of endless hunger.

"ARRRGH!" The Radiant Mage flew face first into the darkness. "ARR—"

Yuzana's scream suddenly cut short. Her spell ceased. Ten-thousand little pin-holes appeared over the woman's face and clothes, pock-marking every inch of her body. She suddenly fell forward, choking and hacking like a hag as she rag-dolled onto the sodden, Void-smothered vegetation.

"Yuzana!" The great Naga descended, once again attempting to save its companion by swallowing her into the safety of its gullet.

"Shoe's on the other foot, fucker!" Gwen halted Caliban, for the opportunity wouldn't last. The Radiant Mage must die, else she would never get back to Kitty. "Cali!"

Caliban leapt forward, metamorphosing into its Horror Stag form.

"Void Seeker!"

A whispering disc paralleled Caliban's charge while her Familiar's stiletto legs churned the dark earth, lowering its sixteen-prong tentacle horns for entry into the Mage's delicious body.

With a corrosive hiss of disintegrating scales and skin, the Naga displaced the boundaries of her Cloud Kill just as Gwen herself made an acrobatic Jump from Caliban's back to avoid her Negative Energy cloud.

Her mind gauged the distance to clear the Tyrant in a single Dimension Door. While it busied itself with the Radiant Mage, she could teleport back to their Ice Mage. If all else were lost, she would bring back Kitty's body, in front of which she would offer Maymyint's head.

"Blueeargh!"

The Tyrant regurgitated yet again, a scene that made Gwen despair. The mucus that came from its jaws slathered the Radiant Mage, negating the permeation of her Void-matter.

Her Seeker closed-in.

She called up another attack.

"Chak—"

Kitty came sliding out from the snake's gullet, falling headlong into her Cloud Kill and directly into the path of her Seeker.

Gwen's Chakram caught in her throat. Her spell backfired, flooding her Astral Body with a paralytic surge of violent, void-tinged mana.

CANCEL! She shrieked internally even as her organs revolted from the backlash. As Caliban slid to one side, she caught sight of Mayuree's partner kissing the obsidian mass, a second before she could dispell its effect.

NO! Her limbs seized. How could this happen?!

"She's DEAD!" came such a cry of anguish that Gwen's heart skipped a beat. For a second, she had thought herself the source of that unhappy eruption of grief. "YOU! HOW DARE YOU!"

The Naga took the words right out of her mouth.

Towering over Gwen's nauseated body, Astaka reared on its impressive abdomen, all seven cobra-hoods flared, shivering with rage. There was a thrum of mana from the ground below; then its serpentine torso shuddered. With a grotesque crackle of crunching bone and peeling scales, an eighth head exploded from Astaka's shoulder-blades, completing its namesake.

While she reeled, first from her mana burn and then from the spine-numbing Dragon-Fear pouring from her assailant, the Naga swept its heads down and across with the likeness of a man swinging a set of snake-tipped cat-o-nines. As its brutal body made the one-eighty necessary to complete the motion, uprooting trees and dashing boulders the size of sedans, it caught Caliban as the Familiar circled back to shield its master, first crushing it against one head, then against another, then against the ground, clubbing her beast until its shape was barely recognisable.

"Shield!" Gwen poured every ounce of summonable effort into her barrier.

The first blow was comparable to Golos when he had ambushed her. The next shattered her double-barrier like fragile glass, and the third conformed her body to the shape of its cobra-snout.

GUNTHER! I AM SORRY! She clenched her fist, circulating Essence like mad. She had fought off the Radiant Mage, but she had forgotten Alesia's advice. Never duke a Mythic in melee range. No matter how powerful a Mage might be, a blow from a millennia-old creature the size of a building wasn't anything human magic could withstand, because why the fuck else would they build Towers?

Without the need for magic, she flew through the air.

Her world slowed. Briefly, Gwen's superior kinetic vision caught a familiar silhouette.

Her Deus Ex Machina had arrived.

"YOU IDIOT!"

The fulminating howl of frustration followed the spectacle of an enormous, bone-white Wyvern tackling the Tyrant head-on.

"You're the FOOL!" the Tyrant returned Golos' insult, which had been directed at Gwen. "Dishonorable rascals of the Yinglong! I KNEW YOU WOULD COME!"

Her world sped up, and Gwen's trajectory continued. Instead of receiving the aid she had anticipated, she struck the forest floor, bounced from the foliage, then slammed into a tree trunk, felt her ligaments tear, then crash-landed against the root of a Banyan tree. She must have blacked out for a second because her Void Skin had deactivated and at least a dozen gashes had appeared where there had been none. When she tried to move, an unbearable agony travelled up her right arm, indicating a revolt of bone and flesh.

"Ow—" She gasped for breath. Just as she wondered if her incredulous appetite for assault and battery was boon or bane, creeping vines descending from the Banyan hoisted her into the air like a leg of ham.

There was a strange clattering of teeth just beside her ear.

"ARRGH! GOLOS!" Gwen screamed as barbs began to sprout, digging into her tender flesh.

There was no doubt that Golos was as mighty as it was dim. Busy fighting the Naga, the wyvern craned its neck to fire off a jet of blue-white plasma toward where she hung.

Gunther! Gwen closed her eyes. I'll pay you back!

"SHAAA!" came the cry of a blighted angel.

Caliban caught its master before she could be sent back to Shanghai, having restored its stag-form in the intervening seconds between the Naga's sweep-attack and Golos' intervention. When the teeth-covered trees once again reached for the master-creature duo, Caliban activated its all-consuming tentacles.

"Father's whiskers, this bastard is strong!" A dozen meters away, Golos was proving to be the inferior of the two. "Help me, you idiot!"

Where the Thunder Wyvern crackled with blue-white lightning, whipping at the Tyrant with its spiked-club tail, the Naga could not give two shits. Comparatively, it possessed eight vectors of attack, a far larger body, and superior elemental resistance.

"GARR!" Golos howled, pierced by multiple fangs.

The Wyvern's associate was frantically searching for her Controller. What had been a virgin forest was now a disaster zone. Where her Cloud Kill had been, nothing living remained bar for the titanic struggle between Golos-zilla and knock-off Ghidorah.

Gwen felt her mind grow numb.

"CALAMITY! HELP ME!"

How was she going to explain this to Mayuree?

"DO SOMETHING!"

Did she kill Kitty? Or was Kitty already dead?

She looked up. Her first thought was to flee. She was rightly fucked up, and the Naga was too strong. If she left Golos to battle the Naga for the next fifteen minutes, she was sure to get away.

"GWEN!"

But the damned wyvern had come to save her, had it not?

Golos was no Kitty, but how could she leave another ally to die?

Wincing, Gwen injected herself with a second Healing Potion while simultaneously drinking an Elixir of Restoration, burning past her alchemical limit for the day. With an unbearable itch, her wounds healed and her arm popped back into place, though as for full mobility, that would take dedicated physiotherapy.

"Golos, hold on!" she hollered back. "Keep up your lightning!"

"AARRGH!" Golos hooted like a madcap baboon as it lost another chunk of armour.

"Caliban, keep me covered!"

"SHAAA!"

"First this one, then you!" the Tyrant bellowed, punctuating its threat by puncturing Golos's rump. "Have patience!"

"Dimension Door!" Gwen appeared behind their enemy, just out of reach of the Naga's heads. Caliban stood directly in front, ready to serve as her meat shield or to take its master away from danger. "KEEP IT PINNED!"

"RAWAAAR!" Golos exploded, flaying scales from the Tyrant's neck and back, beating at the Naga with its wings and its tail, raining scales and dark blood.

Gwen forced herself to calm. She recalled Walken's story of Sobel's spell in Sydney. For all her feelings of vitriol, there was no denying that the bitch's mastery of the Void was second to none. According to Walken, Sobel's elemental swarm had been the most horrific and practical demonstration of the Void's consumptive abilities he had ever seen.

If so, she had an inkling of what she had to do.

Sensing imminent danger, the Tyrant pushed back.

With a supreme grunt of supernatural effort, Golos pressed forward, pounding the earth with his massive thighs, taking several envenomed strikes to the neck, back and torso as he attempted to immobilise the Naga.

"VOID SWARM!" Gwen finished her Conjure Elemental with a single breath.

Her shadow distended.

The space around her shimmered, then began to tear as her incantation invited Caliban's fellow-fiends from the otherworldly expanse of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void. The first time she had used the spell, it was in the presence of her Uncle, against the herd of unsuspecting deer. She had been hungry then, far weaker, less practised, green as a sapling.

Now, she'll plague them all, even to roaring!

From one lamprey came two, from two came three, and from three came a midnight tide of screeching, crawling, sucking things without noses nor lips, only teeth, pouring toward the sole source of concentrated vitality not clad in lightning.

Caliban exalted in the display, barking sing-song repetitions of "Shaa!" and "Shaa!" as its tentacles writhed, bathing in the caress of its numberless siblings.

Beware! Beware! Gwen felt as though the Abyssinian maid in Coleridge's epic, strumming her dulcimer of arcanistry as she invited the thousand young from the wending woods where the stars glimmer darkly. With all her vitality thus committed, she would eat the fucker like air!

"Father's whiskers!" Golos sucked in a breath of fetid air, heeding Gwen's advice in cladding his scales within a sheath of electricity.

"Asura!" the Tyrant bellowed, attempting to untangle itself from Golos. "USURPER!"

The carrion swarm of darkling lampreys reached Astaka's thrashing body; then as one, the hive latched on like a tide breaking over the entangled statue of a Wyvern and Naga amid a titanic struggle.

One by one, the lampreys latched on; with each mote they stole from Astaka, the leech-like abominations bloated and swelled, growing to twice, thrice their usual size! Even when Astaka rolled its brutal body, crushing Golos and leeches alike, smearing the ground with Void-tinged ichor, the creatures came on with the relentlessness of the Void's insatiable hunger.

A trickle of renewed vitality entered into her body, hot against her abdomen, gorging her mortal vessel with the milk of paradise.

Her breath caught in her throat, her limbs quivered.

Without reserve, she fed these dangerous, mind-numbing motes back into the Conjuration Sigil, attaining an epiphanic realisation that this was how Sobel had maintained her magic. As one, her creatures reared their phallic, eyeless heads, then redoubled their efforts, slithering up the Naga's body with renewed vigour.

"INSOLENCE!"

For the second time, there was a groundswell of raw mana.

As though a quickened toadstool after autumn's rain, the Naga grew yet again in size, doubling its girth. Like a child wrangled by an adult, the twenty-meter Golos fell backwards, shanked by fangs the length of broadswords. As a sixth head dipped, Caliban attacked, but with a violent snap, it cleaved Caliban's upper torso, head and all, from its stalwart lower body.

Pssshk!

A small microburst of acidic venom hurled forth from the seventh head.

"Shaa!" Spider-Caliban burst from the remains of the stag, expanding its torso to shield its master.

"DIE!" The final head descended, shaking lamprey-leeches from its scales. The Tyrant's maw unhinged. No matter which direction Gwen or her creature fled, they would soon enter its gullet to be digested.

Still channelling her thousand young, Gwen renewed her Void Skin, then performed a quick hypothesis in her head.

Here was an opportunity.

If the acid and the creature's internals proved impenetrable, then she would find herself back in Chengdu, or possibly Sydney. If she could survive long enough for Caliban to do its terrible work, then she would be one half-millennia Naga richer and Caliban may very well attain the gift of garb.

"TONIGHT, I FEAST ON THE FLESH OF THE YINGLONG."

She prepared her body for the worst.

"NEVER!"

To her chagrin, a Thunder Wyvern foiled her plans, placing itself between the Naga and herself.

"Golos!" she screeched, but how could she complain? It wasn't as though Golos could read her masochistic mind and deduce that she wanted to skinny dip in acid.

"Flee! You'll perish instantly!" Golos's rescue had arrived a little too late, meaning the Naga caught him by the neck before he could dodge the blow intended for Gwen. When the Tyrant's jaws snapped shut, it caught Golos right in the middle of his serpentine neck, crushing scale and bone alike.

A look of strange elation overcame Golos' face as his wingtips grew limp. "That's t-three times—"

Gwen felt an upwelling of emotion. Though Golos owed her, her chest nonetheless constricted. Staring at the skyscraper-sized Naga, she wondered if she could Dimension Door into the Tyrant's body, for the thing was now the length and girth of a blue-whale, so massive that her lampreys appeared as though aphids.

What could she do to save Golos? Should she save Golos?

Back when they first met, he had tried to maim her, hell, he even threatened to rape her. Then she had probed him with Caliban, but still-

"Gurrrrk!" Golos gurgled, a spurt of blood rained over Gwen and her shrieking Caliban, sizzling her Void Skin. At once, her lampreys rejoiced.

"Hahaha!" Astaka savoured the blood from Golos' throat. "Delicious!"

You should go. A voice of reason called out to Gwen. Kitty's dead, Mayuree's saved, what more was there to do?

But her body refused to move. Was it because of her spell? No, the thousand young were doing their job; the Tyrant was beyond her lamprey's abilities, her theft of its Essence was a drop in the bucket against the ley of the landscape itself. If so, how could she hope to usurp the life of Kachin, Nagaland and all its flora and fauna? She may as well run a pump into the Bay of Bengal to stem the tide.

"Be patient, insect. You're next," the Tyrant commanded her, and that's what she did, caught between spectacle and indecision, unable to leave her ally, neither wanting to flee nor knowing what else to do.

Walken would slap me, Gwen thought unpleasantly.

Another head approached.

The Naga was getting impatient.

Her confidence crumbled.

She was at her limit.

Was Golos right? Could her worms eat this thing from inside out? Or would half of her instantly dissolve, sending not enough of her to Gunther to be revived? How much would an acid bath hurt?

"!"

Her useless Divination pinged. Could a Sigil be sarcastic?

Her world grew dark.

Then it suddenly grew white.

Not the white that one would expect to see at the end of the tunnel.

Nor the silvery-white flare of Conjuration from her Contingency Ring.

It was instead the alabaster of ionised plasma, the retina-searing white of unadulterated power drawn from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning.

"VHIRA, VILKLVI!" Came a fulmination of thundering bolts so turbulent that the ground shook, the heavens split, and the dusk turned to midday.

"BROTHER!" Golos' jubilance was drowned out by the cacophonous discharge sundering their ophidian enemy. Above the duo, one of Astaka's offending appendages suddenly erupted, blazing blue and green from its eyeless sockets.

A great trumpeting of agony erupted from a chorus of cobra-headed tubas.

Fighting the revolt in her conduits and the dizziness assailing her trembling innards, she forced herself to focus. If she tarried any longer, she would be the first Mage to be sent out of the IIUC as a result of being sandwiched between a Naga and a hard place.

"Never overextend." A belated piece of advice penetrated the noise.

It wasn't silvery Conjuration that enveloped her, but a pair of arms with the stiffness of steel cables, cradling her waist, pulling her away from the Tyrant, wading through her mass of Void-spawns as effortlessly as a lightning-charged scalpel through bible-black butter.

Gunther? A déjà vu of Blackheath struck. Or could it be Uncle Jun?

But she was wrong on both accounts. The man that had pulled her from certain teleportation was a being of paradoxical intimacy, a stranger she already knew. His presence, or the "Stink", as Marong would say, was all too familiar. She had inhaled it many times already, on her Uncle, on Ayxin, on Golos, from all the fauna she had consumed on the Yellow Mountain. It was the same Essence held captive within her mortal body.

She craned her neck to regard the saviour of Gunther's Contingency Ring.

A pair of soft eyes the colour of pale water met her halfway, half-covered by a head of shocking silver.

"My prodigal niece." The dragon-kin had a baritone voice, deep like lowering tempest. "I had expected to meet you under better circumstances."

CRACK!

A spear of vertical lightning pierced a second cobra-head, penetrating the offending ophidian mass from snout to neck, blowing out the back of the serpent's brain like a too-ripe melon.

"HISSS!"

Astaka reeled, suddenly afraid as any intelligent Naga would be when an enemy effortlessly disabled two of its eight heads.

"Astaka, you're looking worse for wear." Ruxin's voice filled the clearing even as he cradled his niece with the earnest affection of a young man and his golden goose. "For offending our father, I've come for you and everything you own. So that you know, your palace has fallen, and the Pillar of Jade is mine as well."

"YOU!" Astaka tossed Golos aside, folding the Wyvern's body into a groaning heap. "IT WAS YOU!"

"Watch out!" Gwen pushed against her captor's arms, though she may as well be striking concrete.

Ruxin took the hit head-on.

A semi-sphere barrier protected Gwen and Ruxin from the assault, though it failed to dissipate the force of the blow.

KLANG! There was a sound of metal-on-metal, then the humanoid dragon was sent flying.

Gwen's world twisted and turned while they spun, feeling as though trapped in the violent tumble of a drink driving commercial, only ending when Ruxin righted himself some fifty meters away.

"That was embarrassing," the dragon apologised to the girl in his arms. "Are you alright?"

"Can you let me down?" she demanded with the sourness of a tart. Though she was safe, her suffering was exquisite. Kitty was dead, and she had seized up like a deer. In the end, she couldn't drink danger as though it were the wine of life. She could not jest as a Naga swallowed her whole. She had called her own bluff and had found herself wanting.

"Are you hale?" Ruxin's patience was perplexing.

"I am." Gwen answered her self anointed "uncle", paying no heed to the dragon's semi-divine visage. For the foreseeable future, she was out of shits to give.

"Good." Ruxin made two gestures. One toward Gwen, and one toward Golos. "Keep safe and keep away. I'll be along shortly."

Before she could retort, there came yet another groundswell of mana, the very same that Astaka had employed twice over.

Her stomach lurched. When she blinked again, she had been translocated into an untouched clearing, stranded beside Golos' broken body.

Ruxin assumed his natural form.

Had he not sent his niece away, she would have witnessed the awe-inspiring sight of a pure-blooded Thunder Dragon forty-meters from whisker to tail. She would have awed at his lion's maw and tiger's claws; gaped at his handsome head upon which sat a mane of vibrant feathers, marvelled at his stag horns, as majestic as they were potent.

Twisting and turning, Ruxin caught each of the Tyrant's heads within the confines of his coiled length, paralysing his opponent with blue-green bolts of electrical discharge.

"How!" The Naga thrashed, its body shrinking rapidly, deflating like a punctured balloon as the mana from the ley flowed from its body into his opponent's. "W-WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

With a swipe of a five-fingered claw, Ruxin crushed one of Astaka's heads against a tree, toppling both.

"You still don't sense it?" the dragon appeared thoroughly amused. While Astaka diminished, his form seemed to grow not in size, but majesty. "You're no longer tethered to Nagaland, Astaka. I am your new lord and master."

"Impossible!"

"Oh, it's possible. Watch."

A burst of raw mana suddenly infused Ruxin's twisting form, healing his wounds and suffusing him with the same energy that the Tyrant had abused earlier to overcharge Gwen's darkling swarm.

"GARRGH—"

With a sickening crunch, another of the Tyrant's heads burst.

"Stop!" the Tyrant was in full panic now. The loss of each head afforded an experience of mortality in its purest form. "No more!"

"A pitiful thing like you, stealing the essence of the land- how droll," Ruxin remarked. "You are far from ready to join the Vaeri di tobor vur marfedelom. I am beginning to doubt if it is even worthwhile making you my consort. Perhaps serving as my nourishment would be better."

Each of Ruxin's claws now grasped the remaining four heads effortlessly. Though the Jade Pillar was far more suited to an earthen drake, the power of the land nonetheless flowed pure and unsullied from hitherto undespoiled by man.

"Well?" His claws tightened. "Do you yield?"

"I—" Astaka choked, comical in that all four heads hesitated as one.

"Tir wux tyrtrol dout pliso?" Rux demanded in the dragon-tongue, cementing his offer of mercy. Once agreed, there would be no challenge except if Astaka were to outstrip Ruxin's power, or if Ruxin perished before the Naga. "Serve me, or nourish me."

"S-si vield, ekess qe dout katima!" The Naga lowered itself.

Ruxin exalted. Finally, after decades, his plan had come to fruition. For paltry beings with a century's life-span, human sages were wise in ennobling the simple virtue of patience. Now, he had a brother and a niece to tame.

Eyeing his rear, Caliban skulked in its serpent form, warning Golos that one wrong move and it would revisit their last rendezvous.

"Why didn't you run away?" Gwen sat with her back against the Wyvern's neck, stroking its ear ridges. Despite the good news from Ariel that Mayuree was safe, Kitty's absence made her melancholic and apprehensive, which led to the unusual choice of making Golos her conversation partner.

"Dragons never run," Golos grunted. "We triumph, we yield, or we die."

Gwen nodded, pressing her palm into the Wyvern's scales so that it prickled her flesh.

"I wanted to run," she confessed.

"Yet, you stayed." The Wyvern groaned, then to her surprise, Golos shat out a nugget of wisdom. "We are responsible for our own lives. The weak die, because they are not strong."

Gwen chuckled, recalled what she had conjured up against the Naga, then thought about her master's wife. If might made right, what did that make Sobel?

"I wonder about that." She smiled weakly. "Even so, thanks for saving me."

"I did it for myself," Golos reprimanded her with a silvery iris, its gold-on-obsidian slit browsed her pale face. "If I died, I died for myself."

"Well, I couldn't save my friend," Gwen castigated herself, more so because Golos' simple philosophy was brutally rational. For some reason, she just wanted to tell someone or have someone tell her off. "I watched her die, or maybe I killed her by accident, I don't know."

"She human?"

"Yeah."

"Then it doesn't matter," Golos said. "Humans die so easily. Even if she lived, she would be dead in a century. She is not like us."

"Us?"

Golos snickered. "What manner of a Calamity could you be if you perished with time? Father could nap, and you would be dust. What are you, a Calamity for gnats?"

"Will you suffer this Calamity to live?" Gwen picked at a piece of debris stuck between Golos' scales. Even now, his wounds wept. "What does the Yinglong mean by it?"

"Why don't you ask Ruxin?" Golos growled threateningly. "I've paid my debt."

"Shaaa!" Caliban wiggled its faceless, bullet-shaped head.

Golos grumbled.

"I see the two of you are getting acquainted," came a voice from above.

Gwen looked up to see Ruxin in all his silver and mithril glory. The dragon appeared to have a thing for the divine, evident in his chiffon lungi, pearlescent robe, silvery hair and alabaster skin, punctuated by slitted, golden eyes.

"Ru—" Gwen paused. Should she be addressing a five-hundred-year-old dragon as such? What was a viable honorific? The man had arguably saved her, maybe not her life, but certainly from much suffering. "Lord Ruxin, is the Tyrant defeated?"

"Quashed and gone." Ruxin dipped his pointed chin. "The Tyrant rule these lands no longer."

"Brother, I can't move," Golos whined. "And you're late."

"I came as soon as I could," Ruxin apologised, surprising Gwen with the brothers' cordial relationship. "Dislodging the Pillar and subverting its power proved a challenging task."

"Why are you in Kachin, Lord Ruxin?" Gwen continued carefully, trying to digest the brother's dialogue. "You know, I had thought you were the Tyrant."

"Me, the Tyrant? Ha!" Ruxin laughed. "Oh, and call me Uncle Ruxin. Or just Uncle, if you like that."

"Lord R—"

"Ah-ah." Ruxin wagged his slender fingers.

Gwen felt her lips curl.

"Unc—" The title stuck in her throat. "Ruxin."

"There, isn't that far more comfortable?" Ruxin chuckled. "Golos, relax your defences."

Wyverns did not sweat, but whatever Golos did was enough to make Gwen wince sympathetically, sweating in his stead.

"Irisv!" Ruxin muttered a draconic power word. To her amazement, a Lightning of renewal, not of death and destruction, washed over the Wyvern. "There, let it do its work. Do use your human form, Golos, how do you even hope to talk to Gwen looking like that? What if you sat on her? Mortals are malleable, you know."

Golos grunted as bones popped back into place, flesh mended, and scales grew back.

"Care for a jolt?" Ruxin pointed at Gwen's shredded suit.

"What was that?" Gwen hid her shame with both hands, the potion had worked, as did her worm's theft of the Tyrant's vitality. She didn't need the healing, though she remained enthralled by Ruxin's display. A healing Lightning? Could such a thing exist?

"An old magic…" Ruxin teased her. "Something you might acquire one day."

The dragon glanced at Caliban, then gave her a wink.

Gwen looked around, feeling flustered. With Ruxin acting strangely human and Golos accusing her of being inhuman, she wasn't sure how to proceed, and so she did what was right, considering the circumstance. "Look, um… thanks, Ruxin, for saving us."

"If the Tyrant ate you, Ayxin's nagging would rot my ears," Ruxin said. "But, to answer your first question, I had no idea of your coming until Golos here told me of his dilemma. As for myself, I had planned for some time to subvert this Tyrant from his lair, to think you would be involved, how serendipitous, hmm?"

"I see." Gwen mulled over Ruxin's words. "So, what happens now?"

"Well, first, we need to greet our voyeuristic friends."

"Our what?"

"Excuse me." Before she could react, he cupped her skull with both hands.

From her scalp, a queer sensation spread, draconic in origin and older than anything Gwen had ever experienced, suffusing her mind. After the first second of mild panic, her mind began to turn inward, shifting her consciousness until she was floating above the clearing, above the landscape, then scurrying East until she saw an encampment where several astounded proctors sat beside an array of wires connected to boxes of carefully arrayed HDMs and storage crystals.

"Which one of you is Gwen's Chief Proctor?" Ruxin's voice resounded in her head.

"By the Magi! Is it talking to us?" One of the Proctors leapt from his seat, tearing the Ioun Stone from his head.

"You hear it too?" The second checked his device, punching in a series of glyphs.

"I, Ruxin of Huangshan, is speaking to you. Are you not trained in speaking to your betters?" the voice in their heads continued.

"Is it piggybacking off Magister von Schlabrendorff's Eye of Providence?!" the first Magister opened his mouth like a hungry carp. "Astounding!"

"Lord Ruxin?" one of the Magisters was quicker on the uptake. "H-how can we serve?"

"Finally," Ruxin continued. "As you have deduced, I am utilising Gwen Song's contract glyph right now, so I'll make this short before her brain burns out."

"What?!" a female voice intruded.

"I am now the undisputed ruler of the Wildlands known as Manipur, Nagaland and Kachin." Ruxin's voice blasted across the communication devices. "Bring me your leader. We shall negotiate for the future fate of Burma, as well as discuss your trespass of my domain."

VOOMP!

The box of storage crystals suddenly ignited, as did the Divination Engine.

Ruxin's mind retracted.

"You're the ruler of what now?" Gwen shook off the queasiness that came from simultaneously existing here and fifty kilometres away. With great humiliation, she realised she'd been drooling.

"Of everything!" Golos's human voice was like sandpaper.

She turned, only to be confronted by an enormously exposed Golos, mostly man, some dragon, looking like a bruiser found outside a fantasy pub on Oxford St on a Friday night. He was very well equipped. Wyverns have spiked clubs for tails, after all.

"Shaaa!" Caliban wiggled its tail.

Ruxin snapped his fingers, and Golos was suddenly wearing a longi.

"The ruler of a modest kingdom, from the tip of Arakan to its northernmost edge and then some." Ruxin laughed expansively, joined by Golos, whose laughter came with a half-second delay. He then regarded Gwen with a grin. "I am, as of today, a landed dragon."

Was that- Gwen swallowed. A human joke?

"But…" Gwen glanced at the handsome dragon sceptically, struggling to link everything. Golos, Ruxin, the Yinglong, the Tyrant, the House of M? Was Maymyint somehow involved? That would be absurd; they were completely unrelated. "How?"

With great benevolence, Ruxin placed a hand on her shoulder, and another on Golos, as one would a pair of prized hounds.

"Why." The dragon savoured the words as though they gave him the greatest pleasure in the world. "With the help of my family."

Richard, Lulan and Jiro flew as fast as their spells, affinities, and items could afford, speeding through the darkness as they made for Lea's essence vial.

Some fifteen minutes ago, the northern tip of Kachin, near the Nagaland border, lit up as though day, signalling what could only be a cataclysmic event in its near vicinity.

Could this be Gwen? Richard's cynical-self informed him that of course, who the hell else could it be? The blast of light wasn't a Barbanginy, but some similarities were unmistakable.

For a while more, the trio flew in silence, each conserving their focus to maximise locomotion.

Ding!

A pale blossom of light bloomed beside Richard's ear.

"Hello? Richard?" came the sound of Mayuree's voice.

Oh, thank fuck! Richard adjusted the trajectory of his flight.

"Mia! Where are you? Where's Gwen?"

"EE EE!" came a sound from Ariel in the background. "Ee! Ee! EEE!"

"What's happened?" Lulan's face was a mask of anxious worry.

"Gwen's finished fighting the Naga," Lea translated for her companion, whispering in his ear. "She was getting all kinds of beat up, but she's safe now."

Richard turned to the others.

"She's fine, apparently," Gwen's cousin informed their companions. "I think that... er... she fought off the Tyrant?"

"I fear there's no trace of her,” Ruxin explained with great patience.

At her behest, Ruxin returned the trio back to the spot where he and the Tyrant had concluded their titanic struggle. Where previously a primal landscape thick with Banyan, moss and tendrils of tropical creepers existed, now she bore witness to a barren apocalypse worthy of Vietnam.

When Gwen explained the House of M's involvement with the Tyrant and her stake in the matter, Ruxin informed her that the Tyrant's rivalry with Me Nu was likely a bastard-on-bastard form of tribal cannibalism. The first few generations of the Mon and Pyu would have done well, he explained, but the life-spans of consecutive scions would have diluted until, twenty-centuries later, they became vermin.

“But your ties to the House of M interest me.” Ruxin cocked his flawless mien. “Very soon, I shall have a vast and dire need for mineral resources. Nephrite and jadeite are useless to me. I need precious gems and crystals imbued with Water, Air or Positive elements. Are you familiar in the ways of human barter?”

“I am." Gwen found the cooperative dragon an amicable listener. “Though first, I have accounts to be balanced with their eldest.”

“Spoken like one of us,” Golos added on the sly, struggling to catch up with the duo’s conversation as their topic teleported from conspiracy to politics to blood-grudges.

“Surely nothing so savage.” Ruxin furrowed his brows. "Is there something to gain?"

Gwen winced. There was indeed much to gain: her Centurion profits being the least of it. Fooling oneself was much harder than prettying up her intentions, but she nonetheless persisted. “We can't have suffered for nothing, and Kitty can't have died for nought.”

“Shaa!” sensing her intentions, her Familiar enquired if she was hungry.

Her response was to stroke Caliban’s carapace in apprehensive silence. Anyone would be hungry after an expenditure of vitality like that, but her appetite wasn't for physical nourishment.

The dragon observed his niece with an indecipherable expression before looking to the north.

Ding! A Message bloomed beside Gwen’s ear, bringing welcome tiding of Mayuree, Richard and her friends.

"Your humans?" Golos licked his chops. "I could eat."

The Wyvern rose from the floor.

"Golos, please don't," Gwen pleaded. For a second, she had forgotten that Golos’ primary diet was sentient Merfolk. The Wyvern wasn't a buddy to be chummed with; he was a bonafide man-eater.

“Be nice.” Ruxin raised a stern finger in warning. “No goading them. No eating them.”

"Thanks." Gwen nodded at her "Uncle".

"Niece," Ruxin addressed her with an overfamiliarity that drew her eyes. "Let me gift you with a little perspective. In the employ of your talents, how many creatures have perished? How many insects, how many flowers and fungi, had you consumed through your Void Beast? Where you had fought, the land is dead, empty, drained of all life. BLIGHTED. Did your heart shudder then? If not, why is it so indecisive now? Those creatures, in time, would have been a part of my being, each alive with vigour and the desire for multiplication and division. They were miniscule, yes, but a part of something infinitely greater than the singularities you mourn. So, my niece, if you must weep, mourn for million dead whose ascension you had quashed to save one."

Gwen paled. Having one's ambiguous hypocrisy explained in no uncertain terms was too staggering a blow.

"If you must act, exalt in your actions," Ruxin finished by poking her forehead before brushing back a strand of her wild, blood-matted hair. "That's our creed."

"But the rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance," Gwen retorted with a line she had stolen from her old world, the very same she had sprouted to Yuki and Ichiro. "Is that wrong?"

"Hahahaha..." A burst of burlesque laughter rebuked her aphorism. Ruxin shook his head, then gave her cheek a condescending pat. "Do you know why no one hunts true dragons?"

She nodded.

"That's right. We're a vengeful few." Ruxin's euphemism struck within her a dreadful cord. "If you truly believe in that human wisdom, then your Kitty has died a dog's death."

“Gwen!” came a chorus of voices.

Before her team could begin their draconic-encounter, Gwen flew out to embrace her teammates, then kissed Ariel for a job well done, receiving a tongue bath in return.

Mayuree stood expectantly, awaiting the good news.

What she received was Gwen bowing from the waist.

“I couldn’t save Kitty!” came her friend's voice, loud and clear, ringing across the clearing. “I left her to die on the plateau. I failed you. I failed the team.”

Mayuree’s lips parted, then closed, then embraced her saviour with a fierceness betraying the Diviner's tiny body, digging her face into Gwen's shoulders to stifle her broken-hearted groans. Ariel joined the huddle, nuzzling its master and her friend over and over.

"It's my fault," the girl moaned. "All my fault."

“Wocao! Kitty’s dead?!” Jiro blustered. "Was she a traitor then? Why?”

"Jiro!" Richard scolded the Fire Mage with his eyes.

"Sorry." Jiro bit his tongue.

"Richard." Lea appeared beside Richard. "Those two down there, they're dragons."

“Right. We'll talk later, and in private.” Richard coughed, wary of the demi-divine presence in white, accompanied by a half-naked barbarian brute. “Lea's right. Your friends look important... and impatient.”

Setting aside her tumultuous emotions, Gwen guided her troop below, where with great mindfulness, she placed herself between her draconic and human companions.

“Behold, Lord Ruxin, Thunder Dragon, first prince of Huangshan, now lord of this land,” she explained. “That’s Golos, I fought him before, for those of you who know of it. He’s the Thunder Wyvern who helped us with Seoul.”

Richard bowed.

Golos grunted.

“Your Eminence." Unlike the others, Richard had been schooled by Prince’s in addressing sentient, higher-tier demi-human beings. “Richard Huang, at your service. I am Gwen’s cousin from Sydney. This is Lulan Li of Huashan, and this is Jiro Peng of Shanghai. We are her Fudan University teammates.”

The others quickly fell into line, realising they were hinds gazing upon a momentarily satiated lion.

“Sir!” Lulan bowed mechanically.

“Lord!” Mayuree knelt in the mud, conditioned by Me Nu's teachings.

“Dragon Lord!” Jiro saluted, sweating from every pore.

“EE EE!” Ariel crouched, bowing to the superior presence.

"Shaa!" Caliban nuzzled the new arrivals.

“Be at ease.” Ruxin raised a hand. “I am not so mighty as you think. Do not mind the titles. Shamefully, it is I who is in my niece's debt.”

Richard took the news stoically, Lulan appeared pleased. Mayuree, meanwhile, had been conditioned to grovel on the forest floor, while Jiro was about to lose his shit.

“Gwen, you’re kin to a dragon?!”

“It’s a complicated situation, Jay.” Gwen motioned for the young man to calm himself. “And please, not a word.”

“Oh… of course! Ma’am!” The young man made the sign for silence.

After Jiro's outburst, the conversation ceased.

"What will you do now?" Gwen enquired of Ruxin, aware of the growing awkwardness. Simply put, the dragons had no interest in her human companions. Gwen wondered if an analogy would involve expecting her friends to baby-talk her cats.

“I believe this is where we part.” Ruxin waved at Gwen's companions before commanding Golos to stop flaring his nostrils at the quivering Mayuree. “I shall return to the palace in Nagaland to oversee the transition."

“Come with us.” Golos murmured at Gwen. "We'll populate the mountain, you and I—"

Slap!

Ruxin smacked his brother over the horns.

"I have requested a meeting with your Chief Proctor," the Thunder Dragon reminded her. "Some good news for this competition of yours should disperse your looming cloud, I would hope."

Gwen turned her eyes up toward the dragon's ivory face.

“Ah-ah, not a frown further.” Ruxin poked her where her brows knitted, finding great amusement in the act. “Likewise, I shall prepare reparations for your service. Look forward to it!”

Crack!

A beam of white lightning caught the dragon’s divine figure. To Gwen's eyes, it appeared as though Ruxin had been beamed up by the USS Nagaland.

The team turned to Golos expectantly.

Grumbling, Golos broke into a sprint, leapt, then transformed into a resplendent Thunder Wyvern, making for the peak in the distance, leaving a trail of vibrant sparks.

With the dragons gone, the tension burst like an overflowing meniscus.

"Phew, shall we head back?" Richard unwound.

"Cao, my heart almost exploded." Jiro exhaled.

Gwen helped Mayuree from the floor.

"Mia, there's more," Gwen invited Mayuree to stand beside her. "Here is where I fought the Tyrant. My Void Elementals... may have consumed Kitty's body."

Two days after Kachin's draconic seachange, the handover from Mandalay to Hpakan was complete. The roads were cleared from the mines all the way down to the old capital, and its people returned to the labour of extracting precious stones from the earth.

Thanks to the newly arrived machinery, supplies and medicines, industry returned to the region, regaining the vigour it had enjoyed before the monsoonal deluge.

At their quest's conclusion, a grand speech was given by the proctors, curiously missing their leader and his assistant.

When the others received news of Kitty’s passing, the celebratory mood grew tragic. The team's grief, however, was fleeting. That Mages died executing their duties was a tale as old as time. Everybody, explained Tei, knew of loved ones who died to monsters. Mages, whether in fable or in reality, died not from old age or disease, they died fighting.

"Celebrate her life," Tei offered his condolences after performing a brief service, plying the trade of his family business. "Do not dwell, if you are right, her final act was to save Mayuree, let us remember that instead."

"May Kitty be reborn to a better life," Yuki and the Kyoto team proffered sympathy and praise in equal measure. "You made the right choice. Mayuree is safe, our quest is completed, and the Tyrant is defeated. Isn't that enough, Gwen-san?"

Was it enough? Gwen's response was one of ambivalence. Since their return, she had spoken to Mayuree many times, though each and every time, her friend plied her with platitudes and kind words of forgiveness, serving only to exacerbate her guilt.

On the day of their southward return to Mandalay, a servant brought a Message from Marong.

“Me Nu is dead,” Marong's voice came through. “Maymyint has murdered our 'mother' and usurped the House of M. I should have sensed her ploy when Mia was suddenly offered to the Tyrant. She's after our Centurion program. That's how this whole fiasco began."

Was that it? Gwen again found herself astounded by the greed of her own kind. Since this began, she had wondered what Minty stood to gain, why the woman wanted to inherit Me Nu's shitshow. Now she knew.

“Mayuree and I are at the end of our line,” Marong explained, his voice heavy with desperation. “Gwen, I am afraid Mayuree is going to remain in your care for the foreseeable future. If an opportunity arises, I am going to end Maymyint's tyranny over us, once and for all.”

Mayuree’s eyes widened. "Marong, no!"

“Don’t fret.” Gwen patted her on the shoulder. “Let me speak to Walken when we get to Yangon. If Marong wants to do this…”

The room grew suddenly cold.

“… then we do it together.”

Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff wrinkled his nose.

Though the NoMs had gone and scrubbed the underground palace thoroughly, there was no doubt in his mind that a great deal of violence had soaked the stones as of late.

“Sir, shall we proceed?” Magister Hass straightened her dress uniform.

They were, after all, meeting with a being who had existed a hundred years before the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire. A pure-blooded Thunder Dragon, first Scion to the Yinglong, and "Uncle" to Fudan’s Void sorceress.

The last title made the Magister splutter with indignity, exhaling a lungful of frustrated air.

After reviewing Ruxin's demands and communicating with his superiors from the Mageocracy, it had been decided that Lutz von Schlabrendorff would be their negotiator for the control of lower Burma. His orders from above were to secure Mandalay and Yangon, with the added proviso that a Tower was built in Yangon as soon as possible.

Which meant that, after negotiations with Ruxin, he would continue south with his team of newly minted diplomats to meet with Me Nu about the possibility of re-establishing a Mageocracy-controlled faction, a prospect infinitely complicated by unseen foreign interests in Yangon.

“Right, let’s go.”

The proctors-turned-diplomats entered the sanctum, following a hundred-meter long seam of jade polished to perfection, then stepped into an underground hall bright with mother-of-pearl.

“The remodelling is going to take some time,” a voice called out from the throne, a giant circular divan carved from a single piece of jadeite. “I am an open-air dragon if I do say so myself.”

“Your eminence, Lord Ruxin,” von Schlabrendorff reverently intoned, then bowed. “The Mageocracy stands in awe of your victory over the Tyrant.”

A man in white stepped from the raised platform. A single glance was enough to discern that indeed, the regal specimen was the scion of a mythic being.

“You must be Lutz von Schlabrendorff, Gwen told me about you,” Ruxin nodded. “And you must be Evelyn Hass. Welcome to my new domain. Allow me to apologise for the lack of servants, we are in the process of reorganising.”

From behind the divan, emerged two men, naked from the waist up and colourfully tattooed, with complexions the colour of caramel. They were followed by a third, an elderly man with a formidable bearing.

“Bring our guests some tea and food, whatever’s in the storeroom,” Ruxin commanded the younger two. The young men bowed, then they were suddenly gone, leaving nary a trace of mana.

The Shadowmen of Manipur! Von Schlabrendorff’s brows twitched. Which meant the older man was the Vairagi. Are these rustic hermits now working with Ruxin? What did the Meitei people hope to achieve by allying with a dragon?

“Well then.” Ruxin looked around. “Tika, bring us a table and some chairs.”

Lutz von Schlabrendorff blinked. There was a woman in the room as well, but Ruxin's presence was such that he had scarcely noticed her. She looked to be a local, a serpent folk, with half-moon eyes and thick, sensual lips, possessing an androgynous allure. From her petite frame, she was likely a Meitei.

The woman called “Tika” moved between the two parties, then muttered an incantation in dragon-tongue under her breath. At once, the jadeite floor shifted.

Four chairs; von Schlabrendorff counted with dismay. One for Ruxin, one for himself, one for the Meitei of Manipur, and one other.

"Am I the last to arrive?" a voice boomed across the hall.

Von Schlabrendorff turned, confirming his hypothesis.

"Magister, I am sure you're acquainted with Magister Wei Lin from the People's Liberation Army."

"I came as fast as I could." The Magister bowed deeply, then grinned at his Mageocracy counterpart. "Surely the Mageocracy isn't thinking of drafting new borders without our consent? This isn't 1973 all over again, is it?"

Von Schlabrendorff laughed.

Wei Lin laughed.

Ruxin and the Vairagi both joined in the merriment.

“Gentlemen, take a seat." Ruxin made himself comfortable as the servants arrived with rice paper, dried meat and well-water. "Let us partake in this communion of mortal sustenance, then I shall tell you of how things came to be, and where hence they shall go.”

Walken had prepared an hour-long scolding for his wayward student, but then Gwen arrived a day earlier than anticipated, with Marong and Mayuree in tow, enquiring as to the most practical means of murdering a certain Maymyint.

His first reaction was to wonder if his protégé had been replaced by a doppelgänger.

His second was to recall that Maymyint was an Enchanter.

His third was to deliver the summary report from the Examination Committee verbatim.

"So Kitty was glamoured..." Gwen's voice grew as frigid as the Void. "And I left her to die. Very well. I see."

"And she tried to save me in the end." Mayuree fought back choking sobs.

“… and you are certain Me Nu died to Maymyint?” Walken demanded of Marong, who nodded.

“I witnessed the deed, as well as her contacting the Master of Nagaland."

"And all of you are prepared?" Walken felt ten years younger. "Mentally and spiritually?"

"We are." Gwen spat between pearly teeth. Between Ruxin, Golos, Mayuree, Marong and Walken's report, there was now no doubt as to the source of all their woes.

“Then Maymyint must not be 'murdered',” Walken began with great sagacity. "She..."

"Shaaa!" Caliban complained.

“...I mean,” Walken continued. “That she must disappear. She must flee into the wilderness to live as a Wildland Rogue for the rest of her days.”

The three youngsters listened to Walken as he laid out the pros and cons of Maymyint’s decision to "relent" her place as the head of the House of M, escaping the consequences of her crime.

“... and there we have it. For vengeance, for justice, for profit and for the triumph of good, the deed should be done. Not to mention an Enchanter is our missing piece of the puzzle.”

He watched as Gwen's face flushed a dark crimson.

“Please.” Marong sank down on both knees. “We need this. Only you can make Maymyint retire beyond all trace of Divination.”

Gwen's breathing grew audibly laboured.

The girl gets it, Walken rejoiced. She understands.

"Think what Gunther would do," Walken distastefully advised. "Or Alesia."

He had already explained her circumstance very well.

In the psychomachia of virtue and vice, she had cause and justification.

In the ways of a lawless Frontier, she possessed both might and means.

In the secret court of her heart, her croaking Caliban roared for revenge.

"When?" the girl muttered.

"Why now, of course," Walken offered his most sympathetic presentation. "Strike while the iron's hot."

Yangon.

Kandawgyi Lake.

In Karaweik Palace, the late Me Nu’s pleasure barge had taken on a new mistress.

The news had yet to spread, for Maymyint dared not cement her place without first dealing with the loss of Mayuree, Kitty, and possibly Gwen Song and the subsequent fallout with the IIUC Committee.

There would be reprimands, which Maymyint was willing to accept. She had even readied scapegoats, Rogue Mages operating from Indaw, saboteurs she had long since set up to infiltrate Aung San’s mountain forces, ready to take the blame.

After that, came the real business, the cornerstone of her plan.

Her master from the shadows had it all mapped out.

As a real dragon and as a being of thunder and air, he had no need for earthly items like the Pillar of Jade to subsume the land. Therefore, the Pillar would fall to her, and she would grace the Mageocracy with an offer they could not refuse.

A Tower in Yangon.

She would be a hero, single-handedly responsible for returning a piece of fertile and populated land into the welcoming arms of humanity.

Maymyint chuckled to herself, eager for the good news from the north, delighting in the sound of her reverberating laughter. According to her Shadowmen, her master had been successful in retrieving the Pillar of Jade. All that's left was to seize her prize.

Knock. Knock.

She roused with a start, glancing at her side to ensure that her guards were present. Soundlessly, two elite Shadowmen melded into the half-lit gloom of the opulent palace.

“Come in.”

The massive golden doors yawned open. Slowly and with great deliberation, Marong entered.

“Marong, what a surprise.” Maymyint felt her fingers tingle. She had been awaiting the confrontation ever since Mayuree arrived with her guard in Indaw. “What’s the matter, Brother?”

Marong held the door for so long that, for a brief moment, Maymyint wondered if he had a whole platoon of Mages ready to storm the throne room.

Just as she was about to scold his tardiness, a second figure came through the door.

“Maymyint.”

The voice that spoke was sicky sweet, not at all like Maymyint’s own. She had always hated that voice, the innocence, the hope, the melodrama of it irked her to no end.

“M-Mayuree!” Maymyint bolted upright in her throne, her spine suddenly ramrod-straight. “H-How?”

“The Tyrant is no more,” Marong intercepted his sister’s speech. Together, the two began their advance. “Gwen fulfilled the prophecy.”

“I-impossible!” Maymyint’s eyes searched the room for her guards. “It possesses the Jade Pillar! Not even...not even…“

She swallowed. There was no way Gwen Song defeated the Tyrant; it had to be a bluff. She had seen Marong and Mayuree grow into adults. She knew them better than anyone. The siblings must be at the end of their wits, that was why they had forced this audience upon her, to threaten her, to gain their freedom.

And yet... if Gwen Song could defeat the Tyrant, then was it with help? Perhaps Ayxin? Her master’s sister, or even the Ash Bringer? The man had appeared formidable, but there was no way a mortal could beat down a dragon with an infinite supply of vitality and mana.

But then again, what did any prophesy matter? Her Master would soon return, and it was Maymyint who had the dragon's backing. If so, what need she fear?

“You lie.” Maymyint resumed a semblance of calm. “You’ve escaped, somehow, and now you’re trying to undermine my authority. Very well, I'll play your game. Your survival was an impressive feat. Marong, Mayuree, what do you want?”

“Vengeance for Kitty,” Mayuree snarled. “You glamoured her! Sent her to her death! There wasn’t even a body left!”

But the fool lived to die for you. Maymyint silently lambasted her dimwitted sister.

“An accident.” She remained calm, masking her disdain. “There are costs when progress has to be made. The Tyrant had to be lured from its lair, you understand. The House of M will only grow from here. With myself in command and no Tyrant and no Me Nu, do you have any idea how much we stand to make? How extensive our restaurants, auctions, consortiums—"

Marong disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"MARONG! YOU DARE? Guards!” Maymyint barked without hesitation. Marong was a fantastic Mage when it came to combat, but he had made the stupid decision to bring his sister. “Dominate!”

A blast of Radiance filled the room.

Glamoured, Mayuree suddenly ran forward, opening her arms so that she became a human shield to protect Maymyint.

A moment later, Marong reappeared, a safe distance away with both hands raised.

“Changed your mind?” Maymyint chuckled. "Guards, kill him."

Marong’s expression, to her surprise, was one of ridicule.

Where are the Shadowmen? Maymyint's brows knitted, suddenly realising a fatal error. Are they refusing to attack a colleague?

"Guards!" she called out at once. "OBEY YOUR CONTRACT!"

Silence reigned.

Marong chuckled.

"Fool! I still have Mayuree," Maymyint hissed. "You—"

SCHUNK!

Mayuree turned to regard her sister with tear-stained eyes, seemingly free of her Mind Magic.

Maymyint blinked as her body grew weightless.

Below, a pair of scything blades had sprouted from her chest, one through her breast, the other through her abdomen. She opened her mouth to protest her surprise, though nought but frothy blood gurgled from her lungs.

With great effort, her eyeballs swivelled upwards.

"MAS—"

"SHAAAA!"

Two enthusiastic tentacles met her halfway.

Marong watched.

Mayuree turned away.

Outside the opulent throne room, a sorceress was sick all over the floor, simultaneously assailed by pleasure and revulsion.

On the 23rd of September, 2004, Maymyint, eldest of the House of M, fled into the Wildlands, never again gracing the material world.

"Very well." Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff signed off on the tablet in front of him. "287 CCs for Jiantong."

"Poor sods." A second Magister winced. "In-fighting's the worst."

"It's an old story," another voice joined in around the table. "Comes with the territory if you're a tribal caster. Strong soloists, horrible teamwork."

"It's not as though we're immune," another snorted. "Swap out Sects for families, and what do you get? Europe's homogeny is incidental, I'd say."

"Quiet!" Von Schlabrendorff raised another slate. "Are we agreed on Seoul?"

"Since the Orientals have applied for 'withdrawal'." The third shrugged. "That's that."

"They've submitted a request for the memory crystals," Magister Hass reminded her supervisor. "Or at least for the lumen-crystals NOT to be widely circulated."

"If they're willing to do it, they're willing to show it." Von Schlabrendorff frowned unpleasantly. "No exceptions."

"Understood, sir."

"Seoul U, 0 CCs. Withdrawn. Remind Magister Kim that both our time and materials need to be repaid." The chief proctor signed off on the next slate. "Tell Brussels to keep an eye on them. All communique must be available on the public record."

"Yessir."

"Next, Kyoto. Any questions?"

The table collectively shifted their gaze to the final stack of documents and data-slates.

Where Kyoto's collated data generated a report the thickness of von Schlabrendorff's thumb, the volume beside it could be used to stop a Magic Missile.

"Very well, then, including penalties for illicit use of logged Magic Items, 2640 CCs to Kyoto."

"Next, Fudan—" Magister Hass retrieved the upper-most tablet.

The room broke out into a great clamour.

"Are you out of your mind, Lutz?" A Magister who'd awaited the whole tedious meeting was at the limit of his patience. "You may have convinced Brussels, but how are you hoping to convince anyone else? Japan will be in an uproar! Seoul will challenge! The Chinese will have their day and never let us live it down!"

"SILENCE!" Von Schlabrendorff banged the table. "We will examine an itemised list, and I shall explain. If you remain dissatisfied, you may appeal to Meister von Braun."

The protest died a slow death even as tensions remained high.

"First, we shall begin with Fudan's accomplishments," von Schlabrendorff began. "Hass?"

"Fudan University was the only team to stop and aid the local population, detouring to engaging in search and rescue operations in Takaung. One survivor was recovered and revive—"

The table exploded.

"SHUT UP!" von Schlabrendorff barked. "Another interruption and we are done!"

The others returned to their seats.

Magister Hass continued. "One survivor was recovered and revived. The village then received food and shelter, enough for aid to arrive from the larger townships closer to Mandalay. For Samaritanism in the spirit of the quest, 100 CCs."

"Fudan was the last team to arrive, landing at La War. Concurrently, Seoul U was involved in the construction of a dam which they used for flood control. As they have withdrawn, we will no longer contest this matter. During this incident, Gwen Song engaged and wounded Lee Si-Won, resulting in the collapse of the dam, and the partial destruction of La War. Subsequent evacuations and management of the village's damage yielded a total of 340 CCs for this event."

"What follows are events that lead to forfeit by Jiantong and Seoul U. You shall find these in sections 1.3.2 and 2.4.2. A comprehensive spell-list can be found in your appendix A. Items in appendix C. No CCs were awarded nor deducted for these events as they do not pertain to the given goals of the quest."

"Following their competitors' exit, Fudan repaired damaged roadwork to the jade mines. At the mine itself, Fudan implemented sanitation measures as well as introduced work safety for the local villagers. Wages and a reward system was established to punish laziness and catalyse responsible behaviour. Villagers from Kamaing were brought in through diplomacy. A local tribe of Wildland macaques was bribed to form a temporary truce with the human inhabitants, ensuring the safety of both La War's and Kamaing's citizens. Most importantly, discrepancy within the manager's statements and a new accounting system were implemented. In exchange for evading punishment, resources estimated at 40,000 HDMs are pending recovery. The itemised list is on appendix, section F. In total, 2,130 CCs were awarded."

"From Mandalay, Fudan's second team organised resource distribution through a point-duelling system alongside Kyoto U. For minimising conflict and enabling cooperation, 340 CCs."

"During the Indaw engagement, Fudan exterminated one hostile tier 8 Naga and five Rogue Mages, while minimising collateral damage to the township. With the total loss of two trucks and forty-eight NoMs taken into account. 250 CCs."

"Finally, Fudan's convoy arrived intact in Hpakan with 90% of all goods delivered without further incident. Taking into account critical goods and no other loss of life. 150 CCs."

"This brings us to 3310 CCs," Hass finished. "Now for the deductions."

"The Chief Proctor has previously detected the illicit use of Mind Magic on the Diviner, Mayuree. A warning had been given to Fudan's advisor, Magister Walken, who elected the party at fault to be Miss Maymyint, our point of contact for Yangon's central administration. During the competition, an incident occurred. Miss Kitty Liang fell under the control of a mid-tier Embedded Agenda Enchantment, a highly illicit example of Mind Magic strictly controlled under Article 17, though as Burma remains an extra-territorial Frontier, the legalities remain complex."

"During this incident, our surveillance systems suffered a setback. However, we have it on the authority of the proctors present that Fudan had initiated the following actions."

"Gwen Song. Illicit use of unregistered, restricted Magic Item - Superior Potion of Invisibility."

"Gwen Song. The lethal use of Class II Restricted-Magic 'Cloud Kill' on another Mage. Though the victim, presumed to be Aung San Yuzana, is a Rogue Mage, thereby not under the protection of the Tower's laws."

A grudging murmur spread through the table.

"Gwen Song. Suspicion of Conspiracy. Records show that the individual 'Golos' who intervened during the incident in regards to Seoul U is known to her. If proven, match interference of this kind may be escalated to disqualification."

"That's right!" a Magister called out. "Conflict of interest!"

The chief proctor stared him down.

"Kitty Liang - Mind Magic and match interference. Although the incident did not directly tamper with the results, therefore, no CCs will be deducted. As a side note, Contestant Gwen Song engaged Kitty Liang in a friendly-fire incident resulting in her teammate's death. Details are in section IV-I."

Hass waited for the decision to sink in before delivering her final line."After review, Gwen Song's actions cannot be construed as seeking an advantage, nor having resulted in one. As for the involvement of third-party Magical Creatures, Magister von Schlabrendorff will clarify."

Hass turned on her heels, then stood primly behind Lutz, her superior.

"That's all very well and good, but aren't you missing something?" a Magister raised a bundle of documents in frustration. "I want to know why Fudan is receiving a SEEDED position for the IIUC!"

"Why is there no mention of the Tyrant in your report?"

"What about Ruxin? What about the Thunder Dragon?"

"I heard she fought a Mythic! To a stand still!"

"What of her ties to Sobel? She used a similar spell—"

"What's going to happen to the other Asian teams?"

"You're destroying our neutrality! Blatant favouritism from Brussels!"

"You Grey Faction scoundrels!"

"Are your militant meatheads any better?"

Von Schlabrendorff sipped his coffee while the other proctors tired themselves out. Recent events had indeed been a victory for the Grey Faction, though his fellow proctors likely had no idea of the details.

"I understand your frustration." Von Schlabrendorff's voice overpowered the outburst. "But let me enlighten you on events as they now unfold. A deal has been made with Ruxin, the new Lord of Nagaland, Manipur and Kachin, a lease of sorts for the foreseeable future. If you don't like it, make a petition and tell your backers to pay a visit to the Jade Palace in Nagaland. My authority in this comes from the top - London, Berlin and Beijing are in agreement."

The table fell into sullen silence.

"A few days ago, I visited Lord Ruxin as the representative of the Mageocracy," von Schlabrendorff explained with great patience. These men had brought an axe to grind, and he had waited for their choler to dull before delivering a bite of his own. "Though an official announcement has yet to be made, I will inform you of where we stand. From October, the Mageocracy will resume governorship of Yangon as a Frontier Protectorate, while the Chinese will establish a military presence to the north, in Mandalay. In exchange for resource autonomies, as well as Gwen Song's guaranteed passage through to the IIUC's international round, Yangon will receive the Pillar of Jade."

A collective shuffling of chairs filled the room.

A Tower in Yangon!

A Human Frontier returned to the fold!

"Lord Ruxin's initial demand." Von Schlabrendorff cleared his throat. "Was to gift Fudan 100,000 CCs in the IIUC to 'get it over and done with'."

A new silence fell over the room.

"I choose instead to preserve our dignity," von Schlabrendorff vocalised sardonically. "As such, all of you will join me in agreeing that Fudan has achieved Seeded status, taking one of Asia's two slots, with a total score of 3310 CCs, a new record for the Asian Qualifiers. Are there any questions?"

"I've got one."

"Go on, Magister Corey."

"Why Gwen Song?"

"I am afraid that isn't for me to say, James."

"Fine, then I have a question." A dozen heads turned to regard the elderly scholar. From her pregnant vowels and elongated 'e', it was evident that the hawkish Magister hailed from the American west coast. "Is this because Gwen Song raised the dead?"

A new hush filled the chamber.

"No," said von Schlabrendorff. "That is a separate matter—"

"I find that hard to believe," the woman interrupted Von Schlabrendorff. "Whatever you might say, the demi-human she aided had been asphyxiated. Your own observations crystals indicate her breathing had ceased."

"The woman was a demi-human being," Von Schlabrendorff added. "Their physiologies are different."

"Nonetheless," Magister Williams persisted. "That's Necro—"

"Magister Milford Williams!" von Schlabrendorff snapped. "There was neither Positive Energy nor Negative Energy present during the incident! For all we know, it was luck! Sheer luck!"

"And the Grey Faction, including her disgraced advisor, has no interest in this matter?" Williams scoffed. "Need I remind you that her wardens in Sydney, Magus Shultz and De Botton belong to our Middle Faction."

"What are you suggesting?" Von Schlabrendorff growled.

"What I am saying..." Willams snarled. "Is that the Grey Faction is up to its old tricks, trying to hog a good thing!"

Then, as if gasoline to a Fireball, the room ignited.

With great care, Ruì placed a blanket over Gwen's hunched, groaning body, then tip-toed from the spacious open-office with the others.

Suddenly appearing at the office after her return from Yangon, Ruì's lady boss had thrown herself into her appointed position as advisor for the House of M, shackling her NoM assistants to the small, single floor office while she tirelessly pored over the flood of paperwork coming in from Yangon, Hong Kong, Guangzhou, Chengdu, Singapore and more.

"How long has she being awake?" Terence, dark eye-bags under his eyes, breathed a sigh of relief. "Any longer and I would have died."

"How do I look." Effi poked at her bloated face.

"You look like a Pandaren." Ruì wanted to laugh, but she was afraid of waking her boss. "I think she's been up for four days."

"I am going to find a motel close by and fall unconscious." Terence stumbled away. "Message me."

"Where's Ken and Dai?" Ruì asked of her companion.

"Ken's gone on the third day, says he's got an emergency back at Secretary Chen's," Effi reminded her. "Dai said he'd come back when the Boss is sane again."

"… Alright." Ruì licked her cracked lips. From the looks of it, she would be sleeping at the office again.

Ding!

The lift opened.

"Richard!" At the sight of Gwen's dashing cousin, her heart was suddenly aflutter. The others followed, bowed, then took the lift down.

"Ruì," Richard acknowledged the secretary. "Is Gwen…"

"Asleep," Ruì explained her bosses' situation to the young man. "Oh, hello there, Miss Mayuree."

The House of M's heir was also one of Ruì's bosses. According to Gwen, she was now the boss of her boss.

"I have something for her." Mayuree indicated her Storage Ring. "It's from my brother. He said it'd cheer her up."

"She's asleep just now," Ruì said.

"We'll wait." Richard smiled attractively. "Have you eaten? Know any place good?"

Ruì's face flushed a bright crimson; all thoughts of fatigue fell from her mind.

"I do!" she answered enthusiastically. "I know just the place!"

"T-three thousand and three hundred?!" Dean Luo spluttered, spilling the tea he'd been nursing.

"And Ten," Walken finished. "Also, she's picked up Enchantment."

"One thing at a time." Luo raised a hand in protest. "Mao, how in the world? Kyoto or Tsinghua takes home the cup every other year just breaking twenty-five hundred!"

"She also liberated Burma, by accident." Walken raised his teacup in the manner of a man having read a mildly interesting scandal in the tabloids. "I expressly forbid her, you should know. It's all on record, I am sure."

"And Enchantment! That's good news." Dean Luo paced back and forth, then stopped. "Did you just say…"

"Then fought a pseudo Mythic Naga to a standstill, then triple-teamed it with a Thunder Dragon and a Thunder Wyvern," Walken continued with a deadpan dryness only the English could afford.

Dean Luo stopped by the alcohol cabinet and poured himself a stout glass of Maotai; his heart wasn't as shatterproof was it had been in the old days.

"Anything else?"

"Revived a dead woman by accident."

Luo spilt half a glass of the precious alcohol over his hand and the carpet, filling the room with the pleasant scent of fermented sorghum. "Necromancy?"

"Nothing of the sort, I think it has to do with her Druidic Essence," Walken calmed his old friend before correcting himself. "Well, Draconic-Essence."

"Eric, you old fox." Luo sucked in a breath of cold air. "Mao, what have you unleashed."

"We." Walken replaced his cup, then repeated himself. "And Wen as well. If we share the credit, we share the blame."

"There's bad news as well..." Walken explained the problem with Kitty before elaborating on what the team had told him. "But then there's the good news."

Dean Luo optioned to find a place to sit so that if he went into cardiac shock, he could be revived with his dignity intact.

"She liberated both Mandalay for the CCP and Yangon for the Mageocracy?"

"Well, we can't say it like that. The Yinglong's scion is the mastermind I am sure. If I'd been in the thick of it, I would have suspected Ruxin the moment he came out on top. No one, not even a Dragon, comes out with a total victory without meticulous scheming. If you want my opinion, I think the old drake's gotten a bit too greedy. Considering one of Gwen's companions died, the secrecy won't do either of them favours in the future."

"Now that's a confrontation I am not looking forward to." The Dean sighed. "BUT, the result is that we have a seeded spot for the IIUC?"

"Yes."

"Mao!" Luo was sweating. "First time we've gotten close, and we're going straight to the main competition!"

"MASTER!" Ellen teleported into the Dean's office. "There are hundreds of reporters beating down the front gate! They want to talk to Fudan's IIUC team! They want interviews. They're clamouring for Gwen!"

"Where's Gwen now?"

"Working - believe it or not." Walken grimaced, tapping his forehead. "She needs time to sweat off her angst, I am afraid. Her final School of Magic didn't come easy."

"Ellen." The Dean nodded understandingly. "Get me Tei and anyone else from the team who's at Fudan right now. Set up the Guanghua tower's auditorium. When's the match broadcasting?"

"In two days, Sir."

"Eric?"

"I'll talk to her. For now, she needs time."

"Thanks." the Dean peeked outside, where already he could see more reporters gathering. "Ellen, clear my schedule. It's going to be a busy week."

Gwen realised she must have fallen asleep, because she had lost consciousness during the day, and now it was night time.

"Ruì?"

The office was deserted, though that wasn't a bad thing.

When she moved from the table, a blanket shifted from her back, still warm from her body's heat.

Good old Ruì, she thought to herself, then leaned back in her chair.

It had felt good.

Killing Minty, that is.

Watching the woman's smug face as she goaded Marong and Mayuree, she had never felt so sure of anything in her whole life. When Caliban struck its appendages through her unresisting body, she had felt a sadistic rapture.

Then came the horror, and the pleasure, which was mild in so far as the scale was concerned, but still enough to buckle her legs with quivering delight. That had been the worst, as all her pent up self-loathing ripped out of her oesophagus, emptying her stomach twice over, painting the jade-tiled floors.

Then strangely, catharsis.

The Greeks weren't kidding when they privileged Nemesis, divine balancer of life, dark-faced daughter of Justice. There was something to be said of having a good purge now and then.

After that, she picked herself from the floor. Consulted with Mayuree and Marong, then switched off something in her head so that she could coast through the darkness that came with her crisis of conscience.

Two days later, she was back in Chengdu.

Then, without visiting her much anticipated Pandaren, she was back in Shanghai, being hugged by Petra, who gave her a big, sloppy, comforting kiss on the forehead.

At Petra's behest, Gwen had promised to call Babulya the next morning, but then she looked up at the ceiling and recalled that only a few walls away, was Kitty's now vacant bedroom.

That very night, dressed in her best professional outfit, she showed up to work and inspected her worker's progress. The next morning, she requested an interim report from Magus Maymaruya, as well as stacks of Tonglv documents, after which the rest became a blessed blur of unthinking arithmetics and compounding interests.

According to Marong, when he declared in favour of Yangon Tower following their disposal of Maymyint, the lesser factions in the House of M broke into a riot of succession fantasies. All quailed, however, when the Vairagi of the Shadowmen made an appearance and affirmed their allegiance.

When Marong's contemporaries began calling him the new Me Nu, Marong pointed out that instead, it was Mayuree who now reign at the House's peak. Mayuree, a companion to she who defeated the Tyrant, who in turn had the backing of the new master of Kachin, Manipur and Nagaland. A woman who undoubtedly would come one day into her own Tower.

A fox who borrows the tiger's borrowing of the dragon's terror? Gwen had read over the letters of loyalty, to which she responded with a full financial review.

That and she recommended for Marong to begin training an elite troop of accountants.

"Borrow some of the NoMs to teach the Shadowmen," she had Messaged back. "You can call them Mayuree's Shadow Auditors."

"I shall begin at once," Marong informed her. "Also, your requested items will arrive in Shanghai soon. Take it 'on the house'. What we owe you will take time to repay. For now, let us shoulder some of your burdens."

What Marong referred to was her request for upper-tier Contingency Rings for Lulan, Richard and a new ring for Mayuree. At the 10,000 HDM tier, the rings came with contracts for triage and sanctuary in the Mageocracy's Towers.

Stripping out of her workwear, she took a shower in her private bathroom, feeling as though she was peeling off a layer of old skin. As she slid into the silk she had gotten from Hangzhou, a recollection resurfaced.

She dropped her brush.

"OH, SHIT!" She cursed, almost slipping on the tiles. Frantically, she punched in the Glyphs to dial her Babulya.

"Gwen?" Pale Divination bloomed beside her ear. "How are you feeling?"

"Babulya! I am sorry for not calling sooner!" Gwen apologised profusely. "I'd been so distracted by everything that's happened. Is Yeye there? I want to apologise as well."

"I am at the hospital right now," her Babulya's soothing voice came through. "Richard told us everything. Congratulations on the match. The official results are out tomorrow, so I hear."

"Thanks, Babulya." Gwen felt a sudden exhilaration. It was a beautiful thing to have one's anticipations confirmed. "Everyone did their best. How about you? How have you been?"

"Busy as always."

"How's Percy?"

"The usual, trying to chase after you, although it looks like he may have some distance to go. Guo said that you liberated a country?"

"Aha…" Gwen laughed awkwardly. "I think you should ask Uncle Jun about that. I happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"He's such a good boy." Her grandmother sighed happily. "Guo's work has become much easier since Jun found himself with that dragon princess. To think my boy would find himself a dragon-kin! Who'd have imagined he would find someone older than his parent? I didn't know where to put my face when Ayxin called me 'mother'!"

The shared laughter dispelled some of Gwen's residual ill feelings.

"Ah, Babulya, you're the best."

"I try, dear. So, I am assuming you're calling because of Hai?"

"I forgot to Message Father," Gwen confessed. "I told Uncle Jun I would, and yet… did Qīn…"

"She did," her babulya informed her. "I delivered the child myself. A boy."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you." Her babulya's tone was ambivalent. "Your Yeye says he's torn, but I can see that he's the happiest he has been in decades. The child's name is Shui. Song Shui."

"Water?"

"Aye, a name which we hope he lives up to, for there shall be trials for the child yet."

"Is he going to be another Salt Mage?"

"Let's hope not." Klavdiya's voice grew uncertain. "Mao willing."

"I'll call him and congratulate him," Gwen promised.

"You do that, dear, and take care. Will you be joining us on Sunday? There'll be a gathering at home."

"I'll try, babulya."

"Good night."

"G'night."

The Message died.

Ding!

"Gwen, you're up?" came the voice of Richard.

"Yeah." She stretched her fingers. "What's up?"

"Well, you've been in a cave for four days, so we'd thought to bring you some real food."

"God, yes." Gwen realised that indeed, she was finally hungry. For four days she had survived on chocolate, coffee and magically appearing take-out that Ruì had left on her table.

"Mia has a package for you as well. Says it's from Marong."

"Cool, see ya soon."

Gwen then left a Message for her father, lacking the courage to deal with her old man's frustrations.

"Dad, congratulations on your new son. Song Shui, was it? It's a good name. Please give my best wishes to Aunty Qīn as well. There'll be a gift from me soon!"

She shut the Message Glyph before someone could reply.

After a few more minutes of darkness and sullen silence, she Glyphed on the lumen-globes so that the office grew bright as day.

"Yo!"

The door opened.

"Gwen, how are you feeling?" Richard visibly appeared to relax when he entered the bright room and saw her in a pastel dress. "We got you an XL dan-dan mien."

"Cheers." Gwen stood so that all her friends could see she was indeed better than the bedraggled hellion that had returned from Burma with a chip on her shoulder and a bone to chew. "Sorry, everyone. I had lots of accounting to do, both personal and business."

Richard had returned with more people than she thought. Including Ruì, there was also Mayuree, Lulan, Kusu and Petra.

Hugs were exchanged all around before her companions made themselves comfortable. While Gwen ate, Ruì made tea and prepared biscuits and cakes for the Mages, playing the part of a perfect secretary.

"So what's this package?" Gwen asked after an exchange of teas, cakes and ices. "The Rings?"

Her Diviner materialised an intricate looking wooden chest from storage.

"The Rings are being sent to Fudan T2. Marong says these are from your collaborator." Mayuree invoked the unlocking incantation, then opened the box.

Within the chest, nestled in velvet silk, were two perfectly preserved Creature Cores, so dense with Earthen mana that their observers felt as though a mild Petrification spell had come into effect.

"Mao…" Lulan was the first to react, accompanied by an open-mouthed Petra. The Sword Mage alone was the Earthen Mage, and she felt an unmistakable connection to the stones. "A-are those… higher-tier Naga Cores?"

"Left or Right?" The casualness of Gwen's voice betrayed the rarity of Ruxin's leftovers.

"The left one," Lulan replied, halfway between a dream-come-true and a waking nightmare. "Gwen, this is a higher-tier Spirit!"

"Good." Gwen retrieved the Core as one might a packaged sirloin from the supermarket, then tossed it between Lulan's lap. "Here, it's yours."

"NO!" Kusu blurted beside his sister, rattled by the fortune fallen from heaven. "That's a debt we can't repay. In all of Huashan, there is a single Sword Spirit! You're buying Lulu a ring already. We can't—"

"Why would I demand reparation?" Gwen pushed the Core into Lulan's unresisting hands so that its odds and ends poked her thighs. "I need an offensive caster who can kick arse in Europe. What's fairer than that?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Kusu spluttered. "Gwen, be reasonable. Lulan, give it back."

Lulan agonisingly lifted the crystal.

In response, Gwen procured the second Core, then tossed it toward Petra.

"Here Pats, my tuition fees."

Petra caught the Core, then ran her hand over the surface. In the past, Petra informed Gwen of the impossibility of her finding a unique, higher-tier, sapient, sentient Spirit. A Mineral variation was astronomically scarce, which was why she had given up long ago.

"Hmm, condensed Nephrite. Interesting. I'll let you know if I can attune." Petra wasn't nearly so shy. "Lulu, just so you know, the earlier you receive a sapient Spirit, the easier it is for them to attain humanoid forms. Gwen, are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Thanks." The girl inclined her chin. "The benefit will be mutual."

"Absolutely." Gwen nodded back, then turned to Lulan and Kusu. "See? Is that so hard?"

Kusu looked at his sister, who hugged the Core like a newborn.

"Those are… priceless," Richard butted in, renewing his understanding of Gwen's generosity. "Perfectly preserved high-tier Cores are as rare as hen's teeth."

"But their value lies in use, not worth." Gwen shrugged. "Think about the Jade Pillar. What good had it done in the hands of the Tyrant? I don't need currency, and I don't wish to hoard. Their only worth to me is what they can do for Lulu and Pats. I could trade them away as well, but I doubt an equitable trade would be possible."

"You say that." Richard smacked his lips drily. "But you could have bought a high-rise building near the Second Orbital…"

"You're overestimating their exchange rate," Mayuree chipped in, enlightened by Gwen's disregard for gifted treasures, so different to the late Me Nu and Maymyint. "The Cores are rare, though they're unlikely to find buyer, even with Spirits. We're looking at anywhere between 30,000 HDMs to 150,000 HDMs, and Mages with bloodlines worth that kind of investment usually don't lack for Spirit Cores."

Lulan begged her pale-faced brother with pleading eyes, who relented after a defeated dip of his head.

"Lulu." Petra motioned for her to get up. "Gwen, you still have that private training room booked?"

"I am coming as well." Gwen grinned, motioning for the others. "Let's see some magic!"

"Kusu, chill!" Richard slapped Kusu on the back so that the young man wouldn't asphyxiate. "Don't mind it so much. Everyone gets a fair shake of the sauce bottle on Team Gwen, eh?"

"Fair dinkum," Gwen added yet another Aussie slang to the mix, confusing the siblings to no end. "No worries, Kusu, Lulu'll be right."

The rest broke into laughter.

"Umm… Miss Song?" Ruì meekly implored at her mystic betters as they casualy exchanged gifts worth more than her lifetime earnings. "Can I go home now?"

"Gwen! Come quick! They're everywhere!" Mayuree's Message burst through the ceiling, causing Gwen to rise from her bed with such force that her bedframe threatened to revolt.

"Oh, Goddess!!" Mayuree yelped at the pale wonder suddenly materialising in her living room. "Lei, get Gwen a robe!"

"What is it— Oh my God! Lei!" Their ill-dressed intruder performed a double-take, then embraced the NoM woman with suffocating passion. "You're safe! You're back! Thank God!"

"Miss Song." Lei winced as her bones creaked. "I can't breathe."

"S-sorry!" Gwen released the matronly woman from her death-grip. "I am just so happy to see you again. We've been surviving on takeout…"

"Hey!"

"Hahaha…"

"Let me get you a robe, Miss Song."

Lei quickly retrieved a robe from the laundry.

"So, what's the matter?" Gwen studied the spotless penthouse, wondering if Mayuree had seen rats or cockroaches.

"Look down." Mayuree indicated toward her panoramic panes.

"HOLY…"

Below, like a maliciously conjured swarm, a milling assembly of three dozen reporters and their crews meandered through B1's external garden.

"What do we do?" Mayuree pressed against the glass. "Last time, you got in so much trouble."

"Let me ask." Gwen wasn't sure if she had permission to deal with the paparazzi herself and so turned to her master of dubious schemes. She punched in the Glyphs, then waited for the Divination to connect. "Eric?"

"Gwen." Walken sounded tired. "What's happened?"

"Mia and I have been blocked in by the paparazzi at B1," she explained, playing the Message aloud. "I need to take my team to T2 today to get their rings registered and Contingency contracts validated. Judging from the crowd, did we win?"

"I am not going to ruin it for you." Walken's tone was effervescent but evasive. "Just so you know, Luo and I have been dealing with your fallout for the last three days. It's good that you called because we're conscripting you for the day. There's going to be a press conference at the Guanghua auditorium, where your scores are announced. As for you, get dressed, impress the gallery outside, then get back to the campus. Richard and the others won't be needing your supervision, even if you're paying for their rings."

"Actually, Marong's paying."

"Good God." Walken bit his tongue. "I don't know if I am impressed or appalled."

"Our interests are mutual."

"Of course," her instructor concluded with a patronising pause. "Now go. Call me when you get here. Magister Wen is looking forward to sampling your latent abilities."

At the mention of the zealous researcher, her joy soured.

"Alright, Eric." She turned to Mayuree and Lei, still wearing borrowed bathrobes. "We gotta doll up for the press."

"What are you going to wear?" Mayuree averted her eyes from the second floor. There would be nine of them at the conference, making the reality of Kitty's passing all the more poignant. "What do you think I should wear?"

"Miss Song!"

"Gwen Song!"

"Vice Captain Song!"

The mob of reporters moved forward, then staggered back when confronted by a blue-white Kirin pacing beside an obsidian Deathworm.

After which the creatures' owner arrived.

As one, devices were raised, buttons depressed and glyphs fired. For a few brief seconds, the frontage of Gouding B1 grew incandescent.

To the press corps, the Familiars' mistress was magnificent. Raven haired and crimson-lipped, she appeared a treat in crow-black chiffon, hiked just enough so that the pale length of her white legs induced voyeuristic guilt. As she approached, popping lumen-strobes vivified her hazel orbs, punctuating the click-clacking of her Mary-Janes.

The girl stopped just short of the gate, flanked on either side by her Familiars.

"I need to report to Fudan for a medical, but I am happy to answer a few questions." Fudan's Vice Captain teased the crowd with a red-lipped smile, then chose to privilege the CCVC-1 crew.

"How do you respond to rumours of your involvement in Burma's liberation?" A state-sanctioned reporter levitated a recording instrument toward the sorceress.

"Serendipity and chance, an incidental affair which cost our team greatly." The girl's shoulders drooped. "Though the outcome has favoured humanity, we lost Kitty Liang, our Controller and our friend in the incident. Whatever good that may emerge from our victory, I dedicate it first and foremost to her memory."

The journalists quickly jotted down her words.

"You." Fudan's Void Sorceress next picked a young man in a newspaper cap.

"Are allegations that you brutalised Seoul's Chaebol true? News from Seoul is that three of their members returned to the city's Tower."

The girl lowered a hand as to scratch the faceless obsidian surface of her purring Void-creature. "Ah. Talk about a loaded question. No - Fudan was not involved in sending them back. During the competition, Seoul U engaged in bad faith tactics, actions that resulted in angering a local Land God, who then punished Seoul for their unlawful trespass. We were just lucky to be in the right place at the right time. That said, Fudan did indeed crush Seoul U in a two-on-three duel."

"Is it true that you bested a high-tier dragon-subtype Magical Beast in single combat?"

Before answering, Fudan's Void Sorceress gathered both Familiars around her waist, attracting another shower of captured lightning.

"I did, and the battle was arduous and hard-won." She smiled for the cameras. "It was a Naga, by the way, a brutish beast of many heads, tireless in its ferocity. Our triumph was thanks to the unique skills offered by my team members. A concerted effort, of which I played only a small part."

"Miss Song! Will you be joining the PLA T—"

"I am sorry, here's where we must part," Gwen apologised. "We have matters to attend to at the campus."

Their subject then brought forward a petite Southeast Asian girl, as well as a stunning Russian the reporters recognised on record as Gwen Song's cousin. When all three stood side by side in sable, the journalists realised that the girls' choice of colour was for their aforementioned, deceased companion.

Collectively, the girls bowed.

The reporters parted respectfully, though not without a third tempest of lumen-pics.

Both Walken and Fudan's Dean applauded the demonstration of humility and camaraderie when Gwen called the others to inform them of the dress code for the Press Conference, which would follow after Wen finished poking the girl's innards.

Begrudgingly, Gwen had left Mayuree to accompany the others to Guanghua T2 while herself, Walken, Magus Kumiko and Luo joined Wen and Petra at the Cog-Chamber attached to Wen's Heilong Laboratory.

After an exchange of social superficialities, they were ready to begin.

"Gwen, follow my demonstration." Petra handed her an HDM crystal imbued with fire and what appeared to be a rod of steel. "Enchantment is a little different. We need to acclimatise the Sigil before we move onto biometrics."

Obediently, Gwen palmed both items, looking for a slot to insert the crystal like a battery.

"That's a pre-inscribed Glyph rod," Petra explained, amused by her cousin's clueless fidgeting, recalling that Gwen had come from a public high school. "All that's missing is the transfer invocation. It's only three Major incantations. Ready?"

Wen punched in few Glyphs only she could see, activating the Cognisance illusion with a thrum while Petra baby-talked Gwen through the process.

"How's the paper coming along?" the Dean entreated his top Gwenology researcher. "There's been a lot of interest from all three Factions."

"With this, we can publish soon," Wen informed her employer, then held her breath while their subject aped her cousin's rudimentary Enchantment. "Watch."

"Imbue!" Gwen commanded the rod in her hand.

Spak!

The crystal shattered.

"Too much mana!" Petra slapped the HDM out of her cousin's hand. "Careful! Are you alright?"

"I am fine." Gwen shook her fingers, unharmed but for a spot of redness. "This is harder than it looks."

"Enchantment is the most difficult School of Magic," Wen called out from afar. "The Glyph and inscription system was originally borrowed from Dwarven Runes and antiquated runic scripts."

"Like English thrifting words from German and French," Gwen noted where she possibly could have gone wrong. From the sudden flare-up, she likely imagined the manifestation in the manner of one expecting Conjuration or Evocation.

"Let's try again." Petra produced a water-imbed HDM this time. "This one's safer."

"Alright." Gwen took account of both.

"Follow my lead." Petra resumed her demonstration of guiding her mana through her conduits, explaining the arcane process of drawing Elemental energy into Glyphic arrays.

"Imbue!"

The crystal exploded, showering both Gwen and Petra with conjured water.

"Getting better." Petra wiped away a face full of clear liquid, looking up to see Gwen tear-stained with squid-ink, both upset and discouraged. "Less mana, imagine an eye dropper, not a water hose."

The duo succeeded on the fifth attempt.

"If you activate your Enchantment and direct the mana here…" Petra demonstrated with the imbued rod, now looking worse for wear. "Water emerges where the quadragramic Mandala creates a small channel into the Elemental Plane of Water. A parallel Eikman's Circuit allows you to adjust the force, while these secondary Bravlovski's Nodes function as an on-off trigger…"

Petra's unwitting jargon reminded Gwen of when the company's egg-heads were trying to teach her how to administrate the company's website. Very quickly, she realised her time was far better spent wining and dining clients than fiddling with IT.

"Congratulations." Walken extended a hand to Wen. "It's done."

"Can we confirm her metrics?" Luo found himself sweating profusely. "Important people need to be notified."

"Petra!" Wen called out. "We're moving onto biometrics!"

"Umm... are we not testing her Void Familiar?" Beside the Magisters, Magus Kumiko raised a demure hand. More and more, she felt drawn into some strange conspiracy. "If so, may I go?"

Luo slapped his forehead.

"My apologies, Magus Kumiko." The Dean dipped his chin. "Please proceed. Miss Song, is your Familiar ready?"

Gwen's response was to conjure Caliban with a thought. More and more, her Familiar spell was attaining reflexive mastery.

"Shaa!" Caliban slithered into being, happy to be out and about again after the showing in front of the press. "Shaa! Shaa!"

Magus Kumiko meanwhile, set up her usual Summon Creature a safe distance away.

"Summon Creature!"

Where she had drawn the glyph array on the floor, an untethered Tusker Boar appeared, dragged through space and time, reformulated from the raw Essence of the Wildlands.

"Caliban!" Gwen readied herself, noting the presence of Onibi behind her, ready to deliver whatever Positive Energy Magus Kumiko could spare. "Naga form!"

“SHAAAA!”

Caliban coiled then leapt toward the stunned porcine beast. As with its stag-transformation, its carapace split, weeping spurts of dark ichor as its serpent form perished. First, its midsection grew grotesquely pregnant, then with the likeness of a bloating balloon toy, the rest of its body elongated. Without warning, three heads mushroomed where one had existed, each coagulant with jostling chitin, forming faceless miens in the manner of bullets. A second later, with the force of a runaway carriage, Caliban rammed head-first into the cowering boar, bowling it to the floor.

"ONSLAUGHT!" a shrill command filled the Cognisance Chamber.

Magister Wen's fingers blurred as she annotated the recording.

"SHAA!"

Caliban's armoured heads began to split; from each lamprey-lip erupted a mass of tendrils and tentacles, some with the likeness of bloodworms, others more akin to squid tentacles barbed with hooked-teeth.

The porcine beast's squeals reached a new feverish pitch, mirroring the harrowing discomfort felt by Gwen's advisors until finally, the noise cut short with a gurgling whimper.

The demonstration had lasted no more than half a minute, but already Magus Kumiko found herself sick twice over, exacerbated by Onibi's mass transfer of her Positive-charged mana into Fudan's headlining sorceress.

When the monster snapped itself shut, she found herself heaving yet again.

"How is it?" Wen wetted her pencil-thin lips. "Compared to the Stag or the Gila?"

"I don't think the Naga-form is usable without support, or a great deal of excess vitality," Gwen confessed. "When the heads came out, I could hardly move."

Stoically, Wen then requested defence data, which Gwen consented for both Spellcraft and her personal curiosity.

"Crystalline Spear!"

In quick succession, a dozen projectiles, almost ethereal, struck Caliban's carapace, driving it backwards and tearing off a chunk of bloody chitin.

"How is it?" Walken looked over Wen's shoulder.

"Much tougher," Wen remarked, moving away.

Gwen took a deep breath while she massaged her ribs. Though Caliban took the damage, their empathy had grown more intimate.

"My turn. Gwen, are you ready?" Walken raised a finger.

"Go ahead."

"Lightning Bolt!"

She flinched as Walken's spell singed Caliban's carapace.

"Draconic resistance?" Wen remarked.

"I think so," the Dean agreed. "Walken?"

"I concur." Walken beckoned Caliban to slither closer, then fed the beast three HDMs, one for each head. "Usually, Caliban is weak to oppositional elements. See the scuff here? I think it repelled some of the lightning. Fascinating! It looks like Marie has her work cut out."

"Shaa!" Caliban waved its three heads.

"I'd imagined more heads." Luo walked a circle around her Familiar, offering his tithing. "Five-plus-one, wasn't it?"

"I don't think I have the vitality," Gwen offered her thanks to Onibi and its master. "Thank you, Ma'am, for always helping us."

"You should take care," Kumiko warned her student. "If that had been anyone but you, they would have lost consciousness. I think the more heads you conjure, the more it taxes your body, and the more powerful your creature becomes."

"She could probably manage four if she had a mind to." Wen tapped her tablet. Heedless of Gwen's clammy complexion nor her colleague's disapproving expressions. "Now, let us obtain some stats."

At Wen's private laboratory in the Heilong building, Gwen sat on a bench, wrapped in a towel while her new biometrics were printed out.

"Looks like we've got a disproportional increase in Evocation and Transmutation, in addition to Enchantment as a new metric." Wen, Luo and Walken crowded around the scripts as they emerged, with Wen reading out the results. "Here they are…"

"Evocation 5.31."

"Conjuration 5.80."

"Transmutation 3.75."

"Abjuration 2.54."

"Divination 1.67."

"Illusion 2.45."

"Enchantment 1.30."

A collective exhalation resounded, leaving Gwen to gape in shock-horror at the unexpected boost in both Evocation and Transmutation.

"Gwen?" Petra reached her side, noting the sudden change in her cousin's body language. "Are you alright?"

"I..." Gwen fanned herself with a hand. "I just… I need a moment."

"Your VMI is now on record as 302 from 254." Wen looked up. "Had a good meal? There should be diminishing returns, according to our studies. You said there was one Mage who was Consumed, who are the others?"

"Alright, that's enough." Walken stepped in between the researcher and the two girls.

"Nominal increases, about 0.2 in both elements, impressive but nothing out of the ordinary. 6.67 and 4.51. There's still a way to go." Wen exhaled with exasperation. "Wasting opportunities is most unbecoming if you're serious about winning."

When Gwen confronted Wen's critical eyes with her bloodshot orbs, the Magister dutifully pursed her lips.

"Need I remind you we have a conference later?" The Dean cut in before the academic could dig herself deeper. "Petra, I think Gwen could use some fresh air before the conference."

Seeing that her cousin looked about ready to snap, Petra happily obliged.

"Go take a break, but don't leave the campus." Luo ushered the two girls out of Wen's laboratory. "There's a few hours still. Get some food, get something to drink, and get Gwen cleaned up. I am counting on you- Fudan is counting on you."

With the girls gone, The three Magisters each took up their poisons.

Magister Wen had initially procured water, though realising the sanctity of the moment, she accepted Walken's thimble of eighteen-year-old single-malt.

"First, a toast." Walken raised his glass. "To our girl of many talents."

The three clinked.

"I need more data." Wen wasted no time in speaking her mind. "Her team is down a member, isn't she? Take Petra. She's been taught the right mix of contingencies to deal with matters in Europe, she's a registered Mind Mage, and she's still below the age restriction."

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Walken agreed. "Gwen's one weakness would be against Mind Magic. Certainly, there's potential."

"I'll lodge the request." Luo raised his glass.

The three clinked.

"So, I am assuming we're all thinking the same thing: an Omni-Mage at last." Wen turned crimson from the spirit. "How shall she thank us in the future?"

"I'd be delighted if she doesn't purge the three of us," Walken snorted.

"Why would she?" Wen turned her cup, frowning bemusedly. "We made her. I taught her the theory. I unclouded her fear of the Void, made it into an exact science. My apprentice, Petra, filled her empty little brain with knowledge. Shouldn't she be grateful?"

"Ah- Marie." Walken shook his head. "That's why you're a researcher and not a politician. You've got less empathy than that girl has in her little finger. We're all benefiting from her ascension; you have to remember. She doesn't owe us anything. We're tagalongs, parasites, enablers of her appetites. Who knows how or what she would think or do in the future?"

"But she's a nice lass." The Dean licked his lips apprehensively. "Even the death of a house slave was enough to drive her wild. How many of us could manage that?"

"That's because she hasn't tasted the bitter pill of power." Walken chuckled. "Her type is especially prone. The power of sovereignty is fraught with temptation, after all. An Omni-Mage? More like a walking invitation to conflict and disaster! Can you imagine it? Our bumbling Gwen, saving her 'Mates' but abandoning a city to be ravaged, or perhaps vice-versa... Once, twice, it takes a toll…"

Walken tapped his forehead.

"...if and when it happens, and it will happen - she won't be able to sleep. She'll drink to excess, and then she'll get over it. Then it happens again, and the cycle repeats, only the refraction period grow shorter. It starts with this Kitty, and then who? Petra? Mayuree? Richard? After a decade pursuing influence and power, sacrifice becomes business as usual. So long as your family, your friends, your clan, your Tower, your Faction benefits, the means justify the ends."

"I am happy to say I did not ever enjoy that much privilege." Luo slugged back the thimble. "She's such a do-gooder. And she's neither greedy nor power-hungry, you never know..."

The others nursed their cups.

"None of that matters to me." Wen ran a hand over Gwen's bio-metric scripts. "I want to see the Übermensch. I want to see Void Magic prosper. I want to be referenced in every paper and every journal. If I can have that, she can Consume me for all I care. A creation consuming its creator is rather poetic, don't you think?"

"I envy the simplicity of your fervour." Walken refilled their glasses. "I really do."

"I'll drink to that." Luo lifted his tumbler. "As for now, let's head to the conference, shall we?"

Though her nerves remained a wreck from the affirmation of Kitty's demise, Gwen knew there was a time for self-loathing, and a time to put on a happy face. In her old corporate world, an ambitious woman must always keep up outward appearances, and so by the time she and Petra had arrived at the auditorium's backstage, Gwen had meticulously prepared a flawless face to meet the press.

"Gwen! How've you been?" Anita was the first to break ranks when she saw Petra, her whole face lighting up like a lumen-globe. "Ah- Miss Kuznetsova! It's an honour. Your work with crystal spell-storage is astounding!"

"Mao! Miss Kutznetsova?" Jiro appeared a split-second later. "Hi, Jiro Peng, I've been a fan of yours since my first-year!"

With constrained politeness, Petra made small talk with her admirers while her captain accosted Gwen for an update.

"Lulu and Dick are finishing up at T2. They'll be with us soon," Gwen assured her leader. "How's it looking out there?"

"A few hundred reporters, with CCVC 1 front and centre, flanked by the foreign press, followed by the regional broadcasters, then the independent press. There are likely Tower Magisters in the VIP, not to mention Party officials from Central."

"Woo-" Gwen whistled. "Tough gig."

"Ha!" Tei smirked. "They're here for Fudan in name only. I dare say they're here to witness Yangon's liberator."

"Not tonight they're not." She indicated her teammates. "Lulan fought the Naga too, Eunae kicked ass in the duel, you fended off two teams of Mages from the back of a convoy, Richard diverted streams to save La War..."

"Alright, alright..." Tei sighed appreciatively. "I get it."

Having heard Gwen rattling off their names, the others joined the conversation.

"I am so nervous, I can't breathe." Eunae paced back and forth. "What do you think they're going to ask? I saw some Korean journalists earlier!"

"Probably about how good it felt to thrash your family." Gwen patted her Cleric on the head. "As for nerves, we're all tense. Right? Tei?"

"I don't know." Her captain grinned. "I am not the one who has to describe how I fought off a mythic Naga."

"I didn't though," Gwen pointed out. "The dragon took it down."

"Tell that the propaganda corps." Her Captain shook his head. "We have thirty minutes until the national broadcast finishes, do you need to meditate? You look tired."

"I'll be fine." Gwen gingerly sipped her bottled-water through a straw as to preserve her perfectly pencilled lipstick. Sliding one foot over the other, she shook out her stiffening calves, causing Jiro to drop his jaws and Rene to punch him in the arm, eliciting a round of collective laughter.

"Tei..." Gwen packed her ambivalence in a box and moved onto more commercial matters. "...has anyone ever taught you about the power of branding?"

Lulan, Kusu and Richard arrived half an hour later, whereupon attendants ushered them into the dressing room before stripping then dressing the duo in black. Having affirmed Gwen's sentiment for Kitty, the team collectively wore sable, with the girls in assorted attires and the boys in dark pants and blazers. Additionally, Tei had brought armbands for all of them to signify that they were in mourning. Standing in a line, Fudan's team resembled a trendy troop of fascist fashionistas ready to model funeral couture.

Yet, despite the dour attire, the atmosphere remained jovial. From the rear, Jiro and Rene jested and joked with a jittery Anita. Lulan and Eunae studied patterns on the floor, terrified by eyeballs that would soon pin them to the wall. In front of her, Tei stood rigid as a statue, while Richard appeared lost in thought, staring in the middle distance.

In truth, it was only she and Mayuree who felt genuine grief for the passing of Kitty, while the other's sadness manifested as appeasement, enduring the inconvenience of mourning out of respect for their feelings.

Gwen sighed silently, weighing the sincerity of her malaise, questioning if her upset was genuine.

The music in the hall ceased.

"NOW!" the voice of Dean Luo could be heard. "Please welcome our contestants for the 2004 IIUC, Team Fudan!"

"Gwen." Tei made himself taller, though he remained half-a-head shorter than his heeled Vice Captain. "Focus."

"I am right behind you," Richard made his presence known.

"I know." The Void-sorceress fixed the envious length of her swan-white neck. "The show must go on."

A barrage of lumen-cores burst into brilliant action, bombarding the students as they entered Guanghua Auditorium, a place usually reserved for esteemed lecturers from foreign universities and state dignitaries.

When the curtains to the side-stage parted, thunderous applause filled the generous space of the vaulted hall, welcoming the heroic victors of Fudan's first victorious assembly in more than a decade.

First was the captain, Tei Bai, with his gaunt face and prim posture, every inch the Captain of the team, radiating an aura of reliability as he performed a militant face-forward, then bowed from the waist.

Next came the Vice Captain, triggering a fusillade of blasting-bulbs as she placed one white stalk before the other, crow-black from her hair to the hips and again where the lens kissed her clacking heels.

After which was the tallest of the men, cousin to the Void Sorceress, a Eurasian Water Mage confident as a prize-winning hound, grinning like a wolf.

Then came a trio of demure girls unnerved by the attention, walking in such proximity that their Dean intervened to distance them so that the reporters could have their individual body-shots.

Behind the stalking trio was Rene with her grey blouse and dark jacket, cutting a curt figure as she strode across the stage, commanding as she grinned for the adoring crowd.

Anita followed, leather-jacketed, wearing a black singlet and midnight-grey combat pants, steel-toed and dressed for war as she thudded across the hardwood floor, waving happily.

The final member was Jiro, pearly teeth flashing, gleaming and radiant, trailed by motes of fire that brightly hinted at his blazing nerves.

Nine were the members of Fudan that stood in front of their assigned seats, leaving the final seat empty.

"All rise!" the Dean commanded, and all who had the conscience to show respect for the dead rose from their chairs.

"We shall begin…" the Dean met Gwen's eyes with a subtle nod, surprising her with his understanding and empathy. "… with a minute of silence."

"Gunther! COME ON!" Alesia coiled her legs so that she was curled like a comfortable cat on the oversized couch. "It's starting!"

"Just a sec." Gunther passed his hand over the array of petite-fours and freshly-cut fruits, then dried his hand on the kitchen towel. At Alesia's behest, he had grudgingly cleared his timetable, dislodging his endless schedule of meetings, inspections and reports.

On the far wall, the enormous lumen-caster Alesia had installed especially for the occasion was bustling with life, rapidly scrolling through a montage of logos representing the many competing universities in the on-going International Inter-University Competition. During the preliminary rounds, the broadcasts were regional, and so it was with great effort and an exorbitant cost in HDMs that Alesia had managed to route the Chinese program through their contacts in Singapore, through to Darwin, through to Brisbane and then to Sydney.

A feat made possible only because Gunther had hastened the construction of the supercell Divination Engine atop Sydney's repaired Tower.

In the seventeen months since Gwen had left for Singapore and then was shanghaied to Shanghai, Sydney had made leaps and bounds in recovering from the Mermen invasion. When the Leviathan's senseless carcass had smashed its way into Sydney harbour and wedged itself at Darling Point, it had left a wealth of resources for the recovering city. Though Gunther's strategic-class invocation had guillotined the creature, its body remained very much vital, sustained by a macro-system of brain-like organs and Cores that existed throughout its island-sized body, forming a living Dungeon of sorts.

For three more months, the Brisbane Tower and the Melbourne Tower had remained at Sydney, oversupplying the city's cache of construction Golems and utility Mages. Together, the three Towers cleared debris, exterminated surviving Mermen and enabled the city's reconstruction.

Two months in, Gunther, aided by Tower Master Fei Lin of Brisbane and Guldric Uther of Melbourne, managed to retrieve the head of the Leviathan from the depth of the harbour, reclaiming an enormous Creature Core fit for a Tower.

As Sydney's Tower Core had been left intact thanks to Gwen's timely intervention, Gunther consequently traded the Core back to the Mageocracy for CCs. The windfall of Contribution Credits was then exchanged for strategic commodities and experienced staff, furthermore expediting the city's recovery.

Another month onward, loaded with loot from the Leviathan's divided remains, Sydney's sister Towers returned to their coastal homes, with the Tower Masters bidding their new colleague goodbye. It was at this junction that Gunther received the honorary title of Magister from the Mageocracy, who then urged him to complete the Rite, an inconvenience which Gunther had bypassed while serving his Master, Henry Kilroy.

And so, after a grudging concession, the newly minted Magister Gunther von Shultz returned to his work with renewed zeal. All throughout the city, new high-rises rose like mushrooms after autumn showers. Outside Sydney's metropolis, refugees awaited resettlement. Within the urbanscape, Gunther's Arbiters were inundated with claims of lost property from ex-residents looking to not only return to their life in the city but with hopes of profiteering. Worse still, dictated by the ugliness of human nature, waves of crime, unrest, riots and even small pockets of illicit claims of sovereignty inundated Sydney's security forces, unnecessarily complicating the restoration.

More than once, Gunther had to deliver the verdict of his office in a personal capacity, either through himself or through Alesia.

As for the long-term aftermath of the Mermen's incursion, raids up and down the coast continued throughout the next twelve months, sending Alesia and her apprentice almost perpetually away from home, working Sydney's new militia to the bone. Concurrently, hostage trading with the South Pacific factions of Mermen had been carried out by the Grey Faction, though more often than not, the mental state of men and women who returned to Humanity's fold were beyond the help of restorative magic.

But despite everything, real progress had been made. The coastal Shielding Station had been reconfigured and a new system of checks and balances implemented. The Tower itself saw a swift six-month renovation and restoration before spending the next six months floating between North Head and Watson Bay, cowing any and all ambitious demi-human tribes. Once the Leviathan was dismantled, the newly formed channel it had created furthermore allowed for the construction of a deepwater port, doubling the city's capacity for cargo carriers. New train tracks and tramways were built. Parts of old Sydney, districts like Blackheath and Root Hill which had long been in decline, were re-zoned for better housing capacity and utility access. Citizenship grants were likewise sent out to attract skilled migrants, while rural regions were re-connected through an expansion of inland Shielding Forts.

As a little side project, Gunther had allocated additional funds to Blackwattle High School, Gwen's old haunt, making it a Selective Academy. It soon received a new campus dedicated to the teaching of Magic, doubling its training capacity. Principal Bartlett, perhaps in a twist of ill humour, had named the new oval "Gwen's Field" in commemoration of the fact that Blackwattle had expanded in part to Gwen's serendipitous efforts.

In turn with the city's restoration, Oceana's Factional disputes had settled in Gunther's favour. Irene Ferris, now an ally, presided over what remained of the Grey Market. The Militant Faction was likewise satisfied with harvesting the Leviathan and exterminating the surviving Mermen, leaving Gunther's Middle Faction in control of Sydney.

"Ooo, look at that!" Alesia puffed out her chest. "Our little girl's gotten fatter! Ha! I knew it! The food in Shanghai must be something else."

Gunther took up a spot just on the edge of the cashmere couch, unused to entirely relaxing his body, then reproduced the fruits and cakes he had prepared.

"She's looking hale," Gunther affirmed his fiancée's observation while fondling a pear. In his memory, Gwen had been a bony lass of sorts, appearing perpetually underfed until their last encounter, where she had received a vital jolt from that ancient and unknowable existence.

The Gwen that now appeared on the lumen screen together with Chinese characters introducing her was bright-eyed and confident, with an air of arrogance and haughtiness she previously lacked. When Gunther had first seen the girl, she had appeared a puppy ready to please. When he had rescued her at Blackheath, Gwen had been half-mad with terror. At Rosebay, she had arrived like an avenging goddess. Now, she was merely in her element.

When the lumen-recorder trained onto Richard, Gunther recalled the duty he had left Gwen's cousin before sending him to Shanghai. The young man possessed a particular focus which, properly directed, was enough for Gunther to promise a Tower position in the event of his return.

"I don't give a shit who these others are!" Alesia grumbled at the wall. "Want more Gwen! Why are they wearing all black?"

As with most Chinese programs, the producers emphasised a by-the-numbers approach, beginning with introducing the contestants, Fudan's history, a short interview with the Dean of Fudan, then moving onto their opponents, Seoul University, Kyoto University, and finally Jiantong University. What followed was a short special on Burma, with details of the Frontier's geopolitics that Gunther knew, were now woefully outdated.

"Bloody hell, it has been an hour, and we've seen Gwen for twenty seconds!" Alesia complained, munching on a sausage roll.

"Patience." Gunther stole a bite, brushing Alesia's lips free of crumbs. "I have it on good authority that we will be seeing her plenty."

And they did, for even Chinese propaganda knew a good thing when they saw it.

Gwen's first moment of spotlight came in Yangon, in a building called the Secretariat, where she challenged Seoul U's three best casters from the Lee family to a duel. What spiced up the scene was the spliced footage of a Seoul contestant abusing Fudan's healer, a Korean girl, followed by Gwen's verbal, then physical reprisal.

"FUCK YEAH, GWENNIE!" Alesia hooted when Gwen slapped the young man so hard that even Gunther winced.

"She's absurdly strong, did you notice?" Gunther recalled the reports he'd been receiving from Fudan. "That was some force."

"Brilliant, bloody brilliant! Good work, Gwennie!" Alesia waved at the lumen-caster as though their sister-in-craft was in direct communication. "Did you see that, Gunther?"

Gunther humoured his lover with an affirmative.

The next scene to involve their intrepid sister-in-craft was her halting her flight northward to save a village that had been swallowed by a landslide, followed by a close up of the emotional faces of her teammates and the grateful villagers kowtowing to the student Mages.

They left out the critical footage! Gunther amused himself with the uproar Gwen had caused in the Grey Faction, who planned to question her regarding the method she had used to revive the dead woman. If Gunther had to guess, it probably had less to do with what she did, then what Essence she had channelled from the Rainbow Serpent.

"FUCKING SEOUL! Blackguards! Scum of the earth!" Alesia almost threw her glass toward the caster when Gwen caught the Seoul member plotting to flood their village. When her Caliban wounded the young man, forcing him to use a short-ranged Teleportation Ring, Alesia broke into gleeful, sadistic snickers of "Gotcha, arsehole!"

Gunther had to admit, the girl was doing very well. Sending her to Shanghai had turned out to be a far better ordeal than he'd hoped.

"OI, YOU FUCKERS!" Alesia soon splattered the wall with a half-bitten orange when Seoul's magma giant almost took out Gwen's team. When a Cloud Kill choked their sister-in-craft, forcing her to remain within melee range of the conjured Elemental, Alesia had half-a-mind to pay Seoul U a visit through the Teleportation Circle they had in the apartment's hidden room.

"Calm down." Gunther pulled her close as to save the fruit platter. "She's got this."

When a Thunder Wyvern appeared from nowhere to demolish Seoul U, Alesia burst into uncontrollable glee, pinching and punching Gunther so hard that he had to push her out of arm's reach.

After which, more and more, their sister-in-craft shined, first with her diplomacy, then her command of accounting, then her exposure of the corruption in the mines, then her impeccable management of the NoMs, indeed, there appeared to be nothing the girl could not do.

At Indaw, Fudan's party was ambushed, and again Gwen showcased her Lightning and Void Magic, taking down a tier 8 Naga with the help of her friends, consuming the creature with Caliban.

Unfortunately, that was when the footage ended. What followed was a sequence featuring the IIUC's chief proctor, a Magister who Gunther recognised as Lutz von Schlabrendorff, appearing to explain events that lead to Yangon's independence. He apologised for the lack of records on Gwen's battle with an entity called the Tyrant, citing classified and privileged information, then narrated the girl's titanic struggle with the beast, which resulted ultimately in a regime change that led to the re-entry of the Mageocracy into Burma.

Finally, the scene changed to an auditorium, where after yet more speeches, a Chinese General thanked Fudan for their contribution.

For this and Fudan's other achievements, the university received a total Contribution Credit rating of 3310 CCs, a new record for the Asian competition. Due to the immeasurable nature of Fudan's contribution to Burma's recovery, the team had also been granted a seeded position representing Asia in the international portion of the competition.

Fudan's Captain, a Clanner called Tei Bai, then gave a speech, citing his love of the Party, his gratefulness to his family, and his gratitude to Fudan. When it came to Gwen's turn, the green-eyed beauty thanked her friends, her family, her university, the Tower, the House of M, then added a little something that made Gunther smile.

"Everyone in Australia, if you're watching, I am only here today because of your support! I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart!"

"Oh, Gunther, I am so happy!" Alesia was half-laughing, half weeping. "Gwen's all grown up!"

"Yue's not doing half-bad herself," Gunther reminded her. "She's going to be jealous if you keep talking about Gwen like that."

"No way!" Alesia denied her favouritism vehemently. "Yue's our baby!"

Gunther almost choked on a date.

In recent months, Yue had been busy working toward her immutable reunion with Gwen. Alesia had placed such hope in the girl that when Gunther had located an appropriate Flame Spirit through a spendthrift session of throwing CCs at the Mageocracy's Tower network, his sometimes sister, sometimes queen gifted the Spirit to her apprentice.

It was an astounding gesture, though certainly Yue needed a boost if she wanted to stand beside her friend in the future. His wife's apprentice was talented in the pursuit of the Path, but there were human limits to diligence.

"…. oh yes, I am very proud of her." A familiar voice suddenly drifted through the air, followed by a zoomed close up of a weaselly face covering half the lumen-projection, a visage that Gunther had previously banished from Sydney.

On stage, Gwen approached Fudan's Dean, then bowed and kissed the old man on the cheek. She then turned to her instructor, a man both Gunther and Alesia knew, delivering a bow and hug to the sound of palms clamouring for more.

When the duo finally parted and the close-up panned away, Gunther felt his entire back drenched in cold sweat.

Feeling a catastrophic, Mythic-grade danger engender beside him, Gunther stole a glance at his fiancée.

Alesia's blue eyes were the size of hen's eggs.

Scheiße! Gunther swore internally. He had been so busy, and his time with Alesia had been so scarce that he had entirely forgotten to ease her into the knowledge of Gwen's tutor.

"Did I just see that?" Alesia mouthed at the lumen projector. Then suddenly, the Fire Magus exploded. "WHAT THE FUCK? WHY IS THAT FUCKER IN SHANGHAI?"

For Gunther, the wide blue yonder outside suddenly beckoned. He needed no teleportation circles to move about the city. As Tower Master, he alone had a unilateral right of movement throughout Sydney's domain.

Alesia's tightly-wound figure began to shake, her whole body shivered with rage as she stomped about the room, biting one thumb and glancing about wildly for something to kill.

Scheiße! Scheiße! Scheiße! Gunther's heart sank. When Alesia was like this, there was no stopping her.

"I need to go to Shanghai," she muttered under her breath. "Gunther, get me authorisation. I am going to end that piece of shit once and for all. He's using her! After he got Master, he's sinking his fucking teeth into Gwen! I don't give a shit what the Tower announced. Letting Walken live was a mistake."

"Alesia." Gunther swallowed.

"What?" the Fire Mage snapped, shedding embers from her hair. "Don't tell me you had something to do with this?"

"Ah…" the Tower Master of Sydney, Slayer of Leviathans, a Mage without peer in Oceania quailed under the accusatory glare of his wife-to-be. "Not exactly."

"Whose idea was it?" Alesia demanded. "Not yours?"

I have to tell the truth! Gunther felt his righteous mind instilling the Credo that Kilroy had drilled into him.

"It was Gwen's." Gunther felt physical pain as the white lie left his lips. He promised to repay Gwen tenfold when the opportunity came, though for now, he could think only of his selfish survival of Alesia's wrath. "She needed a higher tier Lightning Creature Mage to instruct her, and Walken had volunteered. After a good talking to, she managed to convince me."

"Oh…" Alesia's eyes moistened. "She went to Walken? After what that CUNT did to our Master? After Sydney? AND YOU AGREED?"

"Don't put it like that…" Gunther spluttered. "It's an exchange of services, no more."

"He hugged her, you bastard!" To Gunther's surprise, Alesia began to sob. "He was touching her. I am not blind, Gunther! I know what I saw!"

"Gwen's a friendly gal!" Gunther explained. "She's handsy..."

"HE KILLED MASTER!"

"Actually…" Gunther wanted to say that, having lost his position, power, and influence and wasted half-a-century of his life, Walken had paid for his transgression. However, a single glare from Alesia was enough to snap Gunther's lips tighter than an Ironshell Mimic's lid.

The two stood in silence, a rock quietly biding its time beside a raging fire tornado.

Alesia choked back a sob.

Sensing a lull in her violent anger, Gunther reached out with a hand to wipe a tear from Alesia's well-loved eyes.

"I am going to Shanghai," she said, batting away his hand. "I need to talk to Gwen, face to face. I am going to put some sense into her."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Gunther returned. "She's going to go to the international portion of the competition soon. You'll likely miss her."

"I don't care, I am not letting Walken near her, not for another minute more." Alesia wiped her eyes. When she looked up, her orbs were full of fire and defiance. "Are we on the same page, Gunther?"

Gunther gave her a wilted expression of resignation.

"Don't look at me like that!" Alesia growled. "I hate it when you do that! You know it!"

Gunther studied the ceiling.

"God damn it, Gunther! Look at me when I am talking to you!"

Gunther's shoulders drooped.

"Get me authorisation to travel."

"Yes, dear."

"I am teleporting the whole way."

"Yes, dear."

"Don't tell Gwen!"

"Yes, dear."

"Today! Tomorrow! As soon as possible!"

"Absolutely." He nodded, whispering a prayer for their youngest sister-in-craft. "It'll take a week at the earliest..."

"Tell Yue I'll be gone." Alesia levitated towards her wardrobe on the second level.

"Are we going to finish watching this?" Gunther struck a thumb at the lumen-caster, realising his future labours were likely to be worse. "I should get back to work."

"THEN FUCK OFF!" his answer came in the form of his jacket, indicating that for the foreseeable future, he would not be hugging his hot water bottle body to sleep. "Go fuck your Tower, you traitor!"

Richard was of two minds.

A few days after the press had stripped every shred of credible information from Fudan's infamous sorceress, he received his long-awaited CCs. As an unexpected boon for acquiring Mandalay, Dean Luo generously informed the contestants that the PLA furthermore contributed an additional 169 CCs to round their total to 500.

Which incidentally brought Richard's contributions to 1340 CCs.

Arguably, his Gwen-gambit had paid off more than he could have ever hoped. However, the dangers he was facing were concurrently above and beyond anything he could have imagined. His cousin bred trouble; he knew that, but to be trafficking with dragons, bargaining with demi-gods and slaying Nagas?

He would like to attend their next round with no regrets.

"Gwen, can I talk to you for a minute?" Richard felt tongue-tied as he made his case. Ever since his earliest days at Prince's, he had cherished the sanctity of his independence, which made his outlandish request ever more uncertain.

"Sure." His cousin yawned against the kitchen chair, so defenceless and overtrusting that Richard had to look away.

"I need a favour," he said awkwardly. "If you're willing to grant it."

"Of course, Dick." Gwen curled her legs, then scrutinised his face with bemusement. "What can I do for ya?"

Am I that unnatural? Richard stopped himself from adjusting his facial muscles less he appeared yet queerer.

Richard cleared his throat.

"Do you have 1000 CCs right now?"

His cousin blinked away her sleepiness.

"I've just reached 1340 CCs with our gains from the IIUC," Richard explained. "But I can only bring over one of my parents. That and we're going to be in a lot of danger moving forward, so I would like a favour to set my mind at ease - so I can be of use without reserve."

"Ah." A look of realisation dawned on Gwen's face. Her eyes softened. "Shall we go check? Right now?"

"Please." Richard put on a smile. "I want to migrate Kwan and Tali at the same time."

"Aww." Gwen reached in and gave him a warm hug about the shoulders, filling his nostrils with the scent of shampoo. In truth, being touched was something Richard loathed, though Gwen's tactile habits had since grown on him. "You don't have to be so awkward. I haven't seen you like this in so long!"

"I know you're not fond of them."

"Richard." His cousin pulled herself away. "Don't be ridiculous! Let me get changed."

When she returned, Gwen had attired herself in a long-sleeve tee and ankle pants, hiding her face and hair with a cap. They then made for T2 at the Guanghua Towers, bypassing the paparazzi hanging about Fudan B1 by jumping over the barrier fence. At T2, however, there was no masking her identity.

"You have 1230 CCs." An enamoured clerk exchanged his discretion for an autograph. "Would you like to see the spell-list?"

"Thanks, not right now." Fudan's headliner awarded the young man a winning smile before returning to a private room with Richard, who realised the broadcast showing her dogs tearing apart the Naga must have triggered an exponential demand for Morden's Hound.

"Who should I bring over?" she smiled at him. "Mum or dad?"

"Aren't there any spells you need?" Richard returned. "I seem to recall you needed Abjuration spells, not to mention Enchantment and new Evocation incantations."

"I'll fish them off Walken," Gwen smirked haughtily. "Come on. I thought immigration was your top priority, don't go soft on me now, big guy."

"You're my number one priority." Richard brushed off the double entendre.

"I bet you tell all the girls that." Gwen burst into laughter. His cousin then hugged him so tightly that he could hear his heart beating with honest anticipation. "Congratulations, Richard."

Richard clasped his cousin's shoulders.

The acquisition of 1000 CCs had taken him the better part of a year. Additionally, he had risked life and limb and sleep to purchase a condo near the second orbital ring for his parents, as well as enough crystals to restart their lives in Shanghai. With his Kwan and Tali settled, his filial debt would be repaid, and he would be free.

"I am happy for you." Gwen's voice played beside his cheeks. "I mean it."

He returned her blessing by raising and kissing her hand, something the Mageocracy taught as a part of its formalised doctrine.

"Well…" Gwen picked up her Message Device. "Shall we eat something to celebrate?"

Lulan found her cousin Jinwei standing politely by the training hall like a lost dog. After her acquisition of her Spirit, she had hardly left the Force Cage except to eat.

"Senior Li!" the young sorceress uttered in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Playing message boy." Her usually arrogant cousin's face was full of politeness, so much so that goosebumps appeared on her thighs. "I am going to be straight with you. The Clan would like to offer Kusu and yourself support. Not as a part of the Sect, but as family. With the advice your Captain gifted us, we hope for your understanding. Besides, Uncle Li misses his children."

"Advice?" Lulan cocked her head, ignoring the comment about her father. She knew that Gwen had told Captain Bai to speak to her Clan, but had been too preoccupied with her new Spirit.

"She said you're going to be our brand ambassador." Jinwei appeared equally flustered. "You're going to represent us on the international stage."

"Huh?" Lulan minced the word between her lips. "I am doing it for Gwen though, not for Huashan."

"But you'll be representing us." Jinwei baulked at Lulan's brutal honesty. "By exhibiting Huashan's skills."

"I don't care about that." Lulan shrugged.

Jinwei fought to keep his eye from twitching.

"Of course." He opened his palm to reveal a jade pendant. "This will allow you entry into our branch in Taicang, south of Nantong. Patriarch Dulian Li has said that if as long as you keep up the good fight, we're happy to open the Iron Hall to you and Kusu so that you can continue your studies."

"The Inner Hall?!" Lulan's ears perked up. "With the Clan's higher-tier techniques?"

"Er... yes," Jinwei affirmed her rhetorical question. "Additionally, regarding Nantong, if you could put in a word with Miss Song, the Patriarch's generosity would be boundless."

"Alright." His cousin eyed him up and down. "Shixiong, Can I ask for a favour as well?"

"Of course." Jinwei exhaled, finally relaxing. "What-"

Suddenly, a grip of iron took Jinwei by the wrist and pulled him into the training hall.

"If you want me to talk to Gwen, then fight me!" Lulan's toothy grin made him suddenly nervous. "Make me spew, or I am not telling her!"

Dai Fung had a dilemma.

Ever since he had graduated from university, he had never thought that there would come a day when he'd worry about not having done his homework.

And yet, here he was, fearful of losing the good opinion of a girl almost five years his junior.

When he had returned to Nantong to deliver the good news of the funding he had secured, his father had patted him on the back, then additionally bestowed him the thankless task of dealing with a conspiracy of secretariat officials from Central.

"Beijing wants to up-scale stage two; that or arranging for the schedule to be pushed up," a bespectacled official informed him. "We are looking forward to your continued expertise, Mr Fung."

Immediately, Dai knew he was twelve miles in the Front and knee deep in Undead. Since Gwen's departure, with a Centurion card in hand, he had wined, dined, partied, kissed ass and had his ass kissed in return by Shanghai's high society, but he had done minimal paperwork.

And so, upon hearing that their dragon-lady was no longer in a dour mood, he hastened back to the office with a large bouquet of rare and expensive flowers.

"Too risky, never intervene when a project is running smoothly." Gwen listened to Ruì annotate Dai's report, followed by the statements from central. Not far from the duo, Caliban munched on the flowers. "Tell them no."

"I don't think that's an option." The young man kept a respectful distance. No matter how tantalising the sorceress's delicious visage, what had begun as desire had transformed into admiration, then dread. "Our orders are to expand or expedite."

"YOUR orders. If so, then expand," Dai's boss's answer came without hesitation. "But it takes time to survey the land, clear the monsters, relocate the NoMs- about as much time as it takes for Stage 2's nominal time frame."

"But the report…"

"Easy, inject an estimate three-year projection in the annual report, with a provision for the delay. Prime our creditors with a twelve-month clause for their lending, if they pre-settle, offer a minimal rate of interest, for those willing to delay settlement, offer a guarantee of purchase, option the deposit with a six-month delay."

Ruì made furious scribbles into a data slate while Dai tried his best to catch up to Gwen's train of thought. Maybe she could be more convincing.

"Some of the committee members from Central would like to speak with you if you could make a trip to Nantong…"

"Denied." Gwen shook her head, tapping her fountain pen against a balance book. "Tell them it's a conflict of interest, tell them I am on thin ice. Tell them General Secretary Miao would like to have a word if they insist."

"Why would Secretary Miao be interested in this?"

"Maybe they can call and find out." He watched her lips curl. "October is upon us, and my international round starts in November, which brings me to our next point. Why are these reports coming to me? I thought you and Ken are taking over matters in Shanghai?"

Dai appeared lost for words. It wasn't as though he could say he still had no idea how all this worked.

"Ruì?"

"Master Fung is trying his best, Ma'am," Ruì attempted to dispel their CFO's mounting displeasure with diplomacy. "He's doing very well in securing additional funding."

"By not checking accounts and making sure no one is stealing from us." Gwen's accusation struck Dai's fear right in the flesh. "Ken?"

"Yes, Ma'am?" Ken materialised beside Dai.

"What's the latest quarterly from Chief Ma?"

"Two members discharged from the board and er- forty or so from middle management, ten from central division, plus the usual on-site issues with shoddy materials, boundary marking and labour abuses."

"Losses?"

"About 120,000 HDMs, Ma'am." Dai noticed Ken glancing at him, causing his face to flush.

"And how much has Mr Fung brought in for us?"

"About 400,000 HDMs in future investments are pledged. About a quarter have signed with Tonglv."

"Now." Their boss shifted in her swivel chair. "How many of those that Dai brought in were involved in defrauding the treasury, making a quick buck on land sales and scamming our inventory?"

Ken choked. "Ma'am?"

"The answer is about half." The ice maiden tapped a report stubbed so excessively that it was almost twice the thickness. "Dai, what are you bringing into Tonglv? How do you even hope to double the expansion when your net gain for your father's state-sanctioned enterprise after six-months is less than what I could make in a month?"

Ruì almost swooned as the numbers unravelled itself.

"How could I know?" Dai protested. Was he supposed to read the reports weekly or what? Who had time for that?

His missus boss lifted herself from the leather chair.

"I am not going to ask about your Centurion account's expenditure." She leaned against the table and rested her leg in a way that left a heel tapping the wood with disapproval. "I am also not fussed whether or not you're making money for us, but you have to realise, I won't be here in November, in December, all the way through to February, assuming our victories continue unabated. That's FOUR months, Dai, almost half-a-year. Is there going to be a Shanghai office left when I return?"

Dai sulked, his usually masculine face twisting in agony. "I can fix this."

"No. You can't," Gwen interrupted him. "Terence. Effi."

"Yes, Ma'am?" The two approached.

"Count for me how many times Dai consulted the two of you."

For Dai, the patterned herringbone carpet suddenly became very interesting.

"Ruì?"

"Master Fung is very sociable," her secretary offered her best opinion of their walking, talking avatar of nepotism.

"Dai, what's the canal's turnover for September?"

"…" Dai hesitated. His tormentor may as well have asked him for the price of a banana.

"... I see." Gwen's voice remained collected. "Did you forget why I hired Terence and Effi?"

"For accounting?"

"FOR YOU!" her voice snapped at him like a whip. "You don't have to do the accounts, damn it, but you need to know them! How in Tonglv's name are you even pulling in investments when you don't know the state of the canal's balance sheets? What are you investing? Which division? How much land is left?"

"I—"

"Did you know that the canal's orbital ring-road is contracted to Leiwong Construction, who sub-contracted to Tai-Wei, who then subcontracted it to Jianhong, an NoM firm for a quarter of the initial price? What the hell happened to competitive tender? Why is seventy-five per cent of the cost going into a drain? Why not build a TWELVE lane highway with Jianhong for half the price? When this gets upstairs, Chairman Tu will choke you like a lame dog, assuming your father doesn't first."

The angel-faced harpy sighed, then patted a petrified Dai on the shoulder.

Dai wanted to leave, but knew he was firmly entrenched in their unhappy union, riding the buckling dragon with only the abyss below.

"Ruì, brief Mr Fung." Gwen's disregard battered his bruised ego as she brushed past him. "I am going out for lunch."

Half a campus away, Marie-Roslyn Wen observed a strange numbness in her fingers.

"I am happy for you."

"Thank you, Master." Petra remained her polite self, though Wen wondered if the girl was at all being sarcastic. "Nephrite makes a curious medium."

They had been working on the regeneration-prevention properties of the Void Element on non-magical mammals when Wen's eyes narrowed at the peculiar presence of a crystalline cube the colour of mutton fat.

"Master, Gwen was kind enough to gift me with a Spirit," Petra had intoned flatly, suggesting her cousin had shouted a lobster dinner. "I managed to attune with it."

"Oh."

After the initial shock, Wen was glad her faculties had remained unruffled - for it was unbecoming for a British-educated, sixty-year-old woman without a Mineral Spirit worth its weight in Cores to demonstrably suffer a meltdown. "Very good, may I see what it does?"

"Atlas is a wily one," Petra had agreed to a demonstration. "A tier 7 or 8 Naga spirit, I am told. As such, it will take some time to master its many natural abilities."

"Ah—" Wen nodded. "I see. Many abilities. Very good."

Wen's apprentice passed a cube over the table. "The nephrite cubes are stronger, more stable. I do believe they could hold spells of equal tier to the complexity of glyphs used to seal the manifesting effect."

Wen palmed Petra's fist-sized cube, inspecting the material, noting its superior hardness and composition.

"I have not tested the full extent of Atlas' storage capacity, but I do believe that currently, out of a total of sixty cubes, I could generate another twenty. With future mastery, I would venture to say that doubling my capacity is within the realm of possibility."

"How wonderful," Petra's instructor croaked. "What else?"

"Considering the nature of Nagas, I experimented with multi-casts. Currently, I can activate one additional cube per spell-cycle." Petra threw a cube into the air, where it appeared to be caught by a semi-invisible appendage. "It's quite interesting; please observe — Light!"

The spell cube erupted into feeble daylight. A few seconds later, a new spell cube engendered.

"I am trying to figure out how to manifest more arms—"

"An arm? Your arm?" Wen interrupted her student. "Gwen gave you a humanoid, sapient Spirit?"

"A draconic one, yes," Petra demurely affirmed her master's enquiry.

Magister Wen inhaled.

"Mine was a leftover," Petra assured her Master that the gift was nothing too serious. "Lulan got the Jadeite Naga Spirit; it's stronger than mine by at least a tier."

Wen realised she must have closed her eyes for a moment, that or she blacked out, she wasn't sure. When she came to, Petra was shaking her and asking if she was alright.

"I did tell you that the Dean wanted you on Gwen's team, didn't I?" Wen changed the subject. "I received confirmation of your eligibility yesterday."

"No, Ma'am," the young woman replied. "Now, I know."

"You will be my eyes. I need you to record everything Gwen does, take notes on how her Void manifests in the field, how she uses her magic, how her enemies react, how her power grows. I'll teach you the diagnostic magic."

"Of course," Petra agreed. "I am your co-author after all."

"That's true," Wen acknowledged the fact. As Walken would say, when there's a common benefit, trust is a simple thing. From behind the sample cage, she observed her assistant's comely face, which some would say was more striking than even that of her cousin's. Had Petra elected to remain in her old profession, she would have been celebrated, feared, loathed, loved, possibly even worshipped, but fate was a funny thing to gift a girl like that with the Mineral trait. "Anything else Atlas can do?"

"That's it for now." Petra pointed to one the cages. "Master, G14 has died."

"Drat!" Wen rubbed her eyes, suddenly exhausted, an unbecoming display from a senior researcher such as herself. "I am going to take a break. As for you, lower the dosage and up the Positive Energy for F01."

Ding!

"Master?" her student demanded of her. "Gwen's requesting a luncheon..."

Sunday week.

The Song Estate.

"Oh my, you shouldn't have!" Gwen's babulya gushed at the precious stones crowding the table.

"Klavdiya's right, you really shouldn't have," Guo remarked drily.

"Ah…" Only under the watchful eye of Guo did Gwen acknowledge the hypocrisy of her gifting looted loot from Kachin to her family. "… Mayuree gave these to me as a sort of get-well gift after the Naga incident."

"Humph!" Guo grunted. "I take it these are worth many times their weight in crystals."

"Nothing I can't make in half-a-month," Gwen promised with a smile. "Think nothing of it. I'd much rather share it with Percy than sell it for HDMs at the House of M Auction."

"Thanks, Sis! Can we keep these, Yeye?" Percy palmed an apple-sized block of mutton-fat nephrite. "What are these good for?"

"The smaller pieces are for single-use protection charms like Absorb Elements," Guo explained, tapped the stones with his fingers. "The larger ones can be combined with Cores to make passive wards like Contingency Mineral Shields or Mage Armour. The Jadeite makes charms that banish extra-planar creatures, like your sister's Familiars."

"Ho Ho." Percy made a face at his sister.

"Assuming you find someone to scribe it." Gwen raised her chin. "Got pocket money to spare?"

"He'll be working soon." Guo's suspicion finally relented. "He'll be apprenticing under a kill-team from the Ghosts. Percy needs to be whetted before he grows blunt."

"You're pushing him too soon," Klavdiya complained. "Hai hated it when you sent him to Hebei."

"It's my idea," Percy intervened. "I want real combat! I want to fight monsters, and I want to see the Front! Not even Gwen has been up north, have you, Sis?"

"Nope." Gwen ruffled her brother's hair. "The Undead, eh? Can you handle it?"

"Salt purifies the dead!" Percy smirked arrogantly. "Yeye said so."

"That it does," Guo said.

"Hey, Sis," Percy snorted through haughty nostrils. "How about a duel? Want to see how much I've grown?"

Gwen made an "O" with her lips. "Ho? Feeling antsy?"

"Percy has recently attained tier 4 in Evocation." Guo's chest visibly puffed with pride. "And tier 2 in both Transmutation and Abjuration."

Gwen clapped. Being what Walken termed an Omni-Mage was no reason to make light of her brother's labour. It wasn't as though she could snort and suggest Percy spell-drain yet more vagrants.

"Do we have a Force Barrier?"

"In the training hall." Percy pointed a thumb toward the east wing. "After I blew out a wall, Yeye had his guys install a mid-tier training barrier."

"You remodelled the hall?" Kalvdiya glared at her husband.

Considering how Gwen had for months shared a single bathroom with Richard while sleeping in an unfurnished trainer's room, Guo appeared embarrassed by his spendthrift.

"Yeye, never mind that." She had since long gotten used to the favouritism, seeing it as immutable as Alesia's temper. "Come on, Percy, let's see what you've got!"

Magus Alan Ma stood just outside the fortress-like Hongqiao ISTC hub, counting the seconds in his head.

He was waiting for a beautiful sorceress, a chore that would have been the envy of his peers- until he opened the woman's dossier.

Alesia De Botton.

Female.

Age thirty-six.

A Combat Magus possessing both Evocation and Transmutation: estimated to be between tier six and seven. A veteran of the Coral Sea conflict, unofficial apprentice to the late Henry Kilroy, active in the field since she was fourteen. In 1997, Alesia destroyed the library of a Tower Magister in Sydney over a dispute, losing her military rank. Since then, she served as an independent Tower operator under Henry Kilroy. During the battle of Sydney, she managed to activate a strategic-class Spell of Mass Destruction single-handedly. Engaged to Magister Gunther von Shultz, Tower Master of Sydney. The PLA Tower considers De Botton a Class I individual with a category IV danger rating.

A Class I individual was on par with a state dignitary, while Category IV implied she was capable of wiping out a district, and that suppressing the sorceress would involve a Party lead by a Combat Magus. Neither classification made Alan's job easier.

Psht!

The double doors opened.

"Miss De Botton!" Alan intervened before the woman's long strides took her from the entrance.

Physically, Alesia De Botton was both stunning and commanding, though what had enthralled Alan was the sheer volume of red wrapped around the sorceress's hourglass figure, splashing the monochrome concrete exterior of the city with a rare pigment of retina-searing scarlet.

The Scarlet Sorceress paused.

"And you are?"

Alan forced himself to calm. Here was a woman who had killed more sapient beings than Alan had eaten bowls of rice.

"Alan Ma, at your service, Ma'am." Alan bowed. "I am your contact from the PLA Tower. While you're in Shanghai, I shall be your liaison. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask."

"You got the car I wanted?"

"Yes Ma'am, it's been arranged at Pudong's behest."

"Good." De Botton removed her sunglasses, revealing a pair of strikingly lapis irises that seemed to dig into Alan's soul. Startlingly, she appeared melancholic, and some of her make up was smudged. "Is there anything I should know?"

"Please refrain from engaging in combat while in the city-"

"Of course, I know that." His guest nodded. "Do you know the way to Fudan?"

"Fudan University?" Alan was taken aback by her request. "I do—"

"Good, I'll drive." The Fire Mage replaced her glasses, then wrinkled her nose as she glanced up at the enormous girth of the PLA Tower looming over the city like a monstrous spider. "Let's hurry, tiger. I've got people to sear."

"See, Ma'am?" Alan doublechecked his Ioun Stone, but his VIP was already several strides ahead, making for the wine-coloured convertible in the distance.

"Eat up! Eat up!" Gwen peeled another Crystal-Shell Scampi for her brother, reserving the creamy prawn head for herself to suckle. After the match and feeling mightily hungry due to her workout, she had decided to shout the family a Wildland feast at Sails, a restaurant owned by the House of M. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, she also called Tao, Mina and Petra, though the latter declined, citing that she was synthesising unspeakably sophisticated magic.

"A young boy needs more protein to grow!" She spooned a famously steaming scallop onto Percy's plate, feeling particularly motherly after the long absence. "Percy, I give you permission to invite me to your formal."

"Not on your life!" Percy endured his sister's teasing. "And I can eat by myself..."

"Hahaha." Gwen poked at her brother with the peeled prawn. "Feeling salty over getting arse kicked?"

Percy snapped at the prawn, almost biting her fingers, eliciting much mirth from their extended family.

"Here." Tao likewise slapped a fillet onto Mina's plate, fulfilling his filial duty. "Eat up."

Mina's lips twitched. She turned to Gwen. "Your IIUC match was amazing. You should have called us over before you fought Percy. I wanted to see your magic for myself!"

Initially in the brother-on-sister duel, Gwen had restricted herself to tier 4 spells and below in addition to setting Ariel and Caliban to watch. Taking advantage of the fact that Percy could Blink but not Dimension Door, she played tag with her brother throughout the duelling cage, occasionally blasting Percy with jolts of lightning while he gave chase, bounding from wall to wall like a jacked-up Pika, throwing salt shards that ricochetted from her double-shields. Eventually, Gwen managed a Warding Bolt and Call Lightning, leaving Percy awkwardly stuck between defence and offence. After her brother grew frustrated, she allowed him to go all out, pelting her with Salt Bolts, blasts, sprays, cages and explosions while she leisurely summoned her hounds. What followed was Percy howling in frustration as a half-dozen horse-sized Deerhound chased him about the chamber, yelping and sparking as Percy leapt and Blinked, ultimately pinning him and giving him paralysing licks.

Outside the barrier, Guo and Klavdiya had grown slack-jawed. It was one thing to hear about the prowess of their granddaughter, and quite another to see her in action. The effortlessness with which Gwen toyed with Guo's pride and joy was painful to watch, ratifying the reality that indeed, Gwen had already fought several bouts against Titan and Mythic class beings.

"I prefer a date over six-feet tall." Gwen continued her poking, seemingly determined to displace Mei. "Maybe a set of nice stilettos will get you up to speed."

Percy growled. So far, he managed a meter sixty-six.

"Yo a Transmuter, dawg, polymorph another six-inches and yo be golden." Tao wiggled his pinky, then snapped a snow crab's leg in two. "Dang, dis some expensive shit, Gwen. You making bling?"

"I am indeed making the bling." She made a gang-sign with a prawn-head and a crab claw. "Hows the crew?"

"My bros be doing finer than yo ass—"

"Alright, alright" Mina intervened before their grandfather could sour all the sashimi with a scowl. "Tao, you came to ask Gwen something, just say your damn piece, and say it properly!"

"And what would that be, Peaches?" Gwen sidled closer to her cousin, watching his eyes pivot.

"Er…" Tao began to sweat. "When you heading to the states, dawg."

"Hmmm? Why?"

"I hear yoz going ta be going overseas soon, worldwide! I ma hit up the west coast on biz, ya know? With pops. I wanna be dere when you do. We can cruz and chill in dem hills."

"You want to hang out in LA?" Gwen gestured in surprise with a scampi-tail.

"Tao's doing well with his shows," Mina explained. "Our Dad's been to the states a few times on business, so it shouldn't be too hard for Tao to apply for a visitation permit."

"Why do you want to come with me?" Gwen cocked her head. "Why not get a travel agent, or go with a tour group?"

"Whats a tour group?" Tao's brows formed the Chinese pictogram for eight. "Naw, I was jus thinking, ya know? Your crew, mah crew, hanging out. Full Gansta! Maybe bring Petra..."

Gwen again turned to Mina for a translation. Mina rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't recommend bringing Tao," Guo intervened, his expression darkening. "The Americans aren't a part of anything, not even the Mageocracy. They're a big country but hardly unified like we are. In their cities, the bourgeoisie lives like kings while the proletariat lives like the meanest animal."

"I ain't going to find trouble," Tao protested vehemently. "I am going for music! For art! Ya dig?"

"Erm…" Gwen felt torn.

"He won't bother your delegation," Mina passed on what Tao had failed to communicate in his gobbledygook lingo. "I think Peaches wants to time his visit with your IIUC so that he could have some backup if he gets into trouble. Where he wants to go isn't exactly the safest parts of the city. He'll be with his boys, and you guys could meet up if you can spare the time."

"Yeah, we need some hunnies—"

"Peaches!"

"Ah…" Gwen realised the truth. She clapped her hands. "Assuming we're in L.A, I am happy to do that. Peaches?"

"You da top, Gwen!"

"I am going to speak to Bao," Guo grumbled darkly.

"Oh, come on, dawg!"

"Yeye," Gwen intervened. "Maybe this is good for Tao. He can see the world outside of Shanghai, open up his horizons. Maybe he can find himself over there and come home a changed man."

"A tour at the Front would make him a changed man."

"A changed man, Yeye, not a CHANGED one. I don't think Aunty Nen would like that." She patted her grandfather's hand. "At any rate, I fully support Tao wanting to better himself."

"Erg." Mina shot her brother a look of contempt. "Gwen, you put it so eloquently."

"Yeah, you tell em!" Tao threw Guo a "W", though Gwen halted him from digging himself deeper.

"Work out the kinks with your father, alright, Peaches? Also, I have no idea when I am going. It could be next month. It could be as late as February."

"Leave that to me." Tao puckered his lips. "You just do your thang."

"Alright…" she tugged free a crystalline glob of flesh from the twitching lobster. "I'll let you know."

The coming Monday, Gwen forced herself to return to training with Walken. Making big bucks, feasting with family and chumming with her cousins was all very relaxing, but her true vocation was the tireless pursuit of magical prowess.

"I have confirmation from the Dean that Petra will be joining the international portion of the IIUC," Walken informed her when they stopped to rest. "Are you surprised?"

"Not really..." she confessed.

Walken waited for Gwen to explain herself.

"...for one, you and Marie have been raging on about this Omni-Mage business. And though Petra's skillset isn't optimal, her Spellcubes are extremely flexible, AND she's the only one Wen can trust to keep an eye on me. Not to mention Wen's probably frothing at the mouth for more data. Additionally, with Petra, we shouldn't be suffering another Mind Magic incident, I hope."

Walken smiled. "Well done."

"To be straight, I think you're hyping up the Omni-magic thing." Gwen summoned a mote of Enchantment, then allowed the golden glow to fizzle. "I don't feel much different."

"It'll take time and research," her instructor assured her. "Rome was not built in a day, after all. Do keep in mind that the Imperial Metric for magic isn't exact. Spellcraft represents our best observations of magical phenomena. With your unprecedented range of Schools, who's to say you won't break new ground? Hmm? Von Shultz's Radiant magic is a good example. What Kilroy did with that boy was nothing short of a miracle."

"So, I should continue to experiment with Signature Spells like Chakram?"

"Naturally, though you have much more distance to cover yet. Of course, you could rely instead on the expertise of others. Not every Mage can be Archmage Bilby Bigglesworth, or his master, the Magi Morden."

"Are you volunteering, Eric?"

"I am humbled by your expectations." Walken bowed, tipping an invisible hat.

Gwen chuckled. After Burma, she felt that the taut tension that existed between them had slackened somewhat. She would never forgive the man for what he did in Sydney, but she was beginning to see where Gunther had been right- that it was far more useful to keep Walken within arm's reach.

After the pleasant prophecy of good things to come, two more hours of Conjuration followed through a concourse Walken had conjured. By its end, Gwen had run her mind haggard with spell-fatigue.

In the afterglow, Walken conjured a chair and lied back against the spine. "Gods, I am no longer even a middle-aged man. I should remember that."

"Your VMI and mental fortitude are impressive," Gwen remarked. "I am struggling to keep up."

"I hate to imagine what you would become in a few decades." Walken materialised a wet towel to place on his forehead. "Ah, that's better."

"What do you think we should do next?"

"You want to keep going?" Walken made a face. "I veto your enthusiasm."

"For tier 6 Conjuration, I mean," she snorted. "I'd love to learn Teleportation Circle, but I lack proficiency in scripting Mandalas."

"Well…" Her instructor rested his eyes. "In terms of added combat utility, I would venture to learn Bilby's Hand, something in between Evocation and Conjuration. The Evocation variant allows for push, pull and crash, while the Conjuration variant allows for longer duration and more complex manipulations. Henry, I recall, had a variation which allowed for significant dexterity, and could even act as a shield. Lightning isn't the best medium, but with your current VMI, raw mana or Void would make a viable option."

Gwen's lips puckered into an 'O'.

"If you want raw power, there are loftier targets." Walken produced a thermos, then poured each of them a cup of Cylon. "How do you like that Titan-class magma one-eye Seoul summoned."

"Strong as all hell." Gwen nodded eagerly. "Can you conjure one?"

"I can." Walken nodded. "Planar Ally isn't a rare spell, just an expensive and bothersome one. It takes weeks to set up initially, even for the best of Conjurers, then after that, at least an hour to recreate the mandala. It also requires you to be an Enchanter, or have an Enchanter on hand."

"We got Petra and me."

"You're an illiterate Enchanter," Walken remarked drily. "Worse than a novice."

"Petra, I choose you!"

Walken snorted.

"Even so, we're talking about Quasi-Elemental beings here. Back before the IMS was a thing, folks worshipped them as Gods. A Planar Ally isn't a Familiar you're summoning, but a living, thinking, elemental being with individual agendas."

"Such as?"

"Depends." Walken sipped his tea. "A mundane Mage summons an Avatar of Fire, a Djinn, something like the demi-humanoid Salamander Chen Hufei has tamed, but much, much more powerful. Its first instinct is to burn everything, turn each and everything it sees into its habitat in the Elemental Plane of Fire. To the Salamander, the Prime Material is too cold, too moist, and it hates it here. Should you, the Conjurer, try to bend it to your will, you're surely going to piss it off, so your first fight is with the very thing you conjured."

"Erg…"

"The spell has control mechanisms built into it, of course, but it varies from caster to caster, monster to monster, and Mandala to Mandala," Walken explained. "We know that there are civilisations of Elemental beings that exist in the Planes, just as they do in our world. If you take up extra-planar studies as a Post-graduate in Europe, you may know more, but for now, there are three steps: conjuration, subjugation, then contract."

"Which consist of?"

"Elementally aligned crystals generally work well," Walken continued. "Creature Cores make better bargaining chips, as are particular forms of flora. In the olden days, Druids and Shamans would offer willing or unwilling colleagues, kins, maidens, kids, whole villages, the enemy city. You name it."

"And in exchange?"

"They perform favours. Though your Kyoto allies may know more, likewise, should you encounter Spirit Casters or Blood Priests from the Inca regions, they have unique rites with far more intricate methodologies. In that regard, the Mageocracy's knowledge is vastly inferior. The Commonwealth favours predictability over all else, after all."

"Well, I've got lots of Crystals," Gwen declared confidently. "And I could also prepare Cores if need be. What are we talking about, ten-thousand HDMs?"

"To begin, then more with each additional favour. I shall invite Wen if you're truly interested. She's the superior Mandala scribe." Walken then indicated to Caliban, who was playing by rolling itself like a cigar back and forth across the hall, sparking mana flares from the barriers. "That and ready a sturdy containment field. Can you imagine what would come out, if that's the calibre of beings you're trafficking?"

"Righto," Gwen called Caliban and Ariel to her, then made them invisible for the outing. "I'll let Pats know."

Outside, Gwen felt a chilling breeze the moment she exited the training hall with Walken in tow, feeling as though someone or something had walked across her grave.

Puzzled, she checked her attire, consisting of spats under her skirt and a conforming sports top under a jacket. Though the temperature had cooled in autumn, she felt plenty warm thanks to her draconic-constitution, so why was it that her thighs were covered in goosebumps?

"What's wrong?" Walken caught his student shivering.

"I am not sure." Gwen reached behind her head and gingerly probed Ayxin's scale, noting its dormancy and thanking the Yinglong that she wasn't having another draconic-episode. "I think something tripped my Divination Sigil."

"That's not good." Walken glanced about the place. "Aella!"

The Couatl materialised.

"Ariel!" Gwen sent out her Familiar as well.

Both creatures surveyed the perimeter.

"Where you headed now?" Walken put on a newspaper cap as they entered the dying sunlight.

"Supper with the team," Gwen indicated to the north of the campus. "There's a new bun shop. Think Petra will mesh with the others?"

"She has her ways." Walken grinned. "I wonder if her ice queen exterior is her true self, or if she's deliberately trying to alienate her past. To my understanding, Moscow's Mind Mage training for their agents involves very peculiar benchmarks for sociability."

"I like her just the way she is," Gwen confessed. "If she's suddenly all flirty, I don't know…"

Walken looked up, seeing that Aella had returned.

"Safe!" Aella announced, accurately mimicking human speech.

"Ee ee!" Ariel agreed.

The two then proceeded across the campus, nodding at star-struck students as they passed, suffering the occasional lumen-bulb. In the distance, the sound of motor-hoons in their obnoxious vehicles filled the air. Once she and her instructor paced past Fudan's Handan Campus, Walken paused, indicating that he would now part from her.

"Eric, where do you live?" Gwen felt suddenly curious as to where a former Magister and one of the ten most powerful human beings in Australia would make their home. All around them were high-rises in concrete and glass, surely one of them held her instructor's penthouse.

"Er…" Walken appeared visibly uncomfortable. "Why?"

"I am curious." Gwen noted the man's tenseness and grew proportionately curious. "Well?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Oh, come on, Eric," Gwen chortled derisively. "A Magister like you, in which one of these buildings do you make your lair?"

Walken pointed to a flat between two gleaming, multi-storey buildings.

"NO WAY!" Gwen gestured at a brick and mortar flat wedged between two buildings, an old 80s communist-bloc apartment straight out of Nineteen-Eight-Four. "You live in that?"

"It's homely enough." Walken evaded the subject. "In Oxbridge, I lived in a dorm the size of your bedroom for five years. In Sydney, I lived in the Tower. It was far easier that way. Didn't Henry live in his Grot? It's no different."

"What about your family?"

"They're here and there, scattered across Europe and Oceania. I have daughters. You know that, right?"

"You're still married, aren't you?" Gwen wanted to know why Walken had so much free time to spend in Shanghai.

Without warning, Walken abruptly parted from her, crossing the street with such haste that a car screeched.

"Eric..." Gwen realised she might have stepped on a landmine. She berated herself for the intrusion, realising that perhaps, even Eric had limits to his patience. "Well fuck—"

But her instructor was already gone, leaving her feeling like an ass.

Click.

Walken closed the door to his flat, simultaneously activating his defensive rings. He had felt watched the moment he and Gwen crossed the campus, and now he knew it wasn't Gwen that their watcher was watching.

The mouldy flat was crowded with old books and unpacked boxes. It wasn't so much that Walken lacked the will to tidy the place, but that the unit was a temporary abode and he saw no need to make himself overtly comfortable in a home that arguably, he may need to abandon quickly.

And now, it would appear he had an unwelcome guest.

Upon the latch, he had placed a piece of semi-transparent Moonlit Moth silk. The material was hypersensitive to magical interference and readily dissolved when magic touched the locking mechanism. It was a mundane, non-magical method of detecting magical intrusions, one he had learned from Kilroy long ago. With Mages having access to Lock and Unlock, nothing short of an offensive barrier would deter intruders, and Walken wasn't about to invest in a site he used only to rest his eyes and stow mundane materials.

Still, his intruder had chosen wisely. Aella was too large to fit into the old flat, meaning an unsuspecting Walken would not be able to conjure his Familiar.

Should he attack first? He wondered, then decided against a preemptive strike on the basis that if this were some PLA Ghost or a spook from the Militant Faction, killing their agent would only invite more suspicion.

As he placed his coat on the hanger and stowed his scarf, he readied a Dimension Door- one that would safely deposit him outside. That was another reason why he had chosen the old flat - 80s buildings lacked the complex arcanistry of materials that disrupted teleporting into and out of the structure itself. Concurrently, blowing away a decrepit old apartment was far less likely to attract the ire of powerful people, and more importantly, influential cohabiters who would demand answers.

Inside the crowded, paper-strewn living room, he felt a presence.

"I see I have a guest," Walken intoned as he entered the corridor, addressing the silhouette within. "Is it too late to welcome you to my humble abode?"

A few streets away, Gwen's mood was lightened by a satisfying feeling of schadenfreude when she spotted a haphazardly parked convertible in a loading zone being ticketed by a patrol officer.

Loud cars belonging to well-to-do Fu-er-dai wasn't unusual, though what caught her attention was the offensive way it had been parked, for four distinct tire marks lead from the opposite lane, suggesting that the car had slid into place with a great stink of rubber and mana exhaust.

Curiously, the vehicle was a glaring crimson, Italian-made convertible, resembling an old-world Alfa-Romeo married with a 918.

"Ma'am, is this your vehicle?" a youthful officer demanded of her, seeing that both the foreign car and the girl appeared prohibitively expensive.

"Nope, I am just admiring." Gwen sidled closer, catching a crimson shawl behind the driver's sea, the kind that a woman with a head full of autumn-coloured hair might use to prevent her flaming tresses from blowing out while driving.

Could it be? She studied the vehicle for more clues, feeling uneasier by the minute. If her Sister-in-craft had come to Shanghai, surely she would be informed. Gunther would have called, meaning she should be at the ISTC, picking up Alesia in person, then whisking her away to the Waldorf Astoria for tapas, jazz and drinks.

The officer cast her a curious glance before resuming his patrol, likely wondering when he'd seen her face.

"Excuse me." A middle-aged Asian man suddenly materialised from the crowd, his expression the exact opposite of calm and collected. "Are you Gwen Song?"

Gwen immediately placed herself behind the convertible, creating some distance between them. There were many NoMs about, and a fight would only endanger the public. Not far, the officer was still out and about.

"Who's asking?" She sent Ariel overhead. There was a subtle stink of ozone as her Kirin grew in size.

"Alan Ma, at your service." The Mage inclined his head while spreading both hands to show that he meant her no harm. Very slowly and carefully, he held out his identification. "PLA Tower. I hold the rank of Magus. My Uncle, James Ma is your instructor."

At the mention of her colleague's name, Gwen relaxed Ariel's hypersensitive vigilance.

"Miss Song." The Magus was sweating like a greased up pig. "I take it that you did not see Magus de Botton?"

With a sudden clarity, the source of her unease became clear.

"SHIT!" Gwen swore loud enough for the whole street to hear. "WALKEN!!"

In the car, Alesia de Botton informed Alan Ma that her goal at Fudan was to meet with Gwen Song. The familiar name gave Alan a start, for he had been hearing about the girl from his uncle for months now.

"A walking lump of vanity and pride, a dragon in a woman's body, possessing a crystal-hoard to match," James Ma had wryly intoned. "You'll like her."

To Alan, at least on the lumen-caster, the girl of eighteen appeared perfectly prim and proper. Other than that one scandal where her Familiars went wild, she answered questions, kissed and made up with the reporters who had hounded her, and even spent time promoting her teammates, like the rogue from Huashan and their Captain from the funeral home.

"Is this not widely known?" de Botton remarked as she weaved through the traffic. "She's my sister-in-craft."

"Really?" Alan performed a double-take as the roadster accelerated.

"We all mentored under Master Kilroy while in Sydney," his VIP explained, her tone suddenly upset. "I suppose it'll be common knowledge once her IIUC finishes…"

Alan made a mental note to inform the PLA Tower as soon as possible.

"… and to think that for someone for whom master sacrificed so much, she turned tail so readily. Gwen was such a quiet girl when I found her being auctioned in her uncle's house. She was a nobody back then, did you know? Just tier 3, not bad for Frontier stock, but more or less just a pretty face. After I introduced her to master, she started to blossom, learning all sorts of magic…"

To Alan's alarm, Alesia's one-sided monologue grew in intensity, pouring forth with a vehemence that made him nervous.

"… it's ridiculous how everyone thinks that the prick has paid for his crimes. I mean our Master died because we couldn't access the Tower and turn it against Sobel..."

"Miss de Botton, we've arrived."

"...And speaking of Master's wife, bloody hell, when the day comes when the three of us hunt that bitch down…"

VROOM!

To the Magus' dismay, his driver gunned the vehicle around the perimetre of Fudan's university district, taking in the sights while continuing her tirade.

"There are students and NoMs here!" Alan indicated to the twin towers of Fudan jutting from the sea of skyscrapers, then to the pedestrians. "Please slow down."

SCREEEE!

Alesia spun the wheel. Alan felt as though he'd banked mid-flight during an aerial exercise. Horns tooted, NoMs screamed, other drivers howled abuse as they skidded across the tarmac to stop in a loading zone.

"We can't park here…" Alan pointed to the sign.

Thump! The door slammed.

Alesia exited the clinking vehicle, catching a hundred pairs of eyes as she rose to her full height. With a careless gesture, the woman discarded the shawl hiding her hair into the backseat, then with her voluminous curls falling about her shoulders, she strode toward the Handan campus.

"Where are you going?" Alan unbuckled.

The Scarlet Sorceress's figure shimmered, then she was gone.

"CAO!" Alan swore. Invisibility! He immediately replaced his glasses with a pair enchanted with Detect Foe. "Ta-made!"

He despaired. Whatever Alesia was using, it was higher than his tier 4 detection. The redhead was trouble; he just knew it! How the hell was he going to find her without causing a scene? Also, did the woman even know where she was going?

Thankfully, he had marked her earlier with a Detect Ally, if he could—

His Divination came up empty.

Alan's forehead quickly grew icky with perspiration. A foreign agent did not just go rogue on his watch!

Tapping his comm-device, Alan considered dialling the Tower.

No. The Magus told himself. He had no interest in career suicide. Not even the reputation of the Ma family was enough to stave off a monumental fuck-up like losing a Cat-4 VIP in the middle of a crowded university district.

De Botton couldn't have gotten far. He hoped. If he walked around, maybe he would spot her again, and he could then plead with her to follow at least the basic guidelines of a visiting dignitary, such as no activation of ilicit magic within the city's limits.

Please, please, please! He prayed to his ancestors for guidance. Don't start a magical battle in the middle of Shanghai!

VOOMPH-BANG!

Alesia answered Walken's welcome with a Fireball.

It was wholly unintentional, for she had planned to speak to the bastard, but when the cunt's castor-oil voice came through the corridor, her lips and her hands moved on their own.

Instantly, the empowered Fireball enveloped the small apartment.

Without a Spirit, her spell's range and damage were difficult to control, but Alesia felt confident that she had grown since Sydney's fall. At first, when she became well again to practice the craft, she had found herself crippled by the death of her Crimson Caracal, a near-sentient partner which had accompanied her since the Coral Sea Conflict. According to Gunther, it was because she had lost a portion of her Astral Body to the Djinn.

While she recovered, attuning herself to a life without her caracal, healing her crippled Astral Body with Elven elixirs from the Swiss Alps, she found that her connection to the Elemental Plane of Fire had expanded. Gunther suspected it had to do with the fleeing Djinn leaving a portion of its Essence in her Astral Body and suggested she should see a medical Magister, but Alesia's preference was for privacy.

And so, the Scarlet Sorceress marked the unexpected boon as just one of those things that happened in life, like food poisoning, or curry tacos.

Unfortunately for Walken, her control was still in development.

The orange fire filled the corridor, then blew out the bathroom, the kitchenette and the front door. In the next moment, a backwash of flaming paper filled the living room, indicating that Walken had activated a protective barrier.

"Alesia!" came the man's panicked voice. "Don't! We're in a tier 1 city!"

"Ha!" Alesia laughed. She had come with a plan!

She hadn't just come to Shanghai as a waif with a cudgel and a grudge. Just as Walken had his Grey Faction, she knew people who loathed Walken in the Middle Faction. Even without Gunther's explicit instruction, certain Magisters in Pudong were happy to see the recently resurgent Walken taken down a rung.

If maiming Walken was an option, she would have welcomed it, but it wasn't something she could realistically carry out without ramifications for Gunther's working relationship with the Greys. Instead, her plan was for both herself and Walken to be kicked out of Shanghai, saving Gwen from future harassment. After scorching Walken a medium-rare and concluding with their arrest, she would enjoy a brief diplomatic immunity, one that was enough to pound some sense into her sister-in-craft while Walken took the next cargo freighter to the Congo.

"Combust! Combust! Fireball!"

She kept her assault fast, low-tier and straightforward. Too much power and she couldn't control the damage, too low and they wouldn't attract the necessary attention.

Crack!

A burst of lightning discharge indicated that Walken had teleported outside.

"Blink!"

Alesia followed suit. This time, she had ensured that her clothes were all element-weaved. In Shanghai, she had no desire to be arrested sans her intimates.

Walken was making a run for it, rapidly deploying Dimension Door to move from rooftop to rooftop, making for the older sectors of the university district, where clumped clusters of concrete buildings still stood, awaiting demolition.

"Flaming Arrows!"

She harassed her target even as he hopped through time and space.

Sonnova bitch! She cursed. The prick refused to join spells or trade attacks, merely fleeing for it like a grey rat down a sewer. Alesia growled. Either way, she was determined that by the day's end, Walken would be homeless.

The woman's Fireball was no longer crimson, but it was all too familiar.

Alesia de Botton! Eric Walken groaned. De Botton was a rabid honey badger when it came to her tenacity, and there was no way he could see himself prying open her jaws.

To achieve that, he needed his student.

In all honesty, he had not anticipated that his protégée would so soon become his spell-shield. That Gwen may one day untangle the mess he found himself in had always been a part of his design, though having his old nemesis charging through an actual ISTC went beyond even his expectations.

It must have been the broadcasted IIUC ceremony, he realised, though he had no idea how De Botton watched CCVC-1.

Should he have stayed hidden? Walken wondered if once again, his student's pride had catalysed his own. After Burma, he had wanted to stand beside her and show the Grey Faction that they were right to welcome him back into the fold.

At the same time, he WAS proud of the girl. Why wouldn't he? She used his magic, ignored his advice, then accidentally liberated a country. That's an accomplishment for which he could surely take credit. Even now, he was going to gift her with his improved variant of Planar Ally.

But how could he convince de Botton of his "best" intentions?

KABOOM!

A wave of scorching heat washed over his back, dispersed by his Wind Wall. In his mind, he could feel Aella demanding to be released. Were he to match de Botton seriously, Walken was confident in his victory so long as they could enter a sturdy and enclosed space, a condition easily fulfilled in a city of concrete.

But after that?

Did de Botton think he was an idiot to fight her in public?

"Gwen!" Not wanting to end the encounter with de Botton in a coma and a livid Gwen voiding their partnership, he activated his Message device.

"Eric!" came the reply. "Your apartment's on fire!"

"I am heading for the training hall at Yi-fu No.2!" Walken Dimensioned Doored once more. "We can't let her damage any of the buildings."

"Flame Torrent!"

A whirlpool of fire engendered where Walken had just landed, sending the pedestrians fleeing unharmed in all directions. Beside him, the trees burst into flames.

"Alesia! NO!" came Gwen's voice behind him, made audible by Clarion Call. "Calm down! Don't fight!"

"I'll meet you inside!" Walken switched channels on his comm-device. "Jiang! De Botton's after me!"

"Is that why my western entrance is on fire?" came the reply from Luo. "Who initiated?"

"She did! I am now headed to Yifu No.2 with Gwen, can you tie up the media and the police until I need them? Get Pudong to send someone!"

"Cao! I'll call the Tower!" The Message dropped.

Another Fireball erupted, this time taking out a bench and a trashcan, immolating the jade-green lawn as it singed his hair and beard.

Walken Dimension Doored once more so that he was right beside the training hall, then slipped inside to await the arrival of both his executioner and his saviour.

Watching Gwen effortlessly abuse their Master's Signature Dimension Door made Alesia feel both proud and very much annoyed.

"Alesia! NO!" the girl called out, then appeared a few meters away in a flash of blue-white lightning.

In the distance, there was already the sound of sirens.

"You're looking well." Alesia rested a hand on her hips. "Chumming with Walken, eh?"

"Oh, for God's sake Allie, not here, and not now!" Alesia's little sister pleaded with her, squirming with a desperation that tickled Alesia's vengeful spirit. "You're as rash as fire!"

"And Walken is as false as air!" Alesia snapped. "That man killed our Master!"

"He did not!" the girl screeched back, her face glowing scarlet. "He was tricked! Just like you and me! Did you forget? It was us who brought Debora into the Tower, remember? WE DID IT!"

"HOW DARE YOU!" Alesia's complexion matched the hue of raw liver. Why in God's name was her sister-in-craft defending Walken? What the fuck did Walken feed her, or had she misjudged her little sister? Did Gwen whore herself to Walken for only a few measly high-tier spells?

"I am going inside," came a churlish retort from her sister-in-craft as she propped an ID against the security panel. "You can stay here, or you can blow us up!"

"You little…" Alesia snapped. "You think you're all grown up, and now you—"

The girl was gone.

"FUCK!" Alesia forced her shoulder against the glass.

The sound of the fire brigade, and what she presumed were Tower Mages, were coming closer now. They had ten, fifteen minutes at best, and in that time, she was determined to teach the little hussy a lesson in humility.

"YOU THERE!" She snapped at an attendant cowering behind the counter. "Open the door at once! Either way, I am coming in!"

Gwen stomped her way down the passageway, followed by a raging female Ifrit in the form of Alesia de Botton.

Good, she told herself. As she had guessed, resetting Alesia's mental pace wasn't impossible. Her once-instructor, now-sister was as straight as a Flaming Arrow as they come. What pissed her off though, now that she thought about it, was the fact that there was no fucking way Gunther did not have any idea that Alesia was about to pay her a surprise visit, and that her senior lacked the gonads to send out a warning. The way Alesia behaved, it was as though she had caught her red-handed with gore, like when Henry found his wife in that Hungarian catacomb.

Once inside, the trio formed into an awkward triumvirate.

"Ling. Barriers up, please." Gwen sent the command to the administration desk.

A thrum of magic ensured the trio of their temporary privacy.

"Sis." Gwen put on a happy face. "Welcome to Shanghai!"

"Don't call me that!" Alesia growled, her blue eyes sparkling motes of fire. "Not until you clear up this bullshit."

"Too easy." Gwen played it cool. "Eric Walken is indebted to me. I blackmailed him into teaching me magic."

"What?" Alesia looked to Walken, clearly not expecting something so sensibly plausible.

"Ah—" Walken caught on without missing a beat. "Gwen, that's confidential!"

"I trust Allie." Gwen moved closer to Alesia, placing herself between her instructors. "She probably thought you were manipulating me, isn't that right, Alesia? It's the opposite, I assure you. Walken is under my watchful eye."

"Are you lying to me?" Alesia narrowed her eyes. "Are you patronising me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Gwen lowered her arms. "Come on, Alesia, think about it. I've got dirt on him, and he's teaching me so that he's not homeless. It's a win-win for me."

"I saw you hug him."

"Ah—" Gwen attempted to laugh the matter off as inconsequential. "What's in a hug?"

"He was all chummy!"

"We were on vid-cast." Gwen felt dirty as the words left her lips. Was it all for the show? Her feelings were ambivalent. She'd felt genuinely happy and grateful that some credit went to Walken, who had given her just the right amount of advice to deal with the cluster-fuck in Kachin. "It's all for show."

"Magus de Bottom." Walken approached.

"Fuck off!"

"You got it." Walken backed away.

"Alesia." Gwen came closer with her arms open, having a second go at diplomacy. "I am so happy that you're here. You have no idea how much I've missed you and Gunther."

"No! No! NO!" Alesia muttered darkly. "This won't do."

"Why not?" Gwen made a face. "It was a misunderstanding. Walken's an employee whose job is to get me through the IIUC. Gunther knows this. He told me—"

"Gunther knew this?" Alesia's temper abruptly peaked.

FUCK! Gwen inwardly keened.

"I called Gunther as soon as I found out the Dean dug up Walken as an instructor. You should know that I got very emotional. When he came into my class, I was this close to Consuming him."

"This is true," Walken called out. "On my Astral Soul, your hellcat tried to scratch out my eyes."

"SHUT UP!"

Walken shut up.

"So, Gunther knew?" Alesia demanded.

"Er… I asked him for permission."

"So he told you to chum with this fucker?" Alesia's hair was rising; she looked like she could eat liars like air.

"Allie!" Gwen dialled up her big green puppy-eyes. "Please don't be so mad, Allie. I am so happy you're here. There's so much I want to tell you and show you."

"MAD? I AM FUCKING STOKED" Alesia exploded once again. "THAT GUY KILLED OUR MASTER!"

"Er—" Walken raised a hand. "Correction…"

"ALESIA!" Gwen pulled back her sister's attention. "I am an Omni-Mage now- all thanks to Walken. How about that, huh? Master would be super proud."

"What the fuck is an Omni-Mage?" Alesia spat.

"Wow," a snort escaped from Walken.

"You're a dead man!" Alesia began. "Gwen, I swear to Gunther, if you don't kick his ass right this second—"

"ALLIE!" Gwen snapped back. The air froze as Dragonfear permeated the space between them, silencing Alesia.

Her sister-in-craft glared at Gwen, then retaliated with an intensity of her own, one generated from the numberless atrocities she had committed in the name of humanity.

"You've got some nerve—"

"DUEL ME!" Gwen could think of little else to relieve Alesia of her pent-up frustration. "I want to show you what I managed to fleece from Walken. Come on. Me and you, sister on sister. Let me prove to you that our Master would have been proud."

Alesia paused.

"Duel me?" Her lips curled cruelly. "Little Gwen, you want to duel me?"

"YES!" Gwen motioned for Walken to fuck off. "Me and you, mano a mano, first to yield. Oxford style."

"Oh?" Alesia seemed to have forgotten all about Walken. Her blue irises began to turn purple. "You're serious."

"Dead serious." Her own eyes glimmered with blue lightning. "If I win, forget about Walken. We'll go for cocktails and lobsters afterwards."

"And if I win?"

"I'll kick Walken out."

"Can I—"

"NOT NOW, ERIC!" Gwen shouted back. "Go tell the fuzz we're busy here."

The two women watched as Walken exited the hall.

"You're going to regret helping that snake." Alesia's expression was a tempest raining fire.

"I'll be the judge of that. Allie, do you have a Spirit right now?" Gwen took a step back. "Surely Gunther has got you a new one?"

"You'll find out." Alesia kicked away her stilettos. Pulling her hair back, she made a bun. "I am not fucking around, Gwennie. Are you?"

"I'll go easy on you," Gwen smirked, likewise knotting her hair. "Caliban! Ariel!"

Caliban slithered into being, discarding its Invisibility.

"SHAAA!" It wagged its lamprey-tentacles at Alesia.

"EEee!" Ariel made itself known, wagging its fishtail.

"You better beware," Gwen informed her sister-in-craft. "I going to show you how much I've grown."

Alesia cracked her neck, then her fingers.

"Ready?"

Their eyes met.

"Ready."

"Cinder!"

"Flashbang!"

Gwen cursed as her split-second spell failed to catch the dashing Alesia, grazing her sister-in-craft but failing to stun her. Caliban simultaneously charged, transforming into its spider form while Ariel took to the air to act as her spy-station and living turret.

"Combust!" The next spell came from Alesia, a split-second Evocation which Gwen had never seen.

"Lighting Bo—"

Her double-bolt was caught half-way when without warning, a mote of ember from Alesia's earlier Cinder cantrip expanded into a roaring Fireball, catching her entirely off-guard.

"Oof!" An intense heat licked her torso and her chest, sending her flying backwards. Were it not for her sturdy constitution and overwhelming VMI, the feedback from her twin Lightning Bolt would have thrown her onto the floor.

"SHAAA!" Caliban closed in, its claws locked for capturing one of its favourite humans. According to its master, merely pinning her would suffice.

"Stun Blast!" Came the next spell from Alesia, invoked one-handed. When the shockwave engendered, the blast sent Caliban skittering backwards, while Alesia propelled forward toward Gwen.

SHIT! Gwen landed on her shoulder, then rolled into a dive just like how Alesia had taught her so long ago. "Dimension Door!"

"Blink! Flame Whip!"

Somehow, Alesia could predict where she was going to land. Appearing simultaneously, her former instructor caught Gwen by the ankle with her whip, seriously lacerated her white running shoes, then pulled Gwen with terrific force into the air.

Meanwhile, Gwen's lightning washed over her sister-in-craft, setting off a wave of defiant sparks as her Transmutation-enhanced body absorbed her tier 6 Lightning.

Passive magic? Her mind raced. Alesia could buff herself with silent incantations? As expected of the Scarlet Sorceress, she had grown far more powerful since Blackwattle.

WHAM!

Gwen slammed bodily into the Force Barrier, feeling her innards turn inside out. Madly circulating her Essence, she quickly spun, clearing her head with a restorative jolt, then kicked hard at the ground so that she pulled at Alesia' whip.

"Woa!" Alesia lost her footing. Even with her Transmutation Enhancements, Gwen's draconic-strength was stronger.

"Lightning Bolt!"

"EEee!"

"Flame Avatar!"

Twin bolts struck where Alesia stood, warping the barrier below. Alesia appeared to be stunned, but just as Gwen used the reprieve to stand, Alesia's red dress burst into orange flames, transforming her into a being of fire.

Djinn-form? Gwen blinked. Alesia looked just like Jun with his Ashen Avatar activated. Either way, it meant the difficulty had escalated.

"I thought you were going all out?" Alesia lifted into the air; her near-perfect proportions made impossibly sensual now that her eyes were burning coals and her hair was a river of firefly embers. "Nice Affinity, by the way. I took some damage. Why aren't you using your Void Magic?"

"Well." Gwen licked her parched lips. "You'll have to make me! CALIBAN! ARIEL!"

"Maelstrom!" Alesia drew a circle in the air.

HOLY FUCK! Gwen sucked in a breath of super-heated air: at-will tier 6 Evocation?!

"Elemental Sphere!" Gwen retaliated with an AOE of her own. Behind Alesia, she commanded Caliban to no longer hold back. With a grotesque sound of bone and meandering flesh, it transformed into the stag and activated its sixteen prehensile tentacles.

Above, Ariel grew full-fluffed.

FOOMP!

A portal opened into the Elemental Plane of Fire. A sudden vortex descended, pulling Gwen and both of her Familiars into the swirling flames.

"SHAA!" Caliban's tentacles whipped around the stationary Alesia, capturing her flaming body. A great sizzling of grey slime polluted the air as the netherworld fiend used the Maelstrom's owner as an anchor, sliding its appendages around her limbs and torso.

Gwen's Elemental Sphere erupted, though from what she could see, some of its power appeared to have been deadened by the overwhelming volume of Elemental Fire that now filled the vicinity of the training platform. Indeed, it was becoming difficult to breathe, and what air that remained had now heated up to such a degree that she could feel her clothes fraying.

Crack! The second stage of Elemental sphere erupted, enveloping Alesia.

"Void Skin!" Gwen cooled herself before she felt faint from heatstroke.

"Bilby's Hand!" came another higher-tier spell from her opponent.

"Shield!" Gwen fell on the defensive. Instantly, the semi-dome turned opaque from the impact, though thanks to her absurd VMI, it held.

"Use your killing spell!" a command came from Alesia. "Don't be a sissy!"

"Morden's Hound!" Gwen cursed the fact that there was no fucking way she was going to use Chakram Seekers on her newly recovered sister-in-craft. Without IFF from Caliban, she wasn't about to risk wiping out yet another portion of Alesia's Astral Body.

Alesia continued to pound her shield, but Gwen had plenty of mana left to not only sustain but regenerate the damaged portion.

"GRRRR!"

"AWWWOOOOO!"

Her hounds emerged.

"SHAAA!" Caliban asked for permission to gore Alesia. Gwen denied her creature's bloodthirsty demand.

"Cali! Keep her tied up!"

"Flame Nova!" Alesia's response was to unleash a ring of cutting, expanding fire from her torso, slicing apart Caliban's restraints.

"SHAAA!" A viscous grey ichor sprayed into the air, evaporating as it touched Alesia's flaming form.

"Lightning Bolt!"

Alesia's flaming form absorbed the blue-white lightning.

Gwen commanded her dogs to attack. If they too failed, then she had only one recourse.

"Blade Barrier!" Alesia completed another tier 6 AoE in less time it took Gwen to manifest a supplementary tier 5 Ball Lightning.

A thick ring of spinning, flaming blades came into being, filling the space of the training hall. Once, twice, a hundred times, her dogs were whipped up by a massive meat-grinder of fire and steel, whimpering and howling as the merciless object bit into their lightning-charged hide.

"Ball Light—"

"Combust!"

The small explosion happened a few inches from Gwen's body, pressing the air from her lungs. Though a part of her exercise gear blew off, her skin was neither scorched nor blackened.

In a way, both casters were holding back.

"Flashbang!"

Her spell burst over Alesia.

She wanted to win, and Ariel would make it so.

"Barbanginy!"

"Blink!" Alesia had anticipated her killing spell, appearing just above the stationary Familiar, she grabbed Ariel by the horns.

"EEE—?"

"Disintegrate!"

"EEEEE?!"

Before the green energy ball could emerge, a beam from Alesia's hand, near-invisible in its extreme heat, removed Ariel's horns with the precision of a veterinarian surgery.

Gwen sputtered as Barbanginy's extreme energy clogged her conduits. To secure victory, she had fed a double-dose of Essence-infused Elemental Sphere into Ariel, and now that energy sloshed back into her Astral Body.

She fucked up! Gwen realised. Alesia's casting speed for tier 6 spells was faster than her tier 5 Evocations, so she should have gone with a basic Lightning Bolt. Six seconds might seem a split-second to those watching a duel, but to someone like her sister-in-craft, it was enough to kick her to the curb and gutter-stomp her face.

"EEEE!" Ariel sprung into a blind panic, assaulting Gwen's empathic link. Where the hell did its horns go? Not only that, it had lost most of its mane where the horns had been. It was now bald!

As for Ariel's master, Essence-infused mana now flooded her Astral Body.

"Caliban!" Gwen called out desperately for Caliban to assume its Naga form, surprised by just how hard she was willing to fight for Walken. "DO IT!"

"SHAAA!" came a cry from Caliban even as it struggled against the Maelstrom.

At that moment, Gwen's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she felt for the first time in a long time, the exquisite agony of an old fashioned mana burn.

"STOP!" Came a cry from the speaker system. "Operator! Purge the room!"

A second thrum filled the chamber, though the magic-deadening wasn't for Gwen nor Caliban. With her mind in chaos, Caliban de-materialised, returning to its pocket dimension, joining a traumatised, hornless, hairless Ariel.

The fire on Alesia's body dimmed until it was barely a whisper of orange licking the air. Simultaneously, her wide-range AoE ceased.

"HRRUK!" Gwen expelled Walken's scones, toast and jam all over the floor. She looked up at Alesia with runny eyes and wounded pride. "NO! I can still fight!"

"I know you can, tiger." Alesia sighed, her fury drained by the sight of her sister's suffering. "You win."

"Owww!" Gwen flopped over, then writhed on the floor. "My head…"

"You've proven your point." Alesia intoned sagely, dispelling her Flame Avatar. "You handicapped yourself while I almost gave everything I had. Still, I saw your skills on the vid-cast, you should have..."

Gwen began to pound the floor. "GHNNNGH!"

"Tiger?" Alesia realised Gwen wasn't listening at all.

"Blurrrgh!" Gwen vomited yet again, this time her ejecta was mostly tea and stomach acid. She wondered if her brain would leak out of her ears, or if her mana conduits would erupt. Heedlessly, she rolled across her own sick, splashing about the floor groaning and moaning like a dying fish. In her Pocket Dimensions, Caliban howled, while Ariel whimpered. Unbidden, she began to convulse even as her face took on the texture and hue of raw pastry.

Beside the epileptic Gwen, her sister-in-craft grew suddenly nervous.

Phssht!

The doors to the chamber clanged open. In came Dean Luo, Walken, Magus Ma and a troop of Military Mages from both the PLA and the Pudong Tower.

"Gwen!" the Dean ran to his trophy Mage with a face full of genuine worry. "Mao! What have you done to her?"

"It's just… a duel…" a croaking voice came from the girl. "My sister's teaching me…"

Walken likewise knelt beside Gwen, looking as though he wanted to help the girl. However, the Magister stopped short of picking his student up from the floor. With a critical glare, he turned his disapproving eyes up toward his ward's sister-in-craft.

"Ma says that's her shijie." A PLA Military Mage shivered.

"Brutal… too brutal." Another shook his head. "Gweilos are heartless, eh?"

"They only care about winning."

"Do you mind?" Walken indicated to the girl on the floor, his lips thin and hypercritical. "Do I have your permission to take her to the infirmary?"

By now, Alesia's face was flashing red and white.

"I'll do it!" The sorceress picked up her sister-in-craft. Gwen fell into her sister's soft body as she grew increasingly senseless. The last thing she heard was Alesia conversing with the others.

"Miss de Botton." Alan bowed his head, then indicated to the Military Mages. "Magister Walken and Dean Luo have chosen not to press charges, but we need you on the record…"

"I understand." Alesia's worry for her sister-in-craft overshadowed her desire to drag Walken down with her. "I'll meet you outside the infirmary. Can someone lead me there?"

The crowd parted.

The Scarlet Sorceress departed with her sibling-in-craft.

When the door clicked, the Dean turned to his Grey Faction colleague with an amused expression.

"I got some of the paparazzi to surround the front. I think it's going to make a nice headline," he remarked. "Why were you winking at her? The girl's going to be bed-ridden for days."

Walken exhaled, then appeared both embarrassed and anxious. He glanced at the expelled scones on the floor, then wrinkled his nose.

"I thought she was faking it…"

The underwhelming headlined, "Hellish Training at Fudan: Gwen Song Injured!" made the fourth page of the People's Telegraph, accompanied by an apology from Alesia de Botton, Heroine of the Coral Sea Conflict, and a hefty fine in CCs and HDMs for illicit use of magic. A day later, a second statement from Magister Gunther Shultz crawled its way through the grapevine.

"Miss Gwen Song's relationship with Magus de Botton and I will be clarified in time." The charismatic man smiled for the lumen-recorders. "At this point, the details are well known to those who have a right to know. Until then, I wish our sorceress fair winds in her endeavours."

The last remark was well calculated, leading to yet more speculation. Some professional commentators stated that it made perfect sense for Gwen Song to be Henry Kilroy's hidden disciple, for her access to not one, but two unique Familiars smacked firmly of the later Tower Master's most lauded area of magic.

Others critiqued that this was yet another attempt by outside forces to subvert the fairness of the IIUC, hinting that someone with as much influence as Shultz should not be publicly backing a candidate.

Meanwhile, the victim of the fiasco herself spent two days at her grandmother's hospital with mana sickness, falling in and out of fatigued sleep as her body recovered.

"You can manifest TWO of those spells at once?" Alesia sat on one side of Gwen's bed, while Walken sat on the other.

"Ariel duplicates them through its horns..." Gwen cuddled the mewling Kirin as it sat between her legs. Below, Caliban coiled under the bedstand. Thanks to her babulya's influence, a VIP room at the Second PLA hospital was an absolute certainty.

"Eee! EE!" Ariel cried out.

"It's growing back!" Gwen kissed her Familiar's scalp. "I can see some fuzz already."

"Sorry..." Alesia patted Ariel's silky fish-tail.

Arriving at the hospital had been a harrowing experience for the Scarlet Sorceress. When Alesia had finally met Gwen's frantic grandmother, her shame was so dire that all of her prideful arrogance dissolved at once. She apologised profusely to the grim-faced old lady whom Gwen had repeatedly labelled the kindest human being on this living earth, barring their late master.

On the opposite side, seeing Alesia so cowed filled Walken with satisfaction, for he had finally found a hard counter to the indomitable Alesia de Botton's fiery impulses. In his memory, Kilroy never fully reigned in Alesia. Without Kilroy, Gwen and Alesia were made of far more malleable metal.

But that would come later. For now, Alesia's temporary loss of temerity afforded Walken a chance to initiate a Grey Faction speciality. With great solemnity, he slid forward an elegant wooden box bound with plated mithril and etched gold.

"Magus de Botton, for a while now, I had hoped to return this to its rightful holder. In offering this olive branch between us, I hope I can be of some help to yourself, Magister Shultz, and of course, our mutual student."

Seeing that Alesia appeared hesitant, Gwen took the liberty of opening the brass-buckled lid. Within, twelve egg-sized Ioun Stones winked back at the pair of suddenly emotional women.

"Master's collection!" Alesia gasped.

"Opa made these!" Gwen touched a hand to her lips, then corrected herself. "Well, some of these…"

"Only a few are truly precious," Walken explained. "Though a prismatic set is all the rarer when gathered. Would you like an introduction? I don't think either of you has seen Henry's completed collection."

"YES!" Gwen's eyes sparkled. Ioun Stones were a girl's best friend.

Alesia relented.

"Let's begin with the brilliant-cut Garnet," Walken began, pointing to the first stone. "Henry picked this one up in Tanzania while suppressing the Popobawa, a kind of primordial vampire. It allows one to resist physical side-effects, such as being stunned."

"Ooo..." Gwen felt her fingers twitch.

"That one's a trilliant-cut Amethyst. Believe it or not, Henry said he found this one inside a Bone Golem in Tajikistan, guarding the tomb of an old Necromancer. It grants protection against Necromantic magic."

"This one is a mixed-cut Aquamarine: that's a gem with an easy history. Kilroy received this one during the Coral Sea War. I am fairly certain you were there, Alesia. Gunther retrieved it during that clash in Hamilton, do you recall?"

"The one with the seahorses? Their spurt-lances was a bitch to deal with."

"Yes, the Wave Riders," Walken corrected her. "The Captain of the Coral Knights of Queen Zeim had this on his helmet."

Alesia held the stone nostalgically.

Gwen cooed with worship.

"And now enchanted to allow water breathing and superior movement underwater." Walken moved across to the next gem, a fingernail-sized diamond. "This one's a rare one. A Royal Asscher Radiant Diamond. What do you think it does?"

"Be my best friend?" Gwen's eyes gleamed at the ten-thousand fold facade refracting the light. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Walken chuckled at the girl's undisguised greed. "No. It enhances your Shield, making the surface more rigid, like a Mineral Mage. Perfect for elementalists. This next one is an emerald-cut Moss Stone, from the Elfhome of Mossvale in Ireland. It enhances positive energy, and so are useful for healers. I had thought of giving you this one before, but your negative energy would likely shatter or disable it. Your grandfather was the inscriber."

"Aww… what's this one?"

"Ah- that's a Briolette-cut Alexandrite," Alesia interjected. "I recall Master receiving it from the Ural Mountains, from the Hill Dwarves of Yekaterinburg. It's beyond precious."

"Correct," Walken affirmed Alesia's recollection. "The Alexandrite has an inscription-cut patented by the Enchanter-Meister Gabi Tolkowsky, containing a superior Comprehend Language engraving, allowing for communication in Sylvan, Elven, Dwarven, and twenty-seven Demi-human languages."

Gwen gulped, her drake-tainted soul aching for the stone's ownership.

"And these are masterworks inscribed by Surya." Walken finger-walked through the next few. "The Brilliant Ruby enhances fire affinity and provides heat resistance. The Barion Sapphire does the same for Ice and Water Magic. The Pyramidal Topaz allows for supplementary affinity for Air and Lightning, and finally, the Tiger's Eye empowers Earth."

Two more Ioun Stones remained.

"This one is a failure." Walken pointed to a Teardrop Pink Tourmaline. "Its suppose to enable mental restoration, but it instead grants resistance to poisons. I don't know what Magus Huang was doing when he made this."

Probably distracted by something erotic, Gwen hazarded a guess.

"I suppose that means its rare in an unintended way." Walken shrugged. "Finally, we have another old-world Asscher-cut, this one's a Blue Zircon, the pride and joy of Henry's collection- it once belonged to your brother-in-craft."

"Does Gunther know the Asscher family?" Gwen inquired, impressed with the brilliance of the Ioun Stone.

"They're acquainted." Alesia cleared her throat.

"There's a very awkward bit of modern history there…" Walken scratched his head. "Before the establishment of the Pan-European Treaty of Versaille after the Beast Tide, the city-states of Europe descended into a sort of resource-madness. They fought over history, grudges, religion, trade routes, colonies, new Frontiers; you name it. It was the Golden Age of Spellcraft warfare, and the two major contenders were the Reich and the Mageocracy."

Gwen recollected that indeed, there had been mention of such things in her history books. As for "Modern History", her censored textbooks after the 1971 awakening of the Black Sea Dragon catalysed the rise of Magical Beasts around the world, coinciding with the rise of the Mermen Empires from the depth below. The pre-war period possessed nowhere near the same volume of information.

"That's right." Walken nodded. "Did you know Gunther's family was involved right up to their necks? I bet he never talks about that particular part of his past, hmm? When Berlin briefly occupied Amsterdam, Gunther's grandfather, Generalmajor Otto von Shultz, amassed a wealth of gems and artefacts, most of which Gunther had since returned to the surviving families. It's one of the reasons why he enjoys such renown in Europe, and why he left his homeland."

"An apologist," Alesia butted in. "That's what some people called him."

"Yes, well." Walken coughed. "It's not like England hasn't had its share of troubles. India, Burma, the razing of the Falkland Islands, those were exceptional times that called for extreme measures. In my estimation of Gunther, I think he chose to follow your Master, not because of criticism from the aristocracy, but because he had no wish to carry on what he saw as a tainted legacy. If I was the last von Shultz, carving out a new Frontier would also be my preferred Path."

"Gunther told me his old haunt was in Bavaria, near Breitenegg. They're minor nobility, aren't they?"

"Is that what he said?"

"Yes." Alesia coughed.

"Then that's that," Walken agreed.

Gwen chewed her lips, trembling with curiosity.

"So, what does this gem do?" Alesia changed the subject.

"It diffuses Negative Energy." Walken watched his student's face. "Kilroy requested it, but alas... "

The rest was best left unsaid.

"And you're returning this to us?" Alesia smacked her ruby-lips together. "Just like that."

"Well, its a bribe…" Walken confessed openly, proud of the fact. "Are you not sufficiently placated by the return of these priceless mementoes?"

"I see." Alesia pulled the box closer. "You shall live, for now. Gwen, what stones ya got?"

Gwen touched a hand to the back of her head. Hidden inside her hair and adhered to her neck was her babulya's Stone of Clarified Thought and a Comprehend Language stone. Revealing her pale, long neck, she showed them both to Alesia.

"What's that?" Walken pointed to an opalescent scale embedded at the base of her skull.

"Ah, that's Ayxin's gift," she explained with nonchalance. "It helps me regulate my Essence."

"Draconic Essence?"

"Aye."

Her two instructors looked one another in the eye.

"You can attune up to four Stones, generally speaking." Alesia pulled back her hair to reveal that she too had a private collection, running from the base of her neck down between her attractive shoulders. "Mine are Ruby-Agate, Fire Opal. Pink Diamond, and a Blood Hematite."

Walken whistled. "An Asscher-cut Argyle Diamond? A gift from Gunther?"

Gwen wiggled her brows suggestively.

"No wonder she beat you black and blue. Your sister-in-craft is running no less than four rare damage-amplification Ioun Stones." Walken inclined his chin at Gwen, as though a great puzzle had resolved itself. "Little wonder her cantrip was at Fireball strength."

"Anyway." Alesia pulled out three stones - the Blue Zircon, the Radiant Diamond, and the Pyramidal Topaz. "These are yours. Pick one more."

"May I…" Gwen swallowed. For someone like her, a superior translation stone was unimaginably helpful. "Have the Alexandrite? Also, can I swap the topaz for the garnet?"

Alesia removed the purple gem and the garnet, then tossed it across the bed.

Gwen palmed the stones.

The Zircon would somehow mitigate some of her Negative Energy, hopefully in a manner akin to Percy's amulet.

The Alexandrite would improve her coherency and language options.

The Radiant Diamond increased the rigidity of her twin-Shields.

And finally, the Garnet would hopefully reduce the chance of her being stunned by disruptions and counterspells.

"Four for each of us." Alesia removed an inferior ruby from her neck, then attuned the one made by Gwen's Opa. "The activation glyph is inside the lid of the box. I'll take the rest to Gunther."

"Gotcha." Gwen removed her mundane translation stones from her neck, then embedded her new accessories through the attunement ritual inside the box. The only one she kept unadorned was the diamond, for she preferred the mental-fatigue negation offered by her babulya's gift.

"Now that our Master's legacy physically links us." Alesia pointed a finger to Walken. "It'll be easier to hunt down our prey."

Walken stared, as did Gwen.

"That was a joke."

"Hahaha…" Gwen laughed drily.

"Hohoho…" Walken joined in.

"One day, I am going to catch you red-handed." Alesia packed the box into her Storage Ring then glared at Walken. "Don't you think for a moment that I am going to let my innocent sister fall into your grubby hands."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Walken put up both palms as if in defeat. "I am her humble instructor, nothing more."

"As for you." Alesia turned toward her sister-in-craft.

Gwen swallowed. Maybe she should have equipped the diamond.

Alesia's lips curled. "I am going to pound some spell-doctrine back into your head."

By mid-October, the second round of the Asian Qualifiers had gone underway. With Fudan occupying one slot by default, the remaining teams competed for the remaining spot on Jeju Island. As for Gwen, Alesia made good on her promise of sparring her until she spewed, while Gwen retaliated by drinking Alesia under until she painted the sidewalks outside the Waldorf-Astoria.

"Alesia, why are your spells so damn fast?" Gwen inquired as she panted against the cold training barrier. "How much practice will I need?"

"A lot more, that and I am using Master's variants," Alesia notified her sister-in-craft. "I've been provisioned all the way to tier 8... "

One of the reasons why she had hasted-spells, Alesia explained, was because their Master improved them. That was also why she was teaching Gwen their master's Bilby's Hand.

"It's a spell you'll grow into." Alesia left her with an oft-heard aphorism. "Since I am here, let's do our best to get Maelstrom happening as well, shall we? Master's variation is much easier to utilise. Get up!"

Alesia's Boot Camp, as expected, was hell. Compared to Walken's training, her sister's methods were militant to the extreme, consisting of a level of physical and mental exhaustion that challenged even Gwen's Essence-infused stamina.

A week later, Gwen threw a big bash to introduce Alesia to her friends and family, including Ayxin. When rattling off the guest list and presenting each of her Shanghai allies, Alesia grew incredulous.

"You invited your father's brother and a dragon-kin, but not your Mother or Father?" Alesia knew Gwen had family troubles, but the extent of her sister's complex was only now beginning to materialise.

"I left it to babulya to invite father," Gwen corrected her sister-in-craft. "I feel awkward with his new kid, and his wife hates me... you know?"

As an orphan twice-over, Alesia felt she wasn't qualified to comment. She had only Gunther and Gwen to speak of, and her fiancè loathed the topic of his family.

A day later, the gathering took place at the Four Seasons' panoramic-lounge overlooking the Bund. There, Gwen graciously introduced Alesia to the famous PLA Captain known as the Ash Bringer, as well as the woman-shaped dragon, Ayxin of Huangshan.

"Nonsense, how could I compare to the Scarlet Sorceress?" Jun's modesty was pleasing to Alesia, who loathed her fame, especially when it transformed into infamy following the incident with Walken. The number of times Alesia had to accept duels because she couldn't withstand the goading couldn't be counted even with her toes.

While the two military professionals exchanged humblebrags, Gwen made small talk with Ayxin about her eldest.

"Ruxin says he couldn't have done it without you." Ayxin regarded Gwen with suspicion, studying the girl's aesthetic physique. For the occasion, Gwen wore a strapless halter-dress that juxtaposed a Victorian front with an almost scandalously revealing back. "You're not involved with my brother, are you?"

"What? No!" Gwen spluttered. "Ruxin is like, five-hundred? I am far too young for him, and he's far too old."

"But you're at the prime breeding age for humans, are you not?"

"WOA!" Gwen waved her hands. "Word choice!"

"What's this, does Gwen have a beau?" Alesia butted in, having heard the B-word.

"Both of my brothers are keen on your sister-in-craft," Ayxin taunted Jun's niece. "Two Princes of Huangshan, one effectively a demi-god by human standards, she should be so flattered."

"They're both dragons…" Gwen added flatly.

"Ah," Alesia teased Gwen about her fictional flings with the draconic demi-humans. "I would very much like to meet them one day. I don't know how Gunther would feel about you dating dragons, I mean, we're the Middle Faction, but hey, true love and all that."

"Bloody hell, Allie—" Gwen felt her back beginning to sweat. Ruxin was cool. His human form was a rung above Gunther, and the guy was diplomatic to boot, possessing just the right amount of goofiness, but Golos? Golos meeting Alesia? What would be the first thing out of his mouth? It was probably something like, "Oi, nice Fire Element, want sum fuk?" Followed by instant decapitation by Gunther. After that? The awakening of the Yinglong and the fall of Shanghai into the South China Sea.

"I would very much like to meet this Gunther of yours as well," Ayxin politely addressed Gwen's mentor. "The Morning Star's prowess, if what Jun says is true, is on par with Ruxin, though I find it difficult to believe that a human could attain such destructive potential."

"The rumours don't do him justice." Gwen chuckled. "He once decapitated a Leviathan with one spell."

"Then he must be a most impressive specimen!" Ayxin's voice took on a sudden seriousness. "Miss Alesia, if you have mated with Magister Shultz, why have you not spawned offspring?"

"What?" Alesia spluttered. "You mean babies? Well, I mean- we're not planning, not really…"

"I would like to know the details." Ayxin leaned in closer. "Are you having trouble conceiving? I require knowledge of how higher-tier Mages manage physiological..."

"Gwen, come here." Jun pulled her away. "Go join your cousins and your friends."

"Uncle, I am eighteen. I know how the dragons and the phoenixes work."

"Just… go. Please?"

Gwen sighed.

"I'll be over there."

Jun exhaled with relief, then guided the gossiping women toward a private corner.

"Welcome back." Petra was having fun ingratiating herself into the team. As a trained professional, Gwen's cousin slid into the ranks as easily as a Spellcube into her Storage Ring.

"Thanks." Gwen took a glass of red wine from an attentive waiter. "How's everyone going?"

"Training day and night." Jiro was in seventh heaven when he found out that the Flower of Fudan would be a permanent addition to the team. According to his overzealous confession, he'd been crushing hard on Petra since he was a first-year. "I am at the moment mastering Bounding Flames after witnessing your Chain Lightning. Miss Petra, all my spells are at your disposal!"

"I am flattered." Petra clinked glasses with the Fire Mage. "I shall use them well."

Jiro's joy grew boundless. "Ow!"

Rene kicked him in the shins.

"How are the Spirits coming along?" Gwen asked both Petra and Lulan.

"A long way to go." Lulan seemed crestfallen. "I am still having a hard time against Jinwei. The Spirit is difficult to control."

"Aww." With a warm hug, Gwen assured her friend that her setback was temporary. "Lulu. I am confident you'll be able to master it and surprise us all."

"Gwennie?" Mayuree materialised, looking cute as a button in a lace mini dress.

"Mia! Where did you go?"

"A parcel arrived for us at the concierge." Mayuree raised her Storage Ring, then retrieved a Message Stone. "It's from Marong. He says it contains critical information for our next matches."

The rest of the team huddled.

"Let's take this somewhere private," Gwen recommended they move to a separate room. Perhaps in deference to Alesia, their instructor had not attended her party.

Mayuree invoked the secret glyph.

"Gwen, Marong here. I've got some information you might be interested in." The young man's voice came through the stone. "This won't hit the news for another week, but here are the latest payouts from the betting houses…"

Mayuree translated Marong's bookie lingo into a breakdown of their future opponents.

Oxford University was the top seed, the big dog, the proverbial sky above the sky, offering a mere one-point-two in odds to win the whole damn thing.

They were followed shortly by Europe's winners who beat France, Spain and Italy: Germany's Ludwig Maximilian University, and to no one's surprise, London's Royal Imperial Sorcerous College. Famously, the European competition was a microcosmic IIUC of its own accord, dubbed the "group of death", it was a warm-up to the Europe-only Inter-European University Cup in April.

Then came the Americans, Stanford University and the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy in Cambridge, the east and west of a nation bisected by endless Purple and Black Zones from the deserts of Nevada to the Saurian wetlands of Mississippi.

After the favourites, came the underdogs.

Asia's twin participants consisted of Fudan University and Tokyo University, surprisingly boasting even odds, despite Tokyo's rank superiority.

Oceania's representative consisted of the University of Auckland and Nanyang Spellcraft University from the fortress city of Singapore. Thanks to the Mermen invasion, Australia's top institutions had been thrown into chaos, and so rescinded their participation, paving the way for Auckland. Nanyang was itself strongly affiliated with Oxford and Cambridge, established after alumni broke from the Mageocracy to support Singapore's independence in the 50s.

Meso and South America's winners were Cuzco National University and The School of the Golden Sun. Both were unorthodox colleges only recently with skin in the game, having embraced the teaching of Spellcraft a mere three decades prior and very much influential in fields yet unexplored by modern Spellcraft.

Finally, from North Africa, Cairo University and its southern sibling, the Sorcerous Academy of Pretoria, originally an offshoot of London Imperial, marked the challenge from the continent with the largest demi-human presence.

"Holy hell." Gwen grimaced. "What world-rank are we?"

Petra's lips pursed. "154th."

"Wow!" Gwen almost swirled the wine back into her glass. "What kind of competition are we looking at?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Better now than later."

"Oxford is the undisputed No.1 Magical institution for Spellcraft, followed by Stanford, MIT and London Imperial vying for No.2 to 5. Tokyo is 29th. Nanyang is 12th, I think. LMU is 24th. Auckland is in the 90s, and Pretoria in the 80s. The only universities in our range are Cairo at 224th, Cuzco at 197th and Golden Sun at 162nd."

"Which means our next competitors should be someone close to us in our rankings." Anita had done her homework. "Next, we'll be going against Cairo, Cuzco, or Golden Sun."

"And assuming we win, round 2 is going to be absurdly difficult," Petra affirmed her worries. "Chances are we'll be running into at least one university with a sub 50 rank in round 2, and if we make round 3…"

The horror, the horror, Gwen shivered.

Her teammates' expressions suggested they could hardly believe that Fudan could face the world's uppermost academic existences like MIT, Stanford, Oxford or London Imperial.

She suddenly felt the feeling of being a big fish in a small pond. Compared to cities like NY, London, Paris or Berlin, the rat-race in Shanghai was not dominated by Displacer Beasts.

With Marong's Message played out, the team fell into poor spirits, each realising that their bright futures concurrently cast long and sinister shadows, ones that may yet swallow them all.

Mid-October was the best time of year to visit Shanghai, for the superstructural Tower's hazy barrier kept the city cosy as its deciduous flora turned to fire.

At Guoding B1, above the autumn trees, Alesia and Gwen endlessly teased Gunther's iron-willed patience. After a while, Alesia grew thirsty; when she returned, Gunther had skillfully steered the conversation toward Surya, Gwen's grandfather.

"Tell Opa I love him, and that I'll be able to return in another year, two at most." Gwen said. "Thanks for looking after him, Gunther."

After Alesia poured herself and Gwen a glass of soda, the topic shifted to closer concerns.

"I've heard on the grapevine that you're likely facing off the South or Meso American institutions first." Gunther appeared entirely relaxed. "Fudan's low ranking may be a blessing yet. If you can defeat the rank 27th Kyoto, the less orthodox universities shouldn't be too much trouble. There's going to be one problem though."

"What's that?"

"The lower-ranked university gets to pick the grounds, so there's a good chance you'll be travelling the Andes or Mexico City."

"Wow," Gwen gushed. "I would love that."

"Love what?" Gunther chuckled. "Do you have any idea how powerful Spirit Magic can be when used by Shamans on their home turf? The very mountain will turn against you if you're not careful."

"Oh…"

"'Oh' indeed," Gunther continued. "Consult Walken. He's spent a few years here and there on the Mageocracy's behalf. What are you hoping to accomplish in the next three weeks?"

"Bilby's Hand from Alesia, and Walken's almost done with preparations for Planar Ally."

"An Ally? It's a risky spell- fantastic if you can manage it, but..."

"I think I'll manage," Gwen replied with confidence.

"Then the best of luck to you." Gunther nodded. "Don't force it. If the creature refuses to obey or make a deal, let it go. With your access to resources, it should be no trouble to try again when you've gained more mastery."

"Thanks, Gunther."

"No worries, and thank you for taking care of Alesia—"

"Who's taking care of WHO?!" Alesia shouted from the couch, ready for round two.

The LRM Device whined down.

All that was left was to train, spar, and study.

Nagaland.

Jade Palace.

Ruxin wondered what he should do next.

He was bored, and therefore, he felt cheated.

The reason for his ambivalence was because his treasury was empty.

And yet, he possessed more "wealth" than in any moment of his five centuries of life. The predicament was that his "treasure" was now a string of human-numbers on a data slate.

"My Lord, the procurement of Crystals will take close to a decade, else we shall drive up the price of your desired elemental crystals recklessly," Marong had informed him. "While I stockpile the necessary jadeite and nephrite, rest assured that your earnings have been invested. It's split between The House of M's jade venture, primary industries and the Centurion program. Furthermore, I have taken the liberty of inviting you to sit on the Board. The Grey Faction has consented..."

Ruxin paced back and forth in the near-empty vault as he ruminated over Marong's report.

A week ago, as tit-for-tat for the Spirit Cores, the Calamity had delivered a proposal of such ruthless tyranny that even Ruxin felt bedazzled. What their young financier had proposed in a two-hundred-page document was something called commodity monopoly in conjunction with supply capture and superficial-constraint. As Kachin produced the best jadeite and nephrite bar none, she explained, they would set the classification of the precious mineral. Simultaneously, through its auction network, The House of M would hoard all higher-grade jade while weakening foreign markets with lower-tier stones sold at cost.

Then, they would trade "Kachin Jade" as a branded commodity by propagating the idea that New Zealand greenstone and Vietnamese serpent stone were inferior facsimiles. Accordingly, when Yangon's monopoly matured, the rarity of high and hyper-tier stones would fetch higher barter value for the crystals Ruxin desired. Furthermore, regulation capture could be enacted through feeding officials a slice of the profit- paid in jade- which would naturally ensure loyalty to the system established by the House of M.

All of which were concepts that escaped Ruxin's understanding of human economics.

That, and against the girl's knowledge, Ruxin double-dipped from her longterm investments in Tonglv, as well as the ever-swelling income from the Centurion program.

The result was far grander than Ruxin had anticipated. Rather than razing cities and demanding ransom, these humans would race one another to pile crystals into his treasury. Where he had expected to be fighting powerful beings, he now sat on his throne, reading the paperwork and waiting for his crystals to arrive. It was a most un-dragon-like activity, one that he had engineered.

He wondered if this was why his father slept all the time.

"Gwen Song…" Ruxin felt a troubling uncertainty. "Calamity…"

Once more, he 'owed' the girl, for their exchange had grown askew. As the girl said, she liked balanced accounts, and so did Ruxin. He would have to find something else to give her. Thankfully, he had a layabout brother to spare.

"I am bored," Ruxin confessed to the empty room. He needed what humans called a hobby. Maybe, he would tease Tika again; there's always sport in that.

Fifty kilometres from Shanghai, there existed a series of sandbar islands.

An old spell-testing ground, the islands existed just outside of the PLA superstructural Tower's coverage, forming a part of the Xima-Anshan archipelago, three hours travel by ship from Jinshan, Shanghai's southern-most metropolitan buildup.

The island was inhabited by friendly demi-humans who had long since adapted to living beside humanity, surviving by trading fish from the South China Sea. Though the Merman had a name for their home, human fishermen nonetheless labelled the rocky outcrop "Dawugui", meaning big turtle, while the bar of igneous rock was "Jifenjiao" or chicken-shit reef.

Though the Mermen protested the name; it was to no avail. Shanghai's Secretariat had no love for demi-humans from "Turd Island".

So it was that the Jifen-folk gathered at the turtle's most generous "turd" to witness a plot of human Mages poking at the fabric of reality with a short-stick.

"Here-ya-go!" A skinny female gave out cans of SPAM to the small Mermen children, watching with wide-eyed wonder as they retreated with their oiled palms back to their parents.

"You can speak our language?" Elder Lei-bup was surprised because the humans never spoke the Mermen's accented, gibbering tongue, a language as effective in water as it was on land.

"I suppose." The female appeared thrilled. Behind her, two senior Mages made Lei-bup nervous.

"What are you doing here?" Lei-bup demanded, feeling more confident that this human was reasonable. The female had fur the colour of charcoal, and her complexion was like the grubs one found in rotting logs. Watching her spindly limbs, Lei-bup felt unimpressed.

"We're working on a summoning, and my instructors said that this was a spell-testing ground…" the girl grinned. "Look, I'll minimise the damage, and compensate you for the temporary land lease, is there anything you need?"

In his fishy guts, Lei-bup sensed that a great opportunity had arrived.

"One hundred kilos of brown rice!" he boasted. "… and ten HDMs!"

"Done!" The gullible female struck out a hand, then passed over a currency card.

"Gurrp!" Lei-bup shook the fleshy appendage, gifting the human a handful of his thickest secretions.

"Gwen, what are you doing?" Walken watched his student traffic in trade with the local rabble.

"I am trying out the Ioun Stone." The girl returned to her place beside the two Magisters. Apart from Wen and Walken, there were also observers from both the PLA and the Pudong Towers. Thankfully, de Botton was uninvited, thanks to their fiasco, she had been ordered to stay within the Tower's range.

Instead, he focused on the spell he had spent the last week cramming into his student's head.

Summon Planar Ally (Variant)

Conjuration (6)

Casting Time: 220 Major, 22 Minor Incantation, Tier 6 Summoning Mandala

Range: N/A

Components: Somatic, Verbal, Glyph, Enchanter tier 6

Duration: N/A

A variation modified by Magister Eric Walken of Sydney. As with Planar Ally, the spell opens a portal into an Elemental Plane activated by the caster's Affinity via the accompanying Mandala. Upon completion, a being of a variable tier will manifest. Once conjured, negotiation with said being shall take place. The maximum time allotment is dependent on the expertise of the accompanying Enchanter inscribing the Glyph. Magister Walken's variation allows for higher tiers of control than the original. For additional theoretical framework, please consult the documentation for Schliersberg's Planar Ally.

To provide context for the spell, he had extolled the work of Magister Derik Schliersberg, a renowned summoner. Schliersberg's family attended the region of the Schliersee Mountains, now a Green Zone of immense agricultural value. In his youth, as a passionate anthropologist, Schliersberg had travelled the known world, collating data on cultures that worshipped primal Spirits and Elemental Gods. In 1937, he finalised the first Spellcraft variation of Planar Ally, allowing Western Mages with no history of Spiritual worship to entrap and commune with Elemental beings. Since the spell's conception, notable episodes in the Pan-European conflict, the Sino Conflict, the Sino-American War over Hawaii and the Indochina Conflict had elevated its esteem. When Magister Schliersberg reached the end of his life in 1984, a posthumous title of Meister was granted.

Walken's student had devoured the spell's history with keen interest, though one caveat remained. As a part of the summoning ritual, the Conjurer was required to visualise the type of beings they desired to call. If a Conjurer served the Vatican, then something with white wings was almost assured. If one's shamanistic faith worshipped one-eyed fire Gods, then that's what one got.

"Your Kurchatov's pentagram is flawed," Wen snapped at Petra, waking Walken from his work. "Pay attention to the Glyph, not to your cousin's dilly-dally with the local fish."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Walken had to admit that when Wen was at work, she was impressive. There was a commitment and dedication there that few people could attain even if they had the talent and the imagination.

His job, conversely, was etching the Mandala with materials Gwen had acquired from Marong and the House of M. For materials, they had spared no expense. Hyper-tier materials from the ichor of an Evil-Eye, mithril from Dwarven Bavaria and palladium from Ethiopia had all been paid for by his student's seemingly endless capacity to generate wealth. Additionally, he had instructed Wen to implement a purge function.

For both himself and Wen, as well as other invested parties, the choice of Planar Ally was two-fold. First, they were interested to know what exactly existed in the Void and what someone of her reputation could call forth. Secondly, a Planar Ally was a force-multiplier against opponents that are arguably far more skilful, proficient, powerful and learned than herself.

"Gwen, we're ready." Walken straightened his back with an audible groan. "There's got to be a better way than lying on a levitation platform. I don't remember it being this hard." `

The finished Mandala was enormous. It was etched out on the beaten sandstone, a little larger than the size of a tennis court. For his student, Walken had spared none of her expense.

"Petra!" Wen called out. "Inject the mana crystals!"

From higher up on the hill, Petra materialised a crate of high-density mana crystals and placed them into a ring of glyphs leading away from the actual Glyph-structure. Walken watched as a line of raw mana turned the array a brilliant silver.

"The re-summoning Mandala is much simpler," he assured his student. "Inscribing it will raise your proficiency with Enchantment as well."

"Great." His student took a deep breath. "What should I expect?"

"You're Kilroy's student." Walken's eyes twinkled. "Surprise me?"

"Alright." Gwen stepped into the portion of the circle made for her protection. "Prepare to be surprised."

"It's coming!" Wen called out to Walken as the Mandala lit up like a torch. "What do you think she'll summon?"

"Something draconic, I bet." Walken could feel his heart pounding in anticipation.

Within the summoning chamber, a lightning-flare burst over the rune-etched landscape, materialising into a majestic shape.

"It's draconic!" Walken shouted over the crackling thunder.

"Beautiful!" Wen was likewise impressed. "It looks at least tier 10, maybe higher."

The light faded, first revealing a crowned ridge of ivory and bone, followed by a long, serpentine neck armoured with interlocking plates. At its base, a powerful chest linking two enormous bat-wings joined a robust torso held up by tree-trunk legs armoured in azure, ending with a spiked tail.

"Eric," Wen remarked to the agape Walken. "Does that wyvern look familiar to you?"

Gwen felt a gut-tingling sense of foreshadowing when she pumped her conduits full of Essence and Lightning. According to her instructors, the space-time magic would tear into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning to bring forth a suitably robust, and most importantly, intelligent, creature, one capable of bargaining.

Instead, what materialised was a sight she had not expected to see for some time, one that was infeasible, considering her spell's objective.

With the hysterical electricity faded, Golos landed in the Summoning Mandala.

"…" The Wyvern stared at the girl summoner.

"… Yo." She waved. "Fancy seeing you again. Why are you here?"

"Hmmph!" Golos exhaled motes of lightning. "Ruxin says he is indebted to you, and therefore, I am indebted to you."

"And what debt is that?" She cocked her head.

"... "

"Suit yourself." Gwen respected the Wyvern's sulky silence, realising he may be referring to her returned 'favour'. Mayuree's brother had been very forthcoming in stating that their new landed neighbour had tasked him to enrich the north's resources. To ensure that the House of M did not suffer, she had thought up a ploy involving a Jade monopoly. In her old world, this was impossible due to the turmoil in Burma. In this world, with Ruxin as a backer, a few decades of De Beer style monopoly with the House of M at the helm should be manageable.

Gwen raised a hand. "What's your price?"

"To repay Ruxin."

"I don't think that's for me to decide," she replied. "Did Ruxin say how long your servitude should last? I mean, how the hell did you even get here?"

"Ruxin has his ways," Golos stated contemptuously. In the next moment, his gaze wandered. "Hmm, you have readied snacks? I could eat."

"Snacks?" Gwen turned to her right, following Golos' gaze. There, she saw Elder Lei-bup and a dozen Mermen warriors, shitting themselves while half-paralysed by the wave of dragon-fear radiating from Golos' body. "No. Those are not snacks. They're people. Golos. Not snacks."

"Hee, you cannot deny me!" Golo strode forward, then ran smack-bang into the wall of force. There was a moment of incredulous confusion before the Wyvern grew wrathful. "You dare ENSNARE me? I am no summoned wyrm!"

"And why not? You're literally in my summoning circle!" Gwen spat back at Golos, irked by the Wyvern's ego. Golos was going to be one useless ally if he couldn't even follow orders. "If Ruxin says you'll obey me, what's the problem?"

"Impudent!" Golos growled, then let loose a line of lightning from its jaws to dash against the barrier.

"You want to be in debt to Ruxin forever?!" Gwen fired back.

"Ruxin marked me so that I would come to you," Golos growled, its beady eyes malicious and cunning. "And so I have! Each time you call, I shall come to you, and no more! Hahaha!"

"Golos, you're as thick as a log!" Gwen raised her voice. "Go back and tell Ruxin to send me a properly trained dog!"

"ROAR!" Golos smashed itself against the barrier. "Enough! You are not the master of me!"

"Oh, is that how it is?" Gwen snapped her finger, calling for Caliban.

"SHAA!" Caliban was ready for more draconic adventures.

"FOOL!" the Wyvern howled, smothering the interior of the barrier with blue-white lightning. Its scales fulminated with retina-searing discharge. "I have grown! Never again shall your beast best me!"

The ground shook, but the barrier held. Dragon-fear rippled out like a concentric wave, setting Walken and Wen to activate their Shields. Above, Petra and their PLA and Pudong observers circulated magic to resist the mind-numbing, pants-soiling horror spread by a primordial predator that had hunted man since the age of sticks and stones. Elder Lei-bup frothed at the mouth.

"I think that thing's a tad above tier 11," Walken remarked, borrowing Draconic-Essence from his familiar. Besides him, Wen kept herself lucid through her Mineral mana, scarcely believing that Gwen was having a shouting match with a bus-sized drake.

"How is it possible that she knows such a being by name?" Wen demanded, bewildered by the sight of their student's passionate haggling. "And speaking in Draconic?"

"They met in Burma," Walken replied. "And Gwen's acquired a new Translation Stone from Alesia de Botton, one originally made for Henry Kilroy."

"Impressive," Wen muttered. "Does this drake desire HDMs? They are hoarders, are they not?"

"I think this one might have other things on its mind," Walken observed.

"How is she going to tame it then?"

"Not sure." Walken squinted against the light, his hand resting against the purging Glyph. "I am sure she'll figure something out."

Golos wasn't an actual dragon, but as a scion of the Yinglong, he'd always considered himself above his kin that crawled along the ground or swam in the sea. Though he saw the female as almost his equal, he had never dreamt of serving as her subordinate.

"Brother, I have a task for you. Go and aid my investment. Keep her safe."

Golos dared not show displeasure to his brother, but in front of this mewling girl, he would bare his fangs to his heart's content! How dare she! What had she done to capture Ruxin's favour? For his brother, a scion of their great father, to possess an interest in the girl! It was unfathomable that he, Golos, a princeling of Huangshan, was less useful than some whelp barely out of her egg.

And to trap him in a cage, no different to some common elemental! Threaten him with her black beast! Golos' tail twitched; his shame and anger boiled over, filling the air with the stink of ozone. "I have grown! Never again shall your beast best me!"

"Look, forget about Ruxin for a second, what do you want?" The female's tone softened. "HDMs? I'll give you thousands, tens of thousands. Gems? Precious metal? Do you want SPAM? I can ship it by the ton."

Looking around, Golos noticed that many human Mages were watching. If so, then the girl must be in an exhibition of some sort. Golos knew he wasn't smart like Ruxin, but he recognised leverage when he saw it.

"Hehe…" He slithered an enormous, arm-thick tongue from his grinning maw. What did he want? His nostrils flared. The girl's scent was delicious, possessed of something far older and purer than even his father. Unbidden, Golos felt himself drooling over the unsoiled Essence. If he could taste it, then he would grow more powerful yet. "First, I would like some seafood, then, I want…"

"No, and NO," his victim rebuffed his advance, her eyes grew offended. "Now you're dreaming, big guy."

"You'll have to trust that I'll be delicate." Golos turned on what Ruxin referred to as his unique charm. "You're strong. You'll survive."

"No means no." The girl flushed. Golos inhaled the pheromones falling off her like the fragrance of flowers. It was so thick and heavy that even for a being of Golos' magnitude, it was making his head spin.

"Last chance..." Golos leered, confident that the girl was sure to capitulate.

"You know what?" his victim hugged herself as her expression grew icy. "I know how to deal with rude bastards like you."

Indeed, Gwen knew how to deal with rebellious Familiars.

She was beside two instructors, a summoning circle and a creature in the bag- how could she not feel nostalgic?

"Eric! I am starting the second summon!" she called out to her instructor.

"What!? That's insane!" Walken called back. "It can't be done!"

"It can!" Wen's eyes gleamed, suddenly realising the girls' game. "Are you going to use a Void Beast to quash the Thunder Wyvern?"

"Preposterous!" Walken interrupted his colleague. "The barrier…"

"…Will hold." Wen's eyes were aflame with zeal. "Walken, I need to see this."

Walken stared into the researcher's semi-transparent, Mineral-tainted orbs. "Give me control of the termination Glyph."

Wen passed over her half of the Glyph.

Walken made the gesture to proceed.

"Petra!" Wen Messaged her apprentice.

When another cache worth a thousand HDMs entered the Mandala's circuits. A clamour of surprise broke out over the observers watching from a distance.

"Golos, if you don't want to be stuck with a building-sized Caliban, now's your chance. Quash your pride, then fight for me."

"Ha!" the Wyvern scoffed at her. "I shall destroy this thing you summon! You will lose everything, and then I shall return to Ruxin and inform him of your incompetence."

"Fine, have it your way." Gwen stepped back. Caliban joined its master in the protected summoning circle.

She began with the Major Incantations, her fingers drawing light-consuming Glyphs in the air as Void mana flooded her conduits. Thanks to her acquisition of the Blue Zircon, the initial hit of the Negative Energy felt blunted. Combined with her Essence, there was a significant increase in the efficacy of her Void-craft.

"... Yog-Sothoth! Key to the gate where the spheres conjoin! Lä! Master of the Thousand Young..."

According to Walken, to conjure an Elemental, she had to have ample knowledge of that which resided within the primordial energies of the quasi-realms. Golos had ruined her plans for a Coatl, but what of the Void? Who knew what the Void held? Caliban Delux? Her Void-beast didn't even have a physical form! If so, Gwen found herself with an unusual hypothesis. What if she could summon something that was fiction? What suited Caliban more than Lovecraft's twisted horrors? She had already drawn upon the author many times, whether to frighten Jun, or to shape her Elemental Swarm, albeit in that instance, she got lamprey-leeches, not goats, but still, it had worked.

"... Lä! Shub-Niggurath! Lä! Master of the woods that wend! I conjure thee! Planar Ally!"

As for Golos, Gwen had a pretty good idea what the Wyvern wanted, and there was no way in hell she was going to give that up. Who the hell did Golos think he was? A Demi-God sovereign of three frontiers? Not even a dinner-date? The guy can't even polymorph properly.

She licked her drying lips.

Soon, she would know whether her will shaped the Void, or whether it had a will of its own - either way, the stupendously arrogant Golos would bend the knee.

"HOLY HELL, WHAT IN CHRIST'S NAME IS THAT?" Walken knew he was in no danger, but put up a cursory barrier anyway.

Something was coming through the uppermost quadrant of the Summoning circle, slithering into being via a tiny corner of corroded air, growing larger by the second.

"It's a Void Being!" Wen commanded Petra to record the image while she furiously tallied the diagnostics. "My God! It's eating up the barrier's mana!"

An obsidian tentacle oozed through, obfuscated by the vivid fluctuation of eldritch energies.

"Petra! More Crystals!" Walken called out. "Gwen!"

"I am in control!" Gwen shouted back. "Keep the barrier up!"

CRACK!

A line of fulminating lightning erupted from Golos' jaws, obliterating the emerging mass from existence.

"SHAAA!" Caliban burst into song. "SHAAA! SHAAA!"

Squelch...

A tenebrous, inky gloop drooled through the invisible ceiling, resembling a monochromatic placenta.

"ROAR!" Another line of lightning eradicated the tear. Golos panted. He was a half-blood, and the impurity of his heritage limited his ability to use dragon-breath continuously.

But the Wyvern's efforts were futile. New intrusions rapidly grew until the cylindrical barrier's uppermost layer turned midnight, dispelling all heat.

"Ho boy." Gwen retrieved a bottle of Maotai and began to chug the contents like a mana potion. Concurrently, she dropped to the floor three Spellcubes chocked full of high-tier Restorations, prepared by Petra. Now that she had Enchantment as one of her schools, she could remotely trigger the spells.

"Is your vitality low?" sounded a Message from Petra.

"For contingencies," Gwen replied. "I caught a big bastard."

"This is history, Gwen. You're making history right now." Wen hijacked their conversation. "Focus! Don't let it slip away."

What her instructor meant was that she was going to make history, though Gwen took the Magister's advice to heart. Redoubling her focus, she continued to stream her Void Mana into the Summoning Mandala.

"GOLOS! Do you yield?!" she called out. "Or do you want to road-test The Thing?"

If a lizard could blanch, Golos probably would have grown lighter in hue.

"I shall crush your thing!" Golos croaked, steadfast in its arrogance, possessing more pride than sense. "Do your worst!"

"SHAA!" Caliban chorused whole-heartedly. "SHAA! SHAA!"

Gwen closed her eyes and did her best to will forth her best recollection. Yog-Sothoth was the gate and Shub-Niggurath, the mate; the two were well rounded as a pair, and not maliciously minded, a least toward inconsequential humans. As for what now spawned, her only wish was that it flew.

Above the summoning circle, the darkness began to swirl, forming a portal of sorts.

"IT'S COMING!" Wen's voice possessed the shrillness of a strangled cat. "By God! She's doing it!"

A crow-black entity descended, leading the way with a rupture of innumerable feelers, each beetle-black and clad in ooze, puckering with tentacle-pink suckers resembling lampreys' maws.

WHAM!

Golos slammed its spiked tail against the thing, shattering a hundred appendages and splattering the walls with tenebrous ink.

"HA!" the Wyvern howled, crouching to ready another strike. "Weak!"

The bulbous portion of the undulating globule now entered the material plane, swallowing all light and drawing the energies of the barrier into itself at an astounding rate. With each mote of Gwen's vitality, it grew larger, heavier-seeming, and more grotesque as strange boils and pustules bubbled at the surface, birthing agglutinations that hung from its bottom, resisting the call of gravity.

A Shoggoth? Gwen wondered. Or at least, a viscous facsimile.

The clamouring from the spectators grew to a feverish pitch.

"Is that…" Walken blinked twice, then ran a passive self-diagnosis to ensure that he did not delude his own eyes. "The BLACK SUN?"

"It has to be!" Wen looked as though she was about to dance a jig. "The great mystery! So that's what it was! We have to test it! We have to feed it!"

"Back! You black brute of the Unformed Land!" Golos barked, evidently growing warier. "Calamity! Why do you call this abomination?!"

There was no response from his Summoner. The moment the dark sphere had appeared, Gwen's mind delved into the darkness of the thing that spawned inside her barrier. Like Caliban, though the Void-being possessed no intelligible thought, she could feel its demands through the empathic link.

What do you want? She questioned the thing, using her worm as a template. What are you?

Hunger.

Hunger.

Hunger.

Do you wish to be made flesh?

Serve me, and I shall feed you.

Eat.

Eat.

EAT.

"GWEN!" came Walken's appeal from the fabric of reality. When she came to, she beheld a howling Golos half covered in the black-goo. He was snapping and tearing at the tendrils, but like an Exxon Mobile oil spill, the bubbling protoplasm was vigorously mating with his proud body.

"CALAMITY!" Golos discharged a Wyvern-wide AoE.

A sharp, stabbing pain pierced Gwen's swollen brain.

"SHAAA!" Caliban writhed below her feet.

HUNGRY!

A call echoed in the Astral space of her Mage Soul. A weakness ran up her leg and through her vertebrae as her vitality fed into the summoning circle, fuelling the existent void-energies ravaging the barrier.

Obey me. Gwen focused her will once more. Obey, and I shall feed you.

The inky-mass dropped.

"MORE CRYSTALS!" Both Wen and Walken called out to Petra as she ran to the next node.

Gwen gnashed her pearly teeth, sending back her clearest vision of Caliban growing fat after a fresh kill. She had ample evidence that the ball was a mass of hunger, a primordial appetite. If so, there was only one way to negotiate.

With a glance and a gesture, she activated a Spellcube.

Expertly manipulating the oppositional energy, she sent the entirety of Petra's Restoration into the Shoggoth.

"Golos! How about now?" She had not forgotten about the Wyvern.

"NEVER!" Golos howled, chomping at the dark sphere with furious futility as its tendrils once again molested its lightning-clad carapace, heedless of the suckers that burned and spluttered.

Gwen growled. Golos was more obstinate than she thought. She didn't want to traumatise Ruxin's unruly brother, but the Wyvern had to be pounded into shape, and the Void-Beast was her hammer.

Smoothing her hair, she quickly activated a second Spellcube.

"Eat!" she commanded the maybe-Shoggoth to make her Wyvern yield.

A flood of vitality escaped her torso, nourishing the bloating sphere of engorged flesh.

"The barrier's failing!" Walken's voice came through. "I am killing it!"

"NO!" she shouted back. "A little more!"

"You're crazy!"

"Listen to Gwen!" Wen shored up the Mandala with a series of quick incantations. "Keep the barrier going for as long as possible! We need this!"

"The risk is too high!" Walken hissed. "God damn it, Gwen!"

His student's response was to pop her last Spellcube. "A minute! Half a minute!"

Abruptly, there was a sound of soft silk ripping in twain. Her vitality tanked, warning her of the creature's indiscriminate hunger.

A gash appeared on the tenebrous sphere.

A splash of grey goo fell over Golos' chromatic scales; then an enormous eye blinked open. An eyeball the size of a small building was now staring into the material world, taking in all its glory. Its six-meter pupil was black-on-black, surrounding a centre that may very well be a portal into the infinite realm of the Void, ringed by concentric circles of bruised purple. Around the iris, the sclera was ivory and slick, milky and writhing with unnamable things just below the surface.

The world grew suddenly silent.

Even the lull of the ocean seemed muted.

"Shaa-Shaa-Shaa..."

Thankfully, the sound came from Caliban, sweating goo from its body like a self-desiccating blood worm.

The eye turned, its aberrant form beholding all that it surveyed.

If the hunger it had earlier demonstrated was a stream, what it now channelled into Gwen's mind was a mighty, raging river swallowing all that it touched. She tried to move, to fight its will, but what flooded her head numbed all thought. The vitality from the third Spellcube disappeared in a wink as she fell to one knee, gasping for air.

"You win." Golos' voice broke the silken silence. He politely knocked on the barrier. "Get me out of here."

The final component of Planar Ally activated.

The Mandala burst into brilliant flames as its remaining ingredients ignited, clinching the compromise between the Summoner and her creatures.

Within her mind, Gwen could sense the power of its contract linking her to Golos' Astral Soul, and presumably, the one-eyed Shoggoth. At the same time, she knew that no amount of her Essence nor vitality would ever satisfy the Void-being.

If and when she called upon it again, it would feed until she dismissed it.

"PURGE!"

Walken activated the contingency Glyph, setting into motion rapid injections of mana that would quickly disrupt the pocket-space within the Mandala, ensuring its collapse and the return of its summoned residents back to their native realms.

"I'll call you," Gwen promised Golos as the Shoggoth began to fade, feeling the eye's tyrannical oppression disappear. Soon, nought but ankle-deep sludge and a dozen twitching tentacles remained. "Tell Ruxin to pass on an inventory of what you desire. No hard feelings, eh?"

Golos waited for the magic-circle to burn out.

When the last mote fizzled, he stared at her, and she stared back.

"Wow," Gwen awkwardly remarked. "You're still here."

"I am no mere Elemental." Golos' eyes grew suddenly cruel. He rose to his full height, bringing his clubbed tail to bear. "Prepare to suffer!"

"Ahaha, oh shit…" Gwen gestured to Walken and Wen to back her up. Around her legs, Caliban readied itself to be its master's shield. "We made a deal, remember? Don't forget, you've got Ruxin's orders, and I've got your consent. You're my guy, right?"

"A dragon shall not broker deals with puny mortals!" Golos' snubbed her. "Your feeble magic cannot bind me!"

"Do you mean to renege?" Gwen readied a shield. Now was a good time to see if that diamond-barrier worked. "If death or dishonour is preferable, then I suppose—"

CRACK!

A line of lightning, thicker than Gwen's entire body, fell from the sky as though a pillar of light, striking Golos across the face, punching his head so hard that his snout dug into the bubbling sandstone-turned-glass.

Gwen looked toward Walken.

Walken shook his head. "Not me."

Gwen looked up at the clear blue sky.

Golos lifted its chin, then coughed up a mouthful of sand.

"What was that?" Gwen asked.

"A scion of the Yinglong cannot go back on their word…" Golos sullenly mumbled under its breath. "Brother sends his greetings."

The disparity between the brothers was heaven and hell! Exhaling with relief, Gwen reminded herself to send the Demi-God dragon a suitable gift in the future. "If its all the same to you, Golos, I would like us to work together. Like when we fought the Naga. That was fun, right? I didn't leave you to die, and we both profited. Our working relationship doesn't need to be unpleasant. Here..."

With great effort, she exercised what remained of Almudj's Essence onto her palm. "Shake on it?"

Golos crouched in low.

"You think that a tiny mote of Essence like that will..."

An enormous pink appendage wrapped her hand.

"Hmm..." Golos licked its chops contemplatively, its ice-blue eyes rolled to the back to the back of its skull. "It's sweet... HMMPH!"

With a great bell-beat of wings, the Wyvern ascended.

"YO! Are we cool?!"

"Only if you satisfy me!" came the voice from the draconic-beast as it unfurled the impressive length of its full form, shaking off the gooey slop like a murderous, winged Clifford, splatting Gwen, Walken and Wen all over.

Upon the hill, the gathered Mages watched as Wyvern menaced the girl before turning to the inhabitants of the island with voracious scrutiny.

"Golos, NO. They're wearing pants, for God's sake." The girl stood between the Thunder Wyvern and the quivering Mermen. "Can't you eat one of Ryxi's goats? Huangshan's close, right?"

To their shock, the monster turned, growled, then lifted into the air.

"Call me sparingly! I am busy!"

A second later, it was a mere speck in the distance.

"That went well." Gwen carefully lowered herself to the floor before resting on her buttocks, not even caring that she was most unladylike. She felt drained, spiritually, physically and mentally. Golos had a strong will, and it was only the suppression of her Almudj's Essence against his imperfect draconic-soul that had sealed the deal.

Additionally, who'd have thought she could pull a one-eyed mass of hunger from the Void? Innately she knew it was in no way comparable to Sobel's Black Sun, though its appetite was true to the Void's characteristics.

"In hindsight." Walken approached, soaked from head to chest with void-goo and Wyvern-spittle. "I think that could have gone a lot worse…"

"Petra! Get down here and give me a hand!"

Not far, Wen selflessly leapt into the goo-sloshed Mandala, wading ankle-deep through gloop.

"Stasis! Stasis! Stasis! OH! Stasis!"

She happily packed every spare tentacle and tendril that Golos had severed from the Shoggoth.

Walken exhaled with wonder. "… see that? Now that's the sort of mental fortitude that makes a Meister."

Unanimously, the committee that oversaw Gwen's Planar Allies labelled her Void "Ally" a Class VI restricted manifestation. It meant that she could not summon the creature without permission from a Tower Arbitrator, and never in a tier 1 city. Until the Void Creature was thoroughly studied, it would remain classified, conjured only to further man's knowledge of Spellcraft.

As for Golos, the Tower committee requested an interview before the spell could be deemed feasible for the competition, to which Gwen reassured them of the Wyvern's grudging obedience, then redirected their doubts toward Ruxin and Ayxin. Unfortunately, considering the bureaucracy involved, the likelihood of her having her Void Ally in time for the first match was close to nil.

"Two steps forward, and one step back," Walken remarked with a tone of apology. "I am afraid it happens."

"It's okay," Gwen denied her instructor's fault. "I don't mind."

"These rulings are just formalities and conveniences." Walken's next advice came in the form of an evil whisper. "If necessity calls, forget the sanction. I've left Petra with five sets of Mandala ingredients. If someone is after your life, let the Black Sun or the Wyvern deal with them."

"I still don't think that's the Black Sun."

"How about an Evil-Eye?" Walken remarked, referring to the one-eyed monsters that roomed subterranean caverns. "Void-Eye - that fits the bill."

How about Shoggoth? Gwen remarked privately.

"Speaking of regulations, is everything going to be cool with those guys?" Gwen glanced at the Magisters from the Towers as they bathed Wen with attention.

"Well, if they want to censure your craft." Walken's expression changed to one of schadenfreude. "Then complain to Gunther, that's what the fastest spell-slinger in the west is for, ain't it?"

Night.

Lei-bup gathered his tribe.

He was feeling a little crazy, but that, in his humble opinion, was a good thing.

He had been touched by divinity, and he knew it.

When the Wyvern had wanted to eat them, it was the God summoned by the pale human sorceress who had cowed it.

Lei-bup recalled the invocation vividly.

Yog-Sothoth! The key to the gate where the spheres conjoin.

And La-Shub-Niggurath! Master of the woods that wend!

Existences that Lei-bup was sure were the salvation of his oppressed people.

Though the humans had left, the evidence of their Mandala, their magic, remained on his island, along with their discarded bottles, wrappers, and bits of uneaten food. When he ordered his tribe to scour the area, they had even recovered a bit of still-writhing tentacle that had dug into the earth.

Lei-bup incoherently gibbered as he wept salty tears of spiritual rapture.

From this night forth, he and his fishy-kin shall worship nought but the One-Eyed God and its priestess of pale flesh!

Four days later, Fudan received the details of their next match.

"You'll be going to Cuzco," the Dean announced to the group after they assembled in his office. "Magister Walken and a contingent of examiners from Brussels will chaperone your journey. South America does not yet possess a Superstructural Inter-state Teleportation Circle, so it's going to be a long trip."

"So rushed!" Gwen hesitated at the untimely news. "AND our opponents have home ground?"

"Compared to us, who will be travelling non-stop for ten days." Richard frowned. "I presume, sir, that we will be taking the PLA Tower's S-ISTIC to Hawaii, then boarding a shipping freighter to Lima, then use their ISTC To reach Cusco?"

"Indeed. Well done." The Dean was impressed by Prince's alumni as usual. "As it were, we shall be updating your Multi-Pass Adventuring Permits for the Americans. Remember, the American continents fall outside the control of the Mageocracy. I'll need you all to stay out of trouble while you're waiting on your ship."

"Yessir!" the group answered.

"Gwen?" The Dean singled out their sorceress. "Am I clear? No unnecessary trouble."

Gwen blinked innocently as to suggest she would never amount to such atrocities. "None, whatsoever, sir!"

The rest of Fudan's team chuckled.

"Now go and pack!"

"Yessir!"

Outside the office, Gwen caught Richard by the arm.

"Dick, what's Hawaii like?"

"Verdant paradise, golden beaches, an active volcano, lots of Magma-aligned monsters, Mermen by the horde."

"How about resorts? Any good beaches?" Her eyes sparkled. "God, I miss the beaches."

"Gwen, what are you thinking? Beaches are annoying. There's too much sand, and it gets everywhere." Lulan paused to challenge a girl who grew up close to Cronulla, and who had spent her alter-teens hawking icy-pops at Bondi.

"Surf! Sun! Skin! Sand!" Gwen blurted out, suddenly longing to dig her toes into the surf. How long had it been since she napped under the sun? "And a good tan!"

Barring Richard, her companions took their pale-skinned companion's praise of the seaside with a pinch of salt. In Asia, fair and flawless skin was a highly desirable symbol of status. Who would actively venture into the sun so that they appeared like a peasant labourer?

"And swimsuits." Gwen wrapped a hand around Petra's waist, making her cousin blush, then winked at the trio of boys in their competitive retinue. "Imagine it, seven girls and three guys..."

"YES!" Anita punched the air. "Oh, yes!"

Jiro's orbs lit up like twin stars.

"Jiro." Bai patted the Fire Mage on the shoulder. "Your fire is sparking."

The United States of America.

Though the match was set in Cuzco, it was the elephant in the room that Gwen wished to address. In this world where Russia was principally Black Zones, and China trafficked in dragons, could the US remain a global hegemon?

To find answers, she decided to trawl the bookshops, hoping to pick up a Lonely Planet or a Frommer's. Her knowledge of the States, assuming the United States existed in the form she knew, was woefully insufficient. As a Frontier bumpkin, her education provided no information on the American continents, and Henry had never prioritised the region in his lessons.

At Xinhua, the state-owned bookshop, she accosted a clerk about her enquiry. After becoming book-wrecked on an island of hypercritical propaganda, they arrived at the children's section.

"Perhaps you could try Fudan's library?" The clerk hid a smirk. "I've never heard of a traveller's guide. For a thrilling read, I do have some Dungeoneering autobiographies if you're interested."

In contrary to the clerk's oblivious advice, Gwen desired a lite account of American history, its customs and its people. She didn't need a four-hundred-page treaty on the "Post-War Impacts of US Intervention during the Sino Crisis, Volume II, The Journal of Asia-Pacific History, PRC Press, 1998" or "The Capitalist Incubi, by Lee Wang Suu."

Instead, she picked up "The Illustrated History of America".

"This will do, cheers." She smiled attractively. "May I have a browse?"

"Absolutely." The clerk beamed. "Take your time."

She took to a couch, then spread the book against her thighs. To her delight, it was relatively comprehensive. To her chagrin, the publisher was the National People's Press.

After the title page, she found a map of North America, just as she recollected. At its northernmost edge lay the Canadian border; opposite, at the southernmost tip was Meso-Amerca. Outside the chart, floating like two dislocated islands, were Alaska and Hawaii.

"The United States of America consist of the East and West Coasts. It is a nation of capitalists who built their homes on the backs of the proletariat."

Stunned, she checked the back page of the hardcover.

"Suitable for Ages 3 - 11."

She continued.

"The United States brought many things to the world: The Automobile. The Lumen Caster. The Ether Engine. The Mobile Message Device. Data Slates. It remains the global seat of entrepreneurship and free-market capitalism."

The accompanying image was low-key 90's Reader's Digest. It held a collage of disembodied faces such as Jonathan Gilt, Elric Edison, Henrik Kaiser, Henry Ford and George Eastman. Each of the inventors hovered next to their inventions: the Ether Engine, the mana-relay, the freight-ship, the personal automobile, and the lumen-recorder.

She turned the page.

"The USA began as thirteen colonies of pilgrims who escaped England's persecution. They set up their new home in a continent called the New World, inhabited by the Native Americans."

There was a picture of surprised Native Americans staring at a fleet of ships. Labels like the Cherokee, the Sioux, the Apache were attached to painted faces wearing feathered headdresses.

"Though the pilgrims escaped the greed of their King, they continued the colonial greed of the Mageocracy. They chased away the Native People with their faith-magic, and took the fertile earth as their own."

The accompanying image showed Pilgrims with bibles held high, calling upon spells of fire and light to hammer at the defenceless natives.

"A great plague, brought by the Pilgrims, soon ravaged the Native population."

"Wow." The gruesome vision of carrion was impressive; it was as if the state-sanctioned artist had been there. She turned the page.

"As the colonies grew into cities, they wanted all the wealth of the New World for themselves, so they rebelled against England with the help of France."

The next page was a fantastic double-page of total war, titled "They fought; many died". The image had English Red-coat soldiers fleeing from spellbook-wielding Americans chasing them into the ocean. In the distance, French frigates set English ships ablaze with Fireballs.

"No longer subject to the Mageocracy's Laws, the Americans colonists enslaved the Native workers. Dissatisfied with one race, they enslaved the working people of Meso America. When the people perished, they travelled across the ocean to enslaved more of the proletariat."

An image of sad-looking black and brown people crowded like sardines in ships, lead by a Caucasian captain in blue and red, spoke loudly of the plight of the Pan-African proletariat. Were the matter not so morbid, Gwen would have laughed out loud at the anachronism.

"Then, a civil war broke out."

There was no explanation for the war. The double-spread, however, showed religiously attired Confederate soldiers in dusters, carrying wands as tall as themselves, backed by spell-book wielding Mages. They fought against the navy Union army; only the Unionists had slaves fighting on their side, curiously without magical implements.

"The Union united America."

She saw a chiselled Abraham Lincoln with Renaissance proportions, raising a flag atop a hill of corpses.

"The American President was assassinated by a prole, a non-magical dissident."

The image, sickeningly, showed old Abe falling from the box of a theatre, while behind him, a white man held a wand in one hand. Below, women screamed, and other men pointed their wands upwards.

There's a lot of magical wands, Gwen gulped. She had only seen this many wands in one place while in Singapore.

"Then a long peace."

The next page consisted of rebuilding, containing fair-skinned blonde women holding bountiful harvests of wheat and corn, while women of colour were depicted with bent-backs in cotton fields.

The next few pages progressed rapidly.

"The unending wars in Europe brought millions of people to America."

"America sold itself as the land of invention and enterprise. The American Dream was the idea that anyone, even NoMs, could find happiness in the New World."

"Instead, workers became exploited by America's great inventors. Oligarchs like Jonathan Gilt and Henry Ford used government regulations to build personal empires of continent-spanning wealth. A few men grew rich. A million men and women died."

The colour palette, Gwen realised, was growing increasingly dark.

"The proletariat wanted to unionise. The workers cried out for socialism."

The next image had a red star in the sky, shedding light on the faces of workers whose profiles were filthy from mining mana crystals.

"The peaceful revolution failed. The Oligarchs had become too powerful. The government represented only the interests of the wealthy, and the labourers had become too dumb and deaf to know their plight."

Depressingly, the last page was of soaring cities in white and neon, below which were the limp bodies of workers toiling in the dark of the factories.

"Who will speak for the silenced?"

That was the final page, accompanied by an artistic silhouette of Mao's side profile.

"Holy shit." Gwen breathed out. That was a heavy as all hell picture book. Who the hell published this crap for kids?

"I brought you some tea." The clerk returned. "Would you like to purchase the book?"

"Yes, I think I will." She sipped the lukewarm water. "Thank you."

At the Handan Campus, Gwen looked about her fellow students. Fudan had plenty of Korean, Japanese and European expatriates, but she had never seen anyone from the American continents.

Near the gate, after a quick flirt with a few reporters who wanted to know about their plans for South America, she Messaged the Dean.

"Why?" Luo demanded, suddenly suspicious. "Need I remind you that Hawaii belongs to a sovereign nation? There'll be an uproar! A continental war!"

After calming the Dean, she explained that she wanted the knowledge to avoid stepping on toes.

"..." There was an uncomfortable silence. "Right. Talk to James. I'll let him know you're coming."

A quarter of an hour later, she found James Ma at the Social Studies quadrangle.

"Come in."

The NoM professor's private study was quaint and quiet compared to the generous laboratories of Fudan's resident Magisters.

"Sir." She bowed. Though she and Ma were now colleagues, she wanted to maintain a cordial student-professor relationship while at Fudan. "I would like to know about the Americas for my upcoming visit to the continent."

"Ah yes, the Dean said as much." Ma pulled out a chair for his student. "You have my gratitude for looking after Alan. He has been very much traumatised by Magus de Botton's visit."

"It was the least I could do." Gwen inclined her head, tucking her hair behind one ear.

"As it were, I possess a few books on South American History, particularly on the rise of Tawantinsuyu, the Inca Empire." Ma pulled out several volumes from his bookshelf. "Do not misplace them."

"Thank you, sir." She stowed the texts in her ring.

"Just as well, since you're here, I'll answer any questions you might have. What do you want to know?"

"Politics and history of America; what to expect."

"North America, I hope, I know only as much about Cuzco as those books will tell you."

"That would be lovely. Hawaii is our first stop."

Ma retrieved a world-map from behind him, then opened the thick, note-bound volume until it reached North America.

"As with all history, context is everything." Ma paused to collect his thoughts. "To begin at the beginning, you must be aware that before the Beast Tide, our globe was a quieter place. The Mermen Kingdoms posed no threat to our shipping lanes. Magical beings, who had always existed, were largely dormant. Conversely, Human Spellcraft existed in its infancy. Men without magic were the standard. Mages were rare individuals, even if they occupied critical social niches, forming the upper political strata."

"Yes, I know."

"Good. America was, of course, a colony of the Imperial Britannic Mageocracy - not to be confused with the Commonwealth Mageocracy of today. During this colonial golden age, there was a tumultuous event that happened in Europe. Can you guess?"

"Oui! The French Revolution?"

"Yes. Well done." Ma seemed surprised. "Indeed, there was a revolution against the rule of Mages. Because NoMs so grossly outnumbered magic-users in Europe, the disparity culminated in the fall of the French Monarchy, ending with the execution of the French King and his family by NoM partisans. In response to dissent across the European continent, King George the Third declared the Equal Rights Concession in 1799. The law gave the right to life, liberty, property and employment to all non-Mage citizens. In 1801, the law became common."

Gwen nodded. She knew this, though not in so much detail.

"Myopically, the new rights did not apply to the Empire's Frontier citizens. The thirteen colonies thus declared independence from the Mageocracy in 1813, aided by the opportunistic French. After that, many long-suffering Europeans saw America as an opportunity to begin life anew in the New World. The Mages who left travelled via French and English frigates. NoMs travelled on desperate coffin ships."

"The next few decades saw an epoch of slavery, and after that, the Civil War. Internationally, however, until the late 1890s, the US remained dormant, quietly trading its surplus of food and magical materials. When the Spellcraft Revolution transpired between 1890 and 1910, the States tripled its production and trade capabilities. During this time, the USA exploded with entrepreneurship, lead by one Jonathan Gilt."

"Who is Jonathan Gilt?"

"An inventor, a philosopher, and a profiteer. Bit of an enigma, to be honest. He had no interest in government, thank Mao, though his invention, the Ether Engine, enabled a revolution in personal and public transportation, and he had many disciples. One of his protégés, Henry Ford, became the most influential Industrialist in the world. You could say that he even had a hand in the creation of Crystal Currency. Gilt was intensely opposed to any socialist intervention in the works of his fellow Industrialists. He famously stated that each man must live according to his means and that to provide for your fellow man is dishonest. He believed that humans were made unequal; therefore, the natural state of society was inequality. Curiously, he wasn't a warmonger. He believed that Man's purpose is to strive for rational progress. He extolled the virtue of the greatest profit for the greatest many; that the free market was democracy distilled."

Jonathan Gilt, Gwen whistled, committing the name to memory.

"Don't let the Party officials hear that." Ma laughed drily. "We're opposed to the Gilts and the Fords, at least officially. Now, to answer your question. In the 1920s, after the Great War against the Necromancers ended, America and its industries emerged the ultimate victor. You see, during the war, all the great names in Europe sent at least one branch family to the States to preserve the bloodline. In many cases, these scions never returned, having found success abroad while their siblings bled in the trenches. Like their predecessors, these new Mages broke free from the tradition thanks to the New World."

"Through to the 1930s, the restoration of Europe was another boon for the USA, showering its twin-coasts with skilled immigrants it unconditionally absorbed into its fold. The entrepreneurs who built its cities grew enormously wealthy during this time, riding on cheap labour and widespread exploitation of the starry-eyed proletariat."

"There was no progressive movement? No Great Depression? No Franklin D. Roosevelt?"

"Was he an Industrialist?" Her professor paused to collect his thoughts.

"Ah-" Gwen knew now where history had definitively diverged. How could there be a Great Depression without a stock market to crash? How could there be an economic crisis when currency grew in caves and on the plains? "I was confused. Please continue. What happened in the 1940s?"

"The 1940s saw the rise of two ideologies across Europe and Asia. Fascist-Imperialism and Communism. Conversely, the USA extolled the virtues of unfettered capitalism. When the USA joined the global conflict as a peace-keeper, it profited greatly on the Western Front, once again receiving an enormous wave of desperate and talented migrants."

"But it suffered against the Japanese in the Sino War. When the generals resorted to a costly war of attrition, the States infamously utilised the world's first Strategic-Class Spell of Mass-Destruction on Japanese soil, citing the preservation of human life and resource. After that, the USA secured its position as the world's foremost international power, at least until the Beast Tide."

"While reigning as a global hegemon, the US continued to garner power, drunk on the profits of human conflict." Ma scoffed. "The Pan-Pacific battle over Hawaii. The Meso-American Concession. The Massacre at Panama Canal. The Columbian Insurgency. American Banana Co. Its support of Japan and South Korea. Territorial disputes with the Mageocracy. Interventions in the Middle East on behalf of the Israelis. The persistent destabilisation of South America from the 1920s until 1971. It had a finger in every pot of rice."

"Finally, when the Tide occurred in 71, the USA suffered its first major set back."

Gwen accounted for the timeline in her head while Ma traced a finger around the entirety of the US continental map.

"After the Great Restoration, only the East and West Coast endured," Ma declared. "On the Pacific Coast, Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego remained firmly entrenched under human dominion. On the Atlantic Coast, Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Washington stemmed the Tide."

Ma drew a line across the middle with his finger.

"After the Reclamation, the damage remains. From Kootenai to Twin Falls - Orange Zone. From Reno to Black Rock - Black Zone. The entire Mississippi Delta - Black and Purple Zones. Of course, there exist Orange Zone enclaves like Oklahoma and New Orleans that thrived despite the uptick in Demi-humans and Magical Beasts. But, as with our fight against the Undead, much of Amerca's Frontiers remain generation-long struggles. The Mageocracy says that America may never be great again. The reasons are many. New Tenochtitlan is on the rise; the Native American Tribes are returning to their Spirit Lands; the Mageocracy is regaining its foothold. The rest of the world is no longer its Wild West."

"Still." Ma shrugged. "The USA remains absurdly wealthy. It may lack the history of China and Europe, but its primary industries are unrivalled. Likewise, I am sorry to say that they have no equal in Magi-tech."

"So, how wealthy are the States? Compared to say, China?"

Ma gave her an expectant look. "If you believe the tales, they tell us that every American Mage has a block of land to call his own and that even NoMs can own a two-bedroom house and an automobile."

"Ooo-" Gwen cooed. The American Dream, the flames may flicker, but it remains an immutable beacon. Even with dragons, the New World was a land of opportunities!

After a four-day media blitz, the team boarded a bus from Fudan and made for the superstructure at the heart of Shanghai.

The entrance, one of many, accessed an underground facility that processed the student's Multi-passes, after which an encircling tunnel led downwards. When finally the darkness cleared, the students found themselves travelling through a cavernous space lit-up to resemble the world outside.

A Geofront! Gwen plastered her face against the windowpane. A city-under-a-city!

She finally realised why the superstructure of the PLA Tower appeared so outlandish, like a distended, long-legged spider that brooded over a section of the city. As the surreal scene had established, the majority of its functional buildings remained buried underground.

"See that?" Petra pointed to a pool of light at the base of a pylon-like structure. From the cavern above, it stabbed into the earth like an obsidian sword. "That's the ley-line under Shanghai."

"Cool!" Gwen felt her understanding of Mage Towers renewed. Seeing was believing; though she had always known about ley-lines, Gwen had never expected to see one drawing mana from the earth in real-time.

At the end of the winding road, their coach was halted by NoM soldiers carrying powered shock-wands, dressed in the olive fatigue of the PLA. A Diviner ran a diagnostic device across the students as they disembarked to proceed on foot into the Tower's atrium.

From the front gate, the Tower appeared as an enormous stalactite connecting the ceiling and the central platform, making one wonder as to how the PLA Tower meant to translocate itself in an emergency. At the main entrance, a set of scissored barriers ten-meters in height and adorned at the centre by a glowing red star swallowed the visitors.

Within, the most salient sight in the enormous lobby was a benevolent statue of Mao Zedong. The Great Leader had one hand rested just behind his back, while the other waved in front of his body. His face was life-like, gazing down at the students while generously wrapped in a double-breasted commander's duster.

"We should bow." Walken's voice came through the communal Message earlier enabled by Mayuree. "There's a lot of guards watching us."

The group collectively capitulated, though some more purposefully than others.

Behind the statue was the service desk, a semi-circle of clerks was piled three-deep behind a marble counter hundreds of meters long.

There, the students presented their Multi-pass, logged their biometric-mana signatures, then followed a militant looking officer toward yet another set of too-tall double doors.

"Where are our proctors?" Gwen intoned as they passed the threshold.

"Patience." Walken carried on ahead. "The team was originally in Abu Dhabi. They will route through New Delphi, Lhasa, Chendu, and finally through to Shanghai. Once Yangon begins operation, European access to Indochina should be easier."

True to Walken's words, at the end of the stark concrete corridor was a group of Europeans looking distinctly out of place.

"Eric!" the leader called out, his voice booming across the cubist ceiling. "Thank God you're here. I was beginning to wonder if they had detained us, hahaha…"

A collective murmur of relief escaped from the examiners' lips. They were each powerful Magisters and Mages in their own right, but now they were stuck in the belly of the red beast.

"You're a household name, are you?" Gwen was impressed yet again.

"You jest," her instructor intoned modestly before leaving her side. Facing the newcomers, Walken opened his arms. "Auberon! My Baron of Shenfield! You're a sight for sore eyes!"

The contestants watched as the two men fiercely embraced, with "Auberon" planting a Sopranos hug-and-pat around Walken's shoulders.

"My God." Auberon pulled himself away. "Walken, when you disappeared, I feared for the worst. You know, I had imagined that our German friend had you gagged in a dungeon somewhere!"

"Ha! I am afraid to disappoint you." Walken shook his head. "I am safe, thanks to her."

"Ah." The Baron of Shenfield turned his studied gaze toward Gwen, who hastily curtsied. "The fabled liberator of Yangon? You gave von Schlabrendorff quite the scare, or so I've heard. Are you going to give me a run of the troubles as well, young lady? The Spaniards couldn't hold onto Cuzco for long, but maybe you..."

"Nothing of the sort, sir," Gwen simpered. There was nothing wrong with ingratiating oneself with the source of one's CCs.

Auberon laughed, then formally introduced himself as Baron Lucas of Shenfield. On the surface, their new Chief Proctor was the talkative type. With a head of pale blonde, he appeared younger than his professed age of five decades. Like a few of his peers, the Baron of Shenfield possessed the typical English ridge-line nose, paired with curly hair, fair complexion and grey-green eyes.

Behind him, he introduced his fellow proctors, a multi-national team of examiners assigned by the various universities.

"Magisters," the groups' round-robin greetings were disrupted by the PLA Magus who had escorted them, keeping a low conversation with Bai. "It's time."

The groups' attention turned toward the dais.

Upon the platform, Gwen spied the most complex Mandala she had ever seen. What had been inscribed into the baseplate of the superstructural Teleportation Circle stood at the apex of practical Spellcraft. Even a tiny corner of the elaborate setup was far beyond her ken, and when it fired up, the thrum of mana within the Mandala could be felt in their bones.

"Wow," Petra mumbled, taking notes with her eyes. "Just wow."

The proctors lead the way, stepping onto the dais before taking their place in the outer perimeter. As for the students, Walken invited them up one by one so that they stood at the circle's centre.

"Less spatial turbulence in the middle," Walken explained. "None of you wants to paint the floor in Honolulu, I imagine."

"I can't believe this is happening!" Eunae trembled as she held Anita's equally sweaty hand. "I am in a long-range teleportation circle. I am going to the other side of the world!"

"I am all tingly…" Jiro shook with excitement. "Please be gentle, Teleportation Circle."

"Other than Burma, I've never been outside of China," Rene confessed. "Can someone hold my hand..."

Nervous chuckles answered the Magma Mage. Gwen offered to hold Rene's hand. Mayuree and Eunae soon joined her.

"Injecting Mana," came a voice from above.

"Coolants at maximum."

"Activating the superstructural Mandala."

"Divination Locked-on."

"Destination in conference... Confirmed."

"Initiating Transfer..."

Below, the PLA Magus saluted. "Fudan. Make us proud."

Bai snapped back a crisp salute. "We shall return victorious!"

Blazing swirls of silvery-Conjuration enveloped the stage.

Fudan was away.

Cuzco.

The founders had named it Qusqu, from "quasqu wanka". In the tongue of the Amara who came before the Inca, it meant the rock of the owl.

In Quechua, it stood for the navel of the world.

After the Beast Tide, it stood fast as the centre of the Empire, Tawantinsuyu, made manifest on earth by the grace of Inti, the ever-burning sun, bringer of life. It was here, from the cyclopean fortress of Sacsahuamán that Inti, scion of the Yupanqui and the Capca lineage, received the benediction of his father and the paramount chieftains of each region.

With his tight, muscular body painted a thin layer of gold, Inti looked every inch the namesake of a sun-blessed being. At only twenty, his mastery of both the Mageocracy's magic and the craft of his people were well-lauded by his instructors at Cuzco National University.

Prominent with his ridge-line nose, deeply set almond eyes and a sensual mouth, Inti was told by the High Priestess that he resembled Manco Cápac, the splendid repeller of the Spanish and the saviour of the Empire. Inti didn't doubt it, considering the mana that burned in his blood, though he was much taller than his ancestor, standing as tall as the mountain-maize at harvest time. It was the Cloud Puma's milk, his mother had told him. When he was a babe, his father had received the benediction of the Sun God by wooing the legendary beast.

"My Son, Inti." His father, Achiq, paraded him across the spacious circle of the throne once more. The throne room of Sacsahuamán wasn't like that of western monarchs. It was a circular plateau where the Sapa Inca stood shoulder to shoulder with his companions.

The lords of the four Suyus each stood.

"Inti, make us proud." Caquingora, chief of the Qulla, Magister and Magistrate of the south-east, gave his blessings by anointing Inti with a spot of gold.

"Inti, may your warmth be eternal." Huaman of the western region, placed his hand on the young prince's chest in a similar manner.

"Inti, show the world that we are strong once again." Suyuntu, Magistrate of the north-west Chimú, gave his approval in gold.

"Inti, I wish for a team of grandchildren." Manco, Magistrate of the Antis tribes of Peruvian Amazonia, made his peers burst into heartfelt laughter as he dabbed at his son-in-law's torso.

"Yes, not a year longer, I too wish for grandchildren." Inti's father slapped his son's back. "Tica has waited for you for too long! When I was your age, the Mama Cuna forbade me from leaving the temple until we had an heir!"

"Please do not joke about that, esteemed father." Inti felt his golden skin burn with embarrassment as he slipped into his training tunic. He thought of Tica and acknowledged that there were few girls as beautiful as the daughter of Manco, nor as intelligent and magically-gifted. She would make a great Queen, easily better than him as the Sapa Inca. Still, he knew he was yet inexperienced, and the idea of being responsible for children of his own frightened Inti. What if he was to raise an ineffectual, lazy, or greedy king? What would happen to the four corners of the Empire? What of the threat from Amazonia?

"Until Tica is with child, our daughters cannot become concubines," Huaman complained. "Inti, have some consideration for this old man. My youngest is already older than you! She will be an old maid!"

Inti laughed drily, turning from the roaring of the older men. With great strides, he escaped from the Throne of the Sun.

"He's a good boy." Suyuntu of the Chimú nodded with approval. "We will be a proper Sapa in the future."

Achiq sighed. "Yes, but first comes the competition. Has the Committee approved of Amaru's proposal?"

"They have," Manco answered. "But to send Inti and Tica into that place. You are a braver king than I, Scion of the Sun."

"Ah, but Inti is the son of the Son of the Sun, hahaha." Achiq slapped his oiled thighs. "Like glittering gold, Inti will outshine all else!"

Cuzco was the bellybutton of the empire, and at the heart of Cuzco was the Plaza of the Sun. The original plaza was a part of the exhaustive temple complex leading toward Coricancha, the Grand Temple of Inti, but then the Spanish had converted it into a Weapon's Plaza where the colonists could gather in the event of an attack. For two centuries, the plaza had been full of Spanish buildings, but the Spaniards did not know that in the Andes, the great serpent yawned every other decade. When inevitably an earthquake occurred, all the Spanish buildings collapsed, while the Inca's so-called "primitive" masonry remained.

In the centuries since the Inca's return to the seat of Tawantinsuyu, the invader's buildings had been dismantled. What remained was only the square-shaped administrative district, which had been incorporated into the city's restored architecture.

Halfway to the plaza, Inti stopped to greet a pedlar selling achira, a roasted sweet-root. Inti refused the pedlar's offer of a free snack and paid the man a thin stick of crystal as compensation.

The pedlar kissed the prince's hand, then became instantly surrounded by citizens who wanted the same roots that the prince had bought. Inti may be dressed in his training attire, but his face was well known to the citizens living between the temple and its serpentine thoroughfare connecting Sacsahuamán with the city below.

When he passed a troupe of young girls, elaborate in their floral attire, they bowed their shoulders and giggled at the unadorned clothing of the prince. Behind the girls was a string of long-lashed llamas in ceremonial guises being taken up to the fortress. The Apu, the mountain Spirits, were kind of late, and Illapa, the god of seasons, was unusually generous with the rain.

A few of the girls wore their hair in new styles, Inti noticed, that and they wore the rubber and leather shoes popular in the northern continent. Inti would love a dozen pairs of these Nike and Adidas attires, but he was the prince of a country, and it would not do to demean his own country's craftsmen. All of Inti's clothing was hand-crafted by the Virgins of the Sun- girls elevated by the state religion.

Further down, passing a small square, he saw a group of boys in jeans and embroidered tee-shirts, listening to music from a quasi-magical device called a recorder which replayed sound. It was a European invention, though he could see that this particularly colourful model was a Japanese variation.

"Inti!" The boys stopped at once and bowed.

"Don't mind me." Inti ruffled the hair of the eldest. "I am just passing through."

"Inti, father managed to barter for books and lumen-recordings from America, through the Aztec Pocteca traders. Do you want to borrow some? I bet you haven't seen the new ones yet."

"I'll drop by if I have time, Palta," Inti promised, he indicated to the recorder and the thump of jazzy bass coming from the sound-emitting glyphs. "What does your father, the Magistrate, think about the music of the rocks?"

"Ah, he doesn't understand." Palta slicked back his hair with both hands. "Silas is the King of Cool! Baby!"

"Do you like our King best or the American King?"

"Can I like both?"

Inti burst into mirthful laughter.

"I suppose you can." He nodded to the bombastic beats coming from the device, so different to the court musician's lilting flutes. In the coming decades, the perils of keeping the Empire's culture balanced would be a task for his shoulders. For how long could their isolation keep his people innocent? Though Inti knew the tireless sun shone on the Andes his people, there were limits to what a nation of only twenty-million people could do against the ravenous hordes of Amazonia. Had the Spaniards not invaded and quashed their gods and temples, ravaged their population, perhaps their present condition wouldn't be so precarious, but alas, a dashed urn lost its milk forever.

"Inti! There you are!"

Down the hill, between rows of white-washed, mud-brick houses, the looming shape of an enormous young man approached.

"Tupac!"

"Sir Tupac." The boys bowed.

"Inti!" The man now arrived was enormously muscled, with legs like tree trunks, shoulders like that of a bear's, and a tapered waist like a puma. "There's trouble in the market; some foreign Magistrate is harassing Tica."

"Ha!" Inti snorted, not in the least worried. "We'd better hurry before she loses her temper."

"Coya Pasca will have my head if she gets into trouble again." Tupac parted the crowd like an ice-breaker. "By the Moon, these bumpkins who come into the city should be properly educated before they are set loose."

"Ah." Inti patted his friend's back. "The Empire has yet to elevate all of its regions; we are as much to blame as they, no? Is it not our fault that they do not know the proper etiquette?"

In the north-western corner of the Plaza lay the Hall of the Healers. Unlike the grand wing of the same name that occupied Coricancha, the Healer's Hall was next to the market square and was a modest structure of four storeys. The upper level was the priestess' lodgings, while the lower level was devoted to the ailments of the ordinary citizens.

It was here that the candidates for the Aclla Cuna, the future Priestesses of the Sun Temple, plied their mystical craft. The majority of them were young women taken from the four corners of the empire, selected for magical talent, intelligence and beauty. At any given time, tens of thousands of them laboured in the many halls dotting the Empire's townships, providing mundane and magical care.

"Girl, what say you?" A man sat one-legged on a llama-wooled stool, the other perpendicular displaced to show off his swagger. "A commoner's life is too poor for a gem like you."

"Sir, I am dedicated to Inti," the girl replied demurely. "I am not for the likes of you."

"Then you'll be a virgin forever." The man smacked his lips, causing his followers to laugh. "I am a District Official of Chinchasuyu, do you know what that means? It means I control a whole town! A hundred thousand labourers work under me. Come with me, and I will make you my concubine. I'll treat you no worse than my first wife, better if you bear me a child."

A crowd had gathered by now, forming a semi-circle just outside the plaza area of the Healer's Hall.

"Master Kayara." One of the man's guards was growing more nervous by the minute. "The Temple of Inti is visible from here."

"Ah, Antay, why do you worry so?" The man called Kayara patted his knees. "This is a healer's hall. These girls are from common stock, don't you know? The daughters of the named Inca are all in the temple proper."

"Sir Kayara—"

"Antay, enough." Kayara raised a hand. "Tell me, girl, who is your father."

"A retired soldier…" The girl lowered her eyes. She had a button nose which made her appear younger than her years, and her llama's lashes were long enough to give him heartache. Even attired in the rough smock of the virgin's tunic, he could sense her ripening body beneath, guess at her pliant limbs, wide hips and full breasts. "He has grown too old and fat to fight."

"Hahaha…" Kayara laughed. "See? Antay, you worry for nothing."

"Still, I wish to be left to my duty, esteemed Sir."

"Girl." Kayara changed his tone, evidently growing impatient. "Is your father discharged?"

"Discharged, sir?"

"From the military."

"I don't think so." The girl looked up, and her obsidian orbs were like two pools of darkness refracting the noon-light from the windows. "He's been wounded, many times though."

"I see." Kayara clapped. "I can discharge your father if you come with me. I'll give him the title of a tiller, but he can retire in my estate, hmm? How's that?"

The girl looked around her. The other virgins were silent. A few of them were smiling strangely, which Kayara took to mean their jealous approval.

"Please allow me to decline."

"Oh, no, no, no." Kayara stood over the girl, resisting the urge to place his hands on her waist. If he left here and now, he was sure some other noblemen would take the girl by tomorrow. She was a fantastic treat, a thing of divinity, a fertility goddess. That she had remained undiscovered until he passed by was the will of Inti himself. "You see- the hand that gives also takes. If you refuse me, I will have to report your father for desertion. Your family will receive punishment for dereliction of state duty. Your father will have to make up for his time with hard labour, no? Could his old body take it?"

A foreboding silence fell over the temple.

Outside, the crowd collectively parted, though Kayara was well-absorbed in his theatrics.

"Do you not know of the Sapa's love for his people?" The girl challenged him. "Do you not know that Inti is fair?"

"Haha." Kayara shook his head. "But the Sapa is in his fortress, and Inti hangs high and far. I am and here and now."

"That's funny," a voice came from behind Kayara. "I was only six blocks away."

The District Official turned his head.

Something blotted out the sun.

Or rather, it was a caramel giant whose sleeveless tunic strained against his frame. He wore a breastplate of tanned llama hide, paired with gold-studded wrist-cuffs and military-style boots. Quickly, Kayara glanced at the man's mantle, noting the checkered patterns there that informed of his Qulla origins. From the blue dye, he could see the man's unimpressive rank.

"Warrior." Kayara kept his cool. "Is there a problem?"

"You need to apologise and present yourself to the temple," the giant intoned loudly. "Inti is forgiving, but not THAT forgiving. Repent while you can."

A murmur of agreement resounded from the crowd.

"Is wanting to give a young woman a better life a crime now? Are you a Temple Arbitrator?"

The question seemed to confuse the warrior.

"Tica?" The giant scratched his head, addressing the object of Kayara's affections. "What should I do?"

"Oh, so you know each other?" Kayara grew annoyed. "Is this what this is about? Antay! Get rid of him."

Against Kayara's expectations, his usually infallible guard captain had transformed into a golden statue, one that profusely perspired.

Kayara frowned.

"Sir." A young man not nearly as impressive as the giant dipped his head. "Can we talk outside? You're in the Healer's Hall; the girls need to attend to the citizens. While you debate with Tica, there's a line waiting outside."

"Who are you?" Kayara frowned. The young man was in a training uniform of white woven llama wool. It was good quality, but it was the sort one saw anywhere. In his eyes, this must be another young noble, at worst a high-ranking one. "No, we can talk here."

Someone sniggered from the crowd, followed by a dozen snorts.

Kayara felt the hair rise at the back of his head. He knew the citizens of Cuzco were haughty- but weren't they looking down on him too much? He was an administrator!

To his surprise, the young man stretched out a hand to the girl and pulled her away. Before he could violently object, she fell into his arms, and the two dashed for the plaza.

"After him!" Kayara was regretful that such a bounty would escape beneath his nose. Pushing his useless captain aside, he led his entourage outside, stepping into the sun.

"HALT!" came the sound of the giant from behind him. A terrible pressure emitted from behind Kayara, there was a growl like that of the puma. In the square, the crowd parted like mist cleaved in twain by the sun.

Kayara halted, not because of the beast behind him, but because of what now stood in front. The polite young man now stood with the sun above him, with the wide avenue toward the temple silhouetted against his body. Where the two-storey golden disc of Sun Gate refracted the light, Kayama saw for a moment, Inti himself.

The mana of radiance poured from the young man's body, filling the plaza with warmth, dispelling the cold air of the mountain valley. The girl in his arms giggled mischievously, her eyes bright with worship.

"You are—!" Kayama realised too late. The cleansing light filled his heart with clarity, and in its luminance, he cursed his weak desires.

All he could do was turn toward the temple, kneel, then place his head against the brickwork floor.

"Official Kayara Taruca, I will recommend you for two years of labour to temper your desires and learn the heart of the people. After that, you may return to your position, pending review from the Kuraka Bureaucratic Committee. For now, please report yourself to your Suyu's Kuraka."

"I. Kayama Taruca. Obey the will of Inti." Kayama trembled before the sun. "I will dedicate myself to the Empire and return to the land to learn its ways. You are merciful and wise, my prince. Please forgive this fool. Antay! You will be my guard. Take me back to the province!"

Without another word, Kayama removed the mantle from his shoulders, took the signet ring from his fingers, then unstrapped his official's wrist-band.

He then turned toward the palace, knelt once more, then rose to his feet. Turning about-face, Kayara then began the long trek back to the northern province. His guards followed, not knowing what else to do.

"Inti!" a voice cried out from the crowd.

"Good work, Inti!"

"Inti the wise!"

"Prince Inti!"

A plethora of raised caps and jubilant cries answered Inti as his giant companion rejoined the duo.

"Your father, the Magistrate Antis, is a retired soldier?" Inti asked the girl in his arms.

"He did retire from his position as the General, and he is growing bulbous like a yam. One wonders if he might run into the Pishtaco at this rate."

"Don't let him hear that... why didn't you introduce yourself properly," Inti whispered his fiancée through the Message bangle, a handy invention, one he had fashioned into the style of a traditional Quipu bracelet. "The Coya Pasca told you this would happen if you worked with the commoners. The nobles love to recruit concubines from the temple."

"Isn't that obvious?" Tica's smile was as brilliant as the noon-day sun. She kissed his hand as the people's cheers turned into sultry demands for royal grandchildren. "Everything I do, Inti. It's all for you."

In Hawaii, the Honolulu Tower sat beside the port authority, an extension of the Oahu naval base.

Its original name was the Inouye Tower, after its resident Tower Master. When Magister Inouye vacated due to health complications, the Tower's name was auctioned off to the highest bidder. Now, travellers floating past its concrete facade could not help but gaze at the enormous characters clinging to its sides in garish purple and orange, spelling out the letters "FDX".

"Can we go outside?" Gwen caught the clerk processing their passports. Unknown to most of her peers, she was already wearing a white halter-top two-piece underneath her dress.

"Ah…" The clerk began to sweat, feeling as though a man-eating Sphinx was proctoring his answer. "No… Ma'am."

"WE CAN'T go to the beach?" Gwen pointed to the floor to ceiling window panes, beyond which was the ultramarine ocean. "Its right there! How far is Waikiki from here? Ten, twenty minutes? I could fly there in five."

"Ma'am, your multi-pass isn't authorised to travel on U.S soil," the perspiring clerk explained. "You can't leave the Tower's transitory grounds."

"Ridiculous!" Gwen protested. She could smell the brine-scented sea outside. She leaned in close so that her face was a few inches away from the man's face. "Surely there's somewhere close within the Tower's domain we can dip our feet?"

"Er…" the clerk relented. "We have a rooftop pool in the VIP section, but—"

"How do we get there?"

"It's for VIPs…"

"How does one become a VIP?"

"You have to be an FDX premium member."

"What is that?"

"If you carry freight with us and spent over 20,000 HDMs, you'll receive a VIP membership for free. FDX provides the best global logistics for the transportation of maritime goods into and from America—"

"Hold the infomercial," she stopped the young man. "I thought this was the Honolulu Tower."

"It's the FDX Tower."

A few of the female clerks giggled behind the man talking to Gwen. Jiro wiggled his brows at them, eliciting another bout of laughter.

FDX? Gwen googled her memories. F for Federal—? Something clicked.

"Federal Express?"

"Yes, Ma'am, that's us."

"FedEx owns a Mage Tower?"

"We're just the sponsor, Ma'am. The state manages the military and the administrative wing. You're in the commercial wing. FDX is also an official sponsor of the IIUC…" The young man looked at the airhead sorceress with an expression of infinite kindness and patience. "Would you like to know more?"

"No…" Gwen sighed. "You're sure we can't just fly by Waikiki for half a day?"

"No."

"Not even for ready crystals?" She made the universal sign for "Ka-chin!".

"You have to apply for an upgraded transit-pass, it'll take forty-eight hours."

"Bah!"

She returned to the lounge, sat toward the sun, and faced the lulling sparkles reflecting from the ocean. Her mind, however, had drifted onto other matters.

So, a corporation may "own" a Tower?

America. She thought to herself. You big, bloody, beautiful ripper!

The bold font of the FDX logo shrunk in size as the freight-carrier FDX Carolina churned the bean-green Pacific a milky blue.

Not content with leaving Waikiki without so much as a dip in the water, Gwen stood by the rails in her halter top, watching the golden beach retreat into the distance.

"Kālua Pork! I'll be back!" Her crushing cry of defeat was accompanied by a spray of brine, not unlike a certain red-headed mermaid on the rocks.

Not far, Petra and Lulan paused to wonder what the hell Kālua pork signified before continuing their practice on the rear deck. Picking from the team's options for locomotion, Petra had settled on Gwen's offensive Dimension Door and Lulan's Misty Step. By alternating between the two, she possessed ample options for hopping about the battlefield.

The students were stuck on deck because the Carolina was a freight ship with limited space for passengers. The sixteen or so Magisters and Maguses, including Walken, had taken up the lion's share of the limited board. Fudan, therefore, had been given the rear castle and a generous cargo bay as living space for seven days, with a crew canteen and unisex bathrooms to share.

After a day of fruitless lounging, the team decided to get creative.

Richard and Bai took turns defending a fort of spare containers while Rene and Jiro worked on finesse. Petra meanwhile, siphoned Enuae's healing invocations for her cube collection while also helping Anita refine her element. In the make-shift cabin, Mayuree performed an elaborate Augury.

"Weal and woe in equal measure, danger, but also reward." She shuffled the bones back into her ring. "I suppose that's fair?"

In the morning, from the poop deck, Gwen watched from the rails, still thinking about the beach, the sand, the sun and the golden pork. Feeling cheated and yet determined to exercise her expectations, she materialised a deck chair from her ring. To Petra and Lulan's shock, she then set up an anchored umbrella, a wicker coffee table, and a jug of coconut juice. Gwen then patiently put down a beach towel before she casually proceeded to read Ma's volumes by the "seaside".

The sun glare from her porcelain skin was like a Flashbang, almost running a blinded Lulan into the bull.

Gwen grimaced. Ever since arriving in Shanghai, she had hardly had time to sun herself. Now, she had seven days to pick up some colour, and she was determined to do so.

Positioned to attain an even tan, she opened Ma's volume. It was entitled "The Empire Returns: A Case Study of Tawantinsuyu."

The collected journal was a combination of three history papers, a political dissertation, and a generous appendix, edited by Magister Joan M. Milford.

In the first entry, "An Oral History of the Spanish Usurpation", the author annotated that Spain penetrated South America around 1532. From Lima, they met great success by striking directly at Cuzco, capturing the Sapa Inca of the time, Atahualpa. In the power vacuum, the Inca's previously conquered provinces and allies reverted to their original tribal allegiances, preventing the Empire from repelling the Spanish. The tragedy was further compounded by the mass slaughter of temple maidens and the Inca's reliance on message-runners who became vectors for smallpox.

In 1534, the conquistadors beheaded the Sapa to show that the Sun King was a mortal man. To make ingots, they melted down the golden wards and idols that protected the city. Consequently, through ruin and rapine, the Castillian Crown cemented their rule from Lima to Cuzco for almost two centuries.

The second paper was centred on the emergence of an immensely powerful Radiant Mage by the name of Manco Cápac, the founder of Neo Tawantinsuyu.

In "The Return of the Sapa" the article detailed how the long-oppressed indigenous people of the Andes turned against their Spanish masters, throwing down churches and revolting in the boroughs. When the conquistadors responded with forced conscription, the natives chose to flee into the mountains rather than serve as fodder for the Spaniard's defence.

The "Peruvian Civil War" then quickly escalated until the Spanish conquistador-General, Sebastián Pizãrro, confronted the self-proclaimed Sapa Inca in the ruins of the once golden temple. If Gwen were to believe in the legend, Pizarro was first crucified, then made into a human candle. In the Plaza de Armas, he blazed from sunrise to sundown, halfway dying until the sooty end.

In the appendix, the paper noted that recent anthropology carried out on the Cult of Inti revealed traces of 17th-century spellcraft utilised by the Vatican. Indeed, it was far more reasonable that Cápac had learned how to tap into faith-based magic, as opposed to inventing his own. Though the Mage remained a mystery, it was speculated that he might have been a convert selected for Inquisitorial duty before awakening to his alter-ego.

"Aaah-" Gwen yawned, then turned her body like a side of fish, blinding Petra.

The death of Pizarro in 1718 was the first in a series of disasters that struck the Spanish colonies. With the Cult of Inti restored, it was no longer possible to sustain minority rule. It took only a decade for the Christian missions to fall into ruin and the colonists' government to fall into disarray. Haplessly, the Spanish were pushed back into the ocean. Archaeologically, half the fleeing fleet was set aflame, becoming the subject of many a treasure hunt off Lima's coast.

Of course, the Spanish did wish to return, but by then the emerging Mageocracy had exhausted the Castillian Crown's economic and political capital.

Conversely, in the Andes, Manco Cápac set about reestablishing the old kingdom and bringing allies into the fold. He rescued slaves from surviving outposts, punished local warlords, and reconstructed Cuzco, all in five decades. Most importantly, he cemented the worship of Inti as the state religion, using the power brought by the faith of the people to keep the monsters in the Amazon at bay.

By 1782, the new Sapa Inca had established an egalitarian dominion divorced from the Western notion of Monarchy. European Anthropologists invited into the Empire's domain recorded a chimeric form of theocratic-socialism. At the head of the state was the Sapa Inca, the monarch, whose family ruled by virtue. The Sapa was supplemented by four leaders holding equal political sway, each governing a corner of Tawantinsuyu, the corners of the "world". Under each leader's Suyu was a system of administrative officials called the Kuraka, learned men selected by merit. Each tier of the Kuraka oversaw a district, diminishing in size from city to county, to community.

Overall, the stratum of society began with the Sapa, then the royal household, the lord's houses, the bureaucrats of the Kuraka, then equally, the commoner-classes of the labourer, farmer, craftsman and warrior. According to service and merit, each caste furthermore possessed internal ranks.

What interested Gwen most of all was the Inca's disinterest in economics. As a group traumatised by Spain's boundless greed during their conquest, the new Empire heavily emphasised on agrarian self-sustainability. In place of currency, Coca, crystals and maize served as means of exchange for other tangible goods, supplemented by an abstract system of bartered labour. Precious metals and luxury goods held only abstract value.

According to the third dissertation, in place of taxes, the Inca revived a system called Mita, meaning 'taking turns'. In a western calendar year, a citizen was expected to provide one hundred days of labour. For the citizens, most of whom had spent two centuries being worked to death in gold mines, they embraced the new system with grace. The Mita system thus engendered enormous civil works on a scale the conquistadors could only dream of.

In unambitious prosperity, the Incas retreated into the mountains for another hundred years.

When in 1888 the British arrived at Lima, the seventh Sapa Inca, Huayna Cápac, whole-heartedly welcomed the Mageocracy's scholars into his city of gold. He embraced the spellcraft revolution, going so far as to build for the scholars a university in the heart of Cuzco.

Fortunately for the Incans, before the Mageocracy could bring its imperialist engine to bear, Necromancy erupted from Eastern Europe like a burst pustule. Cuzco lost all contact with London while the Undead hordes ravaged Europe. By the time the Commonwealth Mageocracy stumbled back into Lima in the mid-1920s, the Inca had already incorporated the Imperial Schools of Magic into their education system.

As the 40s rolled around, Cuzco was once again ready to join the globe; only they had one problem. The Europeans disappeared again! This time, the Mageocracy became embroiled in the Pan-European conflict. The Inca were left shaking their heads. Just how war-like were these Europeans?

When in the 1950s Cuzco welcomed their American neighbours into the fold, it came with a dire warning from their Aztec Theocracy neighbours. "These are wolves in sheep's clothing," their brothers in Meso America told them. Do not trust the men whose eyes glitter at the sight of gold, and whose prophets came bearing promises of profit.

The Sapa Inca took caution but was full of curiosity for the world beyond. The Americans were careful as well, tentatively maintaining neutrality as they warred with the Aztecan Theocracy.

Then, a dragon happened.

This time, the Inca did not escape unscathed.

Like the Mermen of the sea, the denizens of Amazonia had awoken.

Amazonia! The very name invoked a vision of bronze-skinned, supermodel women wielding bows, shields and swords, lead by "Diana".

She turned to the accompanying volume of South American Bestiary.

She found trolls.

"The Amazonian Troll is a subspecies of sapient elementals. Due to Amazon's flora, this subspecies ranges from one to three meters. An apex predator, trolls are naturally predisposed to violence. These tusked individuals possess a vaguely humanoid profile while occupying a corporeal form of fungi-flesh, capable of rapid regeneration. All trolls are known to imbibe human tissue, which in Trollic society is considered a delicacy."

Furthermore, the Bestiary noted, certain Trolls possessed magic derived from non-human shamanism. Though their society was primitive compared to the Inca, the race as a whole was enormously overwhelming in the martial sense. An adult troll warrior could readily match a low-tier CQB Transmutater, while Troll Shamans were no worse than mid-tier Elementalists. An average human pitted against a troll was akin to a guinea pig pitted against a cat.

"Amazonian trolls are ruled by a matriarch, with many females serving as shamans. The principle female, a brood-matron, can spawn up to a hundred individuals a year."

Ouch, Gwen squirmed. A hundred? Viva la Regeneration.

"Local legend has it that male Trolls when in heat will copulate with humans. Though the victim usually perishes, females who survive the term will spawn a Hag. Should the victim be magically inclined, a Black Hag is born."

"What the fuck?" Gwen mouthed, shivering all over. Black Hags? Trollic sorcerers wielding hexes? She had read about them in the European Beastiary. According to those, Hags were intelligent-variants who had developed a knack for magic. They also cook children.

"Researcher's note: there is no credibility to the assertion that Hags are born from human females. It is safe to assume this is an old wive's tale to prevent young women from entering the jungle."

Thank god, Gwen breathed out. Half-trolls were bullshit for sure. How would the physiology work? Trolls are elementals. They're moving rocks, or fungi, or whatever.

Prior to the Beast Tide, Amazonia was a region so vast as to have never been mapped by human endeavours. During the Tide, Troll tribes emerged in force. After eating the Eastern garrison, they made a buffet out of the sheltered townships in the Antis region.

In the end, it was only after Sayri Inca Cápac sundered the eastern cliffs, collapsing a portion of the basin and sacrificing a dozen townships that the horde halted. Unfortunately, in the retaliation that followed, Sayri lost his life to a virulent, incurable curse.

When finally the Tide ceased, a slow reclamation revived the tribal home of the Antis. The new Sapa, Achiq, rebuilt the lost town and highways, eventually returning the region to a semblance of its past glory.

The last page noted the revision date as 1985.

Gwen replaced the book in her ring, then lied back as to digest the information. By now, she could feel the tan baking nicely.

"Cousin." Richard came upon her sunbathing on the deck. Warily, he regarded the plump spectacle with a critical eye. "You like lobsters?"

"Why?" She perked up. "Are we having lobsters for dinner? I could eat."

"No, but…" Richard pointed to her red and tingling protrusions. "You look like you're about to Polymorph into one."

"Restoration!" Eunae rubbed ointment onto her vice-captain while waiting for the spell to run its course. Luyi helped by spreading the salve with its tongue.

"I don't get it," their vice-captain groaned underneath her healer's appendages. For someone who had spent her twenties in enviable bronze, she was no stranger to tanning. "I took every precaution."

"What possible precaution can a half-vampire take against the sun?" Richard commented as Lea cooled his cousin's irradiated dermis. "There's wanting to look like hot stuff, and then there's medium-rare."

Gwen groaned. "Very funny. Is the ozone here depleted?"

"The what?" Richard pulled up his sleeves, showing a healthy tan. He also pointed to Lulan, who now appeared at least a shade darker after two days on the equatorial belt. Even Petra, who was a lab room beauty, had taken on a tinge of colour that played wonderfully against her vivid eyes.

"My beach!" Gwen bawled at the sight of her bronzing buddies. "Do I have to go in a burkini?"

Richard snorted at her Gwenism.

"Ooo, that smarts!" She drew in a breath of humid air as her skin began to moult. Beneath the shedding cells, the new surface emerged paled and translucent. Gwen cringed as Eunae picked at her peeling skin with sadistic pleasure.

"So, anything we should know?" Richard changed the topic to her books.

"We'll talk over dinner." Gwen regarded her healer apologetically before turning to her other companions. "Maybe then, Eric can advise the bloody team he's leading instead of dining with his fellow snobs…"

According to scripture, the world had three layers.

Amaru was the serpent, Apu of the "Ukhu Pacha", the land below the land. Puma was the Apu of the "Kay Pacha", the mountains upon which the Inca resided. Cuntur was the Apu of the "Hanan Pacha" in the sky, filled with magnificent condors.

To attain enlightenment, the citizens of Tawantinsuyu must strive toward the seven virtues- Courage, Restraint, Charity, Joy, Truthfulness, Pride, and Justice. Likewise, they must renounce the ill-humours of Avarice, Sloth, Vengefulness, Carnality and Jealousy. Each of the virtue and vices was indoctrined from childhood, first through limericks, then fables, then finally, chronicle of the conquistadors' boundless cruelty. According to the Mamaconas of the Temple, should a citizen exercise more virtue than vice, then all would be well. Those who were good went to Hanan Pachu when they died, while sinners fell into Ukhu Pacha to be punished by the demons, monsters kept at bay by the great serpent.

"Amaru" was also the given name of Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, cousin to the Sapa Inca, uncle twice-removed to the young Inti, and brother to Manco, the overseer of the Suyu of Antis.

Amaru was aware that to outsiders, the state religion was called the Cult of Inti, and that the Cult had plagiarised Christian motifs where the original was lost. Amaru also knew that the Apu was in reality, Magical Beasts. Some were mindless predators, like the Titan Boas of the low-land, slinking up the cliffs in summer to eat the llama and the occasional misbehaving child. Others, like the Phuyupuma, the Cloud Puma, were wise and intelligent, but not a god.

Amaru had possessed many titles of renown in his forty-five years of service.

Priest Amaru.

Adjudicator Amaru.

Administrator Amaru.

Professor Amaru.

Chief of the Kuraka, Amaru.

Magus, then Magister Amaru.

Amaru, however, saw his life differently.

He was Amaru the fool.

Amaru the gullible.

Amaru the miserable.

For this, he blamed the Sapa Inca.

In the beginning, growing up in the cloud forests of the Antis; he, Manco and Uchu were instrumental in the Sapa's rise to power. Of Amaru's three companions, Achiq was a friend; Manco his brother; and Uchu was his everything.

Amaru and Uchu had been inseparable since they were apprentices. She had always favoured him more than Manco. That came as no surprise; whether in politics or magic, he had always outshone his good-natured brother.

After the Tide, Uchu's father chose Manco as a successor. This, Amaru did not care. But when Manco became the leader of his people, he picked Uchu for his wife. To Amaru's chagrin, before he could protest, the newly crowned Achiq gave his blessing to Manco, carving the union in stone. Heartbroken, Amaru begged Uchu to protest. Alas, Uchu could not refute the will of a god.

A GOD! Amaru felt sick. No, Achiq was just a man.

In Amaru's eyes, the Sapa was no Allah or Christ. He was an honest, kind-natured herder, the sort who could be lead by the lip like a llama.

Jaded and full of hidden venom, Amaru asked for a leave of absence from Cuzco to travel the Andes and beyond. When he returned, Uchu was gone.

"She died defending her child," his Sapa had said. "There was a skirmish, and they were caught by surprise." It was a story as common as maize, but Amaru felt on the verge of murderous madness.

"Uncle Amaru." Before the darkness could descend, a little girl tugged at his tunic. "Mama said I should look to you."

"Tica," Manco introduced his daughter. Her name meant the beautiful one.

Caught within the twin pools of Tica's grieving eyes, Amaru rediscovered his reason for being. He became Tica's teacher, keeping nothing from her: spellcraft, politics, arts, literature, history, the mythologies; he gave his all. Under his care, her talent blossomed. Amaru had no doubt she would shine brighter than the sun.

Then, on her sixteenth summer, Achiq bequeathed the girl to Inti.

The city rejoiced. All of Antis rejoiced. Tawantinsuyu rejoiced.

But for Amaru, when the blessing left Achiq's lips, something revolted.

A flower he had so tenderly raised, plucked, just like that? A sapling he had watered and weeded and kept sheltered from sleet and snow and now bearing fruit, was to be plundered by a meritless prince?

Amaru cautioned himself.

Did he desire Tica? He quashed the thought. What he felt for the girl wasn't lust, but love. His rage came not from envy, but injustice. Had he not made a promise to himself that none may take the daughter of his beloved Uchu? He had groomed Tica for the role of the Coya Pasca, the High Priestess, the most powerful woman in the Empire, unbeholden even to the Sapa Inca.

If he was to lose her now, why had Amaru remained alive? He could have joined Uchu in the underworld two decades ago.

"Lord Amaru?" came a gruff voice beside him.

Amaru's pale-yellow irises re-focused. Whenever he recalled that his jewel was wandering the city with her princeling, his mind wandered.

"Pray, continue." Amaru waved a hand to his companion. "I am listening."

Unlike the androgynous Amaru, his conversation partner was a picture of masculinity. Square-jawed, hawk-eyed and with a nose like a condor's beak, the man possessed three times the bulk of the light-framed Amaru.

The two men were meeting in Cuzco's Tower, a contrivance Amaru had necessarily introduced as a countermeasure against Amazonia. From the exterior, the Cuzco Tower was a modest administrative building crafted from reinforced glass and concrete. Conversely, its interior was deceptively large and furnished in the aesthetic of the colonists.

"Very well. The remuneration is 24,000 HDMs, assuming our agents can recover the Sun and Moon idols."

The man tapped on the data slate.

"Sans the idols, the total is 57,000 HDMs."

"Acceptable."

"I shall collect the collateral now." The mercenary grinned like a wolf, splitting his cracked lips from ear to ear. "Rest assured, our contractors are the definition of discretion."

"I trust you because I doubt you have the gall to double-cross me." Amaru tapped on his Message device. "Like you, I have friends in high places. Both in the Factions, and elsewhere..."

A door opened, followed by a laden trolley pushed by a girl-servant. The attendant bowed, then un-locked a compartment to reveal two-dozen golden statues, each an amalgamation of the snake, the condor and the puma.

"Your collector seems to know us well," Amaru remarked, running a finger over the two-dozen or so statues of the sacred trinity. "Very few of these pre-colonial icons have survived."

"May I?" the middle-aged Magus reached for the avatars.

Amaru watched as the man ran a score of diagnostic magics on his tablet device tied to a monocle. In regards to Magitech, he sorely envied the Americans. If Tawantinsuyu could possess the same tier of programmable spell-components, the nation's bureaucratic affairs could reach new heights of efficiency.

"Excellent." The Mercenary captain replaced the statue. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Magister Yupanqui."

"I await your success." Amaru smiled at the grinning captain. "We will not meet again."

"No." The wolfish man moved his hand over the statues, stowing the lot with a glance. "We won't."

Stepping from the FDX Carolina after seven days of swaying at sea, the ground beneath the student's feet turned as they ambled onto the freight dock.

From the deck, they were soon joined by the proctors. Exchanging a few polite words, the group then crossed customs before travelling coach into Lima's cultural centre.

Unlike the Cuzco of Gwen's academic volumes, remnants of Castillian legacy remained in the coastal city. When she audibly questioned why so much of the trade-city retained its colonial influence, it was a voice from the front who answered the inquisitive vice-captain.

"Lima was our last domain," their driver struck up a conversation.

"Domain?"

"Yeah, of us Spaniards."

She implored the driver to continue.

"... and because we have Spanish blood, the Incas don't think very highly of us," their chauffeur snorted. "In Cuzco; those snobs wouldn't give us the time of day."

Their assigned guide, visibly more Spanish than native, grumbled bitterly.

Ah, Gwen nodded at their driver's disdain. Trouble in paradise, that was more like it. Her anthropological records were far too kind in regards to the Inca's pristine cultural roots. As always, academia was a far cry from the vox populi.

"The real Inca; and I mean those born in Cuzco under the auspice of Inti…" their driver continued. "…they think that folks from Lima only go to Cuzco to steal and grovel. Sometimes I wonder if things could be better if we had remained an independent city, or if we never allowed the crown to be chased out..."

From behind the driver's seat, Gwen could see that much of Lima resembled Barcelona, with broad, tree-strewn avenues in stone. True to the driver's sentiments, its boulevards retained a Catalan-Gothic flavour.

"Thankfully, we're mostly left alone down here at the coast." The driver said. "The sun shines from Cuzco, but Lima is in the shade, eh? All that gold they've got up there, and mountains of Crystals! All they do is pile it up in that Temple of theirs and praise the sun. But we're citizens of the Empire too, aren't we? Lima needs new roads, new ports, new schools! We're the artery that connects Cuzco to the outside world!"

Perhaps it was because the girl had shaken his hand and asked for his name, or maybe it was exciting to have a Mage eating his words- the man's disclosure came on like a torrent.

So, strife does exist in the Empire, Gwen deduced. She could see it too.

It was only when their bus entered the central business district that the attires of the citizenry began to take on a distinct, local air. One by one, workwear turned into colourful caps; shawls stitched with chequered patters, long full body tunics, and leather sandals.

"Why do some people have similar mantles?"

"That's easy." The driver said as he pulled into the hotel's bay. "The squares on the mantle indicate their position and rank in their Suyu. Gold-Red-Blue-Green-Teal-Earth-Grey. The closer to red, the higher up they are. If you see someone with a gold mantle, they're a part of the royals. Grey means they are criminals."

He pointed to a square on his uniform. "Me? I am a Teal. A skilled labourer."

"Right, gotcha." Gwen thanked their accommodating NoM driver before producing an HDM. "Enrico, Can I gift you with this?"

"I won't say no, Miss Gwen." The man gulped. "Inti's blessing!"

Behind Gwen, Auberon, the Baron of Shenfield, turned to his old classmate with an enquiry. "She does that a lot?"

"All the time," Walken said. "Queer, hmm? Maybe it's her Frontier upbringing. She's got a knack for dealing with NoMs."

"You think an NoM would resist an Omni-mage?"

"Do you think you can get your NoMs to speak to you candidly?"

"Hee..."

Auberon Lucas watched Walken's prize stretch her pliant figure in a most unladylike manner. More and more, his alumnus' protégé was tickling his interest.

"Right!" in the lobby of the impressive colonial hotel, Fudan's instructor addressed his team. "We're up at 0400 sharp tomorrow for breakfast and final checks. At 0500, we take the ISTC to Cuzco. After that, we have been invited to attend the sunrise. There, you will meet with your opponents from Cuzco National University. Remember, Inti Yupanqui-Cápac is both heir and the future head of the Cult, handle with care."

"Yessir!" the team replied.

"Remember that as with the PLA Tower, Cuzco is independent. Not all of your Contingency Rings may function. I will check with Tower Master Yupanqui before we proceed with the quest. When you duel, shield-break only."

"Yessir!"

"Petra?"

"I am stocked up, sir."

"Gwen?"

"Nothing but Lightning!"

"Good." Walken turned to face the lobby. "This may be the last two days you'll remain in civilisation for the foreseeable future. Treasure it!"

True to Walken's proposed itinerary, the team arrived at the ISTC at the crack of dawn. An hour later, Fudan's team was treading on the sacred soil of Cuzco; the navel of the world, the centre of the Incan Empire.

As with Burma, an entourage awaited the students. This time, their hosts consisted of a dozen smiling men in conical flapper-hats, colourful tunics and scarlet shoulder-shawls, bowing their heads. After handshakes and greetings, the congregation made way for a trio of women, who introduced themselves as the Aclla Cuna.

"Sacred women," Gwen translated for the others, marvelling at the linguistic prowess of her new Ioun Stone. "Virgins of the Sun."

"Please follow us to the Temple," one of the girls implored amiably. Unlike the ceremoniously adorned men, the girls wore white tunics of fine linen, a sunburst-patterned shawl and llama-skin shoes.

Gwen enviously scrutinised their perfect, caramel skin.

"Cute…" Jiro followed without complaint.

The others formed a procession line. Unlike the enthralled Jiro, his companions arranged themselves in order of height so that Eunae and Lulan wouldn't have their first sight of Cuzco impeded.

Outside Cuzco's Tower, the still-dark city expanded from horizon to horizon, a tide of chalk-washed buildings with terracotta roofs. Unlike the "blocks" favoured by the developed nations, the city offered a unique take on urbanism, forming fissured avenues encircling administrative and religious centres.

To the city's north, the mighty fortress of Sacsahuamán cast its golden glow; its walls etched with lustrous wards and arcane symbols. From the hilly vantage, the puma-shaped city pulsed with the royal fortress at its head, and Coricancha at its heart. The team wondered at the breath-taking sight of seeing a foreign city whose ley-lines were imprinted in golden circles glowering with thrumming mana. Fed by capillaries of magic, Cuzco appeared as though it were alive.

Their destination, Coricancha, sat atop another hill, at the end of an elongated plaza shaped like a "T".

"And I thought our city used a lot of gold…" Mayuree inhaled Cuzco's rarified air. As a precaution, the students had imbibed potions for altitude sickness. Nonetheless, lightheadedness and mild nausea assailed those whose whole lives had been spent at sea-level.

Gwen meanwhile, struck up a conversation with the priestesses. First praising their elegance, their clothes, then steering the conversation toward the city itself, playing the ignorant yokel. In no time at all, the girls were giggling as though old friends.

"Where are the slums?" Gwen remarked. Even in the dim light, the urban silhouette was incredibly consistent. In Shanghai, she explained, it was self-evident where the Mage's city ceased, and the NoM's districts began.

"Cuzco doesn't discriminate," the priestess candidate, Lira, proudly proclaimed. "We don't have areas for the poor."

"Oh? How so?"

"All of the city's citizens are cared for by the Sapa," the Aclla Cuna replied with reverence. "So long as they or their families contribute, they won't starve, and they will always have a bed and a roof over their heads."

"And if they don't contribute?" Gwen arched a brow. Was modern-day Cuzco a socialist-theocracy like Bhutan? Or was it a cult of personality in the style of Dear Leader?

"Why would they not?" The girl furrowed her brows. "The city belongs to all of us. Inti shines on all equally, why should they not reciprocate? Who would wish to live in the darkness?"

Gwen caught Richard smiling and showed her cousin the white of her eyes.

"You're right." She grinned back amicably. "What a wonderful city. Bless Inti!"

"Bless Inti!" the girl chirped.

"Do you mind if I ask some more questions?"

"Ask me anything!" The girls' eyes glinted. "I am the top-ranking student at the temple! What would you like to know?"

"How about…" Gwen made sure her friends were listening. "How about some valorous tales of your darling prince?"

0610.

Sunrise.

Hymns praising the risen sun rose to a crescendo, filling the golden air with the music of the spheres.

"How ecclesiastical," Richard relayed through a silent Message. "I know they're using mostly wind instruments, but there's a choir and everything. I am getting flashbacks of Sunday assembly at Prince's."

"Must be a post-colonial thing," Gwen returned as she looked about the temple. Indeed, as Richard had stated, they may as well be in an Incan variation of the Barcelona Cathedral. Above, where the sun had struck the central structure's arched dome, an incredible array of amber quartz formed an art-deco sun, bathing the faithful in awe.

The high priest, dressed in the garb of Inti with three condor feathers in a golden headband, a metallic shawl and a waist-skirt etched with saffron threads, lead the congregation in prayer.

When the music ebbed, an incense-smeared llama dressed in gold and scarlet threads made its way to the centre of the dais.

Oh no, Gwen winced.

"I had expected a nubile virgin," Richard reminded her of Cuzco's past. That a llama was now a substitute spoke of the Cult's modernity. "Maybe it's a maiden llama?"

Without complaint, the animal knelt.

"Inti! Teach us!" The priest rose both hands toward the heavens. "Take this offering from your people!"

The congregation began to chant.

A disrobed young man joined the central dais. He was naked from the waist up and rouged in gold, reminding Gwen of a Grecian statue. As his footfalls filled the temple's vacant spaces with thudding echoes, she thought of Gunther.

So that's "Dear Prince", Gwen studied the lone figure as he approached the llama with a gleaming, golden blade. In one stroke, the Radiant Mage sunk the dagger into the creature's heart. The llama knelt, then the high priest collected the heart-blood in a jewelled goblet.

Oh no. Gwen realised where this was going.

"We invite our guests to partake in the gift of Inti," the priest declared.

Slick with gore from his square chest to chiselled abdominals, Inti raised the cup, then approached Fudan's assembly. From the left side of the aisle, the Cuzco team rose to their feet.

"I, Bai Tei, accept your generosity." Bai stepped forward, bowed to Inti, then again toward the Sapa Inca seated under the glimmering mural.

Inti took a sip.

Gwen felt her skin crawl.

"The flesh of my God, from me to you, brother under the sun," Inti intoned.

Tei received the goblet, then drank.

"Good!" Inti slapped Tei on the shoulder.

He then passed the goblet down the line so that it was in the hand of his vice-captain, a girl with deep, obsidian eyes. She introduced herself as Tica, a noblewoman and heir to the seat of Antis.

From the cup's rim, Tica dyed her lips, painting both petals carmine, making even Gwen gulp. When she relayed the goblet, the Void Mage could taste the fecundity radiating from Tica's body.

A Plant Mage! She wrinkled her nose at the nostalgic fragrance.

At the goblet's base, their fingers touched.

A mote of something passed between them. Their eyes met.

"The flesh of Inti, from me to you, sister under the sun," Tica parroted.

"Sister." Gwen raised the goblet, then took a mouthful.

The briny-blood was pungent but full of life. As a scalding line of raw vitality, it travelled down her gullet, flushing her body pink.

"Oh…" Gwen gasped, realising she had let loose an indiscreet moan.

"Inti appears to agree with you." Tica's smiling eyes formed two half-moons. "May we converse during the luncheon?"

Gwen nodded, then passed the goblet to a caramel giant taller than Richard and twice the bulk by the name of "Tupaq".

TUPAC?! Gwen almost regurgitated her plasma-de-llama. She regarded the rapper extraordinaire but was disappointed when the man spoke in Quechua.

The ritual continued.

Thanks to Mayuree running a discrete variation of Detect Magic, Fudan measured up their opponents.

The Incan team consisted of five men and five women.

Inti Yupanqui-Cápac, princeling and Radiant Mage, was Cuzco's captain.

Tica Chuquipoma-Yupanqui was their vice-captain, a Plant Mage. Her School of Magic was indeterminable, though Gwen did detect the familiar scent of a fellow Conjurer, one that had mastery over a sprite that smelled like Sufina.

Tupaq was a Mage with a hint of Abjuration. Likely a local specialist.

The other three men were not nearly as impressive as Inti and Tupaq, carrying the aura of casters at tier 5 or below. Uturunku was an Earthen Transmuter-Abjurer. Urqu, who wore a headdress of condor feathers, had the feel of an Air Mage with a mix of Transmutation and Divination. Qari appeared a Fire Evoker, though Jiro found the man's Affinity inferior by far.

Behind Tica were the female members of the Incan team. Sumatika was a water Mage of an indistinct school. Misi was a CQB Mage, evidenced by her dancer's figure and the obsidian daggers strapped to her thighs. Kusi, Misi's sister, was again a Mage of indistinct magic. Mallqu was the last member, one Mayuree determined to be a Support caster.

It was an imbalanced lineup, Gwen deduced. The sort Walken noted as a team held together by a few core members whose abilities were extraordinary.

"That makes sense, really," her teacher had wisely articulated. "In a society of enforced homogeny, mediocrity is celebrated. If individuals like Inti popped up all over, how would the Empire maintain itself?"

"One mountain does not brook two tigers." Bai nodded in agreement.

"Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere," Gwen added her piece.

"Not to mention we're talking dragons, condors, couatls, pumas…" Walken chuckled. "Harmony-over-competition isn't a bad thing. Until you realise there's a shortage of talent to repel the next Tide."

Ergo, to defeat Cuzco National, the easiest thing to do was to knock out Inti and Tica.

"Take care," Walken warned them. "From now until the finals, all your CCs will be accumulated. Through victory for each match, your scores will flow onto the next. In the event of a tie or total failure - the team with the higher CC total will emerge the victor. In that regard, prioritise your quest. Deal with Inti only if necessary."

"And the locals have home-ground trump cards," Richard said. "We have to tread lightly and carry a big wand."

Gwen's attention returned to the ceremony. The llama was now being carried out. Later it would be blessed with pepper and rock salt.

"Blessed Inti!" the high priest declared to the amber mural. "O radiant day-star that melts the snow and makes the maize rise."

"Inti!" The members of Cuzco National saluted the dais by crossing their wristbands across their chest. It was the customary greeting used by the Empire's elite.

"Inti!"

"Inti!"

"Inti!"

Prayers to the Sun God filled the cathedral.

From start to finish, the ceremony had taken two hours.

"We now invite Lord Auberon Lucas to speak." The high priest vacated for the chief proctor and his assistant.

The Baron of Shenfield took to the stage with effortless ease.

"Students, advisors, and guests- welcome to the international round of the 2004 IIUC. This morn, in beautiful Cuzco, we accept this invitation issued by the Royal House of Cápac."

"To our hosts! It is with great pleasure that the committee accepts your summon. In the coming days and beyond, may our friendship flourish, and our cooperation be fruitful!"

Applause.

"Fudan!" Auberon turned to the contestants. "You have travelled far, and I salute your ardour. Cuzco National! We thank your generosity and grace. To all of our contestants, I hope that you shall keep your heart firm, your valour strong and your honour immutable!"

His assistant Magister handed him a scroll.

"Your TASK!" Auberon unfurled the parchment with a dramatic flourish. "Shall take place beyond the edge of the Eastern Suyu."

A startled murmur spread through the Incan audience, including Cuzco's contestants. Inti and Tica swapped a knowing glance.

Fudan remained unmoved, vaguely aware that the Amazonian region was virginal Wildland but otherwise possessing no idea why the Inca grew agitated.

The chief proctor waited until the congregation quietened down.

"You have heard correctly. In preparation for this event, our joint-survey with the Cuzco Tower, under Magister Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, has unveiled a Dungeon in the hitherto unmapped region of Divi-Loc 12.61 S: 70.40 W."

Another murmur broke out over the assembly.

"Of course, we use the term Dungeon empirically. As for what our students shall find, I now invite our host to explain."

A thunderous meeting of palms rang out as Achiq, the Sapa Inca of the Four Corners of the World, took to the platform. Betraying Gwen's expectations, the king was a homely man with a modest bearing that reminded her of a middle-aged CEO. He stood a head shorter than his son, Inti, and sunken eye-bags marred his serious face. The contrast was so stark that for a moment, Gwen found it difficult to believe that the dry-looking sovereign could have sired his golden boy. Indeed, even with his golden mantle and headdress, the king's aura remained demure.

"Contestants, guests and friends," the Sapa began. "During the Tide, we lost vast areas of the Antis region to the monsters of Amazonia. Though we have recovered much, many of our ancestor's teachings and relics remain displaced. In this hour of our need, what brother Amaru has uncovered for the contest is one such piece of our past - an ancient temple dedicated to Mama Killa, the Moon Mother and her husband, Inti. Potentially, within the ruin rests many treasures- from lost scripture noted in the annuls of Quipu tapestries, to relics and wards from a time of old magic."

"As such, upon the shoulders of these young people, I wish to place the burden of recovering these precious artefacts. With the anticipation and hope of the people of Cuzco behind them, these brave warriors will enter the shadow of Amazonia and return our idols to the light!"

Auberon waited for the clamour to finish before taking over.

"Thank you. Your Majesty." He bowed, then turned to face the contestants. "Students, the Dungeon shall be a trial of intelligence, wit, and mastery over magic! Heed the Sapa's call to arms! The Quest to which you have been given will consist of two components. There shall be two parties of five members. First is the Explorer Team. Your task is to proceed into the unmapped region of Amazonia and locate said temple at the crossroads where three waterways meet. You shall follow the footsteps of great adventurers like Magister Shackleton and Meister Elijah Mallory in mapping the region for your companions."

"Should you succeed in locating the temple. Your instructions will be given to the second group — the Dungeoneering Team. Following your companions' footsteps, you will arrive at the ruins, ready to delve into its depth. In keeping with the dungeoneering spirit, I wish to inform you that not even your proctors know what awaits. All we possess is a record of what the Temple is said to hold. As the mission stands, CCs are awarded for artefacts, crystals, relics, and magical ingredients recovered. For additional credit, extraordinary events, combat, cooperation and preservation of the historical site may apply."

Auberon paused to study the students.

"Naturally, risk of life and limb is part and parcel the life of an Adventurer. I know that some of you may be wondering if Contingency will function in an isolated Black Zone. Well, I have good news for you."

"As a precaution, a special Contingency Ring has been crafted for all contestants, courtesy of Magister Amaru. The IIUC is aware that the impenetrability of the Amazon basin's dense vegetation will negate all effects bar the highest-tier of items. These custom rings have been modified to take you to the Cuzco Tower, as they have been manually attuned with resonating quartz-crystals unique to each ring."

The students from Cuzco relaxed. From their expressions, Gwen noted that not many of them possessed Contingency Rings in the first place. Comparatively, Fudan's cohort was well-provisioned, though they grew glad that in the worst-case scenario, they would be spared the cost.

"What a generous Tower Master." Richard applauded the bald Magister standing behind the Sapa Inca. "Complimentary insurance. How thoughtful."

Listening to Richard's miserly delight, Gwen couldn't help but think of an old saying- there's no such thing as a free lunch. For sure, she noted, there was going to be mortal danger.

"Students, friends, good Masters of Cuzco! Welcome to the 2004 opening match of the International Inter-University Competition!" Auberon raised his voice expansively as the guests and audience rose to their feet. "Students, in the spirit of fairness and genuine adventure, your trial begins at 0900 tomorrow morning! Good luck!"

Following the ceremony and the announcement, the teams took an hour to change their attires, re-emerging at noon into a converted courtyard.

Ever the suspicious cynic, Walken subtly patrolled the perimeter, studying the site for anything of interest that may befoul the team. By the time the party was in full swing, he couldn't help but acknowledge a woeful absence.

There was no duelling arena.

Indeed, no space had been reserved for Fudan's foremost strategy. There wasn't even a barrier. Should a fight break out, there was a genuine possibility of damaging the ancient temple.

Well, bollocks, Walken grumbled to himself. How could Gwen lay down the gauntlet when there's no place to jostle?

"What's the meaning of this?" He quickly joined the conspiracy of proctors in the courtyard. "Auberon?"

"You've got me there." The chief proctor put up both hands in a gesture of innocence. "Maybe they got wind of your Void Sorceress' records? I heard she has never lost a duel. That and she pounded down a pseudo-mythic in Burma. Who the hell would want to duel that?"

"..." Fudan's instructor blinked. What Auberon said made a lot of sense.

"If I were Cuzco, I wouldn't want to shame my princeling in public either." Auberon shrugged. "The son of a God must remain as such- you get my meaning?"

It was a reasonable conjecture.

Could it be true? Walken wondered to himself. Was this that Militant Pacifism he had heard from Kilroy? Supposedly, it was Gwen who came up with the idea.

His eyes passed the Incan nobles in their gold and jewels. It didn't take much effort to locate his cabal of sorceresses. There was Gwen, Petra, the golden boy, and the smitten priestess.

"Walken, you worrywart, leave them be," the Baron of Shenfield advised, "What is she, your apprentice? Didn't you kill her beloved Master?"

"You know that's not true," Walken warned his friend. "I am worried she might get us kicked out. You know what she did to the heirs to the Yooksung Group?"

"I too saw the Vid-cast."

"If she thrashes him in his temple..."

"Don't be such a prude, Eric." Auberon swirled the Argentinian Malbec in his glass. "Let the kids have their fun."

"What fun would that be?" A third voice joined their conversation. It was Cuzco's Tower Master, now the majordomo.

"Eric- you remember our host?" Auberon bowed, then brought the two face to face. "We met at the 97 Los Angeles PACT conference."

Walken suppressed a shameful flush of the cheeks. When he had last met Cuzco's Tower Master, they had been equals.

"I doubt one of the Ten would recall a provincial like me," sounded a voice with the consistency of silk. "Nonetheless, the pleasure is all mine, Eric..."

For an international broadcast, a smidgen of nationalism for the home front was expected. As such, cultural outfits had been the theme both Fudan and Cuzco had chosen for the mid-day llama feast.

On Cuzco's side, its members were ceremoniously adorned with a king's ransom of gold. Conversely, the Asian students elected a Shanghai speciality: silk cheongsams provided gratis by a designer in Suzhou.

For the men, their formal attires gave them a gravity which the youngsters lacked, adding significantly to Fudan's presentation. As for the girls, the styles which Gwen had picked out were elegant and provocative, scandalising the Incans with an attire that had bedazzled European expatriates for a century.

In their figure-hugging outfits and colour-matched heels, the girls cast such a sight that Jiro had trouble walking.

Playing their part as the team's poster-girls, Gwen and Petra made the rounds, shook hands and flirted with the smitten locals before taking advantage of lumen-ops that would soon arrive back home. For Gwen, it was business as usual, while Petra's coldness only made her more mysterious and alluring.

Sure enough, once the party had the momentum to proceed on its own, Inti approached. In his conforming-tunic, the young man was awe-inspiring. With his natural tan and trained body, Inti wouldn't look out of place if he were to apply zinc to his nose and emerge from the surf at Bondi.

"What do you think?" She nudged her cousin. "Ripper of a bloke, eh? You keen?"

Petra's answer came in the form of a playful pinch that made Gwen yelp.

But before Gwen could ply the old charm, a priestess intercepted the prince before he could introduce himself.

"Miss Song, it gets cold in Cuzco." A set of dark pupils traced the arch of Gwen's dress from hip to ankle. "I hope you won't catch a cold before the match."

"A chill, when the sun's so close?" Gwen suppressed a smirk as she teased her hapless interloper.

Behind the girl, she caught Inti trying to place his eyes somewhere innocuous. To gaze at the vice-captain's face was too embarrassing, looking lower was lewd, and to stare at her feet was perhaps worse.

She flashed a winning smile, urging Petra to do likewise. Before they duelled, it was good to lower her opponent's guard.

"So, Prince In—"

"He's taken." Tica's interruption snapped like a whip. "We're engaged!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

An awkward silence reigned as Tica gloated. Gwen wondered if she could get Tica into a duel by flirting with Inti. Petra had a dozen spells she had wanted to test on the Radiant Mage.

Cuzco's captain soon broke the tension by changing the topic.

"Dear ladies, may I borrow both of you to sound a proposal?" An overpowering earnestness washed over them like warm water. "Miss Gwen, as Fudan's Ace, I understand you occupy a central position within the team. Will you lend me your ear?"

Gwen lowered her eyes for a moment to circulate a mote of Almudj's Essence. Whether intentional or otherwise, Inti's unadulterated positivity was intoxicating.

"Of course, I'm happy to listen."

"Thank you. Then I shall make my case." Inti appeared unfazed by Gwen's glowing irises. "As you well know, Uncle Amaru has set a quest that benefits my people. No matter which one of us is the victor, Cuzco remains a beneficiary."

"That's right," Gwen concurred. "And?"

"And as such, we would be obliged if our missions could be carried out cooperatively."

"Oh?" Gwen studied the man's unblinking eyes. Cooperation? She was here to kick his ass, and he wanted to hold hands? In the previous match, both Jiantong and Seoul had wanted to butt heads, while Kyoto was an ally of circumstance. "From the get-go?"

"Yes, from the beginning." Inti showed off his perfect teeth. "In Amazonia, survival will be our greatest challenge, not each other. If so, why not strike an accord? Our competition shouldn't be won or lost because of us undermining one another. We can both benefit."

"A win-win?" Gwen rested a hand against her hip, fascinated by the prince's selfless generosity. The proposal was tempting. After all, wasn't the Middle Faction's motto mutual gain and mutual compromise? "I won't say no, but you can't expect me to believe you're happy with losing? Doesn't Cuzco have home advantage? Why should you hamstring yourselves?"

When he next spoke, Inti's voice took on a resonant, euphonic quality. "Miss Gwen, I am imploring you because I am a realist. I am under no delusion that Cuzco National will measure up against opponents outside our domain. I know that compared to the Europeans, our meagre mastery of Spellcraft will not win us the IIUC."

"You say that now—" she protested.

"Miss Gwen. I know you wanted to use the luncheon to duel myself and Tica." Inti's words exposed her naked ambition. "I've heard of your prowess. However, in my opinion, senseless fighting will only sour our future cooperation. That's why I had the duelling arenas removed."

Gwen chuckled uncomfortably. Beating seven shade of shit out of Inti had indeed graced her and Walken's data slates.

"Let me say this: progressing to round two isn't our principal objective." The Incan candidness caught her flatfooted. "With the quest unveiled, we have more important objectives. Do you wish to know why Cuzco strived to enter the IIUC?"

Gwen shrugged.

"It's so that we can remind the world that the Empire is a bastion of humanity" Inti intoned reverently. "For the days ahead, we will prove to the world that in Amazonia lies the greatest threat to the continuation of human dominion in the region. Should there be another beast-tide, South America may become a Demi-human continent."

Inti's eyes burned with conviction.

"I bring, therefore, a proposal of peace. In the days ahead, we shall not impede one another's progress in our quests. As we are all siblings under the sun, should we not act as such? Cuzco has no conflict with Shanghai. Why not let us open a new chapter of cooperation between our two cities? I sincerely believe that in working hand-in-hand, we shall both succeed in our endeavours."

Inti glowed, and his audience quaked. Gwen felt her heart soften. In her eyes, Inti appeared as though a radiant labrador begging with liquid eyes. To refuse would be kicking the biggest puppy under the sun.

"I understand if you find it difficult to trust us," Inti whined. "I would be suspicious too. As a show of sincerity, my team shall swear on Inti's name that there will be no betrayal..."

"Hold your llamas." Gwen stopped the prince before he could continue to paw at her conscience. "Let me get Tei."

Taking advantage of her height, she scanned the party for her teammates. There was the flirtatious Jiro, keeping a dozen dates with a dozen priestess candidates, letting the girls pet his Firebird. Behind the young man, Rene answered questions while trying to keep Jiro from the giggling virgins. In a shaded corner, Mayuree and Eunae hid behind the dessert table, two introverts perfectly happy to be left alone. Across the courtyard, Richard conversed with the proctors, gathering intel. Beside the carvery, Lulan was slowly whittling the llama down to the bone.

Finally, she spotted Tei speaking to the Incan giant, Tupaq.

"Cap!" Gwen's voice summoned her captain to the corner where she and Petra stood in opposition to the golden prince and his bangled priestess. "Inti has offered us a deal."

The two captains shook; then Inti made his case.

Tei fell into silence.

Gwen knew her captain's dilemma, for their original plan centred around harassing Cuzco with her hounds and Familiars. If indeed Inti wanted a cooperative mission, was it then to Fudan's advantage or disadvantage? If so, was this a multi-dimensional ploy, or the innocent hope of a princeling?

"So that you know, I am fine with cooperation" Gwen delivered her verdict, drawing on her experience in Singapore. "Trust me when I say that between trolls, insects, carnivorous plants and the other demi-humans, we'll be taxed beyond belief."

Tei weighed her words.

"Captain, allow me to share a token of our sincerity," Inti earnestly intoned. "According to Quipu records, the lost temple of Mama Killa isn't a single structure. It's a sprawling city-centre swallowed by the jungle."

"Oh, I see!" Gwen threw away her vision of a half-sunken Indiana movie set. She had been to Angkor Wat in her past life and could imagine the majesty of a lost city consumed by the wilderness. If so, then the Explorer team would indeed struggle to locate such a site. In her old world, even with regular, non-magical trees, Machu Picchu had remained hidden for four centuries.

Tei thanked the prince. As the heir to a family of tomb guardians, he was no stranger to lost relics. If the "temple" was instead a vine-strewn city, then the competitive prospect of recovering relics had improved immensely. During the dungeon dive, the teams could race to the middle while watching one another's backs. With Gwen on their side, he had full confidence in a clean sweep through the complex that would leave no stone unturned.

"Well?" Tica butted in, breaking Inti's spell to critique Fudan's indecision. "Are all foreigners so lacking in trust?"

Tei looked to his vice-captain.

Gwen struck out a hand.

The two captains and vice-captains exchanged handshakes. The commotion was such that both scattered teams gravitated toward their leaders.

"ALRIGHT!" Gwen quickly freed her fingers from Inti's hands when Tica's lips twitched. "Let's celebrate!"

Inti motioned for more wine.

"No, no." Gwen materialised a white-jade bottle of half-century-old Maotai. From the other, she placed a dozen shot-glasses on a side table. "THIS is the Chicha of the orient, made from the finest scarlet sorghum. To celebrate our cooperation, why not have a friendly competition?"

"Ha!" Tica confronted her opponent, though her face only reached Gwen's chin. "I shall take you up on that offer!"

"Miss Tica, in the interest of our burgeoning friendship, I must inform you that Gwen has Russian blood," Petra forewarned their host. "When drinking, we have no equal."

"Oh, yes, the 'Russian' blood," Gwen smirked like a fox in a hen house.

Without adieu, she poured.

To the chagrin of his handlers, Inti drank without so much as a nod from the poison-taster.

"Somaq Mihuna!" the prince exhaled fragrantly, demonstrating his trust. "Wonderful!"

Tica followed suit, then flushed scarlet.

Petra passed a cup to Tei before happily supping her own.

Gwen slammed her thimble without blinking, then topped up the cups once more.

"Kawsaypac!"

"Gānbēi!"

"Cheers!"

They drank their drinks.

They filled the cups.

"Kawsaypac!"

"Gānbēi!"

"Cheers!"

Rinse. Repeat.

"Good man!" Gwen gave Inti a thumbs up. "To friendship!"

Tei despaired.

Three shots down and his vice-captain's bottle-hand remained steadier than an Earth Elemental.

Russian blood? More like draconic-constitution!

What happened to honour?

What happened to honesty?

Was Fudan going back on their word so soon?

At night, Fudan's cabal of Mages gathered in Gwen's portable habitat.

"Are you satisfied?" Walken admonished his students.

"I was testing his abilities." Gwen grinned.

The rest of the team snorted.

"Did you forget I was there?" their advisor grunted. "Inti had to be carried out! Amaru's niece was one shawl away from wearing nothing but a tunic!"

"So close!" Jiro sighed before being glared into submission.

"A full-body tunic," Gwen protested. "They're the ones who wanted to mix-alcohols! Amateurs."

"I told you to handle them with care!"

"That was me with kid-gloves." The Void Sorceress pouted. "If I used schooners, one of them might have died."

"You're an addict!"

"Killjoy!"

Walken clutched his chest with a pained expression, trying his best to keep his impulses in check.

"Alright, alright." Richard came between them. To Gwen, Eric was on her level, but to the rest of the gawking team, Walken was a renowned Magister. "Sir, your advice?"

"Hmmph!" Walken huffed. "Back to the business then: Contingency Rings. Team makeups. Amazonia. Collaboration and competition."

He tapped his data slate.

"I want to hear your proposals. Gwen, if you're so sober, let's start with you..."

A strange song lifted through the golden hall of Sacsahuamán.

"Prince Inti

Shinny is he:

Inti of Coricancha—

Strong as ten regular Evokers, probably!

He faced the trollish galloping hordes—

A hundred ogres with swords—

Then threw them all in the SUN!

Oh, Prince Inti—"

The adolescent acolytes of Inti's temple grew hypnotised by the chant of a green-eyed Void Witch.

"He's got sixty priestesses to attend to,

and he's got virginal llamas galore…"

"Gwen!" her instructor hissed at the girl's embarrassing display. What the hell was she teaching these kids?! Why were the lyrics so lewd? "Get back here!"

The girl returned.

"Inti's late…" she eyed Cuzco National's team just beside them, all present except for two central figures. Yawning, she stretched her legs. Tupaq the giant caught her eye before flushing a deep scarlet, changing the colour of his face from caramel to chocolate. As for the rest, the Incan team eyed Fudan enviously, gawking at their attire in the same way Fudan had eyeballed Seoul's thrice-enchanted uniforms.

For their international leg, Gwen and her peers wore quasi-magical combat suits sourced from the PLA. The whole ordeal had begun when Gwen convinced Guo to send a note upward that her team was fighting in rag-tag, often un-attuned clothing. To prove her point, she showed him her shredded bodysuit and cried wolf about the possibility of indecent exposure while overseas. Her grandfather had then grunted that he would look into it. A week later, there was a surprise inventory audit at the PLA Tower.

Serendipitously, ten suits of Shen-teī RECON MKII Operator's Garb soon arrived at Fudan. The design was proudly plagiarised from the lastest American variant: the plating absorbed damage, the mesh was self-healing, the interior self-cooling, and the fit was self-adjusting.

Haughtily, Gwen played with her straps, then once again polluted the sanctified air with her Gwenisms.

"Prince Inti!

Shinny is he-

Inti of Coricancha…"

0950.

Clang!

The double-doors opened.

"My apologies for the delay!"

Tica followed Inti demurely as the prince burst through the door with great dread. In front of her, the crowd grew instantly scandalised. They had never seen the prince so dishevelled.

Tica groaned, her memory was a mess.

When Tei Bai retired after three glasses, Cuzco National had gotten its hopes up. Then after that, Tica recollected nothing. All she possessed were vague images of Chicha, Aztech tequila, Argentinian red and Chinese Maotai; that and the wicked witch's smiling face.

Tica scanned the crowd, then sucked in a breath of cold air.

Fudan's contestants appeared as though dressed for war.

The witch waved back.

Seeing that the hussy was haler than a Frost-troll Howler, Tica's stomach cramped. Yesterday, she and Inti had spent an hour hugging the golden throne, despairing when not even a Restoration could clear the effects of scarlet sorghum. Unlike Chicha, Maotai was an elixir-like suffusion.

Amaru approached.

Tica felt her back covered in cold sweat. When provoked, her master could be madder than a plucked condor.

Thankfully, the chief proctor proceded her uncle. After welcoming the students, he asked them to register their inventory, declare all goods, then thumb the disclaimer for the Eye of Providence.

At the end of the hour-long inspection, Magister Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui presented the students with their Contingency Rings.

When her uncle placed the ring in Tica's hands, he gave her fingers a subtle squeeze, easing her anxiety. The jungle was a dangerous place, and Tica suspected the key rationale her master had the rings crafted was for her and Inti's safety.

"Students! These are the rings tied to the mother-lode inside Cuzco Tower," the kindly Tower Master explained with great patience. "As they use the same Enchantment as your Contingency Rings, both items cannot be concurrently equipped. As such, you have the option of using the given device or your own. Should you do so, Cuzco is not liable for your safety."

Tica watched as a few of Fudan's students incanted their secret commands, then removed their rings. Conversely, Cuzco's team had scant members wealthy enough to own Contingency devices. The palpable difference was enough to engender a feeling of inferiority.

If Shanghai was wealthy enough to equip their team with military Magi-tech and devices worth hundreds of thousands of HDMs, what would a top twenty team from London or Berlin or Los Angeles possess? With Cuzco's limited trade with the nations up north, how could they compete against that?

Her uncle Amaru had likewise said that the Inca needed desperately to catch up with the rest of the world. Now, seeing Fudan in their colour-coordinated skin-suits, she couldn't help but acknowledge that the Empire had a ways to go.

"... I shall await your arrival at our basecamp in Marcapata." Auberon had reached the end of his speech. "Let me remind you that beyond the Gate of the Condor, there is nought but Amazonia until you hit the South Atlantic. Try not to miss it..."

The teams moved out.

Once outside, a group of nobles, including the Sapa Inca, met the students for final well-wishes.

"May your noon be bright and fair." The Sapa kissed his son on the forehead, touching his three condor feathers to Inti's two. He then drew Tica close and kissed her forehead as well. "Be safe, daughter."

Tica blushed.

Her father was there as well, and he likewise kissed his daughter.

"Tica, take care of Inti."

"You know I will." Tica pulled herself away. "Solpayki, Father."

"Tupananchikkama."

In the Quechua tongue, the term favourably meant "until we meet again."

As for Fudan, they had only their advisor to see them off, a sad contrast that improved Tica's mood.

"Students!" her uncle, the Tower Master of Cuzco, ordered the contestants forward. "May the blessing of Inti fall upon you even in the darkness of Amazonia!"

To the sound of musical fanfare, cheering crowds, and the ear-piercing screeches of Inti's fans, the student Mages took to the air.

From above, the terracotta vista of Cuzco revealed itself as an earthen puma, resembling a filled-in Nazca figure.

"Alright, partner," Gwen affected a northern accent. "Where to?"

"To the east!" Inti spoke for his team. "Condor's Rise isn't far. A few hours at most."

"Lead the way, brother."

Cuzco's young prince rose above his peers. As they passed Cuzco's gates, curious farmers gazed from their fields of mountain maize, marvelling at the twin formations moving in tandem.

Three hours later, the assembly of students arrived.

Marcapata was a sentry town with a small population of enterprising locals living in a dozen modest mud-brick homes. It housed a hundred Incan warriors and a contingent of Mages overseeing the Teleportation Circle.

As a fortification, the township was constructed cliff-side so that the west-facing portion of the village rested on a green plateau of short shrubs and gentle cornfields. The eastern reach was a sheer drop of over a kilometre, with its jagged cliff faces halting the emerald sea.

When the two teams landed in the courtyard, their chief proctor narrowed his eyes, then walked a perimeter around the students.

"You flew here from Cuzco?"

"Yessir." Inti bowed, joined by his counterparts.

"Without drama?"

"None, sir." Tei saluted. "We're ready to proceed."

Auberon appeared at a loss for words. He spotted the Void Sorceress behind the others, chit-chattering with Cuzco's vice-captain.

"Right." The proctor scratched his chin. "Well then, let's get on with it. Split into your nominated teams; then I'll arrange your accommodations. You want to do this publically or in private?"

"Tei? Gwen?"

"Here's fine."

The teams parted.

Auberon Lucas wondered if he had underrated the sincerity of the llama luncheon.

In front of him, hiding nothing, the teams made their strategies self-evident.

Unsurprisingly, Cuzco's Explorers consisted of Tica as their squad leader. The Plant Mage was all kinds of unwilling to part from her beau, but the circumstances of the quest compelled them to take on their most suitable roles. On paper and in life, a Plant Mage with a Rainforest Sprite was a superior choice for the Explorer team, one that was wasted in the stony depth of the temple complex.

Cuzco National's next member was a scout by the name of Urqu, a Transmuter dabbling in Divination. From Urqu's feather-strewn cowl, Auberon suspected there was more to the young man than his unassuming biometrics.

Following the two core Explorers were three others. Uturunku was the Earthen Abjurer, Sumatika a Water Transmuter-Evoker, and finally, Qari was a Fire Evoker-Conjurer with an unusual Spirit.

Across the divide, Fudan's Explorers consisted of Richard as their leader, Anita on mobile defence, Jiro on offence, Eunae on utility, and Mayuree as Diviner. From the looks of the line-up, Fudan likely suspected that the lion's share of troubles would occur in the temple ruin. As such, members incapable of superior defence or instant-mobility such as Eunae and Mayuree would likely serve as hindrances. Conveniently, having a full-time Diviner and a Cleric supplementing Cuzco's Explorers was a palpable olive branch.

A few hugs later, the line-up was completed.

Inti's team consisted of the prince, the gentle giant Tupaq, the two sisters Misi and Kusi, and Mallqu, a quiet girl playing the utilitarian role.

Fudan's Dungeoneers, meanwhile, consisted of their captain, Tei Bai, Gwen Song, the Mineral Mage Petra, Rene the Magma Mage, and Lulan Li.

"Very good," Auberon Lucas ordered a proctor to take down their names. The Magister then materialised two data slates.

Richard and Tica stepped up to receive their teams' respective cartographic devices.

"The general location of the ruins has been pre-marked. Likewise, the map will record your progress," Auberon advised both Explorer teams. "If in one week you cannot find the ruins, your mission has failed, and you may use the map to trek back to Marcapata. Should you succeed in finding the ruins, mark it on your map, and we will deliver a duplicate copy to your Dungeoneering team. Once your mission is complete, return immediately to basecamp. As with your regional competitions, you are solely responsible for your safety. Any questions?"

The teams remained mum. There was no doubt that the road ahead was full of danger, but who would want to hear it from the horse's mouth?

"Well?" Auberon studied the teams, hoping for some friction.

"Sir." Inti bowed. "Please excuse us. We're going to have a meeting."

The chief proctor twisted his lips.

Was this the IIUC, or a sanctioned Field Trip?

Once the two teams made a huddle, Inti informed them that humans travelling through Amazonia had to choose a stratum between the sky and the forest floor.

Confused by Inti's words, Gwen asked for elucidation.

"I'll explain," Tica was the one who interjected. "Inti's not from this area, so he hasn't seen the true extent of what we're about to face. Coca!"

A jade-green seed pod struck the ground, materialised from Tica's pocket dimension. It dug into the hard stone, then sprouted into a little terrarium-like display.

"Is that your Spirit?" Gwen inspected the near-instant miniature rainforest.

"Not exactly." Tica smirked.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

The two girls exchanged cordial grins.

"Ariel!"

"Coca!"

"EEEE!" Ariel struck a pose the moment it materialised, flashing its new horns and brilliant mane. "EE! EE!"

"..."

An alien plant silently stood beside the contestants.

Each to each, the members of both teams surrounded their vice-captain's Familiars. Ariel swished its tail, blew out its mane, then stalked in a circle as though best-in-show at Crufts.

"May I touch it?" Even Inti appeared impressed. "Is it a dragon? No, it resembles a hound, not a puma, and it has no wings. A chimaera? A deer-weasel-fish?!"

"Ariel is a Kirin." Gwen returned politely, wondering what kind of a dragon was an oversized cat with wings.

"Ee!" Ariel huffed. It was most certainly not a weasel!

Fudan's attention turned to Tica's Coca.

"..."

The plant quivered with embarrassment. It was the strangest, most alien thing Gwen had ever seen. The questions hammering at Fudan's collective lips was "Wocao! What is that?" and "Seriously?" but they were too polite to say so.

"It's... a Sundew?" Richard suddenly spoke up. "It's an actual plant? You have an actual nature Sprite? That's amazing!"

Unsure of what to make of Tica's beast, Gwen feigned delight. The "plant" possessed hundreds of tentacles that formed a bloom some half-a-meter across. The centre had a strange pink hole, while on all the stalks a drop of sticky liquid engendered like honey. It was quite beautiful, but hardly the sort of thing a girl could hug, kiss or take to bed to cuddle.

"It's a plant!" Richard appeared genuinely impressed. "Gwen, recall that magical-plants don't usually have cores. This has to be a rare hybrid, or a unique Alraune or a Spriggan! How precious!"

Gwen clapped. She didn't even know what a Sundew was.

Tica, meanwhile, was all sorts of pleased by Richard's recognition of her Familiar's greatness, finding an unexpected ally against the absurdly dashing Ariel. When she turned to Inti to see if her beau was jealous that someone else was praising her; Tica found Inti neck-deep in the Kirin's fur, groaning softly.

"..." Tica despaired.

"..." Coca wept bitter, sticky secretions.

Sighing, Tica explained the journey ahead, using her terrarium as a diagram.

Firstly, Amazonia was enormous.

The region's outer rim was an Orange Zone, extending for about a hundred kilometres inward. The trees in this region were usually mundane, ranging from ten to a hundred meters, growing on the volcanic slopes of the Andes.

The inner segment of Amazonia, beginning where the foliage grew too dense for the sunlight to penetrate, was the domain of magical flora and fauna. From trees to fungi to predatory beasts to demi-humans like trolls, it made human exploration a farcical dream.

"Then there's the heart of the Amazonia," Tica explained. "The Quipu scripts tell us that the Apu live there and that there is a great tree larger than any other in the forest's midst. BUT, no one has seen it, and no Mage has ever penetrated that far."

For the students' current objective, the 'lost temple' was two hundred kilometres as the harpy flew from Condor's Rise. It wasn't so deep as to put them into troll territory, but neither was it close enough to be in the Orange Zone.

"Amazonia's Zone Rating changes depending on the layers..." Tica continued to instruct their Fudan allies with her superior knowledge.

In total, she explained, there were four layers.

The emergent layer of Amazonia was home to the largest collective of demi-birds in the Americas. Among the treetops of kilometre-tall mahogany and zumaumeira with the girth of skyscrapers, creatures ranging from the diminutive Yellow-breasted Thunderhawk to the man-eating Eagle-clawed Harpy ruled.

Conversely, in the "Canopy" lurked hordes of Fang-tooth Macaques and Star-tailed Gibbons. Should the contestants be especially unlucky, there was also the world-famous Displacer Jaguar, the highest tier of Displacer Beasts.

The "Understory" of the sea of trees, therefore, marked the safest path for human travel, as the lightless region grew into a wondrous world of luminous fungi, quasi-magical insects, reptiles and mammals. What marked this layer as different to the rest was the denseness of the foliage, making the region ill-suited for apex-fauna.

Finally, as for the forest floor, an infinite variety of spiders, slugs, and parasites occupied the sodden darkness. In the rich loam, underground aberrations grew to enormous sizes. Here and there, thickets of decaying foliage swallowed animals wholesale. And that was discounting the trolls.

Aghast at Tica's info-graphic, the teams agreed on a mutual route.

They would fly within thirty-kilometres of their target, then enter the understory to search for the three rivers that converged on the temple's ruins.

"Good luck!" Gwen kissed each of her Explorers on the cheeks when all was said and done. She gave Richard her Portable Habitat, instructing him to share it with Tica's team.

"Inti's blessing." Cuzco's captain placed a golden symbol around his fiancèe's neck.

"Take care." Tica kissed Inti's lips in full view of Gwen and the others, leaving the prince flushing a sunset scarlet. "Stay safe."

"I shall."

"I'll protect him with my life," Tupaq promised. "Inti's blessing."

After more hugs and kisses, the Mages set off from the cliff, leaping from the edge like lemmings. For the first half-day, both teams would fly safely above the canopy, sparing the need to battle whatever creatures that took offence to their presence. Closer to their objective, they would then dip into the ocean of trees to dive for treasure.

"Eee! Eee!" Ariel sniffed Inti's tunic, swishing its tail.

"I hope they can work together without trouble," Gwen said. "I guess we'll find out in a week."

"Tica's a better leader than I." Inti instinctively offered an HDM to Ariel. "What are your plans for the interim?"

"Me?" Gwen grinned as she glanced at the rainforest below. "I am going to stock up, care to watch?"

Auberon and his team of proctors lounged in their make-shift pavilion, watching the crystal screens display the progress of the Explorers. So far, everything was proceeding smoothly.

"How long until they hit the emergent layer?" he requested of his assistant, Lucy.

"Six hours at their current trajectory."

"A lull then." Auberon yawned. He turned to the other half-dozen proctors currently on duty. "Anything of interest?"

"No, sir."

"All's quiet here."

"They're just flying for now."

His assistant switched through the Scrys.

"Master Lucas," one of the Senior Mages raised the alarm. "Gwen Song and Tei Bai just left Condor's Rise."

"It looks like Inti and Tupaq are joining them," another proctor called out from across the room.

"Are we recording the Dungeoneers?"

"Not until there's magical activity."

"Do it."

"Yessir. I am switching to Engine Two."

"Where are they going?" Auberon asked the general air. "Get me a direct Scry."

The Divination-Engines thrummed as the Magi-tech device began to stream the activities of Fudan's captain, first showing their location, which was the forest below the Marcapata plateau, then the contestants themselves.

The proctors followed the students until they landed on the jutting stones. Once alighted, the students engaged in a brief show and tell, with Inti demonstrating the Evocation Radiant Mages were known for, and Tupaq proving his Abjuration skills by blocking Gwen's Lightning.

Then, the Void Sorceress tossed a few Chakrams while Tei took a dozen punishing bolts from Inti.

All was well until Gwen summoned her Void snake. As anticipated, a great commotion broke out when Tupaq moved to protect Inti. With a great howl, the Tupaq Polymorphed into a puma-like beast, eliciting yelps of admiration from Gwen.

The proctors found great mirth in the reaction, for they had all seen the vid-cast from Burma. When Inti almost seared Caliban on reflex, the room burst into laughter.

"Caliban needs to consume things to use its skills," the sorceress informed the prince somewhat deceptively, apparently keeping her cards close to her chest. "Please stand well out of range while I activate the feeding magic."

Two men and one half-man-half-puma retreated a ways up the cliff.

Gwen Song then walked into the jungle.

"Good Lord!" a proctor spat.

The Void Sorceress soon stood amidst a dark pool, conjuring forth a viscous liquid that writhed and churned.

"Ah." Auberon whistled. "Nice."

The perspective changed. Now the scene was one in which the Eye of Providence hovered directly over the girl.

"Sir." Auberon's assistant, a minor noble by the name of Lucy Pritchard, opened her eyes wide with alarm. "How can she activate high-consumption Void magic without Clerical support?"

"How indeed." The chief proctor measured the girl on the screen with his eyes. "Get us closer. Run diagnostics. Get me vital readings."

The scene zoomed in. The sorceress seemed to catch something in the air. She turned to face the screen, then flashed a winning grin.

"I almost forgot she's a Diviner as well." Auberon smiled back.

On their vid-casts, the Void Swarm erupted.

A few of the proctors let loose audible gasps as waves after wave of swarming lamprey-things sallied forth into the jungle. When one of the proctors zoomed out to the furthest limit the Eye allowed; what they saw chilled their bones.

"The rainforest!" Lucy shivered. "It's dying!"

Auberon's mind took a second to catch up. Where there had been a verdant undergrowth of trees licking at the dark granite base of Condor's Rise, now a clearing began to rapidly develop. It was as though the forest had suddenly wilted, receding into the viridian surf like the waning tide.

"Sir, a megafauna is incoming," a proctor directed their attention to the edge, where an enormous constrictor covered in scabby skin emerged into the new clearing. With a mighty sweep of its tail, it crushed two-dozen lampreys. Its beady eyes then locked in on the fair-skinned sorceress, tasting her vitality through the polluted air.

"How convenient, a tier 6 titan boa." Auberon made sure the group was recording. "Let see how-"

"Shaaa! Shaa! SCREEEE!"

A creature charged toward the titan.

Where it had burst through the trees confident as anything, instinct now bade the boa to flee.

The Void Familiar, however, closed the distance in an instant, transforming into a spindly, ten-limbed spider, landing on the gigantic predator with both fore-limbs fully extended.

"SHAA!" A scorpion's tail stabbed into the boa's forehead.

"... never mind." Auberon's query ended when the Void swarm smothered the trapped snake within a minute.

The girl hugged herself, shivering in delight, her cheeks a rosy-pink.

Not far, Inti and his guardian-shaman watched with complex, unreadable expressions.

"Eric Walken, you devious prick…" Auberon mouthed under his breath. When his alumni had informed him that Fudan would be working with Cuzco, Auberon had scoffed. Now, Auberon's eyes had been opened. This display had shown him what a Void Mage was capable of in a place which was choked with biomass.

"Sir?" Lucy, his assistant, was pale as a sheet.

"It's fine, Lucy. All within expectations." Auberon dismissed his assistant's unease. "Although, I dare say those codgers at Oxbridge are going to have to review their papers..."

Five hours in, Richard's Explorers came upon their first test of faith.

"Do we help?" Anita questioned their squad-leader.

Below Fudan, combat had been joined between Cuzco and a group of half-bird, half-humanoid creatures Tica had named Copper-claw Harpies. Currently, a dozen of the winged beasts were testing Cuzco's patience, flying in and out of range, swooping back and forth to harass their shields.

Cuzco's Abjurer was proving his proficiency, throwing up yellow-tinged barriers to deflect their screeching assailants.

"Don't attack!" Tica's voice came through Mayuree's Message relay. "If they mark us, the whole flock will emerge. Remember, this is their home. They'll defend it to the death."

"Hold your positions." Richard coolly observed the action below. "Jiro, put your Firebird back in its house."

"We're not attacking?" Jiro furrowed his brows. "I reckon we can do it."

Richard mentally scanned through the entries from Gwen's bestiary. These particular creatures were unknown, but there was a general entry for Harpies of the Amazon. One annotation affirmed Tica's statement that the death of one or more harpies was sure to bring more.

If he were here with Gwen, Richard would not have hesitated to begin a wide-area bombardment, but alas.

"If we attack, the whole flock will likely emerge from those trees," Richard pointed to what he suspected to be a nest. "Mia?"

"There's a lot," Mayuree interjected before Jiro could answer. "I am sensing a super-dense clump of magical mana. Potentially, there could be thousands."

"All the same to me." Jiro was eager to finally show off. "My fire can't be doused."

"They may have shamans as well," Mayuree warned. She had likewise read the bestiary. "The more intelligent harpies are worse than trolls."

"Mia, any orders from our friends?"

"Nothing," Mayuree reported.

"I think they're testing us," Richard scoffed. "Untrusting buggers."

"What should we do?"

"Play along." Their squad leader licked his lip. Silently, he summoned his Familiar. "Lea, if they turn on us, I want a water prison on all of them. Jiro, you see the girl with the blue shawl? That's their Water Mage. If Lea imprisons them, I want her disabled. I'll take care of the rest."

"Got it. Let's buff up!"

"Crystalline Armour!" Anita encased her team's combat suits with semi-opaque plates. She then touched each of her team members with a lower-tier protection buff against unforeseen status effects. "Resistance!"

"Bless!" Eunae bolstered the team's physical and mental conditions before turning to Mayuree and herself. "Sanctuary!"

A faint glyph appeared and disappeared, making the two supporting mages less conspicuous.

"Tica, its Richard." Fudan's squad leader fired off a Message. "Six-o-clock's the nest, where the two trees arch. We'll follow your lead. I am coming in with a slowing AoE to discourage the birds. Get Sumatika to mist the area. I'll need as much water as possible."

"Got it," Tica's voice came through. "Suma?"

"Yes, Aclla Cuna." The Water Mage obeyed.

Besides Richard, Lea's long blue lashes battered as she transformed into a fine mist before coiling about his body.

Richard took a deep breath. "Fudan! Follow my lead!"

"Screeee!" Came the cry from a harpy-beast, extending both talons to rake the flesh from Richard's back. As the half-woman, half-condor approached, however, its wings grew suddenly sodden, so much that its feathers began to bead.

The bird fell.

"EEK!"

Where it had fallen, there was a blur.

"CAW—"

Two simian-shaped beasts snagged the harpy before it could again take flight, dragging it into the canopy. Where they had disappeared, a great hoot of blood-curdling howls indicated an impromptu feast was taking place.

"Mia!" Richard sent another bird to its certain doom. "What can you see?"

"There's too many of everything!" Mayuree was controlling her Arcane Eye, trying to find a path down into the understory. "We'll have to push through!"

"Urqu!" Tica commanded their team's scout, a local of the Antis region and a hunter who had trained in the forest since his Awakening. "Can you lead us down?"

Even as she spoke, Tica kept the birds at bay. As soon as she had seen Richard's tactic, she adjusted her own. Where she had harried the harpies with long, whip-like vines reminiscent of Gwen's Dark Tentacles, she now disabled the fliers with globs of sticky residue that sent them reeling below into the awaiting simians.

Besides her, Urqu wrapped his feathered shawl around his shoulders, transforming into the likeness of a sparrowhawk, activating a spell with an aura alien to Fudan's Spellcraft knowledge.

"I can," Urqu Messaged mid-descent. "It won't be easy though; if we lose someone..."

"Anita!" Richard gave the command.

"Warding Bond!" Anita activated a rare, party-wide Abjuration she had learned after Burma. At her tier and Affinity, she could daisy-chain five friendlies aside from herself, displacing the damage received among her allies.

"Faithful Guardian!" Eunae gestured quickly, equipping the agile flier with a reactive insurance barrier.

"Any last words?" Richard joked at Cuzco's expense.

Ignoring his ill-humour, Tica held out an inscribed sun-burst figurine. It was Inti's necklace.

"No one will die this day. Inti's relic will keep us safe." Her face glowed with confidence. "The Sun's blessing be upon us."

Richard blinked.

He had initially dismissed the token as a one given out of love.

Now she's telling him it's a relic?!

The bloody Cult of Inti could produce relics?

In his short stint as the Pretorian of Prince's, he had seen relics in the chapels of the Four Houses and the Priests who put them to good use. The divine items weren't rare, but they were exclusive in the extreme, possessed only by trusted members of an organisation's leadership. Based on his limited contact with scriptural magic, producing a relic was complicated in the extreme. First, a unique Creature Core was required as the housing material. Then, a high-tier enchanter inscribed upon the Core consecrated runes. Finally, the sanctified items were kept in a place of worship to collect the ambient mana of the faithful. Then, and only then, servants of the faith could call forth phenomenon divorced from the Imperial System of Magic.

Richard's mind was quick to accept the new reality.

Indeed, Inti WAS an object of worship. Likewise, Tica without a doubt, a priestess. It was fruitless to fuss over why a Chaplin could deliver a miracle in the heat of a despairing battle.

"When we're in the thicket," the priestess intoned haughtily. "I shall invoke the protection of Inti."

"Long live Inti, eh?"

The two leaders measured one another's response; Tica questioned Richard's sincerity, while Richard's eyes were as placid as a mirrored lake.

"I'll tether us." Tica waved her free hand. "Coca!"

Nine tendrils whipped out and touched each of the contestants with supremely sticky tips.

Richard fought down an impulse to Grease himself right there and then, allowing the vine to grasp his wast. Drawn by the sudden flurry of magic, all around them were now harpies that had taken offence to their entry.

"Ladies first," Richard silently ordered Lea to shadow Tica. In the worst-case scenario, the relic had to go.

"Follow me!" Urqu appeared to transform his arms into wings, then dived downwards in the likeness of a great condor.

Parting the feathery sea, the two groups began their downward descent, with Richard slowing the flocking harpies and Tica glueing their opponents to trees. The others managed with shields and barriers, leaving the butchery to the monkeys.

From the emergent layer, they entered Amazonia.

"SQAWWWWWRK!"

The sudden trill was enough to shatter their eardrums and terminate all thought.

In Australia, summer galahs made enough noise to drive green-keepers mad. Compared to that, the cacophony that now arose from atop the canopy was set to a hundred-times the decibel.

"Mass Healing Word!" Eunae flooded the party with a feeling of warmth, dulling the pain from their bleeding ears, then furthermore invoked a heal-over-time. "Mass Rejuvenate!"

Hundreds, perhaps thousands of birds entered the fray, crashing into the party with great bell-beats of metallic wings clanging against crackling mana barriers. The commotion was enough to send an avalanche of leaves and branches crashing below, eliciting howls of fury from the lower denizens.

"CLOSE UP!" Mayuree channelled Richard's command. "Lea! Water SHIELD!"

A semi-dome of crashing water fed by Lea, Richard and Sumatika opened the path forward.

"Lea, Jet Blast!!" Richard commanded his Familiar, releasing a great geyser of blue-green liquid to disperse the harpies, pushing away the frenzied flock.

"We're almost to the canopy!" Mayuree guided them with Arcane Eye while Urqu threaded the party through the crisscross of branches with his supernatural senses. "Forty meters!"

In the open air, a Mage could cover forty meters in a matter of seconds. Now, it felt as though they were pushing through a wall of mud, only the murk was composed of beak and claw.

"Gust!" Urqu freely poured his mana forth, aiding Richard's efforts. "Aerial Ram!"

Thanks to his liberal use of Jet Blast, Richard's mana dropped to half. He summoned an injector in one hand and waited for the divine intervention from their competitor.

"We're through!" Mayuree warned them. "Watch out for the monkeys!"

There was a violent tug on their waists from Tica's vines, then both teams burst through the flock into the canopy.

"HOLY SHIT!" Richard swore the moment his eyes adjusted.

What awaited them was a sea of simians big and small, hooting and hollering at the top of their lungs. Where the birds had made their ears bleed, now the noise was enough to burst their hearts.

"The Sun shines eternal!" Tica raised the symbol high with one hand. "INTI PROTECTS!"

A brilliant light erupted above the team, bathing the dappled canopy with blinding radiance, drowning out even the hoots from the howling simians.

"HOW FAR?" Richard shouted despite himself. The silence was deafening.

"Another hundred meters!" Mayuree's voice echoed in their heads. "Hold on, I am guiding Urqu through the lower levels!"

The radiance continued to burn behind the contestants even as they travelled away from the portable plasma orb.

When finally the air around the contestants grew soggy with the scent of fecundity and the sweet odour of decay, they knew that they had arrived at the understory. If Gwen had been present, she would have gone giddy with joy at the sight of the quasi-magical microcosm, a world within a world.

Amazonia, alas, was no earthly rainforest. Here was a realm inhabited by mystical flora and magical fauna, where perennials ranged from hundreds to thousands of meters from root to treetop, so dense with mana that the regions between them grew distorted, dilating space and time, becoming Dungeons in themselves.

"Dowsing!"

Both parties waited while Mayuree triangulated their path through the understory. By now, the contestants were traversing through a network of intertwining branches, vines, and fungal growth so prolific as to form a subterranean likeness. Occasionally, every hundred or so meters, a clearing would appear, exacerbating an explosive growth of new life reaching for the canopy.

"Weal is that way." Mayuree consulted a form of orienteering that required no light, no maps, and no knowledge of geography. It was one of the reasons why Gwen had lent the Diviner to Richard's party.

"I think she's right." Urqu consulted their data slate.

Tica kept her doubts private since she possessed no alternative solutions. The understory wasn't a place anyone could enter, and as such, getting lost was expected.

"Mia is a bloodline Diviner," Richard explained patiently. "She can Scry through the threads of fate to see what will grow: or in this case, where we'll need to go."

"We too have sacred women like Miss Mayuree," Urqu, who was an amateur Diviner, concurred. "I did not expect the Chinese to have seers."

"I am Burmese." Mia collected her dragon bones. "Fudan has many students from the South Sea."

"I am Korean." Eunae raised her hand.

"I am Australian," Richard obliged as well.

"I am half-Japanese." Jiro pointed at himself.

"I am a red-blooded Chinese," Anita declared patriotically.

"You all look the same," Qari, the Fire Mage, spoke up. "Maybe you were all a single Empire, once? Like ours?"

Richard snorted. The rest of the Fudan foursome stiffened.

"Qari, less talk, more action." Tica glared her teammate into submission. "Bring out Peanut."

Sensing that he may be in trouble, the Fire Mage made the gesture for Conjuring Familiars, materialising a bulbous scarab the size of a dog.

"Kekekeeek!"

Peanut possessed six black-marble eyes and a face only a brood mother could love. Its mandible clicked as it warmed up to its summoner, its dull dung beetle body wiggling back and forth.

"Ew." Lea appeared behind Richard, her exquisite face bespotted by a frown of disapproval. "Yuk!"

Jiro stifled a smile, stroking his flame-plumed bird.

Qari's face flushed, feeling the weight of their reproof. Where Fudan's Fire Mage possessed a beautiful sapient fire-condor, he had a bug. Where Richard's Undine was so titillating as to make even Tica blush, his was a beetle.

"Peanut, scout ahead of us," Tica directly commanded Qari's Familiar.

"Keekeke!" A pair of translucent wings extended from the beetle's shell, then without a word from Qari, it flew into the distance.

"I can use Arcane Eye." Mayuree raised her hand again.

"Not against the flora here, you can't." Tica waved her away. "Watch."

The team followed the hapless Peanut.

For the section ahead, the party had been tracing a kilometre-long path formed from the collapse of a great kapok tree. As the trunk was rotten, the party hovered just above the ankle-deep fungi, proceeding in a T-formation. Uturunku and Richard lead on either side, flanking Tica, followed by Mayuree dousing with her dragon bones, Eunae floated the middle, with Jiro, Qari, Urqu, and finally Sumatika and Anita bringing up the rear.

Peanut fearlessly buzzed forward until—

BUNG!

Without warning, when it crossed path with a glowing bed of fungi, the cluster exploded. The resultant blast flung Peanut sideways. On its shell, the spores rapidly began to erode its chitin, transforming the insect into a ball of furry, tiny mushrooms.

"Immolate!" Qari shot his Familiar a jolt of fiery mana.

BANG!

Peanut exploded, showering the sodden earth with a splatter of liquid fire.

"Wocao!" Jiro swore.

"Peanut!" In the next moment, Qari conjured another.

"Kekkekkee?" Peanut flourished its mandibles. It appeared to be the same beetle as before.

Tica grinned.

"Most of the dangers here are hidden," she explained. "We can use our Familiars to set off the predatory flora, but only Qari has one that can be instantly re-summoned."

At the girl's boast, Jiro packed away his feelings of superiority and regarded the fire beetle with respect. He possessed a Firebird, not a Phoenix. If he lost Tanyu, it would be half a day before he could bring it out again. It was true what Instructor Chen had said. Even a cockroach had its uses.

"Oh, is that all?" Richard folded his arms, unconvinced by the exploding bug. "Lea? Help me out?"

Lea hugged her handsome Conjurer from behind, her blue-green pupils mysterious and mischievous.

Richard took a deep breath, then began an all too common invocation, one his Undine would make uncommon.

"Conjure Elemental!"

Two-dozen water Sprites emerged from the soggy atmosphere, pale blue in their nimbus, comprised of delicate faces attached to elongated necks, with fins for arms and a fishtail for lower extremities. Where usually a Mage exhausted their mana at a dozen, Lea continued to call up her brethren with impunity. Soon, a hundred Sprites filled the vacant path of the understory, saturating the air to such an extent that the contestants began to wonder if they were underwater.

"Qari mate, appreciate the effort," Richard dismissed the Fire Mage with a friendly grin. "But look, we're in a hurry, so we'll have to borrow your powers elsewhere. I'll let you know when I am running low."

"Oh, my, they're so cute!" Eunae touched the little fan-tailed fish Sprites as they gathered around her and began to play with her hair. Sumatika, the other Water Mage, became instantly surrounded.

"Ooo…" Jiro tried to grab one, but the Water Elementals avoided him like the plague. The Fire Mage sighed, wondering when Tanyu could become a tiny hottie.

"ATTENTION!" Richard barked.

The dainty elementals lined up into pretty rows.

"Move out!"

Like a brigade of English red-coats, the Sprites drifted through the air.

PUUF!

In the distance, a Spotted Panther Cap exploded, filling the passage with infectious spores.

"Eaaarrrgh!" Two Sprites died a dog's death, their vacant spaces immediately filled in by two more.

"How's that?" Richard turned to their Cuzco companions while Lea conjured replacements.

"Is that all?" Tica scoffed. "I was giving Qari a chance to be useful. If that's how you want to compete for CCs, I'll oblige. Conjure Elemental!"

The ground glowed green.

Rows upon rows of broccoli emerged from the fungi. Tica plucked one from the ground and whispered instructions to its buttoned head.

"Amazing!" Eunae brought forth Luyi. "SO ADORABLE!"

"Eee!" Luyi cooed happily. It licked its chops, then bit into one of Tica's broccoli.

"Luyi! No!"

Pssht!

The walking vegetable blew a load of pollen on Luyi's face, forcing it to drop the wood-elemental with a yelp.

The party burst into laughter.

"Alright, I'll cover the air, you cover the ground." Richard opened both hands. "Happy?"

"Humph!" Tica brushed a fallen leaf from her priestess' shawl, taking on the bearing of a queen. "Let's move!"

Behind the main party, Qari picked up Peanut from the floor and hugged his beetle close to his chest.

Ahead of them, a cute deer, a cool hawk, a hundred water Sprites and fifty button-broccoli marched on into the jungle's depth, leaping, drifting and flying from mossy branch to fallen log.

"Kekeke?" The beetle scratched at Qari's face in a friendly manner. Qari was glad that Peanut was not yet sapient. Sometimes, not knowing was best.

"It's fine." Qari patted the poor beast, fighting the inferiority gnawing at his chest. "I am fine."

Thankfully, as a Fire Mage, any wayward moisture quickly evaporated.

"Earthen Shell!"

"JIRO! Alpha-strike! 7 O'clock, tree cove! Take care of the Shaman!"

"Phoenix Pinions!"

Just before the contestants settled in for the night, they had run headfirst into their first troll patrol.

Having experienced the ease by which the sprigs and the Sprites had smoothed their passage, the contestants had loosened their guard until Mayuree cried out "CONTACT! Trolls in the TREES!"

Their original waypoint had been a large alcove that Urqu had scouted. When he returned, the shapeshifter had reported naught but a verdant growth of exotic fungi.

Nonetheless, when the party came within spell range of the sheltered cove, what had greeted them was a volley of mustard spores, followed by an eruption of moss-green bodies.

Eunae had immediately set about detoxifying the party while Anita refreshed their armour. What remained of Richard's fish-like Sprites as well as Tica's army of broccoli then smothered the inbound demi-humans, hoping to stall their advance.

From the darkness, a troll raised a sinewed limb.

THUNK!

A wooden spear the thickness of Richard's arm pierced Uturunku's earthen barrier, penetrating just enough so that its envenomed tip almost kissed the Abjurer's chest.

Richard responded by commanding Lea to forgo futile barriers; instead, she was to play the disruptor, attracting toward herself physical attacks to which she was immune. Behind him, Urqu raised a powerful Gust to deflect the accuracy of incoming projectiles, while Qari sent forth his Familiar while readying counter-attacks.

"Dulrag gunvaderakun glogusakum ishie!" a cry came from behind the Mages' barriers, a foul-sounding grunt of compressed rage. "Ulepearag ushhem! Uloar!"

"Uloar!"

"Uloar!"

"Uloar!"

A troll warrior cleared the wall of earth in a single leap, wielding a man-sized block of wood and a spiked, tusked club studded with crude teeth made from harpy-talons.

For the first time, Fudan saw their text-booked enemy face-to-face.

The Amazonian Troll, affiliated to its European cousins, was a stocky, barrel-chested monstrosity of muscle and sinew, with four elongated limbs and dark, envenomed claws. Its hideous face was a mangled mess of moss and craggy crevices, made salient by two beady eyes lit with an inner light.

"Kuk...GUOOD!"

The troll's tusked lips parted to reveal soft-pink tissue within, its crimson tongue a mess of fleshy-filaments.

BANG!

Peanut made a bee-line right for its face. When the troll warrior battered the beetle away with its shield, Peanut exploded, covering the creature with flaming goo.

"GAAOOO!"

The troll burned.

"HA!" Richard cried out. "Nice work, Peanut!"

"ULOAR!" The troll's skin grew suddenly scarlet. The light in its eyes changed from maddened beast to pure psychosis. Its back bulged, its muscles ballooned, it raised one whip-like limb and threw its club directly at Qari.

Richard's water barrier parted without resistance. Cuzco's Earthen Mage proved a split-second too slow.

"SHIELD OF FAITH!" Eunae intervened, erecting a barrier many times the sturdiness of an Abjurer's shield but costing a disproportionate volume of mana. It was a spell that marked the healer's aphorism of prevention over cure.

CLANG!

The barrier shattered like glass, sending both Qari and Eunae to the mossy, mushroomed floor. Qari reeled from the club's fractured fragments piercing his skin. Eunae self-medicated, fighting the feedback from her disrupted spell.

"SHAMAN!" Tica cried out. "Near the back! In the tree!"

Richard immediately ordered Jiro to take the Shaman with a wide-area AoE.

"TRUE STRIKE!" Mayuree added to Jiro's firepower without a second thought.

The Fire Mage's best spell did not disappointed.

A barrage of flaming bolts, over a hundred in number and growing fiercer with every explosion, enveloped the hollow, once an ancient acacia. The lightless space instantly filled with orange-yellow eruptions. There was an earth-shuddering sound of splitting wood; then gravity sent the building-sized log tottering into the forest floor below.

"Good work! Entangle!" Tica wrestled with two troll warriors who'd been sent into a rage by the now fallen Shaman. Her vines, which could arguably contest a titan boa and even wrangle one to death, were hardly holding the beasts. "Coca! Dissolve!"

Where a troll struggled against her paralysing vines, an enormous Sundew burst through the floor and caught the creature in its sticky embrace.

"Ashavuth gloge!!" came a terrified cry when a sticky glob of digestive juices smothered its skin, dissolved its bark-armour and began to eat into its body.

In the span of a few screaming seconds, the troll grew limp.

Tica gasped, evidently taxed by the display. Nonetheless, she held the second troll at bay. "Jiro! Qari!"

A flaming fusillade met her target head-on.

Acid and Fire, Richard pulled at his lips, a troll's only weakness. These were some unlucky indigenous folks that had happened upon them.

"ULOAR!"

By now, the first berserker had broken through the Uturunku's layered barriers. Whatever spell the Shaman had used, it wasn't just a body-buff, but transformed it into a living battering ram.

"Water Sprout!" Sumatika's spell sent the charging troll careening away from Eunae and Mayuree.

Anita stepped in front of the two support casters, offering her body as a last line of defence.

"Wait! There's more of them!" Mayuree's voice came through the crackling flames, her mana-infused orbs scanning through the chaos for the unique mana signature of the trolls. "Careful! Two above us!"

"Lea!" Richard reacted in time to form a gushing film of water above the team, misdirecting a spear so that its accuracy erred, grazing past Anita's Crystalline thigh-guard.

"Arrgh!" Urqu, who had simultaneously flown up to pry the enemy from the branches, fell to the ground, pinned by an arm-thick spear that caught his wing. Thanks to Anita's Mage Armour, his head and torso were safe, but the spell's design did not provision for shapeshifting.

"Shit!" Richard cursed his lack of hard shields. "ANITA! Keep them safe!"

"Crystal Dome!" Anita immediately formed a protective barrier; though rather than a dome, she had shaped it into a pyramidal structure to divert the troll's spears. "I got them!"

"Aid!" Eunae tossed a stabilising buff to the injured Air Mage. "Luyi!"

Her doe materialised outside the barrier as a deer. It ran forward toward the injured Air Mage, picked Urqu up by the scruff, then dragged him back toward the healer.

"Flame Wing!" Meanwhile, Jiro's hands met with a thunderclap. Tanyu launched from his sides like a meteor in reverse.

"Don't collapse the understory!" Tica warned, sending a Shape Wood through the floor to reinforce their position and check for imminent structural failure. "You'll bury us all!"

As the upper portion of the understory glowed a vivid orange, the remaining berserker recovered its footing. With a mighty swing of its shield, it battered away Sumatika's water bolts, took three of Tica's barbs in the chest, then ate a Fireball from Qari.

Then, the enraged monster smashed into Richard.

"No!" Anita cried out; her heart caught in her throat.

Splosh!

Richard's body exploded, dissipating into motes of water.

"Jet Blast!" A raging, hyper-pressurised torrent struck the troll, sending their red-skinned assailant flying from the understory like a cannonball.

"GARRRGH!" came twin, concurrent howls from above. Two flaming trolls fell from the branches, smashing into wayward bits of lumber before tumbling into the deep dark.

"Flame Arrows!" Qari let loose a wide-volley, peppering the hapless targets until they dropped out of range.

Their vice-captain, Tica, threw the last charred corpse overboard.

"Scrying..." Mayuree traced the whereabouts of the last troll with her fingers, finding nothing within the limits of her Detect Foe. "Okay. We're clear— for now… Are they dead?"

Tica shook her head. "A few are, hopefully. Unless burnt to cinders or dissolved in acid, they'll regenerate and return eventually, usually with more of their kind."

"Persistent bastards, eh?" Fudan's squad leader frowned unpleasantly. No wonder trolls were a menace.

"Coca, that's enough," Tica commanded her Sundew Familiar.

As if to demonstrate the extent to which trolls needed to be processed to prevent regeneration, it spat out what remained of its victim, which consisted of a skull, tusks, and bits and pieces of metal. Amid the remains, there was also a fist-sized, shattered Core.

"Cao!" Anita gagged, as did Eunae and Mayuree.

Jiro set the remains of both berserker alight, just in case.

"We should keep moving," the priestess advised before checking on Urqu's wounds.

"I am hale." Urqu had returned to his human form. "Just a bit sore from the itching."

"Nice work." Tica nodded at Eunae, who nodded back. Even in the midst of combat, Fudan's healer had removed the spear, detoxified the wound, and mended the flyer's mangled flesh. "We should make some distance. Coca can cover our tracks, but we won't be able to rest until they give up the chase. Don't expect to sleep tonight."

"That may not be true." Richard re-materialised Lea at his side. "Don't forget, we've got Gwen's Portable Habitat. We can place the entrance anywhere, even in mid-air."

"… Alright." Tica's sternness softened. She had indeed forgotten about the wondrous shelter. "For now, let's move to an intact part of the understory. It'll be much easier to hide the entrance."

As one, the party moved on. As they flew over the newly formed abyss, they had a good gander at the infamous forest floor. Where Jiro's flames had continued to burn, a colossal swarth of smouldering refuse had carved out an enormous opening, forming a passageway between the layers.

"That's going to attract attention." Jiro doused his flames.

"Yes, because fighting off a patrol of frothing berserkers isn't enough commotion," Richard joked as he scanned the darkness. Now that the fire was gone, it was impossible to tell where their fallen assailants may be lurking. "Mia?"

"I've got nothing," Mayuree apologised. "Detect Magic and Detect Foe don't work well here. I could send an Arcane Eye downward to confirm…"

"No, we have to go." Tica began to move. "Trust me; you don't want to be in Amazonia when it gets completely dark. There are far worse things than trolls here."

"Hey, that's good news." Richard rebuked her worries. "Do they eat trolls?"

After another hour of Diviner-assisted steering in the right direction, the team carefully set up their Portable Habitat some ten-meters up between the arch of two fallen logs. As additional insurance, Cuzco's vice-captain conjured a discrete layer of moss and a carpet of Sundews in all directions to serve as an early warning system and as camouflage.

"Come on in." Richard issued the entry Glyph. "Welcome to Gwen's secret abode."

When Tica and her team entered the grey-space of the pocket-realm, they marvelled at the intricacy of the habitat and its internal power supply.

"We should upscale trade with the northerners," Tica said. "A device like this will make expeditions so much easier."

"There are hot showers too." Richard smiled. "And a working kitchen."

After the tour, Richard made a sumptuous dinner of piping hot ramen rations and all-you-can-eat SPAM. Relaxing showers followed, concluding with room allocations. Anita, Eunae and Mayuree ended up taking the master bedroom, Tica and Sumatika in the guest, while the five men chose to use sleep on spare futons in the living room.

"Good thing Tupaq isn't here," Urqu, who had grown friendly with Fudan's Mages, remarked thankfully. "That guy, he snores like an Amazonian hippo!"

Their first day in the Amazon had been an eye-opener in many ways.

Unfortunately, tomorrow and tomorrow and so on, they would have deeper depths to plumb.

"You're doing this now?" Auberon Lucas stood in the slight drizzle, watching Fudan's Enchantress mark the fort's courtyard. "Really?"

"Sir." Auberon's assistant, Lucy, gently coughed. "Please refrain from granting unsolicited advice."

Inti and his crew likewise stood around the magic circle, watching the spectacle.

"Inti, I don't have a good feeling about this." Tupaq made sure to always position himself between Inti and whatever curio he investigated.

"Not to fear, it's a Planar Ally Mandala," Inti remarked. "An expensive one too."

"Why now?" Tupaq furrowed his bushy brows distrustingly.

"Why not? Better now than never!" Gwen explained. "We can't be doing this if trolls are hammering at our shields."

From the Explorer teams' departure date, two days had since passed. Every evening, their chief proctor had informed the Dungeoneers of the Explorers' progress. So far, their peers had encountered everything from trolls to sentient mushrooms to a plucky Displacer Jaguar but were otherwise safe and sound.

Then, on the morning of the third day, Auberon had received a most unusual Message, one slated for a contestant.

"Inform Gwen Song of Fudan University that the registrar now recognises the individual 'Golos'."

When the Message had been read out, the girl's answer was an ear-piercing "Hurrah!" followed by cries of jubilation and "Petra! It's happening! Get your Glyph tools!"

An hour later, half the fort had emptied out to see what the girls were doing.

Auberon and a few proctors stood to one side; Inti and his crew stood across. The resident Incan Mages, as well as the base's commander, occupied the final quadrant.

"Done!" Petra stepped back from the Mandala, having shown her cousin the process. "Gwen, assuming your pet is in Burma. You're going to need a mountain of Crystals."

"He'll be right." The haughty sorceress entered the summoning circle, then made a gesture akin to tossing a bocce ball. "He's coming through the Elemental Plane of Lightning, so it shouldn' t be too taxing."

"Okay, but I hope you provisioned enough crystals," Petra explained, producing a data slate and a pen. "Also, don't proceed too fast. I need numbers."

Auberon's brows twitched. Are the two of you at Conjure Ally 3101 and not the IIUC? He wanted to ask.

In the next moment, a crate of processed HDMs bundled as a 1000 HDM unit appeared at the circle's centre, making Auberon's heart skip a beat.

Thunk! Another crate.

Thunk! Another.

Even Inti tightened his fists.

"Enough?" Gwen turned to Petra.

Petra shrugged.

Thunk!

The girls' audience stared breathlessly while four crates of HDMs thrummed with captive mana. Four thousand HDMs was no paltry sum. It was enough for a talented Magus to train for a year and a mundane Mage could retire on the same amount.

"Alright," their summoner clapped her hands, suddenly transformed into a ringmaster. "Everyone, please step behind the outer line Petra has drawn for your safety! For the duration of our Amazonian adventure, I'd like to introduce our temporary member, Golos! He's spiky, he's hotheaded, he's got a hankering for fish, and he's a big softie."

Petra almost choked at the last part. If anything, Golos was a murder machine on wings.

Gwen began her chant.

Tei, Lulan and Rene obediently stepped behind the line. Some of them had seen Golos; as for those had not, what they had heard wasn't good news.

Inti's party began to self-buff.

The circle glowed, the HDMs flared, feeding into the Mandala. The rare ingredients used to inscribe the circle burst into motes of retina-searing arcanistry, tearing apart space and time, opening a gate into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning.

"GOLOS!" Gwen's trilling voice filled the ozone-rich atmosphere as a brilliant bolt of lightning, thicker than an Acacia, struck the circle's centre. "COME FORTH! PLANAR ALLY!"

Gwen had good reasons for conjuring Golos.

Firstly, the Wyvern was no regular Planar Ally, but a true-to-life corporeal being with a Core, capable of sustaining himself indefinitely. Secondly, Golos was bound by his oath to Ruxin and just as beholden to Ayxin, so she had significant leverage over the unruly creature. Thirdly, since Fudan had chosen cooperative play, there was no reason why she shouldn't abuse every resource.

Golos, therefore, embodied great profit, moderate cost, and a median magnitude of risk.

Then there was a fourth reason.

Amazonia didn't appear, at least near its edge, to possess a dragon-host. In consulting with Inti and his peers for the last three days, she had grasped that the Incan variation of a dragon was akin to something of a chimaera, with the head of a llama, the maw of a puma, condor wings, snake's body, and a fish's tail. In a way, it was similar to a Kirin, though unlike the meddling Chinese dragons, "Amaru the Dragon" had more in common with Almudj in that it seldom if ever manifested.

According to Tica, the rainforest had a clear hierarchy with well-defined territories. Predatory birds and Harpy flocks occupied the emergent layer; simians, the canopy; fungi and lesser life forms in the dark zone of the understory; and finally, trolls and stranger megafauna occupied the forest floor. The apex predator that defied these boundaries was the Amazonian Jaguar; a creature sleek, midnight black and perpetually hungry, possessed of two or more puckering tentacles. Such a creature, Tica explained, was king whether across the arboreal realm, the forest floor, or the waters of the Amazon river.

Comparatively, Dragons, as a whole, were predators above the ecological pyramid. If so, what happens when a semi-trailer sized Thunder Wyvern was introduced? After all, in Huangshan, she had seen Magical Beasts lying down like carps on a chopping board.

The potential gains made her giddy.

"PLANAR ALLY!"

She finished her chant with a flourish, conjured a bolt from the blue, then waited for the Glyphs to cool.

The living lightning solidified.

Her audience marvelled, gasped, opened their mouths in abject awe. A smile touched Gwen's lips. She felt a surge of satisfaction, mingling with the lightning massaging her conduits.

Golos' armoured eyelids slid open, pulling back both membranes. The brute was magnificent as always, like a maned lion overlooking a herd of gazelles.

"What needs killing?" The Wyvern yawned, tired after the long transit. Its gaze swept the perimeter and spotted the Peruvians. "Those?"

"Back, foul beast!" Tupaq stood in front of his future sovereign. A split-second later, he was the size of a troll and sporting the head of a magnificent golden puma.

Golos' nostrils flared. "Eugh, musky. I prefer those females behind you."

The girls behind Inti readied their spells.

"Don't be a dick, Golos," Gwen intervened, then introduced each of their observers. "Those are our allies, that's our proctors for the IIUC, there's my team, and those are civilians. Okay? NO EATING FRIENDS!"

Golos reared its serpent's head, a few feathered plumes, inherited from his father, glistened with a rainbow hue. Without opening his mouth, the Wyvern was a majestic thing.

"Where in Huangshan am I?"

"Amazonia!" Gwen clapped both hands, snapping him to attention. "Isn't it exciting, Golos? You're in South America!"

"Are we near Shanghai?" Golos crackled with lightning. "I sense lots of life, all strange. And those people, they smell strange."

Gwen furrowed her brows.

"Golos, do you know where America is?"

Golos snorted. "It's across the ocean."

"And?"

"Near Japan." Golo rolled a reptilian eye.

"Strewth, you poor thing..."

Gwen patted the Wyvern on the knees, watching the electricity arc from his blue-white scales to her fingers, eliciting additional gasps from her disbelieving audience.

Golos spotted Lulan and Petra in the audience.

"You, I know you."

Lulan waved back uncertainly.

"Both of you smell like Naga." The Wyvern sniffed. "From Brother?"

"Whoa! WHOA!" Gwen raised both arms. "That's privileged information, dummy. Tell you what, you look hungry. We'll agree to a few ground rules, and then I'll undo the circle so you can explore. There's much to show you, and most importantly, tons to eat."

"Good." Golos snapped its jaws a few times, dislodging globs of thick saliva.

"I think you'll like it here." Gwen grinned at the Wyvern. "Now, for the quest ahead, we're competing…"

"Eat now, talk later." Golos' nostrils flared, forming two white-hot furnaces. "Hungry."

"… fine." Gwen struck Golos in the ribs, then turned to her teammates and her proctors. "Sir Lucas, Inti, everyone, if you would excuse me, I need to take Gogo for a walk."

"Gogo—" Golos protested.

"Where are you going?" Auberon appeared to be wrangling a massive migraine.

Gwen pointed to the Amazon.

"A walk in the park?" Gwen smirked.

"Miss Gwen?" Inti raised his voice.

"Yes, Inti?"

"May we observe our new ally?"

"Golos?" Gwen wasn't sure if her Wyvern was the sort to enjoy a meal in private or in public.

"If they keep out of my way," Golos grumbled. "Undo the circle. Also, what is Gogo?"

"We'll corral the beasts for you, Sir Golos." Inti far too quickly accepted his new reality. "Tupaq here is an excellent hunter. You shall have no want of prey!"

"Lord Inti!" the three girls behind him were aghast. "No!"

Golos snorted lightning.

"I like this one." He gave Gwen the evil eye. "Why can't you behave like this?"

"Why can't you be like Ariel?" Gwen fired back.

"HMMPH!" Golos nudged Gwen with its flank so that she stumbled. Gwen knew that Golos felt confused by Ariel. Strictly speaking, Kirins were many rungs above wyverns in the draconic-pecking order, not to mention Gwen's Familiar possessed the essence of a primordial being.

"Anyway, no funny business. Alright? I am going to let you out now. Petra?"

"Go ahead." Petra made the sign for "okay".

Gwen made a quick invocation, watching as the glow from the Glyphs faded. When Golos left the circle, he noticed a crate of HDMs which had yet to be drained.

"Ooo, is this for me?" Before Gwen could protest, the crate disappeared.

"YOU have a Storage Ring?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "Why?"

"Ruxin wants souvenirs." Golos stretched out his wings. From tip to tip, its arms exceeded twenty-meters.

"Is our newest member safe to be around?" Rene recalled being informed about Golos.

"Let's stay away for now," Petra offered sagely. "At least until it's fed."

Auberon and the other proctor exchanged looks of consternation.

"Sir." Lucy trembled as the Wyvern's depthless, slitted eyes registered all the food it could potentially eat. "Is this… cheating?"

"Inti, what are we going to do?"

After watching Gwen's "Gogo" hunt, Inti cooly meditated over the new revelations of Fudan's potential. Unfortunately, his peers possessed nothing of his level-headedness.

"Do what, exactly?" Inti faced the three girls, each young, talented and a potential future concubine. All three were from the Shuar, an essential political and geographical ally of the Empire. Misi was a shapeshifter; Kusi was a Soul Priestess; behind the two look-alike girls, Mallqu, whose name meant little bird, was a Spirit Shaman.

"What are you going to do about that monstrosity?" Misi snarled, attracting a discouraging look from Tupaq.

"Peace, sister," Kusi stifled Musi's upset. "Inti, what do you make of this Chinese Amaru?"

"He's a Thunder Wyvern, actually." Inti remained in his meditative pose. "Her Kirin is closer to Amaru. Nonetheless, it's a beautiful brute, did you see how its scales caught the light? Gwen's a gifted girl, that's for sure."

"Waters of Titicaca!" Misi boiled over. "Don't you want to win?"

"Win?" Inti sighed. Even discouraged, the prince's aura was overwhelming. "We're here to recover relics of our people. That's a win."

"Your people."

"OUR people," Inti reiterated the collective pronoun. "The Shuar are as much a fabric of the Empire as I. How else could the Shuar's unique craft be accepted by the powers that be? You know how the outsiders treat Necromancy. The Shuar—"

"A label with no meaning." Kusi shook her head. "Inti, you should know better."

"Cuzco, the Inca, and the Shuar cannot survive alone." Inti's words flowed like golden honey. "How many years have your people fought the trolls? How many settlements are do you have left in Amazonia?"

"Are you mocking us?" Misi snarled like a jaguar. "If Tica were here, she'd give you a tongue-lashing."

"That was not my intention, my apologies." Inti raised both hands in an offer of peace. He grinned handsomely, a harmless, affable prince of the Inca. "As I said, we're in this together. Mallqu, do you have anything to add?"

The quiet girl shook her head. She appeared younger than the caramel-complexioned tribeswomen, with a face far more delicate than the headstrong Misi and paler than the soft-lipped Kusi.

"Then let's not worry about our wyvern-shaped boon." Inti gestured to the coiled monster out in the courtyard. "Fudan will repel the trolls, as will we. With a bit of luck, I dare say we can cleanse the ruined city entirely."

"That brute is going to destroy everything."

"No matter." Inti shrugged. "The relics are sealed in the old vaults. The upper city is a ruin for a reason, you know. In all likelihood, it's a troll fort by now."

The three girls stood while Inti returned to his meditation, one frustrated, one anxious, and one possessed of no particular emotion.

"Get some rest." Inti's soothing voice floated through the air. "I suspect Tica will be back soon."

Amazonia.

The lost Antis region.

By the account of early Incan explorers, the Amazon river was once a nameless serpent that spanned the horizons. Upon its death, its body then transformed into the great river, with its bones, flesh and guts becoming the river's life forms.

It was a good story, one that everyone in Cuzco knew.

Tica Chuquipoma-Yupanqui, however, did not take heed of this outlandish, outdated tale. According to her Master, Amaru, much of the mythos that surrounded Incan lore had been debunked by Spellcraft and western natural philosophy. The Apu, for example, were Magical Beasts. Amaru "turning in its sleep" was merely tectonic plates shaking the Andes. "Inti's birth and rebirth" likewise, was a solar eclipse. When she considered that the Aztecan Theocracy continued to sacrifice virgins to bring back the sun, she couldn't help but be cynical.

"According to the map, we can now follow the tributary upstream until we find the temple, or at least where 'three rivers meet'." Richard, her counterpart, studied the glistening river. The last few days had been a trial in itself, involving trolls, jaguars and walking mushrooms that erupted into an ocean of spores when they died. Were it not for Eunae picking up the slack; the contestants may have already sent a team member home to Cuzco.

By day four, both groups agreed that finding the river and back-tracking was more accessible than discovering tributaries smothered by overgrown greenery. At the very least, Magical Creatures that lived in the river kept to the water, affording the flying Mages more leeway compared to an overland trek.

SPLASH!

An Undine emerged from the scintillating water, ensorceling a human-sized fish with a silvery body and blood-red fins.

"This thing was lurking below us." the humanoid-elemental tossed the fish from side to side.

"That looks good for eating." Richard studied the trashing river-monster, chomping at the air with its dagger-teeth. "What is it?"

"A Pirarucu." Tica recognised the scarlet fins. "Red Fish."

"Tonight, we feast on Pirarucu steaks," Richard declared.

The others cheered half-heartedly. They were all exhausted by the humidity and the unceasing combat.

Nodding, Tica materialised her Sundew Familiar on the palm of her hand.

"How is it upstream?"

"…" the Sundew wiggled its tentacles.

"That many? How far's the inlet?"

"…" Coca contracted and expanded.

"Can we go around?"

"…" The tentacles performed an Aztecan Wave.

"I see."

"What's the matter?" Richard washed his hands. The Pirarucu couldn't be stowed in the Storage Ring while it was alive, so he and Anita had just performed culinary fish-surgery.

"Troll encampment barring our way, a big one. Twenty-thirty individuals at least." Tica chewed her lower-lips. "We can't bypass them without pushing into the canopy. If we detour, the combat will alert them anyway."

"Any Shamans?"

"Likely. Urqu can check from a distance."

"I need specifics to make a judgement. Mayuree?"

"Out of her range." Tica shook her head. "The trolls will scent you before you're close enough."

"Scent?" Mayuree sniffed her dirt-covered hands.

"Body odour, shampoo, your perfume…" Tica's counsel made the Diviner's skin crawl. "Troll Hunters, the thin ones with the long limbs, they have hyper-sensitive olfactory organs."

Richard considered their options.

"Hmm." He materialised a still-bleeding fish head. "What if a person's covered in this?"

Mayuree gawked at the lifeless eyes in horror.

"You can wear it like a helmet," Richard explained. "Wear the carcass like a coat..."

Their Diviner began to gag.

"Wait," Tica urged him to pack the fishhead. "We don't need the fish. I can cover us with Coca."

Mayuree breathed out.

"Okay, but let's test the theory first," Richard said. "I'll go with them. If nothing else, I can D-D Mia in a jiffy."

"Fine," Tica conjured a handful of Coca clones in her hand. "Put these on, and I'll do the rest."

An hour later, Mayuree, Richard and Urqu returned.

"Right." Richard tapped the map of the region their Diviner had scouted, perfectly happy with the wiggling Sundew sitting atop his head. "Here's the plan…"

The village which the party's scouts had observed was a settlement carved into the riverside, a primitive affair consisting of thick logs staked together to form a circular fence. The troll-home was a gathering outpost for fish, for they saw evidence of a drying rack, netting, as well as dozens of carcasses stacked in a pile, awaiting butchery beside a smokehouse.

"About ten warriors, two shabby-looking shamans, and the rest look like labourers," Richard said. "At least I think they're labourers. They have no tusks. What does that mean?"

"Likely youngsters, that or de-fanged slaves captured from other tribes," Tica returned. "To become a warrior; an adult troll has to survive in the jungle alone, the trophies they bring back as proof of their prowess determine the pecking order."

"Teenage trolls?" Richard scoffed, shaking his head in wonder. "Eh, they burn all the same."

The team again looked over Richard's plan.

On the map, several Xs marked the spot. These, Richard had explained, offered the best vantage to enable a raging, all-consuming forest fire. Thanks to Urqu, they could control the wind, and with Jiro and Qari, they could control the blaze. Together, they would herd the trolls into a narrow channel conveniently devoid of flames.

Then, within this short corridor of safety, Tica would entangle the lot of them, simultaneously unleashing Coca. Richard and Sumatika would play control, keeping the trolls penned. As for insurance, Tica would use faith-magic to bestow a round of raw radiance upon their hapless victims.

"Speed is key." Richard traced the Walls of Fire with his fingers. "Don't hold back on mana. Anyone need potions?"

The group shook their head.

"Good." Richard stood. "Good hunting."

Tica wetted her lips, already imagining the Inca's wrath falling on the savages. That, and the CCs she would gain for Cuzco.

With the newly risen sun, Golos scampered up the cliffside, dislodging chunks of stone and vegetation that had grown out over the centuries.

Once back at the fort, the Wyvern found a grassy knoll, then rolled over as though he owned the place.

"... those long-nosed pigs are as good as Ryxi's fish."

"Oh, there'll be plenty of fish as well." Gwen found a place to sit beside the big beast. "I heard there are catfish in there half your size."

"Burp!" Golos belched. "The snake was much meatier than I thought. I thought of Ryxi screaming for help while I ate it, hee hee hee…"

"See how good you have it, Golos?" Gwen pressed the Wyvern while he remained satiated. "In serving me, you'll have no want for crystals, for meat, or whatever."

"Serve you?!" Golos moved his neck so that he was snout to face with the girl.

"ERGH, your breath!" Gwen gagged; assaulted by a redolence akin to concentrated cat-breath.

"Hoooo!" Golos laughed childishly, then huffed in her face, glob and all.

Gwen Dimensioned Doored away, holding back a Chakram. Her draconic-constitution had given her finely-tuned senses, ones which she now deeply loathed.

Golos continued his deep-throated laughter.

"Bloody hell. Stay here and don't wander off." Gwen realised she had to change immediately or at least activate a laundry cantrip. "When you're done digesting, come find me in your human form. I'll introduce—"

The Wyvern snubbed her, turning away disinterestedly. It then coiled its semi-trailer body like a cat's, facing the sun to warm its scales.

Gwen stomped her feet in frustration.

The bloody thing was begging for a Caliban in the arse.

"Inti, you're not going to believe this," Musi interrupted Inti's morning rites. "Fudan's sorceress has gone mad."

Quickly, Inti exited the guard's room.

There, in the central courtyard, he saw her.

The spectacle he witnessed was shocking enough to warrant a hasty sign of the sun across his chest. He then moved closer, drawn by morbid curiosity.

"What in Titicaca's name is she doing?" Kusi held her lips with her fingers.

"Void madness?" Inti offered a suggestion. From Amaru, he had heard that those who dabble in the Void tended to be a little uneasy in the head. Still, he had never thought to witness such an unbalanced display in public, much less in the middle of the IIUC.

Currently, in front of Inti, watched by the proctors and others, Gwen Song dug through a pile of offensive wyvern excrement the height of her waist.

Not far, holding their nose and observing with expressionless faces, her teammates formed a protective perimeter, shielding Gwen from anyone who may, as it were, compete with her for the pile.

Feeling a rare revulsion coming on, Inti scanned the fort for signs of the Wyvern.

He soon spotted a hulk taller than even Tupaq, with a head of blue-silver and a ridged face only somewhat human. It didn't take a Spirit Shaman to guess that this was Golos in his poorly construed human-form, a realisation that filled his heart with yet more ambivalence.

"EUREKA!" came a triumphant cry from Fudan's principle sorceress. "YOU BLOODY RIPPER!"

Inti fought down a gulp of bile. Did she mean the Wyvern had blood in its stool? Was she a specialist Conjurer with a degree in veterinary care? He had heard of such Mages overseas, and the Temple too possessed virgins who could care for Magical Beasts.

A glint caught his eyes.

Gwen Song held a Creature Core aloft. From its appearance, Inti knew that it belonged to a Titan Boa- an elder-specimen.

"What…" he mouthed, accidentally swallowing the fetid air. Besides him, Tupaq and the three girls who had joined him gagged.

Across the pile, the proctors stared hard.

A tier-5 or 6 Titan Boa Core wasn't rare, but it was a good thousand or more HDMs.

And now, Gwen Song had found one in a pile of shit.

Was that why the girl spent HDMs like water? Inti couldn't help but feel his economic acumen was being challenged. Where others dug crystals from the ground, she found thousands of HDMs by stomping through turds?

"I knew it!" The girl pulled her long limbs away from the offensive material, then quickly activated a laundry spell-device, soaking her suit and dispelling the sludge. In her other hand, she held three-more smaller Cores.

With great joy, she skipped toward the suddenly apprehensive Wyvern.

"Gogo!" she moved to hug him. "You magnificent draconic bastard!"

Gwen now possessed such anticipation for the Amazon that her excitement was enough to displace the reek of excrement.

It had all begun the morning after Golos' foray into the jungle. Taking her morning jog, she came across what could only be the largest, foulest pile of draconic expulsion she had ever seen. The reality that dragons could "poop" was proven by Caliban, but of course, for creatures like Ruxin and the Yinglong, it was absurd to imagine them squatting over a litter box, roaring with effort.

It was only Golos, still a few centuries from maturity, that obsessed with eating and rutting. Nonetheless, Gwen had never seen journals or articles written on draconic-expulsions. Somewhere, a post-grad Magus could pursue a Magistership if they knew what she knew.

The whole ordeal began the night before. True to Gwen's demands, Golos had transformed, then introduced himself as their new leader. Almost without pause, he asked Petra if she would like to rut. Petra politely declined and suggested maybe Gwen could sample the goods. Golos then thoughtfully enquired if she would like to rut, and Gwen returned that Caliban was desperate for a Wyvern form.

Golos remained undeterred. A wyvern's gotta eat; he explained — a wyvern's gotta rut.

"A Wyvern's gotta shit?" she had replied sarcastically.

And here was her answer.

A turd-consuming Void Sphere was halfway vocalised when she spotted a glint.

Her nose wrinkled. A Creature Core?

Holding her breath, doubting her eyes, she approached the pile.

The previous day, Golos had eaten until he was sick. There had been tapir-like boars, monkeys with three tails, boar-sized frogs with translucent bellies, and an unlucky Titan Boa.

All of which slid down Golos' gullet without complaint.

Dragons, Gwen recalled the lesson from Ruxin, were beings that grew stronger by drawing nourishment from their hunt. When consuming other creatures, a dragon "fed" on their Essence as well. Concurrently, she thought of the Kirin Amulet and how it absorbed Essence from slain beasts into its Core. Perhaps, she realised, this was the real reason for the Amulet's abilities. Mysticisms aside, it came down to unadulterated, draconic mechanics.

As for Gogo, her test subject was a mere Wyvern, but one she was willing to risk.

Could Golos mass-generate Cores gastronomically? Though she had no dire need for HDMs, Cores were almost always in short supply. There were many Enchanters, but never enough ingredients for experimentation.

Full of hope, she dug into the pile, ferreting for treasure. Her Detect Magic, honed and trained after a semester of Divination Utility 101, cried out that this wasn't what it was designed to do.

THERE! Her heart sang as her nose died. Golos' poo was obstinate, but she was strong! It's a durian, she told herself. I am splitting a durian.

"EUREKA!" She raised the scintillating orb to the light.

I have to thank Ruxin, Gwen reminded herself, maybe shout the dragon dinner. Golos was the best summon a girl could want. A Planar Ally that paid for itself.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

The team's jubilation was short-lived.

Inbetween a dream involving Gogo-golden-durians, simultaneous activations of Fudan's Message bangles shook Gwen and her companions from the lull of slumber.

"Mia?" Gwen punched the Glyph, half dazed. "You're back?"

"WE'RE COMING IN HOT!" Richard's voice filled the darkness, a moment before Rene lit the room with a pair of Dancing Lights. "Ten minutes! We're ten-Ks out!"

"Are you safe—"

DANG! DANG! DANG! DANG! The sound of alarm bells ringing through the fort brought the outpost into full-alert.

"Get ready!" Richard's voice came through. "We brought a shit load of Harpies! They're all CCs!"

"Got it." Gwen leapt from the bed. She pulled the combat suit over her intimates, then parted the privacy curtain. Unlike her previous skin-suit, Shen-tei's transformative function saved her the trouble of wriggling into a shed skin. She activated her Message again. "Everyone, get that?"

"Outside already," Tei's voice returned. "I'll go set up the defences."

"Give me one minute." Rene's muffled voice came from the adjacent bed. The Magma Mage was a heavy sleeper.

"Lulan and I will go with Tei." Petra's Message indicated she was already outside as well. "Inti and his team just arrived."

With a sound of hissing air, the suit's material adhered. She spent a second stretching out the kinks, then Dimension Doored outside.

"GOLOS!" she cried out into the darkness.

"Here." Golos yawned, leaning against the fort's battlement.

"There's a buffet of CCs incoming," Gwen informed him.

"Never ate a Harpy before." Golos affected a toothy grin.

"Help yourself." Gwen conjured both Ariel and Caliban with a thought. "Watch out for friendlies."

Golos grunted.

Another Dimension Door later, Gwen arrived at the eastern battlements. In the typical Incan fashion, the observation post at Marcapata was formed of shaped stones staggered so that they slotted seamlessly. The design was highly resistant against impact and earthquakes. Here and there, Glyphs were carved in gold, bolstering the fort's magical defences.

"I see the flock now." Gwen's night-vision was near-supernatural. "Bloody hell, that's a biblical volume of Harpies."

Ding!

"Can you see us?" Richard's voice came through. "Jiro's almost out of mana, look for the Fireball!"

In the bible-black night, a brilliant flash of orange caught the contestant's eyes.

"I see you." Gwen squinted, channelling Almudj's Essence into her orbs. "The Message device registered only seven of you…"

"The others are hopefully back in Cuzco." Her cousin's voice took on a hard edge. "It wasn't easy breaking through the canopy and outrunning the birds. Don't worry. There wasn't any foul play."

Gwen glanced at Inti's group, noting their grim expressions. From the faint glow at Inti's ear, he was likely conversing with Tica. Before she could withdraw her gaze, Inti caught her watching.

"Miss Song." Inti pointed to the flock in the distance, a roving mass of indistinct shadows. "I am going to open with a wide-area AoE. Unfortunately, I do not possess the ability to differentiate friend from foe, can you tell your team to retreat?"

Gwen frowned. "Why risk striking our allies? We can do it together. All of our AoEs possess IFF."

Inti cranked up his aura. "My spell works best if the enemy is densely clustered. The opportunity will soon be lost, so please tell your team to retreat. We shall share the CCs, I assure you."

Before she could dissuade the prince, Inti rose into the air.

Sensing a stubborn parallel between Inti and Golos, Gwen opened a channel to Richard. "Dick, you and the others need to get moving."

"Wall of Water!" Richard stabbed himself with an injector, wincing as his VMI shot to a tenth of its usual maximum. "Lea! Left side!"

"Coca!" Tica followed suit, blasting the flock with massive webs dozens of meters across. Her spell was efficient and useful, but the Harpies had since caught on. This time, the birds had their rainbow-plumed priestesses in tow, considerably boosting the flock's overall prowess. "We need to move."

"Pack them tighter!" Richard commanded. "Jiro!"

"FLAMING TEMPEST!" Jiro had reached his alchemical limit fifty-kilometres ago and was now running on fumes. He covered their flanks, driving the pursuers closer, then stumbled as his movements momentarily faltered.

"I got him." Mayuree burned another Magic Item, blasting forward with Jiro in tow. She had spared no expense since the parties had escaped the temple ruins via the Harpies' tree-top lairs.

"Sanctuary!" Eunae relieved the Harpies' attention on their Fire Mage. "Watch out! Shield of—"

THUAWK!

A blade of air, razor-sharp and ten-meters tall, split Richard's cascading Wall of Water in twain. It continued to travel, forcing Richard to sharply bank.

"Fuck!" Richard cursed. His left leg felt suddenly hot and cold. The combat suit had helped, but the light plating wasn't able to negate the entirety of the Wind Blade's damage, leaving him with a gash that stretched from calf to thigh. "Eunae!"

"Healing Word!" Eunae deftly switched from Shield of Faith to a minor invocation that could be used mid-flight. "Incoming!"

Richard cursed. He was almost OoM. The team's other defenders had already done their jobs. Uturunku had been the first to go, being the least capable and the slowest flier of the group. Rather than hindering the party's escape, he had chosen instead to delay the Harpies' advance.

After that, it had been Anita's turn. As a Mineral Abjurer-Transmuter, she possessed the second slowest flight-speed.

About a hundred kilometres later, Sumatika offered herself, though the Water Mage halted the flock only momentarily before she was swamped by Harpies clawing at her flesh.

Now, it was his turn to corral their CCs.

"GO!" He stopped. "Lea, keep them off me. Thirty seconds!"

"Richard!" his teammates cried out. "An AoE is coming!"

"GO NOW!" The Water Mage's face turned cruel. From his ring, he withdrew a rod of pyrite. Ever since Seoul, he had paid close attention to potential applications of Cloud Kill.

The Harpies swooped, their screeching voices filled his ears.

His spell would take six-seconds to manifest, and another ten to reach maximum range. He intended to hold them for a minute, but if the demi-human casters intervened, he had no idea if he could last that long.

Faced with a roving, endless tide of flapping wings, Richard felt as though he was reliving the Beast Tide of 71.

ZWING! Came the sound of a fast-moving metal object.

"SQAR—"

A Harpy that had careless clawed at him exploded into a puff of dark feathers. The slab of shaped iron continued onward, its momentum unimpeded, skewering, smashing and maiming six-more creatures before it tumbled into the forest below.

ZWING! ZWING! ZWING! ZWING!

Four more volleys followed, clearing the space around Richard.

Lulu! Richard applauded the girl. Gwen had picked a real gem.

DING!

"DICK! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL IN THE BAIT BALL?" Gwen's voice barked beside his ear.

Richard scoffed. How massive could this AoE be? But, his vice-captain's orders needed following. He stowed his bar of pyrite, then shot downward toward the safety of the canopy below.

Behind him, the night sky grew suddenly bright.

Where Richard had been, the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Radiance gave birth to a star.

An incandescent ball every bit as brilliant as the celestial orb that brought life to the clay of terra lit the darkness with the collated faith of the Inca.

The Harpies closest to the orb melted like wax, their feathers suddenly alight; the fat of their goose-skin sizzling to a crisp as their eyes boiled in their sockets.

Richard too felt a numbing sensation across his posterior and his scalp. He smelled the sizzling of flesh and the acrid scent of hair set aflame. Lea evaporated with a wail, retreating into his pocket dimension.

He began to fall.

"Bugger." Richard puckered his lips thoughtfully. Assuming he didn't die immediately, Gwen would have to buy him a new Contingency Ring.

"Dick!"

A burst of silvery Conjuration heralded the arrival of his timely saviour. Gwen caught him by the arm, then slung her cousin across her shoulder with ease. Where her fingers swiped his neck, a sheet of foaming material and scalded skin slid apart.

"Three stars for elemental resistance," Richard joked.

"I'll let Yeye know." Gwen activated a Spell Cube with one hand while her semi-dome Shield sizzled. "Hold on."

A series of gut-churning Dimension Doors later, they were back on Condor's Rise.

"Richard!"

"Dick!"

"Wocao! You look like a baked goose!"

"See…" Richard pointed at the glowing sun in dismay, his heart throbbing with agony. Below its brilliance, Harpies were falling like flies.

The team shielded their eyes.

"See what, Richard?" Gwen felt for his pulse. She then uncorked a bottle of Maotai and fed her cousin a mouthful.

"CCs!" Richard spat, his eyes watered. "Our CCs!"

The rest of the team breathed out. If Richard was crying over Contribution Credits, then he should be fine.

Behind them, Mayuree, Eunae, Tica and the rest were now landing. Like Fudan, Cuzco's team immediately surrounded their Mages, with the quiet girl, Mallqu, delivering a few healing spells of her own.

Gwen greeted her team members with open arms, heedless of their bloody attire and pungent aroma.

"You've worked hard." She hugged Mayuree tightly, then held Mia's head against her chest.

"We did it." Mayuree was keen to report on their success. "We…"

"Later." Gwen released the girl, then embraced Eunae. "Eunnie, thanks."

Jiro waited in line.

Gwen struck out a hand.

Jiro's shoulders fell.

"Just kidding, ya goof." Gwen pulled the young man close, then gave him a big bear-hug, lifting him from the ground. "Good work! Thanks for taking care of them."

Jiro retreated, pushing his bones back in place.

"Poor Anita." Gwen sighed after Eunae told them about the three contestants who chose to impede the flock. "I'll reward her later. A custom Boots of Flying that can raise her maxim speed perhaps, or a handful of Cores."

After Gwen, Tei debriefed the Explorers to clarify the situation in case tension with Cuzco rose unnecessarily.

"Where's Gogo?" Gwen realised her Wyvern was gone.

"He said something about barbecued quail," Petra informed her. "Ah, the Harpy flock is dispersing."

"EE?" Ariel complained.

"SHAA?!" Caliban salivated.

"I'll go find Golos." Gwen patted her Familiars. She was sure that they would remain dissatisfied and antsy until they spent their pent-up energy. Additionally, she was interested in what Golos could "retrieve".

In the distance, the artificial sun had dissolved.

Over the horizon, the real sun rose, painting the thin black silhouette a blush of orange. As for the forest below, the trees had turned to charcoal. Where stumps remained, a hellish wasteland full of smouldering Harpies quavered.

"Go, we'll take care of Richard." Tei patted her on the shoulder.

"Right." Gwen spotted something ponderously sifting through the smoking trees. "I'll D-D over."

"Gwen, wait—" Rene pointed to Cuzco's team. "What do you make of that?"

Curiously, Auberon and three additional proctors were now escorting Musi, Kusi and Mallqu toward the epicentre. Inti remained with the exhausted Tica, listening to her tale.

"I'll come with." Petra stood.

"Alright, let go." Gwen took her cousin's hand, then made up the distance with teleports.

Upon arriving at ground zero, they were surprised to find that many of the Harpies were still alive.

"SHAA SHAA!" Caliban nudged a smoking pile of feathers, dissatisfied that its prey wasn't screaming for help.

"EE!" Ariel wasn't opposed to grilled wings, though it preferred victims who weren't entirely helpless.

How curious, Gwen made a mental note. Neither of her Familiars fancied themselves scavengers. Was it draconic-pride? She wondered, or something to do with their growing sapience.

Downwind of the foetid air, she spotted Golos dragging still-kicking Harpies from the branches, crunching them in his jaws.

Gwen twisted her lips in mockery.

A few minutes later, the proctors arrived with their wards. The group alighted where the cluster of Harpies was the densest.

"Miss Huamani-Inka, you may begin." Gwen noticed that Auberon's stone-cold attitude was leagues from when he had dealt with her. Before she could judge the Baron of Shenfield for being biased, however, Kusi retrieved a leather orb from her storage.

Petra audibly gasped.

"Is that a human head?" Gwen asked her cousin very quietly.

"Yes," Petra confirmed.

"A baby's?"

"No." Petra observed the goosebumps that had risen all over her arm. "It's a shrunken head."

"What does that mean?" A revulsion came over Gwen which she hadn't experienced since Mark Chandler kicked at her diaphragm. She knew about shrunken heads, but not whatever this was. "Magically speaking?"

"I think they remove the skull, then stitch it back together." Petra kept her cool far more readily than her cousin. "You can see how well it's embalmed."

Across the field, heedless of the two girls from Fudan, Kusi began her ritual by raising the mummified head like a lantern. Stamping her feet, she began to speak in the tongue of the Shuar, a lingua franca beyond Gwen's means to comprehend.

Behind the dark-haired Shaman girl, the quiet Mallqu invoked some unknowable sorcery of her own, shuddering as a palpable source of vitality left her body.

Gwen swallowed, at a loss for words. She and Petra stood as though petrified, gaping at the open practice of that which must not be named.

"Help!" an enfeebled cry broke Gwen's stupor. She searched her perimeter and discovered a Harpy covered in burns, its once colourful feathers crudely begrimed. It was a Sky Priestess, Gwen recollected. In Ma's Bestiary, only select, sapient variants of Harpies could become noble Harpies.

Across the ravaged field, their eyes met.

"Kill me..." the thing pleaded.

But before Gwen could react to the unexpected plea, Kusi's ritual reached its climax. At the Shaur's command, a glut of Negative Energy began to accumulate inside the shrunken head.

"Ariel! Caliban!" She quickly retrieved her Familiars. "Golos!"

"!"

A soundless burst of Negative Energy washed over the wasted woods, smothering the wounded, stifling the croons and groans of the surviving demi-humans.

A purple light burst from the desiccated face, drawing a visible torrent of Essence into the undead apparatus.

Golos reared its plated head, its jaws suddenly grim.

"A Desecrator," came a grumbling roar from deep within the Wyvern's throat, wrought in ancient Draconic. Gwen could see every scale bristled with displeasure. "Gwen, that human must die!"

"MISS SONG!" Auberon put up a hand when a wave of dragon-fear disrupted the flow of purple-Essence. "Miss Huamani-Inka's craft is sanctioned by the Tower. It exists as a religious exception to the rule. I would classify it as no different from your unorthodox Planar Ally."

Gwen carefully shifted between Golos and Cuzco's Team.

"Calamity." Golo's tone grew dangerous. "If this were to occur in my father's domain, your city is forfeit."

"Peace," Gwen responded to both Auberon and her Wyvern, channelling her Essence to suppress Golos' overspilling aura. "Lord Lucas, I understand your concern. Golos, this isn't our business, and here isn't our home. Stand down."

"Good." The Baron of Shenfield exhaled. "I shall refrain from commenting further, but I applaud your understanding."

"No… no… no…" cried a squark from afar. The surviving Sky Priestess was rapidly wasting away. "… the daughters of the Sky Mother must return to the sky…"

The creature's hapless mewling reminded her of Chandler's sister, whose soul had been trapped in the Death Orb. Compared to that, Gwen imagined, consignment to the Void must be merciful oblivion.

"Void—" Gwen summoned a single-stage Void Sphere to her lips, but Golos was faster. With a gulp, he scooped up the bird-woman wholesale.

"Better this way," Golos spoke with his mouthful, a formidable feat. "It is only right that she returns to the Unformed Land."

One by one, the banshee wails ceased.

The dark ritual had reached its conclusion.

"We will win," Kusi's voice drifted across the death-soaked clearing. She then turned to the proctors. "Sir, we wish to return to Inti."

"Of course." Auberon likewise made sure he stood between Golos and the Shamaness. "Miss Song, thank you again."

Gwen and her cousin were soon alone with their Wyvern.

"BLEEURGH!" Golos regurgitated a mess of charred feathers and mangled flesh, mimicking what he had witnessed in Nagaland.

Gwen and Petra leapt back.

"It lives." Golos gloated at his new trick.

"Pats!" Gwen felt her heart skip a beat. Here was an excellent opportunity to exercise the middle path. "Can you heal it? I want to speak to it."

Petra dropped two cubes at once, simultaneously activating both a Restoration and a Cure Moderate. She wasn't about to question her cousin's motives when the Harpy could have perished a second later.

"Spell's working, but its life-force is fading." Petra frowned. "Sometimes, that which is taken cannot be restored."

"Not always." Gwen intuitively knew what to do. She hadn't watched Sufina for a year and learnt nothing. Circulating her Essence, she fed a drop of Almudj's panacea into the Harpy's lips, careful not to let its razor-sharp teeth snag her fingertips.

"More Positive Energy." Gwen held the saliva covered Harpy as it convulsed.

Petra obliged. An over-supply of healing energies resulted in cancerous growth, but she wasn't about to fuss over a demi-human's longitudinal well-being.

"Cali, Ariel, come out." Gwen materialised her Familiars.

In the ankle-deep grit, the Harpy's feathers rapidly moulted. The burnt plumes fell from its chest and its arms, exposing two shapely mounds for a split-second before a downy fuzz hid the creature's shame. Gwen baulked at the sight of avian-mammaries. From her Bestiary, she had imagined Harpies were birds with human heads. Instead, the woman's lower body was undeniably like her own but for a pair of enormous eagle-claws. Its upper torso was likewise no different until one saw its elongated fingers, reminding Gwen of an archaeopteryx. In place of hair, the Harpy sported a fringe of beautiful, blue-green feathers akin to a lorikeet's. When finally the Sky Priestess' facial features regenerated, Gwen marvelled its long-slitted eyes, each set with ruby-red irises.

As a woman pulled from the underworld, the Sky Priestess inhaled sharply, its dilated pupils contracting into focus.

Then, it remained very still while a Void Sorceress, a Mineral Scholar, a Kirin, a Death Worm and a bus-sized Wyvern loomed over its quivering body.

As a noble, Phelara was born blessed.

By the grace of the Sky Father, she possessed the multi-coloured plumes unique to her lineage, promising beauty, magic and intelligence.

Last night, when the Sun Father had kissed the Tree Mother, she and her sisters had awoken to a great roaring conflagration, whipping the flock into a headless frenzy.

Phelara's first instinct was to order the den mothers to gather the chicks and the unhatched eggs. She then commanded her brood to strike the green and sappy branches so that they fell into the flames rather than be caught alight. In the past, when the sky had punished the tribe with lightning, the strategy had worked.

Yet, somehow, against all reason, the blaze grew fiercer. No matter how the priestesses called upon the air and wind, the burning boughs smouldered.

"This is no natural fire! It's magic! Find the priests of the stone cities!" The Cloud Father had called out, wise enough to recognise the fire's supernatural origins. At their leader's behest, the whole flock, Phelara included, had fanned out to flush the men of the mountains from their hiding spot.

"Here!" a veteran warrior had trilled. A group of city-kin had broken through the canopy and were rapidly making for the open air. "That one! The wielder of fire!"

Before Phelara could answer her brood-mate, a net of sticky vines had tangled the warrior's wings. Preoccupied with saving a hen, Phelara helplessly watched as the stricken female tumbled into the flaming forest.

"Sister!" Phelara screeched in anguish as her sibling's confused cries echoed. Many of Phelara's ungifted sisters lacked her aptitude. The bronze-feathers were inferior daughters of the Sky Father, but they were her sisters all the same.

"After them!" the Cloud Father hooted, his voice ringing from treetop to treetop, reverberating through the air.

The warriors gave chase, lead by Phelara and a few others. Along the way, they notified the surrounding Copper Claws, told their suffering through songs of agony and distress. Flock by flock; the tribes mobilised until they were innumerable!

One after another, they peeled the mountain-priests from their pack. Unlike the feather-kin, these "humans" were inexpert fliers, obfuscating their retreat with magic, and hiding whenever they could. But the tribe was relentless, so long as Phelara's kin persisted in the chase, it was inevitable that her flock would catch the culprits. Then, they would crush their bones, eat their flesh, and drag out their innards to feed the Tree Mother!

Phelara's final salient recollection was cornering another city-kin.

Instead, the sun rose.

For the kin of the sky, whose instincts were tied to the ebb and flow of Father Sun and Mother Moon, the phenomenon was enough to send the flock into turmoil. Phelara was no different, her dark pupils had contracted violently, owl-blind by the early sun, while her mind struggled to reconcile reality and instinct. When finally the dire radiance enveloped the flock, Phelara could do nothing.

Haplessly, her sisters tumbled from the sky. The lucky ones were disintegrated. The unlucky ones burst into flames. Those like Phelara plunged into the forest below, made insensible by the heat.

When she regained consciousness, she was but one of many, keening in the charcoaled ruins. Her eyes were blinded, seared by the radiance. She was bereft of her proud plumage; her skin wept, smeared with ash.

Every measure of her being was in exquisite agony, and that was before she sensed the strange magic syphoning her soul.

Phelara couldn't see, but she knew it was a charm of undeath. The same rot and decay utilised by the troll-hags of the deep forest.

Should the spell succeed, the accursed abomination would secure their souls to serve its ancestors, preventing the sky-kin from returning to the blue expanse.

It was a final indignity, one that filled Phelara's bosom with anguish.

Then, the Sky Father heard her plea.

She died.

Still conscious in the belly of a blessed beast, she realised she had been eaten.

Then without warning, broken, mangled and covered with mucus, she was abruptly re-birthed into the world, as helpless as a new-born chick.

In her delirium, a panacea had suffused her body, more potent than anything she had ever consumed, exceeding even the Cloud Father's blessing. Unbidden, her body healed and her bones mended; when finally her mind recovered, she gazed upon her saviours.

Why had they saved her? That was the question pressing at Phelara's scarlet-feathered throat. The Cloud Father had warned his Priestesses that the kin from the mountains sometimes took young chicks from their nests for sport. As for the fates of those poor sisters, none could know.

Very slowly and with great care, Phelara lifted her plumed head from the soot-stained earth.

She then spread her emerald wings, laying on the ground in a gesture of supreme supplication.

"Hello there," a female voice articulated from above. It was a tall city-kin female who spoke. She was a stranger, and yet Phelara felt familiarly drawn, as though something indefinable connected them.

"The Sky Father blesses," Phelara intoned carefully with clicks and squawks, keeping her pitch low and her teeth hidden. She caught the female's scent, and Phelara knew as sure as her wishbone that here was an extraordinary being.

The old tales had told of such creatures.

She was in the presence of a Godling.

"My name is Gwen." The female waited until Phelara lifted her head. "This is Petra. That's Ariel and Cali, and the one who saved you is Golos."

A pair of nostrils large enough for Phelara to stow a clawed foot sniffed her body. Reflexively, she quivered in Golos' presence. Like the female, Golos was also a Godling. From their scents, Phelara discerned, they must be siblings.

"Golos, not so close, you're scaring her." The female called "Gwen" pushed the scale-kin away. "Change to your human form."

Phelara gaped while Golos shrunk, not even the Cloud Father could change his shape.

"So," Gwen commanded Phelara. "Your name?"

"Phelara," she replied. "It means she with the illustrious feathers."

"I can see why. They're beautiful." The Godling shook her wing-digits.

Confused, Phelara bowed her slender neck. A pair of ivory hands then brushed over her plumes. Phelara quivered; she couldn't help but gaze upward at the green-eyed female with wonder.

"This one I like," the Godling called Golos spoke. There was an unmistakable scent of musk. "She has Father's colours."

Phelara remained bowed.

"EEee!" A four-legged Godling that bore the same scent as the female nudged her in the chest.

"Shaa!" A serpent coiled around Phelara's clawed feet. She suppressed an instinctual desire to swoop. Unlike the furry Godling, this one did not smell of anything.

"Gwen," a second female inquired of her leader. "What do you intend to do with this... thing?"

Unlike their alpha, the female called "Petra" smelled strongly of earth.

"I want to hear your story, Phelara," the Godling demanded. "Tell me how you got here, and where you came from."

The more Gwen interacted with Phelara, the more she liked the demi-human. Aesthetics aside, the bird was polite, respectful, and guileless.

Haltingly, the Sky Priestess relayed her tale.

When her discourse had been delivered, Gwen mulled over the occurrence. From the sounds of it, Richard was to blame, Jiro was the chief culprit, and Inti was the hand of deliverance.

Perhaps it was because Phelara had a human face, or maybe it was because of the Necromancy, Gwen felt especially empathic and sensitive to the Harpy's plight. It was sanctimony, of course, but her sympathy for the moment was genuine.

Now empathetically invested, Gwen instructed Caliban and Ariel to conduct search and rescue, as they had practised in Burma. By the time Phelara provided a summation of the territories between here and the Temple of Mama Killa, a total of twenty-two mangled individuals huddled in the impromptu clearing.

Initially, there were twenty-four survivors. Caliban, unfortunately, had gotten overexcited. As for number twenty-three; Golos had pulled the unlucky bird from beneath a fallen log, but left its legs where they lay.

Once the moment ripened, Gwen requested Petra revive the surviving Harpies.

"...Fine." Petra's concern was for what the Proctor's would think, though she did acknowledge that the same trick had worked wonders in Kachin.

As expected, a few more ragged-looking Harpies retaliated as soon as they were hale. In response, Ariel swatted them down, confirming the pecking order.

After a few reassuring squawks from Phelara, the flock fell into line.

"Copper Claws! Kin of the Sky! I have something to say." Gwen found herself a stump, stared down at the surviving squadron, then began to speak.

"QUIET!" Phelara screeched at her peers, mothering them into submission. "Listen to the Godling!"

"TOMORROW…" her voice projected through the clearing. "Tomorrow we shall travel through Amazonia. Tomorrow, we shall press upon your home."

"SCREECH!" As one, the flock burst into a clamour of croons.

"EE!" Ariel let loose a wailing warning.

"SHAAA!" Caliban flailed a tentacle.

The mob quietened, though a few of the dumber specimens continued to rile themselves.

"We come in peace!" Gwen told a white-lie, hoping that Jiro and the rest of the Explorers didn't choose this moment to visit.

"Lies!"

"Deceiver!"

"Killer!"

The lesser Harpies wouldn't have it. Not even Phelara could keep her rag-tag siblings in check.

"SHUT IT!" Golos opened his mouth. A line of vivid lightning shot straight through the congregation, obliterating two Harpies in the span of a wink.

The woods grew suddenly silent, harmonious but for the sound of cracking timber.

Twenty survivors.

"We mean you no—"

Gwen cleared her throat, making a mental correction to the script.

"We INTEND no harm! Unlike the soul-stealing mountain-kin, we come from Shanghai! For our quest, the tribe of Fudan wishes to transgress through your home to reach the ruins below. By my word and the grace of the Sky Father, your nests, your trees, your brood, will remain untouched by our passing."

Her captive audience hearkened, a flock of quails attending to a fox.

"I ask for your trust, and to that end, you have two choices. You could fight us, and indeed, it is your freedom to do so. BUT, should that be your choice, there will be- VOID SPHERE!"

With a whip of her fingers and a liberal dash of vitality, Gwen fired an all-consuming sphere of Void that first expanded to consume an enormous stump, then erupted as a dark nova, displacing a dozen more.

The resultant vertigo was palpable. Several of the Harpies grew suddenly ill.

"CONVERSELY-" Gwen allowed her dragon-fear to manifest in its entirety. "You can guide us through your domain as peaceful guests. That way, I win, you win, we all win. WIN-WIN!"

"We shall guide you," Phelara grovelled. "Just your eminence?"

"No. It'll be myself, Petra here, Gogo, and a few others."

"Not…" Phelara paused. "Not the…"

"The Desecrator." Golos was feeling helpful.

"Not the Desecrator." Phelara and the flock bobbed like hens. "Not the Desecrator, nor her flock. Not on our life."

"Not a soul from the mountain-kin's pack?"

"None." Phelara was adamant. "Especially the Sun God."

"I shall meditate on the matter." Gwen knew she had to consult with Tei on their latest intelligence. As for the Cuzco allies, she felt unimpressed by the challenge left by Kusi, not to mention there was the matter that Cuzco was arguably ahead on CCs. "Phelara, guard your flock. Golos, you stay and make sure they stick around. Don't you dare think of eating our feathery friends."

Golos eyed the females contemplatively.

With a glance, Gwen retrieved her Familiars, then placed a hand on Petra's shoulder.

"Let's see what Tei thinks of all this," Gwen informed her cousin. "After centuries spent fighting Necromancy. I am sure he'll take to Kusi very kindly."

"Very well." Inti inclined his perfect chin. "I understand your apprehension. Thank you for not reneging our non-aggression pact."

"It is we who should be thankful for your understanding." Gwen extended a hand. "Regardless, I promise you that the relics of your people will receive the greatest care from us."

"May the best team win," Inti intoned.

Cuzco and Fudan's leaders exchanged handshakes.

Before the conference, Gwen had expressed her concerns for the unusual magic demonstrated by Kusi, stopping short of the N-word. After consulting with her fellow members of Fudan's "flock", it was clear that close-cooperation was no longer possible. Openly, Tei had expressed that as one whose family spent generations putting the undead to eternal sleep, he refused to work alongside Kusi. Rene's dislike was likewise pronounced, citing that were it not for the Northern Front, she would be richer by two cousins, an aunt, and a grand-uncle. Lulan reminded Gwen that her beloved Master had died at the Front, eliciting from her vice-captain a heartfelt apology. Finally, Petra expressed that she distrusted the three girls from Cuzco and that Inti was slicker than a snake oil peddler.

In the end, "splitting the party" became a unanimous decision.

Having then agreed on limiting their continued cooperation, both teams proceeded with the Dungeoneering.

Once the Magi-tech engineers tethered the data-slates to the Divination Engine, a topographic projection of the region came into view. Tica gave her annotations, then Richard filled-in what Tica had left out.

In the time since the teams' recovery, Cuzco Tower had reported that the three teleported members were safe and recovering in the infirmary. This resolved the tension somewhat, enough at least for Tica and Richard to recount their adventure. According to the duo, it was during the final incursion into the temple itself that the parties had been discovered, leading to their hasty escape through the canopy, followed by many hours of hide-and-seek until they were close enough to receive Inti's salvation.

Richard sighed. He had envisioned that Gwen would nail the flock with an Ariel-charged Maelstrom or a Void Vortex.

As for the temple-Dungeon, the Dungeoneers had their work cut out for them. The golden halls of Mama Killa's abode were now a troll-fortress, its ancient walls converted into a grotesque ziggurat, at the top of which the trolls offered their live sacrifices.

"Are trolls religious?" Gwen enquired.

"Amazonian trolls worship the Dark God of the Forest, Kernunno," Tica demonstrated her expert knowledge. "It's a proto-religion atypical of demi-humans. They believe that Amazonia was created for their benefit alone and that they are the offspring of Kernunno, who sowed his seed to form the trolls. For a fort of this size, anticipate two hundred warriors, ten shamans, and over a thousand slaves. In all likelihood, a Hag Coven leads the fort."

"A coven?" Gwen inquired.

"A trio of Hags, lead by an arch-Hag..." Tica described the rare troll variant. "...highly adept at using magic, capable of debilitating spells that cause rot, disease and ruin."

"A trio of Hags, eh?" Gwen pursed her lips thoughtfully. "The wild and withered variety?"

"Yes, I suppose." Tica shrugged. "They are consorts to the Chieftain, and also his advisors."

Their attention returned to the map.

"The fire your man had set should have cleared the vegetation somewhat," Inti explained, pointing at the eastern quadrant of the temple city. "The canopy and the emergent layer should be significantly diminished. We intend to make our entry from there."

Looking at the Harpy's home, Gwen felt a pang of guilt, followed by a stab of hypocrisy. Like many bleeding hearts in her old world, she was the sort who loved her wagyu so long as she didn't pet the calf. As a fellow "deforester", she wasn't sure if she had the credentials to critique the slash and burn of an entire eco-sphere for ease of access.

"We'll arrange our entrance ourselves." Gwen motioned to Inti. "For now, let's say Fudan takes the western quadrant? Is that agreeable?"

Topographically, the temple complex was rectangular, with the old temple in the middle. To split the task in twain, therefore, was entirely agreeable.

"One more thing." Gwen allowed a sliver of Essence to permeate her presence. "We will be proceeding through the Harpy's lair close to the ruins. Due to Miss Kusi's cultural Spellcraft, we humbly request that Cuzco does not disturb the Indigenous inhabitants."

The conference table grew silent.

"If possible, we would like Cuzco to bypass the main nesting site of the Copper Claws," Gwen continued, her tone neither boastful nor pleading. "You may need to fly around, meaning your detour is longer. Is that agreeable?"

"Why such love for the demi-humans?" Kusi's voice came across with undisguised hostility. "Are you allying yourselves with man-eating Monsters?"

"Speak for yourself, Necromancer," Rene snorted. "I'd rather party with a Harpy than a Death Mage."

"Our ancient craft isn't Necromancy!" Musi snarled. "You ignorant raka!"

"Says the sha-bi!" Rene grew instantly hot. "Your kind should be locked up in Tianlanqiao."

"Let's hope we don't meet in the temple."

"You better hope."

Tei attempted to calm the situation, but the grave keeper's presence failed to douse the flaring temper. Tica watched by the side, seemingly amused by her teammate, while Jiro attempted to pull Rene back.

"ALRIGHT!" Gwen spared no expense in filling the room with her presence, causing even Inti to turn a shade lighter. "SHUT UP! All of you. Cuzco, I request that you avoid the Copper Claw's nesting site. If you wish to proceed, I can't speak for the risks involved."

"Is that a threat?" Musi stepped in, a finger touching her daggers.

Gwen's orbs glowed. Did these indigenous girls really think Fudan were ripe avocados ready for the plucking?

"You call that a threat?" Lulan stepped up. A two-metre slab of jade-green iron materialised mid-air. "This is a threat."

"Stop! We agree!" Inti checked the girls' retorts, placing himself as a barrier. "Cuzco will make the detour."

"Much obliged." Gwen inclined her chin, hiding her dislike for the Shaur siblings. "We'll do our best to ensure you won't be delayed. I promise."

"The promise of an outlander?" Kusi had to have the final word.

"Enough!" Inti snapped, then bowed his head. "I am very sorry, Miss Song. Please pay them no heed. Cuzco SHALL bypass the Harpy den, one way or another."

The sibling's objection was stared down by Tica, the undisputed queen of Inti's future harem.

"Thank you." Gwen found the prince as agreeable as the sisters were disagreeable. "Allow me to apologise for our misgivings in advance."

Ignoring their detractors, the teams' leaders soon agreed on their divergent routes, ultimately descending upon the fort from the east and west.

When Gwen brought her Dungeoneering team to greet their Harpy guides, she found the colourful pheasant surrounded by more of her kin. In the intervening three hours or so, Phelara had been busy.

"What's happened?" she alighted onto the soot-strewn earth.

A series of unintelligible squarks that translated into "She comes" and "It's the sister" and "I want my turn" addressed Gwen's arrival. When she shooed the bird-women away, trying to find Phelara, she heard a parting of ruffled feathers.

"Phelara?" Gwen spotted her favourite bird in a wholly unexpected condition, one involving her Wyvern.

Golos sat in his demi-human form, raw as a peeled onion, erect as a flagpole, looking happier than a bear with a stomach full of salmon. Beside her Planar Ally, Phelara appeared as though she had been put through the wringer. Here and there, she was missing tufts of feathers. As for Golos, either he had been vigorously punching a downy pillow, or he had done the Discovery Channel special.

"Wow." Rene licked her dry lips. "A wyvern's club has a spiked knob."

"It's the tail." Gwen's face flushed a brilliant scarlet while her fingers tingled. She had told Golos to protect the Harpies, but instead, she had set loose a cock in a henhouse. Or perhaps, was it more akin to commanding a dog to guard the hens, and only to find—

She slapped her cheeks to clear her head.

Phelara wobbled to her feet. Beside her, a few other hardy specimens helped one another to stand, strained by their weakened knees.

Gwen pinched her brow.

"Golos. Put on some pants."

Golos materialised a shawl.

"Phelara? Have you decided?"

"Yes." The Sky Priestess nodded, arching her spine in avian supplication. "We would like to invite Lord Golos to our domain."

"I'll need a week," Golos intoned with great anticipation. "Maybe two."

"YOU need to work," Gwen intervened. "No work, no play. I need those trolls gone, and relics recovered. Else, I'll send you back to Ruxin, and you can explain your failure personally."

Golos grunted.

Sighing, Gwen briefly explained their plan, stating that she had secured a deal to avert further damage to Phelara's village.

"Yes!" Phelara declared, now more helpful than ever. "The Cloud Father will show you where the trolls are weakest! Where the Hags sleep! We often raid one another. The giant-kin foray into our domain and take our young and our eggs for nourishment. Father may even know where these relics of the mountain-kin may be hidden. He has been our leader since the fort was manned by 'humans', many seasons ago!"

"Excellent." Gwen patted the bird on the head. "Well done. I have rewards for you if your Cloud Father can help us. For him as well, you can tell him that."

She then turned to her Wyvern.

"Gogo." she slapped Golos on the back. "Cheer up! Not only do you to get to eat trolls, but you also get to tango! Just remember, dead trolls, recover relics. Work well, and I'll keep you manifested. FOR TWO WHOLE WEEKS."

From Condor’s Rise, the IIUC proctors and the local garrison watched with ambivalent expressions as Fudan's menagerie entered the viridian expanse of Amazonia.

As pay back for Inti's detour, Fudan had volunteered the thankless task of first-contact. It was a risky move, though the proctors did not doubt for a moment Gwen possessed the means for an all-consuming alpha-strike.

“People are not going to believe this,” Tei shared another set of opinions. “A Void beast, a Kirin, a Wyvern and now Harpies, are we a Beast Tide?”

“They'll love it.” Gwen flew behind her Kirin's slipstream. “Golos is a Huangshan local, and we dealt with macaques before, right?”

“But these are HARPIES!” Tei baulked. "They're not even half-breeds. They're the real deal."

“Isn't that amazing?” Gwen turned to their guide. “Phelara, how long have your people inhabited Amazonia?"

The Sky Priestess levelled herself, carefully adjusting her velocity.

“Mistress,” the Harpy said. “Our progenitors came from the sky. In the beginning, there was only the Sky Mother. When she grew lonely, she birthed the egg of the Sky Father.”

“Ooo,” Gwen cooed. “Immaculate Conception, very nice. Go on.”

“When the Sky Father grew out its feathers, it longed for the Sky Mother. Together, they made many eggs, each engendering the different tribes of the sky-kin.”

“How Grecian,” Gwen thought of Gaia and Uranus. “How many tribes are there?”

“Over forty with which we keep in close contact,” Phelara supplied the intel without reserve. “The Copper Claws had been one of the larger tribes.”

Gwen caught the loss in Phelara’s tone and felt unmistakable remorse. The birds' flocks had been doing their thing, living day to day without care until disaster had risen from below without rhyme nor reason.

“Don’t fret, little bird,” Golos’ reassuring voice sounded beside her. “There will be countless young ones in the years to come. Strong by virtue of my blessed blood!”

“I look forward to that day, Lord Golos.”

Golos beamed.

“Exactly how many eggs is the bird lady planning to lay? ” Lulan asked suddenly.

Gwen's lips quivered, loathing the prospect of having to explain polygamy to Lulan, wondering what Kusu would say if he knew.

"There's a teapot full of tea," Golos snorted. "And there are many cups waiting to be filled..."

"Gogo!" Gwen tried to prevent the corruption of Lulu.

Golos burst into lewd laughter. Below the flock, a cloud of birds rose into the air, fleeing in all directions.

"Phelara," Gwen changed the subject. "What lies in the deep forest? At the centre of Amazonia?"

"I do not know," the Harpy apologised. "Some say there is a great tree that holds up the sky. Some say there are ancient beings there, Godlings in their own right, guarding the heart of the forest. Our Cloud Father says that there are worse beings than trolls. Either way, we never venture past the Wall of Woods."

"The wall of wood?" Gwen asked. "What's that?"

"A great forest of trees taller than the emerald sea." Phelara's eyes grew reverent. "Beyond which, the Cloud Father says lies the domain of the ageless ones."

"And what is what?" Gwen felt her boundless curiosity tickled yet again,

"I do not know." The Harpy's voice grew remorseful. "We are told not to ask."

"Aww..." Gwen comforted the Harpy. "Don't fret. Tell me instead of the trolls."

"Yes, mistress..."

Enthralled by the cruelty of the nefarious trolls, Fudan's journey continued as a bee-line on the mapping slate. Whenever the flock approached a new Harpy nesting site, Phelara flapped ahead to herald passing, securing an unmolested passage.

"We're close," Tei remarked eventually. "Gwen?"

"Phelara?" Gwen passed on the enquiry. "Where are your kin?"

“I am not sure. There should be nest guards. SISTERS! WHERE ARE YOU?” Phelara's response was to loudly screech in rapid succession. "This is most strange. My sisters should be stationed here, as is their duty."

Gwen scanned the horizon for a miniature sun or at least signs of smoke. Though it was unlikely, Cuzco might have deceived them after all, choosing to infiltrate the ruins directly.

“Our nests may be under attack.” Phelara too searched the horizon for clues, though the mist-shroud limited aerial surveys. “If an enemy proves too strong, our warriors will sacrifice themselves to exhaust the enemy. But, as it stands, our flight is diminished by half."

"Do not fear." Golos offered his service first before turning to Gwen. "Calamity, I am going to help."

“Don't bugger off just yet." Gwen held her Wyvern in check. "Tei, what's your take on this?"

“We'll have to deal with Phelara's troubles when we return regardless,” Tei affirmed Golos' desires. “If so, let's resolve it now.”

“Why not leave it for Cuzco to solve,” Petra advised.

“I am with Petra,” Rene said. "It's not like we owe Cuzco. Circumstances change all the time."

"I am with Tei." Lulan was eager to fight, ensuring that the ayes have it.

“Good, I prefer to keep our word.” Gwen turned to the Sky Priestess. “Lead on, Phelara!”

Ascending to a higher altitude, the group maximised their speed. Soon, they caught sight of a flame-ravaged forest smoking gently, adding to the mid-day haze.

"There!" the Sky Priestess squawked.

Above the treetops, a massive flight of Harpies encircled an unknown something, forming a whirlpool of coppery feathers.

"Something stinks!" Golos barked, his voice suddenly unsure. "Father's feathers! What is that scent?!"

“Mistress, my flock is under attack!” Phelara accelerated amid a chaotic bell-beat of clamorous wings. “Sisters! Aid our kin!”

"You're right, what IS that?" Like Golos, she too had caught an offensive presence.

"!"

As Ayxin's scale licked her spine, Gwen additionally noted that her Wyvern hadn't bolted like a bloodhound after a hare.

"Alright, Familiars at the front." Tei didn't need draconic instinct to sense that trouble was brewing. "Formation C. Lulan takes the rear. Buff up!"

Up ahead, the encircling mass of Harpies began to exercise the sort of manoeuvre more typically seen in the ocean, where swarms of silvery school-fish formed massive bait-balls to deter predators. When Phelara’s flock joined the encircling Bright-Feathers, a burgeoning polyp of overlapping, coppery feathers rapidly expanded until, like a pustule, the avian mass burst into shrieking, free-wheeling birds.

“Wocao!” Rene, now clad in Lava Skin, let loose a sulphurous expetive. “What in Mao’s name is that?”

The being that emerged from the floundering flock was enormous, at least half the size of Golos. From a distance, the gargantuan bird appeared to possess the misshapen head of a man attached to a condor's body. Its nose, which Gwen had at first mistaken for a beak, was long and hooked; its lips, a thin, severe line, extended from ear to ear, revealing rows of human-like incisors.

With a snap, it snagged a Harpy from the air, crushing the poor thing between both sets of teeth, its prehensile tongue wringing the bird of its bodily juices before spitting the carcass back at the flock with disdain. When it flew, its feathers sliced the air with the sound of metal-on-metal, affecting a noise akin to windchimes.

“A Da-Peng!” Golos banked to a halt, his expression gravid with dread. “Impossible!”

“Mao! A Big Bird!” Tei discerned that the avian-titan possess claws that resembled six-fingered hands. “Aren't they extinct?”

"Slaughtered to the last by the Mythic Dragons." Lulan too knew the popular legend.

“So, an extinct species...” Petra materialised a lumen-recorder. "The question is, what's it doing here?"

Gwen attempted to reconcile the monstrous being in front of them with the semi-baked alphabet-teaching yellow bird of her childhood. “Big Bird? What's a Big Bird?”

"Dragon-eaters," Tei whispered in awe. "In ancient times, they hunted dragons for sport. When the great drakes allied with the Yellow Emperor, they drove the Da-peng to extinction. It's all recorded in the Analects of the Mountains and the Seas. The last Da-peng perished in a stew for the Emperor..."

“I don't understand, how can there be Da-Peng still in existence?” Golos appeared shaken by their present reality. "Father is never wrong!"

Gwen was just about to retort when a puzzle piece clicked into place.

"Gogo." She shared the Wyvern's dismay. "I think I know why there are no dragons in Amazonia or in the Andes."

As a scion of the Yinglong, Golos was smarter than the average drake. When it realised what Gwen had hypothesised, his gonads quailed.

"In Amazonia," Gwen declared with a fatalistic air. "Your kind lost the war."

"So..." Rene raised a hand. "Do we keep fighting?"

"We must fight." Tei reminded them of their present condition. "I don't fancy fighting the trolls with that thing looming over us."

"We'll feed it to Cali!" Lulan was raring to go.

“Gwen,” the Russian suddenly caught Gwen's arm. “Lulan's right on the money. Didn't you say Caliban needed a flying form? If we use Bilby's, I think we can do it.”

The Void Sorceress' orbs widened. All doubt evaporated. From their safe vantage, Gwen studied the Da-peng. Indeed, Big Bird was a worthy combatant. As her enemies grew in power, Caliban's choice of polymorphic forms grew rarer and more demanding. In Shanghai, she had even considered asking Jun to take her on another tour, maybe to Kunlun to hunt the Thunder Birds.

"Cali?" she asked her hidden Void beast.

"Shaa!" Caliban was keener than Golos after a dry spell.

"KAKAKA!" a great cry, half-bird and half-human, split the air. With a single thrust of its wings, the Da-peng broke through the Harpy's encirclement, pursuing something.

"Wocao! It's after our bird!" Rene spluttered.

"Well, that's sealed the deal then," Gwen gave her commands. "Tei, Pats and I are going to immobilise it with our Bilby’s Hands. Neither of us can have our concentration disrupted.”

“Not a problem.”

“Golos! What do you know about Big Birds.”

“They’re immune to draconic magic… and highly resistant in general. Also, they're strong.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing." Golos appeared wary. "Not even Ruxin has seen one in the flesh."

“Don't worry, Gogo. Mama's got the big bad bird covered." Gwen teased her Wyvern.

A surge of lightning exploded over Golos, boiled over like an over-filled kettle.

“FIRST BLOOD IS MINE!” Golos blasted off into the distance, ready to deliver his payload.

Gwen motioned for their rear guard. “Lulu, can you cover Gogo?”

“With pleasure.” Lulan had been watching the Da-Peng scythe its way through the flock, tracing its movements as it missed Phelara by a wing-length.

A faint, jade-green emanation suffused the Earthen Mage's Iron Skin as she tapped into her Naga Spirit, briefly materialising five subtle serpent heads across her arms and her neck.

“All at once?”

“Go for broke.” Gwen began her spell.

“True Strike!” Petra dropped unto Lulan a Divination buff she had saved for just the occasion.

“Rene?”

Rene kept her eyes affixed on their prey; her Salamander Spirit feeding her Lava Skin.

The Da-peng dived, closing in on Phelara, ignoring her wind blades.

"Now!"

“Panzerschreck!”

Ahead, Golos accelerated, transforming into a blur, affecting a sound like rolling thunder.

SCHWING!

As one, Lulan’s weighted arrows accelerated from the Elemental Plane of Earth, racing past the crackling Wyvern.

“BARAKA!” The bird suddenly banked, spluttering Harpy blood like a mangled sprinkler. Before Golos could deliver its breath attack, the Da-peng split its maw wider than a dump truck, then let loose a shriek so cacophonous that Gwen had to hold her ears from half-a-kilometre away.

As though beset by invisible turbulence, Golos’ trajectory floundered. His aerodynamic form crumbled. Against all expectation, the Wyvern roared, writhing in agony, crashing into a tree.

“KAKAKA!” the Da-peng cackled.

“Gogo!” Gwen cried out, shocked that her Wyvern wasn't up to snuff.

CLANG!

Lulan’s missiles struck, unaffected by its hideous birdsong.

CLANG!

CLUNG!

TANG!

THUNK!

“KAAK!”

Screeching roars of deforming metal polluted the air.

The first Panzerschreck had sent the man-faced condor back into the flock. The volley that followed then struck the creature unerringly, ping-ponging it into the arboreal sea.

“Lulan, another round.” Gwen kept herself within range of Tei’s defences as she and Petra drifted closer. “Phelara! Help your kindred! We'll take care of it.”

A great squark split the Harpy flock, dispersing the winged females while Gwen and her party moved in to inspect their prey. Parting the trees, they saw that Lulan had outdone herself, for one of her stabilised projectiles had pinned the Da-Peng’s inner wing to the trunk of an enormous acacia. With its body nailed against the fibrous wood, the fiend's fingers failed to purchase the smooth bark, leaving it momentarily helpless.

With Ariel and Tei at the fore, the party approached.

Upon closer inspection, the Da-Peng did indeed possess human hands for feet, with six digits on each foot, tipped with claws akin to inwardly turned scimitars.

"HAKAKUU!"

The Da-peng was screaming blue murder at Gwen and her party, its feather-strewn face twisted in irrational hate and agony, outdoing Gwen's Translation Stone.

“Gogo, get over here!” Gwen commanded her fallen Wyvern. Knowing the lineage of Dragons and their ilk, Gwen suspected there was something very much ingrained in the blood that prevented Golos from exercising his usual enthusiasm. “What’s wrong with you?”

Golos climbed the air.

At the sight of Golos, the Da-peng began to howl and cackle. It salivated uncontrollably.

“It’s calling for help!” Petra called out. “Lulu!”

“Panzerschreck!”

TANG!

CLUNG!

THUNK!

Two more Panzerschrecks drew a line of sparks across the bird’s chest and abdomen before ricochetting off into the canopy. The third penetrated a tender portion of its belly.

"KAK!" the bird wailed.

“Holy hell that’s some defence,” Gwen whistled. “Anyone else wants to have a go?”

“Lava Spear!” Rene punched the man-faced bird with a lance of lava. The projectile spent its energy, then crumbled. “Ergh, it's like hitting an iron plate.”

Lulan drew an emerald-green blade of iron. She gave its honed edge a swing, eager to test her mettle.

“Lulu, don't get too close,” Tei stopped Lulan before she went toe to toe with the thing. “Its physical abilities must be immeasurable.”

"Ariel, you stay back as well," Gwen had no desire for Ariel to be put to sleep before they could nuke the troll fort from orbit, and she had no means to cast additional offensive spells while maintaining Bilby's Hand.

"EE!" Ariel instead made itself a barrier for its mistress.

“Then I shall kill it, and gift it's head to Ruxin!” An ashamed and newly returned Golos loosened his jaw. “ROAR!”

“Wait—“

A line of lightning obliterated the bird and the tree behind it.

“Idiot!” Gwen swore.

Golos stared, dumbfounded that his dragon breath slid past the Da-peng's exterior like water off a duck's back.

“Bloody hell!” Gwen berated her thunder-headed stepchild. “WATCH OUT!”

The bird was free.

The Da-Peng must have figured Gwen for the alpha of the pack. Twisting its torso to bring its grotesque head to bear, it lunged at her as though launched from a catapult.

“Tomb Stones!” Tei’s hands were a blur. A collated barrier of raw mana and compressed Dust instantly shrouded his vice-captain, taking the momentum of the predatory pheasant in full. With a din of metal on stone, the bird's claws crumpled the first few inches. Thankfully, its sword-like nails failed to reach Gwen's abdomen.

“Dust Tendrils!” Tei appended his defence spell with an additional meta-magic component, wrapping the bird with tendrils of dust. “Hit it while it's slowed!"

"KAA!" The bird bit Tei's barrier, shredding a layer of its magic. The Negative Energy contained within the dust, however, was enough to subdue it for the briefest moment.

"NOW!"

The Da-Peng’s forced error was enough for Gwen and Petra to complete their pre-planned spells.

“Bilby’s Hand!” the girls invoked as one.

A pair of palms crushed the Da-Peng from either side, each ethereal appendage five meters across from pinky to thumb, shimmering with raw, translucent mana. Ever since Alesia's induction, Gwen had practised the fabled spell of the legendary Bilby ceaselessly, especially now that Petra had joined the fray.

Forming a vessel of pure force, the pair of Bilby’s Hands pressed in on the Da-Peng, creaking its bones even as dire feathers sliced into the mana-made flesh.

“KAK!” The bird howled in frustration, literally eating away at the girls' spell. “KAK! KAK!”

“Keep it pinned!” A surge of heady adrenaline kicked at Gwen's vertebrae. “Caliban!”

Caliban slithered into being atop the thrashing bird.

"KAKA?"

The Da-peng's panic was written all over its face.

“SHAAA!” Her Familiar decided its serpent form was appropriate for the occasion. It opened its maw, then let loose its twin tentacles.

“KAKU!” The bird twisted its lower limb, snatching at Caliban. It caught the serpent by the lower-mid section, then squeezed.

Gwen gaped as a bubbling dribble of stuff oozed between its hand-claws. Since Burma, Caliban's carapace had grown sturdier by magnitudes. Nonetheless, in-between the pink digits of the Da-peng, her Familiar may as well be a caramel-filled churro.

Besides her vice-captain, Lulan gulped, imagining herself being squeezed out like lotus-filling mantou.

“Gods, it’s strong!” Petra strained with visible effort. Lacking Gwen's VMI, she was struggling to maintain the hand at full force.

Gwen, meanwhile, wrote an empty vitality-check for Caliban to cash, confident that Big Bird should provide her with a subsequent windfall.

"Shaa-shaa!" The faceless portion of Caliban slithered up the Da-peng’s torso, shedding its lower body with less care than a Bobbit worm.

“KAA!” This time, it was the Da-peng's neck that distended. Its humanoid face full of insanity. With a snap, it tore off Caliban’s head, filling its mouth with ichor and gore.

Gwen stifled a grunt as her vitality fell.

“SHAA!”

“SHAA!”

“SHAA!”

Three heads sprouted where there was one.

One little Caliban went for the open wound.

The second Caliban assaulted its eyes.

And Caliban number three performed the Golos special.

Not far, Golos howled sympathetically, reduced to a peanut gallery by the Da-peng's unique physiology.

“CONSUME!”

Caliban erupted into an indistinguishable mass of tentacles, carapace, flailing fingers and gnashing teeth. The Big Bird writhed, a web of lampreys tunnelled under its goose-skin, its milk-white eyes rolled back in deathly ecstasy, giving way to probing proboscis. At its extremity, pink, elongated digits curled as synapses fired for the last time.

Caliban's audience gaped with fascinated horror as the globular mess of feather and flesh reformed itself. When finally the churning gumbo of guts and giblets unwrung itself, they saw a coiled-up Death Worm, ready for its nap.

“Shaa!” it belched forth a furball of feathers.

Quickly, Golos collected the evidence.

"For Ruxin and Father," her Wyvern explained. "I need to tell them that the Da-peng still live."

"Good idea- WHOA!" Petra too pilfered a pile for future research, surprising herself when the weight of a singular sheaf tipped her off balance.

Yet, the same feathers drifted through the air as though weightless.

It was an oxymoronic phenomenon, but not one for which Gwen had time.

“I need a place to 'meditate'. Golos!” Gwen retrieved Caliban, sensing that Big Bird’s palpable vitality was about to ravage her innards. “Guard me until I recover.”

This time, Golos obeyed without question. With the thoughtfulness of a well-trained hound, it bore her downward, then alighted on a branch the width of a two-lane viaduct.

The rest of her party followed.

With Caliban arrested in its pocket dimension, Petra unsummoned her Bilby's Hand.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Cali.” Rene shook at the recent memory of the Da-peng's demise.

“Good.” Tei patted her on the back. “Sanity's in short supply in our party.”

Lulan drifted close, more contemplative than before.

“Gwen.” Petra took up a defensive stance. “The Harpies are returning.”

“Tell Phelara to hold.” Gwen maintained her lotus pose. “Pats, privacy barrier, please.”

“Water Sphere!” Petra dropped one of Richard’s spells, encasing her cousin’s body.

Golos brought to bear its clubbed tail, segregating its mistress from the others. From above, the pair appeared as though a drake safeguarding its blue egg.

In the next moment, Phelara broke from the host of Harpies, tweeting in excited tones.

“She wants to thank us for saving her tribe,” Golos translated in Gwen's absence. “Their leader wishes to meet with us.”

By the hundreds, the great flock alighted around Fudan, threading through space until plumed bodies weighed down every branch and bough.

Phelara returned, following a regal Harpy, the first male of its species Fudan had seen.

Compared to the females, the male was a splendid specimen, a brilliant hued peacock with three impressive locks marking its forehead. Its pupils, each a vivid scarlet, was punctuated by pearlescent, green lashes. Beneath its delicate, effeminate features, a tapered torso covered in teal-green plumage smoothed out as it hovered, held aloft by elemental air.

It bowed.

“Saviours,” the Cloud Father spoke in Quechua. “We are—“

“Silence!” Golos raised its head threateningly. “My mistress is preoccupied. Do not approach.”

"EE!" Ariel swished its tail.

The happy atmosphere grew awkward.

"Esteemed master," Tei intervened. "You may speak to me while our sorceress completes her meditation. We are delighted to have been of service in your hour of need. Our companion is overprotective, but Golos' brashness infers no insult."

The humans and the Harpies gazed at one another, ignoring the muffled groans escaping from the aquamarine water-barrier.

"There is no offence taken," the Harpy's leader spoke with great care. "My name is Aerivela. I am Cloud Father to these young ones."

"Well met." Tei bowed, instructing his team to do the same. "We are aware of our trespass..."

"It is the Sky Father's will that has brought the Godling here," Aerivela trilled musically. "It is we who are indebted."

"What was that creature?" Tei indicated to the dark stain where the Da-peng had been pinned.

"An ancient one," Aerivela intoned with reverence. "They live deep in the forest, beyond the wall, beneath the great tree. Since time immemorial, the ancient ones have acted as the guardians of the forest's centre. For one of its kind to appear here is neither expected nor a calamity we could anticipate."

"A great tree - a World Tree?" Petra perked up. "Where do the elves dwell? In Amazonia's interior? What colour is their skin? Caramel? Ebony?"

Aerivela shook his head. "I would not know, human-kin. None of our kind has ventured past the Wall of Wood. We are happy enough with the domain which the Sky Father has granted us."

"I see," Tei cleared his throat. "Has Miss Phelara informed you of the tragedy at Condor's Rise?"

"I grieve for our loss..." the male Harpy exhaled. "Though—"

SPLOSH!

Behind Fudan's Mages, their vice-captain reemerged into the world, balancing herself against Golos's many-spined tail.

“Their leader is here to speak to us,” Tei informed the disorientated sorceress while she circulated her Essence. “That's him there, the peacock.”

“Oh?” Gwen paused when Tei accused the Harpy's leader of peacocking, but then she saw the peacock. “Oh, I see! Good work, Cap."

Golos uncoiled itself while Gwen straightened out her attire, pulled back her hair, then climbed the air.

“Greetings, Scion of the Cloud.” Gwen crossed her arms across her chest as Phelara had advised. "We come in peace."

According to her endearing avian, the way to convince Phelara's leader lied in presenting herself not as an invader, but as an emissary of sorts. The higher Harpies were a sanctimonious lot, and so the best way to ensure cooperation was through shock and awe.

Both of which had been amply supplied by the Da-peng's demise.

“Great emissary from beyond the treeless sea,” the brightly hued priest's eyes sparkled. “This one humbly welcomes the Godling to our abode.”

Hardin Smith had thought he would die serving the United States Marine Corps. It was only fair, for he was a post-Tide orphan, one who had reaped the benefits of a booming decade, receiving the best education a world at war could offer.

From ward to conscript, from NCO to cadet, his early life had embodied the American Dream. Even as a foundling with no backing and no connections, his judgement, talent, and his ruthless determination had earned him a commission.

Those had been his halcyon days, and during a restive lull in San Francisco, Hardin had met his fianceè. The lovers had spent a week locked in a motel, then married. Unfortunately, for his honeymoon, Hardin was sent on a two-year tour to Patagonia.

When he returned to the states, war-weary and feeling a decade older, what greeted him wasn't his doe-eyed wife, but drifters puffing the Blue in his abandoned apartment.

Hardened by his time in the tundra, Hardin knew that alarm was a useless emotion. He made the necessary enquiries with the local PD and discovered that his wife had become involved with local layabouts.

Hardin took some time to cool his head, then made enquiries. The culprit was the leader of a local gang, the son of a multi-millionaire, heir to a string of trendy clubs in San Francisco's bay area. His wife, a pretty, blue-eye thing from the mid-western Frontier, had been out with friends when she must have caught his eye.

That certain people predated on the wives and children of military personnel serving abroad wasn't an unusual tale. Hardin had heard the rumour many times in the military but had never expected himself to become a victim.

Now that it had happened, what was he to do?

An NoM's life, even in the democracy of the States, wasn't worth a high-tier Mage's fingernail. It was a point his CO had drilled into Hardin over and over in cadet school. The equal society spiel was just that, a spiel. Egalitarianism was an ideology, one Hardin with his magical talent could arguably uphold. Conversely, for his NoM wife, life was one big pile of increasingly sour lemons.

If Hardin had been a hothead, a penthouse in Rincon would have perished, revealing no less than two dozen victims.

As a rational man, Hardin took the loss of his lover as a lesson learnt of the way of the world. He left the military against the advice of his CO, citing bereavement, and walked into the front lobby of Dark Water, America's premier PMC. There, he met with Erik Garant Price, a name he had loathed as a USMC officer, but now saw as the catalyst of his metamorphosis.

Across the next decade, Hardin proved himself again and again to his employer. From Guam to Managua, from Bogota to Guayaquil, he had seldom disappointed. As he rose through the hierarchy, his opinion of the world equally expanded. Behind the hands of administrator Price was the Towers, and behind the Towers, were the Factions. Beyond that, there were more significant forces at play, far beyond Hardin's pay-grade.

Take his current quest, for example.

His role was so embedded in the agenda of the higher powers that he had given up on elucidation. On the surface, he had been hired by the Tower Master of Cuzco, one Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, cousin to the Incan's Sapa. In Hardin's estimation, the ambitious Mage with the likeness of a snake was fully invested in vaporising the Sapa's son, likely as a bid for more power and control.

This coincided with Dark Water's long-term objective: the destabilisation of Amazonia. Hardin's side-project was to document the creatures that could be found within the rainforest. In addition to politics, Dark Water also organised extradition of rare materials for the American Grey Market. These included and were not limited to Incan relics, pre-Tide artefacts and demi-humans, especially exotic female variants. As his boss once had mused: for the ultra-rich, nothing but the best - or the strangest - will satisfy.

Armed with Cuzco's crude maps and the Magitech provided by Dark Water, Hardin and his team navigated the forest. Though the feat seemed impossible for some, Hardin had since discovered the hidden rules of the jungle.

Prior to his current mission, Hardin had been documenting a second ruin for Amaru. In fact, Hardin had been the one to map the Temple of Mama Killa in the first place, providing the catalyst for his current employment.

When finally his Divi-map had received Inti's attack route, Hardin told his team to remain stationed in the Temple of Viracocha, the forge god of the Incan pantheon. Dark Water had promised its Tower VIPs more relics than they could shake a stick at, and the company aimed to deliver.

Alone, he then made his way to the Temple of Mama Killa to await the arrival of the sun prince. As a man without family, Hardin preferred solo work, for not all Mages possessed the means to travel undetected across so hostile a landscape.

Now crouched against the fork of an ancient cocoa bough, Hardin plucked then masticated its tender leaves. Unlike the variety grown in the north, the Wildland specimens were potent beyond belief. A dozen blades, crushed between one's teeth and suckled for an hour, could keep a Mage awake for days. The concoction did nothing for fatigue, of course, but Hardin wasn't tired; he merely enjoyed the hypersensitive wakefulness.

As for the "Amazonian Tragedy" of Prince Inti's fall from grace, Hardin had planned two ploys and a flawless contingency.

First, he had previously harassed the Troll fort so that not only were its denizen aware and vigilant, the beasts had pulled back their scouts and hunting parties from the jungle.

Secondly, Hardin had composed and delivered cryptic missives in Trollic, informing the Arch-Hag and her coven that the Son of the Sun would soon arrive to reclaim his Amazonian domain.

Of the two, his confidence lay in the Hags. In his mind, there was no doubt the witches would bury themselves deep within the temple caverns, safe from harm until Inti arrived, tired and haggard and out of mana. Then, in that dire moment, the Hag's Brutalisers would fall upon Inti's party, aided by hexes and curses, sending the haughty prince to an early grave.

And if somehow Inti survived?

In addition to Magister Amaru's 'Contingency Rings', Hardin could activate a string of resonating devices he had painstakingly planted so that all manners of creatures would swarm the Temple of Mama Killa, swallowing Inti in a freakish Beast Tide.

Having processed his thoughts, Hardin waited for his prey, a smoky ghost lost in the haze of the Amazonian jungle.

Gwen acknowledged that Aerivela was a better host than she was a guest.

After a diplomatic exchange, Gwen and her "Flock from Fudan" toured what remained of the tribe's home. As bumpkins visiting a city for the first time, the party then gawked at the wood-spun homes of the Harpies and cooed at the hanging cottages. On suspended balconies, they saw chicks, half-naked and barely feathered, suckled by heavy-breasted hens. Elsewhere, brightly-plumed priestesses lead less experienced pullets in flights around the trees, harassing the stranglers with squawks of frustration.

For Gwen, it was a scene that stabbed at her chest.

As for her host, his lack of animosity made her squirm in her Shen-tei combat suit. If anything, the peacock Cloud Father reminded her of an ascetic monk, living with one foot in the material world, and the other in the clouds. An Affinity-induced personality? Gwen wondered; though she had no idea if Demi-humans could be affected by such a thing.

"I can't say that we're not responsible for your plight," she explained as they toured the Harpy's stronghold. "I mean, our quest ruined your home, and now you're proposing to vacate permanently."

The Cloud Father shrugged attractively.

"The moment the Ancient one appeared, this place was no longer safe," Aerivela explained with great patience. Though his priestesses were wearing anxious faces, the Cloud Father himself seemed entirely at ease. "The Sky brings life, and it takes as well. Say your fellow city-kin had not burned our home. There would have been more of us, but that would mean more fodder for the Ancient. In your remorse, you come to parley. As was the Sky Father's will, you defeated the Ancient. Now, we live to build a second home. Is not the will of the world intriguing?"

"I don't think that's how it works." Gwen was beginning to wonder if the airy Aerivela gave a shit at all.

"Do not fret." Aerivela laughed, his handsome, effeminate face radiant as he pointed downward at Golos. The Wyvern had not joined the party when they entered the trees. Instead, he lingered outside, accompanied by Phelara and a flock of warriors eager to engender powerful spawn for the next generation. "Where there is death, there is life. Your death-dealing sibling is now bringing new children to our tribe. Knowing this, what need we fear a decade of labour? The emerald sea is limitless. We shall find a home, and the Great Sky willing, we will grow stronger."

Gwen sighed; there was no reasoning with the Harpy Pope.

She had anticipated being henpecked, or perhaps, she had expected to coerce Aerivela with her dragon-fear. Instead, the Harpy leader had laughed off her suspicions, dismissed her threats, and told her that Golos was free to plough whatever he wished.

"Thank you, Cloud Father." She bowed her head. "I wish there was something else we could do. I could convince Cuzco to leave your new home alone, for example. I can be very persuasive. "

"No." The Harpy smiled. "No need. Are you ready to proceed with your quest to recover the relics of the mountain-kin?"

Gwen and team noted that they were ready to proceed.

"Then I shall direct you to the western entrance." Aerivela lifted a wing, its plumage covering every shade of paradise. "Come, Godling. Your adventure awaits!"

With Aerivela's aid, the party broke through a part of the undergrowth the cock had transcribed as neutral territory.

All through the forest, these "trails" existed. However, unless one could read the signs and smell the scents of the jungle, the network was impossible to traverse.

From treetop to the undergrowth, the guided tour took an hour to thread through the trees, avoiding the unhappy simians left by the Explorers' previous passage. At the understory's end, the party emerged into an overlook hanging. Below, they saw the roving mass of a vegetation-choked stream.

"We're here," Tei noted on his device. "This is one of the three streams leading to the temple city."

"Follow the water, and you shall not miss your mark," Aerivela intoned sagely. "Remain in the understory and the earth-kin shall not expect your arrival."

"Thank you, Aerivela. We'll take it from here."

"Beware the coven of three," Aerivela warned her again. "Not even I dare to approach when the crones gather. Once they witness your prowess, they will surely hide and seek to ambush you at your most vulnerable. Such is their way."

"Please take care, Mistress," Phelara urged her saviour. "Lord Golos, you as well."

"I shall return shortly." Golos, in his human form, pinched the Priestess' underside. "We'll make a whole flock!"

"I'll have the nest ready." Phelara touched her belly with the tip of one wing.

Feeling as though she had been force-fed dog food, Gwen wondered what Ruxin would think when he found out that she had pimped out his brother. The rest of Fudan's flock likewise diverted their attention to the task at hand. A bird flirting with a Wyvern marked the limit of human prudence.

"Inti's been notified." Tei checked his Divi-marked map. "He'll start right after we do."

"Right." Gwen took a deep breath. "What's the plan?"

"We'll begin with nav-point Alpha, then move to Epsilon pending on their resistance." Tei tapped the map. "Gwen, Barbanginy at E4 and Maelstrom at G16, can you manage without Caliban?"

"With Pats here, I should be fine," Gwen refuted her captain's fears. "Cali should awaken by the time we're into the inner chambers. Don't forget, Inti will be taking half their forces as well."

"Lord Golos, you will be responsible for the main avenue, C12 to F29, does that satisfy?"

"He'll be fine." Gwen patted her Wyvern. "He's eager to return, after all, the sooner the trolls perish, the sooner Gogo inseminates his flock of hussies."

"Calamity," Golos corrected her. "Phelara is your aunty."

"..." Gwen swore internally. She motioned to the map again. "We're counting on you, Golos. The Troll chief is worth a hefty load of CCs."

Golos snorted. The princeling of Huangshan appeared to have restored his bravado after spending some time with the flock. The Da-peng had been a punishing episode for the proud prince, one that Gwen initially feared had scarred the Wyvern's psyche.

"Alright!" Gwen shook out her long limbs. "Captain, will you do the honours?"

"FUDAN!" Tei snapped, a rare hint of colour touching his grave keeper's complexion. "BUFF UP!"

Hardin hung from the underside of a tree overlooking the temple city, plated in MKIII optic-camouflage. To the forest's fauna, he resembled a piece of bark, perfectly blended, appearing nothing like a six-foot soldier clad in articulated combat armour.

Attached to his helmet were two tendrils resembling a snail's stalks, the latest in military hardware - a pair of All-Seeing Googles modified for full 360-degree coverage.

"There you are." Hardin spotted Inti's mana signature through the layers of spoiled foliage. He double-checked that his Divi-linked devices remained connected to the slate in his hand, wondering why Inti's party still remained stationary.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! A warning marker appeared in his peripheral vision.

The answer to his puzzlement came in the form of an unexpected commotion at the western end of the temple city. Hardin had neglected the quadrant because the passage there was made near-impossible by the density of demi-humans living in the deep jungle.

The mercenary willed both google-tentacles toward the phenomenon.

As a part-time evoker himself, he recognised the beginnings of a wide-range Maelstrom now collating above the western wall. Below, the trolls exploded into a frenzy of activity, erupting from huts and houses, tents and crude humpies, retrieving whatever weapons they could find.

TWOOOOO! TWOOOOOOO!

The fort's war-horns called the tribe to action.

Hardin cycled through the lens filters until he found one capable of long-range Detect Magic. When the diagnostics came through, his agitation was so profound that he almost broke his perfect camouflage.

A Void-Element Maelstrom! Hardin swallowed the cocoa leaves. It was the sort of spell he had only ever read about in the archives. With a shiver, a name intruded into his mind, though Hardin immediately dismissed the possibility. There was no way the world's most hunted Void Sorceress would be in a backwater part of the Amazon, fucking with Trolls.

Shreeeeee—WOOMP!

A vortex opened into the Quasi-Elemental Plane. The expansion was itself soundless, but not so the gush of hysterical air in its midst.

Hardin zoomed in further, maximising the utility of the magical lens.

First to be drawn into the all-consuming orifice was the debris. Bits of bone, the carcasses of animals, scraps of leather, crude parchments used by the Shamans, as well as a bric-a-brac of life's little necessities all met with oblivion. Next to rise were the tusk-less slaves, too numerous to hide inside buildings and too weak to grasp onto the smooth stones of the temple's original buildings.

With horrible fascination, Hardin observed the phenomenon, clicking his tongue every time a troll was launched into the air to kiss the dark dimension-sphere, its size no more than the circumference of a human head. Whenever Troll-fodders arrived kicking and screaming, they were wrung as though by some irresistible force, turning the consistency of thick soup.

"God damn," Hardin couldn't help but mutter. The spell was inexpertly utilised, and its stability was horrid, but even so, its power made his scalp crawl.

Woooooo—WHOOMP!

Before Hardin could finish recording the first vortex, a second one appeared. Rapidly zooming outwards, Hardin caught the absurd sight of a flying deer imploding a lightning-fed nova.

The second Maelstrom was huge, more extensive than anything Hardin had ever seen. Where a regular variant was already an impressive spell with an AoE of fifty meters, this one was well over two hundred and expanding with each passing second.

Crack! Boom! Boom! Boom!

A cascade of thunder fulminated, mixed in with the sound of war drums.

"What. The. Fuck?" Hardin considered tearing away his goggles so that he could acquire un-assisted visual confirmation.

The Trolls were now in a frenzy. Compared to the Void Maelstrom, this one was more akin to a natural disaster. Within its epicentre, a portal into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning tore itself open, a full ten-meters wide and then some. Unlike the previous variant, the new updraft possessed ten-times the suction, forming a crackling, cyclonic vortex that tugged at the anchored huts, straightaway ripping the wooden humpies from their foundations.

"Initiate Scry," he commanded the suite of magical diagnostics attached to his helmet. In awe, Hardin rapidly calibrated his device, successfully triangulating his optics until he caught sight of the caster.

It was a girl. A mewling young miss and her university-age companions. A TEEN sorceress! A lass young enough to be his daughter!

Quickly, the mercenary recalled the data provided by Cuzco.

Gwen Song- Fudan's Ace.

Hardin had been vaguely aware that Cuzco's foreign competitors had talented casters, but he had fought both Void Mages and Lightning Casters before and knew what to expect.

As for his present reality— What in the name of the Apostles John, Paul and Luke was this Lightning Maelstrom? How was it possible that a university student could manifest a maximised, empowered, enlarged, and hybridised tier 6 Evocation?! Upon closer inspection, the damned girl wasn't even using a relic!

Hardin cursed. Wasn't it only Inti who possessed such powers? How could a mortal girl match the faith of twenty-two million—

"MOTHER FUC—!" Hardin tore the goggles from his face when a second sun blossomed across the eastern quadrant of the troll fort, expanding as a proliferate orb of light fifty-meters above the temple's eastern escarpment.

The celestial sphere lasted ten-seconds, within the expanse of which all flammable things ceased to exist. Trolls caught in the blast became instantly black and charred. Those who shielded themselves under anything but the hardened stone properly cooked, the moisture seeping from their seared bodies as vessels burst and boiled. Wooden lean-tos disintegrated, humpies burst into flames. Wildland vegetation instantly turned to ash, falling from the stone fort's ancient facade. Lichen smouldered, mushrooms wilted, and the murals of blood painted by aeons of sacrificial rites oxidised into nothing. Sand, pebbles and other loose rubble melted into cracks and crevices, turning the surface into pockmarked glass.

Hardin circulated what healing energies he had brought with him into his optic nerves, restoring his eyesight.

When he regained his vision, the Troll fort, or at least the parts of it that were exposed, was consigned to history.

A thousand Trolls, hundreds of warriors and God knows how many Shamans had perished. What remained was the temple itself, now appearing as a strange, two-sided construct.

On the western elevation, it was as though the storms had vacuumed away all life. Only the stoutest trees remained embedded and leafless in the rock formations, while evidence of Trollic occupation had all but disappeared.

On the eastern slope, the temple glistened, raw and a little runny like a smoked slab of brisket. From an epicentre, a dark ring of smoking stone, resembling those used in traditional cooking, blistered and boiled. No troll structures wrought of wood, mud or rock remained standing. Away from the blast, the Trolls that did survive the flashfire crawled in the ash, mangled and medium-rare, howling in unfathomable agony as their regeneration failed.

Hardin decided he had to make a call.

Inti's prowess was beyond his expectation, but the problem now was that he faced not one, but two Ace-Mages. Worse still, he knew from experience that while Inti's faith magic was quickly exhausted, the Void and Lightning sorceress had appeared unfatigued.

"Sir." Hardin altered his voice, adding to the distortion of his long-range Message.

"… instructor," came an annoyed response. "How goes our acolytes' lessons?"

"Poorly," Hardin replied euphemistically. "I'll need more resources to keep these kids in line."

"How much?"

"ALL of it."

"I see," came the reply. "In that case, I have good news."

"What is it?" Hardin furrowed his brows. He had enough surprises.

"You should inform the children that they need to be very careful between tonight and tomorrow…"

"Because?"

"Because the Blood Moon rises," the effeminate voice replied. "Tonight, the jungle will come alive."

Ten-thousand flower-wreathed llamas crossed Hardin's mind as he cursed Amaru's family to burn in the deepest pits of hottest hell.

"So, can Dark Water handle it?"

"Of course." Hardin spat his next words between clenched teeth. "It will be done."

"Inti's no slouch," Gwen remarked as she surveyed the aftermath of the alpha-strikes. A movie quote came to mind, but she refrained from her Gwenisms. "Look at that."

On the western slope, Fudan had done a bang-up job of erasing Trollic occupation. As for the eastern side, Inti's solar flare had eradicated all signs of the previous squatters. With exhibitions like that, it wasn't difficult to imagine why NoMs worshipped Mages as ready idols.

"There's more hiding in the temple itself, in the underground chambers," Tei gave his evaluation. "The prince is impressive, but his Radiance possesses poor penetration. I prefer a well-trained Fire Mage. I bet if we had your VMI and Jiro's abilities, we could bake the temple like a clay oven. Let's see if anything survives that."

"Low penetration, eh?" Gwen chuckled. "Someone must have forgotten to pass Gunther the memo."

"Well- the Morning Star isn't your average virtuoso," Tei corrected himself. "He's one in a million, perhaps a billion?"

"He's a decent bloke." Gwen batted a hand, waving an invisible handkerchief. "I heard he's a desk jockey now."

Besides them, Petra snorted, imagining the great Gunther Shultz stuck behind a mountain of paperwork, fighting the urge not to burn it all.

"EE! EE!" Ariel kneaded Gwen's thigh.

"Good work, Buddy!" she kissed him on the nose. "Well done!"

"How was the Maelstrom?" Petra tapped a data slate. "From one to five, how exhausting?"

"Three?" Gwen reviewed the tier 6 AoE. "I guess sucking things into the Void and not consuming them isn't that bad. Toward the end, with those trolls, I'd say four? The effect isn't Sobel-tier."

"…And how do you feel…" Petra tapped her forehead.

"EE!" Ariel nuzzled Gwen's cheeks.

"I am okay." Gwen buried her chin in her Kirin's mane. "There was neither distress nor pleasure. I guess Sobel's talent is unique, after all."

"Just making sure." Petra saved the entry on her slate. "Right, shall we proceed with the next phase?"

"We'll stand guard," Lulan and Rene both offered.

"Cheers." Gwen gestured to a vacant lot that had once been a fishing port of sort. All the flimsy structure surrounding the inlet from the river had been wiped out, leaving a patch of unearthed vegetation, mud and debris. "We'll do it there."

Tei was the first to alight, marking the earth with glyphs to establish a beachhead.

Lulan hovered just above the team, her heart-seeking projectiles ready to snipe whatever dared to show its face. Beside her, Rene likewise readied a Lava Spear. Should something like a hidden tunnel open up close to the party, she could clog the entrance with a word.

"I am beginning!" Gwen drew the usual mandala in the air, carefully invoking her magic to maximise her output. "… Morden's Hound Pack!"

Eight lightning-clad draconic deerhounds emerged into the Material Realm.

"…BloodHound!" They were soon joined by a ninth.

"You can summon a pack of eight now?" Lulan inspected the lively dogs as they scented Gwen and her allies, licking their hands with paralysis-inducing tongues.

"We've been fighting and training non-stop," Gwen recalled her coaching under Walken and Alesia with a wince. "I think I am very close to tier 6 Conjuration."

"You were tier four when we met one and a half years ago," Petra pointed out.

"Hahaha… yeah," Gwen passed off her cheat-like growth awkwardly. "Tier happens, you know?"

While her hounds stood guard, she initiated a second variant.

"… Morden's Hound Pack!"

This time, her party gave her ample distance.

Inch by crude-oil inch, eight slick Void Hounds emerged, each faceless beast possessing jaw-slits that encompassed more than half of their body length, propped up by skeletal legs, with segmented whippet-tails waving like rapiers.

"Give me a second." Gwen steadied herself while her Essence circulated. Her tank wasn't running low, but eight pony-sized Void Hounds were enough to make any girl woozy. "… Blood Hound!"

The alpha of the pack was a head taller than the rest, a magnificent obsidian fiend, smouldering motes of dissipating Void.

"Ergh, so handsome." Gwen patted her big boy.

The hound's head-carapace split, revealing four tongues amid rows of chainsaw teeth. Slobbering with glee, it gave her fingers a tongue bath.

Petra measured a dog with her eyes, then prodded it so that it could open its mouth to be inspected.

"Hmm… very nice," the Russian murmured contemplatively. "A five per cent increase... extra tongue..."

"Hee-hee, that tickles." Lulan was a fan favourite, attracting the draconic dogs with her newly acquired Naga-scent. When she petted them, the hounds drooled, soaking her greaves.

Rene suppressed a gag, waving the dogs away.

Tei nodded appreciatively, glad he wasn't the only one. Their Void sorceress tended to warp the outlook of those caught in her orbit.

"Buck, you take the left flank." Gwen motioned to the Void leader.

"Gawrrr..." Buck mimed an alien bark, then commanded its pack to scour the ruins.

"Astro! Right flank!"

"WOOF!" The Lightning alpha led the way.

"Are they sapient?" Tei raised a brow. "I thought they were shaped Elementals."

"Naw, it's a dog thing," Gwen refuted the claim. "It's built into the spell. A smart dog has half the intelligence of a Gogo."

"Yip! ARRROOOO!"

"WOOF! WOOF-WOOF!"

A hundred meters out, a mound of heavy stone erupted, revealing a Troll warrior who'd been doing its best to regenerate. Unlike Inti's victims, Gwen's survivors were at worst bruised and disorientated by being tossed about like rag-dolls.

"ULOAR!" The warrior brandished a teeth-studded club.

Unmoved by its frothing spittle, the party watched from a distance as Morden's Hounds performed their original duty.

With a distended limb, the Troll swung at an agile hound, missing when the beast feinted, dodging the blow and forcing it off-balance. Instantly, the blue-white blurs assaulted its rear, tearing at its calves, acting as living tasers as they struck.

"GARRK!" The Troll stumbled to its knees.

"It's over." Lulan whistled as the foremost dog tore out the Troll's throat with a snarl, painting its electric muzzle with oxidising bronze. The party doubted the original spell had Gwen's efficacy. After all, it wasn't as though Morden possessed draconic Essence.

"Is it going to regenerate?" Rene readied a fistful of cleansing fire.

"Let the Void feast." Gwen motioned her second pack to move in. "Save your mana."

True to her intent, the Void alpha reached the Troll's side. An unnatural sound of shifting bone resounded as its jaws distended, dislodging itself so that in one bite, the upper half of the Troll's twitching body joined the Void.

"Mao!" The corner of Tei's eyes twitched when the rest of the Void pack shredded the remains.

"Alright," Fudan's captain conceded to Gwen's show of force. "Let's clean up."

With Gwen's dogs ferreting out the occasional Troll too foolish to retreat into the temple's interior, the party patrolled the western slope, hell-bent on picking up every spare CC, as well as purifying their future escape route.

"Golos still up there?"

"Yep." Gwen nodded. "Ariel's Maelstrom's better than I thought. Maybe we should have left some fun for Gogo, eh?"

Before long, the team arrived at the foot of a gentle rise.

From the western wall, the Temple City of Mama Killa began in earnest. Where Inti's eastern entrance held the Sun Gate, Fudan's side marked the Moon Gate. Between the walls and the tiered temple, there was a distance of over two kilometres, all of which held hidden perils.

With half the structures burned and the other half vacuumed, some of its ancient glory was now visible to the visitors. Their immediate objective was a mid-tier entrance into the temple's underground catacombs, sealed with forgotten magic. Fudan's passage through the central boulevard, unfortunately, took them through dozens of underground granaries, each a shattered ziggurat converted into interconnected Trollic warrens.

A direct flight was possible and at worst, Lulan and Rene would transmute their way into the vaults, but that would leave them vulnerable to becoming surrounded.

On the other side, they were sure Inti likewise worked his way forward, purging the Trolls as a secondary objective.

"Let's hope one of these things holds a Hag or the Chieftain," Gwen remarked as her dogs dragged yet another victim from under a cascade of rubble. This one was a tuskless labourer, lucky enough to survive the vortex, but not so her hounds. "We wouldn't want to fight either without room to manoeuvre."

TOOM—TOOM—TOOM—

The sound of tolling war drums interrupted the butchery. Fudan quickly formed up as the stones throbbed and the ground shook.

"Gogo, get ready," Gwen mentally commanded her drake. "If it's the chieftain, act as we've planned. Link Sight!"

"EEe! EE!" Ariel, now aloft and acting the invisible spy satellite, reported commotion from beyond the crested hill.

"It's coming from one of the smaller pyramids- ten O'clock." Gwen switched between her real eyes and drone-vision.

"Cao, you're a one-woman army," Rene blustered. The Magma Mage had armed herself with no less than four self-buffs, but had yet to set fire to a single Troll. "Should I come back later?"

"Ha, you wish." Gwen slapped her teammate's back. "Your real worth is when we're indoors. Chin up!"

"AROOOOO!"

"WoooOOO!"

Her dogs scented the incoming enemies.

"Ariel, stay." Gwen held her Familiar in check, taking in the battlefield from above. "Lulu, care for some exercise?"

"Any time." Lulan's adorable smile betrayed her innate battle lust. "Iron Skin!"

Though the Transmutation remained the same one the Sword Mage had always utilised, a layer of green-bronze now covered her skin, assuming a pattern of serpent scales. Lulan's pupils as well took on a jade-green sheen as five airborne blades, each enormous, hilt-less slabs of iron, materialised on either side.

"Lucky Lulu." Tei smacked his lips. "To think a single Spirit could do so much."

"A high-tier draconic Naga Spirit," Petra reminded their captain. "One extracted from a flawless Core."

"Glad you like it. INCOMING!" Gwen opened her eyes. "Tei, any time now!"

"SIX PILLARS!" Tei wasted no time in erecting an all-consuming pillar-barrier that impeded all forms of harmful sorcery. The defence was well-timed, for a mere two seconds later, a stench of rot and decay rolled over the party.

"Cao! What is that?" Rene swatted at a glob of falling flesh, watching it sizzle as a Lava Blast sent the accused offal flying.

Against Tei's dust-strewn barrier, blackened-blood splattered, hissing offensively.

"Jackpot." Petra checked her data slate. "We've got a Hag! That was one of its signature spells. Bestiary says sacrificial blood is infused with Negative Energy to create flesh-eating necrosis."

The team gave pause at Petra's tone; the Mineral Mage had spoken as if she had found a rare butterfly.

"Tei, can we move the Pillars up?"

"Slow and steadily." Tei shifted the foremost pillars up the avenue so that his coverage leap-frogged. "If we're not physically bested, it is doable."

Outside the protective barrier, Gwen's dogs engaged the Troll-fodder released by the unseen Hag. A roving throng of tuskless slaves accosted her whelps, enraged and foaming at the lips, wielding make-shift armaments of teeth and stone.

Gwen sent a mental message to Golos to stay put, then focused on relaying the conditions of the emerging battlefield.

"I am going." Lulan turned to Tei.

"Tomb Ward!" Fudan's captain bestowed a single-use charm onto his melee Mage. "Stay safe."

Lulan nodded. "I'll draw them out of the underground."

"I am going as well." Rene had been itching to work her magic.

Tei planted another ward on their Magma Mage. "Then the three of us shall remain here. Don't forget to return if you're in danger."

"Yes, Captain!" the girls affirmed Tei's advice.

"Misty Step!"

"Blink!"

For Gwen, the bird's eye view made the bloody battle surreal- like she was playing a 90s real-time strategy game.

With Tei's considerable turtling skills, she and Petra remained snug as a bug, nestled inside the Tomb Mage's shell. For now, at least, they were at a curious stalemate. The Hag could not reach them with long-range AoEs, while they had no desire to rush headlong into a trap.

Though the tuskless Troll slaves were no match for her dogs, they still possessed significant threat as an enraged berserker-mob. With Ariel as her telepathic drone, she tactically applied her hounds, slicing into the slobbering mass surgically. With each Troll obliterated, her obsidian critters grew more substantial.

In a moment, Lulan arrived, an impromptu whirlwind of green death, her chain-linked blades slicing a path into the Troll horde. Whenever an iron slab lodged inside the body of a frothing Troll, she discarded the spent razor, then summoning another to continue the slaughter.

Behind Lulan, Rene cleaned up, paving the path below and around them with molten magma. Though the Mage lacked Seoul's bloodline talent, she was nonetheless an especially selected Transmuter for an international tournament, proving her prowess through fire and brimstone. With each swing of her arm, a glob of liquid fire engulfed a straggler or deflected an assailant from Lulan, showing herself equally adept at offence and defence.

"Lulu, incoming." Gwen spotted the beginning of yet another volley from the hidden Hag. "It's an AoE, looks nasty as anything. Get out now!"

The girls obliged, through Gwen's Void Hounds remained.

When the spell struck, the acid cloud melted what remained of a dozen Trolls that had been disabled by iron and magma.

Her Void Hounds smoked as they skittered through the devouring corrosion, ignoring the dosage.

TOOM—TOOM—TOOM—

WHAM!

A stone slab slid from the entrance of a hidden warren. With an earth-shaking crash, it crumbled, spilling from the darkness a dozen warriors armed with darkly-gleaming obsidian, armoured with enchanted bark.

Behind them, through Ariel's trained eyes, Gwen could spot a vaguely female figure giving out frenzied commands.

From its gestures, the Hag had not enjoyed the slaughter of its slaves.

A dim, red glow suffused the Troll warriors. Their collective mass appeared to double, then the troop broke into a run, making for Tei's pillars. With their long limbs, the berserkers closed the distance.

"CONTACT!" Gwen called out. "HOUNDS! SIC 'EM!"

Lulan Misty Stepped into the air, then let loose all five of her blades, launching the volley with a thrilling shriek of "Panzerschreck!"

"Magma Wall!" Rene back peddled, shrinking from the charging horde, erecting no less than three offensive barriers.

"ULOAR!" The Trolls arched their spring-like arms. Veins bulged, musculature ballooned, then they tossed their weapons.

"TOMB SHIELD!" Tei gestured without delay.

Shreeee—THUNK!

Lulan had made a mistake in lifting into the air, for she became a willing target. In the next moment, a near-supersonic spear shattered Tei's shield, exploding into fossilised fragments of hardened obsidian.

CLANG! BAAM!

A second spear and then a club struck Lulan successively, the first clanging off her Parry, and the next striking her thighs, drawing a line of sparks before shattering against her Iron Skin.

The weighty projectile exploded like a grenade, shredding the armour, exposing one thigh and deforming the scaled-flesh beneath.

"Holy shit," Gwen spat. That was a close call. Had Lulan not attuned with a flawlessly extracted Earthen Sprite of hardened jadeite, her right leg would have painted Tei's dust wall.

Lulan wiped a smidgen of blood from her lips. In her mind, the sword versus Troll exchange had gone swimmingly, for she had disabled no less than three warriors, pinning their howling bodies to the ground.

"Don't do a Lulan," Tei cursed. "Rene! Get back here!"

"Coming!" Rene reappeared an instant later. Unlike the battle-crazy Sword Mage, if she took a stone hammer to the gut, there may not be a body left to teleport back to Cuzco.

As if flaunting her resilience, Lulan manifested new blades, then danced across to the Trolls' flank, dicing at limbs and throwing the occasional Heart-seeker into the group's midst.

"Come on!" Gwen kept an eye on the Hag while adding some love of her own. "Lightning Storm!"

A crash of thunder rolled over the mass of charging Trolls as her lightning Ice Storm manifested, pelting the warriors with arcing electricity. The berserkers, however, remained defiant to her elemental assault. Where her spell struck, their bark-armour sizzled in place of their bodies.

"ULOAR!"

"ULOAR!"

"ULOAR!"

Gwen swore. "HERE THEY COME!"

The warriors had reached their prey; with a crash that near-dislodged one of Tei's pillars, a mass of flailing bodies compressed against Fudan's barrier. Swirling dust smouldered and dissolved as a band of frustrated, frenzied Trolls beat down the Six Pillars of Taishan, said to possess the power to hold back ten thousand Jiangshi.

"Dust Tendrils!" Tei wasted no time in supplementing his wall with the vitality of his enemies.

The Trolls meanwhile, moved out to surround the hexagon formed by the six-pillars, bashing at the anchors and the invisible dust-wall.

"EEEEYAAAH!" Lulan's assault exploded as though an iron lotus, Misty Stepping above, below and beside her prey. Following her passage, tens of severed appendages twitched. Conversely. whenever Lulan suffered a blow to her iron-wrought body, there was the sound of clanging metal as the Troll's obsidian weapons shattered.

Rene meanwhile, took advantage of their temporary invulnerability to gift the Trollic conga line with a river of churning, smouldering stones spilling from the ground, half-cooking the hapless Trolls while they exhausted Tei's barrier.

"ULOAR!" The Trolls were no less frantic than Fudan's Mages in churning out as much damage as possible. Within seconds, a pillar crumbled, reducing Fudan's shelter. A triumphant roar echoed from Troll to Troll, then a viridescent flow of healing energies enveloped the hooting mob, renewing their vigour. A few of the trolls who Lulan had made bereft of limbs even sprouted new ones.

"B'lyad'! Regeneration and restoration!" Petra cursed. "AND they're resisting Lightning and Magma! Should we use Cloud Kill?"

"Not until the old witch takes the bait." Gwen sent a mental command to her dogs. "Buck! Astro! Bring me the Hag's head!"

A dozen of her dogs broke from the pack of warriors, forming two streams — her alphas, one blue-white, the other crow-black, sped toward the temple entrance.

"Incoming DECAY!" Tei steeled his pillars with yellow Fudas as a second round of the Hag's demi-human magic landed. "Lulu, get back!"

"Arrrgh!" A squall of black blood slipped past Lulan's Parry. Her one-time Fuda dissolved at once. Her Shen-tei armour sizzled, exposing her Iron Skin to the corrosive hunks of dark flesh. A chunk struck her exposed thighs, corroding her flesh almost to the bone. "M-Misty Step!"

She reappeared inside the barrier, a detox injector in hand. Willing away her Iron Skin for the briefest second, she stabbed herself, then grunted as the influx fought off the Negative Energy.

Rene let loose the two-meter ball of Magma she had been constructing above the Trolls, then turned to her companion. "Lulu, are you alright?"

"Hold on." Petra materialised a nephrite Spell Cube. "Knit Flesh!"

"TAMAAADE!" Lulan howled, forcing herself upright. On one shoulder, a piece of her armour had been corroded down to the Saurian leather straps. As for her ruined thigh, all she could manage was a moan as her muscles rejuvenated.

"I knew that would come in handy." Petra inspected her work. "Gwen?"

"Almost!" came the response from their vice-captain. "Fucking bitch! I'll get this old Hag yet."

Up ahead, her dogs surged into the temple proper.

"WOOF! WOOF!"

"GRRRR!"

"YIP!"

One of her dogs, a lightning deerhound, perished without so much as a chance to dodge, catching Gwen by surprise. The rest of her dogs bolted from the interior, informing Ariel that the inner chamber was a narrow tunnel that made pack-tactics impossible. That and there was a huge stinking heap of befouled flesh blocking their way.

"ULOAR! Ashmasarg!"

From the darkness emerged an ungainly giant, thrice the size of an already enormous troll.

"What the fuck?! They have the HULK?!" Gwen spluttered when the green-skinned colossus emerged into the light. In one hand, it carried a dark iron club larger than Gwen from toe to torso. In its off-hand, it equipped a shield studded with dagger-like spikes. Its entire body sported thick plates of aged leather, painted with strange sigils in Trollic. "Pats, there's a copy-right violation!"

"A Brutaliser." Petra ignored Gwen's insensible splutterings. "Harass it with your dogs. Maybe Golos can take care of it?"

Gwen hesitated, tempted by the suggestion.

CRACK!

Another one of Tei's pillars collapsed, turning their safe-space into an irregular rectangle.

"Tei?"

"Let's move with Formation D," her captain gave the command. "Gwen, you're with me. We'll regroup on the hill and get LOS on the Hag. Leave these Trolls a souvenir."

"Right! Cloud Kill time," Gwen agreed, passing command of her dogs to Ariel. She then disabled her Link Sight, then placed a hand on her captain's shoulder. "Petra, Rene, Lulu, ready?"

"Ready!" Petra withdrew two cubes at once.

"Dimension Door!"

"Dimension Door!"

"Blink!"

"Misty Step!"

As one, the party reappeared fifty meters away, now nestled atop an abandoned ziggurat.

Tei's pillars collapsed at once.

Where the Trolls had been beating on Fudan's defences from all sides, they now fell into the centre. Dozens of obsidian armaments swung at empty air, crushing the weather-worn cobblestone. Troll warriors stumbled, falling over one another, too enraged to relocate their prey, so incensed by the Hag's frenzy magic that Gwen was sure that the red-eyed fiends would momentarily fall upon one another.

"CLOUD KILL!" echoed cries issued from the girls' lips.

"LAVA WALL!" Rene followed up as practised, encircling the pack in a circle of smouldering lava taller than Gwen.

Twin-eruptions of noxious smog, flare-filled and flaming with ionised pyrite, exploded across heaving green bodies, igniting as the vapour kissed the sulphurous air.

"GARRRK!"

"Glogzag hakungs!"

"Athrietess, ashavuth lugs!"

Incoherent howls burst from the flaming mound as the Trolls failed to flee, filling their lungs with inextinguishable fire. Though their armour and their scabby dermis provided ample protection against the elements, rarely did Abjuration shield the organs of a living being. It was one of the chief reasons why Cloud Kill remained restricted magic, for whether Mages or monsters, neither proved immune to the loss of one's respiratory system. Caught under a flame-wreathed sea, the Trolls floundered as though in quicklime, choking and guttering and coughing fire.

"Gudiots!" Came a cry from the inside the abandoned side-temple. In the next moment, the Hag emerged, wielding spells of healing in one hand and invocations of decay in the other. Beside the spindly female figure, the Brutaliser stood as her stalwart defender.

"There she is!" Petra maintained her borrowed magic.

Gwen recoiled at the sight of the fabled Hag. From a distance, the monster's gnarly feminine physique sported dreadlocked hair that ran the length of its bowed spine. Horrifically, its nude body was caked in a layer of dried blood in the texture of festering bruises. Immodestly, its lower body was a mess of twigs, cloth, leather and utensils wrought from severed limbs and pilfered digits. When the Hag opened its mouth to speak, a slithering tongue distended, milky with pus.

"Golos!" Gwen commanded her Planar Ally.

Her Wyvern confirmed its trajectory.

"Duccusemar gunvaders!" The monster shrieked as its followers burned. Then to Gwen's surprise, it screamed at her party in ancient Quechua. "By the Heart of the Wood, your intestines will wreath the trees! Gulorrifzag!"

A burst of Negative Energy erupted from the Hag. From what Gwen could see, the creature was drawing vitality from her guardian, the monster known as the Brutaliser.

"PILLAR WARD!" Tei recognised the incoming debuff. Whatever happened now, they would have to weather the assault, hoping the barrier held for the duration of the incoming incantation. "It's a Curse! Stay CALM and DON'T MOVE! WATCH FOR FRIENDLY FIRE!"

Gwen countered by filling her conduits with Essence. Her lips worked her next spell furiously, as did her hands, simultaneously informing Golos that the time had ripened for its grand entry.

The Curse struck.

Fudan's Mages simultaneously lost all vision.

Curses, also known as Hexes, were different from Spellcraft in that while traditional magic invoked phenomena to assault the mind or the body; Curses besieged one's spirit. It was a class of Magic unique to demi-humans and utilised only by Mages born from select bloodlines. Though counterspells to Hex Magic existed, the official solution involved preventative Faith Magic, or Positive Mind Mages specialised in dispelling, a rare bird in any wood.

Either way, anti-Hex Spellcraft wasn't something a godless communist country could provide. According to Petra, Fudan's only solution was to rely on first-strike doctrines and third-party defenders like Familiars, Summons or Allies.

In the bewitching darkness, a stark fear consumed Fudan's frail, human hearts. Each caster felt a quickening horror that, if left unchecked, would turn to madness.

"Shit!" Gwen fought back with a feeling of complete futility. "GOLOS! DO IT NOW!"

Within the interiority of her mind, she saw her family in Shanghai suddenly perishing by unknown powers. She saw her uncle Jun, his face a mask of anguish, mouthing strange, incomprehensible accusations. She saw Percy, his eyes bulging and his face bloated, floating across fetid water, she saw Babulya—

"CALAMITY!"

A fulminating roll of thunder woke her from the cascading horror.

Gwen opened her eyes, as did her team.

Their vision had suddenly returned, the Curse lifted.

A line of charred stone, cracked from both the roaring lightning and the violent passage of her Wyvern, marked the boulevard from one end to the other, interceding with a Brutaliser spluttering ichor, its shield and chest concaved by a terrific blow from a Wyvern tail.

As for the Hag, it now decorated the path leading up the temple steppes. For all the monstrous female's unholy command of life and decay, it was no match for the force of a Thunder Wyvern's full-forced strike. Against the relentless physics of a multi-ton draconic-brute obliterating its body, dragging it face-first some hundred meters over coarse, jagged rubble: the Hag was little more than a greasy meat-crayon.

"Nice work, Gogo!" Gwen cried out. "VOID SPHERE!"

She muted the surviving Bruitaliser. Before it recovered, ink-blots exploded across its battered body, consigning its indestructible flesh to the Void.

Gwen told Golos to remain in a holding pattern until he was needed once more. A brute without magical finesse, her Wyvern was little more than a resistant meat shield when indoors, one with at most three shots of Lightning Breath.

"I'll be around," Golos grunted, flashing a Storage Ring where the head of the 'Desecrator Hag' now rested as a souvenir, then took to the sky.

"The dogs don't give near as much as Caliban," Gwen observed the colour of her hands, watching the pallid flesh turn pink as her vitality returned. The Brutaliser was an enormous store of life, likely force-fed by the Hag to serve as a sort of Necromancy-battery.

"Take more time if you need it." Tei performed a quick Taoist rite so that the bodies of the two-dozen odd Troll warriors could no longer be raised from the dead. With a Necromancer only a kilometre away, Fudan's captain left no uncertainties uncovered.

"Nah, I am good, let's head up." Gwen warmed her fingers. "Lulu, how about you? You're looking worse for wear."

Lulan's injury was healed, but she had no patience for the slow restoration of her tattered suit. With a conjured blade, she had cut away the ungainly, damaged portions of her armour, ensuring that somewhere, an Enchanter wept. The result was that the Sword Mage appeared eclectic, covered from ankle to chin, but also exposed where her left shoulder, right thigh, and abdomen was concerned.

"Kusu is going to freak." Gwen tidied up Lulan's ponytail, then asked Petra to take a picture. "Lulu, you're going to be an idol."

"Why?" Lulan paid no heed to her exposure.

"More is less; less is more." Gwen studied her companion's innocent face.

"I'm keen for more! It feels so good to use my new skills." Lulan slapped her thigh, affecting an affectionate Clang!

"Don't forget your promise to your folks back home." Gwen pointed upward, reminding Lulan of the ever-present Eye of Providence. "Know what. Now's a good time. Want to do it here?"

"Ah." Lulan flushed. The Sword Mage then rigidly turned to face an imaginary lumen-recorder. "Comrades! I AM LULAN LI! I hail from the Sect of Huashan! If you wish to learn our skills, please put in an application for our Outer Sect! We welcome all magically-inclined citizens! Bring your Hukou when applying!"

Lulan Li, now "Outer Sect" elder, made a ninety-degree bow.

"Tei?"

"I'll pass." Her captain sweated just watching Lulan pitch her sale. Her lines were cringe-worthy that death might be preferable for the proud Tomb Guardian of Clan Tei.

"Suit yourself." Gwen likewise faced Lulan's invisible camera. In the background, she made sure that the pile of Trolls, her hounds, and Ariel all remained in view.

"Dear viewers, if you like to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity to sponsor one of our team members, you may contact the House of M, or our representative, Ruì Lee, at our Fudan office. Limited ad-spots for product placements will be auctioned after the first round in early October. Have confidence that we will bring your company or your Clan to the world stage..."

"EE EE!" Ariel struck a pose, capturing a picture-perfect Kodak moment.

Tei thanked the Great Leader when the team finally moved on.

From the sounds and the flashes of light still raging on the western slope, they guessed that Inti's party was fighting an uphill battle.

As for Gwen's party, all that was left was to find the entrance into the catacombs, then find out if South American Fongshui favoured pupils from Fudan.

Hardin Smith never realised that he could sweat so much while wearing climate-cooled Magitech armour.

In the past two hours, his tentacle goggles ran diagnostics across the proceedings, recording all objects of interest for Dark Water's clients. His left eye was set to Scry over the Shanghai party, while his right eye was set for Cuzco.

In the last few hours, he had witnessed Chinese Clanner Magic, mysterious spell cubes, eighteen Morden's hounds and two Cloud Kills decimating close to a hundred Trolls. When confronted by a Hag, a fucking Wyvern showed up out of the blue and transformed the Troll-witch into roadkill.

Then, as Cuzco's diagnostic data displayed on his Divi-device, Hardin once more denounced the duplicitous Amaru.

The female Shaman known as Kusi had been noted on his data set as an "Indigenous User of Necromancy," a term usually denoting those whose religious rites involved draining mana and life from the dying. What Amaru had not relayed was that the girl raised the fucking dead.

"KREEEEEEE!" On the eastern slope, a banshee's wail resounded, creeping under Hardin's multi-layered armour to cover his arm with goosebumps.

In Hardin's mechanised eyes, the competition had become a who's who of horrors. His right lens triple-zoomed, focusing on the walking aberration now laying waste to the Trolls.

The undead fiend had doubtlessly once been a Harpy and a rare variant at that. The most salient aspect of the corpse was its wings, two enormous fans in vivid scarlet, attached to elongated arms. Where the Harpies usual sported feminine, female bodies, this thing was a husk of its former self, with sunken eyes and a smashed nose. Where it once must have been luxuriously dressed in multi-coloured feathers, it was now near-naked, its pallid goose skin turning Hardin's stomach.

Already, a dozen Trolls, warriors and labourers alike, had fallen prey to its aural assault. As for those who managed to close the distance, the skinny, feathery corpse proved immensely powerful, capable of cutting a warrior in twain with a single swing of its scything feathers.

"ULOAR!" A Troll grew in stature, receiving the benediction of a nearby shaman. Its javelins struck the Undead Harpy, though the effect was negligible.

"RADIANT STRIKE!" Inti finished his tier 5 Evocation staple within a second.

Where the Shaman took shelter, the fort's interior glowed like a furnace, spewing forth a vivid, orange light.

The Troll Warrior charged, knowing its buff wouldn't last.

"KREEE!"

The undead bird-woman met the warrior halfway, launching itself so that even as the Troll struck its sides in an attempt to crush its spine, the Harpy latched onto its body.

"Guluo!" the Troll panicked, pulling at the fiend attached to its arm. Opening its jaws, it bit the Harpy, gnawing at the creature's neck with jagged, ivory tusks. "GARRRK!"

Hardin watched as the thing's vitality readings tanked. As with its forerunners, the Troll grew suddenly feeble as its eyes turned glassy.

Beep! Beep! A warning flashed on Hardin's spectrometer.

"Jesus Christ, what kind of freaks are they letting in these days," Hardin swore. "A fucking Soul Eater?!"

A Soul Eater was a tier 6 undead which, when fed the Essence of the living, could rapidly grow in power, well-exceeding the higher tiers. In nations where the Undead Fronts plagued human cities; Blood Lords, Soul Eaters, Corpse Collectors and Death Knights made the "most loathed" monster list. Unlike regular Undead, these creatures possessed unpredictable powers and voracious temperaments. An unlucky party hunting a Soul Eater, for example, could find themselves potentially overwhelmed, becoming its nourishment and adding to the danger tier.

A novice Necromancer controlling a Soul Eater was walking a fine line between power and self-destruction.

Not far from the dying Troll, a half-cooked Shaman crawled from an abandoned granary; its skin burned clean off.

The Necromancer known as Kusi raised a shrunken head, this one made from a Troll's corpse, and drained the charred corpse of its remaining life.

"KiiiYEEE!" the Soul Eater wailed at its caster, trapped in a permanent state of unceasing agony.

Another one of Cuzco's Mages, a lycanthropic Transmuter with the Spirit of an Andes Puma, blocked the Eater's trajectory to its master. This one Hardin recognised as Musi, sister to the Necromancer.

Behind her kin, Kusi raised a second shrunken relic, a human head glowing with a sickly, purple radiance. With incantations Hardin couldn't lip-read, she compelled obedience from her monster.

The Harpy corpse shuddered, tearing at the feathers on its body even though there was none left to pluck. Its red wings bled, wet with a sheen of weeping gore as it faced the temple. With its back hunched, the once majestic mistress of the air trudged forward, an earth-bound raptor.

Hardin chewed his lips in contemplation, scanning the temple for dangers that could waylay the prince. So far, after the Hag Fudan had bested, he had seen no sight nor hide of the Chieftain, nor the Arch Hag.

Hardin considered his options.

His HUD showed that it was 1635. A counter he had set for the Blood Moon noted that the phenomenon wouldn't reach its zenith until midnight. From the looks of the parties' progress, neither would enter the inner sanctum before tomorrow morning.

Until then, perhaps he could add a little trouble to the mix for Cuzco to enjoy.

Kusi's Soul Magic, from what he could see, was a bastardised Necromantic manifestation. In Eastern Europe, The Black Priests could raise vast armies in a matter of hours. Had Kusi possessed an ounce of a true Corpse Mage's skills, she would now be neck-deep in Giant Skeletons or at least protected by a troop of Troll-Ghasts. Unlike traditional Mages, Necromancers thrived on death and destruction, growing stronger as the corpses piled up. It was one of the main reasons cities taken by the Undead rarely held survivors. Necromancers were without peer in protracted siege-scrums.

Hardin likewise knew that Undead creations were bound to a Necromancer's Astral Soul. There was no need for things like relics to command one's pawns, for Undead servants were loyal to a fault. From what he could see, Kusi's magic was entirely based on indigenous lore. If he could destroy her implements, then, what would happen to the necromantic energies therein? More importantly, what would happen to her well-fed Soul Eater?

Hardin couldn't help but let a smile touch his lips.

If Inti could perish by Kusi's fuck up, thereby engendering a civil war between Amazonia and Cuzco, he would surely become Operator of the Year.

"Gwen, we're here." Petra checked their map. "This is it."

Behind the two girls, a semi-circle of hounds stood guard, wary of Trolls emerging from secret alcoves or hidden entrances. According to the map, the party had arrived at the main temple. Unfortunately, its once splendid facade had been torn down, repurposed by the Trolls or destroyed by the team's earlier AoE.

"Pats, any ideas?" Gwen patted the stone door, its murals long erased by wind, sun, Trolls and creeper plants.

Her cousin checked the wards. "Hmm... I think the source is dead."

"Dead?" Gwen cocked her head.

"The power's gone, scrapped off, dispelled. The door's just a slab of stone now."

"Shit," Gwen grumbled.

A closed door with ruined magic meant that whatever was hidden behind it was likely looted.

"Allow me." Lulan cracked her knuckles. "SHAPE STONE!"

The massive slab warped, the stone shifted, forming a strange, vertical gash the likeness of parting curtains.

"Someone's used this entrance already," Tei observed. "Not surprising. I guess. The wards used by the Incan people are neither Dwarven or Elven. Human Enchantment rarely outlasts two decades. It has to do with our relatively short lives. Since there's a coven here, they likely corroded the foundations. I think we were too optimistic with the whole untouched treasure concept."

Within, the room consisted of a pitch dark interior, unmoved even by the light from the unconventional entrance.

Tei motioned for Gwen's hounds.

Gwen nodded. "Buck! You're up!"

Her Void Hounds slinked in.

"Gawrrr!" Buck made a sound akin to a throaty cough.

"The coast is clear." Gwen received the paw-up from Ariel.

"Alright." Tei turned to his team members. "Buff up! Marching Order: Void Alpha, Lulu, me, Gwen, Petra, Rene, Lightning Alpha."

"You boys stay here and guard the entrance," Gwen informed her hound pack. "It's too tight for pack tactics. They can join us later, or I can D-D them in."

The inside proved tighter than her dogs could arguably discern, for when Gwen and company did finally enter, the passageway was barely five foot tall.

"Interesting." Petra pointed to the stacked and slotted stonework. "I think I know how this works. The stones perfectly fit but aren't mortared, meaning manipulation will collapse the structure. Meanwhile, its too short and narrow for Trolls to fight properly, while still large enough to invite them inside so that the small stature of the Inca can utilise spears or long-range spells. For Trolls at least, the entry can serve as a death trap."

The party sent down a flood of Dancing Lights. The entrance's interior was spartan and utilitarian, forming a passage that led forward and downward, coiling to the right.

"Buck" led the way, prowling effortlessly, sniffing for signs of life. Gwen and Petra became hypothetical Trolls, having to bend their bodies until they were shuffling like apes.

PUTHOK!

A stone spear emerged from the wall, piercing Buck.

"Aroooough?" Buck snorted, then continued.

"An articulated mechanism?" Gwen inspected the passage wall.

"Careful," Tei stopped their amateur Enchanter from putting her face to the Glyph.

"A Conjuration glyph set to proximity." Petra erased the magic with a glowing hand. "It's crude and common in ruins like this."

"Next thing you know, there'll be a giant boulder, and we'll all run for it!" Gwen joked.

"I will cut this boulder in half," Lulan asserted confidently. "Unless it is a boulder of darkened steel or Adamantium, in which case, we can sell it for money."

"You can probably fit the rock into your Storage Ring," Rene joked. "Boulder traps are so primitive."

"Lulu," Petra derailed the train of thoughts. "Adamantium isn't naturally occurring. It's an alloy made by the Dwarves. Unless there's a Dwarven city down here, it's going to worthless boulders."

"Okay, forget I said anything," Gwen sulked. Indiana Jones in this world would have to contend with the Mines of Moria.

The party continued. A dozen traps put Buck through every form of torture; wall spikes, crushing mallets, a pitfall, and a pile of dead vermin that, when alive, would have made Gwen void the Dungeon. After what must have been several hundred metres, the party sensed a slight breeze that stirred the stale air.

"Gawrrr!" Buck interrupted their conversation.

"Contact!" Gwen translated in place of Ariel. Her Familiar lacked punch as a dog-sized ferret, while its Kirin form was too big for teamwork in the tunnel.

"Link Sight," Gwen whispered. "Buck, go!"

The hound flattened its body, then sped forward as a black blur with stiletto legs skittering against the smooth stone. With eyes attuned to Caliban-vision, Gwen immersed herself, hoping the exit wasn't too far. Different to her Familiars, Link Sight had limited range when used on creatures she conjured temporarily.

The tunnel ended abruptly, opening into the catacombs.

The ceiling was now a cavern of at least three or more storeys, roofed with conic stalactites. The hound's immediate surroundings were equally spacious, enough to fit a dozen Trolls from shoulder to shoulder.

And speaking of Trolls, her Vitality-VR quickly spotted the hunting party hiding in the shallow pools of dark water. In her Void fiend's life-sensing vision, the Trolls appeared as incandescent figures of light.

"ULOAR!"

Buck was a terrible actor. When it began to salivate uncontrollably, the Trolls knew their stone-form disguises had failed.

As one, the warriors leapt from cover to abuse Gwen's dog.

Up in the tunnel, Gwen grew instantly upset.

"If Buck dies, the new deerhound won't have the same memories," she explained. "I am going to help, but we shouldn't put all our eggs in one basket, volunteers?"

"I'll go." Lulan raised her hand.

"Be careful not to destroy the cavern," Tei reminded her. "No environmental AoEs. No sonic spells. Rene, get ready to reinforce the cavern if it starts to collapse. Petra, you help as well."

"Got it," the girls replied.

"Join me in five seconds!" Gwen commanded Ariel to get ready. "Dimension Door!"

When Gwen materialised with the newly released Ariel, Buck had already been beaten out of shape. As a Void beast, it had no sensation for pain, and unlike her lightning hounds, its usual tactic involved consuming enemies so that its foes died while it regenerated.

This time, the six or so Troll warriors and their Shaman had the dog well-pinned. After a well-aimed blow disabled its legs, the rest of the warriors pummeled Buck like a side of black mochi.

"Ushhuth glogagioz lugser!" The Shaman was the first to notice the dog's owner.

The warning came too late, for Gwen had finished her invocation. "Chain Lightning!"

"EEE!" Ariel acted as the power recycler.

The dark cavern grew momentarily brighter than mid-day. From Troll to Troll, an arm-thick cord of raw plasma traversed, overpowering the creatures' resistance to fry their nerves, causing an eruption of flesh where latent energies escaped from yielding bodies.

Gwen was once again impressed. Walken's signature spell was made for occasions such as this. Her only regret was that after a mere two revolutions, the spell grounded itself.

"Elemental Sphere!" But Gwen's incantations were quick. A second blast rang out, enveloping the paralysed Trolls, then striking them again with a nova flash.

"HEEEEYAH!" Lulan Misty Stepped in, a green blaze of swirling blades, slicing and dicing as she charged the Shaman.

"Ashtazag duway!" the Troll caster cried out in panic, throwing up a fistful of bones to erect a barrier.

Lulan crashed through the bone wall and pinned the Troll so that it appeared as though a giant bug specimen. With two broad strokes of "Sweep!", she severed its limbs, then its head, leaving a twitching torso to remain impaled on her hilt-less slab.

"Eat up." Gwen channelled a bit of her vitality so that her Void hound recovered. All of the Trolls were alive. Usually, it meant trouble. For Fudan, it implied Buck could restore what the bastards had taken.

Buck's body unmangled itself, then went about the business of replenishing it and Gwen's vitality.

"Good work." Tei descended with Rene and Petra.

Rene reinforced the cavern regardless, using her Magma to form hardened pillars, conjoining the roof and the floor.

"Where do you think this place leads?"

"Hopefully, the storage area." Tei likewise had no idea. "I was wondering how the Inca could build such enormous underground structures. Having tunnels that lead to a natural cavern makes far more sense."

"I read that the Incan gods dwell in Hanan Pacha, a small pocket dimension adjacent to the Material Realm," Gwen annotated from her guide, ignoring her tingling innards as Buck feasted. "According to lore, the inter-dimensional gate between Hanan Pacha and our world can be found in lakes and caverns."

"You think this is one of them?" Tei remarked as more Dancing Lights dispelled the dark. "Look, I see a Quipu, it's rotted, but you can make out the remains. Can anyone read it?"

Unfortunately, not even Gwen's Translation Stone could translate the strange knot-language called Quipu.

"Still, seems like we're in the right place." Petra made notes. "Shall we?"

"Gwwwargh!" Buck barked, finishing off a Troll.

"Woof!" Astro agreed.

"EE ee!" Ariel joined in.

"Gulelus—" a Troll's last words were cut off.

"Alright," Tei again commanded the party. "Marching orders."

"How are you feeling?" Petra noted flushing cheeks.

"Like Lulu said..." Gwen brimmed with excessive, bright-eyed energy. "I can do this all day!"

"Let us rest and recuperate." Inti wrung a fistful of sweat from his brow.

Unlike Fudan, what had awaited the Cuzco party after Kusi's Soul Slave opened the Gate of the Sun was an ambush involving a Hag and at least a dozen Troll Warriors, backed by two Shamans and a Brutaliser.

Inti immediately exhausted the collated faith his relic stowed, stunning the war band with an all-enveloping blast of Radiance. While the Trolls writhed and howled, Kusi and Musi set to work on the Hag, attempting to destroy the Trolls' support caster before it could turn the tide of battle.

The Hag, unexpectedly, had provisioned for Inti's magic. Its Brutaliser guard acted as a meat-shield, preventing it from being blinded. With one hand, it instantly raised a shower of black blood to fall on Inti's party, while the other wrung vitality from her guardian to restore her warriors. Against the decay, Mallqu intervened, performing a cleansing rite to abjure the black blood melting Tupaq's earthen shield.

A chaotic melee ensued. Musi transformed into a wildcat, slashing up Trolls as she harassed the Hag, darting in and out of range of the Brutaliser's teeth-studded club. Kusi, meanwhile, commanded both her Blood Harpy slave and a newly risen Troll warrior to keep the rioting horde at bay.

From the temple's interior, the combat spilt into the open, then back into the chamber, then out again when the Hag opened up with the magic of decay.

When finally the Hag unleashed its Curse, Inti made his move, filling the air with such an aura of radiant awe that all who bore witness to his glamour paid no heed to the black magic of the Trollic witch.

With Tupaq defending and the undead pets whittling down the warriors, Musi eventually took down the Hag, severing her head to prevent spell-casting, rending its body with her flesh-eating daggers.

The battle felt forever, though Inti knew their labour couldn't have lasted more than half-an-hour.

When Kusi siphoned the last Troll, the prince had exhausted his magic, the same with his party. It was only the Soul Slaves that became stronger, feasting on the Essences of the fallen.

"This will do nicely." Musi toyed with the head of the Hag, passing the trophy to Kusi. "A magic-user slave could be very helpful. With enough Essence, I can activate the Curse of Ch'aska."

Inti gave his consent, too tired to argue. "Don't get carried away. In two hours, I need to perform the dusk ritual, and come the next morning; I'll need an hour for the Rite of the Sun."

Musi mocked her future consort with a demeaning smirk, attracting unpleasant glares from Tupaq.

"Enough of your cheek. Set your slaves to guard us," Tupaq commanded the girls. "Do not forget that without Cuzco, your tribe would have perished; if not to the Trolls, then the Spaniards."

"You're noisier than a llama's ass," Musi snarled, hissing like a cat.

"Sister, peace," Kusi checked her sibling. "Sir Tupaq is correct."

"Nevermind that," Inti interrupted his crew. "Fudan must be laughing at us right now. Remember, the proctors are watching all of our actions. Do not embarrass us. Cuzco, the Shuar, all who hail from the four Suyus are our family."

Inti watched Kusi's face as the girl turned away. In the event of their union, the Soul Priest would be his officious concubine, but it was Musi who would have to carry his child. Despite the ancient wisdom of the Shuar's craft, the side-effects of Negative Energy remained immutable. To that end, he understood the girls' antagonism. As a man, he had no desire to win the girls, but as a King, it was his duty.

Without interest, Mallqu found an empty spot, then laid herself down to sleep.

"If only all of the Antis could be as wise and cultured as the Jivaroan," Tupaq mumbled.

The girls said nothing. Manipulating her shrunken relics, Kusi set the guards, then retreated to a corner to meditate on the day ahead.

Condor's Rise.

A swimming sun slowly plunged into the jagged horizon.

Inside the stone fort, the Proctors had been arguing unceasingly about the match.

From Fudan's Wyvern one-hitting the Hag to Inti's all-searing AoE, the proctors fell into a buzz of passions. Cuzco's match was one that took place between two low-ranked universities, but the destructive power demonstrated by both teams had reached at least the semi-finals. It was a great boon, for grand spectacles made for good lumen-casts, which translated into additional influence for the IIUC.

"Don't you think our Void Sorceress and our Indigenous Necromancer are similar?" a Proctor was proposing a hypothesis.

"Nothing of the sort." Auberon snorted. "For one, Gwen is far easier on the eyes—"

"Sir!" Lucy intervened. "Magister Sakmann warned you about this…"

"You're mistaken." Auberon sipped his Earl Grey. An Englishman might be up to his neck in competitive sorceresses wielding sinister magic, but tea time was sacred. "Take a biscuit, Miss Pritchard. I am speaking in relative terms, but it is undeniable that our colonial sorceress makes for a good show, hmm?"

"I'll drink to that," another proctor agreed. "Her... display is sure to please."

A few of the women rolled their eyes.

"It's true, Lucy."

"Sir..."

"I am serious. Gwen's Void Beasts, Wyvern, Kirin, and that phallus she calls Caliban, they're impressive. And most importantly, they're exotic, or alien, or downright terrifying. Compared to a bleeding Soul Eater, which one would you rather see on vid-cast?"

"Miss Song, I suppose."

"That's right, Lucy." Auberon was in a lecturing mood. "Do you know why she enjoys such popularity despite her creature's aberrant exterior?"

"Is it because of Miss Song's beauty?"

"That too, but not my point, Miss Pritchard. Shame on you! It's because the Void critters are utterly foreign, you see? Out of this world. Completely obscene. We don't mind them after an initial fright, because they're exotic tools."

"Sir?"

"BUT the Undead, Good Lord!" Auberon replaced his cup with a clink. "You ever killed a man, Miss Pritchard."

"I can't say I haven't. I was in the service when the Suez incident happened."

"Yes, very good." Auberon smiled sympathetically. "Terrible affair, that one. My condolences. You recall how when someone's newly dead and the bundles of stuff come out, where even though you're behind the Abjurers, there's still a desire to be sick?"

Lucy paled.

"It's the same reason we are naturally averse to Necromancy," Auberon said. "It is human empathy that makes us sick- you see? We don't like to look death in the face. Why in God's name would we want to look at Undeath in the face? All are equal when the reaper comes calling. That's why Miss Kusi makes for terrible Vid-casts, you see. People don't want to acknowledge the possibility that death isn't the final frontier, that their spirit may never rest. Do you see?"

"I see, Sir."

"Kenneth, you were saying the girls were similar?"

"I was, Lord Lucas," the proctor called Kenneth replied. "Both are trying to prove that their magic is beneficial rather than something that should be caged. Now I see that they are different."

"Indeed." Auberon slathered a scone for the shivering Lucy. "Keeping malignant forces under control is never as easy as it looks. Either of our sorceresses—"

"SIR!" A proctor pulled a vid-cast across to the central display. "Something's happened to Inti's party! I think their Soul Eater has been untethered from the Necromancer's relic!"

"Speak of the devil…" Auberon commanded another proctor to keep an eye on the diagnostics. "Who is it? Fudan? Are they responsible?"

"No sir, Fudan is still fighting." A proctor pointed to yet another monitor. "I think we may have an intruder."

"Oh, truly?" Auberon reviewed the footage. On the real-time projection, Cuzco's party was beating a swift retreat from their undead pets. The Troll straight away fled into the temple's depth, while the Harpy appeared dead-set on murdering its master. "Politics?"

"Looks like it, sir." Another proctor brought up the mana-spirometer, while a second machine furiously spat out a script that recorded Divination readings surrounding the contestants. "There! A spike! Looks like Illusion and Transmutation, my Lord."

"Record everything." Auberon turned his attention back to the screen. "You know, when this happens in England, at least Brussels gets passed a note. How droll."

"SIR!" another proctor spoke up. "There's something else."

"What is it now?"

"I am recording massive energy readings in the Questing region. They read like shielding signals."

Auberon fell silent.

"Lord Lucas?"

"Yes, Miss Ashley?" Auberon peeled the crispy bits from his scone.

"Just received word from Cuzco Tower - there's going to be a Blood Moon tonight."

The proctors collectively inhaled a breath of humid, Amazonian air.

"Politics it is then." Auberon exhaled, smiling to assure his team. "Carry on."

"We're doing nothing, Sir?"

"We'll teleport out when we need to," Auberon considered the man's inquiry. "Beast Tides are no joke, you know."

"The contestants…"

"One side's on the receiving end, and the other can fly out on a Wyvern. I wouldn't worry." The Chief proctor was the very model of professionalism. "Keep calm and carry on, lads and lasses. My order stands, oh, and Miss Lucy?"

"Sir?"

"A fresh brew, if you please. The good tea. We'll be in for a long night."

By sundown, Fudan's party had penetrated from the catacombs into the central cathedral. Their progress had been quick but not reckless, for they had paced themselves between each section, ambushing bands of patrolling Trolls while digging for treasure. In between the battles, the party recuperated just long enough to keep up the momentum.

Through each engagement, Petra took notes on how her cousin's unique physiology excelled against numerous foes rich in vitality. With her Chakram, Void Bolts, Seekers and the occasional Dark Tentacle, the Troll's regenerative qualities had been rendered null even as they fed Gwen's vital stores.

"This should impress the proctors and deter detractors," Petra observed. "Well done, cousin."

"We're not out of the Troll lair yet." Gwen replied with undisguised smugness. "Say that after we defeat the Arch-Hag and the chieftain."

Near the catacomb's centre, where the 'Hanan Pacha' awaited the party's plundering, the team's progress grounded to a halt.

"Hold up! My Gwen-senses are tingling," Fudan's vice-captain relayed an insensible Gwenism. "If we punch through this door right now, I am going to be in a world of hurt."

It was a curious prediction.

Gwen's bargain Divination lacked the capacity for foresight. Instead, her Gwen-tingles had been interpreted by Mayuree into five tiers. ONE implied, "this might hurt real bad," while FIVE represented, "I may die if I stand still and do nothing." Usually, Gwen's portents were ineffectual, as they only activated seconds prior to becoming mangled in exotic and exciting ways. As for their present predicament, the sorceress had made the call a second before Lulu Stone Shaped through a dormant gate.

"My apologies. I should have been using Scry and Arcane Eye." Petra produced a spell cube. "The fault is mine. Our risk level has been too low, and I've let my guard down."

Petra's remorse was well-founded, for the party had so far garnered considerable success, recovering no less than three golden idols placed in inert wards where the tunnels met. Two of the relics had been defaced, with the 'head' of Amaru removed. The third, uncovered when Lulan Shaped into a gateway, was a crude carving involving Inti riding a Cloud Puma. What was disconcerting, however, was that someone had indeed looted the place long before Fudan and Cuzco had arrived. At a prior shrine they had uncovered, the golden murals had been scraped clean. When Petra performed forensics on the damage, she noted that magic-tools such as the Stone Cutter's Cunning Blade had been used to remove the Glyphs wholesale.

"No, the responsibility lies with me." Tei shook his head. "The constant battle has dulled my senses too. As Captain, I should have been the one to intervene, not Gwen."

"How about we see if there's anything in there first?" Rene felt for Tei, who had been dragged along by Gwen's infectious enthusiasm.

"Arooo?" Astro looked at Buck.

"Woaroough?" Buck wagged its tail.

Ariel whined from its pocket dimension, comforting the alphas.

Presently, the party had reached the end of a section marked by tight tunnels opening into a larger chamber. At the end of the room, hewn from bedrock, laid the door Fudan had almost tunnelled through.

"Arcane Eye!" Petra crushed her nephrite cube, freeing Mayuree's favourite spell. "Give me a second to get adjusted. Double-vision is disorientating when you're not a Diviner."

After a minute fiddling with the spell's mechanics, Petra sent the eye through the wall. "HOLY—"

The Russian held her lips.

"What is it?"

"St Peter…" Petra murmured. "We found the temple's centre."

Silently, the rest of the team waited while Petra's invisible eye made the rounds. When she finished, the spell fizzled.

"Thank 'Inti' that the door is immobile," Petra said as she conjured a rough map using her crystals. "I wonder how the Trolls got in? Here's what we're up against…"

The final cavern was enormous, easily the size of an international duelling field and just as high. The cavern was roughly oval, with a sharp decline in where Fudan's party now situated, rising to almost fifty meters near its zenith. What was strange was that there was natural light refracting from above. Furthermore, there was a tiered mechanism akin to a reverse pyramid, in the midst of which a triangular crystal-cap dispensed a moon-like radiance. In a way, it reminded Fudan of the Geofront under Shanghai.

For Fudan's amateur historians, it made sense that the home of Mama Killa, the Moon-mother, should possess a "moon" lit sanctum.

"I don't think its moonlight," Petra corrected the party's hypotheses. "The illumination was reddish."

"What else could it be?" Gwen asked. "Something wrong with the light Glyphs? Fungi on the lens? Rusty scum water?"

Petra shrugged as she added more details to her model. "Don't know, but the Trolls are transfixed by this thing. There's something to the colour, I think. Also, they're brewing something foul."

"Dinner? Even Trolls gotta eat."

"The centre of the chamber holds a six-tier ziggurat." Petra pointed to the cavern's centre, where she constructed a pyramidal hill. There are Troll structures all over the place. Atop here is where I saw the Chieftain and the Arch-Hag. There's a bubbling cauldron, though for now, they're much more interested in the pink light."

Tei counted Petra's crude figurines.

"Thirty Warriors..." He grimaced. "And a Hag, an Arch Hag, the Chieftain, and four Shamans. TWO Brutalisers- plus a hot pot full of Mao knows what."

"I'll re-conjure the pack." Gwen immediately set about her work. "I feel Cali is about ready as well. Can we wait?"

"We'll wait as long as you need," Tei stated affirmatively. "There's no rush. Is Inti out of contact?"

Gwen checked her Message bangle. "I sense no signals other than our own."

"How about we collapse the cavern?" Rene butted in. "Why fight the Trolls when we can pick up the loot later?"

"I don't think Cuzco would like their religious site destroyed," Gwen intruded. "We'd be worse than the Trolls— hell, we'd be worse than the Spaniards. Also, what if the relics inside are delicate? I mean, a crystal skull isn't out of the question."

"Why a Crystal Skull?"

Gwen stopped herself from saying "Aliens" because not even Harrison Ford could save the fourth instalment from the critics.

"How about Cloud Kill? We have plenty of pyrite bars." Petra flashed her ring.

"The cloud shifts and may be moved, making it unpredictable," Tei shook his head. "The cavern is also too spacious for Rene to use Magma Wall, AND there's Shamans as well as Warriors, not to mention their leader. If just one of them knows how to manipulate the Cloud Kill with wind spells, we'll be caught up in it."

"How about the alternative? My Void dogs are immune to the effects of my Void cloud," Gwen offered another possibility. "And to my knowledge, the Void mass remains stationary. I can make a 'ring' around us if we want to keep the melee away."

Tei gave the strategy some thought. "How about Void Swarm? Or Conjure Elemental?"

"If I can sustain my magic, it could work." Gwen crossed her arms and hugged her chest. "Do Hags know how to Banish?"

"They shouldn't." Petra shook her head. "However, you'll be stationary while maintaining the swarm. If the Trolls start hammering you with projectiles, not even Tei can shield you. Moreover, what happens if we're cursed?"

Their vice-captain pursed her lips. The "Curse" had been terrifying. If only she possessed Sobel's all-consuming egg, Gwen lamented her lack of dedicated Void Spells. Sobel's magic possessed both an ironclad defence and a self-sustaining offence.

"Maelstrom?" Rene recalled their opening act. "The big one. Can't Gwen do two at once with Ariel?"

"Doubt the cavern can take it," Tei refuted the possibility. "How about this? Rene and I control the Warriors, Lulu goes after the Shamans. Gwen, you and Petra attempt to silence the Hags. One of you can open with a disabling spell, say an Ariel-fed Flash Bang..."

"Brutaliser first or Hag first?"

"Hags. I'll stun them with Hold Monster," Petra suggested. "Once we liquidate the curses, our chances improve. Most of us can fight the brutes head-on, but if we're blinded, we're sitting ducks. Get Cali to Consume them while they're held— its Naga form has multiple heads, right?"

"What abilities does the Arch-Hag possess?"

"More Curses?" Rene shivered.

"And other new tricks." Petra wasn't one to take their enemies lightly.

"Then I'll keep it quick," Gwen replied. Closing her eyes, she focused on her Conjuration Sigil. "Gogo, are you there?"

Crickets.

"Where's he gone?" she fumed. "He must be out of range. Maybe I can D-D out and get him real quick."

"Never mind Golos. It's too cramped to fly in there," Petra advised. Turning her intelligent eyes, she then affected a strange smile. "How about your one-eyed Shoggoth? It's now or never. If you're keen, I can draw the Mandala."

"There's no Divination signal for us to beg for permission," Gwen suppressed a smirk.

"So, we wait for Cali?" Lulan wetted her lips as she gazed at the mass of crystalline figures milling about in Petra's diorama, already planning the best routes.

"That or wait for Inti to pop in and start the fight," Rene snorted. "What the hell happened to those guys, anyway? We haven't seen or heard from them since early afternoon. Maybe they all died?"

"Woa!" Gwen shirked back from their crow-mouthed Magma Mage. "Knock on wood!"

Unfortunately, the temple was wholly wrought in stone.

"INTI! Cover me, Tupaq needs help!"

"CLOAK OF RADIANCE!" Inti set the Soul Eater aflame even as its wings grazed his forearm, threatening to turn the wound necrotic before the prince's Faith expelled the Negative Energy.

"Inti above!" Cuzco's captain grunted, suppressing the livid agony tearing at his flesh. Divergent from the searing pain of steel or fire, a Necrotic strike froze the blood and jarred the liver, engendering a simultaneous fever of the nervous system.

The Blood Harpy retreated.

"Mark of the Sun!" Inti's hands were a blur, firing a second spell even as he fought down both nausea and fatigue.

"KREEEAAAGH!" A brand appeared on the Soul Eater's torso. Before it could take a step further, the Glyph erupted, gouging a deep gash into the creature's abdomen, exposing its innards.

Splotch!

Bundles of intestines and festering organs, freed from the constraint of the Harpy's profaned form, polluted the sacred stones of Mama Killa's abode.

Inti was dismayed.

The Troll Slave had perished in two blows.

Comparatively, the well-fed Harpy made for a hardy combatant.

Glaring at Kusi with hatred filled eyes, the unbound slave chose to retreat.

"After it!" Musi twirled her daggers, then launched herself, transformed into a humanoid puma. "Sister, I'll recover its head for you! Your match hasn't ended! Fudan hasn't bested us yet!"

"Musi! Careful!" Kusi called out, though she knew there was no holding back her sister. When her precious relics flamed amazement with consumptive smoke and cinder, Kusi's heart had suddenly seized. After that, her Undead dolls had turned. That was when Tupaq took a blow meant for herself.

"Is Tupaq going to be alright?" The corner of Inti's eyes twitched. "Mallqu?"

"I… I am alright," a bloodless Tupaq gurgled from the floor, coughing blood from his corrupted lungs. "G-give me time to rest… More healing!"

"Remain silent and keep your Bear-form active." the unfazed Mallqu activated a flesh-stitching incantation. "Sir Tupaq, my recommendation is that you return to Cuzco."

"No! I FIGHT… cough!" Tupaq's eyes rolled toward the ceiling.

"Tupaq, calm yourself. You're not going to die yet," Inti placed a hand on Tupaq's head so that he could circulate a gentle stream of Faith energy from his depleted relics. "By the sun, we shall persevere, brother."

At his lord's assurance, the giant's breath finally returned to a gentle cadence.

"I'll need some time to fix Sir Tupaq." Mallqu looked to where the Harpy had fled. "But first, I need Musi. She needs to cut away the necrotic tissue with her Flesh Borers so that I can regrow…"

"Searing Ray!"

Tupaq's wound cauterised at once, cleansed of the embedded necrotic energy.

"Musi!" Inti's voice grew hoarse. Left alive, the Soul Eater would continue to be a menace, but his Faith Magic countered the servants of the Shaur. For now, it was the health of his best friend that concerned him.

CRASH!

Instead, what answered him was a clattering din, followed by an explosion of animal noises.

"Huacas' bloo—" Inti held back a curse. Losing his cool wouldn't help.

Different to Fudan's Gate of the Moon, the Gate of the Sun lead to the upper sanctum of Mama Killa's abode. When they had passed the Chamber of Radiance earlier, Inti saw that the abandoned sanctum had been left unmolested. Though the place was ankle-deep in moss and fungi, Cuzco's prince knew that there should exist a network of crystals marked with ancient Glyphs below the vegetation. There, the moonlight collected by the temple's exterior could be refracted into the 'underworld', illuminating the inverse sanctum.

"Kusi, you stay here with Tupaq and Mallqu." Inti materialised a mana injector. "I'll retrieve her."

Pshht!

His reserves reached just half.

Unfazed, Inti injected another, then drunk a potion of Heroism to dispel his mental and physical fatigue. In the alchemical aftermath, the prince of Cuzco now brimmed with power, though his future injections now suffered from radically reduced efficacy.

Kusi nodded, then produced her last totem, this one possessing the face of an old Shaman of her tribe. With it, she could conjure souls friendly to her bloodline to defend the wounded.

"Lord Inti, I know you're upset, but please understand what has happened isn't my fault." Kusi gazed up at the glowing form of her future husband. "As Musi said, there was an intruder, more than likely— it was Fudan..."

Before she could finish, Inti Blinked.

When Inti opened his eyes once more, he wished he hadn't.

In the Sanctum of the Sun, the cold air of the exterior had mingled with the odour of panicking, frothing, maddened Magical Beasts rioting against the walls in general mayhem. From what he could see, the fauna of the forest had broken through the central structure's crystalline pinnacle, a magically warded segment at the ziggurat's apex.

"Inti! Help me!"

In one corner, Musi was fighting for her life, buried under tooth and nail.

In another corner, the Soul Eater scythed through the tide of screeching minions, turning itself crimson from head to toe. From what Inti could see, the Essence provided by the dying beasts had elevated its power to the next tier.

"KREEEE!" The Blood Slave howled at Inti. The creature's face had also regenerated, once again assuming the striking visage it once possessed in life. However, despite its restored beauty, the avian's glare remained full of madness, its eyes twin pools of depthless darkness.

Crimson swirls of stolen Essence suffused the Soul Eater as it deeply drank the draught of life.

Above the combatants, a blood-red moon glowered, turning Amazonia's emerald sea incarnadine.

The prince's heart seized.

A Blood Moon?

If so, then understandably, that was why the monsters were crazed.

But a Blood Moon was something his father, not to mention Uncle Amaru, should have predicted if not outright prophesied.

A dozen hypothesises raced through Inti's becalmed mind. The prince lacked the acumen of the Inca Sapa and the wisdom of the Tower Master, but even he knew that higher forces were now in play.

If so— particularly so— the proctors would not intervene.

A slow calm circulated through Inti's mana conduits.

He had to survive.

If he could drag his team back to Cuzco, things could be salvaged.

The weight of his kingdom, the crushing responsibility of Tawantinsuyu, now threatened to overthrow Inti, son of the Sun. His father was right, he should have left Tica with a child before he ventured into Amazonia.

Bathed in the Blood Moon, Inti wondered if the IIUC even mattered.

Dead heroes led no nations just as barren thrones engendered no dynasties.

"Inti!" Musi's cries grew desperate.

Inti began to chant; there was no rush.

The agony would teach Musi the importance of following orders.

"RADIANT BLESSING!" Inti invoked his unique magic. Instantly, the chamber flooded with his latent energies, searing the rampaging tide of flailing fauna, charring the Soul Eater's feathers and Musi's fur. Around and above them, the moss, the vegetation and the smothering mould burned away at once, utterly incinerated by the spell's orange light.

"ARRRRGH!" Musi howled.

"KREEAAA!" The Harpy withered.

CRUNNG!

CLANG! CLANG!

PING! P-PING! PI-P-PING! The floor began to turn.

To Inti's complete surprise, the Sanctum of the Sun came to life as its murals were bathed in a blood-pink effulgence.

Ancient Glyphs long starved of moonlight, thirsty for the magical power of radiance, fired up one by one, fuelled by ancient mandalas no longer dormant.

Inti's eyes widened when the floor began to shake. Slotted stone long at rest suddenly split and cracked, bringing the temple's ancient designs to life.

"By Viracocha!" The prince was in awe as long-forgotten puzzle-pieces clicked into place; both physically and in the recess of his mind. "This... this is the Rite of Dusk and Dawn!"

The proctors stared slack-jawed at the glowing projection.

"So that's how the damned things work…" Auberon felt suddenly enlightened.

On one screen, from a bird's eye view, the examiners observed the protruding temple's slow and ponderous movements as the pyramidal cap lowered itself.

"What of our Void sorceress?"

Their eyes shifted to Fudan's vid-cast.

The students from Shanghai were being tossed about like peanuts in a can, bouncing against the jittering walls of their tunnel. Dogs and Mages flew and flung as "Amaru turned in his sleep".

Abruptly and without warning, the stone door which they had failed to breach activated, exposing the team to an equally shocked brigade of Trolls.

Before either party could act, from the cavern's zenith, a platform descended. The ponderous mass moved with an agonising shudder before it dislodged entirely, crashing into the Trolls below.

Before the tribe could react, a flood of Magical Beasts in the form of hooting simians, screeching harpies, venomous lizards, mucus coated frogs, anacondas and quill-studded hogs fell into the cavern. Some went splat, falling instantly to their deaths, others more resistant to rapid descents survived to fight like drunks on Takanakuy.

With a shudder, the ziggurat the Trolls had been using as their base likewise elevated, erecting itself so rapidly that the toppled cauldron sent a great splash of sacrificial gumbo cascading down the sides. On the lower slopes, rolling boulders the size of cars mowed through demi-humans and animals without mercy.

Cuzco's Melee Mage, Musi, fell with the Beast Tide, though expectantly, she landed on all fours, just like a cat.

"THERE!" a proctor denounced the vision now coming into view.

The Soul Slave, now fully regenerated, took to flight, harvesting Essence from the falling and the dying.

"There's Inti!" another proctor marvelled. "Wow."

A line of radiance obliterated a hundred lesser creatures, carving a path of molten stone through the monsters, clearing a space around Musi.

Auberon gently set down his tea.

If Inti could open these temples up, then Inti needed to live for all their sakes.

"An unexpected escalation," the Baron of Shenfield drily observed. Ignoring his earlier treaty for inaction, he gave the order. "Call Cuzco and ask if they forfeit. Tell the Inca Sapa we have a situation, and that he'll need to commit his best Mage Flights if he wants his temples back."

Hardin Smith swallowed a mouthful of cocoa leaves when the temple began to shift.

Safely hidden against the underside of a great tree, he had been calmly observing the decline of Inti's party when the prince accidentally unravelled a persistent mystery of the relic-temples.

Hardin was impressed by the prince's luck. So much lore had been squandered by the Spanish Inquisition. Losses like the reading of Quipu, the code language of the Empire's administrators, had left the temples' puzzles indecipherable. At least until now.

That Mama Killa's sanctum possessed magical mechanisms was a fact Hardin knew - for how else could the vaults be sealed or opened? But what Hardin had not anticipated was the serendipitous convergence of the Blood Moon, Inti's bloodline element and the Rite of Dusk and Dawn.

If indeed Inti was key to the lost temples, then the prince was worth his weight in mithril. If Inti's blood, his element, his faith or whatever mix of physiologies Inti possessed were capable of opening the old vaults, then Dark Water would have infinite uses for the young man, Amaru be damned.

BUT— Hardin sighed wistfully. That was wishful thinking.

It wasn't as though any one Mage currently present could pull the prince from danger. By what means could anyone concurrently battle the Trolls, the Beasts and the Undead now thrown into this churning soup of carnage?

"Here lies Inti, Prince of Cuzco," Hardin lamented the loss. "Sweet dreams, scion of the Sun."

Gwen was mid-meditation when the tunnel began to shake like the interior of a maraca.

"Rene!" Tei instantly erected his Dust Tendrils "Lulan!"

"No, wait!" Petra hindered the Magma Mage's Stone Shape. Rene's pause was enough to prove her earlier theory, for though the stones shifted, the tunnel did not collapse.

Still holding her breath, Gwen marvelled at her cousin. "Bloody good call, Pats."

"Earthquake?" Tei furrowed his brows. "Amaru must be 'turning' on the regular if their temples are built to withstand it."

"How long do you think this—"

The ground jolted.

KE-KE-KE-KAKAKA—!

The door to the cathedral-cavern slid opened, drowning out all conversation, making a din akin to jousting angle-grinders.

A multitude of gaping mouths, human and demi-human, huffed at one another from across the open space.

"Duleakum ushhuth guntrudeum!" a booming voice erupted where the Chieftain held court. A cauldron of Almudj knew what bubbled atop the raised dais, filling the cavern with a putrid stink.

"Formation C!" Tei bellowed from behind.

But before either side could move, the cavern shifted yet again. The ceiling structure, which had been glowing intensely with crimson moonlight, began to lower, dropping as an inverted pyramid.

Ka-Kak-Kakaka—KAK!

A cacophonic crunch of overstressed stone heralded the catastrophic failure of the capstone portion, crashing directly atop the Troll Chieftain and the Arch-Hag's brew. With a great "Clang!" the cauldron tumbled from the Incan pulpit, forming a foul tide.

Hopping mad, the Arch-Hag and her sister dodged the falling debris, rolling and tumbling down the platform's incline. Besides the Trollic witches, it was every Troll for itself. The Chieftain, a tremendously armoured brute with a hawk's nose and forelimbs long enough to drag the floor, fled for cover. His stunned minions were then caught between debris and a hard place, cold-pressed into Troll mince.

"What the hell is going on?!" Gwen commanded her dogs to form a perimeter just outside the gate. "Tei—"

"SKRII! KEKEKEE—!"

"Hiss—SA!"

"KAAAK! KYAA"

"JIIII! Ook! Ook!"

A menagerie of Magical Beasts poured through the ceiling into the sanctum's interior, hanging, tumbling, flying and falling over the sides of the half-broken inverse-pyramid. Those lacking flight or too enraged to realise their predicament fell onto the Troll structures below. The lucky ones landed on the incline, slowing their fall. The unlucky few impaled themselves or were suddenly face-to-face with angry Trolls.

"Look there—!"

Gwen caught sight of Cuzco's Undead Harpy descending with the waterfall of roving, snarling, clawing shapes.

"AEEEEeeee—"

She then saw Musi, covered from chin to shin in wounds, dropping with the Beast Tide. Above the twin spectacles, she caught sight of a glowing Inti, holding back the waterfall.

"I-It's a Beast Tide!" Rene burst out. "It has to be! There's no other explanation for the red moonlight and this many creatures converging on us!"

"Rene, calm yourself." Petra's eyes narrowed. "If this is a Tide, why weren't we told? There's no way the Tower knew nothing."

"Maybe its a part of the test?" Tei attempted a hypothesis.

"Or politics." Petra had seen how the game was played.

"Either way, it's going to take until morning to kill all of this." Lulan wetted her lips. "These are all CCs, right?"

"We should retreat."

"No, we fight."

"It may not be our fight." Petra frowned.

"Tei, what do you think?"

"Hold up," Gwen checked her teammate's enthusiasm for the time being. Now was not the time for in-fighting. Now was time to squeeze out a win. Tapping into her Conjuration Sigil, she called for her Planar Ally. "GOLOS! What the hell is going on out there?!"

"..."

Crickets.

"Idiot!" Gwen ground her teeth. Once they got back, she would have to rip her Wyvern a new one.

"Can't we go back through the tunnel?" Rene's voice grew uncertain, more so when the stream of incoming creatures included among their number everything from poisonous vermin to giant snakes. There was even a Displacer Jaguar.

"Mass Aid!" Petra buffed the party. If they didn't make it through their present crisis, there would be no use for the cubes anyway. "Resist Elements!"

"No. We'll be trapped both ways," Tei refuted Rene's caution. "We need to push our way out."

Lulan materialised her blades, then measured the distance with her eyes. "I can take the Hags if I can get some height."

"!" Gwen sensed a familiar tingle of danger. "Tei! INCOMING!"

"TOMB SHIELD!"

Buck dived in front of Gwen just in time, catching a spear in the chest. The missile travelled clean through the Void hound's body, splintering as it struck Tei's barrier a split-second later.

The sneak attack had come from the anarchic melee. With Fudan's limited field of view, it was impossible to make out what was going on. Even so, at least one troop of Trolls had chosen Fudan for its enemies. The Blood Harpy, conversely and to their surprise, wailed upon the lycanthropic Musi. Up above, Inti spluttering like a flickering bulb, sending a blast below to clear the lesser beasts crowding Musi.

"!"

Gwen's Divination Sigil had been pinging non-stop, but this one struck a four on the Mayuree meter.

"Tei, with me! Everyone else, SCATTER!" Gwen made the call. "Dimension Door!"

A split-second later, necrotic energies engulfed the space where the team had stood, sizzling the granite with foetid black bile.

"The Hags are going to be trouble," Gwen remarked after teleporting herself and their captain to higher ground. When she reappeared, a burst of tenebrous ink from her offensive Dimension Door cleared their landing area of all hostiles. As for survivors, they fell instantly to her faithful hounds. "Tei, can you set up a safe zone?"

"It won't be safe until the casters are silenced." Tei surveyed the battlefield. "We need the Hags removed. Shall we ask Inti to join us?"

Gwen nodded, affirming her captain's command.

"Ariel! Clear a space!" She materialised then transformed her Kirin. With a "EE EE!" a resplendent Ariel unleashed its latent Dragon-fear, abjuring all lesser creatures within a radius of a dozen meters. Those caught within the sorceress and Ariel's consolidated aura either fled, froze, or fainted.

"Gwen!" Petra appeared a second later, utilising one of Gwen's Dimension Doors. With a touch, she buffed both Tei and Gwen with Mage Armour harvested from Anita. "Where's the other two?"

"There!" Gwen's eyes were sharper than most. "I see them!"

Lulan's armour was already in tatters after deflecting half-a-dozen javelins. However, the Troll's interceptions proved no deterrent to the iron-clad battle-maiden as she Misty Stepped into the air to launch her blades against the hated Hags.

THUNK!

THUNK!

THUNK

P-PANG!

Across the cavern, a Brutaliser ate her Panzerschrecks, taking two in the chest and one in an outstretched hand, deflecting the final two with its shield, making a mess of beasts caught in the projectiles' path.

Rene meanwhile, had transformed herself into a living battering ram, charging forward like a horizontal meteor, smashing through beasts and Trolls alike, hissing jets of sulphur as she carved out a trail of magma and lava.

"Musi! Retreat!" Inti's voice boomed across the cavern's interior.

A flash of radiance briefly turned the chamber bright as noonday. Inti rained down a volley of radiance, pummelling the Harpy to keep her from Musi.

"Inti! Where's the rest of your team?" Gwen's Message questioned why Cuzco was sans its other members. "Also, why's the damn Harpy attacking your teammate?"

"Someone interfered with Kusi's magic," Inti's voice came across colder than Elemental Ice. "As for the others… They've returned to Cuzco."

"Strewth." Gwen's shock was genuine. "Sorry mate, I hope they're safe."

"I hope they're safe as well," Inti Messaged back, not at all the voice of a man surrounded by raging fauna. "What are your plans?"

"Help us with the Hags. We'll get out together."

"Agreed," Inti replied. "In return, please help Musi. She cannot defeat the Blood Slave."

"Yeah, no kidding." Gwen watched her opponent fighting in her Puma form, bounding from wall to wall to dodge the Blood Harpy's wing scythes. Whenever Musi passed the Harpy's side, a flurry of feathers filled the air, followed by an arc of dark blood. The Harpy, however, paid its injury no mind. Swinging its wings, it appeared fully committed to slicing Musi in half so that it could feast on the Transmuter's entrails. Thus far, a dozen exchanges had transpired, matting her fur with corrupted blood. Were it not for her transformation, Gwen would've guessed that the girl's current complexion was paler than printing paper. "Will do. Tell her not to resist my Dimension Door."

To make good on his promise, Inti marked the two Hags with beams of light. When the Hags responded, one with a curse and the other with the black blood of ruin, Inti erected a unique variant of Shield of Faith, negating both effects.

"Gwen," Tei's voice came from behind, "Wards are done. Waiting on you."

"I need to bring their cat back before she runs out of lives. Pats?"

"No problem. I got restorations and heals by the dozen."

"Alright!" Gwen turned to her dogs. "Everyone, on me!"

"AROOOOO!"

"GUUUARRGH!"

Wolf howls filled the cavern, momentarily drowning out the mayhem.

From the ceiling, new monsters cascaded inward ceaselessly, threatening to drown the chamber if the flow couldn't be checked. Even now, the Trolls fought the Mages; the simians fought the avians; the avians strafed the beasts; while lesser fauna fought each other and everything else, including the undead Harpy in their midst. Meanwhile, the Harpy hunted Musi, harvesting Essence and vitality from creatures dying by the score. Behind the crumbled ziggurat, the Hags fought Inti, and finally, Inti fought the Hags, simultaneously keeping the Soul Slave pinned and the Tide at bay.

Gwen felt her fingers tingle.

In a moment, sans Cuzco, she would fight them all.

A year ago, such a prospect would have seemed absurd, but now, not only did she feel confident, she knew exactly how she could do it. Even in the worst-case scenario, she had contingencies in place to ensure she emerged as the king of the hill.

"Shaa!" Caliban stirred in her Pocket Dimension, prodding its owner, demanding to be born.

Gwen took a deep breath, fighting both vertigo and nausea. If tonight she succeeded, Fudan was off to round two. If she failed, then she would be finding out exactly how much she owed Gunther.

"Astro! Buck! Ariel!" she commanded her minions, concurrently imparting a silent command to Caliban. "Chow time!"

"Track the three from Cuzco," Auberon commanded. "And find the Wyvern."

Auberon had lived through two Beast Tides. His first baptism, like many Magisters his age, was the awakening of the Black Dragon. He had been a young man then, fresh out of Eton and a year into his studies at Oxford. As an inheriting Lord, he had joined the front even before the Queen dipped her quill and called for conscription. In those days, Mages and NoMs fought without the support of Towers and Shielding Stations, leaving few veterans to tell the tale.

The second instance had been in Tripoli. Auberon had served a stint as the city's Paladin, defending the colony against the Mermen of the Mediterranean Sea. The defence he mounted had been successful, and for his efforts, Auberon received a medal and an Order commendation from her Majesty.

Half an hour into the "Beast Tide", Auberon relaxed. From the way the beasts were reacting, he recognised that it wasn't a true Tide. If Magical Beasts attacked one another in a Beast Tide, they wouldn't be half as troublesome.

Considering the circumstances then, the chief proctor congratulated himself on making the right call even with incomplete information. Just now, his suspicion of politicians playing silly buggers was further affirmed by Lucy, whose region-wide Divination pointed to the presence of man-portable Resonators.

What mattered then, was the recovery of Inti, Cuzco's key to future archaeological endeavours— that and the completion of the IIUC match.

"Sir," a proctor interrupted. "I believe subject Golos is using obfuscation magic. I am reading enormous Illusion spikes on the spectrometer."

"Impossible," Auberon snorted. "The brute can't even use Lightning Evocations."

"I believe subject Golos may be using expendable items, Sir."

Auberon knitted his brows. Why did Gwen Song make everything so complicated? "What's the rule for conjured Allies using unregistered items?"

The proctors looked at one another, searching for answers.

"Do Planar Allies come equipped?" another raised a curious point.

The others shrugged.

"Find out what Golos used and log it for CC deductions." Auberon's brows twitched. "What's it doing now?"

"Er...he has wandered out of range just now," the first proctor apologised. "Sorry, sir."

The Baron of Shenfield groaned.

"Sir— Cuzco reports they have received the contestant Kusi, Tupaq and Mallqu. The Sapa has also ordered a mobilisation of his eastern garrison. The Master of the Tower has committed two rapid-response flights. They should be here within half-an-hour. The king's forces will take longer."

"Half-an-hour?!" Auberon snorted. "Bleeding colonials… alright. That's fine. Thank them for their prompt response."

The proctors' minds returned to the grand melee.

Fudan's grave keeper had by now set up a sizeable force barrier, reinforcing his wards with Fudas and additional layers of Abjuration. Rene, who had made a one-woman charge into the Beast Tide now aided the Abjurer by creating a two-metre moat of flowing lava. As for Petra, the Russian Enchantress, she delighted the proctors by simultaneously maintaining a Wall of Water, Crystal and Lightning, forming a concentric ring of death around the Pillars.

"Turtling up during a Beast Tide?" one proctor observed. "Are they fools? How long do they think their mana will last? Retaining one's mobility is the first lesson taught in tactics."

"A curious tactic indeed. Miss Pritchard, are our contestants aware that Inti's father has summoned his Mage Flights?"

"No, sir."

"And yet they're preparing a final defence?" Auberon cocked his chin. "Where's our Void Sorceress?"

"She's fighting the Soul Slave, sir." A proctor manipulated the central vid-caster.

"My word, that's Kilroy's Dimension Door, isn't it?" A British Magister adjusted his spectrometric lens. "AND her creatures trigger the secondary effect? What's the girl's VMI?"

"Just over three hundred." One of the proctors cited from memory.

"That's more than mine," a Magus-proctor sulked.

"Lord Shultz did vouch for the girl," Auberon reminded them before exploding with a "Golly— Well done!"

On the screen, Gwen Song materialised with her dogs, instantly paralysing the Soul Slave with ten consecutive blasts from her Dimension Door. The joint lightning strike wasn't fatal, but it was enough to clear the space between Musi and the Harpy.

"Lightning Bolt!"

Impressively, between the sorceress and the Kirin above, three bolts crisscrossed with the Blood Harpy as the locus. Where the spells conjoined, the scarlet-winged cadaver transformed into a being of pure plasma.

"KREEE!" the Soul Eater keened, pulling at the Mages' Astral Souls, hoping to stun the sorceresses.

Its targets, however, were long gone. What was left was only a pack of Void Hounds, hungrily eyeing the half-cooked hen in their midst. Beings without souls and possessed only of insatiable appetites, "Buck" and his pack boxed in the wary Soul Eater, leering at its Essence-rich flesh.

"KREEEEAAA!"

With a grand sweep of its wings, the Soul Eater drove the deerhounds back, taking to the air.

TISSS!

A timely divine punishment from Inti sent the Harpy reeling back to earth. Snarling with sadistic delight, the Void dogs closed in, tearing at the Harpy's throat, its limbs, its arms and wings.

"KREEEEAAA!" the creature keened. Though each bite could only damage a portion of the Blood Slave's reinforced flesh, what was taken no longer regenerated. In seconds, the seemingly unstoppable Soul Eater became buried under a roving mass of undulating dogs.

"Horrible…" A female proctor wrung her hands. "My God! She's going for the Hags!"

After depositing the half-drained Musi within the safe zone set up by her team, Fudan's sorceress reappeared amidst the Troll camp, right behind the Arch-Hag and her minions.

Auberon found it impressive that the teleport had been timed with Inti's Radiant Blast.

With the lightning sorceress' arrival, the area instantly electrified, stunning all but the gigantic Brutalisers. A second invocation issued from the girl's petal-lips, enveloping her foes with twin sets of Chain Lightning.

Auberon's mood rose and fell.

The assault should have been enough, but the Hags were cunning beings who had survived for centuries in a region where might makes right. Even as the livid plasma seared their infected skin, the curse of Kernunno, the dark God of the Deep Woods, left the Hags' pestilent tongues to bewitch Fudan's sorceress. Against all their expectations, the Hags had been neither stunned nor beaten. They had instead been waiting for an opportunity.

The Brutalisers moved in.

THUNK!

THUNK! CLANG!

THUNK! CLANG!

Missiles from across the room sank into the Troll bodyguards' bodies.

TSSS!

TSSSTH!

Beams of sunlight struck the apathetic hulks, failing to overcome their resistance.

"Arrrgh!"

Fudan's sorceress fell onto one knee, guarded by an agitated Kirin. Her complexion grew instantly pale, indicating that at least one curse had caught the sorceress unaware. In one exchange, from an avatar of lightning and destruction, Gwen Song had transformed into a mewling, defenceless young woman.

"Poor lass." A proctor winced when the sorceress' eyes rolled back. "Too hasty, that's inexperience for you—"

A semi-dome Void Shield sprang into place. The girl wasn't out of commission yet.

"What? How is she—"

"SHUT UP!" Auberon snapped. "Keep the instruments attuned! What's she saying?"

The Eye of Providence attempted and failed to penetrate the Void barrier, though it was capable of picking up the subtle vibrations on its surface.

"Turn up the volume." Auberon furrowed his brows.

"…vee… ve…"

"What is that?" A Proctor found the glyph to clarify sonic projections. "I think it's a ritual of sorts."

The chant grew clearer.

"Evee…Evee Evee Evee EVEE…"

The proctors fell silent, not only because of the nonsensical mantra but also because of the planar tear that had just appeared atop Gwen Song's Void Shield. Soundlessly, the slit opened; an all-consuming eye staring into the Material Realm.

"SHAA! SHAA!" came a horrid screech that rocked the barracks, splitting their ears, announcing the arrival of imminent oblivion.

Inti wished Tica was here with him.

Whenever he felt down or that the burden of the kingdom was too much, her soft voice and wise advice comforted him. Now that she was away, he began to realise just how much he missed and needed his better half.

"RADIANT STRIKE!" Inti gestured with his right while his left hand dextrously completed the necessary incantations.

When the Rite of Dusk and Dawn activated, the prince of Cuzco had received the collated Faith the temple had gathered within its mystical circuits. His only regret was that after so long, the Rite's energies were long exhausted.

The disaster thus far had been one serendipitous event after another. If Cuzco hadn't been ambushed; if Kusi hadn't lost control of her Undead; if it weren't the full moon; then he would have never activated the Temple of Mama Killa.

Just as well, when his companions had been overwhelmed, what Inti felt wasn't regret, but relief.

Relief that he was alone.

Relief that he was no longer responsible for their safety.

Relief that his decisions were finally his own.

"Solar Blast!" Inti carefully portioned his mana, using just enough to keep the Hags stunned and on the defensive. When Gwen made good on her word to rescue Musi, Inti extended his artillery support, hammering down the Undead slave so that her aberrant dogs succeeded in their monstrous labour.

Soon, the Soul Eater perished.

Inti felt a moment of exhilaration.

Was it strange that he preferred working with Fudan? There was great satisfaction when objective, action, and skill fitted like a well-cut puzzle. From his vantage, Gwen's Dimension Doors were easy to follow, for her lightning novas made her whereabouts self-evident. When furthermore the sorceress unleashed a torrent of lightning to encircle the Hags, Inti matched her spell for spell.

"ARRRGH!" the girl unexpectedly reeled, falling to the floor.

A curse! Inti swore. Lacking the ability to read magic, he could only predict the Hags' actions based on their body language. In that regard, the creatures' low cunning had deceived them all.

He must save her! An urgent desire flashed through Inti's mind, though before he could move, a cynical voice interceded. Guiltily, Inti wondered if the Void Sorceress's loss meant that his team could still win in the competition. After all, between Kusi and himself, they had subjugated almost a thousand Harpies.

Below, a Void Shield sprang up where the girl had stood.

She didn't need his help.

Paying no heed to Inti's dilemma, a slit opened mid-air, filling the cavern with an aura of vertigo.

Soundlessly, the Void vomited forth a fiend more terrible than Amaru itself.

Inti shuddered, realising that he would never want to be the girl's enemy, not now, not ever, not so long as her sweet body drew breath.

The proctors fell into a dumb silence.

A faceless head emerged, bullet-shaped and armoured in transparent obsidian, beneath which a writhing mass of tentacles was just visible.

Soon, a second phallic appendage emerged.

Then a third.

And a fourth.

A fifth.

The violence in the cavern slowed as all eyes fell upon the emerging beast. Even partially emerged, the fiend's aura was enough to drain the choler from the frenzied combatants.

"SHAA!"

The final head emerged, totalling six as it made a sound like the tearing silk.

A bulbous, elongated body followed; legless so that the faceless Naga resembled a fat slug, its semi-transparent torso filled with alien, irrelevant organs. It's rear followed after what seemed an eternity, stretching the creature twenty meters from tip to tail.

"SHAA! SHAA!" The leading head split open, revealing a dozen lamprey-lipped tentacles, tasting the air for prey.

"SHAA! SHAA! SHAA! SHAA!" The others quickly followed, their faces splitting from bullet-head to neck-shaft so that when it once again began to slither, the Void Naga resembled a roving, ravenous mass of malicious mouths.

The first Troll to make a move was a Brutaliser. Hoisting its shield and club, it charged the mass of tentacles, diving into a sea of lamprey-lips.

SQUELCH!

The massive Troll succeeded in penetrating the Naga-slug's armour, crushing the smooth obsidian as it barrelled into Caliban's side.

Two hundred kilometres from the site of the fiend's manifestation, Auberon felt a chill.

"Gulelush! Gulelush gloguth! Glogother!" the seemingly indestructible Troll howled, its body language suddenly terrified.

Where the Troll had made a man-sized wound in Caliban's flank, two dozen thigh-thick intestines came to life. With a sick sibilance of squirming and slithering, the tentacles enveloped the howling brute, resembling a mass of pallid worms.

Back in the proctor's barracks, the reticence was punctuated only by the whining emitted by Divi-engines. The Brutaliser's skin was dense, its armour formed of hardened hide, but even so, the Troll possessed many orifices that did not enjoy the protection of its ritually enhanced body.

Behind the first, the second Brutaliser dropped its shield. From its expression, the proctors witnessed that a hysterical madness had snapped its sanity.

"Ulubag!" the giant turned from the writhing mass of hunger, then fled toward some distant corner, crushing fellow Trolls and Wildland fauna alike.

TSSS!

The prince of Cuzco took the opportunity to strike the Hags again, stunning them even as Caliban approached.

By now, Gwen's dogs appeared to have recovered as well. The Lightning hounds guarded their mistress while the Void hounds, having finished the Soul Eater, closed in from all sides.

Auberon checked the secondary projection centred on Fudan's Ace. Despite the spectacle, her biometrics indicated a semi-conscious delirium. He frowned. If the girl was senseless, how was she controlling her Familiars?

Meanwhile, the bare-breasted Hags shrugged off the spells wearing away at their blood-caked hides, even now smoking with Inti's holy fire and Gwen's punishing lightning.

The Arch-Hag muttered, then raised both hands in the air. A visible source of vitality suffused the Hag's body as she drained the life from her fleeing bodyguard. Her wounds instantly healed, as did that of her companion. Like an epidemic, the vital energy spread from Troll to Troll, dispensing her blessing to her followers, restoring and reinvigorating her kin.

Not far, the Troll Chieftain tore away a massive green-iron blade embedded in its navel. Now invigorated, it caught its Sword Mage assailant by surprise, walloping her across the torso. Though the Chieftain broke its club in the process, the riposte was enough to send Lulan across the room to crater the granite.

"ULOAR!" The Chieftain's bulk doubled. The bark armour it wore seemed to grow as well, enveloping the Troll leader's body.

"Glogzag dol-in, dol-ilrag ushhesuth guntruders! Guoum Kernunno!"

"ULOAR!" The surviving Warriors, their bodies wet with gore, raised their weapons. "Kernunno! Kernunno! Kernunno!"

The Warband had been riled up.

"Sir…" a young Magus chose this moment to carefully raise an arm, unsure if this was the best time to speak.

"What is it?" Auberon spoke without moving his eyes.

"Lord Lucas…" the Magus gulped. "Her Wyvern's back, but it's not alone."

The curse was proving to be most potent.

Caught in its power, she was sans sight, sans taste, sans smell and sans touch. She couldn't even orientate herself, tell which way was up.

"Evee Evee Evee EVEE!"

But— she could hear herself think, and that was the important thing.

Compared to her previous affliction, the Arch-Hag's spell was perfect, for it made Gwen face a prospect she loathed more than any other, her overactive imagination.

"Just know that curses, illusions and Enchantments aren't all-powerful," she recalled Petra's advice. "You can skirt around them through discipline and distraction. The first thing they teach in mental domination is how to resist total incapacitation."

Discipline wasn't her forte, but presently, she had distractions plenty.

Evee... she calmed herself. El-Vee-Ya.

With a silent word, she activated a Void variant of Gunther's Shield. Then, calmly absorbing the dogged vitality of the Soul Eater, she let loose Caliban.

Her feverish mind cooled.

Her mana conduits grew hot and cold. Despite the induced sensory oblivion of the curse, her empathic links activated.

"Evee..."

After that, she connected Link Sight via Ariel.

A wide-angle vista of her present surroundings came into focus.

She couldn't see, but she was no longer senseless. Ariel provided sight through its sky-blue orbs, while Caliban's mass of feelers gave her more tactile sense than was proper for a mortal woman.

A few seconds later, the hallucination ramped up its intensity. As anticipated, Elvia's angelic face appeared, begging for release from torturous agony. Taking Petra's advice, she instead channelled her misery into happy thoughts.

Evee awaits in London! Gwen told herself. All I have to do is WIN.

Her sanity thus preserved, she set to work. First, the guards had to go. The elemental resistance of the Hags was outrageous, while their guards deterred physical attacks.

"Cali! Get rid of the Brutalisers!"

As if on command, one of her targets chose suicide by Caliban.

"Consume!"

The Brutalisers screamed for sweet death. Caliban burped. The other brute, smarter than the average Troll, turned and fled.

Ariel took to the air, broadening her view of the battle.

Seeing herself shielded in a vitality-fed Void egg, Gwen wondered whether she resembled a budget-Sobel. From the sky, she could also see the Hags empowering the horde of Trolls, riling up the crowd to rail against Caliban.

THUNK!

WHAM!

PLAT!

Thrown weapons crunched against Caliban's body, making holes the size of sewer covers. A few may have struck her egg, for she felt her vitality fluctuate. Anticipating the payoff from the Brutaliser, however, Gwen welcomed the abuse, hoping that she could dispense enough to keep herself on her feet.

"SHAA!" Caliban slithered toward the topless Hags.

The Hag hollered, quickly retreating. The rest of the Trolls converged on her lumbering fiend.

Thwack!

THUNK!

Her semi-dome rippled like an obsidian pudding, consuming both metal and wood, dropping her vitality just a smidgen.

"Caliban!"

"SHAAA!"

A buffet! Her fiend seemed to be saying.

Still, she should first stun the Hags.

"Ariel! Barbanginy!"

Sparks flew, her Kirin lit up the room. An incandescent Lighting Sphere blossomed where the two Hags retreated toward the Chieftain, catching all three within the plasma ball's expanding circumference.

With Ariel-VR as her point of view, Gwen marvelled at the sight of her lightning-nova rolling over the Beast Tide in a text-book display of wide-area bombardment.

"ASTRO! BUCK!"

Her packs spread out, keeping the Trolls penned as Caliban shot forward like a fat pilum, propelled by its Golos-sized body. Rearing, her Naga's necks distended, suddenly doubling or tripling in length so that its tentacle shower descended from above.

TSSSTH!

A beam of radiance made the Hag stumble.

The Troll witch screamed just once before it was consumed, despairing as her black blood harmlessly slid from Caliban's carapace. The second faired a little longer, for the Troll Chieftain had reached its side.

PANG!

PANG!

PUNG!

TSSS!

Three heart-seekers from Lulan, now freed from her melee against the trolls, knocked the Chieftain aside, the first catching the giant in the thigh, then the second in its shield and the third against the side of its armoured head. As a follow-up, a Radiant Glyph turned the Chieftain's bark-helmet red-hot, filling the air with the stink of sizzling flesh.

Caught off-balance, the Chieftain stumbled just enough so that Caliban's trajectory remained true. Its lamprey-tongues descended from above, swallowing the Arch-Hag in a shower of pink-tentacles, drowning the maleficient caster in a torrent of corrosive, void-tinged goo.

Caliban's remaining heads turned to face the Chieftain.

The Troll leader visibly gulped. Gwen wondered if Trolls could sweat, for the Chieftain was drenched enough to slip from its armour and make a run for it.

"SHAA! SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban's happy heads hissed in tandem as two gravid bulbs, kicking amidst futile bouts of necrotic energy, travelled down its serpentine necks toward its torso.

Even armoured, Gwen could see that the Chieftain fought an intense inner-battle.

Ah, the problem with sapience, Gwen empathised with the beast. Cognisance brought all kinds of troubles, like hopeless despair.

If the Chieftain had been a mindless beast; if it could rage against Caliban until its blood ran dry, then she may very well suffer a pyrrhic victory. But now, the Troll's leader feared its indomitable foe, not only impacting the morale of its clanmates but dooming them to become Void fodder.

Caliban swallowed its prey.

Evee's crying face faded.

Gwen's soul returned to her body.

Within the recess of her Void Shield, there was no exterior source of light. What little illumination she possessed came from the Ioun Stones and the concentric rings of electricity shed by her cobalt irises.

"Shaa!" Caliban's belly rumbled.

"EE!"

"Grruuugn!"

"Woof, Woof!"

Her menagerie welcomed the return of their mistress. A Wyvern was missing, but that was an absence she would address in time.

Gingerly, aided by her barrier, Gwen rose from the cold granite floor.

"Cali, everyone, good work," she commended her minions. "Let's finish up."

She had at best a few minutes before the combined assault from a Brutaliser and two Essence-infused Hags saturated her physical and Astral Body. One was a substitute for Nephres, three would surely blow her top.

"Tei. Keep everyone behind the barrier. When my Swarm starts, you're going to be swarmed."

"Will do," Tei's voice returned from her Message bangle. "Welcome back, Vice-Captain."

"Thanks, Cap. Pats, I may need a modesty barrier if my shield fails."

"Got it covered," Petra replied.

"Lulu, are you alright?" Gwen had seen Lulan's incapacitation through her Ariel Vision.

"Nothing's broken." Lulan's raspy voice was like sandpaper. "Leave the Chieftain to me. I want its head."

"Alright, take care," Gwen relayed Lulu's desire to Caliban.

"Inti." She then switched channels. "I am going to use Void Swarm to finish things, how's it looking on your end?"

"The Hags are dealt with?" Inti's tone quickly regained its usual calm. "Thank the sun for that. The Beast Tide is stemming, as far as I can see. I'll be able to manage my end from here."

"Good work and great news." Gwen thanked her lucky stars. "Looks like we're almost home free."

"Indeed." The prince wasn't very good at hiding his emotions. "Thank you for staying with us. Miss Song, had you not been here, we would have been wiped out and disgraced, in our own country, no less."

"No worries, bud," Gwen chuckled. "It was the right thing to do."

"Gwen," Inti's reply was rich with gratitude. "You are a better person than I."

"Aww, chin up." Gwen hung the call, then prepared herself. As of now, she could sense the latent vitality in Caliban's engorged body. In the next minute, when the South China sea flooded her Tonglv, she wouldn't want to be without a proverbial release valve. "Okay, I am starting."

Her hands made the necessary somatic gestures taught to her by Henry and improved by Petra's Master. Her lips dextrously formulated the incantations, biting each arcane syllable with precision. Opening her conduits and allowing the flood of Void-tinged mana to course through her body, she willed into place the tiny portals that connected the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void and the material world.

"Shaa—Shaa—aa—Shaa…"

"SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban exalted as its brethren joined the fray.

Through Ariel, Gwen watched her performance.

Below, in an enclosed cavern boiling over with beasts and demi-humans, a dark egg of Void gave birth to an endless multitude of slithering lampreys, migrating from the spherical locus in an all-consuming, ever-hungry tide.

As though shifting schools of baitfish, the Magical Creatures trapped within the cavern fled the advancing swarm of slithering mouths. Trolls scrambled past anacondas and hogs to climb at the walls. Lesser creatures sought out higher ground, seeking to escape the glistening, slimy, insatiable shoal.

Fudan's Mages kept at their posts, drinking mana potions, burning Fudas and spell cubes as wave upon waves of desperate things crashed against their barrier. Monsters and animals numberless and many-limbed, snarling with fury or mad with terror, fell into the lava moat, got caught between the Walls of Fire and Water, or tangled themselves in Dust Tendrils.

While Caliban stood guard, understanding that further action on its part would only complicate its mistress' plans, Gwen's hounds pursued the Chieftain, directing its escape so that it fled toward the tunnel from which Fudan had arrived.

And at its destination, an iron-clad maiden awaited with her dancing swords, bruised and battered but undefeated, thirsty for its green blood.

Gwen rejoiced, expending her influx of vitality. It was a moment worthy of exaltation, for she did not doubt that after a public display such as this, she would have proven to the world her control over the Void.

"!"

Her Divination tinged, registering a five on the Mayuree meter.

A bone-chilling cold held her hostage. Gwen wanted to act but was held in place by her channelling of the Void Swarm.

"CALAMITY!"

Gwen's Conjuration Sigil pulsed.

"CALAMITY!" Golos' bark was worse than an air siren. "HELP!"

Outside the shadowy silhouette of the temple, Hardin Smith dumbly recorded the proceeding, numbed by the events.

With a record of Inti's survival in hand, he was safe from demotion.

Any superior who wasn't an idiot could see that the Void Sorceress and her six-prong slug was a solid alibi. Potentially, the unedited, uncut, first-hand account may even earn Hardin a reward, assuming the data reached the right hands.

Hardin wasn't a vain man, nor was he one to be hung on failure.

Shit happened, and it should come as no surprise when it hit the fan in a place like Amazonia; especially when a bona fide Void sorceress was involved.

After all, it wasn't as though Hardin hadn't performed to his usual standard. He had scouted the region for Amaru, recovered relics for his clients and even secured a second temple. Then, he had planted Resonators, disabled the Necromancer's monsters, and triggered a faux Beast Tide - all the while remaining undetected.

If there was another operator in Dark Water who could perform better, Hardin was happy to apprentice under the man or woman for a year.

Hardin sighed; either way, with the Troll-eater rampaging below, he was done.

It was time to leave.

"KAAK! KA-KAAA!"

"KAA!"

"KAA-KAAK!"

"CALAMITY! LETOCOLO!!"

A trio of crow-cries, interceded by what sounded like Draconic, drew his goggles toward the sky.

Hardin's jaws dropped as the spectacle above unfolded.

A Thunder Wyvern— Fudan's Wyvern, was rapidly descending from the moonlit sky in the manner of a silvery-dark comet.

The silvery "tail" of the comet consisted of the Wyvern itself, its wings folded and its clubbed tail whipping the wind. The black "head" portion of the comet was, to Hardin's renewed capacity for surprise, one of those human-faced birds from the Wall of Wood the locals called "the Ancients". While falling with style, the Guardian's distended jaws latched around the Wyvern's breast, a terrible choice for the fact that the armour there was the thickest. Despite a lame wing flapping at the joint, the bird's hand-claws scraped at the Wyvern's belly, making a mess of the lizard's undersides.

Hardin counted the seconds it took for the duo to strike the top of the temple, where a hole had prior been made by the Beast Tide.

CRASH!

The top-most portion collapsed from the collision, falling through the Sanctum of the Sun into the Moon Sanctum's midst.

"KAAK!"

"KAA-KAA!!"

Turning in a gyre, the second Ancient swooped in, sleek as a bolt.

The third was intercepted by a blast of sunlight, sending it crashing into the interior.

Hardin's heart fluttered with hope. Was this Inti's Blessing or what?

Adjusting his Scrying device, Hardin charged up his optic camouflage, then detached from the tree, transforming into a wisp of wind as he made for the entrance. Right now, Cuzco's idiot prince was helping Fudan fight the big birds!

Glyphs glowed, then faded from view.

Hardin's suit whirled into action, activating a suite of enchantments designed for obfuscation. He had one chance, one strike— then no matter the result, he was home free.

Inti counted the monsters by his side, most of which, by his standards, where harmless critters forming the bottom half of Amazonia's food chain. Having promised Gwen that he would stem the tide, he had kept up Radiant Blast until the stench of smoking flesh smothered the sanctum.

"KAAK!"

"KAA! KAA!"

Came the sound of strange cries from above.

Harpies? Inti wondered, or overlarge crows or condors, both of which were common in the Andes.

"CALAMITY! LETOCOLO!!"

The voice that boomed against the temple was familiar to Inti. He could make out the first nonsensical word, but what was the other? "Let go?"

His confusion lasted a second, for the mounting repression from Golo's Dragon-fear told Inti the drake was rapidly descending toward the temple.

Inti readied a Blink.

CRASH!

The ancient, inter-slotted stonework that held the temple's uppermost tier exploded, showering the combatants below with yet more crushing debris. Among the chaos was Golos, a blaze of lightning, while held in its claws was the strangest bird Inti had ever seen.

"Kaak!" The avian coughed up lungfuls of blood, painting Golos half-way crimson. From what Inti could make out, the aberrant bird had a human face on a condor's body. Grotesquely, its feet were human hands tipped with scimitar-like claws.

A thunderous fulmination engendered, then the two struck the chaotic pool of combat below, landing not far from where Gwen had constructed a dark egg of sorts, splashing into a river of obsidian lampreys.

"LOREAT!" Golos barked, blasting the thing in the face with a breath of pure plasma, causing one of its eyes to boil in its socket. Exultant, Golos caught the creature in its jaws, then with a great tug, ripped out its oesophagus— tubes, vessels, ligaments and all.

"OPSOLA! Si tepoha authot coi!" Golos howled, blasting stabs of lighting all over. "ROAR!"

Below its claws, a river of eels washed over Golos' still-quivering prey.

"KAA—KAAK!"

A dark shadow descended, reminding Inti of his promise to Gwen— that he would hinder the tide of creatures coming in so that she could finish up below. Two birds were excessive, but one wasn't an impossible task.

"Sol Strike!" Inti waited for the last beast to dive before he directed a spell to turn its trajectory. Unlike the first two, this one was smaller and possessed a feminine profile, appearing as the weakest of the three.

"KAAA!"

Inti's aim stayed true, for his Radiant magic had little if no travel time, always landing precisely where its caster aimed.

"Come! Foul beast!" Inti rose into the air, engaging his faith-empowered flight. "By the Sun, let me be your opponent."

"Kaak!" His challenger emerged from the rubble, its face a mask of unadulterated fury. Like its larger counterpart, the gentler specimen was an ugly thing, possessed of sharp and angular features that resembled a Hag's. From the side, the fiend's hooked nose appeared cruel like that of a beak, while its snarling lips revealed rows of dagger-teeth yellow with tartar.

"Radiant Bolt!" Inti opened with his quickest skill to gauge the bird's resistance. As a general rule, higher-tier creatures possessed various forms of quasi-immunity, some more explicit than others. Radiance, for instance, worked well against Negative beings like the Undead, as well as Water and Ice Elementals. Against variations of Earth, however, as well as things wrought of fire, his firepower waned.

The bird retaliated, but not before its face broke out in boils.

“KEEEEEAAAAAAAAK—!!!”

Inti hadn't anticipated a sonic-attack.

As the sound struck, the interior of the sanctum resonated with the creature's wails, catching him unaware and off-balance.

"Shield of Faith!" Inti instantly erected a semi-rigid barrier imbued with golden strands of faith-infused mana. He quickly recovered even as visible cracks spread from the base of his wall.

Like a stalking raptor, the bird lowered its head and began to charge.

Inti fortified his conduits with a surge of mana, taking advantage of the hyper-clarity conveyed by the Potion of Heroism. While the potion was active, he wouldn't panic, and all feelings of fear and danger dulled.

The prince of Cuzco waited until he could smell the bird's foulness before Blinking behind his assailant.

"Radiant Strike!"

A sizzling array of dancing lights toasted its crow-black feathers. When the spell ceased, the prince was dismayed to find that the beast remained unscathed.

"Just the face, huh?" Inti muttered to himself, readying a follow-up.

Sure enough, the creature turned, leading another attack with its head. Unfazed, Inti kited the thing around the spacious room, watching it kick and trip over the corpses filling the sanctum, wondering how Fudan was fairing with their alpha-specimen.

"That Wyvern is the most counter-productive Ally I have ever seen," Auberon critiqued sullenly. "It's inefficiency is such that I want to deduct CCs from Fudan for the simple fact of possessing such a useless thing."

"It just slew one of the dragon-eating birds, Auberon," a Magister pointed out. "That's plenty impressive to me."

"It LED the Dragon-eaters to Fudan's party!" Auberon ground his teeth. "It brought THREE enemies that are at least its match, into an IIUC match, while its owner was incapacitated and may very well still be incapacitated! The match was almost over! Finished!"

"Inti appears to be doing well." A Magus' fingers danced across the instruments. "Maybe the birds are not that strong?"

"Lord knows how strong they are." Auberon watched the screen with a complicated expression. "They haven't existed in Europe since forever."

"The Chinese say that the last one perished in a stew."

"A what?" Auberon turned to the cheeky Magus.

"A stew, sir." The Magus sweated. "In popular legend, the Yellow Emperor cooked the last Big Bird in a big pot, then he and his dragon-allies ate it. That would have been at least two-and-a-half thousand years ago. Maybe when this is all over, we can cook one ourselves."

"And follow the footsteps of Meister Darwin," another Magister joked. "Sir Darwin never catalogued a single Magical Creature without tasting it first."

A few of the proctors laughed to break the tension. Initially, with the Beast Tide receding, the atmosphere had relaxed— but then Golos had arrived, bringing its crow-black omen.

Auberon grunted.

"Lucy, what's the ETA on Cuzco's Mages?"

"Ten minutes, sir. They passed Amazonia's teleportation circle a few minutes ago."

"How many?"

"Two Flights, Ten military Mages, one Magister."

"Which one?"

"Magister Orccosupa, he is the Security Chief overseeing Lima."

Auberon nodded. It wasn't anyone he knew personally.

"The Sapa's forces are another thirty-minutes out. There's four flights, Twenty Mages, one Magister. Magistrate Huaman Yupanqui leads them."

"Tica's father?" Inti raised a brow.

"Yessir."

"And what of Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui?" Auberon asked after the Tower Master.

"He says he is tending to the wounded students."

"SIR!" The Magus overseeing Inti projected his screen without permission. "It's happening again! The intruder is here!"

Overhead, the vid-cast showed Inti tussling with a female bird-thing. Having sustained significant injuries to its face, it was hopping mad as it fought the prince of Cuzco.

"There!" the Magus pointed to the screen where the spectrometry for Illusion shot to tier 6.

In the next moment, Inti fired off a spell that connected with the wall, fumbling the spell entirely. Not one to miss an opportunity, the dragon-eater caught the prince by the right arm, grabbing Inti by the shoulder.

Inti blinked, looking surprised, then screamed blue murder as blunt, yellow incisors cut into his flesh.

"BLOODY HELL!" Auberon swore. Inti was done. The boy's ring would soon activate. "FIND THAT SIGNAL!"

The chief proctor looked to the diagnostic screen, then paused when the familiar burst of quicksilver failed to materialise.

"Why isn't his Contingency activating?" Auberon knitted his brows as Inti howled, fastened between the monster's sadistic lips as it tossed him like a lettuce leaf. With evident cunning, the bird rotated its head like that of an owl, severing Inti's arm. "Jesus! What the hell is happening?"

Inti slammed against the wall, sending a cascade of tiles to descend upon his mangled body.

In the bird's mouth, the Contingency Ring activated.

"It sent back the arm?" Auberon spluttered. "THE FUCKING ARM?!"

A Magister winced. "Poor bugger. I rather liked the boy."

"His vitals are falling fast!" The Magus in charge of Inti hammered on the reading. "Sir! Can we help—"

Auberon shut the Magus with a gesture, his mind furiously filtering the potential outcomes. There was a play here, one only the chief proctor could make. Follow the competition's rules? Or to act in the Mageocracy's best interest? A wrong move meant Auberon would lose his accreditation, but with the right outcome, even an out-and-out violation was lauded as wisdom. Auberon glanced at the other screens, watching Fudan's Mages. Golos had brought the birds, meaning its owner was to blame. "Magus Evans, patch me to Fudan's sorceress."

"Done."

Though it would count against neutrality, Auberon persisted in hijacking the Panopticon Glyph inscribed upon the contestant's Astral Souls.

"Gwen Song," the chief proctor spoke quickly and calmly, leaving the choice to the girl. "Inti is on the upper level and near death. You've got ten seconds until he's bird feed."

"Wha—" came the confused reply.

Auberon closed the circuit. Any more interference would bring the competition's vigour into question.

"Sir." The Magus staring at Inti's fading vitals retrieved a Long-Range Message device from beside the Divi-Engine. "Cuzco's Tower Master wants to know why Inti's arm just teleported into his medical bay."

Golos landed with his prey in a pool of Gwen's lampreys, sending two dozen of her fattest specimens back into the Void.

Gwen winced, but that was fine. She had resources to burn and countless worms to spawn. When the vitality had knotted her innards, filling her with nauseating pleasure, she had instantly popped out some five-hundred eels. The Hags weren't anything to scoff at either, generating at least a thousand between the two. Now, she waited for the lampreys to feast, self-multiplying as the temple cleared.

Her mind, in spite of eye-rolling waves of orgiastic pleasure, had retained control— until the moment she recognised what Golos had caught.

A Da-Peng?! Within the recess of her Void egg, Gwen rioted.

Ten thousand llamas danced across the foothills of her dopamine-mad brain, blowing on Peruvian pan-flutes.

"GOLOS! YOU DRACONIC-TARD!" she sprayed her Ally from crown to tail. "For fuck's sake, why are you doing this?! We're almost done! Some of us are fucking OoM! And you bring us a bloody Da-Peng?"

The Wyvern responded by maiming the screeching Da-Peng in a fantastic display of ultraviolence, making such a show of the kill that she wondered if an announcement-banner with "When Dragons Ruled the Earth!" was about to flutter from the ceiling amidst a sudden fanfare of trumpets.

Gurgling blood, the Da-Peng expired.

Gwen felt an unmentionable part of her anatomy unclench.

Refocusing her mind, she willed the black river toward the fallen Da-peng, ensuring that its vitality didn't go to waste. Grudgingly she acknowledged that at least the Wyvern wiped its arse.

"KAAK!"

As if in mockery, the silhouetted shape of a condor blotted out the scarlet moonlight.

Still borrowing Ariel's eyes, she saw a second Da-Peng enter the fray, bigger and meaner than the first, its expression leaving no doubt as to its inclination for violence. Surveying the interior, the bird turned its attention toward the hissing Caliban.

"Golos, you piece of shit!" Gwen's ire re-ignited, she was so upset that her breathing grew ragged. "You flying turd!"

"Kaa! KA—!"

A third Da-Peng attempted entry, only to be intercepted by a blast of radiance to the face.

"Inti, you beauty!" Gwen exalted, wishing she could summon Inti as a Planar Ally for five grand a pop. "Be careful!"

"Gwen, leave the Swarm and get back here!" Tei grew paranoid. They had all seen what the Da-Peng could do from their last bout. No matter the rigidity of her Void Shield, a good squeeze may very well turn her into Gwen-pâté.

"We'll use the same tactic!" Petra's voice followed. "Get it within twenty meters of us, and we'll disable it with Bilby. Lulu should be done with the Chieftain soon!"

"WOOF! WOOF!" Her hounds bayed at the flying beast, knowing they were out-matched.

"KAAA—AAAK!" Perhaps it was the vitality Caliban possessed, or its draconic-essence, or its serpentine form, or the fact that six heads were screaming "Shaa-Shaa!" the Da-Peng descended on her Familiar.

"Cali! Consume!" Gwen concurrently willed the swarm to move toward the Da-Peng. If they could keep it pinned and immobile, her lampreys may also suffice.

About ten meters from Caliban's coiled body, the Da-Peng suddenly changed trajectories. Instead of diving into Caliban, it swooped upwards.

Caliban followed, its serpentine necks swimming upwards to catch its ascending prey.

"KAK!"

A burst of mana blew from the Da-Peng's wings. Within the space of a few meters, the buffeting gale turned into a mass of scything feathers.

"SHAA!" Caliban reeled, torn open by a thousand cuts. In the blink of an eye, the bird's assault de-gloved Caliban's exterior armour.

"CALI!?" Gwen was in shock, both from the vitality her pet demanded to repair itself and the fact that her Familiar had been pushed back by a single ability. "Shit! Dodge!"

Caliban turned its bleeding body even as the Da-Peng wheeled around to strike at its side. In its Naga form, Caliban's agility couldn't hope to match an Elemental beast of Air.

"KAAA!" The Big Bird made its first pass, its fingered claws grasping at Caliban's pliant, sluggish body.

"SHAA!" Caliban didn't feel pain, but it's master did, vividly so when linked through their empathic bond. In one strike, the Da-Peng had snatched up a portion of Caliban's flesh, crushing two fistfuls of writhing flesh. After it passed, Caliban's sleek form became unmistakably mangled, bleeding grey goo and vomiting the odd tentacle, appearing as though an obscene fountain.

"EE! EE!" Ariel demanded to be let loose, but Gwen held her Kirin back.

"We're going to Tei's!" she recalled Petra's advise. "Cali! Use your—"

DING!

A Message spell of the highest tier played itself against her ears.

"Auberon?"

"Gwen Song." The chief proctor's voice came across without emotion. "Inti is on the upper level and near death. You've got ten seconds until he's bird feed."

Gwen spluttered. "Wha—"

The Message died.

The Da-Peng circled, returning to 'finish' Caliban.

"Gwen! Get back in here!" Her teammates' voices hollered in her ear. "It's coming!"

Gwen dispelled her Void Shield.

Her Essence-infused eyes searched the sanctum above.

A Da-peng stalked within, cackling cruelly at an unseen victim.

Now, she had a choice to make, and a split-second with which to make it.

"Dimension Door!"

Gwen made the call.

Under less urgent circumstances, she would have given the matter some pause, consulted her teammates, reached a consensus, but now she could only go with her gut feelings. Auberon's invitation was akin to putting Inti in front of a freight train, and either she pulled him out of the way, or she could wait to wipe his blood from her face. Though Golos brought the Da-Peng, she was the one arrogant enough to utilise Golos in the match, even knowing the Wyvern was slow in the head. Likewise, whatever Auberon's intentions, she sensed no reason for malice, least of all under the Eye of Providence.

"HOLY SHIT!" Her eyes widened when she materialised to find the prince looking like a torn-up ragdoll. An inch away from Inti, a female-faced Da-Peng prodded at his lolling head with a blistered tongue, lapping up the prince's royal blood.

Her hands blurred.

BUNG!

BUNG!

BUNG!

A series of Flashbangs went off an inch from the Da-Peng's head, reinforced by a screeching Ariel, jarring its brain with shockwaves of light and sound.

"Dimension Door!"

The Da-Peng reeled; while the bird shook its head confusedly, Gwen picked up Inti's still-warm body, an arm under his limp legs and another around his mangled shoulder.

"KAAA!" Sensing Gwen's presence through the vibrations in the air, her foe lashed out in all directions with both wings. Before she could duck, the equivalent of a steel bar took her across the posterior.

Agony ripped through Gwen's lumbar as her ribs squeaked. To her miscalculation, the Da-Peng wasn't stunned, but now the same couldn't be said of herself.

Inti shuddered as they struck the murals on the wall. From the prince's mangled stump, fresh gouts of arterial blood poured over her hands.

"Shield!" Gwen erected her barrier a split-second before a massive hand-foot performed a follow-up strike.

Even with the reinforcement from her new Ioun Stone, her double-glazed barrier proved insufficient, turning instantly opaque. Sensing the force push against her body, she knelt over Inti to avoid crushing his limp body.

"!" Her Divination Sigil fired needlessly as Gunther's lauded signature-shield shattered.

The Da-Peng continued its offensive, aiming for a length of her leg. Foul phlegm splattered across her Shen-tei armour as its female-face darted forward with a prehensile tongue poised like a putrid spear.

Dizzy from the blow, Gwen could rely only on her reflex. Fuelled by both Essence and adrenaline, she dodged the bite, lifting her leg so that she appeared to perform a ballet-split— then dropped her heel with an axe-kick.

This time, it was the Da-Peng who miscalculated. Her boot heel connected with the avian's nose, deforming the soft-cartilage and smashing the appendage back into its skull. With a violent snap, the creature locked its jaws.

"KA—!"

A fountain of foul iron expelled from the bird's battered face, painting Gwen from head to crotch. A split-second later, a severed tongue slapped her across the thighs.

"EE!" Ariel swiped at the howling bird-beast.

"Tei, Pats! Get ready!" Gwen pushed past the revulsion, then with Inti gore-clad and cradled in her arms, she activated her Dimension Door, taking the prince and her Familiar below.

Hardin slinked from the sanctum, his passage subtler than a water ghost pissing in the murk.

A consummate professional, he had stayed until the moment the Prince lost his arm, waiting until the Da-Peng was toying with its prey to make his escape.

In his opinion, it was a shame that Inti had to die, especially considering that the Radiant bloodline could potentially access un-looted temples. But, as Mister Price might say, "Better no one wins than the company not receiving its due."

Unconsciously, he tapped his Storage Ring.

This time, his task had been a long and arduous one. Thankfully, when Hardin returned to civilisation, it would be in the company of fine wine and finer women.

Hastening his descent, the former marine dove freely into the forest's depth, fading into the emerald sea.

"Cyka Blyat!"

Petra almost dropped her spell cube when Gwen re-materialised a second later, bloodier than the Countess of Bathory.

"Not mine." Their sorceress promptly deposited Inti so that he laid flat on the floor against the barrier's interior. "Pats, he needs help."

"Wocao!" Rene erupted with sympathy. "Poor bastard!"

"Gwen, I can't heal him like this. We need to take care of the—"

"CALAMITY! HELP ME!" interrupted the familiar cry of her Wyvern.

Gwen's Planar Troublemaker was now duelling the biggest Da-Peng of the lot, and from the looks of their aerial joust, he was losing badly.

"HOLD ON!" Gwen hollered back without sympathy. "I am saving a life here!"

"IT'S TEARING ME APART!"

"TOO BAD! WIPE YOUR ARSE!"

"… we need a clean wound, else the flesh-stitch isn't going to take." Petra coldly ignored the shouting match between master and monster. "The highest heal I've got cubed is Mend Flesh at tier 5 and Greater Restoration. That's Eunae's limit."

"Where's Lulu?" Gwen looked for their Sword Mage.

"Still fighting the Chieftain in the tunnel." Rene pointed to their prior entrance. "I don't think we should distract her."

"I need a clean-cut." Petra drew a line over where Inti's shoulder began. Presently, the ligaments were a mess, for the girls could see Inti's scapula buried in the mutilated flesh, while the knobbly end of the humerus hung by a tendon. As for Inti himself, the man was knocking on Ukhu Pacha's door.

"I'll do it." Gwen raised her hand, created the thinnest Chakram she could muster, then severed the mangled portion of Inti's right shoulder. Now, they must rely on the prowess of Petra's spell cubes.

"Mend Flesh!"

"Restoration!"

"Cure Wounds"

"Aid!"

Not missing a beat, Petra activated four restoratives in the blink of an eye. It was brute-triage; for usually, a specialist utilised the spells through targeted applications.

CRASH!

The second Da-Peng burst through the ceiling, angry as anything.

"EE! EE!" her Kirin yelped, demanding to go toe to toe with the bird. When its master had been assaulted, it couldn't do anything at all.

"Ariel, settle down!" Gwen reigned in her creature. Though Ariel could arguably do some damage, she had no desire to see her Familiar crushed and broken then sent back into its pocket dimension for twenty-four hours.

"Caliban!" Gwen called out to her sturdier Familiar. "Keep it busy— WOA!"

Golos slid into the barrier wall, cascading fire, water and razor-sharp crystals from his resistant body. The Da-Peng was likewise resistant to Petra's wards, for the Mineral Mage lacked the affinity of the spells' original casters.

"Help me! Leave the mortal!" her Ally barked, reeling from the Da-Peng's assault. As a whirling tornado of teeth, nail and feathers, the duo crashed against Tei's wall, taking out a pillar before Golos managed to wrestle the bird away. Hearing Golos' laments, Gwen's anger abated. Her last command was telling Golos to wipe his arse, an order he took to heart.

But the fight wasn't equally matched. Already, splotches of upturned flesh on Golos' silvery body indicated places where the Big Bird had "plucked" some scales. Conversely, Golos was having a great deal of trouble penetrating the Da-Peng's armour-like feathers.

Nonetheless, Gwen remained preoccupied with her human company.

"Is he breathing?" Petra stood unsteadily, fighting the spell fatigue.

Gwen placed a hand against Inti's nostrils, then rested her head against his heart. Now stripped of his body armour and ceremonial costume, the prince was bare-chest and crudely Prestidigitated. After the healing spells ran their course, his shoulder had knitted into a smooth, fleshy stump.

Beside Inti lay Musi, unconscious for an entirely different reason. Once restored and out of danger, Petra felt no obligation to cure the girl of her Negative Drain.

"No." Gwen breathed out, her breathing growing ragged as dread set in.

"I don't think more healing is going to help." Petra pointed to the scabs and the polyps forming on Inti's flesh-stump. "Any more and he is going to need a whole other type of healing."

"Rene, help me with the barrier," Tei commanded. "Petra, Gwen. We've done all we can. Focus on the bird."

Caliban taunted the second Da-Peng with cries of "Shaa!" and "Shaa!" insulting its whore mother.

"Gwen?" Petra paused when she realised Gwen wasn't moving.

"Pats, I have to perform CPR." Gwen placed a hand on Inti's chest. "I can revive him."

"You mean…" Petra knew her cousin well enough not to argue. "What you performed back in Burma?"

Gwen nodded, her lips forming into that familiar, stubborn pout.

"Then do it!" Tei's tone strained. "There's no time to waste."

CRASH! CRACK!

Their captain's conjecture was correct.

Golos and the Da-Peng were bouncing from wall to wall, shaking room-sized sheets of shale and granite from the cavern and making a general mess of the Moon Sanctum. Caliban enticed the female Da-Peng by menacing it with its six serpent heads, pilfering vitality from the Void Swarm even as the Wildland tide thinned.

Gwen wasted no time.

She divested herself of the cumbersome Mage Armour, likewise stripping off the gloves of her armoured suit. Kneeling beside the unconscious prince, she pinched Inti's nose, pulled back his head, then delivered two lungfuls of air. Concurrently, she conjured Almudj's Essence on her tongue, then ran a current of electricity through her hands.

"Wake up, you Son of a Sun!" She pounded on his chest with her draconic-enhanced strength. "Your country needs you! Tica needs you!"

Her next breath brimmed with emerald-green Essence. As Inti's chest inflated, she could feel the renewal filling his bruised organs, sense the nodes of electricity firing away in Inti's bosom as his body jump-started.

"Okay!" Gwen brimmed with confidence. It was working.

Again, their faces met, her pink-petals enveloping Inti's pasty lips, injecting a concoction of oxygen and Essence. Against her cheek, his mouth twitched; underneath her palm, his diaphragm rose and fell.

"COUGH!"

Gwen withdrew as Inti violently expelled blocks of congealed blood all over his chest. Jelled, yellow bile followed, indicating that without her assistance, the prince would have died all over again.

"Wha— where— Gwen?" The resuscitated prince looked about him, confused by the sudden change of scenery. "The monstrous bird, is it dead?"

As if heeding Inti's call, the bird proved itself very much alive.

"KAAK! KAA! KAA!!!"

Petra's crystalline wall shattered.

Tei's lost the pillar he had just replaced.

Inti's awakening had attracted its undivided attention.

CRASH!

"KAAK!"

Her Wyvern fell from the ceiling, falling into a bed of squirming lampreys.

"CALAMITY!" Golos' cry now lacked its prior vigour. Visibly, the princeling of Huangshan was injured from neck to its shin, even the membranes of his webbed wings were wet with gore.

Above the Wyvern, the Da-Peng lorded over its battered prey with an expression of pure sadism, toying with its defeated foe.

"BUCK! ASTRO!"

There was no helping it now; sacrificing her dogs was a strategic necessity. Currently, her lampreys had the critters and the surviving Trolls well under control, meaning the deerhounds' utility was diminished. As such, rather than waiting for the Void Hound's slow rate of return or having her mana trickled away by Astro's pack, it was better to put them to use.

Gritting her teeth, Gwen ordered her dogs to menace the Big Birds. With one pack defending Golos and the other Tei's pillars, they could hopefully buy her the time needed for what came next.

"Aroooo!"

"Gurrgn!"

Her hounds were happy to obey.

"EE EE!" Ariel promised to conserve her faithful canine companions.

"SHAA!" Caliban had waited patiently for its mistress to finish her task. It had sensed her turmoil, and now it demanded from her more life than she currently possessed.

"Pats, how many heals do you have left?"

"Not enough. We'll have to use supplements."

It was an assessment to which Gwen concurred.

In the next moment, she materialised a red wooden box inscribed with ancient Chinese glyphs. Exuding Dragon-fear, she slid back the lid to reveal a quivering root-vegetable. According to Ayxin, five-hundred years of Huangshan's earthly Essence was stowed in the thing. If taken in excess, she could very well explode from the eruption of vitality.

"Kii? Kii-kii?" The Spiritual Ginseng, awakened from its long slumber, gazed up at Gwen with its faceless mien. It attempted to move, but her dragon-fear held it in place. "Kii?"

"Sorry," Gwen apologised. Then, with a mote of Void wrapped around her finger, she removed its right-most root.

"KII?! KIIIII?!" The ginseng bellowed, betrayed by its owner.

The box slid shut with a "Click!" activating the sealing Glyph. With a deft hand, Gwen then popped the still-wiggling leg into a porcelain jug housing her favourite rice wine. This way, Ayxin had explained, the mellowed vitality could be absorbed without mangling her mewling mortal organs.

"I am going to transform Cali, when I do, feed me the heals." Gwen turned to face the birds outside the barrier. Golos was just about done to death. Tei could hold out for a few minutes more. Rene wasn't OoM but lacked the means to fight high-tier monsters. Petra was also at her limit. Apart from herself, their second-best damage dealer was Lulan. "Lulu? Are you done? We could use some support here."

"Almost!" Lulan's laboured voice came across in huffs. "One minute— No, half a minute!"

"C— GWEN!" Golos howled, ripping enthused lampreys from his armour. "It's coming back!"

"SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban urged its mistress to hurry.

"Allow me to help." Inti attempted to stand. "Sun's Blessing!"

A woeful spurt of Positive Energy suffused Gwen's back.

"Should have saved it for yourself." Gwen maternally patted the young man's head before facing the two Da-Pengs, one menacing her Wyvern and the other Fudan's pillar-barrier.

"Cali..." Gwen swirled the vitality-infused alcohol, then drank from the draught until the bottle was dry, transforming her pale complexion a vivid scarlet. Thus infused, her eyes grew misty and alluring even as she exhaled the command for their foes' oblivion. "...BIG BIRD FORM!"

In her mind, she fought down the vision of an eight-foot-two canary with the ability to skate, dance, swim, sing, write poetry and ride unicycles. Instead, she called upon her Lovecraftian lore.

Caliban's Naga-slug body began to bulge.

"Cure Wounds!" Petra burned her remaining restoratives.

"SHAAA!" Caliban pulled into the air, tearing through its membranes in the shape of a fist punching through darkly-dyed silk. Rapidly, Caliban's avian form took shape, expanding to encompass a pair of wings a dozen-meters across.

Finally, a flying form! Gwen exalted as fire and ice seized her body, with Petra's warmth roasting her insides even as Negative Energy ravaged her conduits. Fighting the sensation, she broke out in a terrific sweat, realising that Caliban's new form took a toll far exceeding her one-woman body.

The male Da-Peng reacted instantly, increasing its velocity as it swooped at Golos. The grounded Wyvern responded by whipping its tail around to meet his descending assailant.

CRANG!

Golos possessed the advantage of reach; at the cost of a dozen tail spines, the Da-Peng was forced to land.

"WOOF! GRRRRR!"

Gwen's hounds closed in, latching onto the Da-Peng for dear life. Their fangs, however, proved insufficient in penetrating the bird's defences.

"KAAA!"

The bird lifted into the air. The dogs were flung aside easily, one crashing into the wall, while two were caught as they fell. The lightning hound perished instantly, while the void hound clung on for dear life, biting and snarling while the Da-Peng wrung out its vitality like water from a rag.

Cackling with glee, the Big Bird righted itself, opening its mouth to mount a sonic-attack.

"KREEAAAAAA!" The air in front of its human face distorted as though asphalt on a summer's day.

"ROAR!" Golos' dragon-breath proved futile, his line of lightning may as well be lukewarm water from a garden hose.

"Caliban, hurry!" Gwen willed more of her life into her Familiar, turning her complexion ashen.

PING!

KRUNG!

CLANG!

PTHUK!

Four Panzerschreck struck the Da-Peng alpha, three deflected by its hyper-dense feathers, while the last lodged in an old wound. Howling, the Da-Peng hopped through the air, attempting to shake loose the missile.

"Lulu! Get in here, quick!" Tei called out. Their Abjurer's stamina was waning. Since the battle's unexpected beginning, he had successfully defended their position against Trolls, the Tide, and now the Da-Peng, all without ley-lines or mandalas.

The newly emergent Lulan was covered in welts, cuts and bruises, her tattered armour hanging only by virtue of its limited self-mending property. Gwen winced. Though Lulu suppressed the Iron Heart, the drawbacks of a female using pure 'Yang' energy remained.

"DANCE OF IRON!" Lulan shouted, conjuring five slabs of green-iron to her side, her eyes brimming with battle lust. "Monster! I'll be your opponent!"

"KAAK!" The male Da-Peng shrieked.

"KEEE!" The female Da-Peng ignored the dog pack harassing its passage. Instead, it spiralled upwards amidst a bell-beat of wings, crushing a dog in one claw.

Lulan launched her swords to no avail, for the Da-Peng knew her blades were dangerous. With subtle shifts of its trajectory, it deflected Lulan's missiles, all the while accelerating with supernatural haste.

"Caliban!" Gwen huffed, her vibrant voice rising to a crescendo. "Start with the fat one!"

Auberon and the proctors lurched from one miracle to another.

Thanks to Burma, they had been inoculated against the possibility that Gwen could bring the newly dead back to life through assisted breathing and chest compressions.

In truth, Magus Evan had recorded Inti's vitals as hopeless even before Gwen's arrival. Already, a few proctors sighed sympathetically at the loss of so great a future Mage, lamenting the loss of human potential.

A few minutes later, Inti returned, ushering both jubilations from Auberon's peers as well as sullen silence from those who whispered accusations. Of course, CPR wasn't Necromancy, Auberon was sure of that, as sure as the silent spectrometer. Seeing it performed, however, was no less unsettling.

With Inti saved, only two monsters remained. Golos, the incompetent Planar Ally, proved no match for the largest of what Fudan called the Da-Peng, a term another proctor translated as Big Bird. Moments later, the female Da-Peng joined the fray, pushing Fudan against the wall, forcing Gwen to sacrifice her dogs.

In all honesty, the team had performed well and truly beyond their expected capacity. Now, it was a matter of endurance. If Fudan could hold out for just five more minutes, then two Mage flights would soon be bearing down on the Da-Peng.

But expecting Gwen Song to stay put was an impossible thing, for the girl then produced a Sapient Plant Spirit.

"The reading on that thing is off the charts!" the Magister in charge of Gwen Song's biometrics hammered at her Glyphs, bewildered by the numbers.

A few of the proctors stood from their seats. Flora Sprites weren't common cabbage. They only occurred in Black and Purple Zones where the ley-lines were thick, and in most cases, they were either eaten by the local monsters or reared by supreme creatures capable of levelling cities.

"KII!" the Sprite screamed blue murder.

"What the bollocks?" another proctor paled. "Is she… eating it?"

"Barbarian!" a second wailed indignantly.

"If the Elves find out…" a particularly well-connected Magister scoffed. "My word, she's mixing a cocktail!"

"Did she register the Sprite?" Auberon turned to Lucy.

"Yessir, its logged as 'five-hundred-year-old Chinese herb for restoring vitality'…"

"…" the proctors had no words; since Gwen wasn't using the Sprite as a Spirit, the girl was in the right.

"Sir." Gwen Song's presiding proctor frowned at the spectrometric disco playing across his projection. "Her biometrics are a mess."

"To be expected, I suppose." Auberon focused on the screen. "Looks like our Naga slug is about to become a butterfly."

"SHAA! SHAA!"

Gwen's Familiar did not disappoint.

When its tenebrous body finally broke free of the Naga-shell, it measured just under ten meters from faceless tip to tentacled tail. At first glance, the creature appeared as the Void facsimile of a Wyvern, for its faceless head conjoined a distended neck and powerful shoulders with arms forming into a pair of wings. From the waist, however, the similarities ended. Where Golos sported powerful hind-legs, Caliban's avian form took on the lower half of the Da-Peng. Sensuously, the fiendish avian's underside sported a pair of six-fingered female hands, pink and flawless with nails of ivory, reminding the proctor of Caliban's owner. Finally, from behind the Void Fiend's rear, plumage consisting of a dozen tendrils tasted the air, forming the "tail" of Caliban's new anatomy.

"SHAA!"

The male Da-Peng met its bizarre doppelgänger in combat. Wings clashed, raining grey goo and fluttering feathers below, indicating that Caliban had replicated a portion of the Da-Peng's unique physique.

"What an abomination!" A proctor gagged when Caliban's hand-limbs flexed.

It was the strangest sight, for the Da-Peng possessed the hands of a man, while Gwen's creature was visually a female one. With the two jostling for dominance, their hands met, forming a disembodied spectacle of two lovers with their fingers entwined. This way joined and dancing through the air; the Da-Peng gnawed at Caliban's neck, leaving dark welts of upturned tissue.

"Consume!" came a command from its mistress below.

Caliban's faceless head, similar to its obsidian serpent form, peeled back to reveal an interior full of tongues, beside which rows of lamprey teeth formed an unending spiral leading into the Void fiend's maw.

"SHAA!" Obeying its mistress' command, her creature tongue-kissed the Da-Peng opposite so that its peel-back face enveloped its opponent's head.

The proctors shuddered.

On another vid-caster, concurrent to Caliban, Fudan's Sword Mage engaged in close combat. With Sweeps and Strikes, Lulan Li kept the creature at bay even as it snatched at her swords, bending, breaking and crushing her green-iron implements.

As they fought, the proctor noted that Lulan Li wasn't just fighting blindly, but slowly leading the creature toward Fudan's wall.

Launching and throwing enough blades to equip an army, the battered Sword Mage from Huashan grew slick with sweat until finally, the duo was close enough for the trap to be sprung.

"Bilby's Hands!" both Petra and Gwen activated the last big spell they could muster.

Sensing imminent danger, the Da-Peng attempted to retreat, only to cop a sword to the face, parting its cheeks and missing its remaining eye by an inch. The bird kicked, taking the Sword Mage in the abdomen with a claw-tipped finger, shattering Lulan's Crystalline Mage Armour.

Lulan Li faltered, flying back, vomiting blood as she skittered toward the pillar barrier. Thankfully, before she connected with the many-layered walls, a selfless Rene Blinked into place to catch the Sword Mage before she fell into the channel of lava.

The distraction was enough for the Hands to manifest. With a great clap, Bilby's supercharged Mage Hands slammed the Da-Peng against the granite floor, with both hands pressing it against the ancient stonework so that it couldn't gain purchase to free itself.

"Shaa… shaa… shaa…"

The lamprey swarm approached, having near-eradicated all creatures from the faux Beast Tide.

Up above, the leading Da-Peng panicked, beating its wings even as Caliban's deep-throated kiss turned to slow digestion. The struggle continued for a dozen more seconds, their hands below clasped in anguished passion as Caliban's tentacled tails sought out other weaknesses.

Finally, the Da-Peng's wings fell limp. With its meal still attached, Caliban circled the chamber as though parading its kill, then spiralled downwards to land with a thump, displacing a dozen lampreys.

Not far, Golos groaned, too exhausted to move.

"My God, it's over!" A proctor sat back in his chair. "By George! They did it! Incredible!"

Auberon exhaled, hoping that there would be no more complications.

"CALI, WAIT! SPIT IT OUT!" came a resounding cry from Gwen Song, filling the proctors' barracks with her husky voice. "Gogo! If you want to avert my wrath, eat those Big Birds! I want Cores! I want ALL of their Cores!"

"Inti's bowels!" Magister Sulca Palla-Orccosupa of Lima surveyed the blasted landscape. "By the sun, has Amazonia fallen into Uku Pacha?"

The emerald sea that had smothered the Inca's old city now appeared uprooted, exposing the Temple of Mama Killa in the manner of a burst military ration.

As for the temple structure itself, one side appeared as though buffeted by tornadoes, while Inti's sun fire baked the other side glass-smooth. On the central ziggurat itself, the capstone had collapsed into the interior, leaving behind what appeared to be an abstract, geometric volcano.

Sulca calmed himself.

"Squad One, Squad Two. Assume breach formation. Shaya and Parwa will take point. Alca, what do you see?"

"…" The Diviner took a moment to finish his inspection of the sanctum's interior. His eyes widened several times; then the man appeared as though he forgot to breathe. "Sir… I think we're too late."

"TOO LATE?!" Sulca snapped. "What of Lord Inti?"

"I mean, we missed the battle," the Diviner apologised.

The Chief Magistrate of Lima furrowed his brows. Unconsciously, his hand moved for the Message device at his collar.

DING!

As if in ambush, a Message bloomed beside the Magister's ear.

"… I see. Very well, Lord Magister." Sulca confirmed the new situation twice before turning to his men. "It would appear the team from Fudan has kept the situation under control. Prince Inti has lost an arm, but his life is in no danger. During the match, his Contingency Ring had a malfunction. We are to secure the prince and establish a Teleportation Circle."

"Inti, injured?!" The team was aghast at the news.

"Lord Inti's crippled!"

"Blasphemy!"

"Was it Fudan? Did they bring this upon Lord Inti?"

"Shut it!" Sulca's tone suppressed the sudden antagonism. "Cuzco's team entered the Winged Puma's cave, but couldn't quell the mother's anger. You will all show the utmost respect when we get down there. The Void Sorceress saved Master Inti's life."

The Mages fell into a self-conscious silence.

"Team 1 leads, Team 2 follows, keep your eyes peeled."

In formation, the Mages of Lima entered the sanctum.

"Apas below!" Sulca was the first to swear. Even with Alca's warning, he wondered if their present location was indeed Uku Pacha, the underworld, and that they had all flown into Amaru's belly.

Behind Sulca, his team likewise let loose with cries of horror and disbelief. Sumi, their healer, threw up in her mouth.

Sulca fought back the sudden sensation of vertigo. He wasn't a bumpkin by any means. Heir to a noble family, he had studied abroad in England and North America and gained his accreditation through UC Berkeley. Of all the Magisters in Lima, he was the most experienced and well-travelled.

Not that it helped him now.

As the Mage Flight cleared the broken levels leading from one sanctum to the next, bypassing the unveiled structure of the Inca's glorious past, the reality of the combat that had transpired came into view.

First, there was the "Swarm".

Pooled below was a small lake of writhing eels, or what looked like eels, squirming about the floors of the temple, looking for prey that no longer existed. Singularly, the creatures would not have frightened Sulca nor his men, but there appeared to be countless multitudes of them, each with whiskers about their eyeless heads tasting the air even as their glistening bodies squirmed.

Notably, there was a Kirin, one Sulca had anticipated from the report. Then, there was a Wyvern, also expected, though now the Wyvern was covered from horn to tail in wounds. Presently, the magnificent brute appeared to be ferreting the carcass of an Ancient Bird from the Wall of the Woods. When the creature's draconian head emerged to regard the newly arrived Mages, its snout steamed with coagulated bits of entrails.

"Got the Core yet?" a girl beside the Wyvern peevishly demanded of the creature.

To Sulca's surprise, the Wyvern politely nodded.

Usually, the Magister would have noted the infamous Void sorceress right away, but now his eyes were drawn to the strangest creature he had ever seen seated beside her.

It was the "Caliban".

At first, the creature appeared entirely lacklustre. It sat on its hands, demure as anything, jet black and silent like a dark blob. But when Sulca's eyes focused on the thing once more; he began to notice its uncanny physique, such as the fact that it sat on a pair of hands.

Human hands.

Sulca blinked, wondering if his sanity was suffering from the excessive stimuli. When he circulated mana through his eyes, he further noticed that not only were the creature's feet human hands; they were female. That, and they were six-fingered.

The Mage flight stopped just above the competitors.

"Greetings, contestants. I am Sulca Palla-Orccosupa, Overseer and Magistrate of Lima," Sulca introduced himself. "I come on behalf of Magister Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, Master of the Cuzco Tower."

Presently, the Void Sorceress and a young man with a dour look approached.

"Greetings, Magister. I am Tei Bai, Captain of Fudan's IIUC team. Here is Gwen Song, my Vice-Captain, and these are our teammates. We thank you for your timely assistance, may I ask why you are here?"

Sulca blinked. Why was he here?

"I am here to relieve Master Inti…" he replied uncertainly. "Cuzco National offered for forfeited when the danger had escalated beyond what the Sapa was willing to accept."

The girl and her captain regarded one another.

"I wasn't just in danger, Magister," came the voice of Inti from behind Fudan's contestants as he pulled back his head shawl. "I was dead."

"Master Inti!" the Mage flight rapidly alighted, making sure they were well away from the slithering pool of obsidian bodies below.

"And Miss Song here brought me back to life."

"Resuscitated, actually," the sorceress called Gwen quickly interjected. "It was nothing. Just a heart massage and a chest defib."

"I owe her a great debt," Inti stated without an ounce of doubt. From the prince's expression, Sulca understood his future Sapa's inference that the Tawantinsuyu owed the girl a debt of gratitude.

Sulca's eyes then noticed that under the shawl covering Inti's right shoulder, the sleeve was empty. Like the missing arm, the Military Mage's mind went AWOL for a split-second before his brain caught up to Inti's claim.

"By his grace, we salute our Lord's protector!" Sulca crossed both hands against his chest to make the sign of the condor, a gesture of admiration and respect. "Hail! Saviour of our Sun!"

"Whoa… no no no, it was nothing!" the girl grew flustered. "Inti was of great help to us, and we were fighting as a team when it happened. It was something I would have done for anyone of us."

"That's of no import." Inti slid a hand over to his empty sleeve. "Where's Uncle Amaru? I would very much like to know why my Ring alone failed when all of my peers could return to Cuzco without incident. That and why we knew nothing about the Blood Moon."

Sulca's face grew flushed; he could almost taste the bitterness in Inti's words.

Falling to one knee, he placed once hand upon his heart, and the other toward his future Sapa in a gesture of supplication. Behind him, the two Mage Flights likewise offered their loyalties without reserve.

"I shall investigate the matter personally, my prince." Sulca dipped his head against the cold granite. "I shall find the culprit so that they may suffer your judgement."

DING!

Another Message blossomed beside Sulca.

"… I understand." The Magister looked up his future sovereign. "My Prince, Master Yupanqui requests that we establish a Teleportation Circle for himself and the proctors. You and Miss Musi should proceed to the infirmary immediately. Your father will await you there."

As Inti's gaze rolled over his body, Sulca began to sweat. Even wounded, the aura exuding from a man at the apex of millions of faithful followers was palpable.

"... I shall await the answer to all this." Inti turned, returning to where he had been meditating beside the still-senseless body of Musi.

Sulca relaxed.

"Pukyu, help Sayaya with the Teleportation Circle," Sulca commanded his team. "Killara, Nina, set up a perimeter."

As one, his Mage Flights moved to execute their duties.

"Magister, do we wait here?" The Void sorceress raised a hand impertinently, interrupting Sulca's troubled thoughts. "Is this it?"

"Why do you ask?" Sulca challenged the girl, only to realise that up close, he had to look up toward her chin.

"Well." The girl smiled attractively, pointing to the ziggurat. "I don't think we've lo— searched that place for treasure yet…"

Perhaps it was a coincidence, or mayhap that was the plan, but the curious fact was that Tica's father, Magistrate Huaman Yupanqui, flew in precisely when the Teleportation Circle was connected. After that, the proctors sent a delegation including Auberon, his assistant and a few presiding Magisters through the newly established teleporter.

Within the span of a few minutes, a total number of forty-odd Mages gathered in the underground ruins of the Sanctum of the Moon, making the once open space incredibly crowded.

"My boy!" Tica's father hugged Inti without regard for ceremony, squeezing the young man until his face turned the hue of ripe papaya. "Tica is going to be mad at all of us. I can tell you that! Those birds, where in Uku Pacha did they even come from?"

Cuzco's Tower Master, whose appearance Gwen recognised from their first day in Cuzco, patiently awaited his turn. When finally Huaman allowed the boy to go, his uncle swooped in like a condor to curry the prince's favour.

"Inti, your arm!" Amaru placed one hand on Inti's shoulder and the other on his stump. "A shame, such a shame! Don't you worry, nephew, Uncle Amaru will remedy your arm. As for the moon and the ring— I will have an answer for you, and the Sapa. If there are culprits, we'll find them, I promise."

"Thank you, uncles." Inti bowed. "Presently, I am beyond fatigued. May we soon be on our way? I wish to see Tica."

Amaru expression grew rigid while Huaman, his brother, broke into an obscene laugh. "That's the spirit! Are we to expect a grandchild soon? Another title to my name, eh? Royal in-law? Hahaha..."

"I will do my best." Inti's eyes lingered on his uncles as he spoke. "I promised her that we would, after the competition. Thanks to this incident, I am starting to see the need to ensure that our royal line is well provisioned."

"Absolutely." Huaman turned to Amaru, then slapped his younger sibling across the back. "Get Inti healed up, brother! That boy is going to need all his vigour. Maybe get them to add in a little more Positive Energy, eh?"

Amaru's facial muscles twitched as he grinned. His attempt to smile was equivalent to squeezing blood from a rock.

Inti turned to Gwen and her captain. "Thank you again, Gwen. Mr Bai, Miss Li, Miss Mui, Miss Kutsenova, Cuzco is in your debt. You are forever friends of our nation, so long as I live."

Gwen and the other members of Fudan bowed. The implication there was busier than a Quipu knot, but it wasn't their business. Walken had been very explicit about that. Do not get involved in the political transactions of the locals.

"Have a safe trip home, Inti." Gwen raised her head. The dynamic between the suspicious royal nephew, the uncle named after a snake, and the seemingly uncaring, grandchild-crazy father-in-law was awkwardness personified. "Don't run into any Da-Peng on the way."

By the dozen, the Incans filed into the Teleportation Circle, leaving one Flight and another from the local garrison. When finally their hosts had all but gone, the proctors approached Fudan.

"Congratulations on winning." Auberon nodded approvingly. "Also congratulations on showing the world why we should fear Void Magic."

"Wait— What?" Gwen spluttered. She had been practising spell safety the whole competition! Her Void-related performance was entirely OSHA compliant. "No one was hurt!"

Beside the girl, Tei and Rene exchanged a look.

"It was a jest," Auberon tsked, much to his assistant's disapproval. "Give me a second to formalise the match's result. Miss Pritchard, are you ready to transcribe?"

"Yessir."

Auberon cleared his throat.

"On this day, September the 30th of 2004, in the vicinity of Amazonia, province of Cuzco— I, Auberon Lucas, Chief Proctor, by the authority invested in my judgement, declare Fudan University, Shanghai as the WINNER of the September round!"

"Congratulations!"

"Well done!

"Good work, Fudan."

"Thank you for saving our Prince!"

The remaining proctors applauded, as did many of the locals from Cuzco.

Fudan returned the well-wishes with bows. Tei in particular not only bowed toward the proctors but respectfully fell to one knee to thank his ancestors. Realising their future broadcast, Rene followed. Lulan looked as though she wanted to do the same, but refrained when her knees refused to yield. As for Gwen and Petra, the two stood awkwardly, watching the Void Swarm below.

"How long is 'that' going to last?" Petra asked.

"That's right!" Gwen suddenly slapped her forehead. Causing the rest of them to jump. "Sir, we haven't gotten a chance to loot the place."

The proctors performed a double-take.

"I mean, there's likely relics buried somewhere." She pointed to the remaining ziggurat.

"You repelled a Beast Tide," Auberon huffed, his brows knitting and his hypertension rising. "And exterminated four creatures that are each a match for your Wyvern. You saved Inti, the prince of this nation, and earned the gratitude of the land's people. You recovered the temple, in a manner of speaking, by wiping out the Arch-Hag, and all of its minions. There's not a single troll left in this complex. You realise that, right?"

"Sir…" Lucy coughed. "We detected at least a dozen on the way. They're in the catacombs still."

"Those are CCs!" Gwen pointed out. "Also, there's no 'I' in "Team". Look, that's not the point. Our POINTS are the point. If we 'win', does that mean the match is over? If so, isn't that unfair for us?"

"You—!" Auberon pinched his brows. "There is a maximum allotment of points you can carry over to the next round. It was a rule put in place to prevent contestants from abusing certain mechanics of the competition to garner CCs, such as purging a Hive-type Dungeon but keeping the Queen alive as a CC-generator. With your achievements, I dare say that Fudan will have struck that limit."

"How much?" Gwen battered her long lashes, her glimmering hazel orbs inferring that if the amount wasn't sufficient, she would command Lulu to dig up the lower sanctum immediately.

Auberon held up five fingers.

"5000 CCs," the proctor declared. "Fudan will be judged on its merits and demerits, with a secret tally as back up, but 5000 is the upper limit for round one. Note that last year, the average for the first round was in the mid-2000s, with the top scorer, Stanford, earning 4640 CCs."

"That's five hundred for each of us." Gwen gulped. If she took Richard's part-timing into account, 500 CCs equated two to three high-risk requests or up to ten mundane errands. In ten days, they made enough to purchase five mid-tier Signature Spells from the Tower. "We can be satisfied with that."

"I would say so, yes." Auberon breathed out. "Well done with the Void Magic, lass. A true eye-opener. The Mageocracy will have your back when you need us; I can promise you that."

"As will Berlin," another proctor added quickly.

"That's good to know, Sirs." Gwen bowed her head.

"Kilroy sure dug up a little monster," the chief proctor chuckled. "So, when do these things disappear?"

"Soon, I hope." Gwen squirmed underneath the proctor's eyes. "They took in a lot of vitality."

"You can't banish them? Do they have IFF?"

"Ah haha..." All Gwen could do was simper.

It took the party another three hours to finally step into the Teleportation Circle.

While they waited, Fudan's vice-captain made sure Lulan was well covered, her dogs unsummoned, and her Familiars packed away. After helping Petra with her biometric-recordings, it was time to rake her Wyvern over the coals.

"... then the Da-Peng approached," Golos indignantly explained when she accused him of gross incompetence leading to the grievous injury of a prince and the near-wipe of their party. "I used Ryxi's Fuda and snuck upon them. Three birds they were, two males and a female. I managed to ambush one and drag it down into the temple. Did you see me? It was GLORIOUS, I tell you, killing a Da-Peng in direct combat, like in the ancient days! Wait till father hears about my deeds, ha!"

"Just how close were these birds?"

Golos snorted. "Close enough to strike."

"And just because they're within fifty kilometres of us, you think they're going to dive into a fucking Troll temple for no reason and attack us? Where the hell did you go before that?"

Golos grew irritable.

"Well?"

"When the moon turned, I thought it would affect Phelara and her tribe."

"And?"

"I went patrolling."

"To Phelara, of course."

"Then I ran into the Da-Peng."

"Gogo. After you killed the first Hag," Gwen protested. "We were down there for almost twelve hours. You were gone for more than TWELVE hours! I know how fast you can fly. What were you doing?"

Golos looked at her dumbly, in his human form, his thick wyvern skull made him all the more vexatious in her eyes.

"My absence wasn't for long," the Wyvern countered. "A nap, at most."

"HOLD UP. Holy shit." Gwen pulled out her Message Device. "Gogo, what is this."

"A Human Magical Device."

"No, this—" Gwen pointed to the twenty-four-hour clock.

"Time Device."

"What time does it say?"

Golos obliged by reading the time.

"Do you have a watch?"

Golos blinked at her.

"How do you tell the time?"

The Wyvern snorted. "The likes of us need so such thing to keep track of the lives of mortals. We Dragons live forever."

Gwen slapped her forehead. Was this her fault? Was this a work-place cultural dispute? She could no longer tell.

She now knew that Golos told the time by using his gut feelings, meaning he had no idea that time dilated when one was bored or having fun. While he was doing circles in the air, the passing of the first hour must have felt like days for the easily bored Wyvern. Meanwhile, when he found Phelara again and pounded her tribe into the local lumber, time must have passed so quickly that he hardly noticed. Assuming less than an hour for travel, Golos must have run into the Da-Peng on the way back from the westerly direction. More than likely, the Da-Peng were seeking out Phelara and her tribe— that or they were following Golos' stench, looking for a meal. Either way, she partly held the blame.

"Are you going back to them now?" Gwen changed the topic.

"Yes, will Mistress be joining me?" Golos grinned wolfishly, his nostrils scenting her essence infused torso.

"Sure, and Cali can give you a massage with its new hands," she returned the taunt with a retaliatory smirk.

Golos averted his eyes, submitting to her tyranny.

"You may go to your birds, but not before I get my Cores." She pointed to Golos' stomach. "Metabolise now if you're in a rush. Dig the Cores out and clean them. I'm sick of taking care of your shit, Gogo. I am going to train you when we get back. Else, I am going straight to Ruxin and getting a refund."

Golos' scales bristled, ever the combative mass of congealed pride and arrogance.

With her Wyvern puffed up, Gwen couldn't help noticing that her hound-brained mutt had grown visibly larger after taking on four Da-Peng and eating at least two-dozen Trolls plus a Hag. It was a testament to the potency of his Draconian blood, for what other beings on earth could grow stronger by merely sleeping, eating, and fornicating? If Dragons were as numerous as humans, they would have ruled the multi-verse by now.

In the days to follow, while Fudan arranged their return so that they could finally enjoy a long-desired period of rest and relaxation, Cuzco was in an uproar.

With the injured prince recovered and the news of Cuzco National's forfeiture came many muddling conspiracies. Be it the sabotage of Inti's Contingency Ring, rumours of factional politics were at play, or that foreign interference was involved, gossip lit up the Suyus.

Amidst the turmoil, the Inca Sapa presided over a three-day-long Rite of the Ever Burning Sun, purging Inti's body of impurities and calling upon the faith of the people to restore his son, their Sun and the nation's future Sapa.

As for Fudan, a full review presided over by Eric Walken followed with equal parts praise and scaldings, with each of the contestants writing up reflection and reviews of their performance highlighting their lacks and their plans to address those shortcomings.

When Fudan's IIUC contestants and the trope of proctors finally graced the decks of a Moller–Maersk ocean freighter in Lima, they received a send-off attended to by a full-bodied Inti, his appearance whole and restored. Dressed in ceremonial shawls and painted from neck to chiselled abdomen in gold, the prince made the young women blush and the men awkward as he blessed the ship, its crew and its passengers with good health.

Once the festive matters concluded and the media was ushered from the dock, Inti approached with Tica in-arm, followed by Tupaq.

Collectively, Fudan bowed before the prince. To their surprise, Inti returned the bow, eliciting some discomfort from the watching multitude of Lima and Cuzco's nobility.

"First things first." Inti stepped back. "I tried to dissuade them, but they insisted."

The gentle giant Tupaq stepped toward were Gwen now stood in her shoulderless sundress, falling to one knee. Even kneeling, the giant's head reached her chest, a testament to the Inca's abnormal size.

"Thank you, Miss Gwen, for returning Inti to us. Had our prince perished, my only recourse is to continue to guard him in the underworld." Tupaq crossed both arms over his heart. "The House of Huamancuri is forever in your debt."

"Thank you, Tupaq." Gwen forced the giant to stand before giving the man a big hug about the shoulder. "You did well in protecting your prince. As I said, I didn't do this for a reward. Inti deserved to live. Your country will do well with such a kind and generous future Sapa."

The next to approach was Tica.

She bowed.

"Oh, come on, don't stand on so much ceremony."

"Humph, you overthink." Tica came close enough for the two to embrace, then began to undo her shawl. "This is for you."

The atmosphere grew suddenly heavy, there was an audible sound of heavy breathing from the crowd, though Gwen had no idea why.

The priestess's shawl was a beautiful thing with geometric lines that mimicked the colours of the Amazonian macaw. More impressively, one side was sunburst yellow with bold red patterns and elaborate rainbow Inti-motifs in gold thread. The flip-side, impossibly, was mid-night blue, with motifs of the moon and Mama Killa.

Demurely, Gwen lowered her head so that the diminutive Tica could wrap the gift around her shoulders.

"With this, we're equals," Tica declared, holding Gwen's hand.

"Sisters it is." Gwen felt a great sense of accomplishment. When she looked up to see Inti, however, the prince was wide-eyed and sweating profusely.

"Is Inti alright?" Gwen pointed a thumb at the prince. "He looks about ready to crap a ton of gold."

"As he should be." Tica laughed. "You've received my approbation to become a wife-sister. I'll be Queen, of course, but you'll enjoy a position second only to me."

To their audience's delight, the Void sorceress' pale complexion grew instantly dawn-tinted, drawing both mirth and adoration. "I am afraid I must…"

"Take some time to dwell on it." Tica kissed her on the forehead, leaving a lip-print to mark the sorceress. "Thank you, Gwen. I owe you a great deal. I wish to say my offer is a joke, but you may take up the mantle anytime you feel a desire to return to Cuzco. One point you must take heed is that you wouldn't want to wait too long. I prefer our children to be of a similar age."

"C-Children!" To the observers, it would appear that the Void Sorceress had fallen under the effect of a mortifying Enchantment spell. Like a woman swivelling the wheel to avoid an on-coming semi, she changed the subject. "So er… any idea why Inti's Contingency Ring failed?"

The priestess leaned in for a whisper, her plump petal-lips almost nibbling her "sister-wife's" ear.

"...Jesus, how are you going to..." Gwen gulped.

Tica tittered.

"Worry not, dear ñaña. Inti and I have come to an understanding. I only hope that one day, Tawantinsuyu may call upon you for your continued friendship— and your aid."

Though the contestant's return journey to Hawaii would take many days, no such delay plagued the delivery of data crystals.

From Cuzco, caches soon graced the desks of New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Washington. Before Fudan had even crossed the South Pacific, Magisters in London, in Berlin, in Paris and Rome lit up their lumen-casters to peruse the reports of Kilroy's hidden apprentice.

For some time now, news of the girl had rippled the surface. This time, the results were potent enough to break the meniscus. Unlike in Burma, the Baron of Shenfield himself sat as umpire, officiating the data as reliable and unaltered.

Chief to the crystal of the girl's struggle in Peru was her ability to channel the Void without seemingly degrading her psyche. Her command over the Void creature known as Caliban likewise tickled the fancy of many a Tower Magister. When the sorceress transformed her serpent into a many-headed Naga, the optics were magnificent! When she conjured a Void Swarm of impossible proportions to consume the Beast Tide, the scene was spectacular! As for the Terror Bird polymorphy that consumed the Dragon-Eater, those in the know possessed no adequate words to describe their feelings.

Calls for her biometrics flooded into Pudong.

Seven Schools and a VMI over 300.

And the girl was just eighteen.

And the girl was from a Frontier.

And the girl had Awakened in the wild, a creature of chance and chaos.

And also, the memo returned: the girl was sister-in-craft to Gunther Shultz, Master of Sydney.

Cambridge.

Trinity Ln.

The Old Schools.

Unknown to most, a dubious event engendered the founding of Cambridge University— the murder of Mages by NoMs.

It all began when two Oxford Scholars caused the death of a young NoM Woman in the township of Oxford. As the tale tells it, the scholars deemed themselves beyond reproach, refusing to explain their circumstances to the townsfolk. Tensions then escalated, and when the mob attempted to arrest them, they defended themselves with sorcery, or what passed for Spellcraft in the 12th century. They failed. And before the ecclesiastical authorities could intervene, the townsfolk mutilated the scholars, looted their robes, then hung the naked Mages from Oxford's gates.

In the ensuing chaos, over a thousand sorcerers, wizards and warlocks chose exodus, ultimately forming the beginnings of the University of Cambridge. To further fortify their preservation, the scholars eventually succeeded in requesting a Bull from the Pope stating that no Mage may be judged solely in the court of mortal men.

Such was the origin of Oxbridge, a conjunction whose combined authority held the reigns of Spellcraft as taught in the post-industrial world. Between Oxford and Cambridge, the two institutions had begotten the Tower System, disseminated the Imperial Spell-Metric and indoctrinated the Mage world with Sigils.

Of the two, Cambridge consisted of thirty-one constituent colleges pertaining to seven Schools of Magic: Evocation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Abjuration, Divination, Enchantment and Illusion. The university's Arcanum Press likewise remained the world's principal source of new spells, responsible for the official organisation of the sanctioned Spell List.

At the zenith of Cambridge's administrators sat the vice-chancellor, second only to the ceremonial chancellory held by the Duke of Edinburgh.

And yet, here in the ancient and vaulted office of the vice-chancellory, Alfred Tomberry Crawford Butterfield was mopping buckets from his brow.

"Get the girl here, Butters. I am serious. When have I ever asked you for anything?" The sombre voice of Justine Maxwell Loftus, Marchioness of Ely, echoed from the vaulted ceiling, un-dampened by the row upon rows of ledges lining the walls.

"You realise, Maxi, there's a bollock load of politics involved? You're not requesting for the relocation of a prized cabbage. She's a Void sorceress, stuck in China, and she's a sister to von Shultz! Why I could—"

Alfred paused. He could see that the Lady of Ely did not like his tone at all. As his senior and a mentor-cum-colleague, a displeased Lady Loftus was a force akin to the deep currents found in the Plane of Water. Prim and precise to a fault, her presence quailed school boys and nobility alike.

"Excuses, Butters? Find some of those strings you're so unwittingly boasting about all the time. Isn't that why you hoard them? For pulling?"

Alfred realised he had to pick his words carefully. The unofficial title of the Marchioness was "Lady Grey", not for the unfortunate cousin to Elizabeth, first of her name, but for her ability to cut a man down to size with nothing but her steel-grey eyes.

"Maxi, you're making this hard for me," the vice-chancellor pleaded. "We can appeal through the official channels, but it will take time."

"Alfred Butterfield." The Marchioness turned upon Aldred those dreaded orbs and her pencil-thin lips. Suddenly, Alfred felt as though he was six and the governess had just found him conjuring a fistful of squirming slugs. "I want her for Peterhouse, and that's final. I never did say goodbye to Henry, and I want to do this for old times sake. I have zero sympathies for your methods, nor your cost. If you refuse on such flimsy grounds such as 'impossibility', I can find another Vice-Chancellor to do my bidding, do you understand?"

Alfred groaned.

"Maxi..."

"On that front, it is Lady Loftus to you, Butters. Don't mistake yourself for your brother."

"Six-months?" Alfred tested the cracking ice.

"You have three."

"At least until the end of the IIUC, surely?"

"You think your task will be easier once the world witnesses the next round?" Lady Loftus scoffed. "Make the call, Butters."

"I'll… work on it." Alfred loathed making the promise because he dared not fail. His word may not be worth much in the eyes of the old families, but he couldn't shame the prestige of the vice-chancellory.

He too had watched the lumen-cast, and he agreed with Lady Loftus that the girl's elemental aptitude put London Imperial's Void candidate to shame. But to drag such a sorceress from Fudan, he would have to offer the Chinese something equal in return.

Fudan! Alfred's pride revolted. A low-tier university in a self-secluded nation knee-deep in the Undead! For Cambridge to offer a third-string University a Meisterhood, even one offering the "Applied Theory of Void Magic", was a wildly unbalanced exchange. Their reputation would dive, and with it, his career as vice-chancellor. If anything, Alfred had no desire to be known as the first officeholder not to complete his tenure since Magister Hartfield insulted the High Elves.

But then again, this was Lady Grey breathing down his neck. If the request had merely originated from a Marchioness, Alfred could have parried the demand, but who was Lady Grey? A shadow member of the House of Lords! The Marchioness of not just anywhere, but Ely! The progenitor of Cambridge's Peterhouse! The owner of the lands stretching from Milton to Littleport! How was Cambridge to expand its facilities if the Marchioness were to refuse her leaseholds? What if he received an official censure from Peterhouse itself? Cambridge had no official centre of power. It was a place ruled by prestige, and few Houses held the history and influence of Peterhouse.

Already, Alfred could imagine what his successor would say— "Butters did a good job as an administrator, but he was too green behind the ears. What's in a Meistership? Who would say no to a request from Lady Grey? That's the new blood for you; always slow on the uptake."

Alfred Butterfield forced himself to meet the Lady's eyes.

"You have three months." The Lady's tone softened, granting him a reprieve. "But if someone else nabs my sorceress..."

Alfred had to stop himself nodding by reflex.

The door shut. The lights dimmed.

Air once again began to flow.

The vice-chancellor sat in the gloom, stewing in the scent of old ledgers.

Ding!

A Message globe bloomed over the archaic device on his table. The crimson hue indicated it was a call he could not refuse to take.

"Yes?" Alfred answered. "Milly, who is it?"

"Sir, I have Lord Ravenport on the line."

"Patch him through."

"Doing that now, sir."

"BUTTERS!" erupted a jovial voice that made his skin crawl. "How are you, old chap? We've missed your presence of late. A busy month?"

"Haha, you know how it is, milord."

"Oh, I do." A polite chuckle followed the curt courtesy. For some reason, Alfred felt as though something licked his cheek. "Now, we're both busy men, so let's not waste each other's time. Have you seen the IIUC crystals from Cuzco?"

Alfred Butterfield, Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, watched the goosebumps form on the back his hand, then felt them as they crawled up his arm. Beside his ear, Lord Ravenport's cheerful voice continued to toll.

"... you have? Good. Now. Butters. You of all people should be aware of our Faction's patronage of Oxbridge, yes? As a new boy to the old boy's club, I have a small task for you..."

Early October.

Eric Walken was a happy man.

It had been a fortnight of victories.

Fudan had not only returned from their overseas foray unscathed; they had returned with the maximum allotment of CCs possible for an early round. Of course, he couldn't reveal his delight in front of the contestants. In his unremitting evaluation, he had rebuked Gwen for her thoughtless escalation while keeping his hypertension plainly visible to discourage the girl's risk-taking. Even with Auberon playing the diplomat, he spittle-sprayed her with criticism, especially when she almost lost a leg while saving Inti.

Still, to repel a Beast Tide! Even a manufactured one was a glorious feat! On vid-cast especially, the scene was a sight to behold. When the girl withdrew into her Void Egg and released the lampreys en-mass, Walken could only shudder as he relived Sobel's assault on the Tower. Was that a strategy inherent to Void Mages? He wondered, but soon realised he was her source of inspiration. In their conversations, he had spoken endlessly of Sobel, and it was from his anecdote that the girl drew her mimicry.

If so, should he invest in Signature Void spells for the girl? If an opportunity arose, they could pioneer some relatively singular magics that may increase her efficacy by leaps and bounds. Fudan lacked the talent, but his old alumni in London would surely be interested in a sorceress of such talent and limitless potential. The only problem Walken could see was that the girl came with significant baggage.

But that could wait until the IIUC passed.

Meanwhile, the rest of Fudan's contestants received their dues, especially following the national broadcast.

Of her teammates, it was the Sword Mage who was a clear standout. Thanks to the Naga Core, Lulan Li had become a broadcast darling. During the vid-cast, a full five-minute emphasis had been placed on the girl's single-duel with the Troll Chieftain, completely uncensored as she shaved the creature down to the stumps. As an ex-Clanner and an ethnic Han, she struck all the right notes. In Central's view, the girl was living proof that China's ancient martial-magic had its place on the modern battlefield. According to the news, Lulan was now "Elder Li of the Outer Sect", having been awarded a non-sensical title by Huashang to keep face without reneging on her "ex-communication". As for the elder who had stricken Lulan from the roster; Gwen said the man was now fencing bokchoi in the countryside.

New offers of support followed. Notably, a missive arrived from Petra's parents in Moscow Tower, the contents to which Walken wasn't privy. Bai received a commendation, hand-delivered by the Secretariat of Shandong province. Richard's parents were given the fast-track treatment to immigrate from Sydney to Shanghai, and Eunae came home to strongly-worded praises from the Seoul urging her continued performance.

Other fortunes flooded in. For the House of M, who Gwen had put in place as the team's financial sponsor. Messages and requests from corporations flooded in, the most poignant of which was an official apology from the makers of the Shen-tei armour, CCL Heavy Industries, promising better models for the next round.

As for Walken himself, he had received countless congratulations from his old contacts. Though the gestures appeared mundane, they were supremely important to a disgraced Magister like himself. For Walken, having old "friends" contact him of their own volition signalled his rebounding influence. He wouldn't be gaining a position anytime soon, Walken wasn't delusional, but at least he would no longer be left out in the cold.

Until the Dean's worrisome Message arrived, therefore, Walken had felt on top of the world. When it did, a bucket of cold water poured over the Magister's back, dousing the ember of ambition.

Like his rebellious daughters, trouble seldom travelled alone, and in the case of belligerent news, it arrived as a party.

Incredibly, Auckland University had defeated Tokyo in an enormous upset, repeating what Fudan had done to Kyoto and knocking Japan out of the IIUC entirely. According to the Dean's report, the match had taken place in Waitomo, in a hive-type Dungeon two hours flight from Auckland. In a straight-laced race of damage and pacing, Auckland had outperformed Tokyo University by closing the Dungeon on the fifth day, denying their opponents a come-back.

The next piece of news was that the Sorcerous Academy of Pretoria, or "Tuks" for those in the know, had defeated Nanyang Spellcraft in a competition which had been neck-and-neck from the get-go. Theirs had been the hunting-gathering of rare specimens and minerals in the archipelago of Indo-China, a contest from which Tuks emerged the victor.

Concurrently, the Dean's message also noted that in North America, the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy had defeated London Imperial. Likewise, Cairo had defeated Golden Sun in Meso-America despite their home ground in New Tenochtitlan. Finally, Ludwig Maximilian emerged the victor in Eastern Europe against Stanford.

The emerging groups for round two, therefore, were Auckland, Fudan and Pretoria in group 2, while group 1 involved MIT, Cairo and Ludwig Maximilian.

Of Fudan's two opponents, Walken preferred NSU, whose history dated only four decades. Comparatively, Tuks, named after the original Afrikaans acronym— Transvaalse Universiteitskollege, was a far older institution with ties to London's Imperial College.

In regards to the results, his paranoia lay in that with London Imperial's militants removed from the competition; an enormous pressure now fell on Tuks to best the "rabble".

Though Pretoria was rank 80 right now, its highest position two decades ago had been in the 40s. Comparatively for Auckland, 90 was the highest it had ever been, while Fudan had been unranked until the mid-80s. Likewise, of the three universities, only Pretoria possessed Meister-tier instructors.

For pride, prestige, and innumerable reasons, therefore— Pretoria would be giving it their all.

And then there was China's ploy to give Fudan a "leg up".

The location of the next match was the coastal peninsula of Dalian, a tiny corner of the Northern Front.

To Walken's limited knowledge, Dalian was a headland girt by the Yellow Sea on three sides. Infamously, its north-eastern border was crammed to the brim with Undead spilling from the fallen city of Shenyang.

Considering the catastrophe that was the previous IIUC foray into the Undead Front, the Central Bureau must have positioned the competition so that Pretoria and Auckland would be reluctant to send their precious students. That way, if Fudan's competitors refused to commit their forces fully, the host team could arguably emerge an easy victor.

As for the Front itself— Walken had no idea what was in store for the contestants. If anything, Gwen should be consulting her war hero uncle.

Conversely, now that his student had made her global debut, was the additional danger worthwhile?

Though Mages possessed Contingency Rings, casualties at the Front had never been low. When struck by a Soul Drain, afflicted by Umbral Shadows, Enervated by Ghoul-Rot, there was little a triage without Faith Magic could do. Circumstantially, the Chinese Front's voracious appetite for replacements, in Walken's opinion, was traceable to the state's steadfast refusal to utilise religion.

Could Gwen quit while she's ahead? Walken wondered, but soon realised the futility of such a thing. Even if Gwen were made to resign, her team would venture forth regardless. And in that regard, convincing her to abandon her teammates would be a task far more complicated than besting an Undead horde.

Ayxin sat with both hands placed atop her thighs while she studied the fist-sized orb, round on top and jagged below where it broke off from the Da-Peng's heart.

Even as a half-dragon-half-daughter-of-heaven, she felt impressed. For a being like Ayxin, the Dragons' rivalry with the Da-Peng was etched in her marrows. It was a conflict that gave rise to her existence as a being begotten by the alliance between the Yellow Emperor and the Five mythical Dragons of yore, among them her father, the Yinglong.

For Gwen to produce three Da-Peng Cores was, therefore, a great shock. Even now, she could feel within her body the welling of violent impulses. Together with awe, she also felt a deep-seated desire to crush the Core here and now.

"Wow, so this is a Da-Peng Core." Jun, her mate, picked up the misshaped sphere with one hand. "Heavy! It must have been a very formidable creature. Well done, Gwen."

With a greedy ear, Jun had requested the girl's latest adventure, who in turn had questioned Jun about his knowledge of the Front, citing Dalian as their next objective. Discerningly, though Ayxin had made it clear that she was ambivalent to the girl's cause, her husband nonetheless thoughtlessly promised his support.

"Jun." Axyin raised a dainty finger. "Put that back."

"It's not dangerous, is it?" Jun tossed the thing from hand to hand. "I heard the Da-Peng used to hunt Dragons, is that true?"

"It's true." Ayxin's exquisite brows furrowed. "Gwen, tell your uncle to drop it."

"Why?" The impertinent girl grinned at her, apparently reading her thoughts. "What's wrong."

"Jun, return the orb," Ayxin pleaded. "Please… just do it."

Though puzzled by his wife's distress over a dead bird, her human obliged.

"Sorry." Jun's face grew sympathetic. "Does the Core make you uncomfortable?"

"It does." Ayxin wished that Jun wouldn't be so questioning. He was a good lover and an attentive partner, but he could be woefully obtuse.

Jun replaced the orb, then reached over and patted her thigh. It was a habitual act, for having since discovered human "fashion", Ayxin had taken on his niece's preference for dresses above the knee. When Jun's fingers caressed her skin, however, Axyin had reached her limit.

Leaping from her chair and too overwhelmed to explain herself, Ayxin proceeded straight to the bathroom to vigorously rub-down the part of her where Jun had caressed.

Back in the private dining room, her lover spoke to his niece.

"Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with Ayxin, she's usually very accommodating," came the usual deference from her partner.

"Uncle," the little hussy's voice came across mirthfully. "You really should wash your hands. That Core was dug out by her brother from a waist-high pile of his own shit."

Shanghai.

ISTC Station.

A troop of giants crowded the spacious international terminal.

"Rongo, what do you make of this?" one hulk said to the next.

"It's choice, bro. No wonder Shanghai's a tier-one city," remarked another giant waiting to process his Multi-pass. Like the first, this one sported terrifying tattoos from the neck to shin. "I heear there's good eat'n in the sety. The beggar's make chuken hāngi-style."

The PLA guards gawked. They had heard that foreigners were big fellers, but these fellers were BIG in a demi-human sense. When one of the guests grinned at a guard, he almost struck the panic button; a device only activated when terrible things with many limbs crawled through a Teleportation Circle.

"Whetu, this where your old mate's set up?" the giant called Rango turned to the one called Whetu, the largest of the lot by half-a-head.

"Sure is!" came a female voice at once shrill and sweet. "You lot, don't wait for me. Head right for the shuttle bay and don't forget your Translation Stones. I've got a Gwennie to cuddle."

"Oi, medgeet." A bear-mitt sized hand gripped the head of the female speaker. "Don't run off just yet; wait for the captain."

To the guard's surprise, the "Medgeet" fearlessly battered away the giant, allowing them a good gander at the lone female amidst the mountainous bodies.

Where the guards had expected a Gweilo girl, they instead beheld a local girl with a heart-shaped chin, baby-fat still fluffing her cheeks. Attired in a singlet and military cargos, everything about the girl was small and compact but for a pair of protrusions that were scandalously out of proportion.

"No need, the captain knows," the girl informed her cadre of giants. "Whetu can come if he wants to watch, but either way, I'll be rocking my Gwennie all-night-long!"

Fengbo Village used to be famous for its Beggar Pheasant, but now it was just as renowned as the local haunt of the Fudan IIUC team. Gwen's patronage, however, was well deserved. There was something to be said when a hole in the wall that barely fitted forty people could capture a sorceress with the fragrance of lotus-wrapped chooks.

"Tsingtao for the table as well, Mama," Gwen shouted across to the tiny kitchen. "The big bottles."

"You got it, beauty!" the chef's wife, an NoM woman, possessed a voice like a loud hailer. "On the house, okay?"

"Thanks, Mama." Gwen wasn't fussed. The tips she usually left were enough to pay for a crate of fifty and then some.

Though Gwen was shouting the team dinner, most of the members couldn't make it. Presently, the table was graced by Jiro, Petra, Eunae, Mia and Ruì, with their NoM companion coming off a week spent tallying the paperwork for Gwen's perusal.

"Your skin looks terrible," Gwen reprimanded her secretary's unhealthy zeal for after hour labour. "Are you getting enough sleep?"

"A few hours, here and there." Ruì's bloodshot eyes blinked. "Tonglv has reached the busiest portion of Stage Two. There's a lot of paperwork."

"Is Dai giving you grief? I know Ken's doing alright, he submitted his report two days ago."

"Master Fung is doing his best to keep our work on schedule," Ruì explained diplomatically. "He says he misses you."

"I am sure he does," Gwen muttered, her chopstick working on a chicken thigh. Still, Ruì's frailness made her wary. How could she allow her right-hand woman to collapse when there was so much work to be done? "Mia, what's a good supplement NoMs can use to maintain their vitality?"

"Oh, there's plenty." Mayuree stabbed at the fish head, scooping out the eyes. "I'll have someone send over a box of Vitae-Extra tomorrow."

"Thanks." Gwen grinned at the blushing Ruì. "Share it with the others, will you? I'll have to talk to Dai later. If you get sick, what's his contingency plan? Manage the accounts? Pigs might fly!"

"Hahaha…" Ruì giggled, hoping that her impertinence wouldn't reach the young master's ears. "It's nothing, Miss. I mean, you guys fought off a Beast Tide! I saw it on the vid-cast!"

Indeed, even now, the vid-cast of Fudan's match played in the corner of the eatery. It was a cheap ploy dreamed up by the restaurant's Mama, but Gwen didn't mind. What made her cringe though was seeing close-ups of her face as she incanted spells, especially when she received vitality hits.

Her only solace was that Lulan had it worse. Kusu's hair loss aside, the exposure had given Lulu plenty of exposure. Lulu wasn't a bad-looking gal, and her Sword Magic, for all its melee limitations, was remarkably aesthetic. For an audience weaned on Fire Balls and Magic Missiles, watching a petite lass carve a nine-foot Troll like a side of prosciutto was the definition of titillating battle-porn. The trade-off, conversely, came in the form of rabid fanboys around the university district. Gwen's advice for her friend's newfound popularity was that if she had to break bones, Dai would be avilable for clean up.

Across the table, Petra downed half a bottle of beer, then frowned at the meagre alcohol content.

Eunae sat in a floating world of her own, dreaming of all the rewards her Chaebol relatives had promised, so long as Fudan continued its advance.

Their sole male member, Jiro, munched on a chicken leg, very much enjoying the sensation of being surrounded by beauties while dozens of men stared with impotent envy. It was in moments like this that Jiro felt genuinely alive.

"Pats, don't worry about Moscow." Gwen replaced her chopsticks. "Hell, look at my parents. I am doing just fine, right?"

Petra knocked back the rest of the glass. Even on a good day, she wasn't one for smiling. Now that she was troubled over her parents' renewed affection, the permanent frown she wore made her cousin's heart sore.

"Tell you what, we'll go to the House of M after, or the Continental, or the Astoria. With Mayuree's Centurion Card, its Happy Hour every hour!"

"Why, that could cheer me up." Petra's indifference cracked.

"I am coming too!" Jiro raised his hand. "I'll be your chaperone!"

"Shaa!"

"We'll be your chaperone."

"Shall we dress up?" Gwen made eyes at her cousin. "We could do some late-night shopping as well. The malls are open till late."

Jiro's fingers began to shake. He wanted to help the girls shop. He had all kinds of outfits in mind.

"Too much effort." Petra dashed Jiro's dream-come-true with only three words. "Can't I go as is?"

Gwen regarded Petra's getup. There was a special kind of charm inherent to a beautiful woman wearing a lab coat, but she was sure laboratory couture did not grace the steps of five-star hotels. What if the tabloids were there? In the first few days of their return, the paparazzi had hounded her ceaselessly.

"Eunnie, you coming?" Gwen turned to Eunae, then paused when a commotion broke out outside the restaurant.

"Wah! Giant Gweilo!" someone was saying.

"His face has tattoos!"

"Is he a half-orc?" Another voice rudely remarked. "Orcs have tattoos, right?"

To Gwen's astonishment, a barrel-chested body barred the doorway, its arch just reaching the giant's chin.

"That's one jacked dude," Jiro remarked, dropping his pork hock. "A gweilo from America, maybe?"

Gwen flashed the young man an admonishing look with her hazel orbs, then returned her attention to the figure now ducking under the door.

To the team's surprise, Gwen suddenly stood from her seat, her mouth half-open.

"HOLY SHIT, WHETU?!" her voice rang out. The familiar face was older now, manlier and more heavily tattooed with Tā moko, the telling of a Maori caster's whakapapa, his origin.

"Kia ora." The big man waved back, hitting the ceiling with one hand.

"OH MY GOD!" Gwen spat, then pushed forward so that she ran face-first against the big man's chest. "WHETU! How the hell? How is this possible— Auckland! You're with Auckland, right?"

"That's right." Whetu enveloped the girl in his arms, his muscular frame so impressive as to swallow Gwen's lithe body. "How you been?"

"Let's talk somewhere less cramped." Gwen realised Whetu had been stooping the whole while. She apologised to her teammates, promising to return, then led the Punamu Abjurer outside while ignoring the stares from the customers.

Gradually, the conversation died down. Back at the table, Petra explained who Whetu was to the rest of her party.

"So that's who he is," Jiro intoned sulkily, scratching his head. "Mao! He was taller and wider than Tupaq!"

Outside, Gwen found a quiet spot not far from Fengbo village to digest Whetu's mind-blowing visitation.

"So, you're here with the team?"

Whetu nodded. "Oi sew your match at the ISTC station. They were playing it in the lounge."

"God, how embarrassing." Gwen grew crimson. "But never mind that, how are you? It feels like a lifetime since we parted from Singapore. I wasn't expecting to see you at least for a few more years. Like, after I escape to Sydney, you know? Damn. I have to Message Yue and Elvia when I get home. How did you even find me?"

"About that." Whetu rubbed his tattooed face with a guilty look. "Don't be surprised now."

"About what?" Gwen grinned like a fool. She still couldn't believe she was seeing Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga in the flesh. Unbidden, a swell of joyous feelings gushed forth, she felt giddier than a newborn fawn.

"!"

It wasn't her Sigil that tinged, but her sides. Before Gwen could profess her delight at Whetu's arrival, a small pair of hands cupped her modest bosoms.

Were it not for Whetu looking away and the buxom clues pressing against the small of her back, she would have dented her assailant's face with an elbow strike. Instead, Gwen froze like a Hob in the path of a well-aimed Void Bolt.

Whetu turned away, leaving the girls some privacy.

"You know..." came a cherished utterance from her waist. "... For the record, I wanted to cover your eyes, but really, high-heels at your height? Fuck me for being a short-ass, eh?"

Gwen arrested the wandering hands, feeling both their fingers tremble with anticipation.

"Whetu, is this an Illusion? I am wearing Mind Shield earrings."

"Turn around and find out," the voice commanded.

Gwen did as told.

"Yue Bai." Gwen inspected her closest and oldest friend.

"Gwen Song." Her oldest companion gave her a once-over.

"I am going to hug you very tightly," Gwen forewarned her bestie, her eyes growing misty as her lips trembled. "I am very strong and very emotional right now. I don't know if I can control my strength."

"I got Healing Injectors." Yue opened her arms. "Come here, woman!"

"YUEEEEEEE!" Gwen picked up the girl and squeezed her like a reluctant cat against her chest. "YUE! YUE! YUE! My darling, Miss Bai! Gods, how I've missed you!"

"JESUS-H-CHRIST!" Yue felt her joints crackle. "Fuck me; you're stronger than a Hive Queen. What the fuck do you eat? Never mind, its Caliban, isn't it. Shit, you're a walking suit of Golem Armour."

Gwen ignored the F-bombs. Instead, she rubbed her cheeks against her friend's, then kissed Yue violently across the forehead, the cheeks and finally pecked her lips. "How! How!? HOW are you here?"

"How am I here? The ISTC, of course." Yue pulled herself away to catch her breath. "Bloody hell, don't do this to Elvia. You'll kill her outright."

"HOW!" Gwen gushed, unable to control the moisture seeping from her eyes.

"Whoa, okay? Tears of joy? I am flattered. Haha, I'll tell you, Jeez." Yue teased her endlessly while holding Gwen's hands. "It's not a long story, but it's a good one, you wanna get a drink? Long trip, you know? I could do with a schooner of horse piss, how about you?"

"Of course, what am I thinking!" Gwen apologised as she wiped her eyes, smearing her eye-liner. "Let's go to my usual haunt. I know the owners."

Midnight.

The Waldorf Astoria.

Beside what was once the longest bar in the world, Yue and Jiro arm-wrestled.

"YAH!" Yue slammed the Fire Evoker's arm against the wood. "Gotcha, ya soft cock!"

Jiro deflated, suddenly doubting his masculinity. Here was a girl that was the spitting image of the Sprite he wished to possess in the future, and yet, she was mangling his ego. In his eyes, Yue should have been perfection - fiery hot but pocket-sized. But the moment she opened her mouth, Jiro felt deeply disturbed by the girl's ability to weave F-bombs into everyday conversation. It was like a foul-mouthed soldier had been crammed into a bite-sized body, then given high-Affinity Fire and a pair of tits.

Haughtily, Yue buttoned her blouse. "That's what you get for being distracted."

Around the bar, the girls jeered and hooted. Petra was on her fourth cocktail, while Eunae and Mayuree were still finishing their first. Whetu sipped a jug of iced banana milk by the side, citing that he made an immovable drunk. Below the girls' dangling white legs, Caliban kept away the thirsty men while Ariel drew adoring eyes from envious onlookers.

"Yue, you're a treasure!" Mayuree giggled. "Steward, another Sunrise!"

"So," Yue continued her teasing of Jiro, which Gwen suspected could likely be a fatal, fiery attraction. "I heard you got a nice bird."

"A Fire Bird, yes." Jiro nodded. Usually, he would have released the bird to impress the ladies, but Yue made him want to keep the old pecker penned up.

"Want to see what I've got?" Yue indicated to her heart.

Jiro wondered if the other girls would slap him if he said yes.

"Ooo!" Gwen leaned in with a strawberry daiquiri in one hand. "Can we see it?"

"Sure." Yue smirked haughtily. "Gonna need some room though."

Mayuree signalled the troop of handsome waiters, who immediately cleared a small room's worth of space by relocating the tables. To the participating establishments, the word of the Centurion customer was the word of God.

Yue whistled at the demure looking Diviner. "Mia, you own this place or something?"

"She's a shareholder," Gwen answered for Mayuree. "You know, Yunnie, I've got a modest income these days. Once this is all over, we can travel the world, you and me and Evee. Where ever we go, crystals will be no object."

"Sure, sounds like a plan." Yue grinned as her eyes grew bright with firelight, her pupils lighting like lanterns as Elemental Fire flooded her conduits. "Alright, step back— Tân-Cysgodol!"

The group's captive audience shirked back as invisible heat filled the room. The rise in temperature was imaginary, but they could all feel the fire scorching their Astral Souls.

In a flash, Yue's contracted Spirit manifested, dwarfing even a high heeled Gwen.

What appeared was a coal-skinned horse, its mane brilliant with blue fire while its iridescent cobalt hooves struck sparks against the air. When it swished its tail, a swarm of lesser Elementals spawned in its wake.

"Harrumph!" The creature neighed.

"Wow." Gwen had expected to be impressed, but this was something else. "A Fire Horse!"

"A Nightmare!" Petra corrected her cousin before turning to Yue. "May I ask what tier it is? The blue fire is uncommon even for Nightmares."

"High tier. First of all, credit where credit is due." Yue made a face. "I didn't acquire it. It was a gift from my Master, Alesia de Botton."

"Is this the one Gunther bought?" Gwen felt green with envy. "My God, Yue! Gunther paid how much for this?"

"I am too scared to find out." Yue scratched her brow guiltily. "It was originally meant for Master, so…"

Jiro forced his mouth shut. Within his chest, his Firebird cowered like a quail. It wasn't so much that the Nightmare was a more senior tier of Elemental, but that his Spirit was a fledgeling, while Yue's Spirit was a mature being.

"Tân-Cysgodol…" Gwen mulled over the name. "Is it Scottish?"

"Welsh." Yue stroked the creature's mane as it nuzzled her chest, huffing hot air. "Master says it means flame and shadow."

"Can I touch it?" Gwen came closer.

"Sure. Be careful; it bites."

Gwen sauntered closer, cooing as she raised a hand. "Hello there, Shadow."

The horse sniffed her fingers, measuring her with its intelligent eyes.

"Ee!" Ariel raised a snout to sniff the horse, receiving a sniff in return.

"Shaa!" Caliban raised itself so that it stood at Gwen's shoulder like a cobra. Extending a tentacle from its carapace, it gave the Nightmare a quick flicker with its tongue.

Not to be beaten, the Nightmare dipped its head and gave Caliban a lick over its shiny head.

"Man, Ariel's looking pretty funky, huh?"

"Ariel's been busy! So, is your fire blue now?" Gwen recalled that Alesia was called the Scarlet Sorceress or the Crimson Witch precisely because of the unique hue of her magic.

"Only when Tandy is helping out."

"Tandy?"

"Yeah." Yue snickered. "Tân-Cysgodol is too much of a mouthful, you know?"

Yue's horse regarded its owner with depthless eyes, clearly critical of her naming sense.

After each of Gwen's team took turns touching the horse, Tân-Cysgodol faded from sight.

"How're your studies coming along?" Gwen inquired once the thrill of seeing a flaming mare diminished.

"I am learning Conjuration, actually," Yue declared wistfully. "Bloody time consuming, but that's the plan. Major Evocation and minors in Transmutation and Conjuration. Allie's got no talent in Conjuration, apparently, but says I could manage the lower tiers no problem."

Gwen imagined a scene where a flame-clad Yue rode through the air on a flying, fire-clad horse, dropping Fire Balls and Scorching Rays.

"How's your mum and dad?" Gwen asked. "Still living in Forestville?"

"Naw, we're out of that dump." Yue snorted. "I work now, got a salary and everything, and bonuses from Militia requests. Been working like a sheepdog since you left. The amount of shit left to do in Sydney even with Gunther dispensing crystals and CCs like confetti is pretty much what the fuck."

"Yeah, I can imagine that." Gwen tried to imagine Gunther the Tower Master sitting at his desk, doughing out quests. "But how did you end up in Auckland?"

"Academic Enrichment program. Alesia told me you're going to be in the IIUC and I missed you, so I thought, hey, why not bum a spot from another Uni? I figured if not you, maybe Auck could do well enough to see Elvia!"

"Aww, that's sweet." Gwen squeezed Yue's fingers. "And they obliged?"

"I was over there working with Whetu's people anyway. Spoke to their captain, their captain spoke to the admin, then Whetu's Master hooked us up. It's all very proper."

"Aww, thanks for taking care of her, Whetu."

"Sweet-as, bro, no dramas." Whetu gave her a thumbs up. "She's kucking arse for us."

"Are you going the Tower route, Yue?"

"Naw, I am a grunt, through and through." Yue materialised a military ID from her ring. "Read that? Specialist First-Class. Mage Flight 302. You're looking at a woman with a rank, civilian."

"Thank you for your service, Ma'am!" Gwen saluted.

"At ease, citizen." Yue saluted back.

The rest of the table toasted with a cheer.

"So, where are you staying tonight?" Gwen downed the daiquiri in one gulp. "Where's your hotel?"

"Where am I staying?" Yue snorted as though Gwen had said a ridiculous thing. "Why, in your bed, my dear."

"COUGH-COUGH!" Jiro choked and spluttered, spraying beer all over the bar.

When Gwen had just arrived in her strange world of monsters and magic, having Yue in the dorm gently snoring a few meters away was endearing. In those dark days, she was lonely, mortified by her useless magic, and clueless as to what her future might hold. One bed over, Yue's presence had been her rock, anchoring Gwen's frayed psyche to the plane of reality and preventing her from sinking into nightmares of her own making.

Now, almost three years and a month to the day, they once again shared a bed.

"Yue…" Gwen listened for Yue's breathing in the dark. "What are you doing?"

"I am cuddling."

"You're spooning me."

"I know."

"Right."

"Yeah."

"…"

"Go back to sleep."

"I can't."

"Fine. Want to talk?"

"Sure."

"What's the deal with Walken?"

"Walken? Alesia didn't tell you?"

"She went back to Sydney right away. I was in Auckland to train."

"Righto, Walken, huh. Well, how much do you know?"

"Start from the beginning."

"Alright…"

Holding Yue's hands at bay, Gwen told the tale in the dark.

"Hmm, Master told me to Fireball his ass if he keeps getting handsy with you."

"He's not a bad bloke. Misguided, but an ally, at least for now."

"Pfft—" Yue breathed on Gwen's neck. "You believe that?"

"He taught me his signature magic."

"Just the one? I got whole Spellbooks full of Signature Spells."

"That's nice."

"Shit, sorry…"

"Don't mind it."

"… are you still a virgin?" Yue quickly changed the subject.

"What...?"

"Well?"

"I don't want to answer that question."

"Jesus, how are you still a virgin?"

"Well, are you?"

"Of course, I am saving myself for Elvia."

"… seriously?"

"No, silly goose. I am saving myself for twin-dicked saurians."

"What? Like the knob you sent me?"

"Mate, you seen the size of that thing?"

"I am seriously confused right now."

"I am in the military, dumbass, unsanctioned fornication is a big no-no."

"Why are we talking about this again?"

"Tell ya what. I am going to marry an NoM, like my Dad."

"Yeah?"

"Yep, fuck those purists. We get them by the bucketload in the Frontier Air Division. Pencil wand fuckwits are what they are. Sometimes I feel like making out with the janitor just to piss em off. Like, I'll ride in on Tandy with my NoM stud in tow, flashing my tits at them and shit. Maybe if I dilute my 'lineage' in public, they'll leave me alone, you know?"

"Oh my god, Yue, I-I can't breath." Gwen huffed. The imagery was too much. "You're killing me."

"You like that, ya hussy? Want me to keep going?"

"Jesus, I am cramping up. What do they teach you in the Militia?"

"Plenty. You ever go on patrol, and there's just you and four dudes and a thousand lizards for like five weeks in the woods? Lonely folks get thirsty as all fuck. I'll tell you that. Tandy gets a pretty good workout practising identify friend-foe."

In the dark, Gwen tried to stop herself from waking Petra with her suppressed shrieking. Yue was the best; the damage she dealt was too great.

"So, what about you?" Yue refused to relent. "How do you, you know?"

"Caliban…" Gwen began.

"What. The. Fuck." Yue squeezed Gwen's waist. "Cali's just a child!"

Again, Gwen fought down her cramping abdominals.

"No, I mean, when I use Consume, there's this big hit of vitality, and I gotta say, it's better…? Less fuss."

"Better than…"

"Yeah. No mess either."

In the gloomy murk, Gwen noted that her friend had withdrawn her wandering hands.

"Yue?"

"Yeah-Nah," her friend's voice drifted across the dark. "So you're telling me… that you're getting off from eating people?"

Morning.

Gwen left Yue to sleep off their conversation while she jogged out with her creatures to purchase fried dough and fresh-milled soy. In the living room, she apologised to Petra, who had been kept awake by the thinness of their walls, then began her round-the-block regime.

Along the way, hawkers waved as they stacked fried tofu or piled buns in bamboo steamers, filling the avenue with the smell of dim-sims.

With her ponytail swishing like a metronome, Gwen thought about Yue. Despite Gwen's "confessions of a man-eater", her oldest friend assured her that she didn't mind. If indeed Gwen found men uninspiring because of a phallic Familiar, who was she to judge?

"Beauty! The usual?" The old vendor, Mr Yang, towed the dough through the bubbling lard. "Fresh oil today."

"I'll take twelve." Gwen smoothed out her ponytail, still thinking of Yue's endless teasing.

"Hey, line up like the rest of us!" a customer entirely immune to Caliban complained. "Boss, why's she cutting in line? Don't tell me that's your daughter."

"My shout, everyone in line." Gwen placed a stick of HDM crystal in the change box. "Keep the change."

"Thank you, beauty."

"That's our Miss Song!"

"You show the Japs, Miss Worm Handler!"

"That's Gwen Song?" The young man who had called her out blanched.

Not wanting to cause a scene, the boss hastily wrapped Gwen's dough, tossing in two radish cakes.

"Thanks, Mr Yang. You let us know if the Chengguan bother you again, alright?"

"No bother! No bother at all." The vendor shook his head as he handed over the soy milk. "They very good now. Thank you."

Gwen waved the man goodbye. A week ago, she had happened to be out buying breakfast with Ruì when they saw a Chengguan officer harassing her breakfast joint. When Ruì confronted the man, the city guard made a show of taking both Ruì and Yang in for 'obstruction' of public duty. Much displeased, Gwen straight away called Dai and told him to make himself useful.

When the municipal police showed up, they issued Mr Yang an apology and a vendor licence, then took the surprised Chengguan away. As for what awaited the guard, Gwen believed that if you can't hustle when the chips are down, maybe its best not to hustle at all.

When she returned to the apartment, Yue was up, and Whetu had come to pick his teammate up.

"Youtiao and soy milk?" Gwen materialised breakfast from her ring. "There's enough for you too, Whetu."

"Yes, please." The giant's presence made her apartment seem the size of a Kobold cave.

"You ready for Dalian?" Gwen dabbed her lips with a serviette after inhaling a few sticks of dough. "I've got an Undead demo with Walken and Wen later today. You interested?"

"Nah, don't much feel like seeing his ugly mug." Yue waved a hand. "The comp goes from mid-October through to the end of the month. Pretoria is going to take another week to arrive at least. We got plenty of time to chill. Our Instructor will arrange some Undead encounters for us, I am sure."

Gwen checked the clock.

"Looks like I gotta go. Tonight, I'll take you to that Beggar Chicken place. Bring the team!"

"I'll see who's keen. Meanwhile, have fun with the Undead." Yue blew her a kiss. "And tell Walken that Master says 'fuck you'."

"So, Alesia's walking Fireball is here." Walken rolled his eyes. "I should be happy that her master is preoccupied. Can you imagine the two of them together?"

"They do get along like a house on fire," Gwen agreed.

Standing side-by-side, instructor and student both conversed under Fudan's Handan campus Stadium. The last time Gwen was here, it had been to receive Hufei Chen's guidance. This time, the war veteran came out of curiosity.

"You sure about this, lassie?" The gruff Conjurer watched as box after box of warded freight containers backed up against the rectangular array. Also present were Wen and her assistant, Gwen's cousin, both holding biometric slates in their off-white lab coats.

Presently, Gwen wore her Mary Janes with a loosely fitted boho-floral one-piece. The getup wasn't exactly professional, but it did leave enough exposed for Petra to inscribe diagnostic glyphs on Gwen's legs, arms, back and collarbones.

"Better now than later," Gwen thanked her teacher. Reaching down, she picked up Caliban by the waist and hugged her serpent against her chest. "Cali's a big boy now. You've taught me a lot."

"Just doing my job." Hufei kept his usual laconicism. "But I am glad you wrangled your snake. And your mongoose, I've rarely seen a smarter and more obedient Spirit."

Gwen smiled politely, allowing Caliban to coil about her narrow waist.

"Gwen, please begin." Wen indicated to the testing arena. "As we're still in the fact-finding phase, I could only commission samples up to tier 6."

It was a tier which would give an average Combat Mage a headache, though Gwen's observers were painfully aware that their sorceress ate mid-tier Magic Creatures for breakfast.

"That's plenty. Dimension Door!" Gwen reappeared in the enclosed room.

"Why is she in there?" Hufei raised a brow. "You just need her snake and the Undead, right?"

Walken pinched his brows. "Overzealous perhaps. But maybe this is a good thing. She has no experience against the Undead, except for soloing a Soul Eater."

Hufei recalled the vid-cast.

"Ready the tier 2 samples!" Wen wasn't overly concerned that her samples and her test sample were now rooming together. "Start with one!"

An assistant, one of Wen's many post-graduate acolytes, performed an unlocking incantation on the creature-crates connected to the force-fenced arena.

"Murrrrgh… MURRRRGH!"

Ominous moans hinted at the container's cargo. Once the sealing ward ceased its glow, a shipment of Undead delivered fresh from the Front filed into the demonstration arena.

Presently, the Force Barrier admitted a single Zombie.

"Ew." Gwen ground her molars as the scent of rotting flesh assailed her nostrils. George A. Romero may not exist in this world, but the man was a bloody prophet when it came to predicting the likeness of the Undead. With her enhanced eyes, she remarked that the "man" was in the latter stages of decomposition, with "his" remaining flesh kept in repose by some unspeakable sorcery.

Gwen gulped.

Necromancy.

To think she was going toe to toe with actual creatures from the horror films of her alternative earth.

Presently, two forms of Necromancy existed: Sanctioned and Unsanctioned.

According to her declassified textbooks, Death Magic was the earliest form of human-made magic. Since antiquity, the worship of Death, Death Gods, and Negative Energy began long before Mages manipulated the Elements.

For Sanctioned Necromancy, one need not look further than the High Priests of Egypt. Drawing on a legacy of preserving the dead for mummification, the Hem-netjer-tep, first servant of Ra the Falcon-headed, could call upon shroud-wrapped ancestors to defend the Kingdom against intruders. Concurrently, the Sau, or Acolyte-Priests of the Kingdom, manipulated lesser corpses as mindless labour to fuel the Nile's resurgent primary industries. As for other surviving proto-cultures from Africa to China to the Israelites, death worship was embedded into their civilisations. Unlike Elementalist Spellcraft, magic users always knew there was power in death, and it should come as no surprise that the Path of Undeath begot many disciples.

Conversely, China's Northern Front was a product of the second type of Necromancy. According to her conversation with Jun, it all began in the 1950s.

After 1949, the newly emergent People's Republic of China, with the aid of Russia, sought to establish a Pan-Asia Communist-bloc. To prevent the formation of a hostile superpower, the USA, supported by the newly subdued Japan, joined the fray. The result was a proxy war fought by the two fledgeling nations across the 38th parallel.

Initially, the near Mage-less South Korean army withdrew to Pusan, but in 1954, the Commonwealth Mageocracy formally joined the conflict. Together, the two Western power blocs provided South Koreans with rapid education reforms, resulting in a slew of newly-Awakened Spell-fodder using the Imperial Metric System.

Two years later, in the Spring Offensive of 1956, the North Korean army, despite its Russian field advisors and quasi-magical battalions from China, lost Incheon. China responded by sending more men. As a result, the two sides seesawed back and forth from Seoul to Yalu. In just two years, the South Koran capital exchanged ownership five times, with the war falling into a state of attrition.

Still, the fighting continued. For the Mageocracy and the USA, the Korean conflict was a testing ground for new tactics and spells. Famously, the Korean Conflict was the first to see full-fledged Mage Flights. Infamously, Jun explained with ambivalence; Yalu was also the place where the PLA discovered that a quasi-magical NoM battalion was fodder when fielded against a mid-tier Mage Flight.

By the height of the conflict in 1957, the USA and its allies had committed 1.5 Million men to the cause, including 23,000 active Battle Mages. On the North Korean Front, 2.7 Million men were committed to pushing back the Western invasion. In the region between the Yalu Crossing and Kaesŏng, some 3 Million bodies mapped the earth, with an additional 1.55 Million cited as missing.

By mid 57, the USA, the Mageocracy, Russia and China grew war-weary. After back-channel discussions addressed each nation's concerns, all support to North Korea ceased.

As a result, in the winter of 1957, North Korea called for an Armistice Agreement with Six-Party talks between China, Russia, North Korea and South Korea, USA and Britain. However, when the signatories teleported into Pyongyang, what they found was instead the first days of the Undead Front. In response to calls for his removal as Chairman, the megalomaniac Kim Il Sung had turned to Necromancy in the maddening hour of his demise. With the Teleportation Circle now disabled, none survived the Pyongyang Incident.

South Korea was the first to enact countermeasures. Aided by the USA and its European allies, the military fell back to Panmunjom, creating a combat zone of salted earth filled with obstacles to deter the Undead. As history proved, the abandonment of a stretch of land ten kilometres wide and two-hundred-and-fifty kilometres from ocean to ocean was the right choice.

Comparatively, the Chinese Front had met with anarchy. Woefully underprepared for the Undead spilling from Pyongyang, the PLA's Central Bureau was caught with its pants down when five million creatures crossed the Yalu River. For the next decade, the Chinese Communists only managed to contain the Undead threat.

In 1971, the Beast Tide resulted in simultaneous incursions from Inner Mongolia, Qinghai, and the South China Sea. Within weeks, the Northern Front collapsed in its entirety. Liaoning Prefecture was all but overrun in six-months, followed by the loss of three million souls in Shenyang. Sweeping through Jinzhou, a swarm numbering six million made it as far as Tangshan, two hours Mage flight from Beijing before Central committed all of its resources to stem the tide.

Today, the Northern Front extends from Jinzhou to Xilin Gol, stretching the length of Manchuria from mountain to coast.

"MARRRRGH!" The lone Zombie must have sensed her overlarge brain, for it suddenly broke into a half-crawl, half-sprint canter.

"Do I consume it now?" Gwen asked her instructors.

"Why not play with it a bit?" Walken recommended. "Since you're here, may as well get some experience. Zombies are the most numerous of all Undead, and in enough numbers, they're virtually unstoppable."

"What if I get bitten?"

"Then we get more data," Wen scoffed. "Do as you will, we don't have all day."

By now, the Zombie was almost upon her.

Caliban looked toward its mistress, waiting for further instructions.

Having watched all seven Resident Evil films, Gwen struck out a heeled foot, then stomped at the creature's chest. In her mind, she pictured the Zombie splattering spectacularly against the wall.

Crunch!

"ARRRGH!"

"MARRRRGH!"

Gwen suddenly found herself compromised by unwanted matrimony when her foot punched through the torso of the Zombie to exit the other side. Gore-soaked and covered in rotten flesh, she shrieked in place of her ruined Mary Janes, which possessed no mouth for screaming.

Leaning against her arm, the Zombie then bit her shoulder.

"G-Gross! Oh, Gods!" Gwen threw her hands wildly, striking the Zombie so that its head went flying. Shuddering in horror, she then peeled the briefly animate corpse from her quaking body.

Where it had bitten her, she could feel a slight soreness.

"HOLY SHIT!" She exposed her shoulder to Walken by pulling down the fabric. "I GOT BIT!"

"Betrayed by your strength!" Walken nodded appreciatively. "Ready for the next one?"

"What?" Gwen protested. "I got bit, Eric!"

Walken raised a brow.

"I am going to turn into a Zombie!" Gwen wailed. "How would you like that? Zombie Gwen! How would you explain that to Gunther?!"

Walken glanced at Wen. "What's she on about."

"How would I know?" The Magister shrugged.

"Gwen," Petra intervened. "Are you confusing Zombies with Vampires?"

Gwen pointed to her neck. "If you get bitten by a Zombie…"

"… then you need a healing spell?" Petra's gaze grew sympathetic.

"I don't understand?" Gwen felt her eyes moisten. She had seen her share of the Walking Dead. No matter the character's popularity on the show, one scratch and it's roll credits.

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban was confused as well; it had sensed no drop in Gwen's vitality, nor the slightest hint of malaise.

"Gwen." Walken pointed to the still groaning head. "You need to crush the head to release the Negative Energy."

"BUT!" his student protested, exposing her shoulder some more to show off her non-existent wound.

"Zombies are the lowest form of Undead!" Walken averted his eyes. "They manifest when minute Spirits from the Plane of Negative Energy infuse a corpse! When infused, they raise the freshly fallen as Zombies and are known to grow exponentially resilient when swarming. ZOMBIES DO NOT SPREAD BY CONTAGION. You're thinking of Vampires or Plague Priests. Did you study the bestiary?"

Gwen did study the bestiary, though it was very thick. Unfortunately, she had glossed over "Zombies" as she had seen Dawn, Night, Resident Evil AND had read World War Z.

But her Instructor's spittle seemed to indicate that she was safe.

"Void Bolt!" she silenced the chattering skull while nursing her shoulder. If she were to return as a Zombie, Walken would be her first victim.

"Feel anything?"

"Nope, no different to a Gob."

"Good." Wen motioned to the operators. "Release the rest."

"MARRRRGH!" Six Zombies limped into the arena.

"That stench is enough to kill." Gwen's hyperactive senses were driving her crazy. "Eric, how bad does it get at the Front?"

"There's a spell you can get for the smell," Walken assured his student. "These are just regular zombies, mind you. You may very well run into exotic specimens called Putrid Ones."

She breathed through her mouth. "Wen. Mind if I test some spells?"

"... Fine."

Gwen gathered her wits, then marked the shortest spell she could manage under the odious circumstances.

"Lightning Bolt!"

The room grew suddenly bright. A sizzling line of electricity pierced the Zombies. Where her positively charged mana struck, the foul creatures disintegrated, collapsing onto the floor as a smoking heap.

"Well done!" Hufei nodded in approval. "Lightning is the bane of the Undead."

"As you can see." Walken pointed to a husk decorating the floor. "Lightning disperses the Negative Energy held within the Undead's Core, destroying the 'will' that gives life to the pale flesh."

"Void Bolt!" This time, Gwen made sure to aim for the torso.

Where her mass of Void-matter struck, the Zombie's body folded in half, sans spine and left lumbar. But even collapsed on the floor, it continued to wail.

"Conversely, Void is only worthwhile against Undead that usurps vitality to regenerate," Walken advised. "The Soul Eater was an excellent specimen, for example."

The remaining zombies began to gain momentum.

"Likewise, low-tier Undead are quite fearless. Only higher-tier Undead are capable of thought and speech. The rest will swarm until everything edible is consumed, or they're destroyed."

Gwen listened as she activated her next spell. Each lesson she learned here would be one less surprise in Dalian.

"Elemental Sphere!" The ball lightning and its subsequent nova consumed her remaining enemies in a flash.

Hufei approvingly inclined his head.

"Please Consume the next few enemies," Wen interjected. "Mid-tier samples don't come easily."

Gwen signalled her compliance.

Caliban wiggled its tail.

"Release the Jiangshi!"

The second gate slid open, revealing a corpse in a lesser state of decay. The former resident of the body appeared to be Asian, and an old-fashioned one at that. As the Jiangshi left the receptacle, it began to hop in an ungraceful manner that was semi-comical and just terrifying enough to give Gwen the creeps. Unlike Zombies, which occurred naturally in places inundated by death, Jiangshis were created to act as guardians in ancient tombs. Once released, a Jiangshi possessed capabilities to transform the living into its likeness. A nightmarish stratagem found in Ming and Qing era tombs was the "live burial" of attendants. Once the tomb was sealed, the Jiangshi warriors transformed soldiers, minions and labourers alike into guardians.

"Don't let this one bite," Wen advised. "If it drains all your Positive 'Yang' Energy, you're going to turn into a Jiangshi."

"Caliban!" Gwen needed no coaxing to offer the creature a seat in Cali's all-consuming gullet. "Do it!"

The rigour-bound corpse managed about ten meters before her Void fiend coiled about its body and took the creature head-first into its enveloping maw. When the thing slid into Caliban's innards, Gwen sensed a metallic tang on her tongue. As Caliban translated its senses synaesthetically across their Empathic Link, what she tasted was akin to licking the gutter of an abattoir.

"Petra, biometrics." Wen reviewed her slate.

"I am on it." Gwen's cousin ran not one, but two diagnostic spells simultaneously. When she saw Gwen's expression, she couldn't help but wince with sympathy.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three.

"Okay, I am feeling it," Gwen announced to the Instructors.

With a "Shaa!" Caliban delivered its payload.

"Gods!" Gwen groaned, her teeth suddenly chattering. Where the feast of life usually began as a gentle warmth near her diaphragm, growing more intense with each tier absorbed, she now observed an internally induced hypothermia. From the region of her liver, a sliver of Negative Energy flooded into her conduits, atrophying everything it touched. In the span of a second, Gwen transformed into a ghost, her eyes engorged by black-veins before her face flushed red-hot.

Gwen knelt, hugging her abdomen, dry-heaving as the world spun. An alarmed Caliban reached her side as she coughed and gagged against the barrier, trying to keep herself in one piece. When finally her Essence kicked in, revitalising her diminished vitals, she became drenched from brow to ankle in a sticky sheen of cold sweat.

"Gwen!" Petra's eyes went wide at the biometric transcripts. "Master, she can't Consume the Undead. It's too much."

"That Jiangshi was barely tier 4." Wen frowned. "Gwen, can you continue?"

"Bloody hell, Wen! A little humanity isn't going to kill you." Walken Dimension Doored into the sealed room and passed Gwen a towel from his ring. "Girl, take it easy. We can do this another day."

Thankful for the aid, Gwen took the towel from her instructor and wiped her mouth.

"Let's not do that again," she huffed. "I could feel the necrotic energy ravaging my insides."

"I know- I saw." Walken held her shoulder. "You're going to have to be very cautious at the Front. One wrong 'Consume', and you could be down and out."

"Sounds about right." Gwen inhaled and exhaled as her face regained its usual haleness.

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban inferred it would protect its mistress.

"Caliban can sense vitality though," she reminded Walken. "It knows what to Consume and what to avoid."

"That would be for the best." Walken studied his trembling pupil. In moments like these, Gwen reminded him of his daughters. Gone was the Omni-Mage capable of stopping a Swarm almost single-handedly, replaced instead by a young woman. "Shall we call it?"

"No, let's finish up." Gwen picked herself from the floor. "I'll be leaving Consume up to Caliban's discretion."

"Do as you will, but take care." Walken hesitated before teleporting back out.

"Are you fit to continue?" Wen's glacial voice boomed beside Gwen's ear.

"Don't push yourself." Hufei's concern followed.

"Magister Wen." Gwen shot herself a dose of Essence. "Please continue. I could use more experience fighting the Undead."

"Very well." Wen nodded. "Petra, focus. You there, release the next creature!"

Wen's subsequent trials consisted of a Ghoul followed by a Ghast. The Ghoul was a strange humanoid undead with both natural and Mage-made places of origins. Pale skinned and emanciated, the creature was hairless all over, hunching like a toad as it dribbled paralytic secretion from its maw. When it finally escaped from the stasis magic holding it in place, it launched into a quadrupedal gallop toward the awaiting Sorceress, howling and drooling as its purple tongue tasted her sweet body.

"Void Bolt!" Gwen snapped a bolt at the charging fiend, removing one of its limbs. As a mid-tier monster, the creature was more resilient than a Zombie.

Undeterred, the Ghoul landed on its shoulder, rolled, then continued its assault unimpeded by the loss of a limb. Caliban intervened, taking off an arm as it slammed into the grey-skinned humanoid. The Ghoul responded by clawing an arm-long welt on Caliban's upper carapace while simultaneously biting Cali's torso.

"Void Bolt!" Gwen aimed for the head but struck its chest when the Ghoul dodged. Unlike the clumsy Zombies, the higher tiers of Undead possessed agilities far surpassing their bumbling cousins.

A moment later. Caliban expelled the mess of flesh that once constituted a Ghoul.

The final "sample" was one of the more common "Commander" variants found in the Front. Compared to the Ghoul, the Ghast didn't so much resemble an Undead, but rather a creature akin to a Hob or an Orc. Smooth and sleek, the Ghast possessed a lean, muscular body, not unlike a human gymnast. When hunting, its jaws could distend and unhinge as wide as Gwen's head. Impressively, its flesh-coloured maw possessed a prehensile-tentacled tongue half-a-metre in length. When the grate opened, it bolted for Gwen not in a bee-line, but by bouncing from the Wall of Force.

"It knows PARKOUR?!" Gwen spluttered.

"Focus!" Walken spat back.

"Caliban!" She erected her Shield for the first time. In the next second, the Ghast slammed against her diamond-faceted barrier with a resounding thwack. Compared to the Da-Peng, however, the Ghast's assault was a mere toddler beating on tempered glass with balled fists.

What truly astounded her was that when Caliban gave chase, the Ghast fled. Gwen was aghast at the comical sight of her snake slithering behind a skittering, bouncing Undead. Frustrated, Caliban switched to its spider form.

"Wocao!" the Ghast swore as it fled.

"The fuck? IT TALKS?" Gwen followed up with an F-bomb.

"Beauty, how about we both calm down," the Ghast dodged a pair of scything forelimbs. "This doesn't have to end with one of us vanishing, whatever you need, brother will provide..."

"Umm… "

"DON'T TALK TO IT!" Walken and Wen both shouted.

"Cali!" Gwen required no encouragement to silence a creature whose only diet consisted of human and demi-human flesh. "Onslaught!"

The Ghast groaned when Caliban finally caught up. It parried the first few blows, but Cali's spider form had more forelimbs than the Ghast possessed total appendages. A flurry followed, then the howling Undead fell to pieces.

Thunk!

"I curse your family!" came its last words.

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban stuck its tail spike into the severed head, singing in tune as a burst of Negative Energy released into the atmosphere, spelling the creature's release from un-life.

"Is it dead?" Gwen inspected the head.

"It has passed on." Wen read the biometric reading on her slate. "Looks like Caliban is immune to the Negative Discharge. That's useful."

"Okay, we're done." Petra signalled for the walls to come down. When she approached, the odour radiating from her cousin was enough to make her eyes water. "Gwen..."

"I need a shower," Gwen declared, then her eyes grew suddenly dead-serious. "Are there hot showers at the Front?"

Magister Roslyn-Marie Wen meandered about her laboratory in a daze.

Only an hour ago, she had been studying the data from the Void Sorceress’ engagement with the Undead. Midway, the Dean had invited himself in, and now she felt paralysed by an uncharacteristic surge of jubilation hammering against her chest.

“I have informed Eric.” Dean Luo watched his prized researcher pace like a clockwork construct. “He should be joining us very soon.”

Wen paused, frowned, then returned to the Diagnostics Engine to print the biometric script. The cognitive labour, she hoped, would calm her nerves, not to mention clarify her hypothesis.

The knock sounded just once before Walken entered in a huff.

“What’s wrong? Is she in trouble again?” The British Magister opened with a rhetorical question.

“Good, we’re all here. Ellen, do we have unwanted company?” Luo asked of his Familiar. In her incorporeal form, Ellen responded by whispering into his ear.

“We can use my lab’s Pocket Dimension,” Wen pointed to the inscribed portal.

A pocket-space was a standard attachment to most experimental laboratories. Such a workspace was excellent for volatile experiments. When a spell goes awry, the researcher could instantly expel themselves back into the Material while shunting the melting mess into the Astral Plane.

"It’s a little disordered inside," Wen warned as she entered.

“Mao!” Luo baulked when he had to sidestep a Spellcube. “You’ve got quite the collection, Magister.”

“It's a hobby.” Wen shrugged. “The rarer spells are so hard to come by.”

Inside was a chamber the size of a tennis court, beyond which Astral grey-space met an infinite horizon. Here and there, stack upon stacks of stowed magic formed waist-high walls.

“A veritable treasure trove!” the Dean remarked, carefully picking up a cube to examine its content. "You've managed to stabilise the formula?"

"The bonding wards rapidly decay outside the Astral Plane," Wen replied, her thin lips curling to form a smile. "I am leaving the project to Petra for now. As you know, there are more pressing discoveries."

Walken’s attention fell upon a particular corner. “This is…”

“My contingency collection.” Wen pointed to the thirty-thick stack of crystalline cubes. “The glowing ones are her viridian Essence; the dark ones are her Void Mana.”

“What for?” Walken guessed the answer as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Why, for when she dies.” Wen raised hers in response. “I am not the one pushing her into danger, you know. Prodigies perish every day, but the search for knowledge must go on.”

The Dean coughed.

“Jiang, show him the letter.”

“What’s this?” Walken recognised the broken seal even with its top half missing. “From Oxbridge?”

“Cambridge, to be exact.” The Dean smacked his lips. “What do you make of this, Eric?”

Walken retrieved the sheet, then activated the embedded glyph, embossed by an ermine fur "cross" linking four golden lions, the university's coat of arms.

“Dean Jiang,” the Message began to read itself in the voice of the Vice-Chancellor, a bureaucrat above Walken's paygrade. “It is my supreme pleasure to have the opportunity to speak to you regarding one of your most accomplished acolytes - Miss Gwen Song. Since witnessing her performance at the last IIUC, many of our senior House Masters and Matrons have expressed interest in the girl as an exchange candidate…”

Walken paused the Message. As an old boy, he knew exactly how difficult it was to be admitted to Oxbridge, much less receive an invitation. To his knowledge, a demand such as this was enough to make waves in the intra-politics of the colleges. “And it bears a seal from his Grace, the Duke of Edinburgh...”

"Oh, it's real." Dean Luo's expression was unreadable. “I spoke to Magister Butterfield via simulcast this morning. He has assured me that their commitment should be considered immovable."

“Immovable!” Walken swallowed. “For Gwen?”

“That’s right.”

Walken returned to the Message, as he read the lines, the Vice-Chancellor’s imposing voice continued to play.

“...I understand that Miss Song may be considered an important asset for your university, and mayhap your nation possesses designs upon her many-talented person. Rest assured that we fully respect your ambitions and that Cambridge will offer the candidate's weight in mithril in reparation. For our ‘exchange’, I am willing to gift Magister Marie-Roslyn Wen a placement as a King’s Scholar. Post-peer-review, all Void-related research she thereby publishes shall bear the seal of the Arcanum Press. Furthermore, should she successfully defend her thesis against the academic board, Cambridge shall itself vouch for her Meisterhood. At any period during her stay, she is free to return to Shanghai…”

Walken stared at Wen. Incredibly, the mineral-woman reddened.

“… On a more personal note, I would like to communicate a few points of interest to yourself and our old alumni—Magister Walken, who I understand is the girl's caretaker. Our oldest and most prestigious houses had initiated the sponsorship for Miss Song's invitation, including Peterhouse. The personages involved hold significant weight in the academic and the public sphere. Please understand that I am neither making a threat nor being obtuse when I say that even as the Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, denying these august individuals would lead to no end of trouble…”

“Who made the offer?” Walken regarded the Dean.

“He didn’t say. I guess some big-wigs, wouldn’t you know?”

Walken chewed his lips as his eyes returned to the letter. If the request came from Peterhouse, could it be her ladyship? As for the others, were they academics curious to dissect Gwen's unique physiology, or did they simply want to keep an eye on the second Sobel? If anything, Gwen's mimicry of the Void egg came vividly to mind.

“… Finally,” the Message continued to play as Walken finished off the last few paragraphs. “… I am in contact with Miss Song’s guardian, Lord von Shultz. The young Master of Sydney is pleased that we can offer Miss Song a position in our ancient establishment. Such was the university's generosity that two of our finest Magisters should soon be taking residence in Sydney Tower as thanks to Magister von Shultz’s boundless wisdom. Presently, the same offer has been extended to the PLA's Secretary-General, who may soon be in contact, pending your decision... I look forward to your reply. Yours with the utmost sincerity, Butterfield V-C.”

"Well?" Luo regarded Walken.

“Is…” Walken’s brows stitched. “No one going to ask for Gwen’s opinion? Does she even know about this?”

Wen and the Dean appeared taken aback by the comment.

“Why would anyone turn down Cambridge?” Wen spluttered in disbelief. “She wanted a Tower, did she not? How else is she hoping to get one? Attaining the title of an Oxbridge Magister halves her labour.”

“That's true. Gwen could graduate right into middle-management, perhaps oversee a fief on the Mageocracy's behalf,” the Dean appended his Mineral Magister. “Eric, do you mean Gwen would say no?”

“The girl's a sentimentalist,” Walken stated the obvious. “Her family is here in Shanghai.”

“Then I shall take Petra with me,” Wen retorted with arrogance. “I have an allowance for an assistant.”

“What about—“ Walken jogged his bloated brain for names. “Richard? Lulan? Her grandmother and that Uncle of hers?”

“The Ashbringer?”

“Yes!” Walken was incredulous at the cluelessness of his colleagues. Surely it wasn’t just him who understood the girl? He never professed to be an authority in Gwenology, but his colleagues appeared novitiates. “She possesses an unhealthy attachment to the man. Even if he's free to travel, there is no bleeding way the PLA is letting him and his Dragon Princess out of the country.”

Wen and the Dean regarded one another.

“Eric, whose side are you on?” Wen's eyes narrowed. Her stone-cold expression was declaring that she wasn't about to let anything come between her and the Meisterhood.

“Eric,” the Dean growled. “Do you have any idea what Wen's Meisterhood can do for us? She would be the first Chinese Meister since Yu-Lin Chan! Furthermore, she wouldn't be a Meister bought with favours from the Americans, but one recognised by Cambridge! Fudan would exceed Jiantong and reach the status of Peking University overnight!”

Walken ground his teeth.

“I haven’t informed the Secretary-General Miao yet, but I know this— one complaint from this Butterfield that we’ve turned down free advisors from Cambridge, and we’ll all be rotting inside Tianlanqiao within the week,” The Dean explained with great wariness. “I think you're pessimistic. Who says she doesn't want to go? Gunther should contact her soon. I mean, how about yourself? Don’t you want to return to Cambridge, to London?”

The Lightning Magister held his tongue, his awareness of his Affinity's mental corruption far too acute for an obtuse response.

If Gwen were to go to Cambridge, where would that leave him? Compared to those monsters at the peak of Spellcraft, Magister Eric Walken was just an understudy. Once he lost Gwen, what would he do? There was no homecoming in Sydney, and Walken could hardly return to his wife or his family in London either. He would once again become an aimless vagabond.

“Earlier, I processed her biometrics,” Wen changed the subject when Walken chose the right to remain silent. “I think she'll do just fine in Oxbridge.”

Having seen the script, Jiang Luo patted his old friend on the shoulder. “Woe betide the man who hopes to corral the girl, Eric. Don't be a fool. You're a Lightning Mage, not a lightning rod.”

His mind in turmoil, Walken read the lines one by one.

“Evocation 5.31 — 5.51.”

“Conjuration 5.80 — 6.01”

“Transmutation 3.75 — 3.85.”

“Abjuration 2.54 — 2.67.”

“Divination 1.67 — 1.72.”

“Illusion 2.45 — 2.48.”

“Enchantment 1.30 — 1.46.”

The incremental increases in Gwen's Schools of Magic had been somewhat expected, considering that the girl had been training and fighting ceaselessly. Seeing her Conjuration reach the sixth tier especially filled his heart with jubilation, for the girl had accomplished in one of her seven Schools what others took decades to attain. That she leapt into the next tier also suggested a rarer talent - the lack of a bottleneck. For the next tier, however, the girl would be kneecapped by her inadequate knowledge. Still, the milestone was cause for celebration.

He turned to the next scroll.

“VMI 302 — 330.”

Walken blinked, then reread the numbers.

“That’s right.” Wen smirked. “She can increase her VMI from consuming Demi-human casters. It’s not as pronounced as Human Mages, mind you, but it’s there.”

“Trolls can hardly be considered Demi-human magic-users,” the Dean proposed dreamily. “Imagine if she could get her hands on a High Elf Elementalist. Their mana reserves are legendary.”

“You're getting rather ahead of yourself,” Walken warned the Dean. “Pudong will have your head, even as a joke.”

“You jump at shadows,” Wen snorted. “Keep reading.”

Walken ignored the Mineral Mage, then read on.

“Lightning 6.67 (6.89) — 7.01 (7.44), the latter is if we include her Kirin.”

“Void 4.51 — 4.72.”

“She can absorb the Undead to increase her Void Affinity?”

“Not from our samples,” Wen shook her head. “Maybe it was the Soul Eater? Or something in that Beast Tide? Or perhaps the Hags. We’ll need formalised testing under controlled conditions. I anticipate better opportunities in England. Someone in Eastern Europe could probably conjure a Soul Eater for the girl to try her luck. Did you notice her Lightning has pushed past 7?”

“She was already a handful,” Walken grimaced. “A teenager and a dragon... a rebellious teenage dragon, my God.”

“Her pride shall work in our favour,” Wen remarked with cold logic. “Pardon me, Dean, but who would grace Fudan when one can be a graduate from Oxbridge? The same goes for you, Magister. Why would anyone care for Eric Walken when one could apprentice under Meister Darwin or Sanger or Beckett? Imagine being an alumna to Meister Oppenheimer of King's College! She’s already an Omni-Mage, Eric. Give it five, six decades, and she may very well attain the title of Sorceress Supreme! The Übermensch the Grey and Militant Factions dreamt of creating!”

The researcher’s pale crystal eyes glowed with sickly fervour, as though she’d just found the God of a new Cult she’d been following.

Walken felt a queasy unease. Wen’s unfeeling mockery hurt because she was right. What was Walken to Gwen? If he hadn’t intervened, she would be interning under Kilroy, a man who could exchange favours from London’s Meisters at a moment’s notice.

“Well, Eric.” The Dean’s gaze bore into his soul. “Are you with us?”

“... What do you think, Sis?” Gwen sat beside Yue and Petra. When Gunther rang, the girls had offered to leave the apartment, but seeing as her brother-in-craft didn't object, Gwen had begged them to stay.

“Never been to England except with Master.” Alesia scowled, her exquisite face scrunched with annoyance. “It's filled with lecherous old bastards.”

“She means lecturous,” Gunther intervened before his sister-in-craft could get the wrong impression. “Alesia gutted the King's Arms. Master had to bail her out.”

“Those House pricks duelled ME!” Alesia huffed. “If you can’t wrestle the Ogre, don’t grope its testes.”

“Well said!” Yue slapped her thighs.

Gwen almost spat out the juice she was nursing.

“OKAY, OKAY,” Gunther prevented his prudish sister-in-craft from further mental degradation. “Presently, nothing’s confirmed as of yet. I'm just letting you know that an offer has been made. For sure you're bound to get other proposals soon, but this is your best bet. To my knowledge, Vice-Chancellor Butterfield is acting on behalf of Lady Grey. To you, that's the Marchioness of Ely, Justine Maxwell Loftus. She and Master go way back, and I can personally vouch for her ability to keep you from... undesired attention. If you do decide to go, you’ll be in reliable hands. Most importantly, so long as the Marchioness requests it, every summer and winter break, you’ll be free to go where ever you please. That includes Shanghai and Sydney.”

“Pats, what do you think?”

“If what Gunther says is correct,” Petra’s face positively glowed. “I may be able to leave with Master and study under her in Oxbridge. I could even find a sponsor to further Spellcube research and author my own paper if and when she chooses to return to China.”

“Yue?” Gwen turned to her oldest friend.

“Why are you asking a spell-fodder what she thinks of Cambridge?” Yue laughed. “I am a high school graduate and a grunt. What the hell do I know about prestigious universities?”

“What about Richard?” Gwen grasped at straws. Her chest felt full of water. The notion of prematurely leaving Shanghai was a shocking proposition. There was no reason to reject Gunther’s good news, but it was all so sudden, all too soon. The direction she had finally garnered was once again spinning like a broken compass.

“I can petition Marchioness Loftus on Richard's behalf,” Gunther intoned gravely. “But then, you would owe her a great deal. When you get to her tier of power and influence, favours and promises may as well be Geas.”

“Richard is legitimately talented,” Gwen defended her cousin. “He could have gone to England himself, don't you know?”

“As a Praetor— not a student,” Gunther reminded her. “Not to mention he’d be under London Imperials, serving the Four Houses as a faithful guard dog.”

Gwen scowled, feeling that her pride for Richard's accomplishments had been trampled.

“Why not speak with Richard, tell him there’s an opportunity for both of you to attend Cambridge? Remember, you mustn't mention Lady Grey,” Gunther advised. “The poor boy's deeply indebted to you as it is. Have his parents arrived in Shanghai?”

“Not yet.”

“In case he asks, they won’t be going to London,” Gunther spoke with brevity. “Not even with CCs.”

“It’s not like that, Dick’s just repaying them,” Gwen explained that Richard felt he owed his parents. “He’ll be happy in Oxbridge, I’d imagine.”

“No doubt, studying in London was his dream, after all.”

Gwen sighed, leaning against Yue so that the petite soldier became a comfortable human pillow.

There was her family in Shanghai, as well as the friends she had made.

But she also wanted to see Elvia, who she could now cuddle a year and a half in advance. Academically, her study of Spellcraft would see a significant boost if she could receive tutelage from the progenitors of the knowledge she was studying. The author of her first-ever Spellcraft primer, Deekin A. Allenberg, was a Cambridge graduate himself and currently lectured there.

But then there were her investments here in Shanghai. Would Nantong allow her to leave the country? Certainly not with a one per cent stake in Tonglv. She would have to be bought out at a loss— her loss. As for the House of M, Mayuree and Marong could keep her interests satisfied, but the loss of Tonglv would mark a notable setback.

On the other hand, assuming Gunther's Lady Grey was a reliable sheila, Gwen'd be a free bird. As a globetrotter, far more business interests would open to her. With her stock of HDMs, using ISTC stations across the continents was no object. In her old world, the early 00s was a period of rapid innovation that had set the technological trends for the next decade. Knowing this, she would be remiss to not take full advantage of the fact.

But her heart remained sore.

Babulya.

Percy.

Tao and Mina.

Tonglv.

Ruì and Professor Ma.

Lulu and Kusu.

How would their lives be altered if she were to bugger off to London?

What would happen to her family's current prosperity? Would the PLA let her leave? How would she know they'd be safe? What if she were to act against the PLA's interests in the future? Indeed, a significant conflict of interest was inescapable.

“How long do I have to decide?”

“Take your time,” Gunther implored. “A month would be my guess.”

“Until the IIUC ends? Or when we lose.”

"At most, until London's winter solstice," Gunther explained. "You would require remedial studies before commencing any courses at Cambridge. Even if you arrive in February, you will miss Lent. Assuming six months of catch up, Easter is out as well. At best, you’re looking at Michaelmas.”

“I know some of those words.” Gwen’s head throbbed.

“October. You won’t be able to start second-year until October. But…”

“But?”

“You can see Elvia anytime,” Gunther roared with laughter. “No, that's a cheap shot. The choice is yours, little sister. You have to understand that it was YOUR performance in Burma and then in Amazonia that has brought this opportunity. I don’t know if you could have done better under Master if he were still here, but I do know you’ve worked hard. This outcome is what we desired from the very beginning.”

“Well said,” Alesia joined in. “Good work, Gwennie. Master would have been proud.”

Gwen perked up, the clot in her chest unclogging as she imagined a happy Henry giving his well-wishes. “Thanks, guys. How could I have achieved this without the two of you, my siblings?”

“Bah, modesty isn’t you,” Alesia snorted. “Sorceresses like you and I, we have reason to be proud. Right, Yue?”

“Fuck yeah!”

“Don’t listen to them,” Gunther forced Alesia out of view. “Take your time. If you must accept an offer, accept this one.”

"BYE, GWEN! Yue, show em hell!"

The Message ended.

Gwen repositioned herself beside Yue, then studied her cousin. Petra’s Husky-blue orbs glowed. If eyes could speak, they'd be screaming, “Screw going home to Moscow, we're going to Oxbridge!”

She puckered her lips.

She would have to consult Richard, and Babulya, Tao and Mina and her Uncle Jun. Ayxin would probably call her unfilial, mocking her for leaving her family to fend for themselves. Unlike the dragon-princess, they were just mortals; her family and allies didn't have a pact where they banded together to shit on anyone who dared provoke them—

She blinked.

“Holy shit,” Gwen punched the air with a snap. “RUXIN!”

Yue jumped, wondering if a Dragon had just gotten into her friend.

“What about Ruxin?” Petra wondered why Gwen was suddenly screaming the Thunder Dragon’s name.

“Ruxin is the elder Prince of Huangshan, and Tonglv is only two-hundred kilo-meters away from its border,” Gwen tittered like a greedy Goblin, her cunning eyes sending shivers up Petra's spine. "Pats, you know what. I am about to have my cake, and eat it.”

“Marong, did you feel that?” Ruxin laid down the reports Marong had brought to the Jade Palace. The numbers at the bottom had grown since his favourite servant had begun manipulating the Jade Market. Under the throne room, Ruxin's cache of element-specific crystals was also piling up rapidly.

“I felt nothing, my lord,” Marong gulped.

“It felt as though…” Ruxin tasted the air. “That’s strange. The weather's changing. How could it, when I gave no such command? Perhaps it's Golos? What’s he doing?”

“Sporting with his new mate, the bird-woman.” Marong touched his forehead to the cold ground, afraid that his lord was displeased. “I fear they made quite the mess in the eastern hall. The female, Phelara, she’s roosting.”

“Oh, do get up,” Ruxin commanded. “As my niece would say, don’t be so formal. Good service seldom comes from fear, and formality gets tiresome.”

“Of course, my lord,” Marong stood to one side, where Tika, who he now recognised as the old Naga of the mount, stood to attention.

“So, not Golos then. How strange.” Ruxin watched the hair rise on his humanoid arm. “Marong, look at this. Do your human follicles sometimes have a mind of their own?”

“Ah.” Marong stopped himself from bowing. “That, my lord, is what we call premonition.”

Before Jean-Paul became the protègè of Meister Bekker, he was a foundling with no name. According to his file, his mother was a prostitute, an unenviable position in the days of South Africa's regime change. A six-word abbreviation indicated she had died giving birth to her life-leeching son in an alleyway in Sunnyside. As for his father, any number of hundreds of Johns could have contributed to Jean-Paul's miraculous genetic makeup.

As an infant, Jean-Paul bid his time at the Sacred Heart Kinderhuis, an orphanage located in Pretorian platteland, a place that used to be a pumpkin farm. The modest acreage was composed of a vaulted chapel attached to a schoolhouse with a semi-detached dwelling. Together with the occasional neighbour, the orphanage was presided over by one sister Annett de Mulder, a flaxen-haired cleric-cum-caretaker.

For Jean-Paul, Sister de Mulder's Positive Affinity was a blessing, for the pallid child with the horrid constitution couldn't have survived anywhere else. Yet, here with the generous-souled sister, his health held on with the tenacity of a spider thread.

Compared to the other children, who prospered or starved pending the season, Jean-Paul's body possessed an incredible ability to subsist on anything given to him, no matter how unnutritious or unsavoury. When strife broke out in Pretoria and sister de Mulder's brood of some two dozen were reduced to soupy rice and pumpkins, Jean-Paul stubbornly thrived like a vermin, subsisting on the thinnest milk and the soupiest porridge for months.

Diseases also seemed to take to Jean-Paul like flies to a carcass, for though he had contracted everything from cholera, dysentery, smallpox and a strange rash on his pale, colourless flesh, he rejected all calls to a higher purpose. As a result, his arms and legs grew covered with scars and scabs from his ceaseless picking, and as his height sprouted, ringlet stretch-marks scored his encrusted skin.

"Jean-Paul, you're as tough as a warthog!" de Mulder had teased him once.

"Nee nee nee," the other children revolted. For some reason, they never liked Jean-Paul, whose bulbous eyes made them afraid. "Jean-Paul is an Umzokwe!"

Jean-Paul did not know what the word meant. He was neither the youngest nor the eldest orphan, but he was the least popular by far. Perhaps it was because of his upturned nose, which was so different from the straight-ridged or flat-button organs the other children possessed. Or maybe it was his grotesque pallidness, which juxtaposed the pale-pink or the creamy nutmeg of his fellows; either way, Jean-Paul was born alone and preferred to be alone.

Just once, Jean-Paul had asked her what the nickname meant.

"Ah…" The sister's well-loved eyes grew awkward. "You are named after 'John' the Baptist, who christened Christ. It's conjoined with 'Paul', the teacher of Tarsus, he who spread the words of the saviour. As for your surname, we'll see when your adoption arrives, hmm?"

"No, I meant 'umzokwe'," the boy inquired, his blue orbs sucking the sister's soul.

"It means the blessed one."

Later in life, Jean-Paul said a prayer for the sister to atone for her little white lie. "Umzokwe" was a Zulu word for leech. According to Meister Bekker, who applauded the children's wisdom, the word referenced not the common leech, but the deathless blood-suckers that inhabited the Vaal River. In popular myth, if one were to chop an umzokwe in half, two would emerge a week later. Older, Jean-Paul would learn that "umzokwe" had another meaning. It was one derived from an ancient Zulu custom— the slaying of sinners by bleeding them in a river full of umzokwe. For the Boers who bore witness to the trials carried out by the Sangoma, "umzokwe" was a word they took to mean 'cruelty'.

Every so often, the orphanage was visited by men and women looking to adopt the children. Prior to their new homes, the children studied Spellcraft, awaiting the day when they would be selected. For an orphan, the age of thirteen was the longest they could stay under the care of sister de Mulder, after which those who failed an early Awakening would attend a state-sanctioned school.

Once, when Jean-Paul snuck into the chapel to watch the process, he saw the sister bring out what he would later recognise as the Awakening Stone from the storage room.

"Lightning, tier 1." One of the men grinned at Johan, a haughty thirteen-year-old who often picked on Jean-Paul. "Geluksvogel, you're getting adopted."

"Well done, Sister." the bearded leader left a bagful of crystal credits on the altar, what Jean-Paul now identified as HDMs. "See you in six months."

Sister de Mulder bowed from the waist. "Please take care of Johan, Lord Magus. He is a good boy with a good heart."

That was the last Jean-Paul saw of Johan, and he was happier for it.

When Jean-Paul turned ten, news came from the Boers up the road that the British abolished the old laws, and a new coalition was in power. The celebration was so drawn and so vast that even in the platteland of Pretoria, they could hear the sound of fireworks and spells firing off from Johannesburg. Mister Nieuwoudt, their neighbour who was in Pretoria when it happened, said that the party had lasted three days and three nights; that the NoMs hung wands across the Johan Rissik Bridge so that sparks showered on the trains and trams, heralding the end of a misguided era. Cries of "Long live Johannesburg!" resounded through the city, reaching even Jean-Paul's ears when a group of NoM labourers drove by the farm, screeching wildly.

For a while, things in the city had remained hopeful. But when time passed, and nothing changed, the jubilation fermented faster than sauerkraut.

One night, only six-months after the political sea change in the city, Jean-Paul was awoken by the sound of shouting in the chapel. A fidgety sleeper mocked for his permanent eye-bags, Umzokwe snuck into the chapel by wiggling into the storeroom's underfloor crawl space.

To his chagrin, it wasn't the lord Magus who had come to visit, but a group of strange men armed with clubs and what appeared to be shock wands, like the one sister de Mulder kept locked in her office. The weapon was a necessity, for occasionally if a group of Gobs appeared and the neighbours were busy, the sister would have to shoo the monsters herself.

"Bitch, where did you send my sister?" A man pushed sister de Mulder against the dais from which she usually conducted her lessons.

Sister de Mulder kept her eyes downcast. "I do not know, Mattys. I am just a caretaker."

Slap! The man struck her with a blow so savage that Jean-Paul almost leapt from his hiding spot. In his mind, the strike may as well have been a thunderclap.

"Hoer Heks! Where is my sister? What have you done with her?

The man turned. Now that Jean-Paul could get a better look, he could see that his face was familiar. It really was Mattys, a boy that had left the orphanage some four years ago. His sister was two years his junior, a fair and auburn-headed lass with long limbs. Jean-Paul recalled that she had happily Awakened as a Fire Mage and had been adopted by a Magus.

"WHERE IS SHE?" Mattys struck the sister again, an act that made Jean-Paul flinch. He wanted above all else to bite the man in the neck, to tear his throat; but, somewhere in his head, wedged between the floorboard and the foundation, he understood his helplessness. As a child yet to be tested for Affinity, Jean-Paul was wand-fodder. Could he charge out and headbutt the man? Could he stand and defend sister de Moulder even if he possessed the will?

In the room, the sister remained defiant. "You cannot cow me, Squib. You're a disgrace to our kind. How dare you join the NoMs to conspire against your superiors? They'll murder your future children, I guarantee it."

Mattys paused. Jean-Paul held his breath. He was ignorant then, and the sister's vitriolic voice shook him to his core. Never before had he seen the sister so bitter and so angry. Even with her body pressed against the dais and her arms pinned by the men, her pride astonished him.

"Brett." Mattys' response was to place a hand upon sister de Mulder's motherly bosoms. "Can you guess the sister's age?"

"Twenty? Thirty?" The older man's expression darkened. "Why?"

"She's forty at the very least!" Mattys tugged at the fabric so that the sister's collar came loose, revealing the white flesh beneath. "She's a Cleric, you know. When I studied under her, the textbooks say that healers have the sweetest bodies, full of youth, that they'll survive even the harshest abuse."

The other men laughed. As a child, Jean-Paul understood but did not understand why their laughter stunned his ears and made his chest feel like exploding.

Thankfully, the group's leader, the bearded Brett, told Mattys to leave the sister. Mattys insisted that the sister paid for her crimes as a sorceress, and it wasn't until Brett intimidated the men with a Lightning Wand that they backed away, muttering something about "Just having fun".

"Sister." Brett turned to sister de Mulder. "We'll be taking some supplies; then we'll be on our way. Is that agreeable?"

Sister de Mulder nodded, hugging her habit against her torso. Jean-Paul could see that she had turned as white as a freshly laundered sheet. When the men left, sister de Mulder knelt before the cross and prayed. Jean-Paul wanted to return to bed, but the sister's suppressed sobs had by now paralysed every nerve and sinew.

As a teenager, Jean-Paul asked the all-knowing Meister Bekker about who the men were. The Meister explained that encounters like the one Jean-Paul had experienced happened all over the country. The policy changes forced upon the Boers by the British were an experiment designed to encourage exodus.

"There's bad blood from the war, the memory of what the Mageocracy did to our women and children..." the Meister's lips pursed. "Don't mind it, Jean-Paul, that was another time and another place."

Thanks to Mattys' overzealous looting, when winter arrived, the orphanage had neither food nor mana crystals to survive the cold. Even with aid from their neighbours and Sister de Mulder's magic, several of the younger children perished.

When the promised time of the adoption came, the men and women who arrived weren't nearly so kind as they had been before. As usual, Jean-Paul snuck under the floor.

"What did you tell the Coalition?" This time, the Magus had not come to exchange the cheer.

"Nothing, sir," the sister spoke true.

"We lost two farms, totalling twenty acolytes. Magus Rylond paid with his life. You were on the list of people they spared. Do you mean to tell me those NoMs left you alone out of kindness?"

"I…" Sister de Mulder paled. "I bribed them with food."

"Then you have aided and abetted the enemy. Corli, you're clear to proceed."

That was the first time Jean-Paul saw Mind Magic. He would see it in employment many times as yet, but this was the moment he would always recollect. Pressed against his juvenile brain, the sight of sister de Mulder's screaming as her eyes rolled into her head branded him forever. While he crawled in the earth, not unlike that of a white, pallid leech biding its time in winter; sister de Mulder drooled over her habit, her eyes dilating as though possessed by a demon.

"Did you tell the rebels were the other farms are?"

"N-no…"

"But you did give them food?"

"Y-yes..."

"Where did they go?"

"Westward."

"How many men?"

"A dozen... more..."

"Weapons?"

"Wands..."

"Did they do anything to the children?"

"No."

"What did they want?"

"Mattys' sister."

"Where is the sister now?"

"Magus Kruger's office."

"Did you tell them any of this?"

"N-Nothing..."

"They left you alone?"

"They struck me…" The sister's eyes were wide and vacant. "Mattys tried to rape me. I was going to kill myself."

The Mages fell silent.

"This country has gone to the fucking ogres. Corli, heal her."

"She needs a Lesser Restoration. Sir, we're tight on potions."

"Do it. Gather the Flight. We'll hunt these dogs down and give them a taste of their own medicine."

The wooden planks creaked. Jean-Paul felt the Magus come close to where he hid under the floor. There was the sound of a Flare spell striking, then the acrid smell of tobacco. When the men left, Jean-Paul dragged the sister through the corridors and to her bed. There, he covered her with a blanket, then fed her the potion on the altar. The last thing he recalled was that he fell asleep beside her, but awoke in his bed.

When winter ended, Mattys and his gang returned.

"YOU HOER! You sold us out!" The man's voice burst through the splintered door before the smoke could clear. "They killed Brett, you bitch! They necklaced him!"

That was the first time Jean-Paul heard of the torturous form of execution known as "Necklacing" derived by NoMs and carried out on Mages. When a Mage became sufficiently subjugated, his or her assailants would tie a rubber tire around their neck, then set the thing alight with a Scorcher. As the victim attempted to douse the flames with complete futility, there would be clapping, often to the tune of his or her spluttering Mana Shield. In response, disgruntled Mages sometimes returned the favour, often as a warning, occasionally for sport.

For now, the children sat stunned at Sunday service, staring at the silhouette of the madman stepping through the door with a dozen others, each dressed in outlandish bric-a-brac of salvaged uniforms.

"Children, leave now! Go!" Sister de Mulder gave the command.

Together with the other foundlings, Jean-Paul streamed past the crowd of NoMs. While the other children fled for the schoolhouse basement, however, Jean-Paul made directly for the sister's office. There, he found the key for the storeroom, entered through a hole in the roof, then unlocked the chest containing the Awakening Stone.

Across the thin walls, Jean-Paul could hear the horse-laughs, the groans and grunts, the choked screams and the tearful pleading. Thump! SLAP! Thump! Came the thunderous sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed shortly by the din of sister de Mulder rolling painfully across the floor. For a little while, the commotion almost took on a rhythm, but then the sister began to howl like a gutted Hob, all dignity forsaken.

When the spark from the Awakening Stone jump-started his Astral Form, Jean-Paul felt consumed by an alien ecstasy. Never before had he felt something so intense, so full of malice that he struggled to breathe. His throat burned, and Jean-Paul tasted such hatred for these NoMs that the desire for their extinction consumed his mind. When her scream intensified, Jean-Paul wondered if he had gone insane, for even behind a door and a corridor, he could smell the frothing blood, the heady musk and the mutton-stink radiating from the sweltering men.

Without warning, his chest grew hollow, expelling Jean-Paul's frustrated feelings. It was as though a balloon had burst inside him, or that a stiletto had punctured his bloated torso. Something inside him cut loose, and Jean-Paul possessed neither the will nor desire to suppress the unnamable thing scratching at the edge of his consciousness.

He screamed into the Void, and something shrieked in reply.

As volatile mana filled his conduits, Jean-Paul knew only one thing. That unless he acted, he would be consumed by regret. For his tireless caretaker, Jean-Paul would open the lid, unwind the seam, untether the leash, unbind every delicate tendril if it meant that her suffering would cease by a single second. If he were to do nothing again, if he were to hide and hold his breath, hibernate like a leech, he would prefer oblivion.

Like a fetid stream overflowing, Jean-Paul's Astral Body tapped into the Sigils, Glyphs and Gates he'd been learning for the better part of his adolescent life. Magical formulas flashed through his mind, leaping from textbooks and the inscriptions to clash and collide in his feverish cerebellum.

"Umzokwe!" Jean-Paul invoked the vision he had dreaded since childhood, calling into being the very thing that had haunted his dreams. The men were monsters, Jean-Paul argued. To defeat them, he had to be the bigger beast.

In the chapel, the vaulted roof grew suddenly clamorous with howls and screams, minging with the sound of sister de Mulder's insane howling.

Pallid and segmented, sinuous, slimy and ever-hungry, Jean-Paul's beast visited its wrath upon the source of his anguish. It had manifested on Mattys, swallowing the man wholesale into its tripartite lips with nary a slurp. Then, well-fed on the Squib, it warded off the blows from the low-tier wands to consume the others one by one, using its viscous saliva to glue them to the chapel's floor. When the last assailant disappeared screaming and kicking into its slurping gullet, Umzokwe turned to the quivering sister, even now bleeding out on the crumpled rug. His fiend possessed no eyes, but even so, Jean-Paul saw.

"Jean-Paul…" the sister's voice was barely a whisper. She knew it was her pale-skinned ward, but she couldn't see. Earlier, the NoMs had taken her eyes in their cruel antics. "Con...gra...tulations..."

When Jean-Paul unlocked the door, there was only his monster left.

In greeting, Umzokwe clicked its teeth, its semi-translucent flesh undulating with pleasure. It was hungry still, and so was he.

Jean-Paul couldn't recollect much after that, but Meister Bekker told him that when the Enforcers from Pretoria arrived, they found a pallid, skeletal child sitting alone in the ruined chapel. There were wands stolen from the security forces scattered here and there, but no other survivors.

When he had regained his senses, Jean-Paul had arrived in the city on the hill, the place he knew was the administrative centre of his country, Pretoria. There, among the falling flowers of ten-thousand jacarandas, he met a woman with the scent of mouldy scrolls and yellowing paper.

When his escorts bowed from the waist, Jean-Paul understood that he was before a rare presence. As he had performed before the age-worn statue of Christ in the chapel, the newly awakened Void Mage knelt.

"Jean-Paul." The woman whose eyes were the colour of a cloudless sky spoke his name. "Welcome to Pretoria. From this day on, I christen you— Jean-Paul Bekker."

"Meister—"

"Nee, nee, Jean-Paul. You shall refer to me as Mevrou."

His new sponsor was Meister Engela Bekker, one of three Meisters to grace the Cape of Good Hope. Under her tutelage, innumerable tests were carried out on Jean-Paul, who understood that his life was worth precisely as much as the utility Mevrou Bekker could derive from his plaint body. Without complaint, Jean-Paul came to heel, never once complaining of pain, not even when the diagnostic machine made him violently ill. Day after day, he practised the knowledge his new master gave him. Though his constitution continued to wane, Jean-Paul remained tough, wiry and stoic, a paragon apprentice, docile and diligent in equal measure. No matter Mevrou Bekker's pleasure, he left no curiosity unsatisfied, no single flap of skin unpeeled. In the beginning, he was made to call on Umzokwe until he grew emaciated. By twelve, Umzokwe could be manifested for six, eight, ten hours before he lost consciousness. When it came to feeding time, Jean-Paul-cum-Umzokwe ate whatever the Meister willed, be it animals, Magical Creatures, Demi-humans, NoMs or the occasional Mage. When he wasn't baiting Umzokwe with live prey, he studied, working toward his fifteenth spring.

When he finally came of age, Jean-Paul took to the dais to receive his biometrics. As a confidential project reared hand to mouth like a pet by a Meister of the Republic, Jean-Paul proved the rarest of specimens.

Conjuration— 3.22.

Transmutation— 2.55.

Void— 2.30.

It was a memorable day for Jean-Paul, for Mevrou Bekker hugged him, embracing him against her chest. She had always loathed his touch, though that was something Jean-Paul had come to anticipate from others, and so this was a special moment.

"Jean-Paul, come. It's time you met my colleagues."

Forty-eight hours later, Jean-Paul had travelled across the world. Standing in a stranger's land, he looked up at the grandest sandstone building he had ever seen, wrought with the most intricate murals imaginable. At the relief's centre was a shield adorned by seven golden lions and an open spell scroll. Scripts in a language he had never seen spelt out the words "Spellcraftia imperii decus et tutamen".

"Mevrou," Jean-Paul recalled asking his master. "What does that mean?"

"Spellcraft knowledge is the crowning glory and the safeguard of the Empire," the Meister intoned, her face unreadable.

In London, Meister Bekker's tests continued, as did Jean-Paul's growth. More and more, he came to understand his place in the world— that he was a unique existence. In the half-decade he had spent in Mevrou Bekker's laboratory, Jean-Paul met other Void Mages, though they seldom lived long after their Awakening. The volatility of their element, the Negative Drain associated with its utility, was biologically insurmountable for all but the rarest candidates.

In that regard, Jean-Paul's Umzokwe was capable of storing the life-force of the beings he consumed. As per Meister Bekker's findings, Demi-humans and humans were the most nourishing, followed by higher-tier Magical Beasts. Thankfully, the Mageocracy's endless conflicts of interest meant there was seldom a shortage of Demi-humans.

In the intervening years which followed, Jean-Paul often heard a name— Elizabeth Sobel. A woman whom the Meister said was the best of his kind, the Mageocracy's magnum opus, its chef-d' œuvre. If Jean-Paul could prove himself half as talented as Sobel, the Meister promised, he would find both purpose and pleasure in life.

When his craft matured, Jean-Paul prepared himself in the Purple and Black Zones all over the world. In most instances, his Mevrou stood a safe distance away with a data slate, directing him to complete one feat or another. "You've done well," Mevrou Bekker had kindly informed him when he was eighteen, though sadly, he wouldn't be a second Sobel. Jean-Paul undertook the criticism without complaint; he was merely a canvas on which Mevrou Bekker painted her colours, and so continued his questionless compliance. Though the pair seldom stayed at London Imperial, the Mevrou had a tradition of returning to her homeland each spring to flee the British winter. A sentimentalist, the Meister longed for the lilac and purple Jacarandas that turned the boulevards of Pretoria indigo.

"Jean-Paul, return home," the Mevrou called him one October morning, pulling him from the depth of Swaziland. "I need you to see this."

Two days later, Jean-Paul sat beside the Meister as she played a broadcast from the latest IIUC, a competition the Meister often mocked as student politics.

The vid-cast showed a girl.

A girl who was like Jean-Paul, and was yet dissimilar.

A sorceress who tapped into the Quasi-elemental Plane of Lightning and Void.

A smiling lassie with pale skin that didn't resemble the leeches living in the Vaal, but whose dermis glowed with smooth and supple vitality.

A young miss surrounded by companions and friends; men and women who trusted her enough to put their lives on the line.

A Void Mage who transformed into a dark egg, swallowing a Beast Tide.

"A second Sobel," Mevrou Bekker informed the pale-miened Jean-Paul, then sighed deeply. "She's Kilroy's hidden apprentice, as you are mine. One wonders how one man, not to mention a dead one, could find two diamonds in the rough."

When next the Meister placed a hand on Jean-Paul's shoulder, the warmth he longed for sent shivers down his spine. He had been in Swaziland for months and it had been a long time since a fellow human had touched him.Yet, he couldn't help but feel ill.

"Jean-Paul," the Mevrou's voice filled the recesses of his mind. "Ever thought about acquiring a lady-friend?"

Gwen regarded her armoured profile in the mirror.

"It has heels?" she asked, dubious that such a decision had made it into the custom suit's design.

"A melee AND an aesthetic feature. It collapses at-will." Magus Lin Tsai, the representative from Sinomach Heavy Industries, mopped the sweat from his brow. The stiletto had been incorporated by their chief designer, who had projections of Fudan's vice-captain pinned to his workbench. Ever since Sinomach's RECON Operator's Garb appeared unannounced in Cuzco, requests and complaints had driven the clerks in the public-relations section mad. In response, Commissioner Tsai made explicit demands that their state-sponsored corporation wouldn't made a laughing stock in future broadcasts. The result was a maintenance team that arrived at Fudan with a fully-equipped service truck.

In the training hall, Fudan's eye-catching Void Sorceress cat-walked up and down an invisible rail, observing her reflections in the conjured mirrors. The re-tooled MKIII CUSTOM promised to hold together much better than the stock MKII, with elevated thresholds for dampening physical and elemental damage. Likewise, for Fudan's members who necessitated external means of Flight, an internal module enabled tier 3 locomotion, specced to the competition's item-assistance limitations.

Furthermore, the once unisex Shen-teī was gender-split. Gwen's suit had conduit-lines inscribed around her lumbar to cup her under-breast, while at the rear, a half-armoured skirt protected her bottom, extending like a dovetail. Comparatively, the girls' collision-pauldrons draped around their shoulders, capable of transforming into all-weather capes. An automatic potion-injector was initially included, though Gwen forsook the unaesthetic waist-bulge for reasons that a crushed potion-pouch was no use to anyone. The result was a sleek and modern design akin to Magi-tech racing suits.

For the palette, Fudan's iconograph came in three hues— red or blue with a white backdrop. The original designer favoured Revolution Red with white highlights and a blue under-layer, but all Gwen could see was a Pepsi Company IP violation.

"I want Gunmetal, here, here, and there…" Gwen ran a finger down her body line from chin to her inner thighs, then from knees to boots. "The team members who are willing to keep the red motif are welcome to, but I need the thighs in white. The butt-skirt's a nice touch, by the way, more space."

"Space for what?" Magus Tsai furrowed his brows. "There are no modules for that… region."

"Nothing to worry." Gwen grinned at her re-colourised reflection. "The armour should work out beautifully."

"So you keep saying..." The Magus Glyphed new hues onto the skin-hugging malleable-metal. Of Fudan's crew, he far preferred working with Miss Li, who was petite, red-faced and obedient. Even Miss Wong, who asked for the men's variant, had been perfectly happy with the original design. As for the Void sorceress, she had an opinion for every nook and contour. "Miss Song, as an Illusionist and an Enchanter, it's easier if you manipulate the pattern and colour yourself. I'll relinquish the formulae."

"Even better." Gwen checked herself in the mirror again, inspecting the angles. Feeling sentimental, she wondered when she'd be able to sell the world's first selfie App. But for that to happen, she needed a whole tree of technologies to be unlocked. Maybe when she arrived in North American or London, places where entrepreneurs had guaranteed rights backed by the Tower and the government, she could test the possibility of bringing more of her old world inventions to bear. In her old world, she struggled to gain a position higher than a Senior Consultant. Even when self-employed, her company was limited by size and affordable talent. Perhaps in her second life, it was possible to build something that spanned the continents.

"Miss." The Magus felt a feeling of revulsion as the girl chuckled narcissistically, wholly engrossed in her reflection. "Please take care of our product."

"It'll stay in one piece." Gwen cowed her technician by testing the armour's inbuilt heels, instantly raising her stature. Placing one foot ahead of the other, she tapped across the training hall. "Four inches? That's ambitious."

"Miss Song, if you're done, I shall go and aid Miss Li. Her CQB variant needs adjustments."

"Make sure her shoulders, breasts and thighs are matt-white," Gwen instructed the retreating technician.

With the flustered Enchanter retreating across the room, Gwen was quickly approached by Anita, looking very handsome indeed with her half-cropped hair and arrogant lips. The men's variant was bulkier, though Anita carried the look with dignity and pomp.

"Just to confirm." Anita pointed to her chest. "We're adhering sponsorship logos?"

"Indeed." Gwen inspected Anita's suit, pointing to either side of her chest. "We will affix our biggest sponsors at the front and back. Fudan's seal hangs over your heart; adjacent is Sinomach. Our major sponsor is Wang Enterprises and Centurion-M. Down here we have the lesser sponsors, Tonglv, SinoTrans, SAIC Motors, and finally Mao-tai Co."

Anita nodded like a chick bobbing to a mother hen.

"All in all, 11,000 HDM for each of us. Plus a bonus if we win," Gwen assured her companion. In truth, she and Lulan commanded four times the price but chose to subsidise the others. "Not bad, eh? Don't you love it when crystals fall from the sky?"

"No kidding." Anita counted her post-match income both hands. "If we win, the sponsorship fee will exceed three years of my allowance!"

"Afterward, don't forget to ride out your fame. Use it to build your brand." Gwen slapped the Mineral Mage on the shoulder. "Who wouldn't know Anita Wong after we scour Dalian of the Undead?"

"Ha!" Anita snickered. "You're thinking of Lulu. She's CCVC-1's darling at the moment."

"Do you desire greater exposure?" Gwen asked seriously. "We could probably manage it."

"Oh, Mao, absolutely not." Anita sighed. "I am no martyr. Famous and alive— that's my motto."

"Knock on wood." Gwen rapped on Anita's armour with her knuckles.

Anita made a Taoist sign to ward away evil. "So, what now?"

Sch-Chik! Gwen un-deployed her stilettos, acclimatising herself to the balance shift. According to the spec sheet, the Keen Enchantment could punch through steel plates. "Let's check with the others. I want to see Richard and the boys. After our promo-shoot, we need to get dressed to receive our oversea guests."

At Gwen's behest, the reception was to happen on their home turf, the Waldorf Astoria on the Bund, where the House of M's Shadowmen could keep a pair of eyes on things.

This time around, major dignitaries included big-wigs like the Mayor of Shanghai, Magister Rong Yin; a sorcerer-bureaucrat whose many tasks included balancing Pudong against the PLA. Likewise, newly arrived was the American proctorship delegation with representatives from Stanford and the American Towers. Concurrently, as Shanghai's first international match in recent memory, the paparazzi were legion, enough to make the dog-packs ambushing Gwen and Lulan at Fudan seem like tame poodles.

"Gwen, may I have a word?" Walken's Message blossomed against Gwen's ear. "We haven't had any good opportunity to talk of late. I would very much like to hear your mind before your decisions go public."

"One second, I'll meet you downstairs." The sound of blow-dryers accompanied Gwen's answer.

When the girl arrived in the lobby of Gouding B1, Walken's breath seized. Since her return from Amazonia, the aura of personality his student possessed now encroached on oppressiveness. Perhaps it was the Lightning affinity, or maybe the girl had reached another essence-milestone; her presence captured the attention of onlookers, willingly or otherwise.

How exactly like a Dragon, Walken reflected as he circulated a mote of mana. Already, the residents and the concierge had ceased their activities to stand and stare.

"Do you like it?" His protégé spun her body mid-stride, expertly turning on one foot as the fishtail dress fanned out. When she crossed the floor, the girl blossomed like an Amaryllis, her hair falling about her shoulders. Unusual for an exhibitionist who shamelessly showed off her vain stalks, Gwen's present hem was modestly pinned, though the shoulderless upper portion appeared to overcompensate for her knee-length demurity. "It's an Alex Mu original. He's an up and coming designer the House of M is sponsoring."

"You're certainly becoming acquainted with the locals." Walken looked up at the ceiling, conjuring visions of his daughters to ward against Gwen's ostentatious fashion. "Are you sure you can bear to leave Shanghai?"

"And there it is." Gwen curled the corner of her lips. "I wondered when we'd have this talk."

"Call it curiosity, that and self-preservation," Walken confessed, switching to Silent Message. "You can't blame an old cynic, can you?"

"Let's sit and talk." Gwen pointed to the garden. The cafe next to B1's lobby wasn't very good, but it was convenient. "I am not going to ditch you in Shanghai if that's what you mean."

"You're not?" Walken followed. To the observers, the Magister appeared like an abandoned mutt who had just heard a whistle in the distance.

The two sat.

Outside, the paparazzi were ready with their optically-enhanced lumen-recorders. Walken sat with his back to the lenses, while Gwen flashed her teeth for her cyclopean admirers.

"Beware," Walken intoned gravely. "You're tier 7 now."

"I know." Gwen rested her face against the palm of her hand. "So, what would you like to know."

"Are you going to London?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"There's always a choice," Walken scoffed. "Now or in the future, no one will want to fight Gunther von Shultz."

"And in the not so distant future, no one will want to fight Gwen Song."

Walken's countenance twitched. So much for stemming her pride. The girl wasn't wrong, but her boisterous swagger was a magnet for future troubles.

"Sorry…" the girl stuck out her tongue playfully when she saw the vein bulging against his temple. "But yes, I WANT to go to London."

"Because?" Walken demanded. "Do you not have enough family here? Not enough crystals? Not enough influence? Do you have any idea what the PLA will give if you're willing to forsake the Mageocracy?"

"Who paid you off?" Gwen cocked her head, a lock of hair falling across her eyes like a dash of dark paint. "What's the going rate for Magister Walken these days?"

The Magister scowled. "I am serious."

"Alright." Gwen suddenly sat upright so that Walken had to avert his gaze. The dress, though elegant, wasn't at all lady-like.

"I spoke with Babulya, and she's in agreement that I shouldn't be caught up in the CCP's internal affairs. Yeye isn't going to stay a Secretary forever, and once he's out, either I fall in line, or they'll screw me out of everything. As for Gramps, I'd say he's ambivalent. For now, I am a boon, but knowing his inheritance plans for Percy— who knows? To the Party's upper echelon, too much wealth is a taboo. The Communists loathe the notion that power and wealth should be concentrated."

"Career-wise, I am well aware of my shortcomings. Fudan's a good university, but it's all second-hand knowledge. I've got Magisters who studied in England teaching me a facsimile of what authors in Oxford and Cambridge composed. With my limited time and intelligence, I am not sure if I'll ever reach my full potential. Magister Wen said that with my access to all schools, I should be making stride into Signature spells, like Henry, like Gunther and Alesia. Did you know that my late Master designed Gunther's 'hybrid School' of spells with the help of mates from Oxbridge? That's what I want..."

Walken felt like slapping some sense into the girl— designing new hybrid Schools! The waif was barely a noviciate theorist— and she wants to make new spells! Did she think spell-crafting for a rare Element-Affinity was akin to growing tomatoes? That one rubbed a few flowers together to engender hybrids? What half-truths had Wen been feeding the girl?

"You're not wrong." Walken thumbed his cup. "But in England, you won't have the support network you've built up."

"I'll have Gunther's buddies, and Lady Grey, and Elvia, my little Evee!"

Is Elvia is all you care about!? Walken suppressed the complaint spewing from his chest. "Did Gunther mention Mycroft Ravenport?"

"He told me not to worry." Gwen toyed with a tuft of loose hair. "Lord Ravenport's Faction has their eyes on the Prime Ministership. If they make Gunther and the Middle Faction their enemy, it would make their objective near impossible. If need be, he'll mediate for me."

"And when Ravenport attains the Ministership? Where will you go then?"

"Gunther says the Tories still need the Middle Faction's support to retain a majority against the progressives. Think about it, Eric. Ravenport's left me well alone for almost two years now. He's never expressed interest in my existence. We don't even know if he's received the intelligence from Nephres. If I go, there's the questionable threat of a Purist avenger; conversely, the longer I stay here, the more I am painted in the CCP's colours."

"A man like Ravenport has patience you cannot imagine."

"All the merrier. In time, I'll eat the bastard head first if he dares to take revenge for what his son did to me. Hell's bells, maybe I'll pay him a visit. Maybe he should be worried."

"You're letting your Lightning do the talking." Walken furrowed his brows. "Your victories are getting to your head, Gwen."

"Why are you so against me going to London anyway?"

"I want what's best for you."

"You mean, what's best for you."

"I'll not deny it."

"I already told you, I am not going to leave you homeless."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Walken scoffed. "What do you owe me?"

"Well, things have changed. You stood up to Alesia, and she has left without turning you medium-rare," Gwen retorted. "Even Gunther said that you've paid for your crime in Sydney. For your involvement in Master's demise, we'll never see you as one of our own, but you know what? I prefer that we work as mutual beneficiaries. Our short time together has made me fond. I don't mind having you around."

Walken gulped, sensing a slight crinkle in his chest. "You don't?"

"I don't."

"Well..." the Magister realised too late that he was smiling. Gwen's Cheshire smile possessed a sickening infectiousness. "I— I am flattered."

"As you should be." Gwen sipped from her pearl tea. "Eric. I am not the idiot girl who was abducted from Singapore anymore. I entrapped the leadership of Tonglv into giving me one per cent of their gross. I started a credit company without spending a cent. I tripled the price of Jade without lifting a finger. According to my bio, I liberated a country..."

"Allied yourself with Dragon princes…"

"Ate a Beast Tide…"

"Saved a royal…"

"Got offered a place in his harem…"

"What?" Walken almost spat his latte in her face.

The girl's facade fractured as she grew suddenly scarlet. "Okay— please disregard that— I thought you knew?"

Walken dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief, then took a moment to regulate his breathing.

"But Gwen, what can I do for you in London? I am afraid I'm not very popular with the Grey Faction, at least at the moment. Without a position, there are scant favours I may call on. As for academia, compared to the Meisters and Magisters at Cambridge, I shan't offer much in the Path of the Omni-Mage."

"Are you trying to leave?" Gwen's voice grew surly. "Have you tired of my company?"

"Just... pointing out the obvious." Walken despaired at his opponent's endless teasing.

"I want your counsel and your experience." The girl leaned in just enough so that her finger touched his hand. "I need someone to watch my back, who knows what tricks Ravenport may be up to, or Wen, or even Lady Grey?"

Eric Walken felt a tightening in his chest. Was the girl serious?

"Don't you know its unwise to trust me?" he confessed. "De Botton would skin you alive."

"No, she won't." The girl chuckled. "She'll flay you first, then baste you over a slow fire. Then Gunther will pick up the slack."

"I fear your trust." Walken felt a queer twinkle of delight constricting his heart, making his head buzz. Was this what the girl had done to her orphaned followers? He wondered. Was this what it felt like to be Lulan or Richard, utterly caught in the orbit of the girl's gravitational pull? "You're asking too much of a retired old man."

"Don't kid yourself. Your ambition's written all over your face," the girl mocked his attempt at humility. "Come on, Eric, you want the job or not?"

"The…" Walken snorted indignantly. "T-The JOB?"

"I need a majordomo." Gwen's presence seemed to magnify as Walken fought off her Draconic-aura. "You're my guy, right?"

"I most certainly am not your 'guy'." Walken forcibly reminded himself that he still had an estranged wife and two daughters, one of whom was ill. "And stop pouting like that, and sit properly. Your un-lady-like etiquette will most certainly cause tongues to wag. Lady Grey will have a fit."

"See? Helpful already." Gwen laughed. "So, will you think about it."

"You want… one of the Ten…" Walken huffed. He wasn't one of the Ten anymore, but still, he had his dignity and his pride. "To be your butler?!"

"Would it sound better if I gave you a title? When my— Ruxin's crystal mountain is deployed in London or the Americas, I shall be the CEO of a new multinational company. As my second and my ancient, you shall be my Inside Director, my whip. Our board will consist of major stakeholders, people like Gunther, obviously Ruxin, maybe another dragon or two to balance the books, and stockholders from major industrial sectors will serve as Outside Directors. Your job will consist of wrangling their support so that our interests can be prioritised."

Walken stared so hard that his eyes began to water.

"I am very interested in the communications sector," Gwen continued. "China isn't a good place for the development of long-distance communication technologies, but I have a very good idea involving the Divination Towers. That and I have a few notion involving wires and lighting-charged cores. From this baseline—"

The girl paused. Her conversation partner appeared Petrified. "Eric?"

Eric Walken breathed out; his warm coffee was now stone cold. As for his mind, a riot of possibilities played across his frontal lobe. He did not believe the girl had a means of cheap communication for the masses, and yet, Gwen had never disappointed when it came to generating obscene volumes of currency.

"You've got a few months to decide," the girl promised as she slid from her chair. Over the hedge, a dozen bulbs flashed, painting her complexion vivid ivory. "No rush, we've got an IIUC to win!"

The old "Shanghai Club", now known as the Astoria at the Bund, possessed an unrivalled chronicle. Constructed in 1910 to cater to wealthy Westerners, it subsequently survived the Qing Dynasty, the Sino Occupation, The Great Revolution, a failed coup, and then a Beast Tide.

Both inside and out, the Astoria was an art-deco, ultra-luxury colonial marvel whose price-point mocked the communist banners celebrating the workers' victory only four blocks away. One step past the footmen, anyone unwilling to burn at least a hundred HDMs at the bar should think twice before gracing its four-storey foyer.

For Fudan and the young Mages from Auckland and Pretoria, it was with great fortune that the House of M covered all expenses. Had Dean Luo been made to foot the bill, the poor man would have lost all his hair by morning.

Tink! Tink! Tink!

The shrill twinkle of English silver on elven-glass silenced the room.

"Students, advisors, and esteemed guests- we welcome you to this gathering for the International Inter-University Competition. TONIGHT— We kick off the second round of the IIUC. Before I reveal the Quest portion of our competition, let us celebrate our future Magus and Magisters, our talented young people whose very presence represents humanity's hope and dreams..."

The woman with a sonorous timbre was Magister Maryam Clark Jamison, a Stanford alumna of great renown. With her curly bob, creme-coffee complexion and almond eyes, the Magister's presence was awe-inspiring, as befitting a Mage of high station. For Gwen, this was the first African-American Magister she had seen, much less heard of, and so her first instinct was to silently Message Walken.

"Don't act the bumpkin," Walken's voice returned. "According to her file, Jamison heads medical Magi-tech research at Stanford, served as the Chief Medical Officer in Chicago, and now works as an external consultant for Pfizer-Klein. In terms of Factions, she's a neutral outsider..."

Gwen couldn't help but note that Walken was more enthused than usual. Upon the stage, the chief proctor continued.

"… You all know the Magister beside me— Mayor Rong Yin. Sir Yin, the pleasure is all mine," the healer finally finished after a five-minute pontification on the spirit of competition.

"Your modesty is very un-American." The Mayor of Shanghai, physically an unassuming man, chuckled, eliciting a round of laughter from the room. Once the noise died down, he pointed to the reporters surrounding the hall. "Alas, I am not the main attraction, not today. Stop pointing those devices at me— the stars tonight are these young men and women who will soon venture into the hell known as the Northern Front."

As if on cue, bulbs glowed white-hot.

"Well said, Sir Yin." The chief proctor flashed her pearly teeth. "Let me not steal the Dancing Light either. Without adieu, let's invite to the stage— Your Captains and Vice-Captains!"

The reception broke into wild applause. Of the hundred-meter long length of tables that had been set up, three pairs stood from their seats.

From Fudan's side, all eyes were focused on their resplendent vice-captain, whose daring, figure-hugging dress and four-inch stilettos elevated her head and shoulders above her captain. Arm-in-arm, the two proceeded down the extended entry onto the dais, half-blinded by the lumen-blasts firing from the recorders.

Pretoria's leading couple was equally eye-catching. Their captain was a flaxen-haired young man with a prominent jaw and clear, crystal-like eyes in a navy herringbone tuxedo. Everything about the man was tailored; even his measured walk suggested that his existence was brevity in itself. Attached to his arm was an olive-skinned beauty with auburn hair. In contrast to the tapered young man, the lady was outrageously voluptuous. Though she moved languishingly, it was as though every ounce of her sensuous flesh smouldered.

Finally, Auckland's duo turned head by virtue of their difference in height and girth. From what the audience could see, Auckland's captain had the body of a child and the face of a gruff soldier. Measuring just under four-foot-four, the captain from the Land of the Long White Cloud reached only the bosom of his partner. Compared to her captain, Auckland's vice-captain was a giantess with a sculpted body matching her Earth-Affinity.

Together as a trio, the group made quite the headlining spectacle.

"Let us begin with our far-far-away-team…" chief proctor Jamison intoned. "Captain Hertzog, please say a few words for the audience, the people of China, and your fellow contestants."

"Ek groed u, my liewe vriende." The young man's accent was apparent even through the translation stone. "We are delighted to be here and be given the opportunity to represent my country and my university. Though much has changed in my country since the days of my great-grandfather, I hope to prove to the world that despite the blessing the Britannic Mageocracy has bestowed upon us, the blood of our forefathers flows undiminished. Today, I am here with my vice-captain, Alizea Kock, my teammates Lencho, Mariete, Ella, Altus, Pieter, Izette, and Heila. Together, I hope that we shall provide the people of this land some solace from its invaders. From the depth of our hearts, we truly thank you for hosting us."

The Captain of Pretoria bowed.

"Wooo, snarky." Gwen had learned of the beef between the Boers and the British who came into South Africa salivating after its abundance of precious minerals and HDM mines. According to Walken, the result was that South Africa's Purists were dragged kicking and screaming onto the Middle Path. One by one, Gwen's gaze matched the names to the nodding faces and the waving arms.

"Six… seven— there's nine of them? Eric, did someone die?"

"No, there's ten of them. Hertzog missed the last one."

Gwen's gaze fell upon an individual she had disregarded. It wasn't surprising, considering his lack of presence. Now that her Essence-infused eyes focused, she saw a young man who could only be described as unfortunate. Where the rest of Pretoria had the chiselled look of young nobles with their Duchess noses, deeply sunken eyes and fair to olive skin; the oddball appeared as if a goblin shark and Voldemort had a lovechild. Gangly and yet somehow shrunken, the man looked completely uncomfortable in his designer suit, giving the impression that the wardrobe designer had stuffed a sphinx cat into a child's tux. As if sensing her gaze, the man raised his head. His eyes were a beautiful blue, but against his face and his pallid dermis, all Gwen could think of was Gollum.

"Wow." Gwen repressed her ingrained prejudice, then silently Messaged her instructor. "What is that dude? Is he demi-human?"

"I'll find out from Magister Jamison," her instructor replied. "Stop staring, it's rude. You'll see worse in England, I promise you. The upper nobility throws up some horrors now and then. I'll tell you that."

Unable to control her mirth, Gwen burst into a dazzling grin before removing her eyes from the unfortunate tenth member of Pretoria.

Next to take the spotlight was Auckland's mismatched combination from the buddy comedy "Twins".

"Kia Ora!" came a booming voice from a tiny body. "Rona Manaia from Turangi, Captain of Orkland, at your service. Oi am here with me mates and missus from Oceania and the Land of the Long White Cloud. With me here is our missus boss, Ruihi Keeti. As for the other fellers: from the left, that's Yue Bai from Sydney, the Wikiriwhi brothers from Whitianga, Maka and Timoti. Over there's Rongo and Otikoro, the big boi there is Whetu of Rotorua, next to him in the shade is Tua from Te Urewera. Finally, that choice young lady there's Opi from my hometown. It's good to be here with the bros, and we look forward to a good competition."

Yue waved at her captain, or perhaps she was waving at Gwen— Gwen couldn't tell. The little-red dress that Yue wore, however, was sure to raise eyebrows once the cocktails started flowing.

"The captain's a 'quarterling'." Walken's voice drifted across the room via the Silent Message. "It wasn't mentioned in his file. How quaint."

"What the hell is a quarterling?"

"Half of a Halfling." Walken's dad-joke flew over her head. "You're aware of what happens when a Demi-human and a human love each other very much, yes?"

"AH." Gwen nodded imperceptibly. The young man was barely up to her chest, but his hand and feet were enormous.

"And finally, a word from our residents!" Magister Jamison stalked around Gwen and Tei, cooler than a cucumber. When she passed Gwen, the chief proctor lowered her voice. "Miss Song, I've seen your uncut vid-casts, and I must say that what you refer to as CPR has turned heads and peaked interests in my field of expertise."

"I am happy to hear it." Gwen smiled at the decorated Magister, carefully observing the youthful, forty-something woman. "We've yet to find an avenue to publish our findings, you should know. Perhaps in the future, when I am abroad…"

"Of course." The Magister pursed her thick-lips. "Which one of you will speak?"

"Tei, work your magic." Gwen nudged Tei so that he began the usual cookie-cutter speech deemed acceptable at all official CCP events. Without blinking, he began to extol their un-repayable gratitude for the nation, his Clan, his parents, to Fudan. "… He's our official CCP spokesperson."

"You're not going to speak yourself?" The chief proctor measured the girl from head to toe with her amber orbs. "You've got a gift for oratory. Some would say that's a rarer talent than Magic."

"And a good speech must be delivered at the right time and in the right place. For now, I am happy to play the vase." Gwen held her gaze steady as the two women measured one another. "…Magister, I think you're up."

"We'll talk later." The caramel-complexioned Magister turned her face slightly from Gwen to face the crowd. As her voice rose to a crescendo, the multitudes stood to raise their glasses. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, allow me to declare the opening of the 2004 second round of the INTERNATIONAL INTER-UNIVERSITY COMPETITION! FUDAN! PRETORIA! AUCKLAND! YOUR MISSION, should you choose to accept: is to assist in the RECLAMATION OF SHENYANG!"

With the formalities petering out, the contestants moved to a courtyard lit with Dancing Lights, forming a dazzling display where illusory lanterns suffused the garden with gentle ambience.

Unlike Cuzco, the PLA proved keen on inter-team duels. However, to limit injury before the contestants ventured into an Undead Black Zone, the duels had been restricted to individual bouts.

After a speech about professional conduct, sportsmanship and safety, Magister Jamison invited the teams to offer volunteers. Likewise, to prevent damage escalation, the style was set to Oxford, meaning that contestants entered the bout without pre-buffs.

Gwen was halfway to the dais when Walken commanded her to stand down. As their ace in the hole, she was far better suited to countering enemy Mages.

"Lulan," Tei implored their sword-wielding starlet. "Do you mind starting for us?"

"Not at all." Lulan Misty-Stepped onto the announcement platform. For the evening event, the students had changed out of their formal wear into university-themed training outfits. In her tights and halterneck body-suit, Lulan positively glowed. To her unsuspecting admirers, the girl possessed a striking aura. To Gwen, she knew that Lulan's battle-heavy training regime fed the Naga Spirit like no other and that its Draconic-essence was likely nourishing Lulu.

Arriving, Lulan bowed toward the chief proctor, the overseer of the duels before facing the crowd.

"Lulan Li, Sword Mage of Fudan! I seek instruction from my seniors!"

Yue met Gwen's eyes across the room. To her disappointment, her aunt-in-craft shook her head.

"Allow me, sister," came a reply from Pretoria. "I am also a Spirit-bonded Earthen Mage. I'll show you a few tricks— if you're willing to learn."

Gwen recognised the young Mage as Ella Goosen, a flaxen-haired beauty with a bronze complexion. Side-by-side, though both were Earth Mages, Lulan's figure was compact and petite; Ella's was tall, dignified, and glowing.

"I look forward to our exchange—" Lulan bowed. A second later, she Misty Stepped into the duelling cage.

Unlike her opponent, Pretoria's Abjurer did not possess instant-movement spells.

"Let's play a game." Ella raised a hand, making a gesture for Lulan to initiate the first strike. "Attack all you like. I shall forfeit if you breach my defences before you are OoM."

"Deal." The crowd roared as Lulan slowly materialised all five blades, causing a cascade of lumen-bulb flashes to fill the arena.

"HaiiiiYA!" Lulan leapt into the air, twisting and turning her body to gain the momentum necessary to begin her blade dance. "Panzerschreck!"

She fired off a single blade to test Pretoria's defences.

"Man van Goud!" Ella's pupils transformed into pin-points of golden brilliance. "Golem, kom!"

CLANG!

A clay-statue rose from the ground where Lulan had expected a shield to manifest. To her complete amazement, the vague figure moved, catching her blade with mitt-sized hands, eliciting a clank of fiery sparks. Not relenting on the momentum of her strike, Lulan fell into her usual rhythm.

"Sweep!"

"Strike!"

"Pierce!"

"Golems! Defend me!"

Four human-sized gingerbread men had now manifested, and each of them clutched Lulan's blade. In the eyes of Fudan's observers, Pretoria's Abjurer must have anticipated a comfortable victory if she disabled Lulan's melee spells.

"Heart-Seeker!" Lulan waited for the moment the fourth nugget-man caught her blade before firing her final weapon through the gap.

"Shield!" Ella hurriedly manifested a shimmerin, golden shield with a malleable surface that snagged the blade's cutting edge.

"BRAVO!" came the sound of Gwen's breathless voice after seeing so much gold in one place. "Good work, Lulu! Great defence!"

"Not using Blink?" Ella ignored the hooting Void Sorceress, then snorted at the petite Sword Mage. "You do yourself a disservice."

"It's not a fight to the death." Lulan allowed her blades to crumble. "If you insist, I'll Shield Break you in the next minute."

"Do your worst, meisiekind."

"This will hurt. SWEEP!"

Lulan stomped the underfoot Force Barrier, using the rebounding energy to somersault above the haughty Mage and her gold-laced Earth Elementals. Though Lulan herself had no name for the flurry of strikes she now committed, the watching journalists dubbed the chained combination, "The Green-Iron Blossom".

CLANG!

CLANG! CLANG!

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

An unceasing cascade of blows pushed Ella into a corner, her golden golem-men absorbing into her shield one by one as the pressure mounted. Lulan's blows felt like a blacksmith's hammer, pounding her shield into a distorted mess.

P—AAANG!

Lulan changed the angle of her strike. To the audience's delight, a slice of golden metal flew from Ella's control and smashed against the vibrating wall. In desperation, Pretoria's defender let loose a shout of dismay before muttering an inaudible spell under the din of Lulan's discordant strikes.

When the Sword Mage again closed in to shave away more of her manipulated alloy, an impaling spike erupted the moment Lulu connected her blow, returning the favour.

"Lulu! Dodge it!" came the sound of her teammate's cries.

Lulan took the erupting lance without so much as a grimace, allowing it to graze her abdomen. Sparks flew as the fabric ripped, exposing her tempered abdominals. With a grunt of effort, her riposte landed, penetrating Ella's shield with an ear-grating sound of metal on metal.

"Shield Break!" The chief proctor declared with a clap of her hands. "Both of you. Well done!"

The contestants bowed, shook hands, then left the stage to the sound of thunderous applause.

"Lulu, did you see her element?!" Gwen was shaking. "Is it gold— like real gold?"

"It's a gold-alloy." Walken's Message interrupted her glee. "Did you read my notes? The regions around Johannesburg and Pretoria are inundated with rare earth minerals, precious metals and gemstones. She must have picked up a rare Earth Elemental."

"Damn it, so it's not gold?" Gwen materialised a towel for the victorious Lulan. "Here, put this on. Kusu's going to complain."

Lulan wrapped the beach towel around her shoulders. Against her tiny frame, the bath-sized fabric was just enough to cover her bruised midsection.

Next to take the stage was another member of Pretoria, the sultry vice-captain with an outrageous figure matched only by Yue. Yawning, she pointed a disinterested finger at Team Auckland.

"Alizea Kock, I'll fight two rounds. One from each of your teams. Who's first?" The sorceress' husky voice befitted her smouldering silhouette, leaving no doubt that compared to Fudan's fresh-faced lasses, she was a full-fledged woman.

Gwen focused just enough to activate her Detect Magic. Here was a Mage whose element sent her heart into bouts of palpitation. Though she had seen Wonsoo in action in Guangzhou, no further opportunities had since arisen where she could tangle with the versatility of one of the rarer quasi-elements - Ooze.

"Maka Wikiriwhi of Whitianga, here to answer your challenge!" A giant appeared on stage, emerging from a hiss of sulphur.

"Magtig, you're groot one." Alizea smirked, her clear-cobalt eyes appearing to swallow the man whole. "We're badly matched, Maka. I'd recommend someone else. Like your captain, or that fiery little bakvissie who's giving me the evil eye."

"You'll have to defeat me first." Maka stretched his arms and legs, his admirable muscles rippling across his magnificent bulk. On his face, the vivid ta moko— the tribal tattoos of the Maori people, writhed as though alive. "Come at me, bro."

"I'll be nice." Alizea Dimensioned Doored into the arena, crossing her arms under her chest. "Coming?"

Maka followed with a Blink. From the difference in their mana trails, Gwen could see that Pretoria's craft was superior.

"First Strike is all yours." Alizea stepped back. "I don't much like opening a fight, though I tend to end them."

Maka took a deep breath, then without warning, his facial expression changed. With a tremendous shout, his body expanded, his muscles tensed, his bull-neck strained, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. "Ka mate, ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora!…" Barking war cries erupted from the Kiwi's lips, blowing away not only the audience but Alizea.

"Jislaaik!" the sorceress shirked back, half-stunned by the sudden display. "What ancient witchcraft is this?! BOB!"

Of all the audience present, it was likely that only Gwen and Auckland's team knew the meaning behind the one-warrior Haka that Maka now performed. In the Land of the Long Cloud, the Haka and the ta moko greatly enhanced a Mage's physical and mental abilities, granting the invoker resistance and courage in equal measure.

Unfortunately for Maka, "Bob", a gelatinous ooze shaped like a cube and half the size of the arena swallowed the still-shouting Kiwi. Not expecting to be outright overwhelmed, Maka was mid-stride and half-finished when he became suddenly encased in slime.

"YOU—!" Yue shouted from below the dais. "He was getting to the good part!"

Gwen wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or cringe.

She knew what a Haka was and still, Maka managed to make her flinch with that first "Ka ora!" For someone like Alizea, it must have felt like a sonic assault.

In the cube, Maka tried to move, to invoke a spell, to bring forth his magma. Unfortunately, all was in vain.

"Maka! Get back here!" Yue fumed, scalding the air around her body. "I'll boil this bitch's blood!"

No response came. Maka couldn't breathe, much less banter. The advantage often used by Water Mages to prevent their opponents from casting was now manifested in its unadulterated glory by Alizea the Ooze Mage.

"What a wonderful Familiar," Richard muttered under his breath, his eyes gleaming. "Beautiful."

Alizea waited for half-a-minute before releasing the coughing Maka from her jello prison. Red-faced and vomiting undigested dinner, the Kiwi rolled to one side to prevent himself from been choked to death by his ejecta. With Yue foaming at the mouth, Gwen grew terrified that the competition may see its first fatality before the matches had even begun. Pulling her friend into her arms, she held the Fire Sorceress against her chest, forcing her to calm down.

"Miss Alizea, I challenge you!" a voice rang out from behind Gwen. She turned to see a red-faced Jiro ready to rock. "Miss Bai, I dedicate this match to you!"

Gwen made a face. Elementally, Jiro wasn't a good match, though his ever-burning Firebird may yet secure a victory.

"Whatever." Alizea furrowed her brows, realising that Auckland and Fudan not only knew one another but were acquainted. If so, she would teach them a lesson. "A friendly warning though. I have the advantage. You should quit before you hurt yourself."

Jiro didn't hear a word, for the young man Blinked into the area without so much as waiting for Walken's advice.

"Idiot." Petra rolled her eyes. "Eunae?"

"Yes, Petra?" Eunae's expression grew worried.

"Get Eunae ready," Walken likewise lamented in his Message to Gwen. "Fighting an Ooze Mage in a cage? That boy's thinking with his wand."

"Contestants, BEGIN!" Chief proctor Jamison was happy so long as bodies filled the arena. "First to shield-break!"

True to their prediction, Jiro opened strong with an all-consuming barrage. To the layman observer, the Fire Mage appeared to dominate as Alizea dodged and rolled, protecting herself with blob after quivering blob of conjured Ooze-flesh. Yet, when Jiro filled the arena with fire, his expression grew increasingly disorientated until, too incoherent to control his body, he fell face-first into a pile of still-smouldering Slime. For all of Jiro's talk of overcoming hardship with guts, physiology remained an immutable barrier.

Outside, Gwen was ready with Eunae beside the stage as Alizea delivered the unconscious Fire Mage. When Jiro flopped onto Yue like a dead fish, Gwen growled dangerously, making even Yue flinch.

"May I have a match?" Her hazel eyes were almost amber with anger as she regarded the Ooze Mage. The air sparked, or at least the onlookers felt that it had.

"We may not." Alizea unsummoned her globular multitudes. "I've seen your prowess. We're not a good match up."

"Do you only fight when the Affinities align?"

"No." Alizea stood so close that the two could have touched. Refusing to give an inch, she fired back at the boisterous young sorceress of Fudan with a snark of her own. "I don't waste my energy unless I can win."

"Well said!" Magister Jamison golf-clapped. "Some would call it cowardice, but knowing your strength and weaknesses marks the true form of the expert Mage."

"Fine. Which one of you is GAME enough for a challenge?" In her wounded pride, Gwen's aura verged on oppression.

"I'm going with Eunae," Yue grumbled. Jiro had wanted to fight in her stead, meaning his humiliation belonged to her as well. Without a deathmatch, there was no way for their fire to offset Alizea's Ooze before they succumbed to her toxins. Mayhap Jiro had not possessed the purest of intentions, but he did take a bolt to the brain for her sake. "Kick their ass for me."

"May I have a match?" the voice of Pretoria's Captain filled the vox-casters. "I have heard endless praise for your prowess. Our advisor said to avoid duelling you at all costs."

Gwen stepped away from Pretoria's vice-captain, allowing the woman to pass.

"Wel gedaan," the young man intoned when his twice-victorious teammate returned, greeting her with an affirming pat. "Let's see if I measure up against the fabled Void Sorceress of Fudan. If I lose, tell the leech to step up and make himself useful."

"Good." Gwen stepped into the duelling box, materialising Ariel and Caliban as she did so, eliciting gasps from both Auckland and Pretoria. At the barrier, recalling the information Walken had provided, she paused. "Schalk, aren't you an Abjurer? I am not going to go easy, just so you know."

"Beware his Banish," Walken's voice drifted in.

"He's got a Banish loaded up," Petra warned her.

"Gwen, he's going after your pets." The third voice belonged to Whetu.

Gwen remained unfazed. Rather than wariness, she looked forward to it.

"I am what they call an all-rounder," the young man with the surname of Hertzog spoke with care. "Before we begin, hear me out. I know you're upset— you look upset. BUT— we're competitors, not enemies. Once the IIUC is over, I want us to meet as friends."

"How humble." Gwen stood with a hand against her hip. The captain's diplomacy surprised her, especially considering what Walken had said about the Purists.

"You mistake my humility." Pretoria's captain regarded Gwen with irises that were carbon copies of Petra's. Schalk was a good-looking bloke; his intense eyes reminded her of a majestic male Husky. With his straight nose, square jaws and tapered chin, he appeared to Gwen a twenty-something Alec Baldwin. Of all the teams they fought so far, Pretoria's Mages ranked high as decent-looking lads and lasses, sans Gollum von Voldemort.

"I will do my best." The captain bowed. "Shall we?"

The two moved to opposite ends of the arena.

"Mages— keep it cool, keep it clean, and keep the lethality low. You'll be touring the Front in two days." Chief proctor Jamison waited for the reporters and journalists to settle before announcing the match. "BEGIN!"

At the drop of the Magister's hand, Gwen conjured two spells in quick succession "Chakram! Ariel— Lightning Bolt!"

The crowd burst into amazement at the live demonstration of oppositional elements. As an arc, a dark disc of Void sliced toward Schalk while instantaneously, two bolts of high-tier Lightning arced toward Pretoria's captain.

"Dimension Door!" Schalk appeared and reappeared, catching Gwen on the back foot even as she commanded Caliban to ambush the man when he re-materialised from behind.

Unexpectedly, her prediction fell short. The distance Pretoria's captain had displaced was just enough to render her spells null.

"Miss Song, be careful now— Scatter Shot!"

The space in front of Gwen appeared to compress. In response, she raised her double-glazed shield. A split-second later, a hundred thudding impacts clattered against her diamond-faceted barrier, pinging off the surface.

"EE EE!" Ariel warned her that Schalk had disappeared into another Dimension Door.

"Cali, spider form as soon as he reappears!" Gwen swore as she followed suit, likewise teleporting across the duelling floor. A Banish was coming sooner or later; she had to be ready.

When her world reorientated, she painted her surroundings with a Lightning Nova, hoping to catch an unsuspecting Schalk setting up his attack.

"EE EE!" Ariel screeched.

She looked up.

Schalk was standing upside down and directly overhead through Spider Climb. The man had not teleported beside her but had readied an ambush instead. Her Divination Sigil tingled as Gwen grimaced. Compared to Tei, she wasn't an expert duellist, but were her tactics that easy to read?

"Scatter Shot! Earthen Spikes!" Pretoria's captain let loose two near-simultaneous low-tier spells at once. The execution was academic and concise, precisely as Magister Jamison had requested— crisp, clean and the lethality low.

Before she could Dimension Door again, Gwen had to open another shield. Around her came the pop and crackle of rapidly expanding crystals, followed by the sound of fracturing glass as her double-glazed barrier took damage from above and below. Had she been a sorceress lacking the VMI necessary to compress and sustain her defence, the match would have been over. For Gwen, however, she was merely inconvenienced while her shield-bubble turned opaque.

"SHAAA!" A cry from Caliban indicated that Schalk's troubles were about to begin. In its spider form, Caliban Hasted itself with Gwen's vitality, then rapidly clambered toward Pretoria's Captain on spindly legs.

With complete calm, Schalk extended both hands, then swiftly drew a series of Mandalas through the air. Less than a meter away, Caliban raised both forelegs. If the multi-talented Mage refused to raise his shield, it would skewer the man like a boerewors.

The entire exchange lasted barely five or six seconds, but it was enough.

"Banish!" Schalk completed the spell with nary a second to spare. A lesser Mage would have experienced a multi-tongued kiss to the face.

"SHAAA!" Caliban fell from the ceiling, landing as though suddenly drunk, then collapsed into its original serpent form. For Gwen, the Banish came as a blow directed against her Astral Soul, though she successfully kept her Familiar intact. Though Caliban's morphic presence grew uncertain, her beast remained fully manifested in the material realm.

"It's not banished?" cries from Pretoria's side rang out. "How can this be?"

"Extraordinary!" Magister Jamison clapped. Impressed by Schalk's ability to juggle Abjuration, Enchantment and Conjuration simultaneously, as well as by Gwen's Astral fortitude. "You too, Miss Song, that was tier 5!"

Inside the arena, Schalk Hertzog felt his back suddenly drenched in cold sweat when Gwen's barrier shield dropped. Banish took a great deal of concentration, and he was counting on Gwen's disorientation to offset his spell-fatigue.

"You almost had me there," came the girl's icy voice from below. "Flash Bang!"

BUNG!

A star was born, manifesting so rapidly that his shield barely had time to solidify before his senses were momentarily overwhelmed. Reflexively, Schalk Dimension Doored to safety.

BUNG! Came a second flash of light and sound, jarring his innards. Schalk wanted to spew; if he had possessed a softer element like Alizea's Ooze, he could have repressed the spell's potency. As a Mineral Mage, however, the vibrations shook his brain even as the refracting light made his diamond-shield iridescent.

A role-reversal, Schalk noted. The girl was as spiteful as a manticore.

"EE EE!"

"Barbanginy!"

Gwen had yet to use Walken's Thundering Shatter on anyone other than Petra during practice, but the close call with Caliban had exacerbated her foul mood. As Ariel manifested the spell at a distance, a rolling, tile-displacing, glass-vibrating clamour rumbled through the shaking duelling box.

"REMOVE THE TOP BARRIER—" Magister Jamison warned the technical team. "NOW!"

Outside, the guests' jubilant expressions paled as some realised the Wall of Force might not hold against a spell especially designed to disrupt single-pane barriers. Inside, Gwen came to realise she had miscalculated Ariel's firepower, particularly that there was no IFF for sonic damage.

"Idiot girl!" Outside, an ashen Walken despaired. Anything from Lightning Bolt to Ball Lightning could have cracked the boy's shield— why Thundering Shatter? The spell was infamously destructive without her Essence, and now with the girl's tier 7 Affinity combined with her Kirin, the spell's magnitude had grown beyond compare.

CRACK! A fulmination so turbulent as to mirror the heavens splitting in twain filled the interior of the duelling area. Where Schalk had cloistered himself in a diamond-like shield, the sound of sheet-glass shattering punctuated the din. For an elongated second, the shrill whine of portable force-generators screamed like strangled cats. A spluttering fart followed, after which the devices burst into bright plumes of fizzling mana.

Walken despaired. Like all good spells, there remained a second-stage manifestation.

Just when the guests thought the worst was over, the low rumble built into a shrill-shriek akin to ceramic scratched over a chalkboard, amplified to liquefy one's soul.

Crystalware sourced from Elven artisans, having been in the Astoria's collections for decades, exploded into fine powder as goblets and pitches cracked and crumbled. Not far from where the courtyard housed the duel, multi-storey sheet-glass split into splendiferous hues, catching the shocked faces of the journalists, the proctors, and the contestants.

Stunned by the power of her magic, Gwen felt her soul grow sore, thinking of the crystal compensation soon to follow. Even now, the liqueur covered guests and the proud staff of the historic Astoria painted her lonesome figure with death glares.

"M-My recorder!" a journalist wailed when his vision turned kaleidoscopic.

"Shaa Shaa!" Caliban menaced the unmoving captain, ready for round two, heedless of the crowd.

"EE! EEE!" Ariel looked to Gwen, expecting praise for its brilliant assault.

Pretoria's captain laid very still on the floor, blinded and deafened and knowing that it was far better to remain prone than to expel his dinner.

Upon the dais, Magister Jamison took a deep breath. Had she not disabled the top-most portion of the force field, she wondered if Schalk Hertzog would have turned to jelly.

A slow clamour began to grow from the thong of guests below. Some were understandably upset. Others were applauding, while here and there, people took the unfortunate event to be a tale told and retold weeks and years from now. "I was there!" they would say. "When the Astoria had to be restored! Again!"

"LOSS, Gwen Song!" Magister Jamison growled. "For excessive force and excessive injury and collateral damage. You're worse than an acolyte, girl! Learn some control! Come here."

While Pretoria's team attended to their victorious captain, Gwen sheepishly walked toward the Magister with her Familiars in tow.

"Give the crowd a few minutes to settle, then issue an apology." The chief proctor's eyes searched Gwen's face for the slightest hint of insubordination.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Girl. Do you have enough crystals to pay for the damage?"

Gwen appeared on the verge of agony.

The Magister snorted. Silly girl, stupid is as stupid does, she critiqued sympathetically. At this rate, the girl may be paying off the debt even after her graduation.

"That's it for the duels then." The chief proctor scanned the ruined party, her ageless face wrinkled by the stress brought on by the unruly sorceress. "A friendly bit of advice. Kiss and make up with Pretoria if you can. Urban warfare isn't going to be a Quest Fudan wants to do alone."

"Ha! Suffer in ya jocks!" Yue slammed the beer before crushing the can. "NEXT!"

"I yield," slurred the Lightning Mage from Pretoria, a teal-eyed youth who had challenged her to a beer-drinking contest. "For such a tiny meisie, where do you pack all that booze?"

All eyes fell toward Yue's low-cut top; many inquisitive minds reached the same conclusion.

After the duels were suspended, Fudan's vice-captain invited both teams to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant to experience "xiao ye" or midnight-supper.

For Auckland's Mages, the famous Beggar Chicken reminded them of "Hāngi" feasts. Meanwhile, Pretoria's members blew Gwen's mind when they took to eating liver, fatty intestine, and even chicken feet without batting an eye.

After two-dozen dishes populated the table, the Tsingtao began to flow in earnest.

"Oi! What are you staring at, you wanna go?" Yue barked at the shadow lurking not far from Gwen. For a while now, the last member of Pretoria had grated her nerves. Gwen begged a good oogling, but that was no reason to undress her with his eyes.

"Don't mind him." Schalk opened a can and passed the ice-cold beverage down the table. "Jean-Paul isn't used to public spaces or people. Isn't that right, Jean-Paul?"

Hearing his name, the creature known as Jean-Paul appeared to shrink into his chair.

"Say something, Jean-Paul," Alizea demanded from across the table. "Don't play the mute. We know you can talk."

The rest of Pretoria laughed, a few from Auckland and Fudan joined the mirth.

Jean-Paul opened his mouth to speak, though no sound emerged. His pallid face was already a deep scarlet, and now he looked on the verge of asphyxiation.

Across the long table, Gwen sat transfixed, likewise glancing at Jean-Paul. More so than the others, it was Gwen's undivided attention that made the man with a face no mother could love squirm.

Yue scoffed. So what if the cockroach was a Void Mage? Who could match her friend's prodigious talent? Certainly not a hairless Water Ghost.

"No matter, three CHEERs to our success on the Front! May our adventure be sweet-as!" Rona, Auckland's captain, stood on his seat to raise a toast. Like Yue, the man could drink like a fish. "Just as the headiest foam rises to the top, may the best team emerge the victor!"

"Cheers!"

"Gānbēi!"

"Gesondheid!"

Foaming cans and bottles clinked across the air. Until the beer ran dry, no contestant wanted to recall that in less than forty-eight hours, they would no longer be in a city of twenty-million living souls, but knee-deep in the Undead.

By the time the beer dried up, the three teams had become well acquainted. At Gwen's behest, each member of their Dalian foray was to deliver a show and tell, like on day one of a tutorial class.

The first to volunteer were the boisterous New Zealanders. Their captain, Rona Manaia, a stock-standard Water Mage, announced that he would spend the match in the backlines. His speciality, Illusion and Conjuration, may work wonders on intelligent enemies but was hapless against the Undead. When asked if he was a 'quaterling', Rona raised a toast.

"Yeah bro, me old woman's a halfie." The captain's endearing vernacular had Gwen in fits. "Don't knock me mum for her size though. She's sweet as they come."

"It's true," Yue cut in. "Mrs Manaia's pavlova? Ernnnngh!"

As Yue grunted in a most unladylike manner, Gwen peeked at the Purists from Pretoria. Surprisingly, Schalk and mates appeared entirely chill with the idea. If so, it was true what Richard had once said, that among the Purists, there were factions. For pursuers of unadulterated magical might, unions with higher-order demi-humans were encouraged. What united the Purists, therefore, was mutual loathing for NoMs.

"Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga." The biggest of the gathered students half-stood so that he wouldn't head-bump the greasy ceiling. "I employ Punamu. I am our team's Abjurer-Defender. I can use a little Transmutation."

In addition to Gwen's friends, the other members of Auckland were the Wikiriwhi brothers, Maka and Timoti, both Spirit-bound Magma Mages and Evokers. Maka minored in Transmutation, while Timoti was skilled in Conjuration. Their other relative, Rongo Winiata, was a rare Water Evoker.

"Too bad you and I couldn't duel." Rongo grinned at Richard. "Oi've heard of ya, Mr Undine."

"I am happy to oblige whenever." Richard looked the big man up and down. "Your spirit, its a whale, isn't it?"

Rongo abruptly lifted his shirt, revealing chiselled abdominals like those found on a polished statue, from his chest to his left lumbar, an enormous ta moko depicting a flat-headed fish impressed Gwen to no end. "Not whale, but He-Mango-Tohorā! Whale Shark!"

Richard whistled. Lulu covered her face.

Soundlessly, Lea manifesting beside him, dazzling Richard's audience with a beauty only a fay could possess. Chuckling, she handed him a cold beer. "Thanks, love."

The two men watched one another. The whale shark evidently could not manifest Rongo a cold one.

With a laugh, the next candidate, Otikoro Aperahama, announced himself as Auckland's Water Abjurer-Transmuter.

The man beside him, a giant heavily tattoed with dog-skin ta moko, introduced himself as Tua Kahurangi. He was a Sand Mage, a talent that knitted Gwen's brow and brought on unpleasant memories.

"Ruihi Keeti, Enchanter, Earth." A robust woman with dazzling ember eyes and big bushy hair stood to reveal twin arms tattooed from fingertips to her undershirt. Most jarring was the ta moko that gilded her neck to her chin, giving the impression of a beard. "My speciality is defensive buffs through the sacred art."

"And I am Opi Raharuhil, Diviner-Enchanter, Air." A slim woman as tall as Gwen stood, she sported more ta mojo than her already impressive sister-in-craft. "I specialise in the ta moko of attack."

The last of the Kiwi crew wasn't a New Zealander at all but a Sydney-sider on loan, one that grinned mischievously at Gwen before telling her story.

"My mother's an NoM," Yue declared when it came to her turn, wiggling her brows at Pretoria. As expected, a few of the members sobered up with conflicted expressions, dimming the mirth.

A dozen pairs of eyes drifted back and forth as Yue shit stirred. Fengbo Village was no place to duel.

"Good for you," Schalk broke the ice. "Are you expecting one of us to smash the table and call you a squib? I could oblige if it makes you happier."

"Schalks, you don't mind someone like Yue?" Gwen cut straight to the chase. She'd been worried about how the two would interact.

"Why would I mind?" Pretoria's captain snorted. With his pale eyes gleaming, he stood to face the half-blood sorceress. "Miss Bai, are you willing to bear me a child?"

"FUCK NO!" Yue's spray of Tsingtao missed Gwen by an inch. "Gwen, tell him he's dreaming!"

"Schalks, I am afraid Yue's not a good fit..."

"Of course she's not." Schalk grinned, the young man's charisma was palpable. "Now then, shall I rage and fume at a half-breed with no interest in partnership? We're allies of circumstance. She may do as she pleases, as will I. We Boers are objectivists, Miss Song— we're nothing like those British or the American hypocrites. Please don't lump us together."

"You surprise me more and more." Gwen raised a glass. "To your health."

"Gesondheid!" Schalk raised his bottle of half-finished beer. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Schalk Hertzog. I am a Mineral Mage, I major in Abjuration, and minors in Conjuration and Enchantment. Just so, I possess lesser talents across the spectrum. My great-grandfather is the great J.L. Barry Hertzog, a hero of the Boer Union of the old Cape. Though my ancestor's statue has been removed from the Union's lawn, he is immortalised by the Hertzoggie, a delicious jam-tart, my favourite dessert. As of today, I am the first Mage in my family to be beaten unconscious by a beautiful young woman, live, and on international vid-cast."

Gwen nursed her glass, half full of guilt and the other half sloshing with wounded pride. She wondered if Schalk was willing to accept compensation, but what could a Mage of his stature possibly lack?

"Gwen." Richard nudged her. "Announce your list of Schools, then give him the bird."

"Richard!" Gwen hissed at her cousin like a cat, causing the table to burst into laughter.

Next to introduce herself was Alizea Kock.

"Alizea, Ooze. Transmutation Conjuration. Controller." The woman flopped in her chair. "Please get on with it."

The rest of South Africa's team followed their captain and vice-captain. Ella Goosen was the Earthen Abjurer-Conjurer who commanded gold-laced minerals. Lencho Afrika and Mariete Afrika were cousins who both Awakened in Lightning Evocation and had reached tier 6. Pieter Zietsman was an Ice Mage Transmuter-Abjurer, and Pretoria's second defender. Their controller, Altus De Waal, an Air Illusionist, confessed to joining Auckland's captain on the backbench. Lastly, Pretoria's two utilitarian casters were Izette Rautenbach, a Cleric hailing from the Convent of the Reformed, and Heila Anderson, a Diviner.

"And you, sir?" Gwen finally turned to the young man half-sunken in his chair. It was the moment she had anticipated since finding out from Schalk that Jean-Paul was a Void Mage. The news had come so unexpectedly that even now, Gwen doubted Schalk's words. If Jean-Paul was a Void Mage, why couldn't she sense anything? Not even her Detect Magic saw anything but raw and mundane sorcery from the unassuming man.

"My name is Jean-Paul Bekker," came a tiny whisper.

"And are you a Void Mage?" Gwen studied the bloke whose face had been left half-finished by a cruel creator. When the man opened his mouth to speak, her heart leapt.

"Yes. I am a Void Mage," Jean-Paul's reply was a mosquito's hum. "I major in Conjuration… and Evocation."

"See? I told you. Jean-Paul is a bonafide Void Mage, with a Void Spirit to boot. Though he was thrust upon us, I can vouch for his skill," Schalk spoke in his dumb companion's stead. "Maybe the two of you could get acquainted? If you're willing to take him off my hands, that would be a blessing."

The teams looked to Gwen, then to Jean-Paul and back again. Surely, Elves weren't interested in malnourished Hobs?

Jean-Paul had never felt so much self-loathing as he had in the last few hours.

He knew he had a face even his whore of a mother would struggle to love, that his appearance was so lame and unfashionable that dogs barked when he neared. Still, until he had to sit in public with Pretoria's fair-faced contestants, he had never realised just how different he was to others. For most of his life, under Mevrou Bekker, the shape of his face and the contour of his gaunt silhouette mattered less than the Demi-humans Umzokwe took for sport.

Before he left, the Mevrou had said that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. Yet, here in a stranger's city, on a strange continent, sitting beside his object, a fellow Void sorceress, her perfect visage caused him physical pain.

How could he execute Mevrou Bekker's desire when his face frightened the girl? He wasn't Schalk, who could charm the undergarment from a woman without spending a single HDM. In all his life, Jean-Paul never even had a lady-friend, much less a girlfriend. Other than Mevrou Bekker, the number of times he sat alone with a woman could be counted on both hands. For now, all he could do was watch his breath steam the air.

Goulding B1's sky garden measured only a few dozen meters across, and now that winter approached, all the plants and flowers were withered.

"Are you not cold?" Jean-Paul eyed his female companion, who wore nothing but a silk shawl over her otherwise naked shoulders. As for himself, he wore a jacket and an overcoat.

"Not at all." The girl shrugged. After the duel, she had switched to casuals. "I find the weather's refreshing."

"I hate London's weather." Jean-Paul fought to find a common subject. "I miss Pretoria's Jacarandas every year."

"I miss home too. We have Jacarandas in Sydney as well, only they're red, and we call them flame trees." The girl smiled. When she glanced at him, Jean-Paul felt a strange heat in his abdomen. "So… Jean-Paul, shall we get to know each other a bit better?"

Jean-Paul's complexion turned the colour of plums. Get to know him? Already? He wasn't at all prepared! Things were progressing somewhat faster than he had anticipated.

"I mean, you've seen mine, it's only fair you show me yours," the sorceress reiterated, sensing his hesitation. With a finger, she stirred the fabric of space and time, tearing a rip into the ever-familiar nothingness of the Void.

"Shaa!" Her Familiar, Caliban, slithered into being.

Even as a fellow Void Mage, Jean-Paul sensed the hunger radiating from the creature. Different from Umzokwe, he could sense that the beast was younger, less experienced. He could also sense that though Caliban had fed of many a lifeform, very few of its victims were intelligent. Was Caliban a Spirit like Umzokwe then? Or was it a dumb beast? Jean-Paul couldn't tell, not without inspecting Caliban thoroughly.

The serpent approached. Jean-Paul remained very still while it sniffed his hands.

"Shaa!" The creature nuzzled his hand. Jean-Paul's brows stitched. Why does the thing remind him of a cat?

"I shall show you." Jean-Paul likewise stirred the air. "Umzokwe!"

Mirroring the sorceress's Familiar on the adjacent bench, Umzokwe slithered into being. The only difference was that his leech made nary a sound. Unlike the boisterous Caliban, Umzokwe was an ambush predator.

Soundlessly, his great white leech sniffed the air, its segmented body engorged with stowed vitality. In the dim light of the sky garden, his creature was pallid, as pale as Jean-Paul himself. When hungry, Umzokwe resembled a flatworm. Now that it had fed, it was a bloated, car-sized maggot.

"Shaa!" The creature known as Caliban slithered closer, sleek and hungry, reminding Jean-Paul of its slim-limbed mistress. "Shaa?"

Umzokwe sniffed its brethren from the Void.

A vibrant feeling of near-hysterical hunger travelled across his Familiar's empathic link. Not daring to meet her eyes, Jean-Paul studied the girl's heeled-wearing feet. The girl's aura was palpable now that both their Familiars grew excited. How did she control the Void's call? By what means did she stave off its incessant appetite?

Below, Umzokwe opened its maw, within which pink tentacles akin to parasitic worms peeped forth.

"Shaa!" Caliban's carapace split, revealing two appendages, one pink and the other blue, reminiscent of an anatomy model's painted arteries.

Gingerly, their Familiar's touched tips.

Jean-Paul blanched; his mind once again engulfed with the insatiable hunger transmuted from between their Familiars. He grunted, or perhaps he groaned, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that the girl's creature was hungry and that it could eat every living being in B1 and still have space left over for B2.

Slurp! Lick! Squelch!

Umzokwe reared, its many-segment body undulating as though mimicking the noontide.

"Shaa!" The obsidian serpent retreated.

"HUUURRRRK!" Umzokwe opened its maw. From within the darkness, half-a-torso emerged. The head, mostly annihilated by Jean-Paul's Void spell, remained tethered to the neck by a loose ligament.

Jean-Paul blinked, his arm-hair erecting like bristles. It took him a second to realise that this was the Hartebeest Centaur he had stowed in Swaziland. The fiend had been raiding the local villages for food and women; only this time, it had found Umzokwe where it had expected a virgin.

How sweet! Jean-Paul's face formed a rare smile. His Familiar was sharing its bounty!

"Shaa!" A happy Caliban dove onto the slime-slathered, half-mangled cadaver.

"Miss Song— it seems that Umzokwe has found a friend." Jean-Paul looked up, finally full of confidence. For the first time since they conversed, he met her wondrously hypnotic eyes, noting that her pupils shrivelled to pin-points. He took a deep breath. "May we be—"

"NOOOOO! NO GOD NO!" the girl's blood-curling scream was enough to wake the neighbourhood and blast Jean-Paul off his seat. "CALI! NOOOOOOO!"

Gwen figured it must be karma.

How often had she frightened the bejeezus out of her friend and foes with Caliban? Most of the time, it was unintentional, but after a while, she felt a sadistic rush whenever her enemies reacted to seeing her fiend for the first time.

Despite her initial loathing, she had grown uncommonly fond of Cali's slick carapace and its cute, bobbing, bulbous idiosyncrasies. Even its tentacles, conditioned in her head to resemble sloppy dog-tongues, were adorable in a lamprey-tipped, soul-sucking way. Even Cali's spider-form had grown on her, and now she enjoyed riding her Familiar like a great Strandbeest.

But this THING.

This leech-maggot.

It was too much.

An aura of vertigo aside, the thing was semi-opaque like mutton fat and slick with ooze from tip to tail. As its segments undulated, she could see bits of its organs shifting back and forth, haunting its interior.

Void beasts were scentless, but even so, Gwen's brain assaulted her with recollected synaesthesia. When she was a child, her mother had asked her to bring up the groceries. Not wanting to carry such a heavy load, she made several trips, only to forget a frozen chicken, wedged in the garage. When a week later her mother returned, she dragged Gwen by the scruff of the neck down to the garage on a thirty-degree day. There, Gwen was given explicit orders not to return home until the place smelled fresh as new. When she finally gathered the courage to open the bag of swarming flesh, she near lost her mind.

So it was that despite the freezing air, Gwen began to sweat. In a second, her shoulders glistened with the effort of appearing in control. Within the recess of her mind, a voice wanted to vacuum the leech-beast wholesale. Even with her legs exposed, her knees perspired while one heel tapped ceaselessly, transmuting her agitation against the sandstone tile like a staccato drum.

When furthermore Jean-Paul's maggot opened its maw, Gwen felt a new wave of revulsion overwhelm her better judgement. She wanted to excuse herself and take an hour-long shower.

Conjuring an excuse, she looked at Jean-Paul; the Mage was gazing at their pets with a look of benevolence. Following his eyes, her attention turned to their Familiars— then she regretted possessing eyes.

Caliban and Umzokwe were shaking hands.

But worms do not possess hands. Gwen baulked as the horrid spectacle assaulted her sanity, taking no prisoners.

Slurp! Lick! Squelch!

As though mocking her distress, their creatures became tongue-tied, giving Gwen the impression of a deep-throated kiss.

Her eyes watered. She felt a hysterical madness coming on and wondered if this was how Void Mages grew infamously psychotic.

"HUUURRRRK!" Umzokwe projectile vomited, covering Caliban with a milky goo.

Splat!

Something landed, splattering her Mary Janes. It was a face— no, half a face, near-consumed by something akin to Void Bolt. Gwen's eyes followed the flap of skin. There was a hairy torso there, and an arm, all very much human.

"Shaa!" Caliban's delight fed into their Empathic Link.

The sensation was such that Gwen grew momentarily confused, too late to stop Caliban from sweeping up the carcass.

"NOOOOO! NO GOD NO!" she cried out, her voice suddenly hoarse as her belated dinner rose from the deepest part of her Astral Soul. "CALI! NOOOOO!"

"Is it safe to leave them like that?" Richard stood beside Yue, observing the twin silhouettes below in B1's sky garden.

"Think she's going to eat him?" Yue stood so close to the glass that she frosted the panes. "Could give her a boost, you know."

"I know."

The two gave one another an expectant look. Was this another stray cat Gwen would soon add to her collection?

"I can set up a Scry…" Mayuree gently coughed. "To maintain... subtlety, it'll just be audio. Gwen's very sensitive to targeted Divination."

"We shouldn't—" Lulan protested.

"It's for Jean-Paul's safety," Petra, who had been observing the interaction, butted in. "I don't trust Gwen to leave the man alone."

"Let's take this up in my penthouse." Mayuree pointed upstairs. "We can… protect Jean-Paul from there. If need be,"

"She's a thirsty one," Yue agreed. "You know her love of masochism. And that dude is a walking shit-show. His mates just left him like a bad smell. What the fuck?"

"But—" Lulan felt torn. There was something indescribably wrong about Scrying on her friend and saviour. Was this why Kusu was concerned? That all of these people surrounding Gwen had one chopstick longer than the other?

"No time to waste, let's go." Richard opened the lift. "Come on!"

Upstairs, Lei provided tea and snacks so that the voyeurs could spy in comfort.

"…Jean-Paul, shall we get to know each other a bit better…"

"I mean, you've seen mine, it's only fair if you show me yours…"

"I shall show you…"

"Shaa!"

"Ergn..." Jean-Paul groaned.

Gwen's closest companions regarded one another.

Then came the sound of what sounded like a jousting pair of tongues. Before anyone could comment, the spacious living room resounded with the sweet music of copulating tendrils.

Lulan sat hugging her knees, her face redder than a beetroot, her innocence wild with feverish imagination. Petra gazed into her cocktail, wondering how to face her cousin after all this. Richard sat grinning without a word. Mayuree covered her ears.

"Wow." Yue paced back and forth. "I didn't think Gwen had it in her. Jean-Paul? FUCK! What about Evee?"

"… Mind Magic?" Richard raised a finger.

"Impossible." Petra shook her head. "She's resistant to glamours, and she's wearing a Mind Shield."

"Maybe a Visual Scry could help clear this up." Mayuree raised a hand. "Give me a few seconds."

"Do I need to see this?" Lulan groaned. "I don't want to see this. Kusu is going to be so mad."

"What if." Yue paused. "She's eating—"

"NOOOOO! NO GOD NO!" came a hysterical outburst.

In an instant, Yue Blinked from the penthouse to the balcony, ten storeys above the sky garden. With her enhanced spells, she could blast the prick to cinders while sparing every hair on Gwen's pretty head. Channelling mana to her eyes, she saw the two figures below, one female and one male, and their Familiars.

Yue paused.

Her best friend was performing an obscene manoeuvre on Caliban. From her vantage, she saw that Gwen had Cali caught and cupped between her chest and her torso. With a violent, thrusting motion, Gwen dry-humped Caliban, choking her snake. Not far, the Void Mage with a face like taut foreskin kept apologising profusely. Adjacent to the heaving girl and the bowing guy, a disgusting maggot-thing swayed back and forth as though enjoying the sound of Gwen's high-pitched shrieking and Caliban's gagged singing.

"Is she alright?" Richard's voice drifted across, not at all worried. "Did Caliban eat the guy?"

"I don't know." Yue stepped back onto the balcony, her understanding no longer within the realm of reason. "Bloody hell, I am so fucking confused right now."

Once Gwen's scream-queen antics died down, she asked for Jean-Paul's forgiveness. The maggot was a leech, the Void Mage explained, and though Gwen felt no better about the pallid white slug, she conceded her mistake.

"Who is your teacher, Jean-Paul?" Gwen asked, hugging Caliban's bruised body to her chest. Earlier, she had applied enough force to feel its carapace crack, though returning its meal was no longer a possibility. Thankfully, the cadaver belonged to a monster Jean-Paul had exterminated, one that possessed the guise of a man but was very much a menace.

Once her nerves settled, she returned to the topic of their mutual magic. "You know, I've been picking at this Void thing largely on my own thus far. Can we exchange some notes?"

"I'd be delighted to. My Master is Meister Bekker of London Imperial," Jean-Paul name-dropped without batting an eye.

Opposite, Gwen's eyes had gone glassy. London Imperial was on par with Cambridge, sans the spotless reputation. And a Meister as a master was an incredible boon.

"Jean-Paul, When did you Awaken?"

"Twelve or so?"

"And you've followed a Meister for how long?"

"Almost a decade…" Jean-Paul confessed with great solemnity. "I've still got lots to learn, Mevrou Bekker has very high expectations."

Gwen's chest ached. She felt as though a scab had been rent from an old wound. To think that were it not for Sobel, she could now announce to Jean-Paul that her instructor was the great Henry Kilroy, co-founder of the Towers, Master of the Ten.

"Are you alright?" Jean-Paul leaned back when her complexion blanched.

"I am fine…"

Desiring a distraction, she re-steered the topic onto Spellcraft.

According to what Jean-Paul was willing to let on, each Void Mage of note— meaning the ones that survived, invariably possessed the means to restore their vitality. The few that Jean-Paul had met in London who lacked this critical talent and had no other option but to subsist on potion infusions and Positive Energy. As a result, their bodies invariably developed immunities or reached alchemical limits, after which they either lived as a squib or perished.

"Our creatures manifest their absorption in different ways," Jean-Paul proceeded with great patience. "For example, Magister Wen's papers stated that you can absorb traits from Caliban's Consume, correct?"

"There's a limit." Gwen felt her face growing hot when she realised that soon, her talent would become public knowledge. But then again, all she had to hawk in her early days was herself. "And… debilitating side effects."

"Well, for Umzokwe," her fellow announced. "My Spirit picks up bits and pieces belonging to creatures it consumes. Sometimes, I can recall old memories or strong emotions or particular knowledge. When I was a child, the empathy was enough to drive me half-mad, but I've since trained to resist its effects."

"Wow." Gwen's lips parted. "That is an amazing talent."

"So, what does Caliban do?"

Gwen felt guilty that she couldn't tell her new friend the truth. What was she to say? That she grew drunk on the ecstasy of Caliban ingesting her foes? That sans her humanity, she could be the second coming of the Sorceror Supreme? What would Jean-Paul think?

"He eats stuff and sends me the life-force," Gwen said. "Sometimes, I receive too much vitality, and I can't move."

"Ah, bio-feedback. Yes, it happens to me as well." Jean-Paul replied. "I have an Augmentation to manage that."

"You do?"

"Ja." Jean-Paul's expression grew hesitant and indecisive. "And Transmutations to use Umzokwe as a storage unit."

"That's WONDERFUL!" her pitch rose an octave. Storage? Caliban storage? How many goods could Caliban stow if a Caliban did stow goods? "Look, I've got CCs…"

"I am afraid we don't publish our spells to the Tower's Grimoire," Jean-Paul apologised. "Master's work is far from finished."

"Oh." Gwen lowered her hands.

"The Mevrou and I devised several tiers of Void-specific spells in the past decade. You'll see them in action during the competition." Jean-Paul's words scratched at her chest like a cat. "Familiar invocations as well, BUT to learn them— well— she gave instructions, that is…"

"That is…?"

"Er, the Mevrou—" Jean-Paul momentarily transformed into a human beetroot. He couldn't look her in the eyes. "That is—you and I could—do...?"

This time, it was Gwen who grew concerned. Still clutching Caliban, she leaned in so that her face was a few inches from Jean-Paul's sweat-soaked brow. "Are you alright?"

"Shaa!" Caliban nudged Gwen's chin with its forehead. Umzokwe replied in kind, sending her leaning back the other way.

Jean-Paul stammered painfully. "I—I am hot."

"Hot?" Gwen felt perfectly comfy in the cold. "It's single digits out there. Surely we're both immune to mundane illnesses?"

"I should go." Jean-Paul suddenly stood, sweating buckets. "See you at the Front, Miss Song."

"Wait…" Gwen reached out and took the Void Mage's arm. She wanted to hear more about these spells, at least what they did, how they functioned, what Schools they drew upon.

Jean-Paul retracted his wrist, wincing as his slimy skin slipped through her hand.

"Shit— sorry." Her face flashing white and red, she had applied a little too much strength. "I didn't mean that."

Jean-Paul paused, nursing his fingers. His lips looked as though he wanted to say something, but his grimace suggested that an Umzokwe was stuck in his throat. "W—We'll talk after the match in Dalian. Please bear witness to my master's spells."

"Shaa, shaa!" Caliban waved goodbye as Umzokwe dematerialised.

Gwen felt a wave of disappointment as Jean-Paul's gangly silhouette beat a hasty retreat. She wondered what it was that Umzokwe's master was loathed to say. Maybe, Gwen realised with a snap of her forefingers, cursing her stupidity, the Apprentice was under a Geas!

Dalian…

Dairen in Russian.

Ryo-jun in Japanese.

Port Arthur as mapped by the Mageocracy.

Some called it the Pearl of Liaoning, others the City of Traitors. To traders, it was the Treasure Port. Now, for all intents and purposes, it was a fortress city holding the Undead Front.

Before the Undead threat altered the metropolis, Dalian was a cosmopolitan city. The earliest buildings in its settlement were built by the Russians. In the sixth century, the late Tang Dynasty developed the region into a township. Fourteen centuries later, following the Sino occupation, the British transformed Dalian into an international port servicing trade between Korea, China, Russia and Japan.

Today, Dalian remains the most important logistical centre on the North Front. The city itself lay fifty kilometres from Manchuria proper. The peninsulas are joined by a stretch of granite no more than four kilometres in width, forming a natural chokepoint. To further offset the threat of the Undead, its natural landbridge had been transmuted by a strategic-class Mandala, capable of severing Dalian from the mainland.

Presently, the population of Dalian ebbed and flowed between a resident population of four million, discounting its occupational force. Of the Divisions stationed in its many ports and military encampments, the bulk of the NoM Troops belonged to the 70th to 98th Quasi-Magical Infantry Division. Additionally, rotations of specialised Divisions augmented the standing troops, such as the 206th Long-Range Sorcery Regiment, the 207th and 209th Magi-tech Armoured Regiment and finally the 4th, 7th, and 19th Aerial Recon.

Of particular note was the poster child of the Front, the 1st Force-Recon Aerial Division, the very same that in the mid-90s, gifted the nation with the Hero of the Northern Font, Captain Jun Song.

Dalian Tower.

Lieutenant General Liang Chu-Rong surveyed the young Mages arriving below as they lined up in the courtyard. Visually, the young men and women from tier 1 capitals were unimpressive. Undisciplined and full of curiosity, some meandered, others chit-chatted, while scores of them left the confinement yard to spy on the city from the Tower's lower battlements.

Yet, despite his disgruntlement, the General stood ramrod straight. For the first time in as long as he could recall, China had the home ground in an international Spellcraft competition. Win or lose, the mere fact that red-blooded sons and daughters of Mao made the team from Fudan was enough to made his soldiers hold their heads higher.

"How long until they get here?" Liang turned to the chief proctor standing beside him. He wasn't used to dealing with women of rank, much less an American Magister with a complexion the colour of caramel. In his opinion, the sooner these Gweilos left his Tower, the sooner he could get on with the operation to reclaim Shenyang. When no reply came, he added a grudging "Magister Jamison."

For the students' reception and briefing, he had chosen the operations auditorium. In the middle of the spacious, oval chamber was an American-made terrain-visualiser, a transmutation-based device capable of rendering landscape by tapping into buried Divi-probes. In times of war, it provided real-time battlefield information. In quieter times, it served to instruct strategy and tactics.

"Give them a moment, General," Jamison said. "They're young. Translocation disorientation isn't so readily shrugged off."

Liang nodded. Given Jamison's deceptive youth, he got the impression that anytime, an older Magister might find his way to the auditorium to berate his Apprentice.

A quarter of an hour later, the contestants arrived. In the front row was Fudan, their eager faces captured by the CCVC-1 crew and their cameras. Behind the home team, flanking left and right, sat Pretoria and Auckland.

"Students, welcome to Dalian. I assume you are acquainted with Magister Jamison. As you are here, I shall now proceed with your Quest. For the second IIUC round, you have been invited to participate in the Great Purge of Shanyang. This operation will involve twenty Quasi-magical NoM Divisions, ten Mage Flights, including yourself, as well as artillery and Golem support from the 206th and 209th. Your Quest, taking into account your inexperience in large-scale military operations, will be as auxiliary units. Magister?"

As Liang spoke, the sand map on the central dais changed until it transformed into a diorama of the local terrain from Dalian to Shenyang.

"Your teams will split into two Flights. For CCs, you will be assigned field objective as the reclamation progresses. Roles are split into offence and defence. The offensive team will accompany the PLA Mage Flights clearing a beachhead outside Shenyang, establishing Forward Operation Bases in Dengta, Shili, and Shahe. The second party will defend these FOBs, among other tasks."

"From Dalian to Shenyang is five hundred kilometres, which we hope to clear in one week. The FOBs will be established by Combat Engineers. Until the NoM Divisions arrive, your teams' first task is to hold the ground. Once our FOBs are up and running, each of the defensive teams will activate the Shielding Beacon and count down to the Tower's arrival. Before this occurs, expect an endless swarm of Undead. Once the Dalian Tower arrives, defenders will help with the establishment of safe zones, triage centres, field Teleportation Circles and supply depots. During this process, the attacking party will push into Shengyang as hunter-killer units. Your task is to root out Necromancers and obliterate Undead nerve centres. Your Chief Proctor will explain."

Magister Jamison thanked the General.

"To surmise, there are two stages to the operation of interest to you." Jamison surveyed the students' youthful faces, though some of the Maori Mages had beards that would have made her father proud. "For the attacking party, Stage ONE involves clearing Undead units and establishing an operations area. Stage TWO, post the Tower's arrival, involves street fighting, as the PLA will be bombarding Shenyang beforehand to soften your targets. For the defending party, Stage ONE involves supporting our NoM Divisions as they make their way to each of the objectives. Stage TWO will involve repelling what is effectively an Undead Beast Tide with the support of Dalian Tower."

"Operation timeframes are listed in your briefings. Remember that you are an auxiliary unit. You are not formally a part of the PLA's military estimates. If you strike too deep or get yourself into trouble, there will not be an Armoured Division risking their equipment and lives to pull you out. Just as well, you are welcome to forfeit your match anytime. The operation will continue, with, or without your contribution, though you have General Liang's word that the PLA shall generously reward battlefield valour."

Her eyes inspected the students.

"If you lack cold-weather equipment." Jamison glanced at Gwen, who wore one of her figure-hugging dresses, and toward the tattooed Maoris. "General Liang's quartermaster has opened his stalls. Additionally, detoxification potions and Restoration potions have been made available to you. Let me warn you that the Front's frost is no common cold. The Negative Energy inundating the region has warped the weather, not to mention flora and fauna, all of which will sap your life force."

"Expect about -10°C at night," the General added helpfully. "Read your debriefing carefully and learn from your assigned advisors. Remember, any source of heat naturally draws wandering Undead."

"ANY QUESTIONS?"

The contestants had many, but none the Lieutenant General likely had the patience to answer.

"Good, I look forward to debriefing all of you again in Shenyang. Dismissed!"

With the General and his staff gone, the students crowded around the diorama display.

"Yue, what do you think?" Rona, the captain of Auckland, peeked just over the table. "Whetu, if you will?"

Whetu made a stool for his captain.

Yue eyed the map of the Dalian peninsula, then zoomed the transforming landscape in and out to get a better gander at the terrain.

"Yunnie, you know how to use this thing?" Gwen marvelled that Yue was punching the Glyphs without a glance.

"Worked with a few before," Yue hinted at her training under Alesia. "To be honest, I think the defending teams have the hardest job. Between Jinzhou and Bayuquan are tablelands, so we can see the Undead coming. But from Guizhou to Anshan, it's a hundred kilometres through hilly and mountainous terrain— also known as Ambush Central. After that, its open tundra for another hundred-and-fifty until we hit Shenyang. If it gets THAT cold, the ground's either ice, snow, or hard soil."

"Ma'am." Schalk turned to Magister Jamison contemplatively. "Can members of offence and defence switch sides during the mission's phases?"

"You may not." Jamison shook her head. "However, inter-party exchange for members lost in combat is acceptable. Note that until the FOB's Teleportation Circle is established— or until the Tower arrives, staff swapping would be impossible. Until logistics catch up, the attacking teams will be at the mercy of the Undead."

The contestant's gazes returned to the table.

"The proctors and I will be performing final equipment checks before you leave," Magister Jamison informed them. "For this mission, I would like to offer a spot of advice…"

The contestants listened.

"Considering the nature of your battles ahead, I'll allow you to keep illicit items in your rings. If you use one, there will be stiff CC penalties, possibly even disqualification. However, you may save a life, whether yours or another's or scores of others. Remember that the IIUC, auspicious as it may be, is only a competition. You have to live to be a hero. Don't let your 'pride' or your 'nationalism' get in the way of growing up to be Maguses and Magisters that can contribute to our future prosperity."

"Yes, Ma'am!" The students bowed their heads.

"I'll be downstairs with the other proctors, we're lending the PLA use of our Divi-Engines as a part of our agreement. If you have concerns, feel free to Message my device or one of my peers."

The Magister and her assistants filed out.

"Where's Walken?" Gwen looked around. "I don't see Petra either."

"Getting permission for deploying your Planar Ally." Richard joined her side. "Time's tight, and we had to split the party. So, are you going to see Percy?"

"I really should, I haven't seen him in months." A nostalgic smile touched Gwen's lips. "I wonder how he's getting along as a cadet."

"Let's get on with it then." Richard returned to the map. "Captain?"

Gwen's eyes swept over the diorama. Though her soul ached for Percy's boyish countenance, tactical decisions had to be finalised.

As expected, Pretoria was the first to sort itself. With an all-star cast, their splitting the party was of little concern.

On the offensive were Jean-Paul, Captain Schalk, Lencho, one of the Lightning Mages; Izetta the Heale, and their Diviner, an ash-blonde girl called Helia. Pretoria's defensive team was lead by their vice-captain, Alizea, their other Lightning Mage, Mariete; Ella the gold Mage, and finally Pieter the Ice Transmuter and Aldus the Illusionist.

Comparatively, Auckland's assignment was less balanced. Their offensive team included Yue, Whetu as defence, then Rongo the Water Evoker. They were joined by Timoti the Magma Mage and Opi, the ta moko Enchanter. The Kiwi's defending team included the other Magma brother, Maka, their captain, their mobile Abjurer Otikoro, the sand Mage Tua, and Ruihi, the second inscriber. Comparatively, Auckland's defence was low on damage dealers compared to Pretoria.

As for Gwen's team, she allowed the assignment to fall to Tei, who possessed experience fighting the Undead. He assigned her and Richard to the offensive team together with Lulan, Mayuree and Eunae as support. He was confident that Gwen's VMI, combined with Golos, could clear the field, and that with Eunae, Caliban may also employ its Big Bird form. For defence, Tei assigned himself, Jiro for his Fire Walls, Petra for her versatility, and Rene and Anita to protect the soldiers under their charge. When Gwen asked if the defenders needed healers, Magister Jamison advised that NoM regiments already had assigned Clerics.

All that was left then was inventory, then getting to know the PLA unit to whom they would be assigned.

Once Gwen and the others returned to the courtyard, they were greeted by Petra and Walken. In front of the gathered crowd who had come out to gawk at her cousin, Gwen dropped a small fortune onto the magic circle, eliciting gasps from the soldiers and contestants alike.

"Planar Ally!" The HDMs blazed as her invocation flared, burning the equivalent of many a Magus' salaries in the span of a dozen seconds. Despite the recent hit to her capital, conjuring Golos across time and space from his rented bachelor pad in Burma to Dalian costed far less his previous, continent-spanning journey.

Moments later, the clear sky fulminated. A retina-searing rod of lightning engendered, birthing the Thunder Wyvern. When Gwen and her Ally had last parted, Golos was injured and bloody. Now, it appeared larger, spikier, and meaner than its pre-Da-peng self.

"Calamity." Golos snorted, stretching its neck with a crack.

"Gogo. How is Phelara?"

"Heavy with eggs." Golos grinned before surveying their surroundings, its nostrils flaring. "I smell death."

"We're going to be fighting the Undead in the north." She pointed to the south with a vast and expansive sweep of her arms. "Princeling, Welcome to the Northern Front."

Richard redirected his cousin's finger until it pointed the right way. On this trip, Mayuree would be doing the orienteering. If they were to follow Gwen's sense of direction, Beijing's defence barrier might activate.

"Any word from Ruxin?"

"He said to speak to him after your match. Negotiations with the humans in their Towers are ongoing… also, what's with all these bodies? I prefer Mermen, fat ones, not primates."

"They're our comrades, Gogo, have some respect." Gwen turned to her audience. "Everyone, this is Golos, my Planar Ally, he's a Thunder Wyvern and a patriot from Huangshan. He'll be helping us out with the Undead... You may applaud now."

The stunned troops began to clap. First a few, then a dozen, then a thunderous clamour as what was likely a thousand or more people banged their perspiring palms together. Having never experienced applause, Golos appeared almost coy.

"Not much to eat if we're fighting desecrators," Golos grumbled even as he kept his neck elegantly elevated, bathing in the praise. "What's good around here?"

"Ha! I knew you'd say that. I've prepared all kinds of interesting dishes," Gwen promised. "You might want to eat in your human form, though. You hungry?"

"Now?" Golos licked its chops, its evil eyes browsing the two-legged meals standing from horizon to horizon. "Sure. Long distances make me hungry."

Gwen looked toward Tei, who inclined his head. To secure a supply of vitality for herself and to ensure an undistracted Golos, the House of M had given her containers of Wildland food-stuffs. If Golos had to eat meal-rations, he'd be a Draconic-menace.

"Alright." Gwen eyed Golos' flail-tail as it wagged. The spikes had since regrown thicker and larger. "Did you bring pants?"

"I did." Ever since Gwen introduced her Wyvern to underwear, Golos' jeans no longer chafed.

"Good." She patted the Wyvern on the knees. Since the Da-peng affair, Golos had calmed somewhat. If she had to guess, likely Ruxin had a stern word, and Phelara had sponged his bottled energies somewhat. "Let me introduce you to the other folks before we eat— also, have you met my brother?"

Percy Song had kept himself busy.

Thanks to Guo's connections, Percy had entered military service as an officer cadet. According to his grandfather, the Front was a rite of passage for the power-progeny of the PLA. There, the PLA's future officers taste the dangers of the Front while sheltering behind their seniors. After a three-month stint, the cadets would receive certificates and medals, all of which would legitimise their bid for Peking or Jiantong University.

The ordeal was supposed to be a cakewalk. BUT— with his sister's fame breathing down his neck, Percy was intent on proving his mettle. Much to the surprise of his instructors, he succeeded, demonstrating a battle-sense that delighted his babysitter, Major Chang.

After four weeks of light skirmishes with low-tier Undead including Zombies and Ghouls, Percy quickly acquired a taste for laying waste to waves of shambling corpses. Armed with light recon-armour and boots of flying, he and his friends devastated the shamblers below. In contrast to Chou, his party's Air Evoker, or even Lu or Mei's Lightning, his Salt proved leagues more effective in halting the walking dead.

According to their instructor, Salt was a natural ward as proven by the fact that the hordes avoided the sea. When Percy grew sceptical, his mirthful instructor revealed that it was because Salt, a Negative sub-type, disabled the Negative life-force of undead automatons.

"Beware higher-tier undead," Major Chang warned in turn. "Creatures powerful enough to generate Cores— or are risen using the Core of a higher-tier being, aren't easily rebuffed."

But Percy knew there was another reason why the swarms they faced proved such easy prey.

It was the Kirin Amulet.

No wonder his uncle was the Hero of the Front.

Though dormant, he could feel the stone feeding off the creatures he destroyed, especially the Undead. Limbs crushed by his Salt ceased their provocations, heads snapped off no longer chattered. With enough Undead by his side, his vitality hardly fell. Even when they had encountered a Revenant— a risen Mage turned by the Necromancers in Shenyang, Percy still slew the horror. His feat had been celebrated, for he had accomplished a task marked for Senior Mages.

"So, where's sister Gwen?" Mei paced back and forth in the barracks, looking as though a Corpse Worm was digging through her guts. As students, there were limits to their freedom on a military base. "She said she would visit, right?"

"She'll be here soon," Percy assured his companion. "Didn't you hear the thunder? That's her, I bet. Summoning her Wyvern."

"A Thunder Wyvern!" Mei gushed. "I want to touch it!"

"Sure," Percy promised, though he was a little unsure if his sister had a tight leash on the monster.

Ding!

"This is Cadet Percy Song," he answered his Message device. "Your orders, Sir?"

"Percy, you're requested at the Tower's mess. You've been given permission to dine there. Your sister has arranged a buffet."

"She has?" Percy raised a brow, confused by the news.

"You and Cadet Yang are relieved until curfew." Major Chang's voice had a touch of saltiness to it. "Tell Miss Song I wish her fair fortunes... and remember— Miss Li's autograph."

"Right." Percy looked to Mei. "Looks like Sis' shouting us food."

When Percy and Mei walked into the officer's mess, they were astounded by the volume the cooks had prepared. Not only were the portions gigantic, but fabled dishes like whole-coasted Wildland Goat, Thistle-boar Ham, plates of steamed Dagger-fin Arrowfish, Rock Clams, and Crystal Prawns spilt across the stainless steel tables.

Percy saw his sister standing among the crowd, a head taller as usual and as eye-catching as ever. "Gwen—!"

"SIS!" Mei bolted from Percy's side. "I've missed you so much!"

The girls awkwardly embraced, with Mei charging into Gwen's arms, eyes full of stars. "I saw all your matches! It was wonderful! I re-watched them a dozen times! Where's Ariel? Where's your Wyvern?!"

Wordlessly, his sister indicated to the right, where a topless white giant with silver hair and horns was eating with both hands. Presently, Golos was crunching through an Iron Shell Crayfish as though it were crispy rice crackers.

"That's the Wyvern?!"

"Yes," Gwen said. "That's Golos. Princeling of Huangshan."

Having deflected his girlfriend's enthusiasm, his sister beckoned for Percy.

When he approached, Gwen enveloped him like an octopus.

"Please don't…" Percy squirmed in her vice-like arms, one cheek pressed against her shoulder as she picked him off his feet. "People are staring."

Indeed, people were watching— all twenty-nine contestants, a few proctors, a dozen officers and the staff had all switched from ogling at Golos to gawking at the sibling's public display of affection.

"This is my brother, Percy." Gwen held on for what seemed like an eternity, then turned to the crowd. "Percy, say hi to everyone."

"Greetings, I am Percy Song." Percy bowed from the waist, feeling the weight of their judging eyes. With unmoving and involuntary expressions, the contestants nodded back, a few others said, "Hello".

"You've grown, squirt," A girl Percy recognised anywhere walked around him, scowling now that he was the taller of the two "Not bad. Still got a bit to go before you catch up to Gwen though."

"I am trying," Percy returned Yue's jab. "Miss Bai, I see you've remained largely the same size."

"I've grown in other ways."

Percy's already flushed cheeks took on an additional layer of colour. He looked away as Yue jiggled her brows, cackling like a witch.

Next, his sister brought him vis-a-vis with Golos. Percy had seen the Wyvern on the vid-casts, though now that the beast was a biting distance away, his skin crawled.

"Gogo, this is my kin." Gwen presented him as though her favourite puppy. "Say hello."

A crab claw paused mid-delivery. Golos glared at Percy with an icy look, then grunted, emitting a sound like low thunder.

"Calamity, he's no kin of mine." Golos crushed the claw with one hand to extract the meat. "Your brother's scent is all wrong. I don't like him."

Well, fuck you too, lizard. Percy said silently. On the surface, he kept up his awkward smile.

"Too bad," his sister fired back. "Just showing you who he is so you don't EVER harm him by accident."

"Boy, you stink to high heaven." Golos' voice reverberated in his head. "Calamity, what is he supposed to be? He's spoiling my appetite."

"He's a Salt Mage."

"Wer isthasy di vi Calamity ui stil vi Calamitas." When Golos replied in Draconic, Dragon-fear assailed Percy's trembling chest.

"Just eat your food." Gwen dismissed the Wyvern, then pulled Percy away. "Remember, no harming my brother. Now or in the future. I'll hold you to that."

"A fool's sentiment—" came a reply from Golos that made Percy's skin crawl. "Why—"

"HELLO!" Their banter was interrupted by the sprightly sound of Mei greeting Golos with a bow. "Sir Golos, is it true that you are descended from a mythical dragon?"

Golos burped. Percy could see its reptilian eyes measuring Mei from the tip of her hair to her toes. Surely the Wyvern wastn't interested in Mei? He grew uncertain. His sister was right beside him. If anything, in terms of looks, power and charisma, wasn't his sister the superior partner by far?

"Begone, skinny peasant," the Wyvern's steely voice berated the starry-eyed Mei. "Unless you're a fat, juicy eel-kin, I don't have the appetite to spare."

Percy relaxed.

Under his military-issue singlet, the Kirin Pendant hummed.

Lieutenant General Liang watched from the Tower's vid-casters the final muster of the recon force.

Together with the students, each Aerial Mage Flight consisted of three Wings of five Mages each, forming independent battlegroups. Behind the Recon-Flights were five Units comprised of Engineers, the Artillery unit, and the FOB Intelligence Unit. Row by row, they each appeared ready to give their all for the CCP.

Of the three rows of students, it was Fudan that stood out the most. Where every other university stood to attention, Fudan's line was disrupted by a meandering Wyvern sniffing the place and scaling the walls, harassing the troops. Above, a Kirin loitered, distracting his men. Compared to their host, the platoon of stoic giants beside them, as well as the primly uniformed Gweilos on the left, were far more disciplined.

What additionally made the General's complexion burn was Fudan's armour, which he recognised as the Shen-Teī garb from Sinomach. The design, however, was nothing like the variant his troops employed. For the men at least, he saw a resemblance, but for the women, the stylised bodysuits were unnecessarily distracting.

Comparatively, Pretoria's team wore equipment specialised to their individual roles. The defenders, including their captain, wore booster-plates made by Armscor, a South African arms consortium. The other members likewise sported protection closer to their given roles, with Enchanted monster-leathers for the controllers and damage dealers, and reinforced fabric for the Diviner, the Illusionist and the Cleric. Moreover, despite the different designs, Pretoria's equipment uniformly comprised of shades of green and blue, crisscrossed with red, white and black highlights.

As for Auckland, the giants wore singlets even in the blistering cold of winter. More than likely, Liang guessed, the Maori's resistances were tied to their vivid tattoos. To credit his hypothesis, even the expatriate member of Auckland's team, Yue Bai, had been inscribed from chin to ankle.

The General frowned.

"What designation are those?" Liang pointed to the prints on Fudan's armour.

"The Lieutenant must inform the general that those are not Division inscriptions, Sir!" a lieutenant hollered. "They appear to be Fudan's sponsors, Sir!"

"Sponsors?"

"Yessir!"

The Scryed vid-cast moved closer.

Sinomach.

Fudan University.

Such inscriptions were expected, but on the armoured plating riveted to the students' thighs, he saw an embossed golden "W" and a stylised "Centurion" in matt-black. There was also the Tonglv project's letterhead, as well as SinoTrans, SAIC Motors and finally, a very familiar logo.

"Mao-tai?" the general spluttered, feeling faint.

"Yessir." the lieutenant knew the General was fond of the nation's most expensive liqueur. What he didn't realise was that presently, ten thousand Mud-grass Horses trampled his CO's chest.

"Let's hope—" the General remarked as the advanced party took to the air. Below, the NoM Division filed into their mix-terrain carriers, each man nursing their weapon, wrapped up to the neck in quasi-magical cloth armour. If the battle went well, more than three-quarters of his troops should return. Should the operation be a failure, then all Liang could do was offer up his lapels, and hope Central wouldn't ask for his head as well.

From the air, it was self-evident where Dalian's domain ended, and the Black Zone began. Past the landbridge, past the precipitous rise of the Heishan, the late autumn forest turned to sickly stumps, then into blasted soil devoid of life.

"That's actually from spellfire inundating the landscape," Lieutenant Jinwei Hān, 1st Force-Recon, Fudan's Advisor, replied with a glance. "We run periodic training exercises as well as Purges in the region. When an overflow disrupts the ley-lines, the land becomes inconducive to life."

Gwen floated beside the Lieutenant, her porcelain-white armour gleaming in the morning sun. Behind her, the team fanned out, with Lulan and Richard on either side, and Eunae and Mayuree sheltered in-between.

Their liaison was a PLA officer in his early thirties, though thanks to a cracked and weathered mien, the man appeared older. Measuring just five-foot-five, the Air Transmuter-Evoker had the typical stone-face syndrome which afflicted northern military men.

"Do you know my Uncle?" Gwen's eyes brushed over the man's unit insignia, possessing the Chinese pictogram for "One".

"Never had the luck." Hān shook his head. "As his junior, I must say, I am glad I'm not from his generation. The unit replenishment rate during Captain Song's moment of glory was almost ninety per cent. Who could envy that?"

"Jesus." Gwen grimaced, as did her team. "Is it that bad now?"

"Not nearly. The Undead are losing their momentum. Running out of living bodies. That's why we're pushing back." The Lieutenant grinned at Fudan's vice-captain. "We've fought them to a standstill for almost two decades now. Even Necromancers need supplies—"

"Contact, North-North-West, two klicks. Zombies." Mayuree's voice blossomed just below the assault team's ears. From up on high, it was easy to spot the Undead by sight, though all humanoid specimens appeared identical when viewed from afar.

Hān listened to the orders transmitted into his ear, confirming Mayuree's intelligence.

"Vice-captain, this will be your first sortie." The officer's voice filled their Message Devices. "Standing Orders are to neutralise hostiles in quadrant 44-D2. Will you accept?"

"Understood!" Gwen saluted inexpertly.

The whole setup of the Chinese IIUC round was suspect, Gwen felt. The idea was that the student teams were auxiliaries who receive real-time objectives assigned by the frontline troops. That way, they "participated" in the war, and were at the same time safe where the fighting couldn't accidentally swallow them wholesale. It was very much a curated experience, one that Gwen felt was ripe for underhanded advantages.

The boon, of course, was that Fudan stood to benefit, as per the point and purpose of choosing home ground. Winning with an extra ace from the dealer was no skin off her nose. She was no child, and possessed no idealistic delusions that the world was fair. Whatever advantage they received, she would take. Whatever disadvantage they faced, she would overcome. As a future Frontiers woman in London, having more matches under her belt would ease the favour Lady Grey had to afford with Richard and anyone else she desired to bring with her.

Beside her, her cousin and Lulan closed ranks, while Mayuree and Eunae took up defensive positions in the rear. Somewhere above, where the Elemental Air was thickest, Golos coasted on unseen currents.

"Our first swarm!" Gwen's clarion voice echoed as Richard and Lulan activated their buffs even as Eunae Aided and Blessed the team. "Let's do this!"

A Zombie Horde!

Gwen had seen her share of World War Z, but that didn't' stop her eyes from watering when they arrived downwind of the ambling mass. From a bird's eye view, the ghastly sight appeared a knot of pixilated tendrils, fragmenting and budding, moving forward not as individual bodies but as a living, breathing Undead thing.

"Dull Sense!" Gwen activated Walken's long-promised Transmutation. Below, the Undead walkers made steady pace southward. The sight was almost reposed, now that she could no longer smell anything. Where she had anticipated a rush of rotting fresh barrelling toward distant Dalian, the reality was that the swarm sent out "feelers" of meandering runners before absorbing them back into the throng. Without a foe, the Zombies were entirely placid.

"What's the count?" Richard scanned the roving mass below them.

"Between three and four hundred." Mayuree performed a quick calculation.

"Lieutenant, may I request advice?" Gwen wasn't shy with potential short cuts.

"You may. I would suggest bundling these CCs tighter," Hān replied. "Do use bait."

"Live bait?"

"A good Cleric ought to do it. Zombies mindlessly seek out life and positive energy."

The party turned to regard Eunae, who grew instantly white. Not me, her lips appeared to say. Please, for the love of Korean Jesus, not me.

"Eunnie, its time for you to make Seoul proud!" Gwen grinned at the Cleric. "Have no fear, Dick is here!"

Eunae wanted to hold Luyi tight to her chest, but her doe wasn't capable of flight.

"Lea!" Gwen's cousin entreated his smiling she-devil. "Make sure not a single hair on Eunae's head is molested by the dead!"

Zombies.

In their past life, when they were still men and women, the ambling corpses had been fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. Now, they were driven by insatiable hunger and an implanted drive to move south, caring only to increase the swarm's number.

Though sans mind, sans eyes and sans taste, each Zombie was acutely attuned to the presence of vitality. For months since emerging from Shenyang, the horde had shuffled across the tablelands, fording the Beida River by stepping on the floundering bodies of their fellows, splintering and reforming as the swarm ebbed and flowed.

Abruptly, the Zombie Horde turned.

Now that they scented the presence of life, a strange focus overcame the meandering figures of blackened blood and rigid flesh.

"MUURRRRRGN!"

Sensing the sweet presence of a life-bringing Cleric, the swarm began to boil like fingerling fishes at feeding time.

Nailless digits dug into cold flesh preserved by the Negative energies empowering their disfigured muscles. Limbs distended, tongues outstretched and yellow teeth gnashed. By the dozens, the Zombies piled toward their new messiah, climbing atop each other to reach her trembling, tender flesh.

Above the mindless swarm, the students watched, waiting for the Zombie pile to reach critical mass.

"MAELSTROM!" came the sound of a rumbling female voice.

Emerald lightning crackled across a cloudless blue sky. With a shuddering roar of thunder, a portal opened into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning. An enormous vortex of air began to form, quickly descending in the guise of a cyclonic eye, vacuuming the flailing limbs, ascending their ghoulish flesh into gentle oblivion.

"Eunnie! Hold on for five more minutes!"

"She'll be right, mate." Richard kept up his spherical water shield even as a trail of white water fed into the vortex. "I've got a good RPM going, Eunae's untouchable."

"ARRRRRRRGH!" Eunae shrieked, caught between a Zombie Horde and a portal choked with living lightning.

While the healer's howls reverberated across the horizon, the horde depleted. When finally their numbers dwindled under a hundred, Gwen ceased channelling the spell and allowed the duration to play out on its own.

"Ariel! Caliban!" She allowed her Familiars to descend and stretch their limbs. Ariel sent forth bursts of intermittent lightning drawn from Gwen's Bolts, obliterating the stragglers. Caliban's spider form skittered across the battlefield, ignored by the Zombies, harvesting heads.

Not far, Lulan pounded the survivors into mince with iron girders.

Doubling her duty, Gwen fulminated as she swept the battlefield, picking off cadavers that her Maelstrom failed to absorb.

Mayuree kept up her Detect Foe until the final feeling of danger faded. "Three... two... Alright! Mission accomplished!"

"Very good, I shall verify your results." Lieutenant Hān descended. "I was hoping to see Lord Golos in action."

"He gets hungry if he exercises too much," Gwen explained. "I'll save him for bigger foes."

In her opinion, they had done a decent job. The worst aspect of fighting Zombies is when chopped up creatures continued to function. These crawling swarms, known as "Biters" or "Creepers" were a nightmare for the PLA's NoM troops.

Closer to the ground, Gwen noted that the shamblers wore the garb of military men as well as clothes worn by peasants. The gender divide, in so far as such a thing was plausible to consider, was also male-centric. As the stories of the Front had foretold, the roving hordes consisted of fallen PLA troops mixed in with missing peasants from the Manchurian Frontier.

"Well done!" came the approval from Lieutenant Hān. "Twenty-six minutes, a lesser party would have taken a least three hours. I'll Message over the debriefing while we continue our flight."

Gwen's eyes swept over the fallow earth.

Her chest constricted.

To think that these were once men and women, full of hope and desire.

"Lead on, Lieutenant." She pointed to the west. "Lead on!"

The party headed north.

After their first taste of roasted flesh, the party gained a better understanding of the PLA's ploy. Across a widening Front a hundred kilometres wide, the 1st Force-Recon, joined by the 4th and 7th Divisions formed a sweeping scythe clearing the way for the NoM Divisions to follow. Quests were generated spontaneously by the officers as the advanced force trailblazed, filtered by the IIUC's chief proctor.

For phase one, the more quests a university was able to complete, the more CCs they were liable to gain. According to Hān, haste and efficiency was the key to acquiring CCs, as the operation could generate an endless volume of requests if need be.

On the first day, the projected purpose was to clear the first hundred-and-fifty kilometres from the Dalian peninsula to Shimenzi, an abandoned water treatment plant and reservoir. Before the Undead threat forced the PLA to pull back into the port city, Shimenzi was a sight-seeing region famous for its waterways. Now, in the slates provided to the students, an illusory projection displayed a bleak and abandoned quarry-cut lake grey with weathered granite.

"Looks like your contemporaries are doing well," Hān remarked on the military's internal chatter. "No problems so far. Pretoria is clearing a thousand-strong swarm as we speak. Auckland earlier destroyed a Grey Ghoul blood pack in just under forty-five minutes. Their Fire Mage must be very skilled to hunt such swift creatures so steadily."

"What's next?" Gwen was keen to get on with it. Lulan returned to the fold, using the armour's self-cleaning function to wipe away the juice-splatters staining her petite profile. Eunae had lost her voice somewhat, but as a healer, her sanity should return within the hour.

"I was so scared!" the Cleric moped, glaring at Richard. "That was worse than those bug swarms in Amazonia!"

"There, there." Richard patted her hair. "You did well. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"There'll be riskier Quests at Shimenzi without a doubt," Hān replied. "Hold on—"

Ding!

Hān's brows relaxed. "There we go. Fudan, Purge request at Zhongchang, Corpse Hulk, maybe a controller nearby. The 4th Recon made the discovery— and you have first dibs. Shall we?"

First "dibs". Gwen chewed the words.

Hazzah for the home front.

It stood to reason that the PLA would give the quests with the most CCs to Fudan, but a caveat made the seemingly unfair system balanced— the danger of dying. If the CCP was less brazen, they could have asked two or three university teams to work together. To give the request to Fudan alone meant that one team would hog the gains— and that Fudan had to stomach the risk. Should Gwen's party fail to subjugate the beast and its numberless minions, they would waste CCs, lose the match, or in the worst-case scenario, squander their lives.

According to Walken, the committee turned a blind eye toward politically driven favouritism. It all balanced out in the end, he had informed her, for the same practice occurred every time in every match, everywhere. The lesser ranked universities had been given priority to choose for good reason. Having exhausted their pick, the future Fudan will have to fight a superior team on foreign soil.

"Understood." Gwen passed the thought onto Golos. She welcomed taking on the PLA's ambitious requests. It wasn't as though a regular team had a sixth-member in the form of a Mythically descended Thunder Wyvern.

As for their Corpse Hulk, Gwen conjured the vision of a monstrous creation composed of collated dead flesh, a colossal Frankenstein's Monster. Different to a self-perpetuating Zombie Horde, the Hulk had to be engineered through secret rituals to be controlled by a living Necromancer. According to the Bestiary, the Hulk could be anywhere between four to ten meters in height, pending the caster's skill; though its threat rarely exceeded the tenth tier.

"Is this your first Necromancer?" Hān pointed the students in the right direction even as he passed the coordinates onto Fudan's Diviner.

"Our very first." Gwen avoided the Lieutenant's gaze as the party's trajectory corrected, thinking of her uncle Jun. "Some advice?"

"Of course." The Lieutenant banked upward so that the team rapidly gained altitude. "What do you know about our resident Necros?"

"The bestiary says there are four common archetypes of Necromancers when discounting religion," Gwen recited from memory, having studied the book and consulted her uncle. "Ritualists are those who seek eternal life in Undeath or are trying to stay alive after Awakening with a talent for Negative Energy. Summoners are classic Necromancers who specialise in the raising of bodies, imbuing cadavers to empower Familiars. Corpse Grafters are construct-makers who experiment with the remains of humans and demi-humans, and finally, Soul Flayers are Necromancers who harken after Essence and Spirits, specialising in Ghosts, Wraiths and Spectres."

"And the Hulk?"

"… is typically accompanied by a Grafter," Gwen answered. "In addition to their minions, Conjuration-Grafters control a construct crafted from their bone, a monster that grows malignant with each additional graft."

"Well done." Lieutenant Hān appeared pleased. "How will you approach? Do you have a plan?"

"I do." Gwen's lips curled. "But first, let's see what our foes have in store."

* * *

Zhongchang.

From five klicks away, Gwen caught sight of the Zombie Horde.

Or so it seemed— until her essence-infused pupils re-focused.

What caught her off guard was the eerie appearance of a spartan but otherwise undisturbed township. With her eagle-eyes, she could see what appeared to be innumerable Zombies, some thousand or more, milling about a cabbage field three times the size of the town itself, ploughing the earth and turning the soil.

Not only that, she could see that the vegetation was neither withered or dying like the plants they had seen on their previous encounter. Instead, the plants appeared to be green and robust and thriving under the cloudless, midday sun.

"Halt," Gwen gave the command, then turned to Hān. "What the hell is this?"

"An outpost," the officer said. "Housing a Necromancer and his or her host of Undeath."

"Are you inferring that the Undead eat cabbage?" Richard, who had likewise read up on the PLA's state-issued bestiary, furrowed his brows.

"Gwen, I've heard rumours like this," Eunae, whose home city was a strategic spell distance away from the DNZ, butted in before her teammates' tone grew harsh. She hadn't been to the Black Zone in her youth, but the stories were well-circulated. "The areas occupied by the Undead can have regions where human or demi-humans live. The lower tier monsters mindlessly seek out living flesh, but the Necromancers and their minions who flock to the Black Zones still need to eat. So, they have outposts like this that provide fresh food for the still-living casters. I've heard that there are even reports of cows and sheep near Pyongyang."

Gwen's eyes swept past Eunae's entirely wholesome and completely innocent face.

"Eunnie— there are enough cabbages there to fill five semi-trailers," Gwen explained the reason for her dismay. Certainly a few fields of rapunzel weren't going to ruffle her tail feathers. "What kind of Mage subsists on cabbages? I don't even like it as a filling for my dumplings. They add nothing."

"I concur." Richard floated beside Lieutenant Hān. "Those are grown to feed NoMs."

"Your QUEST is to Purge sector G2-55." Hān's expression grew amused, his eyes forming two slits. "150 CCs, with a bonus for Necromancers. A gift from the 4th Recon."

"Mia," Gwen requested of her Diviner, ignoring their PLA liaison. "What's the maximum range on your Scry?"

"In the open? Just over two klicks," Mayuree replied. "I'll check as soon as we get closer."

"Your uncle Jun ever mention anything?" Richard asked Gwen in a silent Message as the team picked up the pace. "If there are NoMs here, surely he would know."

"Uncle Jun hasn't been at the Front since the late nineties," Gwen recollected. "He was also stationed where the fighting was heaviest. The Tangshan Line north-west of Beijing."

"Lulu, you ever heard anything about NoMs on the Front?"

Lulan shook her head. "Why does it matter?"

Mayuree's voice quivered. "Are the NoMs… food?"

"The Necromancers are growing food for their food?" Gwen questioned her friend's horrific hypothesis.

"Our serpent tamers breed Hornshell Rats to feed the Horntail Vipers," Mayuree reminded Gwen of the ingenuity of Mages when it came to harnessing power by any means. "Also, in Yunan, the Miao Clan keeps NoM slaves to temper the poisons of their Familiars."

"Let's hope you're wrong." Gwen increased her velocity, leaving a dirty trail of blue-white mana. Her agitation seemed to have infected her Wyvern, who telepathically requested the cause of her concern. "Yes, Gogo?"

"Calamity, I grow bored," Golos bemoaned. "Let me fight the Hulk."

"I'll be the judge of that." Her answer was for her Ally to hold his position. "Don't forget, you're my ace-in-the-hole, don't show yourself so easily."

"HA!" came a prideful huff from Golos. Her Wyvern had no idea what the idiomatic reference to poker implied, but felt instinctively pleased by her words.

A few minutes later, the village fell within the range of Mayuree's Scry. She could see now that the town below them consisted of only a dozen inhabited buildings, while the hundred or so dynasty-spanning mud-brick homes were left abandoned. Where the modernised houses began, a bone-white fence ran a ring around the structures, outside of which meandered the milling Zombie farmers.

"Found it!" Mayuree directed their eyes toward a large warehouse structure. "The Hulk is in there. It's not moving right now— there are glass baubles and jars everywhere. And bits of people."

"Is the Necro alone?" Gwen called Ariel to her side, informing Golos to remain ready.

"I sense… ten mana signatures in the houses. Nine low-tier readings and one at the tier of a Magus, almost a Magister," Mayuree noted. "There are other people here as well, without Mana signatures. Servants, I think, about twenty or so..."

"Lieutenant." Gwen halted. This high up, they were specks barely worth noting. "Why hasn't the main recon force annihilated this place?

"Well." Hān pointed to the houses below. "They're YOUR CCs."

"I see..." Gwen observed the village below. Now she knew the CCP fully intended to pad Fudan's score. To that end, she could open up with an Essence-enhanced Maelstrom while obliterating the Hulk with a Void Sphere, but what of the humans in the houses? There were thirty more lives below— assuming one Necromancer who had to die. "Those people—"

"Renegades and Rogue Mages," their advisor stipulated, biting each word. "Vice-captain Song, these are CCs which the 4th Recon has left for your team. I assure you that the IIUC will recognise these contributions, the same as the Wildland Mercenaries you neutralised in Kachin."

Gwen's expression grew hesitant.

"I can move in with Mia and Lulu," Richard advised in her stead. "You take care of the Hulk and the Zombies— and Golo can snag the Grafter."

"BUT— I suggest you alpha strike as soon as we close in." Richard's logic pounded her ears. "Those Rogue Mages are bunched up right now. Chasing them would be a chore."

"Why haven't they noticed us?" Gwen felt her conscience throb against her temple. She would have preferred if the acolytes fled, but these were Necromancers. For some reason, Michio Lee's words came to the fore of her mind, explaining that Necromancy was no different to Biomancy and that the mere practice of it shouldn't sign a death warrant.

"There are no Message Towers here in the Black Zone," Mayuree explained. "Our enemy's outposts likely keep in touch through physical means."

"Corpse Ravens. Ones which the 4th Recon has neutralised for you," Hān added helpfully. "Miss Song, will you proceed? Forfeiting the quest at this stage will result in a penalty. And of course, we shall then offer the same quest to your competitors."

Gwen's well-loved eyes swept over her teammates.

Richard had no qualms about doing what was necessary, that was a fact she could clutch with absolute confidence. Lulan had already proven that she thought little about carving through a wall of NoMs; even after her District 109 rampage, her remorse had been demure. For Mayuree, Gwen was sure the coup against Maymyint involved removing at least a three-digit number of ex-allies that opposed Marong's plans. And Eunae— sweet Eunae could be discounted, for she couldn't battle her way through a dozen NoMs, much less mass murder them.

As their vice-captain, it was her responsibility to make a choice.

For some time since Maymyint, she had understood that in the distant future, there would come a time for stone-cold slaughter. That future, however, had arrived a little sooner than she had anticipated.

As Gunther had said so long ago, it was a Mage-eat-Mage world out there, and even if Gwen had no desire to take the lives of others— others had great desire to make her life as humanely miserable as conceivably possible. Even now, she wasn't yet at a tier of power where mercy was something she could afford.

Didn't Mia say the workshop was a full-blown charnel house? That these Necromancers thrived on the lives of innocents wasn't an ambiguous reality. It was only her silly conscience that prolonged the inevitability of their execution.

When she opened her eyes again, her emerald-amber orbs were as unyielding as gemstones.

Necromancers were living, breathing, thinking human beings. But they were also aberrant psychopaths who pried open the body of the weak to practice their profane arts. If so, what mercy did they deserve? Didn't she boast to her Master that she had to be cruel to be kind? To be kind to a Necro was to be cruel to the living.

"Lieutenant Hān." Her husky voice took on the hardness of granite. "The quest was for the destruction of the Hulk, yes?"

"Indeed."

"Then we destroy the Hulk as our topmost priority," Gwen said. "Richard, Lulu, please take care of the Rogue Mages. If you can, show some pity for the NoMs."

"Yes, Vice-captain!" her teammates replied.

"Golos?"

"Calamity?" Her Wyvern demanded to know her mind.

"The Desecrator is yours. I'll let you know as soon as I can locate the caster."

"With pleasure."

"Ariel. We're opening with a big one."

"EE! EE!"

Gwen took a deep breath.

"FUDAN! ROLL OUT!"

"True Strike!" Mayuree's damage-divining augury flooded Lulan's mind with sudden clarity.

Below, above the workshop, her vice-captain had opened up with a triple-eruption of Element Sphere, staggered so that the first would blow away the tin roof, and the second and third, issued from Ariel, would vaporise the Corpse Hulk within.

CRUNK!

The roof deformed as displaced lines of current cascaded down its sides, neutralised by an unseen ward. Across the team's Mind Linked stream of consciousness, she heard her vice-captain let fly an expletive as the nova rang out harmlessly. A half-dozen heartbeats later, Ariel's cloned Spheres struck, turning the flaring Glyphs white-hot before the mandala failed, this time ripping apart the topmost portion of the laboratory.

With the sheeting structure peeled like an orange blossom, a cloud of foul and poisonous gases, superheated by the electrical discharge, polluted the air. Within, the team saw what Mayuree had seen, a stitched horror, an abomination some six-meters tall, held together from bulbous face to multi-limbed bottom in gory stitches. Lulan recoiled. Against her anticipation of a giant Jiangshi, the craft used to create the now-stirring creature was western Necromancy, for she had never heard of such monsters in the annals of Huashan's index.

DING! DING! DING!

An alarm rang out, alerting the compound. Lulan rotated her hovering blades, shaping the iron so that the weighted tip formed an acute cone, while its latter half tapered into a four-finned, narrow-waisted fletch.

"Chakram!" Gwen let loose two of her discs to dice at the creature below.

Lulan grunted as she reshaped her conjured iron. A surge of agitating bloodlust from her enchanted heart threatened to revolt against her better judgement. Her Naga Spirit as well, raged within her Astral Soul, howling for violence. Through sheer force of will, she fought down her impulses, patiently awaiting the moment her assigned targets revealed themselves.

And they did. A flood of bodies— not the ambling Undead, but living figures, fled for their lives, pouring from the homes in the middle of the township. One by one, Lulan head-counted the escapees.

"NoM, NoM… NoM— MAGE!"

The Necromancer's Acolytes were easy to spot. Where the NoM servants wore the juniper-coloured hemp common to North Korean peasants, the Mages wore silken garbs of black edged with silver. In more fortunate times, the uniform denoted their superior existences; now, it made them targets.

"Panzerschreck!" Her borrowed premonition foretold that now was the time to let loose a modified Heart-Seeking Sword.

Schwing!

The largest of her projectiles, the "central" head of her Naga Spirit, punched the whistling air.

CLANG!

First rang the sound of shattering glass, then a thunk as her projectile ricochetted into the fortified abode.

"Wha—"

"Urk!"

The result was music to her ears.

Not only had her projectile punctured the first Acolyte through the chest, crushing his shield and penetrating the man's heart, it had also caught the second Mage unaware, mangling his unprotected legs before his barrier could manifest.

"GROOOOAR!"

Lulan's attention momentarily shifted, distracted by the earth-shattering howl of the Corpse Hulk. For whatever profane reason, her vice-captain's spells had failed to sever its bodily appendages.

"Lightning Tentacles!"

In response, Gwen switched to Lightning, entrapping the flailing beast as bolt after bolt of cobalt electricity penetrated its barrel-waisted body, igniting the alchemical compounds oozing from the ravaged lab.

"Mia— targets!" Lulan requested of their Diviner.

"Upper left, second storey! Ground level, forth window, just above the basement!"

"Got it! Panzerschreck!" Lulan sent four more projectiles toward Mayuree's nominated destinations, piercing through the feeble ward and striking at the unseen interior. By design, magical wards prevented magic from damaging or altering the shielded region of effect. Her solid-steel projectiles, however, were a matter of brute physics.

A short scream from the ground floor indicated that she was now three for five.

Lulan proceeded to "reload".

Without conscious thought, she ran her Clan's secret invocations through her Astral Body. As they passed through her Heart of Iron, a mystical transfiguration transmuted Huashan's Blade Summoning into gleaming slabs of polished steel.

"Spine Spear!" came the sound of retaliatory invocations from below, unveiled by Mayuree's sharing of Detect Foe.

The bloody bone-projectile lost its momentum at about eighty-odd meters, then fell toward the earth. As for Lulan, her Panzerschreck rounds were optimised for assault between two to five hundred meters, weather permitting. Gwen had even said that with practice, power and better 'designs' on the missile itself, distances exceeding a kilometre were entirely possible.

"Panzerschreck!" Without needing to look, she returned the favour. In times like these, having Mind Link with Mayuree was a Mao-blessed wonder.

Two solid girders of racing iron crushed the brick-facade, collapsing a portion of the outer wall. The other three, formed as twisted metal, rebounded through another window. A crash engendered, then a wailing cry began to haunt the lightless room, reminiscent of a blood-letted pig.

"That's four," Mayuree's voice came across the channel. "Be careful. They're desperate now."

From the dashed windows, what must be the oldest of the Necromancer's Acolytes emerged. To Lulan's surprise, they were almost all foreigners; one even had the blonde hair of a European.

"Panzerschreck!" Lulan unleashed another volley.

This time, the Mages had prepared defences. The leader was an Abjurer, for a wall of bone deflected Lulan's leading projectile. The second, however, crushed the skeletal barrier, while her third penetrated the resulting debris and the forth speared the woman, clearing her abdomen, withdrawing a trail of intestines.

The remaining five fanned out.

"Run—HURRK!"

"MMMMGN!"

Richard was waiting below, hidden behind his invisible Undine.

Soundlessly, Lea enveloped an Evoker before the sorceress could utter a single spell. Another, one that Mayuree detected as a Transmuter, clutched at his face as a globule of water forced its way into his mouth and nose, manifesting as a Water Tomb.

"JET BLAST!"

Simultaneously, a torrent of hyper-pressurised water sent a man shield-first against the house, obliterating first his bubble, then breaking every bone in his body before he rag-dolled against the brickwork, coughing up blood.

The remaining two fled.

Lulan's lips twisted in mockery. If she missed from this distance, she wouldn't know where to hide her face.

With the NoMs fleeing for safety, Gwen focused on the monster.

In the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the blood splatters painting the shattered panes as Lulan's invocations fired with its characteristic shriek of wailing metal.

Her alpha strike had been too conservative. She hadn't expected that such a shabby looking laboratory would possess Abjuration wards. Likewise, when the thing awoke, and she attempted a decapitation, the resistance of its un-living body far exceeded her anticipation.

Cursing, she switched from Evocation to Conjuration, Void to Lightning.

With her present expertise, her Lightning Tentacles were as thick as her thighs, with six meters of reach. Before the giant could bring to bear the momentum of its bloated body, she had it tethered by the neck and shoulders.

"MUUOOAR!" the Hulk possessed vocal cords like a harpooned whale. With a heave, it tugged at the tendrils, displacing the elemental link momentarily before Gwen re-connected the ethereal chains, tethering it like a mongrel against the workshop's concrete floor.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen called upon Ariel to bring the creature to its knees. Bright arcs of electricity travelled from sorceress to Kirin to the Hulk, cooking its flesh as the Positive Energy of her Lightning neutralised the Negative motes of mana empowering the monster's profaned flesh.

"Gwen!" Mayuree's voiced pinned her ears. "The Zombie Horde's closing in! Finish up with the Hulk!"

Gwen immediately upped her ante, invoking a torrent of rapid-firing bolts.

"MUAAOAR!" The Hulk pulled away from her tentacles. By now, its skin was almost crispy with char, and its eyes had exploded from its sunken sockets. Yet, unperturbed by its injury, the thing rampaged toward her with the tenacity of a runaway semi.

Given time, she could toy with it, but now, she had to deal with an emerging Necromancer and his Zombie Horde. There was also the matter of the Grafter's Familiar, a threat that would surely be more powerful than this dumb brute.

A few seconds was all it took for the Hulk to close the distance. As it swung its meaty arm, a length of bone, shaped like a scythe, swung through the air.

"Shield!"

Her diamond-facetted barrier turned opaque. Gwen smirked. Whatever the power of this thing, it wasn't even half of Golos. As for her Wyvern, it was now circling just out of sight, awaiting the Necromancer's emergence.

"Mia, buff me up!"

"True Strike!" Mayuree invoked the blessing from a distance. Thanks to Mind Link, the range of her buffs was well-extended.

Almudj's Essence boiled over, Gwen called a Lightning Bolt to her lips.

Her complexion turned pink as pippins as the vitality inside her body mingled with the mana she was sending Ariel. When the word came to her lips, it was with great relish, as though the first downpour after a muggy, humid day. "Barbanginy!"

"EEEE!"

A bean-green bolt of living lightning pierced the Hulk. Where it struck, the vibrant green energy spread through the brute's body, peeling its charred skin like an overripe avocado. A violent viridescence lit up the Hulk's interior, escaping from its eyes and its all-devouring maw.

The mountain of flesh stumbled forward, toppling like a fallen titan.

"MURRRRGGN!" a great cry of confusion and dismay uttered from the lips of some dozen stitched cadavers.

A wave of spell fatigue washed over Gwen's Astral Body.

Before she could catch her breath, the Zombie swarm grew wild. Where the Horde had earlier possessed a singular focus, its members now began to meander. Two dozen came toward Gwen, a handful gathered under her team members, and a clump of close to a hundred roved toward a shivering Eunae.

"Shit!" She connected the dots. "Mia! Where is the Grafter?"

"I sense…" Mayuree swept the compound. "His signature is gone! The Necromancer must have used a Teleportation Scroll!"

"Damn it!" Gwen cursed. "Richard, can you help gather up the NoMs?"

"Sure, I'll do it while I entertain our new friends." Richard pointed to the two Acolytes suspended in mid-air, kept barely conscious by not nearly enough air. "If you can deal with the Horde. I'll find out where our Necromancer has gone."

"HIEEYA!" Lulan was already knee-deep in the dead, pulverising Zombies by the score. Her lack of wide-area AoE, however, limited her effectiveness.

"Eunae, you're with me." Gwen Dimension Doored beside their Cleric. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

Eunae keened, wearing an expression that suggested she wanted to remain well out of reach of the Zombies' grubby hands. With her vice-captain breathing down her neck, though, she had little choice but to offer up her sweet body to the masses.

Alighting atop a farmhouse, the South Korean Healer conjured Luyi.

"Yi—" Luyi trembled. The smell of death made it drunk with fear.

Embracing her Familiar, Eunae pumped her mana into her Sprite. Luyi glowed, its stag horns extending until they formed a dozen points. At once, the Zombie Horde lost all interest in the NoMs and the Mages.

"Wall of Lightning!" Gwen's newly learned Evocation extended almost forty-meters in circumference, with a height of three meters. With her Transmutation, she had the option of flexibly manipulating the spell's manifestation, to which she chose a circular barrier with herself as the loci. It was the sort of versatile spell-casting that Alesia once showed Yue, utilising the combination of two or more Schools of Magic.

ZAP! SPAK! PSZZZT!

All around her, Zombies sizzled like minute-steaks, filling the air with the rotten scent of flesh gone awry. Momentarily safe, Gwen began a second invocation.

In her hand, she materialised a rod of True Silver, one of a dozen she had specially prepared for this occasion. Weaving the somatic material into her tier 5 Conjuration, she was glad that for once, the spell which Richard had advised her to learn was used for its explicit purpose. Wincing as she overcharged her sorcery, Gwen exhaled as the final invocation left her lips.

"Cloud Kill!"

The infamous ultra-AoE offensive spell was designed from the Glyph up to possess superior range and coverage. Now combined with Gwen's VMI, her seven tiers of Affinity, her hyper-tier control of Conjuration and the True Silver in her hand, the spell erupted.

VOOMF!

A rapidly expanding fog of scintillating silver fled from her general vicinity, rolling over the fields of cabbage, covering no less than a radius of a hundred meters.

Tsssz—!

This time, the sizzling was no longer the sound of summer insects dashing into a blue-lit mesh, but the sound of Negative Energy becoming neutralised by the invasive, lightning-charged motes of blessed silver. Whatever the Horde's resistances, the comprehensive coverage of Cloud Kill offered no solace against its corrosive sparks.

The first Zombie fell, then another, a dozen, and a hundred or more. Organs long preserved by necromantic energies erupted. Muscles slid from bone as the gentle repose preventing the flesh from deteriorating disappeared. More and more of the Zombies charged in, while the ring of carcasses around Gwen and Eunae grew by the minute, doubling then tripling in size.

"How many of them are left?" Gwen Messaged her Diviner.

"About a two-thirds," the Diviner returned with the intelligence. "Can your mana pool hold up?"

"I'll micromanage," Gwen said. "Eunae?"

"I am fine." the Healer had by now grown indifferent, her mind numbed by the horrid odour of human fat ignited by Gwen's lightning. "Let's continue."

"Take my hand." Gwen grasped her Healer's frigid little fingers. "Dimension Door!"

"I am impressed." Lieutenant Hān gave Richard a thumbs up. "And no, rest assured none of this will be broadcasted. The PLA will make sure of that."

"Thanks, mate." Richard tapped his data slate. "How about that, eh? AND Shimeizi's our last stop for the night. I guess we'll find the old fox yet."

The PLA officer was inclined to agree.

For a while now, he had watched the half-Asian Conjurer perform his inexpert labour. For a Frontiersman who couldn't be further from a Military Mage, Richard demonstrated the sort of talent that the Ghosts would unquestioningly welcome. Different to the indecisive womanliness of his vice-captain, Fudan's mobile defender was a model Mage in the matter of operational efficacy.

When the young man had entered the commandeered abode, he had allowed his Undine to take one of the prisoners, the man, into the basement. Richard meanwhile took the other, the woman, into a separate room. At first, Hān had imagined something not meant for CCVC-1, but very quickly, Richard demonstrated his "technique".

After the first Acolyte begged for sweet release, Richard questioned his second prisoner. Then, with slate in hand, he cross-examined the survivors' details, meting out punishment where specifics did not match, allowing for air when confirmations could be ascertained.

"Gwen, are you done with the Zombies?" Richard paused to ask after his vice-captain outside.

"Down to the last batch," came the reply. "Should be done before I am OoM."

Hān resisted an urge to exhale deeply. Gwen Song had proven herself to be a one-woman platoon. Her capacity for destruction exceeded any single member of the standard Recon Divisions, and that was excluding her Wyvern.

"Take your time, then some rest," Richard advised as he turned to the woman in the water bubble. The Necromancer's Acolyte was paler than a blanched egg and turning a shade of purple. At Richard's slightest behest, a torrent of information would pour from her tortured lips. "Lea, we're done with this one. Bring Lieutenant Hān the CC surprise."

The Undine's exquisite face peeped out from behind the door. Behind her semi-transparent body, suspended on coils of water, floated a middle-aged man wearing a pair of charcoal pants and a woollen vest. The man was an NoM, and from the looks of his portly belly, he held a position of some merit.

"Found this one in the basement." The Undine giggled, her mischievous eyes sparkled with glee. "He had a wand and a Storage Ring. Also, I found these."

In one hair tendril, the Undine held aloft a Lightning Wand made for NoM usage. In her other water appendages, she held a ledger of sorts and a box of HDMs.

"Good work, Lea," Richard praised his Familiar. Walking a circle around the portly NoM, the Conjurer grinned from ear to ear. "Mr Chen, how are you this fine day?"

The NoM's eyes grew wide.

Lieutenant Hān raised a brow, wondering how Richard knew the NoM's name. It took him a second to realise that the Acolytes had mentioned there was a 'trader' of sorts.

Richard flipped through the ledger, then passed the book to Hān. "Gwen's probably better at this than I am. As such, I am going to keep this short—"

"I'll talk!" the man squealed. "Mercy, Masters! I was captured— forced to work for these monsters! It's true. It's all true!"

"My heart bleeds with sympathy. But first, who is your employer?"

"I—" The man blanched. "I am just a bookkeeper— I was taken here against my will."

"It's not that I don't believe you." Richard smirked. "All things considered, you're rather calm for an NoM. You're not from around here, Mr Chen-Du-Li from Tianjin, are you?"

The "trader" began to shudder violently.

Hān recalled that Richard had demanded a list of names for the NoMs. Unsurprisingly, even under the water rack, the Necromancy students couldn't remember the names of their servants. The female prisoner had said something about a Du-Li, while the male Acolyte had referred to the trader as Chen.

"Candidate Huang." Lieutenant Hān wasn't an intelligence officer, but it didn't take a Ghost to join the dots. "Do you mean to say…"

"I do." Richard snorted. "You've got folks from the living side supplying the Undead, Lieutenant. That's fucked up."

"What for?" the military man's eyes instantly turned to obsidian. His colleagues, his comrades, had all suffered through the Front. A multitude of many millions had lost their lives pushing back the Undead, and now, a student was telling him that living men were trading with the Rogue Necromancers? "Food? What do the Necros have to trade?"

Richard placed Chen's hand against the briefcase.

"Open Sesame," he invoked an old fable.

The lock unlatched. Within its velvet folds were shimmering crystals of soul-sucking darkness.

"... Alright." Richard whistled. "Not what I expected, but just as well..."

"Negative Aligned High-Density Crystals!" Lieutenant Hān spat. "Mao's Crystal Tomb!"

Negative Energy existed in places where death and decay ruled. In a Plane full of life such as the Prime Material, it was rare indeed that such a sphere could grow a crystal counter-conducive to the germination of life.

As for the unusual HDM's uses, there were many. Weaponisation, research, and most importantly— Necromancy. The creation of higher tiers of Undead was near-impossible without Creature Cores, Crystals, and a host of grotesque materials. For the everyman of the Communist Party, the most they knew about the Negative Aligned HDM was that it empowered Mao's Crystal Sarcophagi with a perpetual Gentle Repose. Outside China itself, religions tied to pseudo-resurrection, from the Catholic Theocracy to the Jackal Priests of Anubis, ensured there was forever a bull market for such unusual commodities.

"Mr Chen" was by now sweating enough to fill an asphyxiation bubble all by himself.

"Good value there," Richard hypothesised. "Gwen once said that for a tidy profit, men are willing to flout the law. For doubling the profit, traders will disregard all ethics. Beyond that? Human greed grows to the size of Leviathans."

"Accursed NoMs!" Lieutenant Hān growled.

"Not NoMs." Richard studied his indignant advisor. "Just me— even you and I have a price."

Hān did not approve of Richard's aphorism. Mao, in his "Red Book", had warned of this exact thing, though the enemies were the capitalists and the foreign imperialists, not the people of the republic.

"How shall we proceed?" Richard jabbed a thumb at Chen. "I could interrogate him, but I am certain you'd prefer a Mind Mage to rake over his brain. There are the other NoMs as well, hiding here and there, assuming the Zombies didn't eat em."

Hān inclined his chin. "I'll request transportation."

"Good." Richard looked away for a second, then returned with a grin. "Miss Lei and Mister Nowak are officially deceased, please don't forget our CCs. Is there a bonus for the NoMs?"

"I'll put in a recommendation," the Lieutenant promised.

"Gwen should be about done." Richard checked his Message Device. "Shimeizi's how far from here?"

"Two hours as the crow flies."

"I look forward to it." Richard caught a strand of his materialising Undine's hair. "Gwen is very good with confined spaces, did you know?"

Besides Richard, his Undine giggled. Though her mien was beautiful beyond measure, Hān felt an undulating sense of unease in the Spirit's presence. In their natural habitat, Undines lured children into their lakes and waterways to drown them; ofttimes, it was for nourishment, mostly, it was for sport.

"Release."

PSSSHHT—

The Shen-Teī armour loosened, allowing Gwen to peel the plated-fabric from her torso.

"Cleanse!"

The magic from her laundry Device began to remove the embedded odours from her hair, her thermo-layered skinsuit, and the armour itself. In her opinion, she had discovered a significant design-flaw— for though the exterior was self-cleansing, the interior had an inadequate deodorising function, meaning all she could smell after the battle was the scent of barbecued human flesh.

Beside her, Eunae dry heaved, likewise victim to the deluge of assailing scents baked into her armour. Human bodies, so packed full of bone, ligaments and most importantly, fat; possessed a uniquely offensive fetor. If Gwen had to find words, she would depict the smell as acidic, with a twangy pungency that made one's eyes water.

While she recovered, Richard emerged from within the house with Lieutenant Hān.

"The Necromancer's fled to Shimeizi." Her cousin wasted no time. "That's our next stop. The main force should be arriving three hours ahead of us. I suggest we go straight there — far better CCs than grinding Zombies in remote villages. From the sound of it, there's a whole nest of the bastards holed up under the reservoir. Also, how long do your dogs last when out of range?"

"A few hours," she replied. "Why?"

"Need one to keep an eye on the NoMs until the PLA picks them up."

"The NoMs survived? That's great!" Gwen mopped her face with a towel. Even with the enchanted skinsuit, she was sticky with sweat from the expenditure of almost 300 VMIs.

Even in the Amazon, she hadn't OoMed so quickly. The eradication of a thousand Zombies was equivalent to a high-intensity workout of not only her body but her mind as well. Even now, her frontal lobe throbbed.

Across the field, three rings of Zombies littered a demolished acreage of cabbages the size of human heads. The first pile was nearly three meters high, forming a gently smoking circle of flayed corpses. The second and third were more modest, while here and there littered dozen upon dozens of stragglers slain by Lulan, Ariel and Caliban.

"Sir, we're clear," Mayuree indicated to their advisor. "I don't sense any hostiles."

"Good." Gwen repositioned herself so that her face caught the mid-afternoon light. "Give me some space. There's one more thing I have to do."

The team moved to one side. It was happening. Gwen had discussed it prior, but to see it happening for real made the team's kidneys ache.

"Lulu, I am going to do it once, and then it's your turn, alright? Don't forget, our sponsors paid good Crystals for optics."

"… Okay."

"What's this?" Lieutenant Hān turned to Richard.

"Extra-curriculum revenue." Richard scratched his nose. He had heard Gwen boast but didn't think to see it live. How was it possible that his cousin was capable of doing something as embarrassing as selling herself, but be incapable of imploding a building and every NoM, Acolyte and Necromancer within it? Granted, the building had been warded, but he would have liked to see Ariel sneaking through a window or a chimney, and then open up with an Essence enhanced Thundering Shatter. If that didn't blow out the structure and turn the inhabitans into jelly, she could follow up with triple-set of Elemental Spheres. Better yet, a pyrite Cloud Kill would have completed the Quest like a house on fire.

Even as his imagination exercised Gwen's lost opportunities, the fresh-faced sorceress turned toward an invisible lumen-recorder. With one hand, she dramatically wiped sweat from her brow, then surveyed a vista of smouldering Undead. Suddenly, with one hand on her hip, she materialised a bottle of Maotai from her Storage Ring. Unstopping the cap with her teeth, Gwen then turned the ceramic jug so that a good handful of the precious liquid sprinkled across the fallow earth.

"For the fallen," she said to no one in particular.

An arc of cobalt electricity blazed across her pupils. She raised the same bottle so that it rested beside her exquisite face.

"Maotai— Peace for the dead, life for the living..."

She drank, allowing a few drips to slip past her lips and fall onto her bare collar bones.

Her team watched; their mouths pursed and mute.

"Okay, Lulu." Gwen gestured to the red-faced Lulan, looking as though already drunk. "Your turn, Miss superstar."

"Anything of interest?" Schalk Hertzog, Captain of Pretoria, stood over the meditating Jean-Paul as the Void Mage assimilated his latest meal.

Jean-Paul slowly opened his eyes, his face contorted with bulging veins and dripping sweat. "I do have something. A senior apprentice, I think, one who'd been commanded to gather the materials in the laboratory, then use the attuned Teleportation Circle to escape. I would imagine our junior Necromancer could have made it bar the time it took to stow the ingredients and the spell scrolls. But— then again, returning without them may be yet another death sentence."

"Too bad the circle's locked and warded." Schalk studied the crude Glyphs. "Damaged as well. I can repair it, but not without the Glyph-key."

"You mean this?" Jean-Paul incanted a few invocations under his breath. The Teleportation Circle flickered, blazed for a bright second, then died.

Schalk raised a bushy brow. The Void Mage was turning out more useful by the minute.

"Gelukkige baster..." Lencho, ever the prideful Lightning Evoker, observed sourly. He couldn't fathom why his captain so readily accepted such a disgusting being. If it was Fudan's sorceress, he could understand, but this thing?

"Well done, Jean-Paul." Pretoria's captain glared his damage-dealer into submission. "I wasn't thrilled when you replaced Lukas, but I don't begrudge your usefulness."

"I fear Lencho's right," Jean-Paul replied meekly. "The memories Umzokwe collects are entirely random."

"Is it though? I was informed your Familiar targets powerful thoughts and emotions."

"Ja, but in the moment of oblivion, a lot of things cross people's minds." Jean-Paul stared at his pallid fingers. "Moments of filial beauty, a triumphant Awakening, a lover's hands, a Master's rebuke… or a set of Glyph keys they're told to keep secret unto death."

Though he still found the aberrant Mage off-putting, Schalk patted his teammate on the shoulder. It was the sort of thing a good Captain should do.

"Helia, what say we leave our PLA Advisor and enter the portal ourselves?"

The Diviner took a minute of meditation to reveal her depthless ultramarine orbs. "I sense woe. Great woe."

Schalk regarded the Necromancer's Portal. It was a great opportunity, but as Helia said, it could also be suicide. Hours ago, when Pretoria had been given the task of clearing out an outpost, he hadn't expected that there would be Rogue Necromancers excercising their craft so close to the Dalian border. The fact that these worshippers of death operated so brazenly outside of Shenyang bespoke of a well-entrenched enemy.

Then again, what if he sent in Jean-Paul first? The Void Mage had said that he possessed an impressive AoE and that his abilities were triply as effective against lesser Mages. If so, assuming Jean-Paul could secure the Teleportation room, wouldn't Pretoria hog the CCs at Shimenzi?

Schalk took a deep breath.

It took two seconds for the impulse to pass. How would he answer Meister Bekker in the aftermath? The IIUC wasn't worth bringing trouble to his family.

"Helia, contact Lieutenant Peng," Schalk dismissed the unappetising gamble. "Tell him that we're done. Withhold the key for now, and inform him we're ready to take on other quests."

"Fireball! Fireball! Fireball!"

A triple set of explosions rocked the fortification at Shimenzi.

"FUCK!" Yue cursed out loud. "Fucking gopher bastards!"

"Bro, that ward's choice as," Rongo snorted, grumbling at the soot-laden lake. "Too bad the water's contaminated, could have done something otherwise."

Unlike Pretoria and Fudan, Auckland fully embraced the dozens of micro-Purge missions leading up to the first stronghold of the Black Zone's Necromancers. As a result, they quickly advanced through the Front, destroying hordes of Zombies, packs of ghouls, and even a village haunted by Jiangshi, demonstrating an impressive rapport that surprised even their PLA advisor. To counter each mob, Timoti utilised Quake and Magma Wall to corral the roving bodies while Rongo's Maelstroms, empowered by his He-Mango-Tohorā, swept his victims into a churning pile. Then, with enough victims gathered in one place, Yue would finish with a ten-second Flame Strike in brilliant blue, transforming the salt-water into superheated steam. It was a tactic that worked wonders against the Mermen, and though they were now far from the Tasman Sea, it proved no less effective against the Undead.

By the late afternoon, Auckland had caught up with the main troop of Force-Recon Mages scouring the landscape for signs of Necromancy. At their final Nav-point, the standing orders for the students was to patrol the waterworks' exterior. Bored, Yue wanted to try her luck at puncturing the fort's defences.

"Mao, don't you foreigners ever tire?" Lieutenant Xiao, their exhausted adviser, had grown breathless from watching Auckland quest for almost eight hours straight. Were it not for Yue; she would have suspected the giants from the Island of the Long Cloud were demi-humans.

"I could inscribe a Ta Moko for you," Opi offered, pointing at the cussing Yue. "It'll be the non-permanent inscriptions Yue is using."

Compared to Fudan's flamboyance, Auckland's team wore very little armour. In place of Magi-tech bodysuits or purpose-built garbs like Pretoria, they employed tattooed body-buffs. From what Auckland's Enchanter was willing to reveal, Yue's arms held the Mark of the Mangopare, the Giant Hammerhead Shark, gifting her with endurance and durability. On her left thigh and right calve, wrapped like a wedding garter, was the Mark of the Silver Fern, a Ta Moko that regulated mana and stifled the effects of spell fatigue. On her left lumbar was inscribed the Pakati, Mark of the Dog Skin, offering protection akin to a Maki's hide.

"Check these bad boys out." Yue caught the woman staring and pulled down the neck of her top, causing the Lieutenant to flush and blanch simultaneously. Across the Fire Mage's ample cleavage were concentric, circular rows of Unaunahi, Mark of the Fish Scale, warding her against the elements.

"Unaunahi weaved into Moana," Opi offered. "Like the sea, you won't tire, or need to sleep, so long as your mana keeps up."

"Shall we head back?" Whetu stated nervously. He was reasonably sure their orders were to waste time and not start the assault. "We're supposed to wait for the others."

"Hold up, let me give Tandy a swirl—" Yue began a long invocation. Her Nightmare manifested with a neigh, stamping the air with fiery hoof prints. "Tân-Cysgodol, lend me your strength! INVESTITURE OF FLAME!"

A blue cloak of fire wrapped around Yue's body, lighting up half the mountainside. It was an impressive scene, one that would have wowed audiences around the world— until her tank top incinerated.

"Fu—!" Whetu spluttered. One of the many horrible habits Yue had inherited from Alesia was the preference for non-magical clothing made from conventional material. "Mage Armour!"

"Aiiiya!" Lieutenant Xiao waved her arms, at once wanting to cover her contestant while concurrently fearing she might turn to cinders. Whatever the case, the two-second "slip" was NOT suitable for national broadcasting.

"Sweet-ass." Rongo beamed. In response, their Ta Moko Enchanter knocked the Water Evoker over the head with her knuckles.

Caught in a state of elemental clarity, Yue gave no shits about her momentary indecency. Instead, she raised a flaming hand, gathered the force into a pin-point, then evoked a hyper-tier invocation. "SHADOW FLARE!"

A globe of near-invisible, superheated Elemental Fire struck the warded surface of the defunct waterworks. A cascade of brilliant-blue sparks erupted where the sphere connected, filling the fetid pools below with hissing steam. A second-later, gouts of molten silica poured from the granite surface, sizzling with spell-fire as the embedded wards fought back the flames.

Auckland, as well as their advisor, shielded their eyes from the miniature sun. In the eyes of the onlookers, the assault appeared as though an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

"Bloody oath!" Yue's flame-cloak sizzled, then spluttered, leaving her encased in plated Punamu. Though she could arguably employ spells up to the sixth tier, her lack of experience prevented her from accessing ambitious sorcery like Fire Storm and Disintegrate without first deploying a lesser variation of her Master's Flame Avatar. It was a make-shift method devised by Alesia so that Yue could access higher-tier spells by drawing on her Familiar's talents. "How deep did I get?"

"… about sex meters," Rongo observed. "The ward's closing over as we speak. How bleeding strong are these Neecromancers?"

"I don't think its the Necros," Lieutenant Xiao intervened. "I believe the waterwork's wards tie into ley-lines beneath the reservoir. Shimenzi isn't just a filtration facility either. You'll find out in the debriefing."

"Can't the PLA turn the Enchantment off?"

"No, not without accessing the Mandala's nuclei." Xiao shook her head. "Unfortunately, that's also the most secure section of the waterworks. It's right below the exchange-filters and the pumps, built into reinforced bedrock."

Yue growled. "What if our CCs escape?"

Lieutenant Xiao pointed at the Mages in the main camp, patrolling the perimetre in pairs of twos and threes.

"Without access to a Divination Tower, Teleportation Circles have no more than fifty kilometres of range. Even assuming the Necromancers have Teleportation Scrolls, a stockpile is nigh impossible. Each scroll, depending on inscriber, fetches well over a thousand HDMs, more on the black market." Xiao took a deep breath. "Rest assured. The PLA will crack the gate and pry open the bunker. You're all-star students, Miss Bai, leave the dirty work to the grunts."

Impatiently, Yue turned her eyes below, where two Golems idled beside their pilots; Chinese soldiers from the 209th Armoured Regiment. As for the Iron Golems— they were American made General-Dynamics MK266 Dust Pounders, lovingly known as "the Dusty 266". The variants below were crewed, as automation remained the exclusive privilege of the USA and its Israeli allies. At close to three-tons each, the Golems had a maximum payload of over four tons, capable of carrying everything from artillery-tier wands to crystal-caches that extended its run-time to a week. Presently, the crew had outfitted the machines with sonic excavators used to breach the warded concrete. Once the Golems opened a path into the water work's interior chambers, CQB Mages may then ferret out its inhabitants.

Ding! Yue's Message Device chimed.

"Gwen's here," Yue informed her companions. "Be back later, fellers. Gonna get changed and see how the girlfriend's doing."

A round of cheers broke out when Fudan alighted near the main camp. The military Mages in the 4th, 7th, and 19th Aerial Recon were mostly men in their late twenties, meaning a bevy of young and beautiful idols brought much mirth to an otherwise grim tour.

"Ma'am!" A grizzled veteran with a beard like a bristling porcupine approached Lulan. Behind him, a dozen more waited to see if the scarlet-complexioned sarge would succeed— or eat an Iron Sword to the face. "M-May I have an autograph?"

Lulan stared, her eyes entering fight or flight.

"Of course you can." Gwen shook her Sword Mage by the shoulders. "Come on, Lulu. It's all a part of the hustle."

"The…" Lulan's orbs glazed over. "… the what?"

"Here." Gwen guided the man's photo of Lulan's promotional material toward her, pushing a mana-pen into her fingers. "Sign your last name."

Lulan scratched in her mana signature, punching through the photo-paper.

Gwen grimaced at her friend's uninspiring handwriting. "Ouch. We'll work on it. You better keep that close to your chest, Sargeant. That's Lulu's virgin signature. You're her first."

"I-I'll keep this as an heirloom!" The man visibly trembled. "Mao! Thank you, Miss Li! Please win the competition!"

Hearing Gwen's titillating proclamation, the other soldiers rioted, clamouring for Lulan to sign their things. One soldier even unbuttoned his shirt and asked her to carve her initials on his collarbone so that he would never forget this day.

"SHUT UP!" Lieutenant Hān barked. As an officer of the First-Recon, his reputation preceded him. "Form a line! Proceed in order of Rank! Cue jumpers will be sent into the Necro-den first, without Golem support!"

The men quickly fell into step.

"GWENNIE!" Yue landed a dozen steps from the ogling men, ignoring their licentious attention. "What took you so long? Our advisor said you guys left your last objective four hours ago."

"The locals waylaid us," Gwen explained with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. "When did you get here?"

"An hour ago, we're waiting on the Golems."

Gwen's eyes flashed. "Those? They're huge!"

"Nah, those are chicken-hawks. The 266s are medium-weight models," Yue casually informed her. "Tell ya what though. The bloody walls on that place are warded to hell. Hopefully, the Dusties will dig in through the exterior without drama, maybe soften up the inside a bit.

While Yue spoke, Gwen inspected the two humanoid Magi-tech machines. To her eyes, they resembled squat gorillas in plated mail. As tall as they were broad, most of its two-storey bulk consisted of a central torso, a massive set of shielded shoulders, and robust arms twice as thick as its hind legs. From the way the vehicles' statue hunched, Gwen guessed these were likely quadrupedal machines capable of significant velocity.

Presently, a pair of gloves that resembled a mole's forearms had been affixed to the forelimbs. The pilots, one woman and the other a man, wore high-vis jumpsuits. To Gwen, it was all very Top Gun feeling.

The male pilot caught her looking and waved.

She waved back, pausing when a growl of displeasure derailed her train of thought.

"Alright, come down," Gwen said to no one in particular, drawing a curious glance from Yue.

Much to the delight of the Combat Mages, the giant Wyvern they'd seen back at Dalian descended from the dusky sky, circling over the Shimenzi until it skidded to a halt not too far from where the girls stood.

"Calamity!" the Wyvern called out. "HUNGRY, NOW! Those horses were inedible!"

"Alright, alright. Hold your Harpies."

Yue, together with dozens of soldiers, watched with fascination as her friend approached the monstrous brute to deposit an enormous crate of stacked SPAM almost as tall as herself.

"What in Father's name is this?" Golos stretched his wings, tucked them against his sides, then sniffed the small mountain of cans.

"Its SPAM, Gogo. Nothing but the best for my drake." Gwen touched the Wyvern's snout, feeling her fingers grow numb from the static. "There's regular SPAM, Turkey SPAM, Teriyaki SPAM, Smoked SPAM, Bacon SPAM, Cheesy SPAM; I had them shipped from Hawaii."

Grunting, Golos transformed into his human form. Unlike Polymorph, the Wyvern's Draconic-racial didn't involve twisting bones and moulting skin, but rather a blast of retina-searing lightning. A second later, a nine-foot giant with horns pulled up a pair of jeans, slipped on a tight t-shirt, then adjusted his mace so that it slid down a trouser leg.

Gwen felt a nudge in her ribs. Beside her, Yue's brows came alive as though two jostling caterpillars.

Taking a can in each hand, Golos began.

"Mmmm…" the humanoid Wyvern masticated the punctured aluminium. "Not bad. The metal skin of this meat fruit adds a particular crunch."

Gwen raised a finger, opened her mouth, then allowed her hand to fall.

"It's great with rice," she said finally before returning to Yue.

By now, Whetu, Richard and a few others had joined them.

"So, what delayed you?"

"Ah." Gwen tugged at the collar of her Shen-teī armour, loosening the neckband. She was beginning to envy the comfort of Yue's fitted tank top. "We ran into Centaurs."

"No shit?" Yue swore, the warmth of her breath steaming the air. As advertised, Liaoning's temperate rapidly fell as the sun dipped into darkness. "The half-horse, half-human ones?"

"Undead ones," Richard cut in, having supervised Lulan's meet-and-greet with fans. "Great galloping bastards. They were shooting arrows and throwing spears too. Almost got us a few times. Who would have thought? Bloody Undead Centaurs, you live and learn."

"Yeah, those Centaurs were no cake-walk," Gwen continued. "We were ignoring them until they started galloping below us. When we crested a hill, they got close enough to start throwing spears."

"Zombies can use weapons?" Whetu inquired contemplatively.

Gwen shook her head. "They looked like Ghasts to me. Lean and gaunt with lots of ribs showing. Long, skinny legs, big long manes. Strong as anything."

"They followed us for almost twenty-minutes at close to eighty kilometres an hour," Richard expressed his admiration of the Centaurs' prowess. "And they didn't tire either."

"How'd you fight them? With Cali?"

"Golos took em down." Gwen gestured to her Wyvern. "We took to a higher altitude while Golos strafed them with Lightning. He picked off most of them, but a dozen or so ran. Our advisor wasn't too happy with that. He said that the NoM battalions had a hell of a time weathering centaurs, so we had to chase the rest down. That took AGES."

"Lulu's not a good flyer," Richard explained. "Neither am I. Gwen had to do most of the work herself."

"Sounds like a hassle." The diminutive Evoker inclined her chin. "Your advisor's right, though. While WE're hurling Fireballs from the air, the grounded Mages and the armed NoMs are ducking arrows and trying not to be trodden. Even armoured convoy trucks are no match if they run into something higher than tier 6. You remember that Land Shark back in the Hunters?"

"Don't remind me." Gwen grimaced.

"One of those can demolish a fleet of vehicles," Yue said. "They eat metal as well as flesh, and they're built heavy enough to erupt from the ground and knock a transport truck over. Whetu and I saw it happen in Tauranga. Local militia got bogged down, lost half their men before we arrived from Auckland."

"Yikes."

"Mobility is life. When—" her friend pronounced sagely before suddenly pausing. "Finally, they're here! Let's get this show on the road!"

Six dots appeared on the purple horizon.

Gwen's eyes searched for Jean-Paul. "I wonder what took them so long?"

"I would have kept patrolling if I knew we had to wait this long," Yue grumbled. "I take it there's a good reason those Golem units are still idling."

Two dozen Daylight Flares hovered around the Shimenzi's general vicinity, turning night into midday. As super-charged Dancing Lights, the Military staple covered a range of almost half a kilometre each, underneath which a shadowless, all-enveloping light ensured Shimenzi was laid bare.

In better times, the winding canyon would have arguably made an impressive panorama. Under the guardianship of the Undead, however, cold granite met with shattered shale, giving the river's vista the likeness of an upturned graveyard half-caught in a rock-slide.

"Students!" A uniformed Magister in pressed olive presented himself as Colonel Qin Qíao of 1st Force-Recon and the Field Officer in charge of the Reclamation of Shenyang. "Many of you may be wondering why we are so invested in Shimenzi. Now, I shall elucidate you."

The commander cleared his throat.

"While our troops clear the way to Shenyang, you have been offered the chance to PURGE Shimenzi. Lieutenant Xiao, the map."

A projection of the waterworks and its internal chambers materialised into view, vivid and brilliant under the unnatural daylight. The students' stunned faces stared at the architectural layout, knitting their brows at the sight of the extensive underground bunker.

"Shimenzi… is not just a water filtration plant for the local farms," the Colonel explained. "In the late sixties, we commissioned Russian engineers to build it as a military base during the defence of Liaoning. Apart from the Undead, the base was also built to repel Americans..."

"Strewth." Yue rolled her eyes. "No wonder I couldn't punch past the first layer. It's a legit habitat bunker. Fuck."

"You tried breaking in?" Gwen whispered.

"Destroyed the wall and everything," Yue remarked. "But— no luck."

"Firepower, firepower, firepower?" Gwen grinned.

"Not enough firepower. Master might be able to do it. Gunther could probably blast straight to the core."

Whetu coughed.

The girls zipped their lips.

"… Presently, we anticipate that Shimenzi is home to at least forty individuals engaged in the practice of Necromancy. Of these criminals, at least THREE have attained the level of Magus. Here are their profiles—"

A three score of headshots materialised mid-air.

The Colonel stood below the first floating face, a Mage with ash-blonde hair and sunken blue-green eyes reminiscent of arctic ice.

"Anton Yermolov, Russian. Sixty-Seven years of age. He served as a Biomancer in Moscow before turning to study Necromancy. He's a freelance Ritualist researching Undeath and immortality. Wanted in Russia, Ukraine, Poland and of course, China, Mister Yermolov is worth 400CCs dead or alive. Should you encounter him, expect dangerous Familiars and spells affecting the mind, as well as your Astral Body."

A second image appeared. This time, it showed a pale-skinned man in the garb of a priest. The most notable aspect of the Necromancer was his hawk-beak nose.

"Diego Valentino, Italian. An ex-communicated priest from the Ordo Praedicatorum. Fifty-seven years of age. Spent the first thirty years of his life hunting down Necromancers. Now, he's one of them. His spells principally focus on Essence and Spirits. We have it on good authority that he controls incorporeal monsters. His Tower Bounty currently sits at 550 CCs, with an additional 250 CCs if his Storage Ring and certain contents can be returned to the Ordo. If you do find it, I suggest handing it to the PLA for processing."

A third face materialised. This time, there was very little bio-metric data. To Gwen, the last Necromancer was a slim-faced North Korean woman in her forties.

"Finally, Sung Min-Seo. A local. Information regarding Sung's whereabouts was recently gathered thanks to Fudan. From what we can deduce, she is a Magus-tier Grafter, so expect monstrous creations such as Hulks, Abominations and at worst, Demi-human Bone Golems. Currently, the PLA will offer 300 CCs for her and 50 CCs for each of her upper-tier creations."

The Colonel paused, then raised his head to survey the students.

"All three have been pushed from their laboratories and hiding places. All three should now be in Shimenzi. These are your principal Quest targets, in addition to the complete Purge of the fortification."

The Colonel pointed to the Golems.

"When the operation begins, the PLA will breach Shimenzi from the Front with our mechanised units, distracting the innumerable Undead defenders who will meet us. As for your teams…"

The Colonel pointed to three separate sections on the map.

"You may choose an entry point cleared for your convenience or breach the fort by individual means. If you are unsure, I want to remind our guests that this mission is not compulsory and that you may continue collating CCs tomorrow and in the next six days until we reach Shenyang. Note that requests we are offering you are neither easy nor safe. It will test every spell you have at your disposal, as well as stretch your resources to the breaking point. Do you understand?"

"Yessir!" the students answered as one.

"Good!" The Colonel cleared his throat. "Fudan, will you proceed?"

"We accept!" Gwen's husky voice reverberated through the day-lit night.

"Pretoria?"

"None shall survive, Colonel!" Schalk crisply answered, standing to attention. His movements were curt and flawless, despite his cumbersome seeming Armscor booster-plate.

"Auckland?"

"We'll kill em all!" Yue snapped a salute, her heels clicked. "Nothing will survive, not even a Zombie rat, sir!"

"That's what I like to hear!" The Colonel returned to the cross-section diagram. "Now, pick your entry points."

"Sir!" Schalk raised a hand.

"Yes, Mister Hertzog?"

"We would like to offer an alternative entry, Sir! We have obtained the Glyph for Shimenzi's mid-level Teleportation Circle, Sir!"

The Colonel paused.

"Well, well..." The man's countenance then contorted in the manner of a smiling wolf. "What wonderful news!"

The leaders of the triumvirate huddled.

"I volunteer for the breach." Schalk raised his hand. "With my booster armour and my talents, I should be able to hold the Teleportation room until the rest of you can safely arrive."

"Schalk, you're too reckless," Izette, Pretoria's Diviner, dissuaded her captain. "Neither mine nor Mayuree's Divinations showed weal."

All three teams were keen on the idea of teleporting into the enemy base while their main force was distracted by the Golems kicking through the front door, but then the question arose of who would breach the great unknown. If Ghouls and acolytes held the entryway, then all would be well. If Ghasts and Bone Monarchs, supported by Senior Necromancers, held the portal, then doom awaited the intruder. Yet, no matter the difficulty, someone had to be first, for the PLA would not wait to make their assault.

Of the three Abjurers, Schalk suggested that he could withstand whatever spells, curses, and afflictions the Necromancers threw at him.

Richard conveyed that he could instantly flood the vicinity to extinguish any opportunity for retaliation.

Whetu assured the teams that nought would bypass his Pounamu barrier.

"How about we send in our Familiars?" Jean-Paul meekly susurrated, shirking the artificial daylight, his complexion so pale as to glow. "Umzokwe can independently manifest. As can Caliban."

"But then we'd lose control of them. Besides, how're your vital stores?" Gwen countered her companion. "I've got supplements... and Eunae if need be, but if our connection is cut by the ward..."

"Umzokwe's stores will suffice." Jean-Paul wheezed. "If not, I can replenish once we're inside."

"…" Gwen felt as though she should issue a rebuke. But since none of her fourteen compatriots batted an eye, she realised that perhaps, she was the weirdo and not Jean-Paul. Wistfully, Gwen felt once again struck by the banality of her old world sentimentality. Even now, she felt no desire to murder NoMs, nor become a cannibal; no matter if her victims were Necromancers.

Watching the others luridly vociferate the methods of accredited murder, she felt dirty. In her mind, death should be clean, not obscene.

Sighing, her eyes wandered toward Golos.

A thought took root.

"WAIT—!" she slapped the table, causing the others to stare. "I have a better idea!"

"... Let's hear it." Schalk folded his arms with mild annoyance.

"Gogo can breach for us." Gwen jabbed a thumb at the diminishing mountain of SPAM. "As a Thunder Wyvern, he's highly resistant to all kinds of magic, even Void. His element is also directly opposed to Negative Energy users and Necromancy. He's stronger than a bone golem, AND he's also immune to status attacks due to his mythical bloodline. If need be, I'll front up the extra HDMs for his weight-class."

The students' eyes wandered to the burping Wyvern, then back to the Teleportation Circle. Somehow, the prospect of dropping an eleventh tier Thunder Wyvern into the midst of a Necromancer's lair seemed— utterly amazing?

Indeed, after Golos cleared the Teleportation Circle, they could leisurely teleport in, leading with their Abjurers, then branch off in their irrespective group to hunt the named Necromancers.

"What a wonderful idea," Yue cooed in gleeful agreement, her eyes full of anticipated mayhem. "Gogo go-go!"

Golos lifted its head, wondering why a stumpy peasant was hollering his name.

"I…" Schalk struggled to think of a disadvantage. "Well... Let's do it."

"Great!" Gwen exhaled with some relief. She turned toward her SPAM-eating Wyvern. "GOGO! Finish up! It's time to earn your keep!"

From the blueprint of the old PLA fortification, the hidden megastructure comprised of eight tiers.

The ground floor consisted of a fortifiable lobby connected to a guards' barracks, an administrative sub-floor, and levitation lifts proceeding up and down the stratum. The upper floors, involving Levels I, II and III, were the heart of the bunker, with shared rooms for Mages, a command theatre, a mess, and storage rooms for HDMs and equipment. A different set of lifts, however, descended past the Lower Ground floor, accessing Basement levels I to III.

Thankfully, the Teleportation Circle Pretoria had obtained was the magical personnel entry built into the Lower Ground, an elaborate chamber about sixty or so square meters, depressed so that it could be accessed from several adjacent sections simultaneously.

Of the lower floors, B-I consisted of a substantial troop barrack meant to house up to a thousand NoMs, a kitchen and mess, segregated showers and bathrooms as well as food stores and an armoury. B-II housed the water filters together with the now-defunct pumps feeding the reservoir sitting adjacent to an engineers' section. Finally, B-III represented a principal objective, covering the control Mandala, the Crystal Core tapping into the ley-line, and the loci for the superstructure's wards.

Each of the levels furthermore possessed sub-stratum and off-shots in the form of chambers, hidden or otherwise, connected by a mole's lair of transmuted tunnels.

"Hello, claustrophobia," Gwen remarked for herself and the others. The corridors' width stood two Mages abreast at best. The cramped space was great for her line-based Lightning Bolts, but the same confinement meant there was no evading her enemies' AoEs either. If she teleported away, she would leave Mayuree or Eunae open to assault.

"Time is of the essence," Schalk said. "One team should circle back and attack the enemy from the back. Another team should push upward into the headquarters, while the last team should aim for the control Mandala. You know your abilities best, so let's hear it."

Yue was the first to speak.

"Alright, maties. I've got firepower bleeding out my nose, Timoti's got both damage and control, and Rongo's got snares well-suited to confined spaces," the Fire Mage transcribed, pointing to each of her team. "We got Whetu as well, and Opi doubles as a CQB Transmuter Mage. Ergo, we'll Fire Lance the Necros right in the starfish."

"Do you need a healer?" Gwen frowned at her friend's bluster. "What if one of you got drained or injured?"

"We'll toast any and everything before they get close," Yue replied with confidence.

"You can take our Eunae with you." Gwen looked toward her healer. In turn, Eunae shook her head vigorously. "… or not."

"I'll be fine." Yue shrugged. "Got pots, got tats, we're sweet as, bruh."

"Right." Gwen looked to Whetu. The big man nodded, affirming Yue's boisterous confidence. "How about you guys?"

The others gave their two-cents.

In the interim, Gwen regarded her Void counter-part. For the whole while, Jean-Paul had remained silently receptive to whatever demand Schalk placed upon him. Was he being bullied? She wondered, but couldn't tell from Jean-Paul's expressionless mien. In the end, she chewed her lower lip, remembering that there were plenty of talented but introverted folks who preferred extra work to contentious confrontations.

".... and I am well versed in Spellcraft theory, particularly the construction of wards and Mandalas relating to Abjuration wards," Schalk stated nonchalantly. "Who here can say the same?"

Whetu remained silent, as did Richard. As for Gwen, she could at best inscribe a cooking fire.

"Then Pretoria shall take the lead down to B-III," Schalk declared. "Miss Song, I guess that leaves the upper levels for you."

"I am fine with that. Richard? Everyone?"

"No complaints here." Lulan was her usual, accommodating self.

"I am game," Richard replied.

"I'll follow you," Mayuree stated.

"So long as we're not reckless." Eunae eyed Yue, hoping there wasn't going to be another offer of rent-a-Cleric.

"Alright." Gwen pointed to L-II and level L-III. These were chambers where enemy Mages resided, a prospect that suited her just fine. "Assuming the PLA is going to be holding the lobby, we'll head for these levels."

"Wonderlik!" Schalk clapped once. "Don't forget, the levitation platforms will be disabled, so you'll be flying up the shaft. Meanwhile, we shall be relying on your Wyvern."

"What sort of resistance is the PLA anticipating?" Gwen asked for a reminder.

"Lower-tier Undead in the thousands. Up to a century of mid-tier Necromantic beings. A few mid to higher-tier constructs. And acolytes in addition to our Magus-tier targets." Mayuree recollected from the briefing. "The lesser Undead will be bolstered and buffed by the apprentices, that's why the PLA will handle the frontal assault."

"That's a tough slog, bro," Rongo remarked. "Poor bastards."

"That's why we're here." Lencho, Pretoria's Lightning Mage, looked from Gwen to Golos, appearing apprehensive.

Agreeing with the Evoker's assessment, Gwen offered a prayer for the soldiers below. Having sent a thousand Zombies into oblivion, she knew first hand just how troublesome a swarm could be. It wasn't so much that each Zombie was cumbersome to kill, but that the possibility of a group of Mages growing OoM before the majority of Zombies perished was relatively high. Add in ambusher-types like Ghouls with low-cunning or the swift-limbed Ghasts, it was relatively easy for a Mage to be snatched while taking a breather from spell fatigue.

Ding! Ding!

The teams' Message Devices chimed, accompanied by the revving of the Dusty-266's roaring mana-engines.

The time for action was nigh.

Shimenzi.

Lower Ground Teleportation Circle.

Iosif Mazylak was the senior apprentice to Anton Yermolov, a Ritualist Magus in all but Tower accreditation. Iosif

Like many in his Romanian village, Iosif believed in the existence of the immortal Koschei, a myth whose stories and legends had permeated the collective memory of his people. As the tale tells it, the 12th century Immortal King, without formalised knowledge of sorcery, lived until the twenty-fourth generation of his kin— an impressive feat for a Mage of antiquity.

Thus raised on outlandish tales, Iosif had forgotten all about Tower's propaganda when Anton arrived looking for potential apprentices. A dream-prone adolescent, Iosif was full of delusion and grandeur. It wasn't an unusual trait— for life on the Frontier was boring but hard; it was a place where sudden, violent deaths daily occurred.

While the Tower Masters of the Black Sea ate caviar in Istanbul, the meagre fortune of not starving to death in Poiana Brașov was a luxury few could afford. That and the villagers were predated upon by the Night Hags, Dhampirs, and the Nachtkrapps that roamed the mountains.

"O God so merciful in heaven," the old men in his village would pray when the Dhampirs came for their milk-skinned daughters. "O Lord, Father of all, deliver us from harm."

But it wasn't God who came to save the village.

It was Anton Yermolov.

At once, Iosif knew he had found his calling.

Before he had learned the Craft from his Master, Iosif's greatest ambition was to take Elena, the Mayor's daughter, on her wedding bed. A year on, Iosif had forgotten all about that banal fantasy. He came to realise the vastness of the world, how high the mountains of knowledge, and how fathomless the Spellcraft seas. Very quickly, Iosif exposed the lies besmirching Necromancy and the scourge of the Undead plague. Now, as a senior acolyte, he recognised Necromancy in its true form— art.

For what else could he label magic that could arguably be utilised by anyone with a hint of talent? Like death, Necromancy was an equaliser. All one needed to ply the Craft was knowledge, mana, and the capacity to suspend worldly ethics.

"Mages were born free," his Master had quoted a famous philosopher. "Yet, thanks to the accursed Imperial Magic System, he is everywhere in chains."

Iosif agreed. Compared to the Seven Schools of Magic, Necromancy was freeform and primal, drawing on the raw Essence possessed by all beings.

Where there was life, there was death.

Where there was decay, there was regeneration.

How can one outlaw the foil to life itself? It was absurd.

When he had finished his first half-decade under the Master, raised his first Zombie and watched his minions perpetuate, Iosif felt elucidated. When a decade later, the first of his slaves rose not as a mindless being, but a thinking, feeling Ghast, Iosif attained an epiphany.

"Life is death!" his Master had hollered to his students. "Don't you see? It is reversible! Life is death as death is life! Undeath is sovereignty over the tyranny of nature! It is an escape from the karmic forces of the material world! Undeath is the bottling of God's domain! It's true freedom!"

But the journey to transcendence was long and arduous.

Master Yermolov's Path, as the Tower Mages would say, was one of Ritualism, the prolonging of life through the exploitation of death. It was an easily misunderstood goal, for the actual purpose wasn't life, but the attainment of Undeath— the transformation into an immortal legend known as a Lich.

At first, Iosif had disputed if such a tier of mastery existed.

But after a visit with his Master to Pyongyang, all doubts had ceased.

After an august audience with what must be a Magi, Iosif knew that God, or Gods, or at least a facsimile of divinity, did exist on the Material Plane.

"Master Iosif…" a voice more juggling stones than vocal cords addressed the day-dreaming apprentice. "When may we… feed?"

Iosif frowned. He disliked being interrupted, especially by a slave.

The Ghast that spoke was Paul, a dear friend and Elena's fiancé. In his youth, Iosif had been greedy and had practised his Craft on Elena before his skills had matured. Luckily, his friend promptly arrived at the end of a two-year sojourn searching for his fiancée. Full of remorse, Iosif had welcomed his friend into his Master's abode, after which, the rest was history.

"You may feed when the PLA has had their fun, or when reinforcements arrive from Shanyang," Iosif stated. Disgracefully, the PLA's assault had caught them all by surprise. Their contacts in Dalian had been told that it was a routine military drill— until reality had caught up, too fast for many of the Masters to preserve their experiments. From what he had heard from upstairs, Master Valentino had lost a senior apprentice in his haste to retreat to Shimenzi. Having then lost his precious materials, the Mage had flown into a rage and Soul Flayed a lesser apprentice when the girl was clumsy enough to bump into him.

Now, caught in the cramped confines of Shimenzi, the brooding Masters bid their time.

In the gloom, Iosif's Ghast nodded, then returned to staring blankly at the Teleportation Circle.

Together with Paul were a half-dozen of his Master's lesser creations, as well as a few of his experiments. Though Iosif felt he could be arguably be made useful elsewhere, someone had to guard the portal in case allies arrived.

Suddenly, the ground swayed.

"Whoa—" Iosif muttered when the ground shook. The PLA's assault on the front gate had begun. "Death preserve us."

Paul said nothing. Other than the occasional complaint about his eternal hunger, the Ghast voiced little of anything.

The floor shook again.

Iosif's greatest worry was the stock of fresh flesh in the larder. Economical Undead like Skeletons and Zombies could be starved for years and indeed, possessed higher functions when frenzied, but not so intelligent variants.

Unlike their bio-mechanical cousins, conscious Undead required maintenance and sustenance. One of Iosif's tasks for the first decade of his apprenticeship had been precisely that, a Ghoul farmer whose job was to throw meat to the howling horrors while avoiding being eaten himself. Indeed, of the ten gathered from his village for the test, only Iosif survived.

BOOM— Rumble—

Dust fell from the ceiling. The PLA were really giving it their all, but Shimenzi wasn't an easy fortress to penetrate.

Iosif yawned. The Undead made good guards but made terrible conversationalists. If he was bored, maybe he should take the time to pick apart one of his Master's Clawed Ghouls? Or perhaps one of the Mutated Zombies to see how their imbued enchantments caused Negative Energy to warp their flesh?

THRUMMMMMM—

Iosif blinked.

The Teleportation Circle churned, filling with mana.

Another ally, arriving from an outed outpost? Iosif frowned. With the PLA assaulting the upper levels, wasn't it a bit convenient for someone to be visiting?

But then again, only senior apprentices knew the key to the teleportation array. Even if an acolyte encountered a Mind Mage, the Death Geas would ensure they drained themselves to death before a single Glyph could be uttered.

—NMMMMM— the thrum of silvery Conjuration filled the air with static. The amount of mana being channelled through the portal was terrific.

It must be an ally. Iosif relaxed. The size of the thing coming through was at least the volume of an Abomination or a Hulk.

"I hope the chamber's big enough," Iosif muttered warily. The individual rooms were generous, but the corridors were barely two and a half meters high.

ZAAAP!

The circle deposited its cargo.

"Welcome!" Iosif hailed the new arrivals in guttural Korean. "You've come at a…"

His lips grew transfixed.

A man appeared amidst the firefly motes of Conjuration, a nine-foot giant.

"What the—?" Iosif muttered in his native tongue.

The man's stature was enormous, akin to an Armoured Revenant, possessing arms like trunks and a body sculpted of Grecian marble. Atop the man's brows grew two horned ridges that ran the length of his skull, half-hidden within a mess of platinum-white hair.

The man looked around, his silvery orbs refracting the lumen-globes like the eyes of a cat.

Iosif swallowed, fighting the panic in his heart.

"ATTACK! All attack!" He wasted no time summoning a staple invocation to his lips. "Agonising Enervation!"

A stream of Negative Energy, conjured by the inscribed artificial Sigil drawn into his Astral Soul, flooded through Iosif's warded mana conduits. Of his collection of spells, the fourth-circle debilitator was his favourite, for it afflicted the target with spine-wrecking agony while transferring their vitality back toward the caster.

"Sisargh hofiba!" the demi-human uttered in a bone-chilling, alien tongue.

Iosif's charm struck.

A split-second later, nothing happened.

The Senior Apprentice grew confused. There was no fizzle— his spell had been successful. He had seen its dark miasma connect with the demi-human. If so, why didn't it work?

"GAWWWRRR!"

Paul had by now reached its enemy. From all ten digits, it distended blade-like claws pumped full of ghastly venom, fully capable of disabling the stoutest of Mages.

The demi-human looked up, frowned, then moved like a blur.

Snap!

The Ghast halted mid-stride, suddenly caught in an iron vice.

Iosif's eyes grew impossibly wide, then fuller again, pressing against his sockets.

While the Mutated Zombies gnawed on the Demi-human with their distended jaws to no avail, the man effortlessly reached out, catching Paul's head like a ball. Then, with a single, fluid motion, the giant tore the Ghast's skull, spine and all, from his torso.

"GRAAA—" Paul made just one sound before his Necromantic energies expired, washing over the man's well-muscled body like water off a duck's back.

Iosif shook, his fingers trembled, spells long recollected failed to pronounce themselves.

His assailant began swatting at the lesser Undead.

Whack! With a bone-shattering blow, a Zombie's head exploded like an overripe melon.

THWAK! A quick stomp sent the lower half of another Ghoul flying into the distance to splatter against the wall.

CRUNCH! A simple sweep cut six Ghouls in half, mutilating both flesh and bone.

"HA!" The demi-human giant swung Paul's head like a mace, smashing apart Iosif's and his Master's beloved creations with Paul's profaned remains.

Across the chamber, the Necromancer acolyte felt as though his brain was spinning like a top. What the hell was this? His soul rioted. Who was this monster, and why was it here in Shimenzi? For Iosif, there was only a single recourse. He had to inform Master and bring reinforcements! Surely a Bone Golem could best this creature!

"Shield!" Iosif preemptively erected a barrier. He wasn't an Abjurer, not to mention his minions usually blocked his foes. Unfortunately for Iosif, his present defences rapidly deteriorated as the humanoid dreadnaught pounded his pets into mincemeat.

"Blood Walk—" In desperation, he opened a vein.

"LOREAT!" came a cry more bark than speech.

Iosif was a few incantations from completing his limited-range teleport when his long-neglected testicles suddenly shrivelled up into his torso. A spine-wrangling, strength-sapping wave of fear overwhelmed his faculties, turning his frontal lobes into quivering soup. Something indescribable relaxed in his gut, his innards revolted, and the room grew suddenly heavy with the scent of excreta.

His mouth filled with bile, Iosif looked down in disbelief.

Was he the first Necromancer in history to suffer Mana Burn because he shat himself? What would his Master say?

But he needn't worry about that. Not when the collated strength of a dozen Ogre Ghasts punched through his feeble grey shield to take him by the neck.

Moments later, against the concrete fortification, Wyvern and former Necromancer painted an impromptu Pollock.

"… Gogo's done." Gwen licked her drying lips. It was unexpected, but Link Sight somehow worked on Golos, bypassing the ward. "We're clear, for the moment."

Schalk, Whetu and Richard stepped into the circle.

"Miss Song." The captain of Pretoria inclined his butt-chin. "See you on the other side."

Gwen could smell the ultraviolence the moment she teleported into the chamber. Foremost was the stink of Undeath, after which proceeded the unmistakable stench of ruptured bowels spilling from a torn black robe.

"Gogo?” She looked around for her Wyvern.

“He’s gone on ahead.” Schalk had taken up a position next to one of the entrances, overlooking the results of his Diviner's Scrying. “Lord Golos was muttering something about desecrators.”

Feeling her scalp crawl, Gwen reactivated her Gogo-VR. Presently, her twin vision showed the Wyvern walking over a mangled mess of coarsely ground meat. All about the princeling extended a Brutalist, Soviet-era habitat-block the size of a tennis court, in the midst of which she could see the levitation lifts.

“Did you run into any trouble?” she asked suspiciously.

The Wyvern grunted, wiping his feet on an unsoiled robe.

Gwen felt her throat constrict. There was something abstract in gazing at Golos' victims through borrowed eyes. The carnage was so distant— like she was the operator of some first-person murder game.

"Stay there, I'll be with you soon." Gwen cut the link.

A few more flashes of Conjuration later, the rest of the contestants filled the Teleportation Chamber.

"Good work." Schalk stood beside the portal’s mechanisms with an impressive-looking inscription-tool. “I will now disable the Circle. No one will be able to use it until they unravel the Arcane Lock. A feat which, though I don’t profess to be the premier Enchanter in Pretoria, should be time-consuming, to say the least.”

"And after that?" Yue glanced at the crumpled heaps by the wall, disappointed that Golos had hogged the action.

“To CCs and glory.” Lencho’s fingers sparked with electricity. Ever since Gwen had "lost" to his captain, the prideful Evoker had felt as though he was an oft-forgotten sidekick.

“Fret not, Lencho. I’ve got a good feeling about this,” Izette, Pretoria’s Diviner, painted a rosy picture for her teammate.

Gwen's eyes fell to Pretoria's Void Mage. Presently, Jean-Paul was whispering to his Familiar.

“Cali! Ariel!” she called her own to join the fray. She entertained summoning her Morden's Hounds but concluded that vertical levitation shafts made poor battlegrounds for magical dogs.

“EE EE!”

“Shaa shaa!”

The great white leech slithered from Jean-Paul to rub up against Caliban. Whatever the relationship their owners might have, the two Void Beasts had taken to one another like flesh-eating peas in an eldritch pod.

"Shaa!" Carapaces popped, tentacles writhed; unwitting observers stepped away. Ariel wanted to join, but Gwen held her Kirin back, producing a fistful of HDMs to placate its excitement.

Forming into their respective lines, the squads marched outside the teleportation chamber with their Abjurers leading the way. Discerningly, in place of guards and patrols, they discovered lightning-scorched walls and half-cooked bodies, all of which had met with sudden and fatal violence.

“How did you manage to tame a Thunder Wyvern?” Schalk enquired of Gwen, his expression almost worshipful. “What a magnificent Ally.”

“Lucky, I guess,” Gwen answered evasively. “I ran into Gogo on a mountain. We argued, my Uncle ploughed his sister, and then we made up.”

"... I would love to meet this Uncle." Schalk glanced at the armoured sorceress. "Truly, you're the most interesting person I've ever met."

"You're a pretty decent bloke yourself." Gwen gave the man her best smile, catching Jean-Paul looking meekly downwards.

"You two should get a room up in L-III, ” Yue interjected between them. “Schalk, what's the fastest way up to the foyer? I bet the PLA’s up to their necks about now.”

Turning a corner, the parties arrived at the Lower Ground's access chamber. In its present state, the severe room appeared as though a meteor had crash-landed in its midst, leaving no survivors.

Gwen nodded at her Wyvern as he scratched a crotch itch, stannding beside the lifts.

Golos nodded back.

Schalk inspected the Glyph inscriptions on the platforms' control plate.

Whomp!

Rongo thumped the Glyph. To no one's surprise, nothing triggered. "Bloody hell, it's shut."

“Anyone good with metal?” Schalk looked around.

"Lulu?" Gwen nominated her Sword Mage.

Lulan stepped up. The Sword Mage's fingers blurred, silently performing an invocation for Shape Metal. On cue, the stainless steel began to warp. A few inches later, her spell fizzled.

Lulan's face turned a deep scarlet.

“I meant cutting through it...” Schalk glanced at the Sword Mage, amused by her dismay. “Can for another try?”

“Sorry, Lulu, my mistake,” Gwen patted Lulan on the head. “Gogo, think you can best this feeble, human-made door?”

Golos snorted, positioning himself in front of the double-panel. With a sound of metal-on-metal, he dug his fingers into the pane, levering the portion where Lulan’s magic had warped the seamless metal.

“GRRAARRRRGH!” Golos howled, his body crackling with power. Visibly, a mountain of muscles bunched across his back, coming alive with Draconic essence.

CRUNK—PANG!

Something inside the panels snapped. Inch by inch, the door parted, pulling apart as the structural integrity of the gears and pistons failed.

“HA!” Golos kicked, sending the left-most panel flying off its sliding rail. With a dissonant clang, the pane launched into the interior of the levitation shaft. The resulting noise was no less than a gong announcing the Mages' arrival.

"No matter," Schalk stated with a straight face. "I am sure they're expecting us. Master Golos, may I humbly request that you also open ours?"

“Here's is where we part,” Gwen struck out a hand. “Schalk, Jean-Paul, everyone, good luck.”

The others joined in, exchanging handshakes.

“Come back alive.” Jean-Paul’s palm grew slimy the moment Gwen clasped his fingers. “Totsiens…”

“Take care, JP."

“Shaa! Shaa!” Caliban nudged Umzokwe.

The leech wiggled its segmented tail.

With final formalities performed, Pretoria formed into their marching order, with Schalk and Umzokwe leading, followed by Jean-Paul, Izette, Helia, and finally Lencho. With great solemnity, Fudan and Auckland watched as the basement shaft swallowed the Afrikaners.

“Shall we?” Yue stepped into the shaft, seamlessly transitioning from land to air. One by one, her teammates joined her.

“Take care and don’t be rash,” Gwen warned her friend. “It’s just a competition.”

“No worries, I’ll protect her.” Whetu's eyes encompassed the petite Fire Mage protectively, reminding Gwen of Jonas, Alesia's Cleric.

“Ha!” Yue grinned, her affable enthusiasm melting Gwen’s heart. “Tell ya what, let me give you a bit of advice in turn.”

Gwen perked up. It wasn’t every day that the mighty Yue dispensed wisdom.

“DO NOT pussy-foot around.” Yue's amber eyes grew severe, wiping the smirk from Gwen's sultry lips. “Fuck everything up. NoMs, Monsters, Necromancers, EVERYTHING— if not, you’ll be the one getting rat-fucked.”

“Bless!”

“Aid!”

“Mage Armour!”

“Protection from Elements!”

“True Strike!”

“Mind Link”

“Guardian of Faith!”

The Fudan five hovered in the dimly lit vertical tunnel. After Yue's team chose the middle route, they had opted for the rightmost shaft. Thankfully, unlike the claustrophobic corridors, the transmuted concrete was widened to accommodate cargo, measuring some six meters in diameter.

"Still warded." Lulan retracted a hand.

"Of course it is." Richard brushed a finger across the seamless surface. "Levitation shafts are central components of any base. In a Tower, there'd be mana dampeners lining the walls as well."

“How’s it looking up there?” Gwen inquired of her Diviner.

“Your friend has just broken into the ground floor,” Mayuree sucked in a breath of stale air. “There are A LOT of enemies.”

"And above us?"

“I am not sure,” Mayuree knitted her brows. “There are mana signatures all over, but I can't use Clairvoyance through warded concrete. I am not seeing much with Arcane Eye either.”

“Don't worry about it then,” Gwen acknowledged the limitations of mid-tier Divination. “Stick to our plan. We should proceed to L-III, then Purge downward from there. Is the tunnel clear?”

"I think so."

Richard gazed into the uncertain darkness. “Stay away from the walls. You never know.”

“Shaa!” Caliban concurred. Its spider legs skittering about the shaft’s surface, somehow managing to stick to the smooth concrete. Beside it, an invisible Ariel flittered through the air in its Kirin form.

“Good idea,” Fudan’s Captain took her Abjurer’s advice. “We’ll lead with Familiars. I’ll bring up the rear. Gogo, can you take the lead?”

Golos yawned. As a creature of Air and Lightning, levitation proved no obstacle.

"I am glad we see eye-to-eye. Alright, everyone, let's ascend."

With concurrent thrums, Fudan switched their Shen-teī armour to combat mode, offering their mana pool to the armour's batteries. This way, the suit not only provided better protection but took on the peculiar Elemental affinities of their wearers.

A dozen meters from their entryway, Fudan passed the ground floor. From behind the double doors, the rollicking sound of chaotic combat reverberated, shaking the tunnel and displacing the dust.

"I hope Yue and Whetu are doing alright," Gwen remarked as they passed the sealed doors. Compared to the rumbling entrance, L-I proved the quieter counterpart, followed by a silent L-II. If anything, seven-foot cement slabs were very good at sealing sound.

Near L-III, some fifty meters from the lower ground, Ariel reported that it had run up against the base of the levitation platform.

“Gogo,” Gwen called upon to her Wyvern again, appreciative of the way her brute served as a humanoid bulldozer. “Can you move the platform, please?”

Golos sighed, perhaps thinking that the sooner the Quest was done, the sooner he got back to his lair.

Ten meters from their target, the Wyvern paused.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen’s eyes scanned the sterile vicinity of their concrete tube. “Gogo?”

Her Wyvern dipped in the air, his mane suddenly bristling like the back of an agitated hog. Above it, the base of the levitation platform came alive with living shadows.

“Calamity!" Golos growled, his voice filling the levitation tube like a thunderclap. “It's an ambush!”

"That's an imperial fuck-load of Undead."

Yue pronounced her unadulterated opinion of the churning battle cascading from the alcove from which they had emerged. On every surface, Skeletons, Ghouls, Zombies and Ghasts of all sorts hung from wall to wall, floor to ceiling. There was Undead everywhere she looked: the service counters, the waiting rooms, the armoury, the barracks— no space was left unsullied.

In front of the PLA's Golem-lead beachhead, the Undead formed an undulating tide of glistening, roving, jostling bodies moving as one, surging so that they boiled and tumbled. And the smell! The Mages gagged. The foetid air was solid with the scent of reposed flesh.

Opposite the Mages, leading the invasion were the two Dusty-266s, already up to their waists in Zombies. With wide swings, they swatted away the cadavers with their buzzing sonic claws, their roaring, red-hot mana engines shaking the dust from the walls. Behind and beside the War Golems were the PLA Mage Flights, slinging spells and pushing forward with every element they could muster, cleaving the flanks with quicksilver flashes.

A Blade Barrier! Yue cooed with admiration.

Colonel Qin Qíao of 1st Force-Recon led the charge, maintaining the spell-made industrial harvester so that it reduced anything within range into mince-meat.

"Manaaki!" Opi activated her team's suite of Ta Moko enhancements, warding her companions against the dead. The group-wide buff was necessitated by the Negatively-aligned miasma, for the bone-chilling aura sapped the vigour from the living, polluting their minds with despair.

"Let's clear the casters first..." Yue gave her command. Bolstered by the Maori's craft, she suppressed her battle lust, using her fingers to mark the team's victims, one by one. "... before they realise we're the real threat."

Behind the solid wall of grasping corpses pushing back the PLA, a dozen human acolytes commanded the Undead. In waves, the Necromancers wove spells of empowerment, throwing up profane sorceries to wear down the PLA's spell-bound barriers. Such was the ebb and flow of all battles against the Undead, for the Mages would grow exhausted eventually, culminating in a retreat. After that, the Necromancers could choose pursuit, or if the victory was pyrrhic, they could re-raise their minions.

“I’ll keep the horde pinned with Rongo,” Timoti's conduits bloated with magma. “Whetu, stay with Yue and hunt the Necromancers.”

“Sweet-ass, bro,” Whetu was confident in his Pounamu Mage Armour. “Ready when you are, Cuz.”

Rongo needed no advice to begin his most powerful Evocation. As a Water Mage, his spells lacked in damage, but more than made up in flexibility. With one hand, the Evoker inscribed a Ta Moko-like mandala in the air, concurrently lighting up the tattoos enveloping his body. On his torso, the Whale Shark came alive as conduits overflowed with supercharged mana. With a mighty cry, the Water Mage called upon his Spirit. “He-Mango-Tohorā, come forth!”

Abruptly, the Mandala expanded to ten times its size, covering the space of a dozen meters. Behind Rongo, a brief impression of a Whale Shark manifested, filling up half the chamber.

“Parawhenua!” The beloved son of the sea unleashed the fury of his patron.

Before the Undead onslaught could build enough momentum, a streaming jet of whitewater erupted, tossing the Skeletons and Ghouls like children's toys. An unstoppable torrent, the jet blast travelled forward unimpeded for a dozen meters before petering out, transforming the region around Auckland's team into a miniature lake, dashing apart the Undead formation.

“Behind us! Infiltrators!” The Acolytes realised too late a new threat had struck. The howling sorcerer, Yue concluded, must be her first target, for he looked the oldest, and his robes were richly embroidered.

“Mi-Jeong! Stop them!” her future victim commanded a junior.

From the rotting throng, a Giant Skeleton and a three-meter Abomination broke free, wading through the water toward Auckland.

“Tuatara!” Timoti sensed that the time was ripe to summon this three-headed Lava Lizard, a spirit unique to his home region. “Magma Burst!”

From the shallows came exploding spikes of magma-drenched stone, instantly solidifying as they passed through the seawater. Two magma-spikes caught the skeleton, entangling its bones in hardening obsidian. Against the Abomination, the super-heated volcanic ejecta straight-away exploded, flaying the flesh from its stitched frame and spilling its worm-like innards.

But a Giant Skeleton wasn't so easily checked. With one hand, the monstrous Undead sling-shotted a club comprised of sharpened bone at Rongo.

Crash!

A timely shield from Whetu deflected the crushing blow.

Yue meanwhile, took advantage of the distraction to fly past Timoti and Rongo, stopping just within spell-range of the Necromancers pointing at her and shouting.

“Pounamu Protects!” Whetu preemptively materialised a honey-comb latticed barrier capable of withstanding all forms of exotic punishment. “DAMPENING FIELD!”

With Auckland’s level of Spellcraft, practical counter-spells were nigh-impossible. As such, Whetu opted for a double-edged solution— reducing their and their enemy’s elemental efficacy so that he could tank what remained. Of course, outside the spell's range, Yue's power remained unabated.

“Incoming!” Whetu felt his Astral Soul quake from the avalanche of Negatively-aligned assault consuming the abjuring vigour stowed in his Pounamu. Like spoiled oil, a fusillade of necrotic energies slid from Yue, cascading in sheets as Whetu renewed the serpent stone.

The Abjurer grunted, gleaming sweat flinging from his steaming back to enliven the throbbing Ta Moko. Warding against Necromancy was a hard slog. Without Faith Magic, there was no way to entirely prevent the sorcery from eating away at Yue’s life force.

Thankfully, the serpent stone fort needn't be held for long. A dozen rapid incantations later, it was Yue's turn.

“INVOCATION OF FIRE!” The pint-size Evoker burst into cobalt flames, lighting half the lobby as she assumed the likeness of a regal Ifrit. Tân-Cysgodol, her Nightmare, could just be seen flittering in and out of her ever-expanding cloak of fire.

“Tandy!" Yue's voice rang as a thunderclap. "Fuck’em up! CHAINED CONFLAGRATION!”

A brilliant blossom of near-invisible fire combusted near the senior acolyte, melting through the feeble shield put up by the self-taught Mage. As the air ignited, transforming into white-hot plasma, it was accompanied by more spontaneous fireballs, engulfing the Acolytes wholesale.

All around Auckland, the world burned.

One after another, chained explosions engendered. Though Alesia's apprentice left much to be desired in the realm of control, the power of Yue’s blast accommodated any and all enemies within its range of effect.

—BANG!

—BANG!

—BANG!

A third and fourth explosion rocked the ground floor, concordant shock-waves caught one another as bodies turned to sizzling mince.

After a fifth and final discharge, Yue stabbed herself with a mana-injector, grunting as the infused plasma reinvigorated her mana pool. Tân-Cysgodol faded from sight. Her cloak of flames, so blinding only a moment ago, slid from her shoulders, revealing a huffing sorceress wreathed with writhing Ta Moko.

Yue surveyed the scope of her work.

A dozen craters studded the foyer where the acolytes had stood their ground. The junior Necromancers were utterly stunned by the attack from behind. As per tradition, senior casters always stood near the back, meaning the best of them were now painting the walls, their blasted brains mingling with their beloved Ghouls.

The battle tide was turning. The Acolytes faltered.

“Good work!” Whetu shouted. “Let’s regroup!”

Without the Necromancers' battlefield control, Rongo’s one-man tsunami came rushing in, hissing as the seawater cooled the scorched stone.

“Fuck, I blew my load too soon.“ Yue eyed the remaining Necromancers and the other nine-tenths allotment of Undead still swarming over every surface. Taking down five acolytes was good, but she could have done better. “Should have waited for the cunts to clump— WHOA!“

“SHIELD!” Whetu raised a honey-comb barrier just in time to catch a Bone Lance, stopping the projectile a few inches from Yue’s bosoms. The Evoker shirked back, taking a few splinters across her warded dermis, leaving white scars where the necrotic energy caressed her skin.

The party looked to the ceiling.

A congealing pool of blood had silently engendered on the roof, beneath which now suspended an upside-down Necromancer.

The cruel face that regarded Auckland was graced by a head of ash-blonde hair, looking far younger than its proclaimed sixty-seven years. Standing just over six-feet, the man wore a stark white, skeletal armour resembling an exoskeleton.

Anton Yermolov! A name came to Auckland's collective mind.

"FOUR-HUNDRED-CCs!" Yue shouted. "Come here, ya bastard!"

“MAELSTROM!” Rongo howled, persisting in his finisher despite the immediate dangers facing Yue and Whetu. Together with the swirling sea draining into the Elemental Plane of Water, he could dispose of several hundred lesser Undead. Once ejected into the Plane itself, the corpses would become fish-feed for the numberless denizens of the Fathomless Sea.

“Quake!” Timoti simultaneously directed his seismic assault at the walls and the ceiling, peeling the Undead hanging there from every surface to aid in Rongo's efforts. Though the wards prevented the manifestation of his unique Para-Element, the jolting harvest of tumbling Undead was well worth the mana.

“TANDY! INVESTITURE OF FLAME” Yue burned the mana that had only a second ago entered her conduits. Excessive use of Investiture caused self-harm— but the Necromancer left her little choice.

“Arrogant Tower brats!” came a mocking snarl from their enemy. “Five little mice sneaking into our base? You’ll make excellent materials! Foetid Deluge!”

Acidic droplets of dark and eldritch blood began to fall from the ceiling. Where it landed on the Undead, it empowered them. Against the living, it sapped them of life.

At once, Auckland’s Abjurer conjured semi-transparent Pounamum shields for his companions.

“Yue!” Whetu sensed a yet more powerful surge of Negative Mana welling up inside the Necromancer’s body. With a word, he buttressed her wards. “Don’t fight him head-on, bro!”

“Protection from Evil!” Opi reached the Abjurer's side, simultaneously reinforcing a sacred Ta Moko to bolster Whetu's fortitude. “Go! Take a drain for her if you have to, we need her awake and alive!”

Whetu needed no coaxing. Like a human battering ram, he pushed through the pelting rain of corrosive serum, positioning himself above the Evoker.

“I'll fuck him up proper, don't you worry.” Yue winced when an earlier splatter bypassed her fire to corrode her skin, forming an instant, necrotic lesion. The agony was exquisite, but the pain helped to focus her mind as she called upon the ill-tempered Tandy. “Give me a minute!”

But a minute was an eternity when squaring off against a Magus, and a Necromancer at that.

“Fools!” Anton rebuked the young Mages and their arrogance. “Sanguine Mantle! Mass Terror!”

A wave of nausea washed over the Kiwis, reaching even the PLA Mages below. As much as the Chinese soldiers wanted to reach the Necromancer raining blood from a safe distance above, splitting from their well-practised battle-bulwark would make them fodder for the wave of Undead breaking upon their formation. Even Colonel Qíao, who had been splitting the Undead sea, knew the young Mages had to face the profane caster alone.

As a ruby-red bird of prey, the Necromancer approached.

“You’ll make an excellent Revenant, my girl.” The man’s face was barely visible behind his mask of bone. “And your Nightmare will nourish my Bone Spirit!”

For once, Yue had no retorts. Other than tracking her target’s trajectory, the Fire Mage paid the man no heed. With a singular focus, she exercised her Signature invocation, citing every Glyph and guiding every mote of mana into their proper place. Alesia's gift of Shadow Flare was her favourite spell outside Fireball. It was an incantation exchanged from the Deep Dwarves, whose control of Elemental Fire far exceeded mortal ken. The only drawback was that without Tân-Cysgodol, the unique flame could not be manifested.

Above her tiny body, Whetu’s expanding barrier of Pounamu grew threadbare. Behind that, a furious Anton approached, wreathed in blood and bone.

Gwen had never seen a Wraith before, but she knew a bloody Dementor when she saw one. And just like in the movies, the Wraiths' appearance was as Rowling had advertised.

"Holy shit..." she announced her dismay.

In a flash, a dozen or so cosplaying Nazgûls had them instantly surrounded. Unbidden, the temperature in the levitation tube fell by a dozen degrees, turning the Mages' breaths to mist.

“WEEEEEAAARRRGH—“

“WEEEEARRRGH—“

Goosebumps covered length of Gwen's limbs.

The keening of a Wraith was said to stifle a victim’s soul, paralysing even the stoutest and most fortified Mage. The bestiary proved accurate, for even with Eunae’s Bless and Aid, Fudan’s Mages seized, held prisoner by a primal terror.

“Gogo!” Gwen shook off the wailing, shocked but not stunned. “Defend us!”

“ROOAAARRRR!” Golos’s answer emerged in the form of white-hot lightning. As his Dragon breath flashed the tunnel, it caught not only the Wraiths but struck the bottom of the Levitation platform.

CRACK—BANG! Came the sound of fulminating thunder, amplified by the enclosed space. Living lightning crawled along the walls, climbing down the exploding granite as bits and pieces flaked from around the team’s surroundings.

“Ariel!” Gwen added her firepower to the display. Even with Eunae as support, she had no desire to play victim to a Wraith’s soul-draining touch. “Elemental Sphere!”

Compounding bolts of hysterical electricity filled the tunnel, forcing Mayuree and the rest to activate their shields and Richard to retrieve Lea. Even Lulan, who had taken a hack at a Wraith to see what would happen, was forced to withdraw behind Richard’s water sphere.

“Ha!” Golos’ laughter cut through the cacophony. “They’ve perished!”

“They’ve hidden themselves in the walls!” Came Mayuree’s Mind Linked interjection, clear as crystal despite the non-OSHA compliant decibels assailing their ears.

“You're shitting me,” Gwen cursed. The fucking walls were warded against spells, but not against ghosts?

CRUNK! A sizeable chunk of metal fell from the “ceiling”. As always, Golos' full-strength breath knew not the meaning of subtlety.

The levitation disk groaned as though an enormous Zombie.

All around the contestants, shattered concrete and loose steel broke free from the ozone-filled gloom directly above the contestants. When their vision returned, what they saw was a tittering Levitation platform on the verge of imminent structural failure.

“Shit!” Gwen banished the Wraiths from her mind for the moment. “Gogo, don’t let that thing fall on us!”

Golos disliked being commanded over being coaxed, but the circumstances hardly allowed for negotiations. With a fulminating growl, the Thunder Wyvern grew into its magnificent self, anchoring its claws on the tunnel’s walls. Then, with a mighty flap that drove the students back, the Planar Ally heaved with its muscular neck, tilting the platform so that it grew inverted.

The levitation Mandala held on for a moment more— then failed.

As one, the contestants retreated.

The disk was only a dozen meters above them. Nonetheless, with its weight, the momentum was enough to rake arm-deep gouges into the cement walls.

“Lea! Jet Blast!” Richard corrected the chaotic tumble of the wobbling levitation platform as it fell, ensuring a perpendicular descended past Fudan’s Mages. When the tiled surface came within half a meter of them, Gwen felt a thrill like no other.

“!”

Her spine tingled. She activated a shield but suddenly realised it wasn’t danger from the falling disc that had triggered her Divination senses. “Shit! Get—”

“— Eunae! AWAY FROM THE WALLS!” Mayuree’s warning came earlier, but still, it was too late.

“AEEEEEE!” Eunae screamed. She had been so fearful of being crushed that she was almost melding into the tunnel's sides. It had been a reflexive but poorly thought-out strategy, for consequently, she had no time to manifest her Shield of Faith against the Wraiths still hiding in the walls.

Instantly, the Cleric’s face grew deathly pale. The vital forces within her body gave way as Negative Energy hungrily consumed her life-force.

Beside her, the Mind Linked Mayuree groaned.

“Eunnie!” Gwen cursed. “FUCK! Lightning Bolt!”

Ariel’s bolt warped until it wrapped around Eunae, severing the Wraith’s limb and driving its presence from her body. Had Fudan lacked Gwen as a Lightning sorceress, that would have been it for Eunae.

“Shaa!” Caliban caught the falling healer with a pair of tentacles, reading Gwen's desperation, likewise frustrated that it couldn’t consume incorporeal foes.

A Dimension Door later, Gwen stood atop Caliban, holding Eunae in her arms. The girl wasn’t wounded, at least not anywhere she could see. The infamous Draining Touch, however, had no doubt afflicted Eunae in unimaginable ways, shutting down the girl’s physiological functions. Had she been even a little slower, Gwen shivered. Eunae would have teleported back to Dalian.

“Here.” Richard materialised a Restoration injector.

“Ariel! Keep watch!”

“I’ll help.” Mayuree materialised a Wand of Lightning. The item was illicit, but the CC loss was minimal compared to being bogged down by spirits playing hide and seek through the bloody walls.

With a hiss, the injector's precious cargo left the tube, filling the Cleric’s body with a new lease on life.

Eunae gasped, her fingers clutching Gwen’s shoulders, her armoured gloves scratching the ceramic plates.

“Eunnie, are you alright?” Gwen’s voice grew soft. She felt a pang of remorse.

“I—I thought I was going to die.” Eunae’s doe-like eyes were wide and misty with moisture. “Gwen, it was horrible! It grasped my heart! I could feel—”

“Shhh— you're safe now. It's gone.” Gwen hugged the girl back when Eunae crushed herself against her chest, refusing to part from her lightning-clad vice-captain. Empathising with the Cleric's unease, she wondered if she should have learned Calm Mind from Petra. “Maybe you should heal yourself a bit.”

“I-I want to go—“ The Korean expatriate suddenly bit her tongue. The girl’s pained expression made Gwen wince. Eunae had finally regained enough awareness to realise that this was the IIUC and that folks back home would be watching her performance. Had those words left her mouth, her main family would be very displeased indeed.

“Eunnie, I need you to stay strong for us,” Gwen whispered beside the healer's ear. “You'll be safe. Maybe not unscathed, but all of us are going to come out of this just fine.”

Eunae’s expression softened. In her arms, the healer’s limbs relaxed. “I hope so. Thank you, Sunbae-nim.”

The honorific made Gwen's lips curl.

“Eunnie… you’re older than me.” She snickered, bringing a moment of mirth to calm the shivering Cleric's uncertain mind. “But sure— Sunbae-nim is here for you."

Eunae’s complexion turned the colour of pickled beetroot.

"That’s all well and good." Richard pointed at the mechanism holding the double doors accessing L-III. “But how about we get out of the tunnels and find the Necro controlling these Wraiths?"

"GOGO!"

Golos smashed the stainless steel doors with a resounding CLANG. In his Wyvern-form, it was far easier to brute-force the mechanism until the whole structure failed.

The aftermath, as the party had well-anticipated from the groaning, was a room full of Zombies. As the heaving mass pressed in toward the hovering Mages, what should have been a fatal crash of frenzied teeth instead free-fell into the four-storey shaft.

"What a devious ambush," Gwen drily observed as the creatures continued to cascade, enacting the 1991 PC classic, Lemmings. "They look strong, some of these even have grafts."

"Those Wraiths are still around…" Eunae shivered as the thumps echoed from below. At some point, enough bodies would collate to cushion the rest— after which the accumulated Negative Energy would likely re-raise the inanimate corpses.

While the Zombies euthanised themselves, Mayuree sent forth her Arcane Eye. The chamber directly connected to the Levitation lifts was a central block that led off in three directions, likely to different suites servicing the upper echelon of the base. Within its chambers, Fudan's CCs reclused himself behind his minions, lamenting the cheating presence of a Thunder Wyvern.

"I see a heavily glyphed door," Mayuree soon relayed the Eye's vision through their Mind Link. "The ward barricading the war theatre is at least tier 6. It doesn't look like Imperial Magic either. If this isn't Anton Yermolov, then it has to be Diego Valentino."

"Finally." Lulan exhaled, incanting a self-buff that turned her skin a shade darker. "Vice-Captain, please forgive my incompetence."

"Lulu, don't worry about the Wraiths," Richard discounted the Sword Mage's self-loathing. "I am sure this Necromancer will take a sword to the gut as well as any regular Joe."

"Let's hope so." Lulan glanced at her hovering iron sword. "I'll train harder."

"Why don't you imbue the swords with ego?" To their surprise, it was Golos who interjected. "You Taoists hunt Spirits for a living, don't you?"

Lulan looked to Golos, then to Gwen, embarrassed by her ignorance.

"Gogo, what's an Ego Sword?" Gwen asked in her Sword Mage's stead.

"When I was young drake." The Wyvern's rough-hewn face recounted. "We had visitors from the Sects. Their Masters could imbue their swords with their will— meaning they could strike down incorporeal creatures. In my memory, hunting ghosts and demons was the whole purpose of the Sects, is it not?"

"I've never heard of such a spell, Master Golos," Lulan apologised. "I don't think our Clan possesses the skill anymore."

"Father's feathers, you Humans are so fragile..." Compassion from a Wyvern wasn't something that Gwen had thought the creature capable of possessing. "You should visit my sister, she knows the old Sword Arts. That's why father invited those old scrawny mortals— to tutor Ayxin. I am fairly sure Ryxi has a few scrolls in his library as well."

"I shall endeavour to." Lulan bowed toward the Wyvern. "Thank you, wise one."

"Hee hee—" Golos's horns weaved through the air, apparently pleased with Lulan's patronage.

Gwen meanwhile, was seeing a whole new side of Golos.

Her rooster-brained Wyvern, dispensing wisdom?

Why... pigs might fly—

"GRRRAAAR!" A Zombie, one of the final few, suddenly made a leap, clearing the space between the room and the Mages hovering in the chute.

Her invocation was near-complete when a maced tail swatted her assailant mid-leap. A blink later, it erupted like a pustule, painting Gwen from head to shoulder.

"Whoa— I was wondering if the Zombies had a herder." Richard winced at his vice-captain's dripping face. "And there he goes."

Gwen wiped bits of Ghast from her lips and her hair. "Thanks, Gogo."

"Don't mention it."

"S-sorry." Lulan looked as if she wanted to crawl into a hole. "I was distracted."

"Don't tax yourselves, females, not in my presence," Golos' bone-throbbing voice hummed. A flash followed, engendering a nude giant struggling into a pair of jeans.

"You should have ordered self-fitting slacks," Gwen drily observed as Golos wrestled with his mace. The other girls stood as stoic as statues, wondering how much of the Lumen-cast had to be edited.

Now that they were alone, the party could deduce that the mindless Wraiths had been set as guards. Indeed, in hindsight, had the students arrived on the Levitation platform, they would have been incapacitated or panicked by the ghostly sentries— and then eaten alive by the swarm. Even should they survive the Wraith ambush, the possibility of fighting both an incorporeal and a physical horde was slim, more so when sans Golos.

Away from the levitation lifts, the corridor was as Mayuree had advertised: cramped, claustrophobic and beyond perfect for incorporeal ambushes.

Despite being the top floor, the Russian architects who had conceived of Shimenzi were entirely enthralled by concrete. Out of both form and function, or possibly because of the ease of running mana conduits, Fudan's Mages were effectively encased in a visually sterile tomb.

As far as their eyes could see, the brutalist facade of the base's interior was uniform. Each corridor's interconnected pathways shared a similar starkness, homogenous but for the embedded "III".

"Lea, stay with Eunae," Richard assured their healer. Eunae nodded obediently, still traumatised by Caliban's writhing, dual-tone tentacles.

"Shaa! Shaa— Shaa!" Caliban hummed a dirge of oblivion as it shimmied down the concrete path.

Plink! As expected, it triggered an unseen Glyph.

A blast of jagged bone peppered Gwen's fiendish spider.

"Shaa?" Caliban cared not. It regenerated its limbs and continued.

A dozen meters down, Caliban stepping into yet another exotic trigger.

An inundation of Negative Energy flooded over Caliban's spidery body.

"Shaa!" The cold shower was pleasing to Gwen's Void beast.

As before, Caliban had no shit to give.

"I could do that," Golos grunted.

"Save your strength." Gwen chuckled. "There's a lot of traps. I want our MVP well rested for the Necromancer."

Plink! Caliban triggered another Glyph.

Above the team, the lumen globes flickered. A split-second later, the light died.

"Wall of Water!" Richard wasted no time in creating a barrier around the party.

"ROOAAAR!" Golos delivered a Lightning-breath against the floor, arcing electricity all over, jolting Richard so that he half-leapt into the air.

"Bloody hell!" Gwen's pupils were the first to adjust to the abrupt incandescence. Quickly, she filled the darkness with a pair of Dancing Lights. "Dick, are you alright?"

"I am shocked!" Richard wheezed, slapping his chest plate. "Shocked at how well my Shen-teī MK-Custom from Sinomach held up against Dragon-breath!"

"..." The rest of the party groaned with second-hand embarrassment.

"Jesus, Dick..." Gwen felt an ache in her chest. Just how desperate was Richard for crystals? As for Golos, she couldn't believe the bloody Wyvern had wasted a breath within ten-seconds of her sagely advice.

"There! Got one." Golos pointed to a wisp of dark smog hanging about the floor. "Desecrator coward! He should be fighting us head-on!"

"Ariel could have taken care of that." Gwen sighed.

"And what, risk your females?" Golos grunted, grinning at Lulan and the girls. "Have you no shame, Calamity? What if Lulu gets hurt?"

Lulu? A shiver prickled the nape of Gwen's neck, awkwardly, she looked to Lulan, then to Eunae and Mayuree. As one, the girls returned her inspecting gaze with awkward and ambivalent expressions.

"Just..." Gwen paused her party. Whatever Golos' intention, the Wyvern had hit the Glyph on the head. "You know what. Gogo is right. I've been lax. Let me fix this—"

Her finger wove through the air.

"Morden's Hound Pack!"

"Morden's Blood Hound!"

Eight Draconic-deerhounds plus one Alpha materialised beside the team. To summon all her dogs took a toll, but their circumstances called for nothing less.

"Ariel, stay above us and set a defensive perimeter, I want a dog protecting each of us. Astro, stay just ahead of the party. Cali, keep going."

"Shaa!"

"EE EE!"

"Woof! Woof!"

"Arrrroooooo!"

Soon, the newly reformed and starkly lit party began the arduous process of clearing the passage to the central auditorium.

"Wonderful!" Gwen surveyed her team of lightning-charged glow-lamps. Together, the pack was enough to banish all shadow from the team's vicinity. "Let's huff and puff and blow down that door!"

"INVESTITURE OF FLAME!" Yue fought back the taste of iron on her tongue, swallowing the exquisite agony rending her conduits. Although her flame-clad cloak flared out like the feathers of a blue-black peacock, it was clear that the continuous combat had taken its toll.

"Come on, fucker! I can do this all day!" Her vim, however, remained inextinguishable.

All around Auckland's Mages, a stink of scorched flesh immersed the expanse of Shimenzi's foyer, with liquified fat dripping fire and suffocating the air with Elemental Ash.

Not far, holding a smoking stump half-cauterised with boiled blood, knelt Anton Yermolov, a master of Necromancy, a Magus-tier Ritualist.

"Undeath to Living!" the man howled, and not for the first time either. As before, the stump on his arm and his half-melted face remained insensible to his profane efforts.

"HOW?!" the man keened, near-insensible from the anguish. "You're just a Fire Mage!"

"The fuck would I tell you?" the cobalt-clad Evoker mocked the man's despair. In actuality, she WAS the source of the Necromancer's dismay. Tandy wasn't just a regular old Nightmare, it was a mutated Sprite whose flames wove Elemental Ash into its heat. Why else had Gunther paid a city's ransom for the privilege of acquiring it for his wife?

Below the exhausted duo, Rongo and Timoti were near-OoM and at their alchemical limits. Yet, the Undead swarm persisted— Even now, at least half remained to besiege both the IIUC Mages and the PLA's battleline.

"Ready to die?" Yue's taunts appeared to enliven her flames.

"Brat, I don't fear death," Yermolov retorted, his lips black with bloody spittle, curtesy of the failed regeneration. "I welcome it."

Yue snorted.

"Tandy!" she called for her Nightmare. "We're finishing this!"

The Necromancer growled, his mutilated face twisting with misery. "Diego will reave your souls and turn you all into Wraiths! See you in the unlife, Tower Bas—"

"SHADOW FLARE!" Auckland's Evoker completed her invocation before Yermolov could finish his rebuke. Instantly, a near-invisible fire swallowed her victim, incinerating all resistance, eating through the man's buffs.

"Another one bites the dust," Yue recalled a jingle Gwen had once invoked. Within her conduits, the euphoric expenditure of power dimmed. In its fiery aftermath, a bone-throbbing agony enveloped her tiny body. At once, the veins on her extremities grew grotesquely engorged, erupting into bruised flesh. When she opened her mouth to swear, a blood-strew mist splattered her chest. Were it not for Yue's Dogskin Ta Moko, her Contingency Ring would have pinged.

"Yue!" Whetu double-checked his Pounamu shield, thinking that she had suffered an attack. He wanted to scoop the girl up in his arms, but he too was exhausted, not to mention Timoti and Rongo were still fighting. "Opi! Yue needs help!"

"Whakaoranga Ngawari!" their Ta Moko inscriber caught the girl in their Abjurer's stead. With worshipful words, she activated the latent healing powers stowed in the Ta Moko she had inscribed on Yue' chest, stifling the internal bleeding.

As for Yermolov, all that remained were Ash-strewn flames— that and a Storage Ring Opi caught in one hand.

"Are the Undead stopping?" Yue groaned in her Enchanter's arms. "Are we winning?"

Unfortunately, even Auckland could see that the Undead weren't perturbed by the heat-death of Anton. If anything, their frenzy had gained a supernatural focus.

"We'll win, eventually." Amidst her platitude, Opi stabbed the Evoker with a Healing Potion. Yue moaned in turn, but for one at their alchemical limits, there wasn't much the panacea could do.

"But I think someone else is controlling them." Opi frowned at the unending battle. Even now, Whetu was warding them against bone-shrapnel and femur-arrows. "Whetu, let's close ranks!"

Thanks to Anton, the big man looked as though he'd lost about twenty kilos. Where he had been a veritable giant before entering Shimenzi, deflated muscles and slackened skin now hung from his massive frame. As he had promised, not a single one of the Ritualist's killing spells had gotten past Auckland's Abjurer, one way or another.

"He-Mango-Tohorā! Return them to Tangaroa's embrace!" Below the clustered trio, Auckland's Water Evoker weaved the raging torrents. This time, the magically-induced tsunami finally crashed over the remaining Acolytes. With the mass of water finally in place, Rongo called for a great cleansing. "Maelstrom!"

With gradual urgency, a magically induced bathtub vortex engendered, sucking the Undead into the Elemental Plane of Water.

"Lava Spike!" Though exhausted, Timoti continued to deliver his molten payloads. Whenever a larger than life Undead construct managed to stem the tide and hold their ground, he would dislodge them with a burst of magma.

When the waters finally ebbed, all that remained was the throaty roaring of the Dusty-266s crashing amidst a sea of skittering, chattering, Undead bodies.

"Fall back!" Opi commanded. Of the party, she alone retained her health and her mana. "Gather up! We're going to join up with the PLA!"

With a resounding crash, the party— or more correctly Gwen's menagerie— poured into the auditorium.

The endless array of traps leading from the lifts to the theatre had been exhausting. Were it not for their born masochist, Caliban, the party would have had to contend with Necrotic toxins, exploding bone-splinters, howling Wraiths and even a host of flesh-eating beetles.

There had even been a close call— a Spine Spear that manifested from behind the party. Had Mayuree not pushed Eunae down, and had Lulan not parried the three-meter lance with her Iron Sword, somebody would have reawakened in a triage bed.

But at long last, they had arrived.

BUNG! BUNG! BUNG!

A triple-set of Essence-infused Flashbangs rocked the theatre's interior.

"Woof! WOOF!"

"Woof! Woof! GRRRR!"

The tunnel swelled with hoots and howls as Gwen's creatures streamed through the door, accompanied by Ariel and Caliban, re-clad in refreshed Invisibility.

Beyond the double-door was the war theatre, the nerve centre of Shimenzi.

Within, a hundred screens had displayed a panopticon array of images from inside the base, illuminating the otherwise ambient chamber with flickering projections. Now, they fell about in pieces, shattered by Gwen's Signature stun spell.

Quickly, her party spread through the dark chamber.

Thus far, everything had gone according to plan. First, Fudan swept the theatre with disabling-spells, then, they had entered hounds and Familiars-first to avoid additional arcane pitfalls. After that, the Mages flew in, ready to counter whatever foes the hidden Necromancer would throw at them.

"I see him!" Mayuree marked the clump of Negative Energy through their shared Mind Link.

In front of the wall of fissured screens, appearing as though a spider perched on a web, stood a man in the simple black garb of a priest. His attire was clean, humble, and unadorned, as one would expect to see on a pastor. On the first impression, the Necromancer known as Diego Valentino appeared amiable and ancient, a sad man whose body had been eaten alive by his craft.

A spot of movement attracted Gwen's eyes. On a surviving Lumen-screen, she caught sight of Pretoria fighting what appeared to be an enormous Bone Golem.

"Welcome, students of the IIUC." The man's voice was barely a croak, spoken as though by an invalid on his hospice bed. "My name is Father Diego Valentino, formerly of the Ordo Praedicatorum."

With a thought, Gwen's lightning dogs surrounded the man from every angle.

In the illumination cast by her hounds, the man in the priestly garb grew somehow sanctified.

"Gwen Song," Gwen announced herself. She stepped toward the central dais, her courage bolstered by the man and women beside her. Silently, she ordered her Familiar to take to the ceiling. "By order of the People's Liberation Army, we are to take you, dead or alive."

"Alive would be preferable." Diego Valentino choked out a broken smile. "Undeath is better, but I'll not rebuff your offer."

Gwen felt the man's milky eyes crawl across her armour. She wasn't sure if the man could see, but to say he made her skin crawl would be a gross understatement.

As insurance, she raised a hand in warning. In anticipation, her team half-held spells upon their lips, each ready to play their part.

In the half-lit gloom of the broken lumen-screens, the venerable Necromancer audibly exhaled, then tittered from the dais. "My child, what do you suppose will happen to me?"

"That's not for me to say." Gwen tried her best to keep her voice calm. For reasons unknown, her pitch had risen an octave. "Keep your hands up. And also, I am not your child."

"Ah— but we're all God's children..." The Necromancer obediently raised both hands, then stepped off the dais with a painful grunt. In the light of Gwen's dogs and the lumen screens, his ancient hump was well hunched. Even his scarred and wrinkled face was entirely pale and bloodless, with sallow cheeks that draped across what once had been youthful cheekbones.

Step by step, the man shuffled closer.

"STOP!" Gwen's shrill voice pierced the gloom. She willed her dogs forward. "Don't come any closer!"

"Why?" The man's measured pace continued with the tick-tock of a metronome. "Can I not take a good gander at my capturers? My eyes... they're not what they used to be."

"HALT! Astro!"

Her leading deerhound leapt. It landed a few meters from the Necromancer, then let loose a growl that was enough to send a mortal man to his knees.

"Draconic... dogs?" Diego's milky orbs were two pools of cloudy azure, piercing into her soul. "And a Wyvern too."

Unbidden, the Necromancer continued his approach. When the man passed the growling Astro, Gwen came to the realisation that she may be leagues out of her depth.

When was the last time a college course taught how to negotiate with a terrorist? Despite having lived two lifetimes, she had never learned how to apprehend a monster with the blood of a thousand men on his hands.

"Richard," she thought aloud through the party's Mind Link. "What do I do?"

"Cut off his arms legs?" Richard answered with his usual pragmatism.

"Good idea. I'll do it," Lulan concurred.

"He's an old man!" Eunae verbalised her horror.

"Don't be fooled, Eunnie," Richard advised. "He's an old Necromancer."

"Well?" The Fatherly Necromaner kept his hands well-exposed. "What's the matter? Is my surrender insufficiently compelling?"

Gwen wanted to return a quip but found herself lost for words. Between an opponent whose motives she couldn't untangle and one who would fight her to the death, she preferred the latter.

Why would the Necromancer give himself up?

Didn't he know what awaited him in Tianlanqiao?

How could she accept his surrender but then demand his arms and legs?

Would it gain or lose CCs for her team?

To play it safe, her mind turned to Mayuree.

"Mia, what say you?"

"I can't tell," their Diviner proffered the limitations of her diluted bloodline. "The threads of fate are too tangled. Anything could happen."

Gwen shifted her thoughts to Golos.

If the Necromancer reneged on his offer, Gogo could break an arm or two... or a spine... or a neck.

"Gogo," she intoned, feeling guilty that her princeling was made to fetch. "Can you—"

She needn't have imposed, for as the old man walked within strike-range of Golos, her Wyvern's nostrils flared. Before she could react, a fulminating surge of outrage swelled within her creature.

"CALAMITY!" Golos' voice filled the auditorium. "STEP AWAY! That's no MABLIK! His stench exceeds even those desecrated souls!"

Gwen took a double-take. In Draconic, Mablik meant mortal.

In the next moment, her incensed Wyvern transformed. His twenty-meter body blocked the entrance to the chamber, his expansive girth battering away Fudan's Mages, sending them skittering into upturned chairs and tables.

"KAEGRO! Return to dust!" Golos's jaws cracked with fulminating electricity. "ROARRRRR!"

It was her Wyvern's final breath, and he gave it his all. A line of vivid lightning struck the priest where he stood, swallowing the man wholesale.

"Gwen!" Richard's voice came through the Mind Link.

On reflex, Gwen triggered the latent energies empowering Ariel.

"Ball Lightning!"

"EE EE!"

A dozen spheres pursued the priest.

"Panzerschreck!" Lulan launched all five blades at once, taking full advantage of Mayuree's pre-buffed True Strike. Even among the hysterical electricity, they saw the blades connect.

The spells converged. Fulminating lightning, iron blades and a thrashing Wyvern annihilated the dais, cracking the concrete and vaporising the screens. In the aftermath of their assault, the auditorium shook, its base quaking like mad. A cloud of dust billowed out from the epicentre, obscuring all vision, swallowing the constants whole.

Surely, Gwen narrowed her eyes to ward against the dust and the heat. Nothing could have survived that.

"Is he dead?" Gwen turned to Mayuree.

"I don't sense—" Mayuree focused her Detect Magic. "His body's gone! I think—"

DONG!

Came a resounding peal.

A spine-chilling wave of enervating energy soundlessly permeated the walls, pervading the auditorium in the form of an invisible shockwave. Glyphs long inscribed, marked by blood and bone, ignited with ghostly fire, vivifying a buried Mandala a decade in the making.

"NO—" A violent dizziness silenced Gwen's better faculties. From her mouth came a half-strangled utterance, after which all sound ceased.

Without warning, her Astral Body dimmed. Deep within the recess of her subconscious, the metaphysical manifestation she had internalised in the Cognisance Chamber winked out.

DONG!

Again, Fudan's Mages heard the peal of a grand church bell.

Her deerhounds flickered, then died— un-summoning themselves as the connection between Master and monster untethered. Ariel, as well, unable to anchor itself via her Astral Body, forcibly returned to its pocket dimension.

DONG!

Gwen attempted to call Golos, but her lips had grown insensible.

"WEAAAAAARRRRAH—!"

A deluge of ghostly keening abruptly filled the theatre, setting her teeth to chatter like mad. Like an inverted bog, two dozen Wraiths mounted her Wyvern, grasping at Golos' thrashing body, launching themselves so that they ignited against the Wyvern's lightning-wreathed scales.

"CALAMITY!" Her drake squirmed, thrashing wildly. The Wyvern weaved its head back and forth in a desperate attempt to crush the unseen Necromancer yet again. "FLEE!"

WHOMP! Golos' anarchic defence against the incorporeal beings sent her tumbling into a set of anchored chairs. With a clattering thunk, her armour compressed, absorbing all impact.

From the floor, she watched with fascinated horror as Golos' tail rammed into her likewise insensible party. Her friends tumbled through the air. Were it not for their Shen-Teī armour, the consequence would have been unimaginable.

GO HOME! Her mind positively shrieked. GOGO! CANCEL THE ALLY SUMMON!

Desperately, she tried to reach out, to utter an invocation, to channel her mana.

"WEAAAAAARRRRAH—" More Wraiths appeared, swarming her Wyvern, polluting his demi-divine body. In the flickering light, Golos looked as though he was being smothered by a single sheet of midnight chiffon.

CRACK-WHOOMP!

A bolt of lightning vivified her Wyvern's trashing bulk, blinding them all. When finally Gwen's eyes re-focused, her Ally had returned to its natural home.

FUCK! Gwen screamed internally. What the fuck just happened? Why isn't the Necromancer dead? What was that spell? Could she have prevented it? Why couldn't she use spells? Was this the anti-magic they used in Tiaolanqiao? IF the Necromancer had an invocation to incapacitate them all, why all the effort? Why was the man surrendering if he could—

A shadow caught her eye.

Her stomach revolted.

A surviving Wraith was fast approaching Eunae.

Across from Gwen, her healer's eyes were wild with terror, staring at Gwen but also straight through her.

"SHAA!" A remaining Empathic Link tingled.

CALIBAN! Gwen exalted. Caliban had survived the tolling of the bell! She didn't know why nor how, but her heart filled with sudden gladness.

Her immediate command was to send Caliban down to rescue Eunae.

Caliban's reply was to remain still and stoic.

Gwen baulked; at once confused and horrified. By the time her rioting thoughts caught up, her healer's youthful mien had deflated, her chubby cheeks fading to grey.

NO! NO! NO! Gwen felt as though a flensing knife was being twisted through her diaphragm. BASTARD! BASTARD! She called out over and over in her mind. CALI! CALI CALI! She wanted to send out Caliban, to transform him just so that she could say that something was done, that she tried. EUNNIE! HOLD ON!

In the Wraith's embrace, Euane's eyes grew dull with resignation.

A familiar burst of silvery Conjuration engendered.

Then Fudan's Cleric was gone.

Suddenly, terror turned to relief, then with equal abruptness, relief turned to frustration.

Why hadn't Caliban obeyed her command?

Her answer came in the form of a collating, ghostly body standing where their Cleric had been. As it formed, the horrified members of Fudan's crew saw that the Eunae-fed Wraith now regenerated into the guise of a man.

Diego Valentino.

Her frustration now turned to cold rationality.

A trap.

It had all been a trap.

The ambush at the lifts was a trap.

The traps along the way were a part of it too.

Even the old man's act— all of it was a trap.

It was all a manoeuvre by Diego Valentino to make them think that their target was weak, that he needed underhanded methods to survive. It had all being a ploy to draw them—

Into range?

No, Gwen discerned.

Into the room.

There was something in the chamber.

How could she have been so stupid and blind? Look at those lumen-screens! The man had been watching them since their ascent! Since their first spell! The whole time, they were dancing in the palm of his hand! They should have nuked the fucker from orbit! Or at least from the fucking tunnels!

And Eunae!

Her soul ached.

She felt like such a hypocrite, boasting that she would protect Eunae to her face, playing the Sunbaenim.

And as for the competition itself.

Their mindset had been wrong from the beginning.

The whole while she had thought the IIUC a competition, that she was here to vanquish Necromancers. They had joked about CCs!

This wasn't a competition. This was real life.

She was here to take the lives of living, breathing, free-thinking beings. They accrued CCs, but the actuality was that their foes were fighting for their lives. And when a man is in defence of their continued existence, what means were taboo?

With a heart in revolt, Gwen watched as Diego Valentino's re-constructed body descended. The Soul Flayer was as white as a newborn babe, yet fully grown and in the prime of life.

"I should thank you all," the newly risen Necromancer declared, filling the theatre with his vibrant voice. "Without your intervention, I would have never had the courage to complete the rite."

Diego Valentino wondered if he should thank the Maker of Man for his good fortune.

Unlike the fool Ritualist, he knew well that there would be no reinforcements from Shenyang. If anything, Diego scoffed, Shenyang may already be knee-deep in the living.

He knew this because he was the Master of Shimenzi, a region he had been given to tinker at his leisure and thereby his to defend. Such was the stratagem the deathless ones in Pyongyang deployed, for the same buffer-tactic had precedence in history— be it the Ming's use of Khitanic Demi-humans. Or the Russian Empire's alliance with the Cossak Centaurs.

Shimenzi was but one of the many cushions between China and the well-cemented Necropolis of Pyongyang. For researchers like Diego, it was a region of great autonomy.

And now came the cost of that autonomy.

As his Astral Soul collated, mote by mote, he was beset by unfathomable anguish. SOUL KNELL was a rite unique to the Cabal of Kane, first of his name. In Diego's misguided youth, he had hunted his colleagues, until one day, through its Master, he came to know love for the Craft.

In Undeath, all sins were reposed.

In Undeath, all beings were equal.

Be it Man, Elf, Dwarf, Orc, Centaur or Faye— all who practised the Craft escaped the tyranny of karma.

Became free agents of their individual wills.

And so it was that in his hour of despair, Diego Valentino exercised an apex invocation unique to his Craft. In offering his Astral Soul, in shedding his physical body, he would be born again, just as the holy Tomes had told of the Nazarene.

For Diego, his crisis was also his baptism.

Though the holy rites of the Cabal taught the ritual to each of its high-ranking elders, few were the ones who succeeded in regaining their body. More often than not, their Soul was blown to pieces by the Astral winds before their flesh reconstructed itself, ending decades of dedication to the Craft.

And yet, here and against all the odds; set against a hundred Mage-souls collected over two decades, bolstered by the heart-blood from a thousand sycophants, he had succeeded.

All that was left was to survive Shimenzi, a comparatively trivial task.

Luckily, the very same adversaries who had him cornered would now provide him with additional leverage.

Such hap, Diego grinned, feeling his lips move.

With a flutter of his long lashes, Diego opened his eyes.

Slowly, with articulated care, he stretched his reformed fingers.

He felt magnificent.

His vision was no longer clouded.

His back no longer ached.

His limbs, long and lithe, sang with grace.

"I should thank you all," Diego announced, delighted by his sonorous voice. "Without your intervention, I would have never had the courage to complete the rite."

One by one, he regarded the remaining members of the team that had breached his sanctum.

First, he was glad the Wyvern was gone. That one, he dared not slay. To kill a creature so choked full of Draconic Essence was trouble personified, and Diego was far too knowledgable to attract the ire of a High Dragon Patriarch.

Then there was the stone-faced Water Mage, a Conjurer with a most curious Undine as his spirit. The young man had not panicked, even when his Astral Soul was banished from his body, a quality that Diego admired.

The Sword Mage, conversely, was clearly a mad dog. Even with her limbs made insensible, the lass looked as though she wanted to tear his throat out with her teeth.

The Diviner was a disappointment. Compared to the Abjurer and the Sword Mage, she appeared nothing special, barely a nourishing meal.

And finally, there was his grand prize. A living, breathing Void Sorceress! One who could also utilise Lightning. He had never heard of such a thing. What a bargaining chip she would make!

Gingerly, delighted by the suppleness of his new feet, he approached the worthless Diviner.

"I must borrow some of your health, my child," he intoned, studying the others. "Worry not, you shall soon return to safety."

Without the need for somatics, Diego activated Drain Life, an ability now innate to his blessed new form.

Spontaneously, the Diviner's brow turned the hue of lilies.

He gave her a flick across the forehead.

A burst of silvery Conjuration enveloped the unconscious seeress.

"There... aren't I generous?" Diego was in a good mood. "Now there are only three of you. A far more manageable larder, don't you think?"

With great amusement, he noted that Gwen Song— the girl who had called herself their leader, appeared as though she could gnaw through a mithril collar. Her beautiful eyes were orbs of glowering rage. Such was the fury in her trembling body that her face turned scarlet, fuelled by an undercurrent of resentment mighty enough to ignite mountains.

"Child, just what are you?"

The girl's murderous glares were delightful. From the aura of her nascent soul, Diego, an expert in the reading of souls, knew her to be different from the rest.

Indeed, the girl was unique, and not just for her talent.

First, the lass' Astral presence was enormous, warping more space than even Diego himself. Just the same, her aura radiated the same scintillating rainbow as the Wyvern, only purer, more vibrant and with such saturation that Diego had initially doubted her mortality.

Was she a scion then of a Draconic-Clan? He hypothesised. If so, there was no transmuting her into a minion. As per the Wyvern, Diego desired no trouble from lizards whose grudges outlasted the longest-living Lich.

"Can you speak?" Diego wondered out loud. "Well, not yet, I guess. You can't even move a finger until the resonance passes."

He continued to inspect his prized hostage, noting the uniqueness of her armour.

"So, Gwen Song of the IIUC. Who are your parents? What is your Master's name? Tell me, and I shall leave you unscathed. Your voice should have returned. Don't hide from me, child. I know you better than you think."

Diego Valentino approached for a closer look, flanked by Wraiths on either side.

Finally, the girl opened her lips to speak.

He liked the way she squeezed the sound through gritted teeth.

It was pride, Diego recognised the look.

Pride was good.

Pride was the hallmark of the Dragon-kind.

"C— "

"Yes?"

"Ca—"

"What is it, child?" Diego came closer. Up close, he noted that the girl's comeliness was exquisite. Someone somewhere, he felt more confident than ever, would pay a king's ransom to get her back in one piece.

Considering her age, the payee would likely be a spouse, or even better, an influential set of in-laws.

"There's no need to look at me like that. I didn't kill your Wyvern, or your Healer, or your Diviner. You are all my prisoners until the term of my freedom is negotiated. Worry not, the other survivors will join you soon. Even now, my Dread Wraiths descend below to subdue your companions."

"Ca—"

The girl's lips moved.

"CALIBAN!"

With a sigh, Diego raised a wall of bone with the flick of a finger, so confident in his new form that incantations needn't even part his lips. From behind, the girl's Void fiend, the very one that was missing in action and which Diego had first assumed banished with the Kirin, ran tentacle-first into a jagged bone-barrier.

"SHAA!" The creature frenzied, skittering against the concrete. The fiend's insane limbs cut and jabbed at his barrier with such barbarity that Diego had to concentrate his mana where the assault was the fiercest.

"NETHER SCYTHE!"

Diego called upon yet another of his many spells. This one conjured a rip through space and time, jarring the fragile folds of the Material Plane.

"SHAA!" The girl's creature raged for a moment more before it fell limp, all life siphoned from its spell-hewn corpse. The beast shuddered when its carapace split in twain, spilling forth an inordinate volume of goo-smothered stuff.

"A curious thing," Diego exalted in his mastery. "I would have loved to study it. For now, as you have tested my patience— URK—!"

A pair of slender hands, their gloved plating ripped and torn, assaulted the bone-barrier protecting Diego's upper torso. As they smashed through the closely criss-crossing thorns, the lacerating bone-splinters flensed the girl's extremities, stripping away the fabric, mangling her wrists and forearms.

To Diego's utter astonishment, the girl's fingers did not shrink in agony, but instead wrapped around his neck.

"Futile—" he choked out a feeble cry, feeling such disappointment that he couldn't enslave the girl's soul as punishment for her impertinence. The girl's grip was firm; possessed of more strength than any mortal girl should possess, but Diego wasn't fazed.

Without words nor gestures, he activated a healthy dose of Drain Life, one that would keep the girl pliant for the duration of his negotiation with the PLA.

Viridescent vitality spontaneously flooded his conduits.

"JESUS!" Diego's eyes rolled to the back of his skull. What came through the girl's hands wasn't vitality, but rapture. It had been only a trickle, a taste, but already he had ascended into Seventh Heaven. Every pore on his body opened as though panting for air, every sinew felt renewed, every muscle was crammed full of vim and vigour. Even the apparatus between his legs, a thing he had long since forsaken for its senselessness, grew suddenly engorged. "C-CHRIST ALMIGHTY!"

Diego Valentino shuddered, his digits curled. Here in Shimenzi, in the most unlikely of places and most unusual company, he was emptying of one life and filling with something greater, grander and older than any Essence he had ever tasted.

"W—GHrrrk—" Diego tried to speak, though the girl's fingers remained an iron vice crushing his windpipes.

Through the misty vision of his dilating eyes, he caught sight of her emerald-amber orbs and her pinpoint pupils, depthless like the Void.

Thralls! He commanded his spectral minions. STOP HER!

"CALIBAN!" The girl's voice was a roaring gale filling every recess of his ecstasy addled mind. "CONSUME!"

Caliban rose from the dead, as girthy as the grandest Naga it had fought in Burma.

At Gwen's behest, its rejuvenated carapace split, enveloping the Essence-gorged Necromancer, Bone Barrier and all. A split second later, Caliban's lips closed with a sickening crunch, pushing away Gwen's mangled hands before sliding its prey deep into its gullet.

"SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban sang, its innards boiling with turbulence.

"Caliban! Return!" Gwen commanded her Familiar, paranoid that her beast might regurgitate its once-risen victim. Only in her banished Pocket Dimension was she confident that there existed no possibility of the Necromancer resurrecting again.

Across the aisle, Richard nodded imperceptibly. A few chairs away, Lulan's eyes spoke of triumph.

And all around them, the Wraiths recoiled. At first, the soul-bound creatures appeared confused by the disappearance of their Master. Then, whatever the Undead equivalent of cathartic release from existential slavery dawned, gently fading as the Negative Energy decayed.

Very quietly, the trio sat in the now-empty auditorium.

"I couldn't save Eunae," Gwen's voice drifted across like that of a spectre. "Mia. as well."

If her companions could speak, they would.

But they knew that for now at least, there would be no solace for their vice-captain's pyrrhic victory.

"..." Richard made a move to speak.

"What is it, Dick?" Gwen wanted to stand, but she was too drained to even crawl over to her cousin.

Richard's blinking grew desperate.

"I know, I am sorry," she apologised. "I'll beg on my knees for their forgiveness. I was a terrible leader. I overestimated myself and underestimated our foe. I walked us into a trap."

Richard's agony only grew in intensity.

"I know. Golos as well." Gwen choked, her voice full of sorrow.

Richard was blinking so hard his eyes watered.

"I know you blame me, but—"

"Y-yOU A-ATE Him!" Richard finally squeezed out his warning.

Gwen paused. Her eyes widened. She had finally unravelled Richard's charade.

As if on cue, her breath quickened.

With every passing second, the sensation in her abdomen grew in intensity.

Together with her abducted Almudj's Essence, there was also an unfathomable volume of undigested vitality spilling over from Caliban. What she had anticipated as a smidgen of a man inundated by Negative corrosion was now proving himself the better part of a dozen Nephres.

"Oh— NO NO NO—" her eyes grew misty. Already, her cheeks were vermilion. She had to fire off a Void Bolt, or TWO, or A DOZEN. She had to do something.

But how could she?

Right now, she couldn't even access her Astral Body.

Right now— all she could do was curl into a ball, hug her knees, cover her face, and hope to God the IIUC could edit out the next fifteen minutes.

“Izette, left tunnel!”

“CLEAR!”

As one, Pretoria reversed course.

With Izette’s Mind Link active, the party's flight resembled that of Dusk-wing Cormorants flocking as one, keeping the distance between each team member uniform and one another’s field of vision uninterrupted.

CRASH!

Ahead, rampaging through the intermittent darkness cast by the flickering lights, was the infamous Bone Golem, a monstrous being crafted by the Grafter Sung Min-Seo. Constructed like a centaur, its upper body was multi-limbed, each possessing articulated digits wielding necrotic magic.

Bouncing from wall to wall, the creature came, throwing motes of consumptive fire at the contestants while simultaneously flinging globs of necrotic contagion.

“Diamond Barrier!” Schalk intoned, his semi-transparent eyes darting from one surface to the next, mentally mapping out anchor points for his partition-making Conjuration.

Abruptly, where the Bone Golem placed the weight of its many-legs, a diamond barrier burst from the concrete. The monster countered with supernatural agility, evading the scintillating shards, rebounding from the floor to the rightmost wall.

A second barrier erupted, snagging a front hoof. A third quickly followed, knee-capping its forelimbs, sending the six-meter bone-train to derail against Shimenzi's immovable interior.

“Conjoin Crystal!” Schalk invoked one of a dozen secondary effects attending to his base invocation.

Instantly, the crystalline partitions proliferated. Schalk's first creation caught the Golem’s hindquarter, the second its thorax, and the third encased its upright torso. With a bone-aching creak, the Golem stopped in its tracks, stunned by the sudden loss of momentum. When it recovered a second later, its dozen limbs raking the smooth concrete, it became wholly immobilised.

"Uiteindelik!" Lencho spat. "I can't believe we kited that thing for two levels!"

Besides the Lightning Evoker-Transmuter, Jean-Paul's fingers mapped out arcane gestures.

“Umzokwe,” the Conjurer called upon his hidden Familiar to furnish him with the vitality necessary for his magic. “Consumptive Orb!”

In between the trapped Bone Golem’s ribcage, a pinpoint of Void manifested, growing to the size of a grapefruit. Where it touched the monster’s sculpted innards, a fissure of rapidly reproducing cracks engendered, its stowed mana consumed by the swirling micro-nebula. Fed on the magical energies contained within the Negatively-aligned construct, the sphere grew to the size of a melon before its unstable core went catastrophic.

The claustrophobic passageway suddenly filled with the thrilling shriek of sucking air. The contestant's ears popped, parallelled with a soundless burst of Void matter, peppering the Golem's insides.

“That resistance is something else.” Schalk knitted his brow when the hole-riddled Bone Golem reared its horse-skull once more, its undying essence appearing as twin points of purple fire lighting up its sockets. “Lencho, Heila, your turn.”

“With pleasure.” Lencho rose a little into the air. “Ball Lightning!”

Heila, meanwhile, held her blessed rosaries and prayed. Weaving strands of Faith into her benevolent healing magic, she directed her targeted restoration toward the Bone Golem’s chest and shoulders, where the damage was most significant.

“O Lord, Great Redeemer,

crownest us with kindness and tender mercies.

We petition Thee,

that Thou hast heard our prayer,

— HEAL!”

A burst of gentle light accompanied Lencho’s hysterical electric discharge. The lightning devastated whatever elemental resistances had been built into the Golem, after which Heila's magic permeated its profane body, unravelling the repose brought by Necromancy.

“That's enough!” Schalk stopped Jean-Paul before he could utter another spell. “Save your strength, Mister Bekker, this one has fought its last.”

On cue, the Bone Golem crumbled.

SNAP!

The bottom half of the Golem broke from the rest. Like a prehensile lizard’s tail possessed of a mind of its own, it fled into the distance, skittering on half-a-dozen limbs.

“Pufft! Hahaha…” Lencho snorted. “Lekker werk, Kaptein.”

Schalk made a face.

What more could he say? He wasn’t used to fighting the Undead. South African had problems with NoMs in the cities, Grootslang in the mountains, Inkanyamba in the rivers, Kongamato in the skies, but it didn’t— Goddank— have an overt infestation of Undead.

“Group up.”

Pretoria's captain re-organised the team's marching order.

“Izetta, offer our Grafter parley. If she returns your Message, try to pinpoint where she’s hiding.”

“Goed.” Their Diviner concentrated, a soft halo of Divination soon suffused the blonde caster, evidence of her high-tier proficiency.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party meditated.

“… The Necromancer says we’ll pay for her Golem and that your bones will be the centrepiece of her new work.”

Schalk's lips grew cruel. “Damned fanatics.”

“No prisoners then?” Lencho shrugged. “Jean-Paul, got the room for dessert?”

“Umzokwe is quite bottomless.” Jean-Paul smiled sheepishly. Before the mission, Lencho had been all spikes and bristles, making Jean-Paul uncomfortable. Now that he had proven himself, the quick-loving Lightning Mage professed himself his “broer”, making the Void Mage doubly embarrassed.

“Ag! Let’s go!” Lencho slapped Jean-Paul on the back. “I want to see your wurm werk! It’s still keen, ja?”

"Ja." What more could he say? Jean-Paul sighed.

The party retraced its footsteps, returning to the shaft that led down to B-III. Earlier, they had kited not one, but TWO Bone Golems. One was the specimen they had just annihilated, and the other was a humanoid variant akin to a Skeleton Knight, a creature specialising in CQB.

Schalk’s Party did not possess a CQB Mage like Fudan, but they did have Umzokwe. When the bone-blade wielding necrotic maniac had filleted the great leech, Jean-Paul’s creature retaliated by smothering the Golem with corrosive, Void-tinged blood. Thus immobilised, the party wore out its resistance with consecutive blasts of lightning and Positive Energy.

“Where is the Grafter now?”

“Close to the Mandala Core.” Izette manipulated the Arcane Eye she had conveniently left behind.

“Minions?”

“Zombies and Ghouls, a few hundred at most. Two Abominations. One hulk. One Golem tail.”

“Good. Status report?”

“Half-full,” Lencho declared.

“I am good,” Jean-Paul returned sheepishly.

“We’re both fine,” Izette spoke for her utilitarian partner.

“Alchemical limits?”

“Two potions under.”

"We're at one each," the girls replied.

“I am… fine,” Jean-Paul muttered in a low voice. “But Umzokwe could use a refill.”

“That's easy, I see at least four targets in B-III,” Izette confirmed, her blue eyes looking straight through her team members at some distant vision. “We'll be neutralising them as a top priority. The herd loses focus once the casters perish.”

“Good.” Schalk digested the information filtering through Izette’s Mind Link. “We’ll take Formation B. Lencho, you take the General-tier constructs, I’ll push us through with Breaching Wall. Jean-Paul, you’re on Acolytes. Heila, can we count on you for a wide-area Psalm to fatigue the minions?”

The healer made the sign of the Lord.

“Very good.” Schalk stepped into the shaft. “Izette, take us in!"

“Fill us with your cleansing love, O Lord—

berate your wayward flock.

Do not cast away these lost lambs,

let not the gaze of your Holy Spirit stray…”

Heila's soul-soothing voice pealed across the tunnels of Shimenzi's basement, permeating the enclosed chambers before the party even emerged.

“GLORIA Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto…” Her sweet benediction grew in fervour and intensity as the party neared their destination, filling every syllable with divine power. “…Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum… Amen!”

The polluted air visibly hummed, thrumming with radiance.

At the shaft’s base, the frenzied Zombies ceased their groans, their movement growing languished as the psalter's verses soothed their soulless, animated anguish.

“Impundulu!” Lencho’s youthful howl broke the serenity of the moment. Before the spell had even engendered, a rip-roaring fulmination shook the interior of the Mandala Core's chamber. “TEMPEST RUSH!”

At once, the immediate entry to B-III lit with circlets of hysterical electricity. As Lencho passed, the rings scatter-shotted into the Zombie Horde, intermittently conjoining lines of arching lightning, sending vivid lashes of pure plasma into Pretoria’s foes.

“ERAARRRRGH!” Expelled a room-shaking roar from a four-meter Stitched Horror, a bloated Abomination sutured from the remains of a hundred corpses. With ground-shaking stomps, the monster battered away the allies in its path, charging toward Pretoria.

“Breaching Wall!” Schalk scattered their closest foes with an explosive Shatter from his Diamond Barrier, launching half-a-dozen groaning bodies flying into the air. As the Abomination picked up speed, he gestured at the Abomination.

KRINK!

A sound of shattering glass accompanied the proliferation of Chalk’s diamond-tough manifestations. A lance-like wedge emerged, thrusting forward so that it caught the horror in the gut, directly impaling the beast before breaking off in its brittle midst.

“Wooaaarrrgh—“ The creature stumbled. With a three-meter menhir caught in its innards, its cumbersome form struggled to maintain the momentum without toppling over.

“Chain Lightning!” Lencho utilised the gargantuan creature as an anchor point so that his thunderbolts could tether the twin hulks approaching from behind.

Seeing their creature taking a beating, the Acolytes desperately wove their magic.

“Empower Undead!”

“Frenzy!”

From a safe distance, the Acolytes threw down their creature buffs, knowing full well that if Sung's monsters perished, so would they.

“Heads DOWN!” Schalk communed through their Link Mind. “Take cover!"

Pretoria's captain gathered the latent mana embedded in all of his crystalline constructs. It was a valuable second-stage effect made possible by his mid-tier Enchantment. The process involved injecting his crystal with double-charged mana, then releasing the stowed pressure in one go, overloading the instability with a jolt from his Astral Body.

“Woerrrgh?” As the crystal in its gut rapidly expanded, the Abomination staggered from the spikes erupting from his skull,

Krink—BAM!

Schalk warded his team against the shower of skin, blood and bone. As with most monsters, the insides of creatures lacked the same toughness as their exteriors, more so for constructed monstrosities like the Stitched Horror.

The resultant discharge of diamond fragments covered almost a quarter of the room, opening an eye in the roving storm of swarming Undead.

“Ar-Aaarrrgh! Help—!” followed the cry of a distracted Acolyte. In the earth-splitting aftermath of the crystalline detonation, no one saw the invisible leech slithering unseen among the Undead. With a slurp, Jean-Paul's Familiar had distended its three-pronged lip, then swallowed its victim— wand, robe, boots and all.

“Black Arrow!” the closest two Necromancers responded with spells capable of withering the stoutest foe.

Thunk—Thunk!

The great white leech burped.

It now wore a peevish expression of pure hunger.

With the Black Arrows still humming half-stuck inside its body, Umzokwe returned the favour with a SPLURK, flinging two globs of Void-tinged saliva straight back at its assailants.

Reflexively, the Acolytes erected their barriers of bone. Unfortunately for the pair, someone had been lying in wait.

“Usurp!” came a foretelling invocation from Pretoria's Void Mage.

A ball of swirling darkness about the size of a tennis ball, materialised between the two Acolytes, crackling with unstable energy.

The closest rib-shield abruptly crumpled.

“No—!” The first Acolyte took a glob of spit to the teeth, instantly melting half his face. The second held onto his diminishing barrier by immediately pumping his vitality into the bone structure.

“Consumptive Orb!” Jean-Paul released the stolen mana from the Acolytes. Usually, Usurp wasn’t particularly effective against the standard array of Primary Elementalists common to Spellcraft. Luckily, in a place where every foe freely wielded Negative Energy, Mevrou Bekker’s theoretical magic worked wonders.

Soundlessly, the collated sphere of purloined power erupted, a vivid contrast to the raw force of Schalk’s mineral blast. The radius of the lightless, combusting ball was barely two meters, but it was enough to splatter Jean-Paul’s unsuspecting foe.

The Acolyte fell, alive but incapacitated by the two dozen trypophobic orifices now oozing on his back, his limbs and a part of his skull. Umzokwe slithered close, not one to waste food.

Pretoria’s staggered assault continued unabated, each wave of Lightning, Void, Mineral or Positive Energy bisected the next, leaving neither the Zombies Horde nor the surviving Acolytes room for breath.

“Deus det nobis suam pacem—“

When finally the spell-rotation again reached Heila, she wove the Faith from her relic into the True Silver she now held in one hand. It would be her last spell, beyond that, she was obliged to retain her reserves for contingency healing.

“— Cloud Kill!”

The rod glowed golden, as did Pretoria’s surroundings.

“Garrroaw!”

“Murrrragh!”

“Kaaarrrgh!”

The Undead melted away as though fresh-fallen snow under the noontime sun. The combination of transmuted True Silver with the distinct metaphysical attributes of reality-warping Faith was palpable. Like a cleansing wave, the tidal flood of Positive Energy unanchored the Undead from the material world, dissipating the compelled obedience possessing their shambling forms.

“TEMPEST RUSH!”

“Breaching Shield!”

“Void Burst!”

Not even the Hulks were immune when submerged in the warm glow of Heila’s blessing.

Inch by Inch, grid by grid, over charred bodies and crystalised corpses, Pretoria approached the Mandala Core. It was a contest, one to see if their mana held out, or if enough Undead remained to overwhelm them.

“Grrrngh?”

"Murrrgh...?"

Unseen but palpable, the atmosphere shifted.

The Zombies who had been so focused on their unceasing advancement grew suddenly lax and disorientated, as though the will driving their actions had been sapped.

“Something’s happened upstairs,” Izette remarked, scanning their surroundings with Detect Magic. “Remember I said there was an oppressive eye watching us? It’s gone!”

“Perhaps our competitors are successful in their suite,” Schalk said, eyeing their objective. He didn't mind his competitor's success. A confused Horde was a boon. What it also meant was that at the base of the cubic Mandala Core, the haggard Korean woman cloaked in olive-green was now without protection.

“Should we question her?” Lencho asked of his Captain, flexing his fingers.

“No need.” Schalk’s expression was unreadable. “Jean-Paul?”

The Void Mage’s answer arrived in the form of Umzokwe, now twice the girth as it slithered toward the Grafter.

“Tower Bastards!” the woman known as Sung Min-Seo screeched, her voice piercing their ears. Around her waist was wrapped her Bone Golem, now acting as her armour. “I won’t be meeting the eminent one alone! Dimension Door—”

“Dispel—“

“USURP!” Jean-Paul proved the faster caster. Unlike the studied nuance of Dispel Magic, Usurp was a brutal tug-of-war of wills.

A mote of spell-siphoning Void engendered beside the suicidal Grafter, stealing just enough of her vitality and mana to disrupt her spell’s successful formation.

In awe, disdain and indignity, Sung Min-Seo glared at her assailants. As the feedback of Negative Energy exceeded her conduit's warded state, her eyes bled, her skin ruptured, and her bones rapidly grew into splintered spikes. It was too late to recant her final spell— her Bone Golem trembled.

BA-BAM!

The Golem exploded, showering the entrance to the Mandala Core with blood and bone.

Schalk winced as his barrier grew polluted with a stirfry of entrails.

What was left of Umzokwe was barely a stump. More aptly, what remained was a quarter of a quivering creature, happily wiggling beside blasted, pockmarked concrete.

“Corpse Explosion...” Jean-Paul winced as the feedback from Umzokwe rolled over his pallid body, setting his teeth to chatter. “It's true what they say. To be a Necromancer, one needs first to be cruel to oneself.”

“Wel gedaan!" Schalk walked over the Necromancer’s blasted corpse, plodding over shredded flesh as he materialised his Evard’s Many Layered Toolbox. Finally, the Mandala Core was open to Pretoria's unique expertise. “Lencho, Jean-Paul, set up a perimeter. I am not sure what Auckland or Fudan has done, but we’re going to be the ones to finish the first leg of the competition.”

Colonel Qin Qíao oversaw the cleanup.

By mid-morning, the battle was over.

The living had triumphed over the dead.

Anton Yermolov had been reduced to cinders by Auckland.

Sung Min-Seo painted the ceiling.

And presumably, Diego Valentino had been existentially erased from the world— or so the shaken sorceress from Fudan had declared.

Qíao tapped his data slate.

That their home team had run into the most powerful of the three Necromancers trapped in Shimenzi, and that the Soul Flayer was at the tier of a high-tier Magus wasn’t something Qíao would have like to see.

But— a pyrrhic triumph, especially one without death, was laudable.

“How’s our sorceress doing now?”

“Resting in her Portable Habitat.” The commander's aid gulped. "She said... Miss Song said she needed a hot shower."

Colonel Qin Qíao frowned. With such attachments to creature comforts, it was little wonder the team suffered against such a foe. The exact details of the girl’s encounter had yet to be made clear, but Qíao suspected inexperience, a lack of conviction, and egocentric grandstanding had all played a part. He had seen it happen too often to these next-generation Mages reared on Western Spellcraft and fed on bottomless pits of crystals. The perfumed youth of today, in the Colonel's humble opinion, was nothing like the young men and women who survived Mao’s Purge, then the Beast Tide, then the Undead Front.

“Send over some supplies.” Qíao withheld the desire for discipline. These weren’t his students, and whatever their fault, they DID swallow the bitter pill in the PLA's stead. “How are our men?”

“Six-dead, ten maimed, Sir! One Golem needs extensive repairs.” The Lieutenant snapped to attention now that the conversation had steered back to military business. “Sir... We lost Major Hong, Sir.”

Qíao's fingers flexed and unflexed. “Cao… his son just turned six. This is why you never boast about your kids before a mission.”

“Sir?”

“Recover their bodies and raise a flag in their honour.”

“Yessir.”

Colonel Qíao swept his eyes over the control room at B-III.

“…And get our Enchanters to go over the Mandala again. Change the Key Glyph. Pretoria might resent London, but they're still a part of the Mageocracy.”

By mid-morning, a portable Divination Tower had been set up.

Now that the lesser Undead were cleansed from the interior by rotating Purge teams, the Enchanters could redirect the Mandala’s energies into the filter systems, re-igniting decade-old mana engines that worked to exchange the foetid liquid below with that of freshwater from the Elemental Plane.

It was over the churning whitewater that Gwen sat alone atop the steep rise overlooking the brown gorge. Thanks to their efforts, the renewed earth would once again grow hospitable to life.

Her mind was gravid with words, ones she’d mulled over for hours, first in the shower, then on the couch, then again when she woke, sick with unease. She had prepared them for Eunae and Mayuree, though more so for Eunae— the girl she had promised, then failed, to protect.

Ding!

As assured, the portable Divination Tower had been made available for her convenience.

“Gwen,” Walken’s voice came through like a thorn of ice.

“Eric...” The pit of her stomach dropped. She hadn't expected Walken to call in the girls' stead.

“First things first.” Ger Instructor’s voice was ice. “Mayuree is safe and sound. She says she’ll be back to normal in a week or so. She's looking forward to reuniting with you in Dalian.”

“Oh, thank God—“

“Eunae Lee, not so much.”

Gwen's relief evaporated. “Is she…?”

“Oh, she’s alive,” Walken intoned emotionlessly. “But she won’t be of use— no, it's not her health.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She says she can’t cast spells. Can’t contact her Deer Spirit.”

“What? How?” An ailment came to her mind. PTSD.

“It’s not entirely your fault.” Walken’s voice took on a hint of sympathy. “A Proctor had been paid off by the Lee family to keep an eye on Eunae. When she returned to Dalian jittering with madness, the man must have blabbed. Not long after the healers transferred your Cleric from Triage to the Ward, she received a Long-Range Message from her extended family…”

“Oh…”

“I think we can both imagine the conversation…”

“They told her to quit? Shit.”

“Just the opposite.” Walken’s annoyance was palpable. “The attending physician informed me that the Lees told Eunae to push on and that her life, for what it is worth, isn’t nearly as important as the family’s reputation. They would rather have Eunae die as a martyr than 'quit' as a shameful failure.”

“Bastards!”

“To be expected, I suppose. The Chaebol are a prideful lot. You can talk to Eunae later. For now, she’s saying that she’s been wounded by the Soul Flayer and that she can’t conjure her Spirit. Personally, I think its an illness of the mind, her Astral Body is likely refusing to manifest due to her subconscious reluctance.” As her instructor continued to speak, his tone took on a steely edge. “Whatever, what's done is done— NOW, let’s talk about your performance.”

Gwen fought the urge to hang up. Shame, pride, and regret made a curious cocktail in her aching abdomen.

“Alright.” She hugged her knees against her bosoms. “Eric, I know I screwed up.”

“I am not faulting anything you did under duress.” Walken's objection surprised her. “I saw the raw footage. Under the circumstances, you performed under par but fair. My real concern is that you’ve got a PROBLEM ignoring my advice. Recall what we discussed! ALWAYS put yourself first, then others! Let me ask you something— why didn’t you choose the Ground Floor?”

"The Ground Floor?" Gwen grew confused. "Yue said—“

“THERE! Who cares what 'YUE' has to say?!” Walken’s retort cracked like a whip. “During the planning stage, after your forced entry, FUDAN should have picked the GROUND FLOOR! YOU had the closest connection to the PLA! Colonel Qíao served with your Uncle! YOU possess an overlarge mana pool and ultra-wide AoEs! Maelstrom! Cloud Kill! Ariel and Barbanginy! YOU have Caliban for the Acolytes! Do you realise how easily YOU could have minimised risk and maximised Fudan's CC output?”

“Eric—“ Gwen felt as though caught in a storm.

“Why didn’t you act to maximise outcome?! Why did you not act in your team’s BEST interests? You gave away a clear advantage! YOU risked Mayuree AND Eunae! For what? What did you gain? This is a God-damned contest on the international stage! Auckland and Pretoria are NOT your chums! That you’re not blasting each other in the back is already the greatest courtesy!”

Gwen bit her lip so hard she could taste iron. Walken was wrong. If she didn’t take the upper level, then Yue would have fought the Soul Flayer. Could Auckland have survived like she did? Could Pretoria? How dare Walken demand that she should live while Yue could die for all he cared! The bastard hadn’t changed at all! It was the case with her Master all over again!

“Gwen, listen well. I don’t fault what's happened in the war theatre. There was little anyone could have done there,” Walken's critique continued. “But by GOD, Gwen, ofttimes, you’re so devious that I am in awe. Then again, sometimes I wonder if you’re spell-touched in the head! What the hell were you thinking, girl? We’ve gone over this in the Bestiary— Don’t fight enemies you can’t defeat without Faith Magic! You’re an Omni-Mage, a fledging at that, you are not all-powerful! That Richard as well, always enabling your appetites, I'd like to have a word with him!”

“I had Gogo with me, so I’d thought…”

“A lot of good that did, eh? Where's Golos now?”

“Home? I hope—”

“Fudan will likely lose this round.”

A Wyvern caught Gwen's tongue.

Walken’s analysis struck her pride like a physical blow. “That's right. Your deference to your friend, your meekness when desiring approval from others, has lost Fudan the chance to advance.”

“But Tei and the others—“

“—would have barely made it past Burma without you.”

“Oh, come off it, Eric, that’s not true.”

Walken scoffed. “Replace you with Auckland’s Captain, or Pretoria’s Captain, or even the Captains from Tokyo or Jiaotong, and your team would have perished in Amazonia. If everyone but Richard and Tei became Tide fodder, I would not be surprised.”

Gwen nibbled her lips again. Walken's pontification was backed by cold rationality.

“Now that you've taken us here... let me be perfectly frank. In the B-Teams, neither Fudan nor Auckland can come close to Pretoria. Even if Tei is equivalent to Alizea, their Ooze Mage, Pretoria also possesses Ella, a defender many times Anita's superior. As for Rene or Jiro— Mariete Zietsman, Pretoria's tier 6 Lightning Mage with a Behir Sprite is incomparably their better. Even with Petra helping Tei, the overall gap in Spellcraft knowledge remains astounding.”

Her chest grew sore.

What her instructor had counted on was for Fudan's A-Team to work another "Gwen" miracle.

Of course, that dream now flew out the window.

So they would lose because she wasn’t selfish enough? Because she wasn’t willing to stomp on her fellow contestants’ faces?

“I sense your elucidation. Let me impart another lesson. When you acquire a Flight of your own, or a township, or dare I say it, a Tower, will you still put your feelings first? Or will you think of what is best for your men, your people, your Faction?"

"Your problem, Gwen, is prioritisation.”

Walken allowed the moment to sink in.

“And now you face a dilemma.” Her instructor's tone softened. “I want you to think very carefully. Will you risk Richard and Lulan on blind forays into Shenyang’s dungeon-like alleyways, its skyscrapers and its sewers, WITHOUT a Diviner? Without means to ward away disease, debilitation and life-drain? Are you ruthless enough, wanton enough, to do that?"

"No," Gwen confessed.

“And THAT is why Fudan will lose this round.” Walken’s prediction repressed her bleeding heart. “Because you wanted to play nice. Because you listened to a friend, rather than rebuking a competitor. Because in the aftermath, you’re incapable of risking your friends' lives to gamble for victory. Because of that, your team’s career, their individual ambitions— ends here..."

"... And so... are you sorry now? Do you understand?"

Braced against her knees, Gwen realised her legs were covered with goosebumps. Was she sorry? She was. Walken's advice was pure platinum. Fudan's path away from victory had already been set the moment she ignorantly failed to pursue the natural advantages they possessed. In hindsight, hadn't Yue laid out why she chose the Ground Floor? Hadn't Schalk explained why he was suited to the Basement? It had felt so natural to heed their opinions that she had neglected her own team.

Likewise, now that her head had cooled; even if Auckland had taken the upper floors, would Yue have failed? If Pretoria was coerced to fight Diego, would they be helplessly encircled by Wraiths?

“I am sorry, Eric,” her prideful retort emerged as a morose apology. Her voice choked, finding no excuses to hide behind. “I disappointed you.”

“For what it's worth, I accept your apology.” Her Instructor likewise grew reserved. “But I don’t think Eunae will. And it’s not to me that you should be apologising, but your teammates who you let down.”

“Alright, Eric. I get it.”

Walken cleared his throat. There was a pause, as though her instructor had been waiting for this moment all along.

“But all's not lost."

"Eric?"

"Gwen... For the IIUC. Shall we go out with a bang?”

Lieutenant General Liang Chu-Rong very carefully read the recommendation placed in front of him by the IIUC Sino-Committee.

He looked up.

"You had this ready, when?"

"That's a need to know... Look, I wouldn't worry, what's the worst-case scenario? One sorceress?" Magister Eric Walken, Fudan's advisor, carefully explained. "If the Planar Ally works— all's well, ends well. If not, you are neither liable nor is your task any more difficult."

"And this… Shoe Goliath," the Lieutenant-General pronounced the unfamiliar word.

"Shoggoth," Walken intonated helpfully.

"What is it?"

"Nobody rightly knows." Walken's eyes were sparkling. "Why do you think there's so much interest? Our lack of knowledge is precisely why we want it manifested away from human cities and in a place full of potential targets."

"And… what is Yog-Sothoth?" Liang felt his skin crawl.

"We believe it's an intelligent entity that resides in the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Void. The girl once said that 'Yog' is the gate and the way, the origin of the Void things that lurk in the dark of space and time. Yes, she's got a talent for the theatrical."

The commander of Dalian's Tower grunted, clearly disliking this talk of theatre.

"And this Shub-Niggurath?"

"The mother, I suppose, of all Void beings. The lass says she's a planar goat of sorts. I'd put it as the overimaginative mind of a girl-child."

"… and you expect me to believe this?"

"Do you expect ME to believe this in your stead?" Walken shrugged. "General, we know intelligent Spirits exist in every Elemental Plane. If so, why not the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Void? I don't know if the girl dreamed up these names or if they really exist, but we all know that what the will makes, the magic manifests. We're not High Elves, you know, we're still knocking on the front door of Spellcraft and asking to be let in. For now, what really matters is the practicality of this thing she's dreamed up. Gwen has never touched Faith Magic. I believe it is safe to assume this is a 'being' inside the Void, no different to Salamanders or Undines or Sylphs."

"And Shenyang shall prove if this Shoggoth is benevolent or malevolent?"

"Where better?" Walken pointed to a scaled model of the city and its surrounding troop movements.

In the decades since its fall, much of Shenyang's exterior settlements had decayed to nothing. What remained were ruins of the old CBD marked by a harrowing expanse of concrete four kilometres in diameter, encircled by a crumbling orbital highway.

As the oldest of China's satellite Frontiers, Shenyang had been the antiquity provincial capital of Liaoning before being subsumed into China's Dynastic expansions. It was initially founded by the neolithic Xinle, a group of nomadic Demi-humans who took advantage of the Hunhe River's spring passage through the valley. During the Han Dynasty, the middle-folk took, then rebuilt Shenyang into a northern wonder of commerce, only for to it be razed by the Demi-human Empire of Liao. During the Ming Dynasty, the Chinese retook Shenyang and rebuilt it again as a fortress city. A mere century later, the Centaurs returned, transforming Shenyang into the "Rising Sun on the Hill"— the new capital of a Demi-human Empire.

Shenyang's ownership was thus a revolving game of hopscotch, each time devastating the city in unimaginable ways. From Centaurs to the Qing, then a short stint under Russia, then to the Japanese, then to the Communists and finally to the Undead, the city's strategic significance was the only reason it continued to exist.

As a result, beneath the city's ancient city wall and its Soviet-era bunkers were endless warrens and tunnels connecting an ant-hill dozens of kilometres in every direction.

That was why, although barely a structure stood in between the city's war-ravaged edge and the central administrative blocks, the PLA's forces were encamped twenty kilometres away.

"And this creature… this 'Shoggoth', it is capable of slipping into the tunnels?"

"We shall see. By all accounts, I would imagine that it possesses excellent permeability in invading narrow and cramped spaces."

"And it's banishable?"

"Indeed, given enough mana," Fudan's advisor assured the General. "At worst, we can restrain Gwen if she loses control. It's bound to exhaust its internal supply once the link is severed, and there isn't life here for it to feed. Besides, the Tower will keep it well away from your troops and our allies."

"I won't alter our existing mission projections." The man tapped his table.

"No need." Walken indicated first to the map, then to the request form. "The contestant will set up a separate incursion point from Grid G44-P39. I will personally oversee the test AND take responsibility for its success or failure. As you know, Miss Song is a subject of great interest to Central. Have you been informed of the exchange taking place?"

"I've been briefed."

"And you have reviewed what happened in Shimenzi?"

"I've seen enough."

"Good." Walken leaned back in his chair, looking smug. "Then let the girl have her moment. For the present, her glory belongs to Fudan, and thereby to your nation. After that, whether she succeeds or fails, she'll be out of the PLA's hair."

"And out of our reach?"

"Hardly, she has family in Shanghai, doesn't she? Her Uncle is an enlisted member of your organisation and a war hero."

The General remained mum.

"This order from Secretary-General Miao…" Lieutenant General Liang Chu-Rong very carefully intoned. "Says to give her free reign to succeed or perish."

"It's a part of a larger deal. Remember that in exchange, you would receive Magisters from Cambridge, as well as the Meistership for your pet researcher. An unequivocal exchange, to be sure, but that's politics for you. You wouldn't want to compromise the Secretary's plans, do you?"

Again, the General remained contemplative.

"Do you fear the girl will gain too much influence?" Walken cocked his head. "The recordings for the present IIUC should make an interesting broadcast, don't you think. In a prudish country like yours, the Party can easily displace whatever sympathy she had gained. For a Mage, and for a girl— it won't be easy to gain back… what is it that you call it here? Mien?"

"Mian-Zi. It means esteem."

"Yes." The Englishman grinned. "Our little 'Devourer' made quite the obscene spectacle, didn't she?"

General Liang nursed his now warm cup of water, trying to read fallen Magister known as Eric Walken. It was rare to see a certified Oxbridge Magister so committed to a cause.

As for the girl's Mian-Zi, even without the audio recording, the visuals had been shameless enough to make her inclusion in the PLA's designs undesirable to the core. The displacement of such an uncontrollable, anarchic element, one with such pull in the military, was in Liang's opinion, good riddance.

From her dossier, he understood that the girl's rapid rise equated that of a firecracker wrapped in festive red-paper. One day, sooner or later, she would explode, showering them all with debris.

As for the standing order from Secretary-General— Liang felt doubt. The Secretary-General was discretion personified. Still, he knew Central well enough to understand that the Inner Party operated at a level he shouldn't be questioning, not if he wanted to retire as a General.

What troubled him was who in the Mageocracy possessed the clout to move the Secretary-General to issue such a permit? If what Eric Walken said was to come to pass, the IIUC shall soon witness the power of one-woman strategic-class invocation.

A patient man, Liang studied the smug Magister.

The IIUC.

The recording.

The Planar Ally.

The Songs.

The Hero of the North.

Tonglv Canal.

Magister Wen from Fudan.

The Cambridge offer.

The dossier had been quite thorough.

One by one, Liang rearranged the pieces until they made sense.

"I am starting to see your stake in this," Liang answered after a minute of carefully scanning the memo from Secretary-General Miao. "You're trying to salvage the girl's reputation. For when she leaves China for the West. Am I correct? You think those greedy Clanners in Tonglv are going to make a move on her stake by using her departure and her Shimenzi incident!"

Walken's flawless teeth gleamed like polished ivory.

"Well... You know what they say. One man's trash." He chuckled, golf-clapping at the Lieutenant-General's sudden clarity. "… is another man's treasure."

Four hardwon days and almost a week into the competition, Fudan's B-Team arrived at Shimenzi. In its battle-worn halls, haggard and OoM, they met with the account of A-Team's pyrrhic victory.

One received with ambivalence.

Of the three teams that participated in the Purge of the waterworks, Fudan was the "victor", after defeating the most potent foe and having worked diligently during the approach. Unfortunately, in the struggle for dominion, Gwen had lost Eunae and Mayuree, and she could not summon Golos again until she and Petra reconvened at Shenyang's outskirts.

As a result, even taking into account their vice-captain's capacity for damage output; the three remaining members were crippled. Without healing, buffs, or Divination, their efficacy was no match for the synergy-heavy Auckland or the all-star Pretoria in the subsequent lead up to Shenyang.

Even if Gwen and her companions took willing risks to hunt the ever-larger Zombie Hordes, spell fatigue would wear them down. Even with the PLA's hand-picking targets for the trio, there was only so much an Abjurer, a Sword Mage, and a jack-of-all-Schools could arguably achieve.

"Poor Gwen." Anita glanced at Rene, seeing her disappointment mirrored on her friend. "I guess we can't complain, not with what we've seen on the way."

"Gwen had done her best," Petra returned, her tone tart and defensive. "The intelligence was improperly scouted."

"I hope she's not beating herself up." Jiro was more sympathetic.

"Don't be discouraged. We'll continue to do our very best," Fudan's Captain agreed with his Fire Mage. "If Gwen had trouble with this Diego, then there's nothing the rest of us could have done. Since Eunae and Mayuree are both safe, we should focus on the task ahead."

"Right." Rene nodded, though it was clear her heart wasn't in it.

Together with Fudan and the other defensive teams were the 78th, 82nd and 88th Quasi-Magical Infantry Division, supported by four Golems from the 209th Magi-Tech Armour and one Flight from the 4th Aerial Recon.

Tei wanted to say something to up the cheer but lacked the charisma of his vice-captain. At any rate, it wasn't the unexpected upset that had sapped the party's spirits, but rather the rigour of their four-day sojourn from Dalian to Shimenzi.

It was the fatigue of seeing death on an industrial scale.

For the young Mages, the inclusion of NoMs in overland battles had always been an abstract reality. Of Fudan, it was only Tei who had some experience of the Front's horrors. Nonetheless, over the last four days, each member of Fudan, arguably one of the top universities in a country of almost half-a-billion people, witnessed the stark fate of being a citizen-soldier.

Theirs was an unavoidable fate. The Purge of Liaoning was a national effort, one that called upon the nation's able-bodied citizenry to add their blood and tears to the future of China's prosperity. To wit, Tei was very proud of China's NoM Military. Distinct from the Westerners, Mao's rise to power wasn't built on the back of Noble Mages or Magical Entrepreneurs, but NoMs. During the People's Revolution, it was the NoMs, aided by sympathetic Mages, who overthrew the Scholar Bureaucrats of old. Against the Japanese, it was the scorched flesh of citizens that exhausted the wands of Emperor Hirohito's soldiers. In the Great Purge, it was NoMs who dragged the land-owning Mages and their industrial ambitions from their saffron-roofed manors.

And with no less fervour, buttressed against the Beast Tide and then the Undead Front, the People's Liberation Army paid in blood and bone.

As elites, Tei's teammates were a prideful lot. But their brittle pride wasn't equipped to deal with frustration on such a scale. That a single mishap translated into a dozen casualties, hour after hour, was enough to mangle the mind of any Mage not sufficiently fortified for the fact.

For the PLA, casualties were a necessary reality and progress often paralleled body count.

In China, the PLA's soldiers were numberless and renewable— through devotion and numbers, they made up for the nation's gap in Spellcraft, Golems and Magitech.

As solace, Fudan's liaison from the PLA had explained that compared to the dark days post-Beast Tide, the army had come a long way. Now a "Modernised Quasi-Magical Soldier", the everyman troop of the PLA, was reasonably equipped. Compared to the peasant soldiers fighting with pitchforks and pikes, the soldiers now wore enchanted combat boots, damage-resistant pants and vest, a steel helmet, and a well-supplied canvas pack. Most importantly, each man carried a Type 95 Element-LANCE made for NoMs by SinOrdin, with time-decayed crystal cartridges each capable of thirty shots.

"And of course, our soldiers are armed with nationalism," the liaison had boasted. "They don't fear death because the families of the deceased are treated well."

Fighting in formation, the troops had been trained to never break rank on pain of execution by the embedded Commissars wielding Type 44 anti-personnel wands. It was an anti-Undead tactic that the PLA had taken years to perfect. In Central's opinion, so long as unmolested divisions could rid the battlefield of Undead while they busily fed on another division without breaking, then the battle as all but won.

It was a bitter tactic, but it worked. Though each individual soldier was weaker than a Ghoul, when rows of a thousand NoM soldiers five-deep opened fire, a living sheet of raw lightning washed over the landscape, piercing the Horde. Once their spear-points grew white-hot, the first row retreated. The second row took aim, waited for their targets to clear the smoke, then fired. After that came the third, and them the fourth and the fifth in an endless rotation.

And it was under these conditions that Fudan, Pretoria and Auckland fought beside their NoM comrades.

Straight away, Pretoria expressed complete disdain for the NoM soldiers, choosing instead to neutralise threats on their own.

Auckland attempted to hold the line with Fudan. With a sub-par team-make up, however, all they could manage was a battalion-wide Hakka buff, followed by intermittent interventions where possible. Against swarms of corpses numbering in the thousands, a thirty-meter Wall of Water or a twenty-meter Sand Well was little more than a blip on the kilometre-long Front.

At first, the unaccompanied Hordes weren't impressive enough to tax the soldiers' wills. That changed when the main force made contact with a swarm lead by a Grafter and his Acolytes.

Once engaged, Pretoria left to hunt the enemy Necromancers while Auckland and Fudan supported the soldiers against the four-thousand deep throng of teeth and nails.

For two hours, Tei managed to keep the Undead at bay, but as one man, even supported by Petra's Spell Cubes, the incoming tide proved too much.

When finally he was near OoM, the levy broke. As a mass of roaring brown water, the leaping, crawling, skittering shoal of bodies broke over his Dust Wall, swallowing the still-firing platoons.

Without hesitation, Tei had ordered his party to withdraw and regroup into the air. Anita, Rene, Jiro and Petra obeyed, but their expressions spoke wildly of disbelief, anguish, frustration and bewildered helplessness.

Jiro especially had reached his alchemical limits in the first hour, having laid waste to some two-three hundred Ghouls and Zombies. Rene as well, fighting beside the idealistic Fire Mage, had depleted herself trying to prevent the approach of two Abominations. The exertion proved to be her undoing, for the creatures' monstrous resistances exhausted the sorceress even as the fat sizzled from their lava-locked bodies.

Then there was Anita, whose confidence was undermined most profoundly by the mass casualties among the NoM soldiers. Her style of magic was ideal for small groups but was woefully underprepared for engagements of mass melee. All Anita could do was aid Tei with barriers that slowed and funnelled the zombies into kill zones, that and ward two dozen Commissars with Crystalline Mage Armour.

Of the group, it was only Petra who truly shone. A versatile Enchantress, she dispensed healing, defence, damage and control where ever she landed. Spell cube after spell cube, the Flower of Fudan proved herself an angel of the battlefield.

And after that, the party watched the mutual carnage as their countrymen advanced, never faltering, never breaking, never retreating. Like an Iron Golem, only wrought of human flesh, the PLA's battalions marched toward Shimenzi, clearing a swarth four kilometres wide and eighty kilometres deep from Dalian.

From start to finish, Tei recalled seven engagements.

On the first day, they had keenly asked to review casualty reports.

On the second day, they chose silence.

On the third day, they grew numb to the slates handed down to them by their liaison officer.

On the fourth day, they fought without words, each performing their duties, then meditated behind the reserve troops so that they may sooner rejoin the fray.

And on the fifth morning, they arrived at Shimenzi to receive news.

"Tei, let's eat." Rene could smell the thousand-year-old egg porridge bubbling in the Officer's Mess. Far from her peppy self in Shanghai, her eyes were now bloodshot and lacking in lustre. Her bright face, as well, was so weighted with fatigue that she was starting to resemble the fabled Panda people of Sichuan.

"Right." Tei felt glad that in moments like this, Dust dulled not only his capacity for wonder, joy and pleasure but also the impact of undesired emotions. "Eat up, we rest for a day, and then we leave for Shen Yang."

"I am as dry as a billabong in Broken Hill." Gwen rested her spell-numb fingers. "And fresh out of True Silver as well."

"Here, take mine." Heila materialised four rods as repayment. "Your VMI… Praise the Lord, you are truly blessed, Miss Song."

"Nothing to it!" Gwen shook her head, receiving the reagents without complaint. "Izette, are we good here?"

"Yes, Miss Song," Pretoria's Diviner returned her Message from afar. "Jean-Paul is finishing up as we speak."

"Now that's a blessed boy." Gwen sighed at the thought of Jean-Paul's Signature Spells.

A few of Pretoria's constants returned with strange looks.

"Something the matter?" Gwen smiled back, wondering if praising Jean-Paul was something that the Void Mage's companions found strange. If anything, she suspected it may be because Jean-Paul had replaced one of their original core members.

"You should ask Jean-Paul about his childhood sometimes." Schalk's smile was very polite and not at all sarcastic. "If he's willing to share, you'll hear quite the tale of how our country faired under the Mageocracy."

"And the Nun who raised him." Lencho wormed his way in between Gwen's conversation with the others. Ever since Gwen offered to alternate between helping out Auckland and Pretoria, Schalk's Lightning Mage had felt like a cat on a hot tin roof. Though Lencho's mastery and teamwork were leagues above Fudan's Lightning Sorceress, the girl possessed superior firepower, not to mention an inexplicable ability to multiply her output.

"Lencho, hou jou bek," Schalk snapped, silencing the Lighting Mage at once. "Miss Song is our guest."

"Ja, ja…" the prideful Mage mumbled. "Meisie, you should know that Jean-Paul and I, we're piele vleg."

"Did he just say…" Gwen almost bit her tongue. She had no idea Lencho was so openly liberal. "Well, good on ya, mate."

Lencho squinted suspiciously. "I am not your mate."

Gwen gave up. She could empathise, though. Jean-Paul wasn't a looker, but he oozed talent.

Thus far, she rather enjoyed her role as a supporting caster. Whether backing Pretoria or Auckland, Fudan's inclusion in the margins of any quest expanded operational capacity by leaps and bounds. The solution had been Walken's idea. As CCs were awarded for teamwork and support, Walken had said. They may as well attain a score proportional to their competitors' gains.

That way, her instructor hypothesised, assuming their final hand was a royal flush, they would indeed end the competition with a "Bang".

Presently, Lulan and Richard aided Auckland, while she supplemented Pretoria. Thus embedded, Gwen took the humbling opportunity to watch and learn.

So far, she had observed the nuances of formation fighting and spell staggering, concepts her team had exercised through incidence rather than emphasis. Likewise, courtesy of Izette's Link Mind, she was opening up to profound and subtle ways in which Divination could be used to coordinate team movement. As for the others, even the abrasive Lencho had shown her new ways to combine Evocation and Transmutation. His Signature Spell, Tempest Rush, was especially impressive as it created movable anchor points from which the caster could rebound Lightning Bolts.

But of Pretoria's august members, it was only Jean-Paul for whom Gwen had to repress her growing envy. From what she could discern with her limited knowledge, Jean-Paul's repertoire was almost all Signature Spells she had never before seen in the Tower's Tomes. Each invocation was a painstaking creation from the august Mevrou Bekker, who had taken a novel approach to the pitfalls of Void Magic. Consumptive Orb, for example, stole residual mana from the target. On a Magical Creature, it commandeered passive mana inherent to upper-tier creatures. Against a Mage, the spell was most effective against Negative-alignments but fizzled against Positive Energy spectrums. As for the theoretical framework of Jean-Paul's magic, "Usurp" was the base upon which the Mevrou's Signature Magic was founded.

"The difficulty must be astounding," Gwen cooed.

"You patronise us, Miss Song. Once you reach a sufficient tier of knowledge," Schalk professed. "You should stop thinking about Spells as from Scrolls, but collated effects made harmonious through custom-formulae. Range, Area of Effect, Shape, Size, Element, Seeking, Channelling, Scale, Pre-Manifestation, Post-Manifestation, Meta-Magic, Spell Triggers, the variations are almost infinite… assuming you have the time and the resource."

"Then, I could also…" Gwen licked her chops.

"I don't entirely agree with Schalk. The Mevrou says that Spells should never be made for the sake of making spells, that there have to be explicit rationales," Jean-Paul quickly added, watching Gwen's eyes glaze with anticipation. "There's a reason Fireball remains the greatest Evocation Spell of all time. It's simple to cast, difficult to disrupt, easy to learn, fast to manifest, stable, low-cost and mana-efficient."

"That's incredibly astute! Ahh—" Gwen sighed. "I wish I could have an instructor like yours in London."

"You probably will," Schalk's interjecting voice resounded assuringly. He glanced at Jean-Paul, then back toward the guileless sorceress. "But remain vigilant. In London and everywhere— there is no such thing as a free lunch."

The Northern Black Zone.

Dengta Forward Operating Base.

On the seventh day of the invasion, the imminent arrival of the Dalian Tower was preceded by the deployment of twenty divisions in the central staging area. Altogether, Dengta alone had amassed some twenty-thousand standing troops, eleven-thousand-two-hundred support personnel, five-thousand reserve infantry, and four-hundred odd Mages of varying talents.

In the distance, Shenyang's wilted silhouette perched in the gloom like the carcass of a dead Leviathan, awaiting its next victim, inviting the invaders into its many-layered tunnels and bunkers.

In silence, the 70th, 72nd, 79th, and 91st Quasi-Magical Divisions settled into the dugouts excavated by the Combat Engineers. As one, the grim-faced NoMs lined the criss-crossing bastion of transmuted fortifications, their positions layered and staggered to form kill zones. On either side of the earthen fort, construction continued, polluting the air with the roaring of Golems, the invocations of Transmuters, and the crunch of ferroconcrete crashing into place. Behind the main battle line, a network of portable Divination Towers hummed, tethered to dozens of trucks each laden with crates of High-Density Mana Crystals. Together, the network fed a beacon Mandala half-a-kilometre wide, carved out overnight by the logistic Mages.

In addition to the entrenched troops, towering Golems from the ubiquitous Dusty 266s to the monolithic Atlas 388s lined the perimeter, their blast wands attuned for artillery. Below their great stature, umbilical cables snapped into mana packs, snaking through stockpiles of enclosed HDMs.

And upon the battlement, Colonel Qíao stood, a technical aide by each side, reviewing the mana scripts.

Thus far, Shenyang had yet to react, though Qían was sure an all-out counteroffensive was coming. Logistically, if the Necromancers lost Shenyang, Beijing would reduce the buffer between Pyongyang and the new Front to a mere one hundred and fifty kilometres of Black Zone. The strategic advantage was the reason why the PLA had decided to go all-in. As the new millennia dawned, China could no longer afford to bleed out its resources on the Undead Front.

"Good." Qíao exhaled mist. The frigid atmosphere of Shenyang's winter was warmth sapping, a necromantic chill that drained the vitality from their bones. Even now, where the city's edge began, a visible ring of rime smothered the crumbling orbital highway, encasing the central business district in decade-old, accumulated ice.

And at the centre of that dark and dilapidated urban preserve sat the seat of a Necromancer who had transformed a living city into an Undead Necropolis.

Qíao wondered if a single Tower was enough to make the difference in numbers. Three decades ago, they had contended with both a Beast Tide and an Undead Incursion simultaneously. The worst of it was that in the aftermath, many of the slain beasts had simply been re-risen in their Undead forms. What he feared now was how many monsters had been dissected, sutured and remade into new abominations. If he was a Necromancer elite, what manner of ritual could he engender if given two decades? Could the PLA, now equipped with the best Magi-tech armaments China could import or manufacture, finally turn the tide?

"Sir." Qíao's aides connected a Message from Lieutenant-General Liang Chu-Rong. "Dalian is ready to proceed with the Teleportation."

"Very well." Qíao turned to face the Mandala. "All troops to their posts. BEGIN the Signal."

Lieutenant-General Liang Chu-Rong stood on the bridge of Dalian's Tower, one of eight mobile platforms China had built for itself since the 1980s. Unlike the PLA's super-structural Tower in Shanghai, Dalian was a modest design bought from the Mageocracy. It was originally a research Tower with a Dwarven-made Levi-plate just under a kilometre in length, the smallest in the Party's national armoury— and the most cost-effective.

Inevitably, battles were fought with currency.

To translocate a Tower from Dalian to Shenyang costs just over a million HDMs. To further activate the Tower's Shielding Crystal without the help of ley-lines, ten thousand HDM crystals had to be consumed each day. Factor in the additional cost of defensive Mandalas, spell amplifiers, embedded blast-wands and troops teleporting into and out of the Tower, another million HDMs may yet be exhausted.

The Party, therefore, could not afford catastrophic failure, not when the annual production of a medium-sized city had gone into the reclamation. Already, the sheer volume of collated HDMs stockpiled for the operation had impacted the exchange rate for Chinese-Minted currency.

"Sir, we will shortly re-enter the Prime Material." His junior officer informed the Lieutenant-General. "Materialising in THREE… TWO… ONE…"

Liang's innards lurched. There goes the first million.

The Tower was protected by a Bothe-Geiger Negation Field. Even so, the once in forever translocation had filled its crew with unspeakable dread. In the most unlikely of circumstances, a misalignment meant that the Tower could end up in the Primary Plane of Fire, or if they were very, very unlucky, in the Quasi-Plane of Ash.

"We're materialising!" The Major's voice rose a whole octave.

The floor thrummed. The lumen-screen projecting the grey expanse outside burst into activity. A second later, a three-hundred and sixty-degree projection of Dengta's desolated plains came into view.

"Absolute altitude, thirty-three meters— holding steady!"

"Stabilising horizontal drift. Dropping Dimensional Anchor!"

"The Ley-line is right below us! Beginning disruption. Switching to internal supplies."

"Weapons are live. Fire crew reports that they are at the ready, sir! Auxillary systems are charged, sir!"

"Shields are at five per cent and regenerating."

"Engine Room reports all systems normal. Capacity at seventy-five per cent!"

"Teleportation Circles are HOT! Maximum range is set at twenty kilometres."

A slew of tactical information washed over the Lieutenant-General, as did a surge of adrenaline tingling his spine. They were back! The PLA was back with a vengeance!

Below his dais, both in the control room and across the plain, a cheer broke out, first in waves, then as an undulant tide of shouts and hoots. A few of the older Mages who had gained their lapels fighting on the Front visibly wept.

But their commanding officer remained stoic.

Poor bastards, Liang forced his fervour to cool. Retaking Shenyang was well and all, but what of the cost? With the Tower now committed, the privilege of a retreat no longer existed. Be it the Mages or the NoM soldiers, their only recourse was to retake Shenyang or die trying. In the worst-case scenario, Dalian would reduce itself and its target to a twenty-kilometre crater.

"Give me a region-wide scan of the city," the Lieutenant-General ordered. "I want the place mapped twenty-meters deep from the Governor's Building to the bunker-shelters."

An enormous illusory projection appeared over the control theatre, courtesy of the Tower's embedded Diviners and Illusionists, some of the best in the nation.

Outside the Tower, a visible ripple of Divination rang out.

The Clairvoyance echo took several seconds to cycle. Once the intelligence theatre parallel-processed the data, the results were then transmitted to the command room.

Within the projected three-dimensional diorama of the landscape, friendly units were outlined as green blips, while the Golems and the machinery were triangular blocks. As Undead units appeared, unmasked by their unique Negative Energy signatures, they manifested as pulsing red dots.

Presently, a sea of green blinked below the Tower's massive silhouette.

Not far, pulsing faintly to indicate their place underground, was an ocean of all-enveloping red. At best, their foe was two kilometres away and slowly moving toward the viridescent markers.

"… Cao…" The Lieutenant-General swore before he could catch himself. "Colonel Qìao! Get your men ready! The Undead are coming! Dalian Tower! All teams to battle stations!"

ArroooooooOOOOooo—

A blaring proximity alarm indicated that the enemy was close enough to be soon within the range of the Type 95 LANCE-wands.

"There goes tea time." Gwen dematerialised the team's SPAM sandwiches. "Pats, let's get going."

"Will do." Petra cleaned her hands with water from Lea. "Tei, guys, are you going to be alright?"

"Don't mind us," their captain returned. "We've been defending the soldiers for a week. We know how they fight, what they need, and what type of enemies need to be neutralised first. Go help Gwen, we'll wait for the good news."

"Thanks, everyone." Gwen dispensed a round of hugs among her companions, noting their bruised eyebags. "I won't let you down."

"Let's buff up before you go. Mage Armour!" Anita was beyond glad that she was once again reinforcing her own team and not a non-commissioned officer incapable of withstanding a single swipe from a Ghast. That a low-tier Mage could be so fragile wasn't an occurrence the Abjurer had at all anticipated. In her experience, even the petite Mayuree, a Diviner, possessed the VMI and expertise to defend a least a few blows. "Resist Elements! Enhanced Ability! Be safe, Vice-Captain!"

"I will." Gwen gave Anita a pat on the shoulder, touched Rene on the arm, brushed the dust from Jiro's chest plate, then held Tei's mailed hand. "Thanks for understanding."

After the B-Team's arrival, the contestants had shared a few hours of respite, enough to catch up on the events of the last seven days. As Walken had anticipated, the performance of Fudan's B-Team was adequate but unimpressive. Comparatively, Auckland had most definitely fallen behind, while Pretoria's B-Team performance was more pronounced.

Now, the conquest of Shenyang had entered its second stage. From their briefings, the students knew that the rulers of the Necropolis would scramble all available resources under their command to topple the Tower. It was an obvious conjecture, for as long as China was willing to feed crystals into Dalian's mana furnace, Shenyang would remain under siege.

What remained now was a time-sensitive occupation.

But any response from Pyongyang would be intercepted by troops from the 1st Force-Recon, joined by elites recruited from other single-digit Mage Flights. For the occupation force, it meant that within the week, Shenyang had to be cleared and its ley-line activated and fortified.

Dalian Tower would, in effect, transform into Shenyang Tower.

And in the middle of the madcap scramble was Pretoria, Fudan and Auckland's students, hoping to carve out CCs and glory for their institutions.

Which was why for the final leg of the match, Petra rejoined Gwen's A-Team at the expense of a CC penalty so Gwen could bring forth her Allies, Golos and the Shoggoth— Fudan's aces in the hole.

"Which way to G44-P39?" Petra took to the air.

"Er…" Gwen's orbs glazed over. She looked at Richard for help, finding her cousin unhelpfully marking "North" with his eyes.

"This way." Lieutenant Jinwei Hān, their liaison, steered Gwen in the opposite direction she was facing. "The Lieutenant-General has teleported a recon force to the location in order to clear the area so you and your Enchanter may construct the Summoning Circle unmolested."

"Thanks," Gwen said. "How far—"

—B-BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

In the distance, where the Tower faced the Front, the battle was joined. From the Dalian's central column, a line of Disintegration thicker than two Whetus sliced across the landscape like a scalpel, vaporising the topsoil to reveal the tunnels being dug below. An eerie silence passed, then like a poked ant-hill, a horizon of Undead appeared from the frigid earth, clambering onto the cold soil. Suddenly, innumerable bodies formed into numberless throngs, stamping the virgin frost underfoot as they charged.

In retort, the Tower shimmered, dialling its Shielding Core to the maximum allotment. Against low-tier Undead, Shield Barriers served as mediocre deterrents. But, its ability to impair powerful constructs like Golems and Abominations mixed into the Horde was a necessity to ensure victory in a mass-melee.

"Wow." Gwen gasped as a bone-throbbing thrum of mana rippled from the Tower's mid-section.

"The artillery is about to begin—" Lieutenant Jinwei Hān advised. "Hold your ears."

B-BOOM—BOOM! BOOM!

Gwen had never felt so abused by anything so noisy and so intense in all her years. The sounds from the shockwaves were like a construction zone going off inside her skull. Unlike the sharp "CRACK!" and "BANG!" of her Flashbangs, what she now witnessed was a real-time earthquake erupting with spellfire.

"OTHER THAN THE UNDEAD, THE SHOTS ARE BREAKING UP THE GROUND SO THE HORDE CAN'T MOVE FREELY!" Jinwei hollered, shouting despite the Message device on his wrist, deafened even to the howl of his own voice.

"CAN'T THEY USE THE DISINTEGRATE AGAIN?"

"NO! TOWER ARTILLERY CONSUMES TOO MUCH MANA, IT'S ONLY USED FOR SIEGES AND AGAINST MYTHICS!"

Gwen shivered, thinking of what might have befallen Almudj if Melbourne and Brisbane Tower had been keen in their pursuit of the Mythic. If a Disintegration Ray had struck her rainbow-hued companion, could her "Kin" have kept its cool? Morbidly, she could imagine the mountainous corpse in the harbour, along with at least one destroyed Tower, besides which was what remained of Sydney.

VOOOSH! VO—VOO—VOOOOSH!

— BOOM BA-BOOM! CRACK! BOOM!—

Next to unload were the Golems. With their portable artillery wands raised high, an unending fusillade of citrine, cobalt and sunburst filled the sky and the distance between the Horde and the Tower. As the spells connected, Fireballs, Lightning Bolts, Bounding Flames, Elemental Arrows raked the line of Undead from east to west with splendiferous spellfire.

"Gwen," Petra urged her cousin, her face warmed by the heat from the arcanistry. "We need to get to our fight."

"Right." Gwen turned to face the east, her vivid irises illuminated by the refracted spells. "Let's fly."

Shenyang.

West of its business district, a flight of Mages from the PLA had secured grid G44-P39.

It was a tedious but humble task, for the battle some six-kilometres to the east had the Necromancers well-preoccupied. As a result, the soldier-tier Undead they had encountered were all dusty old ghouls and ancient zombies, all of which were quietly dispatched by the elite taskforce.

"Magister, they've arrived," a PLA Seargent informed their VIP.

"I see them." Eric Walken, the advisor to Fudan, waved at the incoming foursome and their PLA liaison. "Gentlemen, lets us welcome our star sorceress."

"Bloody oath, Eric!" Gwen could hardly believe that one of the cloaked figures as her instructor. "You're here, personally? Is that even allowed?"

"Where else would I be?" Walken replied, his old face bemused by her excitement. "I promised I'd see you through, didn't I? And yes, my presence is authorised."

"I was expecting you to watch from the Tower's top floor," Gwen marvelled, landing heavily. With a hiss, the Shen-Teī suit cushioned her forceful descent. "It's dangerous here, what if we get attacked."

"I might be rusty, but I should be able to obliterate a small Horde without too much trouble." Walken gave her a puzzling look. "But that's not why I am here. Petra, are all of Gwen's preparation's ready?"

"Yessir." Petra's response was terse. Gwen suspected her Russian cousin didn't have the best opinion of Eric. Both thanks to Wen and her misadventures at the hands of Moscow Magisters, Petra possessed little reason to love someone like Walken. "We may proceed."

"Good— Richard, Lulan, it's good to see you're both safe."

"Allow me to apologise for what happened at Shimenzi, Teacher." Lulan bowed deeply.

"No need." Walken waved a hand. "It was bad luck, coupled with Gwen's inexperience. As for yourself, it was a poor match up. You've done excellent work otherwise."

"I would say Gwen performed excellently, all things considered," Richard retorted in their quiet vice-captain's stead. "She choked that Necro without using magic, through a Bone Shield no less."

"Of course she did. A lesser Mage would have... not done it. But— let us waste no time." Their instructor guided them toward a half-collapsed, abandoned brutalist office building. "Gwen, what do you make of this?"

"A parking multi-storey?" Gwen said, studying the ugly structure.

"Ha!" Walken chortled. "No, there weren't that many cars back in the 70s. THIS is the old MSS headquarters, sans windows and walls. Its northern branch building. Sergeant? If you would? I believe the Lieutenant-General has given you the authorisation?"

"Please follow me, Magister."

One of the soldiers led the party around the destroyed building. Near its rear, they found an intact wall. Urging the others to step back, the Seargent then activated a concealed Glyph console. A slow rumble shortly followed, depressing the base until it revealed a set of stairs spiralling into the depth.

"We'll lead," the Sergeant offered. "Meng, Jei, take point—"

"Hold— allow me to excuse you." Walken waved a hand. "Gwen? Richard? Let's not risk the lives of our helpers, shall we?"

"Ariel! Caliban!"

"Lea!"

"Shaa shaa!"

"Ee ee!"

The students conjured their Familiars.

It was a curious juxtaposition. Caliban slithering into being was enough to drive the soldiers back; Ariel and Lea's resplendent forms were oppositionally enticing enough to leave them in awe.

"Cali, you take the lead," Gwen commanded her Void serpent. "Ariel, stay behind us."

"Lea, scout ahead." Richard turned his Undine transparent and misty. "Report back any enemies you encounter, do not engage."

As the Familiars took to the basement, Walken explained their present course of action.

"Originally, I was expecting to take us to a rooftop to conjure the Shoggoth. BUT, the Lieutenant-General was thankful enough for your selfless contribution to Shimenzi that he proffered the MSS's drafts for the installations under Shenyang. From the civil blueprint, we can discern that there's a long-sealed escape tunnel that connects into the main bunker at the heart of the city, under the People's Hall."

"Incredible, and the shelter had remained undiscovered?" Lulan enquired with disbelief.

"The MSS's transit tunnel was naturally a well-kept secret," Walken explained. "As for its present state of occupancy, we shall shortly find out. Richard? What does your Undine see?"

"Magister Walken is right." Richard kept one eye open while he focused on Lea's Empathic Link. "It's safe down there, but…"

"But?"

Richard's mien was expressionless. "Gwen, take a gander through Link Sight and tell me what you think. I'll get Lea to guide Cali down to the central chamber."

His cousin obliged. A minute later, she let loose a yelp.

"Oh, Eric, it's horrible…"

"Are you being vague on purpose?" Walken loathed having partial knowledge. "Out with it, girl, what is it?"

"I think it's the MSS agents." Gwen felt the blood drain from her face. "They're… they were trapped inside when Shenyang fell!"

"We'll arrange for them to be buried and their families contacted." The Sergeant saluted at the two-dozen bodies sitting by the wall of the spacious chamber. Once, the vast vault may have served as an emergency bunker of sorts, now, it was just an elaborate coffin. "As true sons of the motherland. They died with dignity."

When the team had earlier arrived in the building's belly, they were met with a dozen carcasses hunkered in a row. Each by each, the slumped cadavers had assumed a kneeling position, their skulls blasted apart by a wand. In a far corner, the agents' executioner sat with his Type-22 stuck in between his clenched teeth, bits of brain decorating the concrete behind him.

"How morbid," Gwen muttered. What was worse was that she could empathise. Weighed against a slow death brought on by thirst, starvation or asphyxiation, or being raised as a Revenant, wasn't sudden death preferable?

"Detect Magic." Walken ran a scan through the bodies regardless of the delicate sentiment of their observers, briefly illuminating the cadavers with motes of Lightning. "Good, they've passed on."

The Sergeant glared, dismayed by the Magister's paranoia.

Walken ignored the soldier, in Shenyang, he was taking no chances.

"I'll watch you set up the Mandala here," the instructor's voice echoed through the high ceiling. From the looks of the different furnishings and the incomplete construction, the bunker was initially intended to be an underground archive. Now, it served only as an enormous concrete coffin. "Richard, Lulu, our PLA colleagues, can you check the lower ground access, maybe unlock the transit tunnel. Let's give the girls some room."

"Yessir." The others moved for the sealed exit opposite the entrance.

"Right." Gwen gulped as Petra produced her inscription kit and its many-layered toolbox. Though an inexpert Enchanter, she aided her cousin by setting up the Mana Cache, bundled in crates Marong and Mayuree had helped prepare. According to the House of M's general manager, some of the HDMs were sourced from the Tyrant's despoiled lair, meaning they were very dense indeed.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Crate after crate landed. Despite the seals designed to retain the mana contained in its precious cargo, the room felt instantly more alive.

The PLA soldiers sucked in breaths of frigid, mana-rich air. For the Mages whose mana pool had been taxed by their earlier Purge of the grid, the natural recovery of their internal mana doubled.

Without warning, here were more HDMs than any of them had ever seen at any point in their lives.

"Gwen, take the Mithril Thread," Petra requested of her vice-captain. "Once the cache is done, start by marking out the Summoning Mandala. First, we'll bring back Lord Golos."

The drawing of Glyphs wasn't an impossible endeavour once an Enchanter learned the patterns. In training, the chief preoccupation of junior Enchanters consisted of line tracing while attuning their mana to match the ebb and flow necessary to imbue arcane symbols with mystical power.

Naturally, the concentration required was no mean feat. Thankfully, Gwen, with her phantom age, was no stranger to tedious chores that called for meticulous attention to detail. In a way, the stressful concentration was therapeutic, for even now, the suspense of days past threw up unnecessary remembrances, writhing like mired worms in the murk of her memory.

The misery was almost burlesque. Even during Gwen's peppy forays with Yue and Jean-Paul, no matter how she distracted herself, the pallid face of the Necromancer molested her mind.

But why worry? She wanted to say— Another day, another victim, wasn't that the rational way of things? Logically, it was easy to placate the ambivalent loathing bluntly hammering at her conscience. One would think she was used to it by now. Didn't Babulya warn her that the Path of Violent Conflict was full of thorns? If so, why worry over a little bloodletting? With her friends' lives threatened, what better excuse was there to exercise her wrath? Without her spells, how else was she going to nail a reborn Necromancer?

Was it the pleasure then that was eating her from inside out? Seeing the Necromancer's despair before Caliban's maw closed over him? Or the infusion of Essence that had mangled up her guts and made her eyes roll up inside her skull? That for almost fifteen minutes, she had felt the closest she had ever been to the time Almudj possessed her mortal body?

"Gwen, you've messed up the Piguet-Cox parallel, your Marden Glyph is missing a syntax." Her instructor complained, standing on the sideline. "Focus."

"Sorry, I'll fix it right away."

Or, Gwen wondered. Was it that she wanted to avoid the hard road of raiding Shenyang with Richard and Lulan?

The rationale behind borrowing the Void's malevolence was inevitably tied to her close call in Shimenzi. No matter the pretty words Walken used to dress her fears, the reality was that she neither wanted to lose the IIUC outright— nor did she want to risk Lulu and Richard— nor subject herself to another Soul Flayer.

Like the old saying goes, once bitten, twice shy.

That feeling of helplessness...

It was almost like she was back in the cave with Edgar.

Almost.

"But what of the living beings still residing inside the city?" She had confronted Walken with her hypocrisy. The Necromancers still ate mortal food, meaning the number of NoMs living in Shenyang should be in the thousands.

"Collateral damage," Walken answered without pause. It was the same horrible phrase she had heard so many times in her old world.

"Don't turn the nincompoop now, Gwen. Did you really think the PLA will let anyone live? Let these NoMs roam its cities? Whether those people were livestock, servants, aides or otherwise, nothing dead or living will be leaving Shenyang— Even in England, we're not so kind as to be THAT stupid. Make a call, 'vice-captain'. This time— make the right one. If not, it would be better if you head home and start preparing for London."

Gwen recalled feeling hurt. Yet again, her mawkish predilections had been checked. But injury aside, she was astute enough to see that Walken was offering to bear her burden. Her instructor was offering her a way out, an excuse to clear her conscience by saying, "He made me do it, I didn't want to. I was goaded."

Like the gutted wife of the Thane of Fife had once said, in an earthly world, to do harm is often lauded, while careless altruism was dangerous and foolish. As a learned sorceress equipped with the means, why shouldn't she be bloody, bold, and resolute? Why shouldn't she laugh to scorn those who wished her harm? Even assuming there was a place for the milk of human kindness, and it sure as hell wasn't in Shenyang, not when her team had near lost their lives.

When almost a million people in Shenyang had already lost their lives.

"Gwen, are you alright?" Walken's voice drifted across the room.

"I am fine... and Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

Gwen took a deep breath.

First, she would bring back Golos.

Then, her all-consuming Shoggoth would follow.

Gwen stood in the Summoning Circle, gently inbreathing.

Re-summoning Golos was easy.

She knew the Thunder Wyvern by name and scent, sight, sound and Essence.

She also knew him by blood, first as foe, then as a comrade against her enemies.

When the princeling re-appeared, angrier than a trodden cane toad, she had hugged her Wyvern's snout to placate his frustration. Gogo's response was to scrape her suit, growl against her body until his upset was spent. After that, she asked her friends and her instructor to wait in the relative safety of the outside world, where they could reliably flee from kilometre-long, rampaging tentacles.

Then came the witching hour.

"Yog-Sothoth!" she recalled what she could of the books she had obsessed over as a sullen adolescent. With a mother like Helena, the idea of calling upon an Elder being to destroy a shit-stained world was a fantasy she had entertained daily. As for the visualisation portion of the invocation, she hoped a pastiche of Shakespeare and Lovecraft would suffice; at worst, she'll toss an added verse of Poe.

"Lä, Shub-Niggurath! Bring forth the creators of the dark cities! Birth unto this world ye servants! O ye Manglers from the Mount! Hunt mine enemies! Lä— YE MOUTHS OF MADNESS! CONSUME MY FOES!"

"SHAAA! SHAAA! SHAAA!" Caliban sang.

"EE! EE!" Ariel cowered.

"Calamity!" Golos swore. "The Dragon father preserve us!"

With complete liberty, the Fudan's Worm Handler offered up the collated vitality from the Soul Flayer.

Instantly, her glowing face turned anaemic.

Unlike Golos, summoning the Shoggoth was an exhausting endeavour.

It was coming.

"Yog-Sothoth!" Lei-bup wept salty tears as bubbles blew from his greasy lips. Finally, the Great Being had responded to his call.

"Lä! Great Elder One! O key to the Gates where the Spheres Conjoin!" The chieftain of Turd Island howled in his fishy way, his tooth maw gnashing with spittle. "Come! Come to us! Saviour of the Deep!"

With one claw, Lei-bup crushed a fistful of roe, splattering the unhallowed earth with lives of a hundred young.

"Help us, Shub-Niggurath! Master of the woods that wend! Birth your children!"

All around Lei-bup, the stones grew suddenly slick.

Unbeknownst to the Merman performing his daily ritual, sympathetic magic channelled across space and time conjoined, harkening to the desperate desire of the Jifen-folk of the Dawugui archipelago.

A dark ooze wept from the Summoning Circle left behind by the negligent human Mages. Unbeknownst to them, Lei-bup possessed enough knowledge of his kindred to scrap together the most rudimentary of Conjuration. The circle won't be enough to manifest even a ten-thousandth of the great Shoggoth's form— but for the Mermen, any evidence of the Elder One's meagre mysticism would suffice.

Weee—Weeee—Weeee—

The air sang.

Lei-bup freely wept.

Ever since the Pale Priestess had gifted the Mermen a hundred kilos of brown rice and a whole container of mysterious meat in cans, his tribe had thrived.

It was for this reason that ever since the departure of the Pale One, Lei-bup had anointed the sea in her master's name, blessing the circle with unseeded eggs.

And what BOON the rite had brought!

Under the guardianship of the Pale Priestess and the Elder One, the thriving Jifen Folk had subjugated all the surrounding tribes, adding new females and slaves to their domain! And when the newborns grew up healthy and well-fed, they had ventured further, foraged deeper, and dominated the whole island chain!

And with every new victory, Lei-bup believed more and more that his conjecture had been correct. With every tribe flocking under the Jifen's banner, the number of faithful grew. Their prior meekness now seemed ridiculous.

Before the tribe had received nourishment from the Pale Priestess, they were a plate of loose sand snails, subject to the undulating tides of fate.

Now, they were united by the strength of something larger than themselves! Already, the other elders had started to call Lei-bup the Priest, for it was Lei-bup who had won the rice, and it was Lei-bup who had given them mysterious meat for the winter!

"Praise be to the Pale Priestess!"

"Praise!" a thousand voices answered.

"Praise be to the Shoggoth! It of many eyes!"

"Praise!" a thousand voices echoed.

"Praise be to the Elder ones, who art Mother and Father!"

"Praise!" a thousand voices cried out.

The Summoning Circle sizzled.

"PRAISE!"

"PRAISE!"

"PRAISE!"

And so it was that on Turd Island, a thing of the Void, a formless protoplasm of primordial ages past, sullen, intelligent, all-enveloping, half-mad with teeth and all-seeing with its wealth of eyes...

Descended.

Oi Kuk-ryol began life in '21 as a war orphan under the care of the Great Leader's first spouse, the illustrious but short-lived Kim Kyi-Sui.

After Oi's induction, he quickly rose to power as the Vice Secretary of the National Defence Commission with his fellow orphans, each Awakening serendipitously to talents of their own. In '45, during the Japanese Occupation, he single-handedly defeated three Imperial Chrysanthemum Mages while retaking Incheon, earning a new lapel as the Secretary-General of the National Operations Department.

In '50, when the Great Leader demanded the reunification of both Koreas, Oi was at the forefront, wielding his spells of destruction, cutting down the American invaders.

Then, in the spring of '57, when the Americans pushed the People's Army back toward Pyongyang, Oi was the last of the twelve Generals to return to the great leader's hall.

And finally in the same winter, when the Great Leader gathered his Officers to discuss the Path called "Juche", the art of "Man mastering his destiny through autonomy, self-reliance, and independence" Oi was the first to take a spell to blasphemers who refused the Gift.

After that, Oi remained dormant until the spring offensive of '82. In Liaoning, Oi spearheaded the invasion of Northern Manchuria, leading the People's Army into northern China, crushing all resistance, succeeding in surrounding Shenyang.

Naturally, the living refused to surrender.

Oi didn't mind.

Once the walls fell, Oi entered with the will of the Worker's Party behind him, committing the city's one million exploited labourers to the ideology of Juche, freeing them from the cycle of brutal karma.

And when Oi's natural lifespan expired, he gifted his heart to the Great Leader as a keepsake, re-awakening as the Secretary-General of Shenyang, having attained the apex of Juche.

"Secretary-General, the PLA has decimated the Zom— the workers! AND their Tower has intercepted the ley-line powering our wards. The city— cannot hold."

Presently, Oi oversaw the assembly of the Disciples of Juche at Shenyang, sending only the most talented to receive higher education in Pyongyang.

"And what of it?"

"We should contact Pyongyang by any means possible! We need to relocate the Disciples of Juche! We need—"

The speaker was a Flayer of no small talent.

Oi extended a finger.

It's skeletal tip glowed pale green.

"— time to move our ingredients, we— NO!— Secretary! Mercy— I just—!" The Mage in the black robe wilted like a desiccated flower. Visibly, the pale shadow of his escaping soul fled from his body to twirl around Oi's withered digit.

"Who else would speak of weakness?" Oi asked his audience of a hundred Necromancers. As much as he needed the living to tend to the workers in his domain, their propensity for self-preservation was something Oi often found disappointing.

"None, Secretary!" the chorus chanted as one.

"Then move to your sectors and defend the city with your creations and your still-living carcasses..." Oi needn't move his jaws to speak, though old habits died hard, far harder than the frail flesh of the aspirants. "We shall hold Shenyang until the Great Leader sends the united will of the workers to chase these foes from our domain..."

"But for how long…" a Necromancer, this one a dark-skinned practitioner from the high plains, gingerly requested of Oi. "I DO intend to defend our home, Master. You know as well as we do that we have nowhere else to go. I merely wish more knowledge to ration our resources more effectively."

"… until I perish," Oi's cold voice rang out, resonating against their quivering souls. Within the hollow sockets of his gaunt skull, two pinpoints of illumination flashed, irradiating Oi's olive dress uniform. On his right breast, rows and rows of medals appeared almost like antiquated scale mail. "… and Shenyang falls."

The cavern shook, displacing enough dust to rattle Gulnaz al-Bashkir.

"Inkar, Inzhu, keep vigilant," the bearded Mage commanded his apprentices. "How's our flock?"

"Agitated, my liege." Inkar, with her eyes like dark pears and lips like red wine, replied in that husky manner familiar to Gulnaz. "Why wouldn't they be? There are more materials out there now than the last two decades combined."

"Don't underestimate our enemies." Gulnaz flattened his beard, surprised himself that he of all people felt so uneasy. "They have a Tower, meaning the city's defences are down. Our job is to hold this quadrant until 'help' arrives."

"Will reinforcements from Pyongyang be enough?" Inzhu, the younger sister, demanded of no one in particular. Compared to her senior sister, Inzhu had honey-coloured eyes and a smile to match. "Aren't we all spell-fodder for that corpse in the People's Hall?"

"Inzhu!" Inkar looked around them. "The walls have eyes."

"Indeed, Inzhu," Gulnaz berated his Apprentice. "— but Master Oi is what we all aspire to be one day, the Great One permitting. Whatever he thinks of us, the path of Juche speaks for itself."

"Then, do you think we'll hold the city?"

"That's our business," Gulnaz al-Bashkir, the Summoner of Shelek, intoned with a hint of bitterness. "Know that Shenyang is our home now, and with it gone, we will perish."

Inkar shivered.

Her Master was, of course, correct. Until the trio's decade spent studying in Shenyang, they had fled from city to city, pursued by Human Mages and Wildland Demi-humans. Without the protection of a Theocracy or the blessings of an ancient religion, the free-practitioners of Necromancy were no more than rats bolting across a busy market choked full of terriers.

The two women remained mum.

Gulnaz sighed. He wondered if they'd been spoiled by the glut of necromantic energies welling from the city's mass graves. In Shenyang, there was an inexhaustible supply of corpses, both from its internal stock and raids conducted in Chinese-controlled Manchuria.

But now came the settling of accounts.

He should hardly be surprised, Gulnaz supposed. China's power had been on the rise; its population of NoMs has always been the densest in the world. How could a rising power stomach the presence of a Necropolis so close to its capital?

But it wasn't all bad news. IF Gulnaz and his fellow Necromancers held the bunkers, then the new materials left behind by the retreating Chinese would bolster their expansion into Jinzhou. If they could capture the Tower, then the rewards from Pyongyang would be unimaginable.

And if they failed?

As a whole, Necromancers didn't fear death. What they feared instead was a supreme sense of regret, that in having their lives cut short, they would return to the karmic circle, wasting a lifetime.

"Guurrrrgh—" the foremost rank of Zombies groaned.

Within the bunker's claustrophobic tunnels, the air turned oppressive; the walls grew slick with moisture.

Something was coming.

The area which Gulnaz guarded was the western quadrant of the bunker network under the People's Hall. Together, there were at minimum a hundred practitioners like him forming blockages in every segment of the subterranean bastion. Their goal, as the apex-embodiment of Juche in the People's Hall had commanded, was one of delay. For each hour they managed to hold off total annihilation, the likelihood of survival increased.

"Let's get to work."

"Resist Elements! Ghoul Skin! Ivory Armour!" Inchu was originally an Abjurer. With a few well-practised invocations, the trio grew clad in ivory plates of clattering bone.

"Link Sight! Death Tap!" And uniquely, Inkar was a rare Diviner capable of utilising the Craft with Divination. A novice Flayer, she could insert her mind momentarily into a semi-intelligent vessel.

"Great protector." Gulnaz walked forward as he began his chant, drawing a crimson Mandala in the air with a withered hand. "Protect your flock in this hour of need. ERASYL! Come to your brother in this hour of need!—"

Gulnaz winced as his life-blood anointed the magic circle.

"—Summon Dread Knight!"

The two women behind Gulnaz squirmed as their collective life-force fled from their bodies, blanching their vibrant, still-youthful complexions. Gulnaz himself shivered, his teeth chattering as the Negative Energy necessary for such a high-tier creature caressed his conduits, freezing his lifeblood.

A few body-lengths away, a dark mist, tinged with the scent of rot and decay, swiftly materialised the form of a man once known as Erasyl, the Hero of Almaty, a peerless Swords Dancer and a renowned Monster Slayer. In another life, he had been Gulnaz's half-brother. When the man had been alive, they weren't close. Now, the two were inseparable.

"BROTHER." The Dread Knight's voice scraped like rusty swords. "DIRECT ME TO YOUR FOE."

"I shall. But for now, protect us," Gulnaz commanded.

"AS YOU WISH." Erasyl turned to face the dark tunnel. In his hand, the infamous Black Blade, the life-sapping weapon formed from a Dread Knight's tormented soul, glimmered darkly. It was the creature's signature attribute— possessing the ability to cut through most Mage Shields like butter.

"GUARRRRLL—!" the Zombie vanguards at the fore of the arched tunnel met with their opponent.

"It's not a party of Mages," Inkar reported, her mind linked with the few intelligible Ghouls under her command. "Our enemy is—what is that? Ectoplasm?"

"An Ooze Mage, perhaps." The Summoner furrowed his brows.

"I think so." Inkar's voice grew shrill. "I think I see something. I'll possess one of the Ghasts to check..."

"It looks big; whatever this is, it's taking up the whole corridor."

"I see pale yellow light... looks almost like a willow-o-wisps..."

"Its eating our troops..."

"Ooo! The main body was hidden! I see it moving!"

"Let me get closer... I'll try to locate the caster for Erasyl."

"There's... no Conjurer? It's just— a thing by itself..."

"OH, GODS! It's looking at me! Heavens—EYES! So many eyes!"

"A quasi-ooze? What element is it?" Gulnaz cursed that of all the enemies; he had to run into such a troublesome foe. "Ink—"

"AEEEEEE! AARRRRRGH! IT HAS ME!" Inkar fell back, suddenly clawing at her face, her long nails digging into her scalp. With a scream, she tore out fistfuls of auburn hair. "INCHU! IT'S EATING ME! I CAN F-FEEL EVERYTHING! ITS… SUCKING ME UP!"

"Sis! Cut the LINK!" Inzhu caught her thrashing sister and channelled a smidgen of vitality to stabilise her anarchic conduits. "Master!"

"I-I CAN'T— BLUURRGH!" Inkar regurgitated a gutful of bile onto the floor.

"Erasyl!" Gulnaz commanded his Dread Knight. "Incapacitate her!"

The Dread Knight touched a blade to Inkar's thigh.

The woman's torso jerked just once as the vitality left her body, cancelling her Divination spell.

"Death Domain!"

"AT ONCE!" The Dread Knight lamented.

A dark haze exploded from below the upper-tier Revenant, filling the tunnel with motes of Negative Energy. Where it touched the Zombies and Ghouls, the creatures grew suddenly energised, falling into rank and file.

Inkar panted on the floor, her chest rising and falling arrhythmically, her skirt covered in sick.

"Sis, are you alright?" Inchu could see her sister was not alright.

"Hunger..." The girl convulsed, her pupils dilating, her eyes seeing nothing. "Emptiness, only hunger..."

"Sik!" Gulnaz swore. "Once the danger's gone, feed her a potion."

SPLAT!

An ectoplasmic blob about two-meters across flattened itself against the polished concrete. At first glance, the globular entity was grey and colourless, inanimate in its passivity. Upon closer inspection, Gulnaz could see that there was a half-dissolved Zombie trapped within the blob.

"GUAARRGGL!" In the distance, the Horde continued their fearless charge. Usually, against a Creature Mage with an exotic Familiar, there was no better fodder than low-tier Undead.

"Go forth!" Gulnaz lacked access to Banish, so his only recourse was the empowered minions. Under the Dread Knight's leadership, the "workers" possessed heightened physical abilities and higher resistance to the Imperial Magic System's invocations. "Tear that thing to pieces! Wear it down!"

Gluurg—Bloop—Gloop—glug—

The rest of the gargantuan thing came into view.

"Sik…" Gulnaz felt his soul shrivel as an enormous eyeball pressed itself through the goo. "What is THAT?!"

"HUNGER—" Inkar writhed on the floor, clawing the concrete. "IT'S HUNGER ITSELF!"

Gulnaz quaked; neither the Summoner nor his Apprentice had the means to describe the creature they now faced. In and amongst the flood of grey-goo oozing through the tunnel, he saw an eyeball a full two-meters across.

And what an orb!

Its cyclopean sphere housed an octopus' W-shaped pupil, ringed in vivid emerald with a dark circumference and an amber core. As the creature slid forward, its depthless gaze seemed to swallow the world, refracting everything within its optic prison!

Their gazes met.

Gulnaz understood instantly the infinite malevolence transmitted by that slitted eye. Uncharacteristically, his body broke out with a terrific heat, making sodden the back of his silver-threaded robe.

He had to kill this thing!

His Astral Soul cried out.

Whatever the cost, he mustn't let it near him!

"Spine Splitter!" Gulnaz's conviction was immediate. Materialising a wealth of inscribed and harvested Demi-human spines, he let loose a whole year's cache of painstakingly crafted ammunition. "Creature! Perish!"

PH—ULRK!

The first lance struck, exploding into ten-thousand fragments of swiftly expanding bone, ripping apart the all-seeing eye, rupturing the meniscus and shredding its membranes.

PHULRK!

A second spine followed the first seamlessly, driving the creature back, allowing it no opportunity for regeneration.

PH—PHLURK! SPLURK!

The third and fourth Splitters erupted, covering the concrete walls with ten-inch fragments of razor-sharp ivory. Concurrently, bursts of Negative Energy, enough to sap the life from anything capable of holding even the tiniest mote of vitality, saturated the tunnel, furthermore empowering Gulnaz's minions.

"Well done, Master!" Inzhu had Shielded them from their Master's spell. Panting from the exertion, she cradled her still-gibbering sister.

"That should keep its Summoner honest." Gulnaz grinned. "Flock, tear it apart! Finish it off!"

"GURRRRL!" In lock-step, the Zombies rushed forward, flailing their engorged limbs, gnashing their jagged jaws, a symphony of teeth conducted by the Dread Knight.

SPLAT! The response from their unidentifiable foe was instant.

Without warning, the grey goo multiplied, expelling a new wave of scentless ectoplasm. Where it touched the Undead, the Horde grew helplessly paralysed. When it landed on the bone shards, the ivory-like surface turned black with decay.

"I-Impossible!" Gulnaz felt the Negative Energy in the area fall away as though syphoned into an enormous vortex. "What manner of creature is this? Do they have a sanctioned Necromancer on their side—? Bone PRISON!"

A pair of bony claws enclosed around the incoming tendrils. Gulnaz knew it wasn't enough to subdue a being such as this, but there wasn't much a Summoner could do other than feeding it Zombies until its caster ran out of mana. "Erasyl! Stop that thing!"

"I OBEY!" The Death Knight made the gesture of drawing a bow, materialising a shadowy bow easily the height of one of the Necromancer's Apprentices. "CREATURE! PERISH!"

Soundless, the arrow left the bow. In life, Erasyl had been a peerless spell-fighter, and in death, his body performed with equal aptitude as a Dread Knight.

Th-THUNK!

The Blight Arrow, a quivering construct of corrosive Negative Energy mixed with the unerring Magic Missile, struck the incoming creature between the fingers of the Bone Prison. It was one of the reasons why Gulnaz favoured the defensive spell, for trapped targets were easy prey for his all-powerful Dread Knight.

But this time, the damage served only to grow the blob haughtier, angrier, more lively. The compressed Negative Energy within the blight-afflicted projectile seemed only to feed into the creature's hunger. Within the span of a few stunning seconds, the ectoplasm squeezed past the wall and flooded into the corridor, rolling over the Undead as though an enormous eruption of dark gelatine.

"A Colossal Ooze?" Inzhu pulled her gibbering sister onto her feet. "But that's a tier-fourteen creature! Who can control such a thing! Oozes are mindless—"

In her arms, Inkar wept hysterically. "FLEE! We must flee! Go to the Master! There's no limit to the fiend's hunger! It'll consume everything! Our minions, our mana, our everything!"

"Shut her up!" Gulnaz had no time to deal with insane Apprentices. "Erasyl! Attack it directly!"

The Dread Knight became a black blur. As its mummified legs kicked off the ground, the warrior's shroud-wrapped lips let loose a wailing Banshee's moan, flooding the tunnel with soul-rending echoes.

"DIE!" The Dread Knight drew its blade and swung.

SPLURK! The blade plunged into the midst of the enormous grey blob, cleaving through the ectoplasm and striking the concrete floor with a Clang!

Erasyl's eyes, long since reduced to twin points of unhallowed light, gazed into the gloom.

Inkar hugged herself against her knees; her expression transformed into one of jibbering despair. "T-That's not even its body! That's just its voracious excretions! I saw— I SAW the creature! It has eyes—so many eyes— and mouths, SO MANY MOUTHS!"

"Where is she getting the energy?" Gulnaz felt his scalp crawl, his patience at wit's end.

Inzhu jammed her fingers into her sister's mouth. Of the two, Inkar was usually the one who was calm and collected, and that made their difficult circumstance all the more precarious.

"MNNGH— IT SEES US— MNNGH!"

Inchu looked up, then immediately wished she hadn't.

"My God…" Her Master was staring at the newly descended horror.

First came the gibbering mouths, each screaming incoherent nothings in a low, raspy whisper that stunned the ears and filled their minds with spleen rupturing terror. As Inkar had foretold, there were far too many mouths than was possible on any being that could exist in the Material Plane. At a glance, Gulnaz counted three dozen or more, some with human incisors, others with the canines of carnivores or the molars common to grazers.

Embedded between the multitude of mouths were the eyes, each an emerald orb, wetly nestled within slimy pockets, all of which stared without blinking. As the creature slid forward, the eyeballs spun, searching for something the Necromancers could not see. When finally the eyes settled on the Mages, each of the creature's observers felt as though they held its undivided attention.

"PERISH!" Erasyl swung his sword again.

This time, the black blade plunged into one of the creature's endless maws.

The mouths opened.

Erasyl's hands slid in down to the elbows.

And when the Dread Knight retrieved his extremities, his limbs were gone, appearing as though his hands had never existed.

The Dread Knight looked down.

Lacking pain, it grew confused.

But on the opposite end of its Empathic Link, its controller wasn't so apathetic.

"ARRRRGH! YE GODS!" Gulnaz felt such sympathetic agony that his hands might as well have been wrenched from their sockets by a great and powerful vice.

"Master!" Inchu acted on reflex. "Bone Barrier! Bone Splinter!"

A wall of bone skittered into place, simultaneously launching blasts of ivory shards. To Inchu's dismay, she couldn't even penetrate the ichorous slime.

"It's too late—!" her sister, now freed, began to howl. "—IT HUNGERS! IT —COMES—IT—COMES— FOR US ALL!"

"Huk!" Gulnaz circulated just enough stolen vitality to regain his clarity. His return, however, came too late. The pocket dimension he had dedicated to nurturing his Dread Knight faded, appearing as though he had never had a Familiar at all. "What is this?! How can— Arrrrrgh!"

Up ahead, the Dread Knight was halfway inside the gullet of an invading army of mouths, the upper portion of his Undead body reduced to a half-eaten carcass.

The sight was as unsettling as it was beautiful; for all the lives he had drained, Gulnaz had never before seen such a display of abominable, unadulterated horror. Each maw, restricted by the Dread Knight's natural resistance, could only take off a mouthful and no more. Yet, with so many mouths baying for the Dread Knight's mana-infused body, Erasyl's shrouded form lasted no more than a few frenzied seconds.

"To think you have found rest before me..."

Gulnaz of Shelek allowed his hands to fall. He readied himself. A Necromancer shouldn't fear oblivion. A Necromancer's death should be dignified.

"IT COMES IT COMES IT COMES—" Inkar howled, welcoming the end in her own way. "I am here! Monster! I AM HERE!"

"Master, I can't hold it!" Inchu vomited blood when her Bone Barrier broke.

The ectoplasm pushed forward.

Minion after minion advanced into the mincing mouths of madness, not slowing the Shoggoth's march by a single second.

Gwen was used to being stared at.

As a "beautiful" child, she had been paraded incessantly by her attention-seeking mother. And when her mother was absent, which was often, it wasn't queer for strangers to follow her with their eyes whenever she trained back to Forrestville. At Bondi, she sold as many Cornettos as the number of times she was hit upon. In university, she embraced the fact, wallowing in admirers and concurrently gaining an unpleasant reputation. Finally, as a junior at McKinsey, she learned to bathe in the gaze, convincing herself that from Sydney to New York, women everywhere all did the same to get ahead of the curve.

But this was a whole other kind of attention.

"So..." Gwen smacked her lips. "With all those mouths and all, do you speak?"

Four hours after the summoning, she sat cross-legged with Ariel in her lap, Caliban propped as a backrest, and Golos beside her, close enough to sniff her hair.

All around them, covering the former MSS basement from wall to wall, mating with the concrete, was the ectoplasmic manifestation of the "Shoggoth". All in all, about four hundred eyes looked upon Gwen and her familiars, while on the ceiling, an enormous, central eyeball stared directly downwards.

Do you speak? Gwen again attempted to communicate through their Empathic Link last time, she swore the Shoggoth was somewhat intelligent. Dear Shoggoth, please blink if you can understand me, any odd eye will do.

Her answer returned in the form of unpleasant vertigo.

Were it not for the suppression applied by her Essence, Gwen was sure she would be lying in a pool of her own sick.

"Oi, YOU! Cease that insolence!" Golos growled, crackling electricity. In his human form, the re-summoned princeling was sweating profusely. Gwen could tell that her Wyvern was too proud to be terrified, but his body-odour made for a terrible liar.

"Gogo, move aside a little." Her nose twitched. "You're too close."

"Calamity! I am trying to protect you here." Golos' rotten-meat breath washed over her delicate face.

"Right." Gwen grimaced. She would soon have to introduce Golos to another human invention— mouth wash.

Ding!

"Gwen, how are you holding up?" Walken's breathless voice came through her Divination Device. "Your Ally is doing very well, its breached nine sectors in the western quadrant in the last three hours!"

"Eric! Where are the others?"

"They're with me. I am tracking your Shoggoth through the Eye of Providence. It's amazing! Girl! AMAZING!"

"You can track the Shoggoth?"

"It's still your creature." Walken sounded like he had gone for a run. "It's got your mana signature."

"And you're recording its... actions?"

"All of it," Walken replied. "Hold the fort, my girl, and we'll have this in the bag. The Proctors and the Generals, they're all astounded! Everything you're doing, EVERYTHING! It's all unprecedented!"

"How deep has Shoggy gone?"

"Wouldn't you know?"

"I possess no desire to Sight Link something with THIS MANY eyes, Eric. I want to keep my sanity. Thank you very much."

And it wasn't just the eyes. There were tentacles as well, with sucker-mouths. Like Caliban's innards, the Shoggoth's limbs were akin to slithering lamprey things unique to the Void. Whatever the "Shoggoth" might be in actuality, it remained a product of her imagination in unholy matrimony with the essential elements of the Void.

"How's your health?" Walken calmed himself somewhat.

"I took precautions." Gwen eyed the eyeballs. "The beginning was a bit dodgy. I drank some of that infused Maotai just in case. I think the Shoggoth can perpetuate itself now. Maybe its attained equilibrium? Found a cache of vitality? There's still a kick from the residual Negative Energy flooding the base, but the feedback has since ceased."

"Can you control it?"

Gwen shook her head.

"Once it stopped... nursing from me— it stopped responding."

"Can you banish it?"

"I hope so. The Mandala's still active..."

"Does er... 'Shoggy' respond to friendlies?"

"It's non-reactive toward Cali, Ariel, Gogo and I."

"... Shall I see if the PLA can find out? In the name of Spellcraft?"

"Eric! I don't think that's a good idea—"

GU—BLURP!

The walls shuddered. At once, a hundred eyes began to spin in orgiastic agony. Gwen let loose a low-moan. The sensation bleeding through her Emphatic Link was indescribable. It was as though a frigid icicle had just passed through her amygdala.

"Shaa! Shaa! SHAA—AA!" Caliban began to wail, growing suddenly larger.

"Ee Ee?!" Ariel's fur bristled with sparkling motes of electricity.

"Calamity!" Golos growled, his ridged horns crackling with power. "Something dreadful is coming this way! Look at my feathers!"

Golos' plume, a signature genetic trait of its mythic father, was bristling like a quill boar's bone spines.

Gwen activated detect magic, though the Shoggoth covering the walls made her effectively blind.

"!"

Her Divination Sigil screeched, striking her spine with such poignancy that she grew momentarily breathless.

What was it?

Her senses searched the room of eyes.

It wasn't the Shoggoth straining against its cage, of that she was sure.

If so, it could only mean the danger came from an outside source.

"Eric!" she Messaged her instructor for advice. It was a CC penalty to do so in the middle of a quest, but the last time she had felt so in danger was when Sobel showed up in Sydney. "What the hell is happening! Shoggy's going nuts!"

"A LICH!" Walken's voice fired back, filled with excitement and horror. "ALMIGHTY CHRIST IN HEAVEN, GWEN! GET OUT NOW! DIMENSION DOOR AS FAR AS YOU CAN! BACK TO THE TOWER! THEY'VE GOT A FUCKING LICH DOWN THERE, AND IT'S COMING FOR YOU!"

"THEY'VE GOT A FUCKING LICH DOWN THERE, AND ITS COMING FOR YOU!"

"A lich? Like, with a phylactery?"

"YES! YOU DAFT FOOL! GO!"

Gwen glanced at the Summoning Circle. If she went, how the hell was she going to wrangle her Shoggoth? There was no way she could just leave an intact Mandala here; God knew who might use an abandoned Circle to access her unique magic to pilfer Shoggy.

"Quickly! Else I am going to SLAP you once you get back!" Walken sounded on the verge of a heart attack. "Use my Device as the Divi-Loc, I've set it just outside the western quadrant, GO!"

"One sec... got it!" Gwen turned to her Familiars. "Cali, Ariel, I want you to destroy the Mandala as soon as I am clear."

"SHAA!"

"Ee! EE!"

"Golos, can you follow?"

Her Wyvern nodded. Golos may be inept in Spellcraft, but he could piggyback on her Conjuration, using his innate mana to enable translocation.

"Shoggy... you stay here and clean up."

Gwen addressed the room full of ogling, oozing eyeballs and drooling lamprey mouths. Whatever this "Lich" was doing to her Shoggy, it wasn't pleasant, not even for a kilometre long stomach spawned from the Void.

"Dimension Door!" She opened her conduits. Immediately following her final syllable, electricity cascaded around her body, enveloping her armour. When she reappeared, she should at least be two hundred meters away, ready to recycle her magic. Assuming she took a short break, she should be within range of Dalian Tower within twenty hops.

"!"

A jolt of disruptive mana kicked her in the diaphragm, pressing the air from her lungs. The destination beacon Walken had offered abruptly winked out of existence.

The mana that had been manifesting into Dimension Door shunted back into her body, bloating her conduits and seizing her limbs. She couldn't be sure of just how far she moved, but she materialised as though launched from a wand.

"Whoa—" Limbs akimbo, she bounced off the far wall.

Above her, four hundred eyes spun in their slimy sockets. Disgustingly, or perhaps fortuitously, a particularly googly orb cushioned her forward momentum.

Gwen blinked. She righted herself, cheek-first against her Shoggoth, her arms and legs covered in its silky slime.

What the hell happened to the beacon? She tried to clear her head. Did Walken shut his device?

"CALAMITY! We must retreat!" Golos, having escaped her spell-induced disorientation, was beside her in an instant. Unhinging his jaw in the manner of serpents, the Wyvern's chest rapidly expanded, then let loose a mighty Dragon Breath. "ROOOO—"

A line of living lightning erupted against the far wall, passing through a vaguely humanoid something that had made its presence felt.

"—AAAAR!" Gwen shielded her eyes as Golos poured out his soul. Still pressed against the Wyvern's bony back, she felt the heat of the princeling's smouldering skin scald the delicate surface of her face.

She pushed herself away from the Wyvern.

"Dimension Door!" This time, she directed herself upwards. With a clearance of over two hundred meters, Gwen was positive that she could clear the bunker's depth in one leap. If not, then she was also prepared for a world of non-lethal pain, nothing her Essence couldn't absolve.

Her mana fled.

Another wave of dizzying nausea engendered.

She reappeared a dozen meters away, reeling with disorientation.

"Ariel! Cali!" she shrieked like a banshee, landing on her shoulder to soften her roll. Lich or no Lich, she would show Voldermort no quarter.

"EE!"

"Shaa! Shaa!"

Her Familiars assumed their battle forms, Caliban transforming into its swiftest variant, the spider Wanka, and Ariel into its Kirin guise. With a word and a surge of will, she convoked as much Essence as she could muster under the circumstances, leaving half for future contingencies. With a layer of Detect Magic illuminating her pupils, she pinpointed the distorted Astral Space in the room's centre.

"Ariel—"

Emerald Lightning fulminated across the length of her armour, sending her hair and her skirt into a wild flutter. Her fingers finished the somatic components in a flash.

"—BARBANGINY!"

Fearing that there might be a counter to Lightning Bolt, she chose the rarer two-stage Lightning Sphere. A split-second later, her AoE connected, enveloping a quarter of the room in viridescent electricity.

Bathed in emerald, Gwen adjusted her eyes.

Fizzak!—BAM! The second stage nova rang out, so powerful that even under Ariel's control, her wall-hugging Shoggoth lost the portion of its body closest to the ground level. As the electricity drained away, she caught sight of a region where her sorcery was displaced by a subtle shadow.

"Gogo!" Gwen directed Golos to their target.

"ROAARRRRRR!" Golos let loose another breath, fulminating his guts out, howling so hard he simultaneously farted, irradiating the basement with his retina-searing discharge.

"Ariel! Ball Lightning!" Gwen's intent was to leave no quarter. Learning from her last mistake, she flooded the target space with such an excess of plasma that the concrete cracked and split, spraying shards of white-hot silica.

"Shoggy!" she commanded her Planar Ally. "If you can do something, now's the time!"

Glug-Gloop— Glop...

All around their fiercely gesticulating mistress, the eyes rotated wetly in their sockets.

"Fine, I guess you're preoccupied— Wall of Lightning!"

Gwen wondered if she fought a vital target, the Shoggoth would react with great urgency. Nonetheless, at her behest, the atmosphere of the bunker grew thick with motes of cascading electricity, arcing from corner to corner. Unlike her Evocation spells, the conjured barrier would continue to strike her target so long as her mana pool held out.

"Ariel! Again!" She added three more Lightning Spheres to the fray. If there was an Undead that could survive such an inundation of offensive magic, then her goose was cooked. Certainly, Gwen couldn't imagine Tei or even Gunther just standing there, soaking her magic like a lightning rod.

Plink! Plink! Plink! CRACK!

The splintering of cooling stones echoed throughout the secret basement. Gwen's pinpoint pupil dilated, adjusting to the low-light. Hanging a few feet above, Ariel sniffed the air, reporting nought but the stink of ozone. From the far wall, Caliban scanned the room with its vitality-vision, finding nothing. Finally, Golos, now polymorphed into his true form, coiled around her protectively so that she was nestled between a white wing and his plated torso.

"Is it dead?" Gwen wondered if the proctors would find her confidence impressive or foolish. "Caliban, get ready."

"Shaa!"

"Shoggy, wanna make yourself useful?" Gwen asked the room again.

The rolling eyes slowly ceased their erratic movements. By the dozen, their orbs focusing on a particular spot not far from where she had been raining down AoEs.

"Arcane Sight!" Gwen attempted a Divination Magic she rarely had the opportunity to deploy. Unlike Detect Magic, the second-tier Divination allowed her to see both invisible creatures and those hidden in the Astral Plane.

Instantly, she caught sight of a smouldering, shady figure hovering in the shadows cast by her and Golos' illuminating presence.

"CALI! CONSUME!"

Caliban transformed into a black blur. Before Gwen could blink twice, her fiend had positioned itself above its target, its gullet fully extended.

"SHAA!" The Void spider's abdomen expanded into an overlarge, misshapen pustule. Distending its underside jaws, her Familiar swallowed the shadow by scooping up a whole semi-sphere of concrete.

"Did we get em?" Gwen loaded up a Dimension Door even as she searched her Empathic Link for evidence of Caliban's meal. If the answer was "Yes, there's a Lich in Cali", she may have to drown her liver in Maotai— as well as murder Ayxin's Ginseng supplement.

Caliban shook its bulbous, arachnid arse, expelling a slab of innutritious concrete. Fighting the premonition crawling under her skin, Gwen scanned the room once more.

"!"

Her spine shivered.

"Isn't life a tiresome thing?" a male voice whispered beside her ear, causing both Gwen and Golos to whip around, she with her hair and Golos with his serpentine neck.

"Show yourself!" Gwen snapped at the empty space, as did Golos in less endearing terms.

"Is it hiding in the walls like a Wraith?" Her Wyvern demanded, frustrated by the lack of tangible prey.

"What a curious specimen you make." The hoarseness of her croaking observer called from beyond the grave. "A bloodline sorceress possessing dual-elements, and a foreigner at that. I think the Great Leader would enjoy a component such as yourself."

Gwen eyed the exit. She ha no idea if that was the Lich or not, but she had no desire to tarry and find out. In near-silence, she activated the Dimension Door she'd been nursing for the better part of a minute.

"We're not finished!" the horrible voice gurgled.

A rush of abjuring energy washed over her manifesting magic, suppressing the mana within her conduits.

Just before she lost Arcane Sight, Gwen saw the air near the entrance distort, indicating the subtlest ripple of Abjuration mana.

"THERE!" She exalted. "Gogo! CALI! ARIEL!"

"ROAARRRRRR!" Golos filled the tunnel with plasma, taking full advantage of the claustrophobic battlespace.

"ARIEL! Lightning Bolt! Barbanginy!" Gwen mustered up another jolt of Almudj's Essence so that an Emerald line of lightning as thick as her body bounced from wall to wall, leaving Lichtenberg fissures. Together with Gogo and Ariel's duplicated offensive, no shadow was left un-obliterated by their threesome vomit of awesome power.

Now! Gwen attempted yet another Dimension Door, feeding off the steely adrenaline in her Essence-thickened blood.

"CIRCLE OF DEATH!"

Her throat choked.

The bunker's already dim interior grew sullen.

The space surrounding herself, Golos and Ariel turned frightfully frigid. Before her teleport could activate, an enormous clump of vitality fled from her torso. She felt suddenly violated, her lifeforce unwillingly extracted by profane arcana. Before the last syllable even left her lips, her body all but seized up, held hostage by paralysis.

Gwen panted, suddenly short of breath, overwhelmed by vertigo and nausea. Within her arrested bosom, her heart palpitated so powerfully that her ribcage felt bruised. Unbidden, she wanted to vomit, when she reflexively clutched her chest, her left lumbar turned numb.

Terror stirred in the murk of her mana-addled brain. Was the Lich compelling her heart to explode? If so, what about Gunther's Ring? Would she teleport to Dalian or Shanghai, but dead on arrival?

NO! She told herself. Not like this! Not by a soul-stealing monster!

Through sheer force of will, she bunched her right fist, then pounded the left-most chest plate of her Shen-teī armour. Simultaneously, she forced her Essence to circulate, bathing in the warmth of Almudj's blessing as it revivified her extremities, dispelling the tingling magic teasing her Contingency Ring.

Splink!

A sharp snap in the back of her neck sent a screaming roar of white-hot agony into her body. Gwen shuddered, the pain was exquisite, but it broke the spell.

The chilling gloom ebbed. The world of the living returned.

Gwen reached behind her head, wincing as her hand came away covered in blood. More alarmingly, within her palm, she found a freshly dislodged dragon-scale. Likewise mixed into the gore were the shattered halves of a Zircon Stone, the one that had been mitigating the Negative Energies inundating her conduits. It was the eruption of this crystal that had slived her neck and mattend her hair with gore.

At the sight of her injury, her chest grew tight, though thankfully not from a repeat of whatever the Lich had earlier afflicted.

Besides her, via her Empathic Link, she sensed that Golos had endured the same experience of faux-death. Though subdued, her Wyvern was magnitudes more robust than herself, withstanding the Necromantic AoE with gusto.

Ariel, comparatively, fell victim. As a young Spirit with a manifested body, its vitality was woeful compared to Golos, forcing it to return to Gwen's pocket dimension. Thankfully, unlike Gwen's Void spells, the Necromancy used by the Lich was biological and therefore, spared her Kirin's Spirit.

"You cling to life with such tenacity— how disappointing."

The owner of the ghostly voice stood at the entrance to the bunker, blocking the single physical exit. From the looks of his lightning-licked uniform, her target had not survived her bombardment unscathed.

Slowly, the Lich materialised.

First appeared an overlarge military cap.

Then a salient gold-red star.

Then a deluge of medals that covered the olive garb from neck to crotch.

A General? Gwen felt her mind riot.

The LICH was a FUCKING NORTH KOREAN GENERAL?

And Ariel—

But her Familiar didn't matter right now. What mattered was how the fuck she was going to get the hell out of here. Can Liches smell fear? She wondered. Golos was bristling like a hog. As for herself, were it not for the Lich's absurd appearance, she would have made use of her magical underpants.

"You're in BIG TROUBLE, dead man," Gwen replied reproachfully, her brain furiously cycling through her options. If anything, only bullshit can save her now. Her only recourse was to bide for time and find an opening. "Circle of DEATH?! How dare you! Do you know who I am?"

The Lich's poker face was as masterful as its obscene command of Necromancy.

Gwen stared the Lich down, her eyes wide and arrogant.

Without replying, the North Korean General extended a pale green digit. "FINGER OF—"

"OUR PATRIARCH! THE YINGLONG—" Gwen slapped Golos on the torso with a metallic Clang! Then thrust out her modest bosom with so much pride that her indignant neck grew stiff from the effort. "THAT'S WHO KIM IL SUNG IS FUCKING WITH."

The Lich paused, the spell stifled itself.

You would lie about Father? Golos lodged an internal complaint.

PLAY ALONG! Gwen pleaded. OR WE'RE BOTH MEAT.

With a silent grunt, she flooded their surrounding space with all the Dragon Fear she could manage. Clearly, like Diego, the Lich was wary of the Yinglong. If so, maybe she could negotiate a ceasefire treaty, such as that she would call back the Shoggoth if it allowed her and Golos to go their way unmolested.

"You—" The Lich spoke, Gwen noted that its lips moved out of sync with its voice.

"YOU've heard correctly." She squared her shoulder. "Gogo here is a Princeling of Huangshan, and I am personally related to the foremost Princess of the Mount. Me and Granddad, we're peas in a pod, see? How else do you think a magnificent Uncle like Gogo is acting my bodyguard? Not only that, Ruxin— that's the crown prince— he and I? We're tight!"

She made a gesture with her thumb and her forefinger.

"...like this. Tell you what, dead guy, THIS ONE TIME— I might just forgive you for your trespass— but if you dare attempt my life again…"

Gwen narrowed her eyes, circling lightning through her emerald orbs so that her irises burned cobalt. Caught in her delusional deception, Golos growled in tandem, crackling with power.

"… Aunty Ayxin is going to shunt your withered ass into a Prison Dimension. Uncle Ruxin will rain down a TEMPEST on Pyongyang for Seven-Seven Forty-Nine days until nought but dust remains. And when our Patriarch gets wind of your actions— and trust me, he's the God of Wind... He'll separate North Korea from the Asian Continental Shelf and send it into the bloody South China Sea! How would Dear Leader like that? EH—? WHAT SAY YOU?"

The Lich was visibly shaking. "You..."

Gwen faced the creature with defiance, urging the still-confused Golos to do the same. As one, woman and Wyvern stood side by side, facing off against the General.

The Lich's LED-eyes dimmed, then burst into sickly green fire.

"YOU… DARE MOCK THE GREAT LEADER? SPEAK OUR FATHER'S NAME IN VAIN?"

Lich-fear or whatever Liches used to emulate Dragon Fear, exploded across the room, suppressing her and Golos' aura. Then, for the first time since their encounter, the Lich raised both hands.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! Gwen raised her hands as well.

"VOID SHIELD!" She called first for protection, then started on her next invocation. "DIMENSION DOOR!"

"FOOL!" A burst of abjuring spellfire washed over woman and Wyvern. As before, she choked on the feedback. This time, the delay in her recovery was enough for the Lich to complete its malicious magic.

"SHAAA!" Caliban closed in, too late to help its mistress but close enough to disrupt the Lich's future casting.

"CALAMITY!" Golos concurrently enveloped her armoured profile with twin layers of leathery wings. With a sizzle, the death-spell struck her Wyvern's wingtip. "GAARRRRGHH!"

"Gogo!" Gwen's vision struggled to adjust to the anarchy. There was a horrid stench of decaying flesh, then she caught the hideous sight of Golos' afflicted wing, decayed to a stump. Suddenly, her chest burst with indignant fury. If Lightning didn't work, how about Void? Could the Lich spell-drain a Void Seeker?

"RUN!" Golos nudged her with his body, sending her reeling backwards. The Wyvern then teetered, too proud to lie down, too afflicted with death magic to fight the Lich in melee.

"There's NOWHERE to run!" Gwen kicked her Wyvern back. "We have to fight! CALIBAN! SHOGGY!"

The Lich had kept itself out of reach with micro-teleports, but now Caliban grew to four times its usual size. With a sickening crunch, its carapace erupted, birthing two additional heads. While five was her limit, the Lich's Circle of Death had usurped enough vitality from Gwen that she no longer had enough to max out her Familiar.

Up above, plastered across every wall and ceiling, the Shoggoth watched impassively. Gwen fumed, but her frustration was impotent. In all likelihood, the Void being was far more invested in penetrating deeper into the bunker network, where its foes possessed life and vitality.

"INSOLENCE!" The Lich dodged a corrosive glob from the three-headed Naga. Its fingers were a flurry of arcane gestures as it activated its suite of Necromantic sorcery. "If you're so proud of your bloodline, then I will present your corpse as a gift! If the Yinglong dares come to Pyongyang, we shall gladly receive it as our eternal servant!"

"FATHER WILL HEAR OF THIS!" Howling even as he limped, Golos covered Gwen with his remaining wing, knowing that the Lich could dispell her shield.

As Golos' warning echoed, Caliban reached its foe. Without hesitation, it attempted another Consume, aiming to end the threat to its mistress once and for all.

"USURP EGO!" The Lich's spell casting continued without interruption. Without warning, a beam of viridescent Transmutation struck Gwen's Familiar.

SNAP! Caliban's central maw closed around the Lich's uniformed body.

PUFFT!

The Void Naga's head, together with a portion of its torso, burst into a shower of Astral dust.

"SHAA!" the larger of the remaining heads screeched.

"Shaa!" the smaller appendage writhed.

Caliban struck the floor, squirming like a cut-up worm. It was one thing to be hacked, lobbed, pierced and crushed, and a whole other to be reduced to powder.

Gwen meanwhile, heard the splintering shatter of the mind warding earrings she wore on her lobes. It was the left-most Creature Core, the larger of the two inscribed for fettering Mind Magic that now broke, painting her left cheek with blood.

This limp-prick bastard! Gwen flinched as the residual Mind Magic caressed her psyche. Was this it? Was this where Gunther's heirloom met its end?

She staggered against Golos. With the Lich's unparalleled command of soundless casting, she understood that turtling was no option at all. To protect herself, she would need nothing less than a Force Cube, but that was a 7th tier restricted spell, one she had no hope of accessing for some time.

If so, what the fuck was she going to do? All she had in her arsenal of spells were single target invocations and AoEs. Golos was already getting his ass kicked, and Caliban was getting pummelled to dust in the literal sense. Worst of all, after taking her vitality, her Shoggoth gave not a shit about her well-being, and Ariel was effectively banished. Cloud Kill? Could she flood the place with True Silver? She could use more Void Spells, but the feedback might just kill her.

"You are well provisioned." The Lich rose into the air. "You Tower Mages have Continency Rings, do you not? Is that the source of your courage? I tell you now, wyrmling, nothing will save you from the Great Leader's Wrath. GRASP HEART."

"Void Seeker!" Gwen panicked. In her haste, she had forgotten about her Conjuration-Evocation's significant travel-time; that and the Lich chose not to use a spell that Golos could block with its body.

"URGK!" the high-tier Necromancy struck before her Seekers completed their journey. Conjoined with the feedback, Gwen grew insensible as an otherworldly force took hold of a sorceress' second-most important mana-organ.

"G-Gogo— I— I can't breath—!"

Within her chest, the last of her Almudj's Essence battled the heart-stopping Negative Energy atrophying her cardiac tissues. Beside her torso, her arms fell limp as the precious lifeblood that sustained her body slowed to a trickle. Her brain, abruptly starved of oxygen, robbed the lustre from her eyes.

Her world grew cold— so cold.

Upon her finger, Gunther's Ring twinkled.

An explosion of silvery Conjuration suffused her whereabouts, followed by a burst of viridescent vitality.

"GREATER RESTORATION!"

Gwen gasped.

Suddenly, air suffused her lungs.

Unbidden, the frigid cold invading her body evaporated; instead, her tortured body filled with Evee-blessed motes of unadulterated life.

"Aella! Spirit Guardian!" came the howl of a fatherly, endearing voice. Above herself and Golos' prone and groaning form, a great feathered serpent, twenty-meters from head to tail, engulfed the space around them with vibrant strands of golden lightning. As for the Mage now beside them, he brushed the ash of the spent scroll from his fingers, then flashed toward her a winsome smile.

Shenyang.

Old town.

Eric Walken observed the Flight-forms of Petra, Richard, Lulan and Fudan's rented PLA guards. It had taken some coaxing for the children to accept that they were liabilities in the event of Gwen's retreat. Lulan, in particular, was fiercely combative until he had explained that if she was taken hostage, their fool friend would fight to the death.

But now Walken felt torn.

Despite his promise to the girl's companions, his prized student had not materialised after banishing the Shoggoth.

In fact, he hadn't heard a peep. Worse still, no amount of Divination had penetrated into the bunker since he received word that a signature synonymous with a Lich was headed her way.

A Lich!

Walken hadn't heard of such a name since forever. For all he knew, the damned things were an academic curio. Mythologised to be the ultimate form of arcanistry made to simulate immortality.

On record, the most famous of the monsters was arguably the mad monk, Grigori Rasputin. Though accounts wildly vary, it was said that the equivalent of no less than six high-tier casters, including three Paladins sent by the Moscow Patriarchate, were involved in the Lich's subjugation. Even so, the vacuum of power left by the Necromancer then all but condemned the fate of the Tsarists.

But North Korea? Walken was utterly sceptical that North Koreans could produce a Lich of the same calibre.

Still, the acidic anxiety of Gwen's continued absence was burning a hole in his abdomen. For a horrible second, he even considered venturing into that Shoggoth-infested warren to search for his student.

Ding!

"Magister Walken." A Message blossomed beside his ear. "We can't Scry what's happening inside the bunker presently, but your contestant's biometrics just fluctuated wildly enough to encompass half-a-dozen lives..."

Walken's hands felt suddenly slimy with sweat. "Did her Contingency Ring trigger?"

"Surprisingly, no." Magister Jamison's tone was grim. "I hope she's got a good one, though. I don't think Dalian is furnished with whatever help she is going to need... unless she can 'CPR' herself."

"She's equipped with the best Contingency Ring. It'll take her to Beijing." Walken quickly cut the Chief Proctor off. "It's a peerless item, as you should know. You did the equipment check."

"Yes." Jamison's tone withdrew some of its steel. "But she's facing off a Lich, not a hog. Liches embody the worst of us. They know how our Rings work..."

And there it was. Walken groaned inwardly. Only this time, Gwen's conundrum wasn't just the girl's fault. It was also his miscalculation. With the Tower cutting the ley-line, the Wards under Shenyang would have lost their spell-jamming capabilities. That was why, smelling an opportunity, he had proposed for Gwen to field-test the questionable applicability of her Void Ally. Whether they succeeded or failed, a question of academic value would have been answered. And should they succeed, Fudan may yet salvage the competition.

And what else? A guilty bit of cognisance demanded.

Walken's clenched fingers unfurled.

There had also been naked ambition.

Of course, he and the girl had both consented and considered the consequences. He had even asked her to re-consider, though she had adamantly expressed her desire to repair her misstep. But the dilemma now was that he, Eric Walken, was safely outside, barely a few kilometres from the Tower's strategic Ray of Disintegration, while Gwen was duelling a godless, communist, necromantic demi-god.

"Magister Jamison," Eric was surprised to hear his own voice speak without an explicit command from his brain. "May I ask you to relocate to the Tower's triage chamber? I don't trust the communists' healers."

"… good. I shall await your return." Jamison's voice drifted across the Divination channel. "Good speed, Magister Walken. Should you return, I will personally make an appeal for Fudan."

The glowing Message blinked out.

Walken double-checked the contents of his Storage Ring.

"The girl's stupidity must be infectious," he muttered to himself, wondering if he should see a Mind Mage to get his sanity evaluated. "Goaded by a Yank, what would my friends think? Henry must be laughing at me from beyond the grave."

He looked down. Dimension Dooring into a room with so much concrete, Shoggoth, and potentially a Lich was suicide. He would have to employ more subtle means.

"Aella." Walken materialised his Couatl Spirit. From his Storage Ring, he produced a golden idol in the shape of a feathered serpent, the type worshipped by the Aztecian Theocracy. "If anything should happen to me… go to Gwen, or go home."

"Eric! Eric!" the feathered serpent bopped him on the nose. Serpents, as a whole, were woeful at miming mammalian expressions. "Protect!"

Walken nodded.

There was no more time for sentimentality.

With both hands, he invoked the first phase of a tier 7 teleportation alternative known as Ethereal Jaunt. The spell was an old one, favoured by Mages who preferred delicacy, for it allowed one's physical body to temporarily cross the liminal space of the Astral Plane. Once a Mage was shifted in-between the material and immaterial, he was then free to spontaneously traverse short distances.

"… Ethereal Jaunt!" Walken finished the Mandala with a final flourish.

The world turned colourless and transparent.

Below his feet, he saw the dimension-warping body of the Shoggoth, so enormous as to bend the Astral current, displacing the edgeless grey gloom. Within that colossal, oesophagus-like body of the Void creature was the tunnel that had descended into the MSS's old secret base, inside which sat a clump of hyper-dense Negative Energy. And not far from that solidified malevolence was the vibrant silhouette of his protégé, flickering like a candle caught by the Astral wind.

Gwen gasped.

"E-Eric?" she spluttered, scarcely believing her eyes. "Why are you here?"

"SHUT UP and listen." Her instructor's berating tone cooled her feverish head. "The barrier's not going to hold. I am not a Faith Caster, and that's a stolen Relic. We've got a minute..."

PZZZCK!

A green ray of Disintegration, perfect for destroying barriers, struck the golden halo. Aella screeched defiantly, flapping its wings.

"... a dozen seconds at best!"

"Eric, I—"

"We will Dimension Door in tandem." Walken pulled her up by the wrist. "The Lich can't dispel both teleports. We'll piggyback each other."

"That's— brilliant!" Gwen's eyes, so dull a moment ago, lit up with hope. "If that's the case, I'll dismiss my Planar Allies! Cali! Keep the Lich busy!"

"Shaa! Shaa!" Her now twin-headed Naga persisted in its harassment. Outside the barrier, the Lich flittered to and fro, effortlessly teleporting around the chamber, evading Caliban's projectile spittle while testing the halo for weakness.

PZZZCK!

A second splash of emerald energy sizzled the Guardian Shield.

"Protect!" Aella hissed, still holding the barrier. "Gwen! Gwen!"

Her instructor took her hand.

His grip was hard and warm and firm.

"No matter what happens next," her steely-eyed mentor informed her. "Don't leave the Tower again. Your friends are waiting for you. Richard and Petra, and Elvia in London— they're ALL waiting for you."

"Okay!" Gwen conjured the courage that the Lich had previously beaten out of her inch by inch. "Gogo! Thanks for everything, I'll make it up to you! Shoggy! GO HOME! BANISH!"

The Summoning Mandala burst into brilliant silver as it sizzled out. Golos could return home or stay at its leisure, though for now, a retreat was obviously the preferable course. As for the Shoggoth, it shouldn't be able to maintain itself for long once she cut it off at the source. As for its continued duration— that was also a subject of the field test.

Gwen clutched her instructor's bony digits, feeling such gladness that her heart verged on bursting.

"See you on the other side." Walken squeezed her trembling fingers.

"Dimension Door!"

"Dimension Door!"

Walken brushed the scroll-dust from his fingers.

He breathed out, suddenly relieved.

The girl was safe.

His conscience was at ease.

With this, he had paid back some of his debt.

"You Teleported the blasphemer?" The Lich's consternation was as stark as blighted ice. "That wasn't a Dimension Door."

"Didn't expect that, did you?" Walken grinned at the Lich. It was impossible not to smile. When the Lich's Greater Dispel had washed over them both, it was hard not to burst out in laughter. "Wasn't that great? Scrolls can't be countered— and I know you Undead lads have no talent for Divination. You could Teleport after her if you like. For all I know, you just might pop into the Tower's range."

If stares could kill, Walken was sure the Lich would raise him just to kill him again.

"I know. I know. You feel cheated." Walken opened both hands to show he meant no harm. "Could you blame me? You were killing her outright, after all. What's the use in delivering a corpse to Beijing? In lieu of her absurdly expensive Contingency Ring, I opted for a reasonably costly scroll inscribed by none other than Magister Moseley. Do you know who that is? I don't suppose you receive the Oxbridge Almanac in Pyongyang, do you? How do you bumpkins keep up with the times?"

PZZZCK!

Yet another beam struck the barrier maintained by Aella. While the shield held, the strands of gold woven into the spell visibly decreased. The Relic Walken had hidden in his possession since acquiring the Couatl from its homeland would last a few more gloats at best.

"Relax, old chap. Don't be so hasty." Walken forced down the reflux simmering at his throat. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Eric Walken, a Grey Faction Magister. I'd like you to know that in our Faction, we are not completely averse to your kind..."

PZZZCK!

Aella shrieked, shedding feathers like softly falling snow. Its power infusion was at an end.

Walken's sped up his pitch.

"YOUR FREEDOM IN EXCHANGE FOR MY LIFE—" the Magister materialised a Divination Beacon in one hand. It was his Message Device, designed to resemble a pocket watch. "Having anticipated our encounter, this device is glyphed with a Divi-loc that will take you at least ten kilometres in the direction of Pyongyang. The city might fall, but you don't have to. My little girl's experiment might have taken down your goons, but I am sure the Great Leader would be amiss if one of his Generals were to perish."

The Lich paused.

"As a token of my sincerity..." Walken gestured to Aella.

With a wail, his feathered serpent returned to its pocket dimension.

As a spell, Spirit Guardian directly taxed the Essence of the tapped Spirit. With both Aella and its birth-relic burned out, Walken was at the Lich's Mercy, as exposed as a new-born babe.

"You would play traitor to your people?" The Lich's disgust was palpable. "And you call yourself a Tower Magister?"

"Better than DEAD to my people." Walken waved the device. "Not to mention, the Chinese are hardly my people. I've got a wife and two daughters waiting for me in London, you know. Now that I've sent the girl back safe and sound, I've got all the more reason to live…"

"Why should I trust a traitor—"

Glurp-GLOOP!

The eyes on the walls shifted, oozing its distinctive grey goo.

One by one, the orbs shifted in their sockets until altogether, they stared down at the duo still in the belly of the beast.

As one, a dozen mouths opened to speak.

"Please don't die."

"Bloody hell!"

"Eric!"

"IDIOT!"

"Come back!"

"You tricked me!"

"Not like this!"

"Bastard!"

"If you die… I'll kill you!"

Walken wasn't sure if a Lich could shiver, but he sure as hell did.

In all honesty, though Gwen's sweet moans echoed from the mincing, drooling mouths mated to the wall, the spectacle was horrific beyond belief. He wasn't sure how the phenomenon worked in theory, but he wasn't averse to taking advantage of the unexpected.

"The perils of teaching." Walken fought down his unease with a smile. It was delightful listening to the girl's woes, but he would have preferred that it came from her petals and not a chorus of lamprey-lips lined with razor-sharp teeth.

With a straight face, he turned to the Lich.

"Looks like her ASTRAL DEVOURER is finally coming home to roost. It takes effort to wrangle a beast that consumes REALITY ITSELF, you understand. But I digress. Your men are scattered, your troops annihilated. Your city is ripe for the taking." Walken dangled the pocket-watch so that it swung like a metronome. "So, General, what will it be? Is the life of a single Magister worth losing an eternity of blessed Undeath?"

The North Korean General's gaunt face remained unreadable.

Walken held up the Divination Beacon in one hand.

A bluff could only go so far without committing himself.

"Suit yourself. Telepor—"

"GRASP HEART!"

"—Arrrghk!" Walken staggered, allowing the Message Device to fall from his hand.

A little too late, a Lightning wreathed Mage Shield then sprung into place.

"HA! Worm of the Tower!" Twiddling a finger, the Lich summoned the device into its hand. "You foreigners and your weak-willed conviction will never overcome the Path of Juche!"

"You scoundrel!" Walken coughed as the magically-induced cardiac arrest seized his heart. A split-second later, a near-instantaneous and uncounterable Contingency Teleport enveloped his convulsing figure.

"I wish you repose in the afterlife," the Lich intoned, swinging Walken's Message Device gloatingly. "Until the day I call upon your service."

"ERIC! Thank God! You're alive!"

Eric Walken, Instructor-Advisor to Fudan, slowly sat, aided by none other than the premier healer-researcher of Stanford, Chief Proctor Maryam Clark Jamison.

Unexpectedly, there was a tear-stained young woman in his arms and pressed against his chest, a sensation he had not felt since leaving London.

Reflexively, he cupped the girl's face. But rather than familiar azure of Audrey or Beatrix or Angie's eyes, he met with a pair of moist green irises speckled with amber.

"Thanks for the demonstration, Eric." Magister Jamison removed her hand from his back. In her off-hand, she held a recording slate, while behind the Chief Proctor stood two medical officers with Lumen-recorders. "I wasn't expecting a live demonstration— and yet, here we are."

"A what? Of… what?" Walken's lucidity trickled back. He touched a finger to his lips and felt the warmth there. There was a sweet floral taste in his mouth. When he looked down, the girl was red-faced and buried in his dishevelled robes.

His chest ached like nothing else.

"The CPR, of course." Jamison looked a though she'd just finished an intense session at the spell range. "The girl broke a few of your ribs, but I've since restored them. I have to say, I am impressed."

Walken patted the girl in his arms. "Happy now? You gave me a heart attack."

In response, the girl hugged him so tightly that his spine groaned.

"NEVER MIND THAT!" Walken suddenly lifted his body from the gurney. This seemed to surprise the girl, who slid off with a yelp, falling onto the floor.

"Sorry, now's not a good time to play house."

"Wha—?" Gwen's adorable blush turned to one of indignation.

"G44.22.1-Q22-41-98!" Walken almost howled out the coordinates. "Quickly! Someone lend me a Message Device! I need to let the Lieutenant-General know! We may yet catch ourselves a Lich!"

"So— what happens now?" Alizea Kock, the vice-captain of Pretoria, tugged her ponytail loose, drawing eyes from across the room. "What? Don't look at me. I can't do what she just did. That 'Devourer' thing isn't an Ooze."

Her captain, the lauded star of House Hertzog, was affixed to the lumen crystals he had acquired from a sympathetic proctor on a hand-held device.

"So, did we win or lose?" Alizea's voice oozed. "Against... that."

"The part where she choked a reborn Soul Flayer, moaned for a quarter of an hour, or the part where she consumed half the underground bunker?"

"All of it?"

Jean-Paul raised a pale hand. "May I speak, Miss Kock?"

"Speak freely, leech." The Ooze Mage jiggled as she leaned back, languished by the surreal sight to which they had just bore witness.

Alizea's frustration wasn't hers alone. For the better part of two days, Pretoria had exhausted themselves defending the PLA's troops, simultaneously breaching the eastern quadrant of the city. Even at the risk of injury, Schalk and the others had punched through no less than twelve checkpoints, killing six named Necromancers and countless acolytes.

However, a kilometre away from the central chamber where the highest concentration of CCs awaited, they and the PLA Mages aiding Pretoria were ordered to retreat.

The rationale? All troops had to make way for the all-consuming Void Beast that was making its way through the city centre.

The delay had persisted for a day, after which the now fabled "Devourer" revealed itself, spilling over onto the city's surface until grey ectoplasm inundated every conceivable cranny, leaving nothing organic in its wake.

Furthermore, to add insult to injury, the notice came two days later that the Purge was at an end and that the Tower would now move to occupy Shenyang's ley-line.

That was when Schalk lodged a complaint, after which their advisor returned with copies of Fudan's crystals to placate the team. Upon review, all protest evaporated as they watched Fudan's Gwen Song run face-first into a Lich, after which she had to be rescued by her instructor.

Once Magister Walken sent Gwen back to base, the vid-cast ended. When Schalk asked the others how they would have dealt with the Lich, the whole team engaged in a prolonged debate, but agreed on one thing— none of them could have held the Lich as Gwen had.

It didn't help that the PLA had then effectively 'exorcised' that very same Lich. According to the rumours, Fudan's instructor had predicted where the Lich would choose to teleport above ground. When finally the People's Hall fell, and the Lich materialised, it appeared well within the range of Dalian's adjusted artillery.

The resulting spell-cluster was a strategic bombardment involving a Mandala of Disintegration, a six-some battery of Atlas 388s, two Spell Jammers, and a projected, maximised and empowered Sun Beam from the Lieutenant-General himself. So little of the Lich's mana signature was left afterwards that at least a decade would pass before it could be reborn from its phylactery.

"Unless they're disqualified, Fudan is going to out-CC us," Jean-Paul intoned demurely, not wanting to meet Azalea's smokey eyes. "But we should advance nonetheless. I am looking forward to our home match— I am missing Pretoria already."

"Regtig? And why would you think that?"

"Gwen is strong," their Void Mage continued, more confident now that he wasn't rebuked. "But she's a Spellcraft amateur in reality. The chances of her squaring off an offensive duelist from Oxford or the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy is virtually nil. Strategically, she could utilise this Devourer of hers, but from the fact that we all had to retreat, its ability to differentiate friend and foe must be minimal. If anything, the IIUC will not allow a sorceress with such an unpredictable skillset into a higher-tier competition where the stakes can be incredibly high."

"I agree with Jean-Paul," Schalk concurred. "Especially when the final two bouts traditionally take place in the Wildlands, usually conducted with, or against Demi-humans. She's simply too unpredictable, not to mention she's a magnet for trouble. As for her Void Beast, one only needs to look toward Elizabeth Sobel."

The team nodded, they had all studied up on the modern history of Void Magic thanks to Jean-Paul and Gwen Song.

"And so far, in all of her matches, she had pulled through mostly by the skin of her teeth. And during our current quest, she had TWICE almost met a grisly end…" Schalk reminded his teammates. "Comparatively, we're relatively unscathed, that has to be taken into account."

"And her teammates…" Jean-Paul's voice trailed off.

"Are hondekak." Lencho wagged a finger rudely.

"Lencho!" Schalk snorted at their Lightning Mage. "Gwen is twice the Evoker you profess to be."

"Ja—ja—" Lencho growled. "Acting nice doesn't mean we deny the truth. Richard and Lulan are passable, but not on our level. Their Captain barely reaches your ankles. The rest of her team…"

The Evoker wiggled a pinky.

"Bly stil." Schalk waved him away. "Our conversation isn't private."

Around the officer's lounge, the Chinese Mages kept a respectful distance from the Afrikaners. Hopefully, Schalk glanced around the place; these junior officers didn't have Translation stones capable of filtering Afrikaans.

"We'll wait for the outcome." Schalk reset the Lumen-recording. "For now, let's review the scenes again— ours, Fudan's and Auckland's. I want each of your thoughts and countermeasures."

Magister Jamison laid down the facts with a flourish.

She had gotten her heart's desire, and now it was time to pay the piper.

"At this point, I don't think there's much point bean-counting." She pointed to the lumen screens behind her. On each was a lumen-crystal playing Fudan's highlights, which was to say, a certain Void sorceress' most valorous and lascivious moments. Though some of the recording had been blocked by the Lich's Necromancy, subjects under the Eye of Providence provided individiual Divi-Scrys via inscribed Eye-beacons. "Need I remind the Proctors that extreme circumstances call for unusual measures— and that Fudan has shown itself to be a true anomaly?"

A dozen hands raised from the long table.

"Jacqueline, speak your mind."

"Paris' opinion," the blonde Magister spoke with a haughtiness distinct to the French. "Is that Fudan should not advance."

"And the reason?"

"We are bending too many rules for them already." The Magister tapped the table with a fountain pen. "First, we turned a blind eye to the Chinese when they fed Fudan the most viable quests. Then, we capitulated to their instructor's request to use the Shoggoth in what was essentially a clear violation of the limitation of spell tiers. THEN, their instructor broke protocol and rescued contestant Gwen Song."

"Noted. Though I must remind you that as Chief Proctor, I did consult with the PLA, our host, it was they who made the request." Jamison stood her ground. "And besides, what would you do, have the girl die?"

"Absurd! She possessed a one-of-a-kind Contingency Ring!"

"She was holding off a Lich!"

"From which she was rescued, when she should have dealt with the escape on her own."

"Let's agree to disagree on that point," Jamison scoffed. "The circumstances for the violation were sound. We don't send students to duel Liches, Magister Brodeur; we don't send Magisters to duel them either."

The Parisian proctor snorted. "You may see a wonderful specimen, but I see a danger. Chief Proctor, Magister Jamison, let me be plain. I know that you got research out of Gwen Song. Thereby, I openly question your impartiality."

"No doubt." Jamison's eyes grew hard. "And it is your privilege to do so. That said, feel free to lodge your complaint. For reasons I can't possibly discern, I think Brussels will take Oxbridge and Stanford's revision over yours."

The room grew frigid.

"Now, now." Another proctor stood between them. "Let's not get so cavalier about our differences. We're all on the same side. Chief Proctor Jamison, what will it take for you to concede Fudan's advancement? I will not fault your admiration of the girl's talents, but her team won't cut the mustard, as you Americans say. The final rounds are simply too much. Consider the mediocrity of their support and the limitations of China's indigenous Spellcraft, and in particular, their rented Healer from Seoul. Haven't you heard that their Cleric now refuses to participate? At best, Fudan has a passable team of five, with the rest being spell fodder. Why send them into the next round just to be humiliated? Fudan won't even have home ground. They'll be fighting in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I am sure you know the area, yes? What possibility is there for another 'Shoggoth' to be deployed in the American heartland?"

Jamison's chocolate orbs scanned the table of proctors. Of the dozen present, most of the contingent hailed from American Universities and therefore would follow her lead. The few that remained opposed, however, weren't easy to sway nor quick to be cowed. The rules of the IIUC were ironclad, and obedience to the regulations are absolute. As their leader in Brussels once said, rules are broken only once— after that, they're just a technicality.

"That may be, but the girl's singular contributions cannot be ignored," Jamison intoned, staring down the European Magisters. "That said, if Pretoria must advance, then I shall nominate Miss Song for the title of Most Valuable Participant."

"Preposterous!" The proctor from Paris slammed the table. "There are two more matches to be concluded! AND the girl's from a no-name, third-string Chinese institution!"

"And should any of the competition's future participants fend off a Lich, consume six-dozen Necromancers, six-and-a-half thousand Undead, not to mention thousands in collateral fodder... They can then convince the PLA, an important regional ally, to offer up Contribution Credits in their name. Find me a Mage willing to do HALF of that, and I'll concede."

"Jacqueline." Another proctor placed a hand on the fuming woman's shoulder. "Leave it to Magister Jamison. We have an acceptable resolution, and she's still the Chief Proctor."

"Very well." Jamison motioned. "All in favour of Pretoria to advance, Fudan and Auckland to concede, and Gwen Song as the nominee for MVP, say 'aye'."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Then I won't ask for 'nay'." Magister Jamison slid a dozen slates across the table. "Sign, please. After that, we'll tally the CCs. They should be nothing but damning, in MY opinion."

Percy endured the constant line of congratulations with the patience of an Earthen Abjurer.

It was a chore he bore with dignity. How else was he going to stomach the nauseating reality that his seniors were vicariously addressing his sister by greeting her facsimile?

"Gwen eradicated the Lich?" Mei gushed, her eyes sparkling, her grin so extensive as to appear comical.

"She was involved in the process. I'd imagine." Percy forced himself to desist in tapping his left foot, dispelling some of his aggravation. Naturally, he refused to believe the gossip. If Gwen did solo a Lich at eighteen, he may as well give up now and spend the rest of his life living in the limelight of the future General-Secretary Song.

"They say her Devourer consumed all the Necromancers! She's a hero, just like Uncle Jun!"

"But she was injured." Percy made a face, wondering when he would be allowed to visit the upper portion of the Tower, if at all. "As usual, Sis was over-ambitious and bit off more than she could chew. I imagine Babulya is going to be upset."

"And Uncle Hai as well." Mei hypothesised un-ironically, having met the charming Hai just once, Percy's father had left a wonderful impression.

"I wouldn't channel mana into that idea." Percy's tone softened. "Dad… let's not talk about Dad. If anything I think Uncle Jun would be more upset."

"When do you think we can see Gwen?"

"Not anytime soon. Our party is going back to Shanghai as soon as Shenyang re-opens the routes. But maybe we can bum a Teleport from my sister. She's loaded, after all."

"Aiyaaa! Rich, pretty, and she eats Necromancers by the dozen! Percy, you're the luckiest little brother I know!"

Percy smiled politely, then sighing, he fell into deep thought while one thumb caressed his Kirin pendant.

As usual, Gwen returned from an adventure laden with accomplishments and prospects. That his sister's Necromantic ability to stack corpses to pad her talent wasn't yet an open secret was astounding to Percy. Comparatively, he had been risk-aversive since realising the pendant's utility.

Nevertheless, though incomparable to his sister's nonchalance in swallowing her enemies on national Vid-cast, he had not wasted his time at the Front. Thanks to the invasion, he had gotten permission from his instructor to follow the 7th Recon in repelling multiple waves of the Undead Tide. As a result, by merely fighting beside the PLA soldiers, he was able to pick up not only the ethereal Essence from the perishing Undead but also the occasional jolt from a dying Mage.

For someone at his tier, his progress had been nothing short of incredible. The prolonged engagement had ensured a wealth of opportunities. Where previously he had hunted the blighted dead for days just to feed smidgens of Essence into the Kirin Core, his ancestral spirit now gorged on a feast of dissipating energies so thick as to form a miasma over the battlefield. Where the NoMs and the Undead had been locked in ultra-violence, he had felt tirelessly energised. As a result, his pendant was now glossy and nourished, its veins pulsing with an inner radiance. That and his instructor and the Captain from the 7th had put in a commendation for his excellent display of valour.

"You're right, Mei— I AM lucky." Percy slipped the pendant back into place, just above his heart. "Either way, this training trip has taught me a lot. My bottleneck on Evocation and Transmutation are both loosening."

"So soon?!" Mei squealed. "And your Abjuration is almost at tier three!"

"I AM the brother of the famous Devourer of Shenyang, after all." Percy mulled over the nickname fast spreading through the ranks. When one desired a fashionable alias, the acquisition was harder than grappling a greased orc. When it came to stupidly suggestive ones, they spread like a swarm of pissed-off fire ants.

"Are you disappointed?" Whetu and the other Maori's protruding bodies ensured that Yue hid behind a mountain of caramel flesh.

"Over what? Gwen being choice?" Yue stabbed at the grape in her bowl.

"Over Auckland being bested." Whetu glanced at their advisor, saw the woman contentedly chatting with the others, then turned back toward Yue.

"I should be." Yue scratched her chin, then pointed at the rest of her team. "But does that mob look they're moping over their loss?"

"... Oi suppose you're right."

Two tables across and crowding the soldier's mess, the Wikiriwhi brothers were slamming down free beers with the NCOs. After the declaration of the operation's decisive success, those not on duty had all assembled in the lower mess to celebrate, with the Non-Coms bringing in crates of bubbling horse piss.

Not far, Rongo, the Water Evoker, sprayed spittle all over, narrating his conquest of the Necromancers at Shimenzi. Rona, Auckland's quaterling captain, stood on a table, entertaining a group of whistling soldiers with illusions of Gwen overpowering the enemy. As for the rest, Auckland's happy-go-lucky participants wandered here and there, receiving hugs, clinking glasses, and exchanging boasts of their contributions in the war.

"Not joining them?" Yue grinned. "They told me I shouldn't drink while the healing spells are still in effect, so I've been stuck with this ginseng root brew."

"Oi'll stay ear with you." The big man blushed.

"Aw, that's sweet, Whetu." Yue giggled, then sighed. "There is something though— since you're asking. Ya know— I thought I'd caught up to Gwen by now, but so much for that, eh? Did you know that when we first started, she had no idea how an Awakening worked and spent almost three months trying to cast Magic Missile without using a Sigil? She was such a clueless hussy back then. It was cute."

"Oi am sure et was." Whetu grinned.

"And there's this time she got dragged by her uncle into a marriage arrangement thing, offered to the highest bidder, you know? And at his mansion, she got hog-tied and put up for auction, and then in the nick of time, my Master crashed through the ceiling and burned the dickhead's house down. It was in the news for days."

"That oi don't remember," Whetu chortled. "You know, are you sure that's root beer? It smells strong as anything..."

"Eh, close enough." Yue took another long swig. "So that's it, eh? Back to Sydney for me. Back to my hovel! I guess I've accomplished my objective. Got to meet Gwen, see the world, crisped up a dozen Necromancers, almost burned out my conduits. All-in-all, a good road trip before I start my new job in the Greater Sydney Militia."

"Blessed moana, Oi hope we're not taking the sheep back." Whetu paled. As a Pounamu Mage strongly attuned to Elemental Earth, the big man languished when left at sea for extended periods.

"I'll send word to our rich bitch," Yue snickered, before suddenly slapping Whetu on the thighs. "Oi oi oi— Wait-a-second—"

"What is it?" Whetu winced, startled by the unanticipated assault.

"If Gwen is free to leave Shanghai after this, and she's got crystals for days…" Yue clapped her hand. "Why the fuck shouldn't she take a detour back to Sydney? Holy shit! I have to let her know before she plans her trip!"

Gwen took a deep breath, circulating Essence to displace her nerves.

Though she had lost Ayxin's scale, the flow and control she maintained remained no worse than before. It meant that "Essentially", her training wheel stage of Essence-control was over.

As for her health, she felt fine, though according to Magister Jamison, she shouldn't be out and about just yet— not after copping a Circle of Death and a Grasp Heart, both spells from which Mages seldom walked away.

Still, her present errand had to be done. Else, she would never taste the sweet balm of guiltless sleep again.

"Ee ee!" Gwen's unseen helper offered a yip of encouragement. In turn, she patted her invisible pseudo-Kirin, then gathered up her strength for the cringeworthiness to come.

"It's me, Gwen." She knocked on the ward door. "Can I come in?"

"Gwen? Bless the Goddess! Come on in!" Mayuree's peppy voice chimed an invitation.

Gwen opened the door.

Recuperation suites in the Tower were neither spacious nor many, so the two girls who had been "Contingencied" back had been shoved into one room, their beds split by a pale blue privacy curtain.

"Gwen, they told me you were injured as well!"

"Ha— I survived, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, eh?"

"If you say so. We've won, right? The healers aren't keen on details."

"That... isn't for me to say."

Gwen regarded the two girls in their sanatorium gowns. Mayuree had lost the lustre with which she was usually suffused. Heartachingly, her chubby cheeks had since grown sallow, and she looked to have lost her usual weight.

One bed space across, Eunae was no less adorable than her usual self, though the healer's expression when she walked through the door wasn't at all welcoming.

"Yi… yi…" Something quailed under the bed. It was Luyi, Eunae's doe sprite, covering its eyes with its hooves.

"Mia, Eunnie," Gwen swallowed. Just in case, she toned down the Essence circulation. What she needed now was a softer, sisterly touch. "Are the both of you alright? We won the battle. Shenyang is ours once more. The Undead are gone!"

"I knew it!" Mayuree punched the air, a gesture she'd inherited from Gwen. "Great work, Gwennie, I was confident you could do it! What does that mean? Are we going to advance? Are we going to America or London? Marong's currently trading with the Rare Stone and Creature Core markets over there. I am sure we'll be looked after if he makes a request, we're talking hundreds of thousands of HDMs here..."

"No..." Eunae moaned, her brow breaking out in a terrific cold sweat.

On cue, Gwen repositioned herself sympathetically, then reached out with a hand of compassion and mercy.

"Eunnie, are you feeling okay? Do I need to call the physician?"

Her healer began to cry.

Great glops of liquid leaked from Eunae's big brown eyes, painting a very picture of pity.

"Aww, don't cry." Gwen patted the girl softly, feeling every bit the remorseless villain. "Eunnie, whatever's the matter, you can tell your vice-captain, okay?"

Eunae's sobs stifled. When she looked up, her expression was both defiant and melancholic.

Okay— Post Wraith-Stress Disorder? Gwen bit her lip. Despite being a post-Lich survivor, she wasn't at all familiar in dealing with real-life PTSD. What she remembered of the subject was pure conjecture gained from reading the ABC and BBC. As for her moment of terror, it was easy to banish the spring-wrangling horror when a threat could be externally rationalised. That or she was growing a little too numb to hair-breathe escapes for her own comfort. Thrill-seeking, as her old psychologist would say, was no less self-destructive.

"Talk to me, Eunnie." Gwen put aside her problems for the moment. She wasn't a stranger to comforting young interns. As a manager, she understood the carrot and the stick, and though she had never fancied herself Merril Streep from the "Devil Wears Prada", she could be very commanding when the occasion arouse. "If it's a problem that we can solve, then we will solve it together."

"Ee ee!" Ariel comforted Luyi by stroking the doe with its furry tail. Unfortunately, Eunae's Familiar appeared dead-set on mirroring its owner's anxiety.

Assuming an expression of great patience, Gwen waited.

And waited.

Then waited some more.

And then she realised, with a little internal surprise, that there was a limit to her patience and sympathy. As Gwen had always suspected, Dr Monroe charged an arm and a leg for good reasons; that woman possessed the patience of Mother Theresa.

"Gwen," Mayuree interjected when Eunae continued to play the ostrich. "Listen, but keep comforting Eunnie."

Gwen remained still, persisting in her patience act. Mayuree was using a silent Message.

"Eunae's spooked," Gwen's Burmese companion explained. "I don't think you should be speaking to Eunae about victories. She's deathly scared of progress at the moment. I guess she blames you— wrongly— for what happened to her. That and she's frightened. You have to remember, Eunnie's just an exchange student, she got talked into the competition by the Dean just to be your support. She's not— equipped for some of the things we've seen and done."

Like usurping a country, murdering a sibling, quelling a rebellion and selling the dynast to a Dragon, Gwen thought even as she inclined her chin. That and eat people and monsters to steal their talent and Essence.

"We've been here almost ten days now, and we've talked a lot," Mayuree continued. "Eunnie's wish was to be a top physician in Tokyo or Shanghai or anywhere… away from the Front. She thought taking a turn in the IIUC would look good on her resume, but then, of course, we won in Peru. She had thought about quitting then, but her family told her to stay. When it was announced that we were going to the Front, she almost ran, but again, the Lees kept up the pressure."

"Her dad?"

"OVER her Dad, and her brother, too. Their careers had been held hostage. That's what Eunae said. The main family's influence in Seoul is unparalleled."

"Well, shit." Gwen moved to hug Eunae, but the girl drew back.

Gwen bit her lower lip.

"It's alright, Eunnie." She patted the girl on the knees. "I won't make you do anything you don't want to, alright? I'll talk to your family."

"It's no use. Gwen, we'll have to replace her." Mayuree's tone was unexpectedly stark, likely as a result of failing to persuade Eunae for several days. Still, for Gwen, the Diviner's proposal came as a surprise. After Kitty's passing and Marong's take over of the family business, her Diviner had most certainly changed, though Gwen wasn't sure if it was for the better. "Didn't Golos say Lulu could go to the Mount for lessons? Maybe you could learn that healing Lightning you told me about, we'll find someone else to replace Eunae, ideally a buffer like those Auckland girls. Then, we advertise for a Faith Healer."

"I don't know for sure if we're going to advance," Gwen whispered back. "The Shoggoth did a lot, but Walken had to save me in the end—"

"That traitor Magister saved you?" Mayuree gasped. "So the rumours are true?"

Gwen cleared her throat, blushed a little, then spoke out audibly.

"Why don't we take a walk, get some fresh air? Eunnie, you can tell me all about what you wish to do next, and I'll relay what happened after our series of unfortunate events."

On day fourteen, the marshalling rostrum on the second tier of the renamed Shenyang Tower played host to the summing-up of the International Inter-University Competition.

With all three teams standing shoulder to shoulder in the quadrangle, the Lieutenant-General of Shenyang, now the Provincial-Secretary of New Liaoning, gifted each contestant with a pin-stripe palladium medal for "Service to the Republic of China and its People".

As the lumen-recorders hovered over the gathered crowd, the students turned to salute the surviving soldiers. In response, all bowed deeply, thanking one another for risking their all to return Shenyang to the world of the living.

Atop the pulpit, Provincial-Secretary Qíao delivered an hour-long speech detailing the valour of the troops and their sacrifices. He began with thanking Mao for garnering the will of the people and ended with a special mention for Committee Chair Song, whose granddaughter had contributed significantly to the victory at Shenyang. Finally, Magister Eric Walken, formerly of Oceania, stepped forward to receive an individual medal of recognition for catalysing the banishment of the Lich Oi Kuk-ryol.

After the speech, Magister Jamison, Chief Proctor, declared that though Fudan was the overall winner of the Chinese round, they had chosen to bow out. In total, Fudan had finished the competition with a tally of 7,450 CCs to Pretoria's 4745 and Auckland's 3270. However, due to extenuating circumstances such as Magister Walken's intervention, the contestants had chosen to end their bid on a high note.

Finally, the night concluded with an officer's soiree wherein Fudan, Pretoria and Auckland traded contact details. For high-tier competitions, networking was a principle purpose; for there was nothing quite like mutual survival to bond young mages into a web way of 'guan-xi'. In the decades to follow, assuming the students survived to become Magisters, Secretaries, Ministers and Tower Masters, their youthful memories would grow into bonds of trust. Two decades on, if Minister Hertzog had a problem in South Africa, he could look to an old friend like Secretary Bai, or Magister Song of Sydney for advice or support. A few years on, they would then return the favour under no uncertain circumstances.

And so it was that after a healthy infusion of alcohol, Gwen found herself facing a deeply embarrassed and completely scarlet Jean-Paul asking for her Message Glyph.

"Shall we take a stroll?" Gwen extended an elbow. "You did say you wanted to talk in private."

"Y-yes." In his double-breasted jacket, the pale Jean-Paul was positively oozing, not unlike a lightly-salted slug.

For the farewell party, the students had changed into their best for the mass media. As before, Gwen had dressed her team in oriental-themed garbs, rehashing the same outfits from Cuzco with different accessories. For herself, she had chosen a midnight blue floral cheongsam with a classic thigh-split, paired with a pair of platform pumps in pearl. It wasn't anything outlandish, but the lumen-recorders burned bright nonetheless.

Comparatively, Auckland was decisively uncomfortable wearing three-piece suits, meaning the moment the media relented, the men were reduced to tie-less dress shirts. As for the three female members, it was Yue who naturally stood out— both for being the only Asian in a throng of caramel giants and her halter-maxi, on loan from Alesia.

And for Pretoria, the Afrikaners reminded Gwen of a wedding party, with the men stiff in charcoal herringbone, adorned with ties in sunburst and emerald, accessorised with union-jack pocket squares. In such a garb, even the boisterous Lencho was pleasing to the eye, proving that even lipstick did work on hogs. Comparatively, the women were more florid in their attire, with Alizea, Ella, Izette and Mariette igniting many an imagination.

As for her present company, Gwen wondered if Jean-Paul had intentionally morphed his self-fitting suit two sizes too large, appearing so hollow that, for a moment, she wondered if Umzokwe would crawl out to say hello.

"We're alone now." Gwen found a place by the outer wall. Gingerly, she tucked her dress against her buttocks with both hands, then sat between the jutting battlement. "So, what's Mevrou Bekker's proposal?"

Jean-Paul's face was by now the colour of boiled beetroot. The Void Mage had been shadowing her all night, leading Richard to joke that she had gained a new Familiar.

"Before I explain— how do you like my spells?" Jean-Paul began with an unusual ice-breaker. "Like… Usurp and Consumptive Orb, did you watch the lumen-crystals I sent over?"

"I watched them twice!" Gwen sighed wistfully, turning her face to enjoy the wind. With the Undead gone and the ley-line thrumming below, the night had lost its malicious chill. "Simply masterful, Jean-Paul. Compared to you, I feel like a bruiser. There's going to be so much I have to learn and relearn in London. But of course, you said they're not for trading."

"Well, they could be…"

"THEY CAN?" Gwen perked up. Flashing Jean-Paul a simpering smile, she arched her spine to present her best profile, her heels swinging like puppy tails. "Go on, I am listening. I've got CCs to burn, babe."

"Babe? YES! NO! I mean..." Jean-Paul stared at her shoes. "Oh, you meant me, right, right… er…"

Gwen awaited the Void Mage's offer, weighing the young man with considerable attention.

"Umm— look, I am going to just come out and say this. The Mevrou gave me a 'Quest', if you will, for my benefit, that is..."

"I am listening."

Jean-Paul looked her in the eyes.

She smiled back.

The Void Mage grinned, looking very thirsty indeed.

Fighting back a snort, Gwen redirected her mirth toward more constructive feelings. While Jean-Paul remained the most malformed creature she had ever seen, his unique visage now appeared to her a sort of cuteness associated with Sphinx Cats.

"Goed, I am going to say it— okay?"

"Ja."

"The Mevrou will teach you all the spells she has made if you can lend me... your egg."

Gwen blinked. "My what?"

"Egg?" Jean-Paul appeared to look for a crack to crawl into.

"Like…" Gwen made a somewhat obscene gesture with her fingers that resembled an okay sign, then poked a finger into it. For some reason, all she could think of was Ayxin and Jun.

"No! Your o..." Jean-Paul's eyes fell lower to where her waist tapered, and her hips flared out.

"You mean—" Gwen felt suddenly dizzy. "My OVARIES?"

"I think? I am not sure why I said egg... eggs."

"I think the Mevrou inferred my womb."

"Ah?" Jean-Paul looked hopeful.

But Gwen's expression was no longer kind nor friendly.

"I take it she wants to see what happens when two Void Mages conceive a child," she intoned, gritting her teeth. The vision of Axyin in her mind was quickly replaced by the face of Elizabeth Sobel. "I understand her concern, but I am really questioning her intent. Let's say I am missing a few brain cells and consent—"

"Er…" Jean-Paul looked as though he was emerging from a sauna. "I… I don't know? I mean, I would imagine marriage first… I am supposed to be Catholic."

"—Whatever. Sure. BUT then what? What happens if there IS a child? Is she going to take my BABY? Is she expecting a mother to give up her babe? For what? Her experiments? That's monstrous!"

Even as Gwen spluttered, she glared at Jean-Paul, her eyes sharp with displeasure. Together with her rising ire, a wave of Dragon-fear rippled out, prickling the shivering Jean-Paul with icy jabs of primordial terror.

"I think I misunderstood—"

"I don't fucking think so." Gwen's voice grew infinitely stiff, turning almost into a rumble. "No. No. No. Jean-Paul, you're barking up the wrong tree, mate."

"I meant no offence." Jean-Paul raised both hands. His pupils turned midnight as he circulated notes of Void to fight off the gut-clenching fear. "I think I misinterpreted my Quest."

"Whatever." Gwen stood. In her heels, her Amazonian stature towered over the little man. "A little tact could have helped to lubricate your proposal."

"I am not good with love, or romance, or dates." Jean-Paul's eyes floated like a pair of runny eggs. "I've never touched a woman either—"

"Okay, a little too much info there," Gwen groaned, realising Jean-Paul really was serious. Scattering her bubbling Essence, she withdrew the Dragon-fear. "Tell ya what, bud, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. What are the Mevrou's exact words?"

"My Master wanted to know if it was possible for two Void Mages…"

"To conceive?"

"… to find attraction in one another, and to start a family. She often spoke of children. She also said you might be interested in learning real Void Magic."

"That's fucked up, JP." Gwen decided she should be honest as well. "First of all, I am absolutely not whoring myself out for Signature Spells, no matter how bloody good they may be. Second of all, this hypothetical kid is your son or daughter, JP, and MY flesh and blood. How the hell am I supposed to give him or her up to your Master? What kind of monstrous mother would do that? Fucken oath, I don't know about you, but my child would mean the world to me. I would never abandon them! Your Mevrou would have to pry the baby from my cold dead hands!"

Without warning, Jean-Paul misted over.

"JP! Do you understand— Whoa!" Gwen paused when Jean-Paul oozed in earnest, leaking fluids from every facial orifice.

"You're a good person, Gwen." Jean-Paul fought back his choking voice.

Gwen scratched her head, then recalled what Schalk had revealed about their Void companion. "Oh— Oooo— bugger. I am sorry if I made you remember something unpleasant."

Jean-Paul reached out with his hands.

She allowed the young man to cup her fingers.

Gingerly, the Afrikaner kissed the tip of her digits, then clasped them with his own.

"You're so beautiful and strong —"

Gwen felt goosebumps crawl up her thighs, but before she could withdraw her hand out of disgust, Jean-Paul continued.

"Gwen, I am a bastard born from a whore and a no-name Mage." Jean-Paul stared into her palm as though reading his fortune from the creases on her skin. "The farm I grew up on, it was for talented children who tested positive for rare magic. We were orphans, and we were raised by a Sister. I was there out of luck and pity, but the others— the Mevrou told me they were part of a breeding program by the country's elites. Effectively, we were livestock…"

"Jesus, that's terrible." Gwen resisted hugging the poor sod. Instead, she optioned to sit beside him. At any rate, her womb wasn't for sale, though she was keenly interested in Jean-Paul's origin story. If anything, Schalk said there was quite the saga. "If you're keen to talk, JP, you might as well recount from the beginning. I think I know what the Mevrou wants, and I am not upset, really. We Void Mages are a rare breed, bud, and we should stick together… platonically."

And so, Jean-Paul began.

Gwen listened, commenting every now and then, gasping when the NoMs raided the orphanage for the first time, then fought down her anger when they returned. After Jean-Paul's beloved Mevrou finally entered the scene, she understood why the young man thought the world of his Master.

"The Mevrou told me that we were spare bodies bred to fuel the exhaustion of talent brought by the civil war. She's a little strange, but she's a sincere individual and the closest thing I have ever had to a parent," Jean-Paul explained, exhausted by the emotional outpouring. "Therefore, I sincerely believe in her vision, that together, as a pair, our lives will be better than if we went our separate ways."

Oh boy, Gwen sighed as she traced Jean-Paul's train of thought.

The idea that two Void Mages are better than one was difficult to refute.

After all, who could a Void Mage speak to about their fears?

Who would understand their unyielding hunger?

Who else could empathise with their guilt?

How could a Void Mage open themselves up to anyone but another of their kind? Even herself who had friends and family aplenty had never told anyone the explicit extent of her talent. Since her Master died, not a single other, not Gunther, not Alesia, not Walken or even Petra or her Babulya, fully understood the potential of her talent should she unshackle morality from power, damn the Noblesse Oblige.

Gingerly, she cupped her companion's head and guided Jean-Paul so that the back of his high-rising skull rested against her thigh.

"Don't move," she told the blushing young man. "Let me talk."

"Alright."

"I understand your desire, JP," she said softly. "A family, a home; the power to ward away the wolves and live a life of your own choosing. A lover who understands your fears, your pain, your suffering and your triumphs. That's nice. Those are all admirable goals. I get it."

"Then..."

Gwen interrupted her fellow Void Mage. "Shush—"

"..."

"JP, do you know what love is?"

"I think so."

"Shouldn't you marry the person you love?"

"That only happens in stories," Jean-Paul replied.

"Don't move." Gwen pushed him back against her leg.

"..."

"Good. Let's talk love and Spellcraft— since your Master is offering a two-in-one package."

Jean-Paul looked up at her.

Gwen puckered her lips thoughtfully.

"To me, having power means having the privilege of falling in love with who I want. If I was to marry you and conceive a child so that I could learn the Mervrou's invocations; I would do so to fund my personal power. And once I have what I want, I would leave, because I don't desire power for power's sake. In fact, for making me auction the most sacred part of myself, I would hate myself, and then you, and then your Mevrou. I would loathe such a thing with every fibre of my being. Even if you had made a better case, and I was to fall in love with you, I would doubt myself— do I really care for you? Or are my feelings tainted by ulterior motives? It's a no-win situation, JP, do you see?"

Jean-Paul nodded.

"I am not a romantic, Jean-Paul. I've been through enough to know that the love they show in Vid-cast dramas doesn't exist. I also know that for folks like us who can depopulate a town if left unchecked, marriage is a BIG deal. Nonetheless, I am refusing your offer. One, I barely know you and that my feelings for you are purely platonic. Two, I am rejecting you because you can do better, because one day, someone will appear who genuinely loves you, and then you'll regret everything."

"But..."

"No." Gwen shook her head. "You don't know me, Jean-Paul. You see a polished stone, but underneath, I am a mess of fractures. I am selfish, egotistical, arrogant. I am greedy, and a born hypocrite. I like to talk a good game, but I don't want to sully my hands. I honestly don't think I'll make a right partner for anyone. God knows I am a terrible friend, did you see what happened to Eunae? Did you know we had a teammate, Kitty Liang, that I abandoned to a Naga on a mountaintop, and I felt fucking great doing it?! I was singing myself praises! Viva la vengeance! Of course, eventually, I realised too late Kitty was innocent after all... after I voided her corpse... okay, now I am crying, you asshole."

"..."

The two Void Mage sat side by side, drying their eyes.

"... I ate Sister de Mulder." Jean-Paul suddenly confessed. "And the other children too."

"... fuck me dead..."

"Ja."

"Bloody oath... what a pair we make." Gwen began to laugh, thinking of Caliban's first foray. "For the record, I did that too. A whole den of NoMs and captive Mages."

Jean-Paul snorted, then paused, then joined her bitter laughter.

From atop Shenyang Tower came the roaring of two Void Mages, laughing at the world, laughing at themselves because sometimes, anything was better than silence.

"Gwen?"

"Yeah?"

"Later, do you mind if I come and find you?"

"Sure, but why not make a Tower of your own? You're Meister Bekker's Apprentice. I am a nobody."

"Hey?"

"Ah— you're too modest by half."

"So... I can visit?"

"Sure— you're welcome, bud. I don't know what the Mevrou's expecting from me, but I'll reserve a spot for you, I promise."

"Thanks."

Gwen leaned back, throwing her weight on the palm of her hands.

"Good luck with the competition, JP. Show the world what we Void Mages can do."

"I will. And..."

"And?"

"When I said I'd come to see you, I meant in a few months... I'll see you in London. Our universities are less than an hour's flight apart..."

"... Bloody hell!" Gwen slapped Jean-Paul on the forehead, causing the young man to yelp. "Get off my leg, you cad! You got me all sentimental for no reason!"

Shanghai.

For a week, the politburo debated whether a national holiday should be declared for the reclamation of Shenyang. The victory was a piece of welcoming news— but the CCDI under Secretary-General Miao advised against celebrations. Do not grow lax, Miao intoned; not when the likelihood existed that the city may be retaken.

Nonetheless, a celebration WAS in order. Thus, the largest festival since the fiftieth anniversary of the People's Liberation poured across China's cities, setting alight the night sky with fireworks and illusions.

And in and amongst the dazzling, effect-added propaganda projected from lumen-casters in every square, the citizens of the Middle Country raised cups to the team Fudan.

Of the group, Lulan emerged as the crowd favourite. From the very first broadcast, the vid-projections had emphasised her hot-blooded, iron-wrought "Patriotism".

A notch down the totem pole sat the flame-trailing Jiro, immortalised by a scene of the Fire Mage laying down Phoenix Pinions to defend the PLA soldiers. Lower still, Rene and Anita emerged as regional favourites, each upheld by their respective Frontier regions as paragons of modern Magehood.

When the news broke that Fudan had chosen not to go on ahead with the IIUC's semi-finals, the response had been devastating. But, the concession was soon buried under the reconstruction of Shenyang. While some questioned why so little vid-cast of the pretty vice-captain was shown, or why the principal CC champion fled the IIUC, their suspicions were quickly glossed over by the mass of troops, labourers and Mages marching into Liaoning. "Soon", declared Central from the People's Assembly, a thirteen-hundred kilometre long, ten-kilometre wide strip of "salted earth" would be dug out beside the Yalu River to segregate the North Korean peninsula forever.

And as each Frontier province conscripted its able-bodied men, the cries of separated families soon snuffed all interest in the IIUC.

As for the contestants, they first returned to Fudan from the Front to receive a thank you speech from the Dean in the assembly hall, then went about taking advantage of their ephemeral spotlight.

"Gwen, Richard, come see me once you're finished." Dean Lou was the very definition of courtesy. "We need to finalise your documents."

"Will do." The duo waved at the Dean.

Upon Gwen's and her cousin's return, Dean Luo had informed them that he had worked tirelessly to ensure Richard also had a placement in Cambridge. It was a kindness performed by vice-chancellor Butterfield to facilitate Gwen's uncomplaining transfer. The caveat though was that an ancient college like Peterhouse was too good for Richard. Instead, the Abjurer could enter Wolfson, one of the modern collegiates with a less severe transfer policy. Naturally, the Dean assured them, the students' performances in Shenyang had helped grease the wheels of cumbersome bureaucracy, so some credit should go to themselves.

Outside, the paparazzi awaited. Though Fudan's fame had fallen in the week since; there was more than enough mana left for the gossip magazines and the local press to make mountains out of molehills. And so, in front of the thundering globes, under Guanghua Hall, the students stood with Gwen and Tei, having their lumen-pics taken.

Now that the proverbial banquet was at an end, Gwen felt strangely melancholic. In her mind, the team was going to stay together for at least two more matches. Nonetheless, the fact that a group she had spent almost three months with was now going their separate ways was a reality she found difficult to accept.

Her captain, Tei Bai, had offered his wholehearted congratulations. After woodenly receiving a kiss on the cheek, he thanked her for catalysing his dream of taking Fudan beyond China. When Gwen asked of his future, Tei startled her by saying there wasn't much he looked forward to. To inherit the position of Clan Head was his duty, and that was that. The fact that he got to see so much of the world before he assumed his life-long vigil was enough.

The same sentiment was echoed by the other third-years, who would now be entering society. Rene looked forward to returning to the Thundering Peninsula south of Guangdong to assume future duties as de-facto head of her House. Anita chose to remain in Shanghai, though she now dithered between joining the PLA or the Pudong Tower, knowing that one offered present advantages, while the other allowed her to maintain future relationships with Gwen and company.

As for Jiro, he no longer lusted after a position of influence and power in Asia. Instead, he said that he wanted to travel the world, selling his skills and polishing his spells. In a heartfelt confession, Jiro intimated that having seen beautiful sorceresses with hair the colour of sun-silk and eyes the blue of the sea, there was no possibility of him been bogged down by an arranged spouse. If anything, he wouldn't rest until he had visited all corners of the world.

After which Rene slapped Jiro, inferring that either he was coming to the Thundering Peninsula with her, or she would have him castrated here and now. Sulkily, Jiro conceded, promising Gwen that he may very well visit when she acquired her very own Tower.

Of the remaining two, Mayuree would graduate the next year after earning her degree in Divination, though her life, much like Tei's, was set in stone. As the mistress of the House of M, she would spend her time between Shanghai and Myăma. Of her separation from Gwen, she felt unintimidated. The unspoken truth was that someone with Mayuree's wealth and influence could really travel anywhere in the world if she wished. Even if Gwen and the others were going to be in London, LR Message conferences or a monthly ISTC jolt to London, Paris, Frankfurt, or any of the larger cities proved relatively painless.

Conversely, Lulan's future was in flux. Now a celebrity, the PLA promised complete support, conceiving of Lulu as a wedge to dislodge the influence of the Clans. Nevermind that the girl herself was only interested in swinging her sword, the PLA desired a new Ashbringer. And so long as she sword-danced to the Party's tune, she would feature prominently in the future of many young Mages' minds. As for Kusu, the young man was simply overwhelmed by it all, asking if it was at all possible for them to leave China as well. Gwen's response was that she wouldn't dare deprive the PLA of Lulan, at least not yet. But, they should be well looked after once she brought Ruxin onboard.

And finally, Eunae attained her heart's desire. One of the first things Gwen enacted upon returning to Shanghai was relaying her concerns for the half-Korean member of her team. Between Secretary Song, her Babulya, Dean Luo, and the power of HDMs dispensed by the House of M, Eunae would have a position waiting for her in the first PLA Army hospital should she wished, or in Pudong Tower. However— where the "Lees" were concerned, Eunae was on her own. No one had the clout to force the Chaebol to heel, not when ten families owned more than a quarter of a nation's GDP. With so much authority, it was little wonder Eunae's uncles believed themselves Demi-gods.

And so, all good things now came to an end.

And standing on the steps of the towers, Gwen felt she had aged a decade. Gone was the last vestige of her teenagehood, for once she left Fudan's gates, a new chapter of her life would begin.

"Once more!" A reporter hailed the group. "Big grins for the Shanghai Extra!"

Gwen put on her most dazzling smile.

Suddenly, Richard wrapped a hand around her shoulder, then squeezed her tightly.

"What's sup, Dick?" Gwen whispered by his ear.

Her cousin waited for the camera to flash, then leaned across and kissed her on the side of her head, eliciting a few squeals from the watching crowd. Richard hadn't been promoted much on the national vid-casts, but he had a fan-following of girls from around the university, especially the local senior high school.

"What was that for?" Gwen touched the side of her head.

"An apology in advance."

"For what?"

"For that... " Richard pointed at the wall of bodies.

"GWEEEEEEEN! MY BEAUTIFUL NIECE!" an ear-splitting shout pierced the crowd.

Gwen shrivelled; all sentimentality, all goodwill, all feelings of effervescence evaporated.

Her Uncle Kwan, only a head shorter than Whetu and wearing a scurfy suit, stepped from the circle of reporters. "AND MY SON! THANK MAO, THAT'S MY SON AND NIECE!"

Gwen's reflexive desire was to call a Vold Bolt to rid the world of this travesty. When she finally focused her eyes, however, her heart softened.

The boisterous Kwan had clearly lost weight since the events of Sydney. Whatever his old wealth and power had been, living the better part of one and a half years as a refugee, forced to work for Surya in exchange for board and food had milled her prideful uncle down to the stumps. For Gwen, who had once been so intimidated by Kwan's mere presence, the sallow-cheeked, grey-haired Indonesian now appeared Negatively Drained. Behind Kwan, another well-known face, that of Aunt Tali, loitered in the crowd, too embarrassed to make herself known.

"Sorry…" Richard half-sighed, half-grinned. "Thank fuck we're both going to London, eh?"

Dai sunk into the office chair his missus-boss had ordered from Denmark, gliding a hand over the supple Salamander-skin.

With goods now re-routed from Tonglv to Dalian, the former high society playboy now sat on no less than three advisory councils. More and more often these days, Dai dearly desired a return to the careless past of nightclubs and fight-clubs.

But Dai knew that no matter how much praise his father may have heaped upon him, Tonglv's success couldn't be attributed to the triumvirate. Instead, it was the girl from the House of Song who had conceived of the stock-credit system. Without doubt, his missus-boss' unseen hand guided the canal into its present form, both through her sorcerous accounting and in establishing James Ma's audit team. Indeed, Gwen and Gwen alone was the reason Central showered accolades on the Fungs like confetti.

And at first, when the credit system all had been a pipe dream. Dai's father, Chairman Tu and Magister Quin had thought the single per cent of the canal's revenue a fruitless request born from naive confidence.

Now, six months since the canal's operation, Tonglv's turnover had already reached ten million TEUs thanks to its "free" passage for law-abiding parties. Following Stage Two, the third and fourth South Sea canals may very well push the Tonglv' capacity northward of fifteen million TEUs, rivalling Shanghai. Likewise, at the girl's behest, the establishment of micro industries servicing the port had blossomed, transforming rural Nantong into a burgeoning trading hub with the potential to rival Shenzhen. When Ruì submitted the financial year's income report, the canal's Withholding Fund had accrued twenty-three million HDMs. Presently, through accrued interest, investments, and real estate, Gwen received 124,000 HDMs annually gross, totally 71,522 after sundries, expenses, and taxes. As for Stage Two, considering that ninety-eight thousand acres had passed through the State Surveyor's office, something close to fifty million HDMs in land alone was incoming over the next two financial years— and all of this was just the beginning of the fund's true potential.

What the triumvirate now thought of the girl was a blood-gorged Stirge, well-wedged in their profits, siphoning their serum. Worse still, with each IIUC match, her fame, not to mention her grandfather's position in the CCP, grew more difficult to dismiss out of hand.

To Dai, Shen had lamented Gwen refusing to become the Fung family's daughter. If so, he would have given her everything the Clan possessed, Dai included. But, once news arrived of the girl's inevitable departure, both members of the CCDI and Tonglv's partners argued against the presence of a foreign Magus or Magister embedded in China's infrastructure.

Removing the girl from their contracted obligations, therefore, had been a foregone conclusion. Gwen's stake in the Tonglv Fund would be purchased at cost, and she could either take the severance or face scrutiny and censure. If need be, her reputation and alas, her position, may need to be severely weakened.

For Dai, once outside his father's penthouse office, the Fung's heir felt assaulted by a disturbing sense of oppression and injustice. Such a fit of indignation rose within him that he had almost stormed back inside to shout at the codgers.

Then, he took a deep breath. The Fung's heir knew that while a warrior followed his heart, a leader must think with his head.

Intellectually, he understood that what he should be doing was luring Gwen into a false sense of security, or perhaps, convince her to cut her losses and be satisfied with a Ring full of HDMs.

But the heart wants what the heart wants.

That was what it meant to be young.

Click!

The frosted glass door opened, revealing the lithe form of his unrequited object of affection.

"Young Master Dai." Gwen smiled as she passed, leaving a trail of perfume. "What's the news?"

Dai was up in a split-second. "Gwen— tell me the truth. Are you going away? Are you leaving us?"

With infinite patience, the object of his protest pulled out her seat, patted down her skirt, sat, crossed her legs, then faced him with a picture-perfect smile.

"Yes," she replied finally. "I'll be moving to London for some time. Cambridge has given me an offer."

Dai deflated. Returning to his visitor's chair, he sat, then sighed again. "So it's all true."

"It is." Gwen nodded. "But worry not, I am a free woman. I'll be back every other year to see my Babulya and grandfather. I still have to check up on Percy and Mina and Tai and everyone, and you, of course, AND to groom my interests here in Shanghai. I am leaving, but in a way, I won't be, not completely. This place will be my home away from home."

Dai looked up.

It was hard to believe that almost two years had passed since he had caught Gwen duelling in the House of M for change. To think that in so short a time, the girl was now an internationally famous Void Mage who ate a Beast Tide and then Shenyang. His father had even said that, in lieu of the IIUC broadcast, Gwen had faced a Lich and lived to tell the tale. Studying her mien, he could see that her youthful face was now more mature. The girl had lost some puppy fat, and what remained was sharper, more defined, like an enchanted blade half-showing its vorpal edge.

A pang of desire arched across Dai's heart. Even before he had arrived at her office, he had dithered on the choice before him. Now, seeing her face to face, his heart filled with a strange gladness.

Without obstruction, the warning slid from his lips.

"I think my father and the others are trying to usurp your shares in Tonglv," Dai suddenly intoned, finding the words liberating. "They're arguing that there's no way someone who is not a part of the Party can have so much influence over so critical a piece of infrastructure. I don't know what they have on you, but they should be enacting their plans after you leave China. If they scandalise your reputation, the triumvirate will vote you out. And if you're away, you would have to return to defend yourself in a public hearing."

"Oh?" Opposite, the recently minted Devourer raised a brow. "What about our Tower contract?"

"For the volume of Crystals you shall be receiving in the future, the PLA Tower is more than willing to go against Pudong..."

"To be expected." Gwen rolled her eyes. Even in her old world, the Party seldom honoured intellectual boundaries with foreign corporations. One such example would be Kawasaki's design of China's high-speed rail, where after the fact, Kawasaki was removed from China's patent filing as a contributor.

"I shouldn't be telling you this." Dai shuddered. He withdrew a clip of Halfling tobacco from his jacket and offered Gwen a hand-rolled stick from a Mithril fag case. "I really shouldn't..."

"And I appreciate it." She smiled at him with such warmth that his heart fluttered. "I won't forget your aid, Dai Fung."

Dai lit up.

"Dai." She watched him puff as the delicate smoke filled his lungs. The rare tobacco was a treat, even for him. A dozen sticks alone cost twenty HDMs. "Aren't you happy that I am out of your hair? You could finally be the son your father wanted, the big man of the Tonglv project. You did very well with selling Stage Two, you should know. The number of investors willing to part with their deposits has already generated enough HDMs to enable Stage Three."

"Miss you?" Dai swallowed, feeling a buzz from the heady smoke. "I would miss you very much, Gwen. You know that."

"A leopard can't change its spots, I see. Dai the flatterer." She chuckled, then leaned forward. Her breath was sweet, her eyes vivid and green and sparkling, refracting the Daylight Globes overhead.

Dai exhaled, blowing the acridness downward so that he wouldn't pollute the space between them. If she was going to kiss him, he felt a pang of regret, then he shouldn't have smoked. Still, nerves were nerves, and there was nothing like a stout lungful to unknot his inner torment.

Her face came so close as to be an inch from his face, but then vertigo struck.

Employing a mote of Void between her fingers, Gwen snuffed out Dai's cigarette, displacing the tip so that he was left holding a stump.

"Dai, go back to Nantong and carry on as though this meeting never happened." Her lips grazed his cheeks, her soul-searing gaze burning holes at the back of his brain. "I've got my side of things handled— and I promise I won't forget the choice you made today."

"Babulya, Yeye, I am home!" Gwen's husky voice hailed the central courtyard of the Song's family compound.

At the head of the banquet table, the Chair of the Confidential Communication Committee, soon to be promoted to a vice-Secretary of the Central Bureau, surveyed his family. Beside him stood his wife, Klavdiya, welcoming his tardy granddaughter, and over to her left was Gwen's seat, after which sat Percy then Jun. Across the table sat Nen with her son and daughter. Finally, the empty space beside Nen had been reserved for the absent Hai, his wife Qīn, as well as the kids' step-sibling, Sui.

"Dearest, come and sit next to Babulya." Klavdiya motioned for their granddaughter to take her seat beside Percy. The girl obliged, ruffling Percy's hair as she passed, eliciting a cry of protest from her brother.

"You're late," Guo complained, eyeing his granddaughter. The girl's attire, as usual, was far too westernised for his liking. A girl of her age should be well covered, especially in winter. That his granddaughter should be seen in form-fitting clothing would only invite undesired attention. Already, his colleagues had spotted Gwen's Lumen-pics on the back pages of the People's Daily no less than a dozen times, each time engendering a cascade of proposals.

"Sorry." The girl struck out her tongue childishly. "I had some Tonglv matters to absolve. My secretary was understandably upset, but everything is alright now."

Guo's lips twisted. The disparity between the girl's feigned child-like visage and the subject matter of a national infrastructural project was unsettling, to say the least. Already, news up the grapevine had warned that the masters of Nantong were hoping to squeeze Gwen out of Tonglv.

Of that, Guo was of two minds. As a long-serving Secretary of the Party, then Departmental Chair, and soon to be Inner Party Cadre, he knew the dangers of wealth. In a position of sufficient height within the Communist Party, personal wealth was a liability, for an abundance of assets inevitably resulted in conflicts of interest.

For many of his colleagues, the excuse, "My wife is good at business" only flew under the Scry when they remained in power. Once their inevitable retirement came, many were investigated by the CCDI, stripped of their estates, then sent to the Front.

If Gwen could receive a fair buyout for her share, therefore, he had no complaints. No girl needed millions to live comfortably in London, and he would prefer to enter the Party's leadership without the shadow of a millionaire granddaughter.

"Uncle Jun!" The girl positively squealed when she embraced Guo's second son from behind, cuddling Jun's face with her own.

After her dear babulya, the girl remained closest with Jun. As for her strange fascination, Guo had initially found their intimacy disconcerting, though now with the Dragon Princess in the picture, he could breathe easier. Still, Gwen's disregard for respectful distance was displeasing all the same.

"Tao! Mina!"

More hugs were exchanged. Guo kept his face stoic as he awaited his turn. He wasn't a tactile person, not even with his wife, so the kisses and the hugs seemed to him unnecessary gestures.

"I saw the vid-casts!" Mina gushed, cradling Gwen's hands. "You were brilliant, cousin! Brilliant! Everyone at my school is talking about you. They wouldn't stop asking me questions!"

"Haha, I hope I wasn't a bother."

"No, no, none at all!"

"Yoyoyo Wassap Gwenabitch? Looking fly!"

"I've missed you, Peaches. What have you been up to?"

"Crushing it, ya know? Cruising with mah crew, Big-Dog and Mack-Daddy, they enquired after yo ass."

Guo shuddered. Wang's son was an aberrant existence, a blight upon the Song family. A goblin who talked in tongues while making obscene hand gestures. More than once, Gwen had attempted to convince Guo that the boy had a prodigious talent for "music". It was an absurd proposal, for Guo had yet to see the man-child touch a single instrument. Instead, the infernal fruit persisted in making percussion sounds with his lips, an act that appeared as though Tao was perpetually fellating the air. "You looking sweeter than ever, hoe. Got yourself a sugar daddy yet? Or dare I say, yo a sugar mama yet?"

"Working on it." Gwen laughed, apparently unperturbed by the strange words emitted from Tao's filthy lips. "I am sorry we're not going to America, Peaches, but the opportunity will arise. The States are definitely on my shortlist."

"It's cool, yo! We jam later!" Tao crossed his arms, his fingers forming a fork, making Guo's blood boil. "Peaches in the House!"

Finally, having finished greeting Nen, his granddaughter arrived, having come full circle.

"Yeye—" Gwen curtsied, lowering her hips and raising her head so that for a moment, rather than a sorceress who could level Shenyang, she appeared a docile grandchild. "How is your back?"

"It's better," Guo replied formally, all of his ire melting away as though snow in spring. He wanted to reach out and touch her hair, or give her a pat on the shoulder, but with Klavidya watching, his hand refused to move. A Patriarch should be stoic. "Sit, the food is getting cold."

Gwen gave him a hug anyway, one Guo enjoyed with relish until Klavdiya caught him smiling.

The family sat.

"Thank you all for coming." Guo wasn't one for big speeches or to mince words. "Jun especially, I know your duty with the Princess is taxing."

"It's a burden of love, Father," Jun confessed readily. "Ayxin sends her regards. Have you been taking the ginseng?"

"Sparingly." Guo inclined his head. "Thank her for me. And no more gifts we can't repay."

"Alright, father."

"If you tell your brother..." Guo paused, then sighed. "Tell him Percy is doing well. Better than he was at the same age."

Percy beamed.

Gwen made a face at her brother.

Guo then turned to Gwen.

"Has Jiang Luo finalised your transfer papers? What of the others?"

"The Dean's been very good to me." Gwen tapped her Storage Ring to indicate that her papers were done. "Richard and Petra will leave separately. There's a matter I wish to inform the family, actually."

"Inform", Guo noted, not "inquire". As much as he had grown fond of Gwen, the girl's propensity for independent action was an unsettling and unwelcome characteristic.

Swiftly, the servants plated the banquet. One by one, Guo "opened" the dishes by taking a small portion for himself and Klavdiya.

"Tell us later." Guo snatched the head of a Sea Bass, depositing the gaping upper torso in Gwen's bowl. "Eat up. I know how much you Void Mages need to replenish your vitality."

The girl grinned back. Without a smidgen of lady-like behaviour, she delivered the creamy eyeball to her lips.

"Eat up… eat up…" Guo relaxed, wondering why the only Chinese part of his granddaughter was her ability to pack away any and all cuisine. "Jun tells me you'll be meeting with Ayxin's brother?"

"Yes!" Gwen replied between mouthfuls. "It's to do with Tonglv. Which, by the way, is the matter at hand."

"Gwen, what are you planning to do with Tonglv," Jun interjected, apparently more in the know than Guo himself. "Ayxin says you're going to see her brother in Yangoon?"

"Nothing too serious, really." Gwen picked at the fish head until she extracted the cheek meat. With an expression of happiness, she popped the flesh between her lips. "But let's just say any would-be schemers may be stealing from the mouth of a not so proverbial dragon."

Myăma.

Yangon.

Marong, viceroy of the House of M, presided over the meeting between his two benefactors. One of whom was the woman responsible for his emancipation; the other, his liege.

Arriving with Gwen was his sister, who had returned to take custody of the family business. There was little need, however, for once Ruxin reigned over the family, no noble dare raised their eyes at Mayuree's stewardship. Just the opposite, the historically Naga worshipping people of his nation fell into line now that a real Dragon had become their lord and patron. The old nobles had been so supportive that the Shadowmen of Manipur complained of having nothing to root out other than bland corruption and the occasional assassination.

Presently, a foursome of Dragons gathered under the perfectly conditioned temperature of Karaweik Palace's vaulted throne room. To Marong's knowledge, his benefactor was still in the dark regarding the plea-bargain he had made with Ruxin— though now the truth hardly mattered. That the House of M deferred to their Demi-God neighbour was a fitting gesture even if they were in the heart of Pudong.

Upon the former golden throne, Ruxin lounged on a divan. In his human form, the first prince of Huangshan was a flawless, pearl-skinned gent with platinum hair and irises of gold. Loosely attired, Ruxin appeared a regal wonder in his gold-threaded robes; his hair, ears and fingers all adorned with priceless gems and jadeite.

Ayxin meanwhile, was as delicate as she was striking, a blooming metallic flower in robes of ivory and rose gold. With her racially ambiguous mien and metallic-coloured eyes, she was the picture of majesty, despite borrowing the mortal fashion of the human cities.

And to the side, looking very much like a mutt, sat Golos, squatting on the steps. Despite becoming larger and meaner than before his participation in the IIUC, the Wyvern's innate morphic-magic remained amateurish. It was a sore point that both elder drakes complained of their thin-blooded little brother. Whatever Golos' development appeared to be, it seemed only to aid the Wyvern's brutishness.

"I fear you shall have to explain again," Ruxin commanded from up on high.

"That's alright." Gwen's heels clicked on the jadeite tiles. "As I said— I have transferred to you all of my Chinese investments. Marong here has lodged the transfer with Pudong. Take a gander, I've included a five-year forecast as well."

Marong, who had stood behind his Master, knelt first, then presented the data slate Gwen had prepared.

"Your lordship— Miss Song's one per cent stake presently generates as much as seventy-thousand HDMs per annum. In Tonglv's Phase Two, she may receive several hundred thousand in dividends. In the future, her share may generate far more... for as long as Tonglv stands."

Ruxin tapped the slate, then frowned. For some infernal reason, Human Magitech disagreed with the prince.

"Allow me, Lord." Marong obliged. Once they reached the bottom of the slate, Marong sensed that his lord's mood vastly improved.

"And in turn?" The Thunder Dragon raised a silvery brow. "You want me to preside over the fate of your mortal kin?"

"And a few friends." Gwen rested a hand on her arched hips. "And of course, collateral borrowing from your treasury for 'OUR' future ventures."

Marong's master tilted his head, his golden irises capturing the girl in their reflection.

"Your grandparents. Your cousins. A Dai, and a Ruì? And this Lulan and Kusu Li. Shall I bring them to my lair? That is the safest place."

"Oh, no, NO." Gwen shook her head. "Just name drop a few times. Arguably, you don't have to do anything, Marong will keep an eye on your investments. But if something goes south, if 'The Great Dragon of Kachin" could pass a note to the CCDI's Secretary Miao, that would be great."

"There's no need for Ruxin to intervene. I'll take care of Jun's progenitors," Ayxin cut in, her golden irises flashing. "I alone am enough to keep the humans cowed."

"I don't doubt it." Gwen smiled with teeth. "But you said yourself that your Draconic-powers and Spatial Magic are limited while inside the Shield. You couldn't even sense the scale you used to spy on me."

"It kept you safe." Ayxin raised her chin. "As was my promise to Jun."

"Yes, thank you, 'Aunty'," Gwen replied churlishly. "For my Uncle, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Ungrateful brat." The Dragon-princess hissed.

"That's me." Gwen turned away from her uncle's spouse. With a teasing smile, she continued her banter. "That said, I do appreciate your aid. Although, if you want me to feel grateful, then tell me that you did it for my sake, out of the goodness of your own kind heart."

"You think far too highly of yourself." Ayxin glared. "Your grandfather's right. You're an impertinent whelp."

"HA. You females should fight it out." Golos looked up. "The winner can take the Ash Mage."

"SHUT UP, GOLOS!"

"GOGO, that's disgusting!"

Golos rolled his eyes.

Marong looked from Gwen to Ayxin, then to the smiling Ruxin and back. He could scarcely believe his eyes and ears. That Gwen acted the equal of these beings who were centuries old and descended from an ancient Mythic was incredible.

"Tell me again of the venture you're planning." Though his Master found the females' rivalry amusing, a Dragon's crystal hoard was paramount. Despite Gwen's well-catered promises, the idea of allowing his "Financial Advisor" intimate access to the currency financing his future ascension made the Thunder Dragon uneasy. "Speak less in tongues."

Below, Gwen motioned for Marong to return to her the data slates she had prepared. With her other hand, she extended her arm, exposing a slender wrist.

"Let's start from the beginning. This is a Message Device. It has an inscribed Core that emulates a Diviner's Message Spell. These are made by various manufactoriums around the world, and they require a Divination Tower to function outside of direct Line of Sight."

"Yes. I know of these Magic Items." Ruxin nodded. "Humans are incapable of communicating with their kind over long distances and so must rely on their craft, correct?"

"That's correct." Gwen detached the bracelet with a silent command, then left the bangle hanging from Marong's fingers. "Let me show you."

Their presenter incanted something under her breath. In the next moment, a series of geometric shapes appeared in thin air. It took him a moment, but Marong recognised the spell as Minor Image.

"As someone who has been paying through the nose for LR Messages to London, I am simply aghast at the business models employed by the Towers for regulating their Message network. Did you know that the Towers erect Divination Stations entirely out of their own pocket? Imagine that! Telecommunication is one the most important aspects of human civilisation, and they're just letting any Mage with access to a Message Device use it willy-nilly! The Divination Stations and its maintenance are paid for by the Towers! Out of pocket!"

The images materialised until a mono-coloured, bright green map the shape of Shanghai and its surrounding provinces solidified.

"Up on this coverage map. I have colourised the sections of Suzhou, Hangzhou, and Nantong Frontiers currently possessing Divination Stations and or Towers. You will note that much of the surrounding regions, despite housing millions of customers— remain unserviced."

"I don't quite follow." Marong's Master frowned, as did Marong. That Frontiers lacked Divination Towers and that Mages had to use Diviners or portable Divination Engines was no surprise to anyone.

"This is where a prospective entrepreneur should come in." Gwen pointed to her bosom, then to Ruxin. "Do you know why the coverage for Message is so horrible, and why humans have so much trouble every time we leave the tier 1 cities? It's because the Message Towers have limited range and scope. Once in a Green Zone, our Devices become virtually useless without a line of sight to our party member. We're blind and deaf out there! Disconnected! While working on Tonglv, I looked into the rationale behind the lack of Divination coverage, and I've found the reason; very stupid reasons— funding and upkeep."

Gwen closed the first polygon image, then raised another in the form of a Tower that resembled the Queen from a western chess set.

"But that's where we come in. As far as I am concerned, there is an easy way to resolve this issue of coverage. By establishing a new Divination-based business I shall dub 'Network-Carriers', we shall front up the HDMs necessary to expand Divination Towers into the Green Zones."

"Have you not said that such an investment is futile?"

"But NOT for us—" Gwen raised a finger. With another gesture, she conjured up several bar-graphs showing the cost of constructing the Towers. "The Divination Stations, Towers, whatever— are a mature form of Magitech, so mature that minimal improvement has been made since the seventies. Our only concern is if IT IS POSSIBLE to generate more revenue than we spend. This is why I am interested in an experiment."

In front of Marong, Gwen made a bright orange map of greater Sydney. The city itself was covered by a large yellow dome, followed by intermittent spots here and there, appearing like the pox.

"Consider Sydney. Outside of the city, there are countless Green Zones where the land is tilled for agricultural output. Yet, most of the folks living in this region have no way of communicating with the Magisters in the city. They would need to write letters, or physically relocate a town with a Divination Tower, a prospect that remain few and far in-between. In times of emergency, timely aid is nigh impossible."

Gwen wagged a digit, and a ring of blue enveloped Sydney's central districts. As far as Marong was concerned, it was the most peculiar use of Illusion he had ever seen.

"This is where we come in. We will raise Carrier-Towers to provide the coverage. Then, we will introduce Glyph algorithms that tie individual devices to 'accounts'. I know the Towers have Magitech Enchanters capable of this capacity because they charge me for my calls with Evee. Anyway, when a customer uses our network for Messages, their mana signature generates a monthly invoice— charging say, a quarter of an LDM per Message, per thirty-second block. Of course, we tithe Messages both coming in and going out."

"In this way, we attain economy of scale. For greater Sydney, for example, about two million individuals reside across the Frontier, and three million in the tablelands. Assuming a brisk business— say, 200,000 Messages across the entirety of a city of ten million souls a day, that's 350 odd HDMs per twenty-four hours in gross revenue. And that's just the beginning."

Another line-chart illusion demonstrated growth potentials. The number of digits indicated on the charts was enough to raise even Ayxin's brows.

"The Divination Beacons themselves last several decades, despite using present Enchantment algorithms and medium-tier Creature Cores. For this reason, with sufficient warding, we really don't have to worry about wear and tear. By that virtue, so long as our Carrier-Towers remain standing, they will continue to generate a small but steady stream of disproportionate revenue."

"Why hasn't anyone else done this?" Ayxin's question cut to the bone.

"Good question!" Gwen spun toward the princess. "The answer is simple. This is a project that requires a confluence of favour, land, materials, HDMs, Magitech— and me."

Gwen conjured the shapes of a dozen different Towers she had seen being used across Shanghai's Frontiers.

"A problem with the existing system is that each of the Towers builds its own Divination Stations with varying degrees of quality, range, and compatibility. Some cheaper Message Devices, such as those for NoMs, may fail to work entirely. Likewise, the Cores used by the Divination Towers are wildly inconsistent, meaning their processing capacity remains inconsistent. During peaks like natural disasters or monstrous incursions, it's not at all strange for Divination-communication to fail."

"And this is where we shall create a bull's market." The girl exalted, opening both arms. "Through mass production, we can lower costs by venturing into standardisation utilising production lines. After that, we plant the Towers, starting with low-risk Green Zones with high economic yields like Sydney and the future Yangon Tower. By working with the resident Mage Towers— such as those my brother-in-craft and Marong control. This will give us a working model to sell to local governments. Of course, once our Carrier is up and running, we shall invest in proper R&D of patented Divination Mandalas."

"And if someone else does mimic this proposal of yours?" Ruxin rested his chin on his knuckles. "Surely, there are better-positioned brokers in Shanghai?"

"GOOD POINT!" Gwen thrust out her chest. "BUT Ruxin, don't you wonder WHY Marong there is doing so well hawking your jadeite? Don't you find it strange how the Tonglv folks owe me their success? Do you know that without me, the Centurion Card and the House of M's credit lending would never exist?"

"Arrogance!" Ayxin hissed, her eyes flashing.

"Let her speak." Ruxin handwaved his sister. "She has cause to be arrogant."

"Thanks, Uncle," Gwen cooed, beaming broadly. "You see, what you uniquely possess isn't Spellcraft, but rather an syergistic system of accounting and billing. What you have... is ME! What I offer you is unadulrated efficacy in managing the Network-Carrier business. What will cost others many times their material investment, we shall attain with impunity. In this, you are a world leader. Trust me."

"Trust you?" Golos snorted. "I've still got missing scales—"

"SILENCE!"

"Gogo! The adults are talking!" Gwen snapped at her Wyvern.

Marong stifled a grin when Golos cowered.

"Marong, can you show Ruxin my bangle?"

Marong raised the Message Device.

"THAT is a Hitachi MSB-211. A horribly marketed Device but one of the best for its size and function. A lower-working tier Mage cannot afford a Device such as this— BUT, together with Marong's Centurion credit program, THEY CAN! What we can do is offer a twenty-four months contract which offsets payment for the Hitachi, including a monthly Message stipend. For example, let's say one such device is usually 130 HDMs, our customer will now pay, over the course of twenty-four months, 245 HDMs. However, the boon is that he or she gets to utilise a high-tier Divination Device without an upfront payment..."

Marong shivered when Gwen's maniac grin split from cheek to cheek.

"AND they're locked into our Carrier-Service, AND they're automatically a gold-member of the Centurion program."

Ruxin rose from his chair.

"… but we're getting too far ahead—" Gwen giggled gleefully with the sincerity of a pyromaniac, setting Marong's nerves on edge. With a hand, she retrieved the Message Device from Marong's fingers. "AND in the future. There will be no need for voice Messages. We will create a series of devices for TEXT! TEN TEXTS per LDM! And TEXT AND VOICE PACKAGES! For corporate, private, and individual users. We can tailor all to suit—"

Once the arithmetics caught up, Ruxin's expression grew troubled. "And your share…"

"For now, I'll take one per cent as before. If I fail, you still have my Centurion income and my Tonglv credit as collateral. In the future, though, our Carrier-Corp may grow so large that not even a princeling of Huangshan can hold down the greed it will engender from others. With enough authority, we may yet become the most loathed corporation in the world! BUT, if and when that happens, I would suggest we issue shares to placate said parties. We shall retain control, of course, but the point stands. We can absorb more allies into our fold. Our network will swallow every place. What we will create, dear Uncle, is a Leviathan!"

"The girl's gone wild!" Ayxin leapt to her feet. "She's drunk on crystals!"

Marong's master stood, half-fulminating with barely suppressed lustiness. "And what will you call this—"

Golos also stood for appearance's sake, feeling awkward that everyone else was standing.

"—Network-Carrier..." Marong articulated helpfully, his hair standing on end, his scalp positively crawling.

"I have the perfect name." Gwen's eyes sparked as she approached the dais. "As our Towers shall be many, I shall dub our new venture— PROJECT LEGION."

"Trust me, Marong and Mia will take care of everything."

Of all the employees at her office, Gwen considered Ruì her head girl. Having invested so much of herself in Tonglv, Ruì was also the most distraught when the office received notice that their boss was leaving for London and that the Shanghai office would be shut down.

"It's been a pleasure, Ma'am." Ruì fought back the choking sobs even as she packed.

"Ruì, don't be so dramatic." Gwen wrapped an arm around the NoM girl's shoulders. "Look at how happy everyone else is!"

Effi and Terence returned awkward grins.

Gwen smiled back.

After she had returned from Yangon, Gwen had set into motion a domino of events that would culminate in Dai's prediction of her ousting. Of course, when the hammer drops, she should be in London, and her greedy business partners would find themselves staring down the dagger-toothed maw of a Demi-God.

"I don't want the severance." Ruì's courage was commendable. "Miss, can't I keep working for you in another capacity?"

"YOU ARE!" Gwen squeezed her assistant's arms. In a way, she understood why her PA was so upset. From Ruì's humble origins as an NoM Economics graduate, she had tasted the sweet nectar of authority. It meant that now, the prospect of a regular desk job could no longer satisfy. Borrowing Gwen's terror, Ruì commanded Ken without reserve, and Dai had listened to her requests without complaint. For her to return to a workplace where she dared not stare a Mage in the eye would be the equivalent of caging an Elven Druid in a concrete cell.

"Worry not! You'll be working for Marong, and Marong's a business partner of sorts! The House of M's balance sheets might be short a zero or two compared to Tonglv, but it's getting there. Rest assured, I shall need your capabilities in a few years, not to mention you have to pass on your experience to others."

"… I obey." Her assistant relented, though Ruì's agony remained barely disguised.

Gwen exhaled, feeling a little vexed, but mostly delighted by Ruì's tears. Competence was an endangered bird, but when combined with loyalty, it was rarer than a Colossal Dodo.

In the event of the Shanghai office's dismissal, she had arranged new positions for each of her workers. Effi and Terence were given middle management positions in Professor Ma's audit team as well as a generous severance package. Ken, whose resume included corporate espionage, received a cheap thank you card. Dai was accounted for by Ruxin and Marong, meaning his privileges should remain unassailed in the event his attack of conscience exposed itself.

And for Ruì, Marong had arranged for the girl a managerial position overseeing the Centurion accounts, working on accruing HDMs for Project Legion. If anything she looked forward to the day Ruì talked shop with a five-hundred-year-old Thunder Dragon. If her NoM secretary knew the truth, Gwen chuckled. How would she react?

"Ruì— Ruì?"

The girl looked up from studying the carpet.

Gwen gave the girl a final hug. Once the doors of the office were shut, they would no longer be employer and employee, but friends, at least for the foreseeable future. "Chin up! The best is yet to come!"

"Please come back soon!" Ruì stiffened in her arms. "Until then, I'll work hard!"

Marie Roslyn Wen, future Meister and current Magister— scrutinised the butt-ends of her research papers, each taking up a sizable chunk of her desk space.

Her first paper, "Investigation of Void to Vitality Conversion", had been abandoned due to the inherently unstable nature of Gwen's fluctuating health. She had initially paired the study with research into Druidic Essence, but outside forces had put a halt to that entirely.

Her next proposal, "Affinity Scales for Void Magic: A Systematic Comparison", had mustered enough data saturation for a modest publication like the Asian Pacific Journal of Spell Craft, but was far from the longitudinal data pool required for recognition from Harvard or Cambridge.

Conversely, "Void versus Matter Interactions, a Material Data Compilation", was far more comprehensive. Thanks to a wealth of citations and support from the PLA, her third endeavour had been published in the "Sino Journal of Spellcraft", seeing wide circulation both in Asia and overseas.

Her crème de la crème, the article with the most extensive interest from overseas Towers and Universities, was "Void and the impact of Consumption on the Caster: A Case Study". It was an ambitious paper that linked Sobel to Gwen, using Gwen's abilities as a yardstick to define the "morphic impact" of Essence Consumption, culminating in Gwen's attainment of Omni-magic.

The article was followed by a sixteen-month investigation entitled, "A Longitudinal Study of the Extended Use of Void Magic". Unfortunately, Wen had only one test subject. Fortunately, most Void related studies only had two or three samples anyway, not to mention their samples rarely survived the "longitudinal" aspect of the study.

Now gazing at the work she had produced over the past year and a half, even Wen had to admit she felt proud. Carrying out groundbreaking studies was an opportunity that came once in a lifetime, and in Gwen, she had unearthed a treasure trove.

And in a few months, assuming she successfully defended her research and provided citations to satisfy Cambridge's review board, she would ascend. For this, she had Klavdiya to thank, and Wen promised herself that both her friend and her granddaughter would be mentioned in her acceptance speech.

Meister Roslyn Marie Wen!

China's first Meister in a decade!

Wen shuddered at the audacity of such a thought.

To join that august group of researchers at the forefront of Spellcraft!

Ding! Her Message Device chimed.

"Master," Petra's voice jolted Wen from her lucid daydream. "Gwen's scripts are ready."

"I'll be out in a moment," Wen answered, sweeping a hand over her notes so that they deposited neatly in her Storage Ring.

Outside, seated in her laboratory at Henglong, was the freshly attired subject of her studies. Beside Gwen stood Petra, her Apprentice, as well as the unwelcome vision of Magister Eric Walken.

"Let's take a look." Wen took possession of the data slate from Petra's hands. Quickly, she scanned the numbers. As before, the statistics filled her with apprehension. A year ago, she would have screamed. Now, she just felt numb. "How very impressive."

"I should think Vice-Chancellor Butterfield would be plenty satisfied," Walken agreed. "Whether it's Gwen's thick skull, skin or her talents, the girl is without equal."

"Oi!" the girl slapped her mentor on the back, sending the Magister stumbling, disregarding the disguised compliment. "Excuse you, Eric."

"Gwen— if your Spellcraft knowledge was as absurd as your Omni-talent, you'd be receiving a Meisterhood," Eric Walken replied jovially, not missing the chance to flash a mocking glance toward Wen herself.

"Hmmph!" Wen snorted, dismissing Walken's snark as common jealousy. "Let's see…"

“Evocation 5.51 to 5.62”

“Conjuration 6.01 to 6.23”

“Transmutation 3.85 to 4.07”

“Abjuration 2.67 to 3.01”

“Divination 1.72 to 1.78”

“Illusion 2.48 to 2.56”

“Enchantment 1.46 to 2.11”

“7.01 (7.44) to 7.12 (7.57) for Lightning.”

“4.72 to 5.23 (5.33) for Void.”

"Great progress indeed," Wen read out the Affinity readings even as her eyes scanned the biometrics. "And a VMI of 345. It does look like your Conjuration has struck diminishing returns. The principle craft of a Soul Mage is Conjuration, you should know. Still, there are increases across the board. Did you have your fill of Mages in Shenyang?"

"If you mean Necromancers, then yes," the Englishman interjected before the girl could answer. "No different to an Orc Shaman or Troll Priest. In fact, I would venture to say that thanks to Gwen, a greater good has been attained. Won't you agree?"

"Sure." Wen chose not to pursue the matter. Once she left Shanghai, Gwen would no longer be her subject, and as such, her relationship with the girl was soon at an end. Through one another, they had each gotten what they wanted. The girl received her recognition and her placement in Cambridge, and she, her title. In so far as mutual benefits go, the exchange had been holistic and satisfactory.

"… Anyway, it would appear your Shoggoth Planar Ally provides very little vitality, feedback, or Essence," Wen translated the biometric data. "If I were you, I would focus more on Caliban's Consume. That is a talent which I am increasingly lead to believe is unique, existing so far only through yourself and Sobel."

"I see." The girl's knitted brows frowned unhappily.

"If you could somehow uncover more of your Master's research, it may help your cause." Wen helpfully dispensed a spot of advice. "I do recall he had a Dryad, yes? And something of a laboratory called the 'Grot'. Surely the man kept notes, journals, Spell Tomes. It's a pocket dimension, after all. Mages, on the whole, enjoy squirrelling away the things precious to them."

"Wen has a point," the weasel-faced Walken agreed. "Gwen, when you were in Sufina's Grot, did she mention anything about Henry's library? I've seen thousands of Tomes in his possession. In my memory, Kilroy was quite the collector. I borrowed from him on more than one occasion, and he never seemed to lack a publication, no matter how rare or obscure."

"I— I don't know." The girl shook her head. "When Master died, we were in and out in a hurry. Even when I studied with him, I never saw such tomes. Master always had the right book on hand every time we conducted lessons."

"Can you return to this 'Grot'?"

"Not easily." The girl bit her lower lip. "I also don't know if Sufina still remembers us. You know what happens when a Familiar is freed for too long."

"They go feral," Petra joined the conversation. Wen could see that her apprentice had been edging to beg a question of her own. "Speaking of which, is that a Spirit reading on Caliban?"

"A smidgen." Wen checked the in-depth diagnostic data. "Gwen, were you able to spell-shape your Void Element?"

Gwen shook her head again. "I am afraid not."

"Still a ways to go then." Petra gave her two cents. "That or the nature of Elemental Void makes IFF infeasible."

"I hope not." The girl raised a brow, glad for the change in topic.

"Petra has a point," Walken joined in. "I don't ever recall Sobel possessing IFF either. In the Tower, some of her creatures ate one another."

"But Caliban can identify friends," Gwen raised a point. "It knows when NOT to eat."

"A cause for investigation then." Wen tapped the slate impatiently. "Do you know if it can transform into its last victim? By all accounts, you almost died, and the Necromancer was formidable indeed. Going by our previous experience…"

The girl closed her eyes, then opened them again.

"No," she returned. "The best Cali can manage is Big Bird."

"The Da-peng?"

"Yes."

"A shame." Petra sighed. "Cali could really use a humanoid form."

"Gods, that's a terrifying thought." Gwen grimaced.

"I don't even know where to begin." Petra laughed.

Wen handed her slate back to her Apprentice, Klavidya's grand-niece. In their five years together, Petra had gained much from her tutelage. It was a shame that once the girl's research was completed, she too would leave.

But such was the way.

In Wen's world, some were there to be used, and some made use of others. In this way, things finished cleanly. Why should there be sentimentalities and complications of the heart when the academic mind could be well provisioned?

An excess of emotion was precisely the reason Klavdiya's granddaughter would not graduate a perfect Omni-Mage.

Thinking of the mewling girl, Wen could only snort at the girl's bleeding heart, her initial reluctance to Consume Choi. Deep down, she wanted to query the girl regarding her shifting moral goal post. What was it like? She wanted to say, how will you justify consuming a quarter of Shenyang, including its thousands of NoM serfs? That the girl continued to maintain her mask of Magely virtue was both ridiculous and grotesque. And that Eric Walken continued to groom the girl's facade only added to the absurdity. Hypocrites! She wanted to point her finger at their righteous noses. How dare you judge my research, you walking, talking contradictions!

But as always, her mineral-minded patience prevailed.

"Gwen." Wen made her case as clear as crystal. "As we shall no longer be seeing one another again in the capacity of mentor and instructor— nor subject and researcher, I hope our relationship will remain amicable."

Their eyes met. Hers were glassy, the girl's glimmering with a power that was difficult to discern.

"Of course, Magister Wen." The girl extended a hand. The vulnerability she had shown prior instantly evaporated. "Good luck with your Meistership. Please continue to look after Petra. She is very important to me, and I would be distraught if her studies were neglected."

The two shook. The girl's grasp was firm and wholly immovable.

"Till we meet again." Wen quickly withdrew her hand.

"See you in London..." The girl's reply was curt and professional. "... and good luck."

Without warning, Wen felt as though a Wraith had stalked across her grave.

"It's settled then? I shall be going first?"

Walken squirmed, decisively uncomfortable beneath a wall of magically induced, unnaturally blooming roses.

The source of his embarrassment was many: the girl opposite, the pollen, the gawkers inside the shop, and the paparazzo camping outside. When he and Gwen had entered, Walken had hoped that their observers were merely drawn by the sight of a beautiful young woman in a tapered pea-jacket. But then someone recognised Gwen from the Vid-casts, and now they were Magical Creatures caught in an exhibition.

"... Unless you want to come with me to Sydney?" the girl teased, stabbing at a strawberry cheesecake with a wooden fork.

"I shan't try my luck." Walken straightened his spine. Failing to find comfort, he focused on sipping his Earl Grey. "Your sister-in-craft may have gotten over her immediate contempt, but who knows? It's one thing to part ways without her itching for a Fireball, and quite another to invite me to dinner at her home."

"I suppose you're right." Gwen sipped her latte, crossed her long legs, then smacked her lips. "But didn't you say there was 'domestic strife' in London? Where are you going to stay?"

"I'll rent a room in Cambridgeshire. Vice-Chancellor Butterfield has requested for a meeting." Walken held his porcelain one-handed, appearing natural and poised, befitting of an Englishmen whose youth was shaped by Eton's wand-wielding parsons. "I'll request a meeting with Lady Grey as well, see what we can do to ready your induction by Michaelmas. There's the matter of your stay as well. Cambridge does have dorms for students, but I doubt you would wish to share a room with a stranger."

"I wouldn't mind if its Evee." Gwen raised her latte in a mock-toast. "Sweet, innocent Evee, at long last."

"The Nightingale College is in London proper, south of Wandsworth Commons, and all of its healers are well sheltered from the likes of you." Walken let rip a snort. "No, you cannot stay at their dorms. Cambridgeshire is an hour as the crow flies and just over two hours by public transit. You can visit on the weekends— assuming you can fish up a Flight licence."

"Nooo! I refuse to be away from Elvia when she's so close!" the girl whined, crushing her shortcake. "Eric, I command you to make it so!"

"And anger the Nightingale School?" Walken drew back. "I mean, I won't stop you, but you're on your own."

"Fine." The girl leaned back in her seat. "And back on topic. What are you planning to do about your family? Audrey and Beatrix and Angie?"

"They'll find out about my return sooner or later." Walken cringed. He had not hidden from Gwen the fact that he hadn't parted from his family in gentle terms. "I'll have to break the news tenderly."

"With gifts, of course." Gwen's eyes sparkled. "I can't materialise Spirits, but in terms of gemstones and jadeite, I could source something convincingly sincere. You can't just work some fresh scones, marmalade, that sort of thing? It worked wonders on me."

"That's because you are both a Void-fiend and a piglet."

"Humour, Eric? That's unbecoming of you."

"Well, maybe with the girls." Walken inhaled, then exhaled slowly. "Audrey isn't an easy woman to please. There's also the fact that her family's peerage is higher than mine, so things have gotten complicated."

"It's not like you cheated on her." Gwen snorted. "Career man goes off and does career things. You can always write it off as doing it for the girls' futures. People have been forgiven on shittier excuses. Trust me, just look at my daddy dearest. The prick's a flaming bastard living a perfectly happy life, consequence-free."

"Please don't compare me to your father." The Magister made a face. "Look, I'll do my best."

"You usually do." Gwen motioned for the bill. "Is that it? Fair travels then?"

"Let's hope so." Walken stood, happy to be out of sight of the ogling pedestrians. He collected his coat from the chair, then slipped into the cashmere jacket. "Until London."

"Until London." Gwen slipped on her jacket as well, though her attire was evidently not designed for warmth. "And Eric?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Good luck with the girls."

"Thanks." Walken readied himself for the Shanghai winter, soon to be London snow. An old man, he lacked Gwen's enviable constitution to withstand the cold. "I don't envy the weather in London, not at all."

"TO US!" Gwen raised her tankard.

"To Gwen!"

"Gānbēi!"

"Cheers!"

"To London!"

"To richbitch Gwen!" Peaches prematurely slammed a round of Maotai, warping his already misaligned vernacular coherency.

Glasses clinked for the dozenth time.

Around the hotpot sat Yue, Whetu, Richard, Petra, Mina, Mayuree, Marong, Tao, Kusu and Lulan, each pouring one out for their Gwen-touched futures. Initially, Gwen had invited her IIUC teammates as well, but each of them had left Shanghai or were occupied with their respective Clans and families. Filling in for their vacancy were Percy and Mei. A request that her brother had declined at first until his "Mei mei-mei" insisted.

And among the round table of Mages, each capable of levelling hamlets of varying sizes, sat the harmless Ruì, wholly lost and too terrified to speak. After only a single thimble of mana-rich Maotai, she laid against Richard, warm and satisfied.

"I can't believe it's been a month!" Lulan sat cosily beside Gwen. "I knew you were leaving, but this is too soon."

"Lulu, I am not leaving for good." Gwen allowed the girl to mimic Ruì. The magically fermented red sorghum was a potent concoction indeed, not to mention she had enhanced the bottle with a tendril from the Ginseng Spirit. The precious elixir had been a farewell gift of sorts, ensuring that all of her close friends and cousins would remain hale and vital. "I'll be back now and then. Once you've made a name for yourself, you can visit London as well."

"I don't know if I can meet everyone's expectations," Lulan whispered by her ear. "Gwennie, I am just a swordswoman, I fight monsters and people. That's all I know."

"You're more than that, Lulu." She refilled Lulan's glass. "Besides, Kusu will look after you. Won't you, Kusu? Failing that, Marong and Ruxin will back you up. There's Ryxi as well, he's the one who is going to be teaching you."

"I don't understand why the Lord of Nagaland would want to help me." Lulan's eyes had gone misty, though Gwen suspected it was from the alcohol. Of the girls, Petra was a silent drunk, Yue was the loudmouth, Mayuree was the sleeper, and Lulan was the apologetic worrier. "Me? A mortal? Going to Huangshan? Am I living a fairy tale? Would a hundred years pass before I descend the mount? They say a year on the mount is a decade in the mortal world! What if I miss you?"

"Ryxi better not take a bloody century to train you." Gwen caressed the girl's hair. "Else you're going to be our older sister, hahaha…"

"I too would prefer if she remained my younger sister." Kusu coughed. Unlike Lulan, he was taking his time with the Maotai.

"OUR little sister." Gwen held Lulan against her bosom, staring down the sweltering Kusu. With her other hand, she picked a generous portion of sliced Auroch and deposited the lot into the bubbling chilli soup. "You'll like working for Marong, Kusu. In the future, Lulan is going to need you."

"That's all the more reason for me to be cautious." Kusu's words were wiser than his twenty-odd years. "What could someone like you need from someone like me?"

Gwen snorted. "For one, I need Lulu, and you guys come as a package, am I right?"

"I wouldn't presume to dictate Lulan's life." Kusu eyed his sister's clingy form. "I just want what is best for her."

"Good. Because what's good for Lulu, will be good for you." Gwen smirked. "And while I don't presume to know what is best for her, what I can do is provide her with a rare opportunity to unlock her potential. If Ruxin can send her to Huangshan to learn the old arts, then she'll be all the more valuable to the PLA— and me. With my Uncle Jun and Ayxin looking after her as well, what more is there to fear? As long as Lulan doesn't get drunk on arrogance and start bitch-slapping the Secretaries' scions, she'll be right as rain. You hear that, Lulu?"

Lulan straightened herself. With her delicate profile still brimming with emotion, the Sword Mage retrieved the cooked meat from the boiling oil, mixed in the spices, then deposited the savoury, chilli-covered treat in Gwen's bowl.

"I don't know if we're ever going to repay you." Kusu regarded the girls.

"Lulu can repay me with her, you know..." A smile touched Gwen's lips. With one hand, she gripped Lulan's waist possessively.

Kusu paled, suddenly perspiring.

"...Friendship." Gwen finished with a chortling snort. "Kusu, you have to let her go eventually. She's her own woman. If she does get involved with a nice young man and wants to settle down in China, that's fine with me. As far as I am concerned, Lulu's a mate, and she owes me nothing."

"A mate? She's too young." Kusu chewed his lip. "Please don't joke about that."

"I want to adventure and quest with Gwen!" Lulan shouted a little too loudly. "And Richard and Mia as well! We'll hunt the Demi-humans and the Undead, forever!"

Gwen broke into a hearty laugh, savouring the compliment. "How good it is to be young!"

The table joined in the laughter.

"Spoken like an old aunty!" Yue's acute observation jolted Gwen from her revelry. "You know you're the second youngest, right? You sound like a crone."

"It's true, I was born with an old soul," Gwen confessed.

"Well, Aunt Song, have you packed yet?" Her oldest friend retrieved a few pieces of daikon from the boiling broth, popping the steaming vegetable into her mouth. "Our ISTC is booked for Tuesday afternoon. Master is making Gunther cook."

"There's not much to pack." Gwen flashed her Storage Ring. "Can you believe that I've been here for almost two years, and the only things I've acquired are for my wardrobe?"

"That and a reputation." Yue raised her glass. "And crystals. Mountains of crystals. FRIENDS! TO THE DEVOURER OF SHENYANG!"

"To the DEVOURER!"

"Gānbēi!"

"Cheers!"

"To Sydney!"

"To she who swallows!" Tao wiggled his brows as Gwen drank, his face red with excitement. In phonetic Chinese, the wordplay was far less explicit, though the impact on the table was no less impressive. "The SWALLOWER of Cities!"

"—C—Cough!"

"O Gods, I can't breathe."

"The chilli's in my nose!"

"Percy! You're turning purple!"

"ERRGH—" Gwen hacked and coughed, her face turning unwholesomely red as the Maotai shot up her nose. "Bloody hell— PEACHES— If that goddamned moniker spreads, I am going to feed you to Caliban!"

Of all the goodbyes, it was the inevitable handwringing at Shanghai Hongqiao's ISTC terminal that Gwen dreaded the most.

As anticipated, there were high sentiments from all her relatives, though none was more so heartbroken than her dear old babulya.

"I'll come back and visit as soon as I can," Gwen promised, cradling the old woman in her arms while the others watched. "Give me a year or two, and I'll teleport back. A few thousand HDMs and a hundred-odd CCs are no obstacle for your granddaughter."

"You have to take care of yourself in London!" Her babulya had held together reasonably well the previous week, though not so now. "And this Lady Grey, how do we know she's trustworthy?"

"She's an old friend of Gwen's Master," her grandfather intoned with annoyance, embarrassed by Klavdiya's public display of devotion. "And the Morning Star himself promised the Marchioness would look after Gwen. Stop worrying, dear. She is in good hands."

"It's true!" Gwen kissed her babulya on the forehead, cradling the small babushka in her arms. "I'll be well sheltered. Besides, who can take me on? I've got Cali and Ariel! At worst, I'll throw in Golos. They'll have to bring an army."

"That may be— but a girl should only be so arrogant," Guo criticised her overconfidence. "You'll be meeting some of the finest Mages in the Mageocracy. I would venture to say that there are at least a dozen competent casters among them."

"Pufft!" Tao snorted. "That's why the Party's lily ass exchanged Gwen for English Magisters, true dat?"

"That's classified information," Guo growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Who told you this?"

"Cao…" Tao paled.

"He heard it from me," Gwen apologised. "Yeye, Babulya, I know the two of you have done so much for me since my untimely arrival—"

"I don't know about that, Yeye didn't do shit!" Tao objected. "He wanted to cage you like a bitch!"

"I'll put YOU in Tianlanqiao in a moment!" Guo's face turned scarlet.

"Peaches, shush!" Mina pulled her brother back. "What's wrong with you?"

"Tao's just agitated," Gwen intervened. Moving between the human fruit and their grandfather. "Peaches, you'll miss me, right?"

"You know it!" Tao made a gang-sign. Then, the black sheep of the Wang and Song deflated. "It was fun having you, Gwen. Thanks for coming to mah shows and helping with my lyrics. And for Petra not kicking my ass. And for talking to the old man about music."

"The pleasure's all mine." Gwen pulled both cousins in for a big hug. "Okay, gotta go. Give Uncle Jun my love."

"I will, dear." Her grandmother embraced her again. "Come home soon."

"I'll call as soon as I find a place." Gwen squeezed her grandmother, absorbing her babulya's boundless affection by hugging her tightly against her torso.

Finally, Gwen turned to her conflicted brother.

"Keep up the good work, bro." She grabbed both his hands and squeezed. "I'll wait for you."

"No need." Percy leaned in for a hug, finding his sister meeting him halfway. After rocking the young man back and forth so that the pair appeared floating at sea, Percy pulled himself away. "I am going to catch up to you, Sis. While you train, watch me make our family proud and powerful."

"Good!" Gwen patted his head. "Kick some ass out there, bud. But always remember— stay safe. And don't make Mei cry, else I'll come back here and beat you raw."

"That was the sappiest farewell I have ever seen," Yue greeted Gwen on the opposite side of the barrier. "And I've seen plenty of Frontier send-offs."

"Sorry," Gwen apologised. "I am not used to having a family."

"Nah, it was cute." Yue shrugged. "It makes me happy, you know? Back when we were kids, you were all kind of gloomy and depressing. Your mum was a psycho bitch, and Morye was a right cunt, shit was the pits."

"Yeah." Gwen glanced at her still-waving family outside the Force Barrier. To her amusement, even Guo was waving, albeit discreetly. "Those days are behind me."

"Thank fuck."

"You sure you're okay not going for the parade with Whetu? Team spirit and all that? Promos and stuff."

"Nah, I am a merc," Yue said. "Whetu and the boys, they're the heroes."

"I suppose. It's a shame I couldn't hang out with the Kiwis some more."

"I am more so surprised Dick's not coming with us."

"He's going to settle his family down, then meet us in London. We're on entirely different enrolment schedules. I've also got a lot on my plate before I can attend classes."

"Yeah, like running a bloody empire of greed. Are you as rich as Lulan's yapping? Or is she mostly hot air?"

"Ha!" Gwen grinned. "I've got enough to get by in London. I can borrow crystals to invest as well."

"How much have you got on you?"

"What, right now?"

"Yeah."

"In HDMs?"

"Sure."

Gwen held up six fingers.

"Six hundred HDMs?" Yue snorted. "Very impressive."

Gwen gave her friend the stink eye, demanding to know if she was as thick as her bosom was mighty.

"Six THOUSAND?"

Gwen snorted through both nostrils.

"SIXTY THOU—"

"One-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero—" she whispered the numbers across a silent Message. "And then some. Marong had it prepared for London. I am going to need an office, among other things."

"Christ of Naz—"

"Shhh!" She pulled the Evoker closer. "— and I've banked up just over 3000 CCs…"

Yue slapped away her friend's wayward hand. "Oi, now you're just showing off. Peaches' ain't kidding, Dragon-girl."

Gwen giggled, grinning like a shot Wyvern. "What can I say? You're talking to a bona fide rich-bitch."

When Gwen had come through her first ISTC Station, she had been so sick that she could hardly breathe. Now, with her Conjuration hitting the upper-middle tiers and her conduits brimming with VMI, she could barely feel a tickle as she translocated across thousands of kilometres.

Their first stop was Singapore's ISTC, one of the most extensive networks in the southern hemisphere. At the island nation's vast sorcery-inclined shopping mall, Gwen purchased some new clothes, a dozen pairs of shoes— all magical, and some local specialities for Gunther and Alesia. Yue followed her clicking heels, disturbed by the ease of Gwen's capitalist-spendthrift, lacking the words to voice her working-class agitation.

Two hours and a sumptuous meal later, the duo entered another ISTC platform and made for Sydney. This time, there were no complications or abductions, only a flash of Conjuration and a horrid feeling that a part of them remained thousands of kilometres away.

"Welcome to Darwin," a troop of Tower Mages greeted the new arrivals. "Please register your multi-passes at the Administration Block."

After receiving their stamps and Glyphs, the girls made a snack out of fish and chips, then awaited their turn. Forty minutes later, they embarked on yet another ISTC array, hopping from Townsville to Brisbane, then to New Castle, and finally Sydney.

"Huzzah! HOME AT LAST!" a cry of jubilation interrupted the hurried transit of travellers in Sydney's newly built ISTC terminal.

From the exit gate, the staff and the guests were enchanted by the visage of a svelte young sorceress floating across the marble floor, making for the exit.

Once outside, the girl spread her arms wide as though praising the sun, then twirled, tantalising the onlookers with her pale limbs and long hair.

"Arrrgh!"

To their surprise, the sorceress retreated no more than a few seconds later, escaping back into the shade to join her companion, a flustered Asian sorceress in military cargos and a tank top.

"Affinity predicaments?" Yue stepped into the sun beside her friend. "We're just into December, but the avo's always a right broil. Is the Aussie summer proving too much for you?"

"I could feel myself cooking." Gwen scrutinised the snail sheen of sweat covering her arms and legs. Gingerly, she examined herself for sunburn. "The Radiance index here is insane! And there's no mana miasma to diffuse the sunlight either."

"Ha! Would you like me to get you a parasol and a cup of tea, my lady?" came Yue's mocking laughter. "You're not even in London yet, and you're already acting like a shrinking violet. Ah, well— I suppose the London fog should agree with you."

"Ah, well indeed—" Gwen circulated Almudj's Essence, not wanting to show up to Alesia and Gunther's supper partially Polymorphed into a lobster.

"Whoa—"

"What now?"

Unlike in Shanghai or elsewhere, her body was brimming with vigour, as though empowered by something far more substantial than herself. If she were a religious person, she would almost believe herself at the mercy of a higher power. But, the feeling lasted only a second. In its aftermath, everything, even the air and the asphalt beneath her Mary Janes felt intimate and connected.

Gwen inhaled deeply, held the air in her lungs, then exhaled.

"What freshness!"

Yue glanced at the shuttle busses, each vomiting lungfuls of unspent mana.

"Good for you," she said finally. "So, should we take the T-Circle, the shuttle bus or a taxi? The city's completely changed since you left. Knowing your sense of direction, you might end up back in China."

"Let's share a cab." Gwen beamed, once again stepping into the sun; this time, she felt as though bathed in warm water. In the distance, she could hear the laughing of kookaburras. "Along the way, you can tell me all about it!"

"So, where you lovelies from?"

To demonstrate that some aspects of Sydney remained immutable, the taxi driver kept glancing at his rearview mirror at the two girls seated behind. Compared to the vigilant Yue, Gwen didn't mind the occasional gawker. Her dress wasn't exactly Victoriana, and her contoured calves were arguably a tantalising distraction.

"First time in Sydney? Where to? I could show your ladies the best view of the CBD if you're keen. We're on the up and up. Sydney's an up-and-coming tier 1 city!"

"Mate— keep your eyes on the road," Yue warned their driver. To show that she meant business, the sorceress materialised an ID, one that displayed her Military Rank and her Public Practice of Magic number. Thanks to a ruby-red "5" beside her Schools of Magic, the driver grew instantly attentive.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"We got business at the new Tower. Head north after Kinsington, then swing through Paddington until you hit Town Hall."

"Right away, Ma'am!" The driver half-saluted. "No problem."

The midday traffic through Kingsford proved light as the girls made for the heart of the city. Along the way, Yue ran a running commentary on Sydney's altered landscape.

"You'll see it once you get to Master's place..." Yue spoke at length about the carcass of the Leviathan still parked in the harbour. Thanks to the tsunami that engulfed the coastal suburbs, everything eastward of the Royal Botanic Garden had to be rebuilt from scratch. Once the Mermen inhabiting the organic treasure trove were purged, the Leviathan had then been worked to the marrow, transforming Elizabeth Bay into a maritime strip mine.

Together with the east, most of Sydney CBD's quadrants had been demolished by the invasion as well. Thus far, only the central segment from Macquarie Street to Barangaroo had been reconstructed. Likewise, the crumbling, historical architecture of the city had been all but cleared, leaving wide avenues ripe for modern urban planning.

As their taxi passed worksite after worksite, Gwen saw that Gunther had tirelessly transformed his home, ensuring Sydney could no longer be easily invaded. In between the gleaming concrete and glass, the Tower Master had installed watchtowers, Divination Beacons, Shielding Stations and Barrier Checkpoints, forming an intra-city defensive grid.

"Wow— look at that! Amazing."

The biggest difference, in so far as Gwen was concerned, was the appearance of Sydney Tower. In the past, her Master's residence had been primarily a concrete fort. Built in the early 80s under Henry Kilroy's guidance, it's sole purpose was as a military installation. Now, taking a leaf from Singapore and Hong Kong, Gunther had revamped the Tower by building an extension beside its original self, marrying curved glass and transmuted steel with the sandstone facade of the brutalist original. Side-by-side, the two buildings possessed an asymmetric appeal, symbolising not only the power and wealth of Sydney's Tower Master; but both the city's past and its bright future.

"The new roads are so wide!" Gwen cooed, very much a bumpkin entering the big city for the first time. "Whoa, Martin's Square is now a pedestrian zone? And there are so many shops! I haven't seen half of these brands! Where are they all from?"

"Mostly Europe," Yue answered, trying her best not to imagine Gwen buying up the inventory. "Gunther gathered A LOT of Mages in Sydney. Thanks to the reconstruction, our employment market is incredibly lucrative right now. Master says Sydney has the highest concentration of low to mid-tier Mages in Oceania."

"What about the NoMs?" Gwen scanned the streets. In so far as she could tell, an equal volume of NoMs and Mages jostled through the crowded avenues.

"They're mostly relocated to satellite hubs outside the CBD like Parramatta, Castle Hill, Lakemba, Blackheath and so on. Now that the old NoM districts are gone, they won't be able to afford the city's centre. All the buildings here are brand new."

"That's terrible." Gwen frowned. "How about public transport? Did Gunther provide new lines to those areas?"

"The city council's working on building tramlines into the suburbs where NoMs refugees have rebuilt. They started when I left a few months ago, but I don't think there's been much progress."

"What are the refugees doing for crystals?"

"Menial jobs, I'd imagine." Yue pointed to a crew of hard-hatted workmen digging out a pit on the road, supervised by a Transmuter in a hi-visibility jacket. "Most of the folks our family used to know from Forrestville are labourers now. You know; installing drywalls, running mana conduits, tiling, flooring, carpentry, that sort of thing. Gunther says that the NOMs are getting by just fine. I am just happy that mum's doing alright, I got her a position in the Tower's refugee relief unit. She's working the soup kitchens."

"That's kind of her..." Gwen checked her reflection against the blurring city. Indeed, some things remained immutable, even under a benign dictator like Gunther.

In the rearview mirror, she noticed that their driver was once again glancing at them. This time, it was their topic of conversation that made the man beyond curious. That they kept name dropping "Gunther" now and then was also highly suspect— for what business could two young women have with the highest office of Sydney? The most perplexing thing, Gwen mused, was probably why two chicks on a first-name basis with the premier Mage of Sydney had to take an NoM's taxi.

"Yunnie, does Aunty like working for the Tower?"

"I made sure the staff knew she was the mother of Yue Bai, Apprentice to the Scarlet Sorceress." Yue scoffed. "Anyone trying to bully mum will be served to the homeless, medium-rare."

"Jesus." Gwen snorted. "And you didn't get a visit from HR?"

"H-what?"

"Never mind," Gwen withdrew her Gwenism. "How's Uncle Bai?"

"Dad's alright. He got a cushy managerial position thanks to Gunther. We're no longer living in Forrestville, by the way. The Bais are moving up in the world! We bought a new place in Vaucluse, not far from the ferries. We got those now too, by the way."

"Nice." Gwen recollected scenic Vaucluse from her old world. "That's right next to the water. Not worried about another Mermen invasion?"

"Not with Gunther in charge. That Leviathan's provided plenty of materials to upgrade all of our Shielding Stations. Its skull now serves as a permanent military installation. We've got it towed to the Watson Bay inlet, right at the entrance into Sydney— they're calling the new island Mermaid's Head."

"Classy. I suppose there's always a boon after the bust."

"There's only a boon if your city happens to have an arse-kicker capable of decapitating a Leviathan five kilometres out, with minimal preparation and no Tower backup."

"True." Gwen wondered if Gunther had gotten even stronger since his world-famous battle. "Gunther was Master's Ace."

"Pufft, then what does that make you? The cat—"

"Ma'am," their driver interrupted. "This is as far as I can go."

The taxi pulled to a stop.

Gwen materialised four LDM sticks. "Keep the change."

"Cheers," the driver intoned reverently, happy for the sorceresses to depart his coarse and common vehicle.

Outside, two guards in Fascist-white quickly accosted the girls. Different from the uniforms in Gwen's memory, the Tower's imposing attires had taken on a para-military aesthetic. The men's Merskin belt, Gwen noted, sported both a wand and a Sonic Suppressor.

"Girls. You're in a restricted area. Please leave." The first guard placed a hand on the knob of his weapon. When Gwen responded to the man's menace with a wholly nonplussed smile, his tone softened. "Sorceresses, why are you here?"

"Mate, we're here to see the Tower Master." Yue drew a Glyph in the air, which Gwen assumed to be some sort of passcode. "Take Gwen here to the Teleportation Platforms and inform Master Shultz that his little sister has arrived."

The guards regarded one another.

The one that had addressed them suddenly slapped his thigh.

"You're Gwen Song!" The young man opened his mouth wide enough to swallow an egg. "I've seen you on the Vid-casts—!"

The second guard slapped the first on the back.

"That's Miss Gwen Song you're speaking to, Private Jones." The senior of the two saluted. "Corporal Gris, at your service, Ma'am."

"Hello." Gwen inclined her chin politely. "Sorry for the hassle."

"No trouble, Ma'am." The Corporal bowed. "Please, this way. Jones is just a little star-struck."

With the guards leading the way, the two waltzed into the Tower's interior. Along the way, Gwen made pleasant small talk as she had always done, leaving the men well impressed.

"How come they didn't recognise you?" Gwen leaned in beside Yue. Now below the Tower, she was delighted to see that the exterior cladding refracted the sunlight like the scales of a certain Rainbow Serpent. Inside, the multi-storey foyer was breath-taking, more akin to an ultra-luxury hotel rather than a central government office.

"I don't much like coming here." Yue shrugged. "Master doesn't either. She says there's too much hot air. We generally spend our time in the Frontier zones."

"But the IIUC Vid-cast..."

"Gwen, you underestimate how memorable you can be." Yue smacked her on the bottom. "Now get! I've got places to be."

"You're not coming with me?"

Yue pointed a thumb to a sign that had the words "Teleportation Circle Access", followed by an arrow.

"Nah, all that classified stuff you and Gunther are going to sprout is going to give me a headache. Besides, you're going to chill with your family..." Gwen's friend parted from her without so much as an adieu. "... and I am going to see mine."

"Come in," Gunther's baritone voice resounded.

Gunther's secretary, a middle-aged Diviner, opened the double-doors for Gwen. Located at the top floor of the new Tower, the oval office offered a horizon to horizon vista of Sydney's harbour and its south-western suburbs.

"Brother!" Gwen made a bee-line for her sibling-in-craft.

In the two years since Henry's passing, Gunther had been her rock, fluidly assuming the stewardship of their Master's orphaned Apprentice.

"Sister." Gunther stood, as imposing as always in his surreal handsomeness. With outstretched arms, he caught the girl running toward him. "You look good. You're a young woman now."

"Gods, I missed you." Gwen buried her face into her brother-in-craft's chest. "You have no idea how happy I am to be back here. I swear to God, a bloody lifetime has elapsed since we last spoke in person."

"The feeling's mutual." Gunther awkwardly patted his "Sister" across the back. "Also, that's some strength you've got in your arms. Please try to refrain from squeezing out my insides. I am not a tube of toothpaste."

Gwen laughed, releasing Gunther just enough for him to feel his spine realign. With great relief, he directed her to the visitor's chair.

"First things first," she declared, flashing Gunther's Contingency Ring before chanting the secret Glyph to deactivate its magic. With a deft pull, she removed the ring from her ring finger, then placed the thumb-sized, un-glamoured diamond in front of her brother-in-craft. "Here you are— Thanks for the loan, Gunther, but your live-saver is killing me."

"You should keep it." Gunther appeared puzzled by her rejection. "It makes me happier knowing that you're safe."

"No thanks, Gunther. You forgot to mention that your heirloom is a unique artefact the likes of which the world will never see again." Gwen lamented. "You told me this was a 'decent' Contingency Ring. You DID NOT say that it was an irreplaceable, last of its kind Magic Item crafted by the House of Asscher, whose chief inscriber passed away a decade ago."

"Regardless, the utility is what makes it precious." Gunther shrugged. "What use is it otherwise?"

"How about you save it for Alesia." Gwen pushed the ring forward. "Or Gunther Junior. He or she would need it, knowing Alesia."

Gunther smiled secretively. "Are you sure?"

"I am sure. Besides, I've acquired one of my own." Gwen flashed the Continency Ring on her ring finger. "It's a Gavin Company 'Brilliant Round' from South Africa. Like yours, it's also an Eye Tyrant's Core. A friend of mine put in a good word with the company."

"A friend?"

"A Mineral Mage from Pretoria."

"The young Hertzog?" Gunther nodded. "He's from good stock."

Gwen cocked her head; her thick lashes fluttered uncertainly. "Gunther, have you been spying on me?"

Her brother-in-craft leaned back in his executive's chair. Despite the inhuman hours spent at the desk, Gunther did not morph into a "Dad" as she had hoped. Conversely, where Magus von Shultz the Combat Mage had reminded her of a warring Apollo, Tower Master von Shultz took on a gentler, bookish air.

"I kept tabs," Gunther replied, studying her face. "The Master of your other companion, Meister Bekker, doesn't have the best reputation. And Jean-Paul Bekker isn't exactly known for acts of chivalry."

"He was a cool guy."

"Cool— and cold, and ruthless, and just weird enough to be dangerous." Gunther picked up his ring, then slipped it onto his left index finger. "I've gotten wind of the deal he offered you, and no, Meister Bekker does NOT have my blessing."

"O, Gods..." Gwen's face turned instantly scarlet.

Gunther raised both hands. "I won't interfere with your life, Gwen, but I won't be kept in the dark. Is that agreeable."

"I should say no." Gwen half-leaned against the table, nibbling her bottom lip. "But such is life, I suppose. I mean, are you going to give me privacy if I chucked a tantrum?"

"No," Gunther candidly replied. "You're our little sister. You haven't even come out to society yet. You're also a Class VI War Mage."

"A what?"

"After Shenyang, you've been compartmentalised as a strategic asset." Gunther's smile betrayed the seriousness of his words. "There won't be limitations to your freedom as such, I've seen to that— but your general whereabouts and those with whom you associate will be made known to us. In Sydney, I can keep you out of the Tower's eyes and ears, but once you're in London…"

"I understand." Gwen nodded. "The perils of power, huh?"

"Especially when combined with youth," Gunther returned. "Once we're done here, I am going to send Emily to help you with getting your ID updated. For now, I'll grant you an Unlimited Class V Public Practice of Magic Licence. You should be able to use spells up to tier 5— but as always, there will be penalties if you abuse your privileges. Even as your brother-in-craft, I won't show favouritism in enforcing the rules of my city."

"Thanks, but I won't be in Sydney for long."

"How long?"

"Two weeks? I am going to visit Opa and spend some time down at the Hunters. Hang out with Yue and Alesia, probably. Other than you guys, I am all alone."

"That's all?"

"That and I brought you this—" Gwen passed a hand over Gunther's table, materialising five tomes, each as thick as her wrist.

Gunther picked up a leather-bound volume and flipped through the covers. The content was, demonstrably, both familiar and arcane.

"Accounting? Auditing? What is this?"

"A gift of knowledge for all the help you've given me. These are Professor James Ma's internal memos, collated into a manual for NoM trainees. I would venture to say that this is the sole reason Tonglv kept within budget AND managed to generate profit without wankers skimming the proceeds." Gwen's explained. "For a Tower Master up to his neck with delegated infrastructural projects, I'd imagine they're going to be quite invaluable."

"Really? That's quite the gift." Gunther opened the first volume on corporate governance. After scanning the first few pages, he nodded. "But why NoMs?"

"Ah, now that's a million HDM question." Gwen's eyes grew mischievous. "But I know how busy you are, so let's save the details for dinner. I wonder, what fine cuisine will the most bad-ass Mage in all of Oceania prepare for his prodigal sister?"

"Oh, wow." Gwen choked up, conquered by a torrent of welling emotions. Before her very eyes, engraved onto the Tower's dark, marble floor, was a glowing Teleportation Circle. "I can't believe it's still here."

"I couldn't bring myself to disenchant it." Gunther's tone grew paternal as he patted Gwen's shoulders. "I had the Mandala preserved after we relocated. It's only one-way now, but very much still functional."

"That's fine." Gwen stepped around the old Teleportation Circle. Her grandfather had inscribed the one in Pokolbin, but her Master had engraved its twin in the Tower. "I'll go and visit Opa tomorrow. I don't think I can fly back in time for dinner if I go now."

"Maybe you should inform him of your arrival."

"Naw." Gwen shook her head. "I want it to be a surprise. Is he hale?"

"Your grandfather lives an interesting lifestyle," Gunther said, keeping a straight face. "If he's sick, I would have known."

"Even if Opa's not," Gwen joked, admonishing Gunther's stoicism. "I can bring him back from the dead."

Gunther coughed. "Let's not get carried away."

"How do I access the circle? Tomorrow, I mean."

"I'll arrange clearance for you." Gunther tapped his Message Device. "Look, I've got to get back to work. Alesia should return in an hour. Yue won't be joining us?"

"She's got the family to attend to," Gwen said. "It's been almost three months since she last saw her mother."

"How admirable," Gunther approved. "See you at dinner, Gwen."

"Will do." Gwen gave her brother-in-craft another hug. "Thanks for preserving the Mandala."

"No need." Gunther grinned. Before Gwen could speak, he patted her head. "To Alesia and I, you're the only family we've got left, so don't rush, you're still young. When you return from London and Sydney has settled, we'll go visit Master and Sufina together. Then, we'll find Sobel."

As the fiancee of Sydney's Tower Master, there was no particular reason for the Scarlet Sorceress to stay in her old apartment. Nonetheless, out of sentimentality and or stubbornness, that's what she did.

Located north of Lavender Bay and overlooking Wyatt Park, the former "Bay Lodge" of Nelson's Point had survived the Leviathan with no more than shattered shopfronts and flooded basements. The aftermath, however, saw Alesia's building playing home to the abruptly displaced refugees of the eastern suburbs. At her behest, the lower floors and the old commercial centre had turned into soup kitchens and its multi-story parking lot into temporary shelters.

But once the crisis passed, the once august locale had lost all of its well-to-do owners and tenants. Furthermore, its new inhabitants were no longer named Mages that graced Sydney's social circles. Instead, newly wealthy migrants filled the skyscraper's middle floors, while the lower levels were converted into restaurants and cafes catering to the new flux of foreign workers.

Alesia de Botton's residence in the penthouse suite, therefore, had become a fable of sorts. For a building located not so conveniently across the bay from Sydney's new Tower, it was difficult for the inhabitants to conceive that the premier Mage in Oceania and his wife lived a few floors up.

Presently, within the lodge, in a closeted chamber shielded from Divination, Gwen materialised.

With an irrepressible sense of nostalgia, she brushed the motes of sizzling Conjuration from her dress. Three years ago, she had teleported with Alesia into this very spot, knowing almost nothing about the world within which she had found herself. Then, after changing into a borrowed dress, they had gone to see her Master, Henry Kilroy.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

"Gwen— is that you?" Alesia's voice rang out before Gwen could even walk through the door.

"Alesia, it's me!" She called back. "Er… I can't open the secret door. Did you change the Glyph?"

"Ah— Gunther had new wards installed. One sec!"

There was a din of stomping feet, then the wooden panel slid into its hidden recess, revealing a familiar face. Compared to when Gwen had first met her sister-in-craft, the Alesia de Botton of today appeared older, more worn and threadbare compared to the vivacious woman Gwen had met almost three years ago.

"Allie!"

"Gwen!"

The pair embraced. Alesia delivered a mighty hug that wholly enveloped her sibling-in-craft. She kissed her twice, once on each cheek.

"You've scared us almost to death!" The sorceress pulled herself away. "A Lich! Who the hell fights a Lich?!"

"It had me pinned!" Gwen protested. "Did you watch the whole thing? I did my best to try and bluff it, but the damned thing wasn't afraid of Dragons. It was either fight or flight. I mean, it was tossing Disintegrates like confetti!"

"I saw— at any rate, no more Liches for our Gwen-Gwen." Alesia kissed her again on the head. "Gods, that was too close. Fucking Chinese organisers, I just knew they would be full of shit."

"No one anticipated a literal Lich."

"Well, I think you should have burned Gunther's Ring as soon as you saw the limp-dick bastard. Fuck the competition. There's no merit in celebrating dead champions."

Assaulted by Alesia's foul-mouthed kindness, Gwen melted in her sister's arms. Finally, here was someone whose reaction was entirely within the range of rational and reasonable expectations.

"Still, I survived!" Gwen intoned sincerely. Thinking of her future majordomo, she decided to test the tension between them. "Walken saved my life, you should know. I survived thanks to him."

"No—" Alesia wagged a finger rudely in her face. "Walken saved his arse. If you had died, Gunther would have reduced him to cinders. Hell, I would have scorched the bastard from inside out, starting with his marrows."

"He almost died saving me. I had to CPR him back to life."

"It was an act of desperation," Alesia insisted. "But enough about that snake. So, London, eh? Looking forward to it?"

"Oh, absolutely." Gwen grinned from ear to ear. "Cambridge and Elvia, what's not to like?"

Alesia laughed, inviting Gwen upstairs to the penthouse. As before, Alesia proceeded to her fridge, inside, as per Gwen's initial visit, were rows upon rows of beer.

"Jesus, Allie, that's no way for the First Lady of Sydney to live."

"Ha! Did Gunther tell you?" Alesia raised an elegant brow.

"Tell me what?"

"I am Missus Shultz now."

"WHAT!" Gwen almost crushed her can of stout. "WHEN?"

"When I got back from Shanghai." Alesia giggled. "After speaking to Ayxin, I decided it was time. Gunther and I, we're not going to find some else like ourselves. If a Dragon could find the courage to straddle the human she loves, why not me? It was a civil ceremony. We're both far too busy to organise a wedding and there are far too many young hussies in the Tower aiming to be Missus Shultz I didn't want to invite. That and I have only Yue and you, and Gunther his thousands of contacts..."

Gwen appeared devastated.

"Allie! WOE IS ME. The matrimony of de Botton and Shultz was supposed to be THE event of the decade! We're talking LORD GUNTHER von SHULTZ here! The King of Australia! You could have had an Opera House wedding dressed in white, with a train that stretches from Circular Quay to the Bennelong's lawn! The hair! The jewellery! The Vid-casts! The— THE CATERING! ARRRGH—!"

"Hahaha..." Alesia's laughter shook the window panes. "You're so funny."

"No, seriously!" Gwen almost tore out a clump of her precious hair. "I wanted to be your bridesmaid! O my God! How can this be? One of my most fervent dreams, shattered by inconvenient scheduling! How is Gunther okay with this?"

"Gunther preferred it. He was oh-so-relieved when I told him we should just get the Governor-General to come and officiate at the Tower. Fifteen minutes was all it took. Gunther zipped the old feller up to his office; then it was all over. I've got the certificate witnessed and sealed and everything. You want to see?"

"I do, but still—" Gwen felt physical pain. A civil ceremony? She could imagine the riot if William and Kate decided that a Westminster wedding was too much of a hassle, and so got notarised at the motor registry. "You have to give me time to digest this thing. I can't believe it. Gunther and Alesia, hitched! In an office! By the GG!"

"It's not so bad." Alesia drummed her tummy absentmindedly.

"Holy COWS—" Gwen's lips trembled, as did her fingers. "Are you…"

"No, not yet." Alesia smiled. "You know how it is. The more talented a Mage, the harder it is for us to conceive. That's why sorceresses marry young— and why you're so damn popular. As for us, we're trying, but nature is going to take a long while to get here."

"Well, you can give it a push! Are you menstruating on the regular? Have you counted your ovulation days?"

"What kind of question is that?" Now, it was Alesia's turn to splutter. With her expression suddenly reserved, she regarded Gwen with suspicion. "And what would you know about pregnancy?! Have you got a boyfriend yet?"

"What? No way."

"Then— HAVE YOU BEEN WITH A BOY?!" Alesia pointed a trembling finger toward Gwen's face.

"Allie, the only dudes I chill with are family, workers, and Dragons—"

"HOLY SHIT, GWEN!" Alesia quivered with disbelief. "IS IT A DRAGON?! GUNTHER is going to be PISSED. Are we talking about the Wyvern or the Thunder Dragon? OR BOTH? Two at once? Jesus— Look, it doesn't matter, they fry all the same—"

"No! No! No!" Gwen crossed her fingers to form an X, warding away Alesia' sudden hysteria. "Absolutely no boys! AND NO DRAGONS."

"You better not be lying to me—"

"Look, if you recall, my Babulya is the director of the Second PLA Army Hospital," Gwen declared with a straight face. "I am a girl, and she's an experienced medical practitioner. Naturally, in the course of our filial conversations, we've discussed such matters that pertain to female anatomy and fertility."

"Really…"

"YES!"

Alesia's shoulders fell.

"Then why aren't you dating?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "So, are you and Gunther having problems conceiving?"

"Not as such." Alesia squirmed. "It's just how it is. All older sorceress will run into the same problem. The more magic one possesses, the more problems a woman encounters. Some folks say since our lifespan increases, it's only natural for our fertility to decrease. For me, since I am a combat sorceress, I've sustained quite a bit of damage in my youth. If you recall, during that time we ran into your snake, Edgar and his goon took out a chunk of my gut. Then, during Sobel's invasion, I burned up half my conduits. All that healing takes a toll. Upper-tier mystic ingredients don't just fall from the tree, you know."

"Bloody hell, Allie." Gwen held her sibling's hand, feeling her cold fingers tense. "Don't you worry, you're still young…"

"Young?" Alesia snorted. "Now you're making fun of me. My body's probably all kinds of beaten by now."

"Nah, you don't have to worry about that." Gwen grinned mysteriously. "Injuries? Accumulated body fatigue? Pufft! That's nothing. Let's wait for Gunther. For you guys? I've got the good shit..."

"Gunther, you've CHANGED." Gwen stabbed her fork into the oily breast of a roasted Teak-beak Goose. "TAKE AWAY, really?"

"You have only yourself to blame." Gunther massaged his eyes. "I spent the whole afternoon reading those manuscripts you left me and lost track of time. It's going to take a few months to gather the personnel, but I expect we should be able to get a division of scribes up and running before the next financial year."

"You'll need to establish an Enforcer team as well, filled with Mages you trust. Folks will do anything to dodge their taxes and cheat the government of its rightful dues. Killing, I'd imagine, would be the least of your problems."

"I know."

"Still, that's no excuse for sub-par food!" Gwen hissed. "Look at this greasy skin! It's burnt! And this meat, it's dry! You think Allie will get hale enough to bear a baby if she's eating takeaway from Phat's on George St?"

"Can we not talk about babies?" Gunther grimaced, looking toward Alesia for help. When Alesia grinned, he disapprovingly raised both brows. "What do you know? You're a kid. Do you even have a boyfriend?"

"My Babulya's a doctor!" Gwen rudely waved her fork.

"So you keep saying." Gunther rolled his eyes.

"Bah!" Gwen turned aside with a huff. "Men! You can lead a Sleipnir to water, but you can't make it drink!"

"Gwen— leave the baby-making to Gunther and me." Alesia attempted to calm their youngest, who was both excited about the future and upset over the food. "So what's this big gift you keep hinting at?"

"I had other gifts prepared, but now that I know what you need..." Gwen walked to the end of the table, where the tabletop wasn't inundated by a dozen takeaway containers. "... BEHOLD!"

With a wave of her Storage Ring, she materialised a white-jade bottle of Maotai with a scarlet label.

"This is half-century-old Maotai, brewed by the masters of Guizhou from the rare Wildland Red Sorghum and kept sealed under the ley-line beneath the brewery for five decades. It was bottled before the Communists took China."

With another gesture, she materialised a sealed box radiating Enchantment.

"And is a half-millenium-old ginseng raised by Dragons." She opened the box. "Ta-da!"

"Kii—KII?" The Ginseng Sprite, again disturbed from its slumber, gazed up at Gwen with its faceless mien. As before, her Dragon-fear held it in place. Already, the Ginseng was missing most of its right limb, some of its left leg, and most of the tendrils. "Kii?"

"Don't worry bud." Gwen held the Ginseng down with one hand. With her other hand, she summoned a thin disk of Void, not dissimilar to the cutting edge of her Chakram. "You won't feel a thing."

"KII?!" The Sprite let loose a piercing shout. Its protest was fruitless, for Gwen soon snapped-shut the box and held within her hand a segment of its right-most extremity.

"Noisy little bugger."

"Jesus, Gwen." Alesia held a hand to her lips.

"I don't think you should be doing that." Gunther was equally aghast. "To my knowledge, certain groups of powerful Demi-humans may not find your usage... kosher."

"Not to worry," Gwen assured her siblings-in-craft. "It exists to be eaten, after all. The dude who grows these does it out of boredom. It walks and talks, but really, it's just a herbal supplement."

"That looks like a low-tier Spirit to me," Alesia pointed out. "A Draconic one at that."

"— and now!" Gwen ignored her siblings. "We apply some Essence to the herb in question."

Gunther and Alesia sat transfixed as a pool of viridescent Essence, unadulterated in its purity, collected on their sister-in-craft's palm.

"That's pure Druidic Essence." Alesia had seen Gwen feed her Familiars motes of the stuff, but had no idea Gwen could pump Essence outside her body like a liqueur from a bottle.

In her hand, the root from the Spirit Ginseng began to sprout little tendrils. Gwen exalted in the act, for here in Australia, Almudj's gift flowed far more accessibly than when she was elsewhere.

After absorbing the viridescent fluid in her palm, Gwen expertly unstoppered the bottle of half-century Maotai, then cupped the opening, forcing the struggling "herbal supplement" into the alcohol.

Instantly, a fragrant scent of alcohol combined with the bitter redolence unique to ginseng permeated the air.

At the final step, she re-stoppered the Maotai, gave the elixir a good shake, then presented the precious liquid with a winning smile.

"And there we have it. The panacea to all your ailments. Whatever injuries you have sustained in the past. Gone! Back pain? GONE. Work stress? NO MORE! Age lines. A thing of the past! Ailing libido—"

"Okay— okay." Gunther put up both hands in surrender. "Gwen, I know what I am looking at. Dare I ask how you got your hands on this, and how much it costs?"

"About four hundred HDMs for the bottle, which isn't terrible, considering a limited stock exists. The ginseng, comparatively, is priceless. I doubt there's more than a hundred of its ilk still cultivating in Huangshan. The gardener's a prude, or so I've heard. As for the Essence, that's all me— and Almudj."

"I see." Gunther eyed the bottle. "It certainly looks and smells potent. I can feel the vitality from here. Is it safe to imbibe?"

"I wouldn't drink more than a thimble a day," Gwen warned her siblings. "About a quarter of the bottle is enough for me to summon Caliban's Bird or Hydra form without needing to replenish. As for safety, my family in China can vouch for its potency. We've had it twice so far, everyone's doing well as a result."

"That's good to know." Alesia licked her lips.

"But that's not all!" Gwen made a second pass at the table. A whole stack of assorted goods materialised, some boxed, others bundles, yet more items were crystalised in Petra's cubes.

"This is from Fur-Peak, a tea that has absorbed the Essence of a Mythic-class Dragon. It likewise restores vitality and boosts vigour, but should be drunk slowly over a year."

"Here's some Dragon-carp meat from Gogo. He's been a good boy. Considering how virile he is, I suspect there's something in his favourite food. Did you know he knocked up a pheasant? They're not even the same species!"

"These are lamb-fat jadeite talismans. I've requested one for the each of you. It will ward away Negative Drain, protect you from evil, and bring good luck— or at least that's what my mate Ruxin says. As a five-century-year-old Thunder Dragon and the lord of Kachin, Nagaland and Manipur, I reckon he knows his jade."

"You still traffic with this Ruxin?"

"Of course, I am his financial advisor. Alesia's informed you I hope. Allie's mates with Ayxin, Ruxin's sister."

"Hold on." The Tower Master of Sydney wondered when his sister-in-craft would stop dropping one Fireball after another. "I know that you're involved with the Draconic Clans in China. I also know that your Uncle is 'involved' with one. Can you repeat the last part?"

"Sure. Alesia knows Ayxin. Ain't that why you guys got hitched?"

"No," Gunther said. "The one before that."

"My role as a financial advisor?"

"Yes, please explain?"

"What's there to explain? Dragon has crystals, and by supplying me with a commission-based salary, he now has more. It's win-win."

"And this Ruxin has invited you into his vault, has he?"

"Think of his treasure hoard as a bank." Gwen made a box with her hands. "I am working on multiplying the hoard rather than let it grow mould. In turn, I take a small cut for myself and use an otherwise static resource to benefit mankind. Currency is so named because it must flow, Gunther, you should know that. At any rate, this way, the more prosperous our cities become, the more crystal Ruxin accumulates both in his lair and on paper. Ergo, the humans leave the Dragon alone, and the Dragon sees the humans as beneficial."

"But a Dragon is a Dragon," Gunther pointed out. "To it, we're chattel."

"If Ruxin is any indication, Dragons are a decent sort, certainly no worse than the monsters in our midst. In my experience, they're creatures characterised by a love of land, crystals, and laziness. Satisfy all three, and a Draconic ally becomes a great boon."

Gunther and Alesia exchanged disbelieving glances.

"It's true." Gwen smiled. "For example, you know I've got some stake in Tonglv, correct? Soon, the old codgers are going to make a move on my cut of the action. Additionally, I won't be able to defend myself in their kangaroo court."

"I could pay them a visit," Alesia offered. "That'll sort them out."

"No need." Gwen smirked impishly. "I've arranged it so that Ruxin is now the principal benefactor of my portion of the Tonglv Fund. I've given him all my assets in China as collateral for his future financial support."

"So you're the advisor to Ruxin— and Ruxin is the custodian of your investments?"

"Bingo! Imagine what will happen when the Fund stops paying out to my accounts— which are now Ruxin's accounts. When the Thunder Dragon sees the pricks stealing from him, what will he do to those poor sods in their ivory tower? Ruxin's father is a Mythic Dragon, and Huangshan is only a hundred kilometres from Nantong. For a being that literally controls the weather over China's rice bowl, what would be the implications?"

"Strewth, Gwen." Alesia watched the goosebumps run up and down her arm.

"HA! What will the mighty Central Commission for Discipline Inspection think when news reaches them that a bunch of greedy bastards are taking China's largest city to the brink of starvation over a mere matter of a few hundred-thousand HDMs? Suffer in your jocks!"

Alesia turned her chin slowly to gaze at Gunther.

Gunther met his wife's eyes with a cocked brow.

"Are you really the Gwen we know?" Alesia placed a hand on her sister's forehead.

"I don't know whether Master would be terrified, pleased or both." Gunther exhaled. "Gods, Gwen, what a horrible scheme you've hatched. It's like a page out of the Grey Faction's manifesto."

Gwen allowed Alesia to squeeze her cheeks. Whether her sister was being proud or admonishing, she couldn't tell.

"Gunther, those crystals are rightfully mine," Gwen declared, her face pink thanks to Alesia. "I designed the Tonglv Fund from the ground up. I gave them the means! I trained those auditors and brought Professor Ma on board as well. The hours I poured into making the system work could have gone to my Spellcraft! If they wish to usurp my share, then they should be ready to pay the price. You said it yourself, didn't you? We have to be cruel to be kind."

"I think that was you..."

"Gwen." Alesia drew Gwen closer. "I think you're growing up a little too quick for my comfort."

Gunther, comparatively, appeared less worried and more so wary. "Gwen, tell me truthfully. Did Eric Walken instruct you to engage this ploy?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but the credit is all mine." Gwen met her brother-in-craft head-on. "I believe that this result is the culmination of opportunities I have cultivated in China— My father's family, the Dragons of Huangshan, Tonglv Canal, Professor Ma, the auditors, the Centurion Credit Program— and now, Legion Corp."

"Legion Corp?" Gunther and Alesia both raised their heads.

"YES! I was hoping you could give me a hand so that I can help Sydney help itself." Gwen's voice took on a peculiar and hypnotic cadence.

With a word, Gwen activated the Illusions she had practised for Ruxin. In front of her sister and brother-in-craft, a map of greater Sydney and its Green and Orange Zones materialised.

"What is that?" Alesia asked.

"THIS is the end goal of Legion Corp! Make no mistake, our motto is simple: We're with you, and we're Legion."

The next morning, Gwen awoke while her siblings slept next door.

For the first time in a long time, Gunther called in late for work. It couldn't be helped, for an all-night discussion of Sydney's future had taxed the man to exhaustion.

That and Gwen suspected from the Sound Ward on the second floor that the two may have too eagerly partaken her alchemical aids. As a long term imbiber of vitality-rich elixirs, she could only imagine what effects so much vigour could have had on two individuals in the prime of their lives. For sure, if Ayxin was confident in offsetting decades of Ash-usage, Gunther and Alesia should have no problems.

Gwen ate a can of heated SPAM with a spoon while her siblings napped, then wrote the two a note to say that she would Message from Surya's. With her Flight Licence and Gunther's gift of Glyphs, it wasn't difficult to cross the bay then take a taxi from the Ferry Terminal.

Once inside the Tower, two cadets respectably chauffeured her into the depth of the old Tower.

"Miss Song, please call us if you need anything." The guards bowed deeply.

Gwen returned their offer with a nod, after which the duo disappeared down the familiar levitation platform.

The room she once used still appeared as it always had been. In the past, she had come and gone from the Tower via this very Mandala, splitting her time between her Master's domain, Blackwattle High, and Surya's Estate. For a long while, she had thought that her quiet, routined life would continue until the end of high school, perhaps even the end of university.

But that part of her life was long gone.

Expertly, Gwen materialised an inscriptor in her dominant hand, carefully, she traced the outline of the Mandala. Now possessing the talent for Enchantment, the magical formulae no longer appeared mystical and unknowable. Within the circle, Gwen observed both the works of her Master and her Opa, each distinct in their execution of Weinberg's Parallel Conduit and Higgs' Parabolic Equaliser.

With her other hand, she materialised a dozen HDMs and slotted them into the dimples carved onto the floor. Power nodes, these were dubbed in the parlance of the Enchanters; designed to channel and consume the latent energies held within the mana crystals. For her present transit, however, the Tower's internal conduits would provide the necessary mana.

"Teleport!" Gwen spoke the final invocation.

With a stirring of dust, the Mandala activated, flaming with silvery Conjuration. In the middle, the Divination portion of the Mandala returned pure-white and vivified, verifying its linked-twin hundreds of kilometres away.

The room flashed.

Time and space lost all meaning.

Quicksilver Conjuration fell all about Gwen's body, swirling and swirling until the mana was spent.

Gwen opened her eyes.

She had arrived at her destination, and all around her was darkness.

For added insurance, Gwen conjured Caliban.

"Shaa?" Caliban scented the pitch-darkness, reporting nothing 'living' within her vicinity.

"Arcane Sight!" With her Familiar's assurance, she took a few precious seconds to activate her Divination.

Gwen's emerald irises glowed viridescent, dispelling the darkness. Not surprisingly, she was in a warehouse— one packed to the rafters with boxed and warded ingredients. Gwen recalled that the Mandala used to be in her Opa's workshop, though now it seemed that her grandfather's sanctum had been abandoned for some time.

With her enhanced vision turning the stacked boxes of materials phosphorescent, she stepped around the wards, then located the door. There, she found her exit locked with Transmutation and warded with offensive Abjuration. With her limited knowledge of Enchantment, dispelling the protection was impossible.

"OPA?" she called out. "HELLO?"

"Shaa—Shaa?"

"OPA? It's me, Gwen!"

Gwen checked her Message Device. Surya's Glyph was inoperative.

"OPA!!!"

Gwen hammered the ceiling after sensing no retaliatory Enchantments.

THUMP!

She recalled Gunther had said that there were NoMs living on her grandfather's property. Surely, someone would hear her and find her Opa.

"HELLO?" This time, she added Clarion Call.

"SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban aided its mistress as best as it could, rising on its tail to drum the roof with its tentacled tongue. “SHAAAAA!"

Surya Huang laid in his bed, watching a fly entrapped within the gossamer half-covering his bed.

Usually, the Enchanter possessed a carefree disposition. More and more frequently, however, Surya had found himself in what Tess dubbed "one of those geezer moods".

It wasn't that Surya wanted to be depressed. Sometimes, the deviation of his present circumstances from his hopes and dreams simply caught the veteran unaware. For a self-professed family man, few things were more demoralising than not having a family nearby.

After the Coral Sea War and after Agnes' rejection, Surya had settled down to build his Australian Dream. He had found himself a devoted young wife, engendered two lovely children, and thanks to his mate Henry, enjoyed both fame and fortune. The future of House Huang had looked bright, and the aspirations he nurtured for a grand estate crawling with dozens of grand and great-grandchildren seemed at hand.

Now, he slept alone in his enormous bedroom, thinking of two-dozen ways to fry a panicking blue-bottle while his once-manicured estate crawled with despondent NoMs.

Surya tried his best not to think of his children, but the memory of their sweet, smiling faces vying for their father's attention made him both nostalgic and upset. Kwan had always been ambitious, and Surya couldn't fault his son's appetite for wealth— for that had been the pie in the sky he had painted the boy in his youth. As for Helena, her marriage to Morye was the final straw that broke the camel's back.

And as for his grandchildren; he had seen Richard only a dozen times in his life. Percy, likewise, had always thought of Surya as senile codger. As for the one that was abducted, Surya sighed. When would he see his cute cucu perempuan again?

"Mel?" Surya croaked.

No response came.

"Tess?"

His other Apprentice was away as well, likely working out yet another gripe for the NoMs.

"Hehe." Surya reached under the bed and produced a bottle of Bundaberg's finest overproof. Tess and Mel forbade him from drinking the strong stuff, but the girls were far too used to their Storage Rings to notice that the folds between the bed base and the mattress served as mundane storage.

Shimming up his fort of goose-down pillows, Surya groped for a glass in the gloom.

"Here's to you, my cucu perempuan— stay safe."

In one swig, Surya knocked back the amber liquid, allowing the alcohol to suffuse his mind so that the bubbling bile of unhappiness could once again settle in its well. Soon, the sweet and sticky sugarcane rum suffused Surya's insides, warming up his stick-thin body.

"Opa?" echoed a muffled cry from below.

Surya squinted in the curtained light. Just in case, he turned the bottle over, making sure Tess hadn't replaced the damn thing with Cane Toad extract to teach him a lesson.

"Helloooooo?"

There it was again!

Surya broke out in a cold sweat.

How could Gwen be HERE of all places? Thousands of kilometres from China? If anything, shouldn't she be headed for London? And even if she was, why would she be in the walls? And if she was in the walls, why was she haunting him?

Gingerly, he sniffed the bottle, then swilled the liquid to check for impurities. Maybe Tess mixed in the toad-juice with the rum? That sneaky little witch needed to be spanked!

"SHAA!" came a spine-chilling shriek, this one straight out of Surya's fevered nightmares.

THUMP! Something was striking the walls below.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Goddess! Surya felt his heart leap to his throat. Was this an indigenous spirit, come to punish him for building a house—

"Anyone home? I am going to Dimension Door out!"

Surya again tried to discern if the voice he was hearing was real or hallucinatory. He recalled something about the workshop beneath his bed, but the overproof rum was remarkably potent.

VOOOMPH!

A concentric ring of raw electricity ignited the air, materialising a feminine figure in a mini-dress. The room illuminated for a second, then without warning, his cucu perempuan, the cutest, most beautiful granddaughter in human history, stood staring at him, her face a mask of horror.

"G-Gwen?!" Surya spluttered.

"SHAAA!" Besides the girl, her serpent, as black and phallic as the day it was born, screeched with delight, slithering onto the bed.

Gwen's eyes glowed with supernatural sight, her pupils capturing every detail in crystal clarity.

"Y-you're REALLY here?!" Surya spluttered.

A torrent of repressive, gut-churning, spine-wrenching terror radiated from the girl. Under that gaze, Surya felt his body transform into a boneless anemone.

"O-OPA! W-WHY-WHY are you NAKED?!"

"A man's home is his castle," Surya explained, nursing his old bones. Thanks to Gwen's Dragon Fear, he had fled his bed and dressed so fast he had sprained his back and shoulders. "I sleep naked because it's hot. It's a sauna this summer."

"You're an Enchanter!" Gwen glowered, rubbing her eyes. "There are cooling Glyphs in your room! On your bed! And also leather cuffs— why are cuffs—"

"A man's got needs—"

"You're SIXTY…"

"I am a servant of Eros," her Opa explained, pointing a thumb at one of his many erotic statues. This one appeared to be a poor woman kneeling over, submitting to two Calibans.

"Shaa?" Caliban appeared confused.

"Is that the only thing on your mind?" Gwen quickly retrieved her innocent serpent before it could be corrupted.

"Its art, and yes, I am very creative."

Gwen reformatted her long-term memory to hard-wipe the mental image of her grandfather reenacting "The Nude Maja", consigning her recall to Caliban's gullet.

"Okay, let's leave it at that." Slowly, her expression softened. Hesitantly, after checking her Opa's robes for stains, she opened her arms. "Now that you're decent. Come here, Opa."

"My cucu perempuan!"

Gwen cradled the frail old man in her arms.

Two years ago, when she had last done the same, her Enchanter grandfather had felt larger than life. Now, her Opa appeared drained of all his vivacity. Even held against her bosom, the grinning old man barely reached her chin. Even his hands, one pressing the small of her back and the other gripping her arm, felt like bird claws.

"How's your health?" Gwen asked her grandfather. "Gunther tells me a lot has happened."

"Yes, indeed." Surya exhaled. "Too much…"

"Well." Gwen pulled up a chair. Outside and below the estate's elevated veranda, makeshift shelters stretched from east to west, falling away where Surya's boundary fence met the neighbours. "For once, I've got all the time in the world."

From Gwen's Singapore misadventure to her family in China, Burma, and elsewhere, Opa and cucu perempuan exchanged stories of the past two years. When finally, the conversation fell to her deceased Master, her Opa fell silent.

For Surya, the fall of Sydney and the death of Henry Kilroy had come as a profound shock. Now, out of his original party, only he, Mark, Agnes and Elizabeth remained.

"To think Deathless Henry would leave this world before I took the long walk." Surya shook his head.

"Hold up." Gwen's brows knitted. "Chandler's not dead?"

"He escaped the Tower in the ensuing confusion." Surya breathed out. "Or so I've heard from Gunther. Your Brother-in-craft suspects that someone had to have aided Marc. It's a moot point, though. He's a Necromancer now, with a bounty on his head across all of the Mageocracy. What kind of life is that?"

"Did he escape into the Wildlands? Become a Rogue Necromancer?"

"It's possible. You didn't run into Marc in Shenyang, did you?"

"No." Gwen hesitated at the possibility that Chandler HAD escaped to Shenyang, and that one of the many faceless victims of her Shoggoth was a man responsible for her pain, shame and misery. "Not that I would know."

"A shame." Surya shook his head. "Although he was a companion, I would have preferred him deceased. With Henry gone, we need closure."

"Me too," Gwen concurred. Having experienced Necromantic magic firsthand, her desire to see their mass-murdering "Craft" scoured from the earth was no less constant than Gunther's or Alesia's. "How's Agnes and the ladies?"

"They're doing well." Surya grinned. "Agnes had the girls hide in the Black Cat when the city flooded. Thankfully, Surry Hills wasn't completely inundated by the Mermen tsunami. It's a hilly place, as the name suggests. She and the local militia managed to fight off the vanguards and establish a defensive cordon. For now, business is booming. She's expanded the business and the shelter. Some of the girls visit monthly to model for me."

"I didn't need to know that."

"It's nothing inappropriate. What's wrong with young ladies helping an old man find joy—"

"Please." Gwen handwaved her Opa into silence. "So, what do you think about Dad? Now that you know everything, I mean. The Song family, why he's in Australia, the works."

"I dearly wish my counterpart could beat the bastard black and blue every Tuesday," Surya growled. "Hiding his talent! Seducing my daughter and abandoning my cucu perempuan! Leaving you to be abused by his new in-laws, then ploughing some hussy half his age and even having a son with her? There's no justice in the world, I tell you. If there is a God like the Christians say, that salty bastard would have eaten dirt during Sydney's siege."

"The communists are godless," Gwen reminded her Opa. "But I concur, Morye or Hai— he's a failure, much less a father."

"But his family seems a decent lot," Surya agreed whole-heartedly with Gwen's vitriol. "That Grandmother of yours seems like a decent sheila. And sweet Petra…"

"Won't be coming to Australia." Gwen almost regretted pointing out that the leggy Russian brunette in the IIUC footage was her cousin. "To change the subject, you haven't heard from my mother at all?"

"I'd imagine you would have heard from her," Surya returned guiltily. "I mean, she's in China and all, and so were you."

"We had a clean break." Gwen put together her hands; when she opened them again, a Vitae Fruit was resting on her palm. "I gave her back her youth. We're done."

"Ho!" Surya's brows arched with surprise. "Where did you find this?"

"I've collected this and more." Gwen smiled at her Opa. In her eyes, her grandfather looked far too old for a Magus of his station and skill. Considering individuals like Walken appeared perfectly youthful, no more than a dandy gentleman in his forties— why should her Opa look like something the cat dragged in? "Some wine, some tea, some herbal supplements, all of which will make you haler and younger."

"There's no need." Surya flexed his wiry-thin arms. "I've been like this for decades."

"The supplements I've brought are so potent that an Ash Mage with an affinity higher than tier 7 may be conceiving a half-dragon child as we speak," Gwen spoke as she laid out her gifts one by one. "I wonder what an artist such as yourself can do with such an infusion of life?"

"You desire another Uncle or Aunty?" Surya was incredulous. He took her fingers with an earnest look of disapproval. "I know Hai has neglected you, but I didn't think your problems were so serious—"

"Let me stop you right there," Gwen spluttered, slapping her Opa's wayward hand. "I mean your health! Don't be insulted Opa, but you look like hell. You look like a desiccated coconut!"

"I live in on a farm, looking after thousands of refugees! With no son, no daughter and no grandchildren!" Surya chuckled. "Why do I care about my looks?"

"You should because you're going to live a LONG TIME." Gwen pinched Surya on the thighs, making the old man yelp. "Ten, twenty, FIFTY years from now, you'll still be by my side, right? I need an Enchanter for my Tower."

"Your what?"

"My Tower."

"You're going to be a Tower Master?"

Gwen nodded. "I want to make life better for the people who helped me come all this way. If possible, I want to carve out a place for the NoMs as well, so they aren't just livestock for the Mageocracy."

Surya gawked at his little girl, now suddenly a giantess.

"Was this Henry's idea? The Noble Obligation thing?"

"It's Noblesse Oblige, and the idea was mine," Gwen said. "Master felt responsible for the NoMs— but to him, they're still just second class beings. I want to make their place in society worthwhile, at least economically."

"Really? And what are NoMs to you? From the position of the Mageocracy's future Omni-Mage, I mean."

Gwen pointed a finger toward the folk milling about below. There was now a makeshift community living on her Opa's estate. Considering the difficulty of relocation, Gunther had offered to gift Surya with a similar piece of land elsewhere.

"Opa, I am going to tell you something that I haven't told anyone yet. Not seriously, at least. Can I trust you to keep a secret?"

"Of course, if you can't trust Opa, who can you trust?"

Gwen smirked. "Okay, here I go—"

She took a deep breath.

"Opa, I feel that NoMs, our fellow human beings, possess within their multitudes a great and untapped potential. I am not speaking of NoMs who may one day Awaken as Mages, but NoMs with skills, talents, and gifts in their own right. Some may become great theorists of mathematics and physics. Others become traders, entrepreneurs, artists, poets, and writers. Within the untapped multitudes, we may very well uncover ideas and merits that will change humanity far more fundamentally. In my opinion, a million NoMs given proper training and education far exceed an Omni-Mage's greatest potential."

"Bloody oath." Surya sipped his rum, feeling flushed with warmth and vitality. "You're going to pull some whiskers. I'll tell you that. People will die."

"People die every day and everywhere as we speak. Nonetheless, that's what I believe in," Gwen continued. "Right now, we dig and dig and dig away at our Frontiers. Killing demi-humans, harvesting Wildland ingredients, mining for crystals. BUT what the humans don't realise is that the biggest bounty lies in themselves."

"The humans?" Surya snorted.

"Us, I mean."

"But resources are finite."

"And our planet is plenty." Gwen shrugged. "Opa, I believe without a shadow of a doubt that even if there are seven billion of us in this world, we would still be perfectly able to supply an excess of food, water and shelter to our species, dickheads notwithstanding. What's limiting us isn't Monsters or demi-humans— it's our irrational 'apartheid' for those who lost the genetic lottery."

"I don't know what to say," Surya confessed. "I am just an Enchanter. All I know is how to make Magical Items and sculptures. You must have met some great teachers in Fudan. Is this a part of their Communist Manifesto or something."

"Not really, but there are parallels." Gwen allowed the matter to drop. If her Opa believed that this was what she learned in China of all places, then so be it. "Now, on the matter of Enchantment— what do you think of my new talent? Can I carry on the House of Huang as you had envisioned?"

"Ah, yes." Surya rubbed his hands together, his face brightening at once. "NOW THAT'S WONDERFUL NEWS!"

Gwen remained at Surya's for three days, catching up with Mel and Tess, teaching them how to consume the Draconic-tea from Fur Peak and making sure that her grandfather wouldn't overindulge, causing his lower body to explode.

Concurrently, she spoke at length with Surya about her plans for the future. More explicitly, she had relayed the requirements she and Marong had discussed for Project Legion's fleet of Divination Stations.

To Surya, who had long lost the passion for the crafting of magical items and mandalas, the Legion Project appeared to ignite an old fire. That or Gwen suspected, her supplements had regenerated the gnarled synapses of her Opa's eros-addled brain.

According to the old Enchanter, Gwen and her partners would have to supply five critical components for her "Carrier Network" to manifest in reality.

First, they needed a steady supply of high-quality Creature Cores, ideally harvested from a plentiful, renewable source to ensure consistency. When Surya noted the impossibility of such a thing, Gwen immediately thought of Golos. If Ruxin or Gogo could arguably put some effort into subsuming Magical Creatures, then it was entirely possible to generate caches of middle to high-tier Cores consistently.

Secondly, "Legion Corp" needed to recruit a group of specialised Enchanters. These new-fangled Magitech-crafters must possess the capacity to engrave reactive Mandalas that interacted with the "datum" Gwen wished to traffic. Of greater difficulty was an even rarer breed of Enchanters who specialised in information algorithms and Crystal Cores. These individuals, Surya explained, originate from Palo Alto, a place dubbed the Crystal Valley— the birthplace of the Crystal Core commonly found in Data Slates and Lumen-Recorders. Upon hearing the name, Gwen blinked, thinking to herself that, OF COURSE, such a place existed.

Thirdly, Gwen needed to make contact with the manufacturing giants that made the Message Devices. Only by convincing the creators of these devices to use her private network could she arguably enact her plan. A caveat that would doubtless burden her goals was the fact that she was attempting to give NoMs the means to widely adopt Message Devices— a fact that may not sit well with manufacturers in Central Europe, Japan, and Korea. Gwen replied that those who do not innovate, stagnate; and that in time, the market would ensure her detractors fall in line. Her Opa shrugged. He wasn't an economist and could not comment.

Fourthly, as she intended to work with the Towers, a working relationship would have to be established with the Master of each region where her "Carrier Network" hoped to exist unmolested. There, she would have to deal with the unfortunate reality that Tower Masters followed Factions— and her benefiting the Grey Faction, for instance, may spoil her chances of planting Towers in another Faction's domain.

Fifth and lastly, the Legion Corporation needed to lease land. To start, Gunther and Marong had no complaints in supporting her hobby. Likewise, from Lima to Cuzco, Gwen was sure to receive a fair shake of the sauce bottle. In other locations and in dealing with less favourable individuals, however, the tithing and service paid to spiteful stakeholders may sink her profits entirely. Gwen's response to Surya's paranoia was that as with all business dealings, localities had to be dealt with on a geographic basis. She was well aware of the risks and would handle the rollout with the utmost care.

Of all of her Opa's advice, the ones she truly heeded were the ones on Enchantment. It would seem that her plans for the next five years now involved a trip down to "Crystal Valley". The reality of how specialised modern Magitech had become was no less arcane than the Renaissance of home computing in the early 2000s. For Gwen, to number herself among the likes of those groundbreaking, world-changing entrepreneurs was a daunting endeavour, offset only by her promise to Tao. Were the Jobs and Gates of this world Enchanters, or were they neglected NoMs awaiting discovery? Gwen shivered just thinking about the potential innovations she may yet make in Palo Alto.

And so it was, three days after her arrival at the tablelands, the Devourer of Shenyang kissed her well-rested Opa on the forehead, then once again said her farewells.

As for her next destination, it wasn't toward Sydney, but an encampment in the interior, a place where she had last met her kin.

More so than in her old world, the wide brown land was sparsely populated. It was a fact made apparent ten minutes Mage Flight from Pokolbin, for once the last vineyard ended, continuous leagues of stunted bush stretched monotonously from horizon to horizon.

"Ee!" Ariel performed a mid-air summersault. Against a limitless sky, her Kirin's appearance was so beautiful as to make Gwen's heart soar.

"Race me!" Gwen pointed in the general direction of Barrington Tops.

"Ee! EE!" Ariel performed and upside-down loop. "Eeeee!"

Leaving behind two rings of sizzling static, the two set off, twin meteors fulminating across a cloudless, cobalt sky.

As she edged toward top-speed, Gwen conjured a conical Shield to reduce the drag coefficient created by her blouse and jeans. The buffeting wind ceased at once, though she had a nasty vision that should she impact something; there was going to be a rather spectacular splatter.

"EE!" Ariel zoomed on ahead; its quasi-magical body unbound by laws of physics as its mortal Conjurer.

"Woohoo!" Gwen hooted, performing a corkscrew, paralleling a distant memory of Disney's Peter Pan. Ariel followed, slipping through the air like mercury.

"Ee! EE!" Her familiar warned her of impending danger.

In the distance, a few dots approached on a perpendicular course.

Gwen accelerated.

"SQWARK!" came the warning from afar. "SKARK!"

From where she hovered, Gwen could see that the intercepting creatures were sleek, missile-like birds with serpentine necks. With her Essence-focused eyes, she remarked that the avians possessed two pairs of wings. As the flock banked toward her and her Familiar, she spotted a distinct dash of black feathers running the length of the birds' forehead down to its spine, ending with long and elegant plumes the colour of obsidian.

"Bustards!" Gwen marvelled at her encounter. These were rare and precious birds, a real delicacy if Alesia were to be believed. In her old world, the Bustards were large and impressive avians. In this world of monsters, the aerial predator was the size of a Cessna.

"SQWARK!"

"Ee! EE!"

"SQWARK!"

"EE!"

Kirin and the bird engaged in a shouting match; from her Empathic Link, she recognised that they were in the bird's territory. It was one of the many reasons why air travel never took off— for Magical Monsters constantly waylaid the travellers.

"Tell it we're leaving." Gwen pointed their trajectory westward. "We'll take a detour."

"EE! EE-ee!"

"SQWARK!" the leading bird approached, rapidly increasing its velocity. At the very tip of its albatross-like frame, a keratin-sheathed beak protruded like a spear. Though the Bustard was only a tier 6 threat— for a Mage in-flight, Gwen imagined, its powers were well magnified.

"HMMPH!" With a grunt, she let loose a tendril of Dragon Fear.

"SQWARK!" Like Golos reacting to the Da-peng, the leading Bustard fell away, momentarily paralysed. The other two, shocked by their alpha's sudden retreat, followed their leader.

"EE!" Ariel mocked their challenger, swishing its tail to and fro.

Gwen chuckled, pleased by the peaceful resolution, wondering if Dragon Fear could be bottled.

Dusk.

Barrington Tops.

Gwen could not believe that despite following every direction and matching every landmark, she still got lost. Thankfully, at Mangrove Mountain, she ran across a party of very surprised Mages questing for ingredients, and it was they who walked her the two-hour-long trek to Lake Glenbawn.

"What business do you have with the savages, Miss?" The leader, a battler bloke, was a gruff Abjurer very keen on offering a hand to a perplexed sorceress descending from the blue.

"My business is my own," Gwen declined to comment, seeing that the party did not possess Storage Rings, she tossed the adventurers a crystalline credit stick for fifty HDMs. "This area isn't safe. I would leave as soon as you can."

"Yes, Ma'am!" The Abjurer checked the credit stick twice before pocketing the glowing crystal. He wasn't sure who the svelte sorceress could be, though the pressure she exerted indicated they should probably obey her command. "We'll head back. Your reward is already more than what we had expected to make on the trip, haha…"

"Goodman!" Gwen slapped the Abjurer on the back, sending the good-natured bigot sprawling against a tree. "Goodbye."

She blasted off, leaving the confounded Mages well-impressed.

Below, with the landmark in sight, she discovered Tommy's tribe's encampment at the lake's edge. With the setting sun painting the surface a dusky salmon, she skimmed across the mirror-like water until she caught sight of a familiar figure standing by the shore.

"Goolagong?!" Gwen landed with an unexpected splat, flinching as the muddy silt rode up her ankles to splatter her pants. There had been a drought, and from the looks of it, the once-enormous lake had receded significantly.

"Migloo girl!" the indigenous witch-woman, looking every inch an earthen fertility goddess, waved back with complete familiarity. In the dying light, Gwen could see that the wide-hipped matron was naked to the waist, her skin alive with mystic markings. "You're late!"

"I got lost." Gwen's cheeks took on a smidgen of heat. "How did you know I was coming?"

"This Spirit Walker may be old, but she still Dreams!" the old woman cackled, revealing rows of teeth the colour of corn. "Come! Have you eaten?"

At the invitation, Gwen's stomach growled. "I could eat."

"Then eat." Goolagong motioned for her to follow. "You are much changed, child. What happened to the clueless Migloo who came to visit Almudj many moons ago? You smell different, mixed."

"It's a long story." Gwen scanned the bank for signs of Goolagong's people. Against all expectation, there were no more than a dozen of the indigenous folk where there had been hundreds. "Where are the rest of the tribe?"

"Here and there." Old Goolagong cackled. "They've gone to Uluru to ask for the rain. The earth is red and dry! The lake, do you not see? It clings to you!"

Gwen looked down at the mud slathered over her ankle-jeans.

"You didn't go with them?"

"O— you give me eye?" Goolagong puckered her lips. "Maybe through the Migloo girl, old Goolagong save herself the Long Walk! Yes? It's not easy, the pilgrimage to Sing the Snake. I am no longer a young koman. No, Goolagong cannot walk the desert anymore. Here I will stay, maybe the rain comes, or maybe I go find the aak oncham."

The duo arrived at Goolagong's humpy, a sorry-looking thatched hut about half of Gwen's height.

"Rest! I bring you tucker."

"If you're short on food and water—"

"Nonsense! You are Almudj's kin! Sit and wait, girl. I will return."

With old Goolagong sauntering away, Gwen sat cross-legged on the thatched floor, looking at the dried-up lake. Her mind wandered as she folded her legs into the lotus pose. Reflexively, she circulated her mana, allowing the flow of Essence to seep into her conduits, inviting the mana of the world to suffuse her Astral body.

First came the scent of fecund clay, rich with decomposition and full of worms squirming through its depth. Then came the sound of eucalyptus swaying with the wind, its dry bark falling in sheets. On the wind was the smell of distant fire, and on the gothic trees, Scarlet Galahs burst into torch-song.

Within her mind's eye, her Astral Body glowed viridescent. It had been some time since she had so easily accessed such a clarified vision. As before, her dancer's figure held within its form both Lightning and Void, igniting and extinguishing, eternally in flux. Also mingled were scintillating motes of emerald, which she recognised as Almudj's gift, and the cobalt of the Yinglong's Draconic-Essence, half-married to her Lightning.

Compared to the extraordinary purity of Alesia's soul fire, her Astral Form was a chaos of colour.

CLAP!

Gwen opened her eyes.

"Migloo girl!" old Goolagong was holding a big basket of bush tucker. "Don't go off just yet! To Sing the Snake, not showing the proper respect is ngench-thayan! You may never return from the tjukurpa katutja ngarantja!"

"Sorry." Gwen cleared her mind. Last time, she had to dance to circulate her Essence into her Astral Body. Now, with so much practice, it was as easy as a catnap. "What's this tjukurp— rantja?"

"Difficult to say." Old Goolagong squinted. "In Migloo words, impossible to know. Tjukurpa katutja ngarantja is a place, but not a place. It is free from time, free from land! An unformed country where the old ones sleep!"

"The Unformed—" Gwen blinked. She could swear that someone somewhere had mentioned the word before. "The Unformed Land. What is it exactly?"

"Where the Dreaming happens, naturally." Goolagong's grin was expansive. "It is the season before there are seasons, the rain before water!"

"Is it a Plane of Existence? Like the Prime Material?"

"Old Goolagong does not know your Migloo Magic words." The indigenous woman shrugged. "Tjukurpa katutja ngarantja is where Almudj sings the world into being, its mountains and streams, its wet and dry places. It is where the cheeky one dreams of rain."

Seeing that a non-cryptic response wasn't likely forthcoming, Gwen allowed the matter to drop.

"You have too many questions, Migloo girl," old Goolagong chortled. "Now, eat this, and take off your clothes."

"Again?" Gwen was just about to reach into the basket when she paused. "But I almost succeeded just then."

"Girl." Goolagong retrieved a blood-red quandong, crushing it between her palms. "We need to anoint you with the proper scent so that you can greet the cheeky one proper! Else Almudj may think you a usurper and gobble you up!"

Gwen wanted to contest Goolagong's claim that Almudj would respond to her poorly but knew next to nothing about the rites of her people. If the old witchdoctor said that she needed to be in the nuddy, who was Gwen to say no? Besides, other than a woven skirt, Goolagong herself was very much leading by example.

"Fine, fine." Gwen stood. She took a deep breath, then pulled her shirt over her head. A few pairs of eyes drifted her way; one of the men turned away, heaving heavily.

"Ah, Migloo girl, you are paler than a Witchetty grub!"

Ignoring the running commentary, Gwen kicked off her jeans, then stepped out of her socks and runners.

"Enough?" she asked.

Goolagong rolled her eyes.

"Alright, alright." Gwen unbuckled her bra, leaving her wearing nothing but a pair of cotton knickers. "We good?"

"Get down, Migloo girl. Are you putting on a show?" Goolagong realigned several baskets of berries and fruits, most of which she did not recognise. Gwen recognised the ochre paste used for painting, as well as the crushed white powder which was ground bone. "Sit and eat. Goolagong will get you prettied up to meet Almudj."

"You don't need to beg favours this time?" Gwen asked just in case. "To be fair, I can probably take five Wankas at once."

"No need." Goolagong handed her a bushel of riberries. From the bush, she picked a few, mashed the aromatic, scarlet flesh with the quandong skin, then began to paint Gwen's back. "You come to see Almudj, and Almudj comes to see you. Don't move too much. Sit up straight. Almudj does not like this strange stench you have on you."

Discretely, Gwen sniffed her armpit, smelling nothing.

"What's this?" Gwen held up something that looked like a dark orb.

"Bush Bread," Goolagong said, now working on her shoulders. "Eat it with the berries."

The slow meal of mysterious ingredients took the better part of an hour, a period through which Gwen sat red-faced, watching the indigenous sorceress dab every inch of her lithe body.

Old Goolagong removed the band holding together Gwen's ponytail, then ran her voluminous tresses through the oil from the lemon myrtle.

"Better." The woman sniffed her neck. "But it is still there."

"Migloo girl?" Goolagong paused, her tone troubled.

"What's wrong?" Gwen felt a shiver.

"Where is Almudj's gift? You used to wear it on your neck."

Gwen blinked. She had not seen Almudj's scale since the incident at Rosebay. After gifting it to Henry and Sufina, it had disappeared.

Had it been spent and destroyed?

Was it lost in the fabric of space and time?

Did Sobel take it?

Her memory in the chaos was hardly reliable. Being half-eaten by Faceless, then becoming a vessel for Almudj was rather more poignant.

If the scale had remained active or connected to her in any way, Gwen was sure that she should have felt its presence. That she had not sensed the slightest smidgen of its existence, spoke sternly of her loss.

"I-I lost it."

"Oh, dear." Old Goolagong wagged a finger. "Migloo girl, Almudj is not so forgiving. It does not gift easily."

"Regardless, I don't know where it is." Gwen's voice took on a defensive tone. "I am not joking when I say there's an apocalyptic rationale behind its misplacement."

Goolagong finished by slapping a palm print onto Gwen's modest breast. "Other side!"

Gwen turned her body.

"I cannot help." Goolagong puffed, fatigued by her work. "You can beg Almudj for another, perhaps. While you're at it, you should ask Almudj for a bigger bum! Good for babies!"

Gwen winced each time Goolagong struck her buttocks and thighs, hoping the woman wasn't using the anointment as an excuse to spank her for losing Almudj's scale.

As a final touch, Goolagong adorned Gwen's cheeks with parallel white lines.

"Good!" Old Goolagong inspected her work. "I've done my part. When you are ready, come with me into the Spirit Circle. I feel that Almudj is keen to meet its kin."

The "Spirit Circle" was only a small distance away. This time, instead of a dance circle, Gwen sat in a ring of stones. Curiously, she noted that each pebble was a different hue that together, formed a rainbow circumference.

Swinging her arms, she danced an awkward jig, feeling her blood burn with embarrassment.

Goolagong snorted.

"No dancing today, not enough singers." The woman intimated for her to sit however she liked. From the basket, the woman produced a pair of clapping sticks, then cleared her throat.

"Meditate while I Sing, Migloo girl. Don't forget to ask for rain, and your scale!"

Without waiting for an answer, old Goolagong began her chant.

To interpret the Spirit Walker's "singing" was impossible, for the hums and whistles of the prehistoric dialect was beyond Gwen and her Ioun Stone. The melody itself was bone-deep, punctuated by the clarion clacks of the ironwood sticks. As the song droned on, thanks to a tummy full of fermenting native berries, Gwen grew sleepy as the staccato intervals drew longer and longer. Her lids grew heavy, and her consciousness gradually evaporated with the sweat streaming from her painted body.

Gwen opened her eyes, wondering if she was in another flashback. Last time, she had dreamt of old Tjupurrula and Kalinda, Almudj's "Kin" from another time. Would their story continue? Did Kalinda survive, or more particularly, did the colonists defeat or were annihilated by Almudj?

"Hello?" she implored a limitless horizon.

This time, she was standing in a dreamscape, ankle-deep in a vast stretch of water refracting a lilac-pink sky. Shockingly, she realised she recognised the place. In her old world, she had paid good money to visit its shores in the wet season. She was in Kati Thanda— Lake Eyre. A place that alternatively represented the single largest concentration of life in Australia's vast interior, and during the dry season, a vast plain of salt and death.

"Almudj?"

She was alone, that much was obvious. When Gwen looked down, she saw her topless reflection, still vivid with ochre and bone, staring back at her surprised face. This time, she wasn't borrowing the memory of Kalinda. This time, she was herself.

Kin! A burst of rainbow erupted across the surface of her thoughts, reminding Gwen of the Skittles jingle.

The surface of the lake stirred, a meniscus of water expanded to accommodate an enormous head the size of a small island. Concentric ripples rang out, distorting the mirror-like lake as streaming white waterfalls cascaded from serpent's brows.

"Almudj!" Gwen squealed with childish glee, though she wasn't sure how one might hug a full-blown geographic feature. "How have you been? Have you recovered from your injuries?"

Almudj was at once distant and yet close. If she reached out, Gwen felt, she might just bop its snout.

"I've missed you." Gwen presented her Essence, allowing the emerald elixir to pool between her outstretched hands.

Gingerly, a rope-like tongue flickered from the snake's smiling snout. It tasted the air, then just as quickly as it had emerged, retreated into the mountainous maw. When Gwen looked down, the Essence-dew was gone.

"Kin?" Gwen opened her arms, anticipating recognition.

The serpent did not answer. Instead, it continued to rise until it filled the horizon.

"Almudj?" Gwen gulped. "It's me—"

Invader! Came another unbidden thought, this one bitter with the eye-watering smoke of bushfires. As a psychic rebuke, the serpent's will lashed at Gwen, sending her tumbling into the water.

Kalinda's words from long ago echoed within the recess of her mind.

Almudj did not like strangers.

Almudj will attack strangers!

"NO!" Gwen cried out, pointing to the earthen powder and berry juices covering her body. From her hair, she rung fistfuls of oily lemon myrtle. "It's me! I am Kin!"

But Almudj would not listen.

When it opened its mouth again, Gwen stared upward at a solar eclipse. Then, without heeding her shrieking voice, it descended.

"STOP!" Gwen frantically called upon her magic. She screamed out her best Evocation, howled her Abjuration, begged the world for her Conjuration to activate— but here in the Unformed Land, no mortal invocation could help a tainted Migloo girl. "ALMUDJ! NO!"

"Almudj alive!" Gwen bolted upright, a female Frankenstein's monster, gasping for air.

"Migloo girl, are you alright?" Besides her, Old Goolagong's soothing voice never sounded so sweet.

Very carefully, Gwen propped herself onto her elbows.

"Ergh—" She winced. Every part of her body throbbed. She felt as though she had run an eight-hour marathon without rest, and now it was the morning after she had forgotten to stretch. "My bones are swollen."

"Here, some water." Goolagong placed a cup of water beside her lips.

Gwen drained the contents in one gulp. "Holy hell, Goolagong, I think Almudj's upset at me!"

"Ah— cheeky Migloo girl! I saw you in the dream! Our Almudj says you have been unfaithful!" Goolagong tsk-tsked. "I could smell it on your blood, in your bones. Who have you been sleeping with?"

"No one?" Gwen replied, earnestly. She wasn't about to proclaim her virginity. "I am serious."

"Are you sure?" Goolagong poked Gwen's belly, or more precisely, the whereabouts of her womb.

"Yes!" Gwen blushed, acutely aware of her present state of undress.

"Almudj does not like it when others spoil its seed." Goolagong chuckled. "How do you feel now? Has Almudj claimed you again?"

"What do you mean?" Gwen checked to ensure all her limbs were still in place. Her bodily markings had by now half dissolved from the sweat pouring from every pore, mixing into a kind of abstract art. She felt icky beyond belief. "I— allow me to check."

Warily, she circulated her Essence.

Thankfully, Almudj had not withdrawn its blessing.

Acutely, she smelled the sweet rot of the sunken mud, felt every pin-prick of the mat under her buttocks and saw every speck of milled pigment on Goolagong's painted face. When she kindled the Essence in her torso, all fatigue fell away. Where she could barely move a moment ago, now her bruised flesh sang songs of joy.

Her Almudj's blessing— or what Magister Wen mistook as Druidic Essence, had multiplied by magnitudes.

But nothing was ever that simple.

"Oh, no. Almudj, you didn't!" Gwen's blood grew suddenly cold.

Drawing on the reflexive breathing techniques Ayxin had taught her, she focused her mind, called upon the underlying currents of power in her Astral Body, then released a torrent of Dragon Fear.

Nothing.

Not even a fart.

"HRRRGGHN!"

Not a mote of the Yinglong's Essence remained.

Almudj giveth, and Almudj taketh.

Feeling a blind panic coming on, Gwen forced herself to stand.

"Don't rush, Migloo girl!"

"Shit—SHIT! ARIEL!" Gwen tapped into her Conjuration Sigil, flooding her body with motes of Lightning.

"EE!" Her pseudo-Kirin materialised in a flash, regarded its panicked master quizzically, then muzzled her thighs.

"Wa-hoo! This is one cheeky dingo!" Goolagong marvelled.

"Stag horns… scales, claws, hoof, mane— thank fuck…" Gwen hurriedly recounted Ariel's features, relaxing when her Familiar remained untouched by her patron's confiscation.

"Caliban!"

"Shaa!" Caliban coiled about her legs.

"Koonhang AKAN!" old Goolagong jumped back, almost matching Wanka in its hasted form. "Back! Bad Spirit! Ooo this one proper cheeky! Very dangerous!"

As expected, Caliban remained altered.

"Shaa?" Caliban cocked its head.

"Cali, return! Ariel! Combat Form!" Gwen pushed her new-found Essence into her Kirin.

Spontaneously, Ariel grew iridescent, crackling with multi-coloured lightning. Its stag horns distended, branching until it formed a dozen points, while its body assumed the height of a horse. Where the Ariel from before was magnificent, it now radiated the ambience of something ancient and otherworldly. Each of its draconic features appeared subdued, and yet magnified, while distinctly, its scale-patterned fur now possessed a splendiferous, rainbow hue.

"EE?!" Ariel as well was surprised at its new chromatic characteristics. "EE?"

"What are you doing? Migloo girl?" Impressed as she was by Ariel, old Goolagong was keeping well away.

Gwen looked toward the lake.

"Migloo girl?"

"Ariel! Barbanginy!"

Her Kirin's horns glowed incandescent.

"EE—EE!" A line of lighting shot from between Ariel's horns, cracking across the half-dried lake until her Elemental Sphere manifested. Where her previous Barbanginy had doubled or tripled the maximised power of her magic, what it now achieved was nothing short of mass destruction.

The horizon lit up with a second sun, igniting the lake with an incredible display of azure, emerald and lilac.

KA—CRACK!

A crash of fulminating thunder raced the all-enveloping light. An explosion followed, rapidly displaced the lake's interior. Against the sloshing undulation, the Elemental Sphere's second-stage nova erupted, ranging some hundred meters from the epicentre.

And after the thunder, came the downpour.

Gwen suspected that had midnight been swapped for noon, a rainbow would have appeared.

The deluge lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to drench Gwen, Goolagong, her people, and a yipping Ariel.

"You are loved by many old ones." Goolagong wiped the water from her face. "But you are too cheeky by far."

"But…" Gwen wanted to protest that she had quintessential uses for her Draconic-Essences. Since consuming those creatures in Huangshan, she had fostered her control over her Dragon-juice, making it a crucial part of her growth in Spellcraft. Now, without Dragon-fear, without her Draconic-centric physical abilities, she felt weak.

A part of her fumed. Even if Almudj was the jealous type, did it have to take away something she had spent so long nurturing? Couldn't she just pledge her fidelity? The serpent never said their kinship was monogamous, did it?

But then again, Gwen recalled that the Yinglong did take a crack at her soul and that Almudj had sent it packing. Perhaps, unbeknownst to her, the powers she so dearly desired was merely the root of a bigger problem. After all, Almudj's Essence, not the Yinglong's, was the reason her body survived first the Soul Flayer, and then the Lich. She had to be thankful for that.

Gwen forced her balled fists to relax.

Spilt-milk, she told herself. Don't cry. It's stupid to wish to have your cake and eat it.

Like a greedy-gut spoilt brat, she had come seeking Almudj— partly to thank it for its unconditional aid, and partially also in the secret hope that her serpentine kin had more to give. As for the outcome, it may be a bitter pill for now, but who knew what new boons Almudj's blessing held? She would have to plumb its depth once she got to London. If Wen's research was any indication, she should find herself a handsome Elrond and beg for tuition.

"Can I talk to Almudj again?"

Old Goolagong shook her head.

"Did you ask Almudj about the scale?"

"Bugger—" Gwen slapped her forehead. "It all happened so quick. I didn't even ask about the rain!"

"No matter." Goolagong patted Gwen's muddy shoulders. "One day, when you recover the scale. Come and see old Goolagong. You and I, we go see Almudj in the flesh! You know where Almudj rests?"

"Yes," Gwen recalled the lake.

"Good. Do not worry about your lost endowment, girl. When the rain again comes to the great lake, we shall go and petition the old snake. This time, you bring the cheeky one's memento! Remember, Almudj will attack intruders!"

"I know. But what will you do now? The dry season has just started—"

"We survive, as always. Wet, dry, hot, cold, we have ways you Migloos cannot know."

"Sorry…"

"Not to worry." Goolagong sat back on the mat. It squelched unpleasantly.

"Sorry again." Gwen winced, her buttocks cold against the mud. "Its the Lightning. I get impulsive, especially when something unexpected happens. If I had lost both Almudj' blessing and my Draconic Essence..."

"Where will you go now?" Old Goolagong cocked her head. "To find scale?"

"I'd love to, but haven't the faintest idea where to begin." Gwen sighed. "I need to get to London to perfect my Migloo Magic."

"Can you return?"

"I will, in a year, two at most. I've got other continents to go as well."

"Ah, beware when you once again meet others like our cheeky one." Old Goolagong slapped Gwen's knees. "There is no cheating Almudj! The bearded snake is proper wise! Just look at me! An old wanchinth kath should have known better than to cheat the Long Walk, eh? The snake is cleverer than you or I!"

"I may need to work with the... others," Gwen confessed. "What if I take in more of their Essence?"

"Then recover Almudj's gift!" Old Goolagong huffed, growing upset. She waved her slapping hand dangerously, hovering over Gwen's buttocks. "Are you so eager to swallow the seed of other serpents? You're too indulgent, girl! How greedy must a Migloo be?"

Goolagong's unfortunate phrasing took the words right out of Gwen's petulant mouth. Abstractly, however, Gwen understood that trafficking in rival Essences was, as Goolagong's analogical cuckoldry inferred, in bad faith. "Look— fine, I get it."

To distract herself, she fossicked through her inventory for something to reward old Goolagong. All of her "supplements" where ill-gotten gains from Huangshan, which she was sure would just piss off Almudj more. Likewise, gifting bottles of high-proof alcohol to the indigenous wasn't something she dared contemplate.

"Would you like a Storage Device?" Gwen materialised a deactivated, medium-tier Storage Ring, one of the few she had purchased via Marong. "Trust me. It'll make keeping food much easier."

Goolagong shook her head. "No, no, no. That is an expensive thing! Old Goolagong knows. Sure, it brings convenience for now, but what if we run into your folk? Trouble is what it brings. Greed! Jealousy! Death!"

"How about Spam?" Unconvinced, Gwen materialised a few cans. "I've got… a lot. In different flavours too. You can eat it out of the can, mash it, pop it in a stew—"

"No need!" Goolagong pointed to the shore, where the members of her tribe that had remained now milled about, knee-deep in mud. Every few steps, they would drag out a large fish, whether stunned or electrocuted by Gwen panicked Barbanginy. "See? Almudj— the bearded one has not forsaken old Goolagong! Go to this London, Migloo girl— but return with Almudj's scale!"

"You want to go and see Sufina?" Gunther's knitted brows implied to Gwen that her request may not go over as well as she had hoped. "The island's a Black Zone, and its under Singapore's jurisdiction, not ours. Besides, who are you going to take with you?"

"Er…" Gwen stopped herself before blurting out that she would be visiting with Ariel and Caliban, maybe Golos. Instead, she weaponised her long lashes and vivid eyes. "I don't suppose either of you has the time to spare?"

Gunther sighed, not exactly exasperated, but assuredly not a happy-chappie.

"Alesia?" The Tower Master turned to his wife. "What's your take?"

Alesia sat on the sofa. Often, when the conversation steered to the deceased Henry, the sorceress grew absent-minded. "To Master's sanctuary?"

"Now Sufina's lair," Gunther corrected his wife. "For all intentions, it's a Dungeon. Escaping from the maze without killing its owner is improbable."

"I suppose it has been almost two years," Alesia agreed. "I wonder. Does Sufi retain her humanity still? She'll remember us, I am sure, but I don't think she'll be amicable. She'll be a living tomb-guardian by now."

Gunther drummed his fingers against the table, then turned to Gwen. "I can't let you go — not this time. We can't contact Sufina, and we can't accompany you. I could arguably call on Jonas and the boys, but they've got important missions elsewhere, supporting your friend Yue. We're short-handed as it is."

"Gunther, you're the Tower Master, surely…"

"I can put out a Quest, and we can pay with CCs, but who can we trust to enter Master's home? We can't Geas mercenaries, at least not legally. Besides, I refuse to allow a stranger to enter a place so intimate to our past. Not to mention you're there to dig for secrets. What if Sufina isn't friendly? What if she refuses to let you enter? Are you going to Consume the island? Consume Sufina or her Kin?"

"I don't think it'll come to that."

"There's no reason why it won't." Alesia played tag-team with Gunther. "It's a BLACK ZONE, Gwen. The creatures there are completely hostile, especially to women, for which they have no use. I mean, for a man, things could be worse, you get the idea. Either way, there will be no mercy. Dryads will fight to the death to defend their Grove, and you're more or less unstoppable in a jungle setting. Will you nibble away until they cough up the island's secrets? Threaten Sufi by eating her sisters one by one?"

"Bloody oath, Alesia," Gwen retorted, her tone growing tense. "Alright— what would you do?"

"Gunther?"

"If we were to force a meeting with Sufina in the future, it should involve a surgical intrusion into the island's centre. Pending on Sufina's response, we'll decide, as siblings, what to do." Gunther declared. "I should also mention that at some point in the next few years, I would like to recover our Master's remains. His mausoleum is still empty as we speak. I would prefer his remains safely interred and warded."

"You don't mind hurting Sufi?" Gwen's lips grew stiff.

"Now you're acting churlish. Don't put words in my mouth." Gunther's measured tone matched his command for Gwen to calm her farm. "I said we'll decide as siblings. TOGETHER. If leaving Master's body with Sufina is the final recourse, then that's what we'll do. If Sufina has gone completely off her rocks, then she's a danger and a monster. And we'll do what needs to be done."

"But Master's books—"

"May, or may not be in the Grot," Gunther reiterated. "Where did you get the idea that our Master would stow his tomes with Sufina? Master understood more than anyone that once his mutilated body waned, Sufina would be too powerful for other Mages to inherit. Keeping decades of research embedded within Sufi's abode is rather short-sighted, don't you think? How is any of us going to access them?"

"But—" Gwen's face grew scarlet.

Gunther cooly refilled his glass of water to the exact millimetre.

"And this 'Almudj's Scale'." Gunther sipped the ice-cold water. "Why did you visit a Mythic without informing Alesia or myself?"

"Does she need to?" Alesia called out from the couch. "Gwen's an adult."

"Her attraction to trouble notwithstanding, there are three million souls in Sydney and its regions." Gunther remained unfazed by Alesia's protest. "Allie, I am speaking in my capacity as Sydney's caretaker. Not as Gwen's brother. I am berating a Class VI War Mage; now more than ever, as AN ADULT, she is liable for her selfish decisions. Master would agree. Do you?"

"Fine, but get off your high horse," Alesia pushed back. "Gwen knows what's up."

"Does she?" Gunther's scorching gaze descended on Gwen's skin like the scorching sun. "Gwen— where is your Draconic-strength? Your Dragon-fear? Your Draconic-resistances?"

"Brother's right." Gwen deflated, wilting in her seat. Self-consciously, she gripped the hem of her dress. "I should have consulted with you both. I was following a gut feeling. I didn't know Almudj was the jealous type."

"Creatures that exist outside of mortality and time do not suffer human emotions," Gunther refuted her oversimplification. "But be your patron a Snake, Dragon or Land God, they're unequivocally possessive. Alesia's Elemental, if you recall, had refused to relent her body. As far as the Efretti was concerned, a Plane-touched body, once touched, was effectively a part of its being. Imagine being asked to—"

"It's not that complicated," Alesia interjected. "Gwen, imagine if a London Magister demanded you hand over Ariel."

"Stealing a Spirit? Is that possible?" Her complexion paled.

"Only if you are near-death or recently dead, and the Spirit is willing, AND there's a compatible Mage immediately available," Alesia explained. "But that's not the point, what would you do if someone tried to usurp Ariel. Try to imagine it, Gwen, put some gut feeling into it, be honest."

Sometimes, Gwen hated her overactive imagination.

"I'd Consume the fucker, wipe the bastard from the Material Plane," she confessed. "Is that bad?"

Alesia grinned. "I'd do worse, but that's the feeling. That's what Almudj should be feeling, assuming it has feelings."

"I am Almudj's Familiar?"

"An interesting analogy." Gunther appeared contemplative.

"Look, I get it." Gwen shivered, her arms and thighs covered in goosebumps. "I can see why Almudj was pissed."

"And thankfully, not interested enough to visit Sydney." Gunther pointed to the Illusion-empowered map of Sydney hovering in his office. "All things considered, the serpent is a well-mannered Mythic. I plan to leave it alone, where did you say it made its abode for now?"

"Lake Eyre."

"Good, I'll inform Adelaide to keep a wide berth. Are you able to communicate with it?"

"Not until I get my scale back." Gwen returned to her original request. "I last left with Master, if you recall."

"I wasn't there," Gunther replied glumly.

"I remember," Alesia said. "But then what happened?"

"I don't know." Gwen tugged at her skirt, crumpling the fabric. "I didn't see it after the battle. When I visited Sufina two years ago, I couldn't sense it either."

"Then where else could it be?"

"It has to be in the Grot," Gwen replied. "Unless Sobel took it."

"Hell's bells, I hope not." Gunther grimaced.

"I'll second that." Alesia raised a glass of Fur-Peak green tea. Since Gwen's return as a self-professed authority on pregnancies, she had been taking daily supplements.

The three sat in silence, each aghast at the worst-case scenario.

Ding!

"Lord Shultz," the broadcaster on Gunther's desk chimed. "Your next-next appointment is also here and waiting."

"Tell em to fuck off," Alesia shouted at the crystal on the table.

"Sir?"

"Tell them to wait," Gunther interceded. Turning to the women, the Tower Master of Sydney stretched his broad shoulders. "We're out of time, but here's my proposal. For now, go to London, and start your studies. I'll arrange for a recess before Michaelmas next year. If you remain convinced the scale is in the Grot and that Master hid his tomes with Sufina— then we'll visit her together. As your seniors, it is our pleasure and duty to accommodate your needs. Is that agreeable? Before you reply, I hope you understand that me being away from Sydney for a week is no mean feat. The city's ongoing restoration— including your proposals for both the new Port Authority as well as Legion, cannot be left to their own devices."

"I understand." Gwen bowed her head. "Thank you, Gunther. Sorry I was rude."

"Not at all, I do like it that you spoke your mind, Gwen. Your brother is not so thin-skinned as to be offended by a little sister."

Gwen grinned. "Thanks, Gunther."

"Good." Gunther stood to show them the door. "Now, both of you need to be on your way."

"When are you leaving?" Alesia gave Gwen a much-needed embrace outside Gunther's door. "Yue's going to miss you. Again."

"I know." Gwen sighed. "But we can visit one another now. It won't be like before."

"True." Alesia separated from her not so little sister. "For you, at least. I don't think Yue has a few thousand HDMs to spare. So?"

"After that meeting? Day after tomorrow," Gwen declared. "I hope to be in London before Christmas."

"Oh-ho!" Alesia appeared to have read her mind. "A white Christmas with Elvia?"

"That goes without saying." Gwen's smirk was positively predatory. "I'll be her present, and she'll be mine."

"Not to disperse your Cloud Kill, but it's only verified that Elvia's cohort will be in London," Alesia warned her sister. "As for Evee herself, she could be on a mission or working overtime in an away hospital. If she's religious, maybe secluded meditation? Nightingale Acolytes are a busy lot."

"That would be terrible." Gwen controlled herself, taking deep, lungful breaths. "But I'll track her down. First thing I am applying for in London is an Unlimited Flight licence."

"And how are you going to achieve that?" Alesia cocked her head.

"CCs make the world go round. I checked. It's seven hundred fifty for Limited and fifteen hundred for Unlimited." Gwen laughed haughtily. "I've got my references all lined up as well. One from Walken, one from Gunther, and one from Lady Grey, I hope."

"Gunther agreed?"

Gwen chuckled. "Would Gunther rather deal with Scotland Yard when they arrest an unlicenced Omni-Mage blasting across London's airspace?"

London.

Cambridge.

Peter's House.

Old Court.

Justine Maxwell Loftus, The Marchioness of Ely, "THE Lady Grey" to her enemies and "Lady Grey" to her friends, studied an iconograph of Peterhouse's crest.

Compared to the younger houses, the oldest constituent college of Cambridge University lacked a florid Coat. The simplicity couldn't be helped, for the arse end of the Dark Ages wasn't an epoch known for radical iconographers. Stoic in its plainness, the Arms consisted of four pale gules within a border of gules charged with eight golden crowns. For seven centuries, the Coat stood, unyielding to change, attested by the sad fact that Lady Loftus remained the sole female Master of Peterhouse since its inception, heedless of its astounding roster of women Magisters.

Nonetheless, Peterhouse remained a bastion of brilliance.

Among its exalted alumni was the Mage responsible for decoding multi-tier Dwarven Runecraft— the posthumously titled Meister Charlie Babbage. Likewise peering down on the Marchioness was the hung portrait of the honourable Meister Jamie Clarks Maxwell, grandfather to Justine's late husband, famous for his study of energy conduits. Beside Jamie hung the picture of Meister Thomson, more popularly known as Baron Kelvin, first of his name— for pioneering magical manipulation of climate events.

"All is well..."

Under the austere gazes of these world-changing men, Justine listened to the droning voice of Vice-Chancellor Butterfield.

"... the girl will be leaving tomorrow, hopping through Sydney, Brisbane, Townsville, Darwin, Singapore, and stopping at Yangon. On the 17th, the girl is scheduled to set foot in Istanbul via Mumbai's Inter-Continential Circle. Assuming she's in one piece after that jaunt, her next stations are Rome, Paris, then London. The Customs Office has sent out the paper works. The girl's Classification has caused a few headaches, but we'll manage."

"Will she be arriving at Cambridge directly?"

"Actually." Vice-Chancellor Butterfield's voice grew concerned. "She is going to stay in London until after Christmas. The missive from Lord Shultz said that we should expect her just before or after New Years."

"She'll be staying in London? Alone?" Justine Maxwell furrowed her brows. "We'll be on Michaelmas break, just what is the girl planning to do? Has she booked a hostel?"

"The girl is said to be unreasonably attached to an old friend," Alfred Butterfield replied. "An undergraduate at Nightingales by the name of Elvia Lindholm, formerly of Sydney. They survived the fall of the city together."

The Lady's expression relaxed. "Permissible, though I WILL see the girl as soon as she arrives. She must be inducted without mishap. Ensure she makes the trip down to Cambridgeshire. I'll take care of matters at Peterhouse."

"Certainly."

"And Lindholm— where have I heard that name? It sounds northern."

"The girl is Lady Astor's ward."

"Ah—" Lady Grey clapped. "I remember now. Lucy did mention she had a new pet project. Is the girl unique in any way?"

"She's a Spirit Healer with a juvenile Alraune. She's also unaffiliated. A complete independent."

"Really? How quaint."

"And another thing, Maxi—"

Lady Grey's eyes narrowed.

"— Justine. Lord Gunther has signed off on the girl applying for an Unlimited Flight licence. He has asked for your understanding."

"Are you our number three?"

"No, Magister Walken has that honour."

"Eric Walken? The idiot of Sydney? Why are they acquainted?"

"He did save her life in Shenyang," Butterfield expressed a grudging measure of respect. "Tied down and entrapped a North Korean Lich, he did— made us Oxbridge boys proud. What's more impressive, of course, was that by all accounts, he had effectively died, only to be brought back by the new technique Magister Jamison is pushing in Stanford. A shame. We could have used the technique for our Clerical faculty."

"I don't see why we can't." The Lady Grey glanced at the portraits hanging above the mantle. "It's a race to publish, after all. She who is cited most, is cited best, is it not? There's going to be so much work to be done. I am certain Miss Song will prove a potent dose of vitality for our ghoulish faculty. Under my watch, she shall bear the torch Henry had so abruptly left behind."

"I hope she won't disappoint." Butterfield adjusted his mantle. Of all the classical buildings in Cambridge, he disliked the Old Court the most. The decor used far too much heartwood, and the portraits tended to follow you with their eyes. "She is after all, firstly from a penal Frontier, and secondly from the Orient. I would not be surprised if she is uncouth, lacking in discipline, and possessed no idea of her place. I would remain cautiously optimistic, Justine."

"I think she'll make quite the splash." Lady Grey motioned for Vice-Chancellor Butterfield to leave her to her thoughts. "Go. Tell Gwen she must visit. And that when she does, Peterhouse shall hold Hall in her honour."

"Very well." Alfred Butterfield turned to leave.

"Wait—"

"Yes, Justine?"

"Have— her robe prepared. If she comes in wearing a gauche outfit..."

"Or brandishing adverts..." The vice-chancellor left the horror unsaid.

"Let's hope not." Lady Grey shivered. "Henry's ghost, I hope old Deathless isn't turning in his mausoleum. No one likes being accused of Necromancy."

Gwen's parting at Sydney Tower consisted of Gunther, who dropped by for thirty-seconds; Alesia, who kissed her on both cheeks; Yue, who held her like an abandoned joey; and her Opa, who wept like a woman.

"Come home soon!" Surya bawled. "Don't forget, your love child is safe in our hands! We'll nurture it with all my heart!"

"What?" Yue was just about to let go.

"Legion!" Gwen hissed under her breath. "He means the Divi-Tower project! Stupid Opa."

"It better be." Yue relaxed. "When you see Elvia, give her my love."

"I'll hug her until she passes out, then say 'From Yue with love'," Gwen promised.

"Okay, deal." The girls parted. "See you in a while, crocodile?"

"Yep. I'll be in contact! If you want to visit, just holler. I'll cover the ISTC tickets."

"Nah, I'll pay my way. Quit showing off, ya rich bitch." Yue chortled. "Seriously though, stay safe out there, watch out for those Ravenport bastards."

"I'll keep my eyes wide-open."

After another hug and a wet, slopping kiss from Surya, Gwen retreated behind the barrier.

"I'll call when I can!" Gwen waved a final time when the white-uniformed guards politely steered her toward the stage. "Stay safe, everyone!"

A blast of retina-searing Conjuration later, Gwen was gone.

"And just like that, she's on another adventure," Surya lamented.

"Like the wind." Alesia dabbed at her eyes. "She's a busy girl."

"I am hungry," Yue complained. "Hungry and sad."

"Alright!" Surya slapped his knees. Ever since taking Gwen's supplements, all of his old war wounds had ceased to ache. He felt like a younger man, one with a weekly appointment at the Black Cat. "Let's eat! Whatever you want, anything in the city. My shout!"

The thing with ISTC stations, Gwen realised, was that they were so uniform in their aesthetic that rapid transits felt like glitches in reality.

Her final stop on the first leg of her journey was Yangon, where she held a meeting with Marong to deliver the trade agreements Gunther had set up between the two nations. To Gwen's delight, Mayuree, who she had thought returned to Shanghai, had delayed her trip just so that they could catch up. Arm-in-arm, Diviner and Omni-Mage embraced for a long while, reminiscing the deaths, dangers and dares the duo had shared.

"Your body, its changed," Marong, professed expert in Gwen's physiology, spoke over iced cakes and sweet tea. "What happened?"

"Stuff." Gwen's eyes informed her ally that as much as she wanted to share, the information wasn't hers to tell. "What do you see that's different?"

"It's your smell— Sorry, I don't mean to be crude," Marong apologised. "It's no longer similar to Lord Ruxin's, at least not anymore. I am smelling something, older, or younger. It's strange, intoxicating even, but I don't know—"

"It's a blessing akin to the Yinglong's, but not like the Yinglong." Gwen gave all the hints to which she was privy. "I was hoping Ruxin would be here. I've got questions only he can answer."

"I can Message Lord Ruxin. If you like," Marong offered. "Believe it or not, the Master of Manipur, Nagaland and Kachin has taken to our Magi-tech like a Dragon to the heavens."

"Hmm..." Gwen pondered the prospect of litmus testing her Essence but ultimately declined. For now, keeping the status quo was preferable, especially as she was mid-transit. "Nah, let's not tempt fate."

"I tried divining your future, Gwennie, and as usual, its weal and woe in equal measure." Mayuree rested her head against Gwen's shoulder. "That said, Marong's right, you smell great."

"Ha." Gwen laughed awkwardly.

"Shall we head to the banquet?" Mayuree pulled at her hand. "Brother's prepared a feast fit for a royal."

Gwen sensed her tummy growling happily. If anything, her increased Void Affinity, the digestive prowess of Almudj's Essence and her lighting-charged metabolism, made her "Temple" the equivalent of a food furnace.

"Let's go." Gwen allowed herself to be tugged along. "Marong, you can brief me over dessert."

Past Yangon, Gwen's ISTC hopscotch felt like flipping through a Contiki brochure.

On her second leg, the first city on her itinerary was Mumbai, said to possess one of the largest ISTC station in the East Indies, second only to Singapore. In Gwen's earthly memory, she recalled a colonial city resplendent with old architecture but dense with smog, skirted by a brown-grey Arabian sea that alternatively smelled of brine and raw sewerage. In her contemporary setting, all she caught was a glimpse of the mana miasma; then she was whisked away by guards wearing red berets and crisp uniforms. When she grew paranoid as to why she alone out of the travellers had an armed escort, she was reminded of her Multi-Pass's new markings by a Custom's Officer.

Class VI War Mage

Feeling obtuse, Gwen apologised to the junior officer. If she was the Mayor of Mumbai, and a cruise missile wearing heels wandered through her airport, she would have taken the same precaution.

And so, without so much as a vindaloo, Gwen arrived at Istanbul, where an armed escort awaited her eminence. Not exchanging a single word, she was marched, with excessive politeness, to her next stop.

The denial of Turkish Delight was a glimpse of the life Gunther had foretold. For a girl of her age, lacking titles, backers, Faction and a TOWER to belong to, she was the dictionary definition of a loose cannon bouncing through someone's else's city.

At Rome, her "guide" was a Magister all too happy to talk. Their fifteen minutes together were enough to yield an invitation to Castel Sant'Angelo on a future date of her choosing, as well as her first European contact card— that of Magister Isabella Conigliaro.

"We owe him so much," the Magister had professed while holding Gwen's hand. "If you are in Rome, I'll be at your service."

In Paris-Charles De Gaulle, a stop that would have been wondrous had the ISTC Station not been built within what looked like a converted catacomb, more friendly faces graced her arrival. Her trio of hosts hailed from the infamous Tour Montparnasse— said to enjoy the most beautiful view in all of Paris because it offers the only vista without the Tour Montparnasse.

"I imagine you'll find generosity wherever the Towers are old." The lead Magister provided Gwen with a glimmer of optimism. "Lord Kilroy may no longer grace our presence in the light, but his achievements have cast a long shadow."

"Much like the one cast by the plus laide Tower in all of L'Europe," a younger Magister added sarcastically. "Nonetheless, you are more than welcome to visit our hideous abode."

"Leon is joking. Renovations are being negotiated with the Dwarves of Mont Blanc." The leader of Montparnasse's trio flashed his junior a dirty in a way only the French could manage. "For now, please enjoy yourself in London. We await your coming."

"Oh, I'll be back." Gwen's credit-counting fingers itched just thinking of the fashion houses she had skipped for no reason other than sovereign borders and passports.

Waving goodbye to her "new friends", she once again stepped into the Teleportation Circle.

This time, finally, after an eternity of warping space and time and trading HDMs for distance, she had arrived at her port of call.

Elvia.

“Evee! Evee!”

Elvia Lindholm, the infamous “Trouble Maker”, the great disruptor of the Chain of Being at the Great Ormond Street Hospital, sat dazed in bed, one hand holding her work roster.

When her roommate and now co-worker, Sylvie Stratford, called out her name, Elvia turned as though a journeyman's golem still booting up its Glyph-scripts.

“Yes, Sylvie?”

“So, how is it? Can you come with me to Northumberland?”

“Take a gander.” Elvia handed over her roster slip.

Sylvie scanned the printed strip. “What bollocks is this?! You’re on outbound from tomorrow through to NEW YEAR EVE?”

Elvia lay back on her commandeered gurney. GOS had just beaten back two crises, back to back, and it was only now that the emergency patients could be shipped out to convalescence homes. Each Winter Solstice, the exponential propagation of magical resources meant a proliferation of hostile Demi-human activity. Even so, Elvia hadn't expected to be on deployment.

“Ystradfellte?! That's north of Merthyr Tydfil! Who's responsible for this?”

“Rosy and her fan-club, but you didn’t hear me say that.” Elvia rubbed her swollen eyes. “Maybe they’ve got a good reason? It’s not like I’ve got folks waiting for me. Also, I volunteered last year.”

“Those boots from Royal Alfred!” Sylvia blurted out. "What's Matron Maxwell thinking? Sending our Evee out in the dead of winter. Lord knows what's on those moors."

"Redcaps, usually. Gobs, Snots, the occasional Ice Hob, Trolls. Lots of Trolls." Elvia shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The Purge happens every year, and so do casualties. Every hospital has to cough up 'volunteers'."

“Kiki…” A bipedal sprout emerged from Elvia's coat. It had previously been sleeping in her breast pocket, but the conversation had stirred the Plant Sprite from its meditation. Raising its chubby little arms, the Alraune kissed Elvia on the cheek. “Kiki?”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Elvia hugged the plant between her arms. “We’ll get through this. Another two and a half years is all. Then we can see mum and dad, and Gwen, and Yue…”

“You still haven’t heard from her?” Sylvie appeared stricken by Elvia’s unhappiness. “Surely, in between kicking zombie arse and punching Flayers in the face, she’s got time to Message her bestie? Besides, didn't she finish a month ago?”

“Gwen’s real busy, I bet.” Elvia allowed Kiki to massage her cheeks, working away some of the accumulated fatigue. “If I fought off a LICH, I would be swamped by interviews, offers and engagements as well.”

"Surviving a Lich you mean?"

"And saving the Prince of the Inca!"

"And Eating her way into Shenyang," Sylvie remarked dryly. "You know, I am not so sure about meeting 'The Devourer' after all."

"She's a doll!" Elvia had picked up some old vernacular from the canteen ladies. "After the IIUC, I think everyone will want to be acquainted with Gwen."

“Speaking of connections.” Sylvia sidled closer. “Maybe you should ask Mathias? He can petition Lady Astor in your stead. You’re in her choir, right? If the Lady wants you at her Christmas Mass, how can GOS send you to Ystradfellte? You know how these assignments are. They say ten days, but who knows what’ll happen? If the Purge goes well, you're bored witless for a week— but if bodies start arriving by the truckload, it’s not like you can pack and leave. Nightingale is very particular about its reputation.”

“Lady Astor is fair,” Elvia intervened before Sylvie could work herself into a frenzy. “She doesn’t interfere with GOS’s rosters. If I am not here, then some other poor sod would have to fill the vacancy. I don’t want that, Sylvie. It's Christmas and people ought to be with their families. It's okay for me to work harder. There'll be dozens of physicians from other Hospitals and Colleges there as well. We'll keep each other company. Maybe the field cooks will have pudding?"

“ARRRRGH!” Sylvie pulled at her hair. “You’re such a pushover! Lady Astor adores you— like a pet, I’ll admit— but she likes you better than any other Cleric at GOS! Rosy's perfectly composed abusing her aunty's position, why don't you make use of yours!”

“Sylvie! That’s a conflict of interest!” Elvia pouted, somehow more adorable when upset. “We learned that in orientation—“

“Fur-fooks-sake, Evee!” Sylvia slipped into her northern dialect. “Yer— You’re so nice. You are infuriating!”

Elvia laughed, dispelling Sylvia’s ire with her unadulterated sticky-sweet goodness.

There was, of course, another reason Elvia did not want to disturb her honourable benefactor. Having grown intimate with the powerful widow, Elvia knew better than anyone that Lady Lucy Waldorf Astor had her hands full. As it stood, the General Election was only five months away, and the Lady had been pre-selected for the District of Sutton. To disturb Lady Astor with juvenile, mewling requests for rest, or to open Lady Astor’s mithril reputation to nepotism, was unacceptable to Elvia. That and the more she relied on Lady Astor, the more problems she would encounter when the Lady leaves her post at GOS for parliament.

And as for Mathias, Elvia felt a mild migraine coming on. The intense young man was a catalyst for her woes. The job of a Knight is to protect their ward, and in Mathias' case, Nightingale's Spirit Healer.

Unfortunately, Elvia suspected the young man was unconsciously using her to live out a fantasy. Emily and her father meant well, but Elvia understood that she was, in reality, a nobody. The grand-nephew of a Duke, attending to a peasant? If the fingers and tongues wagging behind her back got any more intense, she'd have to treat them for cramps.

WHAM!

On cue, the door slid apart, drawing sparks with the speed in which the metal rail received the slide-catch.

“Matty!” Elvia hissed, her cheeks puffed. “Shush! We're in a hospital!”

"Kiki!" Kiki likewise berated the careless young man.

“Evee—” Mathias, her assigned Knight, was a propaganda poster come to life. “We’re going to a war zone! Again! Huzzah!”

"SHUSH!" Elvia imagined Kiki suffocating the absurdly handsome face.

From behind the impassioned young Knight came the sound of gratuitous giggling. GOS, like the five other major hospitals in London’s Metropolitan area, was a training ground for junior Nurses. As expected, these young women hailed from good families with top-notch education, talent, and connections. As such, within GOS' student hierarchy were pupils from each of London's three major medical colleges— Nightingale's, Royal Alfred's and Black's.

Sir Mathias Rothwell, with his ash-blonde hair and chiselled jawline, broke hearts with a glance. To say the young man was merely good looking would be an insult, for Mathias was Radiant.

When Elvia first saw the young knight-errant standing behind Emily, her friend and Nightingale's Student Council President, she had been shocked into silence by the grandeur of his presence. It wasn't so much that Mathias was a rare Radiant Mage— after all, Elvia had dined with Gunther Shultz, arguably the most famous Radiant Mage in the world. It was that Mathias’ radiance was untempered, unchecked— raw, oozing out from every pore.

"Do you like him?" Emily cooed as though she had presented Elvia with a puppy Golden Retriever.

"He's amazing." Elvia regretted gushing in turn. She was no more immune to the young man's Radiant Aura than any other, but more than anything, she didn't want to disappoint Emily.

"Mathias is a distant grand-nephew of my father," the future Duchess of Somerset introduced the young man, running her hand from his hair to his hips in the vein of one addressing her favourite stallion. "He's three years older than you, and by all accounts from his tutors, extraordinary."

“Lady Lindholm.” The young man had held Elvia’s hand. To her chagrin, he knelt. “Allow me to profess my loyalty, my fealty, and my love.”

Elvia recalled freezing like a Draconic Deer in the path of Gwen's Void Swarm.

In the aftermath, Emily had told Elvia that their meeting had gone swimmingly. In her eyes, Mathias was a proud young stag with the heritage, talent and education to back up his dreams, and she was afraid he would reject Elvia.

Personally, Elvia would have preferred the rejection.

The worst of it, Elvia had learned months later, was that only the nobility had explicitly assigned guardians. For pissants like herself, the Tower appointed interim Knights for individual assignments. A permanent Knight— such as Mathias, could only be assigned by nobility to their family members. Emily had treated Elvia like a sister— but the fact remained that a Rothwell had bent the knee to a Frontier refugee. Naturally, malicious rumours followed— Mathias was the ideal protector for many a well-bred sorceress. When Elvia finally realised the trouble she was in, her reputation as a bite-sized Whore of Babylon was well-cemented.

“Thanks, Mathias.” Elvia wondered if Gwen had ever felt so overwhelmed. For herself, just dealing with Mathias, Lady Astor, Sylvie and Emily was already making her head twice its size. Additionally, she had work, her patients, the unfriendly seniors, the jealous juniors, the snotty Matrons, and more piling on her plate.

It was enough to drive a girl mad.

“Evee.” Mathias parked his tightly-toned figure in the ward. As usual, he was utterly oblivious to the fact that Elvia had been stealing precious shut-eye on her pilfered gurney. “Shall I go and commandeer supplies for our deployment? I am confident the quartermaster would not dare to deny or shortchange you if I am there. If your equipment is short again, I shall beat him!”

“Kiki!” The Plant Sprite waved a leaf. Unlike Elvia, her Alarune had taken to Mathias like a plant to the sun. “Kikiki!”

“Hey there, Kiki.” Mathias withdrew an HDM crystal and awarded the treat without so much as a blink.

“I know, Matty.” Elvia just felt so tired. “Thank you for always watching out for me. Please do that.”

Her lip service was enough to satisfy the bright-eyed Knight.

“Then I shall be on my way. Lady.” Mathias snapped a salute. “Please rest well.”

BAM! The door slid shut. Outside, there was the sound of Mathias being swamped by the angels in white.

With her Knight gone, Elvia wondered if it was at all possible to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the lingering impact of the Radiant Knight’s Aura had her body operating on full throttle.

“Aah..." Sylvie pined, her eyes full of stars, half-drunk on the man’s Radiance. “Evee, you’re so lucky. If I were Emily, I would have kept that hunk for myself, so what if he's my nephew? Anyway, my shift is up! See you later.”

With Sylvie gone, Elvia stared at the back of the abused door. On its rear, there was a picture of a Manx Cat, hanging from a clothesline. Matron Maxwell was an enormous feline aficionado and had framed the doors with hundreds of the damned things.

“Hang in there,” Elvia read the words to herself in silence, wondering how her friends were doing half a world away.

London.

Heathrow ISTC Station.

Like most capital transit stations, London’s ISTC sat in a quieter part of the city. A key rationale was for the processing of the thousands of Mages passing through its Teleportation Circles on an hourly basis, and another was for the propensity of said Mages to traffick in illicit materials.

Gwen stood pretty as a statue at the base of the ISTC Mandala, scanning for her handlers. When her eyes floated over a pair of Mages in tightly fitted militant uniforms, the duo moved to accost the new arrival.

“Miss Gwen Song of Sydney?”

“That’s me.” Gwen raised a hand.

“ID?”

“Here.” Gwen produced her Multi-Pass.

The two independently verified her credentials.

"You're a Class VI War Mage?" The older of the guards, a stocky man with a bull's neck, eyed her from crown to toe. "Really now?"

"Yep, that's me." Gwen gave what she hoped was a disarming smile.

“Welcome to Heathrow, Miss Song.” The second speaker, a young woman with fair blonde hair, bowed her head.

“Mmm. I am Sergeant Waterford, and this is Cadet Mills. If you could follow us, please? As you are immigrating from a Frontier, we need to clear you for customs."

"Of course," Gwen returned politely. When she caught her reflection of a mirrored pillar, she performed a double-take. In Yangon, she had worn mini-dress and wedge sandals suitable for sticky summers. After crossing the equator, she had put on a parka to cover her arms and shoulders.

Presently, however, the European Mages around her, the guards included, were each bundled up in multiple layers of clothing. From the ISTC's four-storey windows, she could even see snow blanketing the countryside. Next to an iron gate, mist-huffing guards stood with fur hats and trench coats. Inside, the male travellers wore vests and jumpers, the women, full-length coats and scarves.

Presently, Gwen realised. She must look like a crazy person— that or an exhibitionist.

"Sergeant." She stopped. "Could you excuse me for a second? I'd like to change into something warmer."

"No." The sergeant's curt rebuff was puzzling. "Please follow us to the interview room. Also, please refrain from accessing your Message Device as well as your Storage Ring. Penalties will apply."

Gwen glanced at the female cadet, who nodded meekly.

"Alright." After a quick gander around the spacious interior of Heathrow, she chose compliance. She had no idea what 'Airport' security was like in arguably the busiest hub in Europe and didn't want any trouble, at least not before Evee was in her arms.

"Cadet Mills will confirm your visitation endorsements. I will inspect what you are bringing into London. Once satisfied, you will be released into the city."

“Released?” Gwen realised the man never did return her Multi-Pass, wondering if this had to do with her classification. “What am I, a Dragon?”

Sergeant Waterford remained stoic. The corner of Mills’ lips twitched.

Behind a glass barrier with the words, "Border Control - HEATHROW", was a row of offices built without windows. Sterile and intimidating, the interior of the room was furnished with a bare steel table bolted to the floor, and two chairs.

Gwen sat, as did Sergeant Waterford. Cadet Mills was left standing with a data slate.

“Miss, may I have your name?” Cadet Mills was at least polite.

“Gwen Song.”

“Place of Birth?”

“Sydney.”

“Date of Birth?”

“25th of May, 1986.”

“Highest Level of Education Attained?”

“Second-year— Senior?“

"Ma’am?"

“Of Blackwattle High School.”

“Senior Diploma, Ma'am?”

“Er…” Gwen realised something terrible. “Junior? But I have a senior's certificate. Also, I attended Fudan-Shanghai for three Semesters. So I am technically not a Frontier's woman anymore.”

The two officers looked at one another. Sergeant Waterford snorted.

“Your reason for moving to London?”

“Higher Education.”

“Institution?”

“Cambridge— Peterhouse.”

Again, the confirmation engendered a longer than usual silence.

"Right."

“Highest School of Magic Attained?”

“Conjuration, Tier 6.”

“Secondary Schools?”

“What, all of them?"

“Yes?”

“Okay. All of them. Excuse me—”

Gwen interrupted herself when Sergeant Waterford rolled his eyes.

"Yes?"

"Not to be rude and interfere with your job." Gwen raised a hand. "But do you not know who I am? Have you picked up the wrong person, perhaps? I am sure there's someone who is supposed to meet me here."

“Employment status?” It was Sergeant Waterford who spoke.

"What?"

"Just answer the question."

“Self-Employed.”

“Occupation?”

“Import-Export. CEO.”

“Where will you be staying in London?”

“A hotel, I’d imagine, near Marylebone, where Evee— Where the Nightingale College is located."

"You DO NOT have a place of residence?"

"Should I? I've only just arrived."

"Name your sponsors, their name, contact and address."

"What?" Now Gwen knew something was wrong. "Listen, Sergeant. I know you have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Gwen Song, and I am here on invitation by the Marchioness of Ely. I am the sister of Master Gunther Shultz of Sydney. You should have seen me on the Vid-Casts. I was in the team going against Pretoria. Now, I understand I may have gotten off the wrong stop. Maybe I was expected in Cambridgeshire. If you could let me out, I am happy to take the next ISTC over and have them deal with me."

“How will you be paying for your stay?”

"Are you even listening?"

"HOW will you be paying for your stay?"

“Sponsorship from Peterhouse.” Gwen's tone grew cold. "Can I speak to your manager?"

“If you’ve brought more than 1000 HDMs into the country, you need to declare the amount.”

“… Oh?” Gwen blinked. Was this what it's about? Could it be a tax thing? "Is there a tax on personal wealth now?"

"I don't make the rules—"

“— You just follow them. FINE." Gwen returned curtly. "I have 112,420 HDMs in credit sticks and minted currency on my person right now. Is that a problem?”

Sergeant Waterford's eyes widened, then he smirked. Gwen recognised the look but did not understand why Waterford looked like a hound jaunting back with a hare in its teeth. Gwen bit her lips in frustration. Something was wrong. The question was whether she had made a mistake in getting off at London, OR if she was caught up in someone else's ploy, OR if said scheme targeted her directly.

Cadet Mills slid a second data slate across the table.

“What is the total value of Magical Items you are bringing to London? Please read sections 1-4 and 2-1, respectively,” Waterford demanded.

Gwen read the slate.

It made no sense.

Dean Luo had said that all she had to do was show up.

Gunther likewise confirmed that someone from London Tower would be awaiting her. No one ever said she had to deal with bean-counting bureaucracy.

Should she play along? Gwen took a moment to consider her options.

Grudgingly, she tallied her Ioun Stones, her Ring of Evasion, her Contingency Ring, Storage Ring, and her yet to be restored Ghosting Amulet, reminding herself that she had an outstanding IOU from Kyoto. Other items such as her babulya's stone of clarity and items of convenience like the Portable Habitat she had forgotten to return, she made a rough estimate.

“Here.” Gwen handed back the slate.

Mills counted the zeros.

“Is this correct? Ma'am?”

“Yes.” Gwen was glad that she gave back Gunther’s Ring. She wasn't an Auctioneer at Sotheby's and would have put down five zeros on reflex.

“You're carrying 26,000 HDMs worth of items on your person...”

“Some of the items are unique.” Gwen's brows furrowed. “Are we done? Can I go now? Important people are waiting for me."

Sergeant Waterford scrolled through the list.

“You have a Spirit on you?”

“It’s a supplement,” Gwen explained. “Think of it as homoeopathic medicine.”

“Can we see it?”

Gwen materialised her jadeite storage box.

“Is that storage device on the list?”

“The box is a Magic Item?” Gwen stared at the box, then realised her stupidity. Hers was a container made from ageless, near-perfect jadeite, hand-carved by Ryxi. In the current jadeite market, the box may be quite priceless. “I suppose it is.”

Before the officers could answer, she opened the box.

“Kii—Kii?” The ginseng stirred. When it caught sight of Gwen, its remaining limbs grew limp. “Kii!”

Gwen patted the root vegetable on the chest, then closed the lid.

The two officers must have stopped breathing at some point because Gwen could hear both of them taking deep breaths.

"Anything else?"

“We'll need to confiscate that,” Sergeant Waterford stated blankly. “The plant is an illicit Class-III Magical Creature. You’re not allowed to bring un-attuned Magical Creatures into London without an Import Licence, a signed 11-B and a Request for Quarantine 12-C. The penalty for non-compliance is a fine of 10,000 HDMs and prison time up to one year.”

Gwen de-materialised the box.

“I wasn’t informed.” She had it up to her neck with these goons. “Cambridge should have taken care of all my papers.”

“Cambridge does not command Border Control.” Sergeant Waterford's eyes grew hard. “Miss, I am afraid we will need you to empty your Storage Ring.”

“No." Gwen felt her patience wane. "Contact London Tower. Tell them to send someone."

“Are you refusing a lawful request?" The Sergeant's tone was arrogant and rude. Gwen checked with a subtle manifestation of Detect Magic that the room wasn't equipped with anti-magic wards. Thus far, no other ISTC station had shown the slightest interest in her inventory. At any rate, the Sergeant's smug mug made her wish she still had her Dragon-fear.

“Sergeant, I may look like this, but I am not stupid,” Gwen complained. “I know my rights. And I will not empty my ring nor relinquish my inventory. Now be a good Sergeant and go and call your superiors. There has been a terrible mistake. Fix this, and I won't pursue the misunderstanding."

“If you are dissatisfied, you may lodge a formal complaint ONCE we stow the contents of your Ring.” Sergeant Waterford stood, his face growing redder with her every word. “Again, I ask that you remove from your body all magical items, and detail the source of the currency, items and materials you are bringing into London.”

Gwen's complexion grew pink. Her irises took on a vivid hue. Even when some NoM groped her tooshie on the train, she had not felt so annoyed. What the fuck was this motiveless malignancy?

“I am a Class VI War Mage." Gwen wasn't sure if what she said held any weight, but it was worth a try. "Return my Multi-pass to me. Now. Then CALL your superiors."

“Sir.” The cadet leaned toward to her superior, her face ashen. “Maybe we made a mistake?”

Sergeant Waterford turned.

“Cadet! NEVER undermine a superior officer.” Waterford’s snap was so vicious that Mills visibly flinched. “Miss Song! I am warning you—”

There was a sound of steel on concrete. Gwen stood from her chair.

“I stand warned. Are we done?"

Waterford's complexion darkened.

“Give me back my Multi-Pass if I am not welcome in London. Send me back to the ISTC station. You can be sure that I’ll inform Tower Master Gunther Shultz and Lady Grey of Ely that some brainless twat stopped me from entering the city because of bureaucratic inflexibility and an ego-driven power trip.”

Sergeant Waterford closed the distance between them in an instant. Gwen sensed a flood of Transmutation cascading from the man’s body. In Sydney, the officer would have been someone special, but here in London, the man was just a grunt with a badge.

“Gwen Song, you are under arrest for refusing to comply with an officer of Border Control,” Waterford announced. “Your belongings will be confiscated and kept in storage until further notice.”

The cramped room, combined with Sergent Waterford's body odour, was making her claustrophobic. In Singapore, she at least knew her father had fucked up. In Shanghai, it was her grandfather who had her incarcerated for observation. Here in London, she was truly alone. If she allowed this man to take her items, who knew what would happen to them? If she allowed this man to arrest her, who knew where she would end up? Gwen studied the man's bloodshot eyes. Was Ravenport behind this? Her Master's Factional enemies? Perhaps, someone looking to embarrass Lady Grey?

“I am leaving,” Gwen stated coldly, raising her Message Device.

“You’re a smuggler!” Waterford barred her way. “And Devices don’t work here, pissant.”

“Move.” Essence flooded Gwen’s conduits. She no longer had her Dragon-fear, but the methods by which Draconic-Essence was deployed remained ingrained within her body. When she once again gazed into her opponent’s eyes, her irises were twin lanterns vivid with scintillating rainbows. She couldn't turn spines into noodles anymore, but her presence was nothing to scoff at.

Unconsciously, the officer took a step back. Mills whimpered against the wall.

Gwen passed the man now sweating profusely, then approached the door.

Click.

It was locked.

Feeding Essence into her arms, she tried the handle again.

It wouldn’t budge. She was hale but no longer a She-Hulk, and her obstacle was designed to withstand Transmuters.

“Go on, leave." Waterford had recovered enough to speak. "What are you going to go? Flee into the city?"

Gwen forced herself to calm. Different from her Draconic days, her fog of indignant rage cleared far quicker than when she was under the influence of Dragon-juice. With an icy clarity, Gwen measured the outcomes of her demolishing the door. Whatever Sergeant shit-for-brains presumed, she was confident that so long as she did not kill anyone, injury and mayhem was perfectly acceptable for someone with her backing. No one wants an angry Alesia in their office, and few bureaucrats in the Tower desired a justified censure from Gunther. If anything, Lady Grey would likely have a stern word with the Border Force's replacement Director.

Satisfied, Gwen placed her hand against the door. Though the mechanism was well-made and enchanted, it was not warded. They were in an office, not an MSS secret prison under the Ministry of Social Welfare.

“Chakram.” She invoked her Signature Spell. Carefully channelling the Void Mana through her Essence-shielded conduits, she neatly sliced at the locking mechanism as though slipping through a credit card.

Click!

The mechanism disengaged, the door opened.

"Sir, she IS a Void Mage!" Cadet Mills whispered harshly. "We've—"

“Guards!” her captor was screaming into a communication device. “Code THREE. Female Escapee, on suspicion of currency laundering and smuggling of Magical Creatures. Dark-haired, eighteen years of age, green eyes. She’s leaving the holding section right now—“

Gwen turned, the final syllable for Flashbang on the tip of her tongue, only to be met with Cadet Mills’ pleading eyes.

The spell faded from her lips.

“Caliban! Ariel!”

“Shaa Shaa!”

“Ee EE!”

“Keep me covered. Don’t attack even if provoked.”

Her Familiars complied, each assuming their combat forms.

If her Familiars, so instantly recognisable from the IIUC’s international broadcasts didn’t earn her a visit from the higher-ups, then she was indeed caught in the grip of a wide-ranging conspiracy. In that eventuality, she would make as much commotion as possible, ensure that as many pairs of eyes saw that Gwen Song, Class VI War Mage, was causing mayhem.

Only in the dark were these corrupt, arrogant, bureaucratic bastards powerful. In the light of scrutiny, their schemes melted away like morning snow.

Heathrow ISTC Station.

Exterior.

To the complete awe of sticky-beaked valets, a Rolls Royce idled in the Station's reserved parking bay. In all of the United Kingdoms, only fifteen vehicles of the same make and model existed, making the onlookers guess as to which noble was gracing the station for a business trip.

“Milord, I think now might be a good time to intervene,” sounded an imploring voice from the driver’s side seat. “Director Reeves is en route as we speak."

"Very well, Elliot. You know best."

“Aye, milord.” The driver exited the vehicle, then tapped on the passenger-side door. “Acolyte, ready to leave?"

“Yes, Sir Savile," the young man answered, his voice brimming with barely-constrained agitation. "We'd best hurry— before she eats anyone in public.”

A severe sense of déjà vu assaulted Gwen when two dozen guards surrounded her with sonic suppressors. The last time she had been in this exact precarious situation, it had been Alesia refusing to stand down to Walken’s goons.

If so, who was the mastermind this time? What would happen to her if she Chain Lightninged the lot of them?

If anything, Gwen lamented losing her Dragon-Fear yet again. A good AoE jolt of the Dragon-juice was effortlessly capable of disabling the guards via explosive bowels.

“UNSUMMON YOUR FAMILIARS!” the Guard Captain shouted. “NOW!”

The area outside Border Control had been cleared of civilians, though not before Gwen caught the flash of a few lumen-recorders. Where she loathed exposure in Shanghai, she welcomed it in London. With her beautiful Ariel and her big-black Caliban out in public, how could anyone NOT take a lumen-recording?

“BRING ME YOUR MANAGER!” Gwen wasn’t sure what title the highest officer of Border Force held, and so could only act like an ignorant mall-mom. “NOW!”

"Shaa—"

SCREEEEEEEE—

A sonic suppressor misfired. Perhaps out of nervousness, maybe to test Gwen's resolve. With her Essence encircling her conduits, however, the otherwise agony-inducing device was a minor annoyance.

“Shaa! Shaa!” Caliban sang— its carapace split, driving the men back. Her familiar rather enjoyed the din. “Shaa! SHAA!”

Gwen felt like a fool, but that was the role she now played. Idiots weren't dangerous. Idiots could be pacified. Surely, an idiot who merely stood her ground didn't warrant lethal retaliation. There was no War on Terror in this world, after all, no Fox-News mass hysteria.

“YOUR SUPERIOR, NOW!” Gwen howled, using her Clarion Call. This time, the windows visibly vibrated.

“Maximise output! On my mark!” The Guard Captain, standing in front of a smug Sergeant Waterford, ordered his men for the inevitable. “Miss Song, you have FIVE SECONDS TO COMPLY.”

Groaning internally, Gwen readied her Void Skin and a Lightning Shield. Void Shield had the unfortunate habit of cutting line of sight, and that was something she couldn’t afford right now. With her Essence, Void Skin, and her VMI, she should be able to hold out until someone without shit-for-grey-matter arrived.

“Five—”

“Four—”

“Three—”

“HALT!” A burst of silvery Conjuration gave the Guard Captain pause. A split-second later, the space in between Gwen and the leader of her assailants filled with two figures, one youthful and tall, and the other old and gnarly.

Gwen gasped as recognition dawned, the well-loved contour of the young man's face may as well be an angel sent from heaven.

“R-RICHARD?” she spluttered, her eyes widening. “Oh, thank fuck.'”

“Gwen!” Richard threw both hands up in the air to show that he wasn't dangerous. He then spoke through a silent Message. “Let Lord Savile do the work. “

“Who?”

Richard made the gesture for her to zip it.

“Shaa! SHAA!”

“EE! EE!”

Gwen willed her Familiars to calm. The old Magister-looking bloke must be the man initially assigned to pick her up from the ISTC station. If so, then her pointless ordeal was at an end.

The gent behind Richard produced a crest, lighting up the space in front of him with a Coat of Arms so absurd Gwen almost snorted. The projection was a stylised Glyph, one consisting of a single stripe of gules across a white shield with a trio of emerald parakeets.

“Elliot Savile, acting on the order of the Duke of Norfolk. Guard-Captain, you WILL submit your authority to me. Remove your arms, then remove yourselves from my presence.” The hunched Magister's declaration fulminated across Heathrow's grand hall, driving the guards back.

Déjà vu once again suffused Gwen's senses. Wasn’t this what happened last time too? The old guy wasn’t Gunther "Apollo" Shultz, but he was plenty burly in so far as his presence was concerned.

“She’s a smuggler and a trespasser!” Sergeant Waterford’s face was pale with panic. “Do not be fooled, Secretary Savile. She’s carrying hundreds of thousands in illicit funds, including a Spriggan Sprite stolen from lord knows where! Just check her ring!”

"Sergeant." The man called Secretary Savile appeared unfazed. "Where is your superior?"

VOOMMPH!

Another Dimension Door opened, vomiting forth a bespectacled man in a three-piece suit. Others followed, depositing other half-dozen officers. These ones, Gwen could see, were all Combat Mages.

“Sir!” The guards saluted, instantly relieved.

“What’s happened?” The new arrival glanced at Gwen and Richard, then at the wizened Lord in their midst. “Lord Secretary! Why are you here? Have my men offended you?”

“Yes.” The man known as Elliot Saville gestured for Gwen and Richard to gather around.

“Sir!” Sergeant Waterford was bowing and scraping before anyone else could get a word in edgewise. With astounding acuity, he painted Gwen in the colour of his accusation. Gwen seethed, though again Richard held her hand and told her to leave the work to their escort.

Once Waterford finished, the bespectacled Mage turned to Gwen and the Lord Secretary now acting as their shield. “Miss Song, I am Magister George Reeves, Director of Operations here at Heathrow. Is what my Sergeant said true? Are you in possession of the objects and creatures he has identified, and do you lack the necessary paperwork? These are serious crimes..."

Gwen’s stomach sunk. Fucking useless self-serving bureaucrats. “Yes, but—“

“There is NO need to explain yourself, Miss Song.” Richard’s companion interjected, raising a finger to hush her lips. Turning toward the guards and their Director, he thumped the floor. “You have grown too complacent, Director Reeves. She isn't someone you can detain.”

“Check her ring—” Sergeant Waterford was cut off by his Director.

“Lord Savile." The Director adjusted his spectacles. "I would advise against the Grey Faction interfering with border operations—”

“Silence—!“ Savile stopped the man before he could continue. “Is THIS the hill you have chosen to die on, Reeves? Waste my time again, and you'll regret it.”

The Director snorted. “If you think Norfolk can prod and bully—“

To Gwen's amazement, Reeve's voice dimmed. It was as though someone had suppressed the ambient volume around them. In so far as a chantless Silence was concerned, its size and fineness were astounding.

“Miss Song, Mister Huang.” Elliot Savile turned to Gwen and Richard again. The Mage then gestured to the far exit. “Shall we? I am sorry your arrival in London has become so unpleasant. Not to worry, heads will roll."

“We're just going to leave?” Gwen was incredulous. There's still a dozen guards, more on the way, a Director and his cock-brained sergeant hurling abuses! How the hell is anything resolved? Was Savile senile? They've still got her Multi-Pass!

“Gwen, we better listen to what he says.” Richard had been holding Gwen's hand the whole while. “Send away Ariel and Caliban. You're already late for your appointment in Cambridge, or so I am told.”

“I have an appointment?”

“You do.”

“I was going to see Elvia.”

“You will.” Richard squeezed her hand. “Gwen, have patience. Right now, we’re out of our depth. WAY out of our depth.”

Their eyes met.

Richard's eyes were unblinking and full of gravity.

“Fine,” Gwen ordered her Familiars to disperse.

The trio advanced, Savile parted the guards like Moses parting the Red Sea.

“You won’t hear the last of this!” Director Reeves' voice was barely a whisper. “I'll have you censured, Savile! What you're doing is a blatant abuse of power!”

Once outside, Gwen breathed in the air of frigid freedom with gulping breaths. There was already a ring of bright-eyed reporters taking pictures of the Lord, the nobody and the girl wearing not very much.

"Thank God you arrived with Lord Savile, Richard," Gwen said to her cousin, then bowed towards their rescuer. "My most sincere thanks, Lord Savile. Your aid is most timely."

"No need to thank me." Savile gestured to the shadows, his voice deep and raspy. "Your benefactor is over yonder. We should hurry if you do not wish to be tardy. Lady Grey is holding Hall in your honour."

"O?" Gwen followed. "We'd best hurry, then."

"Indeed."

The man quickened his pace, behind them, the stickybeaks dispersed, though the paparazzi followed. Ahead, Gwen caught sight of the most expensive personal possessions she had ever seen, barring Gunther's ring.

“Wow, a Rolls Royce,” Gwen gushed, slapping Richard's rigid body. “Moving up in the world, Dick!”

Still holding her slender fingers, Richard’s hands grew clammy.

All around them, the December snow fell like cotton, the crystallised motes of water clinging to anything remotely warm.

Ten meters away, the door of the Rolls Royce swung open with a will of its own. Gwen whistled. From what she could see, the spacious interior was impossibly large. From the unique mana signature, she recognised the same Spatial Magic used for the Towers interior. If so, how bloody expensive was this car?

"Wait!" Richard pulled her back. "You're just going to get in?"

Gwen staggered, her legs akimbo, slipping on sleet. With both hands, she gripped Richard's coat. "Jesus, Dick, what the hell?"

"W-why are you so weak?" Richard groped her arms, confused as to the unexpectedly soft body clinging onto his neck. To make sure, he gave her shoulders a shake. "What's wrong? What's happened? Did they do something to you in there?"

"No, this is my fault." Gwen righted herself. Peeling away Richard's hands, she punched him in the chest. "Be careful, will you? I am an old lady."

Richard waited for her to adjust her sandals. Struck by a sudden thought, her cousin unzipped her blazer, saw what the parka hid, then re-fastened the zipper. "Why are you wearing a summer dress? It’s two degrees out! My balls are up in my pelvis.”

“Four hours ago, I was in Burma!” Gwen adjusted her jacket. “It was thirty-four in Singapore and thirty-two in Yangon, with a humidity of ninety! That’s when I last stepped out of an ISTC station. Besides, I feel fine. Nothing wrong with a refreshing breeze on the old stalks."

She unzipped her parka. "At least I am immune to cold still."

Richard zipped shut her parka again. Her cousin looked as though he was enduring great mental and physical anguish. "Forget about the dress. Gwen. Didn't your mother teach you never to get into a stranger's car?"

"That's a Rolls Royce, you know. Not a candy van. And those are reporters." She pointed to the men with their Lumen-recorders. "Why?"

"Do you even know who's in there?"

"Our contact from Cambridge? It's not like I can go back to the ISTC station. I don't have my Flight Licence either."

Richard's jaws clenched. "Look, just listen to what I have to say, and stay calm."

“Fine.” Gwen glanced at the leather interior of the Rolls Royce. There was someone in there, but the air was all fuzzy. Considering her near-perfect vision, she figured it was a part of the Spatial Magic.

Richard shook her shoulders. "Gwen, focus, look at me."

"Okay." Gwen obediently gazed into her cousin's eyes.

"The Duke of Norfolk is in that car, and he's offered to chaperon your passage to Cambridge."

"A Duke! How fancy!"

"The Duke of Norfolk— is Mycroft Ravenport."

It took several seconds for the words to filter through her head. Ten-thousand mud-grass horses imported from the steppes of northern China stampeded through her mind in the time a dozen snowflakes kissed Richard's cheeks.

"As to why I am here as a willing captive." Her cousin's Adam's apple bobbed. "Did you know that he's also an ex-Provost of King's College, Cambridge?"

"But you're in Wolfson."

"Not anymore." Richard's complexion alternated between passion and ashen. "I've been inducted into King's College, Gwen. My childhood dream, the impossible goal I set for myself when I enrolled in Prince's— it's come true."

Gwen considered the implication of Richard's words.

The warm interior of the Rolls awaited.

The cold whipped at her bare legs.

"Fuck."

Richard materialised an elaborate, oaken box. On its matt-black surface, the Coat of Arms of Cambridge glimmered in silver.

"Your robe, for Hall."

Gwen opened the container. Inside was a long black gown with bell-sleeves and open forearm seams. At its rear sat a large black hood, bound and lined in ermine. Also included was a perfumed card from Lady Grey, welcoming her to the college, as well as a note with curt instructions on etiquette and attire.

"I was with the Vice-Chancellor originally. He was your chaperone," Richard explained, biting each syllable. "Until the Duke intervened."

"Does the Lady know?"

"The Vice-Chancellor gave me the gown, then returned straightaway to the Old Court. Assuming he's looking to save his skin..."

Richard grew silent.

Gwen studied her cousin's face. The young man wasn't his usual, candid self. Was it safe to speculate that the Lady knew? While she did not possess the Lady's Message Glyph, she knew the Vice-Chancellor's— though Messaging the man was as useful now as blaming Richard.

She placed a white hand against the roof of the Rolls Royce, feeling the mana thrumming through its interior. By the wayside, her cousin stood guilty as charged, watching Gwen ponder her entrance into the lion's den.

Outside, the paparazzi's lumen-flares blanketed the car's boxy, antique exterior. She smiled at the reporters, wondering if she should say something. Maybe a cry for help? "If you find me in a ditch later, blame the Duke of Norfolk?"

"Dick, what happens to you if I leave?"

"I don't know," Richard confessed. "Don't mind me—"

A test? Gwen wondered. And if so, was all that Customs business a part of it? Was Richard a hostage? Or did he find himself a better patron? In his usual candour, Dick did say he was a willing participant. Whatever the case, her answers sat in the car. The question was if she was woman enough to find out.

"Richard," Gwen said. "Hold onto the box. We'll talk later."

Her cousin nodded.

Turning on her heels, Gwen then stepped into the cabin, one white leg after the other.

The lumen-recorders flashed.

Like a perfect egg, the vehicle's doors sealed shut.

Inside, the air was warm and temperate, smelling faintly of leather.

She did not immediately turn to regard her "benefactor" but took a moment to compose herself.

"That's going to hit the back pages for sure," an impeccably pronounced, accented voice drifted across the impossibly spacious interior of the Phantom. "My faultless reputation, ruined by an outlandish lassie. What would the Sun say? Or the Telegraph? Tabloids, they're worse than Transylvanian bloodsuckers."

Conjuring courage from Almudj's encircling Essence, Gwen craned her neck so that the slow focus of her demanding gaze would deliver its full effect.

Charcoal dress pants. Silk shirt. No tie. A fitted jacket. A trimmed beard. Eyes the colour of ice. Black hair with bands of silver.

Mycroft Ravenport. The Big Bad Wolf of London.

The Duke of Norfolk appeared nothing like his son. He did not look malicious; assuming malignancy had a look. Indeed, one glance at Edgar was enough to reveal the insanity simmering behind the man's eyes. Conversely, Mycroft Ravenport looked an actor, a dappled gent who frequented chamber orchestras and attended contemporary art openings. Apart from his high forehead, the most notable feature of the patriarch was his gaunt, skull-like face, particularly the man's aristocratic cheekbones and his lips, pursing to form a thin, red line.

"You're very calm." Mycroft appeared amused. "I like that."

"This isn't my first abduction." Gwen forced the corner of her lips to curl. "The excitement wears off."

"Abduction?" Mycroft appeared genuinely puzzled. "I just liberated you from those egg-headed Militants, and now I offer you unmolested passage to Cambridge, where Justine breathlessly awaits her new ward."

"Am I to understand that I am free to leave?"

"Anytime." Mycroft raised both hands to show that he meant to harm. "Though I am sure Director Reeves is salivating at a chance to get at your ring, and yourself. Besides, I haven't given you any of your documents. I am Mycroft, by the way."

Gwen extended a hand.

"You're not going to Shocking Grasp me, are you?" Ravenport's mouth twisted into a grin. "I've been told you do that. Shock people."

Her scalp crawled. Where did the man get that little detail?

"I prefer civil discourse."

"Is this palatial vehicle, reserved for state officials, not civil enough to bolster your confidence? Nevermind— here, your papers. Please be at ease."

A thick manila envelope materialised in Gwen's extended hand.

Gwen opened the envelope. Inside was a calf-skin leather booklet with the crest of the British Mageocracy imprinted in gold, consisting of the Royal Coat of Arms resting upon a spell tome. The paper itself consisted of the same material as Spell Scrolls. On the first page was a portrait, underneath which sat her biometrics.

When she channelled her mana into her new Multi-Pass, the illusory portrait came alive. It was a lumen-recording she had taken back at Fudan when Dean Luo processed her papers.

"That's an Empire-wide Multi-Pass, good for all Commonwealth Frontiers, as well as tier 1 European cities. We have a treaty with the central powers. It's very convenient."

Gwen sorted through her next piece of "paper". There was a card in plated silver. It was her new Public Practice of Magic Licence, currently authorising self-defence magic up to tier 5.

There were other bundles of paper in the envelope as well, such as certificates for her items, a tax-form for crystals and other materials. Her ginseng had been approved as well. There was even a health certificate for the truck-load of Spam she had in her possession.

"The idiot at the Customs," Gwen said. Stowing her papers. "That was you—"

"The etiquette is to prefix or append requests with 'Milord', or 'Your Grace'." Ravenport returned her glare with a casual glance. "Welcome to high society, Gwen. You can stab me, shock me, throw me to the Void, but you can't be RUDE. It's unladylike."

Gwen swallowed the "Fuck you, Milord" simmering at her throat. There was a time for anger. Now was not a good time.

There was one final item in her envelope: a pair of silver wings. The weight of the metal in her hand, however, felt wrong.

"Mithril Wings— near impossible to replicate," Ravenport said. "Justine said you wanted a pair, and so I sponsored you in place of the others. A word of advice, though. I would refrain from flying at all above the city's capital buildings regardless. The Paladins take their job very seriously."

Gwen glanced at her the Unlimited Flight badge, then at the landscape outside their window. From her memory, Heathrow was already outside of the central business district. It meant that from here to Cambridge, it was mostly countryside. Assuming these documents were real, she could just fly away.

"Satisfied? Did that pacify your upset?"

Gwen studied the Ravenport patriarch, looking for clues, tics, something to indicate his exterior had a crack she could pry to get at the real man inside.

Naturally, the Duke's facade was flawless.

"Good. Savile, we're going."

Soundlessly, the car began to move.

"Your Grace." Gwen reiterated. "Was Officer Waterford your doing?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Gwen asked the obvious.

"None of your business. Though it was good to see Justine's new pet ruffled."

"Did I perform to your expectation?"

"Adequate. Not nearly vicious enough." Ravenport inclined his chin. "Although I would like to apologise for not expecting your… provincial choice of attire."

"What's wrong with this?" Gwen crossed her legs.

"Once you join our ranks, you will learn that a personage in our positions has very little to fear," Mycroft spoke with an air of instruction. "But the masses do have a way of getting under one's skin. For a young lady entering Justine's service, many unpleasant things await. A sorceress with your infamy is a bone the tabloids could chew for years. Just between you and me, if you could send a Shoggoth into the Sun's editorial office, I'll ask the Queen to issue a pardon."

"I am surprised Your Grace is candid about mass-murder."

"Don't be morose."

The Duke of Norfolk casually gestured. Between them, the middle console transformed into a bar table. From a hidden nook, Ravenport produced two glasses.

"Red or White?"

"Red."

"Good choice." Mycroft picked a bottle. "Cabernet Sauvignon from the banks of la Gironde, '87, I believe. A good year. I am fond of a thick, dry, red. It looses up the palate."

While Mycroft ensorceled the cork with a Mage Hand, Gwen scrutinised the father of the psychopath who had violated her. So far, they had remained civil. Gunther had foretold that Ravenport would not make a move on her. Though Gwen held Gunther in the highest esteem, what if he was wrong? What if they're headed for Dover, and Ravenport's looking to dump her chopped up body over a cliff? Assuming a fisherman finds her carcass, would Gunther laser down the Ravenport's Estate? If so, what would happen to Sydney?

Mycroft poured the wine into a pair of enormous Bordeaux glass to air, instantly filling the car's interior with an oaky redolence.

"I don't understand the purpose of our unscheduled meeting." Gwen attempted a direct approach. There were too many possibilities, and her paranoia didn't help. "Surely Your Grace is a man of such importance that his time has to be portioned out by the quarter-hour?"

Mycroft swirled his Bordeaux glass, breathing in the heady scent. Raising the liquid to the light, he gazed at her through the enormous glass. "See the thickness? Beautiful— and bold, like blood."

Gwen felt her fingers perspire. "I am barely old enough to drink."

The Duke of Norfolk handed over her glass. "I like to let the reds sit. Patience is a great virtue when it comes to wine. The older the casket, the richer the relish, the more satisfying the delay."

Gwen didn't have to be a genius to read between the lines.

Ravenport knew.

And from the sounds of it, he knew a lot.

The duo sat in silence while the wine aerated.

"But enough about you." Ravenport read her mind. "Have your associates ever spoken of me?"

"You're the Duke of Norfolk," Gwen now recollected from memory, her adrenaline clarifying a distant conversation she had held with Walken. "You hold the dual-office of Earl Marshall and the Lord of the College of Arms. You sit opposite the Lord Great Chamberlain during the opening of parliament—"

Parliament! Gwen recalled that Ravenport had his eye on the Prime Ministership in May. To make a viable coalition, Gunther had apprised, Ravenport would not dare make an enemy out of the Middle Path's independents, as the Tories lacked the support to maintain a legislative majority. Steering the Mageocracy was a balancing act, and Ravenport was no more immune to the shackles of power than Gunther.

"I understand if my titles are confusing." Mycroft laughed. "Bonk's Genealogical studies will be in your lessons, I am sure. In addition to being the 18th Duke, I am also the Earl of Arundel and Surrey— those are my land-holds. My Baronetage also includes Beaumont, Maltravers, Fitz, Alan, Clun, Oswaldestre and Glossop, though most remain in the grip of the Wildlands. My official title, as you have guessed, is Lord Earl Marshall, or Lord Marshall."

"I see. Now that we're acquainted." Gwen dried her fingers on her dress, making sure she had a firm grip on the glass. "Care to throw a Frontier lass a bone? What do you want from me?"

"How now." Ravenport looked at her disapprovingly. "Where's the sport?"

"Sorry to disappoint," Gwen replied. "I was raised by Drop Bears."

"Yes, the most deadly fauna in your penal colony, or so they tell me. You know, your stoicism reminds me of old Deathless, your Master. He was never one for tea nor titles. The Crown gifted him a Baronetage for his service. Instead, he asked for a piece of land in Hungary. That did not turn out well, or so I've heard. Quite the stain that made on Kilroy's reputation."

Gwen sifted through the crumbs, pecking at the words. Mycroft's ability to meander was astounding.

"Milord, I am still awaiting an answer to my initial question."

Ravenport raised his glass half-way, Gwen mimicked her opponent.

"For maiming my boy—"

Tink!

He struck her glass with his own.

"—I am going to make materials out of your Dragon-blooded body. Then murder everyone you love—"

"!"

Before Ravenport even finished, Gwen felt the invasion of Elemental Dust filling the cabin. With every cell shrieking for immediate action, she called upon her Familiar to defend her. If Ravenport wanted to start, then she would finish. "Caliban!"

"SHAA!"

To her complete surprise, her Void fiend manifested without interruption, filling her side of the back lounge with a two-metre Void python hankering for inbred flesh. Caliban's segments split at once, sending out its twin tendrils to envelope her foe.

THUNK!

Half-a-metre from Ravenport, her creature struck a barrier.

Her wine glass, still humming, spilt its contents over her dress, painting Caliban partially crimson.

The Duke's laughter filled the cabin. "Too green by far, Kilroy's Apprentice. But then again, he that made this world made us all differently. You're smart but shallow, and all too honest— a terrible combination for a politician. Lord Shultz has his work cut out for him, I see."

"Cali, calm." Protectively, Caliban coiled about Gwen's person, wrapping around her waist, resting across her lap. Did that barrier work both ways? Gwen wondered. They usually do.

Caliban persisted in its menacing hisses.

"Ha!— straight for the jugular? So you CAN be vicious," Mycroft praised the girl and her snake. "I was expecting something grandiose. You could have been the first Mage in the history of the Empire to let loose a Thundering Shatter in a Phantom IV. Who knows if the Spatial Mandala will hold? What an obituary both of us would make. It'll be a fun piece of trivia for future generations."

Gwen glared, her cheeks glowing pink as her Essence tamed the rising bile. The man was teasing her, confusing her. Was he joking or serious about murdering her loved ones? She was inclined to believe the latter.

"It must be oh-so-pleasant to bait me, Your Grace. A big and burly, Duke of the state, bullying a Frontier innocent."

"Innocent?" Ravenport picked up his glass, then took a sip. " Speaking of innocence, Elvia Lindholm—"

"SHAA!" Caliban hissed, growing engorged. Gwen's eyes turned prismatic.

"— will be in Ystradfellte," Ravenport continued. "Don't stare. It's rude. I merely asked the Tower to keep an eye on her whereabouts. Can you imagine if some tragedy were to strike the poor lass? I have it on good authority that you or that sister-in-craft of yours will find it in your hearts to blame me, somehow."

"Your menace is leaking." Gwen fought back her agitation. The bastard! She wanted Caliban to bite the man so badly! The rotten bastard! "If you want a piece of me, just take a bite. Leave Elvia out of this."

Ravenport snorted, his tone grew admonishing. "How vain, Dragon-girl! Such conceit! Do you think yourself the protagonist of an Epic? Must every ploy point to you? Must every scheme undermine YOUR position, YOUR power, YOUR future?"

"SHAA!" Caliban retorted in Gwen's stead.

Ignoring her Familiar, the Duke swilled the wine, then stowed the glass in some unseen storage. "I'll have you know that the 'innocent' Miss Lindholm is caught up in a vortex of her ineptitude and idiocy. As for why I am telling you this— consider my gift of erudition payment for your contribution at the Teleportation Circle."

Ystradfellte. Gwen repeated silently to herself, committing the tongue-twister to memory. Glancing at the Message Device by her wrist, Gwen calculated that she was trapped for at least another forty minutes.

Ravenport adjusted his sitting posture. For a Dust Mage, the old Duke's haleness was comparable to a younger man. As a comparison, Guo, her Salt-talented grandfather, looked like he had yet to recover from Mao's Long March.

"Are all you provincials so fond of staring?" Ravenport observed her unflinching eyes. "Fine, gawk if you like. What do those Dragon-eyes see?"

Gwen scoffed.

"I see sin puckering on sin. I see a Duke who has clothed his naked villainy with odd and ends stolen out of holy writ. I see a Minister of larceny branding himself as a saint while peddling deceit." She lowered her voice. "You worked with Sobel. You destroyed Sydney."

"Shaa!" Caliban added with brevity.

Ravenport's eyes bore into her own, no longer caring that it was "rude".

Gwen gulped. She did not expect that paraphrasing Shakespeare would have the Lord Marshall stare as though she was the eighth fucking wonder of the natural world.

Ravenport's mouth twitched.

"I destroyed Sydney?" Ravenport's control returned. "Do you have proof?"

"We know Edgar is your son. And we know Sobel worked with him."

"And what does that mean? Did you speak with Henry's wife? Share a cup of tea? Did she boast that a friend in parliament was giving her a helping hand with destroying one of the Mageocracy's dearest resource-Frontiers? Because, as LORD MARSHALL of the United Kingdoms, how I shall benefit?"

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree now, does it?"

"You better have crumpets with Sobel's teeth marks stowed in that ring of yours." The Duke's voice rose an octave. "For a decade, the thrice-accursed NoM-loving socialists couldn't irk me in the slightest, but you've managed to give me a migraine in twenty minutes. Well done, talk about biting the hand that feeds!"

"What, you're giving me a hand?" Gwen snorted.

Ravenport took an exasperated breath.

"Are you not our Class VI teenage War Mage? Am I not the Lord Earl Marshall, an imperial agent of Her Majesty's finest forces? Were we to engage in total war, I would be your highest administrative officer. Cometh a second Beast Tide. Even Gunther would fall under my command."

"Your son—"

"—Was a bastard, a fool and a tool."

"—died—"

"Ingrates die every day, what's one more? Did you kill him?"

"No."

"Care to trade his murderer for a reward?"

Gwen bit her tongue.

"Sin puckering on sin? Now that's rich." The grey-haired Lord faced her with a derisive snort. "Do you have any idea how the Empire stands at the apex of this infested, Demi-human world? Have you ever seen a Mermen port razed by our Royal Marines? Arboreal Villages, burnt to the last elf? What do you think keeps an empire oiled and moving? It's endless rapine! The things we did in Indochina and Africa! The obstacles your DEAR Master Kilroy had parted to plant those Towers. The horrors he made Sobel commit! Oh— you sweet summer child. Holy writ? Our cities are built on bones. And most of it isn't from monsters."

Crumbs and more crumbs, Gwen pecked at the facts. "I know—"

"No, you don't." Ravenport wavered her retort. "You know so little, but that doesn't stop you from lecturing your betters, now, does it? Allow me to elucidate your narcissistic little mind. You are an asset to the Mageocracy. Lady Grey wants you for the Middle Faction— I want you for the Grey Faction. The Militants would love to have you but lack the means. But that's fine. We can learn to share; there's plenty of Gwen Song to go around—"

"And as for what you know— the answer is 'very' little. Edmund has paid the ultimate price, and Her Majesty's government is well-informed of the blemish on my family name of eight centuries. Edmund's resources were mine, but his actions were not. In the wake of Sobel's fiasco, the Mageocracy almost lost a city and did lose one of its architects. But turn, we gained two boons— Gunther Shultz embracing his destined office, and the unveiling of Deathless Henry's legacy."

"What legacy?" The words were barely out when she realised what Mycroft implied.

"What else?" the Lord of the College of Arms replied. "A stable Void Sorceress with the ability to Consume the talent of your enemies. Friend or foe, Human or Dragon."

"Shaa!" Caliban hissed, writhing in her arms as her agitation mounted. "SHAA— Shaa!"

Gwen's blood ran instantly cold. Was the Duke implying that she was going to be force-fed, this time by the Mageocracy? Not even China dared to push her that far.

"You see, even though Sobel was a godsend against the ongoing Beast Wave, we all knew she was an unstable Warding Glyph," the Duke continued. "To no one's surprise, we couldn't control her, and in the end, neither could Henry. But that's alright, because YOU, my dear, in your tiny dress and your self-righteousness, self-dealing hypocrisy, will be everything Kilroy ever wanted. You're his redemption. Justine is convinced you'll inherit Sobel's mantle and do RIGHT by dear Henry!"

"Your Grace, I know you're trying to muddy the water," Gwen fired back. "Stow it. If you think a little panache can drive a wedge between me, my family or my Master—"

Mycroft dismissed her words with a wave. "No, Gwen. We're long past deception. I am here on a mission of mercy."

Lord Ravenport's voice took on a stern and unyielding tone.

"As far as I am concerned, there is NOTHING more important than the supremacy of our species and the perpetuation of the Empire! How many people have lost loved ones? What's a 'son' in the grand scheme of things? I would trade TEN Edmunds for HALF a Sorceress as talented as you!"

"You think that I am here to constrain you? Limit your potential? No, you pig-headed provincial! I want you to live your life and PROSPER! Do your business. Dance with your Dragons. Infest the countryside with this LEGION. Mould the land as you see fit."

The Duke's presence filled the cabin.

"Then, when others say NO! And when others undermine your work, steal your labour, destroy your citadels, maim your friends— you will think of our conversation today. Then you will come to me, just as your Master came to my father— then you and I, we shall talk of Empire."

Gwen gulped.

Ravenport had revealed so much that the buffet of information was impossible to digest at once.

"My Master came to—?"

"To my father— But that information will cost you."

Gwen ground her teeth.

"Fine. How about Richard," she said at last. "What have you done to Richard."

"Processed his immigration form, then inducted him into King's College," Ravenport answered drily. "Who do you think Lady Grey had to ask for such a favour? Who else can elevate an insignificant, unbacked-nobody to the highest institute of learning in the land? Richard wanted to enrol in Wolfson? That boy will be eaten alive. Only in King's will he find sympathy. Oh, you can doubt— but I consider my boon an investment. He's a wise young man to keep on hand, not like some fool hussy hailing from a penal port."

Ravenport's facade was once-again flawless. Gwen prided herself on her ability to read others, but the Duke of Norfolk was written in a whole other language. Outside, against the corner of her eyes, an endless English countryside flittered from meadow to meadow, beautiful beyond words, but also daunting.

Gwen sat in silence, slowly digesting the Duke's words.

Henry Kilroy.

Elizabeth Sobel.

The Middle Path, the Greys, the Militants.

Mycroft Ravenport was right in that were many things she did not know and may never know. Her Master's past loomed like a depthless pool of bottomless brine. What did Henry seek from the Senior Ravenport? What exactly did the Mageocracy do to Sobel? What does it mean to retread Lizzy's Path?

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

"Why the fiasco in the terminal?" Gwen reverted to her original topic. She disliked the silence.

"The intricacies may just be too much for your pretty little head," Ravenport answered. "If you wish to know— keep an eye on the headlines. As always, you overestimate your importance."

The silhouette of Cambridgeshire came into view.

The horizon was now taking on a lovely shade of rye, painting the linen land a dusky gold. Cambridge was close.

"Let's draw a line in the sand." Gwen mentally tallied her meandering conversation with Edmund's father. "All of your cock and bull— it's a warning, isn't it? Step on your toes and the Station Incident will happen again and again, and my enterprises will go exactly nowhere. Meanwhile, Richard languishes at King's, pressed under your thumb. Likewise, Elvia's life is but a whim away. You don't want to deal with Gunther directly. You don't dare to cross Lady Grey. You want your precious majority in parliament, so you slip these needles under my sole and teach me to step lightly. Have I read you correctly, milord? Do I sound elucidated, Your Grace?"

"You've arrived." The Duke indicated to the appearance of suburban buildings outside. "Since you're such a wunderkind, let me leave you with a last bit of advice so that you don't embarrass yourself. We're not enemies. Not yet. Your brother-in-craft brought to us what Edmund's done. The Crown knows. So does the assembly. So does the House of Lords."

"Sydney's reconstruction has gone rather swimmingly, don't you think? All those resources, just pouring into a penal colony. All those work permits signed and delivered! Did you think that was because of Master Shultz's boundless charisma? Which Faction do you think purchased his Leviathan Core? Who do you think donated the Nightmare from their private collection?"

"And Lady Grey, The honourable Justine Maxwell Loftus," the Duke of Norfolk gave her a look of utter contempt. "We're cousins, no different to you and you Richard. The same blue blood flows in our veins, just as it flows lacklustre in yours. We nobles may eat our own, but in the end, it's all in the family. It doesn't matter which of us you choose as your patron. The rules are the same. You give— and we take. If you demand too much—"

The Duke appeared as though he wanted to pat her head or pinch her cheek, but was deterred enough by Caliban to think better of it.

"Listen to Mr Huang, Gwen." The car stopped. "He's a smart boy."

Pop!

The doors opened. Outside, the vaulted pillars of the Old Court, ochre and crimson and enveloped with snow, awaited. Richard stood by the door, pale with white mist streaming from his mouth and nostrils.

"The woods have wolves." The Duke waved her goodbye. "And you're just a little girl in a tiny dress. Don't mistake your friends and enemies."

Gwen placed a hand against the overhead rails. She retrieved her Void Familiar, then with one leg out in the cold, she turned to regard Mycroft.

"Cheers for the heads up, Your Grace." Gwen's mind felt as cold as the frigid frost kissing her unprotected feet. "In the future, I'll be sure to live up to your expectations."

The two jousted with their eyes.

Gwen's were vivid and striking, Ravenport's hard and unyielding.

"Savile." Mycroft Ravenport was the first to break eye contact. "We're returning to the Estate."

The Rolls Royce silently rolled from the forecourt. From the Old Court's interior, two beadles in their black coats rushed out with umbrellas to greet their guests.

Richard held the box containing Gwen's robes, standing beside his cousin.

"I'll be waiting… for Hall to finish," he managed to eke out. "I am sorry this happened. It wasn't my intention to be a burden."

Gwen reached for the box in Richard's rigid fingers.

A tug-of-war ensured, perhaps it was best she no longer had her Draconic-strength.

Their eyes met.

In the near-three years that she had known Richard, Gwen had never seen her cousin beg. But now, she saw the desperate plea in his eyes. There were no words, for words would have sullied the purity of Richard's appeal.

On her cousin's dark brown hair, a snow crystal melted, as fragile as hope, as delicate as trust.

Gwen made up her mind. She would not let Mycroft worm into her heart.

The Duke professed to know everything about her, but really, the arrogant bastard knew nothing at all. Could the Lord Marshall imagine a world inter-connected as a worldwide web? A system of government where every citizen voted? That without a single mote of mana, humans had split the atom, harvested the power of a star?

From her connection to Amuldj to her otherworldly knowledge, Mycroft was the one in the dark. He may profess to know the past, but she had seen the future!

"Come on, ya goose." She punched Richard on the arm. "Your balls must be in your intestines by now. Let's head somewhere warm, and you can show me how to wear this damn gown."

Cambridge.

Old Court.

The exterior of “Hall”, the building in which Formal Hall was held, overlooked the frosted lawns of the Old Court facing the east and Deer Park facing north-west.

As an ancient institution, Peterhouse’s Courtyard projected the stoicism of its Laudian Gothic origins. Its interior, comparatively, preserved an older history, favouring the contoured geometry beloved by the Renaissance architects. Within the hall, against a foundation of dark, lacquered wood, vibrant compositions of priceless stained glass, centuries-old and Pre-Raphaelite, depicted the Acts of St Peter, from his adoration of Christ to his crucifixion by Nero.

In the lesser-parlour, a few doors from the Hall, Gwen made use of a converted prayer chamber to change into subfusc attire. From her ring, she picked a long-sleeved ivory blouse, a bell-skirt in black, and a pair of matching heels. Once she was ready, Richard aided her by slipping the Acolyte’s gown over her shoulders, aligning her sleeves and fluffing out her ermine-lined hood.

In a further room, the sound of stirring voices thrummed against the acoustically sensitive ironwood wall.

Thunk! Thunk!

“Miss Song, it’s time,” came the warning from the beadle. “Her Marchioness awaits your arrival.”

“It’s time for me to go.” Gwen brought Richard’s face closer, then kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Dick. You can go back to King’s now if you like. I don’t know how long Hall is going to take.”

“I’ll wait.” Richard indicated to the lounge. “I am an undergraduate, not underage. My curfew is quite lax.”

“There are teenagers my age attending College?”

“Sure, the older bloodlines tend to kick-in early.” Richard snorted. “For someone who doesn’t look a day over sixteen, you're such an old soul.”

“Aww, thanks, Richard.” Gwen laughed. “It warms my ancient bones to hear you say that.”

She reached for the door.

“A word of advice?” Richard politely discouraged his cousin. “Don't duel in a seven-century old building.”

The Marchioness of Ely stood under the portraits of her predecessors, proctoring two long tables of Peterhouse’s elites, each in their colour-coded regalia. As per tradition, each member of Peterhouse present on campus did their best to attend Formal Hall when called by its Master.

Justine Loftus observed the swaying gowns with satisfaction; as usual, Formal Hall filled her with a sense of accomplishment.

For Acolytes, the all-black gown ceased at three-quarter length, reaching just above the knees. For the graduate Magus, their vestment sported an ivory moth-silk inlay, with hems reaching the ankle. Comparatively, the lauded Magister’s gown was scarlet, with a black silk inlay and a hooded cloak lined with the finest fur from the endangered Snowdonian Stoat.

For all three variations, a silk-trimmed sash with coloured "bands" indicated their principle Schools of Magic.

Sunburst for Evocation.

Pale nimbus for Abjuration.

Silver for Conjuration.

Ivory for Divination.

Gold for Enchantment.

Lapis for Illusion.

And Tyrian purple for Transmutation.

Had one of Peterhouse's Meisters attended, their gowns would consist of gold-weaved, bible-black moth-silk, with a double-folded sash and sleeves in retina-searing scarlet.

The more carmine that graced a Houses’ Hall, therefore, the more lauded its reputation.

“Students, Maguses, Magisters.” Justine Maxwell Loftus, Mistress of Peterhouse, raised a glass to toast the double doors prefacing the entrance. “I give you our newest inductee, Apprentice to our beloved Master Kilroy and sister to Lord Gunther Shultz and the esteemed Lady De Botton— Miss Gwen Song of Sydney!”

The beadles at the door pulled back the oaken panels, revealing a girl with a beaming face, her complexion as white as lilies, her eyes so bright as to almost appear prismatic.

A murmur broke out among the Magisters. The students themselves remained silent, studying their newest competitor.

The youthful sorceress curtsied expertly, then threaded her way between the two tables, her slender white legs appearing and disappearing between the gown’s folds. Against the fossilised oaken floor, her heels clicked, tip-tapping in dual-toned staccato. The older alumni nodded with approval. The younger Acolytes turned to one another with wiggling brows before returning their attention to the scented body drifting through their midst.

No one spoke a word, though a Diviner would have rolled their eyes at the sheer volume of invisible, Silent Messages bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.

Lady Loftus smiled, happiness blossoming across her still-youthful face.

A few meters from the Lady, Gwen curtsied again. Of all the Mages present, she alone did not possess a single colour— her attire was stark and without adornments.

“Turn around, Gwen,” the Lady commanded. "Do try to impress."

Gwen did as told.

Their new arrival faced the crowd. At once, an indescribable presence radiated from her svelte silhouette. It was an aura of life, of fresh dew on the first day of spring, of thawing brooks frigid with ice melt. Looking at her hopeful, luminous face, her onlookers forgot for a moment that outside, Cambridgeshire was still in the grip of winter.

With relish, Master Justine Loftus produced the multi-coloured stole she had commissioned for the occasion. Working the cloth under Gwen's collar, a tapestry denoting every School of Magic marked the scarf hanging from her shoulders.

The ones closest to the head of the table were the first to inhale sharply. Each by each, the Silent Messages ceased until all present— forty-two sorcerers and sorceresses, stared at the girl. From her contoured heels, their eyes travelled up Gwen's scandalous interpretation of subfusc to arrive at the rainbow-hued sash now completing her gown.

Amused by the cohort's reaction and with Gwen standing by her side, the unwavering Mistress of Peterhouse offered the traditional benediction of the Nazarene.

“Benedic nos Domine, et dona Tua, quae de Tua largitate sumus sumpturi, et concede, ut illis salubriter nutriti, Tibi debitum obsequium praestare valeamus, per Christum Dominum nostrum, Amen.”

“Amen,” the gathered returned.

“Deus est caritas, et qui manet in caritate in Deo manet, et Deus in eo: sit Deus in nobis, et nos maneamus in ipso. Amen.”

“Amen,” their newest compatriot repeated after the others — when in Rome and all that.

When the Lady spoke again, her magnificent voice filled the cathedral- vaults of the dining hall.

“PETERHOUSE!” Lady Grey toasted the crowd. “Let us welcome our youngest sister! Let us toast the induction of the Mageocracy's first OMNI-MAGE into our abode!”

Hall itself proved to be a simple three-course affair, featuring an entrée of seafood, followed by a main of Australian Auroch cheeks paired with an exotic salad of Wildland origin. Dessert was poached pear in Manuka honey, followed by tea and biscuits.

For Gwen, the hour-long affair was an endless stream of expectant faces.

The Senior Bursar, the Steward, The Dean, the Chaplain, the Archivist, the Senior Tutor, the Tutor for Discipline and Etiquette, the Matron of Accommodations, the College Secretary, and finally Lady Loftus’ assistant-secretary, all made their presence known.

Of the long list of names bobbing through the sea of faces, some were warm, others cold, and many disbelieving. Chief among the sceptics stood the Praelector, an individual whose role was similar to Richard’s Praetorian status at Prince’s.

“Ollie Edwards.” The post-graduate Magus introduced himself. Beneath a head of light brown hair, Ollie possessed elfin features and tapered ears that hinted at an unusual bloodline. From the looks of his colours, the man was a Conjurer-Illusionist-Enchanter. “I’ll be responsible for your discipline, Miss Song.”

“Oh?” Gwen allowed the man to take her hand. “What will you be teaching me?”

“Self-discipline and camaraderie,” Lady Loftus appended. “Unlike London Imperial, Oxbridge utilises a system of peers. We are all obligated to one another to uphold the reputation of Cambridge and Peterhouse. If you blunder, your tutors and especially Ollie, as your Praelector, will be punished accordingly for failing to guide you. Myself, as well, pending the scale of your disturbance.”

“That hardly seems fair.” Gwen looked from the aquiline-nosed young man to her patron. “Collective punishment?”

The Lady nodded. “Once you graduate, your fellows will be your siblings-in-study. As alumni, we walk shoulder to shoulder. To put matters in an oriental fashion, you could think of the constituent colleges as Sects. Whatever you choose to do, Gwen, think of your peers. What you can do for them, and what they may do for you as well. The practice may seem abstract, but it has served Oxbridge well.”

So Oxbridge functions as a result of Nash’s Equilibrium? Gwen digested Lady Loftus' words. Do that which is best for oneself and all parties, assuming that all parties pursued what is best for others and themselves. If indeed all parties, including King’s, lauded the same philosophical tenant, then it would serve to explain Ravenport’s rationale. Everything was on a balanced scale. To harm her or her loved ones would disturb the universe. For her to act without thought would likewise cause an imbalance. For both herself and Ravenport, doing what was best for themselves, and also the Mageocracy, was "win-win"— personal feelings notwithstanding.

The same, Gwen realised, must apply to her tight-lipped brother-in-craft. In silence, Gunther had taken the best course of action to ensure that Sydney benefited and she benefited. In exchange, Ravenport mitigated his son’s scandal and profited in the process. That was why Gunther was confident she would be left untouched in London.

What the Duke of Norfolk must have feared was that in her passion and inexperience, she would pull the wrong brick from underneath a leaning tower.

Realising the depth of Ravenport's plot, Gwen felt goosebumps crawling up her thighs.

“Don't worry. You'll get to know your peers later." Lady Loftus rose to deliver a short, final speech, signalling the approach to the end of Hall. “Take a rest— then we’ll talk in private.”

Peterhouse.

Master’s Suite.

Gwen sipped on sweet cherry brandy, allowing the sticky liqueur to cling to her tongue.

Opposite, attired in a cotton blouse and a long skirt that trailed the floor, the Lady retained her stately aura. In Gwen's eyes, Lady Loftus’ handsomeness indicated both excellent breeding and good education. Without ceremony, she exuded an impeccable aura of gentility. For the Marchioness, there was no need to “make up” for what nature had not bestowed.

The interior of the Master’s suite was modest by the standards of the colleges. Considering that Peterhouse was one of the wealthiest in London, the furnishings were frugal. When the Lady saw Gwen’s eyes darting from divan to fireplace to old drapes, she smiled and explained that the scholarly Monks of Ely, the College’s founders, did not wish the estate burdened by material comforts. She then took a stab at King’s, as well as Trinity, a seminary whose wealth equated the bottom twenty colleges combined. Then, after some intimate small talk of family, Gwen "dobbed in" her encounter with Ravenport.

“Dickie can be such a boar.” Lady Loftus twisted her lips, savouring the pun.

“Dickie?”

“That's what we call Mycroft. It was originally Mickie, coined when we were children, around the time of the Pan-Europe Conflict. We were all children back then. At the war's height, us 'heirs' were moved to the Duke of Edinburgh's rural estate to avoid accidental, violent deaths.”

“How did Mickie become Dickie?”

“Oh, the name was a gift from Aunt Angie, that’s the queen’s mother, who got confused with the nick-names. I mean, there were thirty of us.” Lady Loftus laughed. “For some reason, she kept calling him Dickie, so the kids did as well. It drove Mycroft up the wall. Of course, the more he protested, the more it struck. Children can be so cruel.”

Gwen chuckled.

Mycroft Ravenport, the unseen hand of London and the big Don of the Grey Faction, and now also “Dickie". In her mind, she imagined Ravenport's laughing face when he threatened to cut her up for parts, then juxtaposed that image with a peevish red-faced boy screaming, "Not Dickie! NOT DICKIE! STOP CALLING ME DICKIE!"

Also, did Lady Loftus just casually name drop that she chummed with the Queen as a child? The Queen of England, her Majesty, the ageless Elizabeth the Second? Her Majesty was older than the Marchioness, was she maybe like an older sister?

“If that rooting hog tyrannises you again." Lady Loftus' smile was gentle as felt genuine. "Remind him that even if 'Dickie' becomes Prime Minister, it doesn't make him any less of a 'Dickie'. Step out of line, and Lilibet will put him in his rightful place."

Gwen wasn’t sure how that helped or who Lilibet could be— but assured the Lady that "Dickie" would get an earful.

“And rest assured, Dickie won’t touch your friends or family.” Lady Loftus patted Gwen’s hand. “It's not how we do things here. If the War of the Roses has taught us anything, it is that ruling a barren throne is about as worthwhile as lording over a Necropolis. Dickie excelled in history. No, he won't dare.”

Gwen was amazed. In Asia, threatening to maim friends and family was the number one solution to all conflicts. Even stepping on toes engendered a "Do you know who my father is?" or "I'll fuck your eighteenth generation ancestors!" She had seen it play out in real life. Maymyint threatened Mayuree, Huashan threatened Lulan, the Communists took heirs as hostages, and Eunae had fallen victim to her father's potential dismissal.

“He fears your retaliation as much as you fear his," the Marchioness continued. "Dickie has other children too, you know.”

“He does?”

“Three— well, TWO sons. And a daughter. Edmund and Charlene are from his second wife. Charlene attends Cavendish. Assuming she knows of the feud, I would keep a wide berth. If not, she's a pleasant enough lass.”

“Four children! Isn’t Dickie a Dust Mage?” Gwen marvelled.

“Three now. Is that so strange?”

“But, Negative Energy, magical power and fertility...”

“Dickie hasn’t used his talent since attaining admiralty.” Lady Loftus met Gwen’s eyes. “Or so the tabloids report. Now, if you don’t mind, can we not debate the viability of Mycroft’s loins?”

“Sorry.” Gwen bit her tongue, realising that she had struck the English variation of "Don't ask, Don't tell". It was the same as how the "incorruptible" Communists in China turned a blind eye to political horse-trading.

“Has Henry ever spoken of me?” Lady Loftus took a sip of her cherry brandy.

“I am afraid Master wasn’t very forthcoming.” Gwen touched the subject with a gentle prod. If the Lady’s relationship and Henry was one of friendship, then she should feel disappointed. Had they been more than friends; Gwen sensed she might be in danger.

“Oh…”

“He was very tight-lipped,” Gwen added. “Mark Chandler had me hog-tied and put up for auction before Master bothered explaining Sobel’s connection to his stake in Void Magic.

“The Chandler incident— that was you?” Lady Grey raised her brows, then sighed. “Gunther kept a tight lid on the events in Sydney. I wished that Henry could have trusted us more. We may have prevented Sobel’s infiltration.”

“Is... Dickie, in actuality, unassociated with Sobel?” Gwen followed up with a question that desperately needed answers.

Lady Grey studied her face.

Gwen made herself as earnest as possible.

“A dangerous topic for an unaffiliated Acolyte,” Justine Loftus sighed. “All I will say is that Henry was a great deal-maker with ties to many power brokers. After the Great Restoration, those factions formed into loose coalitions, eventuating into the Greys, the Militants and those who remained unaffiliated. I can't offer you a 'Yes' or 'No' to your question because you lack the context and the position to grasp its ambiguity."

“I wonder if I'll ever know my Master’s past," Gwen lamented, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice.

“Get yourself a Magister’s robe first and foremost,” Lady Loftus chortled. “As always, if you listen to the stories from each side, you’ll get a different truth. Those are the arrangements Henry had put in place when instituting the Tower system.”

Gwen nodded.

“I’ve heard so much about the Factions.” Gwen changed the topic, meandering away from her Master. “So, am I a part of the Middle Faction?”

“Doubtlessly.” Lady Loftus raised a critical brow.

“It’s just that.” Gwen looked guilty. “Sometimes, I am fairly sure Alesia is on an unerring militant warpath. Between the three of us, only Gunther truly embodies Master's philosophy."

“A curious observation. And how do you see yourself positioned?”

"I do believe in Noblesse Oblige, but I want to carry on Master's Legacy my way."

"Do go on."

“While I was in Shanghai—” Gwen explained. “— and throughout the IIUC, I was consumed by this thought. Lady Loftus, to be entirely forthright with you, what do you know of my extracurricular endeavours? You know that I've brought in a great deal of currency and that I have made connections with otherworldly beings, yes?"

“Likely not to the degree that Dickie professes to know.” Loftus replaced her wine.

“You're too kind.” Gwen took a deep breath, knowing that now was the time to make a good impression, not to mention secure her foothold in London. In Shanghai, when the possibility of her migration materialised, she thought immediately of expanding her operations. Now, Gwen desired to reopen her shop in London. Considering Ravenport's threats, she had to get Justine on her side as soon as possible. “Lady Loftus, there are a few notable capital ventures which I wish to present for your benefit. If you have some time, I would like to give you a quick introduction…”

Gwen stood, her pearly whites flashing brightly.

“No need for formality.” Lady Loftus motioned for her to sit. “I would like to think of you as a niece of sorts— perhaps a grand-niece, considering your age.”

“You’re far too youthful to be a grand-aunt.” Gwen took a few steps back to give herself some room. “Do you mind if I use illusions?”

“How ostentatious—” Lady Loftus appeared impressed by her confidence. “Very well, if you believe me so easily persuaded…”

“Holy shit, Dick, I am so sorry!” Gwen burst into the common-lounge, finding Richard encircled by her new peers from Peterhouse. There was a lad with light-grey hair and dark eyes, and two girls looking very English indeed in their empire-waisted night-dresses. “Oh… am I disturbing anything?”

“Thanks for the head’s up, Richard.” The young man inclined his aristocratic chin. He turned to Gwen, then bowed. “It was a pleasure to meet you at Hall today, Miss Song. I look forward to your contribution to Peterhouse.”

“Thank you.” Gwen waited for the man to introduce himself. Instead, the Acolyte politely made his exit.

“Rachel Clarke, Magus.” The older-looking of the two girls, a blonde, approached to shake her hand. “Welcome to Peterhouse, Gwen.”

“Harriet Cornwall, I am an Acolyte like you.” The second, a brunette, nervously shook Gwen’s fingers. “Richard’s been telling us about your exploits. I’ve seen you on the broadcast, but to think so many details were left out.”

“When are you going to bring out Golos?” The first girl’s eye gleamed. “I am a Conjurer-Diviner, and I don’t have a Spirit yet. BUT, you've got TWO and a Planar Ally. To say I am envious would be an understatement.”

“Stuff the Wyvern.” Harriet’s eyes sparkled. “Where’s Ariel?”

Ah, Gwen glanced at Richard, realising her cousin has been laying down the groundworks.

“I’ll be more than happy to bring them out.” Gwen indicated for the girls to sit. “But it’s midnight, so we'll have to be very discrete.”

“Okay.”

“Agreed.”

The girl sat demurely on the ancient, mustard-coloured lounges.

“Ariel!”

“EEEE!” Ariel materialised with a somersault, eyes gleaming, rainbow coat shimmering and waving its stubby stag horns to and fro. Attached to its perky bottom, a furry fantail, shrouded in nimbus, waved back and forth. “EE?”

“OH MY GOD!” Rachel’s voice was loud enough to summon the dead. “ARIEL YOU ADORABLE BABY!”

“AEEEEEEE!” Harriet squealed, her dignity dissipating before Ariel’s charmed assault. “SO SOFT! ARRRRRRRGH! IT’S LICKING ME!”

“Gwen, you’re officially my chum! Ariel, want an HDM? Yes, you do!”

The Magus dropped a fist full of precious crystals on the couch. When Ariel landed in her lap, the girl appeared as though she was about to lose her mind.

WHAM! A door opened.

The familiar face of Ollie Edwards burst into the lesser-lounge. “What's happened? The Acolytes are trying to sleep, for Peter's sake! You lot better not be engaged in salacious—”

The Praelector’s furious eyes fell to Gwen, who stared back wide-eyed and innocent. Across from her, one of the girls rubbed Ariel’s tail all over her face, while the other made sweet moans as the Kirin licked her fingers.

Ollie Edwards, the man responsible for Gwen's proper behaviour, craned his neck; on his jugular, a vein throbbed.

The girls looked ashamed. Richard gave her dorm officer a nod.

“Mr Huang, please return to King’s. Our visiting hours are between eight AM to six PM.”

“Of course, Praelector Edwards,” Richard bowed his head. “I shall leave at once.”

“Miss Song,” Edwards gulped. “If you could refrain from—“

Other students, having heard the commotion, were now emerging into the lounge. When the young men saw their Omni-Mage “little sister” sitting with her immodest skirt, stretching across the old divan, their hearts sang. When more of the women caught sight of Ariel, all thoughts of the Praelector’s authority flew out Peterhouse’ gothic windows.

“A Kirin!”

“I’ve seen it on the broadcast!”

"If that dress is subfusc, I am a Bridge Troll..."

“STUDENTS—“ Ollie cried out, only to be interrupted by yet more Acolytes emerging from the lower court.

“Caliban! Where’s Caliban!”

“I want to see the Wyvern!”

"Blood of Christ! It's Ariel in the flesh!"

“RETURN TO YOUR DORM!” The Praelector began to realise what the presence of Gwen Song in Peterhouse’s midst might signify for its resident disciplinarian. “GO! NOW!”

Against his orders and encouraged by their numbers, the students Messaged their peers in Gisborne, informing them that a bona fide Draconic-Spirit was freely floating around the lesser-lounge, free to molest for anyone adventurous enough to try.

“Feel this. It’s SO SOFT.”

“TOUCH THE BELLY!”

“EE! EE!”

“It sings!”

“Someone get my Lumen-Recorder!”

"HDMs for Ariel!"

“Everyone…” Ollie Edwards felt a tightness in this chest. Inexplicable helplessness gripped his torso, sapping all strength from his body even as his temple throbbed. Glaring at the Void Sorceress, he wondered if this was the infamous Void Aura that sapped one’s life-force. The Lady did say to be careful around Gwen, and always to regulate his mana.

“It’s alright, mate.” Richard, who was now leaving, patted the young man on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. Just do your best to stay afloat for the next year, then pass her on to the next Praelector."

The next day, Gwen made preparations for her quest to find Elvia.

Her morning began with Lady Loftus at high tea, demonstrating the full extent of her appetite, and a woeful understanding of etiquette. The Marchioness, however, assured Gwen that her undisguised manners had a purity to them which she had not seen for years. After so much pretension, the Marchioness mused, she had lost the ability to tell whether anyone genuinely enjoyed eating.

Through three tiers of cakes and ices, the Head Mistress and Matron of Peterhouse prescribed Gwen's developments for the months ahead.

First and foremost, upon her return to Cambridge, she would commence her studies under Peterhouse's Senior Tutors, one for each of her Schools of Magic. Unlike Spell-orientated lectures at other universities, institutions with the clout of Oxbridge emphasised individual ability. An Acolyte, therefore, attended lectures given by instructors based on their goals and interests. Concurrently, the college organised seminaries for students with similar expertise to share and engage in research. Then, once an Acolyte settled on a particular course of knowledge, they underwent individual research.

And this was where Cambridge shone. For Gwen, "Supervision" provided the opportunity to explore her Schools of Magic in a theoretical sense, allowing her to examine each strength and weakness freely. In her case, personal tuition allowed the delivery of specialist knowledge at the instance in which she required it. For the semester of Lent, the Lady of Ely prescribed ten hours of supervision and twelve hours of seminars, in addition to any lectures she wished to attend. During the Easter Term, her training would favour practicals over theory. Then, finally, she would sit for a Magus-tier examination, and pending results, Michaelmas term would commence.

On a side note, Lady Loftus had responded with good grace to her capitalist ventures, particularly her explanation of the "Centurion" and "Legion" projects. What she desired in London, Gwen explained, was a base of operations where she could lay down roots, eventually importing a completed system from either Sydney or Yangon. Though sceptical, Lady Loftus professed that she would not oppose Gwen's nouveau rich crassness. High society was full of snobs, the Lady explained, but few could resist the crystal's call.

To show her support, and out of "grotesque" curiosity, the Lady Loftus offered Gwen a leasehold near the heart of London for her "Office". If Gwen could demonstrate a result that paralleled the "pie in the sky" she professed, then the Lady would consider backing her "Centurion" project.

The last of their conversation pertained to less pleasant prospects. As a part of tuition, Gwen had to participate in experiments and research which will contribute to Cambridge's understanding of Void Magic. The study would be carried out by the university's Magisters, drawing on the works of Magister Wen, slated to arrive with Petra post-Lent.

Concurrently, should Gwen allow the relevant researchers access to her Essence, the university would repay her by obtaining demi-human instructors. When Gwen mentioned that Ayxin had warned against investigating "Draconic-Essence," the Lady asked if her mysterious rainbow "patron" had forbidden the genuine employment of its blessing.

"No," Gwen had confessed— but wasn't sure if her answer could pass the pub test. Almudj, after all, did not care in the slightest. But to allow others to study Almudj? Was this a form of betrayal? What would the serpent think, if it did indeed have an opinion?

When she compared notes with Richard, Dick's schedule at King's was less about filling deficits in Spellcraft theory and more about revising missed coursework. Already, two upper-tier Magisters had expressed interest in helping him synergise new spells with Lea and in pushing his Conjuration to new heights.

Walken as well had left a note saying he had arrived— but was now missing in action. If anything, she hoped her mentor survived his wife's wrath. A woman's scorn was a terrible thing, indeed.

Finally, there was her fourth and most immediate concern, one that made Lady Loftus raise a critical brow— Evee. When Gwen again relayed her worries regarding Ystradfellte to her Head Mistress, the wisened Lady appeared exasperated. When Gwen insisted, the Lady relented, not wanting to end the year on bad terms.

"If you must know... Ystradfellte refers to the Demi-human lands south of the Red Mount— 'Rjoth zana indu', the Dwarves call it, 'The Peak of Red Stone'. Every winter solstice, the Crimson Peak fights its twin, the Crimson Peak, for dominance of the valley."

"I am so sorry," Gwen had to apologise for her confusion. "Could you clarify? I don't know anything about the area, other than that I should be there for my friend. The mountain is fighting itself?"

"It's alright." Lady Loftus was as kind as she was compassionate.

Her new mentor then explained that the region was richly blessed by the Elemental Plane of Earth, abundant in rare deposits. Every solar year, when the stars aligned, crystals as well as magical flora and fauna sprouted from the valley, inciting prospectors to try their luck.

As for the Crimson Peak "s", the name was a trick of history. On the west end of The Peak of Red Stone laid the Dwarven Fortress City of "Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth", or the Iron Citadel. When the early Saxons first encountered, then befriended the Dwarves, the Demi-humans claimed the land around a summit they called "Crimson Peak".

Opposite the Iron Citadel was a challenger to the claim, a depthless warren of Redcaps, Gobs, and Goblins ruled by Trolls. When inevitably, conflict broke out, the Trolls claimed that the Dwarves and their Human compatriots encroached on their homeland— also called "Crimson Peak".

Confused, the old cartographers, lacking the means to fly over the region, assumed that both the Dwarves and the Trolls lived on the same peak.

Instead, the two "Races" lived on opposing summits, separated by a good fifty kilometres. During the Beast Tide of '71, the Dwarves sealed their city, leaving their human "allies" to fend off the discharge of some hundred-thousand salivating, frenzied green-skins charging down the mount.

As a result, tensions with the Dwarves remain high to this day, especially as the Grey Faction had set up an industrial township at Merthyr Tydfil. As far as both sides where concerned, the town encroached on both Troll and Dwarven land, but remained discrete enough to be ignored by the warring demi-human factions.

"Why haven't we wiped out the er… Demi-humans?" Gwen asked. If this were China, the PLA would have planted a flag over their corpses.

"Vargan Giantbreaker is the third cousin to the wife of Deep King Madgrat Dragonhammer of Bavaria." Lady Loftus shrugged. "If they— why are you laughing?"

Gwen collapsed. The names were too funny. Was this a high fantasy novel? Thankfully, as it turns out, the names weren't literal. It just that Dwarven runes were bloody hard to translate and highly dependent on history and context which Humans lacked. To draw a comparison, biblical allusions like "Mathew" "Jean" "Adam" sounded like animal noises to a Dwarf.

"And what's this talk of regicide? I can see that the orient is NOT a good influence, Gwen. What the communists did to their poor Emperor…"

"My grandfather said it was the Japanese who—"

"I did say Orientals, dear." Lady Loftus patted Gwen's hand. "Don't you worry. There are no communists in London. Maggie uprooted the last of the socialists in her final term of government."

And that was when Gwen recalled that out of credits, currencies, Dragons and telecommunication, it was only toward Gwen's desire to employ NoMs as counter-balance against Mages that Lady Loftus had found wanting. Simply put, the very idea that an assembly of NoMs could hold a team of Mages responsible for flouting the law was, in her words, "morbid."

For Gwen, the integration of a tertiary NoM workforce with complete loyalty to the company that uplifted them from poverty was essential. To trust Mages, especially London's Mages, to not skim from the company's coffers, or to sell the company's secrets, was nigh-impossible. As Gunther had said, writing a Geas into an employment contract with an NoM manager was unethical, but not uncommon. So long as both parties consented, the Tower wasn't going to interfere, and even if they did, they wouldn't raise a ruckus over an NoM. To force Geas upon employees who were Mages, comparatively, was sure to turn heads.

When in turn, Gwen had asked what if they paid the NoMs well enough to engender loyalty, Gunther told her not to be so naive, and that only a Geas would thwart the bulk of magical-espionage.

Thus, with the blessing of her House Matron, a head full of warnings, and an unyielding spirit of adventure, Gwen hovered over Cambridge, taking in the vista. In her old world, a brochure once said that it was only from the sky that a traveller truly appreciated the scale of the university, and Gwen wholeheartedly agreed.

Cambridge was, simply put, expansive. From the enormously generous central courtyard of King's College, the university spiralled outwards, with St Catherines, Corpus Cristi, Queens and the massive estate of Pembroke to the south. To the east sat Sidney Sussex, Christ's and Emmanuel's, famous for its pond and its highly articulate ducks. To the north, Trinity and Magdalene marked the map. To the east of the River Cam, open fields dotted the landscape, enveloping the much younger Newnham, Wolfson, and Robinson campuses, the newest addition to Cambridge.

What Gwen also struggled to believe was that almost all leaseholds, discounting King's and Trinity, belonged to their benefactor, the Marchioness of Ely. From Cambridgeshire to Ely to Peterborough, Gwen could fly wherever she wished. No Provost or Mayor, Gwen imagined, fancied having their landlord breathing down their neck.

And that was the reason why the nobility, in her opinion, was stagnant. In Gwen's eyes, their wealth was built on land leases. Every generation, a lord added to their holdings. Twenty generations on, they owned the works. As gentry, they prided themselves not on productivity but passive income. Gwen snorted. How could that compare to human industry?

But now was not the time pull teeth from the gentry's mouths.

First, came Elvia.

For her quest, Gwen had initially been given a piece of unwelcome baggage. Since Richard was tied up with King's and wasn't a local in any case, she had been assigned a grudging Ollie as a guide to Ystradfellte.

By mid-morning, Ollie was shocked to discover that Gwen intended to fly the whole way, for he lacked an Unlimited Flight Licence.

Unfortunately for the Praelector, Gwen was in no mind to delay her meeting, and so left the poor man pinning her Message Device while she— privileged by House Shultz, Loftus and Ravenport, blasted off into the blue yonder.

"See you in Merthyr Tydfil! Just take the bus!"

"COME BACK!" Ollie's voice echoed through the courtyard. "THERE ARE NO BUSSES TO SOUTHERN WALES!"

Mathias Christopher Rothwell belonged to the Honourable and Ancient Order of St Michael, the Knight Protectors of Britannia.

All members of St Michaels hailed from one blue-blooded family or another. These rare youths, lauded for their ability but lacking in inheritance, were given a second chance in the Order, prestigious enough to be of use, but far divorced from ascension to be ambitious.

They were taught from induction that chivalry, honour and faith made them different and unique. And they believed it. Thanks to mass-entertainment, the visage of a Knight in shining Mage Armour coming to the rescue of a dame were etched into the psyche of the public. Over the decades, new Knight Aspirants began to believe in their hype, coming to internalise the mythos, personify their servitude with holistic devotion.

During martial demonstrations, it was these orders, from the magnificent Most Noble Order of the Garter, the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, of the Bath, of St Michael, of St George, and the more recent Order of the Commonwealth, that captured the popular imagination.

A Mage-Knight was, therefore, an extraordinary existence.

Though an upper-tier War Mage was arguably far more critical than a Knight, there were significant distinctions, made more so specialised by the function of each Ordo.

The Knights of the Garter, the most prestigious of the six Ordo Britannia, were directly tied to the Crown, counting only twenty-four individuals among their number. Their principal role was to act swiftly and decisively against all threats to the royal family. In times of crisis, each member was a Knight-Commander capable of leading the Empire's forces.

Comparatively, Mathias' Ordo Sancti Michael was an active troop consisting of an indefinite number of individuals serving as protectors and guardians. In particular, the Order's members serviced London's Great Hospitals and Colleges, providing a much-needed militant arm to the scholastic endeavours of London's elites.

Mathias had initially wanted to join the Order of St George, famous for their Dragon-slaying. His talents, unfortunately, had Awoken with a principle emphasis on Abjuration. When by the age of fourteen, he showed ability in Transmutation, his future as a Knight Protector became immutable.

Mathias was disappointed but not deterred. He knew from an early age that Knighthood was his only path to glory. As the fourth son of a branch-House, he was so far from the Rothwell line of inheritance that should he become the legal successor; there may not be a House Rothwell left for him to rule.

But Mathias remained driven.

"Don't believe in the Chain of Being." His landless mother had cradled her golden boy against her bosoms. "Believe in yourself."

And so, with the Rothwell blood and all its potential brimming in his veins, Mathias excelled. He sparred daily against his seniors; he trained until he coughed blood. He volunteered for thankless, dangerous missions without batting an eye. When finally the time came for his induction, he was given the rank of Knight at the tender age of nineteen, one of the youngest in the Order's history.

Then on the Michaelmas of his twenty-second summer, his most beloved cousin, the heir to House Rothwell, brought Mathias to her home. There, she introduced him to Elvia Lindholm, a Frontier refugee.

At first, Mathias had mistaken the flaxen-haired angel for a high-noble. Having escorted dozens of healers, he exactly knew what talent the girl possessed from the intensity of her Positive Energy. When the girl with the big blue eyes curtsied, Mathias could hardly believe that here, he was in the presence of a Spirit Healer. That was why once Emily explained what she wanted of him, Mathias had knelt to pledge his undying support without batting an eye.

To be Emily's Knight had been Mathias' dream, though that dream was a will-o'-the-wisp. But a foreign noble? An orphaned Baroness? That, Mathias was confident— he could bring under his wing.

In truth, Lindholm made an excellent Cleric. She wasn't the best chant in the Tome, but she was dedicated to her craft. The girl cared for patients, no matter how lowly, and she did not shy away from the blood and guts of the battlefield. She was selflessly loving and effortlessly garnered Faith from her patients. Her Spirit, Kiki, was also a prized Alraune, and a juvenile Spirit at that. With her Healer's aura, baby-face and curly blonde hair, Mathias could understand why Emily felt smitten by the Australian import.

Still, a commoner was a commoner.

But commoners had their uses.

For instance, if Elvia died under his watch, there were no penalties beyond a strike against his rank. Emily would be upset, but even she couldn't influence the Order of St Michael to act against him. Of course, Mathias would do his utmost to protect Elvia. He had, after all, sworn an Oath, and in agreement with his credo, his pledge was soul-binding. Until he was near-death, Elvia would remain safe.

But what Mathias could do was to take full advantage of the girl's expendability.

When serving with the masses, a healer was a member of an adventuring company. The dangers they faced were real, and death and injury happened as a matter of fact. Should Mathias be in the service of a genuine Viscountess from Royal Alfred's, he would not dream of putting his ward in danger. Everyone knew that a competent team of Knight Protector and Spirit Healer fought in the heat of battle. But the reality was that "noble" healers spent their time at the triage tent and damned those who couldn't survive the transit delay.

The hypocrisy of such an act was something Mathias always hated.

And in conversing with Elvia, the malleable little girl also expressed her desire to save as many lives as possible.

For this, Mathias was thankful.

Saving lives and fighting monsters. What was not to like?

"Cure Moderate Wounds!" Not far from Mathias, Elvia's flaxen hair, even bundled up tightly in a bun, was speckled with blood. "Kiki! Help me with the arrow!"

Not far from Mathias, Elvia commanded Kiki to worm her way into the gut of a Transmuter who had taken a barbed and poisoned arrow to the intestines, sucking up the shit and blood. Had Mathias and Elvia not been present, the chances of the poor sod arriving then surviving triage, even with a Healing Potion, were slim.

Ping!

Mathias' reflexive mana shield deflected a sniper's arrow aimed at Elvia's neck.

"Eagle's Vision!" The Knight frowned, searching for the source of the sneak attack.

All around the duo, chaos reigned. Across a snow-blanked valley, snail trails of human and Demi-human activity had speckled the linen landscape crimson with ultra-violence. Here and there, parties of questing Mages flung spells against the bands of Redcaps dashing across the snow. Nearer to the valley's entrance, Gobs erupted from the tunnels and dragged prospectors down into the dark.

Unlike the pitched battles taking place across the saddle of the Crimson Peaks, the skirmish in Ystradfellte was a mess of NoMs, Mage prospectors, and adventurers.

On the side of the humans, thousands of hard-hatted crystal miners drawn to the region's yearly bloom of "Red Ore" fled from the mineral fields. Mathias did not fault the men nor their greed, for he too was engaged in a desperate bid for a better future. For a prospector, surviving meant that, potentially, they walked away with hundreds of HDMs, enough to buy land and retire to the country.

For the Mages, the swarming miners drew the Redcaps, Gobs, and the occasional Mountain or Frost Troll from the peak. Instead of venturing into no man's land, it was safer to defend the fleeing miners, get paid for protection, then harvest the Demi-humans for ingredients. The trouble then, was that as more Mages and miners showed up in Ystradfellte, more monsters poured from the mount.

As the Winter Solstice approached, the numbers snowballed. An avalanche of entrepreneurs rolled into Merthyr Tydfil, inundating the taverns, erecting whorehouses, opening butcheries and magical workshops. The locals, seedy, uncouth, and charging high-prices and dicing on who would return and who would not— demanded government regulation. The Tower obliged. Without it, the town would transform into a hive of low-born villainy.

Mathias' quest, therefore, was truly a thankless task, one that only individuals as poverty-stricken as Elvia could stomach.

In the distance, some two hundred meters away, Mathias saw their attacker. It was a Redcap Hob. A rare evolved Goblin of sorts, as tall as a man but three times as strong and ten times as hale. In his hand, the beast held a blacken yew-bow. On its back, a half-quiver of barbed arrows remained.

Mathias drew his wand.

The official moniker of a Knight's patented wand was "Spellblade", a part of a Knight's official arsenal of magical items. As warriors trained in close-quarter-combat, their wand was a device forged from Dwarven Runesteel and made to magnify Affinity. Rare and exclusive, Spellblades were forged for their owners by Dwarven craftsmen on a commission basis, then awarded to the individual Knight during their induction ceremony. Each had a name, and Mathias' was "Dawnstar", after his hero, the "Morning Star" Gunther Shultz, the saviour of Sydney and now its Master.

"O Christ, our Saviour, I am thy mace, thy implement of Chastisement." While Mathias gathered his will, motes of Radiance, intermingled with Faith, sheathed his blade in retina-searing brightness. With his Eagle-Eye, he marked the Hob.

"Irradiance!"

The Hob turned, suddenly aware that the snow all around him began to glow. When he turned to flee, the halo followed, centred on the creature's back.

"HILF!" the Hob cried.

Its skin, scaly and warty and rusty like old blood, began to smoke.

"GARRRGH!" The creature ran into a mob of Redcaps. Its kin howled in amazement, hooting and kicking the rolling Hob, trying to put out the fire— then, without warning, the green-skinned assembly burst into incandescent flames.

"ARRRRRRGH—" Two dozen flaming torches spread through the surroundings, crashing through the polluted, mud-churned snow, setting others alight.

Tzzzz—

Mathias pressed the tip of his blade into the snow, allowing the metal to cool. As a Radiant Mage, his rare element fortified many of the Order's Faith-fuelled Magic, and his Spellblade multiplied the effect.

"Sir Mathias!"

"Thank you, Sir Mathias!"

"Praise St Michael!"

With the backline of the Redcaps disrupted, the Mages and the Miners burst into a clamouring cheer.

"SIR MATHIAS!" the cry that now addressed him was the recovered Transmuter. The sod had been the parties' scout before he took an arrow to the gut. "There's a troop of Trolls coming this way! Led by a Rock Troll, big, burly bastard, built like a hill. It's tier 6— no, tier 7 at least!"

"I see." Mathias sheathed his wand. "Trolls regenerate. Is there not a Fire or Magma Mage among you?"

"Sorry." A young woman raised her hand. "I am only tier 4, Sir. Its resistance is much too high."

"Do what you must. Either way, I must stand by my oath to protect my Healer." Mathias flashed the blushing woman a winsome grin. "That said, I'll not let such a foul creature roam uncontested, you can be sure of it!"

"Alright lads, back to the fray!" an Abjurer yelled, gesturing toward the new wave of Redcaps trudging through the snow. "Sir Mathias is behind us!"

"Thank you, Sir Mathias, Lady Elvia." The Transmuter grovelled, snow and mud dripping from his cloak.

"Thank you for saving Thomas." His companion, the woman, bowed to Elvia. "We will make donations to your order and spread the word of your generosity."

Elvia waved the duo away with a smile. Mathias watched as the Healer's petite chest rose and fell, her cheeks ruddy with exertion. He could tell that she was suffering from spell fatigue. Mana-wise, Elvia should be fine. Wales, with its criss-crossing ley-lines, demi-human races and places of power, was immersed with power. If Elvia had time to meditate, her meagre VMI should replenish within the hour.

"HEALER! WE NEED A HEALER!" A group of miners emerged from the crest of a hill. Even in the snow, during the day, Mathias glowed like a beacon.

Mathias directed the wounded miner toward Elvia. Something had chewed off the man's right foot, likely a Gob digger. With every meter made by the Levitating Disk, a pint of crimson painted the crunching snow.

Elvia fell to her knees immediately.

"Kiki, tranq him, I need a tourniquet on that leg."

"Kiki! Ki!"

Kiki had been trained well. With one tendril, the Alraune injected a dose of dew into the man's stomach, instantly sending the prospector into a stupor. With another tendril, the Alraune lifted the man's leg, then stopped his bleeding by wrapping around his calves, cutting the blood flow.

"That has to go." Elvia performed a quick head to toe, then looked toward Mathias. NoMs cannot afford Regeneration or Regrowth spells. "Mattie, lend me a hand."

"At once, milady." Mathias raised his Spellsword. "Radiant Blade!"

A line of Radiance sliced the miner below the knee without so much as a hiss. The crushed leg came off, the wound fully cauterised.

"Heal Minor Wounds!" Elvia tended to the man's leg. "Faithful Restoration!"

The man's breathing slowed, his hands still tightly clutching a sack of crystals close to his chest. Mathias' lips twitched.

"Take him back to town and tell Matron Nadia I sent you," Elvia huffed, wiping sweat from her brow. She desperately needed to meditate.

"Thank you!"

"Thank you so much!"

"Don't thank me." Elvia pointed to the crest of her school: a stylised golden nightingale on a white shield adorned with three blue stripes. With a word, she conjured water to wash her hands. Her Healers' robes were immune to dust and grime, but even so, it looked bedraggled after dealing with so many victims.

Mathias likewise Prestidigitated the grime from his coat. On his shoulder, set against a spell-warded pauldron, gleamed an engraving of the Archangel Michael, sword raised, defending the unseen Mary from Lucifer. Below the enamelled image, the words "Auspicum Melioris Aevi" was etched in untarnished mithril. Against the snow, he looked resplendent in his Saxon-blue mantle in satin, handsome in crimson taffeta.

In the distance, a Troll bellowed.

"HEALER! IS MISS ELVIA STILL HERE?" a scream came over the hill.

Mathias huffed, watching his breath turn to mist.

Today was a good day.

Like a wandering comet, Gwen blasted past the rolling hills of southern Wales, her Shen-teī suit slicing the air. Where "New South Wales" was bushland from horizon to horizon, the English countryside had left no turf un-farmed. As far as two hours from Cambridgeshire, a stream of hamlets, villages and farmhouses ran the length of well-paved roads.

Flying in the country had its boon as well. Far from industry, Gwen did not have to worry about Knights encircling the capital challenging lone fliers with no business taking to the air. Flying alone, however, was an exceedingly dull affair. As with flights on planes, once the vista grew repetitive, one's thoughts wandered, then filled with ebullient Evees.

Two hundred meters from the ground and scattering the creatures below, she began to sing.

"I got some Crystals in my pocket (Dudoodududoooo—)

I got my licence in my hand (Dudoodududoooo—)

Getting down to Merthyr Tydfil (Dudoodududoooo—)

to see my cleric in a band (Dudoodududoooo—)

Evee, Evee— Evee put your wand down

Evee, Evee, Evee— put your wand down!

She's got the talent of a healer (Dudoodududoooo—)

She's working for the queen (Dudoodududoooo—)

She cures Moderate Wounds (Dudoodududoooo—)

to think she's only nineteen (Dudoodududoooo—)

Oh, little Healer, you're so scared—

you hardly make a sound—

Just listen to Cali's singing, Shaa! Shaa! Shaa—

Evee, Evee, Evee put your wand down

Evee, Evee— let your wand hang down

Feeling inspired, Gwen began another verse.

I'll meet you at the Mountain (Dudoodududoooo—)

and there I'll take you by your hand (Dudoodududoooo—)

I crossed an ocean just to see you (Dudoodududoooo—)

Time to make amends (Dudoodududoooo—)

Evee, Evee, Evee put your wand down

Evee, Evee— let your wand hang down

I left behind Ollie, (Dudoodududoooo—)

I hope he doesn't mind (Dudoodududoooo—)

I'll meet him in the valley (Dudoodududoooo—)

First I'll make sure you're alright (Dudoodududoooo—)

Oh, little Healer, you're so scared—

you hardly make a sound—

Just listen to Cali's singing, Shaa! Shaa! Shaa—

Evee, Evee, Evee put your wand down

Evee, Evee, Evee put your wand down

Evee, Evee— let your wand hang dooooooooown—"

She couldn't remember the exact lyrics, but that was alright.

Given another two hours, and Evee would be in her sights.

Giddy with anticipation, Gwen stopped to check the map.

Admittedly, it can't be too hard to find a big red hill, can it?

If so, why did the landscape look different?

Gwen smacked her lips, realising that this time, it wasn't her cartographic skills that failed her, but the difference between British and Australia seasons. In Australia, where the coldest temperature was five degrees Celcius, the seasons were recurrent. In England, every three months meant a whole new landscape.

From the looks of it, she was near Cotswold, meaning the tiny township she could see in the distance must be Gloucester, and the river running out of the city must be the Severn. Past Gloucester, all the fairness of the gentle country disappeared. Instead, woods both tall and depthless, combined with rolling hills and jutting mounds, stretched from horizon to the sea. It was little wonder the air was so dense with mana.

"Alright, so if I fly straight..."

She checked the compass built into her armour, then mapped her trajectory against the silhouette of a mountain in the distance. At worst, she would hit the ocean, if so, there was only one mountain to the north-east.

"Alright! Let's roll!"

Thunder rumbled across the cloudless sky, its passage marked by a streak of vibrant cobalt.

Two hours later, Gwen rechecked the map.

She finally understood why the English like to say "to make a mountain out of a molehill". Thankfully, she was in the right place, or at least, the right molehill— except the Red Peak wasn't a peak, and it wasn't red either.

First of all, seeing as it was winter, the whole bloody thing was white, and where the rocks were without snow, the stones were igneous and dark.

Secondly, she was now an uninvited spectator to the jolly grand melee carrying on below, full of howls, explosions, shouts and shrieking spells.

On one side were the green-skins— a whole lot of them. More Gobs than she had ever seen, all of which were wearing these adorable little red hats, but carrying giant bows, axes, and other medieval armaments. In and among the multitude, she could see Rock Trolls built like brick shit-houses, also wearing Santa hats.

From the east, or west, or whatever, she had no idea, stood lines of Dwarves in stocky Golem Armour, backed by a pair of towering, insectile Iron Golems.

The Dwarven infantry stood about the height of a man and just as wide. Squarish and stout, their armour consisted of sloped and geometric plates that interlocked, giving an art-deco aesthetic. Each battlesuit had a "hump" where a miniature mana-engine roared, articulating the whirling mechanism hidden within. For armaments, the Golem-plated soldiers sported a Spellhammer of runic crystal on one arm, while in the other, Gwen swore she saw a chainsaw.

The full-sized Golem units were smaller than the "Dusties" used by the PLA, about two storeys tall. These looked like sloped boxes mounted on four legs, with two protruding artillery hammer-wands mounted up top, two to the side, and two more limbs donning melee implements. Etched from the cockpit to its digger-clawed toes in runic scripts, white-hot jets of unburnt mana spewed from the rear exhaust channels, polluting the snow.

Presently, pressured by the swarm, the Dwarves were performing an orderly retreat.

"Fuck me, Peter Jackson, eat your heart out," Gwen muttered to herself. The beast tide of green-skinned creatures outnumbered the Dwarves by a degree of ten to one, but the Dwarves held their line steady with sweeping gouts of fire and lightning from their heavy infantry, aided by artillery from the crawling Golems.

Ding! An uninvited Message blossomed beside her ear. When flying, it was always wise to keep one's channels open.

"Oi, Lass! what unit yer from?" a gruff voice called out. "Yer support from London? The Forge Master said yer wouldn't kom."

The speaker was speaking in Dwarven, meaning Gwen had only her Master's Ioun Stone to translate a language that may as well be two drunk Scotts throat-singing.

"L-London Tower? Belay that," Gwen replied, thinking of a viable reason she should wander into a mass melee other than she got lost. "I am a… tourist."

"A WOT?"

"I am sight-seeing," Gwen said politely. "My apologies, I am looking for Merthyr Tydfil."

"Well, if ya looking for the home of boot-licking, crystal-steal knaves, then ya came to the wrong spot, lass. Ya know were ter go?— ONE MOMENT—"

The sound of explosions in the Message was concurrently met with the leading Golem letting rip its side-mounted Spellhammers, setting off what appeared to be two jets of thigh-thick Scorching Ray.

"I wish I did." Gwen silently whistled when at least one Rock Troll knelt over. "So, can you point me in the right direction?"

"Look fer the lake two klicks south-south-east, ya should find a Troll mound, then go five klicks south til ya hit the Taf Fawr, the town's at the widest part," the operator replied. "Go on, get. This place ain't safe for a lone lass."

"I have no idea what you just—"

A splatter of corrosive meat smashed up against the speaker's Golem unit. Not far, with an earth-shattering howl, a once-dormant Rock Troll, its form bulging with infused power, covered the distance in a dozen strides, batting away the infantry like a man swatting gnats.

"— WOT in the Deep King's name?! ARRRGHK—!"

With a clang, the veritable engine of meat and muscle ran head-first into the towering Golem, tearing at the plates that protected the cockpit. Caught by surprise, the quickly-recovering Dwarves around the Golem stabbed lances of enchanted fire into the Troll, though the war-mad creature took no heed of its dire injuries.

A second Golem turned its turret toward the first and doused its companion in arcane-fire. The Rock Troll howled, sheets of skin melting off its back. Its limbs, however, persisted in tearing her guide's Golem apart.

"Jesus." Gwen winced. "Are you alright? Need a hand?"

"DOES IT LUK LIKE AIM ALRIGHT? YA COG WITH A TOOTH LOOSE?! FURK! The bugger's breeched me cabin! Rockhammer! Get this green arse off me Golem! "

Gwen's fingers itched.

Are Dwarves our allies? She tried her best to recollected Lady Grey's words. The answer was, "The best allies— until the mines run dry."

Not wanting to see the friendly Dwarves turned into a feast for Trolls, Gwen frantically dialled her new boss. Until she could dangle a foot into the local geopolitical pond, she had to be careful. Knowing the precarious balance of power, who knew what could happen if she tipped it the wrong way?

Ding! Ding!

"Gwen!" The Marchioness of Ely was surprised to hear back from her protégé so soon. "What's the matter? Did you find the girl?"

"Ma'am!" Gwen wasted no time in explaining the situation below. "I am somewhere near Merthyr Tydfil. There's a battle near Red Peak, and the Trolls and Goblins are pushing the Dwarves back. The Trolls have a Hag, meaning the Dwarves are in deep shit. Permission to help?"

"I see. And why would you want to help Dwarves?"

Gwen blinked. What sort of question was that? "The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

"Good. You may do what you think is right," her Mistress advised. "In the future, there's no need to verify such trivial decisions. What matters is the consequence, not the intent. You had argued that we shouldn't restrict your freedom. Now's your chance to make a mark, make good use of that liberty you so desired."

Gwen circulated her Essence. "I understand. Thank you, Ma'am."

"Take your time, dear." The Marchioness sounded amused. "Fair warning though, if you accidentally Consume an important Dwarf, Dickie's office will hear no end of it."

Right, Gwen ended the call. To help, or not to help; that was the question.

By now, the second Golem had successfully eviscerated the Rock Troll using a mechanised drill. Even lacking its innards, the Troll's body continued its assault, persisting until it lost strength. Gwen's eyes followed the line of green blood trailing across the snow. With her Essence-infused pupils scanning the battlelines, she just managed to spot the bone-clad headdress of a Troll Hag.

"Shrakloomar ulaguth!" The Hag bellowed, shrouding the surviving horde with red mist. The dead and dying Redcaps exhausted their struggling at once, while the still-living creatures erupted into jubilant shouts. Where the temporary death of the Rock Troll had doused their fervour, now the swarm appeared doubly motivated, crashing across the linen snow like a green tide.

Tink! Tink! Tink!

Gwen's mana barrier deflected half-a-dozen arrows.

More so than alarmed, Gwen felt impressed. She was almost two hundred meters in the air, meaning these Red-hatted archers were as good as stumpy-legged centaurs. If she were lower-tier Mage, she would probably take an arrow to the gut.

Opposite, the Dwarven battle line shrunk, concentrating their firepower. Slowly but surely, they backed away toward a series of steam-billowing structures. The entrance to their city? Gwen wondered, or perhaps, something like heat-vents?

"Ariel!" Gwen summoned her Kirin, concurrently applying an Invisible Familiar.

In a manner of seconds, her mind browsed through a dozen scenarios.

After exchanging her Draconic Essence for Almudj juice, lesser Void Magic barely scratched her conduits. That said, the more Void Mana she processed, the more Essence was consumed. It meant that, if she wanted to burn the proverbial candle from both ends; she had to balance Void and Barbanginy.

Tink! Tink!

More arrows clattered against her shield, turning a few pin-points opaque.

Mentally, Gwen weighed the boons and banes, then made a decision. With this many mobs, vitality shouldn't be a problem. If she wanted to help the Dwarves, she might as well do a good job. The Trollic horde, in her humble opinion, wasn't too generous a meal. If they had been in the Amazon, facing warrens of the big, burly bastards in an enclosed forest full of monsters, it was a different story. Here, with two kilometres of open-air Dimension Door and no Lich to counter her spell, she felt no pressure at all.

Her mind now made up. Gwen tapped her Message Device, pinning the Dwarf that had called her earlier.

"Lass!" There was a sound of pressurised steam hissing in the background, likely a whistling canister of coolant. "Wot are yer still doing here? Get!"

"Let me re-introduce myself," Gwen said calmly. "My name is Gwen Song, Class VI War Mage. I would like to offer my aid via an AoE as well as my Familiars. Is that acceptable."

"Yer a Conjurer?"

"I am an Omni-Mage." Gwen decided she may as well start building her brand. "They call me the Swa—"

FUCK, Gwen swore. That was close. Such was the danger of alliteration.

"— the DEVOURER of Shenyang."

"Don't nu about that," the gruff voice said. "But if yer wanting to do something, I'll not stop yer. Just save yer hide when the time comes. We can't spare the carcasses to go saving yer hinny."

"Good." Gwen drew a deep breath. "Trust me. I'll be done before you can finish a casket of ale."

Hanmoul Bronzeborn, son of Dwomrul, son of Handrek Bronzeborn, was a warrior caste Hammer Guard of the Iron Legion. His father, and his father's fathers, had all died glorious deaths— one fighting the Murk-dwellers of the Deep Dark, and the other defending the Red Citadel from the Scarred King of Red Peak. The first of four brothers and two sisters, he was the head of his House and a renowned member of the Rotory Guild.

His present mission was a Purge of the lands surrounding the Red Citadel to prevent the build-up of green-skins that would seek to infiltrate the workshop district from above. The task was thankless, as Dwarves fought poorly in the open, but someone had to lead the young ones. For this, Hanmoul begrudged the Deepdowners, the Clan's keepers of artifice. How could their elders be so greedy for the wealth of the lidless world, while concurrently loathing everything above the earth's crust? To Hanmoul, the hypocrisy was astounding.

Nonetheless, his routine patrol had begun without incident, with a troop of twelve Ironclads and two Rockcrushers MK VIs, they went about their business blasting Gobs and nailing Redcaps.

When they reached Greyrock Bluff, however, the green buggers poured out of the warrens like the stench from a ruptured septic tank.

Without delay, Hanmoul's hands danced across the runic keys, setting the Rockcrusher to maximum output. The quad-turbo mana-engine roared, its vibrations sending shockwaves through his seat. Kicking with both legs, he pivoted the converted mining engine at the waist; above the Spellhammers grew hot.

BLAM!

BLAM!

The control cabin shook. Two gouts of superheated plasma, sticky and unstable, arced through the air and into the crowd of Redcaps. Hanmoul's first victims were incinerated at once, then—

BO-BOOM!

The globules erupted, splattering the surrounding space with conjured phosphor, igniting a dozen Redcaps, including a Long Tooth Hob.

Besides Hanmoul, his partner likewise lit up the enemy's backline.

"Contact in THREE… TWO… ONE… Dragon Breath!"

From all twelve Ironclads, torrents of fire transformed their perimeter into a landscape of hell.

"Hold the line! The Redcaps can't get through your armour. Leave the Trolls to us, and keep the Long Toothes pinned!" Hanmoul commanded his troops. "Rockhammer, up the pace! Look for a caster!"

"Commandrumm, I see their priest! He's out of range!"

"Furk!" Hanmoul swore. A Priest meant that what they encountered wasn't a patrol, but a war party. What it also meant was that anytime now, the Priest would conjure its Brutaliser guard.

On cue, the snow exploded, revealing a Rock Troll. This one wasn't a Brutaliser, though it was stout enough to wear the moniker.

"Covering fire!" Hanmoul pulled at his beard. "Pull Back! Rockhammer, keep it from closing on us!"

"Hanmoul!" Broroth's Message bloomed beside his ear. "There's a human Mage watching us from six o'clock. I can't tell if she's friendly or hostile. What if she's one of those Rogue Mages?"

"Dirrk! Just our luck. Must have kicked the wrong pickaxe in the morning," Hanmoul growled. Tapping into the war engine's diagnostics, he zoomed into the image of the human Mage. To his surprise, it was a Human female adolescent. She did, however, wear combat armour, and from the looks of the materials, it looked expensive. "Let me check… she's on an open channel..."

Ding!

"Oi there, Lass, what unit yer from?" he called out, doing his best to control his temper. "Yer support from London Tower? The Forge Master said yer wouldn't come…"

"I will now begin." The sorceress was now out of his optical range.

"Begin wot?" Hanmoul checked his diagnostics, wondering if the Human was also a Diviner.

His runic readings flashed green, then orange, then red, then purple.

The Hammer Guard tapped the screen, checked that his instruments still functioned, then drew in a breath of coolant-choked air. The lass, her energy reading was off the charts! A War Mage? A pure platinum, Human War Mage? What are the likes of her doing here, floating over the Red Citadel? Shouldn't she be at a Front somewhere, fighting to claim resources?

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

A warning icon flashed overhead. Hanmoul re-calibrated his instruments, then marvelled at the volumetric scale of the sorceress' manifestation.

Crack!

Fulminating thunder rolled across the clear sky. As advertised by Hanmoul's instruments, a portal into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning opened directly over the head of the green-skinned swarm. Beside his head-up display, the diagnostic engine identified the spell as "Maelstrom— Lightning".

As the numbers compiled, Hanmoul's eyeballs almost punched his visors. The bleeding thing was two kilometres wide! A strategic spell? Where was the Mandala or the setup? Where was—

CRACK! BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—

A line of living lightning cut the Gob swarm in half. When his spectacles adjusted to the retina-searing assault, Hanmoul performed a double-take. The electricity was viridescent! Never in all his years of trading with the humans at Merthyr Tydfil had he seen such a meta-magic. Just what in the Sju Forfran's name did the Humans steal from the blasted long-ears this time?

Before Hanmoul could wrap his head around the blazing phenomenon, an array of warning Glyphs exploded across his HUD.

"SHAA—SHAA! SHAA!"

"Hanmoul! There's a monster descending from the sky! It's bloody huge, and it isn't in our bestiary!"

"Wot de FURK is that? A Drake?" Hanmoul zoomed in on the outline of an enormous bird-slug, a full twenty meters from wing-tip to wing-tip.

"Why does it have hands? Why does it have HANDS FOR FEET?!" Understandably, Rockhammer was screaming.

"Hold yer FIRE!" Hanmoul recalled the girl's warning that she would bring forth a Familiar.

Meanwhile, the Maelstrom descended. Near its epicentre, a stream of swirling, screeching, howling Gobs and Redcaps soared from the Prime Elemental directly into the Eye of Lightning at the centre of the storm.

After a concurrent series of hoots, the Troll horde retracted their battleline, the surviving Hobs, too strong to be caught in the static-charged tornado, formed a perimetre around the Hag. Dishearteningly, Hanmoul saw the Brutaliser still standing beside the caster. Until it fell, there was no touching the Troll's priest, but without the Hag's death, there was no stopping its minions.

Not far from Hanmoul, the pseudo-Brutaliser he had torn apart was rapidly regenerating, ignoring his troop's generous application of Fire and Magma. Given time, the Trollic Flesh Golem would be as good as new.

The Hag raised both hands, then pointed at the approaching bird, laying down a black-blooded curse. The Hobs raised their bows, their accuracy now guided by a supernatural charm.

Hanmoul recognised the affliction as The Curse of Arrow Attraction. He sighed. The girl was overconfident. The black arrows of the Long Tooth Hobs were deadly to all unarmoured creatures.

"SHAA! SHAA!"

Hanmoul shuddered. The bird was the most horrific thing he had ever seen. It had a long neck, but no face. Its feathers were so dark as to consume the light of day. The worst of it was that beneath its feathered body, distended a pair of white hands with six long and slender, feminine-looking fingers.

"Master Hanmoul—"

"HOLD FIRE!" Hanmoul gave the command. Hammer Guards weren't berserkers. They did not risk their lives for atonement. He would not send in his men without knowing that the bird was friendly.

"— There are more monsters incoming."

Hanmoul checked his map. His partner was right. According to the diagnostic engine, there were at least eight creatures rapidly approaching from the east. From the signature though, these were not Trolls. If so, from where did they come? Thin air?

A few seconds later, the blimps on his map came into view.

War dogs? Hanmoul thought. No, the creatures were too large to be dogs. They were more like horses. Yet, the "Dogs" did not appear terrestrial, for they possessed a faceless, eyeless, bullet-shaped head that took up half of their bulk. The rest of the sleek-bodied creatures were all muscle and sinew, sporting long, spindly legs encased in a slick, oily exoskeleton.

Morden's Hound Pack— his engine submitted its diagnostic results. "Element: Void".

Mole Shit of the Deep! Hanmoul staggered. He had never seen a Hound Pack like that!

From behind the Troll band, the pack dashed toward their targets, moving without sound. From above, the big bird circled, screeching and howling and giving the Trolls the finger with its many... fingers.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Another spell signature.

"Wot the bollocks?!" Hanmoul tapped his screen. Was there a whole platoon of Mages hiding somewhere? Was the girl a scout? The reading was off the charts! Did the Human possess the mana pool of a Golem with a Core in her gut?

CRACK—

"Chain Lightning"— the diagnostic engine returned, registering an energy signature well above the spells' recorded threshold. Among the crowd of huddled green-skins, an arc of electricity struck the Brutaliser.

—ZAP! SPAK! CRACK!

After the brute, the bolt struck the Hag, then five other minions before arcing back toward the Brutaliser. Not far from the circle of lightning, a creature shimmered in and out of optical range.

Simultaneously, the big bird, now riddled with arrows but not giving two shits, descended with an earth-splitting "Shaa!".

While the Trolls remained paralysed, the bird-slug opened its maw, its neck peeling back like the exotic human fruit known as banana, then enveloped the Brutaliser head-first. Simultaneously, one of its hands seized the Troll Priest, each delicate digit folding against the Hag's body, then squeezed.

"MAY THE DEEP ANCESTORS PROTECT US!" His partner, Rockhammer, was howling into his Divi-link. If his infantrymen had an open channel, they would also be screaming. "What tier is that thing? At what pressure index are its fingers running?"

Between the big bird's fingers, the Hag oozed. Though Hanmoul was too far to hear the cracking of bone and the rending of flesh, his optics showed the Shaman's eyes shooting of her sockets, while between the big bird's fingers, bits of stuff dribbled over the snow. Hanmoul gagged. The bird-slug with hand-feet was wringing the Hag like a piece of cloth to prevent it from regeneration. No matter how tenacious the Hag's life force may be, to recover from that state— Hanmoul winced. Sometimes, death was infinitely preferable.

Beside the Hag, the Brutaliser stumbled away, headless and for some reason, no longer regenerating. It walked a dozen steps before its pulsing stump erupted into a dark-green fountain, then laid still.

And now, the dog-horse things closed in, ripping through the still-paralysed Hobs, taking the creatures in their human-sized jaws, swallowing some whole, tearing others apart.

"By the Sju Dorfran…" Rockhammer's voice quivered, calling on the Seven Ancestors. "Hanmoul, what have we summoned? What calamity could do a thing such as this? Maybe she's a Dragon pretending to be human?"

Every Dwarf knew that humans were as greedy as Dragons.

Every aid required payment in gold, in minerals, or gems.

Now that Hanmoul had inadvertently enlisted the aid of so mighty a Mage, what would happen to the Council's coffers?

If the girl came calling, what would the Deepdowners think?

When the last Hob died, Gwen licked her lips and realised she might have overperformed her initial objectives.

It had been months since she had felt the thrill of combat, and in her haste to test the extent of Amuldj's Blessing, she had gotten a little overexcited. For now, since the Dwarves were safe and they had her moniker, it was best to be on her way.

Finishing up, she called Ariel and Caliban to her side, applying another layer of Invisible Familiar. Caliban was beyond happy to be out and about, and she was delighted to see it fly with Ariel as a companion.

Though she now slinked away from the field of battle like a thieving cat, she felt giddy with satisfaction. Losing her Draconic-Essence had undermined her confidence, but now, her Void abilities had grown to replace what was taken.

She was, after all, a Void Mage and not a Dragon-Mage like Ayxin. Without a willing Dragon to impart its racial knowledge, she had limited utility for Draconic-Essence beyond punching Necromancers in the face, kicking Da-Pengs in the face, and belting young masters in the face. That and make NoMs shit their pants.

"In hindsight, it is for the best..." Gwen muttered to herself as she headed for the human township. Sometime later, Caliban's vitality trickled back into her body, forcing her to land so as to walk off her shivers and to orientate her bearing. She was happy to find that the pleasure was no longer so intense. After the Soul Flayer, her tolerance had grown.

"Evee—" She punched the air as her body grew warm. "I am coming! No more delay!"

Elvia moaned, her face flushed, sweating through her bedsheets.

Outside, a thunderstorm rocked the valley basin. Such was the nature of weather in Southern Wales, as unpredictable as a drunk Troll. Beside the healer's gurney, her Knight and the Magister responsible for the security of Merthyr Tydfil argued.

"Mathias, you are a Knight— and as such, I won't judge." Beside Mathias, the Tower's ombudsman, Major Hanford, sucked on a pipe. "But as the officer overseeing the defensive operations in Merthyr Tydfil, I cannot commend your recklessness."

"That's because you fail to understand Elvia's selflessness." Mathias stroked his healer's long, blonde hair. "We saved, what? A hundred men today? I alone took down two Rock Trolls, mind you, and a few hundred Redcaps. Who can say the same?"

"That may well be." Hanford's tone remained cold and unconvinced. "We needed her here with the others, working triage. Also, if you lose Miss Lindholm, I'll have to answer to Lady Astor. Then what would happen to the town's Contribution Credits?"

"Many of those men and women, Mages and NoMs, would not have made it to triage, Magister." Mathias' voice rose an octave. "Dare you demand that I abandon my duty?"

"YOUR—" Hanford controlled his temper. "Duty? To tax your healer so much she concurrently suffers both spell AND mana exhaustion? Are you daft?"

"I merely did as she wished."

"She's a Frontier Refugee! You're an overtrained Knight! Show some wisdom, man! Guide her if she's an idiot!"

"I cannot refuse her selflessness, not in the slightest." Mathias shook his head. "Now, if you're done, let us discuss tomorrow's operations. With Elvia recuperating, I can—"

Ding!

"Yes, Lauren?" Hanford's Message blossomed beside his ear. "What? A War Mage? Here? Did London send her?"

The Magister's eyes moved from Elvia to Mathias, to the door. "For Miss Lindholm?"

"What's this?" Mathias cocked his head. "Why would someone from the Tower come for Elvia? Is it a friend of Emily's? Tell her Elvia is doing fine, and that we'll be back—"

The Magister motioned for Mathias to shut it.

"Tell her to wait— What do you mean she's coming in? She flew here— she has a Mithril-Class Licence? Which Unit is she from?"

The Tower's base of operations at Merthyr Tydfil was, in fact, a commandeered inn. As the operation in the Dwarven Frontier rarely lasted over a month, investment of additional resources had been deemed unnecessary.

"You can't go in there—" Hanford's aid stopped at the threshold. A flash of lightning lit the room quicksilver before its delayed fulmination rattled the windows.

The hinges creaked. The double doors to the inn's common room, now the command room and the officer's quarters, swung open, siphoning the warm air.

Into the room, the sorceress' aura poured over the men like treacle. The girl was dangerous; the Mages implicitly understood that as fact. At the same time, they felt confused by the paradoxical sensation of both elation and vertigo emitted by the girl.

A Druid? Mathias glanced at Hanford. The Magister had no idea, particularly in light of the girl's battledress.

"My secretary is right. You can't be here. Miss—?"

The self-deploying rain cloak retracted.

Click. Click. Click. The girl approached— her enchanted attire drying at once.

The sorceress' heels, Mathias noted, were stiletto daggers. Her irises were multi-coloured and brimming with depthless desire. From her shapely calves to her elegant shoulders, she was clad in cloth plating, a style of armour favoured in the east. Draped on her back, was a handsome blue mantle.

Suddenly, Mathias' lips felt dry.

He recognised her peerless face.

More importantly, there was no mistaking the "Maotai" printed across the sorceress's thighs.

"Song." The girl arrived at Elvia' bedside. "Gwen Song."

"From the IIUC?" Hanford discerned the competition logo plastered on her chest plate. His daughter religiously followed the competitions. Fudan was her favourite until they dropped out. "Miss, why are you here?"

Mathias' gut tingled. He wasn't a Diviner, but the Knight sensed an awful thing was about to happen. The girl stood beside the gurney, seemingly transfixed by the vision of Elvia's semi-conscious body on the levitating stretcher.

"I was sight-seeing." The tone of the Devourer of Shenyang's voice sucked the life from the room. "What's wrong with Evee? Why is she like this?"

"Trolls," Mathias blurted.

Hanford gave him a strange look.

The Knight could not believe the words were coming out of his mouth. He couldn't recall the last time he had almost lied. Such cowardice was dangerous for a Knight, anathema to the Faith magic they practised. Nonetheless, something told him he had better pay Gwen the lip service, or forever hold his peace.

"Yes." Mathias forced his mouth to move. "Those blasted Trolls did this."

"Did she get cursed by a Hag?" The sorceress' gaze, burning with an inner light, scanned Mathias like a cheap piece of meat. "As her Knight, is there a reason why Evee's horizontal, and you're still upright?"

Mathias met the girl's burning eyes and felt his Radiance quake. Gwen Song! From the International Inter-University Competition; Elvia's "Mate" and her long-distance Message-pal. Here was a woman-shaped Thunder Tyrant Rex. The controller of Caliban! Mistress of Ariel! Tamer of Golos!

The Devourer of Shenyang!

And now, she was accusing him of dereliction of duty!

A burst of bile threatened to spill from Mathias' throat. Misunderstandings were dangerous, especially when one side held a Mithril Badge. Sponsorship from three Magisters was the bare minimum required for such freedom. But as a Class VI asset, who had the clout to stomach the uproar when the girl misstepped? The only Mage Mathias knew to possess the clout was Grand Master Errol and Emily's father, the reputable Duke Rothwell.

"Yes, I am her Knight." Mathias kept his face stoic. "And NO, Miss Elvia is not injured. She overtaxed herself from saving those who had been caught up by the Beast Tide. I assure you, not a hair has been harmed on her head."

"A Beast Tide? Of course." The girl's reply was churlish and provincial, indicating a lower-class upbringing. "Evee— can you hear me?"

Elvia moaned, deaf to the world.

Something wiggled under the healer's shirt. A little bulbous head peeked out, its short limbs waddling as it emerged. "Kiki?"

"Kiki!" the girl squealed. "Long time no see, buddy. How's Evee?"

"Kiki! Kiki!! Ki!"

"I don't speak Kikish." The girl waved her hand. "One second, Ariel!"

Clonk! Clonk!

A shimmering pony knocked on the door, then entered the inn, sending the dozen or so Mages in the dining section scrambling.

Both Mathias and Hanford fought to keep their cool. A Kirin! Their minds reeled. A real-life Kirin! Look at its horns! Its hooves! Its rainbow-hued coat! The blasted thing glowed! As with many Magical Beasts of the upper-tier, it was the unique presence that made them larger than life.

"EE! EE!"

"Kikiki!"

"EE?"

"Kikiki-ki!"

"EE-EE!"

"EE-EE-ee-EE!" Gwen's Kirin gestured with its horns toward Mathias.

Mathias put a stout oak table between himself and those horns.

"I see." The girl shot Mathias a glare that made him place a hand on the pommel of his Spellsword. "We'll see what happens when Evee wakes. For now... hop on."

Mathias moved to intervene. He knew next to nothing about the Void Sorceress' abilities other than the fact that she could clear a District without breaking a sweat.

"Ki-ki!"

When the Alraune leapt into Gwen's hands, Mathias slowed. He couldn't swat the willing creature out of the sorceress' palms. Her Kirin looked mighty dangerous, not to mention she still had "Caliban" hidden in a pocket dimension.

Beside him, Hanford leaned over Mathias' shoulder with a face full of wonder. "My word, that IS Druidic Essence!"

"Drink up." The sorceress glowed.

In the dim light of the room, a viridescent puddle of sloshing, viscous liquid, brimming with life, pooled in between the palms of Gwen's hands.

"Kiki!" The Alraune danced in the manna and began to absorb the elixir at an alarming rate, growing glossier and more globular by the second. Atop Kiki's head, a tropical lily bloomed out of season.

Hanford's eyes wandered toward the girl's ears. Thankfully, her well-rounded lobes were entirely human.

A minute later, Kiki had soaked up every drop. Now appearing the size of an infant, it leapt onto Elvia's chest, then slipped a hollow, tentacle-like tendril in between the healer's lip. Through his well-trained senses, Mathias felt his Cleric's hollowed-out conduits infuse with raw, unadulterated vitality. As Kiki transferred the viridescent energy, Ariel stood guard, licking the flower Sprite's bulbous body.

"What now?" Mathias stood sideways from the Kirin; its hind-legs looked like they packed a wallop.

"Well." Magister Hanford's eyes darted between the smartly attired War Mage and the sweating Knight Protector from St Michael's. "While we wait for Miss Lindholm, would Miss Song care to answer a few questions?"

"Sure." The girl appeared to relax, or so Mathias hoped. "Besides, I want answers too."

Before the fall of Sydney and its horrific revelations, Debora was the companion that Elvia admired the most. Out of all their friends, it was her vivacious confidence that made Elvia feel the rare bite of jealousy. At first, she had felt astounded by the audacity exhibited by "Debbie". Though all of them were equal friends, that Debora would so brazenly declare her worst intentions had made Elvia feel ill. Not only was the bronze-skinned Transmuter unafraid of ostracisation or rejection; she revelled in Gwen's distress.

Inevitably, the corresponding recall would remind Elvia that their friend had long been an inhuman Void spawn. What Faceless had wanted was for Gwen to join its crusade against the world— and failing that, it would assimilate Gwen into itself.

And if Faceless had succeeded?

Elvia shuddered every time the possibility of losing her friend crossed her mind. Seeing Gwen's exquisite face morph from adoration to sadism, love to hunger was a sure recipe for insomnia.

Presently, however, the healer's consciousness was consigned to the void. Such deep, self-induced meditation was a known phenomenon. During periods of extended duress, a Mage may continue to tax their mental and physical reserves, using their body as fuel. For a Void Mage, the process was par for the course, but for a healer, the occurrence was rare indeed.

And so, caught in the undertow of self-restorative slumber, Elvia dreamt the strangest dream.

"Evee!" someone shouted.

Elvia's eyes shunted open.

She wasn't on her gurney; instead, she sat on loose straw over powdery clay. The air was impossibly dry, her tongue felt like sand, and dust invaded every fissure. Squinting, she saw that over the ochre landscape, a sinking sun warped the horizon with heat.

Beside Elvia sat Gwen, grinning with her teeth showing, puckering her lips. When Elvia's eyes wandered across her friend's figure, her complexion turned scarlet.

"Why— why are you in the nuddy?!" Elvia blurted out. "F-for shame!"

Gwen laughed; her skin glistened, reflecting the slick patterns of ochre, obsidian and sunburst adorning her torso. Likewise, ghostly handprints covered the canvas of her body. Elvia recognised the five-fingered contours. Some of them belonged to Yue, and more than a few belonged to herself.

Her friend pointed to Elvia's right. "Evee, Look!"

Elvia followed Gwen's finger.

They were languishing in the shadow of a colossal landmark, too famous not to be recognised.

Ulu—ULURU?! Elvia's heart seized. Why were they in Uluru? Wasn't she in England?

A dream, Elvia pinched herself.

Gwen stood.

OH MY GOD, Elvia's mind rioted. She was in a VERY realistic dream.

"Kapi!" Gwen clapped, extending a hand in invitation.

Not knowing what else to do, Elvia took it.

With a strength that betrayed her litheness, her friend lifted Elvia to her feet so that she fell against her bosoms.

OHMYGODOHMYGODFORGIVEMEFORMYSINS— Elvia felt Gwen's heart pounding against her cheek. An inch from her nose was Gwennie's—

Thump! Thump! Thump! Gwen's heart thundered. On cue, there came a crash of thunder; then the sky began to pour. A cloudburst fell in pailfuls, a near-solid wall of water bucketing from the blue.

Arm in arm, their skin as slick as eels, the girls looked up at the red stone of Uluru, where snail-trails of white water turned into wine.

"The Rainbow - the rainbow comes from the earth and returns here," Gwen spoke beside Elvia's ear.

The temperature fell, but she didn't feel cold at all. Gwen's body was a furnace, and presently, their shared warmth permeated everything, the muddy earth, the cloudless sky, the plunging deluge.

"Haha, Almudj is proper cheeky." Gwen's arms crossed over Elvia's shoulders. With one hand, she pointed to the sacred stone.

"My kin lives here— she has a long beard and sharp teeth. She does not need men or women. She dreams, requiring no ceremonies. Very rarely does she wake— but when she does, Almudj is proper cranky."

Elvia opened her mouth, her thirst quenched by the downpour.

In gulps, she swallowed, her body filling with the waters of life.

Gwen regarded her with a broad grin, her pink lips curling at either edge.

"Remember, Evee, the Snake. She will attack invaders. If someone bullies you, it will return their body to their ancestors. No matter how many of them. No matter where—"

CRACK—BOOM!

An ear-splitting cry of thunder shook Elvia's world.

The sky! It was opening up! She could see a fracture across the infinite space of the horizon. All around her, the ground shifted and moved and shook. Atop the stump that was Uluru, an immense shape began to slither and meander, emerging from the interior of the stone.

"We're kin, Evee. Mayhap more, but never less. I've always wanted to share with you Almudj's Song. The Song of the Pintupi, the Singing from a time when the world was young."

A flash of quicksilver ignited the sky.

The dream world crumbled. Elvia fought against her friend's embrace, but Gwen held her fast. In tune with the supernatural fulmination, their hearts beat in twain.

Gwen began to clap.

"Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!" Came another earth-shattering reverberation from the apex of Uluru, the serpent that birthed the world swam for the sky. Water, the colour and texture of blood, flooded the desert, restoring the soil's fecundity, bringing to bloom a million wildflowers. "Come on, Evee!"

Elvia joined her friend, her hands slapping the water.

A rainbow appeared, linking the horizon from ocean to ocean.

Unbidden, Elvia wept, for here was where every river in the world begun.

Soft as feathers, Elvia's long blonde lashes fluttered open.

"Too dangerous, the Trolls have warrens here— here— and here—" Half a room away, the harsh tone of Magister Hanford quarrelling with Mathias was as familiar to Elvia as a lullaby. "You can't be thinking of taking them alone? That's stupidity!"

"Kiki!" Her Alraune Sprite prodded her cheeks, its adorable bulb wadding left and right. "Ki-ki!"

"A friend?" Elvia's gaze lingered on the blooming Alraune with confusion, finding herself exhausted beyond belief. "Who is it?"

"EE! EE!" answered a triumphant thrill, followed by a cold nose touching her neck. A wet tongue, sticky and smelling faintly of rain, licked her lips.

Instantly, her brain fired up to wakefulness. "A-ARIEL?"

The argument from the map-table ceased at once.

"EVEE!" an all too familiar voice rocked the inn, displacing the dust from the ceiling. "Thank God, you're awake!"

A pair of arms soon enveloped her torso. A familiar silhouette kissed her left cheek, once more on the other, then again on her forehead.

"Gwen?" Elvia fought her irresponsive extremities, her mind struggling to connect the dots. "What's happened? Why are you here?"

Her assailant pulled back.

Her friend looked older. That was Elvia's first impression. Gone was the puppy fat once adorning her friend's cheeks, giving her an elfin visage. Gwen's eyes as well, once so glistening with insecurity, were sharp and focused, almost frightfully so. She appeared taller too, the confidence she now exuded was practically tangible.

"O, you heart-breaker, you!"

Another round of uninvited kisses showered Elvia.

But why was Gwen in Merthyr Tydfil? Her mind was only now registering the reality in front of her. All those months without contact; week after weeks of watching Gwen slog through the IIUC, fighting rogues, Trolls and then Undead, and now her friend was here?

"Ah—" Elvia tried to speak, but what emerged instead was a choking cry of insurgent emotions. Her eyes misted over, growing damp with feelings impossible to keep in check. There was so much she wanted to say, so much pent up stress that needed to be released. "G-Gwennie… I missed you so much."

"I know… I know…" Gwen held her tight. "It's okay, Evee. I am here."

Behind her friend, Mathias wore an unreadable expression. But that was no different from how Mathias usually acted. Elvia felt she could barely read Mathias anyway and had long since given up trying.

But, none of that mattered now.

"Ow—"

When Gwen attempted to lift her from the gurney, her muscles throbbed with protest.

"What's wrong?" Gwen's face twisted with concern.

"I am aching all over." Elvia wondered if it was because of the dream she had endured. Did Gwen have anything to do with it? She would have to ask her about that. Almudj felt far too real to be a hallucination. "Can you put me into a chair? I don't think I can stand right now, not until I get some more mana in me."

"Aww, you poor thing," Gwen cooed. In the next instant, her eyes lit up. "You know what? I've got just the thing. Stay here; I'll make you a nice tonic that'll fix you right up."

Under the watch of both her Knight and Major Hanford, Gwen Mage Handed a table close to the gurney. Then, she produced a nephrite bottle of what looked like rice wine as well as a vibrant jadeite container.

That looks expensive, Elvia innately appraised the object. Not even in the home of Lady Astor had she seen such exotic Magic Items.

"For this, I am going to need Cali's help," Gwen said to Elvia, then addressed the two men. "Magister, Mattie, please step back. Caliban isn't nearly so friendly as Ariel."

Obediently, the Mages heeded the Void Sorceress' advice.

"Caliban, come forth!" Gwen twirled her fingers, coaxing her monster to existence.

A pinpoint opening tore the fabric of space and time. Elvia had seen it a hundred times before, but for the others, they had only seen it once or twice and then only via vid-casts. An illusory Caliban was terrifying enough. Now, in real-time and vis-a-vis, they felt the bone-chilling, gut-churning vertigo characteristic of Void Magic.

"Shaa! Shaa!"

"Cali!" Elvia squealed.

"SHAA?! SHAA!" The endearing Void fiend stood two meters tall when fully erect. With a tentacled tongue, it rubbed Elvia's head.

"Wow, you're so big!" Elvia did her best to pet the faceless boa. "It's been a while. Thanks for looking out for Gwen, Cali."

"Shaa!" Caliban nuzzled the healer with its carapaced head, much like a cat reclaiming an old acquittance.

A table away, Mathias' eyes strained, his fingers flexing and unflexing.

"Cali, keep an eye on our root vegetable." Gwen tapped the box, unsealing its wards. "If it runs, drag it back."

"Shaa!"

Gwen opened the box.

Her audiences' eyes went wide.

"KIKI?" Her Alraune looked inside with a bulb full of curiosity.

"Kii?" a soft groan emanated from the jadeite preserver. A Ginseng! Elvia cooed. And a Spirit at a that. Unfortunately, it looked as though the Spirit was injured. From its humanoid likeness, the Spirit was missing both its lower limbs, most of its tendrils, and a portion of an arm. Instantly, her heart filled with sorrow and empathy for the poor thing. What horrid suffering had the poor plant endured? How lonely must it be to slumber in the darkness alone?

Groggily, the Ginseng turned to look at Gwen.

"KIIIIIII—!" it began to keen. Elvia felt her chest constrict. The poor baby!

"SHAA!" Caliban yelled it into silence.

"This won't hurt a bit." Gwen reached for the Ginseng.

"KIKI?" Her Spirit leapt in front of her friend. Elvia winced; a string of gut-churning emotions translated by her Alraune flooded her constricting bosoms.

GWEN WAS GOING TO EAT IT? Elvia comprehended Kiki's warning at once. "Gwen, NO! No eating! That's a Spirit!"

Gwen paused, a sliver of Void circulating about her fingertips. "Don't worry, Evee— this thing is cultivated. It's domesticated and reared explicitly for this purpose, no different to a delicious lamb chop."

"NO, NO, NO!"

"KII! KII! KII!"

"KIIIIIII—"

"SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban howled, spraying Elvia, Kiki and the Ginseng with grey goo.

Elvia clammed up, as did the root, a pulsating, purple-fleshed Caliban was pretty much the stuff of nightmares.

"KI—KI!" Her Alraune was the hero Elvia often aspired to be. "KII!"

"But we need it to heal Evee." Gwen's brows furrowed. "I suppose your master could stuff the whole thing down her gullet, but then she'll erupt with vitality."

Someone coughed.

"If I may, Miss Song— I don't think you should be eating that." Magister Hanford's voice drifted across from the other side of the room. "Not in public, I mean."

"We diced one up for Chinese New Years…" Gwen recollected Ayxin's gift to Jun's parents, which they shared with friends and family. "It was older than this one."

"May Christ have mercy for us all," Mathias swore, marking a cross across his forehead and his chest. "You Orientals will eat anything…"

"Gwennie, please?"

"Fine." Gwen withdrew her Void scalpel.

Elvia exhaled.

"KII—KII!" Kiki slapped Gwen's hand with a tendril. Like Sufina, its island sister, the Alraune was fearless.

"Shaa!" Caliban licked its chops, issuing a warning.

Disregarding the serpent, Kiki reached into the box, then helped the Ginseng to its feet— or more correctly, its stumps.

"Gwen, how could you," Elvia chided her heartless friend, staring at the stumbling Ginseng with moist eyes. "Was Sen-sen who you were eating in the competition?"

"Sen-sen? Eating that root vegetable pulled me through quite the pickle, possibly gave Allie a baby, and added twenty years to Gramp's life!" Gwen cocked her head. "But, what's done is done. Now, do you want it?"

Elvia's reply caught in her throat. A Spirit? One that knew pain and could beg to be spared? How many CCs could it be worth? "I… can't. It's far too expensive."

"Kii!" Kiki glared at Gwen, stomped the table angrily, then passed a tendril toward the Ginseng. A dribble of Gwen's viridescent Essence infused the root vegetable.

"Sen?" The Ginseng shuddered, then gestured wildly to itself. "Sen-Sen! Sen-sen!"

"Look at it," Elvia begged, feeling another stab of empathy striking her heart. "Can you heal it? With your Druidic Essence?"

"Heal it?" Gwen looked from her friend to the Ginseng. "It's supposed to be providing nourishment for us, not the other way around. I mean, if you want it, that's another thing. If not, I'll box it for another day—"

"I'll keep Sen-sen!" Elvia announced. Kiki's emphatically-linked demands were tearing her heart out. "Don't worry, Kiki, we'll save him yet."

"Fine. Kiki, move aside," Gwen commanded the Alraune.

Warily, the flower Sprite shifted to one side.

Elvia watched as her friend uprooted the feeble Ginseng by its leafless head, then laid it flat on the palm of one hand. Again, Gwen's audience bore witness to the spectacle of Druidic Essence oozing from a human sorceress.

Bathed in the elixir of life, the Gingseng Spirit sprouted hundredsof tiny tendrils that, once interwoven, began to resemble a pair of stubby legs. Its missing arm as well grew hundreds of whiskery beards that soon resembled a limb. Atop its head, leaves began to sprout, first a few petals, then a whole bushel of "hair" emerged, transforming the deformed Ginseng into a textbook Mandrake.

By the time the Spirit could move on its own, Gwen was breathing heavily.

"Sorry," Elvia apologised. "I didn't know it was that hard."

"Anything for you, Evee." Gwen gave the Ginseng a flick on the knob. "Here, your new pet, 'Sen-Sen' sans three limbs but otherwise as good as new."

"Kiki!" The Alraune hugged the Ginseng.

"Sen!" The Ginseng, having escaped the chopping block, embraced the Alraune.

"Aww," the girls cooed.

"Shaa!" Caliban salivated.

"Kiki!" Kiki directed the Ginseng toward Elvia.

"Sen!" The Ginseng ran toward Elvia on its new legs, then performed a kowtow by throwing itself on all fours.

Kiki's pantomimed Sen's intent.

"It wants me… as its Master?" Elvia didn't understand Fae, but Kiki was a champion at charades. "But I've got you already, Kiki."

"Miss Elvia—" It was Mathias who interjected. "Perhaps it is best to donate the Mandrake to the Tower? A friendly, sapient Spirit is worth a great deal of CCs. Think about the other Healers who could use it to bolster their craft. The favours you could curry..."

"NO." Gwen wagged a finger. "That root vegetable is Mine. I gave it to Evee, and I reserve the right to prevent it from falling into anyone else's hands. Either she keeps it on her person, or I mash it for Maotai. There is no recourse."

"Miss Song." Mathias grew radiant. "Please be reasonable. You'll be entering society soon, I wager."

"I am reasonable, 'Mattie'." Gwen's acerbic defiance gave Elvia an indescribable thrill. "You want a Ginseng, ride your ass up to Huangshan and rip it out of the Yinglong's garden. Otherwise, keep your advice to yourself."

Mathias' jaws clenched. Elvia gulped.

"Why are YOU upset?" Gwen snorted. "Look at the state I found Elvia in, 'Knight Protector'. Got a complaint? Go fish. I welcome any grievances, large or small, lodged against my person. If anything, you should ask the Duke of Norfolk's office to process the claim. Old Dickie's out on a limb to see me fail."

"This incivility isn't becoming of you, Miss Song," Mathias replied with a measured tone, though Elvia could sense her Knight's heart rate elevating to new heights. "I would have imagined Elvia's companion possessing more class."

"I hail from the industrial district of Forrestville, from Frontier Sydney." Elvia noticed that Gwen's lips sneered whenever she enabled her first-class bitchface. "This is how us plebs speak."

"Mattie, Gwen doesn't mean to be rude." Elvia felt her heart simmering at her throat. She did not desire conflict between her Knight and her best friend. Besides, Mathias was strong, but Gwen was lethal. "Please, we'll discuss this later, okay?"

"You! Ginseng!" Gwen snapped at her dietary supplement.

"Sen!" The Ginseng snapped to attention.

"Leave Elvia, and you're soup." Gwen patted Caliban on the head.

"SHAA!"

"EE!" Ariel added its two cents.

With an air of fatalism, the Ginseng approached its new Master.

"Kiki!" With a shuddering wince, Sen-sen tore out one of its leaves and placed it against Elvia's hand.

"For me?"

"Sen!"

Elvia placed the green growth under her nose. The magical salad smelled strongly of soil, and also something far older.

Gwen nodded. "Eat it, Evee. I should tell you that this is a five-hundred-year-old Ginseng cultivated by Golos' brother, Ryxi the White Serpent, in the secret valley of the Yinglong's Mythic-class abode. I'd wager its got quite the kick."

The two men opened their mouths. Mathias maintained a stiff upper lip.

A little nervously, Elvia chewed the leaf.

"MMPH!" Her eyes sparkled. The taste was bitter beyond belief. The energy, the vitality, the mana contained therein, however, was unlike anything she had ever imbibed, not that a pleb like herself had access to ultra-rare Wildland ingredients in the first place.

"Take it slow…" Gwen advised. "Circulate your mana, allow the Essence to infuse your body."

"Essence?" Elvia blinked.

"Draconic-Essence." Gwen grinned. "Yinglong's dragon juice tends to infuse everything. Don't worry, Sen's safe to eat. No one at the banquet exploded. I think."

Elvia closed her eyes, allowing the vitality to infuse her body.

The fatigue in her limbs melted away.

Her mind, so murky a moment ago, felt crystalline with cloudless clarity. Gradually, the earthen taste in her mouth turned to mint, reinvigorating every cell in her exhausted body.

Elvia burped.

"Evee." Gwen studied Elvia's new Ginseng friend. "I gotta ask, as my memory isn't great. Is Kiki a Familiar?"

"Nup." Elvia shook her head. "She's a freely contracted Spirit. I've never performed the Familiar ritual."

"That's, unfortunately, fortunate—" Gwen cocked a brow. "Good news. Now you have room for a bonded Familiar."

"Miss Song, I cannot advise…" Mathias interjected. "Such a waste..."

Elvia too felt overwhelmed by the excess. A Spirit replaced one's Familiar. She had never heard of someone with a Spirit contracting a whole other Spirit through Summon Familiar. Theoretically, both could co-exist, but Mathias was right. What a waste! No matter how good she became, she couldn't perform the job of TWO Spirit Healers.

"So? Its HER Spirit to waste." Gwen shrugged. "What's so unique about a Spirit Ginseng? I wager there's two-dozen more on Huangshan. It's no biggie, Evee. If this limp-limbed bugger doesn't yield..."

Gwen shook the bottle of Maotai, looking every inch the tyrant.

"KIII!" The Ginseng kowtowed wholeheartedly, looking like it was doing push-ups. "Sen-sen! Sen!"

"Smart plant." Gwen packed away the booze. "How are you feeling now, Evee? Come off the bed, let's see how you are."

Elvia nodded. Slipping from the thick, goose-down sheets, she landed on her dainty little feet.

Her friend, however, felt her hands, paused, then glared at her fingers.

"What's wrong?" Elvia asked, puzzled by Gwen's steely expression.

"A small Storage Ring?" Gwen blurted in disbelief. "Evee, where's your Contingency Ring?"

Elvia cocked her head. Was it so strange that she didn't have a Contingency Ring? Those cost at a minimum, thousands of HDMs. A good one that came with guarantees for sanctuary, healing, and safe delivery ran into tens of thousands. Even after all her sanitarium work, once her tuition and lodging was paid, she had a few hundred HDMs to her name. Most of her quests that Mathias took were voluntary work. "Erm... I don't have one. It's too expensive..."

"I see." Her protector's eyes trained onto Mathias.

The glowering storm outside continued its pitter-patter, growing louder until a stone-splitting roar rattled the windows.

"'Mattie'." Gwen's accusation sizzled like a branding iron. "Why are you so useless?"

It took Mathias a full second to digest the Void sorceress' earth-shattering accusation. Besides the Knight, Magister Hanford's open mouth could have swallowed a duck egg.

"I beg your pardon?" His jaw clenched, turning Mathias' neck a bright pink. That thrice-damned Alraune! To think the blasted bulb was a flower on top, but a serpent beneath! "What are you on about, young lady?"

The sorceress stood between himself and his ward. "Do you deny your dereliction of duty?"

"Absolutely!" Mathias allowed his Radiant mana to circulate. "I warn you, Miss Song. The honour of a Knight isn't so cheap that a nobody from a Frontier could waltz in and point fingers. I swore an Oath to protect Miss Lindholm!"

The Knight's sword-hand burned with a phosphorescent brilliance.

"That my Faith remains is a testament to my service!"

Mathias allowed both Faith and Radiance to inter-mingle. His face glowed; his blonde hair engendered a halo. "Miss Song, you test me again and again, for no reason other than petty jealousy over my guardianship of Miss Lindholm. I implore you, with complete sincerity and politeness, to cease your belligerence! We both want what's best for Elvia."

But the girl did not back down. Instead, she raised Elvia's hands. "Then how do you explain Evee's poverty of items? She's been questing with you for how long?"

"Six months."

"SIX MONTHS!" The girl continued without missing a beat. "If there is such a demand for Evee— and yet she's penniless— then as her manager, you're bloody hopeless! If she isn't profiting, then who is profiting OFF her?"

Mathias had never felt so insulted in his life. He never knew anger could influence the flow of mana. Now he did.

"Did I hit a nerve?" His accuser stood with one hand pointing and her other against her hip, not unlike a pissing tea kettle. "Where were you when Evee got bullied? When they overworked her, why didn't you campaign to give Evee a fair go? Look around you— where are the OTHER healers with burned-out brains? Is that a testament to their apathy, or your ineptitude? Or Both?"

"Milady's compassion—" Mathias was finding it hard to speak.

"—Is not your social capital!" The girl's voice was like a gale. "Kiki tells me Evee gets attacked by monsters, every day, every fucking time!"

"The Spirit lies!" Mathias growled. "Evee's never lost a hair. Elvia, tell her how I've shielded you!"

"Sophistry!" The girl's rudeness grated like a rusty saw. "Your bull doesn't pass the China-test, Mattie. Let's cut to the chase. Show me your hands."

"What?"

The girl extended her hand. "Here, let me help: Ring of Evasion— Ring of Storage— Ring of Contingency—"

Mathias's complexion shifted from scarlet to white. His Radiant mana hammered at his skull, tolling like church bells. The Contingency Ring on his left index finger was burning his skin as silver burns a Lycanthrope. The ring was from his Order. It wasn't his to give— or was it? Mathias no longer knew the answer.

The girl pulled his healer's hand forward. "Here. I know it's hard, but let me show you the rare bird called 'giving a fuck'."

With a zap of electricity, the girl pulled two bands from her fingers, materialising a third in her offhand.

"Gwennie," Elvia protested in alarm, her whole body pulling helplessly against the taller sorceress. "You can't! That's Gunther's Ring! Alesia's going to be pissed! I am not worthy!"

"I can, and you are," the girl retorted, then slipped the Contingency Ring onto the Elvia's trembling fingers.

Mathias' eyes grew round when he caught the Beholder's Core mounted in the Contingency Ring. When furthermore his ears registered Elvia's protest, the implication slammed into his skull like an empowered Missile Swarm.

Gunther? Which Gunther could afford a Contingency Ring made from a Beholder's Eye Core? Alesia? He knew of only one sorceress called Alesia.

"Evee, relax. I returned brother's heirloom in Sydney," the Void sorceress explained. "This one's a discounted facsimile from Pretoria."

"It's too expensive!"

"More valuable than my peace of mind? Hardly—" The Void sorceress slipped on the other two rings as well: her Ring of Evasion, and what looked like a Medium Storage Ring. "There! You see, Mathias? Evee's now snug as a bug. Now that's Evee husbandry, 101."

"M-Miss Song," Mathias murmured, his mind still reeling from the revelation. In his chest, the anger and the resentment drained away into the Ethereal Plane. "By Gunther, do you mean Lord Shultz, of Sydney Tower?"

"Who else?" The girl assumed her tea kettle pose once again, fully intent on filling him up to the ears. "He was Evee's immigration sponsor. Do you take offence to that?"

Mathias felt as though struck by a bolt of livid lightning. Every hair on his body stood on end. His spleen ached. Why hadn't Emily told him? Why hadn't Elvia mentioned a word of her connection to the Tower Master of Sydney? Why, if she had so much as dropped a hint, he would have duelled Royal Alfred's Knight to secure every holiday from here to next year.

Master Shultz! Mathias' mind felt as slow as a snail's crawl. Against his right thigh, Dawnstar hung like a lead weight.

"Well, Mattie?" The girl's supply of spittle was endless. Her eyes flashed like that of a fixated hawk on a fleeing prey. "Now do you see—"

CLANG!

Mathias' body was in motion before his mind conceded. In one, swift action, the Knight dropped to an armoured knee.

"MY HEART WAS IMPURE!" In one smooth draw, Mathias presented his Spellsword, then offered it to his accuser in a gesture of supplication. "Lady Lindholm, I beg for your clemency!"

Gwen braked so hard she stuttered, biting her tongue. Behind the Void sorceress, Elvia cringed and whimpered, the cost of the rings flaying the flesh from her fingers. Across the counter, Magister Hanford choked on the mead, then began to cough uncontrollably as the rogue booze shot up his sinus tract.

Ascending toward the second floor, the Void sorceress and the Spirit Healer ventured upstairs, joined by a Kirin, a Void serpent, a Ginseng and an Alraune.

Below, the two men prepared to call it a night.

"That young lady's quite the orator." Hanford rummaged below the counter, then pulled out a bottle of ancient-looking rum, poured himself a glass, then filled a second goblet. "Now that's over, care for a pint to calm the nerves?"

"I don't— sure." The Knight hesitated but did not decline the Magister's sympathy. By the creed of temperance, a Knight was only allowed to imbibe alcohol as a part of the Sacrament. Luckily for Mathias, a Knight of St Michael was also an anointed Cleric by trade, fully equipped to deliver Mass or authorise a marriage.

"Bless, O Lord, this drink which Thou hast created. Here, by Thy holy name, I receive the blood of thy body and soul. Amen."

As per the ritual, Mathias drained the chalice in one gulp.

"Hmm..." Hanford double-checked the bottle's back label. "... shit."

Mathias wiped his booze-stained mouth, breathing slowly to fight down the alcohol. In an instant, the Knight grew pale. "By St John, I feel as though afflicted with Negative Drain. In St George's name, what is this thing? My gut's fallen into the seventh circle of hell..."

Hanford winced. He should have known from the bottle that the rum was Dwarven. That and virgin Knights were famous teetotalers.

Carefully, Magister Hanford poured himself a half-shot. "Will you be joining us tomorrow?"

"Wherever Miss Lindhold goes, so shall... so shall I..."

"I see." Hanford raised a foaming toast for the boy-Knight who survived the Devourer of Shenyang with four limbs intact.

"Here's my belated Amen— and here's to keeping your job. Sir Rothwell. Good night."

"That's right. I am a good Knight." The Radiant Mage slumped into a tub chair. His belly growled. Dwarven rum wasn't for the faint of anything. "O Christ, shield me from this unholy fire."

When Elvia's companion saw the modesty of the inn's bedroom, she straight away offered the Portable Habitat she had "neglected" to return to Melbourne Tower.

An HDM and a few minutes later, the girls and their menagerie of flora and fauna relaxed in the interior of the Habitat, sprawled out across the spacious living room. Kiki and Sen-sen wandered all over, investigating every nook and cranny. Caliban took up residence on the carpet, coiled and comfortable, while Ariel, now lap-sized and docile, rested against Elvia's legs.

There, in the privacy of each other's company, Elvia related the dream she had appropriated from Gwen's Outback adventure.

"...Kapi-Kapi?"

"Yeah! It was like you were there!" Elvia painted for her friend the strangest dream she ever dreamt. "There was Uluru and the Rainbow Serpent, and we were Singing the Snake..."

Gwen smacked her lips. "Did rain come from a cloudless sky?"

"Yes! Then Almudj came out of the rock! And there was red water everywhere."

Her friend's expression grew contemplative. "So, you were Kalinda, and I was the Tjupurrula... how curious..."

Once the dream-talk ceased, the atmosphere grew contemplative.

On her fingers, Gwen's rings weighed heavily on Elvia's heart, stifling her breath.

In the ensuing silence, Elvia drew on some of that courage she had so admired in Faux-Debora, slipping across the couch so that she sat on Gwen's lap. Sensing a lack of protest, she then laid her back against her friend's supple torso. From Gwen's hair, she could smell the faintest hint of eucalyptus.

"What's wrong, Evee?" Gwen read her mood like a book.

"Gwennie," Elvia heard herself lament, her voice almost a whisper. "Why me?"

The paranoia that twisted Elvia's gut wasn't uninvited, but something she had known since Sydney. As a mere healer, one without charisma, character, or backing, what could she possibly gift to Gwen? What aid, no matter how trivial, could she deliver to the devourer of a city?

"Don't say that," Gwen scolded her with a snort. "You're more important than you think."

"But I am not." Elvia felt her friend shifting beneath her. After repositioning her legs, Elvia now used her friend's thigh as a pillow. "I am not strong, and I know I am not smart. Mathias isn't wrong, you know. I am a liability."

"Nope, stop right there." Gwen's fingers prodded Elvia's button nose as though a stop-start button on a Golem. "You're a special person. You just don't know it."

"I watched you and Yue in the IIUC." Elvia rested her cheek against the palm of her friend's outstretched hand. "I kept trying to imagine how I could have helped, but I don't think I can. Be it Sylvie, or Emily, or even Lady Astor, everyone thinks of me as a tag-along. Nothing more."

"That's quite the imagination you got there." A finger wiped away the string of wetness flowing down Elvia's pippin-pink cheeks. "Christ, Evee. Relax. Man, I should install a vid-caster in here."

Elvia sighed, feeling all the more guilty for her friend's sympathy. Doing her best, she choked back a sob.

"Alright, now I feel like an unsympathetic bitch." Gwen patted her head. "How about you put a stopper on the tap and let me explain."

Elvia did her best. The mind was willing, but the flesh was tender.

"In life, Evee..." Gwen began, dabbing her face with a tissue. "...there are folk who pop in and out of our orbit."

"With some, we grow intimate— Petra, who you know; or Tao my fruity cousin; or the iron-hearted Lulan. These are honest folk with dreams and aspirations. Their goals, I respect, and when our paths bisect, I want to help them."

"Then, there are selfless souls like my Babulya; or Uncle Jun. Like Opa, they want to see me prosper and do well. But with these folks, their love comes with anticipations and expectations, and of course, should I misstep— disappointment."

"Then, there are the folk who walk a parallel path. Ruxin and Gogo the Dragon siblings of Nagaland; Marong, my business partner; Magister Walken, who sees in me a kindred spirit on the path to relevance. Guo, my legacy obsessed grandfather— these folks I work with because our goals align and our interests are complimentary—"

Elvia listened, bathed in the warmth of her friend's enveloping embrace.

"And finally, there are those who are closest to our hearts. Yue takes a spot. Alesia and Gunther are my unconditional allies. Percy of course, he's my little brother after all. Richard as well has sacrificed much— though thankfully, I've managed to even the odds of late…"

Gwen's irises burned with a gentle light.

From within her friend's arched body, Elvia felt a curious resonance. In her chest, below her throat, the thrumming Essence felt like heartburn.

"...And there's you, Evee."

Elvia's complexion grew hot-pink, whether due to nervousness or embarrassment, she didn't know.

"Some might say that being normal and nice implies a lack of character, that a lack of ambition makes you a lesser person. But to me, that's what makes my Evee endearing. What I admire in you, Evee— is your simplicity."

"My… simplicity?"

"That's right." Gwen parted her flaxen hair, knotting the strands around her fingers. "You know, Evee, I've been fighting non-stop for four years now. Sometimes, I think about the places I've seen, the monster's I've eaten, and wonder how far I've drifted from a bedroom with an ocean-view."

Elvia recalled that indeed, an ocean-view bedroom had been her friend's dream.

"Can you imagine that, Evee? Before meeting Master Henry, all I wanted was a three-bedder at Potts Point. Now, I harp on about being the Master of a Tower. Christ! A cloud-clapped Tower, Evee! Tall as anything—staffed by thousands! But then, after Caliban burps and Ariel's gone to bed I think to myself— what the fuck am I doing? Right now, I can buy TEN houses by the sea. Why aren't I retired by the ocean, fighting Mermen from my porch?"

"But…" Elvia felt her friend's frustration through the emphatic link of their mingling essence. "You can't retire. You're the Devourer of Shenyang."

"Aye, that's the rub— the calamity of so elevated a life."

Her friend breathed out for what felt like an eternity.

"I miss the old days." Her friend's face was an inch from Elvia's head. "You and me and Yue, going to Blackwattle, eating at Market City, Yue fellating paddle pops and making us laugh, all in that cramped sauna we called home. I miss my Master, as well. Henry and I only shared a year, but he was so kind to me, more than anyone I knew in all my... years. I miss Sufi too, and not just because of her Golden Mead. Her emotions were always so pure."

"Kiki!" Elvia's Alraune, having returned to check on its mistress, patted Gwen on the shins. A few inches away, Caliban sniffed the Flower Sprite's bulb disinterestedly.

"Sometimes, I can't help but imagine what would have happened if Sobel never happened to us, or if I had been stern enough to listen to Yue and kicked Debora out. Imagine that— You and I, and Yue, in Sydney for the next three years. We could have made a party of our own with Whetu and Richard. The SIMPLICITY of it, Evee. That's what I miss more than anything."

All Elvia could do was nod.

"If you're afraid you've got nothing to contribute, Evee." Gwen's lips hovered over her own. "Then I'll give you a job."

"A job?"

"Yes, Evee. One only you can do. You see, after the Trolls, the Undead, the Dragons, and the people; I need something to anchor myself. What I mean, Evee— is that I need an anchor that isn't mountains of Crystals and cloud-clapped Towers. What I need, Evee— is something more concrete than the pageant of popularity and the phantasms power, do you understand?"

Elvia shivered. "What can I do?"

"Be Elvia Lindholm." Gwen's voice grew low and husky. "That, to me, is more precious than anything."

"But I am not special. Not like you."

"Then I'll make you special." The conviction in Gwen's voice made Elvia's spine suddenly rigid. Her friend's next words were barely a whisper, but it fulminated within the recesses of Elvia's mind.

"Evee— I don't want to be another Sobel."

Against her cheek, Gwen's thighs were clammy.

A part of Elvia wanted to get away, to slip from her friend's lap and flee the Habitat. What Gwen had just told her, the "Job" Gwen had offered— could anyone bear such a burden? Could she? Could a weak-willed waif serve as the foundation of a sorceress who may one day change the Mageocracy?

Was Gwen being selfish?

"Kiki?" Her Alraune stroked her arm with an elongated tendril. "Ki?"

"Sen!" Sen-sen as well, perhaps reading Kiki's distress, touched Elvia's toes and prodded her pink digits.

Her friend grew silent, awaiting a response.

Elvia felt queasy.

Was she up to the task?

In truth, she had no idea.

In truth, she missed Mathias already.

Her glory-seeking Knight was a knee-deep pond; Gwen was the abyssal ocean.

"Kiki!" Her Alruaune thumped its chest as a sign of solidarity.

Courage, or was it Essence, flowed into Elvia's chest. Kiki was right! So what if she dived head-first into the Void? Gwen would do just as much for her, so why couldn't she do the same? Whether she could hold Gwen back was one question. Whether she was willing was another. One needn't inform the other.

"Gwennie?" The brimming Essence in her conduits overflowed.

"Yes, Evee?"

"I'll... BLUERRRRRGH—"

Unfortunately, having acquired Almudj's blessing only an hour ago, the rising ardour Elvia had felt wasn't Essence. Instead, it was reflux from her oesophagus, caused by her threadbare nerves.

And so, to conclude their first conference in two years, against the softness of her best friend's awaiting body, Elvia Lindholm poured out her soul.

"Evee! Evee! Evee, let your wand hang down..."

Gwen hummed as she changed, readying herself for the day trip. In the master bedroom, Elvia slept like a lamb, exhausted after a lengthy apology and an even longer shower.

Still, even a rancid Elvia sparked joy. Gwen could hardly complain when her little healer grew so happy that she vomited on the couch. That had been her fault, she later realised. Evee had languished for the better part of a day without taking a meal, and though Almudj's Essence provided many gifts, a full stomach wasn't one of them.

PSSSHT—

Her Shen-teī armour tightened, enclosing her athletic figure with a hiss, kissing every inch of her dermis.

On a nearby pedestal, Gwen aligned more gifts readied for Elvia. The first was a spare suit of Shen-Teī in white. To their premier model, Sinomach Heavy Industries had been very generous with their samples, especially after the IIUC's unprecedented viewership. Also on the pedestal was her Radiant Diamond Ioun Stone.

Last night, Mathias had folded like cheap origami, but she couldn't trust the Knight, at least not yet.

As for her losses, Gwen did not consider the items critical to her ventures in London. Seeing as she was a Class VI asset, surely the Mageocracy would give her a sizeable discount on a Tower-issued Conti-Ring. As for the Ring of Evasion, now that her split-second Dimension Door well-exceeded the range of most AOEs, Magister Ferris's handcrafted item now felt meagre. And as for the Ioun Stone, Elvia would better benefit from its shell-hardening than herself, who could pump the equivalent of a dozen Mages' mana into her Gunther Shield.

Already, for their first outing visiting the Troll warrens around the Gulch, she had a plan.

The dastardly Duke of Norfolk had name-dropped Elvia to serve as a warning, but now, Gwen considered the advice with kindness. That those with fingers in her future would see Elvia as Gwen's weakness was a certainty. If so, why should she step lightly and keep her best friend from the limelight?

Through her Master, Gwen had learned that recognition could be utilised like a Force Wall. From Gunther, she had learned that though one spoke softly, it didn't hurt to tap the table with a big stick. And if there was anything Alesia taught her, it was that infamy could be just as useful as fame.

Ding! Ding!

Her out-bond Message chimed.

"Miss Song?" an accented tongue echoed by her ear. "This is Dominic Lorenzo. Alesia said you'd call. How do you like London? And how can I help?"

"Hi, Dom." Gwen's voice was sugary sweet. "Thanks for answering. I am so sorry to impose on you so soon, and without a luncheon first to get acquainted."

"Ha, don't mind it, anything for Alesia's sister," the man replied with enthusiasm. "Not to mention you're the talk of the town. Have you read the Telegraph? You're all over page three! I wouldn't dream of dining with a tabloid girl in public."

"Er…" Gwen paused. "What's this about?"

"You know, Lord Ravenport. Hahaha, you young sorceresses sure move fast these days."

Gwen blinked, wondering if the tavern received daily papers. "I am at Merthyr Tydfil right now."

"Near Red Peak? What's a lass like you doing on Dwarf land?"

"Long story," she said. "Look, we'll meet up and talk later, Alesia said to ask you if I needed help. She said you're the man with the connections."

"And so I am. Go on."

"Lovely." Gwen cleared her throat, putting aside the tabloid business for now. "So— I am about to clear a Troll warren near Merthyr Tydfil, something called the Scarlet Gulch—"

"Ah, the place where Earthen Crystals sprout about now—" the voice paused. "Hold up— doth my ears deceive me? Did you say you want to PURGE the area?"

"You could say that. I've got some stake in elevating one of my friends to the public eye, a healer. As such, I was wondering if the media was keen to see a Void Sorceress single-handedly clear a valley of green-skins in defence of a fellow sister dual-wielding sapient Spirits…"

Dominic Lorenzo went by several names, some of which were public, and most of which were selectively known to friends in unusual places.

To the Mageocracy, Dominic was a murky ghost, one of the hundreds that made up London's grapevines. Together, he and his ilk sent bite-sized observations up the trellis so that problems could be propagated or pruned.

To Dominic's unknowing co-workers, he was a dapper, good-natured journo who was serious about his work but would never get promoted because of a meddlesome, naive sense of justice.

To Alesia De Botton, he was a compatriot, co-tethered by a debt owed to the late Master of Sydney.

Presently, Dominic engaged in a masochistic ritual known as, "reading the Sun Herald". Within London's battlefield of public opinion, he worked for the Guardian, winner of the BBC's Mithril Shield, comparatively, the paper in his hand was the editorial equivalent of coal dust.

Nonetheless, knowing one's foes was an essential part of Dominic's job.

He turned the page.

A headline in large, red writing seared his retina.

Norfolk's Secret: How a Customs Agent Uncovered Ravenport's Hidden Daughter.

THE DUKE OF NORFOLK, one of the most powerful men in London, was seen rushing back to his manor when a customs agent uncovered the Duke's ploy to mule illicit goods through a young Australian-Chinese sorceress by the name of Gwen Song.

In a Fireball revelation, Miss Song was revealed to be the youngest Apprentice of Henry Kilroy, the now-deceased Master of Sydney, a long-time associate of Mycroft Ravenport. A further inquiry carried out by the Herald Sun revealed Miss Song was the same Void sorceress who wowed audiences in September's International Inter-University Competition. According to internal memos, Miss Song was on route to receive a scholarship from Cambridge University when Heathrow intercepted the sorceress, revealing a cache of illicit goods. However, Lord Ravenport's court ally, Lord Seville, intervened to remove Miss Song from Border Force's custody. The young sorceress was then photographed entering Lord Ravenport's private vehicle, an exclusive Phantom IV gifted to the Duke by the Royal Family. Miss Song has not been seen in public since.

Lord Mycroft has been embroiled in scandals prior, such as the rumoured involvement of his son in the Fall of Sydney. Exclusive to the Sun, sources have acknowledged that the Void sorceress may be a secret daughter, engendered by an unintended tryst...

Dominic suppressed a smirk.

Secret daughter, sure.

The picture they had of Gwen was of her getting into the Duke's car, her lower body in crystal-sharp focus, while everything else faded into the backdrop. In a stark and titillating vision, one saw a single, contoured leg hanging outside the bible-black, beetle-shell carriage. As it was winter, the implications were self-evident.

But just in case the Sun's readers were too obtuse, the paper teased the imagination by pairing the article with a page three girl— a hopelessly underdressed Eurasian sorceress with dark hair and green eyes, eye-fucking the camera.

In a ham-fisted way, the unspoken inference fully demonstrated the near-supernatural magnetism a million tabloids a week held over the lives of the Lords and Ladies of London. For the apathetic public, there was nothing more satisfying than scandals that exhibited the snobbish gentry's basest desires.

In response, Norfolk's office had issued two denials over the claims saying that "any blood relations between the sorceress and Lord Ravenport" was "categorically untrue". A second line included the usual response from Windsor castle, "We deny that the Duke of Norfolk had any form of relationship with the young woman. The allegations are false and without foundation."

Dominic quickly checked through the rest of the paper to ensure that nothing else would catch Gwen by surprise.

It was on page seven that Dominic spotted the second mention of Gwen. This time in an article written by an actual journalist, detailing the replacement of George Reeves, Director of Operations at Heathrow. The article cited that not only had Director Reeves not questioned the illicit conduct of staff under his watch, but had stubbornly refused to cross the 'blue-line', being an ex-Major and all that. This time, however, the victim to be "shaken down" happened to be Gwen Song, Class VI War Mage of IIUC fame, and sister-in-craft to Lord Shultz, Tower Master of Sydney. The incident, the Sun reported, has caused significant grief within the foreign office.

Reeve's replacement, Deputy Director Rachel Swann, then offered a platitude: "We expect our leaders to conduct themselves professionally at all times and treat our nation's best and brightest with respect. Director Reeves has failed to meet these expectations and has been dismissed after a misconduct panel, presided by factional representatives from London Tower, the Public Safety Committee, and the Border Force Military Tribunary. Lord Ravenport, the speaker for the committee, instrumental in negotiating Miss Song's lawful release, has stated, 'The public has a right to expect absolute integrity.'"

"You've got to be shitting me." Dominic felt a vein throb. Gwen was in London for ten minutes, and she had already made it onto the most notorious paper in the city— twice. If the edition sold well, and House Ravenport suffering from a rash of ill repute almost certainly will— Gwen could kiss her privacy goodbye.

Ding! Ding!

Dominic's device chimed.

The caller ID indicated that it was Ravenport's leggy daughter.

Speak of the hellcat, Dominic whistled. He dispelled the visage of the bare bosomed beauty on page three; once his mind was purged of impure thoughts, he tapped the Glyph for receive.

"Thank you, Mister Whitely," Ollie Edwards, Post Graduate Conjurer-Illusionist, thanked the miner who had been kind enough to give him a ride to Merthyr Tydfil. With great politeness, he laid down an HDM on to the seat. "Please take this."

Ollie had left London at five AM. After delivering a note to the Head Mistress of Peterhouse, he caught the ISTC to Oxford, a bus down to Gloucester, then waited for a cargo lorry to take him to Merthyr Tydfil. As much as a Flight Licence was useful, Ollie could not justify spending a year's worth of CCs on convenience.

An hour into the bumpy ride, when his buttocks complained of the spring digging into his thighs, he wondered if it was faster to teleport to London, then pay for a General Area Teleport above the resource outpost.

But, as always, Ollie considered the request from Lady Loftus a test.

With the Matron of Peterhouse, quests were rarely straightforward, and Ollie suspected that looking after Gwen Song was demonstrative of the Lady's faith in her Praelector.

When they arrived at Merthyr Tydfil, the town was as he had imagined. It was dirty, dingy, and looking like a mining town straight out of an '80s vid-cast before Maggie Thatcher put an end to all that.

"Keep the crystal," the squat NoM shooed the Magus away, tossing him back the credit-stick. "Careful, Magus. Them Dwarves are devious buggers, and them Trolls will make soup from your bones!"

"I shall. Thank you again!"

"Good luck finding your girl." The old feller winked.

"Right." Ollie then turned his attention toward the inn. Here was where the local militia had set up their headquarters. With a deep breath, he pushed through the oak double doors.

"Hello! My name is Ollie Edwards. I am Miss Song's Praelector from Cambridge—"

Ollie paused.

The place was empty.

There was plenty of evidence that the inn had been lived in, there was no doubt about that; the place was a damned Goblin warren, but there wasn't a single soul to answer his enquiry.

"Mister Publican?"

His answer bounced back from the vaulted, Tudor-era ceiling. Feeling his fingers grow clammy, Ollie exited the inn. Outside, the town went about its business.

"Good sir!" He flagged down a sauntering prospector. "What's the news? Where are Magister Hanford and his men? Also, have you seen a tall, Eurasian sorceress with green eyes? She has hair up to about here— and she's quite— pretty."

"Aye, you missed them an hour ago." The prospector's teeth had more yellow than white. "They've gone down to the gulch. A group of journos teleported in just after morning tea— said that the Devourer of Shenyang is going to clear the Red Gulch for Miss Elvia. Most of the folk are gone to take a gander."

Ollie's overlarge ears grew red. "You're joking. Who's Elvia?"

"No joke. The lass will take on the Trollies by herself. They said— oh, Miss Elvia's our healer. But..." The man shook his head. "Bollocks, I say. Even if she's Ravenport's daughter..."

The man patted his newspaper.

"She's WHAT now…" Ollie's eyes rifted to a familiar face on the front page. "Sorry, could I see that?"

"Sure." The man handed the paper over. "Help yourself. Mind page three, it's a little damp."

Frantically, Ollie read the front page, turning the slightly moist paper until he reached the prized double-spread. His heart froze for a moment when a modest Eurasian face stared back at him, wearing tiny garments, but relaxed when it wasn't Gwen. When his eyes rolled over the article, however, his breath grew difficult.

"S-secret daughter?!" Ollie's molars ached.

His mind raced. Daughter or no daughter, scandal or otherwise, he had to find the girl as soon as possible. What had the miner said? Red Gulch?

But where in Dwarf Land was "Red Gulch"? Was it where the miners went to smuggle the seasonal ore?

"How can I get there?"

"In there." The prospector pointed to one of those "ye old' shoppes".

Giving his thanks, Ollie pushed into the general store. Inside, a man dozed against the counter, awaking when the door-bell trilled. "Good sir! I am a Magus from Cambridge. I need to get to Red Gulch as soon as possible."

It took the fellow a few seconds to fire up his synapses.

"You and half the village," the shopkeeper snorted. "Don't worry, lad. I've got all the maps you can buy, all certified lodes with Troll Warrens marked and ready for prospecting."

"Which one's for Red Gulch?"

"This one." The man's swimming eyes reminded Ollie of a pair of poached eggs. "Now, that'll be five quid, young prospector! Best of luck!"

Ollie handed over 5 LDMs.

The shopkeeper produced a map from under the counter. "Here you go. RG-23, updated last week."

"What about those?" Ollie pointed to the hand-thick stack of maps.

"Oh dear!" the shopkeeper chuckled, one gold tooth glimmering sickly in the lumen-light. "Must have misplaced the Purge maps."

Hanmoul Bronzeborn didn't mind the surface.

The lidless world, with its green vegetables and elongated humanoids, was so much more interesting than the Deep Kingdom's endless crusade against the monsters of the Murk.

But for all its grandeur, the above-ground world possessed foes the Dwarves were ill-equipped to fight. That was why, when after the last Gob died, jade-flesh writhing under the Rockcrushers' grinders, the dazed Dwarves could hardly believe their eyes. It was as though a Dragon had come through the peak, swept through the green-skin horde, then left without demanding tribute.

And that was what worried Bronzeborn more than the horse-dogs that had eaten the Hobs head-first. Among the Iron Born, all acts of valour garnered recognition, translating directly to material rewards. The killing of a Hag, in particular, warranted a mention in the Ancestor Hall's record tablets. It was a rare honour, for scant were Hags that ventured out from the warrens, and rarer was the Dwarf who survived one.

With a heavy heart, Hanmoul saw the battlefield looted and cleared, then ordered his patrol to head for home.

At the council chambers, Hanmoul Bronzeborn made his report to a stunned Iron Command, then steered his shattered engine toward the workshop to be stripped and re-fitted. From the sound of the coolant leak in his cabin, the instrument panel's conduits must be a melted-mess, and the umbilical tether was shot. As for the actuator and the heat exchangers— Bronzeborn could only hope it held on for a few more meters.

"Deep Ancestors!" His foreman and mentor, the honourable Signerlig Bronzeborn, almost dropped his auto-wrench when Bronzeborn's Rock Smasher lumbered came into view. "Wot happened? Did a Black Dragon take a liking to yer Smasha?"

PSSSHT— Clang!

Hanmoul dropped the hatch. The pane caught halfway down on a broken sprocket.

"I am lucky to be alive, Siggy. Thank the Deep." The Commandrumm of the Hammer Guard kicked the joint until the metal gave way. "Yer would nae believe what we ran inter…"

After the tall tale was delivered, Signerlig poured the son of Dwomrul a stiff pint of rum brewed from the arse-end of Golden Sugar Ants.

"Go take a rest, Hanmoul." The Senior Engineer shook himself out. "Yer gonna get trouble when that lass comes calling, son. A Debt of Haj-Zül isn't so easily repaid."

"I know, Siggy," Hanmoul growled. "Gwen Song, that's her name. I'll take a strider inter Merthyr Tydfil tomorrow and speak with the Human Magister there, find out ter which Faction the lass belongs."

"Pray its the Greys." Signerlig walked a circle around the Rocksmasher. "Yer don wanna be trafficking with the War Mages. They'd just ask for another schematic, yer ken? Or more Runeswords."

The Commandrumm nodded solemnly. "See yer in a few hours, Siggy, take care of me girl."

"Don't yer worry yer hairy arse, I'll ave 'er fixed reit up."

Hanmoul made a detour on his way to the habitat to make sure there was at least one "Strider Beast" left in the garage. In the glowlight, the silhouette of the vehicle resembled a stumpy pill-bug, resembling the Black Scarabs so commonly found in the Dim.

With a tug, Hanmoul removed the oiled cloth.

He had to admit; the Strider was a beautiful thing. When dormant, the quasi-Golems appeared as though a geometrically shaped boulder. When active, however, the machine possessed a rare grace.

Hanmoul sighed. It was a shame then that the Deepdowners had proclaimed such machines Vadam, "Forbidden". According to the Deepdowners, the surface world held many allures to waylay young Dwarves, and no Engineer, not even a Hammer Guard, was immune to the corrupting seduction of the lidless world.

Naturally, Hanmoul took the warning to mean that the pale-skinned old codgers were neck-deep in mole-droppings. Ever since the Sundering Tide shattered the Underway, the surface had been the only reliable way of communication for the Deep Kingdoms. That was the sole reason, Hanmoul concluded, that the Dimland Dwarves now received recognition at all. To denigrate their cousins bestriding the surface, while also pushing them to interact with the knife-ears and the Humans, was hypocrisy.

Hanmoul lovingly patted the shell of the Strider.

For some reason, his mind lingered on the malignant form of the white-fingered bird wielded by the girl-sorceress.

What a magnificent creature!

Hanmoul felt an unexpected tingle.

What manner of a creature could it be?

The Dim was free of avians.

How was it possible that a flying monstrosity could concurrently exert such mechanical pressure with its digits? Was it a type of Dragon? The Dwarves knew Dragons better than anyone, but Hanmoul had never seen a beast like that. If possible, he would trade a vault's worth of gold to receive a pair of the bird's tendons as test-material.

"By the Deep Ancestors." Hanmoul tapped the Strider's segmented canopy. "I'll ask the lass tomorrow."

CLUNK!

The final crate of HDMs fell into place.

"And this, Gentlemen, is the Mandala for calling on Golos, Princeling of Huangshan." Gwen ran her hand over the three-thousand HDMs she had conjured into place. A safe distance around the Mandala, spread out in a semi-circle, were her observers. Presently, the crowd included Magister Hanford and his team of Tower Mages; Mathias and Elvia, who stood the closest; and gawkers from the town, who came to see if the sorceress really could obliterate the warrens.

Already, the paparazzi were in a frenzy, their lumen-bulbs firing every few seconds. Gwen wasn't sure what Lorenzo said convinced the press to attend, but they did, en masse.

"Evee," Gwen extended a hand to her healer. "Hold my hand. Step into the circle to gain its protection. Gogo can get a little excited, and you're looking a treat."

Having seen the Wyvern on the broadcast, Elvia complied. Besides the Cleric, Mathias stood like an attentive clerk, ready to help.

Gwen then began the complex process of invoking the necessary mystic energies for materialising Golos. She had earlier requested a second audience with Lady Loftus, assuring the Lady that Golos would return after forty-eight hours. The Lady's advice was to leave Gwen to her devices, redressing her new-found freedom with the simple truth that censures resulted from failure.

"Meritocracy" was the watchword of the Mageocracy, the Lady sagely reminded Gwen, assuming peers of comparable standing.

For her show and tell, constructing her Mandala without aid for the first time had been harrowing, especially with a peanut gallery. Thankfully, she had repeated the procedure enough times with Petra and Walken to re-create the summoning circle.

Mid-invocation, the Glyphs sizzled as the Mandala's circuits flared into life. A little prematurely, a blinding bolt of lightning shot from the Mandala in reverse, stabbing into the landscape as though a sabre of light, birthing Golos into the world.

The crowd clapped and wowed.

Lumen-bulbs erupted.

It wasn't every day that low-tier Mages bore witness to a Planar Ally and a Draconic-one at that.

Golos, his sleek body well-defined with sinews, spread his wings and uncoiled his neck. The Wyvern appeared larger than Gwen recalled, indicating that it lived a good life smooching off Ruxin's good fortune.

"SUCH ABUNDANT MANA!" the Wyvern barked, both nostrils flaring. On its crested skull, colourful feathers scintillated with a metallic sheen. "Calamity, what is this place?"

"England," Gwen answered from below. "Gogo, meet my friend Evee."

Golos' prideful visage surveyed the press corps, the prospectors, the low English horizon, then turned his attention downward. "You smell different."

Gwen allowed her Essence to circulate. "How so?"

The Wyvern lowered his head. "You feel… older—"

"— And no longer like your brother?"

Golos turned his head this way and that. The Wyvern drooled. "You smell delicious."

"Hello…" Elvia's voice piped up besides Golos.

"Kiki!"

"Sen!"

"No need to worry your pretty head, Gogo." Striking a pose, Gwen felt relieved that Golos' reaction was puzzlement and not hostility. Part of it may be their Planar Ally contract, but there was also wariness, history and respect. "Essence or no, Ruxin and I are business partners. Our interests run parallel."

The Wyvern sniffed her again. With a tongue as thick as her thigh, he gave her cheek a quick-tongued tap. "Calamity. I can't sense Father on you at all. Did you eat him?"

"There are older beings in this world than Daddy dear." Gwen pooled a bit of Almudj's Essence in her palm. "Care to take a hit?"

"Hello." Elvia raised a hand again. "Lord Golos. I am Elvia Lindholm. Here is Kiki, and this is Sen-sen."

Golos sniffed Gwen's hand, but to her surprise, the Wyvern turned away.

"Tempting, but no. The Essence from another shall not pollute my father's blood. Besides, we are not mates, and if we were, I should be the one to enter—"

"WHOA!" Gwen covered Elvia's ears. "Keep it to yourself, big guy. God knows who speaks Draconic here."

Finally, Golos took notice of the girl in Gwen's arms.

"I thought there was something familiar here." The Wyvern shifted its massive bulk, bringing its clubbed tail to bear. "I know you."

"Evee," Gwen translated. "He says he knows you. Gogo, how come you know Evee?"

Elvia froze. Despite Gwen's assurances, Gogo was one big Thunder Wyvern.

A few meters away, Mathias drew his Spellblade.

"You're the one Ayxin took for the Calamity." Golos chuckled.

"Sen-sen!" The Ginseng on Elvia's shoulders stood, waving its tendrils, it bowed. "Sen!"

"Hoho, a new Master," Golos rumbled, its reptilian slits finally focusing on Elvia. "This tiny mortal, mind giving her to me as an offering?"

"Gogo, don't even joke about that." Gwen slapped the Wyvern on the snout. "Say hi to Evee, she's important."

"She's skinny and unsavoury," Golos grunted. "Why, I could flatten her with one blow, swallow her with half a bite. If she were fatter..."

"I could have Caliban burst out of your gut."

"Insolence!" Golos barked, but it was their usual ego-joust. A moment later, the wyrm sniffed her partner, who stood as stoic as a statue while his muzzle prodded her bosom. "I see. You have claimed this female?"

Gwen paused, then began to smile. "That's right, Golos. Protect her well, and you'll be rewarded."

"Another one?" Golos rocked his giant head. "What happened to the Sword Mage? I like that one better. More bloodlust."

"Lulu's special," Gwen said sweetly. "Why? Did something happen?"

"Ryxi says she's arrived at Huangshan." Golos casually dropped a bomb on Gwen's lap. "He has taken a liking to your female."

"Oh?" Gwen raised both brows. "Ryxi isn't thinking of— you know? Is he? If so, give him a stern warning."

"HA!" Golos snorted. "That pallid, cock-less slug? He couldn't breed with a carp on a chopping board."

"Thank you, Golos, for that fine imagery," Gwen returned drily. "Well, give Lulu my love. I hope she does well in learning the old arts. Flying around on a sword! What will they think of next?"

"Enough talk, I grow bored and hungry." Golos reared to its full height. "What are we killing, THOSE?"

A lumen-blast went off just as Golos craned his neck toward the press gallery.

Surprised by the light, the Wyvern menaced the reporters, sending the townsfolk scattering. Magister Hanford and the other Mages from the Tower erected their shields just in case. Mathias, meanwhile, popped a Radiant barrier, first around Elvia, then himself.

Good, Gwen nodded. Good dog. "Friend, not food, Gogo. Today, we're going after Hags, Trolls and Hobs. You're going to be in the thick of it. I want you to eat as many as you can, really fill up that poop rope of yours. It'll be a bounty for us both, buddy."

"A battle! This pleases me." The Wyvern stretched its wings. "I shall be where the air is thickest."

"Go scout, and watch out for other Dragons," Gwen warned. "There's bound to be a few in England! If one challenges you, come right back."

Grunting, Golos took to the blue.

A few scattered claps escaped the observing crowd.

Gwen stood with both hands on her hips. "Sorry Evee, he's not fully trained yet."

"That's okay." Elvia was sweating enough for the two of them, considering the linen snow that stretched from gulch to hill and that the Shen-teī's regulated temperature, it was an impressive feat.

Gwen waited for the right moment, then returned her attention to the press gallery. Weathering a dozen blasts, she addressed the reporters.

"And that's Golos, perfectly competent and diplomatic to boot," she assured them. "Now, once Gogo checks the gulch. It will be time to make time for my friend Elvia Lindholm."

After five kilometres of Dimension Door paired with Wind Walk, Ollie Edwards had to stop.

Firstly, he was exhausted with spell-fatigue.

Secondly, a Dwarf was asking him for directions.

"Young Human..."

The Dwarf's armour bore the iconography of the Hammer Guard. From his relaxed demeanour, Ollie Edwards could guess that this was one of the Dim Dwarves, accustomed to living in-between "worlds". Presently, his conversation partner sat two meters in the air, held aloft by a many-limbed mechanical vehicle with dozens of skittering, sword-like legs.

"...Am looking fer a sorceress from yer town. A ladette— tall like a knife-ear, dark hair, bald-faced, blue plating, goes by the callsign 'Voracious Eater'. Could yer point a Dwarf in the right direction?"

A Voracious Eater? It took Ollie a moment to catch on that the Dwarf must be running a sub-par Translation Stone. The descriptions weren't exact, but Ollie figured that the Hammer Guard was looking for a beardless "Devourer".

"Are you after Gwen, by any chance?"

"Yer noe the lass?" The Dwarf appeared relieved. "Perfect. I got solemn business with her."

"Troublesome business?"

"Aye, right troublesome."

"Oh…" Ollie's blood ran cold. Was he too late?

"Aye." The Dwarf sighed. "So, yer headed for the sorceress?"

"I am." Ollie nodded. "Are you—"

BEEP! BEEP!—BEEP!

A series of whirls and beeps interrupted Ollie's reply.

A billowing gust, punctuated by the great bell-beat of leathery wings, smothered the pair with powdery snow.

"WOT IN THE DEEP KING'S NAME IS THAT?" The Dwarf pointed at a passing silhouette. "A Thunder Dragon?"

Ollie shielded his eyes.

An inconceivably large Wyvern sailed through the sky, casting a magnified shadow over the ivory hills leading down to the Red Gulch. As it passed, the whipping wind in its wake sent up a storm of spiralling sleet. For some reason, Ollie was reminded of the snobs from Trinity who liked to show off in their expensive automobiles.

GOLOS! The name came to Ollie at once. What had Gwen done now? Why was an upper-tier monstrosity hooning about within three hours flight of London?

Ollie's blood turned to ice. Did his junior ask for permission? What if the Wyvern ate someone? What if it ate an NoM— OR— Ollie looked at the Dwarf. What if it ate a Dwarf?

Please, God, O Mighty and the Merciful, Ollie Edwards begged the ancient Nazarene. Let him make it to Gwen Song before something terrible happened.

"It's a Wyvern," Ollie explained. "It belongs to Gwen."

"So, trouble on wings." The Dwarf appeared to check his instruments. "That's one clunking big signature."

"Spawn of a Mythic," the Mage replied drily. "Or so I've heard."

The two stood in silence, each caught in a world of their own, pondering the reality that there existed a young woman who threw Thunder Wyverns at her problems.

"Yer looks like you could use a ride, laddie." The Dwarf brushed the melting snow off his goggles and his beard. With a CLANK, a section of the tessellated plating slid apart, revealing what Ollie could only describe as a passenger seat tall enough for a child, but wide enough for two men. "I'll save yer some mana. Let's see wot yer wee sorceress is up ter."

Feeling fatalistic, Ollie helped himself into the lowered seat.

His only hope was that whatever Gwen was doing, it wouldn't gouge a pound of flesh from Peterhouse. His position as Praelector guaranteed a particular tuition discount, and he had plenty of Elven Glyph-sorcery left to transcribe.

"Thank you." Ollie hugged his knees as the canopy closed, sealing the two as though a twin-yoked egg. "Ollie Edwards, Magus, Peterhouse. I don't have a Tower position yet."

"Hanmoul Bronzeborn, Hammer Guard, Commandrumm." The Dwarf inclined his chin then licked his lips. "Strap in, lad. Gotta mek sure the lass dornt dae us any more un-negotiated favours. Dae ya mind if we gone a wee-bit fast?"

"Faster," Ollie agreed. "Fastest would be better."

The Devouring of Red Gulch began with a bang.

In places where the fabric of the Material Plane and the Elemental Plane of Earth rubbed thin, Elementals like Redcap Snots and Goblins spawned en masse, becoming as common as crystals. When periods of peace breaks out, these dumb and servile fodder-creatures fed the Trolls and the other, older monsters of the under-hill who have long since marked the land as their own.

Comparatively, above the warren, where the snow fell, there was no feature which made the Gulch discernible from the air. Were it not for the miners tearing apart the countryside looking for the raw, iron-bound crystals emerging from the valley, the hollow in the linen landscape would have been impossible to locate.

To navigate the interior of the warrens, Gwen volunteered a hapless, knock-kneed prospector to guide her Invisible Familiar deep into the hollows. Down and down her Kirin went, past the narrow passageways, the byways, the dagger-like stalactites, the milling Gobs and hibernating Trolls, plumbing the deep-dark.

Upon reaching the warren's heart, the girl was delighted to find that the central cathedral served as the artery connecting the den with a more significant system of caves leading back to the peak. Striking while the iron was hot, her eyes came alive with rainbow hues.

"Barbanginy!"

The snow jumped, then seconds later, tendrils of dust billowed from the exits.

Cool as a cucumber, the sorceress resummoned her Kirin before prescribing a dozen more Thundering Shatters, shaking the landscape and collapsing the alternate entries. A minute later, of the twelve entrances, only one remained, the largest and the straightest, perfect for line-based Lightning.

Then began the second act.

With relish, the Void Sorceress called on her twin-Spirited companion from Nightingales. She took pains to point out the girl's Alarune, then introduced the press to "Elvia's" exclusive Draconic Ginseng Spirit "Sen-sen", certified by Golos, the Princeling of Huangshan.

Then, at the epicentre of all attention, the Void sorceress stood with her legs slightly apart, conjuring a great, big swarm of vertigo-inducing lampreys. The observers reeled back, some immediately set to hurling as dizziness swallowed the crowd like a Stinking Cloud. Not far from a nauseated Dominic, a bubbling, boiling, writhing mass spilt from the sorceress's half-formed shield, appearing as though ink oozing from a dark egg.

"Cali! Swarmlings to the walls! Gogo, prioritise eating high-value targets. Ariel, you're on overwatch! Buck! Take care of the Hobs and Trolls when they emerge. Astro, take your boys and hunt down stragglers. Evee, Sen-sen, MORE JUICE!"

"Yes, Gwennie!"

"Kiki!"

"Sen!"

"Shaa shaa!"

"Ee! Ee!"

"Woof! Aroo!"

"These Trolls better taste good..." the Wyvern looked hungry.

The Kirin was resplendent. The Wyvern majestic.

The Void Creature took on the guise of a grotesque albatross with human fingers, while the dogs split between sleek lightning and slick obsidian.

As for herself, in her white-blue cloth-armour, the girl was a general with a self-summoned army. As a student of the arcane histories and a wordsmith, Dominic Lorenzo recalled an old limerick about a Conjurer who went from town to town, first bringing plagues of vermin, then solving said plague:

Into the street, the Enchanter stepped,

While down below the rats had slept

To trill the pipe his lips did wrinkle,

And green and amber his eyes did twinkle,

Three thrilling notes the Piper then uttered,

And from the depth a hundred Dwarves muttered;

First, the muttering turned to a grumbling;

Then out from below, the rats came tumbling.

Gob rats, fat rats, grand old codgers,

Elf rats, orc rats, slim young dodgers

Dad rats, Mum rats, gay young friskers,

Bouncing pups with pricking whiskers,

From alley to alley the Enchanter did blow

And mischief to mischief the swarm did flow!

Or so the children's tune went. The difference between Gwen and the Piper in the famous fable, Dominic supposed, was that the Piper didn't also possess a Kirin, a Void Beast, and a Wyvern. Gwen's dogs, as well, were extraordinary. The Lightning Hounds had a sleek, reptilian look about them, but were at least dog-like enough to pass off as multi-hued greyhounds. Conversely, the Void dogs were living horrors, possessing more mouth than their torso. The worst was their faceless mien, which split when they panted, revealing rows of glimmering white teeth on purple gums.

Just what was the girl's VMI? Dominic had lost count. Even a Magus had to take a breather after so many manifestations.

"Hey, Dom." One of the lumen-recorder wielding reporters gave him the upward nod. "Thanks for the scoop, I owe you one."

The carnage hadn't even started, and his colleagues were already scribbling away at the weekend edition's future front page. At first, they had been amazed that Dominic knew where "Mycroft's secret daughter" had recused herself. Now, they cared only for the mass-scale Void demonstration. It was terrific that, unlike any other Void Mage under the Tower's roster, Gwen openly displayed her craft without reserve, performing her feats with wholehearted enthusiasm, a far cry from the secretive colleges.

"Gogo, ready?"

Besides the girl, her Wyvern snorted.

"Alright, here it goes— Cloud Kill!"

At the remaining entrance to the cavern, a green, noxious cloud began to develop. Dominic recognised the variant as catalysed by Halite, more commonly known as earth salt, a substance found all over the peak. When mixed into the infamous AoE, the result was an acid cloud that burned the eyes and attacked the respiratory systems of living creatures. Against Rock Trolls, who possessed enormous regeneration and external resistance, there was no better strategy.

In a second, the noxious miasma flooded the cavern's entrance— pushed forward by an unseen current.

"Gogo! Do it!" the girl commanded her Ally.

A whirlwind of air began to flow around the Wyvern, visualised by the swirl of snow now dancing around the creature's head. Dominic raised both brows, at first unsure of what he saw, then realising that the Wyvern was the scion of a Winged Dragon commanding the weather system over China's southern rice bowl.

Steadily, as a stream, the acid cloud flowed into the cavern's hidden passageways. Quickly, Dominic asked a fellow reporter for a map of the Warrens. Tracing the entrance and its tunnels with his fingers, he soon perceived the full extent of Gwen's ploy.

"Outrageous!" Dominic audibly mouthed. "She's planning to smoke them out?"

The reporter double-checked the crude print. Topographically, the Red Gulch consisted of a narrow valley with granite cliffs on either side, wind-worn by time, forming a passageway as twisted as a tedious argument. The map itself was born from Prospectors daring death and danger, selling what knowledge they uncovered as consolation for their failures. From the looks of the annotation, the Troll's warrens extended about a hundred meters deep, branching into lairs and vaulted cathedrals. Assuming Gwen could put enough volume into her Cloud Kill, she could blanket the first few hundred meters, more than enough to flush out the Trolls, Hobs and Gobs resting in the dark.

The gathered crowd waited with bated breath, wary of the noxious gases now seeping from the crushed passageways. Then without warning, from the depth, came a crash of indistinct scrambling. Over what seemed like an eternity, the scrambling grew to a grumbling, then to a shuddering rumble. Standing amidst the ice and snow, the Void sorceress began to shake and shiver, her face turning pink with undisguised passion. Having seen her work in Cuzco, Dominic could only assume that her lampreys were at work.

Lumen-recorders flashed; a few emphasising the sorceress, others waiting to see if the girl's ambush would bear fruit. With her striking face and shapely silhouette, the girl's optics reminded Dominic of Alesia.

Their answer arrived a few breaths later.

"GARRRARK!" a bestial wail rocked the gulch. From the cave's depthless maw, a long-limbed Troll, a dozen lampreys hanging off its legs and torso, stumbled into the open, peeved as a pissed badger.

"Chakram!" Dominic noted the girl was neither quick nor particularly apt in her use of Void-based Evocation.

"GARK—" Nonetheless, the dark disc struck true, taking the creature's lower limbs. With a choked cry, it fell into the pool of squirming, all-consuming grease.

The crowd sucked in cold breaths of frigid air. A few of the reporters sent their hovering lumen-recorder forward, risking their precious instruments for the best action shot.

Next, the throat of the cave regurgitated a troop of Redcap Hobs, armoured in bits of scavenged Dwarven gear, smashing at the silken eels crawling between their armour. Behind them, a dozen lumbering outlines could be seen, guarding what could only be the quintessential member of the Troll's matriarchal hierarchy.

By the dozen, the sorcerer's prey lined up, fleeing from the acid cloud, wedged by the encroaching swarm.

"ROAARRR!" Golos introduced the indigenous residents of South Wales to the fury of Huanshang.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen and her re-conjured Kirin joined her Wyvern, sending a threesome of sizzling beams into the cave, banishing all shadow as the air turned to plasma. The Hobs melted at once, disappearing like dew in the afternoon sun. The Trolls faired better, their Earthen Cores resisting the livid lightning as the hysterical electricity grounded itself, likely re-directed by the Hag.

"Dol-ilrag ushhuth thuritcarg!" Came a guttural, scarcely female cry from the dark. "Isharuku shrakloomar!"

"Guardian of Faith!" From behind the fulminating sorceress in blue, a golden nimbus rang out from Nightingale's Cleric. A vibrant manifestation of Faith grew to encompass the duo, forming a bell-shaped halo.

The barrier materialised in time to intercept a rain of dark blood stinking of spoiled meat. The Void sorceress reeled, her mind invaded by the Curse, though thankfully, the Faith-charged Guardian was enough to de-curse the malignant energies of the hidden Hag.

"ROAARRR!"

"GARRARK!"

"Duvenguth guallen!"

Out came the Troll guards, each one larger than the next, their skin crawling with electrical burns.

But the battle's momentum had only ever belonged to the Void sorceress. All around the cavern's entrance, a dark tide swept up the emerging Trolls, splashing against their stone-caked bodies. Lampreys as thick as Gwen's thighs, engorged from the abundant vitality borrowed from their mistress, sought entry into the Troll's bodies.

Undeterred, the Trolls came on, heedless of the creatures devouring their flesh, hell-bent on breaking the invader of their home in half.

"SHAA!" Caliban seethed at the incoming combatants, opening its wings to intimidate and intercept.

As one, the Hound Pack made their move.

Dominic and the men felt such a thrill as they had only seen in times of total war. As Gwen's creatures closed in, bylines and headlines filling all the tabloids from Liverpool to Brighton blossomed.

Ten minutes from the heart of the action, shielded by a cresting hill, Ollie and Hanmoul disembarked from the Strider. They had decided to move toward the gathered crowd of cheering, shouting, complaining Mages on foot, because one was a wise man and the other was a wise Dwarf, and over yonder was a rather special sorceress.

When the duo crested the saddle, they came face to face with the unbelievable sight of a one-woman mass melee.

Three rings of mortal combat spilled from the entrance to the Red Gulch and its infamous warrens. The outermost ring consisted of stickybeaks, protected by what looked like uniformed Tower Mages keeping the public safe from the ensuing spectacle in the second ring. Now and then, they pushed the wayward Troll back into the fray.

The second ring consisted only of ranged combatants— that of Gwen, protected by a semi-dome shield of midnight-black, flinging Volt Bolts and Lighting Bots like a vengeful goddess, her hair flying this way and that as she commanded the battle below. Not far, a hovering Cleric in plated white, ringed with a golden halo, dispelled each Curse thrown at her companion sorceress, concurrently supplying a viridescent stream of vitality. Behind the eye-catching duo, knee-deep in the dirty, trodden snow, a Knight of St Michael threw up shields and buffs, aiding the two girls as best as he could.

And finally, where the action was thickest, a Wyvern, clad in blue-white lightning, duked it out with an enormous Brutaliser easily the size of a house, beating the creature senseless with its tail while keeping it off-balance with the immense reach of its neck.

Here and there, a scattered troop of armoured Trolls, each carrying clubs, battled a swarm of oily serpents while simultaneously assaulted by a dozen dogs, some Void, and some Lightning, nipping, tearing, and harassing their limbs.

"Deep Ancestor's Cog!" Hanmoul felt his mouth turn dry. "She's Purging a Troll Home? All by her lonesome self? Does the lass have magma fer blood?"

"N-not exactly alone." To Ollie, semantics were important. "There's a Knight of St Michael. Maybe he's in command? Maybe they're doing this to defend the prospecting folk? I am sure there's a perfectly plausible rationale for Gwen to go this far."

"Shaa!" A commotion engendered near the main entrance of the warrens.

A great big bird emerged, its body half wrecked and covered in rot and filth, exposing pulsing organs, missing one wing. With its "head" still fizzling with acidic burns, the bird's faceless neck-stump opened up to reveal a tooth-lined maw, then coughed forth a half-eaten Hag.

To no one's surprise, the Hag instantly usurped its Brutaliser's stowed vitality, turning upright on its decimated body so that it could scramble away on one leg and half an arm. Where it ventured, rot and decay followed, displacing even the lampreys. Amidst shouts from the crowd, it rolled itself into the mass melee, making halfway before the Wyvern, batting aside the Brutaliser, bashed the Hag with one sweep of its mace-tail, sending it face-first into the earth.

"GAAROORL!" The Brutaliser's scarred skin darkened as it frenzied, as conditioned by its flesh-warped existence. In the guise of a certain lumbering green giant with anger-management issues, the creature charged.

"SHAA!" Blocking its path was Gwen's regenerated bird-beast, perched on its elegant finger-claws, equally impressive in power. Answering the challenge, the Brutaliser balled its fist, then tore into the sorceress' avian Familiar, striking it on the head so hard and so fast that a splatter of dark, semi-opaque goo sprayed across the unsullied snow.

However, the grotesque albatross remained wholly undeterred. Even as the Troll's momentum was spent, six elegant fingers wrapped around the giant's arm, then squeezed.

"AWWWRRGH—" The crowed collectively winced.

Had Ollie or Hanmoul ever seen zucchini fettuccini being squeezed through a press, they would have felt better for the analogy. As they had not, the duo now developed a phobia of green pasta.

Once the Brutaliser lost all but one of its limbs, it fell into the ankle-deep pool of writhing, lively eels hankering for its vitality. The blackbird then turned in the manner of a gangly raptor and stalked its way besides the still-living Hag to pin it under one claw.

"Chain Lightning!" The bombardment never stopped.

A dozen exchanges later, the final act played out. A few of the Lightning hounds dissipated in their selfless combat with the Trollish warriors, as did two unlucky Void dogs. Gwen's Wyvern stalked from Troll to Troll, finishing their foe while the Void sorceress starved the swarm, allowing the mass to crawl into the depth to seek out survivors.

"Sini!!" the Wyvern barked at the bird in Draconic. "Batobot jahus sia svent!"

"Shaa!" The bird hissed back. "Shaa! Shaa!"

A standoff ensued until the sorceress intervened, throwing the bird a dozen HDMs. Begrudgingly, the albatross retreated, allowing the Wyvern to disembowel, then swallow the Hag. The Brutaliser soon followed, finding a new home in the lightning-charged furnace of a Thunder Wyvern's belly. It was a fate that drew much solace for Ollie and Hanmoul, for the heat-death of a Thunder Wyvern's digestive systems was preferable to eternal oblivion.

Then, almost as if there had been no battle at all, it was over.

From their overhead vantage, Ollie and Hanmoul felt that the most disturbing aspect of the engagement was that in its conclusion, there were no bodies remaining. It was as though Elves had whisked away all the combatants into the world of the fay, leaving nary a trace to be seen.

"Arrghk, I could use a stiff drink," Hanmnoul confessed.

Ollie Edwards, Praelector, nodded.

Gingerly and with great solemnity, the duo approached the crowd of silent Mages and prospectors listening to Gwen's closing speech.

"Give it six hours to play it safe, and the lampreys should dissipate," the girl explained. "Other than that, I think we're good. I can't say much for new Trolls or Hobs tunnelling in, but for the next few days, there shouldn't even be fungus alive in those warrens. For this boon, you should all thank Elvia here—"

With one hand wrapped around the blonde healer's shoulders, the Void sorceress began a great speech about her friend— a bonafide survivor from Sydney, and how she was the best healer in her class, bar none.

"Why have you taken it onto yourself to perform this dangerous task?" a reporter asked. "You are not claiming the HDMs in the warrens?"

"Not at all," Gwen answered with complete earnestness. "Unless Elvia wants her cut..."

"I can't," the Cleric pipped up. "I can't take the miner's lifeblood."

"Then good for YOU!" Gwen addressed the crowd. "Enjoy the crystals, lads! Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! What do we say to the Miss?"

Ollie's mind performed a summersault. Did Gwen just say the Cleric was the source of all this commotion? Did Gwen just say she Purged a thousand CCs worth of Trolls for her friend, gratis?

"Hazzah!"

"Hazzah for Miss Lindholm!"

A great tolling of cheers filled the valley, ringing from peak to peak, quaking Ollie's heart and greatly disturbing the troubled mind of Hanmoul Bronzeborn, Commandrumm.

Mathias stared at the chest-high pile of Wyvern dung.

"One-tenth of the final sale if I sift through this for treasure?"

"Yep." Gwen stood a little distance back, one hand holding back Elvia. The stench of digested Troll was a horror unto itself, more to those with fine-tuned senses.

"You expect me, a Knight of St Michael, to dig through—"

"I don't expect anything." Gwen hand-waved the Knight's protest. "But I am offering the opportunity to learn a valuable lesson."

Mathias took a deep breath, then immediately regretted taking said breath.

"No," the Knight declined. "I'll not be made a fool, Miss Song, even if you are Lord Shultz's sister-in-craft. You may humiliate me, but you cannot humiliate my Ordo."

"Suit yourself." Gwen turned to their other two companions, equally transfixed by the sight they had to endure. Elsewhere, Golos rested after surviving the bowel movement, surrounded by the press, who were taking notes and asking the Thunder Wyvern questions about Huangshan. "So, who else is game for the Golos Lottery? You have my personal guarantee that you won't regret it."

"Gwen, this is hardly proper," Ollie Edwards, Praelector, advised his college sister. "You're going to tarnish our reputation."

"In contrary, you'll be pleasantly surprised, I think." Gwen smiled sweetly. "Trust me."

"Ah-ha." Ollie raised a finger. "I would like to contest that point. You did leave me in Cambridge and fly off by yourself."

"Only to save our Dwarven friend here through serendipity and goodwill." Gwen winked at Hanmoul, who waved back sheepishly. "Did you enjoy the show, Mister Bronzebeard? I've a deft hand when it comes to Trolls."

"Bronzeborn." Hanmoul fought back a cough. The girl was very tall, and her bearing was sufficiently intimidating to make him want to step into his Golem plates.

"Apologies, Commandrumm Bronzeborn."

"Please, I am but a humble Engineer," the Dwarf replied nervously. "And aye, that was a terrific show of force, lass, I'll not deny yer that. Ya can call me Hanmoul, by the by. It's not like ye surface-Humans ken the ancestor's histories."

"Right," Gwen agreed. "Nonetheless, I am happy to see our ally unmolested by the uncivilised denizens of the region."

"Yer came at the right time, that's fer sure."

"So, any takers on the pile?"

"Nay lass, I am not for gold diving."

The trio fell silent. Earlier, when Golos evacuated his bowels, Gwen had charged toward the steaming mountain as though the Wyvern had shat HDMs. Now, the outrageous offer she made was turning heads and stiffing lips all around.

"Do you mind if I try?" A hand raised from the crowd of stickybeaks. "I am a Water Mage, so…"

The speaker was a dapper gent in olive trousers, a striped-vest and a salmon shirt. From the recorder hanging from his hip, they could guess that he was a journalist. "Dominic Lorenzo, at your service."

"Oh!" Gwen clapped, her eyes lit up. "You're Dominic! I am so sorry, I had no idea—"

"Quite alright." Dominic joined the circle, taking a picture of the pile. "Dung Diving, eh? It's an old, Welsh custom. I am surprised you know of it. Our Dwarven friend here certainly does."

"Of course, an OLD custom." The sorceress' complexion flushed a little. "Thanks for calling out your colleagues, Dom. I know it cost them a pretty penny to Teleport out here."

"Bah, they're laughing from here to Monday. A fantastic hand you played, by the way. Your performance really is one for the front pages, provided nothing cataclysmic happens between now and final print."

"Thanks." The girl's eyes took in Lorenzo's well-trained figure. "So, you said you wanted to have a go?"

"I did." Lorenzo took another picture. "In exchange, will you give me an exclusive?"

"Are you a reporter yourself, Mister Lorenzo?"

"I am with the Guardian." The man nodded. " Could I get the lot of you standing beside the dung?"

"I don't know about that." Mathias raised both hands.

Bung!

"Perfect." Lorenzo de-materialised the lumen-recorder. "Now, let's see if my history lessons have paid off, or if my anthropology professor was full of Dragon dung."

The others, including Gwen, took a long step back from the body of water conjured by the journalist.

"Prestidigitation!" Alesia's ally inexpertly managed his Conjuration-cum-Transmutation. Carefully, the man separated the solids, sending the sludge far away while extracting what could be worthwhile. When he was done, seven cores remained.

Five of the Cores looked like sickly-green ambergris, verified by a helpful Hanmoul as belonging to veteran Troll Warriors. The remaining two were a little more particular. One was shaped like a misshapen mace the size of an infant's head, while the final article was a smooth, kidney-shaped block of blood amber.

"Golos had better not passed a kidney stone," Gwen muttered, studying the larger of the two "Cores".

"Seven Cores!" Ollie was beside himself with shock. "There are SEVEN cores in that pile of—"

Besides the Praelector, Mathias' face grew redder than Lady Rothwell's heirloom beet. What had Gunther's sister said? She would give one-tenth the value of the proceeds to the man who scoops the poop?

"Holy shit! Boy, am I glad old Ducksworth was right on the HDM." Dominic made sure to dispose of the excess excrement discretely. "For the uninitiated, Dung Diving was what the pre-industrial folk used to do. Too weak to hunt or tame Magical Monsters, they followed in the wake of upper-tier creatures. Sometimes, the bottom of a cliff where Dragons lived could turn out to be a mecca of Creature Cores. You've heard of fishermen snagging giant clumps of poo of the shallows, haven't you? Those are the compressed evacuations of Sea Dragons. Break open a good one, and you could change your fortune in a heart-beat."

"I've never heard of such a thing." Ollie was very much impressed. "I shall look into it."

Hanmoul's beard twitched, as did Mathias, who did his best to mask his raging dismay.

"Yes, that's what I was going for." Gwen nodded sagely. "Now, let's check. Dominic, can you do the honours?"

A few of the other reporters approached, drawn by the commotion caused by the chattering group.

"Identify!" Dominic began with the Troll Cores, expertly demonstrating his principle School of Magic. "— and here's where the real lottery begins."

"Mundane."

"Mundane…"

"Mundane—"

"Oh… Oh my, this is in no way mundane."

"A Spirit?" Gwen's eyes lit up with invisible currency signs. "Is it a Spirit? Or a mutated Core? Or—"

"A Spirit!" Dominic tossed the kidney-shaped Core from hand to hand like a hot potato. "Christ! A Blood Core! Who would have thought! You know, Dragons usually drain all Essence from the Cores. Either this was one wilful Hag, or your Wyvern's had a little too much to eat."

"Amazing!" Ollie leaned in closer. "I've never seen such a high-tier Core, not fresh from the beast, anyhow. Dung Diving is amazing!"

The Dwarf appeared contemplative. Hag Cores were definitely Vadam.

Mathias let loose an audible groan. Feeling his Faith tremble, the Knight opted to go for a walk to cool his head.

"Lucky you," Gwen congratulated the jubilant reporter. "What's it look like?"

"Tier 7 or 8, but this is a Demi-human caster's Core! Its Spirit could provide multiple boons, assuming the right Master could be found."

Gwen instantly looked to Elvia, who furiously shook her head. Obviously, the girl wasn't looking to gain a THIRD Spirit, certainly not one as filled with malevolence as a Hag.

The other reporters closed in, snapping lumen-pics.

"What's it worth?" Gwen appraised the unexpected treasure.

"Oh, I wouldn't sell it for HDMs." The reporter turned the stone over and over in his head. "But I do know who might be very interested. There are favours that money can't buy. Do you trust me to act as your broker, Gwen?"

"Of course— I'll tell you what. Whatever it's worth, I'll peg you a monetary reward to the nearest evaluation. Not an HDM less. Now, let's get a pic to commemorate your windfall!" The sorceress motioned for her present company to gather. Retrieving the Spirit-imbued Core from Dominic, she made them all pose beside Elvia, who was made to hug the huge haul against her chest with a pained expression. Dominic may have washed the Cores, but the steaming stench of Golos' remains lay only a metre away, tenderly reminding the Cleric she wasn't out of the poop just yet.

"Where's Mathias?" Elvia looked around for her Knight.

"He's figuring out how to kick his own arse, I bet. I've never seen someone refusing free HDMs before." Gwen positioned herself between Dominic, Ollie and Hanmoul, with Elvia standing in front of them all. "Everyone— Thanks for coming to the Dung Diving session! Say— EE!"

The lumen-globe flashed.

In Elvia's arms, the Hag-Core scintillated.

Merthyr Tydfil.

The Waterhouse Tavern.

If someone had told Gwen that she would one day sit in front of a bona fide Dwarf in a fantasy inn with actual oaken caskets behind the bar, drinking Dwarf-Rum, she would have asked how many Mojitos they've had.

"I don't much care about yer intent or if ye mean it or nay." Hanmoul eyed the tankard in front of Gwen suspiciously, wondering how the girl was holding her liquor. "But a Bronzeborn will nay renege on a debt, not on yer life."

Gwen drew another cup from the keg.

"Alright, alright, no need to get bristly. I'll take credit for bailing you out of that fiasco on the mount, but not the Gulch— That was done for Evee."

"No matter, yer on land belonging to the Citadel," Hanmoul insisted. "Where the line is drawn, we nae tolerate Trollies, be it the Dim or the lidless plains. Besides, our Kings nae have a defence treaty."

"We don't?" Gwen looked to Ollie, who sat sipping peppermint tea, thankful for the roaring, crackling hearth.

"London has enjoyed a tentative relationship with the gentlefolk of the Red Citadel," Ollie explained for his younger House-sister. "The bitterness from the Beast Tide has yet to recede."

"Well, Humans didn't come ter our aid either." Hanmoul shrugged. "I wouldnae worry, though. Yer surface lubbers hold grudges for a few decades before yer old ones die out. Now a Dwarf, we can hold a grudge fer centuries, sometimes millennia. Me Nan still recalls the time Erik Founderson stole 'er sweet roll oan 'er fiftieth birthday, and that dink's a Forge Chief now."

"I still don't get why you're putting yourself in debt?" Gwen cocked her head. "I would have Purged the Trolls regardless."

"Because those Trollies would have made it into the Dim sooner or later. They were harvesting crystals, same as ye, to power their rituals, fatten up their war reserves. If that Hag and her retinue passed the Dim into the Deep, our Kin would have warred. Who kens how many lives would be lost?"

"That's stretching it a bit far."

"I'll take prevention over than a messy scrum lass, just accept it. Now, what do yer fancy as a reward? Crystals? Precious minerals? A diamond or a dozen? I heard from Ollie that Human ladettes love shiny rocks."

"I said no such thing," Ollie objected. "Sir Hanmoul, I do protest—"

"But I do like shiny rocks." Gwen mulled over the offer. She understood where the Dwarf was coming from, but really, she had no real interest in a monetary reward. With the Hag Core and the other loot, Gwen could arguably add another five to ten thousand HDMs to her war chest. Compared to when she could get ventures running in London, however, these one-time windfalls felt unsatisfying.

"Don't be shy, lass." Hanmoul drained his cup. "The Bronzeborn isn't so poor as to turn down a wee request from a lass."

"Ollie, what do you think?" Gwen thought maybe her Praelector had a better idea.

"Is there something wrong with asking for currency?" Ollie raised a brow. "Gwen, you're going to need crystals for research materials, lab hire, room and board, extra tuition, training arenas, and supplementary quasi-magical foodstuffs. The expenses could be as high as two or three thousand per annum!"

If Elvia was here, the Cleric would have spat out her drink.

Fortunately, the healer was out of action after just two sips of Dwarven rum. Presently, she was resting in Gwen's habitat, guarded by a melancholic, rum-loathing Mathias.

"Naw. I don't have a—" Gwen's tongue searched the cavern of her mouth for a word. "— Let's just say I got enough HDMs."

"A Magic Item then?" Hanmoul offered. "We have some of the best Rune Crafters this side of the Dim."

Gwen shook her head. She wasn't desperate for items either— unless the Dwarves wanted to offer her a Gunther Ring. But a race of Earthen folk without a mutual defence pact with London Tower weren't likely going to have a contract servicing a Contingency Ring. Even if they did, would she want to Contingency into a Dwarf-home?

"Actually." A thought flashed upon her inward-eye. Her mind was full of the scenes from the Mines of Moria. One of her greatest peeves was that none of the films showed a thriving Dwarven city. "Hanmoul, could you take me on a tour of your home town? I've never been to a Demi-human city before, much less a Dwarven one."

Which wasn't true, Elvia later pointed out. What Gwen meant was that she had never been to one that she hadn't razed. Earlier in the Void Sorceress' occupation, she had visited a Water Monkey Den— which she Purged. She had also attended a Merman village— which Caliban ate wholesale. There was also the Troll Temple in Amazonia— yet another city she razed to the last block of lichen-covered stones. And of course, there was Shenyang.

Hanmoul appeared hesitant.

"Gwen, you can't just demand to waltz into a sovereign territory!" Ollie hissed beside her. "You're going to cause a diplomatic incident!"

"I see. I am sorry I asked," Gwen retracted her offer.

"Nae." Hanmoul scratched his bushy beard. "Too late now, lass— Yer asked, and it shall be done. Give me a few days, mebbe a week to clear the request with the council. Them Deepdowners are gonnae to be right pissed."

"It's fine, really." Gwen shook her head vigorously. "It was a stupid whim."

This time, it was Hanmoul who raised his hand. "Its fine, lass. I don't know if ye'd be seeing the Forge, but ye can visit me Clan's compound, at least. Are yer sure that's all ya want, lass? Yer Human leaders are bound to ask for Dwarven Tech. They usually do."

"Ollie?"

Ollie Edwards looked from Gwen to the Dwarven friend he'd made on the way. How was he supposed to know the answer? Was he a Tower Magister? He was responsible for Gwen not making a laughingstock of herself, not for Spellcraft espionage in a Dwarven under-city. "I don't know. Mayhap we should consult the House Matron."

"Then it's settled. Don't worry, lass. You'll not leave uncompensated! I'll have the Quarter Master dredge up some pressies." Hanmoul raised his stein.

"Cheers to you, Master Bronzeborn." The two clashed tankards. "When next we drink in a Dwarven tavern, I'll be sure to supply some of the best rice wine in the Human world. May the best drinker remain upright!"

"Ha!" Hanmoul laughed. "That's a boast I like!"

Gwen felt aflutter with excitement. A Dwarven city! What would it be like? A giant forge? An enormous tunnel-based city-state? Or perhaps, a cavernous cathedral as far as the eye could see, glowing with magma.

"Say." Gwen glanced at the tavern's low ceiling, thinking of her dearest, sweetest companion. "Do you think I could bring a plus-one?"

Across from her, Ollie appeared taken back. His face flushed from his pointed nose to his tapered years. "I— I don't know what to say, Gwen. It's an honour…"

The next morning, Gwen, Ollie, Elvia, and Mathias packed for London.

Last night, Commandrum Hanmoul— satisfied that a resolution had been reached, had retreated back to the Red Citadel in a blur, crashing through the snow in his pill-bug Strider.

Likewise, Dominic Lorenzo had left with the rest of the reporters, saying he would be in touch and that he would contact Gwen when he received news from a potential buyer. The reward, Dominic reiterated, wasn't necessary, and that she should keep the money for her tuition.

When the time came to leave, another complication ensued. Of the foursome, Gwen rocked an unlimited flight licence; Mathias possessed a conditional one, and their two non-combatant companions were land-bound. Though Gwen flexibly believed that flying in the wilderness was a case of "What does it matter if you shit in the woods if there's no one to see it..." Mathias and Ollie were sticklers when it came to rules.

Thankfully, as the heroine of Merthyr Tydfil, Gwen had no trouble commissioning a team of prospectors to conjure up an eight AM ride out of town down to Newport, connected by barge to Bristol. There, they could ride the local ISTC to Cambridge, then back to London and Nightingale's.

Once the truck arrived, Magister Hanford offered a warm farewell to the Void Sorceress, as well as his contact Glyph. "I'd like to say call me if there's anything you need, but it's truer to say I would be calling on you."

"Anytime, Magister." Gwen received the contact Glyph with her Device. "I welcome your guidance."

"I'll let the boys know what I've seen here." Hanford put forth the most sincere face he could manage. "The Militant Faction could use someone headstrong and qualm-free: a Combat Mage on the warpath! I've no doubt someone may be in contact very soon."

"Ha!" Gwen hid her awkwardness. She hadn't known the Magister belonged to the one Faction with whom she had not brokered a formal relationship. "Thank you, Magister, I look forward to it."

Later, her buttocks bouncing on the back of the cargo lorry, Gwen asked Elvia what they could do in London, as a pair.

"Perhaps Miss Lindholm could attend milady Astor's Christmas Mass?" Mathias reminded his charge. "I am sure Miss Emily is attending, as well."

"Oh, yes!" Elvia lit up. "Gwen, we can go together! Cliveden is absolutely astounding! It's the biggest house I have ever seen! Bigger than a town!"

"I do love a good Estate," Gwen cooed. "What else is good? In London proper, I mean."

"I recommend Hyde Park." Ollie piped up. "There are several places where our nation's leaders gave speeches to the public. Including the Speaker's Corner, where NoMs can debate Mages and vice-versa without fear. It's one of the specialities of London's intellectual circle. After a pleasant chat, you could take a picnic, or row a boat across the lake."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful," Gwen gushed.

"Then there's Westminster. If you're interested, winter break is as a good time as any to see the Lords and Ladies of the Mageocracy attending ceremonies and Masses. Likewise, the Cathedral still holds mass every weekend, and the Queen's Mass will be taking place there on the twenty-fourth."

"Excellent idea! May I ask where the shopping's at?" Gwen inquired of the two boys. "You know, for shoes and dresses of the magical variety?"

"I wouldn't know." Ollie inadvertently looked his House-sister up and down. Presently, the sorceress wore a skirt, stockings and a sheer blouse. Comparatively, Ollie was bundled up to the neck, Mathias wore his winter uniform, and Elvia had on a coat and scarf. "Do you not have sufficient attire? The university offers an assortment of humble, semi-formal wear, hand-made by the NoMs who live in the nearby villages. You can get them glamoured in town."

"I think Gwen means a place like Shoreditch— or Harrolds," Elvia interceded. "Emily frequents the shops there. There, you can find luxury goods, trinket crafters, Enchanter-weavers, and so on."

"That's the ticket." Gwen gave her friend a thumbs up. "We'll go and drop some crystals."

"You could visit a museum…" Mathias advised with a measured tone. "Something sufficiently patriotic, of course. There's the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square for the arts, the Royal Natural History Museum with its collection of preserved Magical Beasts, or the Britannic Spellcraft Museum for a history of the arts. My favourite is the War Memorial at Lamberth detailing the exploits of the Mageocracy's greatest Magisters since colonisation began. There's an entry on Lord Gunther..."

"Is there a Globe Theatre?" Gwen asked suddenly, interrupting the droning Mathias. "Shakespeare, you know? William Shakespeare? To be, or not to be?"

"Who?" Mathias cocked his head, being new to Gwenisms. "Is he an Illusionist?"

"Romeo and Juliet?"

The trio looked from each other to one another.

Gwen's lips turned in disappointment.

"Are there stage shows in London? Like, you know— theatre. Guys and Dolls acting out plays, singing and dancing?"

Mathias laughed. "Why? Do you not have them in Sydney? Or Shanghai?"

"Well." Gwen felt her heart sink. Where the hell did Baron Andrew Lloyd Webber go? The genius showman had better not died on the front lines. "Are there theatres or not?"

"Sure." Mathias nodded. "The larger ones are located here and there around Trafalgar Square, mostly playing musicals, operas, Epics and so on. The Perils of Odysseus has been playing for years now, without waning in popularity."

"Oh, thank God." Gwen breathed out. "And do any of these shows involve a pair of star-crossed lovers whose misadventure doth overthrow their parent's strife through a passage of fatal love?"

"That sounds amazing." Elvia's eyes blinked with anticipation. "Which story is this?"

"Don't worry. It's a fancy, nothing more…" Gwen puckered her lips, her mind a tapestry of possibilities, stitched with guilt and dread. "What do folk do for fun around here?"

"I train, mostly," Mathias confessed. "I'll admit— once, I saw a picture show for NoMs. It was about the Falklands Expedition. One of my Seniors saw it while stationed in Gibraltar and wouldn't stop talking about it. The plot involved a medical officer who, tired of the endless conflict, treated both Human and Elvish combatants, eventually bringing about a ceasefire and a treaty."

"I saw that one too," Ollie replied excitedly. "Magus Caine was excellent as Cleric Commander Simon Lambert. Miss Collins made an excellent Matron Roseville as well."

"She was much more beautiful than the real Magus Roseville…"

"Mattie, don't let the Magus hear that," Elvia chided Mathias. "I see the Matron around at GOS sometimes."

"Hahaha…"

"Have you seen 'The Risen Sun' Mathias?"

"I am not a fan of the pictures, just the fighting ones. 'The Last Knight', for example..."

Gwen turned away from the others to regard the disappearing path behind the lorry. In this parallel, magical world, some things survived, others were extinguished. There was a Ray Bradbury time-travelling spiel somewhere, but even so, the loss of the arts to such a degree made her heart sore. In her old world, the politicians often said that there's no "harm" done in not wanting to fund the liberal arts. The artists, of course, protested that defunding the arts deprived the people of vicarious compassion— an act that included all conceivable "harm".

Was the casual cruelty of the Mage world the result of a constant, existential threat of extinction? Or was it class apathy and the lack of progressive education? In a world where all human potential steered toward survival, then expansion, what energy remained to plumb the depth of the human soul? Was the lack of literature why in the Mages' society, there existed so little empathy for the NoMs?

If so, what was there to be done?

And how did she stand to profit?

Sunday.

All across England, from John O' Groats to Land's End, the clinking of silverware on porcelain aligned like a synchronised ceremony. Butlers, the stoic sentinels of propriety, awoke their masters and mistresses for church and or business. Downstairs in every manor; scones, cream, and jam were warmed and plated, ready to be served with a strong Assam from India's Orange Zones, alongside the day's paper.

At seven-thirty, having relieved the First Footmen, or Head Maid, pending the proprietor of the estate; both lords and ladies perused the latest national gossip.

The weekend marked the week-in-summary edition of the Herald Sun and the Telegraph, meaning extra-thick papers weighted with classifieds.

The Sun's double-page jacket, with its eye-catching red letters, featured a picture of Gwen Song, her eyes all aurora, her figure sleek and svelte in her Shen-teī battleplate. In Brittanic Bold, the plosive "EATEN ALIVE" was what the editors had chosen to ensnare eyeballs, followed by the non-sensical standfirst, "Devourer engulfs Ystradfellte".

In a smaller, blue-tinted teaser for page 3, the words "Nothing to Hide" prefaced a picture of the Void sorceress' flushing face. Should the discerning buyer turn immediately to said page, what they would then find was more gainful employment for Miss— a buxomly gifted sorceress of petite talent. Assuming the reader could tear their eyes away from the compelling article on Miss Caterina's favourite food— "Fish and Chips", they would then find a small expose on Void Magic. That, and an image of Gwen standing beside a timid Mage in Cambridge robes, alongside a gruff Dwarf. Should a customer inquire whether the sorceress was Ravenport's daughter, the paper did offer an apology— on page 9, in a tiny grey amendment box.

Next to the Sun, the Telegraph, its editors possessing a keener sense of authenticity— chose to go with an image of Gwen standing amidst a dark swarm of lampreys. The headline, "One Woman Purge" was front and centre. What its teaser showed was a fair-haired Cleric with a flower Spirit on one shoulder, and a Mandrake on her palm. "Strength of Spirit" was the name of the page 5 article, composed so that the judicious reader was awarded a close up of Sen-sen, a cross-continental Ginseng from Huangshan. In a smaller teaser, advocating for page 8, one could read an interview with Gwen Song's feathered white Wyvern.

Turning the pages, a few browsers sipped their tea a few seconds too long and scalded their tongues. Other raised brows and requested that their majordomos filled in the details.

Who could have imagined that; uninvited, a single sorceress would gnaw her way through the Red Gulch, erasing all green-skin presence for the next quarter, freeing mines for deep-ranging excavation? Who could guess that the same sorceress had then befriended the Commandrumm of the Hammer Guard, requesting a city-wide tour of the Red Citadel? Who should have expected that said sorceress now held within her palm, a twin-Spirited Cleric, and a freshly-harvested Hag-Core from her Wyvern's arse?

Lord Mycroft Ravenport wordlessly nibbled on a brittle scone as he scanned the tabloid, first quickly, then again in detail. After the last tidbit of misinformation was digested, he willed his Message Device into life.

Ding! The spell connected.

"You've reached Dominic Lorenzo," a tired, just awoken voice replied. "May I ask who this is?"

"The cockatrice croaked thrice."

"Three times I denied the Nazarene." The Diviner was now wide awake.

"God save the wicked."

The resultant pause was held a little too long for comfort.

"Milord."

"Agent."

"How may I be of service."

"I am told you know Gwen Song in a personal capacity?"

"Knew her since Friday, Milord. I am well acquainted with her sister-in-craft, however."

"Who is your handler?"

"Magister Milliford. Your Grace."

"Joan? I see. I'll have Saville debrief your Master. My apologies for the… unsanctioned contact."

"Quite alright, Sir. We are the Mageocracies' eyes and ears. We live to serve."

"Yes." Ravenport sipped his tea. "Now, I wish to know every detail. Leave no act untapped."

"I... was on the front page once." Lady Loftus sipped her tea, seated across the table from a fresh-faced Gwen and an eye-bagged Ollie. "I was sixteen and coming out. Lord Wembley's boy, Jeremiah, invited me to first-dance. Acting on a dare from his Eton mates, he kissed me without permission, in public. I struck the boy twice— like this…"

The Lady Grey mimed a Mage Hand. "— The cad lost two of his front teeth. Father was furious, of course. Lord Wembley came to apologise personally, and poor Jem went about without his incisors for the better part of a year while father's upset simmered."

Lady Loftus allowed the cup to rest; her expression remained contemplative.

"Jem died after the Beast Tide. Near Merthyr Tydfil, in fact, to Trolls. We found his body eventually, though not all of it."

The matron sighed. "How curious— I haven't thought about Jeremiah in two decades."

"I am sorry to hear that," Gwen apologised. From the looks of Ollie's apprehension, Lady Loftus wasn't the type to outwardly show upset.

"Don't mind me. Just an old woman's musing." Lady Loftus reheated her Assam with a glance. "You'll be going to London then?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Gwen nodded. "Elvia and I will be visiting the galleries and the museums, maybe watch a show or two."

"No word from our Dwarven compatriots?"

"Not yet, Milady."

"I see. You must remember, London has the highest concentration of Mages anywhere on earth, not to mention Demi-human dignitaries. Any Mage worth her salt in sorcery must tread as if on air. Ollie?"

"I'll take care of Gwen, Mistress."

"You just do your best. Gwen, will you be visiting the Isle? I've told Wally you'll be gracing his presence and needing his full cooperation."

"I shall." Gwen bowed her head.

The Isle of Dogs was the leasehold Lady Loftus had lent to Gwen as a base of operations. Located some ten kilometres from London Bridge, the underdeveloped peninsular skirted the River Thames on all sides sans north. Presently, the Marchioness' men operated a farm for unique breeds of quasi-magical domesticated animals, including kennels with breeding prize-winning hunting hounds. Boundary wise, Gwen's jurisdiction began and ended with the farm and its surrounding hamlets— Cubitt and Millwall.

Gwen herself had been stunned by the Machioniness' generosity.

In the forgotten dimension of her mundane world, the Isle of Dogs was prime real estate. In the late 80s, the revitalisation of Canary Wharf Station had completely revitalised its dilapidated, outdated, decaying infrastructure. In the 90s, following an uptick in land speculation, the Isle rapidly consolidated into an office and retail mecca, kicking out the very dockworkers that the redevelopment initially sought to aid.

In Gwen's present London, no such developments had yet taken place, and the Isle continued to remain a bastion of close-knit communities tethered like beasts of burden to the yoke of Canary Wharf and Millwall's shipyard. The port authority of the Isle currently suffered from poor management and a lack of understanding of the location's importance, primarily as a result of prejudice toward the NoM ghetto-townhouses.

Wally Samson was the custodian of the Isle, overseeing Lady Grey's puppy mill. A Mage of small talent, Wally was the son of the Marchioness' ageing ground keeper, having returned from Military Service to receive a coveted position as a custodian for Ely's many properties.

"Well, then." The Lady indicated for the tabloids to be moved downstairs to be savoured by the servants. "Shall we expect you before or after New Years?"

"After." Gwen bowed again. "Thank you for your understanding, ma'am."

The Lady appeared to rest her case but then decided against reticence.

"The 'rags' are a double-edged blade, Gwen. I hope you know what you're doing. They're like Gnolls— not impossible to tame, but completely comfortable with biting the hand that feeds."

Gwen assured the Lady that she knew her goals.

"Good, then I shall leave you with an axiom from my mother," Lady Loftus intoned carefully. "Maxie— make some trouble out there, but if an angry mob stampedes my garden, God help you..."

Nightingale's College, London.

As one of the big three Medical Colleges responsible for churning out the Mageocracy's frontline healers, the college took great pride in the location of its leasehold, being situated directly adjacent to Westminster Bridge, opposite the palace of the same name, overlooking the Thames.

The brutalist building itself, however, did not echo the grandeur of its surroundings. As celebrated as Florence Nightingale was during her tenure, there was significant opposition to her philosophy that magical healing was for both NoMs and Mages. There was also her unorthodox view that vast numbers of low-tier quasi-magical nurses utilising magical instruments trumped the training of Faith-fuelled Clerics.

As a keen student of biographies, Ollie informed Gwen that Florence was first a graduate and then an instructor at King's College. Under Queen Victoria, the founder of Elvia's college came into prominence for her actions during the Crimean Conflict against the Demi-humans of Central Asia. The present-day college itself was converted from St Thomas' Hospital, underwritten by King's into a secular medical school in recognition of Nightingale's achievements during the war.

Also according to her Praelector, Nightingale's represented a curious bridging of the Mage-NoM divide. The Crimean Conflict, alas, was the first publicised instance in which a prominent, frontline individual at the highest tier of Victorian Spellcraft demanded practical healthcare for NoMs. Namely, the radical Miss Nightingale fought for the sanitation of NoM infantry hostels, triage stations, healing tents, and the placement of one lower-tier healer for every fifty or so NoM infantrymen. Incredibly, where more than a hundred thousand soldiers died of preventable illnesses and injuries in the three-month campaign in Scutari, her compassionate, cost-saving measures reduced subsequent casualties to two-thirds.

And though recognition had initially escaped the Lady of Modern Medicine, no petty politics could impact the unambiguous matter of Faith. All across the front, the worship of "Our Lady of the Lamp"— said to be the lone figure of Florence wandering the camps at midnight, bestowing Healing Word and Remove Disease upon sleeping soldiers, widely circulated. For the establishment in the Church of England at the time, Nightingale proved an awkward "Saint" to place. The reason being that the middle-aged woman widely spoke out against the use of Faith Magic in the conquest of colonial heartlands. Instead, she considered Faith to be a manifestation of compassion, love, and care for the suffering of Mages, NoMs, and Demi-humans.

In the aftermath of Florence's academic teaching, the untitled Magister wrote simple and concise medical annotations in prose, making many of the epoch's kept knowledge open to all. Thanks to her and her advocates, a sharp decrease in infectious diseases, preventable ailments, and infant mortality spread across the Mageocracy like a reverse-contagion. Her generosity was such that even Demi-human races long plagued by chronic maladies came to benefit, ushering in a new era of diplomacy across much of Queen Victoria's domain.

When Florence finally passed at the age of ninety, the church breathed a sigh of relief and christened her "Our Saintess of the Lamp". All across London, medical institutions erected statues and stained-glass portraits in her honour. Most curiously, in the Purple Zones skirting the Black Sea, there exist shrines to Florence Nightingale, worshipped by the local Demi-humans as a Goddess of restoration and regeneration, a fact that, to this day, vexed heads at the Westminster Congress of Cardinals.

And it was in front of one such statue that Gwen, disembarking from Waterloo's endless array of levitation platforms, arrived.

"Palace to the right, palace to the left, palace opposite—" Gwen felt dubious that, for occupying such a location and as a place of such fame, Elvia's home looked underfunded by two decades.

"The college portion is located in the newer wings," Ollie explained. "The hospital wing needed to be shut to be renovated— I guess the authorities never had the opportunity."

"The woes of public health." Gwen approached the gate. Where a guard had been staring for some time. Others gawked as well: one reason was that her face looked familiar. Another could be that the sorceress stood pretty in a knee-length skirt and kitten heels, oblivious to the cold.

"Hi. I am Gwen Song. Here is Magus Ollie Edwards. We're here to visit Elvia Lindholm," Gwen relished her next words. "We hail from Cambridge."

The guard stood aside before he even finished Messaging the ward Matron.

Inside, the college wing of the teaching hospital was a mishmash of modernisation and dilapidation. The antiquity of the lesser rooms had overseen the crossing of four monarchs. Others portions were renovated with glass and steel, filtering sunlight from outside through Daylight Orbs.

"Miss Lindholm's shift hasn't ended." The Matron standing guard behind the counter at Elvia's station eyed Gwen questioningly. Speculating that this must be one of the crones giving Elvia grief, Gwen stood her ground and stared back until the Matron looked away.

"No visitors for staff," the woman insisted.

"We'll wait." Gwen directed Ollie to a side bench. The Matron looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of addressing someone rumoured to have wiped out a mountain.

While her Praelector fiddled with a data slate, Gwen observed the coming and goings of the hospital, diving deep into thoughts of her own.

Now that she had settled into London, how should she proceed with the enterprises she had laid out in China and Sydney? It wasn't as though, without a base of operations, without a crew of tertiary-educated workers; and without a central office, she could reproduce her success. Without the right support, she wouldn't trust herself to operate a fleet of hotdog stands.

What she needed then, was something lucrative and agile enough to give credibility, but transparent and straightforward enough to skill up a group of locals. As with China, she would prefer NoMs uplifted by gainful employment, for these individuals engendered the highest loyalty and enthusiasm.

Now, seeing that the Lady Loftus was willing to lease her the lesser portion of the Isle, there was no reason she could not strike another deal with the port authority there. With the Marchioness backing her interests, it would take a brave and greedy entrepreneur to short change a noblewoman with a direct line to Buckingham Palace. If so, drawing from the House of M, she may be able to "import" skilled individuals from Shanghai, elevating NoM professionals into the realm of highly paid expatriate professionals. After that, she could use these little seeds to propagate a core group of accountants and managers.

The time frame, assuming she could kick-start the mana-engines at the decrepit docks, would take a year or more. In the meanwhile, she needed to gain a local presence.

What she needed, Gwen considered her options, was a tremendously daring book— an intellectual enterprise that would shake the foundations of Mage society, while maintaining a facade of progressive, moral superiority. When earlier, she had gazed upon a handsome statue of Florence Nightingale in the lobby, she couldn't help but feel that there was a book that could be engendered— one that was the crying need of the hour, showing the terrible cancer of apartheid with all its boils and bleeding scabs. If composed correctly, here was a book that should serve as a clarion call to the bruised and beaten NoM masses.

And Elvia— Eureka! EVEE would be the key!

The healers needed Faith, if so, why not make Evee the subject of an appropriated book? Sure, it was fiction, but when did "Faith" ever need something concrete and tangible? In this book, she could create a diptych of humanity— she— or the ghostwriter she paid, would expose Mage society and its disgusting depravity. Then, she would present a young healer, one of original innocence and natural virtue, blonde, of course, with the bluest eyes. This healer would have a mentor, a father figure of sorts, who existed as an unyielding defender of the rights of NoMs as enshrined by the law, a man would not break under the yoke of the Mage's repression! What a book it would be! Presented in the timelessness of its literary milieu, it would vicariously draw the audience into a bitter conflict of grace and disgrace, discrimination and altruism! The readers could not help but be moved— touched— enraged!

And Evee, hailing from Nightingale's was a perfect model for mythology! She was a scion of the very "Saintess" who treated NoM soldiers during the war. Who was to say that Evee, with her Kiki and Sen-sen, would not rise to become the poster child of the college? All Elvia lacked was a generous crystal-account for acts of philanthropy, a good consultant who understood the vertical integration of charity-branding, and good "Faith" would come rolling in.

A philanthropic Demi-Saintess with two Spirits and a multi-national charity under her wing? Sweet dreams are made of Evees!

Gwen felt her hands clench and unclench. It was achievable; she could feel it in her bones; she could put it in the bank! Money and momentum! Once the Evee Express left the station, fundraisers, sponsors, government grants, maybe even cross-continental recognition and support— the world was Evee's oyster!

"Hehehe... Hahaha…" Gwen chuckled to herself, grinning like a mad priestess. "Excellent— how excellent!"

Beside her, Ollie Edwards felt goosebumps rise all over his skin. Haunted by Gwen's cackling, he couldn't help but wonder if somewhere, a Shoggoth was descending into the Material Plane.

"Gwennie!" Elvia's voice greeted the duo from the corridor, wholly oblivious of the "Special" role she would play in her friend's otherworldly ambitions. "Ah, Ollie— thanks for coming."

"Evee!" Gwen stood, opened her arms, then swallowed the girl wholesale with her long limbs. "Did you get your vacation approved? If not, I'll have a stern word with your boss, or we'll go Purge another mountain."

"No, no, I am free!" Elvia replied quickly, aware that her friend wasn't joking. "I've sent Mathias back to the barrack as well..."

"— she's joking," Ollie declared to the doctors and nurses, now watching the trio with unfriendly expressions. "Let's go, let's go. Trafalgar Square awaits!"

Evee and Ollie's guided tour of London central began a hundred meters from Nightingale's, where the Southbank Lion stood, a silent sentinel guarding the south end of Westminster Bridge.

As it was winter, the River Thames ran blue and aloof, its lapping edge white with rime as the body meandered past County Hall. Different to Gwen's memory of London, there was no "London Eye" jarring the cityscape. Instead, a towering lattice-structure held a shielding transponder amidst a dizzying array of Divination nodes, winking against the cold light.

"All of this feels so surreal," Gwen remarked as they crossed on foot, their noses wrinkling at the mana miasma spewing from endless trains of lorries and busses.

"What, being in London?" Elvia giggled. For Gwen's big day out, the healer was bundled up in a lime-green cashmere jumper adorned with a raspberry beret. The colour-combination was borderline Kiki— though as far as Gwen was concerned, Elvia could do no wrong.

"Sen!" Sen-sen peeked out from a pocket, joined by Kiki, both drinking in the winter sun.

"Yes." Gwen's eyes followed the unfamiliar, and yet all-too-similar skyline. Everything "old" was there: The Palace of Westminster, the Metropolitan Guard Quarters, the Big Ben, behind which one would find No. 10 Downing, the state-sanctioned residence of Lord Magister Blair.

"Did you know." Ollie's eyes twinkled as they approached the pier-side of Westminster. A lightbulb hailing from Mayfair, the Praelector had advertised himself as their guide. "That Big Ben does not actually refer to the clock itself?"

"Sure, it refers to the principal bell inside the Tower," Gwen answered casually, still deep in thought. "And the building is called Elizabeth Tower. After her Majesty's Diamond Jubilee."

"Your patriotism is admirable—" Ollie regarded his companion strangely. "I believe you meant her Golden Jubilee? Her Majesty enjoyed a Commonwealth-wide celebration only two years ago."

"Ah—" Gwen realised she may have let slip a bit of the future. "Of course, what I meant was that her Majesty's rose will never fade."

"Wrong Elizabeth," Ollie chuckled. "But… Elizabeth Tower, eh? I like that."

"Ahaha…" Gwen squeezed Elvia, simultaneously teasing Sen-sen. Seeing that Ollie did not pursue the matter, she changed the subject. "When can we hear it chime?"

"Unfortunately, not until Christmas Eve," Ollie lamented. "It's more so a symbol now. After the Germans damaged the mechanism during the great Blitz of '41, killing the Dwarven artificer responsible for the original design, we've had no end of trouble. It's still accurate, mind you, but the city-wide sonic-spell generated by the bell takes a toll on the delicate instruments. Also, since we all use Divi-Devices now, having the glass thrum and threaten to break is becoming a bother. Of course, for special occasions, Big Ben will toll without delay."

Past the clock tower, the self-guided tourists kept a brusque pace as the trio advanced into the city, sauntering into parliament square. A few passersby stared; mostly gawking at Gwen, others at the two Sprites jostling for space in Elvia's pockets.

At the garden, Gwen met a familiar face.

"Lord Magister Churchill," she declared happily. Keeping an eye on Ollie, she then tested the waters to see if her memory could fill some gaps in London's parallel history. "His speeches are so inspiring— 'We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.'"

"You forgot 'We shall fight in the air'— you're a fan of Minister Churchill?" Ollie appeared pleasantly surprised. "Impressive, for a Frontier girl. Do you recognise any of the other statues here?"

"Gwen, how do you know of Lord Churchill's speech?" Elvia cocked her head adorably. "Did they teach this stuff in China?"

"I read it back in Sydney." Gwen resisted the urge to mount a lumen-recorder onto a pole to snap a picture of Evee and herself. But then again, who would she send it to? Yue?

"But— I've never seen you read while we're in Sydney," Elvia demanded suspiciously. "You're always training or eating or sleeping."

"I was wrapt in secret studies." Gwen hand-waved her friend's suspicion. "With Master, you know."

Here and there in the square were other statues, most of which Gwen did not recognise. Names like Lloyd George, Jan Smuts, George Canning, escaped her entirely. Others, like the immediately recognisable statue of Honest Abe, was obvious at a glance.

"Who's the woman?" Gwen asked when they reached a humble bust less grandiose than the others. "Millicent Faulkner?"

"Miss Faulkner fought for the right of women to own property and participate in the Spellcraft revolution," Ollie stated proudly. "She's one of ours."

"Ours?"

"The founder of Newnham College, of Clough Hall fame." Ollie's voice rose an octave. "Quite a few of our alumni have statues in the city. I can point them out if you like."

"That would be helpful but unnecessary." Gwen curbed her guide's enthusiasm. "Let's keep going, I want to see the rest of the landmarks, hit the museums."

"Well, ONE Museum," Ollie snickered. "Besides, the Commonwealth's collection isn't so easily accessed. We'll need permission to see the rarer displays."

"All the Museums, we would take until New Years," Elvia chimed in. "Also, we need to break for lunch."

"What's good for eating?" Gwen asked. In China, there had been so much food that she was spoilt for choice. In London, she had thus far kept to a strict diet of meat and vegetables; interestingly, the pastry and cakes had been excellent.

"Fish and Chips?" Elvia suggested. "We'll go by Buckingham, then circle back to Trafalgar. There's a delightful pub called 'The Lord Moon' which serves wonderful whiting. I've been there with Sylvie."

"Sure." The corner of Gwen's lips twitched. Fish and Chips? Surely there's better food? "But since this is London, how about authentic British Curry?"

"You'd have to go to Soho for that." Ollie made a face. "I am surprised you know, much less fancy, Demi-human food. Spice, from the Indian subcontinent? I don't know. A lot of our expatriate Mages are addicted to the stuff— says its flavour from the Gods. I tried it once. Far too pungent for me, and the heat— good lord, its like eating fire. Goes down like magma, comes out like—"

"You folk seriously don't eat curry?" Gwen felt as though slapped in the face. No curry Tuesday? Did people here survive on steak and vegetables?

"Did you eat curry in China?" Elvia was keen as well. "If you recall, we had it once in Sydney. It gave me a tummy ache."

"They don't make it the same in Shanghai." Gwen realised she had not seen the controversial Gandhi statue while in Parliament Square. If there was no readily available curry, what did that imply for the Mageocracy's history with the Indian subcontinent? Moreover, what did it mean for this world's East Indies as a whole? "So the NoMs don't eat it?"

"Spice is far too expensive for NoMs." Her Praelector shook his head. "What supply that reaches London isn't lucrative enough for high profit, nor is it abundant or cheap enough for the masses."

"I see." Gwen licked her lips. Butter Chicken, Tikka Masala, Beef Korma, Rogan Josh. Gods above, her mouth watered uncontrollably just thinking about the food. Perhaps at the Museum of London, she could gain some insight as to what had changed across the Mageocracy's five-centuries of colonisation to deny Britain its most quintessential cuisine.

The tourist trio had next planned to skirt Buckingham Palace via the avenue called the Mall. Unfortunately, they only made it as far as Marlborough House before they were halted in their tracks.

"G-Griffins!" Gwen gripped Elvia so hard the girl yelped. "Bloody oath! Evee—"

Overhead, the sight of Royal Griffins made her heart flutter. Standing in the shade of a mulberry tree, Gwen fought to encompass the majesty of an eagle-lion with wings of copper-gold and white feathers hinting at silver. Even the half-mythical Golos, who was 'ruggedly' handsome— lacked the regality of Britain's iconic heraldric beast.

Was it the mounted Knights that plucked at the heartstrings? Gwen wondered, feeling her face flush. The red-jacketed Mage mounted atop the marvellous bird-beast sported three plumes on his helmeted headdress. Below the chin, the Griffin Guards wore polished cuirasses, inscribed with Glyphs and runes too complex to decipher. On the Griffins' heads, shoulders and fore-claws, they were protected by magical barding in matching Mithril that glinted as the birds sailed through the sky.

"And this is why you don't fly near the Palace," Ollie warned his companion. "The Griffineers hunt first, ask questions later, assuming you survive."

"They look so awesome," Elvia squealed.

"Evee, who do you think is stronger." Gwen breathed out when a Griffin turned to face the trio. "Gogo or— er— is that patrol coming toward us?"

Her observation proved acute.

A trio of Griffins, each the size of a caravan, alighted on the broad strip of tempered, crimson asphalt.

"Stay calm," Ollie warned his House-sister, while Elvia hid behind her and her Sprites inside her jacket. "They're likely asking for our ID. Papers at the ready—."

With a grand buffet of breaking air, the Griffins landed.

A head double the size of Gwen's torso turned to regard her with its golden eyes.

"Halt!" the lead Knight approached. From the Saxon-scarlet satin adorning the man's armour, Gwen could see that this was a Mage from Mathias' most desired Ordo— The Most Distinguished Order of St George. "Why do you approach the home of her Majesty?"

"Lord Knight— here are our identifications and credentials." Ollie presented their Public Practice of Magic licences. "We hail from Cambridge."

The Knight scanned their cards with his eyes. When the man took Gwen's ID from her to peruse its tiny, bible-print list of Schools and annotations, the man's eyes widened.

"SKAARK!" the Knight's Griffin snarled. Leaning closer to the girls, it sniffed them both. Elvia hid her Sprites, hiding in Gwen's shadow.

Gwen's feeding-hand itched. She wanted to give the Griffin a drop of Almudj juice. But, with Ollie besides her, it took everything she had to resist stroking the Griffin's beak. This close, the creature's beauty was heart-breaking. From its feathers to its divinely-sculpted profile, the Griffin was a thing of superb intelligent design.

"Very well," the Knight returned a greeting. "I have taken note of your credentials. Now, why do you approach?"

"We wish to sight-see," Ollie declared. "To my awareness, the public is allowed to approach up to and outside the Victorian Gate, are they not? We wish to contemplate the crest of the Unicorn and the Lion, so that we may wish her Majesty well."

"I would allow it, usually," the Knight paused. His piercing blue eyes then locked onto Gwen. "However, proximal admittance for a Class VI War Mage will require clearance from the Tower."

"Ah—" Ollie bowed. "Apologies, I was not aware, Lord Knight. We shall take our leave."

The Knight did not immediately dismiss them. Instead, he nudged his Griffin's flanks so that it approached the Void Sorceress.

"Hello," Gwen said nervously. The Griffin's beak could arguably pierce her chest, puncture Elvia, and still had more length to spare.

"Young Lady, the word is that you Purged the Red Gulch?" The officer, who Gwen could see was in his forties, kept a tight reign of his bird-mount. "By yourself?"

"I had Evee here to help me." Gwen patted her healer on the back. "There was a guy called Mathias as well— a bloke from St Micheal's. He came along as support."

"The Rothwell boy?"

"The very same."

"Good on him." The rider leaned down and extended a hand. "I am Knight-Captain George North. I am pleased to see such a worthy addition to our nation's military arm. I do not doubt we may see each other again in the future. I hear you have a tamed Kirin?"

"I do, Sir North." Gwen shook the man's mailed glove, then curtsied a little lower than she wished. "And yes, Ariel is a Kirin— of sorts. There's Caliban too, with its many forms. May I know your partner's name?"

"This is Sparhawk." The Griffin Guard looked pleased with Gwen's response. "We are bound by blood."

"I'd love for Ariel and Sparhawk to meet, but don't think I can summon my Familiars here," Gwen replied carefully. "Nonetheless, it's nice to meet you both."

"Likewise. My apologies for detaining you so far from the gate." The Knight-Captain was surprisingly cordial. "My liege is much occupied this time of year. As her guards, we take no chances."

"Of course. I understand," Gwen simpered, stunned that she was having a conversation with a Royal Magister seated on a Royal Griffin, outside the Royal Home of Elizabeth II, discussing how close she could get to the Queen of England. "We don't wish to inconvenience you."

"I see we understand one another." The Knight backed his mount away. "— Sparhawk?"

Of its own volition, the Griffin nuzzled Elvia, enticed by the healer's presence, or at least the morsels in her pockets.

"Good luck." The Knight coaxed his mount way. "Cambion, Clifford, we're resuming patrols!"

"Yes, Sir!" The others took to the air. In a minute, the Griffin flight once again turned to specks above the palace grounds.

"Well." Gwen turned to the others once the last bell-beat of wings faded. "That was… something."

"Isn't it?" Ollie breathed out.

"It's the dream of every boy to be a Knight," Elvia provided some insight into Ollie's sigh. "And the dream of every Knight is to join the Griffin Guard."

"You get to raise a Griffin from infancy to adulthood," Ollie appended Elvia's proclamation. "You receive an egg, once you're inducted, to bond with your Astral Soul. If the rider dies, the Griffins will hunt down their partner's killer to the end of the earth. Once avenged, or if the quest is no longer possible, they kill themselves. The same could be said of the riders."

"Jesus."

"That's why they're the ultimate symbol of loyalty," Ollie said. "Lions, Unicorns, and Griffins— Courage, Purity, and Loyalty— the watchwords of the Empire where the sun never sets."

Gwen watched Ollie's chest puff with pride. "How very nationalistic."

"It's only natural." Ollie shrugged. "We're citizens of the Mageocracy, after all. As Mages, we're the keepers of the state's Mandate."

"Of course." Gwen looked around at the empty avenue, deserted save for a few Mages like themselves who had business here. So much land, so many cloud-clapped spires, gilded statues and golden-winged cherubs had been dedicated to just one Household.

But for how long could such a system sustain itself?

History splutters, but it chugs on, driven by the momentum of the aeons.

Like a glacier being pushed out to sea, the resentment of the NoMs would pile up, until one day, like climate change...

Gwen felt her will waver. Why should she, a benefactor of the Tower systems, act as the catalyst? What if all she desired was a palace for herself and Evee?

But no— she cautioned herself. Touching Elvia's golden curls to calm her mind. Some things ought to be done, not for the sake of picking a path, but because they were right. If not for collective gain and a mutual profit, why do anything at all?

"… and here we are, Trafalgar Square! The heart of the city! Up there's Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson, Hero of Trafalgar, perished during the action against the French and Spanish allied fleet. His sacrifice led to unchallenged Britain supremacy over the Atlantic and Pacific for the entire Hanover epoch, culminating in the establishment of the Mageocracy as we know it."

Nodding, Gwen surveyed the scene.

Trafalgar Square was as she had recalled from her alter-life. The enormous roundabout was there, as was the Georgian and Edwardian Gothic-revival architecture that surrounded it. The difference, as far as Gwen could see, was that the iconic memorial felt more prominent and boisterous, matching the gravity of the Mageocracy.

That, and the Lions that adorned the base of Lord Nelson's column were instead a foursome of Griffins, each with their wings tucked, eyes sharp, and talons fully extended.

The fountain monument beside Lord Nelson was also many times larger than Gwen recalled. Unlike its modest incarnation in her world, a massive Grecian sculpture in transmuted bronze marked its centre. Upon closer inspection, Gwen perceived the mangled series of fins, arms, busts and buttocks displaying an epic struggle of tumultuous battles at sea. At the very top of the structure, a triumphant Lord Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood rested the butt of his sword-wand on the head of a bowed Mermen King.

"For the conquest of the Caribbean and the successful defence of the Mediterranean from the resurgent Mermen," Ollie helpfully provided the details. "The one been trodden on is the Coral King of Ionia. It's a wonder that forty ships of the line managed to down a Leviathan, using only quasi-magical black powder and Dwarf-forged Adamantite Harpoons. Lord Collingwood was Lord Nelson's Second if you're wondering— both are British legends."

"Were they notable magic users?" Gwen inquired, feeling oppressed by the excessive history. Australian chronicles tended to favour the First Fleet, sans the Indigenous folk, and focused more on looking ahead. There was a lot to be proud of, though much of it involved desperate struggles celebrating local vagabonds like the Rogue Mage Ned Kelly, or acts of English futility like Gallipoli.

"Lord Collingwood was an early example of a Master Transmuter." Ollie pointed to the plaque. "Lord Nelson... was talented in other ways."

"How so?"

"Today, we would call him a Squib." The Cambridge Magus forced the words from his throat. "I know, absurd, right?"

"Wow." Elvia stroked Sen-sen with one hand, toying with Kiki with the other. The plants purred, mewing softly.

Impressed, Gwen tried her best to visualise the battle at Trafalgar. For herself, it wasn't hard to imagine a time when a man with a talent for command, a knack for rousing speeches, and a mind for tactics was far more important than a girl who could summon Wyverns and matter-devouring Caliban-beasts. If this world had indeed once entertained such individuals, what had gone wrong during the Spellcraft Revolution to curb the involvement of non-magical individuals in British society?

As a beneficiary of the neo-libertarian new world order, Gwen suspected she knew the answer.

"Shall we head to lunch?" Elvia tugged on her sleeve. "The Lord Moon is close."

"Sure." Gwen turned away from the bubbling mayhem of amalgamated metal. A fin here, a boob there, contorted limbs all over. "Fish and chips it is."

Gwen felt conflicted.

Her biggest disappointment came in the form of a modern theatre made from glass and steel that sat beside Southwark. The ubiquitous Millennium Bridge was missing as well, making the stretch between Blackfriars and London Bridge exceptionally inconvenient.

And then they arrived at London Tower, also known as the Old Palace, "The Ivory Tower", The Shard.

Over its nine-century year history, the Tower had served sequentially as a palace, an armoury, a treasury, a menagerie, an administrative record office; and now the heart of the Mageocracy's Tower System. For the locals, the soaring spire's design had attracted an atypically dry English moniker— "The Shard"— for its likeness to a chipped HDM.

Compared to Gwen' recollection of the original structure— London Tower and its surroundings proved far more extensive. With Mage Flight becoming commonplace, the moat was now a spacious lawn, within which, in centre of its double-walls, sat the fabled Tower. Though the designers had kept its original facade, it wasn't difficult to spot the late 20th-century addition— a section a kilometre in height, levitating above the medieval base. Combined with the dozens of renovated, medieval spires surrounding the base block, the scene stole all breath from Gwen's lungs.

"Wow," she marvelled on approach. "It's taller than the Chinese one. They really built a floating superstructure?"

"It's the 'tallest' Tower in the world. I mean, it would have to be. It houses the Crown Jewels!" Ollie's eyes misted over with admiration. "Between the Crown, Sceptre and the Sovereign Orb, our Artefacts are powerful enough to cow even Dragons. You ever heard of the Heart—"

"Yes, the Heart of Flames—" Gwen mumbled, her mind suddenly mired in the past. In the recess of her skull, a baritone voice hummed the Empire's nationalistic masterpiece, "Jerusalem".

Bring me my wand, of burning gold:

Bring me my arrows of Desire:

Bring me my stone: O clouds unfold!

Bring me my Heart of Fire—

Her Master had sung that song, fighting embarrassment to mollycoddle her upset. Who would now do that again? Gwen despaired even as she swallowed her feelings. Gunther growled rather than hummed, and Alesia's singing-voice sounded like she was vocalising from the bedroom.

"I know the story. It's the Core of an Ancient Dragon."

Ollie sighed with relish. "Did you hear about the Red Dragon incident we had in '01?"

"I did." Gwen nodded. How could she forget, that was the day she "arrived" in this world.

"Once the fires died down, her Majesty had a word with Sythinthimryr, the keeper of Carrauntoohil, regarding the egg episode. Palace officials say the Crimson Queen was invited into the Tower of London to gaze upon the Heart, after which she willingly went home without needing reparations. It was quite the story when it broke."

"The tale of the tail-wagging Dragon Queen, eh?"

"Well." Ollie grinned. "In the worst-case scenario, the Order of St George is well versed in hunting down Titans and Mythics. That and Carrauntoohil is within teleportation distance of the Shard. Arguably, after an incident like that, we have good cause to parley with the great lizards."

"That's awfully kind of the government." Gwen wondered if the incident really was as cleanly wrapped up as the reports said. In her opinion, someone like Ravenport may provide a more nuanced view of things.

"That's the way it is." The researcher laughed. "Shall we?"

The trio made their way into the inner courtyard, up the ramparts, and between the gate towers.

"Not many people here," Gwen observed. In Shanghai, even Fudan's faux Towers were shoulder to shoulder with activity. "Slow day?"

"Oh, Gwennie, people don't 'walk' into the Tower," Elvia chuckled. "We won't be either, there are short-range Teleportation Circles at the base of the old Ivory Tower. It's a security measure."

"My mistake. Well done, Evee." Gwen ruffled Elvia's hair to disguise her embarrassment. One can take the Omni-Mage out of the Frontier, but not, apparently, the other way around.

At the gate, the trio was greeted by Tower Guards in midnight-blue uniforms, embroidered with markings in gules. Upon the men's bosoms sat the Royal Crown, tied together with an overlarge hat, a thick coat and shoes sporting what appeared to be a stylised Tudor rose.

Once the guests made a show of their licences, the stoic guards stood aside.

"Are those Beefeaters?" Gwen whispered.

"You know about Beefeaters too?" Ollie was well delighted by her knowledge. "That's not a term you hear too much outside the service. Every Custodian is a veteran Mage who has served his or her tour in her Majesty's beloved corps."

"We should show the proper respect," Elvia reminded her boisterous, all-too-casual companion.

"You know, the other half of the Beefeaters are the Ravens at the Green Tower. There are thousands of the buggers when the weather's fair. They've been around since the eleventh century, or so the story goes. Most of the flock's quasi-magical now after Henry VIII's decision to make use of the local flock. At least a hundred at any given time serve as Familiar to the Beefeaters, who feed them beef sourced from the Royal farms. I've heard that some Transmuters have chosen to join them, leading the murder. This one Sun article said that when young Mages tried to Magic Missile one, the Raven turned one of the delinquents to stone."

"If the last raven dies, the Tower falls," Elvia added ominously. "So the story goes."

"Hold up." Gwen's scalp crawled. "You're telling me there's Ravens that are in fact, people?"

"Which is why it is best to leave the birds well-alone while in London," Ollie advised. "Imagine netting a Magister…"

What Gwen protested was the loss of privacy to the fact that some Raven-guy could be staring at her right now. In fact, she seemed to recall seeing a few here and there while they toured the Thames.

Her complaint, however, was silenced by their stepping into a circular portal located inside the spacious liminal space of the magically amplified Ivory Tower.

"We're in a secure pocket dimension used for transit—" Ollie explained before they teleported into the interior. A split-second later, their circle flashed quicksilver, depositing the trio in the main lobby. "— and here we are. Welcome, to London Tower, House-sister."

"Holy—"

Inside, the lobby of the Ivory Shard could only be described as monolithic. Above them, the ceiling stretched upward indefinitely, though Gwen suspected some illusion must be at play. All around them, the horizontal space expanded outwards like an Olympic oval. Reminding her of termite mounds on the savannah, obsidian service counters sat on white marble, stretching as far as the eye could see.

In place of pillars, Teleportation circles in aesthetic, circular tubes gave the sterile space a retro-future aesthetic.

"From here, just approach a counter and they'll port you to the right sector within the Shard." Gwen's helpful House-Brother pointed to a smiling woman who was unoccupied. "Shall we?"

At the counter, the middle-aged woman's eyes lit-up. "Welcome to London Tower. Miss Song, I presume?"

"You know me?"

"It's our job to know." The woman's smile was kind and affecting. "How may I help?"

"You're famous!" Elvia cooed. "Miss Devourer of Shenyang."

Embarrassed, Gwen slid over her ID. "I'd like to check my CC account, please."

The clerk placed her card onto a small, elevated dais just enough to hold a phone. A glow of Divination engendered, then the clerk tapped on an unseen data slate. Once a hidden device spat out a receipt, she continued. "Here's your script, Ma'am."

Elvia looked away, as did Ollie.

"2901." Gwen whistled, pleasantly surprised. "Where did the—"

A pair of tendrils from Kiki cupped her mouth by pressing a petal against her lips.

"Gwen! You can't just say that out loud!" Elvia hissed. "That information is private."

"You wouldn't want to invite hucksters." Ollie looked around nervously, as though Gwen was showing off an armful of Creature Cores. "Let's keep moving. Did you have any business to conduct at the Tower?"

"No, not yet." Gwen packed away her ID, then waved to the clerk. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Miss Song." The woman appeared genuinely taken by her presence. "Not for the daughter of Lord Ravenport."

From smiling serenely, Gwen stopped dead in her tracks.

Elvia's eyes went wild.

Ollie swallowed nervously. Having spent some time in her company, a few inklings of Gwen's trouble with Ravenport had leaked through the sieve of idle conversation. "Gwen… don't mind it."

"Gwen, that's not true... right?" Evee appeared the sort easily swayed by print media.

"Of course not!" Gwen snapped, first growling with ire, then deflating when she realised there was nothing to be mad about. Like Lady Grey forewarned, tabloids were a double-edged affair. "Ravenport and I— We're not anything! We're less than nothing!"

"Gwen—" Ollie pulled her aside. "Keep your voice down."

"Don't be upset." Elvia patted her sides. "Let's go to our next stop."

"Not enough time for the Museum." Ollie quickly let go of Gwen's clammy hand when he realised he had lewdly waylaid his House-sister without her permission. "Shall we head for the Isle? Master Samson should be waiting for you."

"Alright." Gwen noticed that, as advised, the others around them had their ears perked. She wanted to stay in The Shard longer, to see if there were Demi-humans, possibly an Elf or two, but Ollie was right.

The Tower could wait. Now, it was time to visit her London abode.

The trio took the country-line to Limehouse, then a bus to Blackwall. No fare was needed thanks to their Public Practice of Magic Licences, which allowed the Mages free transit on intra-city transports from ferries to busses to the London Tube.

At the station, Gwen bought a copy of the Sun Herald, one of the three newspapers widely available for purchase. When she handed over the currency card, a wide-eyed newsagent stared, scarcely believing that page three had come to life. Flipping through the spread, she could see that the public interest continued thanks to new testimonials coming out of Merthyr Tydfil.

Once disembarked, Gwen studied the locality with a measured eye. In its present incarnation, Canada Square, Cabot Round and Westferry Circus all remained in their pre-developmental dilapidation, with short, squat brick buildings encompassing the length of the waterside, crammed to the brim with town housing for NoM dockers.

For Gwen, who was all too familiar with old-world London's infamous "second CBD", seeing Canary Wharf in an untransformed state was jarring to the extreme. In her plane, since the late 80s, foreign investment from the Saudis and then the Chinese had transformed the docklands into a financial leviathan. Pound for pound, the apartments and commercial spaces around the Isle became some of the most expensive in the city. The irony was that, when the economy of the Isle of Dogs collapsed in the 1980s, the project sold itself as bringing back jobs to the 20,000 dockworkers and their families.

Naturally, by the 90s, all but the fringe-living families on the isle had been priced out by the enterprises. Thanks to Thatcher's union-busting and Blair's public cuts, Canary Wharf had even attained corporate extra-territoriality for its pseudo-public spaces.

On their way to Millwall, Gwen felt giddy that present-day Canary Wharf remained entrenched in the 80s. There were no skyscrapers, only plumes of oily, inefficient mana exhaust adding to London's winter smog.

Amazingly, the old quay still operated— serving the very same purpose it had some century ago, off-loading incoming freight that serviced the city. When she spied at the cargo barges, most of the ferried goods consisted of fruit and vegetables from both across the English Channel and from the northern wildlands.

"It stinks," Ollie observed, wrinkling his nose.

Elvia agreed. The region had been a bog-swamp. Now, as a result of urban decay, nature had reclaimed some of its industrial spaces.

Half-a-kilometer later, the trio passed the Marsh Wall, arriving at what could have been the seventh-five storey Landmark Pinnacle. Disparate from Gwen's recollection, a triple set of steel-gated warehouses, half-rusted with the teeth kicked-in and the windows smashed, occupied the hotel's commercial space.

"Location, location, location." Gwen smacked her lips audibly enough for the others to hear. "What a place this is."

"Does it remind you of Forrestville?" Ollie's lips curled, suggesting that Gwen was nostalgic for the industrial sprawl of her Australian home.

"Forrestville wasn't this bad…" Elvia pulled her sweater lower, even though she wore formless pants that hid her thin legs. "Gwen, there are NoMs here."

"Of course there are NoMs here," Gwen snorted. "This is the hamlet of Millwall!"

And as the trio knew nought of Millwall, there was nothing more to be said.

To their left and right, moving down Westferry into the Outer Docks, sat rows of grey, Victorian terrace houses with shared partitions and dark, conjoined gables. From the windows of these cramped, dreary-looking homes, tired eyes looked out at the intruders.

What must they look like to the NoMs? Gwen wondered. She must appear out of place with her elegant autumn getup. Beside her, Ollie was every inch a Wizard from Hogwarts, wearing grey trousers and oxfords, half-hidden under Cambridge's signature robes. Behind them stood Elvia, whose garish combination of colours was the brightest, retina-searing thing from dockside to the farm.

"Watch out!" Ollie halted the group. There was a puddle, or perhaps a sinkhole, or maybe something disgusting and unnameable, barring their way.

Threateningly, the muddy water glooped.

"We could walk around."

"Not for much longer." Ollie indicated to the patch of green on the distant hill. "This area used to be a bog. Thanks to the snow, the mud rises like water across the tidal flat. Gwen can fly, but WE need to play by the rules."

"Is Levitation too much?"

"There's always Prestidigitation," Elvia suggested.

Gwen looked around. "Ariel!"

"Ee!" A crash of thunder struck the clearing, Ariel appeared a split-second later, hovering mid-air. "Ollie, Evee, you guys Levitate and hold onto Ariel."

Flying in a sense, but not-flying all the same, the trio forded the encircling ring of mud.

"Ee!" Ariel's senses were sharper than its human companions. Instinctively, it picked up the odour of unwashed bodies ripe with cabbage smells, emerging from the docker's terraces. For a creature of rarified air, the stench of the unwashed masses shivering with winter-sweat was not a pleasant experience.

"Looks like we've got company," Ollie observed drily.

A mob approached, assembled from the flotsam and jetsam of folk emerging from the leaning terraces. Most of them wore work shirts with dark, rain-proof jackets. There was nary a woman among the men, who wore unfriendly scowls, carrying dangerous malice in their eyes.

"Oi, wot're the bleeding likes ef ya doin' in a sheit hole loike this?" The leader, so far as Gwen could see, was a man in his late forties; ham-faced, barrel-chested, and wearing a newspaper cap.

"I am sorry?" Gwen halted Ariel. "What are we doing here?"

"Yeah, wot're chicky Sorceresses loike yos doin' in a hoe loike ours?"

"Sight-seeing." Gwen returned a dazzling smile. "Gentlefolk, please don't mind us."

"Oh, but we do min', young lydy. This 'ere is our 'omes. What's so interestin' abaht a bunch o' wag's hearths?"

Gwen wondered if the workers would at all understand if she simply told them that she would soon bring them new jobs with fair pay for the next two decades. Seeing the isle in such a state, she could almost taste the untapped opportunities— though that could also be the swamp water. Either way, all she needed was a spark, once an investor appeared with the cash to gentrify a single section, other punters followed like hungry mongrels smelling a fresh carcass.

"Rest assured we have no unkind intentions, good sir." Gwen nodded.

"Ya best be garn naw." The dockers menaced them.

"Of course, we—"

Ollie halted her before Gwen could go. Leaning closer, the Praelector began to furiously whisper beside her ear. "Gwen, are you going just to let them… bark?"

Gwen cocked her head at her companion. "Yes?"

Ollie raised a brow. "They're NoMs."

"I know. These are the salt of the docks. The common muck coughed forth by the Thames." Gwen shrugged. "Don't give me that face, Ollie. Are you seriously going to bang spells with yokels?"

"We are Elite Mages." Ollie's voice rose an octave. "Untitled we may be, we remain beyond the NoM's reproach. I am a Magus of Cambridge, and you're a sanctioned War Mage. We are free to go where we please in London. Be it the Tower, or this— eyesore."

Hearing Ollie's displeasure, the dockworkers stepped back.

"Now you're frightening the poor sods." Gwen sighed. "Good people of the Millwall. Pay Magus Edwards no mind. We'll be leaving immediately."

"Gwen." Elvia tugged Gwen's sleeve.

"Yes, Evee?"

"I can sense their sickness." Elvia's eyes darted toward the leader and a few more of the younger men. "Malnutrition mostly, and Diphtheria, Tuberculosis, Mould Lung…"

"Black mould?"

"Quasi-magical toxin poisoning," Elvia whispered. "There's probably Slimes and other Magical Creatures living in the docks, or under the hamlet in the sewers."

"Yikes…"

"Can we help them?"

"Are they dying as we speak?"

"No…"

"Then we'll be back." Gwen waved at the dockworkers to show that indeed, they were merely passing by. "Ollie, be a dear and come away."

The trio skirted the soupy water in the dock, then threaded their way through the dockland until they reached upper Mudchute, once a fishing village on a boggy rise emerging from the swamp. A century ago, the land had appeared as a result of displaced Transmutation overspill from the dock's construction. Now, the mud-hill was the location of Gwen's new address— Lady Loftus' gifted leasehold.

At the gate of what could only be Mudchute farmhouse, Ollie fired off a flare to inform the keeper of their arrival. With the silvery Sigil blooming overhead, a hound call went up, followed by a long chain of howls, barks and growls. A moment later, streaming from the barns and the kennels, some two dozen dogs poured forth.

"Holy hell…" Gwen fought back her lesser instincts.

These were large dogs— wolfhounds by the appearance of their bristly coats, and each the size of a pony. On long, graceful legs, the dogs pounded the sodden turf, bringing up great clouts of icy clod. Instantly they surrounded the trio, forcing Kiki and Sen-sen to hide even deeper inside Elvia's pockets.

"Come-bye!" came a great, booming voice over the hill.

The dog-swarm obeyed, forming a clock-wise wheel as they encircled the travellers.

The silhouette of a man emerged, stocky and stout and with the air of a military man.

"Stand!" A shrill whistle followed the order. As one, the twenty-odd dogs stood to attention, a few scratching their ears while the rest panted, sniffing the air to taste the intruders.

Gwen and her two companions waited until the man was in speaking range.

"Gwen Song, War Mage," she introduced herself. "This is Magus Ollie Edwards— Peterhouse's Praelector, and here is Elvia Lindholm— trainee Cleric from Nightingale's. Master Samson, I believe?"

"Right you are, Miss Song." The man saluted, despite Gwen possessing no official rank. "Excuse the pups. They are still in training."

"They're plenty well trained." Gwen drifted forward, just skimming the earth. The ground underfoot alternated between waterlogged grass and ankle-deep ice-sludge.

"Aye, it's a wee wet after the snow thaws." Wally Samson put on a knowing smile. "I brought a few pairs of Wellies."

Together, the group made for the house on the hill. The veteran was older than he looked. The man's wheat-coloured hair was interwoven with strands of grey, giving him a grizzled demeanour.

"Wally Samson, at your service."

"Thank you, sergeant."

"Just Samson will be fine." The man brushed off their politeness. "Got early supper prepped if yer mind. Just simple, farmhouse fair."

"I love a good farm to table." Gwen was entirely serious. The fish and chips had been a bit too lite and a bit too rich; a paradox made possible only by fast food.

"EE!" Ariel expressed a desire to play with the dogs. Gwen obliged by cutting the Familiar loose, allowing Ariel to hover over to the panting hounds hungry to take in the newcomer's scents.

"Caliban!"

"Shaa!"

The dogs bolted, instantly recognising a predator who could consume the lot of them and still have the stomach to spare.

"EE!" Ariel lamented, glaring at Caliban.

"Shaa!" Caliban considered chasing the hounds.

"Aww." Gwen tossed her Familiars a few HDM crystals. "Poor Cali. Don't mind it."

"Shaa…"

Wally said nothing, though he did keep a safe distance from Caliban.

The farmhouse itself was a brick and flint cottage in dusky red, with mossy-tiled roof and a lichen-covered fence surrounding the outskirts. To the rear sat two enormous barns, both taller than the house itself. The kennels were located in the eastern quadrant, taking up more space than both the main building and the barn, looking drier and better furnished as well. Here and there, Gwen could see Black-faced Suffolk sheep, the curly-haired Irish Auroch, and stranger creatures halfway between horse and goat. Atop the roof gable, a pair of ravens looked down on the gathering with cold, unblinking eyes.

The voyeuristic birds and the dour stench of the swamp aside, the setting very much reminded Gwen of an episode in "Escape to the Country".

Inside, Gwen was surprised to see an unsealed ceiling older than the Mageocracy, left exposed so that the fireplace could bake the moisture from the wood. With a Firebolt from Wally, the hearth roared into life, casting the dining room into shades of warm orange.

"That er guess?" A woman emerged from the attached kitchen, her face white and round as a full moon. "Time ter service supper, ser?"

"Almost, Mary, thank yee," Samson gave his orders, then shooed her from the dining. "Please, yer honours, sit where ever ya like."

Ollie and Elvia sat on either side of the large, oaken table, while Gwen sat at its head. Wally Samson then left to retrieve a bundle of documents, returning to the desk with printed parchments and an expensive fountain pen.

"Yer lease-holds, my lady." Wally presented the documents. "Sign here, and you'll receive custodianship of the lower Isle's estates, as well as care over Cubitt and Millwall for the next five years."

"Thank you, Wally." Gwen read through the documents carefully, a paranoid habit inherited from an earlier life. "… it says here I have to pay a levy?"

"Ten per cent of what the estate produces." Wally nodded. "Mind you, other than the kennels. We don't produce much of value. Just enough to eat."

"I assume our benefactor receives the levy?" Gwen asked if the tithing was to the London Tower, the Commonwealth Government, or the Lady of Ely.

"Yes, the tithing is to the Lady of Loftus," Wally clarified, apparently more in the know than Gwen gave him credit.

"Of course." Gwen felt better for the fact. It came as no surprise that Lady Grey's kindness wasn't without her slice. "And the rent?"

"No rent. But, as our custodian, you will be liable for the estate's land tax, stamp tax, corporate tax and income tax during your occupation. Other than that, the levy is all."

Gwen performed a few quick calculations. If her tax code served, up to thirty per cent goes to the man, plus lump sums throughout the year, plus another ten per cent of her gross goes to her benefactor. After that, whatever she portioned out to herself lost another thirty per cent to the state. Compared to her forming a party and going out and farming for Cores and crystals, it was a bland affair. If so, there was little wonder that adventuring, with its hard-to-trace income streams, was a principal avenue of profit.

Studying the next few pages, she puckered her lips while scanning the documents. For someone without the means to circumvent the economic barriers, the Isle of Dogs was a problematic piece of real estate. For herself, who had seen it all happen, the matter was more so an issue of how to kick-start the transformation.

First, she desired tax cuts.

That was the catalyst she needed.

She could effortlessly bring the cash, but the city of London had to guarantee her profitability if it desired advancement from the private sector. In exchange for bringing employment and rejuvenating the local economy, there had to be tangible benefits; not just for herself, but for her future investors.

One of which was Lady Loftus, naturally. Once the isle's potential could be realised, the Marchioness of Ely would be the envy of all. Then, assuming she could bring onboard new friends with vaults full of HDMs, it was entirely possible to recreate some portion of the isle's commercial landscape within the span of five to ten years.

Of course, she would need a trustworthy and wily manager to oversee the operations, at least until her Spellcraft course finished. If there was one thing she looked forward to, it was that few would dare to short-change Magister Song, War Mage. In time, she could then funnel the profits into a Tower— if not in the Commonwealth, then a commercial one in the USA.

And as for the NoMs— Gwen paused when she reached the last page.

NoMs weren't Mages. No matter how much they worked, the distance between Demi-gods and mortals could not be bridged, not without unbearable upheaval. If there must be change, it must come gradually, slowly, trickling from below, seeping through the stratum of society like the moisture-seeking roots of a rock-tapping cactus.

That, or ride in high upon the crashing crest of profit.

With a flourish, she signed her name, then pressed her Glyph into the contract. The paper briefly flashed while the Divi-invocation took hold.

Wally Samson bowed deeply. "Ma'am. The thirty employees of the estate and I, await your pleasure."

"Thank you, Wally." Gwen packed the papers for safekeeping. "I look forward to working with you."

"Nary a title, and yet already the mistress of a domain," Ollie said, his lips sultry with longing. "Maybe you can start by teaching those dockers a lesson in propriety."

"You're still mad about that?" Gwen gave Ollie a sideways glance. "Wally, what's the state of employment in Millwall and Cubitt?"

"Idle, Ma'am," Wally replied without any particular emotion. "Ever since the upgrade to the Royal Albert, the Royal Victoria, and the George V docklands, Canary Wharf has been neglected."

"From that prefix— I take it the 'Royal' docklands are operated by folk with long names and blue blood?"

"Correct. A coalition, ma'am. Each of the Factions has their cut. Norfolk, Camden and Exeter have controlling stakes, among others."

"I see." Gwen's nostrils flared when Wally spoke the familiar name.

With some disappointment, she realised that market regulation in this world didn't come in the form of government intervention. The state itself spearheaded the spirit of anti-competition. If so, then the proposals she sold in China would fail to net her the same portion of profits. Different to the economic wild west of the Frontier, London beheld itself to "Royal" robber barons and resource tycoons. In turn, all sycophants must offer perpetuation perpetual tithing to those at the top.

Feudalism-in-reality.

Democracy-in-name.

Fascism-in-practice.

Cronyism by design.

— all sustained by the perpetual threat of extinction.

Gwen found it ironic that a Brit— the late novelist George Orwell— warned the world that the purpose of conflict was to consume the products of human labour. In Oceania, the repressive fear of annihilation made the gifting of all power to a small caste seem the natural, unavoidable condition of survival. Fighting down an impulsive fancy, Gwen wondered what would happen if she quoted Orwell on a pamphlet and rained his wisdom over London? Would she be in Stasis by the end of the week?

"I am sure even you can see these are desperate folk," Gwen invited Ollie to consider the NoM's circumstances. "Who cares for propriety when there's no gruel for the babe? Manners? Can manners nourish a dying daughter?"

Ollie formed a slight frown.

"And they're sick," Elvia aided her companion. "These are hungry people, Ollie."

"It's the lord's responsibility—" Ollie began, then quickly realised what he was about to admit.

"I have taken too little care." Wally bowed his head, saving the young man. "Please inform Lady Loftus of my ineptitude."

"That's not what I meant. I say, your dogs look wonderful," Ollie added quickly. "Incredible coats, very robust, superbly fed, I—"

The young man stopped when Gwen and Elvia's gaze shoved the words back down his throat.

"Well-fed Wolfhounds and starving villagers." Gwen sighed, turning away from the wisdom of Cambridge's esteemed Magus Edwards. "Not the best combination, Wally."

"The hounds have claimants." Wally's voice grew stiff, "Many of them will grace the estates of the nation's foremost Lords and Ladies. The genealogy of these dogs harkens back to the time of the Virgin Queen."

"I know." Gwen reached out to deliver a reassuring pat on Wally's shoulder. "I am not admonishing you, Wally— but we are going to do things a little differently in the next few months. Please bear with me and trust in Lady Loftus."

"I shall." The ex-soldier, now dog-man, doggedly bowed.

On cue, more than likely listening for her entrance, Mary the kitchenmaid entered with a troop of maidservants, bringing in a stream of Mudchute's finest produce. Toad in the hole, Shepard's Pie, Scotch Eggs, Steak and Kidney Pudding, and of course, a famous, farmhouse Sunday Roast.

Elvia professed to have lost her appetite thanks to growing concerns for the villagers. Ollie's hunger was repressed by his earlier misstatement. Gwen partook in the early supper with her usual professionalism, pounding down unsaturated fat, creamy starch and baked carbohydrates without so much as a visible belly bulge.

When she finished her third portion, Wally coughed politely.

"Yes, Mister Samson?" Gwen looked up from her plate, a sausage sitting on a fork.

"It's customary to leave enough for the staff," Wally hinted in a low voice. "And for their families as well… for, you know, bubble and squeak. It's a rare treat."

"I am sorry— for what?" Gwen put down her sausage. "Leftovers? They eat our leftovers?"

Her gaze swept over the mostly empty pots and pans.

"My apologies…" She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a serviette. "That said, ever heard of the wonders of SPAM?"

Gwen and her party stayed the night at Mudchute Manor, a place that Mary intimated was known to the locals as "The Kennel".

The cheeky moniker aside, there was ample room, as Wally had cleared Lady Loftus' master bedroom for Gwen's occupation, as well as two guest bedrooms, a study, and a section of the barn should she wish to stow a vehicle.

The next morning, after a farmhouse breakfast of bacon and eggs, the trio, joined by Wally, made a tour of the farm.

Caliban and Ariel had spent the night wandering the extremities of the estate, harassing sheep and playing with the dogs, eventually sleeping in the kennel, where it was nice and cosy. In part, thanks to Ariel's intervention, the Wolfhounds accommodated Caliban's presence, tolerating the slithering beast in their midst.

After morning tea, the men, the women, the Familiars and the dogs bounced their way across the snow down to Cubitt. At the farm's edge, the dogs returned. Gwen packed her Familiars away, not wanting to frighten the NoMs eking out an existence under the shadow of London's Elite.

Cubitt itself possessed less history than Millwall, though no less sorrowful. During the Pan-European Conflict, Canary Docks saw the launching of a dozen ships from Westwood & Baillie, Samuda Brothers, J & W Dudgeon, including the Dreadnaught HMS Royal Albert.

After the Beast Tide, the shipyards and the freight-docks unilaterally migrated eastward to the five-kilometre stretch that made up the Royal Docklands. Canary's owners, unable to find investors, allowed the facilities to rust, then rot.

"What's that building over yonder?" Gwen pointed to an enormous warehouse some two blocks across that looked like shipping containers plastered together with glass, concrete and sheet metal.

"The West Terminal Printing Press," Wally advised. "It's all but abandoned, I am afraid."

"What happened?" Gwen's profit-senses tingled. There was an opportunity here; she could feel it in her bones. "I thought the tabloid-rags did well in London."

"Not all. Here lies The Observer's final stand. Lord Mulholland, the first Earl of Halifax, built the press-factory originally in the thirties. The German blitz had damaged the press when they launched strategic spells at the docks. His grandson, Charles Wood Mulholland, third Earl of Halifax in the late 80s, hoped to revive the business through volume-production. Unfortunately, his business could not compete."

"Who did it lose to?"

"The Sun Herald and the Telegraph, ma'am. The London Observer performed well for a time. It faced criticism from Minister Thatcher's government, for its socialist outlooks. Once sales began to slip, and the advertisers left, there was little Young Master Charles could do. In the end, he chose not to continue his grandfather's legacy."

"I take it." Gwen twisted her lips with pleasure. One man's garbage was another transmigrant's treasure. "That the Earl of Halifax thought Page Three was a sham, Page Five was for fools, Back Page sports was worthless and that the news should only report the truth and nothing but the truth?"

"You've read him like a tabloid, ma'am."

"Do we own the press?"

"No, ma'am, just the land."

"What's in there now?"

"Abandonment, I fear. Most of the machines are inoperable." Wally shook his head. "There's been vandalism as well."

"But the operation has remained," Gwen stated. "The system is there. The streamlined paper printing, I mean."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Is the lease released?"

"The estate has outstanding rent." Wally coughed uncomfortably. "The Marchioness has instructed us not to pursue the balance… for now."

"Okay. Well, that's just wonderful. I want to see inside," Gwen announced. "Wally, take us over."

"We're not going to the city?" Elvia butted in. Today, the Nightingale Cleric chose to wear a bright-red, knee-length jack with a rabbit-fur stole. She looked like a little Santa, or perhaps a young Missus Claus. They were three days off Christmas, mayhap Elvia was feeling festive?

"Oh, museums can wait." Gwen's eyes were positively aglow. She was feeling festive for an entirely different reason. There could be no better Christmas present than what she had just uncovered. "Wally, who used to work at the press?"

"Locals from Millwall, Cubitt and Blackwall. The dockers can at least cross the river to work at the Royal Docklands— the print labourers, I am afraid, have taken up either vagrancy or menial labour down in Dulwich and Greenwich."

Fuck me! Gwen breathed out. Her heart had not palpitated like this since Tonglv went into business. It was amazing how, sometimes, things just fell into place of their own accord, as if a higher power directed her with a guiding hand. The isle, the printing press, the labour-ready workforce desperate for any work, the indebted owners...

Through further confirmation awaited, she now knew London was a different beast to China. As a century-old ocean-fairing superpower, her desire to tap into the profits of the docklands was likely in vain.

But, as Ravenport had demonstrated, the nobility's economic prowess was wholly focused on the acquisition of tangible resources within the Mageocracy and its colonial heartlands. Ingredients, Crystals, Magical Beasts, Demi-humans, land itself— these were its heart's desire. Comparatively, against intangible forms of currency generation, the inbred nobles may as well be cross-eyed.

"Wait, we're NOT headed for the National Museum?" Ollie affirmed Gwen's sudden change of plans, previously verified at breakfast, flabbergasted by his ward's fickleness. "I was going to instruct you regarding the Mageocracy's history!"

"HA!" Gwen had to hold onto something to still her untamable pleasure. She found her stress ball in the form of Evee's pliant, wincing shoulders. "The past can wait, old man! We're going to see the future!"

The idea of "free newspapers" wasn't original.

In Germany, at the turn of the twentieth century, an entrepreneur named Charles Cullmann attempted the nouveau business model with minimal success.

Unable to compete with the prevalence of yellow journalism in unregulated tabloids, it took until the 1950s for San Francisco to see its first sustainable free newspaper, and the early 2000s for the emergence of Metro, a Swedish model from Luxembourg that focused on public-transit distributions.

What Gwen could see in London, therefore, was a massive market gap for an essential information service— 'free' transit rags for the tube, the bus, the country-link, and the waiting lobby of the ISTCs.

When Gwen had visited old-world London, she had ignored the red-top tabloids sold by News Corp and friends. But she had picked up copies of the Metro, left here and there and given to her at every exit, sometimes by panhandlers looking for coins. Though she had never studied journalism, the business model by which a "successful" "free paper" operated was well-known to her profession.

The essential issue was that journalists weren't business consultants. What the early wordsmiths had fumbled was targeting the right demographic. If in the epoch of mobile entertainment, rags like the Metro remained profitable, then it was self-evident that a world where folk happily bought newspapers, there was an unsaturated market. What's more, unlike her predecessors' wrangling of the counter-intuitive free-distribution model, her "Metro" would be spared the cost of trial and error.

To start, she could release a bi-weekly edition while the new editorial office collected talented writers. The sections needn't be lengthy, exclusive, or comprehensive. A few articles would be all: the national news, the international press, gossip columns, sports and entertainment, an adventure's column. The psychology of need-to-know was human nature.

Beyond the mundane, she would curate the paper's main feature— content "for" and "of" the millions of NoMs milling about London, holding up the city's infrastructure. Content like baking recipes with grandmotherly sob stories, chicken soup for the soul. That and human interest anecdotes, life in the day of who's who. The occasional tale of woe and success, the Mage "commoner" and the NoM who rose to prominence. A small section entitled "Weird" or "Humour of the Day", where editors rated memes of obscenely-shaped vegetables.

And of course, an "Ask Evee" segment, where folk could post in questions about whatever, replied to by Elvia's ghost-writers, or herself, if she's inclined.

The exchange, as it were, would give Mages insight into the multi-dimensional lives of NoMs. Meanwhile, the NoMs could freely read the exploits, dangers, and wonder of the Mage's world straight from the horse's mouth.

And— Gwen grinned. She had at minimum a hundred serials in her head. Assuming she could find a good NoM writer to act the revenant for her plagiarised authors, the "Fiction" section should keep eyeballs firmly glued to each edition.

She even had a potential partner in mind— Dominic Lorenzo.

If the man was as good a journalist as his peers reported him to be, would Alesia's old war bud choose to switch roles from frontline journo to editor-in-chief? Oi, Dom— care to run an influential paper? She would ask him. One with above market-pay and a ten per cent stake for a five-year contract, with a second share-offer if circulation metrics met certain thresholds?

Gwen wetted her lips, drawing strange looks from her companions.

She was getting ahead of herself. For now, she needed to inspect the condition of the printing press.

"Holy hell, what in the Wildlands is this?"

Gwen wondered whether she had wandered into the innards of a steampunk dystopia.

Once the daylight globes burned bright, the abandonment of the "Halifax" Printing Press revealed itself.

"This thing is a monster!" Ollie marvelled at the mechanisms— a thousand, perhaps ten-thousand times more complicated than a mid-tier strategic Mandala. "What Machinist could tame something like this?"

Gwen agreed. Even in her old world, machinists were a dying breed. Outside of the underlying semantics, Gwen knew little to nothing about manufacturing. As far as marketing was concerned, once a recommendation was made; things happened, then products materialised. What happened in Shenzhen, China; stayed in Shenzhen, China.

What the trio was looking at— ignoring a collapsed section of the conveyor system, was what Wally dubbed a "Koenig & Sconebolt MK IV".

From gate to gate, the warehouse was enormous, a stadium unto itself. Even so, it was choked from cargo gate to delivery bay with bits of protruding blue metal.

"The core components came from Würzburg, Bavaria— north of Munich and east of Frankfurt," the keeper of the isle explained with some difficulty. "Dwarven artifice, I am lead to believe. This one was built about thirty years ago. It's been repaired now and then, of course. Expanded too, but alas…"

Her groundskeeper lacked the jargon, and Gwen lacked the know-how. With her limited intuition, Gwen did her best to comprehend the mechanisms by confining her attention to just one section of the press.

From the eastern quadrant, she could see small Golem-suits previously used to move large rolls of paper. Most of the Golems currently sat half-rusted beside piles of mouldy cylinders. Further down, roles of conveyor belts connected drum-feeders— presumably where the paper rolls could be attached— feeding a foursome of three-storey tall towers.

"These are the presses?" Gwen drifted closer.

Despite the disuse, she could smell the viscous ink, pungent and distinct, assailing her nostrils. She had once heard that fresh newspaper-ink resembled baked bread, though now they affected a sour fetor. There was the stink of machine oil as well, churned to the consistency of tar, as well as opaque lubricants still dripping through fissures and canals. The printing towers themselves were encased in a protective metal shell, still glowing faintly with mana. As for their insides, Gwen didn't dare to look.

"Printing Engines," Wally corrected her, shaking gunk from his gumboots. "The press-making machine requires a Mage to operate, a specialist by trade. It's in another section of the building."

"I see." Gwen followed the presses' inter-connected "ley-lines" until she lost herself in the two-dozen rows of feeders snaking through the warehouse. At its end, she found a mechanism with rusted blades and precisely shaped funnels. Beyond that, more platforms, more swirling conveyers until finally, she saw the light of day at the western sector's bundling bay.

Strangely, this section did not appear nearly so ruined as the eastern quadrant.

Further evidence supporting her observation appeared in the form of ink— buckets of the stuff, still fresh from the smell of it, lying beside a plinking roll-press. The hint of mana, unlike at the primary engines, was still strong. There was Evocation, Conjuration, and a heavy dose of Transmutation and Enchantment; all rolled into one.

"Wally!" she called out to her assistant. "Get over here. I think I've found something."

It took the others almost ten minutes to navigate the innards of the printing press.

Without so much as a grimace, Wally stuck a hand into the rollers and felt its press-plates. "Still wet. Someone's been using this section."

"What is it? A small printing engine?"

Wally growled. "Aye, ma'am, looks like parts clogged together from that mess over yonder. That's OUR spare parts, mind you. The Marchioness is owed debt."

Gwen looked at the rusted, tangled heap that was once a fully functional newspaper press, said to churn out a hundred thousand papers a day. Now, it looked like a machinist's nightmare.

"Locals?"

"We'll see." Wally uncovered a panel. With some hesitation, he punched in a few Glyphs, and the van-sized press churned into life. A roll of almost-exhausted paper began to turn. From the top of the machine-tower, several drums slowly spun, some taking up ink from a plumbed feeder, another glistened with purified water.

A loud hiss, followed by groaning metal turned the cogs, flywheels spun, sparks flew here and there, then the rear of the machine shat out a quart of black oil.

CHONK! CHONK! CHONK!

A pair of teeth at the bottom of the press gnashed. Somewhere to the left, a roll of prints emerged.

Gwen picked up a sheet.

There was a Mandala-looking inscription on the letterhead.

"The Tower of Tandoori," Gwen read. "Serving the finest exotics from the East Indies. Butter Chicken, Tikka Masala, Chicken Biryani. Catering available. Call 20 7237 2247 for a booking. 14 Duchess Walk. Closed Mondays."

Wally smacked his lips.

"I am not sure what I expected," the gruff soldier stated blankly.

"Revolutionary pamphlets?" Ollie remarked, taking one to read himself. "A secret meeting place? Spectre Cabal?"

"Yes, Spectre meets there on Mondays." Gwen stowed a copy in her ring. She now knew where to have lunch.

"Someone's going to pay."

"For using our parts?" Gwen shook her head. "If they can bang this together from that, we need to find them and give them a job."

Wally's face turned indignant, as did Ollie's. "They're burglars!"

"Industrious ones, with skill and innovation," Gwen corrected her groundskeeper. "Put that on your to-do, Wally. Find out who these people are. Tell them they're in no trouble and that they should keep working here. I formally give consent. However, they should refrain from looting the press until I can get someone to come in and have a look. Also, I need an office near here, or in here— but away from the noise."

Wally bowed his head.

"Gwen, you can't be serious about this printing business," Ollie spluttered. "This is such a waste of your time! You're an Omni-Mage, what are you—"

"Ollie— let me stop you there." Gwen waved a hand so that she cut him off mid-sentence. "In time, I shall prove you wrong. Until then, just watch. Don't forget— you're not my keeper. If I require advice, I shall ask for it. If Lady Loftus did not trust in my abilities, she would have sent you to the isle instead."

The Glyph on the wall proved a little excessive for Ollie, whose mouth pursed sulkily. Frustrated, he scratched his head, shedding a few hairs.

"Wally, call the owner of this place. Tell them I have assumed control of the lease-hold. Negotiate a price for all this 'junk'. Emphasise the scrap metal— and say the 'estate' needs its debts repaid. If they're willing, we'll call it even. If not, call me, and I'll explain to the Marchioness just how much she stands to profit. Tell Halifax— tell them the interest is accruing as we speak..."

"But there isn't..."

"There is now."

"I see." Wally swallowed. "I'll not disappoint, ma'am."

"Good, get it done. As for the clean-up, you have until mid-January." Gwen materialised a crystal box. "Here's two-thousand HDMs. Keep a record of all your expenditures, and Message me if you need to make extra-large purchases over a thousand HDMs."

"No such need." Wally opened the currency-box. "I shall locate and clear out the old office. I recall it was in the northern quadrant, beside the press-plate storage. The local labourers are inexpensive."

Wally pushed back a thousand HDMs.

Gwen pushed back.

"We'll do a soup kitchen. And free lunch for labourers. Meat, vegetable, all that." Gwen gestured to Elvia. "Put everything under Evee's name."

"What?" Elvia raised both brows. "Gwen, what are you doing? That's your money!"

"Call it an experiment." Gwen conjured another set of 100 HDM currency cards. "Which reminds me. Take these and get a clinic set up in the local town hall. I'll hire a few temps from the Tower. I reckon 'Elvia's Blessed-Heart Foundation' sounds about right. Get her face known, maybe make some iconography. Ollie?"

"Y-yes?"

"You're an illusionist, right?"

"I am."

"Good, I want a big projection of Evee at the soup-kitchen and clinic."

"But—" Elvia protested before Ollie could interject. "Gwen, it's all your money!"

"I can spend my money how I wish." Gwen patted her Evee on the head. "You wanted to help the villagers, right? Are you going to refuse now? The charity will be in 'your' name. I'll be its director and you, its spiritual spokesperson. I can compensate you if you're unwilling—"

"I'll do it!" Elvia's eyes grew bright. "I want to help the villagers!"

"Of course, whatever your heart desires." Gwen's smile grew calculating. "Get Mattie to come as well. Damned Knight's got to earn his keep. My future taxes will be going into his upkeep."

"Alright..." Elvia nodded obediently.

"Good. Wally?"

"It will be done, ma'am." Wally saluted. The housekeeper appeared appreciative of the fact that every command came bundled with HDMs.

Gwen produced her Prestidigitation box and cleaned her hand and soiled boot, likewise running the cantrip over Elvia and the rest.

"What now?" Ollie drew a shuddering breath before replying through petulant lips. "Back to the villages? Feed the poor? Give jobs to the masses? Hug an NoM child?"

"I like your enthusiasm," Gwen said with a smirk. "Let's head back to the Tower. I need to check the estate's CC count and put in requests for healers— after that, let's bring the charitable spirit of Christmas to Millwall and Cubitt."

His fringe had thinned.

Ollie came to that realisation when finally, dead tired, the trio returned to the estate at Mudchute.

Between his thumb and forefinger, he held a few loose strands.

Gwen's hair was black and velvety, so healthy that Ollie oft felt an urge to wrap a fistful around his hand. Elvia's was fair and flaxen, full of Positive Mana. Wally was half-bald and had little to lose, meaning these definitely belonged to him.

Following the horrid printing press, they had walked around the city non-stop. First, they went to London's City Council Chambers, where Gwen spent almost three hours working out how to lodge a new Charity Organisation under her and Elvia's name. Unfamiliar with the city's nefarious bureaucracy, she grew dangerously frustrated until a middle-tier manager, sweating from every pore, materialised to appease the irate War Mage.

After that exhaustive encounter, they returned to The Shard to recruit no less than ten healers to be stationed in the Isle of Dogs for three months, spending 300 of her credits and 300 from the estate's coffers, as well as another thousand HDMs.

In the late afternoon, starving and irate, the trio arrived at the Tower of Tandoori. Gwen ordered Demi-human dishes that smelled and tasted as intense and fiery as they looked, giving Ollie such an upset that he had to circulate mana for hours just to keep his intestines inside his lower body.

When he asked the girl how she faired with the aftermath of this "Vindaloo", the bright-eyed sorceress replied with complete candidness.

"I am used to the heat, to be honest. That and I've got these magical undies—"

"NO!" Ollie held her mouth before quickly removing his hands as though he'd gripped a sizzling branding iron.

Red-faced, he admonished her for discussing drawers in public, shushing his House-sister in the strongest possible terms.

"Never say that in polite company!" he warned her, as Lady Loftus has instructed. "Never! Some topics are taboo! They're unmentionable!"

The girl had laughed in his "prudish" face, which made Ollie's chest sore. He could see in her eyes that she understood, but simply did not care.

Afterwards, following a report from Wally, they returned to the isle to inspect the future address of the temporary clinic.

That was the other thing driving Ollie up the wall.

First, why did she care at all for NoMs? From the way she spoke to them, he could see that her inappropriate social-distancing was genuine. There was no superficiality in the way she talked to the muddy-booted scum dredged up from the thalweg of the Thames. In his eyes, Gwen chummed with the common muck as naturally as she interacted with him! A Magus of Cambridge! What was worse, she had taken the same tone with the Marchioness!

When they had first met, and Gwen had sat beside the Lady of Ely, he had thought her a noble— plausibly, as they whispered in the corridors, a bastard of Ravenport.

Now, he had no idea, for only someone who had spent much of their time among the folk of the street could understand their cockney accents. To Ollie, the damned NoMs sounded like they were clearing their throat or gargling rocks!

And this clinic business, the speed in which it was happening was giving him whiplash. Did the girl have no concept of capital? Or rather, who was supplying her with her seemingly limitless war chest? She hadn't even sold her Creature Cores yet! Between the morning and the evening, some two thousand HDMs had been dispensed into Millwall and Cubitt, enough for a term of Spellcraft training, with lodging!

Without delay, lured by the promise of cold, hard LDMs, men had lined up to clear out an old warehouse while women by the dozen scrubbed the floors. By the mid-afternoon, beside the new "clinic", a small mountain of garbage threatened to tip into the river.

At first, when Gwen used Bilby's Hand to compact the trash, Ollie had thought she was about to throw the lot into the Thames.

Then the girl blasted the trash with Void.

Ollie recalled screaming another "No!"

VOID MAGIC! That rare and priceless resource of the Empire, an element that taxed the body and soul! Every use diminished the caster until they wasted away.

"We can't be polluting the Thames, Ollie old boy." Gwen had furrowed her brows before letting loose another tier 4 Elemental Sphere. The first stage all but consumed the remaining pile; the second stage levelled out the terrain. "Don't wrinkle your face like that. I am good for a dozen of these without too much drama."

The NoMs fell about fainting and vomiting at first— then appeared to adapt with a frightful resilience befitting the verminous multitudes.

In the late afternoon, Mathias Rothwell, a Knight from the Ordo of St Michael, rendezvoused with their party. Ollie had imagined the Knight an ally, but the quiet young man went about enacting the behest of his healer without complaint.

Afterwards, at supper time, all the servants from Mudchute manor descended, using the cleared warehouse as a base, they started a soup kitchen of sorts, serving Spam.

SPAM! Ollie's vindaloo-ravaged innards cramped just thinking about it. Spam and cabbage soup. Spam, egg and rice. Grilled Spam with mustard. Spam in brown sauce. Ollie's innards revolted just thinking of the mysterious Wildland meat.

"Hang in there, Ollie!" Elvia had mopped the sweat from his brows, soothing his tortured soul.

"Evee! More benedictions!" Gwen cracked her whip. "Come get your SPAM and BLESS! Groups of five! Don't rush, plenty to go around! Those who worked get first dibs and a second-serving!"

"Thank yee, missus! Thank yee so much!" There were some two thousand people between Cubitt and Millwall, meaning the manor's staff had to work until midnight. Ollie had thought at first that the NoMs would rush the tables, or swarm Miss Elvia and was going to conjure some illusory deterrents. Gwen, however, was way ahead of him. All around the perimeter, a dozen pony-sized Wolfhounds, best-in-breed, kept the crowd honest. Additionally, her Void snake hissed at rowdy individuals while her Kirin hovered overhead, sniffing the sycophants petitioning the visage of Elvia he had earlier glamoured.

All the while, the stoic Mathias stood guard beside Miss Lindholm, one hand on the pommel of his Spellblade, smiling serenely at the NoMs, glowing faintly with undisguised Radiance.

When finally, all was said and done, Ollie sat in his room, trying to digest the last twelve hours.

The reason for his whiplash, he slowly realised, was that Gwen had made good on all her pledges— that was the cause of his ontological crisis. When he and his fellow Mages debated at Speaker's Corner regarding the malaise of London, it was just that— talk.

Which among them would walk among the destitute?

Who would want to spend Christmas and New Years feeding the poor? Even Ollie, who saw himself as a pillar of propriety, had worked for Saint Vincent's twice in his life. Once when he was a Prefect at Eton, leading by example, and once during his first year at Cambridge.

Comparatively, since the Frontier girl came to London, she had escaped to Wales, obliterated two armies of Trolls, saved a Dwarven Commandrumm, dug out a Hags Core, titillated the tabloids, and now she was bringing alms to the poor? And tomorrow or the day after, a troop of Clerics would arrive to treat the sick of Millwall and Cubitt, gratis. She had even declared compensated employment for those who labour to maintain the township! Sweep its streets! Shovel the mud into the river?!

And Gwen had promised new roads, new buildings, new jobs at the printing press and in construction, all in one speech— all in front of a warm and just-fed audience still buzzing with Elvia's Blessing. She even said that there would be a Magister who would later arrive to oversee the operations and maintain the peace, one who had experience lording over a continental Frontier.

Ollie's temple throbbed.

There was so much to digest that his brain felt like Butter Chicken.

When he closed his eyes, the faces of the smiling folk haunted him. These bright, hopeful mouths, loudly chewing Spam, their lips red as ketchup. Were these NoMs the norm? He wondered. He knew NoMs, of course. They worked at the Tower as janitors and cleaners, semi-invisible in their grey tunics and white hats. Out in the country, he'd seen happy and well-fed NoMs, but these usually worked for a benevolent Lord or Lady on large, expansive estates.

He had never seen NoMs, their clothes grimy with scum, hands grubby with the dockland's ever-present dust, laugh and cry and eat and talk about their families. Was a job sweeping the docks worthy of roof-rattling cheers? Was a position ferrying bricks enough to make a grown man weep?

"They'll soon turn back into their dreary, conniving selves," or so he told Mathias, who humoured him with a nod.

But nothing explained his hair.

He was only twenty-six! The Praelector despaired. There was no pattern-baldness in his bloodline, so it must be something else. A disease? That was impossible, for the ever-attentive Miss Elvia would have known.

What could it be?

Christmas descended, blanketing the estate of Cliveden.

Unlike the Commonwealth-wide Midnight Mass held at Westminster by Primate Archbishop Lorde Wembley, Lucy Astor's gathering served a more earthly purpose— the collection of social currency.

It was because Lucy Waldorf Astor was not like the other Lords and Ladies of the English nobility.

First of all, she was among the wealthiest, which instantly rose her above the ordinary, blue-blood claptrap.

Secondly, she was American by birth.

Thirdly, and perhaps with more complex than most would admit— she's not an Astor, nor a noble.

Which is not to say the upper crust looked down on her. Instead, it was her being a stranger that made her endearing. In days of yore, the Astor family had its roots in old England, holding a traditional seat in Plymouth, Sutton. At the turn of the last century, the English side had dwindled, while the American branch prospered profoundly in the New World. When, after the Beast Tide, no more British Astors remained to inherit the title, the American Astors sent their first son, Waldorf Astor, across the ocean to take care of business.

It was a subversive move, for the famous Waldorf was an infamous alcoholic with a choleric temper to match his bank account. His birth mother perished when he was a boy, and his ambitious step-mother had given birth to a second son with prodigal talent.

Though many of the nobility of London looked down on the young Waldorf, they humoured him for his wealth, a resource sorely needed to rebuild Britain's tattered, post-tide Empire.

And this was where Waldorf's young, charming wife came onto the scene.

Beautiful and possessing a cutting wit, she diffused one crisis after another, tying together a web of patrons. Thanks to her guidance, the Sutton Astors regained its place among the House of Lords. The Chain of Being was restored, and in time, the wonderful and always charming Lady Astor gave birth to an heir— "Bobby".

And for two decades, things were reportedly well.

Until Bobby perished in the Mediterranean, fighting an otherwise mundane battle against the Mermen. If the fight had been better fought, or perhaps if the stakes were higher, Lord Astor might have taken his son's death better— but the fact remained that Bobby died in a foolish mishap. It was unfortunate, but by the time their son's body teleported back into Athens, the Merman's venom had all but turned half his blood into jelly. The Temple of Apollo did what they could, but in the end— a promising young Mage died because he and his team forgot to equip themselves with upper-tier injectors. It was a purposeless death— nihilistic as mud, and all the more unfortunate for Bobby's uncommon blood.

Now heirless, it took five years for Lord Astor to drink himself to an early grave. An impressive feat, considering the Astor's access to medicinal and magical healing. In his final days, Dwarven brew proved too potent for modern magic, even when interwoven with Faith.

Pragmatically, the New York Astors desired to reinstate their claim by having her remarry a nephew or a branch member. Lucy told them they would have to Transmute a ring onto her cold, dead finger. She wasn't afraid of them; with so many entwined interests, the Brits had her back.

Widowed and still grieving the loss of her son, Viscountess Lucy Astor assumed her role as the Heiress of Cliveden. To prove herself, she would replace Waldolf's seat in the House of Lords with another in the House of Commons.

Of all her nest eggs, the GOS Hospital for Children proved her favourite, largely because her husband had sponsored the hospital in Bobby's name. Waldorf's charity had proved sound, for Lucy had gained a position sorely needed to distract her from the unyielding grief.

In a way, her famous parties served the same purpose, especially when paired with politics.

From noon, high tea was served at the grand hall, followed by an endless stream of canapés flowing from three kitchens, servicing the hundreds of guests flooding the concourse. In the chapel, the choir practised with the nuns, while the Bishop of Exeter polished his sermon. Out on the estate, hundreds more strolled through the extensive gardens, engaged in amorous rendezvous in the maze, or fought duels in the gymnasium.

Trailing the room with a train of silvery silk, Lady Astor glided as though mercury slipping through the air, her poise unmatched by the younger upstarts with their pushed-up bosom and smokey eyes. Though she was no longer young, her generosity with crystals had afforded whatever longevity the Wildlands could supply.

"Milady." A maid curtsied beside her mistress, awaiting her pleasure.

"Yes, Lily?"

"Miss Lindholm has arrived," the maid replied.

"She has?" The Lady's smile was genuine. "I am well pleased. Is our little angel alone?"

"No, ma'am. She's brought company."

"Oh?" Lady Astor's ruby-red lips grew rigid. A young man, perhaps? She felt a mote of disappointment. "Who has taken my adorable little cherub under his wing?"

"Gwen Song, milady." The maid lowered her eyes, her voice trembled. "Miss Elvia is with the Devourer of Shenyang."

"Kilroy's ward?" Lucy Astor's mind conjured forth an impressionable mien, a Phantom IV, and an outrageous short summer dress. The Lady of Cliveden had few vices and the gossip column was one of them. "Mycroft's bastard?"

The maid said nothing. An excellent servant did not presume.

"Where's Dickie now?"

"At the Duke's Garden, madam, with Exeter and Landsdowne, dealing in the dark."

Lucy felt the corner of her lips curling. "Why do the men always act like they're a cabal of warlocks? Nonetheless, this ought to be interesting. Where are our pups from the press?"

"Airing themselves among the parterre."

"Corral a pair to the Duke's Garden. And tell Nellie to bring Miss Lindholm to the Garden as well. And our Devourer, naturally."

"Aye, ma'am."

"Do pass on my most sincere courtesy." Lucy Astor's eyes informed her maid that the Lady of Cliveden was in one of her moods. "Let us see how Kilroy's Apprentice performs."

With ambivalence, Mathias followed the girls at a distance, not wanting to be too close to the Devourer of Shenyang, while fearing rebuke should he stray too far from Elvia Lindholm.

Then there was the fact that he was exhausted.

It wasn't the sort of fatigue that came from defending a keep until the eleventh hour against the Mermen tide. It wasn't even the tiredness he felt drilling Spells until he was OoM. It was an exhaustion of the mind, of administering the destitute for two days straight, assuring strangers that Miss Elvia would soon be free to oversee their ailment.

Until midday, Gwen and her conspiracy from Mudchute had busied themselves with the spirit of what she called "A True Christmas Miracle", curing the sickest among the residents of the Isle of Dogs. Naturally, by then, the news had spread, and NoMs from Blackwall to Poplar and Greenwich had come in search of a meal and a heal.

Thankfully, three mid-tier Clerics had arrived from the Tower, taking over some of Elvia's duties. Concurrently, against a backdrop of Elvia's face plastered across the back of the warehouse, the hungry received their Spam and pumpkin soup and black bread. Elsewhere, the ex-foremen of the docks took on their former roles, gathering the abled-bodied to sell them a dream of fairly-compensated labour. For some strange reason, Gwen had made the Praelector from Cambridge conjure up a jolly image of who he could only assume to be Saint Nicholas and to decorate a large, mostly dead tree.

Despite having changed out of their grimy, NoM-molested attires and then teleported from London to Heathrow to Cliveden, Mathias felt stuck in transit. Having spent so much time among NoMs; he now felt repressed by the grandeur of Lady Astor's Estate.

Of the two extremes, which did he prefer? The Knight fought down an impulsive and chaotic thought. To walk among the insects who saw him as an avatar of compassion and charity, or to return to the shadow among the genteel folk?

The Knight of St Michael had no answers, at least not without betraying a deeper part of his Oath.

Ahead, his ward glowed in a corseted silk dress Gwen had produced from her Ring. The train was modest, an arm's length at most, and the flowing fabric enchanted to repel grime and dust. On the dress's front, an intricate jadeite necklace, threaded with silver, marked Elvia's collarbones, sloping the fabric between the gentle swell of the healer's bosoms.

Besides his Cleric, the Devourer of Shenyang herself wore an oriental dress made from moth silk, elegant and contoured, but also skin-hugging and risqué. To cover her otherwise exposed arms and shoulders, the girl wore a sky-blue stole, adding to her natural elegance.

Their Praelector, who had thought he was coming with them, was given orders to return to Peterhouse's Matron.

"I've got Mathias with us." Gwen had glanced at him. "Besides, I am a hoot when it comes to parties."

"I don't know…" Ollie Edwards had made several appeals.

"Ollie, go home." Gwen's voice grew stern. "I am spending Xmas with Evee, just Evee. Is that understood?"

Though the Magus was her superior, the man nodded. Mathias felt a bout of sympathy and compassion, wondering if he had found a fellow sufferer. He was indebted to Gwen due to the events at the Gulch, as well as in the hope that one day, she would put in a word with Lord Shultz.

"Miss Lindholm!"

The callout from a maid stirred Mathias from his mental stupor.

"Nellie!" Elvia tottered forward.

"The Lady is beyond pleased that you could make it." The maid, prim in her penguin two-tone, bowed. "You are cordially invited to the Duke's garden to accompany her ladyship."

Mathias observed the exchange, especially when Elvia re-introduced "Nellie" as one of the three head maids of Cliveden.

The Duke's Garden? The VIP section of the Estate, used only for the entertainment of Lucy Astor's most select friends?

"Miss Nellie," the Knight intruded, mindful of his position. "May I ask why the Duke's Garden? We're perfectly happy to meet her in the central ballroom, or the guest dining inside Cliveden House itself."

"I can't say." Nellie remained bowed. "If you would follow me?"

The trio followed.

It wasn't as though the girls could refuse, not with the head of Cliveden House calling for them explicitly. Even if they didn't know Lady Astor on a personal level, the courtesy had to be repaid.

Although like all the other guards, he would be left out in the cold.

Duke's Garden.

Cliveden.

Of the dozen English gardens surrounding the three hundred-odd acres of Cliveden, the Duke's Garden was the sole original from before the Astor family renovated the home into one of the most extensive estates in Britain.

Walled on all sides by Wildland flower beds, the Garden consisted of an acreage of elevated sandstone, built for privacy and warded from wind, rain and Divination by an elaborate underground Mandala.

To enter, one negotiated the two guards standing outside, each holding the rank of Magus. Other guards patrolled the Garden's exterior, awaiting a call from their masters should the conversation turn sour.

Mycroft Ravenport knew the Lady of Cliveden was up to something the moment two reporters, one from the Telegraph and the other from the Sun Herald, wandered into the Garden's confined spaces.

In truth, the Duke of Norfolk didn't much like Lucy Astor, "American" Heiress, and neither did she like him. They were partners in many ventures; however, he needed her business contacts across the borders, and she, his iron hand in whipping the nobles into line. In his younger days, he would have suggested that the woman's presence tarnished the Chain of Being and the dignity of the nobility. Now, he could only concede that few among the blue-bloods had half the wit as Lady Astor. The obsession with breeding for talent, Mycroft confessed, had brought a terrible toll. Exeter's twin morons, Mycroft shuddered, were evidence of that.

The profitability of Lady Astor also made her a curious being among the Factions. In temperament and politics, he would gladly call her one of his own. Yet, the Lady of Cliveden professed on joining either the Middle Path Faction, or be without one; the latter being what the Factions preferred. To have Astor fiddle with the Middle Faction's complex politics created vast unknowns— while having her as an independent would at least make the woman's profiteering predictable.

Sheepishly, like conjured imps, the reporters slinked among the roses.

Most of the upper class took no notice. Others, like Mycroft, dimmed their presence, wondering if their host was seeking a frontpage shot to entertain her bid for the House of Commons.

Lucy had acumen, Mycroft respected that. If only the woman weren't American. She wasn't a raven-haired prodigy like his late wife but kept well enough to be desirable still for many of their ilks.

Which was why when Lady Astor entered the Garden, gliding across the blue-green lawn like a shimmering bloom, the men turned to bow. Very soon, Lady Astor gathered around her a small swarm of crystal-chasing bumbling nincompoops, much like a nature goddess for fools.

Mycroft himself chose the shadows offered by the Devil's Pothos. There were a time and place for the limelight. Even the role of an officious parliamentarian did not make him anymore noticeable outside Downing Street. He was British-looking, not good-looking, meaning it was easy to glamour the part to suit the occasion— or fade into the fog.

The Duke of Norfolk was just about to smirk when his half-formed smile was forcibly torn from his thin, pale lips.

Emerging from the gate was a vision in pale blue, slender and tall and clad in gossamer from the Ming Dynasty. When the girl moved, her shawl lingered like a scent, turning heads and pausing conversations for the briefest of seconds. Behind Gwen Song came a shorter lass in cold white, emerging as a shocking burst of gold-blonde hair. Elvia Lindholm, Mycroft recalled. She must be the companion Gwen saved in Ystradfellte. The girl's dress suited her youthful body well, accentuating what she did possess, and making what she lacked less memorable.

As for Gwen Song, with her raven hair swishing at the waist, Mycroft couldn't help but be reminded of another girl-child from long ago, following a Deathless Mage like a bright-eyed kitten.

Bung! PA!

Lumen-globes flashed.

Mycroft grew increasingly self-aware of the fact that the eyes in the Garden were now looking for someone— and that someone was him.

Across the Garden's lantern-lit trellises and ancient touchstone walls, two pairs of eyes met across time and space.

Mycroft's nose itched, his attention-dimming obfuscation rarely failed.

The girl's mouth mimed a word.

F—? Father?

Mycroft's scalp crawled.

If the girl dared to say that aloud in public and within the lens of the reporters, Mycroft would have half a mind to reinvigorate the magic he had reportedly left unused for two decades. Such a deluge of Dust would arrive from the heavens that from this day forth, the Duke's Garden would change its chronicle to adhere to Norfolk.

Thankfully, the girl's vivid irises passed like cold water, shifting toward Lady Astor.

The girl smirked.

What is this? Ravenport felt his spell-finger twitch.

Was the girl saying this was a favour? He felt assaulted by absurdity. If so, did she expect him to repay it? Dare the girl try to tease her betters? One capable of ejecting her from the Material Plane itself, damn the consequences?

Elvia wasn't sure if she respected, or feared Lady Astor's fierce affection.

Perhaps only Lucy Astor's maids knew, but the woman had told Elvia more of her life, of Robert and of Wardolf, than was proper for the friendship between the head of a Noble House and a stray girl picked up from the gutters.

Or perhaps, as Gwen had informed her— Elvia precisely presented what the Lady needed. The woman had lost a son and then a husband, and she had to abide by the stiff-upper-lip attitude. If so, why shouldn't a plushie like Elvia become a source of her ladyship's soul-soothing escapism?

Elvia did not believe it of course, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. The Lady of Cliveden was upset, but her outward expression was always one of fairness and unbearable sternness. If Gwen was right, then wasn't she, a young woman with no connections to anyone, the perfect sponge for the Lady's unresolved emotions?

"ELVIAAA!" Lady Astor's thrilling voice called across the courtyard of the floral Garden, stirring the scent. "Come here, young lady."

Her leggy companion fell back, allowing Elvia to lead. The move made Elvia nervous, especially considering the size of her heels and the irregular cobblestones. Without much grace, the Cleric tottered toward Lady Astor until, half a meter from the Lady, she fell into the woman's motherly arms.

"My golden cherub, back at last." The Mistress of Cliveden squeezed Elvia about the shoulders to steady her. "And this must be the intrepid Miss Song."

Besides Elvia, Gwen raised her chin elegantly. Her companion had no trouble navigating anything in heels, striding on stilettos with a natural sense of balance. A little scandalously, the porcelain-wrapped young woman curtsied, showing off as much as she had intended.

"You're rather infamous, Gwen."

"Shenyang was a necessity, ma'am." Gwen raised her chin, finding herself two inches taller than their host. "It was life or Undeath— I chose life."

"Well said." Their hostess clapped. "Elvia has told me much about you. I have also watched ALL of your matches."

"I am flattered." Gwen smiled back. The whole exchange was happening above Elvia's hastily piled curls. "I hope I can live up to both your expectations."

"You have already, Miss MVP of the IIUC." Lady Astor studied Elvia's companion.

"Milady, surely you jest."

Her friend's body tensed with a sudden thrill. "You think far too highly of me."

"I do not think the 'impossible' is something you're known to abide by." Lady Astor's smile was untouched. "I am a sponsor, you should know, for the competition. One of its financiers. I have a direct ley-line to Brussels. As usual, Oxford shall take the cake this year, though I am always happy to see a dark horse."

"I am unworthy." Elvia's friend bowed her head, accepting the reality with a hidden grin and a careful bite of her lips to preserve her makeup.

"That's wonderful, Gwen!" Elvia gushed for her friend's growing fortunes, feeling such happiness that she was on the verge of soaring.

"As repayment, dear," the Lady continued. "What is your relationship to Dickie?"

The nobles around them grew silent. Crystal flutes that had been kissing sultry lips now rested against expectant bosoms.

"Strictly business?" Gwen spoke with such innocence that Elvia had to laugh.

"A bold answer."

"Completely professional of course," Gwen continued. "Without a doubt, the good Duke and I shall share an orbit, whether I desire his company or otherwise, so I'll not fight his advances."

"You tease us, surely!" The Lady was enjoying herself immensely.

One of the paper men raised a hand.

"What's there to tease?" Gwen shrugged, presenting herself so that she seemed to glow. Facing the two men from the press, she made her favourite tea kettle pose. "Observe— Here are my hands, these are my knees— I know the rags want a big strip-tease, but come on, get serious! The Duke and I barely know each other. If anything, we started in the opposite camp."

Lady Astor leaned in closer so that Elvia was squished between the two women. With each cheek against a bit of side-boob, the two women continued their pantomime.

"Yes. From what I know of Sydney... you should be at each other's throats. Poor Henry, he was the best of us."

"He was."

"And Norfolk?"

"Why, what did the Duke do to me?"

"I wonder…"

"Lady Astor," Gwen stated firmly so that all present heard. "I shall state this very clearly. The Duke of Norfolk is a most excellent gentleman. I know none among you who would profess yourself his enemy— come! I dare you to declare yourself here and now—"

The crowd was silently rivetted. It wasn't every day that a Manticore strolled into Rome and gave birth in front of a live audience.

"I see— and therefore I, a young waif from the Frontier, shall not short sell myself. I do not know if any of you call yourself a true friend of the Duke either. BUT I have been instructed by the Duke and can offer one insight. The Duke of Norfolk and I are of the same breed: We have no permanent enemies and no permanent allies, only permanent interests."

"Well said!" Lady Astor clapped while the crowd tried to read between the lines. "Well done, I say! I wholly agree!"

Elvia jostled so that she could escape from the two women pressing in, Gwen was tugging on her wrist, but Lady Astor had her shoulders well-arrested.

"Mycroft, come and join us!" Lady Astor announced.

Elvia felt her blood freeze. Was Gwen aware that the Duke of Norfolk was here? Was the most powerful man in Britain watching them the whole time? How terrible it must be to be talking behind a Duke's back! W-would he slap her?

From the darknesses, a sliver of twilight peeled from the shadows.

The Duke of Norfolk. Earl Marshall and the Lord of the College of Arms. The Lord Great Chamberlain who sat beside and below the Sovereign's Orb made his appearance known to Elvia's wide and trembling eyes.

"Milord."

"Your Grace."

"Ser Duc…"

The others made room for their senior-ranked companion.

"Milady Astor has 'goaded' quite the 'tease' from our Devourer of Shenyang." The Lord of Norfolk remarked in a rather unremarkable manner. "Another addition to your collection?"

Elvia tried to study the man as Gwen had, but found Mycroft Ravenport's face utterly unreadable. In her eyes, though the gauntly cheek-boned blue-blood appeared amiable, she still felt intimidated to the marrow.

"You jest." Lady Astor feigned a blush so well that for a moment, Elvia thought her ladyship had materialised a fan. "I am perfectly comfortable here, in my little cottage at Sutton. What would I need to know of the big wide world?"

"For one so professedly impoverished," the Duke remarked coldly. "You know far too much, Lady Astor."

"Its the Lady's business to know," Gwen intervened, her rudeness causing the lesser nobles to flinch. "I know a businesswoman when I see one."

Elvia's glowing blue eyes darted between the trio, lost for words for their meaningless words. How did these people even communicate? They're speaking in tongues!

"Lady Astor." Elvia's friend abruptly revived the conversation. "I trust you because you've looked after Evee like one of your own. May I interest you in a curious business proposal?"

The Duke of Norfolk coughed.

"Go ahead." Lady Astor ignored the Duke's reprimand. "What is it, dear?"

"Elvia is now the head of her very own 'Blessed-Heart Foundation'," Gwen began.

"She is?" Lady Astor appeared surprised, or at least Elvia believed she did. "How exciting! An enterprise of her own!"

"And I am her executor in this venture," Gwen continued. "We've set up at the Isle of Dogs. By the way, I am now the isle's legal administrator and custodian…"

Both Ravenport and Astor raised their chins this time.

"… and I shall, in the next three to four years, develop the docklands into a major commercial and residential region, not to mention, revitalise the lives of the NoMs there."

"The old docklands?" Ravenport sneered. "Fool girl, the Royal Docks are…"

"I've no interest in the Dock's business. I know very well this isn't Nantong," Gwen snapped back. "And this is an offer for Lady Astor. Although, your grace and the lords are all welcome to participate. He and I are, after all, bound..."

Elvia felt shaken when the Duke of Norfolk visibly frowned for the first time.

"… as associates of my late Master, Henry Kilroy."

The crowd around the duo made knowing faces.

"For now, I am cleaning the place up for Elvia. Her Foundation will be a self-sustaining charity, one that should hold some promise. Lady Astor, it would be my greatest pleasure to invite you as a visitor and a future investor."

Ravenport's paper-thin lips formed a barely perceptible line.

"I would love to participate. As they say, the early Roc gets the Wyrm!" Lady Astor clapped. "Isn't that so, Elvia?"

"Gwen's very good at making Crystals," Elvia assured her sponsor. "She's put several thousand into the Foundation already, and cleaned up the two hamlets in a matter of days!"

"Evee means she's done it," Gwen corrected the girl in their midst. "Without Evee, I'd rightly say the folk there would still be wallowing in the muck dredged up from the Thames. We've set up a soup kitchen and a clinic, nothing unusual…"

Gwen again addressed the two reporters lurking in the shadows.

"… you two, a picture of us all together? Remember, this here is Elvia Lindholm, over yonder is the Isle of Dogs! This year, they're finally receiving the spirit of Christmas!"

The reporters appeared hesitant.

Lady Astor smiled her smile.

The men both raised their Lumen Recorders.

"Make sure Elvia isn't left out." The Lady gathered them close so that the Duke of Norfolk couldn't escape. "Say Dragons!"

BUNG!

Memory Crystals flared.

"Toying with masses is a dangerous sport," Ravenport muttered as their bodies separated. "They're playthings to you perhaps, but to me, they're the Empire's chief resource."

"Come see for yourself," Gwen muttered back. "I don't need your approval. I've got Lady Grey's."

"Are you asking me to up your ante?"

"Is your present plotting too uninspiring?"

"Don't test me, whelp."

"Don't threaten me, old man."

A cold, scalp-chilling dryness permeated.

Once again, Elvia felt the aura of her companion crush her in their midst.

"Hahahaha…." Lady Astor's thrilling laughter cut in between the two like a knife. "That's enough, you two. You speak as though you are…"

Before Elvia's eyes, Gwen and Mycroft tore themselves apart. Ravenport in his suit of dark fabrics, Gwen in her showy, leggy dress. The Cleric breathed a sigh of relief. She was sure that had the two continued, the Duke's Garden may acquire a new reputation.

Bung! The reflectors fired.

"… the same breed of people, as Gwen had supposed." Lady Astor golf clapped. "Alright, let us go to the chapel. It's almost time for the mass. Then after that, I would love to see Miss Song here demonstrate some of that rare devouring ability."

"You want Gwen to fight?" Elvia's eyes blinked.

"To cement for Gwen a useful reputation, and perform a courtesy for our Lady of Ely." Lucy Astor's lips twisted. "Elvia, Gwen's a fighter. Her ability is a part of who she represents to the Mageocracy. As a direct recipient of your friend's prowess, don't ever shun away from it."

"I— I see." Elvia lowered her chin. She knew Gwen enjoyed the fight, but she did not enjoy the sight of her friend fighting. When she watched the IIUC, every time her friend's Shield was struck, each time Gwen grunted and reeled from the blowback of a Void Spell, her heart was rendered sore. But Lady Astor was right. Gwen's battle ability, much like her acumen for crystals, was a defining part of her identity, as innate as her desire to aid the needy, no matter how impoverished.

"Time to start the main course." Gwen pivoted her heel so that her dress briefly billowed, causing Elvia's thoughts to go blank. "And after that, dessert."

Christmas Mass was as magical as Gwen had anticipated, involving four rows of adolescent girls in white, each carrying Globes of Illumination, filling the sandstone cathedral with heavenly voices. The head girl, an elfin blonde, wore six illuminating Ioun Stones, appearing haloed with radiance.

The service opened with popular hymns, then a rousing speech by the Bishop of Exeter on the nature of giving in the spirit of the Nazarene. Choir favourites followed, mostly in English, a few in Latin, followed by Lady Astor's well-wishes to the attendees. At the service's conclusion, a basket came and went for donations to the poor. Gwen filled in Elvia's and Mathias' tithe, not wanting the penniless duo to lose face, as her Chinese cousins would say.

The Duke of Norfolk, Gwen noticed, had no time for something as trivial as charity and carols, having gone his merry way as soon as the garden's business concluded. With the sourpuss gone, she could relax and enjoy the spectacle of Christmas at Cliveden.

Post sermon, a Faith-laced Blessing from the Bishop warded the crowd from illness and disease and dispelled the British winter. After the final "Amen!" was delivered, the guests exited the private cathedral. Following the night's activities, they gathered outside the Duelling Pavilion, where servitor Mages had engendered an early spring.

From what Gwen could see, Cliveden ran a proper setup, with underground barrier generators hooked up to the estate's ley-lines. The terrain modifying Transmutation slabs also appeared more complex than the ones she had seen in Rosebay. Overhead, the shimmering Walls of Force extended upward well over fifty meters.

"So, do you think I'll be duelling folk or eating monsters?" Gwen queried her companions. Unlike her previous locales, Lady Astor's well-dressed guests meandered, all the while attended by the staff. Rather than a gladiatorial pit, the hedge garden made the arena akin to a rich man's menagerie, where the contestants were the exotics on display. "Or eating fo—"

"MAGICAL Beasts, I would imagine," Mathias interrupted from behind Elvia, now serving the pair as their chaperone. There was a maid-attendant as well, though the smiling, middle-aged woman said nothing and simply allowed the trio to wander.

"Mattie, stay here with Evee while I scope the joint," Gwen reassured her friend, then stalked her way down to the lawn. The Knight should know what to do if someone 'handsy' showed up— to shield Evees from undesired attention was the modus operandi of a Knight Protector.

As for herself, Gwen knew her luck with parties. If she could get away without at least one Lightning-fried challenger, she would be doing well.

Currently, the duelling arena was occupied.

Inside, a bloke in his mid-twenties, an Air Evoker-Transmuter by the looks of his mana signature, squared off against an Owl Bear. With her enhanced vision, Gwen could see that this was no ordinary Magical Monster, but a rarer variant. Its feathers, for one, were warding off the Mage's endless stream of bolts with ease, glimmering a dark-shade of turquoise as they resisted the Mage's magic.

"SCREEEEEE!"

A jet blast of concentrated, icy air just missed the duelling Mage, clipping his mana shield.

An Owl Bear! Using spells! Gwen baulked. Even the monsters in Britain were in a different league.

"Hammer Press!" The young Mage's AoE was a muffled gong reverberating across the battlefield, compressing the air in a broad circumference to paralyse the monster. "Beast! Submit!"

"SCAWWWWL!" The Owl Bear forcibly escaped the grinding plates of pure force conjured by the Evoker. In its wake, the bear left behind fistfuls of bloody feathers and great gouges of dirt where its powerful claws propelled its body.

"Thomas! Give it up!" Other spectators, which Gwen could only presume to be Thomas' mates, hollered at the challenger. "You've bitten off more than you can chew!"

"Shut up, Poins!" Thomas pirouetted mid-air, dodging a blast of pointed feathers and another jet of blue-green rime. "Missile Swarm!"

Gwen whistled.

The spell wasn't overpowering, but it was the definition of finesse. As though shedding feathers from an invisible wing, some two dozen Magic Missiles, self-seeking and brimming with mana, peeled from Thomas' shield even as he continued to duck and dodge.

It was too bad, then, that the variant Owl Bear's feather-plated coat proved resistant to his spells. In a dogfight, Gwen had no doubt; the man was an exceptional opponent. Against an ice-based tanker, the battle was woefully matched.

"Hoo-Hoo!" The Owl Bear raised a fluffy, feathered paw. A flood of viridescence burst forth from its chest, flooding its bulky frame with emerald motes of glowing energy.

"H-healing Renewal?" Gwen recognised the effect. She had seen Mayuree use the low-tier Clerical heal when her mana was low. It was a slow and gradual restoration, unlike the bone-itching, flesh-warping harshness of Cure Wounds.

On the Owl Bear, however, the impact was immediate. Visibly, its feathers grew back, broken flesh knitted as though new; the monster even appeared to grow an inch.

"Too bad, Tom!" Thomas' friends burst into laughter.

"Bah! Dimension Door!" More so discouraged than defeated, Thomas exited the duelling arena.

A round of polite applause resounded, then fell to silence as Cliveden's hostess arrived with her entourage. Across the blue lawn, Lucy Astor locked eyes with her guest.

"Gwen— care to try?" Gwen's host succeeded at redirecting attention toward her proclaimed guest of honour.

"Against that?" Gwen fired back a smirk, trying to guess whether her hostess was serious about wanting to see her deploy the infamous devouring, as was seen on TV. "Your ladyship, this Owl Bear has seen fairer days, I fear. It would hardly be a fair fight."

A clamouring round of ambivalent murmurs rang through the court.

"Arrogant simp..." Gwen sometimes regretted having such sharp ears.

In the next moment, a hint of colour touched her cheeks. It would appear her feign modesty wasn't as well-received as she had thought. Should she change gears then? Tone up the arrogance and entitlement?

"You there— !"

It was too late; her miscalculation had attracted the attention of the duelist and his friends.

"— might you demonstrate your superior skills then?" Thomas landed not far from her, slowing from a full descent to a casual stroll. Closer, perhaps dazzled by her beauty, the man's tone relaxed. "My apologies, you are—?"

"Gwen Song," Gwen nodded. "From Sydney."

"A Frontierswoman?" Thomas raised both brows.

"A Frontierswoman? Ahahaha…." Lady Astor's floated across the lawn like a silver cloud. "Don't let her pretty face fool you, Tom. Who we have here is the Devourer of Shenyang."

Thomas bowed from the waist while a dozen others converged. As always, Lady Astor's presence possessed a palpable gravitational pull.

"Gwen, let me introduce you to our rare guests and your future colleagues."

Gwen curtsied, mindful of her fashion choices. The younger of the men appeared appreciative; the women scandalised, while the older folk hid their reactions.

"You've met Tom," Lady Astor indicated to Thomas the Air Mage. "And this is his brother, Joshua Freemantle. Over yonder is Dylan Downer, heir to Parker. Ah— young Wakerworth! Glad to see you've made it, this is Gwen..."

A dizzying array of names and ranks sprouted from the Lady's lips without missing a syllable.

Gwen shook hands, curtsied, nodded, grinned and smiled until her facial muscles were half-paralysed.

Finally, the Lady's attention alighted on a pair that Gwen had been wary of since the beginning.

"Countess..." the greeting came as one voice.

"Allow me to announce the future Lords of Exeter, Magus Edward Poins and Benedict Thomas, of House Holland."

Gwen curtsied at the twins, both curious and a little alarmed that suddenly, the crowd grew silent. Looking up, she saw that the brothers had the same facial structure, though one sported a frightful head of dusky grey, while the other was a flaming carrot-top.

"The Devourer of Shenyang," Edward mouthed sulkily. "In the flesh."

"She looks better in the flesh," Benedict appended his brother's observation. "You look a treat, my dear."

Lady Astor remained smiling, heedless of the brothers killing the mirth.

Caught flatfooted, Gwen studied the duo before her true feelings boiled over. Everything about the Exeters appeared tailor-made, from their tapered vests, their fingers full of rings, to their shiny, thrice-enchanted Oxfords. Assuming the men weren't putting on a facade, they were walking, talking "Old Boys", the Polo Men, Tom Buchanans, men whose egos superseded their Astral Bodies.

"Interesting choice of dress," the ashen-haired one continued.

"Oriental," the other remarked. "But you don't look oriental."

The "Exeter" folk, Gwen concluded, looking from the brothers to Lady Astor and back. These must be the crowning roosters of the inbred-coop. Their indifference wasn't just toward her— it was toward their host as well.

"Thank you, do you like it?" Gwen was beginning to really miss her Dragon Fear.

The men closed in, caging her with their overt interest.

The skin on her thighs prickled.

Gwen recognised the all too familiar gaze. When had she last suffered such repression? Walking through Forrestville, it had been a daily affair; then there was that incident at Huang's, and after that, Dai at the House of M. The Exeter twins were not studying a fellow student of the arcane, but browsing over an exotic animal, a rare mutant.

Summoning a surge of Essence to circulate her conduits, she met them head-on.

The air grew suddenly thick.

Gwen smiled, showing some teeth.

The men grinned back.

Gradually, the back of her sheer dress grew soaked with sweat. Even without Ollie pouring warnings in her ear, her Divination senses warned her to speak softly and carry a big Caliban. The men's ability to project their aura, not to mention their Spellcraft, was superior.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all..." Squaring her shoulders and forcing her spine to straighten, Gwen kept her balance. The twins appeared amused by her resilience, Gwen imagined they must be a pair of cats amazed by a mouse squeaking in protest.

"… and Gwen here, of course, is this year's MVP." Lucy Astor touched a hand to Gwen's silken shoulder. "Now, she's going to demonstrate some of that Void Magic for us, aren't you, dear?"

"I shall," Gwen answered with a winsome smile. "Shall I take care of the… Owl?"

"Absolutely. Everyone, let's give our Devourer some space."

The crowd parted.

Instead of jumping into the fray, the Void sorceress paused. If the twins were going to cause her trouble, Gwen mulled, she rather not fight them in a flimsy silk dress.

"Milady, may I change into something more durable?"

"Here and now?" Lucy Astor appeased the crowd at her expense. "I understand you've roughed it against the Beast Tide in South America and the Undead Tide in China, but here in Cliveden…"

Though embarrassed, the reignited laughter softened the mood somewhat.

"Gwen..." Elvia, having reached her side with Mathias, pulled at Gwen's sleeve, her expression indignant and protective. "I'll show you to the change rooms."

"Thanks, Evee." Gwen slipped an arm in her Cleric's elbow nook, glad for the opportunity to be out of sight. Taking solace in Elvia's warmth, she fortified her spirit, then addressed her audience. "Lady Astor, my very merry fellows, I shall return shortly, and I shan't disappoint."

Edward Poins and Benedict Thomas watched with pleasure as their little mouse scampered from the fray.

Of all present at Cliveden, the Exeter twins uniquely felt insulted by the presence of the MVP upstart. From the perspective of blue-veined noblemen, their ire was well-directed.

They too had once been IIUC contestants, both Edward and Benedict were on the winning team of '98, under the banner of Oxford. But the well-bred brothers did not go around gifting themselves titles as gregarious and grotesque as "The Devourer" and the, "Omni-Mage", nor proudly proclaim one's earthen blood as Draconic.

Unlike the mud-blooded Frontierwoman, House Holland's peerage was the stuff of legend and lorel! Their progenitor was the begetter of Kings! Within their veins flowed the purest blood of the Plantagenets!

They were the direct descendants of John Holland, father to Henry Bolingbroke, patriarch to Henry of Monmouth!

Henry the Fifth!

Henry of the golden reign!

Henry, who seeded an empire!

Henry the Undefeated!

Within the potential of the Exeter's bloodline, existed a natural, untaught grandmaster of sword, sorcery and statesmanship.

If only the mewling waif could understand the grandeur of their ancestor!

Did she know, for example, that at the tender age of seventeen, Harry, Prince of Wales, known as "Hal" to his boisterous mates, bewitched the world with his presence at Shrewsbury?

Had the girl been educated, she would have known that the Holland bloodline heralded the first instance in which a Human Mage subjugated an overwhelming Demi-human force!

In single combat, the former Prince of Wales slew the fabled Arthurian Knight Percy Northumberland. Armed with a conjured Black Blade, the future King harvested "Hotspur's" crown of garlands— said to be woven by Elven maidens, to be piked and displayed before the gobsmacked Druidic allies of Owain Glyndŵr.

As for Glyndŵr himself, the young prince had captured, then redeemed the howling caster by wrapping the Arch-Druid's intestines around his life-tree before purifying the heathen in righteous fire.

Could the girl conceive of a bloodline so talented as to subjugate the Elven enclaves of Snowdonia, subdue the Circle Wizards of Edinburgh, and suppress the Dwarves of Ben Macdui?

She should visit the London Musem!

There, the Frontier simpleton could be educated by Lord Scribe Holinshed's Chronicles. She would learn that in Henry's campaign to reunite the English and French throne, he took the Fortress of Harfleur in two weeks with exhausted, outnumbered, and malnourished troops!

Then, without pause, their King miraculously demolished the French retribution on the plains of Agincourt! Theirs was a King of firsts! The first to demonstrate nouveau tactics such as mixing magic and martial mettle. The first to widely employ Circle Wizards, trapping the superior French army in a "Quagmire" while flanking, swift-footed Elven archers made them into pincushions. Once decimated and demoralised, the King's men-at-arms, supported by Dwarven Ironborn, simply moved into the field and hacked the opposition into mincemeat.

Oh, the glory! Would the simp ever know that after Agincourt, Henry roped into service Mermen allies, deployed to route the Genoese mercenaries hired by Emperor Sigismund? That the triumphant, unstoppable Henry took Caen in a week and all of Lower Normandy in another month. That Rouen was promptly besieged, then sacked to feed his growing army— that Henry herded the wasteful mouths of women and children, into the hungry, productive mouths of his Mermen allies?

Sure, the Pontiff may have censured Henry as the "Mad King", but the man still arrived at Paris to forcibly wed Catherine of Valois, the French King's daughter, successfully uniting the Franco-Saxon throne.

Their only regret was that, like a fading comet flaming with all the grace stolen from heaven— on August 1422, Henry the Fifth, the Northern Star of England, died, aged twenty-seven.

The cause was unknown. Henry's celestial fire simply extinguished, as the physicians of antiquity would say. The King's "humours" were no longer in balance, and thus, his Astral Soul could no longer maintain its position in the firmament.

The King was dead! Long live the King! The shadow cast by the young Mage-King was so vast that each scion who hailed from John the Gaunt believed that one day, by anointment, chance, or proper breeding, another celestial Plantagenet would arise.

THEY would be the ones to unite the human world!

THEY would crush the welkin beneath Britannia's ironwood stave!

Such was the position of supremacy from which the twin-sorcerers of Exeter saw their upstart, bushy-tailed sorceress sauntering about the courtyard of yet another upstart, Lady Lucy Astor.

And to flaunt her body so boldly! The brother's nostrils flared. To tease them so outrageously and act the coy waif! So unmannered, uncultured, and uncouth! Why— if she were not a Class VI War Mage, they could just gobble the girl up!

Therefore, without so much as a Telepathy, the duo agreed that the Wildland wildcat, who was a walking affront to the very visage of nobility, must be put in her place. Who did she think she was? What even flowed in her bastard, mongrel blood?

For though the Crown now sat with the House of Windsor, the scions of Gaunt did not perceive themselves diminished. The Windsors are a branch of the Plantagenet, but the Hollands blood ran purer than Mithril.

The future, as far as the patrilineal Plantagenet Houses were concerned, was one of male succession and blessed-blooded intermingling. In their minds, all true Englishmen harkened after the golden age of celestial Henry.

Such was the ineffable order of the Chain of Being!

Such was the Divine Right of House Holland, under whose auspice this "Omni-Mage" usurper must be taught her place!

Gwen returned in her Shen-teī cloth-plates, drawing wows and coos from the crowd as they recognised the visage from the IIUC broadcasts.

Greetings flooded in as other guests arrived for the demonstration, crowding beside the pavilion.

But though the crowd's blood heated up, Gwen's motivation had grown cold.

The Owl Bear— it was meditating.

Even when she teleported in with a thunderous Dimension Door, it remained docile, sitting like a hermit, drawing what mana it could from the tapped ley-lines under Cliveden.

Was this thing intelligent? Gwen felt a bout of doubt; the sort she had wholly abandoned while the IIUC went on and endless battles drowned her better judgement. Now, after a long few months of peace and a few days with Evee, her sanity had rebounded enough to plague her conscience.

Was it because— Gwen cautioned herself; that the Owl Bear looked kind of cute? It did, after all, have the head of a great horned owl, possessing moody, expressive brows. Its body was large, about four meters from claw to crest fully extended, and completely round. The colouring of this variant species was dusky ice near its tail and a fresh turquoise on its wingtips. It was a beautiful creature, and to see such a thing slain for sport made Gwen rebellious to her present purpose.

"Ariel!" She summoned her Kirin, much to the delight of the onlookers.

"Caliban!" Her Void fiend drew both cheers and applause. The crowd continued clapping as Caliban's palpable vertigo aura rippled forth from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void.

"Ariel, go chat to it," Gwen commanded. "Give it a zap if it's hostile. Cali's got your back."

"EE EE!" Ariel asked for a jolt of Almudj's blessing, and Gwen fluffed her Familiar until it glowed radiant like a rainbow.

The crowd's response was a mixture of envy, desire and wonder. A Kirin was rare enough, but Ariel was as unique a Kirin as the Owl Bear was different from its crazed, Wildland cousins.

"EE! EE?" Ariel hovered a few meters from the Owl Bear. "Ee!"

"Hoo-hoo!"

"Ee—ee?"

"Hoo-hoo—"

Gwen focused on her Empathic Link. With Ariel growing more intelligent by the day, she could discern more complex thoughts. From the character of Ariel's translation, the creature was too demotivated to fight. It was instead resigned to its fate, ready to receive a dignified death.

Furthermore, when Ariel scented the creature. It informed her that the Owl Bear wasn't the creature's original form. Her Familiar could sense that within the Owl Bear's body was a whole other thing with wildly different Essence.

"You've got to be shitting me," Gwen muttered. "That's a Polymorphed being?"

Now she was truly demotivated.

"Shape-shifted— actually." An intrusive Divination spell bloomed beside her ear. "We caught it near Dartmoor, raiding the local villages' winter stores. It's a fun little bugger, ain't it?"

Gwen turned her head slowly to see who was sending her unsolicited Messages and saw that it was one of the twins— the ashen-haired elder of the two.

"Do go on," the speaker urged. "Don't tell me our all-devouring lioness is getting cold feet?"

Here it comes. Gwen bit back a retort. What was his name? Edward-Poins? Or just Edward? Cold feet? Gwen fought off the annoyance. What joy was there in destroying a defenceless creature?

"Lady Astor," she called out with Clarion Call. "This creature appears to be both intelligent and capable of sentimentality, I would prefer to consume something stronger, far more savage, and larger, if at all possible. Anywhere between tier seven to nine is fine."

"Is the Owl Bear not to your liking?" Lady Astor's voice rang out.

"There's no sport in it, ma'am." Gwen had just enough time to wonder what might then happen to the docile Owl Bear when the teleportation Mandala fired up once more.

When the sizzling Conjuration cleared, it wasn't a monster that appeared, but Edward Poins Holland.

"Milord Holland?" Gwen quickly retracted her Familiars in case Caliban desired a snack. She looked to Lady Astor, who said nothing, while all around the arena, the crowd grew intense with anticipation. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"Allow me to give you a helping hand," Edward's voice had barely reached Gwen's ears when the man faded away, quite literally, into tendrils of smoke.

"Sir, I don't need your—" Gwen protested.

"SCRAWWWK!" The Owl Bear bolted upright, then slammed into an invisible wall with such force that it almost cracked its beak. A split-second later, bars of smoky, barely tangible force materialised like ethereal fingers, forming a bony, clawed hand in the guise of a cage.

"Oi! You leave that damn Bear alone!" Gwen snapped. "That's my prey…"

"Wrong. It belongs to me, you see," the whispy Mage's smile gave her the shivers. "I caught it, after all, and offered it up as tribute for some fun and games. If our bitch isn't keen on bear-baiting, then I shall play the hound…"

Did that cunt just call her a— Gwen's mind reeled.

"It's defenceless!" She gestured toward the Owl Bear, even now the smoke cage closed in, crushing its body and distorting its thick, plated feathers. Louder and louder the creature screeched, its wailing growing to such a pitch that Gwen could hardly hear herself think. She wanted to slap some sense into this sadistic blue-blood but knew that with Elvia just below her and Lady Astor and Lady Grey anticipating diplomacy, she couldn't afford to offend the man, not over a Monster.

"A mere Force Cage," Edward rematerialised, this time closer. "Come, surely you could counter such a thing."

Listening to the bone-crunching wailing from below, a rush of blood touched her head.

So this was the point. Gwen realised. The fucking bastard was showing her up.

"Or a well-aimed Disintegrate? Hmm? No?"

"I am still a student, milord…"

"We were all young, once. So, NO Obliterate? NO Beam of Annihilation? Surely, a Destruction wouldn't be too much to ask for?"

The Force Cage was now half the size of the Owl Bear, and the creature's pulsing innards were spilling from the gory spectacle. It was dying, but not dead.

"COME ON! Do something! The damn thing's suffering!" The smug face drifted yet closer, almost teasing her while scant laughter broke out across the arena's perimeter. "How about a Dispel? It's tier three Abjuration. Omni-Mage! Show us the goods, put crystal where your mouth is!"

Gwen drifted away from the psychopath.

Below, the Owl Bear breathed its last.

Once its life-force ceased, its shape began to shrink until it resembled a furry Hob, only larger and hairier.

A Bugbear, Gwen recognised the mangled shape from its distinctly crested brow and bat-like ears. A brutal thing, but a thinking, feeling being all the same.

"Good show, Omni-Mage." Edward reached out to pat her shoulder. When Gwen retreated, the man offered her a smile full of teeth. "We'll be seeing you around, Devourer."

Gwen watched the Mage teleport away in a puff of acrid smoke. The scion of House Holland was a Smoke Mage, and from the looks of Force Cage, the man had at least one School of Magic touching tier 7.

"Gwen," Lady Astor's guiding voice was neutral as can be. "Don't mind them. Come back and enjoy the evening. There's more to Cliveden than duels, I assure you."

"Alright." Gwen sighed. Should she have Consumed the Bugbear? Here was a being, clearly with a mind of its own, giving up the fight to preserve its dignity.

As for her performance?

Gwen shook herself out of her stupor. She mustn't let the Holland pricks work up her edge. She was the current IIUC's MVP, right? The ceremony was in January. Why would she worry about a dinner show? It was meaningless violence.

"Gwen, are you alright?" Elvia waited on her as she returned with a dazzling Dimension Door, regretfully packing away a still-hungry Caliban and an upset Ariel.

Lady Astor gave her a measured look that was equal parts "stay away from the Hollands" and "its time to take Elvia and enjoy another part of the garden".

"I am fine, Evee," Gwen relieved her pent up stress on her friend. "Shall we... call it a night?"

With Mathias tailing at a distance, Gwen and Evia strolled through Cliveden's extensive grounds, eventually arriving at the rosarium. Elvia paced beside her companion as they passed each floral archway, made shy by the suggestive Grecian statues. With each step, she could sense her friend delving into a deeper deliberation of her aborted duel.

What was Gwen feeling? Elvia wondered. She could see from the knitting of Gwen's brow that her friend was no longer enjoying herself. If anything, the way Gwen wetted her lips every so often indicated that some nefarious plot fermented in her friend's mind.

Was Gwen's humiliation so great? Elvia wondered. At the pavilion, Gwen had not appeared nearly so afflicted. Desperately, she wanted to offer a word of wisdom regarding House of Holland. Unfortunately, Elvia had no idea where Exeter even existed.

"Mattie?" She turned to their resident expert. Knights were made to study the peerage.

"Yes, Lady Elvia—" Mathias walked a few steps closer.

"What can you tell us of the Exeters?"

Mathias appeared sympathetic as well. If anything, Elvia could see that her Knight was confused by Gwen's tight-lipped passivity. But then again, Elvia supposed. Mathias did not know Gwen as she did. All Mattie could see was a firebrand sorceress with powers beyond her ken, eating Trolls and befriending Dwarves. Elvia, however, had seen Gwen wearing all of her multifaceted facades.

"Exeter is located East of Dartmoor and west of Devon. In the Frontier of Exeter, located on the River Exe. It's the traditional seat of power for the Hollands."

"Are they a powerful clan?"

"They are." Mathias nodded. "Equal in dignity and history with House Ravenport, though not so involved in politics. The House of Holland is well known for producing rare bloodlines. An ancient House, their lineage can be linked to Henry the Fifth."

"I see…" Elvia turned to her companion to check if the information was any help. "Gwen, are you feeling alright?"

"I am fine, Evee." Her friend's voice was calm and collected. "I was just affirming how far I've overshot my tangent."

Both Elvia and Mathias gave their companion questioning looks.

"I believe I've done a little TOO much since arriving in London." Gwen tucked her hair, allowing the light from a lumen globe to catch in her eyes. "It's a wonder that, thus far, without context or background knowledge, I haven't run headfirst into a wall. It's a bad habit, I am afraid, grasping at opportunities like that. Think of it, Evee— I overleapt Heathrow, then confronted Mycroft, shared Hall with Ollie, communed with Lady Loftus. Then after that, I went to Wales and fought Trolls, saved Dwarves…"

Gwen rattled off a list of events so packed that in concert, even Elvia found her friend's ten-day continuity incredible.

"… almost all spontaneous and off the cuff." Gwen winced. "I don't mean to say I regret any of it, but today, facing that idiot? It awoke me to just how haphazardly I've been forging ahead."

"I do envy your achievements," Mathias confessed, then loudly exhaled. "Though I wonder, Miss Song, for one possessing the power, why did you allow yourself to be humiliated?"

"Was I humiliated?" Gwen grinned back. "Or perhaps, allow me to subvert your enquiry. Should I have humiliated the Exeter twins, at a party hosted by Lady Astor? Could I emerge an overall victor?"

Mathias swallowed. "You would have floored them with your Void Bird, I presume. But then of course…"

"Comes the endless, ceaseless retribution." Gwen shrugged her shoulders. "If China has taught me anything, folk like Edward Poins are a special feature of any society built on inheritance. The geography changes, the landscape changes, but some things remain immutable. I am a Frontier girl, and they're blue-blooded nobles; no impression will change their minds. If even in a socialist country, these self-same fools sprout like mushrooms, then what hope do I have in an Empire where blood holds sway? To prove them wrong, to subjugate them, nothing short of total power will do."

Mathias visibly squirmed at Gwen's seditious sentiments.

Elvia watched as Gwen touched her hand to a blooming rose, cut the base with a mote of Void, then smoothed out the spiked stem in the same fashion. The demonstration showed excellent control over so volatile an element, something the old Gwen would have never managed.

"Evee, for you." Her companion struck the bloom rose behind Elvia's ear. "It's lovely here, why don't we let the Spirits out for some air?"

Elvia agreed, then conjured Kiki; who patiently waited while its mistress produced a jadeite container housing Sen-sen. For fear of desirous eyes, the girls had decided to keep the Draconic Ginseng well shielded in a party were megalomaniacs were as common as the canapè.

"Kiki!" The floral Spirit pulled at her companion. "K!"

"Sen?" Sen-sen yawned.

It took a jolt of restorative energy from Elvia to revive the dormant Sen-sen, who then rushed off with Kiki to speak to the roses.

"Ariel, Caliban—" Gwen released her Familiars as well, with strict orders that Cali should under no circumstances consume any part of Lady Astor's ensorceled rosebushes.

"EE-EE!"

"Shaa!"

With great gusto, the Familiars chased one another through the rosarium. With a glance, Elvia willed Mathias to linger elsewhere. Once she was alone with Gwen, surrounded by a delicate redolence, she made themselves comfortable on a Woodshaped bench.

"Roses in December, blooming among the snow," Gwen remarked with a snort. "Too rich for my blood."

Elvia exhaled mist as she leaned on the sorceress' padded shoulder. "Gwennie, don't say that."

"I think it needs to be said," her friend insisted. "Everyone's been overtly polite so far, and it's created a false facade of London for me. Think about it, Evee— Lady Grey was the definition of courtesy, Lady Astor, up until the incident, was a thoughtful host. Even my nemesis, Ravenport, kept our bickering civil. I think Mattie's not so bad once you get to know him. Ollie's alright, and Dominic's a charmer. Hell, even Hanmoul was a vision of respect compared to what we saw today."

Elvia did her best to read Gwen's ambivalent expression.

"What I've come to acknowledge," Gwen explained, drawing her closer. "Is that an invisible stratum will always separate the folk here. Look at how the nobles treat each other. Lady Astor's rich and famous, right? Even so, the Hollands made fun of me in the middle of a party she hosted, even after she said I was an especially important guest. When they interrupted my duel— that's a big no, no, Evee— no one intervened. I even heard laughter from some of the blue-bloods outside. The guy was a total wanker, yet, Lady Astor's guests humoured the boneless-chook wrangler. They were laughing at both of us, Evee— out of lark for me, out of fear for Poins."

Gwen continued. "I've taken my share of Mages by now, and I can tell the brothers aren't just walking egos. I can't guess how skilled they are unless I fight one for real, probably until one of us maws the other. But I've sensed the same confidence in others as well, though not nearly so full of volatility— Prince Inti, for example, or Uncle Jun before he gets worked up. These are folk who have taken a lot of lives callously; you saw what they did to that poor Bugbear. They are what I don't want to become."

Gwen then sighed, which made Elvia unhappy. In a way, she felt personally responsible. It was her desire that compelled them to come to Lady Astor's party. They could have spent Christmas camped outside Westminster to listen to the choir or take a pleasure cruise down the Thames. Instead, they came to Cliveden because she couldn't really say no to Lady Astor's expectations, and now her friend was hurt.

"I am so sorry."

"Hold up— there's nothing to be sorry about." Gwen caught a lock of her hair when she bowed, tucking loose strands back in place. "I reckon tonight was a good showing, Evee. I needed the perspective before I got on with business in London. Your invitation has saved us, I'd say. Can you conceive of the shit show that could happen if I dumped crystals into the printing press without realising the extent to which irrational arseholes ruled London as well? Big o' asses that could crap all over us at a moment's notice?"

Elvia grimaced. For one so gifted in gab, Gwen often revelled in her working-class origins.

"Hahaha… sorry," Gwen snickered. "Anyway, at no point did I intend to fight that swirling ball of compressed narcissism. I need to find and enlist Walken soon. That old snake will know how to navigate all of this, not to mention digging a big-ass dunny-pit."

DING!

The abrupt Message Glyph made Elvia flinch. Who would call Gwen on Christmas Eve? Who did she even know in London?

"Yes?" Gwen kept the channel open and public.

"Gwen." The voice on the other end belonged to Ollie Edwards. "Sorry for the late call, but the matter is urgent. You and I have been invited by Hanmoul Bronzeborn to tour the Rotary Guild. We are scheduled to visit from the 25th to the 27th. Lady Grey has authorised our attendance, meaning we are to leave as soon as possible, ideally at first light. The Dwarves can be particular about punctuality."

"I see." Gwen gave Elvia a look that spoke volumes of their earlier conversation. "Thanks, Ollie, I am in Cliveden at the moment, does that help?"

"Can you fly to Merthyr Tydfil? I am catching a Teleport first thing in the morning." Ollie's voice brimmed with excitement. "This is an important milestone, Gwen. We'll be the first Humans to enter the Red Citadel in almost a decade outside of politics. Please don't be late. I need to speak to you as soon as you get here."

"Gotcha," Gwen replied chirpily. "See you in Merthyr Tydfil then?"

"Will do."

The Message died.

"Speak of the devil." Gwen shrugged at her friend. "See? I told you I was overcommitted. My timetable is bursting at the seams. I made all this time for you, and now I've squandered it."

Elvia knew that Hanmoul's invitation was not one that could be turned down. If Gwen refused to go, the insult would cause a diplomatic incident. The fallout would make Edward Poins' dickery appear a childish tantrum.

"You have my support, whatever you choose," she promised. "Do you have to go now?"

"I'd rather not trouble Lady Astor for a Teleportation Circle," Gwen said. "How about this? Let's enjoy ourselves a little more. Then, I shall head for Merthyr Tydfil. Mattie?"

"Yes, Miss Song?"

"Can you see Evee safely home?"

"I will. I shall."

"And while I am away, you'll still have to go with Elvia to the isle. Wally should have things in hand, but they need a bigger presence than maids, an ex-Military Mage and two dozen dogs. I'll leave Evee a few thousand HDMs as a contingency if supplies are low. Make sure you keep a close eye on things."

The Knight inclined his head.

"I'll do my best as well," Elvia promised in turn. The Isle was Gwen's domain, and her friend trusted her enough to leave it to her care. The folk of the isle had just seen hope in the face of a custodian who cared about their welfare, and she would very much like to keep it that way. Even now, thinking of their happy faces, she felt a peculiar heat ignite inside her bosoms.

"Alright then." Gwen readjusted the flower in her hair. "Let's take a stroll, Evee. It's not every day blooming roses surround a girl in winter. Tell me, where do you see the isle in a few years?"

Before the party's departure, Emily, one of three Head Maids of Cliveden, visited Lady Astor's notable guests, conspiratorially proffering up a scented card "for Miss Song's eyes only."

Nonplussed, Gwen offered to share the Message. Her companion, however, was adamant that if Lady Astor desired a private conversation with Gwen, she would have no part of it.

"Please return safely," Elvia pleaded. "No more adventures."

"I'll do my best. If you're worried, there should be Divi-signals near Merthyr Tydfil," Gwen assured her friend. "Though probably not inside the Red Citadel, but we'll see. I'll bring back some Lumen-pics, assuming we can take pictures."

At first light, Gwen took to the air to orientate her bearings before blasting off toward Ystradfellte, using Oxford's distant silhouette as a landmark, aiming for the fog-ridden River Severn.

Once her trajectory was assured, she pitched a shield to stifle the buffeting air, then opened the card from Lady Astor.

An illusory projection instantly sprang into place as the ingredients empowering its magical ink ignited, dispensing a scent of roses.

"Gwen— is Elvia with you?" Lady Astor's beaming face announced. "No matter, she may attend if she so desires— Elven illusion-ink is costly, so please excuse my brevity."

"Foremostly, Miss Song, I would like to offer an apology for the events of tonight. I was, I am sorry to say, wholly aware that Edward Poins and his brother, Benedict, would be present— and that it was out of morbid curiosity that I had anticipated your friction."

Gwen bit her tongue. At least the Lady was honest.

"Please don't take their ill-humour too seriously. The twins are notorious enough that their actions should not tarnish your reputation. Rest assured, your refusal to participate in their bear-baiting has left a good impression on both myself and the Middle Faction. Exeter, as you can imagine, often antagonises our cause. Nonetheless, I shall repay your upset with a show of goodwill. Next cycle, the Telegraph's articles shall lean in your favour."

"And naturally, in the future, you are welcome to visit Cliveden and make use of its grounds. If Elvia wishes to raise funds or build on the fame of her Charity, you shall have my full support."

Gwen allowed a coy smile to touch her lips. If she could tap into Lady Astor's network, then she would take two Poins at once.

"Ah yes, one more favour. I am led to understand that Maxine, your housemistress, is keeping tabs on your performance. I shall deliver a Message to your patron and inform her of the happenings at Cliveden. Finally, I wish you luck in the Murk— remember, stay away from the Deepdowners!"

So Lucy Astor knew that she was visiting to the Dwarven city? The Lady must have friends in high places, or at least Arcane Eyes all over the gardens to pick up on something so private. If so, was that last bit of encouragement an "advice"? Or was it a warning that as she, like Mycroft Ravenport, could make her life in London exceedingly interesting?

Gingerly, she stowed the card. Such considerations were for later. Now, Gwen had to focus on getting to Merthyr Tydfil without getting lost in the damned fog.

Ollie Edwards audibly ground his teeth when his sorceress appeared, not in the air, but inside Hanmoul's Strider. Beside him, Magister Hanford delivered a good-natured snort.

"Would you believe I got lost, ahaha…" Gwen laughed off her awkwardness. "Flew straight to the mountain like last time. I saw Hanmoul and his team making his way down, so I followed them."

"Lass almost flew into the vents." Hanmoul leapt from the Strider's capsule, landing on the cobblestone with a thunk before he longingly stretched his back. "Ancestor's cogs! I'll have ter adjust the inertia dampeners."

"It was a bit bumpy." Ollie's House-sister mirrored Hanmoul's groan as she performed a vertical downward dog against the Strider, making Ollie's stomach tingle. "Not much vertical space in there."

"Yer can flitter until we reach the outskirts," Hanmoul advised. "After that, yer'll have ter crowd the Strider til we reach the Rotary Guild."

"Naw." Gwen wavered the offer, shaking loose her limbs. "Well, Ollie, shall we?"

"Gwen, I need to speak to you in private." Ollie felt out of breath. "Commandrumm, do you mind?"

"Not at all, I'll take a gander around town if ye don't mind."

"Do help yourself," Magister Hanford, who had risen early to welcome the return of their resident Omni-Mage, bade them be at ease. "The villagers have been instructed. Business is booming. Try our ginger sours?"

The Tower's representative struck a thumb toward the crowded main street, where dozens of sticky-beakers had stopped to gawk at the three Dwarven Striders parked outside the inn. Compared to before Gwen's Purge, the town positively bustled with activity. Without Trolls eating the prospectors, raw crystals and ore by the truckload were hauled from the Red Gulch, racing the restoration of the deep tunnels by their original inhabitants.

"Gwen, this way…" Ollie retreated into the inn.

Gwen followed, hailing an appreciative Hanford along the way.

Once inside, Ollie initiated a silent Message exchange.

"Gwen. I asked you to meet up with me first."

"I know," Gwen agreed. "Sorry, Ollie, it sort of just happened."

The Praelector scratched his scalp, then handed over a data slate. "Here, a quest from the Shard."

"A Quest, from London Tower?!" Gwen was incredulous. She wasn't even a ranked member, and she certainly hadn't received a stipend. Was this a War Mage thing?

"Just read it."

Gwen scrolled through the letter.

"... It says to compose a comprehensive report on our opinion of the Dwarves' war potential, including Golem units, types of Golems, their standing military, and other objects or places of interest, such as the leadership of the Guild."

"Yes."

"Holy shit, Ollie." Gwen endured a pang of guilt. "Are we spies?"

"We're Mages," Ollie reminded her. "We do what's required."

"Aren't we're being invited as a gesture of goodwill?"

"Not really," Ollie refuted her claim. "You're being invited as payment for saving Hanmoul, something the Dwarves call the Debt of Haj-Zül. I am your attachè— since the Commandrumm knows me by name and we are House siblings, which in their terms, makes us family of sorts."

"I don't know…"

"Just keep an eye out, I'll do the reporting if you're not willing."

"Can't we come clean to Hanmoul about this?" Gwen reread the data slate. The quest awarded a minimum of 300 CCs, with more to come pending on the value of their information, and if their data could be ascertained. "Can I ask Hanmoul straight up if a girl could take a gander at his armoury? For evaluating future treaties, that sort of thing?"

"Are you looking to sabotage the Tower's request?"

"Alright, alright..." Gwen felt ambivalent. Hanmoul seemed a good bloke. That they were going to double-cross the Dwarves' genuine intentions sat wrong with her. Espionage was a necessity, she knew, but she didn't like it one bit. "Jesus, Ollie, I thought you're one of the good guys."

"What does virtue have to do with this? You and I are foremost Humans, then citizens of the Empire, then members of Cambridge, Peterhouse—" Ollie's tone grew firm. "You'll be a Magister one day. How do you think that works? The Shard signs a certificate stating it's fine with you doing whatever? The Tower's support comes with commissioned requests every few months."

Gwen was beginning to understand why Gunther had put off his Magisterhood for so long.

"Besides, I'd imagine Cabal No. IV already has data on the Dwarves defences. We're merely verifying and cross-correlating existing data."

"If you say so." Gwen stowed the slate in her ring.

"The Tower says so," Ollie assured her. "How's your memory?"

"Very good, actually," Gwen said. "It's not eidetic, but if I concentrate, I can recall most details with perfect clarity."

"Good." Ollie stood to straighten his robes. The Praelector was in his officious Cambridge field-garbs, which meant he wore a half-shoulder sash of scarlet silk over his bible-black double-breasted blazer. An ermine-fur hood hung from his back, affixed to his breast by a golden badge minted with Peterhouse's golden stripes in gules. "I've brought your sash and your badge."

"I am not even a student yet." Gwen opened the box and marvelled at the luxurious attire.

"Well, these are a Magus' icons. Start getting used to it," Ollie declared. "You've been given provisional honours by the College. The Tower has also permitted the unorthodox promotion for this special occasion. We're on a diplomatic mission, so to speak."

"Very well." Gwen wasn't one to say no to free titles. Sliding the sash overhead, she observed with pleasure as the quasi-magical attire repositioned itself so that it covered her with a cropped-cloak down to the hips. Asymmetrically, her other shoulder sported a scarlet sash and the red-gold emblem. The colour was mildly jarring against her white armour, but the overall effect was unexpectedly handsome. "Oh, this is nice."

"Of course. It's all made in-house by our Sister-Enchanters at Lucy Cavendish," Ollie boasted with relish. "May we proceed?"

"Let's rollout." Gwen tugged at her new attire.

Outside, they waited another twenty minutes for Hanmoul. When the Iron Born returned, he seemed well pleased.

"Got the lads some Overland souvenirs." The Dwarf flashed a blocky looking Storage Ring. "Ya ready to ride, lass?"

"Ready as ever." Gwen made her way to Hanmoul's Strider, ensuring that Ollie had to ride with an assistant. "Commandrumm, lead the way!"

As before, Gwen hugged her knees and curled into a ball while the Strider Beast crashed through the snow, its multi-limbed mechanism churning up clumps of clod and ice. As Hanmoul had promised, the ride was smoother once the dampeners were adjusted, saving her skull the danger of getting intimate with the canopy.

Watching Hanmoul steer the beast was a marvel in itself. The Iron Born cranked knobs and levers with the expertise of one commanding living limbs. Between the Dwarf's legs, a multi-layered set of pedals allowed the driver control of the mechanical beast.

"Lassie, have ye got some knife-ear blood in ya?" Hanmoul asked suddenly. "For a female, yer taller than yer mate, skinny as a strider, an' yer fuller than a mana tank."

"I am taller than most," Gwen replied, unsure of how to explain her stolen VMI. "Won the bloodline lottery, I guess. Are Dwarves more homogenous?"

"Always," Hanmoul grunted. "We like things to be measurable and orderly. You'll see when we getter the Citadel. Ay buildings tend to follow the Ancestors' Scales, as do our constructs. There's nothing quite like the sight of a hundred Hammer Guard standing in a row— not a centimetre out of place."

"You use METRIC units for measurement?" Gwen was surprised to hear Hanmoul's choice of diction.

"Yer mean YERS use it? The Ancestors' Scales belongs to us— you Humans 'borrowed' it," Hanmoul complained, then broke into a hearty laugh. "Aye, lass, weren't ya ever taught that yer Empire plagiarised our arithmetic?"

"I am afraid not…" Gwen confessed. Who in Blackwattle would bother teaching her about the origins of the International Metric System? She didn't even know the history behind the Imperial Spellcraft system.

"Am nae surprised." Hanmoul pulled on a lever. With a hiss, the Strider accelerated. "As ay lore tells it, the Seven Ancestors each left our folk with the knowledge ta measure one of the Seven Constants of the Underworld— length, mass, time, current, temperature, luminosity, and substance. From this, the Deep Dwarves derived the know-how to control machines, create Golems, build our cities, and fend off the Murk. You'll see their monuments soon enough; every city begins with the path ay the Journeymen."

"Wow, you live and learn."

"Ain't it?" Hanmoul appeared pleased by her open-mindedness. "Now, when we enter the city, yer'll be our official guests— the first Humans to step into the Citadel in decades. Ya're welcome to ask onie questions yer like, but yer mustn't touch anything— especially others ay our kin."

"Oh?" Gwen's lips form an O. "Biosecurity?"

"Ha!" Hanmoul barked with a coarse laugh. "No, lass. Religion."

"R-religion?" Gwen's nostrils shot out twin streams of air. "Truly?"

"Aye, the Murk's been volatile in recent years. Reclamation isnae gonnae as smoothly as the Deepdowners hud hoped. We've got dozens of the buggers stuck with us up in the Murk, they're desperate to git back down ter the deep dark, but nae luck, eh?"

"I am not sure I fully understand." Gwen tried to picture their conversation. "So, there are three strata to the Dwarven world? Something called the Murk; then a place called the Deep-Dark? I take the last one is the surface?"

"Ye're a speedy one." Hanmoul applauded her comprehension. "Aye, the surface, or 'Himmseg', isn't something our kin are keen on, mostly because there are foes aplenty apart from Humans and knife-ears. Underneath the earth, where there's still light, dae's the Murk. Deeper, rooted in caverns that stretch as far as the Elemental Plane, exist a network of low-ways connecting the Dwarven cities of old called the 'Dyar Morkk'. Say, yer've nay heard o' this, lass? I'd thought it's common knowledge even fer Overlanders?"

"That's privileged information for me since I am not from around here," Gwen explained. "I am afraid you're chosen a bumpkin for a friend, Hanmoul."

"Haha… then I wish all humans are bumpkins like yee—" Hanmoul remarked, then quickly added. "Though I hope they nae as handy with that wicked magic. The Murk's choked full of chaos as it is."

"Troubles at home?"

"Aye, big trouble, same with you Humans." Hanmoul was so forthcoming that Gwen couldn't help wondering if straight-shooting was a Dwarven trait or just the Commandrumm. "Back during what you folks called the Beast Tide, most of the low-ways collapsed, filling wi' monsters an' Magical Beasts. Now, fer the last three decades, we've bin tryin' tae re-link the Murk and the Dyar Morkk. Nae luck though, it's twisting the Deepdowners' something proper."

"So these Deepdowners… are they priests?"

"Nae, not like that— they're keepers of knowledge. I suppose." Hanmoul's voice took on an edge. "We need them to bless the Forge and the Manufactoriums. Without their secret arts, we Murk Dwarves willie have stout trouble maintaining our cities. If yer sees one, whatever you do, don't touch 'em. You'll recognise them by their armour. They're distinctive."

After the talk of Deepdowners, Hanmoul's appetite for conversation appeared to wither. For the next hour, both lass and Commandrumm travelled in silence, lulled by the rhythmic churning of the Strider Beast's pistons.

A little sleep-deprived, Gwen found her mind drifting in and out of hazy catnaps until a mail-gloved hand patted her knees. Snorting loudly, she pulled herself away from the thrall of Hypnos.

"Did yer have a good nap, Lass?"

"Whoa…" She looked up.

The whole ground was vibrating.

God knew how many tons of snow slid from a lifting plank of impossibly large metal, slowly rising from the floor of a cresting hill. Gouts of steam hissed every which way, misting her surroundings so that a proper bearing was impossible to apprehend.

From below the elevated plank, two dozen humanoid machines that Gwen recognised as the Hammer Guards in Golem Armour marched out from the dark to flank the three Striders crawling into the iron maw of the mountain. As Hanmoul had advertised, apart from their disuniform weapons, the line up was not an inch out of place.

As the Stride Beasts clanked into the interior, there was a brief moment when daylight persisted, then, abruptly, the glimmering snow disappeared, plunging the world into a dim-darkness.

"Let yer eyes adjust." Hanmoul popped the canopy. "Ah— unburnt liquid Crystal, the smell of home."

Gwen made do with Almudj's Essence. Her viridescent irises glowed momentarily rainbow, allowing her pupils to expand like a feline's.

"Wow…" Gwen gasped at the descending architecture. "I— I am in awe."

Hanmoul puffed out his chest. Below, the Hammer Guards saluted as one.

"Aye Lass, welcome to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth."

The entrance to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth loomed in every sense of the word, inducing a sense of breathlessness as the Striders stalked down the incline, minuscule amid an enormous avenue paved with dark granite, lined on either side by towering monuments of the “Seven Ancestors”.

The statues themselves bore the semblance of medieval metallurgists, depicting imposingly bearded Dwarven men. The foremost had the look of a warrior, being half-clad in plate mail, carrying an arcane measuring device in his dominant hand, while his offhand rested on the pommel of an enormous war hammer. The others were similarly positioned, each holding instruments signifying knowledge in one hand, while the other held weapons that symbolised martial prowess.

“Hanmoul, can I ask you an audacious question?” Gwen inquired carefully.

“Sure,” her driver replied, piloting one-handed.

“Are any of the Ancestors women?”

Hanmoul gave her a strange look. On the Commandrumm's face, a pair of finger-thick brows knitted, conjoining into a single, furry worm.

“Sorry…” Gwen apologised, realising that perhaps, she had stepped on a cultural Warding Glyph.

“O' coorse there's wimmin among them…” Hanmoul snorted when she attempted to walk back her question. “What ya think, our babes are carved from boulders?”

Gwen had indeed wondered if Dwarves were hewn from stone. After all, in areas affluent with Elemental Mana, creatures sprang out of rocks, or water, or from whatever corresponding Plane they usually hailed. Sometimes, from the chaos of the immaterial elements, obscene and strange creatures such as Chimeras came into being all on their own.

“If so.” Gwen wiggled her brows, studying Hanmoul intently. “Which Ancestor is, er… the less bearded sex?”

“Dunno.” Hanmoul shrugged.

“You don’t know?”

“Not a cog.” Hanmoul laughed. “The Clan Matrons like it that way. Who’s ter say any of the Ancestors can’t be wimmin? Maybe more than one? Maybe all of them?”

“I haven’t seen any women yet,” Gwen mentioned casually.

"Want me to get one of the lads to pop her armour?"

Gwen's brain throbbed at the poorly translated gender pronouns.

"I assume I'll see a Dwarven lassie eventually?"

“Since yer a wee lassie yerself, sure—” Hanmoul replied with good humour. “No luck fer Ollie though. Aye, I’ve seen how that lad looks at ye. He’s a willie one, that Ollie.”

Gwen grinned. “Ollie, eh? I suppose.”

“Ooo, I see em looking. I reckon that lad likes wot he sees.”

“I know, I know. Are you married, Hanmoul?”

“Now that's an audacious question!” Hanmoul's waist-length beard masked his expression. “Nae lass, old Hanmoul’s a bachelor.”

“Truly?! Surely, for someone in such a high position…”

“The Rite of Nogazen is all politics.” Hanmoul wiggled his moustache. “It’s best for the Commandrumm of the Hammer Guards not to be political. Besides, I've got cousins by the dozen.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Gwen returned her attention to the outside world. “Goodness, how deep are we going?”

“Boot a kilometre down is where Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth’s main gate lies.” Hanmoul pointed to a vague structure in the darkness ahead, made visible by lumen globes leading up to an enormous keep. “Of course, we won’t be going through the Gate of Kazhul, but our Strider's bay. I am sorry to say, lass, you’re a guest of the Guild, not a dignitary visiting the Thane.”

“That’s fine with me,” Gwen reassured her host. “I am honoured just to be here.”

On approach, Gwen did her best to internalise the operatic, Dwarven architecture in familiar terms. From a broad base, the grand gates of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth stood a dozen storeys tall, taking advantage of an impossibly large cavern system hollowed out by its Demi-human denizens. Nearer the understructure, she judged the aesthetic to be neo-brutalist, consisting of overlapping, herringbone grids. Higher up, upon closer inspection with her Essence-empowered vision, she realised that the herringbone pattern consisted of incalculable arrays of stairs forming a teeth-like array of battlements.

The facade of the keep itself was a curious mix of art-deco and neo-brutalism, crossed with the grandeur found in neo-classical capital buildings. Holding up the multi-storey, hundred-meter deep gate, soaring buttresses the size of skyscrapers held the cavern’s expansive roof aloft, each adorned with low-poly countenances taken from Dwarven lore.

TSSS!

Hanmoul cranked a shaft, then pivoted the Strider hard-right. Accompanied by the thunking of the Hammer Guard’s uniform boots, Gwen’s entourage guided their guest away from the city’s principal entrance.

Once diverted from the avenue, the spacious cavern gave way to multi-storey tunnels marked by low-hanging lumen globes. These had the look of service over commemoration, for Gwen could see the oil stains, burns, and the occasional missing slab as their procession thundered through the Transmuted passageway that hinted at a less than peaceful history.

“How do your people construct all of this?” Gwen indicated to the criss-crossing passages, reminding her of subway tunnels. “Do Dwarves have Mages as well?”

“All Dwarves can meld stone in one degree or another,” Hanmoul answered. "For construction, we Murk Dwarves use specialist Golems. Our tunnellers can bore out a new shaft in a matter of days, assuming the earth permits. To achieve structural stability, we utilise our Artificers, Machinists and Engineers, and of course, we seek guidance from those with rarer talents, such as the Stone Speakers."

“And that would be the Deepdowners?”

“Not always, but aye, the Deepdowners produce the most accomplished Unrol Spakrumm. They are, after all, handpicked by the Ancestors, selected from wee lads to be custodians of our most sacred lore.”

Gwen wanted to say that the arrangement sounded awfully like the human nobles monopolising education, but kept her opinion to herself. Why should she be surprised that, other than humans, Demi-humans also built artificial social strata based on withholding essential knowledge poignant to the survival of the species?

To scoff would be hypocritical. In London, how many Humans could Awaken to become Mages? How many Mages graduated high school? How many graduates completed a tertiary education? And how many in places like Oxbridge? At the very least, Hanmoul and his Murk Dwarves seem to run their cities independent of their worshipped cousins.

CLUNK—! Hanmoul stomped a pedal into submission, filling the upper cavity of the tunnel with unspent miasma.

The service tunnel ended at a guard post carved out from a single block of stone rising from floor to ceiling. With her Detect Magic active, Gwen could see that the gate positively crawled with runic wards.

Yanking a lever, Hanmoul popped the canopy, revealing himself and his Void Mage cargo.

“Kumdael Hillbrook! Why is that gate nae lowered?” Hanmoul hollered at the guard just peeking out over the teeth-like battlements. “I’ve got important guests!”

"Commandrumm!” A dozen heads appeared like the final stage of a Wack-a-Dwarf carnival game, half of whom wore miner’s helmets with directional lumen globes. “Trouble in sector seven-three-three, Ser! We’ve got a breach in Shaft five! At the new farm, Ser!”

“Am gain fur half-a-day, and yer got britches?” Hanmoul growled. “Where’s Stonehammer?”

“The foreman's taken a crew o’ Crusher down Shaft nine ter plug a leak, Ser, got a swarm of Vannsk Sjekkliag loose in eight-two. Outpost eight-two and six-one are also occupied.”

“What’s a van-nesk-sklag?” Gwen waited for a lull in the conversation before asking. To her left, she could see Ollie crawling out of the Strider to straighten out his spine.

“A type of Water Elemental,” Hanmoul explained offhandedly. “Nae a big threat, usually. Troublesome though, if they get powerful enough, they can flood the whole shaft.”

The Commandrumm punched a few Glyphs invisible to Gwen’s eye. A burst of steam and mana miasma hissed from the Strider’s rear, then a platform lowered, revealing an empty suit of what Gwen recognised as Dwarven Golem Armour.

“Protocol is not to open the guard post until the Murk's monsters clear,” Hanmoul said sombrely. “Not to admit strangers, at least. My apologies lass, I am ashamed to say you may have to wait—“

“I’ll come with you,” Gwen interrupted Hanmoul before Ollie could get a word in edgewise. “We’re friends, aren’t we? What’s a dozen Trolls between mates?”

“Meites?” Hanmoul’s beard rustled.

“It means we’re war buddies.” Gwen quickly appended her vernacular. “Ollie, you coming?”

The Praelector sighed. “Yes, Gwen.”

“Good man.” Gwen gave the tired-looking Illusionist a thumbs up.

Thankfully, Hanmoul wasn’t the squeamish or indecisive type. Without hesitation, he barked orders for his Hammer Guards to form up, then stepped into the empty suit of Golem Armour.

Now that Gwen could see the suit up close, she could begin to appreciate why the Magisters marvelled at the Dwarve's signature mechanised infantry. The interior, so far as she could tell, was alive with Glyphs, etched onto velvety leather crawling with Mandalas. The suit itself resembled a beetle-like exoskeleton, adding enough elevation to Hanmoul that, when equipped, he matched her height. The exterior of the armour consisted of mould-injected interlocking plates that reminded Gwen of archaic dive-suits. As wide as it was tall, the lumbering, hunch-backed Golem armour sported a Spellsword under the wrist of each massive gauntlet, one of which possessed an articulate hand, while the other held a tool-attachment that resembled a drill. Alone, a suited operator could be impervious to lower-tier creatures, as a squad, five units could hunt monsters that would occupy a Mageflight.

Once occupied, the armour’s hermetic seals slid into place. It’s mana-engine roared, spewing cobalt jets of mana-exhaust from two cyclonic vents below the rear shoulder.

“Squad One, yer with me,” Hanmoul hollered. “Squad Two, yer guarding our guests.”

“No need.” Gwen raised a hand. “Ariel! Caliban!”

"EE!"

"Shaa!"

While the Hammer Guards cleared some space for her Familiars, she completed another set of spells. “Hound Pack! Blood Hound!”

Eight Void Dogs plus "Buck" slinked into existence.

“… Squad Two, form up on me.” Hanmoul nodded. “Lass, we gonnae go a wee bit fast.”

“I’ll keep up.” Gwen switched over to Lightning. “Flight! Arcane Sight!”

“Mage Armour! Mirror Image!” Ollie buffed up a little himself. When Gwen addressed the four Ollies standing side by side, her House-brother answered as a sheepish quartet. “I am not a combatant like you, Gwen. I’ll do what I can as support…”

Hanmoul nodded, his movement fully articulated through the full-faced visor caste in the visage of a war-like Ancestor.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

As one, the Hammer Guards marched in lockstep. At first, the Dwarfs’ speed was as Gwen had anticipated, slow and ponderous. Gradually, the procession upped the pace so that the assembly stormed forward with the momentum of a freight train. A tunnel-length later, the troop of Dwarves was moving faster than Gwen could run, and it was only because of Flight that Gwen and Ollie could keep up.

“There isn’t a troop transport we could take?” Gwen Messaged Hanmoul as the Commandrumm opened the way. “Surely you can’t be running from one fire to the next. What about the Rockcrusher suits?”

“The shafts are unstable and narrow, far too unpredictable for us to send a Crusher or a Vularm. If there's a breach, it usually means somethings' happened to the Repelling Wards.”

“A caterpillar?” Gwen caught the strange translation of Vularm.

“Segmented, multi-limbed transports with carriages.”

“Don’t tell me our people stole the design for trams from your folk as well.”

“Could very well be.” Hanmoul’s voice sounded deeper from inside the Golem plating.

"So, what are we expecting?"

"The farm lost contact a few hours back. It happens, our Echo Glyph nodes bleed intae the Planes an' the signal goes unanswered."

Nodding, Gwen made a note to investigate the Dwarven variation of Divination Towers. For now, she had poignant questions that needed answers.

"Did your men delve too greedily and too deeply, thereby disturbing something large, fiery and angry?"

“Nae, Murk Dwarf donnae dig that deep, we mine for ore and groan our scran in the Murk, just belaw the surface. The resources are soond, but danger and reward come in twain. The richer the seam, the nastier beasties it attracts.”

“Oh." Gwen felt almost disappointed. "What manner of monsters do you get here, in the Murk, I mean?”

“Yer’ve seen the Red Knobs and the Trollies.” Hanmoul slowed the cadence of his men’s sure-footed march. Perhaps by design or through something like an internal gyroscope, the cumbersome armour was surprisingly agile while moving through the increasing non-uniform tunnel. “But our grudge with the Scarred King is ancient history. The war is seasonal. On the other cog, monsters of the Murk obey no such tradition. There’s an evil intelligence lying belaw, lurking in the deep dark, sending out its feelers to taste our defences, ambush our caravans, or massacre our outposts.”

“Intelligence, as in...” Gwen wondered if she should mention the Elder Gods. Perhaps Nyarlathotep had a hankering for Dwarf? "Ancient things?"

“Mayhap,” Hanmoul replied evasively. “We Murk-dwellers don’t rightly ken fer sure. The Deepdowners say that something awoke in the deep dark when the Black Dragon stirred three cycles ago. Others say that they dug too deep and angered something long entombed in the Elemental Plane of Earth. In the end, all we ken is that monsters appear throughout the Murk, disrupting our trade and our passages. Every time we exterminate a warren or pit a nest ter fire, two seem ter sprin' up.”

“Sounds like the surface,” Gwen remarked. “Our biggest problem is probably the Mermen. They breed fast, have fish for brains, and invade our cities at every opportunity.”

“We too get Mermen where there are large bodies of water,” Hanmoul said as he slowed his pace. “Muck-men, we call them—

The Commandrumm raised a fist.

"—Alright lads, scouting formation. Tordrum, Grimgal, take the lead.”

The troop of Golem Armours plinked and whined as their mana-jets cooled. Hanmoul's soldiers had arrived at a network of newly bored tunnels extending every which way, including up and down. Gwen had a strange feeling that if she were to get lost in these passageways, she might very well transform into the tourist in Lovecraft’s “The Beast in the Cave”.

“You may use my dogs.” Gwen fought down her fear of orienteering in the dark, then offered the faceless, salivating head of Buck, whose jaw took up almost forty per cent of its body length. “If you recall, they’re rather resilient.”

Hanmoul raised a fist. “Yer our guest. Allow my men to protect you when we find the beasties.”

“Gwen, please let the Commandrumm do his job.” The chorus of Ollies begged her from the back.

Gwen nodded. She drew Buck, Ariel and Caliban around herself, but willed the pack to take up an unobtrusive perimeter. Unlike her new friends, the dogs were consumables.

Tordrum and Grimgal received the nod from their Commandrumm and moved out, their Golem plates thrumming as they lowered their profiles. The Hammer Guards appeared identical, with the only discernible difference being the numeric markings on their shoulder pauldrons.

“Ariel, Invisible Familiar,” Gwen incanted the spell under her breath. “Move up and keep an eye out.”

“Ee!” the Kirin replied though their Empathic Link.

“Deploy the Krawluroz Eyre,” Hanmoul commanded.

Up ahead, the two Hammer Guards moved their hands across the wall, materialising from their Storage Rings half-a-dozen spider-constructs. With a clang, wound-up sprockets sprang into gear, after which the palm-sized crawlers scattered like lemmings.

“You have drones?” Gwen was beyond impressed. How did that even work? She had seen no real indication that advanced electronics existed in her present world, much less AI. There were no modern creature comforts, not even in the six-figured, palatial sedans used by the state.

“Imbued Machines, not male bees,” Hanmoul carefully explained, as one might to a slow novice. “The Eyre is a type of Golem. They're made to be very irritating.”

Just as Gwen was about to ask how exactly the mechanical spiders hoped to be irritating, one of them began to unleash an ungodly wail, all the while blasting beams of light in a shotgun pattern directly ahead.

“Contact!” Hanmoul barked into his suit's communication device. “Two O’Clock, three hostiles, large size!”

With complete obliviousness, the drones charged forward, skittering across the walls, the floor and even across the ceiling. One of them ran straight into what Gwen supposed as a large boulder, then exploded into globules of slime with the luminesce properties of Faery Fire.

“KARRAK!” Said bounder fell from the ceiling, striking the ground with a bone-throbbing thud. For a moment, Gwen wondered if she had finally encountered a Drop Bear.

“HOOKA AZKHORN!” Hanmoul hollered something about a "horror" with hooks, then ordered his men for ranged engagement. “Penetrator Spells! On my mark— Karaad!”

Mana engines whirled into life, as did the protruding Spellblades. A near oppressive volume of Elemental Earth filled the tunnel; then the Dwarves fired their payloads.

THUNK— THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

The stone-like creature unfurled itself just in time to take a dozen metallic bolts to the chest. The majority was deflected by its carapace, though three shards thankfully overcame their target's resilience.

“KARR-GARRGGGH—!” The monstrosity stumbled backwards, vomiting up black blood.

A chimaera? Gwen’s glowing eyes focused on the creature’s physiology. The Hooka was a turtle, a leatherback of some sort standing on two stumpy hind legs. Up top, its forearms were twin scything claws the size of Ollie. Remarkably, its head resembled that of a drake crossed with the likeness of a snapping turtle.

With one swing, the armoured horror broke off the spines embedded in its body. Its bloodshot eyes rolled in its sockets, filling with rage. With a grunt, its head lowered, readying a charge.

C-CRASH!

Two more half-painted horrors landed from the murky height of the cavern, triggered by the light and sound.

“Gilthok!” Hanmoul swore. "Pin those down!"

“Need help?” Gwen’s dogs were already whining. Not far, Caliban was salivating at the seams.

“No, not that,” Hanmoul growled. “If Hookas are guarding the entrance, I donnae 'ave much hope we’ll be finding the farmin' team in one piece.”

“Oh.” Gwen grimaced.

“KARRAK!” The injured horror began its charge.

“Tordrum, Grimgal! Slow 'em down! The rest— FOCUS FIRE!”

The leading Hammer Guards spell-shaped the ground just in front of the creature as it charged, warping the floor so that the monstrosity reared off-balance, running head-first into the wall. Meanwhile, a mixed volley of magma, steel, and pure force struck the horror’s armoured hide, burying it in an avalanche of spellfire.

“KARRAK!” The remaining two horrors, now fully unfurled, began their charge.

“AXES AT THE READY!” Hanmoul barked. “Torrigg! Banmur! To the fore!”

Gwen was happy to leave the fight to the Dwarves, but even she could see that one unlucky swipe from one of these king-crab looking turtle-demons would peel the armour from her new mates like a bowie knife popping a chilli can. If she was to do something, anything, now was the time.

“Ariel! Chain Lightning!”

Her spell manifested in the nick of time, with Ariel positioned just so above the scythe-clawed fiends. With a mighty “EE!”, the tunnels came alive with hysterical electricity, bouncing from horror to horror, the spell's potent energies maintained by Ariel’s unparalleled access to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning.

“GAOK—“ On its third retina-searing revolution, the channelled lightning turned the embedded spikes still sticking from the wounded horror’s chest into molten slag. Its eyeballs exploded in a burst of bubbling, milk-white juices while smoke spewed from the creature’s beak.

Its remaining companions took far less damage but were stunned long enough for the lightning to singe their hide.

“Buck! Caliban, Onslaught!”

Her contingent of Void-hounds surged forth as a dark tide, silently slobbering as they converged on the horrors. “Sorry, Hanmoul, better safe than sorry.”

“Lower your swords!” Hanmoul halted his troops in response to Gwen’s creatures swarming past the howling Golem-plated warriors.

Buck was the fastest among them, making no sound but the splatter of gooey drool leaking from its enormous mouth. It bit into one of the horror’s claws and hung on, corroding the creature's resistance. The other deerhounds followed suit, swarming over their enemies so that momentarily, two writhing mounds slick with dark oil was all the Dwarves could make out.

Caliban, resembling a great black spider drone, arrived just in time as the larger of the two horrors broke free. A corroded limb threw two of Gwen’s dogs from its back with such force that one brained itself against the rough-hewn cavern.

“SHAA—!” Caliban repaid the insult with a blur of forelimbs, each a segmented spear glimmering darkly with motes of Void. Soundlessly, it tore into the horror’s chest, puncturing the turtle-demon from neck to the chops.

“KARRAK!” The horror pushed forward while Caliban’s legs were still fast-stuck inside its body, uncaring that an eight-foot spider was dicing its innards. As one, Gwen’s dogs retreated while spider and horror embraced like lovers.

“Consume!” Gwen agreed that if the Hooka Azhorn had a death-wish, then she would oblige. Additionally, assuming there was a bigger foe than these walking harvesters for enemies, she would need the life-force.

By now, through borrowed vitality, her damaged dogs had recovered. All nine then piled onto the remaining horror, tearing and ripping at the armoured beast to disassemble it piece by piece. The horror’s response was to enrage itself into a frenzy of blurring claws and gnashing beak, splattering the walls with deerhounds.

Gwen shook off the slivers of ice that haunted her innards whenever vitality fled from her body. Caliban was now devouring the horror wholesale. What was interesting to see, she noted cooly, was that the monsters were fearless. Usually, when mundane creatures encountered her Void beasts, their first reaction was an existential fear that paralysed muscle and sinew. These fiends fought her monsters tooth-and-nail.

“Ancestor’s Cogs…” Hanmoul held his men at bay while Gwen’s creatures finished up. Caliban burped just once after swallowing an adversary twice its size and dozens of times its weight, then proceeded to scatter the dogs so that he could finish the ravaged remains of their final foe. “Yer a true terror, lass.”

“All in a day’s work,” Gwen replied sweetly, circulating both Essence and Mana. If Caliban’s happy mewling was correct, there was likely going to be a significant volume of vitality incoming. “I need to meditate, do you mind if I rest at the back?”

“I insist.” Hanmoul’s tone was stoic.

Gwen retreated beside an ambivalent Ollie.

“You should have let the Dwarves handle it themselves.”

“I wouldn’t want us to return to base sans a member of our entourage. Do you think we'll be in the mood to tour the city after that.”

Ollie sighed.

“Anyway.” Gwen batted her long lashes. “Could my Praelector conjure up some privacy for his House-sister?”

Ollie blinked, his eyes growing wide and his face turning scarlet. “Aren't you wearing… the er… magical intimates?”

“Not for that, ya dirty dope!” Gwen berated her House-brother. “I need to manage my vitality feedback! If you got something, do it now, else I am going to use Void Shield.”

“Will you be immobilised during this… feedback?”

“I should be able to walk it off.”

Ollie exhaled. “Dissonant Blur!”

Gwen’s form instantly grew hazy and indistinct.

“Nice,” her voice replied from the general vicinity. “I should pick this up for myself. I’ll tell you when to dispel it.”

“I am gonnae to need a stiff bevvy efter this.”

Hanmoul swore when they found their first suit of shattered Golem Armour. Like an opened can of pear, the interlocking carapace had parted at the seams. Near the back, a rent as wide as Gwen’s thighs exposed the cobalt coolant, which had erupted with such pressure that the wall became pock-marked with caustic reactions.

Presently, Gwen's former entourage was assembled in a shaft that didn’t so much resemble a mine, but a vertical hydroponic farm. Though ravaged, Gwen could make out the lattice-climbing legumes being fed a diet of nutrient-rich solutions, neatly arranged in an endless array of parallel aqueducts. Up top, near the ceiling, the levitating lumen globes had been crushed, casting the tunnel into pitch-blackness.

“More of those Hooka things?”

“A Shale Wyrm, by the looks of it.” Hanmoul's grimness matched the low rumble of his armour. With a finger, he pulled a length of silk-like saliva from the emptied armour. “Looks like its brooding.”

“Wyrm as in…” Gwen mimed a wingless drake swimming through the rocks.

“Aye lass, but not what you’re thinking.” Hanmoul clambered back into his armour. “This time of year, the eruption of Earthen mana is strong near the Red Peak. Just as we rush ter harvest the crystal growth, the Wyrm’s come ter spawn, and just sae happens, it’s found a warren full of scran.”

“Is it related to those Hooka things we fought earlier?”

“An elder Wyrm will use lesser creatures as servants in return for scraps and protection,” Hanmoul explained. “As for the Wyrm itself, it hails from the Elemental Plane of Earth.”

“Sapient?”

“Not intelligent like you and I, but capable of reason, aye.” Hanmoul placed a hand over the empty suit of Golem Armour. A second later, the shattered armour rested in the Commandrumm's Storage Ring. “They’ve more instinct than reason. Eyeless, foo ay teeth an' scrabblin' claw, mair worm than wyrm.”

"We'll follow you."

"Aye, we need to follow the trail." Hanmoul’s mana engine roared into action. “There should be four more Hammer Guards, including their Foreman, as well as two dozen labourers. We'll neeta brin' buck their armour if naething else.”

Gwen straightened her back. With the lumen globes gone and the hydroponics smashed up, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever. Acutely, she made herself aware that this was the world of the Dwarves, a place of fortresses, tunnels and shafts embedded in subterranean strata, choked full of danger far different from the surface. Up there, in her world, there was space to run, room to flee, an open sky full of possibilities provided one’s enemy wasn’t a flock of Furies or a pissed off Dragon. Here in the Murk, every confrontation was the survival of the fittest. Every engagement was a fight to the death for what little space nature or labour could carve out.

From the darkness, her dogs slinked into view, each as sleek as missiles, appearing in the dim like malevolent drops of semi-solid crude. In the dark, her invisible Caliban reported a mass of delicious vitality existing some distance from their entry point.

“Don’t worry Hanmoul.” She patted the thrumming armour, careful to avoid the vents. “We’ll find your mates, or we’ll find the Wyrm. And with any luck, we’ll find both.”

"Commandrumm, we're nae gonnae wait fer the Rockcrushers?" one of Hanmoul's Iron Borns sent over a discrete line on the comms.

"Nae lad, we've got the lassie here lending us a hand," his superior replied. "Besides, it'll take another two hours for a squad of Wyrm-hunters ter get to us. Where dae yer think that'll leave the survivors? There are twinti Dwarves in that farm, Tordok. You're gonnae answer ter their Clan elders?"

"Nae, Ser…"

"Donnae think so." Hanmoul raised an armoured fist. "Squad Halt. Set up a perimeter patrol."

"I believe our objective is just up ahead." Beside the Commandrum, the human sorceress appeared to focus on something out of sight. "Yes, Cali tastes something fairly substantial, about six Striders arranged end-to-end. Sounds about right?"

"Aye, that's our brooder." Hanmoul was now sure that including their helpful artillery was the right choice. "Can ya see any of our kin?"

"There's close to two hundred motes of life in that tunnel," Gwen translated what Hanmoul supposed was a vision from her Void Familiar. "How do you want to proceed?"

"Normally, I donne say we britch from below." Hanmoul pondered their present condition. "However, I have it on good authority that Shale Wyrms possess the ability to sense tremors."

"Hyper-sensitive to light and sound?" The sorceress' face lit up.

"Only to subterranean vibrations," Hanmoul said. "We've used sonic attacks against them before, and lightning, and fire. The Wyrm nae donne have eyes. Like most Draconids, they're very resistant against all elements and near-impervious against lesser physical attacks."

"And you're positive that the Wyrm is draconic?"

"Aye. Tis a mongrel of sorts. Thar be True Wyrms living in the Elemental Plane of Earth. I would presume the Shale Wyrm aye an offspring, or perhaps a creature morphed by Essence."

"Breath attack?"

"Ay believe so."

"Can it speak Draconic?"

"Yer ken Draconic?"

"I can translate it… " Gwen tapped the back of her neck.

"I donnae think ye can talk it down."

"Well." The sorceress appeared full of confidence. "As long as it's running on Dragon juice, I think we're good with non-diplomatic solutions."

"How sae?" Hanmoul raised a bushy brow. The lassie was good at shaving Trolls down to a ramrod, but this was a creature he and his men would take hours to exhaust! If half of his armoured units survived the operation and only one man perished, Hanmoul would have counted himself lucky.

"You'll see." The sorceress cracked her knuckles, then stroked her eyeless black dog. "Trust me, Hanmoul. That Wyrm's as good as worms meat."

"... There are spherical things, here, about two dozen of them— the same area, assuming those cocoon things are NOT eggs, should be your men. As with before, there are some strange formations here and here… so they're likely those subterranean Drop Bears we encountered, not to mention swarms of these worms with copper-coloured beaks..."

The Commandrumm plotted out the assault based on what Gwen termed "Ariel VR". Unfortunately, due to the hostages, they could not flood the tunnel with noxious gas or open up with a Maelstrom. What they could do, however, was to have Gwen's Familiars distract the enemy so that Hanmoul and his men could retrieve as many of the "storage cocoons" as possible.

Ollie raised a hand. "I do believe that I can conjure enough Phantasmal Force to double, or triple our forces."

"Aye, but the Wyrm sees through tremor, how good's yer ghosts?"

Ollie scratched his chin. "I could throw in some Mimic and Auditory Hallucinations, magnify the effect with Haunt."

"I have no idea what that means," Gwen declared for the Dwarve's benefit. "Ollie, can you explain in laymen terms the implications of those spells?"

Realising his error, Ollie patiently obliged. Phantasmal Force allowed him to create mock-visages of the Golem units. Mimic could, as the name suggests, mime the sound of the Golem's tangible qualities, including the vibration they made in transit. Auditory Hallucination, comparatively, directly affected simple creatures, being effective across an enormous range and coverage. Haunt was a single target spell that afflicted the target with hallucinations and phantom enemies, inducing sensory confusion or self-harm.

"Sweet." Gwen gestured to her twin Hound Pack, totalling eighteen individuals in obsidian and cobalt. The Lightning dogs, after her encounter with the Wolfhounds at the isle, now appeared closer to their terrestrial cousins. "How many Phantoms can you manage?"

"About three…" Ollie craned his neck proudly. "And I can manage six other layers concurrently."

Ollie's response reminded her of Tao. Sure, her cousin was stacking low tier spells, but in a way, the wannabe gangsta was a terrific Illusionist. Smiling secretly to herself, she wondered if Ollie and Tao would get along like a Wall of Fire.

"Alright, let's go with Mimic and Phantom then," she stated. "Hanmoul, you need to trust me on this. If that Wyrm has an ounce of Draconic in him, it'll stick to Cali like Gogo on Phelara."

The team wasn't sure what the analogy meant but made ready for the rescue operation, materialising runic melee implements from piston-hammers, chain-axes to whirling drills. Meanwhile, Gwen called Caliban into position.

"Make sure you get its attention," Gwen empathically commanded her Familiar to take whatever vitality it needed.

Just outside the cavern where the Wyrm brooded, Caliban began to bloat.

Gwen ordered her dogs into place. Post Caliban, they would be the first wave, followed shortly by a mixture of real and illusory Dwarven rescuers. Ollie had promised that at full throttle, he could guarantee an hour of faultless operation, more than enough time for their allies to flee with their targets.

"Ancestors' protect us," Hanmoul whispered what Gwen supposed was a Dwarven prayer. "May Nörn-Zur's Dousing Rod guide us to the motherlode."

There were many species of Shale Wyrms, pending on its elemental-genus and Draconic-origins. Prior to its exogenous metamorphosis, the creatures were said to be Earthen Worms living deep in the Elemental Plane of Earth, eyeless, blind, all-consuming but hardly malevolent.

However, once polluted by the Essence of the Great Wyrms leaking from the Unformed Land, the Earthen Worms began to change. First, they grew larger, more aggressive, becoming voracious. An Earthen Wyrm began its career by consuming other worms in its vicinity, collating what little Essence its unevolved cousins had gathered unto themselves in the manner of Dragons. Then, by moving further afield, it found other prey. Little by little, intelligence engendered from its non-existent brain, growing ever more ill-disposed until one day, it became aware of its life-long pursuit— to metamorph into a True Wyrm.

Rarely, one such creature ventured too far through the Elemental Plane of Earth. It struck a fracture where the fabric of reality has worn thin and found itself in the Prime Material Plane.

Suddenly cut off from the presence of its progenitor, the creatures grew slowly insane as their existential dogma grew futile, leaving them with little more purpose than to consume and procreate. In that regard, like most Planar annelids, the Earthen Wyrm reverted back to baser instincts, engendering eggs using its own hermaphroditic body to be brooded in nodes rich with mana.

And so it was that this particular flotsam of the protean Planar tides, having found such a place, cowed the natives, then made its lair in a seam abundant with food.

Here, it would breed, soaking its stone eggs in mana. Then it would watch as its young devour the morsels it had collected along the way, starting with prey, then finishing with its enslaved allies.

"SHAA! SHAA!"

The sleeping Wyrm stirred before the sound could reach its hyper-sensitive follicles. When its proboscis tasted the air, the Wyrm's diluted Draconic blood ignited as though sulphur struck by lightning, rippling its carapaces from fanged snout to barbed tail.

Without understanding, the Wyrm's Essence-addled brain burned with agitation. Such resentment coursed through its bloated body that milk-white mucus poured from its pores, smothering its surroundings with strands of viscous silk.

A moment later, a creature stomped into the domain of its tremor-sensitive bristles.

The Shale Wyrm had never seen a bird before, but that did not prevent it from acknowledging acutely ancestral memories demanding its foe's demise.

"KE-KE—!" The Wyrm bared its four pairs of fangs, each set embedded within the other. Its organ gurgled and gnashed, brought to bear by the blessing of the Great Wyrms. Distending its neck, pulling back every muscle in its throat, the Shale Wyrm compressed the dozen acid glans hidden in its fleshy cavities, compressing its potent payload.

"GLUBLURRRGH!" Elemental Earth and Water, mixed with Essence and the creature's secretions, vomited forth as a blue-green sludge.

"SHAA!" Its avian assailant covered itself with both wings, shielding its face and body.

In the aftermath, the Shale Wyrm panted, its great, glistening frame undulating as it absorbed the surrounding mana, turning fields of brittle crystals into lightless dust.

Sulfurous gas rose from the granite flagstones as the all-melting compound slid from the bird's crow-coat, eating the floor in great mouthfuls.

"SHAA!" The creature continued its advance. Its wings unfurled to reveal a mouth that rivalled the Shale Wyrm's flesh-flaying apparatus. Below its crow-black feathers, a white pair of claws, so discordant against its sleek body, stalked forward with dreadful purpose.

Rising to the challenge, the Shale Wyrm uncoiled itself, segment by armoured segment.

"Ke-ke-ke—"

Numberless symbiotic scavengers and parasitic hangers-on jolted awake at the behest of their usurping sovereign. With a growl more "Akch!" than throaty howl, it willed its dominated allies to expend themselves against the invader.

"Harath!" Hanmoul gave the order.

Over forty Golem-units rushed headlong into the cavern, following the pitter-patter of Gwen's streaming hounds. At the threshold of the cavern, a chaotic line of scavengers, everything from swarms of elementals like the parrot-beaked Copper Slugs to a family of menacing Hookas met the trespassers.

Grouped by themselves, Hanmoul would not have found the monsters to be insurmountable. Be it the iron-eating swarmers with their acidic breath, or the Hookas with their ambush, the Magical Monsters of the Murk had individual territories and quirks. Low in intelligence, these beasts were rarely a match for the organised Dwarves, who conducted monthly Purges to push from the Murk toward the Dyar Morkk, the low-ways. Indeed, only when commanded by a higher being to not fight among themselves did the tier of danger offered by the Murk multiplied.

The dim cavern grew suddenly bright with firelight.

A portion of the illusory Hammer Guards opened fire, while others dashed forward with no regard for their safety. The sorceress' conjured beasties performed just as admirably, splitting into streams to flank the monsters in their midst, sowing confusion.

"Tordrum, take Squad One left and start retrieving the cocoons. Grimgal! Take a right, you and Squad Two are with me!"

"Aye, Commandrumm!"

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

A rolling wave of corrosive gas, lime-green and glowing with supercharged mana, rolled over the lair's invaders.

"UP YER ELEMENTAL RESISTS!" Hanmoul punched-in the Glyph combination. "Keep moving even if yer legs melt!"

Up ahead, the lass' Big Bird survived the enveloping acid without so much as a step backwards. With a "Shaa!", it battered away the stone-melting sludge, then continued its march toward the Wyrm.

The Wyrm itself was as Hanmoul had feared, an escaped denizen from the deeper parts of the Elemental Plane of Earth. It was an adult, at minimum the size of a ten-carriage Vularm, stretching from cavern floor to ceiling.

How was the girl's bird, which was a quarter its size, hoping to defeat such a beast? Hanmoul wondered.

Or perhaps that wasn't the point, Hanmoul contemplated the match-up. Was the girl offering her Familiar as a selfless distraction so that, given the operative time frame, Hanmoul's men could pull as many cocooned eggs from the lair as possible? And, the Ancestors' willing, would find his kin still possessing the breath of life?

"KE-KE!"

"Shaa!"

The Wyrm was wily. Flanking the Big Bird, it attacked with all four-sets of diamond-hard mandibles from the flank, while up above, its tail was poised to strike with an envenomed, spear-tipped barb.

"Girlie!" Hanmoul warned his companion even as the corroding fog sent up warming flares all over his diagnostic panel.

"Void Sphere!"

Hanmoul needn't have worried. An eruption of dark matter spewed forth as though a tenebrous capsule of ink, consuming the tip of the tail, followed shortly by a secondary nova. In the spell's passing, there was no explosion nor conflagration, not even a shockwave. There was only the eroded stump of what had been a tail, fountaining jets of oily, aubergine ichor.

In totality, the spell had removed but a finger from the Wyrm's mass. In practice, the Wyrm had been disarmed.

"SHAA!" The bird took flight.

Hanmoul didn't know much about birds, but from the mass of the house-sized avian horror, it should not have been able to lift into the air, at least not without reinventing Gul-Zūh's Law of Mass. Instead, the creature's muscles and ligaments make a mockery of physics. With a thunderclap of dark wings, it lifted itself above the Wyrm, forcing the creature's momentum-filled strike to pass harmlessly below.

Then the Big Bird landed.

A pair of white hands, slender and feminine, closed in around a segment of the Wyrm's torso, one against its spine, assuming it had one, and the other nearer to the base of its neck.

Hanmoul quaked, all rational thought momentarily fled his mind. As the creatures met in melee, Hanmoul forgot about the Copper Slugs gnawing at his armour's thigh and swarming over his men, both real and imaginary.

CRUNCH!

Hanmoul winced, suddenly filled with compassion for the Wyrm.

As had been done to the Trollies of Scarred Peak, the Big Bird's finger-claws first deformed the Wyrm's carapace, then rendered its soft-flesh into oozing clay.

"KAKAKAKA—" The Wyrm thrashed madly, perhaps in disbelief that it would be bested so quickly and so totally. Once again, writhing, twisting and turning, it opened its maw, glans at the ready, then smothered the bird with sulphuric acid.

The Big Bird simply did not give a krummp.

Hanmoul soberly forced himself to refocus on the task at hand. With a three-score of expertly-timed strikes from his chain-axe, he hewed at the Copper Slug's joints until the carapace gave way. Crushing the soft flesh with his mechanised, mana-charged fist, the Commandrumm then pushed through the acid fog to arrive at the brooding site.

Already, his men were hewing at the base of the cocoons, spell-shaping the granite to free their attached cargo. Locating an egg himself, Hanmoul set to work, mindful that not a dozen meters away, a terror bird was shredding a Vularm— carriage by squirming carriage.

"Buck! Take the Hooka on the right! Astro, retreat, then help carry the cocoons!"

Via Ariel's eyes, Gwen surveyed the battlefield, feeling every bit the all-seeing player of a real-time strategy game.

Ollie stood a meter away, refreshing the Invisibility on her armour while maintaining his Phantasmic Force, concurrently confusing the swarms with hallucinations. The young man was already one mana potion down and panting, though his face flushed with excitement.

"Ariel, get ready…" Gwen waited for the monsters to converged on the fleeing Dwarven armour before pushing Almudj's Essence into her conduits. "Ball Lightning!"

"EE-EE!"

Where the interior of the cavern had glowed with fire and magma, it now grew hysterically bright as orbs of sizzling, viridescent electricity expanded amidst the pursuing swarm.

One by one, the Dwarves retreated with their cargos, some cradling two eggs, others having three cocoons chained together as a bouncing, skittering train.

"Invisibility—" Ollie obliged once more, an expert in Spellcraft but inexpert when it came to the art of war. He was also clad in the second-tier illusion staple, though as an ally, Gwen could make out a faded outline, as though her House-brother had become incorporeal. "Gwen, are we retreating now?"

"Sif!" Her blood was up. Who would retreat when their gamble paid off? The Wyrm was well-pollinated with Draconic Essence, and as one who had experienced the prowess of the Big Birds against Golos, she possessed not an ounce of worry that Caliban would not emerge with a new form. "Retreat? We're finishing this!"

"But you said…"

"I told him to trust me— whoa—" Gwen shuddered as vitality fled from her body, making her momentarily blank out. "Sorry, that had quite the kick—and he's right to do so. Cali will win, and we will reclaim this part of the mines for our allies."

Unable to refute her claim, Gwen's companion returned his gaze to the titanic struggle between bird and worm while Gwen returned hers to the general chaos of the battlefield.

"Chain Lightning!" She loved the fact that thanks to Ollie's illusions, and with Ariel acting as her portable turret, the enemy was wholly unaware of her lightning blasts' origins. "Invisible Familiar!"

"EE!" Ariel too enjoyed itself.

Like shooting Gobs in a terraformed pit, electricity arched between Ariel's sixteen pointed stag horns before sharing the Evocation favourite with the masses, ripping through the Hookas, liquifying a dozen Copper Worms, then circling again to ravage the foe anew.

"SHAA!" A cry of triumph echoed.

Caliban, missing feathers here and there, sans half the digits on its hands as well as a mortal segment of its neck, had removed enough Wyrm flesh to expose the Wyrm's sacred component— its Creature Core.

"Consume!" Gwen's heart pounded against her throat. "Cali! Do it now!"

Perhaps realising that the end was nigh, the Wyrm reverted to its lesser instincts. From every inch of its quivering flesh, a silky, viscous ooze erupted forth, making itself slick and slippery. Caliban's peeled, tooth-lined maw struck the creature's flank, only to come away frustrated, catching a throat-full of slime.

Gwen felt her understanding of Magic Creatures and their defence mechanisms fully renewed. All that vitality she poured forth, all that Void matter, and the mitigating offset was the power of Vaseline?! Nature does find a way!

"Fuck me. Cali, keep it pinned! Ariel! Lightning Bolt!"

Her alternative efforts were likewise disappointed by the Wyrm's primordial defences.

"Void Seeker!"

Her discus consumed itself about half-a-meter into the creature's flank, barely enough to slice off its lest rotund segment. Caliban made another attempt, but not only was it slipping on great gobs of slime from chin to chest, but its fingers were also losing grip.

Ding!

Hanmoul's Message pinged. "Yer desiring to hunt the Wyrm?"

"YES!" Gwen hollered back. "Any ideas?"

"Don't you worry, Lass," Hanmoul's reply was full of confidence, as well as a hint of relief. "We'll keep it contained. Alright, lads! Let's turn up the heat for the lassies' cockie! Dragonbreath! Give it all yer got!"

Those of the Hammer Guards still retrieving the cocoons rushed past Ollie and Gwen, while others returning to the fray fired up both Spellswords. Beginning with Hanmoul, the Dwarves poured gouts of fire toward the slimy, shimmering Wyrm.

If anything, Gwen supposed, Dwarves would know how to temper a forge. Instantly, the temperature in the cavern shot up. The smothering slime dried up within a matter of seconds, becoming flaky and crusty. As for the great Wyrm itself, it writhed and turned, seeking an escape, only to be battered back by Caliban using its wings and its whip-like neck.

More and more Dwarves joined with their flamers, their mana-engines glowing blue-hot as the liquid crystal blew out. The air grew so hot that the cavern's stones sizzled while its inhabitants baked.

Ollie erected his Mage Shield, while Gwen found herself surprisingly resilient against the arcane fire. Her Lightning dogs seemed to largely ignore the heat, while her Void hounds skulked like murky skeletons among the wavering air.

The surviving swarms that fed on the Shale Wyrm's waste fled, while what remained of the family of Hookas perished under renewed volleys of iron-wrought spikes, impaled against stone hot enough to cook their insides.

The Wyrm made a wild dash against the granite floor, shaping the stone, seeking a way out. Unfortunately for their otherworldly invader, its fount of slime was no longer sustainable in its immediate environment. Even as it attempted to bore a new hole, the Dwarves sealed its exit with stone shaping spells fired from their Spellswords.

Caliban descended, breaking through the crispy, smouldering silk to tear away chunks of bruised and battered flesh. Where the blistering slime grew exposed to the searing heat, it quickly solidified, losing all viscosity.

At long last, goaded by a madcap Gwen howling "Consume! CONSUME!" Caliban enclosed the creature's Core with its tentacled maw, severing the Wyrm's heart from its Tyrian-veined arteries in a single tug, painting the Dwarves below with an arc of bubbling purple blood.

"SHAA!"

Rousing cheers went up as the Hammer Guards bathed in ankle-deep gore.

"Good work, Cali!" Gwen poured what vitality she had left into Caliban, restoring her fiend's battle-weary body. No doubt she would soon be deep in meditation, the intensity of which nothing short of a Void Shield would keep decent. From her present vantage, all that was left was to grind down the remaining foes. Caliban was, after all, full-fluffed and choked full of vitality, brimming with battle lust in its most aggressive form.

"Cali, Ariel, Buck, Astro, Ollie— clean up the rest." She fought off the shivers even as her limbs grew ice-cold. "Mummy's going to take a breather."

Gwen emerged refreshed and hale from her meditation, having Prestidigitated her armour while in seclusion. When her Void Shield faded from view, she found herself surrounded by a wall of metal standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

"They wanted to defend you while you were meditating," Ollie quickly explained.

Gwen gave her audience an appreciative nod. "Hanmoul?"

"Over there." Ollie's expression did not posses expectant joy, nor a look of burgeoning hope.

Bowing their heads slightly, the Iron Born Dwarves clanked aside in their cumbersome battlesuits. Further down the corridor, she could see Hanmoul and the others, flanked by his sergeants. Presently, the Dwarves were at the tail end of their egg-sorting labour. As she approached, she couldn't help but notice that the tunnel's walls were bruised with ichor in lurid, crimson shades.

That and beside the group, there were rows of Dwarven bodies caked in slime. There were three dozen in all, all of whom laid perfectly still.

"Shit…" Gwen muttered.

"We didn't know, but the Wyrm's venom takes life while preserving the flesh," Hanmoul announced for her benefit. "I am truly sorry, lass. You did all of this for nothing."

CRUNCH!

One of the armoured Dwarves cracked open the last cocoon. Once the content revealed itself to be the rock-like egg belonging to their kin-slayer. Swiftly, the Hammer Guard smashed into the egg, splatting embryo across the wall, then set the yolk aflame with gouts of orange magma from his Spellsword.

"That's all of them." The Iron Born saluted.

"I am sorry too, Hanmoul." Gwen walked through the rows of grey-faced cadavers. There were Dwarves both young and old, some with beards just reaching their neck, others as long as their waist. There were women as well, with fine whiskers and less prominent noses and jawbones and a certain softness to the brows. All of whom now laid side by side, still slick with the enzyme from the Wyrm's digestive systems.

Dearly, Gwen wished that she had an Evee to cuddle.

"Caliban…"

Her Void snake, now docile, communicated that there were no discernible motes of vitality to be consumed.

"We're grateful, lass," Hanmoul assured her, as if afraid of her displeasure. "Truly."

"I know." Gwen fought down the cold invasion of disappointment. She had genuinely hoped that they would find someone, anyone, alive and well. If even one individual survived, then any effort would have been worthwhile.

"We shall consign their bodies to their Clans."

"That's good to hear."

"The Clans will be in your debt..."

"That was not my intention." Gwen shook her head. Her intention had been two-fold. One, she wanted to bring back Hanmoul's kin alive. As for her secondary purpose, it was the selfish curiosity of wanting to pit Caliban against a Draconic foe.

"I've called for escorts and transports," Hanmoul continued. "We'll be entering through the Gate of Kazhul, sorceress. By my word, ye shall receive a proper welcome."

"You don't have to." Gwen wondered if her modesty was feigned even as the words left her mouth. She had desired the Dwarves' favour, that much was self-evident. They had access to technology and expertise that she could not beg from London, not with the nobles barring her way. "Hanmoul, I said we're mates, and if you see me as a mate, we don't need ceremony or repayment for offering a helping hand. If Ollie got nabbed, would you have aided me in his retrieval?"

Ollie gave her a strange look, demanding to know if her analogy involved extracting his blue-veined corpse from the gut of a shredded Wyrm.

"Nae, lass." Hanmoul wasn't in the mood for debates of modesty. "I'll not have yer slink into the city like a thief, not after what yer've done for us in aw home. The Clans will ken what you did and why yer're here."

Gwen could only nod, lamenting the murdered mirth that should have followed a thorough victory.

Up close, the Gate of Kazhul was twice the size and grandeur.

In her mind, Gwen always imagined that a hero's welcome set in a world of high fantasy would involve rose petals, trumpets, clarions, tapestries and adoring fans lining the battlements tossing streamers.

Instead, she walked beside Hanmoul, leading a train of grey-faced cadavers through the solemn halls embedded within the keep, watched by the lantern-like eyes of the Citadel's citizens.

Inside, she was in no mood to marvel at the architecture, the stained-crystal murals, the monolithic statues of Dwarven warriors holding up the ceiling. Instead, she was met with the despairing howls of families as they emerged from Citadel's depth to claim the dead.

Gwen stood and studied the gathered crowd while they watched her in turn. The citizens, as far as she could tell, were dressed in a variety of garbs closely resembling medieval tunics but adorned with gadgets and tools. Physiologically, the Demi-human folk known as Dwarves were essentially stout Humans, with the males being barrel-chested and rotund, while the females were thick-thighed and generously bosomed. There was an overt preference for unisex leather gloves, as well as knee-high boots, and far more uniformity than what one would expect in a Human enclave.

Hanmoul walked among those unfortunate enough to have to step up from the crowd to claim a body, patting shoulders and offering kind words here and there. Once identified, the segmented, self-propelled dollies used to transport the bodies followed the claimants, presumably taking the corpses to the Clan's abode to be returned to the Plane of Earth.

"Gwen— heads up." Ollie's silent Message bloomed beside her ear.

As prescribed, she looked up.

There, standing behind the keep's art-deco parapet, was a troop of black-clad Dwarves looking straight out of dystopian science fiction. Their leader was the one to whom Ollie referred, for the Dwarf was clad from head to toe in bound cloth and forge-pressed plating. The mask reminded Gwen of Daft Punk's signature helmets, while around the man's torso, form-fitting runic plating glowed faintly with warding magic. The Dwarf's arms were likewise covered in what looked like holy scripts, ending in a pair of overlarge gauntlets half-hidden in long, pontifical sleeves.

A Deepdowner, Gwen recognised the unusual look. Those who loathed the surface, and who considered anything outside the deep dark Vadam.

Their eyes met, or rather, she met the helmet's reflective exterior.

"Don't stare." Ollie coughed. "Remember what Hanmoul said."

And what Lady Astor had forewarned, Gwen cautioned herself as she returned her attention to the grieving parents, siblings, Clanmates, mentors and friends. The scene was touching, but she had seen it all before. Were such displays of human suffering no longer sufficiently woeful? She wondered, or was it because there was no Elvia here to ground her to reality, to put the proper emotions in place?

Cart by cart, the bodies were claimed until only one remained.

"A Clanless…" Hanmoul shook his head. "We get them sometimes, survivors from another enclave."

"What happens to him?"

"We'll consign him to the fire in the Hall of Names."

With the last body gone, Gwen breathed out.

"Let us return to the Rotary Guild." Hanmoul's expression remained sombre. "We've done well today, thanks to you. Woe for the dead, but joy for the living. And so the Great Cog turns..."

If Gwen had to describe the journey from the gate down to the imposing fortress known as the Rotary Guild, she would expound on the time she walked through Blackheath wearing a minidress. And like the residents of that down-and-out suburb, the Dwarves here did not shy away from a good gander.

As before, walking beside Hanmoul, she felt like an animal in a gilded cage being paraded through the avenue, attracting the eyes of men, women and children alike. Ollie followed, possibly making himself less conspicuous with his illusions, leaving her to take the brunt of the Citadel's attention.

Now and then, she waved back as would a friendly celebrity. Her audience's response was to shy away, cover their children's eyes, or gave her the Sign of the Thrice-jammed Cog. Such was the intensity of the half-kilometre journey from the gate to the guild that she felt exhausted despite the newly usurped vitality.

At the guild itself, Gwen and Ollie were ushered into an amphitheatre carved from the bedrock. The building had the look of a town hall, with its centre consisting of six monolithic pillars inscribed with Dwarven runes. There, not seated in the six-seat dais but standing on the stage to await her grace, stood Hanmoul's superior, the Master of the Rotary Guild.

"Miss Song, Magus Edwards," the Guild Master, much to the Human's surprise, spoke perfect British English. "Welcome to our humble abode."

"It's a pleasure to be here." Gwen bowed from the waist. "Thank you for satisfying my selfish request."

"Lord Engineseer." Ollie appeared to have studied the Murk Dwarf's hierarchy. "Though you know us already, allow me to introduce us still. Here is Magus Gwen Song of Peterhouse, Cambridge, War Mage of London and my House-sister. Please refer to this one as Magus Ollie Edwards, also of Peterhouse, Cambridge, London Tower. We are beyond grateful for your reception."

"No need." The Guild Master hand-waved the humans' simulated modesty. "From what our man tells us, you have been instrumental in aiding Hanmoul yet again! Young one, you now owe Miss Song a great deal."

"I shall endeavour to satisfy Haj-Zül's Debt," Hanmoul assured his Guild Master. A name that Gwen now understood as one of the Seven Ancestors; one who had repaid a debt with such magnificence that the tale had grown into a cultural aspiration. "First, allow me to introduce the Chief Engineseer of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, Whurforlüm Ironførge, First of his Clan, First of the Citadel Council, Lord Librarian, White Beard, and my teacher."

"Hanmoul is too high-strung," the Guild Master scoffed at the breathless range of titles. "You may call me Whurforlüm, though I have given myself a Human name as well— Wilhelm."

"Lord Ironførge," Ollie genuflected once more.

"Milord Wilhelm." Gwen grinned at the portly old Dwarf. Unless she ignored the big white beard, the belly, the expansive, smiling face and the hale, rosy cheeks, it was impossible not to see Santa Claus.

"I am sure you are eager to tour the city, and indeed, make certain requests of Hanmoul," the Guild Master accounted benevolently. "I understand that a difficult battle had taken place. You must be exhausted and hungry."

"There's no need—" Ollie continued to play the diplomat.

"I could eat," Gwen confessed. Her candidness was well-founded. Draining vitality made one exceptionally hungry. Restoring it did nothing for the feeling of fullness, nor accounted for an empty belly.

"Then I am well pleased." The old Dwarf indicated to the exit. "Go and enjoy a banquet in your honour, walk the city with Hanmoul, think deeply of what you wish from us, then return here on the last day of your visitation. If I judge your demands acceptable, the Citadel will do its utmost to fulfil our side of the debt."

Gwen felt most agreeable, finding the old Dwarf the most pleasant fellow she had come across in a long time. If all Dwarves could be negotiated with like the Guild Master, she saw no reason why some manner of burgeoning trade couldn't be established between the races.

"Hanmoul, do show our guests to the Great Hall. You and your Hammer Guards have done well."

Hanmoul did not at all appear pleased by the praise. "No one was saved, Ser."

"Yet, the bodies of our kin have been returned to the Hearth of their Ancestors. None have become fat for the Wyrm. Who to thank for that, but your Legion and our guests?"

"... Thank you Ser," Hanmoul conceded. "I shall serve our people better from now on."

The Guild Master patted his student on the head, then directed his guests to the door. "Do enjoy yourselves, young Humans, but beware the potency of our beverages. Overlanders such as yourselves have required healing in the past due to reckless indulgence. It would certainly not do for our honoured guests to teleport back their Citadel!"

Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth.

The Guild District.

The Nut and Cog Rotary Tavern.

As a culinary light-weight, Ollie paled at the Dwarven tavern-feast presented to the two guests. Piled three-stack high, the small mountain of foodstuffs consisted of creatures, legumes and root vegetable he had never seen or heard. The most salient was an enormous platter consisting of a horned iguana roasted throughout and stuffed with a mixture of unnamable herbs in fat-soaked Dwarf bread. Next was a plate of golden carapaced beetles, each a handspan in length, boiled then seasoned with milk-butter from God knews what source. Nearer Gwen sat potentially a pheasant, but more likely a flightless raptor of sorts, steaming famously on a plate of grease-strewn rhizomes.

Then there were apple tarts.

And six types of mead.

And sixteen types of beer.

And seven types of cider.

And a grain-brewed something the Translation Stone forewarned as "Everclear".

And Ollie would have kept well away from the sauce bottle had he not been bombarded by requests from the Hammer Guard to pour one out for the fallen. Compelled by circumstance, the Praelector chose mead— and was down and out half a stein later.

"A round fer our Sorceress!" Sergeant Tordrum raised his tankard. "Two mugs, for saving us twice over!"

Without waiting, the Dwarf sculled the first, then took up the other. He managed half-way before he had to belch, a foppish act that drew boos and jeers from his peers.

"Wellie, YOO bloody scullie the Black Stout if yer so hale!" the Sergeant sputtered mead all over his beard. "Come on, do yer Ancestors proud!"

Gwen gave the mead a polite sip to ensure that it was to her taste. Hanmoul had said that the sticky brew was made from honey; though from what "honey" the Commandrumm had declined to clarify.

"I'll take you up on that." She stood with a stein in one hand. Tilting her head back, Gwen slammed down the sickly-sweet concoction without so much as a wrinkle of her brow.

First, there was silence— then a roaring cheer shook the roof as a dozen tankard hammered the table.

"Another!"

Grimgal, who turned out to be a ladette rather than a lad, handed her a brimming pewter mug.

With a flourish and a mote of circulating Essence, Gwen drank half the mug, paused for effect, then finished the rest. Taking a cue from her Chinese adventures, she overturned the stein to show that not a drop remained.

"Gwen! Gwen! Gwen!"

"That Human lass sure can drink!"

"Ach! By me beard! She might be a Dwarf in disguise!"

"Gwen, are you alright?" Hanmoul was sweating from every pore. The Commandrumm knew well the effects of Dwarven alcohol on the teetotaling Humans. What if the sorceress expired? Could their physicians heal a Human?

"I am feeling GREAT!" Gwen felt a flush of warmth flooding her innards, indicating that for the first time in a long time, she was beginning to hit that lauded drinker's high. "Who's next?"

"The Commandrumm!" Grimgal grabbed a clay bottle from under the table. "I've got an heirloom bottle of Everclear..."

"GRIMGAL!" Hanmoul slammed the table with a balled fist. "Yer trying to kill our guest, ya daft wrench?"

"Hold up. I am game." Gwen could already feel her Essence at work, detoxifying her blood at such an alarming rate. "What's the damage?"

"Stormbreaker Everclear." Grimgal's smile was full of teeth. "It'll be a real test. Our Commandrumm's a Berumm Fest Octobrumm champion; he can outdrink any Dwarf under the table, man or woman."

"I was a lad of fifty then!" Hanmoul protested. "Don't expect me to do that now. Argh, my poor liver..."

"Jesus," Gwen remarked, studying the Dwarf from head to toe. Outside of his armour and uniform, Hanmoul looked like Gary Oldman as a lumberjack. "How old are ya now?"

"A hundred and two."

"Holy shit." Gwen cackled. "How old are the rest of ya?"

"Seventy-four."

"Fifty-nine."

"Hundred and Twenty!"

"Tordok's the young 'un— he's forty-nine."

"Nae old enough ter drink, but old enough ter pilot."

To settle her nerves, Gwen reached for the bottle of Everclear, uncorked the cap, then took a generous swig. The taste was akin to high-proof absinthe. Slowly, the liquid seared her gullet like a line of fire.

She belched. Her eyes watered.

A thundering outburst exploded across the tavern. Even Dwarves not affiliated with the Hammer Guards were now joining in on the action.

"Fer your information. I am EIGHTEEN!" Gwen called out, finally feeling the buzz. "HOW'S THAT, OLD MAN HANMOUL?"

The tavern grew silent.

"Gilthok!" Hanmoul grumbled.

"Ahahaha…" Grimgal snorted so hard she choked on a bit of yam. "Ya sure pick em young, Commandrumm. She can't be drinking with us!"

"Don't know about that." Young Tordok growled. "I wasn't yet fifty, and yer all made me piss ma-self. Me mum had to drag ay carcass home to face the Ancestors."

"She's a Human adult!" Hanmoul assured his men. "Fine. Gwen, pass it here."

"Hold up." Gwen was abuzz with inspiration. Unbidden, she felt the engendering of a beautiful epiphany. Thanks to the Everclear coursing through her blood, her thoughts were free-flowing and without inhibition. "I've got just the thing!"

From her ring, she retrieved the final bottle of Maotai that she had stowed. The lamb's fat jadeite flask caused a stir among the Dwarves, who marvelled at the intricately carved bottle made from a mineral rarely seen in this part of the world.

With a deft hand, she uncorked the bottle.

"Wot is that?"

"The scent…"

"LASS! Bring me a fresh mug!"

"And a spot of the special sauce…" Gwen giggled, grinning like a demon, like a maniac alchemist, she materialised the rare whiskers she had harvested from Sen-sen, then deposited the lot into the fragrant sorghum-brew. In a set of crisp jade thimbles, she poured until the crystal liquid formed a brimming meniscus. "There!"

"What is that?" Hanmoul licked his lips.

"It's Soma, Ambrosia, the Drink of Gods," Gwen boasted. "One glass, and you'll be taking a holiday in heaven."

"Bah!"

"Human brew taste like water!"

"It looks like water!" The other Dwarves jeered.

Gwen gave them the Sign of the Thrice-jammed Cog. "Commandrumm?"

The two very carefully raised their drinks— Gwen with the rest of the Stormbreaker, and Hanmoul with her doctored Maotai.

Hanmoul leaned in, allowed the cup to touch his lips, then in one gulp emptied the contents.

"ARRGHK!" the Commandrumm suddenly stood.

"Wot is it, Commandrumm?"

"Did the lass poison ya?"

"ANCESTOR'S COGS!" Hanmoul's face turned communist red. His pupils rapidly dilated as his body filled with righteous fire in the form of unadulterated vitality gathered from a Mythic being so powerful as to permeate a plot of land ten times the size of the Red Citadel. "WOT IS THIS? THERE'S SOMETHING IN ME BLOOD!"

"Hundred-year sorghum distilled with five-hundred-year Draconic Essence." Gwen's nonchalance froze the life-blood of all who awaited to share a drink with the sorceress. "Trust me, mate, for an old war dog like you, this sauce will do yer good…"

Hanmoul hailed from the bloodline of Bürumm-Dal Irøngut, famous for turning any amount of alcohol into white-hot battle-gall. The ancestor was also a renowned warrior berserker. And among the Iron Borns, his blood flowed thick and sanguine, filling his descendants with equal-parts courage and choler.

The Maotai, or perhaps the herb Gwen had placed inside the Maotai, seemed to have awakened something in Hanmoul long made dormant by his thankless labour as the Commandrumm of the Overland Expedition. Straightaway, his face grew beetroot, his bile churned, and his torso filled with fire.

Crack!

Hanmoul slammed the jadeite cup so hard that it splintered the ironwood, jarring his instrument-sensitive fingers.

"Another!" His blood was boiling, evaporating the pain in his hand, swelling his head to twice its size. “I’ll not let you drink me under, lass! The Hammer Guard will never live it down if a mere child, and a human at that, defeat the sons of Bürumm!”

“I am afraid you’re in for a surprise then.” The girl’s jadeite irises gleamed, vivid with the hue of rainbows— a surface phenomenon that only the Overland Expedition had ever laid eyes upon. “Bathroom breaks be damned; there’s only one way this is going to end.”

“Oh-ho, lass, yer playing a dangerous game!” Hanmoul summoned his lads and ladettes behind him. “KINNA! Brin' the stash you’ve got hidden in the cellar!”

“YER SURE?” the barkeep, a matronly Dwarven woman wider than even Hanmoul, hollered back with a voice no less loud than a Clarion Call. “That lass's quarter yer size. Do yer fancy popping her Human life-preserver?”

“I’ll be fine, really.” Gwen’s tone was almost amused. “Commandrumm, care for a wager?”

Her audience banged the table with their steins.

“Ankrumm! Ankrumm! Ankrumm!”

“Ankrumm it is! What do yer fancy?” Hanmoul belched, expelling the hot, alcoholic air, feeling as though he had just delivered a breath attack. “I’ll wager yee, alright, but woman, but what will ye do if yer lose?”

“First, that won't happen because I’ll drink ALL of you under…” The sorceress placed a hand on her pancake-flat abdomen. “If I win, promise me you’ll help me with some of my ‘Overland’ businesses. I need Dwarven Machinists, like the ones they’ve got in Bavaria to repair my Dwarf-made printing engines.”

“I donnae know if anyone’s willing ter leave the Murk.” Hanmoul’s eyes were twin moons as he spoke. “But aye lass, I’ll find ye someone. And what if yer eyes are bigger than yer stomach?”

“First, I’ll pay for everyone here. Additionally, I’ll import, gratis, ten more bottles of this priceless liqueur,” Gwen offered. “And supply you with monthly care packages from the above-ground world, sans commission.”

“Ha! Yer on!” Hanmoul’s face was radiant with Essence. “Bring on the Jäger and Korfrumm!”

The crowd roared.

“Kor! The Commandrumm’s serious now!” Grimgal’s face glowed with admiration. “His old man gullet might never recover from this.”

“Shall I call for the Kirkdun?” Tordrum, who was the oldest, asked the general vicinity. "We might still need the Commandrumm, come tomorrow."

Gwen narrowed her eyes when a familiar-looking green bottle materialised on the table.

“From the old country.” Hanmoul grinned with confidence.

Gwen did her best to read the label.

“Tell me that doesn’t say Jäger... meister.”

“Aye lass.”

“…”

“And this?”

“Korfrumm is distilled from the crushed Korumm beetle. Do you have Korumm in the above-ground world?”

Gwen gave the dark amber liquid a sniff. It was, for all intents and purposes, a sickly-sweet coffee-mead.

“Don’t tell me.” She licked her drying lips. “You pour the Jäger into a thimble— then you drop it into a stein of Korfkrumm…?”

“You have heard of the magnificent Jäger Bombe?”

Gwen pinched her brows, suddenly assaulted by heady visions of Friday night outings, projectile hurling, student dorms, ravished dresses and the ugliness of the morning after. When the only time a student could afford drinks for herself was the happy hour, it made for terrible drinking habits.

"HA, no regrets, lass? Wilting on yer Commandrumm already?"

“Not really.” She sat back to reassess the situation. Ollie was asleep, thank god. Additionally, she was wearing tight, waterproof, malfunction-safe armour with magical undies, not to mention her liver was booze-proof. She was in good hands, ones belonging to herself. All-in-all, what was there to fear but fear itself? Student-Gwen would have been three shots in already.

“Alright, Hanmoul.” She banged on the long table. “You lot! Clear out! Mistress Kinna! Line 'em up!”

If there was drunken Karaoke in this world, Gwen was sure the Dwarves would be champions.

"... We must away— ere break of dawn.

Far under the Himmseg— to low-ways deep…"

Inside The Nut and Cog Rotary Tavern, a Human sorceress' voice reverberated.

Earlier, Grimgal had regaled their audience with a bawdry jig about a lonely female Mechanic who discovered an amusingly shaped spanner. After a smack across the head, the aborted act was then followed by an epic recital by Hanmoul about Bürumm-Dal’s slaying of the Dusk Wyrm at Dürren’s Hall.

Tordok attempted a song but passed out two verses into the tune. A few others obliged, too intoxicated to recall the lines, but made merry all the same.

When finally it was Gwen’s turn, she had to sing, or it would show that she was too intoxicated and therefore signal her loss. Driven to a corner by their expectant, exuberant faces, she called upon the spirit of Tolkien to see her through the predicament.

Softly, beginning with melancholic, lilting notes, her contralto voice wafted through the boozy air, narrating the only “Dwarven Song” she knew.

"The fire was black— it flaming spread..."

One by one, the belching, groaning, fussing half-conscious tavern grew silent.

What would the Human sing? The crowd had wondered. A song of home? A tale of sorceresses and suggestively shaped vegetables? Indeed, a sorceress of such alcoholic depth would possess a harem of legumes.

Then she opened her mouth, and with the Divination-assisted aid of the Alexandrite left to her by her Master, she belted out the Dwarven words, drawing on a minor Ventriloquism cantrip to reinforce the sentiment.

“Far over the Misty Mountains cold

To low-ways deep— an’ caverns old

We must away— ere break of dawn

To find our lost and wayward home.

The Dark was roaring, down below

The earth was moaning— in th’ deep

The drake was black— its flames had spread;

Our Citadels blazed all night.

Now the iron's rusted, on the heath

And in Dyar Morkk— there stirred no life:

There the Murk lay— in night and day

And dark things silent crept beneath.

O' Farewell, to hearth and hall!

Though death may follow— our kin may fall

We must away— ere fall of dusk

Far under the Himmseg— to low-ways deep—

The longer she sang, trying to modify the tune on the fly, the more soundless the tavern grew until all she could hear was quiet sobs.

“… Was it that bad?” Gwen stopped, her face so red as to radiate scarlet from chin to ear. “If so, I am sorry for killing the mirth.”

“Yer making me eyes mourn, Ancestors’ beard,” Hanmoul bawled, clearly overwhelmed by both alcohol and emotion. “Aye, the deep, the DEEP! I know, I know. We’ve got ter fin' our way back through the blasted Murk. It's the Dwarven thing to do. Aye, yer Gods— O' Ancestors…”

“Are you sure yer, not a Dwarf?” Grimgal was drooling snot and tears from every conceivable orifice. “How else can you harken after Deepholm?”

The other Dwarves, those still conscious, collectively sighed. Somewhere, another Iron Born cried himself to sleep.

“A righteous Skūld.” Hanmoul wiped away something from his face. “If that tune had come out of the lips of a Deepdowner Runesinger, I wouldnae be stunned, but from you, a Human lass? What can an old Dwarf say?”

“You could clarify if we’re still drinking…” Gwen’s eyes swept across the half-hundred bottles, glasses, and steins, not to mention the mountain of Dwarven carcasses snoring beneath the tables.

“Nae lass, it's yer win.” Hanmoul tried to stand. For an awkward second, he looked down at his feet as though surprised to find them there. “Bürumm's beard… I cannae seem to move my feet.”

“Commandrumm, that’s my feet,” Grimgal, who sat beside her commander, informed him with great solemnity. “Yours are buried between Thorke and Tordok.”

“Ah. Right you are.”

The Commandrumm kicked away his junior officers. “I should show you to your quarters.”

Gwen pointed to the half-bottle of Maotai still left. “Not finishing up?”

“Nae wannae explode,” Hanmoul growled. “Do yer mind if I gift what’s left to my teacher? Yer got no more, yer said?”

“Not for a while, no. It’s all yours.”

Hanmoul nodded, stowing the bottle. “Right then lass— let me show yer how our folk relax after a stiff stout!”

The Guild District.

The Rotary Guild, Guest Quarters.

Gwen regarded Ollie’s comatose, rag-doll body, as well as the freshly laid out Hanmoul.

According to the Commandrumm's last lucid moments, orders had been given to ready the facilities for her use, including the communal bathroom, the lounge, the meeting room, and the steam bath, a must-try local speciality.

"Ah, boys," Gwen mused to herself.

Once Hanmoul and Ollie were placed side by side and on their side to prevent choking on their vomit, she was finally in the mood to take in the sights. Prominently, she was given a room with a view. From the vista offered by the stained-crystal bay-window, Gwen saw that they were high up in the Guild Hall, in one of its side towers. Below, she could just make out the city, and in the distance, its all-enveloping stone barrier.

How like our cities, she considered the déjà vu— where they had Shielding Stations, the Dwarves had Rune-etched Walls.

The Dwarven outpost, as Hanmoul had foretold, was split into four districts, with the Guildhall, the Ancestor’s Hall, the Golem Hangers, the Hammer Guard’s Barracks and other administration buildings at its centre. To the north sat the Gate of Kazhul, housing the Clans and their keeps. The east and west held the manufactoriums, while the spillage to the south was home to the factories and foundries. There, in the low-rising buildings, the vast majority of the Dwarven labourer-citizens eked out a living.

Thanks to the floor to ceiling “Wall”, the vista of the citadel appeared miniaturised, like one of those extensive model train-sets the English love to collect. Though she was in the “centre” of town, the loci of the citadel sat like a sunnyside egg with the government buildings rising like the yolk while the eggwhite spilt into the dark. The difference, Gwen conceived as her eyes studied the pin-points of light, was that the Dwarves utilised vertical space, even ceiling space, in their city planning.

Where the horizontal plane constrained humanities' cities, the vertical space of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth utilised every stalactite and stalagmite. Reinforced by runic warding and transmuted stone, these grew into natural apartments. Likewise, to service these population centres, track-lined ring-roads spiralled throughout the citadel’s interior, making her eyes dizzy.

Khunk! Khunk! Khunk! Khunk!

A continuous, unceasing drone permeated the air, punctuated by the sound of a six-storey tall hydraulic hammer in the Craftsmen’s quarter. To Gwen, whose body-clock informed her that it was ten PM at most, there was no discernible way to tell night from day. No change in lighting, sound, or the perpetual industry suggested that there were sessions for rest and recuperation.

She tore herself away from the organised chaos.

Gone was her booze-stained combat armour, the victim of many a quaffing from a dozen Dwarves hoping to see her make-out with the grimy floor. She had won the drinking contest thanks to Almudj’s blessing, though the price of excess was a bone-weary soreness that came from overtaxing her organs.

“The steam bath…” Gwen pulled out the access Runes Hanmoul had gifted her before he passed out. Water wasn’t a plentiful resource in the Murk, not because it wasn’t everywhere, but because the Dwarves tended to prioritise industry over all else, leaving little fresh water for things like private showers. Instead, communal bathhouses akin to Sino Onsens pockmarked the residential districts.

The Guild Hall’s quasi-magical steam bath, according to Grimgal, was one of the best facilities in the Citadel. Most importantly, there were no other guests, meaning she had the facility to herself, or to share with Ollie if she so desired.

After a few twists and turns through the winding corridors, Gwen reached her objective. Scented acacia framed the entrance, a rare material in a land without natural light— showing the investment the Guild had put into making visitors feel well-loved.

Gwen ducked under the doorway, finding herself in a long sandstone corridor dipping into the earth. Once past the warded threshold, the narrow space exponentially expanded to reveal multiple tiers of geometric baths covered in blankets of rolling mist. To her left and right, tastefully stone-shaped, were alcoves that served as private change rooms, made to appear out of sight when inside the bath.

Happy that Grimgal's advice rang true, Gwen disengaged her Shen-teī suit, then peeled the outfit from her sticky body like a second skin. Materialising a muslin towel, she stepped out of her undergarments, then gave herself a Prestidigitation to ensure she didn’t pollute the bath.

Gingerly, filling her nostrils with nourishing steam, she walked up the stone steps, then descended into the deepest pool at the apex of the cascade.

Once the water kissed her waist, she melted.

“Mother of God, I should bring Elvia here…”

The Dwarves' trademark recreation utilised no mortal bathwater. The liquid was dense, almost gelatious, allowing her to sink into luxury. Once the bath was past her shoulders, Gwen felt as though returned to the womb. Additionally, the mist soothed her sore throat and dry nostrils, making her want to spread her limbs and just let it all go.

“I should build one of these in London…”

Gradually, every knot in her muscles unwound, bringing forth the shower’s Zen’s lesser-known cousin, the bathing Zen.

“Jorumm.” Her Translation Stone did its best with invoking the throaty invocation. Near the ceiling, the hexagonal crystal rods dimmed.

Smothered by the mellow “Murk”, Gwen slowly sunk into the water, circulating Essence until she began to in-breathe, drinking the wealth of mana offered by the pool.

Held aloft in the bobbing, buoyant liquid, she made mental bookmarks for the expatriate craftsmen she desired from Hanmoul, ideally a dozen or more, working on rotation to prevent the Dwarves from feeling homesick. Applications for cultural exchange could have to be made through the Tower— ideally requested by Lady Grey. Additionally, Shielding Resonators for London’s Stations had to be commissioned, then affixed to her employees to prevent spontaneous combustion.

She also desired to barter with the Dwarves, possibly through the creation of a trading station. From the looks of their love for Jadeite and Maotai, perhaps an exchange of luxury goods was possible with the help of Marong and Mayuree and the House of M.

And while she had Hanmoul's hospitality, investigations into the transferability of Dwarven Magi-tech such as their Scrying Engines, Communication gadgetry, and semi-autonomous Golems would take priority. Likewise, if the Dwarves had a streamlined production process she could appropriate, she wasn't going to be shy in pushing Hanmoul's people.

As for the Tower's request, she would compose a wonderfully detailed report— on trade, and luxury goods, and the potential boons of establishing a permanent trading port that would include military assets like Golems.

After that, she would return to London. First, she would have to visit the isle to ensure that Elvia and her operation was running smoothly and that Wally and Mathias had taken care of business. Assuming all went well, she had a few more days to spend with Elvia, maybe visit the London Museum, or see what passed for theatre in this world.

During this time, she would also have to track down Walken and Dominic, though the latter depended on her new crew of Machinists.

After that would come the finale. On NYE, they could watch the parade while sitting somewhere suitably elevated, such as the spire of one of London’s dozen bridges, to watch the fireworks and count down the hours. If at all possible, she would like to borrow an LRM device to contact Gunther, Alesia, her Opa, and her family in China.

What would Uncle Jun think of her exploits?

Had Percy learnt any new spells?

When would Petra get to London?

— SHUURK!

The sound of the hermetic seal sucking shut stirred Gwen from her half-slumber. Very quietly, she brought her head above the water, all the while adjusting her eyes with Almudj’s Essence for low-light vision.

There was a Dwarf— female by the shape of her heavy-set hips, inching toward the bath. When the woman did not react to her presence, Gwen realised the rolling steam must have obfuscated her body.

Before she could decide if a polite cough was in order, the Dwarf woman stepped into the tub with a delightful moan. Gwen smiled to herself, knowing well the bliss they both shared.

From her higher vantage, she could see that the Dwarven woman possessed skin like pale milk, flawless and aristocratic, not at all what she had imagined of the stout folk. Her hair as well, caught in the dim golden light, were flaming orange— not the auburn-scarlet Alesia sported, but apricot fading to honey, hanging just below her waist.

And her bosoms— Gwen’s nostrils flared. Even Yue would be impressed.

Into one of the shallowest pools, the woman sat, then profoundly inhaled and exhaled, as though attempting to purge all her worries from her lungs.

Once her intruder was suitably relaxed, Gwen made her move.

“… Hello,” she said in Dwarven.

The woman froze.

A welling of ultra-dense mana suffused the woman’s eyes, turning her irises brilliant citrine. The purity of the Earthen energy was such that, Gwen couldn’t help but respond with a mana-rush of her own, preparing for sudden combat engendered by panic and fear.

With great deliberation, two pairs of glowing eyes in the mist faced one another.

Gwen responded by emerging from the water, one hand raised and the other covering her unobtrusive shame.

The Dwarven woman parted the mist by swatting the air. It was impossible to tell the woman's age, though she did possess a delicate mien with large eyes and a Roman nose, made imperfect by a weak chin.

“I was here first,” Gwen said softly. “If you must know. I am a guest of the Commandrumm.”

“… I know,” the woman replied, appearing to make up her mind. Coolly, she lowered her mana-charged hands. “My apologies for the intrusion.”

“Not at all.” Gwen remained still. “Shall I leave?”

“… no.” The woman shook her head. “The fault is mine. Do stay, Surfacer.”

At a loss for conversation, a stony silence accompanied the gentle flowing of water.

“… the steam there is the hottest in the room,” the Dwarven woman asked, attempting to dispel the awkwardness. “How are you not fainting or feeling ill?”

“I’ve got a good constitution,” Gwen explained. She had thought the water perfect for relaxing her Caliban-drained muscles. “Quite the sigh you had. Long day?”

“I wonder." The woman stiffness visibly mellowed. "Often, it feels as though the Vigil of Varekan-Kül never ends.”

“Are you a noble?” From her skin and her hair, Gwen could guess that this was not a Dwarf who engaged in manual labour. That and the guest’s steam room had wards that granted exclusive access, meaning she had to be somebody. “Sorry, I have been rude. My name is Gwen Song, a Human Magus. I hail from London.”

“Hilda,” the woman replied after some hesitation.

“Nice to meet you, Hilda.”

“The same.”

“… do you mind if I dim the lights?” Hilda asked. “The lumen rods don’t agree with my eyes.”

“Go ahead.”

“Jorukka—“

The lights winked out.

“… sorry, can you see?”

“Would you believe me if I said I could?”

“A surfacer who can see in the dark?” the woman scoffed. “What am I holding up?”

“The Sign of the Thrice—“

“— Sorry." Hilda's skin flushed peach and scarlet. "I believe you.”

Gwen delivered a good-humoured snort, putting the matter to rest.

Now acquainted, the duo enjoyed the bubbling silence, soaking their bones in the mineral-rich springs.

“Gwen, where do you call home?” Hilda’s voice drifted through the dark.

“A place far, far from here, called Australia.”

“Your home. What’s it like?”

“What, Australia?”

“Yes.”

“Well's there are millions of us. We live in cities of glass and concrete that reach out for the skies, staked into the earth like swords. In some places, Humans rule supreme. Elsewhere, we’re food for whatever Magical Monsters that make it past the Shielding Walls.”

“The land, I mean. What’s it like?”

“Ah—“ Gwen's tone grew homesick. “Australia is an old and ancient country.”

“Big?”

“Beyond all concept of size. It’s the wide brown land, stretching from horizon to horizon.”

“Strange words. I don’t know what that means, I am afraid…”

Gwen wondered if she could translate her nostalgia into more relatable terms.

“Well,” she searched her memory for something appropriate, locating her answer in the verse of a fellow expatriate homesick for the land of the boxing Kangaroo. "I come from a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains, full of rugged mountain ranges, droughts and flooding rains…”

Hilda closed her eyes.

"... an opal-hearted country, land of the rainbow gold. Though the Murk may hold all splendours, if ever I should encounter a Drop Bear, I know to what country, my Contingency Ring will fly.”

“I can see it now.” Hilda opened her eyes, cooing happily. “So that’s your home, a place of opals, precious stones, and Drop Bears.”

“Yes.” Gwen supposed that was good enough.

“You’re very good with your Dwarven.”

“It’s the Translation Stone,” Gwen explained. “A gift from my late Master. So far, it's doing a bang-up job.”

“Then it must be you in the Guild's Tavern…” Hilda’s voice grew pregnant with emotion. “I am told that you sang a song about Deepholm to the Commandrumm and his men.”

“Ah…” Gwen now realised why Hilda had asked her about 'home' in the first place. “Yes, I did.”

“Could you… sing it for me?”

Now that she was completely sober, singing an appropriated, plagiarised-song adapted from Tolkien’s original epic seemed utterly cringe-worthy.

“Please?” Hilda’s voice quivered.

“Okay, but don’t laugh..”

"I won't."

"Okay, let me warm up..." Gwen obliged as best as she could, beginning with the “Misty Mountains Cold”. After a few rounds of the Chorus, she got into the mood, eventually ending with a rousing verse of “and Low-ways deep”.

“… I don’t understand,” Hilda’s voice quivered with emotion. “Why you can vocalise what so many of our kin fail to comprehend.”

“Which is?”

“The desire to return home. Every stone cycle, we push and pull into the Murk, but every time, once we discover new seams or hollows, the Guild stops to mine the place. Each time, they bring the lode here— not to Dwarfholm, but the Citadel.”

“That’s Dwarven nature though.” Gwen could sympathise with Hilda’s frustration. “What’s wrong with the Red Citadel?”

“It’s so close to the Surface, for one. ”

“I don't think that's the problem?” Gwen refuted Hilda's claim. “What's 'too close?' Too close for raising a family? Finding a career? Eke out a living? Put food in their bellies? Money in their pockets?”

When Hilda remained silent, Gwen continued. “Folk are folk, Hildy, anywhere you find them. They’ll stay as long as there’s employment, bread, and the occasional circus. Home is where the hearth is, right? And the hearth is where you raise your family. Give a Dwarf a stiff drink, a pickaxe, a bag of precious minerals and a forge to call home, and he’ll stay put. Humans are the same, no matter the skin colour, the creed or the culture.”

“… I see.” Her companion grew contemplative.

Have I upset the aristocrat with a teeth-jarring truth-nugget? Gwen felt a bout of paranoia. “Hilda?”

Clang! Clang!

There was a polite knock on the sealed door.

“Thank you for the company,” the woman replied, suddenly displacing the bath. Glorious in her nudity, she made for the nook. “Apologies Surfacer. I must return to my duties.”

"Sure, it was nice meeting you."

There was the rustling of cloth, the donning of armour; then the silhouette was gone without a backward glance.

“Hmm…” Gwen muttered to herself. “Should have gotten her last name.”

The next day, a refreshed Hanmoul, buoyed by the Essence from Sen-sen, took Gwen and the hung-over Ollie around the Citadel on the Vularm transports, riding the mechanical caterpillars throughout the four districts. The entire journey, Ollie remained tight-lipped, utilising every ounce of will to stay respectable.

The Citadel, perhaps due to its vertical space, was deceptively compact, taking up little more space than the central Business District in Shanghai. From rim to rim, the largest dome stretched over twenty kilometres, sans the stalactites, with the furthermost edge an ever-expanding pockmark of unfinished construction eating into the mountain's interior.

In the Craftsmen's quarter, at her behest, she met a group of potential future employees in the form of Runesmiths and Tunesmiths, the Dwarven variation of Manufactorium Mages. A Runesmith specialised in the inscription of Glyphs, the foundation of Dwarven magic, while a Tuner, Gwen surmised, was akin to a mechatronic-engineer. Naturally, it took both specialisations to empower the constructs that turned the cog of the Dwarven industry. Upon further enquiry, those having attained mastery of both forms of Runecraft were called "Engineseer", or the antiquated title of "Mötorserumm", one who communes with machines. Other titles and professions existed as well, though the Machinists she wished to hire would hail from the principle ranks of Dwarven professionals.

Likewise, within the Craftsmen's Quarter, Gwen observed a strict hierarchy. The younger, bright-eyed Dwarves coming from notable Clans made up the bulk of the apprentice-tier craftsmen, asking after their Masters like ducklings. Once deemed sufficiently skilled, the next tier was the attainment of a "Journeymen" licence. The problem was that with the Dyar Morkk out of commission, there was no real "journey" to be had. As such, graduates generally apprenticed for another decade or so, emerging as mechanics capable of independent, unsupervised labour.

As a sizeable Dwarven stronghold, the Peak thankfully retained its share of Masters and Grand Masters of the craft. According to Hanmoul, the smaller enclaves cut off by the Murk had no such luck, meaning eventually, without the unlikely emergence of an anomalously talented individual, crafts and innovations stagnated forever.

Out of necessity, therefore, Hanmoul explained, Craftsmen were paramount in influence and respect in the Murk. Warriors like himself were hailed as heroes but paled in comparison to a Grandmaster. An Engineseer's work could power the entire city's fleet of Golems, or expand the city's arable food-shafts three-fold as a result of a new crop or an energy-efficient way to maintain the hydroponic systems.

Perceptive as always, Gwen steered the conversation toward the Deepdowners.

"Aye, yer ken. For the same reason, the Deepdowners eh held in high esteem. As Deepholm's elite, they exist at the apex of both knowledge and talent."

When Gwen asked if Hanmoul used the word "Talent" as the Human's do, citing her dual-elements, the Commandrumm nodded.

"Those deemed with 'talent' inherit their gifts from the Seven Ancestors," Hanmoul explained as they strode down the open avenues of the Craft Quarter. There were workshops as far as the eye could see, though much to Gwen's disappointment, the shopkeepers cared little for items suitable for Humans Mages. Most sold ready-made parts, such as Mana Engines, or a Flux Capacitor, or something that looked like a vehicle battery, or Spellsword blades, or parts for other Workshop's creations. "Rarely ay one of us Murk-folk borne blessed. It happens much mair frequently in the awld Clans, especially in Deepholm."

"You said all of you could Stoneshape to some degree." Gwen clattered alongside the Iron Born in her Mary Janes. Clad in her Magus mantle, she looked every inch the Cambridge-graduated sorceress she imitated. The Dwarves, Ollie explained, saw the ermine-lined robe as equivalent to the attire of a Master, if not in craft or skill, then at least in terms of power and influence. "Ergo, all Dwarves are talented in Earthen-magic?"

"The difference ay enormous." Hanmoul nodded. "We're scions of the Earth Mother, after all, and the Plane is mighty vast. Maybe I can demonstrate…"

The Dwarf looked around the shopfronts, then picked up a detached rod of iron. Holding the rusty pole in front of Gwen, he twisted the metal until it formed the shape of a pretzel. "There. A small gift from Bürumm."

Gwen hefted the iron pretzel with both hands. If she had the Yinglong's Draconic Essence, perhaps she could have managed to twist the metal. Presently, however, the rod remained un-malleable.

"Amazing." Gwen returned the sample. "I think I am starting to understand why we haven't 'stolen' much else from your people."

What she meant was that in all the Workshops she had visited, there were particular skills, talents, methods and applications unbefitting the one-mould-fits-all practice of production preferred by human industries. The rare Human Mage may mimic the Dwarve's magic, but the masses couldn't possibly achieve the same tier of expertise.

For this reason, most of the workshops were akin to mid-sized outfitters crafting custom parts for high-octane racers. The majority of the craftsmen were employed by the Guild, which served as a central body for commissions. Others worked as individual contractors, with certain specialists attaining an essential status. The scale and size of the operations were far below Gwen's expectations but made sense when considering that the Citadel held half-a-million Dwarves at best, barely the size of a mid-range Human metropolis.

Gwen received a second confirmation at the Mana Engine workshop ran by Master Rostrum Luggcrann, the supplier for Hanmoul's Striders. While she watched in silence, Gwen bore witness to the Dwarf sticking his hand, unprotected, into a bubbling vat of heated metal, moulding the engine frame not through precision machinery, but the mind. Components that would have required CAD software, machine beds and CNC cutters in her world had all been bypassed by intuition and "Talent".

An additional factor, Ollie reminded Gwen as she pondered the nature of Dwarven industry, was that Dwarves lived long lives— almost four-times an NoM's and twice that of a fully provisioned Mage. Sans industrial accidents, the Craftsmen were seldom in danger, meaning most Apprentices could hope to reach the stage of a Master in their second century. The Citadel's premier Grand Master of Runes, Master Grouzumin Zur-Himlegg, was in his fourth century and kept hale enough to drink two-century-old peers under the table.

For lunch, the trio stopped at an artisanal street for food. Though more than half of the cramped boulevard consisted of craft-beer and spirt-mixers, dozens of families had taken up the enterprise of improving Dwarven cuisine.

"Meat Smokers?" Gwen was surprised to find, of all things, a Journeyman chef engaged in the act of smoking an enormous side of Mud-land Iguana. "And hickory too!"

"Aye. We have got a keen interest for certain things on the Surface world," Hanmoul confessed. "Especially when it comes to scran. Stone-bread is…"

The Commandrumm made a face that suggested he wished he still had all of his original molars.

As Demi-folk with creation origins rooted in the Elemental Plane of Earth, the Dwarves could subsist on native produce, such as the lichen and fungi that proliferated in the Murk. When ground down and baked, the product was a nigh indigestible pane de "stone". When appropriately stowed, the bread kept indefinitely, growing more inedible with time, so much that one look at an old loaf was enough to curb all hunger.

When the Murk folk had first turned to the surface for quality of life improvements, one was the ever-present hydroponic systems that had replaced the moss and lichen harvests of yore. Culinary pursuits by renegade cooks had even introduced the nouveau profession of "Chef"— one that was met with considerable success in citadels all over Dwarf-land.

Once the lizard was greasing their insides, the tour continued.

Throughout the way, Gwen paid explicit attention to a particular technology she wished to appropriate for her operations— a Dwarven Magitech known as Echo or "repeater" Glyphs.

At her behest, Hanmoul took the pair to tour the Avenue of Cunning Artificers, a section of the Western Craftsmen's Quarter that specialised in Rune-tuning, magical accessories and machine-components.

The Workshop they chose to visit was owned by Braem Yufir-Flaskthane, a lady-crafter with a century of experience under her considerable girth.

"You're after old tech pioneered by Grand Master Khazül-Dal Bhordodd, of Deepholm." The boisterous Tuner was happy to entertain Gwen's acute curiosity. "Of course, the proviso is that yer's got a lode of Taveir to spare…"

From a storage box with indefinite dimensions, Braem materialised two nondescript looking crystals. Each was inscribed with complex Glyphs in Dwarven Runescript. Tapping a few invisible Glyphs only she could see, the artificer activated the left-most crystal, lighting up a pattern of Runes. A split-second later, a corresponding set of Runes glowed on the adjacent gem.

"The more refined the crystal, the more clarified the pulse, the greater the distance."

"How rare are these Taveir Crystals?"

"Rarer than Mithril in these parts." Braem's words made her wince. "The motherlode's in Deepholm. In the old days, we could order Vularm-trams of the stuff to be delivered. Now? We're substituting whatever we can scrap."

"Which is?"

"Creature Cores." The Master Tuner shrugged. "Inconsistent as anything, yer ken. But it's the best a Tuner can do under the circumstances."

"How so?"

"Tier, Element, clarity, battle-damage, supply, ye name it." The crafter shrugged. "O how I yearn for the days when we could receive a crate of two hundred identical stones from the same lode…"

Gwen took notes, committing the knowledge to memory.

According to their verbose Tuner, the Taveir crystal's unique properties were empowered by resonator Glyphs. By likewise inscribing Creature Cores, a "poor Dwarf's" sympathetic resonance could be achieved across distance and space, potentially even Planes. The problem was consistency, for each pair was unique.

In this manner, the Dwarves maintained their equivalent of Divination Towers. To Gwen, the kit was akin to a magical form of Morse Code. The difference that was a skilled operator could add a near-infinite level of complexity, pending skill and materials. Additionally, paired with specially made equipment, it was possible to transmute the resonance into voice and vision.

The problem for Gwen, alas, was that "D-Tech" was highly dependent on Dwarven artisans. Whether or not a human manufactorium could reproduce the same effect remained anyone's guess. For her ambitions, therefore, D-Tech held both strength and weaknesses. The boon being she could have an exclusive, difficult to replicate operation— while the bane was that her supply-chain was highly dependent on volatile, inter-racial politics.

But it wasn't as though she lacked countermeasures.

Potentially, the technical hurdle could be lowered if say, a Dragon Prince were to supply quality Cores from Nagaland, Kachin and Manipur or Huangshan. Likewise, she needn't begin with voice or vision. Texting would suffice for phase one. Hell, a Pager system would work.

Later, she could commission Magisters to unravel or appropriate the tech. It wasn't as though Dwarven-magic specialists did not exist. Even Petra confessed that the progenitor of her Spellcubes sourced their inspiration from Dwarven Runic Magic.

When she proposed purchasing the Magi-tech, however, the Master Tuner broke into a high-pitched, snorting laugh.

"Fool lass! Yer grasping at the Phantom of Thul-Dâr! Hahaha…"

"The Guild can supply you with Echo Beacons," Hanmoul explained, a little red-faced. "But the Guild of Artificers cannot teach you the Glyphs or the Runes. Whatever tech that belongs to, and is derived from, the grand teachings of the Ancestors belong to Deepholm. Only the Council of Seven can authorise such an audacious transaction."

"Could I make a petition?" Gwen smiled, thinking of Ruxin's hoard. How many more HDMs had now accumulated from the Tonglv project? "I can be very convincing."

Hanmoul politely coughed.

"We've had scant contact with Deepholm since the Murk became flooded," the Commandrumm said. "You won't even be able to make a petition, lass."

"There's no one who can authorise a barter for the betterment of the Citadel?" Gwen extended her enquiry.

"No one would dare unless yer count the Deepdowners trapped here with us." Hanmoul shook his head. "Braem's right, though. There's no graspin' for Thul-Dâr's Phantoms. It would take a supreme act to move their stone hearts."

"Maybe if yer cod clear the way to Deepholm." The Master Tuner laughed at the Surfacers' expense. "Then one of them could just be desperate enough to shoulder the reprimand and the responsibility of hawk'n the Ancestor's Craft."

"You would have to convince our Thane as well. Without Deepdowner support, he won't act either." Hanmoul gestured to the gate, under which sat the Keep, a fortress-within-a-fortress that housed Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth's elected leader, the foremost Dwarf among the Clans. "It donnae be Vadam."

"But you can lend me personnel as well as sell me ready-made goods?"

"That the Guild can manage on its own, och aye." Hanmoul nodded. "We traded with humans before. Yer should cont yer luck that despite the grudge between our folk, there was nae directive from Deepholm to cut commerce. It won't be easy. First, you would have to convince the caravaneers. Most of them haven't ventured out in decades, much less traversed the surface. They're staying thrang just keeping the surrounding settlements supplied."

Gwen looked at Ollie, who nodded back that Hanmoul was telling the truth.

"How interesting," she muttered. "Right then. Shall we visit the lower regions?"

Gwen could see that Hanmoul was ambivalent about her desire to see the Dwarven equivalent of the slums, but relented after Gwen explained that she wanted to see all of the city, not just the prosperous parts. What Gwen withheld from the Iron Born was that how a culture valued the most vulnerable was a key determinant for market viability. Her's wasn't a metric for morality; instead, she was taught to structure a business around a society's strata. In countries where corruption wasn't so much a disease but natural gut-fauna, bribes were an investment expense. In nations where the Rule of Law held sway, agencies took their cut, but also provided guidelines and assurances. When in the past, she had advised for an Australian mining firm looking to expand in Bangladesh, half the expense usually for environmental protection had fattened the local councilmen. What was legal and what was ethical were entirely separate matters. In the holistic pursuit of profit, altruism was a privilege.

When their multi-segmented Vularm approached the working-class district called the Foundry, she immediately had flashbacks of Blackheath. She even felt a shiver when they stepped into the smog-filled suburb, where endless storeys of favela-structures made up the cavern's walls.

As before, Gwen became the immediate centre of attention. The Dwarven Citadel wasn't small by any means, but it was compact, which meant rumours spread like an aftershock. Anyone who kept their ear to the ground knew of the Human Sorceress who had consumed a Shale Wyrm. All who now laid eyes on the giantess wondered if she brought destruction or salvation.

To Gwen's studied eyes, the workers' conditions were leagues improved to what she had seen in Burma, and certainly better than the treatment of the dock labourers on the isle. For one, the teams of Dwarves manning the sky-scraper foundries all wore codified uniforms with protective Runes to shield them from the heat. There was OSHA, certainly, and the workers also appeared, at least on the surface, to be hale and enthusiastic about their work. If she had to present the atmosphere in familiar terms, she would cite case-studies of pre-Reagan Steel Belt. Whether as a result of propaganda or culture, the workers here had pride in their work and understood the essential nature of their labour.

"How's their upward mobility?" Gwen waved at the workers, who averted her eyes.

"They move well enough." Hanmoul pointed to the carts and pulleys powered by thrumming mana engines.

"... I mean their career mobility."

"Aye..."

When she looked to her companion, Hanmoul remarked with sagacity that such was the difference between those who lived by the work of hands besides those with craft and talent, one may be comparing dirt and Mithril.

"Nevermind."

"If yer mean better jobs, we recruit Guards from here." The Commandrumm nodded back to the workers. "Some talents aren't gifted by the Ancestor's blood."

"Like?"

"Like riding the Golems." Hanmoul grinned.

"That's true…" Gwen fell silent. She recalled hearing that the American IIUC teams used NoMs as pilots for their custom-made Iron Golems. As someone who came from the working class, she knew not to underestimate dedication driven by a desperate desire to escape mediocrity. As for the central continent, Hanmoul likely referred to the Bavarian Clans, who had not only worked but lived alongside the Human settlements in lower Germany. "You don't use autonomous Golems?"

"Machine Souls are Vadam!" Hanmoul lowered his voice; his skin flushed two shades darker. "The Ancestors have forbidden such a thing!"

"Right, right." Gwen quickly changed the subject.

The tour of the Foundry District took the rest of the afternoon. The group furthermore visited the mine shafts, as well as a system of ventilators that connected to the outside world. These, Gwen guessed correctly, were the source of the giant mana-plumes that she had twice almost flown into.

Supper involved more roasted richness. This time, Gwen recognised the sickly-rich bread underneath the whole-animal roast as the infamous stone-bread. Despite soaking in saturated fat and smoke-cooked for up to ten hours, the discus bread's nutritional value remained immutable.

Following another round of riotous quaffing, one from which Ollie abstained, the Mages retired to their quarters.

Nearing the witching hour, Gwen informed Ollie of her plans for the steam bath, leaving her Praelector red-faced and pale-lipped at the jocular invitation. This time, she checked that the chamber was unoccupied before stepping into the all-enveloping waters.

Comfortable in the liquid-womb of the mana-rich water, she spent some time absorbing the sights of the day.

Foremost of all, she desired the Dwarven technology known as the Echo Beacons, as well as the Runic Glyphs that made the "signal repeaters" possible. By that same measure, she wasn't so naive to think that she would maintain a monopoly on Dwarven-tech for long. Once her profits came in, the technology behind the Towers would undoubtedly be copied and imitated. But— she wasn't worried. Her plans for Project Legion did not crutch on patented technology, but instead the arcane system she would devise with the help of data-tech, NoM employees, the House of M's Centurion program, and Gunther and Lady Grey's word with the Tower.

The implementation of a seemingly unique Magi-tech system, therefore, would leave a Shoggoth-sized red-herring for her future competitors. Without a doubt, they would misplace their methodologies, resulting in investments both futile and fruitless.

After which, she could snap up cheap assets like freshly picked legumes.

Then there was the matter of the Machinists, of whom she desired a dozen, split between Runesmiths and Tuners. Hanmoul had said that hiring a Master was possible through short-lease. The contract would last a stone-cycle, a geo-synchronised measurement closely matching the Gregorian calendar. Additionally, she was confident that among the isle, there were Human tinkerers skilled enough to absorb enough of Dwarven knowledge to maintain the machines once their stout tutors inevitably returned to their Citadel.

Tomorrow was their third day in the Guild. Hanmoul had promised a careful look at the lands surrounding the Dwarven Bastion, as well as a gander at the different types of Golems in the Hammer Guard's armoury. Gwen had rolled her eyes when Ollie made the request but allowed the Praelector the freedom of making his bed. She had half a mind to pass Hanmoul a note under the table, but then again, Ollie was right in that the Dwarves were Demi-humans and not something like an oppositional Human nation. Should the inconsequential matter escalate, what would happen to her plans for Evee and Legion? Did that make her a bad friend and a worse partner? She chose not to dwell on the hypocrisy.

SHURRRK—

The sucking sound of the pressurised door opening and closing announced the arrival of a late-night bather.

Gwen had wondered if her companion would return, and to her delight, she did.

"Magus Song?" The voice called out in the dark.

"Hildy. I am happy you've returned." In consideration of her new friend, she had dimmed the lights to their lowest setting.

"And so I have." From Hilda's tone, the Dwarven noblewoman had been expecting her as well. "Shall we continue our conversation? I have since grown curious about the surface. Can you tell me more about the profession known as Adventurers? And thank you for the jadeite. As you have surmised, we are indeed interested in its many properties."

"Of course." Gwen parted the steam with a wave of her hand. "But first, would you like to meet my Familiars? They're simply adorable."

The next morning, against all the odds and to Ollie's complete surprise, their tour of the hydroponic farms and mining pits proceeded without encountering a single Magical Creature for Gwen to devour. The lack of action was so unanticipated that, by the end of the four-hour route, the unmitigated tension had exhausted the Praelector.

Gwen, conversely, appeared deep in thought since the patrol began.

When Ollie asked what she was worried about, the sorceress simply replied that she was thinking about how to best approach Whurforlüm about her request.

As usual, Ollie offered advice based on humility and delicacy.

"No matter how much you desire funds for Elvia," the Praelector proposed with great understanding. "Don't offend. Know your limits."

"And what limit is that?" Gwen gave her companion the strangest look.

"… ten thousand HDMs?" Ollie scratched his head. The Illusionist was doing that a lot in recent days, so much that Gwen could see his hair thinning in real-time. "I am sure they have vast reserves of it leftover from the pre-Tide days."

HDMs? Gwen restrained herself from patting Ollie like a puppy.

Now elucidated by her midnight tuition, Gwen understood that the enclaves used human currency because of an unexpected schism following the Beast Tide. It all began pre-Dragon, with Humanities' Spellcraft Revolution. Against the advice of the Deepdowners, many of the Murk Citadels chose to trade with Humans, greatly accelerating the development of Spellcraft while enormously enriching themselves. Post-Dragon, cut off and geologically displaced from Deepholm, the enclaves either shut themselves away or opened up new avenues of trade with their Surfacer neighbours.

Prior, Dwarven currency, consisting principally of gold, Elementium, Adamantium, and precious metals like Mithril and True Silver, were minted exclusively by the Masters of the Iron Vault in Deepholm. In the decade that followed the Murk's spread, Thanes of various enclaves diluted their coins, resulting in economic chaos among the Clans. Following the near-collapse of the Murk's currency, as a compromise, the surface Clans agreed to switch to Human HDMs. It was a sound choice, as many Citadels lacking in resources now relied on Overland trade for raw materials. Concurrently, as Humans had little to no interest in expanding underground, the young race made perfect trading partners thanks to their greed for elemental minerals. In some places such as Bavaria, the two tribes even shared common racial enemies in the form of Green Skins and Magical Monsters that traversed the Overland and the Murk.

Their present enclave, Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, was a regional power wealthy enough to minimise contact with the Humans after the perceived betrayal of trust. It's current Guild Master wished to test the waters of tentative trading— while the conservative faction headed by the Deepdowners were dead-set against being tainted by the surface.

It was a tug-of-war as old as time.

In their exchange, her bathing buddy had advised that the conservative Clans were deeply ingrained in the teachings of the Deepdowners, believing Dwarf-kind diminished by the disconnect between Deepholm and the Murk. For many of the White Beards, the quintessence of Dwarvishness lay in completing one's pilgrimage to the origin city to kiss the sarcophagi at the bases of the Seven Shrines of the Ancestors. For many of the Citadel's craftsmen, they still recalled the golden halls of Deepholm, its glimmering galleries adorned with jewels the size of Dragon eggs, and the monuments of Grand Masters adorned with plated Mithril. To the true Dwarf, not having touched the Blackened Forge of Gul-Zūh or inhaled the bitter air surrounding Nörn-Zur's Crucible made one deficient. If a smith never laid eyes on the original artifice of Haj-Zül, then how would they measure their craft? If a Tuner had never been dazzled by the ten-thousand scripts of Varekan-Kül, how would they know mastery?

It was only the young like Grimgal and Tordok who thought the stories of Deepholm a fool's errand.

Gwen had nodded in turn after Hilda unravelled the intricacies of Dwarven lore. Against all the odds, she sympathised with the zeitgeist of Hilda's lost people. Like the Biblical Magi of old, having followed the Northern Star and seen the divine body of Christ in Bethlehem, how could the pilgrims return to their countries in peace? What riches, what pleasures, what palaces could bring them peace of mind when they had witnessed the Nazarene cooing for milk? Without Deepholm, the learned Dwarves of the Murk were lambs without Shepards, living in guilt every day they grew diverted from their objective. Conversely, as the young struggled to understand their elder's obsession, the diaspora only grew. It was no wonder that Hanmoul's love of the surface and the deep made him a little schizophrenic.

To open up Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, thereby, Gwen would first have to convince those whose modus was to delve deeper towards the low-ways. In the Murk, progress upwards had to be precipitated by advancement downwards.

In turn, Gwen had informed her bathing buddy that few things moved humanity like unmitigated profit. If the Citadel had made little meaningful progress on its own in the last three decades, why not seek external aid? Given enough incentive, legions of Adventurers would flood the Murk to harvest the Dwarves' foes and open new byways. So long as the residents of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth were willing to accept expatriates in their midst, the potential for cooperation was limitless. In truth, what had the Dwarves to lose? It wasn't as though Humans could inhabit the Murk; the claustrophobia alone would drive her kind mad.

Her companion said nothing, but Gwen could see the bolts spinning into place behind Hilda's eyes.

By the night's end, the noblewoman still hadn't informed Gwen of her true identity. Gwen remained mum, knowing better than to demand something her helpful tutor refused to give freely. Already, Hildy had told her plenty— enough for her to drive a good bargain with the Guild Master and to ensure that she had plenty of Dwarves manning the printing press.

For now, that was enough.

After all, not even Rome was transmuted in a day.

Gwen stood regal as a Tudor Rose in the sunken amphitheatre, garbed in ivory and carmine, possessing a poise befitting a virgin queen.

Directly overhead, positioned just so that they could still look down on the petitioner, sat the Grand Council of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. To her right, appearing with the air of a funeral, sat a trio of iron-clad Deepdowners in their all-enveloping armour, attended by a train of sycophants. To her left sat the Clan Heads, representing the common interest of the citizens. Finally, directly ahead, Whurforlüm Ironførge, Master of the Rotary Guild, surveyed the proceedings.

Earlier, Hanmoul Bronzeborn, Commandrumm of the Hammer Guard, the Iron Born scion of Bürumm-Dal Irøngut, had appraised his case for satisfying the Debt of Haj-Zül. In its aftermath, Gwen registered her demands.

"… in turn, I wish to obtain the aid of my brother-in-arms for my industrial endeavours. MY petition shall be satisfied with a staff of no less than twelve technicians split among Tuners and Runesmiths, including one Alchemist, lead by a Master, to travel with me to London for the duration of one Stone Cycle. Between our Adventurers and your Technicians, there shall be mutual benefit and common gain."

"AND they won't work for free. All employees shall receive an attractive stipend," Gwen continued with relish. "In minerals, in HDMs, in knowledge if they so desire, or the freedom to journey to Bavaria and back."

The Guild Master, Whurforlüm "Wilhelm" Ironførge, nodded encouragingly. The Clan heads, appearing as a cluster of beards, held various expressions from uncertainty to disdain to ambivalence. The Deepdowners were unreadable thanks to their masks, though Gwen could sense their flesh-flensing stares just the same.

"My last petition, as Commandrumm Hanmoul has noted, is for the Magitech Enchantment known as the Echoing Glyph to be supplied to my firm, 'Legion' Proprietary Limited, as an exclusive patent secured by London Tower."

A nervous ripple spread from left to right.

One of the Deepdowners growled, sounding like a seismic rumble.

"AHEM—" An uptown Dwarf with a beard the size of a broom made his displeasure known, then rose from the semi-circle rows of the amphitheatre.

"Magus Song." The Dwarf made a show of drawing eyes from around the room. "I must object."

Gwen acknowledged her "objector" by relenting the floor. She was not surprised that the Deepdowners had nominated a noble to kneecap her request. If Hilda hadn't warned her, she would now be furious that the Dwarves were undercutting Hanmoul's obligations. As the noblewoman had said, the Deepdowners' faction loathed even a single mote of Earthen Mana escaping the earth. Opposing her attempt to bring Humans in, or to bring Dwarves out, came as naturally to them as breathing.

Gwen studied the fine-bearded Dwarf. From what she had seen of the Dwarves' frugal fashion, her present opponent was excessively-dressed for the part. His beard, for one, was bound in what looked like Mithril bands, and the Dwarf's hands were encrusted with enchanted jewels. Making his way up the dais, the Dwarf lord stopped as soon as he gained the height advantage.

A politician; Gwen recognised the Walken-esque sneer.

"As we ur among Clan, fowk an' friends, Ay shall speak candidly."

Her bullshit senses tingled. The bastard had come with a speech! Gwen quickly glanced at Ollie. Her Praelector was already sweating buckets from her earlier proclamations. Ollie was a scholar, a student, a primrose of fantastic breeding, but one of Ravenport's finest he was not.

Around the amphitheatre, a murmur of agreement met the nobleman, making Gwen suspect more than a few were conservative plants.

"Ye all ken my name— Brugal Brumdahr." The Dwarf pointed his considerable chin down toward Gwen's general direction. "Mine Clan has been the theme of honour's tongue since the time of Haj-Zül Brumdahr, frae whose loins we ur issued. Ay dunnae think there is a better Iron Born to speak of the Debt and the honour of repayment other than Ay. If any of ye in this hall ken themselves moor suited tae speak for the Clans, then dear friends, make your voice knoon..."

The rhetorical question met with silence. Gwen sought out the Guild Master with her eyes. Up top, the master craftsmen seemed content to see the drama play out.

"Aye, we agree, then," Brugal continued. "Under our law, as in our LORE, the debt between Haj-Zül Brumdahr to Bürumm-Dal woz a matter of rivalry, friendship— or loove, if the Matrons have their say—"

The Clan Heads laughed.

"— Aye, Bürumm-Dal's admiration and love, was the source of his Debt of life. Yet, to call what we owe this mercenary, this free-lancer, this hired Goorumm from the Overland the Debt of Haj-Zül— it pains me. The honour of our home, the honour of Clan Brumdahr, has never been so diminished! The Debt is something we rejoice in, and yit, when news reached me lugs that we are sending our wee jimmies and Masters of the Rune to Lundun? To that blighted, lidless place? I cood nae sit idle, mah friends."

The barely veiled insult sent a touch of heat to kiss Gwen's cheeks. More than her pride, however, she felt for Hanmoul. Already, the Commandrumm's face was scarlet, like a trodden-on Displacer Beast, his beard was sticking end-on-end.

"Dunnae look at me so peevish, Hanmoul. Yer know I honour the Hammer Guard and yer battle-kin. But yer gotter ken, me man, as yer was valorous, so I supported yer. But as yer trade our kin to the Overlander, I must oppose ye. Aye, yer saved our fellow Clansmen— Just last night, I quaffed to yer health! But now, Commandrumm, I see yer ambition has out-grown the boundaries of yer duty; and so I must put yer back in yer Golem, lad."

"Giltho—"

"—Hanmoul, let me finish," Brugal's voice grew hypnotic. He turned away from Hanmoul and instead faced the assembling of Clan Heads seated here and there around the upper quadrant of the amphitheatre. "As yer can see, the Commandrumm aye offended. BUT is anyone here equally vexed that I wish tae preserve our purity? Our culture? Our doctrine? LOOK! Gaze upon the visage of our Lore Keepers, and see how they seethe! Who dares say that ay acted out of turn? Who can say Brugal am wrong? Misguided ye art, Hanmoul, we know yer yearning for the surface lad— but upward is not dae way."

Hanmoul choked as the noblemen dragged his petition through the Murk, too upset to compose a rebuttal. Gwen could see that the Commandrumm was a fighter, not a debater.

"What say ye, Witch? Did yer think our kind so innocent as to allow yer tae abscond with our knowledge?"

"Abscond?" her lips split to form a forced smile. Without the beard to go with the grin; however, she wasn't sure if the Dwarves could be sufficiently titillated. "You, Ser, must be unaware of the contributions I have made to your esteemed city. The Wyrm? The Trolls? Was Commandrumm Hanmoul so lacking in charisma that you feel personally insulted by his achievements?"

"Dunnae speak of Hanmoul ter me, lass. He is one of our own. Yer Mageocracy harkens after our Golems and our Mithril. Do tell, Witch, what do ye intend to do with our craftsmen? Excavate our secrets with yer Mind Magic?"

"I do object!" Ollie raised a hand. "Sir Dwarf, you mistake my sister's purpose. She's after Crystals, nothing more!"

"Then why not ask for Crystals? The human lust for HDMs is well-known."

Gwen gave Ollie a withering look, then took a deep breath. Brugal put on a good show, she had to admit; but she was no stranger to smarmy snakes in business suits. The self-proclaimed descendent of Haj-Zül whats-his-name talked a good game, but little did the Dwarf know he was now in the big leagues.

"Are you an artificer or a warrior yourself, esteemed Sir?" She tested the waters.

"Do yer mock me, Magus?" The Dwarf's brows knitted.

Gwen's sultry lips formed a thin red line. With her eagle-eyes, she could see that Brugal's hands had not seen a day of labour. She felt sorry for Hanmoul. How disappointing it was that not even the Dwarve's meritocratic society could escape the malaise of inherited wealth.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Ser Brumdahr." She feigned ignorance. "But I fear you have misread me from the beginning. Such a misconception is unbecoming of a Clan Lord."

This time, it was the Brugal's beard that bristled.

"Your worries were apt, Ser," Gwen observed, then she addressed the entire assembly, including the Deepdowners. If the barrel-shaped lawyer wished to play the rat, Gwen mulled darkly; then she would play the piper.

"Friends, Dwarves, Fellows of the Murk; I humbly beg for a minute more of your time."

The Clan Heads maintained a polite silence. The Guild Master shifted in his seat, while the Deepdowners sat unmoved.

"I understand Ser Brugal's many insecurities. They are well-founded, for Ser Brumdahr is the theme of honour's tongue, and indeed, so are all of our present company. However, if Ser Brumdahr wishes to speak ill of my dear battle-mate, Commandrumm Hanmoul, then I too, shall throw in my gauntlet."

Together with her pantomime, she opened the tap on Almudj's Essence, arresting her viewers with supernatural, newfound confidence.

"When we first met, Ser Bronzeborn was fighting for his life. Not for his gain, nor for honour or glory. Thanklessly, he was protecting the ventilation systems that lead from the surface down to the heart of your city. The gallant engine of his Rockcrusher had been torn apart by a Brutaliser, ripped limb from limb, bleeding liquid-mana and blue-green coolant over the linen snow. One bite from the Troll and Hanmoul would have perished. Oh, when I found him, my friends! The Commandrumm bled from every pore; his courage had congealed against his armour in strands of coagulant gore! And YET he carried on!"

Gwen paused, taking a step so that she rose a little up the dais, matching Brugal's gaze. "Was this ambition? Was he fighting for the LOVE of Himmseg? Or was it Dwarven dogma?"

Brugal's expression grew worrisome. "Even a tongue of True Silver won't—"

"Ser Brumdahr!" Gwen spun without warning, turning on Brugal like a viper. "Ser! I am EIGHTEEN— a 'wee' lass. A True Silver Tongue? For shame, Ser! Is mine a face of cunning? But then again, I can't refute your claim. Unlike YOU, I am NOT the theme of honour's tongue."

Before the Dwarf could retort, she raised her voice once more, this time weaving a spot of Ventriloquism so that her suppressed emotions reverberated across the amphitheatre.

"When I met Ser Bronzeborn again, it was at this very Citadel. At its gate, a toothy horror with a dozen tongues hailing straight from the deepest, darkest depth had found its way into your abode. There, the guards informed us that the Wyrm had Dwarf-napped your kin! Your Clansmen! Your family and citizens! For egg-fodder! For WORMS MEAT!"

Her audience flinched as her irises glowed, circulating a dazzling play of colours. "Naturally, possessing no desire to risk my life, I shrugged. I am a greedy, conniving Human Sorceress. I just wanted to be let into the Citadel and stake my claim—"

"BUT— Ser Bronzeborn wouldn't have it! He was an avatar of Dwarfdom! Naive and altruistic! He wanted to help without the backup of the Rockcrushers! He arrested my wrists— like so, and looked me in the eye and said 'Lass, my kin aye down there.' I asked him what was in it for me, and he said to me, 'Whatever yer desire, Human, from mah beard to me bones.'"

Hanmoul stared with his mouth half-open, likely wondering if the Jäger Bombes addled their collective memory.

"I was moved."

Suddenly, without warning, Gwen took a step upward so that she now rose above Brugal. "But I digress. What do I know? I am not like Ser Brumdahr over yonder, the bloody theme of honour's tongue, whistling, whistling away like a leaking steam-vent."

The noble blinked.

"BRUGAL!" Gwen suddenly spat, a spot of spittle striking the Dwarf like a bolt of lightning. "When we were neck-deep in Wyrm-spit and up to our crotch in Copper Worms, where were you and your honourable men?"

A chuckle broke out from behind the row of Clan Heads. Someone was enjoying the spectacle. On the central platform, Whurforlüm twirled the gavel in between his fingers, fighting back a smile.

Brugal Brumdahr took a step back, only now realising he was seized in the jaws of a proverbial Wyrm.

"Ser Bronzbeard risked his life and the life of his men to bring back the bodies of your kin so that their Spirits could be consigned to the Stone," Gwen drew out the timbre of emotion in her voice. "But what would he know? He's not like you, Milord Brumdahr. He's not the theme of bloody honour's tongue."

Her cadence picked up.

"When we brought those poor Dwarves back to the gate, we spoke to the families as their husbands, wives, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters lay there, cold and unmoving." Gwen implored the Clan Heads, taking another step so that she towered above them, matching the Guild Master's platform with the help of her heels. "Were you among them?"

She leaned down to deliver the coup de grâce.

"What did you do for them? Brugal?"

"Blame Hanmoul? Did a Wyrm eat your conscience?"

"Was this the Commandrumm's lauded love for the surface?"

"If Hanmoul's a turncoat, then what are you?"

"I-insolence!" Brugal's face had grown to encompass the likeness of a cornered mole-rat. "Yer— ye—"

"I think you should sit down." Gwen patted the Dwarf on the shoulder. "You're not yourself, Lord Brumdahr."

To achieve the desired effect, she momentarily flooded her conduits with Void. Borrowing from the exercise she had learned from Ayxin, Gwen focused her intent until Brugal visibly lost his balance. Then, with a kind, helping hand, she steered him toward his seat.

Slowly, for visual effect, Gwen straightened her spine. "Anyone else got—"

WHOMP!

The assembly, with exception to the Guild Master and Gwen, collectively flinched.

One of the Deepdowners rose to his considerable height, standing a whole head taller than the rest in their custom, hermetically sealed armour.

"ARROGANCE!" A booming voice, projected as though through a loud hailer, deafened the room. "ALL IS VANITY."

"Keeper Muirrigg!" The Guild Master, as Gwen's bathing buddy had predicted, came to her aid as soon as the Deepdowners breached their custodial duty. "Your opinion is appreciated but not needed, Ser. As per the Ancestor's teachings, the Keepers of Lore shall not interfere with the ruling of a Citadel."

"I AM SAVING YOU FROM YOURSELVES." The Deepdowner had a voice like gravel. "THIS FEMALE, CAN YOU NOT TASTE THE DEATH ON HER SKIN? SHE IS VADAM, A WALKING CALAM—."

Gwen felt her lips twitch.

"BAH! Ay have had just aboot enough fer this!" Hanmoul stepped in front of her, his hand half-drawing his Spellsword. Gwen could see that her impassioned defence had ignited the Commandrumm's berserker-blood, as was expected of a scion of Irøngut. "Scorning the Debt of Haj-Zül! Insulting mine battle-mate! That es proper Dwarven now, AYE?"

"Both of you! Calm yourselves!" Whurforlüm slammed the table with a miniature war hammer. "Your distemper shames us all!"

"THE SURFACER INVITES OUR DOOM," the Deepdowner persisted. A swirl of unadulterated Earthen mana flooded the space where the man stood. Gwen knew not how Dwarven Magic worked, but what she sensed was no less than a tier 5 Transmutation.

"CALI!" Gwen conjured Caliban, materialising in the middle of the amphitheatre the living embodiment of the Deepdowner's dread. Whurforlüm stayed the guards with a wave of his hand; a few of the Clan Heads reached for their wands, though none chose to act. Behind the Deepdowner, their entourage made a show of rattling mailed gloves and magical implements.

"If I may speak?" Gwen's Clarion Call shook the room while Caliban soaked the attention like a sponge.

"SHAA! SHAA!"

"As I said earlier." She pointed to her serpent. "There has been a miscommunication. If you allow me to finish without interruption, I shall ratify all concerns. If you remain unsatisfied after, I shall leave and never return. But if you deny me, then I shall exact my price with interest."

"Gwen!" Ollie appeared entangled in a nightmare. "P-put away Caliban now!"

"Ollie." Gwen placed a hand on her Praelector's shoulders. "Sit down and keep Ser Brumdahr company. He's looking faint."

Confused and shaken as to why Gwen reprimanded his perfectly sensible advice, the Praelector did as told.

"Now." Gwen returned to her captive audience. "You accuse me of wanting to steal your precious Dwarven Golems. I have no idea where you even got this idea. I don't need your Golems, be it the Striders, the Rockcrushers, or the Irongrinders because of a simple fact—"

Before the audience could react, rippling waves of nauseating feed-back flooded the chamber. Caliban began to moult, its carapace growing grotesque as her Familiar bloated. From the size of three Dwarves standing head-to-toe, it grew and grew, filling the spacious amphitheatre until the enormous council-chamber felt claustrophobic.

The Dwarves, captive in their elevated seats, reared back as Caliban continued to expand.

Unlike the Wyrm whose Core Caliban had consumed, the Void Wyrm was a horrifying thing, possessing more mouth than any other physiological apparatus. When her Familiar finally finished its bloated metamorphosis, leaving the Void Sorceress covered in a sheen of cold sweat, it stood thirty meters from end to end, possessing enough tentacles to pluck the whole assembly into its maw.

"G-GUARDS!" The Deepdowner hollered— a reasonable reaction.

"HOLD!" Whurforlüm thankfully rescinded the Deepdowner's demand. Gwen fought down the heebie-jeebies wrecking her chest. She could act out because last night, Hanmoul had gifted the Sen-infused Maotai to his teacher, curing the old Dwarf of his rheumatism. It was an unseen debt, and now the Guild Master was using the encounter to repay her unsolicited favour. When the old Dwarf met her eyes, she knew that now and in the future, her insolence would be tolerated just once. "Magus Song, I believe you've made your point."

"Your monster is no match for our Balefire Dreadnaughts!" Brumdahr growled from beside Ollie.

"Perhaps," Whurforlüm pronounced mockingly from up on high. "But will you consign your Spirit to the Ancestors to empower it, or will a younger kin volunteer? The theme of honour's tongue, indeed!"

"Whurforlüm! You would side with a Surfacer?"

"I do not have 'sides' Brugal," Whurforlüm's voice carried a tone of retribution. "You wear away our patience, boy."

Brugal swallowed his next words. Behind him, the table of Clan Heads suddenly found great interest in staring at their lap. The Noble caste may shout at the warriors or holler at the Overlanders, but an Engineseer's words, and a Grand Master's at that, carried supreme weight.

"Caliban, return!" Gwen quickly withdrew the Void mana pumping into Caliban, though there was no salvaging the spent vitality. With a whine, her Void Wyrm shrivelled, then disappeared. Her complexion paled. Where the Big Bird form was demanding but efficient, the Wyrm form was sheer gluttony.

"Just so we're clear," Gwen walked down the granite tier and stepped carefully into the middle of the amphitheatre. "I don't need your HDMs."

THUNK!

She dropped a crate worth at minimum five-thousand, splattering the lowly seated audience with Cali-goo. Instantly, the atmosphere grew thick.

THUNK!

THUNK! THUNK!

THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

The vapour grew so dense as to paint the cold stone, affecting a luminous hue.

"There is… ten, twenty more stacks in the piggy," Gwen made a show of walking around the stockpile flashing her Storage Ring. "And countless more lodes are resting beneath Manipur, Kachin and Nagaland, awaiting my beck and call."

Elevated on the steps, Ollie and Brugal sat beside one another, both with their nostrils flaring, sucking in the mana-rich fog. The Praelector's eyes were bloodshot, while the Dwarven noble's hypertension made his fingers tremble.

"So you see." Gwen brushed a sticky strand of Caliban's mucus from her Magus' mantle. "I bring you neither doom nor gloom."

To the Guild Master, she bowed her head. "To Midlord Ironførge and the Rotary Guild, I bring the winds of change to dispel the air of stagnancy that has shrouded Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth for three decades."

Then, she faced the Clan Head sitting like ducks in a semi-circle row. "To you, my lords— I am an investment, one that will bring your people and your Citadel unfathomable fortunes."

Finally, she turned to the Deepdowners. "And to my friends of the deep, you denizens of Deepholm. I promise hope, hearth and home, down below the Misty Mountains cold…"

"NAE—" The Deepdowner stood, no longer willing to let her do as she pleased. The Runes on his armour blazed red, orange and ochre even as Gwen readied her double-glazed mana shield. Had she failed? Gwen cursed internally. Maybe the HDMs were too much.

CLUNK!

The Dwarf stumbled.

A second Deepdowner, the one who had sat beside the gravel-voiced gruff, struck the first so hard that his helmet almost cracked.

"Argh!" To Gwen's surprise, the stricken Deepdowner, rather than retaliate, retreated a step before dropping to one knee. "A-Apologies, Lord Engineseer."

Gwen raised an arched brow. An Engineseer and a Deepdowner? The leader of the trio of fishbowl-wannabes must be gifted indeed. More curious was the fact that even among Deepdowners there existed such a difference in prestige. Hilda had given the impression that the folk-below were a monastic order of Lore Keepers.

As the leader of the Deepdowners rose, the entourage behind her shrunk away, either bowing or falling to one knee. From the patterns on the master-crafted armour, Gwen recognised the individual. She had seen this very Deepdowner coming into the Citadel observing her from the parapets.

"As Master Whurforlüm has said, it is not our role to interfere." A pleasant, melodious female voice reverberated through the chamber, one that was acutely familiar to Gwen's ears. "Well said, Magus Song."

Gwen blinked. She recognised the voice, she realised, though she had been banking that her bather-companion was either the Thane of the Citadel or at worst, a wife or daughter. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined that she could charm a Deepdowner while tits-up in a sauna. "Strewth… Hildy?"

"Your gift of gab is almost as pleasant as the Ancestor Scald, Billelynn Møsvian." Hilda's projected voice grew mirthful. "You have my vote, Sorceress. I'll be watching and waiting."

"Mistress…" Hilda's Deepdowner attendant rose in surprise. "The Human—"

"Ebren, another complaint and you will be joining the craftsmen we're lending to Miss Song. Imagine that, brother, strolling in Himmseg under a cavern without a ceiling."

At his mistress' rebuke, Ebren broke like a rusted factory spring. His containment suit seemed to shrink as the Dwarf within deflated.

"Hilda!" Gwen called after the Deepdowner, stepping out of Caliban's muck. "Can we have a word?"

What she wanted to know was if their encounter had been serendipity, or if the Deepdowner had sought her out.

"In time, we shall speak again in Dyar Morkk's vaulted corridors." Hilda was already half-way down the hall. In a moment, her entourage enclosed around the Deepdowner, cutting off the sight of Hilda's lumbering armour. "I would be disappointed, Magus Song, if that day does not come to pass. You bluster well, but I hope your actions speak louder."

"Gwen, what's happening?" Ollie watched his fingers jitter while he circulated mana to bring the feeling back into his toes. Up ahead, Gwen rode in a separate Strider with Hanmoul while Ollie himself sat next to a grinning Grimgal. Since leaving Red Peak, he had wondered how he would explain the occurrences to Lady Grey, and what Peterhouse would think of their newest position as a noted ally of the Dwarves.

In their sockets, his eyeballs felt heavy and swollen. There was an indescribable ache in his belly.

Why hadn't Lady Loftus told him that Gwen was the heiress to a Dragon's hoard? That she carried more HDMs on her person than the ancestral vault of Baronettes? If only the lady would laugh and tell him that Gwen was, in reality, a polymorphic Dragon playing silly buggers in the mortal world. And that speech she gave! The way she whipped the Dwarven noble until the poor sod's face imprinted in the granite, the way she peeled back his 'honour' until the man was stark naked and shivering in the limelight of mockery and laughter…

Ollie shivered.

Could he, a second son from the hills, really steer this Dragoness toward propriety? Was it possible for a man to tame a Displacer Beast? Can a Cabal of Wizards herd Drakes? What if she thought him too fussy and decided to put him through the same crucible? Would there be enough blood left in his shame-wrung body to keep his heart beating?

"You just keep doing your job, Ollie," Gwen's Message came back with a hint of mirth. "I think we did rather well, don't you think? New trade route, new allies, new staff, a whole region opened up for adventuring. All in a day's work, eh?"

"Please don't say 'we'."

"Don't be shy, Ollie. I couldn't have done it without you."

"No-no-no," Ollie moaned. The fluttering in his diaphragm was getting worse. He felt sick.

"You were my moral support, you know; we're like a... dynamic duo. I knew you had my back."

"Please…"

"Lady Grey will be so pleased."

"Gwen, I am begging you…"

"You're my guy, Oz."

Ollie groaned, vexing Grimgal, who disliked men who couldn't keep their liquor, or their nerve.

"Stone bread trouble?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm. "It goes down hard and comes out like a high-grit grinder. Is your bung—"

Grimgal's passenger shook his head, hugged his knees in the cramped cabin, then stared out at the woodlands swishing by as the Striders pounded through the trail. Ollie Edwards, Magus and Praelector of Peterhouse, had been homesick for London since the first day they drank Dwarven Rum. Now, he wished he had stowed a bottle away to drink away his consciousness.

Wednesday brought a rare lull in the snow.

Two frigid evenings past Boxing Day, the zeal of gift-giving finally gave way to old enmities, restoring the city of London to cynicism as usual. At six-thirty AM sharp, from the icy coast of Canisbay to the southern-most part of Cornwall, the folk of England awoke to the sound of the paper boy's adolescent holler.

"DWARFIES to reopen the ye old RED KEEP! OLD Ally NEWLY back in the fold!"

In every news agency, tram station and vendor stand, similar images of the Gate of Kazhul, wide-open for the first time in three decades, splayed across the tabloids. Lower, nearer the article itself, a portrait that had now thrice graced the red-letter tabloids smiled winsomely at the audience with sparkling eyes, promising exciting things to come.

Over in Cambridge, Peterhouse, under the sheltered groves in the Deer Garden, over the clinking of heirloom silverware, Lady Grey shared a spot of morning tea with an old nemesis, "Dickie" Mycroft Ravenport.

With pleasure, The Lady of Ely revelled in the fact that she had been the very first to know of the Murk Dwarves' new stance toward the Mageocracy, and so had time to position her pieces just right. Though she had contributed nothing of note to the endeavour, the ambassador responsible for cracking the hard-headed Dwarves had been sent at her behest. In high-society, this meant Gwen's accolades were foremostly hers, then Peterhouse's, then Gwen's.

"I had to withdraw two Mage Flights and a triage team to babysit her unannounced caper," Ravenport intoned annoyedly. "You know what Ireland's like this time of the year. The Militia's short-staffed as it is, and now the Mercenaries are delving en-mass into Merthyr Tydfil like mud down a sinkhole."

The mistress of Peterhouse waited for a block of loosely-compressed sugar to wholly dissolve before taking a sip of her steaming, yearling Devonshire. "Is that so bad? London has effectively gained access to a virgin Dungeon, one that's untouched since the Beast Tide. Which of the central powers can boast the same? And it's close to home as well, no need for complex logistics. Surely your people stand to benefit more than they can lose?"

"We've no idea what's down there, Maxi." Ravenport buttered a scone with far too much marmalade. Unbeknownst to his enemies, the stone-cold, sable-clad Duke of Norfolk had a sweet tooth. "The girl reported that she fought a Wyrm! A mutated, draconic Earthen Worm."

"It's Gwen's Wyrm now," Maxine corrected her childhood companion. "Ergo, the danger is now sans Wyrm."

Mycroft meticulously masticated, swallowed, then continued. "There's no such thing as a free lunch. The Dwarves are not fools, least of all Whurforlüm. Did you know my grandfather was the last Tower Mage to confide with the Guild Master in person? Now I, his grandson, must broker a deal with the same Dwarf. You understand how vexing that could be?"

"A tad rich, coming from one who negotiated our treaty with the Hvítálfar," Maxine said carefully. "Aren't the highborn effectively immortal? The first Duke of Norfolk, working under Henry V, would have dealt with the same aldermen as you had."

"Wholly different," Mycroft refuted the implied hypocrisy. "The Hvítálfars are changeless, immutable, whereas the Dökkálfars are prone to change, only slower and more stubborn. A century from now, Snowdonia would remain as it has always been, out of touch— and reach— but can you say the same of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth? The girl wants to punch through the Murk and connect their citadel back into the Dyar Morkk. I shudder to think they would succeed."

"Is that so bad?" The Lady relayed her amusement at Mycroft's frustration. "You've been trying to tempt the Dwarves— well, OUR Dwarves, for years. You're just upset that Gwen did the job of the Foreign Office in place of your lackeys, am I right? At any rate, whatever muck will hit the Dwarves first and foremost."

"What an unkind thing to say." Mycroft sipped his tea, making a slight scowl. One of the reasons he did enjoy Maxine's company was that as equals, and as acquaintances since they were children, there wasn't too dire a need for facades and frivolities. After a long few days herding vipers, it was surprising how much one longed for candidness. "My Faction employs the finest men and women our country has to offer."

"I am reminded of an oriental idiom." Maxine fought back a grin. "Black cat, white cat, fat or lean, a good cat is the one that catches the mice."

"Now you're rubbing salt in my wounds." Mycroft sighed. "Enjoy it while you can Maxi. Your whelp will stumble sooner or later. Then you'll have to come to me to clean up her mess."

"Gwen can afford the reparations. Isn't that wonderful, Dickie? What a fortuitous investment Henry has left us, the gift that keeps on giving. All profit."

"Profit?" Ravenport's nostrils twitched. "You realise the Dwarves have submitted a hundred thirty-four requests for Resonators? One-Twenty of which was for overland travel to Central Europe. A mob of them to Sharr, a crowd to the Rila, a horde to Berchtesgaden and Lowland Bavaria. The Shard has decided to show our generosity and throw in diplomatic travel and Teleportation. Over in the mainland, their Towers are charging us arms and legs for the privilege of ferrying Journeymen to visit their cousins."

"Assuming twelve of them are Gwen's merry men, are any others staying in London?"

"Two dozen. Liaisons for the Freelancers. The Guild Master said they don't just want any riff-raff raiding in the Murk. There'll be cultural sensitivity training on both sides and a new licence office."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What is your department getting out of this, Dickie? Don't tell me a bloodsucker like you has suddenly caught an outbreak of philanthropy."

Mycroft twirled a dessert fork.

"We've sent visitation applications to the Germanic and Icelandic citadels, as well as Dwarven enclaves in the Eastern Reaches. Requests for visitation and overland travel should be flooding in as we speak. Naturally, we hope to recoup our costs and then some."

"How are our own responding to this?"

Mycroft's pursed lips edged upward. "It's been a while since we could commission regional Dwarven battle-gear. Just the demand for Spellswords is driving the Militant Faction into a tizzy. The Knight Orders as well are demanding a refresh to their armoury. For a few years now, the youngsters have been making do with re-forged facsimiles."

Maxine chuckled. "How desperate are the men?"

"The Order of St George has offered to send Knight Commander Springfield with a Squadron of his best Hunters to scour the Murk if it means the Ordo can have first-privileges on custom blades. The Griffin Guard is keen for updated Spell-lances, though understandably, the underground nature of the Murk has limited their application."

"You have this well in hand, I assume?"

"Naturally, a good blood-letting— by which I mean a public auction, is in order. We shall soon see who has deeper pockets."

"Boys and their toys." Maxine rolled her eyes. "No extra Golems for the Kingdom's forces?"

"The Red Citadel's designs aren't as easily modified as the German Mark IV's." Ravenport shook his head. "Besides, the contracts are set in stone. We're still waiting on a delivery of two-hundred by next year's end. The department's current budget does not allow for more."

"Nonetheless, you must be a popular man right now. More so than usual."

Mycroft affirmed the Lady's observation, then signalled a change in the subject by switching to an after-meal tea. As though hoisted by a poltergeist, the tea sets rearranged themselves.

"I always digress when it comes to you. Very unpleasant. Now— back to the subject of our sorceress. My sources from Hong Kong have informed me that the Communists are ready to make a move on her assets in Shanghai, in particular, her cut of Tonglv."

"To be expected." The Lady shrugged. "Would you allow a Chinese Magister part ownership of the Royal Docks?"

"You jest, but the clever thing is, they're accusing her of the very thing. Supposedly, she's supplying the Royal Docks. Naturally, rumours suggest she's consorting with myself."

"Supplying you with what, exactly?"

"The fanciful finance she sold to Shanghai via the Pudong Tower."

"Is it true?" The Lady of Ely raised a brow. "You did accost her at Heathrow. She told me all about it. Did the two of you consort beyond what's proper?"

"No, nothing of the sort."

"And did you, Dickie Ravenport, as one of the four major stakeholders of the Royal Docklands, deny such an accusation?"

Mycroft grinned like a shot fox. "I declined to comment, as did my colleagues."

The Lady shot her confrere a concerning glare. "Nanny always said you were a nasty boy."

"Nanny knows best. I wonder, though. Do you think the girl has contingencies in place?"

"You don't know?"

"Should I?"

Maxine covered her smirk with a side of scone. "If anyone should know, it should be you."

"What?" Mycroft shrugged. "What is she to me? Am I the Oracle of Delphi?"

The Lady of Ely looked up from her teacup. "On a brighter note. Have you finalised the roster for Snowdonia?"

Mycroft paused, sensing an unpleasant premonition rising to the fore. Maxine Loftus seldom made requests of her companions; when she did, the Lady of Ely expected satisfaction. "You jest."

"Don't you think it'll be interesting?" Lady Loftus' eyes became two smiling half-moons.

"Maxine." The Duke of Norfolk replaced the fine china, indicating that he suddenly recalled pressing business. "I really must be going."

"Dickie," his companion's tone grew dangerously charming. "Care for a wager?"

The Duke paused. "Go on."

"I'll loan you the girl for the Isle of Man if indeed she's caught flatfooted by the scheming Orientals. Else, you have to find her a suitable instructor."

Mycroft squared his shoulders "You wager that an adolescent, much less a Frontier bumpkin from Sydney, would possess enough personal or local clout to fend off an attempt by the Party to retrieve an infrastructural apparatus linked to gross domestic output? Am I to believe Lord Shultz will be shortly gracing Shanghai?"

"My confidence in Gwen nears the supernatural."

Mycroft let lose an undulating wave of uncharacteristic laughter. From the shadows among the trees, his footman, ever attentive Elliot Saville, materialised to aid the Duke in donning his outer coat.

Outside the warmth of the Warding Mandala, the frigid winter whistled through the gothic fruit trees haunting the Deer Garden.

"Fine." Mycroft donned his hat. "My scepticism is no less supreme."

On Maxine Loftus' face, the Lady of Ely blossomed as though Juno summoning a second spring. Raising her cup, she toasted the departing Duke.

"Til next time, Dickie. May our communist friends live in interesting times."

London.

The Isle of Dogs.

Magus Gwen Song; honorary Magus of Peterhouse, relayed the events of the past three days to her dearest provisional-practitioner of Magical Medicine, Elvia Lindholm of Great Osmond Street Children's Hospital.

Though it had been only three days, the stimulation afforded by the influx of HDMs had changed the atmosphere of Millwall from humid and mouldy to merely bedraggled. The streets which were previously choked with black snow, industrial waste and mud from the sea-swell had all been cleared, leaving the Victorian cobblestone exposed and glistening under the dreary wintery sun.

The dilapidated press, Gwen's targeted industrial operation, had likewise been unearthed by human hands wrought of flesh and powered by fragile hope, revealing a hint of its former glory. Gwen's only gripe was the townfolk's dubious grasp of sustainability. Downstream, a month on, the Royal Docklands would inevitably discover a glut of old trash clogging up its eastern in-takes.

"Was Hanmoul upset?" Elvia listened, the very picture of attention, "When you told him Ollie was a spy?"

"Not after I bribed him with a dozen Da-peng feathers," Gwen explained. "He forgot all about Ollie after that. Said it wasn't the lad's fault, and that he had to deal with the Clan Heads and the Deepdowners all the time in a similar fashion. Every time he came to Merthyr Tydfil, he took notes and bought information as well."

"Hanmoul's not among the twelve to come here?" Elvia spoke with disappointment.

Gwen shook her head. "The Commandrumm will be all kinds of busy dealing with the new operations to clear a way through the Murk. He's working hand-in-glove with our representative from the Shard though, so there's a chance he might be able to visit."

"A shame, I rather like Mister Bronzeborn."

"Yeah, he's a good bloke, one of the best I've met. Tell you what though. Give it some time and we can both look forward to working with him again."

Quickly, Gwen polished off her richly laden bowl of SPAM soup, a concoction of cabbage, tomato paste and copious amounts of Spam sliced and boiled until falling apart.

Her roster had left little time for cuisine. Since returning from Merthyr Tydfil, she had reported to Lady Gray, dropped off Ollie to recover his sanity, then jetted her way at maximum velocity back to her Evee. After spending a night cuddling the healer's hot water-bottle body, she had risen, rested and restored enough to expend her final few days of freedom.

First, there was Walken. Then, she had to locate Dominic Lorenzo and recruit him for the free paper gig as soon as possible. When her Dwarves arrived in a month, she had a feeling that things would be moving very quickly indeed. Assuming all went well, she should be wrapt in secret studies, meaning she had to have delegates set up and ready to go.

"So." Gwen studied her flaxen-haired companion. "Ready to add a second Spirit to your menagerie?"

"Sure am!" Elvia nodded, bobbing her fringe back and forth. Each day Sen-sen remained an unattached ginseng was a source of disquiet and danger for the not-so-well connected Cleric. "Have you found Master Walken?"

"Lady Loftus gave me his country house address," Gwen said. "No wonder he's disappeared from Cambridge, the old dog's in Brighton."

"The resort town?"

"The very one." Gwen grinned. "Lucky for us, eh? We can take a stroll along the beach. Eat ice cream by the ivory pavilion."

"It's winter and five degrees out..."

"... buy scarves, shoes and dresses from the Lanes, dine on sea scallops by the seashore."

"I thought we're there to find Master Walken's family."

"That too." Gwen laughed. "I take it all's well in Millwall? Are you fine to be absent?"

"Not really…" Elvia sulked. "The other Clerics aren't giving it their all."

"Is Mathias not doing his job?"

"He is," Elvia quickly interjected, pointing to the lone figure of the Knight patrolling the aid station and the food hall. "I guess the Tower hires find it strange that we're treating the NoMs, destitute ones at that."

"Did you tell those snobs Lady Astor and Lady Gray are your sponsors?"

"I don't think we are…?" Elvia cocked her head.

"You are," Gwen assured her friend. "Trust me on this. Why else would they offer?"

"Umm…" Elvia pursed her petite, pink lips, the picture of uncertainty.

"I'll have a word with Mathias and our trio of hired help." Gwen flashed her Peterhouse Magus emblem. "I spent good CCs on those Clerics. They had better be OoM at the end of every shift, or somebody is going to suffer a stern word from Caliban."

Gwen was very much glad that Brighton was where Walken had chosen to hole up because she adored the resort town in her old world. Of course, her glee had little to do with its famous beach— Australia's beaches were incontestable when it came to the quality and quantity of bronzed-bodies being tanned. Instead, she longed for its white-domed pier, its orient-influenced Royal Pavilion, its trendy art-house cafes and restaurants.

As for the journey south, flying toward the curvature of the coast with Evee princess-carried against her torso was itself a pleasure. The squirming, squealing girl's fright gave her no end of sadistic joy as she pumped more and more mana into her flight spell, piercing the air with such velocity that Brighton came within view within the hour.

Mid-way over the rolling hills of West Sussex, the duo encountered a flock of Razor-billed Starlings, appearing as a vast net to enmesh the pair. A robust burst of pseudo-Dragon-fear from Ariel was enough to spare the ten-thousand or so spatchcocks. The farmhouse below, however, was left inundated in a sudden downpour of panicked deposits, spontaneously inspiring a scene from Hitchcock's "The Birds".

Closer to the sea, once accustomed to the skin-ship, her companion relaxed, staring in wide-eyed wonder at a vista which only those willing to pay the gratuitous cost of Flight could see.

"I should learn a faster Flight Spell," Gwen murmured. The velocity was as therapeutic as Evee's delightful squeals. "I recall Allie employed Greater Flight."

"It's a higher-tier Transmutation though," Elvia jittered as they plummeted downwards. When the seaside pavilion rapidly approached, Gwen cut their velocity via a rapid series of Dimension Doors.

When finally the duo appeared on the ground, it was to the shock of the Town Guards on the watchtowers, whose Scrying diagnostics implicitly surmised that anyone licensed to be flying into town would not appreciate overcurious public servants.

"Erg— pebble-sand." Gwen grimaced. The idea of landing on Brighton Beach with Evee had been so enthralling she had neglected the impossibility of walking on loose pebbles in four-inch heels. Of course, the annoyance aside, she had good cause to loathe the touch of cold, clinging sand-grit. "It's coarse and irritating and gets everywhere."

"Sorry…" Elvia apologised.

"What for?"

"I wasn't there for you when Debbie…"

"It's all in the Void now." Gwen dismissed her friend's concern. "Really. Caliban can be very therapeutic."

Both wishing to quell the rising sentiment, the two unfurled the town map.

Elvia's attire matched the winter decor, with her petite figure bundled in a knee-length overcoat and enclosed by a pair of suede booties. Gwen was her usual stubborn self, preferencing a light autumn-dress with stockings, vying for maximum comfort. Thanks to Almudj's blessing, the ravages of the seasons seldom touched her skin, though as a Sydney-sider, she had never bothered with winter-wear across either of her two lives.

"Walken's address…" Gwen diverted her attention to the legend, both brows sulky with confusion.

"Allow me." Elvia turned the map ninety degrees. "It's close."

"Shall we fly?"

"The apartments here are tightly staggered." Her helpful Elf steered them onward. "You'll never find it. Besides, it says 11/43 Chester Terrace, Brighton East. We'll have to consult the locals. The buildings here all look the same."

"Right," Gwen relented. There was certainly nothing wrong with a seaside stroll with Elvia.

Once they cleared the beach, she was pleased to find that the ivory-facade Brighton was famous for had not faded in this world, but expanded to encompass entire blocks. Though her present world lacked many quality-of-life improvements in information technology, its sorcerous means of erecting buildings was second to none.

"It's beautiful," Elvia marvelled as they strolled through King's Parade, overlooking the lapping blue-green waters of the English Channel on their left. The Lanes remained as Gwen had recalled, though more built up, with a significant extension of the Lanes. Gone, however, were the trendy boutiques—instead, trinket-makers, jewellery-crafters, and an assortment of fabric-sellers, seamstress' abodes and gift-emporiums had replaced the familiar sights. After an eye-opening meander, Gwen made a note to take Elvia to a sweets shop called "Charlie's Crystal Emporium", a business with patrons spilling out the doors. Secretly, she hoped that there would be something akin to Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans of Potter-lore. Surely that would be a fun game to play with Evee.

After a few twists and turns from helpful, neighbourly individuals who seemingly appeared out of thin air to aid Elvia with directions, the duo looked upon No. 11/43 Chester Terrace, Brighton East.

Unexpectedly, the abode was not an apartment but a townhouse with shared walls, as was proper for those with the means to afford the view. Impressively, the beach-facing home was three-storeys tall, crammed between two identical apartments in the same Regency style that made Brighton such a throwback to the halcyon days of empire.

Gwen inhaled in the frigid sea air. Despite the Shielding Stations shimmering in the distance, there was almost no detectable trace of mana miasma.

"Bloody good location," she remarked, glancing at the marina and its collection of private yachts. In a world of Mermen and monsters, a vessel spoke loudly of the owner's confidence at sea. Barring the most unfortunate of cases, it was a Mermaid's great misfortune to run into a group of eager Maguses and Magisters fishing for rare specimens. "Well then, shall we?"

"Shouldn't we Message Master Walken first?" Elvia withered in the shadow of the stately townhouse, plausibly worth more than a whole student wing at Nightingales.

"His device isn't in service." Gwen shrugged. "Besides, it'll be interesting to see what he's up to, don't you think? Maybe he's intimately catching up with his estranged wife."

"Gwen!" Elvia appeared scandalised. "You have the wildest imagination... Maybe we should wait?"

"It's almost mid-day, and he's unemployed," Gwen snorted. "Barring coitus interruptus, she'll be right, mate."

She pressed the doorbell.

A delightful chime thrilled.

A brief lull later, the door opened, revealing a young brunette who could only be one of Walken's daughters. Unmistakably, the girl sported the same charcoal-coloured eyes as her father, an unusual hue among Saxons. Beatrix or Angie? Gwen wondered. The girl had the look of a second child, meaning she must be Angie.

Their eyes met.

Gwen put forward her most endearing, benevolent, winsome smile. She felt almost maternal toward the girl, notwithstanding the difference in their age. Having guided Walken with a tender hand in Shanghai, her feelings toward her colleague's children were full of benevolence, especially Angie, who suffered from Mana Asthma. Just as her Master had taken care of Angie, so would she.

"Good Afternoon! My name is Magus Gwen Song, this my colleague, Elvia Lindholm. We're here to see your father, Magister Walken."

As she announced herself, Angie's smile arrested, then like the coming of permafrost, the girl's expression grew increasingly rigid. An Ice Mage? Gwen applauded Walken's genetics.

Despite the unanticipated chill, Gwen maintained maximum amicability.

"Is your father in—"

"MOTHER!" the girl cried out suddenly, her voice crackling with ice. "THE WHORE OF BABYLON HAS COME FOR DAD!"

In Gwen's impressionable adolescence, there had been mandatory Christian-study in place of actual counsellors. Post Thatcher, Australia, like most liberal economies, had embraced a new wave of bible-thumping the likes of which had not been seen since the '50s. It was the zeitgeist of a conservative right-wing boom aghast at the freedoms offered by the rock' n' rolling '80s, a riposte against the rise of alt-pop, hiked-skirts and the modern woman.

The pastor, plagued by gaggles of giggling school girls, gave up discipline within the hour and opted for the fire and fury of hell to inspire virginity for Jesus.

Gwen, being the tallest, prettiest poppy of the lot, would be singled out more than once to endure such a sermon.

The Whore of Babylon was often the topic of such an episode.

"The Mother of Prostitutes! Abominations of the Earth! She with whom all the kings of the earth have committed fornication!"

The pastor, recently divorced as per the spirit of the wanton age, would exhaust himself in bumbling ecstasy, his wandering eye regularly resting on the Eurasian in their midst. Thankfully, it was the age, and not something more sinister. Only recently had the "Gooks" made headlines as kingpins of heroine and the "Chinks" fled Tiananmen en-mass to Sydney's shores, allowing, "the bloody Wogs" a relieving breath of unmolested air.

When the same words emerged from the perfectly formed face of Angie, Gwen had to fight off the stunned donning of an all too disturbing mantle. It made no sense. In this life, her pastor would have wept like a child at her prudence.

Was Walken's daughter daft?

Gwen knew she wasn't a "whore", not by any metric. Naturally, she understood the biblical implication; the school chaplain had called his whore wife nothing else.

Quickly, she glanced at Elvia, who appeared equally slack-jawed and wide-eyed, completely lacking in understanding. Evee had once remarked that a puss at work had labelled her with the title, though Gwen had yet to get around to skin that particular cat.

"I am sorry?" Gwen opted for diplomacy, choosing to understand that there might be a misunderstanding. "Young lady…"

"GWEN? You're here?"

The familiar face of Eric Walken, ex-member of the council of ten of Oceania, appeared in the corridor.

"Eric!" Gwen waved. "Yes, I am here. Why wouldn't I be?"

Angie's face fell once more.

"Oh, dear…" Walken stopped in his tracks. To Gwen's eyes, her old nemesis-turned-ally looked quite a bit different from his Machiavellian self. In Sydney, Walken had been the aloof politician. In China, he had persisted in the air of a prideful English Magister, always appearing a rung above the rest.

Now, with his gold-rimmed spectacles, scruffy beard and apron, the Magister appeared emasculated. There was now an unmistakable air of domesticity to the older man that made Gwen doubt her eyes. She rather fancied the newly mellowed Walken, even though he was so divorced from the Mage she had imagined him to be. "… I think you better come inside first."

Despite her father's amicability, Angie was not having it. "Dad, are you serious?"

"Possum, don't be rude to our guest."

"MOTHER!" The girl fled.

Gwen and Walken looked at one another eye-to-eye.

Walken looked tired.

VOOMP!

A Dimension Door appeared and disappeared, revealing who could only be Audrey, Eric's wife. In between the fading motes of icy Conjuration, Gwen spied a dark-haired woman with the likeness of a lark. At first impression, the wife of Walken seemed sweet and sincere. She was short, as per her bird-like guise, with a narrow body, a small face and teak eyes. She dressed well in a full-length cotton-skirt and a pale-blue cashmere cardigan, certainly better than her aproned husband, carrying a demeanour that was dignified and portrait-ready.

"You must be the delightfully unattached Miss Song." Audrey's voice, like her appearance, was sharp and controlled. "Do come into the kitchen."

"Audrey," Walken raised his voice. "This is most improper. Gwen's a guest and an important one at that. Show her to the living room."

Gwen involuntarily gulped when Walken's wife swept the gathering with her matronly gaze. Having enjoyed no experience of domesticity of any kind across two lives outside of compelling Percy to cook, she felt genuinely lost for words.

"In the kitchen," the wife insisted. "Angie, you may make our guests some tea."

The daughter stomped away, as did Audrey, leaving Gwen standing in the corridor, watched by a confused Elvia.

"How's London?" Walken said awkwardly.

"Not the catch up I expected," Gwen replied to the unspoken question.

"Mmm." Walken sighed. "I had wanted to prevent an incident, but now that you're here, maybe you can help us resolve our differences."

The country kitchen inside the townhouse was larger than Gwen had expected from the outside. Since the family occupied all three levels, the back porch had been knocked out and extended to the exterior, creating an oblong, half-dome winter garden. Around the kitchen table, the family sat for the impending presentation of their father's head on a silver platter.

"My apologies for Angie," Audrey began, her lips thin and severe. "Angie. Apologise."

"Sorry, Miss Song." Angie inclined her chin. To Gwen, the girl looked to be in her late teens or very early twenties. Like her father, her keen features made her appear maturer than her years.

"That's fine." Gwen hand-waved the prior insult. It wasn't as though she could extract satisfaction from Walken's family, so the apology was a moot point.

Audrey began the proceedings with a nod.

"To formalise our introduction, my name is Audrey Walken— of House Coke of Leicester, Norfolk. The late Earl Thomas Coke was my father. I am his surviving daughter. You've met my second, Andrey Coke-Walken, currently studying at London Imperial. Our eldest, Beatrix, is presently a Magus serving in Edinburgh. Finally, as you well know, Eric is currently unemployed."

"Gwen Song, provisional Magus, Peterhouse, Cambridge and Class VI War Mage," Gwen answered stiffly, matching the woman's terseness. "My companion is Elvia Lindholm, a provisional practitioner of GOS and Nightingales. Also, your husband isn't unemployed."

"Really?" Audrey spooned a sugar cube into a steaming cup of English Breakfast. "Do tell."

"He will very soon be working as an Executive Officer on several operations involving the Isle of Dogs and an infrastructure project for the rest of London."

"Working 'under' you, I presume?"

"You are correct." Gwen left her tea untouched. From the wife's tone and the way Walken clenched his teeth, she was beginning to put two and two together. "Audrey, I am sensing a great deal of uninvited hostility. Your husband is correct in claiming that there has been a misunderstanding."

"Very well." Audrey pursed her lips. "I am not unreasonable. Enlighten us."

"Eric?" Gwen turned to Walken. "Care to clarify the problem?"

Walken cleared his throat. "The fault is mine."

"Naturally—" Audrey stirred the tea.

Gwen agreed, as did Angie.

"...After our unfortunate incident in Sydney." Walken's face took on an uncharacteristic hue. Gwen had never seen the man so flustered, not even in front of a Lich. "I er… never quite communicated to Audrey the extent of the trouble I was in, what with the exile from Sydney and all..."

"… fuck me." Gwen winced. "Eric. REALLY?"

Beside her, the well-informed Elvia gasped.

Gwen now understood the source of Walken's humility.

"A temporary affair. As you know, I was repairing the damage from the fallout, and indeed, good progress has been made."

"True." Gwen nodded.

"What progress? From a regional administrator to unemployment?" Audrey chided her husband with her icy eyes. "That's progress, is it?"

Walken waited for his wife to stop interjecting. "At any rate, for amply good reasons, I was off the grid while in China— the family was still provisioned materially, of course. Unfortunately, the trouble here began when they broadcasted the IIUC."

"You didn't realise they would show your face?" Gwen cocked her head. "You were our team advisor. You knew the Proctors by name."

"I had made a request," Walken answered. "We had been right as rain up until the incident with the Lich. It's hard to avoid the vid-casts when one's nearly deceased."

"Ah…" Realisation dawned.

"Daddy risked his life for you!" Angie could no longer hold her tongue. "He wasn't home often, but he always came back! Now, because of you, Daddy disappeared for almost a year! We haven't heard a peep from him since the Fall of Sydney, and when we see him again, he's on the vid-cast with you wrapped around his neck! Who are you to him anyway? Why would he do that for you?"

Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Already, Gwen felt irked by the drama. She needed Walken up and running on the Isle of Dogs, not dealing with trivial domestic disputes.

"Angie, manners," Audrey quietened her daughter. Turning to face Gwen, the older woman's face was the picture of judgement. "I don't know how your folk do things in Australia, but we Brits hold certain ceremonies as sacred. The facade of matrimony must be upheld on the highest pedestal. In private, if Eric wishes to seek the warm and inviting company of a young sorceress such as yourself, then I have only my lack of allure to blame. However, what you have done to our reputation as a household is irreparable. Beatrix has already received many a mocking remark, and Angie here can barely keep her head held high. I, myself, as the chief victim of his affair, should consider myself lucky that I have sympathetic companions and friends in high places. What I ask from you then, is merely the impoverished gift of truth."

Gwen opened her mouth wide enough to fit two boiled eggs.

What. The. Fuck.

Walken's wife was suspecting she and old man Walken were bumping uglies because the old dog had neglected to churned her butter? The very thought of herself and Walken as non-platonic professionals made her drier than a slab of biltong.

"According to Eric, you're simply a stepping stone back to where he should be," Audrey continued, her words making Walken squirm like a cheap steak on a sizzle-plate. "He expects us to believe him. Of course, I want to, but the evidence is difficult to swallow."

"What evidence?" Gwen demanded, her tone growing churlish. Being labelled a biblical destroyer and being accused of being a homewrecker were wholly different tiers of insults. What evidence did Audry possess? Was the woman going to show her a vid-cast of Instructor Walken teaching horizontal Spellcraft?

"You're easily worth the candle; I'll give you that." Audrey's eyes spoke volumes of what the wife thought of her attire, particularly the breathability offered by the autumn fabric. "Not that I don't trust Eric's temperance— rather— I know him too well."

Gwen shot Walken a wilting glare.

Walken's wife lowered her teacup until it clinked. Turning to her husband, she cooly continued. "I don't think, if it came to it, that you would die for me, Eric. Maybe for the girls, but not for me. You've always been an absent father and inattentive husband, but I always believed in your adherence to the gentleman's code. Now, you've another significant other— Miss Song here, which begs the question. What should your wife think, Magister Walken, when her husband is willing to give his all, NOT to his daughters, whom you've left here in London: Beatrix in that godforsaken Frontier; Angie with her asthma; nor to his loyal spouse— but to Miss Song?"

"You're missing the point," Walken appeared blindsided by his wife's audacity. "I've explained everything! More than once! Gwen's not like that."

"Like what? I somehow doubt this teenager is supplying you with the power and influence you crave. What she can offer, and what you may give; is self-evident." Audrey delivered her verdict. "So that leaves us with a natural conclusion. Ergo, Eric— I want a divorce."

Silently, Gwen mouthed the words, "Holy shit."

"Divorce? DIVORCE?" Walken's Adam's apple bobbed like a buoy at noontide. "Christ, Audrey…"

"It's only fair if you can't even pretend to play the faithful husband. At first, I had my doubts. Then I saw her kiss you— or revive you— or so you say, on the vid-cast, broadcasted across every respectable home in London and beyond. Still, I reserved my judgement, pushed my boundaries of belief, until the truth came out. We've all read the tabloids. Gwen Song, Void Sorceress, the maybe daughter of Mycroft Ravenport— your old patron and Factional chum. That was the final straw, Eric. Now I know why you did what you did— though I can't fathom why she could bear reciprocating the advances of an ageing, greasy eel. The mystery's gone, Eric. To the air, be free."

"Rubbish!" Walken's face blushed scarlet. "Why do you think I was away all the time? Why was I alongside Gwen in the IIUC? I was WORKING! Working to ensure that one day, we would be influential again. That one day, the girls could return to Holkham Hall!"

"Never mind the ancestral estate, Eric. That's not your business, not anymore. We wouldn't dare take up any more of your time."

Walken appeared to fight his hypertension with every mote of mana remaining in his unemployed body.

"HOLD UP." Gwen raised her voice. She had seen enough. A few clarifying words should clear the whole thing up in a jiffy. "This is ridiculous. Audrey, Eric, Angie, can you at least listen to what I have to say before burning your bridges?"

Three pairs of eyes converged on Gwen.

"Gwen, tell them." Walken massaged his heart.

Imperiously, Gwen sat up straight and dosed herself with a jolt of Almudj's Essence. Crossing her long legs, she squared her shoulders and extended her swan-neck. "Fair warning. I will NOT be interrupted."

The women snorted.

Walken nodded.

Elvia briefly met her gaze, her blue-eyes wild with alarm.

Gwen began.

"First, Audrey. You are mistaken. Eric and I started as enemies at each other's throats. My Master, if you haven't read the backlog, is Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten, and victim to your husband's grievous miscalculation. He's dead now, in no small part thanks to Eric. Later, when Walken first approached me in Shanghai, we almost came to blows. When my sister-in-craft, Alesia de Botton found him, she chased him across the university district flinging Fireballs. In time, he assumed the role of an advisor for Fudan's IIUC team, of which I was vice-captain. We went through the rounds, eventually ending up in the Chinese Undead Front. A Lich ambushed me, and not wanting to lose all his efforts in making it up to Alesia and my brother-in-craft, Gunther Shultz of Sydney, he risked his life to do what's best for him. Having lost a gambit, I shared with Walken some of my life. That was the broadcast where I revived him from the brink of death."

Walken nodded at Gwen, then at his wife.

"This is why we're close." Gwen patted Walken on the shoulder in a familiar manner. "I don't know if you've ever fought a live Lich, but we survived one. At that moment, our lives were inextricably entwined. That's the reason why I trust him, and he trusts me. For Combat Mages, there exists a special bond of camaraderie that's difficult for civilians to internalise. But fear not, our bond is platonic and professional. With your husband beside me…"

Walken inclined his chin in approval.

His wife, however, grew more frigid with every word.

Besides her mother, Angie's mouth twisted with loathing. "Disgusting…" Angie mumbled. "Dad, you're disgusting."

"… and as my Chief Executive Officer—" Gwen bit her tongue. Her audience wasn't listening, though God knew why. Having come from a family championed by Morye no.1 in her old world, and Hai no.2 in her new world, she knew she was ill-equipped to be a family consultant. But Gwen had thought her monologue thoroughly diplomatic. If she were her mother's daughter, she would have slapped Audrey right in her sulky mouth.

In any case, the wife was giving her the piss. Was exploring the beneficial bond between her and Walken insufficient? Perhaps Audrey needed to hear the jingle of crystals. How about a spiel about the profitability of Legion? Or the Isle? Or her Dwarves?

"Eric." The wife spoke before she could continue. "We can make it to the Shard and get the forms signed before they shut."

"Audrey, my patience isn't without limits..." Walken undid his apron. Understandably, her companion had suffered enough.

It was just as well; Gwen shrugged mentally. An unattached Walken would probably devote himself to work more readily than one with baggage. After his liberation, she could settle Walken down on the Isle as her majordomo. Once the Dwarves arrived, he would know how to deal with them. There was the matter of trade with the Red Keep as well, involving the import of jadeite and Maotai and other materials from Burma and beyond. Post commencement of her Spellcraft lessons, Walken would keep matters well in hand.

"Dad, you're ridiculous…"

"Not now, Angie..."

"Don't you dare silence her! You're just a Baronet if even that!"

"You two do whatever you want, and I don't complain…"

"What do you call this then? Are you not complaining? I must have gone mad…"

Once the noise began, Gwen tuned right out. It was amazing how some habits could cross over two lifetimes. Family disputes were all the same, everywhere. Vaguely, she felt sorry for her future officer, but really, Walken's family business was his own. All she could offer the man was work to free him from strife.

It was generosity enough.

"STOP! ALL OF YOU!"

The cry that rang out like clarion to quell the quarrel came from the unlikeliest of sources.

Elvia stood, pale-faced, red-eyed and panting.

"You're all wrong!" She howled at them, a little lioness clawing at the air. "GWEN ISN'T A HOMEWRECKER!"

"Who are you to say so?" Angie challenged Gwen's companion. "Who are you to her?"

"I am…" the girl paused. Gwen met her Evee's glimmering eyes. What was her cleric up to now? Why should she care about Walken?

"Evee—"

Then Gwen got her answer.

Without reserve, hesitation nor warning, Elvia Lindholm; her sweet little Evee from Avalon— kissed her full on the lips.

Gwennie was digging her own grave.

From what Elvia knew of her friend's familial history, Gwen was the last person who should be giving Walken advice about marriage. The scenario was so insane that, as soon as they had passed the door, Elvia suspected Gwen would be swimming upstream through a river of shit.

How in God's name could two workaholics: one a power-hungry career politician who had left his family for almost a decade to work on the Frontier; the other an orphaned daughter of Hai and Helena— rekindle the flames of a snuffed marriage? The two arsonists of love might as well douse Brighton in Dwarven promethium, then invite Yue to start a bonfire.

When Gwen's explanation strayed into how important Walken was to her immediate future, Elvia had cringed so hard her chest cramped. When again, through the lens of meritocracy, Gwen had raised Walken above and beyond the boundaries of ordinary friendship, her heart grew sore.

If even herself, who knew Magister Walken was not Gwens' carnal companion, was feeling such jealousy and frustration, what would Walken's family think?

There was also Gwen's cold-heartedness, her complete disdain for the fact that a man was about to lose a wife and two daughters. How could her dearest friend be so kind, and yet be so insensitive to others? It was a side of Gwen she had rarely seen, one that sent shivers quivering down Elvia's spine.

In private, Gwen had once remarked that family was a love that grew about the bone. If so, why should Walken slave away in the salt-mines of regret and bitterness for Gwen's convenience? Why not let go? Leave him to his family?

As expected, following Gwen's tirade, Walken's wife and daughter descended into self-harm, feeding on each other's flesh. As for Gwen, as soon as her friend's eyes glazed over, Elvia knew the girl had gone over a cliff and would not be coming back.

There was only one person present who could bring back the trio from the brink, and it was herself.

"STOP! ALL OF YOU!"

Her new-found sternness surprised even herself. When Angie, the foolish daughter of the Magister, furthermore challenged her with the absurd question of who she was to Gwen, all of her pent up frustration and longing cascaded into an unopposable, barrelling impulse.

It was a threshold that she had told herself never to cross, no matter how much she desired it. Growing up in Avalon by the bay, she understood the importance of boundaries all too well. Her house had overlooked the Shield Walls. These invisible barriers, these curtains of civilisation, were the final frontier of Sydney. Once past the shallows, past the final stretch of the continental shelf, came the dark water— murky and muddled and mired with Mermen.

Now, she crossed it.

Thoughtlessly, she had stepped past the sandbar and plunged into the deep dark before her mind even registered that her feet were no longer touching the seafloor.

"To Gwen. I am the only one that matters." The voice that spoke was alien and strange, almost as if not her own. She must be sleep-talking, Elvia thought. Only in her dreams had she ever been so full of surety and confidence.

From her pocket, the newly awakened Kiki, stirred by the turbulent emotions welling up inside her torso, made itself known with an equally elated, "KIKI— KI!"

"Gwen isn't for your husband," the voice of God continued. "Not now, not ever. So you have nothing to worry about."

"Ki-ki!"

The room sat in stunned silence, including Gwen, now the victim of a Gorgon's gaze.

"Mister and Missus Walken!" Elvia wasn't sure if she could maintain her ethos after her implied logos of love, but she was up to her neck now and paddling free. She had only the experience of her sickeningly-loving parents as an anecdote— that and fifteen years of Sunday Service at St Mary's. "Earlier, you said that you hold 'certain' ceremonies sacred— inferring that you made a vow to love and care for one another in sickness and in health, till death do you apart. Is this true?"

The couple nodded.

"Where were you married?"

"St Andrews…" Walken's eyes darted between Gwen and then herself.

"By a priest?"

"A Bishop…" Walken intoned drily.

"Then why do you neglect the Lord's sanctification? Did St Paul not say that husbands should love their wives, just as Christ loved the church, for he gave up his life for the latter? And YOU, Ma'am. As one with children, TWO in fact, how can you talk of divorce so carelessly? So selfishly? He who loves his wife loves himself. Man and woman; yolk of the one egg, who shall mock the flesh of their flesh? Why should Angie and Beatrix lack their parent? What kind of blasphemy do you propose to teach your children?"

Audrey stared, bewildered by Elvia's accusation of apostasy.

"… We're agnostic," Walken's wife interjected woodenly. "Papa wanted the chapel wedding."

The atmosphere grew somehow even more awkward.

"Do you love your wife, Magister Walken?" Elvia cashed her chips. She was all-in.

"… I do." Walken nodded sheepishly.

"Say it then. Affirm yourself, Magister."

Walken's scarlet face was no less carmine than his wife's. "I do still love you, Audrey."

"Do you, Audrey, still love your husband?"

There was hesitation.

However, compelled by Elvia's angelic aura, Audrey nodded.

"Say it."

"I… don't hate him."

"Angie? Do you want mum and dad to go their separate ways?"

"Jesus, I am in university…" Angie cowered in her chair. "Miss Lindholm, please don't make me say this."

Elvia channelled her inner Gwen, pouring positive mana throughout her conduits until she appeared to glow with unadulterated altruism. Likewise, tapping into what little Faith she had collated in the last few days, she threw in a silent invocation of Bless, turning a few motes of her outward projection golden.

"… I love you both…" Angie cringed against the chair, every inch an Undead compelled by the sun. "Oh my God… someone Void me right now."

"Then love each other deeply, because only love shall overcome the multitude of your sins," Elvia repeated the often spoken mantra drilled into her brain by the Matrons at Nightingales.

"And another thing." She wasn't finished just yet. "Why do you think we came all this way? We're not just here for you, Sir Walken. Not at all! Gwen knew about Angie's mana asthma, and I may have a way to deal with her condition in the interim."

"You do?" Her companion blinked. "We did?"

"Of course. Did you forget? We came to seek Master Walken's aid in making a Greater Familiar contract-circle," Elvia announced. "Through Sen-sen, we may once again gain access to something akin to Lord Henry's Golden Mead, or at least a facsimile. If the Essence of Mythic Dragons isn't going to overcome something as worldly as hyper-inflammation of the respiratory tracts, then I would be supremely surprised by the Yinglong's existence beside Shanghai's world-class miasma."

"Y— you have Golden Mead?" Walken and his wife spoke up at once.

"Not if you don't corroborate with Gwen."

"We'll cooperate." The Magister affirmed his new loyalties.

"Yes, it was all a misunderstanding." Audrey inclined her head. "My apologies. Angie, apologise."

"Umm..." Angie appeared confused. "Sorry?"

"GOOD." Elvia's aura of benevolence faded. "Do everything in love. Amen."

She sat back down.

Just as her external crisis faded, her internal uproar rang out like an air siren. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around her torso, curled her knees into a foetal stance, then folded herself like origami.

A threshold had been crossed.

She was out now. Out and out. Out past the shallows, past the sand bar and the rolling white shoals brimming with mana, out where the sun burned bright, glimmering as blinding shards of scintillating silver, fleeing toward the great blue yonder; unbound and outside the shelter of Sydney's Shielding Stations.

Despite the aborted divorce, Walken's wife did not appear nearly as convinced as Angie of Gwen's presumed innocence. Instead, Audrey's reprieve would depend on the delivery of a panacea for Angie.

"I'll arrange it right now." Her future executive officer had wasted no time. "First, tell me all of your current contacts in London..."

True to form, the old snake's knack for dropping names at precisely the right intervals worked wonders. After an hour of interrogating Gwen's numerous overreaches and over-achievements, instances of "Lady Grey", "The Mistress of Cliveden", "Our new Dwarven Allies", and "I would not want to waste Duke Mycroft's time either," peppered the Magister's vernacular.

She needed time to think, and Walken had unconsciously done her a favour by exhausting the afternoon pulling every favour to schedule Sen-sen's ritual as soon as possible. In addition to procuring materials, he would also personally inscribe the Mandala, as well as spend CCs to contract an assistant upper-tier Enchanter.

It was a pleasure, in a way, watching Walken work, even if his care for Angie did leave a bittersweet saltiness in her mouth.

Beside her, Elvia remained shut as a catatonic clam, likewise needing time. Whenever Gwen tapped the healer's shoulders, touched her shins, or called her name, the girl only answered in single syllables.

For Gwen, the lack of response only multiplied her silent distress. Even now, the petals of her lips burned with the heat of a thousand suns; though she tried NOT to think about the sweet kiss planted by her willing Evee, the sensation invariably lingered.

"I'll join you on the Isle of Dogs mid-January," Walken explained, finally exhausting every topic of conversation. "We'll be attending the IIUC ceremony together."

"Will it be in London?"

"The venue depends on the victor. If Oxbridge takes the crown as per usual, then you'll receive your scroll at home. If not, you can choose to go to Cambridge, or exercise a private ceremony at Peterhouse."

"The one in Massachusetts?"

Walken nodded. "I think it should come as no surprise that your friends from Pretoria failed to outperform the previous champions. Did you get a chance to watch the December match?"

"No, not at all. How about you, Evee?"

The Cleric's chrysalis remained impregnable.

".... A shame. Jean-Paul did well. Nothing compared to a certain sorceress' metrics in Shenyang, of course, but he's made a name for himself. The lad from House Hertzog as well has received invitations to engage in post-graduate studies here in England. They both have an interest in you and, though I am overstepping my boundaries, let me say Meister Bekker's influence transcends Factions and borders."

To further distract herself, Gwen recalled the cringe-worthy invitation from Jean-Paul, smothering the smouldering coals stoked by Evee.

"Is Jean-Paul back in London?"

"I doubt it," Walken said. "Its spring right now in Pretoria."

"True." Gwen redirected her thoughts toward the jacarandas and flame trees studding Sydney's southern suburbs. Her advisor was right. Her fellow Void user did profess that he and his Master escaped the winter every year in South Africa. Given time and resources, she too would one day ascend the ranks of migratory globe-trotters.

The two rested their teacups.

"... Miss Song, are you staying for supper?" Angie appeared at the kitchen door. "Mum said you're welcome."

And with that, her hardwon time delay came to an end.

After the teas and ices, the crisis had climaxed. Within her beaten body, the surviving motes of emotional awareness that had outlived Helena and Hai cried out for redress. Whether weal or woe, Elvia's courage deserved an answer.

And for that, they needed privacy.

Luckily, they were in the right town.

On Brighton's foreshore, there was an old observational outpost, an enormous pin-shaped tower that commanded a three-sixty degree view of the township. A simple call from Walken citing a Class VI War Mage's desire was enough to warrant unfettered access to the decommissioned war relic.

And that was why, ten minutes later, with Elvia cradled in her arms, the duo arrived a-hundred-and-sixty meters above sea-level into the curved-glass capsule, overlooking the bayside town of Brighton.

"Kiki!"

"Sen!"

"Shaa-shaa!"

"Ee—EE!"

Elvia had long since learned to observe Gwen by observing her Familiars. Near the ceiling of the semi-doughnut dome of the observatory, Ariel hovered listlessly, agitated by alien emotions it could not process. Below the Kirin, its sibling writhed, an eel on a hotplate, drooling goo like a dying hagfish.

Not far, her Alraune Spirit was in full bloom, feeding off her burgeoning desires, dripping with the scent of lilies. Besides her, Gwen sat as shy as a rain-teased bud, swaying softly in the honeyed light from the bay below.

Elvia circulated a calming surge of Positive Energy to ease her nerves. What should happen next, she knew all too well. In her occasional daydreams, when she dared to have them, she had already imagined every nook and cranny of her friend against her own, perfectly fitted as if devised by nature.

In Blackwattle, mid-adolescence, her delusions had been vague and fuzzy, full of ambiguity and fantasy. Now, as a provisional practitioner of reproductive health and magically-assisted midwifery, no imagination was needed. Though she lacked practical experience, Elvia understood the physiology of pleasure in an academic context. Though best practices varied, she knew what to stoke and coax. Why, with a little help from diagnostic magic, she would take Caliban's best consumption for a run—

And then the delusion ended, and the root of Elvia's slender neck grew flamingo-pink. From the corner of her eye, she spied at her muted friend, wrapped up in deliriums of her own.

A passive Gwen was lovely as well. Elvia loved the way the dying light turned her eyes amber. She loved the elegance of Gwen's neck, the fall of her hair about her shoulders, her pale skin against the dark fabric of her dress.

When would an answer be forthcoming?

Between her abdomen and her diaphragm, two Sen-sens jostled for space. In the chamber of her heart, an effervescent Kiki danced.

Elvia blinked, realising she had been caught in yet another private revelry.

Beside her, sitting pretty, Gwen had never appeared more beautiful, more within reach.

"Gwen…" she reached out.

There was no more patience to waste.

The fruit of the temporal was ripe for the picking.

For the self-reared Gwen growing up in Newtown, the path of love proved only marginally less torturous than midday dramas. To pay her way through university, she had worked popular dives, which put her in the vicinity of unique opportunities. More than once, she had frightened off disappointing father figures who skipped town when the crazy out-stripped the fun.

By the second year of university, she had grown tired of catfights, fistfights and the company of sympathetic cops escorting belligerent lovers from boarding houses.

Vowing to better herself, she turned to the voracious consumption of literature, living the lives of fictional women to supplement her loneliness. It was there, in the library, in the first chapter of a vintage romance novel, that she met Clarissa, an Austen-reading, Woolf-quoting, Plath-citing bibliophile.

For six-month, Gwen had done her best to keep her spectres bottled, and for a while, life was stable and fulfilling, thanks in no small way to her mild-mannered lover's incredible endurance. After that, old habits surfaced, grinding her companion down to the stump until she too could no longer endure Gwen's unpredictable mood-swings.

In hindsight, the juxtaposing six months of happiness were a rare poison. The fallout from that particular breakup had bordered on the burlesque, almost derailing Gwen's tertiary education.

What she learned from the episode, once professional advice had been sought, was that lacking the aid of Dr Monroe's one-fifty-an-hour clarity, she struggled to understand, much less balance, the intimacy, insecurity, support, challenge and celebrations that came with "healthy relationships".

"I think we should keep exploring the episode with Clarissa." Dr Siobhan Monroe's empathy was boundless when she finally coaxed the tale from Gwen. "That said, are you keeping up with the Celexa? How's your appetite?"

And therein, Gwen self-diagnosed, lied the crux of her agitation.

It wasn't so much that she wasn't "Gwen". That was a moot point since Elvia had never known the original. Rather— she couldn't get over the cradle-robbing reality of their difference in maturity.

Perhaps it was a symptom of growing up in the '90s, an era where the prurient paedophilia performed by the local Church perverted the public conscience, popularising the notion of "grooming".

Sure, under her guiding hand, Elvia could live in a golden palace. But the imbalance of control she would exert over her doll-like lover turned her stomach. She required Elvia to be herself, to live her own life and attain her dreams as she would. She wanted Elvia to be happy, upset, angry, indignant, all of her own accord.

But Hai and Helena had only taught her that love was usurpation; that Caliban was Love's patron saint.

Conversely, her affection for Elvia had its origins in sisterhood, in friendship, in oxytocin incited by small blonde things soft to the touch and snug as a warm pillow. To say that there was something more, to pass that particular threshold, required a re-arrangement of mental and physical faculties beyond the pale.

And her self-chastisement wasn't even the beginning of their problems. Say she cast aside the metaphysical age difference between herself and Evee—how would their meritocratic society gaze upon the loss of not one, but two unique sorceresses?

Soon, Elvia would become a twin-Spirited Cleric with unlimited potential. As for herself, she could strip a city down to the bones and not even need to change out of her dress.

Evee had the privilege of naivety, but she had tasted the bitter fruit of societal pressure all her life. Before she could raze a village, her beauty had been a burden, something to be prodded and molested, or upheld on a pedestal. Now, that very power which freed her acted as her chains. If she denied the Mageocracy its dearest wish, as her Master had once foreshadowed, as JP's Meister now so desired, what would become of them?

As a Weapon of Mass Destruction with a womb, were her life choices truly hers alone? What would Gunther say? Or Babulya? Or Opa, or her Yeye or Uncle Jun? From Sydney to China to London, there was no doubt that the availability of her body, to put matters crudely, had opened doors. As one old enough to understand consequences beyond overt sentimentality and hormonal longing, she shuddered at the catastrophic cost of forsaking potential.

And wasn't Elvia a staunch Christian? Or at least a devoted practitioner of the Faith? The Evee she knew always said her prayers, gave her alms, knew her psalms and attended Mass. What would happen to her Faith Magic if she lived in existential sin? How would the hospital, the state, the Shard, Evee's sponsors, overlook an asset the likes of which they may never see again?

For now, love was blindness.

But success, their future success, required sacrifices.

And say they overcame all of that, Gwen licked her parched lips.

Could she abandon her cloud-capped Tower and the ambitions left by her beloved Master? What about Sobel? Could she leave that behind? She was a one-woman army, but she was no longer one-woman, not anymore.

"Gwen…" Elvia's longing resounded as though filtered through a dream.

Their gazes entwined.

"Evee." She swallowed, fighting to keep her voice from trembling. "Quite the display you put on at Walken's."

NO! Her brain almost threw up. That's not what she meant to say, not what she meant all!

"I did it for you." Elvia sidled closer, her limbs parasitic vines curling about Gwen's princely trunk. In the next moment, her healer's breath was hot against her collarbone. "I swear by my Astral Soul, Gwennie, I—"

"I know," Gwen interjected. To prevent any immediate misunderstanding, she gave Elvia a peck on the forehead, deftly re-zipping the side-slit of her dress. "Let's slow down a bit, shall we? I want to ask you some questions, Evee, and we'll need all our wits about us."

The vague fingers withdrew.

There was confusion and hurt, Gwen felt it acutely, but there was no helping it.

"When did you know?" Gwen wrapped her fingers around Elvia's dainty digits. The girl's hands were tender and warm and trembling.

"Since Sydney."

"When did you start to like girls, I mean."

Elvia's face grew evermore scarlet. There was a pause before the girl began to speak.

"I am sorry, I lied to you and Yue." Her figure appeared to shrink.

Gwen blinked, derailed by Elvia's train of thought. "How so?"

"I told you both that I was afraid of the arranged marriages set up at Lilith's," the Cleric confessed. "And that's why I transferred to a government school, where no one would know me, or care to find out."

"Oh…" Gwen was intrigued. Elvia was indeed an oddball at Blackwattle. Her talent, her wealth, her demeanour, all of it juxtaposed the academy's working-class cohort.

Her healer squirmed in her arms.

"I had to leave because one of the sisters found out."

"About your… disposition?"

Evee nodded. "I didn't know what I was doing then. One of the older girls I was fond of took me behind the chapel, to a shrine in the cloisters…"

"Oh my…" Gwen felt her cheeks heating up. "And then?"

"Then nothing," Elvia quickly clarified. "We danced... and kissed, that's all."

"Like a peck? On the lips?"

"No..."

"How did it feel?"

"It was... the most exquisite thing. I couldn't think at all. One minute we were practising for the formal, then the world was on fire. All I remember was Matron Mavis screaming, that and St Peter's disapproving face looking down from the altar."

Gwen felt her palpable jealousy prick like a malicious pin.

"Did you tongue-wrestle?"

"GWENNIE!"

"Hahaha…" The built-up tension fell from her shoulders together with the rolling laughter. Finally, she could breathe again. "Alright, that was my bad. So the Sister found out, and then?"

"She called my parents and the girl's parents. Mine was nicer. Less fire and brimstone, but the senior girl's parents were livid. They accused me of seducing their daughter, who was Awakened and engaged to marry. They were from the North Shore proper, not immigrants like us, so we couldn't do anything other than accept their accusation at face value."

"Bastards…"

"In the end, Daddy appeased them by offering to move me out of school so that we would never meet again. I stayed home for a term, moping and crying while my mother comforted me. She said that everything would be alright."

"And was it?"

"It was." Elvia's lips were wet with happiness. "I met Yue— and I met you."

"I am glad you came to Blackwattle as well." Gwen offered her Cleric another affirmation, this time on the hands. The fascinating flashback recollected by her healer had finally dispelled all doubt from her mind. "Okay, I've made up my mind. Care to listen?"

Elvia nodded.

"Right. Here goes."

Gwen took a deep breath.

"Evee, I do share your feelings."

Elvia squealed, her voice child-like and full of glee, further cementing Gwen's determination.

"But—"

Instantly, the girl settled.

"— Love is never easy. It's complicated, messy, and deceptive. It's not black and white, give and take. Some of us— like you, have so much to give, while others like me— tend to take and take."

"I don't—"

"I know you don't care if the balance is tilted. That's too like you." Gwen continued. "And yes, that's what it means to be in love. I don't intend to patronise or condescend, Elvia, but whatever I say to you now, you're not going to empathise, not holistically, at least."

"What do you mean?" Elvia's nervousness was palpable.

"I can only speak for myself," Gwen spoke up. "And speaking for myself, I am not a suitable partner."

"No!"

"Let me finish," Gwen silenced her Evee with an all-too-serious flash of her amber eyes. "I didn't say I wouldn't make a wonderful companion, a loyal mate, an incredible business associate, a constant sister or a zealous devotee—"

Elvia ceased her struggles.

"Rather— I was raised by Helena and Hai, remember? Right fucking paragons of partnership and parenthood. For a long while, I knew only how to appease others. Then for a longer-while, I learned only to please myself. Even now, what I want from you is completely one-sided."

"I can…"

"But not like that, not yet." Gwen arrested Elvia's fingers a little more tightly in case her resolve grew ill. "But that's what I mean. Love isn't simple. It's a network of conflicting interests that, without venturing into the wider world, you can't begin to comprehend. I love you, Evee— as a friend, a sister, a party member, and so much more, but let me say this, and you're not going to like it—"

Elvia's eyes turned liquid.

Before she could continue, Gwen knew she had to fortify her life-long companion for what was to come. Evee's gentleness, depthless when needed, was also as fragile as crystal.

Answering her healer, she leaned in until their face was an inch apart.

Greedily, Elvia met her halfway, wrapping the small of her arm around the crook of Gwen's neck so that she could no longer pull back.

Then for a long, lingering while, with Brighton's brimming channel shimmering below them, they stayed entwined and interlocked, a pale-skinned glory against a mortal Ledean body, enacting the yolk and white of the one shell. She was breathing through Evee, and Evee through herself, connected by a consciousness older than the oldest of continents.

In time, the pair parted— a viridescent spider-thread appearing and disappearing between them.

"What were you saying?" Elvia slurred, drunk on the milk of paradise.

"Evee." Gwen forced her tremulous voice to remain perfectly level, her brimming emotions a careful meniscus of constrained passion. "We're going to have to take things slow. Very slow."

"I don't understand."

"You will, in a decade or two," she pulled them apart, tearing Elvia from her as one might coax an octopus clinging to the coral. "For now, I want us to remain the best of friends. Closer than friends, but not quite lovers, not yet."

"Why?"

"For one, there's no gay marriage here or there or anywhere, unless Hanmoul's expecting to blow my mind when we get to Deepholm."

To her surprise, Elvia's confusion multiplied. "Why would we get married? We're both girls."

Gwen performed a double-take.

"… Good point, I'll get back to you on that one." She realised she might have to pull back, not just to the '80s, but possibly revisit the '50s. "Don't you want to have children, Evee? I know you've got a brother, but your parents are the most loving, caring people I've ever met. Wouldn't they be disappointed? After your ejection from Lilith, weren't they upset?"

"Mum..." Elvia's tone lost some of its enthusiasm. "Mum and Dad were both very kind, but yes, they were shocked."

"And did you stop to think whether I would want children?" Gwen struck while the fire was hot.

"No…" Evee's voice grew fainter still.

"NOT that I do, so don't fret! On the off-chance, we could adopt, of course, save a soul, or two, or a dozen from destitution and ruin," Gwen assured her little Evee. "Our children need not even be human— Golos would make a good candidate for a little gopher."

"… that's terrible! I would prefer my Kiki."

"Ha! They'll make quite the pair at the local kindergarten." Gwen relaxed her guard. For someone with her limited capacity for non-manipulative empathy, trying to seesaw between passion and prudence was no easy feat. "And what if this is just a phase, Evee? The seasons change, as do lovers. Lest we transcend the shackles of time, nothing's immutable."

"I won't change."

"Nor do I want you to," Gwen sighed. "But you're— we're still YOUNG. Gods, Evee, we're a bunch of babies! Relatively speaking, we're infants! According to Golos, I'd be still kicking around in my third or fourth century, and that's before I had met Almudj again, or ate more Dragons."

Elvia's eyes misted over. For a girl of eighteen, a century was unimaginable.

"I mean, holy crap Evee. Fancy that! In a hundred years, humanity went from buffalo farming to a globe-spanning system of Towers connected by Teleportation Stations! Can you imagine what things would be like two-centuries from now? Would we be in space? Will we jaunt across the aether and colonise the Planes of Fire and Radiance? Drink coffee in Deepholm? Mine the red soil of Mars courtesy of Meister Musk?"

"Who's Musk?"

"What I mean," Gwen backpedalled from her digression. "Is that there's no rush. For now, if you're content with my devotion, then leave us enough space to catch our breath."

"… and if I am not?"

Gwen paused. Sometimes, she hated the fact that she had all the right lines.

"The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long. I don't want that for us, Evee. A millennium without you? What a terrible aeon that would be. I would prefer the extinction of our world."

Her prophesy lingered in the air, keeping company with the redolence spread by a simpering Kiki perfuming the interior of the observatory. Beside the flower Sprite, Sen-sen approached the observatory's precipice, only to shrink back with an alarmed "Sen!" before retreating to the stairs. Ariel lingered near the ceiling, feeding off the nascent emotions rolling through their Empathic Link. A calmer Caliban coiled under the chair, purring softly at the twin-morsel.

As per the mutability of England's weather, the once burning sky turned rapidly overcast, mauve and under-lit against the crumbling silhouette of the Shielding Station's constant shimmer. The town itself remained fruit-shop bright, gregarious in its faux-summer hues; across the painted English Channel, Gwen saw the marina's yachts returning from their hunt.

Like goose-down they were, erect and upright, bobbing in a crow-black sea, mariners of the aubergine murk, cubism hovering on air. As the light died, the mulberry horizon lost its dimensions, becoming as dull as bleached chiffon.

"Gwen?"

"Yes, Evee?" Gwen held her breath.

"At the very least, can I kiss you now and then?"

Her hesitation lasted only a second.

The fear of loneliness made for a potent aphrodisiac.

Down below, one by one, the unfurled quills came home as a line, each a white-winged sister from Nightingale's, idly awaiting their turn in the confessional.

The following morning, Gwen flew Elvia and herself back to London to meet Walken. Once the shellshock passed, she came to a nerve-pinching acceptance of her new reality— that she had once again indulged in what Petra had remarked as gluttonous masochism.

On the one hand, she felt happy. Deliriously happy, like Bacchus drunk-charioting after a Friday grape binge. On the other, she felt disturbed, like an insomniac wondering whether they'll ever lay with Hypnos again. The high was nice, but she had been burned before. What would be the cost of overreach this time? An Icarian descent, perhaps— first celestial, then meteoric.

Then SPLAT!

For now though, with the intoxicating scent of Evee in her arms, it was easy to dismiss the Leviathan of love parked off the coast of Brighton, floundering in the shallows. Perhaps that was why she had declined Walken's offer of a free Teleport to London. The old dog's interrogating gaze aside, she had to post-process the consequence of her choices.

She had told Evee that she loved her for her simplicity.

But now, with Elvia so invested, she felt that their relationship had become anything but simple.

She had told Evee would make her special.

But not like this.

Then what? Her mind demanded her hypocritical self. What does Gwen Song want from Elvia Lindholm? Should Evee remain as a virgin handmaiden?

But that wasn't it either.

Within her pocket dimension, Caliban rested fitfully.

Suddenly, Gwen felt a novel desire to strangle something soft.

"Gwennie, what's the Summon Familiar ritual like?" Elvia yawned, breaking the monotony of constant locomotion.

Glad for the distraction, Gwen did her best to recollect the first time she'd met Caliban and Ariel. She was fifteen, and she had no idea that her Master had pumped a Magister's treasure trove into a tier 1 Spell designed initially for novices. And so, like a little fool, she had gone with the flow without a second thought, letting her imagination run wild.

"Are you aware of how the spell works, Evee?"

"I understand the theory."

"Good. Okay. So, after you mix your mana into the circle, the Mandala does all the grunt work. You'll feel a distortion in the Material Plane— but since Sen-Sen is here already, I guess that part's not important."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Then, here's going to be a tugging feeling in your chest. Your Astral Soul is going to feel like it has been prodded, or pushed. That would be your Familiar's Ego. Again, Ariel and Caliban were both infants then, so there wasn't anything to dominate. Sen-sen's willing— or it better be— so all you need to do is let it come into your Astral Body."

Gwen paused to find the right words.

"For Caliban, the exchange was more explicit. Cali was a ball of hunger demanding a pound of flesh to keep it manifested in the real world. Ariel was easier, I wanted a companion to counter Caliban, and so it came without compulsion. Again, with Sen-sen, I don't know if you'll have trouble controlling it or not, what with its age and lineage."

Elvia inclined her chin. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will."

She sped up, concurrently ensuring that her shield kept the buffeting wind at bay. If she had been a lesser Mage, she would have long been OoM had she simultaneously maintained Flight and the desired to keep their clothes unruffled.

And with the disappearing distance, the taste in her mouth grew bittersweet.

After tonight, she told herself, Evee would return to her classes at Nightingales and practicum at GOS. Gwen herself would be confined to Cambridge, likely in a dungeon with a train of tutors each eager to bludgeon knowledge into her brain. Other than the rare weekend, she would see her healer twice, at best thrice a month, assuming their timetables aligned.

Would she be sad? Gwen wondered, fearful of the strange relief scratching the inside of her ribcage. She had only two weeks to spend with Elvia, only now, it felt like a lifetime.

After an eye-watering meal at the Tower of Tandoori, Gwen and Elvia arrived at the Tower of London. At lunch, Elvia spoke at length about her brother and her family and how Gwen's Long Range Message Device had been a godsend in keeping contact with her lost kin. Gwen reciprocated by speaking at length about Percy's burgeoning talents in Shanghai, about his girlfriend Mei, and their contributions at Shenyang.

Finally, just past three, they arrived at the Shard. As it was nine hours before the Big Ben tolled in the new year, the administrative staff had made the lobby both festive and inviting.

Though the desks were as busy as ever, Walken had paid good CCs for the Tower's time, affording unmolested transit from the marbled anterior to the Shard's multi-dimensional interior. Unlike Sydney's maze of gravitation platforms, the state of the art Shard utilised a system of Teleportation Circles to securely, and discretely, transfer Mages to their desired destination. As the unofficial capital of Spellcraft in the Britannic Mageocracy, the Shard's mastery of dimensional magic was a cut above its central continent cousins.

"You must be Magus Song and Miss Lindholm." A wizened Magister in a crimson artificer's robe, studded with Glyphed pockets, led the pair into his workshop. Bespectacled in gold, the man's wild hair was a proud badge indicating his profession as a master of the Enchantment School. "I am Magister Gilbert Rendfrey, Senior Enchanter here at the Shard. Magister Walken is already inside."

On the exterior, the Shard resembled a minimalist blade of glass, crystal and steel. It's interior's "interior", however, was tailored to each Magister's taste. As Gwen's party would be borrowing Magister Rendfrey's studio, they entered a smoky abode studded with magical bric-a-brac, with exotic materials lining the walls and spilling from every cabinet.

A vision of Walken, prone on his stomach, soon appeared behind the threshold, halfway levitating from the floor, painstakingly etching the Greater Familiar Mandala with a sizzling inscriber.

The chamber itself was atypical of the spacious sub-spaces popularly utilised for discrete experimentation. Once inside, the volume of the room rapidly expanded until it was almost the size of a modest warehouse. The air was crisp, and barring the unsettling grey-space near the edges, there was even a temperate ocean breeze, smelling faintly of morning brine.

For Gwen, the disorientation lasted only a second.

"Eric," Gwen greeted her Magister, sulky at how hard Angie's father was willing to labour.

It took Walken a good ten seconds to realign himself. The Magister was in good health, but he was no longer spry.

"Gwen. Elvia."

“Magister Walken.” Elvia curtsied.

"We have a problem." Walken wiped his hands on a bit of cloth. "Rendfrey?"

"Mmm… yes, we appear to be the victim of an inventory oversight." The Magister touched a guilty finger to his beard. "It rarely happens, but it does."

"What's missing?" Gwen examined the room.

"Dragon blood, actually." Rendfrey adjusted his spectacles. "We have decided to proceed nonetheless because Magister Walken informed me you have access… to live samples?"

Gwen turned to examine the sheepish Walken.

"Audrey and I invested a lot of CCs to get this done as soon as possible," the Magister explained. "Hiccups were anticipated, I would imagine. We should consider our selves in luck that the missing ingredient is readily available."

Gwen masticated Walken's words. "… do you mean Golos?"

"Unless you happen to have a vial of something more sanguine," Walken said. "You haven't been very forthcoming on Golos' origins."

"You'll get the whole picture once you start your job," she acknowledged his concern. One by one, her thoughts flittered through Ayxin, Ruxin and Golos. Of the trio, asking Ayxin for a pint was unthinkable. Ruxin might be willing to part with his blood if given enough incentives, while Golos, as Walken had guessed, was a malleable target. "So I am to summon Golos?"

"I should mention the ritual does not necessarily need Dragon Blood," the Enchanter raised a hand. "Magister Walken is testing my hypothesis."

"We need a resonating medium to act as the catalyst," Walken quickly explained. "Your Ginseng is very old, and bred in close vicinity to the Yinglong, or so you said. Without sacrificing sacred blood to shackle the Ginseng's ego, Elvia may not be able to access that part of its lineage."

"You mean, the part Angie needs," Gwen clarified for her researchers.

"Undoubtedly." Walken raised both hands in defeat.

Gwen's lips pursed.

To her, a committed father was a foreign thing.

But for now, their interests aligned. She wanted Elvia to gain as much benefit from Sen-sen as possible, and agreeably, Walken wished to maximise the potential of Sen-sen being able to produce a panacea. Since she wanted Walken's loyalty, it was only fair that she met her future executive halfway.

"Right, where do I set up?"

"Just over there" Rendfrey appeared entirely enthralled by the exchange. "A Thunder Wyvern with a mythic bloodline? I haven't felt this excited since we started processing Griffin Blood!"

London.

The Shard.

For the first time in the history of the Britannic Mageocracy, the city played host to a scion of the Yinglong.

"You want my blood?" Golos breathed down at Gwen and Elvia's face, sending their hair flying all over.

"Just a litre or two," Gwen covered her nose. "You've got plenty to give. Just look at the size of that gut. Not much exercise at Ruxin's?"

"You've reneged on your promise," Golos sulked, his scales and spinal feathers bristling in turn. "I smell the scent of death on you fresh as a fat Eel-kin. You've been having fun. Did you eat another Wyrm?"

"A foreign worm," Gwen nodded. "It was disgusting. All slimy and earthy, very gamy, you won't like it, trust me. How's your brother?"

"He awaits your promised hoard."

"On that front, we're on track." Gwen felt a vague camaraderie with the Wyvern she hadn't seen for a week, like meeting a companion from the past after a lengthy absence. "How's Phelara?"

"Still brooding. Ruxin has a keen interest in her homeland. Big brother wants to know when you're going back for the Da-peng."

"In good time," Gwen promised. "Best let sleeping birds lie for now."

"Hmm…" Her Wyvern huffed at Elvia.

"Greetings, Lord Golos," Elvia beamed. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Sen-sen, say hi."

"SEN!" The Ginseng fell on its face, performing a kowtow. "Sen! Sen!"

"Mmm…" Golos' nostrils flared. He sucked in the air around Elvia, then licked his tongue, tasting her presence. "And something else as well, the old one?"

Gwen knew that Golos had a better nose than most, but the lizard's present perception was impressive beyond all comprehension. "Very nice, Golos. Not only does your nose detect magic, but it also detects Essence?"

"Not all beings that can be eaten should be eaten," Golos announced wisely. "Ruxin says this is because you never know when someone's progenitor decides to eat you in turn."

"Wise lad, that Ruxin. Did you catch up with Ryxi lately? I asked about Lulu before."

"Missing your Kenshi mate already?" Golos' laughter came in rolling waves. "She was a feisty one. Ryxi says she's a handful."

"Gogo..." Gwen was glad that Elvia could not speak nor translate Draconic. "Just as not everything can be eaten, you should also learn the difference between friendship and fornication. For example, we're friends, right?"

Golos leaned in closer.

"I wouldn't want to mount you anyway." The Wyvern huffed snot over her chest. "Too old."

Elvia stared on innocent while Walken choked, then began to cough uncontrollably.

Gwen pushed the massive, reptilian face away. "Thanks, Gogo. That makes me rest easier at night. Now pass me a pint, you sleazy slug."

The Wyvern appeared hesitant.

"I can compel the root," he offered, simultaneously unfolding its massive wings. "Sen! In the name of thy creator— TYRTROL!"

"SEN!" Sen-sen turned over to show its belly, then laid flat on the ground— a root on chopping board, awaiting inevitable dissection.

Gwen's cutting-finger itched. Give her another hundred grams of pure, unadulterated Sen-sen for her future cache of Maotai and the Dwarves shall be dancing in the palm of her hand.

"See?" Golos grinned, looking more smug than usual.

"Walken?" Gwen turned to her Conjurer.

"Rendfrey, what do you think?"

"With all due respect to Lord Golos here." Rendfrey appeared wholly impressed with the Wyvern's amiable performance thus far. "I am ill-equipped to comment. Dragon-tongue is not Spellcraft. The direct alteration of reality through force-of-will is a higher tier of study than mortal magic, I fear."

"Blood it is then." Gwen turned back Golos. Pointing to his wings, she made a cutting motion with her hand. "You want to do this— or me?"

"Bah—" Golos extended his neck until a particularly thick part presented itself. "Take it from here, Calamity, between the feathers— wing wounds itch."

"Good boy." She stroked the Wyvern again to show her approval. "Keep this up, and maybe we can go for a stroll in London, get you some genuine Chicken Tikka Masala from the Tower of Tandoori."

Golos sniffed her lips. "Intriguing. I have scented something familiar near Ruxin's abode, though only on the plants."

"I strongly advise against that— " Walken interjected. "Outside of this pocket dimension, I am afraid Lord Golos is going to fare very poorly indeed. Assuming he can resist the resonance given off by the city's four-dozen Shielding Cores, the Griffin Guards shall subdue us within the minute, and then we'll be in gaol, all of us, with her Majesty's Cabal blanking our minds."

"… the shop does take out." Gwen tapped the golden vestibule against Golos' electrum scales. "Eric. How long are we going to be here?"

"That depends on the subject," Magister Rendfrey indicated to the quivering Sen-sen, quivering and ready to meet its maker. "And of course, the subject's master."

"Calamity, I shall not be denied this Chicken Tikka Masala you speak of—"

Gwen passed a smidgen of Void between her fingers.

"GAAAARGH—!"

"Bosh! How the hell else am I going to get through your bloody diamond-armour?" Gwen tapped the vessel filling with dark, potent blood. "Look at the size of that neck of yours. That incision was a centimetre thick, tops. Your bleeding's already slowing."

"Your wounds are most irksome." Golos nudged her again until Gwen almost lost her balance. "I demand recompense."

"If it's not too much trouble. I'll tell an Apprentice to bring up this Tandoori fellow," Magister Rendfrey volunteered. "It's no bother if Lord Golos desires it. Him being most accomodating and courteous. I'll pay, of course."

"If you insist, Magister." Gwen moved over to Walken's Mandala with the heavy jug of still-bubbling blood polluting the air with a stink of rust and iron. "Fair warning, Gogo eats just as much in his human form."

"A humanoid morphic field! Astounding!" Magister Rendfrey rubbed his hands together. "Come! I shall give you my Apprentice's Message Glyph. Use Giles as you see fit. Magister Walken! Shall we?"

Walken took possession of the austere vessel of dragon blood. On the levitation platform, a host of ingredients already churned within an automated ink-blender. When Gwen's eyes wandered over the interior, her Magister helpfully obliged. "Asphodel, Hippogriff's Bezoar, Lionfish Core, Eye of Ash Newt, Coral Pearl Dust, Fireseed, Ice-laced Rocksalt and ingot of True Silver— am I missing anything?"

"That's all, Eric." Rendfrey applauded his fellow Magister. "It's a shame you've chosen not to take up alchemy proper."

The addition of Golo's blood prompted the keg of inscriptor-ink to simmer for a half-minute before the concoction settled. Though the smell was foul, the gathered could sense the palpable power of the blood-laced gloop swirling within.

Meanwhile, Magister Rendfrey thrice-confirmed the Mandala's every wand-stroke. "Miss Lindholm, if you would take your Spirits— both your Spirits, into the circle's midst, we may begin."

"Yessir."

"Now. Are you completely certain neither of your creatures will subsume the other? Don't say I didn't warn you," Rendfrey spoke as he coaxed the admixture from the pot with the length of carved yew that had been hanging by his side. Into the grooves of the base granite, the liquid seeped, lighting up with the silver-sheen of Conjuration as it touched the Mandala. "There's no crying over spilt milk if one— or both, perish as a result."

Elvia's eyes widened.

"You got this," Gwen gave her healer an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. She possessed absolute confidence her friend would succeed. "Golos is here to help as well. Sen-sen should prove no trouble."

"Kiki!" The Alraune showed its determination by flexing its tendrils. "Kiki!"

"Sen!" The Ginseng followed Elvia obediently into the middle of the Mandala, waddling as it went.

"Alright!" Gwen finished inscribing the Message to Rendfrey's Apprentice. After today, her Evee would never be underestimated by the Mageocracy, or anyone, ever again. "Let's get this show on the road! Evee, your ascension is at hand!"

Elvia sat in the lotus stance, trying her best to relax both body and mind.

To her left rested her Alraune Spirit, waving gently against the invisible breeze. To her right, held captive within a triple-layer of Octogramic Warding, sat Sen-sen, staring at her with its eyeless face.

"The Circle's powering up!" came a warning from her present and future partner. "Start probing Sen-sen with your mind! Reach out and try to envelop him with your Astral Body!"

Elvia closed her eyes and shut out all distractions. A healer's concentration was different from that of a Combat Mage. A Cleric's focus was inward-facing, generating an immutable sense of calm that drove away all unnecessary stimuli. Drawing upon that third-sense now, she sharped her insights until Sen-sen came into direct focus.

Around her, the Mandala burned, igniting the Dragon Blood.

Within the swirling world of conscious and the subconscious, Elvia's world imploded.

The bonding had begun.

"Sen-sen— come."

The physiology of an NoM, lacking the reactive motes of mana that made one's body near-transparent to the diagnostic magic of a healer, was a dull and uninspiring affair. Comparatively, a Mage's body, depending on their expertise, could appear as a well-lit network of conduits, beneath which she could see the vessels of the body ferrying forth the lifeblood from the central mana organs— the brain, the liver, the heart. Gwen's interior, when Elvia had sought to satiate a forbidden curiosity, was a whirling network of Lightning and Void, criss-crossed in every which way and yet running in perfect parallel. It shamed her that, in the Frontier, she had been flooding Gwen with raw Positive Energy to stimulate her body's healing potential. In those dark days, it was little wonder that they emerged from every battle utterly exhausted and craving the sweet embrace of slumber.

As for Sen-sen, the stowed vitality crammed within the root's tiny body was akin to diving into a celestial cluster. Within, she needed to locate Sen-sen's Spirit, and with sufficient will, overpower the Ginseng's ego.

Deeper and deeper she dived, headlong into the nebula until, from that strange, metaphysical firmament, she began to tumble, limbs akimbo, falling and falling without end.

A growing panic took hold.

Something was wrong.

This was not at all what the Spellcraft theory had prescribed, nor what Gwen had foretold.

"AEEEEEE!" Lacking the means to fly, and missing her partner's guiding hand, Elvia's mind tumbled through the Astral world. "Gwennie!"

"Tyrtrol vur qe Meagea!" Golos spat forth a mouthful of volcanic Vindaloo. Draconic— with its forceful, plosive tones, wasn't exactly the best language for simultaneous speaking and eating. "O-rigato dout Navnik Zhren!"

A spot of curry sizzled against the burning Mandala.

Gwen's nose twitched.

"Lord Magister," she quietly enquired of their hired aid. "Vindaloo doesn't impact the efficacy of Mandalas, does it? Elvia won't bond to curry, I hope."

"I certainly hope not!" The Magister had taken one sniff at the oriental concoction, then backed away from the tubs of sludge-like spice. Adjusting the Arcane Eye embedded into his spectacles, he quickly confirmed his hypothesis. "Imagine the scandal. We would have the owners on stasis in a heartbeat! 'Tower' of Tandoori indeed!"

"Golos is certainly enthused…" Walken's voice took a tone of concern. His eyes glowed with the light from a Glyph-studded spectroscope. "Your Ally is feeding the Mandala— you know, usually, an expenditure of Essence comes at a drastic cost to the caster."

"Good on Gogo for giving it his all." Gwen did her best via her Detect Magic. "Sen-sen might not have the brains, but it IS five centuries old and bred for Dragon-chow. Evee's just recently eighteen. I imagine there's quite the existential difference to be balanced out. Kiki as well is at least half a century old. What a rout, eh? I'd like to see her competitors bitch now."

"True, and our Mandala is holding steady," Walken remarked. "You've tamed your pet Wyvern in ways we cannot begin to comprehend. In the future, you may wish to volunteer some of your methods with the Bestiary section of the Tower. The Griffin Tamers, in particular, have considerable trouble pinning down alpha specimens. Once the birds get a taste for human flesh..."

Walken made a chopping motion with his hand.

"Caliban— I mean— 'I' can be very charming..." Gwen had never clarified the precise particulars of how Golos came to fear her, nor would she share it. For one, her prideful Wyvern might rampage if Humans started giving him looks of pity. "There's not much to it. Golos is just a big ball of raging Draconic testosterone. He eats, shits and fucks. How hard can it be to satisfy that?"

"All Dragons have hidden depth," Walken warned her. "No pool insufficiently deep can hold a Water Dragon, that's an oriental saying, I believe?"

Gwen looked over at Golos stuffing his face silly with naan and globs of curry, having the time of his life.

"I'll keep an eye out," she answered sceptically. "Say, do you know any Dungeons, parks or Wildlands hereabouts that's Planar Ally friendly?"

WHOOMP!

Through the displacing dust, Elvia found herself alone and atop a blasted building torn to smithereens by the force of a recently passed AoE.

The city below, a silhouette foreign to her memory, smouldered as though a rolling wave of coal-fired lava had erupted from the earth's core. Screams, thick as the steam, filled the air, joining the barrier sirens to form an unholy requiem of death and destruction.

"What…" Elvia circulated as much mana through her conduits as she was able to muster, concurrently calling on Kiki and Sen-sen.

As expected, her Spirits failed to make an appearance.

Where could she be? Caught in an illusion?

If so, which city now boiled below?

Elvia focused on empowering her vision. There wasn't just fire; there was water as well. No city with skyscrapers and avenues like that should be so inundated by the sea.

"SVA DRONG ANNYO!"

A shrill, soul-piercing shriek resounded across the horizon. Elvia's gaze followed the howling gale to see a moving, shifting, quadruped silhouette roving through the oily, aubergine atmosphere. Rippling waves of black-red ash fell from the blue-dark like October snow, smothering the city with its suffocating gloom.

A Dragon?

A BLACK DRAGON?

Her heart seized.

"Calm Emotion!" Elvia weaved the subconscious Clerical sorcery through the air. The spell failed to manifest, though she did feel calmer for the placebo. Momentarily, the charcoal creature pierced through the cloud bank.

"… Ariel?" There was no mistaking it. The stag horns, the stout body, the lion's claws and the rear hoofs she had molested so often, as well as the goldfish's fantail.

A Kirin. An ashen Kirin shrouded by malevolent vapours of Negative Energy.

Her body began to shiver. If that was Ariel, then where was Gwen? If that was Ariel, then what of Caliban?

She scanned the city below.

Presently, the milling mass of dark motes continued its onward march. There was an awful familiarity about it all, the way it flowed and ebbed, reached out with tendrils to test the distance, tasting the direction in which it spread.

Undead! Elvia's mind was now in full revolt. Millions of Undead! A whole host of them— enough to swallow a capital!

Why was she in the midst of this horrid vision?

Where's Sen-sen?

“Gwen?” She called out. “Gwennie? Where are you? Lord Golos? Magister Walken?”

"Evee…" a voice answered her from behind.

Elvia spun.

When finally her mind caught up, her lips parted with incomprehension.

"P-Percy?"

The boy— or perhaps she should say, a young man now, appeared wiser than his years.

"What are you doing here?" Elvia's head abruptly filled with conspiracy. What if, for example, she and Gwen and everyone had fallen under the Curse of a malignant Hag's nightmare. Or if there was a wide-scale terrorist attack on the Shard? "Where's Gwen?"

"The great Saviour Song is getting ready to deploy her Shoggoth," Percy's tone was churlish and provoking. Closer, the young man's salt-encrusted armour crumbled. With a grunt, he dispelled the upper layer, revealing a shrivelled body speckled with combat-damage. "Tianjin is gone, I am afraid. They're letting Gwen clean up. This time tomorrow, there'll only be a husk of a city left."

"She's using her Shoggoth?!" Elvia gulped. "I need to get to her! Why am I here of all places? Why is there Undead here in Northern China?"

Percy appeared confused. "Don't worry— Lulan's with Gwen. Sis told us to wait for her here, at the Observatory, don't you remember? The city is overrun. The PLA is in full retreat. Beijing Tower's not coming. There are nine million souls down there ready to join the Undead Tide from Pyongyang. The Party won't let that happen, not with the Forbidden City a day away."

"Jesus Christ." Elvia glanced at the carnage below. She could just make out pockets of fighting. A Squad of PLA Golems, burning blue with jets of exhaust, laid down lines of radiant fire into the avenues of the flaming city. Where the dark swarm retreated, a dozen tendrils emerged, each led by howling Wraiths and screeching Death Guards riding monstrous drake-steeds the size of semi-trailers. Behind the line of spluttering Golems, the city's fleeing defenders— an endless multitude of crying, churning civilians, scrambled over one another. "Percy, how did this happen?"

"The cult of Juche, how else? But enough questions— I am badly drained—" Percy stumbled forward.

Without thinking overmuch, Elvia caught the young man in her arms. "Are you alright?"

"Does it look like I am right?" Percy's cheeks appeared sallow, his eyes, now that the young man was closer, she could see that his eyes had the lustre of dead fish.

"Sorry. I'll heal you now."

"My gratitude is boundless." Percy placed a hand around her shoulder, using her body as support. "How's Richard? Did he make it?"

"Richard? What happened to—"

CRACK!

A booming roll of thunder snapped across the heavens.

From the impenetrable dark clouds, a meteor rapidly fell, a white-scaled body clad in living lightning— though much diminished and missing one wing. Together with the tumbling mass of its sleek, elegant figure was a deluge of corrupted blood, carapace and spellfire.

"Lord Golos!" Elvia's eyes went wide. "Is— is GWEN there? Fighting?"

The Ashen Kirin re-emerged in hot pursuit.

"JAKA, shio sia Irlymi Wharac sva sia KILITH!" Hearing the Kirin's croaking voice was like having claws scratching the inside of her skull. Her skin crawled. It almost sounded like the monstrous being was speaking in their general direction.

"Axun, sva Drong Annyo," answered a voice an inch away from her neck.

Elvia snapped her face around to see Percy's eyes grow suddenly cruel.

Suddenly, she couldn't breathe.

"I am sorry, Evee…"  The boy who was Gwen's brother gripped her neck with one hand, the other pressed against her abdomen. Unbidden, her mana, her vitality, all the warmth from her body drained away. Negative Energy hammered her brain, nullifying all thoughts into the consistency of soup, preventing her from conjuring of even the most rudimentary of spells.

GWEN! Elvia wanted to awake from the nightmare. The sensation, the pain, the fear, the soul-crushing feeling of life drain, none of it felt like an illusion.

"… but it was a matter of time before Gwen finds out about Uncle Jun..."

"Uuuuerrggk…"

"... and I think we both know Sis well enough to guess her mad dog antics..." Strangely, Percy's eyes were not focused on his victim, but the flickering, dark horizon, denying her the final dignity of having her murderer stare her down. Acutely, she felt her flesh turning to crystalline salt. The agony, in a clinical sense, was beyond the sensory limit of her nervous systems. "So this isn't anything personal. If anything, I'd call it self-preservation."

Reflected in Percy's eyes, Elvia saw a great tendril descend from the churning heavens. It was the Shoggoth, and it had arrived to undo all the follies of man.

GODS! This can't be real! None of this is real! An internal voice howled in desperation. By the Nazarene! WAKE UP!

Her eyes snapped open.

There was light, and once her pupils adjusted, she saw rock formations bustling with pine trees that grew like sinuous serpents—all around her, cloud banks and rolling seas of mist cascaded down calico granite cliffs. From the burning city, she was now floating listlessly through a stone mirage.

She raised her head.

Amongst the vague, mystical mountains, a mutton-jade rise pierced the heavens, shrouded in toiling cumulonimbus, cracking with blue-white lightning.

Her heart ballooned until it was on the verge of bursting. Was this the domain of Almudj? The fabled Unformed Land? The air here was different— the atmosphere was so thick with mana that she felt it permeate her mortal lungs.

The clouds parted.

A singular eye— cobalt and emerald and enormous beyond all comprehension, appeared and disappeared into the uncertain fog.

"GWEN!" Elvia called out, her spine growing rigid with alarm. There was no way this was Almudj. Here was a whole other Mythic, the one from Gwen's stories, one with whom she should have no discernible business.

"Thou art at a crossroads, companion of the Calamity..." a great, booming voice toiled in the recess of her head, filling her skull with its presence. Her host was enormous, stretching from peak to peak, coiled about the landscape as a roaring river. "Little Ginseng, O seed of ruin, thou shall choose which grain shall grow, and which shall wilt and rot..."

The Mandala sizzled out.

Within the confines of her Divination-infused vision, Elvia's mana presence doubled— perhaps tripled in intensity. It wasn't so much a matter of volume, as per Gwen herself, but density and purity. For a mid-tier Spirit and a mundane Conjurer, a significant boost in Affinity was expected. In Elvia's case, her transformation was transcendent.

"How is it?" Gwen turned to her betters for an answer, her basic knowledge insufficient to offset her anxiousness.

"No need to fret. I believe we have achieved our goal." Magister Rendfrey clapped his hands happily. "Most importantly, without incident! Without even a single contingency Glyph tripped! My word, Magus Song, are you certain your companion doesn't have a little mystical Essence in her?"

"Maybe she does. Evee's special," Gwen smugly replied, relieved that Almudj has Evee in her sights.

"No doubt. No doubt." Rendfrey nodded without refrain. "The diagnostics from our venture should serve the Tower well, I think. Dual-Spirits! And using only a Seventh-Circle Mandala following a classical Margulis-Gessner cross-modulation! I just knew the Dragon Blood would do the trick. Ah, but do not let me detain you— here comes our future saintess!"

Within the dissolving circle, Elvia emerged from the cascading sheets of silvery Conjuration, her complexion as pale and oily as lambswool. The girl was soaked in sweat, her blouse diaphanous enough for Gwen to materialise a towel.

"Evee!" Gwen approached without hesitation. "My God! You must be exhausted."

"I am alright." Elvia raised a dainty, trembling hand. "Gwennie, look at what I've got— Sen-sen!"

Her healer squeezed the Ginseng in her arms.

The Cleric's cheeks flushed crimson.

The air around Elvia shimmered.

"SEN!"

Gwen's body froze, not just at the sight of Elvia looking so radiant, but out of bone-deep, primal instincts ingrained into the genes of her ancestors. Walken as well, stiffened and grew pale, while the jubilant Magister Rendfrey sunk to his knees and whimpered.

"… Oops," her healer quickly relented. "That's enough, Sen-sen. Sorry everyone, I am not sure how to use him yet. Gwen is going to have to coach me."

"Sen!" Sen-sen attempted to wiggle out of Elvia's arms.

"Kiki!" Her Alraune slapped the Ginseng across the mid-section. "Kiki!"

"Sen-sen..." Sen-sen quailed before the bulbous floral Sprite.

Gwen waited for her jaws to re-hinge, forcing through Almudj's Essence so that ligament by ligament, her muscles warmed up. Next, it took all her courage to make her next enquiry. "Evee… is that— Dragon Fear? What the hell did you do?"

With a subtle gesture, her healer released her root vegetable from the Material Plane. After a final, relieved "Sen!", the Ginseng disappeared into its newly-formed pocket dimension. When Elvia gazed back, Gwen's healer appeared taller somehow, more dignified.

"You said you would make me special." Elvia's blushing face was such a juxtaposition against the sphincter-crunching horror Gwen had just endured that she suffered from whiplash. "Now— I am."

Gwen licked her lips, her tongue parched, her mind tabula rasa. Gods, Evee was beautiful— and terrifying.

"Are you... not pleased?" Elvia cocked her head. "But..."

For several seconds, the silence in the room grew thick enough to be sliced.

"Hahaha…" Golos' abrupt, interrupting laughter crowded the room like the stink of a suffocating, Draconic-curry fart. "So you've chosen. Well done, Moxt Myvish."

Gwen's brows furrowed as her Translation Stone performed its terrible divination.

"Little… S-sister?" She spun around toward Golos.

She knew it! She just knew it was too good to be true!

Gogo, an accommodating, considerate drake?

There was no such thing as a free lunch!

Fucking Golos, helping out, making Sen-sen obey!

She couldn't possibly be angry at Evee, so all she could do was steer the freight train of her anger elsewhere.

"GOGO! EXPLAIN YOURSELF! OR I SWEAR TO EVEE, YOU'LL BE EATING CURRY OUT OF A TUBE!"

"Gwen, NO." Elvia's svelt figure interposed itself between Golos and the impending eruption of ultraviolence.

From raising the hand of God, Gwen found herself suddenly diminished.

"Evee, step aside." Her voice grew low and loud like impending thunder.

"Gwen. No." Elvia's response was accompanied by Kiki crawling up her arm to sit on one shoulder. Before Sen-sen, the Alraune had proved too heavy for the small-framed healer. Now, that was no longer the case. "This isn't Lord Golos' problem."

"The hell it isn't!" Gwen growled. "Gogo! You know what you did! Get your ass over here."

"For aiding your mate in attaining her heart's desire?" Golos lacked even the barest token of repentance. "Upset that I satisfied where you could not, Calamity? You should be thankful for our 'sister' receiving what you had left disappointed."

"Our? Is Ruxin a part of this? Is Ayxin?" Her mind furiously worked through the list of Dragons who might traffic Elvia against her. "Is your fucking father involved?"

"You overstep," Golos snapped back, leaking Dragon fear in the manner of an upset puss dissuading predators. "Calamity, watch yourself."

"Gwennie!" Elvia stomped her feet, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance. Usually, Gwen would have remarked that her healer's upset made her all the more adorable. With Sen-sen, however, a truly upset Evee was a catastrophe.

Fuck! She ground her teeth. She knew she should have diced the little Ginseng fucker for spice when she had the chance. "Evee, you're not yourself, that's the Essence talking. Why this? Almudj is big enough for both of us."

"Almudj is Almudj. And just as it knows its mind." Elvia's golden hair streamed as she spoke. "I know mine. You're not Almudj's sock puppet, and neither am I."

"Evee, seriously." Gwen wanted to reach out, grab Golos, and wring the Wyvern like a wet rag until all the blood and poop oozed from every orifice. Her Evee! Her poor little Evee! Look at what they did to her beautiful Evee! "Don't do this."

"I am serious, Gwen. Dead serious." Elvia approached, leading with her eyes and her small, glistening mouth.

Gwen took a step back. "Evee…"

"Or are you saying my choice doesn't matter?" Elvia's accusation snapped like a whip. Elvia's irises were blue, so blue that they hurt Gwen's eyes. "Must you choose for me? Must a higher power choose for me? For all of the Nazarene's divinity, Father Maxwell says the Almighty gives us free will. Do you deny what I've chosen for myself, Gwen?"

"Evee, I didn't say that."

"Then a little respect would go a long way, I think." Elvia's words crammed Gwen's tongue back down her throat. "Gwennie, you can't just get mad at Gogo without asking why."

Gwen wanted to say "of course" she could; as a grown woman, she could do and say whatever the fuck she wanted. But she kept her mouth shut because she could see in Elvia's eyes she would have to bypass her healer first.

"You going to hide behind Evee, Gogo? A big Wyvern like you?" She tried a different approach.

"I see you squirm, Calamity." The Wyvern appeared to be enjoying himself. Why the fuck wasn't her Wyvern an idiot at a time like this? "Haha! As Father said, there is a foil to everything! As water is to fire! Metal to wood! So you are helpless against our Moxt Myvish! She's your Argonite!"

Argonite being the draconic equivalent of kidney stones, or so Golos had once overshared.

Gwen felt her face grow hot. She was so pissed off she could feel the Lightning encircling her irises, empowered by a feverish desire to make Golos into a Caliban sock puppet.

"Your hypertension is at a dangerous level, Gwennie." Elvia reached out with a compassionate hand. Gwen stood her ground. If she gave in now, what precedent would that set for Evee? For her stupid drake?

"Calm Emotion!"

Soft and gentle streams of mana flooded Gwen's conduits, bathing her in lukewarm water. The anger that had simmered against her throat and made her voice hoarse suddenly abated. Unbidden, her heart-rate slowed, and the depth of her breathing grew shallow. Without biting her tongue, she would have moaned.

"God damn it, Evee…" She breathed out, deflating as her rage died like Golos double-teamed by Big Birds. "What am I going to do with you."

"A hug would be nice." Her healer was inches away. "There's still five hours until midnight."

As commanded, she hugged her healer, allowing the sickly sweetness to envelop her annoyance like raw honey. The girl's soulful presence was akin to the milk of paradise.

"Hee." A pair of prying eyes interrupted her revelry.

"What are you staring at?" She snapped at her leering Wyvern. "Fuck off, Gogo. Go back to Ruxin and tell him I am very cross with you. Next time, if there's a next time..."

"Ingrate hag," Golos grumbled. Languishingly, he stepped back into the Summoning Circle. Momentarily, the Wyvern's humanoid shape flashed blue and white, turning Rendfrey's workshop quicksilver before his material body dis-corporated across space and time.

A precious silence descended, accompanied by the stink of curry.

"Miss Elvia…" Walken gently raised his voice, understandably impatient. "If I may ask…"

Her healer left her arms.

"I believe Sen-sen's leaves can be crushed and infused within Miliberg's Remedy-All Tonic to suppress Angie's condition," Elvia acknowledged Walken's concern. "Gradually, her constitution will improve, though I am unsure how many dosages it may take. May I recommend you take her to GOS, where I work, and put up a slate for Angie?"

"Yes, that's satisfactory." Walken nodded. "Thank you, Miss Lindholm. I'll do that tomorrow."

Unused to her assertiveness, Elvia's face grew scarlet. "Think nothing of it, Magister Walken, you've been such an indispensable help to Gwen and myself. It's I who owe you a favour."

"Hahaha..." Walken too, wilted under Elvia's sincerity.

The corner of Gwen's left eye twitched.

"... And my most sincere apologies, Magister Rendfrey." Elvia bowed to the owner of the workshop. "I haven't gotten used to Sen-sen's power yet."

"No problem, not at all." The now-recovered Rendfrey mopped his forehead. "The old heart isn't what it used to be. Dragon Fear! How exhilarating!"

"Allow me." Elvia raised a hand, "Peace be upon you, Magister. Aid!"

A golden halo encircled the Enchanter for a split second, disappearing as quickly as it appeared, suffusing Rendfrey's face with unbridled vitality. Straightening his back and neck, the Magister suddenly stood taller.

"Oh my." Magister Rendfrey inhaled and exhaled with great enthusiasm. "My girl, we need to get you to a Cog-Chamber! I insist, and I shall pay! What I wouldn't give to see your biometrics!"

Thanks to Walken's glib coaxing and a promise of favours from Rendfrey, the party of four arrived at a rotund Cog-Chamber.

Gwen wetted her lips at the intimate familiarity. The Cognition Chamber which they now occupied was the same as the one Henry had used to teach her, a memory that made her chest sore. How strange it was that the shoe was on the other foot— that she now plumbed Elvia's potential, while Evee stood in her place, wondering what lurked inside her Astral Body.

"Shall we recluse ourselves?" Gwen applauded Walken's foresight to offer the girls privacy. Different from biometric readings, the matter of one's Astral Soul was deeply personal.

"Please." Elvia bowed her head. "We shall soon be done, Lord Magisters."

Walken and Rendfrey exchanged a look.

"Of course, of course. Let us waste no time. You girls wanted to see the New Year's fireworks, yes?" Rendfrey added regretfully. "You won't want to miss that! What a wonderful occasion to celebrate with a show of colour! That said..."

"Rendfrey!"

"Yes, yes..."

"Operator, you may begin," Gwen announced to the general air once they were alone.

The air thrummed.

The distance disappeared.

The mirrored lake interior manifested.

And upon that illusory, parallel plane, a divine presence dawned.

"Holy shit, Evee…" Gwen had never seen Elvia's post-Sydney Astral Body, and so could not comment on Elvia's Affinity before Sen-sen's capitulation. To her knowledge, Elvia was gifted, but not so talented as to receive an invitation to Nightingales without Gunther, placing the girl at an Affinity apex of four-on-five at best. For Sydney, such an Affinity was well above average. In the Mageocracy's heartland, the benchmark for receiving the esoteric craft of Faith-weaving demanded purer talents. "What am I even looking at?"

"There's so much mana..." Her healer's untainted, joyous excitement was turning Gwen's bones to jelly.

"Sen-sen! Kiki!"

Elvia's Spirits appeared beside her.

"ARRUGH!" In the Cog-Chamber, one's eyelids only worked marginally. Gwen had only felt such blinding, stabbing pain once before— when Alesia decided to show off in front of Henry and had seared their newest sister's retinas. This time, it took several circles of Essence to adjust to the lumen range.

"Kiki! Kiki!" The Alraune bathed in the light from her mistress, visibly growing taller and plumper. As for the blasted Draconic Ginseng, it fed its mistress a steady stream of raw mana through their Empathic Link, their conduit so thick as to distort the illusory space conjured by the chamber.

"What do you think?" Elvia twirled, or not, Gwen couldn't tell because Elvia was a stadium flood-light. In ripples, Positive Energy rolled out from around the girl's feet, brushing up against Gwen's heels like thick, heavy water.

Without a word, Gwen stepped from her Mary Janes and stood upon the Cognition Chamber's chilly floor, barefoot and bare-legged. Visibly, the outward ebb of Elvia's Positive Energy, that golden nectar of mana, began to swirl about her vague Void and electrified Lightning. Where their Astral Body's edges met, she saw for the first time, the outer walls of her energy-hungry aura absorbing Elvia's pearlescent motes of life.

The pleasantness was indescribable.

The tactility of Evee's Positive Energy halo was different from the violent consumption and the cresting climaxes offered by Caliban's Consume. Her healer's blessing was, Gwen blushed, a thing of womb water, a gentle envelopment that made her calm and sleepy and docile. For someone like herself, who subsisted on Almudj and lived each night as the patron saint of insomnia, the temptation to simply drown herself in Evee's chamber of the sea was all too real.

"Does Sen-sen have a combat form?" Gwen changed the topic. "Does Kiki?"

Elvia shook her head. "Kiki is still young, though she could be used if I need battlefield control. As for Sen-sen, I don't think I can command it's full power, at least not yet. Can you teach me how to use Dragon-Essence?"

There existed not a single ounce of desire within the entirety of Gwen's being that wanted to pass on the knowledge Ayxin had imparted.

"Gwennie?" Elvia's imploring eyes pulsed with star-fire.

"… sure." Gwen folded like a napkin. "It's largely instinctual though, all I can teach you is the meditation and a general idea of how to wrangle the impulse."

"Thanks, Gwennie. Let me finish up for the sensors."

With a final word, her healer's Astral Body turned supernova, bathing the room in light, casting behind Gwen a dancing line of macabre shadows, writhing like uncertain Calibans, eating away at the fabric of space and time.

London.

New Year's Eve.

Near midnight, the Thames lit up with vibrant Illusions and cacophonic Evocation. From behind the gargoyles lining the upper strata of Nightingale College, Gwen sat with her healer resting against her shoulder. Around the pair, their Familiars ran free: Kiki and Sen-sen paced around the rooftop, Caliban played pillow against her back, and Ariel drifted like a carefree cloud.

Though the eclectic, floral atmosphere was heartbreakingly evocative, Gwen's heart grew heavy, and not just with the weight of her Evee.

She had wanted a stronger Elvia.

She had fancied her Evee to be special, unique, a cut above the rest.

That was why, unsure of what else she could offer Evee, she had given Elvia crystals, bling, and Spirit.

But not like this.

Gwen understood what it meant to be the victim of the Yinglong's Draconic Essence. She knew all to well its intoxicating effect, the powers it offered, the way it bolstered her confidence to supernatural heights. She also knew that the Yinglong's Essence came at a cost—and that cost was a little snippet of one's self, the portion that was doubtful, cautious and meticulous.

"Sen!" Sen-sen wiggled back and forth, terrified and yet intrigued by the height, enjoying its restored limbs. Sulkily, Gwen observed that within its tiny body rested a reservoir far more significant than what Gwen herself had accessed, and now its resources were Evee's to abuse as the healer saw fit.

"Kiki!" the Alraune Sprite appeared more humanoid than its prior incarnation as well. It's leg tendrils were more limb-like and less akin to green caterpillars. It even had a little waist to go with its bulbous upper body, shaped like a rare stargazer lily.

And though Elvia had placated her unrest with a darting peck on the lips, a sourness remained, like sugarcane left fermenting for too long.

Was it because Elvia was no longer hers alone?

Or was it because Elvia had pledged herself to a different patron?

Over-possessiveness was poison, Gwen had learned the lesson from Dr Monroe, but she just couldn't shake the feeling that a precious thing had been denied. It was a perception that, if she had to vocalise her dissent, was akin to having one's stock portfolio two-grand short of a million, missing that sweet sixth digit.

A great cheer rose from below. The hospital staff, those soon to be on duty, took the opportunity to share the joy of entering a new year.

"Cold?" Elvia adjusted her head so that she rested yet more of her body on Gwen's torso. "Here, I'll warm us up."

A gradual heat transferred from Elvia's body to hers. With hyper-tier Affinity, Walken had said; unusual things happened to a Mage's Astral Body. With her Affinity to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning, much of her body chemistry had been affected. As for the Void, that she was alive and well was itself a miracle of modern Spellcraft.

With Evee, with the addition of TWO spirits, one Sulfina's wily Junior, the other a Ginseng masochist, had gone beyond even that. Earlier, when the script from the Cognition Chamber spat out its numbers, both Magisters had steadfastly denied the accuracy of its numeric output.

"An Affinity of FOURTEEN?" Walken had raised a brow before passing the data slate to Rendfrey. "Well done, Gwen. We have coaxed a Celestial Archon from the Positive Plane. Our next step should be to call the Church of England and tell them we recovered the long-lost Spirit of Saint Cuthbert. Your knighting ceremonies are next week."

"A hyper-tier Cleric would cause a wave with the Vatican, what with their anointed saints and all." Rendfrey chuckled nervously, mopping sweat from his brow. "So er… we agree to keep this between us for now?"

"Yes." Walken passed the data slate back to Gwen. "The instrument isn't made for measuring twin-Spirits. I shall go and lodge Elvia's Spirit Registration with the Tower. We can leave the specifics for later. No doubt, there will be questions for Miss Lindholm shortly. Best leave this to the state's Clerical apparatus."

"When you get back to Great Osmond Street," Gwen likewise warned her healer. "Try not to bring back the dead accidentally."

"Like you?" Her healer's lips were coy.

Walken coughed.

Gwen recalled shivering then. The Magisters had downplayed the fact, but she could see on their faces the beginnings of trouble which none of them was equipped to forestall. Perhaps that was why her nerves remained frayed even now.

Had she, in her haste, in her love, in her all-consuming desire for Elvia's elevation, bypassed the threshold of theoretical Spellcraft? Had Elvia, the recipient of best intentions, accidentally ascended into quasi-Godhood? She had wanted Elvia to be unique.

But not like this.

Christ Almighty! Gwen fought back a morbid impulse. Like the fabled Victor Von Frankenstein, what had she created?

And the bleeding Draconic Essence!

Had the Cog-Chamber even taken that in to account?

GODS! What would Yue say when she found out?

What would their oldest friend do to her if she found out how badly she had mangled Evee's body? Thinking of Yue erupting with the fire and fury of a fully-formed Tandy, Gwen's limbs grew covered with goosebumps.

"Gwen, you're shivering again." Elvia remained oblivious. What was the healer thinking? Gwen wondered. Probably how many more Blessings she could give at the Isle before she was OoM. Her healer's selflessness could be infuriating at times. "How's that possible? Between Almudj and my Bless, you can't be ill."

"I am just…" Gwen licked her lips. Evee's hot waterbottle aura was making her a little dizzy. "… so happy, is all. The fireworks, this city, everything's just so beautiful."

"It is, isn't it?"

"It is…"

Bung! Pa—Pa—Pa—BOOM!

A floral display in the form of a peace lily, white-hot and glimmering with mana, showered the pair with their multi-coloured light.

A cheer broke out all across the riverbank, welcoming the arrival of 2005.

One supernova.

Two supernovae.

Three supernovae in quick succession.

"Happy New Year, Gwennie."

"Happy New Year, Evee."

Little Evees, each at a fraction of the healer's Cog-Chamber luminosity, erupted all over London's skyline, turning night into day.

January 1st.

Morning.

With her nostrils still hinting at her healer's heavenly redolence, Gwen left her healer's college for Cambridge. In her immediate future, she would return every few days in the first week of January. Her precious hours, however, would be for business, such as at the Isle of Dogs, or to check up on Evee's progress with Draconic meditations.

A new year.

A new beginning.

Back home, on New Year's Day in Australia, most families opted for a spring clean, meaning every window and door of every house would be open, littering the lawn with trash from the last twelve months.

In London, with the temperature below six and snow up to the ankle, there was no such bustle. The magically inclined families would mostly be recovering from their food coma, lazing about in cosy houses with logs of inscribed yew burning gently, drawing in heat from the Elemental Plane of Fire.

The NoMs, if they were well-provisioned, would have something to celebrate as well. If not, then as little body heat should be expended as possible in this trying time.

Feeling affected by the view, she circled the blanketed city as it slept. The fallen snow had obscured the city's Districts, hiding the unseen suffering lurking in its industrial borders. When Gwen did a lap around her demesne, the children waved at her. For her subjects, the sight of the sorceress in her out of season dress had become commonplace. Now, with their bellies full of SPAM and the streets cleared of mud and refuse, the kids had excess energy to burn.

Gwen waved back, happy that the mud of Mudchute, salt of the earth had gained a little reprieve. When she circled the farm, Wally the caretaker gave her a smart salute, then commanded the dogs to give a great howl as she passed. It was a simple gesture, but one that made her well-pleased, a feeling that juxtaposed her prior oppression.

Was this Noblesse Oblige? She wondered. What had begun as sophistry to suck up to the old Magister was now manifested in reality. If her Master was alive right now, would he be weaving a garland of praises for her head, and would he be praising her with fatherly hugs and kisses?

It was difficult to believe sometimes; when she stepped back to take it all in, of all that had happened and what was soon to transpire. What began in Sydney as a vague desire to survive comfortably had morphed into a chimeric monstrosity with more heads and tails than she could count. At first, plunged into the inky, Spellcraft sea, she had blundered onto her self-driven quest out of jaw-clenching reflex. Like Pac-man acting on instinct, she had consumed foe after foe without overthinking, desiring only to live her second life freely.

Promptly, she entertained a dangerous thought. She had time, and indeed, the capital to do an "Hai Song". With what she had amassed thus far, she could retreat to Sydney, take up a side-gig clearing out Mermen or difficult and dug-in monsters to bide her time. Barring that, she could even find a cushy, laid-back position within the CCP if she so desired— although that might piss off Percy.

The point was that she could— but would not— be Hai's daughter.

She had made hard promises to too many people whose lives now depended on her maintaining momentum. That, and she was caught up in the undertow of things bigger than herself.

Gwen sped up.

She felt trapped. An ironic emotion, seeing as she was blasting across the English countryside at over a hundred kilometres an hour, an austere member of a select Cabal with the clout to go wherever they pleased. Wanting to leave the feeling behind, she pumped more and more mana into her spell, shrinking the radius of her barrier so that she could feel the whistling wind scraping against Gunther's double-glazed shield.

She had been reborn into this world, free, in a fashion.

Now?

Now she had the legacy left her by Master, Henry Kilroy, compounded by her siblings' promises to hunt down Sobel. She had the burden of Tonglv's success and the rise of her family's fortunes in Shanghai. Elsewhere, she had Mayuree and Marong in Myanma, and dragons dreaming of Centurion and Legion. There was also the IIUC's aftermath, Lady Grey's patronage, the Isle and its expectant folk, the printing press, the promise of Deepholm.

Evee's rebellion.

For all her freedom, she was everywhere in chains.

Unconsciously, Gwen upped her velocity once more.

Far below, confused farmhands waved at the rumbling contrail of mist and snow, unsure of whether this New Year's omen signalled weal or woe.

"Gwen, come in."

A smiling member of the student-staff opened the oaken doors to Lady Grey's office at the Master's Lodge.

Inside, Gwen was surprised to find the Victorian room curtains billowing, flooding the solemn office with stark, wintery light.

"Head Mistress Loftus." Gwen bowed as soon as she entered. An arcane Quadro stood with Maxine, as for their identity, she could hazard a guess that they were her tutors. "Milords, Sirs and Madams…"

There were two men and two women, and they instantly refocused their attention to catch Gwen in the crossfire of their imperious gazes.

"Your instructors," the Lady affirmed Gwen's suspicions before turning to the austere group with a nod. "Magisters. Please introduce yourselves to our principal contributor in bringing England's Dwarves back into the fold. I am sure you are as eager to begin your moulding of our Void Mage as she is eager to learn your spells, so please— help yourselves."

The first to tribute was a middle-aged gruff with a self-suffering demeanour. The man's hair, what was left of it, was slicked back and parted in the three-quarter style popular with military men.

"Nils Kott." The Mage's speech carried a Germanic inflexion. "Abjuration, Warding and Enchantment specialist. I will be instructing you on the creation, maintenance and disruption of Spells and Mandalas."

"Sir." Gwen delivered a heart-warming smile.

Her instructor appeared unmoved.

"… Major Kott comes to us from Ludwig-Maximilians Universität. He is on loan in exchange for one of our own. Gwen, say hi to one of the top Abjurers of München," the Lady kindly bridged the awkward gap. "I asked for the Major because he has extensive combat experience. It wouldn't hurt to ask him about the Luftwaffe's much-lauded Undead Purges carried out in Romania. Major Kott led the spearhead operation."

"Sir!" Gwen saluted.

The Major dipped his chin.

Without pause, her next tutor, an enthused individual, younger than Kott, presented his very English self. Fair of skin and dark-haired, the sorcerer sported the atypical pale irises of a Mineral Mage.

"Magus Song, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Maxwell Brown, of the King's Browns, from Lynn. Though I do hold the title of Viscount, I sincerely hope that you and I could be on first name terms."

Gwen and the instructor shook hands. True to his disclosure, the Viscount's fingers were warm and clammy.

"I shall be your instructor in Adaptive Spellcraft theory. My speciality is meta-magic, and I currently teach Spell Theory over at Emmanuel's. With your Omni-talent and my knowledge, I hope there will be deeper profundities with which we can plumb. Once our new Meister— That is, Magister Wen from Fudan arrives, she will be joining us in expanding the hitherto untapped potentials of Void Magic. I will also be advising your cousin, Miss Kuznetsova, on her thesis."

"Petra will be lucky to have you, sir. What manner of a caster are you, Magister Brown?"

"Myself?" Brown's grin grew broad. "I would fancy myself an Omni-Mage like yourself, Miss Song, although I was originally a Transmuter. My curiosity during my youth led me astray, I am afraid. I am no good in combat, though I hope with the aid of Magister Kott here, our endeavour may yet persevere."

"It's my pleasure to be under your care, Sir."

"The same! The same." The manic researcher withdrew with a face full of undisguised anticipation.

"Kareena Patil," the next instructor presented herself. This one had immediately attracted Gwen's attention. She was the only other Indian subcontinent magic caster Gwen had seen outside of Taj, and Gwen had met more than her fair share of Mages by now. With her creme latte complexion, the woman's age appeared repressed, revealed only by the subtle crow's feet around the edge of her olive eyes. "I'll be taking your Transmutation to the seventh tier, assuming your potential is genuine."

If Magister Brown had given a fiery introduction, then Magister Patil's was a cold one.

"Dame Patil has been kind enough to divert from her duties at Lucy Cavendish," Lady Loftus intervened before the atmosphere grew colder. "There is scant a more accomplished sorceress in Cambridge when it comes to Spellshaping."

"No need, Maxxie, to hide the girl's inexperience. I have seen your transcripts and your essays from Fudan, Miss Song. So much raw power without the understanding of the metaphysics that empower the phenomenon is a dangerous thing. Rarely have I felt such agony watching a sorceress trounce her way through an IICU." Kareena Patil remained aloof despite Lady Grey's kind intervention. "If you find my judgement too harsh, then prove me wrong in the months to come."

"I won't disappoint, milady." Gwen bowed again.

"I would hope not." Patil shrugged. "It's not my CCs been burnt."

"I am last then," spoke Gwen's final instructor, a woman in her forties with the bearing of someone from a period film. "My name is Keridwen Le Guevel, for the duration of your stay in Peterhouse and until my dismissal— I shall be your Illusionist, as well as your instructor of etiquette, speech, and decorum."

Gwen looked up at the Lady, who masked a smirk behind her flawless complexion.

"Raw power," Keridwen stated abruptly. "Must come with dignity. I have heard of your peerless duelling exploits and have extensively studied your actions during the IIUC, Miss Song. Sufficient to say, if you wish to one day marry into the most august of Europe's families, you will need to perform considerably fairer than your prevailing circumstances have prescribed. My mission is to ensure that you look well, present well, and keep well so that your prospects remain undiminished."

At the word "marry", Gwen's brow broke out in dismay. It was well, very well— that Elvia was not present to give her opinion on that matter. Thus far, other than the very confused Walkens of Brighton, she had not told anyone of that particular inclination.

"Yes, ma'am." She relented for now. With Evee's present condition, her buyer's remorse was as acute as ever. She loved her healer as a Dwarf loved Mithril, but now there was a Dragon-sized chasm between the pair.

"Great! And finally, you have one more instructor— me." Lady Grey stepped out from behind her desk. "From now until you are capable of enrolling and keeping up with Cambridge's classes— I shall be your chief tutor. I will inspect your progress fortnightly, and we shall have guidance sessions per fortnight so that you may ask me questions discrete from your instructors."

"No discretion is needed!" Magister Brown appeared shocked. "Gwen, I will give you my all."

"What's a Magister without a secret or two?" The Lady hand-waved the Viscount's concern. "Now, fair instructors, you may leave us. Gwen and I shall commence our first session. Peterhouse thanks you for your morning."

Her instructors shuffled out.

Servants shuffled in, laid down tea, then were gone again.

Gwen sat in front of her patroness, shy as a lamb in her black and white pleated dress.

"An august lot," Lady Loftus began.

"I am in your debt, milady."

Lady Loftus motioned for tea, and to Gwen's amazement, the tea set obliged.

"Think nothing of it. The most important thing about learning Spellcraft isn't having access to the best spell instructors, spellbooks or tutors. Rather, one is required to know the right questions to ask. To that end, let's begin with the fundamentals so you won't embarrass yourself later. Amuse me, War Mage, what Frontier nonsense have they taught you about the Imperial Spellcraft System?"

"The IMS began as an internationally ratified methodology for practising arcanistry first pioneered by Jean-Philipe de Périgord at Saint-Cloud," Gwen's recall was as expert as the vagueness of her historical understanding. "Later, Meister Wolfgang Maximilian of Berlin expanded the system during the unification. The Mageocracy was a late fosterer that vastly expanded Spellcraft during the hey-days of Pax Britannica, peaking just before the Great War. The controversy is that we appropriated the system from the central powers despite refusing to participate in its inception."

"Now that's an amusing bit of history." Lady Grey drew in the scent from her Earl Grey, a tea named after one of her ancestors. "The accuracy is wanting, I fear. Tell me, child, as a guest of the Red Keep, what have the Dwarves told you? I know the Deepdowners mention this fact at every turn."

"Hanmoul said Humans stole the structure for the IMS from the Seven Ancestors."

"They're not wrong." Lady Grey's lips curled with amusement. "Though theft is such a strong word. One may as well steal the concept of colour! Magic, sorcery, arcanistry— SPELLCRAFT— Gwen, is the observance of that which governs the hidden laws of nature— the rules that bind together this fabric we call the Prime Material Plane. Anyone sufficiently observant enough, or possessed of an earnest desire for discovery like Magister Brown, is going to uncover its rules sooner or later. So no, I would not venture to say who stole from who. The foundation was volunteered, at any rate—"

"Elves? Ma'am?"

"That's right. Now there's something you don't read in your Frontier manuals. Gwen, you've been studying Spellcraft, in a manner, but you've never tapped into its source. Take my Earl Grey, for example, you've drunk it all your life— but have you seen Wildland Keemun? Have you ever touched the flesh of the bergamot that gives this tea its unique scent? Did you know a change in the rainfall changes the flavour? Or drying out the soil fortifies the scent?"

Gwen shook her head.

"And so it goes with Spellcraft. In time, as you grow into a finer sorceress than you are now, you will inevitably meet our benefactors who centuries ago sowed the seeds, I suppose, to see what will grow. Mind you, I am speaking only of the IMS. Long before the Hvítálfar gifted their unique, esoteric understanding, magic was studied in enclosed Enclaves and hidden Cabals, consisting of Wizard Circles, Witch Covens and Warlock Conspiracies. And of course, we mustn't forget the Vatican— though that's another sarcophagus altogether."

"The Hvítálfar?"

"Indeed. It is what the High-born call themselves."

"Ma'am." Gwen could barely contain the excitement in her voice. "Are you saying Elves taught us sorcery?"

"No," Lady Grey bid Gwen curb her enthusiasm. "And nor is it 'Elves'. Our allies are a fringe group of forward-thinking radicals, and what they engendered was the beginnings of something no Demihuman could conceive, the 'rise' of Humanity. Can you imagine, Gwen, that though there are now billions of humans dwelling upon the Prime Material Plane, we were once the runt of Terra's litter? The most impoverished of the sapient races?"

"Is Spellcraft Elven?" Gwen did her best to digest the Lady's words, but her focus remained steadfast locked onto Elven matters.

"I see Henry's education has heavily favoured pragmatism," Lady Grey patiently commented. "Practice without context, how flavourless that must be, dear."

"I didn't mind it." Gwen stopped to retrieve a sweet biscuit.

"Just as well then. I doubt your other tutors would be as inclined as I am. They're used to older, more knowledgable pupils. Anyhow, to continue, let us begin with antiquity. No, Spellcraft isn't Elven. Humans always possessed their own magic. From the ancient rule of the First Dynasty to the Israelites' uprising against Ramses II, rare individuals in history have appeared with "Talent". Have you not heard of the Greek heroes of antiquity? Hercules? Hector, Perseus, the wily Illusionist Odysseus? The indomitable Transmuter Achilles? Doesn't it make your blood boil, child, to think that despite our not so distant history, explosions of raw Human talent had germinated empires stretching far beyond our means? Ancient magic, Faith magic, and... Necromancy... evolved entirely on its own, surprising even the Hvítálfar."

"The Elves…" Gwen reiterated.

"Yes, yes." Lady Grey smiled. "As for Elven intervention, there exists no lack of circumstantial evidence. That said, the Hvítálfar's schemes are beyond human history, if simply because the original contractees, their children, and their scions, had less life in them than the lowest Träälvor. Where the Hvítálfars have interfered in history, we have only ruins to tell the tale. For instance, Sumeria's rise to power hinted heavily at the involvement of the Fair Folk."

"Sumeria... Gilgamesh? I thought that part of the world consists of nought but Elementals and Black Zones?"

"Indeed." Lady Loftus took a sip to wet her lips. "Present-day academics believe the Mesopotamian intervention by the Hvítálfar may have to do with the growing potency of the Eleventh Dynasty and the rise of the Canaanites, who by now had developed a potent form of Faith-craft. Do you know of Enkidu?"

"The man-bull."

"Right. Gilgamesh's constant companion, was a being 'created by the Gods' to interfere with the urban King Gilgamesh's conquest. From what we know of the noble Elementals residing in the Babylonian basin, Enkidu was likely a simulacrum of sorts— a Flesh Golem created by the Archon of the Elementals, Ishtar, keeper of the Sacred Plains. According to the surviving manuscripts, the Golem was peerless in combat and all but resistant to magic. If so, how could a fledgeling King defeat such a being created from the raw magic of creation?"

Gwen's brain bloated from the flood of information. Elementals, deserts, ancient history, Faith Magic, Spellcraft— But then again, wasn't that the nature of history? The chronicle of Humanity was by nature an interwoven web of causation, tottering from one tragedy to the next, with kingdoms rising and falling like sandcastles at high tide.

"From the Epic of Gilgamesh, the poets speak of a companion of the King— a 'temple maiden' called Shamhat. She left his side, alone, mind you, to tame the Golem with her demi-divine body. In the desert, she made love to the creature for seven days and seven nights, until the Enkidu's angst abated."

"… how lewd."

"Poetic epics, much like our popular vid-cast, frequently whets its audience with high appeals to low appetites." The Lady laughed, pointing to Gwen's exposed ankles. "Have you seen your IIUC broadcasts? I am afraid not even the highest institutions of learning is above titillating the audience for ratings."

Gwen hid her cringe with another biscuit.

"Anyway," the Lady continued. "Enkidu has no gender. It's a golem. It has no genitals. Elementals do not reproduce as we do. It is neither male nor female. How does one make love to that?"

"… the Epic's composers must have had an incredible imagination."

"Haha… indeed. Of course, now we have confirmation that Shamhat was a Ljósálfar, an acolyte overseeing the Sumerian Sects. Our Hvítálfar herders wanted to see if our tenacious selves, capable of populating the harshest of habitats, could be a war potential against Ishtar."

"We were the Elves' spell fodder?" Gwen stated incredulously. "But…"

"And therein lies the Hvítálfars' dilemma. Humans, up to a certain point, whether now or in history, are easily steered, at least at first. Unlike the other races, say the Dwarves, with their ageless tradecraft, or the Green-skins, with their versatile mutability, or the Mermen, unparalleled in their propagation, what Humans excel in— is chaos."

"Chaos?"

"Raw, unmitigated, chaos— which we shall call innovation, invention and experimentation." The Lady's face grew flushed. "That's the beauty of our race, Gwen. Humanity can neither be contained or controlled. We proliferate regardless of the circumstances. With the meagrest aid, the slightest of hints, the most fragile seed of knowledge, we can bring about great booming Towers that defy distance to suck the marrow from Terra herself! Our benefactors may have withheld the true knowledge empowering magic— but Humankind overcame! The Dwarves sold us their Runecraft for food and materials, so we mimicked their Mandalas! The Mermen's attacks revealed the abundance of resource in the ocean, so now we harvest their kin, year on year!"

The Lady paused for effect.

"It is undeniable that modern magic and its foundations were never ours. Yet, it is without a doubt that we Humans are the legitimate successors of Spellcraft as it now exists. Human magic lacks nuance, as the Hvítálfar would say, and stability, so say the Dwarves— but it's ours. Only in our hands, does it flourish, do you see?"

"I do." Gwen felt as though passing through a threshold. "To surmise, the methodology of magic is akin to language, right? Incantations are the words moulding the mana, invocations its grammar, its resultant metaphors and synecdoches are the spells we shape. IMS— is arcane linguistics, for Humans. And like English, it is constantly evolving. Though its origins are myriad and rooted all over the world— from culture to culture, race to race, its semantics remain coherent enough to communicate every idea, from the simplest order to the most empathic Ode. What the Elves had begun, and we Humans propagated, is now a common and accessible linguistic system for all Humanity to tap into sorcery, heedless of racial and cultural backgrounds!"

Lady Loftus carefully lowered her tea. "Brilliantly surmised. Very concise. No wonder Henry saw something special in you. You're not just beauty and brawn, my dear! What a dangerously brainy little kitty you are."

"Why isn't this common knowledge?" Gwen asked. "I feel embarrassed to be so delayed. Not even Master was forthcoming, and he taught me Dimension Door out of his very own Spellbook."

"Oh, there's much you will need to un-learn. Since you mentioned Spellbooks, let's move onto that. The Grimoire, as you know, is a fundamental aspect of the Tower System your Master set up. The spells contained therein are accessible by anyone with the CCs and the talent, a pillar of the Mageocracy's centralised infrastructure. Had you stayed on the Frontier, you would have spent your whole life collating CCs to purchase the spells crafted by your betters. But now— furnished with proper access to the source of Spellcraft, you may compose your own. A spell, when deconstructed, is merely an arcane syntax, as you have interpreted."

Gwen understood what her matron was saying. Give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day. Teach a man Magic Missile, and he'll roast squirrels for life. Pre-written spells were rote learning. True Spellcraft was academia.

"Another question?" The Lady was enjoying herself.

"I do." Gwen had been fermenting one since last year. "I have a question regarding Affinity. Is it possible for a Mage's Affinity to exceed 10?"

The Lady cocked her head ever so slightly. "Worried about Miss Lindholm?"

Gwen's eyes grew wide and innocent. How did her patron discover Elvia's talent so quickly? What did the Lady know?

"I take the Familiar ritual was successful?"

"… Yes, ma'am."

"I see." Maxine Loftus grew contemplative. "I suspected that at some junction, I will have to raise the topic of Miss Lindholm with you, though if you are acquiescent, I am more than happy to discuss the dilemma now."

"Dilemma, ma'am?"

Lady Loftus carefully stirred the sugar. The tea set added the milk, though she did not take up the fragrant beverage. "First, let us address the matter of Miss Lindholm's undeserved Affinity. It is NOT fourteen. Magister Rendrey and Walken are right in suggesting that the script is in error. Miss Lindholm's original talent is admirable but common. Even with her Alraune, she remained merely impressive. Unlike you, her ascension would not be for another decade or two, or five, not until the Alraune matures— whereupon she shall make a passable Combat Cleric."

"Is Kiki not... suited for Evee?"

"Why would it be? Let me be honest— the Alraune is wasted on her. I know a dozen students, Prime Mages like your Master Henry, who're still waiting to discover their life-long companions."

"Oh…" Gwen felt her heart prickle.

"Of course, the nature of Spirits and their acquisition is less predictable than the English weather. No amount of longing will gift them with Miss Lindholm's fortune."

Fortune? Gwen felt guilt lick her insides. If Sulfina hadn't gotten to Evee, Yue and Whetu in time, she would have shipped three desiccated carcasses back to Australia.

"An excess of fortune, however, is a terrible thing," the Lady stated ominously. "I understand you have transactions with members of the Ordo Draconis, dear. What I don't understand is why you would offer up your dearest friend to be a 'Vessel'."

"A… 'Vessel'?" Gwen felt cold sweat soaking her dress. "What do you mean, ma'am?"

"A Vessel, an Essence holder, a—" Lady Loftus appeared to study her face to see if she was lying. When Gwen's guileless orbs spoke of complete earnestness, her House Mistress grew incredulous. "Oh, dear… You didn't know?"

"I…" Gwen bit her lower lip. "I've sort of just blundered and blasted my way through obstacles thus far."

"Goodness gracious. I take back what I said earlier." Lady Loftus raised a hypercritical brow. "You understand YOURSELF to be a Vessel of the Mythic that resides in Ayers Rock, do you not? Your brother-in-craft was as forthright as he could, but as you know, Henry was a deeply private individual."

"Ma'am, do you know about Almudj?"

"Should I know about Almudj?"

Gwen grew silent.

"Gwen." The Lady's tone grew serious. "I am your custodian and patron. Peterhouse has thus invested so far, two Senior Magisters and a Meisterhood, not to mention countless favours. For your instruction, I may be giving up much more. In return, it is your responsibility, your very purpose, to live up to mine— and Henry's— expectations. You must make up for what Sobel destroyed."

"And what is that?" Her tone grew low and agitated.

"Do you recall what you told Henry?"

"A deterrent," Gwen recalled her grandstanding.

"Correct. Peace through the threat of absolute destruction— mutual if it must be. Wars are coming, kitten. We will need your talents in the days to come to prevent another Sydney."

"You can't be serious." Gwen gulped. They were tottering from crisis to crisis, and she could hardly catch her breath. "With who?"

"With whoever wishes to threaten our cities. The Mermen, the Undead in Eastern Europe and North Korea, the savage Demi-humans of the steppes, the Elementals East of the Fire Sea; Spectre's shadow. We have been at peace, in a manner of speaking, for three decades, Gwen. Do you know how bloated the Empire has grown? How overtaxed the Communists have become? How ravenously the Americans plundered the New World? Humanity is a simmering vessel, and without the means to vent…"

The magic kettle whistled.

"… We have strayed." The Lady sighed. "Back to the matter at hand. You are a Vessel, by definition if nothing else. Miss Lindholm is a Vessel. Each Vessel wishes for certain boons when they take on their agreement with their respective Mythics. You wished for life— I assume, to offset the Void ravaging your body; and Miss Lindholm wished for unparalleled proficiency in her profession of choice."

"So, the Affinity isn't because of Sen-sen—" Gwen almost bit her tongue. "That's the Ginseng… from the Mythic's sanctuary."

"The Ginseng is the conduit," Lady Loftus clarified. "The more profound the conduit, the more conducive the contract. I wonder, what was your conduit?"

"So Elvia…"

"Is no more improved than she would have been otherwise. Assuming the girl began with an Affinity of 4, I would place her Affinity at 8— a tragedy, considering what two Plant Mages could have achieved with the same opportunity. Think, Gwen; the Mageocracy has missed a chance to produce two facsimiles of Henry. Why didn't you listen to Ollie? Or Mattias? They're right, you know. One wonders why you take your senior's advice for nought. Had you made the right choice, two Great Houses would defend her to the last heir, while she could have remained simple and sheltered."

Gwen said nothing. Her mind was too numb to respond.

"Now, thanks to your generosity." Lady Loftus' criticism was without mercy. "Miss Lindholm will have to make up to us. A Mythic's Vessel makes the rarest of Mages, you of all people should know. Why else are you special? How many Void Mages may use Void Magic with impunity? Who can do what you can do, at your age? You've put Miss Lindholm in a precarious position, Gwen."

"What will happen to Elvia?"

"Once her talents are verified." Lady Loftus was once again studying her face. "Your friend will be transferred into the Order of the Bath, where she shall work toward becoming a Knight Companion."

The colour in Gwen's cheeks rose several degrees. "No way. A Knight's Companion…"

"... Is a title and a Rank, denoting membership in the Order of the Bath. There exist only twenty-four official posts otherwise." Lady Loftus sighed wistfully. "Good grief. The dangers of ignorance."

"Sorry." Gwen was still reeling from the idea that she and Elvia were "Vessels". Why hadn't anyone told her before? Then again, who in her orbit had been an expert on Draconic vassals? Ayxin of course— but the Dragon Princess owed her nothing. If anything, their mutual admiration for Jun made them natural competitors. "Ma'am, is this common knowledge?"

"Nothing involving Dragons can be common. In this regard, we have only hearsay. A better instructor than I... might know more."

Gwen tried to regulate her breathing.

"Which brings us to an unpleasant topic of conversation." Lady Loftus drew a Glyph in the air. The windows slowly swung inward, leaving the room utterly silent but for the crackling of the inscribed yew logs. "Gwen, can you clarify what your intentions are with Miss Lindholm?"

"Protect her with everything I've got, Knight or no Knight," Gwen stated.

"… I mean as a companion."

"Oh… OOH." Gwen's lips made an "o".

"Always check for crows on your outings…" Lady Grey pointed outside the window, were a pair of crows, ubiquitous in London, sat opposite the French windows. "Or use your Portable Habitat. Why in God's name would you do that sort of thing in plain view, when there's still light? At least wait for nightfall."

"Ah…" Gwen choked on embarrassment. She doubted her conversation with Elvia would have gone nearly as well if they had discussed it in the privacy of the Habitat's bedroom.

"It was just as well they were my Crows, and not Ravenport's."

"Oh thank God…" The unceasing revelations had made her quite breathless. "That said, milady, am I to understand you've been spying on me?"

"Firstly." Lady Loftus raised a finger. "It is not my business to question how you spend your time, or with whom you find your fun. What I loath is your lack of discretion."

"Understood." Gwen lowered her eyes. "I shall be cautious next time."

"Secondly." Lady Loftus raised a second finger. "Being a Vessel completely complicates one's political capital."

Gwen grew silent. She empathised with her patron's position— but what about Evee? Had she inadvertantly fucked her friend sideways?

"Thirdly, should Miss Elvia elevate herself— and she shall— that will mark her as an Exalted of The Most Honourable Order of the Bath, a bearer of its burnished sun crest. Her duty means she shall not have you or anyone as a carnal companion. Should she renounce celibacy, her position and the Relic she bears—"

"And what if Evee doesn't want to enter the Ordo?"

"So long as she is a citizen of the Mageocracy, a healer, and a Vessel, what has been squandered will not be squandered again."

"She can't refuse?" Gwen's tone grew menacing.

"Why the upset? It's not as though you can deny your future Magisterhood." Lady Loftus remained unfazed. "The Mageocracy will not risk either of you slipping from its grasp; your extinction would be a preferable alternative— that or Stasis."

"If I may be so ungrateful." Gwen fought back the death-chill in her chest. "May Elvia and I leave for the New World? I have received offers from them as well if you must know."

"Of course, and endure WORSE terms? With folk who don't harken after Henry, who don't care for your companions? What would Gunther think of such ungracious behaviour? Not to mention Miss Lindholm, with her ordinary talent, would not survive a year in the Protestants' Lutheran Seminary. They'll break her like a bare-back heathen on the wheel. If you wish to cut and run, Gwen, I would recommend China. Naturally, we would withdraw our Magisters, and Wen's Meisterhood will be rescinded. But I am sure the Godless Communists would welcome a Void Mage."

Now that the Lady's sweetness was spent, Gwen realised that Maxine Loftus was far from gentle and beyond terrifying.

The Lady's candidness, however, was refreshing.

"I understand." Gwen nodded. "My enquiry was… academic."

"And my advice merely hypotheticals." The Lady smiled. "Remember, whatever you wish for Miss Lindholm, think of your own future as the herald of our cause— consult someone… Richard perhaps, or Gunther, if you find us oldies wanting. Don't let either of your Affinities— or your patron, decide for you."

"I understand." Gwen took a deep breath. "… out of curiosity, Ma'am, just how much of my condition do you know?"

"How much do you wish to divulge?"

"I'd prefer none."

"Then leave it at that. Didn't Henry say that Magisters and secrets all go together like Dragons and Virgins? It comes with the title, dear."

"One last thing, if I may be so forward— society and nobility aside, what would the Tower, the Mageocracy even, perceive of my… indelicacy with Miss Lindholm?"

The matron of Peterhouse smirked. "It's not all doom and gloom, Gwen. Let me conjure a Greater Image for you. As you are now? You will lose a significant portion of your freedom. Later, if you graduate a Magister of the Middle Faction, most if not all will turn a blind eye, as your worth far outweighs the trouble of censure. And if and when you become a Tower Master, even the Grand Master of the Order of the Bath will grin and bear whatever you wish to do with their Companion. He may even see your affection as a leash, well worth a sullied Companion. Beyond that..."

Maxine Loftus took a deep breath.

"… there are two endgames. If you become a great bower for the Mageocracy as Henry was, then truly, there are very few shackles to your freedom other than those of your own making— family, Apprentices, favoured folk. If you become its vorpal sword— as Sobel was meant to be, then who would dare question anything you do?"

"I see." Gwen rested both trembling hands on her knees. "Thank you, Maxine. For being so sincere with me. In the same vein, may I know more about my Master? I know so very little about him."

"You may." Her patron willed away the tea tray. "But our present lesson is at an end. I have business elsewhere. Do remember that the IIUC's final results will be out in a fortnight, so plan your London outings accordingly. Heed well my advice, child. Speak to your 'friends'. If you feel depressed, go and see the sights in Cambridge. Also, ask Keridwen to change you into something more official. You are, after all, a Cambridge celebrity…"

London.

Nightingale College.

The first medic-call of the year sounded across the courtyard of the research building. Though not a principal port of call in London, the teaching hospital does cater to patient overflows arriving from combat zones all over the Mageocracy and its territories.

Deep within the hospital's bowels, the Teleportation Circle linking it and the Shard flared Mithril and quicksilver, pulsing in tune to the siren's wail keening after the hospital's skeleton staff.

A physician in customary white, stained with congealed gore, appeared beside a gurney to greet the rush of nurses and doctors stationed since the evening. Promptly, the incoming physician drew a Glyph in the air.

"Magus Joseph Carmichael, requesting triage handover to Nightingales!" the transferring doctor called out. "The patient is Magus William Fitzgerald, Code Orange, suffering from acute pulmonary obstruction due to quasi-magical diffusion of the alveolar. Currently, the patient has a situ Weiss-Hermann portable Ventilator implanted via trach. Pharmacology reports 5mg of Prilosec per alchemy cycle, catalysed by 1mg of Stirgenix. Potion injectors are infused with 12mg Ipratropium infused with 30-70 Wyvern serum."

The receiving practitioner caught the glowing Glyph.

"Magus Derek Hope, initiating handover." Hope took one scroll through the data slate and deflated. "Jesus... are you serious?"

"Yes. Acute trauma of the left lumbar, punctured lung, poison, and Arachnid Hex, tier 4-5."

"Active?"

"Repressed, for now."

"Christ, he's sixty-four? Multiple combat tours… old injuries— the Boer Conflict, the Ashantee War— That's two decades ago. How the hell is he still standing? Why was an old vet like that still serving in Ireland?"

"Don't ask me." Doctor Carmichael shook his head. "We're barely keeping the floor open over at Dublin at the moment. I hear the staging zone on the Isle's a bloodbath."

"Dare I ask why Magus Fitzgerald has arrived at our teaching hospital rather than Black's or Royal Alfred's or Cambridge?"

"I don't. Do you?"

The room grew uncomfortably silent.

The gurney's diagnostic magic beeped.

"Not at all." Hope swore internally. The patient, as far as he could tell, was a political case. For various reasons, the older generation of combat vets possessed bodies insensitive to magical healing. Some of them had wounds from Hexes that no longer existed, thanks to the Mageocracy's extreme prejudice during the Beast Tide. Others had scar tissues both inside and out, piling on top of damage decades in the making. Nonetheless, any hospital that allowed a "War Hero" to die received a black mark. To send such a patient to a teaching hospital to allow the younger physicians to test their mettle under the pretence of triage, was a way to preserve the reputation of the Great Hospitals.

"Who's rostered right now?" Magus Hope turned to his team of nurses. "In the Emergency, I mean."

"Doctor Lindholm and Witherspoon," the machine-nurse replied without hesitation. "Ser Witherspoon is a fine physician, and as for Doctor Lindholm, she's the one with the reputation, sir, she's why Lady Aston did the shakeup last year."

"Director Aston— do you mean the trouble maker who got herself a pledged Knight of St Michael by sucking eggs?"

"Yessir."

"Hmm…"

"I should go." Doctor Carmichael returned to the circle. "I assume our patient will receive your utmost duty of care? He is, I should remind you, a holder of the Gallant Cross. There aren't too many Maguses with that sort of standing left in London. The home office will not be pleased."

The portal flared.

With Carmichael fled, Hope turned to his attendant. "What else do you know?"

"Not much. Doctor Lindholm has recused herself from Lady Astor after the Director returned to Cliveden. She is also a close associate of Lady Rothwell, though only the SRC President and not the family. Beyond that, I do not believe she has any sponsors. Oh, she also chums with one of the Frontier contestants from the IIUC, the Void Sorceress."

"You seem to know an awful lot, Marie."

"It's common knowledge in the ward, sir. After she stirred up all that trouble with Lady Astor and got Nancy and the girls removed from GOS, here at Nightingale, we've kept an eye on her."

On the gurney, the diagnostic displays began to issue the inevitable warning signs. As expected, the alchemical infusions were failing.

"Very well." Hope acknowledged the time for deliberation and discussion was over. "Put him with Miss Elvia. Send her an assistant as well. Tell her to do her best— and that she won't be held accountable even if the Magus succumbs to his natural condition."

"She won't?" The nurse appeared disappointed.

One glare from the Magus was enough to wilt his nurses' questioning eyes. The stupidity of these waifs was beyond comprehension. Were they afflicted with Enfeeble Minds from birth?

"Go now!" Hope barked, tapping his slate to confirm the transfer. "And don't forget to tell Miss Elvia we have the utmost confidence in her ability to apply her training."

Sanctioned Schools of Magic

(Sigils by Lampshade)

Evocation

The most commonly awakened school in modern Spellcraft, Evocation is a school that manipulates energy. Evokers become the mainstay of the citizen-soldiers, wielding spells of Fire, Earth, Water, and more exotic elements such as Lightning or Radiance. As Evokers mature, they become more specialised in a particular elemental affinity, taking up specialist equipment, attunement and contract Spirits. In the media and propaganda, the Evoker is the archetype Mage, the spell slinging, fireball blasting Sorcerer of yore, tapping into and drawing limitless power from the elemental planes.

Abjuration

Abjurers weave spells that protect, block, dispel or banish. An Abjurer is a common but highly sought after profession. Abjuration made Shielding Stations possible. An Abjurer possesses the unique ability to utilise restoration spells such as De-Curse and the ability to dispense protective AOE combat buffs. Specialists in this field typically contract elementals of earth, ice, and water, all of which are relatively common.

Conjuration

Conjuration is a school that materialises creatures or materials for the caster. A Conjurer becomes a one-man army after mastering higher tiers of Magic. Through Familiar rituals and or contracting Magical Creatures, Conjurers gain life-long companions that grow with the Mage in power. Due to this advantage, it is not uncommon for Summoners to become several magnitudes more powerful than Mages of equal tier. The disadvantage of Conjuration is the persistent mana drain caused by most of its sustained effect spells and crippling loss of combat potential to specialised Abjuration such as Banish. Certain Conjurers choose to focus on the summoning of items or beings. These valuable individuals are also responsible for the Teleportation Circles around the cities.

Divination

Diviners reveal information. They are highly prized for their cognisant abilities in detection and foretelling. Many diviners go on to become telecommunication specialists, becoming key intelligence and strategist operatives who serve a multitude of critical roles. Other schools of Divination focuse on disaster deterrence, by reading the threads of time and fate. Despite their lack of offensive capabilities, it is said that the most influential Magi on the United Nations Council is the Oracle of the Acropolis. Though the Divination school has no preference for elemental afflictions, it is a school that synergises well with subsequent studies of other schools. Many Diviners go on to become Magus or Magister.

Enchantment

The school of Enchantment remains the most difficult and expensive to train of all schools. Capable of imbuing items and buildings with protection, strengthening materials and extending persist phenomena - Enchanters are essential to humanity’s cities. The world's most successful manufactoriums and artisanal workshops are all operated by skilled Enchanters. Unlike regular Mages, many Enchanters seek to master additional schools such as Transmutation or Abjuration for the creation of magical items. A dangerous school within-a-school of Enchanters are those whose abilities allow them to control, manipulate, and glamour the minds of others. Mind Mages are closely watched by government forces, for the misuse of mind-altering effects on others could lead to life-imprisonment or banishment.

Illusion

Illusion is the magic of mirage, the altering of perceptions to create false visions. Many Illusionists go on to become involved in espionage if they choose the path of the militant. Many others, however, have elected media and entertainment, creating spectacles for adoring audiences, becoming superstars of immense prestige. Illusion spells which deal damage attack the mind directly, creating what is known as psychic feedback.

Transmutation

Transmutation is an unusual school in that it changes the caster and the objects they touch, manipulating the properties in powerful ways. In the present world, Transmuters become builders, architects and creators, working hand-in-glove with Enchanters. In combat, some Transmuters choose to specialise in manipulating life itself, changing plants, creatures, and even themselves to become deadly and proficient in the art of war. It is said that Transmuters posses the most versatile school of all and enjoy the most lauded status after that of Evokers. An overall well-rounded School of Magic.

Biomancy

The Clerical School of Healing Magic has always existed in human history in one form or another. Some say that this was the original 'School' of magic. In Modern Spellcraft, Clerical magic exists between Conjuration and Evocation, and is considered a 'hybrid school of magic'. Exclusively, Biomancy requires Mages attuned to the Positive Energy Plane. The combination of Healing Magic and Positive Energy often shrouds the Biomancer with a 'halo' of sorts.

Necromancy

The dreaded School of Necromancy was banned after WWI following the Geneva Convention. Currently, the school is studied only by Sects authorised by the U.N, arguing that the study of souls and the afterlife is inseparably connected to matters of faith, culture and religion. For many scholars, the irony of the matter is that Necromancy is most likely the most ancient school of magic in the world; dating back to the Egyptian Pharaohs, in an age when man first uncovered magic. As such, it is more accurate to say that the summoning, raising, and animation of the dead is strictly forbidden, as much of the old world had turned into ash and cinder following The Great War with the Undead.

Post Note: Other schools of magic likely exist but lie beyond the reach of the ordinary Mage. These include Faith Magic, ancestral worship, old world shamanism, naturalism, animalism, and so forth. By the same measure, rumours of humans learning the magic of monsters, magical beings, and demi-humanoids, or Demi-humans learning Human Spellcraft abound.

Elements & Elemental Magic

by Me (best with white background)

Prime Material Plane (The Material Realm)

The Primary Elements of the Material Plane are what Astrologists propose our world is made from. It is the very stuff of existence itself, existing in perfect harmony. It is suggested that when a Mage is attuned to a certain element, it is because that an excessive element is present within their body. Though exceedingly rare, there exist individuals who are born capable of tapping into all four Prime Elements, becoming mages capable of manipulating 'wood' and other natural phenomena, hypothesised by Eastern Spellcraft as an individual element.

Prime Energy Planes

The Positive Plane - The Plane of Positive Energy is a place of pure life-force, it is where the healers draw their power to heal and mend one's broken bones. The Undead are fearful of this energy, and the unwary caster should be as well. Too much positive power without the ability to channel it may lead to strange mutations and cancerous tumours.

Negative Energy - Where Positive is life, Negative is death. The Undead are tethered to this plane, drawing their undead lifeforce from this domain. When 'living' creatures utilise Negative Energy, they suffer Negative Drain, rapidly diminishing vitality. In the old days, the Mage world saw the Negative Energy as just another source of power. After WWI, Necromancy became highly controversial, gaining a dangerous reputation as a forbidden craft.

Prime Elemental Planes

Earth - Earth is one of the most useful and common elements awakening in Human Mages, it is the element responsible for most of our industry, mining for Mana Crystals, building our cities, and so on. It is said that one-fifth of Mages awaken as Earthen Mages.

Air - The Elemental Plane of Air, as the name suggests, a place of gases and open space, frequently filled with thunderstorms, blizzards, microbursts, tornadoes and all manners of interesting weather phenomenona. Of the four common Elemental Affinities, Air is the rarest.

Fire - Fire is another common element Mages manifest. Ancient legend has it that Fire was stolen from the Gods themselves. With Fire, man has created many useful tools and beaten back tides of monstrous creatures. Fire is another common element for Mages to possess and the mainstay of Combat Evokers, Transmuters and Conjurers.

Water - Assumed to be a near-infinite volume of water, this Elemental Plane is pivotal to the survival of modern magical cities. The Plane provides Human cities with its supply of fresh water. Likewise, human cities pump its waste-water back into the Elemental Plane. It is theorised that the Oceans are directedly connected to this Elemental Plane. Water Affinity is exceptionally common among coastal communities.

Para-Elemental Planes

Ice - Ice is the most common Para-Element to awaken in Mages. It is a supremely useful element that creates drops in temperature - being a combination of Air and Water. The Plane of Ice is said to be a tumbling expanse of frigidity with islands of glacial ice. Ice provides good defence and offence capabilities, as well as chill and slow effects against water-based enemies.

Ooze - Ooze is a stranger element, scarce and virtually non-existent outside of isolated magical bloodlines. Ooze Mages are specialists, pending on their school, with spells that focus on entrapment, debilitation, poison, and other strange and mysterious effects. A speciality of the Ooze Conjurer is the ability to summon creatures that exist within that elemental plane - Oozes. It is theorised that some oozes are virtually indestructible except by other Specialist Mages. Ooze is the combination of Water and Earth. Mud is a derivative of Ooze, though far closer to the Elemental Plane of Water than true Ooze Mages.

Magma - The Magma Mage is unique indeed; a rare combination of Fire and Earth. These Mages are typically found where there are volcanic islands or fjords. Their power combines the physical prowess of the Earth Mage, with the damage potential of the Fire Mage.

Smoke - Smoke is the marriage of Air and Fire. Smoke is an element that is said to only exist in legend. Very little is known about Smoke Mages or the Para-Elemental Plane of Smoke.

Positive Quasi-Elemental Planes

Mineral - Mineral Mages take their capabilities in the form of specialised mineral or metal to which the caster is attuned. As such, the Element creates distinct abilities that differ from Mage to Mage. A Mage capable of summoning volcanic stones, for instance, would generate obsidian shards which are brittle and fragile but possess dangerous offensive capabilities. Jedite Mages create powerful super-dense defensive layers. There are rumours that King Midas was a Gold Mage.

Lightning - Existing between the Air and Positive Elemental planes, Lighting is the most penetrative of all elements due to its electrical nature. Lightning causes stun and paralysis, in addition to manifesting instantly and delivering payloads in a fraction of a second. Lightning Mages are preferably Evokers, Conjurers or Transmuters. The Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning is said to be a place of plasma, ozone and endless thunder.

Steam - Where the Positive and Water Elemental Planes meet, one gets Steam. Steam is a rarely seen element. Only a handful of Mages are on record as having tapped into a Goldilocks' zone where two Elements meet in harmony. There is little known about the Plane and its Elementalists.

Radiance - Radiance is formed from Fire and Positive energy. Often mistaken as the power of Light. In theory, it should be useless, too scattered to be used offensively - too dispersed to be used defensively. It takes a special Mage, therefore, to change something so immaterial into a powerful projection of destruction. At a certain intensity, Radiance is capable of melting through solid steel, boiling blood, searing flesh, and severing matter. Not much is known about the Elemental Plane of Radiance.

Negative Quasi-Elemental Planes

Ash - A derivative of Negative-Fire that manifests corrosive ash and black flames. The most destructive element in the array of Elemental Planes. Ash Mages rarely live long as the Element eats away at their minds. It is said that Ash Mages exist as tortured existences whose ruinous powers rack their bodies with unbelievable pain. If one is Negative Drained by an Ash Mage, one loses one's seven emotions and six desires.

Dust - Dust is the most stable of the Negative Quasi-elements, next to Salt. It doesn't have any offensive capabilities of its own but enjoys the same corrosive ability drain as Ash. The most annoying part of fighting a Dust Mage is their ability to deaden all elemental damage. Due to its abrogating nature, Dust consumes Fire, Water, Air, Lightning, even Ash. It is said to be the most stalwart Abjuration Affinity next to Mineral.

Salt - Salt is a stable Negative Quasi-element, with the additional ability to form into a range of crystalline shapes. It's capable of dealing extreme damage to Slimes and Oozes, as well as an assortment of creatures composed mostly of water - including Humans. The desiccation caused by the Salt Mage draws out elemental water from the bodies of their enemies. Elemental Salt is different from mortal salt, found in oceans and sometimes in rocks; it is formed where Negative Energy and Water meet. Salt is the least destructive of Negative Quasi-elements.

Void - As the name suggests, the Elemental Plane of Void is a place of vast, perpetual darkness, where strange, forgotten things lurk in a vacuum darker than black, always hungering. It is a Plane consisting of the very idea of nothingness, a place where forgotten things end up. When manifested in the Material Plane, Void consumes matter, then disappears. Like Steam and Smoke Mages, very little is known about Void Mages. Arguably, the most famous Void Mage in Modern History is Elizabeth Sobel.

Spellcraft and Metaworld Glossary

Astral Body - The cognitively generated projection of one's connection to the Multiverse, visualised via indoctrinated Spellcraft. Typically manifests as a humanoid silhouette with abstract details pertaining to the user's Sigils and Elemental Affinity. Elements are perceived to be within the astrophysical body, while Sigils manifest Externally. Only Mages possess Astral Bodies.

Physical Body - No matter how powerful a Mage may be, they are still biological creatures that need to eat, crap and sleep, subject to Eros and Thanatos, life and death. The Physicality of a Mage tends to reflect the degree of their Elemental affinity. Most infamously, Earthen Mages have rock-hard physiques, Air Mage are frail and flighty, while Lightning Mages have quickened metabolisms.

Anima (Animus) - Drawn from the theory of the Meister Sigmund Jung, the psyche, the Anima (male psyche & common vernacular) and Animus (female psyche) inference a being's subconscious self-awareness. Only sapient creatures are classified as capable of possessing Anima and Animus.

Mana - The Gurus of Hinduism refer to this as spiritual energy or Prana. Chinese Doshi denotes this spiritual energy as Qi. Early Western Theology referred to this energy as Faith or Zeal. Modern Spellcraft unified the term as Mana, a generic word for mystical 'energies' of any kind. The Astral Body produces mana as it interacts with Glyphs and Gates, channelling mana into conduits of the physical body.

Mana Pool - The maximum amount of mana which a Mage can produce. When the Astral Body is no longer capable of producing mana, this is referred to as OOM, or Out of Mana. VMI - Volumetric Mana Index - is the official nomenclature for measuring a Mage's mana pool.

Mana Channel - Often confused with the concept of a Mana Conduit. A Mana channel refers to metaphysical pathways by which Mana produced by the Astral Body enters the Mage's physical body. A Mage's Mana Channels can never be damaged without injury to their Astral body.

Gate and Conduit - A Gate refers to nomenclature describing the effect of non-elementally attuned mana becoming suffused with the Mage's Element. This 'elementally-attuned' mana then feeds back into the physical body. The pathways through the Mage's physical body are referred to as Mana Conduits. Damage to the physical body damages one's Mana Conduits.

Essence - A metaphysical form of energy derived from a being's existence. Referred to commonly as one's 'Soul' or "Spirit" in ancient Spellcraft, contemporary Spellcraft sees Essence as a hitherto little-known form of energy, separate from mana. Creatures possessing great magical power and ego possess higher degrees of Essence. Likewise, sapient beings typically possess greater essence than their non-sapient peers of the same subtype. NoMs, in general, possess little Essence. Human and Demi-human Mages possess immense Essence, a fact profoundly valuable to the study of Necromancy. Theoretical Spellcraft propose that Essence is tied to a Mage's ability to access particular Schools of Magic.

School of Magic (Imperial Metric Schools) - Since unifying the study of Magic under the IMPERIAL METRIC system during the Spellcraft Revolution at the turn of the 20th century, 7 Schools of Magic exist: Evocation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Abjuration, Divination, Enchantment and Illusion.

Hybrid School of Magic - Rarely, some Mages awaken with Magic in between the Sanctioned Schools of Magic, belonging to no School. Of these types of Magic, Biomancy: the manipulation of Postive Energy and Necromancy: the manipulation of Negative Energy, reign supreme.

Awakening - The term is loosely used to describe an Acolyte coming to terms with their first School of Magic and their Affinity for an Element. In Frontier cities, NoM Civilians are filtered, with potential Mages tested for aptitude. In tier 1 cities, Mages naturally grow into their powers, training from an early age. A 'Stimuli Crystal' may be used to induce an Awakening, circulating mana into the recipient as to 'jolt' their Astral Bodies into existence.

Spellcraft - The study of Magic. The Imperial Metric System (IMS) splits spells into 9 Tiers.

Advanced Spellcraft Theorems - Spells whose theory and manifestation fall outside of existing methodology. Most universities study Advanced Spellcraft to push past the current boundaries of human knowledge of Magic. Those who contribute significantly to this study are awarded the title of Meister.

Sanctioned and Unsanctioned Magic - Sanctioned Magic may be purchased by Tower Mages with LDMs, HDMs, and CCs. Unsanctioned Magic may only be acquired through petition. If a Mage is found practising unlicenced Unsanctioned Magic, they are subject to severe punishments and even disbarment.

Sigil - A spiritual manifestation of one's affinity for particular forms of Magic, tied to the generation of one's Astral Body during Awakening. Each school of Magic possesses a unique Sigil under the IMS visualisation doctrine.

Glyph - Sigils exist only in one's mind. When Mages wish to manifest the concept of Sigils externally, they turn to Glyphs. Glyphs vary but may be thought of as symbols of power capable of channelling Magical energy as though a man-made conduit existing outside the Mage's body. Magic Items and Enchantments such as Wards rely exclusively on complex Glyphs and Mandalas.

Mandala - Taken from Tibetian Mysticism, Mandala refers to large-scale, complex Glyph arrays used to support complex Spellcraft manifestations.

Spell - A series of Incantations both somatic and verbal which triggers magical phenomena when exercised with mana from a Mage's Astral Body.

Rite - A spell requiring time, preparation, and setup, typically includes meditation, ritual and complex external components. Rites include city-wide Strategic-Class Spells.

Incantation - Invocations with somatic and verbal components. These are mnemonics which manifest Magic through Sigils. The higher the 'tier' of magic, the more complex and convoluted the number of Major and Minor Incantations. Senior and experienced Mages may specialise in particular spells so that they become 'silent'.

Shield (Mage) - Shield refers to the mental ability for Mages to form a barrier of mana around their physical bodies. Even without training, a Mage is capable of manifesting a membrane of mana, projected just outside of their physical body, which displaces hostile mana and foreign objects. Abjuration specialises in forming persistent Shields and Shields that can manifest on Mages OTHER than the caster.

Acolyte - Neophytes and Acolytes are the colloquial names for beginner Mages. The moniker of Mage or Senior Mage is given to those with mastery over at least one school of magic, meaning access to spells over tier 4.

Magus - A Magus is an arcanist who has gained multiple Schools of Magic through talent or laborious study. To be called a Magus in public, the Mage must undergo examination within a Tower.

Magister - Likewise, a Magister is a peer-reviewed, publically sanctioned Magic Caster. Unlike the moniker of Magus, Magister is a title that comes with the weight of public service and responsibility of upholding the Tower's interest.

Meister - A Meister is a Magister, but not all Magister can become a Meister. A Meister is a Mage who has contributed significant advancement to Spellcraft, and whose work benefits all of Mankind. Claude Van Saint, the famous healer who pioneered modern magical medicine, is a Meister. Philo R. Farnsworth, the man responsible for proving that Illusions may exist as a form of media stored in Capture Crystals, is a Meister. As powerful as famous individuals like Henry Kilroy has been, his preference for keeping his studies wrapt and secret excludes him from the title of Meister.

Magi - A Mage whose power and command over Spellcraft exceed Sanctioned limits, going beyond the 9 Tiers. A Magi rarely concerns themselves with worldly affairs. They are seen as humanity's greatest deterrence against Demi-human and Magical Creature incursions. It is unfortunate that Magi are typically old and venerable.

Sanctioned Mage - A Mage registered under a Tower, beholden to its Laws, Codes of Conduct, and Ethics for Public Practice of Spellcraft.

Rogue Mage - A Free-Mage that is not registered, practices magic freely and therefore perceived as dangerous to society.

Tier (spell) - Tier 1 to 9 of Spellcraft. Tier 1 - 3 is accessible to almost all Mages. This tier is capable of combating individual, as well as groups of Monsters. Tier 4 - 6 exists within the realm of all Maguses as well as most Senior Mages with a single School of Magic. This tier is capable of wiping out Monster lairs and Demi-human villages. Tier 7 - 9 is open usually to Magisters for reason of both academic-access as well as state sanction. High tiers of Magic can act as strategic-class spells capable of wiping out cities.

Tier (Affinity) - The attunement of a Mage to their element. The higher the affinity, the higher the efficacy for Damage and Mana Cost. As Affinity grows, damage increases by a magnitude of 10% for every observable tier. Likewise, mana cost for spells decreases with higher affinity. Though damage increase appears to be on a linear scale, mana cost suffers from diminishing returns. As such, a spell will never be 'free'.

Higher affinity likewise involves physiological and psychological changes for the Mage in question. Some examples are provided below, taken from the story-in-progress.

Fire Mages are often hot-tempered and over-zealous, possessing a short fuse. Physiologically, they gain resistance to cold and heat.

Air Mages become fragile and whispy, becoming airy and flighty in their mannerisms.

Earthern Mages undergo the most profound physiological change, becoming taller and more robust, with enhanced musculature, increasing both strength and fortitude.

Water Mages are known to be pliable and easily convinced, with personalities that like water, are capable of fitting any vessel.

Lightning Mages gain increased metabolism, becoming prideful and possessive beings.

Ash Mages are known to become apathetic. Their emotions become dulled by the continued practice of Ash Magic until they waste away.

Void Mages are rumoured to exhibit extreme hunger, both physiologically and in terms of their psychological demands.

Ooze Mages are said to be slothful and lazy, unmotivated and uninspired.

Mineral Mages become dispassionate and pragmatic, often, their eyes take on the likeness of their attuned mineral element.

Positive Energy Mages are ubiquitously known to be amiable, friendly and full of life and vigour, possessing a halo of likability.

Tier (Creature) - A generic classification system used in common parlance to ratify the danger-level of a particular creature. Goblins usually have a tier of 1. A raid of Goblins may be up to 4 or 5. An adult Dragon up to 20, pending bloodlines. A Leviathan with a swarm of Mermen may be up to 25 - 30, requiring the mobilisation of a Tower or Towers.

Class (Monster) - Military lexicon for the number of Mages needed to pacify a threat. Soldier-Class infer a single Mage. Lieutenant-Class infers the need for a Magus or two or more Mages. General Class requires a Magister. Usually, a party of Mage may subdue a Lieutenant-Class Magical Creature. A Party of Senior Mages lead by a Magus may defeat a General-Class Creature. Some creatures, such as Titans (overlarge Monsters) and Mythics (Land Gods) are likewise a part of this denomination. Class systems differ from nation to nation and are not an official Tower designation.

Wildlands - Lands not occupied by Human Cities, separated into Zones. Green - relatively safe for NoM habitation. Orange - unsafe for occupancy, safe for Mages to traverse. Purple - dangerous for both Mages and NoMs, contains hostile creatures that will disrupt human habitation. Black - extremely dangerous for human habitation; zone includes creatures that predate on humans. Environmental factors may also play into codified Zoning.

Demi-Humans - Humanoid races that share the Prime Material Plane with Humans. Friendly species include Nordic and Bavarian Dwarves, Keltic Elves, German Gnomes and Hobbits from New Zealand. Hostile races include Goblinoids, Dragonoids, Harpies, Serpentfolk, Merfolk, Mermen (Oceanic), Lizardmen, Dryads, and other sapient beings capable of speech. Like most Magical Creatures, these beings possess a Core. Some Demi-humans are capable of interbreeding with humans. The majority of Human cities are highly xenophobic and racially homogeneous.

Magical Creatures - Creatures generated by nature where the veil between the Prime Material and the Elemental Planes are weak. Current theory infers they are Elemental creatures that manifest into the Prime Material. Magical Creatures possess Cores, which are condensed mana that serve as the anchor of the creature's Essence to the Prime Material, giving it life.

Cores (Creature) - From the lowest Snotling to the highest Ancient Dragon, all Magical Creatures possess Cores. Upon death, the Core shatters, releasing the wild energies contained within. Interesting fact - ancient creatures have highly condensed and compact Cores that are virtually impervious to damage.

Spirit (s) - When a creature possesses a high level of anima, its Core may contain a Spirit. Spirits are potentially found in all forms of Creature Cores, though typically, it is exceedingly rare amongst lower order Magical Creatures. For Spirit-Seekers, the irony lies in that billions of low-tier creatures exist with a lottery's chance of possessing a Spirit. While beings with a high probability of retaining a Core upon death, as well as possessing both ego and anima, are exceedingly rare, and more often than not incredibly powerful.

Spirit (Mage) - A Mage dreams of augmenting their elemental powers with a Spirit. A Spirit may be acquired through directly killing and harvesting Cores, then bending the will of the 'anima' of the creature contained therein to the Mage's service. When successfully attuned, the Spirit is absorbed into the Mage's Astral Body, becoming a part of the Mage's ability to channel Elemental powers. The alternate method of gaining a Spirit is through taming existing Magical Creatures and opening one's Astral Body to the foreign Spirit. This methodology is considered highly irregular and potentially fatal for an unsuspecting Mage incapable of melding with the entity.

Familiars - Typically, the Conjure Familiar spell is responsible for bonding Elemental entities to a Mage's psyche or anima. Such creatures are manifested from the psyche of the caster. When a Spirit is partnered with the Mage, the Anima of the Spirit usually takes the form of the Familiar. When a Spirit is bonded with a Mage already in possession of a Familiar, it usually subsumes the form of the Familiar and replaces it with its own. It is not known if Familiars can become Spirits through gaining ego and animus.

The Frontier - Originally a term denoting cities which are cut off from logistical support after WWII, the term has grown to encompass all Human territories lacking geodynamic Ley-lines. Some Frontier cities such as Merauke, Darwin, Chittagong, and Izmir, are little more than Human havens eking out a living in the wilderness, serving as little more than trading ports and supply stations. Prosperous Frontier cities such as Sydney, Singapore, Naples, Las Vegas, have a quality of life nearing tier 1 cities in all but name, lacking the geography, natural resource and political power to ascend into the status of a tier 1 city. With exceptions akin to continental hub-cities like Singapore and Istanbul, the vast majority of Frontier cities have limited access to Spellcraft and Magitech.

Tier 1 Cities - Cities build around powerful convergences of Ley-lines are considered tier 1 cities. These cities have the near-perpetual energy to supply to their internal and external Shielding Stations. To apply for tier 1 status, a city-state must pass muster with the Commonwealth Towers , joining the network of tier 1 cities.

Shielding Station - A stationary mini-Tower built to withstand the elements, manned by Abjurers and a patrolling team of Mages. At the heart of the Shielding Station is a Resonance Crystal which projects a frequency harmful to all beings possessing Cores not attuned to a Mage. A Shield Generator Tower creates the resonance, visually manifesting as a shimmering 'wall' or 'barrier', and additional, smaller station refract the "Shielding".

ISTC Station - The Inter-State Teleportation Circle Station allow Mages long-range teleportation to and from nations. Prohibitively expensive, ISTC Stations are used only by the upper echelon of Tower Mages and State-level operatives. Most tier 1 cities have ISTC stations to and from the Towers in allied cities, as well as its satellite, Frontier cities.

Tower - A robust structure with inbuilt Enchantments. A Tower can vary in size, function and power. In most cities, the Tower functions as a way-station, a bastion, and a nerve-centre for all magical matter. Even the most basic Tower include the ability to amplify the manifestation of Spellcraft of its stationed Mages, the levitation of its structural body, long-distance teleportation and displacement, and the ability to act as a mass-communication Divination array. A tier 1 city's Ley-lines usually provide power to the Tower. For Frontier cities with limited geodynamic supplies of mana, a significant cargo of HDMs are required.

The Towers - The United Nation Council of Towers (U.N) refers to a coalition of all Towers from around the world formed after World War II's Beast Tide. Akin to the U.N in Gwen's old world, the Towers sanctify and ratify the regulation of Spellcraft, the status of city-states, and mediate the conflicts of interest between Human nations.

Tower (Commonwealth) - Towers belonging to the old British Mageocracy, said to have conquered more than 50% of all Human lands in its Golden Age. The Commonwealth form a loose factional coalition through a shared ideology of social democracy, English as a primary language, and mutual defence-pacts.

Tower (Independent) - Towers not beholden to any specific faction and are wholly independent (on paper). Singapore, Istanbul, Tel Aviv, and Hong Kong are examples.

Tower (State Owned) - Towers which are a part of the global network of Towers but are beholden to their city-states or nations. Almost all non-independent Towers belong to this category.

NoMs - Non-Magical Human Beings, also derivatively known as No-Magic. In the Frontier and tier 1 cities, NoMs serves as a labour force. The majority of NoMs work in agriculture and manufacturing, with a small percentile working in Administration and other white-collar positions. Most NoMs, whether because of indoctrination or the social climate, see the possibility of becoming a Mage, or introducing a Mage to their bloodline to be a way out of a life of oppression, poverty and mediocrity.

House (Mage) - A bloodline of Mages usually with a powerful or influential Progenitor. A House usually includes three or more generations of Mages. A Branch House is when a potential heir, usually a sibling, starts a new House with the same bloodline.

Clan (Mage) - A coalition of Houses sharing the same bloodline. A Clan involves several hundred individuals across a dozen Branch Houses, supporting the Main House. Clans are highly hierarchical. Clans are also unique, pending context and culture. Asian Clans focus on styles or Schools of Magic, while European Clans may focus on bloodline lineage. Some Clans operate by region, heedless of bloodline or magic. Due to the desire to keep a particular bloodline 'pure' or a specific magical talent prevalent, marriage within the Clan is common.

Sect (Mage) - Sects can be religious, ideological, factional, or based upon styles of Magic. In China, old Doushi Clans evolved into Sects, with famous examples such as Kunlun, Huashan, Shaolin, Wutang, The White Lotus Society and so on. The Western world's Sects tend to be based around organised religion, while regions in continental Africa tend to have Sects based around tribal boundaries and shared ancestry.

Currency - The objective means by which trade is conducted. Humans use localised currency, LDMs, and HDMs.

Mana Crystals (LDMs and HDMs) - Mana Crystal is the currency used by Mages across the human cities. In its raw form, they are harvested from places where the fabric between the Prime Material Plane and the Elemental Planes are thin, allowing 'crystalised' shards of mana to grow. Where there are large volumes of Mana Crystals, there are almost always powerful Magical Beasts. While most mana crystals are non-elementally aligned, rare and precious specimens do exist as gems and precious stones. Examples include Jadeite, Citrine, Emerald, Zircon and Turquoise.

Crystal Currency - Defined by the World Bank as a single shard of High or Low-density crystal, containing a standardised (1 LDM or 1 HDM) volume of mana. A shard of LDM resembles a fingerling crystal akin to a 3cm hexagonal pencil. The appearance of LDM currency is exemplified by its semi-opaque state. Comparatively, a shard of HDM is transparent and without blemish, measuring 5 CM. Certification is overseen by a cooperation between the Towers and a local agency (Bank of China, for example). The volume of crystals in circulation is often controlled on the Frontier.

LDMs - Low-Density Mana Crystals are commonly used on the Frontier and as lesser denominations. Raw shards of L-D crystal can be exchanged in terms of weight and total mana volume, but cannot be used as formal currency.

HDMs - High-Density Mana Crystals are the currency of choice for Mages in the tier 1 cities, consisting of compressed and certified crystals.

Currency Cards - Certified cards which contain 10 - 50 - 100 - 1000 HDMs that can be exchanged at local banking branches and Towers.

NoM Currency - Local currency issued by the government for use by the NoM population. In poorer Frontiers and tier 1 cities with large volumes of NoM activity, the local currency is vulnerable to hyperinflation, forgery, and currency fraud.

Demi-humans and Human Currency - As humans are the only race capable of mass-producing crystal currency, Demi-humans have taken to use human currency as the preferred unit of exchange for barter.

Scrolls - Scrolls are a way for mages to save their spells for later use and also to use spells they cant cast themselves. However, with the increasing difficulty of a spell, the cost of the materials of the scroll rises exponentially. It always takes an Enchanter to create one. A book of spells

Grimoire - A book of spells.

Mage Classifications

CQB Mage - A Close Quarters Battle Mage as the name says is a mage focused on melee or low range combat. A Transmuter, the popular military spec is near peerless at lower tiers, growing to encompass the peak of power in the middle tiers. Against Mythics, however, the CQB Mage suffers from a problem of scale. Nonetheless, no dungeon crawl is complete without a CQB Mage.

War Mage - War Mage is a classification of the Towers given to a Mage depending on how much damage a sorcerer can reliably cause given the opportunity. Though technically all Combat Mages are suited for war, very few individuals can sustain enough output to be classified as a danger by themselves. Though the metric is not definitive, a Class I War Mage may wipe out a Hamlet or Village without overtaxing themselves. A Class IV War Mage may cause significant loss of life and infrastructure if left unchecked. A Class VI War Mage may be able to depopulate a city of 100,000 or more alone. If a Mage is capable of such abilities without significant resource allocations, they are considered a public risk, and will almost always be tracked and monitored through their lives.

Artillery Mage - A Mage serving as mobile artillery casting large scale AoE spells. A team usually supports them, providing protection and recovery. Multiple artillery mages with support team can rival the firepower of a Tower in short bursts. In times of War, boxed squadrons of Artillery Mages are seen follow the spearhead of an assault, laying waste to all that bar their way.

Translocator - A Transportation Conjurer specialises in the translocation of personnel and goods. A large mana pool, knowledge in Enchantment and Mandala-crafting is essential for this class of specialists. Heedless of elements, these Mages are common to every mid to significant military engagement.

Cleric / Healer / Combat Healer - The title of Cleric is an archaic one, often used in conjunction with that of the "healer". In modern Spellcraft, there is little difference, as both are seen by the public as angels in white, delivering salvation of magical restoration where ever they venture. In reality, a Cleric is a healer trained in the use of Faith magic. Faith, being a commodity unique to Humanity and its distinct history of arcanistry, has been long-since associated with healing, restoration, and resurrection. In ages past, without Spellcraft, it was only through pure Faith and invocations passed down from generation to generation by especial individuals born with talent and genius that healing magic existed. Today, any Mage capable of channelling Positive Energy will be trained as a healer. A Combat Healer refers to experienced healers who concurrently possess some ability to protect themselves. In peace times, healers work in the Great Hospitals. In times of war, all healers are Combat Healers. There exist as a particular denomination for Clerics specialising in combat-healing in the mid of spellfire— Combat Clerics. These Relic-carrying faith healers, guarded by their retinue of Knights as they lay down the mass-benedictions of Faith, may very well change the tide of a losing battle.

Mage Flight - a party of five Mages, usually with balaned roles, equipped with means of Flight.

Nations and Factions

The Britannic Mageocracy (British Commonwealth) - A Behemoth that starves to death is still the size of a mountain. Though the days of Pax Britannia are long gone, the shadow of Victoria's "Soverenity where the sun never sets," continues to leave its mark on the world. Once the apex Human organisation on Earth, the Mageocracy has had a long way to fall. First came the Undead and the Great War, forcing the Mageocracy to commit resources away from the colonies. This imbalance resulted in the Pan-European Conflict, spearheaded by resurgent competitors mad for the unclaimed Frontiers around the globe. After the 70s Beast Tide, the Mageocracy rebranded itself as the Commonwealth, emphasising cooperation between the far green isle in the north and its vassal Frontiers, from Australia to Singapore to South Africa.

The United States of America - The US weathered the necromantic disaster and the pan-European conflict in the early 20th century quite well, managing to profit significantly from the diaspora of Mages leaving Europe for the New World after each world war. Despite its turbulent history of genocide and slavery against the native Demi-humans of North America, the nation prides itself on individual freedom, democracy, and the single most extensive cache of domestic Magitech armaments outside of Deepholm. After the Beast Tide, the USA lost large swaths of Frontiers, most notably the Great Plains and the Rocky mountains to resurgent Demi-humans, thus confining human settlements to the east and west coastal regions and the Great Lakes.

Central Powers (European Union)

- ETA

The EU is a tightly-knit league of European Nations that survived the Beast Tide of '71 through mutual defence-pacts. Together with France, Italy, Russia and over thirty other member states and city-states, the Central Powers rivals the Mageocracy, China, and the USA as the world's premier Human Superpower.

Germany - Germany has remained one of the leading powers in the world, channelling a large part of its influence through the EU.

France -

Greece is famed for the Oracle of Delphi, who has aided Humanity in mitigating many of its worst disasters. In antiquity, Greece was once the centre of Europe, bridging continents.

Spain -

Russia -

Denmark, Sweden, The Netherlands -

Poland -

Italy -

The Vatican - A Church-State led by Pope Benedict XV centred on Rome. It derives enormous influence indirectly through its institution as well as directly through martial and healing Orders sworn to the Catholic religion. Of all the Judeo-Christian Religion to survive the annuals of time, the Vatican commands the vastest body of believers among Humanity, which they call Christiandom. In aeons past, the Vatican had called up Holy Wars, called Crusades against the Undead of Eastern Europe, or the Elemental Sultanates of the Middle East. Today, the Vatican remains the spiritual centre of Humanity and has not participated in politics since the Spellcraft revolution of the 19th and 20th century.

Australia - For a country where everything is trying to kill you, Australia is by equal degrees the lucky country. As a colony isolated from almost all geopolitical conflicts, the country has weathered the various global disputes, happy to contend with its internal crisis of Mermen, Saurians, Were-roos, Dropbears, Weredropbears. Aracanids, Dingos, Were-bats, Snake-kin, regular roos, Were-mus, regular emus, Gobs, Hobs, Yobbos, Trololos and so on. Australia, perhaps thanks to Henry Kilroy, surprisingly has five Towers, though only Sydney and Melbourne may be counted as equals among their European cousins. The current Master of Sydney is none other than Gunther von Shultz, arguably the most formidable Spellslinger in the southern hemisphere.

China - The "Middle Country" of the Orient lost much of its power in the 19th and early 20th century. However, it is slowly clawing its way back towards the world stage. It had the unfortunate luck of fighting an Undead incursion from Pyongyang in the North-east when the Beast Tide struck. Late to embrace Spellcraft and its revolutionary impact on Humanity, China's long history has gifted it with a unique magical heritage. Presently, the Chines Communists are contending with Undead from the northern Korean peninsula.

Japan - Dai Nippon, like Germany, was a mid-40s industrial superpower afflicted by the resource-wars. Taking advantage of China's rapid decline at the turn of the century, Japan took both Manchuria and Korea in the 1910s, then pushed into the Chinese heartland in the 1940s as an ally of the Reich. Ultimately, the ambition of its rapid expansion placed it on the warpath with the USA. After Germany's surrender, Japan continued to plunder China and Korea until the Americans executed the first Super Massive Strategic Magic on Hiroshima. Post War, Japan quickly embraced Spellcraft manufacturing in both Heavy Industry and consumer Magi-tech. Currently, Japan is divided between its old capital— Kyoto, favouring Demi-human co-existence, juxtaposing the Magi-tech capital, Tokyo.

Korea - Korea refers to South Korea, marked by the purification zone stretching from Kaesŏng to Kosong, as North Korea has completely fallen under the sway of the Cult of Juche. Post Sino and then the Communist split, South Korea, with the help of the USA, has rebranded itself as a primary designer and manufacturer of Magi-tech. Though the country modelled itself after the USA, feudal rule by the Chaebol, the Ten Great Corporations, each ruled by a patriarch, hold absolute sway. Its citizens bitterly jest that in America, the top entrepreneurs can change anytime; in Seoul, the Gods are immovable.

Aztecs - The Aztecs native nation in Meso-America is in a state of continual conflict with the US. For centuries since the arrival of the colonists to the New World, Central America has been plundered, first by the British then by the new nation that rose from slaying the British. Until the Beast Tide, the Aztecan Theocracy at Tenochtitlan had been hardpressed by superior American spell power. Now, after three decades, the Theocracy and its host of Spirit-Shifters will no longer be subordinate to any authority other than their own.

The Incas - The Inca nation managed to reassert itself in the early 20th century, casting off the Spanish colonial government in the Andes. They are in a somewhat critical position, bordering the Amazonian Black Zone. A theocracy built around the Sun Cult and its King, Inti, they also one of the most isolated major human settlement in the world. Today, the nation has developed its first Mage Tower thanks to the Mageocracy and is looking to participate in global trade and politics.

The Ideological Factions

Factions can be broadly categorised by "The Greys", "The Middle Path" and "The Militants" Those three cover most of the ideological spectrum Mages follow across official geopolitical groups.

The Militant Faction - The Militant Faction is composed of Mages that believe that it is the right of Humanity to dominate Earth. They are Mages whose origins often stem from families, Houses, and Clans that rose to the top during the hey-days of Spellcraft. To the far right, members support the extermination of all Demi-Human races by way of Purges; to the left, members wish for Humanity to rule over any useful non-human beings. Though the Militant Faction is the weakest among the top tiers of the magical community, it enjoys immense support among the lower-tiers, and the among the NoMs, who see nationalistic, race-based endeavours as a way out of poverty and suffering. They also have known links to the Vatican, though the depth of that relationship is unknown.

The Grey Faction - The Grey Faction believes that Humanity is only one more race on Earth and that while they should strive for its betterment, it should not attempt to deprive the other sentient races of resources to do so. Practically speaking, the Grey Faction serves diplomats who tie commercial links of variable degrees of savouriness with the Demi-Humans factions. To the right, the extremist Greys believe that without the NoMs, Humanity could abandon the cities and reproduce among the Wildlands as a quasi-magical race. To the left, the socialists conceive of an intermingling of human and demi-human bloodlines, resulting in the blurring of racial and magical segregation.

The Middle Path - The Middle Path Faction is, as its name indicate, not focused on an ideal like the Greys or the Militant. If they have an objective, it would be to balance and arbitrate the other's excesses, assisting the Militant when a Purge is necessary to safeguard a settlement and bankrolling a Grey initiative to guarantee a stable relationship with Demi-human colonies. If anything, the Middle Path can be identified by their labyrinthine network of favours, acquaintance, enmity and friendship it has woven since its funding, promoted in part by its founder, Henry Kilroy. Though the Middle Path prides itself on being the most powerful of factions, it is wildly fragmented in its power base, with a decentralised system of politics.

Demi-Human Races

Dwarves - The Dwarves have their original hearth in the metropolis of Deepholm, said to be located in between the Prime Material and a deposit-rich region of the Elemental Plane of Earth. The Deep is the natural home region of the Dwarves, who have been digging 'upward' to locate resources away from the highly competitive domain within the Elemental Plane itself. These colonies in the Murk are the Citadels, the equivalent of human Frontiers. After the Beast Tide separated Deepholm from the Murk, the stranded Dwarven Thanes in their respective domains attempted, with futility to reach a network of low-ways connecting the Dwarven cities of old called the 'Dyar Morkk'. Some communities, seeing the futility of such a quest, has chosen co-existence with Humans, others chose isolation.

Elves

TBA:

Hvítálfar - White Elves, the Highborn Elves - the near-immortals

Dökkálfar - An elvish term for Dwarves (Elves of Below) Humans generally do not use this term.

Ljósálfar - Light Elves (Beings of Light)

Svartálfar - Dark Elves (Beings of Dark)

Träälvor - Wood Elves (Beings of the Woods)

Elementals - TBA in Collaboration with @Wandysama

Saurians - Saurians live where the Jungles are thick, hot, and muggy, such as in far north Queensland. Like the Greenskins, these primordial creatures have thrived in various forms and created vast civilisations away from Humanity.

Mermen - The Empires of the Sea remain a thorn in the side of the Mageocracy and Humanity in general. Some scholars have even stated that in fact, Terra is not a domain for land dwellers, but rather an extension of the Elemental Plane of Water. Considering how much of the surface is covered by water, the argument is sound. For Humanity, the ocean is a place of tremendous resource, far more extensive than the land itself. The current theory for the Merman empires indicates that incursions are a form of Holy War, or that the undersea Factions are using Humanity to blunt its abundant population, a warier rationale is that an existential conflict for Earth herself fuels the Mermen Kingdoms.

Merfolk - Different to Mermen, the 'folk' aspect infers land-dwelling Mermen, who live in rivers and lakes and estuaries. These are either outright hostile and exterminated, or live in a precarious peace with their human neighbours. Some have even attempted to integrate into civilised societies, though most remain at the stage of tribal governments.

Greenskins - From Snots to Gobs to Hobs to Trolls to the Behemoths, the Greenskins are perhaps, the most prolific of all quasi-native elemental creatures. Pending on the region, they take on elemental subtypes, usually tied to one of the Prime-Elementals. When spikes of mana erupt, creating powerful mana flares near the Earth's surface, Gobs are always first on the scene, appearing en-mass to populate, then desolate the local flora and fauna. Deep in the Wildlands, whole civilisations of Greenskins exist that are millennia old. It is said that the Greenskin are long-time competitors to Dwarves, long before Humans entered the scene, and may even be collectively as old as Elves or Dragons.

"Sterilise."

Elvia completed the cantrip without the need for somatic components, freeing her hands to direct her Spirit and her Familiar. Across the operating table, her machine-nurse, Rosemary, a low-tier healer trained in offering support to her betters, watched with mouth half-open as she went about a two-surgeon operation solo.

Presently, Kiki, her Alraune, kept their patient well-sedated and securely tethered to the table with a proliferation of tendrils.

"Wound looks clean," Elvia spoke to her imaginary co-surgeon. She was used to operating without aides-de-camp. Things had not been easy at GOS since Director Astor left to pursue her political venture, nor were they better here at Nightingale. In the beginning, she had moped in Sylvie's arms, but over time, she grew accustomed to the cold shoulders. If anything, she considered the proliferation of low-tier Mages and NoMs assigned to her a badge of honour. Her lack of malpractice had annoyed the blue-bloods to no end, but there was little else her bullies could do in case Lady Astor materialised again to enact a new round of Purges.

"Healing Word!"

A gentle suffusion overcame her patient's open wound, a broken femur resulting from a drunken, late-night meeting with a taxi.

Elvia focused the viridescent vitality gathered near her fingers. "Sen-sen, follow my lead."

With her right hand, she directed the Ginseng's prehensile whiskers to remove the debris still embedded in the flesh. Sen-sen wasn't as skilled as Kiki, who was experienced by now, but as her Familiar, its Empathic Link guaranteed ease of communication. Concurrently, with her left, Elvia stabbed at the ruined flesh with jolts of healing energy.

A thrill coursed through Elvia's veins as she conjoined the broken bone. Simply put, it was a pleasure to heal.

Underneath her steady lay-on-hands, the man moaned as the tissue of his thighs rapidly began to regenerate. The itch that resulted from magical healing, no matter how repressed, was something that tugged at the soul.

"Ma'am." The nurse offered a sheet of gauze.

Elvia glanced up. A curious anomaly the Ginseng's vitality effected was the ability to uplift a certain offensive organ. In Oriental medicine, the plant was considered "Yang", which Elvia took to mean vigorous.

"... Sen-sen, lower the dosage. Rosemary, can you cover that up? It's in the way."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Beginning suture," she informed the machine-nurse. "Kiki, keep him still."

A glamour from Kiki was enough to send the man back into the void for another five minutes.

The machine-nurse obediently handed over one tool after another. Elvia threaded the hair-thin tendril generated by her Ginseng Familiar through the incision, well-practised after hundreds of sutured bananas, grapes, and NoMs. Once in motion, her hands moved like little white butterflies, working the wound to see the dermis restored.

"Good. We're done. Please clean up." Elvia withdrew her Familiars. "Heart-rate is depressed. Blood Pressure normal. Blood oxygen saturation is holding. Thanks, Rose. Give him a 5mmg Remove Disease immuno-infusion once he's settled."

"My pleasure, Dr Lindholm." The machine-nurse wiped the blood from the patient's leg, revealing only a pink scar. The perfection of the heal was enough to draw a gasp. "Ma'am, how did you do that?"

"Practice?" Elvia stepped back with both hands raised. "Sterilise! — Okay, I am going to make a cuppa, yourself?"

"I'll keep an eye on the patient."

"Right."

With her heart still singing, she ducked into the break room, where already, a big jug of English Breakfast simmered on the stove. She poured herself a cup, added milk and sugar, then checked her Message band.

Six missed Messages. But Elvia didn't much feel like returning them.

Under the pale hospital light, she began to mull.

Her resounding success with her present patients had thoroughly validated the Yinglong's generosity. Sen-sen was an amazing boon to her Affinity in more ways than one. Never in her life, never in any medical books, had she heard of a newly-bonded Spirit Familiar having both high-ability and unwavering obedience. For instance, though her Alraune followed her lead, communication errors, disagreements and incomprehension of context often resulted in less than sterling results. With Sen-sen however, she had acquired a simulacrum, one with which she could generate as many pairs of helping hands as her concentration could muster.

The control, the finesse, the exactitude offered by Sen-sen was orgasmic compared to the primitive prodding afforded by vague fingers or rune-scripted surgical tools. As a practitioner of magical medicine, she could imagine a future where, if she possessed the knowledge, no injury was an obstacle. If a Mage wasn't dead on arrival, she could arguably keep their biometrics above the threshold. If they were— she could even enact the kiss-of-life Gwen had performed on Magister Walken.

But the blessing of restoration wasn't free, and for this Elvia could not help but envision Gwen's bitter face while she revealed her new patron.

Was her action a form of betrayal? Elvia had wondered after the fact.

To Gwen, perhaps. But not to herself.

Even without the Yinglong's divine intervention, she wanted the means to achieve her desire, one her mother, her uncle, and their parents had harkened after— the Hand of God. Given the opportunity, why shouldn't she resolutely accept the personal cost?

With complete empathy, she understood her companion's emotions— for all her vulnerability, Gwen's affection was like a rolling, all-consuming tide. And like a moody sea, Gwen was full of ebbs and flows, hiding a Kraken beneath her undertow.

She wanted to change the future, even though her patron said there was no diverting the Yangtze of fate. Whatever will happen— will happen, and the best a demi-god or she or anyone could do was fudging the details.

Who was to die?

Who was to live?

Who was to grieve?

It was a matter of delicacy.

If she were to beg the Oracle of Delphi, the Seeress would say that no matter the histronics, Troy would burn, Agamemnon would die, and Priam would be made mince.

But if an actor could stay Pyrrhus' wrath for just an hour, then perhaps a hundred souls could flee his coal-eyed rampage. If another could keep the gore-clad avenger pinned at the palace, maybe Polyxena may live, and possibly Polites' blood need not pollute Zeus' marbled palace.

That was the boon the Yinglong had offered her, a seed of subversion. She would be the stone to trouble the yellow river of predestination, even a little bit, and in exchange, she would be the Yinglong's Vessel to overlook the Calamity.

But why was Gwen the Calamity? Shouldn't the calamitous sorceress be Elizabeth Sobel? Already, the Void Witch had consumed whole cities, resulting in the death of untold thousands, consumed human and Demi-humans, maybe even Dragons, alike.

"Thy Sobel art merely a seed-spawned ivy strangling the princely trunk that once nourished her." The Yinglong's thoughts had boomed across the toiling firmament. "The Calamity is uncertainty, an anomaly, usurping the fate of others."

Sincerely, Elvia had begged for clarity, but the Yinglong spoke only in riddles, as was expected of a being older than the Nazarene— older than western civilisation. All it could promise was that when the time came, when the divergent rivulets of destiny coalesced over that fateful battlefield, she would make a choice, and it would matter.

That was the power which Sen-sen bestowed.

"Magnificent one, may I inform Gwen?" She had demanded of the Yinglong. "If she usurps fate, won't she be able to change the fate of millions?"

"Mayhap the Calamity will trouble the river more than most," the great voice reverberated within her skull. "But the burden of change art for thee to bear. If thou wilt dispose mine divine vision, then so be it."

It was an answer Elvia took to mean that if she changed enough of the future, then the exact location of the vision, as well as the participants involved, would change beyond recognition. Tianjin would fall, the Undead would rise, but she would not know where Percy was, or Gwen, or Richard, or Lulan, or Golos. What good then, would the foresight do? Who could she save?

"Great Dragon." She had taken as much liberty as she dared. "What does it mean that Gwen consumes the fate of others?"

"Thou should question thy Devourer" The Yinglong began to settle back into its long slumber. "Coax from thy Calamity the truth of her cruel conception, if thou would risk thine curiosity. But recall, Vessel, that thou art destined to restore mine child. This, thou wilt perform above all else."

It was a duty Elvia had promised to deliver, though presently, her mental map remained incomplete. So many questions remained from the vision. Why were they in China? What happened to Uncle Jun? Why did Percy, Gwen's coddled brother, turn into a monster? Why did fire, flood and Undead simultaneously unleash upon Tianjin?

DING! DING!

"DR LINDHOLM, please respond." The crimson Message Glyph bloomed beside Elvia's ear. "You are needed in Emergency."

Elvia tipped her tea and disappeared her tea set into the Storage Ring Gwen had given her. She felt the weight of the Contingency Ring acutely on her ring finger as well, a symbolism her friend had not previously noticed, which had made her dejected for days.

"I am here!" Elvia saw the gurney before it arrived at her station. "What's the status?"

The machine-nurse passed over the data slate. "Code Orange. Spider Curse. Acute pulmonary interference. In situ Weiss-Hermann portable Ventilator via trach. Infusions of 5mg of Prilosec PAC, 1mg Stirgenix and 12mg Ipratropium compounded with 30-70 W-S."

Elvia's eyes browsed the transfer papers, then looked down at the patient, Magus William Fitzgerald of Kildare, holder of the Queen's Gallantry Cross. The man's body, what's left of it, was a sunken, sallow husk of a human being. For a Combat Mage to live so long and fruitfully from the 70s was itself a small miracle.

"He's unwell." Elvia replaced the slate, realising her higher-up's ploy. "Shall I ease his discomfort until the surgical team arrives?"

"No, Dr Lindholm. You are to heal him," the machine-nurse related the orders from the head surgeon with sparkling eyes. "Magus Fitzgerald is in your care, Dr Lindholm. Please confirm the handover and nominate your staff."

Elvia recognised the churlish tone. It told her more than she needed to know— more than the hidden condition of her patient, at any rate. Magus Fitzgerald was not likely going to survive his ordeal, not when the Spider-Curse required an open cardiothoracic operation involving individual manipulation of major organs. From what she could see, merely attempting a thoracotomy of the pleural cavity would put the Magus six-feet-under. Even if they managed, resuscitative efforts would likely fail due to the Magus' spent vitality.

She met the nurse's smug eyes.

"I see," Elvia confirmed the handover Glyph, then Messaged her colleague. "Dr Witherspoon?"

"Sorry, Elvia, I am a bit preoccupied here," came the reply a moment later. "Perhaps ask for someone from the ICU?"

Elvia rang a few more of her stationed colleagues, each providing an excuse or were occupied in actuality. Feeling a cold stab of ice in her chest, she considered her options. Some of the staff she could beg, some others she could commandeer. What she needed was someone to clarify her limited knowledge base.

If it weren't so soon since the new year, she could ask Sylvie.

Or if Emily had been here, her friend would bring a whole gaggle of healers, both senior and junior, who would grudgingly aid their mistress's "pet".

But Sylvia was away up north in Scotland, and Emily was back with her family. As for the other Doctors, they would only fight her if Kiki and Sen-sen took their place. In that case, Magus Fitzgerald was as good as dead.

"You," Elvia's lips pronounced as her eyes scanned over the self-satisfied handover nurse. Many of the senior nurses were more knowledgable than the doctors; what they lacked was magical talent. "You can be my assistant."

"… What?" the machine-nurse, whose name-tag read "Georgia Fields", spluttered. "I am Dr Hope's assistant."

"And now you're mine." Elvia pulled back her lips so that she showed teeth, a habit that Gwen often affected. "What's wrong? Magus Fitzgerald doesn't have time to squander."

"I…" The woman was sweating. Elvia knew the healer of middling-talent didn't have the authority to refuse her demand. Each Doctor had their assistants and aides not because of official assignment, but because of preference and habit. Whatever her excuse, the hospital's hierarchy was absolute. "I need to return to Magus Hope."

"Don't you want to save the Magus? The note here says he expects me to do my utmost. Well. Ergo, I command you to stay and aid me."

The woman gulped. "Who… else is with us?"

"No one." Elvia placed her hand on the forehead of her patient. "Its just you and me, nurse Fields."

"You're insane!" The woman's eyes widened. "You're trying to drag me down with you!"

"Am I?" Elvia cocked her head. "Is Magus Fitzgerald going to die?"

"No! But…" Her eyes darted back and forth.

"Follow me. Or not. It's our positions on the line." Elvia commanded. "Kiki!"

Her Alraune leapt from her pocket to rest atop the gurney. "Keep nurse Fields close, and keep Magus Fitzgerald sedated."

"Kiki!" The floral Sprite twirled, sprinkling the unique sorcery of her species over the weakly breathing Magus. A few more tendrils, green and wax with new buds, teased the machine-nurse.

"Bless! Aid!" Elvia bolstered the man's vitality.

On the diagnostic panel, the Magus' biometrics stabilised. It was a temporary boost, one that would fail as soon as the spell's duration rang out. Nonetheless, Elvia was confident Sen-sen's bolstered buffs could remain active for at least twenty-four hours— for such was the efficacy attained by having a demi-divinity strengthen one's access to the Positive Plane.

With Nurse Fields confused and tottering on the verge of blind panic behind her, Elvia savoured the peculiar satisfaction she felt for her tormentor's internal agony, wondering if this was what Gwen observed when Consuming her foes.

Soon, both passed the sterilising threshold of the operating theatre. Vivian, Elvia's former machine-nurse, appeared with a fresh supply of sanitised tools.

"Dr Lindholm?"

"You sit this one out, Rose," Elvia commanded her sympathiser to leave, leaving Nurse Field on the verge of breathless asphyxiation. "Fields— dress me."

"I really must protest." Fields made no move, perhaps realising this was her final chance. "I need to return to Magus Hope."

"NOW, Miss Fields!" Elvia knew that she would call upon Sen-sen's abilities, but had not expected that the first time she would utilise it would be against her nurses. Inexpert and with poor focus, a wave of Dragon Fear radiated from her petite body, turning her already ultramarine eyes so blue that her audience grew bedazzled.

Rosemary, being spared the brunt of Elvia's intimidation, took several steps backwards, then fled from the theatre. Nurse Field stood ram-rod straight and stiff as a board, appearing as though every nerve had fired at once.

"M-Ma'am!" the nurse stammered, then almost without thought, pulled open the scrubs and dressed Elvia with trembling hands. "I, I obey."

"For the sake of keeping your bowels dignified, please don't deny me again, Nurse Fields." She nixed the Essence-tap so that no more gut-clenching fear twisted her victim's spine. A surge of guilt coursed through Elvia's chest, battling the unbidden happiness leaking from somewhere unseen. "Please lend me your knowledge. We have a hero to save."

* * *

Magister Amanda Hatchley had received the news too late that a Gallant Cross recipient had been delivered to her beloved college, and knew that her arrival at London would prove a fruitless formality. Still, it was her desire, her duty even, to ensure that some poor sod from her school did not suffer the consequences of degrading failure when a futile request had been laid across their lap.

She didn't mind the "black mark". Come budget-time; there would be plenty of alumnae defending the college.

Instead, as an administrator, she was wary that should the students perceive their instructors as willing to push them under the Golem, the moral implication would impact morale. Thereby, once she found whoever the hell decided to pass Fitzgerald on to the provisional medics, a public shaming would be in order. Her only hope was that her culprit, likely a third-son or daughter, did not have the clout to get away with so blatant a deflection of duty.

"Ma'am, we're here," her driver unobtrusively reminded his mistress of their arrival.

Hatchley alighted from the saloon like a storm on heels. Hospital Directors often suffered short-lived holidays, but hers had died from malpractice within forty-eight hours.

In the lobby, she hailed the first Matron to cross her path.

"Sal!"

"Director Hatchley?" the older woman paused. "What's the matter?"

"Where's the patient?"

"The patient?"

"Magus Fitzgerald! Gallant Cross! Is he dead?"

"Ma'am?" The Matron appeared confused. "We haven't heard a death knell since last week."

Amanda Hatchley stopped in her tracts. She could hardly believe it. The bleating goats are hiding mortuary reports now? Was that why no one could answer her Messaged enquiries? Who did they think they could fool? "Take me to Emergency. Bring me an audit report of all incoming and goings since this morning's shift."

"Yes, Director."

Hatchley tapped her foot the whole agonising two minutes it took for the levitation platform to descend and take her down to Emergency. Nightingale, as a teaching hospital, was not equipped with the sprawling Emergency rooms usually seen in the Great Hospitals like Royal Alfreds. Theirs was a three-theatre affair, with no more than thirty beds available, of which no more than ten had attendants.

Inside, the atmosphere was not at all what she had anticipated.

There was no anxiety, no grim faces, no Matrons in a huff.

Instead, everything appeared business as usual.

"Where's Magus Fitzgerald?" she demanded of the desk nurse, who quickly rose halfway through a sandwich.

"Ward 3, Ma'am."

Amanda Hatchley wasted no time. Such was her fury that a conga-line of nurses and a few junior doctors followed her from the levitation platform down to the section housing the Intensive Care Recovery rooms.

As soon as she was through the door, she caught a headful of perfume smelling like fresh lilies. Dispelling the scent with her hand, she pulled back the curtain, expecting more than anything to see an empty bed.

Instead, a stunned, half-naked old Mage with greying hair with a half-shaved chest stared back at her, mid-way through picking at the pink scars crossing his chest.

"… Excuse you, ma'am." The man slowly pulled up his surgical gown.

"… Magus Fitzgerald?" Hatchley's eyes swerved to the diagnostic panel. The blood pressure and heart rate were all within acceptable parameters. The oxygenation was well over ninety per cent!

"Aye, tis I." the Magus' hinted strongly of his place of origin. "You are?"

"Director Amanda Hatchley, Nightingale's College."

"A pleasure then." The man extended a hand. The two shook.

Amanda Hatchley wanted to ask why the man was alive and well, but the proposal proved too absurd for the present. "I am happy to see you're doing well."

"A wee too well." the Magus took a deep breath. "I haven't breathed like this since… I can't recall, really, not since the Boers struck me with that corrosive Cloud Kill. We got the blondies back though, kicked up Firestorm from up on high."

"May I?" Hatchley indicated to the spectrographic metre on the wall. "I wish to confirm your health if that's alright with you, sir. A thorough head to toe, if you may permit me."

"Go ahead." Magus Fitzgerald's face took on a dreamy look. "Quite the Cleric you've got there, the blonde girl. A celestial, hahaha. When I woke, I had thought the Lord's Angels had come for me. Yer know— we really need one like her at the Isle. Is she battlefield trained? Knighted?"

"One moment, Sir William. Who is the Magus' attending physician?" Hatchley turned to the Matron.

"Dr Lindholm, ma'am."

"Elvia?" A vision of fine, flaxen hair demurely drifted across Amanda Hatchley's mind's eye. "Where is she now?"

"… in theatre, Ma'am. There's an NoM patient Dr Witherspoon did not wish to operate on."

"She is?" Hatchley raised a brow. If she, as an upper-tier physician, had been present to perform Fitzgerald's operation, she would have been exhausted by now. Did the girl utilise Faith? If so, where was she collecting it? "That's admirable. I'll stay here with Magus Fitzgerald."

Her attention returned to the Magus. "I'll make the enquires, Magus Fitzgerald. For now, please relax. Eye of Discernment!"

The Director swept her all-seeing vision through the Magus' body. The trachea had healed admirably with minimal scarring of the oesophagus. The right lung remained absent, meaning Elvia had not regenerated one from scratch. The bronchi tubes were cleared of the Spider-Curse's ruination, as well as old growths. The left lung was presently functioning under the auspice of a restored pleural membrane, flushed with oxygenated blood from vibrant pulmonary vessels.

Interestingly, where the intercostal musculature married the diaphragm, obstructive scarring from prior injuries had been suppressed. The work was far from the hand of God, but it was the sort a senior healer might achieve with a small team of specialists; that or a Relic-Attuned Cleric empowered by Faith. Elvia Lindholm, to her knowledge, was neither.

"Who was with Elvia?" she turned to her Matron.

"Nurse Fields, Ma'am."

"I meant the attending specialists." Hatchley cocked her head.

"How's it look?" Below her data slate, Magus Fitzgerald appeared to delight in the very act of breathing. "How long have I got?"

"I fear you have more to give to the Mageocracy," Hatchley stated with a tone of complete seriousness. "Your respiratory system is delicate, but only compared to a completely healthy Mage sans sustained injury such as yours."

Magus Fitzgerald's brows furrowed. "That's… impossible, you know. I was at Black's. They said it could not be done."

"It is done now." Hatchley did her best to keep a straight face.

The Magus' expression grew hearty. "When can I go back to the Isle? I have friends there, students, Apprentices, still fighting."

Hatchley nodded. "Matron, who was with Dr Lindholm?"

The Matron gulped. "… Just Nurse Fields. Ma'am."

The room was suddenly hushed.

"Are there recordings of the surgery?"

"Yes, Director."

"Send them to my office." The Director of Nightingale's teaching wing felt her scalp crawl. "Magus Fitzgerald, I would advise one more day on restoratives. Matron, as soon as Elvia is done, send her over."

* * *

Gwen had half a mind to teleport to London when after almost a day, Elvia still hadn't returned her Messages. The anticipation was making her hungrier than ever, shocking even Richard when they caught up for luncheon.

When, after two family-sized shepherd's pies, she privately explained the ordeal to her cousin, he disappointingly declined to comment on Elvia's condition, citing that one should not piss off the boss's boss. Instead, he spoke at length about the Isle, the Dwarves soon to arrive, and his willingness to serve as her proxy in regards to the press.

"I am good with NoMs," Richard sold his services over a cold stout. "Let me at 'em. And the paper press! What a brilliant idea! You've been a busy bee, cousin."

But inevitably, the conversation returned to that of Elvia. What could the girl be doing? She demanded of Richard. Even if Evee's working, surely she could take a Message and fire off a quick response?

"Have you thought Elvia might be busy doing her things?" Richard politely interjected after the fifth complaint. "You know, like you? Like me? Having— like, goals?"

And that was the end of their luncheon.

An hour later, with Richard back at King's, the distraction caused by Elvia's lack of response ballooned. Gwen felt such repression that she could hardly concentrate on Magus Keridwen Le Guevel's lecture.

Not that it was interesting— the Magus was getting her to memorise the history of England and musical chair of Noble Houses.

Thus far, her instructor had been very patient with her disinclined pupil.

"Let's take a pause." Le Guevel replaced the dictionary-sized edition of Twurp's Peerage of England and the Kingdom. "What a face you're making, Gwen. Remember the basics when dealing with Nobles. Don't let your true emotions show."

"I know, I know…" Gwen sighed. When it came to money, she could play poker with the best of them, but when it came to the matter of interpersonal relationships, her face took on a life of its own in the worst manner. When she was deliriously happy, she grinned and laughed and smiled to excess. When the mood soured, her bitch-face could cure meat into biltong. "What am I to do?"

"Try smiling, dear."

Gwen grinned for the imaginary cameras.

"Try to smile with your eyes. Disconnect it from the thoughts in your head. Its a masquerade. Your face should be calm like a lake, static, placid, reflective— oh Gods." Magus Le Guevel snorted when Gwen fluttered her lashes. "My dear, you reminded me of a short-changed whore in Soho trying to coax an extra florin from a tight-fisted John."

"… I am sorry, what?" Gwen performed a double-take. A flush of heat touched her cheeks. Had her ears deceived her?

Her instructor's smile was pure wickedness. Where the Magus had been a Victoriana flower, she promptly grew smokey and alluring. There was something about the woman's expressive eyes that hinted at hidden and exciting things, making Gwen's heart palpitate. "Did that wake our kitten up?"

"Shouldn't you be instructing me on social propriety?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "That was a bit crass, don't you think? What would your nobles think?"

"Poor kitty." Le Guevel's amusement proved as annoying as it was disarming. "I knew you weren't paying attention. Lady Grey didn't employ me to teach you how to be polite, Guinevere, I am here to teach you how to be..."

Le Guevel twirled a finger.

"Be what?" Gwen was now wide awake.

Her instructor wetted her lips ever so slightly. With no discernible change to the setting of the library's tutor room, the atmosphere had shifted toward that of a sleazy jazz saloon.

"... Limber, dear. How to be more limber."

"Limber?" Gwen cocked her head sideways. "Meaning?"

Magus Keridwen Le Guevel spun on her kitten-heels with the grace of a serval. "Exactly what you intend it to mean."

"Nope, not happening." Gwen stoppered her instructor's retort. "Prostrate in front of those Troglodytes? There are easier paths to homicide."

"Ah, but these are useful Troglodytes."

"But amphibian nonetheless."

"I never took you for a speciesist."

"What's not to hate? They're slimy, for one, and oddly-shaped. I assume we're still on the topic of the nobility?"

Le Guevel snapped her fingers. With the impact of a quick-cut film-frame from Gwen's old world, they returned to the dreary world of the archaic tutor room, buried four corridors deep in the Ward Library building.

"Nice trick."

"One I'm happy to teach if you pass muster. Else, it'll get you in trouble faster than a Void Bolt. Tell me, kitten." Her instructor leaned in. "You possess enviable biometrics, and I know you're not above abusing it for attention. I've seen those lumen-captures of you in the IIUC and the Sun Herald. Look at those ankles and calves. It's winter! Are you not pandering to the audience?"

"A free woman can dress however she likes." Gwen's lips curled. "It's my body, after all."

"An interesting statement. I don't know whether to be impressed or appalled. And is this woman not a member of the society within which she resides?"

Gwen snorted. "Shall I wear a shawl? Dress in a habit?"

"If you're visiting a nunnery, YES." Le Guevel rolled her eyes. "What are you, a child? Did mummy not buy you pretty dresses when you're younger? Why tease if you can't be spry? Who are you impressing?"

"Myself." On hearing mention of her absent parents, Gwen growled. The remark about Helena had broken skin, pierced flesh then struck bone. "Don't act as if you know me."

"Tsk, tsk, kitten." Le Guevel shook her head. "This is why feral cats get put down."

"You can try." She crossed her arms. "Better Mages have failed."

"I am Illusionist, dear." Le Guevel crossed her arms as well. "If I meant you harm, you'd be raving like a lunatic already. Still, I am sure you'll come around. Tell me, how did you think you faired in your encounter with the Exeter twins?"

"Well enough?"

"Is your bar set so low?"

"And what do you expect me to do? Fight them? Winning would've proven far more troublesome. Imagine if they lost their heads. I like my peace. Thank you very much."

Le Guevel crossed her legs. Unlike Gwen, who steadfastly stuck to her autumn dresses, Gwen's instructor wore a cashmere skirt, and her ribbon-tie blouse covered her up to the chin. Yet, the Illusionist possessed an aggressive sensuality that made Gwen uncomfortable. Was it her presence? Gwen wondered. Le Guevel was neither svelte nor voluptuous. Nonetheless, there was something of a contrast between them that said "here is a girl" and "here, is a woman". It almost made her wish she was older.

"Here's what I would have done." Le Guevel waved a hand. With the subtlest of somatic gestures, a portrait of the twins appeared. "Let us say you've properly armed yourself with knowledge— such as that Edward Poins and Benedict Thomas Holland, sons of John Gaunt Holland, Duke of Exeter, are beholden to Ravenport financially."

Le Guevel materialised another bust, that of a Duke with a scar across the side of his left lip, a sharp-faced, gaunt-jawed gent with the nose like a Roc's beak and a ridiculous bowl-cut fringe.

"Which is good news, because you happen to be the rumoured bastard of Norfolk, Lord Earl Marshall of England."

"You know that's bullshit."

"This isn't Bonk's, Gwen. Its politics. Had you known this, you would have deduced that the twins wouldn't dare test your true mettle, not with Ravenport's reputation on the line. Likewise, you should have known that as a War Mage, and as a very priceless specimen for Peterhouse, you're in the same boat when it comes to mutual-maiming."

"And?"

Le Guevel puckered her lips. "And Kitten, I am told Lady Astor has taken a liking to you. She was delighted with how you bantered with Ravenport. If so, have you wondered why someone with enough Crystals to buy herself a seat in parliament endured the Militants? It's to give you an opportunity, dear, one that you failed as spectacularly as you succeeded elsewhere."

Her instructor's brows arched in ridicule.

"So what would you have done?" Gwen glared back.

Le Guevel cleared her throat. When she spoke again, it was in Gwen's voice, miming her mannerism with such likeness that Gwen's scalp crawled.

"You devilish, aborted fae-spawns! How dare you make a nuisance of yourself in the home of your betters?"

"H-how dare you?" Le Guevel answered in the voice of Edward Poins. "You're just a Frontier poppet. I'll break you here and now."

"Really?" Her instructor's waspish-waist was very limber indeed. When she spoke in Gwen's voice, every syllable cracked like a whip's. "That's an audacious claim for someone who's patriarch owes an entailment worth half-a-dozen Crystal-seams. Don't you know it's polite to pay your debts before you bite the hand that feeds? What are you, a half-orc?"

Gwen leaned back in her seat.

Le Guevel chuckled. "See how fun that was? To be limber is to know which fruits are ripe for juicing. The twins are the result of, let's say, unsavoury arrangements, uncle and niece, sister-wives, that sort of thing— not currently, mind you, and don't say it out loud— but its there, somewhere up the line."

Gwen suppressed a gag.

"Which is why they're particularly incensed by any indirect inferences to bloodlines. Likewise, they do indeed owe a significant volume of debt to Ravenport and Astor both. How else do you think the Militants paid for the Royal Docks? Warmongering spoils from the Frontier takes time— but commerce, comparatively, is instantaneous."

"I can't imagine 'Dickie' would remain silent if I dropped his name."

"Lord Ravenport will not make an appearance for fear of verifying the rumours. Or, if he did by chance, good on you. The Exeter duo can only cower before Uncle Dickie, an ally to Lady Astor. Thereby, by invoking a few choice words, you have both inflamed the fools, and positioned them in between an Earthen Elemental and a Diamond Drake."

"Public shaming is dangerous." Gwen pointed out. "Pushed that far, surely they would prefer immediate satisfaction."

Le Guevel cleared her throat, then placed a hand against a cheek.

When the instructor looked up again, her eyes were full of fire, with her shoulders trembling, her chest heaving. At once, Gwen was struck with the paradoxical desire of wanting to push the woman down while desiring to embrace the miserable vision of abused femininity. "Strike me down then! I invite and dare you! Strike a lady! Strike the daughter of a benefactor! Here's my other cheek! Strike it and see that your daddy-dear won't flay the both of you with your spines!"

The effect was such that Gwen felt quite breathless.

"And then?"

"Then they flee, of course." Le Guevel laughed. "What else? Murder you? They can try. Lady Astor and her Middle Faction will take the cue and see the pair lit like bonfires. Assuming you haven't died from the first strike, the Middle Faction now has fewer Exeters to worry about— AND Lord Exeter will owe you reparations for your anguish. And of course, in the ensuing chaos— I would Consume them both. Just imagine what their in-bred talent could do for a Void Sorceress. How delicious!"

"That's…" Gwen swallowed. "Insane."

"It's what being limber means." Le Guevel returned her prim and proper personage. "So, do you wish to learn the exceptional art of limberness?"

Gwen did.

Not the part that goaded people into being Consumed, but the confidence that came with control. In hindsight, if she could have done that to the Exeters, it would have filled her with such joy, such satisfaction, that her chest may have burst.

Her instructor grinned. Opposite Gwen, Le Guevel rematerialised the bible-sized "Twerp's Peerage", as well as a second book, entitled "Bonk's Genealogical Records of the Ennobled Affinities of England, Ireland and Scotland."

"Study up, kitten— do what you will, or can. The more you know— the more you know."

Cambridge.

Unable to stomach the monotony of genealogy, Gwen decided to take Lady Grey's advice to heart, diffusing her stress by wandering the wintery urban-scape of the college town as its Flaneur. Along the way, she absorbed the gothic trees and spired cathedrals, marvelling at antiquity to absolve the infirmities ailing her mind.

After her lesson, post reanimation of her bangle, four Messages were waiting for her— three from Dominic Lorenzo, stating that he had returned from somewhere called the Isle of Man— and one from Elvia.

At first, she felt immense relief.

Then, considering the histrionic subtext of her last six Messages, Gwen suddenly didn't feel so rushed to listen to her companion's explanation. If Elvia carried on as though nothing happened, she wouldn't feel vindicated. If Elvia whole-heartedly apologised, she would feel guilty, and should Evee placate her with excuses; she would only grow incensed.

"Evee, Evee, Evee..." Gwen inhaled the frigid air, wistfully longing for the yesteryear.

Instead of replying, she walked on, listening to Dominic's Message.

"... still, I can't believe you took possession of the printing press! The one in the Isle of Dogs? The Mulholland Press? AND Dwarves are arriving to repair the engine? That's incredible news. When are you in London again? Let me know; I am on standby at the moment, the battle's stalled for now. Call me if you're in town— I want to discuss your offer as Editor of this 'Metro Paper'."

Dominic's gusto improved her mood somewhat, enough at least to see her saunter down Pembroke, waltz through Downing, then stroll over to the famous duck ponds at Emmanuel's, kept emerald and temperate all year round by zealous groundskeepers.

The pond was smaller than Gwen expected, certainly not living up to its fame. The ducks as well, were not very numerous, not to mention over half were dull-coloured mallards. She was here because she heard from the Peterhouse lodge that these were magical ducks and that years of feasting on the sorcerous leakage had enhanced their intelligence. Come spring, when birds of prey come to descend upon the ducklings, there were observed anecdotes of the ducks calling on student and staff with cries of "Quelp! Quelp!"

In winter, with the student cohort away until the Lent term began mid-January, Gwen had only ducks with which to share the pond.

"Ariel! Caliban!"

She released her Familiars so that they too could enjoy the sorcery-empowered emerald pond and its wasteful expenditure of the ley-lines' energies. With express orders not to harass the local fauna, her Familiars went about the place sniffing the willows and rolling in the grass, then snow.

On her knee, she opened up Twerp's Peerage, and flipped the page to Exeter. At almost a centimetre thick, the section could block a Magic Missile. Gingerly, she fingered the three lions passant with a blue border of the fleur-de-lis in gold. The page began with John of Gaunt, the Lancastrian progenitor.

It was fascinating, in a way, how eugenics applied to high society. But Gwen understood the obsession. Henry V, Henry of Monmouth, was a man whose military success turned England into a globe-spanning colonial superpower. Wasn't she aiming for the same? Extraordinary individuals were the way of her present world.

She read on— but the material was dry, and her affections for Elvia remained tinder hot. Somewhere in the suffocating jargon, she dithered between berating Elvia and hugging the flaxen healer tight against her bosom.

"Yesterday..." She hummed, the tune rolling off her subconscious. "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they're here to stay..."

Why Evee had to go her way, Gwen couldn't say, not without acknowledging it was all her fault. In her insecurity, she had told Elvia she was pure, then that she had to be unique, then that they would need to be equals. The contradictions had been intentional, and yet, that's what Elvia now strived to achieve.

Thankfully, she found some solace in Paul McCartney, misplacing her failures in the fancy that somewhere in London, Magus McCartney and maybe Lennon was still making music with the rest of the quartet. Was there a music industry in this world? She wondered, licking her lips. Two best-of albums and she could bribe another Ruxin or two.

"Quack?"

Gwen almost dropped her book. Lost in her sing-song daydream, she had not realised the ducks were listening.

"Quack! Quack!" An abnormally large mandarine duck, the size of a goose, appeared to accost her.

Gwen put down her book to regard the strange waterfowl. To her knowledge, ducks "Quabbed", though she was neither a drake fancier nor a duckologist. Her prior expertise on ducks involved pancake, shallots, and dipping sauce.

"Shaa!" Caliban slithered over. With its aura entirely suppressed, her Void snake was a beautiful, semi-transparent worm wrought of obsidian-glass.

The duck turned to flee.

"Wait, don't be scared." Gwen struck out a hand. Much to her surprise, the duck returned, then nuzzled her palm.

Packing away her book in case the colourful duck pecked the moleskin cover, she searched her ring for food, eventually coming up with a can of SPAM. Opening the tab one-handed, she used the metal to spoon out a good chunk, then offered it to the duck. "Hungry?"

"Quack!" the duck gobbled the lot.

Gwen extracted the rest of the mysterious meat.

"Quack!" The duck was an omnivore.

Next, she produced a raw chunk of HDM.

"QUACK!"

Gwen marvelled as she watched the duck down the crystal shard. "Amazing, so you're a magical duck— WHOA—"

"Quack!" The duck mounted her with a grandiose flap of its wings. The effect was admirable, resembling an explosive rainbow appearing and disappearing at once.

"Shaa!"

"Cali, down!" Gwen commanded Caliban to sit even as the duck alighted, scrunching her dress as it nestled in between her thighs. In the pale light, its feathers shimmered like Almudj's scales, while clear-cut lines of vibrant colours in sunburst, indigo and flamingo pink formed dynamic contours. It was— without a doubt, the most beautiful duck Gwen had ever seen.

"Quack!" The duck implored at her with large, soulful eyes, its irises twin obsidian orbs catching the light of her reflection. Gwen felt a strange sense of endearment. Was it the rainbow-hued body? She wondered, guiltily thinking of Evee and Almudj.

"I bet you're a Familiar," she said to the duck, looking around the whereabouts of their immediate vicinity to attempt visual confirmation of her hypothesis. When no sorcerer materialised to retrieve their soulful counterpart, Gwen raised a mischievous hand toward the duck's vibrant bill. "Say, does ducky want some candy?"

Cycling Essence, she pooled the viridescent green motes within a cupped hand.

"Ee!" Ariel, drawn by the scent, returned to the fold, scattering the ducks surrounding its mistress.

"Patience, Ariel." Gwen scratched the Kirin with one hand while offering the Demi-divine nectar of life to their new companion. If indeed this was a sorcerer toying with her, then they were in for a rude awakening when their Familiar escaped the paddock for the greener grass. Likewise, if the duck was a Transmuted student playing her for a lark, then Gwen took no responsibility for what was about to happen next.

"Quack?" The duck lapped at the emerald elixir. "QUACK?"

Immediately, the creature's girth expanded another inch. It's neck distended further, its wings larger and longer. It's feathers, already the likeness of Almudj turned heart-achingly vivid.

Gwen felt genuinely surprised that she was not being trolled. Delighted, she conjured a little more nectar and fed the rest to her adorably obedient Kirin. On her lap, the duck appeared caught in a trance as the Essence ran its course.

Ding!

A Message spell bloomed.

It was her angel-faced tormentor.

"Evee!" Her voice trembled before she could apply what Le Guevel had cautioned, pushing past a masochistic impulse to ignore the Glyph.

"Gwennie!" Elvia's tone wasn't at all what she had anticipated. It was unsure, distressed, and full of vulnerability. "I— I think I am in trouble!"

Instinctively, Gwen felt her blood stir, her angst instantly evaporating. "What trouble? Who is it?"

"No, no, not that kind of trouble," Elvia huffed. "I don't know what's happening! I pulled a Magus Fitzgerald back from the brink of death, and now they're sending me away."

"Hold on," Gwen commanded her Evee to calm, guilty that she felt genuine happiness to have her helpless dolly back in the fold. "You'll have to explain from the beginning."

"Okay!" Elvia's thread-thin voice tickled Gwen's ears. "This morning, I healed a War Mage from the Isle of Man who was badly wounded and on the brink of death. I did it with Kiki and Sen-sen's help, but Director Hatchley said that not even a team at Blacks would have attempted the surgery because of the low success rate. I— "

Elvia halted. "— are you still angry, Gwen, if you're unhappy with me…"

"Nevermind that," Gwen said, feeling the weight lift from her chest. "I wasn't mad for long. Anyway, then what happened?"

"Then I kept practising on the other patients, mostly NoMs, a few lower-tier Mages as well. Director Hatchley called me into her office and said that I was now a big fish in a small pond..."

Gwen's brows furrowed.

Lady Grey was right.

Talent bred trouble like sawmills and loose fingers.

"So, when are you transferring over to the Order of the Bath?" Gwen decided a little Divination of her own might do Elvia some good.

"The… Order of the Bath?" Elvia's response was one of pure puzzlement.

"Aye," Gwen mimicked Hanmoul. Less than a week after politicking with humanity, she missed the Dwarves already. Communicating with the stouts had felt so effortless, for they were a race that rarely saw guile as a virtue. "Did the Knight-recruiters knockdown Director Hatchley's door?"

"… Umm…" Elvia's discomfort was palpable. "Gwen, they're sending Mathias and me to the Isle of Man!"

"Quack!" The duck protested when Gwen's surprise almost tore out one of its feathers. The allure of Alumdj's Essence, however, was enough to anchor the duck to her lap.

"Sorry…" Gwen apologised.

"Was that a duck?" Elvia asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I like ducks." Gwen mulled the place Elvia had mentioned in her mind. Where had she heard it before? "Forgive my ignorance, Evee. What's on the Isle of Man again?"

On hearing the endearing nickname, Elvia's high-strung tone relaxed somewhat. "I don't know much myself, only that the Wildland folk there live among Demi-humans. They've been fighting England since forever, and there's a recent flair-up. I can't tell you more right now, only that Magus Fitzgerald— the Mage I healed, was badly wounded by a Snake Curse— that's old magic, Gwen, Animism from before Spellcraft. Director Hatchley said I was important to Nightingale and Mathias didn't volunteer, so I don't understand why I am being sent out of London again. This is all so confusing. Do you think I should ask Lady Astor? Would she be annoyed? Or Emily perhaps, maybe she can find out why? Oh, Gwennie, everything is happening so fast..."

Gwen wanted to calm her companion but needed more information to ascertain Evee's present crisis, which was why urged Elvia first to take a deep breath, then make herself a cup of tea. "Okay. I get the gist of it. I'll Message you back, Evee. Let me make some enquiries. When do you deploy?"

"… Tomorrow, when Mathias gets here." Elvia exhaled. "There's a whole host of us from the Great Hospitals, a 'volunteer' group..."

Gwen nodded to herself. Somehow, hearing Evee's desperation filled her with a secret joy. It was good to know the Yinglong hadn't't changed her companion where it mattered. Now, she felt as if things had gotten back on track, returned to a state of yesterday.

But of course, her gladness did not diminish the danger Elvia potentially faced. Closing the Message, she dialled in the Glyph for Dominic, having recalled why the "Isle of Man" sounded so familiar.

Ding!

"Gwen?" Dominic Lorenzo sounded positively delighted. "So soon? Feeling eager?"

"I am always eager for your advice, Dom," Gwen teased her sister-in-craft's old comrade. "But I'll speak to you in detail about the job once things clear up here. For now, can I ask you some questions about the Isle of Man?"

"The Isle? Sure, what would you like to know?"

"I've got a close friend soon to be assigned there. I want to know if it's dangerous to go. Is there a war going on?"

"Ah— you've come to the right man. I was reporting on the Isle just after your Dwarfs. Indeed, things are heating up over there."

"What's the trouble?"

"The usual," Dominic said. "You want history or just the present-day drama?"

"Explain like I am an NoM."

"Well then, I'll make it succinct." Dominic paused to gather his thoughts. "Pre-England, the Isle was the domain of the Elemental Manannán, worshipped by the Gaels as the God of the Sea. The Elemental demanded a few too many virgin sacrifices from the indigenous folk, resulting in a rebellion where the Druids, aided by their fellow sufferers, the Wood Elves, captured, then enslaved Manannán. After that, the Gaels proliferated for some time— until the 13th century, when English conquest took the Isle. Since then, the conflict between the Manx, the descendants of the Gael and the Elves, and the Crown has risen and fallen with the regularity of the tide. The Mageocracy has a large presence in Douglas, an ex-Tower site, now trading port, and in Avalon, where the fabled King Arthur—"

"Quack!" The mandarine duck fled from Gwen after losing another feather.

"Hold up." Gwen brushed the dirt from her legs. "Are you telling me the Isle of Man is where the Knights of the Round Table happened? I am talking Merlin here— Guinevere! Lancelot!"

"… why do I hear a duck?"

"I was keeping it company."

"The Devourer of Shenyang is keeping company with a duck?"

"I am at Emmanuel's," Gwen said. "I was lonely, and besides, it's a magical duck."

"… yes, Avalon," Dominic continued. "Is the where Arthur and his knights fell. An almost typical story of early colonisation. A group of enterprising Faith casters of old, armed with Relic of yore, enter the Wildlands to convert the heathens. Adventures ensued, success galore and then—"

"And then they delve into the heart of darkness; their Christian ethos turns to pitch-black Void, rape and rapine become the norm before it all ends with their leader dying from malaria, bleating 'the madness… the madness…'?"

"Not so… dramatically," the reporter sounded impressed. "The Round Table did fall because of individual vice— though more tragically, their quest was futile from the beginning. No, no, the Isle is the domain of the Manx, that will not change, unless—"

"Unless?"

"Unless the Devourer of Shenyang wants a new moniker?" Dominic's tone was full of enterprise. "I could imagine your upated title— "

Gwen shivered as Dominic revelled in the journalistic possibilities.

"— Gwen Song! The Devourer of Man!"

"The Devourer of Man."

For some reason, Gwen's first thought was of Tao wiggling his brows.

There was an unfortunate implication, lost in translation, whenever the Chinese spoke of the "Devourer" of Shenyang. The English inference was that of a "devouring, all-consuming force" akin to darkness at dusk. Unfortunately, the Chinese, with their cuisine-centric culture, understood "devour" to mean "swallow", as one might gluttonously consume a feast.

"The Devourer of Man" therefore, was a title as aversive to Gwen as an Undead infestation. If the moniker did get out, her Babulya would need to Calm Emotion her Yeye each time a Party cadre winkingly praised their granddaughter.

"You write that Dom, and I'll leave you half-consumed by Caliban," Gwen addressed Dominic's suggestion for the "title" of his article. "And why the bloodlust? What's with you English and colonial conquests?"

"Say that to the Mec Vannin." Dominic's voice took on a solemn timbre. "You want to know a speciality of the Isle? Apart from the usual perils, it's the birthplace of the Manx Cat, a feline beast with no tail— instead, twin tentacles extend from its shoulder-blades, each armed with sucker-tipped mouths crowded with fangs."

"Suckers lined with teeth? Please—please tell me there are natively-occurring VOID-afflicted monsters on the Isle." Gwen almost yelped. For how long had she waited for monsters of her particular Affinity to appear?

"I wouldn't bet on it," Dominic curbed her enthusiasm. "Rarity aside, these are not your average monsters, Gwen. The Manx Cats are ambush-hunters, used by the Manx to serve as battle-beasts. For your friend, the principal danger to her would be these monstrosities. They're capable of warping space and travelling through barriers, blurring their presence to blend in with their surroundings, and attack from afar to drag their prey into the trees."

"You've sold me. I want one." Gwen flexed her fingers. Below her, Caliban shivered in anticipation. Finally! A worthy upgrade for her worm! A compact battle form, not to mention potential Affinity for her Void Magic. "How rare are these monsters?"

"Very, the original was a legend. The others exist only among the Mec Vannin."

"With 'Mec Vannin' being our opposition?"

"A moniker for the elf-touched Wildkin, it means the 'Sons of Man' in their bastardised language, separates them from the Wood Elves."

"How curious... what do they want?"

"To put it succinctly, they want the Mageocracy to get out. That's impossible of course, the Manx's long-dead King gifted the land to the Crown in 1392. The Elves have a claim, but..."

"Tell me about the Elves." Gwen considered the manner of the Manx, their cats, and their patrons. In regards to the Elves, she had yet to meet one in the flesh. "These would be the Träälvor?"

"Not exactly. The indigenous Elves of Man aren't the Nordic Träälvor, but the local variety— an ancient race, but not to be confused with the Silvan-Träälvor, to which the name implies. On the Isle, they mark their home in Glen Auldyn, the forest-home of the Wyld King Maleagant. They're older than England, certainly, but hail from a less developed ethnography."

Gwen furrowed her brows. In her mind, Wood Elves were folk like Elrond of Rivendell of fantasy fame. For years now, she had been looking forward to meeting an alter-world Arwen, though from what Dominic was saying, these were more akin to indigenous folk.

"To confirm, their woodland Spires are not empowered by the sun and alternatively fed by the moonlight, appearing like Eco-lodges in a dream?" Gwen enquired. "Nor are they fair, tall, blonde or brunette, have a thing for "Rings" and speak like folk perpetually foretelling a prophecy?"

Dominic laughed.

"What an imagination! No, no. The one's I've seen are proper Wildkin, all bark-skin attire, with hair and skin the hue of olives. As for their city, maybe in the privacy of their grove? The Woodland Guardians that the militia encounters, those travelling with the Manx, are a nightmare mixture of Druidic sorcery and shapeshifting horror. Remember those Manx Cats?"

"Yes?"

"The reason I doubt the Manx Cats' Void-Affinity, is because, despite their natural scarcity, they're a constant damned presence in the war. Why do you think that's the case?"

"Ah." Gwen was seeing the whole picture now. She had spared an Owl Bear yesteryear and quickly joined the dots herself. If these were shifters then, it meant Caliban could not usurp her desired form. Additionally, she had no desire to slide down that particular slippery slope. "Druidic Shapeshifting?"

"Indeed." Dominic applauded her quick-wittedness. "And therein lies the danger. Your friend may not be in danger while in combat, or while guarded by a Flight of Mages, but that's not how these Druids fight. Do you know what asymmetrical warfare is, Gwen?"

"I have an idea."

"That's how they've kept being a thorn: guerrilla tactics. Be it, Strangler-vine ambushes, night raids, Manx Cat assassins or harassment of civilian miners; it never ends. We can't abandon the Isle either. Avalon serves as an important Divination waypoint. The Teleportation Circle there enables reliable transit to Ireland, a pivotal Frontier too close to home to leave neglected."

"And the Manx are allowed to exist?" Gwen asked an uncomfortable question.

"There is debate as to whether the Crown should simply Purge the Isle of Man and be done with it. The cost has proven unattractive, as inevitably, the Elves will offer the Manx shelter from wide-area Purge bombardments."

Gwen nodded to herself. As a girl-child, she had seen the collapse of the Twin Towers live on television, followed by a decade-long War on Terror that bankrupted a superpower.

"… so the Isle of Man's like a tough bit of gristle; too savoury to toss, too stringy to chew." Dominic helpfully eased her "teenage" erudition.

"I see." Gwen's contemplation, however, wasn't for herself. "Thanks, Dom, I'd love to know more about Manx and Camelot, but I fear I have more enquiries to make. Do you mind if we catch up later?"

"Actually," Dominic said. "We shall meet very soon."

"You will?"

"Didn't you hear? The Americans have come out on top in the IIUC. The Oxbridge team has lost its leader and vice leader."

"Oh? I haven't been keeping up with the IIUC," Gwen confessed. Since returning from London, Gwen had been non-stop updating her "basics". At the same time, she took time to settle into the Fellow's Abode in Peterhouse's domicile, collecting furniture and decorating her studio to her liking. "What was the challenge?"

"A shared quest, the re-opening of an open-pit crystal mine the Grey Faction had been negotiating with the Gigantes of Castile Y Leon," Dominic explained. "Oxbridge attempted diplomacy, as did the Americans. In the end, the Rey of the Giants chose the Bostonites. An inter-Clan scuffle ensued, and Oxbridge emerged worse for wear. The Home Office is none too happy at the moment, having lost its staging post in Salamanca as a result. I can only assume the Americans are laughing since Exxon is a major sponsor for the East Coast IIUC contestants and the ones who will be taking over."

Gwen tried to imagine how the Mages might have struggled against the Gigantes, an Earthen race noted by the Bestiary to possess unparalleled physical strength, high magic resistance, and calculating intelligence. Combined with arcanistry of their own, military tactics, and an Elemental Ethos of racial superiority, she could envision why her team from China would have had little chance when push came to shove. Merely the fact that the Gigantes bred Manticores the same way Lady Grey bred her hounds meant that a regular Mage Flight might just be enough to fight the family dog.

"… so you'll be having your ceremony in Cambridge, after all," Dominic advised. "Assuming everything is wrapped by the weekend, you'll be receiving your title with a full ceremony here in London. Of course, I'd like an exclusive."

"Even after we lost?" Gwen cocked her head, her eyes scanning the pond for her wayward duck. Presently, her rainbow-hued companion floated by the edge, eyeing the hens.

"All the more reason to put more ceremony into your MVP title," Dominic said. "Oxbridge's pride demands it."

Gwen agreed. "Thanks, Dom."

"Anytime," the reporter returned happily. "Oh, and Gwen?"

"Yes, Dom?"

"If you want, I can keep an eye on your companion while in Douglas. I know the Commander there well enough to beg for an extra guard if need be."

"That would be lovely. Thanks again."

As soon as the light of the first Glyph died, Gwen dialled for Richard. She understood what she "ought" to do, but more than that, Gwen needed an affirming voice to fight the gnawing guilt in her chest telling her to go to Douglas.

"Dick, you there?"

"I am. Are you still taking the piss?" Richard's greeting betrayed nothing.

"Nope, I am good. Sorry, Dick, I wasn't thinking straight."

"So long as you're thinking, that's alright with me. So how may this humble one offer aid?"

"Richard, I already apologised," Gwen reprimanded her cousin. "Dick, I need to pick your brain for a minute. Can you explain to me why I shouldn't make time for an excursion to the Isle of Man?"

"Colour me intrigued. Who, where, and what are you up to?"

"Just now, Evee was slated for the Isle of Man's volunteer relief-force, and I do not believe it has much to do with her latent potential," Gwen cut to the chase. "I think someone saw what happened in Merthyr Tydfil, and has decided they can play silly buggers with my friends. Maybe its Evee today, maybe you or Petra tomorrow."

Her cousin-cum-advisor's reply was not immediate. There was a thoughtful pause, then another that was longer.

"I don't know the answer to that. BUT— are you hoping to achieve what you managed in the Red Peak, only on the Isle?" Richard asked. "It is amazing what you did, Gwen. To say that you'll replicate the success, however, is irresponsible. From what you've told me, there was plenty of serendipity involved. For starters, what do you even know about the political insurrection there?"

Gwen briefly explained Dominic's information.

"That's not 'danger'— That's life," Richard's reply came without hesitation. "Speaking as someone who went to school with Elvia's brother and knew of her before you did, this is a perfect opportunity for Evee. That girl's always been indecisive and— pardon me— incapable of independent action. You and Yue coddled her in high school. Even in London, Elvia had allies galore. It may not seem it, but from what I've seen, she had more supporters the moment she stepped into Nightingale than you had after a year in Shanghai. I've been thinking about your situation with Elvia, and I say leaving Elvia benefits you both."

"But—"

"IF Elvia is as talented as you describe, gifted with twin-spirits, then her labour is endless by nature. She's a Cleric, Gwen. It's her prerogative to provide care for those in need. Right now, that need is in the Isle of Man. Tomorrow, it could be the foothills of Fuentes Carrionas or the Elemental Sea raging north of Istanbul. Will you leave London to protect her then? Elvia has a personal Knight of St George, and besides, she has a Contingency Ring— your Contingency Ring. In the time it takes for Mathias to perish, Elvia can teleport away unharmed. Besides, doesn't she possess Sen-sen? What on earth is going to battle an enraged draconic Ginseng the caster herself can't control? Also, will Peterhouse let you go without a Contingency Ring of your own?"

Gwen touched the bare flesh on her ring finger.

"Let me remind you. Did Master Kilroy accompany you to Blackheath? Did Gunther accompany you to Singapore? Did any of us in China insist we leave our responsibilities to chaperone you in Shanghai? Besides Uncle Jun, of course, he's awesome."

She was beginning to regret recruiting Richard.

"You know I am right. You are a Magus now. You have duties, as do I, as does Elvia, your friend. You cannot— ought not— think like Helena. Your duty, the one you chose to accept when you came to Peterhouse, is paramount. What Lady Grey has gifted you is what folks like me can only dream of— How can you repay your benefactor and your tutors through frivolous misadventure? Have you bedded her even?"

"Richard, that's enough." Gwen did not enjoy being guilt-tripped, less so when the words rang true. Like dripping water, each rationale Richard provided wore away the stubborn stone wedged against her heart.

"Well? Are we in agreement?"

Gwen dug deep for something profound to say, only to find her well of retorts completely dry.

"That's fine. I'll wait." Richard's Glyph changed hues, placing the call on idle.

Seated on the bench, Gwen straightened her dress, relaxed her shoulders, then leaned back so that her neck hung over the wooden backrest. Above, the English sky was its usual hue of slate and stone; this far from the Mageocracy's centre, the infamous London smog was barely perceptible.

Richard's affirmation was well-placed.

It would be utterly irresponsible to run off a second time just because Elvia was being menaced by sedan-sized, tailless, shapeshifted feline assassins with tentacles.

"Quack!"

In the pond, her rainbow duck "quacked". She noticed that except for the abnormal specimen in their midst, most of the other ducks swam in pairs.

Unwearied by the cold and warmed by the unnatural summer, amiable avian lovers paddled through the pond in companionable streams, leaving trails like open sextants. Some sat near the rushes, plucking at the reeds for nesting material. Others paddled among the stones, frolicking among the brimming water. Within this unnatural Eden, there was nought but serenity.

"QUACK!" Her drake joined the fray; it's bulk cutting the rushes like a frigate. In fear, the smaller ducks fled from the rainbow monstrosity. The drake gave chase, ploughing through the water. All around the pond, the rest of the hens suddenly took flight, mounting on clamouring wings, forming a great bell-beat of feathers as concentric ripples below echoed the great ring of panicked birds above.

"QUACK!" The mandarin duck waddled back dejectedly, staring at Gwen confusedly.

"... fuck me." Gwen exhaled with exasperation.

"… You sound upset," Richard interjected. "Evee?"

"No, no— that was for a duck."

"… I know you like to pick up strays." Richard's tone grew bemused. "But why a duck?"

"That is a VERY good question." Gwen's eyes grew misty. "It was cute, I guess, and friendly, and I had the Essence to spare."

"You're a clear and present danger to anything adorable," Richard remarked. "Is one victim not enough to satiate your cuddle-lust?"

"Very funny, Dick."

"So, have you reconsidered?"

"Yes," Gwen answered. "I am staying in London. I don't have time to shepherd Elvia."

"Good." Gwen could imagine Richard's sarcastic golf-claps. "Did you reconsider my offer from our luncheon?"

"I did. Welcome aboard, I suppose. We'll head to Millwall together on Sunday, after my lesson. I'll introduce you to Wally."

"Great," Richard's reply was curt and quick. "I've picked up a quest for clearing out the Slimes beneath the town. Did you post that?"

"No way." Gwen's stern lips broke into a smile. "You're the one who took up Wally's quest?"

"I thought as much." Richard laughed. "I'll introduce you to a few new mates from King's who will be tagging along. Got a nice place for lunch?"

"I do. Indian."

"Sounds colonial. See you then?"

"See you, Dick." Gwen bit her lower lip. "Thanks for the pep-talk."

"Anytime, Duck," Richard replied. "Stay off the drakes!"

Gwen disconnected the call, then tapped in the Glyph for Elvia.

"Gwen!"

"Evee…" She took a deep breath.

"Quack!" the duck wailed, demanding a return to innocence.

"… okay, thanks, Gwennie. I'll keep safe."

"See ya— Quack!"

Elvia watched the light within the Device die.

Steering Gwen was arguably the most dubious, and also disturbing thing she had done in all her eighteen years of life. Her mind was such a jumble of emotions that she wished she could Calm Emotion herself, even knowing that the histrionic-killing Clerical staple possessed marginal effect on the caster. Even now, knowing she had succeeded, her elevated heartrate was making her pant.

On the call, Gwen had very carefully informed her that she was in no danger— so long as Mathias looked out for Druids who could transform into cats sans tails, plus tentacles.

Was she disappointed that her companion did not insist on accompanying her? Elvia asked herself after a self-medicating dose of becalmed emotions. Her heart said that she was— her magically-placid mind told her it didn't matter.

Contrary to what she told Gwen, she welcomed the unexpected re-deployment. The more folk like Magus Fitzgerald she could pull from the brink, the merrier and more eager her desire to be in Douglas. It was for Gwen, her friend and companion and partner, that she had put on the pretension. More than anything, more than herself, she feared that her deployment was targeted at the Devourer of Shenyang to lure her friend into the mire of war. What Gwen had done for her in Dwarfland made her inconsolably happy, but it invariably left a weakness to be exploited.

If her assignment had been kept from Gwen, Elvia knew her friend well enough to know that Gwen would teleport in, Caliban and all, at the first unexpected news of her endangerment. Now, her partner had made her bed and knew to lie in it. What was surprising for Elvia was that her friend had seen the light of day so articulately, accepting her absence without contest.

Was it Lady Grey? Elvia considered who would offer Gwen such sterling advice. Or perhaps Ollie, her overzealous Praelector suffering from stress-pattern baldness? That poor man needed a dose of Sen-sen's best before he lost all of his hair.

Sighing, Elvia felt a strange tug of jealousy. Why was Gwennie still molesting that damned duck? Could her friend not live for one day without something cute to abuse?

Cambridge.

Peterhouse.

Training Range.

"Curve it!" Magister Kareena Patil's command whipped at Gwen's behind. "Bend it to your will!"

"ARRRRGH!" Gwen flubbed her Void Bolt, a spell she could incant near-silently, but apparently not with applications of meta-magic applied. It was amazing, she conceded, how Yue managed Alesia's Transmutation-Evocation specialisation. Her friend was someone with real talent, not stolen ability.

"That was utterly pedestrian." Magister Patil remained unimpressed. "You know you can do better than that."

Gwen wanted to retort, but first, she had to fight down the feedback loop from the Void mana flooding back into her conduits. When she finally suppressed her breakfast, she reexamined the long list of invocations.

There were hundreds in all, and via matrix-sequences, they created custom formulae that impacted a spells' range, AoE, shape, size, element, trajectory, channel and triggers. What Magister Patil wanted to squeeze from Gwen like blood from a rock was the ability to use Spellcraft not as pre-packaged incantation-chains, but as a fluid language.

"When altering the inflexion, consider the previous predicate and how it modifies the core quantifiers. The second clause of Chomsky's Elemental Cipher indicates a pause— not an enjambment. It's a tongue-tap, after which the original incantation must finish within eight Glyph-notes."

Gwen loosened her tongue by making a lion-face, and then a lemon-face. Her jaws ached, but that was hardly the present problem.

The issue, Gwen came to acknowledge, was that she might not be equipped to exercise the complexity of the magical "programming language"— certainly not on the fly. If anything, rendering invocations were akin to the complex mathematics of her old world, something between the admixture of real and imaginary numbers, fractals in reality, with arcane wrinkles manifesting like a self-perpetuating Mandelbrot set.

If she had been a real novice, she would have told herself that practice made perfect. But as one whose mind betrayed the limber youth of her body, she understood that in the distance loomed an inevitable cerebral bottleneck.

What Magister Patil demanded was new tricks— but Gwen knew herself to be an old bitch not so quickly re-trained.

As a magic-caster, she likened herself to a performance-pianist— fashionable and pretty and mechanically capable of producing the most celebrated works by the greatest composers. With confidence, she could stride on stage with a long slit dress to bathe in the light of ten-thousand watts. There would be applause and tears, and enough roses to fill the pit— but as for talent, she fell far short of Chopin or Liszt.

Simply put, she was a spell-hack— one gifted with the hardware to enact the formulae, but abjectly poor when it came to freestyle; a master of the copy-paste, an Omnimage of common arcane application.

If she was struggling with derivatives and differentiations here in the third tier, she could only imagine the horror of quantum physics past the seventh tier.

Her present struggle also allowed her to relearn why her scholarly cousin, Petra, had neither time or effort to spare on matters like love, quality of life, or even Crystals. The pursuit of knowledge and expertise her instructor anticipated was a life-long endeavour. There were no shortcuts, no bypass, no convenient detours, not for one without the natural talent.

"Void Bolt!"

This time, she curved the Bolt, though the spell's range halved.

Gwen groaned.

Beside her, Magister Kareena Patil's expression had grown cold enough to quench Dwarven darksteel.

"Try again, Omni-Mage."

Gwen had half-a-mind to re-align her instructor's world view.

The holistic pursuit of sorcerous prowess was nice in itself, but Gwen never saw the sorcerous path as the "only" way. The more she thought about it, the more she appreciated why Henry, her Master, never bothered with the explicit teaching of the secrets behind the arcanistry.

What her Master preferred to emphasise was the ambiguous, big-umbrella, utopian vision endorsed by the Middle Factions.

To Deathless Henry, Magic was a tool, a path to power, a badge of proficiency, a hammer to strike down nails. Rather than arcane resources, she and her Master preferred "Human" resource.

Few business leaders in her world, wielding the power of nations and operating budgets higher than the expenditure of some developed countries, possessed the necessary knowledge of operative semantics. Instead, industry-leading CEOs were more often creatures of charisma, leadership, guile, ruthlessness— prophets of profit.

To create a society where herself, Evee, Yue, Richard, squibs like James Ma and NoMs like Ruì could contribute their unique expertise to humanity, sorcerous supremacy was not the answer.

She knew that her Babulya had said that she would walk the Path of Violent Conflict. Her Master had advocated the Middle Path. What if both could be traversed by the Golden Way, a currency-paved road of glittering HDMs?

"To a lesser Acolyte, I would say repeat after me." Magister Patil tapped the runic scripts. "But that is not why we are here. Try again. No more aping, Gwen— let the 'craft' flow through your conduits."

"Yes, Ma'am." Gwen refocused her mind to conduct the business at hand.

For now, she would do her best.

Later, she would do far better.

"Halt!" Nils Kott, Gwen's Abjuration Instructor, called for the cessation of crystalline bombardments on her opaque, double-glazed Mana Shield.

"Very impressive, Magus Song." Professor Brown, who had insisted on joining the pair in the underground testing hall, boisterously clapped with cupped palms.

"You'd have to thank Gunther." Gwen dispelled her barriers. "It's his Signature Shield."

"A complex algorithm, requiring a creative application of external knowledge." Brown's brows remained raised. "And one well-suited for an energy-based Elementalist with high VMI. I am delighted you have it mastered so profoundly."

"So 'profound' it is the only Abjuration spell she knows..." Kott's brows remained furrowed. "A miracle, considering Magus Song's achievements."

Gwen chuckled guiltily.

Magister Brown matched her feigned mirth. "Hardly. I've studied the unedited broadcasts. You have a knack for monster slaying, Gwen— something you shouldn't dismiss so out of hand."

Kotts remained unmoved.

Earlier in the week, when Major Nils Kott had grilled her on the basics of Abjuration, Gwen told the Abjuration specialist that she knew "Shield" and ONLY "Shield". In the intervening few seconds, there had been an awkward silence when they both waited for the other to speak.

Eventually, it dawned on the wide-eye Kott what Gwen meant.

While her time at Fudan taught her the theoretical basics of "Utilitarian" Abjuration, her application of knowledge seldom extended beyond the necessary. Her lack had all but dashed Major Kott's expectation that Gwen was looking to progress into her 'fourth-tier' of expertise— a tier from which an Abjurer mastering two-dozen spells would fall into one or more of the six pathways. Instead, Gwen had to ask Kott for clarification, which the Abjurer dutiful delivered.

"Combat Abjuration" involved various forms of shielding, resistance and mitigation of incoming damage, both physical and elemental and rarely, psychic.

"Structural Abjuration" inferred the protection of structures through inscriptions and Glyph Wards, such as those utilised by Enchanter-Transmuters in heavy industries.

"Strategic Abjuration" comprised the protection and shielding of particular locales, a branch that served as the basis for the Resonance Crystals used by the Shielding Stations.

"Tactical Abjuration" was the warding of an individual's magic against other Mages, including portable Ward-setting and wide-area reinforcements.

"Restorative Abjuration" referred to the original purpose of Abjuring magic— the removal of harmful sorcery. It was a branch that emphasised removing wards, disenchanting protections, and decursing when employed in conjunction with Clerical Faith-craft.

Finally, the last function of Abjuration was the hardest and most sought-after skill set, that of "Spell Piercing". As the name suggested, the sole offensive branch of Abjuration emphasised on spontaneous dispelling, disrupting and breaking of enemy invocations. Gwen's bane, the infamous "Banish" that sent her reeling more often than not, hailed from this particular offshoot.

When initially Kott asked which area she wanted to focus on, her choice was Combat Abjuration, which she already had a foot-in-door, and Spell Piercing.

Now, Nils Kott delivered his verdict.

"I spoke to Magister Patil," the Major informed Gwen sternly. "She says that you are incapable of spontaneous meta-magic Spellshaping?"

"True, thus far," Gwen clarified her insufficiencies. "Give me time, and I should be able to do it for the lower tiers."

"Without spontaneous Spellshaping," Kott disregarded her deliberation. "Even with Divination-assisted live-analysis, 'Counterspelling' would prove nigh-impossible."

Gwen implored her instructor for more information. It was Magister Brown who answered.

"Counterspells are the most distinguished form of mana-manipulation. For instance, you require at the very least four to six seconds to weave up a Dark Tentacle. In that interval, an opponent who has studied your spell list may employ Saussure's Parallax-Matrix to agitate your mana-channel, causing you to mana burn yourself. For Evocation, a well-timed Wall's Quad-Helix Spell Jammer could prematurely ignite the mana as it forms, causing you to self-harm with Void. A feat Major Kott is well-capable of performing. It's a fate diminishable by employing Signature Spells. That said, a true Spell Piercer is capable of near-instant analysis and reconstruction. Against such an opponent, it is best to use group-tactics. Unless you're an Abjurer of equal-talent, your only recourse, regardless of your power, is to flee..."

Kott's stoicism was unflappable.

"...But I am sure Major Kott is teasing you."

"How so?" Gwen asked. "It seems logical to me that such a Mage should be near-indomitable against a fellow caster anyway."

"The number of Mages capable of spontaneous mid-tier counterspelling in London, I would count no more than a hundred. The best are at the Meister tier, followed by a majority of Magisters and a handful of Maguses. Also, the faster the spell, the less chance of interception. This is why high-tier combat Mages prefer to use small scale, mid-range magic in rapid succession as opposed to the grand sorcery of the seventh tier and above. I mean, if you're going to be spending anything between six-seconds to a minute invoking a spell, you're certainly expecting an Abjurer to shield you. If you're alone, invest in long-range bombardments and make a habit of first-strike via Divination. Who can disrupt a spell they can't see coming?"

At Brown's words, Gwen felt better.

"Could I turtle against a Spell Piercer?" She raised a point she had prior put to Major Kott.

Magister Maxwell Brown snorted. "What is that?"

"She means if she can egg-up in a Void Shell while casting spells," Kott explained Gwen's slothful proposal. "That the answer is a tentative 'yes' is an offence to Abjurers everywhere."

"As an Omni-Mage," Gwen explained for her instructor. "I can devise a Shield, while simultaneously Scrying my surroundings. I could do it right now, technically, by using Link Sight with Ariel, though I am finding it almost impossible to cast upper-tier spells while my senses are preoccupied. I was discussing with Major Kott if there's any way to replicate the same spell Sobel used in Sydney, what Magister Walken calls the Dark Egg."

"Devouring Chrysalis." Brown raised an all-knowing digit.

"Hmm?" Gwen blinked.

"The spell is called the Devouring Chrysalis," Magister Brown repeated himself. "It's in the archives on Sobel. You should know that our House Master at Emmanuel's was on a first-name basis with Deathless. You should visit, sometimes, if you're interested, I can submit a request."

Gwen happily declared she would desire nothing else.

"Out of curiosity, I am told you've taken a liking to our pond? Have you taken an interest in our humble abode? You're as welcome at Emmanuel's as Peterhouse..."

"No no, just the ducks," Gwen denied the desire to jump ship.

"The Ducks?" Brown snorted with surprise. "They speak, you know."

"… they speak?" Gwen cocked her head. "In English?"

"Of course not! But with Commune, from the School of Divination…"

Major Kott growled.

"… my apologies." Brown raised both hands. "Nil, she's all yours."

"To answer your question, Magus Song. You'd be a sitting duck. No Spell Piercer worth their salt is going to find much trouble with your low-tier Void Egg— even if you are using Lord Shultz's' variation."

"And yet, brother seems to do fine."

"I imagine Tower Master Shultz would have no problems reducing a counter speller to dust before they could analyse a single Glyph." Kott's lip formed a tenuous curl. "The Morning Star's offence is his best defence."

Another Gunther fanboy, Gwen marked Kott down in her mental notebook. Her brother-in-craft's accumulated kudos was something she dearly desired. When would she be able to imitate the sun like Gunther and be respected by men and women halfway across the world?

"Do you plan on teaching her Enchantment still?" Magister Brown was not very good at keeping his mouth shut. "It seems you have your hands full with Abjuration."

"A good foundation takes time." To Gwen's chagrin, Kott did not deny that his student was less suited for advanced Abjuration than he could ever imagine. "Decades, preferably."

"Perhaps I could offer an accelerated pathway?" Magister Brown's eyes twinkled. "Miss Song, you must forgive Major Hotts and Magister Patil. Though humble, your instructors are authorities within their respective fields. Like Lord Shultz, they represent the convergence of talent and effort— while you represent a most curious incongruity— an excess of talent, spoilt by inexperience. My proposal, therefore, is that in lieu of militant learning, I could empower a holistic learning experience..."

Major Knott closed the spell tome in his hand, cutting off his compatriot.

"Since you are occupied, this is as far as we go today." Her instructor rose from his seat. "Complete the unfinished Mandala diagrams in chapter three and six by Thursday, before your IIUC ceremony. I imagine there will be an interruption to our schedule once your social obligations take a front seat. Practice well, and practice often. You need it."

"Understood, Major." Gwen carefully opened the thigh-thick volume to the indicated chapters, where annotations had been made for her. All she had to do was to follow Kott's precise instructions.

Next, she waited for Brown to take his leave. Instead, the man invited her to come closer.

"Such impatience! So much for being a Mineral Mage." Maxwell Brown's lopsided grin sent goosebumps running up her thighs. "Now then, my dear, shall we streamline your learning methodology? Intuitive sorcery, alas, is the rare privilege of casters like you and me."

"I don't believe it. You look— tired." Richard felt genuinely shocked when three days on from their prior communique, he and Gwen met on the Isle of Dogs.

"Shit. One sec." His cousin closed her eyes and engaged in an intense minute of concentration. Visibly, her pale and lustreless skin once again assumed its vital glow, her eyes regaining their attractive sparkle. When she exhaled, signalling the completion of the Essence circuit, Richard could visibly see the weeds around Gwen's feet grow ever-so-slightly, each blade reaching out to bootlick his cousin's beetle-black Mary Janes.

"I mean it as a compliment," he rephrased his comment. "You look like you've been studying hard."

"And I have." Gwen shook out her arms and legs. "You have no idea of the corners I've painted myself. My tutors are borderline obsessive. I think they're taking revenge."

When Gwen explained what Brown had convinced the others to set up, he could only shake his head at their wastefulness. So many HDMs, it was only Gwen that could command such frivolous strategies.

"How's Elvia?" he changed the topic when Gwen complained of a throbbing brain. Richard felt nothing particular; the flaxen-haired beauty was useful only as a source of mental consolation for his moody cousin. She was, in his mind, a medicinal flower whose bud-juices, if applied in excess, turned to the "Blue" so popular with the NoMs. When Gwen spoke of gifting Elvia the Draconic Ginseng, Richard rolled his eyes. Once again, sentimentality had ridden roughshod over rationality. As for Elvia's confession, Richard cared for nothing. The purpose of desire, he reasoned, was motivation. Attainment killed the magic.

It should be bloody obvious to all that his Void-fed cousin walked a path few could follow. Any beings caught in her orbit need possess both the arcane and mental aptitude to endure the course. Elvia Lindholm had never been anything special, if Gwen were Jupiter, then "Evee" was no more a Galilean pseudo-moon to Yue's Ganymede or Petra's Europa.

Elvia Lindholm, a celestial object? What horror would that bring to the balance? The collisions, chaos and annihilation engendered by such a thing sat against everything Richard hoped for. So what if there were tentacled felines? If some Druids could extinguish the girl, Gwen was better off without the baggage.

"Evee's doing well." Gwen recollected their last exchange. "Already, she's making a name for herself. I guess that Magus Kilkenny must have set things up so that she would be well-supported."

"… Fitzgerald," he reminded his overtired cousin.

"...Oh, yes, of course, how could I forget Gatsby?" Gwen massaged her temples while sprouting a nonsensical Gwenism. "Sorry, Dick. Too many Mandalas. It's all that's in my head."

"Perhaps a quest might soothe your fever, Duck." Richard rather liked the new nickname he bestowed her. "You could join us in the sewers. Slimes can be very exciting."

Gwen shot him another withering look. "Another outfit? Oh, the hassle—"

"Hey." He shrugged, pointing at his Wellington boots, then at her ankles, bare up to her knees. "Is it my fault Lea and I are perfect for the job?"

At the mention of her name, Lea materialised, keen on soliciting Gwen for Essence. With a wave of his hand, Richard banished the Undine back into its pocket dimension.

"Not now, sweetpea," Richard apologised to his Sprite. "Remember what we discussed. You're as good as Ariel, but I am no Gwen."

"Low-key in London…" Lea's voice drifted through the air, making his hair moist.

"That's right." He soothed his Undine with a jolt of mana. Looking around the entry to the Isle, he could see crows on the treetops and the roofs of the townhouses. In the distance between the pier and the townhouses, two discordant, upright figures came into view.

"There's our men. I'll get them— ELIS! LUKA!"

The two young men who came to join them were dressed in camo-patterned training-outfits, the same as Richard. The shorter of the two sported sandy-blonde hair, the taller, matt-black. Seeing Richard call out, they quickly approached.

"Dick! You're early!" The first bowed from the waist. "This must be the divine employer."

"You've been hiding her from us." The second young man, Luka, broke into a nervous grin.

Gwen performed a half-curtsy, but the two university students shirked back.

"Please don't." The two laughed nervously. "Dick, how about you introduce us."

In high society, etiquette dictated that one must be "introduced" to one's superiors. A carcass must not walk into a conversation like a clueless rustic as Gwen had done on every occasion.

"Duck, this is Elis Cox, third son of some Viscount somewhere in the Frontiers. He is our Evoker, a Lightning Mage like yourself who part-times in Illusion. He dreams of leaving for the colonies one day to make a name for himself."

"My pleasure, Dick," Elis shook hands with Gwen.

"… and this is Luka Spencer, a nobody like me who just happened to work hard enough to claw his way to the top of the food chain. Luka has the rare talent of Ice, perfect for Slimes. He hopes to become a Civil Engineer."

"I am an Enchanter-Transmuter." Luka shook Gwen's hand as well. "I am afraid I won't be much use in combat. But I can repair the wards and put new ones in place to filter out the Slimes to prevent future inundation like the present. Please call on me again if you are satisfied with my work."

"That sounds lovely." Gwen smiled, and Richard watched his mates from King's melt. He had met the duo during Lent O-week, and after some back and forth, had deemed that these two were talented enough to be useful, but sufficiently disconnected from nobility to offer an uncomplicated friendship. It was this sort of respectful partnership that Richard believed was the perfect and proper attitude his cousin should cultivate, especially considering her lack of friends.

A puzzling reality for a girl who had debitors by the dozen, a lover or two, Family who loved her— but non-existent social life, discounting Lady Grey, her Familiars, and now, a duck.

Richard was beginning to miss Petra. Even a Lulan or Mayuree keeping Gwen company would do.

"Well, then." Richard gestured to the sludge-slathered iron gate just below the waterline. "We're going to get started. Assuming no complications, I imagine we should finish within a few hours. Are you coming or will you be shouting lunch?"

"Lunch." Gwen took one look at the moss-caked brickwork and denied his invitation to participate in building rapport with the boys from King's. "After, come find me at the estate. I'll be checking Wally's books and auditing Elvia's soup kitchen."

"You're going to relax by working?" Richard remarked before inspecting the present state of the docks.

From what Gwen had told him, the region was in a poor state before Elvia set up her "Foundation" here on the Isle. With a steady stream of HDMs fed to the furloughed workers, the place appeared to have regained a mote of life. For once, children were playing on the quay rather than huddling at home to conserve their body warmth. He could also spot folk going about sweeping the concrete and hosing off the mud. Elsewhere, across the eastern dockyard, several flatbeds were parked outside the printing press, dragging out great gut-fulls of scrap metal from a collapsed section of the warehouse.

Richard shuddered to think that Gwen was using her Void magic to dispose of trash in a shady, NoM workhouse district. If her instructors were here, the one with a wand up her arse, Patil, would probably need a Calm Emotion from Elvia.

He had no idea if the Isle of Dogs would ever grow into the 'second hub' of London as Gwen proposed, but he could see the potential in an easily accessible peninsula close enough to see the Shard in all its glory.

"See you later, Dick. Take care of Elis and Luka."

"Til lunch, Duck." Richard parted from his cousin with a scented hug before returning to his companion's jealous eyes.

"You two close?" The question came from Elis.

"Not nobly close." Richard's lips curled "That said, if you're feeling it, her warmth's still lingering. I'll do you a solid. How about a second-hand hug?"

Cambridge.

The ides of January came on like snarling Ice Troll, blanketing London with alternating gales of powder and sleet.

Gwen woke to the sound of her Alarm spell blaring away beside her skull, inconsolable but for a placating algorithm Magister Brown had demanded to enforce spontaneous spell-construction as a part of her daily living.

When she finally fell out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, her hair falling about like that of a wet hag, she suffered the distinct pleasure of deciphering a spell-disjunction before the illusory Ward would allow her unvetted access to the porcelain bowl.

Likewise, the hot shower she had so dearly desired accosted her with a minor Mandala puzzle requiring an articulation of random Glyph-formulae selected from her textbook.

At the door of her fridge, breakfast was locked away by a Ward that required a precise spell-strike from a magic missile demanding three combinations of meta-magic, randomly selected by the embedded arcanistry.

After a meal of eggs, Spam and toast, she arrived at her walk-in wardrobe, thankfully devoid of further interruptions, and reached out for a figure-hugging long-sleeved dress.

A split-second later, an Octogramic Ward demanding a combination of Transmutation, Enchantment and Illusion keys overlaid itself over the wardrobe. In real-life, the Ward would trigger a tier 5 spell-strike linked to the specific element HDM it was empowered with— though presently the boobytraps in her apartment hungered for solutions.

As before, if she so desired, Gwen could ignore the probing puzzles and wear the dress anyway, though that would disappoint her instructors, who had each contributed to her anguish.

"This has to be Le Guevel," Gwen complained to the frigid, general air. Near the window, the heating duct, a thing almost two centuries old, plinked in the cold. Unlike most, Gwen's otherworldly constitution made her effectively immune to the cold, though heat and humidity still proved a challenge.

She rummaged through the rest of her closet. An A-line tunic assaulted her eyes with a stronger Mandala than the first. The thigh-length one-piece, one of her favourites, demanded a tier 4 Illusion glyph she had never even seen before. The knee-socks could double as a minor thesis.

"Jesus Christ…" Her scalp crawled. To think Le Guevel had the patience to sort her fashion wear by tiers of indecency. To test her hypothesis, Gwen laid hands on a white blouse that covered her from chin to hip.

Nothing.

Not a damn thing.

Her hand shifted toward a minidress.

A flurry of eye-straining illusions exploded forth whenever she touched the fabric.

Above, she could see little carvings engraved onto the racks. If she wished to cheat, Gwen supposed, it was a simple matter of swapping the hangers.

But that was beside the point.

Sighing, she took down a heavy cotton skirt that reached her ankles in demure grey. Her other hand reached for a three-quarter-sleeve top. As expected, the puzzle-pieces were simple enough that her shame could be covered in under a minute.

She reached for the pump heels.

A half-dozen Mandalas blossomed.

"...fuck."

Peterhouse.

Chapel.

For the plethora of colleges dotting Cambridgeshire, the Chapel remained the centrepiece of each school. Some, like King's, held royal patronage and served as the home to the Queen's Choir. Comparatively, though not the largest nor the most magnificent, Peterhouse's lacquered arches provided an intimacy that the transmuted marble at King's lacked.

“Deus est caritas, et qui manet in caritate in Deo manet, et Deus in eo: sit Deus in nobis, et nos maneamus in ipso. Amen…”

The final words of Peterhouse's College Grace, read by the Vice-Chancellor, faded into the candle-lit air.

A smattering of lumen-bulbs turned the panelled interior quicksilver. With perfect poise, Marchioness Maxine Loftus spoke sternly of solidarity and tenacity in these trying times of the Empire before relenting to the Chief Proctor from Brussels— Magister Helmut Peeters.

For Gwen who stood in her subfusc and crimson mantle, the rows of staff, the faculty, and the gathered students returning to attend the Lent term delivered a vivid flashback to her first day at Blackwattle. The speaker, a platinum-haired, fatherly Director of Events from Brussels, appeared a simulacrum of Jules Bartlett, her old principal.

"Mages, Maguses, Magisters— it gives me great pleasure today to welcome you all to this concluding occasion of the 2004 IIUC. With me today are our esteemed host, the Lady of Ely, Vice-Chancellor Lord Alfred Butterfield, fellow members of the campus, and finally— the object for which we are here gathered— Magus Gwen Song."

Polite applause greeted the Chief Proctor.

"It takes a village— or as it were, two colleges, to raise a Mage to prominence." Chief Proctor Peeters was happy to sail on without a hint of irony. "And tenacity. And Persistence. And experience, for which Gwen Song has exhibited much— certainly no less than many of us today who survived the Beast Tide. From Sydney to Shanghai, and now Cambridge, our starlet is a Mage dear to every leyline a Tower has touched. In Burma, Magus Song has shown leadership and wisdom beyond her years. In Cuzco, she created miracles in a land famous for revelations in saving Lord Inti. Then again, in Dalian, China, she took that expertise for which she is now famous, and applied it to the direst threat facing Humanity— the Undead."

"While many of us, Proctors included, sat safely in our armchairs— Miss Song faced a Soul Eater and taught the renegade the meaning of humility. In her subsequent engagement, she confronted a Lich, fighting the fiend to a stand-still until aid arrived in the form of Magister Walken of Oxbridge—"

Walken bowed. Bulbs flashed. In the stands, Gwen saw his wife and child clapping happily.

"As for what came to pass— I need not tally for you here. Even now, the rebuilding of Shenyang proceeds at full flight, with our allies of the Orient industriously revitalising the Liaoning Frontier to cage the threat."

More bulbs flashed, vivifying her two-toned irises. Standing in full view of the gathered crowd, Gwen studied the many faces present. Most on either wing, Ollie included, hailed from Peterhouse itself, roped by the Lady into filling the gallery. Others from Kings and the fraternity colleges, including Richard and his friends, sat nearer the exit.

"… Magus Song, step forward."

Gwen's Mary Janes clacked across the polished, mirror-shine floor.

"By the power invested in me through the International Inter-University Tribunal, I present to thee, the title of Most Valuable Participant in the 2004 competition year."

Outside, a brass clock struck noon; inside, applause assaulted the vaulted roof.

"...As well, it is with great pleasure that we also present the accompanying prize— An MVP Contingency Ring, wrought with treaties ratified by each and very Tower from London to Tokyo to Auckland."

In a manner not unlike a proposal, the Chief Proctor materialised, then presented a clamshell ring-box. The Creature Core that accompanied the betokened life-saving jewel scintillated as the lumen-globes fired, vivifying its Glyph-lit interior. Like a knight receiving her first Spellsword, Gwen knelt on one knee as instructed, first collecting a Tyrian sash over the rainbow-hued cloth provided by Peterhouse, each representing a proficient School of Magic, then bowing to receive her reward.

A ring of such stature— ratified by all states, was a rare and precious gift indeed. It was a thing whose value did not lie in the cost of creation nor the rarity of its materials, but in the political capital it represented.

A Mage that arrived at a Tower bearing such a ring was fortified by favours, treaties, alliances— and threats of expulsion should a Tower fail to uphold the universal agreement that led to the item's creation.

In front of the lumen-recorders, Gwen placed the ring onto her finger; her silhouette made mercury by the sheer volume of flaring bulbs. In front of an envious audience, she invoked the silent Glyph passed onto her by the helpful Magister Peeters, then raised a dainty white hand to signal that the reward bonded to her Astral Soul.

"I look forward to your future service, Magus Song." Magister Peeters stood to one side, leaving Gwen in the limelight. In turns, she briefly joined hands with Lady Grey for the photo-op, then again with Magister Butterfield, then was once more alone.

From the crowd of reporters, the familiar face of Dominic Lorenzo came into view. Out of the thong of thrusting pens and jostling gestures, Gwen hand-picked her future Editor.

"Magus Song, would you like to say a few words to the future contestants of London for bringing home such as auspicious title?"

"I would," Gwen proceeded as rehearsed. "I want to thank my teammates from Shanghai, Lady Grey of Peterhouse and Dean Luo of Fudan, my colleagues, my mentors, and my brother and sister-in-craft for this honour..."

She paused for effect.

"But I would also like to point out that while we are warm and snug here in the Chapel, bathed in the music of the spheres, there are Mages out there— Mages like my friend Elvia Lindholm of Nightingale's, fighting to save lives, labouring to keep the Mageocracy in one piece. Milady's speech was no sentiment— it is the reality of where we, as a society, stand today."

"Miss Elvia Lindholm?" Dominic feigned surprise. "By who you mean the upstart Cleric with a Draconic Ginseng Spirit and an Alarune? The favoured of Lady Astor?"

The other reporters grew silent. A few began to scribble in their notebooks.

"The very same," Gwen's imploring presence filled the dais as she tapped into her well of Essence. Her next words were enough to vibrate the stained mana-crystals depicting St Peter's reception of the Nazarene. "My selfless Evee! Volunteering in Douglas! On the Isle of Man! Pulling Mages from the brink of Death while fending off the Manx! Putting duty before pleasure, even the attendance of her dearest friend's international ascension! Evee, if you're watching, stay true to the course! All of us here, we're cheering for you!"

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Description

Chapter 1 - Some Things Begin, Something Ends

Chapter 2 - Awakening

Chapter 3 - Pass Conceded

Chapter 4 - Familia

Chapter 5 - The Longest Day

Chapter 6 - It takes Three to Tango

Chapter 7 - A Step in the Right Direction

Chapter 8 - No News like Bad News

Chapter 9 - A Team

Chapter 10 - A Moment of Truth

Chapter 11- Dark Ritual

Chapter 12 - Instructions and Instructors

Chapter 13 - The Calm

Interlude 1 - A Hint of Thunder

Chapter 14 - Oedipus Wrecks

Chapter 15 - The House of Huang

Chapter 16 - A New Leaf

Chapter 17 - First Blood

Interlude 2 - The Looming Cloud

Chapter 18 - What Great Beast

Chapter 19 - The Woods have Wolves

Chapter 20 - Riding Hood

Chapter 21 - Breath

Chapter 22 - The Snake, the Lady and the Maiden Fair

Chapter 23 - Candles

Chapter 24 - Follow the Red Rabbit

Chapter 25 - First Impressions are Important

Chapter 26 - Secrets

Chapter 27 - Full Fathom Five

Chapter 28 - A Long Way Down

Chapter 29 - Sweet Hearts and Sweet Meats

Chapter 30 - Two Dogs on a Hearth

Chapter 31 - Some Things Never Change

Chapter 32 - Coming Home

Chapter 33 - An Old Man's Favours

Chapter 34 - Apples from the Tree

Chapter 35 - The Grind

Chapter 36 - Here be Monsters

Chapter 37 - Of Monsters and Gwen

Chapter 38 - A False Start

Chapter 39 - The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Chapter 40 - Miles to Go Before She Sleeps

Chapter 41 - Sleeping Beauty

Chapter 42 - The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Chapter 43 - Crossroads

Chapter 44 - Scar Tissues

Chapter 45 - Skeletons

Chapter 46 - A Slice of Paradise

Chapter 47 - He who Hunts Monsters

Character Summaries

Chapter 48 - Cruel to be Kind

Chapter 49 - Fortune's Fool

Chapter 50 - Close Encounters

Chapter 51 - Full Pelt

Chapter 52 - Great Expectations

Chapter 53 - Premonitions

Chapter 54 - No Harm in Trying

Chapter 55 Poor Boys and Rich Girls

Chapter 56 - A Curious Encounter

Chapter 57 - Show and Tell

Chapter 58 - When shall we Three

Chapter 59 - One Thousand and One Nights

Chapter 60 - Valkyries

Chapter 61 - True Lies

Chapter 62 - First World Problems

Chapter 63 - An Old Bird Dreaming

Chapter 64 - Into the Wild

Chapter 65 - A Favour for a Favour

Chapter 66 - Shortcomings

Chapter 67 - The Migloo Ghost

Chapter 68 - Dark Tidings

Chapter 69 - Until Dawn

Chapter 70 - House of the Rising Huang

Chapter 71 - Til the Fat Lady Sings

Chapter 72 - Sharing is Caring

Chapter 73 - So Long, and Sanks for the Fush

Chapter 74 - All work and No Lunch

Chapter 75 - Days of Our Lives

Chapter 76 - A Crooked Deal

Character and Magic Summary 2

Chapter 76.5 - Interlude 3 - Dark Waters

Chapter 77 - Anticipations

Chapter 78 - A Rose and its Thorns

Chapter 79 - The Greater the Expectation

Chapter 80 - The Harder the Fall

Chapter 81 - A Sight for Sore Eyes

Chapter 82 - When the Levy Breaks

Chapter 83 - An Unfortunate Encounter

Chapter 84 - Broken Chains

Chapter 85 - Wave Break

Chapter 86 - The Devil's Advocate

Chapter 87 - True Lies

Chapter 88 - The Widening Gyre

Chapter 89 - The Falcon cannot hear the Falconer

Chapter 90 - The Worst are Full of Passion

Chapter 91 - Reeling Shadows of Desert Birds

Chapter 92 - The Darkness drops Again

Chapter 93 - Spiritus Mundi

Chapter 94 - When Time is Short

Chapter 95 - The Salty Saviour

Chapter 96 - Come Together

Chapter 97 - Picking up the Pieces

Chapter 97.5 - Epilogue for Arc 1- No Birds Sing

Chapter 98 - No News Like Bad News

Chapter 99 - Cabin Fever

Chapter 100 - Stifling

Chapter 101 - Creepers and Crawlers

Chapter 102 - O Captain

Chapter 103 - Respite

Chapter 104 - Detour

Chapter 105 - Taken

Chapter 106 - Suspicious Minds

Chapter 107 - An invitation from a Doppelgänger

Chapter 108 - A Sliver of Silver

Chapter 109 - A Meeting at the Threshold

Chapter 110 - Cold City

Chapter 111 - More ways than One

Chapter 112 - To Skin Some Cats

Chapter 113 - Remember Me

Chapter 114 - Introspection

Chapter 115 - No Longer Alone

Chapter 116 - A Tale of Two Towers

Character Summary 3

Chapter 117 - Hold on and Let Go

Chapter 118 - Human Nature

Chapter 119 - Risk and Reward

Chapter 120 - Visions and Revisions

Chapter 121 - Spotty Hands

Chapter 122 - Night Whispers

Chapter 123 - A Matter of Face

Chapter 124 - Halcyon Days

Chapter 125 - A Course of Course

Chapter 126 - Off to see the Wizard

Chapter 127 - Dog Whistles

Chapter 128 - Questions and Answers

Chapter 129 - A Trojan Gift Horse

Chapter 130 - A Gift once Given

Chapter 131 - Prepatory

Chapter 132 - Fault Lines

Chapter 133 - The Great Divide

Chapter 134 - Picking up the Pieces

Chapter 135 - Regrets

Chapter 136 - Mixtures and Admixtures

Chapter 137 - Skinner's Box

Chapter 138 - Queries and Answers

Chapter 139 - Good Neighbours

Chapter 140 - Knots

Chapter 141 - The Age of Experience

Chapter 142 - Orientation

Chapter 143 - Lessons of Life

Chapter 144 - A bob on the Snout

Chapter 145 - Classes and classes

Chapter 146 - Mo Money, No Problems

Chapter 147 - Routine

Chapter 148 - The Troubles

Chapter 149 - Paternal Issues

Chapter 150 - A Charmed Life

Chapter 151 - Fight or Flight

Chapter 152 - The Wrong way to Duel

Chapter 153 - Indigestion

Chapter 154 - The Greener Grass

Chapter 155 - The Damned

Chapter 156 - When the Red Mist Rolls in

Chapter 157 - Blood and Guts

Chapter 158 - Hesitation at the Threshold

Chapter 159 - Between Concrete and a Hard Place

Chapter 160 - Once more into the Breach

Chapter 161 - No Place should Murder Sanctuarise

Chapter 162 - Mightier than the Sword

Character Summary 4

Chapter 163 - Dreams of Tomorrow

Chapter 164 - Balance in all Things

Chapter 165 - Rest and Relax

Chapter 166 - Of Peaches and Men

Chapter 167 - Shadows on the Wall

Chapter 168 - For Thou art with Me

Chapter 169 - This Far, no Further

Chapter 170 - Nighthawks

Chapter 171 - Great Anticipations

Chapter 172 - No Mitigating Nourishment

Chapter 173 - Nothing Quite like Loneliness

Chapter 174 - Pinky Promises

Chapter 175 - Detours

Chapter 176 - Laughing the Night Away

Chapter 177 - Tempus Fugit

Chapter 178 - Hai Five

Chapter 179 - Goats and Monkeys!

Chapter 180 - Frogger

Chapter 181 - A Model of You

Chapter 182 - Bush Meat

Chapter 183 - Happy Campers

Chapter 184 - Come a-Waltzing Matilda with Me

Chapter 185 - Her Beauty and her Terror

Chapter 186 - Silencing the Lamb

Chapter 187 - Karma Comes Calling

Chapter 188 - Millstone

Chapter 189 - Calamity Gwen

Chapter 190 - Truth will Out

Chapter 191 - A Series of Unfortunate Events

Chapter 192 - The Black Goat

Chapter 193 - How to Make Gravy

Chapter 194 - Confessions of a Dragon-Kin in Hangzhou

Chapter 195 - How Much do I love Thee?

Chapter 196 - How to fold a Paper Tiger

Chapter 197 - Whetting the Appetite

Chapter 198 - The Undertow

Chapter 199 - A Stick in the Mud

Chapter 200 - Curtain Call

Chapter 200.5 - Interlude - A Prickling of the Thumb

Chapter 201 - Green-eyed Gwen

Chapter 202 - To her Door

Chapter 203 - The Cuckoo Crows Thrice

Chapter 204 - Don't Dream its Over

Metaworld Spellcraft & Glossary

Chapter 205 - Bookworms

Chapter 206 - Chekhov's Dragon

Chapter 207 - Where the Side Quests Roam

Chapter 208 - Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 209 - Dances with Deerhounds

Chapter 210 - Six Degrees of Separation

Chapter 211 - I have become...

Chapter 212 - Who let the Dogs Out?

Chapter 213 - Silence of the Apes

Chapter 214 - Monkey in the Middle

Chapter 215 - What lies Beneath

Chapter 216 - Favour of the Father

Chapter 217 - Many Jasons in Pursuit

Chapter 218 - Loftier Ambitions

Chapter 219 - Figuro Magnifico

Chapter 220 - A Step in the Right Direction

Chapter 221 - Who watches the Watchers

Chapter 222 - Credit where Credit is Due

Chapter 223 - Dai Harder

Chapter 224 - December Days

Chapter 225 - The Dumplings of Prosperity

Chapter 226 - A Tuft of Flower

Chapter 227 - A Tall Poppy

Chapter 228 - I guess that's why they call it the Blues

Chapter 229 - A Crucible's Caress

Chapter 230 - The Devil's Plea-Bargain

Chapter 231 - Fingerpainting

Chapter 232 - No Source of Honey

Chapter 233 - The Milk-Tea of Human Kindness

Interlude - Percy's Day Off

Chapter 234 - What doesn't kill you...

Chapter 235 - Some like it Hot

Chapter 236 - A Paradox of Prophesy

Chapter 237 - Brothers and Sisters

Chapter 238 - An Interview with the Void Sorceress

Chapter 239 - Flight of the Bumble Bee

Chapter 240 - Slippery Slopes

Chapter 241 - The Perils of Fame

Chapter 242 - Paranoid Draconoid

Chapter 243 - Many hands make Light Labour

Chapter 244 - The Fonder Heart

Chapter 245 - Second Chances

Chapter 246 - Milu No.5

Chapter 247 - The Importance of a Strong Handshake

Chapter 248 - A City of Gold

Chapter 249 - Cocks and Hens

Chapter 250 - Chain Reaction

Chapter 251 - Old Fashioned

Chapter 252 - When it rains, it pours

Chapter 253 - Small Mercies

Chapter 254 - Foul Play

Chapter 255 - Shattering the Peace

Chapter 256 - Riposte

Chapter 257 - Virtue in Vengeance

Chapter 258 - Accounting for Victory

Interlude - One Night in Yangon

Chapter 259 - Burmese Days

Chapter 260 - Kitty come Home

Chapter 261 - Waiting for Godot

Chapter 262 - O Brother, where art thou?

Chapter 263 - Veni Vidi Vici

Chapter 264 - A Murderer and a Villain

Chapter 265 - Tricks and Trades

Chapter 266 - A Mage of many Talents

Chapter 267 - Hell hath no Fury

Chapter 268 - Sour Grapes

Chapter 269 - Homewrecker

Chapter 270 - Fight Fire with Lightning

Chapter 271 - Fair Winds and Ill Tides

Chapter 272 - How to Train your Wyvern

Chapter 273 - Between a Void-Beast and a Hard Place

Chapter 274 - A Brave New World

Chapter 275 - Land of the Risen Sun

Chapter 276 - Serpents in the Midst

Chapter 277 - The Sun Also Rises

Chapter 278 - A Modest Proposal

Chapter 279 - Birds of a Feather

Chapter 280 - Troll in the Trees

Chapter 281 - Where the Wyverns Crow on Trees

Chapter 282 - Out of the Blue

Chapter 283 - The Seeds of Trust

Chapter 284 - An Unexpected Boon

Chapter 285 - Into the Maelstrom

Chapter 286 - A warm up

Chapter 287 - A Tale of two Horrors

Character Summary 5

Chapter 288 - Takanakuy

Chapter 289 - The Call of the Void

Chapter 290 - Battle Royale

Chapter 291 - The Hands of Victory

Chapter 292 - The Setting Sun

Chapter 293 - Gears and Levers

Chapter 294 - Nightmares

Chapter 295 - Lessons from the Underground

Chapter 296 - Prelude to Premonition

Chapter 297 - The Pale Prince of Pretoria

Chapter 298 - What Tomorrow Brings

Chapter 299 - Shattering Expectations

Chapter 300 - Caliban, Interrupted

Chapter 301 - Prelude to the Long Night

Chapter 302 - The Living and the Dead

Chapter 303 - Peace for the Dead, Life for the Living

Chapter 304 - The Three Little Necromancers

Chapter 305 - Wyverns First

Chapter 306 - Party Crasher

Chapter 307 - War Games

Chapter 308 - Et Victoria ad Defectum

Chapter 309 - Humbled Hearts

Chapter 310 - Call of the Deep

Chapter 311 - The Living Dark

Chapter 312 - How to lasso a Lich

Chapter 313 - All Good Things

Chapter 314 - Tis better to have Loved

Chapter 315 - Legion

Chapter 316 - After the Banquet Ends

Chapter 317 - Where the Kookaburra Laughs

Chapter 318 - Love's Labour

Chapter 319 - The Old Man and the Gwen

Chapter 320 - The Snake Giveth

Chapter 321 - All Stations to London

Chapter 322 - The Monkey's Paw

Chapter 323 - Naked Villainy

Chapter 324 - House Rules

Chapter 325 - Knight Errant

Chapter 326 - The Enemy of my Enemy

Chapter 327 - The Root of Elvia

Chapter 328 - The Gift of Simplicity

Chapter 329 - The Perils of Infamy

Chapter 330 - Three Ring Circus

Chapter 331 - Gold Digging

Chapter 332 - Modern Mythology

Chapter 333 - Ivory Tower

Chapter 334 - The Rich get Richer

Chapter 335 - News on the March

Chapter 336 - The Garden of Delights

Chapter 337 - Blessed by Blood

Chapter 338 - Stratums

Chapter 339 - Tremors

Chapter 340 - The Early Bird

Chapter 341 - Watering Holes

Chapter 342 - Friends for Hire

Chapter 343 - Honour's Tongue

Chapter 344 - A Cold Welcome

Chapter 345 - Past the Shallows

Chapter 346 - Bride and Groom

Chapter 347 - From Kith to Kin

Chapter 348 - Buyer's Remorse

Chapter 349 - Dolls' House

Glossary

Chapter 350 - Little Seeds

Chapter 351 - Twist and Turns

Chapter 352 - The Best is Yet to Come

Chapter 353 - No Rest for the Wicked